The Man (Puppet Boy Prequel)

10.

HIS EYES flicked from Julie to the knife in his creator's hand, his mouth agape and his eyes wide. He stared at her limp body on the ground, barely able to comprehend the scene in front of him. Her clothes were soaked with blood and her eyes were slightly visible, sparkling in the feeble light.

"Julie!" Tommy screamed, running to her side.

His lungs were incapable of collecting any air and his mind was whirling, reeling him towards the ground and knocking him off balance. When he fell to the ground, he landed directly into the puddle of her blood.

He prayed that this was a nightmare, but the sensation of her warm blood against his bare skin confirmed that it was all a part of the sick reality he couldn't escape from.

"Julie!" he wailed again, his sobs shaking his body. Through blurry vision, he could see his creator standing over him with a sweet smirk across his lips.

He grabbed Tommy by his arm and pulled him off the floor. Tommy tried to struggle, using all of the strength he could possibly muster to swing his arms towards his creator unsuccessfully. His creator's hands were too beefy and strong, clutching his skinny body so tightly that he was entirely confined.

His creator slammed him against the hard wall, and Tommy groaned out loud once his head jolted back.

"She was a liar, Puppet Boy. She did not love you," his creator grumbled, his forehead pressing against Tommy's.

Tommy could feel the breath of his creator on his nose; it was heavy and angry and matched the paralyzing look of outrage within his squinted eyes.

Tommy struggled a little bit, but he was far too ailing to free himself from his creator. He couldn't stop hyperventilating. He forced himself to take deep gulps of air but they only worsened his unsteady breathing.

His creator stood there and watched him at a close proximity, chuckling darkly beneath his breath at his panicking puppet.

"She did, she loved me. She-she said it," Tommy croaked, his chest heaving at a quick pace.

The knot in his throat was growing so large he couldn't seem to breathe past it. The walls of the grimy basement were narrowing significantly and he could feel his shaking knees threatening to drop him to the ground again.

"I knew you felt something for that girl. I knew it. I knew from the way you would say her name when you were being punished. You thought that girl was your life, but no she is not. Not anymore. I am your life, and I will always be," disgust was clear in his creator's tone.

Tommy didn't realize that his creator was sedating him until he felt the needle press into his arm. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as his arm tingled, numbing his entire limb.

"Please, sir," Tommy begged for mercy. "S-stop."

His creator ignored him. He was too occupied with staring at the rusted tip of the syringe, watching with enticement as the needle easily glided into the thin flesh of his puppet. He licked his lips and stared back at Tommy, the grin on his face so disturbing that Tommy had to look away.

"Love is not real, my boy. It is reserved for a creator and his creation only, nobody else can love you the way I do. Anybody else that pretends to love you is out of their mind," he told Tommy.

Tommy's vision clouded in and out of focus as he weakly watched his creator press the needle into his legs. He fell instantly to the ground, unable to stop himself from hitting the floor.

His creator knelt beside him and stroked the side of his cheek.

"Tell me that you love me," his creator demanded in a sweet tone.

Tommy opened his mouth to speak, but the words couldn't escape. He closed his eyes and tried not to focus on his arm that was not only entirely lifeless, but also covered in the blood of the beautiful girl he was so captivated by.

"Say it to me now," his creator demanded again, his voice rougher.

"I.. I l-love... I love you," Tommy exhaled, his eyes fluttering shut every few seconds. He couldn't seem to keep them open.

"She deserved to be killed. Say that," his creator whispered, continuing to caress Tommy's cold cheek. "Tell me that your beautiful Puppet Girl had to be killed."

Tommy's breath hitched. "M-my beautiful... my beautiful Puppet Girl... had," he took a breath, his words shaking desperately, "... had to be killed."

"Good. Now I must prepare you to perform. Unfortunately, you have to do it alone," his creator told him, his voice still low and dreary.

Tommy felt his creator's wispy beard graze his skin before he felt his lips press against his cheekbone.

"I can tell that you are still upset, my Puppet Boy. But you must learn that puppets can not feel. A puppet must only love the creator of whom created them," he explained, and it began to make sense to Tommy.

"I love you, s-sir," Tommy said, his eyes opening to find his creator smiling down at him with soft eyes. His lips twitched into a smile too, and he felt a faint warmth sprout throughout his chest.

Tommy could not hear his creator's response, but he could feel his creator lift him into his arms. His head fell limp, dangling over the side of his creator's forearm as they wandered through the basement, stepping over his useless Puppet Girl in the process.

He stepped up the steps, and Tommy felt a slight excitement to see the upstairs. He hadn't seen anything except the dark walls of the basement since he was about eight.

His creator carried him through the house that was exactly the same as Tommy had remembered. When he examined the walls, he noticed that any pictures of their small family had been taken down, or shattered against the wall.

His heart dipped in his chest as he remembered the memories of his mother and father.

"W-where are we going?" Tommy asked groggily, noticing his creator had brought him into the hallway.

His creator was eerily silent as they walked into his creator's old bedroom.

It was not the same.

Instead of the large bed his parents shared, there was a flat metal table in place of it. Instead of the cherrywood dresser his parents used, there were racks of tools and boxes of latex gloves.

"Welcome to my operation room, my Puppet Boy."

Before Tommy could attempt to protest, his bare back hit the cold table.