No Strings Attached

Chapter 4

No Strings Attached

IV

Pudge hit the ground faster than he thought he would. Bouncing upon impact, he rolled over and groaned, clenching his lower back as it throbbed with pain. That wasn't the only spot that ached; his neck, his head, his right shoulder, his right ankle… it all hurt. Bad. He was used to pain despite his young age, yet that landing really did a number on him.

A soft yelp echoed in his ear when Carrie crashed next to him. Annoyed, he thought, How did she land after me? Of course, he said nothing out loud. Instead he focused on trying to stand. A shock ripped through his back and down his leg. Maybe he'd finally been hurt to the point he wasn't going to stand again.

Something splashed on his head and it startled him so bad he rushed a hand through his hair to get rid of it. A glance down and he found himself staring at a red substance. Curious, he looked up from where they had fallen. An old chandelier and the ceiling was all that he could see. Another peek at his hand revealed the liquid was gone. Irritated, he decided to forget all about it and try to stand again.

This time he was successful. Back on his feet, he went to Carrie and offered her a hand. Silently she accepted. A small whimper of pain came from the back of her throat as Pudge yanked her up. He thought to apologize but decided not to, and instead pretended he didn't hear it at all. Now that they were both standing, Pudge figured it was time to move on.

Carrie found herself unable to move at all, her feet gripped by hesitation. Finally, after months of being trapped, she had found a familiar face. Just as she expected, she was ripped away from it. This whole ordeal was tiresome, draining her of any desires for life she had. Mental and physical torture had ripped away any youth. Not even an adult, and her life was already over. There were only two options, and she knew them well, she just couldn't pick. Stay there forever, for decades even, suffering like Tommy had; every day a new child would appear, every day that child would meet a hellish end. Or, she could end it. End her life. Just give in to the darkness.

As the battle waged within her, Pudge searched the room. Lined with daft wallpaper and furnished with Victorian era sofas, it was a weird place. A fireplace raged with a fire, unnecessary considering the heat of the season and the light from the bright, large chandelier. There were windows, yet none would open. The only exit appeared to lead to a staircase that wound down and down forever.

A small "thud" was picked up by Pudge's ears. He turned to find Carrie had collapsed to her knees. She made not a single noise. No sobs, no screams, not an utterance of any kind. Carefully he approached her, but once at her side he refused to touch her. Quakes rattled her entire body.

"What's wrong?" he inquired, no sign of real concern in his voice. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head.

"Then we should get going."

Again, she shook her head. Waterworks followed. A wail of a cry emitted from her lips as she gave in to the negativity that was plaguing her. The scene made Pudge uncomfortable. He had no idea how to comfort a crying girl. "Th-there there's n-n-no po-oint!" she sputtered through her sobs.

"Of course there is. Don't you want to live?"

"No!"

Pudge was taken aback by her primal yell. This moment was the most upset he had been since he'd woken up in this disturbed funhouse. He tried to reason with her, trying to motivate her to get up. "What about the people that care for you? Your parents? Your friends?"

"I-I don't ha-have any-y!"

The comment confused him, but he didn't have time to question her dramatics. Instead, he asked, "What about that nerd I accidentally punched? What was his name? Ezra? Isaiah? He cares! He's probably freaking out right now!"

Somehow, that made her even more upset and her shriek of a cry grew so loud Pudge wanted to slap her. He knew better, though. Clenched fists were raised but it wasn't meant to be hostile. It was frustration more than anything.

"He won't… won't love me… after… after… he finds out…"

Then it hit him. He never could say what light turned on in his head that made his fists drop, his body slouch, and his heart break at her broken sentence. Pudge found himself kneeling next to her without a thought. Still, he did not touch her. Eye contact was never made; she couldn't seem to look up from the floor or open her eyes long enough to even try. Eventually, he didn't just kneel but rather sat on the floor, crossing his legs and offering her just his company and nothing else.

"If he's important to you, he'll love you no matter what."

For a third time, she shook her head.

"… what happened?"

He grew anxious. Butterflies hit his gut. Instinct had him put his guard up. He needed to be prepared for whatever news she gave. Seconds ticked by, and although her crying slowed she hadn't said a word. The words were waiting to be spoken, stuck in the back of her throat but held back by a shy tongue. It was a taboo subject. She was young but she understood that much, at least. To confess such things to a boy she'd just met, was that even proper? Was it even possible? All she could think about was the judging stares she'd get, the sudden awkwardness that would follow.

"Are you hurt?" he asked again. He clarified, "I don't mean from the fall. I mean… are you hurt? Have you been hurt? It's okay if you don't want to say anything. I get it. But… it's okay to talk about it, you know? I wish I could talk about it."

Without raising her head she reached to his shirt and snagged the sleeve. He could feel her shaking even though she wasn't actually touching him. The fabric was being gripped so tight it was ready to rip. What was he supposed to do now? Hug her? Grab her hand? He was never very good at this stuff.

"Aren't you going to tell him?"

The same disembodied voice made itself known. Carrie's fingers went from the sleeve to Pudge's arm, leaving scratch marks where she gripped. The adrenaline was coursing through Pudge's veins so thick that he didn't even notice she'd touched him. A defensive snarl bellowed out from him.

"You again! I hate clowns!" he snapped.

"Clowns?"

Something pierced Pudge just above his knee and he screeched in agony. Blood poured out of the wound and reached down to cradle the injury. Puncture marks hit both of his hands and his other knee. No matter how hard he tried to move his limbs, he couldn't. He felt something tug on them; without his consent his legs moved on their own. Terrified and bewildered Pudge had no options left but to try and thrash himself free. There was nothing he could do to undo the mysterious binds. Forced to move, Pudge was brought to his feet and walked to the other side of the room, nearest the only exit there.

From the darkness he could see the outline of a puppet. It danced in the shadows, only occasionally coming into view. With each strange move it was instructed to do, he could feel his body mimic the act. The puppet walked closer to the light, and Pudge moved closer to the edge of darkness.

Puppet and person met right on the threshold. The tension that had been present in Pudge's limbs disappeared and he once again had control over his body. Unable to move due to fright and pain, Pudge collapsed to his knees. Tears clouded his vision and his entire frame shook. The puppet fell next to him. The soft "clank" it made forced Pudge to look at it. It was a beautifully carved marionette, with features strikingly similar to his own.

Words were useless. Cursing is what he wanted to do. Punching, too. He wanted to beat the living hell out of whatever had just done that to him. No one was allowed to control him that way. It was a sick, disturbing feeling to be that helpless. Almost enough for the contents of his stomach to spew out, but he found a way to keep that under control. Now was not the time to show weakness.

Finally feeling able, Pudge reached out to snatch the puppet on the ground. Another beat him to it. He looked up, finding himself face to face with another marionette, its strings detached and its head slightly crooked. Yeah, this was officially not real life. This was a nightmare.

The self-propelled marionette smiled – how the hell did a wooden puppet smile? – and tossed the Pudge-like puppet away. Three feet tall, the wood on its rickety joints was rotting away and it was clothes only in tattered shorts. Eyes painted on were smudged from years of wear. The puppet clapped its hands several times as its head rolled back and forth.

"I don't like clowns, either. We should be friends!"

Pudge couldn't answer. His mouth just hung open as he watched the puppet dance about.

"Come play with me! I'll show you what Carrie won't tell you!"

"No - !"

Before Pudge could finish his refusal, he faded. Horrified that she was alone again, Carrie could only gasp. All of the tears she had to give were already gone. Defeated, she sat on the cold floor ready to starve herself to death if she had to.

"Oh, you're not getting out of this game."

The same numbing sensation she'd grown tired of returned. Within a blink, she was out of that room, being taken wherever the puppeteer wish her to be.