The Puppet with No Strings

The smell hit first-mold, wet wood, the kind of rot that whispered secrets to insects. When the Thespian Thorn troupe pushed open the groaning doors of the forgotten Saint Elora Theater, they expected dust and nostalgia. What they got was silence so thick it nearly coughed.

“Creepy,” muttered Lila, the group’s youngest actress, brushing cobwebs from a moth-eaten stage curtain. “Perfect place for a ghost play.”

Nico, the jokester, grinned. “Only if we charge extra for real hauntings.”

They all laughed-five actors, young, bold, reckless. But no one noticed the figure seated in the front row until the lights, somehow still wired to the dead theater, flickered and locked on him.

A wooden puppet. Slouched. Lifeless.

No strings.

Its smile was carved too deep.

They found the old script in a box beneath the stage, ink faded except for one crisp new page tucked between the acts:

“Take a bow and lose your face,

Trade your soul for silent grace.

Speak your lines, don’t say goodbye-

The puppet hates a quiet guy.”

“Who wrote that?” asked Marla, their director.

“Maybe some artsy prank,” Nico shrugged.

But the page didn’t feel like paper-it felt like skin, tight and dry.

The first rehearsal began like any other, except the lights moved with them-automated, somehow, though there were no controls. Lila whispered that the puppet was closer now.

No one believed her. Until it blinked.

That night, Dennis disappeared.

They found only his script, a smear of red ink bleeding across the margins. A new verse waited:

“He missed a cue, he dropped his lin-

Now he waits between the times.

Applaud the dead, don’t miss your cue,

The puppet wants to act with you.”

Marla tried to call the cops. Her phone rang back with static. Then the line whispered:

"Smile wide. You're next."

They ran for the door.

They ended up back on stage.

Nico made jokes. Too many. Said, “Maybe it’s like Saw, and we have to finish the play to escape!”

The puppet’s mouth moved.

Nico choked-his words cut off mid-giggle. He opened his mouth to scream.

No sound.

Only silence, crawling out from the corners like smoke.

The mirrors backstage weren’t broken-but they were wrong.

They showed Marla frowning when she was smiling. Showed Lila crying before she even felt scared. Showed Nico... laughing again. But he wasn’t.

Because Nico was gone.

Just like that.

No scream. No struggle.

Only another page on the floor:

“The funny ones are always first-

Their silence quenches hunger’s thirst.

You may not hear, you may not see-

But you’ll perform eternally.”

Now, only two remain-Lila and Marla.

They tried to burn the puppet.

The flames danced around it like obedient actors. It didn’t even smolder.

They tried to destroy the script.

The pages bled when torn, moaned when crumpled.

They tried to close the curtains.

But the curtain… always… rose by itself.

“Let’s finish the show,” Marla whispered, voice trembling like a final breath. “Maybe that’s what it wants.”

They performed. They read every line. They bowed.

The puppet clapped.

And then?

Marla vanished during the applause.

Now Lila stands alone, the last light on her face, mascara bleeding like mourning.

The puppet sits in the front row, smiling, stretching unnaturally.

She wants to scream-but her voice is gone.

The final page flutters to her feet:

“One last breath, the final part,

The play ends when you lose your heart.

So smile wide, don’t miss your cue-

The puppet wants to act with you.”

She blinks.

The puppet stands.

No strings.

Just wood, teeth, and a stage that eats the living.

The curtain falls.

And when it rises again…

There are two puppets in the front row.

Smiling.

Waiting.

For you.