The Mannequin

You'll think I am crazy if I tell you."

"What is it? Tell me!" his wife said impatiently, staring at him, in her eyes an obscure emotion.

"Don't tell the kids or the neighbors. Don't tell anybody!"

"Of course I am not gonna tell nobody."

He told her the whole story. She was flabbergasted, but she couldn't believe him.

"Why don't you come with me?" he said.

"I can't."

"Why?"

"Because I am scared myself, that’s why."

"So you believe me."

"I am afraid so. You've never come up with something like this before."

"What should I do, then?"

"Don't go to Morgan! Never go to Morgan!"

"Of course, I am not gonna go. I will never go to Morgan again."

It was about 10:00 PM when Steve Lomax found himself alone lying on the couch, thinking about the mannequin. Kristine and the children had gone to sleep an hour ago. Steve couldn't go to sleep even though he needed to wake up early the next day to go to work; he kept on thinking about the mannequin instead. He tried to forget her but he couldn't. She was controlling his mind like if it was a ring on her finger. She created a dangerous fissure in his psyche. He thought about going to Morgan to destroy her with a sledgehammer, but again that's against the law. The mannequin was not his property and wasn't on his property. And he would be committing two offences if he did so.

He slid into his bed next to his wife and covered his head with a blanket to avoid thinking about the mannequin. But the mannequin was going nowhere. She became the focus of his thoughts underneath his blanket. He could see her looking at him under the blanket the same way she had looked at him at Morgan. What's worse was that he could now feel her penetrating his body like a fog would penetrate a graveyard. So he swung his legs off bed, slid his jeans on, put on his shoes and went downstairs to the basement to look for his sledgehammer.

At 2:00 AM sharp Steve parked his LTD in the Morgan's parking lot and turned off the lights. A couple of lampposts, erected by the shopping carts stations, shone yellow lights through a cold fog and onto the parking lot. The parking lot looked like a clip from a horror movie. Two cheap-looking cars were still parked-probably the custodians'. Steve pulled the sledge hammer from underneath his seat; shoved it between his belt and belly, metal showing; buttoned his jacket that said Vikings on it; and pushed himself out the door of his car. He looked around momentarily and started toward the main doors like a hypnotized crazed man. A gust of cold wind blew onto his face and ruffled his black hair as he walked. He looked through the glass now and saw nobody inside, except for the hung cloths, the shiny floor, and the columns of the unoccupied registers on the south side. He tugged at the doors, but they were all locked. He looked around him again, his face white with fear, turned back, and tugged at one of the door a second time. The doors were all locked. He walked around the building to look for a way to get in. His eyes stuck out when he saw a rain spout on the east side of the building next to a dumpster. He climbed the dumpster, monkeyed up the spout and suddenly found himself standing on the roof, all six feet of him. There were three or four ventilation fans erected on the roof. Steve went to one of them, swung his sledgehammer at it and knocked off its lid, making a loud crashing sound.