The light was floating just above the glassy eyes, and I realized what I was seeing. The strange crown atop the creature’s head had a hook resting there, and a tiny, bronze-colored lamp dangled from it. It looked like a miniature lantern, and when the thing turned its head, the lamp swung on the loose swivel just above the center of the eyes. I heard it, just barely, as the hinge creaked a bit, a sound like a rocking chair. The Toy Thief heard it too, and with a deft hand, it slipped its fingers into some unseen pocket and reached up with a thin cylinder that I can only assume held some sort of oil. It tapped the hinge. Then, as if to test out its work, the creature shook its head. The lamp rocked back and forth without a sound, and I could almost see a grin on the edges of that horrid mouth.
As odd as the light made the creature look, I think I understood. I thought of the anglerfish I had seen in a textbook from school, one of the many odd and amazing creatures that lived in the punishing depths of the deep sea. They too carried their lights with them, luring unsuspecting fish into their cavernous mouths.
Something about the light seemed to soothe the creature, and I watched it move freely around the room for the first time. It would stop here and there to sniff at the carpet, the door handle, the edge of the bed. It was careful to stay clear of me, and I was doubly careful to keep up my calm, steady breathing. It was, for me at least, an exhausting affair, and more than once, after growing impatient, I almost let myself drift off completely. It might sound insane, but the more I had a chance to really observe the thing, the less fearful it seemed. Once, when there was a popping sound, it turned toward the hallway and froze for a good five minutes before resuming its search. It was, without question, deathly afraid of being seen, and yet it was still here. There must have been some reason for it.
The creature sniffed its way over to my desk, a mere two feet away from where I slept, and it tried one of the drawers that I kept locked. There wasn’t any real reason to lock it, but something about having a hidden key made me feel grown up, as if I were finally old enough to have secrets to myself. For the first time, it sat upright, and I had to stifle another yelp when I saw how big it really was. It perched on its feet, resting like a baseball catcher, and in this position, the thing was nearly five feet tall. The long legs, ending in knobby, sharp knees, came up next to its shoulders as it turned its head this way and that, staring into the lock. It looked, for that brief moment, like the world’s biggest tree frog.
It straightened its back, and I thought it was stretching for a moment, but I soon saw what it was up to. Its shirt, an old, shabby-looking thing stitched with ancient material and ebony buttons, was lined with dozens of tiny pockets, two rows of them, stretching from neck to belt line. With a single finger, it reached up to the lantern and turned the light to one side. I realized it wasn’t a crown at all, but some gear-toothed mechanism that could be adjusted as needed. The gears of the headpiece clicked softly, and the lamp came to rest on the left side of its head, giving the Thief a better view of its work. Then it dipped into one of the pockets, fished out a handful of tiny tools, and slid them soundlessly into the lock.
Words can’t express how quickly the creature worked, how deft its fingertips were, but before I could realize exactly what it was doing, the drawer unlocked and slid open, and its contents were perused before it was shut and locked once more. The lock picking took less than two seconds, and the entire search through the drawers maybe ten. Then the tools were back in place, and its face was turned straight toward me. It had searched the room, sniffing around every corner of the place, and it all led here.
Me.
It lowered its strange, flat nose to the edge of the bed and began to lightly sniff. Every attempt to stay even, to keep up the ruse, began to unravel, and I felt my fingers twisting into tiny knots. I couldn’t fight this thing, this monster, not with its long, gangly arms, its massive, jagged teeth. But I was prepared to try. There was a moment when the head dipped so low, so very close to my face, that I was certain the gruesome mouth would open and tear out my throat.
Then it stepped over me, placing a hand so lightly on the bed that I couldn’t even feel it. The face went past mine, ignoring me completely before setting on something a foot behind my head. I held my breath as another hand crept past, alighting on the headboard, both feet following, sprawling its body above mine like a spider creeping down from above.
For the life of me, I couldn’t guess what it was doing, but I was still convinced it was just sinking into place, making sure it was exactly where it wanted to be before striking, finishing me without mercy.
Then I heard the sniffing. The face was low, so close that I could practically taste the smells that drifted off of it. Oil. Grease. Musty places, like the way Memphis smelled after chasing mice through the basement all day. Regardless of how close it was to me, of how powerless I felt, I realized in that moment that it barely even noticed me. The sniffs were getting louder now, deeper, like a little girl in a patch of flowers. It was enough to make a man pass out if he kept it up, and with some sense of horror, the truth hit me.
I had been so tired when I came in from school so many long hours ago, but I still had gone through the usual motions when getting ready for bed. I’d peeled my socks off, because I couldn’t stand to get hot in the middle of the night. I’d flipped on the aquarium, because I was so used to the extra light.
Most importantly of all, I’d gotten my bear, the old, green, moth-eaten gift from my mother, and placed it in bed next to me. And there it was, perched delicately, practically sleeping on its own pillow next to mine. As I rolled and tossed, as I always did, I’d drape an arm over it. That was all I needed to make it through the night, to know that there were good things in this world. That someone, at some point in time, loved me.
I don’t know if, up until that point, I had ever really internalized what that bear meant to me. Something about the way it had been tossed into the garage, swept away, a relic of a life that no longer existed. I never asked Dad why he put it away, but the look on his face when he realized I had found it had given me some ideas. He didn’t look mad, or even upset in any noticeable way. He just looked sad, the same way you might look if you came across a picture of someone you loved a long time ago. It was a pitiful face, and when I saw it, I made an effort then and there to hide the bear from him. To bring it in and out inside my backpack, to keep it up in my room instead of lying around where he might come across it.
I might not have really known just how dear my toy was, but I did know that it wasn’t something I wanted to give up, at least not without a fight. And the longer I waited, the more clear it became that the creature was here, not for me, but for my toy, just as it had come for Sallie’s pink doll.
The events of the day came back, and I remembered the trails, the fields, the woods, dragging the bear along, waving it around like meat in front of a starving dog. I could imagine that the Trails would be a nice place for this thing to hide. The way it sniffed, the way it hunted, it reminded me of a bloodhound. For reasons I could only guess at, my bear was a delicacy, something worth risking coming back here for, worth risking being seen, being caught, and I, stupid little Jack, had practically led it right into my bed.
Without thinking, I let a sigh escape from my lips. It was a single, deep breath, the sound of someone dangerously close to being roused from a deep sleep. I could hear the sniffing stop, and within the span of a second, the room was shrouded in darkness.