Child’s Play 3

by Matthew J. Costello

  The door opened.

  Andy looked at Chucky. He had quickly frozen into a doll.

  Just a harmless doll.

  Andy looked up at the door.

  It was Shelton. He shook his head and walked into the room, over to Chucky.

  “Damn!” Shelton reached down and picked up Chucky, so lifeless now. “Barclay, what’s the matter? You homesick?” Shelton dangled the doll at him. “You miss your mommy or something?”

  Andy shook his head. No, jerk, you’re holding a killer, a monster.

  But then Shelton looked down and saw his shoe.

  “Hey, what’s this—my shoe?” Shelton picked it up. Even sitting on the floor, Andy could see that tip of the shoe was badly scuffed.

  “What the hell is this?” Shelton pointed the shoe at him.

  Andy stood up. He felt the thin cut, the crease of blood at his ankle. He hoped Shelton didn’t notice. Crazy Andy Barclay, they would say. Now he’s cutting himself.

  “It wasn’t Whitehurst’s fault. I—”

  Andy looked at Chucky. No. There’s no way I can tell him—the doll is alive, he wants to kill me. And all I had was your shoe.

  Andy put his hands out, pleading. “I’m sorry about your shoe. It’s my fault. It fell off the chair. I’ll polish it. Just . . .”

  Andy looked at Chucky.

  “Just—please—give me the doll back.”

  Shelton sneered. “You gotta be kidding.”

  Andy shook his head. He licked his lips. “C’mon. It’s a gift from my mother.”

  Shelton laughed, a cruel sound. He waved the doll at Andy. “Oh, Barclay. You’re breaking my heart. You know that?”

  He threw the shoe to Andy and it crashed into Andy’s gut. Shelton laughed.

  “Tell Whitehurst that he’s off the hook. Tell the fat boy that I got myself a new slave.”

  Andy nodded, his eyes fixed on Chucky.

  “Now clean up this mess. You have five demerits, plebe.”

  “But the doll?”

  Shelton grinned. “Hey, my kid sister’s birthday is coming up. I think she’s gonna love it, don’t you?” Shelton turned and walked out of the room, the doll dragging behind him.

  Andy walked to the door and shut it.

  He turned around.

  It was over. Kyle and I ended it. But he’s here now. Chucky’s back.

  Andy took a breath. There’s no end to it. No end.

  He looked at the mess of the room. The Playboy magazine, unnoticed by Shelton. The clothes scattered across the room.

  Andy licked his lips. Got to think. Got to be prepared.

  He thought: Got to find that knife. Then, then—I have to get to Tyler.

  He bent down and felt under his bunk.

  Andy touched the knife.

  15

  Whitehurst snored, a great rumbling noise that filled the room.

  The rest of the dorm was silent.

  Good, thought Andy, it’s almost time.

  He slipped out of his bed. The floor was cold, and he heard the wind rustling the leaves of the oak trees outside.

  Andy reached down and opened his desk drawer. He removed the pocketknife. It felt small in his hands, just a boy’s toy. But he told himself the blade is sharp. It’s sharp enough to do what I have to do.

  He walked to the door and turned the handle so slowly, not wanting it to squeak and wake Whitehurst. When it was turned all the way to the right, Andy pulled the door open and looked out.

  The corridor was dark except for an Exit sign glowing at one end, near the stairwell. Andy took a breath and held it. He waited.

  There’s nobody out there, he thought. All quiet on the western front.

  He stepped out into the hall, moving quickly down the corridor to the other end of the building. And as he walked, he opened the knife. The blade caught the scant light in the corridor.

  He walked to the upper class barracks. The wind whistled outside, eager to get inside.

  Andy moved quickly, afraid that someone would get up to go to the bathroom. Yeah, and see me stalking around with a knife in my hand.

  That would do wonders for my reputation.

  He passed the Exit sign and kept on going. He looked at the doors as he passed them. He saw one marked Captain Ellis.

  He kept walking.

  Then he saw a door with the words Major Shelton—Private. Andy stopped. He looked up and down the hall. Crazy Andy Barclay, wielding a knife outside Shelton’s room.

  Great, that’s all I need.

  Andy reached down and grabbed Shelton’s doorknob. He turned it, but it stopped after only a quarter turn.

  Locked. Damn, leave it to Shelton to keep his room locked.

  Andy crouched down, close to the lock. He brought the knife up and started to jiggle the blade in between the lock and the door. He felt a bit of metal, and he jiggled the blade around some more.

  Nothing happened.

  Come on, he thought. Come on. Open up. He twisted the blade around a bit, and then he moved it sharply up and down. He heard something catch. Leaving the knife in place, Andy reached up for the doorknob and twisted it, slowly, still worried about making a noise.

  The knob turned all the way.

  Andy pushed on it.

  Shelton’s door opened.

  It was black in Shelton’s room. And it had a closed, stuffy smell. As soon as Andy had the door open, he heard the sound of Shelton sleeping, a low rumbling.

  Good, thought Andy. He’s asleep.

  He stepped into the room. But he kept the door open a crack. I don’t want the door shut, he thought. Not all the way.

  He heard the wind at Shelton’s windows, pushing against the glass, whistling through the quad. Another step, and Andy looked left, then right, scanning the room. He held the knife out in front of him.

  Looking for Chucky.

  I’ll cut him to pieces, Andy thought. I’ll slice that doll into so many small sections that it would take him an eternity to put himself back together.

  Andy took a step. But he saw nothing. Just Shelton, curled up on his bed, a blackish shape.

  He turned and saw the closet. He took a step closer to it, licking his lips. I’ll have to be fast, he told himself. Get it open, get the knife up, fast, fast.

  He grabbed the door to the closet, a larger piece of furniture than found in the regular dorm rooms. He pulled the door open, fast, hurrying. His right hand held the knife, tense, ready to jab.

  The door flew open. Andy held it so it wouldn’t bang against the closet.

  There was something there, big with glowing eyes, looking right back at him.

  Andy gasped, nearly stepped back. His hand squeezed the knife, ready to lunge forward.

  The image in front of him mimicked his action.

  Just a mirror, Andy thought. It’s just a damn mirror, and it’s only my reflection.

  He opened up the other door, slowly, carefully. The knife still there, wavering in front of him, feeling so small.

  With the door open, Andy saw Shelton’s shirts and pants and uniform jackets pressed close together, hanging in the closet. So close together. Something could easily be hidden behind them, he thought. He nodded, knowing what he had to do.

  The wind whistled, shrieking at him. It was a cold night, and he heard the first spatters of rain against the windows.

  Andy reached out and parted the clothes, pushing one pile one way, the other pile the other way. He looked info the gloom, searching for a spot of red or blue or orange.

  Hidey-ho.

  But there was nothing. He pushed the clothes a bit more. He heard something move, something from above.

  From a shelf above the closet. Something moved and fell down on him.

  A dark shape, round, spun toward him. Andy’s first instinct was to back away from whatever was falling. That would be a good place to hide, he thought, real good. He could hide there and jump on me.

  But—this shape caught the small amount of light, enough light so th
at Andy saw what it was.

  A helmet, Shelton’s combat helmet.

  Andy reached out and caught it.

  He held it a moment, breathing heavily. He turned to look at Shelton. There was no movement, just the steady rumbling noise of him sleeping.

  And there’s nothing in the closet, Andy thought.

  Where are you, Chucky? Where the hell are you? Come out and play. Come out so I can cut your plastic body into a thousand pieces, a million pieces, until . . .

  Andy started to turn.

  When he saw something on the floor of the closet. Thrown there. Out of place in this very orderly universe of Shelton’s. Andy crouched down and picked it up. It was a sheath for a knife. A big sheath . . . for a big knife.

  It was empty. The knife wasn’t in the sheath.

  Andy’s heart thudded in his brain.

  He let the sheath slide to the floor. Andy turned to the bed, to Shelton. Wondering: Is that Shelton there? Is he alone? Or is there someone else with him?

  Shelton’s blanket hung over the side of the bed, hiding whatever might be under Shelton’s bunk. Andy look a step closer to it. Another step.

  The rain spatters grew heavier, until the rain made a steady crackling sound against the glass. The wind whistled.

  Andy stopped by Shelton’s bunk.

  He knelt down, slowly, the knife ever in front of him. He thought of the sheath, how big it was.

  One hell of a knife in there, he thought.

  He knelt by the bunk. He grabbed the blanket flap, and slowly, reluctantly—a sick feeling in his stomach—Andy raised it.

  But, he thought, I’ll have to bend down to see under the bed. And he remembered how fast Chucky was, how much like a real little kid he was, darting about, scurrying so fast.

  Andy crouched down and looked under the bed.

  His eyes peered into the blackness, the gloom. He waited, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness.

  He saw nothing.

  He nodded.

  Where is he? Where the hell is Chucky? Andy let the blanket flap fall. He stood up. There was no place else to search, no where in the room for Chucky to . . .

  Then he saw Chucky.

  Andy’s body went cold, an ice water tidal wave washing over him.

  He saw the doll.

  Now you don’t see him . . . now you do.

  Sitting on the bed, beside a sleeping Major Shelton. And Chucky had his knife, a giant bowie knife close to Shelton’s neck.

  Chucky grinned.

  Andy’s knife felt pathetic in his hands. He clenched his fist. Got to do something, he thought. Have to do . . .

  “Uh-uh-uh,” Chucky whispered, almost singing.

  Then the doll mimed dragging the blade across Shelton’s throat. Andy heard some thunder.

  Then, still in a whispery voice Chucky sang. “My knife’s bigger than yours.”

  Sick thing. He’s sick. A million pieces. I’ll make it so hard . . .

  Shelton snored. Chucky’s voice dropped the childish singing tone. “Now drop your knife, Andy, or I’ll slice him open.”

  Andy hesitated. I know what he’ll do if I drop the knife, he thought. That’s easy to guess.

  Chucky sneered at Andy, and then brought the cold metal of his blade closer to Shelton’s throat. “Do it!”

  Andy looked down at the blanket hanging over the side. He looked around. The door was open, but the dorm was silent. It’s just me and Chucky, he thought.

  Andy lowered the knife blade, bringing it down to his side.

  Chucky smiled, victorious.

  Andy felt the tip of the knife touch the blanket, hooking it. Andy pressed it against the hem of the blanket.

  He watched Chucky pull away his bowie knife.

  I can guess what he’ll do, thought Andy. You didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure that out. No sir.

  The blade was stuck in the blanket edge.

  Andy took a breath. Chucky started to move away from Shelton.

  It’s now or never, thought Andy. And he brought the knife up, dragging the blanket with it, flinging it over Chucky. The doll was entangled in the blanket. Then Andy jerked the whole bundle, pulling Chucky and the blanket off the bed.

  Away from Shelton.

  Who promptly woke up.

  “What the fu—!”

  Shelton shot up in bed. To see Andy kneeling beside him, holding a knife.

  Doesn’t look too good, Andy thought. But Shelton—obviously trained to repel night attacks by enemy saboteurs and Vietcong ninjas—quickly locked a hand around Andy’s throat and propelled him against the wall.

  Andy smashed into the stone wall, his head whiplashing—just a bit—to create a clear smacking noise.

  Shelton rushed up to him, pinning Andy to the wall. He jabbed Andy in the gut just to make sure that Andy had no wind to explain himself.

  And all the while Andy kept trying to watch the foot of the bed, where the blankets had been tossed, along with Chucky, and the knife.

  “You picked one hell of a time to come out of the closet, Barclay.”

  Andy shook his head.

  “No. Hey, I’m not . . .” Andy started to push away from the wall that Shelton seemed so intent in grinding into him.

  Shelton pushed him right back.

  “I didn’t want to. I mean, I have to . . .” Andy looked at the dark pile by the bed.

  He saw Chucky emerge from the twisted blanket.

  “Stop!” Andy yelled. Again Shelton pushed him against the wall. Shelton kept his hand locked on Andy’s wrist. He gave it an expert twist, and Andy’s knife tumbled to the floor. All Andy could do was watch Chucky hurry out of the room holding his bowie knife.

  “You’re in big trouble, Barclay. You picked the lock, broke into my goddamned room. Big trouble. What the hell are you doing in here?”

  Chucky was gone. Shelton’s hand admitted just enough air into Andy’s windpipe so he could speak—barely.

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  Shelton nodded, thinking about what else he was going to do, Andy guessed. And I bet he has lots of nifty ideas.

  Lots.

  Then Shelton turned and looked around the room, his head snapping left and right.

  Then back at Andy. “Hey, where’s the doll, Barclay? Where’s the damn doll?”

  Andy opened his mouth. But he said nothing.

  “You took the damn doll! That’s it, isn’t it? You broke in here—and took the goddamned doll.”

  Well, at least he has the description correct, thought Andy. If ever there was a damned doll, Chucky is it. Andy shook his head.

  “You took the doll, didn’t you?”

  “No,” Andy croaked, his windpipe all but constricted. “No, I—”

  Then there was noise in the corridor. Shelton’s bellowing had obviously alerted the rest of the dorm that something interesting was going on. Ellis came into Shelton’s room and threw the light switch.

  “Hey,” Ellis said, “what’s going on?”

  Shelton glowered, still considering his course of action.

  Other cadets came to the door. Shelton let his hand slip free of Andy. He stepped back.

  “Somebody look the doll, Barclay.” Shelton turned and looked at the cadets standing outside the room. The major raised his voice and Andy saw a sick grin on his face.

  He has an idea. Major Moron has an idea.

  And that can’t be a good thing.

  Colonel Cochrane shook his head. The rain was coming down in sheets, streaming over the hoods of the cadets’ ponchos as they jogged around the field. Over their heads the cadets held their guns, which were growing heavier with each loop around the field.

  The cadets looked cold, wet, and miserable.

  Perhaps too miserable. Cochrane was inclined to give Shelton his head. After all, he thought, it’s not every year that I have such a capable company leader, a real military man. Shelton will go far.

  But this—well, it seemed a bit muc
h.

  Cochrane moved beside Shelton, just at the edge of the portico shielding them from the rain and wind.

  “It’s midnight, major. Is this really necessary?”

  Shelton nodded and then turned to Cochrane. “Yes, sir. I’m sure you agree that it’s important to weed out the thief. You yourself have said that we, at Kent, must subscribe to the strictest ethics, the highest degree of honor.”

  “Yes, Shelton, but it’s damned miserable out.”

  Shelton nodded. “I’m trying to uphold the school’s code of honor, sir.” Shelton gestured at the soggy cadets of Bravo Company running through the grassy muck. “I’m trying to impress that upon the men.”

  There was a flash of lightning in the sky. Far away, an ominous yellow jag cut through the night sky.

  It wouldn’t do to have any of the cadets toasted by a bolt. Cochrane looked at his watch.

  “All right, Shelton. Make your point. But I want everyone inside at oh one hundred hours.”

  Shelton saluted, crisp and military. A fine soldier. Maybe a bit too hyper, but very military.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Cochrane turned and walked off the field, the wind at his back, the rain pelting him now that he was in the open.

  Shelton snorted at the air.

  Even old man Cochrane, with all his medals, still needed someone to put some steel in his spine. He sometimes treats the company like school kids.

  That’s a mistake I won’t make, Shelton thought.

  Shelton left the portico and walked out to Ellis who was leading the company in the midnight march.

  “We have one hour. Let’s make it count,” Shelton said, smiling at Ellis. The rain streamed down his face, into his mouth. Sure was horrible out.

  “Yes, sir.” Ellis said, crisply saluting and grinning.

  “By the time we’re through, Barclay’s going to be public enemy number one around here. Bravo Company will hate him.”

  Ellis nodded, and then turned to the sad looking group of cadets plowing through the mud.

  Shelton watched as he barked out the orders.

  “All right, ladies! Move it! Get those guns in the air! Get those knees up. Hup—hup.”

  Shelton watched the company pick up the pace. He watched them splash in puddles. Getting wet, wetter.