Glenda's eyelids were heavy, and her body felt... constricted... tight. She managed to open her eyes, trying to search through her memories for the exact reason she was lying on the ground, in the middle of the night, outside. She felt something nudge her ribs, and managed to focus her vision long enough to make out a short pair of legs, presumably leading up to someone standing over her.
"Wake up." A voice growled. Chucky's voice; her dad's voice. Memories started returning to her, of the argument, the discovery in the attic, the journey around town... she had found her father, and had been arguing... then there was the car... she looked down at her hands, and gasped, before hurriedly stifling a scream, as the orange streetlight shone on her skin. Well, it wasn't her skin, not really... her body had been replaced by a two foot tall, pink, shiny plastic facsimile. She waggled her fingers, initial shock giving way to a morbid fascination. She sat up, feeling her plastic joints creak as they were spurred into movement. She gazed around the empty night, the fuzzy halogen lamp-light and the smouldering metal of the car wreck the only light, which played across her plastic cheeks, and glinted on her red, rayon hair. She looked up at her father.
"Welcome to the family, kiddo." A sick, twisted smile stretched across his gnarled face. "And don't say I never did nothing for you."
"D...daddy?" She gasped, struggling to stand with her new body. "Are... is this... are you..."
"Spit it out." He sighed, pulling her to her feet.
"The car hit me." Glenda gasped, her breath shaky as she became more aware of her body, and the weird feeling of having an entirely new, entirely less corporeal physical form. "Why aren't I dead?"
"Because I saved your ass, you worthless punk. And against my better judgement, I might add... don't rush to thank me or nothing." There was a malicious glint in his eye, akin to fluorescent light on cold steel, which matched his barbed snarl of a voice perfectly. She was awestruck.
"Does this mean I can live with you?"
"Well you sure as shit can't go back home." He chuckled, turning and beginning to walk away. "And don't call me "daddy". You're too old for that."
"What did you call your dad?" She asked, but he was already pacing away from her, without so much as a backwards glance. Glenda stumbled after him, still finding it odd to move about in her new form. She found it hard to keep her balance, and tripped up the kerb after her father.
"Eep!" She yelped, causing Chucky to turn around, but make no effort to catch her. He looked down at her for a moment, before nudging her with his shoe.
"Yeah... it'll take you a while to get your knees used to bending. Don't try doing anything like squat-thrusts or running or anything for a while..." He nudged her again. "Get up. I ain't waiting around." Glenda clambered back to her feet, still grinning. She was just happy to finally be with her dad. She couldn't explain it, but she had a feeling that her life would make a lot more sense now she was with him. She already liked him more than she liked her stuck up, boring cow of a mother.
"I need to go back to the house."
"Uh, no. Rule number one, you listen to what I say, and you do it. No questions."
"But..."
"I don't care how many goodbyes you want to say to your family, you can't see them ever again."
"But..."
"Never. Again. Do you understand?"
"Yeah, yeah." She pouted, irritated at not being listened to. "I get it. I don't give a shit about them anyway..." She was grumbling now, glaring at the floor. Chucky barely concealed a sneer; her petulant putting face suddenly reminding him of Tiffany, and causing him to reconsider his previous generosity to the girl. She may have been his daughter, but he wasn't sure he liked her much.
"So why are you so determined to go back, then?"
"I need to go back..." She looked up at him, a defiant, determined sparkle in her eye which knocked him off-guard a little bit. "To get some stuff I hid under the house."
"What? What kind of stuff?"
"I knew I was going to run away sooner or later, so I hid some stuff in a cubby hole around the back of the house. I didn't think to get it when I left earlier."
Chucky looked at her, incredulous. There was no trace of fear in her eyes. No thought at all. The honesty was almost... unnerving. After a while, he sighed.
"Fine. But we can't be seen, and we need to find some place to hide away as soon as possible. Ok?"
"Sure! Thanks, dad!" She smiled, before carefully stumbling down the street, her arms out to her sides as she tried to balance. Chucky rolled his eyes, and caught up to her quickly. He had a feeling he'd let himself in for a whole world of trouble.
Chucky and Glenda lay, side by side, on their stomachs. They stood underneath the rhododendron bushes. The house was dark, it now being gone three in the morning, and the entire street seemed to stand with baited breath.
"So where's your stuff then?"
"Just behind the back door steps."
"It doesn't look like anyone's moving around... go on then, hurry. And stay low."
Glenda nodded, grinning at the idea of starting a wild new life with her father, and wanting to prove she could follow his instructions. She darted across to the back door steps, and had just kicked away the panel that covered the little cubby under the house, when the kitchen light snapped on.
"Ah, crap... stay there!" Chucky hissed, forcing himself lower to the ground. What was Tiff doing up at three in the morning anyway? Or, he thought, as the back door swung open and a blonde haired guy in a dressing gown stepped out and lit a cigarette, a better question would be "what was Tiff doing at three in the morning". From the thin layer of sweat that shone on this guy's forehead, and the way his hair was messed and sticking up at odd angles, he felt he had a good idea.
"That two faced bitch!" Chucky hissed. "`I'll only ever sleep with someone I love`." He mimicked, glaring up at the well-groomed, if dishevelled suitor. So this was the "Neil" Glenda had mentioned. What the fuck did Tiff see in him? He looked like a rubberneck executive, or some kind of pretty-boy stock broker. He wondered how Mr Money would react if he found out his new hump-buddy was reincarnated trailer trash. He chuckled to himself, content with imagining all the ways he could fuck with the cheating cow. Not that he loved her, he thought, suddenly feeling himself clench inside. He hated the bitch. He was so over her. But... fuck it. He shook his head, snapping back to focus. He could just see Glenda's eyes peeking over the top of the stairs behind the blonde man. He held a finger to his lips, and she nodded, hiding herself. The guy had no want to go back inside though, as he sat on the steps and gazed up at the stars.
"Jennifer... will you marry me?" He asked, grimacing at the inflection of the question, before clearing his throat and trying again. "Jennifer... I love you. Marry me."
Although neither of the Ray dolls could see each other, they both reacted in exactly the same way. Their eyes both widened in shock, before simultaneously narrowing in anger. His plans were not welcomed be either.
Eventually, he finished his cigarette and threw it to the ground, shaking his head. He retreated into the house. Chucky tensed, listening intently. The kitchen light stayed on, but, after a brief pause, he gave the signal to Glenda. She began to run back to him, carrying a small gingham backpack. She wasn't sure whether it was the weight of the backpack, or her still feeling uneasy on her new legs, or perhaps a combination of the two, but she had barely gone two feet when she stumbled into the trash cans that sat by the back door. The clattering and noise summoned the smoker to fling open the back door. Out of instinct, Glenda froze on the ground, tense with terror. He approached slowly, picked her up, and stared at her. Chucky found himself holding his breath and clenching his fists as he saw this man holding his daughter in the air by her arm. He stayed still and quiet though. He couldn't do anything just now. The man sighed, and turned, walking around to the front of the house.
Neil strode around to the house across the street, a pretty villa with large windows, flowers and bird feeders adorning the balconied front. The Gerrards, who owned the house, were a sweet old couple, into bird watching and collecting various antiques. Their daughter had left for college earlier in the year, and ever since they had been open to pranks and burglaries from neighbourhood punks. Glenda being one of them. Neil wondered how the girl would take the news, once he asked Jennifer... maybe they could send her to Military school? Or a psychiatric unit? He chuckled at his own joke, and knocked on the house's front door. The light was still on in the downstairs main room, much to his surprise, and Mr Gerrard was soon at the door.
"Ah, Neil, good evening."
"Hi. Is this one of yours?" He proffered the doll. Mr Gerrard, a tall man with grey hair and many wrinkles, adjusted his spectacles, and examined the doll.
"No, but she is a pretty one, isn't she? Where did you find her?"
"She was thrown into our back yard, I think. Or dropped."
"Oh, what a shame... well leave her with us, we'll see if anyone is missing one at the collector's guild on Wednesday."
"Brilliant. Sorry to disturb you."
"Not at all. I've just gotten up to see if I can do a bit of nature spotting." He tapped the side of his nose.
"Well good luck." Neil smiled, before shaking his hand. "Good night."
"Good night."
Neither man noticed a small figure creep through the door by their knees as they spoke, and Mr Gerrard certainly didn't notice one more shadow in the alcove underneath the stairs, as he carried the doll up to the collector room.
Where most people would have a study, or office the Gerrards had the Collector Room. This room had been designed specifically to showcase their various collector's items; from wall-mounted plaques and picture frames to Perspex display cases full of bric-a-brac, to bookcases full of rare books, comics and records, and wall brackets displaying china plates and paintings. But above all of them, three foot from the ceiling, ran a shelf, starting by the door, following the corner of the room and ending by a tall, red draped window. The shelf was home to over twenty ornate, vintage dolls, and, as Glenda was carried past them, she had to stifle a gasp. Mr Gerrard placed her by the window, disturbing the dust on the shelf and the thick red curtain. He smiled.
"I'm sure we'll find you a home, soon enough." He turned to leave, but Glenda found herself struggling to remain still. The dust was irritating her nose, and try as she might, she was finding it very hard not to move. Before she could stop herself, a clearly audible sneeze cut through the silent house. Gerrard turned back, and scrutinised her, looking confused. He advanced slowly, adjusting his glasses. "Oh Crap". Glenda thought. "Crap, crap, shit, ass, crap..." She stayed very still, hoping he would think he'd imagined it. He picked her up and examined her more closely, turning her over in his hands. Glenda didn't like his curiosity, not one bit. She looked up at the curtain that hung in front of her, and tried to stifle her movements.
Chucky had been slowly creeping upstairs, after making a quick detour to the knife block in the kitchen, and arrived at the door to the Collector Room just in time to hear Glenda's sneeze, and see Gerrard pick her up. Shit, they were done for. So much for the plan of get in, get out... he was weighing up his options, considering whether leaving the kid here and returning later would help or hinder him, but he was stopped in his tracks, bearing witness to something amazing. Glenda had, while Mr Gerrard was examining her back, managed to delicately reach out and grab the curtain in front of her without his noticing. She then proceeded to whip her head around, and use the curtain to pull herself back up to the shelf as he recoiled and yelled in horror. She then leapt from the shelf, swinging on the curtain, and landed on his shoulders as he tried to run for the door. The man was yelling himself hoarse, tears of horror in his eyes, but Glenda was relentless. Gathering up the curtain, she pulled it tight around his neck, the taught velvet tickling her fingers. He gasped and croaked, casting around in the vain attempt to throw her off, feeling her little feet digging sharply into his shoulders. Glenda, a savage, high pitched giggle dancing from her lips, pulled the curtain tighter, feeling his adam's apple give way beneath the pressure, delighting in his gargled chokes. Mr Gerrard could sense his vision fading, but was preoccupied with the crushing pain as the bones in his neck moved, as his tongue began to swell and loll in his mouth, his lips aching and dry... black spots danced before his eyes as the curtain tightened, causing him to drop to his knees. As he choked and turned purple, eyes rolling in his skull, he made one last, desperate bid to escape, he dragged himself towards the door, but only proceeded in pulling the curtain rail down, which crashed onto his ankle and most likely fractured it, but the numbness was already halfway through his body, his oxygen starved lungs giving up.
Dust swirling around in the dimly lit room, Glenda stood, shakily, looking down at the first person she had ever killed. She wiped spittle from the side of her mouth, and looked over to the door, where Chucky stood, eyebrows raised. He looked her up and down, and slowly, his features began to contort and twist into a smile.
"Hey! That wasn't bad. A bit messy, sure, but that kind of finesse comes with practice... You know, I think..."
"Harold?" Mrs Gerrard entered the room, woken by the noise. It took a moment for her to register the shattered curtain rail, the moving doll and her husband's corpse, but in the time it took her to begin screaming, Chucky had taken the kitchen knife from his overalls and slashed her Achilles tendon, causing the middle-aged woman to instantly crumple, and the pink nightgown she wore to be stained a dark, rusty, blood brown. She lay, rolling and screaming in pain and terror, crying for her husband and herself.
"Would you knock it the hell off?" Chucky snarled, walking calmly to her head and standing on her neck. "We were in the middle of a father-daughter bonding moment! Do you know..." he reached down, pressing the knife to her neck as she stared up, tears streaming down her face as she pleaded and prayed to God, "how important..." he sliced into her throat, blood spurting and pooling around them both, as she choked, gurgled and fell silent, "that is to a kid's development? I mean, goddamn it..."
Chucky looked up at Glenda, and gave an apologetic shrug. "Sorry kid... the moment's kind of gone now... You alright?" Glenda hadn't moved, or even flinched. She was watching him with blank, empty eyes.
"I've never killed a person before..."
"Ah..." Chucky sheathed the knife once more. "Feeling kinda shaky, huh?"
"Yeah..." Glenda sat on the floor, blood staining her white petticoat.
"That's called "adrenaline", kid. And it's the best thing you'll ever get hooked on." Chucky grinned, looking down at the two dead bodies. "Well... now we got the house to ourselves, why don't you find a place to get some sleep while I work on the plan?"
"The plan?" Glenda looked up at her father, who seemed now even stronger, more powerful and forbidding than ever before.
"Yeah. Your mother is about to get a new husband, and all built on a pack of lies. That bitch isn't gonna forget me so easily... We're going to have a little... family reunion."
