![[Image via the always-wonderful Square America]
MANNEQUINS
Jeffrey was pleased to be invited to the party. He showed up a sensible 5 minutes late with a casserole and a bottle of Kahlua. Anna, the hostess, greeted him warmly. She handed the food and drink to her husband Sanjay and directed Jeffrey to the room where coats were stowed on the bed.
As Jeffrey entered the living room he spotted the children by the window. Three of them, stairsteps. A thin boy in a mask and dunce hat, a girl clad in a too-large, fur bolero jacket and a little cowboy. The tableau immediately struck him as strange, for they didn’t appear to move at all. He was about to approach them and say a friendly hello when Sanjay tapped his shoulder. “Drink?”
“Sure.”
Other guests were milling about and a general hubbub grew around him and between being new to the neighborhood and wishing to socialize and growing steadily drunker, Jeffrey sort of forgot about the kids standing stock still by the window.
He would catch a glimpse of them every now and then and idly wonder why they never moved. Finally, 4 drinks into the party, it hit him - they were mannequins. Of course.
He felt so stupid.
It was midnight when Jeffrey picked up his coat and went to find Anna and Sanjay.
Anna was perched in the kitchen, smoking a cigarette. She and her husband were a fascinating pair - she was an icy-looking true blond with pale blue eyes, Sanjay was a dark-skinned Brahmin whose imperious gaze belied a pleasant, Oxford-accented baritone. Jeffrey felt pleased that such interesting people saw fit to invite him, the only single man in the neighborhood and an unknown quantity, to their party.
And it had, after all, gone pretty well. He had made a business contact with a fellow attorney and gotten a phone number from one of the two single women there.
Jeffrey made his compliments and Anna and Sanjay received them graciously. He was about to turn and go when he said, “Those mannequins in the front room - nice touch.”
Sanjay seemed to stiffen at this, but Anna remained cool as ever, regarding him with her wintry eyes. “You think so?”
“Yeah,” said Jeffrey, feeling strangely uncomfortable, “I mean, they’re very realistic. At first I wondered, why the hell won’t those kids move?”
Anna and Sanjay both laughed, but Jeffrey, smiling, thought he saw an odd look pass between them. The laughter seemed theatrical, a little forced. “Yes,” said Sanjay, “Anna’s idea. Just to add an odd note to the evening. A kind of surreal ambiance.”
“Well,” said Jeffrey, “it worked.”
“Your casserole dish!” said Anna. She grabbed the dish off the counter and handed it to him. “The Kahlua was gone in an hour,” she told him, smiling.
Jeffrey knew this, as he’d drunk a great deal himself. Now it was coming back on him a bit. The room felt hot and close and his hosts seemed, well, off.
“Well,” he said, “good night.”
He left the kitchen and entered the long front hall, which was now a long dark passage to the ornate, beveled glass front door. That’s funny, thought Jeffrey, the light was on when I went to the kitchen.
He was almost at the front door when all the lights in the house went out.
He stutter-stepped and his hand paused over the knob.
It was their problem. He was headed home. Sorry for your troubles.
Still, his grip tightened on the casserole dish. He wondered just how drunk he was, really, to be feeling so freaked-out and weird.
Jeffrey grabbed the doorknob and felt a powerful, wrenching, electric pain jolt through his body. Distantly, he heard his casserole dish crashing to the fine parquet flooring of the foyer. Then: blackness.
“Wake up, mister.” A boy’s voice, fluting through the dark.
Jeffrey felt deep pain, down in his very bones. What the hell happened? He remembered saying good night to Anna and Sanjay, the lights going out, pain… then what?
He opened his eyes to shadow on shadow.
A diffuse blue light was coming from somewhere in the room. He was on the floor. Above him were three shapes.
The children. The mannequins.
“No,” he croaked, “no…”
Another voice, the little girl: “Why do they always say that?”
The boy’s voice answered, “Dad says they can’t believe we’re real or something.”
“Not… real…” said Jeffrey, “not…”
A third voice said, “Don’t try to get up, Mister, Daddy taped you down good.”
Jeffrey’s faculties were rushing back to full alert and he tried to wrench himself into a sitting position but failed.
He was taped to the floor. Silver duct tape.
Like a bug in a spider’s web, he thought.
The girl asked, “Are you afraid now, mister?”
Jeffrey realized that yes, he was afraid. Horribly, hugely afraid in a way a thousand years of nightmares could never predict. He opened his mouth again, but heard only a dry clicking sound.
“He’s afraid,” said the older boy, still just a cone-hatted silhouette above Jeffrey, “can’t you smell it?”
“Yes,” said the little one, removing his costume cowboy hat and tossing it away.
“Good,” said the girl’s voice, “they taste better when they’re afraid.”
Then they were on him.](http://29.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_l57sidK8f11qcuobgo1_400.jpg)
[Image via the always-wonderful Square America]
MANNEQUINS
Jeffrey was pleased to be invited to the party. He showed up a sensible 5 minutes late with a casserole and a bottle of Kahlua. Anna, the hostess, greeted him warmly. She handed the food and drink to her husband Sanjay and directed Jeffrey to the room where coats were stowed on the bed.
As Jeffrey entered the living room he spotted the children by the window. Three of them, stairsteps. A thin boy in a mask and dunce hat, a girl clad in a too-large, fur bolero jacket and a little cowboy. The tableau immediately struck him as strange, for they didn’t appear to move at all. He was about to approach them and say a friendly hello when Sanjay tapped his shoulder. “Drink?”
“Sure.”
Other guests were milling about and a general hubbub grew around him and between being new to the neighborhood and wishing to socialize and growing steadily drunker, Jeffrey sort of forgot about the kids standing stock still by the window.
He would catch a glimpse of them every now and then and idly wonder why they never moved. Finally, 4 drinks into the party, it hit him - they were mannequins. Of course.
He felt so stupid.
It was midnight when Jeffrey picked up his coat and went to find Anna and Sanjay.
Anna was perched in the kitchen, smoking a cigarette. She and her husband were a fascinating pair - she was an icy-looking true blond with pale blue eyes, Sanjay was a dark-skinned Brahmin whose imperious gaze belied a pleasant, Oxford-accented baritone. Jeffrey felt pleased that such interesting people saw fit to invite him, the only single man in the neighborhood and an unknown quantity, to their party.
And it had, after all, gone pretty well. He had made a business contact with a fellow attorney and gotten a phone number from one of the two single women there.
Jeffrey made his compliments and Anna and Sanjay received them graciously. He was about to turn and go when he said, “Those mannequins in the front room - nice touch.”
Sanjay seemed to stiffen at this, but Anna remained cool as ever, regarding him with her wintry eyes. “You think so?”
“Yeah,” said Jeffrey, feeling strangely uncomfortable, “I mean, they’re very realistic. At first I wondered, why the hell won’t those kids move?”
Anna and Sanjay both laughed, but Jeffrey, smiling, thought he saw an odd look pass between them. The laughter seemed theatrical, a little forced. “Yes,” said Sanjay, “Anna’s idea. Just to add an odd note to the evening. A kind of surreal ambiance.”
“Well,” said Jeffrey, “it worked.”
“Your casserole dish!” said Anna. She grabbed the dish off the counter and handed it to him. “The Kahlua was gone in an hour,” she told him, smiling.
Jeffrey knew this, as he’d drunk a great deal himself. Now it was coming back on him a bit. The room felt hot and close and his hosts seemed, well, off.
“Well,” he said, “good night.”
He left the kitchen and entered the long front hall, which was now a long dark passage to the ornate, beveled glass front door. That’s funny, thought Jeffrey, the light was on when I went to the kitchen.
He was almost at the front door when all the lights in the house went out.
He stutter-stepped and his hand paused over the knob.
It was their problem. He was headed home. Sorry for your troubles.
Still, his grip tightened on the casserole dish. He wondered just how drunk he was, really, to be feeling so freaked-out and weird.
Jeffrey grabbed the doorknob and felt a powerful, wrenching, electric pain jolt through his body. Distantly, he heard his casserole dish crashing to the fine parquet flooring of the foyer. Then: blackness.
“Wake up, mister.” A boy’s voice, fluting through the dark.
Jeffrey felt deep pain, down in his very bones. What the hell happened? He remembered saying good night to Anna and Sanjay, the lights going out, pain… then what?
He opened his eyes to shadow on shadow.
A diffuse blue light was coming from somewhere in the room. He was on the floor. Above him were three shapes.
The children. The mannequins.
“No,” he croaked, “no…”
Another voice, the little girl: “Why do they always say that?”
The boy’s voice answered, “Dad says they can’t believe we’re real or something.”
“Not… real…” said Jeffrey, “not…”
A third voice said, “Don’t try to get up, Mister, Daddy taped you down good.”
Jeffrey’s faculties were rushing back to full alert and he tried to wrench himself into a sitting position but failed.
He was taped to the floor. Silver duct tape.
Like a bug in a spider’s web, he thought.
The girl asked, “Are you afraid now, mister?”
Jeffrey realized that yes, he was afraid. Horribly, hugely afraid in a way a thousand years of nightmares could never predict. He opened his mouth again, but heard only a dry clicking sound.
“He’s afraid,” said the older boy, still just a cone-hatted silhouette above Jeffrey, “can’t you smell it?”
“Yes,” said the little one, removing his costume cowboy hat and tossing it away.
“Good,” said the girl’s voice, “they taste better when they’re afraid.”
Then they were on him.
