by R. L. Stine
CONTENTS
TITLE PAGE
SLAPPY HERE, EVERYONE.
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SLAPPY HERE, EVERYONE.
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SLAPPY HERE, EVERYONE.
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EPILOGUE FROM SLAPPY
SNEAK PEEK!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ALSO AVAILABLE
COPYRIGHT
Welcome to My World.
Yes, it’s SlappyWorld—you’re only screaming in it! Hahaha.
One thing to remember: Don’t call me Dummy, dummy. I don’t like name-calling, you jerk! Haha.
I have a sunny personality. I face every day with a smile. I face every night with a smile, too. Maybe that’s because my lips are painted on! Haha.
I’m so bright, I have to wear sunglasses when I look in the mirror!
How smart am I? I’m so smart, I can count from one to ten without moving my lips! I’m so smart, I know how this sentence will end before I even say it! Hahaha!
Some people think that I’m evil and mean. How dare they say that! I only have lovely, sweet thoughts. And if you don’t agree with me, I’d like to bite your face till your head explodes! Hahaha!
I’m a nice guy. If you forget that, I’ll bite you till you remember how nice I am!
Speaking of nice, I have a nice scary story for you. It’s called Judy and the Beast.
It’s about a girl. Guess what her name is.
Judy?
Good guess.
Does Judy meet a terrifying beast in the forest?
I’ll let her tell the story.
It’s just one more frightening tale from SlappyWorld!
I jumped and cried out as the monster roared into my face. I shot both hands up and tried to push it away.
“Get back, Ira!” I shouted. “You’re not funny.”
My brother laughed and lowered his carved wooden monster to his side. He took a step back. Then he waved the monster at me again. “It’s pretty awesome, don’t you think, Judy?”
“You’re sick,” I said. “You think it’s normal to spend all your time in the garage building monsters?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Normal.”
I shoved the tall wooden thing out of my way and crossed to the open garage door. “Sick,” I repeated.
I turned to the shelves against the wall. “Look at them all. A dozen monsters. And what do you do with them, Ira? You don’t put on puppet shows or anything, or show them off to people. Your monsters just sit there on the shelves, staring at the driveway.”
Ira laughed again. He has an annoying laugh. Like gravel scraping in his throat. “They’re waiting to attack,” he said. “When I give the signal, my monsters will take over the town.”
He picked up a small square of sandpaper and began smoothing it over his monster’s wooden back. Our garage has every kind of tool and lots of supplies. A lathe. Two different kinds of saws. A whole wall of hammers and pliers and chisels and things that are a total mystery to me.
That’s because our dad is a carpenter.
He does useful work. He doesn’t use his tools to build monster after monster.
“Ira, you’re fifteen,” I said. “Why don’t you play video games like everyone else in your class? Or, if you want to build stuff, why don’t you build model airplanes or cars?”
“I like monsters,” he replied. He raised the monster and started to gently sand one of its long ears.
I shrugged. “Yeah. Okay. I get it, Ira. Sulphur Falls is a boring place to live. You need a hobby.”
“It’s not just a hobby,” he said. He carried the monster to the shelves and set it down next to one of the others. “These are going to be valuable someday.”
He straightened a fat, fanged creation and wiped dust off its broad head. “I’m going to start a monster YouTube channel and sell them.”
Clouds rolled over the sun, and the light dimmed in the garage. It was spring, but the breezes coming down from the mountain felt as chilly as winter.
I straightened my sweater and hugged myself in the sudden cold. “You know what?” I said. “Your monsters would look better if you painted their faces. Why don’t you let me do it? You know I love to paint. I could make them a lot creepier.”
He shook his head. “No way, Judy. Forget about that. I think they’re scarier without faces. You have to use your imagination.”
I opened my mouth to argue with him, but I heard someone calling my name. I turned and saw Dad striding from the house.
Dad is short and round and white-haired, even though he isn’t that old. His friends in town call him Walrus because his white mustache droops down the sides of his mouth like walrus tusks.
Dad’s stomach bounced under his overalls as he walked. He wears denim overalls with lots of pockets for his tools, and red-and-black flannel shirts. And the front of him is usually covered in sawdust, so it looks like he has terrible dandruff.
“Hey, Dad,” I said. “What’s up?”
He stopped at the garage door. The wind ruffled his white hair. “Hi, Judy,” he said. “I’m afraid I have bad news.”
Before we get to Dad’s bad news, I should start out by telling you about me and my family and all that beginning-story stuff.
You probably figured out my name is Judy. Judy Glassman. I’m twelve and my brother, Ira The Monster Maker, is fifteen.
After our parents split up, Mom decided to move to England. We visit her as often as we can. Dad moved Ira and me here to Sulphur Falls, Wyoming.
It’s a tiny ski town at the bottom of Black Rock Mountain. The mountain is snow-covered most of the year, and the skiing is good. Otherwise, why would people come here?
Dad moved us to get back to his roots. He grew up on a ranch in Wyoming. He wanted us to have a fresh start. And he argued, “People in small towns need carpenters, too.”
Ira and I wanted to stay back East. We didn’t want to leave our friends. But how could we argue with Dad? Besides, Ira and I are not exactly timid. I’m not bragging, but I’d say we’re always up for a new adventure.
And living in this tiny town at the foot of Black Rock Mountain is definitely an adventure. With the sun behind it, the mountain’s shadow falls over the entire town.
It’s dark most of the day, and the mountain air is at least ten degrees colder than anywhere else. I’m so happy that spring has come around because it means a few warm days before the cold returns.
Okay, that’s it for beginning-story stuff. Now let’s get back to Dad.
I followed him into the house. We have a wood-burning stove in the middle of the kitchen, and it keeps the room warm and toasty. We sat down across from each other at the breakfast counter.
I tapped my fingers on the white countertop. “Let me have it,” I said. “What’s your bad news?”
Dad tugged at the sides of his walrus mustache. “Well, you know what happens every spring, Judy,” he began. “Time for me to go up to Baker Grendel’s house.”
I groaned. “Again? Do you really have to go this year?”
He nodded. “You know I do. The snow is melting, and the roads up the mountain are passable. The Grendels are expe
cting me.”
Baker Grendel and his wife, Hilda, have a huge mansion at the top of the mountain. At least, that’s what I’ve heard. I’ve never seen it.
Dad travels up there every spring to make repairs and do carpentry work for them. He usually stays for a week. One year, he got snowed in and was stuck on the mountain for nearly two weeks.
He ran a hand through his thick, white hair. “Baker and Hilda are strange,” he said. “But they pay very well.”
I groaned and rolled my eyes. “And I suppose you’re taking Ira with you as always?” I said. “You’re taking Ira and leaving me behind with Mrs. Hardwell?”
Dad’s cheeks turned pink. He knows Mrs. Hardwell and I don’t get along. To put it mildly.
Mrs. Hardwell is our housekeeper, and she’s always on my case. She’s boring and strict and too serious. And she never wants me to have any fun.
Dad avoided my stare. He glanced out the kitchen window to the backyard. “Yes,” he said finally. “I’m taking Ira.”
I slammed my fist on the table. “No fair!” I shouted. “No fair, Dad.”
“Judy, please—”
“You take Ira every year,” I said. “It’s my turn. I want to go, too. How can you be so unfair?”
“Ira helps me with the work,” Dad said. “He knows the tools from working on his wooden monsters.”
“I know tools—” I started.
He raised a hand, motioning for me to stop. “I can’t take you both,” he said. “The ride up to the mountaintop is just too treacherous. You know I can’t even take the jeep. The melting snow makes the dirt road too slippery. I have to take a horse and wagon. You’d hate it, Judy.”
“Try me,” I said. “I won’t hate it. I promise, Dad.” I could feel my anger tightening my throat. Dad’s reasons didn’t make sense.
Why couldn’t I go? Why did it always have to be Ira?
“I don’t want to stay with Mrs. Hardwell,” I shouted. “She’s horrid!”
A voice behind me made me gasp. “You can’t mean that, Judy.” Mrs. Hardwell appeared at the kitchen door.
She walked in shaking her head. Her short, straight black hair bobbed with her head, and her tiny blackbird eyes were locked on me. A smile spread across her pale narrow face, but I knew it was totally fake.
“Sorry you feel that way,” she said. She speaks with a smooth, velvety voice. Also fake. “It’s because you think you can run wild when your father isn’t here. I have to keep you in line.”
Dad’s cheeks turned even pinker. They always do when he’s embarrassed or stressed. And he hates arguments of any kind. Dad is much more comfortable with a hammer and nails than dealing with people.
I knew I should apologize to Mrs. Hardwell. “Sorry,” I muttered. “I … I didn’t really mean you were horrid. It just … slipped out.”
Her fake smile faded. “You and I will have a good time together, Judy,” she said. “I’m going to teach you how to embroider.”
She patted me on the shoulder. Her hand was ice-cold. “You’re very artistic,” she said. “You’ll like embroidery.”
I groaned. “Kill me now,” I murmured.
I don’t know if she heard me or not. But Dad did. “Maybe next year—” he started.
But I cut him off. “If Ira can go, I can go,” I said.
He shook his head. “I wish Ira could stay home, but I need his help. The Grendels are very strange people. You’d hate them, Judy.” He lowered his voice. “And there’s one other thing I didn’t tell you …”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “What’s that?”
“There are rumors …” he whispered.
“Huh? Rumors?”
His blue eyes locked on mine. “Frightening rumors about an inhuman beast,” he said. “A deadly creature on the prowl up there.”
I tossed back my head and laughed. “A beast? Nice one, Dad. I’m really going to believe that.”
The cart banged and rattled and shook as the horse pulled it up the narrow, twisting dirt path toward the mountaintop. I could hear the horse stumbling in the mud. I could hear my dad urging it on.
“Is he going to make it?” Ira’s voice cracked. He sounded scared.
The wagon jerked to one side, then tilted hard to the other side.
I felt every bump.
Judy Glassman never takes no for an answer.
I was hiding in one of Dad’s canvas supply bags at the back of the wagon. It seemed like a good idea early this morning. Now I wasn’t so sure.
I knew when I popped out, Dad wouldn’t be happy. But I knew he would get over it, and the three of us could have a good time. Unfortunately, it turned out the ride was just as treacherous as Dad had said.
And, as much as I tried to tell myself everything would be okay, I couldn’t hide my fear from myself. I was plenty scared!
It was all I could do not to break out whistling.
You see, I have this very weird habit. I always start to whistle when I’m feeling tense or afraid. Or whenever I’m in trouble.
I can’t explain it. I usually don’t even know I’m doing it. I just start whistling. It drives Ira crazy. Ha. Maybe that’s why I do it! And now as I bounced inside the canvas bag, feeling every bump and jolt of the wagon, I had to grit my teeth hard to keep myself from whistling. I definitely didn’t want Dad to find me till we reached the top of the mountain.
Up at the front of the cart, I could hear Dad and Ira talking. They had to shout over the clatter of the wagon wheels.
“Baker Grendel can be frightening if you don’t know him,” Dad was saying.
Ira laughed. “Even if you do know him!” he exclaimed. “I remember the first time I met him. I was terrified.”
“He’s so big, so heavy,” Dad said.
“Yeah. Scary,” Ira agreed.
Just how scary can he be? I wondered.
Inside the canvas bag, I bounced hard as the wagon stopped. I heard creaks and scraping sounds. Then the hard thuds as Dad and Ira jumped off the wagon.
My heart started to pound. Almost time for me to appear—my big surprise.
I heard their footsteps leading away from the wagon. Silence for a short while. Then I heard a woman’s greeting: “Oh, hello. You have arrived.”
“How have you been, Hilda?” I heard Dad ask.
“It was a long winter,” she replied. She had a high, little-girl voice.
I raised my hands to the top of the canvas bag. Showtime!
I pushed open the bag and raised my head a few inches above the opening.
I saw a massive stone house that seemed to stretch forever. I waited for my eyes to adjust to the light. Then I turned to the wide front doors and saw my dad and Ira standing on the low front stoop.
Their backs were to me as they talked with Hilda Grendel. She was an older woman with short gray hair and a round rosy face. She wore a long gray housedress that came down nearly to her ankles.
Hilda was telling them about last winter on the mountaintop. As she talked, she gestured with her hands. She swept them from side to side as she spoke about the powerful winds and the damage they had done.
“There’s some serious repair work here,” she told Dad. “I’m sorry to say there’s even some repairs that have to be made on the roof.”
Dad kept nodding his head as she filled him in. Ira shifted his weight from leg to leg. He stretched his back. I heard him say something about the long, bumpy ride.
“Well, come in,” Hilda said, backing up into the doorway. “Baker is in his private dining room. He’s having an early dinner. You know how he is about his meals. I would never disturb him while he’s eating. You’ll see him soon.”
They started into the house—but then stopped.
I gulped when I saw Hilda’s dark eyes. She gazed over Dad’s shoulder to the wagon. She saw me poking my head out of the supply bag.
She uttered a short laugh and pointed at me. “I think you have a stowaway,” she told Dad.
Dad and Ira spun around. T
heir eyes went wide, and they both gasped in shock as I pulled the bag down to my knees and started to climb out.
“Surprise!” I shouted.
Everyone froze for a moment. And then Dad’s cheeks darkened to a deep red. “Judy,” he said finally. “I think you’ve made a bad mistake.”
The house was surprisingly dark. The walls of the enormous front room were painted deep green. The room was filled with black-leather furniture: two long couches and several wide armchairs all facing one another in a rectangle.
Heavy drapes were pulled shut across the front windows. The only light came from a few dim floor lamps beside the black-leather couches.
We followed Hilda across the room. Tall portraits of stern-looking old people posing stiffly in old-fashioned clothing stared out at us. Hilda stopped at a steep, winding stairway in a hall at the back of the room.
A suit of armor stood erect against the hallway wall. The metal was dull, with green stains on the chest and helmet. I could see it hadn’t been polished in a long while.
An elk head was mounted on the wall above the suit of armor. The elk had a stunned look on its face, as if it was surprised to have ended up there.
Everything is old and dark and creepy. It’s like a haunted mansion in a horror movie.
That was my thought as I gazed up the marble stairs.
I wondered if that was one reason Dad never wanted me to come here. He should know I’m not the scaredy-cat type. I don’t scream at horror movies, and I think Halloween haunted houses are funny, not scary.
“I’m sure you and Ira know the way to your rooms,” Hilda told my dad. She turned to me. “Judy, pick any room across from theirs. They are all empty.”
We started up the marble staircase. Dad led the way. Ira waited until I caught up with him. Then he bumped me in the side. “Why did you come, Judy?” he whispered.
“Huh?” The anger on his face surprised me.
He brought his face close to mine and whispered, “Does Mrs. Hardwell know you’re here?”
“I left her a note,” I said.
Ira sighed. “Our time at the Grendels’ house is special for Dad and me. Why did you have to horn in and spoil it for me?”
My mouth dropped open. I never dreamed Ira would be this upset that I had decided to come along.
