As her soulless eyes opened to the dark, desolate room, she sighed. Her short, straw-like yellow hair formed a massive bats nest around her. Her skin pale as the moon light that crept through the long, despaired, velvet drapes. She sat up stiffly, and looked around her bedroom. Normal little playthings, for a normal little girl, in her normal little room. Heads pried off dolls, walls painted black, blood spattered carpet. Yes; just a normal little girl.
Lenore swung her legs over the side of her magnificent four-poster bed and jumped down. Her nightgown trailed behind her as she glided through the doorway and out into the hall. Paintings of stoic family covered the high walls. Family which had eyes watching her every move. She slid into the crack of an open door and disappeared into the bathroom.
Large eyes, glazed in plastic coating watched her timidly. The patched doll that resembled nothing quite specific, loomed out from the shadows of underneath the pillow. He staggered forward and fell onto the crimpled, crisp sheets. Ragamuffin glanced up into the stillness of night. He could hear the faint sound of a beautiful song. Surely escaping from the little girls mouth. 'Singing that song again,' he thought, getting up and falling back against the pillows. He glanced over at the window and noticed the full moon. 'That's all she ever does, now a days,' he sighed. Thus, he began to long. And oh how he longed. Not of the wish to become a vicious killer. Not of the desperate desire to be what he once was considered to be human once again. But oh, how he hungered for companionship. But alas, not just companionship, but for the sweet taste of a woman's lips; her soft, affectionate gaze; and mostly a touch that he had not felt in nearly over one hundred years. Nor could he feel that touch in the body he possessed now, nor the love and affection.
It was not of the fact that his body was made of 93% polyester and 6% cotton. Or the fact that he was mere stuffing. Though these qualities did have a factor, he was quite simply… lacking the 'parts'.
Though he had been a merciless, blood thirsty killer, he really did enjoy a beautiful and intelligent woman's company. Though, this of which he will never be able to know once again. For, what woman could ever come to… love… a stuffed toy?
Before his thoughts could proceed any dirtier, Lenore had stepped out of the bathroom. He perked up at the sight of her. "Lenore!" he said, somewhat cheerfully. She glanced in his general direction, as she mad her way past him. "Good evening," he added, again, somewhat cheerfully. She nodded to him and began to change into her usual mournful, black gown. She pulled her nightgown over her head, with no shame at all, and cast it aside. Ragamuffin averted his eyes quickly.
Lately, something inside him told him not to look. She was the same little girl for the past 100 years, or so, but… why did he have to look away now? He glanced back quickly, as her dress fell past her knees and onto the floor. He recalled their very first formal meeting, several years ago. He flashed back to the disappointment when he heard those sweet, innocent words leave her lips:
"I've been embalmed…"
And indeed she had been….
Inumonkey13: I don't own Lenore the cute little dead girl, or even Ragamuffin. They are the creation of Roman Dirge. Also, you can see the origin of this story on: .… go rape a duck.