28 Apr The Blue Bear

“We got a serious unnerstandin’ gap here.”  Joe shook his head, fishing out a Marlboro from his shirt pocket.  “I don’t need th’ money that bad.”

The shiny quarter gleamed in the late morning sun, “I give you quarter,” the Asian man insisted.

“Nope,” Joe lit his cigarette and sank into the green lawn chair.

“Quarter,” he held up the battered waffle iron.

Joe tipped up his Saints ball cap.  “Son, if you really want a waffle that bad, jus’ pry another 25 cent out yer wallet.  Or go t’ th’ Waffle House down th’ street.”

The Asian man shuffled his feet as if waiting in line for the bathroom. He exchanged the iron and quarter from hand to hand.  He settled and cleared his throat.  “Twenty-five cents.”

Joe chuckled loudly.  “Gotta admit; y’got spunk.”  The Asian gave a victorious smile.  “But, I ain’t sellin’ it for less’n 50 cent.”

The Asian man walked away, crestfallen, with the waffle iron still captured in his hand.  He moved down the driveway, going from table to table, occasionally glancing back at Joe with a look of eventual victory.  But Joe didn’t pay any attention.

“Ah,” called a masculine voice from the garage.

“Need some help?” Joe called.

“Yes.”  A man in his mid-40s with a smooth face appeared from the back of the garage, laden with stuffed animals.  His smile was pleasant, and his green eyes sparkled from behind horn-rimmed glasses.  “How much?” he asked, smelling very clean to Joe’s nose, almost medicinal.

“They’re 25 cent each,” Joe exhaled thoughtfully, “But, I’ll let y’ have th’ whole box back there f’r 3 bucks, includin’ th’ toy box.”

The man went back to the box, then returned.  “You want to sell me 27 stuffed animals for 3 dollars?”

“Yep.”

“Plus the toy box?”

“Yep.”

“I can’t pass up a deal like that.”  The man pulled 3 dollars from his wallet and handed it over to Joe.  “I work with the Salvation Army and Big Brothers,” he offered to Joe.

As Joe secured his profit in the battered green tackle box under the lawn chair, the man scooped up all the stuffed toys into the toy box. The toy box, roughly 3 feet long, 2 feet wide and 2 feet deep, filled his average arms.  He began walking cautiously down the drive with his great deal.

“Hey, mister!” Joe yelled.

The man froze to the spot.  Joe was beside him instantly.  “Yes?”

“Y’ forgot one.”  Joe opened the top flap of the toy box and tossed in a powder blue teddy bear.  “Y’ can’t have a party without all yer friends.”

“Thank you,” the man smiled back at Joe and walked to his car.

The man, David Lester Wallace, set the toy box in the trunk of his immaculately clean ‘68 Plymouth Fury.  Just before he closed the lid, Mr. Wallace pulled a stuffed animal out of the box and sat the puffy panda in the passenger seat.  He secured his seat belt and cautiously drove away.

David Wallace was as happy as a kid at Christmas.  At each red light, he would glow at the fluffy pal he acquired.  David Wallace smiled all the way to the schoolyard.

On the playground, children laughed and played without care or adult conscience.  This made David smile uncontrollably.  There was something about youth that made him alive with an innocence long lost with age.

“Hey, Mister!”  The voice belonged to a little girl who stared brightly at David from outside the passenger window.  “You lookin’ for somebody?”  Her bright blue eyes were electric.

“Why, yes.  Yes, I am.” He returned a smile.  “Do you know Megan?”

“Megan Tompkins?”  The little girl peered curiously into the car, no more than six years old.

“Yes, I’m her grandpa.  And…”  He showed the little girl the friendly stuffed panda.  “I got her a present.”

David waved the stuffed animal in front of her, and she beamed back in wonderment.

“I’ve got an idea.”  He pushed the stuffed animal toward her.  “Why don’t you give this to Megan for me?”

The little girl backed suspiciously away from the car.  “Mommy told me not to take anything from strangers.”

“And your mommy’s right,” he nodded, looking over his glasses.  His eyes perked up.  “Tell you what, I’ll just toss it out the window to you. Would that be OK?”

She shrugged.  “Yeah, I guess that’d be OK.” David squinted out of one eye and scrunched up his face as he wound up the stuffed animal like a fastball.  The little girl giggled at his antics and held out her small hands.  The panda sailed through the open passenger window and landed gently in her waiting arms.  David applauded her fine reception.

David waved a playful finger at her, “Now, you make sure Megan gets her present, OK?”

“OK,” she smiled wider and started to skip away.

“Wait a minute,” he called to her.  She stopped and turned around. “You are a sweet girl.  May I give you a present for helping me?”

“Yeah!” the girl skipped anxiously to the car.  Her little hands curled over the top of the car door with the top part of her face just above the window edge.  She looked like a kindergarten Kilroy.

“Great,” he smiled and started to reach into the back seat. However, he quickly lunged at the little girl, grabbing onto her tender hands.  Before she could scream, David pulled her into the car in one swift, brutal gesture.  As planned, David produced a chloroformed handkerchief and covered her petite nose and mouth and began driving down the street.  The little girl was unconscious before the first stop sign.  His abduction took less than 10 seconds, and no one at the playground would even notice the little girl was missing for hours.

All that remained of David’s presence was a stuffed panda, which lay forgotten in the gutter with a diagonal tattoo of a Plymouth Fury tire tread across its head.

He looked upon her motionless frame, stroking her hair with kind devotion.  She was a truly beautiful child, much prettier than any other child he had ever seen.  And as he stuffed her lithe body into the toy chest at a secluded rest station, he reveled in the fun that would be had this evening.

David beamed innocently at his landlady as he manipulated the awkward trunk upstairs to his apartment.  Behind the door of apartment 4F, David dumped his cache on the floor.  He sat on the couch, mesmerized by the collection.  The passive stuffed animals framed the little girl like a multi-colored aura.  David picked up the Jabbering Judy doll and pulled the string in her back.

“Let’s be friends,” her scratchy, pre-recorded voice sang.  David pulled again: “I like you.”

David set the doll on the coffee table and gently scooped up the little girl.  He opened the closet door and smiled.  The little coat closet had been redesigned with 6-inch thick acoustical tile lining the walls, door, ceiling and floor.  A set of miniature manacles dangled from the ceiling like shiny, disembodied octopus tentacles.  David affectionately secured her into the restraints, gagged her mouth and closed the door on his unconscious guest.

David leisurely walked over to the floor vent and deftly pried the grate out of the hole.  Once removed, he reached in and retrieved a piece of rolled black cloth tied up with a red satin ribbon.  David unrolled the cloth, exposing glittering surgical tools.  He contentedly grinned at their wonderful cold precision and received an instant erection at the thought of their application.

Today had been an unexpectedly good day for David Lester Wallace.  So overwhelmed with his acquisition and new playmate, he fell asleep on his couch, under the protective plush eyes of his new friends.

“Psssst!  Pssssst!”  The sound called David from sleep.  “Rise and shine, Davey.”

David shook the cobwebs from his mind and looked around.  He had forgotten to turn a light on, and it was now far into the night. Nervously, he reached for the coffee table lamp and clicked it on.

Nobody was there.  David surveyed the room and found nothing.  It was just the toys and himself.

“Over here, Davey,” called a gruff voice.

David’s eyes grew wide: the powder blue bear sat at the other end of the couch, holding David’s secret pack of Viceroy’s.

“These are bad for you, Davey.”  The powder blue bear removed a smoke.  “Got a light?”

“Uh-huh,” David replied, tossing over a book of matches.

The animated bear lit the cigarette and tossed the match into a nearby Pepsi can.  It took a long, measured drag, and exhaled. “These things taste like shit, Davey,” the cute little bear added.

“Who…what are you?”

“I’m a fucking stuffed animal,” the bear puffed away, “You some kind of dumbass?”

David did not answer, shaking his head “No.” He looked at the sweet face of Jabbering Judy, lying lifelessly on the end table.  He pulled her string.

“I don’t like you,” it crackled cheerily.  He pulled again: “You are a bad man.”

David threw the doll to the ground.  “This is not happening.”

“Sure is, Davey,” the bear blew smoke at David, “Welcome to your worst fucking nightmare.” As if on cue, the menagerie of toys came to life.  David could feel the menace behind the prefabricated smiles and hollow, lifeless eyes.  They peered at David with secret desire, which made him uncomfortable and filled with fear-spawned adrenaline.

“We’re here to settle a score, Davey.”  The bear flicked ashes on the floor.

“I don’t know what you mean.”  He looked innocently at the toy jury.

“Cut the bullshit, Davey.  You know why we’re here.”

“You’re crazy!  I don’t…”

The bear cut in, “Crazy?  Crazy?!  You’re 47 years old, and you’re talking to stuffed animals!  Pull your head out of your ass, Davey!”

David put his hands to his ears, “I’m not going to listen.  This is just a bad dream.”

The bear pounced on his chest, pressing its fuzzy blue face an inch from David’s, “Don’t you wish it was, asshole!  We’ve only just begun.”

David swatted the menacing stuffed bear off his chest.  The bear tumbled across the living room floor, amber and orange bits of lit cigarette following in its wake.  Once stopped against the wall, the bear composed itself to stand.  “You’re a real tough guy, ain’t you? That why you got that poor little girl tied up in your closet, Davey?”

David’s mind began panicking.  You must defend yourself, it said. They will harm you if you don’t.  You remember how Daddy harmed you.  How he made you hurt down there.  How shiny his knife was.  Get your shiny knives.  Quickly!  Quickly!  His mind screamed.

David righted himself from the couch and slalomed around the animated toys like a professional skier to where he had left his cache of knives.

He rounded the corner of the table and stared speechless.  The knives were gone.

“Lookin’ for something, shithead?”  The soft blue bear absently crushed out the remainder of its smoldering cigarette with its padded paw.  “Maybe something sharp and deadly, Davey?”

The rage began to build in David, “Where are they?!  Tell me!”

“Or what?”  The bear put stuffed hands to its hips.  “I ain’t no little kid, dickweed.  I may look all plush and soft, but I ain’t no pushover, Davey-boy.”

“Give me my things!!”  David advanced on the 18-inch bear.

The bear gestured to the other toys.  Instantly, the other toys swarmed upon David.  Try as he might, David was quickly overpowered by the toys, falling onto the couch with a heavy thud. The toys circled him like stereotypical Indians around a westward wagon train.

“You’re beginning to piss me off, Davey.”  The powder blue bear shook its head.  “You just sit there and shut up.”

“What do you want?” David said softly.

“It’s not what I want, Davey.  It’s what I have to do.”  The bear hopped up to the coffee table.  “But, I ain’t the man I used to be, as you can tell.”

“What are you?”

“I’m a fucking light blue teddy bear, dipshit!  And you are a pedophile and killer of 27 children!”  The bear offered an unwavering stitched smile.  “But, you want to know why we’re here, don’t you, Davey?”

“Yes.”  David peeped as the bear lit another stale cigarette.

“It’s probably got to do with Karma, Davey-boy.  You know: You get what you give, Ye shall reap what ye sew, Paybacks are a bitch. That kind of shit.  Well, this is my payback for the nasty life I led. That, or the creator has a shitty sense of humor about the afterlife.”

David stared at the animated animal, dumbfounded.

“No comprende, Davey?”  The bear shook its stuffed head.  “I don’t blame you.  I can’t explain how all this supernatural bullshit works. What I do know is that some people are given a chance for redemption after they die.  I don’t know if it takes you to Heaven, Nirvana or the goddamn Happy Hunting Ground when you’re redeemed.  What I do know is that you fucked it up for all of us, buddy-boy.”

David looked at the precious faces of the toys.  Their molded plastic eyes were filled with deep hatred.

“We all had the same kind of penance: protectors of the innocent. Seemed like a simple gig.  All we had to do was watch over a little kid until the kid outgrew us.  Then, BOOM, you’re on your way to the next reality.  But, no, little Davey Wallace had to pick our children.  Kind of ironic, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know what you are…”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, DAVEY!!!” the soft blue bear roared, then proceeded to the closet door.  “How’s this for a visual aid, asshole?!”

The bright blue bear leaped to the knob and swung.  The door opened, revealing the child now wide awake and completely terrified. Tears flowed selflessly down her smooth cheeks and soaked into the gag that muffled her pitched screams.  Small rivulets of blood slid down her petite arms, created by the unforgiving manacles.

“Does this help your memory?”  The bear leered at David.  “Maybe I couldn’t save my kid, but you sure as Hell ain’t getting your hands on victim #28!!”

“There must be some mistake,” David challenged.  “I love little children.  I would never hurt them or anyone else.”

“Oh, really?” the powder blue bear closed the closet door.  “Let’s get down to adult business.  You see, I met up with a few pals along the way that would like a word with you, Davey boy.  You’re up, red.”

A red stuffed giraffe swaggered forward with orange spots and plopped down on David’s chest.  When it spoke, a little boy’s voice emerged.  “You killed me in 1972.  My name was Timmy Muller.  I was 5.  You grabbed me at a local park.  You raped me for five days, three times a day.  You made me eat my own stool and drink my own urine for food.  After five days, you opened a vein in my wrist and let me bleed to death while you raped me one more time.  It took an hour before I died, and you raped me the whole time.”

As the toy spoke, David felt the pain he had inflicted upon his former victim.  His rectum began painfully throbbing, and he felt a gush of warm blood spill from his right wrist.

“Oh, Jesus!” David clamped his left hand over the wound.

“Jesus ain’t got nothing to do with you, Davey-boy.  Your ass belongs to us.”  The bear chuckled humorlessly.  “Next.”

A frizzy-haired koala bear sat on David’s chest, “My name was Anna Lee Batson.  You kidnapped me from the West Chester Mall in 1988. I was six and a half.  You kept me alive for ten days and raped me every day until I died.  You cut off my nipples and cooked them.  You made me eat them.  Then you poured salt in the open wound just to watch my face.  You killed me while you were raping me with a power drill.”

David suddenly felt the searing salt and saw the spots of red spread across his shirt.  The excruciating pain in his groin did not go unnoticed.  David felt as if he was going to pass out.

“Don’t give up yet, Davey,” the bear whispered in his ear.  “You got 25 more stories to hear, asshole.”

The stark fear and terror in David Lester Wallace were immeasurable.

Twenty-five stories came and went, all as gruesome and horrific as the last.  All left their mark on David as he had left it on his victims, spreading across his chubby body like an emerging road map of pain.

Occasionally, David would pass out from the tormenting agony.  The toys were as loving with David as David had been with his victims. They patiently bandaged his wounds and gently revived him when he slipped into the warm arms of unconsciousness.

It would be five days later when the police responded to a call from David’s worried landlady.

“What seems to be the problem, ma’am?” Officer clicked his pen.

“It’s one of my tenants, Mr. Wallace,” she pointed up the stairs, “He lives in apartment 4F.  I haven’t seen or heard from him in days.”

“You suspect foul play?” offered the other officer.

“I don’t know.  He’s always been so mindful of others.  Never hear a peep out of him.  When I walked past his door today, I smelled something.  It smelled like something spoiled.  I’ve been too afraid to open the door.”  She handed the pass key to the officers.  “He’s a nice, young man.  I just hope nothing bad has happened to him.  He’s the best tenant I have.”

“We’ll take a look.”  He smiled at the old lady.  “But, just in case, you might want to stay down here.”

The two officers ascended the stairs yet did not get within 3 feet of the door before the stench of rancid food hit.

“Jesus, Phil, what the Hell died in there?”  The odor began choking the officers.

The second officer ignored his partner and knocked on the door. “Mr. Wallace?  Police.  Open the door, sir.”  No answer.  He knocked again.  “Mr. Wallace?  This is the police.  We have the passkey.  We are coming in, sir.”

The key turned with ease.  “Get ready.”  The officer said to his partner as he put a handkerchief over his nose and mouth.

“Pussy,” his partner chuckled.  “Let’s do this.” They flung the door open, only to be assaulted by a hammering fetid rankness.  The chuckling partner instantaneously vomited while his partner squeezed the handkerchief tighter against his face.  Both of their eyes watered as they absorbed the disgusting scene that played before them.

David Lester Wallace sat motionless on his couch.  He was encrusted in dark dried blood.  The officers could not find a single spot on his body were trauma was not present.  Scrapes, gouges, tears, rips, claw marks, bite wounds covered his body like a sadistic blanket.  The twisted expression on what was left of his tongueless mouth formed a soundless scream of endless torture.  Of course, that did not stop the battalion of house flies from feasting upon his rotting flesh.

“Christ, Phil,” the officer gagged.  “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Jesus!  His fingers are gnawed off!  His eyeballs are cut open!  Oh, Christ!  Oh, Jesus!  What the Hell is…?” was all the officer could say before he realized he was looking at David Wallace’s severed and filleted penis on the end table.

“Call for backup, Bob.  We got to get this place closed down quick,” the officer choked through his handkerchief.  “We got to keep the press out of here.  Get the tape from the trunk and set up the crime scene.  Now, Bob!”

The vomiting officer graciously complied, running downstairs, while the other officer stared in disembodied curiosity at the victim’s bloated body.  He had never seen a body that ravaged.  It was as if someone had performed an autopsy on the unfortunate man while he was still alive.  It looked like a leftover special effect from a Friday the 13^th movie.

“What the Hell?”  The officer leaned in to examine the decomposing body.  He tentatively poked at the victim’s shattered mouth.  There was some foreign object lodged in the dead man’s maw.  He managed to procure a piece of it on the end of his pen.

He brought it under close examination.  He looked past the dried saliva and pronounced with a puzzled hitch in his voice, “Stuffing!”

Like Aladdin’s magic phrase Open Sesame, the body of David Lester Wallace seemingly responded to the officer’s single word.  The officer slowly backed away as the body began convulsing.  Pounds of pristine white stuffing belched from the rotting corpse’s torso and into the air like an obscene snowfall.  It was then the other officer gave in and vomited, too.

Later that day, police and press would rush to a secluded rest stop on Interstate 75 with rabid curiosity.  In a hail of flashbulbs and microphones, the police would escort a frightened but safe and injury-free little girl with golden blonde hair back to her relieved parents. She had no memory of David Lester Wallace or her time since the abduction.

She did proudly show off her new acquisition to the press corps. She offered an innocent smile as she held up a fluffy powder blue stuffed teddy bear.  Although its eyes were lifeless dark buttons, the black plastic twinkled happily.