Petite Marionnette

• Kien Le, Grade 12, Narrabundah College
• Short Story
• 2022

Excellence Award in the 'Summertime Fun ONLINE' competition

Here comes a spirit of his, and to torment me. For bringing wood in slowly. I’ll fall flat, perchance he will not mind me…
Rain-tainted twigs and marred leaves clump to my pale frosted paper cheek. Naked wizened trees tower above me as I took the water-logged soil of the earth in a lover’s embrace that permeated a pungent musky perfume that spoke only of rain. High above, the sun had already begun to dwindle from the cold.
“Oh, Cally Barne.” The spirit sings through the trees. “If you reveal yourself, I promise I shan’t be mad and uncle will only beat you half as much. Uncle is generous to let you under his roof and eat his food. You would have nothing if not for his grace.”
Only ghostly whispers of the wind and pitching cries of ravens answer. I shan’t reveal myself. If I do so, then all the muck-cladded dishes, grease-spoiled floors and sludge-hardened pots shall reveal themselves to me. The damp and mouldy rank attic would greet me like an old friend. I would be forced to return their greetings and give them all a good cleaning. Only a meek cracked plate with meagre offerings will reward my diligence.
An icy wind laps at my back playfully but I do not stir. A deep-obsidian raven caws at me from a withered tree’s finger. But still, I do not stir.
Lush squelching and snapping of leaves and twigs pass by overhead. My breath stands stone petrified in the air.
“Useless incompetent child!” The spirit shrieks, striking my body sharply with the fine point of its boot. “Uncle will have your head for this! Perchance he will throw you to the fire instead!”
The spirit strikes me bluntly once more. But I do not stir. Not a whimper. Not a breath. Not a heartbeat.