A Toy Maker Folly

     To Mr. Humphrey Honeydew,

     Shipment Date: Month of Collecting, 8th, Y22

     “Thank you for your interest in your very specialized materials, Mr. Honeydew. Your woodworking and puppetry skills will be furthered by our magical strings, metallic ‘face’ supplies and more. Should our resources be a benefit to your latest project, please recommend us to friends and family.”

     From Mystical Forge Assembly

     394 Wretchingwren Way, Haunted Woods (Don’t Find Us)

     The 13th of the Month of Collecting, Y22

     Dear Journal,

     Honeydew General has been quiet for too long. People have even travelled beyond town for their essential goods. Well, no point in falling behind on market trends, a new addition is here! My newest addition to the store awaits set up, an automaton wonder that is more than some mere puppet! He won’t be some window garnish or mere toy, like in the sill of that curmudgeonly toy maker. No, this is a true mascot, a salesman like me. Who would have thought a random clipping from the “Timely Esoteric News” slapping me in my face was the road to better business! Most of the periodical was rubbish, but the advertisement for this, wonderful! This is the sort of thing extra funds are saved for. Perhaps I can draw business from outsiders to bring life back to this dreary and dismal pocket of land we call a village. The assembly kit package arrived late as the postman looked more droopy and tired than I. From the shuffling feet plodding towards the door, to the multiple flapping layers sagging beneath the eyes, it begs the question how long the poor lad was working. I believe in “all in a day’s work”, but he has clearly seen at least three at once. Perhaps it’s best to examine my acquisitions in the morning.

     The 14th of the Month of Collecting, Y22

     Dear Journal,

     My word, there’s so much in this box! It’s almost as if they compressed as much as they could into these small kits. All the same, these pieces are strange. Magic eyes with “invisible finger paint” and screws that adjust “for every doll head”, a stamp on mouth “that talks back”, hinges to make “living limbs”, what does all of that mean? It’s not too complicated for a proud purveyor of general goods, but it’s incredible. Of course, nothing fanciful or pretentious either, as I don’t need that. In the end, I would like to think of myself as an ordinary man. I have no desire for lavish mansions, decadent lifestyles or anything. All I need is proper funds to live a nice life to myself, a tranquil and peaceful one at that. Have I fallen for some two-piece conviction operation? Or is this the work of sorcery? Well, no point in planting my own behind on the floor and pondering, it’s time to build! Already, the harlequin like clown figure has started coming to life. The lime-green of his “jacket and trousers” is certainly in need of a touch up though. Cheap paint, you can’t get good greens around here! I make enough money to change that, but maybe they’ll give me a pigment that isn’t poisonous soon enough. But in the meantime, the movements of this fantastical device, it’s almost like life itself! I think I need to tighten some bolts or something. The jerky motions are a bit uncanny, almost like an infant learning how it can move.

     The 15th of the Month of Collecting, Y22

     Dear Journal,

     My jovial jester certainly looks better than it did before, the application of metallic and hardwood bits from this seller certainly added a touch to my own work. Could this even be considered my own? Is it a collaboration? What came over me, as if I was bewitched by some spell? Regardless, this character is coming into its own. As per their silly tagline, it’s as if it has its own life. Now I have myself believing their sales stories, perhaps I endure some manner of delirium, it’s likely that toxic green paint. Mystical Forge Assembly, the only thing mystical about them is how no acquaintances were able to track them down. Curious, do they want further business? Also, there’s still a manner of that paint. Just a moment ago, I slumped my wooden puppet chum against the wall, but it would seem to be sitting completely on its side. If I didn’t know better, the puppet did this. But again, accursed fumes, straight to my brain. Well, best time to plot out a new layout for the store. But first, let’s string this one up right and find some good storage. At the very least, it has caught much in the way of attention. I consider that a positive in my book! And as long as the people of the are happy from it, so am I.

     16th of the Month of Collecting, Y22

     Dear Journal,

     It’s astounding! It has been several hours after I moved around furnishings and displays and it’s all set up. It’s a front facing display to showcase my beautiful puppet clown. But that isn’t the part to give one awe and wonder. No! Well after the puppet was set up, the limbs moved slightly. I attributed this to some faulty wiring or gravity playing tricks against my elaborate pulley-like system. Nothing was needed to operate the puppet master’s controls behind the scenes. No, it was natural. And not natural in the sense of wind or creaking floors playing with my strings. No, natural as in life. It was life within the puppet limbs, life that brought movement. It was a mere child, a new creature brought upon this world. This was no magic show, it was a miracle. Through the strange wizard company and my crafting, life was born. Gorgeous life was created, life that can spread smiles to all in town. I can’t wait to share this wonder, but how to go about it? The people might not get it, they might be afraid. Perhaps I can frame it as some illusion act, yes! No sideshow oddity, but something more wholesome and without the needless grotesque! This is the wonder of engineering, the wonders of industry. My critics will baulk at me ordering this, but you can’t produce this with country tools! This is no magic, it’s science! But, to the simple folk of this land, they’re under a beautiful magic spell.

     17th of the Month of Collecting, Y22

     Dear journal,

     The toothy grins of the children, the mouths agape in fascination from the adults. The show is a success. Usually, sales on my goods don’t pick up for another month or two. My lucky jester has changed all of that. But really, he’s the star of the show. With an adjustable window pane, gatherers watched a wooden figure dance as I played banjo, a man and his dummy crack an assortment of timeless jokes and the jester itself perform tricks that dazzled me. Why, seeing a wooden figure hop around without me pulling strings shocked and amazed all who were onlooking. For one elderly Lenny, it was a tad disturbing. No doubt, I will get a letter accusing me of witchcraft. Plenty of other kindly old ladies of the village have praised its whimsy and wonder, so I need not let one dissuade me. It’s just a show in the end and the magic comes from what you put into it. Though, it would just so happen that I apparently put in a lot. The closer before the crowds wanted to buy what they could muster was me shaking hands with this new partner, offering a heartfelt hug and telling this bundle of joy how much I loved it… him. I think I have created something of a son. So far, he hasn’t talked to me. I don’t know if he can? But, perhaps this magical puppet needs time and nurturing.

     18th of the Month of Collecting, Y22

     To my esteemed rival, Mr. Honeydew,

     I understand you’ve suddenly become a large sensation in town. It would seem that some shadowy benefactor has given you the means of bringing power to your creations. I’m glad you have the funding to hire some factory to produce content for you, a sign of some genuine profit. And just like that, your store turns from a place of common goods to a circus. I don’t buy whatever hokum you try to prescribe to the masses. You’re not even a toy man and not some charlatan medicine peddler. Perhaps it’s time you start acting your part and sell normally, lest you hear more from me.

     Your friend in business,

     Mortimer Winston Finsk

     Dear journal,

     Was I threatened? I awoke in the morning, as I do. What greeted me was not an assembly of eager townsfolk yet. No, a letter. A letter from Mr. Finsk, a longtime resident of town and seemingly kindly old toy maker. A surly curmudgeon at a young age, his demeanour was far from the environment he attempted to portray. Onto better matters, the day continued as it did before. Another performance for the second time in a week? A cause for celebration. My wooden son once again pulled through, no wordplay intended. And from the corner of his painted and reinforced mouth, I thought I saw something of a smile form like a splintering crack. This was no breaking wood, but something ELSE at play. Not only has a being been brought into this world, but he can feel happiness. Boundless joy, my son can feel happiness! Is it strange I feel as a father does? How long until I don’t need to hide this family? Will they turn on me because of magic? I can’t spoil this moment, not yet! Perhaps I should also bring in toys as wonderful as my “magical” puppet son, hehe.

     IF YOU READ THIS, ENSURE YOU ARE ALONE.

     You have been selected for a mission of utmost importance. Honeydew, the young fraud and clown of Honeydew General Store, has been pulling elaborate ruses on the masses to make them think he is some means of magician. Perhaps the mystique of him being some secret dark warlock is a draw for the dismal and bland denizens. No matter, he has a large dummy that sits within a front window display, to the left of the door from your side. You’ve all seen it, saccharine looking and oafish. It’s a parody of a child’s theatre show. Now, without much noise, I ask of you to retrieve the dummy. It’s quite apparent that the meandering and bumbling Wocky is unable to create such things. Bring the puppet to me and you’ll be rewarded handsomely. Also please, destroy this note after you read it. And should you need an address? There’s a storage warehouse by the docks of 23 Flint Roadway, two blocks from the peer. I have a wagon readied.

     19th of the Month of Collecting Y22

     Dear journal,

     He’s gone. The jester puppet, he’s gone. I’ve asked around, there’s no conclusive information from anyone. The store was closed today, I couldn’t go through with it. It’s clear that something went wrong, but the glass in the window was broken on the inside. That just can’t be right… The doors were locked and the windows were closed tight. Did my boy break free himself and leave? No, we loved each other, a family was beginning, he truly was a creation of magic. I can’t imagine he’d willfully flee and not show me some warning. The constabulary, they should have helped. Their best? Filing a report for stolen goods… Stolen goods, that’s all he is to them? Just another toy. No, he was more than that. The people themselves wished to aid, buy a new one. The irony was lost upon them, as they would never understand. Joy was stolen from me, not some mere plaything taken. But, who should I speak to? The ever-hostile Mr. Finsk is quite suspect. Surely, he will clear up matters.

     FINSK DIARY

     Ohoho, that fool. No doubt he thinks I’m guilty of some grievous and villainous act. A show stealer without a show. That abomination is hidden, away from the prying eye. Besides, if he goes back to what’s best for the town, then I can get back to business. But, it’s still a mystery, how did he do all of it? I’ve had people watch; I caught a glimpse myself. It just doesn’t add up. I need to study this puppet, learn its secrets and make my own. This creature is the creation of some sorcery, something strange. I still tried to make something unique. Carved pet-pets, miniature models, dolls to dress and much more. All of this not only occupied the young, but warmed the hearts of so many families. Why did I let him take it away? No matter, I am taking it back. But first, a rapping at my back door. Bother, it’s probably him. Well, best to clear my name.

     20th of the Month of Collecting

     Dear journal,

     I mustered the courage to face the toymaker face to face. The drab and dry grey Blumaroo that greeted me looked uninterested, as if to wonder what I would say next… all the same knowing what I would ask. As I raised a finger, he was aware of my accusation. “I’d like to ask you a question”, I stammered out. He huffed, exclaiming that he felt insulted and finished my question for me. He made a mock voice to inquire if he had seen “the puppet”. His response was that he saw “the blight” the same place it had sat for the past few days before it disappeared. Seeing me unconvinced, he offered to let me tour his shop and house, in part to berate me for being “the reason for his decline”. And decline it was, the house was messy. Design schematics for new creations were crumpled or crossed out, the stench of expired food filled a waste bin, a ripped couch had visible springs, his lantern flickered with the pathetic last vestiges of oil. Any apology was met with anger, criticizing what I have done to his life. Perhaps my own streak of luck and good fortune coincided with the follies of this poor man. He is not loathsome, just someone in need of aid and friendship. When my current predicament is over, I should atone for my own ignorance of his plight. He’s in dire need of a hand. A partnership could help turn his life around for the better, with a humble apology too.

     FINSK DIARY

     Arrogance, ignorance, a total clod. No matter, there is work to be done. The puppet is filled with quirks. My attempts to prod it and figure out where joints meet results in strange twitchy movements. How intricate is this design? I don’t want to damage something so valuable, even if it was factory-made. My experiments will continue until I figure out more. But, in the worst scenario, I suppose I could try to rip it open, if it means I can create my own replica in the end. I just hope it’s salvageable enough by that point. If this is all for nought, then we both lose. Well, I lose less than Honeydew and things can still return to normal hopefully.

     21st of the Month of Collecting

     Dear journal,

     It’s obvious that I’m rather depressed. There shall be no further writing in my journal until I learn what is happening.

     FINSK DIARY

     Bah, strange things are afoot. My hired hands must be pulling gags on me. Did I not pay them enough? I awaken, as I have. I open the secret compartment in my workshop, again this is the same. Down the stairs once more and there’s the puppet. However, its face. Oh, by Altador’s mighty stadium, the face. It’s twisted, it’s angry, it’s bewitched. The childish and unintelligent grin is replaced by a grimace, like a child forced to eat sprouts-and-chocolate soup for the first time. The disgust was also a look of building anger, a growing seething. But that couldn’t be, it’s impossible. So many coats of paint are needed to pull that off. One of those brigands broke in and vandalized it, I did cut some of their pay due to tardiness and some broken glass. Bah, way to make it obvious that a theft has transpired! There is no noteworthy or careful help in this day and age. If it wasn’t them, no! No! There are no demons around this village, superstitious poppycock, something that mad magician or scam operator would want me to believe! I call your bluff, charlatan… But, if there is magic afoot, what hex have you placed upon me? No! I shall not fall for such thinking, it’s what he wants. I can’t entertain it. I said that thing was horrible, but because it’s a product of industry and it’s just… uncanny. But, spirits and witches? Bah!

     22nd of the Month of Collecting

     FINSK DIARY

     Enraging! Something got into my messy hovel of a home. I know matters are not in my favour, but must I suffer? I too am good! I got that fake magician away from my abode, after all. None of the thieves have stepped forward either. Maybe it’s just the progressively decrepit hiding hole of a house. But, pots and pans across the floor. And the locket of dear Lenore, removed from my bedside. I too felt love once, but some pair of grabby paws wishes to know too much about that! None for you, she left my life and I shall not speak any further on this! Know this tormentor, you will reveal yourself to me at once! Your latest gag of posing the dummy in a thinking pose, swapping the frown for a Devilpus worthy smile, not funny! Plus, the letter, it mirrored my mad rantings to that oafish Honeydew. He’s far too stupid to pull this juvenile behaviour upon me, I know it. But such a man child isn’t above it. Should this continue into the next day, I’ll find a way to get the local authorities to not only call off their search, but confine Honeydew as some mad prankster, hooligan or even… practitioner of dark arts. May he never find a Lenore of his own… Even if she was by my side, I wouldn’t feel comfort. Please, let this not be a mistake. I’m tired of those, I’ve made far too many already. Perhaps I’ll hide it deeper in my workshop. Maybe I’ll tie it up to the old bed frame. That should keep it still. Imagine I, fretting over a twitching doll. Bah, I’m a grown and aging man. I can’t be nervous of some overgrown child’s plaything… let alone not handcrafted gently by human hands.

     23rd of the Month of Collecting

     FINSK DIARY

     At long last, a solid day of business. No one could stand the walking mope that Honeydew has degenerated into. At last, people see reason and fill their homes with my better craftsmanship. But such a day can never end so well. I return after hearing odd sounds. Before closing, a couple of their daughter are startled by a chaotic clatter upon the ground. I assured them it was a petpet gotten loose. But I could not be owed such an easy explanation. A mess, everything, everywhere! Some of my paints from the workshop, squirted upon walls. But downstairs, that… That was surely far worse! I should end here for now, lest I discover what happened while the shop is opened still. Fortunately, everything is wrapping for the evening. Perhaps I can grab something to arm myself with. Rogue petpets, hardly. Perhaps I should ready a torch, that demon puppet is made of wood after all! No, no, get a grip! Let the world know that you are a thinking man who takes pragmatic looks. Your business survived this long from creativity and wits, no? Let’s keep it up.

     FINSK DIARY

     Oh, it’s worse than I thought. If the house was a mess, the workshop? So many tools and tables likely ruined. This is no jealous vandal, it’s a work of that evil thing! What have I invited to my house? No, not invited, I know my crime. I can’t look at the walls, it marked them. Scrawled hastily and messily, like a furious child, a message. “Not my father.” Whose father? Why am I someone’s father!? This joke, it’s getting serious. I have to alert authorities at once. There could very well be a maniac in my own house! Come to think of it, forget subtlety! Window, raise yourself to me. No, they shattered you already, as the cold draft fills the bed chambers. Wait, I hear footsteps. Let me preserve these moments on paper, lest something happen to me. I must make it to the broken window, so the streets can hear my cries. Why do the sounds get faster? The click clack… It’s not feet, it’s wood! Clack clack! It gets faster! Why? WHY? And now, a croaking voice in the distance, unnatural and heinous… wrong. “WANT… FATHER…” like a dusty old carcass returning to breathe once more. “WANT… FATHER…” I can’t look behind me. I write in a huddled corner; I didn’t make it to the window. Someone, please find this journal, I fear a monster in my house. No, the puppet. I stole something evil, that foul sorcerer set me up with my doom! Curse you, vile conspirer! Curse you! Oh no, it’s here.

     24th of the Month of Collecting

     SHERIFF’S REPORT

     Subject appears to be tied to a broken mattress within bed chambers. Subject is an aged grey Blumaroo, clad in clothing damaged by some manner of claws. Subject twitches and thrashes from within his confinement. Speech is muddled and garbled, likely due to a mixture of deep fatigue and mental shock. No coherent statements or sentence structure can be formed, only nonsensical talk of wizards and monsters. Lined around the bedroom are wooden toys depicting medieval jesters alongside goblins and other monstrosities. Subject has a note stashed in pocket, detailing an interest in stealing from Honeydew. However, no evidence of theft has taken place. More than likely, the note was written out of deluded panic along with the words, “Who’s the real puppet?”. Workshop in disrepair, with painted words detailing finding a father. Subject is undoubtedly unhinged, pending movement to proper care facility.

     Dear journal,

     Curse my selfish ways! Poor Mr. Finsk, carried through the streets like a stray wet Meowclops. His look of shame and humiliation, as he babbled frantically. His situation was truly worse than I thought! I was too deep in my own miasmic despair; I didn’t take the time to truly observe those around me. It would seem my own issues were the catalyst to send the rival businessman over the edge. I should have extended a hand at that moment, when I wanted to accu- when he caught onto my accusation. Many struggle to get by in this otherwise lonely corner of Neovia and his trials are evidence of that. However, I have utmost faith in the staff at Meepit Oaks Sanitarium. Surely, he will recover there and our misunderstanding may be resolved. And from there, we can work together as not just business partners, but friends. Until then, I hope to find my lost bundle of joy. There is a sign of hope though, as people in the neighbourhood thought they saw a lanky Neopian in olden times “clownish” garb wandering in panic through the streets. Perhaps now is the time to reveal the truth. Hopefully, if it’s him, he hasn’t caused damage. And hopefully then, our wonderful new family will remain a part of the community I cherish. Time will tell. Until then, so long, Mr. Finsk. I await your rehabilitation and return to these quiet acres.