Toy Cemetery
Toy Cemetery
WILLIAM W. JOHNSTONE
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Title Page
BOOK ONE
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
BOOK TWO
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
BOOK THREE
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
Copyright Page
BOOK ONE
The little toy dog is covered with dust,
But sturdy and staunch he stands;
And the little toy soldier is red with rust;
And his musket molds in his hands;
Time was when the little toy dog was new,
And the soldier was passing fair;
And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue
Kissed them and put them there.
Eugene Field
1
“What’s wrong, Daddy?”
Jay had thought she was sound asleep. He smiled at her and shook his head. “Nothing, Kelly.”
“Then why did you frown so?”
He laughed at her seriousness. “Because for a moment, baby, I thought I was on the wrong road.”
“Are we?”
“No. It’s just been a long time since I was here, that’s all.”
But still he wasn’t sure he was on the right road.
Things seemed – well, different. But no, he was on the right road. As many times as he had driven this county road in his youth – hundreds, maybe thousands of times, riding and driving – how could he have taken the wrong road?
He cut his eyes to Kelly. She was wide awake now, and her eyes sparkled with excitement. She was having a good time, traveling “way out in the boondocks,” as she had put it upon leaving New York City.
She was a smart kid, Jay thought. And knew he wasn’t just thinking that because she was his. She was very intelligent.
Like her mother.
And very pretty and cool and blonde.
Like her mother.
And pretty damned hip for a nine-year-old.
And he smiled at his use of that ’60s expression.
Well, he thought, why not use it? I’m heading back into the ’60s. Back to Victory, Missouri. Back to probably see all the old gang.
Those that were still around, that is. And he wondered how many that might be.
His eyes found something on the blacktop road up ahead. He stared through the windshield. What the hell was that?
“What is that thing, Daddy?” Kelly asked.
Jay slammed on the brakes; luckily they were both wearing seat belts or Kelly might have been thrown against the dash.
“Impossible,” Jay said, blinking his eyes a couple of times.
“Daddy? That looked like a ... a little tiny man running across the road.”
“It was some little animal, baby. It was not a tiny little man.”
“Funniest-looking little animal I ever saw,” Kelly said.
“Oh, yeah?” Jay grinned at her. “So now you’re an expert on animals?”
She avoided that and said instead, “Then why did you just say ’impossible’? What were you thinking?”
Like I just was thinking: Smart. “Okay, Kelly. It did kinda look like a little person.”
The child folded her arms across her chest. “That’s what I just said.”
Jay laughed at her and took his foot off the brake pedal.
She giggled and said, “Aren’t you going to say that I’m just like my mother?”
“No. But I will say that you’re just like a woman!”
She rolled her eyes. “How chauvinistic, Father.”
“That’s me, baby. A one hundred percent domineering man.”
“Right.”
“You don’t have to agree with everything I say, you know.”
But when he cut his eyes to the rearview mirror and glanced back, that – little thing was standing on the edge of the highway, looking at the automobile fading from view.
Jay did not say anything to Kelly about it. She would have wanted to go back, and that would have delayed things. Jay wanted this visit over and done with as soon as possible.
There was a logical explanation for it. Jay felt sure of that.
Probably some kids hiding in the ditch running one of those little remote control toys. Sure. That was it.
* * *
A few miles further and he topped the hill, and there was Victory. He pulled over onto the gravel shoulder and stopped, looking down on the town where he’d been born and reared.
He expected some nearly overwhelming sensation to envelop him. But oddly, he felt nothing. Yet.
He slipped his car into gear and checked the mirror before pulling out on the county road. The town looked as peaceful as ever.
“Looks kinda hicky.” Kelly broke into his thoughts.
Jay grinned. “Compared to New York, baby, it is.”
But compared to New York City, he thought, what isn’t?
Then he remembered something. Back a few miles, there used to be a big billboard advertising Farmington’s Department Store. But he hadn’t seen it.
He wondered if the store was still in operation.
Then he felt a very mild thrill at once more seeing his hometown.
That thrill passed quickly. There were just too many bad memories associated with Victory. He pushed them away from his mind.
“I’m getting some bad vibes from you, Daddy.”
“I’m sorry for that, baby. But that’s something I can’t help.”
“Maybe you’ll tell me about it sometime?”
“Sometime,” Jay muttered.
One of the first things Jay noticed as he drove into the main business area – other than the fact the town had not grown much, if any, in twenty years – was the large store that now dominated the block where Farmington’s Department Store used to be.
We Buy & Sell Used Toys.
Jay figured it had to be the biggest damn toy store in the state of Missouri. And a used toy store at that.
“Oohh,” Kelly said, spotting the store. “I want to go in there!”
“We will. I promise.” To himself: Business must be very good. They probably ship them all over the nation.
Why not just spend the summer?
“Did you say something, Kelly?”
She looked at him. “No. Why? What’d you hear?”
“Well . . . I guess nothing.”
The child would enjoy it!
Jay pulled over to the curb.
“Daddy, you’re all pale! Are you sick or something?”
“No,” he muttered. “No, I feel fine. Except for the . . .” He started to say “the voices in my head.”
But he couldn’t remember hearing any voices.
He glanced at his daughter. “I was just thinking, Kelly. It might be fun to spend a few days here in Victory. How about it?”
“Oh, that’d be great, Daddy!”
“You don’t think it’s too hicky?”
“No. Who said I did?”
Then Jay couldn’t recall her saying that.
Jay
suddenly, violently, shivered. And he knew why. The memories of that awful night returned to him.
He looked at Kelly; she was gazing out her window and did not see him shudder.
She looked back at him. There was a rather odd glint in her blue eyes. That strange glint vanished. “I’m cold, Daddy.”
“The air conditioner’s on pretty high.” He cut it off, checked the mirror and pulled out into the street.
On the last block before the business district ended, in the center of the block, Jay found a parking place and eased his car into the slot. He looked at the small lawn in front of the office.
Fletcher Real Estate.
Same neat little building. Jay wondered if Anne Fletcher, after she married Aaron Brownell, still worked for her dad in the office.
Anne had been one of those in the group that night.
He wondered if she, or any of them, ever thought about it.
Jesus! how could they not think of it?
“Want to come inside with me, or wait out here, baby?”
She screwed up her pretty face. “I think I’ll just sit outside on the steps. If you’re too long, I’ll come in.”
“And then well have a milk shake.”
“You got a deal!” She pointed a finger at him.
With a sigh, Jay cut the engine, got out of the car and stood for a moment, getting the kinks out of his leg muscles. They had driven all the way, but certainly not nonstop, from New York City. Jay stretched a bit. Kelly was still in the car, inspecting her face in the mirror behind the sun visor. Soon be a young woman, Jay thought. How the years roll so relentlessly by.
He felt like doing a couple of deep knee bends. But he thought that might look a bit strange to any passersby.
Jay smiled. Hell, the people in Victory always had thought him a bit strange.
Kelly got out of the car and walked ahead of him, plopping down on the steps of the small real estate office.
“Don’t sell the farm out from under us, Pop,” she kidded.
“I’ll like to see you on a farm, sometime.” He ruffled her hair. She slapped his hand away playfully. “With the chickens and the pigs and the cows and the goats.”
“Gross-out!” she told him.
She got up and wandered up the street.
“Stay on this side and on this block,” Jay called after her.
She waved at him; but Jay knew she would obey him.
Jay ran his fingers through his close-cropped brown hair. He’d worn his hair short ever since getting out of the army. He’d done his time in ’Nam; In-Country, some vets called it. He’d pulled two tours as a grunt and won his share of medals; but Jay did not think of himself as any kind of hero. He’d flirted briefly with the idea of joining Special Forces. That flirtation had lasted about as long as the affections of a Saigon whore.
After stepping out of, or wading through the shithole called Vietnam, Jay had, quite literally, walked into a good position with a major accounting firm in New York City, accounting being his major in college before he busted out and got drafted. His head was so screwed up back then that being drafted probably saved his life.
He had saved his money, got married, fathered a child, Kelly, and after a few stormy years, got divorced. He and his ex-wife, Piper, still kept in touch; probably friendlier now than when they’d lived together. But there had been few other women in Jay’s life since Piper.
Jay still had deep feelings for Piper, and she for him. But they had separate careers, separate friends. And that’s the way it looked like they would always be: Separate.
He lifted his eyes as he spotted Kelly waving to him.
“Can I go look in the window of the toy store, Daddy?” she called.
Jay hesitated. But this was small-town America, and other kids were walking and talking up and down the street.
“All right,” he called. “You’ve got a watch. Ten minutes, Kelly. Back here in ten minutes.”
“Thanks, Daddy.” She looked both ways, checking for traffic, then skipped across the street.
Jay watched the girl safely to the other side. Piper had not wanted the child – not ever. She had her modeling career and felt the girl would be a drag. She had not objected to Jay’s custody. But time had tempered her feelings, and now she saw Kelly at least once a week. And sometimes, when she would miss Kelly, she and Jay would renew old times between the sheets, even though both of them knew they shouldn’t.
Jay was certainly not rich, but he was quite comfortable. He had invested well, played the stock market, and now owned his own accounting firm in New York.
He touched his shirt pocket, feeling the paper in the pocket, the wire he’d received. Your Aunt Cary Died. Left Everything To You. Come Home.
The kinks out of his five foot, ten inches, Jay stepped up on the sidewalk. Turning sideways a bit, to check on Kelly – she was talking with some other kids in front of the store – Jay looked at his reflection in the glass of the door before pushing it open. Still in pretty good shape for a man thirty-eight years old.
* * *
“You really don’t ever go in the store?” Kelly asked the girl.
The girl shook her head. “No. Not ever. You see, they don’t sell ... what’s the word I’m looking for? They don’t sell retail. This is kind of a showroom for out-of-state people to come look at.”
“Kind of like a warehouse, you mean?” Kelly asked.
“Yeah! I’m Jenny.”
“Kelly.”
With blond hair and deep black eyes, Jenny was striking looking. She introduced the others, all about the same age, nine or ten. Carla, with freckles and red hair. Ange and Andy and Ken.
“A lot of neat-looking stuff in there,” Kelly said, peering into the depths of the huge store. “Sure is dark, though.”
Kelly tried the front door of the toy store. Locked. “Sure is a funny way to run a business,” she said. “This place intrigues me.”
“That’s a good word.” Jenny smiled.
“You gonna be in town long?” Ange asked.
“I guess. Maybe the whole summer.”
“Where are you staying?”
Kelly shrugged her shoulders. “I guess at my dad’s aunt’s house. Cary Clute.”
The others exchanged glances. “Oh, shit!” Jenny said.
* * *
The fat man who had stood in the darkness of the store watched the kids walk away. He licked his lips as he watched the new kid. He liked little girls. That was part of the deal he’d made. All the little girls he wanted.
He shook his head, clearing his thoughts, and walked back to his workshop, sitting down on a stool, picking up a doll. He worked slowly and carefully, occasionally humming an almost tuneless melody as he worked. He painstakingly repaired and restored the broken dolls, the toy soldiers, the stuffed animals, the clowns, and broken, dented trucks, trains, and tractors; all the toys that had been discarded after their owners felt they were no longer of any use.
But the man knew better.
He glanced at the clock on the wall of the huge workshop in the rear of the large building. A habit; time meant nothing to him.
The man did not think of himself as evil. He was merely doing what he had been trained to do; what his father, his grandfather, his great-grandfather, back hundreds of years, had done. But he knew if the outside world, the world outside of Victory, ever truly witnessed his work, they would think him evil. But he supposed that was all right; those people just did not understand certain gifts a chosen few possessed.
The man shook away those thoughts and concentrated on his work.
At first, when the news of the old woman’s dying reached him, he had experienced some fear. She had been his friend and protector. But after reviewing his situation, the man began to relax, to feel better. His work would continue. The new owner, the old woman’s grandnephew, would see the P and L statements, smile at the profits, and leave him alone; probably go on back to New York City.
The man sighed. So much work t
o do.
He finished dressing the doll he’d been working on. He particularly enjoyed putting the little bra and panties on them. He held it up for inspection. “Aren’t you the pretty one? Oh, my, but you are so lovely.”
The doll blinked her eyes and stared at the man.
Angry eyes. Real eyes. Alive. In a way.
“Yes,” the man said soothingly. “I know, my pretty But just think . . . now your life is forever. You can view the endless roll of ages.”
The doll began to struggle in his pudgy hands. The man grew impatient, his face flushing and his eyes flashing with rage. He had had trouble with this one. She had always resisted.
“Now stop this!” he hissed at her. “You will stop this foolishness immediately.”
The doll opened her mouth and rolled her eyes. The jaws opened and closed soundlessly. Her little legs began kicking. The long pretty evening gown she was wearing became ripped and torn with the angry and frantic movements.
“Stop it!” the man yelled. “I command you to stop this immediately!”
The doll continued its silent, frantic strugglings.
In a fit of rage, the man grabbed the doll’s head in his big hand and squeezed. The head was crushed within the powerful fingers. Blood and brains and fluid oozed out of the mashed head. The doll trembled once and then was still in the man’s hand.
“Foolish, foolish girl,” he said.
Still holding the bloody doll, he rose from the workbench and found a sack, dropping the doll into it. He thought for a few moments. He had several failures over the past weeks. It was time to take them all out to the old place. Out in the country.
* * *
Jay pushed open the office door and stepped into the air-conditioned coolness. He did not know the young lady behind the receptionist’s desk, but she looked faintly familiar.
Family resemblance, he concluded.
She asked if she could help him, appraising him with her eyes. Not unfriendly eyes, but not flirty ones.
“Jay Clute. To see Mr. Fletcher.”
She smiled brightly. “Oh, sure. You gonna sell that big ol’ haunted house, Mr. Clute?”
Jay returned the smile. So the rumor still persisted. Rumor? No, more than that. After that night, Jay just wasn’t sure.
Then he realized that she was not talking about the old Clute house in the country, but about his Aunt Cary’s house here in Victory. Well, Jay wasn’t too sure of that place, either. Not after his experiences in the attic.