Tales From The Wyrd Museum 1: The Woven Path (7 page)

Throughout the whole of this one sided argument, Neil had stared at the living toy transfixed with a mixture of horror and fascination. His initial shock had faded and a fierce indignation at the insulting names the creature had called him now burned within him.

A great sigh puffed from the bear's mouth when he turned his attention to Neil again. A sheepish grin spread over the fleecy face and the bear shrugged meekly.

‘I tried, kid,’ he said, 'you heard me, I tried but they won't listen.’

Finally Neil found his voice.

‘What... what are you?’ he asked.

‘Hang it all!’ the bear cussed scornfully. ‘You blind or what? What in sam hell d'ya think I am?’

‘You look like a teddy bear.’

‘Give him a kewpie doll!’ the creature cried, clapping his paws together in sarcastic applause. ‘Had me worried fer a minute then, kid, no mistakin’ that. Now, hit me with another!’

Neil didn't care for the toy's mocking tone, but it was all so extraordinary and preposterous that he couldn't help asking stupid and obvious questions. 'Teddy bears don't speak,’ he said plainly, ‘or move their arms.’

A loud groan came from the cabinet as the creature fell backwards.

‘Jeezus!’ he wailed. ‘The kid's a genius, wire the president, it's front page news!’

Neil's face became stern and he finally picked himself up from the floor.

‘Well they don't!’ he shouted.

Slowly, the creature lifted his head, then rolled over. Placing a paw on the pile of old newspapers he lumbered to his feet and took three shambling steps towards the front of the case.

‘You better wise up, kid,’ he warned in a threatening voice, ‘and do it quick, ‘cos there ain't room for no morons in this outfit—you got that?’

Before Neil could answer, the creature continued. ‘OK, you wanna know what I am, right? What I'm doin’ here? How? Why? When? All the usual junk yeah? OK, listen up ‘cos this'll be the only time, got that?’

‘I’m listening,’ the boy answered.

Placing his paws behind his back, the bear began to pace up and down behind the glass.

‘Sure,’ he droned, ‘I’m a teddy bear. Yeah I can move, I got intelligence—more than most folks round here by the looks of things. I can talk, swear like a trooper and love the smell of coffee. I've been stuck in this daffy place way too long an’ I want out—like yesterday. What else you wanna know?’

‘But how can you do all that?’ Neil asked. ‘I don't understand...’

‘Hell, kid!’ the bear snarled. ‘What is there to understand? You ain't supposed to know why, just accept it. I think, therefore I'm a bear—is that too difficult? When was the last time you asked yourself why
you
could get off your butt and walk around? It just is, that's all.’

'That's different.’

‘No it ain't. Look, you gonna spend the rest of the day arguin’ or what? Does it matter if I'm a teddy bear? You got a problem with that? You prejudiced against speaking to me—think yer better'n me?’

‘Of course not, I ... I don't even believe I'm having this conversation. Have—have you always been like this—are there other toys .. . ?’

The bear let out an exasperated wail and pulled on his furry ears. 'This ain't no kindergarten story!’ he snorted. ‘What, you think on the stroke of midnight, when the grown-ups have gone out, the nursery comes to life? The only one here visited by the pixies is you, kid. You been watching too much Hollywood crapola. Plug in your brain. I'm gonna say this once and for all, there ain't no Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny's a load of hooey, cartoons ain't real life, I don't care who says so but Eddie Cantor just ain't funny and you're lookin’ at the one and only bear with a hankerin’ for Betty Grable this side o’ Mars. Before you think it—I ain't no alien either! Christ but you're dumb.’

He folded his arms and waited for the boy to respond but the only remark Neil could manage to utter as he fought to accept the strange sight before him was, ‘You’ve got a foul mouth, whatever you are.’

‘Hey, I ain't no Joan of Arc either.’

Neil chewed his bottom lip. ‘Have you got a name?’ he asked.

The bear seemed taken aback by this and the stitched mouth opened as if he was about to tell, then he checked himself and with a self-conscious cough said, ‘You er... you just call me Ted, OK?’

'Ted?’ Neil repeated. That's not very original.’

‘Best I can do, kid. Now, you finished asking the damn questions?’

‘Not really,’ the boy replied, “you still haven't explained anything...’

Shrieking at the top of his voice, the bear flew at the glass in a rage of frustration, but he immediately reeled backwards when one of his stumpy feet gave the pane an impotent kick. A soft thud vibrated the cabinet as the toy fell amongst the papers, where he remained still and motionless.

‘Are you all right?’ Neil eventually asked when there was still no sign of movement. ‘Are you hurt? Hello?’

The bear remained absolutely still and the boy's concern mounted. Taking a step closer, he stared into the case, but Ted looked like any ordinary stuffed toy and he began to think he really was going round the twist.

‘Hello,’ he said again. ‘Can you hear me, what's wrong?’

The limp body gave a jerk as a mournful laugh burst from the bear's mouth.

‘What's wrong he asks!’ Ted cried, sitting upright and gazing sorrowfully out at the boy.

‘Can't you see?’ he muttered with a forlorn sniff as he waved a paw around the display. ‘How'd you like to be cooped up in here year after year? I'm goin’ stir-crazy, kid—if I have to spend one more week locked up, I'll go bananas.’

The anguish in the bear's voice was unmistakable and genuine. Neil had heard it once before when his mother left home and this unpleasant memory flustered him.

‘You listening to me, kid?’

Neil blinked then nodded. Well... well why don't you get out of there?’ he murmured.

The bear pulled himself on to his feet. “Tain't that easy,’ he admitted, looking the boy squarely in the face. ‘I can't do it on my own, I need help. So, I'm asking you, let me outta here—please.’

‘You want me to do it?’

‘I'd prefer Veronica Lake but she ain't available. C'mon, lemme out.’

Neil ran his hands over the cabinet, searching for a catch to release the front panel. ‘How does this thing open?’ he asked. ‘I can't find...’

‘What the hell you doin’?’ Ted shrieked impatiently. There ain't time fer that—those dippy broads keep all the keys and there's no way they'll give them to you. Just break the goddamn glass!’

Neil stared in at the bear for a moment then backed away. ‘Oh, I couldn't do that,’ he said, ‘my dad's the caretaker here, I can't go smashing things.’

‘Oh brother!’ Ted cried. ‘I must have the only responsible kid in the world here. Who made you so old? Look, if you knew what I was goin’ through you wouldn't be stood there gawkin’—this glass'd be spilled all over the floor and yours truly'd be gone.’

‘Where would you go?’

Ted hit a woolly fist against the pane and hung his head. ‘Mebbe you should ask me when,’ he muttered darkly. ‘Aw—kid, trust me, I simply gotta break out.’

Neil considered all he had been told but finally he shook his head. ‘I'm sorry,’ he said, ‘I can't. My dad needs this job.’

‘A job!’ Ted yelled, growing more and more impassioned. There's more at stake here than a measly janitor's job, kid! The putz—sorry, your father, can get work someplace else.’

‘You don't know my dad,’ Neil put in.

But Ted would not be placated. ‘I gotta get back!’ he screamed, hammering on the shuddering pane. ‘I gotta! You're my only hope! The one chance I've been waiting fer since God knows when. Please, I'm beggin’ you, just do it.’

The bear buried his face in his paws and looked such a pathetic figure that Neil gently put his hand on the glass that separated them and promised to think about it.

‘Don't cry,’ he said, surprised that he should feel so sorry for Ted and his predicament. ‘I’ll think of a way to get you out without smashing anything.’

Ted turned a sullen face to him. ‘I’m a teddy bear, kid,’ he muttered defensively, ‘as in, made from fur and stuffed with kapok. I don't eat, never go to the John and I certainly don't cry—OK?’

The sound of footsteps suddenly interrupted them and a man's voice called the boy’s name.

‘Neil?’ the recognisably uncertain tones of Mr Chapman echoed through The Egyptian Suite. ‘You there, son?’

That's my dad,’ Neil said. ‘Let's ask him if he can wangle a key out of Miss Webster.’

He turned towards the doorway but a hiss from Ted brought him sharply back.

‘You crazy?’ the bear cried. ‘Don't you go sayin’ nothin’. You say one word about me and you get yourself a rubber room with half a dozen shrinks starin’ in at yer.’

‘But you can show them,’ Neil insisted. ‘Once people see you...’

‘I ain't no freak show, kid,’ Ted hissed out of the corner of his mouth, smartly sitting down as Mr Chapman entered. ‘I do my act fer you an’ that's all—got that? Now keep shtum, here's your old man.’

‘Neil,’ Mr Chapman called, dragging a reluctant Josh behind him, ‘what happened? What did you go off for? I've been looking for you for ages, I've got work to do you know. If you want to wander round take your brother with you.’

‘Er ... sorry, Dad,’ the boy began, glancing quickly down at the motionless stuffed toy in the cabinet, ‘I just wanted to—well, it won't happen again.’

‘I’ll leave Josh here with you then,’ Mr Chapman said. ‘I've got to see Miss Webster at ten, then make a start up here.’

‘Look, Dad!’ Josh squealed with mawkish glee. ‘Baby heads on strings!’

Neil desperately wanted a final word with Ted and it was obvious the bear would say nothing with anyone else present. ‘Dad,’ he piped up, ‘could you take Josh back to the flat? There's something I want to do here first, I'll be along in a second, I promise.’

‘What are you up to?’ Mr Chapman asked. ‘You haven't broken anything, have you? These things might look tatty, Neil, but they could be worth thousands—oh God, don't tell me you've broken something!’

‘I haven't!’ the boy assured him. ‘Honest, I was ... I was just reading about... about these frog skeletons, they're really interesting. I won't be able to concentrate if Josh is here.’

His father's nose pinching ceased and he breathed a grateful sigh of relief. ‘All right,’ he agreed. ‘Strewth, there's a right lot of rubbish in here, isn't there? Still, be careful and I'll see you downstairs in five minutes.’

Mr Chapman left, dragging the unwilling four-year-old with him.

‘I want to see the skellingtons too!’ Josh complained.

When he was alone again Neil turned back to Ted.

‘Nice family,’ the bear chuckled. ‘Yer pa sure knows how to dress—great hair too.’

‘You leave my dad alone!’ Neil warned.

‘Hey, I'm sorry, OK?’ Ted cried. ‘I've been out of it for fifty years, what do I know about fashion? Yer old man's a great guy—a little funny lookin’ but swell all the same.’

Neil stared at the animated creature angrily. ‘Shut up!’ he demanded.

‘Cute kid though,’ Ted continued. Was that half-pint your brother or what? Let's hope he don't end up like your pa—or you, even. Poor little runt, don't stand much of a chance, do he?’

‘Why am I listening to you?’ Neil cried, stepping back from the cabinet. ‘I don't need this right now. You just leave me and my family alone. You were right, Father Christmas doesn't exist and I'm too old to play with teddy bears, so you can forget it. I don't know what I'm doing here. You want to get out? You do it without my help. I've had enough of you already.’

Ted leapt to his feet in alarm. 'What you doin’?’ he called as Neil hurried to the door. ‘Don't run out on me, kid! Hey, I thought we had a deal, you were gonna let me out! Don't go! Don't go! I got me a big mouth, I'm sorry. Stop, will ya?’

Sternly, Neil glanced over his shoulder at the glass case. ‘If you're as smart as you think you are, then you don't need me!’

‘Kid!’ Ted yelled. ‘You come back here! Dammit! Let me out! Let me out! You gotta do this—it's all worked out!’

With the bear's curses ringing in his ears as he stormed from The Separate Collection, Neil swore to himself that he would never enter that room again.

‘Aw kid!’ Ted whimpered, sliding miserably amongst the newspapers. ‘Ya shouldn'ta done that.’

Dejected and heaving melancholy sighs, the bear tugged at the ribbon around his neck and blew a forlorn raspberry. What could he do now?

Then, very slowly, a dangerous glint flickered in the glass eyes and a soft, roguish snigger gently shook his shoulders. ‘Didn't leave me no choice did he?’ Ted chuckled to himself.

Neil spent the rest of that day in the apartment with Josh but was too preoccupied with his own thoughts to take much notice of what his brother was doing. Only later did he discover that the little boy had mischievously scrawled on every football poster he could reach. Fortunately for him, Neil was too busy thinking about Ted to be annoyed and this unexpected, yet welcome, lack of concern spurred Josh on to greater crimes.

Brimming with malicious delight, he took several of his father's books from the shelf and scribbled indelible expanses of black crayon inside them. When Mr Chapman finished work, he was surprised at first that Neil hadn't started making tea—then he noticed what Josh had done.

‘Neil!’ he yelled, snatching his favourite book on steam trains from Josh and staring at the defaced treasure in horror. “What on earth do you think you were doing? Couldn't you see what he was up to? Blood and sand, lad—it's ruined! Why didn't you stop him? Do you know how much this was? I can't afford to get another one.’

Brian Chapman stomped about the poky living room, waving his gangly arms in the air and pointing accusingly at his eldest son. Meanwhile, Josh slunk into the bedroom and waited for the storm to pass.

‘How could you let him?’ Mr Chapman continued to rant. ‘I thought I could rely on you. I don't understand it, you're supposed to be responsible, for God's sake!’

Up till then, Neil had borne the censure in silence. Now he glared at his father and shouted back at him so fiercely that the man was astonished.

‘Stop it!’ the boy roared. ‘Why are you blaming me? Josh was the one who did it—you never yell at him though, do you? No, if anything goes wrong it's my fault! You're always relying on me! Why can't you do something for a change? Other fathers do! No wonder Mum ran out. She said she couldn't stand you any more—I wish she'd taken me with her. I'm sick to death of it, too. I don't want to be relied on. Why can't people find someone else? I've had enough!’

Angrily, Neil stormed from the apartment, only to find himself inside the museum and, with an irritated grunt, realised that this was the very last place he wanted to be.

Two days passed in which Mr Chapman continued to sulk and brood, whilst Neil tried to forget all about the strange creature in The Separate Collection. He had almost managed to convince himself that it was a peculiar hallucination when a chance remark from Josh compelled him to think otherwise.

For most of the morning, he had entertained his younger brother. First of all they had played in the yard and Josh immediately hurried to the drinking fountain to inspect the masses of fading flowers placed beneath it.

‘Look!’ he cried. ‘A garden, a garden!’

Into the mound of bouquets he waded, grabbing handfuls of petals and thrusting his nose into the heart of the brightest blooms. Neil couldn't help laughing; most of the flowers were wilting and they drooped sadly when the toddler brandished them in his mittens but this didn't deter him. Shrieking joyously, he danced and jumped, twirling them over his head like sparklers and flinging them as high as he could manage.

‘You're making a mess!’ Neil chuckled. ‘Get out of there.’

Josh traipsed out of the colourful chaos he had created. Broken stems dangled limply from the collar of his coat, fallen leaves were tangled in his fair hair and, when he shambled from the wreckage, the grips of his shoes dragged a number of bedraggled bouquets after him.

Pulling the floppy stalks from his clothing, he peered at the large image of a tree made solely from petals and turned an excited face to his brother.

‘Neil,’ he whispered, ‘is that a magic picture?’

Neil tapped him on the head with a bunch of browning daffodils. ‘Don't be soft, there's no such thing.’

‘Yes there is,’ Josh told him with a superior air, ‘this place is full of magic’

‘If you say so.’

‘It is!’

Neil wiped his forehead where a splash of water had landed. ‘It's starting to rain,’ he grumbled, ‘come on you, back inside.’

Josh glowered at him mutinously. There is, too, magic,’ he breathed, ‘I seen it.’

Back in the apartment, Neil read a book whilst his brother emptied a bag of toys on the floor and quietly began to play with them.

After half an hour, Neil laid the book down and looked round to see what Josh was up to.

The four-year-old was sitting behind the settee with the fluffy polar bear he usually took to bed propped up on its hind legs before him. Unaware that he was being observed, Josh whispered and beckoned to the stuffed animal, staring at it the entire time with unusual concentration on his expectant face.

Neil had never seen him play like that before.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked finally.

Josh raised his eyes, pouting with impatience and confusion. ‘I wanted to show you,’ he burbled, ‘Why won't it work?’

‘What won't?’

‘Groofles,’ came the perplexed reply, ‘he won't wake up.’

Neil groaned and tried to remember if he had been as childish when he was that age. Picking the book up once more he gladly abandoned Josh to whatever nonsense he was playing.

From behind the settee the child's plaintive voice resumed speaking to the polar bear.

‘Say “hello” Groofles,’ he instructed, “you can do it. Go on, like the other one does. Say “hello”.’

Neil's book was thrown to the floor as he raced round to grip Josh by the shoulders.

‘What did you say?’ he demanded. ‘What “other one”? What do you mean, Josh?’

The toddler gazed at him in bewilderment. ‘Let me go!’ he squealed. That hurts, I'll tell Dad.’

But a dreadful suspicion had stolen over Neil and he grasped his brother's arms even tighter and shook him. 'Tell me,’ he shouted, ‘has someone been telling you that toys can talk? Who was it? It's important, Josh, you've got to tell me. Was it when you were with Dad yesterday?’

Josh nodded.

‘What happened, did someone speak to you?’

‘Might've.’

‘Did they?’

‘You'll make fun of me.’

‘I won't, I promise.’

‘Will!’

‘Honest. Tell me, who was it? What was it?’

The child stared straight into Neil's eyes and in a tiny, yet defiant voice he said, ‘It was a teddy!’

Neil released him and looked away.

‘It's true!’ Josh insisted. ‘It was an old teddy with a ribbon. He said he was magic and wanted to play with me. Said I could wish for anything, but Dad came and he said I wasn't to tell!’

By now Neil's head was in his hands and he was thinking wildly. When he next turned his face to Josh, it was scared and his voice was trembling and anxious.

‘Listen,’ he said frantically, ‘you're not to go into that room where you saw that thing again. Do you understand me?’

‘Why?’

‘Because it's dangerous, Josh, you've got to swear not to go there!’

‘S'only a teddy.’

‘Don't argue, just do what I say.’

‘But. . .’

‘Promise me!’

‘I promise,’ Josh said solemnly, but as he spoke he hid his hand so that Neil couldn't see his crossed fingers.

When Mr Chapman returned, Neil hurried up to the Separate Collection and stormed over to the cabinet that contained Ted.

The bear was sitting in his usual corner with a blank expression on his fleecy face.

Neil gave the case a sound thump with his fist that rattled the contents and made Ted jiggle from side to side.

‘How dare you speak to my little brother!’ Neil fumed. ‘You leave him alone! Do you hear me? I don't know what you're up to but no way would I ever help you now.’

The bear made no response, he remained motionless and stared fixedly ahead like any other stuffed toy. Neil found this even more infuriating and he slapped the cabinet's sides.

‘Fine!’ he bawled. ‘If you want to play dumb, go ahead! But believe me, if I find out you've spoken to Josh again, I'll have you out of there so fast you won't know what's happening and I'll shove you straight into the nearest fire. You got that?’ he shouted at the top of his voice. ‘Answer me! Answer me!’

‘What is the meaning of this?’ rapped a grim voice suddenly.

Neil whirled around and there was Miss Ursula Webster advancing towards him.

The old woman's face was flushed an indignant and angry purple. ‘I will not have this!’ she cried, bearing down upon him, the nostrils of her long nose flaring like a snorting horse and her lips curling back over her brown teeth. ‘You are a vandal, Child—nothing more. I cannot begin to comprehend what you were trying to do, thankfully my mind does not plumb such iniquitous depths.’

‘I wasn't going to break anything!’ Neil told her.

‘Liar!’ she rasped back. Without warning, her bony hand flashed out and caught him by the hair which she tugged and twisted in her grasp. ‘I saw enough to satisfy me that you were about to smash your way into this case and destroy one of the exhibits. Is that any way to repay me for giving your bumbling fool of a parent an honest position?’

Neil struggled to be free of the old woman's claw-like grip. But her fingers were as strong as iron and no matter how much he squirmed she would not let go and it felt as though she was trying to tear the scalp from his skull.

‘Little boys always bring trouble and heartache!’ she snapped vehemently. They are dirty, lying, filthy beasts—no better than disease-carrying bluebottles. That's what you are, Child, a germ-ridden bluebottle who requires swatting. No, not even that, for the Canaanites believed they were the transporters of human souls. You are far beneath that—you are the maggot the insect carries in its belly. A lowly, creeping, crawling worm, that's all you are; a filament of putrid flesh writhing and burrowing within its own slimy phlegm.’

‘Get off!’ Neil called having to stand on tiptoe to ease the torture of his hair. ‘I wasn't going to break the glass, I swear!’

‘But you did break it!’ Miss Ursula snarled. ‘You trespassed and entered where you were forbidden to tread!’

Neil looked back at the cabinet. The woman was unhinged, the glass wasn't broken. To make matters worse, he saw that a smug grin had appeared on Ted's face.

‘Deny it if you dare,’ Miss Ursula badgered, ‘but if I find you smashing any more windows or if you so much as touch another pipe, let alone ripping it from the wall, I will have to take the most severe of measures. Is that understood, my little maggot?’

‘You're mad!’ Neil shouted. ‘I don't know what you're talking about.’

Scorn and disdain twisted the woman's face as she shoved him roughly away from her. ‘Get you home,’ she spat, wiping her hand on her coal black gown, ‘and be assured that I will speak to your father about this.’

Neil rubbed the top of his sore head. Unable to bring himself to say anything more to the insane baggage, he stole one final, warning glance at Ted and ran from the room.

When Mr Chapman finished work that afternoon, Miss Ursula sought him out and told him that she had caught his son in an act of wanton vandalism. Brian could hardly believe it but she was so emphatic that his faith in Neil began to waver. As soon as he returned home he accused his son of doing all that she had said and would not listen to any of his protestations.

Neil was sent to bed early, even before Josh, and he lay there cursing Miss Webster and the whole wretched museum. His entire life had been turned upside down during the past week and he was startled when he realised how extremely sorry for himself he was feeling.

Presently, Josh crawled in beside him, gloating that his older brother had been punished. Neil gave an irritated grunt as he tried to ignore him and sulkily turned on to his side.

Maliciously, the four-year-old giggled into Groofles’ ear and pointedly repeated their father's scornful tirade with the utmost satisfaction.

‘Shut it, squirt!’ Neil rumbled, aiming a swift kick under the bedclothes.

Josh gave the polar bear a gleeful squeeze, then threw himself against the pillows.

Outside, the moon was swollen with ghostly radiance and ringed with a bright and frosty halo. Yet the heavens were crowded with thick clouds that hugged and pressed around the wintry disc, scurrying before her face and causing deep voids of travelling shadow upon the world below.

Lost in the ever changing gloom, the Wyrd Museum sat silent and watchful. The turrets and spikes that speared from its roof knifed and jabbed at the blackness, then gleamed icily in the silver moonlight as the empty night slowly deepened.

The room was dark when Neil awoke. Several disorientated moments passed as his vision swam in the gloom and he rubbed his eyes wearily. His sleep had been fitful and haunted with nightmare images of Miss Ursula Webster who dragged him round the whole of the museum on a short lead and beat him with a stick before each exhibit.

His scalp was throbbing. That barmy old woman was dangerous, it wasn't safe for her to be loose. Well—she wouldn't get a second go at him, he was absolutely determined to keep out of her way in future.

Warbling a great yawn, he tried to recapture the fleeting fragments of sleep. Snuggling deeper into the warm bedclothes, he waited for the inevitable drowsiness to conquer him, but it was no use and the harder he tried, the further away the elusive slumber slipped.