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As a boy, he grew up with The Muppet Show and Sesame Street. That’s not the truth really. He was much older than a boy when those shows first came out. But he dreamt that he had those ideas as a boy and was in the back watching all of the puppeteers create life out of inanimate objects. He could have done that if he had the ambition.
Every day he watched those shows he grew more envious of Jim Henson and his batch of cute little fuzzy animals that grew from a once-a-week show to an empire. Cartoons, movies, lunchboxes, big-name celebrities…that was Jim’s life. His own was languishing in his parents’ garage until he was kicked to the curb after failing out of college.
At first he had some help from a few relatives not ready to let one of their own disappear through the cracks. Then, as supplies depleted, as his money was spent, they slowly turned their backs one by one.
He could have been great; all he needed was some more time. If he only had enough money. If he only had the support. No one in his life cared about him enough to help him out. It was their fault.
Then one day he was walking down the street, hair just beginning to get greasy from the lack of showers and his jeans slightly fraying at the ends, and he heard a voice call out from a wall. Wait…not a wall.
An alley, hidden behind a wall in such a way that it almost appeared solid if you weren’t looking too closely at it. “Hey, come here. Yes you, Greg, come here!” It was eerie; he could see the outline of whoever it was, but when he got closer the shape drew back like it was traveling into the ground.
“Who are you?” He called out and stepped into the alley. “What do you want?”
There was a pause and the shadow shifted into an all too familiar shape. Greg gasped. In front of him stood a figure that had haunted his dreams, begging to be brought to life, and it was actually here. Here was his creation and he could see it and he could reach out and touch it. All he could do was stand there and after a moment the puppet looked straight into his eyes.
“I just want to make you smile.” ***A year later and his show was going strong. Granted he lost a member of the audience every time the charming little puppets had to...er, feed was the only word he could come up with. But that sounded a little too vampiric for him. Like they were evil soulless creatures and not things to bring joy for kids.
Which is what he wanted. That's what he was doing. He could convince himself of it if he tried.
Then one day he got a letter from a parent. Dear Mr. Framkin,
Hello. You don't know me, but I feel like I know you. Your show is a constant figure in my house.
Jessica, my little girl, used to love that show. It brought her a lot of joy during a hard time in her life-in all of our family's lives. You see, just before her illness, her father passed on and "Smile Time" was all that kept her happy.
So we have a lot to owe you for giving her some happiness. We'll all remember it fondly, and we watch it every day imagining her laughing and singing along with the TV.
It gives us happiness too.
Just one of your many fans,
Meredith Salis
Greg crumpled the letter in his hand. He was hurting the children, even if they didn't know it. This was proof.
That night he approached the puppets, his creations. Polo, his dream, was walking around. Alive. He shuddered. How could something meant to do so much good do that much evil?
"Polo, we have to talk." Polo looked up at Greg.
"Why do we have to talk? We already planned out the next four episodes, we have songs and everything."
Greg stared for a moment before continuing, "I just can't let you take any more kids' lives. It's not right."
"Are you telling me what I can and can't do, Framkin? You realize that you aren't actually in charge here, right? What are you going to do? Call security?" The other puppets laughed. Polo waved a hand and they shut up. "They couldn't do anything to stop us! In fact," He stepped forward as menacingly as a puppet could. "We don't really need you around anymore. We already have enough puppets. I'm thinkin' all we need is just one more."
Greg stepped backwards into the waiting arms of Ratio Hornblower, the giant purple thing he had always steered clear from because it struck him as too creepy. He hadn't known what part of him came up with that character, but he always regretted it once Ratio had been born.
He especially regretted it now, as he was being easily held and placed onto his desk stomach first. "What are you, what, I mean, why are you doing this?"
"I told you," Polo replied. "We don't need any humans. But we're always up for another puppet." Then there was more laughter that faded into a piercing scream-that was him-and a stinging pain flared across his back.
Greg wasn't sure when he started begging, but he knew that the words "No" "Stop" "Please" and "Why" were pouring out of his mouth at an almost unintelligible rate. Each syllable seemed to spur the puppets on.
Eventually the pain dulled, it would never go away again, only to increase tenfold as he felt something crawl into his back. Ratio let go of his body and he felt all of his limbs jerk outward without his control. No matter how hard he tried to fight the feeling inside, his body was not his own.
"Your mine, Framkin."
And to his horror, he responded. "I'm yours."
Polo looked around at the others. "What do you think? Should we make him call us master?" ***Eventually he became used to it. He calmed down, he stared blankly ahead, and he thought. Of course, when one does not have control of their own body, there isn't much to do except think.
Besides, becoming too overexcited just made his masters--the puppets more enthusiastic.
He was a thinker, now, and it was amazing how true his parents' words were. He was a waste of space. He did amount to nothing. The only thing that was different was that they had called him an anarchist, one who didn't conform to the system.
Greg was a nearly inanimate piece of the system now. He had no choice.
All he could do was sit in this room and think. He had lost all feeling in his limbs, and the only thing that he could actually sense was the gaping hole in his back and whatever they decided to put in it. Mostly it was arms and hands. Sometimes they would get industrious and bring knives, forks and other kitchen utensils.
But he was certain that, given time, they could come up with more inventive things.
Today, the puppets were angry. Polo came in first-he always came in first-grumbling about the spell on the humans making it impossible for the camera-men to control the lenses. One had fallen down in the middle of the show, completely disrupting the "Courage and Pluck" song. After a moment, Greg realized that Polo was alone.
Greg hated when Polo was alone. It meant an especially hard time for him.
He had found out a few days after he became theirs that the puppets were anatomically correct. He supposed that was his fault as well, the perverted fantasies of a young man shaping all of the puppets that surrounded him. At the same time he found it oddly intriguing.
That hadn't lasted long.
"So, Framkin, my sweet doll." Polo said as he walked slowly around the desk. "I think I deserve to let off a little steam." Polo was behind him now, reaching for his back. "In fact, I think I deserve my favorite treat, don't you?"
"Yes, Master." Greg answered not even able to grimace at the invasion of his back.
"Actually, I want to try something new. I've been...practicing." Suddenly Polo reached over and pressed a button. "Bring in the tape!"
The door swung open and Ratio pulled in a TV, setting it up in Greg's line of view. "My sweet Doll wants to see this, I can feel it." The hand inside of him clenched and tears sprung to his eyes. The one function he was able to manage when elsewhere he had absolutely no control. And even then it wasn't enough.Ratio pressed play and the tape started; Polo's hand continued to clench rhythmically while he talked. "We discovered a way to let you watch. I know you were concerned before, but I think you'll understand better in your condition."
Greg's eyes were glued to the screen as the TV flickered to life. On it was not the puppets or the show, but a young boy staring intently at the camera. Realization dawned. This was one of the kids that was watching...
Something curled in his gut. Something other than Polo's hand. A shiver of feeling shot down his spine and began to pull in his groin. Oh, God,
"No." He whispered, surprising himself and causing Polo to laugh out loud.
"No? No what?" He looked at Greg's lap. "Oh my, I had no idea you liked this sort of thing Doll." Greg's cock was throbbing now, and Polo's hand continued to dance inside of his skin. "We could arrange a daily showing of this. Granted, we don't have a lot of them on tape, but this one will do for now. Later we might even have little girls." Polo's voice dropped to a whisper.
"Or twins. Just think, if you enjoy this now, imagine the fun you'll get later." The hand twisted and his dick jumped. "Look at him. That's our Tommy. Giving himself to us. Letting us taste him." Polo pushed his arm in deeper. "It was so. Good." His balls drew in and he came inside of his pants.
The tears that were at his eyes before dried up as Polo removed his hand, wiping it off on the towel he kept in a desk drawer. Greg sunk in his chair, head thudding onto the desk.
The intercom went on next and a voice buzzed over. "Hey boss, we got intruders. Lawyers, even. From Wolfram and Hart." Polo sighed and buzzed back.
"Don't worry about it. I got it covered." He looked over to Greg who was staring blankly at the wall. "Guess what, Doll? Play time ain't over."