Disclaimer: I don't own Goosebumps. The original characters, on the other hand, do belong to me. I'm just writing this story because my wild imagination demands it!


RISE OF THE LIVING DUMMY

I.

"We're living here?"

Looking out through the window from the passenger's seat of the car, Brigitte Wallace stared up at the dark, rundown looking house looming gloomily in front of her, frowning deeply. Judging by its derelict appearance, she assumed that it had been abandoned for a long time. A very long time.

What on earth had her mother been thinking when she decided to buy the place?

Time and neglect had not treated the Victorian home well, the white painted slats dulled and peeling, windows stained, ivy climbing high along the walls and pillars standing on the far ends of the front porch. Bordering the property itself was an intimidating black iron fence, the grass and weeds caged behind it thick and overgrown. And on the front lawn, alone, stood a large maple tree filled with leaves, littering the property in a sea of autumn colours.

It could have been called beautiful, once upon a time.

"Brigitte, please. Don't do this right now. We just got here." Her mother, Emmaline Wallace, said to her as she stepped out of the car. Unbuckling her seatbelt, Brigitte remained in her seat a moment longer before reluctantly following suit, pulling her grey sweater's hood up when the autumn wind nipped at her brown hair.

"But why this house? I thought we were moving to the one down on Oak Street." At least that house hadn't looked as if it would fall over from the slightest breeze.

Her hazel eyes remained fixed on the house, taking in every inch of it. There was a strange stillness surrounding the property, a dead silence that she was only vaguely aware of. Eventually though, she noticed what appeared to be an attic window, placed perfectly in the centre of the house near the rooftop. It was just a small window, round and easy to overlook, but for whatever reason, it stood out to her like a lit matchstick in the dark.

After a moment, she forcefully tore her gaze away, unable to stare at it any longer. As drawing as the window was, there was also something unsettling about it. Of course, attics in general were notorious for invoking the creative mind with nightmarish thoughts. It was probably just her imagination trying to scare her because she didn't know the house yet. Yes, that was likely the case.

Brigitte was quickly pulled from her musings when she heard her mother answer her.

"There was another potential buyer interested in that house who made an offer that we simply couldn't compete with. This one had no competitors and it was surprisingly cheap."

I can see why, the teenager thought dryly.

Her mother, as if reading her thoughts, quickly spoke up again after opening the trunk of the car.

"I know it's not your typical dream house, Brig, but we can change that. With some fresh paint and a little touching up, this house will look as good as new again!"

But it won't be the same, Brigitte wanted to say. It won't be like our old home, our beautiful home that had once been filled with warmth and long lasting memories. The sixteen year old longed desperately for the past – not the future that now loomed drearily in front of her.

When she didn't reply, she heard her mother sigh. A moment later, she felt a hand gently squeeze her shoulder.

"This change will be good for us, honey. Please just trust me on this."

Hearing the warmth and strain in her words, Brigitte immediately felt guilty. Though her mother was a usually bright and optimistic woman, the teenager knew the move couldn't have been easy for her either. She was leaving behind memories of her own too.

She could not afford to be selfish. She had to learn how to be strong too.

Placing her hand atop her mother's, Brigitte gently squeezed it in turn, smiling apologetically. Her throat felt suspiciously tight then, but she pushed through it, willing herself to speak.

"I know, mom. I know. I'm sorry."

Her mother, looking significantly brighter after a moment, squeezed her shoulder one last time before moving away to grab a box filled with their belongings.

"That's my girl. Now help me carry these boxes into the house. The sooner they're all brought inside, the sooner we can order something for dinner. I'm starving!"

Feeling her stomach rumble in agreement, Brigitte glanced at the attic window one last time before grabbing one of the boxes and hurrying after her mother, who was already climbing the creaking stairs leading to the front door. Reaching her side, her footsteps slowing, she watched her insert an old key into the lock, turning it until a loud click finally resounded all around them.

The door was soon pushed open, revealing to both women nothing but a musty smell and darkness.

Of course, Brigitte thought, withholding a groan.

"How's pizza sound?" her mother asked as they stepped inside, Brigitte's answer muffled as the door slowly shut behind them with a loud and ominous creak.


Author's Note: If you haven't already guessed, this story will be featuring Slappy. He will be based off of the one from the 2015 movie, though the story itself will not take place in that universe. Also, my plan is to try to make him a lot more darker, so here's to hoping that I do okay! It remains to be seen if any romance will be involved in this story either.

Reviews are always welcome!