It looks harmless--a small lump of colored fur with a tiny protruding lightbulb. But Hug a Light, stacked ten deep in the Jordan Marsh toy department, makes every child (four or older) a deity.

"Make Today My Birthday," the small carton trumpets, nay, pleads. "Here's how...when you get me home, carefully remove me from the box. I am not blinking yet, but if you place your thumbs on my side...you will feel my heart (battery with cap). Squeeze firmly...my heart will start, and my light will begin blinking continuously."

What child would eschew this furry lighthouse in favor of slot cars or Barbie dolls? And only $10--it costs $16 to sponsor a foster child for a month.

But be forewarned--Hug A Light will not stay a blinking baby for long. Beneath the garish fur beats a heart eveready for...well, let the box explain. "Give me a squeeze about 2" below my blinking light and I'll show you how good it feels to have a birthday hug (I blink faster when I get excited and happy)."

Hug A Light, though, is not representative of this year's crop of toys--most promise a different kind of thrill.

Take Gregory, Big Bad Vampire Bat as an example. Designed for a slightly older crowd (over five), Greg features the usual--flapping wing action and such. But read closely: "press his back," the box advises. And then? You can "see 'blood' flow in chest."

The bat is one of a large genus of unpleasant plastic animals, many of whom appear to have spaceships somewhere in their genetic past. Hornetroid, for instance, the "fearsome myriapod from the far off galaxy of Thoraxid," comes equipped with folding landing gear. Then there's Terraphant, "the terrifying mammoth from the remote world of Visceros."

Once, long ago, children rode rocking horses. Now, who knows why, the toy firms are marketing instead animals perched on top of a single huge spring. And the names--if an entire generation grows up riding Farley Frogs, the trouble may just be beginning.

But there is hope. A surprisingly small number of war toys litter the shelves, and they tend toward acute realism. One group of "play action figures" includes a soldier with a geiger counter, presumably for mopping up after a tactical warhead explodes nearby. The collection also includes a small flag (American).

Another traditional American pastime--driving too quickly--continues to serve as the bread and butter of department store toy counters.

The very young can race on the Zap Zap Racetrack ("throw the throttle and send those racers zap zap zapping side by side. Around the curves, over the bumps and through the zigzags. It's a wild ride...now don't collide.")

The management at Zap Zap raceways may warn against collisions, but some toy manufacturers are hep enough to know that its the six-car fatals that keep them buying newspapers. Hot Wheels, which at the height of its popularity sold an Interstate-Highway's worth of orange track annually, offers the Criss Cross track, which should be an easy concept to figure out.

But the ultimate in racing realism comes from Tyco, which has put together a traditional slot car racing set with a twist--Supersound. Cars rev their motors, the starter's gun sounds, engines roar, tires squeal, and should there be a mishap, should the autos "skid and fly off the track," then there are the sounds of a real "CRRAAASH."

Any cars too badly damaged to continue can be hauled to a Hot Wheel's Service Center, a complete automotive repair facility. Toy cars seem to have successfully resisted every onslaught of feminism--the service center features "Ted's Dynamometer," Larry's Towing," "Mike's Transmission," "Al's Service and Tires," and "George's Radiator."

Save for a few relics--the "rebel armored snow speeder" and the Destroy Death Star game--the Star Wars craze is over, replaced in part by a bewildering variety of careeroriented games.