I lie still on the carpet. I don’t know how long I’ve been unconscious, but the darkness of the night is beginning to draw back. I’m scared to move in case the creature is still there — watching. Waiting for me to get up. Unresponsive prey is no fun to play with.
After lying still for an age, I get up. It is not an option to remain motionless on the carpet for the rest of my life, even if by standing up I shorten my life considerably.
Nothing happens. I blink in the twilight of the early dawn, but am unable to see the Poodull. Was it ever here at all? Or is it just hiding in the shadows behind the couch?

My head aches terribly, and the nausea still lurks in the background of my senses. Was it the lion’s dust that has done this to me? I look up at the table far above me, but the other plushies are either not on it or are staying away from the edge. I shout a curse up at the table for good measure. It is not a curse suitable for young audiences.

I think that perhaps there is another tribe of plushies in this region. A tribe that lives on the carpet, or the couches. Perhaps they will speak a language I can understand, and not be possessed by the superstitions of those table-dwelling morons.
As I think of it, the more obvious it seems that the Poodull was something my mind manifested. The strange lion-dust — certainly a hallucinogenic substance. The Poodull itself simply brought on by a combination of strong mental suggestion and the dust. That whole tribe is permanently high on the stuff, especially if they are always throwing it in their campfire. Drug induced mass hysteria and paranoia caused them to throw me off the table. I too was wrapped up in the mania as I struggled against a phantom monster.

I decide to investigate the couches and surrounding areas for other signs of habitation. I am sure that I will discover a friendlier society that will welcome me into their fold.
Today will be a good day.