Mei-Lin, Puppet Master.

[ author’s note: my mother language is not English, so I apologise for any possible misspellings or grammatically incorrect sentences. Apart from that, please keep in mind that this is a horror story in some way, and will contain a few transgressive things like homosexuality. Refrain from reading if such things bother you. But most of all, I hope you will enjoy the story! ]


Mei-Lin, Puppet Master.



introduction.

There was something vile and wicked in this house.
Something unbalanced, impossible.
There was something that belonged in Hell.



The walls were ringing, shaking, trembling, singing. Screaming out in ferocious hunger. The attic’s bloodied hands of misery wrapped around my neck, choking me. I was terrified yet drawn to it.

So I surrendered to my emotions. I walked and walked, until my feet could hardly move anymore.

And I found her.



Beauty amidst destruction. She was unbelievable, perfect, catering to my every desire. With her lifeless eyes and rose-touched lips, she asked me to stay with her forever.



I said yes. . . what else could I have done?

She was my guardian angel, protecting me from all that tried to harm me.



When I said yes. . . I never knew there would be a day I regretted my answer.

When I said yes. . . I signed my own death.

Chapter one

[ note: here it is, chapter one! Still not happy with it: I could not take as many pictures as I had wanted, especially at the end. I’ll keep my chapters short so I can update often though! It may be confusing and weird so far, but it will get better I promise! ]



Chapter one: through a doll's eyes.

She found me on a rainy day, with pearls of water cascading from her cranium. I remember her scared eyes — dark inkwells scanning the attic, not knowing what to expect.

She was a child, then. I am still the same.

Her name is Mei-Lin Mahler. Why does a Chinese girl like she have a German surname you ask? Because her father is German. A strong and unreligious man he is, working in the military. His career is the reason for our constant moving — Mei-Lin’s feet must have touched more continents than the average girl.

I hate him. Then again, I hate everyone.



Last week we have left for Japan, where we will probably live no more than ten months judging our past stays. This is why I must protect Mei-Lin — she never has friends nor gets to do what normal children do.

So here I stand alone in a corner, between a broom, dustpan and spare rolls of cardboard and felt paper. In the closet, staring at chairs, desks, doors and windows that pour light into the deserted classroom.



My Mei-Lin. She is my puppet, as much as I am hers. Our fingers play each other’s heartstrings like melancholic instruments. In fact, I want to pull them right now, and twirl the rivulets of her hair into rings for all my fingers.

She is my music, and she should never stop. Never leave. . . never sleep.

I do not know what I would do without her. . . oh, perhaps I do.

I am holy in her eyes. And I can do whatever I want.



Suddenly, voices echo through the room, and when I lift my chin, I see a group of curious girls has gathered around Mei-Lin.

“Hey there, homework girl. You are new, aren’t you?”

“Can you even speak Japanese?!”

“She looks Chinese. . .”

I have to keep them away from her, at all cost. They will harm her, I know.



Snobs. . .

“Leave her alone,” I hiss.

“Motoko!” my Mei-Lin says calmly.

Her melody is soothing and comforting, unlike the shrill voice boxes of tardiness that jarred me out of my daydream. Her shy expression tells me she wants me to stop. 'Motoko, won't you leave me alone for once?'

No. Never.

The girls’ eyes clamp to my face, bringing an embarrassed blush to Mei-Lin’s cheeks but not to mine. I can feel cacophonies of tittering insults bubbling up in their throats and see the disdain spreading from their pouted lips.

But it matters not, for I fear no one. I send them my foulest look, and then they’re gone. With their perfectly combed hairs, pleated skirts and gleaming shoes.

I feel green with envy. They are better than I am. . . because they are alive.