Toy Cemetery

by William W. Johnstone

  “Yeah,” the trooper said. “The box is getting tighter.”

  “Goddammit!” Milton hollered from his porch. “Don’t you never say nothing, you asshole?”

  2

  Shari was sitting on the couch, talking with Father Pat. Eric was sitting in a chair. The big man smiled at Jay.

  “You look like an inmate, Jay.”

  “I have been. What’s been happening here?”

  “They’re waiting us out. Hoping to drive us all a little mad. They may be succeeding with some.”

  He cut his eyes to Deva and Jenny.

  Jay sat down. He was so tired he could hardly keep his eyes open.

  Stoner brought Parnell in and sat him down in a chair.

  “Would you like for me to take a look at your lip?” Eric offered.

  “Up yours!” Parnell told him.

  Eric’s smile was not pleasant.

  “You can’t keep me here, Jay.” Parnell’s eyes were blazing with a combination of fear and rage and evil. “But I might be able to work out a deal with you.”

  “No deals.” He pointed to Dr. Stoner and introduced him to everybody.

  Stoner was conscious of the priest looking at him. “Priest, do you fully understand what you all are facing here?”

  “The devil.”

  Stoner snorted. “I don’t believe in that drivel. But I will admit that I have been forced to accept the fact that there are, well, powers beyond human comprehension.”

  Father Pat smiled but kept silent.

  Piper brought Jay a cup of hot, very strong coffee and a thick sandwich. He concluded that it was probably a woman who had hit him, but not Piper. He ate the sandwich and sipped the coffee, listening to the others talk.

  “I imagine you know, Mr. Harper,” Jim said, “I am with the Missouri State Police.”

  “Since the day you came to town.”

  “So we have a leaky pipeline close to the top,” Jim said as much to himself as to Parnell.

  “I’ll spare you on that,” Parnell said, speaking around his swollen mouth. “The Old One knows everything that goes on. He knows what each of you will do, before you are even cognizant of the fact.”

  “Then why didn’t he stop us at the hospital?” Amy challenged.

  Parnell would not respond to that.

  “He was resting,” Stoner said. “That hideous creature needs rest just like us. Even more than us.”

  “You’ve seen . . . this thing?” Jim asked the doctor.

  “Many times. In many different forms.” Stoner went on, explaining how he’d been tricked to coming to Victory, then held virtually a prisoner after learning what was really going on.

  A little toy car came suddenly out of the foyer and drove wildly around the living room. Nick grabbed up his mini-cam and began filming. The car zigged and zagged under tables and around people’s feet, before zooming out of sight, racing toward the foyer.

  Jay’s tired eyes followed the car. A miniature of a very popular model from back in the mid-1960s. The sight of a driverless car was not particularly disturbing to him. He was becoming rather blase about the impossible occurring.

  But obviously Stoner did not know as much about what was happening as he thought. He blurted, “That’s impossible!”

  And no one in the room doubted his sincerity.

  The coffee had perked Jay up. While Piper was getting him another cup, he told Stoner everything.

  He listened, shock on his face.

  “Toy people! Black masses in ... churches! But I ...” He sat down heavily. “Of course. Yes. Now it all meshes. I heard . . . rumors, of course. But I was not aware of the . . . enormity of it all.” He glanced at the priest. It was only then he realized the man was blind. “How did you lose your sight?”

  “Satan took it from me.”

  “Very well. I really don’t wish to debate religion, Father Pat. If that’s what you believe, fine. I would say it was more than likely a case of hysteria causing loss of sight.”

  Father Pat smiled.

  Stoner began pacing the room. He would occasionally glance into the foyer. He didn’t want to be surprised by another toy car zooming about. Stoner looked to be about forty-five, about five feet, five inches, but stocky. A man who kept in shape.

  “I came here from Chicago,” Stoner said, still pacing. “I was offered the position of chief of psychiatry at the complex. In addition, I would oversee some genetic research. My true love. The salary offered me was, well, vulgar in excess. I took the job.

  “The town . . .” He paused, frowning. “Seemed odd to me. But I was so busy at the complex, I rarely left it. Well, it didn’t take me long to discover that all was not as it seemed. To say the least. I discovered that some of the people being confined and treated were just as sane as any of us here. Rational people. But that goes on in many private institutions. It’s true. Family members can be quite vindictive.”

  He looked at Jay. “Then one day your aunt came to my office. I found out then that she owned the complex. It was a tax dodge on her part. Free genetic research that she could write off. It is research . . . in a macabre sort of way. And one wing of the hospital is charity . . . in a manner of speaking. The only problem is that one is not quite the same coming out as one is coming in. If one ever comes out.

  “Cary asked me if I was aware of what was housed on the fifth level. I told her I was not aware that there was a fifth level.

  “She invited me to see the fifth level. I fainted.”

  He sighed, grateful that no one laughed. “She thought it all hysterically amusing. My reaction when I saw that . . . horrible thing. At first it was just an old man. Then . . . it changed. Some sort of beast. A glob of glowing, pulsing . . . mass. The woman laughed and laughed. She is... was, pure evil.”

  “Evil, doctor?” Father Pat said with a faint smile.

  “Slip of the tongue, Padre.”

  “But of course.”

  “Then we didn’t imagine seeing that . . . thing?” Amy asked. “It . . . whatever it is, is really there?”

  “Yes. It’s there. But weak. And I don’t know why it’s getting weaker. You see, Cary wanted me to treat that . . . abomination. Treat it! I don’t even know what it is!”

  “How would you have treated it?” Jim asked, looking for any angle, any way out.

  “In its human form. And its animal form. I told her to go get a veterinarian.”

  Eric smiled at that, thinking: The man may be small in stature, but damn long on guts.

  “I was . . . shocked at the sight of that . . . man turned to powder in the corridor. But as I said, it’s all beginning to fit. My work . . .” He trailed it off into silence.

  “But surely,” Eric said, “you saw the results of generations of incest?”

  “Quite by accident. And shortly after viewing the . . . thing on the fifth level. Within days. I turned in my resignation. Then I was kept under house arrest.”

  “This creature,” Jim asked. “Where did it originate?”

  “I have absolutely no idea. My theory is that it’s always been here, in one form or another.”

  “We were told in the corridor that it ... what was the phrase? ... Yes, it absorbs people. Laurie was her name.”

  “Odd way of putting it,” Stoner said. “Well, yes. It has the ability, and please understand that I am not using this word in any religious sense . . . to separate good from evil.” He shrugged.

  “In other words,” Father Pat said, “it takes the human soul.”

  “Well . . . all right. Yes.”

  “I’ll make a Christian out of you yet.”

  “Spare me that.” Stoner once more began his restless pacing. “Evil dolls that are shipped around the country. A ... repository for toys who refuse the evil. It’s mind-boggling.”

  “And the people in human form, who are not really human, but shells, are people who have had their souls taken. They are no more than . . . walking dead,” Eric said.

  “I don’t know anyt
hing about that,” Stoner said, sitting down. He rubbed his temples with his fingertips. “Does anybody have an aspirin?”

  Jenny fetched a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin.

  Stoner swallowed two tablets, chasing them with water. “By now, you are all aware that there are watchers all over this area. Worse than Russia.”

  “The Committee?” Jay asked him.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  It soon became apparant that Stoner had told everything he knew about the town.

  “Let me put it together,” Father Pat said. “I think I’ve tied up all the loose ends.”

  “Except for a way out of this mess,” Jim said.

  “Yes.”

  Nick turned on his mini-cam and began recording sound and pictures.

  “The so-called normal people in this town had a choice,” Father Pat said slowly, articulating each word. “They could have left. They chose to remain and be a part of the evil. This Old One plays off of greed and envy and avarice and lust . . . all the baser human traits. It promises, somehow, to deliver, and does. Do you agree with that, Eric?”

  “As far as you took it, yes.” He looked at Stoner. “How long can this creature sustain other forms?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Eric patted Father Pat’s arm. “It is one of God’s failures, Pat.”

  The priest bristled. “God does not make mistakes, Eric.”

  “Providing there is a God,” Stoner said.

  “It doesn’t make any difference what any of you think.” Parnell broke his silence. “You can’t escape. You all will die, and most of us will live. Our way of life will continue. An investigation might slow us down; but by the time the state sends people in, our tracks will be covered. Our culture has survived here for almost two centuries. All your efforts will produce is a minor inconvenience, nothing more.”

  “I am so tired I can’t think,” Jay said. “Jim, tie Parnell up and store him somewhere. I’m going to bed.”

  * * *

  Jay slept for seven hours, almost to the minute; a deep, hard sleep. He awakened stiff, but refreshed. He showered and shaved, dressing in jeans, pullover shirt, and low-heeled boots. He relieved General Douglas at watch and made coffee and a light breakfast. He took his plate and coffee into the living room, sitting by the picture window.

  Sitting there, in the quiet of the sleeping house, Jay made up his mind as to what must be done.

  The longer they waited, passive, the less their chances were of surviving this ordeal. So passive was out; they must become the aggressors.

  Jay finished his breakfast, rinsed off his plate, and stuck it in the dishwasher. He found his shotgun and checked it. He filled his pockets with shotgun shells. He retrieved his .45 and extra clip, dropping some extra rounds into a back pocket.

  “Jay, what are you doing?” Eric’s voice reached him.

  “I’m not going to continue on the way it’s been, Eric. We’re just sitting here, waiting for them to take us whenever they please. No. I will not tolerate that. If I’m going to die, I’ll go out kicking and screaming and fighting.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  Jay shook his head. “I think this is something I have to do for myself, and by myself.”

  “Did God speak to you, son?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. I’m not aware of it if He did.”

  “Piper and Kelly are suspect, Jay.”

  “Amy told me. I don’t believe it.”

  Eric shrugged his heavy shoulders. “So be it. Where are you going to start your personal war?”

  “I have a spot in mind.”

  * * *

  Jay drove to the toy store and parked. He got out and locked the car. Looking up and down the street, Jay noted that all appeared normal. But he knew it was far from that. Not to his trained eyes. The pedestrian traffic’s walk was just a bit stiff, a bit stilted, and their eyes were too glassy. Too staring, too fixed.

  Two men sat in a car across the street from the store, watching him. Another car was parked about a half block behind him, two men in it, watching him.

  Jay waved at them and held up the sawed-off shotgun.

  Jay pointed to the store door. “I own this factory of horror!” he shouted. Not one of the passing pedestrians looked up; but the men in the cars did. “And if I want to wreck it, that’s my business!”

  He turned, took a deep breath, and tried the doorknob. Locked. Jay stepped back and kicked the door open, smashing the lock with his boot.

  Jay grabbed a passing man and spun him around. “Hey, you!” he yelled. “What’s my name?”

  “Clute,” the man said, but his voice was just not right; it was too mechanical.

  Jay began shaking the man. The man offered no resistance. After a few seconds of hard shaking, the man’s neck cracked, the head lolling to one side. Jay slapped the man. The head broke off and tumbled to the sidewalk, exploding in a shower of dust. The man lurched away, walking up the street, stumbling along, running headless into a lamp post. He stood there, his legs working up and down, going nowhere.

  Jay grabbed up his shotgun and ran into the street. A car squeaked to a halt. Jay walked around to the driver’s side. “I know you. I went to school with you!” he shouted at the driver.

  The driver turned his head and looked at Jay. His eyes were dead. “Hello, Jay. How are you, Jay? That’s nice, Jay. It’s good to see you, Jay. I have to go now, Jay. Good-bye.” He took his foot off the brake and drove on.

  Jay walked back to the sidewalk. A woman with a broom was sweeping up the powder left by the falling head.

  The headless man was being helped into a car, into the back seat.

  “He’s not well,” the woman with the broom said. “It happens occasionally. Hell be all right.” She walked back into a five and dime located across the street from the toy store.

  Jay’s temper boiled to the surface. “I’m gonna burn this godless place to the ground!” he screamed, his voice shaking. “Come on! You wanna stop me. Well, dammit, do it!”

  Allison Smith walked up to him. “You’re making a fool of yourself, Jay. You need help. Waving that shotgun around; carrying an illegal pistol. Jay, no one really wants to hurt you. Ellis is going to come see you later on. Listen to him, Jay. Please? For old time’s sake?”

  She turned and walked on, across the street.

  Jay fought back a wild, insane impulse to lift the shotgun and shoot her.

  I’m an easy target, he thought, controlling his emotions. Why doesn’t someone just shoot me? Grab me? Why?

  Because they want me alive! The thought jumped into his mind.

  I’m the last Clute. I’ve got something that somebody wants. But not the money that Aunt Cary left me. Something locked inside of me.

  Something good, or something evil?

  He became deadly calm. Coldly he checked his emotions.

  He stepped into the toy store, into the darkness within. All the lights were off. The rows and rows of toys seemed to all be looking at him.

  He walked a few steps deeper into the building. A voice from behind turned him around, the shotgun coming up muzzle level.

  “Got you now, Clute!”

  Jay stared at the man. He felt he should know him, but could not dredge up the name. But that wasn’t terribly important. What was the hunting rifle in the man’s hands?

  And Jay was instantly aware that the man was living flesh and blood. “I know the face, but not the name. What’s your part in all this . . . insanity?”

  “I got a nice gig goin’. And you ain’t gonna mess it up.”

  “Gig? Are you a musician?”

  “Naw. I hep Mr. Dixon make porn pitchers.”

  It took Jay a moment to decode the mush-mouthed redneck’s words. He was talking about porn films; probably with a satanic theme. “Porn films praising Satan?”

  “Yeah.”

  “With little kids?”

  “Yeah.”

  Jay pulled the trigger. The range was
about six feet. The buckshot took the man in the belly, doubling him over and flinging him backward. Screaming, the man dropped his rifle and staggered out the door. He fell on the sidewalk and rolled into the gutter. Jay assumed he was dead.

  People walking by paid no attention to the man or to the blood on the sidewalk. Jay could see the two men in the car directly across the street talking excitedly. But they did not leave the car.

  Jay found the row of light switches and filled the store with light. The door with the shattered lock closed softly behind him. He did not notice the closing.

  The ’Nam syndrome overtook his civilized veneer. This was war. And that was the way he was going to have to handle it.

  If he was going to survive.

  “Bruno Dixon!” Jay yelled. “Where are you?”

  A giggling drifted to him, emanating from the rear of the huge building. “Come into my parlor, Mr. Clute. Come on. Come on.”

  Jay looked around him. The eyes of the toys were moving, looking at him.

  3

  “Steady, Jay,” he muttered. “Just keep it cool, baby.”

  He replaced the shell in the shotgun and began walking toward the rear of the building. It did not take him long to understand the horror of what he had stepped into. As he walked the long counters filled with toys, their eyes followed him. And he recognized many of them. There was John Wilson, looking at him from a shelf. And there was Mary Lopez and Alice what’s-her-name.

  Jay fought back a growing horror as his eyes found and focused on a toy that brought him up short and still.

  Old Man Milton, all dressed up in a business suit, with white shirt and tie, sitting in a rocking chair – staring at him.

  The old man began rocking and laughing at him. “You asshole!” he squalled in a tiny voice.

  Something stung Jay on the calf of his leg. He looked down and almost screamed in fright.

  The floor around him was filled with toy people. They were looking up at him and sneering, their little faces savage and ugly with hate and evil.

  And they all held pins and needles and tiny swords in their little hands.