Author's Note: Yes! I'm getting better with my updates again, getting back into the swing of things. Thanks for reading everyone - enjoy :)
Dedication: For revengefulkarma. Thank you for reading and commenting and supporting. I enjoy being 'reading buddies' with you and I'm glad you've taken an interest in my story. Thank you and I hope you enjoy this because, well, that's what it's here for :)
*****
Not that many things happen in the day time. Nobody wants to take the risk. People like to work in the cover of night. In the cloak of darkness. Puppets like to work at night too.
Darkness offers safety for some. A sense of security. For others...darkness only holds fear. Fear and dread and..waiting. The waiting for something bad. Something horrible. For a few, darkness holds a sense of mystery. A place where secrets are kept and will never be uncovered. A strange thing, is darkness. An odd thing. One of those things nobody can ever agree upon...and probably never will.
It was day time. The time of light. Of laughter and talking. But darkness still lingers in several corners. In certain places. A cellar happens to be one of those places. The cellar in question was packed full of boxes and junk, coated in years of dust. In the midst of all the clutter there was something hiding. Something waiting in the darkness. A puppet. Nothing more, nothing less. But perhaps we could say it was a little more than a puppet. After all, puppets very rarely move around on their own. Very rarely commit crimes. Very rarely...kill. So this puppet was a little more than just a wooden doll.
Oh, it was much more.
Nobody likes cellars at the best of times. Nobody really enjoys walking down those cold stone steps...in the dark. But somebody has to. There has to be someone who ventures into that place without windows and only one door. That dark little place that so often resembles a cave. Yes, somebody has to and the puppet knew that. It knew that, if it only waited long enough, someone was sure to come stumbling by.
*****
“Let’s make Christmas biscuits.” I said, breaking the silence as we thought of what to do with our day.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Anna.” Said Ryba, scowling. “It’s weeks away from Christmas.”
“Weeks, days, does it matter?” I said.
A small smile crept upon Otto’s face as he watched me get all excited at the prospect. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about what day it is, Ryba.” He said, not taking his eyes from me. “Anna is very fond of Christmas biscuits.”
“But it’s stupid!” She cried in frustration.
“At least we’ll be inside.” Otto shrugged “I don’t know about you, but I can’t help thinking we’re more likely to get attacked by puppets if we’re walking around aimlessly on the streets.”
“And, don’t forget,” I said, enjoying the look upon Ryba’s face “the days are shorter. Darker. It would be easy to dump someone’s body in the gutter on a cold winter’s night. Nobody around to-“
“Alright!” Said Ryba, her face pale. “We’ll make Christmas biscuits, then.” She held up her hands in surrender and stalked off into the kitchen.
“Do you remember-“ I began.
“-when we made Christmas biscuits in July?” Otto grinned at me “yes, I do.”
I smiled sheepishly “I like Christmas biscuits.”
“I’ve noticed.” Said Otto, getting up to go to the kitchen “you’re just not the best at making them.”
It was true. I really wasn’t the best baker or cook. I always seemed to have a habit of getting the ingredients everywhere apart from the bowl and, the ones that made it in, always seemed to be of the wrong quantity. Well, something must have been wrong with them judging by the rock hard cakes and biscuits I seemed to be forever taking out of the oven.
It was a mistake letting me sift the flour. What started out as a light dusting of flour, falling down into the bowl, soon turned into a bit of a snow storm. The blizzard raging around me in a small cloud, settling upon my clothes and covering my face. When Ryba and Otto returned to the kitchen they stood stock still in the doorway, looking at me staring at the empty bag of flour in my hand, my face as white as...well, as white as flour.
“You’ve got some flour on your face,” I said to Otto.
“What? Where?”
“Here.” I grinned and made a white hand print on his cheek.
Just as Otto grabbed me and was about to shove the empty mixing bowl on my head, Ryba looked up from the recipe book and said “stop it, both of you.” We stopped, as if time had momentarily been paused and the bowl clattered to the floor. The remains of the mixture splattered the tiles and we all looked down at it.
Otto wiped his cheek, only smearing my hand print to cover more of his face “sorry.” He smiled, and put the angel shaped biscuits into the oven.
Later on Otto said “it looks just like you.”
“Sorry?” I paused in mid bite and looked at the angel.
“It looks like you.” Otto grinned.
“You’re saying I’m an angel?”
Ryba snorted “the last word I would use to describe you Anna, is angelic.”
I broke off the tip of the angels wing “there, she’s flawed now. Just like me.”
Otto stuck his hands in his pockets “even angels have flaws.”
“And do you know what they call flawed angels?” I said.
“What?” Said Ryba and Otto together.
“Humans.” I said, biting into the sugary biscuit. I leaned on the table and my elbow connected with a newspaper lying there. I pulled it towards me and, all of a sudden, I didn’t feel like eating anymore. “Look.” I said.
“What?” Said Otto, leaning across the table.
“There’s been a disappearance. A woman taken from her house and...a puppet left in her bed.”
“Let’s not talk about puppets.” Said Ryba “we said we wouldn’t.”
“But that’s not all,” I continued “the police suspect the gypsies for doing it. They think they’re behind the murders.”
“Rubbish.” Said Ryba.
“Is it?”I replied. “Is it really?”
*****
Author's Note: Well, again, a bit of a 'nothing' chapter. But I quite enjoyed writing it and, well, I suppose it lets you see more of the characters. Anyway - I hope you liked this and I hope you'll like the next chapter too. It will be a little more relevant :) Thanks for reading and all the lovely comments and support you've been giving me - I really appreciate it!
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Curtain Down
HorrorIn the early 19th Century, Prague’s streets are cold and cobbled. The astronomical clock chimes on the hour and life goes by as it should. Puppet theatres have always been a big part of the Czech culture and Anna and her uncle rely on them for a liv...
