The Man (Puppet Boy Prequel)

6.

"COME OUT, my beautiful Puppet Boy," his creator cooed in a sickeningly sweet tone, searching the backyard of a neighbour's house where Tommy ran.

Thankfully, it was almost fully dark, so Tommy was able to hide in one of the bushes. Thorns pricked his arms, but that was nothing compared to what his punishment would be if he were found. He trembled every time his creator's dull eyes mindlessly skimmed over his hiding spot.

"Hi, are you looking for something?" somebody, Tommy assumed it was the neighbour who owned the yard, asked.

Tommy froze, his breath hitching as he peeked through the small branches to find a man who was about the height of his creator standing there. The neighbour adjusted his glasses, searching around with his creator.

"Yes, I'm looking for my son. He always takes hide and seek so seriously," his creator chuckled. It was so strange to Tommy how he could seem so normal one minute, and hang dead people from ropes the next.

"Well, I think I saw something move right there," the neighbour said in an audible whisper, pointing at the small space where Tommy's eyes were revealed. "But don't tell him I told you," he teased.

His creator locked eyes with Tommy, and a thick cloud of anger flashed through his irises before they quickly returned to normal.

"Ah, there he is. Tommy, come out now, it's not funny anymore!"

His creator's voice seemed so kind. With the look in his creator's hooded eyes, he knew that he had to exit the bushes or worse would come to him.

Tommy slid out of the bushes, and the neighbour began to laugh from beside his creator.

"Ah, the thorn bushes! Not the best hiding spot, kid," the neighbour entertained before noticing the child's appearance. His eyes widened at the sight of a child so malnourished, covered with smudged makeup and even holding a lingering stench of decaying flesh.

His creator seemed to notice, as he set a hand on Tommy's shoulder. "Come on, scout. Lets go get your scratches bandaged!" he exclaimed, his eyes fixing on the fresh tears across the flesh of the boy's thin arms.

Tommy stared at the ground when he noticed the neighbour kneel down to eye-level with him. "Everything's alright?" he asked Tommy in a whisper.

He knew that his creator heard from the way his grip tightened roughly on his shoulder.

"Y-yes, everything is okay."

The neighbour stood straight, eyeing Tommy's creator carefully.

"Thanks for helping me out, but unfortunately, the kiddo's got school tomorrow," his creator messed up Tommy's filthy, matted hair.

The neighbour ignored him and continued to stare down at the eight year old with soft eyes. His creator, trying desperately to mask his anger, said goodbye again and pulled Tommy away.

His creator had him practically lifted off the ground, dragging him up the lonesome street with anger in his steps. He was mumbling, tightening his grip so harshly, Tommy squealed out in pain.

"Those scratches are nothing compared to what you're in for," his creator warned him.

Tommy couldn't cry anymore. There was no use and he knew it - it would only get him into more trouble. He tried to remember Julie's face, her gentle features and kind voice, but his attempts were deemed impossible. His intense fear clouded Julie's face, leaving only a slender and lingering trace of her beautiful appearance behind.

When the small beige house came into view, Tommy began to quake with fear. His inhales were tight; he struggled to take in the thickening blackness around him.

"D-daddy," he begged while shaking his head. "Please."

His father responded by lifting his arm and pulling him up the stairs, all while skimming his knees against the concrete steps.

"I'm not your fucking father!" his creator's grating voice was all he could think about.

The wooden door swung open and Tommy was thrown into the house. He hit his skull against the tile so hard, his vision wouldn't stop spinning. He tried to lift himself off the ground, to run before the heavy footsteps stepped any closer to him, but he couldn't move. A jarring pressure swarmed the edges of his forehead and pain pulsed through him.

He was lifted by his shirt off the ground. His vision was bleary and clumsy, blurring in and out of focus. He didn't notice the basement door open, but he could tell from the gut-wrenching stench that was all too familiar.

Once they reached the bottom of the staircase, Tommy unexpectedly fell to the ground. He heard his creator scream, rushing away from him.

He picked his head up from the ground, blinking rapidly in attempt to center his vision. He noticed that Kevin was already prepared for operation. He knew that wasn't the reason why his creator had screamed.

Tommy's eyes landed on the puppet that resembled his mother. She was slumped against the wall, all the way in the corner of the dank basement.

Tommy furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, for he had no idea that she was still around. He hadn't seen her in weeks! Usually his creator only kept puppets for a few days before allowing them to perform, but this one must have had some sort of importance to him.

Her hair was thin and falling to the ground in thick clumps, and her eyes had formed a cloudy film over them. His creator dropped to his knees as he collected the puppet in his arms. Tommy listened to his heavy sobs, his addled brain trying to figure out why he was crying. His puppets always passed away - it never bothered him before.

"Wake up, baby, wake up, please," his creator begged. "My baby! I love you so much, Linda, please!"

Linda?

Tommy was so perplexed. He had no idea what was going on. His mommy died of cancer a year before, upstairs safe and sound in her bed. There was no way that she was...

"Linda! Please, baby! Wake up!" his creator pleaded hopelessly, his voice even cracking. Tommy wasn't used to his monotone voice holding any emotion.

After about several more minutes of his creator's agonizing weeps filling the airless room, he stood up with her bony body limp in his arms. He sniffled as he stepped towards Tommy, still whispering for her to wake up.

"Sir, what is going on?" Tommy whispered, staring up at him with muddled eyes.

"Shut the fuck up, Puppet Boy!" his creator snapped instantly, his focus held on his deceased puppet.

Something caught Tommy's eye. Even with blurry sight, he spotted the shiny ring on the puppet's finger, her arm senselessly hanging down from her side.

It was his mother's ring.

Tommy couldn't control himself. "Mommy!" he screamed from the ground, his voice high-pitched and echoing off the mouldy walls of the room. "Mommy!"

The last thing he saw was his creator's boot before he fell unconscious.

_

A.N

This was probably quite expected, but this is just another negative milestone in Tommy's journey to becoming The Man we all know and love lol. Poor Tommy :( It's kind of hard to hate him when you consider what he went through as a child, but I still hold a grudge against him for killing people. :/
Thank you for reading!