Gubmuh?
Wallace might’ve been mad, but he wasn’t stupid. This was a clue, a reminder maybe, something he was working out.
The rope ladder that led to the loft had unfolded from the wall. Maybe there was something like that here. The X was right on the bottom step. Tin put the map under it and stood back. The bookshelf covered the wall. The covers were faded and dusty, the binding frayed. They were all probably pre-1930, at least.
There were at least a thousand books.
“Clyde!” Corey cupped his hands. “Can you hear me up there? Knock three times!”
She couldn’t pull them all down. How would she explain it? None of the stories were good? No, there was something about the word. It was a clue.
Or maybe it was just an X.
“Humbug.” Pip was sucking her thumb with Monkeybrain on her shoulders. “Bah, humbug.”
“What?” Tin said. “Did Monkeybrain—”
She looked at the map. That was it. The word was spelled backwards. It was humbug.
“Is that from the movie…” Corey snapped his fingers. “I think it was like the Grinch, right? Like, ‘Humbug those little’—no, that’s not it. I know—”
“Shhh!” Tin need to concentrate.
Humbug. That was from an old story. A famous one. It had a grumpy old man, the one with—
“Scrooge!” she shouted. “Ebenezer Scrooge.”
But that wasn’t the name of the book. It was on the tip of her tongue. The title of the book didn’t say anything about Scrooge or Ebenezer or humbug. It was something else. Something about singing.
“I think it was Rudolph—”
Tin shoved Corey aside. She ran her fingers across the bindings, dust floating in her wake. First the first shelf, then the second, back and forth.
A Christmas Carol.
“I don’t think that’s—” Corey jumped back.
Like an old spy movie, the book triggered something in the wall. Dust cascaded from the upside-down stairwell. The wall quaked and the treads began to quiver. Gears mechanically clicked. The floor shook and the furniture chattered. The candle-holding chandelier danced on its chain. The steps didn’t turn over.
The treads lowered.
They stood back and watched the staircase drop each step at a time. Tin had seen this sort of thing at an obstacle course where ropes were attached to both ends of each tread so that the path swayed.
Everything stopped shaking.
“I’m not doing that,” Corey said.
Tin wandered to the first step. They led up to a door in the corner. At least thirty feet off the floor. The ropes were as thick as irrigation pipes. They were braided and rough. The second step swayed. Her heart thumped. The ropes were old. They could snap just from age. But they led to the door. And she knew what she would find up there.
It was on the map.
“You stay here,” she said. “Tell Mom I’m in the bathroom.”
“Yeah, I’m good with that.”
Mom would come. She was sure of it. Unless she was just getting used to Toyland quaking. Tin took the first step; Pip grabbed onto her sweatshirt.
“Monkeybrain wants to go.”
“No, Pip. You’ve got to stay—”
Her sister scampered past her and was three steps up the swinging staircase before she could reach her. Monkeybrain was wrapped around her neck, looking back. The treads were heavy and didn’t move under her little feet. Tin took the steps two at a time, keeping her eyes up and hands on the ropes. The treads creaked heavily.
She caught up before they reached the top.
“Hold onto the rope,” Tin said.
She turned the knob and the door opened inside. There was a short hallway like the one leading to the loft. A strange sense of déjà vu gripped her. She helped Pip inside. A naked light bulb hung from the ceiling.
The red door.
“Is he up here?” Corey made the climb, pale and shaking.
“Go back down,” Tin said. “Find something to knock the doorknob off.”
“I just got here.”
“The ax is by the back door. Hurry.”
“Couldn’t we just pick the lock?”
“You know how to pick a lock? Go.”
The hinges began squealing. Pip’s little hand was wrapped around the tarnished knob. The latch had given way.
“Or maybe just open it,” Corey said.
A stale, musty odor wafted out. Her phone didn’t penetrate the darkness at first. She pulled Pip to her side and pushed it open. The hard, white light beamed across a square room. Standing in the middle was a bear, a pig, a doll, and a wooden soldier. They were surrounded by toys.
Hundreds of them.
They were different colors and sizes—animals and dolls and creatures to play with. Some with long fur, others plain fabric. Some with glass eyes, others stitched, others with buttons. They weren’t much different than Piggy and Clyde, except for one critical thing.
They’re empty.
“Clyde, Clyde.” Corey pushed past Tin. “I was worried.”
Piggy trotted on all fours and climbed up Tin’s leg. She hiked her into the crook of her arm and felt the warm goodness melt through her. Monkeybrain knuckle-walked around the room, tugging on an arm here, a leg there. He shook a crumpled elephant then returned to Pip.
“He took them.”
“What?” Tin said.
“That’s what Monkeybrain said. He took them.”
“What… what does that mean?”
Piggy looked melancholy. There was nothing they could do about the toys. Wallace had locked them in there to keep them safe. From who?
Piggy began humming. She didn’t sing the words, but Tin knew the song. It was the radio commercial. Piggy was quivering. It was too much to say the name, or she didn’t know.
Tin didn’t need her to say it, though. Wallace locked them in there and left. He tied the key on a balloon so that he’d never find it. He knew what he was doing.
He was protecting them from himself.
“He’s gone,” Tin said. “You’re safe.”
Piggy shook her head. Wallace could come back, she thought. Piggy didn’t know about aging. She was a toy. But Wallace was dead.
No one lived that long.
“Santa,” Pip said. “He can help them.”
Monkeybrain had whispered to her. That was what the toys had told them when they first appeared. Santa couldn’t see Toyland. If Wallace took the toys’ lives, Santa could give them back.
He has to see us.
Corey was hugging a bear that was hugging him back and he still couldn’t wrap his head around Santa Claus. Tin wasn’t stuck on that. She knew what they had to do. If the toys were telling her that Santa needed to find them, then that was what she was going to do.
“We’ll take them with us.” Tin picked up a yellow octopus. The tentacles dangled. “We’ll tell Mom something, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. Once they’re outside the wall, then Santa can—”
“They can’t leave,” Pip said.
Tin shook her head. Maybe the tower was doing more than hide them. It had some sort of current. Tin felt it; so did Corey.
The toys did, too. That’s why they were in the woods.
“We’ve got to turn off the tower,” she said.
“Why?” Corey said.
“Aren’t you listening?”
“No, I’m sort of really into this.” He hugged Clyde with a goofy smile. “Besides, we can’t climb it. You saw what Wallace did to the steps.”
“I think there’s more to the wall. It’s not just hiding Toyland. It does something to the toys. They can’t cross it or it turns them off.”
“Maybe Wallace wasn’t hiding the toys.”
Wallace could’ve been protecting something inside the wall. Maybe he didn’t want anyone to see the toys when they were alive. Or maybe it was something else.
Something far more valuable.
“Come on.”
S
he guided Pip down the steps. When they were back on the floor, she pushed the book back into the wall. The treads were cranked back into place.
“You stay with Pip,” she said. “Tell Mom I was bored, that I went exploring the house.”
“Where you going?” he said.
She put on her coat then put Piggy on the couch. It hurt to leave her, but she couldn’t take her. She checked her pocket.
It wasn’t the toys he was hiding.
Part III
SASKATOON, Saskatchewan, Canada – Shawnda Washington, 28, had run out of gas on her way to visit family. She had stayed in the car with their three-year-old son, Treymon. Her husband, Raymond, 31, had set out on foot to find a station. When he returned, there was a snowman next to the car.
His wife had a strange story of how it got there.
“He came out of the woods,” Shawnda said. “I thought maybe he was lost.”
The man didn’t appear to have any gear, according to Shawnda, and was only wearing a T-shirt and suspenders. She was cautious at first, but he was friendly. He said he was looking for someone. He had something that belonged to them but didn’t say who it was or where he was going.
“Then he started building a snowman. Trey loved it.”
The man, who said his name was Mr. Doe, claimed that, where he was going, snowmen really lived. It didn’t matter how big or small they were, it was their heart that was alive.
“Some sort of electromagnetic thing or something,” Shawnda said. “I couldn’t understand half of what he said. He sounded smart, but I think he might need some help.”
Any information regarding someone who knows of someone matching this description, contact the local authorities.
12
Tin struggled to zip her coat in the wind.
Powdery snow filled her boots and packed inside. She lifted her arm to shield her face. Large snowflakes stung her cheeks. Her ankles were nearly frozen by the time she reached the trees.
One of the trails was a faster route to the wall than the driveway. Lumps on the dilapidated stage looked like ghosts beneath newly laid blankets of snow. Tin’s chest burned with cold air.
She buried her hand into her pocket, felt the hot fabric of the toymaker’s hat inside. It felt alive. What secrets does it hold?
She remembered what happened to Wallace in the end. He wandered into the trees and never returned. That wasn’t the ending she wanted. She doubted that was what he wanted, either.
Because of the hat.
The wind whipped through the trees. Snow melted off her brows. The trees beyond the wall were a blur of watercolors, like fresh paint smeared on a canvas. The hat was burning hot as she neared it, her breath coming out in rough puffy clouds, tears streaming down her cheeks, snot from her nose.
She could feel the wall. It sounded like an electrical wire. But she didn’t slow down, didn’t think about how it looked and sounded different than before. She just had to get through it.
It walloped her.
She felt it in her teeth. Her jaws clenched uncontrollably. Her bones rattled like cold steel struck with a wrench. A high-pitched ring had gone off.
She was staring at the gray sky.
She’d almost lost consciousness. The wall had sucked the strength from her legs and spit her out the other side. Her shoulder ached. Just must’ve hit a tree.
The hat was gone.
Dizzy, she scoured the snow on her hands and knees, just like Corey had done the last time. It wasn’t there. She wiped her eyes. The wall was still a watery veil. Waves were undulating near the ground like something was getting electrocuted. It wasn’t the cold that was distorting it. She could hear the buzzing. Could feel it crawling on her cheeks.
It’s turned up.
Corey said he’d dropped the hat the last time. Maybe he didn’t drop it. What if I can’t get back in?
She tried to remember what was on the other side. Were there trees? Was the path right there? She couldn’t see what was over there, and she couldn’t tiptoe through the wall to get back. She could walk around to the entry drive to play it safe, but it would be dark by the time she got back to the path.
She was going to go through hard and fast.
She caught her breath, rubbed the feeling back into her face. She backed up for a running start, ducking her shoulder and shouting as she closed her eyes.
The shock hit her even harder.
She didn’t feel the impact of the ground. She struggled to get her breath back. It was like a gut punch that wouldn’t stop. She doubled over and dry-heaved. The path was beneath her.
The hat was behind her.
It was sitting at the base of the wall and dusted with snow. There was a sizzling crackling sound where it was touching. Waves rippled the blurry barrier, warping the trees beyond. She crawled over and pulled it away.
It burned her fingers.
She shook her hand. The snow wasn’t melting around the hat. She rubbed her fingertips and touched it again. It had already cooled. She leaned against a tree and felt like crying. Her feet were numb. Her mom would want to know what she was doing out there, and she’d have to explain it, and if Pip was right, the whole crazy thing might break her mom and Oscar.
Santa Claus is looking for the toys, Mom. Because they’re alive. And he wants this elf hat, too.
There might not even be a way to turn the wall off. Wallace made sure of that.
Unless, she wondered.
The hat shivered in her hands. It heard her. There was one way she could see into the secrets of Toyland. Because the hat wanted the wall off too. It wanted to tell her how to do it.
It won’t even take a second to find out.
Tin was on the ground and leaning against a tree. The cold was biting her cheeks. Tree branches swayed and the wind howled. She looked up. The world was barren and gray one second, then—
Butterflies.
Black and white striped butterflies. Big pendulous yellow flowers hung from thick vines, the smell of lush greenery. Tropical.
The sun had melted the clouds.
Trees arched overhead with dripping moss. High above were curving panes of dewy greenhouse glass.
The loft was unrecognizable.
There were no collections of artifacts, no storage cabinets or shelves. The paths of slippery ice were gravel and wandering through a tropical conservatory where birds sang and insects buzzed and treefrogs chirped. Somewhere a waterfall echoed.
Children shouted.
Tin was leaning against the desk. The surface was covered with plans and sketches. One of them was titled TOWER, but it was on the bottom of the pile. She tried to pick up the drawings. Her elbow struck a framed photo of Wallace and Awnty Awnie propped on the corner. It didn’t budge.
Gleeful laughter came from outside.
She could see vague forms running in the field through the foggy glass. Gravel crunched behind her. A woman was coming up the path wearing khakis and a long-sleeved shirt with a stuffed animal in her hands. It was the zebra. The mane was long and furry. The head leaning on her shoulder.
Tail swishing.
Awnty Awnie touched her nose with a tissue. Her complexion was blanched, her eyes red-rimmed. She was so young and beautiful. And sad. She stood at the desk. She wasn’t looking at the drawings but the distant shouting.
She petted the zebra.
Tin heard purring. Awnty Awnie put her lips to the zebra’s head and closed her eyes. Then placed it on the desk. The legs sprawled across the plans. The black glassy eyes looked up and the stitched mouth curved. Slowly, it turned into a frown.
Awnty Awnie rushed down the gravel path.
Her footsteps quickly echoed from the loft. The purring turned into a whine. The birds fluttered and the butterflies flapped their wings. The treefrogs resumed singing. Tin waited for her to return. But she wasn’t coming back.
Outside, the play continued.
Tin reached out and rubbed a spot clear. There was a line of them chasing each oth
er.
Led by Wallace.
He was large and bearded, suspenders over his shoulders. Hearty laughter walloped from his belly. He fell down. It wasn’t children who piled on top of him.
It was toys.
The humid conservatory air turned bitterly chilly. Cold snapped at the tip of her nose. Tiny bullets stung her cheeks. A gust had blown the hat into her hands. She sat there staring at it with no answers.
Only feelings about what she saw.
Awnty Awnie had stared at the toys before leaving the zebra behind. That was her toy. Her Piggy. It hurt her to leave Zebra. To leave Wallace. But she had to. She couldn’t stay or she would never leave. She saw what was becoming of him. It broke her heart.
And his.
It was getting dark. Tin fell twice on the way back. Sensation was coming back to her legs when Toyland was in sight. She went around the front. Mom’s and Oscar’s tracks had almost been scrubbed from around the car. The tree that fell across the drive was buried.
She paused at the door to catch her breath. There were no drifts along the front porch. She pried her boots off and peeled off her socks. She cracked the door and slipped inside. She was knocked off balance by a soft pillow. Piggy hummed against her chest.
“I’m guessing you didn’t leave the hat.”
Corey and Clyde were staring at her. The sad Christmas tree was behind them, but she couldn’t see it. A six-foot-tall panda bear was in front of it.
Pando.
13
“Where’s Pip?”
“With your mom,” Corey said. “She came back and you weren’t here. I said you went to the workshop to look for more plans because you were bored. I’m supposed to wait for you.” He waved at Pando. “Surprise.”
Tin stripped off her coat and warmed her hands by the fire without taking her eyes off the new toy. He stood six feet tall on stumpy legs, with black and white fur and arms ready to hug. The green button eyes followed her.
“What’s he doing down here?” she said.
“I’m glad you asked. I was on the couch having a tickle fight with Clyde, and your sister was telling her monkey a story about carrots that made a home in a compost pile, when it sounded like someone was hitting the wall with pillows. I think maybe it’s your mom and my dad having a pillow fight or something. I’m nervous because I got to lie about you and not tell them you were going to dump an elf hat outside the invisibility shield that’s surrounding us.
Toyland- the Legacy of Wallace Noel Page 11
