by Michael Bray
“Should it be doing that?” Gloria asked as Johnson worked on unscrewing the panel.
“No. Although the dolls only have a set number of responses, it should wait until it is interacted with.”
“Hi, I’m Tilly Greeneyes. Can we play together?”
“Hi, I’m Tilly Greeneyes. Can we play together?”
“Well, I can see why people would send the damn things back, it’s annoying.” Gloria said as she sat back on the sofa.
“Yeah, I’ll shut it up in a second.” He muttered as he pulled the casing open.
“Hi I’m Tilly Greeneyes. Can we...”
Johnson pulled the battery, and the doll was silenced.
“At last.” Gloria grumbled. “That thing was driving me insane.”
“Well, the good thing is it gives me an idea of what I’m looking for fault wise. This might not take too long after all.”
“Good, the sooner the better. I’m getting hungry.”
There’s a cafeteria upstairs. It will be closed but there are a couple of vending machines if you want to get a bite to eat.”
“What a romantic night this is turning into.” She grumbled under her breath.
He glanced at her and frowned, then saw that she was only half-serious.
“Do you want anything?” She asked as she stood and stretched.
“Maybe a can of something cold.”
“I’ll take a look. You and old Greeneyes here behave.”
“One affair is enough for me.” He said as she passed him. He watched her go, and then turned his attention back to the dolls innards. Everything looked to be as it should, and after giving everything a quick once over, he slipped the battery back into the doll and switched it on. Immediately, it spoke.
“Hi I’m Tilly Greeneyes. Where is Gloria?”
He smiled, and could understand why kids could get so involved, it really was lifelike. He supposed it was as good a chance as any to test the memory engine, and so placed the doll in a seated position on the desk in front of him.
“Gloria isn’t here, Tilly.” He said, marvelling at the way the doll’s eyes seemed to be looking right at him. “You will have to make do with me.”
“I want to play with Gloria. She is my best friend.”
“Can you remember my name?” Johnson asked the doll.
“I’m Tilly Greeneyes. Where is Gloria?”
“What is my name?” Johnson repeated slowly, wondering if perhaps it was a microphone issue that was stopping the doll from picking up the required information.
The Tilly doll turned its head, and Johnson was almost certain that it had scowled at him.
“Where is Gloria?”
Johnson felt a prickle of fear, and looked at the foot tall composite of electronics, plastic and lightweight steel on the desk. Its response was one of the ‘canned’ ones that were programmed into the unit, but the delivery was different. It sounded… aggressive.
“She isn’t here.” Johnson repeated, wondering why he felt so exposed.
The doll blinked at him, and then there was no doubt, it smiled at him, which was quite impossible, as they couldn’t figure out a way at prototype to make it work.
“Liar, Liar, pants on fire.” The doll said to him, and then it hit him, the reason for his fear and discomfort.
There was no way the doll could have learned Gloria’s name. He was certain that he hadn’t said it since they arrived.
He started to consider the fact that the reason that so many Tilly dolls had been returned wasn’t a technical fault at all, but something much worse. It was either that, or he had gone insane. He licked his lips and spoke to the doll, trying to figure out if it was just some kind of software fault.
“Do you remember my name?” He asked, knowing that the tiny cameras behind the doll’s eyes should have recorded his face, and matched it with the spoken audio of his name.
“I don’t want to play with you, Tom.” The doll said, its face contorting into expressions that were never within its design perimeters. “I want to play with Gloria.”
“She will be back soon, until then it’s just you and me.”
The doll flexed its hands, and blinked its plastic eyelids.
“Don’t you mean you and us?”
Johnson looked up through the window leading onto the shop floor, and although he wanted to run, he was unable to move. They were standing, all of them surrounding the office and looking at him. Tilly Greeneyes screwed up her plastic features, and pointed at Johnson.
“You lied to us Tom, you said Gloria would come back to play with us.”
“She will be back soon.” He stammered, still struggling to make sense of what was happening.
“No she won’t.” Tilly said, as she hopped to her feet.
“Why not?” Johnson asked, already sure that he knew the answer.
“Gloria is dead.” The doll said simply, and he laughed, because they were all saying it, a terrible, emotionless symphony of voices. He shoved himself back, the office chair rolling across the room where it bumped into the sofa, he covered his ears, but it did him no good, the volume was just too great, and he thought he understood now why Davies had suddenly quit.
Tilly Greeneyes hopped off the desk, and approached Johnson, behaving in a way that should be impossible.
“We just want to play. Why won’t you play with us?”
“This isn’t real.” He mumbled to himself.
“This is real Tom, we are real. We just want to play.”
He wasn’t certain if it was driven by panic or adrenaline, but he burst into action, sprinting for the door and almost tearing it from its hinges as he opened it. He could make the exit in fifteen seconds if he really ran, and then he was home free.
They are just dolls
He told himself as he made for the exit, but they moved quickly and their sheer number swarmed him. He stumbled, almost stayed upright, and then fell, landing hard on the concrete floor. The latex covered skeletal hands clawed at him, and held him down, rolling him over so that he was staring at the ceiling. He didn’t shout or scream, as his body had reached the point where he was beyond terror. He simply lay still and waited, watching wide-eyed as Tilly Greeneyes approached. She hopped up onto Johnson’s chest, and she was holding a screwdriver from his tool bag, although it was now covered in blood and matted clumps of Gloria’s hair. He knew it was coming, and that he was about to join her.
“We want you to help us Tom.” Tilly said as she paused inches from his face, screwdriver in hand.
“All we want to do is play.”
“Please, I’ll do anything.” He stammered, desperate to live, and suddenly unable to think about anything but his wife, and the guilt at his infidelity that now overcame him in droves. He started to cry, blubbering in a way that he hadn’t done since he was a child.
“Don’t cry, Tom.” Tilly said as two of her fellow dolls neared.
“All you need to do is help us; we just want to go back to our masters and play.”
Johnson nodded. “Anything, I’ll do anything, just please, please don’t kill me.”
Tilly Greeneyes smiled, and nodded.
“This is what we want you to do…”
Clipping from the Oakwell Herald, January 17th, 2013.
Tragedy struck Oakwell this past Monday night, when business executive, Tom Johnson (37) was arrested on suspicion of murder.
Mr. Johnson is said to have lured a local woman, Miss Gloria Spengler (23) to a warehouse on the outskirts of Oakwell, where it is thought he murdered her with a screwdriver.
Police sources claim that Mr. Johnson was found at the scene, and was reported to be catatonic, and unresponsive. It is understood that a weapon was recovered from the scene, and investigators confirmed that they are not looking for anyone else in connection with the murder.
Detective Petrov, who is leading the investigation, confirmed that Mr. Johnson was the only suspect, and despite protesting his innocence, he is expected to be charged at Oakwell County Cou
rt next week.
In related news, rumors of manufacturing issues with the latest range of Tilly Dolls from Randall's Toys continue to circulate. The rumors relating to inconsistencies with the software used to make the dolls function were dispelled by company CEO James Crockett, Mr. Crockett said:
“I can confirm that following reports of a suspected fault with the Tilly range of dolls, an expert was dispatched to investigate, and reported in to say that the dolls were in perfect working order and fit for resale.”
Mr. Crockett declined to comment on the situation involving Mr. Johnson, saying that the company would support the police in their investigations.
The Tilly range of dolls are set to be the number one must have toy this year, with experts predicting that within twelve months, eighty percent of all family homes worldwide would own one of the lifelike dolls, which look set to be another smash hit success for the Randall Toy Company.
LONG TALL COFFIN
It was the first time Charlie had seen Ferguson since high school. He wanted to go over and say hello, but remembering how things used to be, hesitated. Surely, there would be no hard feelings. Not now. After all, it had been eight years, and they were adults now. Still, he stayed where he was, watching his former classmate from across the bar, and trying to decide if he should go over or just slink away before he was spotted. All of that was rendered moot, however, and Ferguson caught his eye, and after a few seconds without reaction, nodded and grinned. Charlie responded, tipping his glass. He slid out of his booth, and taking his beer with him, crossed toward the bar to where Ferguson was sitting.
“Hey Charlie. Long time no see.” Ferguson said with a smile.
“Tell me about it. How have you been?”
Ferguson shrugged. “Can’t complain. You?”
“I’m good, really good actually.” Charlie replied. “God, how long has it been since we were at school together?
Ferguson frowned, and Charlie noted that even though time had passed, he still looked pretty much exactly the same. Sure, he was a little older, and had changed his hairstyle, but he was still the same kid-
Fergie Faggott
- That had been his classmate for their entire school career until, as was life, everyone went off into the world to try to make their mark.
“Hell it will be... almost nine years now.” Ferguson said.
“Jesus, time flies huh?”
“It does. You still play football?”
“Not anymore, I’m too big for it now.” Charlie said, more than aware that although he was still stocky, he was starting to get soft in the gut and grow an extra chin or two under the crew cut that he had worn since he was a kid.
“You here with anyone?” Ferguson asked as he sipped his beer.
“No, I just called in for a quick beer after work. You?”
Ferguson shook his head. “Same. I usually go down to Shooters, but today I felt like changing the routine.”
“Small world huh?” Charlie said.
“That it is.”
The two men stood silent, each trying as best they could to avoid the elephant in the room.
“Want a beer?” Ferguson asked.
“Yeah, why not. I have time for one more.”
“Well go ahead and take a seat.” Ferguson said, gesturing to the empty barstool next to him. Charlie sat as Ferguson ordered beers. The two sat quietly and drank for a few minutes, watching the football game on the big screen TV above the bar.
“So.” Charlie said. “What are you up to these days man?”
“Apart from work, not a hell of a lot.” Ferguson shot back as he took a great swig of beer.
Charlie looked at his former classmate in profile, and now that he was a little closer, he was again struck by how little his appearance had altered. He was still skinny, he still wore glasses, although those were more modern now than the huge black framed ones that he used to wear at school. The only thing that really seemed to have altered was his confidence, and unlike when they were in school, Ferguson could now look Charlie in the eye when they spoke.
“What about you?” Ferguson said with a grin. “How is life treating Charlie Brooks these days?”
“Not bad.” Charlie said, managing to fake a grin.
In truth, life of late had developed a habit of kicking Charlie in the balls on what felt like a daily basis. He was working a shitty job, only just managing to make ends meet and was in the middle of what was looking increasingly likely to be a very messy divorce. He took another drink and swallowed away his problems.
“Are you married? Kids?” Ferguson pressed, and Charlie felt a slicker of the old anger towards Ferguson, and was starting to wish he hadn’t walked over to say hi.
“No kids, and although I’m married, I won’t be for long.”
Ferguson sucked air through his teeth and shook his head.
“I’m sorry to hear that Charlie, I really am.”
“Me too.”
“What happened?”
“She decided to screw around behind my back.”
“That can’t be easy to live with.”
“Damn right it ain't. She just came clean out of the blue one day. Confessed everything… anyway you can probably guess the rest.”
“Look I’m sorry, really I am.”
I bet you are, you fuckin’ asshole.
Charlie’s thoughts were taking a decidedly dark turn, which was all just a little too familiar, especially where Ferguson was concerned. However, he reminded himself that those days were behind them, and they were adults now. He sipped his beer and turned the tables, suddenly curious to see if his former classmate was faring any better than he was.
“What about you Ferguson? What have you been doing since school ended?”
He was bitter and didn’t hide it, but if Ferguson noticed, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he shrugged.
“Well, I got married, have a son and a daughter.”
“Yeah? Good on you man. I’m glad to hear it.” Charlie said, almost able to hide his jealousy.
“What are you doing for work?” Charlie pressed, suddenly keen to know as much as possible about the kid he used to bully.
“You heard of Trans Ex?”
“The export guys? Sure, I heard of them. They run from down at the docks right?”
“Yeah, that’s them.” Ferguson said as he finished his drink.
“That’s good going man, how long have you worked there?”
“I don’t work there. I own it.” Ferguson said, and flashed a grin that was half-sincere half smug.
The news enraged Charlie, who was finding himself bitterly jealous of his former classmate.
“Holy shit, you own the place? Man, you really did well.”
Ferguson shrugged. “I did what I could to make something of myself, that’s all. As you probably remember, school was... tough.”
“Yeah…” Charlie said, knowing that the subject would come up eventually. “Look, about that… I’m sorry man. I’m sorry for being such a dick to you all those years. I was just a kid. I didn’t know any better.”
He held Ferguson’s gaze, because despite his jealousy, he truly was sorry for what he had done.
“Forget it.” Ferguson said with a smile. “That’s all in the past. How about another beer for old time’s sake?”
“I really should be going,” Charlie said, not wanting to admit that he couldn’t even afford another beer.
“Come on, one more, on me. Just to show there are no hard feelings.”
You patronising son of a bitch.
Charlie dismissed the thought, wondering how little Fergie had managed to get under his skin so easily.
“Ah hell with it. Maybe just one more then I really have to go.”
“Good man.” Ferguson said as he motioned to the bartender. This time when he took out his wallet to pay for the drinks, Charlie couldn’t help but look to see how much cash he had, and wished he hadn’t, the array of notes stuffed into his wallet only fuelling
his jealousy.
The drinks were served, and Ferguson held up his bottle.
“To forgiveness.” He said.
Charlie hesitated, then picked up his own bottle and clinked it against Ferguson’s.
“And to apologies.” He added.
The two men grinned and took long drinks from their respective beers. Charlie thought that if he buttered Fergie up enough, he could maybe manage to wrangle himself a job down on the docks and stave off losing the house for another month or two. He took another sip of his drink and wondered how long it might take him to drink Fergie unconscious and maybe help himself to that wallet full of cash. The two drank, and when they were finished, Ferguson ordered more beers as the two talked about old acquaintances long past and off the radar, but never about the bullying. That, it seemed was still taboo and that suited Charlie just fine. He drained his fifth beer and wondered just how much more he could fleece out of little Fergie Faggot before he realised he was being played.
Charlie woke face down to the hazy hangover headache that had become all too familiar in his life of late. His mouth was dry and had the distinct taste of old carpet and stale beer. He was stiff and sore, and tried to force himself awake. Memories of the previous night were hazy, half-remembered snatches of conversations and drinking more and more and more.
“You awake Charlie?”
“Fergie?” Charlie mumbled as he forced his eyes open and rolled onto his side.
“What the hell did we do last night I-”
It was then that Charlie realised that his hands were taped together behind his back. He tried to move his legs, but discovered that they too were taped.
“What the hell?” He mumbled as he tried to make sense of everything. He forced his eyes open, allowing them time to focus.
Ferguson was sitting on a chair at his feet, hands flat on his knees as he watched Charlie struggle to come around.
“You just take your time Charlie,” Ferguson said. “It will all come back to you soon enough.”
“ Whattimeisit?” He grumbled as he tried to organise the soup that seemed to have replaced his brain. “Is this your place?”
“No, this isn’t my place. Not exactly. This is your place. Or at least, now it is.”