Patricia Geary - Strange Toys

“Three forty-three,” said Stan. “I mean, why do I bother?”

Not this time.

“Stopping at some pathetic little roadside stand is the least we can do for the children,” Linwood said, “after what you’ve put them through.”

“What I’ve put them through.”

“Who said we had to leave town?” Linwood lit a cigarette and assumed her movie star profile. “If you’re in such a big hurry, for God’s sake, then you might as well just drop us off. Go ahead, drop us off. We’re living on my money anyway.”

“I don’t really care if we stop,” I said. “Ouch!”

“Are we really living off your money?” June asked.

“If it weren’t for my father—”

“Goddammit!” yelled Stan. “We’re stopping already, goddammit! All I wanted was to get us to the hotel in Fort Bragg so you could relax and have your shower and your drink before dinner!”

“Well, that’s no reason to shout.” Linwood was all dignity. “I mean, fine, let’s stop, but there’s no reason to shout at us like that. Stan, really!”

There was an extended moment of silence. I looked out the window at the dank night coming down and played with the tiny toys in my pocket. Oddly enough, they soothed me. Were they a kind of charm that could keep off the melancholy of twilight? The air was thick and misty. We were close to the ocean, not Southern California warm sand and suntan oil, but cliffs and spume and tidepools. Maybe in the morning we would go down to the shore and look for starfish and anemones, like in The Restless Sea .

“There it is!” June shouted. “Turn here!”

Madame Miraculo’s Crazy House loomed up from a tangle of huge dark trees, dripping with evening fog. It’s perfectly spooky , I thought, a thrill riding like a monorail up my spine. I tried to remember the lessons I’d learned from all the strange things happening lately. Don’t be scared, be strong. Tommy had hurt me, I had to go to the bathroom again, but Sammy hadn’t. The thing was not to be a little creep. I should be tough like June, or Deane. My weakness was my own fault. Like they said in the Bible, if you don’t have very much, they’ll take that away from you too. The only way to win when you’re scared is to be mad and shout a lot. You can’t be afraid and angry at the same time: it was like air and water—they drove each other out.

Stan pulled the car into the empty parking lot. “Doesn’t look open,” he pronounced.

“Oh, poo.” Linwood stubbed out her cigarette. She waited, as usual, while Stan walked around and opened her door.

June clambered out after Linwood, but I waited a moment. They went up to the door, and then inside, so obviously it was open after all. For a moment, I thought I could stay in the car the whole time, no one would notice. Then I could pluck poodle toys at my leisure and avoid whatever was inside. But Stan reappeared in the doorway, glaring through his sunglasses, arms akimbo.

Reminding myself to be strong and of good courage, I shuffled across the grass, pulling my red coat tightly around me.

I pushed open the heavy door. And inside, the whole thing was right out of Frankenstein ! High ceilings with cobwebs, tarnished suits of armor, the whole enchilada. Except for the gift shop, which looked cozy and familiar. To my left, through the glass door, I could see back scratchers and beaded necklaces and those little cedar chests like the one I got at Marineland. June was already checking out the merchandise, and Linwood was no doubt in the ladies’ room. Stan was standing near the entrance of the shop, glaring at a sign that said: ADMISSION TO THE MANSION IS $2.00.

Now, I can’t say exactly why I did this. Maybe I wanted to test myself, or punish myself, or maybe I was just being stupid. Whatever the reason, before there was a chance to talk myself out of it, I snuck under the chain, down the short hallway, and up the dusty staircase.

And it was plenty dusty.

Walking up the stairs, you felt yourself moving much farther away than you should have been. So quiet, and so remote. One of the worst things about this traveling together was that we were always together. At night, I couldn’t play with my cigar box, never mind check out Deane’s book, with June always there. The real part of me felt like it was shut up in a box, too.

At the top of the staircase I relaxed and breathed deep. You were on another planet. Here were the stage props, the filmy curtains, and the peculiar statues—was that Artemis-Diana, huge white marble to my right, poised before a heavy, closed door? But also the air seemed to have a greeny glow, and I don’t think it was just my imagination. There were patches of sparkly stuff drifting around, head-high, weird little clouds. I fingered the poodle toys in my coat pocket.

The clouds seemed to be gathering, and in fact the air was much greener than it had been a moment ago.

Well, I was tired of being scared. How bad could this be? I felt that little quease between my legs, but really, what next? I could go my whole life like this, constantly being weak and scared.

Or I could go ahead and face up to the strange.

“Who’s there?” I called.

The air got greener and denser. You couldn’t even see the black velvet chairs I’d first noticed at the top of the staircase.

“Is anybody there?”

Out of the thin air, except it couldn’t have been, a middle-aged man appeared. He was elegant in a dovegray suit with tails, a dovegray shirt, and charcoal gloves with mother-of-pearl buttons. His skin was the color of pecans, and his eyes were chips of ice.

Sammy!

“And who’s here?” he asked nastily.

“Only me.”

“Precisely.”

I leaned down and pulled up my anklets, then brushed off the toes of my Keds. All that dust.

“Are you ready to deal?”

I straightened up, making every effort to be calm and cool. Poodle toys and the magic book: power sources. “What about that danger you said? What about my family?”

“You have something I want. I have something you need. It’s as simple as that.” He smoothed down his gloves. His eyes looked like Stripey’s. He was June’s pet snake, until Linwood found him curled up in one of her slippers. The worst part was she found him with her foot.

“But Deane’s my sister!”

“Do say.”

“And what’s hers should be mine. More than yours.”

He straightened his impeccable tie before an imaginary mirror. “Very well. If you must be greedy. And if you want the safety of your family to be your responsibility, of course.”

Globes of light seemed to spin in the sparkly air before my eyes. “How do I know you aren’t making this all up, just because you’re greedy too?”

“That’s a chance you could take. You are the one who will have to live with your conscience.”

Pang straight to the heart.

Sammy made an about-face and strolled away a couple of paces.

“Wait a minute!”

He turned back, his face a study in boredom.

“If you’re so smart—”

He cocked an eyebrow.

“—why didn’t you just get the book yourself?”

When he smiled, you wished he wouldn’t. “You saw the hex signs in her room. Whom do you think they were meant to keep out? You? That oaf of a boyfriend?”

“ Pet! ” Stan called. Wherever he was, it was farther away than a dream.

“Are you ready to deal?”

I felt utterly paralyzed. On the one hand, how could I risk my mother, my father, maybe both sisters? On the other hand, what would Sammy do with the book? Deane must have had a good reason for keeping him away.

On the third hand, she was the person who had stuffed my sweet Marmalade.

“Pet!”

Sammy stared. In fact, Stripey had more expression on his face. “You have one more chance.”