AUTHORS NOTE:Puppet shows can be scary on a good day. Catt’s not having a good day.
The red curtain rises to reveal a torturous scene in the form of an old fashioned puppet show.
“Genie! What’s going on? What did you do?”
My voice trembles along with my body at the scene playing out in front of my confused eyes.
Puppet shows scare the hell out of me on a good day, I am not having a good day.
And this is no ordinary puppet show.
This was more like a cross between an entire season of the goriest episodes of The Walking Dead mashed together with every Big Bad that tried to take down Buffy The Vampire Slayer. Add some Epic Battles of Biblical Proportion along with the unfortunate fact that I’m no Slayer and I’m in a world of trouble.
Or possibly insane.
I unconsciously reach my hand out as if I can stop the bloody slaughter and maniacal mayhem playing out in front of my petrified eyes from the inside of this insane asylum I’m stuck in.
Genie, who might be a member of the Multiple Personality Club I seem to find myself surrounded by lately apparently has other plans for me.
One of his beefy hands grabs my arm, yanking me away from the multitude of scenes playing out in front of my eyes in holograph form.
My skin begins to sizzle and burn wherever his rough skin touches mine.
Microscopic blisters form on my arm, first letters, then words, a message maybe but unfortunately I don’t understand Sanskrit. I also don’t know how I know it’s Sanskrit, I just do. Maybe I’m picking it up through osmosis from Genie.
“Bad Kitty,” he growls at me, “you know better than to call me ‘Genie”!”
He tugs an invisible leash around my neck yanking me hard against him. His flesh is icy heat against mine, my skin bubbles at each point of contact.
“What the fuck else can I call you? You won’t tell me your fucking name!”
I look up at him refusing to flinch at the pinwheels of color spinning in his eyes. Tiny flames flare, threatening to spill out of his eyes and burn me alive.
Salty beads of sweat drip down my forehead, clinging to my hair before dripping into my eyes, stinging.
I blink them away, refusing to tear my eyes away from his.
I can feel him inside me, probing my mind.
“Not much in there,” he sniffs my hair then pushes me away, finding me lacking.
“Yet.” I hear him murmur.
“You have balls Catt, I gotta give you that.” His voice is less menacing, with a hint of admiration in in. I can’t get a handle on him.
He’s moodier than I am during a Full Moon.
I notice the temperature has been rising, it’s so damn hot in here I’m finding it hard to breathe.
“Look toots, suck it up. Watch and learn.”
He places his huge hand on my head, claws slipping out of his fingers drawing blood as he forces my face toward the horror before me.
Hard as I try I can’t tear my eyes away from the insanity I’m watching. I think the thick sharp claws puncturing my flesh to hold my head in place might have something to do with that.
Spinning holograms of torture and blood and gore and battles and scary nightmarish creatures.
“Ge- umping Jesus! Do something!”
I catch myself in the nick of time, note to self, no Genie calling allowed.
Mr. Don’t Call Me Genie catches my slip but lets me slide.
“Why?” He sounds genuinely curious.
“I don’t know, because people are being slaughtered? What do you mean ‘why’? I thought you were on my side!”
“Your side?” His laugh rumbles long and loud enough to send the holograms of horror spin like, uh, spinning things.
“Oh Pussycat, you are a piece of work,” except each word came out between bouts of hysterical giggles.
At least his amusement got him to remove his claws from my face. Though the salty beads of sweat pouring down my face are stinging the hell out of the bloody gashes he left behind.
“Dollface, the only side I’m on is my own,” he chuckles.
“Now sit your cute little ass back down and have a Snickers already. You know you want to.”
His wild eyebrows wiggle up and down suggestively.
My outburst is met with silence.
Followed by pouting.
You have got to be kidding me, he actually folds his arms across his chest and pouts like a spoiled child.
“You aren’t being very much fun Kitty Catt,” his voice is a petulant growl.
“I am too fun!”
Oh no, I feel a babble coming on.
“I’m all kinds of fun! I’m a fun-a-thon! A fundae with a side of fun sauce! I’m funatically fun! Funtastically fun!
But I see the merest hint of a grin so I try to steer the conversation back to the twirling holograms.
And the rest of it.
I wipe away a trail of blood from my cheek hoping to elicit some sympathy and let out an intentionally loud sigh.
“Please,” I figure it can’t hurt to start out begging.
“Asmodeus, the ring, the bottles, all of it. What’s the connection and what’s with the hologram puppet show? You were about to tell me when she popped in, remember?”
I wave my hand in the direction of my frozen in place Muse.
Why am I sweating profusely while she’s ice cold solid?
“Toots you have more immediate problems than Asmodeus and the ring right now. She’s about to unthaw and Kitt Catt, she’s gonna be uber pissed.”
I turn to look at her and her furious eyes are focused on me.
What started as a few drops of melting ice begins to turn into tiny cracks in her form fitting ice prison.
And they are growing rapidly.
to be continued…