The Knick Knack Nightmare Page 7

  “Some things never change.”

  Arvin looked out the living room window. “What’s the verdict? Are we going or staying?”

  ERRR - POP, ERRR - POP

  “What was that?” I asked Ms. Pewter.

  “Sounds like--”

  The lights flickered, the TV turned on, and - DUUM - everything shut off again.

  IT’S A SMALL WORLD AFTER ALL

  Mom ran to her nightgown and yanked the cell phone out of the pocket. “Martin? Martin, is that you? Hello? Martin?” She pulled the phone away from her face. “No service? No no no, I had it. Come back. Give me a bar. Just one bar. Please.” She circled the living room. “It said ‘blocked number.’ It was Martin. Had to be him. He’s in Tokyo. The phone would say that if he called from Tokyo. Right? Say you agree.”

  “Debbie, calm yourself. You’re spinning.”

  “Patty, the battery’s dying. I need a better signal.” Mom rushed outside.

  “Don’t go. It’s not safe.” I stopped on the porch.

  Ms. Pewter ran after Mom, straight into the middle of Shelby Lane.

  Arvin stood next to me. “Mom, Ms. Dobbs, come back!”

  WOMP-WOMP

  Arvin spun around, trying to find the source of the sound. “Perry?”

  WOMP-WOMP

  “I heard it. It’s close.” Yards? Feet? Inches? “It’s getting closer. Where’s it coming from?”

  WOMP-WOMP

  Tink Tink Tink

  Three pairs of sharp copper claws clutched the rain gutter, sticking out over the edge. The dragons watched, cocking their heads side to side as Mom paced in the street waving her phone in the air. Ms. Pewter took it away from Mom and walked toward the house. She stopped at the curb. Mom came up behind her and yanked the phone out of her hand.

  “Look, Patty. Now the battery’s dead.”

  Ms. Pewter pointed at the rain gutter above us. “Debbie.”

  “Perry!” Mom screamed.

  “Mom, run!”

  Three pointy heads peered down at Arvin and I. The dragons pulled their heads back and inhaled. Orange light welled up from somewhere deep inside. They jutted their heads forward and blew.

  BOOOOM

  The porch exploded into flames, blowing Arvin and I into the house. I scrambled to my feet. Arvin slammed the door. We ran to the window in time to see Mom and Ms. Pewter sprint out of sight. A dragon shot fireballs at their feet, setting fire to the road as they ran.

  BOOOOM

  The front door blew off its hinges and crashed into the stairs, breaking in two, ripping the handrail off the wall. The banister collapsed, and the living room windows shattered. Curtains and wallpaper caught fire. The roaring fire leapt across the room and climbed the walls. Flames crept over the furniture, devouring everything in the living room. Red, glowing hands clawed at my skin. “We got to get out of here!”

  Arvin sat, unmoving, transfixed by the light. He reached for the fire and tickled the swirling embers. Firelight glinted off his skin. Arvin longed for the flames. They called to him, inviting him to play. He wanted to go. I saw it in his eyes.

  “Arvin? Buddy?” I grabbed his arm and dragged him through the kitchen door, into the backyard. Explosions shook the house from within. The upstairs windows exploded, shooting flames into the air, raining shards of glass across the yard. The roof collapsed over Ms. Pewter’s bedroom.

  Arvin woke from his trance. “Mom!” he screamed, pulling toward the house.

  I grabbed at his leather jacket. “Arvin, she’s not in there.” But I was too weak.

  Arvin slipped my grasp and ran into the kitchen, disappearing into a cloud of black smoke.

  “Arvin! Arvin, get out of there!”

  “Perry!”

  “Arvin!”

  BOOOOM

  Flames exploded through the kitchen windows. Two burning eyes looked at me. I tripped and fell onto the dry grass. The last of the roof collapsed. It fell through the top floor and crashed into the living room.

  “Arvin! Please, God! No! Arvin!”

  I screamed until my throat burned hotter than the rising embers. No answers. Only pops and cracks. Fire devoured Arvin’s home, exploded bottles, shattered picture frames, tore through walls, and pull the house down. White paint burned black and melted to sludge. Wet flames dripped into the dry grass. For a few, horrible seconds, the outside world fell silent and still. I couldn’t move. My chest became lead. Heartbeat slowed. One breath in. One breath out. Swallow. A single, terrible realization welled up inside. He’s gone. Arvin’s dead.

  WOMP-WOMP

  I couldn’t see them, but I knew they were there, admiring their work, watching the house burn. I ran into the alley. Not toward Nelson. Not toward Mom and Ms. Pewter. But as fast and as far as I could go in the opposite direction.

  My heart pumped acid and my legs became noodles. As I crossed 28th street, I slipped and collided with a discarded birdbath, toppling it over. We crashed into the alley. The basin split in two, and I scraped the skin off my palms. I hauled myself up the chain-link fence. Rainwater and filth soaked into my clothes. I wiped my wet hands across Ms. Pewter’s sweater, smearing blood across the ‘World’. My legs wobbled and failed. I fell against the fence and slid onto the wet concrete. I sat for a lifetime, sagging against the cold metal, feeling as broken as the birdbath.

  My best friend was dead. He died like his father, trying to save someone who wasn’t there. Dead because I was too weak to hold on. I failed. I let him go. How can I face Ms. Pewter now? How can I tell her she’s lost two? That she’s alone? There were no words. Nothing to say. All around me, screams, car alarms, and breaking glass echoed. How many innocent people have I hurt? Killed? Who’s next? 34th street was a few blocks ahead, then three blocks north to the Wren’s house - to Emilia.

  The smell of smoke from Arvin’s home lingered in the air. My mind filled with images of burning walls and blackened pine floors, Arvin’s school books in flames, his little bed and oak dresser crushed under the fallen roof, and Arvin trapped in the middle of it all, screaming for his mother. It was too much. Tears filled my eyes. The flames began to summon me back to them. I resisted for Emilia. I ran, praying I hadn’t killed her, too.

  I arrived at Emilia’s at the corner of 34th and Vine, but the locked kitchen door wouldn’t budge. I went around to the front. Locked, too. I needed something heavy. The broken birdbath at 28th. I sprinted there and returned to the kitchen door, lugging a piece of the concrete basin. I raised it over my head. My arms shook under the weight. I slammed the basin onto the brass knob. Top screws ripped from their holes, and a narrow window in the door shattered. I swung again. The dented knob bounced on the ground and rolled into the yard. My gentle nudge moved the door. It creaked open.

  “Emilia! Kaila! Mr. and Mrs. Wren!”

  No answer. Glass cracked under my shoes as I stepped into the kitchen. My hunger got the best of me. I opened the fridge and removed a pitcher of sweet smelling liquid. I held it into the moonlight. Yellowish color. I smelled it to be sure. Mango juice. I swallowed it all and placed the empty pitcher in the sink. Mom’s words echoed in my head, “Only a savage would leave a dirty glass on the countertop.”

  I looked around the kitchen - same appliances and cabinets - and peered into the living room. Empty curio cabinets stood against the walls. Same stairs and wood banister to the right. Same front door and dining room. Same layout. Same everything. It was another cookie-cutter home. Only the carpet and wallpaper changed from one to the next. Shelbyville city planners must’ve drawn a single plan and spent the rest of the year gossiping around a water cooler.

  Stairs creaked as I climbed to the second floor. On the left, two small bedrooms. The first was Kaila’s. Her debate trophies sat on the windowsill, white sheets on the bed, mirror and dresser, teak jewelry box and Junior level math books on the side table, and a wicker chair with a pink cushion in the corner. The large room on the right was her parents’. Paisley quilt on the bed, black leather chair, tea c
up and saucer on the nightstand.

  Emilia’s room was the last at the end. “Emilia?” I whispered, entering. No answer. Her pale pink comforter and pillows laid on the floor next to her bed. A long panoramic picture of Waikiki Beach hung on the wall above the headboard. On her dresser, another teak jewelry box. Next to it, the stuffed pig I won for her playing Super Slingshot at Garden Glen arcade. A long, white rectangle caught my eye - a plane ticket wedged into the bottom corner of her dresser mirror. I leaned sideways.

  TRANSPACIFIC AIRLINES

  DEPT: 31 OCT., 11:20 AM - MINNEAPOLIS, MN.

  ARRIVE: 31 OCT., 2:58 PM - HONOLULU, HI.

  SEAT 23C, ONE-WAY, NON-STOP, NON-REFUNDABLE

  “One way?”

  Emilia was moving back to Hawaii. She never told me. Was this the secret Arvin had been keeping for her? Why’d she accept Derek Dolan’s invitation to the Harvest Dance? It wasn’t until November. Didn’t she like me? Why didn’t she tell me? If I faced her, I’d have to face Kaila. I wasn’t ready. I’d never be ready.

  Time to go.

  I backed out of Emilia’s room and tiptoed down the stairs. Two bobble-head hula girls greeted me at the bottom. They wore plastic palm frond skirts and coconut bras, and long colorful leis hung long around their slender necks. The giant bobble-heads undulated side to side as if to say no, no, no over and over again. I inched toward the kitchen door and stopped to face another doll blocking my path. Her head stopped, and she strummed her ukulele once, twice, three times.

  I stumbled and fell backward. My heavy head hit the hardwood floor with a loud THUD. I tried to stand, but I couldn’t move my feet. My shoelaces were tied with flower leis. I kicked the ukulele doll. She skidded across the floor and hit the kitchen door. Her head popped off and rolled away. The others came at me from both sides and wrapped leis around each wrist. I swatted at the bobble-head on the left but missed. Two lunged - one from the right and the other from the left. I caught one and threw her into the other. They tumbled in opposite directions. A perfect 7-10 split. I yanked the leis off my shoes, threw aside a handful of plastic flowers, ran through the kitchen, and kicked the rolling head on my way out the back door.

  The fence rolled past as I ran through the moonlit alley. Several miles in the distance, faint red and blue beams slashed across the clouds, cutting through the dense fog, whirling and scrawling words in the sky, Garden Glen Laser Show! They had power. Or a backup generator for sure. Those four, simple words became my destination.

  “Ouch!” I shrieked and stopped in the alley two blocks past Emilia’s house.

  Something sharp pierced my pajama bottoms and punctured the back of my leg. Stinging pain shot up from my knee to my butt. I reached behind and felt it, short and thin like a sewing needle. Another struck my ankle. I winced, pulling them out. Expecting to see blood dripping from thorns, I saw it dripping from the tips of two tiny arrows. They snapped and crumbled in my hand. Reddish-orange dust settled in my palm. Clay? “Ah!” A long, brown spear stuck in my shin under the kneecap. I hobbled in circles, unable to see my attackers in the dim light. “I’m going to smash you to bits. Where are you?” The answer paraded toward me.

  Thousands of terracotta warriors flooded into the alley like a river overflowing its banks. Red painted warriors ahead of me. Black behind. I was trapped. They marched in long columns and rows, too many to count. Two armies stepped in perfect unison, pointing swords, spears, and bows. Hundreds of armored horses galloped alongside, pulling gilded chariots and loaded catapults.

  Each group wore a distinct uniform, their ranks and duties forever set in the clay. Some wore long jackets covered in rectangular plates fastened at four corners, flapping thigh protectors, boots, and hats - some square and long, some short and round. Others wore leggings and heavy cotton robes, wrapped around the chest and bunched thick at the neck.

  Three scouts, concealed by tall patches of dry grass, sprung from their hiding spots and ran to join the red army. I imagined thousands of men scurrying like roaches, crawling, covering, suffocating, stabbing me with ten thousand red and black blades. A death by a million tiny. The black army halted inches from my heels and the red, inches from my toes. I couldn’t move. No escape.

  What would Gulliver do? “Hello, fellas. How are ‘ya?” It was the same voice I used on babies and puppies.

  Spears pointed. Okay, wrong voice.

  “I mean honorable warriors. Can we make a deal? Talk this out like civilized knick-knacks?”

  Swords readied. Got it. No deal. No talking.

  “You don’t want to do this.”

  Arrows pulled back. Never mind. I think you do.

  Archers on either side let loose a volley of clay arrows, firing across the spot where I stood. Sharp spears pierced the fragile bodies of the opposing army. Hollow clay heads shattered to pieces. Arms cracked at the shoulders, and hands broke off wrists. Thick puffs of black and red dust rose into the air, adhering to my wet clothes and stinging my eyes.

  Dozens of red arrows missed their black marks and impaled my shins and ankles. Three more arrows punctured my hand. Pain - as sharp as wasp stings - shot through my arms and legs. There was nowhere to go. Nowhere to escape. Confusion. Was my heart pounding or stopping? I couldn’t tell. The fence on my left. Six feet, too high to climb. The one on my right. Same. Black warriors behind. Red warriors ahead. Arrows and spears in my leg, all red, no black. The black army ignored me. I was their petrified fool - a partial shield to the red army’s barrage.

  I couldn’t take it anymore so I chose a side and took a deep breath. I jumped into the air and came crashing down on the red warriors’ heads. Their hollow bodies exploded into dust. The black army charged across the gap and waylaid into the red, swinging swords and launching catapults filled with pebbles. The reds fired arrows and threw spears in return.

  Warriors stabbed at my shoes and sliced into the laces. Unable to pierce my feet through the leather, they aimed for my ankles and found their soft targets. I jumped to avoid, then I jumped to destroy. I was crazed, feeling nothing, smashing clay men by the hundreds under my feet. Black warriors on chariots rode at my heels, chopping through the enemy to the left and the right. Cold air hung thick and red. Choking, blinding dust enveloped me.

  I glanced over my shoulder and saw the red path of shattered bodies. Then something else - faces. Mine and Arvin’s. Kaila’s next to his. Half faces, cracked cheeks, and broken noses blanketed the concrete. A thousand clay eyes sought mine. Emilia and her parents, Tim and Andy, Ms. Pewter and Mom. I rubbed the dust from my eyes, and the faces were gone. Was it magic? Guilt? I jumped high and long, bypassing the last few rows, and landed on my toes beyond the melee.

  I turned at each intersection, dodging left and right, up one street and down another, crossing alleys and yards, glancing over my shoulder until the armies and the dust were both far behind. I sank into a couch in the alley, not caring it was wet, and spent minutes removing arrows and spears from my legs. Grab. Pull. Wince. Repeat. It hurt, but I was alive and able to run. So I did. Like Arvin before me, I ran toward the light.

  SIX

  My body ached and my lungs burned. I slowed to catch my breath but wished I hadn’t. The toxic mix of stagnant water and cat pee had dried in crusty, yellow ribbons and doodles on my pajamas and shoes. Its sour stench engulfed me. Waves of ammonia wafted into the air from all around, stinging my eyes and nostrils. The longer I rested, the worse the odor became, the harder I tried to escape. My legs carried me another hundred feet. As hard as I tried, there was no getting away from the gaseous hands around my throat.

  Ding-Ding

  Ding-Ding

  A faint bell rang close behind. The chimes grew louder. I spun around, yelled, and swung my little ax through the air. Nothing there but my stench. A sad clown pedaled a little red tricycle and stopped at my feet. The front tire bumped into my shoe, and the clown looked up. It wore a white, silk robe covered in red dots, and its pointy hat drooped, weighed down by the red puff ball sewn on
the tip. A permanent frown crossed its pale face, rosy paint chipped across both cheeks, and heavy, black eyebrows had long since faded to vague shadows. Its green shoes were glued to the pedals, and the left hand to the handlebar. The right hand pulled the lever on a little silver bell. Its left eye was dark blue. It’s right eye - a deep, black hole. Wide, jagged cracks wrapped around its head from the empty eye socket to a hole in the place of an ear. Moonlight glimmered on its face and vanished into the cracks. Thick, black lines on white paper. This was the most pathetic clown I’d ever seen. It was at least a century old and looked twice that.

  Ding-Ding

  “Hello? Didn’t you pedal down Shelby Lane a few hours ago?”

  The sad clown pedaled his tricycle into my shoe. Ding-Ding

  “You want to pass?”

  Ding-Ding

  “Why should I let you? Aren’t you bad like the rest?” I raised my foot off the ground and hovered it over the clown. It wouldn’t have taken any effort to crush it. “I could smash you right here, right now. I did it to those clay men. I can do it to you.”

  Ding-Ding

  “You know about the bronze knight and the other knick-knacks, right?”

  Ding-Ding

  “Are you working for them?”

  Ding

  I lowered my foot. “Are you on my side?”

  Ding

  “Then, what do you want?”

  Ding-Ding

  “That’s all?”

  Ding-Ding

  I stepped aside and let the clown pass. It rode away and turned left on 41st street, leaving the alley. The little bell chimed in the distance and faded away. Tonight’s getting weirder by the minute.

  Long, blood-curdling shrieks echoed across the side streets and down the alleys. Doors slammed shut. A disheartening silence fell. Crystal birds broke the silence, smashing against door frames, exploding outside an open window, and attacking a stray tabby. They seemed to enjoy scaring people back into their homes more than causing any real damage. They didn’t bother with me - as long as I was out of their way or just plain running away. Was I so different? If I were Paul Revere, I would’ve screamed “Stay inside! The knick-knacks are coming!” It was too late for that. The best idea was to stay quiet and hide. The emergency shelter at Nelson was second best. Mom and Ms. Pewter must’ve gotten there by now. I hoped they were safe inside, wrapped in warm blankets, drinking hot coco, and munching on tasteless, white crackers. I expected a few old people to hobble outside and creep down the alley throwing half cut tennis balls from the ends of their canes, but Nelson was way too far to walk. This situation required fast tires or fast feet, and I hadn’t seen either of those in more than a day. In fact, the farther I ran, the fewer knick-knacks I saw or heard.