THE PUPPET

By David Rowell Workman


Ian sat on his bed surrounded by colorful toys and listened to the muffled voices of his parents arguing what to do with him. Their conversation disturbed him somewhat (he wasn't sure why) and as hard as he tried he couldn't seem to change. When Ian started to get a headache he quit trying.
"You're too hard on the boy, Stephen," said the boy's mother, Nancy. Her husband stood next to the kitchen door and stared out the small square window overlooking the flower garden.
"I don't think so. I just want us to have some common interests," he assured her.
"But --"
"He doesn't want to hunt, fish, play basketball, for heaven's sakes, he won't even watch cartoons on television."
Nancy shook her head. "He'll come around. Have you ever taken the time to see what he is interested in?"
"Toy soldiers, model airplanes and puppets, that's not athletic enough. Why won't he play outside -- with other kids. The neighborhood is crawling with kids his age."
"He's just shy."
"I don't want him to be shy. I want him to be aggressive and playful. I want him to interact with other kids -- or with me. I don't think he likes me."
Nancy slipped up behind her husband and hugged his back with her slim arms. "Now don't say that. You know how little boys are --."
He moved away from her. "Little boys love their dads. To every other little boy the father figure is a hero!"
They were still talking when Ian tried again to change.
They're always talking. Talk talk talk argue talk . . .
His skin began to crack. Through the cracks a thick blackness spread over his arms, neck and face. His blue eyes morphed to an inky recess. and his brown hair appeared to be sucked into his scalp. A metallic sensation filled his mouth. The tips of his fingers began to fade. There was a sensation every time he began the change -- as if his blood was pushing to get out through his ears and his eyes. Instead of fighting the sensation, he embraced the it.
But he couldn't seem to cross the threshold this time. His body began to turn back to its natural coloring. His fingertips appeared. The blood drained from his ears. The darkness was gone. He was just Ian. Plain old Ian.
He had almost changed this time, but not enough. He'd have to wait until his parents were quiet.
"I think we should take him to see someone."
"Like who?"
"A child psychologist . . . Doctor Vivian Hoyle."
Nancy was appalled. "You went and got a shrink without talking to me about it first?"
"It's not like that. I just think the Doctor could tell us what's wrong with him, and how to correct it."
"There is nothing wrong with Ian, that he won't grow out of."
"I want to be sure. There's things I haven't told you," said Stephen, deciding to get to the heart of the matter.
"That's for sure!"
Their voices climbed an octave, and the conversation filtered up through the floorboards and seeped into Ian's room.
"Ian did something . . odd last night."
He realized he'd been caught. Ian wasn't sure what would happen to him if grown-ups found out what he could do -- but he knew it wouldn't be pleasant. They'd probably dissect him, or probe his brain with large needle sharp devices. Maybe even open his head, looking for the source of the shadow. No, he couldn't get caught.
Stephen sat at the kitchen table and nervously lit his pipe. His wife took a chair next to him and folded her arms.
"Tell me what you've been hiding."
He cleared his throat, knowing he'd sound like a nut case when he told her.
"I'm waiting," she said impatiently.
"I went up to his room last night, to check on him -- maybe even to try and talk to him. I opened the door, peeked in, but he wasn't there."
"That's it? He wasn't in his room, now he needs Doctor Spock?"
"Hoyle. Vivian Hoyle, she's a . . . child specialist."
"The answer is no! He doesn't need any treatment," Nancy would stand firm on this matter, she had her mind made up.
"There's more. I searched all over for him. He wasn't in the house -- anywhere. He also wasn't in the garden."
"The little bugger snuck out? And you thought he wasn't normal!" Nancy said, a relieved look on her face.
"You don't get it. Every night, for the past week I've been checking. Somehow he slips out." Stephen was getting aggravated with his wife's nonchalant attitude.
"So? Why don't you ask him."
"He'd just lie to me," he answered
"Are you trying to make me angry, Steve?"
"He disappears in the middle of the night without his pajama's -- no shoes -- no slippers, and no coat."
"You found his pajama's?" Nancy started getting concerned.
"Crumpled up in a corner."
"You're telling me he's running around naked?"
Stephen nodded. His pipe had gone out but he didn't bother re-lighting it.
She thought for a moment then finally said: "He's found a place to hide . . . and he's in his underwear. So it must be in the house somewhere."
"Impossible!" he said. " I've searched the entire house, even the basement."
"He's found some place clever, is all. Perhaps the attic."
"I didn't know we had an attic."
The attic, Ian thought. That's a great place.
Then another thought occurred to him and he gathered up some toys and a flashlight and some other stuff and set to work.

Stephen followed his wife to the laundry room.
"It's up there," she said pointing to a small door in the ceiling.
"Impossible. He'd never get up there. It's way too high."
"We should look all the same." Nancy slid the laundry hamper over, positioning it under the door. "You or me?"
"You, it's your idea. I hate cobwebs."
She grinned. "Coward!"
Hoisting herself up (with a little help from Stephen who used it as an excuse to touch her behind) she pushed the wooden door back and climbed inside.
"It's too dark, we'll need a flashlight."
Stephen went back to the kitchen and rummaged through the junk drawer until he found the flashlight, then hurried back.
"Took you long enough, Flash."
He switched the flashlight on, "Hey, at least it works, here."
Nancy moved the light around until the beam found its target. "Ah ha! I knew I was right."
"No way, you've got to be lying." He quickly crawled up beside her, almost knocking her over.
Toy soldiers were lined up at attention, next to them was a small flashlight and a couple of toy army jeeps.
And a box of cookies.
"I'll be hornswaggled!" said Stephen.

Ian watched them from the shadows.
He had finally changed. The darkness covered his entire body, then converted into a shadow. In the shadow he was safe. He could do things. Special things. Secret things. He wasn't sure how or why, but it didn't matter. The important thing was that he wasn't Ian anymore. He was a shadow.
He watched the couple inspect the toys.
He smiled as the man ate a cookie.
He was right behind them now.
Close enough to touch them . . . .

A boy of seven can usually find ways of amusing himself -- even during summer vacation. Ian's dad had made him play outside. Forced him to leave the comfortable confines of his bedroom.
"Go outside and play now or I'll throw all your toys away! I mean it, Ian. Go make some friends."
The sun was a bright ball of heat and unhappiness. The smell of a barbecue filtered in with the slight breeze. The clear blue sky looked as endless as an ocean. There'd be no shadows out here.
Ian dumped his green plastic soldiers on the pliant ground by the flower garden and began to dig several mini-trenches. He dodged the advances of curious honey bees maneuvering over his head. Occassionally swatting at one with a gray fighter plane. He was having fun -- sort of. But it wasn't anything like being a shadow. Nothing was better than that. He felt the hot sun on his skin, but it wasn't as uncomfortable as he thought it would be. Soon the thoughts of the cool darkness disappeared from his mind as he played with his toys.
When the soldiers were in place the battle began.
One of the green men was blasted away by an incoming dirt clod. Two more were obliterated by invisible machine gun fire.
"Rat-atat-atat-tat-tat-tat."
One died an agonizing death when a giant foot pushed him under the soft dirt.
"War is hell," said one of the battle-scared soldiers to another, using Ian's voice.
"Hi, how's the war?"
This was not Ian's voice. And it didn't belong to any of his plastic soldiers.
It came from the young girl standing behind him.
Startled, one of the soldiers were dropped to their death.
"Hi," was all Ian could choke out. He wasn't use to talking to any kids, especially any kids who were girls.
"I saw you playing from my backyard. We're having a barbecue. I'm Clarity."
"I'm Ian." He was standing now. A soldier was trapped under one of his high top tennis shoes.
Clarity. Clarity. The name rolled around in his mind. It was pleasent talking to her. And she was pleasent to look at. Clarity. Clarity.
"I know, you're in my class at school. Can I play?" she asked. Her blonde pony tail swished from side to side as she talked. It glistened in the sunlight. Ian wondered how it would look in the shadows.

Nancy was in unusually good spirits when Stephen came home from work. She was whistling a love theme when he slipped up and started kissing her neck.
"I don't know about you," said Stephen, "but I'm as crazy as a Hatter. Let's go into the bedroom for a minute -- or two -- or ten."
"That's Mad as a Hatter, not crazy as one." She went back to her whistling.
Stephen got a smug look on his broad face. "Are we happy for the same reasons?"
"That depends. What are you so happy about?"
"My son has a girlfriend!"
"That's what I thought, you jerk!" Nancy lightly punched him in the stomach and he scooped her up in his arms and kissed her real hard.

They were not just friends, but best friends. Surprisingly, Clarity enjoyed playing toy soldiers and was really quite good at it. She created the best battle scenes Ian had ever played. Giant floods enveloped the helpless green men (they used a water hose on at full force) and some of the trenches became pretty deep tunnels. Mud covered them from head to foot. And the best part was Ian's parents didn't seem to mind in the least.
They laughed about it for days.

Ian and Clarity were inseparable.
And Clarity's parents came over and made friends with Ian's parents. It seemed to be a great summer all around. One of the best summers Ian had ever had. And the best part about it was, he was close to showing Clarity his secret.
He only changed at night any more. His parents had quit checking up on him so he began to change in new places. To experience new shadows and new sensations of darkness and light.
The living room.
The basement.
Then outside. That was the best by far. There were endless shadows, and they moved and swayed with the wind.
All of this had to be shared. He would share it with Clarity, very soon.
But soon never came. Everything changed the day Uncle Bob came to town.

The robust man in the cheap, lime green suit sat on the couch with potato chip crumbs taking root on his yellowish shirt.
Uncle Bob. The man from Stephen's side of the family. The part of the family people never invited to Thanksgiving dinner, or Christmas, or bowling. He was purported as selling videos to chain stores across the county.
"How long are you in town for?" asked Stephen, sitting across the room in his favorite easy chair. He had done his best not to be annoyed by the ungracious house guest.
"Just a couple of days. I have to go to Texas later and inspect a shipment of new videos for resale."
"Good. I mean it's good . . . you have plans. Plans are good." Stephen's face turned a shade red. "Where will you stay while your in town?" He didn't want to ask that question. It opened up an ugly possibility, but the man was family in an ugly sort of way..
"Well . . ."
Uh, oh! Here it comes!
" . . . I was hoping I could bed down here, unless it's too much trouble!"
Yes Bob, way too much trouble, you big overgrown, potato-headed pompous boob. "Of course, we'd love to have you stay. Just as long as you'd like. It'll cost you a video or two," Stephen heard himself say with a laugh.
Uncle Bob's smile looked like piano keys, except for the bits of food stuck between his teeth.

Ian and Clarity ran through the house. Giant oversized space mutants chased after them. One was on their tail at that very moment. The biggest, meanest, ugliest one ever to set foot in the galaxy.
"I'll get you!" said Uncle Bob, puffing hard to get air into his lungs. They were working real hard keeping him mobile. He slowed down when he got to the kitchen. The children had headed for the stairs and Bob saw no future in following them. He felt he was too young for a coronary. A triple bypass was not in his plans. Besides, there was an untouched apple pie sitting innocently on the pantry counter, and all this exercise had left his famished.
He watched the children disappear up the stairs and out of sight. He heard a door slam.
Too bad they got away.
He had a real fondness for the little girl. She was bright, cute and had such lovely yellow hair. His favorite color.
Clarity, what a sweet name, he thought. Uncle Bob liked her alot. He was thinking about how much when he grabbed a knife from the kitchen drawer and headed for the pie.

A puppet hung from the ceiling of Ian's room. With just the right amount of lamplight (though Ian preferred moonlight) it displayed the most unique shadows.
He had made the puppet in his first year at school.
It sported a paper-mache' head and body and was clothed in a paisley shirt and black pants made by his mom.
Hand painted eyes, nose and smile.
Hand painted hair and eyebrows.
It was a grand puppet!
His dad made the wooden base in the garage -- and even used old kite string so it could move. Now it held a special place in his room. Hung between a B-52 bomber model and his favorite model spacecraft. Ian considered the puppet as Homebase. It was always a great place to watch from. The strings of the puppet stretched upward to the ceiling where the wooden base was nailed.
On the wall, shadows cast by the strings gave a web-like image. That's where Ian was hiding when he heard his mother screaming. He returned to being Ian, slipped into his pajamas and robe and went downstairs.
Everyone was staring at him.
"Ian, go back to bed, son," said his father quietly.
His mother ran up and hugged him tightly. "My poor, poor baby," she cried. "Mommy needs to tell you something."
"Honey, I think we should wait until morning."
Standing next to his father was Clarity's parents. He felt a sick feeling in his stomach when he saw their white, stress filled faces.
Uncle Bob strolled in yawning. He was wearing pajama's with a loud pattern. "What's up?"
Nancy told him to shut up, and he about-faced, heading for the kitchen.
Ian's father came up and knelt beside him. "It's Clarity, son. She's been badly hurt. She's in a coma. There's nothing we can do right now. The doctors at the hospital are taking good care of her."
"Ian, do you understand what we're telling you?"
Ian's face grew hot. "I want to see her!" he shouted.
"You can't, son. Not right now."
Tears spilled from his eyes.
His father lifed him up in hois arms and carried him back to his room.

Later that night when he knew his parents thought he was asleep, he went back downstairs. But not as Ian. He watched them from a shadow thrown to the wall by the corner of his dad's chair. Stephen was drawing deeply on his pipe -- sending phantoms of smoke around the room. Clarity's parents sat on the couch with Ian's mom.
They didn't know it but someone else was listening to the conversation from the kitchen. Ian could see him clearly. Uncle Bob's bulky frame was leaning against the door jab.
"Do the police have any clues?" asked Stephen.
Clarity's father shook his head. "No. They have no idea, no leads. If only somebody would have seen something. They checked the whole neighborhood. Hell, they even came to your house, didn't they?"
Stephen nodded solemnly. "They asked if we saw any strange cars on the block. Unfortunately . . . ." His voice trailed off unhappily.
"Perhaps your son . . .?" Clarity's dad began to say.
"I don't think so," said Nancy softly. "I'm sure he was sleeping at the time."
"I asked Uncle Bob, who is visiting from Seattle, but he was asleep too," Stephen added.
Clarity's mother sobbed hard. "Why did they molest my baby? Why? She never hurt anybody. It isn't fair!" She collapsed in Nancy's arms -- who joined in her sorrow.
Ian merged with another shadow, that of the lamp cord. Then to a shadow near Stephen's head. He caould see the shadow of whiskers on his dad's face. There were also dark rings under each eye.
Clarity's dad stood up. "We should get back to the hospital now. We just wanted to tell you folks -- what happened and see if you knew . . . anything . . . that could help -- be helpful for the police."
Like a specter Ian hitched a ride on some pipe smoke and floated to shadows of unknown origin cast on the kitchen doorway. Uncle Bob was eating a sandwich, a big grin plastered on his ruddy jowled face.

"He's taking it real hard," said Nancy. "I knew he would. Just when he'd changed, too."
Ian laid in bed staring at the ceiling. He wanted to be in a coma too. He missed Clarity real bad. He thought about the day they were covered with mud and he felt hot tears cascade down his cheeks.
Stephen and Nancy stood over him sadly.
"Too bad Uncle Bob had to leave so soon," Nancy whispered. "He might have been able to cheer Ian up a little."
"He'll snap out of it," said his father.
They both knew that wasn't true.

The hospital smelled funny. It was lit too brightly for Ian to change, so he tip-toed through the chalky corridors until he got to Clarity's room. He crept in silently and looked down at her. A tube ran from her arm to a clear bag that hung from a metal pole next. Clear liquid dripped slowly from the bag, into the tube, and slide down into Clarity's veins.
She laid in the bed on her side.So peaceful on the outside.
But on the inside, the shock of what had happened drove her deeper inside herself. That's how Ian's parents tried to explain it to him -- what they called a coma.
He wanted to tell his parents about Uncle Bob, but he wasn't sure they'd believe him -- and they would surely ask him how he knew.
Well Mom, I changed into this shadow and saw Uncle Bob feeding his face and laughing at what he had done --
Ian knew that wouldn't help now. There was only one thing he could do for her. And for him. Something no one else but him could do. He leaned on the bed and stared down at her. Clarity's eyes were shut and her hair had been formed into a small ponytail and tied with bright red ribbon.
Ian knew her parents had held vigil over her for six weeks now. His parents told him the hospital had a room for them to sleep in. He supposed that's where they were at this moment.
The far end of the room was shrouded in gray shadows and silhouettes. That's where he went.
And began to change.

Nancy sat on Ian's bed and cried. Stephen came in and dropped down next to her. They both looked rough. Ian's father was in bad need of a shave now and Nancy's hair was in disarray with snarls and frizzled ends.
The half-closed shade eclipsed the moonlight filtering through the window. His parents hadn't bothered turning on the light.
Stephen pushed his hand over his wife's hair. "Come to bed sweetheart. Coming in here only makes it worse. The police will find him. I'm sure of it."
She looked up at him with swollen eyes. "You really think so?"
"Of course I do," lied Stephen.
"But every bad thing has happened to us in the last few days. Ian missing. Clarity still in a deep coma and Bob. I feel so guilty for treating him so badly while he was here."
Stephen shook his head. "A freak accident. That's all it was. Bob was probably headed for a cornonary anyway, the way he ate. Choking on a donut . . .you shouldn't think about."
"You saw that awful look on his face at the morgue. Like he was scared to death of something."
"Honey, please." Stephen said calmly. "Just wipe it from your memory. We need to concentrate on our son now."
Nancy rose from the bed. "You promise we'll leave his room the same until Ian comes home."
"We won't touch a thing."

Ian watched from behind the puppet in the darkness. The two people below him were unhappy. They came into the room at least three times a day -- maybe more.
They always left crying.
He didn't understand their sadness anymore.
He wasn't sure he remembered who they were.
As they left the room, Clarity giggled.
Ian moved to her and they played among the shadows.

THE END

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