the mannequin man ☞ patd

v

A loud crash erupts in the room, causing me to jump up from my sleep. I groan tiresomely as I turn to the clock next to the bed. It's five in the morning, and the sun has barely cracked. What could cause all this racket? Is there somebody else in the room? Has Mr. Urie finally come to eat me or whatever he does?

The cold morning air blows over me as I yank the covers off myself and throw my feet off the bed. It's dark, so I have to grope the walls to find the lightswitch. When I do, my eyes have to adjust to the sudden light until I see one of Mr's Urie's statues shattered in piece across the floor. The fuck? My hand slaps across my mouth as I walk close enough to the pieces to not get any of it in my toes. Mr. Urie will not be happy about this. I just know he won't.

I walk out of the room, calling out his name with every other step I took. All I got in return was the eerie silence this vast manor held. It was actually quite expected that no response was heard. It's not like Mr. Urie makes so much as a squeak in the first place.

I come past the living room and stop in front of the tiny corridor that leads to the other side of the manor, but I had no interest in going in there. It's too dark to see the end of it. Hopefully, I'll never live to see what's past there. It's probably just more of his creepy mannequins and stuff.

Before I get back to the room, my feet stop themselves. I can hear an almost silent sobbing coming from the inside of it. I walk in hesitantly, seeing Mr. Urie kneeled down on the floor next to it, his fingers grazing each piece.

"Hey," I say. My breath is shaky, as are my hands and feet. I kneel down next to him. "I was going to tell you about this, but I couldn't find you."

He just looks up at me with teary eyes. "How could you do this to Taylor?" he asks, his weeps softening his tone.

A couple idiotic giggles escape the back of my mouth. "Like Taylor Lautner?" I joke.

"This isn't a laughing matter!" Mr. Urie exclaims. He digs his hand into the pile of shards and throws some at me. "What could Taylor have possibly done to you?"

I straighten my face and cover it with my arms to prevent any shards from lodging into my eyes. "I'm sorry!" I exclaim profusely until he stops tossing pieces at me. "I didn't do it! I swear! I was asleep when it happened!"

Without anymore words, Mr. Urie gets up. His cheeks stained red from crying. That's the most color I've seen him have all week. He walks quickly out of the room. I get up to follow him, but when I pass the threshold, he's gone. "Mr. Urie?" I groan. It's weird that he disappears as quickly as he shows up.

What's so special about Taylor, anyway? She's just another one of his silly mannequins that he can probably buy off of E-Bay. This place could probably do with one less creepy statue anyway.

When I get downstairs, Mr. Urie's sitting in his lounge chair with his head down. I'm not sure if he notices me as I walk by, because he doesn't do so much as acknowledge me.

"H-Hey."

He doesn't respond, so with a quivering lip, I skip by, walking to the kitchen. I've never been in here before because Mr. Urie would always prepare breakfast before I could even get to the dinner table.

The cupboards have scratches on them that splinter my skin as I rub my fingers across them. I can feel everything. I can hear everything. Screaming, yelling, banging. I can even see everything. A split-second scene flashes before my eyes with a young woman with bright blue eyes and a young man with dark hair and stuff. Just like Mr. Urie. When I removed my hand and shoved it back into the comfort of my pocket, everything was gone. Woah. I must be a prophet or something.

The back of my neck tingles as I open a set of cabinets. It's as though someone is watching me. It's Mr. Urie standing there, looking distressed and tired, despite the cocky smirk his face has. "I'll prepare the breakfast," he says. "Why don't you go sit in the lounge? Food will be ready in almost no-time."

He's quiet, but still sinister. I don't want it to get any worse, so I follow directions. Suddenly, I have a strong feeling that I won't survive this last night.