The Toyminator

by Robert Rankin

  And perhaps it was the God of All Bears, or perhaps it was not, but a sign was made manifest to Eddie. Manifest in the Heavens, it was, as such signs often are.

  And Eddie looked up and Eddie beheld. And he beheld it on high.

  The moonlit sky was studded with stars, but one was brighter than all the rest. Eddie Bear peeped through his button eyes. ‘There’s a new star in Heaven tonight,’ he said.

  And the new star, the bright new star, grew brighter still.

  ‘Is that you, Mister God?’ asked Eddie.

  And brighter and closer grew this star until it was all over big.

  And Eddie looked up at this very big star.

  And Eddie Bear said, ‘Oh no!’

  For this star, it now seemed, was no star at all. This star now grew even bigger and hovered now overhead. For this star, it seemed, was no star at all. It was a spaceship instead.

  A proper flying saucer of a spaceship, all aglow with twinkling lights and a polished underbelly.

  And the saucer now hovered low above Eddie and Eddie could make out rivets and tin plate and a sort of logo embossed into the underside of the brightly glowing craft. And this logo resembled a kind of stylised, in-profile sort of a head. And this was the head of a chicken.

  And a bright light swept down upon Eddie.

  And Eddie Bear took to his paw pads.

  And onward scampered Eddie with the spaceship keeping pace, and the light, a sort of death-ray one, he supposed, a-burning up the grass and gorse and briars and nettles and stuff.

  ‘Wah!’ cried Eddie as he scampered. ‘Wah! Oh, Jack. Help me!’

  Jack, a goodly way up the hill, turned and looked over his shoulder. And Jack saw the spaceship and Jack saw Eddie.

  And Jack was frankly afeared.

  And when Jack had managed to summon a voice, this voice cried, ‘Eddie, hurry!’

  ‘I am hurrying.’ And Eddie was, his little legs pounding beneath him. And Jack now hefted his great big gun and flipped off the safety catch.

  The spaceship, keeping pace with Eddie, burned up the hillside behind him. The gorse and briars and nettles and stuff took all to blazing away. A goodly fire was spreading now, fanning out to Eddie’s rear.

  ‘Hurry!’ cried Jack. And then he let rip. Let rip with the Mini-gun. The clockwork motion hurled projectiles through six revolving barrels. Barrels spat flame and bullets, bullets that tore tracer-like into the moonlit sky.

  And the craft moved onward, bullets bouncing from its hull. And the light swept onward, raising fire in Eddie’s wake.

  And the bear rushed onward, bound for his bestest friend.

  ‘You’re a really bad spacecraft,’ cried Jack, and he flung the Mini-gun aside and brought forth a grenade from his trenchcoat pocket. ‘Come on, Eddie, faster now,’ and Jack pulled the pin and wondered how many seconds ’til Boom!

  ‘Ow!’ went Eddie. ‘Ouch!’ And his heels took fire.

  ‘One,’ said Jack. ‘Two. How many? Ten, I suppose, so three, no, that would be four now, or maybe six, or seven, or … damn.’

  And Jack hurled the grenade.

  And it was a good hurl, but it fell short.

  And a big chunk of hillside exploded.

  And some of that hillside rained down upon Eddie.

  ‘Don’t do that, Jack!’ cried the bear.

  Jack pulled out another grenade and once more pulled the pin.

  ‘One, two, three, four,’ Jack counted. ‘Hurry, Eddie, hurry, eight, nine, oh!’ And Jack did another hurling and ducked his head as he did so. For the spacecraft was very near now, as indeed was Eddie.

  ‘Quickly, Eddie.’ And Jack snatched up the bear and ran very fast indeed.

  And next there came an explosion, an explosion on high. And the spaceship swung about in the sky, flames roaring from its upper dome area. And then it began its plunging down, in Jack and Eddie’s direction.

  ‘Oh no!’ shouted Jack, and he ran and he leapt, a-clutching Eddie tight. And as the spaceship smashed down to the hillside with a mighty explosion, which far exceeded that of the falling chandelier and probably had the edge over even a car chase when it came to exciting spectacle, Jack leapt for his life, leapt with Eddie, up and through and beyond.

  Jack leapt through The Second Big O.

  And through and out and into nothing.

  And down and down and down.

  And Jack tumbled down.

  And Eddie, too.

  And down and down and down.

  And, ‘Oooh!’ cried Eddie.

  And, ‘Ouch!’ cried Jack.

  And, ‘Ooooh!’ and, ‘Ouch!’ and, ‘Ow!’

  And then all finally became still and silent and Jack lay upon grass, and so did Eddie, and moonlight fell down on them both.

  ‘Are we still alive?’ Eddie asked. ‘And this time I do mean us.’

  ‘So it would seem.’ Jack patted at his limbs. None, it appeared, were broken.

  Eddie did flexings at his seams, and none, it seemed, were torn.

  ‘And where are we?’ And Eddie looked all about himself.

  ‘We went through The Second Big O.’

  ‘Oh no!’

  ‘But we’re still alive, don’t knock it.’

  ‘And we are …’ Eddie felt at the ground. ‘We’re on grass, on a hillside.’

  ‘Because we’re on the other side of the hill,’ said Jack. ‘Which means that you had nothing to fear. I’d like to say, “I told you so,” but as I didn’t it wouldn’t help much.’

  ‘On grass,’ said Eddie. ‘On grass.’

  ‘On grass,’ Jack said. ‘Just on the other side of the hill.’

  ‘Well,’ said Eddie, and Eddie rose, ‘I don’t know what you were making all the fuss about.’

  ‘Me?’ said Jack. ‘I was making all that fuss? Sorry?’

  ‘I forgive you,’ said Eddie.

  ‘What?’ said Jack.

  ‘It doesn’t matter, forget it.’

  Jack now climbed to his feet. He dusted down his trenchcoat, sniffed at his fingers and said, ‘Yuk!’

  ‘You’ll want to get that trenchcoat cleaned,’ said Eddie. ‘I know a good dry-cleaners. Although I’ve never understood how dry-cleaning works – do you know how it does?’

  ‘Don’t change the subject, Eddie.’

  ‘What subject would that be?’

  Jack smiled down upon Eddie. ‘It doesn’t matter, Mister Bear. We’re both safe and that’s all that matters.’

  ‘You certainly taught those space chickens something,’ said Eddie. ‘Don’t mess with my bestest friend Jack. That’s what you taught them. Well done you.’

  ‘It was a big explosion,’ said Jack. ‘Actually, I’m quite surprised that a lot of flaming spaceship didn’t rain down upon us. Pretty lucky, eh?’

  ‘Pretty damn lucky,’ said Eddie. And looked all around and about. ‘And so this is it?’ he said. ‘This is what I spent my whole life dreading? The land Beyond The Second Big O. And all it is is another hillside – not much of a big deal, eh, Jack?’

  Jack didn’t answer Eddie. Jack was gazing back up the hillside. Up in the direction from which he and Eddie had tumbled down and down.

  ‘Not much, eh, Jack?’ said Eddie once again. ‘Eh, Jack?’

  But Jack didn’t answer.

  ‘Jack, are you listening to me?’ asked Eddie.

  And Jack stirred from his staring. ‘Eddie,’ said Jack, ‘tell me this.’

  ‘Tell you what?’

  ‘Well, we plunged through The Second Big O, didn’t we?’

  ‘We did.’

  ‘The Second Big O in the remaining few letters of what once spelled out “TOYTOWNLAND” and now just spell “TO TO LA”.’

  ‘That we did,’ said the bear.

  ‘So, looking back,’ said Jack, ‘at those big letters, we should see the reverse of “TO TO LA”. “A OT OT”, in fact.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Eddie, ‘but I don’t know how you were able to pronounce that.’

  ‘But
that’s not what I’m seeing,’ said Jack. ‘Those big letters on the hillside, they’re not spelling out “A OT OT”.’

  ‘They’re not?’ said Eddie.

  ‘They’re not.’

  ‘So what are they spelling?’

  And Jack pointed upwards and Eddie looked up upwards and then Eddie said, ‘What does that mean?’

  And Jack said slowly, ‘I don’t know what it means, but those letters spell out “HOLLYWOOD”.’

  14

  ‘Hollywood?’ said Eddie Bear. ‘What does Hollywood mean?’

  ‘Place name, I suppose,’ said Jack, a-dusting at his trenchcoat. ‘This coat is going to need some serious cleaning.’

  ‘Forget the coat!’ And Eddie raised his paws. ‘We are in another world, Jack. This isn’t just the other side of the hill.’

  ‘Seems so.’ Jack stretched his shoulders and Jack also yawned, tiredness catching up with him. ‘But it looks pretty much like the world we just came from – there’s nothing scary here.’

  Eddie Bear shuddered and shook his head. ‘There is something scary, I know it.’

  ‘You don’t know it, Eddie. You’re just disorientated.’ Jack sniffed at the air and Jack took off his trenchcoat. ‘It’s warmer here at least, which is nice.’

  Eddie now also sniffed the air and with these sniffs he stiffened. ‘No, Jack,’ he said. ‘Not nice, not nice at all.’

  ‘You’ve picked up the scent again?’

  ‘Not the scent, Jack. Not the scent.’

  ‘Then what?’

  Eddie gave the air another sniffing. ‘Meatheads, Jack,’ he said, and there was fear in his growly voice.

  ‘Men?’ said Jack. ‘Nearby? Where?’

  ‘Everywhere,’ said Eddie Bear. ‘We’re in the world of the meatheads.’

  Jack looked back at the Hollywood sign. ‘The world of the meatheads,’ he said.

  *

  Now, for those who have an interest in such things as these, it is to be noted that … *

  For those who do not have an interest in such things, it probably doesn’t matter.

  ‘So what do you think we should do now?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Go back,’ said Eddie. ‘Climb through The Second Big O up there and hope it leads back to our own world.’

  ‘Perhaps I put it poorly,’ said Jack. ‘What I meant to say was, now that we are here, to stay, until the job is done, what should we do next?’

  Eddie yawned mightily. ‘Don’t think I haven’t noticed,’ he said, ‘that there is a vast city down the hill, all lit up in the night. How about us finding somewhere safe and taking a bit of a sleep?’

  Jack did further yawnings, too. ‘Good plan, Mister Bear,’ said he.

  As going forward was fearsome for Eddie, they tramped back to the Hollywood sign. And from there Jack looked out at the lights of the big city that lay below. And it was (and is) an impressive sight. And Jack was suitably impressed. And behind the sign they located the little hut where the bulb-man who had tended to the lights way back in the nineteen-thirties had spent his illuminating existence.

  The door was padlocked, but Jack soon had the padlock picked. The two exhausted detectives crept into the little hut, pulled shut the door and settled down in the darkness upon ancient light-bulb boxes. And in less time than it takes to interpret a Forgotheum conundrum, using as your baseline the Magwich/Holliston Principle, they were both quite fast asleep.

  A big smiley sun rose over the Hollywood Hills. It didn’t have a big smiley face like the one that rose over Toy City, but it got the job done and its rays slipped in through the dusty panes of the little old hut and touched upon sleeping faces.

  Jack awoke with a yawn and a shudder, blinked and sniffed and clicked his jaw. Hopes that the doings of the previous night had been naught but dreamstuff ebbed all away as Jack surveyed his surroundings.

  Man-sized shed with a man-sized door. Man-sized tools hanging on a rack. A pile of what looked to be newspapers tied up with string. ‘A world of men,’ said Jack to himself. ‘Hardly a nightmare scenario. I grew up in a town inhabited by men and women; Toy City has to be the only city inhabited by toys. Probably everywhere else, no matter on which world, is inhabited by men.’ Jack paused for a moment then, before adding, ‘Except those inhabited by an advanced race of chickens, that would be.’ A further pause. ‘But looking on the bright side, Eddie didn’t smell chickens last night, only men.’

  ‘Talking to yourself again?’ asked Eddie, awakening.

  ‘Only time I ever have an intelligent conversation,’ said Jack.

  ‘Most amusing.’ Eddie now looked all about himself. ‘Shame,’ said he. ‘As you know, we bears never dream, but I really hoped that I might have dreamed this last night.’

  ‘I’m sure there’s nothing to get alarmed about, Eddie. As I was just saying to myself, I come from a town exclusively inhabited by men.’

  ‘Nice place, was it?’ Eddie asked.

  ‘Well,’ said Jack.

  ‘Well,’ said Eddie, ‘I seem to recall that you hated it so much that you ran away from it.’

  ‘Which doesn’t mean to say that this Hollywood place won’t be nice. Chin up, Eddie, let’s look on the bright side, eh?’

  Eddie’s tummy rumbled. ‘Breakfast would be nice,’ he said. ‘Perhaps there’s a farm nearby where we could steal some eggs, or something.’

  ‘Steal some eggs? Have you decided to give up detective work and pursue a life of crime?’

  ‘You possess local currency, then?’

  ‘Well.’

  Eddie was up now and peeping through the door crack. ‘Much as I hate to do it, then,’ he said, ‘let’s wander carefully into this world of meatheads and see what there is to be seen.’

  ‘Trust me,’ said Jack. ‘Everything will be fine.’

  And so down Mount Lee they went,* with Jack whistling brightly in order to disguise his nervousness and Eddie quoting and requoting Jack in his head. ‘Everything will be fine,’ he requoted. ‘What a load of old toot.’

  Eventually they reached a fence, climbed over it and found a road.

  ‘See,’ said Jack, ‘nothing to be worried about.’

  ‘I’ve never had a particular terror of roads,’ said Eddie. ‘You gormster.’

  ‘There are houses here, nice houses,’ said Jack. ‘Should I knock and ask for a glass of milk or something?’

  ‘Let’s head on down,’ said Eddie. ‘We saw all the lights last night – this must be a very big city. Big cities have alleyways, many of them behind restaurants. We’ll just rifle through some bins.’

  ‘I’m not doing that!’

  ‘Well, you make your own arrangements, then. I’m as hungry as.’

  It’s a long walk down to LA proper. But you do pass some very nice houses on the way. Homes of the Hollywood stars, they are, although Jack and Eddie weren’t to know this yet.

  ‘These are really swish houses here,’ said Jack.

  ‘Probably the homes of the local P.P.P.s.’ Eddie peered in through magnificent gates, curlicues of bronze and steel, intricate and delicate, held fast by padlock and chain.

  ‘Ra! Ra! Ra! Ra! Ra!’ It was a most excruciating sound, loud and raw and fierce. Something huge slammed against the gate, causing Eddie to fall back in alarm. A monstrous hound yelled further Ras! and snarled with hideous teeth.

  ‘Down, boy,’ called Jack. ‘Nice doggy, down.’

  ‘Run for your life,’ howled Eddie.

  ‘It’s all right, it can’t get through the gates.’

  ‘I hate it here, Jack, I hate it.’

  They walked along the centre of the road. To either side of them now, growly dogs appeared at padlocked gateways and bid them anything but a warm welcome.

  ‘You don’t think,’ said Jack, ‘that you might have got it all wrong, Eddie? We’re not in Dog World, are we?’

  ‘Gormster.’

  And then they had to get off the road and off the road with haste.

  ‘Ba! Ba! Ba! Ba! B
a!’ went this scary something.

  And then something wonderful rushed by.

  Jack looked on and he did so in awe. ‘An automobile,’ he said.

  And such an automobile was this. An electric-blue Cadillac Eldorado, circa 1955. Big fins, fabulous tail-lights, all the trimmings. Nice.

  ‘Wow,’ went Jack as the Cadillac sped on. ‘Did you ever see anything quite like that?’

  Eddie shook his shaken head. ‘Did you see the size of it?’ he said. ‘I’ve seen swimming pools smaller than that. And …’ And Eddie rubbed at his nose and coughed a little, too. ‘That wasn’t clockwork, was it, Jack? It had smoke coming out of the back.’

  Jack shrugged and Jack said, ‘Let’s keep moving.’

  ‘I’m hungry.’

  ‘So am I.’

  And so they wandered on. But for the Ra-ing dogs and the Ba-ing car they saw no more signs of life.

  ‘Where is everybody?’ Eddie asked.

  ‘Sun’s just up,’ said Jack. ‘I suppose it’s early yet.’

  ‘What time do you have on your wristwatch?’

  Jack checked his watch, shook it, put it to his ear. ‘It’s stopped,’ he said. ‘That’s odd, it’s never stopped before, although—’

  ‘Although what?’

  ‘Well, I never understood how it worked anyway – it doesn’t have any insides, just a winder connected to the hands.’

  ‘I thought that was all a watch needed,’ said Eddie.

  ‘No,’ said Jack, and they wandered on.

  And at last reached Hollywood Boulevard.

  Eddie looked up and Eddie was afeared. ‘Jack,’ whispered Eddie, ‘Jack, oh Jack, those are very large buildings.’

  ‘A world of men,’ said Jack. ‘Look – there’s a hotel, what does it say? The Roosevelt.’*

  Jack looked up with considerable awe. ‘I love that,’ he said.

  ‘I hate it,’ said Eddie. ‘But there is one thing I do know about hotels: they always have a lot of dustbins round the back.’

  Now it is a fact well known to those who know it well, and those who know it well do not necessarily harbour a particular interest in the foibles of architects, that the rears of hotels are always rubbish. Which is to say that whilst the front façades display all the architectural splendours that those who commissioned their construction could afford, the rears of the buildings are a proper disgrace. They’re all waste pipes and rusty fire escapes and dustbins, lots of dustbins.