by R. L. Stine
That’s crazy thinking. That’s really messed up.
But what could I think?
My throat tightened. My mouth suddenly felt very dry.
I took a deep breath and led the way into the dining room.
I saw Dad in the kitchen doorway. He had his arm around Mom’s shoulders. Mom had her head buried against Dad’s shirtsleeve.
Was she crying?
Yes.
The guests all stood against the wall, shaking their heads, their expressions grim and confused. They muttered quietly, staring at the disaster.
The disaster. The terrible disaster.
The dining room table.
I saw the overturned platters first. Dad’s scalloped potatoes smeared over the tablecloth. Clumps of potatoes stuck to the wall and the front of the china hutch.
The salad poured over the floor and the chairs. The bread ripped into small chunks, the chunks tossed over the table. The flowers ripped off their stems. The vase on its side, water pouring over the tablecloth, puddling on the floor.
The glasses all turned over. A bottle of red wine tipped over, a dark red stain spreading over the tablecloth.
I heard Mom’s sobs. I heard the sounds of Dad’s muttered attempts to calm her down. I saw the other guests shaking their heads, their faces so upset, so concerned, so puzzled.
And then Dan grabbed my shoulder and pointed me toward the head of the table. And I saw two dummies sitting there on dining room chairs.
Wilbur and the new dummy. Wilbur and Smiley.
They sat at the table, grinning at each other, wine glasses in their hands. As if celebrating. As if toasting each other.
22
That night, Dan and I hid behind the couch in the attic once again. The attic stretched dark and silent. So dark, I could barely see my brother sitting beside me.
We were both in pajamas. The air was hot and dry. But my hands and my bare feet felt cold and clammy.
We talked softly, our legs stretched out on the floor, resting against the back of the couch. As we talked, we waited—and listened. Listened to every sound.
It was nearly midnight, but I didn’t feel sleepy. I felt alert. Ready for anything.
Ready to catch Zane in the act once again.
This time, I brought my little flash camera with me. When Zane crept up here to carry one of the dummies downstairs, I’d snap his photo. Then I’d have proof to show Mom and Dad.
Yes, I finally decided that Dan was right. Zane had to be the one who was destroying our house.
Destroying our house and trying to scare everyone into thinking the dummies had come to life.
“But why?” I whispered to Dan. “Did we scare Zane so badly the last time he was here? So badly that he’ll do anything to pay us back?”
“He’s sick,” Dan muttered. “That’s the only answer. He’s totally messed up.”
“So messed up that he wrecked his own camera,” I murmured, shaking my head.
“So messed up that he ran downstairs and trashed the dining room,” Dan added.
The dining room. That’s what convinced me that Zane was guilty.
All of us were upstairs in Zane’s room, examining his broken camera.
Zane was the only other person downstairs.
Zane was the only person in the house who could have trashed the dining room and wrecked the dinner.
Of course he acted horrified and shocked. Of course he acted as if he didn’t have a clue about what had happened.
What a sad, sad night.
The dinner guests didn’t know what to say to Mom and Dad. It was such a frightening mystery. No one had an answer.
The guests helped clean up the mess. The food was ruined. It couldn’t be eaten. No one felt like eating, anyway.
Everyone left as soon as the dining room was cleaned and cleared.
As the last guest left, I turned to Dan. “Uh-oh,” I whispered. “Family Conference Time. We’re in for a major lecture now.”
But I was wrong. Mom hurried up to her room. And Dad said he was too disgusted to talk to anyone.
Uncle Cal asked if Dad would like him to take the car and pick up some fried chicken or hamburgers or something.
Dad just scowled at him and stomped away. He carried Smiley and Wilbur up to the attic. I heard him slam the attic door. Then he disappeared into the bedroom to help comfort Mom.
Zane turned to his dad. “I-I can’t believe my good camera is smashed,” he whimpered.
Uncle Cal placed a hand on Zane’s shoulder. “I’ll bet your uncle Danny has a new camera at his shop that he’ll want to give you.”
“But I liked my old camera!” Zane wailed.
And that’s when I decided he was guilty. He’s a phony, I decided. He’s carrying on like this—putting on a show for Dan and me.
But I wasn’t going to fall for it. No way.
I made sure I had film in my little camera. Then I grabbed Dan and we crept up to the attic to wait. To wait in the darkness and catch Zane.
To end the disasters in our house once and for all.
We didn’t have to wait long.
After about half an hour, I heard the tap of soft footsteps on the attic floor.
I sucked in my breath. My whole body tensed, and I nearly dropped the camera.
Beside me, Dan raised himself to his knees.
My heart pounding, I crept to the edge of the couch.
Tap tap. Shuffling footsteps on the bare floorboards.
I saw a dark figure bend down and lift a dummy off a chair.
“It’s Zane,” I whispered to Dan. “I knew it!”
In the heavy darkness, I could see him carrying the dummy to the stairs.
I stood up. My legs trembled. But I moved quickly.
I raised the camera. Stepped in front of the couch.
Pushed the shutter button.
The room flashed in an explosion of white light.
I clicked off another one.
Another bright white flash.
And in the flash, I saw Rocky dangling over Zane’s shoulder.
No.
Not Zane!
Not Zane. Not Zane.
In the flash of light, I saw Rocky dangling over another dummy’s shoulder!
Smiley! The new dummy.
The new dummy was shuffling toward the stairs, carrying Rocky away.
23
The dummy turned.
My hand fumbled for the light switch. I clicked on the light.
I stood frozen in front of the couch. Too startled to move.
“Smiley—stop!” I screamed.
The dummy’s grin faded. The eyes narrowed at me. “I’m not Smiley,” he croaked. He had a hoarse, raspy voice. “My name is Slappy.”
He turned back to the stairs.
“Stop him!” I cried to my brother.
We both made a dive for the dummy.
Slappy spun around. He pulled Rocky off his shoulder—and heaved him at Dan.
I grabbed Slappy around the waist and tackled him to the floor.
He swung both hands hard. One of them slammed into my forehead.
“Unh.” I let out a groan as the pain shot through me.
My hands slid off the dummy’s slender waist. Slappy jumped nimbly to his feet, his grin wide and leering.
He was enjoying this!
He kicked me in the side with the toe of his big leather shoe.
My head still throbbing, I rolled out of the way. And turned back in time to see Dan grab the dummy from behind.
Dan drove his head into the dummy’s back. They both dropped hard to the floor.
“Let go of me, slave!” Slappy demanded in his ugly, hoarse voice. “You are my slave now! Let go of me! I order you!”
I pulled myself to my knees as Dan and Slappy wrestled over the floor.
“He’s so… strong!” Dan called out to me.
Slappy rolled on top of him. Started to pound him with his wooden fists.
I grabbed Slappy by th
e shoulders and tugged with all my strength. Slappy swung his arms, thrashing at my brother.
I pulled hard, trying to tug him off Dan’s stomach.
“Let go! Let go!” the dummy shrieked. “Let go, slave!”
“Get off him!” I cried.
We were making such a racket, I didn’t hear the attic door open downstairs. And I didn’t hear the footsteps running up the stairs.
A face appeared. And then a large body.
“Dad!” I cried breathlessly. “Dad—look!”
“What on earth—!” Dad exclaimed.
“Dad—it’s alive! The dummy is alive!” I shrieked.
“Huh?” Squinting through his glasses, Dad lowered his gaze to the dummy on the floor.
The dummy sprawled lifelessly on its back beside Dan. One arm was twisted beneath its back. Both legs were bent in two.
The mouth hung open in its painted grin. The eyes stared blankly at the ceiling.
“It is alive!” Dan insisted. “It really is!”
Dad stared down at the still, silent dummy.
“The dummy picked up Rocky!” Dan declared in a high, excited voice. “He said his name was Slappy. He picked up Rocky. He was carrying him downstairs.”
Dad tsk-tsked and shook his head. “Give it up, Dan,” he murmured angrily. “Just stop it right now.” He raised his eyes to Dan, then to me. “I knew you two were the troublemakers.”
“But, Dad—” I protested.
“I’m not an idiot,” Dad snapped, scowling at me. “You can’t expect me to believe a dumb story about a dummy coming to life and carrying another dummy around. Have you both lost your minds entirely?”
“It’s true,” Dan insisted.
We both gazed down at Slappy. He sure didn’t look alive. For a moment, I had the frightening feeling that I’d dreamed the whole scene.
But then I remembered something. “I have proof!” I cried. “Dad, I can prove to you that Dan and I aren’t lying.”
Dad rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m so tired,” he moaned. “It’s been such a long, horrible day. Please. Give me a break, Trina.”
“But I took some pictures!” I told him. “I have pictures of Slappy carrying Rocky!”
“Trina, I’m warning you—” Dad started.
But I spun away, searching for my camera. Where was it? Where?
It took me a few seconds to spot it on the floor against the wall back by the couch. I hurried across the room to grab it.
And stopped halfway.
The back of the camera—it had sprung open. The film was exposed. The pictures were ruined.
The camera must have flown out of my hand when I tried to tackle Slappy, I realized. I picked it up and examined it sadly.
No pictures. No proof.
I turned back to find Dad scowling at me. “No more wasting my time, Trina. You two are grounded until further notice. I’m so disgusted with both of you. Your mother and I will think of other punishments after your cousin leaves.”
Then Dad waved a hand at Slappy and Rocky. “Put them away. Right now. And stay out of the attic. Stay away from my dummies. That’s all I have to say to you. Good night.”
Dad turned away sharply and stomped down the stairs.
I glanced at Dan and shrugged. I didn’t know what to say.
My heart was pounding. I was so angry. So upset. So hurt. My chest felt about to explode.
I bent down to pick up Slappy.
The dummy winked at me.
His ugly grin grew wider. And then he puckered his red lips and made disgusting, wet kissing sounds.
24
“Don’t touch me, slave,” Slappy growled.
I gasped and jumped back. I still couldn’t believe this was happening. I wrapped my arms around myself to stop my body from trembling.
“You—you really are alive?” Dan asked softly.
“You bet your soft head I am!” the dummy roared.
“What do you want?” I cried. “Why are you doing this to us? Why are you getting us in all this trouble?”
The ugly grin spread over his face. “If you treat me nice, slaves, maybe I won’t get you in any more trouble. Maybe you’ll get lucky.” He tapped his head and added, “Knock on wood.”
“We’re not your slaves!” I insisted.
He tossed back his head and let out a dry laugh. “Who’s the dummy here?” he cried. “You or me?”
“You carried Rocky downstairs all those times?” Dan asked. I could see that my brother was having a hard time believing this, too.
“You don’t think that bag of kindling can move on his own, do you?” Slappy sneered. “I had some fun with that ugly guy. I put him at the scene of the crimes to throw you off the track. To keep you slaves guessing.”
“And you smashed Zane’s camera and ruined the dinner party?” I demanded.
He narrowed his eyes to evil slits. “I’ll do much worse if you slaves don’t obey me.”
I could feel the anger rising through my body. “You—you’re going to ruin everything!” I screamed at him. “You’re going to ruin our lives! You’re going to keep us from going to camp this summer!”
Slappy snickered. “You won’t be going to camp. You’ll be staying home to take good care of me!”
And then I exploded.
“Nooooo!” I uttered a long wail of protest.
I grabbed his head in both hands. I started to tug.
I remembered his head had been split in two when Dad found him. I planned to pull his head apart—to split it in two again!
He kicked his legs frantically and thrashed his arms.
His heavy shoes kicked at my legs.
But I held on tight. Pulling. Pulling. Struggling to pull his head apart.
“Let me try! Let me try!” Dan called.
I let out a sigh and dropped the dummy to the floor. “It’s no use,” I told Dan. “Dad did too good a job. It’s glued tight.”
Slappy scrambled to his feet. He shook his head. “Thanks for the head massage, slave! Now rub my back!” He laughed, an ugly dry laugh that sounded more like a cough.
Dan stared at the dummy in wide-eyed horror. “Trina—what are we going to do?” he cried, his voice just above a whisper.
“How about a game of Kick the Dummy Down the Stairs?” Slappy suggested, leering at us. “We’ll take turns being the dummy. You can go first!”
“We—we have to do something!” Dan stammered. “He’s a monster! He’s evil! We have to get rid of him!”
But how? I wondered.
How?
And then I had an idea.
25
Slappy must have read my thoughts. He turned and started to run.
But I dove fast—and wrapped my hands around his skinny legs.
He let out a harsh, angry cry as I began twisting his legs around each other, struggling to tie them in a knot.
He swung an arm. The wooden hand caught me on the ear.
But I held on.
“Dan—grab his arms! Hurry!”
My brother moved quickly. Slappy tried to bat him away. But Dan ducked low. And when he came up, he grabbed Slappy’s wrists and held on.
“Let me go, slaves!” the dummy rasped. “Let me go now. You’ll be sorry! You’ll pay!”
I saw the fear on Dan’s face.
Slappy swung a hand free. He tried to swipe at Dan’s throat.
But Dan reached out and grabbed onto the loose arm again.
I felt eyes on me. I glanced up to see the other dummies around the room. They appeared to watch us struggle. A silent, still audience.
I pulled a red kerchief off a dummy’s neck. And I stuffed it into Slappy’s mouth to keep him quiet.
“Downstairs! Hurry!” I instructed my brother.
The dummy twisted and squirmed, trying to break free.
But I had his legs tied around each other. And Dan kept a tight grip on his arms.
We began making our way to the attic stairs. “Where are we taking him?�
�� Dan demanded.
“Outside,” I replied. The dummy bucked and squirmed. I nearly dropped him.
“In our pajamas?” Dan asked.
I nodded and began backing down the stairs. Slappy struggled hard to get free. I nearly lost my balance and toppled over backwards.
“We’re not going far,” I groaned.
Somehow we made it all the way downstairs. I had to let go with one hand to open the front door. Slappy bucked his knees, trying to untangle his legs.
I pushed the door open. Grabbed the legs again.
Dan and I carried the squirming dummy outside.
A cold, clear night. A light, silvery frost over the grass. A half moon high over the trees.
“Ohhh.” I let out a moan as my bare feet touched the frozen grass.
“It’s c-cold!” Dan stammered. “I can’t hold on much longer.”
I saw him shiver. The front lawn suddenly darkened as clouds rolled over the moon. My legs trembled. The damp cold seeped through my thin pajamas.
“Where are we taking him?” Dan whispered.
“Around to the back.”
Slappy kicked hard. But I held on tightly.
Something scampered past my bare feet. I heard scurrying footsteps over the frosty ground.
A rabbit? A raccoon?
I didn’t stop to see. Gripping Slappy’s ankles with both hands, I backed up. Backed along the side of the house.
“My feet are numb!” Dan complained.
“Almost there,” I replied.
Slappy uttered hoarse cries beneath the kerchief that gagged his mouth. His round eyes rolled wildly. Again, he tried to kick free.
Dan and I hauled him to the back of the yard. By the time we got to the old well, my feet were frozen numb, too. And my whole body shook from the cold.
“What are we going to do?” Dan asked in a tiny voice.
The clouds rolled away. Shadows pulled back. The silvery moonlight lit up the old stone well.
“We’re going to toss him down the well,” I groaned.
Dan stared at me, surprised.
“He’s evil,” I explained. “We have no choice.”
Dan nodded.
We lifted Slappy onto the smooth stones at the top of the well. He bucked and kicked. He tried to scream through his gag.
