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The Beanie Baby Murders

a short story

By Steve B HowardPublished 3 years ago 3 min read
The Beanie Baby Murders
Photo by tamara garcevic on Unsplash

The green filth had grown over the grate and locked his memory away from this street. Homelessness was punishable by banishment from recognition. The law was enacted to make them forget his existence, but now he had pushed his way through the hidden sewers and stood before the gift shop, a representative of the rejected and abandoned.

He watched the motley horde of women fluttering around the display case as they cuddled the little stuffed toys like favored children. Leering at them through the opaque front window of the gift shop he felt the drool slip through the gap in his teeth and run down his chin. He was now free from the gutter society had supplied him with. They are all beautiful compared to me, he muttered aloud. His troll like exterior was reflected back to him in the window. Viewing his hunched backed body and one over-sized bulging eye in its socket caused him to cry in rage. So unfair that I suffer while they browse. He ran his hand through his three dozen long strands of muck covered hair as the tears ran down his pock marked moon crater cheeks.

The aristocratic wives and daughters did not notice his scared mass of damaged flesh weeping on the sidewalk. His pathetic figure did not reflect into their world. They shopped on oblivious to this suffering product of their husbands and fathers economic battles. To them he was only an abstraction; a disturbing news article scanned quickly and forgotten.

Opening his mouth, he stroked his large jutting front teeth and then moved his grimy fingers over his sharp canine teeth. The four remaining teeth on the top row were a great source of pride, but his favorite tooth was the serrated half nub that resided alone on the bottom row.

My teeth will grind, and they will respect. Their petty expenditures will not last another hour. He entered the gift shop grinding his teeth in preparation for his protest. He lurched proudly towards the large Beanie Baby display. With some difficulty he reached out with a shriveled hand and snatched up the cutest large eyed bundle of fur and fluff he could find. This bit of triviality is the source of my suffering, he thought staring down at the artificial cherub.

He had to gain the attention of the entire perfumed flock. Only by disturbing their world would they recognize his existence. He wailed out a long low scream, reproducing for a moment the cry of the hungry through out the store. The trampling conversations came to a halt and the fruity perfume rushed away from the brimstone odor wafting from his mouth. I have the stupid butterflies attention now, he thought. And it was true. Slowly his broken body with its yellow infected wounds and festering boils appeared amongst the tightly organized shelves full of expensive uselessness.

He held up the cute little chunk of fur and fluff so all the rainbow attired mall geese could get a good look at it’s child like staring eyes. Then without hesitation he bit the head of the cute little Beanie Baby grinding the innocent eyes with his serrated half nub. The crowd of mall geese let loose a collective gasp as if he’d just chewed of the head of an adorable kitten.

Sitting behind her perch of authority, a rotund cashier wearing sharp glasses began to berate him with her tired monologue. Sir, you’ll have to pay for that, sir you have to pay for that item, sir you need to pay for that.

Responding to her bland ramblings, a profane thought rose to the surface of his brain. Pay for this indeed, my currency will be in the awareness I create. But something went wrong when he attempted to utter his terrible answer. A hacking cough more grotesque than his ravaged body surprised him. Fur and white stuffing laced with black plastic and bloody teeth sprayed from his mouth.

Now enraged, he tried in vain to scream out his speech, but the Beanie Babies odd shaped head had embedded itself firmly in his throat. He turned red, then blue, then the green of death and money, finally collapsing to the ground in a twisted ball of ugly fatal twitches. The mall geese turned their collective attention back to buying pricey birthday presents, anniversary gifts, or simply wasting money. Having been trained not to understand, the bored cashier droned on, Sir, you have to pay for that, sir you have to pay for that, sir…


About the Creator

Steve B Howard

Steve Howard's self-published collection of short stories Satori in the Slip Stream, Something Gaijin This Way Comes, and others were released in 2018. His poetry collection Diet of a Piss Poor Poet was released in 2019.

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    Steve B HowardWritten by Steve B Howard

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