Toys. That's all they are. Innocent, childish toys. Inanimate objects. Try to hold on to that belief when their plastic fingers twitch. When their sightless eyes stare into your soul. When they stagger slowly towards you to execute their deadly purpose...
I work the night shift at Unitex factory in Oxfordshire. It's not a rewarding job, or one that I particularly enjoy, but it pays the bills. It gets me through the lousy days. Normally it's routine stuff - just walking around with a torch and a baton in case of any trouble. So far it's been pretty quiet; the only trouble I've ever had was a couple of yobbos who broke in to steal a few electrical goods. Can't imagine why - Unitex makes pretty low-quality items which wouldn't be worth half what my torch cost. Anyway, I'm pleased to say I caught the thieves, and despite having a tussle with one of them, I managed to get both of them.
Bashed the one I was fighting in the head and chucked my baton at the other one, who was making a break for it. I'm an ex-boxer - did I mention that?
Anyway, recently Unitex have had a shipment of dolls. So what?, You might ask.
Well, I'm not sure about these. They're not the usual crap that Unitex tries to pass off as quality goods. These are decent - I checked how much it cost to make them and it was over a hundred pounds each! And do you know what's even creepier? They're going at a tenth of what it costs to manufacture them.
6.99 apiece, and despite Unitex's reputation, these dolls are going so fast it's all the manager can do to keep the stock going at the same pace the demand has reached. I bought one of them the other day, just to check. Nothing special about it. Just an ordinary doll, with a hard plastic skin and poleyester clothing.
And yet...and yet I'm beginning to wish I'd never bought that doll. I work weekends as well, but I always leave the store at one A.M. to go home, leaving the other guy to take over the shift. But the thing is, I always feel, when I turn off the light, that the doll is watching me. I would have got rid of it by now, but I'm hoping to open it up and see if there's anything...unusual inside. So far I haven't been able to get inside, but on Tuesday I plan to buy a blowtorch.
Let's see how Unitex technology handles that.
I'm not a paranoid person. Usually I'm practical and think things out logically, but I'm convinced that those dolls aren't normal. It's Wednesday night and I'm not sure that I'll live to see Thursday. I've tried the blowtorch and it just doesn't seem to work. I blasted the doll for a full minute to get it open but then the blowtorch just suddenly cut out. Just stopped working. Then the metal grew hot, so hot I couldn't hold it. As soon as I let go the blowtorch seemed to dissolve into a pool of molten metal, yet when I touched it mere moments later it was ice cold. And I swore that over the sound of the metal bubbling I could hear a childish giggle coming from the doll...
After going to sleep that evening I was plagued by nightmares about that doll.
In my dream, it staggered slowly towards me, eyeless and yet looking straight at me. In the dream it was walking through a battlefield, rifle shots rebounding off its shell, grenades blowing all to hell around it, and it kept on walking, slowly coming closer until its hands reached out...and plucked out my eyes.
That was the point when I awoke, but upon looking across the room, I thought I saw the doll moving. As soon as I looked at it, the toy stilled, then fell off the shelf. I skipped work to take it away. Far away. I finally tossed it into the Thames, to rot there for ever. But now I'm questioning whether I've actually rid myself of it. Now I know that it's not dead. It will find its way back. There's no question of that. The only question is when it will find me again. Outside...outside I can hear its relentless giggle, the sound of its childlike steps across the ground. I can see its silhouette at the window, its tiny figure grossly exaggerated by the light of an almost-full moon. The window. I need to take a closer look, much as it terrifies me. I have to be sure that it isn't just some illusion conjured by my feverish imagination. With trembling fingers I reach for the windowsill, staring into the night. All is still...There! The silhouette! Desperately hoping its not what I think it is, I struggle to make out its owner. For a heartbeat, there is no sound. Then; "Meow." I smile weakly with relief. A cat! That's all it was! Just a cat. I stand up a little taller and wave at the cat. Its head swivels towards me and it arches its back and hisses before running off. The cat is as scared of me as I was of it! Then a dreadful thought occurs to me; the cat didn't really seem to be looking at me. Rather at something below me...Even as I think this, the doll's perfect yet hideous face rises into my line of sight, its childlike mouth twisted into an evil leer, and everything goes black.
I awaken in a state of terror, thrashing around at a horror that isn't there. Slowly I calm down and look around. Everything seems to be normal...then something catches my eye. The doll. It's sitting back on the shelf. Did I simply imagine the events of yesterday? The phone rings and I jump, startled. It's the manager of the factory, and he proves that I didn't by berating me for missing work. I don't want to work at Unitex anymore. I want to quit and get far away.
After I've told my boss, he sighs and tells me to come over at eight-o-clock to sort out the paperwork and get the formalities.
"But...can't I come over sometime earlier? Sometime before dark?" I ask.
"No way you're coming over before the shop closes. I'm far too busy." he replies.
So here I am. Eight sharp, outside Unitex's main entrance. Scared stiff. God, I wish he would hurry up! Slowly, half an hour passes. Then another. Then another. I'm wondering if I should go home, but the doll is there and I'm just not willing to face it. Finally my boss, Mr. Taylor, opens the door and beckons me inside.
"Sorry for keeping you waiting." he sneers. Well, I hadn't expected any better from him - he was quick-tempered and finding a new night guard must have been difficult, especially at such short notice. I step inside and face off to a guy four inches shorter than me. He looks nervous, with constantly watering eyes.
"Um, I'm Eric...yeah, Eric Blake. That's me. Yeah." he says, stuttering over every other word.
"Henry Creed. I'm the old night guard."
"Um, yeah. I, uh, heard." He has a slight American accent and I notice when we shake hands that his are damp and fleshy, with a weak grip. He didn't look like much. My bet is that he won't last the night.
Eventually sorting out the paperwork takes another hour and a quarter. Now it's long past dark - 10.47. Finally, Mr. Taylor strides towards the door to let me out.
"And don't come back unless it's as a customer." he snaps, pressing a button to unlock the automatic doors. There's a muted click, then the lights flicker and go out.
"What?" Mr. Taylor mutters. "These blasted lights; a fuse has probably blown and wrecked the circuit." He presses the remote several more times, as though this will miraculously turn the lights back on. Through the light of an almost-full moon I can dimly see within a five-metre radius. Eric sidles up to me and whispers; "Um, I don't know if it's just me, but some of the toys seem to be, like..."
"Like...?"
"Moving." he replies, and my heart seems to fill with ice at his words.
I whip my head around to look at the toy rack, and I can see shadows shifting as the toys all turn their heads to look at us.
"We have to get out of here, right now." I breathe.
Vaulting over the counter, I race across to the hardware section, quickly finding what I hoped I would - a crowbar. If my dream had any significance, the crowbar would be ineffective against the Dolls, and anyway there were too many to fight. I need this for a different purpose. I turn back towards the door and race towards it but one of the Dolls' boxes falls off the shelf and its arm punches out of the box, grabbing my ankle. I stumble but regain my balance and keep running, dragging the Doll across the polished floor. Finally, screaming out of my way!" I reach it and swing the crowbar at the door, but fear saps my strength and the crowbar bounces of the tough glass, leaving only a scratch. Mr. Taylor doesn't seem to understand what's happening and screams at me as I attack the door for a second time.
"Creed! That is company property and you will stop right now or I swear to God I'll rip your fu-"
He never finishes his sentence. Occupied with shouting at me, Mr. Taylor is oblivious to the fact that the Dolls are now fully animated, and one of them has tottered up behind him and somehow managed to dig its fingers into his spine.
Now it clenches its fists and wrenches its tiny hands out again, bringing with them a torrent of blood and most of Mr. Taylor's spine. The blood-drenched Doll giggles insanely at me, then burrows its way into Mr.Taylor's back, disappearing from sight. I'm terror-stricken, about to turn and flee, when Mr. Taylor's head snaps up. Somehow, by some miracle (or curse) he's still alive. Then he speaks, and I realise how wrong I am.
"We're coming to get you, Henry." he gurgles at me in a childish voice. Then a fresh wave of blood explodes from his mouth and he shudders before speaking again.
"Oh god, Creed, they got me. Don't let them get you, you mustn't!" He shudders again and then it's the Doll speaking, pretending to be the person it's inside.
"Why don't you just give up, Henry? It's much calmer like this. No more worry, no more pain...Come. Join me." It says in that hideous, childish voice.
Then its Mr. Taylor, speaking again for the last time before the doll takes him over forever.
"God, Creed, what are you waiting for?! They're still closing in! Get out of here, before-" His head jerks and I hear the unmistakeable sound of his neck breaking.
Then his body starts moving of its own accord, its actions like a puppet or marionette, slowly forcing itself to its feet. Then it turns and I see the Doll operating him from behind, pulling on his muscles by means of moving him - no, his corpse, there is nothing left of Mr. Taylor there. This horrific sight stirs me into action and I turn and race away, away from the frontal exit, the crowbar left on the ground behind me. My senses have become sharper than ever before. I can hear Eric puffing along behind me, running as fast as he's able.
Not fast enough. Even as we race for the storage room, I hear the Dolls' childish giggles getting closer. Despite my terror, my mind is still focused and wonders how. They can only move slowly, staggering along on their childlike legs. I glance over my shoulder and see Eric, and immediately behind him, half a dozen dolls. Although they seem to still be taking those same, tiny steps, they're covering ground just as quickly as Eric and I. Upon reaching the door, I shoulder-charge it, smashing it open and racing inside. As soon as Eric's inside, I slam the door. Just before it closes I have time to glimpse Mr. Taylor's body loping along with the Dolls, his death expression frozen on his face. My pulse is racing, but I stop to glance around the room and see if there's anything useful. One other door - locked. DVDs - no. Bicycles - unless I'm going to get out of here by running the Dolls over, no. But in a corner..."Screwdrivers!" I cry.
"What?! You think..." I wait for Eric to catch his breath. "You think we can fight them off with screwdrivers?"
"No, you dumbass." I snap. "The door...we can get it open! We can get out of here!"
Comprehension dawns on his face and he grabs one, as do I. We set to work on the door. Everything has gone eerily quiet. Then I hear something from above us. In the air vents...
"Oh, god, they're in the vents!" Eric screams. We work faster, more feverishly.
Then the screws on the vent turn by themselves and fall to the ground with soft clinks. Finally, the door falls off its hinges at exactly the same time as the grille falls to the ground. I catch the door and shove it away, to one side. As I do so, the Doll drops onto my shoulders from behind. I feel its tiny fingers digging into my back, ready to pull out my spine and scream my fear and hatred.
Eric, instead of running for it, grabs the door and shoves it towards me, shouting; "Turn!" I twist around and the door hits the Doll, knocking it off me.
As one man Eric and I run through the doorway. The Doll screams after us, an unintelligible word of hatred. At this signal, the other Dolls charge at the door we entered by and its flung off its hinges and down the corridor after us. It spins towards our heads, and, just in time, I grab Eric, and drag him to the ground.
The door shoots over us, hitting the opposite door and shattering both. The Dolls are impossibly strong, but then again, this whole situation is impossible.
I haul Eric to his feet, the Dolls closing in on us, and we run through the next entrance and into another part of the shop. Finally, the entrance. But even as, our strength flagging, we stumble towards it, I hear giggles coming from behind the shelves. Just as we're about to reach the exit, a Doll staggers out in front of me. Then another. And another. I still keep running. Have to escape! I have to escape! The exit's only ten metres ahead of me. Seven. Five. Four. Three. Just that distance from freedom, a Doll reaches out from its box on the second shelf and seizes my leg in a cast-iron grip. I stumble and with a feeling of horror, of helplessness, land, skidding towards the Dolls.
My slide is halted by a shoe, which lands on my chest. My momentary relief abruptly reverts to horror when I look up and see my saviour's face. I expected to see Eric, but the face that stares back at me belongs - or should I say belonged - to Mr. Taylor. He smiles, blood bubbling out of his mouth.
"We're going to get you, Henry." he breathes, but the words don't fit with his mouth. It's trying to say something different. I can guess what. Without a second thought I kick him and his legs buckle like their strings have been cut.
I can see Eric struggling with two Dolls. He still has hope. I have none. Not unless I can get past Mr. Taylor. Rising to my feet as quickly as possible, I kick him again, snapping his head back. Despite this his fingers still grope for me and he too starts getting to his feet.
I race forwards, barging into Eric and knocking the Dolls off him. He turns tail and flees. It's a good idea. I do the same.
The exit just in front of me. The Dolls just behind. Both of them only a few steps away. And then. A sudden wave of blackness. Crossing my vision. No. I can't faint. Not now. Not so close. But it comes again and strong fingers grasp me, pulling me off my feet, pulling me back, back into the crowd of Dolls.
Strong fingers, grasping, digging into my spine. My eyes widen. I know what's going to happen. But there's nothing, nothing I can do to prevent it. The fingers clench and wrench backwards. Pain beyond agony overcomes me as my spine is torn out and clatters across the floor. I scream, a long, drawn-out scream that seems to go on for eternity. I can feel the Doll writhing, struggling to enter my gaping back wound. The pain dies slightly. I shout, the last words I am ever to speak.
"Eric! Run! Run for your life!"
The last thing I'll ever see. Eric, racing away into the darkness, pursued by a horde of Dolls.
The last thing I'll ever feel. Dolls, scrambling over my body as it moves of its own accord, the Doll moving me from the inside.
The last thing I'll ever hear, the last thing I'll ever know, The Last Thing.
The sickening sound of my neck breaking...and the high-pitched giggle of a demented child.
Toys. That's all they are. Innocent, childish toys. Inanimate objects. Try to hold on to that belief when their plastic fingers twitch. When their sightless eyes stare into your soul. When they stagger slowly towards you to execute their deadly purpose...
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