Subject: SUB: CONTEST: Avenging God Date: Tue, 1 Oct 96 7:50:36 MDT From: "Robyn Meta Herrington" Here is the first submission in our Halloween Contest. If you'd like to critique the story, please send crits to ME and NOT to the list. That way, what you might have to say won't influence other readers. -- RobynH --------------------------------------------------------- Avenging God ------------ (a homage to Robert Bloch) Ain't a teddy bear, Pastor. It's a Missy Bear. My frien' Bubba got it for me ... Wal, no, Pastor, mos' men don' keep stufft bears, but it's comp'ny an remin's me a Mr. Girard. So I keeps an eye on it an' it keeps an eye on me. Like las' month when Steely Portman was set ta ... Yeah. I know why you're here, Pastor. An' I know you heardt this from other guys where I'm at, but I didn' do it. I see 'em both die. I see Mr. Peter kill ol' Mr. Girard an' I see Mr. Peter killt, too. But I didn' do it. Huh? Yeah, I liket Mr. Girard. Tha's why I workt for 'im fifteen year. That's why I was there alla time. I swept up his workshop, mopt his floors, took out his trash. I washt walls an' I took them toys off she'fs an' dust 'em good ever week. I workt hard, I did, an' Mr. Girard 'ppreciate it. He gimme a room offa the back a the storage room with a cot an' a bathroom not far 'way. An' he give me towels an' let Bubba use the shower sometime, too. An' he see I didn' go hongry. So I workt hard for 'im six days a week, even af'er I'd drunk too much the night 'fore. I'd a done most anythin' for Mr. Girard an' he know it. He callt me frien', he did. He callt me frien' an' I ain't got no other frien's 'cept Bubba down at Gavan's Bar, an' he's a bottle frien'. We shares a bottle when one a us got scratch for ... Sure he was a good man. I 'mire Mr. Girard since I met 'im. I workt for 'im an' his brother back in 'twen'y-one. But Mr. Peter foun' me drunk one time an' kickt me outta the fact'ry, the son-a -- uh, sorry, Pastor. Mr. Girard was sore 'bout that. He liket me, liket my work. That's how come he hiret me right up af'er Mr. Peter firet me. He had nuthin' when he came here, y'know. Not a dime. His brother took their ol' man's fact'ry an' Mr. Girard got nuthin' but his smarts. So what's he do? Does he give up? Nah. He builts his own fact'ry. ... Wal, Mr. Peter stole the ol' fact'ry from 'im. That Mr. Peter's slick, an' conned Mr. Girard outta his share. I was workin' there still an' I heart some a the wors' god-awful rows--par'on me, Pastor, but they two got fightin' fierce. Seems they ol' man wantet Mr. Girard to run the place but Mr. Peter got 'im to sell stock, bought it up 'imself an' firet his own brother. I never heardt that from Mr. Girard, min' you, but that's what I piece t'gether from other places an' from what I heart. Y'know how it is, Pastor, when you got bad news 'hind you. It's like your shadow an' ever'one sees it soon or late. But he never complaint. Not to me, least ways. --Well, 'cept when he showt me some a Mr. Peter's toys one time. He cusst some, real loud and clear an' I was surpriset 'cause he wasn't one to cuss. So I ast him what's wrong an' he showt me a li'l car with sharp li'l screws stickin' out, an' a li'l tank an' a li'l doll house with sharp metal edges. He said they was Mr. Peter's toys. Lookit, he says, lookit here. Shoddy work. That's Peter. Shoddy. Li'l chillen all 'cross the country gonna cut theyselfs an' you think Peter'll get blamed? No. His lawyers'll protect 'im. There's not a chance he'll get blamed, not a chance in -- ah, wal, not a chance, Pastor. ... Oh, yeah. Mr. Peter. Wal, Pastor, I can't tell ya 'bout that day but what I tell a bit 'bout what happent 'fore then. Li'l over a year ago, Mr. Girard's gran'dotter had a birthday. Her fourth, as I rec'llect. So Mr. Girard thought an' thought an' he come up with a new toy for her. The Missy Bear. -- That's his gran'dotter's name. Missy. Best toy bear I ever see, what with this big pink bow an' brown eyes an' smile an' this li'l apron thing it wears. Never see a toy bear so sof' an' warm an' jus' the right size for a four-year-ol' to hol' an' hug an' wrastle with, an' 'most big as Missy. I was real taken with the Missy Bear, jus' like ever'one else was later, an' I ast Mr. Girard, how'd you make this? How'd you make a bear this warm an' nice? He said to me real jokey, Well, I'm warm an' nice, an' ever'thin' I make's got a li'l a me in it. An' somethin's more'n others. Well, oncet the Missy Bear got seen 'roun' town there wasn't nobody what didn' want one fer their chillens. Even Mr. Girard was surprist by that. He knew it was a good toy, but he didn' know it'd catch on that way. So he talked to Missy ... Yes, sir, yes, he did. Talkt to Missy and ast her leave to make more. She says sure, she like her frien's to have 'em, too. That's how the Missy doll got startet. It didn' take a year an' ever'one was clamberin' for Missy Bears. He got callt from bunches a comp'nies askin' if they could sell 'em all 'cross the country. Oh, that was a time, that was. It feel real good there at the fact'ry 'cause we both jus' knew this was it, this was the thing that'd put Mr. Girard back on top a the toy bus'ness. An' havin' them Missy Bears 'roun' was a joy, too. It's funny but that ol' fact'ry was jus' a good place to work for years, but put those bears linin' the she'fs an' it felt more comf'table, homey a'most. I'd go bed at night a'most feelin' watcht over. Jus' like since Bubba give me this 'un. But the 'tention we was gettin' meant money, an' that meant Mr. Peter knew 'bout it, an' that meant Mr. Peter'd come see Mr. Girard. I heardt that big new Packard purrin' a mile 'way, even in the woods 'long the road. You could hear it jus' like it was a'ready outside the door, an' when it pullt up at the door it shook the buildin'. I knowed it was Mr. Peter 'fore I saw 'im. He a'ways liket them big, pow'ful cars. Well, Mr. Peter gets out an' poun's the door like it's 'gainst the law to lock him outta where he's a mind to be, so I opent it an' he pushes pas' me into the workshop an' he says real loud, Emile-- that's Mr. Girard's name--Emile, why you keep that ol' rummy 'roun'? You could get a good worker with the money you pays him. Mr. Girard, he says, 'Cause John's a good man, he works hard an' he's my frien'. Jus' like that, jus' like he knew what Mr. Peter was gonna say an' he had an' answer he didn' have ta think 'bout. Anyway, I figure they gonna talk some, prob'ly family talk, so's I walkt on through the storage room an' into my room. But as I walkt, I heardt Mr. Peter say, Emile, I figure I outta tell you this myse'f. I figure I outta let you know I'm gonna buy you out. Now, there's nothin' you can do to stop me since I want that Missy Bear an' inten' to have it, but what with all we been through, I figure I owe you that. What's a fair price? -- No. That's what Mr. Peter said. Maybe he figurt weren't no use tryin' to get 'roun' Mr. Girard. Maybe he figurt Mr. Girard know what he got an' he know it stand to make him big in toys jus' like he was 'fore Mr. Peter took the business 'way from 'im. Maybe he even felt bad 'bout before. I don' know. I jus' know what he said. Anyway, hearin' that, I lef' the door open a mite so I'd hear 'im if Mr. Girard need me. I didn' hear them no more 'til they startet yellin'. I never seen Mr. Girard so workt up as when I lookt out that door. ... Oh, the storage room's parta the workshop, split off with some she'fs. My room's straight back, so lookin' out my door I could see 'em pretty good. By then Mr. Girard was shakin' a fire engine an' sayin', Mr. Peter--on'y he don't call him Mr. Peter but somethin' I can't say front a you, Pastor--Mr. Peter, you forget it. You ain't gettin' nuthin' more a mine. An' I don' wanna make no crappy toys like this. An' he shook the fire engine some more an' you hear it rattlin' like somethin' loose inside. Mr. Girard wouldn' make nothin' like that. Emile, Mr. Peter says, use your head. I can make alla Missy Bears anybody'd want an' I can do it so's we both make a bundle off'n it. Bundle? Mr. Girard yells. An' you gonna make this bundle the same way you make your other crap, so they fall 'part in a year? Mr. Peter smilet. All front teeth in place an' even as the edge a that Bible, Pastor, an' whiter than the paper, but not a kindly smile. There was somethin' wrong 'bout it, like it was coverin' over mad. He says, Now, Emile, our fight was years 'go. Ain't you past it yet. We gettin' too ol' to fight anymore. We can both make a fortune offa this. That's where Mr. Girard jus' cut him off. Get out, he yells at Mr. Peter an' hits 'im in the chest with the fire truck. I think it even cut his suit. An' then Mr. Girard pusht 'im toward the door but Mr. Peter staggert an' fell. That's it, Emile, Mr. Peter says. No more. Don' you hit me no more. That's whats a'ways kept you poor. You got brains for toys but not business. I'm here to he'p. We can make big money. I see his eyes when he got up an' he was close to swingin', but holdin' it in. On'y Mr. Girard don' see it. I figurt I better get out there, but I was too late. 'Fore I got outta the storage room Mr. Girard yellt at him to shut up an' shovet him at the door 'gain, an' Mr. Peter, he's mad, maybe madder'n anyone I ever see wasn't drunk an' he swung that big ham han' a his an' slapt ol' Mr. Girard hard, then backhanded 'im. Now, Pastor, I never liket Mr. Peter, but I don' think he was tryin' to kill Mr. Girard. He jus' got mad an' was tryin' to keep Mr. Girard from punchin' an' shovin' an' didn' think how Mr. Girard was ten years older'n him an' no where near as strong. Even so, they tell me Mr. Girard died a heart attack an' he wouldn' a had one if Mr. Peter hadn' hit 'im. First thing Mr. Peter's on the floor callin' Emile, Emile, his voice real trembly an' he grabs holt a Mr. Girard's wrist an' I can tell he don't fin' nuthin' 'cause he drops the wrist an' puts his ear on Mr. Girard's chest an' then he's up an' backin' 'way. I musta made a noise. I know I did, 'cause I found my mouth open an' Mr. Peter lookin' at me. He lookt at me an' shook his head, his mouth open, an' he looks back at Mr. Girard. An' then some other look comes over his face an' he looks at me an' starts comin' at me. John, he says, John I need your help. We can save 'im if we carry 'im into my car an' drive 'im to the hospital. On'y I know he's dead, I know Mr. Peter's lyin' an' I figure maybe he figures he's killt one man today an' that his brother, what difference if he kills two, the other a rummy no one'd miss anyway? I duckt back into my room, slam an' lockt the door an' while Mr. Peter kickt at it, startet shinnyin' out the back winder. I was gonna run fast I could, gonna fin' the cops. 'Cept alla sudden the kickin' stopt an' Mr. Peter stopt yellin' -- Well, Pastor, I was scart. I figurt it was my day to die an' it wouldn' be no better for me than Mr. Girard. I knew I was shakin' an' I triet to stop myse'f an' breath real quiet so's I could hear Mr. Peter. An' I did. I heardt him say, What the hell? I didn' know Emile made anything mechanical. Sorry, Pastor, but that's what he said. An' it wasn't what he said so much as the sound a his voice that kept me from jumpin' outta the winder an' runnin'. He soundet surprist. Not scart. Maybe concerned. Maybe that's the word. But not scart. Not yet. ... Midnight? A'ready? No. No, it can't be. I'm not done yet. Lemme finish ... I -- I'll try to talk while we walk, Pastor. Anyways, I dropt back in from where I sit on the winder an' I crackt open the door an' lookt an' I saw him right off, a few feet from the door, lookin' 'roun' at the she'fs but I couldn' right off see what he was talkin' 'bout. Then I did. We been workin' hours an' hours makin' them Missy Bears an' the she'fs was loadt with 'em waitin' for the buyer to come an' get 'em. An' there stood Mr. Peter in 'mong the she'fs an' all those marbly brown eyes seemed aimed at him an' all those she'fs was movin'. But not the she'fs, Pastor. The dolls. They was all inchin' they way off the she'fs. I riskt openin' the door more an' I saw there was dolls all over the floor. Mostly Missy Bears but some others, too, right behin' 'em. Furry bear an' cat an' dog an' lion dolls, an' plasticy li'l boy an' li'l girl dolls, an' even some tin soldiers with rifles. There was dozens of 'em on the floor an' I could hear the tap tap tap a the soldiers walkin' an' the slide a the furry ones crawlin' an' they was all headin' for Mr. Peter, on'y he didn' seem to know that. He didn' seem to un'erstan' 'til the soldiers jabt at him with their rifles. Oh, he yellt then, an' hopt 'way, an' startet kickin' at 'em an' that got rid a few of 'em, but there was more an' more comin' for every kick an' the Missy Bears tangled his feet an' he fell. That's when his screamin' really startet, Pastor. For 'while, then it quiet down, mufflt, like somethin' in his mouth. Then it stopt. I didn' kill 'im, Pastor. I mean, if I'd a killt him I'd a slapt his head with a hammer. Or maybe I'd a stabt him with one a our carvin knifes. But I wouldn' a done it for vengence 'cause I don' think he wantet to kill Mr. Girard. That was a accident. I'd a on'y killt him fightin' 'im off an' I'd never a done what was done to 'im. An' besides, Pastor, 'cept for my shoes, there warn't no blood on me. How could I kill a man like he was killt an' not have blood all over me when the cops showt? I couldn'. -- Nah. No blin'fol'. Pastor, I want ya to know, I don't blame them toys none. "Vengence is mine, sayeth the Lord", right, Pastor? But what do dolls know 'bout that? No, I don' blame 'em. No way they know what become a me af'er they done it. An' they were prob'ly hurt an' angry when they killt 'im. I mean, he took 'way their maker an' they know Mr. Girard lovt 'em. But they don' know nuthin' 'bout this. They jus' triet to take care a Mr. Peter the way they'd take care a one of they own, so they jus' tore the stuffin' outta 'im. -- the end -- -------+++++++-------+++++++ +++++++-------+++++++------- SENT BY: REPLY TO: Robyn Herrington Operations Manager, Microforms Services University of Calgary, MacKimmie Library Ph: (403)220-6903 http://www.ucalgary.ca/~rmherrin rmherrin@acs.ucalgary.ca -------+++++++-------+++++++--------------+++++++-------+++++++-------