I DO NOT OWN GOOSEBUMPS! R.L STINE DOES!
She had laughed at the sheer sillyness of the midget-doll with it's orange tuft swaying in the wind. Slappy scoffed as he sprawled out on his current slave's bed; that memory of the girl he was thinking of all but gone. She had been his first slave...and his only real friend.
"What do you intend to do now that you have what you wanted?" She'd asked him nonchalantly with that amused smile mismatching her tired eyes.
"I-I will...you know...I really don't know." Slappy admitted; realizing he really didn't know what was left for him to do.
He spent the rest of the night telling her of his life previous before becoming the little doll he was. She admitted that she would've found him appealing as a man...that made Slappy realize something new that he wanted. However, she refused him thrice.
Finally, after a year of trying, he finally set her free. He told her that he would try again when he was a man and not a doll.
Slappy sighed sadly as he took out a tiny ripped off bit of a newspaper article folded neatly under his knee-socks. The article was infact an obituary. The young girl had died sometime in the early 1920's. The picture of the obituary was the one that had her holding him in her lap before she realized that he was a living-being. The memory of taking the picture had been a fond one to him. The reminder of her death was not.
The dummy had said good riddance to his attachment to the human race. However, it was unkown to many, he visited her on her dying day every year and talked to her tombstone. In life, he had been all she had.
He could almost feel her tired eyes on him whenever he went.
That's probably why he kept visiting yearly.
He hated all humans after her murder...she'd been brutally...he didn't want to think about that...and then shot and he'd been powerless to stop it because he had not been there. If only he hadn't freed her...he could've...but no...those filthy humans took away the one person he ever looked forward to. Sure, he tried to feign interest in a few girls that looked like her...but it just never worked. He ended up hating them because they weren't her.
Slappy tucked the obituary back into his sock. It had been the source of his finding out about his only friend's brutal death. He only regretted that none of her murderers were alive still so he could kill them himself.
Amy, a previous and short-lived slave of his, had grown up. He didn't know it but his first slave's blood ran through her veins. Through a series of spells, Slappy had finally become a man...and it was odd that he should run into the now college-bound Amy all these years later in a downtown cafe.
"What will you do now that you are what you wanted to be?" She asked him with an amused smile...and tired eyes.