{"id":1040,"date":"2011-07-12T03:00:47","date_gmt":"2011-07-12T01:00:47","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.somethingwicked.co.za\/?p=1040"},"modified":"2012-03-02T14:37:00","modified_gmt":"2012-03-02T12:37:00","slug":"unstitched-love","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/2011\/07\/12\/unstitched-love\/","title":{"rendered":"Unstitched Love"},"content":{"rendered":"<h3 style=\"text-align: center;\">by Michael Bailey<br \/>\n<img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-945\" title=\"TitleUnderline\" src=\"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-content\/uploads\/2011\/06\/TitleUnderline.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"350\" height=\"13\" srcset=\"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-content\/uploads\/2011\/06\/TitleUnderline.jpg 350w, https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-content\/uploads\/2011\/06\/TitleUnderline-300x11.jpg 300w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 350px) 100vw, 350px\" \/><\/h3>\n<table border=\"0\" cellspacing=\"5\" cellpadding=\"5\" width=\"85%\">\n<tbody>\n<tr>\n<td width=\"75%\" align=\"left\" valign=\"top\"><\/td>\n<td style=\"text-align: center;\" align=\"center\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignright size-full wp-image-1044\" title=\"ThatchSmall\" src=\"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-content\/uploads\/2011\/07\/ThatchSmall.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"128\" height=\"250\" \/><a href=\"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazines\/something-wicked-issue-11\/\">From Issue 11 (July 2011)<\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<tr>\n<td width=\"75%\" valign=\"top\"><\/td>\n<td style=\"text-align: center;\" align=\"center\"><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n<p><!--more--><\/p>\n<p>She had saved his eyes for last. A glimpse of their emptiness before  inverting the skin, filling his insides, and stitching together the open gap  between his legs. As if confused about why Sally insisted on poking a needle  through his hollow head, the incomplete stuffed bear twisted in her hands.\u00a0 <em>Aren\u2019t  you finished with me yet?<\/em> Sunlight from the morning sky beamed  through the blinds in parallel rays; dancing life reflected on its button eyes.<\/p>\n<p>Sally hated making the toy bears, but it was her punishment for pushing  her sister. She had pushed her hard this time. Megan had backpedalled over a  toy on the floor and fallen against the coffee table, breaking her collar bone.  \u201cShe could have hit her head,\u201d her mother had said. \u201cYou could have paralyzed  your sister, or worse!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMake me a teddy bear. Make me another one, a better one,\u201d her sister  insisted every few months. It had become a problem, this bear making. Megan had  found a way to exploit Sally\u2019s punishments with requests. \u201cI want a big, blue  one this time. With a big smile and button eyes.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Megan was only six&#8211;half Sally\u2019s age&#8211;but couldn\u2019t care less about the  little bears Sally crafted for her. Sometimes she\u2019d play with them and then  toss them on the floor out of spite. The stuffed creatures were usually small,  no bigger than her hand; but this one would stand just over a foot tall, as  requested.<\/p>\n<p>Megan could be so demanding. \u201cI want it to have droopy arms and floppy  legs. It has to have silver eyes, too.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Earlier that morning, Sally had stolen a pair of Megan\u2019s pants, a pair  of tattered jeans. After cutting the pant legs along their seams, Sally had  salvaged two ideal pieces of material. With a black felt pen she drew the  outline of a bear with droopy arms and floppy legs, and a round head with  semi-circular bumps for ears. There wasn\u2019t a body to the bear. He was mainly  arms and legs connected to a head. Skinny appendages belled for hands and feet;  all four met at the neck. She had looked it over once, pleased, and cut out the  design using her mother\u2019s scissors. Then she had set the first section of  material onto the second, traced it with the pen, and cut out a nearly  identical, two-dimensional figure.<\/p>\n<p>That\u2019s when Megan came barging into the room. Sometimes Sally had to  remind herself that Megan was only six. Still, she could at least be courteous.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMom says not to use any more of my pants if you\u2019re making another  bear.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWell, it\u2019s a little late to tell me now.\u201d Sally held up the ruined  jeans. \u201cBut they\u2019re your old pants, so Mom won\u2019t care.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI\u2019m still telling,\u201d Megan said. She slammed the door as she left the  room.<\/p>\n<p>Sally sighed.<\/p>\n<p><em>Stupid sister. Stupid parents.  Stupid bear.<\/em><\/p>\n<p>She tossed the two cutouts aside. One of the pieces came to rest on a  mess of Megan\u2019s toys and seemed to stand upright on its own.<\/p>\n<p>Rummaging through her junk drawers, Sally found a spool of gray string  and pulled a sewing needle from the kit she kept there. She retrieved the two  bear halves and went back to work, sitting Indian style on the carpeted floor.  With the knot where the legs connected done, she began the repetitious act of  sewing the two flat pieces of bear together with little crosshatch stitches.  She still said \u201ccross-thatch\u201d, like she had when she was little.<\/p>\n<p>She had just finished with the first leg and moved onto the side of the  bear\u2019s head when Megan came banging through the bedroom door again with a  beguiling smile. Startled, Sally jabbed the point of the needle into her  finger, deep enough to draw blood.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOuch, you little brat. Don\u2019t you know how to knock, or at least open  the door like a normal person?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou\u2019re in trouble,\u201d Megan said, stretching the four-syllable phrase.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cFor what? What did <em>I<\/em> do?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou cut up my pants,\u201d Megan said. \u201cMy <em>favorite<\/em> pair of pants.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou never wear these anymore.\u201d She held up the remains. \u201cThat\u2019s why I  chose this pair to begin with. You\u2019re such a snitch.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSo?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI\u2019m trying to <em>make<\/em> your  precious little bear, remember? And look, you made me bleed all over it.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Sure enough, a little red splotch of blood had seeped onto the material  near the bear\u2019s neck. Sally turned it inside out. \u201cAt least it didn\u2019t go all  the way through. It won\u2019t show. Now go get me a Band-Aid, or <em>you\u2019ll<\/em> need one.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Megan fled. At first, Sally thought she would tattle again but she came  back with a handful of plasters, dropped them on the floor and left the room  without another word. Sally fixed one Band-Aid to her finger, and set another  aside for the bear, just for fun.<\/p>\n<p>By noon, she had finished sewing the bear&#8211;all but the neck, through  which she would eventually turn the bear right side out. She studied her work.<\/p>\n<p><em>All this for my brat of a sister.<\/em><\/p>\n<p>This would be the last bear, she decided. Screw the punishment. Hadn\u2019t  she suffered enough for something as stupid as pushing Megan? It wasn\u2019t like  anything really bad had happened to her. Like her dad said, kids broke bones  all the time. It was all part of growing up.<\/p>\n<p><em>I should have pushed her harder.<\/em><\/p>\n<p>Sally opened Megan\u2019s dresser drawers and rummaged through the sweaters.  Not all of them had buttons, but one did: Megan\u2019s favorite, a white knitted one  with a chaotic silver pattern. It had eight shiny silver buttons with white  trim that would suit beautifully as eyes. Sally worked the buttons free and  folded the sweater back into the dresser.<\/p>\n<p>Sally stitched the two buttons onto the bear, crisscrossing through the  holes in their centers. She pricked her finger again as she fed the needle  blindly through from the other side.<\/p>\n<p>It took a while for the strange creature to look less spidery. She had  left such a miniscule hole to feed the heavy material through in order to turn  the bear inside-out. The arms and legs proved most difficult, but with the help  of an unsharpened pencil, she was able to feed everything through the open gap  between the legs&#8211;head, buttons, and all four appendages&#8211;inverting the bear.  The bear was droopy and floppy, as requested.<\/p>\n<p>Sally\u2019s mother brought in a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and apple  slices for lunch. She told Sally not to worry about Megan\u2019s jeans, but added,  \u201cYou need to be more responsible, Sally. You can\u2019t just go around cutting up  good jeans whenever you feel like it. I was hoping these bears would help you  and your sister bond. And keep you from possibly hur&#8230; Remember what we talked  about? About how fragile Megan is? You were that fragile once. Remember what  the doctor said about your mind wandering, and your temper? Will you tell me if  something\u2019s bothering you? I need you to talk to me, Sally.\u201d But Sally had  stopped listening.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cCan this be the last one?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSure, Sally.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>She snuck downstairs later and snagged a bag of dried beans from the  kitchen. She funneled the beans into the ends of the bear\u2019s legs and then the  arms. From her closet she pulled some scraps of material and filled the  interior of the bear in a loose manner to keep it droopy and floppy. When she  was finished, Sally sewed shut the magic portal.<\/p>\n<p>She spent the next hour with the fine details. She stitched pink thread  in multi-parallel lines to help the half-circle ears stand out. Using a coarser  thread, she added thick crosshatched \u201cX\u201d marks for a crooked smile. Actually,  she thought afterwards, it looked like the bear\u2019s lips had been stitched shut.<\/p>\n<p><em>At least he\u2019ll be quiet.<\/em><\/p>\n<p>Sally played with the bear, moving its limbs back and forth.<\/p>\n<p>She was happy with the results, although she had to admit the bear was  ever so creepy if you stared at him long enough. It could almost stand on its  own. The weight of the bean-filled legs kept it in place, legs upright, with  its head and arms hunched forward. The arms were as heavy as the legs, and  likewise touched the ground, giving the toy an apelike stance. The bear kept  falling forward when Sally tried to prop it upright.<\/p>\n<p>The bear stared blankly at Sally. <em>Aren\u2019t  you finished with me yet?<\/em> A tiny red flower of blood had seeped  through the material after all, right below the neck.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNot done yet,\u201d she told the bear, looking at its wound. A smaller  crimson flower bloomed next to the first. The two red dots reminded Sally of  old vampire movies. She picked up the Band-Aid she had set aside and covered  the marks on the neck.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNow you\u2019re finished.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>She stabbed the sewing needle into the bear\u2019s sad face. The bear stayed  upright a moment before plopping to the ground, head tilted, mouth mute, eyes  gleaming in the early evening sun. Gray string, still looped through the  needle, lay coiled at its heavy feet.<\/p>\n<p><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-605\" title=\"divider\" src=\"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-content\/uploads\/2011\/05\/divider.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"136\" height=\"20\" \/><\/p>\n<p>The bright bulb of the moon turned everything gray.<\/p>\n<p>The bear lay at the foot of Sally\u2019s bed, the needle and string still  protruding from its cheek. Sally had deemed it a boy bear before going to bed,  and named him Thatch, for his \u201ccrossthatch\u201d stitching. He faced the window,  head tilted away from the rest of his body, smiling with his crooked mouth.<\/p>\n<p><em>If only Megan were so quiet.<\/em><\/p>\n<p>Thatch stared at the perfect circle of moon. A black bird fluttered by  the window, and the light flickered in the bear\u2019s eyes.<\/p>\n<p><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-605\" title=\"divider\" src=\"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-content\/uploads\/2011\/05\/divider.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"136\" height=\"20\" \/><\/p>\n<p>At twelve past two in the morning, Sally was woken by a scream. It was  Megan. The room was black, the moonlight gone. Sally could barely make out the  silhouette of her sister sitting upright in her bed. Megan shrieked a second  time, and the sounds of Mom and Dad racing up the hall followed. Sally tried  the lamp on the nightstand but knocked it over. It crashed onto the floor.<\/p>\n<p>The bedroom door swung open, the light was switched on. Megan screamed  a third time.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat\u2019s going on in here?\u201d Mom asked. \u201cIs everyone all right?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Dad was rubbing his eyes behind her.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI broke my lamp by accident,\u201d Sally said. \u201cMegan just started  screaming.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Megan cried, her chest bobbing up and down. She was scared. Mom sat at  her side and held her tight.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt\u2019s all right. Everything\u2019s okay now, sweetie. You just had a bad  dream.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNeuh-neuh-neuh.\u201d Megan couldn\u2019t get words out.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSally, clean up that mess and get back to bed, unless your father  wants to do it for you.\u201d She turned to Dad, but he was already gone from the  room.\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Sally tidied up the pieces of  her lamp while Megan mumbled.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt was just a bad dream,\u201d her mother said, easing up on the hug.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt wasn\u2019t a dream,\u201d Megan said through a face of tears. She pointed to  the base of Sally\u2019s bed.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThe bear?\u201d Mom asked. \u201cDid the bear scare you?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Sally returned to her bed and leaned over, lifting the toy from the  floor. \u201cThatch is just a stuffed animal, Meg. See, he\u2019s just a dumb toy.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>She made it dance. The bear\u2019s heavy arms and legs moved like a  string-less marionette, the head slumped over, almost grinning.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cStop it! Stop it!\u201d her sister yelled, her eyes filling with tears.  Something about the bear clearly scared her.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cPut that thing away,\u201d Mom said, holding Megan against her. \u201cIt\u2019s okay,  sweetie. Sally is just teasing you. It\u2019s only a toy.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Sally dropped it back to the floor. It fell in a clump, face flat on  the carpet.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt wasn\u2019t there before,\u201d Megan said, each word separated by a sob. \u201cIt  was on my bed.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Mom looked in Sally\u2019s direction, suspecting foul play.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI was asleep. I swear,\u201d Sally said. \u201cUntil she started screaming,  anyway. That\u2019s when I tried to turn on the light and knocked it over. Thatch  was there all along&#8230; that\u2019s where I left him.\u201d She pointed to the lump on the  floor.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNuh-uh,\u201d said her sister. \u201cI woke up and he was sitting on my stomach,  staring at me.\u201d She started a series of forced sobs. \u201cHis eyes were glowing,  and his neck was bleeding, and he had a needle sticking out of his head, and  then&#8230;\u201d The rest was unintelligible.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cCan you put this thing away for the night?\u201d her mother asked, swiping  the bear from the floor. She gave it a quick inspection. \u201cI don\u2019t know what I\u2019m  going to do with you. Megan\u2019s your sister. You need to start treating her like  one.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI didn\u2019t do anything!\u201d Sally yelled.<\/p>\n<p>\u201c<em>Enough.<\/em> I don\u2019t want to  hear another word.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cBut\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNot another word!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Mom took Thatch under an arm, poking herself with the needle. She swore  under her breath and tossed the bear back to the floor. In a softer voice she  said, \u201cI want you to put that thing away and go to bed. If I hear another peep  from this room&#8230;\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Sally chose not to say anything.<\/p>\n<p><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-605\" title=\"divider\" src=\"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-content\/uploads\/2011\/05\/divider.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"136\" height=\"20\" \/><\/p>\n<p>Thatch was alive in Sally\u2019s dream. He sat on Megan\u2019s chest as she lay  in bed, screaming desperate, bloody cries. His tilted head stared into her  soul. His silver button eyes reflected the terrified expression on Megan\u2019s  face. The needle in Thatch\u2019s face glinted, trailing its gray string. Megan\u2019s  screams were constant, and soon became dried-out, wheezy, almost maddening to  tolerate. Thatch\u2019s droopy arms played in the red mess around Megan\u2019s neck. A  pair of scissors skewered her left shoulder. Sally cried out for Mom, for Dad,  but no parental footsteps raced down the hall. <em>Thatch  got to them first<\/em>, Sally thought. Megan reached a weak,  blood-streaked arm out to her sister. Two fingers and a thumb curled upward, as  her skinny wrist shook. Her pinky and ring fingers stayed behind on the pillow.  Megan pleaded for her sister to help, but there were no words, only a strained,  choking gibberish. Her eyes met Sally\u2019s, but Sally\u2019s gaze drifted to the  stuffed bear. As she watched, the bear\u2019s head slowly turned in her direction.  This bear she had crafted using pants and buttons and whatnot. The bear she had  named Thatch. As he turned to face her, Sally saw that the Band-Aid she had  placed on his neck was gone. The two holes of red oozed blood. It was Sally\u2019s  blood in the bear, Sally\u2019s blood that gave it life. Glowing eyes bore down,  hypnotizing her, and she screamed, just like her sister.\u00a0 But her sister wasn\u2019t screaming. Not  anymore. Megan was dead, like their parents down the hall. Sally\u2019s family was  gone.<\/p>\n<p>Thatch no longer had a mouth. The silver eyes were there, and the  semi-circle ears, but the thick stitching of his mouth was gone, and in its  place only tiny holes remained where thread had crisscrossed in a crooked  smile. On his face was a connect-the-dots constellation of grin. Thatch was  alive, and he held Sally\u2019s stare. She forced herself awake.<\/p>\n<p><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-605\" title=\"divider\" src=\"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-content\/uploads\/2011\/05\/divider.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"136\" height=\"20\" \/><\/p>\n<p>Her heart raced in her chest, her entire body shaking and sweaty as she  eased out of the nightmare. She buried herself in the covers and made sure to  tuck her feet and hands underneath, feeling that if she was covered, she was  safe.<\/p>\n<p>The bed soon became an oven, though, as body heat filled her makeshift  safety blanket. Soon she would have to spring for fresh air. What if Thatch was  out there in the darkness, ready to pounce at the first glimpse of exposed  flesh? She\u2019d poke her toe out, and he\u2019d grab it and pull her out. And what if  her sister was out there, not waiting, but dead? Sally anxiously tried to shrug  off the nightmare. It was only a dream. Megan was alive. So were her parents.  And Thatch was just a handmade toy.<\/p>\n<p>Clenching her teeth, she poked out that toe, ready to feel a soft denim  paw wrap around it. A breeze greeted the toe, and nothing else. Sally slipped  the rest of the foot out, and then the other. Her fingers crept out next. One  by one they curled back the edges of the comforter and found the cold air. Sally  pulled her head free, keeping her eyes sealed. Then she forced open a pair of  persistent eyelids that would rather have stayed closed.<\/p>\n<p>Sitting upright, Sally let her eyes adjust to the dark room.<\/p>\n<p>Megan\u2019s chest rose and fell. There was no stuffed bear in sight.<\/p>\n<p><em>Only a bad dream.<\/em><\/p>\n<p>She had to check the base of her bed. Thatch would be there for sure,  plopped on his side, staring at nothing. She leaned over the edge.<\/p>\n<p>Thatch stared at the carpet, his face flat against the floor, his legs  and arms sprawled like the compass on a map. One arm pointed to Megan, the  other to Sally; one leg pointed to the door, the other to the window.<\/p>\n<p>Outside, dead leaves floated across the yard. Looking to her sister,  she sighed.<\/p>\n<p><em>Megan\u2019s your sister. You need to  start treating her like one.<\/em><\/p>\n<p>Maybe Mom was right. Maybe she needed to step up and be a better  sister. She was her kid sister after all. Sally remembered how proud she had  felt the first time Mom let her hold her baby sister. If Thatch was scaring  Megan, maybe she should get rid of him, destroy him even. She wouldn\u2019t have to  make the bears anymore, that much was certain. She could tell Megan in the  morning that Thatch would never scare her again because she took care of him.  \u201cSee, he\u2019s just cut-up pieces of material,\u201d she could say.<\/p>\n<p>Sally headed to the dresser to get the scissors. Moonlight shimmered on  the sharp blades. Sally\u2019s smile widened to a grin as she approached to the edge  of the bed.<\/p>\n<p>Megan would never have to be scared again.<\/p>\n<p>She sat next to Thatch and propped him up to face her. He did nothing  to stop her, just looked back confused, head tilted to the side. She stabbed  the scissors into his neck until they tore through. Everything had to come out.  She pulled and pulled. She\u2019d save the eyes for last&#8211;those lifeless silver  discs. She\u2019d rip them right out.<\/p>\n<p>Thatch started to struggle. Along with the stuffing, blood erupted from  the wounds she created.<\/p>\n<p><em>But isn\u2019t this <\/em>my<em> blood?<\/em><\/p>\n<p>Thatch offered a blank, hopeless expression as Sally tore his insides  out. Still he bled, and soon she sat in sticky red.<\/p>\n<p>She held out her hands, covered in red.<\/p>\n<p><em>I\u2019m dreaming<\/em>.<\/p>\n<p>She checked her fingers, palms and wrists to see if it was she who was  bleeding; nowhere could she find a cut on herself. She grabbed the creature\u2019s  paw, clipped off the tip. Blood poured out.<\/p>\n<p><em>I am dreaming. <\/em><\/p>\n<p>The creature\u2019s shiny eyes bored into hers. It struggled to break free.  Sally tried to hold on, to let it bleed out. It writhed, and squirmed, and  would speak to Sally if not for the stitching that was now inexplicably back, sealing  its mouth. She sobbed in silence as she stabbed and ripped and pulled.<\/p>\n<p><em>Wake up!<\/em><\/p>\n<p>She waited for her parents to come running down the hall.<\/p>\n<p><em>Wake up!<\/em><\/p>\n<p>For once, she wanted her sister.<\/p>\n<p><em>Please&#8230; wake up.<\/em><\/p>\n<p><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-605\" title=\"divider\" src=\"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-content\/uploads\/2011\/05\/divider.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"150\" height=\"20\" \/><\/p>\n<p>Sally snapped out of  it. She was blanketed in sweat, sitting upright, shaking uncontrollably,  sobbing aloud to no one. The house was dead. Megan lay beside her in a pool of  blood, scissor handles protruding from her neck. The tips of a few fingers lay  nearby. She wore a Band-Aid with two dots of red underneath. Her mouth was sewn  shut with crosshatch stitches; scraps of material poked randomly from the gaps.  Her head was tilted at a curious angle. And those eyes&#8230;<\/p>\n<p><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-1020\" title=\"caticon-stalking\" src=\"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-content\/uploads\/2011\/07\/caticon-stalking.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"75\" height=\"45\" \/><\/p>\n<h5 style=\"text-align: center;\">Copyright \u00a9 2006 by Michael Bailey<br \/>\noriginally published in <em>Something Weird Horror Anthology<\/em>,\u00a0 compiled by Troy Kealley.<br \/>\nReprinted by\u00a0 permission of the author.<br \/>\n<img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-medium wp-image-966\" title=\"blackline\" src=\"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-content\/uploads\/2011\/07\/blackline1-300x7.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"300\" height=\"7\" srcset=\"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-content\/uploads\/2011\/07\/blackline1-300x7.jpg 300w, https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-content\/uploads\/2011\/07\/blackline1.jpg 325w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 300px) 100vw, 300px\" \/><\/h5>\n<table border=\"0\" cellspacing=\"10\" cellpadding=\"0\" align=\"center\">\n<tbody>\n<tr>\n<td style=\"text-align: center;\" align=\"center\" valign=\"top\"><a href=\"http:\/\/www.somethingwicked.co.za\/products-page\/downloads\/something-wicked-11-july-2011\/\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full  wp-image-953 alignleft\" title=\"PurchaseButton\" src=\"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-content\/uploads\/2011\/07\/PurchaseButton.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"180\" height=\"24\" \/><\/a><\/td>\n<td align=\"center\" valign=\"top\"><a href=\"http:\/\/weightlessbooks.com\/format\/magazine\/something-wicked-magazine-12-month-subscription\/\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full  wp-image-954 alignleft\" title=\"SubsBuyButton\" src=\"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-content\/uploads\/2011\/07\/SubsBuyButton.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"180\" height=\"24\" \/><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n<p>[hana-code-insert name=&#8217;ArticleBlockOpen&#8217; \/]<\/p>\n<h2 class=\"art-postheader\" style=\"text-align: left;\"><a title=\"Michael Bailey\" href=\"http:\/\/www.somethingwicked.co.za\/authors\/michael-bailey\/\">Michael Bailey<\/a><\/h2>\n<p><em><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignright size-thumbnail wp-image-1037\" title=\"02---AuthorPhotoMichaelBailey\" src=\"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-content\/uploads\/2011\/07\/02-AuthorPhotoMichaelBailey-e1309487640951-150x150.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"150\" height=\"150\" \/><\/em><\/p>\n<p><strong>Michael Bailey<\/strong> is  the author of <em>Palindrome Hannah<\/em>,  a non-linear horror novel and finalist for the Independent Publisher Awards.  His follow-up novel, <em>Phoenix Rose<\/em>,  was listed for the National Best Book Awards for horror fiction and was a  finalist for the International Book Awards.<\/p>\n<p><em>Scales and Petals<\/em>,  his short story collection,won  the same award for short fiction and <em>Pellucid  Lunacy<\/em> won for anthologies.<\/p>\n<p>His short fiction and poetry can be found in various anthologies and  magazines around the world.<\/p>\n<p>His short story \u201cWithout Face\u201d previously appeared in <a href=\"http:\/\/www.somethingwicked.co.za\/products-page\/print-back-issues\/something-wicked-06\/\"><em>Something Wicked Issue 6<\/em><\/a> and was mentioned  in The Best Horror of the Year.<\/p>\n<p>He is currently working on his third novel, <em>Psychotropic Dragon<\/em>, a new short story collection, <em>Inkblots and Blood Spots, <\/em>and tossing  around ideas for a second themed anthology<em>. <\/em><\/p>\n<p>You can visit him online at <a href=\"http:\/\/www.nettirw.com\/\">www.nettirw.com<\/a>.<\/p>\n<p>[hana-code-insert name=&#8217;ArticleBlockClose&#8217; \/]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<h3 style=\"text-align: center;\">by Michael Bailey<br \/>\n<img class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-945\" title=\"TitleUnderline\" \n\nsrc=\"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-content\/uploads\/2011\/06\/TitleUnderline.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"350\" height=\"13\" srcset=\"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-content\/uploads\/2011\/06\/TitleUnderline.jpg 350w, https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-content\/uploads\/2011\/06\/TitleUnderline-300x11.jpg 300w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 350px) 100vw, 350px\" \/><\/h3>\n<table border=\"0\" cellspacing=\"5\" cellpadding=\"5\" width=\"85%\">\n<tbody>\n<tr>\n<td width=\"75%\" valign=\"top\">\n<p>She had saved his eyes for last. A glimpse of their emptiness before inverting the skin, filling his insides, and stitching together the open gap between his legs. As if confused about why Sally insisted on poking a needle through his hollow head, the incomplete stuffed bear twisted in her hands.  Aren\u2019t you finished with me yet? Sunlight from the morning sky beamed through the blinds in parallel rays; dancing life reflected on its button eyes.<\/p>\n<\/td>\n<td style=\"text-align: center;\" align=\"center\"><a \n\nhref=\"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-content\/uploads\/2011\/06\/CoverIssue11Colour.jpg\"><img class=\"alignright \n\nsize-medium wp-image-883\" title=\"CoverIssue11Colour\" \n\nsrc=\"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-content\/uploads\/2011\/06\/CoverIssue11Colour-225x300.jpg\" alt=\"Cover Art by \n\nVincent Sammy\" width=\"182\" height=\"241\" \/><\/a> <a \n\nhref=\"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazines\/something-wicked-issue-11\/\"><span style=\"text-align: left;\">From Issue 11 (July <\/p>\n<p>2011)<\/span><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<tr>\n<td width=\"75%\" valign=\"top\"><\/td>\n<td style=\"text-align: center;\" align=\"center\"><a \n\nhref=\"http:\/\/www.somethingwicked.co.za\/products-page\/downloads\/something-wicked-11-july-2011\/\"><img class=\"aligncenter \n\nsize-full wp-image-953\" title=\"PurchaseButton\" \n\nsrc=\"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-content\/uploads\/2011\/07\/PurchaseButton.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"180\" height=\"24\" \n\n\/><\/a><a href=\"http:\/\/weightlessbooks.com\/format\/magazine\/something-wicked-magazine-12-month-subscription\/\"><img \n\nclass=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-954\" title=\"SubsBuyButton\" \n\nsrc=\"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-content\/uploads\/2011\/07\/SubsBuyButton.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"180\" height=\"24\" \n\n\/><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[226,178,93,96],"class_list":["post-1040","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","tag-fiction","tag-horror","tag-issue-11","tag-michael-bailey"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1040","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1040"}],"version-history":[{"count":7,"href":"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1040\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2008,"href":"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1040\/revisions\/2008"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1040"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1040"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1040"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}