Teething
By Joshua Thays

he first thought in Paul’s mind as the small body hit the windshield was, a baby, dear Gods I’ve hit a baby. He could dimly register Melanie’s shocked scream from the seat beside him as he hit the brakes. The car fish-tailed on the rain-slick road, and Paul over-corrected, sending the aging Buick into the ditch, where it was stopped abruptly by a large oak tree.

Paul’s head snapped forward and thunked smartly on the steering wheel, bringing an explosion of light and color, undercut by a swimming sense of unreality. You’ve had an accident, his mind informed him matter-of-factly. Most likely, a rather bad one. Dark streaks of windshield faded back into view, and the swimming feeling passed. Through the rain, he could see two glowing red brake-lights some fifty yards ahead.

“Paul?”

He turned his neck, slowly, minding what was almost certainly a case a whiplash, and looked at his wife. Mel stared back at him like a frightened rabbit, bright, green eyes wide and alert. Her cheeks were flushed, and she was breathing in shallow, rapid gasps, but she seemed to be alright.

“Are you okay?” he asked, marveling at how calm his voice sounded.

She swallowed and nodded, her eyes never leaving his.

“Paul, what was that? What did we hit?”

He could see that she knew perfectly well what they had hit. After all, she’d been helping him to watch the road, as he suffered from a slight case of night-blindness. That was why Mel usually took up the driving reins after dark. Not tonight though. Too upset. Mel had been complaining of a headache since they’d arrived at the doctor’s office in Berlin, and by the time they’d left, she’d been practically begging him to drive.

“Just this once, it’ll be fine. I just can’t concentrate tonight. Please, Paul?”

Paul felt a sudden flare of mindless anger. If she’d been driving, this wouldn’t have happened. They’d be nearly home by now. But it was too late for that, wasn’t it? It was Mel who’d asked him to drive. It was Mel who’d suggested that they take the back roads because less traffic would mean an easier drive for poor, blind Paul; and it was Mel who…

Come on, his mind interjected. You’ve come this far, why not reach for the gold? It was Mel, who was worried about the baby, despite their doctor’s constant reassurances; and that was why they were out here in the first place. There. Now don’t you feel better?

Paul dropped his eyes from her nervous, demanding gaze, and found himself looking instead at the slight swelling of her belly. The anger quickly dropped away as well. He knew that it wasn’t her fault, placing blame was what the mind did in the aftermath of a stressful situation, and besides, it wasn’t totally Mel’s idea to go the doctor. He’d been worried too. Only because she made you worry, old buddy.

“Paul?” more insistent now, slightly panicked. “What was it?”

“I don’t know,” he offered, glancing into the rear-view mirror. He could see a scattering of trees and bushes, and the deep grooves in the grass that his sudden departure from the road had made, but nothing else.

“It looked like…like…” Mel trailed off.

A baby, yeah. It had sure as hell looked like a baby; even old bleary-eyed Paul could see that. But surely that was impossible. How could a baby, an infant, just appear out in the middle of nowhere? Three feet off the ground no less? He shook his head lightly. No, it must have been a raccoon, or a possum or something. Maybe it was a bird that got spooked by the truck that had passed them doing close to 70. They’d just thought that it was a baby, because that’s all they’d been thinking about for the past few months. Yeah.

He relaxed slightly, confident in his rationality. He reached for the door handle, and could practically hear Mel stiffen, she was so tightly wound.

“Where are you going?”

“It’s okay, babe,” he said. “I’ve got to go check it out. Just wait here, okay?”

He opened the door and stepped out, not waiting for her response, knowing that she’d follow him anyway. The rain soaked his shirt almost immediately. The passenger door shut gently and Mel worked her way around the back of the car to where he was standing. Her hair hung in her face in wet, black strands. Her gaze was fixed on the road.

Paul took her hand automatically, and led her up the slight rise of slick grass. For a moment, the road looked clear, no sign of anything, save their skid-marks. Maybe whatever it was ran off, he thought. Maybe-

Melanie screamed.

It was the white of the cloth diaper that caught his eye. Below it, two pudgy, pink legs trailed off at sick angles. The rest was mercifully obscured from Paul’s vision.

His mouth dropped open in disbelief. Mel, still shrieking, buried her face into his shoulder.

“No,” he whispered, his voice wavering. “No, that’s impossible.”

Behind them came the brief cry of brakes being applied too firmly for the conditions, followed by the sharp slamming of a car door.

“Holy shit! Are you guys alright?”

Paul turned slowly, dreamily, and saw a man in a flannel jacket standing next to a red pick-up truck. Recognition dawned in Paul. That truck. That truck had passed them just before the…accident.

Melanie’s sobbing had become more jagged and breathy, like the tantrum of a toddler. There simply wasn’t enough breath in her to express the grief. She turned quickly and ran back to the car, nearly losing her footing on the slick grass.

The man dashed past them and scooped the broken child up into his arms. He stood for a moment, his back to Paul, then turned and began walking towards him.

“I’m so sorry,” Paul stammered. “It…I…didn’t see…”

The man held up a hand to silence him.

Paul did not want to see what the man was holding, but he couldn’t look away. Again the white of the diaper caught his eye first. Above it, a smooth, unmarked stomach, two arms, and a head…undamaged and perfect. So perfect, it seemed like…plastic!

The man held the doll out apologetically. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “My wife, she lost her grip, and-“

He was cut off by a shrill cry from the truck. Paul turned slowly towards the source, still trying to comprehend this new discovery. A doll. Not a real baby. Just a doll.

A woman in a pale, multi-colored sundress got out of the truck and rushed at them, her arms outstretched, black hair flying out behind her in waves.

“My baby!” she cried. “Oh, my Justin!”

Paul felt his chest seize up at her cry, as if an icy hand had taken hold of his heart and now endeavored to squeeze it from his body.

The woman reached them and snatched the doll from her husband, who had been holding it out to Paul like a sacrificial offering. The woman, now sobbing as wretchedly as Mel had been, pressed the doll’s plastic face into her bosom and stroked it’s perpetually bald head while trying to offer comfort amidst her tears.

Paul looked back and forth, trying to breathe and not quite managing. Trying to lick his lips only to discover that his tongue had somehow been transformed into an arid strip of leather.

The man in the flannel coat turned to Paul with sympathetic eyes. Paul tried to stammer something, anything, as the man placed a hand on Paul’s shoulder and led him away. When they were out of earshot of the sobbing woman, (which was rather unnecessary, as she barely registered their existence at all) the man stopped and sighed, running a rugged hand through short, wiry brown hair.

“I’m so sorry,” the man said, lowering his head.

Paul was genuinely shocked. What on earth was this man apologizing for?

“Are you okay, Mr.?”

“Donaldson. Paul Donaldson. And…my wife, Mel…”

The man nodded. “Well okay, then, Paul. I’m Russ Arnolds. Over there’s my wife, Judy. I would say that I’m pleased to meet you, but I’m afraid I’m a bit embarrassed for my wife and me, right now.”

“A doll…” Paul muttered, oblivious. “It was a doll, right?”

Russ looked ashamed, like a child that knows it’s been naughty. He lowered his massive head and stared at his feet. “Yessir.”

“I…I don’t understand, though.”

“Well, you see, Mr. Donaldson, it’s my wife.”

Paul raised a hand to the back of his neck, which was already beginning to cramp up, and found it slick with cold sweat.

Russ hesitated, sighed. “I don’t much like to talk about it, but I s’pose I owe you an explanation all the same. My wife, see, we’ve been wantin’ a baby for years now. We try and try, but nothing. So, we go to the doctor, and he says he can’t find anything wrong. Not with me, not with my Judy. So we keep on trying.

“And, you see, Mr. Donaldson, all that was real hard on Judy. I mean, I was upset too, but she took it real bad. We went to more doctors, and they say that she’s not right, you know, mentally; the stress being too much for the poor girl to take. So, I gave her that doll, trying to make her happy.”

Paul looked up, finding Russ’s gaze.

“My wife isn’t crazy,” Russ said. His tone was soft and polite, but there was a glimmer of defensiveness in his eyes, as if Paul had so accused Judy. “She knows that it’s just a doll, it’s just that through all this, she’s grown kinda attached to it.”

Paul closed his eyes briefly, trying to rein in his wildly galloping pulse. He took a deep breath, held it, and let it out with a soft whoosh.

“But how did it…” Paul trailed off, uncertain on how to proceed.

Russ’s eyes went apologetic again. “Judy, she had the window in the truck rolled down when we passed you. I told her to roll the damn thing up, or we’d drown, but she doesn’t listen to me sometimes. I tried to reach over her to roll it up, and I…I bumped it.”

So there it was. The whole scene laid out before him, and Paul found himself more confused than ever. Russ’s story sounded plausible enough…for an episode of The Outer Limits. He supposed in a way, this whole situation was terribly funny, but he sure as hell didn’t feel like laughing. Total humor found in outlandish situations usually relates directly to the degree of involvement on the individual’s part. If one of his co-workers had told him about this, Paul would have laughed his ass off. In a polite and concerned manner, of course.

“Listen, Mr. Donaldson-“

“Paul. Please.”

“Paul. I know that this must be one whopping hell of a shock. Why don’t you and your missus come with us? We’re only another couple miles down the road there, and we have a phone you can use.”

Russ placed a meaty hand on Paul’s shoulder, and made to lead him towards the truck.

“No, we couldn’t,” Paul said quickly. Russ’s mention of Mel had been like a sharp slap, suddenly reminding him that she was still in the car, and unaware of what had really happened. Gods, she’s probably had a half-litter of kittens by now, he thought.

Russ was not easily deterred by Paul’s polite refusal. He stopped and looked Paul in the eyes, practically staring at him; a move that made Paul incredibly nervous. Relax, he reminded himself. It’s like differing rules in the animal kingdom. In the country, people look you in the eye to show, sincerity, or something. Not like the city.

“Paul, I’m gonna have to insist. You’re shaking, man. And you’re car ain’t going anywhere without some work. Come with Judy and me. We’ll get you and your wife a cup of coffee, and call you a cab. Tow-truck too. Okay, m’man?”

Russ’s hazel eyes bore in on Paul’s, trying to initiate some complicated social interaction in which Paul had no idea of how to proceed.

“Sure,” Paul heard himself say. “Just let me go talk to Mel, explain things, alright?”

Russ nodded with a hint of a smile. “No problem, m’man. Take your time.” He turned and walked back towards his truck, pleased at the successful interaction with the “city boy."

Paul stood in the road a moment, trying to gather his thoughts, give them some structure to help in giving Mel his narrative. After a second, he decided that this was pointless. In Mel’s current state, he’d have to spill all the comfort details quickly, and then try to soothe her into believing it.

He turned and headed back to his wrecked Buick. The only part of the car that looked undamaged was the bumper sticker that Mel had bought. It still declared them, “Pagan and Proud”. Paul sighed. Thank the Gods for full collision coverage. Mel was sitting in the passenger’s seat, her knees drawn up to her chest. She looked small and lost, and scared. He pulled the severely dented driver’s side door open with some effort, and got in, not bothering to close it behind him. The rain had slowed to a fine mist.

“Mel?”

She responded to her name by shuddering and weeping softly. Paul put an arm on her shoulder, and pulled her closer to him. His other hand went to her cheek, wet with tears.

“Mel, look at me.”

She shuddered more noticeably. Paul sighed and forcibly turned her face to his.

“Mel, it wasn’t a baby. It was a doll.”

A mix of confusion and relief flashed into her eyes so quickly and violently that Paul mistook it for anger.

“What?” she gasped.

“It was a doll, a plastic doll. It fell out of the window when that truck passed us.”

“But…” she looked away, searching for words.

Paul pulled her face to his chest and stroked her hair. She broke into fresh tears, this time in relief. Paul let her remain that way for a few minutes, letting everything sink in. When she was done, she asked him about the doll. He relayed Russ’s story, pausing only at the end.

Mel sat up. “Are you serious?”

Paul nodded. “Fraid so. It turns out that we did hit their child after all. I’m just glad that the little tyke came with the Tupperware toughness guaranty.”

Mel gave him her patented, You Shouldn’t Joke About Such Things look, but couldn’t hold it for long. A smile crept in, overcoming her stoicism. She giggled in pure relief. It was a high, jangling sound.

“Come on,” Paul said. “Russ said we can use their phone.”

“Are you sure we should?”

“Would you rather sit here all night?”

Mel bit her lip. “I mean, are you sure we can, you know, trust them?”

Paul shrugged. “They seem okay. Weird, yeah. But okay.”

Mel still looked troubled, but shrugged her acceptance anyway. The young couple got out of their car, noting once again the large oak tree that seemed to be growing where the engine block should have been, and climbed the slick embankment to Russ’s truck. The rain had now stopped completely, and the red Ford F-150 radiated a thin mist of steam, which, coupled with the softly purring engine, gave an illusion of life that was rather unnerving. Nonetheless, Paul took his wife’s arm and led her on.

Russ stepped out and moved his seat forward, offering access to the small passenger seats. Paul helped Mel in first, and then climbed into the cramped cab as well. Russ got in when Paul was situated, and the truck slid slowly away down the road.

The Arnolds’ ranch was a five mile journey from where Paul had parked their car, and they traveled it in relative silence; the only sounds were Judy, softly whispering to her, “Justin”.

Paul glanced at Mel. She was shivering, her arms crossed over her chest. He inched closer to her and put a protective arm around her fragile frame.

Russ looked up at them via the rear-view mirror and flipped the truck’s heater on.

“Thanks,” Paul said.

“No prob,” Russ replied.

Paul turned his gaze back to the window, and the dark stretch of trees that stood sentry at the edge of the road. Judy’s whispers stopped, replaced with the sound of rustling fabric. Paul glanced forward and saw that she was breast-feeding the doll. Embarrassed, he tried to look away, but found that the strange scene held him in an unnerving thrall. The top half of the doll’s head was visible beyond the curve of white flesh, and Paul found himself unwillingly examining its intricate detail. A series of painted ridges and tiny canyons to represent hair, two almond-shaped eyes, closed and tipped with delicate black lashes. A small nose, and-

The doll’s eyes opened.

It regarded Paul with deep, blue eyes; just as plastic as the rest of its body, yet somehow…vital. Thinking.

It wasn’t very nice of you to hit me with your car, Paul.

The painted, blue plastic stared at him over the comfort of its mother’s breast.

Why did you hurt me, Paul?

Paul?

“Paul?” Mel elbowed him lightly, finally breaking his reverie. She was looking at him, concerned. Did she see…? No, the angle was wrong; all she could see of Judy and Justin was the back of their seat. He looked around, disoriented, as if he had just awoken from a dream. He caught a glimpse of himself in the rear-view mirror; his cheeks were pale as (mother’s) milk, and his eyes were wide. The truck slowed and turned onto a narrow dirt driveway hidden in the trees. Paul had never been claustrophobic, but there was something oppressive about Russ’s driveway made him long for open air the way that…the way that a child longs for its mother, perhaps?

A break formed in the black trees, and the Arnolds home sat at the back end of the clearing. Russ pulled the truck up next to the house, neglecting the small garage on the right. He threw the Ford into park, killed the engine, and turned to look at Paul, concern mirroring Mel’s.

“Paul?” Mel asked again, this time placing a cool hand on his wrist.

“Paul, you okay, m’man?”

Paul stared ahead at Judy, ignoring the questions. Justin had finished feeding, and his mother rocked him slowly in her arms. As Paul watched, one of the smooth, plastic arms inched upwards on its own accord; chubby, pink hand clenching and seeking.

Russ caught Paul’s gaze and sighed, sounding at once tired and relieved, as if he had been waiting for this moment, agonizing over its arrival. “I’m sorry, Paul.”

Paul looked up and noticed the glint of the steel hammer that Russ held in one massive, powerful hand.

“I’m sorry you had to find out like this,” Russ said. The same warm sympathy that had been in Russ’s eyes earlier remained when he swung the hammer.

Pain exploded in a great, red ball before Paul’s eyes. Melanie screamed, and the sound of it hurt more. He wanted to tell her to be quiet, but he was fading; rapidly falling into the dark that had opened before him. The pain and the screaming became dim, and Paul smiled gratefully as he slipped down further and further, until everything was gone.

When Paul woke, he did so screaming. As the world flooded back to him in bright waves, so did the pain. His cries intensified the agony, but he was unable to stop himself. He screamed his pain and fear for almost five minutes before his voice grew hoarse and ragged. His screams tapered and died. He tried to move, and found that his hands and feet had been bound with baling twine; tied so cruelly that one of his hands had begun to turn an alarming shade of purple.

He turned his head gingerly and looked about the room. He was on the floor in the corner of what was certainly a child’s bedroom. Bright, aqua wallpaper covered with crude clowns drawn in electric colors amplified the light coming from the single, bare bulb strung from the ceiling, until it was almost blinding. A white crib occupied the corner adjacent to Paul, but that was the only bit of furniture he could see. The rest of the room was dominated by toys. Stuffed animals of every size, shape, color and species littered the floor, obscuring the soft, pea-green carpet. The biggest mass of fuzzy creatures was heaped in a pile in front of an oak door that appeared to be the only way in or out of the room. The head of a plush giraffe poked above the rest of the pile, brown eyes staring raptly at Paul. From some dark corner of the room –possibly from under the crib- a music box tinkled out a children’s melody in high, dulcimer tones.

Something beside Paul stirred and muttered thickly. Melanie. She had been bound the same as he, but it didn’t look like that bastard Russ had given her the hammer. Paul tried to move, but it was no use. Even if he hadn’t been restrained, he didn’t think he could stand. Something warm and sticky cut a path down the left side of his face, where most of the pain radiated from.

Okay, he told himself. Just relax and think. You can get out of here, just relax. Paul’s body chose to go renegade and ignore his commands, opting instead for cold sweat, tensed muscles, and quick, panicky glances around the room.

There had to be a way out. Had to be! Toys! Toys everywhere! Covering the floor, spilling out of the crib, piled in front of the-

Paul caught sight of Justin.

The doll sat a few inches ahead of the congregation at the door, looking like a tiny king preparing to lead his troops into battle. Its blue eyes stared at Paul with naked hatred. When Justin saw he had gained Paul’s attention, the doll slowly raised an arm in mocking salute. Someone (most likely the doting mother, Judy) had tied a small bib around the doll’s neck. It depicted a grinning, garish clown like the ones on the wall, and bore the legend, “YUM! YUM!” in childish script below.

“Mel!” Paul whispered. “Melanie! Wake up!”

Mel gave a murmuring grunt and raised her head, her eyes glassy and dazed. She saw Justin grinning horribly at them and the clear sheen of fear snapped her disorientation away.

“Paul? What the hell…oh, Paul, your face…”

There was a soft knock at the door. It creaked open, and Justin’s proud parents inched in behind the stuffed army.

“Paul, Melanie,” Russ said with a proud grin. “Are you and Justin getting along?”

“Russ, let us the fuck out of here!” Paul said, struggling to keep his wavering voice in check.

Russ shook his head slowly, still grinning. “No can do, m’man.”

Mel’s breathing, before, high and nasal, had now become wet and bubbly. She was crying again. “What do you want?”

“What every parent wants,” Russ said simply. “For our child to be happy.”

“But…” Mel sputtered. “…it’s just a…a…”

Russ sighed and stuck his meaty hands into his jean pockets. It was a childish, embarrassed gesture. “A doll. Yeah. We had to make a few sacrifices after the doctors couldn’t help us. Had to lower our standards, right?”

He looked up, seeming to regain his confidence. “But that doesn’t matter anymore. It’s almost over now. Soon, we’ll have our son. That’s why we need you. That’s why Justin chose you.”

“Please…” Mel sobbed. “Please, don’t kill us…my baby-“

“Your baby is ours now,” Judy broke in. Her voice was cold and alien, devoid of human emotion. “Your baby will make Justin strong.”

“Fine!” Paul shouted. “Take the baby then! Just let us go! It can be done, I’m sure you know how! We won’t tell anyone, I promise!”

This was it. Paul had run out of options, and sacrificing his unborn child (and most likely, his wife as well) was his last chance to escape.

Russ laughed. “You know I can’t do that, m’man. Besides, your wife probably wouldn’t survive, and-“

He stopped speaking when Justin suddenly tottered to its feet.

“Judy!” he cried. “He’s walking! Justin! My boy!”

The doll stepped forward, almost lost balance, then righted and continued on. Justin’s eyes locked on Paul, and its arms reached out as it toddled forward on plastic legs. It emitted sick mewly sounds that were like a demon’s mockery of a child’s voice, as it neared Paul.

“Please!” Paul screamed. “Please, let us go! All you need is the baby! Take it and let us go!”

Justin’s mouth opened with a soft, plastic popping, revealing a maw lined with hideously sharp, yellowing teeth that dripped with foul, dark ichor.

“Well,” Russ said. “Your baby is really what Justin needs, that’s for sure. But you see…Justin’s been teething…”

The doll moved onward, eyes gleaming with hunger.

“…and we wanted to see how he does on solid food.”