Seedling JAck

By D. Paul Fonseca

“In mystery, we are born,

In mystery, we live,

In mystery, we die”

                                ~Unitarian Universalist:

                         Extinguishing the flame to honor the dead.

Chapter 1

“Oh, I don’t know. It just seems like a lot of money to spend on a doll.” The small man behind the glass counter said cautiously to the peddler, “Do you have something a little less pricey?”

The peddler looked down at the doll before them, where it lay on the glass. Its glossy eyes stared back at him as though it had a brilliant thought. In a moment, the peddler put the exquisite porcelain figure back into his pouch. He rummaged around for his next item, shuffling here and there, as though he did not know exactly where it was. With his hand still in the bag, he peered up at the store owner, saying with a smile, “You mean something ... like this?”

He held up a hideous figure about twelve inches long with a wrinkled head like that of a little old man, but with a youthful tuft of light brown hair. It wore a hand-sewn pair of miniature overalls with a label sewn onto it that said simply, “Jack.”

“I see,” said the store owner. He paused a moment to sweep his right hand across his thinning hair to cover his bald spot. Then he inquired, “What’s it made of? It looks like skin, almost.”

The peddler laughed and reassured his prospective

customer it was not so. “Its head is an old apple,” He paused, “from Julian,” he said. “But it’s been dried and preserved.”

“So, they make these things right here in Julian?” The storekeeper seemed shocked.

“Oh, no, sir! This doll was made in Ramona. Julian only grows the apples.

“Ya know they make great apple pies here in Julian,” the storekeeper said. He smiled, just thinking about that.

“That they do,” said the peddler.

“Still, this is not exactly what I...” The shopkeeper protested.

“It’s all handmade... Just look at the craftsmanship. Up here in the mountains, this is what all the city folk come out here looking for. They all want some kind of crafts or antiques.”

But the man behind the counter did not think he’d ever sell the unsightly rag of a doll, which prompted him to ask, “How much is the thing?”

The peddler thumbed his chin dubiously and peered at the doll, meticulously inspecting the quality of its workmanship. “I’ll tell you what; I’ll leave the doll here with you for five bucks. If the doll’s still here in two weeks when I return, I will buy it back from you for ten, which is the least you should ask for such a fine piece of work.”

The store owner nodded in the affirmative. “Yes, all right. Sounds good. Sounds like a bargain to me, but…” He shook his head slowly before adding, “Is there anything I should know about this doll? Is there a story I can relate to my customers about it Everything has a story. It just seems like it needs something.”

The peddler’s jaw slacked, and his mouth moved to form words but hesitated, and then, looking the man in the eye, “Truth is, an old woman makes them in her home out there in the hills of Ramona. She’s a nice lady. She calls them her little ones.”

The store owner swallowed hard like his mouth had gone dry.

The peddler continued, “All I know about them is that she says they’re blessed. Some kind of good luck charm, I think.”

The men stood there, looking at each other in silence. A bell rang out, and there was a loud clanging as the cash drawer opened. The store owner pulled a five out and handed it over to the unusual man.

“It’s settled then,” the peddler grinned. “I’ll be back in two weeks. Thank you very, very much, uh...?”

“Gary.”

“Thanks, Gary. And you won’t be disappointed.” He turned and headed out the door with the chimes banging the door jamb as it opened, and as he made his exit, a crooked smile crept across his lips.

“Wait!” The peddler reeled to face the man again.

“Yes?”

“I didn’t get your name.”

The peddler smiled. “I am so sorry. Call me John, Johnny, if you like, as in Appleseed.” The way he spoke, in a slow and deliberately creepy way, made Gary’s skin tingle.

“Okay. All right then, John, I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”

“Yes. Yes. Two weeks.”

-X-

About a week after Gary made his deal with the peddler, events took a turn that would change the lives of all who would lay eyes on the doll named Jack. Across the enormous county of San Diego, deep into the city, downtown, two boys made their way

through a warm, dark, fall night.

Wade could not help but think that Wesley was lost. They had been over the last two blocks three times, and Wes kept insisting that Terry’s house was there somewhere. Wesley was sure of it.

After all, Wesley had been there just two days before, when he had traded an eightball for a modest wad of green and a few tender moments.

Somewhere throughout the day, Wesley started to think that he had been swindled. He was coming down from his high, and with all his cash spent, he needed that eightball back.

Terry would not give it back, but he might let him have just a little. Maybe he would cut him a line, for a favor. Not everything costs money, not when you’re fifteen and good-looking anyway.

Wes couldn’t even remember how he had let Terry talk him into it in the first place.

“It’s over here.” Wesley pointed at a house they had passed twice before.

“Are you sure this is it?” Wade whimpered as they walked through the front lawn and under an Eucalyptus tree. Its branches hung low, casting shadows across the walkway and walls by the light of the moon.

“Yeah, this is it. I remember this door and this plant on the porch. I tripped over it.” Wesley snapped at Wade, “What, don’t you believe me?”

Wade looked up the street, south toward Balboa Park. It was barely within sight. The yellow light from the zoo parking lot illuminated the low scattered clouds.

A vast lawn spread out before the tree line of Roosevelt Middle School and blocked the view of the San Diego Zoo’s parking lot. Wade thought carefully about how to answer Wesley.

His friend had a way of frightening him at times. For the moment,

Wade bit his lip and played it cool. He looked back at Wes. “Of course, I believe you.” He lied.

“Let’s see if he’s home. Come on. His girlfriend is out of town until next weekend. It’s just him and his mom.” He chuckled.

Wes tried the front door. It was locked. At one in the morning, they weren’t about to wake the neighbors by knocking.

Wesley glanced at Wade, grinning. “He probably left the back door

unlocked for us. I called him from Topsy’s and told him we were walking over.”

“Cool.” Wade nodded at Wes, not much caring about what Wes had to say.

The boys walked around the plantation-style columns in front of the house. They headed towards the backyard, alongside the wooden fence, appearing as shadows, except for their brightly colored hair. Wade’s shown bright blue, and Wesley’s practically glowed with his brilliant crimson locks. The night lay in darkness, and the slim moon sat high, past its apex. The only real light cast upon the two figures beamed at them from a yellow sodium lamp, burning above the small city street sign, which read ‘Park Blvd.’ The cross-street sign was missing, having been torn off the top of the metal post.

The boys’ boots made muted sloshing sounds as they tread across the tall, wet grass. The automatic sprinklers must have recently shut off. Their boots became soaked.

Wesley’s wallet chain chattered as he stepped up to meet the concrete rear porch. The light was off as Wes tried the lock. It was open.

“Wes, are you sure Terry won’t get pissed off that I’m with you?” Wade fumbled with his cigarettes, pulling one out of his shirt pocket while he talked. Last smoke in the box, he thought to himself.

“Nah, s’coo, yo.” Wes walked into the darkened kitchen, quietly, as though he was hoping to surprise Terry. “Come on, Wade.” Wade shut the door behind them.

“Terry, you here?” Wes called out. The living room light was on. So too was the light in the stairwell, which beamed down from a long chain on the ceiling between floors. The light illuminated the bright, ivory carpet that ran up the stairs.

No sign of Terry. Wes grabbed Wade’s shoulder. “Stay here, and I’ll be right back.”

Wade nodded, lit up his last Camel cigarette, and looked around the living room. Nice place. Terry’s mom must have some real money. Exotic woodcarvings covered the back wall by the fireplace. The furniture had to be antique, all of it, and English too.

Wade’s mom had a piece just like those. The classic curved glass cabinets seemed too fragile to hold anything, but they sure held all her fancy China well enough.

Upstairs, Wes made a lot of noise running from room to room. His footsteps pounded overhead. It was evident that Wesley grew disoriented. Wade would realize that later. Then, as Wade looked up at the ceiling high above him, he took note of the trendy vaulted ceiling's architectural features. Now that was sweet.

Wes stepped calmly down the stairs, alone, when Wade noticed another curved display case near the entryway. It looked like a much larger version of the other glass cases, but instead of glass, there were curved, wooden panels of a dark hardwood burl, concealing its contents. Wade approached and laid his hands upon the smooth curves of the cabinet’s face. A large brass latch was set into the middle, but there was no padlock. He reached to open it.

“What’s that?” Wes asked, coming down, his oxblood colored boots clunked loudly on the staircase, despite being covered with carpet. His bright red flannel waved as he straightened his white T-shirt out. He seemed to be checking for stains on his shirt.

“I don’t know. You tell me. This is your friend’s house.

Where’s Terry?”

“He’s gone, I guess. Maybe he went to get smokes. I saw an empty pack on the balcony.”

Wade pulled open the door to the case. “Dude…”

“Holy crap! Are those real?” Wesley asked, running over to his companion. Within the case lay several heavy, sharp weapons. Swords dominated the display. Several daggers and smaller bladed weapons complemented the collection around the borders of the case. Each item had a small brass plate beneath, describing what each was. More exotic odds and ends hung up at the corners: a ceremonial dagger from Bali, a Chinese Sai, which looked ancient, with a marred, rusty inscription too obscure to make out even if the boys could read ancient Mandarin.

It was a shiny Japanese Katana, which lured Wesley right into the cabinet. “This is cool.” He reached in for the Katana and released it from its hanging mount.

Wade stepped back and watched Wes grip the handle

clumsily. Wes swung it around, two-handed and then singly. “Ha!”

He began fighting phantom foes on all sides.

As Wes amused himself, Wade pulled a large Arabian sword from its place and ran his hands over the cold steel curves. He read the fine print on the blade out loud, “Pakistan!” He laughed.

“Cheap bastard!” Wesley laughed too.

“This thing probably ran him all of ten dollars,” Wade said as he threw the sword on the area rug at his feet and pulled out a heavy two-handed long sword. “Now that’s what I’m talking about!”

Wesley came over to Wade. “Come on. Let’s fight in the living room.” They ran down the two carpeted steps into the living room, and Wade immediately jumped up on the love seat and held his sword up before him, “I have the power!”

“Die!” Wesley lunged for Wade.

Their swords clashed and rattled as they swung and parried, dancing around the room, hopping from one piece of furniture to the next. Occasionally, they would hit a piece of furniture and would say. “Oops” or “Crap, Terry’s bummed.”

For the most part, they were aggressive opponents, striking out at one another and missing each other within inches. Wesley yelled, “Die Bastard!”

Wade poked Wes with the tip of his sword when he was turned around, and in a brief moment of fury, they knocked over the small desk that was just inside the entryway. Mail spilled out across the entryway floor, making them slip and fall. Wes laughed so loud his voice echoed into the upstairs hallway. The swords clanged as they scattered across the ceramic tiles.

“Sh...” Wade giggled and put his finger to his mouth, trying to compose himself. “Quiet, man. Help me pick this up.”

“You stabbed me!” Wes said with a curious grin on his face. There was no trace of anger. He was having too much fun. Bright drops of red slowly appeared on the side of his shirt. The red fluid ran right through his flannel, causing the little white stripes in the pattern to turn red, and the white T-shirt now had a dark red spot growing on his left side.

“Sorry, man. You mess with the bull...” Wade laughed.

“Shut up,” Wesley snapped back at Wade, laughing.

Wade crawled over to the petite, antique rosewood desk

and lifted it upright, holding some of the mail to the top of it. As it rocked back into place, one piece of mail caught Wade’s eyes. It was addressed to someone named Emily Hall.

“Um, hey, Wes.”

“Huh?” Wesley said, picking up the scattered mail at Wade’s feet.

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s Terry’s last name?”

“Leonard, I think. Why?”

Wade looked at the rest of the mail on the desk. Then, down at the scattered pieces on the floor. They read Emily Hall. Some read, Tony Hall. Then some even read, The Hall Family.

“Who’s Emily Hall?”

-X-

Earlier, hours before the boys had entered the Hall residence, the Hall family had spent their day out roaming about the hills of Julian. This old west town was their last stop before heading back home. The previous two weeks had gone by in a blur, and the town of Julian was one vacation spot they didn’t want to miss since they seldom got up to their local mountains.

Julian’s tiny downtown was barely more than a street or two, but it was full of shops run by many of the same local families for generations. Its size and slow-paced living drew in tourists from up and down Southern California and Arizona. Julian teemed with a handful of antique stores, craft shops, barbecues, diners, a Mexican restaurant, and several bakeries, all touting claims to have “The world’s best apple pie!” Julian was a place to slow down and unwind. You could lose yourself hiking through the quiet beauty of the surrounding chaparral forest or do some shopping down the main street.

The forest spread across the countryside. The hills teemed full of scrub oaks, maples, and more kinds of shrubs than you can imagine. It was also one of the few places on earth where you could find a Manzanita tree growing wild, and with its smooth, waxy, red branches, they were easy to spot. Luckily for the Manzanita, it was a state-protected plant.

The Hall family had gone to all their favorite places, including Olivia’s Mexican Restaurant, before they entered Gary’s Mercantile. They hadn’t planned on buying much that day, but the stores had charm, and so between the two of them, they had spent plenty of money already. Mrs. Hall shopped as easily as she breathed.

Mr. Hall was not so quick to throw around his cash. He had to be talked into a sale. “So, you say this is some kind of good-luck charm?” he asked of Gary. Mr. Hall’s thin lips were dry, and his tortoiseshell glasses gave him away as the accountant he was. “Honey?” He turned and looked over at his wife, who was fondling a Christmas tree ornament on the other side of the small showroom. She stood quietly in the warmth of the doublewide store. Their two-week vacation road trip was just about finished, and truth be told, two weeks on the road with his wife and daughter were about all Mr. Hall could endure. He couldn’t wait to get back to his work to enjoy his quiet, sympathetic numbers. “Anthony?” She answered, bemused and tired.

“This doll… The man says it’s good luck.”

“Well, good luck or not, it’s hideous.” Emily put down the ornament and walked over to the counter. “You can’t be serious. Look at it.”

Frowning, she picked it up as her daughter came up beside her. Barely nine years old, Heather jumped and pulled her mother’s arm to her face to see the doll.

“Heather, behave!” Emily released the doll to her daughter, disgusted. “It’s not pretty, Heather.”

But Heather didn’t seem to hear. “He’s beautiful.” The little girl ran her tiny fingers over the hand-stitched denim overalls. “His name is Jack!” She laughed and pointed at his miniature name tag. “Look!”

Anthony pursed his dry lips and began to think of how he would tell his daughter no this time. “Heather, you have plenty of dolls already. This one is just not going to fit in your luggage.”

Wrong argument. His wife looked at him with eyes that told him how worthless he was. “I’ll carry him, Daddy,” pleaded Heather.

“Heather, no.”

Outside the store and down the street, a young man was walking his dog. The piercing sound of a screaming girl engulfed him as his dog jumped and ran in the opposite direction, up and away from Gary’s Mercantile.

“Heather, stop it!” Emily Hall tried desperately to calm her daughter, but to no avail. Anthony looked at the shopkeeper, who was trying to keep his distance and retain his tactfulness. “How much?” asked Anthony. There was no sign of a price tag. Gary considered. “Forty-five dollars,” he said.

Heather’s pitch increased as her scream intensified in volume. Gary looked at Anthony and added, “The doll is all handmade.”

“Fine.” Anthony opened his wallet and pulled out a fifty-dollar bill. “Here.”

Gary took the bill, rang the bell in the register, and handed Anthony a paper receipt with the change, and like magic, the girl smiled peacefully. She stroked the doll’s mostly bald head with her fingers, turned, and quietly stepped out of the shop.

Without another word, Mr. and Mrs. Hall followed the girl and left Gary, and his Mercantile, behind them. As they sped away from the hills of Southern California’s charming town of Julian,

Heather sang gently to her new friend Jack, “Hush little baby, don’t you cry. Mamma’s going to sing you a lullaby.”

Somewhere between the highway and their home, Mr. and Mrs. Hall became keenly aware that Jack had just become part of the family.

-X-

Mr. Hall drove through the darkness with one headlight. In Poway, the Peugeot’s interior felt cold, having been parked in Anthony’s in-laws’ driveway for the last six hours. It was nearly one in the morning. Heather remained awake. Mrs. Hall dozed in the passenger front seat with her head back and mouth wide open.

The freeway traffic was light, and so far, Anthony hadn’t been pulled over for that damned headlight. How could that have happened anyway? He went over the incident again in his mind.

Earlier that evening, when they’d pulled into Emily’s parents’ house for dinner, Heather had taken it upon herself to unlock her seat belt before the car had stopped, yelling, “Nana! Look at Jack!” Then, she had opened the door and fallen out of the moving car as it climbed up the long, curved driveway. Emily had screamed, and Anthony hit the brakes right away to avoid running over their daughter, turning the wheel as he did so.

Damn, he thought. That was it! He had turned the wheel when he’d jammed on the brakes. Heather had shrieked when she saw Jack lying half under the car about to be run over by the rear tire, and without warning, she’d dove after Jack. They were lucky when Grandpa Jim ran to her rescue.

Grandpa pulled Heather back just in time, and the car came to a halt. Then he snatched up the doll, and upon looking at it, said, “Oh, he’s just fi... Is he supposed to look like that?”

Heather grabbed Jack out of Jim’s hands and ran up to Grandma, telling her how beautiful Jack was. Emily sagged and moseyed up the hill, deflated. Heather could have gotten hurt.

“Hi, Mom.” Emily said, “Do you have any wine?” Emily’s mom put her arm around her shoulders as her dad walked with them.

Heather ran up to the house, oblivious that she could have been in danger.

With everyone up the hill and safe, Anthony started up the engine and put it in gear without looking first and ran right into that damned statue. Who the hell puts a concrete elephant on their driveway anyhow? The thing was just tall enough to take out a headlight, but not tall enough to see over the front of his car. Nice.

Better call Chuck, their mechanic, in the morning. Anthony turned off the I-163 South and exited at Sixth, then turned left onto Robinson. It was late, but there were still a lot of people walking around. People jogged and walked their dogs. Two men walked hand in hand. One of them ate an ice cream cone. He looked over at Anthony while waiting to cross Fifth Avenue.

Anthony looked away. He was still not accustomed to all the gay couples in the area. He didn’t have anything against them. They just freaked him out. Growing up in Catholic school, he wasn’t used to seeing two men together like that, especially in the open public, but that’s how Hillcrest was, open.

The light turned green, and he made his way toward home, down Robinson and right onto Park Boulevard. He was just turning left into his driveway when he saw the lights on in his house.

“Emily, did you leave the lights on?” He asked as he shut off the engine and turned off the Peugeot’s remaining light.

Emily woke abruptly and sat upright suddenly, “No. I didn’t,” she said.

A shadowy silhouette of a man ran past the white curtains in the living room. A crash came from inside the house, and then it was quiet. Emily and Anthony exchanged a glance, and Heather’s eyes and mouth were wide open.

“Stay here.”

“Anthony, where are you going?” Emily could barely get the words out. She began to panic.

“Stay here, I said. I’m just going to look inside.” Mr. Hall shut his car door quietly. He wasn’t sure that whoever was there had seen him pull up. Anthony crept along the front of the house alongside the front windows. The curtains were shut, and he could make out the silhouette of the little palm tree in the window between his chairs. He heard another noise, like someone dragging furniture up along the floor. It came from the entryway.

“Anth...” Emily struggled to contain her fear. Mr. Hall faced his wife and put his hand up, waving to silence her. She covered her mouth.

Turning the corner and peering up at the steps to his home, Anthony could see through the tall, slender glass window that someone was inside, moving around in the entryway. It looked like somebody was searching through his house.

He decided to go in through the back door, in through the kitchen. Maybe he could sneak up on the intruder. But just as he wandered, hunched over, to the side yard, the wet, tall grass unmistakably showed the tracks of at least two people. The tracks led up to the back steps. It was clear that they had entered this way.

He began to let out a sigh, catching it in his throat. Inside the Hall residence, Wesley stood up and told Wade to “Shut the fuck up.”

“What? I didn’t say anything.”

“Shush...” Wesley looked toward the kitchen.

“What is it?” Wade asked. Wesley stepped softly toward the weapons cabinet. Wes mouthed to Wade, “Someone is in the kitchen.”

Wade wet his pants. He instantly knew this was the wrong house. He made for the front door. Wesley pulled a long sword from the cabinet and threatened him.

“Wes...?” Wade whimpered.

“You run, and we’ll get caught.” Wesley said, “I’ll handle this.”

Wade hesitated. “What are you going to ...?” Just then, a tall man carrying a large kitchen knife came barreling into the hallway between the kitchen and the entryway, a mere three paces from the boys.

“Who are you?” He was angry. His face grew red, and his glasses fogged up.

“Wes, let’s go!” Wade said, but Wesley just looked at him in a way that made Wade feel pathetic.

“Wes, is it?” Mr. Hall stepped toward the boys, holding his knife out in front of him. “Well, Mr. Wes... or is it Wesley? You’d better get out of my house now…” Then he revealed a phone, “or better yet.”

Mr. Hall pulled out a cell phone with his left hand. “Why don’t we wait for the police to arrive, shall we?” He began to dial.

Wesley snapped. The long sword he was carrying flipped up in front of him. Spontaneously, he lunged at the guy. Anthony dropped the cell phone and shrieked as the boy with the fiery red hair stuck the point of his beloved Claymore into his belly. But it wasn’t low enough to be in his stomach. The breath wheezed out of him with a sickening sucking sound.

Blood ran toward the floor, down the sword's blade as Wesley watched it flow to the handle. It was unreal. He could hear Wade calling his name. “Wes ... Wes! What did you do, man?”

Wes pulled the sword out, and the man dropped to the ground without another word. Anthony was stunned and in shock. He could feel his arms suddenly grow numb. The world blurred at the edge of his vision. He collapsed into a slick pile of blood on the floor. That’s my blood.

He thought about Emily and Heather. Oh, god. The cell phone was in front of him. He couldn’t reach it. He couldn’t move. Two numbers had been dialed: nine, one. Fuck.

Wes, let’s go, man. He’s toast. He’s not telling anyone anything about us. We have to bail!”

Wade thought quickly and looked around the entryway. What had they touched? Shit.“Wes, help me wipe off the swords.”

Wesley looked at him blankly.

Wade snapped at him. “Our fingerprints!”

Wesley stood there. Then, he looked at the helpless man on the ground. The pool of blood around the guy grew larger every second. He was still alive and breathing, but his breathing made a raspy noise every other second. His eyes were open, staring at Wesley in the entryway. His eyes moved from the door to Wesley and back again, barely moving his head.

Wade ran to the living room, where he had dropped his sword. He picked it up and put it back in the case, carefully wiping it down with an armchair cover from the living room. Then Wade looked around and saw the heavy Pakistani-made scimitar sitting on the edge of the living room carpet. He picked it up just as he heard the front door open.

“Anthony?” Emily walked in and stopped short. Her voice was caught in her throat as she stood in the doorway and saw Anthony on the ground. A boy with red hair, really red hair, stood in front of him with a sword, and Anthony was bleeding. There was so much blood. Then, from out of nowhere, another boy reached for her. He grabbed her wrist, pulled her inside, just as she felt a hand grab her free hand. Then, thought to herself, Small fingers.

“Heather!” Emily shrieked. She tried to let go of Heather’s hand, but Heather would not relent. Heather could see her father there on the floor as she was pulled in by her mother when they both slid into the entryway. She fell onto the floor. Someone had pulled them both inside.

Another boy, one with bright blue hair, pulled hard and hauled them in and then ran to shut the door. They were trapped between the two boys with weapons. Emily reached for Anthony.

Without warning, the red-haired boy stabbed Emily with a long blade that was already dripping with blood. Anthony’s blood, she thought. The sword went straight into her heart. Her eyes went wide, and she stopped moving. Her still frame slowly fell backward onto the floor, her gaze settled on a place on the ceiling.

Aghast, the little girl began to scream. Wade turned and swung the heavy Pakistani blade at her, cutting through her throat quickly and cleanly, knocking her down again. Her voice was silenced, but she wasn’t dead. She even managed to get up and ran toward the kitchen while holding onto a rag doll.

She almost made it to the kitchen before stumbling. Wade went after her. He made a swift motion, thrust his sword in front of the girl, and pulled back on it, hard. The girl’s abdomen opened. She fell. Her entrails uncoiled to fall in a pile on the floor beneath her.

Wade stared down at her, realizing she was dead.

Mr. Hall’s eyes moved one last time. He stared at his wife on the floor before him. He couldn’t hear anything. His ears had gone deaf. The last thing he saw was the hem of his wife’s white sundress and her bright yellow sandals. Her toenails were neatly polished. A tear fell from his eyes, and his world went dark.

Wesley shook his head. “Damn, Dude. “He picked up the armchair cover and wiped the blade clean with the furniture cloth.

They stood there looking at each other for a moment. Wesley locked the front door, and the world went silent. They listened for sirens but heard only the wind rustling the leaves on the trees outside. Wesley peeked out through the front window beside the door. He saw nothing. It was too hard to tell. It was too dark. He thought he saw movement but dismissed it as the wind.

On the floor next to the little girl was a doll. It lay in her blood and looked up at the boys with its coal-black eyes. The tag on his coveralls read, “Jack. “Wade looked at it dispassionately, but he couldn’t help thinking that that thing was ugly. Its head was bald except for an odd tuft of animal fur at the very top. The mouth, a slit, was partially open. The doll’s soft, cheerful face gave Wade the creeps.

Wesley ushered them out the back door when they thought they had cleaned off all their fingerprints. They ran out through the kitchen, locking it fast as they could, and fled into the night. Instead of running out the front lawn the way they had come, they clamored out through the back gate into the alleyway, knocking over a big plastic blue recycling tote as they went. Bottles rattled and broke on the uneven concrete pavement. Then, they were gone.

-X-

Across the street from the Hall residence, two men walked as they did every night, hand in hand. They were white-haired and wearing matching Khaki shorts and Hawaiian print shirts, and at the moment, they were staring at the Hall residence.

James thought he’d heard a scream. “I don’t like this, Eddie,” he said. “Not one bit.”

The men eyed the car in the driveway, far across the wide street. The white Peugeot’s passenger doors were both open. The home’s front door had slammed shut a moment before, followed by the scream, and that’s when James had jumped in a start, squeezing his lover’s hand.

Eddie looked seriously across the vast expanse of Park Boulevard. It was easily a hundred feet wide. But the house did seem to have something going wrong inside.

Eddie flipped open his cell phone and dialed nine, one, one.

Chapter 2

The first thing Jack noticed was a brightly blurred image in front of him. This was new since he usually did not see anything at all. Jack had only ever experienced sensations as he was moved from place to place. He had always had eyes, but they’d never actually opened before. Suddenly, bits of light danced before his eyes, shadowy and ethereal.

A muffled siren rang in his ears from a distance and grew louder as it came closer. This was not as new as sight. He’d heard plenty of things in his lifetime, mostly voices, the voices of sweet little Heather, and his friend John, and also that of his maker, but that was so long ago.

Jack noticed that he was lying on something slippery. The back of his overalls was wet and clinging to the floor, but the floor itself was not what he’d envisioned. There were no leaves and no dirt, and there was no soft, fragrant grass. It was hard, cold, and very smooth. He turned his head, though it was stiff, and the back of it was sticky. Something was wrong.

Heather lay in front of him, her fingers outstretched to the point where she’d let go of him. She didn’t move. This worried Jack, and he panicked. Heather should be moving. She should be carrying him.

Why was he moving? All his life, as far back as he could remember, there was always someone carrying him, and he was always warm. His existence was not supposed to be like this. Jack felt cold and, for the first time, afraid.

Wriggling sideways, Jack turned his head on its firm, flexible neck. It turned easily, and he saw Heather lying down on her side. She looked sad. Her stitching came undone from her stomach to her arm. Her stuffing had come out in a brightly colored mess.

Then, with a horrible realization, Jack saw that her neck was also cut open. More stuffing oozed out of it. Red sticky threads tangled under her chin.

The noise outside grew louder. Jack took a good look around, his vision sharpening by the moment. The Hall family was lying all around him, Mom and Dad, in the same state as Heather.

Another unfamiliar sensation came to Jack as he took in the vision around him. A lump had formed in his nonexistent throat, and a great sadness overwhelmed him. Without warning, a voice he recognized called his name.

“Jack...” The voice echoed softly about the room. “Jack.” It came again. The old doll looked around. He moved his mouth up and down to respond, but nothing came out, no sound, no noise at all.

Resonating throughout the hallway, the voice came again, echoing as though from a long way off. This time the sound was accompanied by a warm sensation, a gentle tug at his shoulder.

“Jack ...here. I’m here.” The voice caressed his ears softly, close by now. “Jack, we have to run.” Those boys will come back and kill us!

We have to run!”

Jack was stunned. He didn’t understand any of this, but he trusted the voice. It was her. He felt Heather’s warm hands pick him up to help him stand on his own two legs. “Jack, you have to run.

Run with me.” Heather’s pleading whispers were everywhere Jack looked, but she was not standing. Her body lay crumpled next to him.

It was so difficult for Jack to understand, but he obeyed and then looked at her body in question. He wanted to ask her something. “Ooooomaw” was all that came out, in a quiet, harrowing chirp from his misshapen mouth. “Ooohmmm. ... ”

“I know. I’m scared too, but we have to run. Come on.” Then, further down the hallway, he saw her. Heather’s form hovered over the floor, translucent and light. Her hair danced in the air, waving in all directions. Beyond her, Jack could see the darkened doorway to the kitchen.

Heather’s eyes beckoned him to follow. Her face was dark, hollow, and so sad. He could tell she didn’t want to look in this direction. She kept turning her head away, then back, waving her hand at him, urging him to follow. “Jack! Come on, please? Don’t leave me alone! I can’t go over there!”

Jack took a step on unsteady limbs. His small padded feet

slipped in the blood, and he fell forward. Picking himself up, he moved toward her in a clumsy, unrelenting fashion. His head bobbed up and down as he ran down the cold hallway toward the kitchen, past the full bookshelves, leaving little red footprints along the way.

Alone, he thought. Jack did not want to be left alone, either.

In the kitchen, he found a small door next to the back door. It was a little rubber flap. “This way!” Heather beckoned. “It’s a doggy door.”

Jack stopped instantly. He looked around fearfully, resting his hands on the cabinet door behind him. Heather soothed him.

“Don’t worry. We don’t have a dog anymore. Samantha ran away, so don’t be afraid. There aren’t any dogs out there.”

A sigh issued from the doll’s mouth. He looked back up at her and began to move. Soon, Jack was outside, running through the tall wet grass under the moonlight. He passed under the barbecue grill, slunk by the swing set, and a deflated rubber ball. Jack’s wireframe made him light and able to get around obstacles and cover the ground quickly.

The sirens stopped sounding, but bright red and blue lights now flew back and forth across the houses' tops on either side of Heather’s home. Jack thought the better of looking to see what it was. He was terrified. Why did this happen to him? Why his family, and why today? Why?

Heather and Jack stood in the corner of the backyard. Jack hugged her ankle in the tall grass, which stood as tall as he was, and it was so cold. The lump in his throat persisted, as did his fear.

Heather soothed him. “It’ll be okay, Jack.” She turned to a gate latch. It was locked. With a look from Heather, it suddenly pulled apart with a shearing squeal while the wooden gate fell open to the alleyway. “Let’s go.”

-X-

Across the alleyway, a vagrant was wiping the sleep from his eyes. Sirens had awakened him from a deep sleep. The newspapers he had covered himself with fell away as he sat upright in his makeshift shelter under an overhanging Jacaranda tree. Little blue flowers fell left and right as he lifted his arms to rub his eyes. In the breeze, old papers and leaves rustled across the pavement. Then a loud popping sound caught his attention. The door to the yard across the way creaked and blew open. The sirens he’d heard moments ago had ceased, and lights danced on the walls around the houses before him. An odor like rust filled his nostrils for just a moment and then was gone.

Something small moved in the shadows across the way. A small figure stood out against the darkened fence. It cautiously hugged the wall, slowly easing its way to the right, slipping past a large overturned trash can and back into the shadows. It left something behind on the fence, a trail like smudges, black in the moonlight. The man flicked on his pocket lamp, and a group of white-blue LEDs illuminated the fence. It took only a moment before he recognized the smudges as blood.

The vagrant, long accustomed to living in the alley, had never seen anything so terrifying. He stood up, just as urine filled his already stained pants, adding to his persistent aroma of filth and excrement. Yet he just couldn’t believe it was real blood.

He walked over and touched the fence. The smudges were still wet. He gasped and wiped his hands on his pants, but it wouldn’t come off.

A police car with its searchlight on came around the corner and down the alley. The car rolled slowly, heading towards the vagrant. Pebbles crunched under the tires. The car’s red and blues came on with a quick, loud siren blurp as the vehicle came to a halt.

Two officers opened their car doors and drew their weapons on him. “Stay where you are, drop the papers and flashlight, and put your hands where I can see them now!”

More urine flowed down his left leg, but he did as he was told. He shivered as they approached. One man walked up and shone a light into Chris’s eyes. Truthfully, he was thankful to see the cops. Then he noticed that the cop in front of him didn’t have his sidearm out. Instead, the officer pointed a shotgun at his chest.

“Did you do this?” The cop behind him said, leaning over his shoulder to look at him. The cop shook him and repeated the question. “Did you do this? You kill that family?”

The other cop chimed in, “What’s your name?”

“Chris,” he said under his breath, suddenly aware that something terrible might still happen to him tonight.

“What?”

“I said, Chris.”

“What’s your last name?”

“I want an attorney. I’m not saying anything else.”

The cop behind him hit Chris across the back of the knees with a baton. “Okay, Mister ‘I-know-my-rights,’ let’s try this another way.”

Then the cop in front of him stuck the barrel of the shotgun up against his mouth. “Did you kill those people, asshole?” Then, pulling his head away, “Damn, you stink!” The officer wrinkled up his nose at Chris. Then he noticed the blood on Chris’s hands and his pants. “He’s got blood on him.”

The cop behind Chris flicked on a small, powerful flashlight and shone it over Chris’s shoulder at the gate and then over Chris’s clothing. He whispered in Chris’s ear. “Let me introduce myself,” he said. “I’m Officer McCabe, and I’m not having a good night, so I’m going to ask you some questions, and you’re going to answer me.”

McCabe was breathing hard and whispering, and that was scaring the life out of Chris. “You open up that gate, Mr. Chris?”

No Answer.

“I think you did, and now you are in some deep shit.” McCabe’s breath was hot and close to Chris’s face. It was all Chris could do not to break down and cry out of fear.

Chatter came over the radio. McCabe backed off, stood up tall behind Chris, and answered back, talking into a hand-held receiver at the end of his shoulder, which clipped to the belt at his waist on a two-way radio. “Two fourteen, San Diego, we have a suspect in custody. Caucasian male, six feet, brown hair, and blue eyes, about a hundred and ninety pounds. Please advise, over.”

The radio made static noise and then, “Confirmed multiple homicides inside. Stand by, Two fourteen.” After that, nothing.

“Shit.” Wright, watch him, “I’m going to take a look at that gate,” said McCabe. He was about to reach the gate when the radio beeped.

“Two fourteen, Lieutenant Chavez is out. Detective Gomez requests to meet you on the south side of the structure once the suspect is in your vehicle. The house is secure. Three victims confirmed.”

He put the radio aside. “Shit. What’s that god-damned woman doing here? I can’t stand Gomez.” Then, to the radio, he answered, “Ten-four.” He kicked Chris in the back with his knee.

“Wright, cuff him. Let’s put him in the car.”

Chris interjected. “No, there’s something here. It’s loose. I saw it!” Chris shivered at the thought. His pale skin lost its color altogether. The pallor of fear engulfed him. Wright held the suspect by the arm, then McCabe took him and pushed Chris along the dirt-covered pavement in front of them, pulling his handcuffs out. Wright followed the two with the shotgun at the ready.

Before Chris could be cuffed, he stopped his shuffling and broke away from McCabe. He burst into an all-out run. “You aren’t leaving me locked up in there! Something is out here.” He shouted back at the officers as he lumbered quickly down the gravel-laden alleyway.

The two cops gave chase. “Damn it,” Wright muttered to

himself.

McCabe called on the radio, “Suspect is on the run. Two- Fourteen in pursuit on foot.”

They ran north, toward the cross street, passing the squad car. Just before he got to the intersection, another officer rounded the corner on foot.

“Stop or I’ll shoot,” yelled McCabe, seeing Chris looking like he would run down the oncoming officer. Chris didn’t stop.

“Cameron, get down!”

The approaching officer, Cameron, saw the man running right for him. Cameron jumped aside at the last moment. The shots cracked open the night like lightning. It was McCabe. The pistol before him jerked his hands back as he squeezed off three shots. Chris went down.

The three officers slowly converged on the man lying in the street. Quietly, McCabe put his gun away and called on the radio, “San Diego, officer discharged. The suspect is down. We need an ambulance. We are on Cypress, East of Park Boulevard at the alley between Indiana and Park Boulevard, over.”

“Cypress, East of Park, ten-four, Two-fourteen. Dispatching medical to the scene, over and out.”

Across the intersection, a small figure stared at the scene. Jack’s eyes were wide, and his mouth quivered. All around him, he could hear doors opening, and people were coming out of their homes. His position behind a trash can on the street would not be safe for much longer. Shuffling backward, he ran into the bushes and hid behind a large group of bougainvillea that grew alongside a three-story Victorian home. The pink and orange flowers comforted him for the moment. But Heather had disappeared.

Jack sat back and leaned against the house. His chest was heaving. He was breathing hard, which was new to him. He’d never breathed a breath in his life before today, but so much had changed.

He leaned back to rest his body for a moment and closed his eyes. He was so tired. Then the most peculiar thing of all happened.

Jack fell asleep.