D Gillespie - The Toy Thief

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.