This story was inspired by an episode of The Twilight Zone (titled, "Miniature"), as well as the Toy Store movies, although only in the sense that toys might in fact be alive. There is also a bit of first time quality to the story. All of the characters within this story are at least eighteen years old.
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Milton Widdams was not a particularly happy man. He didn't have that much to be happy about. He was a lonely guy; actually, very lonely; and he really detested his job.
He was an accountant for a software company, Natech.
It paid well, or at least well enough. He really shouldn't complain. There were clearly hundreds, thousands, and likely millions of persons who had it far worse than him, at least with respect to finance and health. He was always reminded of that fact when he watched the news. So many persons died at a young age, or suffered major accidents, or illnesses, or injuries, or disasters. Yes, his life really wasn't that bad. He really shouldn't complain.
But, he did really hate his job. It was just so fucking boring. Why had he decided to become an accountant?
Actually, it really wasn't his decision. It had been largely his father's decision. His father had pretty much made all of his decisions in life. Milton had not been a particularly rebellious boy, to say the least. He was in fact rather agreeable, obedient, even compliant. He had never caused anybody any trouble, particularly his parents.
When he was in the sixth grade he took this psychological test that was supposedly good at telling him what career he should pursue. He wasn't at all sure what he wanted to do. He had always been good at math. He didn't particularly like math, but he was pretty good at it, so he endorsed the questions that concerned math.
He wasn't sure how to answer most of the other ones, so he answered in a manner that he figured his parents would like. Those were probably the correct answers, or at least the best ones. Anyway, its conclusion was that he wanted be an accountant.
He had been right in one respect: his father was very pleased with the result.
His father had also been an accountant. He felt that such skills would always be useful, if not necessary, even in times of recession, perhaps especially in such times.
So, Milton majored in business and accounting while in college. It was not the happiest time of his life. College just seemed to be an extension of high school, going to classes he didn't like, watching those around him enjoying a life that was somehow out of his reach.
And, now, Milton worked in this cheerless little cubicle, within this dismal big firm, with this really annoying, demanding, arrogant boss, Mr. Limbergh, who really didn't seem to appreciate his work. Whenever he failed to complete an assignment within the arbitrarily imposed deadline, he was reprimanded and berated. Whenever he completed an assignment on time, Mr. Limbergh piled on more tasks and demands.
He would hint at bonuses, raises, and promotions, but for years nothing ever seemed to materialize, and it eventually became clear that nothing would. Mr. Limbergh recognized that Milton would not assert himself, would not demand anything, and would not leave, and so he remained stuck within this drab, dreary, corner cubicle.
He didn't even have much of a social life, as Milton was not a particularly engaging or outgoing guy. On the contrary, he was rather reserved, even withdrawn, and certainly now alone. He had never had many friends when he was young, fewer still even now. He was not entirely sure why. It was perhaps because he had not had any brothers or sisters, no siblings with whom to learn useful, if not necessary, social skills. Or, it was perhaps because his parents, especially his father, had so isolated the family. His parents rarely visited others, and even more rarely had guests over to visit. They discouraged Milton from having friends over. His father felt they would be noisy and messy.
On occasion a rare guest or relative of the family would arrive for a visit, their own child in tow, forced to play with Milton and clearly not relishing the prospect. Milton would himself get so excited that various "accidents" would occur, the details of which he found embarrassing to admit. They only affirmed for his parents that Milton was not really good with peers, was not ready for rough play, and was best kept to himself, where he would be safe.
His parents were now deceased. He didn't know how to feel about that. He did, of course, miss them terribly. Well, maybe not his father. He did miss his mother though. He did feel that she had loved him, cared for him. And, without them he really didn't have anyone anymore to visit. Holidays were especially difficult, as Thanksgiving and Christmas had been typically spent with his parents. As problematic and difficult those visits had been, it was at least a family, his family.
Milton was now pretty much, if not entirely, alone. There were colleagues at work, but none of them ever invited him to the Friday happy hours. It was even difficult for him to discover the scheduling of company picnics and outings. He would notice the postings but when he inquired he was invariably told that the posted note was outdated, that the office function had been cancelled. It was difficult for him not to take this personally, but it was also absurd to think that his colleagues were purposely trying to exclude him.
But, Milton did still have his family; at least that was how he liked to think of them.
This was one area of life with which Milton had a passion, and that was his dolls.
Yes, that does sound strange. Perhaps it is unappealing, if not inappropriate, for a guy to enjoy playing with dolls. But, Milton had always enjoyed, as long as he could remember, playing with dolls.
His father had bought him his first doll house when he was a boy. It was his birthday, and he had neglected to pick up the present as his mother had instructed (a chemistry set). Fortunately, there was a yard sale down the street and Mr. Widdams purchased a wonderfully equipped doll house, with a whole family.
His mother was at first a bit upset, as a doll house didn't really seem to be the right present for a boy his age. His father promised her that he would get the chemistry set the next day, but he never did.
However, Milton liked the doll house. He played with it for hours. He made his own perfect little family, and the boy, whom he named Mike (a very strong, masculine name), had many, many friends.
His mother eventually grew to accept his interest, and in fact supported and encouraged it. Milton did eventually wonder if it was because she had always wanted a girl, and would have enjoyed playing make-believe with her daughter.
His father attempted to wean him off his dolls. He felt that it just wasn't right, for a boy to be playing with dolls. It was one of the few times that Milton openly expressed his frustration, opposition, and even anger with his father.
But, it didn't help. No way would his father accept having a son who played with dolls, and one day Milton came home to discover that his entire collection had been thrown away, even the original doll house from his father.
Unbeknownst to his father he then scoured the neighborhood for more yard sales and garage sales, looking for dolls. They were not hard to find. Every little girl eventually discards her dolls, and Milton was quick to save them. He could not imagine what might have happened to his dolls, probably now rotting away at the city dump. The thought of that was just so depressing.
He eventually accumulated a number of families, which he kept hidden in the attic, at least from his father. He eventually discovered that his mother had found the hidden stash and had left it alone.
As an adult Milton discovered through the internet that it really wasn't that unusual for men to collect dolls and doll houses. It was rather reassuring that he was not alone, that he was not some weird crazy eccentric.
Milton had by now even built his own little fantasy neighborhood within his basement den. Like some men might build elaborate toy railroad lines, Milton had built a whole neighborhood of families.
It was though a rather strange neighborhood, not the kind one would ever see in real life, as it was a collection of incongruous, mismatched homes. There was a large Victorian house, a 1950's suburban bungalow, a mansion, a Barbie Dream House, a log cabin, a Louisiana shotgun, a trailer home, a country cottage, a southern plantation, a western ranch, a hillbilly shack, even a Japanese bungalow, and many others, each with its appropriate doll.
One unique feature of this neighborhood was that it was without any walls on the front of the homes, each open to view so that you could see each room inside. What a strange neighborhood that would be in real life, but clearly a necessity for the owner, the master, to manage the doll houses. Milton though did wonder why companies didn't just put on a swinging wall, so that the house could at least be closed up at night, and would look more normal when not in play.
Many a time Milton imagined living within, being within, one of those homes, having a family, being happy in the bosom of one's home sweet home.
Which was why none of them currently had a family. Each house was occupied by just one person, a woman, apparently a woman waiting for a man, such as Milton, to someday arrive. Some of the women were in the kitchen, making dinner, some were in the living room, vacuuming, some were in the den, reading, or watching television, but all of them were notably alone.
He could have provided each of them with a husband. The homes often came with a family, but Milton could not stomach the husband's presence. He only felt a sense of jealousy, even annoyance, at his presence, as if he had somehow inserted himself into his family, his marriage, taking away his wife, his only true love. Plus, well, frankly, he didn't care much for undressing and dressing male dolls. It just didn't feel right.
So, the women were, like him, alone, waiting for their man to someday arrive.
Well, they would apparently have to wait quite some time, about as much time as Milton would have to wait for his own bride to show up, as if a single woman would just walk up to his own house, knock on the door, and announce that she had arrived, to be his bride.
