Mister Socky

by Tim Miller

  "You're not going to leave Mr. Socky are you?"

  "What?"

  "Mr. Socky. He's my friend. He told me they were going to hurt me!" Dusty said. The cop turned and saw the sock monkey sitting up against the bush.

  "Nope, he is going to stay right there. He's part of a crime scene now."

  He got into the front of the car and drove away. Dusty looked out the back window and watched Mr. Socky getting smaller as they pulled away. Although he would swear to this day, he saw Mr. Socky wink at him.

  Chapter 4

  Fourteen years later

  Dusty sat in his cell looking up at the ceiling. He was catching his breath from his morning workout. Every day since he'd been inside he'd done some sort exercise. Over the years, it had gotten more intense. These days it was almost three hours a day of push-ups, crunches, dips, and a variety of other workouts he put together. As a result, he'd grown quite muscular and well etched. Today was his twenty-first birthday and the day he finally goes free, since the attack on Brandon and Jenny. Jenny had died, and Brandon suffered permanent brain damage. Last Dusty heard the kid was in a nursing home being fed through a straw. He relived that day in his head every day. What was he thinking? Was Mr. Socky ever real?

  The aftermath of the attacks was like a blur. He'd gone to the police department where his parents met up with him. He tried to explain to them what happened, but his mom wouldn't even listen. His dad thought he had some psychotic break, and also blamed his mom due to her paranoia over Mr. Socky. Since he was only seven years old, the trial was held in private in juvenile court. He was sentenced to the state boy's correctional center until he turned twenty-one. From there, he'd be released and his record sealed.

  Reflecting on his time in prison, one fact stood out above all else, he was forced to grow up fast. Even though the prison was a youth prison, these kids were hardened criminals. The first few years were spent in a psychiatric facility. Since he was only seven years old, he was kept on a unit with troubled kids. That was a nightmare in and of itself. Many of those kids were psychotic or had other issues. He rarely slept at night because kids would be up late screaming at things that weren't there.

  One creepy kid would sneak up to his bunk at night and whisper.

  "Psst! Dusty! Do you see him?" the kid asked.

  "See who?"

  "The boogeyman. He's there on the wall."

  "I don't see anything," Dusty said. He wasn't sure what the kid was pointing at, but the kid seemed terrified.

  "Right there! He's right there!" the kid whispered still pointing.

  "Right, where?"

  "Oh no!" the boy screamed. "He's coming for us! He's coming for us!" He jumped on Dusty's bunk and began shaking him violently as the lights came on, and the staff ran in to restrain him. That was just one of many bizarre incidents with those kids. When he turned twelve, they moved him to the boy's prison. At the time, he was glad to be getting out of the nuthouse, of course, that was until he arrived at the prison.

  In prison, he was the smallest and youngest there. One kid was there because he cut his step mom's face off. Another was only fifteen, and he stabbed a girl on a date when she wouldn't give him head. All of them saw Dusty as easy prey. He probably didn't eat a full meal his first month there. As soon as he'd get his tray someone would take it. A few inmates would give him some of their scraps just out of pity.

  One bigger kid began protecting him finally. Dusty thought he'd made a friend until the kid locked himself into Dusty's cell one night and demanded a blow job. When Dusty refused, he held him down and anally raped him. The abuse had gone on for a few weeks before Dusty decided he couldn't be the weakling anymore. He'd end up killing himself if this went on. So from there, he began doing push-ups, pull ups, sit ups. During their exercise time, he'd run around the courtyard as fast as he could for the whole hour.

  Between the exercises and finally hitting puberty, he got a growth spurt, and his muscles began to shape and contour his body. After a year in the prison, he'd gone from one of the smallest to one of the biggest kids. After that, no one messed with him. He never got revenge on the kid who raped him. As much as he wanted to, the opportunity never presented itself. Another boy stabbed his abuser with a piece of broken glass, and they medevaced him out. Dusty never saw the kid again.

  The rest of his stay had been mostly uneventful. He kept to himself doing his exercises and counting the days until he turned twenty-one. That day was finally here. Part of him was scared to leave. The prison was all he had ever experienced; often he wondered if there was anything left outside of these bars for him. Or would he be one of those guys who get out of prison, only to turn around and re-offend the first chance they got. As long as no talking sock monkey's convinced him to kill anyone, he figured he'd be all right. Dusty laughed at the thought of a talking sock monkey.

  His cell door popped open, snapping him out of his thoughts. A guard stood in the doorway nodding to him.

  "It's time Dusty, got your stuff?" he asked.

  Dusty grabbed the small bag of his few belongings and followed the guard out of the cell. They reached the processing area where he signed for his property. They handed him a bag containing the suit he wore to his trial. He laughed when he saw it. He was seven when he wore that suit last. Not much good it would do him now. The guard walked him through a lobby through the exit doors, where he could see the outside world for the first time as an adult. His dad was waiting in a car just in front of the building. Dusty climbed in as his dad kept looking straight ahead.

  "Mom not coming?" he asked.

  "Nope. I haven't heard from her in a while."

  His dad had told him she left a year or two after the trial. While his dad came to visit once a month every month, his mom had never once visited him. Not that he blamed her. He didn't doubt she was embarrassed and sickened by him. Dusty was amazed his dad hung on this whole time.

  "Sorry dad," Dusty said.

  "It's all right. You're all grown up now. You look healthy. You want to stop and get something to eat?"

  "I'd love to. I'd kill for a burger."

  His dad cast him a look.

  "Sorry," Dusty said. "I mean. I'd love a burger. I won't kill anyone for it."

  They both laughed as his dad headed to a local burger joint where they walked in and sat down. Neither of them said much as Dusty scarfed down a double cheeseburger and double order of fries.

  "I talked to Richard at the hardware store. He said he'd interview you for a job if you're interested," his dad said.

  "Oh, thanks, dad. Yeah. I just need a few days to settle in." Once they finished, they went back to the house Dusty spent his first seven years of life. His room was empty besides a few boxes. One had tape on it from the police department. He knelt down and opened the other boxes. It was things like his clothes and toys from back then. Dusty wasn't sure why they didn't garage sale it or donate it. The whole thing felt weird and awkward to him. He felt like he shouldn't have been in this room. That room belonged to a boy who died long ago. He was just an intruder on that memory.

  He got to the last box and peeled away the red tape and pulled the box open. There, inside all folded up, was Mr. Socky; it was not used as evidence in the trial. They must have shipped it to his house after the case ended. At least he knew the toy was real. For many years, he thought he'd imagined the whole thing.

  The lifeless button eyes looked up at him from the box. He picked it up and shook the toy. It didn't move or talk or anything. He threw it down and put his face in his hands as he began crying. The realization hit him that he'd lost his entire childhood over a stupid toy. Not only that, but he'd taken a girl's life and ruined another kid's life. All for no better reason than they'd made fun of him.

  Once his sobs were under control, he stood and kicked the box out of his way. He grabbed Mr. Socky and tossed him into the box as he placed his bag on the bed. All he had for clothes was underwear, a pair of sweats, and some socks. He would need to make a shopp
ing trip. As he dumped his things out on the bed, he almost jumped when he heard the voice.

  "Is that any way to treat your best friend?" Mr. Socky said from the box. His voice was no longer the little boy's voice. It was a grown man's voice. Dusty looked up, and Mr. Socky was now sitting up in the box looking right at him with his black button eyes. For the last fourteen years, he'd thought he'd lost his mind. He'd spent hours speaking with therapists and counselors while incarcerated, all of whom had convinced him Mr. Socky was something he'd made up to deal with the trauma of his actions. Over all the years in jail, he'd never heard another voice. Now until now.

  "No, you're not real." Dusty said. "You're in my head."

  "Now you and I both know that is not true, Dusty."

  "What do you want? You have to leave me alone. You know where I've been the past fourteen years? You have any idea?"

  "Of course I do. I know everything. We still have work to do Dusty."

  "Work? We don't have any work to do!" Dusty grabbed the box and shoved Mr. Socky back inside. He walked out to the curb and threw the box into the trash can and headed back into the house.

  "Everything ok?" his dad asked from the couch.

  "Uh, yeah. Everything is fine, just straightening up."

  "Good. It's good to have you home, son."

  "Thanks, dad," Dusty said as he walked back to his room. When he closed the door, he was shocked to see Mr. Socky sitting upright on the edge of his bed.

  "I told you we had work to do," Mr. Socky said. "You're my best buddy forever, remember? Nothing can change that. Absolutely nothing."

  Chapter 5

  Dusty didn't know what he was doing there or why. He sat outside the dive bar in his dad's old Chevy Malibu. His dad drove a Ford, but the Malibu was paid for, so he'd held onto it. For now, it was Dusty's to drive. Mr. Socky was in the seat next to him. He wasn't sure why he'd buckled the toy into the seat, but there he sat with a shoulder harness across his plush body.

  "Why are we here?" Dusty asked.

  "Trust me. Consider this a trial run," Mr. Socky said.

  "Trial run for what?"

  "Just listen. Should have been last call a few minutes ago. So they'll start coming out soon."

  Dusty looked ahead, but no one was coming out of the bar. This whole thing was insane. He'd just gotten out of jail for fuck's sake because of this stupid toy. Now here he was sitting outside a bar with the same toy ready to do something that was sure to be awful. Finally, a lone woman came walking out of the bar and around the building. Instead of heading toward the well-lit parking lot, she was heading for the dark alley.

  He turned, but Mr. Socky was gone.

  "Fuck!" Dusty said as he got out of the car and ran toward the woman. He didn't think Mr. Socky could hurt her but didn't want to find out. Dusty ran around the building and heard the woman talking. When he got there, Mr. Socky was standing there talking to the woman. It was hard to see how she looked in the low light. Dusty was sure she was attractive. She wore a halter top and jean shorts. There was a towel hanging out of her back pocket, telling him she was a bartender.

  "How can you talk?" she asked with a smile on her face, clearly amused.

  "Magic!" Mr. Socky said as he twirled around in a ballerina move. The woman giggled as she looked up and noticed Dusty.

  "Hi!" she said. "Is this yours? Are you controlling him?"

  "Uh, yeah. It's like a robot prototype I been working on," Dusty said.

  "Wow, really? You built this? That is amazing! How does it work?"

  Dusty wasn't sure why she thought nothing of talking to a strange man and what she thinks is a robot in a dark alley at 2 a.m. He walked over to Mr. Socky and bent down in front of him.

  "Oh, it's hard to explain how it works."

  "You can pick me up if you want. I love hugs," Mr. Socky said. Dusty noticed he was now using his little kid voice again.

  "Aww of course! You are so cute!" She picked up the toy and hugged him, looking at Dusty and smiling. "If this is a way to pick up girls, it's awful elaborate. But I have to give you points for creativity."

  Dusty smiled awkwardly.

  "Yeah, thanks!"

  "Ow! What the hell?"

  She tried to pull Mr. Socky away but couldn't. It was as if he was biting into her shoulder.

  "What the fuck is this! Get this off of me!"

  "Mr. Socky! What are you doing? Let go now!" Dusty yelled, but the toy ignored him and continued to sink his teeth or whatever he had in there into her shoulder.

  "Stop! My God! He's digging into me! Get him the fuck off of me!" She kept screaming. Finally, Mr. Socky looked back at Dusty.

  "Now Dusty! Take her now!" he yelled.

  "What?"

  "Get her! She'll call the fucking cops and will go back to jail!"

  Fuck! He was right. He couldn't just walk away now. No one would believe what his fucking sock monkey did it. The girl looked at Dusty terrified as he picked up a rock the size of a baseball and ran at her, bashing her in the head and knocking her to the ground. She let out a grunt as Mr. Socky landed on his feet next to her.

  "Quick, get her to the car and put her in the trunk," he said.

  "Why? Let's just get out of here."

  "Do it!" Mr. Socky yelled, no longer using the baby voice.

  Dusty dragged her to the car and popped the trunk. He hoisted her up under the arms and flopped her into the car. She was still alive as she made the occasional moan or grunt.

  "Hurry up!" Mr. Socky said.

  "You gonna fucking help me?" Dusty asked.

  "You know I'm too small."

  "Then shut the fuck up!" He got her legs in, closed the trunk, and got in the car. Mr. Socky hopped in the passenger side.

  "Ok, let's go. Take her to the river."

  Dusty started the car and pulled out. He wasn't liking where this was going. After a few minutes, they reached the bridge where he pulled to a stop and turned the car off. He got out and popped the trunk again. The girl was starting to wake up and began screaming, so Dusty punched her in the face several times and grabbed the duct tape from the bag just behind her head. He brought a few things along just in case, as Mr. Socky had put it. He taped up her mouth, then her hands and feet.

  Dusty pulled her out of the trunk and threw her over his shoulder, carrying her to the ledge. She screamed, but it was muffled by the tape as she looked down, realizing her fate. He didn't hesitate as he heaved her off the bridge watching her fall into the water. Her body had made a huge splash before it disappeared. The current was strong, so she'd be swept miles downriver before found. He regretted not killing her before dumping her. Drowning had to be awful, but nothing he could do about it now.

  "Ok, let's get out of here. You did great Dusty! I'm proud of you," Mr. Socky said.

  Dusty wasn't feeling so great; in fact he felt like pure death. Not just that he killed someone again, but if he got caught this time, he'd never see the light of day again.

  "You happy now? Why did you make me do that? We just killed a girl for no reason."

  "We didn't kill anyone Dusty. You did, and no, I'm not happy. This was all just part of your training."

  "Training for what?"

  "You'll find out soon enough. Take me home. I'm tired."

  Chapter 6

  Dusty sat up in his bed as he slowly awoke. Rubbing his eyes, he thought of the night before and hoped it was all a horrible dream. Deep down he knew it wasn't. It was all too real. He'd killed some random, innocent woman for no other reason than his toy sock monkey told him to. He climbed out of bed and looked at himself in the mirror.

  Despite not having worked out last few days, he still had his six pack and bulging muscles; apparently, he only felt fat. Viewing his eyes in the mirror dark black bags surrounded his face with despair. He slept like shit last night, but hadn't slept well since coming home. He was almost too comfortable. From the other room he smelled something burning. He stepped out of his room into the living room. There sittin
g on the couch was Mr. Socky. He was holding a bong to his mouth and taking puffs as marijuana smoke filled the air.

  What in the actual fuck?

  "Are you out of your fucking mind? What are you doing? What if my dad comes in and sees you?"

  "He left for work early."

  "Where did you get that? How can you even smoke? Do you have lungs?"

  Mr. Socky took another hit before leaning back and blowing smoke out of his mouth. Dusty couldn't believe what he was seeing. This all had to be in his head. Maybe he never got out of prison, maybe he got food poisoning and is hallucinating all of this. Part of him hoped that was true.

  "Not sure how it works, but it works. This shit is fantastic by the way. I found it in your dad's sock drawer. You should ask him where he got it."

  "My dad smokes pot? What?" He walked around trying to put this together. His dad didn't even like to drink, let alone smoke weed. That was beside the fact that there was a fucking sock monkey sitting in his house smoking pot. Yet, nothing regarding a sock monkey should be a surprise to him at this point.

  "And how can you just sit here getting high after last night?" Dusty said.

  "Relax. Sit down and take a hit with me. You could use it," Mr. Socky answered.

  Dusty sat down and took the bong away and took a long, deep hit. The THC hit his lungs as it instantly caused his feet to tingle. His head felt light and happy as the rest of his body felt loose and relaxed.

  "There you go. Isn't that better?" Mr. Socky asked.

  "What are we doing, man? Why did you have me kill that girl? She didn't hurt anybody. You just had me drown her for no reason."

  "I had plenty of reasons. You just don't know them."

  "So tell me."

  "I can't. Not yet."

  "Then when?"

  "Soon." Mr. Socky took one last hit and jumped off the couch, setting the bong on the table. "Ok, playtime is over. You need to take me to the park for your next lesson."

  "What lesson now?"