"Banjo" Shawn heard himself say as he suddenly came into conciousness. He was sitting in his room, in front of the mirror that formed the outside of his closet. The stool was a short, wooden thing with a round seat and faded, chipped green paint. It felt harsh against Shawn's backside like he had been sitting in it for quite some time.

As Shawn stared at his haggard reflection in the mirror and that of Mr. Clayton on his lap, he knew that he didn't actually say Banjo or even the letter B. B is replaced with a "geh" sound at the back of the throat. That's what the cassette tapes said. So the word "banjo" would be "gehn-jo" in sound. But the audience wouldn't know that.

And just like they wouldn't know, Shawn didn't know how long he'd been practicing, what day it was, what year it was or even how long it had been since he had first put his hand up Mr. Clayton's back. First heard the 'Clink' sound of the Puppet grabbing a hold of his hand. Like the sound of hand cuffs closing on a prisoner, the iron gate of a cell door or the final banging of a judges gavel pronouncing a life sentence.

Shawn felt sore, and tried to stand up and pace around his room for a bit to loosen his legs and take some pressure off his backside. It reminded him of doing kitchen scenes for movies; usually he didn't have lines, it was just the leading actor and actress speaking to each other with him in the background, but he still had to sit there for hours on end without complaining. It was only when Shawn grabbed hold of Mr. Clayton with his free hand to make sure the didn't flip over as he stood that he realized he couldn't remember how he got here.

He rubbed his eyes and tried to remain as calm as he could. He'd known there might be side effects to this Ventriloquism thing, the important thing was not to panic. He walked over to his window and tried to get a sense of the time of day. "How'd I get home?" The question was addressed to the world at large, but he found himself looking toward Mr. Clayton for an answer. He tried to move the fingers he'd put up Mr. Clayton's back, to see if maybe that was necessary for an answer.

"I walked home a few months ago." The Puppets mouth moved and Shawns words came out of it, Shawns own mouth moving slightly too. Mr. Claytons dead eyes looked at him. The Puppet appeared lifeless, but somehow just working its mouth and practice the words, memories were slowly returning.

Slowly.

It was autumn. October? Shawn had been in school for about one month.And he was living with Dad.