Old Tom Klapp

Flash Fiction

Photo by Nong Vang on Unsplash

Everyone knew Mr. Klapp: he owned the toyshop in town.

Old Tom Klapp didn’t know much about the world because he never went anywhere – but he knew how to spread joy to the young families who stepped inside his shop.

That’s probably why he was able to keep his business afloat for over forty years.

All day long Tom sat behind the counter, whittling wooden toys from scrap pieces of wood he picked up for free from the lumberyard. His jackknife flashed like lightning. Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin’s voices often filled the quieter moments – the slower days. By closing time, wood shavings littered the hardwood floor, and Tom had to sweep them up.

Tom had an affinity for crafting small figurines in the shape of animals. He made giraffes, elephants, tigers, cats, dogs – even ickier critters like snakes and rats because some kids liked those, too.  He claimed he could create an animal an hour.

Hundreds of animals occupied the shelves near the cash register. Tom handed off an animal to every child who left his store, free of charge – and typically the children became more fascinated in the animals than the other toys their parents had just purchased for them.

One day, a teenager carrying a skateboard stepped inside The Village Toyshop.

“Morning,” Tom said to him. “Anything special you’re looking for, partner?”  

“No, not really,” the boy replied. He approached the counter hesitantly. Tom set down his carving knife and block of wood, curious.

The boy fished something out from his pocket. It was a small, wooden bird painted blue. It was chipped – obviously worn from time and heavy use.

“You gave this to me seven years ago. I always remembered the date because it was the day my mother died. And…I don’t know why, but this little bird helped me more than I can tell you. I think it reminded me of her. So thank you. I’ll always be grateful for that.” The boy held it out.

Caught off guard, Tom fought back tears. He tried to speak. It took him a minute before he said, “You sure?”

“Positive. I’m okay now.”

Tom took the bird. “Well, thank you. It means a lot.” He wiped his eyes.

“Have a great day, sir.”

“You too, son.” Before the boy turned to leave, Tom reached up and pulled a wooden lion off the shelf. “Here – maybe I’ll see you again in seven years.”

The boy smiled and took the lion. “Thank you. Maybe you will.”

Tom never saw the boy again, but the little blue bird remained on his shelf for the rest of his days.

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