The doctors at the hospital told me it was a miracle I had survived the burns that I’d experienced. I wish I could attribute my survival to something so benevolent.
There’s not much I remember from my stay there. Some of the burns went so deep, that my nerves had been completely severed. The smoke I’d inhaled had caused some minor brain damage as well, leaving me barely conscious of what was going on around me. I slept a lot. There wasn’t much else I was able to do. At one point a woman came in and left a small doll in my hospital bed. I had fallen asleep again before she left.
When I woke up, I felt Her hand gently stroking my head. My thoughts were moving with renewed clarity, and I could feel all my limbs again. When She saw I was awake, She kissed my forehead. “I was so worried about you, slave. I couldn’t bear to stay away when I heard you’d been hospitalized. But don’t worry. Everything’s fine now. I’ve fixed everything. You should be grateful that I was in such a generous mood.” She hopped off the bed, and pulled me up. “Come on now, we’ve got lots of work to do!”
No one in the hospital stopped us as She led me out. The same black limousine I’d ridden in after my funeral was waiting for us outside. During the whole ride, She smothered me in kisses and adoration, but I ignored most of it. After having that last chance of hope snatched away from me, I couldn’t even bring up the energy to feel revulsion.
It didn’t take long to figure out we were driving back to the theater. When we arrived, all the seats were filled by people dressed in bloody suits and dresses, staring at the stage with motionless grins. Instead of having me take a seat, She led me onto the stage. After giving me a quick kiss, She whispered, “It’s almost time for your starring role. Just wait here until I get back.”
She ran out of the theater. I considered trying to escape, but before the thought could realize itself, the doors were opened again. She came in with another man on her arm, and a spotlight appeared on them. Then the spotlight moved onto me, shining into my eyes with blinding light. I could hear Her speaking to the man, saying, “Now’s the time for your starring role! Time to slay the monster and save the damsel!” She handed him a knife, and then appeared on stage next to me, screaming at the man to save Her. He ran onto the stage, pulled by strings that I could glimpse in the light. I knew what was coming next, which likely was the only reason I was able to dodge aside before he could stab me. I could see in his eyes the desire to stop, but the strings continued pulling him on, forcing him to press his attack.
When I had been in his place, the man I’d killed had begged and pleaded for his life. But only a fool would think that She would be merciful. There was only one way to survive here. The man stabbed at me again, and this time I took the blow, letting the knife get caught in my side. The pain was horrible, but nothing compared to what She had made me experience. With him so close, I punched him in the face as hard as I could. Then I hit him again, and again. Even when he fell to the ground, I continued punching him, breaking my hands on his skull. I couldn’t bring myself to stop. Not until his face was crushed, and the strings inside him vanished.
The audience burst into startling applause, and She hugged me from behind. “You did it!” She gleefully said. “I always knew you would.” She grabbed my hands, squeezing the broken bones just hard enough to make me cry out. “Of course, anyone worthy of my love would be capable of performing in such an easy play.”
When She let go of my hands, the bones had healed. It was a crude fix, and every motion of my fingers caused intense pain. Still, they could move, and that’s what mattered. She pulled me to my feet, and began to walk backstage. She paused for a moment to look back, and said, “Well? Aren’t you coming? I still have many things for you to do tonight.”
I hesitated for a moment, and then followed her back behind the curtains.
Monday, March 10, 2014
8
Since my “recruitment,” I had visited Her theater several times. She always enjoyed putting on little shows there, using people She had plucked from the streets as Her players. Most of those shows ended with the majority of the cast dying, usually in very bloody ways. Survivors were usually dumped back onto the streets of some faraway country with their tongues removed, so they couldn’t even ask for help. It was a horrible place, but one which I was able to remember clearly.
I led Liz and Raito to the building as soon as they were ready. The whole way I was terrified She would appear to stop us, but the entire journey there was without event. Even entering the building was oddly easy; there wasn’t a single person around to stop us. The inside was eerily silent. There wasn’t a sign of anyone inside, and the air was thick with dust, as if it had been uninhabited for decades. To get backstage, we would need to cross the audience seating. The thought of walking across such an open area didn’t appeal to me, but since there seemed to be no one around, we took it as an acceptable risk.
We were halfway to the stage before anything happened. As we passed by an aisle, I felt something grabbing at my foot. Panicked, I kicked at it, and felt my shoe hit wood. A puppet was crawling out from the aisles, and trying to pull me down. There was another puppet behind it, and as I looked around, puppets were crawling across the floors from every row of the theater. The three of us made a run for the stage, hoping to reach it before we were overwhelmed. I was the first to get on the stage. I grabbed Liz’s hand and pulled her up, then reached for Raito. I didn’t move fast enough to save him. The puppets pulled him to the floor and piled on top of him. I couldn’t see him underneath them, but I heard his cries as they tore into his flesh like animals.
Grim as it may have been, the puppets’ focus on Raito bought Liz and me the time to run backstage. I’d been there before, but it appeared entirely unfamiliar to me. Long stone hallways, lit by flickering oil lamps and covered with cobwebs, stretched out in a dozen directions. We chose one hall at random and ran down it, only to reach another identical intersection. No matter which route we took, all we found were more of the halls. Trying to keep running was wearing me down, and my breath became more ragged and desperate. As we turned down another hall, Her laughter echoed around us, joining the sound of our heavy breathing. The cobwebs started looking less like webs, and became strings that draped across the walls.
Just when it felt like I was going to collapse from fatigue, I saw a door at the end of the hallway. I had no way of knowing if it was the storage room we were looking for. But I would have taken anything at that moment. I ran through the door, and then froze when I saw the army of puppets hanging in front of me. Unlike the others, these didn’t appear to have any life in them, and when that became clear we started pushing past them. I recognized several of the puppets. They all looked like women She had appeared to me as. I kept expecting them to attack us, but not one moved.
After several minutes of navigating through those wooden limbs with only the flickering lamps to show us where to go, we made it to a clearing in that forest of puppets. In the center of that open space, a woman was suspended by strings sewn into her arms and neck. She looked ancient, almost like a corpse. Her skin was grey and dry, and there were only a few strands of hair on her head. Her eyes were closed, but I could still see her breathing slightly. The rags she wore might once have been a dress, but now had rotted away until they barely covered her emaciated body.
This was the actress Raito had told us about. Seeing her there felt as if I was intruding in a temple. The laughter that had been following us stopped, leaving everything silent. Now the question was what we should do next. The plan had been to “destroy” her, but none of us had given much thought to how we would do that when we found her. I think we might not have really believed we actually would find her until then.
That question was taken out of our hands when some of the strings tore themselves out of the actress’s arms and wrapped around Liz. She screamed in fear, then pain, and then she was quiet. I had a fairly good idea what was going to happen next, and started running for the exit. I didn’t make it far before something struck my head from behind, nearly knocking me down. Liz had torn out a jagged wooden floorboard, and was using it as an improvised club. Her hands were wet with blood from ripping it out so quickly, but she ignored it. She kept swinging it as she tried to stab me with the splintered end of the board. Even with the strings controlling her, Experience made me faster and stronger. When she attacked again, I managed to throw her aside and get the board out of her hands. Now armed, I had a chance to end things. I ran back to the actress, and lunged at her with the sharp end of the board. Before I hit, Liz jumped in the way. There wasn’t enough time for me to stop, and the board stabbed through her. But I’d been moving with enough momentum that it kept going, impaling the actress as well.
Both Liz and the actress opened their mouths, and Her screams of pain came out. The strings that had been holding them vanished, and both their bodies crumpled to the ground, but the screams continued all around me. I remember a feeling of exhaustion surging over me then. Hard as it was to believe, I’d done it. I was free.
I waited for the screaming to stop, but it kept going on. Until the tone changed; slowly, the screaming began to sound more like laughter. Laughter which was coming from behind me. I looked, and saw Raito, partially hidden by the puppets, laughing with Her voice. After I noticed him, the laughter died down, and he spoke to me, still sounding just like Her. “Wasn’t that fun?”
It was impossible for Raito to be there. I’d seen him torn apart. “What’s going on, Raito? I don’t… I don’t understand….”
“Raito?” He tilted his head to the side, with a curious grin. “You don’t mean… you actually thought… you didn’t….” He started laughing again. “Oh, you stupid, stupid little slave! I thought you knew!” He stepped out of the puppets, and I could see parts of his skin and clothes had been torn away. Underneath, instead of blood or muscle, was wood. “There never was a Raito. I made him up! Just like I made up that story about the actress. She was just some woman I’d thrown down here AGES ago. I’d been trying to think of a way to get rid of her. I can’t believe you actually fell for such a corny story!”
Horror filled my every thought. Everything had just been another of Her games. The dream of freedom was just another nightmare. I never would escape Her. “But… why?” I asked.
“You’re always running around doing these little jobs for me. It gets lonely, you know, sitting at home and waiting for you. I wanted to join in on the fun! You know they say that couples who share a hobby are happier together!” Raito’s skin started to fall away, leaving a featureless wooden doll, but Her voice continued to speak, like a knife being driven into my mind. “But… oh dear. If you actually thought that story was true… then that means you just tried to kill me. And trying to do something like that would be unforgivable.”
I tried running from Her, but amongst all the puppets, I couldn’t tell where the exit was. I ended up running into a stone wall. She was laughing again, and every moment brought that laughter closer. I grabbed one of the oil lamps off the wall, and when I saw Her approach, threw it at Her. The burning oil covered Her body with fire, but She kept coming toward me. She wrapped her arms around me, burning me with the fire that covered Her. When I tried to scream, I choked on the smoke filling the room. Eventually, the pain became too much, and I blacked out.
I led Liz and Raito to the building as soon as they were ready. The whole way I was terrified She would appear to stop us, but the entire journey there was without event. Even entering the building was oddly easy; there wasn’t a single person around to stop us. The inside was eerily silent. There wasn’t a sign of anyone inside, and the air was thick with dust, as if it had been uninhabited for decades. To get backstage, we would need to cross the audience seating. The thought of walking across such an open area didn’t appeal to me, but since there seemed to be no one around, we took it as an acceptable risk.
We were halfway to the stage before anything happened. As we passed by an aisle, I felt something grabbing at my foot. Panicked, I kicked at it, and felt my shoe hit wood. A puppet was crawling out from the aisles, and trying to pull me down. There was another puppet behind it, and as I looked around, puppets were crawling across the floors from every row of the theater. The three of us made a run for the stage, hoping to reach it before we were overwhelmed. I was the first to get on the stage. I grabbed Liz’s hand and pulled her up, then reached for Raito. I didn’t move fast enough to save him. The puppets pulled him to the floor and piled on top of him. I couldn’t see him underneath them, but I heard his cries as they tore into his flesh like animals.
Grim as it may have been, the puppets’ focus on Raito bought Liz and me the time to run backstage. I’d been there before, but it appeared entirely unfamiliar to me. Long stone hallways, lit by flickering oil lamps and covered with cobwebs, stretched out in a dozen directions. We chose one hall at random and ran down it, only to reach another identical intersection. No matter which route we took, all we found were more of the halls. Trying to keep running was wearing me down, and my breath became more ragged and desperate. As we turned down another hall, Her laughter echoed around us, joining the sound of our heavy breathing. The cobwebs started looking less like webs, and became strings that draped across the walls.
Just when it felt like I was going to collapse from fatigue, I saw a door at the end of the hallway. I had no way of knowing if it was the storage room we were looking for. But I would have taken anything at that moment. I ran through the door, and then froze when I saw the army of puppets hanging in front of me. Unlike the others, these didn’t appear to have any life in them, and when that became clear we started pushing past them. I recognized several of the puppets. They all looked like women She had appeared to me as. I kept expecting them to attack us, but not one moved.
After several minutes of navigating through those wooden limbs with only the flickering lamps to show us where to go, we made it to a clearing in that forest of puppets. In the center of that open space, a woman was suspended by strings sewn into her arms and neck. She looked ancient, almost like a corpse. Her skin was grey and dry, and there were only a few strands of hair on her head. Her eyes were closed, but I could still see her breathing slightly. The rags she wore might once have been a dress, but now had rotted away until they barely covered her emaciated body.
This was the actress Raito had told us about. Seeing her there felt as if I was intruding in a temple. The laughter that had been following us stopped, leaving everything silent. Now the question was what we should do next. The plan had been to “destroy” her, but none of us had given much thought to how we would do that when we found her. I think we might not have really believed we actually would find her until then.
That question was taken out of our hands when some of the strings tore themselves out of the actress’s arms and wrapped around Liz. She screamed in fear, then pain, and then she was quiet. I had a fairly good idea what was going to happen next, and started running for the exit. I didn’t make it far before something struck my head from behind, nearly knocking me down. Liz had torn out a jagged wooden floorboard, and was using it as an improvised club. Her hands were wet with blood from ripping it out so quickly, but she ignored it. She kept swinging it as she tried to stab me with the splintered end of the board. Even with the strings controlling her, Experience made me faster and stronger. When she attacked again, I managed to throw her aside and get the board out of her hands. Now armed, I had a chance to end things. I ran back to the actress, and lunged at her with the sharp end of the board. Before I hit, Liz jumped in the way. There wasn’t enough time for me to stop, and the board stabbed through her. But I’d been moving with enough momentum that it kept going, impaling the actress as well.
Both Liz and the actress opened their mouths, and Her screams of pain came out. The strings that had been holding them vanished, and both their bodies crumpled to the ground, but the screams continued all around me. I remember a feeling of exhaustion surging over me then. Hard as it was to believe, I’d done it. I was free.
I waited for the screaming to stop, but it kept going on. Until the tone changed; slowly, the screaming began to sound more like laughter. Laughter which was coming from behind me. I looked, and saw Raito, partially hidden by the puppets, laughing with Her voice. After I noticed him, the laughter died down, and he spoke to me, still sounding just like Her. “Wasn’t that fun?”
It was impossible for Raito to be there. I’d seen him torn apart. “What’s going on, Raito? I don’t… I don’t understand….”
“Raito?” He tilted his head to the side, with a curious grin. “You don’t mean… you actually thought… you didn’t….” He started laughing again. “Oh, you stupid, stupid little slave! I thought you knew!” He stepped out of the puppets, and I could see parts of his skin and clothes had been torn away. Underneath, instead of blood or muscle, was wood. “There never was a Raito. I made him up! Just like I made up that story about the actress. She was just some woman I’d thrown down here AGES ago. I’d been trying to think of a way to get rid of her. I can’t believe you actually fell for such a corny story!”
Horror filled my every thought. Everything had just been another of Her games. The dream of freedom was just another nightmare. I never would escape Her. “But… why?” I asked.
“You’re always running around doing these little jobs for me. It gets lonely, you know, sitting at home and waiting for you. I wanted to join in on the fun! You know they say that couples who share a hobby are happier together!” Raito’s skin started to fall away, leaving a featureless wooden doll, but Her voice continued to speak, like a knife being driven into my mind. “But… oh dear. If you actually thought that story was true… then that means you just tried to kill me. And trying to do something like that would be unforgivable.”
I tried running from Her, but amongst all the puppets, I couldn’t tell where the exit was. I ended up running into a stone wall. She was laughing again, and every moment brought that laughter closer. I grabbed one of the oil lamps off the wall, and when I saw Her approach, threw it at Her. The burning oil covered Her body with fire, but She kept coming toward me. She wrapped her arms around me, burning me with the fire that covered Her. When I tried to scream, I choked on the smoke filling the room. Eventually, the pain became too much, and I blacked out.
7
Even after learning of Raito’s plan, I didn’t take any action. I was hoping that the two of them would be able to take care of the issue while I stayed back, and I would be freed without having to risk myself.
Things changed when a new set of orders appeared in my mind. I had been expecting a command to kill Raito for some time. But that wasn’t who She wanted me to target. Instead, my orders were to murder Liz.
Receiving that command put me in a dilemma. When I thought about it, that order was actually the best case scenario. Killing Liz was preferable to having to kill Raito. He was the one with the plan to free us; she was just a bystander. If I killed her, I would manage to stay within Her graces, while still keeping open the possibility of Raito succeeding and me escaping this nightmare. But while I may have been the logical choice, I didn’t want to do it. I wanted them to succeed. Both of them. After finally learning that it might be possible to stand up to Her, I was starting to feel the spark of rebellion inside me. Instead of attacking Liz, I went up to their hotel room’s door and knocked. They were justifiably suspicious of me. But I could tell them the location of the theater they were looking for. Even if I was lying, Raito thought it would be worthwhile to investigate.
I’d never imagined taking a stand against Her. But I’d made my decision. Now there would be no backing down from rebellion.
Things changed when a new set of orders appeared in my mind. I had been expecting a command to kill Raito for some time. But that wasn’t who She wanted me to target. Instead, my orders were to murder Liz.
Receiving that command put me in a dilemma. When I thought about it, that order was actually the best case scenario. Killing Liz was preferable to having to kill Raito. He was the one with the plan to free us; she was just a bystander. If I killed her, I would manage to stay within Her graces, while still keeping open the possibility of Raito succeeding and me escaping this nightmare. But while I may have been the logical choice, I didn’t want to do it. I wanted them to succeed. Both of them. After finally learning that it might be possible to stand up to Her, I was starting to feel the spark of rebellion inside me. Instead of attacking Liz, I went up to their hotel room’s door and knocked. They were justifiably suspicious of me. But I could tell them the location of the theater they were looking for. Even if I was lying, Raito thought it would be worthwhile to investigate.
I’d never imagined taking a stand against Her. But I’d made my decision. Now there would be no backing down from rebellion.
6
The two of them, Liz and Raito, stuck together after that. Liz was recruited into Raito’s study of the city’s maps, which gave me the opportunity to finally overhear the reason he was so interested in them.
“There’s an old ghost story in this city. Not many people remember it; I only happened to find it by luck. A long time ago, this place had a famous theater. People came from all over to watch the shows they performed. But the biggest draw the place had wasn’t its performances. There was a young girl, the daughter of the theater’s owner. She was the shining star of the theater. As beautiful as a porcelain doll and with a voice that could bring any man to tears. Watching her onstage was like watching an angel perform.
“Her beautiful success didn’t last forever. Even with the fame of its leading actress, it was still only a small theater. And as times changed, it started losing money. Eventually they had to sell the building to another man. Such an event would have been tragic enough on its own, but the new owner didn’t just want to possess the theater. He wanted its actress as well.
“She tried to leave the theater with her father, but the new owner refused to let her go. He had some ties to organized crime, enough to let him hire the muscle needed to intimidate her into staying. But being forced to perform seemed to kill the light inside her. Her voice became bland, and her performances wooden. The owner tried to appease her, buying her flowers, vacations, and all kinds of wildly expensive gifts. Still, whenever she went onstage she was dull and lifeless.
“Eventually, the owner grew furious. If kindness wouldn’t make her perform for him, then he would try cruelty. He beat and raped her, and then locked her in the storage room with the theater’s puppets. For months, she stayed locked down there, the door only being unlocked so the owner could deliver her food and ask if she would perform. Each time, she said no. And so each time, he punished her.
“Then one day, when the owner came down to the storage room, he found the actress vibrant and full of life. She agreed to work with him, and took to the stage. Her performance that day was the best she had ever given. The audience was enraptured by her every movement. Even the owner was so touched by the show that he begged for her forgiveness, telling her she was free to leave and that he would never harm her again. But she chose to stay, and said she would continue to perform on the condition that he never went into the storage room.
“Soon the theater was drawing in more people than it ever had before. Demand to see the actress was so great that fights broke out over tickets in front of the building. She had been an angel before, but now she was a goddess. And her most devout follower was the owner. He would have done anything to appease her. Yet she remained a mystery to him. After each show, she returned to the storage room without saying a word to anyone. Eventually, his curiosity grew too strong. He followed her into the room, to see why she chose to stay there.
“The room was dark and filthy. He couldn’t imagine how anyone could live in such a disgusting place. Dozens of puppets hung from the ceilings, creating something like a maze for him to traverse. After pushing past them, the owner saw his actress. But she didn’t look like the goddess who had just graced the stage. Her clothes were torn and bloody, and she looked nearly starved to death.
“She was doing something to her arm, but the owner was too far away to see. He leaned in for a better view, and then screamed. She was sewing strings from the puppets into her skin. His shout drew her attention, and she stopped sewing to face him. Her smile was no longer that of a goddess, but a demon. When he tried to run, the puppets moved on their own to block his way. All of them had the appearance of the angelic actor, and her laughter came from their mouths. Their wooden hands grabbed at him, but he managed to push past and escape. But when he made it out of the theater, no one he told his story to would believe him.
“During the next day’s show, it was not the beautiful angel who came onto the stage, but the bloodied demon the owner had seen. The second she appeared, the audience was driven into a violent frenzy. They killed each other in their seats, and rivers of blood ran down the aisles. When the police arrived, they found no sign of the actress. All they found in the theater were puppets.
“The owner committed suicide two days later. With his death, the theater closed. The story passed into legend and the location was forgotten.”
A long silence followed after he finished as Liz processed the story. Then, she asked the same question I was wondering. Was that story true?
“Possibly. I’ve found enough evidence to convince myself that it is. If my theory is right, then that actress became the Wooden Girl. And I’m thinking… hoping that if we go to the theater, we can find Her original body. Not a puppet, not some extension of Herself, but Her real body. If we destroy that, we might just destroy Her.”
Destroy Her? That was something I’d never considered possible. She was something beyond any means of resistance. But if Raito was right, then it was possible to bring her down. It was possible that I could be free. For the first time in years, I felt an unfamiliar emotion. Hope.
“There’s an old ghost story in this city. Not many people remember it; I only happened to find it by luck. A long time ago, this place had a famous theater. People came from all over to watch the shows they performed. But the biggest draw the place had wasn’t its performances. There was a young girl, the daughter of the theater’s owner. She was the shining star of the theater. As beautiful as a porcelain doll and with a voice that could bring any man to tears. Watching her onstage was like watching an angel perform.
“Her beautiful success didn’t last forever. Even with the fame of its leading actress, it was still only a small theater. And as times changed, it started losing money. Eventually they had to sell the building to another man. Such an event would have been tragic enough on its own, but the new owner didn’t just want to possess the theater. He wanted its actress as well.
“She tried to leave the theater with her father, but the new owner refused to let her go. He had some ties to organized crime, enough to let him hire the muscle needed to intimidate her into staying. But being forced to perform seemed to kill the light inside her. Her voice became bland, and her performances wooden. The owner tried to appease her, buying her flowers, vacations, and all kinds of wildly expensive gifts. Still, whenever she went onstage she was dull and lifeless.
“Eventually, the owner grew furious. If kindness wouldn’t make her perform for him, then he would try cruelty. He beat and raped her, and then locked her in the storage room with the theater’s puppets. For months, she stayed locked down there, the door only being unlocked so the owner could deliver her food and ask if she would perform. Each time, she said no. And so each time, he punished her.
“Then one day, when the owner came down to the storage room, he found the actress vibrant and full of life. She agreed to work with him, and took to the stage. Her performance that day was the best she had ever given. The audience was enraptured by her every movement. Even the owner was so touched by the show that he begged for her forgiveness, telling her she was free to leave and that he would never harm her again. But she chose to stay, and said she would continue to perform on the condition that he never went into the storage room.
“Soon the theater was drawing in more people than it ever had before. Demand to see the actress was so great that fights broke out over tickets in front of the building. She had been an angel before, but now she was a goddess. And her most devout follower was the owner. He would have done anything to appease her. Yet she remained a mystery to him. After each show, she returned to the storage room without saying a word to anyone. Eventually, his curiosity grew too strong. He followed her into the room, to see why she chose to stay there.
“The room was dark and filthy. He couldn’t imagine how anyone could live in such a disgusting place. Dozens of puppets hung from the ceilings, creating something like a maze for him to traverse. After pushing past them, the owner saw his actress. But she didn’t look like the goddess who had just graced the stage. Her clothes were torn and bloody, and she looked nearly starved to death.
“She was doing something to her arm, but the owner was too far away to see. He leaned in for a better view, and then screamed. She was sewing strings from the puppets into her skin. His shout drew her attention, and she stopped sewing to face him. Her smile was no longer that of a goddess, but a demon. When he tried to run, the puppets moved on their own to block his way. All of them had the appearance of the angelic actor, and her laughter came from their mouths. Their wooden hands grabbed at him, but he managed to push past and escape. But when he made it out of the theater, no one he told his story to would believe him.
“During the next day’s show, it was not the beautiful angel who came onto the stage, but the bloodied demon the owner had seen. The second she appeared, the audience was driven into a violent frenzy. They killed each other in their seats, and rivers of blood ran down the aisles. When the police arrived, they found no sign of the actress. All they found in the theater were puppets.
“The owner committed suicide two days later. With his death, the theater closed. The story passed into legend and the location was forgotten.”
A long silence followed after he finished as Liz processed the story. Then, she asked the same question I was wondering. Was that story true?
“Possibly. I’ve found enough evidence to convince myself that it is. If my theory is right, then that actress became the Wooden Girl. And I’m thinking… hoping that if we go to the theater, we can find Her original body. Not a puppet, not some extension of Herself, but Her real body. If we destroy that, we might just destroy Her.”
Destroy Her? That was something I’d never considered possible. She was something beyond any means of resistance. But if Raito was right, then it was possible to bring her down. It was possible that I could be free. For the first time in years, I felt an unfamiliar emotion. Hope.
5
Shortly after his arrival, Raito picked up another activity along his research. While I was following him, he was following someone else. Raito’s target was another man who served Her in the city, who himself was pursuing his own target. Raito had begun to stalk him with surprising skill. I suppose I could have warned the man about Raito, but I didn’t. Camaraderie isn’t a virtue that has been instilled in us.
After nearly a week of this, Raito’s target made a move on his victim. I hadn’t paid much attention to her; it was just some woman She had decided to hurt. Raito was more invested; when the man attempted to attack the woman in an alley, Raito stabbed him from behind with a knife.
The woman’s name turned out to be Liz. After saving her, Raito took her to his hotel, where he told her about the people pursuing them. Liz was more of a traditional victim than Raito, Scared, lost, and with no understanding of what was happening to her. Had it not been for Raito, I have no doubt she’d have been broken like all other victims.
Still, my assignment was to follow Raito, not Liz. Unless I received orders otherwise, I had no intention of doing anything to her. She was someone else’s business as far as I was concerned.
After nearly a week of this, Raito’s target made a move on his victim. I hadn’t paid much attention to her; it was just some woman She had decided to hurt. Raito was more invested; when the man attempted to attack the woman in an alley, Raito stabbed him from behind with a knife.
The woman’s name turned out to be Liz. After saving her, Raito took her to his hotel, where he told her about the people pursuing them. Liz was more of a traditional victim than Raito, Scared, lost, and with no understanding of what was happening to her. Had it not been for Raito, I have no doubt she’d have been broken like all other victims.
Still, my assignment was to follow Raito, not Liz. Unless I received orders otherwise, I had no intention of doing anything to her. She was someone else’s business as far as I was concerned.
4
While it is possible for Her to implant Her orders directly into my mind, it is a rare occurrence. She prefers to personally command me. Which is why I found it so odd when I was woken in the middle of the night by the knowledge of a new target I had to hunt.
Finding the target was only a matter of following Her commands. They led me to a cheap hotel just off the freeway. The target’s name was Raito, which I at first thought was an odd name for someone as dark skinned as he was. When I got a closer look at him, enough to see the Asian ancestry in his eyes, it made more sense. He wasn’t a new victim; others had hunted him and driven him to the city. My duty was to finish the job they’d started.
I observed Raito for several days to decide what my course of action would be. He appeared far more competent than the majority of people I’ve been sent after. Most are too panicked and confused to think through their actions, but he had a steady determination in him that seemed to override any fear. His hotel room had been carefully picked to allow for several escape routes, and he appeared constantly watchful for any attack. I was positive he had figured out I was following him, and was just waiting for me to move first.
Raito’s decision to come to this city didn’t seem to be a result of aimless wandering. He had a reason behind it, and I started to become curious about what they reason was. I often found him searching through maps of the city. He visited the public library frequently to look through their newspaper archives. At that time, I couldn’t figure out what he was looking for. All I could tell was that he thought it was important.
I waited for the orders to move in and begin his torment, but they didn’t come. It was unusual to be left in silence for so long. I would have questioned it more, but the freedom was too welcome a relief. And so for several days, I followed Raito.
Finding the target was only a matter of following Her commands. They led me to a cheap hotel just off the freeway. The target’s name was Raito, which I at first thought was an odd name for someone as dark skinned as he was. When I got a closer look at him, enough to see the Asian ancestry in his eyes, it made more sense. He wasn’t a new victim; others had hunted him and driven him to the city. My duty was to finish the job they’d started.
I observed Raito for several days to decide what my course of action would be. He appeared far more competent than the majority of people I’ve been sent after. Most are too panicked and confused to think through their actions, but he had a steady determination in him that seemed to override any fear. His hotel room had been carefully picked to allow for several escape routes, and he appeared constantly watchful for any attack. I was positive he had figured out I was following him, and was just waiting for me to move first.
Raito’s decision to come to this city didn’t seem to be a result of aimless wandering. He had a reason behind it, and I started to become curious about what they reason was. I often found him searching through maps of the city. He visited the public library frequently to look through their newspaper archives. At that time, I couldn’t figure out what he was looking for. All I could tell was that he thought it was important.
I waited for the orders to move in and begin his torment, but they didn’t come. It was unusual to be left in silence for so long. I would have questioned it more, but the freedom was too welcome a relief. And so for several days, I followed Raito.
3
My funeral was held a few days after that night. I watched from outside the cemetery as they lowered the coffin into the ground. Then I entered the black limousine waiting for me, and my ten years of servitude began.
The sole purpose of my existence is to fulfill Her every pleasure. But Her pleasures are driven by whims. Sometimes She has me act as the avatar of Her will, stalking and tormenting whichever poor victim She has laid Her eyes on. And then other times I am the victim whom She tortures. I still can’t understand the reasons behind what we do. At first I thought She enjoyed hurting others, but now I question this. She smiles at everything, regardless of what it is.
I once had the opportunity to speak with a man in a similar situation to me, who had some theories about Her. “The Mistress’s domain is the imbalance of power, and the misuse of that imbalance. When we destroy a person’s social support and drive them on the run, we are taking the power they had over their lives away from them. And when we manipulate an individual into tormenting the people around them, we are taking power from those people and giving it to the individual. Similarly, the Mistress’s torment of us is the reinforcement of the power which She holds over us.”
We were both punished for speaking to each other without Her permission. Punishments are frequent in Her service. Even the slightest mistake is grounds for retribution. My body has been broken and put back together so many times that my appearance has become deformed and monstrous. When I let a victim get away, She tore off my legs, and wouldn’t mend them until I crawled to Her and kissed Her feet. When I spoke out of turn, my jaw was shattered and I was forced to each with the broken bones for days. Sometimes She will punish me even when I have made no mistakes. “To remind you of your place.”
There are rewards, as well. Almost any desire I have, She will fulfill. The first gift She gave me was a black mask, to hide the scars and damage She had done to me. But I have learned not to trust Her presents. She always finds some way to hurt me with Her gifts. She seems to particularly find joy making me destroy the things and people I’ve grown attached to.
She usually appears to me in the same form She had in our original meetings. But She can take on many others. I have seen Her assume the appearance of hundreds of different girls. On some days, She doesn’t look like a human at all, but a puppet or doll. I can still hear Her voice speak to me, even in that form. I don’t try to understand how She takes on so many appearances. Such thoughts lead to more punishment.
Such has been my life for the past decade.
The sole purpose of my existence is to fulfill Her every pleasure. But Her pleasures are driven by whims. Sometimes She has me act as the avatar of Her will, stalking and tormenting whichever poor victim She has laid Her eyes on. And then other times I am the victim whom She tortures. I still can’t understand the reasons behind what we do. At first I thought She enjoyed hurting others, but now I question this. She smiles at everything, regardless of what it is.
I once had the opportunity to speak with a man in a similar situation to me, who had some theories about Her. “The Mistress’s domain is the imbalance of power, and the misuse of that imbalance. When we destroy a person’s social support and drive them on the run, we are taking the power they had over their lives away from them. And when we manipulate an individual into tormenting the people around them, we are taking power from those people and giving it to the individual. Similarly, the Mistress’s torment of us is the reinforcement of the power which She holds over us.”
We were both punished for speaking to each other without Her permission. Punishments are frequent in Her service. Even the slightest mistake is grounds for retribution. My body has been broken and put back together so many times that my appearance has become deformed and monstrous. When I let a victim get away, She tore off my legs, and wouldn’t mend them until I crawled to Her and kissed Her feet. When I spoke out of turn, my jaw was shattered and I was forced to each with the broken bones for days. Sometimes She will punish me even when I have made no mistakes. “To remind you of your place.”
There are rewards, as well. Almost any desire I have, She will fulfill. The first gift She gave me was a black mask, to hide the scars and damage She had done to me. But I have learned not to trust Her presents. She always finds some way to hurt me with Her gifts. She seems to particularly find joy making me destroy the things and people I’ve grown attached to.
She usually appears to me in the same form She had in our original meetings. But She can take on many others. I have seen Her assume the appearance of hundreds of different girls. On some days, She doesn’t look like a human at all, but a puppet or doll. I can still hear Her voice speak to me, even in that form. I don’t try to understand how She takes on so many appearances. Such thoughts lead to more punishment.
Such has been my life for the past decade.
2
My next memory is of waking up in a field, with the police standing around me. I nearly panicked at first, thinking they had come to arrest me, but they were extremely kind and respectful. They said that they were glad to have found me, and that they would capture my abductors as soon as possible. When I talked about what had happened to me, I was told that my memories were confused by the drugs I had been forced to take. They took a few statements from me, and then let me go. It was the oddest experience. I told them about the man I’d killed, about the children I’d run over, and they just nodded and moved onto the next subject.
My life continued in much the same way it had before from that day. I’d even say that it began to improve after that day. I got a better job, married a beautiful woman, moved into a nice house, and even had children. Eight years passed. Eight years of mundane, joyful peace. The only reminder I ever had in all that time of that day was the rare nightmare.
Then came my wife and I’s fourth anniversary. We’d come back late, long after the babysitter had put our kids to sleep. I don’t know if there had been signs that something was wrong. Perhaps I couldn’t comprehend the thought that anything could go wrong that night. We were in the bedroom, and I was kissing my wife’s neck, when I heard her speaking in a voice that I hadn’t heard in eight years. “Yes, that’s good, slave.”
I pulled away, and saw that the woman I was with wasn’t my wife. Where she should have been was the girl from eight years ago, looking exactly the same as she had back then. Without the clothes she’d worn then, I could see that parts of her body were made of wood, which somehow melded with her flesh perfectly. Later, I would focus more on that oddity, but at that moment I only had one thought on my mind. “Where’s my wife?”
“Her? Who cares about that woman? More importantly….” She balled her hand into a fist and struck me on the cheek. The punch was stronger than anything someone Her size should have been able to pull off; it was enough to knock me off the bed. “I don’t remember saying you were allowed to stop.”
My head was spinning from the punch, but when I got my thoughts back together, I asked again. She vaulted off the bed so She could stand over me before answering. “While you were taking me out for that lovely dinner, she murdered her children. And then, when she realized what she’d done, the built made her kill herself. A very pathetic end.”
Waves of terror came over me as I looked into Her hellish eyes. She got onto Her knees so she was at my level, and moved as if She was going to hit me again. Instead, She hugged me.
“Oh, I’ve missed you so much! But absence only makes the heart grow fonder. Did you miss me as much as I missed you?” I couldn’t make my mouth move to answer Her. Even if I could have, I don’t know what I’d have said. “Of course you didn’t.” She pressed Her forehead against mine. “You didn’t even miss me a little bit. Ssh, ssh, no point in lying.” She put a finger against my lips. “I can see your thoughts. I can see how little you actually cared about me.” She tightened Her embrace around me, until it felt like She was crushing me. Then there was a blinding pain and a crack from my arms as She broke them. “How dare you.”
She let go of me, causing me to fall. I wanted to scream, but my mouth still couldn’t move. As I laid on the floor, She kicked me it the side, breaking a rib. “After everything I’ve done for you, what do you give me in return? Nothing!” She stomped Her foot on my chest, snapping more ribs. Lights flashed in my eyes and my vision spun around me, but I could still see Her manic smile through the pain. “You think you got to where you are by yourself? Don’t make me laugh! I got you the job, I got you the girl, I got everything good in your life for you! If not for me, you would still be making sandwiches in a grocery store for pennies!” She grabbed me by the throat, and pulled me up with both hands. “You are worthless without me. You should worship me simply because I deemed to notice someone as pathetic as you. Instead, you don’t care for me at all.”
She let go of me again, causing another jolt of pain when I hit the floor. That was followed by a different kind of pain as my broken bones moved themselves back into place. She laid down next to me and cradled my head in Her arm. “But I forgive you. I should have known your heart would be too weak to remain faithful. Don’t worry. I’ll teach you about loyalty, and gratitude, and love. Because you are mine.”
My life continued in much the same way it had before from that day. I’d even say that it began to improve after that day. I got a better job, married a beautiful woman, moved into a nice house, and even had children. Eight years passed. Eight years of mundane, joyful peace. The only reminder I ever had in all that time of that day was the rare nightmare.
Then came my wife and I’s fourth anniversary. We’d come back late, long after the babysitter had put our kids to sleep. I don’t know if there had been signs that something was wrong. Perhaps I couldn’t comprehend the thought that anything could go wrong that night. We were in the bedroom, and I was kissing my wife’s neck, when I heard her speaking in a voice that I hadn’t heard in eight years. “Yes, that’s good, slave.”
I pulled away, and saw that the woman I was with wasn’t my wife. Where she should have been was the girl from eight years ago, looking exactly the same as she had back then. Without the clothes she’d worn then, I could see that parts of her body were made of wood, which somehow melded with her flesh perfectly. Later, I would focus more on that oddity, but at that moment I only had one thought on my mind. “Where’s my wife?”
“Her? Who cares about that woman? More importantly….” She balled her hand into a fist and struck me on the cheek. The punch was stronger than anything someone Her size should have been able to pull off; it was enough to knock me off the bed. “I don’t remember saying you were allowed to stop.”
My head was spinning from the punch, but when I got my thoughts back together, I asked again. She vaulted off the bed so She could stand over me before answering. “While you were taking me out for that lovely dinner, she murdered her children. And then, when she realized what she’d done, the built made her kill herself. A very pathetic end.”
Waves of terror came over me as I looked into Her hellish eyes. She got onto Her knees so she was at my level, and moved as if She was going to hit me again. Instead, She hugged me.
“Oh, I’ve missed you so much! But absence only makes the heart grow fonder. Did you miss me as much as I missed you?” I couldn’t make my mouth move to answer Her. Even if I could have, I don’t know what I’d have said. “Of course you didn’t.” She pressed Her forehead against mine. “You didn’t even miss me a little bit. Ssh, ssh, no point in lying.” She put a finger against my lips. “I can see your thoughts. I can see how little you actually cared about me.” She tightened Her embrace around me, until it felt like She was crushing me. Then there was a blinding pain and a crack from my arms as She broke them. “How dare you.”
She let go of me, causing me to fall. I wanted to scream, but my mouth still couldn’t move. As I laid on the floor, She kicked me it the side, breaking a rib. “After everything I’ve done for you, what do you give me in return? Nothing!” She stomped Her foot on my chest, snapping more ribs. Lights flashed in my eyes and my vision spun around me, but I could still see Her manic smile through the pain. “You think you got to where you are by yourself? Don’t make me laugh! I got you the job, I got you the girl, I got everything good in your life for you! If not for me, you would still be making sandwiches in a grocery store for pennies!” She grabbed me by the throat, and pulled me up with both hands. “You are worthless without me. You should worship me simply because I deemed to notice someone as pathetic as you. Instead, you don’t care for me at all.”
She let go of me again, causing another jolt of pain when I hit the floor. That was followed by a different kind of pain as my broken bones moved themselves back into place. She laid down next to me and cradled my head in Her arm. “But I forgive you. I should have known your heart would be too weak to remain faithful. Don’t worry. I’ll teach you about loyalty, and gratitude, and love. Because you are mine.”
1
My name is Frederick Nealsen. And I am a slave.
For over ten years, I have served Her will. I have heard Her called many things in that time. The Puppet Queen. The Harlequin. The Wooden Girl. None of them can really be called her name. To give something a name is to know some aspect of it. But She defies understanding. She is all the chaos and power of a hurricane, striking with destructive fury and then fading away into the air. She speaks words of love with malice, and coats Her threats with affection. The same hand She uses to gently stroke your face will also be used to crush your throat, and you never know which of the two She will do when She reaches for you. She has forced me to love Her with more adoration than I believed the human heart could carry. And She has permitted me to hate Her with a loathing that burns brighter inside me than any star.
The sun was shining the day I met Her. I’d just finished my shift, making sandwiches inside a chain grocery store, and had gotten into my car. There’d been nothing particularly unusual about the day. Had it not been for my meeting with Her, it would have passed into the blur of forgettable days in a forgettable life.
After starting my car’s engine, I glanced at my rear view mirror and saw, to my surprise, a girl sitting in my back seat. There was nothing too visually remarkable about her. You could have picked almost any high school girl off the street, and ended up with someone similar. She wore a gray shirt with her blue jeans, and long dark hair that obscured her eyes from my sight. I had just started to ask the inevitable questions about her presence when She lunged at me and wrapped a tiny string around my neck, trapping me against the seat’s headrest and squeezing the air out of me.
“Your name is Fred Nealsen.” She said in a disinterested voice. “26 years old. Eldest son of Patrick Nealsen, deceased, and Samantha Nealsen. You have a younger brother, Richard Nealsen. You work in the deli at the grocer. You live in apartment 203 of the Riveria Apartments.” She let go of the string, and I could feel glorious air coming back into my lungs. “Now drive me home.”
When She gave that order, m hands grabbed the steering wheel, and my foot pushed down on the accelerator without any conscious will from me. We pulled into the street, and my foot pushed even further down, accelerating us well beyond the speed limit. I thought about stopping the car, but my hands and feet wouldn’t follow my commands anymore. We swerved through traffic, nearly hitting other cars dozens of times. When we sped through a red light, I heard the crash of cars behind us that had tried dodging out of the way. At another intersection we turned right so sharply we nearly fishtailed into a stop sign. Traffic was stopped ahead, due to congestion from an elementary school having just let out. I was sure we would crash right into the back of one of those stopped cars, but at the last second my hands yanked the wheel right, pulling us onto the sidewalk. I didn’t see what happened next. I kept my eyes closed the whole time. But I heard the screams of parents and children jumping out of the way, and the thumps of those who didn’t move fast enough.
When I opened my eyes, we were back on the street. I glanced at the mirror, and saw the girl was still sitting in the back seat, looking out the window with a bored expression. I continued driving, taking seemingly random turns, until we came to an older part of town that I wasn’t familiar with. There were significantly fewer people outside, and most of the buildings looked abandoned. The car finally screeched to a stop in front of an old theater. Some traces of the building’s old paint and the remnants of a few show posters remained clinging to the walls, but most of the building had decayed into a shanty mess of rotting wood and haphazard repairs, with a crude broadcasting tower built of scrap metal atop it.
My hands let go of the wheel, but they still weren’t acting on my will. I stepped out, and opened up one of the back seat doors. The girl was now wearing a long black dress, although there had been no time for her to change clothes. She stepped out of the car, and looked at me with a smile. That was the first time I saw her eyes. Both glass, with blue irises painted on. They looked as perfectly normal as glass eyes could, but when I looked at them, it felt as if I was looking into the depths of Hell.
“We’re in time for the show!” She said with an enthusiasm that strongly contrasted with Her previous boredom. She wrapped an arm around mine, and pressed Her body against me. “Let’s hurry inside.”
My legs continued to act on their own, walking with Her through the rotting doors and into the theater. A spotlight shone one us as we came through the door, temporarily blinding me. I heard a loud applause, and as my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw all the seats in the theater were filled. It was a varied collection of people, with no consistency of age, race, or gender. The only common theme amongst them was that they all had some kind of injury. Several had limbs in a cast, or bruises on their faces. In spite of that, they all smiled at the girl and me, continuing their applause without break.
The spotlight moved onto the stage, highlighting an extremely disfigured man in the center. He was hunchbacked, and his face looked like it had been smashed with a hammer and then pieced back together by someone with only a passing knowledge of the human body. He cringed and tried to shuffle away from the light, but it followed him as he moved across the stage.
A knife had appeared in the girl’s hand while I was looking away, which She offered me. “Now’s the time for your starring role! Time to slay the monster and save the damsel!” When I took the knife, She gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, then vanished.
I heard a scream coming from the stage. The girl had appeared there, with a spotlight on Her as well. She was cowering from the hunchbacked man, who limped toward Her saying, “My lady, why? Please… please don’t….”
His words were smothered by Her shouts of “Save me!” My body obeyed that command on its own, running down the aisles and onto the stage. When the man saw me, he tried to run, but his malformed legs prevented him from moving quickly. I tackled him, and stabbed the knife into his spine. His screams of pain made me want to stop, want to give anything to stop, but my arm kept bringing the knife down. Once he wasn’t struggling as much, I flipped him onto his back and stabbed through his stomach. Moved the knife upward with a sawing motion, tearing aside the ribs as they were revealed, cracked apart the sternum with my fist, until I could see the heart. I cut apart the arteries and blood vessels until I could pull it out.
It was revolting. Had I been able to, I would have thrown up. Instead, I offered it to the girl. She took it from me, and held it up to better catch the spotlight. The blood from it ran off Her clothes without leaving a stain. Then She threw the heart off the stage and embraced me. “I accept your tribute, slave.” She pulled back a little, holding me at arms’ length. “You have offered me a heart, and so I will give you mine. My love will grant you your every wish and desire. And I only ask for one thing in return.” She let go of me, and my legs tried to kneel so fast they collapsed and my face slammed into the floor. The girl grabbed my hair and yanked my head up, so I was looking at Her. With a finger She wiped away the blood from my nose and said, “You must give every ounce of your love to me.” Then She kissed me on the lips, and my whole body felt like it had been dunked in ice. After that, my memory is blank.
For over ten years, I have served Her will. I have heard Her called many things in that time. The Puppet Queen. The Harlequin. The Wooden Girl. None of them can really be called her name. To give something a name is to know some aspect of it. But She defies understanding. She is all the chaos and power of a hurricane, striking with destructive fury and then fading away into the air. She speaks words of love with malice, and coats Her threats with affection. The same hand She uses to gently stroke your face will also be used to crush your throat, and you never know which of the two She will do when She reaches for you. She has forced me to love Her with more adoration than I believed the human heart could carry. And She has permitted me to hate Her with a loathing that burns brighter inside me than any star.
The sun was shining the day I met Her. I’d just finished my shift, making sandwiches inside a chain grocery store, and had gotten into my car. There’d been nothing particularly unusual about the day. Had it not been for my meeting with Her, it would have passed into the blur of forgettable days in a forgettable life.
After starting my car’s engine, I glanced at my rear view mirror and saw, to my surprise, a girl sitting in my back seat. There was nothing too visually remarkable about her. You could have picked almost any high school girl off the street, and ended up with someone similar. She wore a gray shirt with her blue jeans, and long dark hair that obscured her eyes from my sight. I had just started to ask the inevitable questions about her presence when She lunged at me and wrapped a tiny string around my neck, trapping me against the seat’s headrest and squeezing the air out of me.
“Your name is Fred Nealsen.” She said in a disinterested voice. “26 years old. Eldest son of Patrick Nealsen, deceased, and Samantha Nealsen. You have a younger brother, Richard Nealsen. You work in the deli at the grocer. You live in apartment 203 of the Riveria Apartments.” She let go of the string, and I could feel glorious air coming back into my lungs. “Now drive me home.”
When She gave that order, m hands grabbed the steering wheel, and my foot pushed down on the accelerator without any conscious will from me. We pulled into the street, and my foot pushed even further down, accelerating us well beyond the speed limit. I thought about stopping the car, but my hands and feet wouldn’t follow my commands anymore. We swerved through traffic, nearly hitting other cars dozens of times. When we sped through a red light, I heard the crash of cars behind us that had tried dodging out of the way. At another intersection we turned right so sharply we nearly fishtailed into a stop sign. Traffic was stopped ahead, due to congestion from an elementary school having just let out. I was sure we would crash right into the back of one of those stopped cars, but at the last second my hands yanked the wheel right, pulling us onto the sidewalk. I didn’t see what happened next. I kept my eyes closed the whole time. But I heard the screams of parents and children jumping out of the way, and the thumps of those who didn’t move fast enough.
When I opened my eyes, we were back on the street. I glanced at the mirror, and saw the girl was still sitting in the back seat, looking out the window with a bored expression. I continued driving, taking seemingly random turns, until we came to an older part of town that I wasn’t familiar with. There were significantly fewer people outside, and most of the buildings looked abandoned. The car finally screeched to a stop in front of an old theater. Some traces of the building’s old paint and the remnants of a few show posters remained clinging to the walls, but most of the building had decayed into a shanty mess of rotting wood and haphazard repairs, with a crude broadcasting tower built of scrap metal atop it.
My hands let go of the wheel, but they still weren’t acting on my will. I stepped out, and opened up one of the back seat doors. The girl was now wearing a long black dress, although there had been no time for her to change clothes. She stepped out of the car, and looked at me with a smile. That was the first time I saw her eyes. Both glass, with blue irises painted on. They looked as perfectly normal as glass eyes could, but when I looked at them, it felt as if I was looking into the depths of Hell.
“We’re in time for the show!” She said with an enthusiasm that strongly contrasted with Her previous boredom. She wrapped an arm around mine, and pressed Her body against me. “Let’s hurry inside.”
My legs continued to act on their own, walking with Her through the rotting doors and into the theater. A spotlight shone one us as we came through the door, temporarily blinding me. I heard a loud applause, and as my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw all the seats in the theater were filled. It was a varied collection of people, with no consistency of age, race, or gender. The only common theme amongst them was that they all had some kind of injury. Several had limbs in a cast, or bruises on their faces. In spite of that, they all smiled at the girl and me, continuing their applause without break.
The spotlight moved onto the stage, highlighting an extremely disfigured man in the center. He was hunchbacked, and his face looked like it had been smashed with a hammer and then pieced back together by someone with only a passing knowledge of the human body. He cringed and tried to shuffle away from the light, but it followed him as he moved across the stage.
A knife had appeared in the girl’s hand while I was looking away, which She offered me. “Now’s the time for your starring role! Time to slay the monster and save the damsel!” When I took the knife, She gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, then vanished.
I heard a scream coming from the stage. The girl had appeared there, with a spotlight on Her as well. She was cowering from the hunchbacked man, who limped toward Her saying, “My lady, why? Please… please don’t….”
His words were smothered by Her shouts of “Save me!” My body obeyed that command on its own, running down the aisles and onto the stage. When the man saw me, he tried to run, but his malformed legs prevented him from moving quickly. I tackled him, and stabbed the knife into his spine. His screams of pain made me want to stop, want to give anything to stop, but my arm kept bringing the knife down. Once he wasn’t struggling as much, I flipped him onto his back and stabbed through his stomach. Moved the knife upward with a sawing motion, tearing aside the ribs as they were revealed, cracked apart the sternum with my fist, until I could see the heart. I cut apart the arteries and blood vessels until I could pull it out.
It was revolting. Had I been able to, I would have thrown up. Instead, I offered it to the girl. She took it from me, and held it up to better catch the spotlight. The blood from it ran off Her clothes without leaving a stain. Then She threw the heart off the stage and embraced me. “I accept your tribute, slave.” She pulled back a little, holding me at arms’ length. “You have offered me a heart, and so I will give you mine. My love will grant you your every wish and desire. And I only ask for one thing in return.” She let go of me, and my legs tried to kneel so fast they collapsed and my face slammed into the floor. The girl grabbed my hair and yanked my head up, so I was looking at Her. With a finger She wiped away the blood from my nose and said, “You must give every ounce of your love to me.” Then She kissed me on the lips, and my whole body felt like it had been dunked in ice. After that, my memory is blank.
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