Chapter 5: The Puppet's Smile

Chapter 5: The Puppet's Smile

The world had narrowed to the space between heartbeats. One beat: the familiar, concerned face of his sister. The next: a horrifying mask worn by a predator, its emerald eyes glowing with a triumphant, possessive light. The scent of cinnamon that had been so comforting moments ago now seemed cloying, the smell of a gilded cage.

Detective Miller was still talking, his voice a droning buzz in the background. “...understand this is a shock, Mr. Alenko. A very traumatic experience. We can arrange for a grief counselor...”

Shai forced his muscles to obey, to turn his head away from the monster wearing his sister’s skin. He couldn’t let it know he saw it. The thing had worn Rodney’s face and spoken with Tom’s memories. It had to believe he was still fooled by its current disguise. His survival depended on this one, terrible lie.

“Thank you, Detective,” Shai managed, the words feeling like sand in his mouth. “I… I think I just need to be with my family right now.”

The entity-Sarah glided to his side, its movements just a fraction too smooth, too efficient. It placed a hand on his shoulder. The touch wasn't Sarah’s—it was too heavy, the pressure too constant, like a paperweight meant to hold him in place.

“He’s been through so much,” it said, Sarah’s voice a perfect, soulless mimicry. “I’ll take care of him.”

Detective Miller gave a sympathetic nod, offered a business card Shai didn’t take, and saw himself out. The click of the front door closing was the sound of a tomb being sealed.

He was alone with it.

“Oh, Shy-Shy,” the creature cooed, using that stolen nickname again. It was a weapon now, each syllable a reminder of the violation. “You look so pale. Come, sit down. I’ll make you some more tea.”

It guided him back to the sofa. He moved like an automaton, his mind screaming while his body played the part of a grieving, frightened brother. He sat, every muscle coiled tight. Under the coffee table, he saw Trixie. She was pressed flat against the floor, her body rigid with a terror that mirrored his own, her little pug face a mask of misery. She was his only ally, the only other living thing in the room that saw the monster for what it was.

The creature moved into the kitchen, its gait lacking the slight, endearing awkwardness of his real sister. Sarah always bumped her hip on the corner of the counter. This thing cleared it with a millimeter of fluid precision. It was like watching a video game character navigating a pre-programmed path.

“It’s okay, honey,” the thing called from the kitchen, the clink of ceramic on stone sounding unnaturally loud. “You’re safe here. No one can hurt you here. You’re with me now. You belong with me.”

There it was again. That phrase. You belong to me. The creature’s core programming, its singular, obsessive desire, leaking through the cracks of its performance. It had been Tom’s mantra. Now it was the entity’s.

Shai’s gaze darted around the room, cataloging exits. The front door was too obvious. The sliding glass door in the dining room led to a fenced-in yard. The windows were all locked. He needed a plan. He needed a diversion. His mind raced, adrenaline scouring away the fog of shock. He couldn’t fight it—he’d seen how it ignored the catastrophic injury to Rodney’s hand. But he might be able to outthink it.

The entity returned, a fresh mug of steaming tea in its hands. It knelt in front of him, its face level with his. The smile it offered was the most terrifying thing he had ever seen. It was a perfect, symmetrical curve of the lips, but it was all wrong. The skin around its emerald eyes remained placid and smooth, a dead sea of flesh. It was the smile of something that had studied human expressions from a textbook but had never felt a single one. A puppet’s smile.

“Drink this,” it commanded softly. “It will make you feel better.”

Shai took the mug, his hands trembling. He had to break this paralysis. He had to act. An idea, desperate and dangerous, sparked in his mind. The garage. The garage had a separate roll-up door. It was his only chance.

He took a shaky sip of the tea, then another. He had to make it look convincing. “Thank you, Sarah,” he whispered, forcing himself to meet those ghastly green eyes for a fraction of a second.

It seemed pleased. It sat beside him on the sofa, its thigh pressed against his, a constant, proprietary pressure. It began to talk, reciting Sarah’s memories like a script. It spoke of their childhood vacations, of a stupid inside joke about a squirrel, of their mother’s terrible cooking. Each stolen memory was a new violation, a desecration of everything he held sacred. He nodded and hummed in all the right places, his heart a cold, frantic drum against his ribs.

Trixie let out a low, almost inaudible whimper from under the table. The entity’s head snapped towards the sound, its smile momentarily vanishing. The mask had slipped, revealing the cold, analytical predator beneath.

“What’s wrong with that dog?” it asked, its tone flat.

“She’s just… scared,” Shai said quickly, reaching down to stroke Trixie’s head, silently begging her to stay quiet. “The man at my house, it spooked her.”

The entity seemed to accept this, its grotesque smile sliding back into place. But it was watching the dog now, its gaze sharp and calculating. His time was running out. He had to move.

With a deliberately clumsy lurch, Shai stood up, letting the heavy ceramic mug slip from his grasp. It hit the hardwood floor and shattered, hot tea splashing across the polished wood and his own bare feet. The scalding heat was real, but he barely felt it.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” he cried, putting every ounce of genuine panic he felt into the performance. “Sarah, I’m so clumsy, I’m so sorry!”

“It’s nothing,” the entity said, its voice still unnervingly calm. It stood, looking down at the mess with disinterest. “Just a mug.”

“No, no, I have to clean it up,” Shai insisted, his voice high and frantic. “The glass… Trixie could step on it. Where do you keep the dustpan? And a mop? Is it in the garage?”

This was it. The gamble.

The entity’s head tilted, a subtle, bird-like gesture that was utterly inhuman. Those green eyes stared at him, processing, analyzing. It was weighing the logic of his request against the risk of letting him out of its sight. The seconds stretched into an eternity. He could feel its cold intelligence dissecting his every word, his every gesture.

“The dustpan is under the sink,” it said, pointing. “The mop is in the garage. Through that door.”

It gestured to the door at the far end of the kitchen. A simple, white-painted door that now represented the only path to survival.

“Right. Of course,” Shai babbled, moving towards the kitchen. He had to walk right past it. He kept his eyes on the floor, on the spreading puddle of tea and the shards of broken ceramic. Don’t look at its eyes. Don’t let it see.

He retrieved the dustpan, his movements jerky and inefficient. His hands were slick with sweat. He could feel its gaze on his back, a physical weight.

“I’ll just… go get the mop,” he said, his voice cracking.

He walked towards the garage door, each step a monumental effort of will. His hand closed around the cold, brass doorknob. He expected the creature to stop him, to grab his arm with its unnaturally strong grip. But it just stood there, watching. Silent. Still.

He twisted the knob, pushed the door open, and slipped into the cool, concrete-scented darkness of the garage. He didn’t dare look back as he pulled the door shut behind him, the latch clicking into place with a sound like a gunshot.

For a heartbeat, there was only darkness and the frantic thumping of his own pulse in his ears. Then, he saw it: the faint red glow of the garage door opener button on the wall. He scrambled towards it, tripping over a stray toolbox in the dark.

He reached the wall, his fingers finding the cool plastic of the switch. He could hear a soft sound from the other side of the door. A quiet, inquisitive scratching. It was testing the boundary. It knew.

With a final, desperate prayer, he slammed his thumb down on the button.

A loud, grinding groan echoed through the small space as the mechanism engaged. The heavy garage door shuddered, and then began its slow, agonizingly loud ascent, revealing a sliver of the moonlit driveway and the world outside. Freedom was inches away, but the sound was a roaring announcement of his escape. He had just rung the dinner bell.