The Puppet’s Dance

I opened my eyes as I stopped my spin. I stood in a dark room, lit softly by a large moon outside of a very large window that led out to a balcony. My clothes had changed from what I had on into a blood-red ball gown.

The room was quite large. Its polished marble floor shimmered against the moonlight filtering through the sectioned glass window. The space had a presence of its own, reminiscent of the ballroom in “Beauty and the Beast.” I half expected an arrangement of dancing kitchenware and knickknacks to parade through.

Questions buzzed in my mind—how I had gotten here, when my clothes had changed, and where Carson was. More pressing than these was the fear that these locational transitions and odd visions might not be from the drug after all. I pushed the thought away, deciding to focus on getting away from this house before worrying about anything else. Take care of the immediate problems first and all that jazz.

I might be able to get out through the window, provided it wasn’t too high up or if there were trees to climb down from. With my luck today, though, I might just end up in some wretched tomb with “Dagon” coming after me.

It seemed my shoes had changed as well, to comfortable slippers made for dancing. I walked briskly toward the window, adjusting to the feel of the new shoes but not struggling. I reached for the latch but stopped when I heard Carson’s voice.

“Thus is it so, that dance is the embodiment of love and life.”

I turned quickly to see him in the darkness, standing just beyond the moon’s light. A lone spotlight shone down upon him as he moved as if on a stage.

“Were that a waltz to be played amongst the horde, even death itself may find happiness in love. Yet how is love to death? Is it the acceptance of the reaper that she so desires, or does she, too, yearn for eternal rest because she cannot love that which cannot be loved? She should love herself as Carson has loved her and danced with her these many years, for death is not an end. In countless rebirths, Carson has come to improve much upon himself and his relations with her. Yet tonight, Carson’s dance is saved not for the reaper, for whom he holds dear. Tonight, he dances with thee.”

During Carson’s monologue, he had made his way to me. He bowed, holding out his hand. Entranced by his beautiful verse, I took his hand without fear, briefly forgetting my goal of escape.

The lights came on suddenly, and music flooded the room. From the ceiling, full-sized marionettes dropped, paired male and female in fancy attire of their own. They hit the ground with a sickening clack, akin to bones breaking. The puppet strings leading up to the ceiling tightened, hoisting them up and straightening their forms. The male puppets bowed, while the females curtsied, and then they all began to dance.

A puppet band played in the corner. Their melody was both delightful and sinister, filled with the harsh chords of metallic violins, the deep bass of a cello, and the howls of ghastly horns, mixing together in eerie harmony. The haunting phrase suited the dancing marionettes that swayed magically around us, their splintered faces frozen in glee at a mad waltz.

Before I knew it, Carson swung me around and put me in position, my left hand on his shoulder and my right clasped in his left. We spun in time with the music, Carson in the lead. I wasn’t good at dancing—my sloppy footwork landed repeatedly on his feet, which moved perfectly. I feared I might anger my captor, but he only smiled and chuckled lightly.

I focused on my steps, soon improving, dancing along with the charismatic psychopath I felt myself slightly “Stockholm-ing” for. I hated that he was actually winning me over a bit, but it wouldn’t go any farther. I was too smart to be taken in completely. I would escape the first chance I got, kill this man, or die myself. This was life or death, and I couldn’t afford to forget that.

We twirled smoothly now. No longer needing to watch my feet, I scanned the room for anything useful. The only viable escape was the window, but we had danced away from it. I would have to wait for the right moment.

I glanced at the marionettes, their unsettling presence growing more apparent. Their faces flickered, shifting from wooden smiles to monstrous maws of sharp teeth behind chewed-up lips. The changes lasted only a moment, but my instincts screamed to stay close to Carson rather than risk the horrific dolls.

I felt many eyes on me, watching and waiting for a moment of weakness. Spite radiated from the puppets, yet they seemed to hold back in an area around Carson, as if afraid of him. The way they scurried out of his path only confirmed my suspicion.

As we neared the window again, I noticed another of the small stitched dolls that had plagued me since my arrival. This time, it stood dead center, its eyes following me. This was no trick of the light. Someone was watching. Perhaps the doll was a camera for a deranged voyeur, or maybe Carson had placed it there without me noticing.

As if sensing my intent, a pair of marionettes dressed like guards, armed with sabers and pistols, fell from the ceiling to either side of the window. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t fear a hunk of rotted wood, but these were anything but ordinary circumstances. My gut told me the puppets were dangerous, and even if it was a drug-fueled delusion, I wasn’t about to ignore the warning.

Sadly, my plan to reach the balcony would have to wait. Hopefully, I’d come up with something better than “run and jump” before the next opportunity.

The music slowed to a stop, halting all dancers. Carson and the puppets clapped, their applause ringing through the room in a bizarre, rhythmic cacophony of wood-on-wood clacking.

Carson pulled me toward a small round table by the band that hadn’t been there before. Two chairs sat at the table. He pulled one out and gestured for me to sit.

“Would you, perhaps, like something to drink? Maybe something to eat?” Carson asked politely.

“A drink would be nice,” I said, my throat dry from all the running around.

Carson began to walk away before stopping and looking back. “It would be in your best interest not to talk to any of the other guests. The band is alright, though.” He giggled and walked away.

What in the world did he expect from me? It’s not like I’d try to talk to puppets. That would be crazy.

“Hey…” A voice spoke behind me.

I turned toward the band. The marionette musicians remained still, but I edged closer anyway. The violinist’s head jerked suddenly to face me, forcing me to jump back in my seat.

“You… Must… Be… Emily…” The puppet’s voice was creaky and strained. “Carson…has…spoken…of…you…”

“Y-yeah, that’s me,” I said, shocked, gripping the back of the chair as my body tensed.

The violinist grabbed my hand quickly, forcing something into my palm before pulling away. I looked down at an exquisitely carved gold and silver key and clenched my fingers around it.

“Will this get me out?” I whispered.

“It… Can… Or… Take… You… Deeper…” The puppet’s eyes widened. “Watch out…”

I turned to see a gaggle of the ghoulish puppets, their monstrous faces fully visible. Their chattering teeth picked apart their own lips, hollow eyes swirling with red and black smoke. They reached out, offering to dance.

I pushed myself back in my chair, trying to flatten myself as much as possible. My heart was pounding in my throat, and all of my pores had begun to tingle as a cold sweat swept over me. I opened my mouth and squeaked slightly, trying to deny their dance request.

“I…” I couldn’t utter anything else. The puppets grabbed me and lifted me out of my chair. I thrashed around in a panic until they dropped me on my feet. They hung around me, their strings slacked and loose to give them a menacing crouch.

I held the key in my palm, determined to keep it, and readied myself as my martial arts training had taught me. I felt, in my chest, a coward’s plight. With no way of escaping, I had to fight or die.

One of the marionette's strings tightened, bouncing it towards me. I kicked out reflexively, the thick but rotten wood splitting in half with ease. My leg went through, scattering dark chunks of unknown viscera; the pieces of the puppet fell to the ground, the strings disappearing.

Its wooden fellows jumped at the pieces and began to gnaw and gnash at it with a ravenous character. They ignored me for the most part; only a few remained aware of my presence at all, it seemed.

As I turned once more, one of the marionettes fell to pieces as if cut in half diagonally, splashing me with its disgusting insides. Carson stood with two glasses of a dark purple and red layered drink behind the recently cut puppet. All of the puppets stopped in their tracks, looking at Carson. They stood straight up; their faces now back to the happy but fake smiles that hid their horrible form. There was the same fear I had noticed before. Carson is feared by monsters.

But who knows if this was real at all? I could still be tripping for all I know. I had probably just kicked through a plant or something.

Stained with black ooze that may or may not be in my own head, Carson handed me a towel to wipe it off. “Carson said not to talk to anyone.”

“I was just going to turn down their offer to dance,” I said quickly.

“Any audible sound directed toward them is taken as confirmation,” he said, handing me a drink. “But not for dancing.”

I looked at the drink in my hand suspiciously. I don’t suppose it could be poisoned. It certainly looks normal, with no smells of anything harmful added in. But still, it’s too risky.

I watched as Carson took a drink from his own glass. “Would Carson ever betray your trust?” Carson asked happily.

Maybe it's okay. I have to take a leap. I brought the glass to my lips slowly, tipping it slightly to let the multicolored drink flow into my mouth. It was delicious, with fruity flavors that I can’t describe. I wanted to savor it, but thirst has a mind of its own. I guzzled it down like an uncouth hog, but looking at Carson’s expression, it would seem he didn’t think so.

For a moment he glanced down at my closed hand, the one holding the key. He looked up through a furrowed brow, with his happy smile changing mischievous. He finished his drink in one swig and then threw the glass behind him. I waited for the sound of it shattering, but it never came.

“It’s a bit stuffy in here, no?” Carson pulled a paper fan from his vest and began waving it at himself. “Shall we get some air?”

This was a perfect chance to get on the balcony. “I could use some air…”

“Great,” he said, cutting me off. “Let’s go out onto the balcony.”

Wait, why does he want to go to the balcony? My entire plan hinges on this, and he throws a curveball. I know it’s not the best plan, but does he know something about it?

He walked over to the window slowly. The puppet guards throats splattered suddenly against the walls, and they fell to the floor. Carson pushed the window doors open, and the lights went out. All of the puppets had vanished, save for the band, which the spotlight now fell on in green as they played a dark and mellow tune.

Carson’s imposing silhouette was cast by the moonlight as he picked up the doll that had been watching us before. He squeezed it in his hand, and it busted like a water balloon. He stepped out, throwing the doll's remains over the railing.

I set my glass down on the table and followed him outside. The night air was slightly chilling, like the rest of this night. Carson leaned on the railing, looking down.

“There’s going to be a storm later on tonight,” he said quietly. “Will you know by then that Carson needs you?”

I took another step forward, fully intent on jumping if I knew I could survive the fall. Suddenly a lightheadedness hit me, and as I blinked to alleviate it, I felt my feet dangling. I regained my composure to see Carson holding me by my waist with outstretched arms over the side of the balcony.

“H-how did I get here?” I grabbed Carson’s hands, holding them so that he wouldn’t let go. The key was pressed into his hand by mine. If he didn’t know already, he knows I have it now.

“Hold on tightly to that key,” Carson whispered, sucking all sound out of the air.

Carson released me abruptly, and the sound returned with the band inside, changing the tone of the music to a more exciting one. The music stayed with me through the fall as if it was right there with me. I fell down, strangely passing Carson on the balcony three times before everything went dark.