"That's right!" Mr. Clayton yelled at Shawn, brow furrowing inward in an angry glare of pure hatred. This wasn't some kind of encouragement the Puppet was offering.


"You're a DUMMY." He said, the words whipping across the room and lashing at Shawn with quick hatred.

"You.........FUCK." The Puppet finished with a big word. The biggest of big, bad words. The word that would surely get any kid in trouble for saying it at any time, anywhere, with any adult.

"I don't think I've every seen you angry. Just never. You've never seen you angry." Mr. Clayton observed.

Shawn had heard that word a few times before - usually when something went wrong on the set. He'd never said it himself, though, and he'd certainly never been called it directly. "I get angry! I just...I don't need people to see that I'm angry. What's the point of people knowing I'm angry? It doesn't do anything."

"I want to see it!" Mr. Clayton yelled, with hatred. “I want to see you get angry. I want to know what I’m working with here. You know, sooner or later one day you’ll realize that it’s only us two Dummies in this room. Then you’ll save your act for people like Ralph. And your Dad. And you’re Mom. And everyone and everything else you’re trying to impress. Yes you’re putting on such a great act. Actor. Shawn the actor. You know? I’d like to see that anger of yours. It doesn’t have to do anything. I just wanna see it. See you wearing it. Like a new pair of clothes!”

"Fine. I guess if you're just a dummy..." Shawn wasn't sure what to do at first. He felt pretty angry, sure, but it wasn't like he could switch his expressions on with the push of a button. So he just tried to relax and stop thinking about what his face was doing or how his posture looked. He thought about all the times Mr. Clayton insulted him, belittled him, all the things Shawn did for him for no appreciation.

It felt like something suddenly opening up inside of him, something that he hadn't let free in a long time. His limbs shook, and his face screwed up into an enraged grimace. "I hate you!" He slammed his fists against the bed, more to express the sudden emotional rush he was feeling than to actually damage anything. It wasn't scary or offputting or anything like that. It was just...kind of pathetic. Shawn looked like a toddler having a tantrum, with kicking limbs and a screwed up expression filled with utterly ineffectual fury. He felt surprised that tears were pouring down his face, as he let the anger at least temporarily overwhelm his self-control.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:02, Thu 07 May 2020.

"You're the only one who can change things." Mr. Clayton nodded his head in agreement with the cathartic feeling Shawn now embraced. But he wanted more.

"Come on! Get angry! Get angry at Bobby's death!!!! If not for him. For you! You could have stopped it. You could have stopped your Mom from leaving, wherever she ran off to."

Shawn turned his thoughts to Bobby, which made him sadder, but didn’t diminish his rage. “If Mom hadn’t taken me to that stupid motel, I might’ve been able to save him...” He trailed off as his painful, pathetic flailing anger sought more targets. “And you! If you hadn’t messed around with that wish, he’d still be living with me! You did so much stuff for Bradford, why are you so weak whenever you’re helping me, huh? Am I not good enough?!”

"You're not good enough!" Mr. Clayton shot back in anger, the wooden face now warped in rage, eyes still wide open, malicious grin ear to ear.

"Because Bradford did things you still aren't willing to do. You want things to change!? You want action!?" He shouted in his high-pitched voice.

"Then you've got to quit dithering and do something! Let my teaching seep deep into the root of what you are. Stop fighting what I'm telling you. Stop trying to be what you thought you were and start trying to be what you are."

"You want change!? Do what Bradford did. Stop pretending to be a dummy and start acting like one. Do things that will hurt you! Do things that will hurt others! Things that shouldn't be allowed to happen. Things that will prove that you are in a living nightmare and that nothing you do or say matters!!!" Mr. Clayton yelled.

Shawn flinched back from Mr. Clayton's rage, already pushing his own anger back down. This is why he didn't let himself get mad like this - it made people want to hit back, and Shawn just didn't like people yelling at him. He sniffled a little as he stopped crying, using a bedsheet to wipe his eyes - at least he thought he did. Could puppets cry?

Once he'd calmed himself enough to speak, he nodded contritely. "You're probably right. You said you needed me to steal a needle, right? Will that help?"

"That's right." Mr. Clayton said, the anger calming as Shawn wiped his tears on his bed.

"You've got to steal that needle." The Puppets tone switched to one of delight and joy. "So we can start. Start to show you all of the wonderful things. So together we can do the things that you want. The things that you've been telling me all along that you want to do."

"We're going to save everyone. And we're going to make you free so everything is wonderful." The Puppet promised.

Shawn nodded, his face and expression already clear - it was something his acting teachers had showed him, how to reset quickly so that you could do another take if needed. “Yeah, that’s why we’re doing this. We’re gonna save everyone. “ When the situation was put that way, it made him feel better. All the fear and anger and bad stuff, it’d all be worth it in the end. “Let’s go.”

Mr. Clayton made his way to the door and pawed at the knob.

"Help me out, would you?" Mr. Clayton said with a wry smile.
"Some dummies are made shorter than others." He remarked. "But remember, they are still are dummies."

Shawn was surprised that Mr. Clayton was going to be tagging along, but at the same time, he didn’t want to do this alone. He went to the door and opened it as quietly as he could.

When Shawn opened the door, fresh air came pouring into his room reminding him that he had once again spent hours and hours practicing with Mr. Clayton and that his room probably smelled bad. Light also came into the room, forcing Shawn to temporarily adjust his eyes to the new environment.

Looking around, he didn't see anyone in the hallway. It was clearly night time. Maybe the middle of the night. But Shawn had given more time to practicing with Mr. Clayton than he had to actually paying attention to the clock.

The hallway was empty. Mom's room was just down the hall past the bathroom that that girl Sara had flooded that one time.

Shawn glanced behind to see if Mr. Clayton was following him, and then he moved toward his Mom's room. He didn't sneak at first - after all, it looked like he was going to the bathroom. But he paused at the bathroom door and listened for signs of activity before heading to Mom's room.

Shawn stopped in front of Mom's door, his food creaking on wooden panel, eyes looking at the door knob. In the silence of the hallway, Shawn heard the pitter-patter of rain drops falling on the roof and there was a sudden flash of lightning outside. The brilliant light came through all the windows of the house and for a nano-second illuminated the hallway, though there was no sound of thunder.

Listening through the rain, Shawn heard nothing coming through Mom's door. Not a sound. Only the sound of the rain outside.

Shawn reached out and turned the doorknob as quietly as he could, making as little noise as possible. It should be empty, right?

The door opened with a loooooong creaking sound. Shawn thought he heard a sudden whisper.

"Go in..."

It was Mr. Clayton's voice, egging Shawn on, encouraging him. Or was it Shawn's inner voice? Or was it Mr. Clayton stirring Shawn's inner voice.

"It's right in the first drawer on her side of the bed in the end table."

Shawn walked into the room, and once he was sure he hadn't attracted any other attention, went straight to the end table drawer and opened it up. He knew what the sewing kit looked like, so it wouldn't be that hard to find...

Shawn pulled the needle out of the drawer and it glimmered in the dim light: sharp and thin. But it wasn't long until the voice --interior to Shawn--called him

"Hurry back to the room! Hurry!" it urged.

Shawn tucked away the needle, then quickly hurried back to the room - though he made sure to shut the drawer and close the door on his way out.

When Shawn got back to the room he saw that Mr. Clayton was in the corner, head lolled to the side. But as Shawn drew closer the puppet animated itself, coming to life and then standing up.

"This part is very very important" Mr. Clayton emphasized.
"Stick the needle through your nail on your finger. Your, you know, pointy finger." He said, waving his wooden index finger at Shawn.

Shawn made sure his door was closed, and sat back down on his bed. He thought he understood what Mr. Clayton was asking, but it sounded a little tricky. He positioned the flat of the needle on his pointer finger, and then tried to push the needle upwards, through the dead part of his nail. "Like this?"

Mr. Clayton tilted his head as Shawn committed to the action.

"Do it again." Mr. Clayton said with curiosity.
"This time. Just take the needle and put it on the end table. Then put your finger on top of it and slam it down so it goes right through the flesh." He said casually.

Shawn moved to balance the needle on the table, but the full instructions stopped him short. "What? That'll really hurt!"

Mr. Clayton tilted his head the other direction and looked at Shawn with a vapid expression like the Puppet was staring at some kind of interesting bug.

"If it hurts, it means that you still think you aren't a dummy." Mr. Clayton said with a sigh. He moved forward, almost floating across the floor and Shawn could see the tips of the Puppet's toes scrapping along the rug before Mr. Clayton came to a stop in front of Shawn.

"Just close your eyes if it helps." He remarked with a soothing voice.