Mr. Ted
by Ashley Arnold
"I wish you wouldn't look at me that way, Mr. Ted."
Those beady eyes never closed. That they were made out of beads only made their lifelikeness more disturbing.
Mr. Ted had sat at the head of my bed for as long as I could remember. Sometimes he overturned my bin. Sometimes he stole beers from the fridge. Sometimes I think he did rude things with my dirty clothes. Sometimes he made me touch myself in places while I was in the bath, even though Mummy screamed and told me to stop that stop that stop. Mostly he sat at the head of the bed.
So long as you kept Mr. Ted happy, he never did anything too bad. One time I threw Mr. Ted in the closet before I went to sleep. In the morning he was beside me, sitting next to my pillow, his beady eyes that never closed staring at me.
I found I had wet the bed. Well, not me - Mr. Ted had done it, to pay me back. I hadn't wet the bed since I was little and I always woke up in the middle of it when I did.
Mr. Ted got me in trouble like that.
I always made sure I talked to Mr. Ted, even when I didn't feel like it. "How was your day, Mr. Ted?" "Did you sleep well, Mr. Ted?" (Ignoring that his beady eyes never closed.) "Would you like your pillow fluffed, Mr. Ted?"
"Why you still got that raggedy old teddy, Leash?" Jainy said one day.
"I've always had him. And don't call him raggedy. He don't like it."
"Look at his eyes, he's a manglehead. Manglehead Ted. We should box his head into shape."
She jumped up and grabbed Mr. Ted, had him over to the window before I could stop her. Jainy brought the window down on Mr. Ted once, twice, three times.
I shrieked and threw Jainy out of the way. Jainy went flying, hit her head on the floor, ran off crying.
I cradled Mr. Ted. "I'm sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, Mr. Ted."
But sorry wasn't enough. I knew Mr. Ted would do something extra bad.
In the morning I woke up, Mr. Ted staring at me with his beady eyes. I heard Mummy scream out. They said Daddy died in his sleep of a heart attack.
Just a twist of fate, they said. An unexpected tragedy. But maybe it wasn't fate. Maybe Mr. Ted did it. Every night Daddy had a cup of hot Milo before going to bed. Maybe Mr. Ted ground up Daddy's heart medicine and put it in the Milo. Maybe Mr. Ted brought the Milo to me, and then made me give it to Daddy.
Not maybe, maybe. I knew Mr. Ted did it, but there was no one I could tell.