Turning her head back from shielding her eyes from the blinding light, Amy felt a fissure erupt inside of her when she realized he was gone. The air smelled of smoke and ozone, heavy and hot. It made her throat tighten as tears filled her eyes, burned them while she struggled to keep her emotions in check.

She could handle a teenage boy succubus with a thirst for her blood and body, handle being stabbed, handle being hit on by her creepy therapist, handle being verbally abused by her sister, being neglected by her parents but, as her hands shook violently and her stomach rolled, this—this, not having Slappy with her—was a solid punch to the gut.

Any oxygen in her lungs escaped in a high-pitched sob that pushed itself passed her cracked lips and the skin tasted of something salty and wet. She touched her mouth, pulled her fingers back and froze when she saw the red smear.

"Amy?" her mother called quietly, stepping into the room with a bone-white face.

"Where is he?" the girl choked out, her voice coming out thick and raspy. Focusing her bleary eyes, she repeated the question, hysteria creeping into her tone. "Where is he?"

Sara shook her head, her eyes wide and panicked, any color in her face draining. "He vanished," she said softly, stepping into the room cautiously, carefully, as though a wild beast would tear into her at any moment. Her dark hair was free of its permanent braid, curling softly around her face, softening her narrow features.

"Amy, it's okay. He won't hurt you anymore."

That was supposed to comfort her, reassure her, calm her down, right? If anything, it pissed her off. Amy's breathing picked up, labored and wheezy as rage gripped her with red-hot claws.

"He won't hurt me?" she laughed sharply, her voice coming in a shriek, too high and thin, reedy with the anger that was slowly overwhelming her. "All you've done is hurt me! I know—I know—I'm the problem child, the black sheep. Therapy and creepy dolls and monsters and skipping class and no friends. All you ever tell me is I'm irrational; I'm ridiculous; I'm a loser; I'm stupid."

Angry, burning tears streamed down her face.

"Amy, we love you. We just want what's best for you," Sara insisted, her eyes blazing. "It's not my fault you can't do anything right! You're lazy and you give no consideration to how your fucking choices effect the rest of us!"

Amy glared. "Maybe I should just fucking leave. Since I'm such a fucking disgrace, a mistake."

The air was silent and still as her mother gasped, pressing her hands against her mouth. Jed's heavy footfalls broke the silence as he hurried into the room, trailed by a pair of EMTs. "Where's the victim?" one of the women said, peering into the room.

Confusion flashed across her face as she took in Amy, Sara, and Mrs. Kramer. Amy with her blood-soaked shirt, the gash sealed now, and the shirt sliced where Ray had plunged the knife to hilt into her side. Her eyes flickered blue slightly as the EMT watched, growing steadily uneasy and angry.

"You know, I really don't have time for games, kid," she said, glaring at Jed.

"I-I-I—" Jed stammered, shrinking back as Mrs. Kramer walked up to him, placing her arms around him.

Lie, a voice in Amy's head whispered and, when she opened her mouth, her voice seemed to echo back to her. "There was no victim. Everything is fine. Go back." The words felt robotic coming from her but the EMTs' expressions went blank, their eyes glossy, and without another word, they headed back the way they came.

"Amy!" Jed's voice sounded frightened and he flinched when her eyes met his. "Your eyes..."

When she hurried to the mirror, her stomach dropped painfully; instead of those familiar green irises, they glowed royal blue, illuminated like candlelight in darkness. She swallowed hard as her hands shook, her fingers tracing the bone underneath her skin, trying to see what was different, if anything was different.

Just what did Slappy do to her?

She glanced at her family in the reflection and clenched her fists. He'd done something to her, something that had changed her, and now...she wasn't entirely human. Despite how they hated her, Amy couldn't let whatever was catching up with Slappy hurt them and she cemented her decision.

Tonight she'd leave and find that damn puppet and make him change her back—no matter the cost.

A hand in Slappy's hair yanked his head upright, his head lolling slightly. Blood stained his face as he glared with the eye he could see out of at the grinning face of his brother.

"Welcome home, Slappy," Wally said happily.