Read Online Christmas Trees & Monkeys by Dan Keohane, Kellianne Jones - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dan Keohane, Kellianne Jones
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going to bed.
* * *
The woman pulled the cart off the road, into the old Mahew Dye Works’ shipping and receiving yard. The pavement buckled with roots that had long since pushed their way skyward, reclaiming the air above. Mahew Dye Works had seen few visitors since closing forty years earlier. There it stayed, crumbling, most of the glass in the windows long fallen inward.
Officer John nodded his head as the woman and her cart lumbered by. He’d been stationed at the entrance to “make sure no one trespasses and risks falling through those old, rotten floor boards”.
In the trunk of Officer John’s cruiser, a G.I. Joe doll wailed and screamed. It tried unsuccessfully to move its muscular arms. Officer John was blind in the darkness of the trunk, while the thing that stole him closed the rusted gate.
The woman in the robes pulled the cart into the half-open door of the receiving area. If someone stood just outside they might, for an instant, see a sharp flash of metal from the interior’s darkness. Someone might catch the outline of something large and angular further down, in what was once the Dye Works’ main production floor. Any glimpse inside would quickly be lost when the woman walked back to the door and pulled it closed.
* * *
When he heard Joanne close the bedroom door, William rose from his chair. It felt like he’d been pulled up - as if the eyes of the Chinese princess cast invisible threads, fine but strong, across the room to entwine him. The small painted eyes beckoned. William heeded and stepped forward.
The doll felt heavy when he lifted it. The princess stared, unblinking, and smiled a smile unchanged since William first saw it. But there was something different. He tried to understand what as he sank back into the worn cushions.
Megan had bought the doll for her mother, but William felt a possessiveness for it. Invisible, pulling threads wrapped about him. Just the merest sensation, yet he felt his possession reciprocated. The doll, the princess, belonged to him. The pulling continued. William held the doll close, laying her tight against his chest.
The threads wrapped tighter, hugging, pulling the two of them together. William breathed in shallow bursts. For a moment, he thought he heard his daughter shouting from her bedroom. Then he was lost in pleasure.
* * *
The next night Joanne expected thunder, at the very least a flash of heat lightening. Neither came. The sky simply opened in a deluge of rain, crashing down on Claisdale Avenue. She watched from behind the screen door. The road was dark, silent, the rain broken only by the glow of house lights across the street.
Her friend Nancy either wasn’t home or chose not to answer. Three times during the day Joanne tried to call. Today was Saturday. Maybe Nancy had gone on a day trip with Rich and the kids.
The rain kept falling, in time with her spirits.
“ Dolls!” came the now-familiar voice, muffled through sheets of water. How could this be happening, Joanne wondered? Who the hell would be stupid enough to come out tonight? She wasn’t surprised. The previous nights carried with them an unreal quality. Whether warm, humid, cool or rainy - it didn’t matter. There was something else in the mix. A new element which Joanne couldn’t grasp, but was there all the same. A metaphorical shadow in the corner of the bedroom that did not exist in daylight.
“ Dolls!” Closer now.
Movement across the street. The Phillipsons came outside. They were silent except for Max, the father, who kept insisting they weren’t going out into the rain for a damned doll! More words exchanged, lost to the weather and the call of the woman in the robes. The man was pulled excitedly along by his two children. His wife followed, a hand on her husband’s shoulder. Joanne wondered if she wasn’t, perhaps, pushing him forward.
A man’s voice behind Joanne said, “I’d love one of my own.”
She let out a cry and spun
* * *
The woman pulled the cart off the road, into the old Mahew Dye Works’ shipping and receiving yard. The pavement buckled with roots that had long since pushed their way skyward, reclaiming the air above. Mahew Dye Works had seen few visitors since closing forty years earlier. There it stayed, crumbling, most of the glass in the windows long fallen inward.
Officer John nodded his head as the woman and her cart lumbered by. He’d been stationed at the entrance to “make sure no one trespasses and risks falling through those old, rotten floor boards”.
In the trunk of Officer John’s cruiser, a G.I. Joe doll wailed and screamed. It tried unsuccessfully to move its muscular arms. Officer John was blind in the darkness of the trunk, while the thing that stole him closed the rusted gate.
The woman in the robes pulled the cart into the half-open door of the receiving area. If someone stood just outside they might, for an instant, see a sharp flash of metal from the interior’s darkness. Someone might catch the outline of something large and angular further down, in what was once the Dye Works’ main production floor. Any glimpse inside would quickly be lost when the woman walked back to the door and pulled it closed.
* * *
When he heard Joanne close the bedroom door, William rose from his chair. It felt like he’d been pulled up - as if the eyes of the Chinese princess cast invisible threads, fine but strong, across the room to entwine him. The small painted eyes beckoned. William heeded and stepped forward.
The doll felt heavy when he lifted it. The princess stared, unblinking, and smiled a smile unchanged since William first saw it. But there was something different. He tried to understand what as he sank back into the worn cushions.
Megan had bought the doll for her mother, but William felt a possessiveness for it. Invisible, pulling threads wrapped about him. Just the merest sensation, yet he felt his possession reciprocated. The doll, the princess, belonged to him. The pulling continued. William held the doll close, laying her tight against his chest.
The threads wrapped tighter, hugging, pulling the two of them together. William breathed in shallow bursts. For a moment, he thought he heard his daughter shouting from her bedroom. Then he was lost in pleasure.
* * *
The next night Joanne expected thunder, at the very least a flash of heat lightening. Neither came. The sky simply opened in a deluge of rain, crashing down on Claisdale Avenue. She watched from behind the screen door. The road was dark, silent, the rain broken only by the glow of house lights across the street.
Her friend Nancy either wasn’t home or chose not to answer. Three times during the day Joanne tried to call. Today was Saturday. Maybe Nancy had gone on a day trip with Rich and the kids.
The rain kept falling, in time with her spirits.
“ Dolls!” came the now-familiar voice, muffled through sheets of water. How could this be happening, Joanne wondered? Who the hell would be stupid enough to come out tonight? She wasn’t surprised. The previous nights carried with them an unreal quality. Whether warm, humid, cool or rainy - it didn’t matter. There was something else in the mix. A new element which Joanne couldn’t grasp, but was there all the same. A metaphorical shadow in the corner of the bedroom that did not exist in daylight.
“ Dolls!” Closer now.
Movement across the street. The Phillipsons came outside. They were silent except for Max, the father, who kept insisting they weren’t going out into the rain for a damned doll! More words exchanged, lost to the weather and the call of the woman in the robes. The man was pulled excitedly along by his two children. His wife followed, a hand on her husband’s shoulder. Joanne wondered if she wasn’t, perhaps, pushing him forward.
A man’s voice behind Joanne said, “I’d love one of my own.”
She let out a cry and spun
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