text: I was told I shouldn’t go. Begged more like it. They told me he was crazy, that he was probably dangerous, but I still went. I had to know why he chose me. Three days ago, I received a letter from my grandfather, Layton Young. He requested me personally to come by his estate for a visit. The problem with that is no one had heard from him in over forty years. He secluded himself inside of his mansion and hadn’t left since, or so the stories say. I’d never met him, but that was about to change. I arrived at his estate the day after I received his letter. Besides the lights coming through his windows, the whole place looked abandoned. After knocking for several minutes to no avail, I let myself in. Following the main hallway, I reached two large oak doors. Peering inside, I jumped back at the sight. It was a large ballroom full of life sized puppets dangling from the ceiling. Dozens of them, all exquisitely made. Their swaying made them appear to be dancing: a marionette masquerade. As I searched for my grandfather, I saw more rooms full of these strange puppets. Each room was staged to show a different story: birth, loss, success, failure, happiness, and sadness. The farther I went, the more the puppets began to look damaged and the strings worn out, like they were constantly being used. “This way my boy,” a voice called out from down the hallway. Startled by the sound, I quickly turned to face it. At the very end of the hallway stood a door lit from the other side. Standing in the window was the silhouette of a man. “Come closer,” the shadow said. “It’s hard to see at my age.” He chuckled. “Grandpa?” I asked as I slowly walked towards the door. The shadow nodded, “It’s so good to finally meet you at last,” he replied. “What do you want with me? What’s with these puppets?” I asked skipping pleasantries, standing in front of the door. The faded glass made him hard to see. “My guests? They’re my memories, my story. I try to change them from time to time, but they always seem to return to the truth.” He moved to a desk near the back of the room and sat down. “Why did you ask me here?” I asked. “I needed someone to see them.” he replied grimly. I could hear him open a drawer. “I’m too old to care for them anymore.” I heard a click of a gun. “Grandpa?!” I screamed, trying to open the door. “Take care of them my boy. They’re your guests now.” I slammed myself into the door harder. “Please remember me,” he whispered. A loud gunshot boomed through the house. I finally broke the door down. To my surprise, behind the office desk was another puppet with a smoldering hole in its head. This puppet, however, didn’t have strings.