Shawn: In a Hotel Room With Mom
Shawn approached Mr. Clayton and their eyes met, a look of anticipation passing between them, as if Shawn's decision was something that would affect them both forever. A faucet somewhere in the house was dripping into a sink, each drop reverberating around the room like a cymbal, yet neither Shawn nor Mr. Clayton blinked or acknowledged the sound. Outside there was no traffic or cricket song, and by all accounts it must have been midnight - the time in which today becomes tomorrow.
The Puppet's back was cool and wooden, as Shawn slipped his hand under the fabric of Mr. Clayton's outfit. Up close, he could see the clothing was cheap and poorly made. The black overcoat had several moth or insect holes and the seams were frayed and falling apart, the stitching loose and sloppy.
Shawn's hand traveled up into the hole that would lead to the Puppet's mouth. He felt the inner grooves of Mr. Clayton's interior lined with patchy, well-worn fabric.
Then there was an audible 'CLICK' sound. Shawn's hand was suddenly firmly gripped by the interior of the Puppet, near Mr. Clayton's mouth, the way handcuffs might click on a prisoner. Suddenly, Shawn couldn't move his hand. It was firmly stuck inside the puppet, unable to move or to bend at the wrist.
Mr. Clayton said nothing. The Puppet's mouth slowly opened and Shawn felt his hand involuntarily move as the Mr. Clayton's mouth opened to a gaping maw.