My Life as a Voodoo Puppet - Chap 6
Let me get this straight and for the record. I don’t know how to do any kind of Voodoo. It’s not like King Creole has how to do Voodoo books lying around everywhere. And let’s just say the internet has been even less helpful. Anything I try just ends up with me getting beat by my beloved boss when he discovers what I’d try to do. So that’s completely off the table for me. Though it would’ve been cool to give him the same shit he’s been giving me.
So far the only thing I had going for me was the switchblade and Mary. The old porcelain girl has plenty of fight left in her if her ambush of Creole was anything to go on. Plus I still have the key to the basement that my little template voodoo friend gave me. Creole seemingly hasn’t noticed or he has an infinite amount of keys because he easily goes down there every day to beat Mary and to do his usual messed-up shit down there. So when he went down there today I expected to hear the usual shattering porcelain sounds.
But I didn’t hear it this time. I heard a piano. Now let me tell you something, hearing any kind of music break the deafening silence of the shop was like hearing the voice of an angel. I turned back to look at the basement door and raised a brow as to where the hell a piano had come from. I’ve been down there a lot. There ain’t no piano down there. I walked over to the basement door and found it open. Now, this was very strange. Well, he hadn’t told me not to come down there, so I silently walked down there.
The sounds of a sweet yet sad tune played and grew louder the closer I came towards the basement. I stopped just short of the final step and pressed myself up against the stone wall. Peaking my head over to see what was happening down here. And my jaw hit the floor faster than an anvil from the sky.
The basement looked completely different. No hanging bodies, no bones, no rotting corpses. Nothing. Instead, it was a concert hall. Like a full on giant concert hall. Seats with cushions with people sitting in them and watching. Now not real people obviously. Each one of them had a stitched up mouth and button eyes. Most likely he made an audience out of the bodes down here. I looked over to the stage and my button eyes nearly fell off. Because playing the piano wasn’t King Creole. It was Charles Sumner. Well combed hair, tan, normal eyes, and a big smile on his face as he played the piano.
My confusion was immense, but he played the piano so beautifully. It was hypnotizing almost. I looked around for a place to sit and found one next to one of the guys who had once wished for a million dollars and ended up getting hit by a car right after. He said nothing as I sat down. I kept staring at the stage, my button eyes soaking in the scenery of something that had only happened in the 1920s when Charles was still alive. I can see all that practice really paid off for him.
It would’ve been a lovely concert, maybe one for the history books. Until Mary descended from the ceiling to the stage with wires attached to her. Unlike Charles who was all smiles and soaking up the opportunity, Mary looked sad and almost unwanted in a way. And yet she too was human again. The very definition of beauty. With golden blonde hair, pale skin, and a white dress. When she landed on the stage finally she took a step forward and looked back at Charles. He ignored her but kept playing his heart out. Mary sighed and looked out to the crowd.
“I’m not going to do this again Charles. I hate it.” She said finally. Causing Charles to miss the stroke of the key and then snap his attention over to her. Standing up, I felt my blood run cold as he pushed away from the piano and started to walk over to her. I reached down to my shoe and removed the switchblade. Yes. I’ve been hiding it in my shoes the whole time. It’s what he gets for giving me way too big shoes.
“Listen you whore.” Charles snarled from the stage. His anger was obvious and emanating from him. He walked over to Mary and grabbed her by the throat, the woman gasping and starting to hit him on his chest. “You know what today is, and you damn well better sing. Or I’ll make sure this eternal punishment of yours becomes even fucking worse.” He snarled, some of the Creole slipping out of the pianist.
“Good. At least I’ll finally be free of you.” She choked out. Rising another hand to strike him, only for him to intercept it and toss her to the ground. The woman coughed and hacked, soon an entire chunk of her face falling into her hands. Her skin cracking all over the place and soon enough she was back to her porcelain form.
“Very well then. Oh, Travis?” Charles suddenly asked. Spinning on his heels and looking at me. I froze and quickly shoved the knife into my pocket. Looking around and seeing that every person in the crowd was looking at me. “Come on over here boy. I require your services.” He chuckled, walking back over to the piano. Sitting down with some dramatic flair he began playing some practice notes.
Those notes sent my strings trembling as soon enough I was forced to stand up and walk over to the stage. My buttons looked at Mary as I passed her and took her place on the stage. I looked then over at Charles who waved back at me and started up the music again. The second he did, the strings pulled tighter than ever and began to force me to dance. Now, normally I can’t dance. I look like a thrashing fish more than anything. But the strings forced me to dance as elegantly as any professional dancer.
This wouldn’t be too much of a problem. Except for the fact that every motion the strings made me do caused me more pain than I can even begin to try and explain to you. Each and every pull of those strings felt as if each limp was being pulled out of their socket along with my skin being pulled off with a potato peeler. I screamed with each and every pull of the string. Each and every dance move. Each and every tone of Charles’ piano keys was like another peel of my skin. Mary watched in horror as I screamed and begged for him to stop. She looked between me and Charles before she finally stood up.
“Stop! Enough, I’ll sing.” She finally said. Causing Charles to stop and turn to her. By extension this allowed me to stop as well. I collapsed to the floor, crying and whimpering at just how much pain I was in. My entire body limp and throbbing in blinding white pain. Mary walked over to me and carefully put her hand on me. Flinching away when I hissed out in pain.
“You better start. Before I force him to do it again.” Charles threatened. His fingers hovering over the keys and ready to force me up once again. The woman waved him off, helping me sit up first before she backed up. Looking out at the crowd Mary sighed and took a deep breath. And she started to sing. Not like lyrics. But like an opera singer might. It was incredible. Just like Charles’ piano playing. They went together in perfect harmony. Charles started to play it again while Mary sang her heart out. I just watched from the stage completely enraptured as my aching body healed from my abuse.
It was something that you can only really experience if you were there. It was as if Beethoven and Mozart cooperated together to create something made of pure beauty. It was heavenly. To think a monster like him could produce something so beautiful. With one final soft aria, Mary finished. And with a flurry of keystrokes, Charles finished. He stood from the piano, stepped away from it, and bowed to the crowd. The corpses standing up and clapping.
“Happy birthday, momma.” He said to the ceiling. Lowering his head and in a short breath, the stage was gone. I don’t know how he did it, I can’t even blink and yet in the blink of an eye, the basement was back to its normal horrible self. Creole was back, putting his top hat on his head and sighed out from his nose. That explains why he went all out on this.
“Hope she’s burning in hell as you’ll be.” Mary spat, causing Creole to swiftly turn around and bitch smacked her. Sending shards of porcelain to the floor and causing Mary to fall back into the wall and fall to the floor. Creole then turned to me and smiled.
“As if she wouldn’t be joining me.” He chuckled, walking past me and towards the stairs. His steps heading up most likely back to his office. I went over to Mary and helped her back up. Handing her some pieces of herself which she thanked me for.
“Guessing he does that every year?” I asked her, sitting down next to the porcelain woman. She nodded as she laid her head back against the stone wall we sat up against.
“His tribute to her. For bringing him back to life. And for being a good mother I guess.” She explained. Looking over to me with her only eye and sighing. Shaking her head and looking over to all the bones and bodies lying around.
“I’m no better than him. I eat anything he sends down here just to be able to grow back any piece of my body. If I really wanted him to kill me I would just have to stop eating. And yet here I am still after all these decades.” She said with a sorrowful chuckle. Looking over to me and reaching a hand out to touch my face. Sending me flinching a bit, but she softly rubbed my red-painted cheeks. “Those look good on you. Some much-needed color.”
“Would rather have some real color.” I chuckled, letting her touch me for a second before pulling away. I don’t know if it’s because she’s my only other contact in this horrible place, but it’s comforting to know that she cares about me. At least enough to stop my suffering when she can. Our moment was interrupted by a hard crack to the back of my head. Sending me falling into her lap. As I looked up I saw Creole snarling down at the both of us.
“Trying to steal my pet, whore?” He asked, raising his cane and striking her harder. Growling as he struck her hard enough to shatter a good portion of her face. I looked over once I regained myself and saw what he’d done to her. And I acted.
Pulling the switchblade out of my pocket, I brought the blade up and grabbed King Creole by the shoulder. Turning him around he looked at me in absolute confusion and fury as I slashed at his throat with the blade. I managed to cut almost the entirety of his front stitches. Causing a big spray of black liquid to come flying out of his throat and causing him to stumble forward and onto the floor. Clutching his throat as he did so.
“Y-you idiot! What have you done?!” He choked out. Staring up at me with the rage of a cornered animal. Acting on impulse I kicked him in the head and broke further stitches, causing more of the liquid to ooze out of him. And causing him to fall flat on his face as he bled out. I backed up and dropped the knife. Looking over at Mary, she was putting her face back together and staring in awe at what I had done.
That didn’t last too long as the voodoo man pushed himself back up, his head dangling down by his shoulder and chuckling up at me. He stood up and fixed his head back easily. Pulling out his threads and needle and leaving the items to stitch up his neck. I backed up from him, quickly reaching down and grabbing the knife again.
“You really risked the lives of your family, for a whore like her?” He asked with a giggle. Clearly pissed off royally and trying to hide it behind a forced smile and laugh. When the floating thread and needle were finished they dropped themselves into his hand. And he carefully put them in his pocket. He reached down to the floor and dusted off his hat, placing it on his head with a smile. He looked over at me with a cheery smile. And then lunged at me and shoved me into the wall with the force of an eighteen-wheeler. I tried stabbing him again but he simply took the stab through his hand and looked at me.
“Why aren’t you dead?” I asked as I kicked my legs at him. He answered me with a chuckle and a pat to the cheek.
“Takes more than that to undo momma’s work.” He answered, looking back over at Mary to make sure she wasn’t doing anything to try and save me this time. Then looking back at me and looking at the knife embedded in his hand he tsked at me. “Looks like I’m paying your parents a visit.” He chuckled, backing his head away from my own as I tried to headbutt him, bite him, anything!
“Don’t you fucking dare you psycho!” I shouted, desperately trying to get out of his death grip. But he just watched and laughed. Like an animal playing with its food. He had the upper hand on me. And I had lost my only advantage against him. He tossed me to the floor and stomped on my head with his dress shoes as she looked down at me.
“I’ll do you one better, Travis! How about I bring them here! Show them that you’re alive and well?! Then, have you kill them for me.” He said with a maniacal giggle. Grinding his heel into my skull and causing me to thrash and try to fight him off. But I felt the pull of the strings and my angry growls and curses turned into a big smile.
“That sounds perfect sir! I’ll get the tools ready for you!” I happily said, as he lifted his foot off of me and let me stand back up. He smiled as he looked at me and nodded.
“That sounds excellent, Travis! Why I bet they’ll be so happy to see you. Just imagine the looks on their faces as you slice off their skin and help me turn them into dolls.” He said with another childlike giggle. I wanted to wrap my hands around his head and crush it with the force of vice. But all I could do was nod and salute him.
“I can’t wait, sir!” I declared. He nodded and tousled my combed hair. Turning and starting to walk upstairs before he suddenly stopped and turned to look at me.
“Travis? Be a good boy and bring master his cane.” He said with a hum. Producing a nice toothy smile as his stitches on the mouth strained to breaking point. I turned my head to look at the item sitting on the floor. Turning back to him and finally walking to get the item. Picking up the item and handing it back to him. “Now, that’s a good boy.” He said. Walking upstairs and leaving me. The knife was still stabbed in his hand.
Well. I fucked up. I wasted my only chance to kill him. And now he’ll be back with my parents at any moment. And it’s all my fault. I should’ve fully decapitated him. Maybe that would’ve worked. I don’t know anymore. I’ve been laying on the floor of the shop for about five minutes now just crying.
Well, I was.
Because I think I have one more chance.
My little voodoo template friend has just produced a scissor blade for me. I’m sorry I ever said anything bad about you little guy.
I have a chance.
I’ll save you, mom and dad.