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Fantoccio is free, but at what cost? He had escaped the wretched city, but now the mysterious goat's request continues to hang over his head, leaving the feeling of true independence ringing hollow. He can almost feel the blood-red eyes peering down at him from above, burning a hole in his skull. He keeps telling himself it's so simple, just kill the goat and her friends. A mere moment after bidding the puppet farewell, the shadow of Arthur fades away into the distance. Now, Fantoccio is all alone again. He treads through the fields, the wind bristling against his cloak and threatening to steal his hat from him.
He walks for what feels like miles through empty terrain. How would he find Billie? How would he even know where to find her? Fantoccio replays the events in his mind over and over again. He then stops dead in his tracks when he remembers a single word she said.
"Goatshire."
He whispers to himself, stopping momentarily before resuming. She said she lived in Goatshire. He remembers clearly her invitation to him, a promise simply too good to be true. This is his genuine belief. The goat was bluffing. He's certain of it. But is he? Fantoccio genuinely doesn't know. Not like it matters. She wasn't one to give him freedom; the mysterious stranger was. But how could some goat wield so much power, especially with no gem? These thoughts give him a headache. Fantoccio is hungry, a sad, penniless little peasant, just like the ones he'd sometimes portray in his plays, only this time, there'd be no bow or applause for his complaints of discomfort.
This time, the act is real. He shudders at the idea of digging through the trash like a rodent or bum. He feels indignant, lacking the humility needed to beg or ask for anything. Such is the ego of an actor. Fantoccio finds himself on the outskirts of a small local town, a dainty little nest of tiny homes and docile people. They seem nice. A hefty bull stands in his yard, a quaint fellow minding his own business and watering his lawn with a light hose. He smiles as he makes sure every blade of green shrubbery receives its due sustenance. A neighbor lady walks by. A deer woman with large, hoop earrings flirts with the gentleman as she walks her tiny wyvern on a leash. Fantoccio smiles at the simplicity of this mundane display of life as he stands far from sight.
On stage, Fantoccio feels like he can be a star. Up there, he's fearless, allowing himself to become whatever brave and strong protagonist he must, but behind the curtain, Fantoccio knows he's just what he is, a puppet, a living, breathing freak. The mere word haunts him. Years of solitude in a theater have left him naked to the outside world. In there, he could protect his confidence in the familiarity of his environment, the theater in which he'd practically memorized the layout so well he could draw an architectural floor plan straight from memory.
He knows all the secret passages, the last belongings of the people in each room, the little notes they left behind, love letters from mothers, pictures of lovers, all memories frozen in time of the last of the real "actors" to ever grace the theater, for lack of a better term. It is a ghost town, and he is little more than a ghost. Speaking of ghosts, he ponders just where Barnaby came from and how he came to be. Who is he? Why is he friends with the children? Why was he so keen on killing Fantoccio? The last image of the black owl haunts his mind, and even more so, the feathers. Fantoccio isn't even ticklish, and yet the bird had the power to leave him chuckling like an infant. How could he be so cold? How could he talk about killing like he'd done it hundreds of times?
That begs an even better question for him: why would three children befriend such a chilling figure? It makes the puppet wonder why the goat didn't simply ask HIM to kill if it was so easy. Fantoccio had never "killed" anyone before. Sure, he'd done so in plays, but despite living in the moment and taking his roles very seriously, Fantoccio knows that killing in real life isn't the same as killing in a play. In real life, you don't get to get up and bow with an arrow stuck to your chest or an ax plowed into your skull. It just doesn't happen. Now his headache is even worse. Fantoccio whines as he nervously approaches the town. He bites his lip as he makes his decision.
He'll swipe a vegetable right out of the yard of one of the unsuspecting neighbors, just something small, a carrot or so, just anything to ease the stomach. But then he wonders, what if he gets caught? How would he explain himself? Would he run away? Would his pride allow it? What if the people make fun of him and call him a little wooden freak? Would he retaliate against his accusers? What if he cannot finish the job? He cannot bear the thought. Beneath the wooden exterior is a sensitive young man with a passion for plays. He wants little more than for people to watch and praise him for what he's good at. Even though Fantoccio has never performed before a real audience, he's simulated the experience many times.
The stage is impersonal to him. In a crowd, each face becomes a blur, each person becomes little more than a moving figure and a maker of noise. The lack of intimacy tied to a stage gives him comfort, but the second he's given personalized contact beyond that of the children he'd just tried to befriend or his cold and mysterious savior, as soon as he has to make an impression on someone older than himself, he becomes a bundle of nerves. This is his audience, and individually, he is terrified of them. A puppet away from a stage becomes little more than an object of mockery. He fears people wouldn't see him as a person with feelings or desires, but as a monster, a thing to loathe, an abomination that should have never been made.
These feelings eat away at him as he feels his knees weakening. The two gossipers before him disperse, and the gentleman retreats inside. Now is his chance. He makes a break for it. The tiny puppet hobbles his way to the carrot, a pathetic stumble for a tiny morsel. Fantoccio grasps the carrot, pulling hard at the leafy head. He struggles, quite embarrassingly so, as the man returns. Sweating, Fantoccio doesn't wish to be caught. Oh, the humiliation he'd face, the poor wooden fellow who can't even remove a carrot from a thin patch of dirt. Panicking, he has one final idea. Just as the gentleman turns the corner, returning to his garden, he spots the limp wooden figure lying in the dirt. He approaches.
"Hm? What's this?"
He says, a sheep named Paul with small, rounded horns, is a kind young father of a six-year-old lamb named Dolly. As he draws the body of the puppet from the ground, he holds it before his face. The puppet smiles up at him with three rounded teeth poking through his upper lip, a friendly-looking fellow. Paul sighs.
"Some poor soul lost their puppet."
He turns the figure around, examining Fantoccio from all ends.
"That's strange, no strings."
He shrugs as he smiles face-to-face, talking to the puppet.
"Let's get you inside before the critters nibble you up."
Fantoccio doesn't respond. He plays dead, an act of desperation. Nobody outside of the theater knows Fantoccio is alive, and he realizes now that he can benefit from that. He'd gotten used to playing dead and had grown quite skilled from the many times he had to "die" on stage before his "audience". This really isn't that much different for him. Paul carries Fantoccio inside his house and into the dining room, placing the puppet gently onto the chair in a sitting position before resuming his duties. His small daughter Dolly enters the room, curious about what her father has found.
She approaches Fantoccio as the puppet stares lifelessly forward with a fixed expression, not moving a muscle. She smiles back at the puppet as she lifts him into the air before her. She takes him into her bedroom as her father continues to take care of business in the garden. After a bit of pruning and cleanup work, he brushes the sweat from his brow. Paul steps inside, noticing the puppet has disappeared. He darts his head around the room in confusion with his hooves on his hips and a raised brow. He hears laughter and immediately catches on as he approaches his daughter's bedroom to investigate. Paul smiles warmly as he greets his daughter.
"I see you found our new guest."
She looks up at her father curiously.
"Is this for me, Daddy?"
He folds his arms as he leans against the doorway, the young father with a bright yellow polo, looks down at his daughter, knowing she wouldn't be too keen on what he's about to tell her.
"No, honey. It appears that someone lost this little fella outside. I'm sure whoever left it there must miss it dearly. It's a very finely crafted doll. I must say."
The tiny lamb scowls up at him, standing up and correcting her father with unmatched authority.
"He's not a dolly, Daddy. I'm a Dolly. He's a puppet."
The father reacts sarcastically, throwing his hooves up in surrender with a chuckle.
"Oh, well, sorry."
She laughs at his ridiculous response. He looks down at the puppet as he lies on the girl's bed with the same innocent grin, staring at the ceiling.
"I'm gonna put together some fliers and pass them around town for people to hang up. If someone's looking for this puppet, I'd like to return it to where it belongs."
He approaches the bed and tries to take the puppet, but the girl grabs and holds him close to her defensively. He sighs in slight frustration as she starts to become upset.
"You're not gonna take him from me. Are you?"
He kneels on one knee as he speaks to her at eye level, his voice calm but authoritative.
"It's always important to return things to where they belong. You know this. Right?"
She nods, a sad frown forming on her face. Within mere moments, the girl had already grown attached to the puppet. She caresses him close to her chest as he peers over her shoulder. Fantoccio finds great warmth and happiness in the kindness of the child. His wooden heart beats, and his body fills with warmth as he smiles widely over the small girl's affection for him.
"He's not a thing, Daddy! His name is Fantoccio, and he's perfect, and I love him!"
He compromises with a sigh.
"Tell ya what, I'll try to return this puppet as best as I can. If nobody claims him within a week, he's all yours. Okay?"
She holds the smiling puppet in front of her, looking sadly into his bright, yellow eyes. She concedes.
"Okay."
Paul rises and walks toward the door, looking back as Dolly pulls Fantoccio into another hug and stares sadly at the wall in front of her. He's torn. On one hand, he'd feel relieved knowing the puppet was reunited with its proper owner. On the other hand, the last thing he wants is to upset his daughter by taking her new friend away from her. Because of that, part of him hopes nobody shows up. Dolly continues to play with Fantoccio for several days, sharing her food with him. Behind closed doors and away from her father, Fantoccio converses with her quietly, Paul none the wiser that her conversations are anything more than her interacting with her imaginary friend. He tells her all about his life story and how he was a great actor.
He expresses his fondness for Sharkspeare, how he misses him, and how he'd love nothing more than to bring the shark there so they could meet. Dolly giggles at his silly stories but believes every one of them, no matter how much Fantoccio tends to stretch the truth. She asks if he'd perform for her, and as much as he'd love to, he still doesn't feel safe with the idea of revealing himself to her father yet. Fantoccio promises that if he gets to stay, he'll find the most gentle way of coming clean to Paul without startling him or causing him to fear for his daughter's safety. Deep within the pit of his gut, though, he fears waiting too long.
He fears Paul's rejection, that he'd call Fantoccio a monster and a liar, that Paul would toss the puppet away, and that he'd be all alone once again. Fantoccio savors every second with Dolly, watching his treasured friend with a sad frown, anxiety swelling as he knows that each night she holds him close could be his last. It's not the most ideal solution for sure, but being her friend, her toy, her cherished possession is the closest Fantoccio had ever felt to having a family. It's all he ever wanted, just someone to love him for who he is. As the girl sleeps peacefully beside him, he closes his eyes and dreams of being part of their family. It nears the end of the week as a sad, pathetic fool of a man treads the neighborhood on the way home from his local cinema.
The man is a pig, literally and metaphorically. He sports a long coat and a fedora, a rather nerdy man carrying a bag of films to his house. If Fantoccio is some sort of connoisseur of high art, sophisticated plays, and works of art by people of culture, this man, Dario Pelicula, is a maestro of cinematic trash, a lover of tasteless, low-budget schlock. Dario notices something peculiar. No matter how many times he trod through this reach of town, this small suburbia, he'd never seen anything ever change about its appearance, so when fliers started popping up, at first he thought nothing of it.
Now that he takes the opportunity to actually look, they stick out like a sore thumb. Running his eyes across the flyer, Dario gasps in shock, dropping his bags to the ground as he approaches the poster, ripping it from the nail on the wall, holding it close to his face with widened eyes of shock.
"No way. It can't be!"
He mutters to himself. A small, framed picture of the smiling puppet stares him right in the face. He could never forget the day. Fifteen years ago, almost to the day, Dario was working at the famous theater in The City of Magic (not yet lost). Dario was a modest janitor and amateur magician. Always lazy, Dario opted to delegate many of his duties to the cleaning supplies, something he was scolded many times, yet he never listened. One day, Dario was cleaning the dressing room of an actor and prop master.
Dario cleans the room as a small wooden puppet stares at him from a chair in the corner of the room. The puppet's yellow eyes creep him out as it stares at him. He can feel the puppet silently judging him, delusional paranoia over a mere innocent actor's prop. Dario had, and still has, many insecurities. Trying to fine-tune his craft, he utters the words over and over in his mind. He keeps getting tongue-tied over the pronunciation of the incantation.
"Esse Spira Sentire!"
Dario props the broom against the wall, reiterating, fumbling pronunciations, and slurring his words semi-drunkenly at the broom as it keeps falling over and he keeps cursing himself under his breath. With a deep sigh and final rehearsal, Dario mutters the words as clearly as he can, but is interrupted as actor Langdon De La Croix barges into the room unannounced, startling the man as he approaches him for yelling spells at the top of his lungs. He's been caught red-handed, and there would be no saving him this time.
In a massive misfire, Dario executes the spell, the red beam completely missing its trajectory and beaming directly into the puppet as it flies off the chair and onto the floor. The actor folds his arms and stares Dario in the eyes.
"You really did it this time, Pelicula! Now you're through! I'm reporting this to the boss!"
Dario runs to the man, pleading.
"No! You can't! I'll be sacked this time, for sure!"
But then Dario realizes, Langdon has no proof.
"Hey. Wait a minute. The boss already knows you got it out for me, but you got nothing on me. I sure don't see that broom moving, so it's your word against mine!"
It is then that Dario feels an object brush up against his knee. It's a tiny, affectionate puppet, gripping the man by the lower leg. He looks up with massive, circular yellow eyes. Dario looks down.
"Daddy!"
The tiny puppet yells. Dario freaks out, screaming. What had he done? He kicks the puppet away in reflex, sending the small boy toward the back of the room and into the wall. The boy wails in pain.
"What did you do that for, Daddy?! Don't you love me?!"
The actor looks over toward the small, wooden child, then back to Dario. Langdon's eyes narrow as Dario's widen. His face grows pale as he sweats profusely. The actor can smell the booze on his breath. This is it, the final straw. Langdon takes the small, wooden boy by the hand as he sobs, right to the boss, as Dario follows, begging the actor not to tell. Dario yells, smacking his head and pacing back and forth. This is it. They approach the head honcho's office. A rhino munching on a thick cigar leans over Dario, the massive and imposing figure, swallowing him with his shadow. Mr. Ross speaks in a deep growl.
"It wasn't enough that you had to delegate your duties again, but you now cost this theater a very expensive prop. Now, we have a child on our hands. What do you expect to do about this, Dario?"
Dario cowers, shaking.
"I-I-I don't know."
Mr. Ross rises from his desk, standing before the pig as he sits, his rear end consuming the entire chair with his buttocks.
"This is the final straw, Pelicula. Get your things outta your locker and get the hell outta here!"
Pelicula mutters and tries to defend himself.
"But he… but I… It's the puppet… fine."
Dario shoots the sobbing puppet one final dirty look, startling the boy before leaving the office and slamming the door. The rhino and the actor look at each other, then toward the sobbing wooden boy in the corner of the room as his lips tremble and he peers up at them with glossy, upset eyes. Langdon inquires.
"What do you suppose we do about him?"
Mr. Ross stares hard into Langdon's eyes, and the actor's blood runs cold with his insinuation.
"Toss it in the fire for all I care."
Fantoccio grabs Langdon in fear. He doesn't want to be burned alive. Langdon looks down, his eyes filled with pity for the child. He begs his boss to see reason.
"You can't do that! Spell or not, this is a living child now! There's a living being in that puppet!"
The boss looks over to the puppet, his charcoal black pupils boring into his wooden boy as he cowers. The boss smirks.
"Fine. He can have Dario's job. Give the kid a broom and tell him to get to work. I ain't paying him though. I'm pretty sure child labor laws don't apply to dolls, but he can live here... the little freak. So long as he behaves himself, he can stay. Can't be a worse janitor than Pelicula, that's for sure."
With this, Langdon sighs and hauls the tiny puppet away, back to his room, where he places him on the floor and stands before him, his arms folded. The puppet stares up with a confused and shamed look on his face, as if he, the sinless child, had done something to disappoint his elders. Langdon marches over to the closet, shifting around through coats and other materials, looking for the broom before realizing that Dario left it on the floor. He marches over, shaking his head.
"Idiot."
He mumbles to himself as he fetches the broom along with the dustpan and hands it to the child. Fantoccio holds it, confused.
"You sweep with it. You push the dirt, like so."
He demonstrates, pushing floor dust onto the dustpan as the child pays close attention and as if it's the most difficult task ever. Fantoccio takes the broom. As a child does, he fumbles with it. He's not perfect. It takes him quite a while, actually, but he learns the workings of a broom. Fantoccio would get older, and about a year would pass as he's handed more duties, collecting the trash, tossing it all out into the dumpster, destroying materials, etc. At first, the people of the theater aren't too keen on the little puppet janitor. Snobbishly, they judge him with sneers and mocking chuckles.
Learning to brush it off, Fantoccio pays them no mind, focusing on his work and trying to be the absolute best janitor he can be, trying to remain humble as he maintains diligence and utmost cleanliness. Fantoccio likes to play while he works. He figures he's an efficient enough worker. He's already leagues better at his job than the lazy slob Pelicula was. Fantoccio likes to sing to the broom handle all the little songs he'd memorized over the radio or from spectating the stage plays during his break. As it turns out, Fantoccio is incredibly perceptive, absorbing material like a sponge. The little puppet rehearses to himself in play, one day grabbing the attention of some theater-goers as they stop to behold the lad.
The people had gradually grown quite fond of him, many finding his silly mannerisms quite endearing and sweet. Many of the older patrons, recurring theater-going grandmas, like to treat Fantoccio like an adopted grandson, slipping him little pieces of candy and whatnot. He's grateful for them all. Fantoccio isn't particularly fond of being a janitor anymore. By now, he'd grown quite bored of it, but the actors and the boss had been taking quite an interest in the puppet lately. He proves to have talent, charisma, and a decent singing voice to boot. The rhino pulls Fantoccio into his office one day, chomping on the far end of a dying cigar as he asks the child to have a seat.
"I-I-I'm not in trouble, am I?"
The puppet climbs onto the seat. He'd always been afraid of the boss. The rhino shakes his head, half-admitting that he'd grown attached to the child as well. He offers Fantoccio a proposition.
"Not at all, kid. In fact, how would you like a promotion?"
Fantoccio lights up, his bright yellow eyes filled with innocence and wonder.
"Gee, a promotion? What to? I'm so grateful just to be able to do the trash and have a safe place to live."
Mr. Ross rises from his chair, walking heavy circles around the puppet as he explains. Fanto turns his head round and round, growing quite dizzy. If Mr. Ross had circled one more time, Fantoccio and his chair might have fallen through a circular hole in the floor.
"You got spunk, Fanto. The fans love you. But I'm startin' to think being the trash man is beneath the character of a talented little guy like you."
Fantoccio blushes modestly. He doesn't think anything of his silly little games. He just likes to sing and dance when he's bored. The rhino elaborates, filling his eyes with hopes of stardom.
"Picture it, kid, your name, your image born into the posters, fliers, advertisements all across the country, people flocking from all over the world just to see you and love you. You could be a star, baby. And all you gotta do is stick your name right here on this little piece of paper."
Mr. Ross removes a pen from his inner shirt pocket, clicking the back end and holding it out before the boy. Fantoccio reaches for the pen but then finds himself quite embarrassed.
"This is real swell, boss, but… I can't."
The boss looks at him like he's insane. Fantoccio tries to force his shameful admission out.
"I… I don't know how to spell my name… I never learned how to read or write."
The rhino stares at him for several seconds before bursting into laughter. Fantoccio becomes beet red, pulling his hat over his face with a small whine. The rhino takes notice. He's being serious. The boss clears his throat, attempting to salvage the little remaining professionalism he had before addressing the puppet.
"Ahem. Sorry. Don't worry about it for now. We can fill out the paperwork a little later."
He calls Langdon into the office over the intercom. Langdon enters almost a minute later.
"You called, boss?"
Mr. Ross continues to stare at Fanto with his perpetual scowl as he addresses Langdon.
"I want you to teach this young man how to read and write. Tutor him. Use your resources."
He points at Fantoccio.
"That kid's got potential. My judgment hasn't steered me wrong yet. Get him smarted up and we'll talk deals. Both of you are dismissed."
Langdon nods in agreement before opening the door. The tiny puppet leaps from his chair and runs out of the room before Langdon closes it behind him. And so, Fantoccio would be tutored on how to read and write by the finest tutors the actor had at his disposal. Fantoccio is bound to hours of crunch between his shifts as a janitor as he attempts to gain control over basic motor skills, simple math, and reading, up to roughly a fourth-grade level. Langdon takes the small boy home with him every night; Fantoccio is excited to get to leave the theater and see another place.
He loves to learn, but this method not only fatigues him greatly but also stresses the poor boy out. Langdon suggests taking everything in slowly, or he'll go mad. Eventually, after months of tutoring, Fantoccio consumes enough material and knowledge to function at least at a fourth-grade level. He's given his little test, and he passes with flying colors. With this, Fantoccio, filled with all the excitement of the world, is finally taken back into the boss's office. But something isn't quite right. The people are nervous. Fantoccio isn't quite sure what happened. He begins to assume the worst as if he'd done something wrong. It's not that. The boss pulls them into a huddle.
"War is coming. Everything's going to hell out there. There isn't gonna be any future for this theater if they get that gem."
Langdon is terrified. Fantoccio looks up to him as he heaves heavily. After a whispered exchange, Fantoccio is carried away hastily by Langdon and taken to the basement, where Fantoccio questions him.
"What's happening, Mr. Langdon? Why are we running? I'm scared!"
Langdon pulls the gem from his pocket, a yellow orb, raising the puppet's cloak and pressing the orb into his bare wooden chest as he recites an ancient tome in a language Fantoccio had never heard before. It burns as the orb sinks into his chest, and Fantoccio writhes. Langdon grabs the puppet by the shoulders, sweating, his eyes becoming milky as he speaks to the young puppet in a serious tone.
"It's about to get very dangerous around here. I want you to hide under the floor. If you need to, run! Some very bad men are coming to take this gem, and they want to hurt you. Stay quiet. Stay still. Don't make a single noise. You hear me?"
Fantoccio panics. His eyes fill with desperate tears. He has no idea what's going on.
"Whatever you do, protect that gem! Don't let anyone get it! I have to leave now. Good luck."
The puppet, terrified, tosses his arms around his mentor, begging him not to go. Langdon is taken aback by the affection, but nevertheless, holds the puppet tightly, close to his heart, for several seconds until the chaos beyond, the screaming, the destruction, the explosions grow louder. With that, Langdon presses a switch and Fantoccio falls through the floorboards into a secret, hidden room. Plummeting to the floor, he screams. Rising, he stares up at the ceiling as the trap door closes. He darts his head around frantically. Fantoccio runs to a nearby crate, climbing inside and bracing for the worst as the fighting grows louder and louder, and the screaming becomes deafening.
Beyond the crate, the war rages. Wizards of all kinds storm the theater, slaughtering screaming guests, some, many in fact, attempting to fight back. Langdon and Mr. Ross absolutely refuse to go down without a fight. Mr. Ross isn't much of a magician, but he can take a hit like nobody's business and dish one out even harder. He also proves to be infinitely more agile than he looks, as a massive, middle-aged rhino. Langdon is a pretty decent black mage in his own right, learning quite a bit at a young age as he dishes out fire, lightning, ice, and any other type of elemental magic he can muster. Unfortunately, the end is nigh. In all the chaos, both would succumb to the hordes.
For hours, it seems, the battle rages on until it gradually fades away to nothingness. Even as the sounds fade, Fantoccio cannot escape. He cannot breathe in the stifling crate. He cannot scream or sing to calm his nerves. All he can do is listen. Fantoccio anticipates footsteps, only for them to never arrive. The noise is all he can hear. Eventually, he grows so tired and so unable to keep himself awake that he slumbers to the noise, passing out from exhaustion. Hours later, Fantoccio awakens to dead silence. The ringing and reiterations in his ear are gone.
Everything had stabilized. He continues to listen for nearly ten to twenty minutes as horrible images run through his mind. Does he dare venture outside of the comfort of the crate? Does he dare behold the carnage? With a deep and stuttering sigh, Fantoccio lifts the lid of the crate. His eyes are still pinched shut when he forces himself to be brave and open them. Beyond all expectations, the room is completely as it was left, intact, and stable. Fantoccio leaves the box, climbing out and falling to the floor. He lifts himself, looking to the trap door above. He wishes he could be up there.
As he did, so it was. Fantoccio glows a bright yellow. The energy startles him as he rises from the ground, spinning in place as he bumps his head into the ceiling. Fantoccio rubs his wooden noggin, pushing the trap door up and peeking out. The stage is in shambles. Seats are overturned. The curtains are shredded, and there's litter and broken debris all over, but oddly, there are no bodies, only imprints of blood where they once lay. Fantoccio's heart races. It's even worse than he expected. A dead body is definitely dead, a horrible sight to behold, but the imprint of a body, a puddle of blood where one once lay, leaves the mind to imagine the ghastliest of possibilities, such as something got up and started walking around.
If the late-night movies at Langdon's house taught him anything, it's that a dead body's better than an undead one. He gulps, preparing for the worst as he darts his head around. It's quiet, startlingly quiet. The mind wanders, and Fantoccio's overactive imagination gets the best of him. He hallucinates as a small critter, a wild rat scampers across the ground. Fantoccio screams, stretching his hand forward in self-defense as it glows a yellow color. Golden strings extend from the hand, latching onto the rat and suspending the poor creature in mid-air. Fantoccio has no idea how he did it. He tries in desperation to release the creature, wiggling it in vain as the creature ragdolls, squeaking and panicking.
"I'm sorry! I'm trying to let you go, little fella, but I don't know how!"
With all options exhausted, he tries to calm down. Fantoccio takes a deep breath, allowing himself to relax as much as his frayed nerves will allow him to. With his heart rate normalized, he is finally able to release the rat. It falls to the ground, where it rolls back onto its legs and scurries away in fear. Fantoccio turns around, making his way slowly through the quiet theater as he tries to remain calm to prevent any sudden outbursts of unwanted magic. Fantoccio has no idea what else he is capable of and doesn't want to find himself in a situation where he's in danger and unable to control his powers. As carefully as he can, Fantoccio slides open the theater doors, trying as desperately as he can not to make any noise.
The doors creak, and he cringes with each small creak before he finally has the door open just wide enough to slide through. The lobby is empty as well. Where is everyone? There's blood all over the place, but not a single corpse in sight. Where did they all go? Did the attackers take the bodies with them? Did they get up and walk away on their own? Fantoccio tries to use simple logic. Had the bodies been dragged, the blood would have been smeared all over the floor. Right? And if they got up and walked away on their own, there would be footprints all over the place. Nothing about this makes sense. Regardless, the theater is empty. Fantoccio is now all alone. He wanders the theater, past the snack machines, past the popcorn machine, past the box office.
"H-hello?"
He cries timidly, half dreading something ominous. Whatever happened, it happened quickly, efficiently, like a storm of pure evil, sweeping its way through the theater. Fantoccio checks Langdon's quarters. His dressing room is empty but trashed. He prays not to find his dear friend's corpse, or anyone else, for that matter. Nothing. Just a room left in ruin and memories of his birthplace tarnished. If there was a great battle here, it was certainly very one-sided. Fantoccio dreads the possibility of someone returning to finish up any loose ends. He heads toward his boss's office. Surely, a big, powerful rhino would survive even the toughest of battles.
But alas, his office is a wreck, his desk thrown upside down, and the butts of cigars, paperwork, broken furniture, and glass litter the floor. They're gone. Everyone is gone. Cindered remains of Fantoccio's contract rest on the floor. The lonely puppet leans against the desk, sliding to the floor as he is overrun by emotion. He cries there for minutes on end, lamenting into his cloak as hard as he can. He unleashes all his sorrow onto his cloak and the office floor. There's nobody left. There's nothing else here for him. Without hope, Fantoccio is left empty. He's had so little, a simple but happy life, and now it's gone, swept away in the span of a day. He was on top of the world, ready to make a big break, and now he's at the bottom, drowning in despair.
Reality hits the tiny wooden boy hard. He treads out into the lobby, empty, his eyes red and sore from all the lamentations. He shuffles through the debris over to the front doors. Fantoccio doesn't know if there's anything outside, and quite frankly, he doesn't give a damn. There's nothing left for him. Gone is any sense of fear. Fantoccio undoes the lock to the front doors with the key from Mr. Ross' desk. He pushes them open with a hard grunt as he treads into the unknown. That's where they all are. For miles on end, Fantoccio spots the dead. They somehow all migrated outside, possibly following the attackers as they left. Fantoccio shuffles outside, numb, devoid of all spirit.
He approaches the shambling dead beings without a single ounce of fear, accepting that he might as well allow himself to become consumed. He just doesn't care anymore. As he nears the bloody beasts, the undead animals turn their heads to him, and their blank, expressionless eyes follow him. They approach him. Fantoccio closes his eyes, accepting his fate. But for some reason, they don't attack him. He ponders. When Fantoccio watched that movie at his buddy Langdon's house, he distinctly remembered the zombies craving the flesh of the living. Fantoccio is alive… but what he has isn't exactly what one would call "flesh". He has no scent; therefore, the zombies ignore him. He's not even appetizing to a zombie. So great.
He can't even use them as an opportunity to end it all. Fantoccio hyperventilates, breathing heavily as he screams in rage. Fantoccio lashes out at the zombies, sending out golden strings with his magic. He latches onto them, swinging them violently into each other, slamming the undead into the ground with a "splat!" He screams at the top of his lungs as he sends hundreds of golden strands outward. He ties the zombies into a massive knot, squeezing them, pulverizing and tenderizing their rotten flesh as the strings tear the corpses to pieces, littering both the ground and himself in blood. He's drenched in the blood of the undead, and he does not care.
Fantoccio follows the streets toward the edge of town, not having any idea where he's going, only following buildings until he can't see anymore. He ravages zombies with his telekinesis, slamming them into vehicles and walls, impaling them on spikes, anything to vent his pent-up anger. Finally, he reaches the city limits. He stares up, and a massive sign reads "Leaving the City of Magic, the most wonderful place in the world."
"Yeah. Right."
He mutters to himself. Fantoccio walks under the sign when he's deflected backward by an invisible force. He's thrown to the ground violently by some sort of magic field. He screams at the sky.
"What the hell is this?! Am I stuck here?! You think this is funny, eh?!... You know what?... It is kinda funny!"
Fantoccio laughs hysterically at his own misfortune. It's finally happened. After all the stress and anger, he'd finally snapped. Fantoccio throws himself to the ground in hysterical laughter. Fantoccio, completely insane, throws himself into the barrier just for fun, just to mock himself as he descends into madness. He giggles manically as he destroys more of the dead. Merrily, he skips through the street, mocking them and joking as he explores the city and its surroundings. Fantoccio walks the entire perimeter of the city, throwing himself at walls and giggling until he's completely tired himself out. Giving up, knowing there's no way out, Fantoccio retreats back to the theater. He throws the door open, not even bothering to close it, and steps inside.
This is where he would remain for fifteen long years. Over time, Fantoccio hones his magic, testing his powers on the outside monsters. They grow ever stronger. Pilfering the theater, he finds things to do, things to read. He consumes vast amounts of knowledge, books upon books of reading material, plays, novels, anything he can read, he does, just to pass the time. He even comes across a conjuration book, which gives him an idea. Rather than being alone, Fantoccio will make a friend. The problem is, he needs a host.
The book doesn't cover necromancy, so he finds out the hard way that filling a corpse with a soul isn't gonna cut it. He ends the creature, mercifully. Fantoccio then happens upon a rather large figure, an animatronic shark created by a famed special effects artist. Fantoccio flickers his hands with whimsical excitement as he readies the spell. With a sigh and a loud, clear annunciation, the puppet brings the shark to life. The creature flails around on the ground as Fantoccio leaps in place with glee.
"I did it! I did it! I created life! Omigosh! You're so beautiful! What will I call you? Sharky? No, too generic. Sharknado? No, that's too silly. What shall I name this beautiful son of mine?"
It's then that he remembers a name, Shakespeare. Shakespeare kind of sounds like the word "shark". He snaps his fingers.
"Sharkspeare!"
The big fish flails around on the ground in excitement, sticking its tongue out like a dog.
"How do you like it, boy?!"
The fish flops, making a sound that could only be described as a bark. Fantoccio caresses the giant blue fish.
"I am such a proud daddy!"
With this, Fantoccio had made Sharkspeare. It is here, in this lonely theater, where he'd practice his craft, hone his skills as an actor, and conjure more semi-conscious beings into existence to keep himself entertained in his isolation. This is his story, the story of a sad little wooden boy with a sad little life. Dario Pelicula continues to look at the poster, crinkling it in his hooves with a face of determination. He decides the next day is going to be sweet. The next day, the lazy pig is going to get revenge, fifteen years too late. Fantoccio wasn't the only one strengthening his magic.
Dario, who's since become a devoted practitioner of black magic, has become quite skilled himself. The pig laughs manically as he disappears in a magical trail of fire, the smell of bacon permeating the air. The next day, Fantoccio is having a ravishing breakfast with Dolly. Dolly is frustrated with Polly Pigtails, who's been very rude and hasn't eaten so much as a single bit of her imaginary food. They play house, and Fantoccio pretends to be the dad. He plays along, seeing the game as an excellent excuse to hone his craft. He talks to the inanimate doll as she stares outward with a dead smile on her face.
"Oh, come on, Polly, you've hardly touched your food. How's a growing girl like you supposed to get big and strong if you won't eat your num-nums?"
Dolly folds her arms. She's a cranky mother scolding her child.
"Little missy, if you don't eat your eggies right now, I'll send you to bed without ice cream for dessert for a whole week!"
Continuing the act, Fantoccio inquires. He pretends to cringe at the toughness of her punishment.
"Dolly, sweetheart, don't you feel like you're being a little harsh on our daughter? She's only one year old after all."
Apparently, they're married in this game.
"Husband, you gotta be tough with those kids or they'll walk all over ya! You gotta learn to put your foot down!"
Fantoccio sips at his imaginary coffee, ending with a satisfied "ah" before fixing his nonexistent tie and rising from the table.
"Those eggies were to die for, babe. See you after work. I have to go to my boring accounting job so I can do math and stuff and put bread on the table like a real daddy does."
She approaches him and plants a kiss on his wooden cheek.
"Have a good day at work!"
He declares boldly.
"It's a tough job, but knowing I'll return every night to my three favorite people in the whole world makes it all worth it."
She shushes him.
"Shh! Baby Boo-boo is sleeping!"
Ending the game, they both laugh hysterically. From the other room, Fanto hears the doorbell. Paul answers the door and converses with a strange fellow. Fanto peeks through the doorway, eavesdropping on the conversation. The ominous pig stands at the door as Paul answers.
"Hello?"
The pig responds, acting as friendly and jovial as he can.
"Oh, hey! Hi! Name's Dario."
He frantically shakes Paul's hoof.
"I came here because I saw your fliers plastered all throughout town. You found my puppet! You know, I'd forget my head if it wasn't attached to my body. You really saved me, pal!"
Paul looks inside, back toward the room, as Dolly peers from the doorway. Fantoccio hides against the wall. Dario… Where did he hear that name before? Something about that voice sounds so familiar to him, but he can't remember where it came from. Frustrated by his memory's betrayal, he continues to listen. Dolly approaches them from behind. Paul speaks with a slight sigh.
"It's bittersweet, really, you showing up. As glad as I am to see this fine puppet reunited with its owner, I'd be remiss to mention that my daughter has grown quite fond of the little fellow."
Dolly approaches her father, hugging him from the side as he pulls her in affectionately. She looks at Dario with glassy, sullen eyes and a pouty frown. Dario rubs the back of his head, feeling admittedly quite guilty for the child… but not that guilty. He lies as he obfuscates sympathy.
"Ah, jeez. I feel like a heel. You know? The last thing I want is to be the guy to deprive this little cutie of her new favorite toy. My hooves are tied. Now, if the doll were simply mine, I'd let the little darlin' keep it."
He shrugs, falsely cringing in pain as he forces the catch through his lips.
"But the sad truth is he's not mine, and my boss would kill me if he found out I lost company property."
Paul sighs.
"I understand."
He turns to Dolly, kneeling before her.
"It's time for Fantoccio to go home, Dolly."
The child immediately breaks down into tears, her lips quivering. He reminds her.
"Hey, you remember our promise, right? What did I tell you?"
She responds, her voice raspy and bereft of energy.
"Sometimes doing the right thing is hard to do, but it makes us better people."
He nods.
"That's right, so go get him."
She shuffles into the other room and returns a second later with the puppet in her arms as he sports the fakest smile he'd ever made. Dolly makes it to the end of the doorway before silently giving the puppet one last firm hug. Maintaining composure, a single tear runs down Fantoccio's eye as his expression remains frozen. With great reluctance, she hands Fantoccio over to Dario. Dario takes the puppet. He holds Fantoccio before him with a huge smile drawn across his face. Fantoccio's heart drops into his stomach.
The voice was familiar enough, but he could never forget a face. Even though Dario is now older, wrinklier, and slightly greying on top, he's still perfectly distinct in appearance. Fantoccio recalls very clearly the last dirty look Dario shot at him before he left Mr. Ross' office for the final time. Dario thanks the man.
"I really can't thank you enough for saving my butt. And you..."
He points to Dolly; she looks up at him.
"You keep stayin' adorable, and I might send ya a replacement."
He winks and clicks his teeth, pretending to be this friendly fellow, whispering as he leaves, and drawing a mutual raised brow from the daughter and father. Dario walks down the road. Fantoccio can do nothing as the child, barely able to bear looking at him, sobs as he's carried away. Around the corner, Dario drops the friendly act. In a blaze of fire, he uses his black magic to arrive home in an instant, miles away within seconds. Fantoccio didn't even have time to process what happened. He continues to play dead as the pig fiddles around in his coat pocket; the jingle of keys can be heard as he slides them into the lock. The door swings open, and Dario tosses the puppet to the floor of the filthy apartment, walking in and slamming the door behind him. He stares down with a heartless look in his eyes. He knows exactly what's going on.
"You can quit playing pretend. You're not as good an actor as you think, Fantoccio."
The puppet continues to play dead, hoping for sure he could gaslight the crazy pig into thinking he really is just a regular puppet. It goes about as well as one would think. The pig lifts the limp doll off the floor.
"So, you're gonna give me the silent treatment, eh? Let's see how quiet you are when I burn you alive."
The pig clenches his fist, opening it to reveal a bright orange fireball forming in his palm. He goes to release the fireball as Fantoccio quickly launches his strings onto the pig. Enraged, the pig ignites his entire body, the flames burning the strings and leaving a burning circle on the floor. Fantoccio is shocked. Dario's expertise with magic has increased dramatically within those fifteen years. He'd gone from the fumbling buffoon that brought him to life years ago by complete accident to having near mastery over black magic.
Dario freezes the puppet to the floor with ice. His legs are frozen solid. Thinking quickly, Fantoccio concentrates as hard as he can on levitation, cracking the ice and rising from the floor as he slams his icy legs right into Dario's face. The pig stumbles as Fantoccio unleashes on him, slamming his legs into the pig and shattering the ice. The pig is sent backward into his couch, knocking it over and rolling behind. Dario sprays water all over the room, Fantoccio dashing through the air to avoid the stream. Dario floods the entire living room as the puppet hovers over the floor.
Fantoccio can see the pig's desperate animosity in his eyes as he sneers with hatred. Standing on the couch and bone dry, Dario sends fireball after fireball at the puppet as Fantoccio flies around the room, telekinetically tossing appliances and furniture at the pig. The whole place is an absolute wreck now. Fantoccio growls in anger as he lifts the couch with the pig on it. He's enraged now.
"After all these years, I finally found my happiness, and you took it away from me! How could you?! I was so close! I was so close to living a beautiful life, and you took that away from me!"
Fantoccio tosses the couch into the wall, smashing it with all his force. Dario leaps away before it collides with the wall. He hides behind the wall in the next room as he taunts the puppet from the doorway. Furious, Dario responds from behind the wall.
"You ungrateful little knothole! You wouldn't even have a life if it weren't for me! I made you, and I will unmake you!"
Aiming toward the floor, Dario channels his magic through the water, creating an ice ball in the water underneath Fantoccio. With the clench of his fist, ice shards fly out of the ball in all directions. Fantoccio attempts to weave in and out but is pinned to the wall by a single shard. He struggles as Dario steps into the room, heaving like a wild animal, fully deranged and completely gone from sanity and reason. He uses his magic to spike the shard, sending ice impaling Fantoccio, torturing the puppet as he's nailed to the wall.
"You think you had it bad?! Imagine being shamed out of the whole town! I lost my job! Nobody would hire me or take me seriously anymore because I became known as "the puppet master", a term of ridicule, the guy who created a freak! That's what you are, Fantoccio, a freak! You're nothing but an accident! You shouldn't even exist! I never regretted anything more than the day I made you! Now it's time to finally correct my mistake!"
Dario ignites the puppet. Fantoccio screams as he burns, the wood beneath fraying heavily. His head darts around the room looking for anything. The pain is unreal as his head rushes. There! In the kitchen, a toaster on the counter, hovering over the flooded floor. Reaching his hand outward, Fantoccio musters every last bit of strength into telekinesis. Aiming for the toaster, he pulls the device to the floor. Dario, ready to execute a death blow, a final combustion to the puppet, is fried when the electrical current travels through the pool, surging through Dario's body.
He flickers a light blue as his pink fur stands prickly on end. He shakes violently as he jolts through the air. Dario is sent backward onto the floor. The electrical current forces Dario into cardiac arrest. He lies there, dead in the pool of water. Fantoccio, still in searing pain and on fire, pulls the shard from the wall and allows himself to drop to the floor to douse the flame. Fantoccio gasps for breath, choking as he rises from the ground. He shambles around. Approaching Dario apprehensively. With his telekinesis, he turns the dead pig onto his back. Dario stares upward with a frozen look of shock toward the ceiling. Fantoccio just had to make sure. With a final word, he announces his departure.
"Goodbye, Dad!"
He kicks the pig as hard as he can and limps toward the doorway, opening it from the handle and allowing all the water to spill outside. Fantoccio stands there in the puddle, looking down into his burnt reflection, his wooden body singed and damaged. He would heal, but he'd never be left with the same flawless finish as before. He now has splits and splinters all over. Fantoccio speaks to himself. His mind is frayed, and his nerves are shot. This is all he can think to do to calm himself down.
"Look at you. Who are you? What are you? You're just an accident. You were never meant to be anything special. They laughed at you, mocked you, told you you'd never amount to anything, that you were an abomination... They tried to kill you, took everything from you, and stole from you the only people you ever loved or cared about, time and time again. They locked you in a theater, made certain you wouldn't escape, and forced you, a tiny, helpless boy, all alone, into a city where everyone and everything wanted to kill you. And yet, through some mercy, through a cruel twist of fate, here you stand.
"You've been through ups, downs, lefts, and rights. It's been a crazy ride. You learned along the way that the only person you can depend on is yourself. Everyone else in this world will do nothing but let you down. It's time to take matters into your own hands. There's only one thing to do now: pay tribute to the only people who helped you get where you are, the people you lost. It's time to tie up loose ends. It's time to get revenge on all the people who took everything away from you."
Fantoccio treads through the town to the nearest exit, out toward a long, winding dirt road. Before him is a sign. What a coincidence. He was hoping one would show up right about now.
"Goatshire, five miles away."
He clasps his chest where his precious gem used to be. He treads the long and winding road toward the storm with a limp.
"Mark my words, I will find you, Billie. I will fulfill my savior's request. And I will kill you."
The wind pushes back at him and tries to blow his hat away again. He holds it to his head, squinting and pushing forward. For almost five miles, he walks through rain alone as it grows darker and darker. He scowls as he stares toward the ground, the mud forming around his wooden feet. The long walk gives him time to think and to cool down after the conflict. His tension eases as he becomes less angry and more tired. The night has been long, and it hasn't exactly been an enjoyable one. Fantoccio arrives on the outskirts of Goatshire, a tiny, quaint town protected from the outside world by a wall. The puppet merely rises over it with his magical levitation, staring into the town and toward the faint firefly lights of the homes below.
The people are nestled within their cozy little homes and are safe from the rain. He envies them greatly, especially when he realizes that had that foolish pig not interrupted their happiness, Fantoccio and Dolly could be snug within their room, staring out into the peaceful slumber of a storm together. He yearns to get back to Paul and Dolly. If only he remembered where they lived, or knew how far and in what direction Dario carried him off to. He could kick himself for not taking the time to read the address on some mail or find out the name of the town. But he swears he will find them again. He will get back home. Now it's just a matter of finding the goat. Fantoccio has no idea which of the many dainty homes is hers.
The only thing he can do is use the process of elimination to find out which one belongs to Billie. He's torn. He wonders how Sharkspeare is doing without him, relying on the animated props to feed him. Fantoccio is relieved that he'd solved that problem years ago. One time, he forgot to feed Sharkspeare and the bloody creature snapped at him. Had he caught the puppet in those chompers, Fantoccio would have been torn to shreds. Fantoccio approaches the windows of various homes, peering in like a creep. Each one kills him a little on the inside. Happy little goat families: mothers, fathers, daughters, sons, aunts and uncles, grandparents, Fantoccio has none of that, not anymore.
His anger turns to sadness, each family piercing his soul. He doesn't know if he even has it in him to peer into one more house. But then, he can hear giggling, a very familiar giggling. Beyond that is another voice, a calm young man, jovial, happy. He reads a silly story to the girl. Aristotle sits at the foot of her bed as he reads Billie a bedtime story. One would think the girl was too old for such things. She'd always tried to act like an adult, super responsible, and independent, but at the end of the day, she's still a kid. In many ways, Fantoccio thinks of himself as just a kid. He wishes he could be one anyway, just to have a normal family and a normal life. He watches carefully as the axolotl reads.
He's very invested in his words and role-playing. Perhaps he missed a calling somewhere, as his enthusiasm proves infectious. Fantoccio can't help but smile as he draws parallels between the two and his good friends, Paul and Dolly. Fantoccio wonders what he's doing. He turns away from the window, sliding down the wall with shame. They're not bad people. He can't believe it. Nobody that kind could be evil. It's the same kind of family, even, just a girl and a man who cares deeply about her. He reflects. He knows that she came for the gem. But why? That's the big question. If it were for power, why did she not destroy him? Why would a ghost owl befriend some kids? Why would she promise to come back and free him?
Why would she show mercy to him, even in his moment of weakness, even after he'd threatened them, even after he tricked them into writing a play? Why did the mystery goat revive him? What is his motive? Why would he want such an innocent child dead, and if he was so powerful, why didn't he simply do it himself? Fantoccio finds his eyelids growing heavy. It's a good thing puppets can't get sick, or else Fantoccio would find himself becoming quite ill right about now. Still, he needs shelter. He's just so tired from all the fighting and all the travel.
His mind rambles as his eyes shut. The puppet falls asleep right outside their house. He dreams of her, his Dolly, seeing her once again, playing those same old games, pure utopia. He's not quite aware of what's happening, but for some reason, he feels warmth again. He should be damp and cold, but for whatever reason, he's now warm. Fantoccio, in his deep sleep, is completely unaware of what has happened. His hearing returning, he notices a couple speaking not feet away from him. The first is the squeaky voice of a child.
"You know, he's kinda cute when he's sleeping. Boy, I hope he didn't hear me say that."
A couple of bare feet shuffle around. The second voice, the kind man reading to the kid last night, speaks.
"You should leave him alone and let him rest. We'll deal with him when he wakes up. I want him to be fully rested when we have our little chat."
The child inquires of the man.
"I don't understand. I watched him die. I watched him get crushed when the stage lights crashed right on top of him. There's no way he should be alive, let alone in one piece. How did he get here? Why is he here?"
The man speaks again.
"I don't know. But I'm gonna get to the bottom of this."
The steps grow louder, followed by what could only be described as a hand tapping on the side of a bell. Fantoccio opens his eyes as a large, pink face smiles down at him. He speaks with a musical tone.
"Wake up, sleepyhead."
Darting awake, Fantoccio retreats backward, startled. He retaliates, trying to flee, only to be met with the collision of an unknown object, an invisible force field.
"It's no use trying to escape. You're in there for both our safety."
Billie approaches him, a stern look on her face.
"I don't know how or why you're here, but I can't imagine you came with good intentions."
Angry, Fantoccio barks at Billie.
"Give me back my gem!"
Aristotle leans into him, wagging his finger reprimandingly. He squints in suspicion at the puppet as Fantoccio backs into the wall.
"Uh-uh. We're the ones making the demands, buster. So start talking."