The Puppet Kingdom

By Meridel Newton

Red is a fairy tale brought to life by the strength of belief-- she embodies Red Riding Hood in the modern world. With no knowledge of who she is, Red must learn everything anew. While living with a human family, Red slowly comes to believe that she, too, is human. Between Zack, a boy who won't admit to anyone just how broken his heart is, his precocious and insightful younger sister, and the quiet, detached gloom of their father, Red has enough to handle. But the sudden discovery of a strange power throws her into confusion. Overwhelmed by this new power and by the realization that she alone cannot solve the family's problems, Red runs, preparing to lose herself in the wide world.
But there is more to her story and history than she knows, and Red cannot shirk her responsibilities. An evil queen, herself a tale brought to life, starts erasing well-known fairy tales from all memory, and Red is the only one who can stop her. First, she must learn who she is, and what she can become. But in order to do that, she will have to give up her humanity, and the boy who gave it to her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Meridel Newton
• Release date: Oct 26, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311442659

Meridel Newton

Born just outside of Washington, DC, Meridel Newton has loved fantasy and science fiction for as long as she can remember, and started writing her own stories from a very young age. Though she picked up many interests over the years, from geology to Japanese, writing remained a steady constant throughout her life. She wrote The Puppet Kingdom, her first novel, while living in Japan. The upcoming sequel has been a trans-oceanic undertaking, but it is finally nearing completion. Meridel went to Bryn Mawr College and holds a Master of Science degree from the University of Maryland, Baltimore County. When she is not writing, she is working as an advocate for renewable energy and for a transformed energy policy leading to a zero-carbon future.

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THE PUPPET KINGDOM

By Meridel Newton

Copyright Meridel Newton 2013

Published at Smashwords

Table of Contents

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

I

Between one flicker of a dim street lamp and the next, a new being flashes into existence. The apparition slumps against a brick wall, cool rain dripping down the face as it stares, wide-eyed and bewildered at the unfamiliar surroundings. Of course they are unfamiliar– the buildings and streets are as new to these eyes as the watcher is to them. Even the body is a strange physical hindrance, but when it begins to move, shivering uncontrollably, the watcher realizes it is cold. This is a new sensation, and it is considered with confusion.

The possession of a body is itself new and different, though it cannot remember what it was before, if indeed it was anything at all. It is young and female, and she knows that she is a girl.

Not only has she a body, but something more as well. A second layer above the skin, artificial, and with a moment’s thought she knows the word for it: clothing. She has clothing. But the clothing is not thick. It is not meant for these conditions, for the dark of night and the water pouring from the sky.

More words come to her as she thinks, and she knows that if she only waits long enough then soon, soon she will understand what has happened, why she is here. But to wait out of the weather (rain, the word whispers through her mind) would be best. She needs to find shelter. The girl examines her long limbs closely and the words come: legs, feet, standing, walking. Walking is what she wants to do.

The girl places her hand against the rough brick behind her (building) and pushes. She comes stumbling up, just catching herself on awkward feet. She stands uncertainly, shaking, precariously balanced with only two small points of contact with the earth.

Walking involves lifting one of those points and placing it in front of the other and she is loath to try it, but she does so. Braced carefully against the building, she takes her first step. Her second. It is familiar within seconds, and she braves taking her hand from the supporting wall. Success– she stands and walks. Her lips curve in what she realizes is a smile.

The girl’s triumph is short-lived. Now, behind her, a sound- a growl. Thick and low-voiced, an animal snarl causes her heart to leap into her throat and her breath to come short and fast. The growl repeats, sounding closer. She hears the soft pads of some nightmare creature closing in. Terror grips her.

Her new skills are all she has. She lifts one foot, sets it down, lifts the other. She does it again, faster, faster. Now she is moving, leaving the dubious shelter of her brick wall and traveling, alone, by foot, and she knows the word for this new action:

Running.

The cool evening rain makes her clothing stick to skin, and now she is running down the dim city street with no thought in her mind other than fear. She does not know where she is going. She only knows that she must keep running, she must save herself from her enemy.

The gloom of the rainy night is alleviated only by the occasional flickering of a dim street lamp. The girl can't decide whether to avoid the pools of light, or aim for each and every one of them. Would she rather hide in darkness or hope that the light would in some way ward off the creature? The question flashes through her mind and is gone, leaving the girl coursing down the center of the street, the lights to either side falling just short of her body. The rain patters down softly, muting the lights and turning everything they touch to a soft grey.

She doesn’t know who she is. Maybe she never knew. She doesn’t know what pursues her, or why. All she can think of, as she rushes down the street, is finding a safe place to hide. The suburban landscape does not seem to offer her much chance of escape- she sees cramped townhouses to one side (all with the same windows which seem to stare at her and the same shingled roofs which lean down to catch at her ragged dress and cape but no, no she is only imagining it) and soulless storefronts to the other, not one of them open and not one of them at all welcoming.

She is tired and she is weakening. She must stop, she must rest, but there is nowhere for her until, at last, she sees a break in the cardboard strip malls. An old building, tall and strong, built of the grey stone the area is known for. It has been there since long before the fast food chains and beauty salons arrived, and it will remain after they are gone. It has one set of double doors and a narrow window facing the street, a columned overhang offering shelter from the rain. A weathered sign is painted in scrolled cursive, 'The Puppet Kingdom'.

A theater! Her heart thuds in her chest as she slows her running, hesitant to stop but finding it absolutely necessary. Her breath rattles in her mouth, down her throat. There is no reason for the theater to be open this late, but the heavy door gives to her push, and she slips inside before anyone can stop her.

She turns and leans against one of the doors, breathing hard, as a bolt of thunder wrecks the quiet of the night. Only a brief flash through the tiny window informs her of the accompanying lightning, and when it is gone she realizes that the inside of the theater is pitch black, and her eyes show no sign of adjustment. Another flash of lightning gives her a split second to examine the room: it is empty of all furniture, a blank round room with nothing on the dusty floor, only a staircase in the center leading up through a low ceiling. She barely has time to process this when she hears a low creaking noise and instantly realizes what it means. Her pursuer has caught up with her, is trying to enter the theater. Once more, the feral growl sounds behind the girl. Terrified, she shoves the door closed and leans against it, and her heart resumes its frenzied pounding. The second door begins to open, and she closes that one as well, repositioning herself so her body's weight holds both shut. The central pillar is a hard ridge against her spine felt through all the layers of her clothing. She feels the strain against the ancient wood as some outside force attempts to open both doors. The same thing that allowed her to enter the theater will allow her pursuers to as well, the theater's lack of a lock now becoming a curse.

She can't stand against the two doors all night, and there is only one other place to go. Perhaps the upper levels of the theater have locking doors, and perhaps one of them has been left open this night. If nothing else, she tells herself, she can lie down across the trap door above the stairs much more easily than she can keep two upright doors closed. She waits. She waits until she feels the efforts against the doors slackening, pausing for long seconds at a time, frustrated and tired. Then, at the beginning of one such pause, she rushes to where she remembers the staircase to be, stumbling against it and skinning her palms as she misjudges. She feels her way around it and then runs up, hoping against hope to make it to the second story before the doors begin to open. She is irrationally afraid of seeing even the face of her pursuer, knowing that it would mean he is closer than ever before.

The top of the staircase leads to a trapdoor in the ceiling, and as she reaches it she realizes her doom– it is locked. This realization alone pulls a small whimper from her throat. The front door to the theater begins to open, and she can see a dark shadow standing in the opening. Rational thought flees her mind as her fists pound, terrified, on the underside of the door. Her hands ache and her skin tears as she leaves bloody imprints on the door but - at last-she feels something give. One last push against the door forces it open and she flees through just as she hears the creak of a second person setting foot on the stairs. She shoves the door down, shut, and throws herself against it without daring a look back.

Too close, too close…

The beat of her heart sounds in her ears and echoes her thoughts as her breath tears at her throat.

Too close, too close. He's here, he's here…

She feels the push against the door, but now there is only one door, and she concentrates all her weight on it. The pressure from the other side does not push it up even a fraction, though the efforts go on and on. She dares to relax, her shoulders slumping, her breath slowing. Perhaps, this time, she is safe. She dares to look around, and realizes that there is more light on this second story than there was on the first. More windows allow in the moonlight, its very presence an indication that the storm has abated. She even sees, to her surprise, an electric exit sign suspended from the ceiling, its normally nondescript glow a welcome ally. The room she finds herself in seems to be a crowded hallway filled with small wooden crates piled high against a wall, the wall itself punctuated by four modern doors. Indeed, the second floor seems far more well-kept than the empty dustiness of the ground floor would have indicated.

Once calm, she allows herself to look down at the door on which she sits. Her efforts may have destroyed the modern lock, but there is still an ancient catch system, rusty with disuse. She pulls against it and, finding the bar solid, slides it into place.

No sooner has she done that than her adversary's efforts against the door cut off, followed by a howl of frustration and rage. She frowns, for she believes she hears something else in the cry as well-a trace of pain? Her pricked ears listen carefully, and she is surprised to hear the footsteps of someone walking down the staircase. For the first time, she dares to hope that she is safe.

Total silence rules the next few minutes as she listens closely. No one else comes up the staircase, but she knows that doesn't mean they are gone. She daren't even open the hatch she sits upon until morning, preferably not until some friendly sign is present to assure her of her safety. Silently she stands and approaches the stacked crates, ready at any second to race back to the trap door. Experimentally, she picks one up, and finds it heavy but manageable. She carries it over to the trapdoor, deposits it on top, and returns for another.

To her surprise, she finds the space left by the removed crate occupied by a doll. A tiny human figure, no larger than a finger and wrapped in bright green cloth, sits in the space created by the missing crate. She is so surprised she almost forgets to be scared.

That's odd, she says, picking it up, Shouldn't you have been flattened? She examines it closely and, deciding to get on with her task, sticks it in the pocket of her shift. She carries a second, heavier, crate over to the trapdoor and places it on top of the first. This time when she returns, she keeps a careful eye out for more revealed details. She is rewarded by the discovery of a crab's claw, small and hollow.

What sort of creature would this have come from so far from any water? she mutters to herself, and it goes into her pocket to join the doll.

By the time she has stacked enough crates on the trap door to satisfy herself of its impregnability, she has also discovered a third item: a single tiny boot, perfectly crafted of expensive leathers. Baffled but pleased by its tiny perfection, she places it in her pocket with her other found items. Once, panicking, she runs to the door with the exit sign, but breathes a sigh of relief when it proves to be locked. Feeling safe at last, she looks about herself, thinking for the first time of exploring the other rooms in the theater, of finding a hiding place in which to spend the rest of the night.

All other doors prove to be locked as well, leaving her only the small and crowded hallway. She sits down on a crate, tired at last and ready to sleep. However, as soon as she closes her eyes, she opens them again in surprise. Music! She hears music!

Now the door directly across from her seems to open of its own accord, and through it pours a parade of the most glorious spectacle she has ever seen. Her eyes wide, she watches as the hall fills with women. Beautiful women dressed each in long, flowing robes and dresses, scarves and sashes, tall and elaborate headdresses adorning their shining hair. Strangest of all, each woman wears a plain wooden mask over her face, hiding it from the world. They walk from the door of one room through the hall and into the door of another, and they are led by a single unmasked woman. Though she is dressed just as elaborately as any of the others, the sight of this woman's face makes the girl gasp-the woman is hideous, the skin twisted and deformed beyond recognition, the features lax and hanging. The face is hardly human, so wrecked is its visage. It is a parody of a human face, and the sight of it sends a renewed thrill of fear through the watching girl. However, the leader walks past her without a glance, and the splendor of her entourage quickly erases any fear the girl feels. Entranced, she joins them as they pass, bewildered by the terror and the glory.

The procession enters a room and the door closes behind it. As it shuts, the parade of women divides into two lines, one group following the Queen and the other hanging back. Each group forms a separate circle and sits together on the floor. The girl, shy of the Queen yet wanting to participate, joins the second group and wedges herself between two women. She is mildly worried that no one has yet said anything to her but, somehow, not worried enough to leave. All her fears seem dampened in this bright company. Whatever happens, she reasons, it must be better than what waits for her downstairs. This room appears to be some sort of antechamber, with many doors leading off into the inner depths of the theater. The thought occurs to her that this building seems much bigger on the inside than she ever would have thought, but she shrugs the idea off and returns to her current situation. She wonders if she should be worried, but somehow cannot bring herself to do so. The Queen and her women are far preferable to what she had left below her, under the trap door.

The women begin a chant accompanied by rhythmic clapping, their voices rising and falling in eerie ululations. The girl claps with them and pretends to sing, but does not know the song. She is not sure anyone knows it; it seems to have no rhyme nor reason nor melody. She uses the time to look around, craning her neck to catch a glimpse of the ugly Queen.

The first group is chanting and clapping much as her own, as the Queen leads or guides them. Her hands weave patterns in the air between claps, creating imagined sketches which to the girl's wide-eyed gaze seem to hang sparkling in the air long after her hands have moved on. They dance through the air, somehow following and somehow ahead of the women chanting. Suddenly she stops, and the music stops with her. All eyes turn to the Queen as she rises and points at the woman directly across the circle from her. This woman rises as well, facing only the Queen, looking neither right nor left. The Queen sweeps across the circle toward her, they clasp hands, and soon disappear through a door to another room.

With the Queen gone, the women each rise up and turn to leave, drifting off through the many doors in the room. The girl sits, confused by what she has just seen, and suddenly realizes she is so very, very tired. She rises and tries each of the doors, but finds all locked but the one that leads out to the hall. The door shimmers, and somehow changes as she closes it behind her, and she knows that it is now locked, and that should it open again, it would be to an entirely different view.

Given the choice between an empty room and a room with only two piles of crates, she elects to sleep curled in a corner created by the wall's intersection with the stacks. Giving herself up to the vagaries of night, she closes her eyes. It seems only a short time later that she opens them again to the sound of a harsh whisper.

You! You, girl! Hey! The voice comes from behind the stacked boxes. She sits up and then stands, walks around to the front of the pile to look for the speaker.

Down here, you git. She looks down to see, seated on a single box, a small and incredibly odd man. Sitting, he comes no higher than her waist even with the tall peaked cap perching on his head, and his feet kick off the ground. His hair falls in lank gray strings to the many-colored patches of his coat. Though his face is weathered and wrinkled, his eyes seem bright and cheerful as he gazes up at her.

Did you want something? She asks him, momentarily startled by the sound of her own voice. She cannot remember ever having heard it before.

Do I want something, she asks me. Well yes, of a sort. You moron. He looks up at her and grins toothily, making her wonder if teeth are supposed to be that crooked.

And are you going to tell me, or will you simply sit there insulting me? The rudeness surprises her a bit, but then the man is being quite rude himself.

I suppose I might. It is, after all, a mutually beneficial arrangement. The little man swings his legs, kicking them against the box, and says no more.

The girl, losing her patience with the little man, demands, Well? What?

He gives her a flinty look and turns aside as he asks, You saw the Queen?

She nods. She is somehow not surprised.

The Queen... She is the Eater of Tales, the Devourer. She will have us all before she is done. The little man looks at her. You could stop her. Right now, you alone can.

Me? Why can I stop her? Why should I? The girl is little more than a child, frightened and confused. She doesn't understand what the little man is saying exactly, but she believes in the truth of it. With growing horror, she remembers the Queen pointing imperiously at a solitary maiden, and the carelessness with which the others drifted off, with which she herself joined in the choosing.

Why should you? The little man is turning red and purple, and he switches from kicking at the box to rocking back and forth on top of it.

Why should you! Listen to the stupid thing! Isn't it obvious, here he switches to a soft wheedling tone of voice, if the Queen is not stopped, she will devour us all, each and every one. You, too. He points at her, And sooner rather than later. You're a bit plump I think, but your cheeks are rosy and your ringlets yellow. You'll please her.

Setting this information aside for later thought, the girl frowns at him. You still haven't told me why I can stop her when you can't. She is still not entirely certain what is going on, but the little man turning blue in front of her seems to know, and she won't rest until she knows as much as he does.

You have taken form, but you haven't yet been trapped like the others. The little man holds his hands up, hiding his face. The girl remembers the strange wooden masks on the maidens earlier, and understands. When the man drops his hands, his face has gone from blue to a sickly yellow, and he winks merrily at her.

You have found the three charms left behind by the last tales who tried to stop her. He indicates her pocket, and she reaches into it, pulling out the three objects she had found earlier that evening. So long as you have them with you, the doll will allow you to be seen by humans, the claw will allow you to be felt by humans, and the boot will allow you to be heard. Never before has a single tale held all three of these things at once; I didn't think it possible. And as for why not me, his face suddenly turns the green of split pea soup, a mark of his mood as much as his physical condition, and his tone drops lower, the Queen has stolen something of mine, and without it I cannot leave this, this tortuous theater.

The girl is struck by his sudden sadness. What did she steal from you?

My name, he says in plaintive tones, She stole my name.

Oh. I'm sorry. Not knowing what else to say, she offers, I don't know my name either.

He snorts. I truly fear for us, with someone as stupid as you for our hero. But now his insult sounds almost affectionate, and he reaches out to finger the crimson material of her cloak. I should think it obvious, he says, that you're Red.

II

She awoke the next morning to the sound of people rushing about all around her. After her interview with the nameless man, she had removed the obstacles from the trap door and unlocked it, convinced she was safe until day. She had settled down behind the stacks of crates in the hall to sleep away what little was left of the night, and now as people hurried through the hallway her presence was completely unnoticed.

She froze, terrified. People! People all around her! However was she to escape unnoticed? For a brief instant she entertained the idea of staying where she was, silent, until nightfall, but that idea was less appealing than even the thought of being found by those unknown creatures. Besides, what did she have to fear from them?

The thought bolstered her confidence. No matter what these people, these humans, had in store for her, it could not be worse than the Queen and her pursuing minion. She waited until the hall was silent, took a deep breath, and stood up.

Hey! You! What are you doing there? The call came even sooner than she had expected it. It froze her where she stood, fighting the instinct to hide again. She turned to face a tall man with a fuzz of black hair, thin dark eyes placed in a heavy-boned face. She gaped a bit and caught her breath as the man advanced on her with a slight frown.

The public is not supposed to be back here. Has the sign on the front door gone missing again? I'm sorry, but you're supposed to enter through the alley and up the stairs. His tone was milder than the initial shout, but his frowning brows still made her quail, searching for an answer.

It's okay Dez, she's with me. This voice came from a second man only just appearing through one of the doors. This one was significantly shorter, and his dark hair spilled to his shoulders in an unkempt shag, a blaze of white combed off to one side. Though his hair would have made her guess high on his age, the smooth skin on the sharp planes of his face made her revise her opinion downward. Sorry I didn't tell you about it, I didn't think she'd be here already.

Dez turned his frown on the newcomer. "I'm going to have to get that lock fixed. Well, fine, but you know I don't approve of bringing your friends to work. Don't let her distract you, and keep her out of the way. And make sure you get these supplies to Sal soon, she needs to get to