by Patrick Boyton
Charlie sat in bed; his laptop balanced on his soft belly, and changed his Facebook status from “In a Relationship” to “Single”. He snapped his computer shut with a sigh and placed it on the cheap, IKEA end table. Lying in bed, unable to sleep, he looked around his tiny apartment. The light from the sodium vapor streetlamp outside seeped through the blinds and cast orange strips across the bare, white walls. Karen had taken all the grown-up stuff with her. The hardcover books. The Van Gogh print with the almond blossoms. The Pistachio KitchenAid mixer. Charlie was left with a plasma television and a freezer full of Hot Pockets.
Wide-eyed, he stared at the ceiling, waiting for the Ambien to kick in. Did I forget to take it? he wondered. He was having trouble remembering things since the break-up. Charlie’s doctor told him it was a symptom of the depression and prescribed Lexapro, but that only seemed to make him feel worse (nausea, sweating, headaches). Charlie thought about getting up and popping another sleeping pill. If he had indeed taken one an hour ago, the second would make 20 mg. Hell, why not make it 40 mg? he thought grimly. Do I hear 60? 80? 100 mg! Sold to the 32 year old loser with the dead-end job and no girlfriend. Sleep tight, buddy!
The negative thoughts racing around Charlie’s brain slowed to a crawl and finally puttered out around five-thirty in the morning. As he watched the soft, morning light fall across the windowsill, Charlie’s mind drifted back to his bedroom growing up. The Return of the Jedi poster. The light-up globe his grandmother gave him for Christmas. His collection of MechAnimals stacked around his bed, keeping him safe. Bear-Boy King tucked snugly under his arm. Charlie wanted desperately to go back there. As he drifted off to sleep, he dreamt of animal boys with mechanical hearts.
I sure am going to miss that espresso machine, Charlie thought, as he pulled an old, stained coffee maker from the back of his kitchen cabinet. The telephone rang. He cleared his throat and answered.
“Hello?” Despite his best efforts, he still sounded like a guy who just rolled out of bed. He glanced at the oven clock. It was noon.
“Goodness, you sound awful.” Charlie’s mother never greeted her son over the phone with an obligatory greeting of “Hi there” or “Good morning.” It was always straight down to business. “You’re sick, aren’t you?”
Charlie rubbed his eyes. “No. Just had kind of a rough night.”
“Ha. Karen kick you out onto the sofa?”
“No, nothing like that.” She took the sofa.
“Well, you sound sick. I’ll come over and make you soup.”
“That’s okay, mom.”
“You’re still my little boy, you know.”
“Listen, speaking of which, do you remember those weird toys I used to keep around my bed? MechAnimals?”
She laughed in that knowing way mothers do; gently teasing but without malice. “Oh, you mean your friends?”
Charlie rolled his eyes. “Yes, mom. Do you know where??”
“Oh, gosh! I haven’t thought about those in years. They were odd. Especially that bear! I swear that thing had a mind of his own.”
“Right. Do you know where they might be? In the attic maybe?”
“Oh, heavens, no. I sold them at a yard sale that semester you were at college.”
Charlie winced at his mother’s mention of his brief stint away at Maryland State. “That’s what I thought. No worries. Figured I could have sold them on eBay or something.”
There was that laugh again. “Saving up for an engagement ring?
Charlie forced out his best good-natured chuckle. “No, no.” Way ahead of you, mom. I slapped a $4000 rock on my $5000 limit Visa when I felt Karen growing distant. But by the time I got up the nerve to pop the question, it was too late. Guess I should have checked Zales’ return policy, huh? Good times. “Listen, mom. I’ve got an afternoon shift so…”
“Well, you take care of that cold. Plenty of fluids.”
“Okay. Will do.” No point in arguing with Mother Munchausen. “Bye.”
“Give my love to?”
Charlie hung up before he had to hear Karen’s name again. He knew he had to tell his mother about the split eventually. But when Charlie was dating Karen, everyone started treating him like an adult for the first time, and he had gotten pretty used to the way that felt. He’d walk into a room with this attractive, poised woman under his arm and nobody would ask, “So when are you going to settle down?” They even stopped pestering him about getting a real job, assuming that slacker Charlie was finally on the road to success and maturity. But the truth was he never really changed and hadn’t seriously planned on it. He just temporarily fooled everyone, including Karen, into thinking he would. But once she realized the videogames and the pot and the laziness weren’t going away; that they were, in fact, encoded into Charlie’s DNA at this point, she packed up her Williams-Sonoma waffle maker and got the hell out of there.
Charlie poured himself a cup of bad coffee and fired up his Dell. He typed “MechAnimals” into the Google search bar and 223 results came up. Charlie opened the first link, http://www.mechanimal_island.tripod.com, and cheerful electronic music blared from his tinny onboard speakers. Under a banner titled simply “My MechAnimal Museum” in a large, serif font, was a photo of a heavyset woman in her thirties surrounded by what appeared to be baby dolls wearing animal costumes. Upon closer inspection, one could see that the toys were actually animals wearing human, baby faces. Under the photo, in smaller serif font, read the following:
MechAnimals were first introduced on the short-lived Dutch animated series, Eind van Kinderjaren (End of Childhood). Due to low ratings, the cartoon was cancelled after airing only 13 episodes in the fall of 1982. In an apparent effort to capitalize on the success of the similarly themed Robocreatures line, fledgling U.S. toy manufacturer PlayThing Inc. purchased the character rights and released a series of 10 dolls for the ’84 Christmas season. The interactive plush toys measured approximately 15” and were implanted with sensors. So when the light changed, they came to life! Sadly, due to poor design (non replaceable batteries) and creeped out parents (my dad said they looked like Peter Pan’s Lost Boys on acid), sales were poor and a planned second series was scrapped. Around the time of their demise, a rumor began circulating that the MechAnimals were pulled from the shelves after one contributed to the death of a 13 year old boy. I have never been able to find evidence to support this claim and it is most likely an urban legend.
Charlie checked the links, including the author’s email address, and they were all dead. According to the tiny text at the bottom, the page hadn’t been updated since August, 1998.
He pulled up his eBay account and typed “MechAnimals” into the search bar. A single result popped up:
MECHANIMALS vintage collection @@LOOK@@
Charlie’s heart skipped a beat as he clicked on the link.
Attention mechAniacs! This is your chance to own the (almost) complete RARE toy series. As a little girl, I ceremoniously buried my beloved MechAnimals in the backyard when they “expired.” Forgot all about them until they were unearthed last summer when my parents put an addition on the house! Each has been preserved in custom-built, plastic boxes that my father made in his workshop. They don’t work (of course!) but are in PERFECT COSMETIC SHAPE. Will you give my resurrected friends a new home? I’d keep them myself but have baby on way and need money 
Serious bidders only please.
As Charlie looked at the photo of the 9 MechAnimals spread across a pink bedspread, his heart ached with longing. Rabbit-Boy. Boar-Boy. Wolf-Boy. Deer-Boy. Lynx-Boy. Fox-Boy. Raccoon-Boy. Badger-Boy. Owl-Boy. Everyone but their fearless leader- Bear-Boy King. The current bid was $950 and was closing in one hour and ten minutes.
Charlie’s sweaty palm slipped across the mouse as he opened another browser page. He clicked his favorites, scrolled down to his online banking link, and typed in his username and password.
He had $1041.45 in his checking account. And rent was due in a week. Maybe I can get an advance on my paycheck, he thought briefly. No. HR are a bunch of pricks. He called Visa; after being put on hold for 18 minutes (bid closing in 52 min!), he was informed that he was currently less that $200 away from reaching his credit limit. He was about to ask about increasing his credit line when he suddenly got a better idea.
As Charlie grabbed the little black velvet box from his sock drawer, he thought; sometimes you don’t know how badly you want something until you realize how rare it truly is.
***
The pawnshop owner, a ‘50s greaser still keeping the faith after 50 years, squinted at the diamond ring through a dusty magnifying glass. “Quarter carat. Cloudy as a goddamn rainy day in London, but the cut’s pretty good.” He looked up at Charlie with squint intact. “I’ll give ya a g for it.”
Charlie looked crestfallen. “A thousand? I paid four grand for that thing!”
The owner’s leather vest made a crinkly sound as he shrugged. “Hey, man. Times are tough. I can’t give this crap away. A g is the best I can do.”
Charlie looked at his watch. The bid was closing in 28 minutes. “Fine. One thousand.”
As the owner opened his safe and peeled off 10 hundred dollar bills from a stack, Charlie showed him a picture of a Bear-Boy King doll that he printed off his computer on his way out the door. “By the way, ever get one of these in here?”
The owner studied the picture. “Haven’t seen one of those in ages. Got a few in, Christ, what was it? Twenty, twenty-five years ago?” He smiled. “The only reason I remember is that they all came in broken. No, not broken. Dead, you know? Goddamn battery compartment was sealed shut. Why the hell they make ‘em that way, I’ll never know.”
Charlie grabbed a pen from an orange Orioles cup and hastily wrote his name and number on the back of one of the owner’s business cards. “Well, if one comes your way, give me a call. Broken or not.”
The owner’s eyes came to life as he took another look at the picture. “Worth a lot of money these days, is it?”
Charlie smiled coyly, taking the money from the counter. “Sentimental value.”
The owner waved his big, beefy hand in the air dismissively. “What is it with your generation’s attachment to your fucking toys? At least once a week I got some overgrown adolescent comin’ in here lookin’ for some goddamn ninja turtle he lost under his bed.” He lit a Marlboro and exhaled. “You should be out getting’ your dick wet.”
Charlie gestured toward the engagement ring on his way out the door. “Tried it. Didn’t work out so well.”
As Charlie trotted out into the street and hopped on his bicycle, the owner called after him. “Bible says we gotta put away childish things! Go get yourself some pooon taaaang!”
Charlie burst through the door, out of breath from running up two flights of stairs, and hit the refresh button. He sighed with relief. The bid was still at $950 and there was only three minutes remaining. He placed a bid at $955. You are currently the highest bidder. Two minutes. He slapped his hands down on the tops of his thighs to keep them from shaking. One minute. He hit the refresh button. You have been outbid. Shit! 30 seconds.
“Those toys are mine, loser,” Charlie muttered under his breath.
15 seconds. 10. Charlie bid at $1000. He won. He balled up his fists and raised his arms in victory.
“Yes!”
Charlie leaned back in his chair. All of the anxiety built up from the past two weeks melted away. As he picked up the phone and dialed his supervisor’s number, he thought, I deserve a day off.
***
It had been four months since Charlie got fired and moved back home to his mother’s house in Baltimore; and he felt like, as the expression goes, a kid again. He stayed up late. Slept in. Ate his mother’s home-cooked meals. But mostly, he went bear hunting; searching every skuzzy street market and antique shop in the Mid-Atlantic, scouring all of the internet auction sites, and trying every conceivable search engine option in his quest for the elusive Bear-Boy King.
There was a knock at his bedroom door. “Come in.”
The door opened and Charlie’s mom poked her head inside. She regarded the neat rows of plush toys along the wall; each encased within clear, plastic cubes. “I don’t understand why you don’t just put the dolls around your bed like you used to.”
“This way they retain their resale value,” Charlie said, carefully wiping one of the cases with a microfiber cloth. “And they’re not dolls, okay? They’re collectibles.” As Charlie looked over at his mother, he was suddenly struck by how old she looked. And for a brief moment, he felt guilty.
She smiled tightly. “Dinner will be ready in a few.” The door closed with a click as she left the room.
Charlie stood back to regard his kingdom and started to realize that they were beginning to lose their luster. Their newness was fading and they were becoming, merely, old. They need the Bear-Boy King to make them complete, Charlie thought.
He sat down at his computer to conduct his daily craigslist search (nada, as usual) and saw that he had a new email from a woman named Beth in Rochester, NY:
This is in response to the query you posted on the Time Warp Toys forum last week. Based on your description, this has GOT to be the bear/boy/thingy you’re looking for. Picked it up at a yard sale while passing through Maryland ages ago and it’s been sitting in my collection ever since. Doesn’t seem to work but in great cosmetic shape. It’s yours for $25 (Paypal?) BTW, this one TOTALLY creeps my son out so he’ll be glad to see it gone
Charlie sat stunned in front of his computer, reading the message again. Picked it up at a yard sale while passing through Maryland… Could this be his actual Bear-Boy King? With trembling fingers, Charlie shot off an inquiry to Beth, asking exactly where and when she acquired the toy in question. She replied within minutes and her response sent the hairs on the back of Charlie’s neck stand straight up.
1996. Baltimore.
After eagerly responding with his payment and shipping address, he received an order confirmation almost immediately. Bear-Boy King would be delivered within 3 – 5 business days.
Charlie was buzzing from his recent acquisition as he sat down at the kitchen table. Even the newspaper job listings that his mother discreetly left on his placemat for him to notice didn’t annoy him.
“So I ran into Karen at Target today,” Charlie’s mother said matter-of-factly, as she placed a plate of food in front of her son.
Charlie shoveled a forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth. “You talked to her?”
“No, I hid behind the toilet paper so she wouldn’t see me.” She laughed. “Of course I talked to her, silly.”
Charlie swallowed and took a long drink. “And?”
She smiled mischievously behind her glass of chardonnay. “And she looks fabulous if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“I wasn’t wondering anything,” he said, poking around at his green beans.
“Well, in any case, she does.”
The two of them ate in silence for the next several minutes; the dead air punctuated by the occasional clinking of silverware and chewing of food.
When Charlie finally spoke, his question came out more desperate than casual. “Did she ask about me?”
His mother laughed so heartily, she practically coughed up her meatloaf. “Honestly, Charlie! Why don’t you just pick up the phone and call her?”
Charlie dropped his fork with a clang. “And say what?” He held his hand up to his mouth; thumb and pinky spread apart, pretending to speak into it. “Hey, wanna get back together? Oh, and by the way, I’ve got no job, no car, and I live with my mother.”
“Oh, she knows all of that already, dear.” She smirked. “Question is, what are you going to do about it.”
“Me?” Charlie shrugged. “I’m not going to do anything.”
His mother took a sip from her glass. “Well, you’ve certainly had a lot of practice there.”
Charlie stomped into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. His mother had coddled him, throughout all of his false starts and failures, for 32 years; and now, suddenly, she’s turning on the tough love? Not suddenly, Charlie thought. You’ve had it coming, buddy. Party’s over. That keg is tapped. His head spinning, Charlie sat down hard on his bed. As he hung his head between his knees, he looked down at the deep space panorama printed on his Star Wars bedspread, and felt as if he were being sucked into a black hole; swallowed into nothingness. He looked up and saw the animals in their acrylic coffins staring down at him. He thought about what the pawnshop owner had said. Not broken. Dead. Perhaps it was the way the falling light through the window cast their features in shadow, but suddenly, the toys no longer looked benign to Charlie. They don’t belong here, he thought with a shudder.
The next morning, Charlie awoke to the sound of a knock on his bedroom door.
“Yeah,” Charlie answered hoarsely. What the hell time is it? He looked at his alarm clock and was surprised to see it was almost 10:30.
“Charlie?” It was Karen. There was a vulnerability in her voice that Charlie hadn’t heard since before things went south. “Can I come in?”
Charlie glanced over at the sagging, wood veneer book shelf stacked with MechAnimals; suddenly realizing just how ridiculous they looked. “Be right there!”
He leapt out of bed and stumbled; his head still thick with the lingering zolpidem tartrate. He hastily grabbed the plastic cages, one after the other, and stacked them in the back of his closet. The whole ordeal probably took all of 30 seconds; but to Charlie, it felt like an eternity passing by. Giving the room a last look, he threw on his robe and opened the door. His mother was right. She did look amazing.
In a gesture that both surprised and delighted him, Karen reached up and patted down Charlie’s bed-head. “You need a haircut.”
“I know.”
Upon entering his room, Karen scrunched up her nose as if responding to an unpleasant smell. She crossed the room, sidestepping the landmine of dirty laundry, and opened the window. Looking around the room for a suitable place to sit and finding none, Karen perched her alluringly round butt on the windowsill. Charlie sat across from her on the edge of his bed.
Charlie broke the silence. “Did my mother put you up to this?”
Her smile was betrayed by the pity in her eyes. “Your mother stopped calling the shots a long time ago, Charlie.”
He looked down at the floor and a sheepish smile escaped his lips. “Touché, pussycat.”
After several moments passed in silence, Charlie looked up to see Karen watching out the window; fresh tears on her cheek glistening in the morning light. Suddenly, he couldn’t think of anything cute to say. No cartoon references came to mind. He wanted to run over and take her in his arms. Kiss her. Tell her that he would change and then actually, finally, change. But the gravitational pull of his bed was too strong. He laid back and stared up at the glow-in-the-dark galaxy that decorated his ceiling. Most of the pieces had fallen over the years, leaving ghostly star-shaped outlines in their place. He heard Karen’s soft footsteps cross the room. He sat up to see her watching him from the doorway. “I should have worked harder at it,” he said.
She smiled and then she was gone. Charlie got up and crossed to the window; watching the autumn leaves fall from the trees. He heard the front door of his house open and saw Karen walking down the front steps. He leaned out the window.
“It’s too late, isn’t it?” he shouted.
She stopped, turned, and looked up at Charlie in the window. “No. But it’s getting close.”
As Charlie watched Karen disappear behind the rows of shady trees that lined the street, he realized just how rare she was.
***
The cool, crisp October air filled Charlie’s lungs as he raced his bike along the cobblestoned streets of Fells Point. He could feel his senses awaken; as if they were coming out of a long, dull hibernation. The smell of steamed crabs drifting in from the waterfront eateries. The red brick row houses bathed in afternoon light. The distant laughter of children on their way home from school.
He was scheduled to start a temporary data entry position at a local pharmaceutical company on Monday, with the potential of permanent employment if things worked out. It was only 10 blocks from home, so he wouldn’t have to deal with the MTA. But more importantly, he was getting together with Karen for dinner tonight. Charlie hadn’t even thought about Bear-Boy King since ordering him four days ago, until he turned onto Gough Street and noticed the UPS truck pulling away from mother’s house.
Pushing his bike up the cracked, weedy walkway, Charlie felt his pulse quicken as he saw the 20” x 10” package sitting at the top of the steps. He let his 10 speed fall against the iron railing with a clang as he picked up the brown paper-wrapped parcel. It was heavy, in both weight and aura. It suggested a certain gloom. Get rid of it. The feeling of dread was so sudden that Charlie practically dropped the package; while another part of his brain was telling him to tear it open. He was like a horse that alternately approaches in curiosity, and flees in fear from, an old coat on the ground.
With the package tucked under his arm, Charlie went inside, called Karen, and cancelled their date. It was the last message she ever received from him.
***
Small drops of light rain blew in through the window and splashed the cardboard as Charlie flicked out the box cutter blade and slowly ran it down the box seam. A handful of packing peanuts puffed into the air as he opened the package. He plunged both hands into the sea of Styrofoam and they made contact with soft, synthetic fur. He gripped the coat and lifted.
Bear-Boy King emerged, heads up and face forward, looking as he did all those years ago; his pale, plastic face frozen in a permanent smirk. His marble eyes-cobalt blue-stared up at Charlie, as if in recognition.
“Welcome home,” Charlie whispered.
He gently laid the toy facedown on his bedroom floor and sank his fingers into the thick pelt, finding the hidden zipper running down its spine. After a bit of fumbling, he found the tiny pull at the base of the neck and tugged. The metal teeth separated with a zzzzzzip, exposing the smooth, flesh-colored plastic beneath.
A small, square battery compartment cover without any opening mechanism sat in the middle of the toy’s back. Charlie tried to pry the lid open with his thumbnail but discovered it was sealed shut. Looking around the room for a tool, he settled on the box cutter. As he pressed the dull blade into the groove it broke with a snap and sliced open his thumb.
“Son of a?!”
Charlie ran down the hall to the bathroom and shoved his bloody thumb under the faucet. As he wrapped a Scooby Doo Band-Aid around the one inch diameter gash, he thought, Just leave it be. Then he remembered the old hobby box in his closet.
Charlie plugged in the Pro-1 Deluxe electric hot knife and watched its thermometer gauge climb to 750 degrees. The 6” blade easily sliced through the plastic skin, leaving a pink cloud of noxious fumes in its wake. After placing the hot knife on the edge of the end table, he lifted open the battery compartment to reveal an Eveready 9 volt; the old logo of the black cat with a lightning bolt tail jumping through the numeral 9.
He removed the corroded battery with a surgeon’s hands. As he carefully cleaned away the rust from the compartment with a Q-tip and nail polish remover, Charlie noticed what appeared to be a warning sticker stuck to the bottom. He squinted but the red print was too small to read. He pulled a magnifying glass from the hobby box and held it over the toy to reveal the following cryptic message:
There beats a heart inside this toy, fit for one very lucky boy. But once its time has come to pass, it will no longer bring joy. So enjoy this toy, my boy, while it lasts…
“I’ve got a new heart for you,” Charlie whispered before grabbing a Duracell from a fresh 12-pack and snapping it into the terminals. “And it’s going to last a long, long time.” After resealing him with a few dabs of soldering glue, Charlie zipped Bear-Boy King back up. Snug as a bug in a rug, as mom used to say. “You’re sleeping with me tonight,” Charlie told the toy as he placed it on his pillow.
Lightning briefly illuminated the room. Charlie crossed to the window and closed it. In the reflection of the glass, he saw Bear-Boy King slowly crawling across the bed; the red light sensor behind his eyes blinking. Charlie turned to face his toy as it sat down on the edge of the bed.
“Do you remember me?” Charlie asked.
Bear-Boy King looked up and blinked twice. “Yes. I remember you.”
Hearing his calm, man-sized voice after all these years sent a shiver down Charlie’s spine. He undressed, shut off the light, and climbed into bed. With Bear-Boy King tucked under his arm, he drifted peacefully off to sleep wearing the contended expression of a child.
Late into the night, Charlie was stirred awake. Under the steady din of the rain beating against the window, there was another sound: the soft whir of meshing gears. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could barely make out the silhouettes surrounding his bed. Owl. Fox .Deer. Lynx. Wolf. Badger. Deer. Rabbit. Boar. Lightning lit up the room and the activated toys encroached. As Charlie tried to jump up, they pounced, pinning him to the bed. He screamed for his mother five times before realizing no sound was actually escaping his mouth.
Sudden warmth flushed his cheek as Bear-Boy King crawled out from behind the pillow, wielding the hot knife. The doll approached; his expression, now malevolent, glowing blue in the moonlight.
But once its time has come to pass, it will no longer bring joy.
As the searing blade sank into Charlie’s throat, he thought of Karen; disappearing into the trees.
***
Within days, word of Charlie’s untimely death spread across the online community of toy and collectible enthusiasts. Beth Johnson of Rochester, NY posted a brief obituary on the Time Warp Toys message board, along with a photo of a smiling ten year old Charlie.
Charles Nelson Turner, 32, was found brutally murdered in his Baltimore, MD home on the morning of October 21. According to his mother, Charlie was surrounded by his “friends” at the time of death.
About the Author
Patrick Boyton is a writer and filmmaker with an MFA from New York University. He lives in Frederick, MD with his wife Melissa, in-laws Rich and Rose, and their pug, Lilly. Patrick is the author of “Snallygaster: the Lost Legend of Frederick County.”
©2009 Patrick Boyton
