Child’s Play 2

by Matthew J. Costello

  Andy knew what Chucky was doing. I’m the one he needs, Andy knew. He needs my body . . . and I’ll be, I’ll be . . .

  “Ade due Damballa, kenyu due Damballa!”

  Andy writhed in the bed, squirming like an eel he had once caught in the Hudson River when he visited his Uncle Jack. It was a big black eel, and it twisted and turned, shimmering black, until it finally spit out the hook and then went crazy in the bottom of the boat. Uncle Jack laughed and threw it back into the river.

  But Chucky will never let me go, Andy thought. He needs me.

  But then Andy heard another sound, at the window. A rattling. The window moving.

  Chucky froze.

  And then Andy saw hands, and a face, and . . .

  It was Kyle! She was sneaking into the house. He watched her press her hands against the window, forcing it up.

  Chucky leaned close to him again.

  “This isn’t over, you little shit. Not by a long shot. I’m not gonna spend the rest of my life as a stupid doll.” Chucky gave Andy’s face a hard squeeze. “The next time you’re alone, you’re mine.”

  The window flew open, and Chucky became still, his face freezing into a peaceful smile. Andy watched Kyle step quietly into the room.

  She probably thought I’d be asleep, Andy knew. She climbed right up the trellis into my room. Then he thought, Chucky’s going to get her. He’ll wait until she’s in the room and leap up and . . .

  Andy started twisting and turning again. Chucky rolled to the side, flat now on Andy’s chest.

  Kyle stepped into the room and then heard Andy’s grunting sounds. She looked down at the bed.

  “Oh my god!” she whispered. “What the . . .”

  She pulled the sock out of Andy’s mouth.

  He gasped and then shouted, “It’s Chucky!” He tried to warn her with his eyes. “Look out! He’s going to get you.”

  Kyle untied his hands. “Will you shut up? You’ll wake Phil and Joanne. What happened to you? Is this a trick you learned how to do or is the Manson family partying downstairs?”

  She doesn’t see, Andy thought. She doesn’t know that Chucky can just reach up and grab her. He can kill her in seconds. His hands were only inches away from her throat. She untied the other hand. “Kill him!” Andy shrieked. “You have to kill him.”

  “An-dy, quiet. You’ll wake up Phil and Joanne and I’ll catch hell. Now stop it, before—”

  “Kill him!” Andy shrieked. His hands were free, and he pushed the doll down to the other end of the bed. “K—”

  The door flew open and Phil rushed in. He turned the light on. “What the—”

  Kyle shot up straight, and Andy saw a sheepish grin on her face. She’s only worried about being caught, Andy knew. That’s all she cares about. She doesn’t believe me about Chucky.

  “You didn’t have to wait up,” Kyle said.

  Joanne pushed past Phil, hurrying into the room. “Andy, what’s happened to you?”

  “It’s Chucky! I told you he’d find me,” Andy cried. “He tried to take my soul . . . He’s going to try again.”

  Joanne sat on the bed and held Andy close. “Shh,” she said. “Don’t worry, Andy. It was just another dream.”

  “But it wasn’t a dream,” he wailed. They have to believe me, he thought. Somehow I have to make them believe me!

  He saw Phil shaking his head. “You’ve really outdone yourself this time, Kyle. Sneaking out when you’re grounded is bad enough. But”—he pointed to the twisted bedsheets—“tying up a little kid so he doesn’t blow the whistle? That’s a new low . . .”

  “Oh, come on, Phil. Do you really think that I . . .”

  Andy struggled away from Joanne. “Chucky did it. It was . . .”

  He looked at the doll, sitting lifelessly against the wall now. Just a doll. Just a silly old doll.

  Joanne put her arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. “Shh, Andy. That’s enough for now.”

  Phil shook his head. “Oh, brother. That does it.”

  Andy saw Phil look at Joanne. His face was angry and mean. He’d like to get rid of me, Andy thought. He wants me out of the house.

  Phil picked up the Good Guy doll. And Andy yelped like a puppy when he saw Phil handling Chucky.

  It is Chucky, he thought. I know it’s Chucky. Somehow he lived. And he’s found me. Please, Mom. Come and get me. Get me away from Chucky. Please.

  “Y—you’ve got to kill him,” Andy said.

  Phil nodded. “Right. Sure.” Phil turned and started walking away with the doll. Andy squirmed away from Joanne.

  “Andy!” she called.

  But Andy ran to the doorway and followed Phil.

  “You’ve got to kill him. Please! Believe me.”

  Andy got to the stairs, and he saw Phil moving down, holding Chucky. “Please listen to me! I’m not lying! Please!”

  Andy hesitated, and then he started down the stairs, the dark stairs, following Phil. He felt the carpet under his feet scratching at his toes, the soles of his feet. At the bottom of the stairs, he saw Phil turn and head for the kitchen.

  Where’s he going? Andy wondered. What is he going to do?

  “Please,” Andy called to him. He didn’t want to follow Phil into the kitchen. It was so dark in there, and he was alone with Chucky. “Please listen to me. I’m not lying . . . I’m not . . .”

  And stopped in the foyer. He heard a door open. He chewed at his lip, and then, after taking a big breath, he ran into the kitchen.

  Phil was at the cellar door, and there was a light on.

  He shouldn’t go down there, Andy knew. He shouldn’t go down there with Chucky.

  “If you don’t kill him, he’ll come and get me!”

  Phil stopped and turned to face Andy. He still held the doll, dangling it from its feet. The light from behind Phil made it impossible to see his face. Was he mad, was he smiling?

  Or was he listening?

  “Andy,” Phil said quietly. “Calm down. I’m going to get rid of the doll. You won’t ever see the doll again.”

  Andy took another few tentative steps inside the kitchen. The floor was cold, and he saw a milky white light outside, in the backyard. “You have to kill him,” Andy said quietly. “You have to kill him . . . in his heart. Or he’ll . . .”

  Phil nodded. “I’ll get rid of him. Andy. Don’t worry. It will be all right.

  Andy nodded. He backed away. It was too cold here, too dark. And he didn’t like the strange light outside.

  Phil turned away and brought the doll back, almost as if he were going to swing it at Andy. But then he threw it down, into the cellar.

  Andy stood there, listening to Chucky hit one step and then tumble down the rest of the way.

  Phil reached up and pulled the string.

  And they were both in the dark.

  I’ll get you too, Chucky thought while he was still cartwheeling through the air.

  Yes, he thought again with the first thump on the wooden steps, I’ll take care of you, Mr. Suburbanite. We’ll fix your wagon. And your stupid little wife too.

  Lots of things we can do here.

  He banged down the steps, head over heels, each thwap sending another reminder that his soul was being locked into this made-in-Taiwan body. Then, finally, his head cracked against the concrete floor of the cellar, and he nearly screamed from the pain.

  He was in the dark. The light was off, and the door was slammed shut. He heard Phil call but, “He’s gone now, Andy. Okay? He can’t bother you anymore.”

  Chucky heard something else as well. Something down here . . . chittering and moving, right down here. And now—this was a first, sports fans—there were smells. He was smelling again! Dank, wet smells. Nearly as bad as that rat hole he had shared with Eddie Caputo. Poor Eddie.

  If Eddie hadn’t left him behind, none of this would have happened. And Eddie had to pay a big ticket price for that error in judgment. Poor bastard got spooked and fired his gun when he didn’t know th
e gas was on. It was instant tenement removal, rats and all.

  That’s what Eddie was . . . just another big rat.

  Chucky reached behind and felt the crack in his head. Ow, that was nasty. A real split in the skull. But he noticed, as he sat up, that it didn’t appear to affect his thought processes at all.

  Then he felt something wet drip onto the top of his overalls.

  Oh, shit, no, he thought. Not again.

  He reached his hand around and felt his bloody, wet nose. He looked at his fingers, catching the pitiful amount of light in this dungeon.

  He heard tiny feet, sniffing close to him.

  More blood. It’s getting late, too late! It has to be tomorrow or I’ll be trapped, he thought.

  The feet scuttled closer. He thought he felt wiry hairs brush against his back. The rats must sniff the blood, he thought. They must get a bit hungry down here.

  The rat came closer, and its hairs stuck through the material of his shirt. He smelled the fetid breath of the animal. It must eat some pretty weird garbage down here.

  Chucky waited, just a few seconds, before he turned around and grabbed the rat around its neck. It twisted in his hands, which were strong and powerful.

  “No, I got you,” Chucky screamed at it.

  The rat tried working its needle-nosed snout around to chew at Chucky’s hand. But Chucky bowed his arms out so just the hands held the rat and it couldn’t bite anything.

  The rat coughed and Chucky increased the pressure. He heard more sounds, more chittering and movement. The other rats were moving in for the kill. Chucky pressed harder until he thought he heard something snap.

  A wet goo leaked out of the rat’s nostrils, over Chucky’s hands, and onto the stone floor.

  “Man, that’s gross,” he hissed. And he threw the rat off into the corner. He heard the other animals swarm after it.

  He guessed that they wouldn’t be bothering him for the rest of his short stay down here.

  16

  Joanne did her best to act normal. She had bags under her eyes and more and more she was beginning to think that Phil was right. Andy might be too much of a problem for them. Even Kyle was too much. She thought about the broken statue, the shattered mother, the baby.

  Maybe, she admitted, it was time to put away my fantasy of being a mother.

  Andy was waiting at her elbow for her to finish putting his sandwich in a baggie. She slid the bagged sandwich inside a brown bag with a banana and a granola bar.

  “There you go,” she said, smiling.

  Andy didn’t smile back.

  “Come on,” she heard Kyle call from the front door. “We’re late, for crying out loud.”

  Joanne stepped close to Andy. This has to be a tough day for him, she thought. Brand new school, new kids. And . . .

  She reached out and touched his shoulders. “Andy, have a good day.”

  He nodded.

  She kept smiling, but the boy’s face was grim, set; his eyes kept shifting over to the cellar door.

  He’s obsessed, she thought. And for the first time she wondered if those other stories she had heard could be true.

  Someone killed that baby-sitter.

  She looked at him.

  Could it have been . . . ?

  “Andy!” Kyle yelled.

  Joanne smiled again, forcing the cloud away. She pulled him close and planted a kiss on the top of his head. “Better go,” she whispered.

  He seemed so sweet, she thought. She went to the kitchen window and watched him run to catch up with Kyle at the curb.

  Phil had said he was going to call the center about Kyle today. She can’t stay, he said. Not after what she had done.

  Joanne watched them walk away, golden in a brilliant morning sun. The way it would be if they were my kids, she thought—making lunches, kissing them good-bye.

  Then they were gone, and she turned away from the window.

  She saw the cellar door.

  The doll was down there.

  “Chucky did it,” Andy had screamed. “You’ve got to kill him.”

  Kyle swore that she hadn’t had anything to do with it. The whole thing was just like . . .

  Someone grabbed her elbow. And Joanne made a small yelping sound and then turned to see Phil, who planted a kiss on her neck.

  “An egg shake?” she offered distractedly.

  But he shook his head. “No, sweets, I’m running late. Big meeting first thing. I’ll grab an oat bran muffin from Pedro’s cart.”

  He started for the front door and she followed.

  “Are you going to call the center?” she asked, so very quietly.

  Phil scooped up his attaché case on his way out to the driveway, and then kept on going. “Yes,” he said. Joanne followed him outside. “Yes, because we haven’t gotten a decent night’s sleep since that boy got here, Joanne. We can’t live this way.” He got to his car and stopped. “I can’t live this way.”

  “So what are you suggesting we do?” She squinted in the sun. She knew the answer he would give.

  “You don’t have to make it sound so horrible. It just didn’t . . .” He popped open his car door. “. . . work out.”

  She reached out and grabbed his arm. “Do you know how horrible that will be for him? To have to go back there?”

  “Traumatic for him . . . or you, Joanne?” She turned away. He was serious this time. But she felt him touch her back. “Hey, I’m sorry, Joanne. I’ve supported you in this whole foster parents thing. But I’m worried about you . . . about us. He’d have to leave eventually. So would Kyle. They all do. They don’t belong to us.”

  “I know that. Believe me, I know that.” She turned back to him. She took his hand in hers. “I just think we can help him. He’s so scared, and so alone. It’s not fair.”

  “It’s more than we can handle,” Phil said emphatically. “We tried, but he’s a special kid. He needs special help.” He got into the car. “It’s way out of our league.” Phil shut the door and then rolled down the window.

  Joanne nodded and then leaned close to kiss him. She watched while he started the engine and backed down the driveway. He gave her a final wave before he roared off down the sun-bleached street.

  Joanne pulled her robe close and turned back, slowly, to the house.

  But then she stopped.

  There, in the driveway, she saw pieces of glass. A big piece, then smaller pieces scattered around. She looked up at the living-room window, then up to the bedroom windows, but everything looked intact.

  She knelt down to get a better look at the glass pieces.

  She picked the big piece up carefully in her hands, noticing the trace of green paint near one edge. Then she looked straight ahead, at the recessed window of the cellar, at the splintery green window frame.

  One of the panes was broken.

  As if a baseball had sailed into it. No, not a baseball. More like a volleyball.

  She shook her head. No, it didn’t look like something had crashed into it.

  It looked like something had crashed out.

  But she stood up, and beyond making a note to call the glazier, she thought no more about the broken window.

  “Will you move your butt?”

  Andy looked up and saw Kyle, waiting for him at the corner. He looked back at the house, thinking about Joanne alone with Chucky. She should believe me, he thought. She’s in danger . . . They’re all in danger.

  “Come on!” Kyle yelled. Andy jogged along the clean sidewalk in the bright sun. This was so different from the city, where there was garbage everywhere, where the streets were filled with wads of dried gum and cigarettes.

  He jogged up next to Kyle.

  “You know, you’re going to miss your bus, squirt. And I’m going to be late for school.” Kyle reached out and pulled him by the collar until he was right next to her. Then she hurried him around the corner and down the block.

  Andy looked ahead and saw a line of kids waiting. “The bus stops right here at
eight-thirty,” Kyle said, “which means that it will be here any second. They don’t wait for you and Joanne can’t drive you.” She looked down at him, her face all squinty and mad. “So don’t be late ’cause they’ll blame me.”

  Andy nodded. And he felt something. As if he was being watched. As if somewhere back at the corner, near a clump of bushes . . .

  He turned around. But there was nothing there, just the bright, blinding sun bouncing off the white houses, the clean sidewalk, the flat black street.

  “Hey, what are you looking for?” Kyle said.

  He turned back quickly. “Nothing,” he said.

  She leaned close to him, an evil smile on her face. “Are you afraid Chucky is coming to get you?”

  She spoke quietly, but Andy saw the other kids looking over, wondering who the new kid was, he guessed. Wondering what Kyle was saying.

  Maybe they know I’m just a foster kid.

  He shook his head. And then he heard the distant roar of a bus. His mom always took him to school—he never took a school bus. Now he heard this terrible groaning sound in the distance. He couldn’t see the bus, but a low rumble filled the air. The other kids started jostling for places on line. He saw one boy with a short, wiry haircut push a smaller kid out of the way. Then the kid with the short haircut laughed.

  Not a nice kid, Andy guessed.

  Kyle was still there, still close to him.

  “Hey, Andy boy. Tell me one thing. How did you manage to tie yourself up last night? That was one gnarly trick.”

  The roar of the bus grew, and even blocks away, Andy saw the yellow shape take the corner and come charging toward him.

  “I already told you,” he said. “I told you what happened.”

  “Oh, right.” Kyle laughed. She backed away from him. “Get real.”

  The bus seemed to be going too fast to ever stop in front of the line of kids. But then with a great squeal of its brakes, it stopped right at the head of the line. The doors whooshed open and the kids filed in.

  Andy started for the line . . . but then turned to Kyle. “I know you don’t believe me,” he said. “No one believes me. You’re just like everyone else!”

  He stepped onto the bus and took another look at Kyle. Her face had changed. She wasn’t grinning, and there wasn’t a nasty sneer on her face. She looked . . .