Gerrold was known for one thing: his realistic doll-making skills. His entire life was lived in his family basement, where he was rumored to have a thorough workshop and prototypes for all types of dolls, even ones he hadn’t sold. His speciality was puppets; carving their realistic faces made him smile, as if they were his friends. He could craft them however he wished and that artistic freedom was hard to come by. The feeling that came with it was hard to come by, as well. That was why it was whispered, for over forty years, he never left his basement. A patron, an old family friend who used to attend dinners with Gerrold’s parents, would come and pick up the dolls to be sold in toy and puppet shops. What Gerrold did with the money was unknown.

He was currently working on a particularly special puppet, one that meant a lot to him. The wooden figure was 4 feet tall when upright, and split down the middle to have two distinct faces and bodies, one male and one female. The left side wore a suit and the right side wore a dress. If you had ever seen Gerrold’s parents, you’d know immediately that it was them. His artistry made that very clear.

One night, he woke to his hands bound above his head. He struggled and found that his legs were tied to his bedframe. It was no use screaming for help; nobody lived here and no one outside would hear from the basement. He calmed his breathing and waited … waited until the puppet he had been working on strode towards him, strings trailing behind its wooden frame, legs jangling and arms wobbling. The side resembling his father held a small carving knife; the side resembling his mother held a thumbtack. Their faces were held in permanent smile and their jaws clacked as they walked.

Gerrold gulped. “What is this? What are you going to do to me? I made you!”

The puppet continued walking on, jumping on the bedframe and landing on Gerrold’s chest. The thumbtack was driven into his chest and he groaned.

“I am not a toy to be used!” He shouted, heart pounding.

“Oh, but you are exactly that, our boy,” the puppet somehow spoke from its toothless mouth and raised the carving knife above Gerrold’s frightened, helpless eyes.