Toymaker, page 14
“What time of the year does everyone in the world wish for something, Av? When are we lying in bed, dreaming of something magical?”
“Christmas,” Avery muttered.
He inflated the balloon, big and red, tied a knot. It floated toward her, twirling end over end.
“Not everyone wishes for a drum set, Bradley.”
“When you’re lying in bed, aren’t you listening for the bells? Didn’t we put milk and cookies out, throw carrots on the sidewalk?”
“Santa Claus,” she deadpanned. “You’re saying Santa Claus is real?” The balloon bumped toward the floor. “Bradley—”
“Maybe it doesn’t take everyone to wish for the same thing. Maybe just one person. Someone very special, very creative. Maybe Nana figured it out. She made it all come true. It’s the veil that holds dreams together. That’s what she was talking about. The veil is the membrane that contains dreams. And dreams become an entire universe.”
Avery scooped the rocks into the box, put it back onto the shelf. This wasn’t what she expected. Bradley hadn’t rubbed his head once. He believes it. He paced down the narrow aisle. Picked up the balloon, looking inside it. It squeaked in his hand.
“The Hunt isn’t a game, Av. I think it’s real.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m saying it’s real. Like here, only there.”
“Bradley.” She chuckled. “Think about what you’re saying. How is that even possible?”
“I don’t know. Where is this? Where’s our world, our universe? Where is space? Whoever is over there, in the Hunt, they don’t want to be there. They want to be here. In our world.”
Avery took his hand. She slid the sleeve of the coat past his wrist. The tattoo was there, the size of a quarter. Her bracelet was silver.
“Bradley,” she said softly, “you need to stop. All right? Listen to me. I think you’re in reality confusion.”
“That’s why they’re looking for the Toymaker, Av. He’s the one who can bring them here. That’s why he’s hiding from them.”
“Bradley—”
“The game is a parallel universe of ours. They’re using it to find him here.”
“Okay. All right.” She played along. Keep him safe until she could tell her parents, get him the help he needed. He was the smartest person she knew. But intelligence was no good when it was warped in reality confusion. “Let’s say everything is true. What’s the big deal? They, whoever they are, want to come to our world. Just let them, okay?”
He picked up the balloon. “There’s a veil around our universe. And a veil around theirs. The veil contains our universes, just like the air. If they find the Toymaker—” The balloon popped. Avery yelped, then punched Bradley in the chest, heart racing. “Everything can go away.”
“Nothing’s going away, Bradley. It’s. A. Game.”
“I’ve got to find the Toymaker first. He’s somewhere around here. Nana Rai knew it, too.”
“Will you listen to yourself? The Toymaker is living here? An elf who will bring, what, toys from another universe into our world? You really believe that?”
“It doesn’t matter what I believe.”
Mom called from downstairs. Luckily they weren’t in the library. Bradley believed it with every cell in his body. The game made him believe the Toymaker is here.
She took his hand. “Promise me you won’t go in the Hunt. At least for a little while,” she said. “The world will still be here if you stay here. Okay?”
He nodded. But he didn’t mean it. He didn’t need to rub his head for her to know he wasn’t going to listen. He needed help.
“Tell Mom I’ve got a headache,” he said.
Avery didn’t want to tell their parents Bradley was reality confused, full throttle. Not with the celebration coming. Mom would worry. If Bradley could hold it together, she’d tell them after Christmas. It was just a game. He was safe. By Christmas, the Hunt would be over. Then, when the world didn’t end and toys weren’t walking down the street, the reality confusion might resolve. Bradley would know the veil wasn’t real. Neither was the Toymaker.
Or Santa Claus.
Part IV
The wicker chair creaked. The old woman set a heavy book on her knees.
“Once upon a time, there was a woman who lived on an island whose spirit burned hot. A sandman kept her company, untangling shiny ribbons that had become quite a knot.”
13
The presents were buried in snow.
Uncle Sage had draped a plastic sheet, at the direction of Aunt Mag, over them. Avery had watched him unfold it, the wind catching it like a sail, watched him trundle after it, falling in the snow, using logs to hold it down. He came back to the house like he’d been rolled in sugar.
He grumbled for days about it. Why did we put the presents out so early? Then a gust of wind would snatch the plastic from one of the logs, and outside he went, losing a little Christmas spirit each time.
A week before Christmas, it was a calm day. Uncle Sage was in good spirits that afternoon, toting an oversized mug of tea. The stage was finished. Garland hung from the pergola; lights twined around the posts. No more hammering. Logs were carried to the firepit to replace what Uncle Sage had used to hold down the plastic.
Bradley was working the electronics behind the stage. He was back to normal. Not once, since they’d been to Nana’s room, had he asked her to go back. He was just normal Bradley, as if they’d never talked about drum sets or giant bubbles in the sky. Avery, sometimes, would walk through the woods and look up, squinting through the clouds, imagining a soapy membrane containing flying reindeer and singing elves. She liked the idea, silly as it was. But the more normal Bradley acted, the less she thought about that.
He was eating dinner with the family, joining conversation, cheerfully answering Uncle Sage’s questions about Avocado inventions, joking about company secrets. I’ll tell you this, Bradley would say, winking, since we’re family, but you can’t tell anyone. Uncle Sage would lean in, and Bradley would make something up about replicated babies made from human organ printers. Or consciousness transference. Like body swapping? Uncle Sage would say. Bradley would laugh, then wink.
Bradley joined them at the fireplace in the evening, listening to stories about Nana Rai. He even volunteered one of his own, about the time she’d sent him a present a month before his birthday. It was drumsticks. Avery wondered if it was just another story, waiting for him to glance at her and wink. Like Nana Rai knew he’d lain in bed at night dreaming about the big stage, sweat soaking his shirt as the stage unfolded. But he told it earnestly.
“She wrote me a letter,” he had said. “Keep dreaming was all it said.”
He was making that up, Avery had decided. Even if he didn’t rub his head.
But now, rubbing his eyes, concentrating on fine wires between his cold fingers, he looked tired. He couldn’t fool her. He wasn’t sleeping. After all those stories in front of the fire, the laughs and normal talk, he was going up to his bedroom and closing the door. He would come out in the morning like a man who’d spent the night breaking rocks.
She knew what he was doing.
“Is your brother okay?” Mom snuck up behind Avery, blowing into her fuzzy gloves. “He seems distracted.”
“Probably thinking of work.”
“Is that all?”
Avery was careful not to hesitate too long. She’d decided not to tell her parents about the Hunt or that brief episode of reality confusion. It could wait till they got home. He was safe here, among family.
“Far as I know,” Avery said. “You’ll have to ask him.”
Mom laughed. Bradley didn’t talk about feelings. It would be like asking a tree if it was cold.
“So the plan is to televise the ceremony?” Avery asked.
“Your nana’s wishes. She was preparing this for quite some time. She loved this community. This is something special. She wanted everyone to enjoy it.”
“So livestreaming, then?”
“That is the plan.”
“Even the hike?”
“All of it.”
The cousins stood behind Bradley, wearing puffy pink coats trimmed with fake fur. Their sunglasses were like black tea saucers. Bradley was talking to them. He nodded, laughed. Avery knew he couldn’t understand them. It was a good show, though.
“Is he still in the Hunt?” Mom asked.
Avery flinched. “I don’t know. Why?”
“Your cousins said it was almost over. The people playing it were dudding out.” Mom snorted and covered her mouth. “I think that means quitting.”
Bradley stopped what he was doing, pointing. Avery felt a pang of guilt. That was the kind of brother she wanted, and now, watching him laugh, she felt irritated.
“Is it?” Mom turned to Avery.
“Is what?”
“Is it over, the Hunt?”
Suddenly, Avery felt the heat of Mom’s X-ray vision. She’d disguised it as casual conversation. But she was looking for more. Did she know that Avery had gone down to the library? Had searched through Nana’s room? Are you done sneaking around, Avery?
A bell rang. Aunt Mag stood on the back steps leading up to the house, swinging a handbell that clanged much louder than its size. It tickled Avery’s ears.
“Food is ready!”
One by one, the volunteers stopped what they were doing, meandering toward the back porch. Huffing into their hands, helping each other navigate the frozen snow. They huddled near the steps. Aunt Mag waited till they were all there.
“I want to thank you for all your hard work. Nana Rai would be so proud to see her final wishes come true. And it wouldn’t have been possible without your efforts. You all meant so much to her.” Her eyes glittered. “I don’t want to cry again, so come on, everyone, inside. Get some warm food and drink.”
They stomped the snow off their boots, shucking them as they entered.
“Merry Christmas,” Aunt Mag said to each and every one of them, hugging and shaking hands. “Merry Christmas.”
“Where’s Hugo?” Avery asked.
“He’s off getting supplies,” Mom said. “He’ll be back this evening.”
“Can I ask you something? Do you think Jenks is all right?” Avery hadn’t seen him since the shed and hadn’t told Mom he was hiding in there.
“Jenks?”
“Hugo’s son. He comes every so often to help. Well, he does more hiding than helping.”
Mom shook her head. “I didn’t know he had a son. Come, let’s get warm.”
Uncle Sage, rushing the stairs, was held in check by Aunt Mag. He was sort of marching in place like a toddler needing the bathroom.
“I think I’ll wait,” Avery said. “I’m not hungry.”
“Don’t stay out here too long.” Mom took her scarf off and wrapped it around Avery’s neck. “I don’t want you becoming sick.”
The cousins walked inside, one on each side of Bradley, both talking at the same time. His attention was starting to wilt, whittled down by strange words and enthusiasm. Bradley didn’t look back. Avery waited until the last of them entered and the door was closed. She could hear the celebration inside the house, the merry laughter and Christmas wishes. Then, with no one looking out the window, she wandered toward the woods.
Snow had drifted against the shed.
There were no tracks. Just lumps of things beneath ghostly piles—the forgotten chair made of saplings, a small table for a cup of coffee. Avery approached slowly, her boots crunching, the sound muffled in the trees. She blew out a cloud, looked up at the blue sky. There was an occasional burble on water down the way, bubbles skating beneath the ice.
She tried the shed door. Apparently, her magic touch didn’t extend outdoors. She went around the building, searching for a sign someone had been there, but the walls were all the same—frosted slats of cedar, icicles hanging from looping strands of Christmas lights as forgotten as the chair. She thought she’d go deeper into the woods, make a long afternoon of it, get lost for a while, when she came around the front.
The door was cracked opened.
Not a footprint but her own was there. She felt a shiver in her spine. Perhaps the door had loosened when she tried it earlier. The light was off.
“Hello?”
She didn’t want Jenks springing out and apologizing. She nudged it open. Dark forms looked back. She stepped inside, the air musty as before. The smell of acrylics was stronger than she remembered, and a hint of wood, like fresh-cut lumber. She closed the door, lit the room with her phone, shadows stretching across the bench.
There was a strange energy. Maybe it was the creepiness of the shadows or the smell of glue, but she felt it tingle along her scalp; haunted by a ghost of creativity: an urge to make something, build it and paint it, make something that had never been made before. That was what Nana Rai had always said. Create something the world has never seen.
The jar of marbles was there. She put one in her pocket. She would show it to Bradley. But then that didn’t seem like such a good idea. It would just stoke the embers of reality confusion that were still warm. The purple monkey was there, but the other toys had been moved. They were spread out on the bench. Looking at her.
There were cobwebs on the ceiling and wood shavings swept into a neat pile. Avery pulled open little drawers that contained rivets and staples, twine and tape; strange stuff like gumdrops and tubes of icing and what she thought was cinnamon. There were old tools on a pegboard and a bag for cake frosting.
The marble was warm. She held it in her pocket, felt the weight in her palm. She shined the light on it, staring at her warped reflection looking rounder than ever. Looking at it like the Toymaker had done, searching for something other than her reflection. What did he see?
Then she laughed and snorted, catching herself thinking something so absurd, as if the clue from the game was real and there was an elf somewhere worried about a marble. She needed to follow her own advice.
Something scuffled beneath the bench.
She spun around, expecting to see Jenks huddled in the corner. Or worse, a mouse. And those were its wood shavings gathered for a nest. The beam of light flashed past a pair of haggard lumps near the door. She brought it back, stepped closer.
Jenks’s boots.
The leather tongues were folded out and the shoelaces frayed. A spiderweb was strung in the opening of one of them. He’d left them. They hadn’t even moved. He’d been hiding next to them the last time she saw him, hunched over with his finger to his lips. Now there was an old crate made with wooden slats where he’d been. A wool blanket was tucked inside, folded over like it was keeping a loaf of bread warm. She pulled it open.
There were dusty blocks of wood inside. Small eyebolts were screwed into them. She took them out, set them on the floor. A short stick, crooked and polished, was hooked on the end. She connected the smaller blocks onto the largest one: a red blob peeling from the middle of it. She knew what it was, but her mind wouldn’t let her see it. Her heart couldn’t hide it. It was thumping in her throat.
It was the last piece, at the bottom of the blanket, she couldn’t ignore. It had a line across it. She reconfigured the pieces, hooked the last piece on top, then, with her thumb, rubbed the dust from the large block. The red blob of paint was shaped like a heart.
The house had groaned all night.
Avery was unsure when, or if, she ever fell asleep. Drifts had grown across the backyard. The plastic sheet snapped beneath the Christmas tree like a stiff flag. The logs holding it in place had doubled, protecting the presents beneath it. Some of the ornaments had fallen from the branches. Holes pitted the snow where they’d disappeared.
Hugo labored through it all. Waddling the way he did. His sweater tight across his back, a bag in one hand. Working his way toward the woods.
“It smells delightful in here, darling,” Avery heard her mother say.
Avery stood in the kitchen doorway, watching Hugo through the window above the sink. A lump in her stomach rose in her throat, the way it did when she’d done something wrong. Like the time she’d cheated on a test, waiting outside the principal’s office for Mom, just wanting it to be over.
Mom had her arms around Dad while he flipped bacon in a skillet, the kitchen steamy with grease. He was laughing, and Mom was swaying, the wool scarf swinging at her side.
“Bradley needs to stop,” Avery blurted.
Dad dropped the spatula. Mom jumped back, hand to her chest. They turned and laughed. Avery must have looked too serious, the way their laughter faded.
“Stop what?” Dad said.
“The Hunt is doing something to him. To everyone playing it. Did you know Iona’s mom left home? She took a leave from work and then went somewhere, just like that. Iona doesn’t even know where. And she was playing the game. Like Bradley.”
She couldn’t stop the words. They heaved out of her, purging the guilt of stockpiled secrets. She had to get them out before she got sick.
“Darling,” Mom said, “come. Sit down.”
“They’re hunting an elf, Mom,” Avery said. “That’s what the game is. Something’s not right.”
“Okay. All right.” Dad wiped his hands on his apron. She had their full attention. “I didn’t know you felt this way, Av. But listen, it’s just a game. Come, like your mother said, sit. Get something to eat and—”
“Bradley is obsessed. Not like usual. It’s different. You’ve seen it, the way he’s tired, the way he’s always looking around, hiding in his room. He’s not sick.” She clutched her backpack like a teddy bear. “You know why he wanted to come here early, Dad? He believes the Toymaker is real. He thinks he’s here.”
“Where is this coming from?” Mom said.
“There’s a room upstairs. It’s always locked except sometimes it’s not.” The words were slowing down. She didn’t tell them it only opened for her. “Do you know what’s in there?”
“What room?” Mom said.
“Down the hall from our bedrooms. Flinn and Meeho call it Nana’s room. There’s a tree in there with strange fruits and a-a-a glass ceiling and things from the Hunt in there, clues that are in the game. They’re up there—”
