He is currently working on his first novel.
‘It’s hard to overstate the influence of Stephen King’s writing on my work. His short story “The Mangler” is a particular favourite – technical dazzle, nasty violence, black humour and a true shocker of an ending.’
THE UNPICKING
Nobody was the first to emerge from the toy chest, then came Sophie, Naughty Rupert and Bunny. Last was Annie-In-Rags, the largest of the toys, a doll made from strips of rough denim that trailed over the edge of the chest behind her. Gangle-limbed and goggle-eyed, they formed a circle in the dim glow of His nightlight.
‘Does He sleep?’ whispered Naughty Rupert, a yellow bear. He wore natty herringbone trousers and a scarlet cardigan that was fastened with two brass buttons.
‘Of course He sleeps,’ said Sophie, daringly louder than Rupert. ‘It’s long past His bedtime, and you know what She’s like.’
They all knew what She was like.
Bunny flailed around. He was thrilled by the hint of danger, a stupid grin plastered over his face. His white furry limbs flapped on the carpet and against the side of the bed.
‘Stop that,’ demanded Sophie. ‘Just because He sleeps now doesn’t mean He can’t be woken up.’
Bunny obeyed but the grin didn’t fade – he was always pleased to be spoken to.
‘Oh, what to do?’ said Sophie. She was not the longest serving of the group. Bunny and Annie-In-Rags had been around before her, though determining which of those two came first would require getting sense out of them – something Annie might occasionally offer, but Bunny never, ever did. Indeed, Sophie wasn’t even one of His toys. She had been discarded by one of His older cousins, and had somehow ended up in the toy chest. He never played with Sophie, so she spent her days in the dark, squashed between spinning tops and alphabet cubes and other remnants of His toddler days.
Still, despite her relative newness, her lack of favour with Him, Sophie was the leader. She was a prim, rosy-cheeked doll. Her hair was wound in tight black curls and she was dressed in a polka-dotted pinafore, with a large straw hat that tilted upwards. Sophie looked around the group for ideas.
‘Baalllll?’ said Annie-In-Rags, in that drawl that so annoyed Sophie.
Bunny hopped up and down with excitement, but Sophie just fixed her hard little eyes on Annie’s huge face. Before Sophie could offer one of her withering put-downs, Naughty Rupert interrupted.
‘Oh ball is boring. We play ball all the time. Let’s go on an adventure!’
Bunny looked confused, though Annie wasn’t bothered at being contradicted. ‘Adventooor!’ she said.
Nobody said nothing. He had arrived only last Christmas, but he claimed to be an antique, when he deigned to talk at all. He was a wooden marionette, pierrot-style, clad in clothes of royal blue paint. Far too clever for his own good, thought Sophie. She barely admitted to herself that she envied his shiny limbs, his rictus grin.
‘No,’ said Sophie flatly. ‘Must you be so stupid? She might see us if we leave the room.’ She paused, then said, ‘Hopscotch. We’ll play hopscotch.’
Naughty Rupert tilted his head to the left. ‘Hopscotch? Sounds boring.’
Sophie didn’t miss a beat. She took one step forward and threw her plastic fist hard into the bear’s head, which flew back, then snapped forward, then back again.
‘I’m not hearing any better ideas, Rupert,’ she said, then added, ‘dearheart.’
The other toys all looked at their feet. Even Bunny’s enthusiasm was dampened momentarily. ‘Hopscotttt,’ said Annie-In-Rags. They trudged towards the plastic mat laid out at the foot of His bed. But, before they could start, Nobody piped up.
‘I’ve an idea,’ he said. All the toys turned to look at him. There was no defiance in his voice, just plummy assurance. ‘Let’s have an Unpicking.’
‘An Un-what? Never heard of it,’ said Sophie. She turned back to the hopscotch sheet. But the rest of the group were looking at Nobody.
‘Haven’t you?’ he said. ‘There’s nothing to it, really. And it’s fun. Certainly more fun than . . . hopscotch.’ The tiniest hint of acid trickled into his words.
Naughty Rupert chuckled. Annie’s eyes darted between Nobody and Sophie. Bunny did a little jump.
Sophie was defeated.
‘Well. Go on then. Tell us the rules,’ she said, as if her permission was needed.
‘Oh. An Unpicking doesn’t have rules. And we don’t need any balls, or mats, or skittles. We do need someone to be the Baby. I think Bunny would make a good Baby.’
Bunny did a dance, ears flopping up and down. Nobody advanced in an ungainly gambol. He came right up to Bunny’s face. He moved his head about. Inspected Bunny’s fat body. Bunny’s limbs spun manically. He hadn’t noticed Nobody’s dangerous tone, or the strange stillness that blanketed the room.
‘And then all we need,’ said Nobody, fingers plucking at a loose thread dangling from Bunny’s underarm, ‘is a way in.’ And he pulled sharply.
Bunny gasped in shock or pain, still not sure as to what kind of game this was. But then the other toys were about him, fingers of cloth or wood or plastic tearing out stitches, grabbing fistfuls of stuffing: a silent frenzy of fabric.
By the time they were done with the Unpicking, all that was left of Bunny was a tangle of thread, some folds of empty fur, and balls of the foam that had given him form. The other toys sat about on the carpet, drained from the activity. Annie-In-Rags absent-mindedly twirled one of Bunny’s ears about her wrist, humming a three-note melody. Nobody lolled on the floor, knocking one of Bunny’s eyes back and forth between his glossy four-fingered hands. Even Sophie seemed at an ebb, limbs awkwardly arranged, eyes staring upwards at the glow-in-the-dark planets on His ceiling. Only Naughty Rupert seemed perky. He pattered a soft tattoo on the carpet with his paws, then he chuckled to himself. Annie gave him a look, but then she saw that Sophie and Nobody were not paying Rupert any attention. In fact, they seemed to be deliberately not looking at him. She thought it best to follow suit.
In the bed, underneath a duvet of multicoloured balloons floating in an azure sky, He let out a soft sigh then turned to His other side.
Naughty Rupert chuckled again, then abruptly stood up. He was famously nimble, not constrained by harsh joints like Sophie or Nobody, and his feet were large enough to provide some balance. He stalked towards the door. It was open a sliver. Light from the upstairs hallway stabbed a knife of yellow on to the carpet. Rupert wedged a paw between the door and frame, gripped the jamb with his opposable thumb, and, with all his might, pulled the door open a crack more.
‘What are you doing?’ hissed Sophie. ‘If She’s still awake, She’ll see, and then we’ll all be for it.’
Naughty Rupert smirked at her. After Nobody’s plan for their evening’s entertainment had gone so well, Sophie knew her authority had been diminished. He slipped through. The other toys, nervous now, hurried up to the door. They watched as Rupert stole along the hallway, moving quickly, glued to the flock wallpaper. The door at the other end of the hallway was also ajar, but beyond was darkness.
Sophie, Nobody and Annie-In-Rags watched Rupert from the doorway. Their manifold forms were tense with fear. Sophie’s apprehension was so sharp she couldn’t tell it from excitement. Never before had a toy left His bedroom in the night, except the time, back at the old house, when Big Ted got carried away at hide-and-seek. He had fallen down the dumb waiter and, on his attempt to return to His old bedroom, been set upon by the ginger tom, Winston.