The Puppeteer’s Curse

I never thought much about puppets. They were relics of another time, something my grandparents might have found amusing before the age of screens. I’d seen them in dusty attics and antique shops, their faces painted in stiff, eternal grins. They were lifeless, inert things that didn’t deserve a second thought. But that was before it came to town.

It started in the early days of October, when the air was thick with the promise of decay and endings. The traveling puppet show arrived without fanfare—no posters, no announcements. One day, there was simply a tent in the empty lot at the edge of town, its canvas tattered but grand, striped red and black like a bloodstained circus.

Kids at school whispered about it: “You have to see it.”, they said. “It’s supposed to be just like magic.” At first, I didn’t care. I wasn’t a kid anymore, not really. But curiosity has a way of creeping into the cracks of boredom. And when you live in a town as small and suffocating as mine, even a puppet show feels like a spectacle.

The town of Ashton was built on silence. It lingered in the frost-bitten air, clung to the stone faces of buildings, and whispered between alleyways where even the shadows seemed unsure of their place. In Ashton, secrets grew like moss, thriving in the damp corners of a collective hush.

As teenagers, we joked that the quiet was part of the curse of living in such a forgettable place. But looking back, perhaps silence wasn’t the absence of sound. Perhaps it was the accumulation of things unsaid, a weight that pressed down on the town until we no longer noticed it.

The puppet show, however, was anything but silent.

On the first night, the air seemed to hum with an eerie energy. Word spread that people could hear faint music emanating from the tent, a lilting tune carried on the wind. It wasn’t cheerful, nor was it entirely mournful—it was something in between, a melody that felt alive, like it had teeth.

I found myself walking toward the tent just after sunset, the sky a smear of orange and bruise-purple. The field where the tent stood was empty except for a few other stragglers, mostly younger kids.

The hum of the distant melody seemed to follow me as I approached the tent. A faint glow emanated from inside, casting long, flickering shadows across the field. It almost looked like the tent itself was breathing, its walls pulsing gently with the rhythm of the music. A small group of kids lingered at the entrance, talking in hushed voices.

Among them were my friends—Jake, with his wild hair and relentless grin, and Zoe, who never let anything faze her. They spotted me immediately, Jake waving me over with exaggerated enthusiasm.

“Finally!”, Jake called, his voice cutting through the music. “We thought you were gonna miss this. Come on, let’s go inside.”

“I can’t.”, I said, glancing down at the ground. “I promised my mom I’d help her with the boxes in the attic tonight.”

“Boxes in the attic?” Zoe raised an eyebrow. “You’re bailing on the most exciting thing to happen in this town since… ever, because of boxes?”

“I’ll come tomorrow.”, I said quickly, hoping to avoid a full interrogation.

Jake groaned, throwing his hands in the air. “Tomorrow? This might not even be here tomorrow! What if this is, like, a one-night thing?”

“I doubt it.”, I said, though I wasn’t sure. The tent’s sudden appearance, coupled with its strange aura, made it feel like something that could vanish as mysteriously as it had arrived.

“Lame.”, Zoe said, shaking her head. “You’re going to regret this, you know. If this show turns out to be amazing, we’re never letting you live it down.”

“I’ll survive.”, I replied, forcing a laugh.

“Suit yourself.” Jake smirked and nudged Zoe. “C’mon, let’s go find seats before the good ones are gone.”

I watched them duck under the tent’s heavy flap, their silhouettes swallowed by the shifting glow inside. The faint music grew louder for a moment, as if the tent was exhaling, then settled back into its eerie hum.

For a second, I hesitated. I could still feel the pull of the tent, the way the music seemed to vibrate in my chest. But then I shook my head and turned away. A promise was a promise, and my mom had been on my case all week about cleaning the attic.

The walk home felt heavier than it should have. The streets of Ashton, always quiet, seemed almost too still now, the silence pressing against my ears. Even the streetlights seemed dimmer, their glow swallowed by the creeping shadows of night.

When I got home, the house was warm and inviting, the faint smell of my mom’s lavender candles filling the air. She was in the kitchen, wiping down the counters, and gave me a tired smile when I walked in.

“You’re back early.”, she said. “I figured you’d be out with your friends all night.”

“Nah.”, I said, setting my bag by the stairs. “They’re at that puppet show. I said I’d help you with the attic, remember?”

Her face softened, and she nodded. “I do. Thanks, sweetheart. It means a lot.”

The attic wasn’t anything special—just boxes of old clothes, photo albums, and other remnants of our family’s life before Ashton. Still, the work kept me distracted from the gnawing sense of curiosity I couldn’t quite shake. I kept thinking about the tent, the strange music, the way it seemed to come alive.

By the time I finished helping my mom and went to bed, the house was quiet, but not the comforting kind of quiet. It was the kind of quiet that felt like it was waiting for something.

I told myself I’d made the right choice. But as I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, I couldn’t stop wondering what was happening inside that tent—and what my friends were seeing without me.

The next morning, I woke to the sound of muffled voices downstairs. The house was unusually quiet—no clinking dishes, no soft hum of the radio my mom usually played in the mornings. Instead, there was an air of tension, like the stillness before a storm.

I sat up, blinking against the sunlight streaming through my window, and caught fragments of conversation drifting up from the kitchen. My mom’s voice, low and serious, and someone else’s on the phone, sharp with worry.

Throwing on a sweatshirt, I headed downstairs, the floorboards creaking beneath my feet. As I entered the kitchen, I found my mom standing by the counter, her face pale and drawn. She was gripping the phone tightly, her knuckles white.

“Yes, of course.”, she said into the receiver, her voice calm but strained. “If I hear anything, I’ll let you know right away. I’m so sorry, Donna.”

She hung up and turned to me, her expression troubled. “Morning.”, she said, though her tone lacked its usual warmth.

“What’s going on?”, I asked, leaning against the doorframe.

She sighed, rubbing her temples. “That was Mrs. Bennett. You know her son, Matt?”

I nodded. Matt Bennett was in my grade, a quiet kid who mostly stuck to his small circle of friends. We weren’t close, but we’d had a few classes together.

“He didn’t come home last night.”, she said. “His mom thought he might’ve been with you and your friends, but—”

“No.”, I said quickly, a strange heaviness settling in my chest. “I didn’t see him last night. I was home after school.”

“I told her that.”, my mom said, giving me a small, reassuring smile. “But she’s frantic. Apparently, he said he was going to that puppet show, and no one’s seen him since.”

My stomach tightened. The image of the tent flashed in my mind, its pulsing walls and eerie hum. “Did she call the police?”

“She’s going to.”, my mom said. “But you know how things are around here. People vanish for a night, and everyone assumes they’ll turn up the next day.”

I nodded, though her words did little to ease my unease. Something about this didn’t feel right. Matt wasn’t the type to stay out all night. At least, not that I knew of.

My mom poured herself a cup of coffee, her movements slow and distracted. After a moment, she looked up at me. “You’ve been curious about that puppet show, haven’t you?”

I shrugged, keeping my expression neutral.

“Why don’t you go today? You could check it out with your friends, see if Matt’s there. It might help, you know, put Donna’s mind at ease.”

The thought of returning to the tent made my skin crawl. The strange music, the shadows that flickered like living things—none of it felt like something I wanted to be near again, not after hearing about Matt.

“I don’t feel like it.”, I said, avoiding her gaze.

My mom frowned, setting her mug down. “It’s just a puppet show.”, she said softly.

I hesitated, then shook my head. “It doesn’t feel right, not with Matt missing.”

She studied me for a moment, then sighed and nodded. “All right.”, she said. “But let me know if you change your mind.”

I spent the rest of the day trying to shake the unease that had settled over me, but it clung stubbornly, like a shadow I couldn’t outrun. At school, Matt’s absence was the only thing anyone talked about. Some kids joked that he’d run away, while others whispered about the puppet show, their voices tinged with nervous excitement.

Jake and Zoe caught up with me at lunch, their faces lit with the kind of energy that came from being part of something they couldn’t fully explain.

“You missed out last night.”, Jake said, his grin wide and almost manic. “That show was insane.”

“What do you mean?”, I asked, my tone sharper than I intended.

“It was just… different.”, Zoe said, her usual air of indifference replaced by something I couldn’t quite place. “You should come tonight. Seriously.”

I shook my head. “Did you see Matt there?”

Jake frowned, his grin fading. “Matt? No. Why?”

“He’s missing.”, I said. “His mom thinks he went to the puppet show.”

They exchanged a glance, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

“That’s weird.”, Zoe said finally.

“Yeah.”, Jake said, though his voice lacked conviction. “We didn’t see him, but, uh… maybe he left early?”

“Maybe.”, I muttered, though their uncertainty only made me feel worse.

As the day stretched on, I couldn’t stop thinking about the tent. The music. The strange glow. And Matt.

The following morning, the air in Ashton felt heavy, as if the town itself had drawn a sharp breath and was holding it. I woke to the sound of hurried footsteps outside my window, followed by muffled voices. For a moment, I lay still, hoping it was just my imagination. But when I got downstairs, my mom was already at the kitchen table, her hands wrapped tightly around a mug of coffee. The television was on, the local news anchor’s voice crackling through the static.

“Another missing child reported early this morning. Eleven-year-old Callie Peterson was last seen by her parents at dinnertime yesterday. Authorities have begun an investigation into the disappearances of Callie and seventeen-year-old Matthew Bennett, but police are urging the public to remain calm as they continue their search…”

“Another one?”, I asked, my stomach twisting.

My mom looked up, her expression strained. “Callie’s parents live a few streets over. I can’t believe this is happening here.”

I sat down across from her, the words another one looping in my head. First Matt, now Callie. Two kids, gone in less than forty-eight hours. I couldn’t stop thinking about the puppet show. The way Jake and Zoe had acted—distracted, almost dazed—kept gnawing at the edges of my mind.

“Did you know Callie?”, Mom asked gently.

“Not really. She’s way younger than me.”

Mom nodded, sipping her coffee. “Her parents are beside themselves. They said she never came back from playing outside last night.”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. Callie hadn’t been at the puppet show—that much was obvious. But the coincidence felt too big to ignore. Two disappearances in two days? Ashton was too small, too quiet for something like this to happen without reason.

By the time I got to school, the news had spread like wildfire. The hallways buzzed with nervous energy, kids talking in hushed tones and throwing suspicious glances at one another. Even the teachers seemed tense, their usual strictness dulled by worry.

Jake and Zoe were waiting for me by my locker, their faces unusually somber.

“Did you hear about Callie?”, Jake asked, his voice low.

I nodded. “Yeah. It’s all anyone’s talking about.”

Zoe crossed her arms, glancing around as if someone might overhear us. “You don’t think it’s… connected, do you? Like, to Matt?”

“How could it be?”, I asked, though the question felt hollow.

“I don’t know.”, she admitted. “But it’s weird, right?“

Jake shifted uncomfortably, leaning against the locker beside mine. “I mean, Callie wasn’t even at the puppet show, so it’s not like that’s connected.”

“That you know of.”, I said, closing my locker a little harder than I meant to.

Jake frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that this whole thing is weird.”, I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “And I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”

Zoe gave me a long look, her expression unreadable. “You’re thinking about the tent, aren’t you?”

I hesitated, then nodded.

“It’s just a puppet show.”, Jake said, but there was an edge to his voice, like he was trying to convince himself more than me. “You were the one who said you didn’t believe in that creepy stuff.”

“That was before people started disappearing.”

Zoe sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but we can’t just jump to conclusions. The cops are investigating. They’ll figure it out.”

But would they? Ashton wasn’t exactly a hub of criminal activity. The most exciting thing that had ever happened here was the time someone stole a dozen pies from Mrs. Harper’s bakery. How could our tiny police force handle something like this?

And as much as I wanted to believe the puppet show wasn’t involved, I couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling in my gut. Something about that tent wasn’t right.

That evening, the police set up a search party, combing through the woods and fields surrounding Ashton. My mom insisted I stay home, but I couldn’t just sit around waiting for answers. I convinced her to let me help by passing out flyers with Jake and Zoe.

As we walked through the empty streets, the town felt eerily still. It was the kind of silence that made your skin crawl, the kind that felt watched.

“You really think the puppet show has something to do with this?”, Zoe asked as we taped a flyer to a lamppost.

“I don’t know what I think.”, I admitted. “But don’t you think it’s weird? Matt disappears the same night he goes to the show, and now Callie’s gone too?”

“Yeah, but she wasn’t even there.”, Jake pointed out.

“Maybe not.”, I said. “But what if it’s all connected somehow? Like, what if—”

A flicker of movement caught my eye, and I turned my head sharply. Down the street, the tent loomed in the distance, its striped walls glowing faintly in the twilight.

“Like what?”, Jake prompted.

I shook my head. “Never mind.”

But as we continued our route, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the tent was watching us. That the strange, lilting music was still playing somewhere in the back of my mind, even though the night was silent.

That night, I barely slept. When I did, my dreams were full of shadows and faint, mechanical laughter. And when I woke, it was to the sound of my mom’s voice, sharp and urgent, calling my name.

“Another one.”, she said when I stumbled into the kitchen. “Another kid’s missing.”

This time, it was Jake.

The air seemed to leave my lungs all at once, and for a moment, I couldn’t speak. Jake. Missing. The word echoed in my head, its weight unbearable.

“What?” My voice came out hoarse, barely audible. “What do you mean, Jake’s missing?”

My mom placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, but her expression was grim. “Mrs. Anderson called early this morning. He didn’t come home last night. She said he was supposed to be with you and Zoe after passing out flyers.”

I shook my head quickly, panic clawing at my chest. “He wasn’t! I—I walked with them most of the way home. He was fine when we split up!”

“I know.”, Mom said softly, trying to calm me. “I told her you’d been home all night. But she’s worried, and honestly, so am I.”

I pushed past her to the window, staring out at the empty street. It didn’t make sense. Jake wasn’t the kind of guy to just wander off without a word—especially not with everything going on.

The pieces in my mind swirled chaotically, refusing to fit together. Matt. Callie. Now Jake. All gone. The tension in my gut tightened into a sickening knot, and I gripped the windowsill, my knuckles turning white.

“Maybe he just—” I stopped myself, unable to finish the thought. Where could he have gone? What could’ve happened to him?

“Maybe he just what?”, Mom pressed gently, though her tone was firm. “Honey, I need you to stay calm, okay? I’ll be driving you to school today. No arguments.”

I turned to look at her, my thoughts racing. “What about Zoe? Is she okay?”

Mom nodded quickly. “I called her house. Her parents said she’s fine. But you need to stay safe, too. I’ll drop you off, and I’ll pick you up after school.”

I wanted to argue, to tell her I couldn’t just sit in a classroom while my best friend was missing, but the worry in her eyes stopped me. Instead, I swallowed my protests and nodded. “Okay. Fine.”

The ride to school was silent except for the dull hum of the car engine. I stared out the window, my mind replaying every moment from the day before, searching for something I might’ve missed. Had Jake said anything strange? Acted differently? Nothing stood out, but the feeling of unease grew heavier with every passing second.

When we pulled up to the school gates, Mom turned to me, her expression softening. “I know this is scary.”, she said. “But the police are doing everything they can. They’ll find Jake. They’ll find all of them.”

I nodded again, though her words felt hollow. As soon as she pulled away, I turned on my heel and darted away from the school entrance, weaving between the groups of students streaming inside.

The puppet show.

The thought burned in my mind, growing louder with every step. I didn’t care if it sounded crazy anymore. Jake had been acting weird ever since that night, and now he was gone. Matt, Callie, and now him. It wasn’t a coincidence. It couldn’t be.

I kept my head low as I slipped through the streets, avoiding anyone who might recognize me. The town felt even quieter than before, the air thick with tension. When I finally reached the edge of the circus grounds, my chest heaved with exertion, but I barely noticed.

The tent was there, just as it had been before. Its striped walls glowed faintly in the overcast morning light, and the strange hum I’d heard before seemed to vibrate through the air again, faint but insistent.

For a moment, I hesitated. My heart pounded against my ribs, and every instinct screamed at me to turn around, to run back home, to let the police handle it. But then I thought of Jake—his easy grin, his dumb jokes—and I clenched my fists.

I stepped forward, my breath fogging in the cold morning air. As I approached the tent, the hum grew louder, almost like it was alive. The entrance loomed ahead, a dark, yawning maw that seemed to swallow the light around it.

I swallowed hard, steeling myself. Then, with one final glance over my shoulder, I ducked inside.

The dim light inside the tent pressed down like a suffocating blanket, and the faint hum that had greeted me outside now buzzed louder, like an insidious whisper in my ears. I turned to face the gloom ahead, my heart in my throat, but before I could take another step, something moved.

A flicker in the shadows. A faint rustle of fabric.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat, and then—

A hand clamped over my mouth.

I let out a muffled yelp, my body jerking in panic, but as I whipped around, my wide eyes met a familiar face. Zoe.

“Shh!”, she hissed, her other hand gripping my arm. “It’s me!”

Relief flooded me, but it was short-lived. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and her face was pale, shadows of exhaustion carved deep into her features. She looked like she had barely slept in days—or, more likely, not at all.

“You scared the crap out of me.”, I whispered hoarsely as she slowly let go of my mouth.

“Yeah, well, you’re not exactly subtle.” Her voice wavered, her usual sharpness dulled by fatigue. She glanced around the tent nervously, her fingers twisting the hem of her sweater. “Do you have any idea how dumb this is? What are you even doing here?”

I frowned at her, trying to keep my voice low. “What are you doing here? You’re the one who said not to jump to conclusions!”

Zoe’s lips pressed into a thin line, and she looked away, her hands tightening into fists at her sides. “I thought you might come here. I—I couldn’t just sit at home. Not after…” She trailed off, her voice breaking slightly.

“After Jake.”, I finished for her, my chest tightening at the mention of his name.

She nodded, blinking quickly as if trying to stave off tears. “I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about the tent, about how none of this makes sense. And then I started wondering if maybe you’d—”

“I couldn’t just stay home either.”, I said quietly, glancing around the tent. “I know it sounds crazy, but something about this place… it doesn’t feel right.”

Zoe looked up at me, her eyes glistening in the dim light. “You’re not crazy.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I feel it too.”

The admission hung in the air between us, heavy and unspoken until now. The hum around us seemed to grow louder, as if it were feeding off our fear, and I shivered despite myself.

“Did you see anyone when you got here?”, I asked, forcing myself to focus.

She shook her head, wiping her eyes quickly. “No. It’s completely empty—at least as far as I can tell. But there’s something… I don’t know. I feel like we’re being watched.”

I swallowed hard, the sensation creeping over me again like icy fingers on the back of my neck. My gut screamed at me to turn around and leave, to drag Zoe out of here and never look back, but something kept me rooted in place.

“What if Jake—what if they’re in here somewhere?”, I asked, my voice shaking despite my efforts to steady it.

Zoe hesitated, her expression twisting with uncertainty. “And what if this is exactly what… whatever this is wants? For us to walk right into its trap?”

Her words sent a chill down my spine, but I couldn’t bring myself to argue. She was right. This felt like a trap, every nerve in my body screaming that I didn’t belong here. And yet, I couldn’t leave. Not yet.

“Look.”, she said, her voice soft but urgent. “If we’re going to do this, we stick together. No splitting up, no wandering off. If something happens, we leave. Promise me.”

I nodded. “Promise.”

The faintest ghost of a smile touched her lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She gestured for me to follow, and we moved deeper into the tent, our footsteps eerily muffled on the dirt floor.

The deeper we went, the more oppressive the air became, the faint hum growing louder, almost like a heartbeat. My pulse thundered in my ears, and I couldn’t tell if the sound was coming from inside me or the tent itself.

As we rounded a corner, the space ahead opened up into a larger room, dimly lit by strings of flickering bulbs. In the center stood a small wooden stage, the curtains drawn shut, their fabric swaying slightly despite the still air.

Zoe froze beside me, her breath hitching audibly.

“Do you hear that?”, she whispered.

I strained my ears, and then I heard it too: a faint, mechanical laugh, tinny and distorted, echoing softly from somewhere beyond the stage.

My stomach twisted into knots, but I forced myself to step forward. “Stay close.”, I murmured, my voice barely audible.

Zoe grabbed my sleeve, her fingers trembling. “I don’t like this.”

“Neither do I.”, I admitted. But I couldn’t stop now. Not when we were this close.

The lights above us suddenly snapped off with a sharp, electric buzz, plunging the room into darkness. Zoe let out a quiet gasp, her grip on my sleeve tightening painfully.

“Stay close.”, I whispered, my voice barely steady as my heart pounded against my ribs.

Before either of us could move, the lights flickered back on. The bulbs cast a weak, erratic glow, and my breath caught as I saw the stage ahead of us.

The curtains had been drawn back, and in their place stood a small puppet theater. The wooden frame was painted in faded reds and yellows, chipped and splintered with age. On the stage, several puppets hung limply, their painted faces cracked and faded.

Then, with a soft click, the puppets came to life.

They moved in stiff, jerking motions, their strings twitching as if guided by invisible hands. The tinny, mechanical laugh from before filled the air, louder now, as though it were coming directly from the stage.

Zoe and I froze, staring in silent horror as the puppets began to act out a scene. One of them—a puppet with a crooked smile and mismatched eyes—waved its tiny hand, while the others mimicked laughter. The sound grated against my ears, unnatural and wrong, like a recording played backward.

I wanted to move, to turn away, but my feet refused to cooperate. The puppets danced in perfect unison, their movements unnervingly precise despite their crude construction.

“What the hell is this?”, I breathed, my voice barely audible over the eerie performance.

Zoe didn’t respond.

I turned to her, my stomach twisting when I saw her face. She was staring at the stage, her eyes wide and unblinking, her body unnaturally still. Her hand was still gripping my sleeve, but her fingers had gone slack, as if she were barely holding on.

“Zoe?”, I whispered, my voice trembling. “Hey, are you okay?”

She didn’t answer.

I shook her gently, panic rising in my chest. “Zoe, snap out of it!”

Still nothing. Her gaze remained fixed on the puppets, her face pale and expressionless.

My heart raced as I grabbed her arm and tugged. “Zoe, come on. We need to go!”

For a terrifying moment, she didn’t budge, her body rigid as a statue. Then, with a sudden jolt, she stumbled forward, blinking rapidly as if waking from a trance.

“We need to get out of here—now.”

Her eyes darted to the stage, and she shuddered. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Without waiting for her to respond further, I pulled her along, skirting around the edge of the room toward the side of the stage. The mechanical laughter grew fainter as we moved, but the puppets’ jerky movements continued, their strings twitching like the limbs of marionettes possessed by something unseen.

We slipped behind the curtains, finding ourselves in the cramped backstage area. The air was heavier here, stifling and cold, and the faint hum that had followed us into the tent was louder now, vibrating through the walls and floor.

Zoe clung to my sleeve, her breathing shallow and uneven. “Do you think he’s back here?”

I swallowed hard, my eyes scanning the dim space. Wooden crates were stacked haphazardly along the walls, and old props littered the floor—broken masks, faded banners, a cracked mirror that reflected the faint glow of the stage lights.

“I don’t know.”, I admitted, keeping my voice low. “But we have to look.”

We crept forward, the faint hum growing louder with every step. My eyes darted to every shadow, every flicker of movement, but the space seemed empty, abandoned.

Then I saw it.

A small, crumpled piece of fabric lying in the corner of the room.

I hurried over, my heart sinking as I picked it up. It was Jake’s hoodie, the one he’d been wearing the day before.

“Zoe.”, I whispered, holding it up.

Her face went pale. “That’s his.”

The room felt colder now, the air thick with something I couldn’t name. I turned the hoodie over in my hands, hoping to find some clue, some sign of where he might be. But all I found was a faint, oily residue that coated the fabric, dark and foul-smelling.

“What the hell is this?”, I muttered, wiping my hands on my jeans.

Zoe stepped closer, her eyes wide with fear. “This isn’t right. None of this is right.”

The hum grew louder, a low, resonant sound that seemed to pulse in time with my heartbeat. I glanced around, my grip on Jake’s hoodie tightening.

“We need to keep moving.”, I said, forcing myself to stay calm. “He has to be here somewhere.”

Zoe nodded, but her expression was strained, her fear palpable. Together, we pressed on, deeper into the maze of crates and shadows, the sound of the puppets’ laughter echoing faintly behind us.

The shadows seemed to grow heavier as we moved deeper into the tent. Every creak of the wooden floor and whisper of fabric sent my heart into overdrive, my pulse a frantic drumbeat in my ears. The air reeked of mildew and something else—something metallic and sharp that clung to the back of my throat.

Zoe kept close behind me, her footsteps shuffling over the dirt floor. Neither of us spoke, the silence between us tense and brittle. My fingers were still sticky with that black, oily residue from Jake’s hoodie, and every time I glanced down at my hands, nausea churned in my stomach.

We came to a cluster of wooden boxes stacked haphazardly near the back of the tent. Faded circus logos and cryptic symbols were stenciled onto their sides, the paint chipped and peeling. A faint hum seemed to radiate from them, vibrating through my chest like a second heartbeat.

“Check over there.” I gestured toward a crate that was partially open, its lid resting at an awkward angle.

Zoe hesitated, her face pale and drawn, but she nodded and crouched down to peer inside. I turned to the next crate, prying off the lid with trembling fingers. Inside were old costumes—faded silks and torn sequins that reeked of dust and decay. I shoved them aside, digging through the mess, but there was nothing useful. Nothing that could explain any of this.

“Anything?”, I asked, glancing over my shoulder.

Zoe shook her head, her voice shaky. “Just a bunch of junk. Broken props or something.”

I moved to another crate, this one sealed tight with thick ropes. My hands fumbled with the knots, my frustration mounting with every second. Finally, the lid creaked open, and I recoiled as the stench of rot hit me like a punch to the face. Inside were old marionettes, their painted faces cracked and warped, their strings tangled in grotesque knots. My stomach lurched as I pushed the box aside, trying to banish the image from my mind.

“I hate this.”, Zoe muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. “We’re not going to find him like this. What if—”

Her words cut off with a shriek, sharp and piercing in the silence.

I whipped around just in time to see her tumble backward, landing hard on the ground. A wooden crate she had been leaning against tipped over, crashing to the floor with a deafening thud. Its contents spilled out, clattering and rolling across the dirt.

“Zoe!” I scrambled toward her, my heart racing. “What happened—”

My words died in my throat as I looked at what had fallen from the box.

At first, they looked like dolls. Dozens of them, their tiny limbs twisted at unnatural angles, their glossy faces reflecting the weak light. But as my gaze lingered, my stomach dropped.

It wasn’t just dolls.

One of them had his face.

Jake’s face.

His wide, familiar eyes stared up at me, frozen in an expression of sheer terror, although his mouth was locked in a small smile, his features eerily preserved beneath a layer of shiny lacquer. The glossy sheen caught the dim light, making the drop trailing from the corner of his eye look almost like a tear.

I stumbled back, my breathing ragged. My hands flew to my mouth as bile rose in my throat. My fingers, still sticky with that black residue, trembled uncontrollably.

The lacquered surface, that black, oily substance—it was the same thing that had coated Jake’s hoodie. The same thing that was smeared across my hands.

The shiny surface looked stretched too tight, like flesh pulled over wood. Blood crusted at the edges where the fabric—or skin—was stitched into the puppet’s seams. My vision blurred as I realized the truth.

Someone—or something—had turned Jake into this.

Zoe scuttled backward on her hands and heels, her eyes wide with horror as she pointed at the grotesque figure. “W-What the hell is this? What is this?!”

Before I could respond, the faint hum that had been following us swelled into a deafening roar. It reverberated through the air, shaking the walls of the tent, and then a voice, deep and dripping with malice, echoed from the shadows.

“Curiosity is such a dangerous thing… isn’t it?”

The voice was everywhere at once, crawling into my ears and burrowing into my mind. Zoe screamed again, the sound ripping through the thick air, and before I could react, something lashed out from the darkness.

Strings.

They shot out of the shadows like snakes, glinting faintly in the dim light. They wrapped around Zoe’s arms and legs, yanking her off the ground with a force that sent her sprawling. She let out a terrified shriek as the strings pulled her into the dark, her body disappearing behind the heavy curtains before I could grab her.

“ZOE!” I lunged forward, but the strings snapped back like a whip, cutting me off.

Her screams echoed, growing fainter as they were swallowed by the tent’s suffocating darkness, until there was only silence left.

My knees buckled as I dropped to the ground, my chest heaving. My eyes darted to the spilled contents of the box—the grotesque puppet with Jake’s face staring up at me, its glossy eyes gleaming with a hollow, lifeless light.

I grabbed Jake’s puppet with trembling hands, my fingers slipping against the cold, lacquered surface. I didn’t think—I just ran.

I sprinted through the backstage, the hum still pulsing like a heartbeat, louder now, thundering in my ears as if it were chasing me. I could feel it. Whatever it was, it was right behind me.

The tent entrance was in sight. The bright daylight outside looked so welcoming, so normal. I could almost taste it—freedom. Tears blurred my vision as I surged forward, my legs burning, the weight of the puppet pulling at my hands like a reminder of the horror I’d just witnessed.

“Zoe!”, I shouted, my voice cracking. But she was gone. I couldn’t think about that now. All I could focus on was getting out.

Closer. Closer.

My breath came in ragged gasps, my chest heaving with each desperate step. The exit loomed larger, almost within reach, and the faint hum seemed to recede, but something else was coming. A presence, dark and predatory. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as the sound of strings, snapping, creaking, filled the air.

I didn’t dare look back.

I burst through the tent flap and into the daylight, the fresh air filling my lungs, but the weight of the puppet in my hands didn’t feel lighter. It felt like a reminder of everything I had just run from.

I kept running, not stopping, even as my legs screamed for rest. I could feel the terror still clawing at my back, the pressure of it bearing down on me with every step. I ran through the streets, past familiar buildings, trying to outrun the nightmare in my head.

A sudden shout. I didn’t register the words at first, too lost in my panic. But then I saw the flashing blue lights. Two cops stood in front of me, blocking the road.

“Hey!”, one of them called out, grabbing my arm as I stumbled to a stop, breathless. “Boy, what’s going on with you?”

I was still shaking, my mind racing. My chest hurt from the frantic running, but it didn’t matter. The words spilled out of me in a rush.

“Zoe—Zoe’s still back there!”, I gasped. “In the circus tent! They—they turned Jake into a puppet, and there were strings, and—and something was chasing us and—”

The cops exchanged confused looks, one of them trying to stifle a chuckle. “Whoa, whoa. Take it easy. What are you saying, kid?” The other cop’s face twisted with concern, but there was something dismissive in his voice.

“They’re—she’s still back there!”, I repeated, my voice getting frantic. “You don’t understand! The tent, the puppets—they were alive! There was something—something chasing us, and Zoe—she’s—” My voice faltered, and I blinked rapidly, trying to hold it together.

I pointed down at the puppet in my hands. “Look, this is Jake. This is him. They turned him into a puppet, and now she’s—she’s gone!”

I could feel the sweat on my skin, the cold, sticky residue of fear. The cops looked down at the puppet, and the one who had been chuckling stopped, his expression turning more neutral. He reached down, pulling it from my hands and examining it.

“Kid, this is just a regular puppet.”, he said, his voice tinged with amusement. “Are you sure you didn’t have a little too much to drink this morning? Or maybe—” He raised an eyebrow. “Got into something you shouldn’t?”

“No!”, I insisted, panic rising in my chest again. “I’m telling you! That’s Jake’s face. I swear! He was—he was turned into a puppet!” My voice cracked, and I had to stop myself from hyperventilating.

I glanced down at the puppet, still feeling the terror rise in my throat, but the face I saw on it wasn’t Jake’s. It was just a normal, nondescript puppet, its painted face nothing more than a lifeless mask of neutral expression.

I blinked. It couldn’t be.

The cop chuckled softly. “You’ve got a real wild imagination, don’t you?” He shook his head. “Maybe you should lay off whatever you’ve been having, alright?”

I felt my knees weaken, and my whole body seemed to sag with the weight of their disbelief. My mind raced, trying to reconcile what I had seen, but all I could feel was the emptiness where Zoe’s presence had been, and the eerie quiet that had followed her disappearance.

“Come on, let’s get you home, kid.” The second cop sighed, reaching for my arm. “You look like you need some rest.”

I didn’t argue. I didn’t have the energy.

The cops guided me toward their patrol car, and I automatically slid into the backseat, still holding the doll.

The puppet sat there in my lap, its empty, painted eyes staring up at me like a cruel reminder of everything I couldn’t explain. The weight of it was unbearable, and my fingers trembled as I gripped it. Tears prickled at the corners of my eyes, and I blinked them away, willing myself to hold it together. But the hurt was too much, the fear too raw. Zoe was still out there, somewhere. Jake was gone, and I couldn’t make anyone believe me.

The world outside the car seemed distant, unreal. The streets passed in a blur, the flashing lights of the police car cutting through the darkness like a cruel mockery of safety. I didn’t know what I expected, what I thought would happen. All I knew was that I couldn’t keep holding on to the puppet anymore.

Without thinking, I carefully set it beside me on the seat. My hand lingered for a moment, and I swear, I could feel it pulling at me, begging to be acknowledged again, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t keep living in this nightmare.

The car slowed as it neared my house, the familiar sight of it doing nothing to calm my racing heart. I didn’t know what I was hoping for. I didn’t know what I expected to find, but the absence of Zoe, the absence of something real, gnawed at me.

The cop pulled the car into the driveway and put it in park. I didn’t even look at him as I grabbed the door handle.

“Alright, kid.”, the first cop said, glancing over at me. “We’re here. You sure you’re gonna be okay?”

I didn’t answer. I just pushed the door open and stepped out, the cold night air hitting me like a slap to the face. My body felt heavy, like the weight of the whole world had settled on my shoulders. I couldn’t make sense of any of this anymore.

The second cop chuckled lightly from behind me, his voice full of an almost amused disbelief. “Forgot your doll, kid?”

I didn’t turn around. I didn’t even flinch.

Without a word, I walked up to my front door, my feet dragging with the weight of everything I couldn’t process. When I reached the door, I paused for a moment, my fingers brushing over the knob, and then, without looking back, I muttered just loud enough for myself to hear:

“You can keep it.”

Nobody ever believed me.

Not even my mom.

She kept telling me it was just a bad dream, that I was probably in shock or some other wayward nonsense.

But I knew. I knew what happened. I could feel it in my bones—the terror, the strings, the dark presence that haunted every step I took out of that tent.

Zoe was gone. Jake was gone. And Matt and Callie—they were still missing too. I never heard anyone talk about them again. Their names vanished from every conversation, from every search. People forgot about them. Just like they never existed. 

No one ever brought up that damn puppet show, not even once. It was as if the whole thing had been a figment of my imagination, a collective… bad dream.

But I know it wasn’t. I saw it. I touched it.

I still remember the way the strings moved, the puppets with their dead eyes and lacquered smiles. I can still hear Zoe’s scream in my head, still see her vanish into the dark. Sometimes, when I’m alone at night, I hear the sound of strings creaking in the silence, and I can’t shake the feeling that something is still out there, watching me.

The puppet show? It disappeared. Not even a full day after everything happened, when the sun came up the next morning, there was nothing. Not a sign of the tent. No remnants of the creepy old man who had been running it, no trace of the string or the weird smell in the air. Just… gone.

Some said it had been a part of some traveling circus that had moved on. But I knew the truth. When I look at the world now, everything feels like it’s wrong. Like it’s all just a game.

I tried to explain how the shadows still followed me, how the nightmares never stopped. But Mom just told me I needed to get over it, that I was still a kid when all that happened. That it didn’t matter anymore.

But it does matter. It matters more than anything.

Zoe’s still out there somewhere. Jake’s out there too. They didn’t just disappear. They’re part of it now.

I don’t know why I’m writing this. Maybe because I’m running out of time. Maybe because I don’t have anyone else to talk to anymore. But I’ll say it here, one last time—you need to understand.

If you ever come across that circus, if you ever see those strings creeping out of the darkness, if you hear that voice—don’t follow it. Don’t look. Don’t ask questions.

Because whatever it is, whatever they are, they don’t care about you. They don’t care about anything but feeding on your curiosity.

If you keep searching for the truth… the truth will find you. It always does. And when it does, you’ll wish you never knew it.

Because the truth is worse than you can imagine. It’s not just some old puppet show or a creepy man hiding behind a tent. It’s something older, something far darker than the night itself. A shadow, wrapped in strings, hanging over everything we take for granted. It waits, biding its time, luring you in with its whispers and its false promises of answers. But there is no answer. Not for people like us.

I never thought much about puppets. But now, I can’t stop seeing them.