The Knick Knack Nightmare Page 9

  The stubby monster looked as if it had wondered out of Dragon Sorcerer 4. It was thirteen inches tall and had green pimpled skin and yellow eyes. Three curved horns grew out of its bulbous head, and pointy tusks protruded from its lower jaw. Thick, iron rings pierced its nose, and its ears were ragged around the edges. The ogre picked the gun off the ground and squeezed the trigger.

  POP

  The bullet exploded through a glass door on the opposite side of the courtyard.

  I ducked.

  POP POP

  Bullets shot across the courtyard and struck a brick wall. Officer Larkin curled into a ball and put his hands over his head as the ogre waved the gun around, pulling the trigger again and again, firing off shot after shot.

  POP One struck a planter.

  POP POP Two hit the brick wall.

  POP POP Two flew into the air.

  POP Another pierced the cruiser’s trunk.

  The ogre turned the gun upright. It peered into the barrel and squeezed the trigger.

  POP

  The left side of the ogre’s head exploded. Green plastic shrapnel flew in every direction. The gun tumbled forward, and the ogre fell backwards. Iron piercings rolled past my feet on their way out of the shopping center.

  Officer Larkin, back on his feet, retrieved his gun and examined his cuts and bruises.

  “Officer? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Nothing serious anyway.” He dusted off his uniform. “What was that?”

  “Ogre. It must’ve escaped from the game store.”

  “A toy.”

  “Not a toy, a knick-knack. That’s what I tried to tell you. They’re alive.”

  The officer’s eyes widened. “You mean, you can see them, too?”

  I nodded. “They’re hard to miss. Why? What do you think is happening?”

  Officer Larkin looked around. “Mind control.”

  “Mind control?”

  “They put chemicals in the air and water.”

  “Who does?”

  “The shadow government,” Officer Larkin whispered. “And if we’re seeing the same things, they’ve perfected the process.”

  I pointed to the cruiser speeding toward the main building. “Looks real to me.”

  Tires screeched as the cruiser whipped around, throwing off the front bumper. The cruiser drove over it, crumpling the flimsy metal like tin foil. It stopped beside us, and the driver side window rolled down. Officer Larkin and I peered inside. Trolls. More frizzy haired, naked, frolicking trolls than I could count. They jumped on the seats, slid on the seat belts, crawled over the center console and dashboard, and swung from the rear view mirror like kids on monkey bars.

  A tower of resourceful trolls stood feet-on-shoulders from the brake to the steering wheel. Pink haired troll stood on the brake pedal, an red one stood on its shoulders, then an orange one, a blue one, a yellow one, and a purple haired troll held onto the steering wheel on top. It gripped the wheel with one hand and, with the other, gave me a thumbs up. I mustered a half smile and waved. The cruiser peeled out, leaving us in a cloud of burning rubber and exhaust. That little troll sure gets around.

  Officer Larkin ran after the the cruiser. “Wait! Stop!”

  It jumped the curb, and both the car and Officer Larkin disappeared around the corner. I grabbed my bags and bucket of supplies and ran for my freedom, Officer Larkin’s words ringing in my ears: beef jerky and green melon soda.

  EIGHT

  The heavy bags and bucket swayed as I ran, battering my legs and cutting off the circulation to my fingertips. I sprinted through the empty parking lot and schlepped my supplies a dozen blocks before the adrenaline rush subsided and intense, stinging pain in my fingers pulled me to the ground.

  Beef jerky and green melon soda. Officer Larkin accused me of robbing convenience stores. But it wasn’t me. Who would rob a convenience store for beef jerky and green melon soda? I ducked behind the Super Plus Mart on 71st and collapsed against a rusty, old dumpster.

  Arvin liked odd combinations. “But Arvin’s dead,” I said, talking aloud to myself. “Arvin’s dead. He’s dead. He burned. I heard.” He ran into a fire. Yes, he did. The roof collapsed on him. I saw it happen. But beef jerky and green melon soda? Who likes green melon soda? Lots of people. Who likes beef jerky? Same answer. But who eats that combination? Arvin. Who else? Thousands of people probably. No. Not true. Officer Larkin was right. It’s disgusting. The combination makes me retch. Did Arvin break into Buen Provecho before me? Two possibilities remained. Either someone had the same bad taste in convenience store snacks as Arvin or Arvin was alive. In my heart, I knew it was true.

  “Arvin’s alive!” I cupped my hands over my mouth. “Thank you, God.”

  I felt grateful, not only for Arvin’s life, but for mine. I’d still have to explain to Ms. Pewter why I abandoned him at the house. Better than telling her he was dead. How did Arvin survive the fire? Where was he going? How did those little legs carry him so far ahead of me? I wanted to scream his name, go running through Shelbyville, catch him breaking into a convenience store with a mouth full of beef jerky, green soda dripping down his chin. I’d yell, Stop thief! I’ve caught you in the act. Drop the jerky and raise your hands. But I didn’t. I couldn’t look for Arvin and break the knight’s control over the knick-knacks. Wherever Arvin was, he was eating his favorite combo and staying in the shadows. Even Officer Larkin in his police cruiser couldn’t catch up with Little Red Rocket Man. I promised myself I’d find him later.

  I stuck to the plan. Step one: Eat? Check. Burritos and horchata is a tastier combo than beef jerky and green melon soda. Bleh! Step two: Supplies? Check. Lots of bang for my buck, minus the buck. Step three and four: Set a trap and take the coin piece away from the bronze knight. Not yet, but I was working on it. My plan was to lure the knight to Garden Glen. My biggest problem was getting a message to him. If he got there too soon, my plan could fail. I had to draw him out when I was ready. A turtle, perhaps?

  A few seconds later, my messenger rang his little tricycle bell. I stashed my supplies behind the old dumpster and jogged several blocks toward the sound. I stepped into the alley ahead of the clown, blocking its path at 65th street. The sad, old clown pedaled its little red tricycle, ringing its silver bell - Ding-Ding - and bumped into my shoe the same as before. I got on my knees to meet the clown face-to-face.

  “I need your help.”

  Ding

  “Pretty please?”

  Ding

  “I could’ve stepped on you back there. Smashed you into a million pathetic pieces. But I didn’t. I let you go.”

  Ding-Ding

  “So, you owe me.”

  Ding

  “But you would be a hero. You won’t have to be sad anymore.”

  No bell. That caught its attention.

  “What if I promised to fix you up? Fix the cracks. Repaint you. New clothes, even.”

  Ding-Ding

  “Ms. Pewter loves antique knick-knacks. She’ll restore you. I promise.”

  Ding-Ding

  “But first, I want you to do me a favor. Can you deliver a message for me?”

  The clown sat silent and unmoving, one blue eye glaring at me. Could he deliver a message? His painted mouth had chipped and cracked in several more places, and his hat’s fluff ball now hung by a wiry thread. Seemed I wasn’t the only one running away. He couldn’t talk, but he could mime or point with one hand and ring his little bell. It’d have to be good enough.

  Ding-Ding

  “Thanks. Here’s what you have to do.”

  The clown nodded as I gave it the message to pass onto the knight. If the knight could use the knick-knacks to drive me away, I could use this one to lure him into a trap. I was careful not to explain any more than necessary if the clown, trolls, and dragons flying high above had less free-will than it appeared.

  I repeated the message, “I know where it is. If you want it back, meet me at the Garden Glen arcade at 2 AM. You got that?�
�

  Ding-Ding

  “Oh, I forgot one thing. Avoid Vine between 34th and 37th. It’s a war zone.”

  Ding-Ding

  I moved aside. The clown turned its tricycle around in the alley and headed for home, ringing its bell Ding-Ding as it pedaled away. It felt good to have a friend again. But not a friend. Not an ally, either. I settled for not an enemy. “See you later!” I hope.

  My timeline was airtight, but I was sure it could work. The clown would take two, maybe two and a half hours to pedal sixty-two blocks to my house and deliver the message, one hour for me to lug all the supplies the last couple miles to Garden Glen, an hour to set a trap, and at least two more for the knight show up. Those two extra hours sounded the cherry on my sundae.

  Every step was a battle on my way to Garden Glen. Every inch of the way, every foot and yard, every block I passed, and every street I crossed in the moonlight. It all hurt. Aching muscles hardened in the cold. I yawned. My eyelids got heavier, and my head felt twice its size. Legs shaking, I stumbled out of the alley and saw Garden Glen ahead. I could smell corn dogs frying from a mile away. A short dash across one of two overpasses and I’d be there.

  I tripped and fell on the bridge. Over a seam? A weed? A dead body? It wouldn’t have mattered. I pried off Ms. Pewter’s shoes - Better - and laid on the asphalt. It was so cold, I thought my sweat would freeze me to it. The moonlight painted my breath pale blue, and acid tears stung my eyes. I blinked, and the moon shifted an inch west. I blinked. Another inch. I blinked. Two more. I was dozing off, losing time, surrendering to exhaustion. I called out for Mom. She didn’t answer. Her name swirled and vanished. I was fading away, begging the darkness for someone who wasn’t there. Arvin? Is Arvin dead? No. He’s alive. Isn’t he? The mall was a few hundred yards ahead. I forced myself to sit up but couldn’t force my swollen feet into the shoes. I stood and took a barefoot step. Two. Three more. I plodded, limping on stone feet, over the bridge, dragging the bags and bucket along.

  “Come on, Perry. Just a little more.”

  I arrived at the far end of Garden Glen’s vast parking lot. The asphalt, lined with white paint, was a black, glistening ocean stretching from my feet to several cars parked near the entrance. Behind high fences on either side of the rectangular lot, large steel buildings vibrated. The equipment inside hummed, churning out Garden Glen’s backup power. Without streetlights and cars to blind me, the mall was brighter than ever. High above the hangars, lasers and searchlights flashed across the clouds, reflecting off the copper wings of three blissful dragons.

  I was about to enter through the food court when I heard a rumbling sound and saw them. A million knick-knacks ran around, destroying the mall like they did my yard and home. Ten flying cupid dolls lifted sheaths of packed napkins off counters and dropped them from high above. The white paper squares fluttered around, landing on tables and moving along a rainbow river of yellow frying oil and fruit slushies flowing from Slurp’s Up and Dog On A Wand at one end of the court all the way to Pizza King at the other. Knick-knacks turned over vending machines, shot spitballs through straws, burned menus on stoves, and slid down upturned tables on food trays. On a nearby bench, a six-inch figure in a NASA spacesuit hugged a can of diet cola, shook it hard and turned it upside down. With its foot, the NASA figure popped the can’s tab and shot into the air. It landed ten feet away and ran to get another. I’d never make it through all that.

  I went around to the fire escape stairs, climbed to the second floor with my heavy bags, and creeped in a side door. Customers were in the mall, not gorging on late night snacks or watching a movie marathon, but locked in shops behind lowered gates, screaming when knick-knacks passed and rattled the gates. This was a prison. No, not a prison - a curio cabinet. One with people on the inside and knick-knacks on the outside. This was revenge for a lifetime of broken pieces, missed cleanings, being hurled from windows, chewed by dogs, and worse yet - being forgotten. And I suspected, it was only going to get worse for everyone inside.

  Ding-Ding

  I ducked into a salon and hid behind a shampoo display. The same cracked porcelain clown I sent to deliver the message rolled by, pedaling its red tricycle, ringing its silver bell. On the wall behind the cash register, the salon’s large dial clock ticked past 2:27 AM. In the corner, a life-sized cardboard stand-up of a brunette with long, silky hair smiled as if to say, Perry, you’re screwed.

  My plan had been to light the small fireworks and smoke bombs to distract the knick-knacks, fire marbles and M80s from the slingshot, lead the knight into a puddle of super model glue, and use BOOM! to put an end to the bronze knight once and for all. I could retrieve the coin piece and save the world. It was movie perfection - the kind Mom played for Arvin and me on rainy Sundays. This situation wasn’t in one of her movies. I wished it had been.

  The heavy bags and bucket spilled onto the salon floor. I removed the slingshot, a handful of M80s, a lighter, and opened BOOM! A single, 3x3 inch solid black cube with a red fuse, wedged into a heap of packing peanuts. The warning on the inside flap read, DANGER! LIGHT FUSE AND RUN. DO NOT USE INDOORS. WARNING! ILLEGAL WITHOUT PERMIT IN MINNESOTA! Another skull and crossbones were embossed under the warning. I kept one M80 out, jammed the rest in my pockets, and stuffed BOOM! down the back of my pajamas. The slingshot handle felt snug in my palm next to the lighter. The M80 - a short, deadly cylinder - fit into the slingshot’s band. When I saw the two together, I realized why Mom never let me play with either. I put the last M80 with the others but kept the slingshot at the ready.

  I heard the ringing sound move closer. The clown rode past, pedaling toward the arcade. I stepped out of the salon and tiptoed twenty feet behind as it rang the bell, passing shops filled with whimpering customers behind padlocked gates.

  “Pssst! Perry,” a girl’s voice whispered. Two hands reached out from a mail slot a few inches from the bottom of a gate. A dainty, silver and amethyst bracelet hung from one wrist. “Down here.”

  I got on my knees and grabbed hold of her hand. “Emilia?”

  “Perry, you’re okay. I was afraid they got you, too.”

  “What happened?”

  “The knick-knacks. When Dad saw what was happening, he tried to pack up the car. They attacked us at the house, made Dad drive us and a bunch of other people over here.”

  “Is Kaila in there too?”

  “She’s here. She’s asking about Arvin. Is he with you?”

  “No. He’s somewhere else. What about my Mom and Ms. Pewter?”

  “They’re not in here. Maybe in another shop. How did you get away?”

  It was a long story - an unfinished one, too. “Hold on. I’ll be back for you. Does anyone in there have a lighter or matches?”

  “I think Dad has one.”

  I intertwined the fuses of two M80s and placed them together on top of the heavy padlock. I stuck the combined fuse into the open mail slot. “The M80s should do the job. If I don’t return in a few minutes, light the fuses and get back.”

  “Wait. Where are you going?”

  “To end this.” I listened for the bell and left Emilia safe behind the gate.

  I followed the sound down the hall, stopping short of entering the arcade. It was louder than I remembered. Games played themselves, zinging, popping, beeping, and rattling as strobe lights flashed. I stepped inside. My shoe laces glowed under the black lights.

  I walked alongside a row of Skee-Ball machines and turned the corner. “Hello?” The clown sat on his tricycle between a video machine on the left and Monster Basketball on the right.

  I tiptoed to the clown. “Is he here?”

  Ding-Ding

  The clown peddled, but stopped a few feet ahead of me.

  Something didn’t feel right. “Where is he?”

  The clown turned the corner at a pair of Dragon Sorcerer consoles. It left the arcade and continued down the hall ringing its little silver bell. I doubled back and circled around the arcade. As I tiptoed out the entran
ce, I spotted the bronze knight across the wide hall. He stood outside Terry’s Trinket’s rolled gate. He had grown. Now almost three feet tall, he carried a long sword capable of slicing me in half if he got close enough. He squeezed the coin piece in his other fist. Terry’s giant Russian nesting doll stood beside him. Smiling, rosy cheeks, wearing a green headscarf. It was a two feet taller than him and almost as tall as me.

  My stomach ached, and my hands trembled. “Knight! You want the coin? First, let everybody out of here and make all the knick-knacks go away. Then I’ll tell you where it is.”

  The nesting doll wobbled. Muffled screams reverberated from somewhere deep inside.

  The knight opened his fist. The coin piece glowed. Immense power rolled up his arm and crisscrossed his armor.

  “Not until you stop these knick-knacks. You’ll never find the rest of it without me.”

  The knight balled his hand into a fist and tapped his silver sword against the bottom of the nesting doll. The top half of the doll twisted, lifted, and popped off, flying up into the air like a champagne cork at New Year. It landed on its side and rolled a few feet. The knight kicked over the bottom half, and Arvin - hands tied with a white cloth and mouth overflowing with beef jerky - tumbled out.

  Our wide eyes met. Arvin looked as surprised as I was. He uttered something under his meat gag, stopping when the knight pressed the tip of the sword to his side. The knight held waved the coin in the air and poked Arvin in the ribs. Arvin squirmed and hopped to the left. I realized Arvin’s feet weren’t tied together, the M80s were in my pockets, and the slingshot was in my hand. I had a death grip on it the whole time.

  “Okay. Okay.” I reached my free hand into my pocket and gripped several fuses. “I’ll tell you where it’s hidden, but there’s something you should see first.” I winked at Arvin. “It’s a lot of fun.”

  Arvin crooked his head to the side. His eyes narrowed.

  “It’s short. A cylinder. Mostly red. Comes with a sparkly string.”