Disclaimer: See Prologue.

That Touch Of Lightning

Sally awoke with a start. She tried to look around, but everything was dark. Then she realized there was a sheet over her head. *Was that all a dream?* she wondered. *Probably.* Sally started to sit up, but found she was strapped down to a table or something.

"Ha ha! It worked! She's alive!" Sally frowned, trying to place the voice. The sound wasn't quite unpleasant. But something about it rubbed her the wrong way. Suddenly the sheet was yanked away from her and a horrific face was staring at her. It had--- bolts?--- surrounding the crown of its bald head. Its huge lips looked like something belonging on a frog. Frog-lips smiled---she thought it was a smile--- and revealed about thirteen teeth to complete the grotesque picture. Swiftly, the thing slipped the leather straps from around her waist and hips that had been holding her to the operating table.

Operating table?!

Sally sat up. "Who are you?" she cried.

"Oh, good. She's not a simpleton." The man--- she saw now that he was indeed human and male--- shifted a switch on his wheelchair, which she hadn't noticed before, and rolled back. "I, my dear, am Doctor Finklestein. Your creator. And I shall call you... Pearl."

Was this guy for real? "My name is Sally," she said showing a bit of abnormal anger, for her. "Where are my friends?"

The doctor--- she figured that, at least, was true. After being in a car crash it was no surprise that she was in the hospital--- seemed momentarily annoyed by her outburst. But he became recomposed almost immediately. "You must calm down, my dear. You're becoming delusional."

That was so it. Sally swung her legs over the side of the table where Dr. Finkenoodle wasn't and slid off , determined to find her friends. "What are you doing, you foolish girl?" For a doctor, he wasn't very smart. As soon as her feet touched the ground Sally released the table...

... and landed in a crumbled heap on the floor. Sally wasn't sure what had happened, but worry of her friends made her pick herself up so she could find them. She pushed herself into a sitting position and, using to table she had just vacated for help, climbed to her feet. Her legs and arms were wobbly, like they didn't have any bones to keep them firm. Just skin and muscle, if that. She heard the whirring of Dr. Froglebob's wheelchair coming around the table. She had to get moving if she was to find her friends in this infirmary on Elm Street. As quickly as possible while supporting herself on the operating board, Sally moved unsteadily towards the only door she could see. Considering how fast she wasn't moving, it was a long ways away. She reached the end of the table and pushed off, hoping she could catch the counter before she fell again.

She fell again.

When she pushed off, there wasn't enough strength behind the thrust for her to reach the counter two feet away. Instead she fell forward and onto the floor.

"Ugh," Sally grunted when she hit. Her head hurt as if it had been sliced shallowly and swiftly with a sharp knife. She reached up to feel the abrasion and heard something crackle. In her hand was a... dried leaf? From her head?

"Now see what you've done! Foolish doll," Dr. Fooglefife grumbled while he grabbed her arm and yanked her to her feet. He whirred her over to a chair and pulled her down like a recalcitrant child. He took the leaf from her hand and held it against her head. In his other hand he held a threaded needle. "Hold still," he ordered as he brought it to her head.

Was he insane? He was not going to sew her head up! Not while she was still conscious! Sally was about to protest until she saw the mirror behind Dr. Fooglestein. She had never been one of those people that saw something pathetic or bizarre in a mirror without realizing it was she, but now she wished that she was. In the mirror was an image of Dr. Finklestein sewing up a tear in the head of a slender red-haired rag doll.

Or, rather, of Sally.