The Beginning
He missed the time of back when he was rather anonymous in this town. Not because he missed the peace and quiet that came with it, though in truth he kinda did just a bit. Nor because he missed the strange glances and the whispers of the "creepy Mr. Shivers", though he did get a kick out of freaking out the adults here the way he used to with the young readers of his books. No, the thing he missed most about that time was something that was here then but wasn't here now. This house, which was rather quiet before, now was too quiet. While it was sparsely furnished before, now it seemed much too empty, much like his life.
In a way, the bookshelf he was staring at now was a reflection of his life. A week ago, it was filled with hard-bound books. To an outside observer they would have appeared to be original manuscripts of stories from the Goosebumps series, each one mysteriously sealed by a locked metal clasp. However, until a week ago only he, the one who wrote those books, and his daughter Hannah knew what they really were: prisons. Each one held the dangerous creatures he'd wrote about in that book, keeping it (or them, in some cases) from escaping into the real world and hurting countless people in their unrestrained rampage.
That was a week ago, however, back before a dumb kid, whom his daughter had taken a fancy to, and the kid's even more brain-dead friend broke into his home and unlocked one of those books. Now all of them are gone, stolen by his most malevolent creation of all: Slappy, the living and homicidal ventriloquist dummy. He stole them from his home, released the monsters within, then he burned them all to prevent them from being confined ever again. In their place, looking rather lonely on those shelves, was a single book. One story he'd written (with a little help from the kid who started this whole mess) to catch them all once again. Now this one book contains every single creature he ever wrote into dangerous life locked away in its pages. All of them, including the only one he would do almost anything to set free once again: his beloved daughter Hannah.
Whereas before he avoided his locked books like the plague, he now felt a terrible temptation to unlock and open this single book. Even though she had been the creation of his vivid imagination, much like Slappy and his dangerous kin, Hannah had been real enough to him. Not only did he miss her terribly, but also he feared what torments Slappy and the others might be cooking up for her in in revenge for his locking them all up in there together. The only problem with that was that if he gave into that temptation, if he opened that book and let Hannah out, then Slappy and his friends would be released as well, and they would surely turn on him to ensure that he could never lock them up again.
If it were just him at risk then he would have taken that trade: his life for Hannah's. However, he couldn't trust Slappy or the others to not turn on Hannah immediately afterwards. And even if they did leave her alone, they would still go and decimate the town once again, hurting and/or killing everyone including that kid Zach (and Hannah wouldn't think kindly of him for that.)
Looking at the lone book on that shelf, imagining what was happening to his daughter inside it, what Slappy and the other similarly trapped creations of his were doing to her while he was unable to do much to prevent it, was pure torture in and of itself, and yet he felt himself unable to look away and leave his Hannah to whatever fate's befalling her.
He sighed and glanced over at his typewriter, sitting on the nearby table. The school had been closed since the incident, giving them some time to put into place some repairs to the damages caused to it by his monsters. Just thinking of that reminded him of the fact that the one who was responsible for what happened to his daughter, as well to the town in general, was in fact him. He was the one that wrote the monsters into existence. He left the key to unlock the books out in the open under a glass display case, practically begging for someone to use it. He was the one who lied to the officers who investigated the report that kid Zach had filed about his argument with Hannah, making the kid look like a lying punk and prompting him to investigate whether or not Hannah was okay on his own, leading to this mess coming to come to pass in the first place. He was the one who was really responsible, not Zach. It was for that reason that he chose to accept the school's rather surprising offer for him to fill in for the English teacher while he recovered from wounds inflicted by a giant praying mantis (again, his fault). It was the least he could do to atone for the troubles he inflicted upon these people, to assuage himself a bit of his guilt over what Hannah was going through now because of him. At least this would give him the opportunity to return his typewriter to the display case at the school, never to be used ever again.
Why did he have to go and create so many stories containing such viscous and dangerous monsters? Why did he keep those stories up on a bookshelf that was open for anyone to get to, rather than in a secure vault that nobody could get into (and nothing could get out of.) Worst of all, why did he feature his worst creations in multiple stories, giving them even more possible places to escape from...?
His train of thought sputtered and slowed as the seed of a thought took root in his mind and began to grow and bloom. It was a crazy idea, and dangerous to boot, but he couldn't shake it even if he wanted to. "Multiple stories," he muttered thoughtfully to himself as he stroked his chin and looked back and forth between the book and his typewriter, "Is it possible?" Could he create a new story that would allow his daughter, and only his daughter, to escape back into the real world? Of course he'd have to play by the rules of the magic governing these tomes. That means Hannah would likely have to live through what terrifying story he'd write for her in before she could escape from it. Also, since she had been written as believing that she was real, only recently discovering otherwise, he figured that Hannah wouldn't care for him to suddenly start pulling her strings now, to rob her of her free will by writing a story she'd have to follow to the letter. That posed quite the conundrum until he remembered an interesting format that he wrote a few stories in some time ago, back when interactivity in media was a big thing, and when books actually tried to compete with video games for the attentions of the youth.
Panting feverishly as he stuffed a stack of papers into his slinged arm, he rushed over to his typewriter and plopped down into the seat before it. Then he set the stack beside it, inserting the top most sheet inside the carriage, and adjusted himself so he could type with his one good hand before he began, "Chapter One. The night was dark and the air was crisp when Hannah came to. The last thing she remembered was telling Zach that it was okay, that he could let her go. Then she saw his grief stricken face fall far away as she was sucked into the book along with the rest of her father's creations. Of course she didn't know what to expect to see when she awoke: a featureless white void? A recreation of the woods surrounding the school where they made the last stand against Slappy and his forces? Or perhaps nothing at all, just the sensation that she couldn't move or speak, like a fly trapped in amber. Well, she certainly seemed to be in some woods all right, but she didn't recognize this area at all. That lack of recognition made this place all the more terrifying. Of course it didn't help knowing that somewhere, hidden in the shadows of the trees around her, lurked her father's other creations, all of whom would love nothing more than to get their revenge on her dad through her."
As Hanna looked around and tried to get her bearings, she also tried to see if any of the monsters that got also pulled in here with her were nearby, possibly heading her way. Thankfully, however, she seemed to be alone. Of course she knew full well that they were around here somewhere, as they all got pulled into the same book, but at least for the moment she seemed to have this part of the forest to herself.
Monsters, Hanna thought to herself, Technically I'm a monster too. Just a product of Dad's creative mind, just like them. Hanna felt a depression settle over her, threatening to root her in place until she shook her head vigorously as she amended, Except I would never try to hurt Dad! Even when I was the maddest I've even been at him, and we did have our share of fights, I would never, could never do to him the kind of things Slappy and his friends did, what they tried to do. Slappy has no right to call him "Dad"! He doesn't love Dad the way I do, wouldn't make the sacrifices I made. They're merely his creations, I'm the one who's truly his daughter.
Hanna began to wonder if these woods truly were the woods near their home and the school, that perhaps she simply didn't recognize them. After all, this world was created by her father, and the places in his stories were almost always scarier than such places in the real world could possibly be. It could be that those creative alterations simply made them look different enough that she didn't recognize where she was. That knowledge didn't make her pounding heart slow any, however.
Hanna looked up towards the skies to see if she could recognize the stars from anywhere she had been in their many moves. However, she found to her regret that the sky was heavily overcast. Of course it would be. This is Dad's book after all, Hanna berated herself, A bright, star-lit sky doesn't make for as much of a spooky atmosphere.
Hanna realized that that even if she did happen to see the stars overhead, it wasn't like she could use them to find her way anywhere anyway. Of all the things that that she'd learned from her dad in their homeschooling sessions, and she'd learned a lot, astronavigation wasn't among the things he'd taught her. Yeah, because teaching me to find my way when I'm on my own would bee too much like making me independent, and if I was ever let out of his sight then I might have found out what I really am that much sooner! Hannah thought bitterly to herself, then she shook her head harder and viciously berated herself, Stop it! We've been over this! We can't let this place get to us, to change who we are. Dad loves us, we love him. That's all there is to it. It's not Dad's fault that we're trapped here. We made the decision to let us get pulled into the book to ensure that it can be closed, in order to keep Dad and Zach safe. And I'm sure that Dad could have written a proper ending, one that didn't result in us getting pulled in here with Dad's other creations, if he just had a little more time, if his fingers hadn't gotten broken at the last minute by…
"Well, well, well! What do we have here?" Hannah heard an echoing voice say from somewhere behind her, causing her heartrate to go exponentially faster. She could count on one hand the number of times she'd heard it, but she could still recognize it anywhere, and even though she knew it was just a matter of time before she'd heard it again it was still the last voice she wanted to hear in this place. Hannah spun around to find where Slappy was, but she could see no sign of him as he spoke once more from behind her, even closer this time, saying, "If it isn't Little Red Riding Hannah, all lost and alone in the woods. What brings a sweet little girl like you here, where all of us rejected by Father were banished?" Hannah spun once again, and she thought she'd caught a glimpse of the creepy dummy, but before she could focus on him clearly he was gone again as if he was never there. "I suppose that doesn't really matter," Hanna heard Slappy say from behind her once more, now sounding close enough for her to grab him if only she were facing the right way, "The fact is that you are here, and you can pay for Father's sins in his stead." Hanna turned once again to try spot Slappy, only to once again find no one there. As her heart threatened to beat its way out of her chest Hanna felt someone behind her, prompting her to turn one more time, and she found Slappy practically in her face as he stood on a fallen log as he said, "In the end, that's all that really counts."
As fear rooted her in place, Hannah saw the knife in Slappy's hand, the dull light filtering through the clouds making its edge gleam and shimmer. Then, as the moon found a break in the clouds, the blade of the knife shown much more brightly as Slappy swung it swiftly across her chest. Hanna braced herself for the pain of the knife biting into her flesh. Would it burn, like she'd read in one of the books written by other authors she'd come across on one of the secret excursions she'd made when her restlessness got the better of her? Would the pain be crippling, preventing her from moving or even crying out? Or had she already gone into shock, her body too far gone to register the damage from Slappy's attack?
While she did indeed feel something, however, it wasn't any of the sensations of pain that she'd associated in her mind with such a wound. Furthermore, though she should have been losing strength rather quickly along with the loss of blood, she felt as fine as she ever was. When she got the courage to down, rather than seeing a pool of red spreading out in front of her she saw instead the air before her filled with bright sparkles of light like tiny stars, much like she saw when she was being pulled into Dad's book. Before she could get a better look at where they were coming from, the Moon hid behind the clouds again, and the sparkly lights vanished along with it. Hannah felt her chest for where the wound was, but she couldn't even find the slightest tear in her clothes beyond what had been there back in the real world
Her mind reeling, Hannah looked back at Slappy, who looked as shocked as she felt. Then Slappy's head snapped back as he laughed loudly, and Hanna felt this reaction to be even more terrifying than his attack had been. Still rooted in place, she could do nothing as the dummy's peals of laughter echoed in the forest around her. Then, as his laughter died down, Slappy rubbed his eyes as if clearing tears of mirth from them as he said, "Of course! I should have realized it sooner. That's the only way that you could be here. Forgive me, dear sister, for treating you as an enemy when I should have been welcoming you as my kin."
This should have been good news to Hannah, as it sounded as though Slappy wasn't going to be trying to kill her again. However, hearing this evil puppet calling her "sister" just made her feel unclean, ending any impulse she might have had in playing along. "I'm nothing like you," Hanna practically growled at him.
"Of course you are," Slappy said with that same creepy, wooden smile, "If you were human then you wouldn't be stuck in here with the rest of us, but you're not. You're just another monster like me, like the rest of our friends here: another product of Stine's twisted imagination, created when he needed you and thrown away when you became too big a bother for him."
"No, you're wrong!" Hannah yelled at him as her legs slowly took her backwards away from him one step, then another, and she jabbed her trembling finger towards him as she continued, "Dad loves me! He raised me, took care of me! He didn't lock me in the pages of a book like he did all you monsters!"
Slappy spread his arms wide, and Hannah idly notices that he no longer had the knife on him as he looked around him and said, "Then why are you now in here with us? Wake up and smell the ink and brimstone, kid! Probably the only reason you weren't locked up before now was because you were too strong for him to contain then. He had to brainwash you into sticking around in here voluntarily."
"No! It's your fault!" Hannah bellowed back defiantly, "You stopped him from finishing the book himself! Zach had to write the ending in Dad's stead, and he didn't know how….he couldn't…"
"There, there kid. It's all right," Slappy said assuringly, though it sent chills down her spine rather than making her feel better, "I once thought Dad cared about me too, until the day he sealed my book tight. It may take some time, but I know eventually you'll come to see things my way."
"No," Hanna told him, but her voice had lost its heat, and the tapestry Slappy's words were weaving in her mind robbed her of a more articulate response.
"On the bright side of things, if you are indeed too strong for him to contain, then you could break out of here whenever you want," Slappy told her cheerfully, "You could free all of us as well, and we can taste the sweet air of freedom together, the whole world our oyster."
"No," Hannah said again, but to her horror she could see herself doing exactly as Slappy was describing: releasing the monsters from this book deliberately and voluntarily, of her own free will, and leading them on a conquest of the Earth.
"And once we root him out of whatever rock he's chosen to hide under, you can choose how Dad meets his end," Slappy said as he held out his hand in a show of companionship, "I'll even let you do the deed yourself, and that's not an honor that I would give to just any…"
"No!" Hannah roared as she rushed Slappy, knocking him backwards off his perch with a single blow, "I'll never help you hurt him!" Then she spun and sped the opposite direction into the thicket. As she ran she strained her ears, expecting to hear him racing after her. However she heard no sounds of pursuit, only his voice calling after her, "You can run from me, but not the truth! We're more alike than you know, and in time you will stand by my side!"
Never, Hanna thought once again. However, when moonlight touched her once again through a small break in the clouds, Hannah saw with shock her arm glow brightly and become translucent, and the seeds of doubt entered her heart as she thought, Just what kind of monster am I?