Figurine (standard:horror, 1396 words)
Author: Lev821	Added: Aug 11 2008	Views/Reads: 3338/2160	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
This ornament lives up to the term: 'Cheap and nasty'.

There was not much of interest in the market. It seemed to be simply
people trying to get rid of their unwanted attic junk. Yet buyers 
picked up and examined rusted cutlery, books that had been soaked in 
water, videos and cassettes so ingrained with filth that it would be 
rather brainless to put them anywhere near a machine. General tat and 
junk that belonged on a waste tip, not still with a price on. So when 
Gerard Lawson saw the only thing that caught his eye, he debated 
whether or not he wanted it. It was a figurine, or ornament that was 
simply of an elderly man, with a pipe, standing as though he was 
waiting in a queue, or at his local football ground watching his side 
being defeated. It was pure white, and rather statuesque at about six 
inches high. He bought it for a pound, even though he was expecting to 
pay at the most fifty pence. If he'd of known it was going to be a 
pound then he would have left it, but the fact that he drew the 
attention of the seller meant that he had felt obliged to purchase it. 

Upon returning home, he felt regret at having bought it, simply because
he knew he could have saved his pound for a loaf of bread or milk. 
Instead, he had to find somewhere to put it, and thought that on the 
end of the mantle-piece in the back room should do. It was a room he 
hardly used much. At 62, widowed for fourteen years, in a house he had 
occupied for 34 years, Gerard wondered if he had felt any affinity with 
the figure, whether that had influenced his decision to enquire about 
it. Did he look at it, and somehow see himself? It didn't matter, it 
was his property now, and on the mantle-piece would be fine, as it 
would be hardly seen, and perhaps even forgotten about. 

That night, at 2:30am, he was awoken by a distant house alarm that often
sounded unexpectedly because of a fault. One day he had told himself he 
would walk around there and tell them to get it fixed. One day, he 
thought. A glass of milk for the moment was required though, he 
decided, and got up and pulled on his dressing gown. A few moments 
later the last of the milk sank down his throat in the dark and cold 
kitchen, and the alarm stopped. Making his way back to the stairs, he 
heard a clinking sound as he passed by the back room. He stopped and 
frowned. What was that? he thought, opening the door to check. He put 
the light on, and saw that the figurine was on the floor. How did that 
happen? he thought, replacing it. Thinking nothing of it, he turned off 
the light and went back to bed, and was two hours into sleep when he 
was awoken again, by his radio in the bathroom. After he had roused, 
and had switched it off, deciding that it was faulty, he had only 
stepped out of the bathroom when he heard another clink from 
downstairs. He switched on the landing light, shielding his eyes from 
the glare, taking a few moments to adjust. He looked down at the 
stairs, and saw that the figurine was on the bottom step. He knew it 
wasn't him, that he was not at fault, but, he thought, it must be 
something. When it came to things supernatural, Gerard was a sceptic, 
so there must be some logical explanation as to why it was there. 
Perhaps it was me, he guessed. Was it old age? Where the brain cells 
disappearing at increasing rate? Deciding to move it in the morning, he 
switched off the light and made his way back into the bed. Outside, 
wind and rain swept across the town, but Gerard could not hear it, 
could not hear the spattering droplets against the window, as he was an 
hour into sleep. He was slowly roused awake by a movement, a movement 
on his pillow. All he had to do was reach out with his hand to put the 
bedside lamp on, which he did, and when his vision cleared, he saw the 
figurine inches away, lying horizontal. He watched as it slowly put 
itself into an upright position, and leisurely lifted itself from the 
pillow and glided over him. It stopped and waited. Gerard could not 
fathom what he was seeing. Was this some strange, lucid dream, or was 
this very real? He laid on his back and propped himself up on his 
elbows to look at it. It seemed that that was what it was waiting for, 
as it then sank down onto the duvet across Gerard's chest. It, however, 
didn't stop there, as it seemed to burn through the material, and then 
his chest. It was as though his chest was being branded, but it burned 
through. Gerard tried to scream, but his lungs were scalded through, 
and the figure then began to liquify, as though the heat was melting 
it. It dissolved into him, and Gerard's terrified eyes could only stare 
as the last of the figure sank into him. He could feel it burning and 
scalding his insides, but still he could not scream as he felt it 
sinking into his very bones. He clutched his chest in a vain attempt to 
somehow stop it, and he saw that his hand was becoming white, and hard. 
It was becoming porcelain. As his heart dissolved, the last words he 
thought were: “I'm shrinking. I'm shrinking”. Soon, he shrank to around 
six inches, and stayed like that for a long time. 


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