It started as a joke—a tiny toy monkey made of flexible plastic and coated in a strange, sticky substance. You’d press it to a wall, a window, or even the ceiling, and it would cling there like a gecko on caffeine. But this monkey was no ordinary toy. It had been a prize from a vending machine outside the local grocery store. Only 50 cents. Nobody expected it to become a permanent fixture of the Johnson household.
Young Max Johnson had stuck the monkey to the living room wall as soon as they got home. He giggled, waiting for it to fall like all his other sticky toys eventually did. But this one didn’t fall. Not after an hour. Not after a day. Not after a week.
“It’s still up there,” Max said during breakfast on day ten.
His parents glanced at the wall. The bright orange monkey was still hanging, one tiny rubbery arm clinging to the plaster as though its life depended on it.
They tried removing it. Max tugged. His sister poked it with a broom handle. His dad pried at it with a spatula. Nothing worked. It clung on, stretching slightly, but always snapping back to its original shape and position.
Then it got weirder.
Guests started noticing. The mailman. The neighbors. Everyone who came by tried their luck at removing the “unbudgeable” monkey. It became a challenge, like King Arthur’s sword in the stone.
People brought tools—hairdryers, ice packs, even peanut butter (someone swore it worked on gum). Nothing worked. The monkey would not budge.
It survived heatwaves, winter chill, and even a repainting job. The painters simply worked around it.
At some point, the family accepted it. They gave it a name: Clingy. A few people even claimed they saw Clingy move slightly at night, adjusting his position minutely, like he was settling in for the long haul.
Theories popped up. Was it made from alien materials? Super glue disguised as a toy? Or perhaps it had fused with the wall on a molecular level?
Max grew up. He left for college. Got a job. Started a family. But every time he visited home, Clingy was still there, exactly where he left him—an orange, slightly dusty reminder of a simpler time.
Years passed, and the house aged. Furniture changed. Walls were repainted again. New people came and went. But Clingy, the super sticky plaster monkey, remained.
Eventually, the Johnsons moved out. But the new homeowners decided to leave the monkey right where it was.
“It’s part of the house now,” they said.
And Clingy? He didn’t move. Not even a twitch.
