Puppet Master

       The little girl stood in front of her heavy playroom door and smoothed down her long, frilly white dress. It was just like the ones she saw on old Victorian porcelain dolls. Her skin shifted from light to dark as the shadows moved beneath the surface. 

       She took a deep breath, excited. Her mistress told her she had left her a gift in her room. Is it a new toy? A doll? 

       Pushing the door open, she closed her eyes and stepped inside, letting the door slowly close on its own behind her. This was her favorite room. It was filled with her handmade toys and a few others she collected along the way. 

       She opened one eye and instantly spotted the man tied to a chair at the center of the room. Both her eyes shot open, and she squealed, jumping up and down in joy.

       “Who are you? No wait, don’t tell me!” Her soft, childlike voice sent a visible shiver down the man’s body. She pulled out a short black ribbon from her dress pocket and tied her long brown curls into a ponytail. “I’m Nellie. You’re my present, aren’t you?”

       The man seemed to overcome his momentary shock. “Hi, Nellie,” he said in a voice that sounded almost innocent and sweet. “Be a good little girl and untie my hands.”

       Nellie giggled. “I’m not good, little, or a girl.” Her head tilted to the side as her eyes moved up and down his body, sizing him up. 

       The man frowned. “You’re just confused. This is a scary place. Come on, we’ll leave here together. I’ll protect you.”

       “Mmhm, manipulator. My favorite. She always gets me the best toys.”

       Nellie dragged a chair and a small round table close to the man and sat down. “Let’s make sure no one is confused, okay? I’m Nellie. I belong here. This is my playroom, and you are my new toy.”

       He shook his head angrily. “You’re just a little girl.”

       “I chose this shape. Do you like it? She molded it just for me.”

       The man pulled at the restraints holding his hands to the chair. “Let me go.” The last word was almost a growl. Nellie didn’t like that.

       “Look at me, little man. Look at my eyes, my skin. Am I a little girl?” Her voice was still soft and childlike, but it echoed through the room so loudly, his entire body stilled.

       “Good,” she continued. “I’m a shadow, or a demon, whichever word you want to use, and you’re in the Dark. Or rather, hell. You’re in my room, specifically, because I like to play with manipulators, and the Huntress always spoils us. Are you a manipulator, little man?”

       “I don’t know what I’m doing here. Please, I don’t belong here.”

       Nellie closed her eyes and listened to the man’s sins, like putrid mold clouds oozing from his skin. ‘Oh, what you have done, the people you hurt. I will enjoy this, my Mistress.’

       ‘Take your time, love,’ the Huntress’s voice boomed in her head, loving and menacing at the same time.

       Nellie looked up at the man’s eyes, waiting for the realization to hit. People like him know when someone can’t be fooled, and they hate it. He wasn’t going to talk his way out of this. After a few moments, his eyes widened slightly, and he pulled at the restraints on his hands and ankles.

       “So, little man, how do you punish a manipulator? I made an entire chess set from the bones of the last one, because he liked playing with his victims like they were meaningless pawns. But you… you were a puppet master. Hmmm… Why don’t you perform for me?”

       She shot out of her chair and jumped excitedly from one foot to the other, clapping her hands. “Oh, but we need puppets.” Nellie skipped around the room and collected a few items before sitting back down. On the table in front of the man were three knives of varying sizes and a very large and wide bowl of water.

       “What are you doing?” The man stared at the knives—a scalpel, a hunting knife, and a butcher knife. 

       “Don’t worry. I don’t think we’ll use all of them. Where was I—oh! Yes, we need puppets, and I think your fingers would be perfect!”

       She untied one of his hands and held it in the air between them, smiling as she watched him go from hoping that he could overpower her, to despair and fear at her strength. Still holding his hand and with her eyes on his, she let out a hot breath on the bowl. When the water started to bubble, she smiled wide enough to show her three sets of upper fangs.

       “Just a few seconds in boiling water to loosen the skin,” she mumbled, holding his fingers under the water. Ignoring his screams, she used the smallest scalpel and slowly made incisions at the bottom of each finger, going around the finger entirely. She had to use the scalpel underneath the skin to loosen it a bit more. After a few seconds, she was able to peel the skin off the first finger without tearing.

       “Hush, only three to go.” 

       He continued to scream, but she barely heard it. Her focus was on removing the skin from all the fingers except for the thumb. To her delight, they all peeled off in one piece.

       Nellie let go of his hand and gave him a stern look. He knew better now than to struggle. His hand rested on the table beside the bowl, unmoving except for the tremors that were out of his control. Soft, wet sounds seemed louder than his whimpering as she pushed each skinned piece onto her fingers, wearing his skin like finger puppets.

       “Ugh, they need faces. Let me just…” Her voice drifted off while she used the scalpel on her four finger puppets, carving out little crooked holes for eyes and wide smiles.

       “Ha! Look at that!” Her girlish voice was proud. She wiggled her fingers in front of him. “What do you think? Like bloody little jack-o’-lanterns!”

       The man looked at his skin on her fingers and then up at her delicate, innocent face with dark eyes. “Please—”

       “Well? Go on. I’ve got four of your little puppets on me. Give them voices.” Nellie bent the pinky up and down. “Start with this one.”

       The man stared at her, shaking his head. “I-I don’t—”

       “Ah-ah, hesitate, and I’ll crush the fingers on your other hand. Now, four victims, four voices. Tell me about this one, the smallest.”

       “Ana,” he said, his voice a raspy whisper.

       “Come on. This is a puppet show! Do you want to find out what I do to toys I don’t like?”

       “My name is Ana.” His voice shook, but he continued. “I’m nine. I… I like to play outside.”

       “Oh! How lovely to meet you, Ana. Tell me, what do you play outside?”

       “In my front yard. I play with my friends. My, um… imaginary friends.”

       “I see. Go on.” Nellie looked up at his tear-filled eyes. “Tell me what this man did to you.”

       He shifted in his seat. His shoulders slumped in surrender. “He told me that my friend was hurt. That she fell on the street and couldn’t get up. I ran to look for her, but a car came.”

       Nellie shook her head. “I’m sorry, Ana. You were the one who showed him how fun it is to play with people.” She looked up at him again. “Wasn’t she?”

       She wiggled her ring finger, and he continued. “I’m Noah. I’m sixteen years old. I… I like playing board games with my friends. He told people things about me and my friend. My dad found out and got so mad, he wouldn’t stop hitting me.”

       “Hmmm, we’ll see about your dad later. I’m sorry, Noah.” Nellie wiggled the middle finger.

       “My name is Dianne. I’m twenty-three and I like to party. I couldn’t control my addiction and—”

       “No. The truth, little man.”

       Tears flowed down his face, but Nellie ignored them. When a soul is so corrupt that the Huntress brings them to the Dark, they are beyond remorse. He was crying for his own pain and life.

       “I wasn’t addicted until I met him and he convinced me I needed it to be better at my job.”

       “I’m sorry, Dianne.” Nellie wiggled her index finger. “Last one, little man. The one that sealed your fate, finalized your corruption. Tell me about her.”

       He swallowed. “My name is Edith. I am seventy-four years old. I thought I was losing my memory, like my husband, before he died. I took the wrong—”

       “No. Again.”

       “He told me I didn’t take my pills and that the dosage was wrong, but he lied. I took too many and my heart stopped.”

       “I’m sorry, Edith. Your own grandson betrayed you. His soul will never hurt another again.”

       Nellie pulled the man’s skin off her fingers and slowly put them back on his own. The skin looked ragged and nearly torn from being stretched out. The bottom rolled up despite the sticky blood everywhere. She got up and brought another item to the table.

       “It’s important for them to have voices. Like my dolls, they all have voices.” She nodded toward a shelf at the other end of the room with a row of porcelain dolls in extravagant dresses. “Let me just staple this back on so it stays put. Oh, stop shaking. You’ll want to be very still for the final act.” She quickly stapled the bottom of each finger twice before tying his hand back to the chair.

       He watched her, unblinking, as she breathed on the bowl again until the water simmered. “See that mannequin behind me? It doesn’t have a face, and that makes me very sad. You don’t want me to be sad, do you?” She giggled. “Of course not! So, I’ll take yours—your face, that is. And then you’ll give it a voice. No more victims, so you have a few minutes to think about a good voice for my trophy. Oh, and… best if you keep your eyes closed in the water.”

       Before he could react, she pushed his head down into the bowl and counted out loud. “One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi.”

       She pulled his head up and held him at the neck. “You can scream if you like, but keep your mouth closed and stop squirming.” Using the same small scalpel as before, she carefully cut into his forehead, moving slowly down and around his face. “Oh, it slices so nicely.”

       When she reached the starting point again at the top of his forehead, her eyes glowed from excitement, despite their dark, almost black color. Just like she did with the fingers, she picked up the edge of the skin with the knife to lift it up, and then grabbed it with her fingers to gently peel it off. “A perfect peel. So satisfying,” she mumbled to herself.

       Nellie jumped out of the chair with the bloody face in her hand and placed it on her standing wooden mannequin. She had to nail the skin to the head around the circumference of the face to make sure it stayed in place. The eye holes were a bit wonky—she had to use the knife again when she peeled off that area—but it was still pretty good.

       “Ha! Isn’t it pretty? Now you—oh.” She turned around to a very dead man in her chair.

       ‘Must have nicked an artery. Or did his heart give out? Coward.’

       ‘Artery, love. And thank you, he was delicious.’

       Nellie smiled at her mistress’s voice in her head. She twirled around, ignoring the bloodstains covering her white dress, and then stopped in front of her new voiceless mannequin.

       “Who’s going to entertain me now?”