The rabbits voice bothered me right away, but I couldn't figure out immediately why. After about two minutes, it hit me: he sounds exactly like Salad Fingers.
Then there's the monkey. Notice how none of the other puppets have clearly visible sewing. The monkeys sewing, however, is clearly visible on the face. What's more, little bits of skin seem to extend past his face. I can only conclude that he is in fact wearing the skin of another monkey sewn onto his face.
So we have a human in a (pet?) store with Salad Hare teaching morality while the monkey, who probably eats the other monkeys before taking their faces, does whatever he wants. The whole thing just sounds a little bit Candle Cove to me. I can't help but think the human is like their prisoner.
Perhaps the pet store is really just a front and funding scam in order to acquire new monkeys legally for Cannibal-Monkey to devour and wear. What, then, do we find under the fake monkey face? How was the simple human to know, all those many years ago, that the sinewy curiosity his mother called a monster would so thoroughly destroy his life?
Unknowingly, he had entered a pact with a creature not fit for this world. The miserable days now pass as a grey blur occasionally interrupted by the sounds of monkeys desperately fighting for their lives as their organs are torn directly out of their bodies. He knows it has been too long and the horrors too many for any hope of a normal life. All he can do now is spare another this cage of terror by bearing it as he has for decades and likely will until his death. What is a human lifetime to this creature? Does time have the same value for it as for him? More? Less?
When the current face rots and tears, a new monkey must go and a new face must be attached with thread and needle. Nothing too permanent. As a child, it had seemed a game. Later in life, the act of sewing dead flesh onto skull and muscle filled him with dread. Now, nothing is left of the apprehension of saner times. It is simply the way of things.
Whenever a human does pass through the shop, it brightens Pipkins' day just a bit. If he has a pleasant conversation and the monkey doesn't bother him all day, he may even go to bed a happy man. This is a mistake quickly rectified by the Hare. In the night, Mr. Pipkins will awaken and see Hartley-Salad-Fingers-Hare above his bed with a knife; eyes burning with rage and a thundering voice:
"Did you have a nice day today? It seemed like you were smiling for a moment there. You know I HATE IT WHEN YOU SMILE!"
Soaked in sweat, Pipkins awakens unharmed, but knowing full well that he'll find a bloody knife on his nightstand. He looks up at the disembodied head of Marjorie from three blocks down and wipes the trickling blood from his face. The rabbit is like a warden; appearing only when the bars of the prison become less visible to remind Pipkins of his place. The knife is a reminder that he is, in a way, to blame for the murder.
He stumbles downstairs and finds the monkey playing with bits of bone. His face is torn and the grinning beast underneath becomes half visible. As if waiting for this cue, it rips the rest of its fake face off in one go and says:"I love the ones who put up a fight. They're so much tastier. Get the needle and thread, will you? Need a new face." Pipkins doesn't argue anymore. He heads into storage to get his tools.
He's considered it, ofcourse. Sewing on a new face for himself. Marjories is fresh right now, but he knows he couldn't go through with it. Removing the face would require a steadier hand and stronger stomach than he can manage. Still, maybe it would help. It wouldn't fool anybody, but the monkey might like him more and be less malicious. Or maybe the world would simply look less horrible through somebody elses eyes.
Lost in thought, he doesn't notice the monkey climbing onto his shoulder and whispering into his ear:"Get the slightly darker thread. This one got a bit sssssinged before removal." Thread in one hand, he grabs the needle with the other and checks the tip against the light. Suddenly, a new thought hits him:"Perhaps the world would look a bit brighter if I had beady, little monkey eyes."
.........
It used to be a pet shop quite some time ago. Now they only sell plush monkeys. The old man lost his eyes and couldn't look after the animals anymore, you see. The puppets look a bit odd, but the townsfolk felt bad for Mr. Pipkins and started buying them. Pretty soon, every house had one and tourists started assuming it was a local tradition, which increased their popularity greatly. He still has that one monkey he always had and the puppets seem to be modeled after him. Sometimes people will even see the monkey guide his hand while sewing. "It must have taken a lot of training to get him to do that," they say. "Indeed it did," thinks the monkey "but it was worth it."
As for the Hare? Nobody's seen him for a long time. And that, dear children, is called a pun. Good night.
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