by Angela Timms
And cuddly toys lay unwanted
Along with wood blocks
As they have no batteries and circuits No shiny buttons to press
And who really cares now
If the doll has a pretty dress
He was looking at this page in his book as he fell asleep.
15 Shadows lengthened in the woodland as a unicorn and its mate danced around each other. White flowing manes blowing in the gentle breeze, hooves dancing and muscles rippling. They danced and circled on the edge of an endless lake.
In the sky birds were singing and the crickets played their chirrupy song to add to the sounds of nature. The sun shone down brightly on the greens and subtle colours of nature. Willow trees draped their branches into the water and a black swan swam past, her noble head looking around as her mate swam effortlessly across the lake to join her.
Frederick Jones was standing in the clearing feeling confused. He looked down at his feet. His shoes shone black and shiny, as well polished as he had ever made them. His suit was impeccable, as it always had been. His cravat was neatly tied with a single diamond pin sparkling in the sunlight. His walking stick now an elegant walking cane he had owned in his youth which slipped effortlessly between the fingers of his gloved hands.
He straightened himself up. Casting off the shadow of the arthritic shuffle and bent double gait he had endured for so long.
In his mind he knew he was dreaming but he didn’t care. He wanted
cxlv to be here, a place he had often escaped to when things got rough. This was where his toys lived, where their stories started and ended. This was his safe place far from the greys and browns of the modern world.
Here Maggie was no longer dead. She would be here in their beautiful cottage baking cookies and cleaning their home until it sparkled. Their son would be there too, playing in the garden, an eternal child who never grew up. Their old dog, gone so many years from the real world, would be there too. He had everything in his dream that he had lost in life and in his dream he was free. This was his world, the world where his toys were real.
There they were as if on cue. One by one they marched into the clearing. The wooden toy soldiers started the parade. Their immaculate red and black uniforms painted all the same. They carried their guns over their shoulders and their boots hammering out the march that those behind followed.
Behind them came the wooden trainsets. The painted engines were pulling carriages with other toys sitting in them. Bears, dolls and stuffed monkeys waved their hands and smiled at him.
Behind them came the rocking horses, rocking along as part of the parade. He remembered each one of them. He remembered each stroke of the saw, each sweep of the brush. Loving care was what made his toys so special, or rather was what had made them. They weren’t the sort of toys that were wanted now.
A single tear ran down his face as he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see a beautiful black haired woman dressed in white who was standing behind him. Her skin was like finest porcelain, it was as if her features were painted on though they were real. She reached out a finger and swept the tear from his face.
He jumped slightly as he had not realized she was there. “Frederick Jones, you have made some beautiful toys and you have made so many people happy. You may have a wish.”
Frederick looked at her in disbelief. “You haven’t been here before. I didn’t dream you.”
The woman smiled, her cat like slit eyes bright and sparkling. “You are dreaming me. This is a dream and this is your part of my world. You may have one wish and if it is in my power I will grant it.”
The old man looked down at his body, straight and strong. He pulled off his gloves and looked at his hands. They were young again. He felt his skin, no longer paper fragile. He looked around the world that he had created in his mind. “Who are you? It is appropriate to ask to whom one is speaking when one is offered a wish such as you are offering.”
The woman smiled. “Quite right, quite right. I am the Weaver of Dreams and I offer you one wish. Take it quickly for they do disappear if they are not claimed.”
The old man thought about it. He felt the chill in his bones from the other world. He felt the helplessness of his gnarled old hands. He felt the loneliness of his empty bedsit. He felt the uselessness of his life.
The woman took his hand and he felt himself spinning. Light flashed around him and he smelt roses, followed by lavender, followed by the soft loamy smell of damp woodland. Then he stopped moving and he realized that he had shut his eyes so he opened them again.
He was in a small room. The room was wallpapered with bright patterned wallpaper which came alive with toys playing drums and other musical instruments. They were only a pattern but they made the nursery bright and cheerful. In the middle of the room there was a cot, in the cot a baby and across the room there was a chair full of toys, toys he had made.
He smiled as he saw them and as he watched the small child woke up, baby no more. The child reached out for the toys but she could not reach them. So he took one from the chair, a large brown bear which growled when it moved and gave it to her. She settled down with the large brown bear and fell asleep.
cxlvii The Weaver of Dreams smiled. “That she can sleep means that she can dream. That she can dream means that in the future she will still have those dreams as memories. She will remember you, you will see her again if you make the right choices now. Those dreams she will dream on nights like this will make her who she will be. So that small act has made a big difference already. Do you understand what I am trying to show you?
You are now in a world very different to how you imagine it as it is the world of true dreams. It is in parallel to your own. What happens here can have an effect on your world but it is also separate. So there are some rules.
Come with me now and I will show you things. Then you can make your choice of wish.” He took her hand again and they span through time as he saw world history playing out in reverse. He saw London through the years, he saw Manchester, Birmingham and all the other cities. He saw the world from space and then when the journey was finished he was standing in a room, the room was his, or had been. He recognized it. He was back in his toy making workshop.
All around there were bits and pieces, toys half made, materials pensively waiting. Finished toys were on the shelf drying and waiting for collection or to be put in the shop. Unfinished toys sat on his work desk. Some were drying, others were waiting for new things to be done to them before they were ready.
His younger self sat there, head in hands, asleep. He was half way through stuffing a cuddly monkey. He snored loudly, his head falling off his hands and he was awake again. He was awake and making toys again. Sewing and sewing.
The scene sped up as the toys were finished. Maggie came in with his cup of tea and to marvel at the toys but that was fleeting at the speed the scene was passing him by at. The old man reached for his wife but the Weaver caught his wrist. “I’m sorry Frederick, you can’t touch this scene as you were there and it is passed for you. You have lived through this timeline so you can’t be in it.”
cxlviii
Frederick looked sad but his eyes keenly watched as the toys were made, one by one. The Dreamweaver put a hand on his shoulder. “It is time to move on, I have other things to show you and there is not very long for me to do this. There are things I am not allowed to tell you but remember what you have seen. Come with me again now.” She held her hand out.
Frederick took her hand and they span again to another scene. He was in the shop, his shop. The shelves were well stocked with beautiful toys all waiting for their new owners. All around colour filled the place, all manner of colours. They were bright and happy but at the same time tasteful. A huge Christmas tree decorated the corner. Small toys and bears hanging on it, their price tags fluttering in the gentle breeze as the door of the shop opened and an elegant woman dressed in a blue dress, matching blue jacket and black fake fur coat with a large black handba
g walked in with a smile on her face.
She walked to the counter and looked around the shelves. “I would like a doll for a remarkable young girl who I love very much. Can you make me such a doll?”
The young Frederick smiled. “Of course I can. Should it be a large doll or a small doll? Should it have a dress of green or blue or lilac? Should she have blonde hair, brown or red? Should she have freckles or no freckles?”
The woman smiled. “She should be three feet tall and I will leave it to you to choose the rest. When will she be ready? I would like her for the little girl’s birthday next Wednesday. I know that it is Christmas on Thursday and you have so much to do but please could you try.”
Frederick looked in his notebook which was stuffed with notes and stories and annotations. “I will have her ready for you by Tuesday.” The woman smiled and placed some notes on the table. “I trust this will be sufficient for a deposit.”
cxlix
The Toymaker smiled. “That will be adequate for a deposit. I will have her ready for you.” Frederick the elder looked at the Weaver of Dreams. “I remember this customer and the doll. I made it with all the love and care I usually use on a doll but that doll seemed different somehow. I don’t know why. I had to work night and day but I got it ready for her.”
The Weaver smiled. “I know you did. Do you want to come and see what happened to that doll?”
Frederick smiled. “I would very much like to see what happened to her.” The world spun again and the scene changed. They stood in a medium sized bedroom. The wallpaper was striped brown with floral decorations between the stripes. The carpet was thick and blue and there was a bed in the corner opposite a couple of wardrobes either side of a fireplace painted white. The door was closed and the curtains open. He looked out of the window.
The garden was neatly set out. An immaculate rectangular lawn was edged with a glorious array of border plants all in neat lines. White Alyssum edged the neatly trimmed green of the lawn. The next line was the gold of marigolds and then the riot of colour which was the other plants. To the right there was a path which ran the length of the garden to a patio at the end of the garden and a greenhouse in the right hand corner.
It was truly a fairytale paradise of colour, shape and form. Three apple trees were heavily laden with fruit and the dahlias stood like soldiers on parade along the fence, a prizewinning pageant of colour. They faced off the chrysanthemums which stood sentinel the other side of the path.
The room had a fantastic view of the garden and the houses beyond. Neatly kept houses tended with love and care.
Two little girls sat on the floor playing with their toys. They were playing with plastic horses and dolls in beautiful ball gowns. They
cl both had their own houses set up for their dolls and were making up stories for them. Wild adventures and ordinary days filled their doll’s days. The blonde haired girl had a huge house for her dolls, the dark haired girl was content with a smaller area which was set out for her dolls.
Plastic wardrobes and little plastic hangers held spare clothing for the dolls and plastic drawers held bits and pieces to dress them up. All doll size and the back of them made walls where no walls existed, the boundaries of the houses. Each doll had a pet dog and their horses were stabled in a cardboard box, carefully wallpapered to look like a proper stable. In their minds these stables and rooms were real and imagination filled in where reality fell short.
The dark haired girl had plaits and a cheeky smile. The blonde haired girl had short hair. Her eyes looked around everything as they made up their stories. The princess and the goosegirl. One wanted to be the princess in the castle with the bigger area, the other content with what she had.
The dark haired little girl got up and went to the bathroom and as she left the room the other girl reached over the fantasy wall between their houses and broke the ears off of one of the horses, pushing it over so that it looked as though the ears had snapped off.
The Toymaker looked on in horror as he saw time played out at speed and out of time. Each girl had a brightly coloured box which had been lovingly made by the dark haired girl’s mother. The box was a bed, the bed had mattresses, sheets, pillows and a quilt. Each girl had a bed but into the blonde haired girl’s bed she slipped toys which belonged to the dark haired girl. Over the months the toys disappeared, gone forever and the little girl had no idea what had happened and where her toys had gone when her mother asked where they were.
The Toymaker was angry and instinctively and he looked into the sincere eyes of the Weaver. “I use my wish. I want my doll to protect that little girl.”
The Weaver smiled. “Then you shall bind the first Frixian to a toy.
cli This is how it started, all those years ago. Take the bodyless and hopeless spirit and bind it into that toy. That is your gift, your wish is granted.”
The Toymaker reached out and touched the toy he had made. He felt the spirit that had watched over the little girl and he allowed it to become a part of the doll temporarily.
The blonde haired girl was on her own in the room when the doll got up. The girl was no longer in the room after the doll walked across the room and reached out for her. She was on her way down the stairs screaming that the doll had moved. The Weaver took the Toymaker to the scene again and again through time and the doll did the same again and again until the girl stopped breaking and taking the toys.
The scene shifted again and The Toymaker then sat in what had been his shop. He sat at the cash desk while his younger incarnation was asleep after a long time making Christmas toys. He sat there and looked around at the toys. He looked at the Weaver. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if these toys could protect the children like the doll did? Wouldn’t it be wonderful if they could move and be all those things that the children imagine them to be?”
The Weaver smiled. “I will give you the rest of your wish as it is connected. Is that your wish?”
The Toymaker nodded. “Yes, that is my wish.” The Weaver grinned widely. “I had hoped you would say that. From this day on you will be The Toymaker. But there is a price to be paid. You cannot return to your body, your body is dying. I am offering you another option.
There are aliens living on this planet who are living without a form and unable to do anything. They wander the ether unable to touch anything and they are sad. They have seen the bad things in this world and they want to help. I would like you to help them. I want you to become The Toymaker and to bind them to toys so that they can look after children. As it is your wish I can offer you this. Do
clii
you accept?” The Toymaker smiled. His old face lit up with a light that had not been seen on his tired old face for years. His wrinkles were deep, his eyes were watery and old, his hands were gnarled and arthritic. He looked down at them and he then looked at the Weaver. “How can I do such a thing? My hands would not make toys now. My toys are not wanted anymore.”
The Weaver thought for a moment. “You are right, those hands will never again make toys. Those eyes will never again see the beautiful toys that you made. For tonight you will die. You will pass to dust and that will be an end of Frederick Jones. He will be a memory. I will take you. Prepare yourself, you must see what will come to pass before you finally accept or decline my offer. I will give you one more chance as once you have decided there is no going back.” She held out her hand.
Frederick took her impossibly fragile hand in his and the world spun around again. Time moved on and on and when the mist cleared he saw that he was at a graveside. The minister was there with his book but there was nobody else there. The minister still said the words, still recited the text from his book. The minister picked up the soil and threw it onto the coffin and as the dirt hit the box Frederick looked down into the grave, knowing what he was going to see.
“Frederick Jones, Died 1st January 2015” The sight chilled him to the bone. He looked at the coffin and he knew it was real. The scene changed and he was in his bedsit, sta
nding beside his old battered chair. It was empty now. His notebook was on the table and a burnt down candle in a cheap metal candlestick stood beside it.
He saw a man in the room, he vaguely recognized the man although it had been many years since he had visited him. He hardly recognized the man who he had last seen as a youth. He did recognize the voice which came from behind him and he turned to see the man’s wife who had been going through his things.
cliii She had a cardboard box on the table but there was nothing in it. She was looking through drawers and the wardrobe and she shook her head. “Nothing of any value here. The old coot didn’t have a stock of gold hidden anywhere. Not even an ancient toy we could put on Ebay. Nothing, just fifteen pence in his wallet.” She pulled his battered leather wallet out of her pocket and flipped it into the box. “What should we do with all this rubbish?”
The man looked around the room. “I don’t know. House clearance is expensive so I suppose we will have to do this ourselves. Did you bring the bin bags I put out? I forgot them.”
The woman went to her coat and pulled out a roll of black bags. “Oh well, let’s get on with it. We don’t want any more rent to come out of his estate.”
The man laughed. “What estate? Are you expecting some sort of a Will reading? I’ve seen the Will. He had nothing at all. Absolutely nothing. What you see here is what there is. A load of old rubbish. That was all he had. Come on, he died of a chill because he didn’t have the money to put his heater on. The stupid old buzzard went out to buy a packet of tea and got himself wet. The post mortem said that he died of a chill as he went to bed. The bed was damp because of the cold and he died in his sleep.”
The woman was putting his tea towel and towel into the black bag. “That is awful, he didn’t even have the money for the meter? In this day and age you would think that Social Services would have done something. I will write to my MP about this. That is insane. Didn’t he have a pension or something? Perhaps a life insurance policy?” She looked hopeful.
The man signed. “Sadly not, I can’t imagine he would have paid into something like that. He didn’t really have a grip on this world at all. He made toys until his hands were too bad and his wife got sick, then he sold the lot to look after her and finally ended up here. Bit of a sad story. I’d been meaning to come and visit him but you know how busy I am these days. I kept putting it off.”