The air was filled with a musty cocktail of sour milk, rotting meat and stale smoke. A hundred pairs of weary eyes stared across the dump from the Range Rover door. Almost as a sign of respect, each figure stood and watched silently, gazing at the bodies strewn about the chicken wire fence. There was nailed doll after doll and bear after bear; pierced or lynched upon a stray spike or barb with a rip in the fur and stuffing bled upon the rusty wire. Another hundred pairs of eyes stared back emptily; blank and glazed; faces frozen in masks of subdued torture. Strung upon the wire was a velvet kitten with a tail bandaged in red tape; her sweet face twisted into a fearful wince. Beside her hung a large, old bear with an eye patch and fur falling from his frail body as if from distress; neighboured by a wooden soldier with a leg fixed at an unnatural angle and knots of anguish formed around his pine face. Upon the same nail at the top of he 12-foot fence were slung a marionette from its knotted strings and a wooden board with the words slashed into it: “Dolls’ Graveyard”. Yet from the bottom of the sign, amongst the anguished faces frozen in pained rigor mortis, there was a smile. A single, pure smile.

There was a scrabbling at the bottom corner of the box. Suddenly, the flap fell down and a tiny bear emerged. Its black eyes gleamed as it tried to loosen the thread in its face, which was drawn into a tight frown. It lifted its cloth paws to its head and pressed its face to try to weaken the thread, but to no avail: the cotton refused to give way. It rubbed its brow in an attempt to rub out the creases; only to produce more. As its face contorted further in frustration, its features were pulled into a tight scowl. It sank to the floor against the wall of the box and folded its arms in dismay.

“Wendy,” it cried through gritted teeth, “Wendy! Wendy, come over here; I’m stuck again!”

The doll in the corner sighed gently as she awoke from her sleep. The sapphires in her eyes shone as they rested upon the bear, and her plump, scarlet lips curved upwards into a subtle smile. Two pairs of long, black lashes blinked and the smile faded. She brushed the dust from the blue mantle and the fur trim on her velvet sleeves. She raised her arms to the velvet bow of her hat and unpinned from it a tiny, shining needle. She then lowered and cupped her delicate, porcelain hands. The bear scrambled quickly into them, and she held it carefully in one hand. She stroked with her finger the torn surface on the top of its head; lined with stray pellets and wiry fibre where a left ear should have been. She looked into its struggling, frowning face. Then she spoke:

“Spencer Bear, have you been up to mischief?”

“Mischief? No, not me, Wendy,” he chirped.

“Indeed?” she stated firmly, “Why do I not believe you? Your face thread is too tight. So I can see that you have been up to mischief.” She sighed, “Spencer, have you any idea as to how much trouble you could get in at such a time as this, without a smile?”

“Well,” he started.

“At times like this, a smile is the very thing which could save your life,” she said wistfully.

“But Wendy…”

“Now sit still,” she chastised, holding the needle in her hand, “And I will try not to hurt.”

“Wendy, no!” His face fell, “Please not that! I don’t like stitches,” he begged.

“Hush, child,” she scolded, gently drawing the needle through loops of tight cotton.

“Hey, that tickles!” He giggled.

“Just keep still. You’re nearly done.” Spencer squirmed and whimpered until she withdrew the needle from his face.

“That’s much better. You should be loose enough to smile now. Smile please, Spencer.” Spencer gave a wide grin. “Spencer, take this needle. Keep it. You’re a big boy now and you should be able to stitch yourself up if it gets tight again. You need not pierce yourself or anything of the sort; just thread it through a loop and pull it loose if your face feels too tight. Promise me, Spencer,” she said.

“I promise, Wendy. But Wendy, wh-” Spencer was interrupted by a loud knock at the flap. “I’ll get it; I’ll get it!” he cried as he scrambled down from Wendy’s hands. As he went to open it, a figure marched through the cardboard threshold.

“Master Spencer Bear of Box 8; Column 2; Row 3; Range Rover…”

“Wow… General Nutcracker!” gasped Spencer.

“…report to central floor immediately!” barked the soldier.

“You… you’re you … you’re him… can I be like you when I’m older?”

“Quick march! Step lightly!” he ordered.

“It’s really you…” he murmured in bedazzlement.

“Move, son! Move!” he shouted.

“I’m moving; I’m moving!” saluted Spencer; marching his tiny body to the central floor.

Spencer fought to find his way amongst the crowds of babbling toys. There seemed to be so many unfamiliar faces, voices and feet. He looked up. There in the distance was General Nutcracker, standing upon the Teddy Bears’ Picnic Table. Spencer bear remembered having once having eaten from the Table with Peter Boy; high and esteemed ruler of Toy Realm. He swelled with pride. Suddenly, the General gave a loud cough; signalling for silence. The young squeaks and rumbling murmurs of the toy community died to a low hum. He gave another cough for silence and began; snapping his pine body into a straight, firm salute. The brass, polished buttons on his uniform gleamed like the sheen of the buckles on his boots.

“Toys of Toy Realm. It is gathered that you will be aware of why you are here. Indeed, as proud servants to our great governor Peter Boy, we must abide by His law. We are summoned here by His Divine will; to divide ourselves in His Kingdom. As esteemed Governor, He shall receive nothing but the best, most able-bodied servants to satisfy His daily playtime needs. The glory of His Divine Lordship will accept no flaw in His servants. He will cast out the weak amongst us and divide us weak from strong. My comrades; at last the motion of His Almighty Wagon has ceased. This is an undertaking of a new era; to leave the old and the weak amongst us to rest peacefully in this Site to provide room for a new, stronger generation…” The long, difficult words of the general seemed to glide over the top of Spencer’s head. Spencer turned to look behind him. In his confusion, all he could see were boots, paws and dainty dolls’ shoes. He couldn’t see Wendy anywhere. Quietly, he shuffled around and tried to purge his way through the lines of crowded toys. At that moment it dawned on him: he was lost. He began to push restlessly through the crowds. Several bears pushed back; several gave shouts of protest. An old dog caught his eye. He had a plastic banjo and absent-mindedly strummed the strings as he ambled along. Upon seeing Spencer, he stopped, inspected Spencer’s damaged left ear and bowed his head, then walked on. Spencer stared after the dog in confusion. Why did he bow his head so solemnly to every toy’s common, bear-next-door Spencer Bear? Spencer allowed his eyes to follow the path of the dog with the banjo until he met up with a pink rabbit. Then the dog pointed in Spencer’s direction. Before he had time to ponder, Spencer jumped; startled. He was face to face with a black, velvet kitten. Her coat was glossy with clean, white paws, and around her neck was a red, leather collar with a shiny gold bell and a silver tag. He glanced from her face to her tail, then back to her face: the tip of the tail was set in red tape.

“Erm, excuse me,” he started, “Please excuse me, but do you know what’s going on? What does it all mean?” he asked in bewilderment, glancing back to the General. The kitten smiled sweetly.

“I think he means that if you’re weak you have to go somewhere,” she spoke with a hint of uncertainty in her voice, “But I don’t really know.”

“Where? But… you see… I really don’t… so am I weak?” he questioned impatiently.

“I don’t really know,” she said indecisively, “I think it’s if there’s something wrong with you. Then you have to go.”

“But where?” asked Spencer, beginning to panic.

“I don’t really know,” she repeated. “But I don’t think that you can come back once you’re there. Well, I’ve got to go now,” she said quickly, “Bye.”

At that moment, the crowds around them began to move and the voices returned to life. Spencer felt a sharp sting as a particularly large plush mouse trod on his foot.

“So… so… what’s that supposed to mean?” he called into the distance.

“Spencer!” he heard a familiar young voice, “Spencer Bear! Come here!” Spencer recognised Wendy’s voice at once. It seemed agitated and wavered as she spoke. Spencer turned around. “Spencer Bear! Where have you been? Seems that I found you in due time - your smile needs attention.” Spencer bear took raised his needle hand jubilantly. Wendy’s smile was not prim and confident; it seemed frail and bound to crack. Spencer felt a shiver of unease creep down his back seam. “Let me see you loosen your face,” she spoke urgently, “Do it now. This could be your saving grace.”

“Wendy, why? What’s wrong? Is it something General Nutcracker said?”

“Just do it, Spencer,” she persisted. He fumbled with the needle in his hand and intricately poked it through one of the loops, pulled it and immediately he felt his face become free again. He beamed at Wendy and her smile broadened. Slowly his smile faded. There was something nagging him about what the General had said; something which he knew he should have listened to.

“Wendy, I have a question,” he began slowly. Wendy said nothing and Spencer continued. Suddenly, a soup of words exploded from his tiny mouth. “It’s what General Nutcracker said. But what did he mean, Wendy? What did it all mean? Who’s weak and who has to go away and never come back? Where’ll they go? What’ll they do? What’ll happen?” He stopped. Spencer bear stopped and waited for a response. Wendy’s face looked uncomfortable. Her smile had already faded rapidly, but the white porcelain of her face appeared grey and the sapphire in her eyes and the gold of her hair did not shine.

“Spencer,” she started, “Spencer Bear. Surely, surely there’s no need for concern. General Nutcracker knows what he’s doing,” her voice wavered again.

“So what’ll happen?” he persisted.

“Well, what he said will happen, basically, is that…” she spoke more slowly, “Any toy with a problem cannot serve Peter Boy any more. That means any toy who is broken or has been broken before.” Spencer glanced upwards and tried to visualise his left ear again. His face fell.

“Why? That’s not fair,” he complained. “So what’s going to happen to us?”

“Well, Spencer…” she paused. “You see, you’re really very lucky,” she started,

“Yes, you’re a very lucky bear indeed. Because when you’re broken, you don’t need to serve Peter Boy any more. Instead, you’re going to a… a special place. A very special place where any toy who is not broken is not allowed to go.” The glass in her eyes sparkled, although she did not smile. No part of her face seemed to smile. She blinked slowly and gave a sigh.

“Really?” The newly-formed knots of concern faded on their own accord as he opened himself to listen.

“Yes. It’s the place they call Heaven. It’s a special place where all of the broken toys go to,” she finished, but continued. “You’re lucky,” she repeated, “You’re a lucky bear, Spencer. I’m not allowed to go. Or at least not yet, anyway,” she added tersely,

“But that’s where you will go.”

“Away from you, Wendy?”

“Away from me. But just for a little while,” she reassured, “It is only a matter of time before I am broken too. Now you run off like a good little boy. And don’t forget your needle.”

“I won’t Wendy,” he said thoughtfully.

“Wait,” she said. She stared into his slowly contorting face. “Hand me the needle, Spencer,” she said coldly. Spencer obeyed. Wendy hacked at a thread in Spencer’s face. He gave a pained wail.

“Wendy,” he whimpered, “What are you doing to my face?”

She threaded the cotton through the eye of the needle. She pulled it tight and the cotton lengthened. But this time, his face did not feel loose. The tight thread cut into his face as it was pulled into a tight, unnatural smile. Wendy pierced the surface of the bear’s paw and Spencer gave a sob. She pierced the paw twice and the silver, threaded needle held itself in place. Wendy stood back and spoke:

“Now Spencer Bear, tell me truthfully: is this now hurting you?”

“Only when you move it,” he replied sulkily.

“Then don’t move it.”

“But Wendy, my face is too tight,” he complained.

“Though tight, I at the very least know that you will be smiling for a long time yet.”

“I guess,” he admitted.

“Now run off and play, and do be pleased. Remember: you have the privilege of Heaven. And I may not see you there for a long time.” She smiled weakly again. It was that same frail, uncertain smile, and though her lips were upturned, her face seemed to weep past them. She planted a tender kiss upon Spencer’s cheek.

As Spencer made his way through the crowds, he felt his cheek as if to check if he could still feel her hard, icy skin against his face. At this he began to wonder. His mind was filled with images of heaven; of golden gates thickly encrusted in jewels and golden, winged bears watching over him. He thought of the Guardian of the Earth sat upon His throne. His face lit as he imagined meeting such an esteemed ruler and King; so much higher than Peter Boy. He glanced up at the faces of the toys walking beside him. They were sullen and cold; just as Wendy had been. Then he saw a line far to the East. It was a line of dolls, bears and figures; several with arms cast in tape and plastic crutches; with heads and tails bandaged. The line snaked southwards from Table; General Nutcracker discussing something important with several tough-looking official figures. Spencer made his way towards the Table. He had to see General Nutcracker again. He tottered through the crowds; tripping over feet and crutches to several shouts and grunts of disapproval. Suddenly he was engulfed by something soft. Something large and soft.

“Look out, young-un. We don’t need any more injuries at a time like this, aye?” rumbled a deep voice. Spencer looked up to see a bald face, chewed nose and eye patch. He concluded that it had to be a bear. As he stood back, the fur into which he had collided fell to the floor. The big bear looked at him intently and gave a tired smile. Spencer stared guiltily at his feet.

“Are… are you g-going to, too – S-sir? To er – the place? That special place they call Heaven?” stuttered Spencer.

“Heaven…” began the old bear slowly with a puzzled look, “Heaven… ah. You got it easy, young-un,” he smiled, “What yeh don’t know can’t harm yeh. But I suppose,” he sighed, “Looking at my state…” He looked down again at his now bare stomach and glanced at Spencer’s ear, then to the needle in his paw. “Say, what happened to your ear?” he asked, frowning.

“Rough and tumble,” announced Spencer proudly, “A present from Peter Boy.”

“An’ the needle in yeh paw… ah, ‘tis wise. Yeh, keep smiling, young-un. Could be saving yeh from one helluva trip.”

“Wendy said that, too,” he spoke, bemused.

“Miss Wendy, aye? She wise as she’s beautiful? S’what they all say.”

“Erm, yes Sir,” he backed away, “Thank you, Sir.”

“Run along, sonny.”

“See ya in Heaven!” he called as he bounded towards the Table. As he ran, Spencer whispered the words to himself again. “See you in heaven.” He began to relay the words of the old man.

“What yeh don’t know can’t hurt yeh”. But what could there to be hurt about going to Heaven? Spencer always had always seen heaven as a peaceful place. Never mind, he thought, I guess I’ll ask the old bear when I see him. The line seemed to lengthen as much as the mass of toys around him thinned. He fixed his black, glass eyes upon the Table. As he skipped towards it, he noted that it seemed further away than he’d thought. He watched the steadily lengthening line eagerly. Yet as much excitement rose within him, it was dampened by a tiny, questioning voice in his mind. Perhaps it was the sight or handkerchiefs instead of balloons and party hats; maybe it was the silence instead of celebration. But as the tiny bear regarded the extending line of sobbing toys, he felt a twinge of doubt. He tersely brushed it aside. After all, he reminded himself, Wendy seemed to know what she was talking about.

Bang. He did not see or hear it approach, but all Spencer knew was that he couldn’t move. He looked around to find himself tangled in a mass of mangled marionette strings. The marionette stood and released him, pushing him away angrily. “Watch where you’re going, dreamer!” he squeaked.

“Sorry, Sir,” spoke Spencer to the floor.

“Where are you supposed to be, Kid? Look at you. Look at your state. Mutilated ear. Needle in arm. Holy Pinocchio, you’d’ve thought that a toy wouldn’t know to sink so low as the hooked Boy Folk! Let alone a brat like you.”

“Excuse me, Sir?” Spencer asked politely.

“Boy Folk addict; I hear whispers of fear in the very words in People Folk! ‘Tis an insult to the pride and honour of citizen toys, the very sight of the Forbidden Sugar in Toy Realm! Needles in arms! You’ll pass as toast enough. Get in line, brat!”

“Toast, Sir?”

“You’re a goner, kid. It’s written across your face and your meagre excuse for an ear. Read it and weep.” With that, the marionette hobbled off to the back of the line with his decrepit strings in hand.

“You’re a goner, kid.” The words rang from one side of Spencer’s head to the other, then emerged at the surface of plastic pellets and wiry stuffing at the left side of his head. The marionette had called him a goner. Spencer Bear took in a sharp breath and tuned to face the line.

“Are you going to Heaven, too?” he called back. A mother bear shot him a sharp, foreboding glare as he caught her eye. He looked around him. The crowd had disappeared completely. As he stood before the line, he felt his heart beating in his throat. He felt each pair of empty, hopeless eyes upon him and gazed back into the families of gaunt faces. They didn’t seem happy about going to Heaven, and he pondered whether his smile, which was fixed permanently on his face, seemed appropriate. The black, velvet kitten waved her paw at him with a bleak expression. And though he could not help but smile, he felt something snap within him, then slowly tear itself off from his mind.

“What yeh don’t know can’t hurt yeh”.

“Master Spencer Bear of Box 8; Column 2; Row 3; Range Rover! Step in line!”

Spencer tried to move his legs, but they seemed to tie themselves in knots. He looked up.

“General Nutcracker?”

“Step in line, Son!” he barked.

“General, Sir – what’s happening?” Spencer’s voice cracked.

“I said step in line!” he roared.

“I… I don’t…”

“Do it, runt!”

“I c-can’t…” he sobbed. With a grunt, the General dived from the Table and hit the ground with a crack. Spencer lurched forwards. Suddenly, the floor erupted with voices and crowds gathering around.

“It’s broken.” stated one of the officials coldly. There was a murmur of fear amongst the crowd. A baby doll wept upon the sleeve of a well-muscled Action Man, as a miniature ballerina sank to the floor. The General coughed and motioned to Spencer. Spencer stepped forwards.

“My comrades.” The Range Rover floor fell silent. “I am gone now. It is a matter of time before I am seen by His Lordship. Then I will be cast out with the weak amongst you. Because this bear stepped out of line.” He pointed a wooden finger at Spencer. As Spencer looked around, a multitude of glowering faces were pressed upon him from each and every angle. A nausea lurched in his stomach and he mentally cursed the grin tied into his face. He cleared his throat to speak.

“I’m… sorry?” he questioned uncertainly. At that moment, a voice called from the distance. It was Wendy.

“Spencer Bear! Where –” Wendy gasped.

“FREEZE ALL TOYS!” a cry broke out; “STOP IN THE NAME OF PETER BOY!”

At that moment, every toy fell limply to the floor. The door was opened. Without moving a muscle, Spencer watched the hand descending from the sky. It lowered itself slowly to the floor. Spencer’s eyes followed the fingers as they spiralled downwards above him and did not stray to either side. Spencer closed his eyes. He held his breath as they wrapped around his body in a tight squeeze. He exhaled and gasped for breath. The cold, outside air hit him hard as the tips of his paws felt as if they would freeze. Slowly, he ascended into the air; up the rungs of a creaky wooden ladder. Past each rung the wind stung his face, and as he looked straight ahead all he could see the were the barbs and spikes of a chicken wire fence between the rungs of the ladder. He turned watched upon the open Range Rover door as they climbed; he observed the hundred watching faces disappear from sight as he rose with Peter Boy. He shuddered as he felt a cold gust sweep over his cloth head. And though he felt the rusty nail pierce through his neck, he did not flinch.

A glint of silver flashed from the paw of the tiny cloth bear. When he smiled, his black, glass eyes seemed to gaze wistfully upon a hundred onlookers. A porcelain

doll leaned from the Range Rover door with a delicate hand raised up to him. He held his gaze over the doll and lifted his arm as if to wave back. And though at that moment the thread went slack, the smile remained; shining like a beacon: a smile and a beacon glistening softly from Teddy Bear Heaven.

9

Charlotte Lomax 10J