Toyland- the Legacy of Wallace Noel

by Tony Bertauski

  His arm ripped at the shoulder. It was thrown into the sky. His body rippled outward like a flag weathering a hurricane. Tufted bits of stuffing streamed out. When the seam on the second shoulder gave way, he was tossed like a broken kite, tumbling and flapping wildly. The vortex followed him, buoying him higher and higher. She was afraid he would be thrown deep into the forest. But it was worse. She heard more ripping.

  A cloud of white stuffing burst like a firework.

  The vortex suddenly vanished. Bits of shredded purple fabric fluttered like heavy confetti.

  Tin couldn’t remember falling to her knees.

  Silence returned. The ground was scattered with bits of purple. The stuffing drifted into the trees like snow. Whatever did this was leaving.

  She started crawling.

  There was something in the forest that did it. It was getting away and she was on her hands and knees. What was she going to do if she caught it?

  I promised.

  “Tin!”

  Pip ran toward the tower. Mom reached for her and missed. Pieces of Monkeybrain were everywhere. Tin lay there listening to her little sister and her mom’s attempt to soothe her.

  “Why, Tin?”

  Mom was confused and angry. Her lips were thin. Tin looked back at the trees. It was gone. Whatever did this had gotten away. Tin wondered if it could do something like this, what else could it do?

  Is that why Wallace left?

  “Mom, we have to leave.”

  At some point, Pip began to hyperventilate.

  Once they were inside, she dissolved into a string of hiccups and syllables. Tin couldn’t bear to look at her, snot running and eyes puffy.

  Tin found an empty room as far away from the lobby as she could find. She stared out a triangular window. Her mom was probably still consoling Pip, convincing her that they could put Monkeybrain back together. But he was old—at least as old as Tin—and maybe it was time to get a new Monkeybrain.

  Somewhere in the panicked sobs, Pip would say he wouldn’t be the same. That was what Tin would say. But it wasn’t just that he’d been pulled apart.

  I did it.

  The sun had dipped behind the trees. Daylight was quickly giving way to a starry night. Her reflection grew. She wasn’t wearing a coat and was heavier. She wasn’t imagining it. Did anyone notice?

  The door closed behind her.

  She kneaded the toymaker’s hat like a good-luck charm. There was no furniture in the room. There were no pictures on the walls, no weird games or upside-down staircases. Just a sunken floor that Mom walked around.

  Their reflections were equally gutted.

  “You won’t believe me,” Tin said.

  “Try me.”

  There was a lot of story to tell, none of which her mom would believe. She looked down at the hat.

  “This doesn’t belong to Wallace. He found it on his expedition.” She shook her head. She didn’t really know that, but it didn’t matter. “It belongs to an elf. And not just some regular elf who lives on the North Pole. This was a special one. A toymaker.”

  Mom was still listening.

  “When he put it on, things… happened. Special things.”

  “Special?”

  “Wallace, um, when he put it on, he just knew how to do things. Like build this house and the solar panels. He did things to the tower. He made lots of money with it.”

  She paused with the hat twisted in a knot.

  “He brought toys to life.”

  Mom nodded thoughtfully. The kind of nod that went along with that kind of story. The kind of nod a mom gave when she saw where a lie was going.

  “Okay,” she said. “That would explain why you and Corey are carrying stuffed toys around.”

  “You believe me?”

  “I believe you were talking to toys. And I believe you were playing with them. You put the panda in the game room chair. You’ve always had a great imagination, Tin.”

  Imagination. Tin went back to twisting the hat. Mom took it from her. “So what happens when you wear it?”

  “What?”

  “You said Wallace did special things when he wore the hat. What happens when you wear it?”

  “I sort of… sort of see things.”

  “Mmm.” Mom frowned curiously. She was being incredibly patient. Maybe the Christmas spirit kept her in check. She looked inside the hat, rang the bell.

  “It won’t work on you,” Tin said.

  Mom put it on anyway. The bell flopped to the side. She looked at her reflection.

  “Why would you do that to Monkeybrain, Tin? I just… I’m trying to understand. Help me. You know what he means to your sister.”

  “She talks to him, Mom. You’ve seen her do it. This house, that hat… it brought him to life, too.”

  “Hon, she’s four. You talked to toys when you were four.”

  Adults’ imaginations fade. If they know what’s going on, what’s really happening, the truth will break them. That’s what Pip said. Is that what happened to Wallace?

  How much time do I have left?

  “We have to leave, Mom.”

  “Tomorrow is Christmas.”

  “No, Mom, something is out there and—”

  “It’s dark, Tin. And nothing’s out there.”

  “I can show you, Mom. The tower is making an invisible wall, like a dome or something. You can see it, I swear. If you go out there and walk through it, you won’t be able to see what’s inside. Wallace was using it to hide the hat from Santa.”

  “Santa?”

  “That’s why I had Monkeybrain. He was climbing the tower to turn it off. But there’s—”

  “All right, stop, hon. Monkeybrain wasn’t climbing—”

  “Something’s out there, Mom. It’s taking the toys, and I think it scared Wallace away.” A ripple of chills rode down her back. “I’m scared, too.”

  Mom looked serious. Maybe Tin said too much. Words weren’t going to break her mom, but they could worry her. That wasn’t what Tin wanted to do.

  I promised, she thought. But I can’t hurt my family.

  “Why can’t I see them?” Mom said. “If the toys are alive, why can’t I talk to them?”

  “Because you’re… you’re too old.”

  Mom actually laughed. It was just once. She shook her head, staring at the hat, then another wave of laughter shook her until she wiped her eyes. It sounded like nonsense. Tin wouldn’t believe it, either. Her mom had to see what was happening.

  And she can’t.

  “Tomorrow,” Mom said, “you’ll apologize to your sister. And then you’re going to help put Monkeybrain back together.”

  “Mom, we really have to—”

  She held up her hand. “We’re safe, Tin. Nothing’s going to happen. Santa won’t come because we put out the presents for him, okay? In a few days, we’ll pack up the car and head home. We can take the toys with us and talk about this some more. Right now I just want to have a normal Christmas.”

  She put the hat in Tin’s hands.

  “Your sister loves you, you know that.” She kissed her forehead. “I do, too.”

  Tin remained with just her reflection staring back. Christmas was tomorrow. There was still time to talk to her mom, take her out to the wall. Oscar would come, too. Tin could show them. Once they saw how it made everything invisible, how it shocked them, how the tower was emanating energy, they would believe. Maybe not believe in the hat or the toys, but they would believe they were in danger. That would be enough.

  Unfortunately, Tin wouldn’t get the chance.

  19

  Each snowflake fluttered like a crystalized butterfly.

  They each made a unique sound, carried a note different than all the others. Tin stuck out her tongue. She wanted to know what sound tasted like. There was tiny laughter as she chased after them with her tongue out, their notes making a music box melody.

  A song.

  She hummed along. Even though she couldn’t catch one of th
em, even when she swatted at them, it was fun. Even when the snowfall had reached her waist. She grew tired, the kind of tired that felt so good, so satisfying. She wanted to lie down, close her eyes and let the butterfly snowflakes take her deeper.

  Until one of them poked her in the eye.

  It wasn’t white like the others. It was sort of tan and coarse. Definitely harder than a snowflake should be. It bounced off her nose. There were more sprinkling down from the sky like off-colored hail. They tickled her nose and she sneezed.

  Then a large one filled the sky.

  It was bigger than all the snowflakes combined, like a giant foot coming to squash her. She tried to run, but there was nowhere to hide. Its shadow passed over her. She covered her head and, strangely, felt it kick her in the chin.

  She opened her eyes.

  Something was standing on her face, rubbing thin hands together. Crumbs fell on her nose. Flat legs left a sweet trail on her lips. It was about to kick her again.

  She sat up.

  The thin little figure went tumbling into the blankets. A silhouette crawled out like a cardboard cutout. Tin went to squash it.

  No!

  The cutout lifted its arm. The voice in her head wasn’t Pando’s. It was higher-pitched and sort of funny. She fumbled her phone from her cargo pants and lit him up.

  Gingerman.

  She hid the phone. The lobby was dark again. The logs in the fireplace were black and cold. Oscar was snoring hard. She could see his breath. The furnace must have gone out again.

  And no one noticed.

  Gingerman dug through the blankets and retrieved a short arm. It had broken off when she sat up. She reached for him and he clubbed her with it.

  Never, never pick up a gingerperson. Unless you plan to eat us.

  “You’re… alive?”

  He climbed onto her shoulder. I’m the only one left.

  Piggy wasn’t under the covers or in the sleeping bag. Pip was on the same couch as Mom, thumb in her mouth. No Monkeybrain, of course. Corey was on the other couch. She couldn’t see if Clyde was there.

  He took them.

  “Where?”

  Where? No, he took them. Gingerman stiffened like a regular, edible cookie. Like the toys in the toy room. Whoever he was talking about was sucking the life force out of them. He took them.

  He’s not like the other toys, Gingerman said. He only takes.

  “Who? Who is it? Who’s taking them—”

  Shhhh. He put the detached arm on her lips. I can’t say his name or he’ll come back.

  “Tell me where he is.”

  No time for that. Now’s your only chance. You’ve got to turn it off while he’s not looking. Hurry!

  “Turn what off?”

  He climbed down the blanket then slid to the floor. His crispy legs clicked on the hardwood.

  If you don’t turn it off, you’ll never leave Toyland.

  “Because of the wall?”

  No, not the wall? Get with it. He’ll take you, too, just like the others. He’ll take all of you—your mom, your sister, your… whoever he is—

  “Corey?”

  Whatever. Turn off the tower or you end up like them.

  He drew the detached arm across his neck. He tap-danced across the room. Tin illuminated the others. Oscar kept snoring and no one stirred. They were counting sugarplums. She noticed the time. It was midnight.

  Christmas.

  She tiptoed after Gingerman. He was at the front door. A moonbeam had fallen through the window.

  “Where are you going?” she whispered.

  I’m out of here.

  “You can’t leave. You’ve got to help me.”

  Help? What am I going to do? It would take me six months to climb the tower. No, you’re the only one who can do it. By the way, a little help?

  He pointed the arm at the door.

  This was happening too fast. Was he telling her to climb the tower in the middle of the night? That was what it sounded like. While he’s not looking?

  She looked back at her mom. Oscar almost never let the fire die, especially with the furnace not working. But he did the other night when everyone slept late.

  When I dreamed about the song, she thought.

  Gingerman was right. If she was going to go, this was it. She could make it back to bed and no one would even know she was gone. Unless, of course, something bad happened.

  Like really bad. Like really, really.

  Seriously, there’s nothing I can do. He turned his icing-caked face toward her. Like nothing. At all.

  “I can’t do this.”

  Remember Piggy? She’s depending on you. We all are. Now just be really cool and crack the door so I can get a head start.

  He danced around like Pip when she really had to go. Tin put her hand on the doorknob.

  Come on, come on, come—

  She pulled it open no more than half an inch and he slid onto the porch. His voice faded off.

  We’re all counting on you. No pressure.

  Tin closed the door and held her breath. Everyone was still sleeping. She quietly walked over to the couches. Corey was hugging a pillow. Pip had a blanket against her face. And Soldier, who always ended up standing guard, wasn’t at his post.

  He even took Pando, she thought.

  She laced up her boots and went out the front door. The full moon was blurry and the stars smudgy lights. The wall had been turned up again. That was why the furnace was off. Someone was bound to wake up and soon. Tin crept back inside and stuffed pillows under her blanket just in case her mom did.

  Then sprinted across the porch.

  No wind. The air crisp in her chest and on her face.

  She remembered a time when she was the same age as Pip. Mom and Dad told her she could stay up past her bedtime. Christmas was getting close, but they said a special man would come to visit if she was good.

  She knew they meant Santa.

  And she knew that Santa always rode in a sleigh pulled by reindeer. So she sat at the window and watched the sky until a car pulled into the driveway.

  Santa got out of a taxi.

  He was wearing his red suit and his beard was snow white. He moved slowly, like he was sore. He was probably tired, she thought. He came from the North Pole. She didn’t know there were taxis up there.

  They gave him tea and cookies, and she sat on his knee and he laughed exactly like she thought he would. She told him she wanted a tent for Christmas.

  Hohoho!

  It wasn’t supposed to be funny.

  She thought he would smell more like hot cocoa and cinnamon. He smelled a lot like her dad. And when he bent over, he was wearing a Led Zeppelin T-shirt underneath his coat. She thought that was strange, but maybe he vacationed like a normal person between Christmases.

  “Is Santa real?” she asked.

  “What do you think?” Mom said with a smile.

  She decided he was. And that if Led Zeppelin Santa came again next year, she’d ask him if he was real. Now she stood on the edge of the forest, wondering the same thing.

  Is he real?

  The tower was a dark monolith. She could feel it humming. Wishing she could ask her mom again, that her mom would tell her it was going to be all right.

  That Santa was real.

  The tower was a skeletal monster of steel standing steady in the cold winter night. There was no wind to blow the snow. Nothing to disturb it.

  She went.

  The frozen earth pounded beneath her. Breath hissing, chest burning, she ran straight for the nearest tower leg. She couldn’t think about it or she’d turn around. Tears welled; the cold metal scaffolding bit her fingers.

  The humming went through her.

  She searched for toeholds without looking down, finding a firm grip before pushing up. She focused upward until she was level with the first step. She knew how high it was.

  Her fingers were numb.

  She clung tightly, hugging the scaffolding. The rusted metal
was rough and flaky. She knew how far she’d fall if she slipped. But she didn’t know how long she’d be out there if she did.

  She looked down.

  It was a mistake. Thirty feet looked different from up there. It was only a short walk across a beam to reach the stairs. But there would be at least one step in between angled struts with nothing to hold. She’d done ropes courses.

  Not without a harness.

  Breathe, hon, she heard her mom say. You can always breathe.

  She closed her eyes and drew a breath. There was nothing to distract her when she was fully present. Just be here. Just be now.

  The first step was terrifying. Fear plunged into her legs as she reached the gap. She had never felt so alone being on that beam with nothing to hold. Hand out, she lunged and didn’t stop.

  She was on the stairs.

  The vibrations rang through her. She pulled herself up the railing two steps at a time, swinging around the turns with her eyes on the trees, waiting for the branches to shake.

  The vibrations numbed her ankles. She could taste metal under her tongue, could hear the hum in her head. She slid along the railing with both hands, pulling herself up the steps. Almost to the top and she held her breath.

  She made it.

  Wheezing, she paused on the platform that circled the hut. Her senses had been chiseled down to nearly nothing. She found the door on the far side. The knob turned.

  The door was stuck.

  She leaned into it and tried again. Slivers of pain lanced through her shoulder. She stepped back to the railing. She didn’t come all this way to be stopped by a swollen door. She closed her eyes and lowered her shoulder, pushing off the railing, and with all her weight forward, braced for impact, hoping to hear the hinges squeal or the doorframe splinter.

  Silence.

  She had rolled across the floor with barely a sound. She didn’t remember falling or hearing the door close behind her.

  The vibrations were gone. No ringing in her head or dull pain in her shoulder. Just the sound of her wheezy breath. She wiped her eyes.

  Impossible.

  This wasn’t what she expected. It was a snow-white floor and snow-white walls that were too far apart. The hut wasn’t this big on the outside. The lobby wasn’t even this big.