Toy Cemetery

by William W. Johnstone

  “Stick him! Stick him! Stick him!” the cheerleaders chanted, their little voices evil under God’s sun.

  The long line of toy people charged the house, screaming and cursing.

  Jay just made the back porch, slamming the screen door and latching it. A horde of little people, all carrying pins and needles and tiny knives and swords, gathered on the back steps.

  The screen door had a dog guard of heavy mesh wire over the bottom half of it; that prevented the toy people from forcing their way through the thin screen.

  Jay stood for a moment, looking down at the savage little horde. He felt cold despite the beads of sweat that clung to his face. “Somebody get me that can of wasp spray off the kitchen counter.”

  “Will this work?” Deva handed him the can of spray.

  “I don’t know.” Jay shook the can and leveled the nozzle at the little mob.

  “Run, run!” a tiny woman with a savage ugly face yelled. “He’s going to poison us.”

  They scattered in all directions as Jay sprayed the area with insecticide.

  With diminutive sounds of coughing and gasping, the little people ran away.

  “We’ll get you, Jay Clute!” a man’s voice squeaked. “You’re gonna be sorry you messed with us!”

  Jay sat down on the porch, on a wooden box. His hands were shaking so badly he had to grab one with the other and hang on.

  Deva was leaning against a wall, tears streaming down her face. “What are we going to do, Jay?”

  “Bust out. Tonight.”

  * * *

  “How’s Amy?” Jay asked. He had looked at the hall clock and once more shook his head. Time was nearly standing still.

  “Perfectly rational,” Stoner replied. “She is quite lucid and resting. Deva gave her a sedative, and I removed her restraints.”

  Stoner looked at General Douglas and smiled. The old soldier had two .45s hooked onto a web belt. Extra clips in pouches. The general stood by a window, looking out at the street. It seemed deserted; but the old soldier, with three wars behind him, knew better.

  “They’ve pulled back,” he said. “Giving us some room to hang ourselves.”

  “If we let them,” Jay said. He looked at Stoner. “You know anything about guns, doctor?”

  “Not a thing. I’ve never fired a gun in my life.”

  “No service time?” Douglas questioned.

  “My number never came up. But I am a very good archer. Without bow or arrows, at present.”

  Jay looked around for the kids.

  “They’re upstairs in their room,” Piper said. “They seem to have made up.”

  Jay didn’t know whether that was good or bad. He again looked at the clock. The hands had not moved.

  “That’s how they do it,” he said.

  “That’s how they do what?” Jim looked up.

  “How this place has managed to exist as is for so many years. Time. It can be slowed down, or speeded up. Bet on it. Somebody comes in here and gets suspicious? Events can be changed simply by the manipulation of time.”

  Jay had returned the .45 to General Douglas, and was carrying the .357 Stoner had taken from the guard at the hospital. He pulled the big mag out of his waistband and leveled it at the grandfather clock in the hall.

  “Jay! ...” Piper opened her mouth.

  Using a two-handed grip on the powerful pistol, Jay blew the face and the inner workings of the clock into ten thousand metallic and springy pieces. He put all six rounds of the Colt Python into the clock. The room rocked with the report of the pistol.

  All present seemed to experience a tilting sensation for a few seconds. The room became very quiet.

  Milton’s squeaking rocking chair could be clearly heard. “Goddamn, boy, but you get uglier all the time!” the old man hollered.

  Stoner looked at his watch. The hands were spinning wildly. “What the hell? . . .” he muttered.

  “Goddamn you!” Aunt Cary’s voice ripped the quiet of the house.

  “Guessed it, didn’t I?” Jay yelled.

  “You guessed your own death, you stupid boy!” Cary’s voice tore through the house. “Time was all that was keeping you alive. Now they’ve got to kill you.”

  “Why?” Jay screamed the question into time and beyond. “Tell me why, Aunt Cary!”

  Her sigh was audible to everyone in the room. And with the sigh came a cold, stinking blast of air.

  “What is that odor?” Stoner asked, his nose wrinkling.

  “A rotting grave,” the general said. “Whatever you’ve done, Jay, you’ve done it up right.”

  “You kept the clock, didn’t you, Aunt Cary?” Jay yelled, his voice bouncing all over the house. “It has to be kept by a Clute, doesn’t it, Aunt Cary? You and the clock kept the strain off that old bastard out at the hospital, didn’t you?”

  Nick was filming and recording it all. The others sat in silence, listening to the exchange.

  “Oh, Jay.” Cary’s voice was gentler. “You don’t know how much I loved you. Together, we could have ruled an empire. You can still go either way, Jay. All it would take is just a little push.”

  Father Pat began praying.

  “Oh, shut up!” Cary yelled.

  “It’s over now, isn’t it, Aunt Cary?” Jay shouted. “Tell me that it’s over!”

  Cary’s laughter was wild and savage and evil. “Over? By destroying that clock, at the hands of a Clute, the only person who could destroy it, you’ve opened the lid to a box full of horrors!”

  “And killed you, haven’t I, Aunt Cary?”

  “You’ve made it ... more difficult for me, yes.”

  “Now, what?” Jay asked.

  She laughed. “Look around you. I want you to see that you’re not alone. Bye!”

  Stoner cleared his throat. “I know that voice. But . . .” He shook his head.

  The miniature car once more raced and roared around the room. But this time it stopped in front of Jay. He reached down to pick it up, and it backed away from his hand.

  Jay stared at it, once more experiencing that odd sensation of – He wasn’t sure. But there was something about that car.

  He got down on his hands and knees, to more closely inspect the car. It was a model of a ’64 Impala. It was –

  A roaring began in Jay’s head. More than a roaring, it was years of anger surfacing. The fury rising up in him was almost more than he could contain.

  “No!” he whispered, his cheek on the carpet. “No, my God, no!”

  Now he knew why the car had triggered a memory response deep within him.

  Through his fog of memories, all mixed and mingled with anger and a feeling of helplessness, Jay heard Piper call his name. He waved her silent.

  He slowly regained control of himself and peered at the little car. Yes. There was that little dent in the right rear fender. Jay remembered it well. He had put it there when he had accidentally backed into a concrete post at the local drive-in theatre. Deva had been with him.

  Jay began crying. Through the silver mist of his tears, Jay put his face almost against the tiny windshield of the car and looked in.

  His family, his father and mother in the front seat, his brother and sister in the back seat. They waved at him, sadness on their faces.

  Jay stretched out on the carpet and allowed the years of pent-up emotions to break free. He wept.

  The little car drove off.

  * * *

  Jay had washed his face in cold water and gone to sit on the front porch. He changed his mind after getting a whiff of the guard on Milton’s front porch. He walked around the house, keeping a wary eye out for little people. He inspected the vehicles. A van and three cars.

  If he remembered correctly, the van was filled with gas. A sound from behind turned him around, one hand on the butt of the mag. Shari walked up to him.

  “Dangerous out here, Shari.”

  “It’s weird inside that house.”

  “Weird . . . how?”

  “I
just get the feeling that things aren’t what they seem to be. You know what I mean?”

  Reluctantly, Jay agreed.

  “Jay ... if, ah, I don’t make it ... God! This sounds like something from a grade B movie.” She shook her head. “Anyway, that film has to make it out, to the station.”

  “We’re all going to make it, Shari.”

  She smiled at him. “You know better, Jay. And you know we’re not going to be driving out. If we get out, it’s gonna be on foot; with God only knows what chasing us.”

  Jay nodded his head. “We’re going to need a truck.”

  “A truck? What the hell for?”

  “Because we’ll be stopping out at the old Clute place, to pick up the little people.”

  “Jay, no.” The voice came from behind him.

  Jay and Shari turned. Eric. “We can’t just leave them, Eric.”

  “We won’t be. But we’ll be freeing them. You heard that buzzing model plane a few minutes ago?”

  “Yes.”

  The man held out a small piece of paper. “This was in a weighted box, a chute made out of a handkerchief attached. The plane must have dropped it.”

  Jay stared at the paper before taking it. “How? . . .”

  Eric shrugged. “Nick got it on film. The note is signed by a Colonel Richelieu. That’s the officer out at the old place.”

  Jay read the note. Good Luck And Godspeed. Thank You For Freeing Us. We’ll take The Town.

  “They’ll ’take the town’? How, Eric? They’re just . . . toys!”

  “Toys who know what is on both sides of the curtain of death,” Eric replied. “The colonel said Godspeed. They want us out and their stories told, Jay.”

  Jay walked back into the house, straight to the doll rooms. He looked at the dolls and clowns and soldiers. He knew a lot of the tiny faces.

  Jane Robertson. Bennie. Ernest and Raul Ramirez.

  Eric and Shari stood in the door, watching him. Nick was filming the scene.

  Jay touched one of the little dolls. He’d gone to school with her – counterpart? The human form?

  “Good-bye, Debbie,” he said. “I’ll do my best.”

  He walked out of the room. Nick swung his mini-cam toward the rows of dolls.

  The film captured the tears running down Debbie’s tiny face.

  5

  It seemed to Jay that no matter where he walked in the house, he was running into Kelly and Jenny. The girls were not in his way; they just seemed to be wherever he was, staring, watching him.

  Jay finally had enough of it and told them to go somewhere and sit down.

  The girls smiled, rather strangely, and walked into the living room.

  He did not notice Kelly picking up a piece of the shattered old grandfather clock. She sat and stroked the broken spring.

  Jay looked at General Douglas. The man was wearing an Ike jacket; the type of military jacket that was popular back in the ’50s.

  The old soldier looked at Jay and said, “Where in the hell did you find that outfit, boy?”

  “What outfit?” Jay asked, then looked down at his feet. White bucks. His pants were pegged.

  Shari screamed as she lifted the billowing skirts of the dress she was wearing. A style that was in vogue around the turn of the century.

  “The street!” Stoner yelled. He was dressed in a plaid suit, with bowler hat and spats above his shoes. “It’s dirt!”

  Nick’s camera was a box type, with dark hood, mounted on a heavy tripod. “What is this thing?” he cried.

  The sounds of horses’ hooves clip-clopping along drifted to them.

  “Stop it!” Amy screamed. She was dressed in an 1870s saloon girl’s can-can outfit.

  A grinding sound was heard. The group struggled for inner balance. Backward motion ceased. Time stopped.

  Through it all, Jay could hear children’s laughter. But it was tinged with evil.

  “What is happening?” Father Pat asked.

  Eric told him.

  “Resist it!” the priest yelled. “History cannot be changed. Our lives cannot be altered. It would affect too many other lives not connected with Victory. Resist.”

  “You’ll never win!” Cary’s voice broke through time and distance.

  “Whhooaa!” Stoner yelled, as he was abruptly hurled against a wall. General Douglas’s feet flew out from under him, and he landed heavily on the foyer floor. Jim and Amy were invisibly pinned against a wall. Jay, too, fell down hard.

  And he couldn’t understand why Kelly and Jenny were laughing hysterically and why they seemed to be untouched by the strange force.

  “Now!” Kelly and Jenny yelled. They jumped up and ran out of the living room.

  The bodies of those in the living room jerked and twisted like puppets controlled by idiots. That odd grinding sound was once more heard and felt. A weight seemed to pull from them all.

  “Pat!” Eric yelled. “Duck, Pat!”

  But the priest did not know which way to duck. He threw up a hand just as Kelly was bringing the butcher knife down. The blade drove through the priest’s hand. His scream of pain was cut off short as Jenny plunged a knife into his neck.

  Laughing and giggling, the girls ran from the house into the darkness.

  Eric grabbed up a shotgun and leveled it at the running girls. Piper threw herself at the man. The shotgun went off, the blast knocking out a window. Eric slapped the woman sprawling and ran after the kids. Deva grabbed one of his ankles and held on.

  “Stop him, Jay!” Piper screamed.

  Aunt Cary’s voice was howling with evil laughter.

  Stoner had reached Father Pat. The little shrink shook his head, his eyes meeting Jay. The knife had gone all the way through the priest’s neck, severing the jugular. Father Pat’s eyes were wide and staring. He tried to speak, but no words would form on his bloody tongue.

  Jay dragged Deva away from Eric. The man ran through the house to the backyard.

  “Be careful, Eric!” Jay shouted. “They’ll be waiting for you.”

  “Goddamn you, Jay!” Piper screamed at him. “That’s your daughter!”

  Father Pat was gagging on his own blood, the blood pouring out of his mouth.

  “They are no longer one with us, Piper. Both the girls have gone over to the other side.”

  But neither woman was buying that. Cursing Jay, they ran out into the night.

  And Nick was filming.

  Jay looked around him. The outside caught his eyes. Night. It was full night. When had it changed?

  “Jim! Turn on all the outside lights and guard the vehicles.”

  “Done!” The trooper ran from the room.

  Father Pat lifted one arm and pointed to the outside. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a horrible gurgling sound. He kept pointing his finger. His eyes rolled back and then his head slumped forward.

  Stoner checked his pulse. “He’s gone.”

  “What was he trying to say?” Amy asked. She was still sitting on the floor where the strange force had knocked her.

  “I’ve got a Clute! I’ve got a Clute!” The voice was Aunt Cary’s, and it was taunting and ugly.

  “But not the right one,” Jay answered.

  “What will you do to get her back?”

  “Nothing.” Jay’s voice was very low. “You can’t deal with the devil.”

  Stoner and the rest were looking at him strangely.

  “You’re giving me your daughter?” Cary asked.

  “I think you’ve always had her.”

  “Smart boy. But then, you always were.” The voice faded away.

  “Come on, Mommy.” Kelly’s voice came to those inside the house. “Here I am, Mommy.”

  “Come on, Mommy.” Jenny’s voice followed. “Come to me, Mommy. We’re so afraid of the dark. Please help us.”

  Eric stepped in through the front door. “If the women go to the kids, don’t let them get close to you.” He walked to Father Pat. Kneeling, the big man laid his shotgu
n on the bloody carpet and began praying.

  Stoner gently closed the priest’s eyes. Eric rose to his feet, meeting the eyes of the smaller man.

  “Do you think the priest would mind if I wore the cross that is around his neck?” the shrink asked.

  Eric smiled and gently removed the chain and cross, working it around the bloody blade of the knife. He put it around Stoner’s neck. “I think he would like it.”

  The back door suddenly flew open, torn completely off its hinges. The musty smell of death wafted through the house.

  “Watch the front, General,” Jay said.

  “Right, boy.”

  Ellis and Parnell and Tim Bickham lurched into the kitchen, stumbling and staggering and knocking table and chairs in all directions.

  Nick’s mini-cam was rolling, and Shari was speaking into her mike. She was scared, but her voice was professional.

  “What a paper this is going to make,” Stoner muttered.

  Parnell’s head lolled to one side, only a partly severed muscle holding the head to the shoulders.

  With a low growl deep in his throat, Jay lifted his shotgun and blew Parnell’s head off. The head dropped to the kitchen floor and rolled around, the eyes blinking furiously.

  “He’s still . . . alive!” Eric said. “In a manner of speaking.”

  Jay fired again and again at the head, blowing brains and bone and tissue all over the kitchen. Parnell kept coming, lurching and banging into archway and dining-room table. He tripped over a chair and fell heavily to the floor.

  Eric emptied his shotgun at Ellis and Tim, the buckshot knocking the men backward, but not stopping them. Bits and pieces of the walking dead were splattered all over the rear of the house and in the dining area. But they would not go down and stay down. Parnell, headless, was kicking and lunging about on the hardwood floor, trying to get to his feet.

  “Is the front clear?” Jay yelled, reloading.

  “Far as I can tell,” the old soldier replied, his voice calm and steady.

  “Jim!” Jay shouted. “Everything secure where you are?”

  “Come on!” The trooper returned the shout.

  “Start the van, your car, and mine. We’re coming out the front.”

  “What about the women?” Nick asked, still aiming his camera.