The Puppet Master

Josh's father had been rather pleased that Josh has gone over to thank Oli; he hadn't even needed to tell Josh twice. He listened with enthusiasm at the story of Josh's visit to Oli's house, it was probably the closest anyone had ever got to Oli in this town.

Both Josh and his father sat at their dinner table cradling cups of tea in their hands when the phone rang. Josh's father sighed, before getting to his feet and answering it. Josh listened intently to the conversation his father was having with the person on the phone; it seemed urgent judging from his father's tone.

Josh's father strode into the room, grabbing his coat and near shouting at Josh: "It's Paul, something has happened to him." Before walking out the door with a rather confused Josh left standing in the wake of his father's departure.

Josh decided that we really wouldn't be of use to anyone if he went to see Paul, his father would tell him what had happened anyway. Instead of going with his father, he opted for sitting by the window staring out at the bleak rain.

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Darkness had tainted the sky when Josh heard his father finally return; he was making dinner in the kitchen. He walked into the hallway to greet his father, but the ashen silence that hung around his father made him rethink. They stood in united silence for some time before his father began to explain what had happened to Paul.

"The doctor it was a miracle he hadn't died Josh. His organs were all twisted up but not enough to kill him; just enough for him to be in unbearable pain for minutes. He had carvings on his stomach, Carvings! God knows how that happened, apparently it looks like some ancient language, but no one can decipher it. Paul's mum is a complete wreck, poor woman."

Josh felt bad. He had no idea why, it wasn't like he had done anything to harm Paul; it just felt as if it had been. He went back to picking his food with disinterest as he continued to listen to his father rant about the absurdity of it all.

He went to bed at the first opportunity he was given, he had a bad feeling about it all.

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Everything was black; wherever he gazed it all looked the same. Well, excluding the figure that stood in the distance, his pale flesh among the varying shadows guided him like a beacon.

Josh stood not two metres away from the glowing figure, his back facing Josh, when people appeared around him. Maybe 12, 13 of them? They stood, or hung rather, in a circle with Josh as its origin.

He dared not take his eyes away from the man; to his surprise instead of turning round to face him, the man raised both of his slender arms in the air with his fingers spread as if he had strings attached to a puppet laced around them. His fingers twitched and danced, and the people's limbs obeyed. They were in sync, they swung at his will, and twisted at inhuman angles; he dictated and they answered with obedience. It was almost as if they were dancing. The man gradually started to rotate so Josh could see his face, well faces. His face was constantly morphing; every second new faces would appear and disappear just as fleetingly as the latter. The man's mouth moved but only radiated silence.

The chorus of puppets began to hum as if it were the beginning of a song. Words began forming; silence dragged into lazy whispers which then became louder. It was sounding from everywhere, and reflected off the darkness. The voices were whispering:

"These puppets, they dance; but only for you, my dear."

The words 'only for you' where echoing the loudest, and it was all uniting into one overwhelming wall of sound. The puppets were moving more violently now; their limbs gradually ripping from their torsos from the recoil of the jagged movements. Josh tried not to vomit.

Their mangled forms were approaching, and Josh was finding it increasingly harder to not freak out. He began chanting something of his own;

It's a dream; it's a dream' it's all a dream; a stupid, nightmarish scene my subconscious is conjuring.

But what if it's not? The puppets stopped approaching as soon as the thought sounded in his mind. It's not a dream, it's real. All of it, just being passed on from his subconscious to his conscious.

The puppet master began to laugh; it was gleeful and rather childlike in that aspect, like he had just won a game. The faces changed less and less until it was stuck on a single face Josh could finally distinguish.

Josh woke up bathing in his own sweat; his skin was crawling unpleasantly. His shirt was stuck to his form, so he pealed it off and discarded it onto the floor haphazardly. He was anything but balanced when he attempted to walk, but with his heart in his throat he couldn’t give less of a damn. He was reaching for his door when the small piece of information from his dream was finally remembered, just one simple, terrifyingly important word:

Real.

He sat back down on his bed, his ocean of sweat now meaning absolutely nothing to him. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a figure lounging in the corner, with dark hair and dark eyes and how at home he looked in the shadows. Josh didn’t have the heart to turn to him, but the man greeted him nevertheless:

“Hello, Joshie.”