Few days have passed since the incident occurred and I was questioned by Detective Barthlow. Now, hiding in my own home is the current trend; as well as jumping at every noise, and screaming every time my cat Cashmere snuck up behind me. The fear haunts my every moment, whether I'm asleep and tangled within my nightmares, or I'm awake and dreading every waking minute. Dark circles have permanently made residence under my eyes.
Although I've been deprived of sufficient amount of rest as of late, I have still noticed strange happenings. Whether they're hallucinations of my mind, or actual events is a mystery I'm scared to know the answer to.
It started with waking up to having different items in my kitchen being rearranged, to books with the genre of thriller being placed around my living room. The pages opened on gruel murder scenes. I didn't know whether to call Detective Barthlow or not. It did not seem relevant enough to do so.
And then it happened.
I woke up just as I had every other morning during my self-banishment. With my head buried under the covers as though it would protect me from every monster out there. When I had finally gained the courage to unveil myself, I found myself in the middle of my own personal hell.
There my faithful cat of three years hung from my ceiling. Cashmere was skinned; her fur gone leaving behind red muscles and tissue to be viewed, with her intestines wrapping around her body and blood dripping down onto me. Her eyeballs had been scooped out in favor of fake googly eyes. The scene was too grotesque for my delicate stomach to handle.
Rolling off the bed and onto the hard floor, I heaved out my dinner. The stomach acid mixed with partially digested food spurting out of mouth. The disgusting sound of retching and bile splattering onto the floor caused shivers of disgust to roll down my spine in waves. Tears blurred my vision as I tried to breath, and all at the same time, grieve.
When I was done, I got up and fled the room as fast as my sore feet could take me, sobbing the whole way. My body was shaky with fear. I knew what this meant. I wasn't crazy. The master puppeteer really had been in my home countless times. First he was there to mess with my mind, and then to finally send his warning. To show that he was present and there was nothing I could do about it.
Just thinking about the fact that he had been in my room with me; watching me sleep as he strung up my beloved cat horrified, and terrified me. He could have easily finished what he started, but instead he thought that shaking my foundation and perception of safety was more important. The Master Puppeteer was toying with me; playing twisted games on my already fragile mind, making me truly and utterly insane.
This was my punishment for escaping him.
Gripping my purse in my hands, I shakily went through it searching for my phone. I needed help. I didn't want to die. Finally succeeding, I gripped the phone and dialed Detective Barthlow.
"Barthlow."
"Oh god! Please help me. H-he was in, he was in my h-house. He's g-going to, going to kill me. My cat! He, he killed her." I started sobbing harder, the words coming out of my mouth barely comprehensible. "He k-killed her!!" I wailed out.
"Wait. Slow down. Who was in your house?" He asked.
"T-the Master P-puppeteer," I whispered.
"Okay, now who did he kill?"
"H-he killed my cat, Cashmere! He hung her o-over me when, when I, when I was sleeping."
"I'll be there in ten minutes. Don't touch anything, and stay locked in your bathroom till I get there." Silence and then the dial tone filled my ear.
YOU ARE READING
The Master Puppeteer
Horror| "The human body and all of its flaws were vulnerable to me and I loved it. I was the Master, I was the Puppeteer. And no one escaped from my strings." | Warning: Explicit content and language
