The Knick Knack Nightmare

by C. M. Bacon

  Mom was about to correct him, but she waved instead. The cruiser drove, knocking and sputtering, east toward Garden Glen.

  Arvin raised his hand. “Can I talk now?”

  Ms. Pewter growled. “You get two words. And they had better be good ones.”

  “Look up.” Arvin pointed to a flickering street light.

  “Oh, thank God.”

  I cleared my throat. “Mom?”

  “You get one word.” The blonde dragon’s fire singed my ears.

  I didn’t need any. I only had to hold out my palm. My magic coin shimmered under the streetlight.

  “Good.” Mom stroked her chin. “Now, where are my garden shears?”

  “No!” Arvin and I jumped.

  “Bury it,” Ms. Pewter suggested. “You did before. You can do it again.”

  I pointed to the dead, split oak, brown grass, and bare shrubs. “We can’t bury it again. It’s poison.”

  “Then hide it,” Arvin said. “Somewhere safe. Somewhere hard to find. Not in your trunk. Not under the ground or near anything alive.”

  Mom motioned for us to follow her into the house. “I have an idea. Several actually. Perry, Arvin and Patricia will be staying with us for a while. Patty, you can use my office. It’s no problem to move the desk out. Perry and Arvin will share Perry’s room for the time being.”

  “No, Debbie. I couldn’t put you out. It wouldn’t be fair to either of you.”

  “Mom,” Arvin tugged on his mom’s sweater, “it’s okay to ask for help.”

  “My son. So smart. You’re right, of course. Now go be quiet over by Perry. You’re thirty words over your limit. I’ll deduct them from tomorrow’s total.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Minus thirty-one.” The ginger dragon’s fire showed no signs of fading.

  Arvin tiptoed backwards and stepped on a rubber duck.

  QUACK

  The ginger dragon flashed her fangs. Arvin whimpered, franticly pointing at the duck. The ginger dragon was appeased and let him live.

  “I don’t want to lose words from tomorrow’s count, but we need to find the knight before we go inside.” I looked around. “Look for one with a missing arm.”

  We kicked over piles and dug through large mounds with our bare hands. Mom and Ms. Pewter found three bronze knights. None were ours, but we broke off all their arms and legs just to be sure. If he was there, he had hid himself under one of many mountains so high, sorting through them would’ve taken weeks.

  “Look, it’s Mr. Happy Face.” Mom picked up the gnome and wiped clean his plump, rosy cheeks. The tip of his red hat had broken off. Otherwise, he was intact, smiling at us with that permanent, creepy grin. Mom turned him over, checked his feet, and rubbed her fingers over his wide belt. Paint flaked off a corner of the buckle. “Just a few small repairs, and he’ll be the same innocent garden gnome your dad bought for me all those years ago.” Mom’s smile melted. She hurled Mr. Happy face over my head. It broke on her oak, and its hat rolled away. “Oh, well. I have to visit the home store to order a new window. I might as well pick up a garden gnome. One of those big, concrete ones with the feet stuck in a rock. I’ll name it Mr. Stationary.”

  Arvin’s evil grin caught my eye. He winked at me, “Ten thousand points,” and laughed.

  Ms. Pewter punted a tin blimp over the fence and turned back to Arvin. “Minus thirty-four.”

  ELEVEN

  Street lights flickered up and down Shelby Lane. Across the street, a lamp turned on, curtains ruffled, an old lady peeked out, and went back to whatever old ladies do in their houses. Our side regained power at last, and Shelbyville began to wake from its nightmare. Would it ever be the same? I hoped not.

  Mom and I agreed a hidden floor safe would be the best place for my coin, and she put it on her list for the home store. I removed a loose brick from the side of the fireplace, put the coin in the hole, and slid the brick back into place. A temporary solution, but one that satisfied the dragon.

  Mom plugged in our phones and turned on all the radios and TVs in the house. “If there’s a broadcast, we’ll hear it right away.” She looked at the shatter living room window. Pieces of glass jutted out from the corners, but most of the window was laying on the floor. She taped three large trash bags together and stapled them over the frame, blocking the wind. “That’s it for tonight. We’ll go to the home store tomorrow afternoon. Patty, help me move the office desk into my bedroom.” Mom offered Ms. Pewter my room, and asked Arvin and me to camp in the office.

  I loathed the thought of ginger scales on my pillows, but I didn’t want Mom to take a word from tomorrow’s limit, so I grabbed Arvin and climbed into the attic. I found our old sleeping bags in the attic and rolled them out on the office floor. A sweet scent, better than cinnamon rolls, filled the room. Pine smoke, melting marshmallows, chocolate, and graham crackers. The smell lingered, and for a moment I was sitting beside a campfire listening to the wood crackle and pop, watching the air as it filled with smoke, turning away when Mom and Dad kissed. I would’ve let the world crumble if I could crawl into that sleeping bag, wrap myself in those memories and never come out.

  The sun rose over the horizon before we went to bed. Arvin wore one of dad’s old t-shirts as a nightgown. It stretched from his neck to his knees. Oversized and silly. Arvin’s flag diaper 2.0.

  “Night, P.”

  “Goodnight, buddy.”

  Arvin was a little person, a giant, then a little person again. I always thought he’d be different if he were taller, his height made him awkward, and his sardonic wit was how he compensated for it. I was wrong about a lot of things. Arvin had always been more than his height. Kaila said he’d always be a giant to her. I couldn’t agree more. But if he was a giant, what was I? I had a lot of work to do on myself. And my list of faults had grown longer than Arvin’s red curls.

  Arvin squinted. “Perry?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Stop staring at me. It’s creepy, and I’m trying to sleep.”

  “Sorry. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight.” Arvin shut his eyes.

  We fell asleep with all the lights on, TV screens flickering, and static on the radio.

  I awoke to high squeals and rapid beeps coming from downstairs. The sun had already passed over the house. Two or three o’clock maybe. A digital watch on Mom’s bookshelf read, 3:17 PM. I left Arvin drooling on my sleeping bag and walked downstairs in my shoes. I stepped into the foyer, and my heart sank. It was shocking. Broken glass on the floor, a hole in the wall where Mr. Happy Face hit, bits of drywall and white dust on the TV and radio, broken coffee table, and ripped sofa cushions. Dad’s recliner was gone. It sat on the curb in three big pieces, waiting for the dump.

  “Watch your step.” Ms. Pewter swept glass into a neat pile by the front floor. “I’ve cleaned up the worst of it, but you don’t want to step on any pieces I might’ve missed.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Of course.”

  “Where’s Mom?”

  “In the kitchen, on the phone with Martin.”

  I gave her a brief finger wave and headed for the kitchen.

  “Why don’t you give her a minute? She could stand to hear some good news.”

  I wiped the crusty gunk from my eyes. “What about Mr. Patterson? Have you talked to him?”

  “Not yet. My cell phone’s buried somewhere in my house. No worries. I gave Tim your mom’s number just in case.”

  BEEP BEEP SQEECH EEEE

  I looked at the radio. “How long’s it been doing that?”

  “It’s been going off and on all morning. The TV screen cycled through a few colors and symbols an hour ago. There was a news broadcast, but it shut off again.”

  “What did they say?”

  “I couldn’t tell. Just some static and a few still frames of Cynthia Stitch at the news desk. If Tim were here, we’d make a bet as to which would come on first - the radio or TV.”

  “You miss him?”

  �
�Sure. But I only met Tim a couple weeks ago. Your mom’s dated Martin for months. Did she tell you about them?” Ms. Pewter spotted a stray shard and swept it into the pile.

  “About getting remarried?” I folded my arms across my chest. “She mentioned it.”

  “Perry, you’ll always be the most important man in your mom’s life. If you don’t want her to marry Martin, she won’t. The Good Lord knows she’d sacrifice herself for you if you let her. That’s what parents do.”

  “What about Tim? Would you marry him if Arvin didn’t approve?”

  “Arvin will go off to college in two years. I know it. He knows it. Arvin would never put himself between me and my happiness.”

  “You think I would?”

  Ms. Pewter leaned the broom against the wall. “Arvin’s been without his dad a few years longer than you, and truth be told, I think Arvin remembers the fire more than him. Even so, Arvin went through the ‘mom’s protector’ phase for a while. He got over it pretty quickly on his own.”

  I nodded.

  “But not you.” She pursed her lips. “You need a swift kick in the butt - if you don’t mind me saying so. Take this advice from someone who’s been through what your mom is going through now. Don’t make her choose between you and Martin. You’ll win. She’ll lose. Martin, too. And when you go off to college, she’ll be alone in this house.”

  She’ll be alone. I hated those words. What an awful thing to say. Would Mom sacrifice her happiness for me? Forever? I asked myself the same questions, but I couldn’t answer. Had the last few years been all about me? How I felt? What I wanted? How could I remove ‘me’ from my vocabulary?

  The radio hissed and crackled, and Mom pushed open the kitchen door. “Good morning, everyone. Where’s Arvin?”

  “Morning, Mom. He’s still asleep.”

  “How did—”

  “How did you sleep, Mom?”

  Mom crooked her head to the side. “Fine.”

  “Can I make you a pot of coffee?” Make coffee? What was I thinking? Please say no.

  “Sure.”

  Eek! “Coming right up.” I grinned wide enough for a dentist.

  “Before Perry makes coffee,” Mom smiled at me, “I want to tell you all the fantastic news. Martin’s okay. He’ll be here this evening.”

  “So soon?” Ms. Pewter asked. “Isn’t he supposed to be in Tokyo until Sunday?”

  “He said he called us all twenty times. When nobody answered, he booked the next flight out. But then he got stuck in a bathroom at Tokyo Narita for two days.”

  “How that’d happen?” I asked.

  “Geisha dolls, if you can imagine. They locked him in the restroom and made him wash and dry his hands nine hundred and ninety-nine times. Made him count it, too.”

  I hugged Mom. “I’m happy he’s okay.”

  “You are?”

  “I mean, I’m happy you’re happy he’s okay. Okay?”

  “O-kay.” Mom raised an eyebrow.

  Arvin skipped down the stairs. “What’s for breakfast?”

  Ms. Pewter ushered us into the kitchen. “There are cinnamon rolls on the table, and Perry was about to make everyone coffee.”

  Arvin looked at me as the door swung shut. “You make coffee?”

  “I can. Watch.” Four scoops of coffee went into the basket and four cups of water into the back of the machine. I turned it on. “See. Nothing to it.”

  “Whatever. Just don’t burn your eyebrow off.”

  “She told you that story?”

  “Twice. And you’ve told it at least three times. Why does his cartoon eyebrow switch sides every time?”

  “She doesn’t remember.”

  “She’s not the only one. You’ve told me left. You’ve told me right.”

  “Have I?”

  “It’s like flipping a coin for heads or tales.”

  “Maybe neither of us remember.”

  “Maybe you’re both moving on.” Arvin stuck up his nose. “Is something burning?”

  “I’m making coffee.”

  Arvin leaned to the side and smiled. “You forgot the pot.”

  Coffee dripped on the hot plate, sizzled, and burned. I grabbed a pot from the dish drain and stuck it under the nozzle. “All better.”

  He shook his head. “You and your mother.”

  High pitch tones, rapid beeps, and garbled noises came from the living room. Then dramatic music. Arvin and I looked at each other, “Channel 11 News,” and joined Mom and Ms. Pewter on the ripped couch.

  Cynthia Stitch sat behind the anchor desk fumbling through a stack of blue paper. Her hair was frizzy and dull, lipstick painted her teeth, and her fish tank eyeglasses were missing a lens, making one eye look triple the size of the other. She cleared her throat and spoke into the camera.

  “Panic swept across the globe this week as people fell victim to a bizarre kind of mass hysteria. While emergency services reported few injuries in Shelbyville, a dozen stores were robbed of food and other items, and five cars were reported stolen though none of the owners could describe the perpetrators. In light of current events, Shelbyville Mayor Whitman Bergin used his executive powers to call off the Shelbyville Police strike, insisting officers return to work. Their first assignment: find those responsible for kidnapping and imprisoning over three hundred Shelbyville residents in Garden Glen mall. This has been Cynthia Stitch. Now to Tanya Nesbit - live outside Hoffman Psychiatric Hospital.”

  Why is Tanya Nesbit always outside the psychiatric hospital? Did Shelbyville have enough sick people to fill all ten floors? Tanya Nesbit wore a heavy black coat. White down feathers fell out of long gashes ripped down the front. Two caught the breeze. One flew into her nose. The other stuck in her hair. She pulled them out and continued like it never happened. Arvin and I, however, were in stitches.

  “Thank you, Cynthia. Hoffman Psychiatric Hospital was inundated with calls and visitors this morning as numerous Shelbyville sought professional help following reports of hallucinations and mass hysteria. Everyone has their own ideas as to what happened. Some say it was the result of bad medication. Others insist knick-knacks were to blame. One of Shelbyville’s finest had a unique theory of his own.”

  Video played of two men in white uniforms tying a tall, slender, man with dark hair to a hospital gurney. He wore a white straitjacket, and his arms were tied across the front. The text on the screen read, Ofc. Matt Larkin, SPD. “It’s in the water!” He screamed and kicked as he was rolled him into Hoffman. “It’s the shadow government. The shadow government! Mind control!”

  Tanya Nesbit pressed a finger to her ear. “Let’s all hope Officer Larkin gets the help he needs. More on this story as it develops. I’m Tanya Nesbit for WCRN Channel 11 News. Back to you, Cynthia.”

  Ms. Stitch finished cleaning her lens and put the glasses back on. “Thank you, Tanya. Officer Matt Larkin, if you recall from our earlier broadcast, is the hero who rescued those people from Garden Glen Mall. Here’s to wishing him a speedy recovery and to the doctors at Hoffman Psychiatric Hospital entrusted to his care. Repeating our top story, emergency services brought this unidentified man into Saint Anthony’s hospital early this morning. Police say they found the victim near Shelbyville Botanical Gardens, and as you’ll see, he’s missing an arm. While unsure how the limb was severed, authorities believe it to be the same appendage found in Garden Glen Mall. Thus far, he has been unable to give his name or circumstances of his injuries and has been sedated following several violent outbursts. Doctors are requesting the public’s help to identify this man. We warn you, the video you’re about to see is quite graphic.”

  The news switched to a blurry video of the chubby, balding man, unconscious and bloody on a hospital bed. Tubes pushed fluid into one arm, and a bandaged, bloody stump was all that remained of the other. A nurse held open his eyelids and shined a flashlight into his jade green eyes.

  Ms. Pewter gasped. “It’s Tim. He’s hurt.”

  “It’s Tim,” I said to Arvin.
>
  Arvin nodded. “It is Tim.”

  “We have to go to Saint Anthony’s.”

  “We can’t get him yet.” I pointed to the video. “Look. He’s missing an arm.”

  “You saw him in that bed. He’s hurt. We have to go now.”

  “He’s hurt because I used an M80 to blow off his arm. Tim’s the bronze knight.”

  “That’s ludicrous.” Ms. Pewter grabbed Mom’s keys off the wall hook. “He was one of the men going around, asking questions for the census.”

  “One of them?” Mom said. “How many census takers were there?”

  “Two. The first one came by in the morning. He had blond hair and silver blue eyes. Tall. I answered his questions, and he left. I don’t remember his name. Tim was the second one. Debbie, didn’t Tim visit you?”

  “No. Just the blond one in the morning. He asked some questions about me and Perry, and then he walked off.”

  “What was his name?” Arvin asked his mom.

  “Something with an L. It didn’t seem important at the time.”

  “And where was I?” I asked Mom.

  “You and Arvin went swimming with Kaila and Emilia.”

  Arvin crossed his arms. “Too bad I wasn’t here. I could’ve told you the census isn’t for another two years.”

  Ms. Pewter pressed her fingers against her temples and rubbed in circles. “If he isn’t Tim Patterson, who is he?”

  I pulled out the loose brick and removed the coin. “I didn’t want to use this again, but it’s the only way.”

  We arrived at Saint Anthony’s an hour later. Tan walls. Push button doors. People coughing and weezing. The smell of bleach on everything. I rubbed the coin in my pocket as Ms. Pewter asked to identify the mysterious one-armed man.

  The nurse looked up from the computer screen. Cat eye frames hung from a beaded chain around her neck. “And how do you know the patient?”

  “We were dating,” Ms. Pewter said. “His name’s Tim Patterson.”