Strings

Chapter 3: The Puppet Maker

I spun around so fast I lost my balance, teetering wildly on the tip of my toes. A hand suddenly reached out to steady me and I looked up into a young face.
A young man stood in front of me, smiling as though at a secret joke. He was a year older than me, around seventeen years of age. He had a smooth, pale face and mischievous blue eyes peering at me from behind an untidy mop of light brown hair.

"Forgive me for alarming you." He said politely as I stood there. He was dressed rather oddly in a top hat and a long, black cloak. With difficulty I stopped myself from staring at him and managed to speak.

"Oh, it's fine." I said at last. "I'm sorry for intruding. I'll be leaving now."
"That's a shame." The young man said, looking disappointed. "And here I thought you would like to listen to more of that music that must have brought you here."

I stopped. "You were the one making that music?" I asked.

He smiled again. "In a manner of speaking; yes. Would you like to come hear more?"
Without really thinking, without really bothering about the fact that I was dealing with a complete stranger, I nodded, a soft and eager yes escaping my lips.

The young man looked pleased with my answer and beckoned me to follow him behind the counter. He reached out a gloved hand towards the wall and pulled back a curtain I had not noticed before. The curtain's faded and stained texture blended perfectly with the wall, only to be noticed if one looked hard enough.

Behind the curtains was a dark flight of stairs. Picking up an already lit lantern hanging by a hook at the beginning of the stair case, the young man waved at me to follow after him.

We ascended the creaky wooden steps, the light of the lantern beating back the shadows. The young man walked ahead of me, silhouetted against the yellow glow of the kerosene lamp.

"Who are you?" I asked suddenly as I realized I didn't know his name.

"Me? I am Mr. Strings." He said softly, glancing back at me with a curious blue gaze.
"Oh." I said lamely. "Oh- I'm Janet." I added quickly, not wanting to sound impolite.
"What a lovely name." Mr. Strings said with a chuckle that sent a shiver down my spine. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be following this stranger, yet I was still here, as though an invisible force tugged at me to abandon all caution and climb after the young man.

"Where are we going?" I asked, feeling the need to break the silence.

"You shall see." Mr. Strings said with another soft chuckle. I fell silent, continuing my ascent. I could feel my phone in my jeans pocket and assured myself that, if anything went wrong I could call my mum. Yes. I told myself. It'll be alright. I shouldn't worry.

"Here we are." Mr. Strings said, suddenly stopping and almost causing me to bump into him. From the folds of his cloak he pulled out a key and inserted into the key hole of a small wooden door in front of us. The lock clicked and the door opened a crack, sending a stream of light spilling out into the darkness.

"Do come in." Mr. Strings said as he stepped in. He held the door open for me. "It's nice and warm in here."

He was right. I stepped into the room beyond the door and instantly felt the air warm my shivering body. The room itself was brightly lit with a fire blazing in the hearth, strange colored fumes rising from the flames and dissolving into the air. Another rickety looking stair case spiraled upwards from the middle of the room. Wooden beams crisscrossed above my head, set against the shadowy black background into which the top of the stair case disappeared. On one side of the room was a large window obscured by heavy red curtains. The walls were plastered with posters, mostly those bearing circus advertisements, however here and there were posters from the world war times, faded and torn in places, angry faces glaring at me, bearing long forgotten slogans.