Sunday, May 17, 2009

Baby Statue

A few days ago, my Mum bought something incredibly horrifyingly incorrigibly creepy. So creepy, in fact, that I decided that it needed to be chronicled. Lookit. Say it with me now, one, two, three, Aaaaaaarrgghh!

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I don’t know about you, dear reader, but my initial thought was ‘Oh my god kill it with fire!!’

Gah. Just gah. Am I the only one scared halfway to death by this thing? Look at its eyes! What’s wrong with its eyes? Why does it have no trousers? Where are the trousers? No really, I’m serious, just...just...why? Why? Why make a creepy little baby out of ceramics with no trousers but adult hands?? Is this designed to be given to children? Or adults? Oh so much confusion, so little time! Every time I look at this thing I feel wrong. Like something’s gone wrong in the pit of my stomach.

Early this morning, I found out just why.

Two days ago, Mum came home and deposited that thing that you see above on the table. “Isn’t it cute?”she exclaimed. I decided that even though I’d seen cuter Angler fish, I should probably hold my tongue. Mistaking my silence for acceptance, she walked over to the window overlooking the back garden. Placing the...thing on the windowsill, she stepped back to admire the handiwork.

“I don’t know,” she began. “I just find it unique.” Now this I could agree with. If nothing else, that baby was certainly unique. I stared at it. I swear it had a knowing expression on its face. I resisted the urge to cause it to have an ‘accident’ as soon as possible and settled myself with the fact that I could always just close the curtains so I couldn’t see it. Who needs sunlight, anyway?

It was getting late. Saying my goodnight, I crawled into bed and collapsed. I forgot all about that thing.

But there’s a problem. I am an insomniac. That’s not the problem, but this is. Since I was irreversibly awake at four in the morning, I went downstairs to watch some TV.

The figure was now facing the window.

I did not do that. I did not do that, and neither did Mum. When I left the figure, it was facing into the room. Now its facing out the window. Who moved it? Did gay men break in and rearrange the furniture? Is it magnetic? Is it frickin’ alive?! Is there some mechanism in it created solely to freak me out? What?

Or maybe I did shuffle it about before I went to bed. I wouldn’t be surprised, I am much happier now that I can’t see its face. Not so sure if I’m happier about seeing its arse instead, but oh well, its just ugly all over. Fearing my Mother’s wrath, I took the statue and turned it back to the way it was. Then I shuffled back off to bed to pretend to sleep.

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No really. This was what I found when I came back downstairs. But this time the tiny little left arm was raised towards the window. Pointing outwards. Mum found it, actually. Pointed it out as soon as I fell into the Living Room.

“Did you do this?” she asked.

I went cold. “Er, no.”

“Then how did it get this way? Are you sure you didn’t do it? I mean, if you don’t like the statue, just tell me, and we can put it somewhere else, maybe somewhere less visible?”

But right that second the idea of putting that thing somewhere where I couldn’t see it seemed like a very bad idea. There was something up here, and I wanted that thing to be somewhere where I could keep an eye on it. Maybe train a gun on it, too..

That night, I was to watch the statue. I wanted to know who was moving it. Or did I? What if there was a squatter in our house that I didn’t know about. Who had a...uh, fetish for spinning tiny child dolls. Oh god, why can’t I live in a normal house. Aheh.

Anyway. That night, I sat downstairs with a torch. It was around midnight. Firstly, I would like some credit for my brave actions, please. Go back and look at the face of that baby doll again and tell me how you’d feel sitting in a dark room at nighttime all on your own with only that thing staring you in the face. I am either really brave, or really –

Srrrcccchhhhhhh.

Ohcrap. I jumped to my feet and trained the torch on the windowsill. Just in time to see the little baby figure moving.

Shit. It was moving! Moving, spinning around on its tiny feet! The quiet sound of the ceramic scraping against the wood seemed to fill both the room and my head. Srrrccccchhhhh. Srrrccccchhh.

Slowly, the little baby pivoted. Srrrrccccchhhh. Pivoted, until it faced the window. I held my breath. I couldn’t have breathed if I tried. Slowly, oh so slowly, the tiny little left arm lifted. Lifted, until it pointed out the window.

Silence. My heart was thudding so fast that I thought it might pop. I was so afraid. Finally losing my nerve, I abandoned the toy, shot up the stairs, and huddled in bed with the lights on ‘til morning.

That morning I found the toy turned back around, facing into the room, his arm by his side. And Mum seemed to be tutting at me with her eyes. Its a skill only mothers have. She must still think that I was interfering with it. I decided not to tell her what had happened. I mean, if I said such a thing to you, would you believe me? And since she didn’t bring it up, the day passed as normal, even if the house seemed abnormally chilly for such a hot day.

Clever me had just had a new idea. What if I prevented the little baby from spinning around? It is like five inches tall. If I don’t want it to turn, its not turning. But that meant..could I actually being myself to touch it? After last night?

Oh come on, Raevyn. Its a baby. Not even a real baby at that, its about the same size as your hand. What could it possibly to do me? I would grip it in my hands and force it to remain facing inwards.

As the day passed, I confess, I got more and more jittery. I couldn’t think about anything else. When Mum went to bed I was practically climbing the walls with nerves. Calm down, Raevyn, is just a baby, is just a baby..

Night came again. I knew that Mum wouldn’t rise until half-seven, so I had all the time I needed. At around one in the morning, I literally forced myself towards the windowsill. I opened the curtains and trained the torch downwards. As per usual, my little friend had resumed his favourite position. With his tiny baby arm pointing outside. Reaching out with a trembling hand, I picked him up.

...

Nothing. Nothing apart from the feel of cold porcelain against my fingers. It didn’t move. Not knowing whether to be relieved or annoyed, I sat down. I stared at the little figure in my hands.

“What are you.” I mumbled. “What are you?”

Silence. Realising that I was in fact talking to a tiny china baby, I wondered whether I should give up. After thinking about hidden wires, mechanisms, magnets, and perhaps that the mushrooms in my dinner weren’t all that they seemed, I finally concluded that I had lost my mind. Might tell the psychotherapist tom-

The baby started moving. Slowly at first, it began to twist in my hand. I almost yelped and dropped it. It started to twist with more and more strength, and soon I was struggling to keep the baby facing inwards. I put all my strength into it, and that was when it clasped its tiny hand around my finger.

This time I did yelp. Deciding that I no longer cared which way the damn figure was facing, I shook my hand about, trying to dislodge it. It wouldn’t let me go. Damn. Dammit dammit why can’t I just mind my own business? Who cares which way some antique that my Mum brought home?! Hopping about now, I continued to shake. His grip only got stronger.

“What do you want?” I cried. Silently, slowly, the baby turned his little bald head towards me. My heart lept into my throat. Also silently, he lifted his other arm. And pointed. Pointed at the window. I looked. What was he pointing at? What?

His grip tightened and I began to feel pain. I shook some more, and then I heard a crunch. Pain lanced up my finger and I cried “Alright, alright, I’ll take you!” The grip loosened until the baby let go. Returning back to his stiff standing position, he swivelled towards the window.

Point.

I took a deep breath. How the hell did I get here. Its okay, its just your back garden, you know there’s nothing scary there. You’ve been playing in it ever since you could walk. Resolving myself, I stepped towards the window. Opening it, I placed the baby on the sill. Jumping out and landing on the grass, I reached back inside and picked the baby up. He retained his stance, pointing at somewhere at the centre of the garden. Shaking slightly, I walked. After a few feet, the baby started to swivel. I’d gone past where he was pointing. I backtracked three paces. Swivel. I took one more step forward. The baby lowered his arm. He seemed to lose something just then. It was like his animation, his consciousness, had gone out of him. He went still. He was just an old toy. I decided I wanted nothing more to do with him and that if he wanted to stay out in the garden, that was quite fine with me. Let him go as far away from the house as possible, if he pleased. I placed him on the grass next to me. Let him stay there. Let him stay where he’d been so desperately trying to reach. It meant nothing to me.

Or did it? What was it about this particular spot in the garden? Was someone buried here? Was something buried here? Was there treasure? Yeah, that was unlikely. So what? Were there more of these critters buried underground? Brr. God I hoped not.

I heard the creaking noise almost at once. It seemed to be coming from all around me. Startled, I spun round, but could see nothing that caused it. Then I felt a gentle movement underneath my feet. I turned the torch downward at once.

I did that just in time to see the see the ground open up as the wooden board over the old, disused well finally gave way and I fell twenty feet down the shaft. There was water all around me. I never hit the bottom but instead rose to the surface again.

Clinging to the smooth damp walls, it was then that I began to shout. I knew it was no use. I was too far away for my Mum to hear me, even if she did wake up. The last thing I saw in the faint light from the broken opening was the little baby sneering down at me. Then it was gone, making its slow journey back towards the house. It was a long time to half-past seven.

4 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Wow...loved this short story birdie!

Your ffnb
xoxo

10:35 pm  
Blogger The Raevyn said...

Thank you my dear foo!

10:49 pm  
Blogger Amy Gray said...

Oh my god! Rae, this was awesome!

*applauds*

4:46 am  
Blogger The Raevyn said...

Could you please shout? I'm still stuck down this 'ere hole!

10:59 pm  

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