Revenge of the Living Dummy

by R. L. Stine

  We dodged three teenagers chasing one another with long swords and trotted over to it. It wasn’t an ice-cream cart. The sign read: FROZEN EYEBALLS ON A STICK.

  “Yuck,” Molly groaned.

  A Horror in a stained yellow apron leaned on the cart with an ice-cream scoop in one hand. “Do you want plain or bloodshot?” he asked.

  We ordered four plain, and they tasted a lot like vanilla ice cream. As we licked our eyeballs, we walked around Zombie Plaza.

  “Dad, do you have a token?” I asked. I pulled him over to an old-fashioned-looking fortune-teller’s booth. MADAME DOOM SEES ALL, the sign announced. Behind the glass sat a wooden dummy of an old woman in a red velvet dress and a matching turban.

  Dad handed me a shiny HorrorLand token, and I dropped it in the slot. “I love these things,” I said.

  I watched Madame Doom creak to life. Her wooden hand slowly moved over a stack of little cards and pushed one out at me.

  “What does it say?” Molly asked, bumping up beside me. “What’s your future?”

  I gazed at the card. Blank. I turned it over. Blank on the other side, too.

  “Hey, I got cheated,” I said.

  And then Madame Doom’s mouth moved up and down, and in a creaky voice, she said: “You don’t have a future, Britney.”

  “Huh?” I stared at the old woman, waiting for her to say more. But the dummy froze and stared blankly straight ahead.

  “Another HorrorLand joke,” Mom said. “I’ll bet you anything that all of her cards are blank.”

  “But how did she know my name?” I asked.

  No one heard me. They’d all moved on to a store called MAKE A FACE! The front window was filled with rubber masks. “Those don’t look like Halloween masks,” Molly said. “The faces are like … like real kids! And why do they all look like they’re screaming?”

  I followed her inside. Molly and I tried on some totally hairy monster masks. The hair felt like real hair. And the skin was warm. The masks clung to our faces. We had trouble pulling them off.

  “This is so creeping me out,” Molly said. “Let’s move on.”

  “No, check this out,” I said. I pulled her into the next room. The walls were covered with rubber masks of human faces. Mostly kids.

  “Each one is different,” Molly said. “They must be handmade. The kids all look so pale and sad. And …”

  She stopped and followed my gaze. We both stared at the two masks in a display case on the back counter. Two girls with coppery hair.

  “Molly,” I whispered. “It’s … US!”

  A Horror stepped up behind the counter. She had long black hair tied in a ponytail, and pale yellow eyes. She turned to the two masks. “They do look a little like you,” she said. “How odd!”

  She started to pull one off its hook. “Want to try them on? They’re brand-new. I just got them a few minutes ago.”

  Molly backed away. “Uh … no thanks,” she stammered.

  “But it looks so much like you,” the Horror said. “You could take it home and totally freak your friends.”

  She held it out to me. “Try it on, Britney. Once it’s on, you won’t want to take it off.”

  “Well …”

  “Girls, we have to go,” Dad said, stepping up behind us. “I really think we should check into the hotel.”

  Molly and I turned and started to follow Mom and Dad out of the store. “Maybe later,” I called to the Horror.

  We stepped out onto the plaza. “Whoa. She knew my name, too!” I said. “What’s up with that?”

  “Hey — check it out!” Dad pointed to a tall stone building across the plaza. It looked like an old castle with two towers and a thick blanket of ivy growing down the side. As we made our way toward it, we could see the sign on the front awning: STAGGER INN.

  “Must be our hotel,” Dad said.

  A Horror came running up to us. His purple cape fluttered in the air as he ran. He kept straightening the horns on top of his head with one hand.

  “Hi, I’m Sean Crosby,” Dad said. “We were looking for you.”

  The Horror glanced behind him. “Quick — listen to me!” he said in a hoarse whisper.

  He glanced back again. “They might be watching me,” he said breathlessly. “Some of us don’t like what’s happening here. Some of us are trying to stop it.”

  He grabbed my dad’s shirtsleeve. “Get out of the park!” he cried. “As fast as you can. Get out of here!”

  The Horror dropped Dad’s arm. Then he tucked something into my hand — and took off, running full speed across the plaza.

  The four of us watched him openmouthed. Then we burst out laughing.

  “He’s a good actor,” Molly said. “For a second, I totally believed him.”

  “Guess they’ll do anything to scare you here,” Mom said.

  “Look, he left me a note or something,” I said. I pulled it out of my palm and unfolded it. Squinting at the scrawled writing, I read it out loud:

  “ ‘Find the other park.’ ”

  “The other park?” Molly said. “Where? What does that mean?”

  Another Horror came walking up to us. She had long blond hair flowing back between her curled horns. She wore purple tights under a short, straight green skirt.

  “Welcome to the scariest place on earth,” she said, then laughed. “My name is Druella. Y’all look scared already! That’s a good thing!”

  She smiled at us. “You’re Britney and Molly, right?” she asked. “Very special guests. Follow me.” She swung her cape behind her and led us into the hotel.

  A Horror at the front desk was filing his claws with a long nail file. He didn’t look up as we passed.

  We walked through the front lobby. There were chairs and couches all around — and a skeleton sprawled in each one! The walls were covered with huge oil paintings, all of children screaming their heads off. A headless man played scary music on an organ in the corner.

  “This is the place to relax,” Druella said.

  She led us into the narrow elevator. When the doors rattled shut, it was pitch-black inside. The elevator groaned, then slowly began to move.

  She showed my parents to Room 202 on the second floor. “Are the girls next door?” Mom asked.

  Druella shook her head. “No. They’re coming with me. Our special guests all stay on the thirteenth floor.”

  Naturally.

  Back into the dark elevator. It creaked and groaned and seemed to take forever to climb to 13.

  Druella led us down a dark, winding hall to Room 1313. She handed me a key card. “You don’t mind that this room is haunted — do you?” she said.

  Molly and I laughed. “Of course not,” I said.

  “Don’t be scared,” Druella whispered. “The ghost only comes out in the day and in the night.” She turned and started back down the hall. “If you need anything, just SCREAM!” she called.

  I inserted the key card and the heavy door creaked open. A blast of cold air greeted us. The air conditioner must have been turned on full blast.

  I fumbled in the darkness for the light switch and clicked on the lights.

  “Wow! Check it out. It’s totally awesome!” Molly cried. “Look at that enormous flat-screen TV.”

  The room was almost as big as my house! We had a small kitchen, and a dining room, and a long couch in front of the immense TV, and two twin beds with at least a dozen pillows each.

  I jumped onto a bed and bounced up and down. “Soft!” I said, sinking into the pillows. “This has got to be the greatest room ever!”

  “I thought it would look like a dungeon or something,” Molly said. “But it isn’t scary at all.”

  “And check this out,” I said. I picked up a handful of green-and-purple-wrapped candy bars from the bed table. They were called Shock-A-Lot Bars. I tossed one to Molly. “Free candy!”

  We sat on the edge of the bed and devoured a couple of candy bars.

  Molly wiped chocolate off her chin with the back of
her hand. Her smile faded. “Our suitcases,” she murmured. “They’re not here.”

  I jumped up. “Maybe in the closet?”

  I crossed the room and pulled open the closet door. “Molly — I don’t believe this!” I exclaimed. “The closet is twice as big as the one in my room back home — and it’s filled with clothes!”

  Molly hurried over. We began pawing through the racks of designer jeans and skirts and awesome T-shirts and tops.

  “All in our sizes!” Molly said. “Weird!”

  We tried on a few outfits. I laughed. “I hope they really did burn my old clothes. This stuff is way cooler.”

  Molly stopped suddenly and stared at me. “You must really be a special guest, Brit. And you don’t have a clue how you won all this?”

  “Not a clue,” I said. I slipped into a red-and-yellow sundress. I spun around the room. “Hey — no mirror.”

  “Huh?” Molly had pulled on a pair of white shorts and a pale green T-shirt. She walked into the closet. “No mirror in here, either. Weird. All these fabulous clothes to try on — and not a single mirror in the room.”

  “Let’s go show off our new outfits to my parents,” I said.

  “Okay, but we should hurry. We should get back out in the park before the sun goes down,” Molly said. “Maybe check out Werewolf Village. Kaitlin said it was totally not to be believed.”

  I was glad to see Molly finally getting into it. I locked the door and tucked the key card in my pocket. Then we walked down the long, winding hall to the elevator.

  The elevator doors scraped open. We stepped inside. The doors closed, leaving us in total darkness. The elevator creaked as it slowly started to go down.

  Molly grabbed my arm. “Why can’t they put a light in the elevator?”

  I laughed. “Hel-lo. How scary would that be?”

  The elevator bumped hard. Then it stopped. The door didn’t open.

  We waited in silence for a while, but it didn’t start up again.

  “I … I think we’re stuck between floors,” Molly whispered.

  Before I could say anything, the elevator bumped again and started to scrape its way down. “Another joke,” I muttered. “They really do know how to scare us — don’t they?”

  The door slid open on the second floor. We stepped out into the dimly lit hallway and followed it to my parents’ room — number 202.

  I raised my hand to knock — then stopped. “That’s weird,” I said. The door was open a crack. “My dad is a nut about always closing doors.”

  I pushed it open and called out: “Mom? Dad?”

  No answer.

  Molly and I stepped into the room. “Hey, Mom? Hey —”

  My eyes darted around the room. Empty.

  I checked the bathroom. “Mom? Dad?”

  No sign that anyone had been here.

  I turned to Molly. “Where are they?”

  “This room is kind of small and dark,” I said. “They probably changed rooms.”

  Molly chewed her bottom lip. “But why didn’t they call and tell us?”

  I shrugged. “Come on. We’ll ask at the front desk.”

  We took the stairs. We didn’t want to get back in that elevator.

  A Horror sat behind the desk. He was reading a paperback book called Die, Monster, Die. He looked up when Molly and I charged up to him.

  “Have you seen my parents?” I asked breathlessly. “Mr. and Mrs. Crosby? They were in 202, but —”

  He tapped on his keyboard and then squinted at the monitor. “Crosby? Oh, right,” he said. “They checked out a few minutes ago.”

  “Huh?” I cried. “No way. That’s impossible.” I leaned over the counter, trying to read the screen. “Please — check again.”

  “I definitely checked them out,” the Horror said. “They said they couldn’t wait to get home.”

  He squinted at the monitor. “Crosby — right?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Crosby.”

  “They’re gone,” he said. “They split.”

  My mouth dropped open. “But — but they wouldn’t leave without us. That’s crazy!”

  The Horror shrugged. “Go figure.”

  I heard footsteps on the marble floor. A family came hurrying up to the front desk — two smiling parents and a little boy with chocolate smeared on his face.

  “We’re the Hopper family,” the father told the Horror. “Is this where we check in?”

  The Horror tapped some keys on his keyboard. He frowned. “We’re pretty full. Do you mind sleeping in the dungeon for a few nights? The torture rack is pretty comfortable.”

  I pulled Molly off to the side. “I get it!” I said. “I don’t think we should worry about my parents. It has to be one of the Horrors’ scary jokes. They love scaring us every minute.”

  Molly squinted at me. “Do you really think it’s just a joke? Maybe we should check your parents’ room one more time.”

  “All right,” I said.

  We took the stairs. The door to room 202 was half open. I guess we left it that way. I pushed it open all the way, and we stepped inside.

  I kind of expected Mom and Dad to be there this time. But the room was still empty.

  I started to look around. Something on the floor caught my eye. I picked it up and examined it.

  “A camera?” Molly said.

  “My dad’s digital camera,” I murmured, turning it in my hands. “It’s … still on.”

  “Your dad wouldn’t leave without his camera,” Molly said. She bit her bottom lip. I could see she was really tense.

  “Maybe he left it here for us,” Molly said. “Maybe he took a picture with it. You know. As a clue. To let us know where they went.”

  “Yeah. Maybe,” I said. I could feel myself getting excited. “Maybe.”

  I pressed a button on the back. And instantly, a picture came up on the view screen.

  I held it up to my face, and we both stared at it.

  “N-no!” I stammered. “It … can’t be!”

  The photo was a little blurred. But I could see the figure clearly … the grinning figure standing right here in this hotel room.

  It was SLAPPY!

  My name is William Deep, Jr. I’m from Baltimore, Maryland, and I live for adventure.

  The people who think I’m a normal twelve-year-old call me Billy.

  But the few who really know me call me by my secret name — the Undersea Mutant.

  For me, danger is like breakfast. I can’t start my day without a healthy, balanced bowl of danger.

  Here I am in the middle of the ocean. Sure, it’s dark and dangerous. But what do I call it?

  Home.

  I’m swimming off the island of Careebo, a tiny sand field in the Caribbean Sea. I peer straight ahead through my infrared snorkel mask. My laser-guided razor fins cut through the waves.

  I follow a school of silvery angelfish, sparkling like diamonds in the sunlit waters. They don’t seem to realize the danger nearby.

  But my mutant senses are alert. No underwater villain can escape me.

  You may remember some of my adventures.

  I’m the one who defeated Sandy the Squid. He called himself the Cephalopod of Steel. Sandy liked to tickle swimmers to death — until I tied his tentacles in a knot.

  Remember the Ragin’ Ray of Honolulu Bay? He’s not ragin’ anymore. How about Joe, the Great White Stingray? After a smackdown with the Undersea Mutant, he floundered off with his stinger between his fins!

  The Snapping Tortoise of Terror? After our three-day underwater battle, I tossed him into a soup bowl. His new name was Delicious!

  Yeah, I’m tough. But these are tough waters.

  And now I’m about to face my most dangerous foe. The Albino Electric Eel. The only one in the known universe.

  I see him waiting for me behind a bank of red and yellow coral. To your eyes, he’s just a long string of seaweed. That’s because you don’t have Mutant Vision.

  I lower my 4-D hi-def mask into the
water and kick harder. I glide toward my foe. I don’t hesitate. I grab him bare-handed and begin to apply my famous Eel Squeeze.

  ZZZZZZZZZZZZT!

  Two hundred thousand volts of electricity shoot through my body. Enough power to electrocute a dozen men. But to me, it’s only a slight itch.

  I thrash and kick, wrestling with this Eel of Evil. Another jolt of electricity makes the churning water start to boil.

  Yes, it’s getting hot down here. But the only one who’s in real hot water is my wriggling enemy!

  I hear a voice … a distant voice, calling my human name. “Billy? Billy?”

  A desperate cry for help. Someone is in danger.

  I let go of the eel. Catch you later! I think. I fight my way to the surface.

  Someone needs me!

  R.L. Stine’s books are read all over the world. So far, his books have sold more than 300 million copies, making him one of the most popular children’s authors in history. Besides Goosebumps, R.L. Stine has written the teen series Fear Street and the funny series Rotten School, as well as the Mostly Ghostly series, The Nightmare Room series, and the two-book thriller Dangerous Girls. R.L. Stine lives in New York with his wife, Jane, and Minnie, his King Charles spaniel. You can learn more about him at www.RLStine.com.

  Goosebumps book series created by Parachute Press, Inc.

  Goosebumps HorrorLand #1: Revenge of the Living Dummy

  copyright © 2008 by Scholastic Inc.

  All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, GOOSEBUMPS, GOOSEBUMPS HORRORLAND, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

  First printing, April 2008

  e-ISBN 978-0-545-84030-9

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.