STUFFED ANIMALS DON'T LIE(Susan Joyner-Stumpf) STUFFED ANIMALS
DON’T LIE



My seventh birthday. I glanced over at the beautiful cake my mother Angela had gone out of her way and all out for to have made for this very special and joyous occasion: a three-layered, towering Red Velvet Cake. On top were two rearing Porcelain Unicorns dancing atop fluffy Crème Cheese Icing scattered with strings of candied pearls. The interior was enticing ruby red cake just waiting to be delicately savored. I thought at one point it was almost too beautiful to destroy and maybe we could eat everything else but save the Red Velvet Cake for observation purposes only. On second thought, I realized that wouldn’t go over too well or have the majority vote.

We had just finished the coveted pony rides. I had yet to open the splendid array of gifts that were piled high and strewn across the fourth picnic table set up to accommodate all the presents. Sitting around waiting for cake and homemade Vanilla and Chocolate ice cream were all my friends from First Grade at Centura Elementary, neighborhood friends, a few teachers and some of the parents of the other children; my grandparents were there from my mother’s side of the family, and close friends of my mother and step-father Ted. What would have made this day more perfect was if my mother and step-father were not arguing; but I’m sure even the restless, chirping crickets and goofy, hired clowns could feel the tension and angst that sucked the air out between them. When my step-father, whom I referred to as Mr. T, finally took the initiative to carve into the Red Velvet Cake, he did so with such methodic vengeance that a few of us gasped and wondered quietly to ourselves if he realized the difference between slice and stab; did he truly comprehend that this was, after all, a mere birthday cake for a seven year old child, not a deer carcass, not a Catfish yanked from the swollen river, not a Black Angus Steak expecting to be devoured.

I referred to my step-father as Mr. T because only one man in my short life would ever be revered with the title of Father, and he was buried in St. Michael’s Cemetery going on two years. Mom even allowed us to maintain our last name, Fields, instead of having us take on Ted’s surname Ruston. Father died when I was five, unexpectedly, in a vehicular accident. A drunk driver collided with him head-on five minutes from our home one snowy evening three days before Christmas. Many would debate that I had any accurate recollection of this man that once loved me and his family more than life itself. That all died with him, all that love and security…but a resounding yes, yes I remember everything, even at such a tender age, I can recall with pristine clarity his giant bear hugs. He used to squeeze me so tight I thought I would explode with shards of happiness. No, Mr. T was not any father figure and never would be as far as I was concerned. Why mom married him I will never know, but in the beginning she seemed to be quite content, almost marginally happy. So me, my now four year old brother Darrin and six year old sister Lila, had literally no choice but to accept this crude stranger in our midst because we lived in an Adult World and Adults make the rules for us children to abide. But no one can dictate or predict if someone is worthy or not of your unconditional love. Mr. T had yet to prove one ounce of worth on many levels. And now today I was begging the cloudy Heavens that not only would rain NOT ruin my birthday party, but him, Mr. T.

~ ~ ~

Back home from the Park. All guests gone. The fervor and excitement over but I walked around the living room singing, clutching my favorite present out of all the gifts today: a pink Stuffed Animal Poodle from my grandparents. It wore a beautiful Rhinestone Collar around its pink, fluffy neck. I loved it and held it tight, squeezed it, like father used to squeeze me. Like he would never let go and I wish he hadn’t.

“Where do you think the money is going to come from?” Ted screamed at my mother from the bowels of the kitchen.

“Maybe if you had a decent job, or some ambition beyond brick laying, we might not be in this financial mess,” mother snapped back.

I heard what sounded like dishes crash to the linoleum floor. I clutched the stuffed animal tighter. This was getting serious. I started to sing louder, trying to drown out their voices.

“So you’re blaming me, you bitch?”

My mother hesitated for a second, between sobs. “Ted, I’m done talking. This is Heather’s birthday and I’m not going to argue about this anymore. We’ll pick this up tomorrow. Do you understand? This is MY daughter’s birthday. Drop it.”

“Oh, YOUR daughter. Excuse me. That’s right. I’m not her real father. I’m just a part of the furniture.”

“You’d be more if you attempted to spend any time with the kids, but when you’re home, you’re either on the computer, watching TV or drunk out of your mind, so how can you expect them to feel any thing towards you if you don’t make the first effort with them? You’ve had every opportunity to be a good step-father, but you choose not to. It’s your own damn fault.”

I heard him slap her. She cried out. “Get out, get out,” she yelled at him. Another dish on the floor. Ted runs out of the kitchen to see me on the floor, rocking back and forth with my stuffed animal, singing. Singing loud, but not loud enough to muffle out the destruction around me falling like shrapnel.

“Go to your room Heather. NOW,” Ted roared.

I looked up. “It’s my birthday. I can sit wherever I want.”

“Oh yeah? You think so you little turd?” and he picked me up by my long blonde hair and almost threw me across the room before my mother interceded with him. My little brother and sister were crying also in the corner of the living room behind the TV. My mother had jumped on Ted’s back and was beating him on the back of his neck. He turned around and smacked her, and they stood there back and forth, fist fighting, as my mother screamed intermittently for him to get out, leave now, don’t come back.

He threw her down and she stayed there for a few seconds, her head buried in her arms shaking. “Go to your rooms, children. Heather, get Lila and Darrin and go to your room, right now honey. Please, for mommy.”

I did what I was told, though reluctantly. Ted kicked me in my back as I grabbed a hold of Lila and Darrin and corralled them to my bedroom. I made sure they were secure on my bed but I snuck down the hall to peek in on Ted and my mother, now engaged in continued, heated argument.

“I want you gone. I want a divorce,” my mother said, wiping sweat from her forehead.

“You think it’s going to be that easy to get rid of me?” Ted punched her hard. He knocked the glasses off her face. Mother tried to reach for them on the floor but he ran over and crushed them with his boots. She winced.

“Why are you treating us like this?”

He imitated her high-pitched, distraught voice. “Why are you treating us like this?” He yanked her from the floor into a standing position. But she would not look into his face. That was the face of Evil and she didn’t want to stare at it. She looked down.

“Just leave, Ted. Please. I beg you. You’ve done enough damage. It’s over. You’re managed to ruin another special day for my family. Yes I call it MY family because you’ve never made an effort to make it your family too. To be a part of this family, you never tried. You’re here but then, you’re not here. Besides, I don’t love you anymore.”

He grabbed hold of my mother and dragged her by her shirt collar into the kitchen. I got on my hands and knees and crawled from the hall into the living room, then behind a Wing Back Chair that protected me from sight but gave me a good view of the kitchen where the two resumed their awful battle. I prayed he would just leave. Just leave. Leave us alone. Go. You ruined my day already. Leave and don’t ever come back before you damage much more of our lives.

Their words were meaningless at this point. For what seemed like endless hours but in reality was probably less than five minutes, they bantered back and forth, in-between fists and thrown crystal and dinner plates. Ted had ripped the phone from off the wall and severed the cord. He had taken a porcelain figurine horse from my mother’s curio cabinet, something she loved dearly, a gift from my real father, and threw it on the floor in a million pieces. She wept over that harder than her bloody nose. I too began to cry softly. I felt sorry for my mother. All she went through today to make it special for me, only to have it ruined, again, by Mr. T, who ruined everything he ever touched. Their voices got higher and higher, louder and louder. At one point I heard the kitchen drawer open. It was silent for a second and then Ted plunged a kitchen paring knife into my mother’s abdomen. He did this over and over about four times. She finally dropped to the floor, crying out, before there was utter, and ugly, silence. What does this mean, I asked myself. Get up mother, get up. Get up. She was not getting up.

The next thing I knew Ted ran from the kitchen and saw me behind the chair. He pulled me up. He painfully grabbed my arm and ran into my bedroom where Lila and Darrin sat huddled and trembling at the edge of my bed.

“Get in the car. Now. All of you. Heather, grab their hands. We’re leaving.”

“I’m staying here with momma,” I demanded.

He slapped me hard, harder than he’s ever hit me. I spun around tearfully and he told me if I cried any further, he would make it worse for me. I was still holding my stuffed poodle as I gathered my frightened siblings and did what Ted told us to do. Go out the front door without a sound and get in the backseat of the car. Do not call any attention to ourselves or we would be punished severely. We sat in the back seat while Ted was doing something inside. We hoped he was getting momma off the floor to come with us, but another part of me knew she would never again be getting off that cold, kitchen floor.

~ ~ ~

Ted drove up to Echo Lake, twenty minutes away. He parked the car in a pretty secluded spot beneath a canopy of Oak trees. He got out his side. I was in the backseat, opposite passenger side. I opened the door. Me, Lila and Darrin poured out. Before Ted could come around the side of the car, I ran out towards the dense forest area. I hated leaving Lila and Darrin there but I figured I could try to go run for help. That’s what I had planned but I first wanted to see what Ted was going to do. He looked around for me and seemed to spit out a couple of curse words. He looked around, from left to right, and then drew all his fatal attention back to Lila. Lila cried to him to bring her back to mommy. He told her she would be seeing mommy soon enough. With one hand on Lila’s shoulder, he dug in his pocket with the other hand and released a Swiss Army blade. With one, clean swipe he sliced Lila’s throat from ear to ear, severing her windpipe. She had not the chance to scream as she dropped like a broken, bloody ragdoll to his feet. He stepped over her like she was a pile of trash. I wanted to scream and cry out but something told me to keep quiet.

There was little Darrin sitting cross-legged in the dirt, looking up and around as though this were a fun adventure. After all, he had just turned, a month ago, a whopping four, and Ted was the only father figure he could remember, as he was only two when dad died. So misdirected trust was his downfall. Ted, for some odd reason, took longer to stare down at the boy, almost to a fault hesitant. Darrin had no reason, in his mind, to fear this man, whose faint pulse tenderness, sporadic as it were, was usually fueled by an endless supply of whiskey and beer. Otherwise, Darrin was usually ignored along with the rest of us.

Reality sunk in and Ted proceeded with his dastardly deed. With one hand, he picked Darrin up in a strangle hold, snuffing the oxygen out those tiny heaving and trusting lungs. The limp body was then tied with ropes to a large boulder-type rock and hurled into Lake Echo, left to sink to a watery grave. The splash sent shock waves up my slumped spine. So bad, as with Lila, I wanted to expel with mournful, terrified outcry, but survival mode at this point had been turned on like a light switch and I knew, despite how difficult, I must be quiet, quieter than I’ve ever been in my entire young life.

Just when the nightmare couldn’t get any worse, Ted faced the forest, his eyes scanning back and forth, x-raying the landscape for shapes and movement. “Alrightey then, birthday girlie. Where art thou, Heather? What’s the saying? You can run but you can’t hide?” Ted started towards the thicket. Each step was meaningful and heavy and ominous.

I began to retreat further into the foliage depths and terrifying darkness. I knew I couldn’t be hindered, so I took my pink stuffed animal poodle that I loved so much and impaled him on a low lying tree branch. He hung macabrely from the rhinestone collar, eerily swinging back and forth even though there wasn’t a breeze on this stale and windless eve. I knew, if all else failed, my stuffed poodle would be left to tell the story. In the dirt, with a stick, I drew a giant capital T inside a circle to also help those who may later on look for any signs. Thank goodness I knew my Alphabet. I did the best I could to help the evidence and only hoped it was enough. I then ran for all my seven years was worth, tears stinging my cheeks each corner I turned, each inch I fought to detangle the maddening woods. I cried for my mother. I wept for my sister, my brother, my dad in the ground, my beloved stuffed animal that I had to leave behind but all for a good cause. I ran for my little life.

Every now and then, Ted’s voice would pierce the jungle air. “Heather….you might as well give up. I will find you, little girl. And it won’t be pretty. Oh no. I have something with your name on it. Aren’t you special. Happy birthday, Heather. Happy Last Day.”

Sometimes the voice would sound right next to me. Other times it sounded safely distant. If I knew then what a heart attack was, I would say that’s what I was having. My tiny heart could not beat much faster, I thought. Everything must hear my heart thumping: the ferns, the owls, Mr. T. The bugs that were feasting on me, while vines and thorns scraped my face and arms. Louder and louder Ted’s voice. Then it would fade. Then it sounded like he was right there. Right in front of me. Oh Heather, I could hear his blood-curdling coo. Please God in Heaven, help me. And I ran straight into the devil’s arms.

“What did I tell you, stupid child?” He shoved me down. I looked up into the dark and lifeless pools of his eyes. I drowned there. It didn’t matter. I could hear the Angels and they told me I would be ok. I went towards them. Mr. T did not matter anymore. He couldn’t hurt me anymore. That’s what the Angels told me.


~ ~ ~

Ted Ruston returned to the car. Blood soaked the front of his shirt and down his faded jeans. He lighted a cigarette but only took two quick puffs. With one finger he flicked the remainder of the butt into the water where Darrin met his watery end. He then got into the Camarro and tore out. Even the dust was slow to settle, as though wanting to hold and cup and possibly try to make sense of the surrounding senseless tragedy that had befallen.

~ ~ ~

Homicide Detective Ryan shook his head. Surely he’d seen his share of crime scenes, but those that involved children were the worst. He knew this would not let go of him for months, maybe more. He turned to his partner, Officer Sloan.

“The maternal grandmother is over there by your car,” Sloan mumbled. He too was shaken up and stuttering. He had six and seven year old kids himself. This was a horrific scene and the worst of his young career. He looked towards the Veteran Ryan for copious strength, but the elderly man had little to offer for comfort sake.

“Ok, I’ll talk to her.” He whipped his dispatch radio into action. “This is Homicide Detective Ryan. I want to put out an APB on one Theodore Ruston, Caucasian Male, 28, black hair, black moustache, slender build, roughly 150-165, 5’10, last seen by Echo Lake at 1700 hours . . .”

A female Officer led Angela Fields’ mother over to where the stuffed toy still swung from a branch. The grandmother cried out “my grandbabies, my grandbabies…” and collapsed with grief against the officer’s chest, who caught her just in time before she hit the ground. She was inconsolable.

Officer Sloan stood and stared at the stuffed poodle. Did it mean something? What he did know is that he had to lift it off with latex gloves on and place it in a bag to join the ranks along with other items in the Crime Evidence Kit. After all, Detective Ryan said as they all walked back to the patrol car. You can’t trust people, but stuffed animals, well, they just don’t lie.


© Susan Joyner-Stumpf

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