Dance of the Marionettes

An attic. A garret hiding its secrets. Old toys, furniture, ornaments. Priceless antiques

whose value no one knows, that no one treats as they deserve, that no one

remembers. Clothes no longer worn. Disused, outdated appliances hidden under

white sheets unsuitable for sleeping. All of this shrouded in darkness. A dusty curtain

, unwashed for years, hangs in a small, dimly lit triangular window

. And in the middle of the floor lies a beautiful, antique rug. All of this, as if frozen

in time, awaits that one sound. That one sight. A signal that might be their

salvation, or at least a chance for entertainment, or the arrival of

a new companion.

Patience is a virtue, so they are patient. In silence, disturbing no one, they wait.

Hoping that they will finally be treated with the respect they deserve, that they will be

admired again. They will feel needed again. A beautiful porcelain doll will get new

dresses, the playful clown in a box will once again surprise and entertain. Precious

porcelain and crystal will once again be used for meals and drinks on important occasions.

Magnificent wooden furniture will once again decorate rooms, serving their

country once again, and expensive jewelry will delight everyone. Puppets

will play interesting roles in puppet shows, teddy bears will have

eyes sewn on, and children will once again snuggle up to them.

And finally, they are rewarded. The sound of footsteps on the creaking wooden stairs. The

doorknob turns, the door opens, letting a glimmer of light into the room.

After a moment's hesitation, the little figure finally enters the room. He gropes for the light switch, giving

the long-awaited signal for the old openwork lamp to

shine. The curious clown, unable to contain himself any longer, jumped

out of the box gleefully, revealing his brightly painted face, grinning from ear to ear,

with a set of enormous white teeth. However, this didn't amuse their guest.

A small girl standing by the door curled into a ball in fear and began to scream.

Teddy bears, stuffed on top of the wardrobe, fell down next to her to calm her. This, however,

made matters worse. Trying to escape, she tugged at the doorknob. However, it was stuck. The poor,

terrified child ran to the window, accidentally stepping on a beautiful doll, crushing

its delicate hand in the process. Shards of porcelain scattered across the carpet. A quiet scream,

like the rustling of the wind, echoed through the darkest recesses of the attic.

The sign everyone had been waiting for turned into a signal to fight. Revenge for all those years

of confinement, for the humiliation of having such magnificent

objects locked away in a dusty attic. The doll's disfigurement was also a reason, but the least important.

The light bulb in the lamp shattered, sending darkness once more. The girl huddled on the windowsill.

She didn't cry, didn't scream, for she lacked the strength; she'd lost it climbing onto that cursed

piece of wood. Through the window, she could see the outlines of the things in the room.

The teddy bears slowly, laboriously rose from the ground, approaching her. The clown, springing, turned

his head toward her. His eyes looked different now. They weren't joyful, but rather furious.

They resembled triangles, not circles. The smile changed from playful to

psychogenic, terrifying, striking fear in an adult, let alone a small child.

The porcelain doll was now on its feet as well. The marionettes hanging from the ceiling

moved rapidly, as if in time to frantic music. A sheet from the mirror by the window

slid down onto the girl, who was trembling. She sobbed quietly, praying

fervently. She mentally apologized to her mother for breaking her word—forgoing in despite the prohibition.

But she was so curious about what lay there. She wanted to discover the hidden secret of the old

attic. Now she regretted it. Now she knew. Curiosity is the first step to hell. To

death. Because that was what awaited her. Death. She recognized the silhouette of the doll

she had crushed before her. The toy's arm, now ending in sharp edges, rose to

the level of her neck. The girl lifted the sheet so she could see more.

All the things from the attic were gathered around her, and the doll stood atop a stack

of teddy bears, staring with enormous black button eyes at the poor

child. Most of them had only one eye. The clown laughed, swaying in all

directions. The puppets danced even faster than before. Even the furniture seemed to

shift its position to be closer to its victim.

"I'm sorry," the little blonde whispered. "I didn't mean to." The doll smiled at her,

giving the child the false impression that it was over, that she had forgiven her, and everything would be

alright. She would return to her room and never come back. She even straightened up, wanting

to jump down to the floor, but then the doll made a quick movement of its hand, severing the girl's

arteries. Blood stained the snow-white sheets, the dusty curtain, and

the murderous toy's beautifully ornate dress. The beautiful silver tableware shot out like a slingshot.

hastening the child's death.

The clown laughed, returning to his former position. The furniture and cuddly toys did so in silence.

The puppets froze in an instant. Only the doll stood over the body, the sheet

covering it once more.

And the waiting began anew. But this time it would be shorter. This time it would

end as they desired. The beautiful porcelain doll would get new dresses, a new hand, the playful clown in the box would once again surprise and entertain. Meals would once again be made

of precious porcelain and crystal on important occasions. Magnificent wooden furniture would decorate rooms, serving their lord once again. And expensive jewelry would arouse everyone's admiration. The puppets would play interesting roles in puppet shows, teddy bears would have eyes sewn on, and children would once again snuggle up to them .