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Every year it's more of us and all we do is fill the box
Another victim, another loser, another toy. The beast has done it again – tricked some unfortunate soul into playing his game; how utterly hideous, how utterly horrific. How long this has been going on, I have no idea, but the full overflowing shelves and boxes show just the reach of his devastation. The poor thing got ripped apart and put back together as a yo-yo. He won’t have much fun with that one. I give it a day or two before the boy gets dropped and forgotten - put somewhere in the storage to collect dust for all eternity.
You might play with me at first, a couple days, a week at tops
I remember when I got turned into this. The searing pain of my body being liquidized and manipulated into an invisible mould was nothing short of excruciating - bones, flesh, hair set on fire and processed into tar and all the while being wide awake and completely aware. Shoved into a miniature version of my car and fastened with no hope of getting out, I was trapped. When the hot flash of flames left me, I was plunged into the emptiest cold I’ve ever experienced. It prickles at my... I can’t call it skin anymore, but in any case, it’s a constant. It’s like I’m stuck in a glacier, watching the world go round without me when all I want to do is yell for help.
When the toymaker claimed his prize, I was his latest, freshest amusement... for about a week. He put my car down on a Hotwheels racetrack along with other toy cars and racers and made us dance for him. The wheels whirred and smoked at the abuse and incredible speeds at which he’d force us to go. The monster giggled like a child as he set obstacles in our way – rings of fire, ramps, pedestrians - who I’m now sure were once human too, and much more. The race seemed never-ending. Paralyzed in the seat of the car, I had no choice but to simply watch my surroundings whiz by and twist along sweeping curves to the point where it was making me nauseous. I would’ve thrown up if I could’ve.
After god knows how long, the race came to an end and I won. The toymaker picked up me and my car and planted a stupidly sweet kiss on the plastic. The race was rigged. He wanted me to win. I was his newest toy; to not see me win once would be a sin.
He made us race again and again and again.
Just like your Atomic Supersonic Retro Plasma Car
We will all get tossed inside just like the piece of shit we are
About a week in, as I said, he stopped. He made a new cricket bat, and the racers were soon forgotten. I was one of many racers. I knew of many more. I saw them from the shelf that he put me on, right there by the door. I knew I was his favourite for a few days, but then he found something else to score. Like many others before, the overgrown brat tossed me away, getting over the excitement of catching his prey.
I will be your fantasy imaginary special friend
I can feel you, I relate with you, no need to talk to them
But instead you toss me in the box, leave me to rot away
Hoping you'll pick me again someday
The dust, the claustrophobic nature of the casing I was in, the crippling cold and emptiness knocked on the door of my consciousness every minute of every day. It haunts me. Being forced into paralysis, only able to see what’s right in front of me is a miserable cryogenic experience.
The cruel man always positions me so I have a clear view of him. He’s always right there, lingering behind his shop counter, expecting another victim to walk through those doors right into his web. I hate looking at it. He does this thing. He shoots me a quick half-second glance every time he knows he’s just got someone to agree to one of his games. It’s a sick practice, and I can tell he enjoys torturing me. I can’t warn them. I can’t move. I can’t do anything but look. I can’t even close my eyes. He’s the only thing I see.
I wish he’d at the very least pay more attention to me in other ways than occasional leering looks.
Sometimes after months, he pulls me off the shelf and plays with me. I’m still immobilized, but at least my car’s wheels go round and round freely. A changing point of view is better than a fixed scene. I despise that I’m beginning to look forward to him handling me. ‘It’s just a distraction,’ I always say. It’s better than a living death in a box on shelf three.
Why don't you come play with me and take me to the other side?
When I first came to see shelf three AKA the toy car shelf, I was just browsing, looking for a present for my nephew for his birthday. Like any little boy, he loved cars and so all the more he wanted to be just like his uncle when he grew up – a racecar driver. It flattered me immensely so of course I wanted to get him something special.
That’s how I stumbled upon Mr Emporium’s toyshop, the place I’d soon come to know as hell. But back then, I just saw it as a quirky little place with unique-looking toys. It was flashy and that drew me to it. It was a bit like a peacock in its own way.
I walked in, the bell by the door chiming in unison with my arrival. My eyes followed the model railroad tracks until they stopped on what I assumed was the owner of the establishment, a man not too older than I in a crisp dress shirt and waistcoat - who had a welcoming grin on his face. I acknowledged him but only briefly. Maybe if I examined him more closely that first time, I would’ve noticed how rigid he looked or how he seemed to have just too many teeth, but alas I didn’t bother. I came to buy my nephew a gift and I had no intention of staying longer than necessary. I was a busy man after all.
I was looking at the cars on shelf three when I heard someone clear their throat next to me. It startled me a little and I looked over to the source. It was the curious man from behind the counter. He had somehow managed to sneak up on me without a sound.
He was smiling. I assumed it was his customer service face.
‘Bist du ge-needing help wif anythink?’ he said.
Normally I would’ve responded with, ‘No, thank you. I’m just looking,’ but the shock of hearing such an abhorrent German accent floored me and rendered me momentarily speechless. I blinked and to that, he winked.
My mouth hung open for a second before I said anything back.
‘Oh um, yes actually,’ to this day I don’t know why I said that, ‘I’m looking to pick out a present for my nephew. It’s his birthday and I’m thinking of getting him a toy car. I’m a bit stumped on which one to get him though.’
The man brought a pondersome finger up to his lips and said, ‘And vot does it mattering vot kind of Auto you get das Kinder, ja?’ He snatched one toy off of the shelf and began to fly it around like one would a paper airplane. ‘All widdle boys like all widdle cars, do they not?’ he added.
I nodded slightly but tried to explain, ‘Well, that is a good point, but my nephew, you see, is quite particular. He’s only ten, but he knows all the racecars Formula One has ever produced and even though I am a Formula One racer myself, I don’t know too much about the history,’ I laugh, embarrassed, ‘I should probably look more into stuff I’m associated with.’
Something struck the man’s eyes – a certain intrigue perhaps.
‘You’re a Formula One racer?’ His accent slipped into a smooth English one.
I blinked at the sudden change but quickly recovered and saw this as a chance to brag a little, ‘Oh yes, that is correct. Third place in the overall scoring last year. Might be lucky and become the champion of ‘73 – this year’s race.’
I didn’t get many chances to boast in front of random strangers about my racer status, so I was glad to take that opportunity then.
The man’s warm expression finally reached his eyes, making me notice the deep smile lines around his face. It was charming, especially when he was surrounded by so many playthings and whimsy.
He reached for a specific toy on the shelf, putting back the one from earlier in the process. He then plopped the box with it into my hands. I turned it over and took a look at it.
‘First Formula One champion,’ the man chipped in.
And he was right. It was a model of an old racecar and I trusted the guy in his statement enough to believe that this was indeed a miniature of the car of the first champion of Formula One. I smiled at the toy in my hands and then at the man.
‘Thank you,’ I said, genuinely meaning it.
I proceeded to follow him to the counter and pay for the toy. I was happy that I found something so perfect for my nephew and the little guy loved it when his birthday came around. That time, I thought I had seen the toymaker for the last time. But that was just the beginning of the end for me.
Lost under Ann Raggedy, it's lonely when you're locked inside
The toyshop had been so warm and inviting back then. The toys watched me fall victim just as I now watch others. The chill I feel makes me wonder how I felt anything else here before. And that poor, poor man. I hadn’t just bought a toy of the first Formula One Champion, no, I now know I bought the genuine article. Thinking about it makes me sick. I didn’t know any better, but that makes me feel all the more mortified.
Why don't you come play with me and take me to the other side?
The next time I saw the toymaker was later that year. I was at the Buenos Aires autodrome with my new racecar to take it for a spin. A few onlookers had come to get a glimpse of some of the practice racing going on. Of course, that fact alone gave me a major confidence boner. I’d been an amazing driver with years of experience and almost by some miracle, I hadn’t crashed once. So why wouldn’t they want to see me?
I drove around some, going for a few laps, getting a proper feel for my new vehicle. It was fast. It was sturdy. It had been the coolest car I had up to that point ever sat in. As I climbed out of it and left it in the hands of my team, I felt ecstatic. I had a good feeling about that year’s season already.
As I was walking away from the track and over to the direction of the refreshments stand, my eyes glazed over the people cheering through the fence on the borders of the premises. I called out to them and waved and they all waved back. It was a silly and heart-warming scene, up until I saw someone in the crowd I recognized. He wore a big red fur coat and had bright green sunglasses, but I knew it was him. It was that guy from the toyshop. At that point, it had been weeks since that encounter, so confusion shot through me, almost making me retract my hand.
I got to the booth to get a drink, but my eyes were still on that man. ‘What was he doing here?’ I asked myself. He did know a bit about Formula One it seemed, so maybe he was a fan. That possibility calmed me down a little. Maybe it was just a coincidence and he wasn’t there to see me specifically, but just for the Formula One training. Yeah, maybe.
I want to slap past me in the face for even feeling that type of way, but at the time, him showing up excited me. I didn’t know what it was about him. He was quite pleasant at the shop and he stood out so fiercely in that crowd. He was eye-catching and had a hint of pizzazz and a dumb idiot like me found that interesting.
Lost under Ann Raggedy, it's lonely when you're locked inside
It was such a treat for me whenever I saw him. He must have been aware. Maybe that’s the reason why he places me on the shelf at the angle that he does - so I can look at him all the time. The sight has long gone sour. The repetitive nature of his routine never ceases to baffle me though. For a chaotic creature, he sure likes to set himself rules. I’d love to wipe that smug grin off of his face if I could.
I will sit and listen to your bibble babble jibber talk
The way the corners of his lips curl up when his prey notices the sick way he talks; I know it’s like a drug for him. Revelling in making fun of humanity is something this wolf in sheep’s clothing can’t get enough of. My naive brain used to think he was just a bit weird, but it’s so obvious, isn’t it? He’s offensive on purpose with this. He toys with his victims, gauging their reactions, playing mind games right along ordinary ones. I can’t physically look away and that just fuels my hatred. All I want is to get close and make him feel just as uncomfortable as everybody else.
But when you go in tonight you’ll leave me out here on the walk
You’ll ignore your little friend or trade me for something instead
But when he does take me off the shelf again and my world spins; the intense hate mutes. I’m out of the cardboard bear trap for the first time in months and my car is gliding along the wooden countertop. He plays with me as if I were a fingerboard or some kind of fidget toy, just flipping me around. The heat from my anger is gone and it’s oh so cold for the thousandth time but I don’t have even a moment to focus on that when I’m being whacked from side to side. I’m moving and that makes me feel so alive. I never want him to put me down ever again. But he does. He does all too quickly. Set on the counter as a customer walks in, I’m ignored once more. But of course, I’m not good enough for him.
Please come get your doggy, don’t let him chew off my fuckin‘ head
All your mom and daddy do is work and fight, that’s all they do
I can understand the way you feel because I feel it too
Guilt washes over me. I hate that monster. I want him dead. Then why do I want him to not leave me instead?
My empty, dead-eyed stare watches a family of three enter the toyshop. Is the toymaker going to do anything to them? I can’t tell. I’m not looking him in the eyes anymore. The child reminds me a little of my nephew. I hope he makes it out of here alive.
His parents look around the shop as they let their son roam free. He nears closer to me.
‘Ah, little boy, I zee you have set your Augen on zis Auto, haf you?’ I hear from behind me. The toymaker is making his move.
I feel myself being picked up and my world rumbles again. The boy’s suddenly too close for comfort. I’m being passed over to him. There’s an emission of soft childlike laughter accompanied by a more distant sinister giggle. The child turns around and starts making for the front door. And in that moment, a sudden surge of panic overcomes my mind. Wait! Go back! I don’t want to leave! The possibility of freedom and getting out of this hell is exactly what I’ve been wanting all these years, but now that that looks like it’s finally happening, I’ve changed my mind. Alarm bells ring out in the cold expanse of my plastic shell.
Surely the toymaker wouldn’t let me go just like that. But... why wouldn’t he? He’s done so before to other souls. Oh god, he has. Oh god. If I leave with this boy, I’ll be just a toy - for forever and ever. There’ll be no hope of maybe getting turned back, no hope of getting treated like something other than just a piece of junk. If I could breathe, I’d be hyperventilating.
The boy is almost at the door when a hand catches him by the shoulder.
‘Sweetie, we’ve already bought you a cute teddy bear,’ says his mother before reaching down and snatching me from her son’s hands, ‘That’s all we’re getting today. I’ll just take this back.’
The boy whines in protest, but the mother isn’t having any of it. She strolls back over to the counter and gives me back to the man, who didn’t even care if he ever saw me again apparently.
‘Awfully sorry about my son. He has a bit of a habit of taking things that don’t belong to him,’ she explains, then hurries off back to her family and leaves.
The toymaker only sighs before pressing my car between his thumb and forefinger, ‘Nobody seems to want you today, my little racer,’ he tuts, ‘What a shame. You were always rather fond of fans, weren’t you?’
But you’ll leave me in the box and I can barely hear you play
Lost among the toys of yesterday
He must know that he’s got my full attention now that he’s talking to me - it’s humiliating. What’s more humiliating is that when he puts me back in the box and on the shelf again, I feel a pang of disappointment. When I’m dropped off, he doesn’t even turn back to look at me, he just saunters back to the back and leaves me contemplating why I’m even behaving like this. I’m nothing but a small piece of his collection now. It’s not like he’d put effort into his mind games with me anymore when he’s already got me exactly where he wants me. I don’t know why I miss those times with such a horrid creature.
Why don't you come play with me and take me to the other side?
He seemed so different back before he tricked me, before he revealed his true twisted intentions. It’s hard not to think about those memories when I have no choice but to stare at him almost every minute of every day.
The deceiver used to visit me quite often at the track during race week when I trained. After that first time I saw him there, yes, after he gave me a bit of a fright, he came back again the next time there was a race – at the Interlagos circuit.
That time, I chose to confront him because I really was curious as to why he was there. He adorned the same fur coat and sunglasses as last time so he was well recognizable even at a distance. He stood behind the fence from the moment I arrived. I could see him from my car. It really bugged me. He didn’t move an inch the entire time and my performance wasn’t as good as it would’ve normally been because of that. It was like he was forcing my attention away from my job so he could have it for himself. I couldn’t go to him to chat until after I was done there for the day. The schedule for the booking was tight I recall.
After practice I quickly said goodbye to the guys, ran to the side of the pit building and straight-up jumped the fence. I landed on my feet and I realized all too late that that was not my brightest idea. I always used to get hyper when I was nervous or something. Maybe that was one of the factors that got me into racing and that was all fine and dandy a few years back, but at thirty-eight, I wasn’t able to shake it off so easily anymore.
‘Urgh,’ I grunted as my knees buckled. I would’ve fallen to the ground and had a sore ass, if it weren’t for a sudden appearance of a pair of arms holding me up.
My blood pressure shot up when I saw the fuzzy red sleeves that accompanied those slim well-kept hands. In that moment I realized I had come face to face with the flamboyant shopkeeper that had been invading my thoughts all day. I held onto his arms to get regain some balance.
I couldn’t see his eyes behind his shades, so saying, ‘Oh h-hello,’ was a bit awkward even if we ignore the stutter.
His mouth pulled into a wide toothy grin, ‘Guten Tag, my widdle racer,’ he replied.
His strange string of words flew right over my head because... wait how many teeth was I seeing? I blinked and suddenly what I saw looked perfectly normal – just a nice set of pearly whites... and a gold tooth? Okay? Fancy?
He cleared his throat and I noticed fast that I was just positively staring and that this was generally not how conversations worked.
I leaned back and straightened out against the fence before sputtering, ‘Nice bumping into you here?’
The man giggled, ‘I thought I would stop by and watch the talent at work,’ he said, his accent slipping into English again.
‘Oh, you did? H-how did you know I would be here?’ I asked.
The man raised up a newspaper I hadn’t noticed he had been holding, ‘Read about it.’
‘Oh, right. I forgot that got leaked.’
‘Yes.’
His short answers were not helping alleviate the awkwardness. This wasn’t like me at all. I was never awkward.
‘So... are you a fan of...’ I pointed back to the racetrack with my thumb, ‘ Formula one?’ I tried next.
The man reached to take off his glasses and with his eyes then revealed, I saw that he looked genuinely excited. They even twinkled, I’d go as far as to say.
‘Oh yes,’ he began, ‘Big fan. I watch it every year. All the going round and round like a merry-go-round and all the zippety widdle cars – such fun!’
To that, I smiled. I completely understood.
‘Oh, that’s a nice surprise then! Then again you seemed to have a lot of knowledge about it at your shop so I suppose that’s on me.’
He gave me a quick once over before he added his piece, ‘I thought I’d come see things up close this year. Since I met you, you understand. Why wouldn’t I want to come and cheer my toy racer on?’
I ignored the toy part, although now it seems so obvious, doesn’t it? Man, I was pea-brained. My idiotic, prideful self only heard what he wanted to hear. My awkwardness had instantly fallen off. I had acquired a fan and a good-looking one at that. I can’t deny that it went to my head.
I puffed out my chest and continued the conversation, ‘Well, of course. Why wouldn’t you? After learning about my exploits, I wouldn’t expect any less,’ and then I went on to brag, ‘Things are looking bright this year. Betting offices are predicting I’m going to win this time around and seeing as you’re a fan and you helped me pick out the absolute best birthday present for my nephew; yes, he absolutely loves the car, thanks again, you can come by whenever and cheer me on as much as you like.’
The man snickered and winked at me.
‘Well, if I have your permission...’
At the time, I mistakenly took that as flirting, but looking back, he was definitely just making fun of my naivety. The next thing he said wouldn’t have made any proper sense otherwise.
‘You’re a funny little man, Mr Champion. I’m going to enjoy playing with you.’
Lost under Ann Raggedy, it's lonely when you're locked inside
I miss racing. I really do. When I’m perpetually parked and unable to start the car like I am now, it gets awfully depressing. I curse the toymaker. I curse him for keeping me a step away from happiness at all times. I’m in my car nonstop, but I can never drive it. I’m immortalized - never aging, but I can’t enjoy it. I see the man I once wished to see every waking hour of the day just as much as I wanted to, but the feelings have gone bitter. My body isn’t the only thing that hurts. The warping, the stretching and the straining of my mental capabilities makes me lurch. He’s torturing me and now that he’s left the room, I bet he can’t even see me.
Why don't you come play with me and take me to the other side?
Once upon a time, it looked like he couldn’t take his eyes off of me. It was a bit of a strange feeling to glance at him at random when I was on the track and see him already staring every. single. time... but I very soon got used to his pointed gaze. In the end, it only helped swell my ego again after I effectively chose to ignore the creepy factor of it.
He came to every practice race. After a few times, I began to feel kind of bad that he had to stay on the other side of the fence with the rest of the spectators, so I let him in. Of course, that sort of thing wasn’t exactly normal, so there was some explaining I had to do to my team and the management of every racecourse we’d be at. Introductions were made, during which I found out that the man liked to be addressed as ‘the toymaker’, which was, to be fair kind of weird, but he was eccentric so I went with it. Some of the guys shot me questioning glances at bringing such a colourful and unknown individual to this highly professional gig, but at the end of the day, I was their star and I told them he was a friend, so they couldn’t really stop me from letting him hang around.
It made my days better - having someone else than just the team around. My sister and her family didn’t fly out to see me and I wasn’t really involved with anybody at the time so days could get awfully lonely.
So I stayed after hours when everybody would head home. I’d lock up and take care of everything and obviously at that point, the toymaker would keep me company. We’d talk about stupid stuff. I’d show him the cars; I even offered to take him for a ride once or twice, but he just laughed and said we’d have plenty of time for that when they invent Formula cars for two people, as if that mattered to me. But the more one-on-one time I had with the strange man, the more I enjoyed his presence. He became a sort of positive constant thing in my life and with the time until the big last Grand Prix of the season shortening, the more grounding it felt for my nerves. I thought I had finally found a friend after a long time who wasn’t work-related – a gorgeous friend who spoke in a peculiar manner about peculiar things, but a friend nonetheless. That was until the day it all came crashing down.
Lost under Ann Raggedy, it's lonely when you're locked inside
While staring at the empty space by the toymaker’s shadow, I feel like I’m being laughed at. He really used my loneliness, my longing for a meaningful connection to his advantage and ultimately against me. Maybe if I wasn’t so trusting or maybe if I had other friends; the betrayal wouldn’t feel so jarring. But he stabbed me in the back. What kind of person would make someone the happiest they’ve been in years just to take all that away in a single day without remorse?
Oh yeah, silly me. The toymaker isn’t human.
Boys and girls, fuck that old crusty shit
Come down and get your brand new, ha
Shiny, Slimy, Atomic Shithead
What an absolute ostentatious idiot I’ve been. I should’ve looked more into things. I should have listened to my gut. I should have gone over the unusual things he did. I shouldn’t have ever let him into my life. I should’ve thought with my brain and not my dick. I could’ve been living a normal life and not this... poor excuse for an existence.
I can see you near the bed when I look through this tiny crack
You’ve become much older now and I don’t see you turning back
Through my big stupid heart, he got to my head and through my thick stupid head he almost got me in bed. My dignity remains? Every part of me has been violently changed; only my mind stays the same. So long spent in this hell, so maybe even that has been reduced to something unrecognizable now.
God, I feel like I’m going insane.
I’ve spent what I think are how many years in this miserable form? To be honest I don’t know what time is anymore. The customers that come in have been picked from what seems to be a variety of eras. I’ve seen someone from my day – the 70s, come in and then someone who looked like they just stepped out of the 1920s follow. I’ve seen people in clothes that didn’t coincide with anything I’ve ever seen before too - maybe from the future? No matter who comes in though, their fate is soon to be obsolete. The toymaker looks at them and smiles and then they play his game.
I’d be visibly seething if I could be, for I see him through the crack in the curtain leading to the back of the shop, tallying away. I hear whirring. I hear whizzing. I hear grinding and snipping. He’s at work again.
He could do anything at the snap of his fingers, yet he chooses to do things the old-fashioned way sometimes. He plucks the hairs from one doll and stitches them onto another. Sometimes he does this with limbs or eyes or whatever. It’s all behind closed curtains, but I see the results. He puts them back on a shelf and gives himself a round of applause for his rewarding hard work. I forget sometimes, when he takes me out of the box - when he plays with me, when his eyes look over to mine, but I can’t deny the horror I feel when I hear him rip apart his creations and frankenstein them into something new. I wonder what happens to their souls. Are they changed? Are they morphed into something else as well? I don’t know. I can’t speak to them.
But for once, I can hear them and they are screaming.
Does he do this because he’s bored? I don’t know. He never says.
He doesn’t take me off the shelf that much anymore and I worry. While I crave his attention, I don’t want to be subjected to a horror like that.
Seven years in darkness I can only hope my wish comes true
That one day I’ll get you in my hands, and I’ll play with you!
I wish I was free. I wish I could move. All this bone-chilling trauma just because I lose?! What a joke! What a joke this is! What a joke I am! If I could reverse our roles, I’d show him what it’s like. I’d show him what it’s like to spend years paralyzed! To spend it with a madman laughing at you! To spend it alone and cold just for there to be no light at the end of the tunnel because your existence is damned to get torn apart and rearranged into something unrecognizable just because that maniac is bored!
I’d show him what it’s like to be promised everything and be delivered nothing!
Why don't you come play with me and take me to the other side?
On the day of the Grand Prix at Watkins Glen International, I thought I was having the best day of my life. The crowds were roaring, adrenaline was pumping through my veins and the fresh scent of gasoline and burning tyres filled my nostrils. I was in heaven. The race went by in a flash. I had barely registered crossing the finish line and all too fast I was being ushered out through a bustling cluster of photographers and reporters. The flashing lights made me dizzy, but couldn’t wipe the smile off of my face.
After the ceremony and once I was away from the public view, I had a chance to calm down. I couldn’t believe it. I had done it! I won! I was the 1973 champion!
I was guzzling down an ice-cold beverage when someone slipped inside, escaping the traffic jam of people on the other side of the door.
I stood up from my chair and skipped over to meet him halfway for a hug. He laughed along with me and held me tight - practically lifting me off the ground for a second. The toymaker looked just as happy as I was. To this day I’m not sure if he really was or not. I’d wish to think he was. He always seemed to enjoy a good game.
‘Oh mein widdle racer, you’ve done it!’ he congratulated me.
My smile started to hurt, ‘I guess I have! Hahaha!’ I laughed.
He pulled away and held me at arms’ length, an iron-clad grip on my shoulders as he said, ‘You have just got to show meinself around the track later! Tell me how it was when you were there.’
‘What? Really?’ I asked, a little puzzled by his request but not against it, ‘Bit of a silly thing to say but sure! I’ll take you later!’
The toymaker’s grin stretched to a degree where it looked as painful as mine.
‘Ja! Such fun!’ he said and that sealed our fate and I do suppose our date as well. Well, at that point my naïve heart hoped it would be a date. I thought I’d deserved it. I won the race. I was the champ. I was the best. It was my and my day alone to enjoy and surely the object of my growing affection would know that. I wasn’t stupid. Well… I didn’t think I was.
It wasn’t hard to guess the funny little man’s preferences. He was no glam rock star to be dressing and acting the way he did for attention. He radiated queerness as much as that queer little shop of his, and I thought, ‘Lucky for him that I share those preferences.’ I can’t believe I believed I was doing him charity.
It’d be even more stupid to deny that I liked him. But did I really think that I had the upper hand? He knew what he was doing. The bastard was pulling the strings ever since he first showed up in that crowd of adoring fans. It’s sickening.
After the commotion faded away from the vicinity of the road, I came back and met with the toymaker by the pits, where my car was still parked. He was already there right by the car, staring at me as I approached.
Before I could get something as simple as a greeting out, he said, ‘Show me the track. Tell me your strategies,’ his voice was once again a smooth English. I had gotten used to his accent-switching by then. I had asked about it once. I asked why he did it and he just said it entertained the ‘widdle Kinder’ that came to the shop – it created a sort of atmosphere, he said. I didn’t have a reason to doubt him.
Anyway, I didn’t have a reason not to give him a grand tour of the circuit either, so I did. He seemed genuinely interested in the thought processes I had formed whilst trampling the competition. He kept asking what I was feeling or thinking on every turn and lap. I had a few things to say so I said them, letting him in on everything. His bright blue eyes shined as he exclaimed ‘Awesome!’ in a strong American accent every time something I shared caught his intrigue. I found it kind of cute so I only laughed at it.
Racing strategy wasn’t the only thing we talked about. We talked about the weather or how shit travelling to the US was just to keep things more casual but yeah car talk was prevalent. I felt the need to educate him. If he was a woman I guess one could say I was mansplaining. He said he was such a big Formula One fan, so how could I not?
We circled back to my car eventually. I was proud of that thing. It truly was the best car I have ever driven. I leaned back against the rear wing all suave-like in hopes of appearing more appealing to the guy. He just stood there, staring at me carefully with that ever-present grin still digging into his cheeks. It was a bit uncanny actually. It wasn’t the first time I had noticed that he looked stiff, almost like if he was mechanical but at that point, I was so desperate to have the best day ever that I chose to completely ignore those potential creeper red flags. It wasn’t like it was easy for me to get a date. Sexuality had become a bit more loose-ended since the 60s, but I wasn’t exactly the type of person who frequented queer establishments or went out every morning loud and proud. I was happy to think this was a date at all actually. The man was strange, but at the very least he put a bit of effort in. He was there and that was all that mattered to me really.
I honestly thought though that I was taking advantage of his fan behavior. I mean, who would say no to their idol? I was an absolute dumbass with my head screwed on wrong to believe that nonsense. He wanted me to think that. Apparently, it made it more fun for him to stomp my ego down into the dirt later, but I don’t need to remember that humiliating experience.
Back in time in that moment, I had only two things on my mind – my win and of course, him.
My eyes flickered around the area, noting the absence of people.
‘Why’d you want to meet here all alone? I’m sure the other guys would’ve loved to answer some of your championship trivia questions too,’ I said, already guessing what the toymaker might say.
I swear the man smirked.
‘Well,’ he said, slipping into French – oh that was a new one, ‘I just wanted to congratulate mon petit racer for his victory.’
I narrowed my eyes playfully, ‘I thought you already did.’
He tutted, ‘Ah ah ah. While that may be correct. I meant to say,’ and he paused, ‘congratulate d’une manière appropriée.’
I didn’t speak French, but I was getting the idea I knew what he meant.
He slowly approached me, getting all up in my personal space and I just let him. I was so glad it was just us there in that moment.
His strained smile calmed down a little, being replaced by a focused look.
Tension built before he spoke again, ‘Congratulations on your victory, mon bel champion.’
The way he said it was so soft. I had no doubt about what was coming next.
My eyes closed in anticipation of those fireworks to arrive. It wasn’t long and it did happen, yet it wasn’t sweet like I expected it to be. Strong hands; stronger than they looked anyway, pushed me up onto the side of my car. My heart started racing like my career just about a second before tough thin lips crashed against mine. The theoretical motorcar in my mind slammed against the side of the track and plummeted onto its side, already enveloped in flames. It was firm and rough and passionate. I hadn’t expected the toymaker to kiss like this. He nipped at my lips, adding fuel to the fire. I see now that those were his sadistic tendencies I know all too well, showing through. The man tasted like battery acid and petrol. It was disgusting, but somehow I couldn’t get enough of it. It was incredibly overwhelming. I’d never been kissed like that before.
I was falling and it was scary. I felt hollow and empty in a matter of seconds, but I didn’t dare break the liplock. I very soon felt a nasty sensation that made me feel incredibly small. There was a lump in my throat that felt like something trying to make its way inside of me through my esophagus. It was like I was choking. My eyes opened for a split second out of shock just to meet the icy blues of my counterpart. They were wide open as if they were never closed. It was the first time I had been properly freaked out by the toymaker. Embarrassment, unease and yearning each fought to take control of my actions. I shut my eyes again almost immediately. Against all better judgment, I wanted this to continue a little longer. I was kissing the guy I really liked after all. I tried to put my arms around him to keep him close, but as soon as I attempted that, he pulled away.
Slumped against the car, I must’ve looked pathetic. I felt terribly weak in the knees. It would be hard not to feel so after something like that.
I took a couple of deep breaths for myself. I needed air. The toymaker on the other hand didn’t seem to need any of that. He moved to stand next to me and leaned against the car himself. He wasn’t phased and seemed cheerful.
‘You know, I bet it is not zat harden to win vone of these races,’ the man said nonchalantly, his German back, ‘After zat talk vee had earlier, I think anyone could do it.’
I blinked in confusion. I was still recovering from that whole soul-sucking business and now he was mocking my trade? No… no, he wasn’t mocking me. His tone was way too nice for that. I craned my neck to meet his eyes, ‘Excuse me?’ I said.
The toymaker giggled and explained, ‘Oh you’re very impressive, mein widdle racer, but I’m just saying zat I think I can beat you.’
I guess this was his plan. To get me all riled up so I’d play some stupid game with him. He damn well knew I took risks when I felt keyed up. Adrenaline from any type of sudden excitement got me in the zone almost in the blink of an eye. He sure knows how to exploit a weakness.
I laughed at what he insinuated, ‘You think, do you?’
He nodded, dead serious.
I found it funny and if I wasn’t still riding atop of that high, I would’ve left it at that, but that wasn’t going to happen, was it? Because my idiotic prideful lovestruck self just had to say, ‘Oh yeah? Well then, I challenge you to a race!’
Something changed in the toymaker – his innocent grin turned ominous. I was too hyped to really notice. To me, this was all harmless teasing and I was willing to play along. I didn’t care that I didn’t know if he could drive. I didn’t care that it was dangerous. I just knew I had to get that smug expression off of his face one way or another.
‘Challenge accepted,’ he had confirmed and I was screwed.
We very quickly agreed on some ground rules. There would be one lap and he could use my spare car that was parked in the track garage. He also asked what prize I’d like to claim if I won. I wasn’t really in a state of mind to be thinking about what would happen after so I said, ‘I’d like to keep that a surprise for when I win.’
The man smirked as he climbed into his chosen car, ‘Well then, I will do the same, widdle racer,’ he rebutted.
As I got into mine and drove over to the starting line, very gullible thoughts raced through my mind. They were just as innocent as I thought this race would be. It was all “I’ll show him that this isn’t as easy as it looks!” and “I’ll make him eat his words!” and sometimes even a bit of “Should I take him to dinner after this?” But I wasn’t thinking straight. When I looked over to him to start the countdown, I was met with the most confident aura I had ever witnessed. He knew what he was doing. Oh how wrong I had been. This wasn’t a game at all; at least not for me.
When I reached zero, our cars set off. Engines roared as speed took over. Bits of asphalt undulated in the air like clouds of dust when we’d sprint by. I drove like I always did; the same way I did that very day when I won the championship. I barely gave the toymaker’s car a second glance until suddenly his vehicle swapped places with me in the lead. I was like… ‘What?’ He just passed me like it was nothing. His driving wasn’t clunky at all, in fact, it ran smoothly, calculated even. When I failed time and time again to gain on him, I began to worry that I was going to lose the race.
Since he was in front of me, it was impossible not to notice how familiar his driving looked. And then it hit me. That was my technique! He was using my own tricks against me! But how? He couldn’t have adopted it just by watching me race earlier. Nobody could learn that quick and from so little. Suddenly it all fell into place though. Our prolonged conversation, the walk, how I told him about every move I implemented and where on the racetrack too. My heart sank. I told him everything. I gave him a manual. Was that his plan all along? To come here, learn my ways and then use those to beat me? Those were some backhanded tactics. For the first time, and I was getting the impression that there would be a lot of firsts, I felt betrayed by him. It wouldn’t be the last time, but it really got to me.
I tried to accelerate last minute to battle my way to the front and save myself the humiliation of losing, but I was too late. Disbelief flooded my body as I watched the opposing car zip past the finish line.
I passed it right behind him, but it didn’t fill me with any satisfaction. The toymaker, the git, was already getting out of his car when I was just stopping. My lasting sour mood turned puzzled as I watched the man emerge. His clothes were different. He was wearing the same overalls and helmet I was down to the bright red sticker from my sponsor on the side of it. My brows furrowed. ‘What is going on?’ I meant to say but didn’t due to my confusion. I blinked instead.
The man walked over to me and stared at me smugly for a second before saying, ‘Oh dear, it seems I have won.’
I have no idea how I heard him so clearly because my new model of racecar was the first one with a roof and doors – soundproof, but I did. I was very quickly sobering up for this was just straight-up embarrassing. It took a firm blow to my ego and I didn’t like it one bit.
I felt myself frowning and he relished it.
‘What? A young buck like you beat by a random unprofessional small-town big-city intern like me? Aw shucks, hon, we’ve got ourselves a crybaby,’ flared out of his mug next, in the most ridiculous southern accent I’ve ever heard. And it was utter jibber jabber – it made zero sense. Was he trying to get a rise out of me? This was just cruel. It hurt.
I thought he liked me?
But what hurt more was what happened after that.
The toymaker clicked his tongue and stated, ‘It’s time for me to claim my prize.’
I wasn’t given time to wonder what that would be because he pointed his manicured index finger right at me and said, ‘You.’
Upon hearing that, I finally found my voice, ‘What?’ I had said and just as I said that, the car began to feel impossibly hot. It must’ve happened in a matter of seconds in reality but for me, it felt agonizingly drawn out.
The most terrifying moment of my life went a little like I expected it to go. I always thought I’d one day die in a crash. My car’s engine would explode and if that wouldn’t kill me, the fire would get me. That thought was always in the very back of my mind whenever I’d race. I’d never been in a collision, but I knew they happened. That image haunted me, though I chose to not pay attention to it like to many other things that scared me. It was better that way. I was happier that way. But now my worst nightmare was coming true and I hadn’t even been in an accident. The inside of my car got enwrapped in flames. I had no idea where they came from, but when a person is panicking, there isn’t much space for questions. I fumbled with my seatbelt and tried to pry open the car door, but not one of the two would budge. I banged on the glass of the windshield as toxic fumes filled the vehicle, trying to break it but that didn’t work either. My overalls had already caught fire at that point. It burned. It burned so much and the car was so hot I couldn’t breathe. I felt my skin melting; I felt it disintegrating and the car, oh my precious car began to collapse in on itself. It got smaller and smaller while I stayed the same. Claustrophobic jumps in depth in tune with my heartbeat and through the smoke-fogged glass I saw him there, no distress, no panic, only a sinister smile, all while in a copy of my own clothes, the bastard. I called out for help. I screamed in pain. But he didn’t budge. He was truly insane.
I thought I was dying - that I’d soon be dead. My consciousness wouldn’t waver however. It was fucked in the head. Tears from my eyes evaporated, hair singed and gone, my skin was as dark as coal, charred to the bone, my vocal cords were gone and I still felt it all. I looked at the toymaker one more time, his beautiful twisted smile, before my eyes popped out and joined the forming gurgling goop pile. The ashes were being liquidized and manipulated into shape. I felt every moment, every hardening take. It was the worst pain I had ever felt and all the same it suddenly came to an end.
I could finally see again and it was oh-so freezing then. I saw the road. I was in my car. I was behind the wheel and all looked fine. I tried stretching my legs but couldn’t. My arms wouldn’t work either and then my head – same story. Did I crash and crack my spine? Was I paralyzed?
The answer came as my whole world shook. The car got lifted high into the sky. And suddenly I had a front-row seat to the screening of a giant with wavy gray hair.
‘My my, my widdle toy racer, what a sight you are,’ the toymaker cooed.
My speech capabilities were just as useless as a cut telephone line. I stared at him unmoving as his words continued to teeter.
‘Oh don’t be mad at me, you rascal. There you are,’ he kissed the car and giggled. One could possibly say that he had taken this a bit too far, but he had one more thing to say before he put me in his pocket and that was, ‘I won fair and square. We’ll have even more fun together now, poppet.’
Ha ha! And I’ll play with you! (Take me to the other side)
Lost under Ann Raggedy, it’s lonely when you’re locked inside
Ha ha! And I’ll play with you! (It can b eso lonely)
Why don’t you come play with me and take me to the other side?
He put me through my worst nightmare. If I could, I’d wrap my hands around his skinny neck and choke him to death. I’d burn down his cursed toyshop. I’d make him pay for what he did to me and countless others before and ever since me. He toyed with me and made me adore him, though I feel like I would show him mercy if he batted his eyelashes at me and for that, he deserves to rot in hell. I’d tear him limb from limb. I’d maul him like a bear. I’d rip that smile off his face with a meathook and plaster a candle in its place. That candle would burn haha. That candle would burn! Slowly, oh so agonizingly slowly! The wax would melt into his skin. He’d burn from the inside out for all he’s done!
If I ever get turned back, the manchild has got a hell of a shitstorm coming! He’d be the one screaming. Haha. He’d be the one yelling. He’d be the one begging for help and I’d love to give him nothing.