All my Heroes are Dead

“He’ll live… If that’s what you’re asking,” came the raspy growl of the resident doctor.
“Not sure of the kind of life it will be though. These are injuries like I’ve never seen. He’s going to be comatose for a long while yet, if he’s to wake at all I mean.”

**
Robin never wore shoes. He liked to feel the ground between his toes while he walked. Every now and then he might get a funny look, but for him, it was worth it. He strolled forward breathing easier now that his feet were on solid land.
“look at me boy! I’ve just realised I have no idea who you are!” floated the sound of a sing-song from across the wind. Robin stopped dead in his tracks and looked around for its maker.
“Ahhh, I see. You must be Robin. Was wonderin’ when you’d get here. Hundreds have already gone on through but I waited for you.”
Frighteningly aware that he had no clue where he was or what the voice might be, the lone boy mustered his courage and made an effort to address it.
“Mfffhp” he stuttered. No, that wouldn’t do, he hated when he fell over his words and it was always when he was nervous. This was no exception.
“mfffhp? Don’t call me that. I hate that name use another. He told me you were bright, Robin” taunted the voice
His fair, puzzled Robin. If he could see where the voice was coming from then perhaps speaking with it wouldn’t have had to seem so daunting.
“I might say the same to you” he finally managed. ‘An don’t use that name on me and I wont go calling you mfffhp any longer than I need to. I hate when people call me Robin”
“But that’s who you are, Robin. That’s the name you just gave me and that’s the name I’ll use.”
And on that note there was a crack on the air followed by a swirling cloud of silver-white smoke up into the sky.
“You can call me Hemlock,” said the sing-song voice from behind the smoke.
As the cloud dispersed, the silhouette of a person began to form. And on his life, what a peculiar person that was indeed. Balanced atop a great lions man of sandy-blonde hair was a dashing purple top hat. From beneath its rim and below bushy brown eyebrows stared two magnificent Hazel eyes; an orange button-up shirt just barely visible beneath his earthy brown suit.
“Puppet master Hemlock in full,” beamed the man. “But you just stick to the latter for now. Come, let me show you around my grand travelling fair. The Vie fair is what I like to call it, but make of it what you like.”
“Of course,” said Robin. Previously lost in his own little world, he’d forgotten about the fair – idiot! It was the only time something like this had been in town and he’d been more than excited to see it.
“How do you even know that’s my name anyway?” he questioned. “I’ve never met you before today.” Hemlock simply smiled.
“Cant go letting you onto all my tricks now can I?” he grinned. With that he twisted around on one foot and led the way to a great colourful collection of tents. Robin almost felt stupid for not seeing them before. Somehow they had been hidden in plain sight. Almost like they popped out of thin air after Hemlock’s arrival he mused.

**
“Please don’t tell me you truly mean that, Richard’ came the voice of a very teary woman. ‘How can you be so sure of yourself? He’s you son for goodness sake. You could do very little to look as though you cared less.” She finished speaking with a great blow into a crumpled blue handkerchief. Eyes puffy and cheeks red, it looked as though the woman hadn’t stopped crying for a great number of days.
“You heard the doctor, May. He hasn’t done so much as breathe for the last three months. Instead of wasting away for the rest of his life, he might be able to help another. Think about it – someone else’s boy might be saved as we lose ours.” His left eye twitched as he paused on that last word. Our boy. A ping of guilt at his own words settled into the pit of his stomach. “Look, just think about it. The surgeon should be here again soon. And for goodness sake pull yourself together would you.”
As Richard finished the door to his side swung open. A plainly dressed surgeon with an unusual amount of hair cascading down his back walked in. Clearly uncomfortable by the situation in front of him, the surgeon took a few cautious steps back.
“If this is a bad time, I can return later,” he said apologetically.
“No, no, no” said Richard putting on a friendly face. ‘We could use a little help here for our boy. About his future I mean’.
“My poor Michael.’ Sobbed the woman desperately. If they were to come to any decision today, it would not be hers.

**
“I thought there might be more people here,” said Robin cautiously as he strolled alongside Hemlock. There were all manner of games, stands and puppets on display at the fair yet no one seemed to be around to use them.
“Oh they are there alright, you just aren’t looking hard enough,” twinkled Hemlock. It hadn’t taken Robin long to see this was a man who liked to speak in riddles.
“And where are your shoes” he scowled.
Robin could have sworn he saw one of the puppets winking at him as Hemlock finished his little play of words. He turned to Hemlock with a number of questions in his mind. High time to find out where they were going he decided.
“So where are you leading me. Must have passed a dozen stands already that I could happily spend many hours browsing through” he said.
And that was, without a doubt, very true. Not just the normal fair stands and games mind you, Robin must have seen hundreds of interesting new items and games all chockers with cogs, wheels, whistles and bells. Things you’d never seen at a normal fair that he guessed to be inventions by perhaps none other than Hemlock himself. They were in every part as extraordinary as he
“I’m taking you to the centre of the fair. To the Pavilion as we call it’.” He twisted around and clicked his fingers on the word Pavilion. Little sparks popped from their points as he finished the motion. Bit of a flair for the dramatic thought Robin as he laughed.
The Pavilion was not huge, but what it lacked in size it made up for ten fold in charm. Little golden baubles hung from each of its eight corners and a large silver wreath was hung all around the roof. The canvas was a blinding white with cream swirls all twirling down from its mighty central peak.
“Step in, if you would, my dear boy,” called Hemlock, taking a deep over-the-top bow as he pulled back the curtain to the Pavilion. “You seem to be having trouble meeting the guests of my fair” he chortled. “What I show you in here might help with that, a little invention from my mind made with nought but my own two own hands.”
Robin was glad to step inside. It was hot out and remarkably cooler within the Pavilion.
Around its walls hung all manners of different puppets. Some were animal, some, were human Some were small enough to fit in your palm and some covered their space on the wall from floor to ceiling. The most intriguing were the ones with faces. Not frightening, but very, very curious. A plain one in the corner seemed to catch his eye. There was nothing particularly special about it yet for some reason something about it struck him as important. Amongst all the tigers, frogs, birds and beetles, it just didn’t seem to fit in. Hemlock fitted right in with this crows. Better with puppets than actual people he supposed. With a sweeping arm motion to the centre where a podium stood, he bounced over towards its central position.
“Come child!” he sung.  Robin did as he bid and walked over to the podium. Just behind Hemlock’s outstretched arms he could see something sparkling, glinting in the sunlight that fell only to the centre.
“This here my boy is a puppet animater!” he cried out, lifting from the podium a marvellous golden gun with such intricate inlays and startling silver bips and bops on its barrel and handle that it held Robin gobsmacked. His mouth lay open and eyes glued to the animator. “What does it do, you cry?’ joked Hemlock. Robin was still so clearly taken by its mystery that he was yet to say a word. “Why it does anything and everything of course! It can turn things to dust or bring to life your thoughts. It cannot do harm to anything living though, unless of course that living thing was only brought around by its touch. “ He was shouting exorbitantly now, clearly enjoying the attention his invention was receiving. He folded the animator between his hands skilfully. Robin was not comfortable with the way he flipped it around, something with that kind of power deserved to be treated with a little more caution he thought.
“Most important of all, however,” said Hemlock in a far quieter and inquisitive tone. ‘It can animate the puppets you see around you. Indeed it brings to life anything of wood with a face carved upon it.”
Robin stared in awe before bursting into great fits of laughter. Hemlock looked a little downtrodden. The gun dangled from the tips of his left hand with its barrel pointed to the ground. Robin clearly was not buying his explanation.

**
In front of May lay a boy. Ten years old, he should be outside playing she thought. All manner of wires and tubes were stuck to his body beneath white hospital sheets. His face was gaunt and from the bottom of his blanket two little bare feet stuck out.
“His heartbeat’s been a bit out of the ordinary today” said a nurse as she checked and recorded the boy’s vitals. FATHOM, printed in bold capital letters along the spine, marked the binder she used as the boys.
“I’ll be back in a few hours to check again” she said. With a polite smile and a nod, she left the room, wheeling out with her the squeaky hospital gear used to check the patients. May moved closer and stroked the boy’s hair. She hoped beyond hope that he might react to her touch, give any indication that beneath those closed eyelids the little boy she once new still lived. Outside the room she could hear her husband Richard arguing with the long haired surgeon. Normally she didn’t like doctors or surgeons, but this one was nice enough. He had a funny name that she liked. Stomping feet told her that the conversation had ended abruptly. Confirmation arrived as Richard entered the room with a scowl on his face. She watched longingly as the sandy-blonde hair of the surgeon whipped around the corner
“Its time to let go, May,” he said. “The surgeon says he can’t do anything without your word, but the boy is brain dead. Let it end now, let me have some closure.”
Once more the hospital doors to the room opened. With swift confident strides, two fully outfitted men of the law walked into the room. Each one nodded with their greetings.
“Nothing from the boy?” came one of the men’s soft yet stern voices. They judged from Mays face and Richards awkward glance to the side that there would be nothing new to report.
“The doctor was here again yesterday. Tests were inconclusive but they showed next to no brain activity,’ Richard replied.
The officer nodded grimly, removing his hat and pressing it to his chest.
“I’m sorry, we’ll leave you to him then.” The officers made a turn for the door to leave.
“Wait…” said a very soft whimper from the bedside chair. May lifted her head from her son and looked at the officers. They turned again, one grimaced at the pain he could read in the grieving mothers eyes.
“Whoever did this” she said, voice shaking. “You get them, alright? Get the monster who did this to my little Michael.” She looked down again, not bothering to wipe away the tears as they began flowing once more. Both officers dipped their head this time before exiting the room.  They had been briefed in the past about not making promises they could not keep.
Richard wandered across to the hospitals window to where May’s back would be turned to him. She could not see as his body started shaking. Breathing ragged, the ping of guilt struck him once more His eyes looked out across the city of San Francisco coming to a rest on the golden gate bridge. A single tear rolled down his left cheek as his thoughts drifted of into darkness.

**
“Don’t laugh, it’s all true! Every word, I swear it to you!’ cried Hemlock indignantly. The introduction to his puppet animator clearly wasn’t going as he’d expected.
“So, I’m suppose to believe you then? Believe that a nutty Puppet man from a travelling fair can bring his puppets to life?” Robin dissolved into fits of giggles once more. “I wasn’t born yesterday you know. You’d have a better chance at convincing a sleeping person than me,” he boasted, chest puffed out in pride.
“Oh, but I already have,” said Hemlock, a wicked smile curling across his face. “Take it. With it you can bring forth almost anything you want. Maybe even a hero of yours. Superman perhaps? I know I have a puppet of him somewhere. That’s the catch though: the animator will only bring to you a living person. That’s why you need to use a puppet of the thing you want. The rest belong to me.”
Not at all convinced, Robin swiped the silly animator from Hemlock. I’ll humour him a little he thought. What a nutcase.
“Ok so how about this one then?” He aimed the gun at the ordinary puppet in the corner that he’d seen before. Just before pulling the trigger, he decided to walk a little closer. In the case that something did happen, he wanted to make sure he saw it. Finger on the ornate trigger, he fired.
There was no bang from this gun, just a whoosh and a little whisp of silver-white smoke.
“See? Nothing!” laughed Robin. ‘I have to say though, it truly is a very pretty piece of crafting.” He turned to look at Hemlock but was astonished to find him nowhere within his sight.
“You shouldn’t have done that, little boy” came a wicked growl from behind him. Robin froze solid, his toes curled and dug deep into the soft earth below him. Every muscle seemed to seize up as the icy cold words left the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. Afraid to look, he shut his eyes. Robin couldn’t see it, but there was no doubt in his mind about whom the cold wooden hand belonged too as it pressed against his back.

“Why not give us the animator, little boy,” it said in its icy cold wooden voice “Let me show you the rest of this rag-tag fairs guests. It is the Vie fair after all.”
Ever so slowly Robin began to twist around. He didn’t have a chance to look as the moment he was facing the thing that had spoken it had its cold hard hands on his face trying to pry apart his eyelids. He let out a great cry and leapt back. Eyes open now, he saw the puppet from before. It was taller than he and its head lolled to the side with each step forward that it took. Each step taken was accompanied by the sound of two hollowed sticks being struck together. Horror-struck, Robin was caught totally off guard as the puppet dropped to its knees to retrieve the animator. He hadn’t noticed before but as he leapt around the animator had slipped its way out through his fingers. Now with it in hand, the puppet righted itself and looked across with its carved button-hole eye.  They reflected as none other than fear itself in the innocent blue eyes belonging to Robin. With what could only have been a cold wooden grin, the puppet turned from Robin and began firing at each of its crafty wooden peers. Humans, animals and monsters – they all walked with the same awkward stutter as the rest creaked and groaned to life. Each was more frightening in life than it had been in the wood.
“Hemlock!” cried Robin, finding his voice at last. “Hemlock I was wrong to laugh! You were right! Please these things are frightening me, where are you? Please, just make them stop!”
Robin’s feet worked far slower than his mind as they ran towards the exit. His better judgment told him this must be a trick but his heart yelled for him to put at least a thousand fathoms between he and the puppets.
“I’m sorry for calling you a nutty Puppet man!” he yelled desperately. To his dismay once more, he discovered that the curtained entrance he had used to enter alongside Hemlock was gone. The Wooden puppets followed him with their eyes as he searched. His legs quivered as the corner of his eyes saw them making an advance at last, their heads lolling back and forth, side to side as they trudged their way towards him. With each step he felt the world getting colder. Dropping to his knees in exhaustion, he bellowed to the Pavilions ceiling for help until his lungs were empty and sore.
“Tell me what you see, little boy’” grunted the ordinary puppet, animator still in hand. Robin flinched as he thought of the Puppet turning him to dust. He wiped the thought from his mind and tried to imagine the puppets gone.
“I see nothing,” he whimpered. I see nothing
As he spoke, the eyes and mouth of the Ordinary puppet twisted and writhed their way to the centre of its pearly white head and disappeared. Faceless, it still taunted him with an icy cold voice.

“Welcome to our fair, to the fair, to the fair.” It chanted. The other puppets joined in with the chant as they lulled closer and closer to Robin. While circling him he could make out some of the various faces before him: there was a roaring lion and a zebra-coloured man with fins for ears; there were people smirking and there were people crying. One even seemed to have his hands permanently glued to his skull as if in perpetual fear. Through the tight circle of puppets, the faceless one squeezed a way to the front and dipped up and down as if it was being controlled from above with a string. Coming to a stop, it began to speak once more.
‘So you chose me’ came the chilling voice. ‘You chose me – the plainest Puppet in the Pavilion. People before you have chosen all manner of things to call forward, but you chose me. Tell me little boy, why did you choose me? When the animator struck I could have become anything. But you left me plain. What about your father, little boy. You told me once that he was your hero. Why not now, is he not still your hero?’
“All my heroes are dead” sobbed Robin with his eyes buried in his hands. “All my heroes are dead…”
Horrible images flashed through Robins mind as the cold emanating from the puppets enveloped him. He saw people screaming and he saw fire. He saw his mother smiling kindly at him and his father standing beside her before disappearing in a silver-white wisp of smoke. Then there was a shriek and fists flew at him inside his mind, every strike of the fist sent a crippling wave of pain down his spine. He saw a boy far smaller than he, lying alone in a bed. His face was gaunt and his bare feet stuck out from under the blankets. He wanted to help the boy but something held him back. With his arms stretched ahead of him, the dream faded to black.

**
“It’s the right thing to do,” said Richard coolly through his own tears. “May, Its been over thirteen months now. If there was any other way, any at all, we would have done it by now.  Our Michael was always a little helper in life. Let him help another one last time. Let him have his peace.”
May nodded, her eyes were once again puffy from crying. Three days earlier the state had let them know they were closing the case. All leads had been exhausted and the Fathom’s simply didn’t have the kind of money to make an appeal or hire a private investigator.  The little boy was visible through the window on his door, a mechanical ventilator strapped to his face beating like a heart as it kept him alive. The long months in bed had left his body shrunken and frail. May knew Richard had been right before today. How many children could have been saved she wondered if they had made the call earlier. How much would others have to lose before she could come to terms with her own loss. Richard had yelled again and again at her that there was no future for their boy. His spine was shattered and there was no telling how severe the brain damage could be. It was time to let go.
She buried her head into her husbands shoulder and began sobbing once more.
”Oh really” said Richard half frowning and smiling at the same time. “It will be better, not like my fathers. We won’t be sending him to the fair; it will be peaceful. He’s probably up their already looking down on us and wondering why we can’t all get a hurry on.”
The effort to comfort her did nothing. May cried harder than she had the day Michael had been found all bruised, bloody and broken. Time to let go.

**
“Robin” came a familiar sing-song voice. “Robin you can open your eyes now” it said, drawing out the last word in the same low bumbling tone.
As he came to, Robin’s eyes lurched open and found the lunatic of a Puppet master looking down on him.
“What are you doing on the floor,” Hemlock scowled. “I drew a line under you having bare feet before but I must let you know, that ground is private property while I’m here, not a bed!”
Robin relaxed. Thankfully he could see that the puppets had returned to their places among the Pavilions wall. The faceless one was nowhere to be seen.
‘What on Earth just happened?’’ said Robin as climbed back to his feet and flexed his “How did you get rid of them? I thought I was a goner for sure! I almost say myself turning to dust.”
Hemlock smiled. “Not today my dear fellow! You forget that the animator is unable to hurt any other than that which it made.” Hemlock threw back his head and let out a brief throaty chuckle.
“No Indeed. Though I did chase them all away after you lost your feet. I must say my man, despite your scepticism, you chose remarkably better than any that’s come before you.”
Robin wasn’t quite sure what that meant. Surely no one had been through something like that without the whole world being told. He felt there would have been at least a news report warning people about the fair. No, this must be another of the puppet master’s game.  Quire suddenly, Hemlock reached and touched the left side of Robins face.
“Only one side is wet,” he observed. You were crying, what happened to all the tears?”
Robin brushed his face with a sleeve. He was more than embarrassed that Hemlock had known he was sobbing.
“I get blocked eye ducts,” he sniffed. “Sometimes I only cry out of one of my eyes, the right one always gets itchy and dry when it happens. Same as my da’.”
Hemlock stared rather rudely, his face alive with intrigue. Robin was about to say something when the boy in the bed floated back into his mind and a sudden sense of urgency hit him.
“Hemlock” cried Robin. “When the puppets had me cornered, I saw a boy. He was in a bed covered in all different wires and tubes. He was trying to tell me something but then I was attacked, something held me back… I think someone is trying to hurt him.” He tried not to sound crazy, but then again, this was the puppet master he was talking to.
“Well then my little man!” cried Hemlock. ‘”We are just going to have to go help him, no? Where was this boy, did you say? Did you see? Perhaps a walk around the fair again might help to jog your memory. And do not worry; there won’t be any surprise puppet animators or bare-foot-bed-head blasters this time, just you and the fair.”
The animator was bad enough; Robin loathed thinking of whatever the heck that other thing Hemlock mentioned could be like. He ruffled his wispy hair with both hands.
“I suppose that could be a good idea,” said Robin. “But this time...” he paused apprehensively. “This time can you show me where all the other guests are? I hate to think it’s just the puppets and me. That’s what they were telling me at least… That they were the only guests.”
Hemlock’s smile faded. Robin suddenly felt very bad for bringing it up. Perhaps, he thought, he might be poor Hemlocks only guest.
“Yes… that would be alright I think” said Hemlock, his voice missing the usually uppity sing-song jive that Robin had become accustom too.
“Just step outside the Pavilion and you will see them I guess”.
Robin was about to scold Hemlock for not having an exit to the pavilion when he realised the curtained door he had entered through was once again behind him. Like the entire fair, it seemed to have been hiding in plain sight. Robin didn’t really care how the door got there, he just wanted out.
Stepping towards the curtained door he felt his two ears prick up in unison. From behind came a few very relieving noises: there was laughing and chit-chat, children were screaming with delight as soft voices called them back to their sides. He drew back the curtains and smiled. Hemlock hadn’t lied, he could indeed see the guests and much to his delight they weren’t all puppets. He paused for a moment, thinking on wether his parents might be amongst all the people. Hemlock trailed behind by a few paces, casually observing Robin as he walked two and from the crowds.
Things gradually returned to normal for Robin. He browsed the stands and played the fair games – the boy in the bed had been pushed to the back of his mind for a little while by the grandeur of the event. Perhaps it was just a dream, and since when was it his business anyway. Robin didn’t even know who or where the boy was. Hemlock probably just went along with it to preserve the mystery of his pavilion adventure. Time once more flew by seamlessly as he lost himself amongst the fair.
In time, Robin wondered to the edge of the fair. There he noticed a small empty plot, the car park. Not a giant industrial one with at least 5 levels mind you, this was just an ordinary old plot used to gain access to the park hosting the Fair. It was curious, Robin thought, to have so many people about yet have the entire car park empty. Hemlock caught up and leaned against the parks fence by his side.
“What have you found my man?’ he started.
“Its nothing” said Robin in a tired voice. “Just wondering where all the cars are, that’s all. There are so many empty parks about yet the entire fair is full... Say Hemlock, where did all those people come from? Why couldn’t I see them before.”
Hemlock didn’t respond right away, he gave Robin another one of those smiles and pointed forward.
“Look now,” he said pointing towards the road. “There’s a car driving in as we speak. That a satisfactory enough response for you? I must say: you always do seem to be questioning me and my poor fair.” He finished speaking with a very light smile.
And once again, Hemlock had not been lying. A rusty old blue car was pulling up into the plot at the exact spot he had been pointing. As it came to a stop, an old man with wispy white hair stepped out of the car. He walked towards the pair. Robin was alarmed to see that the man had striking blue eyes – very similar to his. He thought for a moment that he might have seen him before, in a picture maybe.
“Bin’ years since I was at a fair like this” said the old man, spreading his arms wide out in the air. He nodded curtly and Hemlock who returned the gesture, sent a quick wink in Robin’s direction, and then walked into the fair.
“Did you know that man?” asked Robin with his eyebrows raised.
“Not a clue” responded Hemlock with a chuckle. He reached out and ruffled Robin’s messy blonde hair.

**
May sat by Michael stroking his forehead once more. She had wept for so long that she was all out of tears. She wondered if this was to be her last night with her son, a shiver went down her spine. After signing the papers away, Richard had told May he was off to find them some coffee from the hospitals ground floor café. May prayed that they had made the right decision. It was very early on the morning – still dark in fact – the city was a site with all its lights on. She wondered how anyone could get a wink of sleep in here with so much light, let alone stay asleep for thirteen months. Only her son she smiled.
Somewhere in the Hospitals car park, the engine of a rusty old blue car whirled into life. Richard looked up at the hospital briefly as he drove out of the parking complex one last time. His eyes once again followed the golden gate bridge as he wove around through the dense morning traffic of the city. He managed to get every green light on his way to the bridge. He liked it that way, none of the other drivers would have been able to see his tears.

**
Robin was exhausted. He walked alongside Hemlock through the fair in the general direction of the pavilion. Every now and then he saw the faceless puppet poke around the corner of a stand. He wanted to ask Hemlock how he had actually gotten them all to move earlier but decided they must have just been a bit of fancy clockwork. As if knowing what he was thinking, or inspired by the genius of his own inventions, Hemlock himself brought up the subject.
“I see you’ve noticed our little friend,” he started. “That poor plain puppet has been following us ever since the old man walked past. I truly do feel sorry for the battered piece of driftwood. Was that really the best thing you could think of when you touched him with the animator?”
“What do you mean,” said Robin. “I thought that was all just a trick. You know, wheel and cogs, wires and plaster.”
Hemlock stopped so abruptly he almost fell over himself.
“WHEELS AND COGS, WIRES AND PLASTER?” he bellowed, tears of pain shooting from his eyes as they nearly popped out the front of his head. Robin stepped back laughing as he dodged the purple top hat tumbling from the top of Hemlocks main of sandy-blonde hair.
“Ok, ok. Keep your secrets then. I only meant that I didn’t do anything to that puppet. That was just your lazy craftsmanship.”
The twinkle of Hemlocks hazel eyes returned as he re-established the top hats position on his head.
“Oh my, my, my,” he whistled. “Dear Robin, you had everything to do with it.”
“I said don’t use that name! I don’t like it” scowled Robin. Hemlock simply smiled and walked on forward.
The rest of the walk was in relative silence. Robin decided that it would be one last look at the pavilion and then he would say his goodbyes to Hemlock until the next time the fair was in town. His parents hadn’t come after all. He supposed they would be wondering where he had been and why he was out so late. Walking around the fair seemed to be timeless yet the setting sun told him he’d been nearly been there all day. He knew his father would probably scold him for using all his money on games.
Robin was slow to realise that throughout the entire day he was yet to spend even a cent of his money. A quick check of his back pocket probably would have told him that he didn’t have his wallet on him. All he seemed to think about now was home and bed. It wasn’t long however before more deserving matters attracted his attention.
Hemlock didn’t even flinch as the first guest fell. He didn’t even look at Robin when he gasped in shock. He simply grabbed him by the arm and pulled him forward. One by one they all went down. They would be talking to another when suddenly there eyes would go wide and they’d drop to the floor like a stone. Robin was shocked to discover no one would rush to their aid as each one fell> Hemlock was preventing him from running to them yet no one else seemed to care. It wasn’t long until only he and Hemlock were the last ones standing. Robin covered his eyes as Hemlock pulled him ever closer to the Pavilion, tripping over bodies as he followed blindly. For the first time in his life he wished he had been wearing his shoes.
And there to his astonishment he saw a man waiting. It was the old man from before. The old man with the blue eyes and the blue car. At least he hadn’t fallen like all the others. When they got close enough, he gave another friendly wink to Robin.
‘Hello Charles’ said the Puppet Master as he stopped in front of the man. Once again the man nodded curtly as one would do to a superior.
“I know you recognise this fellow Robin. He’s just like one of those words you have on the tip of your tongue, the more you try to think of it the more extravagantly irritated you become. Let me give you a clue: he has the same hair as you. Well at least some of it. Its all wispy and grey now but once it was very similar’.
Robin smiled briefly. The old mans hair did actually stick up at the sides just like his did every morning. And he knew the man’s car as well. His father locked a very similar one away many years ago just after he said he was off to the Fair…
He looked up into the old man’s face again and saw the very same withered old blue eyes looking back at him. He remembered the man now. It hadn’t been his father that day he last saw the blue car. And it wasn’t just his hair that Hemlock saw to be similar. A single tear rolled down the left side of the old mans face.
‘Grandfather…’ Whispered Robin under his breath. The man simply beamed. Robin felt one of his cheeks become very, very wet as the man began to fade out of existence, as did the many bodies of the guests around him. Soon he was left all alone with only Hemlock and the Pavilion for company. The rest of the fair seemed to fade into blue sky as well. Blue sky that stretched out further than the eye could see, fur beyond the limits of what our minds might understand
“So you know what the Vie-Fair is now, young Robin” Said Hemlock with a relieved yet pained smile. “It is all your making. It even has your name in it. You gave that one to me before I even know you were a Robin and not a Michael. The Vie-Fathom Fair. Your life fair.”
Robin wiped away the tears again. He remembered the fists and he remembered the pain. He remembered falling as his spine splintered away beneath him. That withered boy in the bed... He closed his eyes and unleashed the lasts remnants of his emotion for all to see. For Hemlock to see. He didn’t care about who saw him crying anymore.
He remembered once more the pain of losing his heroes one by one. It was only now that he realised his Grandfather was the first to go. None were left after today he realised. The latest hero to die was the one that pained him the most.
 	“How do I get out of here,” he muttered to Hemlock. “How can I make all this end, make all the pain stop and have all the bad in my world go back.” He opened his eyes and looked at Hemlock. A very grievous look was extended across his face.
“I just want things to go back to the way they were. This fair… it’s all in my head isn’t it. And don’t you lie to me Hemlock… I’m just going to fade away and die like the rest of those guests aren’t I.”
“Its always the best of them that leave us early, my little man,” he said. “We cannot stay for ever and really that’s that. I won’t lie to you though for I cannot possibly answer you that question without a lie. Don’t despair for how it is now, be happy that it happened at all.”
Robin wiped his left cheek again.
“Then why do you hold me here. I truly don’t want to be here or there”
Hemlock smiled.
“You are the last hero my man, or you will be to someone else one day that is. This might all be in your head but you are not the first to visit me or my Fair. Though I must say, each time it isn’t always the same. Each of those guests has been where you stand right now. Each one has visited my Pavilion and each one has failed. Only you were given a chance for you chose right. You chose without even knowing what you wanted most dearly. You chose the ordinary – the clean slate that would take you away from all the madness that brought you here. And that is indeed why I say that our friend, the faceless puppet is entirely of your doing. When you pointed that animator, you got a new hero. You got a plain old puppet with no face” Hemlock smiled. “He is your clean canvas, your new start. Your new Hero.”
Robin was utterly resigned. He no longer wanted the puppet or the new start; he was just ready to go. Ready to join his grandfather and his father before him. Content for it all to end now.
From out of the blue expanse appeared the faceless puppet, his head lolling from side to side as he walked towards them. In his hands he held something.
“There is your chance my dear Robin.” Said Hemlock. “Dust or life. I’m not sure when I will see you again so I tip my hat to you in goodbyes. You truly have been one of my favourites.”
The faceless puppet stopped ahead of them. Robin could see that within his wooden hands he held the Animator. It was not as beautiful as it had once been to Robin but nonetheless it was the same one from before. He took the animator from the puppet and it froze, returning to nothing but wood once more
With only one teary eye, he turned to Hemlock.
“I guess this is goodbye then,” he stuttered. “Please be nice when you see him.  He was once one of my heroes too, remember.”
Hemlock smiled politely.
“Of course Robin. Now go on, be on your way. Shoo!”
Turning back to the faceless Puppet, Robin closed his palms and held the animator close his chest. Ever so carefully he pulled down on the trigger. As it fired, the world around him faded to black with a light whoosh and a puff of silver-white smoke.