The Puppeteer

The first Night

'They tried to bury us but they did not realise we are seeds'.

Old Mexican Proverb.

Click. Click. Click! The night air ices my breath as he coolly strode along the tarmac path. It skitters behind him, trees rustling. Hairs on his neck stand to attention as the noise writhes into his ears. Normally such a noise accompanied by a shrill scream would not scare him, what with being the security at a zoo. A dull, long shift and generally uneventful evening had lain in sight. Same shit, different day. You pretty much hear crazy sounds all the time but he knows the animals that live here. This one was different, colder; something from one of those old horror films where the beast was never quite revealed but it had one hell of a terrifying bark. They were always the best movies. Thankfully, it was distant for now, maybe even outside the zoo's grounds but definitely something that I was going to investigate on this shift, after coffee rich with honey and a couple of those biscuits Paul thought he could hide in the office.

That clacking of feet though, stuttering and harsh. It sounded like a spider had been gifted clogs on his birthday, its staccato movement growing ever closer. Closer than the scream. On the path, not in an enclosure. Not outside the zoo's grounds. Only me in its sights then. It definitely was not scared with its brash noise enveloping him like a mist. As for this guard though; life was flashing swiftly before him, the good and the bad. He reached for the small radio resting upon his belt. Two of them was all they required at night to cover the whole place. It may sound by its definition grand but really it was only a small town zoo, probably not too far off closing down if this month's figures were anything to go by. No jobs for life anymore, not that this had been his ambition. There was only one great attraction here, the gorillas and he was just turning onto the path near them.

'Paul, can you hear me?' he whispered over the radio, fear resting its tender-hooks on his lips, his grip on his voice tightened with the static and gentle humming like that of a computer on standby. 'Come on Paul!' He whispered with a little more urgency, tension increasing. Still the low hum of static as the clicking intensified to within a few metres of the guard. He still could not feel compelled to turn around. To know what faced him was too terrible and his torch felt completely hopeless as the static continued to crackle over the radio. Life was not looking good for our security man, indeed his night was not one he would expect to survive. There was a strange thin smell in the air, floating aimlessly in its appearance sliding into his nostrils. The smell was almost like that of burning meat with a cruel twist. It mingled in with the other smells of the night but as it eased its self in he could not place which animal it might come from. Click. Click. Click. Each Click more pronounced. The darkness around him drew itself in around his tall frame like that of a shroud wrapped tight to its deceased body. A pure blackness rested just above the tip of the torch, straining profusely against the light. It looked to be probing for any weakness faltering within the torches field of light. A light hissing emerged; no longer had the static of the radio invaded his ears but a clear hissing from the darkness took over. His back however, open. It grew silent, any feeling of sensation or the twinge in his back from the previous four hours sitting in that broken chair were no more. If this was to be his end, he would face it the way he had faced everything else in life; as a coward.

It was his nature, most peoples if they ever answered honestly. If he was a Wizard of Oz character there would only be one. Aw shucks. He always hated the fact of it but the chattering of teeth behind him, haggard breathing in rhythmic timing to the clicking bearing down upon him only served to intensify this proof. Why stare down darkness when you could pretend it is not there and continue unaware? There was no illumination around him other than his torch, its cone like that of a match in pure darkness. Black upon black, folded layers bearing down on him but only around the corner rested the reptile house and a nice big control panel which could put on the exterior lights. Fight the darkness caressing him. Just around the corner, he told himself. No more than twenty feet. His feet continued to make progress through sheer will as all sensation seeped from his legs. The darkness was winning. All he had to do was just stroll on a little further through the darkness. The air was stifled. The hissing melded alongside the clicking and fetid damp. No more was the smell that of seared meat but rather that of Sulphur. A low groan. Click. Clack. Face the darkness! That little voice was his courage, seldom seen but now trying to make its overdue comeback. With the cold darkness running through his once warm veins now, maybe just maybe facing this darkness may avail a little respite? Enough to make that bloody corner! At the very least his fight or flight may kick in.