Stuffie the Clown Toy
The old lady made the dolls by the dozens, and hand-crafted their tiny porcelain faces into masks of haunting perfection and artistry. To her, each one developed their own tiny personality quite on their own and claimed they guided her hands as she painted the delicate features upon their egshell-glass skin. They were expensive, she knew, but she never once saw them as over-priced toys, but unique additions to the families who took them home in their silk-covered boxes. Ever mindful was the old lady of the unfortunate in her town, so she began creating soft stuffed clown dolls she lovingly named "Stuffies."
Over the years the old woman's hands began to wither with arthritis, and her needlework produced little more than ragged seams and tattered smiles. Yet, daily she set about her work, painting small doll faces as her fingers trembled like the wings of frightened birds. Over time, the dolls mask of innocence was replaced by expressions of macabre, and to those wishing to buy these new dolls appeared frightening, even ominous. The buyers became few, and eventually the woman surrendered to the cursed ailment twisting her body and took retirement. One evening in May, as the lilac bloomed ouside her darkened window, the old woman eased into sleep with only the dolls to watch.. and never awoke again.
Relatives uncomfortable with the macabre toys set out to sell them for a handsome discount, simply to rid themselves of the burden. Many bought the toys if nothing more than for their unique representation of a long-lost toy artisan. And while the dolls sold better than expected, the Stuffies did not. There were only a rare few left, and while some still wore the smile painted by a steady and loving hand, many did not and were tossed away as unwanted junk.
His name was "Arthur," and his mother and father were poor. But today wasn't just any day, it was his birthday and Arthur was gifted a clown Stuffie his mother purchased from the old lady's estate. Arthur loved his odd stuffie and carried it with both arms in front of him so as not to tip the box and upset his new friend. As they walked the length of the lamplit street to their house across the tracks, as the leaves danced to a cool, crisp autumn breeze.. Arthur smiled. This would be the best birthday ever. His mother had a chocolate cake cooling at home, and he would have 6 candles on top this year. They would light the candles, sing happy birthday, then enjoy a thick slice of chocolate heaven. But they had better hurry, thought Arthur, as he heard the ominous rumbling of thunder in the distance. His father must have noticed too because he glanced worriedly to his right, his gaze going right, then left, his eyes narrowing.
The tracks were ahead and with a rush of excitement Arthur clutched Stuffie's box ever tighter. They hurried up the small hill to the tracks while Arthur tagged along as quickly as he could. Something tugged at his left foot and as he stopped to look down he noticed a dirty white shoelace laying beneath his other shoe. The thunder rumbled louder as Arthur sat Stuffie's box down and tried to tie the laces, frustrated as his fingers twisted the strings, it looking nothing like what his father had taught. He was doing this all wrong. He heard the thunder, ever louder now, and his father's voice came to him under the din, calling his name. His lace undone. his precious Stuffie tucked within his box, the thunder roared... then silenced as if it had never been. CONT...
The old lady made the dolls by the dozens, and hand-crafted their tiny porcelain faces into masks of haunting perfection and artistry. To her, each one developed their own tiny personality quite on their own and claimed they guided her hands as she painted the delicate features upon their egshell-glass skin. They were expensive, she knew, but she never once saw them as over-priced toys, but unique additions to the families who took them home in their silk-covered boxes. Ever mindful was the old lady of the unfortunate in her town, so she began creating soft stuffed clown dolls she lovingly named "Stuffies."
Over the years the old woman's hands began to wither with arthritis, and her needlework produced little more than ragged seams and tattered smiles. Yet, daily she set about her work, painting small doll faces as her fingers trembled like the wings of frightened birds. Over time, the dolls mask of innocence was replaced by expressions of macabre, and to those wishing to buy these new dolls appeared frightening, even ominous. The buyers became few, and eventually the woman surrendered to the cursed ailment twisting her body and took retirement. One evening in May, as the lilac bloomed ouside her darkened window, the old woman eased into sleep with only the dolls to watch.. and never awoke again.
Relatives uncomfortable with the macabre toys set out to sell them for a handsome discount, simply to rid themselves of the burden. Many bought the toys if nothing more than for their unique representation of a long-lost toy artisan. And while the dolls sold better than expected, the Stuffies did not. There were only a rare few left, and while some still wore the smile painted by a steady and loving hand, many did not and were tossed away as unwanted junk.
His name was "Arthur," and his mother and father were poor. But today wasn't just any day, it was his birthday and Arthur was gifted a clown Stuffie his mother purchased from the old lady's estate. Arthur loved his odd stuffie and carried it with both arms in front of him so as not to tip the box and upset his new friend. As they walked the length of the lamplit street to their house across the tracks, as the leaves danced to a cool, crisp autumn breeze.. Arthur smiled. This would be the best birthday ever. His mother had a chocolate cake cooling at home, and he would have 6 candles on top this year. They would light the candles, sing happy birthday, then enjoy a thick slice of chocolate heaven. But they had better hurry, thought Arthur, as he heard the ominous rumbling of thunder in the distance. His father must have noticed too because he glanced worriedly to his right, his gaze going right, then left, his eyes narrowing.
The tracks were ahead and with a rush of excitement Arthur clutched Stuffie's box ever tighter. They hurried up the small hill to the tracks while Arthur tagged along as quickly as he could. Something tugged at his left foot and as he stopped to look down he noticed a dirty white shoelace laying beneath his other shoe. The thunder rumbled louder as Arthur sat Stuffie's box down and tried to tie the laces, frustrated as his fingers twisted the strings, it looking nothing like what his father had taught. He was doing this all wrong. He heard the thunder, ever louder now, and his father's voice came to him under the din, calling his name. His lace undone. his precious Stuffie tucked within his box, the thunder roared... then silenced as if it had never been. CONT...
In a dusty corner of the room a light glows from the crack in the toybox lid. Something quickens inside the wooden womb.
CONT... Stuffie the Clown lays torn and dirty in a red wagon inside a dark garage. No one comes to pull the wagon, and no one bothers to wipe the dust from his face. There are no hugs or child-like kisses pressed upon his tear-stained cheeks, cheeks that still bear dark stains from a thunderous night, a night better left forgotten.
Stuffie the Clown lays dirty and torn in a red wagon in a dark garage, where no one hugs him, where no one dares to toss him away, where no one dares to even look upon his face.
Toy Room
CONT... Stuffie the Clown lays torn and dirty in a red wagon inside a dark garage. No one comes to pull the wagon, and no one bothers to wipe the dust from his face. There are no hugs or child-like kisses pressed upon his tear-stained cheeks, cheeks that still bear dark stains from a thunderous night, a night better left forgotten.
Stuffie the Clown lays dirty and torn in a red wagon in a dark garage, where no one hugs him, where no one dares to toss him away, where no one dares to even look upon his face.
Toy Room
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