Puppet on a String chapter 12

Chapter 12

I’m not sure when I wake up, but I am sure it is still the dead of night. I know right away something is off. I hear the hum of a cheery, though rather kitschy, tune playing. It sounds like the kind of music one may hear at a circus. The sound kept getting louder until it interrupted my sleep.

“What the …” I hear Mark groan from the sofa.

The music is coming from the hall, I determine. And its source is definitely getting closer. It could only be one thing, I decide: a scenario. I should have guessed this would happen, I chastise myself. There is no way the Instructor would have gotten over our last encounter so easily. And, of course, he would choose to have the retributive scenario occur in the middle of the night and thereby deprive me of sleep.

I breathe in the darkness. Mark is here. I feel frozen. How will I explain this to him? And what will I do with him while I am busy contending with the scenario? There is a knock at the door. I still can’t seem to move. Then, the hollow, slow knock rings again. Somehow I force myself to switch on the light.

Mark is facing towards me when the light comes on; so, his eyes are temporarily stunned by the brightness.

“What is that?” he mumbles.

“A scenario.” I respond, without giving any further explanation.

I quickly throw off my blankets and jump out of bed before he has the opportunity to ask any more questions. I am grateful that I had remained in my jogging outfit when I went to bed rather than changing into my nightgown. Because of this, I am able to go straight to the door before whoever it is knocks again.

I am careful to open the door just enough to be able to peer out into the hall. That way I am able to block the view of Mark from the hallway. Only to my surprise, as I open the door, I find there is no one out there waiting for me. Yet, the music is still playing as loudly as ever.

I look down at the ground in front of my feet and find a medium-sized wooden box there. Then, another thing occurs that surprises me. Mark comes up from behind me and uses his hand to open the door the rest of the way. I look back up at him wordlessly. He, in turn, looks at the box. He doesn’t seem surprised, but there is a certain look of disbelief on his face all the same.

“What is that?” he asks with incredulity in his voice.

“I don’t know.” I respond.

Without much in the way of hesitation, he reaches down and picks up the box. Then, he looks about the hall presumably to see whether he can see anyone else around. Once he seems satisfied that the hallway is deserted, he heads into my room with the box. I look around the hall again before following him back into the room. I watch as Mark lays the box upon a table. It is still making its strange tune.

“Odd.” Mark says. “There doesn’t seem to be a way to open it … or to stop that dreadful music.”

“Maybe we’re not supposed to stop it.” I suggest.

He looks at me questioningly. Then, he laughs.

“Maybe we should put it outside of the dining room, and he can listen to it all night long.”

“It is tempting.” I smile. “But what would they do if I refuse to play along with the scenario?”

Mark looks at me quizzically.

“Scenario?” he repeats. “What is a scenario anyway?”

I sit down in a nearby chair. I figure this will probably end up being a long conversation. I choose my words carefully.

“The Instructor creates scenarios to teach me what he believes are important life lessons. I’ve been thinking about it. I guess you could say I’m his ward.”

“His ward?” Mark sounds surprised.

“Yes.” I confirm.

Mark thinks for a moment.

“These scenarios … in order for him to teach you a lesson you have to see him at the end of the scenario, right?”

My eyes are evasive. He reads my reaction.

“Then, I’m going with you.” he announces.

I am pretty sure I don’t want to go myself — let alone have him accompany me. I am actually pretty intrigued by the thought that I could just blow off the whole thing. Plus, his insisting on going with me reminds me of the earlier, and thankfully fruitless, search for the Instructor in the dining room. If Mark keeps running around looking to confront the Instructor, how long will it be before he gets his wish? And what would happen to him — and to me — if that occurs. I shudder to think of that. And still, I can empathize with his position. I think of my brother — though it has been a long time since I have seen him. I was told he had been taken in by a family who had no room for me. At first, I asked to visit him. Then, I asked to write to him. I received neither permission nor encouragement for either, so I eventually gave up.

Maybe that is what is bothering me the most about Mark. He is determined not to give up on his sibling. What does it say about me that I had? And I wasn’t even almost drowned in a coffin to dissuade me from trying. Of course, it’s very possible they had just wanted Mark dead — whoever it was who had tried to drown him. But what a bizarre and disturbing way to murder someone! It chills the bones. Could the Instructor have really been behind that attempt? It is scary to even contemplate that.

I have to wonder whether Mark really has thought things through completely. What is he planning on doing to get the Instructor to talk? From what I know of the Instructor, I figure getting him to disclose information would be no easy task. I suspect the Instructor would rather die than give in to someone else’s will.

“So, what do we do now?” Mark’s voice interrupts my thoughts. “How do we start this thing — this scenario?”

“It’s already begun.” I reply with a slight edge to my voice.

I wish Mark had supported me in ignoring the scenario altogether. Instead, he is pushing me to begin my participation in it right away. Once again, on some level I understand where he is coming from. But mostly I am wary of the whole situation — not only for Mark’s sake but also because the Instructor and I hadn’t exactly parted on the best of terms. I have the sneaking suspicion this could be his revenge. And if the Instructor did have a hand in the air vent episode where I almost lost my foot, I would hate to see what he has in store for me if he has gotten really angry. Actually, he’d never been mad at me as he was last night before. And, quite frankly, I still can’t guess what exactly had brought that on. I sigh. There is no point waiting around my room while Mark stares at me impatiently, I think. Better to get whatever this is over with.

“We should probably go back into the hall and have a look around.” I conclude. “If the scenario involved my room, I think something more would have happened by now.”

Mark nods in agreement, and we head for the hallway.

The hallway is as deserted as it had been when we left it earlier. An eerie silence pervades its recesses. The chirpy tune, which continues to play, only seems to make the contrast between silence and noise more marked. I don’t like how it seems to draw unnecessary attention to us. I figure anywhere Mark and I go with this box anyone around will surely take notice. Certainly, Mark and I noticed when we heard it from my room.

Mark looks over at me. The look on his face seems to ask me what we should do now.

“I guess we walk around …” I say. “… and see what happens.”

Mark doesn’t appear to be overly enthusiastic about this response, but it’s the best I can come up with. It isn’t as though the box came with any instructions or anything. Though, at this point, I have to admit I have begun to wish I had checked the box more thoroughly than I had.

We walk and walk. I keep an eye on my surroundings as we go, but I see no one lurking around. Unfortunately, the box seems to be getting heavier the longer we walk. I am about to ask Mark whether he wouldn’t mind carrying it for a while when he remarks, “Does that thing seem to be getting louder?”

I laugh. It seems we are both imagining that the properties of the box are changing. Mark seems to sense my disbelief.

“No, I’m serious, Aronade. That dreadful tune is getting louder.”

I listen for a moment then realize he is right; it is getting louder. I take a few steps forward; and, though it is barely perceptible, the music does get louder. I look over at Mark with a grin on my face. The first piece of the puzzle appears to be solved. The volume of the music will tell us where to go. More than likely, the louder it gets the closer we are to where we are supposed to end up. It is a relief in a way. I’m not comfortable roaming around the complex aimlessly with Mark. The chances of discovery are too great. And yet, I know that arriving at the scenario location will bring risks of its own. If someone else, an actor for example, is involved they will let the Instructor know about Mark. That is if the Instructor isn’t already at the scenario location himself. While Mark seems to relish a confrontation with the Instructor, I do not.

But I also conclude that a confrontation seems inevitable. How else will we know whether Mark’s sister is here with any certainty? And I doubt Mark would ever consent to leave here until he feels positive she isn’t around. Actually, I’m not even sure at this point he can be convinced that she isn’t here. Someone would have to give Mark a solid lead as to where she is in order to get him to move on. Once again, I find myself admiring his steadfastness, though I still can’t help but fear where it may lead.

“It seems the volume of the music will give us an idea where to go.” I tell Mark, in case he hadn’t already figured it out. After all, he isn’t as used to these games as I am. Mark simply nods.

Of course, the frustrating part becomes obvious soon after. For it takes quite a few steps to notice any difference at all in the volume of the music, and by then it is easy to convince yourself that you have just imagined the change entirely. Mark and I have to check back with each other frequently in order to ensure we are on the right track.

If Mark weren’t with me, I have a feeling I would have given up — not out of despair but because I am sick of the whole thing. I begin to wonder why I have even played along with all these scenarios as long as I have. Then again, I have to cut myself some slack. After all, it isn’t as though I am consulted about it or anything. Most scenarios just come out of nowhere during the course of my daily life. I am simply caught up in them without warning. The only means to escape, therefore, is to complete the scenario. This one ironically is one of the few — or maybe even the only one — that I could have just ignored.

“I think it’s starting to fade.” Mark tells me.

“When?” I utter.

I had let my mind wander and quickly become embarrassed by the oversight. Fortunately, Mark has been paying attention.

“Just a little while ago the music started getting softer. Doesn’t that mean we’ve passed a turnoff or something?”

I look behind us and can see that there is another hallway that branches off this one. I smile up at Mark with satisfaction. He smiles back.

“Here. Let me take that box for you.” he offers. “You’ve had to carry it long enough.”

“Thank you.” I reply.

He smiles again briefly then takes the box. In a way, I think it is a relief for him. I can tell he longs to lead the way. And I am relieved because I am tired — bone tired. Plus, at least this way I can keep a better watch on my surroundings. Somehow, I can’t shake the feeling we are being observed. Then again, of course we are. It wouldn’t make sense if we weren’t. What would be the point of a scenario if they didn’t keep watch over my performance? Which means whoever is watching us has to know about Mark. Though, they may not know why he is here.

I had been so tired when the scenario started that I hadn’t thought about the significance of having Mark go with me. I could feel guilty that I hadn’t thought it through, or I could just admit to myself that Mark probably wouldn’t have listened to me even if I had insisted he stay behind.

Either way, what is done is done. It just makes it all the more important for us to determine once and for all whether Mark’s sister is here as this may be our last chance to do so. And if she isn’t here, where else could she be? And what will happen, especially to me, after we sort all of that out we will have to see. But first thing is first …

Mark is already heading with the box down the passageway we had skipped. Once again, the music grows louder. Mark seems pleased.

I cast a look backwards. It is too bad we can’t lie in wait and catch whoever it is that is probably trailing us. He may have some answers to some of our questions. But whoever it is, if there is indeed someone, seems to be keeping himself purposefully just out of reach.

That thought causes me to shudder slightly. The feeling of being watched is creepy.

“You okay?” Mark asks, glancing at me from the side.

“Yeah, I guess.”

He stops suddenly.

“I’m fine.” I insist. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Then, as though on cue, the music that has been playing stops.

“What is this?” Mark wonders aloud. “So, do you suppose this box has some sort of timer, or do you think the music stopped because of our location?”

“I don’t know, but I’d guess it’s the latter.”

That response seems to satisfy Mark.

“Me, too.” he confirms. “It seems tuned in to our location. But then, the question remains, what now?”

But just as that conversation reaches its conclusion, another sound takes its place. It is the sound of a portion of the wall moving. It slides open, revealing a passageway. Mark seems excited to have a new avenue for us to explore and progress through. But I know better — it is a trap. For once we enter, I know as sure as I am standing here it will be next to impossible to get back out.

Mark seems to recognize my hesitation.

“What’s the matter?” he asks me.

I look up at him in disbelief. Is he serious? Isn’t it obvious how foreboding this whole situation is? I sigh.

“What if we can’t get back out?” I finally ask him.

He looks at the darkened space then back at me. Finally, he seems to understand.

“Maybe we can find something to wedge the door open with.” he suggests.

Then suddenly, and much to my horror, the door’s movement begins to reverse itself. It is sliding shut! There is no more time to contemplate what to do next. The music, for whatever reason, has stopped, and there is no way of knowing whether we can ever get it started up again. And without the music, can we reopen the door? We have to act now or give up on the scenario. It occurs to me how elusive this scenario is in comparison to most of the others. It seems to be challenging me not to complete it. I am used to feeling forced to do the scenarios. It is odd.

Then, before I have the chance to think through what this all means, Mark is already through the gap. I hesitate just long enough to realize I don’t have a good choice. Then, I follow behind him.

I look back and see the door close, eclipsing the light from the hall. Now on the other side of the door, we are faced with the same dilemma we had had before. How will we get the door to open again?

“There could be another exit up ahead.” Mark puts forth.

I am relieved to hear him suggest that possibility, and I nod in agreement.

“We should probably keep the box with us.” he mentions. “Who knows whether we might need it again.”

It is kind of heavy, but I agree with him. I have no desire to retrace my steps and come back for it later. It would be just like the Instructor to have us need it. He could also have it disappear by the time we could get back here.

I always wonder at the beginning of every scenario whether this will be a scenario that won’t end — that I will be imprisoned within it just for being foolish enough to have started it in the first place. There are never any rules in these things that make complete sense to me. And there is always an inconsistency to the lessons I am forced to learn.

The hallway we begin to walk through is surprisingly barren and dark. It seems an odd place for a scenario. Usually, there is something of interest or of note to draw one’s attention. Instead, this corridor has a distinct feeling of being unused, maybe even forgotten. The cobwebs that occasionally cling to the walls are actually real rather than simply placed for dramatic effect. If it weren’t for the fact that the door had opened because of the music box, I would have concluded that we had wandered down the wrong path. After walking toward seemingly nowhere for a while, I can sense that Mark’s frustration is growing.

Eventually, he turns to me.

“What do you think this means?” he asks me. “There doesn’t seem to be anything here.”

I ponder that for a moment. It does seem that someone has led us astray. But if so, why?

Suddenly, music begins to emanate from the box again. It is a slow melody that seems to unnaturally drag on. It sounds as though it is coming from a broken record player. It begins to be hard to listen to as it screeches and sputters along. It is clearly out of tune.

“What is up with that?” Mark questions with agitation in his voice. “That’s about as bad as nails on a chalkboard. Then again, maybe it’s worse.”

“Should we go back and see whether the music box can reopen the door we entered?” I ask him, though I can tell by the look of disappointment on his face what the answer will be. I rather wish I hadn’t brought it up. After all, even if we did leave now, what would be resolved? Perhaps, somehow we are close to reaching the resolution of his sister’s disappearance. Where would we be if we went back to my room now? It is at this moment that I determine to see this scenario through. It is time to face this thing — whatever it is.

“Never mind.” I say, “Let’s keep going.”

He nods with approval.

“I got to thinking —” he starts. “where we are — we seem to be headed toward that unused corridor you pointed out to me. You know, the one that doesn’t seem able to be reached — by usual methods anyway.”

“You kept track of our path …”

That surprises me; I hadn’t thought to do that. It probably hadn’t occurred to me because that section had never made much of an impression on me before Mark arrived. It makes sense that Mark would be very interested in a place that seems to be intentionally cordoned off and not readily accessible. But me? I hadn’t really had a reason to care before. That thought gets me to wondering. Why would the Instructor believe I would have the motivation to leave my room in the middle of the night and go exploring these spaces? Unlike Mark, I’m not searching for anything, and I am too distracted by all the other places and unexpected events in my daily life to be invested in this area. Actually, at this point, I would rather avoid intrigue whenever possible. To be honest, I’m not sure what even compelled me to go into that vent the other day. Certainly, I am loath to try that again. So, I conclude, it doesn’t make sense to me that the Instructor would be counting on my having an interest in this area and, therefore, the motivation to explore it. Unless, of course, he was counting on Mark to persuade me …

But then, I remember something I had put from my mind about this place. It is near to where Mark almost died. This, of course, is another good reason to avoid this area altogether.

However, I know that there will be no talking Mark out of exploring it. It is a logical place to search, after all. And what if there is something interesting hidden within this unknown space?

“We’d better be on guard.” I advise him suddenly. “The last time you were in this area … it didn’t go so well for you.”

“Yeah.” He looks off to the side.

He seems to actually be taking what I said seriously. I am relieved. The last thing we need to do is to act rashly and let our guard down. Convinced now that Mark and I are on the same page, I am willing to proceed on without any more hesitation.

The creepy and screechy music continues. Only this time, the volume doesn’t seem to change. Then again, it really doesn’t seem to matter; there is only one way to go. The corridor appears to head forever in a straight line. I wonder how this can be. There has to be an end point. As it is, we must have bypassed the mysterious section by now and have jutted out past the main part of the building.

“How big is this place?” Mark remarks.

He sounds tired; I know I am. The doors, as few as there are, won’t open. They seem to be sealed shut from the inside. The whole place has a feeling of abandonment, as though it had been closed off long ago and was never intended to be revisited. Finally, we hit a wall — literally — the hallway just runs into a brick wall. Mark puts the music box down and checks the obstruction over. But it is no use — it is a brick wall, and there is no discernible way of getting past it. I am at a loss as to what to do now. The only thing I can think of to do is to head back to where we came from, but I know that Mark won’t take that well. Still, what else can we do?

Mark places his hand against the wall and leans upon it.

“Do you suppose we missed something?” Mark postulates. “Maybe we should recheck those doors we passed by.”

I readily agree. After all, it will get us heading back the way we came. I really don’t believe that rechecking the doors will do us any good; I think we did an adequate job of inspecting them already. It turns out I am wrong. At the third door we come to on our way back, Mark does an exhaustive examination — as he had the two doors preceding it. He runs his hands along every edge and curve.

“What’s this?” he utters, which surprises me.

“What? Did you find something?” I wonder in disbelief.

“There’s some sort of latch here.” he informs me.

Mark continues to mess with the latch. I shift on my weary feet. Then suddenly, the door begins to move, though this time not on its own. Mark’s actions have freed the structure, and now Mark is able to slide the door from its place. There goes my hope of getting back to bed before morning, I think. Mark, on the other hand, seems thrilled by this new discovery. I smile wanly when he looks at me.

When the door is fully opened, a burst of dust assails us. I begin to cough. Whatever space is on the other side of this door, it had obviously been closed off for a while — hence, it has the feel of a tomb.

“There is a stairwell in here.” Mark announces for my benefit.

“Great!” I think sarcastically. “Now we get to descend into the tomb!”

So much for my not hesitating again! I should have known that was far too optimistic an expectation to place on myself. And yet, I am not the only one who is far too optimistic.

“It looks like the type of place where they could keep prisoners.” Mark announces.

I don’t know what to do when he looks at me. Should I nod in agreement, even though I don’t know that I, in fact, agree with him? I just stand there, and his face falls as a result.

“Well, come on.” he states in a cooled voice. Apparently, he is not going to be dissuaded by my lack of enthusiasm. I, for one, am glad to distance myself from this awkward moment. Still …

“How will we see?” I ask him.

I had unfortunately allowed the momentum of the moment to carry me into this scenario without thinking things through first. It hadn’t even occurred to me to retrieve my flashlight from my room before heading out. For some reason, I hadn’t thought this scenario would take long or take us out of the brightly lit corridors we were in at the beginning. In other words, I hadn’t thought. Perhaps, I had been too tired to think.

He looks back at me for a moment then considers. Finally, he goes back into the hall.

“Make sure the door doesn’t shut.” he instructs me after I step inside the doorframe in order to secure it. I can hear noises in the hall as though something is being torn apart. Mark eventually reappears with a torch in his hand.

“Good thinking, by the way.” he tells me approvingly.

Mark then looks towards the music box, which he had placed by my feet when he had left earlier. It is still churning out that dreadful music.

“I can’t carry both.” he informs me. “Do you want the torch or the box?”

Since I am not sure that a spark may not fall from the torch, or that I may not accidentally drop the torch and extinguish the flame, I say, “I’ll take the box.”

Mark looks surprised. After all, the box is heavy. Not to mention, it is making the most dreadful noise. It sounds like someone is beating a player piano to death. Still, I take up the box without a word of explanation. I don’t really want to admit I am afraid of the fire.

We head down the wet, stone staircase then. I look behind us a couple of times to see whether the door we are leaving behind is closing on us; it isn’t. Still, as the exit escapes from view, I know that that may not be true forever. Everywhere we venture, every step we take forward seems designed to just entangle us further and further into a trap. Still, what choice is there? If we are to find answers from the person who has them, we have to do it on his terms. As we progress, I do begin to wonder what we will do should the flame burn out. I think that it wouldn’t be so hard to retrace our way back to where we had come from … so long as the path remains so straight. Of course, it doesn’t.

“Which way?” Mark asks, turning to me.

I shrug. I have no idea. Though, I know instinctively that I should make a mental note of whichever way we do end up going. With or without the light, it probably isn’t going to be as easy to get back as I had hoped.

Mark looks back at the fork in the path. He seems to be analyzing something.

“I think I feel a breeze to the left.” he announces.

“What does that mean?” I ask him.

The significance of this observation eludes me. Don’t get me wrong, it seems to mean something, but what? I step forward and get a taste of the air that is wafting towards us, and it is cold. It seems to be too strong of a current to be coming from a window. Could it be an open door … to the outside? I realize I haven’t actually been outside the complex since I had arrived here years ago. I’ve only been in the enclosed outdoor space of the garden I had left Mark in. It is strange to think that stepping outside of the confines of this place hasn’t occurred to me in so long. Suddenly, I am filled with the desire to leave. Yet, at the same time, I know I am in no way dressed for cold weather. And there is no going back to my room for a sweater either.

Still, maybe if I could just step outside for a moment …

“All right.” I say. “Let’s go that way.”

It is bound to be better than the other direction, which is emanating a musty smell.

Mark smiles then nods. Then, we both head onward. I can feel the weight of the music box begin to weigh down my arms as we carry on. The chill in the air also isn’t helping my muscles any.

I am regretting going this way already. The wind is awful and growing worse by the second. I can feel the thin fabric of my outfit begin to give way as the wind intensifies. I can sense the cold air sailing through the invisible holes in the cloth. I know it won’t be long before it becomes too much for me to bear. Then, I will have to turn back, and Mark will be disappointed. Of course, he doesn’t have to turn back with me. He could go on without me. But do I want him to? For one, there is only the one torch. Secondly, I don’t really want to stand here alone waiting for him. And lastly, what if something happens to him while we are separated? That old familiar worry comes back over me. I would never know what happened to him then …

So, I trudge on. If Mark can stand the cold, so can I, I tell myself. After all, Mark also doesn’t have a coat — I can only assume it was taken from him when he was placed in that coffin.

In any event, I can’t focus on how much I wished I had brought something warm along with me. I had had the opportunity to be prepared for this venture, and I hadn’t taken it. I could only imagine what the Instructor would say now if he were here.

Eventually, the cutting wind begins to subside, and the noise it created becomes a dull hum. I can even see the dimmest of lights straight ahead. I had been right; there is an opening to the outside after all. And it appears that dawn is just beginning to break on the morning.

“It should get warmer once the sun comes out.” Mark says with some satisfaction.

I can tell that the sense of freedom from the fresh air is doing him some good. I hate to think of him going back inside the confines of the complex after this. But I know that is exactly what he’ll do if he has to. The truth is I hate the thought of going back in there myself. I shake off the thought; it is pointless.

“Hey,” I suddenly notice.

I look down at the box I am holding. It is still making noise, but it is much more muted than it was before. I can’t say what that means. It could be a sign, I figure, that we are on the right track. Or, it may mean that whatever is powering the music box is winding down. Either way, it has to mean something. The look on Mark’s face suggests he thinks so, too.

“Well, I guess we should look around.” Mark suggests. “Are you up for that?”

“Yeah, sounds good to me.” I reply.

There is still some snow on the ground. On top of the snow is a glossy sheen. That either means ice or that the snow is slowly melting. As my foot falls upon the snow, it crunches, but it also gives way pretty easily under my weight. I take this as a sign that the snow is probably weakening. Perhaps, Mark is right that the temperature will continue to rise as the day progresses. Already I can tell that fog is beginning to settle in. That surely means the snow is thawing! Perhaps, we are heading into a warm spell. In the very least, it will hopefully be a warmer than usual day.

“Should we leave the box or take it with us?” I ask Mark.

Part of me is thinking about how heavy it is. Though, I still realize there is a possibility we may end up needing it again.

“Here. I’ll take it.” he offers.

It surprises me when he blows out the torch and places it on the ground. I recognize that we don’t need it with the sun, and that it would eventually burn out anyway if we kept it alight. Still, I wonder how we will relight the thing when we head back into the complex. Surely we will still need light to see by. Or, is he not planning on going back inside there at all?

I look on him with curiosity as he takes the box from me, but he does not return my gaze at first. Instead, he starts to walk off into the open courtyard with the box in hand. Finally, he seems to notice that I’m not following along behind him, and he casts a look my way. His look is one of, “Are you coming?”

I step forward, casting my eyes at the torch as I pass it. There will be time to determine what he is thinking later, I figure, even though we don’t know what to expect from the coming day yet.

Copyright © Jennifer Alice Chandler 2020