Six Scary Stories

Michael Button was born in Glasgow and lives in east London with his husband and dog. During his life, he has done a number of things for money – software development, DJing and teaching (swimming, English as a foreign language, probability theory) – but has recently dedicated himself to his true love: making up stories.

‘The Unpicking’ is his second published story. Michael drew inspiration from two main sources – the recurring motif of marionettes in the work of the American horror writer Thomas Ligotti, and Michael’s favourite childhood character, Enid Blyton’s diabolical Naughty Amelia Jane.

He is currently working on his first novel.

‘It’s hard to overstate the influence of Stephen King’s writing on my work. His short story “The Mangler” is a particular favourite – technical dazzle, nasty violence, black humour and a true shocker of an ending.’

THE UNPICKING

Nobody was the first to emerge from the toy chest, then came Sophie, Naughty Rupert and Bunny. Last was Annie-In-Rags, the largest of the toys, a doll made from strips of rough denim that trailed over the edge of the chest behind her. Gangle-limbed and goggle-eyed, they formed a circle in the dim glow of His nightlight.

‘Does He sleep?’ whispered Naughty Rupert, a yellow bear. He wore natty herringbone trousers and a scarlet cardigan that was fastened with two brass buttons.

‘Of course He sleeps,’ said Sophie, daringly louder than Rupert. ‘It’s long past His bedtime, and you know what She’s like.’

They all knew what She was like.

Bunny flailed around. He was thrilled by the hint of danger, a stupid grin plastered over his face. His white furry limbs flapped on the carpet and against the side of the bed.

‘Stop that,’ demanded Sophie. ‘Just because He sleeps now doesn’t mean He can’t be woken up.’

Bunny obeyed but the grin didn’t fade – he was always pleased to be spoken to.

‘Oh, what to do?’ said Sophie. She was not the longest serving of the group. Bunny and Annie-In-Rags had been around before her, though determining which of those two came first would require getting sense out of them – something Annie might occasionally offer, but Bunny never, ever did. Indeed, Sophie wasn’t even one of His toys. She had been discarded by one of His older cousins, and had somehow ended up in the toy chest. He never played with Sophie, so she spent her days in the dark, squashed between spinning tops and alphabet cubes and other remnants of His toddler days.

Still, despite her relative newness, her lack of favour with Him, Sophie was the leader. She was a prim, rosy-cheeked doll. Her hair was wound in tight black curls and she was dressed in a polka-dotted pinafore, with a large straw hat that tilted upwards. Sophie looked around the group for ideas.

‘Baalllll?’ said Annie-In-Rags, in that drawl that so annoyed Sophie.

Bunny hopped up and down with excitement, but Sophie just fixed her hard little eyes on Annie’s huge face. Before Sophie could offer one of her withering put-downs, Naughty Rupert interrupted.

‘Oh ball is boring. We play ball all the time. Let’s go on an adventure!’

Bunny looked confused, though Annie wasn’t bothered at being contradicted. ‘Adventooor!’ she said.

Nobody said nothing. He had arrived only last Christmas, but he claimed to be an antique, when he deigned to talk at all. He was a wooden marionette, pierrot-style, clad in clothes of royal blue paint. Far too clever for his own good, thought Sophie. She barely admitted to herself that she envied his shiny limbs, his rictus grin.

‘No,’ said Sophie flatly. ‘Must you be so stupid? She might see us if we leave the room.’ She paused, then said, ‘Hopscotch. We’ll play hopscotch.’

Naughty Rupert tilted his head to the left. ‘Hopscotch? Sounds boring.’

Sophie didn’t miss a beat. She took one step forward and threw her plastic fist hard into the bear’s head, which flew back, then snapped forward, then back again.

‘I’m not hearing any better ideas, Rupert,’ she said, then added, ‘dearheart.’

The other toys all looked at their feet. Even Bunny’s enthusiasm was dampened momentarily. ‘Hopscotttt,’ said Annie-In-Rags. They trudged towards the plastic mat laid out at the foot of His bed. But, before they could start, Nobody piped up.

‘I’ve an idea,’ he said. All the toys turned to look at him. There was no defiance in his voice, just plummy assurance. ‘Let’s have an Unpicking.’

‘An Un-what? Never heard of it,’ said Sophie. She turned back to the hopscotch sheet. But the rest of the group were looking at Nobody.

‘Haven’t you?’ he said. ‘There’s nothing to it, really. And it’s fun. Certainly more fun than . . . hopscotch.’ The tiniest hint of acid trickled into his words.

Naughty Rupert chuckled. Annie’s eyes darted between Nobody and Sophie. Bunny did a little jump.

Sophie was defeated.

‘Well. Go on then. Tell us the rules,’ she said, as if her permission was needed.

‘Oh. An Unpicking doesn’t have rules. And we don’t need any balls, or mats, or skittles. We do need someone to be the Baby. I think Bunny would make a good Baby.’

Bunny did a dance, ears flopping up and down. Nobody advanced in an ungainly gambol. He came right up to Bunny’s face. He moved his head about. Inspected Bunny’s fat body. Bunny’s limbs spun manically. He hadn’t noticed Nobody’s dangerous tone, or the strange stillness that blanketed the room.

‘And then all we need,’ said Nobody, fingers plucking at a loose thread dangling from Bunny’s underarm, ‘is a way in.’ And he pulled sharply.

Bunny gasped in shock or pain, still not sure as to what kind of game this was. But then the other toys were about him, fingers of cloth or wood or plastic tearing out stitches, grabbing fistfuls of stuffing: a silent frenzy of fabric.

By the time they were done with the Unpicking, all that was left of Bunny was a tangle of thread, some folds of empty fur, and balls of the foam that had given him form. The other toys sat about on the carpet, drained from the activity. Annie-In-Rags absent-mindedly twirled one of Bunny’s ears about her wrist, humming a three-note melody. Nobody lolled on the floor, knocking one of Bunny’s eyes back and forth between his glossy four-fingered hands. Even Sophie seemed at an ebb, limbs awkwardly arranged, eyes staring upwards at the glow-in-the-dark planets on His ceiling. Only Naughty Rupert seemed perky. He pattered a soft tattoo on the carpet with his paws, then he chuckled to himself. Annie gave him a look, but then she saw that Sophie and Nobody were not paying Rupert any attention. In fact, they seemed to be deliberately not looking at him. She thought it best to follow suit.

In the bed, underneath a duvet of multicoloured balloons floating in an azure sky, He let out a soft sigh then turned to His other side.

Naughty Rupert chuckled again, then abruptly stood up. He was famously nimble, not constrained by harsh joints like Sophie or Nobody, and his feet were large enough to provide some balance. He stalked towards the door. It was open a sliver. Light from the upstairs hallway stabbed a knife of yellow on to the carpet. Rupert wedged a paw between the door and frame, gripped the jamb with his opposable thumb, and, with all his might, pulled the door open a crack more.

‘What are you doing?’ hissed Sophie. ‘If She’s still awake, She’ll see, and then we’ll all be for it.’

Naughty Rupert smirked at her. After Nobody’s plan for their evening’s entertainment had gone so well, Sophie knew her authority had been diminished. He slipped through. The other toys, nervous now, hurried up to the door. They watched as Rupert stole along the hallway, moving quickly, glued to the flock wallpaper. The door at the other end of the hallway was also ajar, but beyond was darkness.

Sophie, Nobody and Annie-In-Rags watched Rupert from the doorway. Their manifold forms were tense with fear. Sophie’s apprehension was so sharp she couldn’t tell it from excitement. Never before had a toy left His bedroom in the night, except the time, back at the old house, when Big Ted got carried away at hide-and-seek. He had fallen down the dumb waiter and, on his attempt to return to His old bedroom, been set upon by the ginger tom, Winston.

Naughty Rupert reached the top of the stairs. Each stair was half his height, but he leapt down the first like a circus acrobat, then another, then another. The stairs were made of dark wood, polished and gleaming in the light from the hall lamp. Rupert didn’t stop at all, though his furry feet slipped once or twice. He reached the landing, turned to go down further, and disappeared out of sight. The other toys waited. They listened. They heard nothing.

‘Maybe Winston’s got him,’ said Nobody, with a tremor. The toys waited some more.

Nothing.

Not a sound.

Not a peep.

Until . . .

A soft bumping from the bottom of the stairs. Then again, and again, a fraction louder each time. Naughty Rupert reappeared on the landing. He was bringing something with him. It was a plastic Tupperware box with a label on it that read SEWING, though, of course, none of the toys could read. On top of the box was a pair of black-handled scissors. Rupert dragged the box across the landing behind him, then lifted it up each stair, following behind with an awkward vault.

The others were agog at his audacity. What a brave toy! What a naughty toy!

But then, with two stairs to go, Rupert made a mistake. He placed the sewing box on the penultimate stair. Aware that the other toys were watching him, he put a flourish into his leap upwards. His paw slipped. He grabbed out. His paw found the sewing box, but he only succeeded in pulling the box back with him. Then it and Rupert tumbled down, down, down. Rupert’s slide stopped halfway. The box and scissors clattered past him before coming to rest on the landing. Annie moaned in dismay before Nobody slapped his hand over the gap in the denim that functioned as her mouth.

From the dark, in Her bedroom, She spoke. ‘What is that noise?’ The toys heard Her getting up. ‘Oliver. If I catch you out of bed again, I swear you’ll wish you’d never been born.’ In horror, Sophie, Nobody and Annie turned to look at Him, but, mercifully, He was sleeping just as soundly as before. Still, Annie-In-Rags wasted no time scuttling back to the safety of the toy chest, and then, Sophie noticed with a grim satisfaction that undercut her dread, so did Nobody. Only Sophie, alone, stayed at the crack of the door.

From Her bedroom, She emerged. She wore a silk dressing gown, once fine, but now with a rip at one elbow and stains on the lacework. There was a lit cigarette in one of Her hands that she waved like a dagger. ‘Where are you?’ she called. She moved down the hallway. Sophie, exiled during the daytimes, had not seen Her in some time. There was something different about Her, Sophie thought. Black circles had spread like mould around Her eyes, and pale brown spots crept up Her hands and arms.

Then She noticed Rupert lying on the stairs, dazed and still. ‘Oh Oliver. When will you grow out of these silly jokes and be a proper young man? Why must you make it so hard for me?’ She glared at the door of His bedroom. But, just as Sophie was about to squeal in terror, Naughty Rupert actually moved. He sat bolt upright. He cringed. And, then, he started to scarper down the stairs – as if his six-inch legs could outstrip those of a fully grown woman.

She looked at Rupert, brow furrowed. Took a step down the stairs towards him.

Too fast.

Her back foot caught in a flap of carpet. Her mouth got halfway to a scream as She flew the length of the upper flight, sailing clean over Rupert. With a sharp snapping sound, She crashed in a tangled heap on the landing. Her neck was angled hideously. Her bloodshot eyes went as glassy as Nobody’s. Everything was silent again.

As if nothing had happened, Rupert carried on down the stairs, gathered the sewing kit and scissors from about Her still body, and recommenced the laborious journey upwards.

In the bed, He hadn’t stirred at all. His strawberry-blond hair fell in ringlets about His pillow.

Sophie stayed where she was. She was fascinated by the way She lay. She looks like me, Sophie thought, me when I make myself still when He opens the toy chest. But somehow, without truly understanding why, Sophie didn’t think that She could make Herself move again, no matter how hard She tried.

Sophie was still engrossed by the sight of Her body by the time Rupert had got his treasure back to the bedroom. Annie and Nobody had rejoined them, too.

‘Now,’ said Naughty Rupert, with an evil giggle, ‘Let’s make Baby all better.’

Naughty Rupert started the work, but the others soon joined in. Ears and arms and legs and eyes were reaffixed, clumsily sewn together. The needle was too big for the toys to manipulate properly, so Sophie made Annie hold it while she pushed it through, and Nobody pushed it back again from the other side. It took a long time, and when they stopped, the first glimmers of dawn were visible through the curtains. The toys had never stayed out so late before.

Now, Bunny was able to move again. But they hadn’t sewn him back together the way he’d been. His ears were fixed to his shoulders. An eye had been attached on to his groin, which Annie found hilarious, and even Sophie couldn’t help tittering at. Stuffing was glued to his head – mad, candyfloss hair. And he only had one leg, a pathetic empty fold. He still had that grin, though he couldn’t stay upright, even when Nobody helped him. He just lay on the floor, spinning around in an ineffectual circle.

The toys watched him. Unspooled thread and needles were scattered about the room.

‘Funnnnn,’ said Annie, and, for once, the other toys agreed with her. But though the evening’s events had been exciting, as exciting as anything they’d ever done, there was still a restlessness to the toys, as if they hadn’t really been sated, as if this night had only increased their appetite for more.

‘Ball?’ suggested Naughty Rupert. But from the weariness of his voice it was obvious his heart wasn’t in it.

‘No,’ said Sophie. ‘Something else.’

But what else? Annie shrugged her doughy head. Nobody tried to suggest a game of Chinese whispers, but he couldn’t pique anyone’s interest – he squandered his best shot too early, thought Sophie. Even Rupert seemed dejected – the climb had taken it out of him. All three looked to Sophie. She knew her moment had come.

‘An Unpicking. Another one.’

The toys looked from one to another, suddenly alert. Nobody and Rupert turned their heads towards Annie, but she was not as foolish as Bunny, and she scrambled away. Besides, she was the biggest, and who could say that she wouldn’t take the head off one of the others, even if they did all gang up on her.

‘No,’ said Sophie. ‘Not one of us. Him.’

And they all fixed their attention on Him, their freckled one-time master, eyes twitching in dreams. They rose as one. Gathered needles, scissors, toy drumsticks. And, without a mutter, without a whisper, they took their makeshift tools, and they circled His bed.