[Halloween] Terror of the Toys
Reynald Jon Stark has had a very exciting, very tiring day. In the morning, after breakfast, he ran around in circles until he got dizzy and fell over. Then he went searching for treasure, a successful quest in which he found an abandoned bird's nest, a small army of ants marching determinedly in formation toward an anthill, and a shiny blue seashell. He made a sandcastle, pretended to be a ferocious dinosaur chasing Grey Wind (who didn't seem to find him terribly frightening, but was sometimes at least willing to play) and finally helped grill fish for dinner, which he mostly did by watching them very intently to make sure they didn't burn or escape.
With all this adventuring, it's no wonder that he's too tired to argue when Papa says he has to go to bed. He stalls a little, but carefully arranging the new stuffed animals from the carnival around his room in a circle. He never knew it was possible to have so many toys, but it seemed that every time one of his family came back from the carnival, they'd just happened to win something, and would give it to him. His favourites, not that he should have favourites, are a pink giraffe with googly eyes and a monkey wearing pyjamas that's almost as tall as Reynald himself. He bids a cheerful goodnight to each one, and curls up in his bed.
It's before dawn when he wakes up, feeling a little strange, as though someone were watching him. He opens his eyes, without moving from under the blankets, and the grey morning light filtering through the edges of his window make the circle of toys look sinister and scary. Button eyes glint suspiciously, as if watching him. He thinks he sees the monkey's head move.
Be brave. Be brave. Be big. Be brave. Reynald repeats the instruction to himself over and over, but really just wants to huddle deeper underneath the blankets. The oppressive feeling of being watched, possibly as if he were dinner, settles heavily over him and he curls up as small as he can. Because Reynald is not quite three, and he is not big, and sometimes he is not brave. And then, his eyes wide with terror and a scream stuck in his throat, he watches the monkey's head spin slowly around and fix him him with a vicious, beady stare.
The circle begins to close in as all of the toys move.
The scream ceases to be stuck, and Reynald shrieks at the top of his lungs.
With all this adventuring, it's no wonder that he's too tired to argue when Papa says he has to go to bed. He stalls a little, but carefully arranging the new stuffed animals from the carnival around his room in a circle. He never knew it was possible to have so many toys, but it seemed that every time one of his family came back from the carnival, they'd just happened to win something, and would give it to him. His favourites, not that he should have favourites, are a pink giraffe with googly eyes and a monkey wearing pyjamas that's almost as tall as Reynald himself. He bids a cheerful goodnight to each one, and curls up in his bed.
It's before dawn when he wakes up, feeling a little strange, as though someone were watching him. He opens his eyes, without moving from under the blankets, and the grey morning light filtering through the edges of his window make the circle of toys look sinister and scary. Button eyes glint suspiciously, as if watching him. He thinks he sees the monkey's head move.
Be brave. Be brave. Be big. Be brave. Reynald repeats the instruction to himself over and over, but really just wants to huddle deeper underneath the blankets. The oppressive feeling of being watched, possibly as if he were dinner, settles heavily over him and he curls up as small as he can. Because Reynald is not quite three, and he is not big, and sometimes he is not brave. And then, his eyes wide with terror and a scream stuck in his throat, he watches the monkey's head spin slowly around and fix him him with a vicious, beady stare.
The circle begins to close in as all of the toys move.
The scream ceases to be stuck, and Reynald shrieks at the top of his lungs.