Chucky
The package arrived with no return address, but Mary opened it anyway. Inside was a box, and inside that box, a second box. In the third box, she found a carefully wrapped plastic doll. He wore a striped shirt, had red hair and a mischievous grin. The plastic felt odd, sort of oily to the touch. She was holding it and staring at it, wondering what happened to the return address, and why there was no card inside, when Ginny skipped up and peered at her over the table. The girl saw the doll, and she squealed.
Before she could move, her daughter had pounced, and the doll was no longer in her lap.
“Wait, honey,” she said. “I don’t know who it’s from. I…”
Ginny glanced up, wide-eyed. She started to hold the doll out to her mother, but her lip trembled, and Ginny caved. It hadn’t ever really been a contest. Besides, the box WAS addressed to her, she just didn’t know by whom.
Chester, their Boston Terrier, skidded around the corner, saw Ginny with the doll, and stopped. He cocked his head to the side, growled and advanced. He made a sort of chuffing sound deep in his throat, bouncing with his front feet for emphasis. Ginny laughed and held the doll out toward him, shaking it. Chester barked, back-pedaled, held his ground for a moment – then bolted. Ginny took off after him, waving the doll and laughing loudly. Mary watched them go, thinking she’d better check on them in a few minutes to be sure Chester hadn’g gotten his courage back and went for the dolls throat. Chester wasn’t known for hospitality.
He had his own toys, though, and he was pretty good about leaving Ginny’s alone. In fact, he’d just gotten a ten inch rubber “action figure” of his own to chew on. Mary went back to sorting the mail, pushing aside bills she couldn’t quite afford and using her patented “pile” method to schedule the rest. It was a ritual she’d gotten too used to since Bob’s death – a freak accident.
A loud yelp sounded from the next room. There was no sound at all from Ginny. Mary rose quickly, scattering letters, and ran from the kitchen. She checked the hall, which was empty, and continued on down to the utility room. That was Chester’s domain, and if Ginny had kept on chasing, that’s where he’d have gone. The doll she’d just unpacked lay in a heap on the floor, just outside the utility room door.
“Ginny?” she called. “Ginny honey, are you alright?”
There was no answer, but she heard a whimpering sound. Mary lunged down the last few feet of hallway and through the door. She stopped short, staring at where Chest laid, neck broken, sprawled on the floor. She looked frantically past him. Something moved, and she stepped closer. Ginny was cowering in the corner, eyes very wide. She had curled herself into a tiny, protective ball. On the floor in front of her, the rubber dog toy stood facing her. The scene was just too bizarre. Mary took a step closer.
“Ginny, honey, what happened? What is…?”
The rubber toy toppled and Mary nearly screamed. Ginny didn’t move.
Then the door behind her closed and Mary turned.
The lights went out, but not before she caught a small shadow, stepping away from the door so that the light from the crack beneath wouldn’t cast a shadow. From the darkness, a wicked, shrill voice half-taunted, half-whispered.
“I was fine with the little girl, Mary, but there’s just one problem.”
“What?” she whispered, trying to see who was speaking.
The doll stepped out of the shadows, it’s grin drooped to an evil leer.
“I hate dogs.” he said. “I really freaking HATE dogs.”
In the shadows, she heard him move, just before Ginny screamed…
Written by David Wilson - Visit WebsiteFollow me on Twitter
