Toyland- the Legacy of Wallace Noel

by Tony Bertauski

  Oscar slid an egg and bacon sandwich on the counter. Tin hugged him, too. He was bony and sharp at the elbows, not as soft as Mom or as strong. If those two ever arm-wrestled, Tin would bet on her mom. She ate while her mom unloaded the last box into the dark pantry. She was humming Christmas songs. So was Oscar. They were well on their way to a family tradition.

  One like no other.

  Mom’s map led Tin and Corey down a wide, curving hallway that ended at a blank wall. They went down another hallway so narrow that they turned sideways to get through it. A steep ramp took them to a set of crooked double doors.

  They opened with a squeal.

  Paint chips fluttered from the edges. They turned on their phone lights. Cobwebs looked like silky blankets. The floor had a gray blanket of dust. Mouse turds were scattered.

  “Your uncle was really into toys,” Corey said.

  If the photos next to the fireplace didn’t tell the story, the workshop did. It was an enormous den of benches and shelves, with little drawers and pegboards holding old tools with wooden handles. There were jars of glass eyes, netted bags of plastic baby arms, furry pelts and other things.

  “Look over there.” She pointed at a cluttered corner.

  “For what, a telegram machine?”

  “An ax or a saw.”

  Tin wandered over to what looked like the main work space. There were old sketches pinned to the wall, the paper yellow and torn on the edges. The faded graphite lines showed a fat furry panda bear, the arms and legs out like DaVinci’s Vitruvian Man. Small drawers were filled with spools of thread and tiny clothing; wooden figurines were mounted on sticks.

  A dusty sheet was draped in the corner. It looked like there were arms beneath it. It was just a sewing machine. Storage boxes were under the bench, organized and tightly put into place. There was a small gap. She pointed the phone light.

  Something was on the wall.

  It was a rusty hinge mounted above a small flap of wood. There wasn’t a draft coming through the seams, so it probably didn’t lead outside. She slid the boxes in front of it.

  Just in case it’s a doggy door. Or something else.

  “Think this will work?” Corey held up a tiny plastic ax.

  Tin’s heart was beating too hard to laugh. The sewing machine freaked her out. So did the door.

  There were fine-toothed saws and rusty carving knives on the workbench but nothing that would cut down a tree. In the opposite corner of the room, wooden handles were poking out of a barrel like baseball bats. She swung the phone light, and shadows moved eerily.

  “Look over there,” she said.

  “Nope. That’s a nest of vipers.”

  “Where do you think we are?”

  “We’re in nature, Tin. Don’t you get it? We’re in the food chain now.”

  “We’re in a workshop.”

  She went deeper into the room, where the shadows were darker, but the tools were bigger. The shelves were deep and the boxes filled with blocks of wood, bags of sand, stacks of spoked gears and other components.

  “People think nature is all butterflies and hummingbirds,” Corey continued, “but it’s also cockroaches and rats and pit vipers.”

  There was a bundle of wood scraps about eye level. And there, slim and curved, was a long wooden handle. She stood on her toes. A few of the boards fell from her fingertips and revealed the rusty head of an ax.

  A real one.

  She strained on her toes and brushed the cold steel when the shelf gave way. The brackets broke from the wall, and an avalanche of heavy jagged stuff came crashing down in a dusty explosion. It barely missed her feet.

  “Now you did it,” Corey said. “You destroyed three dollars’ worth of wood.”

  She brushed herself off. The ax was buried in the debris. She stepped carefully. It came free with a tug, and more items broke loose. Something was exposed. A sheet had been pulled off the corner. It was behind a box of mechanical parts. It wasn’t very distinct, just an old metal corner, dented and scuffed.

  Just like the one in Awnty Awnie’s closet.

  “Help me,” she said.

  “Yeah, no.”

  “There’s no vipers, Corey.”

  He held her outstretched hand as she climbed over the wreckage. She had to dig it out. Corey stood back while she moved each piece, one by one, and took it out to the hallway. It looked more like a buried treasure than a box of doll heads. A padlock hung from the latch. They stared at it.

  “He’s dead, so…” Corey picked up the ax. “I don’t think he’ll mind.”

  “Still feels weird.”

  “This place is weird.”

  It only took one swing. She felt a little less guilty that it wasn’t her idea, but technically this place and everything in it belonged to her mom. Not that her mom wanted them to be chopping locks off antiques.

  Tin pried the lid open. It was old clothes—folded trousers with suspenders, thick wool sweaters and worn leather boots. They smelled surprisingly fresh, like clean snow.

  “Well, this sucks.” Corey dug through them. “No bullion.”

  “Bullion?”

  “Yeah, you know, treasure. Maps. Gold. What are we going to do with old pants? We could say they’re from the Civil War.” He held a pair up. “Probably get a hundy on eBay.”

  He stacked piles on the floor until the footlocker was empty. They were definitely old and smelled more like a worn boot now that they were out. The last item was different than the rest.

  A floppy green hat.

  It was the kind you’d see someone wearing at the mall. It was old like the trousers and made of thick felty material with a fuzzy hem that was probably white at one time. A tiny bell rang on the end.

  “That’s not from the Civil War,” Corey said.

  “Pip will like it.”

  “Dibs on the rest.”

  She’d stop him from selling it, but not from taking it back to the lobby. He barely fit down the narrow hallway with all the stuff. The bell on the green hat rang in her back pocket. She liked the way it sounded. She assumed she’d found an elf hat, but, later that night, she would put it on and learn the truth.

  The hat found her.

  2

  “Is that too heavy?” Tin asked.

  “We’ve only passed a thousand crappy trees.” Corey was dragging the ax. “I’m tired.”

  Pip would’ve loved any one of them. They were all sad. Tin just wanted to look around. They’d exited somewhere on the north side of the building and crossed a rotting deck she’d seen in one of the pictures, the one with Pando propped on a swing.

  The strands of old-fashioned Christmas lights were hanging from the eave. Some of the bulbs were broken, the wires dangling. The porch swing was still there, but hanging from one chain.

  No Pando.

  But the sign was still there. Toyland was carved into a shingle of wood and hammered in place with twenty nails, half of them bent.

  She followed what looked like a narrow path through the trees. Seemed strange, a path like that. Maybe it was from deer. A structure was at the end.

  The amphitheater.

  That was also in one of the photos, one with a group of dolls on stage and stuffed bears in the audience. A tree had collapsed part of it and bent the struts. Saplings had sprouted between the benches.

  “How about this one?” Corey picked up a fallen limb. “It’s pretty crappy.”

  The narrow trail forked. One path went deeper into the forest. The other wandered toward an opening and ended at the edge of a clearing. It was a perfect circle of frozen earth.

  The fire tower was in the middle.

  “Feel that?” She tapped her teeth.

  There was humming in her chest, too, like she was holding a tuning fork, or a speaker bellowing a long baritone note.

  “No,” Corey said.

  She shaded her eyes. A small cabin was at the top of the fire tower with a slanted roof and a single door. A giant lightning rod was attached t
o the roof’s peak.

  “Why isn’t anything growing here?” she said.

  “Nuclear waste, probably. That’s probably a reactor up there. Which would explain why there’s electricity in the fun house your uncle abandoned. Also would explain why it looks like a black hole is about to open up.”

  The atmosphere around the lightning rod was warped like heat on summer asphalt. Toyland, however, was covered with jigsaw-shaped solar panels, and three wind turbines were out front. No need for a nuclear reactor.

  Tin watched her stepbrother plod over the frozen soil. There were no steps to climb to the top. Branches were stacked underneath it. Corey stared up.

  “Man, I can feel it now.” He put his hand on his chest. “Luke, I am your father. Hear that?”

  There were shallow tracks where the branches had been dragged before winter froze the soil. They were small branches, mostly twigs, but they were sort of organized in a way that, at one time, formed a chimney.

  “This is a bad idea.” Her eyes were itching. Are they vibrating?

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know, cancer?”

  “You’re paranoid.”

  “How are you afraid of imaginary vipers but not cancer?”

  “Cancer don’t have fangs, ding-dong.”

  It looked like there were steps that came all the way down at one time, but they were broken off about thirty feet above the ground. She shaded her eyes.

  “Look.”

  The struts where the steps ended were twisted. Large chucks had been hacked like they’d been ripped off. A large tangle of steel was piled at the far edge of the circle. It was remnants of steps.

  Corey kicked the branches. “And someone tried to burn it down.”

  Ashes puffed up. The pile had been lit on fire at one time. The metal footings were blackened. It was going to take more than a campfire to bring it down.

  The steps had been removed and there wasn’t a ladder. But the tower legs were scaffolding. Why wouldn’t they just climb that?

  “Ironic, right? Fire. Fire tower.” He pointed down then up. “Get it?”

  “Hilarious.”

  “Tell your face.” He walked back to where he’d dropped the ax. A few minutes later, she heard chopping. He would leave a perfectly crappy tree for her to drag back, and not bother to take the ax with him.

  Tin kicked at the branches.

  Something was snagged in the center of it. She pulled the branches off one at a time. It was white and puffy, but it wasn’t snow. It was cotton.

  Like stuffing.

  The tree was in an iron kettle.

  Mom had propped it up with boards and nails. It leaned to the side. The twisted branches were heavily hung with ribbon-tied pine cones.

  It looked like they were boiling it.

  Pip danced around it and sang songs until Oscar brought the popcorn out. They began stringing it with needles and thread, eating half of it before getting the first one done. Mom and Pip had collected berries from the woods, bright red and hard. Tin held Pip up to put a paper star on top.

  “Monkeybrain’s in the bedroom,” Pip said. “Can you go with me?”

  “Let me help Mom first,” Tin said.

  Corey and Oscar had gone to stock up on firewood. Tin went out to the car with her mom. The sky was filled with stars. She craned her neck and blew icy clouds into the night. It was beautiful, but strange. The stars seemed to vibrate in waves, like a dial tuning them in and out of focus.

  “Think Pip’s having fun?” Mom asked.

  “She could have fun anywhere. As long as Santa finds us.”

  “I have just the thing.”

  She handed Tin the stockings then dug a box of presents out of the trunk. They left some in the car to put out on Christmas morning.

  “Did you see that?” Tin nodded at the amphitheater. The moon was catching the bent scaffolding.

  “I saw it. Oscar and I were talking about what it would take to clean this place up. Can you imagine? People would love this experience. I mean, it’s a strange building in the middle of nowhere. We bill it as an eclectic experience. I don’t know why Wallace kept it all to himself.”

  The million-dollar question.

  “There’s something strange about the fire tower, Mom. It looks like someone tried to burn it down. And nothing grows around it.”

  Mom climbed out of the car. “We’ll have to do something about that. Can’t have Pip climbing it. You know how she is.”

  “Someone took care of that. They took the ladder down.”

  “Good.” She piled one more box on Tin’s load. “What’s this?”

  “Oh. A hat for Pip. I found it in the workshop.”

  Mom pulled it from Tin’s pocket. The little bell rang. All at once, things in the forest moved.

  “That was creepy.” Her mom laughed and stuffed the hat back in her pocket. “Let’s go inside.”

  They ducked under the dead strands of Christmas lights. The rectangular front door slid on cast-iron rails. The fireplace was throwing shadows across the lobby. The sad tree was flickering.

  “Presents!” Pip yelled.

  They piled them around the tree. Pip read the names and separated them into groups. Mom ignored the needle and thread and just ate the popcorn. Oscar pinned the stockings on the mantel. Corey played on his phone.

  “I hear something!” Tin shushed everyone. “Listen, listen.”

  “I think it might be Santa,” Mom whispered. “He’s making a practice run.”

  “Shhhh.” Pip stood absolutely still.

  Tin wiggled her hips again and the little bell rang. She pulled the green hat out of her pocket. It was too big for her sister. The soft trim would have fallen over her nose. But it was so soft and warm that she would love it anyway. Tin danced around the tree, the little bell playing a jolly melody.

  Pip raised her arms. “Where did you get it?”

  “Santa left it.” Tin started to put it on. “One of his elves must have—”

  Snow.

  Snow was everywhere.

  Up to Tin’s knees. Bitter wind spit against her arms and cheeks like pellets. She wasn’t breathing. The cold shocked her breath. Tears spilled down her cheeks. There was no fireplace, no walls or ceiling. No tree.

  “Mom?” Her voice sounded watery. “Pip?”

  Her ears ached. The landscape blurred. Her skin hurt. She took a step and fell. The snow burned her hands. She crawled to her feet.

  Something was out there.

  It was hunched over and trundling toward her. She started for it too quickly, falling twice before getting close enough to see it was a man. He was bundled in furs and carried a large pack. He fell face-first and didn’t move.

  Tin dropped next to him.

  Her chin was beginning to tremble. She tried to roll him over. It wasn’t that he was too heavy or not cooperating. It was just he didn’t budge, like he was solid ice. A frozen carving she couldn’t move.

  He groaned. Looked up.

  His face was a beard of icicles, and the tip of his nose discolored. There were two moles above his right eyebrow, side by side. He’d been out there too long. Frostbite was going to leave a permanent mark if he didn’t get help soon.

  Where am I? she thought.

  A little bell rang. The hat. She reached for it—

  Pip was clapping.

  The sad little tree was back. The fireplace and lobby, too. The staircase on the ceiling and the crooked pictures. Tin could feel her fingers, and her ears didn’t hurt, and her eyes weren’t watering. She was motionless, mouth open, hat in her hand. Pip grabbed it and Tin yanked it away.

  “Tin?” Mom said. “Hey, what are you doing?”

  “I… something’s wrong with the, uh, the hat.”

  “You sure it’s the hat?” Corey mumbled.

  “Let me just… I’ll be right back.”

  There was a bathroom down a hallway that tilted to the left. It was the size of a small closet with a sink and mirror. She th
rew the hat on the floor and splashed her face. There was no redness on her cheeks. Her hair was black, no flakes of snow or ice.

  What was that?

  She grabbed the bell to keep it from ringing. The hat had a warm, thick feel to it, an authentic feel that would actually keep her head warm. She put her hand inside it and felt around.

  The little bell was ice cold.

  She stuffed the hat in her back pocket so Pip wouldn’t see it. She pulled her hair into a ponytail and tried to walk normal up the slanted hallway. Corey was at the fireplace.

  “Where is everyone?” Tin said.

  “Something rumbled and your mom thought there might be something wrong with the boiler room. I don’t really know what a boiler room is, but if it goes out, she said we’re going home. Keep your fingers crossed.”

  “Home?”

  “Like in the morning. Seriously, cross your fingers.”

  “No, I mean…” She swallowed. “When did it rumble?”

  “Um, what?”

  “When I was in the bathroom?”

  “No, weirdo. When you were dancing with the hat. Did you pass out?”

  She went up the short ladder and up and down the stairs and through the portal doorway to the bedroom. The cobwebs were waving across the vent.

  The furnace was working just fine.

  She tried not to pace so the floor wouldn’t creak, but she couldn’t stand still. It was the only way she could stay ahead of her thoughts. An avalanche was about to bury her.

  “Okay,” she whispered, “let’s trace this. I went to get the presents, came back to the tree, danced with Pip, and put the hat on, and then I had a dream. That was it. A dream that lasted a second. A dream I could feel and hear and—”

  “You need a doctor?” Corey peeked in the room.

  Tin shoved him up the slide. He was a late-blooming fifteen-year-old she could push around. Puberty had only just arrived and one day he might be stronger than her. But not now. Count the adrenaline fueling her mood and he didn’t stand a chance.