The Puppeteer

## ORIGIN STORY: The Puppeteer by BleedingHeartWorks

Jonathan Blake was born July the 25th, 1974 in Yulee, Florida to Mary Blake (Hernandez) and Christopher Blake. Early on in his childhood, Jonathan became very fascinated with the world of musicals and theater, something that both of his parents encouraged him to continue with. Through this, he’d do anything to feed his obsession. Watching late hours on TV became something of the ordinary day, as well with hanging around the theater in town as much as he could. Jonathan soon turned to be the oldest child in the family, with his one younger brother and three younger sisters.

Because of his parents both working two jobs to stabilize their big family, he was often left with taking responsibility for the others during the days. He was taught to care for his siblings as at an early age, which brought him up to become almost like a parent for his siblings. The older he became, the more he seemed to feel worn out and exhausted, but was pushed further so he could still care for his family when his parents weren’t there.

His early teenage years went by as the start of High School came closer, something that Jonathan felt like he had been awaiting his whole life for. From of the constant care of his younger siblings, he hadn’t had a lot of chances to make friends and saw this as a new chance for him to make his own life happen.

In freshman year, he joined a Theater Club to invest himself further in his interest for drama and of course to meet others who shared the same interest. And even with his introvert ways, he managed to make friends with one of the girls named Emra, who was also in the same class as him.

Emra was in many ways one of the popular kids at school. She was pretty, fun and talented, a girl that was often asked out by the boys. But since she aspired to become a professional ballerina and dancer, those requests were often denied. But as Jonathan, she had a soft spot for theater, and was often put to the leading female roles of the plays they both participated in.

Jonathan had never experienced such a close bond with someone else before and instantly became very close to her. The two of them could often be seen sitting together at lunch and small talking during breaks. Even with their different popularity status, the two of them never stopped hanging out. Eventually Jonathan asked Emra out and they started dating, something that everyone around them had seen coming from a million miles away.

During the entirety of High School the two of them were inseparable. Emra never failed to be there for Jonathan when he was having difficulties with his depression and Jonathan never missed out on standing up for Emra when she needed to talk things out about her demanding parents. On several occasions, Jonathan would pick Emra up late hours at her house to then go back to his place and just hang out, playing guitar and sharing the love for their shared interest.

It seemed as if it was a perfect love story.

But as their last year at high school started to come to an end, so did their relationship.

Back at in Emra’s home, her parents who had been unknown about their relationship presented her with an ultimate choice; If she were to be going to Ballet school through their sponsorship she had to break up with Jonathan. Unable to ignore her dream and long-time goal, she promised to break up with him as soon as she could.

Emra started to act more and more distant towards Jonathan, of course. He was clueless, starting to suspect if he had done anything wrong to deserve that kind of treatment from her. At many points he tried to talk to her, but would usually only get a short answer from her in return. Slowly his dreams about their future life was falling apart and soon the two stopped speaking to each other. As time went on, the two of them both graduated high school. Emra disappeared off to her future dreams, leaving the small town and Jonathan in it.

As time went on, Jonathan started to withdraw himself more and more away from people. He said goodbye to his parents and moved to new apartment across the city, away from the old neighborhood and streets he was so used to. His high school friends soon became an old memory and for them, Jonathan became the same. He started to cut off all contact with any human being, residing in his tiny one-room apartment.

Weeks seemed to go on with his entire world just standing still. Slowly it was making him go mad. On several nights he’d pace back and forth, feeling a voice in the back of his head nagging him on how to solve the situation. Without him in the world, no one would notice a change.

And one night, he finally made up his mind.

Too emotional to write a suicide note or call someone to say his last goodbye, the rope that had once been used when moving in suddenly seemed to have it’s final purpose.

The attempt to commit suicide didn’t go over fast however, as he jumped from the kitchen table with the rope around his throat he wasn’t able to snap his neck off at an instant moment. Instead his own suicide was dragged out, going on forever until all air had been cut off and his brain dozed off in one last sway of emotions.

Anger, Helplessness. *Sorrow.*

*But he never thought he’d come back.*

## The Puppeteer by BleedingHeartWorks

I had this doll for quite a while now.

It was a beautiful porcelain doll. You know, the way that most porcelain doll looks like. I was just like that. Wavy, long blonde curls. Black eyes. A beautiful pink and red dress with a typical headband with lace around the edges. It was a doll I received from my mother at an early age. At that age I always thought it was such a pretty doll - A perfect look. My grandmother had almost fifty dolls of that kind. All of them beautiful, perfect porcelain dolls. But this one in particular, the blonde with the red dress, I will always remember.

Because this is the one that would be the death of me.

I lived alone for quite awhile, had now. I had just gotten into college, seeing my whole life lay in front of me and all I had to do was to just go and pick out what I wanted. Easy as that. I was aiming for Psychology - A subject I had started to respect and enjoy the last three years. Seeing as my mother was a nurse and my dad a therapist, It was an obvious choice for me. But moving so far away from all my friends and family wasn't as easy as I thought.

Sure, My roommate was a nice person, but maybe not as chatty as I had hoped to. I wasn't a person to just sit quiet in my room and never speak until I had to. I enjoyed getting out, see friends…But I didn't have any time or friends around. No one would talk to me unless I wanted help from my teacher in school or my roommate had forgotten to buy milk. It was lonely to say the least.

Homework was the only thing to keep me distracted from feeling lonely. I didn't had time to try to even make friends. Friends was a silly thing after all. I didn't had time to go and party, maybe find somebody. It was worthless either way and my dad would skin me alive if I didn't keep my focus on the schoolwork.

The only thing I had brought from home to remind me of my family was that doll. The girlish toy was displayed on the desk in front of my bed, smiling against me when I needed someone to talk to or just watch over me as I slept. It was me and that doll the whole time. That fucking ugly doll.

As time went on, I started to pull myself more and more away from any human contact as possible. The schoolwork was getting over my head and the regret of going here began filling my head. But I couldn't quit now and go home, not after my parents had paid everything for my college and car to get here. I just had to stay and make the best out of it. I really tried hard. But with each day the hatred of other people took the hold of me and I would need hours alone, just sitting in my room to cool off. It was getting harder to get out each day. My roommate despised me, I could tell. But I didn't blame her. I was acting like a jerk. I refused to take my share of the daily chores - wiping the floors, taking out the trash…But I couldn't do it. I was being pulled into a dark hole.

And with the loneliness came the paranoia.

At first I accepted being lonely. But it had reached that point where I started to realize my dumb behavior, trying to reach out to people among to tell them I wasn't feeling alright. There was only stress and nobody had time to talk to a stupid college student. It was only the nerves. I hoped it was. I locked myself in my room and I couldn't go out anymore. I had to send in to my teachers and cancel the classes, day after day. But it didn't matter. They didn't send anything in search for me. So I just kept spinning in my room, week out and week in. It was an evil circle I couldn't get out of.

Then it happened. My room had been my cage. I wouldn't eat; I couldn't. It even reached that point where my roommate would come and knock on my door to see everything was ok. But I didn't open it up. I just yelled back in reply that she would go away. She did.

She didn't care enough to make a second attempt. She never knocked on my door again. It was just me. Me and my doll watching over me and every breath I took.

Then there was that night.

This night, actually.

It was a night that I was so used to spending. Alone. I didn't even bother trying to turn on the lights as I stepped up from my bed and pulled on sweater and a pair of untied converse before I made my way out of my room in so many days. I needed fresh air and my window was broken, unable to open it up. It was in the middle of the night, maybe even morning. It was still dark outside so I just assumed it was still night even though I hadn't checked the time yet. Couldn't care less.

Anyway, It was a pain in the ass to come out of the room to not wake my stupid roommate up. All I needed was to get out for a minute or two to gather some air, maybe go out and buy some cigarettes. I had promised myself to stop smoking but lately, that was the only thing I had been doing. Smoking. I only snuck out late at night to go and get me some new cigs. It was a bad thing, I knew. But it was the only thing to keep me going and kept me awake and safe.

But that particular night, there was something strange. Someone had unlocked the gate out to the street. It hadn't happened before and I thought the landlord held a hard hand to keep it locked at all times. Didn't bother. I just pushed the little red box out of the pocket and started smoking. The good thing about the night was that no one was around, no one to annoy me with their stupid voices. It was quiet, maybe just a car driving by. But then, no more than that. It was peaceful.

A few minutes after gaining some cold on my warm skin and some smoke inside of my lungs, I decided to go back in and maybe try to watch some television. Nothing good aired at night, but it was always worth a try.

I stepped back into the building and shrugged the last bit of unwanted cold off, making myself ready to sneak back into my room. But as soon as I came to the staircase, there was something in the way. Or, someone. Someone was standing in the stairs.

I had to admit, it did scare me to some point but a second later, I was back in my 'not give a single fuck' state and tried to walk up the stairs without confronting the person standing in the way. At first I thought it was my roommate, but the shadow of the person was too…manly. Too big to be the petite roommate that I knew.

I tried to pass the odd stranger and just slightly bumped my elbow into his. But he didn't move or spoke. He just stood there. It was creeping me out. The scenario was too freaky. But of course, there was other students in this apartment building just waiting to scare the shit out of some other poor first year student. But I wasn't the one to be fooled.

But I didn't stop until I heard a sound. It was one of those sounds where it just caused your concentration to break shut. It was…distracting. Scaring. Unnerving. I couldn't continue on, so I just froze in position and tried to turn around to face him.

At first, there was a cracking sound - the sound that had startled me. Then there was sobbing. A young man's voice of sobbing. But it wasn't human. Yeah, Maybe to some degree. But the voice was pitching up; Like it was breaking through a bad static television screen. I stood only a few steps away from the man in the shadow. I wanted to break away from my sudden frozen state of mind - But I couldn't. I was stuck, like my feet had been nailed to the stairs.

I was trying to speak, but he spoke before I had the chance to. It was getting clearer to see now, since spending some more time in the darkness helped the vision to clear up. He was wearing some kind of jacket, black. Everything black. A sewn cap, with strings falling out from a hole in the back. Also black. His hair was torn but long; Like he hadn't been able to cut it for a while...Or showered it.

His appearance was etching inside of my mind, but his voice appeared like a dagger in my ears. When he spoke, he made off another static noise, like a broken radio. But he spoke in words. Tried to calm me down. But I was already too scared to try to bring myself to relax.

"You're alone here, Aren't you?"

I swallowed hard. The thought of somebody spying on me this entire time was filling my head like urging vomit, feeling disgusted by this man and his voice. I just shook my head. No response. I couldn't give him a reply. I should have. Maybe it had changed this whole situation for the better. Maybe I hadn't been here now, scared for my life. But I was. And I knew he knew that as well.

But when I didn't give him the answer he expected, he turned to me. And his sight was one of the most terrifying yet fascinating faces I had ever seen. He wasn't scarred or wounded in anyway to make me feel uncomfortable by his appearance.

But his eyes. And his mouth. There was a weird glow. A golden, orange glow. It filled both of his eyeballs and mouth, his teeth shining through in a bright yellow light. It glowed in the dark and it casted a light across us. On the stairs, the floor…On me. And I could see his smirk on his grey face. That's when I snapped.

It wasn't human. And I had to get away from there.

I broke through the invisible bonds and threw myself up the stairs, running up quickly as my untied shoes slammed against the wooden floor. I fled to my room without any other second thought. Hopefully, My roommate that I had been ignoring for so many weeks would hear me. And call the police.

I closed the door after me and I locked the door, my stumbling feet bringing me across the floor and into the desk; knocking my precious family doll down on the floor. The porcelain broke and I gasped in panic, trying to recollect myself and my thoughts. There was no more noise after I had slammed the door to my room. No roommate coming after me, No weird glowing man in the stairwell. Just me and my broken doll; laying on the floor. I tried to scream or cry, call for any help at all. It wasn't real. I had become too crazy. Insane. After spending so many months just being alone, this is what had happened. I was laying on the floor, broken and shattered in pieces. I didn't knew what to believe.

I didn't sleep. I sat on the floor, pacing back and forth by crawling the best I could. The cigarette from before now just sat like a needle in my throat now. I was thirsty but I couldn't move out to the kitchen to drink anything. Maybe he was there. Still waiting for me to come out. But I wasn't moving out of my spot. I never did.

But an hour of complete silence in the room, I began to calm down and stand up to try to calm myself down. There was still that feeling of being watched. And I knew the feeling too well. The feeling of being paranoid and lonely all came down to this. A breakdown.

Once I remembered the doll being broken; I immediately started to try to patch it together. It was like the only thing I had in focus; My best friend. The doll. I managed to get a needle and thread in my room and some glue to get the doll back to it's former glory. But it wasn't easy. No matter how hard I tried, the doll just would fall back together. It became an endless attempt of nothing. I tried again and again. But it just would fall in pieces.

My only friend.

I became too tired of the sudden panicking and the fixing of the doll; I just passed out on my bed. But I curled up together in a ball with the blanket over my head, somehow imagining that no monster under the bed could reach me now. All I wanted was too sleep.

I didn't knew he would come back.

This time it was different, however. This time, I welcomed it. I was tired of running all the time and I would rather die in my sleep than face another day being lonely again. And now with my only friend broken, what was I supposed to do?

It was tiring, the way he approached me this time. It was like I was asleep but still I could control my body. Like a lucid dream. I wouldn't dare to step into another day. Tonight, it would end. Just like I had been afraid that it would. But I didn't care anymore. Didn't bother. I just wanted to have a long sleep and never wake up again. Never face the loneliness again.

He came back to me. With his hands guiding me up from my bed, He wrapped his mind around mine as I tried to see. But the only thing I could still see was his grey hands, holding mine tight. But suddenly there was a sensation I wasn't sure I could feel. Of floating.

Alike a puppet, he cut two open cuts on my wrists. But it wasn't…across. More like it was from the center of my arm and down. he reached for something. Muscles. Something to peel out and hang unto. The bad thing was; I allowed him to do it. My struggle had become too much to bear with. And with the long pieces of muscles hanging out of the cuts on my wrists, he started to pull at them. He pulled at them like he wanted to control my body and arms, how it all came together in reaction to my nerve system and skeleton. He knew how it worked.

Yet, there was no pain. No pain that filled my heart or body, just another piece of my mind staying at ease again. It was a wonderful feeling.

It was like nothing else mattered.

And as he continued to cut me open, he began singing.

*"They call me the Puppeteer*

*My fingers are thin and my hands are stained with my tears*

*For the puppets I steer*

*with my strings and dreams.''*

Now I could see him clearer. The man who I had just hated with all of my might, I now welcomed to finish off my endless suffering. Maybe it had been he who had forced me into this thinking? Maybe he was the one to blame for everything I had done to myself? Was this all in my head - Or was it real?

*"They call me the Puppeteer*

*I had no friends, alike you.*

*For nobody saw the value of my friendship*

*But in the end they all became my friends*

*with my strings and dreams.''*

It took me only a minute to loose every sense of my touch. My nerve system had been crushed under the hand of this man - This thing, breaking every bone in my body. I could feel he twisting my ribs and twisting the hip bones. All for it to make it easier for him to turn him into what he saw me fitting to be. It was like the long pieces of torn muscles was strings; Controlling my limbs and my head flailing from side to side. All I could see was his smile, so I smiled back.

*"They call me the Puppeteer,*

*My body dark and my eyes hunger of gold.*

*In my eyes, No one is alone.*

*And with my strings and dreams,*

*You shall be my friend too.*''

The last feeling I could feel was his hand tugging hard around my neck. Then. Snap. At first, I was afraid to see death approaching me this way. I had never thought of it this way. I would have said no and refused, if I could have decided it all on my own. But I didn't.

I said yes.

With a broken neck, Death was just half a second away. Then there was nothing but a golden smile and his warm hands, holding my strings up as my body fell.

Early the other morning, My roommate found me. Dead. I had committed suicide by hanging myself in the fan in the ceiling, assuring my death. I had jumped from the bed. Besides me, was that doll. The broken porcelain doll with the red dress and lovely blonde hair. You may be wondering how I'm writing this to you right now, or how I found my way to contact you. I found it necessary to write down my story before I passed on.

This is my legacy, This is what I'm leaving behind.

I couldn't stand the loneliness anymore. I couldn't stand facing the problems on my own. It took so long. Too long.

Dear mom and dad,

I'm so sorry.

## The Puppeteer II: Motherly Love by BleedingHeartWorks

It all began when I started to notice quick changes in my mother.

No, it began way earlier than that when I really think about it. Years.  Maybe even before I could remember the difference between right and wrong, which is a pretty long time ago. I had always been one of the two brothers in my family. Our mother was single, she always had been ever since I could remember. Our father had bailed out on us when the news about me had arrived. We loved our mother, we really did. She bought us nice clothes even though she couldn't afford it, providing necessary food and making a good home for us. Everything was great, my mom just had some issues with drinking.

It wasn't just a problem, it was a big problem. She stayed single even though she tried to meet others. It would always go well in the beginning until she would change her mind and show the next man out the door. Always the same story with her.

I felt very…alone. My brother wasn't very interested in playing with me, seeing he was about five years older and he always thought of me as the annoying little sibling. But all I wanted was company.

I didn't find any success in making friends in school or during my spare time. I just spent every moment alone. My mom didn't care, of course. She was too busy trying to finish up her work, so she could spend the last hours at home drinking her evenings away.

But I guess every single second of loneliness brought something out of me. I started to…daydream. A lot. Making imaginary friends was one of my favorite hobbies. Yes, a hobby. I made new ones so often it was hard to keep up - even for me.

You see, there was this particular imaginary friend.

He wasn't like the others. This was the only one who gave me more peace than anything. He'd play with me, of course, but he only came around night time. Then we'd talk and fool around making super sure my mom didn't hear my cheerful giggling. He was an expert on many things, but he was the best at crafting and making me puppets. Every day he'd turn up with a new doll, in any design I wanted it to be. That was his thing.

The Puppet Man.

I always managed to escape the fact that I had imaginary friends, but with him…It was hard to deny he was actually there. Because I knew he was. Every night when he said I had to sleep, he stood by for another hour just to watch and make sure that I was actually falling asleep. His golden, glowing eyes observing me from afar in the darkness. I stared back at him. His grey face was keeping me calm as he kept smiling towards me. I fell asleep every night.

But I couldn't talk to anyone about the creature visiting me every night.

It was…odd.

Time went on as it should've. I grew up, so did my brother. Only thing that seemed to stay the same was mom’s drinking habits. My brother moved out around the age of 18, he couldn’t put up with her anymore.  I was only 12 at the time and I wouldn't get out of my home for a long, long time. I was waiting patiently though, I suppose that was the only thing I could do when being so…alone.

My imaginary friend never left however, and it started to become a problem. He continued to visit me every single evening, keeping me company. I started to ignore him, I was mad… had to be.  At 12 years old the whole imaginary friend deal was ridiculous. I had other things to do anyway. Homework, playing on my PlayStation 2. I was…content. Not happy. Just neutral. I didn't feel lonely, I left that thought a long time ago. Yet there he was…staring at me with his face hidden beneath the shadows of my room, glowing eyes studying me. Another year passed.

No success.

I eventually got tired of everything. School was being a downer and my mom got worse with her drinking. Even to that point where she started to self harm. She refused to talk to me, even when I tried to. She lost her job, eventually. It was something I had wanted to see happen for a long time, it always seemed like something that might help her realize she had a problem... But no, after that my mom wouldn't do anything but sit there…drinking all her problems away. She became angrier with time, everyone noticed so. Everyone who was…well, me. I did everything I could do not stay at home - sleeping over at my aunt's place or even trying to contact my brother. But there was certain nights I had to stay home and it was hell on earth.

Every single day she would scold me for nothing. It was such stupid, simple things. Forgetting to buy milk on the way home, forgetting to cook dinner…What could I do? I was 13. My mom couldn't even tell me how sorry she was. She just kept on…And one night, she just lost it.

I remember it clearly.

It was something about the dishes. I had to clean after dinner like always and this time I accidentally dropped a plate. It fell to the floor hitting hard, and shattered into tiny pieces. My mom was of course furious with me. I could understand her at some point, get why she was upset with me… but now I blamed her for everything that happened.

But this time she didn't just scream in my face for a minute or two. This time she was acting out violently, throwing a chair across the room. She screamed at me for not being the perfect son, how she'd lost everything because of me and my brother…Everything was our fault. A slap to the face. And then…she was done.

I ran and locked up myself in my room.

And there he was, waiting for me. It was evening after all. And for the first time in almost two years, I spoke to him. He was the only soul I could talk to. Even though he was imaginary, even though I was basically talking to myself. I didn't care. I desperately needed it.

And for the first time…He spoke to me.

He was more calm than I thought he'd be.

"Your mom…she's evil."

I disagreed. She wasn't evil…or was she? She had ruined my life, she hated me but still I shook my head. "Don't cry," He spoke to me. "Big boys don't cry… So calm down, I'll go talk to your mom.  Now go to sleep…You'll need it."

I did as he said. No questions, I went to bed. My heart was pounding and my head spinning. My mom never checked up on me…She would probably leave anyway. That's the only thing she ever did. Giving up on us, on everything…On life. It didn't take me long to fall asleep that night. In the morning I would just return to school like nothing had happened and find my same pathetic alcoholic mother the next day.

But…there was never meant to be another day.

I woke up again. It was completely dark around me, the apartment had been lost of all it's power. I didn't wake up all by myself though, there was some kind of noise outside of my bedroom. Warily and insecure, I stepped up from my bed and moved out to the hall. It was a cracking noise. Like someone stepping on ice or on broken glass but it was far more dull than that. My curiosity took over and I continued until I found the source of the breaking and snapping sound. It was my mother's bedroom.

What was going on in there? My mom was supposed to be sleeping at this hour…I came closer, the noise appeared louder. After a minute of listening outside of the room, I decided to go in. I pushed the wooden door and stumbled to my knees. What I saw…No one was supposed to see such a thing.

My mom had been thrown towards the floor. Her face was bloody, and her nose seemed broken. She was kneeling down with her arms extended backwards in an unnatural position, hands cramping out of pain. She looked like she was screaming but only coughed out, wheezing hard. She saw me. And that's when I lost it.

I tried to scream, but I couldn't. I only crawled up towards the bedside, clutching unto it like it was the only thing to save me at that point. My mother's arms were breaking in front of my face, by something I couldn't see or hear. I could only see her, my mother. Scared for her life.

And then he slowly appeared before me. His grey hands and face, emerging from the shadows. His golden eyes were completely focused on her, and then I could see what he was doing. With one foot on her back, His fingertips wept golden threads that had tied themselves to her arms.  He was breaking my mother's arms in two.

My Puppet Man.

Then her bones wouldn't hold it anymore. They eventually broke, snapping in a horrible trail of sounds. I tried to scream again but everything was once again muted by my own fright. I tried to calm down, tried to realize I was only imagining everything. But it was real. My own friend, imaginary friend was killing my mom. And I did nothing to stop him.

He wasn't pleased, I tried to call to him, tried to beg for him to stop. But he just wouldn't listen. He only continued to hurt my mother further. He'd take his time, and seemed to slowly break every bone in her body. He forced me to sit there, made me watch as he broke my mother apart. He told me he was getting rid of evil. I wanted to believe him…but I just couldn't. He broke her legs, ribs…even fingers. Bones turning every direction they shouldn't. I screamed and screamed. No one heard me. His golden eyes turned to look at me as he hushed me for one final time.

Then, he strangled her. Beautiful golden glowing strings of death wrapped around her neck, squeezing out the last glimpse of life I could see in my mother's eyes. And it was the last thing I could remember before it went dark, I passed out on the floor by the bedside.

Our neighbors had heard my screaming and had called the police. Everyone pitied the orphan who had seen his mother die in front of her eyes. But according to them, my mother hadn't been murdered. She had been found in the middle of the room, with a noose around her neck. The rope hadn't been able to carry her body after a while and had bursted in two, causing my mother's corpse to fall down on the floor.

I never spoke about her death ever again, neither did I say another word about my imaginary friend. Maybe it had all been horrible dream, and he was always just in my head…

Even at my mom's funeral, I was completely alone. My brother didn't even bother showing up. Only my aunt and uncle was there. Everyone saw this coming somehow. Everyone but me. And I spent hours waiting for him to come and pick me up. The only one who had listened to me all this time. Held me company. Comforted me when I needed it the most.

And when I was standing alone by her coffin, I suddenly felt someone grabbing my hand.

And I smiled. His grey hand on my shoulder.

"I never thought you'd come back."