Toyland- the Legacy of Wallace Noel

by Tony Bertauski

  “What are we supposed to be doing here?” Tin said.

  “We were going to chop the end off the tree and drive around it. Then your mom threw a snowball and my dad yelled tickle fight, and now we might have a baby brother.”

  Mom screamed when Oscar rolled her over and pinned her arms. He was sprinkling snow on her head and said the forecast was looking hazy. Mom couldn’t stop laughing.

  Clyde peeked out. “You bring the pig?”

  Piggy squirmed under her sweatshirt and waved.

  “Where’s Pando?” he asked.

  “In the lobby. If the lovebirds don’t need help, I’m going to the tower.”

  A snowball thumped against his stomach. Another one flew between them. Mom and Oscar had climbed behind the tree and were lobbing snowballs. Corey and Tin took cover in the trees.

  “Pip!” Mom shouted. “Our side, come on.”

  Pip was chugging down the road in a fit of laughter. Mom pulled her over the tree. Quietly, they discussed a plan of attack.

  “All right,” Corey said. “They want a snowball fight, they get a snowball fight. Start a pile, Tin. We get about twenty snowballs and I’ll start throwing at your sister. I won’t hit her, maybe, but your mom will protect her. You go for my dad. Aim for his daddy parts. We don’t want a baby brother.”

  Snow fluttered from the branches. Mom and Oscar had already launched a second wave.

  “Hey, come on,” Corey said. “We’re not ready.”

  Tin had ducked behind the stump where the tree had fallen. The splinters stuck up like daggers. She cleared the snow away. The bark was notched on the back side. The wood wasn’t rotten.

  “This doesn’t look like beavers,” she said.

  “Beavers?” He looked down. “Make snowballs!”

  Mom and Pip began charging while Oscar lobbed snowballs into the trees. Pip’s snowballs only went a few feet and she fell down once. Mom blocked Corey’s shots.

  “Meet me at the tower,” she said. “Bring Clyde.”

  “What?” he shouted. “Where are you—hey, no fair. Time!”

  Tin ran from the action. The snow had been trampled days ago, and fresh snow had filled in tracks that led directly to the fallen tree.

  And it wasn’t beavers.

  The sky was blue and cloudless.

  Tin shaded her eyes. The sun was at high noon. She stood at the edge of the barren circle. From that distance, the climb didn’t look that bad. But the closer she got, the higher it looked. And the stronger the waves vibrated inside her.

  Everything was the same. The branches were still there. The steps were thirty feet from the ground. There was a pile of tangled metal at the far edge of the circle. It was the steps at one time.

  How’d he get them over here?

  The struts had been butchered from the tower, not cut. There were dents and chunks, the twisted metal crudely torn from its place and pulled far enough away it couldn’t be used again. It looked too heavy and awkward to pull.

  Something else bothered her.

  It was the time she put on the toymaker’s hat and saw Wallace with the red balloon and the key to the toy room. He watched it float over the trees before walking across the field. Tin had turned to see Pando in the loft.

  When she turned back around, Wallace was almost gone. Tin woke up, but not before noticing the tower. Maybe Wallace came back to make sure no one climbed the tower.

  Because the steps were still attached.

  Someone had removed them after he left. It didn’t matter, really. She needed to get up there to turn the tower off, to drop the wall. Santa Claus could find the toys and they could leave Toyland.

  Because someone didn’t want them to.

  She scooped up snow on the edge of the circle and formed a snowball on her way back. Piggy stood on her hind legs and watched Tin swing her arm in a circle. There wasn’t time to warm up. The first tread was close to thirty feet from the ground. Mom’s head would explode if she saw Tin climbing one of the struts. Piggy’s stumpy arms and legs weren’t meant for climbing.

  But she could walk up the steps.

  She fired the snowball. Pain flared down her shoulder. Her days of throwing a softball from center field were over. The same went for snowballs. If she couldn’t throw a snowball that far, she wouldn’t be able to launch Piggy up there.

  She walked to the forest’s edge and scooped up enough snow for three snowballs. Sticks snapped in the trees. Something was moving. It wasn’t a squirrel; she hoped it wasn’t a coyote. She took a step into the shadows.

  Bears are hibernating, right?

  Whatever it was scampered away. She could hear it scuffling through the undergrowth.

  “Where you going?”

  Tin’s heart hammered her sternum. Corey was behind her. Clyde was peeking out of his coat. They both looked a little worried.

  “Oh, now you’re ready for a snowball fight?” he said.

  She put one in his hand. “Think you can hit the steps?”

  “From here?”

  “Yeah, from here. Or over there. Either one.”

  He eyed the distance of the bottom step to the ground and scowled. “It’s like twenty feet.”

  “More like thirty.”

  She dropped the snowballs and grabbed his sleeve. She wasn’t going to tell him about someone chopping down the tree. He’d be useless. She needed him. They all did. He had played baseball since he could walk. No need to practice with snowballs. Piggy was trotting across the barren field. She picked her up on the way to the tower.

  “Corey’s going to throw you up there.” She cradled her like an infant. “If you fall, will you, will it…”

  She was certain Piggy could feel love. And the way she sometimes quivered when Pando talked about Wallace, she was positive she felt scared.

  “Will it hurt?” she asked.

  Piggy rolled out of her grip and hit the ground. She bounced to her feet. Tada!

  “Okay, good.” She picked her up. “So you know how we want to turn off the tower? We turn it off and Santa will see Toyland. Then he can help the toys in the room.”

  She didn’t want to say it out loud. Maybe, she thought, he won’t want the toymaker’s hat back.

  “So the only way up there is to get to the steps,” she said. “Corey’s going to throw you up there; then you’re going to walk to the top.”

  “And then what?” Corey said.

  “There’s a lever.” She closed her eyes and recalled the plan. “It will turn it off.”

  “Or self-destruct or launch into outer space.” Corey abruptly stopped. “Look, Tin, you think there’s a lever up there, like, one lever that turns on a nuclear-powered force field?”

  “It’s not nuclear-powered.”

  “You don’t know what it is. No one does! Pulling an unknown lever isn’t a good plan.”

  “You have a better one?” She hugged Piggy. “Look, we’re in the middle of nowhere inside this invisible dome thing, and we have no idea how it works or why. Never mind you and me are talking to toys and one of them is talking back, or that somehow this hat gives them life or that Wallace locked them in a room to protect them from I-don’t-know-what and that, right now, I believe Santa Claus is our only hope. What if that tower powers up again only this time we can’t get out?”

  She stepped closer.

  “Do you have a better plan?” she said.

  He looked up. She gave Piggy another squeeze and put her into his arms. Clyde climbed out of his coat and put his arms out. They watched a stuffed pig and stuffed bear hug it out.

  “Let’s pull a lever,” he said.

  They examined the best angle to launch. A gentle wind was coming from their backs. He decided on an underhand toss because, he said, he was a world champion at cornhole.

  “Just get her high enough,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “I don’t want her getting stuck in the struts.”

  “I know.”

  “So it’s bette
r if you just—”

  “You’re making me nervous.”

  He windmilled Piggy in a big circle to loosen his shoulder. Piggy threw out her legs like it was a carnival ride. Corey handed Clyde over to Tin. They stood back quietly. He took a deep breath and looked back.

  “Sure about this?” he said.

  She nodded.

  He looked at Piggy, looked up, took a step back and swung his arm. At the same time he shouted barbarian-like, and Tin imagined Piggy squealing out weeeeee! The pink pig tumbled curly tail over snout, soaring with ease at first. But her fluffiness quickly decelerated the ascent. It was like throwing a bag of feathers. Tin clenched Clyde and he squeezed back.

  Piggy hit the third step.

  She ricocheted down to the second step and tumbled down to the first. Stumpy, fingerless legs flailed. If stuffed animals felt pain, Clyde would be in a world of hurt. Tin was crushing him as Piggy put a short leg against a twisted rail. Her back legs swung over the edge.

  “She did it.” Corey sounded choked up. “Way to go, little guy. Give me Clyde.”

  Piggy pulled herself onto the tread and jumped up and down. Tin’s heart stopped. “Be careful!”

  “And hurry,” Corey added.

  The sun was bright. Shadows were cast below the tower. They had plenty of time, but he was right. If Mom or Oscar came out for a hike, how were they going to explain throwing stuffed animals into the tower?

  Piggy had to pull herself up one step at a time. At first, she would lean over and wave. There were at least seventy steps to go. Tin clapped and encouraged her to go five steps before stopping to wave.

  “It might be Christmas before she gets there,” Corey said.

  Fifteen minutes and she was halfway to the top. Tin decided they should go to the trees so she wasn’t distracted. Besides, even if Piggy reached the top in time, Mom would want to know why they were staring at the tower. They were almost to the edge of the circle when Tin’s ears popped.

  “You feel that?” Corey put his hand to his head.

  The air pressure changed. It reminded her of taking off in a plane. She opened her mouth to pop her ears when a rogue breeze blew through the trees. Debris swirled around them.

  A vortex.

  Tin had seen them cross the Midwestern plains and throw dust and debris into the sky. They were harmless whirlwinds that formed when the ground heated up to create a column of swirling wind. It wasn’t enough to hurt anyone. But enough to shove her off balance.

  She started running.

  The twister seemed to grow as it neared the tower. It grew wider, picking up bits of dead grass and twigs. The piles of branches fell over as it engulfed the tower.

  Piggy was on one of the landings when it hit.

  Even if she was hugging a post, she didn’t stand a chance with her little legs. She slid over the metal flooring, her legs flailing, then tumbled like a pink pillow. When she went over the edge, she was caught in the updraft and heaved nearly as high as the tower.

  Tin’s heart lodged in her throat.

  It looked like she wasn’t coming down, like the vortex would throw her into the trees. Or worse. She knew where the wall was that surrounded the property, but did it have a ceiling? She could be zapped back into an inanimate toy.

  “Piggy!”

  She landed at the far edge of the clearing, bouncing and tumbling into the trees. The vortex rattled the branches and disappeared. Tin found her little pig covered in damp foliage.

  “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

  When she was done hugging her, Piggy shook off the mess like a wet dog and hugged her again. Tin’s chest hurt. Her heart, too. Piggy wasn’t hurt. In fact, she had had fun.

  “What was that?” Corey was waiting at the tower.

  “A vortex.”

  “That’s not what I mean. It went right for the tower. And, oh, by the way, dust devils don’t happen in the winter.”

  She was losing her grip. He was right. That wasn’t normal. Summer vortexes didn’t form in the winter. That was science. And they didn’t go after things. Something made it happen.

  Nothing about this place is normal.

  Tin was already heading back to Toyland. Mom was sure to come looking for them if they were out there much longer.

  They’d try again the next day. Maybe they wouldn’t have to throw the toys up there. Even if Piggy climbed the stairs again and they threw Clyde up there with her, they would just slide off the steps if it happened again. They couldn’t hold on.

  “I know someone who was made for climbing,” she said.

  17

  “Just when things couldn’t get weirder,” Corey said.

  Mom told them she’d found a game room. Tin imagined it would be shuffleboard and Ping-Pong. Maybe a bowling alley.

  “Is it pool?” he said. “Or Putt-Putt?”

  Corey approached the multitiered table and brushed his fingers over the green felt. Tin wasn’t there to play a game. This room was at the end of a slanting hallway with wooden slats that creaked. It was far from the lobby.

  And they would hear someone coming.

  Pando lumbered on all fours, his footsteps soft and quiet, and climbed a tall chair. It looked like something a lifeguard would sit in.

  Corey picked up a stick. “Ask him how to play.”

  It looked more like an aluminum baseball bat than a pool cue—blunt at the end. A rack of billiard balls was in the middle of the table. They were tie-dyed.

  The game is not for him, Pando said.

  Tin told him what she heard. Corey took a few practice swings. She sat on a bench. The padded walls were covered in scarlet leather. It smelled a bit funky.

  Sort of chloriney.

  There were photos on the walls, just like the lobby. Only these were taken in the game room. The toys were in team uniforms, hoisting trophies, giving high fives and brawling. They were soaking wet.

  There was only one shot of Wallace.

  He was in the high chair where Pando was now sitting. A whistle in his mouth, a black and white horizontally striped T-shirt.

  “You know how to play?” Corey spoke into his sweatshirt. Clyde wasn’t coming out. “Okay, fine.”

  Piggy was wrapped around Tin’s midsection, buried beneath her shirt. She had fallen almost seventy feet and landed like a couch cushion. Not a scuff on her. Still, Tin didn’t like the memory of seeing her tumble. Or the way she’d trembled when she picked her up.

  “We came close,” she said. “Piggy was twenty feet from the top.”

  How did she reach the steps? Pando asked.

  She explained how Corey had thrown her, how she’d hung onto the bottom tread and hopped up each step.

  Smart.

  “What happened to the steps?” she asked.

  One day they were just gone. I heard the chopping, like someone cutting down a metal tree. I was in the loft, you know, and heard it fall. It was heavy and loud, a great big thud. That was when things got bad.

  Tin leaned her head against the padded wall. Pando was talking more. She liked that. He used more words, described things more completely. It was taking time for him to wake up, maybe. And she’d gotten used to the way she heard him, almost like his voice inside her head was normal.

  There was a crack.

  The billiard balls exploded in twenty directions. Corey stumbled back with the bat in his hands as they bounced off multiple rails and rolled up ramps and down slopes, around the felt curves. Numbers fell open on the wall like an old-fashioned scoreboard.

  He looked at Tin. “You see that?”

  A plaid ball had bounced off the ceiling and now hovered at waist level. Corey pushed it with one finger and it floated back into place. He took the bat in both hands.

  “Don’t,” she said.

  “Well, then ask him how to play.”

  Tin grabbed the floating ball. As soon as her fingers touched it, all the weight returned and it nearly slipped from her hand. She put it on the table with a heavy t
hud and took a seat in what looked like a dugout.

  What was she going to do when she reached the tower?

  “Pull a lever.”

  Oh. So you saw a lever.

  “In a vision. I think it turns it on and off. It doesn’t matter, that’s all we’ve got. We have to try it.”

  She told him about the strange dust devil that seemed to come out of nowhere, the way it went right for the tower. Piggy couldn’t hold on.

  Another explosion, this time the balls bounced off the walls, the ceiling. Pando swatted one away. One hit the fence in front of Tin. Pockets opened on the walls and swallowed three of them.

  Corey was on the floor with his hands over his head. He peeked up when it was over. The scoreboard said 102.

  “Is that good?”

  Pando’s eyebrows knitted and his green button eyes moved closer together.

  “What’s wrong?” Corey said. “Am I winning? The score went down—”

  Tin held up her hand. The game room was beginning to be a bad idea, at least with Corey in it.

  “You said when the steps came down, that’s when things got bad. But they were still up when Wallace left. Who took them down?”

  Pando looked away. He came back.

  “And then it got bad. What did you mean?”

  Pando swelled up as if he were taking a deep breath. He deflated and, in her head, she heard him sigh. It was just an expression. He’s not breathing, she thought.

  Wallace, Pando started, had started staying up late. I don’t even think he was sleeping anymore. I would hear him all hours of the night and the day. He’d stopped playing with the toys, would sit in the umpire chair during tournaments. He was just consumed by something.

  It was an idea.

  All of his ideas came from the hat—Toyland, the tower, the toys. But this was different. He wasn’t bathing or shaving; his hair turned gray. He was getting fatter, not wearing shoes or hardly any clothes even when it was snowing. It was just… he was changing.

  Pando shook his head.

  He spent all of his time in the workshop. It was this idea he couldn’t escape. He was making something bigger than ever before. I think it was dangerous. But he didn’t care. It was all night and all day; he wouldn’t stop until he was finished. He thought it would change the world. His idea would be even greater than everything you’ve seen so far. And then, just like that, he sort of… changed.