by DW Gillespie
I rushed over and knelt there, aghast, wondering what it all meant. Were the decorations supposed to be art? Something warm and welcoming to come home to? Who could say, but the effect in practice was horrifying, like a coffin built by the hands of a child.
All of it was too much. The spinning lights, the droning toys, the utterly mad cage of baby parts. My head spun, and I felt as if I would pass out then and there. I stared at a spot on the floor, forcing my mind to reset itself, to bring myself back into the moment before it was too late. Then, when my eyes rose back up, I saw it: the edge of a bare foot just visible inside the darkness of the cage. Andy was locked inside.
I clapped my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming his name when I realized it was him, and I was lucky I did. Across the room, the wooden box of stuffed animals began to stir and bubble, and I slid back, deeper into the darkness, watching, my heart beating wildly. I saw the hand first, black as pitch, as the Toy Thief emerged from his nest. The toys parted, rippling back like water as he slithered out, spilling over the edge and onto the cave floor, stopping only long enough to set something down on the edge of the box – some sort of globe. Even here, in his own domain, he walked on all fours, stalking his way across the room to the cage that held my brother.
From where I stood, I could hear the steady sounds of Andy’s breathing, and I knew that he was asleep. I tried to imagine the night before, the screaming, the fighting, the constant rush of adrenaline-soaked fear, and I knew that it just had to have been too much for him. Something had to give. I wondered if that was exactly what the Thief had been waiting for, because he stepped soundlessly to the cage. Something was happening here. I knew it. I could feel it. But I felt beyond powerless to stop it. I knelt down, peering through a hole in the stack of toys, and watched it all unfold.
The Thief raised his black hand and began to pull at the tip of one of his fingers. The skin began to slide free. I shook my head. No, not skin. A glove, and beneath the black leather was a bone-white hand, thin enough to belong to a skeleton. He removed the next glove, and for the first time, I saw his palms. They were red and splotchy, covered in deep, ulcerous sores that glistened purple and red. One look, and there was little doubt as to how painful they must be, and I felt a sudden pang of guilt for hating this creature so. All that died away when he reached through the bars and placed his hand on Andy’s leg. There was no doubt in that moment that my brother truly was asleep, but with a single touch of that wretched hand, he began to curl and moan, his body tensing like a knot as I heard him cry out, soft and pleading.
“Nooo…”
The sound of his pitiful voice clouded my eyes with tears, and I clutched at the knife, considering risking it all on a single, wild rush. It was foolish, but you can’t imagine what it’s like to hear someone you love plead that way. His eyes never opened, and he never fought back, but the moans continued for over a minute. I saw the Thief arch his back and grasp at the cage with his free hand as my brother writhed under his touch. I still didn’t know what I was seeing, couldn’t comprehend it, but I also knew I couldn’t stand to watch much more. Just as I stepped out from my hiding place, intent on ending it, the Thief broke his grip and fell back onto the cave floor.
Andy’s cries died away as sleep took him once more as the Thief curled on the floor, twitching. I dropped back down soundlessly, peering out from the dark as he slowly pulled himself up onto his knees. His head was swinging from side to side, his body slow and sluggish, and I realized what I was seeing. I wasn’t sure then what the Thief’s touch had done, though I have a better idea now, all these years later. In that moment, I could tell enough just from the language of his body. This was the look of a man who had consumed too much. Too much food. Too much wine. With a staggering gait, he moved toward his box of toys, stumbled to the floor, then pulled himself back into his nest. There was a shuffling within as the stuffed animals swirled a bit before settling, still and quiet once more.
After that, the cave was silent. It took a few minutes of waiting and watching before I worked up the nerve to venture out. There were no more places to hide in this chamber, and once I was in that inner sanctum, there was no getting out. With that realization in mind, I slipped around, hugging the wall and checking each footstep as quietly as possible. Moments later, I was back at the edge of the grim cage, peering down at Andy. My first instinct was to reach through the bars, to shake him awake, but I knew that would be the end of us both. I had to figure out how to get him out first.
I ran a hand over the top of the cage, shivering just to touch the doll legs and arms that lined it. I was expecting to find a heavy padlock, but all I could feel was a series of tightly wrapped coils of metal wire. I knelt down, investigating the bottom of the fence, and I found a hinge that would drop the front of the cage down to the ground if the wire was unspooled. Could it be that easy? I tested the wires and found that it wasn’t quite as simple as I thought it might be, so I turned my attention to the stone table and began searching for something to get Andy free. In the clutter of dismantled toys, I found a pair of pliers that looked like they might do the job. I was just ready to go to work when my eyes came upon the faded photograph that was stuck under a rock on the back of the table. It was so out of place in this horrid hole that it caught my attention at once. It was of a boy, no more than eight, posing next to his mother. It was summertime; she was in a 1950s-style one-piece bathing suit, he in a pair of checkered swimming trunks. They were both smiling, she the sweet, caring smile of a mother, so very proud, and he the forced, slightly silly grin of a boy who doesn’t want his picture taken. Before I realized it, I was holding it in my hand, staring at the fraying print, enthralled by the strangeness of it. Without another thought, I slipped it into my pocket.
I went straight back to work, bearing down on each wire until it snapped free with a little plink. After the first one, I stopped, waited, watching the box full of stuffed animals, certain that at any moment, the calm surface of cotton would open and he would spill out. He never did, so I focused on the cage, snipping each and every wire without delay, refusing to look back because I knew that would be the end of it. If I had seen so much as a single toy shift in that pile, my resolve would have broken. One after another, the wires fell away, until after one last snip, the front of the cage fell down onto me. It was heavier than it looked, but I caught it in the crook of my arms and gently set it down.
And there he was. Andy. My Andy.
His legs were covered in the red handprint sores, and I was almost afraid to wake him because I knew how badly it must hurt. Even so, I couldn’t wait, not any longer, so I leaned into the cage and brushed my hand against his cheek.
“Andy,” I whispered.
Once more, he moaned, and I instantly had a vision of the creature shambling out from his hiding place. I dared a single glance back, seeing nothing but shadow.
“Andy,” I said a bit louder as I cupped my hands around his face, shaking him as I covered his mouth. He tried to twist away from me, and I pressed my fingers tighter against his mouth. It wasn’t working, this back and forth, and both of us were making too much noise. I had to end it, had to get us out of there, so I mashed my right hand against his mouth and grabbed his ear with my left and began to twist it. His eyes shot open, and I tried to silence him as quickly as I could. It was only half a scream, and all I could do was pray that the droning toys were enough to cover it. There was fear in those eyes, the terror of someone waking from a nightmare only to find they were still dreaming. Then his gray eyes refocused, found mine, and began to water. I took my hand away from his mouth.
“Jack,” he whispered.
“Shh,” I said, motioning to the room around us.
I helped him sit up, and I realized, for the first time I could remember, my brother was crying. “How?” he said. “How did you find me?”
I didn’t have time for this, neither of us did, but I dug into my pocket
just the same. I found the orange jelly bean and held it in front of his eyes, a tiny pearl in my hand. He took one look and nodded, tears streaming down his cheeks. Then he buried his face in my shoulder and began to softly sob.
“Andy,” I said, finding the sides of his face with my hands. “You have to listen to me. We have to get out of here. We’re not safe. You’re going to have to walk—”
That was all I got out before the pain took over and the ground dropped away under my feet. It was an instant agony beyond compare, a pain in the roots of my brain, like my skull being ripped apart. I couldn’t see. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t focus on anything other than the pure misery. There was a laugh somewhere in front of me, and I caught a glimpse of the Thief standing upright, peering down into my face with a grin. The metal crown was gone now, as were the glass lenses, and his blank, pink eyes leered into mine. I realized where the pain was coming from. He was lifting me off the ground by my ponytail, his toothpick arms stronger than I could even begin to comprehend, as he held me like a fish on a hook. Who knows how long I would have stayed there, dangling and kicking as my scalp ripped free from my head, but a voice, weak but resolved, ended my misery.
“Put her down.”
It was Andy. I couldn’t see him. I could barely see anything, but his voice somehow reached me, brought me back from the awful brink of misery. Then my feet found the floor, and I fell, dropping like a bundle of clothes. My eyes were pricked with tears, but when I glanced up, I saw enough through the blurry haze to catch a glimpse of Andy, holding something out in front of him as the Thief loomed over him, covering him in a gaunt shadow. I squinted, unsure of what he held in his hands. Then the light caught it, and I knew. Andy had snatched up the globe that the Thief had set down, and he clutched it to his chest like…like a child with his own toy.
“You want it?” Andy asked, and the ghoulish thing began to reach forward. “Don’t move!” Andy screamed. “You take one step and I swear to God I’ll fucking shatter it, you hear me?”
My eyes were clearing, and though the back of my head felt as if it were bleeding, I found my footing and stood back up. I still had the pocketknife, and I almost, in a fit of silly anger, lunged forward and began stabbing the Thief. One look at Andy told me how foolish my plan was. We were in control, but only just. Any wrong move and we might not ever see the sunlight again. Far off, I heard the rolling bass of thunder, and the Thief cocked its head, seemingly hearing something that I couldn’t. Then he turned his pink rat eyes back toward me, his brow furrowed as if he were considering his chances. Andy read the whole scene like a page from a book.
“Try it, motherfucker!” he screamed as he held the globe aloft. “It’s yours, ain’t it?” he asked, shaking it lightly. Flutters of light caught in the center, and all at once I realized it was a snow globe. “It’s important to you, huh?”
The Thief nodded slowly.
“Just like that Superman. It probably wouldn’t have looked like much. I mean, a burglar would have just gone for a TV or jewelry. But you. You knew. Somehow, you knew.”
I slid next to Andy, quickly putting distance between me and that thing, and the Thief made no move to stop me. We had him now. As absurd as the whole thing seemed, we had him. He was as much our hostage as Andy had been his, all because of that simple white globe. I still didn’t know as much as Andy did, but I was certain that toy would be our ticket out of this place. All we had to do was play it smart.
“Let’s go, Andy,” I said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “While we can,” I added in a whisper.
“No.”
I was already backing away when I heard it, when the enormity of what he had said set in.
“Andy. Let’s go. Now. Right now.”
He turned, stared me in the face, and repeated, “No.” Then he took a step toward the lanky ghoul. “We’re not going anywhere until we get back what belongs to us.”
“No,” I said in his ear. “We can’t stay here, do you hear me?” Another low rumble shook the ground.
“We’re not going anywhere!” he screamed as he shoved me behind him, sending me reeling, stumbling onto the ground. I fell on my ass as new tears pricked the edges of my eyes. Andy glared at me, but he never once dropped his hand to me.
“Get them,” he said to the Thief. “Hers and mine. Or I’ll make you regret it.”
The creature stared, seeming unsure of this new turn. Then he slowly slunk away into the darkness.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because they’re ours. He had no right to—”
“No,” I said, cutting him off. “Why are you acting like this?”
He said nothing at first, just stared at me, confused. Then, like a switch had been suddenly flipped, his eyes grew dark and guilty.
“I don’t know,” he said, his breath quickening. He was shaking his head back and forth, his chest heaving like a man on the edge of a panic attack.
“Calm down,” I told him, reaching out to him.
“No,” he said, swatting my hand away. All at once, he was on his knees, scratching at his raw legs. “That thing,” he muttered. “That fucking thing. It thinks it can do whatever it wants.”
“Then let it,” I cried. “I just want to go home.”
There was a shuffling behind us, and we turned to find the Thief slithering down the wall above us, his head twitching, pink eyes glistening. With his head turned down like a scolded child, he approached us and opened his mouth. I knew it was coming. I had wondered if it were possible. But knowing did little to prepare me to hear that voice as he spoke.
“Y-yours,” he hissed. The word was choppy, broken, something that had been forgotten and remembered. The pitch was high, like a toddler who didn’t know he had long ago grown up. There was a sense that this creature had passed adolescence and manhood, straight into old age, all beneath the earth, surrounded by other people’s toys. I remembered the picture in my pocket, and I wondered.
He opened his sore-infested hand and the plastic Superman spilled out onto the ground. Then he raised another hand from behind him and showed me the bear. Part of me wanted it, begged for it, longed to be back in my bed curled up with it. Then I saw the red, scabbed hand that held it, and I felt a sudden desire to draw the lighter from my bag and send it up in flames. But either way, it was mine, and I was leaving here with it.
I kept waiting for him to drop it like he had Andy’s toy, but he didn’t. I noticed his hand was shaking, and a thread of saliva was dripping from the side of his mouth. I remembered how he had found me after I went walking in the woods with my bear, remembered Andy’s theory that the Thief had tracked me like a bloodhound. Then I remembered the way he had acted after he laid those horrid hands on Andy’s skin, and I knew, somehow, that the two things were the same. He was feeding on Andy, taking something from him, just as he fed on the toys. I thought of Andy’s other forgotten toys, the ones the Thief had left behind, focusing only on the most important, the most delectable treats.
Whatever this…feeding was, it was happening right there in front of me, to my bear, and it must have been a wonderful sensation. Even here, with Andy clutching what seemed to be the Thief’s most prized possession, he still couldn’t easily let go. I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I reached forward and snatched the bear away. It felt suddenly dirty in my hands, and I just didn’t want to touch it, so I scooped up Andy’s Superman and slid them both into my backpack. The Toy Thief closed his eyes and sighed, the moment of ecstasy broken.
“Now,” I said as I zipped the bag closed. “Please. Let’s go.”
Another rumble of thunder, this one even louder than before, seemed to wake Andy out of the haze he was in. Slowly, still holding the globe in front, he began to shuffle back down the hall.
“M-mine,” the Thief said, pointing. “Pleassse…”
“No,” I whispered. This thing was pitiful, an aw
ful, bent creature that shouldn’t have existed. And there was pain in that horrible face, miserable pain that might be temporarily quenched by that snow globe. I glanced up at it, saw the tiny family within, saw the silver flakes dancing around them, thought of the boy in the picture. I wanted to give it back, to leave this awful creature to his own devices, but I knew we wouldn’t make it far without something to ensure our safe passage.
“Not until we’re out of here,” I said for Andy. “We’ll leave it outside. You can get it when we’re gone…”
“Puh-puh-lease…is mine. F-from her…”
Was that her in the picture? The thought made my heart break a little, but Andy had different plans. He was shaking, that strange look washing over his face once more.
“Your mother?”
“Yesss…”
“Did you love her?”
The creature nodded.
“Good. That means this will hurt.”
With a single, swift motion, he raised the globe and threw it down onto the rocks, shattering it into a million glittering pieces.
Chapter Ten
Dad died about six years ago. I was grown by then, on my own, self-sufficient more or less. It was a punch though. One I didn’t see coming. Those are always the ones that hurt the most.
It was his heart, because of course it was. Decades of fast food will do that. He had a massive heart attack on…a Tuesday, I think. Then, on Thursday, when he was waiting on surgery, he had another one. They thought everything was stable, but his ticker was just a bit weaker than they thought. He wasn’t that old, after all. Men his age run marathons and climb mountains nowadays.
I didn’t know what to do. I can be honest about that. I was working nonstop at the time, fresh out of college, carving out a shitty career for myself. All of it, rolling along without a care in the world, when boom, the call came in. What are you supposed to do? What can any of us really hope to do when that call comes in?