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Chapter Text

October 1969

The little felt puppet felt it’s eyes blinked. Then it moved around to scan the area. The room was big and wide-a brown room with shapes and colors. The puppet felt itself being picked up and moved. An unfamiliar feeling bubble up inside it. 

“ Mɥɐʇ ɐ dɹǝʇʇʎ poןן ʎon ɐɹǝ ᗡɐɹןıuƃ.” 

Cold plastic eyes looked up. There the puppet could faintly make out a human (what’s a human?)  hand. Its skin felt thick and velvety compared to the human’s rougher and thicker one. 

The human spoke once more, “ᗡɐɹןıuƃ. Mɥɐʇ ɐ qǝɐnʇıɟnן uɐɯǝ. ∀ ɟıʇʇıuƃ uɐɯǝ ɟoɹ onɹ sdǝɔıɐן ɥosʇ.”

The human then placed it on a stage, one that was made of wood and cardboard. It was covered in plastic green grass, cotton filled blue sky, and a red brick and wood house. It was given a name. And a voice. Thoughts and feelings too. 

But as much as he liked this name and these feelings, it felt hollow. As if it wasn't actually him thinking these thoughts, but was rather what he was forced to think. 

He looks around the plastic world. He lifted a hand, it felt heavy and slow. As if he wasn’t supposed to do this-and if this simple act was against his very nature. He wiggle his fingers-all five of them. 

Glancing down his arm he saw he was wearing a thick blue cardigan, cream white dress shirt, and striped multiple colored rainbow pants. A red necktie. On his wrist was a razor thin string that was embedded into his skin. Running a finger on the hook, he felt a slight pinch. He let out a winch. He wondered if he could bleed…

The wire was attached to him. He found some more. On his other wrist, his shoulders, thighs, and ankles. The wires led up to the ceiling and further beyond his sight. Fading into the darkness. 

Days later he found out the wires controlled his moments. The humans tug and pull at him, jerking him around or have him pick up objects. He was under hot lights for long hours. Forced to repeat lines, sing songs, paint and dance. When he tried to speak, his voice didn't work. He couldn't write either. He was helpless, forced to do what the strangers wanted. 

For a while, it was only him. Then one day the red house seemed to come alive. The red house, who he dubbed Home. Home, it seems like, could communicate and interact with him. Home had eyes and could speak with its door and floors. It could move its chimney and windows. It and him were similar, both being controlled by unseen faces. Both alive but couldn’t talk to the humans. Only to each other. Both trapped. 

Sometimes he would catch words or phrases, telling him what he was supposed to say, or what to paint or to act. Home would tell him that it would hear people talking about episodes and schedules. 

He found out that he was a teacher and a painter. He taught children how to sing and read. How to count and how to paint. While he never actually saw the children, he loved them. Hearing the recordings of the children’s laughter brought him joy. The only feeling he could identify. (It was one of the lessons he taught the children.) 

It felt strange. How can he teach these things if he has never seen or heard of them? What is an apple? What is the color yellow? Why does he feel so hollow? How can he breath, move, think? 

Question after question burns in his head. Swirling around like the colors on his canvas, Turing into a ugly puddle of brown paint. 

                              ——-

Home was concerned. Worried. About the strangers and how its owner was feeling depressed. Home-during one spontaneous night-made a decision. Long after the strangers left and the hot lights were shut off. It decided to keep its owner safe. Protected.

 As the little yellow puppet sleep (but not really; he just lay in his bed and spoke the words "I'm sleeping.") The sentient house locks the windows and doors, keeping guard throughout the night. And when the strangers came back; it wouldn't open its door. The strangers had to forcibly remove the windows and door to reach its owner. But still; Home keeps doing it. It gave its owner temporary peace, a safe space to calm his emotions and to let him think. 

As for its little owner? Soon the questions stop. The questions melted away like it was floating down a lazy river. Home would talk and sing to its owner, drowning out the fear and the confusion. Only letting happiness and peace consume its owner’s mind. Soon the puppet stops listening to the stranger’s voices or wondering why he never sees anyone. 

Everything became fuzzy, 

dreamlike.

Safe. 

Ţ̸̳̻̬͙̣̙̺̿̀̈́̎̎̑ͅo̸͇̬͂͊̋̕̚ ̶͖̭̅̈̀͗̔b̴̭̠̳͕̥̘̱͘͜a̴̱̰͙̎͐̇͊͜d̷̡͕͍̣̲̝̅̀̒̓̅̆̒̆̅̅ ̶̣̃̍̀̔̒͝h̵̞̙̫̬̼̃̿̉̀͝e̸̢̙̩̟͚̬̞͍̤͍̔̄̚͝ ̸̛̩̩̮͇̣͙͚͊́͒͛̎̌́͐ͅf̷̺͔̘͇͌͌͛̽̂̍̒̕͜ŏ̶̙͓͎͙̔̑̏̇̅̏͜ͅr̸͈̙̝͛̿̽̉̏̕g̴̫̥̝̝͓͉͍̼̯͌̇̓͒̈̆͂͝o̷̙͍̲̺͋͒͘͘ṫ̴̩̳̝̼̿͆̊̂ ̴̣̹̠̫̫̔̈́̐̿̐w̸͖̝̳̄̾͛͌͒̏ḧ̴͇͕̺á̷͔̟̖͚͕͇̣̊̽͊͛̊͠t̴̰̹̟̓̑̅̓̅͌͘̚ ̸̛̳̗͋̕̕h̸̢̡̻̭͈̠͔̙͛̍͐̈́̎̒̑̓̕ḙ̶̛̙̻̟͗ ̶̡̘̦̹̖͇̟́͗̉̐̉͌͆̾̒͘ͅw̶̡̜͕̙̦̩̼̠͓̎̿͌̾̈͊̀̅̀͂͜ả̸̧̜̘̪͈͊͆͐̓͐͠s̷̡̯̰̥͓̰͚̗͔͉͆.̷̥̺͔̖̜̪͋͂͌̅́͑̋͘͘͜.̴͚͉̙̓͋̎̔̈́̆͝

April 1970

Today is a beautiful day! It was springtime and the weather was sunny and bright. The birds were chirping outside. Wally Darling woke up early, enjoying the sunshine. Stepping outside of his Home; he let out a small hum. A tune that he knew but couldn’t remember the lyrics.

What should he do today? Maybe paint? Or oh ! Julie helped Poppy make a pie yesterday; hopefully she sold some to Howdy and he put it in his shop? 

ᄅ⇂ ǝuǝɔs ɟo ɥɓnoɹɥʇ-unɹ ʞɔınb ɐ op s'ʇǝ˥ ¡ʇɐǝɹɓ sɐʍ ʇɐɥʇ 'ǝuoʎɹǝʌǝ ʞO ¡ʇnƆ

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ʷʰᵃᵗ ʷᵃˢ ᵗʰᵃᵗ﹖hello? 

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-. --- - / ... .- ..-. . .-.-.- / -. --- - / ... .- ..-. . .-.-.- / .-. . .--. . .- - .-.-.- / .-. . .--. . .- - .-.-.- / .-.. . - .-..-. ... / - .-. -.-- / .- --. .- .. -. .-.-.-

Today is a beautiful day! It was springtime and the weather was sunny and bright!

 Wally frowned, he was standing next to his bed. Didn’t he just wake up though? Wasn’t he just outside? This felt familiar. Like he already did this. What? 

Ḓ̸̐̇̃̏̄͝ǫ̷͙́̈̌͆̆̈́̀̀́̆̆̚͠ǹ̸̹̜͓̽͛̎̎͗̈́̎̚'̵̟͓̰̹̯̘̼̹̖̟͎͙̮͔̓̊͑̏̀̈́̋̈͊̏̚͠ͅt̵͙̳̭̗̍̈͒̄͐͑͑͒͘ ̶̢̢̮͖̰͕̣̪͕̖̗̩͌̀̏̀̒̓͛ͅŗ̷̡̨̝̗̠͎̺͇̖̳̄e̴̛̹̻̩̖̿͗̈̓̇͊͌͂̄̏͛͝͠m̴̥̗̂͝ê̷̹̠̖̬̥̜͌̐̒͌̾̀̏͛͒̅̏͜͠ṃ̶̡̹͎̜̤͕̫̯̩͔̓̄ḇ̸̡̧̛̙̮̹̗̟̯̻̺̍̂̆̀̚͜e̷̛̘͎͉̼̻̗̻̮̳̋͑r̶̢͓̮̺̞̦̟̲͚͉̈́̃͌͘.̵͚̆̂̏̾̑͂̾̚͘̕͠ ̴̧̛̈́͑̔̈́̚N̶̢̢̧̨̹͔̣̲̘̠͖͍͚̈́̓o̴̦̪̰͐̈͐̔̓̉͐͑ṱ̷̦̫̱̩̫̠̤̹̖̳̰̤̾͛̅̓̏̀͛̈́͑͗ ̷̡̳̤̠̘̦̯̪̤̍̅́̃̈́̉͋̎̑̅́̑̽͝s̶̢̫̲̦̝̲̳̟͈̈́͂͗̔̉̈́̿̆̒̆̑́a̶͓͔̦̙͕͍̮̩̩̪̗̒̈́̔̊̏̉̏͂͆̇͂̐̕͠͝f̷̡̳̗̖͂̄͝ẽ̵̤̮̖̯̝̞͓̪̺̣̫̪͉͌̊͊̅̿͋̌͜ͅ.̸̳̣̗̭̪̞̞̋͌̽̈̈́́̋̏̈́ͅͅ ̴͎̳̣͕͇͕̐͛́̔̿͝

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Today is a beautiful day! It was springtime and the weather was sunny and bright! 

With a strain smile Wally went up to Home's door. Maybe today he will be allowed outside? Maybe today he can see his friends? What day is it? What time is it? How long has he been stuck here?

Sometimes, Home got a bit…. overprotective . Wally noticed. Sometimes it didn't let Wally leave, locking the door and windows. Forcing him to stay trapped for hours, days, weeks . No matter how much he begged, screamed, or cried. Home didn't listen. Only after promising Hoke to sing everyday, paint for it, and let it join in activities did Home decide to let Wally go. 

But sometimes it still shuts the door. Only for a few seconds before reopening, but it was enough time to make Wally freeze up in panic. Once he tried asking why Home did this. But the only answer he got was "to keep him safe." Safe from what? There wasn't any danger here in their little Neighborhood. Right? 

Nonetheless, Wally and Home have this seemingly endless battle. One trying to protect and one trying to find answers. 

Wally shook his head, there was no need for dark thoughts! Today is a good day! Glancing down he saw that he was already dressed (When did that happen?). Reaching for the doorknob he then became surprised to see Home opening the door. 

“O-Oh! Thank you Home.” He spoke, trying to remove the surprise and small fear in his voice. Home let out a small rattle from the window. A giant black eye looked down at Wally. He shudders involuntarily. 

“W-wh-well! I’m going over to Barnaby! It’s been a while since I saw him! Don’t worry I’ll be safe and be back before nighttime! I love you Home.” 

.. / .-.. --- ...- . / -.-- --- ..- / - --- --- / .-- .- .-.. .-.. -.-- .-.-.-  The house creaked. 

Going outside he steps off the front porch and stops. Taking a deep breath he takes in the smells and sights. The chirps and croaks of the nearby animals filled his head. He smells the grass and the trees. The sun feels warm on his skin and the air is humid. Soaking up the sights, he feels a rush of energy and life. Letting out a stretch, he cracked his joints, letting out a soft sigh. 

He must have been stuck inside for a while if he felt so stiff. It was as if he was trapped in one position and unable to move. Once he was finished stretching, he headed down the old dirt road leading to his friends. As he moves he works on his hair. For some reason his hair always seems to stay up in his tight coiled pompadour. Running a hand through it, he felt that his hair was starting to get tangled and greasy. 

When was the last time he took a bath? Or eat? Or slept, or drank water, or heard from his friends? Surely he would have heard his friends call for him from outside? Or have them knock on his door? Have them questioned his odd behavior? His thoughts were silent when his hand tug harshly against a knot. Moving his hand he looked at the knot that was wrapped around his fingers. His hair is blue and thick; the knot looks thin and….Yarn like? Or maybe fur like? 

What?

He stop in his tracks. This-this isn’t right? Hair shouldn’t look like that! Maybe it because it’s such a small piece of hair that it just looked different th-that’s all! Right ? Grabbing a handful of his hair he yanks and pulls at it; taking apart the pompadour. Once it was down around his shoulders. (Why did that surprise him? When did he ever seen his hair down?) he grabs his hand and brings it close to his eyes. 

Animal hair. It was thick and soft, but greasy from his hair products and was starting to get tangled and matted. His eyes widen as he runs a finger against the hair. 

The puppet was still as it watched the human work. The larger being was humming a tune as it moved the needle back and forth. The puppet could feel the metal against its skin, pain bloom around his head. A warm wet texture was dripping against his skin. But it had the odd feeling that the human couldn’t see the liquid. 

The human finally stopped sewing. 

“ᏝᏋᏖ’Ꮥ ᏂᎧᎮᏋ ᏖᏂᏗᏖ ᏖᏂᎥᏕ ᏖᎥᎷᏋ ᎩᎧᏬ’ᏒᏋ ᏂᏗᎥᏒ ᏇᎧᏁ’Ꮦ ፈᏗᏖፈᏂ ᎧᏁ ᎦᎥᏒᏋ. ᏗᎶᏗᎥᏁ..ᏕᏋᏒᎥᎧᏬᏕᏝᎩ ᏇᏂᏗᏖ ᏇᏋᏒᏋ ᏖᏂᎧᏕᏋ ᏁᏬᏖᏕ ᏖᏂᎥᏁᏦᎥᏁᎶ ᏗᏰᎧᏬᏖ ᏬᏕᎥᏁᎶ ᏂᏗᎥᏒᏕᎮᏒᏗᎩ ᎧᏁ Ꮧ ᎮᏬᎮᎮᏋᏖ?” 

The human then rolled its eyes as it put away the tools. Then it brought the puppet up to face a mirror….

Wally looks at himself. 

He let out a gasp. What the hell was that?? Panic roses up inside him; his heart thump against his chest. A part of him told him to go to Barnaby. Go where it's safe. The louder part told him to go back Home. 

So he did. He ran.

Chapter Text

Some days the voices were louder and more clearer than most. Little by little he seems to hear and even start to recognize some of them. 

“𝙳𝚊𝚖𝚗 𝚒𝚝 𝙰𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛; 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢? 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 4𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚂𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚜 𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢? 𝙲𝚊𝚗’𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎?” 

Wally was lying on his bed; eyes closed and listening. It took a lot of his constraintion to force. Sometimes the voices talk about his friends. Talking about things like lines or what lessons they had to learn that day. This voice, Jane, she speaks in Sally’s voice. (Or was Sally just speaking in Jane’s?). 

Sometimes he could see wires; ones are on his friends. They were thin and silver; but strong. He would try to cut or pluck at the strings; pretend to swap away a bug. But many days he could see them. It was like some force was trying to gif them. He noticed a few of the wires on him. He could only find 2, one on his wrist, and the other on ankle. Both strong but thinner than the ones on his friends. 

He started to keep a journal. Documents what he hears and sees. Most of the entries were full of mindless jumbled words. But a few pages are  him rambling about himself. He would sometimes describe in detail about how he would lay on the cold wood floor, his legs up in the air while he wrote. About how the waxy crayon or smooth pencil felt in his hands. How the tool sounds against the paper. 

Every breath, muscle moments, blink or sound he made. Every sense he felt he would write down during these random bouts of awareness. Some day it was i. Joy.

‘I held my breath for 14 seconds.’

‘I could count to 20. But then I forgot.’

‘I can spin on one of my heels in a giant circle. It was nice.’

Other times it was distressing. 

‘I forgot how many arms Howdy have. 2? 10? How many eyes does he have?’ 

‘Who is that pink and yellow monster?’

‘What does Poppy sound like again?..’

‘I called out to Summer? Sun? That yellow girl; I try to talk to her. She didn’t respond. Her name isn’t Jane…..I think?’

աɦʏ ɨֆ ʍʏ ɦօʊֆɛ ǟʟɨʋɛ?

ᴵ ᶜᵃⁿ ʰᵉᵃʳ ⁱᵗ’ˢ ʰᵉᵃʳᵗᵇᵉᵃᵗ……

ᵀʰᵘᵐᵖ..ᵀʰᵘᵐᵖ…….ᵀʰᵘᵐᵖ………

Ｍａｋｅ ｉｔ ｓｔｏｐ. Ｍａｋｅ ｉｔ ｓｔｏｐ. Ｍａｋｅ ｉｔ ｓｔｏｐ.

 Ｍａｋｅ ｉｔ ｓｔｏｐ.

Some days he would experiment on himself. How long can he keep his hands in cold ice water? (The answer is 2 hours.) or how long can he keep them in boiling hot water? (1 minute.) 

He could stand on his head; to feel the blood rushing, and stay there until he fell or black out. How long can he go without eating? Drinking? How much can he eat in a single setting? How long can he go before vomiting? 

He would blast music from his radio; at the highest volume and would lie on the floor staring at the ceiling’s bright lights. Not blinking. He would feel his body cramp up, feel himself get jittery and anxious. He would get the urge to turn down the music and shut off the lights. But he would force himself to keep going; only to have Home stop his experiment. 

It was a little experiment that he did to himself. Since he was trapped inside, it didn’t matter if anyone saw. Maybe he would go a bit farther in his studies, maybe a little slower in stopping them. But that’s fine. It was only a body. Maybe this body wasn’t even his? 

The biggest questions he had, then he needed to know; 

• Who are those voices? Can he meet them?

• Is he alive? Can he bleed? 

• Do his friends love him? Or do the wires make them? Does he love them? 

Close and close he was getting answers for the first 2 questions. The last one…It terrifies him. (Isn’t that funny? Being scared? That's just a chemical in his brain. Why should he be scared? Why does he even have emotions?) 

He only has 2 wires. But he knows that he loves his friends. Craves their attention and affection.

 He would probably die if something happened to them.

 That made him freeze. Dropping the rag-he was cleaning up a spilled drink-he felt himself tense. Could those voices hurt his friends? Home? Him? One of them knows about Sally. So what’s stopping them from coming here? Taking them? 

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His eyes flickered to a corner of the room. The water pipes rattled and shook out the message. His shoulders relax. Flicking her hands, Wally finished cleaning. He took the wet rag and threw it into the sink. Heading upstairs he got ready for bed. 

“Sorry for scaring you Home.” 

The house let out a tap on the floor. 

                         ———-

May. 1971. 

Julie Joyful is concerned. Worried. Distress. Whatever synonym that Frank could come up with, she was that. It’s been 1 month since anyone in the Neighborhood has seen or spoken to Wally. She tries asking Barnaby for any updates. While Wally lives in the center of the town; Julie’s home is directly behind Wally’s. Whereas Barnaby’s was next to Wally’s. 

No updates. 

It was as if the golden boy, the town’s beloved friend and neighbor, simply vanished off the face of Earth. (Frank rolled his eyes at that. They always thought she spent too much time with Sally. The star was making her more dramatic.) 

Julie stops in their tracks. Frank! They’ll know what to do! Racing to their best friend they excitedly storm up some ideas. Maybe they will bust down Wally’s door only to discover that he’s been kidnapped! And Wally left them a clue-one that only they could decipher. 

Or maybe Wally was sick! And Frank and her had to heal Wally. Their little sick friend would be so grateful once he was better! They would have a slumber party to celebrate Wally’s recovery. They could sit under the stars and talk for hours; pull pranks on Frank, and maybe even cuddle together in Wally’s bed. 

Wally would look so cute sleeping. Maybe. She never saw the man sleep; how would he look? Would his soft blue hair be down? Would it be in a nightcap? Would his long eyelashes flutter against his freckled cheeks? What-

“Ehem. Julie? Julie!” A voice call out. Stern and monotone. Julie was ripped away from her daydream; her cheeks rosy from the embarrassment. 

“Heheheehe. Sorry Franky-Frank! What’s up?”

Frank-their best friend and neighbor-lift his unibrow. “The sky,” they deadpans. Julie rolls his eyes. 

“That was a rhetorical question Frank. Anywizzle, I need help! Wally hasn’t come out of Home in a month! Have you heard anything? Or seen anything that could cause alarm?” She asked. 

Frank scrunched his unibrow, worry etched on his face. “No. I haven’t heard from Wally. Now that you mention it…” they paused, looked around the yard, then pulled Julie inside. Slamming the door shut led Julie to the living room.

“Frank! What’s going on?” 

Frank didn’t say anything. Once the two sat down did he speak. “Look. Julie…I.” He runs a hand through his hair. Causing the neat hairdue to come undone. Frank bounced one of their legs. “Have you seen anything…Odd? Out of place? Besides Wally avoiding us that is.” 

Julie paused. Anything odd? Anything could be considered odd here in their little Neighborhood. Four armed caterpillar; a talking blue dog, a giant rainbow bird! But that’s not what Frank meant, did he? Licking her lips she tries to think back to this week. Did she see anything? 

“No…Sorry. But have you!? Have you seen Wally?” 

Frank stop messing with his hair; he glanced down at his feet. He looked ashamed. “No. But…I know this will sound crazy. Heck I don’t even know what is happening but…When I’m alone, I feel like I’m being watched. Or hear a mumble. I can’t make out the words; but it’s been happening ever since Wally started hiding again.” 

“Oh Frank…That’s-Wait. What do you mean again?” 

Frank looked up. Confused. “Haven’t you noticed that Wally spends days or weeks in his house? And when he comes out he looks tired and stressed?” 

They shook their head no. It was the only time he hadn't seen Wally in days; how could Frank know something like that? Getting up, Frank moved toward a bookshelf. Grabbing a small book they bought it back and plop it onto the centerpiece table. 

The book was small, roughly the size of a hand. It was leather bound and a dark reddish brown. The paper was tinted yellow. 

“Did you know that I own this book? I haven’t. Only 2 weeks ago did I stumble upon it. It’s in my handwriting, Julie. The things I wrote…God, it’s so confusing!? 

Like-Like one entry! I was  talking about going into the forest, only to find that at the edge of it was a black hole. Or, or or, that in one of them, I could hear my voice, but it was coming from outside my head. And those eyes! I keep drawing them over and over and over and over! 

This book creeps me out. But God, do you know what the worst part is? It’s dated. Of course it is! The first date was from 1969.

Why do I have this book? Why can’t I remember it? What are these strangers words or notes? God damn it Julie..”

He stopped talking when he felt someone pressed into him. Looking down he saw Julie shaking. Tears started to form. Frank felt himself start to shake too. 

“I’m sorry…” he apologized. 

“Don’t be. I’m scared. Scared for you. Why? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Julie mumbles; too soft to hear, since he was pressed against Frank’s shirt. 

“I was scared you wouldn’t believe me. I thought you would think I’m insane…..Do you?” 

The two separate the hug. Julie gasped. “No! Never. Frank you my best friend. I can see how shaken you are! Why would you think less of you?” 

Frank shrugs. “That’s good. But…maybe this book and Wally's habit of hiding are connected? I only got a quarter though it before I had to stop. It’s…it’s quite detailed.” 

Grabbing the book, Julie held it close to their chest. If this book was causing their friend to be scared, mate or was best they held onto it? “Have you talked to Wally about it?” 

“No.” 

“Ok. That’s ok. Let’s…Let me read it; either out loud or not; I want to help you. Please. Then once we finish this book we can either talk to Wally or try to find more of this….Stuff.” She explained. Talking out loud to Frank bell. It helps calm down Frank and it helps them think. 

Frank nods. “Outloud is fine. And we can do both. But…We need to get Wally outside. I…I don’t trust Home. Something isn’t right with it. Something is wrong.” 

Biting her lip she moves back to her seat. Home acting odd? Sure; the house did seem a bit possessive; but being wrong? Dangerous. Threatening. Unstable? That didn’t fit the house. But maybe it’s true? Looking down at the book; it felt heavy. Life changing.

It held the answers. But to what? She cracked open the cover, looking at the cursive writing. 

She starts to read.

Chapter Text

???. 1971.

He meet one. 

The strangers. 

The puppet masters.  Humans . 

He met them before. Was held and touched by them. Created by them. The memories were faint; but it was there. Buzzing around his brain; waiting to be remembered. To be acknowledged. 

He remembered when he discovered this terrible secret. It was on a day we're Home allowed him to explore outside. The sun was setting and all of the neighbors were starting to go back home. Pasting by familiar faces he wordlessly walked into the forest. 

The woods are lovely.

Dark and deep. 

But I have a promise to keep.

And miles to go before I sleep.

And miles to go before I sleep.

As the poem left his mouth; Wally entered the forest. Miles to go before I sleep? How many miles can an insomniac travel?   Breathing in the hot night air, he shivers slightly, stuffing his hands into his cardigan. 

The forest was in different shades of the rainbow. Red, orange, yellow, blue and green. At the edge of the forest; the trees were in bright reds and yellows. The colorful leaves shining in the sunlight. Golden trumpet, yellow Lynwood, Maples, and Forest Pansy. All types of trees. Going further into the forest; the colors shift from the soft and bright warm tones to the cold and muted dark ones. Oak, Pine, and Evergreen loom over him. 

He couldn’t recognize what type of trees the blue ones were. (How unnatural they look.) 

He had an urge. An itch; to walk into the forest and toward its end. To find out what was behind the forest. Would it lead to the ocean? A wheat field? Or maybe a city. It would be nice to meet and see new people. (His friends are a bit dull.)

What he found changed his worldview. 

The human body has a limit on their consciousness. Puppets did too.

At the edge of the forest was a thin line. Tree roots, rocks, and dirt, fell over the line like a waterfall; falling into a black void. The sight shook him to the core. The black ink void that looked so much like space was just…. there . 

He doesn’t know how much time has passed starting at the void. But as he turns to leave; a shimmer catches his eye. Spinning back around the little puppet looks closer. The void shifts revealing it’s actually a dark room. A room full of stage lights, cameras, posters, flatbed carts, machines, and people. 

Immediately a white flashing covered his eyes, and a pounding headache formed. He faints. 

Wally Darling looks in-front of him. The two humans talk. He’s sitting on a wooden desk, surrounded by needles, thread, buttons, and cotton. One of the humans; a tall female in dark green

was arguing with a shorter male. 

“Come on Ronald! I made the puppet; it took me weeks! Now you want me to change it? What gives?”

“What gives?” The man spoke; low and annoyed. He waves a pale arm toward Wally. “What gives? It's creepy as hell Gloria! Those damn button eyes! The stupid smile. The-“

“If you’re so scared of puppets, why the hell did you create a tv show about them!?” 

“Playfellow Workshop is a nonprofit organization. People want puppets; we give them puppets. Just….Change Willy, Walter, ugh, change the damn puppet!”  Ronald commands then storms off. Leaving Gloria to stand there. The young woman storms back to the table. 

Gently but fast; she grabs Wally and looks over him. Bringing him over to a large mirror and sitting him down on the desk. She looks at him. Her golden eyes scan every detail and flaw. Wally looks at himself. 

One green and one blue button eyes peek back. Blue hair that is longer and straw like; tied in a loose ponytail with a red ribbon. His clothes were that of a yellow sweater with blue buttons, a white undershirt, and black pants. His skin was the same yellow fleece. 

“Maybe I should change the eyes? Glass? Hmm maybe. What if I gave him some pupils? I can give it a crossed eyed look..Yeah, that sounds good…”

As Gloria moves around the table; she removes the ponytail and starts to reshape it. She removes his clothes; mumbling about colors. “It’s been months since I first started this job. Making a puppet is hard. Besides; we need to make sure your voice actor is a perfect match. You’re a living person; at least to the children you will be. We have to make sure the children won’t notice your actor; or at the very least, make them think you two are friends.” 

Different memories follow. Gloria redoing his hair; forming it into his iconic pompadour. Him being named. First meeting Home. Him standing into front of the camera; acting out his lines. 

All of it. It came back. 

But, a new question popped up. How did he lose these memories?  And why?

                              ——-

???. 1970. 

"I know; I always hated mythology. Or rather; only certain myths. You know the ones where a human is seen doing a good and kind thing? But when they die they don’t go to heaven and end up in Hell? Yeah, in those myths, the humans aren't giving a reason why they're being falsely punished. They go to hell and are not allowed to know what they did! How unfair.”

Wally picks up the cup of wine, swirls the wine, then takes a sip. "Do you know the myth of Tantalus ? Or then one about Abraham ?"

Looking up at the clock Frank sees the smaller arrow tick to 3. His eyes move back towards the man directly in front of him. The lamp next to Wally shines. Bathing the room in soft burnt orange. It doesn’t give much light; only shining on Wally and the table. 

Reaching for his own cup, he takes a quick glance at his host, then also takes a sip. The wine is red and savory. It reminds him of olives. There a faint hint of something that taste bitter. Wally continues. 

“Basically it's a story about a man named  Abraham who is willing to sacrifice his son; Isaac. The son only lives because God had Abraham sacrifice a ram instead.” 

“The story has many different meanings. Some think it was a way to tell people to stop doing human sacrifices; and so animal ones instead. Some think Abraham only did it in fear of God. Others believed he did it out of loyalty or to hold up his end of a deal. Whatever the case; I hate it.”

He takes a breath. A quick pause as he gathers his thoughts. Frank stiffens. Wally then speak; softer and lower. As though he was drowsy. 

“Imagine if you were Isaac. You and your father go on a hike; your dad builds an altar and tries to kill you. The only reason you are alive is because God said no. Or because your dad was scared. How would you feel? Terrible probably. Does Issac still love his father after that day? Does he forget it and move on? Does he fear his father?"

Wally moves forward from his chair. He reaches over the table and as quick as a snake, grabs Frank’s wrist. Frank jolts but doesn’t move his hand back. He can’t. Wally smiles; wide and full of sharp teeth. It gives him a headache. The pain faintly pounds against his head. 

 "When does the love for someone become overshadowed by religion? Would you kill your child or spouse to save someone? Will you do it if God said so?" 

The leather chair crackles as Wally moves. He places a knee on the table and shifts his weight. Then he gets up onto the table and starts to crawl. Frank feels his breath leave his body. His heart beats louder and louder. He feels dizzy. Was it from fear? His body shakes. 

Don’t move.

 Don’t move. 

Don’t move. 

The cups and wine get knocked over. The red wine spills over the table and drips onto the floor. Soaking into the wood. The steady drips form a pattern; matching Frank’s heart. Still holding his wrist, Wally moves closer; almost sitting in his lap with how close he gets.  

Letting go of his wrist Wally cups his face. Hands directly under his jaw and near his ears. Wally's hands are warm against his cold neck.

 His heart beats faster. The smaller puppet eyes are wide and looking into them makes Frank feel like he’s drowning in spilled ink. The dizziness and darkness makes Wally’s teeth seem to have an unusual brightness to them. 

“Why have you brought me here Wallace?” He demanded. Mentally he is quite proud that he didn’t stutter or stumble. That pride quickly fades when Wally lets out a snort. 

“Using full names now Franklin? Buuut if you must know. You-“ 

Wally lifts a finger and bops his nose. A high pitched giggle escapes the little puppet’s lips. “You have been keeping some secrets~ You have gone to the edge of the forest. What did you see? Hmmm? Did you find what you wanted? Did you have fun? Is this fun?” 

“How did?”

“I have eyes everywhere. Silly. Silly. I should have known you wouldn’t turn down to explode and to reach any problems. I saw your book. What are you writing? What are you finding? Tell me.” 

“….” Frank didn’t speak. Even if he wanted to, what would he say? Wally I saw a black void? You seem to be going insane. I think Home is trying to kill you? Yeah. No. 

Wally narrows his eyes. “No? Don’t wanna talk? Really? I’m giving you one last chance Frank. You’re my friend.”

“……” 

The being’s smiles go wider; impossible wide. “You never answered my question. Will you kill somebody if God told you to?” 

Frank closes his eyes. The thing in his friend’s skin moves. He can feel it breathing on his neck. The scent of paint and apples is strong. It acts like a perfume on Wall- It . Clearing his throat he answers. 

“No. Never.” 

Still with his eyes close; he heard the monster laugh. It’s monotone and slow. 

“Oh Frank Dear. You don’t understand. I never said would you. I said you will .” 

The Amygdalin kills him before he can feel the being’s teeth sink into his neck. 

                         ——-

May. 8 1971. 

Frank wakes up with a gasp. Sitting up he can feel his heart pound. His body was sweaty too. Reaching up anhand he traces the phantom pains. He could still feel the poison and teeth on his skin and in his veins. Looking over to his side he sees Julie sleeping next to him; that Book loosely clutches in her arms. Looking out the window he sees the sun starting to raise. Then two spend the whole day studying the book and trying to figure out how to talk to Wally. 

As quiet as a mouse, he reaches over and plucks the book out of Julie’s arms. Taking the book he shoves it into his bedroom’s bookcase. Half behind other books and shelve objects. Hopefully to be forgotten and never seen again. 

Maybe I should burn it. Also, what the fuck was that?

Chapter Text

March 8

“This house is going to kill me. Do you know?

It will. I will let it happen. Because I love it. I love my home. Its wall keeps me safe; but also doesn’t let me leave. It cradles me with its beams and carpets. In the basement my body will lie; with the cold stone and the dirt. Maybe near the washing machine and dryer..Maybe in a different space.

 And my ghost will haunt its attic. In the warm, musty wood. Hidden in the shadows; barely touching the sunlight that streams in. Curing up in a ball; tucked away in a corner with the cardboard boxes and rotten moth eaten clothes.

I don’t remember when I last left. When I walk around in the summer breeze; feeling the wind and sun. The chatting of life. When did I stop going out? When did I get so scared of people? It scares me. Overwhelms me. Maybe I lost that ability to connect with others during the long snowy night. Maybe I  never had it at all.

This house has teeth and bones and blood. It’s mine. All of it. I didn’t build it; I didn’t build and raise this baby. This man-made child of stone and wood and glass and fabric. but I made this house into my home. See those markings in the wood? That creaking board? Those curtains? 

See the sweat stain on the furniture? When it’s so hot outside and inside that you leave trails of yourself everywhere you go. Or that blood mark on the chair; when I got a nosebleed…

See the trinkets and paint? Can you hear the hum of the radiator and heater? That photograph? That blanket? That’s me. That's me. That is so painful and truthfully me. That’s me loving myself. Decorating myself. Turning my body from something cold and bear into something soft and warm. 

Hopefully. 

This home is going to kill me if I don’t leave. Will I leave? Will I leave? I hope it kills me. I hope you kill me. I hope you will remember me. Loved me. I hope the memories aren’t tainted. Aren’t cloudy by grief or anger.

I’m going to kill this home. 

——

The fan whirs above him, the blades moving in a half lazy speed. Even buried under the blankets, the cold still hits him. Automatically he takes a deep breath. When he exhales he lets it out slower. 

In the corner of his eye the clock blinks back a dull red; 1:07AM. 

Lifting the blankets off him; Wally slowly moves up and reaches for the phone on the bedside table. What better way to relieve his late night thoughts than talking to a friend? 

The phone played its dial up jingle as he waited. Wally fingered the long cherry red cord as he listened. A beat of silence. Then two. After a third time Barnaby picked up.

“Hello? Hello?” His friend’s voice speaks. It sounds muffled and half asleep. Wally pauses; a bit of embarrassment flutters his face. He forgot not everyone has sleeping problems like him. 

“Hello neighbor. Sorry for the late call. But…Ah; small question. Will you eat me?” 

“What? The hell is?? Oh . Wally . Go back to bed..”

“…….You didn’t answer my question. Will you eat me? You know? Like what normal dogs do?” Wally repeats. He looks down at his fingers, still twist up in the cords. A few of them were tight against his skin; lightly cutting off oxygen. With a quick flick of his wrist and a few pulls; his fingers were free. He repeats this process of getting tangled up then freeing himself.

“ Wally -“ 

“Don’t dogs eat their master's corpse? You’re my best friend. You should eat me when I die.” 

There was silence. For a fraction of a second Wally thought the phone was disconnected. But Barnaby speaks; a bit more awake, and a bit annoyed. “Wally you’re not going to die.”

“How do you know?” He wonders. Does Barnaby know the truth? If so; how? When? Why didn’t Barnaby tell him the truth? 

“Everyone dies buddy. But that’s not gonna mean I’m eating you! What’s up bud? Why would you ask me this? Is Home messing with ya’ again? Talk to me.” 

“………Goodbye.”  He hung up.  

——-

It hurts. But that was the point. Heh point. 

The sharp needle makes another line in its work. Another piece of thread went into his skin. While Wally would have preferred to use staples; a needle and thread was suitable.

In the mirror Wally watches himself sew the smooth green button into his left eye socket. Would the bon socket-orbit-start to sag? Or will the button hold its shape? Will the stitches infect the area and make it look bloated? 

It made him curious. 

This needs to change. He needs to change. 

He is something between a human and an angel. He was created and kept alive for this singular purpose. He is a spirit. A soul. Living on the border between life and death. 

There are chemicals in his brain when there shouldn’t be any. If he was to saw off his skull; would there be a brain? Would there be Cerebrospinal fluid? Would it just be cotton and fabric? Or is his Dura just rotting? The needle gets caught on a piece of his skin. It tears as he pulls it out, causing the skin to rip and bled. It’s like an oversized hangnail. Grabbing the loose skin he takes it off the needle and places it in a jar that’s beside him. The jar full of liquid and his one blue eye. 

The chemicals in his head tells him that he doesn’t deserve the love his friends give him. Can’t even comprehend the kindness and friendship they give him. He is so very grateful for them. 

His purpose is to serve. To spread love and kindness. To protect. How can he protect his friends- family- if he doesn't know how to free them from their strings? To free them from their bounds? 

The answer is so simple it shocks him to not know this sooner. 

The answer? He needs to escape. 

He needs to kill and destroy the higher beings. Let him be a shepherd and lead his family- sheep -to safety; to a peace world. Let the Neighborhood be safe; let them not fear the dark and what lies behind the forest. 

——-

Eddie Dear is a mailman. He doesn’t remember how he ever got this job. He thinks maybe it was his mother’s or father’s. But either way; he’s here. 

But that doesn’t feel right. 

He gets that sometimes. These odd feelings. He traveled to different states; regions, and towns. But if he tries to recall the names; it slips away. But he can remember the sounds; the sights. Sometimes he sees big tall metal billboards. Dry-up grass with budding flowers. Tulips ; if his memory serves him right.

He doesn’t have a truck to deliver the mail. Or maybe he did once upon a time. He must have sold it. Because now he goes by foot. With only a red and orange sling bag. His uniform is simple; bag, blue jeans, belt, white shirt, brown shoes, and his hat. Sometimes he feels like the colors are difficult. Should be different. A red shirt with black shoes; a jacket. A different bag and hat. 

The way he speaks is a constant change. One day it could be soft and airy; another low and rough. Phrases like cher, June gloom, plod, flake, and blue crush, all of them slip out of his mouth or bubble in his brain and throat. They’re a part of his speech habits. 

His memory is going. And Eddie is not sure how or why.

Looking up at the sun; he can see its bright yellows and orange burn the sky. It’s still a bit dark outside; but he can hear the birds chirping. It feels a bit unnatural to hear them in the dark. He takes his eyes off the sky and looks forward; counting the houses on his routine. First stop; Wally.

Home is a strange thing. Eddie thinks. He has only been here for a year; but he knows that normal houses aren't like Home. They don’t come alive. Don’t love or communicate or breathe . It took Eddie a week alone just to feel comfortable being at Wally’s doorstep; a month to actually come inside the beast. 

It’s unrealistic red too. He thinks back to first seeing Home. Too bright and with sharp perfect bushes and grass lawn. And too big windows and eyes. Eddie swore up and down that he saw teeth in the doorway of Home. But when he told Wally the younger man just started to laugh. 

Do the others have any opinions on Home? Or were they just desensitized to it? 

As Eddie goes to the door he quickly gives a glance at the creature’s eyes. The shutters are close; meaning Home is asleep. Taking a relief of air Eddie goes and takes out the mail and puts it in the mailslot. Then he turns. Not even three steps off Home’s steps he heard the door open. 

“Hello Dear.” 

He jolts. Then turns around. “Hello Darling.” 

For the past year he and Wally had a little game. Since both of their names were “pet names” they would call each other by their last name.since the two only interact during Eddie routine; it becomes a sort of special activity. But now hearing the soft low purr in Wally’s voice. Hearing his name? It felt off. Like this house; like the sky; like this whole town. 

Trying to not let his anxiety show Eddie turn around and have a little wave. “Wally! Good morning. Hell…Oh? Hey…Has…Has your eye always been green?” 

As Eddie looks at Wally, he takes in the younger man's appearance. Wally is short; roughly 5”3. His hair is down and unbraided and unbrush; causing it to curl around Wally's lower shoulders. The dusk light making the blue look dark and black. Like the color of blackberries. 

Currently Wally is dressed in a blue sweater; it’s paint stained and fraying at the edges. As well as wool strip pale pink socks and gray sweatpants. Sleepwear clothes. Or lounging clothes. 

It's very different from Wally’s normal attire. Wally's body language is different too; more slump and tired. Wally leans against the door; a tired smile on his face. His shoulders curved inward, and arms crossed over one another. His long hair falls into one of his eyes. Only his green one shows. 

Green? Eddie blinks. Did Wally always have heterochromia? He swore that Wally had blue eyes. He feels himself swallow saliva; his throat feels suddenly tight. As if something was stuck inside; or as if a hand is placed on his throat. Clearing his throat, he looks away. But in the process he accidentally makes eye contact with Home. The house was now awake. Its eye was black and big; taking up almost all the space in the window. 

How does an eye fit in a window? Was it behind the glass? Or indoor? If the window broke or was removed would Home’s eye also be removed? Not wanting to be impolite (and the fact he was terrified) Eddie was in a small staring contest with Home. He could see the house’s eye concise of a black-almost purple-iris, a sclera, and even a freakin lacrimal caruncle . No pupil or eyelid or eyelashes. 

That thing can cry? Eddie blink. He lost the mini staring contest.

“Dear. My eye has always been green. Green and blue. Oh; is your memory acting up again? Oh dear… That’s not good is it? No not at all…” Wally spoke. Soft and high pitched…it felt condescending almost. Wrong. Eddie shakes his head. No. Wally would do that. Right?  

“I…Sorry. It’s early ya’know? Must’ve not had my coffee today. Sorry Darling.” 

Wally closed his eyes and shrugs. “Mmmm. It’s fine Dear. No harm done. Coffee you say? My my! Your memory is bad today. Oh I’m terribly sorry my Dear…We don’t have a coffee shop here in our little Town. Remember? There is only the bodega; and even then it only serves cheap coffee. Gross right.”

Wally clicked his tongue, then he moves away from the doorway and walked over Eddie. Leaning his head against his bicep, and wraps his own arms around Eddie’s. 

Small nails dig through his shirt and press into his skin. Not enough pressure to bleed, but enough to feel it’s present. Then Wally continued speaking . “ I must admit it’s very adorable that you forgot. Ha. Ha. Ha. But don’t worry; I’ll help you. Alright?” 

“Help? Sorry doll but I don’t think I hava the time to piddlin’ around.” He tell, subtly trying to remove Wally’s hands. 

It doesn't work.

Wally chuckles. “Don’t worry it will only be a few minutes. Come inside; I’ll give you some coffee and breakfast. My treat.”

As Eddie is dragged inside he thought of an old poem he heard. Something about a spider and a fly, and how the spider used flattery. He looked down at Wally. Being a few heads taller he could only see Wally’s head and not his eyes. It made him nervous. And once he steps inside Home; the sudden whiplash between the two temperatures makes his feel dizzy. 

The closure closes automatically. And Eddie finds himself trapped.

Chapter Text

Many people fear bugs. But here in their Little Neighborhood, Frank Frankly doesn't. He's the town's entomologist. There many different bugs around him. Beetles, ladybugs, prying mantis. They come in different shades of the rainbow.  Some are in shades of blue and purple, with little spots and hearts. Some are in warmer tones, with curly antennas and short legs. Frank likes to collect them, to study them and their habitat. Their behavior and how they interact with the world. But he never kills them. It's too cruel in his opinion. 

Frank thinks of his neighbors as bugs. 

Not in a curl way, goddess no. Rather he watches them, he likes to see how people interact with one another. For example, he noticed that yesterday Sally was trying to boss around Eddie and Poppy-probably for some type of play if he had to guess. Sally reminds either of a bright big butterfly, one that flutters and moves around showing of its colors. Or maybe a Golden Tortoise Beetle? The golden bug shines like sun. Quite a fitting creature for the star-like child. 

Many of his friends, Frankly ponders, are soft, small creatures. His friends are kind and sweet, just like  animals. But they could also be deadly or headstrong when needed. His friends are docile. They really wouldn't hurt anyone, unless absolutely necessary. But...There’s one person that doesn't fit that.

Wally Darling. 

That boy, in Frank's opinion, is an enigma. Wally is kind, happy, and cheerful. He’s the leader of the group, and the one who seems to know the most of different topics. Thing that Wally shouldn’t know. Like last week, when Frank and Julie's were discussing on what type of cake to get for Poppy's birthday, when Wally and Barbary showed up. Wally looked him dead in the eyes and said "Poppy likes red velvet and peanut butter cake. Get that." 

See, how could Wally know that?  So to Frank, Wally is like a spider. A small creature, but one that can make beautiful webs. A creature that help the ecosystem, who can be hidden in plain sight, with many eyes watching. Observing. A spider that can captures and eats others. Deadly, but safe to those it trust. 

—-

May 9. 1971

There a spider in the corner of the room. He offhandedly notices. I need to clean Home. It’s not nice to keep your…….owner? Roommate? House. Unclean. 

Lifting the meat cleaver over his shoulder, Wally swing it down with a sharp and quick whump. The dismembered arm from Eddie Dear lays still on the chopping board, the once's living organism was now still and lifeless, and also frustratingly hollow. 

Cursious. Ed—Subject #3 arm was functional and act like a normal arm, but when removed, it wasn't experience rigor-mortis.  It wasn't becoming still, the arm wasn't getting cold, it wasn't bleeding. It went limp. Inside the arm is cotton, but no bones, metal limb, or even wood to puppeteer the arm. So that means to the Humans, Edd—Subject #3 arm is an unmoving limb that can’t hold shape or can be positioned. 

It took Wally a bit, but once he got Eddie into Home, a half form and even more half rushed plan was in motion. Wally didn't mean to chop Eddie's arm off. Really! He was trying to get a pinkie, or a toe or even an ear for goodness sake! Something small, but not important enough to miss. Wally’s hypothesis was that he wasn't the only puppet. The only non living thing that somehow, was magically alive.  But he needs to see. Wally could bleed, feel hungry, breathe, do human things. Like the Human friends that visit Home. Or the dismemberment voice of Mr. Narrator.  Could his friends do that? Or where they simply objects that were puppeteer by humans? Was he the only real thing in a world of fiction? 

Shaking his head, Wally grabbed a pinkie finger and gently dropped it into a plastic ziplock bag. Half heartedly scribbling down the date and place the finger into the freezer. He thought back on today's events. 

—-

He shook at the start. Of the idea of hurting or scarring his friend. Of the irreversible consequences.  But as he grab the knife, his anxiety slowly morphs into entropy or maybe even esurience. Yes, that sounds correct. This extreme hunger and greed. This craving hunger, of what exactly? Was he hungry for food? Or the knowledge of being right? Or was this hunger a disguise as something more wicked? 

Wally Darling is the Protagonist of their little show Welcome Home. A children show to teach and to entertain. A show that somehow gots millions and thousands of eyes of both children and adults watching him. Wally the puppet, the non sentient object. Every day Wally was on camera, his voice actor playing and reading lines, and Wally’s limbs moved around. Every day Wally can vaguely see beyond the borders of his mind, the other voice actors and soundstage crew and set designs. He can see and hear the Boss giving criticism and opinions. Wally can watch, but he can’t act on his own. 

When night falls, Wally can move on his own. Can have his own voice, and can move his limbs the way HE wants to. and right now, it is his choice to chop off one of his closest friend’s limbs. Wally can tell Eddies is being effect by…whatever this thing is.

It was during a Christmas or was it Halloween? It was during a party that Eddie wasn’t delivering mail. Eddie wasn’t need for his job and that cause the poor older man to spiral, looking at a plate of a single pea while sitting on a chair. Eddie also stated multiple times that Home made him uncomfortable. He said it was unnatural for a house to have eyes or to move and communicate. And that made Wally curious. Does Eddie have false memories of living somewhere else? Maybe an episode is in the works to give Eddie some family or show him living in a different town. Can the writers of the show influence and give him and his friends new memories? Can they rewrite their memories? 

So Wally told Eddie to come inside, and come to the basement. Where the air is stale, the ground is rocky and cool, and deep, deep into the heart of Home. It’s a good place to die. Or at least, to lose a limb. It took much struggling and lots of adrenaline and panic, but Wally somehow accidentally mind you, got Eddie’s arm instead of a hand. 

“Shit.” He cursed. 

“What-what did you do??” Eddie wailed. One hand over the gash on his bicep. The gasp was bleeding heavily. From this close up Wally could see little bits of yellow fat against the bright red. Frankly, no not his friend, the sight made him queasy. Wally didn’t like the idea of his friends being hurt. Of them bleeding.  It felt….wrong.

“It..its an accident?” He stated. 

“An accident?? Wally you charge at me with a knife! The hell does that make it an accident? Just…get me some bandages and I’ll won’t speak to this to anyone ok?” Eddie pants taking deep labor breaths as if he ran a marathon. The older man slowly moved around the room, looking to find anything to cover the wound.  

Wally gnawed on his bottom lip, an action he seen one of the Human do. “I can’t do that Eddie. You’ll ruined my experiment. Besides, if I’m correct, your limb will regrow by tomorrow or the day after.” 

“It will what?? Wally, it’s not that serious. Look, your just…your just not thinking straight ok? Let’s go back upstairs and we’ll work this out ok?” Eddie spoke, not once looking Wally in the eye. As Eddie made his way to the stairs, one foot on the first step. Home shook and turn the stairs into a ramp causing Eddies foot romslip out from under him making the poor mailman to tumbled backwards and hitting his head on the cement. Knocking him out. 

Stepping forward, Wally lightly kicked Eddie’s head. The unconscious man let out a groan. “Well….thats one way to stop him. Thank you so much for the help Home.”  Wally praise. 

“Now, let’s get rid of that nasty wound shall we?”

—-

He must be going mad. Certainly. Certainly. After all how can one justify about to eat someone limb? 

Wally is many things. Small. Blue hair with pronouns. 3 apples tall. He has also done many experiments on himself. Ones that were uncomfortable and dangerous. Such as the act of removing a pinkie finger and eating it. In those experiments, Wally felt pain and bleed. But as soon as the limb was off, no more pain. No more blood, just cotton. The limb which was once’s warm and wet, and could bend, was now cold and stiff. Popping his finger into his mouth Wally could only taste thick rough scratchy wool. No bones. No blood. No satisfying crunch or sharp salty taste. Just airy, slightly musty, cotton. 

A disappointment, really. I wonder how I would taste in a soup..The day after Wally experiment, he “woke up” with his finger. The new fabric a more dandelion yellow than his canary yellow skin. There was also a small, barely hard to see, white thread wrapped around the base of his finger. Wally’s new green eye was also back to blue. Though that shade was slightly off. At least I’ll have fun ripping out my eye again. It will be a game. Let’s see if I can have my green eye be showed on TV. Let’s see if I can scare or make the Humans confused on my new eye color. If I can do that, maybe I can show them not to mess with me and my friends. Wally thought. 

Today, Wally stood at his stove, baking the once’s forearm of his dear friend Eddie’s arm. The limb, if Wally could even call it that, was back to a prop. This time, Wally was curious on if eating a friend’s limb would have the same taste. As he cooked the arm in a pan, Wally could smell the butter and spices, but the arm itself only smell like burning fabric. Home let out a rattle. 

“Don’t worry, Home. Eddie is upstairs in the guest room. You see by tomorrow his arm will be fixed, and Ill say that we had a sleepover. That’s not a lie if it really happen yes? And you and I both know blood don’t look like blood to Humans, they can’t see it. So bloodstains in the basement don’t matter. Tomorrow I’ll give Eddie some pain medicine. Hmmm can I overdose on pain medicine? These experiments are getting boring….Maybe I should talk to Frank about these?” Wally rambled. Home let out a whistle from the radiator, the sudden noise causing Wally to jump and hold his ears. 

“Ow! Home please warning me next time.”

Tap. tap bang bang. The house complained. 

“Hmmm. No! Why would I tell Frankly that? Look. The humans will listen and then we can make sure they won’t hurt us. After today I won’t eat or cut any-more of my friends. Someone will fix Eddie, that means I will be able trust them. I’ll make sure our show stays on the air, but in return we would have respect and rights. I won’t let any of us be abandoned ever again. So you don’t need to lock me inside again. Ok?” Wally explained, hoping he reassurance to Home will let the house not lock him away again. 

Tweeet. Tap tap tweeetttt tappy tap. 

“Don’t roll your eyes at me Mr! Anyway, food is done. Would you like some? No? Ok. Let’s see how this tastes.”

Setting the plate down, Wally sat down and stab the arm with a knife. The fabric was a burnt brown color, and it ripped easily. The cotton was black and in a charred powdery mess. Lifting a fork up to his mouth, Wally took a bit. Still tastes like fabric, only this time burnt with butter and spices. It’s very uneatable. Wally spat out the so call food into a napkin. Getting up he threw away the wasted food. 

“Want to go to the store and buy some apple flavored candy? Oh and some pain medicine for Eddie…” Wally ask Home.