The Toyminator

8

“Toy Town?” said Jack as he drove along with Eddie at his side.

Eddie cowered in the passenger seat. “Please slow down,” he said.

Jack slowed down, but said, “Toy Town,” once more. “The supposed location of the supposedly landed spaceship. Supposedly. But I thought that Toy City is Toy Town, just grown bigger.”

“What a lovely way you have with words,” Eddie said. “Toy City is Toy Town grown bigger. But not quite in the same location. From what I’ve heard of the original Toy Town, it was an idyllic, paradisical sort of place, nestling against a sunny hillside – always sunny, of course, I don’t think it ever rained there.”

“I’m sure it must have,” said Jack, taking another corner in a dangerous fashion and sending Eddie sprawling.

“Seat belts,” Eddie said as he climbed once more onto his seat and glared a glare at Jack.

“What would those be?” Jack asked.

“Something I’ve just invented, for strapping yourself into your seat in a car.”

“Sounds dangerous,” said Jack. “You might get trapped or something, say if the car were to go over a cliff and into a river, or something. Am I going the right way? And tell me more about Toy Town.”

“It’s a bit of a way yet, and you are going the right way and the car will need a few more windings-up before we get there. But, as I say, it was the original town built for toys and P.P.P.s, from the original kit, if you believe what the followers of the Big Box Fella, He Come, Jack-in-the-box cult do. Toys lived there in harmony and happiness. Then there were more toys and suburbs were built and then places for the toys to work in were built beyond these, and then homes for the rich who made money out of these enterprises beyond this. And so on and so forth and eventually up grew Toy City, of evil reputation. Folk sort of moved away from Toy Town – it fell out of favour, reminded them of their humble beginnings. The desire for progress and evolution forced them out of their simple paradise to search for a more sophisticated lifestyle, so they came to live and work in Toy City.”

“I don’t quite follow the logic of all that.” Jack drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “But it’s still there, is it? The original Toy Town? Who lives there now?”

“I think it’s a bit of a ghost town now.” And Eddie shivered. “You hear stories about odd folk who live there. Outcasts. I thought of going there myself after I lost my job as mayor. They make movies there, I believe.”

“Movies?” said Jack, and he grinned towards Eddie. “I’ve always wanted to be in a movie.”

“Since when?” Eddie raised an imaginary eyebrow. “This is the first I’ve heard of such a thing.”

“You mean you’ve never wanted to be in a movie?”

“Have you ever seen a Toy City movie, Jack?”

Jack shook his head. “I haven’t,” he said, “but I’ll bet they’re much the same as the movies I watched in the town where I grew up. Action and adventure.”

Eddie laughed. Loudly. “Action and Adventure?” he managed to say. “Not a bit of it – they are as dull as. Biopics, they’re called. Always about prominent P.P.P.s, with constant remakes. If I watch that Jack and Jill go up that damned hill one more time, I’ll puke.”

“He does fall down and break his crown – that must be quite exciting.”

Eddie sighed and he was so sick of sighing. “Trust me, Jack,” he said, “they’re dull. Dull, dull, dull.”

“So why does anyone go to see them?”

“It’s complicated,” said Eddie. “I’ll explain it to you sometime, but not now. And see, just up ahead, where the street lamps end – we’re almost there.”

The street lamps ended at the top of a hill. Jack drew the car to a rather unnecessarily sharp halt and he and Eddie climbed from it. Jack peered out and down at a moonlit landscape. “Oh,” was all he could find to say for the moment.

Jack stood beside Eddie, who peered in a likewise fashion, and a little shiver came to Eddie, which wasn’t caused by the chill of the night.

There was something about Toy Town that haunted Eddie. It haunted all toys in Toy City to a greater or lesser extent. Toy Town represented something, something that had been but no longer was: paradise, before the fall. In truth, few toy folk ever ventured there. Toy Town was almost a sacred place. A place perhaps for pilgrimage, but somehow, too, for reasons that, like going to see P.P.P. biopics, were too complicated to explain, a place to be feared. An other place. A place not spoken of.

It was complicated.

“Looks pretty dilapidated,” said Jack, “but in a romantic kind of a way. The way that ancient ruins sometimes do.”

“Hm,” said Eddie, and he shivered a little bit more.

“What’s that up there?” asked Jack, and he pointed.

“Ah,” said Eddie. “The sign.”

The sign rose above the hilltop. Great white letters, standing crookedly. Great white letters spelling out “TO TO LA.”

“‘To to la’?” said Jack. “What does that mean?”

“It originally spelled ‘TOYTOWNLAND’,” said Eddie. “That was the name of the original development. Seems as if some of the letters have fallen down. It’s a very long time since I’ve been here. And I think I’ve now been here long enough again. Let’s come back in the morning, Jack. Or perhaps you might come back on your own.”

“On my own?” Jack looked at Eddie. “What’s the problem?” he asked. “Eddie, are you scared of something?”

“Me?” said Eddie, straightening what shoulders he had. “I’m not scared of anything. We bears are brave, you should know that. We’re as bold as.”

“Right,” said Jack. “But you do seem to be trembling somewhat.”

“It’s cold,” said Eddie.

Jack, having eyebrows, raised them.

“Yeah, well,” said Eddie, “there’s something about this place. Something I’m not comfortable with.”

“Well, I’m not altogether comfortable myself. I’m not too keen on getting blasted by a space alien death ray, you know.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in the concept of space aliens.”

“I don’t,” said Jack, “but something zapped the monkeys and the clockwork musicians. And whatever it is, I don’t want it to zap me as well. Nor you, as it happens.”

“We shall proceed with caution, then. I’ll lead the way, you go first.”

Jack said, “Eh?” But Jack led the way. “Where am I leading this way to?” he whispered to Eddie as he led it. Down and down a hillside, through gorse and briars and unromantic stuff like that.

Eddie battered his way through nettles. “Keep a low profile,” he counselled. “And keep an eye out for anything that looks like a landed spaceship.”

“As opposed to something that actually is a landed spaceship?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

Jack, keeping the lowest of low profiles despite the heightness of his height, did furtive glancings all around and continued in the downwards direction. At length, and one too long for Jack, who was now somewhat briar-scratched about in the trenchcoat regions, and who now had Eddie riding upon his shoulders due to Eddie being briar-scratched about in more personal regions, the intrepid detectives reached a bit of a road, a bit of which led into the romantic ruination of Toy Town.

“They’re pretty little houses,” Jack whispered, “but they’ve got holes in their roofs and everything. Do you really think anyone lives here any more?”

“We bears have almost mystical senses,” Eddie whispered back. “We can sense things. And I sense that we are being watched.”

“By spacemen, do you think?”

“There’s a tone in your voice,” said Eddie. “Put me down, please.”

And Jack put Eddie down.

Jack said, “I don’t see any landed spaceships. But then perhaps landed spaceships have some kind of advanced camouflage and can look like ruined houses. In which case, I can see lots of spaceships. Which one do –”

“Stop it,” said Eddie. “We are being watched. And I don’t like it here.”

“I’ll protect you,” said Jack. “I have my gun.” Jack patted his pockets. “Oh no,” he said. “I don’t have my gun – one of the laughing policemen confiscated it.”

“We’re doomed,” said Eddie. “Do you still have your watch?”

“I do,” said Jack, holding his wrist up to the moonlight. “It’s nearly two-thirty. Time travels fast when you’re having a good time, doesn’t it?”

“Turn it in,” said Eddie. “You’re as scared of this place as I am.”

“I’m afraid of no man,” said Jack.

“There’s something out there,” said Eddie. “And it ain’t no man.”

Which rang a distant bell, somewhere.[15]

“Which way do you want to go?” asked Jack.

“Home,” said Eddie.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“It’s what I mean,” said Eddie. “I used to live here. I’d like to see my old home.”

“Oh,” said Jack. “Right. Lead on, then.”

And Eddie led the way.

He led the way to Toy Town Square. There were ruined shops all around and about: a butcher’s, a baker’s, a candlestick maker’s, a cheese shop and a dolls’ hospital.

Jack peered through the grime-stained window of a tailor’s. “This really is a proper ghost town,” he said. “There’s still a display in this window and suits of clothing hanging up.” Jack moved on through the square. “Same in the cheese shop,” he said. “It’s full of old cheese. How come when the traders moved away they left their stock behind?”

“They moved away fast,” said Eddie. “In a single day. All at once.”

“But I thought you said –”

“I know what I said. I didn’t say how fast they all moved to Toy City.”

“What happened here, Eddie? Something bad, was it?”

“I don’t want to talk about it now.”

Jack shook his head. “Are we still being watched? What do your special senses tell you?”

Eddie nodded. “We’re still being watched. Come on, this way.”

And so they moved on, across the moonlit square, into a side alley that wasn’t really lit very well at all, into worrying darkness, then out into some small light.

“Ah,” said Jack. “I see.”

Before them stood a little house. A pretty little house. It was a man-sized pretty little house. A flaky painted sign upon the aged front door spelled out the name “WINKIE” in archaic lettering.

“Bill Winkie’s house,” said Jack. “The house of Wee Willy Winkie. And you were his bear.”

“I was Bill’s bear,” said Eddie. And he produced a key from his trenchcoat pocket. “Would you care to let us in, Jack?”

Jack took the key from Eddie. “You have the key with you,” he said, “but you didn’t know we were coming here. I mean –”

“I’ve always carried it, one way or another, and the another way wasn’t very comfortable,” Eddie said. “I carry it as a kind of good-luck charm, or something.”

“Oh.” Jack said no more, but tried the key in the lock. After some struggling, he turned it. “Are you sure about this?” he asked Eddie. “Sure that you want to go in? It might be painful for you. I know how much you loved Bill.”

“It will be painful,” said Eddie, “but I have to. There’s something I have to know.”

“All right.” Jack drew the key from the lock, returned it to Eddie, then pressed his hands to the door, which opened, silently.

“There should be a candle box on the wall to your left,” said Eddie. Jack felt around to his left, found the candle box, located candles within it and a tinderbox, fumbled about with the tinderbox, drew sparks, then fire from it, lit a candle. Jack held up this candle.

“What do you see?” Eddie asked.

“Just a room,” said Jack. “Quite tastefully furnished. Are you coming in, then?”

Eddie followed Jack.

Jack spied candles set in wall sconces, others upon a table. Jack lit these candles with his. Soft light filled the room.

Eddie gazed around and about it. “Just as I feared,” he said.

“Feared?” Jack asked. “What did you fear?”

“The hinges on the front door have been oiled and there’s no dust,” said Eddie. “Look at the tables and the chairs and the floor – no dust. Someone’s living here.”

“Upstairs, do you think? Asleep?”

“Possibly. Jack, give me a hand, if you will.”

“What’s this, then?”

Eddie was tugging at a rug. “Help me with this.”

Jack did tuggings, too. They tugged the rug aside.

“Ring in the floorboards,” said Eddie. “Secret compartment. Lift the trap door, Jack.”

“Oh,” said Jack. “Exciting. What’s down there?”

“You’ll see.”

Jack pulled upon the ring and the trap door lifted. He held up his candle. “Golly,” he said.

“Golly? Where?”

“Term of surprise,” said Jack, “not golly as in golliwog.” And then Jack did awed whistlings. “This is what you’d call an arms cache,” said he, once done with these whistlings.

“Well, Bill was a private eye.”

“And part-time arms dealer?” Jack beheld the stash that lay beneath, steely parts glinting in the candlelight. There were many guns there, big, impressive guns, toy guns all, although toy guns got the business done in these parts.

“Just haul up some weaponry.”

“Okey-dokey,” said Jack, “will do.” And he lowered himself into the secret hideaway beneath and handed weapons up to Eddie. And as he did so, Jack did thinkings. What exactly was all this about? went one of these thinkings. What exactly happened here in Toy Town that drove its population away at the hurry-up, without their possessions? Why would Bill Winkie really have needed so much high-powered weaponry? And there would have been more thinkings along these lines had not Eddie hurried Jack up and broken the chain of these thinkings.

“It’s too much to carry anyway,” said Jack.

“And those grenades,” said Eddie.

“This is ridiculous,” said Jack.

“You’ll thank me for it later.”

“What was that?”

“What?” said Eddie.

“I thought you bears had special senses,” whispered Jack. “I heard something.”

“Come on, then, hurry up – gather up guns and let’s be off.”

The sound of voices now came to the ears of both Eddie and Jack.

“On second thoughts,” whispered Eddie, now tossing weaponry back down to Jack, “it might be more propitious for us to hide.”

“But we’re all tooled-up.”

“These guns are very old.”

“Sling the rest of them down here and follow on, then.”

Eddie did so. Jack climbed from the secret hideaway, extinguished candles, did complicated in-the-dark back-tuggings of the rug and lowerings of the trap door over him and Eddie.

Voices, slightly muffled now but growing louder nonetheless, were to be heard above.

“And I say that I locked the door behind us,” said one voice.

“And I say that you forgot,” said another. “And as I’m in charge, that’s final.”

“Oh yes, so who put you in charge?”

“You know perfectly well. This operation has to be carried out with military precision. I’m in charge, you are merely my comedy sidekick.”

“I’m not a comedy sidekick, I’m a professional.”

“Light the candles, then.”

There came now the sound of a slight scuffle, followed by a heavy thump. Right on top of the trap door.

Eddie flinched, as did Jack, though neither saw the other do it.

“Good comedy falling,” said one of the voices. “See, you excel at that kind of thing. Stick to what you know. I’ll be in charge, you do the comedy falling about.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose. Someone scuffed up this rug. Someone’s been here.”

“Well, they’re not here now.”

“They might be upstairs, asleep.”

“There’s no one here. Just you and me and our little cargo, of course. You didn’t damage the cargo with your comedy falling, did you?”

“Of course I didn’t. I’ll put it here on the table – do you want to see it?”

“Best see it, I suppose. Not that I really want to.”

“No, nor me – they give me the creeps, they way they move about in their little jars. They’re really horrid.”

Eddie looked at Jack in the darkness beneath.

Jack looked at a spider. He thought he was looking at Eddie.

“One little peep, then,” said one of the voices above.

“One is quite enough. I’ll be glad when this job is done. If it ever is done. I can see this job going on for ever. Or at least until everyone in Toy City is jarred-up. They are valuable commodities back home. The boss will have us jar-up the entire city, you see if I’m wrong.”

“It’s not right, you know.”

“Right doesn’t enter into it. It’s business, pure and simple. Gather them up, take them back, that’s what we’re paid for.”

“But they’re living beings.”

“They’re toys.”

“Yes, but living toys.”

“Well, of course they are. There wouldn’t be much point in going to all this trouble if they weren’t living, would there?”

“But it’s murder when it comes right down to it.”

“Murder of toys?”

“Oh, look at that one in the jar at the end. It’s really agitated.”

“The bandleader. He’s frisky all right, just like those monkeys. Shut the case up, I don’t like looking at them.”

Eddie and Jack heard muffled clickings.

Then they heard a voice say, “Get your stuff from upstairs and we’ll be off. We have to deliver tonight’s cargo by dawn.”

And then they heard departing footsteps.

Then returning footsteps.

Then departing footsteps again and the slamming of the front door.

“Do you think they’re gone?” Jack whispered.

“Hold on a bit longer,” said Eddie. “Just to be sure.”

Time passed.

“They’ve gone,” whispered Eddie.

Jack pushed up the trap door, rug and all, emerged from the hideaway, blundered around in the darkness and eventually brought light once more to the late Bill Winkie’s parlour.

“Well, what do you make of all that?” Jack asked.

“Nothing good,” said Eddie.

“Shouldn’t we be following them?” Jack asked.

“No,” said Eddie, “we shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’re not ready to deal with this yet, Jack. We don’t know what’s going on – we have to know more.”

“Then we should follow them now.”

“They said they were delivering tonight’s cargo. They’ll be coming back tomorrow, I would guess. Let’s make certain we’re ready and waiting for them then.”

“Sound enough,” said Jack. “But what were they talking about? What did they have in their jars?”

“Souls, perhaps,” said Eddie. “The souls of the clockwork band.”

“Their souls, Eddie? What are you saying?”

“You heard what I heard, Jack. Draw your own conclusions.”

“I heard what you heard, Eddie, but did you hear what I heard? What we heard?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Eddie.

“Oh, I think you do. The voices, Eddie. You heard the voices.”

“Of course I heard them. Now stop talking, let me think.”

“No,” said Jack. “You heard them as I did. You heard those voices.”

“I heard them,” said Eddie. “Now stop.”

“Not until you’ve said it.”

“Said what?”

“You know exactly what. Now say it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do, Eddie. Say it.”

“All right!” Eddie glared at Jack. “I know what you want me to say that I heard. And all right, I did hear it, same as you heard it. Their voices. All right, I heard them.”

“Say it,” said Jack.

“They were our voices,” said Eddie. “Yours and mine. Our voices. All right, I’ve said it – are you happy?”

“No,” said Jack. “I am not. They were our voices. What does this mean?”

“It means,” said Eddie, “that not only is there a doppelganger of me doing these murders, but there’s one of you, too.”

Jack did shudderings. “I was really hoping that you might have been able to come up with a comfier explanation than that,” he said.

“Comfier?” said Eddie.

“This is really scary stuff,” said Jack. “Doppelgangers of you and me? I don’t know about the soul-stealing business, but murdering doppelgangers is scary enough for me. Were they space aliens, do you suppose?”

Eddie shrugged as best as he was able. “I suppose so,” he said.

“But space aliens don’t go stealing souls,” said Jack.

“Oh, you know all about the habits of space aliens now, do you?”

“I know what I know,” said Jack. “There’s a blinding light and the space aliens abduct you, stick instruments up your bottom and then return you hours later with your memories erased. That’s what space aliens do.”

“You do talk twaddle, Jack.”

“Listen,” said Jack, “that’s what space aliens do, if there are space aliens. But as I don’t believe in space aliens, I don’t care whether you believe me or not.”

Eddie was now thumping his head with his paws.

“I hate it when you do that,” said Jack.

“It helps to jiggle my brainy bits about,” said Eddie. “Aids cogitation. We have all the clues, Jack, I’m sure we do. We can figure this thing out. I can figure this thing out.”

“Let’s tell Bellis what we heard here,” said Jack. “Let him and his laughing policemen lay in wait for these –”

“Doppelgangers of us?” said Eddie.

“Whatever they are.”

Eddie gave his head some further thumpings. “Something is coming,” he said.

“An idea?” asked Jack. “An answer? What?”

“Something,” said Eddie. “Something.”

“Something,” said Jack. And then he said, “Eddie?”

“What, Jack, what?”

“Eddie, something.”

And then something came upon them. It came upon them in a blinding light, which rushed at them through the windows and up through the cracks between the floorboards and around the trap door and in through the keyhole and down the chimney and even up the plughole in the sink in the kitchen. And this light was white and this light was pure and this light was fearsome.

And Eddie clung to the legs of Jack and Jack held Eddie’s head in one hand and shielded his eyes with the other. And Eddie screamed. And Jack screamed. They screamed together. Together as one. And the bright white light engulfed them, surrounded them and swallowed them up.

And was gone.

“Careful,” said Eddie. “Look where you’re driving.”

Jack swung the wheel; the car all but struck a fence. Nearly went over a cliff and into a river. Jack jammed his foot upon the brake.

“That was close,” he said.

“You dozed off,” said Eddie. “Fell asleep at the wheel.”

“I’m sorry,” said Jack. “It’s been a long night. I’m tired.”

“You were asleep.”

“I’m sorry, I said. Where are we?”

“Nearly home, I think.”

“Nearly home?”

“Nearly home.”

“But –” said Jack.

“But what?”

“But we weren’t driving home. We were –”

“We were what?”

“We were somewhere, weren’t we?”

“We were at Tinto’s Bar and now we’re driving home.”

“No,” said Jack. “We were somewhere else after Tinto’s Bar – we went somewhere else.”

“No we didn’t,” said Eddie. “We had a beer, several, in fact. Many, in fact.”

“I didn’t,” said Jack. “I’m confused.”

“See, you did have beers.”

“Did you have beer?”

“Do my kind defecate in the woodland regions?”

“Then you’re drunk.”

Eddie felt at his legs. “I’m not,” said he. “My legs are not.”

“Something happened, Eddie, something weird.”

“Jack, you’re not making sense.”

“There was a light,” said Jack. “A very bright light.”

“You are drunk.”

“I’m not,” said Jack. He looked at his watch. “Five a.m. in the morning,” he said. “The sun’s coming up.”

“Five in the morning?” said Eddie. “That’s odd. I thought it was about two.”

“There was a bright light,” said Jack. “I remember a light. And there’s something more.”

“Something more?”

“My bottom’s sore,” said Jack.

“Oh,” said Eddie. “That’s funny.”

“It’s not,” said Jack. “It hurts.”

“No, I didn’t mean that it’s funny like that. I mean it’s, funny because my bum is sore, too.”

Jack looked at Eddie.

And Eddie looked at Jack.

“Aaaaaaagh!” they both agreed.