The Puppet Master

“He was a puppet master, a psychopath. I should know, he’s the one who made me what I am today. He took everything and everyone from me, even my innocence, he made my life a living hell, so I sent him there.” She laughed, a blood-curdling, bone-chilling laugh. “And the worst part is, I didn’t feel anything when I killed him; his blood painted my hands, my clothes and I was happy. I didn’t feel anything then, but later I was terrified; I was terrified because I had turned into something I utterly despised. I didn’t even know who I was anymore. I had turned into something so vile, so terrible that it was slowly eating me from the inside until I couldn’t bear it. The puppet master pulled one last string before he left this world forever. He turned me into him.

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There was a story involved with this, one of emotional horror more than physical ones, one of a young naive girl broken down, and one of her rising defiantly from the ashes and exacting her revenge. But this one small paragraph feels much better than the story I might never write.

Cruel and Evil

A little girl watches from behind the curtains as a Pied Piper named Death plays a tune. A silent tune immune to children. The little girl watches as the brand of an inverted torch pulls everyone towards the couple that possess it. Blood is everywhere, their screams echo throughout. No one remembers afterwards, except the girl. She cries alone that night because her parents are no longer there to comfort her.

The girl has grown now. She understands Death’s melody but isn’t affected by it. She was innocent before, too pure. She is corrupt now, too evil.

She sleeps without Death having to sing his lullaby. Sometimes, she looks at people around her, wondering who will make the fatal strike.

Her time comes and she is unprepared. Unprepared for death but prepared for a battle. The God in question would have chuckled at her defiance, but sadly he isn’t around anymore.

She is disappointed. Not because of the lack of the fatal blow but because of how ridiculously easy it is to turn the tables around.

It feels like she is having a constant battle with Death’s remaining puppets. It is not even worthy of calling a battle, but she does anyways. A girl can hope, right?

The world is imperfect without Death, as it could give rise to people like her. However, she can’t deny that she and Death are not that different.

Cruel and Evil indeed.

The Red Snow

Crunch… Crunch… The snow crunched beneath her feet as Vanessa walked alone. Her destination was far but she was determined and besides she loved it. The walk yes, but not the snow. She hated the plain whiteness of it, hated the way the white snow would crunch. It was missing some color, it was missing beauty. It was missing the color Red, the beautiful color Red.

Vanessa loved walking alone, alone with her thoughts, her beautiful thoughts. She hated it when someone joined her, kind of like what was happening right now. Vanessa hated the lost travelers who had joined her hoping that she would show them the correct way. She absolutely loathed the two of them. She showed them the way though, the way to the Doors of Death.

The snow was Red… The color of Blood… It was simply perfect. After all, Red makes everything beautiful. Vanessa walked on, her boots crunching the beautiful Red Snow beneath her. The trail of the red footsteps lead back to the pool of blood and two bodies lying in a heap. The faces of the two lost travelers was as delicious, their expressions just as lovely as the glorious sight of the Red Snow.

Vanessa walked on. Her destination was far but she was determined. She had a smile on her beautiful face, a smile that accented perfectly with the red footsteps. 

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Because it’s spooky season, I thought I would write some spooky short stories. After all, there is nothing better than putting on some creepy music and reading some woeful tales of blood and horror.