"Scale Models" — One of the 8 Fearful Dreams

"Scale Models" is one of the short stories that is a part of the upcoming short story collection Fearful Dreams. Coming soon! Enjoy the preview below.

There was a time not too far in the distant past when children and adults-built toy scale models, of cars, planes, boats, even human and animal figures. Made of plastic or wood they required time and patience, no matter what scale or size they were. Some were powered by small motors, or most were just ‘static’ and when you finished, they sat quietly on your bedroom dresser or shelf. Painting each part in the kit was an absolute, adding detail and realism to the completed job. Reading the instructions included insured a worthy product, if you studied them carefully. The smell of paint and styrene glue were simply magic; they of course came with a warning.

Visiting the hobby shop was part of the magic too. The people who ran these stores were as like-minded as the hobbyists and shared their passion and obsession with the love of scale model kits and all the accessories that went with them. They understood the world of fantasy the model maker could escape to, from finding just the right thing to build to the joy of the finished job. And then it would begin again, like any obsession the rapture would take over with the next visit to the arts and crafts shop. No one knew this better than Ronnie Landry, he loved his models, his little workspace in the basement of his house and of course his fantasies that took him to other places and times, at least for a little while. Buying a new model kit was a lot like thoughts of Christmas morning, a feeling that went beyond joy, it was as if life as he knew it disappeared.

Ronnie had good reason to leave his present state of reality even though it was the beginning of summer vacation. School really wasn’t so bad. It was hard to understand why some kids hated school, for Ronnie it was 6 cheerful hours away from home. His favorite classes were science and social studies. The natural world, Ronnie thought, was fascinating. Learning about prehistoric animals was the best, it allowed his imagination to soar and appreciate the world around him. He often pictured himself as an archeologist digging for fossils of things that lived millions of years ago. Maybe, just maybe, he would someday do that, how glorious. Living in the old tenement on Albermarle Street since he was born 9 years ago was however no fantasy, it was nightmarish at best. The emotions he had learned to feel through the years were often frightening and hard to shake, there were nights when crying was the only thing that helped him get to sleep. The dreams he had were not always those of safety and a child’s love for life. School and friends did help forget the bad feelings but every day he would eventually have to go home. Sometimes his mother and father were not home when school ended, those were the good days. Usually, his mom was at the market getting supplies for a quick dinner, she was certainly at the liquor store getting supplies for the rest of the night. Ronnies Dad would be at work, providing he had a job, it seemed he was always looking for one. For one reason or another he would come home halfway through the day, cursing about someone who had ‘wronged’ him, angry and frustrated. A few beers quieted him down, at least for the moment. It was at these times Ronnie went directly to his ‘workshop’ in the old damp basement. A single light bulb hung on a cord over an old folding table that had been left behind when they first moved in, this was his workbench, this was where model making would miraculously happen.

Getting money for the purchase of a new plastic scale model kit was always a problem; Ronnie had to do his best to pull together all the resources available to a kid his age. The last page of most comic books advertised ways to make money or get prizes. One way was to sell packets of flower and garden seeds you could keep a percentage of the proceeds. Mowing lawns, walking dogs, running errands for older neighbors, every now and then even his mother would throw a few coins into the pot if he got her a pack of cigarettes, those many times when she couldn’t make it to the variety store herself. Mrs. Peele, who ran the local variety/ convenience store, usually knew what Ronnie was after and had a hard pack of Winstons ready. She wasn’t supposed to sell cigarettes to minors, but she knew what would happen if he came home empty-handed, her heart went out for Ronnie, he was such a good kid. As he handed her the money Mrs. Peele said to be sure to say hello to his mom and added that she hoped she was feeling better. Often from behind the store counter the pretty woman would again pipe up, “Hey Ronnie, how about a nice popsicle? Ronnie said sure, they locked eyes for a moment, then thanking her, he headed home. Mrs. Peele wiped a tear from her eye with her white wrinkled store apron as Ronnie walked softly out the door, jingling the doors attached bells that announced his exit to the street.

Although it wasn’t much money when added up it might be enough to buy one of the less expensive models at Mr. Fagans toys and hobbies shop.  It was a bit of a walk, but it was Saturday morning, and it was great to be outdoors. As Ronnie entered the shop, the aroma of the toys was like heaven. Cardboard, wood and plastic, old and new creations, from dolls and puppets to rubber knives, comic books and fireworks, the atmosphere was like a drug, it relaxed Ronnie and made him feel like he had stepped out of himself and into a better world.  Ronnie went directly to where the model trains, cars, planes, and rockets were stacked neatly, the bigger ones on the bottom shelf, the smaller less expensive ones higher up almost out of reach.  “Hi Ronnie, Mr. Fagan said in his strangely accented raspy, yet quiet manner, “looking for a new model to build?” Yeah, retorted Ronnie, can you help me see the ones up on the top shelf”. “Sure, Revell and Aurora have some new ships. One of them is the Beagle, you know, the vessel that Charles Darwin the naturalist and explorer sailed on, and its one twelfth scale. That would be the one. Looking at his kind face with the big black mustache Ronnie told Mr. Fagan how much he had to spend, the shop owner looked at his money held tightly in his small quivering fist, looked square into the handsome young man’s brown eyes and told him, “That’s just enough”. Carrying the precious box up to the counter Ronnie could see that the picture on the cover was special, looking at that beautiful artwork Ronnie began getting excited thinking about what his ship would look like when completed. He would work hard and do his very best to make this one, Mr. Fagan knew for sure too; he knew it would be his best.

“Where the hell have you been?”  As he entered the old, screened back door of his house, Ronnie knew his father’s voice anywhere, “I’ve been at the hobby shop Ronnie sputtered,” his father’s voice always scared him. “For what?” I bought a new model kit with the money I earned.” “Well get in the house and help your mother get supper” Yes Dad, I will.” The old screen door creaked and slammed behind him. But first Ronnie protected his new treasure by putting it in his workshop, safe in the dark catacombs of the basement in the old tenement.

Ronnie woke up early the next day and went straight to work on his new model, the house was quiet on Sundays at this time of day, no yelling or hurting. Not yet. It was a time that was all his own, like a valuable resource, Ronnie had gotten selfish with time. Although the cellar was dank and dark, to Ronnie it felt like fresh air, clear and clean. He unwrapped the new model from the cellophane seal and carefully opened the box. There in all its beauty lay the precious pieces that would become Charles Darwins’ famous ship, the Beagle, all he needed was time. He started by reading the printed instruction sheet and saw that the details would be the key to this scaled re-creation, the many small parts would make it seem almost real. Looking carefully, Ronnie could see even correct-sized figures, crew members, all their gear and lifeboats and dinghies used for what he imagined would be exploration, it was fantastic. It was without doubt the best model selection he had made in a long time; secretly under his breath he thanked Mr. Fagan for finding it; he couldn’t wait to begin.

Ronnie! He heard his father’s hard slurred voice, “are you down in that basement again” he yelled. “Yes Dad” Ronnie stuttered fearfully, his father sounded like he had been drinking. “Get up here and mow the lawn, its Sunday, you know better”. When he got upstairs Ronnie could hear his parents once again screaming in their high-pitched voices, spewing insults at each other, it was a typical weekend morning. Ronnie realized that his workshop and his lovely new model ship would soon act as a hide away, a haven for the rest of the day, but first he must meet his father’s demands, the quiet minutes of early Sunday morning were over for now.

What Ronnies father called the lawn really wasn’t very much of a lawn, it didn’t take long to cut it even with the old, rusted reel-to reel push mower that Ronnie used. It was a warm, almost hot summer day and not much else was going on. Times like this were always quiet in the old run-down neighborhood, most of the people on the street were older or elderly and stayed inside on these days. Eventually he knew his mother and father would pass out sleeping in their foul smelling unkempt shuttered bedroom, it would again be quiet, for a while. Ronnie made lunch, peanut butter and jelly on white bread and a glass of milk, the usual. But today somehow felt that it would be different, a magnificent model, a sailing vessel, was waiting for him to come together.

The new tube of styrene glue and fresh bottles of Testors model paint were like life starting over again, a new beginning, but happier, without fear and more joyful. The future HMS Beagle was about to get underway.

Sleeping never was easy for Ronnie, between dark hard-edged dreams and hearing his parents argue, resting was hard, but the sounds that now found their way into his mind were not his usual struggle. They came from deep inside the house, could the sounds be just pipes and plumbing of an old building continuing to settle, whatever they were, they were new and disturbing. Ronnie summed up the sounds to his vivid imagination and tried to block them out, although they were growing louder, night after night.

 He continued to work on the new model whenever possible and every day it started taking shape, its realism was stunning and surprised even Ronnie.  He had never done so well painting small parts, even the faces of the sailor and crew seemed more realistic than on any other model he had built, it was indeed his best work.

Summer seemed to go so quickly. Ronnie wished he had spent more time outside in the sunshine, but it didn’t really matter though, most of his friends were at camp or on a vacation with their parents. He occasionally found himself walking just to get some time away from his model, he needed time to let the glue and paint dry and just time to think. One sunny afternoon he ended up outside Mr. Fagans’ hobby shop, it was a Saturday, and the shop was closing. Mr. Fagan stepped outside when he saw Ronnie, and in his always interesting old-style accent he said “Hello Ronnie, how’s the model coming along” “Not bad retorted Ronnie with pride, it’s the best one ever!” “I thought it might be” Mr. Fagan replied, Ronnie sensed a sheepish grin and a wink on the store owners face but figured it was just the shadow under the outside awning. “I’ll have to see it when it’s done.” Ronnie couldn’t imagine how that would ever come about, his parents never had visitors. “Better get home Ronnie, said Mr. Fagan, its supper time and you don’t want to upset your mother and father, keep working hard on that model” “I will” Ronnie yelled back smiling, seeing  and hearing Mr. Fagan somehow always made him feel better.

Sleeping was a little easier that night, Ronnie drifted off right away. And then they came, the sounds. Tonight, they were more distinct than ever, the house was unusually quiet, maybe that’s why. They came again, ‘Chink, chink, rap, rap, drip, drip’ heavy footsteps and then what sounded like the murmuring of deep voices. Ronnie began to quiver, it wasn’t the first time he shook with fear in his bed, but this was different. In his nightstand next to his small single twin bed Ronnie kept an old flashlight, it came in handy when his parents forgot to pay the electric bill. He never thought to use it otherwise, but tonight he would.  

Ronnie climbed ever so quietly out of bed, trying hard not to wake his parents. He tiptoed toward the basement door, to his surprise the door to the cellar was open and the light in the area over his worktable was on. “What!” Ronnie said in a whisper to himself “I’m sure I turned everything off when I left today”. At that instant Ronnie voluntarily began his descent to the bottom of the basement stairs. He never noticed how loud the creaking old wood was until now. He turned toward the single light over his table and discovered as he stared into the harsh light he was holding his breath. He was sure he must be dreaming when he glanced at the model table and saw the half-finished ship turned in the opposite direction from where he had left it, the figures seemed more fully painted, almost recognizable, and the smell of glue and paint had been replaced with more earthy human odors. Thinking he must be spending too much time on his project, Ronnie shook his head and grabbed the light cord, pulled hard to turn it off then raced back toward the stairs as quickly as possible. When he looked up at the landing, he saw an image that scared him more than anything else he had seen yet, it was the shadowed outline of his father holding a leather belt tightly in his right hand. Tears began to roll down Ronnies face and he felt he was about to vomit, his father spoke in a whisper, a blood curdling whisper, “Get up here. What the hell do you think you are doing, if I catch you up in the middle of the night again, I’ll give you the thrashing of your young life, now get in bed.” Ronnie slowly climbed the old stairs and when reaching the top padded backwards toward his room, never keeping his eyes off his father’s face, which looked twisted and contorted, like a morphing monster from an old black and white horror movie. Once back in bed Ronnie felt safe once again and had time to reflect on what he had seen in the basement. The faces and images of his model kept coming back in his mind, one of them looked like Mr. Fagan from the hobby shop, but how could that be? Ronnies detailed painting must be fashioning people that he knew, like artists do when painting portraits. As Ronnie pulled the bedcovers up over his head to the dark and quiet he began to silently weep, slowly he drifted off to a peaceful sleep.

The next day was Saturday and Ronnie would have his usual chores to do around the house before he could return to his model. For the first time ever, he was anxious about going back into the basement after his experience the night before, he was determined though not to let the fear of his father keep him from his one real joy in life, building scale models.

All was back in order when Ronnie found his way to his worktable, he and his father had not spoken all day, which was fine with Ronnie, they never had anything very constructive to say anyway. His father never even asked him about school, which Ronnie guessed was a typical conversation most parents had with their children. The model ship was just about done except for the rigging; it was a beautiful sight. The white hull was brilliant against the deep brown deck and masting; flags were provided in the kit; they looked as if they were flying in the forward wind. The crew were in their stations, but a few finer details and equipment needed to be added or ‘hauled’ up as Ronnie would say to himself. He had read quite a bit about Darwin and his famous voyage, including the purpose of everything he had added to the model ship. A couple of trips to the local library and conversations with Amanda Watts, the librarian, gave wonderful background to the 5 years Charles Darwin spent as the ship’s naturalist studying the plants and animals of South America and the Galapagos Islands. The many row boats and dinghies for land exploration and scientific laboratory equipment that would be needed for analysis of the many specimens he brought back were ready, all on this beautiful scale model. It gave Ronnie chills just to think about it; in these moments he felt himself drifting away.

Night came quickly as Ronnie’s imagination swirled around his finished 1835 sailing ship. He climbed into bed early with a library book called the ‘Voyage of Charles Darwin’, he would read until he felt drowsy and then let his fantasy lull him to sleep. It was deep in the night when the sound came. Ronnies parents were strangely quiet, as a matter of fact he didn’t remember hearing or even seeing them at all most of the day, it seemed weird for the house to be this silent. Just these new sounds of the night, again, deep in the house.  When he awakened Ronnie knew exactly what he had to do; grabbing his flashlight he jumped out of bed and headed for the cellar stairs. The door was open like before but with one incredible addition. A thick vast fog-like mist was emanating from where Ronnie constructed his models; it was spreading and slowly wound its way up the basement stairs, making it hard to navigate walking down the old creaking steps. Like high beams on a car at night the flashlight beam bounced off everything in the air. Ronnie held onto the broken loose banister attached to the wall to help guide his way. As he turned toward his table he headed cautiously toward the dusty naked light over the model ship. The mist he discovered had a powerful scent, Ronnie recognized it immediately, it was the salt water of the ocean, and if he listened carefully, he could hear waves lapping the shore and the scream of seagulls, somewhere, but from where? The new smells in the air were of the sea, they were pungent and delicious. Ronnie calmly turned off his flashlight, and as his hand reached up in the darkness to pull the cord of the old light above, another strong hand gently touched his own. The light went out and in the hazy reflection of the fog Ronnie could faintly see Mr. Fagans wonderful smiling face, Ronnie smiled back. The strong hand carefully pulled him forward, and as he stepped into the thick mist and onto the deck of the old wooden ship, he heard a familiar old strange accent, raspy and quiet say, “Hi Ronnie, Welcome Aboard”