D Gillespie - The Toy Thief

I checked the clock over the TV. Just about five after ten. I had plenty of time. By eleven, maybe 11:30 at the latest, I’d set my traps and head to bed myself, Memphis tucked under one arm. I thought of Andy, the handprint on his back, and I considered trying to sneak the cat into his room after he was asleep, an extra layer of security just for him. It was a lousy idea though. The cat didn’t really like him, and if I did somehow coax Memphis in, he would just wait by the door, mewling, until Andy let him out. No, Memphis was better with me anyway, another personal alarm system. Plan firmly set, I leaned back onto the arm of the couch, surfing channels with sweaty palms, waiting for the right time.

There were countless holes in my plan, but the most gaping was my underestimation of how tired I was. The previous night had drained me in ways I didn’t quite grasp, and despite the fear gnawing at my stomach, my body decided I’d had enough. I awoke to a darkened room, the house all but silent, and immediately, I knew it was much later than I had planned. All my traps were still waiting to be set, so I wasted no time, leaping off the couch, ignoring the clock when it told me what I already knew. It was nearly 1:30 now, and not even Andy would be awake at this hour. I focused on the sliding door first, dashing across the room and setting the cymbal up just like I had practiced. Then I turned into the kitchen and saw it, resting in the center of the room under the weak glow of the light that hung over the stove. The most horrifying thing I had ever seen.

It was Sallie’s doll.

It sat on the kitchen table, upright and smiling, as if it had never left. As if the entire episode were all just an awful dream. I walked to it, dazed, lost to the world, and I reached out, placing the tips of my fingers on the cloth skin. I needed to touch it. I needed to know it was really there. It tipped over on one side and stopped, caught by something I couldn’t quite make out. I edged my hand to one side and felt the thin, nearly invisible wire that held it in place, a wire that ran through the kitchen, down the hall, into Andy’s room.

It was in that instant, when I heard the door creak open, that I knew it wasn’t a thread, not really. It was a web. A spider’s silk. A trap, just like the one I had tried to set a week ago. Only this one was crafted by hands that knew what they were doing – thin, quick, astoundingly clever hands. When the Toy Thief emerged into the hall, slipping out of Andy’s room, it moved slowly, carefully, the anglerfish light on its head bobbing left and right as it crawled toward me.

I understood, at least on some level. We both knew the other existed, and so there was no need to play silly games. No more hiding, no more creeping, no more running. It walked onto the linoleum floor, each footfall absolute silence. For the second time in a week, I felt certain that I would wet my pants. It turned its head this way and that, and I noticed for the first time how big its ears were, how well they must be able to hear. The pitch-black hands looked soft and delicate to the touch, but I had seen what they could do, what they were doing. The thought of Andy alone in that room with this creature made me sick in ways I can’t really explain, but more than anything else, it made a part of me bubble with a fury I had never known.

“What do you want with him?” I asked quietly as it passed into the kitchen, mere feet away.

I wasn’t sure if the thing could even speak, if it even understood a word I was saying, but almost instantly, I had an answer. The crooked, hideous mouth curled up in a smile, the only answer I needed. That playful grin was like a knife into the part of me that had fight left in it, the bold, brash, loud-talking part. I felt myself withering, growing smaller and smaller as the awful thing drew itself up onto its feet.

“I… I won’t let you hurt him,” I said in a voice as weak as a breeze. “I… I…”

On two feet, it was taller than my father, towering over me, its head seeming to touch the ceiling. Then, with a slow, careful motion, it reached up with both hands and flipped back the lenses that covered its eyes. I don’t remember if I was crying before I saw the eyes, but I distinctly remember the warmth of tears when I did see them. They were pink, shiny buttons, round and featureless, without irises or pupils to speak of. I couldn’t remember exactly when I had seen those eyes before, but I instantly knew where.

The pet store at the mall.

Andy, Dad, me.

Cute things. Puppies. Kittens. Fish. Even birds.

And piled into a single cage, a dozen of them, curled together with rope-like tails.

Rats.

Some brown. Some dark. But a few bone white, with pink, dead eyes.

My perception changed in that moment, transformed, and I no longer saw the Toy Thief as an it, but as a he . He was a bent, broken excuse for a person, but there was something human within him all the same. He was close now, close enough for me to touch, and the smile grew wider. I could finally see those awful teeth for what they were: jagged, uneven, tough enough to chew through walls. Rat’s teeth. The posture, the curving back, the white skin, the quickness. There was no more doubt in the matter. He was, quite simply, a rat-man.

Somehow, I found the courage to draw out the pocketknife, to unfold the weak blade, to hold it in front of my face. The smile became something worse. The laugh was a quiet, wheezing sound, the sound of a creature that no longer knows how to speak if it ever truly did. I expected him to reach down, to wrap those bony fingers around my neck, and to choke the life from me. Instead, he reached behind his back and pulled out my bear.

My God, the sight of it. The only relic of my mother, clutched in that awful, bony hand. I would love to tell you that the sight of my bear made me break into a righteous fury, that I dove on the creature and attacked for all I was worth, that I knew, even at nine, exactly what to do. But I can’t tell you that. The sight of the bear, clutched in skeleton hands, made me wither, and I fell to my knees with tears welling in my eyes.

“No…” I begged. The idea of losing the last shred of my mother had broken me, shattered my feeble attempts at toughness. I had no plan. No idea. No hope. And so all I could do was beg.

“Please,” I whispered, careful not to wake Andy or Dad. If I did, it would be over. The creature would be gone, and my bear would be gone with it. “Don’t take it.”

The smile grew ever wider, and I became convinced that my life was about to end, right there, on that very patch of linoleum. It might have too, if not for the deep growl that rose from the hallway. It was Memphis of course, my fat, surly savior. He wasn’t attacking – even he knew better than that – but he was standing his ground, ears laid back, fur bristling. I wondered why he would do such a thing when running was the easiest option. If a burglar had broken in, I could just about guarantee that lazy bastard would have found a quiet corner to sleep. Then it struck me. What could possibly hate a rat more than a cat?

The smell of the thing alone must have been enough to drive Memphis into a frenzy, and as I watched him, I realized my instinct was right. He wasn’t doing anything as silly as defending me. Every ounce of his being was in conflict as he stared at the gigantic rat thing before him, his mind and his instincts at odds, his senses telling him to attack while whatever common sense he had told him to flee. He kept doing this little half dance, stepping forward and back, as if the carpet under his paws were on fire and he couldn’t bear to step on it for more than a few seconds.

And there we were, the three of us locked in place, frozen in time, until the Toy Thief reached down with a lightning-quick hand and swatted the cat away. There was a growl, a spitting hiss, and like a flipped switch, the spell over me was broken. I ignored the knife in my hand, and I dove for the bear, hoping to wrench it free. I snagged one of the legs, but he was quicker than I had any hope of being. He snatched it clear and pushed me back with a leathery hand on my face, flipping me onto the linoleum. His horrid, loathsome mouth filled my vision from end to end, and the only thing that existed in the entire world was teeth. All I could do was close my eyes.