by R. L. Stine
Before the week was over, our cousin Zane would be terrified.
And so would we.
4
I was playing the piano when Zane arrived. The piano is tucked away in a small room in the back of the house. It’s a small black upright piano, kind of beat-up and scratched. Dad bought it from my old music teacher who moved to Cleveland.
Two of the pedals don’t work. And the piano really needs to be tuned. But I love to play it—especially when I’m stressed out or excited. It always helps to calm me down.
I’m pretty good at it. Even Dan agrees. Most of the time he pushes me off the piano bench so he can play “Chopsticks”. But sometimes he stands beside me and listens. I’ve been practicing some nice Haydn pieces and some of the easy Chopin etudes.
Anyway, I was in the back of the house banging away on the piano when Zane and Uncle Cal arrived. I guess I was a little nervous about seeing Zane again.
Dan and I were really mean to him during his last visit. Like Dad said, Zane has always been scared of this old house. And we did everything we could to make him even more scared.
We walked around in the attic every night, howling softly like ghosts, making the floor creak. We crept into his bedroom closet in the middle of the night and made him think his clothes were dancing. We rigged a pair of Mom’s panty hose so they cast a ghostly shadow of legs onto his bedroom floor.
Poor Zane. I think Dan and I went a little too far. After a few days, he jumped at every sound. And his eyes kept darting from side to side like a frightened lizard’s.
I heard him tell Uncle Cal that he never wanted to come back here.
Dan and I laughed about that. But it wasn’t very nice.
So I was a little nervous about seeing Zane again. I was playing the piano so loudly, I didn’t hear the doorbell. Dan had to come running in and tell me Uncle Cal and Zane had arrived.
I jumped up from the piano bench. “How does Zane look?” I asked my brother.
“Big,” Dan replied. “He grew. A lot. And he let his hair grow long.”
Zane was always a pretty big guy. That’s why Dan and I thought his being a total wimp was so funny.
He’s big and beefy. Not tall. He’s built kind of like a bulldog. A big blond bulldog.
I guess he’s actually good-looking. He has round blue eyes, wavy blond hair, and a nice smile. He looks as if he works out or plays sports. He really doesn’t look like the wimp type at all.
That’s why it’s such a riot to see him quivering in fear. Or wailing like a baby. Running to his mom or dad in terror.
I followed Dan through the back hall. “Did Zane say anything to you?” I asked.
“Just hi,” Dan replied.
“A friendly ‘hi’ or an unfriendly ‘hi’?” I demanded.
Dan didn’t have time to answer. We had reached the front hall.
“Hey—!” Uncle Cal greeted me, stretching out his arms for a hug. Uncle Cal looks a lot like a chipmunk. He’s very small. He has a round face, a twitchy little nose, and two teeth that poke out from his upper lip.
“You’re getting so tall!” he exclaimed as I hugged him. “You’ve grown a lot, Trina!”
Why do grown-ups always have to comment on how tall kids are getting? Can’t they think of anything else to say?
I saw Dad lugging their two heavy suitcases up the stairs.
“I didn’t know if you’d be hungry or not,” Mom told Uncle Cal. “So I made a bunch of sandwiches.”
I turned to say hi to Zane. And a flash of white light made me cry out in surprise.
“Don’t move. One more,” I heard Zane say.
I blinked rapidly, trying to clear the light from my eyes. When I finally focused, I saw that Zane had a camera up to his face.
He clicked it. Another bright flash of light.
“That’s good,” he said. “You looked really surprised. I only like to take candid shots.”
“Zane is really into photography,” Uncle Cal said, grinning proudly.
“I’m blind!” I cried, rubbing my eyes.
“I needed extra flash because this house is so dark,” Zane said. He lowered his head to the camera and fiddled with his lens.
Dad came shuffling down the stairs. Zane turned and snapped his picture.
“Zane is really into photography,” Uncle Cal repeated to my father. “I told him maybe you’ve got an old camera or two at the shop that he could have.”
“Uh… maybe,” Dad replied.
Uncle Cal makes a lot more money than Dad. But whenever he visits, he always tries to get Dad to give him stuff.
“Nice camera,” Dad told Zane. “What kind of photos do you like to take?”
“Candid shots,” Zane replied, pushing back his blond hair. “And I take a lot of still lifes.” He stepped into the hall and flashed a close-up of the banister.
Dan leaned close and whispered in my ear, “He’s still a pain. Let’s give him a really good scare.”
“No way!” I whispered back. “No scares this time. We promised Dad—remember?”
“I’ve set up a darkroom in the basement,” Dad told Zane. “Sometimes I bring developing work home from the store. You can use the darkroom this week, if you want to.”
“Great!” Zane replied.
“I told Zane maybe you have some sheets of developing paper you can spare,” Uncle Cal said to Dad.
Zane raised his camera and flashed another picture. Then he turned to Dan. “Are you still into video games?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Dan replied. “Mostly sports games. I have the new NBA Jams. And I’m saving my allowance to get the new thirty-two-bit system. You still play?”
Zane shook his head. “Not since I got my camera. I don’t really have time for games anymore.”
“How about some sandwiches, everyone?” Mom asked, moving toward the dining room.
“I think I’d like to unpack first,” Uncle Cal told her. “Zane, you should unpack, too.”
We all split up. Dan and Dad disappeared somewhere. Uncle Cal and Zane went up to their rooms to unpack—our big old house has a lot of extra bedrooms.
I was heading into the kitchen to help Mom with the sandwiches when I heard Zane scream.
A shrill scream from upstairs.
A scream of horror.
5
Mom gasped and dropped the sandwich tray she was carrying.
I spun around and went running to the front hall.
Dad was already halfway up the stairs. “What’s wrong?” he called. “Zane—what’s the matter?”
When I reached the second floor, I saw Dan step out of his room. Zane stood in the hallway. Someone lay stretched across the floor at his feet.
Even from halfway down the hall, I could see that Zane was trembling.
I hurried over to him.
Who was sprawled on the floor like that, legs and arms all twisted?
“Zane—what happened? What happened?” Dad and Uncle Cal both shouted.
Zane stood there shaking all over. The camera seemed to tremble, too, swinging on its strap over his chest.
I glanced down at the body on the floor.
A ventriloquist’s dummy.
Rocky.
Rocky sneered up at the ceiling. His red-and-white striped shirt had rolled up halfway, revealing his wooden body. One leg was bent under him. Both arms were stretched out over the floor.
“That d-dummy—” Zane stammered, pointing down at Rocky. “It—it fell on me when I opened the bedroom door.”
“Huh? It what?” Uncle Cal cried.
“It dropped down on me,” Zane repeated. “When I pushed the door. I didn’t mean to scream. It just scared me, that’s all. It was so heavy. And it fell near my head.”
I turned and saw Dad glaring angrily at Dan.
Dan raised both hands in protest. “Hey—don’t look at me!” he cried.
“Dan, you made a promise,” Dad said sharply.
“I didn’t do it!” Dan cried. “It had to b
e Trina!”
“Hey—no way!” I protested. “No way! I didn’t do it!”
Dad narrowed his eyes at me. “I suppose the dummy climbed up on top of the door by himself!” he said, rolling his eyes.
“It was just a joke,” Uncle Cal chimed in. “You’re okay—right, Zane?”
“Yeah. Sure.” Zane’s cheeks were red. I could see he was embarrassed by all the fuss. “I just wasn’t expecting something to fall on me. You know.” He stared at the floor.
“Let’s finish unpacking,” Uncle Cal suggested. “I’m starting to get hungry.” He turned to Dad. “Do you have any extra pillows? There’s only one on my bed. And I like to sleep with a lot of pillows.”
“I’ll see if we have any more,” Dad replied. He frowned at me. “You and Dan—take Rocky up to the attic. And no more little jokes. You promised—remember?”
I picked Rocky up carefully and slung him over my shoulder. “Get the attic door for me,” I instructed Dan.
We made our way down the hall. “What is your problem, Mouse?” I whispered to my brother.
“Don’t call me Mouse,” he replied through gritted teeth. “You know I hate it.”
“Well, I hate broken promises,” I told him. “You can’t wait one minute to start scaring Zane? You’re going to get us in major trouble.”
“Me?” Dan put on his innocent act. “I didn’t hide the dummy up there. You did—and you know it!”
“Did not!” I whispered angrily.
“Hey, guys, can I come with you?” I turned to see Zane right behind us. I hadn’t realized he’d followed us.
“You want to come up to the Dummy Museum?” I asked, unable to hide my surprise. Last visit, Zane had been afraid of the dummies.
“Yeah. I want to take some pictures,” he replied. He raised his camera in both hands.
“Cool,” Dan said. “That’s a cool idea.” I could see that he was trying to be friendly to Zane.
I didn’t want to be left out. “It’s neat that you’re into photography,” I told Zane.
“Yeah. I know,” he replied.
Dan led the way up the attic stairs. Halfway up, I turned back. I saw Zane lingering at the bottom.
“Are you coming up or not?” I called down. My voice echoed in the narrow, dark stairwell.
I caught a look of fear on Zane’s face. He was trying to be brave, I realized. Trying not to be afraid the way he was last time.
“Coming,” he called up. I saw him take a deep breath. Then he came running up the stairs.
He stayed close to Dan and me as we crossed the attic. The eyes peered out at us darkly from around the big room.
I clicked on the light. The dummies all came into view. Propped on chairs and the old couch, leaning against the wall, they grinned at us.
I carried Rocky over to his folding chair. I slid him off my shoulder and set him down. I crossed his arms in his lap and straightened his striped shirt. The mean-looking dummy sneered up at me.
“Uncle Danny has a few new guys,” Zane said from across the room. He stood close to Dan in front of the couch. He held the camera in his hands, but he didn’t take any pictures. “Where does he find them?”
“He found the newest one in a trash can,” I replied, pointing to the mean-looking dummy.
Dan picked up Miss Lucy and held it up to Zane. “Hiya, Zane! Take my picture!” Dan made Miss Lucy say in a high, shrill voice.
Zane obediently raised the camera to his eye. “Say cheese,” he told Miss Lucy.
“Cheese,” Dan said in Miss Lucy’s high voice.
Zane flashed a picture.
“Give me a big wet kiss!” Dan made Miss Lucy say. He shoved the dummy’s face close to Zane’s.
Zane backed away. “Yuck.”
“Put the dummy down,” I told my brother. “We’d better get back downstairs. They’re all probably waiting for us.”
“Okay, okay,” Dan grumbled. He turned to set Miss Lucy down. Zane wandered down the row of dummies, studying them.
I bent down and straightened Wilbur’s bow tie. The old dummy was starting to look really ragged.
I was still working on the bow tie when I heard a hard slap.
And I heard Zane’s startled cry of pain.
“Owwww!”
6
I spun around and saw Zane rubbing his jaw.
“Hey—that dummy slapped me!” he cried angrily.
He pointed to a red-haired dummy on the arm of the couch.
“I-I don’t believe it!” Zane exclaimed. “It swung its arm up, and it—it slapped me!”
Dan stood behind the couch. I saw a smile spread over his face. Then he burst out laughing. “Get serious,” he told Zane. “That’s impossible.”
“You did it!” Zane accused my brother, still rubbing his jaw. “You moved the dummy!”
“No way!” Dan backed away till he bumped the wall. “How could I? I was behind the couch the whole time.”
I stepped quickly up to the couch. “Which dummy was it?” I demanded.
Zane pointed to a dummy with red hair and bright red freckles painted all over his grinning face. “That guy.”
“Arnie,” I reported. “One of Dad’s first dummies.”
“I don’t care what his name is,” Zane snapped. “He slapped me!”
“But that’s dumb,” I insisted. “It’s just a ventriloquist’s dummy, Zane. Here. Look.”
I picked Arnie up. The old dummy was heavier than I remembered. I started to hand him to Zane. But my cousin backed away.
“Something weird is going on here,” Zane said, keeping his eyes on the dummy. “I’m going to tell Uncle Danny.”
“No. Don’t tell Dad,” I pleaded. “Give us a break, Zane. It’ll get us in big trouble.”
“Yeah. Don’t tell,” Dan chimed in. “The dummy probably just slipped or something. You know. It fell over.”
“It reached up,” Zane insisted. “I saw it swing its arm and—”
He was interrupted by Mom’s voice from downstairs. “Hurry up, kids. Get down here. We’re all waiting for you.”
“Coming!” I shouted. I dropped Arnie back onto the arm of the couch. He fell into the dummy next to him. I left him like that and followed Dan and Zane to the stairs.
I held Dan back and let Zane go down by himself. “What are you trying to prove?” I angrily asked my brother. “That wasn’t funny.”
“Trina, I didn’t do it. I swear!” Dan claimed, raising his right hand. “I swear!”
“So what are you saying?” I demanded. “That the dummy really reached up and slapped him?”
Dan twisted his face. He shrugged. “I don’t know. I just know that I didn’t do it. I didn’t swing that dummy’s arm.”
“Don’t be stupid,” I replied. “Of course you did.” I shoved my brother toward the stairs.
“Hey—give me a break,” he muttered.
“You’re a total liar,” I told him. “You think you can scare Zane—and me. But it isn’t worth it, Dan. We promised Dad, remember? Remember?”
He ignored me and started down the stairs.
I felt really angry. I knew that Dan had perched the dummy on top of the bedroom door so that it would fall on Zane. And I knew that he had swung the dummy’s arm to slap Zane.
I wondered how far Dan would go to frighten our cousin.
I knew I had to stop him. If Dan kept this up, he’d get us both grounded for life. Or worse.
But what could I do?
I was still thinking about it in bed later that night. I couldn’t get to sleep. I lay there, staring up at the ceiling, thinking about Dan and what a liar he was.
Dummies are made of wood and cloth, I told myself. They don’t swing their arms and slap people.
And they don’t get up and walk around the house and climb up onto doors on their own. They don’t walk on their own….
They don’t…
I finally started to drift off to sleep when I heard light footsteps on my bedroom carpet
.
And then a hoarse whisper close to my ear:
“Trina… Trina…”
7
“Trina… Trina…”
The hoarse whisper—so near my ear—made me shoot straight up in bed.
I leaped to my feet. Pulled the covers with me. Lurched forward.
And nearly knocked Zane onto his back.
“Zane?”
He stumbled backwards. “Sorry!” he whispered. “I thought you were awake.”
“Zane!” I repeated. My heart thudded in my chest. “What are you doing in here?”
“Sorry,” he whispered, backing up some more. He stopped a few inches in front of my dresser. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just—”
I held my hand over my heart. I could feel it start to slow back down to normal. “Sorry I jumped out at you like that,” I told him. “I was half asleep, I guess. And when you whispered my name…”
I clicked on the bed-table lamp. I rubbed my eyes and squinted at Zane.
He was wearing baggy blue pajamas. One pajama leg had rolled up nearly to his knee. His blond hair had fallen over his face. He had such a frightened, little-boy expression on his face. He looked about six years old!
“I tried to wake up Dad,” he whispered. “But he’s such a sound sleeper. I kept knocking on his bedroom door and calling to him. But he didn’t hear me. So I came in here.”
“What’s your problem?” I asked, stretching my arms over my head.
“I-I heard voices,” he stammered, glancing to the open bedroom door.
“Excuse me? Voices?” I pushed my hair back. Straightened my long nightshirt. Studied him.
He nodded. “I heard voices. Upstairs. I mean, I think they were upstairs. Funny voices. Talking very fast.”
I squinted at him. “You heard voices in the attic?”
He nodded again. “Yeah. I’m pretty sure.”
“I’m pretty sure you were dreaming.” I sighed. I shook my head.
“No. I was wide awake. Really.” He picked up a little stuffed bear from my dresser. He squeezed it between his hands.
“I never sleep very well in new places,” he told me. “I never sleep very well in this house!” He let out an unhappy laugh. “I was wide awake.”
