Chapter XI: The Threads Unraveling
"Boy, get a move on! We needed those tables cleaned off ten minutes ago!"
"Y-yes sir, s-sorry, I'm on it."
"And what is with these dishes? Look, there are still bits of food stuck to it! The hell are you doing back there for two hours, giving handjobs?!"
I feel my face flush bright red, "N-no, sir. I'm sorry, I'll be more observant."
"You better," Grant growls, his pig-like face staring down at me as he pushes past me, going to the back of the kitchen.
The feel of stares on my shoulder makes me turn, and I find that half of the customers are now staring at me; I can't decide if it's more infuriating when they turn away when I catch their eyes or when they keep oggling. Damn drama vultures. I hang my head and try to go faster at busing the tables. It's really disgusting, honestly, having to pick up people's dirty dishes, especially when you find stuff liked used tissues or toothpicks in half eaten lasagna. My stomach flip flops at the mere thought.
"Don't let Grant get to you. You know he always has a stick up his ass, even on his best days," A voice says beside me.
I look to see my manager, Carter, placing clean glasses filled with silverware and napkins on the spots have been clear, while helping to put the dirty dishes on my tray. His curly black hair falls in his face as he rearranges the dishes so they fit better on the tray. He catches me staring at him and he gives me a smile, his hazel eyes holding no hint of contempt.
Carter's probably one of the only people who actually puts up with me and gives me a bit more emotion other than apathetic annoyance- especially when it comes to working in this shithole, where customers act like you're only good for being their personal doormat- so at least there's a bit of a plus side that keeps me from just quitting. That, and I need the money.
Though having Grant breathe down my neck all night- or pretty much any other night for that matter- and the humiliation of being talked down to in front of everyone really tests that.
I just nod sheepishly and carry my tray to the kitchen, organizing all of them in the appropriate racks and cases before sliding one full of dirty cups into the dishwasher. I look up at the clock. Six fifteen. Still two more hours to go. Fuck my life.
"So, you got any plans for the weekend?" Carter asks as he sets another tray down.
I shrug again, "Not really. Homework. Maybe running a few errands."
I don't tell him that the thing I do have to look forward to is that I promised the puppets I'd take them out to the park tomorrow, get them some fresh air. Paul's going to be at work and Mom likes to get up early to get her grocery shopping done earlier in the day, so I can sneak away without having to explain myself. I know, I know, it sounds pretty ridiculous that I'm taking a bunch of my dolls out, but hey, you'd probably go crazy too if you were constantly held up in a tiny room for a month. It's the least I could do.
"Oh," Carter replies, "Well, if you're not too busy, my friend's having a party out near Nisqually near eight. Thought maybe you'd want to come?"
And have to talk to a bunch of strangers? Absolutely not.
"Oh, um, sure, I guess," I answer instead, "I'll see i-if I can make it."
"Great! You have my number, right? So if you have any questions, just call me!"
"Okay."
It's not like I get enjoyment from lying, especially when it's someone like Carter, who's been the only person since I started here to make an effort to be nice. But I'd rather not risk making a complete fool of myself for a first impression.
I let the next rack go through when the dishwasher's done. I wonder if the puppets are okay. I discovered they're most active during the nighttime, probably since that's the least likely chance anyone's awake. They don't do much, so it's okay for the most part. Well, except a little part of me is worried what they do around me while I'm sleeping. Hopefully I don't wake up one day all tied to the bed, or god forbid, with sharpie written all over my face-
"Gaelin, hurry your ass up! Michel and Nino need those plates!" Grant's voice yells from behind.
Just two more hours...just two more hours...
I get a text from Mom asking if I can pick up Josie from Mr. Frost's house, since she had a surprise at work and is going to be late in order to pick up dinner. It seems creepy, walking alone at night in the dead of winter, but surprisingly, it's actually very soothing. Blowing out a breath, I watch the little cloud that it forms. My nose and ears are starting to get cold. It's almost pitch black outside, the stars covered by the clouds, the only source to guide my way being the dim streetlights. Lets me be alone with my thoughts.
"My god, boy, what the hell you doing out here with no hat or scarf?" Mr. Frost rattles off the moment he sees me, "You best put that hood up before you end up getting' some frostbite!"
I roll my eyes, "Good to see you too, sir."
"Don't you be getting slick out of the mouth with me, boy! I'll knock you into next week!"
I'd really love to see him try.
"Gaeley!" Josie squeals as she runs out, diving at my legs and wrapping her tiny, pudgy arms around them. She has a piece of paper clutched in her left hand, giving me a wide grin.
"Mr. Frost let me use his old art supplies, and I drew a picture of us for Mommy for her birthday!" she explains as she holds up her masterpiece.
Obviously the work of a child, there are four stick figures sloppily scrawled in acrylic paint over a messy blue background, complete with a streaky green grass ground and a giant yellow sun in the corner. The four figures are holding hands and they all have smiles on their faces.
"Aw, that's so sweet of you, Josie-cat!" I act amazed, "Such detail! Momma is gonna love it!"
Her cheeks are bright red, and her smile is like a lightbulb, "Mr. Frost even says if Mommy will let us, he'll give us some of them to take home!"
"Did he?" I ask, an eyebrow raised, genuinely surprised. Mr. Frost is a lot of things, but generous and gift giving isn't really one of them.
"Yes, I did," he says, "I don't really use them anymore, so why let them go to waste? Besides, my grandson's coming in a few days to help me clean out, so I really have nowhere to put them."
I nod in understanding, before looking back to Josie and wrapping my arms around her back, my hands coming to the back of her neck. I tell her to go get her things, and us two watch her run forth into the house, Venetian blonde curls bouncing. Mr. Frost sticks his hands in his pockets.
"She's a good girl, that one," he says, "Definitely a fighter, especially with her father passing."
"Yeah, she is," I say fondly.
"Which is why it's important you shape up," he suddenly says sharply, whipping his head around and giving me a hard glare, "How that girl can be so positive being around such a downer like you is beyond me."
I furrow my brows, "E-Excuse me?!"
"You heard me, boy. As her brother, Josephine looks to you for guidance, and with all that's happened, she's going to look for your help more than ever figuring things out. How the hell do you expect her to get better when you mopin' all the time?!"
God, do I just want to punch this guy in the dick sometimes. Who the hell does he think he is? If there's one thing I don't need, it's people trying to tell me how to raise my sister. I know I have problems emotionally and I'm definitely fucked up in the head somewhat still, but I am a damn good brother to Josie and screw anyone who tries to say otherwise.
"M-Mr. Frost, I'm not-"
"There ya go again, stutterin' all over your words like some scared little schoolgirl! Speak up already!"
I clench my fists. God, I hate the way he looks down his crooked ass nose through his stupid little glasses. I have a half a mind to just clock him, wipe that stupid look off his ugly face.
"I'm trying," I mumble, quiet as a doormouse.
Mr. Frost steps forward, poking me in the chest with the butt end of his cane, "Well, then you need to try harder! Believe me, boy, I've been in that position before. I know exactly how ya feel- I felt it every day the first two years when my Rosalynn passed on- but this ain't just about you! Josie needs you, your mom needs you, and we both know you can't be doing much if you're always walking around with a raincloud over your head!"
Fuck you, I growl, gritting my teeth.
A small part of me tries to reason that this nippiness of Mr. Frost is just him being a product of his time, and that his brash brushing off my depression is a result of the hardening shell of his past military service- the dude is a Korean War veteran, after all- but the bigger part of me can only feel harsh, black hatred. He doesn't have any idea what I've been through. He doesn't know jack shit what it's been like for me. Mrs. Frost- may she rest in peace- died peacefully in her sleep of a hard attack while she was in being cared for in a living facility due to Alzheimer's. He didn't have to watch her die, didn't have to see her struggle in pain while she choked on her own blood, didn't have to know the agony of being trapped and not knowing what to do, only knowing cold terror and helplessness while struggling with his own pain.
He has no fucking clue.
My silence only makes his anger boil more, "There ya go, off in Lala-land again! Gaelin Killough, have you heard anything I've just said?! Answer me!"
He's waving his cane at me. I want to rip it out of his hands and just bash his brains in. Shove his head through these rotten old floorboards-
"Gaeley, I'm ready!" Josephine calls as she skips outside, her backpack sitting on her shoulders and wrapped in her green and blue coat. A mittened hand takes mine and warms my fingers. I snap out of m y staring match with Mr. Frost to give her a half smile, trying to repress the rage boiling in my chest.
"Great! Let's get you home, shall we?" I playfully ask as we take down, taking a moment to look over my shoulder, seeing Mr. Frost still standing there, meeting my gaze with his cold brown eyes.
Fuck him. What the hell does he know? He's lucky- he's a decorated war hero, he married a wonderful woman and had a ton of kids and they lived happily ever after until her death and is still alive and for the most part well as eighty-five years old. He got to live the American dream that my dad always wished for. My dad will never get that chance. No, he died too young and had to live his last moments with a shredded piece of metal having ripped his throat open. Mr. Frost is fucking full of it.
Everyone's full of it.
The weekend goes by all too fast and I'm back at school, bored out of my mind. Mr. Ramirez drags on his lecture about the importance of opening up relations to Cuba. I doodle in my notebook, drawing random sketches of girls and boys.
I've been having this strange feeling lately; I don't know if it's caused by the puppets now being active or what, but I've realized I'm getting a bit of motivation to start doing dollwork again. Not to say that it's gonna be anything big or fantastic coming any time soon, but I realized I've been doing little things that make want to start on it again- sketching designs in my sketchbook (which lay abandoned on my desk for months on end), looking through my old fabric sheets to see what I could work with, piecing together my doll parts to see what combination of limbs goes best. Maybe I show try making one more on the traditional side, a more Victorian looking doll. I think of maybe trying the challenge of something new, maybe getting a bit more on the macabre side and making one a little more monster-esque, maybe as a tribute to the puppets.
I'm snapped out of my thoughts, amazingly being distracted enough for the class to finally reach the bell. Thank lord almighty. I gather up my things, but before I can leave, I feel a hand on my shoulder.
"Gaelin?"
My pulse races. It's Audrey.
Swallowing the nervous lump in my throat and trying to maintain my composure, I turn to her. She's dressed in this fishnet shirt that lets the tattoos on her chest be shown over this black tanktop that really shows off her chest- oh Jesus, I sound like a prepubescent schoolboy!
"Y-yes?"
"I was wondering if there was any chance we'd be able to meet up this week? We have to clarify on Thursday what our topic will be, so I was thinking maybe you and I could get together, maybe at the library? You know, just to see what subject will be easiest for us to piece together?" She explains, those golden eyes searching for answer.
At the moment, all I hear is the the words 'you and I get together', and my hormones-driven brain registers it like she's asking me out on a date.
"Sure!" I say with way too much excitment, before going red in the face when Audrey gives me a strange look, coughing to try and subdue my voice, "Oh, y-yeah that sounds good."
She smiles; gosh, she has such a lovely smile, "Great! Hear, I'll give you my number so we can figure out when's the best time to meet up!"
I nod, too frozen in the fact that Audrey is giving me her number, letting her write it on my hand in her small, dainty print, before I give her the same. Audrey looks at my number, a smirk crossing her face as she puts her bag over her shoulder.
"Good, so I'll call you tonight, and see where we can go from there," she comments.
"Sounds like a plan!"
"Have a good day, Gaelin," she says over her shoulder as she finally leaves the room.
As I walk to my locker, I have this unfamiliar feeling inside. I can feel myself smiling, and there's this nice warm, bubbly feeling in my chest. I'm partners with Audrey. I'm partners with Audrey. And she actually smiled at me! As I put my things in my locker and switch out notebooks, it's like for a moment all the bad stuff has been swept under the rug for the moment. It's a really nice feeling, and I actually for a second hope for it to last.
"Aw, did you see the look he gave her?"
"Yeah, our little Paleline is totes in love!"
Aaaand just like that, it's gone.
My science book is in a death grip as I slowly turn around, finding Sadie and Kailani 'totes' too close to me. They're both wearing the same shit-eating grin, not saying anything. I roll my eyes, knowing that I'm in for it.
I look at both of them, before huffing, "What do you want?"
"Oh, don't be so cold, Gaelin! We saw the way you were looking at dear little Audrey! Why, I'm hurt you didn't tell us sooner about your girlfriend sooner!"
Aw, great. I hug my book to my chest, backing up in the locker. I mumble, "Audrey's n-not my girlfriend."
"Oh, that's a shame," Sadie pouts, slithering up to me like a snake, "Because I see the way you look at her. You totally want to see what's underneath those frumpy black clothes of her."
I face burns, "That's not-"
"You totally want to see just see all that luscious pale skin...feel those nice plump lips on yours and other places...run your hands over those smooth, pale legs and her toned thighs..." she narrates.
I must look sunburn, my face feels so red, and it suddenly starts feeling way too hot. Sadie comes over, running her finger down my chest and sending a wave of goosebumps everywhere. She whispers in my ear, her eyes unreadable, makes my ears and...other areas start to burn.
"You can't help but wonder what sounds she's capable of making...the looks she must make when she's turned on...how you can make her make those sounds..."
My throat feels dry.
Sadie's smile grows cold, "Though it's only natural, freak attracted to freak. You two make the perfect loser couple."
The heat stops, thankfully, but is quickly replaced with cold dread and the same blackness as before. Of course there's a catch to her words. There's always is. I don't know why I still haven't learned this.
Kailani chuckles, "Oh my god, I think he's got an erection! What a perv!"
I bury my chin into my neck, trying to control my temper, though it flares when Holden, of course, just happens to appear.
"I wouldn't worry about it. With a prick that small, he wouldn't be able to even stick it in there!" He sniggers, earning a great big laugh from the group, like I'm not even there.
Contrary to what everyone thinks, I'm actually not a virgin and actually do have some experience in the field of sexual activity. But that's not important. What's important is the fact that now it's apparently the most important subject in the world to Kailani, Holden and Sadie for some reason.
"Does he even know how to use it?"
"Probably not! Except for wanking it against his pillow, of course!"
It would be so easy to just grab his head and slam him against the locker. To hit Kailani with my book, throw her to the ground and really give her a piece of my mind. Fucking bitch. That would show them who they're really messing with.
There's nothing more than to see them bleed.
Something to show them, to make them think again.
But of course, I just stay quiet. I shove past the three of them, ignoring their jabbering calls of 'Oh, don't be so hurt! We're only joking', speed walking to science.
I can't stand them. They never leave me alone. I can't take it. The namecalling, the teasing, the fact they're ALWAYS fucking touching me. Kailani's the worst.
The black feeling is still there, simmering and boiling. Only this time, unlike any other day, it doesn't go away. It only settles down, waiting there, waiting for the next worst thing to happen.
"I swear, it seems like you guys are the only highlight to my day lately," I comment as I feel Jester sit in my shoulder, watching me as I try to figure out how to answer this English question. Leech Woman sits to my right, legs stretched out in front of her as she fondles with a pencil.
The conversation from earlier still nags at the back of my head, though now it's dimmed down to a tiny flame of annoyance. I get Mr. Frost has seen many things, but that doesn't mean he has to be such a dick about it. I don't even get why its just towards me he seems to do this with. I've never said or done anything to get on his bad side, at least not intentionally.
There's a tugging on my pant leg and I look down to see Tunneler holding up a book. Strange Happenings: Myths and Legends From Around the World is what the title reads. Mom bought it for me in seventh grade as a birthday present, back when I was obsessed with cryptozoology and wanted to know all the secrets of the planet. Sadly, it's been sitting on the bottom of my bookshelf collecting on dust for the last few years.
Tunneler, however, seems absolutely taken in by it, based on the way he's jumping up and down, waving it at me like it's the holy grail. "What, what is it?"
He just waves it around, and I pick him and it up and place them in front of me.
"Okay, okay, calm down, buddy! What's the big deal with this?" I ask, gesturing to the book.
Tunneler just continues to point at it, and I set it down to allow him to rapidly flip through the pages, until he stops on one and points at it like a maniac. I look down.
It's in the section dealing with Egyptian folklore. The picture to illustrate the passage is a tanned man with a black animal's head in place of a human one, holding an ankh in his left hand.
Sutekh: God of Chaos, Bringer of Darkness
Also known as Set or Seth, the lord of the red desert is a name that brings chills to all who know of him, as they should. With a heart of black, Sutekh spares no one in his lust for power, going so far as to kill and mutilate his own brother, the god Osiris.
It is said that Sutekh also carries with him the secret to eternal life, and will rise once every thousand years, bringing with him the twelve plagues of Egypt to inflict further discord upon the world. It is only this secret of life that can help bring him down.
However, such power is not meant to be thrusted upon mortal hands, and many who have tried to claim this power have fallen victim to Sutekh's mightiest servants: the small but deadly Totems- avatars of punishment who inflict horrendous torture upon those who try to pry into the secrets of their world and their magic.
Rereading the passage, I look back at Tunneler with a skeptical look.
"Are you saying this is how you guys came to life? Some demon's magic?" I ask doubtfully.
Tunneler nods, pointing erratically at a picture of the so-called 'totem'; it's an ugly little thing, only about the size of a paper towel roo, with a helmet like face, claws, and sharp teeth that make it look like some sort of mutated Bionicle.
"What? You've actually seen these things?"
He nods again, folding his arms like he's pretty proud of himself. It sounds pretty preposterous doubting them, especially since I've seen first hand the strangest mystery since they're now here up and moving, but still. An Egyptian god with small little gnomes who somehow lost the secret to eternal life and that seemingly lives on in wooden puppets? That's all a bit too outrageous.
Though I do wonder. I look back to the journal. The first entries talk about someone by the name of Afzel, who was apparently the one to teach Toulon how to bring the puppets to life.
I'm getting the feeling there's so much more I don't know.
Whether it's good or bad, I can't tell.
And I'm not sure I want to know.
