I do not own Goosebumps. All rights go to R.L. Stine. I only own Shelly and anything that pertains to her.

1920...

Franz Mahar looked out as the angry mob stormed away. They had just destroyed his precious creation.

Or so they thought.

Mahar walked over to the puppet that was lying in a heap on the floor and picked it up. It was gone. His life's work was gone. Burnt to a crisp.

"Those fools," he mumbled under his breath. He threw the burnt puppet and went over to a shelf. "How foolish they are. Did they really think that I had but one dummy?" He picked up two identical puppets and cradled them. "They may have gotten Wally, but they will never get you. My friends. My true friends."

"Fools!" one of the puppets cried out.

"Fools!" the other puppet said.

Both the puppets and Mahar tossed back their heads and started laughing crazily.

"Yes, my puppets!" their maker encouraged them. "No one will be able to stop you!"

Just then, a young boy came in. He looked to be about ten years old and was wearing a fabric, long-sleeved shirt and brown pants. He also had on his favorite brown shoes.

The boy looked up at Mahar. "Daddy, what are you doing?" he asked.

"N-nothing, son," Mahar stammered.

The boy looked at the burnt puppet on the ground. "Uh, dad? Was the mob here again?"

The maker shook his head. "Of course not."

"So what happened to Wally?" The young boy pointed at the puppet.

"Oh, that stupid puppet? He was not perfect enough, so I burned him."

"But daddy, you make good puppets."

Mahar smiled and hugged him. He felt bad about lying to his son, but he did not want him to get involved in the mess. He was worried about how his own son would freak out if he saw his creations walking and talking by themselves.

"Harold, you are the only human who actually understands me," Mahar stated.

"What about mom?" Harold asked.

The maker let out a heavy sigh. "I told you to never mention her."

"I know, dad. But she must have understood you. You two got married after all."

"We were happily married." Mahar frowned. "That is, until your mother left me for another man because she thought that I was crazy!"

Harold's face saddened, and he looked down, and Mahar hugged him again. "I love you, son. And that is all that matters."

His son slightly smiled and looked at the two puppets that his father was holding in his arms. "Daddy, what are those puppets?"

"Well, these are my new creations," Mahar told him. "This is Slappy and Snappy."

Harold chuckled. "Those are funny names."

"I thought of the names myself," the maker said, smiling.

"How can you tell them apart?"

"That is easy. Just look at their eyes. Slappy has olive-green eyes, and Snappy has black eyes."

"Dad, may I hold them?"

"Uh..."

"Please? I will be extra careful."

His father smiled. "I know that you will be careful." He handed the puppets to Harold.

"You did a really good job at making these puppets," Harold said as he examined Slappy and Snappy.

Suddenly, both of the puppets lifted up their wooden heads and let out high, shrill voices.

"Hey, sonny!" they exclaimed.