The Marionette - Chapter 2
The morning had ushered in a dense fog, blanketing the lake. Ghostly horns signaled the presence of distant freighters obscured by the smoky veil. The scent of wet leaves and saturated earth hung in the air.
“Where do I even start?” Shannon stood in her back yard surrounded by branches and other debris left behind from the storm. “This has to be more than was here yesterday. Where’d all this shit come from?”
As Trent worked on the front yard, she began to pull the large sticks and branches into a pile. Moisture collected on her bare arms as she muscled a large tree limb into the pile.
“Damn,” she said, letting it fall from her grip. “I’m outta shape.”
She rested on the patio, the butt of her jeans soaked from the damp wood--enough to be uncomfortable but not enough to convince her to stand another minute on her feet. Her muscles ached and her lungs labored with the thick, humid air.
She was surprised when she heard Trent shouting. He hardly ever raised his voice outside of cracking a joke or greeting someone from a distance.
Is he yelling at Sylvia?
Alarmed, she jogged around the house to find her husband in a confrontation with someone. Observing from the porch was Sylvia. The teenage girl was visibly upset, unsure of what to do.
“What the hell is going on?”
As the other person comes into view, Shannon slowed her steps —the man’s voice was dry and hoarse…and familiar.
“No,” she said. A sudden and intense weight manifests within. A creeping sickness, like blackened vines, crawls through her gut.
“Go away,” she said. Her approach ceased, shifting to steer her husband. “Trent, get away from him.”
The fogged lenses of the man’s eyes shifted, greeting her with a wide ugly smile.
She screamed. “No. You can’t be.”
“Babe, what’s going on?” Trent asked. “You know this guy?”
“Go away,” she demanded.
“Shannon.” His voice was like sandpaper. “You’re all grown up.” His face, a pallid display of impossible age; sunken at the cheeks. Long, dry hair hung from his scalp in thin strands of wispy locks. His eyes were darker than she remembered, a deep-purple bag hung below each socket.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” She asked, grabbing her husband’s arm.
“Oh me?” He asked. “Just passin’ through. Looks like y’all had quite the storm.”
“Trent, what was he saying to you?”
“He came outta nowhere and started talking to Sylvia and…”
Shannon snapped. “You leave her the fuck alone. You hear me…you creep.”
The man sneers. “Just making introductions to the sweet girl.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Trent’s aggression peaked.
“Get inside,” she said. “Sylvia. Get inside the house. Now.”
A breeze wafted the man’s stench into her nostrils— a rancid smell of the grave laced with floral notes.
She felt the man’s eyes on her as she retreated inside. The boiling pain inside her dampened.
“What did he say to you?” Shannon questioned Sylvia.
“Do I need to call the police?” Trent asked. “Who is that guy?”
“Sylvia.” Shannon raised her voice, grabbing her daughter by the arm. “What did he say to you?”
The teenager winces. “I dunno. Something about a marion—” she paused. “—marionette. He made me feel sick.”
Shannon released her daughter’s arm after realizing her grip tightened. “Sorry, Sylvia,” she embraced her daughter in a tight squeeze. “Please promise me you’ll stay away from that man if you ever see him again.”
“Babe, who is that?” Trent asked.
Shannon ignored her husband, remaining focused on Sylvia with a sorrowful ache in her eye. “Promise me?”
Sylvia sensed the urgency in her mother’s voice and nodded in understanding. “Yeah, I promise.”
“Good. Can you give me and your dad a few minutes? We’ll finish outside later.”
As Sylvia disappeared upstairs, Shannon darted to the front door to peek outside.
“Gonna tell me what’s going on?” Trent asked.
“He’s gone,” she whispered.
“Hey.” Trent raised his voice. “Who the hell was that?”
She exhaled and sat on the couch. “Oh,” she paused to rub her face. “Nothing. I just don’t want her talking to strangers is all.”
His neck bent forward. “What?” He asked. “You want me to believe that was all about nothing?”
She nervously picked at her nails. “He’s just some guy who bothered me at the store a few weeks ago. I think he’s homeless and a little crazy.”
He released a deep, weighted sigh. “What about all that stuff about you being grown up?”
Shannon rubbed her temples. “I don’t know, hun. He’s fucking crazy.”
Trent’s concerned thickened. “Christ, babe. Do we need to do something?”
She caught a tear in her eye before it fell. “No. I think we’ll be alright. He just spooked me is all.”
He bent over to embrace Shannon from behind the couch. “Just let me know if you need me to do anything.”
She turned her head back to kiss him on the cheek and giggled. “Trim that damn beard, it tickles.”
“My beard? No way.”
“Hey you said to let you know.”
He grinned and stepped off and as he walked away he sang…”I’ll do anything for love…”
She rolls her eyes.
“But I won’t do that.”
The smile was short lived. A creeping anxiety took over and faded what appetite she had worked up in the backyard.
Why was he here? She wondered. She hated lying to her husband but she wasn’t ready to explain a nightmare that had been buried for so long. But deep down she knew it was coming.
Trent reappeared in the living room, bag of chips in hand. He spoke as he finished chewing. “You working tonight?”
Shannon checked her phone sitting on the coffee table. “Shit. Yeah,” she said. “Going in at five.”
“You gonna be okay? I can come up if you need me to.”
She smiled. “Thanks babe. But I should be fine. Stay here with Sylvia.”