The Marionette's Chest and Other Stories Read online



  The Marionette’s Chest

  By MG Leister

  Copyright 2013 MG Leister

  Foreword

  I doubt anyone would read this part.

  Anyway, I wanna say that I’m publishing this eBook for free just coz. I’ve posted all of these online before, so there’s a chance that you’ve already read them. If not, I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed writing.

  Contents

  1.The Marionette’s Chest

  2.The Marionette’s Curse

  3.Alys In Underland

  4.Barbunzel

  5.Cinder Ella

  6.Slipping Beauty

  7.The Little Weremaid

  8.Ala Deen

  9.Cleone & The Missing Shoes

  10. Kissing Death

  11. Teeth

  12. My Boy Builds Coffins

  13. Romeo No Juliet

  14. Smoke

  15. Perhaps

  16. Odyssa

  17. Epitome, Can’t Be

  18. City Of Sin

  19. Leviathan

  20. Asmodeus

  21. Beelzebub

  22. Dilly Dolly

  23. Mother Doll Maker

  24. Imaginary

  25. Oh, Holy Angel

  26. Beads

  27. Dreamer’s Isle

  28. Forgive Me

  29. Lust

  30. Moonshine

  31. Monochromatic

  32. Prayer

  33. Sky & Earth

  34. Tangled

  35. Twinkle, Twinkle

  36. Siren

  37. Dyesabel

  38. Eenie Meenie

  39. Candlelit Eyes

  The Marionette’s Chest

  In the middle of the attic of the puppeteer's home lies an old chest that's been unopened for many, many years. The truth is that it had never been opened at all. The chest, made of oak and lined with gold embellishments and embedded with rare and colorful jewels was made by the finest craftsman of the time. And believe me when I say that the chest, which was called the Marionette's Chest, is older than both you and I, for it is, in fact, even older than your great grandparents grandparents.

  The puppeteer was an old man with hair the color of ash and snow and with lips that looked as if they were drawn onto his face for they stretched in but a small, thin line. It would make you wonder if he ever spoke for they look as if they were shut. But then again, he also needed to eat and drink and it may be the sole purpose of his mouth. His eyes were as green as the leaves of the pine trees behind his house. He was a man of silence and he would not speak without a puppet on his hand. There's no reason to it, really, he just wouldn't.

  Of a hundred and twenty puppets in his house, the one he treasured most was the one he had never laid eyes on. It was a special doll and he had longed to see it since he was a little boy. However, it was locked up inside the Marionette's Chest.

  The Marionette's Chest was not only old and beautiful but also magical. It possessed a simple power that kept it locked shut without a big chunk of metal dangling on its lid. There was no place for a key either. It was created for one purpose, to protect the most precious marionette there is. The chest was any puppeteer's prize. If they could open it, that is.

  It had been passed in the possession of many. In our puppeteer's case, it has been in his house long before he was born. Longer even, for it was already there before his father was born.

  When the puppeteer turned a hundred, he decided that it was time. With giddy hands and shaking knees, he staggered up the attic and knelt down right in front of the old chest. Dust covered almost everything in the tiny room. There was a grandfather clock on the far corner that still ticked, but the time could not be read as only one hand was left and the only remaining numbers where five, six and twelve. On the opposite corner rested an old piano. It had been the puppeteer's when he was young. Aside from the one he came for, there were other chests in the room, but they didn't matter for they only contained old journals and puppet show props. By the dormer sits a rocking chair covered with gray cloth that once was white.

  The puppeteer let out a desperate sigh. He wondered if he'd ever see the treasure that's inside the chest, or whether his father has seen it, or his grandfather or his grandfather's grandfather. Perhaps, he thought that there was really nothing inside and the worth of the chest was but a story to tell. And then it spoke,

  If you wish to see what's inside of me,

  You'll need the words to a melody.

  'Tis the one where birds sing along,

  the one you've known for a hundred years long

  Surprised, the old man was taken aback and fell on the floor. His bones creaked like a door with hinges in need of oil. He grunted in pain. Though the fall was just a few inches high, it felt like he fell from the sky for he could barely find a way to stand up. Not until his hand found something to hold on to and, after minutes of painstaking effort, he was finally back to his feet.

  He stood there, without a word, pondering on which melody the chest was referring to for he knows more than he could count with all his fingers and toes. He was, after all, a puppeteer, and melodies were always part of being one. But a melody that he has known for a hundred years...his memory somehow failed to recall that he called the simple failure due to age a treason.

  With a simple desire to ask the chest what it was referring to, he opened his mouth to speak yet no words came out. He needed a puppet. At the same time, he really didn't want to move, but he didn't think that he'd need to speak; so earlier, he decided not to bring one of his precious puppets along.

  The puppeteer was just about to move to fetch a puppet before hearing the chest speak again.

  If you wish to see what's inside of me,

  You'll sing to me in the count of three.

  He was stunned. What if it had already counted and he had lost his chance? He opened his mouth once more, he really wanted to speak. But there's no puppet. There's no puppet. Even a broken one with no arms or legs or eyes would do, but there was none in sight. Surely there'd be at least one in one of those other dusty chests you may think. The old man knew that there was none.

  Once upon a time, a doll was made,

  Carved from porcelain with eyes of jade.

  It lies inside, with hair of golden shimmer,

  If you want it now, you'll sing to me like you're in a theater.

  But still, the puppeteer did not speak. Perhaps it was the heat of being in the attic that he began to sweat so much. The sweat, though, was cold but he did not shiver. The chest has not yet begun to count, which was a relief to the old man; but what melody was it referring to? That, he intended to ask the chest, but couldn't. Desperation was beginning to consume him for he even thought that a paper doll would do. He'd make one, but couldn't as the ink and paper were all down two flights of stairs. If he went down, surely, he'd be too tired to make it back up.

  Once again, he opened his mouth. Only one word came out, and that was "what?"

  Oh, I assure you that you know,

  If I'm mistaken, you may go.

  Tell you? That, I won’t do,

  For, you see, I have to know if your heart is true.

  And so, the puppeteer began to cry. He cried so hard that it made it hard for him to breathe. He thought that he'd fall to his death there and then that fear crept up in his chest. It crept up so high that he closed his eyes and imagined his momma there with him. Whilst he was picturing comfort in his mind, he remembered a song that his grandpa taught him. It was a song that even his momma and poppa would sing.

  Sobbing sounds slowly turned into a hum. The puppeteer's eyes were still clo
sed that he didn't realize that the gems embedded on the chest were glowing one by one. Eventually, his hum turned into something clearer. It wasn't a song, yet, but was clearer than a hum. The gold embellishments of the chest began to shine.

  Helplessly, the puppeteer was still thinking until he found the words that would turn his humming into a song. But, without a puppet?

  If the lack of a puppet is what you fear,

  You'll have to know that what I offer is much more dear.

  When the puppeteer opened his eyes, he was surprised by the light glowing from the chest. Yes, he knew the words to the song. Memory has finally made up for the earlier treachery. Not without a puppet though, he thought. Not without a puppet.

  Bit by bit, each gem dimmed until there was no more glow. The golden embellishments were still with light, yet were on the verge of glooming, too. Naturally, the puppeteer started to worry. Worrying, however, did not do any good for it was his voice that the chest needed to hear and not the loud thump-a-thump of his panicking heart.

  One,

  Two,

  Three,

  This is not the day when my marionette will be free.

  Right enough, the chest vanished into thin air with a whooshing sound and a smoke of dust swirling around in its wake.

  The puppeteer, who was in deep shock, and in deeper regret, cried until his heart stopped, falling onto the floor so he'd soon be covered by dust as the other forgotten objects in his attic.

  The Marionette’s Curse

  Long ago, in a land unknown to many, there lived a small and peaceful kingdom that rested upon a plain surrounded by snowcapped mountains and dense forests. It was always cold in the kingdom, even when there was no snow. Thus, the folks rarely did any activities outside their homes. If they did, they made sure that there were walls to protect them from the chill of the wind.

  The people in the kingdom developed many kinds of indoor sports and they had lots of covered coliseum-like buildings that were half the size, perhaps smaller, than that of a real coliseum. There, they played games to amuse themselves and to amuse the royal family.

  If it wasn't sports that entertained the kingdom, it was puppet shows. There was only one theater in the kingdom and it was run by the Master Puppeteer and his crew. Every show was a spectacle. The puppets, if it weren't for the strings that made them move, talked and looked like normal people except for their small sizes. They wore fine clothes that were fit for a prince or princess. It made the Master Puppeteer a proud man.

  King Gregory was a huge man with a bulging belly from sitting most hours of the day and from eating a lot. His handsome face, however, made up for his size. And for that, he was married to the kindest and most beautiful woman of the land, Queen Marigold. She was tiny next to him. But it did not matter for their love was real. What looks tinier next to the king was his daughter, Princess Mabel, who was just a wee baby but already with the charm that can sway anyone to adore her.

  Princess Mabel grew up to be a lover of performing arts and the puppet shows were her favorite for the shows were not only about fancy dialogues with lessons, but also with songs and dancing, all meticulously planned by the Puppet Master.

  One day, after a show, Princess Mabel set out to meet the Puppet Master. "Good day, sir." She curtsied politely when he bowed to her. There was a marionette on his hand and it, too, bowed to the princess. "I am here to tell you that I adore your shows very much. Perhaps you could teach me a thing or two about puppets?" She wanted to know how they moved with finesse and how their mouths synchronized with words. She wanted to know how they were made and if it's possible for her to be able to make one herself. Their clothes, too, she wondered who tailored them for some of the dresses that the female puppets wore were more beautiful than that of hers. Then she realized that it wasn't just a thing or two that she wanted to know. Mabel smiled at the thought.

  "Good day to you, too, my Princess." Said the Puppet Master. He explained to her that the puppets moved because of strings and choreography with his hands. He was patient with Mabel's questions that were seemingly endless. Though, they probably were as it was dusk when the Puppet Master finally said, "My Princess, as much as I'd like to entertain you more, evening is close and I need to rest. If you'd visit me some other day, I-"

  "No." Mabel protested before the Puppet Master could finish what he was saying. "I want to know more. I want to know everything. Everything." The sound of her voice did not match the serenity of her face. It was as if an old, angry lady with ninety cats for children had spoken. The demand surprised the Puppet Master that he had to huff in a breath and exhale the shock away.

  Princess Mabel stood with her hands on her waist, poised in such a dominant stance that the Puppet Master was taken aback for a moment, but not long enough for the princess to notice for he regained composure soon enough. "Of course, Princess."

  For fourteen days, the Princess did nothing but ask the Puppet Master questions, some, the answers she already knew but asked nonetheless. The Puppet Master was tired. Five shows were postponed so that he could attend to the princess and he did not like the delay. But he could not say no for the princess talked her father into it and promised that the Puppet Master would be severely punished if he did not do as the princess asked. It was the cruelest thing that the king ever did. It's hard to blame the king though for he was only swayed by his daughter's charm. She was irresistible to him and to anyone else for she had long, flowing, golden hair that shone like the sun. He skin was of the likings of porcelain, smooth and white. She had the eyes of the forest with its deep green color that on occasion, turned into a lighter shade. When she spoke, all that a person would see is how plump and red her lips were. They did not need to understand her words for they were compelled to agree to her no matter what. Princess Mabel grew up to be as kind as her mother, until she formed an obsession with marionettes.

  The Puppet Master used to adore the princess. Not anymore.

  On the thirtieth day, the king demanded that the puppet theater be temporarily closed until the princess become satisfied with her lessons; but the Puppet Master could not bear with the thought of his theater being closed even temporarily for even that could lead to a permanent end. He had already delayed too many shows.

  On that day, the Puppet Master asked the princess to dress up in her most beautiful dress and adorn herself with her most beautiful jewels for he'd be teaching her something very important that she'd have to look like a doll herself. Excitedly, Mabel ran to her mother and demanded just what the Puppet Master asked. Her mother gave her precious jewels from other kingdoms, just the finest, nothing less. Mabel's dress was made of a cloth so smooth and light, colorful and most of all, beautiful. The queen colored her daughter's cheeks with a faint tint of pink and painted her lips with red. A bit of kohl made the princess' eyes stand out even more. When they were done, the queen gave her daughter a kiss on the forehead before the princess ran back to the Puppet Master.

  "Exquisite, my Princess." The Puppet Master bowed. In his mind, he knew that it was his last bow to the princess. "Let us begin."

  Princess Mabel sat quietly on a chair as the Puppet Master brought out a chest. Her eyes glistened from the sight of it as it was the most beautiful chest she had laid her eyes on. There were golden embellishments that lined the lid. Gems that varied color and sizes were embedded all over it. Then she realized that there was no lock. Every other chest she had seen had locks. "Is it never really closed? I don't see where you could put in a key." She inquired.

  There was something sinister by the way the Puppet Master smiled but the princess was so engrossed with the beauty of the chest that she did not notice anything else. She did not even notice that the Puppet Master was singing a chant. When she did, it was too late. She could not even speak.

  The Princess' body was magically forced to stand up. Her feet did not touch the floor. She was floating in the air. The Puppet Master chanted some more, in a language unknown to you and me. He chanted with such
passion that it took but two whole minutes until the princess turned into a puppet herself. "Ah," The Puppet Master was pleased. "Such a lovely marionette you are." Princess Mabel was still floating, but she was smaller now, and inanimate, when the Puppet Master held her in his hands. "The Secret, my Princess, as to how my puppets move with such perfection, is magic. The strings are a folly. They move and speak and sing and dance all on their own. But you, I will not let you perform. You shall remain in this chest for eternity. Not unless someone sets you free.

  "For you to be free, one must sing to the chest the Song of The Marionette. It will not be easy, my Princess, as the song is known only by the greatest puppeteers." With a laugh, he laid Mabel inside the chest and closed it. Wishing somewhat cruelly that no one will set her free.

  Alys In Underland

  There were two rabbits and I followed the wrong one,

  I fell down a hole wide of the mark, away from the sun.

  Trapped, I was, in a room with no walls or halls,

  Enclosed in oblivion with nothing but midnight calls.

  “Alys, Alys,” I heard someone say, I looked around and

  there was no one at all!

  Suddenly there was light and a mirror in front of me.

  Out of the blue, I turned into a doll.

  Chiffon embraced me like a wrapper is to candy,

  It was blue and white, it was full of fluff and dandy.

  Oblivion turned into a carnival, bright lights and frights,