Puppet Master

"A student's life is full of surprises. Here's one of them..."

Yes... A student's life is full of surprises... Not always pleasant ones. I learned this the hard way. This is my story...

I remember that school was a complete mess that day. No, not like usual. Much worse. But what can you expect on the day of the end of the school year? Students running chaotically with bouquets, parents wandering mournfully through the hallways, and the dry click of cameras could be heard everywhere. That's why I wasn't too surprised when Jake, a classmate and one of the biggest "freaks" in school, appeared before me, grinning like a maniac and holding a new Canon in his hands. In one deft movement, he raised the camera to his eyes. He stuck out his tongue slightly, assumed a concentrated expression, and pressed a button. My entire world was filled with an incredibly bright flash. For a moment, all I saw was impenetrable darkness. It took a few seconds for multicolored spots to emerge from the abyss of night. I was slowly regaining my most important sense.

"What are you doing, man?" I asked angrily, blinking rapidly to clear the riot of colors still swirling before my eyes. But I was only speaking to the blank walls. The boy was gone. I looked around. Empty. Not a soul in sight. I stood there for a moment, slightly confused. Finally, I just shrugged. I vaguely remembered that Jake was supposed to take pictures for the school yearbook. I continued down the hall. An absurd thought flashed through my mind—"Maybe I caught his eye?" I chuckled. Sometimes I'm afraid of my own imagination.

I was just passing the geography office when I realized something very important. I slapped myself hard on the forehead, looking horrified.

"Jimmy, you idiot!" I said emphatically. "You forgot to bring the box of chocolates!" "What should I do?" I said, my voice breaking. I looked around in panic. What should I do? What should I do? I couldn't get home, and unfortunately, the chances of finding a box of chocolates at school weren't very good. My brain cells were working at full speed. Another moment, and my head would have burst like a ripe watermelon. Luckily, I quickly found a solution.

"The kitchen!" It seemed so obvious. I pictured the vase of roses I'd seen there just yesterday. Surely no one would be offended if I borrowed one, right? Well, I know you don't give men flowers, but this was a really crucial situation.

I ran toward the dining hall. I opened the door slightly, praying it wouldn't creak. I breathed a sigh of relief; it was indeed a very well-mannered door. I checked to make sure no one was nearby. It was negative. I slipped inside and tiptoed into the room where the cooks normally resided. Now, thankfully, it was empty. If anyone had discovered my presence, it would surely have caused quite a stir.

I finally saw the purpose of my journey. Now I knew how Jason must have felt gazing at the Golden Fleece. I quickly reached out for the largest and most beautiful flower. The bud was just making its first tentative attempts to explore the world, but even at this early stage of development, its fragrance was truly captivating.

I gently removed the rose from the vase and almost dropped it. I stifled a cry of pain and surprise. I felt warmth spread slowly across my skin. I looked at my finger in disbelief. I cringed. I barely suppressed the torrent of curses that rose to my lips. This is exactly why I don't like flowers... Thorns, ugh... Who needs that?

I glared at the plant and headed toward the chemistry classroom. I should have thanked Mr. Stevenson for not failing me. Repeating a grade wasn't exactly an attractive prospect.

I ran into a lot of acquaintances along the way. They smiled at me, some even waved, but then quickly scurried off to their own business. Everyone had pressing matters to attend to.

Finally, I arrived. The classroom door was wide open. I peeked inside. The teacher was hunched over his desk, filling out some paperwork or something. He was the only one in the room.

I took a deep breath and strode purposefully inside. Morgan Stevenson looked up in surprise. He wasn't a very popular teacher; he hadn't received a single gift today. In my opinion, he was quite alright, though. Yes, his sense of humor had been surgically removed, and in its place was implanted a downright unhealthy respect for the law, but at least he was fair. He didn't favor anyone. I was terribly irritated by the "pets" who, no matter what they did, were always praised. I had no chance of becoming a "footstool," as I called them in my mind, because I was neither rich nor, needless to say, particularly "polite" and diligent. That's why I liked Mr. Stevenson. To him, everyone was truly equal.

I smiled at him as I approached. He stopped working and rose from his chair. A look of utter surprise appeared on his face. He had clearly mentally prepared himself to return home empty-handed.

"Oh, what was that for?" he asked, his voice trembling with emotion.

"For everything, sir," I laughed. His question disarmed me. I handed him the rose firmly, resting the bud on his broad chest. He caught the stem in both hands. His lips stretched into a broad smile. Tears glistened in his eyes. He leaned against the board. He paled and began to shake slightly. Two salty rivers flowed from his eyes. He was completely unraveling. Too much emotion and you go crazy. Some people are like that.

"Jimmy..." he whispered tenderly and sat down at his desk. He leaned back in his chair and rested his head on the back, still gazing at me gratefully. I was truly proud of myself. I mentally patted myself on the back, congratulating myself on a brilliant idea. After all, doing good deeds is very pleasant, isn't it?

Suddenly, a blinding light flashed to my right. My head hurt as if hit with a hammer. I turned around in surprise, once again driving away the geyser of bright colors. A moment later, a truly disturbing sight emerged from the glaring colors. I saw myself standing inside an area surrounded by yellow and black tape. Behind the fence, a large crowd had gathered, frantically snapping photos. A circle of anxious onlookers stood at a distance.

"What's going on here?" I asked myself. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement. I turned my head and looked directly into the eyes of an elderly policewoman, who was pointing a gun at me.

"Don't move, or I'll shoot you!" she shouted. Her face was pure contempt and disgust. I had no doubt she was ready to carry out her threat.

"But what's actually going on here?!" I asked desperately. My mind was in a terrible turmoil. The policewoman stared at me for a moment, trying to gauge my intentions. She glanced anxiously at the man in a white coat standing next to her. He nodded, barely perceptible. The woman gave me a disapproving look and nodded at something behind me. I turned as if in slow motion, afraid of what I might see. My heart was beating faster than it had ever been in my life. It felt like those dull thuds would fill the entire room.

Finally, I was face to face with the truth. Cruel and painful. I unconsciously pressed my hands to my mouth, stifling the scream of terror rising in my throat.

Mr. Stevenson with his head on the armrest. His lips slightly parted. A dried trail of saliva glistened on his chin. A grimace of terror on his face. And... and... and a huge knife plunged into my chest...

I felt faint. Blood was everywhere—on the desk, on the floor, on the wall. What happened here...? Jesus... Mr. Stevenson, dead! This... This is some sick, surreal dream! I want to wake up, I want to wake up....

I turned my pale face toward the policewoman.

"Why?" I whispered. Even my lips had turned chalk white.

"You should know best, you little freak!" the woman blurted out. She kept looking at me as if I were a squashed cockroach.

Time lost all meaning to me. For a brief moment, I was excluded from its pale. I slowly shifted my gaze from one frozen face to another. They all held the same expression—contempt, horror, fear. I was lost. Nothing was clear or obvious anymore. I was like a lone castaway on an ocean of madness.

Suddenly, an ethereal blast of understanding hit me in the face. Accompanied by the Rolling Stones' "Paint It Black" (I'd always thought it was a "sick" song, but at that moment it had already crossed all boundaries), the scales fell from my eyes. Suddenly, everything became terrifyingly clear. I was seeing a slideshow in my head, like something from my worst nightmare. The edges of the images were distorted, and the overall view was slightly obscured by fog.

I saw exactly what had happened since I'd met Jake.

*Flash*

A rapidly moving corridor. A kitchen. A wooden knife block, from which a hand (no, it can't be mine...) is pulling out the longest blade. A quick run. People screaming and fleeing in panic. Another corridor. Empty. A helpless Puppet (no! It's not me!!!) peers into the classroom. The teacher hasn't noticed her yet (run! For God's sake, it's not there yet...). Too late. The dummy is moving resolutely towards him. The chemist jumps up in terror. "Oh, what was that for?" he asks. His voice quivers with fear. "For everything, sir." A metallic, merciless laugh and a violent shove...

"NO!!!" I screamed, falling to my knees. I buried my face in my hands. I was shaking, racked with hysterical sobs. I don't remember what happened next. All I remember are some tugging, soft voices, and that white room... And that's what it was like, sir.

The journalist added one last sentence and closed his notebook.

"Thank you for telling me your story. It will surely intrigue our readers," he bowed his head politely. A hint of pity crossed his face. He also thought I was crazy...

Suddenly I shuddered, a cold shiver running through me. I didn't know what was happening. I involuntarily turned my face towards the door.

"Hey, boy, are you feeling all right?" he asked, slightly frightened.

I didn't answer. There was no point.

The door to my vegetation cave slowly opened with a slight creak. Yellow lamplight flooded in from the hallway. First, a disproportionately long shadow grew on the floor. Then, the figure emerged in all its glory.

My heart stopped.

"Jake?" I whispered weakly.

A dry crack. *Flash*