The Marionettist - The Monster that Turned People into Puppets

George was a successful actor. He had been in dozens of highly rated movies and he had the money, the houses, and the fans to prove it. His life seemed perfect. At least, until one day, when he showed up at his daughter’s house, disheveled and demanding to take his grandkids on a trip. He rushed them to a remote cabin in the woods and, to be honest, they were scared. But George never meant to scare them. He brought them there because they were still young enough to believe what he was about to tell them. Join us as we follow George through the terrifying tale of the secrets that came with his success. 

This is the first episode of the naimless stories podcast. Each episode presents and abridged version of an original short story. If you enjoy the podcast and want to read the original short story, you can find it on our website at naimlessstories.com. You can also follow us on YouTube or Instagram at naimless.stories and (linked below) to stay up to date on what we're working on and any new releases. 

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                                                                SHOW DETAILS/CREDITS 
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Music:

naimless stories theme - Joseph Steinhauser

Toxic Water - Jon Björk
https://www.epidemicsound.com/track/tPVOzkyr15/

Eye for Detail - Jay Varton
https://www.epidemicsound.com/track/voYZQ7jaBS/

Bending Light - Ethan Sloan
https://www.epidemicsound.com/track/lnde7XCFKp/

Path to the Abyss - Christoffer Moe Ditlevsen
https://www.epidemicsound.com/track/qZi97YkZ2X/

Original Short Story: The Marionettist - a naimless story

Transcript

George was a successful actor. He had been in dozens of highly rated movies and he had the money, the houses, and the fans to prove it. His life seemed perfect. At least, until one day, when he showed up at his daughter’s house, disheveled and demanding to take his grandkids on a trip. He rushed them to a remote cabin in the woods and, to be honest, they were scared. But George never meant to scare them. He brought them there because they were still young enough to believe what he was about to tell them. 

Welcome to the first episode of the naimless stories podcast. Each episode is based on an original short story. If you enjoy the episode and are interested in reading the original short story, you can visit us on our website at naimlesstories.com or follow us on youtube or instagram at naimless.stories. If you enjoy the episode, please consider sharing it, leaving us a review, or following us on any of our platforms. 

This week, we bring you the story of George, a burdened actor who’s been hiding the painful secret that came with his success his whole life. And now, The Marionettist (naimless). A naimless story.

George used to have dreams of seeing himself on the big screen one day. He wanted to be an actor more than anything, but when he moved out to LA, he started to question if he would ever really make it. He struggled for awhile, working three jobs just to support himself, but he eventually landed a role in a big budget film. Even though his role was small, he finally felt like he was going somewhere. 

He showed up to the premiere dressed better than he ever had been before, and prayed he might meet someone who could really launch his career. 

That night, he stepped into the lip of an alley and dropped some cash by a sleeping man’s feet when suddenly, a voice came from the darkness within. “Is that George?” it asked. George jumped and almost ran, but he calmed down as the most beautiful man he had ever seen stepped out of the alley and into the light of a nearby street lamp. George asked if they knew each other, and it turned out that not only had the man been at the premiere, but he loved George’s performance. They went to a nearby diner, and the man rambled on and on about George’s skills, how he could bring a tear out of one eye but not the other, and other things George didn’t even know he could do. But he didn’t mind at all. In fact, he loved it. They talked about him the whole time, only separating when distant police sirens reminded them how late it was. They went their ways, but as they split, George noticed a tiny pinch in his back. It was faint, hardly noticeable, but he felt it nonetheless. 

George’s career stagnated in the years following that encounter, but he felt good about his chances for a new movie role coming up. He went into the audition as cool calm and collected as could be, but when he entered, he was shocked to find the same man from the alley seated at the audition table waiting for him. And he wasn’t just at the table, he was at the head of it. Turned out, he was some sort of big-shot Hollywood exec. The last time they saw each other, they talked so much about George that he hadn’t even thought to ask the man his name, much less what he did. It didn’t matter, though. The man, Paul, greeted him with a big hug and told him how excited he was that George had shown up for the part. 

The audition only got better from there. George had only shown up for a minor role, but by the time he finished, Paul, had the whole room singing George’s praises and promising him the lead role right then and there. George was so happy that he hardly even noticed that pinching feeling along his back again. He just skipped all the way home with visions in his head of the riches that would soon be coming his way.On the way home, he saw a beautiful Pontiac. The second he saw it, he knew he had to buy one when his money arrived. He pictured everyone staring as he cruised down the street. He wasn’t sure if theyd be staring at him or the car, but he knew they’d be staring.

George got the lead role, but things got strange after that. No one seemed to know Paul. WHenever George mentioned him on set, people just nodded, nervously laughed as if he was telling a joke they didn’t quite get. He figured Paul must have really just been one of those big execs that sat behind the scenes in an office most of the time, but they seemed to run into each other everywhere except on set. They had regular run-ins on the street and became real close. They even got coffee every now and again.

George really grew to like Paul. He was curious, listened well, and it didn’t hurt that all he ever wanted to do was talk about George and the name he was building for himself. But as George got to know Paul better, he started to change. Not in personality, he was still just as talkative as ever, but he started to look younger and younger. George figured Paul was just another rich man in hollywood, it would be strange if he wasn’t getting work done. But whatever he was doing, George figured it wasn’t doing him any favors. At the same time that Paul looked younger, he also started looking more sickly. George almost thought to ask if he was doing okay, but Paul’s perpetual cheeriness told George it wasn’t a question worth asking. 

So, George brushed it off. But what he couldn’t brush off were those pinches. They came more regularly now, and they only came after talking with Paul for awhile. George thought about saying something about that too, but he started to notice them at times when Paul was in the bathroom, or 20 feet away. There was no way Paul was causing the pinches, right? Worst case, he figured it had something to do with the strange, almost rotten cologne Paul would wear, like some weird chemical tricking his brain into thinking he felt a pinch. Questioning another man’s smell was an uncomfortable thing, though, so George never brought it up. Besides, the pinches never hurt that much. Well, at least most of them didn’t. 

The movie was released a few years later and changed George’s life. He suddenly had more money than he knew what to do with. He bought his Pontiac and could finally afford all the cars and houses he had always dreamed of, but to George, the best thing of all was his newly found fame. He even had to hire a bodyguard after a run in with one overzealous fan. However, no matter how much money and protection he had, they were of no use to him one spring night. 

A foul scent had lingered in the air the whole day, like a nearby farm had manure explosion. The scent was so bad that, when night rolled around, he even had trouble sleeping. He laid awake for hours before finally giving up and going to get some melatonin from the kitchen to knock him out. But as he walked through the dark rooms of his house, a chill went down his spine. He lived alone, but that night in the darkness, he didn’t feel alone. 

That’s when he saw it, the faintest twitch of a shadow in the reflection of one of his windows. He paused dead in his tracks and hunted for the source of the twitching shadow, but he didn’t have to wait long. A voice broke the silence. “What’s wrong, George?” it asked. His skin crawled and he jumped out of his boots. The voice came from inside the darkness, but it wasn’t the voice of a stranger, it was his own voice. He threw his door open and sprinted outside hoping to find someone still awake enough to help him. But the further he ran, the more it felt like he was running through deeper and deeper water. Running became difficult, then impossible, until he even started getting pulled backwards.

He was yanked back into the house like a fish ripped from the water. He fell on the floor, and that’s when he saw him. Paul. But he wasn’t Paul anymore. He was completely different. George felt like he was looking into a strange carnival mirror that had somehow combined both of their faces into one. “Paul?” George asked. Paul dove on top of him, flipping him so his back was exposed and pinning him to the ground. Paul didn’t say a word. George just struggled pointlessly against Paul’s bizarre strength. As he struggled, he caught their reflection in the window and saw Paul on top of him with a giant, shining fish hook in hand. They locked eyes for a second in the window. Paul smiled and plunged the fish hook into the base of his neck. George screamed, almost fainting from the pain. But when he opened his eyes, he didn’t see the fish hook anymore. He just saw a thin, glimmering string rising from the spot it had entered. In fact, he saw dozens of them all rising from the back of his body. 

That’s the last thing George remembered before passing out that night. But when he rose the next day, he was back in his bed, the smell was gone, and the pain was gone. In fact, he felt…great. Even better than great. He thought of reporting what had happened to the police, but it passed from his mind in a second. He just felt…too good. He had this strange…assurance over him. As if everything in his world was better than it could be in anyone else’s. 

He stopped running into Paul on the street after that night, but those horrible night visits became routine. Every few months Paul would appear in his house again. George started to notice it happening after some big development in his career or while he was feeling particularly good about himself. But then, they started happening at random times, run of the mill days he never would have remembered otherwise. Paul would show up again, looking more and more sickly each time, and George would try to run but get pulled back just to have another fish hook plunged into his skin. But every morning after, he would wake up with that same sense of euphoria. 

Still, the euphoria he felt wasn’t enough to make him ignore the night visits altogether. He wanted to go to the police, but he knew he was famous enough at that point that it made more sense to keep a bizarre story like that under wraps. But one night, he decided he finally had enough. When the rotting scent began filling the air again, he flicked a light on and didn’t get out of bed. He decided, if it was going to happen that night, it would have to come to him. And twenty minutes later, it did. George’s jaw dropped as Paul crept around the corner and he saw him in the light for the first time in years. His skin was putrid. It hung from him with dozens of holes and sores oozing puss. But while he looked sicklier than ever, he also looked more powerful. He must have been 8 feet tall, at least, at the pinnacle of his hunched back. His actual head hung much lower. And his muscles, they were lean, the kind you know could rip you in half it they wanted to. 

Paul stepped closer and sat on the edge of the bed. George didn’t run, didn’t scream. He just sat up, and asked the monster what it wanted with him. 

The monster smiled wide as it answered. It told him that it wanted the same thing George wanted.

Now George was confused and terrified. He shouted at the monster that he wanted nothing to do with him.

The monster clicked its tongue as it wagged it’s finger, each wag scolding George for not appreciating all he had done for him. 

George opened his mouth to scream the monster away, but the only thing that came to his mind were thoughts of how no one knew his name before he met Paul. He was just a nameless kid without a fan in the world.

The monster formed a knowing grin and told him, “See? I haven’t been so bad, now have I?” 

George asked the monster what it wanted again, and it told him it was simple. He just wanted George to keep letting things go on as they had been. George would get to keep living his life, and all it would take was letting the monster pay him a visit every now and then. 

After considering the offer a few minutes, all George asked was if the hooks were still necessary, but the monster didn’t answer. It just gave George that firm look, like a parent to a mischievous child. George continued weighing the offer, but when all was said and done, before he fell back asleep that night he let the monster bury another hook into his skin.

Years and years passed for George as he lived in this unquestioned arrangement with the monster. It continued to visit him, but George managed to accept it. He even learned to sleep through the visits. When that stench began to fill his apartment, he just closed his eyes, grimaced as a twinge of pain came, and woke up ecstatic hours later as if nothing had ever happened. In the meantime, more movies came. And with them, more fame, more fans, more of everything George had once dreamed of. He had a daughter, grand chlidren, and life carried on flawlessly for George into his old age. At least, until about 3 years ago. 

George was on his way to an award show. He was nominated for a handful of categories, and he knew he would win at least one or two. Naturally, he was excited, but as he approached the theater where the show was held, something caught his attention. He noticed a man walking in the distance. The theater was quite a site to behold. Fancy cars, paparazzi, and celebrities were everywhere, but the man didn’t even glance in their direction. He just kept walking until he reached an alley. George looked on as the man crouched down to someone covered in a blanket, sleeping in the alley, and placed what looked like a decent chunk of change by their feet. No one else saw it. Not one of the many cameras by the theater, not even the slleeping person knew what had just happened. And yet, the kind stranger did not seem to care. He just left the money and kept on walking. 

George found his seat at the show, but he could not stop thinking about what he had just seen. Mostly, about how stupid it was. George figured the money would probably just go towards drugs. But the stranger didn’t hesitate to give his money to the man. And for what? No one saw it. The recipient wasn’t even awake to thank him. 

It annoyed George that he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He tried to put it out of his mind when the presenters called his name and he climbed on stage, but, as he began his speech, he felt that pinch in the back of his neck. He rubbed his eyes. When he opened them, the room was entirely different. Hundreds of those faint, glimmering strings rose from the backs of the crowd, the same ones he knew were rising from his back now. They all reached into the sky, as if connected to the control bars of an invisible Marionettist What surprised him most was that everyone had at least one, from the biggest star in the room to the most nondescript waiter. But as George stumbled back to his seat, he wasn’t thinking about the strings anymore. He was still thinking about the homeless man and the stranger. Truthfully, he couldn’t stop thinking about them. 

Something changed in George after that day. He started giving away some of the money he had been saving up for years. He started volunteering. He even started his own charitable foundation. He started to feel genuinely good in a way he never had before. Best of all, Paul stopped visiting him at night. He hadn’t felt one of those pinches in years, and he started feeling like the right version of him had control of the reins again. 

That is, until last night. He got a text from his daughter. She did something she had never done before, ask for help. Financial help. And so, that night by the flicker of a dim lightbulb, George pulled out his check book. 

He felt proud that night. Proud that he had achieved so much, lived a life where he was able to take care of his family members, and proud of all he had done for the world in recent years. All the money he had given away, all the poor he had helped. He began to write a check with more zeroes than his daughter had ever seen in her life, but as he did, he felt a sensation he hadn’t felt in years. One he had almost forgotten about: the pinch. 

This time, it came from the back of his hand. He kept writing, trying to ignore the sensation, brush it off as his mind playing tricks, but he couldn’t ignore the glimmering string hovering over his hand. He had seen those strings many times, but this time, he noticed something he never had before. A wispy substance was moving up the string. Then, as he looked closer, he realized it wasn’t a string at all, but some sort of tube. But what shocked him most of all, his hand wasn’t pulling the string, the string was pulling his hand as he wrote the check, tugging it, guiding it. 

George jumped to his feet and looked in the mirror to see hundreds of those tubes rising from his body. Almost every inch of his skin was covered in them. George couldn’t stand it anymore. He grabbed a kitchen knife and wielded it in a sweeping circle around his body over and over until he was freed from whatever those tubes were attached to on the other end. 

Suddenly, the rotting scent returned, growing stronger each second. George hopped in his car and drove, and drove until he arrived at his daughters house, got his grandkids, and brought them to the cabin they were at now. He had fled the monster as long as he could, but they had been sitting awhile in that cabin, and a rotten stench was starting to fill the air. 

The ground began to shake. George turned to his grandkids and begged them to believe him, to learn from his mistakes. He paced around frantically as giant thuds echoed outside. Footsteps, getting closer and closer until they were just outside the cabin. Then, as easy as one peels a banana, the cabin walls were ripped in two and tossed 20 feet in either direction. The grandkids froze as their grandfather yelled at the sky tearing his shirt to reveal hundreds of red pockmarks along his skin with glowing fishhooks and translucent tubes pouring out of him. He looked like a hideous half human, half porcupine. Suddenly, an invisible force scooped him a hundred feet in the air and contorted his body in ways not even an olympic gymnast could hope to survive. The grandkids sat frozen in fear as the smell retreated into the woods with heavy footsteps, taking their grandfather’s floating body with them. 

That was the last they ever saw their grandfather. Their mother, the police, the media, no one believed their story of what happened to him. At least, no one admitted to believing it. And the whole experience was traumatic for the grandkids of course, so they didn’t fight for anyone to believe them either. And so, apart from the many films bearing his name, their grandfather disappeared into oblivion. 

In the years following, they went through middle school, high school, college, and they had pretty much pushed the incident from their minds. They lived normal lives and got normal jobs, but what they really wanted to do was write. They would spend all their free time writing fiction. At least, in the few moments that they weren’t day dreaming about success. In fact, sometimes it wasn’t so clear if they really liked writing, or if they just saw it as their best possible route to the fame they craved. 

One day, they were sitting in a cafe finishing up with a story when a young woman plopped down in the seat next to them. She kept looking at their story, and they could tell she was reading it. But they didn’t mind. She seemed nice enough. Then, she asked to read the story. They had a short conversation and eventually let the woman read it, watching nervously as she did. But when she finished, she put all their nerves to rest. She praised every part of the story and spent the next hours telling them how brilliant it was. By the time they had to get up to leave her, she had practically convinced them their writing was God’s gift to humanity. 

As you can imagine, they felt great about themselves. They started to believe her, that their writing really was incredible. They practically skipped out of the cafe, but when they got to the door, they stopped dead in their tracks. At the base of their necks, they felt a tiny pinch. All noise in the cafe seemed to stop as they turned around to see the woman. She looked oblivious to what had just happened and waved a friendly good-bye once she caught them staring. THey almost bought her act, but that’s when they saw it. If they hadn’t been looking for it, they wouldn’t have noticed it, but they were, and they did. Just beyond the realm of typical perception, they noticed a thin, glowing tube connecting them and the woman. They felt around at the base of their necks and found a tiny, hard piece of metal guiding the tube into their bodies.

As they looked at the woman, they imagined their names plastered on bookshelves with “bestseller” stamped next to them and considered walking away with the tube still connected to their bodies. But as the tube started to fade from their eyes, they remembered their grandfather’s pockmarked skin and crumpled body and ripped the hooks from their necks. 

The second they did, the woman jumped up from the table and ran after them, but they made it to their cars just in time and drove off as the woman grasped pointlessly for their bumpers. 

They took their grandfather’s advice that day. They ran until their legs gave out. Then, they crawled. And when their arms just about fell off, they rolled, and rolled, and eventually rolled to a stop that all the willpower in the world could not rock them out of. They waited, unwillingly, for the monster to find them and dig its hooks back into them, but it never did find them. The truth is, it was not looking for them. 

As time passed, their strength returned. Eventually, they were able to stand again and return to the world, but they knew that, although the monster was not looking for them then, it would have occasion to hunt them again one day. What it left them with was time. Time to rest. Time to think. Time to prepare, prepare so that the next time it began to prowl, it would not find them the same. Prepare so that, the next time it began its plotting,  it would not find them at all, but only an entity of what they had become: naimless. 

Thank you for listening. If you enjoyed this episode, please consider leaving us a review or sharing it with a friend. If you want to see more of our content or read the full original short story, visit us at naimlessstories.com. You can also find us on youtube or on instagram at naimless.stories. We are hoping to tell stories on a more regular basis and create animated versions of our stories, and anything you do to support, whether sharing, commenting, or subscribing her or on any other platform goes a long way towards helping us produce more. Thank you again for listening to the naimless stories podcast, and once more, this has been, The Marionettist (naimless). A naimless story