Toy Cemetery

by William W. Johnstone

  The two men fought the door. The door suddenly became passive, almost throwing the men off their feet by the suddenness of it.

  Jim tried the entry door. It opened easily, exposing the darkness of the foyer. The trooper stepped inside, the others following. When the last one entered, the screen door closed gently, settling into its frame.

  Nothing had changed since Deva and Jay had last seen the interior; at least nothing that they could spot.

  The group stood in staring silence at the toys that lay sprawled on the floor and the furniture.

  As their eyes grew accustomed to the dimness, Jay pointed. “There. That doll was not here before.”

  Jim squatted down beside the small doll with the smashed head. He touched a stickiness on the doll’s head and then rubbed his fingertips together. He shook his head.

  “What’s the matter?” Amy asked.

  “Blood. Couple of days old. No more than three days.”

  Amy stared at the doll. She put both hands to a suddenly flushed face. “Oh, no. No. That can’t be.”

  “What can’t be?” Jim looked up at her.

  Amy pointed to the doll. “That’s Lucy Jordan.”

  “Who is Lucy Jordan?” Jay asked.

  “The girl out at Holcomb’s supermarket,” Jim told him. “The one who had her head explode the other day. I told you about it.”

  The group stood in silence. As silent as the bloody doll that lay still on the floor.

  “They not only take the souls,” General Douglas whispered, “but they steal the features. If that theory is true . . . then we aren’t dealing with real people in this town. The people are just... shells. ”

  Jim stared at the doll. “People, I think this . . . is alive.”

  “Then why don’t the others come alive and help her?” Amy screamed the question, her voice shrill and cutting in the quiet old home.

  Jim jumped up and grabbed her, pulling her away from the awful bloody impossibility.

  “Because they don’t trust any of you,” Jenny said. “Another reason is there is probably nothing they can do for the doll. There is nothing anybody can do.” The girl smiled. “But they’re watching you.”

  As a group, huddled together, they backed out of the living room and into the foyer. And as they stood there, a very faint sound drifted to them.

  They listened intently.

  The sound level increased; it was now very clear. There was no mistaking the sounds of passion, the panting and the emotion-charged words that passed between the unseen man and woman, locked in ageless intercourse.

  The sounds became so intimate, it was embarrassing to the listeners.

  “It’s coming from right over there,” Amy said, pointing to a closed door.

  Jim walked to the door and turned the knob. The door opened without a sound. The others crowded the doorway. No one noticed that Jenny and Kelly had slipped away.

  “Look at the bed,” Jay whispered.

  The center of the spread was indented. The shape of the body was very evident. The pockets created by the man’s knees were outlined. And the mattress was shaking, trembling with each forward lunge of the man, the sounds of flesh meeting flesh unmistakable. The words between lovers became more heated.

  The woman’s voice was oddly familiar to Jay.

  The various indentations on the bed lifted and changed. A man’s voice spoke. “The lamp is burning low, my darling.”

  “To hell with the lamp!” the woman said, her voice thick with passion. “Let it burn out!”

  Very soon, the smell of kerosene became strong in the foyer, filling the nostrils of those who stayed in time and place and became unseen auditory voyeurs.

  “There!” the woman cried out. “I want it right there.”

  The man laughed, a taunting sound.

  “Do it, damn you, Clint!”

  Then the woman’s cry was a mixture of pain and arousal and satisfaction.

  “You are a perverted bitch, Cary!”

  “And you love it,” she panted.

  “My beautiful sister.”

  Jay jerked his head up at that. “Sister!” he whispered. He glanced at General Douglas. He nodded his head.

  Cary’s laughter ripped through the dusty old bedroom. “Now, Clint – now!”

  The man grunted.

  Cary’s scream touched and mentally cut those who stood listening. They listened, but none yet understood the how and why of it.

  “Miz Cary!” A new voice was added, springing out of and through the misty veil of afterlife. “Miz Cary! Ma’am, is you all right in there?”

  “Yes!” Cary’s voice cut past time and darkness. “Go to your quarters, Isodora. Right now.”

  A muffled giggling was heard.

  “Yessum, Miz Cary.” The voice giggled. “I leave you and your brother alone now.”

  “Shut up and go to your quarters,” Clint yelled.

  With a laugh, footsteps sprang out of time and vanished as the sounds of a door closing came to the group.

  Then, as quickly as they had appeared, the indentations on the mattress disappeared. The sounds of the man and woman faded back into the mystery of the past.

  Jay closed the door and walked to the stairs that led upward to the second floor. He sat down.

  “What are you thinking, son?” General Douglas asked him.

  “You nodded your head a few minutes ago, General. Did my Aunt Cary have a brother named Clint?”

  “Yes. She did. I mean, I never knew the man; he died long before I came along. I . . .” The general paused.

  “I ... what, General?”

  “It’s a rumor, son. But now . . . hell, now I think it was based on fact. Cary ...”

  Wild laughter came from above them. Jay jumped up, his heart pounding. Amy and Deva and Piper began screaming and pointing. Kelly and Jenny ran around a corner to stand staring into the mist at the top of the stairs.

  “Aunt Cary,” Jay said.

  “You snot-nosed little piss-pants brat!” The hollow voice floated to the group.

  Piper fainted.

  6

  General Douglas grabbed the woman before her head could bang against the floor. He stretched her out and elevated her feet.

  “How touching, Doug.” Cary’s voice reached him.

  The mist had thickened, and in it, all could see the form of a woman.

  “Well, I’ll be . . .” the general said, no fear evident in his voice. “It’s really you.”

  “Who did you expect, Jesus Christ?” Cary spat the last two words. “Forget that.” Jay could feel her eyes on him. “What you were thinking a moment ago, piss-pants . . . that’s right.”

  “I thought it might be,” Jay said. He could not take his eyes from the misty form of his aunt.

  “What is it ... ah, she talking about?” Jim asked.

  Cary’s laughter was the blackest evil.

  “God cursed this town and then forsook it,” Jay spoke softly. “That’s how they could get away with worshipping the devil in what appears to be Houses of God.”

  “That’s right, piss-pants.” The voice came steel-hard to them. “Go ahead, tell them all what you were thinking.”

  “You and your brother started the evil.”

  “Wrong, piss-pants. It was started centuries before I was born.”

  Jay shrugged. “No matter. You helped maintain the evil here.”

  “Right, piss-pants.”

  “But we’re here now, Cary. And all of us believe in God. So that’s going to make a difference.”

  “You’re stupid!” The woman’s voice was harsh. “But you’re still a Clute. The last Clute. I couldn’t see you killed . . . before. I gave you a chance. I gave you a fortune and a way out. I can’t help you now.”

  “Why would you want to help me? You always hated me.”

  “I never hated you!” the woman screamed. “I loved you! I saw in you the same qualities I saw in my darling Clinton. But you spurned me. You would never accept my teac
hings.”

  Cary’s form took more human shape. The woman was covered with blood, her long dress tattered and torn and bloody. But her eyes were dark with shining evil.

  “Clinton,” General Douglas whispered. “All the whispered rumors that no one could speak of in front of the children. They’re all true.”

  “What about Clinton?” Jim asked.

  “You’re not worthy to speak his name,” Cary said, her eyes touching him.

  “But I did,” Jim told her.

  “He ventured out of this area.” Cary’s voice was soft in memory. “To another town. They killed him. They drove a stake through his heart and then burned him and scattered the ashes. My darling beautiful Clinton.”

  General Douglas pulled a sharp breath.

  Cary’s eyes touched him. “Yes, that’s true in part.”

  “Say it,” Jay told the old soldier.

  “Revenge. All this . . . tragedy. All the ruined lives. The torture and ... hideousness.” He shook his head. “It was all for revenge.”

  “For a soldier, you’re reasonably astute,” Cary told him. “But of course, it wasn’t all simply for revenge. What was begun by my . . . ” She looked at Jay. “Our ancestors, must always continue.”

  “No,” Jay said. “It’s going to stop.”

  “Foolish, foolish boy,” Cary said with a bloody macabre smile. “All you will accomplish is your own death. And the loss of your soul.”

  “A stake through the heart.” Amy finally found her voice; just a whisper. “He was a werewolf!”

  Cary laughed. “Oh, don’t be silly, girl. Clint was no werewolf. That’s nonsense.”

  Jay leaned against the railing, looking at the shape of his aunt. “Where is the source of it all, Cary?”

  “Smart boy,” Cary muttered. “Of course, I am the source.”

  “No. I don’t believe that. It has to be something very old, and very evil. But it does have to be ... something tangible.”

  The dark mist that was life after death remained silent, hovering on the second-floor landing. Finally, out of the misty shape, she spoke. “If you believe in God, Jay, pray that you never discover the source.”

  The mist faded.

  From out of the vanishing mist, laughter rang down, its evil invisibly touching the flesh of those on the first floor.

  “It was a dream,” Jim said, a dazed look in his eyes. “It had to be a dream. Someone’s playing tricks on us.”

  General Douglas looked outside the house. “Those punks are back.”

  Jim seemed to snap out of his daze. He blinked and shook his head. He walked to the door and stepped out onto the porch, facing the teenagers standing on the ground.

  “Be advised that you’re on private property,” he told the machete-carrying bunch. “And those weapons you’re carrying constitute a clear danger. A property owner can exercise his right and kill you ... and get away with it.”

  Jay borrowed the general’s .45 and stepped out onto the porch, jacking a round into the autoloader.

  “I have lost all patience,” he told Jim. “I simply will not tolerate any more of this!”

  “Big words, mister,” a young man told him, laughing.

  Jay put a round between the teenager’s feet, the heavy slug spraying up dirt and pebbles, stinging the punk’s ankles. Jay raised the .45 and aimed it at the boy’s chest.

  “Hey, man!” the frightened teenager shouted. “Hey! We’re cuttin’ out, man. Like . . . right now!”

  They turned as one and ran back into the field beside the house.

  “I own that property, too!” Jay yelled. “So keep going.”

  Jay walked to the edge of the porch and emptied the .45 into the tall weeds of the vacant field.

  In less than a minute, the gang of boys had cleared the field and were running up the old blacktop road.

  General Douglas stepped out and handed Jay another clip. “You keep that .45, boy. I got two more in my luggage.”

  “Would you have killed him, Daddy?” Kelly asked her father.

  He looked at the girl. “Last week, I’d have said no,” was his reply.

  “Car coming,” Jim said. “It’s Father Pat and Eric.”

  The priest was helped up the tall steps. Quickly, he was informed of what had transpired that day.

  The priest looked tired. “I spoke with the town’s ministers; those that would talk to me, that is. They were all smiles and congeniality . . . and very smug. Of course, they admitted nothing. But then, I didn’t expect them to.” He sighed heavily. “Brother and sister? That’s much more common than you think. Do you have any idea where this source might be?”

  “Not a clue, Father.

  “Let’s go inside. I want to sense what this house contains.”

  “Sadness,” the priest said, standing amid the broken toys.

  “Sadness?” Jim looked at him. “Not evil?”

  “No. Sadness and a longing. This is a repository for lost souls. There is no further mystery. From now on, it’s clear-cut.”

  “It all comes down to good against evil,” Eric said. He walked to the rear of the large living room.

  “Doesn’t it always?” Amy asked.

  “Jesus God!” Eric shouted from the back of the living room. He was standing in the murk of the darkest part of the room.

  “Eric!” the priest shouted.

  The big man’s hands were shaking as he pointed toward the floor, across the room.

  The others followed the shaking finger with unbelieving eyes, horror-filled eyes, mind-numbing eyes.

  The doll that was Lucy Jordan was standing up, lurching and staggering around the room. The crushed and misshapen skull was leaking blood. One eye hung out of a socket.

  “What’s happening?” Father Pat asked.

  General Douglas told him.

  The priest crossed himself and silently prayed.

  Lucy Jordan stumbled around, to face Jay. The mouth dropped open. A smell of death filled the room, assailing the nostrils of those who stood and stared.

  With a horrible shriek, the doll began running toward Jay, her tiny arms outstretched.

  The screaming stopped as the mouth worked up and down. “Help me!” she screamed. “Help me!”

  “Look out, Jim!” Amy yelled. “There’s one coming up to your left.”

  While Jay was dodging the bloody advancing doll, Jim spun around to face a tiny little man.

  An ugly, hideously deformed and grotesque-looking little man. But the sword in the little man’s right hand was real, and looked very sharp. The sword was only a couple of inches long, but still the cop did not want to be stuck with it.

  ‘I don’t want to hurt you,” Jim said, feeling very foolish saying it. “But I will if you make me. So just get away from me.”

  The little man, dressed in medieval soldier’s garb, stopped his slow advance. Towering over the tiny soldier, Jim stared at the man’s tiny face. “Please get away from me. I don’t mean you any harm. Please believe me.”

  The little man cocked his head and then grinned, his scarred and twisted face making the grin seem out of place.

  The little toy soldier swung the sword menacingly from side to side. But he was backing up as he did so. He suddenly darted away, disappearing under the stairs that led to the second floor.

  Jim’s chest was heaving from a combination of fear and uncertainty. He turned to face Jay. He was standing over Lucy Jordan.

  “It just fell down and didn’t move,” Jay said.

  Jim knelt down beside the doll. He looked at the fresh spill of blood and fluid from the doll’s head. He knew that much drainage had not been present when he first inspected the doll.

  With tentative fingertips, he touched the doll’s tiny neck. It was cooling rapidly. With a sigh, he stood up.

  “I guess it ... she is dead,” he heard himself say.

  “I wanna get outta here!” Amy yelled.

  Father Pat again crossed himself and prayed; this time, Eric joined h
im.

  “My nerves are about shot, people,” Jim said. “I . . . ”

  He stopped speaking as movement on the floor caught and held his attention.

  “Mother of God,” General Douglas breathed. “Please let this be a dream. Please?”

  Jenny looked at the old soldier and smiled a strange moving of the lips.

  A toy soldier whose legs were crooked and useless was pulling himself along the floor, his little fingers digging into the dusty carpet as he inched his way along. All could see his face contorted with the straining effort. But like a well-trained soldier, his musket was lying across the crook of his arms.

  Amy stared in horror for a moment; Eric was whispering to the priest, telling him what was taking place. Amy walked to the soldier and knelt down. The soldier ceased his efforts and stared up at the young woman.

  “Where are you trying to go?” Amy asked.

  The soldier stared at her.

  “Won’t you let me help you?”

  “Non.” His reply was just audible.

  “We’re not here to harm you or any of the others,” Amy told him.

  “Peut-etre, the soldier said.

  “What’d he say,” Jay asked.

  “Perhaps,” Jim whispered.

  Eric shivered as a clammy coldness washed over him. He glanced at Father Pat. The priest’s face was pale.

  The soldier once more began his struggling across the floor. The group stood in silence and watched the soldier, his cap, a kepi, marking him as a French Foreign Legionnaire, slowly inch his way out of the room.

  The group all felt eyes on them. Many eyes. They turned slowly, all of them, turning gradually a full circle. All but Father Pat. The dolls, the soldiers, the clowns, all the peoplelike toys that were scattered about the room were staring at them. They were not moving, just staring.

  Jay took a handkerchief out of his hip pocket and walked to the bloody doll that once was a normal, living human being named Lucy Jordan. Kneeling down, he unfolded the handkerchief and fixed it into a shroud, carefully wrapping the doll in the linen.

  “You better be careful,” Jenny suddenly warned him.

  Her mother shushed her with a hot, angry look.

  Jim, Eric, and General Douglas all stared at mother and daughter, wondering what in the hell was going on.