Toys in the Attic
by Tim Baer
Toys in the Attic
by Tim Baer
Published by Tim Baer
First edition, January 2012
Copyright 2012 by Tim Baer
Cover design and photography by Tim Baer, Been There Photography
All rights reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher or author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. No animals were harmed in the making of the stories contained within—although, millions of electrons were severely inconvenienced.
This story is previously unpublished. So, why are you still reading the copyright information? Go read the story. It is, after all, why you downloaded it. Run along now.
Toys in the Attic
Uriah awakened with a start, his eyes popping wide open. He'd heard a noise—there! Again! Something was moving in the attic. Rats, his father kept telling him. Mice, more likely, said his mother.
He gripped his new teddy bear tighter and scooted under the blankets until just his nose and eyes were poking out. He did not like that the pull-down stairs to the attic were in his ceiling, in his room, close to his bed. It wasn't fair!
Crack! His eyes flew to the shadowy outline of the trapdoor that would fall down when released, revealing the folded stairs. Had the metal ring his father placed through the hasp been broken? Was the monster in the attic now trying to lower the stairs in order to devour Uriah?
He didn't realize he had been screaming until his overhead light flashed on and his parents pulled the blanket from over his head.
"What, dear?" said his mother.
"What is it this time?" demanded his father.
"I heard a noise! Something went crack up there. Is it the metal ring? The monster's coming down, isn't he?" Uriah pulled the fuzzy blankets up to his nose again, shivering as he did so. His father cast his eyes up to the metal hinged snap-ring he had put through the hasp in the attic door.
"No, Uriah. It's still there—untouched." He walked over to the center of the room, reaching up and giving the ring a tug. "See? It's secure."
"Then what cracked?" asked the small boy.
"My patience," muttered his father as he came back over to the bed.
"Now, Dear," said his mother to his father.
"No, I've had enough. Night after night it's the same thing." He glared at Uriah. "We bought you a nightlight. We bought you a teddy bear. I took you up to the attic and showed you that it is full of nothing but old toys from my childhood. I bought you a snap-ring for this side of the hasp. What else can we do?"
"Honey, we can discuss this later," said his wife. "Now is not the time." She put her hands on his wrist, trying to lead him from the room. He glared down at Uriah.
"Go to sleep, young man. No more nonsense," he said, allowing his wife to pull him from the room, closing the door behind them. Uriah cowered under the blankets, tears running down the sides of his face. No one believed him anymore. He could hear his father's raised voice telling his mother that Uriah needed to be seen by that doctor. There was something wrong with his mind.
Uriah was crying freely now. He didn't know what a shrink was, but he was sure he did not want to be shrunk! He was small enough already! Small enough for the monsters to gobble him up in one single bite! He knew it! He clutched his teddy even tighter as he shivered beneath the covers.
He looked at his teddy. "Do you think shrinking will hurt?" he whispered to him. He cringed as he heard a snuffling noise coming from beneath his bed. He'd awakened the monster-under-the-bed! Uriah gritted his teeth. There was only one thing to do—attack! Go after the monsters now, before he was shrunk!
He clutched the teddy tight under his left arm, flung his blanket back, and grabbed his wooden sword off of his bedside table with his right. He lunged onto the wooden floor with a thud.
"Yaaaagh!" he yelled, slashing under the bed with his sword.
"MerWAAAOOOW!" screamed the cat as the sword connected with his rump. Mister Wiggles lit out from under the other side of the bed as Uriah's door flew open and his light was slammed on.
"What in blazes are you doing now?" yelled his father.
"I was taking on the monster-under-the-bed," said Uriah from his prone position. His father pulled him to his feet. The fluffy orange cat made a dash for the open door and fled into the hall.
"There is no monster . . . under . . . the bed!" he said, teeth gritted as he yanked the wooden sword away from his son.
"Not now," cried Uriah. "The light is on. It's part of his evil magic. Light makes him invisible!" His chin was quivering and tears were flowing down his face. His father had taken away his only weapon. Now when the lights went out, he'd be defenseless! "You don't understand! I need that sword!" he cried, struggling in his father’s grip.
"Dear," said his mother from the hall. "Give it back to him."
"Why? So he can bludgeon the cat to death in his paranoia?" He let go of Uriah who promptly jumped back up onto the bed, pulling his feet away from the edges. Clutching the teddy bear hard to his chest, he watched his father stomp out of the room, turn out the light and close the door. He did not return the sword.
Now what? He had no sword to defend himself from all the monsters—under the bed, in the attic, scratching at the window—he was defenseless against them all. Maybe—maybe if he went up in to the attic and made a deal with them? Sniffling back the tears, he tumbled out of bed feet first. Nothing grabbed them. So far, so good.
He tiptoed across his bedroom floor and got his toy box. He slid it over so it was under the attic door. Next he got his big box of cars and put it on top of his toy box. After that, he slid his desk chair over to the pile. Grunting and straining he managed to put it on top of the pile. He began climbing to the top, pausing to regain his balance from time to time. He reached up and undid the snap-ring from the hasp. Grabbing the handle, he began lowering the door and the stairs.
Something was tugging on the cuff of his pajama pants leg. Gripping the attic door to keep from falling in his fright, he peered down in to the gloom of his room. Clutching his cuff was his teddy bear, Uriah's sword in the other paw.
"Teddy?" whispered Uriah. The bear shook his head, motioning for Uriah to be still. He tugged on the cuff again, motioning for Uriah to climb down.
"How did you get my sword?" The bear just smiled, pointing to his own chest, and then to the crack under the bedroom door. "You crawled under? How?" Teddy held his two paws apart, then brought them together until they were only an inch apart. "You shrunk?" Uriah shook his head. "Never mind. It must be teddy magic. I don't need to know."
He looked at the floor before jumping down. There, lying in a pool of ichor half out from under his bed, was the head of a monster. Uriah gasped.
"You slayed the monster-under-the-bed?" Teddy nodded, climbing higher on the makeshift tower. He reached the top, tucked the sword under one arm, and jumped for the handle of the attic stairs. With a horrendous squeal of metal, the door and stairs came down. Teddy swung up over the edge of the door on to the bottom stair and scurried up in to the attic.
-=CRASH=-
-=SLAM=-
-=CRUNCH=-
-=SQUEAL=-
A din came roaring down from the attic, along with pieces of toy soldiers, a chunk from a wooden top, a gutted stuffed frog, the
head of a hobby horse—all oozing that same foul ichor from their ragged wounds. Motes of dust floated down from the ceiling at every thump and bump.
Uriah's door slammed open, and his disheveled father and mother came flying into his room.
"What the devil is going on in here?" bellowed his father, just as his right foot skittered out from under him as he stepped on the head of the monster-under-the-bed.
"It's okay, Daddy," said Uriah as his stuffed bear came climbing down the attic stairs with the sword clutched in one paw, dripping green goo from its edge. "Teddy took care of it."
About the Author
After wasting close to 30 years of his life on Wicca and a life of paganism, Tim came to know Messiah in 1998. Since then, he has done as much as possible to make up for those wasted years. A disabled US Navy Desert Storm veteran, he lives in Texas with his wife of almost 30 years, plus a pack of critters. He is currently working for a concrete company where he is busy playing in the mud with a big truck. When he is not at work, or at home busy pounding out more SciFi on his laptop, his time is taken up serving his cats, the LORD, his wife and his dogs—not quite in that order (but don't tell the cats).
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