The Toy Thief

I won’t go in there. You can’t make me go in there. Nothing can make me go in there.

One breath, then two. A step, small and pitiful, but enough to carry me forward an inch. The breeze was at my back now, urging me forward, inviting me in.

I opened my eyes, and there I stood, at the edge of the Trails. Without further hesitation, I stepped in. Had that place ever been so utterly devoid of light? Had the trees and branches and creepers pressed so far off the path the day before? It didn’t seem possible, but once I laid my eyes on the first jelly bean, I felt my heart lift a bit. It was part of Andy, part of his own silly plan that made me almost giggle even as tears clouded my eyes. Deeper into the tangle I went, leaving the light farther behind with nothing to guide me but fluorescent bits of sugar. On and on I went, passing every turn, every corner, ignoring the parts I knew, leaving the relatively known for the vast expanse of unknown beyond it.

I hit the fork in the path where we had frozen the day before, and once again, I paused. I could still see it, the patch of grass where Andy had stood – spying on something he was never supposed to see. I knew that Barnett was gone. My brain told me he had to be, but it still took heaven and hell to get my feet moving once again. With a shiver, I reached into my pocket and drew out the knife, which I promptly flipped open. I edged close to the clear patch and peeked in, finding nothing but an empty patch of green. Then I took a few rubbery paces back to the trail, and I hesitated once again, this time not with fear but with confusion. I retraced my steps, back to where I had stood the day before.

I had been here.

Andy had been there.

Then we were running.

That was all. No time to mark a path. No time to bend down and drop a yellow or orange or pink jelly bean. And yet, there it was. Green. Shining like a neon emerald some ten feet to the left of where Andy had been standing the day before.

Nothing, I thought. A bird moved it. Maybe a squirrel, or my imagination, or nothing at all.

I thought of the downpour we had run through, how it must have cut lines in the slick dirt of the trails, little temporary rivers that would easily carry a jelly bean.

Yes, I thought. Rain.

I stepped over, my heart sinking a bit, and I reached down for it, and when I did, I noticed the next one a dozen steps down the path.

Calm down, I thought as I stared at it, listening to my heart pound. It was the rain. Just rain.

This one was yellow, and when I stepped over to it, I didn’t have to pause for more than a second before I saw the orange one just a few short yards away.

I walked over and straddled the orange bean, staring at it like a bomb disposal specialist might study an unmarked box on a street corner. I stood in that spot, the little sliver of neon orange between my feet, and I began to slowly spin in a circle, looking for the next jelly bean, if indeed there was a next one. I was as methodical as I could be in my excitement, tilting my head from foot to sky with each half step, desperately striving to cover every speck of land, to find the next bread crumb that might reunite Hansel and Gretel. There were four different paths carved in the ancient earth, and they branched out in different directions like the points on a compass. None of them was well defined, and the longer I stood, the more certain I became that this was all just wishful thinking. I stepped away from the orange beacon and began to make small, concentric circles, radiating out from the center.

I kept my eyes down, focusing on the small patch of dirt or grass or leaves just between my feet, but after five minutes, I felt like a fool. There was nothing here, no perfect path, no ‘aha’ moment. Just rain picking up old, uneaten jelly beans. I was just beginning to lose hope when a red speck shined in the light just out of the line of trees. It was probably thirty feet or so away from the orange bean, and as I quietly waded through the grass, I was convinced it wasn’t a jelly bean at all. Maybe a bottle cap or a candy wrapper, but certainly not a jelly bean.

Then I was on top of it, and my face beamed as the path forward became clear. There was a thin line in the tall grass of the field, just wide enough for people or deer to walk single file. On I went, one step at a time, and when I found yet another bean, all doubt was gone. I had no clue what had happened to Andy, whether he was hurt or tied up or even half dead, but I knew he was alive. This was, without any question in my mind, his path, the path that he knew I could find. One jelly bean at a time, I followed him like a bloodhound deeper into the suburban wild.

The field ended in another row of trees and a barbed-wire fence that hung limply in place inches above the ground. I climbed over it, following the sparse neon path, and a thought occurred to me. Based on everything I knew, the Toy Thief was nocturnal, even to the point of hating light. His entire existence seemed to depend on darkness, depend on never being found. I had no clue what would happen to Andy, what was happening to Andy, but I felt certain that the night would bring another trip into the Trails, back the exact way it had come. I was just guessing of course, but the odds seemed to be in my favor. The implications of this were clear. If the Thief found the trail of jelly beans, it would, without question, remove them. Then any hope of finding my brother would be gone for good. Even worse, he might choose to punish Andy for what he’d done.

I was stuck between two competing forces. My heart told me to run, to catch up as quickly as I could, but my brain said that every step was a risk, every movement a potential deadfall. I thought of my own pitiful traps the week before, and I didn’t doubt for a second that the Toy Thief would be infinitely more devious and clever.

“Just imagination,” I told myself. “Don’t let it stop you from what you know you have to do.”

Past the fence was a new wild I’d never even known existed so close to our home. I could still see the houses peeking over treetops in the distance, but I was far enough away that no one would ever hear me scream. The path was vague as I went, and I noticed smaller trails that shot off like rabbits in different directions, toward different neighborhoods and homes. I felt certain that any of these would lead me straight into someone else’s backyard, and if I pried open the first window I found, I’d see someone else’s bedroom lined with toys ripe for the picking.

I came into a tiny clearing and realized that these side paths were all issuing out from a central hub, extending like tributaries from a single river. I stood in the center, searching for the next colored checkpoint, and I found it. This particular path through the tall grass was more worn down than the others, a highway for the deer, the coyotes, and of course the monsters. Deeper and deeper I ventured, the day waning overhead, the distance between me and my house, my sanctuary, growing wider as the distance to Andy narrowed. Once, the trail moved close enough past the backyard of one of the homes that a dog stirred and began barking at me as I passed. But then the rows of homes ended, and I left the neighborhoods behind for good.

Beyond the cover of the woods, I found a small, ancient-looking road. I stumbled over the wheel ruts that led toward a low fence marked by a rusted chain that dangled across the weedy path. A yellow and brown Caution sign stared at me, mostly illegible through all the rust. I was at the old quarry, the place mentioned in whispers among the kids on the street, a place only the bravest actually laid eyes on.