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.

Young Yves St. Laurents, for example, can practice on Fashion Plates, which teaches them to produce designer clothes. And young subcontractors will gain valuable experience from the Tuff Stuff Tool Kit, with its string-powered rotary drill.

The tool kit is just part of the extensive Tuff Stuff line, which also provides plastic implements for would-be doctors, bus drivers and, depressingly, journalists.

The best of "when I grow up I want to be" genre is a $40 dollhouse fashioned to teach youngsters how to be interior decorators in the best suburban snob-zoning tradition.

Called "Smaller Home and Garden, the house features "high ceilings, large windows, and airy skylights," not to mention lots of imitation redwood panelling. Hanging plants optional and Cuisinart not included.

Games with boards, pieces to move, and dice seem to be in decline. They had one at Woolworths called Don't Tip the Waiter, and another in which mountain climbers tried to avoid falling rocks, charging goats and other alpine hazards; but otherwise there are only the traditional Monopolies, Scrabbles and the like.

Monopoly, though, seems outrageously tame next to Adorable Dora. A plastic hippopotamus in a low-cut dress, Dora dances-- "Swings"-- and mouths the lyrics that you, four or older, are actually singing from a nearby plastic microphone.

Though it features no endangered species, Dynomike works on much the same principle. A wireless microphone, it transmits "your voice through any (nearby) AM radio." By Christmas evening your neighbors may have decided that the novelty has worn off.

Less functional but more good-natured is Strolling Bowling, an alley with pins at one end and a bowling ball wearing orange platform shoes at the other. Wind up the ball and he hops down to the pins.

A few action toys still clutter the toy departments--Night Rescue Chutes Away, for instance, comes complete with a helicopter, a floodlight, and a half dozen survivors.

But for the most part, all the toys of yesteryear are being replaced by electronic games. Two years ago, Simon was a big hit. Now, its Pocket Simon that's driving them wild, or would be, if the Jordan Marsh help remembered to replace the batteries on the demonstrator model.

The electronic games--which range up to a $105 Thoroughbred Horse Race Analyzer in a leather case--are distressingly alike, with their red lights, their tinny beeps and honks, and their $30 and up price tags.

An exception, though, is one totally mysterious digital game with a bespectacled plastic hen perched on its dashboard. It's called I Took a Lickin' from a Chicken, and when you're outperformed the bird does a little convulsive dance and cackles throatily.

Two kids were perched over the chicken computer last week, groaning when they lost, time after time. "Why's that chicken taking so long to make his move?" one said. "He's thinking, he's just thinking. Don't go and rush him," his partner replied.

Finally the boys decided they had outfoxed the silicon chips. "I got you, you stupid chicken," one sang. But, by means fair or foul, the bird went into its victory dance anyway. "Motherfucking chicken," one kid muttered as he stalked away.CrimsonAnthea Letsou