IT’S ALIVE

 

 

 

Puppet Master 2 (1991)

 

What do I see 

as I wake from sleep?

A puppet watching me.

 

It creaks.

It groans.

Its head spins.

 

It can’t be real.

It’s a wooden puppet.

No one pulls its strings.

 

It speaks

in a deep voice.

It can’t be alive.

 

It says,

“Time to play.”

I run to the door.

 

It can’t be.

It stands before me,

taller than me.

 

 

It can’t be.

But it is.

It’s alive.

 

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PUPPET

puppet

areyou-stillawake
Puppet Master 2 (1991)

I wake from a deep sleep.

I look across the room.

To a shelf high up.

A puppet sits there.

Its head pops up.

The head spins around.

It can’t be real.

A wooden puppet can’t be alive.

Then it speaks.

In a deep voice.

“Time to play,” it says.

I run to the door.

No!

It’s standing before me.

Taller than me.

Arms reaching for me.

A gleam in its black eyes.

It can’t be.

But it is.

It’s alive.

TIME TO PLAY

Puppet Master 2 (1991)

 

What do I see at night

when I wake from sleep?

A puppet coming alive,

on the shelf in my room.

It creaks.

It groans.

Its head spins around.

It can’t be real.

It’s a wooden puppet.

No one to pulls its strings.

Until it speaks.

In a deep voice.

It can’t be alive.

Until it says,

“Time to play.”

I run to the door.

It can’t be.

It’s standing before me.

Taller than me.

Arms reaching to me.

A gleam in its black eyes.

It can’t be.

But it is.

It’s alive.

A PUPPET ON A STRING

 

A puppet on a string.

Creepy.

Surreal.

Never in control.

At someone’s beck and call.

It must end.

Before it’s too late.

Before I turn to wood.

Before I become a Pinocchio.

 

No puppet life for me.

I will stand up for myself.

I will throw off my strings.

I will walk on my own.

I will be free at last.

Never to be

someone’s puppet 

ever again.

TIME TO SLEEP

Time to sleep

 

TIME TO SLEEP

 

Hello, it’s just me,

Sitting in the dark.

I’m fun as can be,

A day at the park.

 

I’m here when you sleep.

I’m your worst nightmare.

Do you see that creep

Climbing up your hair?

 

It’s a big spider,

Black and so furry.

Just don’t roll over

Or you’ll see blurry.

 

Did he bite your neck?

I can see the mark.

Just a little peck.

Enough to go dark.

 

TIME TO SLEEP

A PUPPET


A puppet on a string.
Creepy.
Surreal.
Never in control.
It must end.
Before it’s too late.
Before I turn to wood.
Before I become a Pinocchio.
No puppet life for me.
I will stand up for myself.
I will throw off my strings.
I will walk on my own.
I will be free at last.
Never again to be someone’s puppet. 

A PUPPET

A PUPPET

A puppet on a string.

Creepy.

Surreal.

Never in control.

At someone’s beck and call.

It must end.

Before it’s too late.

Before I turn to wood.

Before I become a Pinocchio.

No puppet life for me.

I will stand up for myself.

I will throw off my strings.

I will walk on my own.

I will be free at last.

Never to be

someone’s puppet

ever again.

THE PUPPET MASTER

ligafrankorn:

THE DEAD GAME BY SUSANNE LEIST

     While the drama was being played out by the group upstairs, Mike, David, and Louise were running for their lives through the backyard, past the dark and empty pool that was illuminated from above by yellow lights.

     The sky above End House lit up with bright flashes of light mixed with loud rumblings of thunder. Red flashing lights streamed through the night sky, followed by bright yellow pulses of light. In contrast, the sky over the rest of the town remained dark and quiet.

     Louise noticed black shapes creeping toward them on the pool deck. She fled down the steep stairs to the beach with Mike and David following close behind. She heard David screeching about flying bats trying to knock him off the face of the mountain. Hard objects swiped at her, almost causing her to lose her balance a few times on the slippery stone steps. But she continued on, refusing to look back over her shoulder to face what or who was attacking them.

     She dashed along the beach, feeling as if mounds of sand were being thrust in her face. On the walkway, branches swiped her across the face—like skinny wooden arms struggling to hold her back.

    Louise ran down Main Street.  She felt all alone. The streets quiet. No lights or sounds were coming from the empty buildings. She saw candles flickering inside the gazebo. She felt her body being thrust toward the ghostly display of lights. The gusting wind was flinging leaves and branches at her face and around her feet, but still she was being propelled forward.

     The gazebo, appearing pretty and tranquil during the day, looked ethereal and unfamiliar to her in the light of the candles. Somehow, the circle of light remained firm despite the violent storm raging all around her. She entered the lit circle…all the while knowing that she had just signed her death sentence. She had no control over her actions any longer; she was like a puppet on a string being controlled by a malevolent puppet master.

     After she was positioned at the precise center of the circle of candles, dark shapes—similar to the ones that had been stalking her for weeks—appeared around the perimeter of the gazebo. They began circling her. As they circled faster and faster, a strong current of air lifted her up high under the roof of the gazebo. She felt a noose being wrapped around her neck. Then she felt it being tugged tighter and tighter until she could no longer breathe—or even care to struggle any longer.

     Without any air left in her lungs…with the world spinning around her…she watched as the shadows slowed down and took on distinct human forms. The figures revealed themselves to be men and women with black eyes, glaring up at her. They were chanting in an unfamiliar language. They were clothed in long black robes, their hoods casting their faces in deep shadow. Long metal chains hung from their necks with huge gold medallions depicting snarling wolves’ heads.

     One member of the group, taller and much larger than the rest, lifted arms up high to heaven or down to hell below. In response, the winds turned wilder and more violent, moaning in unison with the voice of the unknown leader. Louise recognized one face right before she lost consciousness, but she knew that it was too late for her or the town.

THE DEAD GAME

Kindle

http://amzn.to/1lKvMrP

 

Nook

http://bit.ly/1lFdqNj

PUPPETS ON A STRING

PUPPETS ON A STRING

seasons-in-hell:</p> <p>AREN’T WE ALL PUPPETS?<br /> AREN’T OUR STRINGS PULLED<br /> BY SOMEONE ELSE?<br /> BE IT A BOSS OR A SPOUSE,<br /> WE ARE NEVER FREE.<br /> FREE TO MAKE OUR OWN CHOICES.<br /> ALL WE HAVE TO DO IS CUT THOSE STRINGS.<br /> WHERE’S THE KNIFE?

seasons-in-hell:
AREN’T WE ALL PUPPETS?
AREN’T OUR STRINGS PULLED
BY SOMEONE ELSE?
BE IT A BOSS OR A SPOUSE,
WE ARE NEVER FREE.
FREE TO MAKE OUR OWN CHOICES.
ALL WE HAVE TO DO IS CUT THOSE STRINGS.
WHERE’S THE KNIFE?