Even as a child, Tommy's favorite play-toy was his stuffed giraffe. Tommy was a very imaginative boy; he would play outside for hours with his build-a-block set and his small racecars. He would laugh and giggle the whole time he had the giraffe. The giraffe had been with Tommy since his birth. Tommy is turning three in December, and we can't believe how much time has flown by. Jemma and I are looking into the local daycares to see which will be the best fit for Tommy while we are away. The business trip will be a little longer than we expected. Turns out a flight to Budapest in October is when peak travelling time is. Unfortunately for our little Tommy, this means staying with his Aunt Marg and hopping back and forth to daycare.
We are sure he will understand once we explain it to him. He's really an intelligent boy, always finding ways to amuse himself and he always asks the most interesting questions. At first, we thought that he was going through that imaginative phase just like any other toddler. But then, we saw something maybe we shouldn't have. I remember Jemma coming down to dinner with a pale look on her face, like she had seen a ghost. So I asked her what was the matter. According to her, she had put Tommy to bed and was picking up his toys when she noticed his little giraffe was underneath the bed. She said that she could have sworn she put it in the bed with Tommy. Yet, there it was. I didn't think anything of this and told her that the little giraffe must've fallen when she was carrying him to the bed. She shook her head and agreed, it seemed silly to think otherwise.
The next day while Jemma was at work, I was letting Tommy play with his trainset in the dining room. The little Thomas the Engine play set, tracks and fake smokestack included. I was at work in the other room, I write philosophical and architectural novels for a living, so I am more of a stay at home kind of dad. Jemma doesn't mind, she believes it allows more bonding between Tommy and me. Jemma works in the Emergency Care Unit of the Straightfalls Hospital here in Connecticut. She rarely gets weekends off anymore; but that's work, same as ever. I lowered Tommy, he held so tightly to that little giraffe of his. It's hard to believe that something so small can be so strong. He refused to leave the little stuffed toy, I guess it is better than an attachment to a blanket. Most children that are attached to those tend to have issues with self esteem and confidence building. I left him and went into the other room to work on my most recent story, A Walk with the Gods. The dust on my old typewriter had begun to cling to the bottom of the keys, making each key 'stick' as it was pushed down. Jemma had bought this on my birthday 4 years ago, she said that it was an antique that she had been eyeing at one of the local antique shops. Said she got it for a bargain. The old man was apparently very ready to get it out of his window and willing to accept any offer. That didn't bother me much. Its 2011, but I am still not big into the more modern technology. Don't get me wrong, its great to be able to call anyone whenever you want; but I don't see the point in owning anything much past this old nokia of mine.
Jemma and I had moved to the Frankfort Lots not a year before we had Tommy. I remember how excited she was when I showed her the clippings in the newspaper. It was her dream home. Ever since she was little she had wanted the "American Dream Home" with the brick walls and the shining white picket fence. So, I bought it for her. I had scrounged enough up over the years from working my office job to buy her something that she could never forget. You should have seen the look on her face when she stepped out of the car, nothing but childlike joy. I can remember the way she eyed everything else, wide-eyed as ever. And then, Tommy was born. Tommy, I guess you could say was like any other child, he was a bit chunky. But he never really cried. We weren't sure if we had been given the son of an angel, or if something was wrong. So, we had him tested to be sure he hadn't been born with any mental disorders at birth. Eventually, it went away. He grew out of it, as you might say. It would be safe to say that we were both relieved.
Suddenly, I heard a crash. My heart leapt into my throat. I screamed for Tommy as I made my way towards the dining room. What I saw sent shivers down my spine. Tommy was crying hysterically beside his train set that was now smashed to pieces; and on the counter…was his little giraffe doll. It seemed to be staring right at me. The china cabinet was wide open, and inside was something I wish I had neve seen. Inside the cabinet was the rotting head of our neighbor's cat. Dirt and blood covered the interior of the cabinet; the sticky blood and dirt mixture had settled into matted clumps in the cat's fur. An oozing trail of puss drained from one of the eye sockets. My initial reaction was to grab Tommy and run. But wouldn't that look odd, a father and his son running from their own house seemingly in the middle of the day? Instead, I grabbed Tommy and hauled him up into my arms. He continued to cry even louder, snot streaming down his puffy red face. I decide that I should take him to his room and dispose of the mess. I hoped that he hadn't reached the age of forming full memories yet. The stairs creaked as I walked up to Tommy's room. He still had his crib, but he seemed to prefer sleeping in the little bed we had bought for him. We never really understood what the reason was; we would lay him in his crib and as we began to leave he would wail and cry. We thought that he just hadn't adjusted to being away from us, so it would pass. But it never did. Finally, we let him sleep with us. He never made a sound. We were scared that since he was so small that we might crush him in our sleep. So, we bought him his own little bed. It was big enough to fit a small dog, but Tommy slept great in it. We decided to check in on him every hour for a couple of night to be perfectly sure that he was alright. He loved it.
Once I opened the door, Tommy's crying had dulled to a sniffling whine. I set him on his bed and told him that I would be right back. He looked at me through his blurry vision and his chin quivered. He clearly didn't want me to go. So I shut the door tightly behind me as I left. He didn't make a sound. The creaking commenced as I made my way back down the stairs. Even though they were carpeted, they still groaned like those of an old Victorian house. I reached the bottom landing and made my way back towards the dining room. Everything was as I had left it. I stared uncertainly at the doll, its blank gaze and reassuring smile was nothing but friendly. Its gaze was alluring. I broke the connection and managed to clean the broken dishes from off the floor, being careful not to step on any shards. The train set was all but done for. The little engine was completely shattered, as though it had been made of fine porcelain. Next, was the cat. I began to wretch as I held a pair of tongs in one hand and a trash bag in another. It would be hard to explain to a neighbor that his cats head was found lounging in my china cabinet. I could hear a pattering of blood drip onto the counter as I picked up the head. It felt slimy. A mixture of blood clumped with dirt fell onto the floor. It made a sickening splat as it landed. I tied the trash bag and practically ran to the door, the foul odor was catching up to me as I was racing down to the end of our driveway. I threw the bag in, it made a dull thud. I looked around to be sure that no one was staring at me. I was already forming an alibi in my head that would explain perfectly as to why I was running down to the trash can.
I made my back into the house and ran some water in the sink. I laid the tongs in the hot, steamy water and wet a rag to clean out the cabinet. There was a large bottle of bleach underneath the sink, we always kept a healthy supply in case anything were to happen. As I stood back up, I made direct eye contact with the little giraffe. At this point, I didn't know if I should just throw it away too or if I should throw it into the washer. I mean sure, it was Tommy's favorite doll and he would be upset to see it go. But how often was it that a cat head would get stuck inside your cabinet as your two year old's doll rested on the cabinet adjacent to it? I went against my better judgement and proceeded to throw the doll in the laundry bin. I was beginning to really hate that doll. The doll that had been with my son since his infancy.
END
**THIS IS THE FIRST TIME I HAVE EVER WRITTEN A HORROR SHORT STORY. ANY FEEDBACK IS WELCOME! THANKS!**