The slow, meandering walk back to the Kramer house was quiet and at her side, Slappy was silent like a ghost; his steps made no sounds and the fabric of Jed's jeans, which gave him the appearance of a home-boy, didn't even so much as swish.
Despite how quiet he was, the dusk air was alive with sounds of cicadas, crickets, and frogs hidden the trees and grass. Children laughed and squealed; cars revved their engines; and dogs barked and howled to each other.
Amy's mind was still wandering.
They walked in silence, except for Slappy's occasional scoff and sneer; out of the park, down the streets and sidewalks the led to the street she lived on. They crossed at crosswalks and Slappy paused every once in a while, to peer into stores that he didn't seem to recognize.
It was as they crossed a street that ran from one end of a strip mall to the other that it happened.
"Slappy? Is that you?" a male voice yelled as a dark figure darted out in front of her from the open door of a brightly-lit ice cream shop, and she stumbled backwards, nearly falling on her back had Slappy not been behind her to catch her. His cold hands dug into her skin, smooth and waxy like polished wood.
She squinted into the shadows of the sidewalk, the bright light spilling around the boy in front of her, making him hard to see. All she could make out was curly, blond hair.
"Hey, how are you?" the figure asked, leaning down into her face. A slant of light cut across the figure's face, highlighting the lilac-blue eyes framed by long, pale eyelashes and bone-white skin.
"I'm sorry. Do I know you?" Slappy asked.
The figure stepped into the light; he was tall and reedy, wearing an oversized jacket and ripped jeans. "It's me, Ray. God, how long has it been since we spoke?" He was very pretty, with thin lips and cheekbones that would make a model jealous, and Amy felt herself flush in ugly blotches.
Slappy scowled the minute the boy said his name and pushed passed Amy. "So you were what I felt," he sneered, jabbing a finger into the boy's chest.
Not exactly in the mood for a freak-show reunion, Amy started to walk passed them. It's probably one of his little friends or something, she thought dimly as icy fingers dug into her elbow, stopping her stride mid-step.
"Please," the boy called Ray breathed, "don't go. I have to apologize about him. His parents never taught him any manners." He smiled and she struck by how handsome he looked, the light from the store haloing around his head, making him look like an angel.
"Stop that!" Slappy yelled, hitting Ray hard enough to knock him off balance.
Amy stepped back as the boy caught his footing and turned to Slappy with a kicked-puppy expression. "What was that for?" he asked, pouting as he crossed his arms in a manner not unlike a sulking child.
"For being stupid," the dummy-turned-semi-human responded flatly.
"Who's this? Another slave?" Ray's hand shot out and grabbed her sleeve to pull her closer.
"No. Let go of me," Amy demanded as she touched his hand—only to pull back, her fingers stinging like she'd stuck them against dry ice. He was freezing like a humanoid ice cube. It was a wonder he didn't start dripping condensation.
Now that she looked more closely, there was something off about him. The smell that wafted off him, however faint, was that of a mix of damp cavern and wet dirt, just before it turns into mud. And now while she was at it, his skin had a waxy sheen to it and, underneath the semi-translucent expanse of his skin, the veins were barely noticeable. His chest never rose and fell with breath, too.
Realizing his hand was still wrapped around her sleeve, she tugged hard and stumbled back when his fingers unexpected opened. She caught herself before she went tumbling backwards into the empty street.
Ray lifted a hand out of his jacket pocket and placed it on Slappy's chin. "So you are masquerading as human? What an interesting development in your powers. Only took you what? A decade or so to figure it out?" He turned the dummy's face this way and that and dropped the auburn-haired man's chin before Slappy could hit him.
"You really should get back home," Slappy told Ray with a dangerous smile. His eyes seemed to glow in the light, but that was probably just Amy's imagination.
"Don't think you can threaten me and not have some sort of payback," the blond said pleasantly, jerking his head to where Amy stood, trying to rub the feeling back into her arm.
"Hey, don't bring me into this! I'm an innocent," she pointed out, glaring at the two of them. It seemed like they didn't even hear her as they squared off, eye to eye.
Ray's eyes seemed to shift from Slappy to Amy, but the girl wasn't sure. He was half-crouched, his eyes narrowed and his teeth bared in a sneer that looked more like snarl from her viewpoint. Every hair on her body stood at attention.
"And here I thought we were friends," he said abruptly, his almost scary demeanor dropping in an instant.
"Slave, we're leaving," Slappy said, backing up without ever breaking eye contact with the blond.
"I said I'm not your sl—" Amy started to rant, stalking towards him, only to be grabbed by the wrist.
"Now isn't the time," he hissed squeezing her wrist.
She flinched. "What is with you guys grabbing me? Stop it. Let me go," she spat, ripping her arm away and started down the street in the opposite direction that Ray was facing.
A cold breeze hit her back, and despite wearing Slappy's sweatshirt, she shivered as the chill slid bone-deep.
A low, rumbling laugh echoed behind them and when she turned, Ray wasn't anywhere to be found.
Slappy was right on her tail, though, and he seemed to have relaxed.
"Okay, who the fuck was that guy?" she asked him.
He didn't respond for a minute, so she shrugged off his silence, and then he said, quietly, "Ray Thurston, and he is certainly not a friend of mine."