Puppet Terror
Of all our fears, is none so real as the terror as a child we feel? -- The thing that from the closet peers, as darkness falls and bedtime nears -- The walking dead, a chopped-off head, -- each one instills a special dread.
And yet more frightening than these , the thing that makes one's marrow freeze, that haunts adulthood like a theme that poisons a recurring dream, is that which has no life at all. The evil puppet. The deadly doll.
A creature born to be possessed: so still, until a child's behest should animate its sleeping form as from a netherworld reborn -- then only to be tossed aside like flotsam on a lonely tide.
She and all her kindred bent on vengeance for abandonment and mute with deadly vows to keep for troubling their endless sleep -- sit watching, waiting, all their days with maddening, unblinking gaze.
So shroud the doll with pearl-white teeth and bind her with a garlic wreath, and seal the dummy in his case with special care to hide his face.
You say you have no fear nor thrill? I say to you, one day you will.
You'll glimpse a broken mannikin with staring eyes and sallow skin, or maybe find a china doll propped awkwardly against a wall and feel within your frozen heart the terror such things can impart.
For in the time it takes to scream, as life becomes a fever dream, you'll know that in the midnight gloom, a puppet moves outside your room.
I leave you this to contemplate - just wait, my friend - it's there - just wait.
~ Raivan
