by R. L. Stine
I made a wild grab for it. But it was too heavy. It slipped right out of my hands.
Like a nightmare, the whole thing seemed to be happening in slow motion. The tank was going down, about to crash onto the hard concrete garage floor.
I grabbed for it again. Missed.
And then I screamed. “Look out! It’s going to BLOW!”
With a gasp, I lurched forward. I wrapped my arms around the tall metal tank. “Hunnnh.” A groan escaped my throat as I held on … held the tank upright. And with a desperate tug, I managed to stand it up again.
My heart was pounding so hard, I could feel it in my chest. I turned and saw Kelly and Jamal staring at me. They hadn’t moved. They were still on their knees on the garage floor, holding on to the drone frame.
“Luke—were you joking?” Kelly demanded.
“I wish,” I muttered, wiping the sweat off my forehead.
Jamal narrowed his eyes at me. “You mean you almost turned this into a horror movie?”
I nodded.
We talk about horror movies a lot in my house because that’s what my dad does for a living. Dad is owner of Horror House Films. He produces horror movies.
If you’re into horror, maybe you’ve seen some of his films. Attack of the 2,000-Pound Dachshund? The Creature from the Cincinnati Suburbs? He’s made at least a dozen of them.
Dad brings home a lot of the things he uses in his films—creepy masks and costumes and all kinds of skeletons and skulls and monster heads. He lets us borrow some of them. It’s a lot of fun for Kelly and me. We put on horror plays in our basement with them.
Some of the stuff he brings home is valuable. He keeps those things in display cases up in the attic. He calls it his Horror Museum.
He’s always telling us how lucky we are. He says, “How many houses up here in the Hollywood Hills have horror museums hidden inside them?”
The answer, of course, is none.
When I was little, I had nightmares about the scary things up in the attic. I dreamed that the skeletons and the monster figures came to life and were fighting above my head.
A few times, I woke up screaming. I really thought I heard the creatures thumping and bumping and growling above my bedroom ceiling.
Dad always calmed me down. “Monsters only come alive in movies,” he would tell me. “Never in real life. Not once.” And when I was nine or ten, the nightmares went away.
Still holding on to the propane tank, I gazed at Kelly and Jamal. “You really are a jerk,” Kelly said. She jumped to her feet. She likes to be standing up when she scolds me. That way, she can cross her arms in front of her and look angry, just like Mom. Mom lives in the Valley with her new husband. We stay with her every other weekend.
“Dad said not to go near the propane tank,” Kelly said. “He said to stay away from it unless he’s here with us.”
Jamal nodded. “We don’t want to be in a horror movie,” he reminded us again.
Then a strange, shrill voice from the driveway called out: “Well, kiddoes, you’re in one NOW!”
“Huh?” I turned to the open garage door—and gasped.
Kelly screamed. Jamal dropped the drone.
I stared in disbelief. Two identical ventriloquist dummies were standing there. Standing there and talking—all by themselves!
The dummies stood about three feet tall. They wore identical gray suits with red bow ties. Their shoes were black and shiny. Their eyes were wide, and they had ugly red grins painted on their faces.
“You—you—” I tried to speak, but I was so startled, no sound came out.
“You’re in a world of horror now!” one of the dummies rasped. His voice was high and hoarse. “Welcome to OUR world!”
Jamal jumped to his feet. He squinted at the two dummies. “Who is out there?” he called. “Who is making them talk?”
“Who is pulling YOUR strings?” one of the dummies cried.
“WE’LL be asking the questions from now on!” his twin exclaimed.
Kelly backed away from the garage door. Jamal stood frozen, gaping at them in confusion.
I laughed. “Is that you, Dad?” I called. “Very funny. You scared us—for a second.”
No reply.
The dummies grinned at us with their painted red lips. I saw that one had olive-green eyes, the other black. Otherwise, you couldn’t tell them apart.
The green-eyed dummy took a step into the garage. He seemed to be walking without anyone controlling him.
“Dad?” I called. “Are you out there?”
“It’s remote controlled,” Jamal said, squinting hard at it. “Like those remote-controlled cars we had when we were kids.”
“Like the drone we’re building,” Kelly said. “Dad must be controlling them from nearby.”
“Your dad is toast!” the green-eyed dummy declared. He took another step toward us.
“Your dad is BUTTERED toast!” his twin added. His voice was hoarse and scratchy.
The green-eyed dummy swung around to him. “That doesn’t make any sense, dummy. Buttered toast? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t pick on me. I thought it was funny. Why can’t you ever be nice to me?”
“Because you’re stupid, even for a dummy?”
I shook my head. “Dad,” I shouted. “We’re enjoying your comedy act. But it’s getting lame.”
No reply.
“Are you sure they’re remote controlled?” Kelly asked Jamal.
He shrugged. “What else could they be?”
“Your new masters!” they both declared.
And then I heard a shout from the driveway. “Hey, kids? Kids? Are you in the garage?” It was Dad.
I snickered. “He’s pretending he doesn’t know where we are,” I said.
The dummies collapsed in a heap. Their legs folded and they dropped to the garage floor. Their wooden heads smacked the concrete, bounced once, then lay still. They didn’t move.
Dad appeared at the head of the driveway. He nodded to us, smiling. But his smile faded when he saw the two crumpled dummies on the ground.
Dad raised his eyes to me. “Hey, why’d you take the dummies from my car?”
“We didn’t,” I said. “We didn’t bring them here.”
Dad frowned at us. “Yeah, sure. I suppose they got up and walked on their own!”
A grin spread over Jamal’s face. “Mr. Harrison, we know they’re remote controlled.”
My dad rubbed his beard with one hand. Dad has a short salt-and-pepper beard over most of his face. His black hair is swept straight back off his broad forehead. He has pale blue eyes that always seem to be studying you, like they’re beaming right into you.
He’s very slim, and he looks much younger than his age, forty. He dresses like a young person, too. He wears the same outfit every day—a black rock-and-roll band T-shirt over straight-legged jeans.
“Jamal, check out the dummies,” Dad said. “They’re not remote controlled. They’re not robots or anything. They’re just dummies.”
Jamal walked over and picked one up. Its arms and legs hung limply. Its head tilted back. “It’s heavier than I thought,” Jamal said. He squeezed the dummy’s middle. “No controls.”
“But, Dad—” Kelly started.
“They walked into the garage,” I said, “and they talked to us. You did their voices—right?”
Dad shook his head. “I wasn’t out here. I was bringing groceries into the house.” His blue eyes locked on me. “Oh. I get it—you’re writing your own horror script. A new idea for one of your plays? Sounds like you’re off to a good start.”
“Dad, you’ve got to believe us,” Kelly said. I could tell by her voice that she was upset—and a little frightened. “We’re not making up a story.”
Dad laughed. “Don’t kid a kidder.”
He took the dummy from Jamal. “I hope you kids have been practicing your screams of terror,” he said.
Kelly opened her mouth wide and let out a shrill
howl.
“Awesome,” Dad said. “You’re going to be a star!”
“I can’t believe we’re going to be in your new film, Mr. Harrison,” Jamal said.
“I need a lot of extras for the crowd scenes,” Dad replied. “You know. People to scream and run down the street in a panic.” He lifted the other dummy onto his shoulder. “These two dudes are the stars, of course.”
“What’s the film called?” Kelly asked.
“I Married a Dummy. We tested the title and it got a ninety-eight-percent approval rating.”
“Is that good?” I asked. I was making a joke, but Dad didn’t get it.
He shoved one of the dummies into my arms. “Luke, help me carry this one up to the attic.”
I took the dummy and swung it onto my shoulder. I began to follow Dad to the house. As I walked, the wooden hand bounced against my arm.
I stopped when I felt hard wooden fingers wrap around my wrist. “Whoa.” The fingers tightened … tightened … tightened till they were digging into my skin.
“Dad!” I cried. “Dad—help. It’s hurting me!”
Dad spun around.
“My hand—” I groaned.
He squinted at me. “What’s wrong?”
The dummy’s arm drooped limply now. The wooden hand hung lifelessly near the grass. Nowhere near my wrist.
“It—it grabbed my wrist,” I stammered. The pain was still shooting down my arm.
Dad rolled his eyes. “Luke, give me a break. You can carry a joke too far, you know?”
“Dad, it’s not a joke,” I said. I held up my wrist. “Look. It’s red.”
“I don’t see it,” Dad replied. “Why are you doing this, Luke? If you don’t want to be in the movie, just tell me.” He rubbed his beard. “Are you really afraid of these two old puppets?”
“No. No way,” I said. I could see that Dad wasn’t going to believe me. So I shut up and followed him up the steep attic stairs to the horror museum. Kelly and Jamal trailed after us.
The attic is long and wide with a low ceiling and twin windows at both ends. Gray evening light washed down from the skylight above us.
The dark floorboards are old and loose. They creak and groan when you walk on them. Perfect for a horror museum.
Dad clicked on the ceiling lights, and the glass display cases all lit up. The cases are filled with shelf after shelf of treasures from old horror movies.
I glanced at the mummy hand from the original Mummy movie. Frankenstein’s huge shoes from the first Frankenstein film. A shark jaw from the movie Jaws.
We walked along one wall covered with old movie posters. The Creature from the Black Lagoon … Nightmare on Elm Street … The Brain That Wouldn’t Die …
Jamal hung back. I noticed that he kept his eyes straight forward. He didn’t look at any of the displays or posters.
He never liked to come up here. He insisted he wasn’t afraid. He said he just wasn’t a big horror fan. “I like sci-fi movies better,” he said. “The ones where they show all kinds of amazing bots, and virtual reality, and machines from the future.”
Typical Jamal.
Dad led the way to an empty glass display case. He set his dummy down on top of it and took the other dummy from my arms.
I rubbed my wrist. It still ached. “Why are we locking them up in the attic if you need them for the movie?” I asked.
“They’re very valuable,” Dad said. “I need to keep them safe and sound.”
“And when the movie is over?” I asked. “Are you going to keep them up here?”
Dad shook his head. “No. I’m going to sell them. I have two collectors who are dying to get their hands on them. One in Pasadena and one in Beijing, China. Do you believe that? Selling these dummies will pay for your college education.”
“Wow,” Kelly said. “They’re totally valuable.”
“You mean you’re going to split them up?” Jamal asked, his eyes on the dummies. “Aren’t they, like, brothers?”
“Yeah. They’re identical twins,” Kelly said.
Dad laughed. “Dummies can’t be brothers. They’re dummies. What’s wrong with you kids? They’re not alive. They only come to life in movies like the one I’m making.”
We didn’t say anything. I gazed at the two grinning dummies. I had a really bad feeling about them.
“Help me get them in the case,” Dad said.
Kelly picked up one, and I picked up the other. Dad lifted the glass lid. We lowered the dummies into the case and set them down on their backs. Their glassy eyes stared straight up at the ceiling. We placed their arms at their sides.
Dad took a silvery key and carefully locked the case. He set the key down on a table across from us. “Don’t play with them, okay?” he said. “Don’t take them out of the case.”
“That won’t be a problem,” I said, rubbing my wrist.
I’ve got to be honest. I like scary movies. In fact, I like all of my dad’s movies. But these two grinning dummies were creeping me out. I was seriously glad they were locked in that case.
“How is the drone coming along?” Dad asked Jamal.
“Good,” Jamal said. “The frame is almost built. We should be able to put on the propellers by the end of the weekend.”
“Awesome,” Dad said. “You’ll need me to load the propane from the big tank into the drone.”
“Maybe next weekend,” Jamal said.
“That’s excellent,” Dad said. “I can’t wait to fly it over the neighbors’ houses and scare them to death.” He laughed.
“You sure like to scare people, Dad,” Kelly said.
His phone rang before he could reply. His ringtone is a woman screaming in horror. He glanced at the screen. “I have to take this,” he said. He raised the phone to his ear and headed down the stairs.
I backed away from the glass case. “Those dummies were really talking, right? You heard them …” I said to Kelly.
“It was just Dad,” Kelly said. “It had to be. He was playing a joke on us.” She wandered along the aisle of display cases. “Have you seen these?” she asked Jamal. “Dad’s new collection of vampire fangs. He has a little tag on each one to identify what movie it came from.”
“Your dad is weird,” Jamal said. “I mean, I like him. He’s a nice guy. But he’s weird.” He shivered. “Can we go downstairs now?”
“Good idea,” I said. I started toward the attic stairs.
But I stopped when I heard a sound.
Tap tap tap.
At first, I thought it was a bird at the window. We have a woodpecker who is trying to drill a hole in our house.
Tap tap tap.
I turned toward the sound. It was coming from the dummies’ display case. I glimpsed Kelly’s face. Her eyes were wide with shock.
I took a step toward the glass case. And gasped when I saw one of the dummies, flat on his back, raise a wooden hand.
Tap tap tap.
He raised his hand and began to pound hard against the lid.
Tap tap tap …
Tap tap taptaptap.
“No!” I cried. “This isn’t happening.”
“He—he’s trying to push his way out!” Jamal cried. He backed away, his face twisted in fear.
“This can’t be,” I murmured.
“Dad!” Kelly screamed. “Dad—come quick!”
No reply.
“He didn’t hear us,” I said. “He probably went into his office to take that call.”
Taptaptap.
“Dad! Daaaaad!” she screamed.
No answer.
I held my breath as the other dummy raised both hands to the glass lid and began to pound. The two dummies were pushing the lid, knocking their wooden hands against it.
“Let’s get out of here!” Jamal cried, his voice cracking in fright.
“No, wait—” I said. “Wait. I have an idea.”
Taptaptaptap.
Jamal was halfway to the stairs. “Wh-what’s your idea?” he stammered.
>
“We let them out,” I said.
Kelly uttered a cry. Jamal made a choking sound.
“Are you crazy?” Kelly cried. “Let them out?”
I nodded. I pulled my phone from my jeans pocket. “Yes. We unlock the case and let them out. They’ll climb out of the case and start talking to us the way they did in the garage.”
I slapped my phone. “I’ll get the whole thing on video. It will prove to Dad that we weren’t lying. He’ll have to believe us. He’ll see that the dummies can walk and talk.”
“No way!” Jamal cried, shaking his head. “No way, Luke. That’s just crazy. And it’s too dangerous.”
“Jamal is right,” Kelly said. “They’re too frightening. We don’t know what they’ll do after we let them out.”
“And how will we get them back in the case?” Jamal demanded.
“We need Dad,” Kelly said, glancing to the stairway.
“We need Dad to believe us,” I said. “He thinks we were joking. He thinks we made the whole thing up.”
Tap tap taptaptap.
“I … I’m scared,” Kelly said. “What if …” Her voice trailed off.
“I’m scared, too,” I admitted. “That’s why we have to get Dad to believe us. When he sees the video, he’ll know we aren’t lying.”
“No. Please—I’m begging you,” Jamal said. He backed into the stairway. “Please don’t do it, Luke.”
I looked from Kelly to Jamal. Tap taptap tap.
What should we do?
I reached for the key …
Go ahead, Luke. Open the lid. What have you got to lose?
My brother and I won’t do anything bad. I promise. And you can always count on a promise from an evil dummy—right? Hahahaha.
We just want to look around the attic. Maybe take a few souvenirs. Like your heads! Hahaha.
Think Luke will unlock the lid and let us out? Well, we’ll see. But before we go back to the story, let me give you a little spelling lesson. The best way to spell Luke is L-O-S-E-R. Hahahaha!
I pushed the RECORD button on my phone and handed the phone to Kelly. She was so frightened, it almost slid through her cold, wet hand.
“Luke—don’t.” I heard Jamal’s pleas from the stairway.
