The Puppet Carver

by Scott Cawthon

  One reason he could rise to the challenge was because of his great employees, but in order to ensure their loyalty, he had to let them know that he appreciated them.

  Porter and Angie were wiping down the tables in the dining area, and Sage was mopping the floor. They were all such hard workers. He knew Edwin was working equally hard cleaning up the kitchen. Once the money was rolling in better, Jack thought, he should hire a dishwasher to help Edwin out in the kitchen. When business was booming—and Jack felt sure that it would be soon—one guy in the kitchen wouldn’t be enough.

  “Hey, are you guys doing anything special after you get out of here?” Jack asked.

  Angie looked at Porter and Sage, who shrugged. “Just studying, probably.”

  “Well, if you guys can stick around for a little bit after closing, I thought I might order some Chinese takeout. My treat. No need to study on an empty stomach, right?”

  Angie smiled warily. “Sure, Jack. Thanks.”

  It was strange. When Jack was kind to them, they seemed suspicious, like they didn’t trust him, like there had to be a catch. Well, he was just going to have to work harder to earn their trust.

  Jack sat crowded around a table with Porter, Sage, Angie, and Edwin. They passed around little white boxes containing rice, lo mein, Mongolian beef, and moo goo gai pan.

  “This was really nice of you, Jack,” Angie said, messily picking up some noodles with her chopsticks.

  “It sure beats leftover pizza,” Edwin added.

  “That’s the truth,” Porter said. “No offense to your pizza cooking skills, Edwin.”

  Edwin smiled. “None taken. I probably get sicker of it than the rest of you since I’m cooking it AND eating it.”

  “You’ve been really nice all day today,” Sage said. He looked at Jack with a strange intensity. “It’s like you’re a new man.”

  Jack smiled, happy to be at a table full of happy people sharing good food. It felt like a holiday, a celebration. It was the way things should be. He wasn’t sure why things felt so different, so much better, but they did.

  Jack really was a new man.

  from The Puppet Carver

  by Sage Brantley

  Sylvester held his newborn daughter in his arms. With one hand, he touched her impossibly soft cheek. His eyes filled with tears at the same time his lips spread into a smile. This, he thought. This was what it meant to be human.

  THE END

  Sage couldn’t believe it. The novel was finished. As he walked backstage to the storage room, he read and reread the novel’s last line, smiling to himself.

  Sage would never admit it to anyone, but he was so moved by the beauty of his novel that there were tears in his eyes. It had taken him so many long nights of writing and rewriting, of sacrificing sleep and time with friends. Finally, he was completely satisfied with his work and hoped that soon a publisher would be, too. And then it would be goodbye, Pizza Playground, and hello, bestseller list! He laughed out loud. He knew he was being ridiculously optimistic, but why not? It could happen.

  He just needed to do a favor for a friend, and then he could go home to celebrate. Sage pulled back the glittery purple curtain.

  There it was. The Puppet Carver, named in honor of his novel.

  Porter had told Sage he was going to have to go back to the drawing board and develop what would hopefully be a more effective Puppet Carver 2.0. The old machine would have to be scrapped, but Porter said he didn’t have the heart to do it himself. Sage had promised that he would take care of it.

  Sage wrestled with the machine, trying to figure out the best way to get it outside to the dumpster. As he tugged on it, he became aware of a slight sloshing sound.

  And then there was the smell. A rotting, fetid smell that made him gag. It seemed to be coming from the bottom of the machine. Maybe a rat had crawled in there and died or something.

  Sage kneeled in front of the Puppet Carver so he could reach the drawer at the bottom that served as a reservoir for all the waste generated during the carving process. “Here we go,” he muttered as he prepared for the source of the smell.

  When he pulled out the drawer, the smell was so strong that his nose was assaulted. The sight was even worse than the smell—slimy pink entrails and mangled organs. Was that a kidney or a piece of a liver? Not the organs of a rat, but of a much larger creature. Human-size.

  Sage had no idea what could have happened here, but it was all the more reason to get the whole thing to the dumpster as fast as possible. Holding his breath, he dumped the contents of the drawer in a garbage bag. They landed with a wet splat. He threw the bag in the dumpster and walked away, ready to put his days at the Pizza Playground behind him.

  The little kid’s grating voice blared through Colton’s headphones, as high-pitched and annoying as a smoke alarm. “Did you just kill me? That was harsh, dude!”

  “It was a mercy killing, squeaker,” Colton said, emphasizing the new deepness of his voice. He was going for a tough and sarcastic tone, like an action hero. “Too bad you can respawn.”

  Colton hated the little kids who tried to play Hammer of Odin, his favorite online role-playing game. The little brats dominated the chat function, trying and failing to make the more mature players think they were cool. Hammer of Odin wasn’t appropriate for little kids anyway. It was rated T, so it was for teens like Colton. The little pip-squeaks should stick to playing Block Builder like Colton had played last year when he was still in middle school.

  When Colton looked back at middle school, he didn’t even recognize the person he had been. For one thing, his dad was still alive. Colton had been a happy, carefree, regular kid, not worried about anything more serious than how long it would take him to save up his generous allowance for a new video game. But on an icy road just over a year ago, the accident happened, and everything had changed.

  Life had changed. Colton had changed.

  Colton couldn’t get over the unfairness of the accident. His dad had been relatively young and took good care of himself, but none of that mattered because of a stupid patch of ice and a strip of road without a guardrail. When it first happened, Colton had kept all his sadness inside. He hadn’t cried, not even at the funeral. But over time, his sadness had hardened into anger. How could a person not be angry living in a world where good people died for no reason?

  Colton knew that his mom and some of his teachers were worried about how cold and bitter he seemed. What was he supposed to do? A happy dance? His dad was dead, and he lived in a world where people rarely got what they deserved. If he lashed out sometimes, so what? He was suffering, and if other people ended up getting a taste of that pain, then at least he didn’t suffer alone.

  Colton jumped in surprise when a hand touched his shoulder. He looked up to see his mom, dressed in her light blue scrubs. Her curly brown hair was pulled back in a tight bun, like she always wore it when she was going to work. She gestured at him to remove his headset. He sighed in exasperation but reluctantly complied. “What?”

  His mom shook her head at him, though she was smiling. “I’m going to work is what. I’m pulling an eight-to-eight shift tonight, heaven help me. Here’s a ten-dollar bill if you want to go out and get a soda and play some games. That way, at least one of us will be having fun.”

  “Okay, thanks, Mom.” The ten-dollar bill was a once-a-week treat. Once a month, right after payday, she would give him a twenty.

  “You’ve got your key, right?” She put on the lanyard she kept next to the door.

  Colton resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes, Mom.”

  “Remember to lock the door if you go out,” she said, grabbing her keys and purse. “And call the third-floor nurses’ station if you need anything. One of the other nurses can come find me.”

  “I will,” Colton said, putting his headset back on to block out the barrage of nagging. After he got to a good stopping place in Hammer of Odin, he probably would head over to Freddy Fazbear’s. The pizza place was less
than a ten-minute walk from their apartment building. He knew he was really too old for Freddy’s, and he had no interest in the creepy animatronics or the bland pizza. But some of the games were still fun, and there was the lure of tickets that could be redeemed for prizes.

  It took a ridiculous number of tickets to win anything good, of course. Most kids—especially the stupid little ones—cashed in their tickets at the end of their visit and walked away with garbage like tiny plastic dinosaurs or a handful of cheap candy. But Colton wasn’t shortsighted like those babies. He’d been saving up his tickets for a long time—months—so he could cash them in for something really good. For the astronomical “price” of 10,000 tickets, there was a new handheld game console he had his eye on, which was two models more up-to-date than the one he was currently playing.

  That was the thing about living with just his mom. She worked hard at her job as a licensed practical nurse at the hospital, but one income didn’t go far. With his dad gone, Colton and his mom had learned to settle for less: living in a small apartment instead of a house, buying store-brand groceries instead of the brand-name stuff, playing older games on older equipment while Colton’s friends seemed to buy new games and consoles as casually as if they were bottles of soda. He wasn’t a poor kid, exactly—they had a roof over their heads and clothes to wear and plenty to eat—but there was no money for what his mom always called “luxuries.” New, name-brand clothes and sneakers were luxuries. So were new games and nearly anything else that had the word new in front of it.

  Colton understood that his mom couldn’t make money magically appear, but maybe if he spent enough time at Freddy’s, he could make tickets magically appear. If he got good at the highest ticket-yielding games, he could win that game console. Ten thousand tickets. He was going to do it.

  When he had told his mom the plan, she laughed and said, “Remind me never to take you to Las Vegas when you’re old enough to gamble.”

  But winning the tickets at Freddy’s wasn’t about Las Vegas–style luck. It was about skill—using your abilities to make the system work in your favor.

  Colton knew he had the skills.

  Colton signed out of Hammer of Odin, went to the kitchen, and made himself a ham-and-cheese sandwich with pickles and mayo, which he gobbled standing over the sink. He had already eaten dinner, but he was always hungry these days. It’s like you have a hollow leg, his mom always said. He grabbed his jacket and shoved the ten-dollar bill in its pocket. Time to win some tickets.

  * * *

  It always took a few minutes to adjust to how overstimulating the environment at Freddy’s was. Multicolored lights flashed, arcade games bleeped and blipped, and a “band” of creepy animatronic animals led by top-hatted Freddy Fazbear “sang” canned versions of kiddie tunes. And then there were the kiddies themselves, laughing, screaming, throwing tantrums, and running around underfoot like cockroaches. It was all Colton could do not to squash them.

  Colton took a quick trip by the prize counter to make sure his dream console was still there. It was. There was still hope.

  He backtracked to the counter where tokens were sold. He laid down his ten and told the cashier, “Ten dollars in tokens, please.” He wasn’t going to waste any of his limited funds on a soda—no reason for spending a buck ninety-nine that wouldn’t move him any closer to his goal. If he got thirsty, he would drink from the water fountain.

  He went to play his regulars, DeeDee’s Fishing Hole and BB’s Ball Drop, each of which yielded him a fairly long ribbon of tickets. The evening was off to a promising start.

  Near the stage, a table full of rug rats—kindergartners, from the looks of them—were munching pizza and wearing stupid-looking paper birthday hats decorated with cartoon characters. Their chubby, blank faces were smeared with pepperoni grease and tomato sauce. As he looked at them, Colton felt actual physical repulsion, as though he was surveying a nest of squirming maggots.

  And then Colton saw him. One of the horrible pizza-gobbling goblins was his little cousin Aidan. Aidan was the most annoying little brat of all time, and because he was Colton’s aunt Katie’s kid, the two of them were forced to spend time in each other’s presence on holidays, birthdays, and whenever else his mom and aunt wanted to get together. The worst thing about Aidan was that he loved Colton desperately, and no matter how much venom Colton spewed at him, Aidan only seemed to love him more.

  “Please don’t let him see me, please don’t let him see me,” Colton muttered under his breath.

  But it was too late. Aidan’s gaze was already focused on Colton, and he was smiling and waving frantically. The little boy dropped his pizza slice, got up from the table, and made a beeline for Colton.

  Before Colton could protest, Aidan was hugging him. Colton stood stiffly, his arms raised as though a police officer had just told him to freeze. He refused to participate in this hug.

  Aidan finally let go. His smile hadn’t faded. “Wow, I can’t believe I get to go to a birthday party at Freddy’s and I get to see my cousin at the same time! This is the best night ever!”

  “For one of us, maybe,” Colton said.

  Aidan laughed. “You’re funny, Colton! I’d better get back to the party. It’s almost time for our favorite game! You know the one, right?” Aidan gave him a little chuck on the arm.

  Colton did know what game Aidan was talking about but refused to acknowledge it. He rubbed his arm as if Aidan had injured him.

  Thankfully, Aidan ran back to join his putrid pint-size friends.

  “Now who’s ready to Jump! For! Tickets!” a recorded voice asked as the animatronic Freddy flapped his jaws.

  The greasy little brats jumped up and down and cheered. Their high-pitched voices made Colton want to clap his hands over his ears.

  “Get ready for the Ticket Pulverizer Countdown!” the recorded Freddy voice ordered.

  A bored-looking college-aged girl in a Freddy’s uniform opened the door to the Ticket Pulverizer, a game in a sealed transparent booth that could generate an absurd number of tickets. The Ticket Pulverizer usually cost four tokens per person, but for birthday parties, the birthday kid and guests got one visit to the Pulverizer for free. Colton watched as the disinterested-seeming employee unlocked the booth, and the pip-squeaks poured in, giggling and yelling with excitement.

  “Now get ready to Jump for Tickets!” the recorded Freddy voice ordered. “And say hello to our friend, Coils the Birthday Clown!”

  Colton didn’t like clowns, and he especially didn’t like this clown. Coils the Birthday Clown animatronic had wonky eyes—one that seemed to look straight ahead while the other veered down and to the right—and a weird, open-jawed grin that reminded Colton of those carnival games where you shoot water in the clown’s mouth. Its lanky body was dressed in a lemon-and-lime-colored striped costume that was decorated with little jingly bells, which, Colton guessed, was so you could hear the clown before you saw it. It reminded him of the old story about the mice who want to hang a bell on a cat to use as an early warning system.

  The clown’s name came from its arms, which were yellow stretchy coils that reminded Colton of the old-fashioned landline phone at his grandmother’s house. In one of the clown’s three-fingered, white-gloved hands, it held several fanned-out tickets.

  “Now, who’s ready to Jump! For! Tickets!” the clown’s high-pitched voice said again, turning up the drama.

  The squeakers went insane.

  “Prepare for the Ticket Pulverizer Countdown! Now, when I finish counting, everybody jump up and down as hard as you can, all together. Here we go! Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two … one!” The clown’s voice actor had really been trying to turn up the excitement when he recorded this. “Now … Jump! For! Tickets!”

  Laughing and squealing, the little kids leaped up and then landed in unison, as the parents watching them called, “Jump! Jump! Jump!” With each landing, they pushed down the platform on the floor of the booth, which caused tickets to fall f
rom the ceiling. Delighted, they grabbed the tickets in their greedy little fists.

  Colton watched the spectacle with a mixture of jealousy and disgust. All those tickets, and the little brats were wasting them. You only got to keep what you caught, and the little kids were being stupid about it, grabbing over and over with their hands, dropping the tickets they had just caught in order to catch the new ones. They weren’t smart enough to stuff the tickets into their pockets, down their shirts, inside their socks. If it were Colton, he’d stick tickets everywhere they’d fit: In his underwear. In his mouth.

  But even though the little kids annoyed him, they weren’t what really filled him with rage. The true object of his wrath was the Ticket Pulverizer itself. It was rigged to give an unfair advantage to little kids. He knew it. He had watched it dozens of times, maybe even a hundred, and the results were always the same. Whenever there were little kids inside it, jumping and stomping, there was always a veritable blizzard of tickets. If Colton and other teens jumped for tickets, there were only a few flurries. It made no sense. Colton was no physicist, but he knew that heavier, stronger kids generated more force than shrimpy, weak ones. More force should equal more tickets. It was as simple as that.

  As Colton watched the pip-squeak party guests exit the Ticket Pulverizer, an idea began to form in his mind. If the Ticket Pulverizer had been rigged to favor little kids, could it be rerigged to favor big ones? Colton excelled at his tech classes in high school, and he liked to hang around his uncle Mike’s car repair shop to learn how to fix things. He was good at mechanical stuff.

  Now that the kids had cleared out of the Ticket Pulverizer, Colton approached it for a closer look. Getting inside the machine wouldn’t be hard. If it was turned on, he would just have to feed it four tokens. He surveyed the booth’s bright red platform, which was printed with pictures of child-size footprints. He looked at the screws that connected the platform to the bottom of the booth. Wouldn’t tightening those screws make the platform harder to push down? He needed to give it some more thought, but he was confident that he could rerig the Pulverizer so it favored bigger visitors instead of small ones. Justice would be served, and after only a dozen or so rounds of Jump for Tickets, Colton would be able to claim his new game console.