The Unfortunate Musician
A commission
Randall played the bass in his garage, and has been for a long time - and still does. He played even better when his friends surrounded more of the space in there, playing together as the band they'd created.
Perhaps he was the leader of the band - for he made the lyrics too. Each song they sang and played were mostly made of both Randall's imagination and handwriting. But a little of each had a little of each friend in it.
The garage may have been, as said - a garage - but it didn't matter to them what anyone else nearby thought. Along the walls of the garage were boxes and metal framing, which had boxes on top; which were all neatly stored - giving Randall and his band plenty of space - and safely stacked upon, that the members could safely climb up the framing to sit down, or sit down on the boxes, as if sitting on a bench.
In two long-side corners of the room stood two flood lamps. These freely stood but wouldn't be easily knocked over. These flood lights gave the garage a far more concert-like environment. (This helped them to play better.) Also, around the top edges, were wires, with little lights on them, which glowed up the place even more.
They played very often, which Randall loved. In fact, they were to practice again tonight! So, with the garage door opened to halfway, Randall sat on top of some storage boxes, lined in a way to act like a bench, waiting for each of his friends to arrive.
By this time, it was already night. But as time slowly - but surely - passed, the night turned even darker outside. Randall, for about an hour, waited quietly and patiently. The entrance to his garage was this whole time left slightly ajar, under his supervision.
He fiddled with his bass, fiddling with his fingers and the chords he could play. (He often played to himself during this time.) He looked around him. He briefly glanced outside from the door - each time looking darker than the last.
Eventually, the slightly ajar garage door became slightly more open. It was when the blue tail, followed by the firey red-orange fur of Shen's, that Randall was both reassured and happy. Shen was the keyboard player.
"Sorry I'm late." He spoke as his first words to Randall that night. He flushed a very little, and put a hand to his neck.
Randall and Shen stayed in conversation for a while, until the garage door opened again, this time to Urszula - the vocalist - powerful vocalist - and the final time, in which the door was shut by Randall's request; by Ganymede, who played the guitar.
As they all arrived, they prepared for their practice. The lights, which were on dimly as Shen and Randall conversed, were suddenly now set to full intensity. Suddenly, they were in a concert. They were playing. And they played. And they played.
Proud and enthusiastic - the whole band played accordingly with their instruments, and hit the chords on time. All was perfection! They had gone on to play through much of the night.
When the night was getting through - for they'd been playing for an excellent few hours - Urszula and Ganymede packed their instruments carefully and politely headed for the door to leave. Shen and Randall, once again for a while, conversed among each other.
"You did great! You played well." Randall complimented.
Shen beamed, and replied, quite happily, "Thanks!" truly appreciating it.
Eventually, Shen himself went for the door to leave, leaving Randall to his thoughts and garage. He had begun to put his own bass away, when the door, which Shen had closed, suddenly opened ajar.
A figure - to Randall dread and surprise - starting walling into the garage and towards him. He knew nothing about this figure. The white fur, and the pink secondary fur and stomach; and the three or four big bushes of tails, which flew around each other; did not ring any sort of bell in Randall's mind. He did not recognise, let alone know, this figure.
"I heard you playing with a band." She spoke as her first words to Randall.
She didn't give Randall much time to think about why she was here. Instead, Randall replied with,
"I was."
The girl smiled. "I thought you played very well." She complimented him.
"Thanks." Randall replied, nervously.
After a moment of awkward silence. (For Randall, that was, for the girl seemed unbothered.) She spoke,
"You know, I could really use a musician like you to play for me. I've been searching for one for a while."
Randall eyes opened. Suddenly, he saw his progression; his success! "Have you?"
"I thought you played quite professionally. The bass sounded very distinguishable, and in an impressive way."
Randall wasn't sure if this was to say that his friends didn't play as well. "What about my band?"
The girl silenced for a brief moment, before replying,
"You stood out more with your playing. I'd really like you to play for me."
Randall's eyes lit even more. "Sure!" he said, eagerly.
"Great! Come to this address tomorrow morning, and we'll make the contract there." She handed Randall a piece of paper. An address and a number for contact. ('It's pretty far away from here. I'll need to catch a bus.' Randall thought.)
"Contract?" Randall hadn't anticipated on anything of a contract.
"Professionals don't do it for free, you know. Didn't you know that?"
Randall shook his head, expressing a 'no'. The girl put a fore-finger to the side of her head, and tapped four times.
"You've a lot to learn, young professional."
Randall liked and appreciated being called that. Once again, he saw the concert, and the people; and the cheering of appreciation for his music! And this wasn't a dream! He smiled cheerfully to this thought.
The girl had turned around and headed for the garage door, but stopped after a few steps.
"My name is Tamiko, by the way."
"I'm Randall. Nice to meet you."
Randall heard Tamiko mutter to herself, "Randall? What a nice name - and suitable for a band member." She opened the garage door and quietly left, stepping outside and closing the door again without turning around.
The next morning, Randall had taken a bus to the address, which he eventually found with difficulty. As far as he wanted to know, this address was located in the middle of absolutely nowhere! It was not completely out of sight of life, but there were certainly few people and places within the area and nearby.
Randall unboarded the bus onto a concrete pavement, which shortly lead a perpendicular gravel pathway towards the address in which he was to be seen at. He followed this pathway, unaware of what to expect. He didn't give too much thought for much else than this; he didn't want to stress his mind too much - he was about to sign a contract to play as a musician! (But the environment around him felt uncomfortably unnerving.)
He heard a sort of gate open, and out of the front door, which he was getting closer to, came Tamiko.
"I have been waiting for you." She spoke, as Randall became close enough to the entrance. She had a sort of sinister smile on her face. But Randall tried not to think too much about that, convinced that was just what he thought of her; and not what it actually was.
"Come in." She smiled, even more with a sinister look. Randall now counteracted his thought, noticing more how sinister she looked. He almost wanted to refuse and turn back, but she managed to make that a large difficulty for him by falsely following her hand on Randall's back as he walked in.
Tamiko shut the door behind them. Now he was stuck inside. He truly knew not what to expect; 'Hope for the best, expect the worst.'
A man with a sad, confused and regretful look on his face - though at the same time appeared emotionless - passed by them. (This man was dressed in a waiter's suit.) Tamiko didn't even look at him. But what nerved Randall was that he didn't seem real - but rather like a doll! He had markings around areas where there were joints (and these joints were separately visible), like those controlled by a puppeteer.
This horrified him. This made him want to escape even more. But he couldn't. The room was heavily secured, with locks, blinds and shades to block out anything Tamiko may not want Randall to see. Randall briefly and partially wondered what she was keeping within them.
Inside what looked like a palace, there were antiques placed carefully on stones and shelves, inaccessible to Randall - for Tamiko was watching him as they walked through a couple doorways. The place looked well cleaned, and open spaced.
Tamiko then unlocked and opened a door, and motioned Randall in. The room looked fairly normal. A wide wooden desk and chair, with a table lamp on the left side. (Dark brown, they were.) The room was walled a cream colour, with a couple unnatural paintings.
Only now did Randall notice that there was no chair for him. Behind him, Tamiko had locked the door, and locked them in. Randall didn't notice her do so, however; the only thing he thought was that the air was stuffy.
Nervously, Randall formed his mouth to begin pronouncing the letter 'W', but closed it again. Then, he spoke, "Where do I sit?"
Tamiko looked stressed as he said this, as if she didn't want to hear it. As if she just wanted to get this over with. She quickly darted her eyes around the space past the table - which she stood behind - and noticed there wasn't a chair for him. She gritted her teeth - white things, they were, as Randall thought - and began to look like an underprepared employee, rushing around with increasing stress, on top of all other pressures.
"Just stand." She half-muttered, half-said annoyed.
Despite having a chair, she did not sit down. Stressed-looking - which, for some odd reason, reassured Randall of his thoughts of uncertainty. It looked more normal to see her stressed and less mysterious - she went into a bottom draw on the side of the desk, and pulled out a couple stapled pieces of paper. She hastily folded one over the other, presenting the signing, and placed it on the table; spinning it round one-eight degrees and pushing it towards Randall.
"Sign here." She said. Pulling out a pen, she almost flung it on the table; but the pen didn't bounce, like it was carefully placed.
Randall looked down. She didn't even let him read the contract. On the same page, he saw the duration of one year. He was going to play for her for one year. For the mysteriously devilish smile, which Randall could not shake out of his mind as he looked up towards here, this could be worse.
But still, it was a year. How would his friends - his band! - react to it? Will they disband, after all this time playing and practicing together in his garage? This worried him the most.
But one thing was clear to Randall: He did not want to sign.
"Sign here." Repeated Tamiko, tapping the box to be penned twice.
Randall shook his head.
"Sign there." Tamiko, with even more of a mysterious - but more evil-looking - smille.
Randall spoke up. "I don't want to."
Tamiko gritted her teeth, hard. Very, very hard. This frightened Randall. Then she smiled, again, with an evilness to it
"Why are you smiling like that?"
"You have no choice, Randall." She cooed.
Randall's first instinct was for the door. It was locked. This petrified him.
"I'm trapped!"
"You've fallen into a trap." She hissed. "A trap!" She snapped.
She proceeded to walk towards Randall in a mysterious way. He started to shiver, wondering what the hell was going to happen next. He looked terrified. His gritted his teeth; his red fur stood on their ends. He started to sweat and visibly struggle to breath - it could be heard too; his heart raced so hard and fast - as she became so close to him.
She put a hand quickly to his neck, to make him struggle even more to breathe, from the shock. She then, with her right hand, took Randall left arm and pulled him towards the desk. Forcefully, she made him kneel and bow his head, bounding him there with her arms and body.
She then lifted up Randall's left hand. But he was right-handed. But he certainly wasn't going to say anything of it. He held his breath, as trying to breathe in tiny pieces of air didn't work for him.
"Sign. The. Contract." Tamiko emphasised each word as she said it. Randall knew there was no escape now. He had no choice; and he signed the contract with such terrible handwriting - partially out of his control.
She let him go, but Randall stayed there. He refused to look up, not being asked to.
"Well done." She muttered in a quiet psychopathic tone.
Randall closed his eyes.
"Now look at me." She said in a deep but clear voice.
Randall at first refused to. But Tamiko went over to him after a moment and forced his head up. Randall naturally as a response opened his eyes, utterly terrified.
His look of terror came from the evil, mysterious darkness in her eyes. She would not let him go. Randall tried to pull away but to no avail. (Even then, he couldn't escape.)
Suddenly, Randall felt immense pain in his skin, which sent him shouting, then screaming; both in fear and in pain. It felt like someone was shredding his skin off and replacing it with wood. He jumped back with such force that Tamiko couldn't withstand. She had let go of him, but her magic was worming. Randall hit the wall behind him, which didn't really add up any more pain as he seemed to reach his limit. He had his eyes closed, but they opened themselves.
When his eyes opened themselves, Randall saw his abnormal body. All of his fur had disappeared, and had - horrified to the sight - been placed with what looked like sanded-down wood. Before his head and face became the same, Randall stuttered,
"Wha-t, a-about, m- 'y, mu-sz- 'ic, co-n-trac-t?"
After his struggle to get these words out, he was completely a doll. He looked like a doll. What hurt him inside was that he would not be playing as a musician for her. But it also terrified him that he was paralysed. He couldn't move himself.
Tamiko smiled, half with the same mysterious, evilness; and half-satisfactorily. She went towards the desk and took out a wheel of string, and spun pieces of it out, and cut them. All of them were long in length. She attached firmly each piece of string to every joint, limb, and moveable part there was. She lastly attached the last piece of string to Randall jaw and mouth.
"I'm going to have some fun with you." Said smiled, and started fiddling around with the strings, which she attached to each finger she had; and made the other parts of him move by dark magic. This was causing Randall to spasm.
He didn't know what to do. He couldn't move, couldn't speak; he couldn't even think. To an extent, he could be aware of what was going on, what happened to him, and what she was portraying him to do or say - in which she spoke in a grotesque, higher tone when referring to the doll; and moved his parts accordingly, by the strings, and by magic.
Time passed - After a while, Tamiko grew bored of him. She started to stop playing with him, finding nothing else to make him do or say that was funny, satisfying or in any way fun and enjoyable.
She contemplated, one time, "Would I want to keep you?" But she spoke this out loud, and - since the doll was near to her - turned to the doll upon realising. She made it stare at her, by moving it's eyes magically.
"Would I want to keep you on another contract?" She teased, and spoke, directing it to the doll. Eventually, she would have to decide.
"But, Tamiko-" She started to say, in a higher tone, as if the doll was speaking - in which she pulled the string to it's mouth accordingly - "-what about my band?
She giggled a little. "Too bad." Said bluntly said.
After a briefly longer contemplation, she concluded, "Nah, I think I'll just throw you in the dump." She mildly laughed.
She then made the doll's face stare at her, as if it were a child about to cry - being hurt by something said to them.
"But, Tamiko-" She once again spoke in a higher tone. And - if Randall was even there, innerly inside of the inside of the doll - this was the question Randall really would have wanted to know:
"Will I return to my normal state?"
Tamiko laughed, then giggled. She then spoke in a slightly sarcastic tone,
"Eventually."