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Svengali: noun - a person who exercises a controlling or mesmeric influence on another, especially for a sinister purpose.
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Svengali
The opera singer's performance had come to an end, her smouldering soot eyes and ruby lips contrasted against her alabaster painted skin. Black hair pinned and shining collarbone's visible above her white feather boa, she turned and sauntered off stage. The click of her heels against the wooden floor was drowned out by the sharp round of applause which sounded from the auditorium.
Anne joined in the acclamation, a warm grin weaving its way across her face - before being replaced by a bewildered frown as the sounds of clapping and cheering were abruptly cut and a deathly silence fell over the theatre. Like pulling the plug on a music box, the cut off was unnatural, immediate and without the gradual diminishing of sound that one would typically expect from an audience.
She thought no more of it, for out walked onto the stage a shadow of a man. Spindly limbs and unpigmented skin, he carried with him a vague air of unease. He held his head high, a fabricated, unwavering smile held on his handsome visage, framed by long raven crops of hair. The exaggerated stage makeup only added to her anxiety, as he almost mimicked a clown with his harsh eyeliner and false rouge cheeks.
"Thank you very much indeed, the opera singer, Mrs Cecilia Bartoli, ladies and gentlemen!" He made a grand gesture towards where the artist had disappeared behind the red velvet curtain. His baritone voice was perfectly smooth, commanded reverence and sparked an inexplicable feeling of agitation within the lone woman. Even as she was sat at the back of the theatre away from him, she couldn't help but feel vulnerable in his presence.
Again, that exact same applause sounded briefly before coming to a complete halt altogether. Shifting uncomfortably, Anne drew her eyes around the hall, relaxing a little as she caught sight of the silhouettes of other people down at the front.
"And without any further ado, I'd like to introduce to you all a friend of mine." The stranger began, striding over to a wooden trunk on the far side of the stage and when he reached inside to produce a doll, Ann sighed internally.
A ventriloquist act. How dull.
She frequented the theatre to be entertained! Not to watch some creep do a silly voice and pretend to be a puppet!
"Here he is, ladies and gentleman, Mr Svengali!" He exclaimed and in one exaggerated movement, presented the doll for the audience to see.
Brief, abrupt applause. Except this time, Anne wasn't joining in. From the back of the hall, she was unable to make out the details of the dummy he was proudly presenting, grinning darkly all the while.
"Mr Svengali the mind reading doll. Think a thought, and he'll know it in an instant."
Rolling her eyes at the absurdity of such a claim, Anne decided she had seen enough. As she was further away from the stage she was afforded the luxury of being able to sneak away without appearing as rude to whoever happened to be performing. She didn't do it often - only in exceptional circumstances. And this was precisely one of these exceptional circumstances.
Completely unnerved, she made to stand and quietly make her way through the rows of seats towards the exit. However she had taken merely a few steps when the performer's eyes snapped to her, predatory gaze quickly honing in on her retreating form, even at the distance she was at. Not one for letting his prey escape him, he called after her: "My my, someone is eager."
Anne froze, casting a glance towards the stage and promptly turning beet red upon finding that the performer was staring right at her, smiling all the while.
"I was just about to call upon someone from the audience but you will do nicely. Please, come down." He beckoned, extending an arm to point to her. As he did, his figure seemed to stretch, becoming even lankier as if he were being pulled like an elastic band. Though she failed to notice this from where she was situated.
Completely embarrassed at having been caught in the act of trying to escape, Anne hung her head before reluctantly descending the red-carpeted steps towards the stage. As she approached, she glanced sparingly at the rest of the audience, feeling a thousand eyes all over her. And yet, no one even paid her a glance. She had been alone at the back seats - the theatre scarcely full with those that were there conglomerating closer to the front. But none of them even turned to see her.
As she got closer to the stage, the mysterious stranger sent her a tight-lipped smile. "What's your name?"
"Anne." She murmured, so quietly that she was surprised when he responded instantly, without asking her to repeat herself.
"Anne, lovely to meet you." With the woman now on stage he shook her hand, his own being covered by a white silk glove and the puppet cradled in his other arm. Her eyes widened and her polite smile fell from her face as she caught sight of his burning, crimson eyes as they danced in sheer mirth at her unease.
That same rippling applause sounded. The same abruptness with which it was cut followed.
When her eyes flickered towards the puppet, she took a step back in perturbation, as if only truly seeing it for the first time. Now that she was up close, she could say that without a shadow of a doubt, it was a true nightmare to behold. A ghoulish, crooked figure with a monstrous face. Which person of sane mind would create such a thing?! If she had ever seen Satan's signature, it was on the face of that doll! Hollow black eyes and a mouth to match were a juxtaposition against the sickly looking shade of grubby porcelain. Cracks over the demonic face were like veins - parts around the mouth were entirely chipped away and a receding hairline followed straggly black hair. It was a truly damnable thing. And it seemed to be gazing right at her.
"Please, come closer..." The stranger beckoned, seeming to channel all the innocence in the world. Bright eyes blinking, preening like a wild corbie, gorging on every flicker of fear he brought from within her. Imagining what good soup he could render from her bones. She would be tasty if not elegant.
For some inexplicable reason, she complied with his request. Her body worked of its own accord, limbs moving like a brass automaton and in a second she was stood a breath away from the eerie performer and his "friend", who he seemed to be cradling as one would a cherished infant.
"And now if you would, please think of a question for Mr Svengali that nobody here could possibly know the answer to." He commanded, fully confident in himself.
Letting out a shuddered breath, Anne cast her dark eyes to the ceiling, before nodding. "Alright." She humoured him, not wishing to make a fuss. Curiosity began to fester within her, as well as a desire to see him fail and his arrogant smirk fall from his face.
"Have you got anything?"
She nodded. "Yes."
He smiled. "Excellent. And when you're ready, please ask Mr Svengali your question."
Turning to the harrowing puppet again, she hesitantly asked: "When is my birthday?"
"When is her birthday, Mr Svengali?" The stranger's eyes bore into her own, seeming to be searching for something. As he did this, he lifted the doll's arm so that its hand was pressed against its head in a dramatic display of showmanship.
She felt suddenly dizzy and a wave of nausea threatened to take over her right there on stage. She fought to keep herself together, her fear of embarrassing herself in front of such a large crowd of staring onlookers kept her from bolting off the stage in that instant.
He had seemingly found what he was looking for, he addressed the perturbed woman in a voice soft as silk. "If you would step a little closer, I think he's going to whisper in your ear."
Swallowing her desire to run and hide, Anne leaned in towards the doll. A second passed and she stood upright, poker straight. Her eyes widened and her jaw slackened.
"What did he say?" Came from the raven-haired puppet master.
"October the twenty-eighth..."
"And your birthday is...?"
"October the twenty-eighth." She whispered, her eyes moving back to the doll and her hands clenching around the fabric of her dress. Dull pressure in her head pulsated as if someone was slowly tearing open her skull and forcing their way inside.
A sardonic smirk brightened his face and turning to the audience with a grand gesture, he exclaimed: "Ladies and gentlemen, Mr Svengali was correct!" Which was followed by roaring applause. Taking a bow and tipping his top hat towards the audience, he continued. "Thank you very much, now for round two, this time Anne, I'd like you to think of an object. Picture anything you like."
Anne brought a hand to cover her mouth, her head continued to swim and the stranger's voice kept phasing in and out of earshot.
At her silence, he repeated, staring intently at her. "Think of anything you like... Mr Svengali will pick up on your thought."
Anne nodded dumbly along. "I have something." Her words began to slur together. Black dots orbited her vision, bleeding the doll and the mysterious stranger's faces together to morph a truly ghastly image. The single purple line of makeup which drew down his cheek appeared to extend and grow until it became a patch of glistening black scales. Then she blinked and it was gone.
However the stranger seemed to pay her confused utterances no mind, ruby eyes fixating on her again. "And if you would, project that thought onto Mr Svengali." He lifted its glass hand to press against its ivory face.
A pregnant silence came over the hall as Anne gazed at the doll vacantly, her eyelids drooping and a frown forming in concentration as she tried to keep her thoughts cogent.
"I think he has something. What was it Svengali, tell us all." The man's sickly sweet voice washed over her as she continued to tumble further into oblivion. Yet her body remained perfectly upright, as though it were now governed by different forces.
The doll's head slowly turned to look out into the audience, it's puppet mouth snapping open and shut as it did so, forming silent words.
Anne gasped, bringing her hands up to clasp over her chest in a bid for self-comfort. It couldn't be possible! It simply couldn't be. That doll was surely possessed!
"Was that it?" The handsome stranger inquired, a cunning glint in his eye.
She backed away, keeping her eyes trained on the hell-spawn that was looking at her intently, as though it may pounce on her like a predator at any moment.
"What were you thinking of?" He tried again.
"A shattered mirror." She muttered, moon-eyed and voice quivering.
"And what did Svengali say? Say it in his voice." He coaxed.
A change came about her. Her gaze lifted to meet his crimson one and her fearful expression was besieged by unbridled serenity. Becoming as still as a doll. Her heart calmed in its frantic hammering and her breathing evened out. "A shattered mirror."
He grinned, satisfied by his own savage integrity and proud of his abilities in mastery. "Again, louder in his voice!" He commanded.
When she followed his request, there was no denying that she spoke with someone else's voice, her words descending from being a quiet, but well-spoken lilt to an insipid drawl. "A shattered mirror!"
"Ladies and gentlemen, Mr Svengali was correct!"
Tumultuous applause combined with the faint sounds of agonised howling and blasted over the halls, sending reverberations through the floor but this time, Anne didn't bat an eyelid.
"Excellent! Now for one last round. The most difficult challenge of all... This time Anne, I'd like you to think of something that you're ashamed of."
She frowned, bringing her hand up to her chin in a thoughtful gesture. "...alright." Her voice had returned to its usual delicate intonations, none the wiser to what had transpired although her head felt heavy on her shoulders.
"Come a little closer. In fact, just put your arm around Mr Svengali for me." He purred.
She glanced at the stranger warily. "It's not going to hurt me?"
"Not at all." He grinned at her and instantly, all hesitation melted away from her demeanour and she came forward to comply.
He smirked knowingly "Excellent. Take a look at him." His voice dropped to a murmur as he gazed at her.
Any tension left her face as her vacant expression rested on the doll. And it looked right back with its empty eyes.
"Focus on that thought...Mr Svengali, tell us what she's ashamed of." He took a step back, leaving the doll in the arms of the woman as she appeared to mentally collapse and sink into a state of catatonia.
The doll's arm moved on its own, its hand shakily moving to rest against its head - followed by high pitched ringing which sounded from God knows where but she only continued to stare vacantly for several moments.
"Focus on that thought...send it to him. Read his lips, Anne...Nice and clear Mr Svengali."
When Anne spoke, she did so with malice. A vicious sneer came over her lips, her eyes glinting in outrage. "Well, you remember when you tried to murder the Earl of Phantomhive? You tried to shoot him? Yeah, do you remember that?"
The silence that followed was suffocating, thick with a tension which was almost tangible enough to be cut with a knife. Yet she remained unaware, under the inexplicable control of something else which couldn't be explained. To an observer, she would have appeared to be a mad woman in the midst of a staring contest with an inanimate object.
After several moments of silence, drinking in the sight of his handiwork, the sinister performer continued, positively elated. "...she tried to murder The Earl of Phantomhive ladies and gentlemen, Mr Svengali was correct!"
Applause.
"Thank you very much indeed. You can let go of him now." He stepped forward to take the doll from her but both her grip and her stare remained unwavering. "Anne, you can let go now." With a forceful yank, he pried the dummy from her arms, face perfectly stoic. "Let's put you back in the box, excellent work Mr Svengali." He cooed as he carried it back towards its rightful trunk at the far end of the stage.
"Hey what are you doing?" She suddenly asked, taking a frantic step towards the trunk as it was opened and the doll placed inside. "What are you doing?! Stop that!" She halted in her tracks, her brows creasing together as she began to glance around frantically.
He struggled to suppress the urge to laugh as the trunk was locked with an audible click. "In he goes..."
"No! Let me out! I can't see anything!" She began to hyperventilate, arms raised in front of her in an attempt to feel her way around the stage.
Standing upright, he made his way towards her while remaining perfectly cool about the ordeal. "Can you see me?"
"I can't see anything could you just open the box and let me out?" Tears burned in the corners of her eyes and her bottom lip began to quiver.
She felt him take her shoulders and begin to spin her around the stage, the amusement and lack of concern in his voice were clear as day. "Can you see anything?"
"Can you just let me out? Let me out!" She snarled, lashing out at the bastard that did this to her - however, her imprecise blows were easily dodged and this time, the stranger did chuckle.
"Can you see the lights?"
"Stop this. This isn't nice..." She whispered. The tears began streaming down her cheeks like a waterfall and her throat constricted in strangled anguish. Would she ever see again?
She felt as he leaned in and whispered, his breath ghosting against her cheek. "Can you see me?"
"Stop it! No, I can't see anything!" She screeched, again failing to hit him.
With that, he was satisfied. He stood upright and left the lone woman in the centre of the stage, bright lights faltering and eventually burning out, leaving the theatre cloaked in the unforgiving darkness.
At hearing his retreating footsteps as they audibly clicked against the stage, getting more muffled with each footfall - an entirely new wave of panic set in. "Where are you going?" She stumbled in an attempt to follow him, continuing to wave her arms in front of her. But he was long gone. "Where did you go?" She cried out, bringing her hands to cover her face as she collapsed onto the floor in uncontrollable sobs.
Her sightless eyes peered out into the still and silent crowd. Had she been able to see them, she would have been greeted by their wide glassy eyes and their mouths frozen in a silent scream. Upon their faces pale white and crimson blood forming macabre pools around their feet.
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This was inspired by Derren Brown's show Trick or Treat, where he turned a man into a ventriloquist dummy using his skills in psychology and left him blind. Derren Brown reminds me of Sebastian to a great extent - he's truly wicked.
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