Bingles' Birthday Bonanza

“What an adorable looking dog,” my mother said, as she picked up the DVD case from Walmart’s bargain bin, “don’t you think it’s cute, honey?”
I was about six years old at the time. I remember desperately trying to peer over my older brother’s shoulder as she showed him the front of the box. It wasn’t until he enthusiastically nodded that she thrust the DVD towards me.
“What do you think Josh, should we get it?” my mother asked, kindly.
The sight of the cover made me shudder. I had expected some sort of cartoon. Instead, there was an older, balding man in a cheap dog costume. Even in my young years I was not fooled at all, but the ramshackle patches of shag carpet that were stitched together to give the impression of a… Goldendoodle, maybe? It was so poorly done that I couldn’t place my finger on the breed, but it was supposed to be one of those dogs that look kind of like fried chicken. 
All around the creepy looking dog-man were dilapidated and worn puppets. None of their styles particularly matched. It appeared as though the dog-man had harvested these old puppets, secondhand, from various sources. It didn’t look like his standards for them were all too high, either. The sad puppets wore dollar-store quality birthday garb, and held onto the strings of balloons that sagged pathetically.
“Who… who is that man, mommy?” I remember asking, trying to distract myself by staring at the price tag listed “$1.99”, but inevitably the dog-man always beckoned my gaze back to him.
“Well sweetie, I assume that’s Bingles. What do you think, should we get it?”
I don’t remember exactly how the rest of the situation played out, but I do remember crying. That DVD’s cover really spooked me. I couldn’t understand why my mom thought it was cute. I still don’t.
After my tantrum, we left the Walmart without the DVD. Or so I thought. My brother had slipped the case under his shirt as we left. Bingle’s Birthday Bonanza made it home with us.
Once my parents found out, my father was livid. He slapped my brother around a bit, and kept yelling that “there’d be no thieves in this household, Alfred!” 
My mother was equally as upset, but kept trying to calm my father down, attempting to use the cheap price as some sort of mitigating circumstance. It didn’t work. My father took the DVD, and said he intended to return it the next day. As I saw him storm off into his study, the creepy glare of Bingles’ eyes locked with mine. A chill ran down my spine. It could have been my imagination, but I swear that Bingles was nodding at me…
Later that night, I woke up to the flashing light from the TV. My brother was sitting cross-legged in front of the screen. The low hum of the Xbox could be heard alongside the muffled words of the low-volume TV.
I watched from bed for a few moments. The DVD case laid open on the floor. 
The bald dog-man was on the screen, with a wild and excited look in his eyes, like a man possessed. 
“...hey Alfred, thanks for telling me your name, it's very important. Since we’re friends now, can I call you Al?” Bingles asked with fervour.
“Yes, Bingles!” My brother whispered enthusiastically, trying to keep his voice down.
“Alright, Al! Al my pal! I love your red hair Al! By the way, do you want to come to my birthday party, Al?” This time, the camera panned out to show the “birthday” festivities.
It looked as though Bingles had set up some cheap plastic lawn furniture in the woods, and placed all the dilapidated puppets around. There were two empty seats, and a gross looking cake on the table. And when I say gross, I mean disgusting. There were insects crawling on it, chunks missing, as though torn out by hand, and growths of what could only have been mold speckling the areas not protected by icing.
“Of course, Bingles,” my brother responded, “but I’m grounded. My dad says I can’t see my friends for a week.”
“But Al, we’re not just friends, we’re best friends, right?” Bingles began furiously twitching his mouth and licking his lips, like a starving man sitting at a luxurious banquet.
My brother Alfred simply nodded.
“Best friends always find a way, right-” Bingles stopped mid sentence, and sharply turned his gaze over to me. His too-wide smile turned into a scowl, his lip trembled with rage. I was paralyzed both by the reality of Bingles talking to my brother through the TV, but more so by fear. Bingles had a look of sinister intent in his eyes. I didn’t know what he had in mind for my brother, but I wasn’t about to find out.
“Josh? You’re awake? You should meet Bingles!” my brother said excitedly. 
Mustering up my courage, I stormed out of bed and turned off the Xbox. My brother began to scream at me, and within moments, my parents were both in the room. My mother attempted to comfort Alfred, to stop his screaming. My father’s face twisted in rage as he saw the open DVD case on the floor. He removed the disk from the Xbox, returned it to its case, and left the room without a word.
I remember hearing my mother say “Shhhh, it’s just a cartoon…” as she gently ran her fingers through Alfred’s crop of red curls. I thought about saying something, speaking up about how it certainly wasn’t a cartoon, but decided to stay quiet. It hardly seemed necessary anyways.
The next morning seemed like any other, the sun rays came in through the slits in the curtain, and my mom’s knock at the door signaled it was time to prepare to get out of bed. I felt bad about last night, so bending over the edge of the top bunk, I turned my head to check on Alfred. But he was gone.
His bed was made, as if it had never been slept in. The only thing out of place was a small note on his pillow.
I grabbed it and ran downstairs in a panic, hoping that I’d see that my brother woke up early and made his bed, to impress our father. But my hopes were dashed when I saw only my father at the table and my mother in the kitchen. Quickly, I gave the note to my father.
With a sigh, he put down the morning newspaper and focused on the letter.
“Gone to Bingles’ Birthday Bonanza.” he said out loud, before calling my mother over. “Take a look at this, Maggie…”
My mother’s face turned white, as she began to scramble about the house yelling after Alfred, but it was no use.
After a few moments, my father sighed and stood up. He began to check around the house too. Inevitably, they knew he was not home.
“He’s run away! It’s because of yesterday, you shouldn’t have hit him!” My mother yelled.
“Listen Maggie, he can’t have gone too far. I’ll call the sheriff and see if I can’t get them to put out a search,” my father said with a apologetically, “all this over some creep in a dog costume…”
“What, you mean the cartoon? You can’t seriously be blaming that right now!”
“...cartoon?” my father muttered under his breath, before picking up the phone and calling 911. 
I got the day off school, at least. My father said it would be better if I had gone in, but my mother wouldn’t let me out of her sight. We spent most of the morning searching for Alfred. My dad kept musing over his disappearance. 
“All the windows and doors were locked, he couldn’t have locked them behind him…”
“Honestly Gerald, let’s just focus on finding our son.”
The search was fruitless. There was no indication as to where Alfred could have gone. Upon our return home, not a word was spoken. We ate cold leftovers, and I was sent to bed early. The next day was Saturday, so I was home with my parents. My mom went out to search more with the neighbours, my dad took me out to run some errands. 
We sat in the car in silence for a few minutes before I asked where we were going. 
“We’re going to make things right,” my dad said, as he pulled something off the dashboard and threw it in my lap.
I looked down to see the cover of Bingles’ Birthday Bonanza, but something was different… Bingles looked more like a dog now, more animated. One of the puppets was in his mouth, chewed to shreds. All the other puppets had looks of terror on their faces. As I scanned the changes, I spotted something that caused my heart to sink. One of the puppets, seated at a table behind Bingles, had curly red hair, it looked just like Alfred.
“Dad…” I said, pointing to the puppet.
“I know son, it’s creepy. I have no idea why your mother wanted to pick it up in the first place. It’s almost as though she’s seeing something we don’t,” he said, not taking his gaze away from the road.
“No, dad… it’s Alfred…”
The car came to a screeching halt, as he snatched the DVD case out of my hands. 
Now, my father was never a very emotional man. He wasn’t very open about his feelings, at least not with his family. But then and there was the only time I saw him cry. Desperately, he tried to fight back the tears.
“It does look like Al, doesn’t it…” he muttered.
Within a few minutes, we had arrived at the Walmart. My father spoke to the lady at customer service, and explained the situation. They took the DVD back. That was the end of it.
The search was renewed twice, lasting almost half a year, but they never found my brother. It’s been fifteen years since I’ve seen him, or Bingles’ horrific face. I have almost forgotten what my brother looked like.
Why share this story? What’s the point? You may think I’m just venting, or that it’s all some made up ploy to scare you, or gain sympathy. For all you care, it is. But the reason I’m sharing this story, sharing it now, is because I was in Walmart the other day, and a little girl was having a tantrum. 
Normally, I wouldn’t pay any heed, but I couldn’t ignore it when I heard her scream “But I want to go to Bingles’ Birthday Bonanza!” as she waved the DVD wildly in the air.
I'll preface this next part by saying that I'm not an impulsive man. I don't do things in the heat of the moment, and I'm not brave. But when I heard the name of that accursed dog-man, I saw red. 
I raced over to the screaming child, slapped the DVD out of her hand, and stomped it to oblivion. I can't tell you how long I kept stomping for, but by the time my arm was grabbed by a stout blue-clad employee, the child was long gone. 
I thought about explaining myself, but frankly, I felt somewhat embarrassed. I did feel vindicated too, but it didn't last long. As I was marched towards the exit, I glanced at the DVD bargain bin. 
I saw Bingles, no longer animated, no longer half-convincing as a "dog." A chill ran up my spine, a helpless 6 year old, once again. It was as if time froze, and all I could see was the cover of that accursed DVD. There were dozens of them in the bin. My heart sank as I took in the rest of the details…
Stuffing riddled the ground around Bingles. The mangled puppet in his mouth had a familiar crop of red curly hair.
Category:Movies & TV