The yo-yo arrived while his parents were at work, as he knew it would. That morning he’d kissed his mother on the cheek, waved good bye to his father, and headed out the door to the bus stop. At least that’s where they thought he was going.

In reality he’d walked out the door and hid under a bush in the front yard.

The unremarkable cardboard box was about the size of a fist. It bore no addresses. He slit the tape with his swiss army knife and pulled back the cardboard flaps, heart thudding in his ears. The boy lifted the yo-yo out of the box with the bubble wrap.

Eventually his best friend arrived wanting to know why he hadn’t been at school. The boy only smiled and offered the toy. His friend examined the carved Chinese dragon on the yo-yo and slipped the string on his finger. His face turned the color of snow and he began to shake. The yo-yo glowed red, like coals in a fire.

The boy watched his friend collapse, whither on the ground, and turn into a toad. He smiled and set the yo-yo back in its box.