An Unfinished Beginning
By: ATHFguy13

The old house had been up for sale for nearly 10 years. The real-estate agent was thrilled to have finally sold it, but not nearly as thrilled as Patrick and his partner, Adam were to own it. And now that all the Xs and dotted lines had been signed and initialed, it was totally theirs.

It came completely furnished; the only explanation for this was that the previous owner had been a shut in and had no relatives to claim his worldly possessions after his death. But every room was kept just as it was before they came; neither man cared enough to redecorate. It all had a rustic, outdoors feel. It both appealed to and matched the men’s masculinity.

Three weeks had gone by and slowly the men had gotten settled into their new home. But there was one room that had not yet been explored by Pat or Adam. There hadn’t been any need to venture up to the attic yet. But over one lazy weekend, armed with paper towels and disinfectant sprays, Patrick went up to the third story. He felt compelled to do a bit of spring cleaning.

Patrick creaked up the stairs, letting his hands drag up the wall guiding him through the dark. All the windows had been boarded up; the only source of light was single, bare bulb, which - for all Patrick knew - hadn’t been changed in ages. Everything was obscured and out of focus - the only thing he could sense was the musky, mothball scent that lingered in all untouched spaces like this.

When his hand finally found the light switch, Patrick was downright astounded by the disaster he saw. He had expected the place to be a mess with a cobweb or two, but this was a total wreck. License plates, records, chairs, every possible thing you could imagine, littered every square foot of the room. Boxes, filled with everything from photo albums to antique children’s toys were stacked one on top of the other in all directions. The piles of junk were like pieces of a biography.

He grunted at the task ahead of him. Where could he even begin?

“I’m in way over my head here-” His thought process was interrupted by an enormous growling from his stomach. It was reminder that he hadn’t eaten a thing all day.

Just as Pat was ready to abandon all hope of ever doing anything with the space except sealing it up with concrete for all eternity, something strange caught his eye. He marched towards the corner, being careful to avoid mousetraps.

He saw there were candles, a whole lot of them too. They were all melted down to stumps and scattered ceremoniously around – of all things – a ratty old cupboard.

Intrigued, Patrick bent down for a closer inspection. It was just normal looking, all purpose cupboard; stripped of paint and with an oddly shaped golden key sticking out of a hole.

He closed his eyes and turned the key cautiously, unsure of what he’d find, and listened for the click. The door swung open. He opened his eyes to see – dolls. Four tiny three inch action figures made to look like WWII soldiers were standing there on the highest shelf. Patrick sighed a breath of relief.

He pulled one of them out. There was nothing unusual about him; just a kid’s toy. But at closer examination there was something very off about this doll. The face was a dull sort of handsome in Ken way, but the eyes were hauntingly life like; the kind you see in painting at the museums that you swear follow you as you leave. And the expression on the face was strange - nothing like the typical vacant but brave looks on army figurines. Some things about the little soldier looked so life like, but felt very plastic.

After he was through inspecting him, Patrick placed the doll back on the top shelf with the rest and locked the door to the cupboard. He had turned his back to the small space for little more than five seconds before the man inexplicably felt the urge to go back to the cupboard and check on his toys once more. He anxiously turned the key and opened the door to find a sight that took his breath away.

All four of the little dolls, the little toys were moving!

“This is a dream - the weirdest damn dream anyone’s ever had.” Patrick pinched himself hard, “Shit…” It hurt. “Okay it’s not a dream, and I can’t be insane, so there has to be a rational explanation for this – What the hell could explain little dolls being little action figures one minute and fucking alive the next! Just calm down, Pat… Just calm down.”

He couldn’t move; he was just frozen staring at these miniature men who stared right back at him – just as confused and twice as scared. Patrick’s initialed shock slowly changed to fascination. What were these men? He started to move his hand towards them. Then suddenly, out of nowhere – BAM!

“Ow! – What the hell was that?!” He shouted grabbing his chin. Pat felt like he had been hit by a pea shooter in the face. He looked down and saw one of the army men’s rifle smoking as he looked up at him and fired again.

“Jesus Christ! Stop that!” Patrick called to the shelf. He pressed down on the shooters chest with his pinky pinned down the tiny man. With his free hand, Pat snatched the guns from the other three soldiers and threw their weapons clear across the attic in case they got any other ideas.

Patrick looked down and saw the tiny army man struggling and squirming under the weight of his finger. He heard tiny squeaks coming from the others in the cupboard. A surge of power ran through his body, tingling him. These men were his; they were completely under his power. The bulge in his pants was growing larger and his belly roared. He grinned ear to ear, realizing the possibilities. A grin that made the soldiers shiver.

The End