The Nightwalkers, Part II

Any commander knows the best offense is a good defense.

I had a thirty minute ride home from Woolworth to plan mine.  Where tears, begging, and apologies had failed, strategic warfare would have to triumph.  Each minute that ticked by was an inventory check through my mind, but beyond a broken Nerf gun and packet of Jarts in the back of my sister’s closet that may as well have been buried under Alcatraz, there wasn’t much weaponry for me to work with.

I’d have to get creative.

The moment the car parked in our driveway, I was a blur—streaking through the house to my bedroom, leaving scuffed walls and crumpled rugs behind me.  I slammed the door on my mother’s shouts, twisted the lock in place, and looked desperately around the room.  It was clean…too clean.  And the cleaner it was, the easier it would be for the Nightwalker to get to me.

I tore open my closet and grabbed every toy I could find.  Plastic limbs and furry bodies were tossed into the center of the room.  Bags of small toys were hurled on top of them.  Board games were ripped out of their boxes and flung over my shoulder to join the growing heap.  I gazed for a moment down at a Rubik’s Cube, kicked it to the back of the closet, and turned away.

The stuffed animal army was assembled first.  They lined the bed, creating a formidable barrier of plushness that would defend me from anything trying to get through the crack between my bed and the wall.  Puppies, kittens, and bears sat at attention along the edges of the bed, flanked by a stoic Snoopy and Woodstock.  Their leader, a four-foot-tall Pink Panther that my dad had won at the fair, towered over them in cocky reassurance.

The Barbie battalion, complete with a Beach Bus combat tank and Dream House barracks, came next.  It was stationed on the floor to protect me from under-the-bed sneak attacks.  Barbies, Skippers, and Kens surrounded my bed on three sides—united, at last, in a common cause of defense.

Chutes and Ladders, Trouble, and Life landmines were then randomly placed throughout the room.  Even if the Walker survived stepping on one of them, it would at least alert me in time to get my yo-yo and marble bombs ready while the ground forces defended against its attack.

And finally came the ultimate, most important piece in my line of defense: my nightlight.

By the time everything was in place, it was time to get ready for bed.  With my stomach knotted in growing dread, I dragged out my nightly routine for as long as I could.  I sat on the toilet for over fifteen minutes, invoking constipation when anyone came to the door.  I washed my face over and over, declaring stubborn spots of dirt that wouldn’t scrub off.  And my teeth almost glowed from polishing before my mother finally snatched me out of the bathroom and shoved me into my room.

Okay.  It was here.  Bedtime.

I sidestepped the game board landmines and gingerly knelt beside my doll assembly.  Careful not to knock over the front-line Ken infantry, I clasped my hands in front of me, scrunched my eyes shut, and began to pray.  The words tripped off of numb lips, and my guts quivered when I got to the “if I should die before I wake” part.

With a throaty “Amen,” I clambered into bed and kissed each stuffed animal on top of its head.  Pink Panther smiled back at me.  Grimacing, I reached a damp hand to the lamp beside my bed, and my heart thumped into my stomach when the world went dark.

It was quiet.  Silence crackled in my ears, drowning out even the muted sounds of the living room TV that tried to drift under my door from down the hall.  I lay on my back, staring into the ceiling, straining to hear my sisters’ voices in the room next to mine.  If they were close enough for me to hear them, they’d be close enough to come running if I screamed.

Nothing.

Tiny, colorful dots danced a polka across my vision.  My eyes started to sting, and I realized I hadn’t blinked since turning off the light.  Sighing, I rolled over, onto my stomach, and gazed through my headboard slats into the nightlight.  A white fire seemed to burn from the center of the bulb.  I stared into its flames, watching shadows flee in tiny ripples across the wall.  Tears singed the corners of my eyes as the light burned a fluorescent rainbow into my retinas.

I couldn’t do it.  I couldn’t keep my eyes open forever.

They closed, trapping me in the world of darkness behind my eyelids.

I listened.  I waited.

It was so quiet.  Nothing in the room but silence.  Just silence, thick and growing.  Swelling…

Coming nearer.

I stopped breathing.  Someone was in the room.

The silence moved in closer.  It was at the foot of the bed.  I clutched my pillow, unable to move.  I willed my fingers to reach for the mound of marbles under the pillow, but they were glued in place.  I tried to open my mouth, but it was locked in a grip that refused to break.  My teeth were clenched so tightly, they threatened to shatter.  Even my vocal chords swallowed the whimper that clogged my throat.

I felt the presence slide up the bed to hover over me.  I pictured the Woolworth doll, its face a demented mask of hatred and malice as it climbed toward me.  I imagined the knife it held in its hand.

Something touched my back.

I screamed.  The hold over my body broke, and I leapt from the bed, knocking over stuffed animals and kicking Barbies aside in a merciless rush to the bedroom door.  I didn’t look behind me, didn’t pause to see if the demon doll was at my heels.  I tore open the door and raced to my parents’ room, crying and gibbering.

I didn’t go back into my room that night.  When I returned in the morning, there was no sign that the Nightwalker had ever been there.  My toys were where I’d left them, and we made a cautious peace.  I forgave them for not protecting me, and they forgave me for leaving them to die.

The doll never came back, and I never saw it again.  But any time I was in a store and saw a toy lying in an aisle where it wasn’t supposed to be, I looked the other way.  I kept walking, never letting on that I even noticed its existence.  Let some other sucker get pulled into that sick game; I had learned my lesson.

Some toys just aren’t worth dying over.