#puppets

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.

A gray SUV stopped by a white house in the countryside. The garden was a bit overgrown; the grass and trees were starting to claim more land than they had been permitted. Five people came down from the car and looked around. 'This place looks nice.' Said a tall blond girl with green eyes while taking a deep breath. 'Yeah, it's a nice place. Grandpa loved this: fresh air, the forest extends for ten kilometers, and there is a river down the hill; we used to bathe there as kids.

Being a single dad to a seven-year-old like Miya means you learn to pick your battles. When she gets hooked on a new cartoon, you just pray it isn't one of those hyperactive, neon-flashing nightmares that melts their brains. So, when she trotted into the living room one Tuesday afternoon holding a blank white DVD case and asked, "Daddy, can we watch The Hummionds?" I barely looked up from my laptop. "Sure, kiddo. Pop it in," I mumbled, sipping my coffee.