A/N: For the purpose of this ending, Dummy wasn’t in the freezer long enough to go into the “wan die loop. It would be no fun to torture something that doesn’t even know it’s being tortured, so I hope you’ll bear with me.
…
Your name is Dummy, and you’re still having coldie-hurties! Your see-places are stuck shut, you can’t move, and you can’t feel your hear-places at all.
It has been so many forevers since Mummah put you in the special sorry-box, and it gives you so many hurties! You didn’t even know it was possible to feel so many hurties at once!
The cold bites at your bones, filling you with a gnawing ache. You want to cry, but you’ve run all out of sad-wawas!
Finally, Mummah opens up the door! You can’t see her, but you can feel the warm air hit your skin when she opens it up! “Well, you bad fluffy, looks like you’re still alive,” she says to you, and she sounds so disappointed! “That’s really quite a shame…It would have been much easier and less painful if you’d just frozen to death like I asked you to. Honestly, I don’t know why I even bother…You’re such a bad fluffy and you don’t love Mummah at all, so I don’t know why I thought you’d listen to me.”
You want so desperately to tell her that you do love her! That you love her more than anything! That you want to be a good fluffy for her so that you can finally stop giving her saddies! You want to tell her that you finally know what makes you a bad fluffy! You try and try as hard as you can, but you can’t make your mouth move!
Huu-huuu, pwease mouwfie, wai nu move fow Dummeh? You think to yourself desperately. Nee’ make tawkies wif Mummah!
But as hard as you try and as much as you cry (internally), you can’t move any part of you!
You hear Mummah sigh, and then her warm hand is wrapped around you!
The relief that you feel as Mummah gives you the warmest, bestest huggies with her hand is indescribable. She pulls you out of the horrible special sorry-box, and out into the warm air!
You want to nuzzle closer to her hand, but you are frozen completely stiff!
“Well Dummy, it looks like your time has finally come. Ellie doesn’t need you anymore, and she certainly doesn’t want you!”
Nu twue! Ewwy am Dummeh speshew fwend! Ewwy wub Dummeh mowe dan anyfing! Nu wan fowebah sweepies!
“What’s the matter Dummy? Did you really think that she was your special friend?” She lets out a laugh, and you start to get confused. “Why on Earth would a good fluffy like Ellie want anything to do with an ugly, deformed, amputated little shitrat like you? No, she doesn’t need you…she has Ray!”
Way am munstah fwuffy! Gabe huwties an bad speshew-huggies to Ewwy!
“That’s right,” she continues, “Ray is a very good fluffy, just like Ellie. Do you understand? A good fluffy gets a good special friend! And a bad fluffy like you gets…nothing! Right now, Ellie has Ray’s soon-babbehs in her tummy, and she is so happy! She’s probably giving him lickie-kisses right now!”
Her words sting like barbed hooks in your skin, and you want to cry, but you can’t!
“Didn’t you hear how much she enjoyed his special-huggies?” she continues, and you desperately wish you could cover your hear-places so you didn’t have to listen anymore. “That’s something that you could never give her! And Ray can play with her, give her huggies, be a good special-friend…All things that you could never do for her! Because you’re a very bad fluffy!
All of a sudden, there is lots of scary wawa all over you! It’s so loud, and the wawa is heavy! You can’t see where it’s coming from, and you can’t feel Mummah’s hands anymore! It’s is fairly warm, but that does little to console you. You want to scream, want to cry out, but you can’t get your mouth to open!
Mummah continues, and she’s loud enough to hear over the scary wawa. “Later tonight, they’re going to sleep in a fluffpile! Ellie is going to get big and round with Ray’s soon-babbehs, and he is going to take such good care of her. Unlike you, who can’t even take care of himself!”
Slowly, you start to be able to move a little bit! You wiggle your right hoofsie; your left hoofsie is broken, and has not stopped giving you hurties since it happened.
“Mmmmm-mmm!” you manage, trying as hard as you can to speak. “Mmmmm!”
After a moment, you finally succeed. “Mummah!” you scream, “Hewp! Dummeh know wai am bad fwuffy!”
Suddenly, the wawas are gone! Shivering against the painfully familiar ceramic of the bathroom sink, you blink up at Mummah. She stares down at you impatiently, and you are so relieved that your suffering is finally about to come to an end that you can’t help but let out a sob of relief!
“Mummah, Dummeh am bad fwuffy becaws was bown bad! Was awways gon be bad fwuffy, nu matter wat du.” you tell her, voice weak and quivering.
You watch Mummah’s face carefully, terrified that you’re wrong.
But slowly, she begins to smile. When she speaks again, her voice is a little softer. “That’s right, Dummy!” she praises, and you practically melt into the sink. “You were always going to be a bad fluffy! There was never anything you could do, Mummah was always going to hate you.”
You stare up at her, happy-wawa welling up in your see-places. For the very first time in your life, your tail begins to wag behind you. “Dummeh am gud fwuffy nao, wight Mummah?!” you ask eagerly.
…But she doesn’t respond.
As the smile slowly leaves her face, your tail stops as quickly as it began. “Wight Mummah?!” you repeat nervously. “Yu did say dat if Dummeh teww yu wai am bad, den wiww be gud fwuffy!”
“Now why would I go and say something silly like that?” she says at last. “Just like you said, there was never anything that you could do! You could be the most well-behaved fluffy in the entire world and you’d still be a bad fluffy!”
Your blood runs cold. Mummah sees the look on your face, and begins to laugh. Not a nice laugh, though—it’s a mean and scary laugh!
You start to cry once again, and Mummah croons out, “Alright Dummy, it’s off the shed we go!”
…
You are grinning ear to ear as you click the door to the shed closed behind you, a sobbing Dummy clutched tightly in one hand. You have been waiting so patiently for this, and now the time has finally come! You’re determined to savor his torture.
You have everything set up, and you don’t want to wait a minute longer. “Well Dummy, are you ready?”
“Pwease, Mummah!” he begs, snot and tears dripping into his gaping mouth. “Pwease nu huwt Dummeh! Jus wan be gud fwuffy! Nu gib huwties!!”
You don’t bother with a response. Instead, you dunk his body head-first into a bucket of cold water, and you hold him under for a few moments. You can hear him screaming, his voice rising to the surface along with the little bubbles of his precious oxygen.
You hold him until his voice peters out, and then a moment more, and finally remove him.
He lets out a wet, choking gurgle as soon as his mouth breaches the surface. He tries to draw in a breath of much-needed air, but he chokes on the water in his lungs.
You squeeze the mostly-bald fluffy tighter in your grip, and he begins to cough, vomiting up water. “Mmmm-mmuh…!” he wheezes. “Nu wan—!”
Before he can finish, you plunge him in again. And again. And again.
You repeat the process a few more times, only stopping when you’re sure he’d die if you tried for one more.
“Haff…haff…” Dummy lies limp in your fist, quivering like a leaf. You flip him onto his back on your worktable, and his one working leg flails uselessly in the air.
You take a few moments to roughly massage his rear stumps, languishing in the sense of shame and intense discomfort that it causes him, and more fat tears come rolling down the fluffy’s face.
Soon, you shift your hands to grab his front legs. He lets out a strangled cry of pain as you grasp his broken limb tightly in your unforgiving hands, and his eyes roll about in his misshapen head. “I don’t think that you’ll be needing these anymore, Dummy!” you inform him with a wicked grin.
His eyes bulge out, and he begins to flail weakly. “NU TAKE WEGGIES!!!” he begs, and the terror in his voice sends a delicious tingle down your back.
“Hmmm,” you muse, stroking your chin dramatically. “Which weggie should I start with? This one?” You grab his right leg, dragging it roughly skyward, giving a little shake for good measure.
“…Or this one?” He tries to shy away, but isn’t fast enough to avoid your swooping hand, which grabs his broken left leg in a vice grip. He lets out an agonized, squeaky yelp, his eyes rolling back in his head. You give another little shake, and he lets out a keening cry that could shatter glass.
“Let’s see…” you muse. “Eenie, meanie, miny, moe…!”
You work your way through the rhyme, giving each leg a firm squeeze in turn, and tortured screams echo in the air around you, each cry getting hoarser than the last. Finally, you end up on his right leg.
“Pwease, Mummah!” he begs weakly, his voice shot. “Nee’ weggies…!”
You scoff. “Need them for what, exactly, you Dummy fluffy? Where do you think that you’re going when we’re done here?”
The poor creature barely seems to understand what you’re saying. He’s half delirious with pain, still freezing cold and shaking like a leaf, and clearly hasn’t put much thought into it. “Dummy, look at me,” you command, and the pathetic pet raises his head to obey your command. You lock eyes, and you deliver your message point-blank: “Dummy, Mummah is going to give you forever sleepies. Mummah has been waiting a long, long time to give you forever sleepies, and she’s not a patient lady!”
With that, you pinch his right hoofsie—misshapen and underdeveloped from his extended stay in the can as a foal—roughly between your fingers and snap the limb in half, clean at the joint.
“SCREEEEEE!!!” he cries out, and you show him no mercy, squeezing and pinching the entirety of the rest of the limb, trying to snap the broken bones into as many smaller pieces as you can manage. “M-MUMMAH, PWE-EASE—NU MOWE!! NU MOWE, N-NU MOWE, NU-U MOWE!!HUUU-HUUU!
You ignore his pleas, and when you are satisfied, you move on to the other limb, already broken from being thrown into the sink. His hoarse screams reach a new pitch, crescendoing before his voice gives out entirely. Quickly, he passes out from the pain, and you take the opportunity to procure a metal nail file and a lighter that you have ready nearby, preparing to cauterize the doomed creature’s oncoming wounds.
“Dummy, you bad boy, don’t you know better than to sleep on the job?” you admonish, scooping him up roughly and dunking his head into the bucket again. His body shakes itself awake, realizing quickly that it can’t breathe.
Once you feel him begin to writhe in your hand, you pull him up, and he gasps like a fish, his eyes rolling wildly, letting out those same chirpy screams that you haven’t heard from him since he was a foal.
You smile devilishly as the sound washes over you, the delicious, thrilling, delectable sound washing over you as the creature in your hand regresses rapidly, unable to cope with the trauma he’s endured.
He lets out a series of raspy chirps and peeps as you take up a sharp pair of kitchen shears. You didn’t have an extra pair, so this is actually the one from your kitchen. You make a mental note to bleach them well when you’re cleaning up, because you’re going to need to put them back in the house when you’re done.
You stretch one broken limb out toward the sky, and begin to chop the leg off in small chunks, the way that one might cut up a hot dog to feed to a small child. You start with the pads of the hoof, your shears making a wonderful snip. You continue to remove the rest of the hoof, and then you work your way down to the rest of the leg.
Blood flows freely from the creature, running hot and thick all over your hands, the shears, the table, and Dummy himself; the sharp, metallic scent of it fills the air.
Dummy seems nearly lost from all the pain, his eyes flitting back and forth too quickly for you to see clearly. Drool, snot, and tears stream from his orifices, puddling on the table in a pool with his blood.
Taking up the nail file and lighter, you get the metal red-hot before pressing it against the bleeding stump, and the stench of burning flesh fills the air.
Dummy is too weak to even fight back at this point, his mostly-hairless body quivering pathetically as you repeat the process for the other leg.
He passes out again, and is woken up again by a face-full of cold water.
You lay him on his back on the table once more, and his breath rattles weakly in his chest.
“What’s the matter Dummy, you’re almost dead already?” you complain. “Don’t you know how long I’ve been waiting for this?! The least you could do is try to stay alive for at least a little while longer! I’m finally having fun!”
Dummy doesn’t respond outwardly toward your words, but more fat tears come rolling down his cheeks.
Whistling a tune under your breath and taking a moment to pull out your phone, you pull up your surveillance app so that you can check up on your other fluffies inside. You can see Ray and Ellie happily cuddling up together in a blanket nest that they’d made, and you smile fondly at the look of bliss on her face.
You hold the phone up in front of Dummy, and his eyes listlessly scan over the image. After a moment, more tears come rolling down, and the now-entirely pillowed fluffy utters his final words; his voice is so weak that you have to lean in close to be able to hear him:
“W a n . . . d i e . . .” he whimpers, and you pocket the phone quickly as yet another sick little thrill goes through you. You feel your panties begin to dampen, and if you were any less of a sick fuck you would be ashamed of yourself.
But no, shame is the exact opposite of how you feel right now as you take up a scalpel in your merciless hands.
It seems that Dummy has hit his breaking point, and you are genuinely disappointed in his lack of a reaction as you cut a long slit lengthwise into his belly, careful to cut only the skin and leave the organs attached.
Again, the tortured little creature barely reacts at all as you begin to pull out his guts. You wrap them strategically around his body to form a sort of harness he can hang from, and then you pin him to the wall by his own entrails.
You take up the scalpel again, eager to get back to slicing and dicing, but there’s no movement as you turn back around. His head lolls limp near his chest, green eyes sightless and unblinking.
You sigh out loud, crossing your arms and smearing blood all over your shirt as you stare at your gorey handiwork. “Well Dummy, it looks like you’re as disappointing in death as you are in life,” you mutter out loud. “And I was almost done, too! Damn little shitrat…”
You wipe your hands off on a nearby rag and take a moment to survey the scene—which looks straight out of a horror movie—and let out a sigh. You’ve got a lot of cleaning to do!
…
It’s dusk outside when you finally finish scrubbing in the shed, and you take a moment to check your watch. 6:47 pm, almost time for your weekly phone call with your sister. You take one last look around, and are satisfied that there’s no mess left behind.
You are back home in the doorway to your kitchen when your foot slips out from under you. Your hands raise automatically to break your fall as you pitch forward, and the sharp tip of your kitchen shears—oh god, you were always taught to hold them point-down but you’re an idiot and you never listen!—is the last thing that you see before your face slams down, stabbing yourself clean through the eye.
You twitch once on the cold, hard tile floor and let out a small, choking gurgle. Then, you are no more, and the world is better off without you.
…
A/N: Well guys, we’re finally here. It took a while, but I’ve finally whipped up something else for you sickos to enjoy. Hopefully some of you will like this better.
I decided to kill the owner anyway, and not because it’s what she deserves or that karma comes around, but because like I said before, I felt like that was just a great place to end the story. Additionally, it wasn’t just a last minute decision cop-out, I actually do allude to it in chapter 14, where Dummy “hears a scary sound”; this is the sound of the owner’s body hitting the floor. I know it’s vague, but figured I’d let you know.
Ellie was always going to have a happy ending and Dummy was always going to suffer, because the world just ain’t fucking fair now, is it?
I can, in good consciousness, call this story complete. I hope that you all enjoyed the ride, because I know I sure did!
Once more, with love, emo_trash.
