Toyland

[Raviel the Phantom]

A soothing melody stirs a beautiful woman from her slumber. Batting her lashes, the burred world drains away as everything comes into focus. The gentle tune tickles her ears, begging her to search the room. With only a flickering lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, much of it is lost to shadows. Yet she discovers a toy carousel spotlighted on a wooden table nearby. Ivory stallions race to the music, while a brass key slowly turns its gears. With each revolution, the song slows along with the galloping steeds. Seconds pass, and everything comes to a stop.

As the silence continues to linger, panic starts to set in. Looking around, she spies an assortment of marionettes hanging from the walls, strangled by the same strings that give them life. Some of the wooden figures have their soulless eyes locked on her, never to avert their gaze.

“Where, where am I?”

Panic starts to set in, as the woman struggles to remember. Trying to recall the events that lead her here only yields hazy memories and a sharp pain in the back of her head. Slowly, she rises to her feet, finding the strength in her legs have been severely sapped. After a few wobbling steps, she walks forward only to have something cold tug on her leg. Gazing at her ankle, she finds an iron cuff hugging her ankle, binding her to the floor by heavy chains.

“What’s going on?” she speaks louder.

“The lovely lady is awake,” a cheerful voice calls to her from the shadows.

She turns in the direction of the voice. Whoever it is that she sees it sends her reeling. Her feet get tangled in the chains, causing her to tumble on her backside. Nightmarish horror fills her sight.

“You know me,” he jeers, gleefully clapping his hands. “The lovely lady knows me!”

She hugs herself, “What do you want with me?”

“Maria, Maria, my dear sweet Maria, you really do not know?” the childish voice sings. “You go out every night, to feel some excite, but leave your daughter at home. She fends for herself, no food on the shelf, and goes to bed alone.”

“My daughter,” her words spit like a venomous snake. “Did she put you put to this?”

“That would be great, but she’s only eight,” the merry tone dies. “I do this on my own. You’ve been a bad, bad mother Maria. Neglectful, selfish, abusive. No love for your sweet child.

“Ashley,” she shouts, her words having a venomous bite, “Did my daughter put you up to this?”

“That would be great, but she’s only eight, I do this on my own,” the merry tone starts to fade. “You’ve been a bad mother. Neglectful, self-centered, selfish. No love for your child. Your daughter deserves someone to stay by her side, and that’s what I’ll make.”

Casually, he strolls over to a workshop table where the marionettes hang above his head. Rummaging through the tools, he throws anything he does not need over his shoulder. Maria watches as saws fall near her feet. Water fills her eyes. She whimpers like a frightened animal. All of a sudden, she hears an “aha” as he raises his arms up in the air. Whipping around, the light shines of the jagged teeth of a buzz saw.

“No, no, leave me alone,” she shrieks, trying to crawl away.

“Now-now, my dear, do not fear, everything will soon be at an end,” he sings, stepping on the chain. “With these tools I’ll start to take you apart, and then you’ll finally have a heart!”

A flick of the switch spins the saw to life. The wailing of the motors drowns out Maria’s blood curdling scream as he kneels down to begin his work.

Edited October 16, 2016 by Raviel the Phantom

[Okami]

I really liked it, simple chilling stories have a special place in my heart. The rhyming parts honestly gave me some chills, nice job!

[Raviel the Phantom]

“Hey, kid, what do you think you’re doing here? Can’t you see this is a crime scene?”

Sausage-sized fingers are held aloft to block a man in his early twenties from taking another step. The swelled digits belong to a portly policeman whose stomach stretches his blue uniform to the point that the buttons strain.

The kid stands on the other side of police tape with his hands in the pocket of his black coat. Wind pulls at the red scarf about his neck, and ruffles his auburn hair.

“Yeah, Chuck,” he smirks, “That one still makes me laugh.”

The young adult lifts up the yellow ribbon and passes underneath.

“So, where’s your chaperone, kid?”

“No need for one,” the young man answers. “You are looking at the lead detective for this case.”

“Oh, is that so?” Chuck smiles. “Guess our little Drake has grown up before our eyes.”

He presents to wipe a tear from his eye.

“I feel so proud…”

Drake lets out a sarcastic laugh, “Funny, Chuck, you’re such a riot. Can you let me through?”

“Sure thing, detective,” the portly policeman guffaws and slaps his stomach. Swinging out of the way, he lets the young man pass.

Taking a deep breath, the young detective takes his first steps into his crime scene. A smile crosses his face as he looks around at the open park. The sun has just risen over the rolling hills, blanketing the cobble stones in a golden blanket. Off in the distance he catches the sound of trickling water, probably coming from the fountain.

Before he takes another step, he turns back, “Chuck, you forgot to tell me what happened here.”

“A jogger found the Jane Doe this morning. I think you’ll appreciate this one. She’s a real doll.”

Slapping his belly enough to make it sway, the man roars with laughter from his own jest. While the cop continues his laughter, the detective merely rolls his eyes. He leaves the policeman to his merrymaking.

Walking a hundred yards into the park he finds a pair of medical examiners busy taking pictures of the body. As he gets closer, Drake sees that the Jane Doe has a face as if it were made out of porcelain. Golden locks of hair are spun into childish pigtails. Full red lips appear strikingly against her near white flesh despite most likely being blue underneath. Soft blush cheeks and dark lashes accent her emerald eyes, which sparkle like the jewels they mimic. Hugging her body is a sparkling blue dress that is fit for a princess and a pair of matching high heels.

“Oh, wow, she really does look like a doll,” Drake admits, standing beside the body.

Hearing the remark, one of the examiners takes her attention away from the camera, “Oh, detective, it’s good that you’re here.”

“Thanks,” he answers, turns in her direction and recognizes the woman “Miss Miller, I didn’t realize you would be conducting the examination.”

“Yes I am,” she answers in a pleasant tone. “And please, call me Casey.”

“So, what do you got for me then, Casey?”

“Nothing yet,” she looks at the body. “There was no identification on her. The killer must’ve taken it.”

“Cause of death?”

“Nothing that jumps out,” she explains.

“Do you have anything that can explain this?” he points to the doll-dressed corpse.

“Look, detective,” she says calmly, taking off her glasses, “I know that it’s your first case, but you know better to ask all of these questions. I will find out more once I conduct a proper autopsy.”

His face becomes flushed, “Yeah, sorry about that. I guess I’m a little on edge.”

“It’s okay, Drake,” she reassures him, “Just—”

“Hey kid!” Chuck shouts, waddling toward them.

“What’s up, Chuck?”

“We got a guy who claims he might have witnessed the killer fleeing the scene,” the cop wheezes.

“What?” Drake sounds surprised. “What did he say?”

“You won’t believe who he says did it.”

Drake and Casey glance at one another before speaking in unison, “Who is it?”

“Toymaker.”

[Raviel the Phantom]

As the detective passes through the front door, he is immediately struck with the thunderous roar of childish laughter. He forcefully presses his hands over his ears to muffle the noise. In that brief silence, he sees the buildings is flooded with both toys and kids. Boys and girls of ranging from two to ten appear to be running around in utter chaos. Many stuffed animals are strewn across the floor, while others are in the arms of the little ones. Watching the torrent of kids at play, Drake grimaces.

Entering the toy store behind him is another officer. A few years older than the detective, she has an air of maturity around her. Long fiery red hair is tied back in a bun. Her fierce green eyes spy the look of repulsion on his face.

“What?” he asks, noticing a sly smile.

“Nothing,” she says, biting her bottom lip. “It’s just I’ve never really seen you rattled before.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You have a look like you just stepped in something gross.”

The detective jumps out of the way as a boy and girl run past him, “Kids are dirty little creatures that have a habit of making everything they touch sticky.”

Pulling on his coat, he looks down to find that one of the children had left behind a piece of candy. He frowns and pulls the piece of colorful sugar from it. The red sweet is coated with black furs.

“And this is exactly what I mean,” he groans, throwing the candy onto the floor. “Let’s find the owner and get out of here as soon as possible.”

Starting to walk, he hears the policewoman say, “So, do you really think there is a lead here? I mean, the witness was pretty adamant about it.”

“The guy seemed a bit of a loon to me,” Drake looks over his shoulder. “I doubt we’ll find anything here, but what kind of detective would I be to ignore our only lead?”

Not too far into the toy store do they find the man they are looking for. Dressed in a brown, plaid suit, the balding gentleman turns in their direction when the footsteps grow louder. A middle-aged face with crow’s feet around a pair of auburn eyes look generously on the pair. The older man puts his hand against his protruding stomach, and smiles.

“Well, hello there,” the man says, his mustache twitches every time he moves his lips. “I just got the call that the boys in blue would coming over to my humble toy shop.”

“Yes, Mr. Sanely,” Drake shakes the owner’s hand. “I’m Detective Drake Holloway, and this is my colleague.”

“Officer Lidia Manis,” she extends her hand, which is received by the shop owner.

“It is a pleasure to meet you both,” he says, keeping the friendly smile. “So what is it that you two need?”

“Well,” Lidia opens her mouth, but struggles to find the right words.

The detective steps in, “We would like to know more about your store’s mascot, Toymaker.”

“What about the fella?”

There is a wave of color that rises to Officer Manis’ cheeks, “One of our witnesses reported seeing your mascot fleeing the scene of a crime.”

Hearing this, the warm smile cracks, spilling into a fit of laughter, “You cannot be serious right now.”

“We are,” Drake remarks.

“What?” Mr. Sanely breaks off from his guffaw, “You think my boy just decided to mosey out of my store to break the law? He may be a feat of engineering, but he can’t up and walk out of here.”

“We are not suggesting anything like that,” the detective quickly corrects himself. “It is more likely that somebody is disguised in the same clothing as your Toymaker. If we could take a look at him, it would better suit our investigation.”

“Well that makes a bit more sense,” the owner says, tugging on his coat. “I’ll take you to him. He’s out in the showroom.”

Walking in between the two law enforcement officers, Mr. Sanely leads them to a location to the back of the store. Children flood around a small stage, clapping and laughing all the while. Dancing about the wooden platform is a robot that looks as if he no older than sixteen. He dresses like a circus ringmaster. A long coat and matching top hat are as white as snow with trim of deep purple. As the machine twirls, he stops and faces the detective. On the pale face there are a pair of black spades. Eyes open to showcase an eerie golden hew. The boy smiles.

“Oh me, oh my,” Toymaker lets out a childish laugh. “What a sight to see. Have you come to watch little old me?”

Drake leans in to the owner’s ear, “Is it able to recognize people.”

“Facial recognition, full range of motion, and some other techno-junk,” Mr. Sanely whispers. Looking at the mechanical creation, he speaks aloud, “So, Toymaker, what are you doing?”

“Dear Mr. Sanely, it is crystal clear. Judge by the children, the laughter you hear. I am Toymaker, a maker of toys, here to spread joy to all girls and boys.”

“Thank you very much, Toymaker,” he gives the robot a smile.

“Quite amusing,” the detective answers. “Although I could see why our witness was so adamant. The clothes are, well, unique.”

“Mr. Sanely,” Lidia chimes in, “Is it possible to purchase a costume like the Toymaker?”

“I don’t sell anything like that,” the man says. “Nor do I keep any spares. When his clothes start to wear, I order them from a tailor.”

“May we get a number for that tailor?”

“Certainly.”

“Oh me, oh my, is that a badge I see,” Toymaker suddenly bounds towards them, yet staying on stage. “Are you here to arrest little old me?”

“Not unless you did something wrong,” Drake jokes.

“I do nothing wrong, as I said before. I am Toymaker, master of the store. I make the toys, it’s what I do. I also make children smile, and protect them too.”

[Raviel the Phantom]

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Cool water hits a clammy temple, and the body stirs. A groan lets out through a pair of chapped lips.

“Uh, where, where am I?”

Opening his eyes, the man is swarmed in a haze. The first thing that comes to his senses is pain. A sharp stabbing at his wrists claw at his nerves like thorns. He looks to find his arms are shackled in old cuffs painted with rust. Ten inches of chains lead from wall to his restraints, hanging both arms over his head. Blood trickles down his arms, creating flowing rivers of red. A dank smell tickles his nose, a foul putrid smell of sewage. It causes him to gag, but it does not take him long to grow accustom to it. Faint, white light pours in through a hole above him, revealing moss crawling up stone walls. The stone floor is sheened with a slick wetness.

When the man moves, he feels soreness in his arms, which makes him let out a soft groan. He adjusts his stance to relieve his aching muscles. The quiet darkness is snuffed out by soft taps of footsteps, which grow louder.

Suddenly, a fire is birthed in the blackness. Orange light bathes over the shadows, and begins to sway from side-to-side. Embers dance in a glass lantern that is jostled in the gloved hand of a young lad. He merrily dances toward the captured man. When he is only a few feet away the boy sets down his light, and gives a gracious bow. Dressed in a white coat of a ringmaster, he gives a twirl, letting out a childish chide. Stopping on one foot does he face the captive. Eyes filled with a golden hue stares and a sinister grin spreads across his face. The grin distorts the spades inked under his eyes.

“Good morning, good morning,” the young lad says cheerfully. “I’m glad you’re awake. It is good if you listen, good for your sake.”

The chains rattle as the captive snarls, “Quit screwing with me!”

“Oh no, no-no-no, this I do not do. You are not a toy, no nuts and bolts, so nothing for me to screw. I am here, for a child so dear, one that you know too well.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Oh my, oh no,” Toymaker steps closer to the captive, “I think it has become clear. That glaze in your eyes, the stain on your thighs, and the fact you reek of beer.”

Merrily strolling away, Toymaker is draped in shadows, leaving the captive to lash out at the air. In the darkness, he can hear the light scraping of metal against stone. All of a sudden the emptiness is blasted with singing of a metallic vibration. The ringing comes again, tolling like bells, growing loud like thunder. At the edge where the light touches the darkness does Toymaker appear with a crowbar in hand. Again he strikes the wall with the piece of iron, letting out the hollow tune echo.

“Does it look familiar?” he asks, swinging it around as if it were a sword.

The man furrows his brow, “It’s a crowbar. What of it?”

“Not just any,” Toymaker’s tone darkens, “Think. Think. Think.”

Stumbling through the front door, the man walks into the dimly lit living room. He is free of any shackles, though he strolls with the same haziness. Held in one hand is a beer bottle which has nearly been drunk. As he steps to the center of the living room, he starts to sway in place and looks around. Aside from some worn furniture and a small television, there is nothing else. Downing the rest of his drink, he tosses the bottle against a wall. It explodes into thousands of shards. Glass rains onto the couch.

“Luke,” he shouts with a twinge of slurring on his tongue. “Luke get in here!”

At first, he is answered only by silence. Shuffling feet peter toward the living room. From the hallway a small boy pokes his head in. He rubs his eyes of the sleep, and hugs a disheveled teddy bear close to his chest.

“You left the light on!”

“I, I-I am sorry.”

“You don’t pay the bills around here you little brat,” he shouts.

Storming toward the child, the boy cowers as his father marches right past him. Down the hallway, the man vanishes into a room, but emerges soon after. Clutched in his hand is an iron crowbar. He swats hit into his open palm a few times.

“I’ll knock some sense into you so that you remember next time.”

Blood splatters onto the stone as the bar slams into the cheek of the captive man. Toymaker holds it like a bat as he swings again, hitting the ribs. His victim shouts and screams as he is viciously beaten.

“Think. Think. Think,” Toymaker barks with every swing. “Think. Think. Think.”

The crowbar is drenched in red when he finally lowers the weapon. Hanging by the cuffs, the man barely holds onto consciousness. Welts are already forming on his swollen face. Shards of teeth lay at his feet in the pool of blood. He takes a breath, as tears drip off his face.

“You remember,” he shouts at the captive. “Do you finally remember?”

“Yes. Yes, I remember. I used it to beat my son.”

“Your son, your son, you beat your son,” Toymaker throws as it sails into the shadows with a metallic bounce. “Fathers are meant to be soldiers. They protect their children from what they fear, not be what they fear.”

The father spits blood in Toymaker’s face, “Screw. You.”

“No screws,” a gloved hand grips the man by the throat, squeezing the life out of him, “You are not a toy, no nuts and bolts, at least not yet.”

The hand slips away, as the father sucks in air at a panicked pace. Instead it delves into his pocket, returning into the lantern light with a knife in hand. Glistening in the soft orange light, the blade delves into flesh, causing fresh blood to be spilled. Screams rupture from the father’s throat.

“Nuts, bolts, screws are needed,” Toymaker begins to sing, “To do what must be done. I’ll take you apart, rip out your heart, to build a soldier for your son.”

[Damage]

Alright, at no point in this story did I not fully understand the scene or the stakes. This was pure art and it felt like The batman toyman episode met an episode of law and order/fnaf. If that wasn't clear its the best compliment I could muster. You're villain is wonderful and has a good purpose but is beautifully flawed. The pace was wonderful and you have clearly mastered the show instead of tell art. No noticeable critiques. Only one was a couple spelling issued. I wanna say two words that I saw but couldn't take note of because I was too engrossed in the story, so definitely nothing to lose sleep over. Keep up the good work.