The Puppet Man


He was somewhat of a legend in the neighborhood. The eerie figure, shrouded in darkness, which waits patiently with no clear-cut purpose except for that of terror. Mothers used to tell stories to their children about him, The Puppet Man.

The Puppet Man had no real home, no real mommy. The Puppet Man would steal children from their warm beds, especially the children who failed to complete their chores or ate cookies before dinner. The Puppet Man lived in the shadowed world, where he would continuously make the toys that were his namesake out of naughty children's bones. He smelled of sulfur and brimstone, he tormented people who had done nothing wrong.

His hands were like claws, his eyes filled with madness and hatred. He was emaciated, like a skeleton, and he was a real, horrible, creature.

He was alone, he was an outsider, and he was irrevocably strange. The Puppet Man was not a nice man.

But then again, there are no more nice men