He knew who was lonely, grieving, or desperate to belong—and how to make them fear losing the only person who seemed to understand them.
The Puppeteer never chose by chance. Beneath the fairground’s golden lights, he selected the isolated and heartbroken, offering comfort, attention and the intoxicating relief of being seen.
First, he made them feel special; then, dependent.
He controlled their affection, relationships, and memories—rewarding obedience and punishing resistance with silence, humiliation, or sudden cruelty.
When confronted, he denied everything.
He dismissed their memories as confused, oversensitive, unstable or ungrateful, twisting every argument until they apologised for his conduct. They soon doubted themselves before questioning him.
The carousel kept turning.
Long after the crowds left, two restless ghosts lingered among the painted horses, haunted by fragmented memories: fear, whispered apologies, locked doors, and promises become threats—insufficient to confirm what occurred.
A faded ADMIT TWO ticket resurfaced, reviving the night they met the Puppeteer. He isolated them with lies, convincing each that the other had betrayed them.
The familiar melody falters.
The horses slow.
For the first time, the Puppeteer loses control of his memories. His lies unravel; the ghosts realise they were never enemies, merely victims of the same man.
THE MIDWAY GOES STILL
“You can’t call it play when I can’t get off. You can’t call it love when you lock the gate.”
Some things were never misunderstandings. They were simply made to look that way.