I am the Puppet MAter Chapter One: Coin Operated Girl

I Am The Puppet Master Chapter One: Clock Work Girl
My name is Damien, at this point I had been seventeen for a grand total of twelve hours and so far it sucked. Maybe seventeen just sucks in general, maybe everyone who has even been there will agree with me. I mean, your still considered to be too young to do anything fun but for fuck sake your close enough that it shouldn’t really matter. I was still expected to listen to my parents (not that I even did that anyway) not drink, not smoke, (that I did anyway) and go to school, which was what I was doing at the time.
I was sitting in history class listen to the teacher drone on like an old vacuum about what some old dead guy had done three hundred and something years ago and why we should care about it. Actually the reason I was having trouble concentrating was the guy who was sitting next to me and seemed to find I hilarious to copy every single bloody move I made. You know the kind: felt Billabong cap, gold chains, muscle shirt with no actual muscle, in short a douche bag who acted like reject from Jersey Shores. Every time I moved, turned a page or shifted in my chair he made a point of doing the exact same thing and giggling to himself about it. I decided that I instead of climbing of the desk and kicking him in the throat I’d have some fun with it.
I fished around in my pencil case into I found my geometry protractor, the kind with a single long point at the end. I unfolded and, spreading my hand across the page before me, began drumming the point back and forth between my splayed fingers. I looked over at the douche bag and saw that he was doing the same thing with a ball point pen and seemed very keen on keeping up with me. Good luck to him, I’d been around knives my whole life and had been doing this kind of stuff since before I could walk, so I stepped up to pace a little, just to see how long it would take for him to miss.
I was stabbing the desk between my fingers at a speed that sounded like a drum role when I noticed the girl on my other side was looking at me in a sense of awe, like she had never seen anything like it before. She was pretty sexy and looking at her broke my concentration for the split second needed for me to miss the desk and graze the edge of my index finger with the protractor. It was nothing really, little more than a paper cut, but I didn’t really notice because at that precise moment the douche bag who had been copying me screamed at the top of his lung and fell to the floor, dragging his whole desk with him. The reason the desk fell and landed on top of him was apparent by the amount of blood that was pouring from his hand because you see, while I had merely grazed myself, at the exact same moment he had driven he ball point pen clean through his hand and effectively nailed himself to the desk.
The whole class went nuts, people everywhere were screaming in harmony with the dumb bastard, a few of them fainted at the sight and I noticed one person over in the corner heaving into the bin. This kinda stuff never really bothered me, in fact I usually would have found it funny, but why had it happened when he had been imitating me? There was no way he would have gone that far to copy me; maybe he had just slipped by accident and stabbed himself? Yeah, in the same place I almost had right at the moment when I was perving on the girl next to me? That was too much of a coincidence by anyone’s standards.
There’s an old saying, I think it from some dusty old Sherlock Holmes book. It goes something like: ‘When you have eliminated all the possibilities, whatever is left, however unlikely, must be the truth’. I’ve always been interested in things like the Occult and stuff like that, the paranormal and such. I’m not one of those Goth’s with three inches of makeup who sit around grave yards with a widgie board trying to talk to my dead cat or whatever, but I had always liked the idea that weird shit like that actually happened.
The teacher sent us all out of class and told us to wait in the hallway, sure as all hell beat listening to him drone on as if he wanted us to stab ourselves, while he tried to dis-impale the douche bag from his desk. I was sitting on one of the low bench’s along the wall thinking about this when I decided to perform a stupid little experiment, you know, just to prove to myself that I was totally nuts and could then let the whole thing drop.
Sitting across from me was the girl who had been admiring my skills at not stabbing myself; she must have been new because I hadn’t seen her around before. She was, as I had suspected, just as sexy from the neck down as up. She had a soft featured face and voluptuous built that made me think she had some German blood in her. She was sitting with her hands folded in her lap like most girls did at our school, the uniform was what you would expect at some British catholic high-school, not that I think any of the guys minded. While we wore suit like outfits the girl had to don plaid skirts, knee high socks and white cotton tops that help you imagination run wild. During the summer they were allowed to wear shorter skirts to help deal with the heat, but less fabric meant that they had to keep their hands in their laps whenever they sat down, or else give us all a front row view to their panties. Some of the girls liked to spread their legs more when they sat and seemed to enjoy the attention, not that any of us were going to tell them off, believe you and me.
Any way this new girl was sitting directly across from me, talking to the girl next to her and looking as bored as I was, when I decided to carry out my little test that I hope would work even though every rational part of me kind of knew it wouldn’t.