Yo-Yo: All Tied Up With String #4

by Stuart Keane

  Yo-Yo

  All Tied Up With String #4

  By

  Stuart Keane

  Copyright © Stuart Keane 2017

  Published: June 2, 2017

  Publisher: Stuart Keane

  The right of Stuart Keane to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved.

  This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  All Tied Up With String #4 – Yo-Yo is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For more information about the author, please visit www.stuartkeane.com

  Zachary Walters – Come On Down

  It’s official – I have now written the zaniest story in the ATUWS collection so far.

  And I have more to come, but we’ll get to that.

  When I started crafting All Tied Up With String, I was expecting a plethora of unique subject matter. Some simple, some personal to the contributor, and some a little outside the box. I even expected one or two to land miles away from the box in the nuclear land of the near-impossible. True to my initial thoughts, Yo-Yo is one of the latter, and not just because the story rotates (chortle) around the titular children’s toy.

  Horror stories need to be entertaining; they need a hook, something to draw you in. With the previous entries, I involved sketching, video games and rock music. All of these topics are fairly commonplace in the cultural spectrum, and each would appeal to a certain audience, but each has their personal detractors. Some people have never used a pencil, others see video games as a total waste of time, and rock music can be seen/heard with both love and hate. This means one thing – all of these former subjects are rooted in the social conscience, are shared daily on the web and in person, but that doesn’t mean people will want to read a story about them.

  It was the same with Yo-Yo. Well … kind of.

  Yo-yos are an acquired taste, a pastime that appeals to – in my limited experience – a minority of people. I understand that the yo-yo – or return top as some people refer to them – has a huge underground following in some countries. Championships are won and lost around the expert manipulation of this simple device, something that both shocked and impressed me during the research stage. My memories of such a toy extend to dropping the toy to the ground, receiving no return as the string went saggy, and giving up. To see people pulling off a variety of intricate moves with this simple device was simply astounding. And although the yo-yo is not a pivotal part of my social circle, it definitely is for others. Some people adore this toy, some people are dedicated to the pastime, and some spend time mastering the skill involved to make it a worthwhile hobby.

  Which is where Zachary Walters comes in…

  I would class Zachary as a colleague and a devout horror fan. Our paths crossed some time ago, when I was lucky enough to see my writing featured on his podcast, The Mouths of Madness. My work has featured on the show several times, and he promotes my titles regularly through social media. For all horror fans, you owe it to yourself to check out this show – it’s simply sublime.

  Anyway, his love of the yo-yo was something that took me completely by surprise. Our late-night musings rarely extended beyond the deep cavities of the horror world, such is the way of our business, so when he revealed his passion for this pastime, and later proposed writing about the yo-yo for ATUWS, it left me reeling. I also fought back a wide smile; I knew this was going to be a huge challenge, and relished the opportunity to put it on the page.

  To date, this was the most challenging story to construct, but in the end, I think it came together. A bit odd, funny in places, but downright disturbing if you put your mind to it - this was no standard horror story. I relish these moments in my writing, and let’s just say the ATUWS series is going to have some unique entries from this point forward.

  And where do the yo-yos fit in? Well, you have to read on to find out.

  This one is for you, Zachary. I hope I did the concept justice.

  Yo-Yo

  Subject: Yo-yos

  Playing with a yo-yo, or a return top, is the manipulation of a toy that requires patience, precision, balance, and the right amount of string tension. Expect cuts, scrapes, bruises, and string burns. Apply the qualities and characteristics of this toy to anything else and it sounds a bit morbid.

  – Zachary Walters

  Which one of you will be my lovely companion tonight?

  Newton? Or Molly?

  Newton.

  Molly. New…

  Molly it is.

  I want a clean kill, one marked with precision, no blood.

  Molly is perfect for that.

  She's my silent sister in crime.

  Zachary Walters eased the drawer open, paused to contemplate his decision, and retrieved a yo-yo from its red velvet bed. The device was perfectly slim, smooth, constructed from two red metal discs inscribed with elegant white trim; stars and stripes were expertly etched on both sides. He held it up to the window, let the gentle light of dusk sparkle on the curved edges. He smiled.

  Beautiful.

  Simply stunning. A work of art.

  Walters dug a finger into the central groove and plucked out a tiny loop of string. He secured the slip knot around his finger, smiled, and dropped the device to the ground, flicking his wrist before it clattered on the wooden floor. The discs rotated with a soft whirr and spun upwards, heading back to his open hand. Walters repeated the action, lost in his blissful element.

  After three more rotations, he placed the device back in the drawer and patted it with caring fingers. Closed his eyes and breathed out. His hand wandered to the left and lifted a wooden plate, revealing a hidden section of the drawer. Three more yo-yos sat before him, all as meticulously designed as the last.

  Hello, you.

  It’s been too long.

  Walters reached out and caressed the toys with the dedicated care and attention of a loving pet owner. With his lips pursed – awwww, you’re so adorable, look at my little babies – he lifted each one in turn and gave them a round of gentle strokes, cuddling them before his chest. Their slip knots hung over the back of his hand, tickling the skin. His tongue flicked at his dry lips as his steely gaze obsessed over their beautiful contours, their perfect craftsmanship. His hips gyrated as he rocked the toys into what he called a ‘calm before the storm slumber.’ Minutes passed before he finally returned them to their secretive home.

  “You know you can’t all come along.” He pointed at the toys as if they were three indignant children. “You have to take turns, you know this. Today is Molly’s time to shine. Newton, Blade, your time will come in due course.” He paused, narrowed his eyes. Sighed. “Don’t sulk. You know this is the only fair way to utilise your skills. I don’t want to have to ground you.” Walters collected Molly, a metallic pink yo-yo with sparkles peppered across her sleek body, and slipped her into his pocket. “Daddy won’t be long, all right?”

  Walters returned the lid to the hidden compartment and slid the drawer shut. He scooped his key
s from the dish beside him, took one final look into the mirror – all good, beautiful as ever, mwah! – and walked through his front door.

  Why did you pick me, Daddy?

  “Because you’re my favourite,” Walters replied, his answer earnest.

  He sat in the driver seat of his beaten Chevrolet, sheathed by dancing shadow, his emotionless stare fixed on the bustling establishment across the street. A queue of hopeful punters stretched around a giant triangular building, monitored by two behemoths with glistening bald heads and tight black suits. Some men and women ignored the queue and milled around the entrance, some drunk, some sober, hoping to achieve the impossible and skip the queue to obtain entry. Walters chuckled as someone tried slipping one of the bouncers some money and was promptly shut down. He sighed and glanced up, his eyes settling on the pink neon sign to Cosmic, the most exclusive nightclub in town.

  That’s the same colour as me.

  “I know, sweetheart. This is where I got the idea for your paintjob.”

  Paintjob?

  “Yeah, you know … your skin colour. Like, I’m white … and that man by the diner there is black. You’re pink. A beautiful, metallic pink. Simply sublime.”

  Why am I your favourite?

  “I always wanted a girl, that’s why. Blade and Newton are beautiful, don’t get me wrong, they were my precious boys for quite some time but you’re simply perfect. And you’re the best suited for my job. Clean, precise. You lower my risk severely and you make my job much easier. Nothing can take that away from you.”

  Thank you.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Blade and Newton hate me. They’re jealous that we spend so much time together.

  Walters chuckled at such a notion. “No, they aren’t.”

  They are. They call me names.

  “In that case … I’ll have a word with them when we get in. Ground them, take away their TV privileges, whatever is takes – “

  What’s a TV?

  “– never you mind. I won’t stand for this. They’re your brothers, they should treat you with respect. They should look out for their own.”

  Walters rubbed his shaved head and groaned. From his pocket, Molly chuckled.

  “You think it’s funny?”

  A little.

  “Do you want to be grounded, too?”

  No, Daddy.

  “Then hush. We have work to do.”

  Walters returned his leery eyes to the street, adjusted his glasses, and began to search. His tongue worked across his bottom lip as he flicked his gaze from person to person, trying to find the right specimen. He never rushed the process, it took time to find the right subject. Some nights, he’d taken hours, and others, he’d returned home empty-handed, forced to wait until the next evening.

  Fortunately, this night was one of the former.

  Walters found her. A tall, leggy brunette. Feathered bangs, ample bosom, curves in the right places, and dark jeans that left nothing to the perverted imagination. She folded her arms, unaware that someone was watching her every move. A smile lit up her beautiful face as she spoke unheard words to two men beside her. From his position in the car, Walters saw her lean back and laugh, the noise muted by his distance and seclusion, but he knew she was the one. He shuffled in his seat, adjusted his trousers.

  “She’s perfect.”

  Thank you.

  “No, not you … never mind.”

  No? Have I annoyed you, Daddy?

  “No, Molly. Not at all. This … I need to work. This isn’t the time.”

  Okay.

  Walters swiped his forearm across his forehead, checked his teeth in the rear-view mirror, and stepped out of the car. He paused as the clamour of the busy street washed over him. Shouting, joyous laughing, and in between, the hushed trepidation of being turned away. The thumping music from within Cosmic, some terrible sounding techno song that pricked at the eardrums like cyanide to the nervous system. The alluring smell of fried food, the stagnant essence of stale beer and weed. The warmth of sweat and body heat. Despite this excess of sensations, a chill snaked up Walters’ back and he shivered.

  “I hate this town.”

  Walters veered from the car and slowly walked over to the strange woman.

  Two men flanked her, their frames bulging beneath black leather jackets. He studied her as the approach shortened, and realised his wonderful opportunity. Folded arms, nervous laughter – which was now obvious from this range – and flickering eyes. She was unsettled, and didn’t know the men that stood close to her.

  “Time to rescue the damsel in distress.”

  Walters casually stepped past the men, shot them a wide smile, and held out a hand to the woman. A rush of adrenaline surged through his body. “This way, darling. Our carriage awaits.”

  The woman glanced up, initially confused. Then, her huge brown eyes became heavy with thanks and hesitance in equal measure, a visual sigh of relief that went amiss with the men whose eyes were firmly on the new arrival, their proverbial cockblocker. Walters felt the nerves fraying; the longer he held out his hand to no reaction, the more obvious the ploy. The two men stared at him, mortified, as if he’d shit on their scrumptious cornflakes.

  C’mon. Take it.

  I don’t want to have to…

  She blinked and laughed, placing her hand in his. “About time,” she said, buying into the theatre. “Sorry, guys. My boyfriend and I have a date. Another time, huh?”

  The woman stepped forward and Walters wrapped an arm around her, hugging her close. The two men turned and left, muffled obscenities flying on the chilled air. Neither Walters nor the woman paid them any heed as they moved out of sight.

  A moment later, the woman shrugged off the embracing arm and scanned the surrounding area. She flicked her collar, breathed out, and smiled. “Thank you. Any later and I might have died of complete boredom.”

  Walters remained silent, captivated by the woman’s alluring gaze. Her deep brown eyes were beautiful, flecked with naïve innocence and brazen mischief. She folded her arms and studied her saviour. He faked a smile and nodded, before noticing his dumbfounded silence.

  “No problem.”

  “A man of few words, huh?”

  “I suppose,” Walters replied. A genuine smile spread across his face. He quickly removed it, fought the strange, unexpected emotions that warmed his chest. What is this heresy!

  She’s beautiful. You like her.

  Shut up, Molly.

  “Hopefully you have more to say than Tweedledee and Tweedledum back there?”

  “Let me guess … gym, working out, protein shakes … am I in the ballpark?”

  The woman stifled a giggle with the back of her lithe hand. Walters immediately thought it was the most adorable sound he’d ever heard. His cheeks flushed; he quickly became thankful for the caressing chill that lingered in the air, and nodded as she continued, “A man of few words who’s psychic. This night just got infinitely more interesting.”

  “Not psychic … I like to read people. Bald heads and tight leather jackets, not to mention those scowls of contempt, can only apply to a certain demographic. Besides, the neck acne was a dead giveaway. Supplements do that to a person.”

  The woman eyed the stranger before her, curious. She bit her lip. “You’re observant. I didn’t even notice that.”

  “Probably a good thing. Their charms might have slowly overcome you.”

  “I doubt that. I’m may be oblivious on occasion, but I’m certainly not a dipshit.”

  They shared a chuckle.

  See. You like her.

  “I don’t…” Walters begun, before closing his mouth.

  The woman tilted her head. “Huh?”

  “Nothing. Random thought tried to get out. Mouth before brain. Ever have that?”

  “Sure. All the time.” She chuckled.

  “Funny,” Walters said.

  A silence descended on them. Walters didn’t make eye contact and shuffled his feet. The wom
an unfolded her arms and slipped them into her pockets. “You here for Cosmic?”

  Walters paused. “No. I was just walking by. I like to walk at night. It calms me.”

  “Oh, shame. I’ve been inside. It’s out of this world … excuse the pun. I can get us in, if you want? I know one of the bouncers. It’s the least I can do for the man who saved me from certain boredom.”

  Walters considered the offer.

  No.

  It’s against everything you stand for.

  A public place? Your job would become impossible.

  “I’m sorry. I need to decline.”

  The woman stopped smiling. “Oh. Okay…”

  “But I know somewhere else. Somewhere … better.”

  “Better than Cosmic?”

  “Better than anything you’ve ever seen before. Modern, cutting edge, more exclusive than anything before it. It’s not far from here, actually. You up for a little adventure?”

  The woman glanced at Cosmic. At familiarity, safety. The side of her mouth hitched, plastering a smirk onto her adorable face. “Adventure is my middle name,” she said, the words tinged with confidence. Walters knew it was for show, a façade, and he doubted her real middle name was Adventure, but he smiled anyway.

  He held out an arm. “This way, me lady!”

  The woman looped her arm in his and allowed Walters to guide her down the street. He restrained himself, rubbed his mouth with his spare hand, and held back a victory smile. They moved away from Cosmic, away from civilisation, and headed towards his waiting car. She’d been right about her attention to detail; she was totally oblivious.

  Walters eased away. “So … I know your middle name, but what’s your first?”

  The woman smiled. “That would be telling.”

  “No, really,” Walters probed, the theatre exhausted and his frustration rising.

  She giggled. “Molly.”

  What?

  Walters ignored the questioning chirp from his pocket. “Really?”