The Ghost of Slappy

by R. L. Stine

  “Dead,” I said out loud. “Slappy is dead.”

  Without thinking, I grabbed the dummy and placed him on top of the snow hill at the end of the grave. “Thanks for the boost, Slappy,” I said. I climbed on him, reached up, grabbed the side of the grave, and pulled myself out.

  With a loud groan, I picked up a huge armful of dirt and snow from the pile at the side of the open grave. And I heaved it down into the hole. Then I saw a shovel on the ground across from me. I grabbed it and began to shovel dirt and snow over Slappy.

  Yes. I was burying him. I had to make sure that evil thing wouldn’t hurt anyone else. I shoveled till my arms ached. I didn’t stop until Slappy was completely covered. Buried under at least three feet of dirt.

  Now I was sweating despite the cold. My dirt-smeared hands trembled. My breath came out in loud wheezes.

  I hurried home. The garage door still hung wide open. I darted inside and crept into the house through the side door. No lights anywhere. The house was totally dark.

  My parents are sound sleepers. They once slept through an earthquake. I was sure I could get back to my room and they’d never know I’d been out.

  My shoes were leaving wet spots on the floor. I took them off and slid my feet over the spots, trying to mop them up with my socks.

  I made my way slowly through the darkness to the stairs. Then I crept up the stairs one at a time, moving slowly so they wouldn’t creak or squeak beneath me.

  A dim light spread over the walls of the hall. My parents always keep a night-light on. Tiptoeing, I took a few steps toward my room—when Patti’s door swung open and she stepped into the hall.

  She gasped. “Where are you coming from? Did you go out?”

  “Uh … no,” I lied. “I … well … I just went downstairs for a drink of water.”

  She untwisted her nightshirt as she squinted at me. “In your coat? You went downstairs for a drink of water in your coat?”

  I just shrugged. Then I decided to tell her the truth. “I took Slappy out,” I said. “I didn’t want him in the house. I got rid of him for good.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Patti said. “He’s in my room right now.”

  “Huh?” I uttered a cry and staggered back against the wall. I couldn’t hide my shock. “No. No way.”

  Patti laughed. She stuck her hand out and mussed up my hair. “You should have seen the look on your face. It was hilarious.”

  “You—you mean—” I stuttered.

  “I mean I was joking,” Patti said. “What’s the big deal about that ugly dummy?”

  “Nothing,” I said.

  My heartbeat was slowing back to normal. Her little joke had nearly given me a heart attack. “No big deal. Go back to sleep. We’ll never have to think about that dummy again.”

  * * *

  I hurried into Mr. Hanson’s class ten minutes early the next morning. I wanted to catch Carlos before class started and tell him about how I buried Slappy in the graveyard. I knew Carlos would be as happy as I was that the dummy was dead and buried.

  But Carlos wasn’t there. We aren’t supposed to use our phones in class. But since the bell hadn’t rung, I took mine out and texted Carlos: Where are you? Want to talk.

  I stared at the screen till he answered: Sick today. Stomach bug. Can’t come to school.

  I shook my head, disappointed, and tucked my phone into my backpack. When I looked up, Trevor was standing in front of my desk.

  “Are you enjoying my little present?” he asked. He had a sick smile on his face. I wished I could wipe it off.

  “I gave it to my sister,” I lied. “She’s having fun with it.”

  His face fell in disappointment. “You didn’t bring it to life, did you?”

  “No. No way,” I lied some more. “I’m going to let Patti play with it for a while. Then I’m going to return it to Mr. Hanson.”

  Trevor turned and slumped away. I knew what he wanted to hear. He wanted to hear that Slappy came to life and terrified me and my family. He wanted to hear that he’d caused a lot of trouble for me.

  No way I’d ever tell him the truth.

  No way I’d ever tell Trevor he forced me to have the scariest night of my life.

  The bell rang. The room grew quiet. Mr. Hanson sat on the edge of his desk and glanced around the room. He looked tired. His eyelids drooped and he had dark circles under his eyes.

  He hadn’t brushed his hair, and dark stubble shaded his face. He hadn’t shaved.

  “I hope everyone has recovered from the overnight,” he said. “It was a disaster. I know. Sorry so many of your parents are angry at me. Believe me, I’m sorry about the whole thing.”

  Silence. No one spoke up. I don’t think anyone knew what to say.

  “The dummy hasn’t been found,” Hanson continued, tapping his fingers tensely on the desktop. “Perhaps he is miles from here. If I had known how evil he was …”

  The teacher’s voice trailed off. Down the row of seats, Trevor was leaning forward, staring at me.

  Did he expect me to tell Hanson that I had Slappy?

  Was he going to lie and say that I took the dummy?

  I stared back at him, stared until he turned away.

  A short while later, we were having quiet reading. I think Hanson was too exhausted to talk to us.

  My desk is at the window in the back row. Maryjane Dewey sits next to me. And today she was looking at me. And smiling. She never smiles at me.

  She doesn’t know that I seriously crush on her. She talks to me sometimes. Almost always about schoolwork.

  This morning, however, her eyes were on me. Wait. No, not on me. She was looking at my lunch bag. Dad packs Patti and me the same lunch every morning. Some kind of boring sandwich on white bread, an apple, and a PowerBar.

  Not too thrilling. So why was Maryjane eyeing it so hungrily?

  She leaned closer. The room was silent, so Maryjane whispered. “Shep, what did you bring for lunch?”

  “I think it’s a ham and cheese sandwich,” I whispered back.

  She leaned closer. Her hair tickled my ear. “Can we trade?”

  “Huh?”

  “My mom packed tuna fish, and she knows I hate tuna fish. It’s so … fishy.”

  Something moved outside the classroom window. I turned to see what it was.

  “So will you trade with me?” Maryjane asked.

  I gasped. Slappy!

  The dummy appeared on the other side of the glass, grinning at me.

  He was alive! He had escaped the grave. And he had come for me!

  “We could sit at the same table in the lunchroom and share our lunches,” Maryjane said. “Would you like that?”

  Slappy tapped the window.

  “NO!” I screamed. “NO! GO AWAY!”

  Maryjane uttered a startled cry. “Excuse me? Shep, I thought you liked me. I—”

  “Go away!” I screamed. “Please—go away!”

  The dummy tapped his wooden forehead against the window glass.

  It took me a few seconds to realize everyone in the room was staring at me. Maryjane scooted her desk away from me. Her face was an angry red.

  “Shep?” Mr. Hanson set down the book he was reading and started down the aisle toward me. “Why are you screaming at Maryjane?”

  “Maryjane?” I cried. “I’m not screaming at her! Don’t you see him? Don’t you see him out there?” I pointed frantically to the window.

  Slappy had vanished.

  “I … I don’t see anything,” Hanson said.

  The room exploded in voices and laughter. “Shep is losing it,” I heard Trevor say.

  I jumped to my feet. “Didn’t you hear him tap on the window?”

  Hanson scratched the back of his head. “I heard that tree branch tap,” he said, pointing. “It always does that if there’s a breeze.”

  “But—but he was right outside the window!” I insisted.

  Hanson put a weird smile on his face, like he was talking to a crazy person.
“Shep, we’re on the second floor. No one can stand outside the window.”

  Most everyone laughed.

  I hesitated for a moment. Then I lurched toward the door. “Be right back,” I said.

  I heard Hanson calling after me. But I didn’t stop. My shoes pounded the hall floor as I made my way downstairs to the side entrance of the building.

  “Shep? Is anything wrong?” Our principal, Mrs. Hernandez, stood in her office doorway.

  I didn’t stop for her either.

  My brain spun so hard with questions, I felt dizzy. Each question made the feeling of total terror rise in my chest.

  How did Slappy get out of the open grave?

  Did he come to punish me for burying him last night?

  What does he plan to do to me?

  I burst out of the school building, breathing hard. The snow had stopped last night. There were only two or three inches on the ground, enough to make everything look like the world was in black and white.

  My breath steamed up in front of me. I glanced around.

  The teachers’ parking lot stood to my left. The kindergarten playground was to my right. Two women in big fur coats stood talking at the curb.

  I shouted, “Slappy! Where are you? Are you here?”

  The women turned toward me for a second, then returned to their conversation. A dog barked from somewhere across the street.

  “I know you’re here, Slappy,” I shouted, cupping my hands around my mouth to form a megaphone. I shivered. It was too cold to be out here without a coat.

  I took a few crunching footsteps over the snow. On the street, the two women climbed into their SUVs and drove away. I heard singing coming from a classroom behind me.

  Some kids were happy and innocent. They were singing. I was out here looking for an evil dummy.

  I didn’t have to wait long to find him. Slappy stepped out from behind the tree at the edge of the parking lot. His red-lipped grin caught the morning sunlight. His eyes flashed excitedly.

  “What do you want?” I demanded. “Why did you follow me here?”

  He moved smoothly over the snow as if he were floating. I saw that his feet weren’t moving at all. He was floating.

  He raised an accusing hand, pointed at me. “You killed me, Shep.”

  “Excuse me?” I took a stumbling step back. My shoes almost slid out from under me in the snow. “How did you get out?” I cried. “What do you want? What are you doing here?”

  “You killed me,” he repeated. His wooden lips clicked with each word.

  He floated closer.

  “I did not!” I shouted. “You know it was an accident. You fell and hit your head. It was an accident.”

  “You’re about to have a very bad accident, Shep,” Slappy rasped.

  “No—!” I cried. “I’m taking you back to Hanson. He’ll find a way to put you back to sleep.”

  That made him toss back his head and laugh. His ugly cackle rang off the trees and the snowy ground.

  I didn’t hesitate. I took a deep breath. And dove for him.

  I reached my arms out wide to capture him.

  Sliding on the snow, I dove forward. Made a grab.

  And my hands went RIGHT THROUGH him!

  He floated back, hands raised above his head.

  I made another grab. Again, my hands slid right through him, as if he were made of air.

  He laughed again. “Hey, Shep—what does it feel like to be an idiot? Asking for a friend. Hahahaha!”

  “You—you’re a ghost!” I finally caught on.

  “Good boy. And what do ghosts do?”

  “Huh?”

  “What do ghosts do, Owl Face?”

  I suddenly pictured Annalee. Coming for me, that dangerous look on her face. Reaching for me …

  “They … haunt people,” I said.

  Slappy floated up until he was three or four feet in the air. He hovered over me, his eyes now spinning wildly. “You killed me, Shep,” he repeated. “Now I have no choice. I’m a ghost and I’m going to haunt you—forever.”

  “No—listen,” I pleaded. “I’m sorry. I—”

  “Don’t be sorry, Shep. Be happy that you’ve made a friend for life! Just think—I’ll always be there!” He laughed again. The cold, raspy laughter sent a shudder down my whole body.

  I heard the crunch of footsteps behind me. I turned back to see Mr. Hanson and Mrs. Hernandez hurrying toward me.

  “Shep, what are you doing out here?” Hanson called.

  I spun around.

  Slappy’s ghost had vanished.

  “I … uh … thought I saw something,” I stammered.

  “Are you okay? Why are you out here in the cold?” Mrs. Hernandez demanded. She took my arm. “Come inside, Shep. Do you want to see the nurse?”

  “Shep had a strange outburst in class,” Hanson told her as we made our way back into the school. “He screamed at Maryjane Dewey, who sits next to him. He screamed for her to go away.”

  “No. That’s not true,” I said. “It … it’s a long story.”

  “Should I call your parents?” Mrs. Hernandez asked.

  I shivered. The warmth of the school building settled over me. I glanced all around. Did Slappy’s ghost follow me inside?

  No sign of him.

  “I’m okay now,” I said. “Really. I just needed some fresh air. I’m perfectly fine.”

  They both eyed me suspiciously. Finally, the principal said, “Okay, Shep. Get back to class.”

  Of course, there was no way I could relax in class. Or pay attention. All of my attention was on the window beside me. I kept expecting the Slappy ghost to reappear at any time, to grin at me and tease me. To haunt me.

  But he didn’t show up. Lunchtime came, and I was very happy to get away from that window. As I carried my lunch bag to the lunchroom, I thought about Carlos. I hoped he wasn’t too sick. I needed him. I needed him to help me think of a way to get rid of Slappy’s ghost.

  I saw Maryjane Dewey at a table in the back. She was surrounded by Courtney Levitt and Dawn Meadows and some of her other friends. I think she was deliberately not looking at me.

  I decided to go over to her table and apologize. I knew I’d ruined my chance to be her friend. I’d shouted at her and told her to go away. At least, that’s what she thought.

  I stepped up to her table. Maryjane pretended to be interested in what was in her lunch bag.

  Courtney had a big bowl of spaghetti in front of her. Dawn was starting to fork up a big slice of custard pie.

  I suddenly lost my nerve. I wanted to apologize to Maryjane. But all the words had left my head.

  They were staring at me in silence, waiting for me to say something.

  “I … uh … How’s the spaghetti?” I said to Courtney.

  “Not bad,” she said. And then the spaghetti bowl raised up. It lifted off the table. It floated up by itself—and flew onto my head.

  Oh, wow. The bowl smashed over my hair, and I was blinded for a few seconds as the spaghetti oozed down over my face.

  The spaghetti rolled onto my shirt. Piles of it clung to my shoulders.

  Maryjane and her friends were all gasping in shock. “Courtney—did you throw your spaghetti on him?” Maryjane demanded.

  “No. No way!” Courtney cried. “I didn’t touch it!”

  I spit out some noodles. “I guess it just slipped off the table onto my head,” I said sarcastically.

  That made the girls start to laugh.

  “It isn’t funny!” I cried. “I—I—”

  That’s when the plate in front of Dawn shot up into the air. It flew at me, too fast to duck. And the custard pie smacked my face. The plate clattered to the floor. The pie covered my eyes, my nose. I struggled to breathe.

  “I didn’t do it!” Dawn screamed. “I swear!”

  I wiped pie off my face with both hands. I knew who was doing this. Slappy. Slappy was using me for his own private food fight.

  And as I wiped away spaghetti and cu
stard pie, I heard the laughter. The girls were laughing. Everyone was laughing. Even the teachers were all laughing at the teachers’ table.

  No one was laughing more than Maryjane. She actually had tears running down her cheeks.

  And over the laughter, I could hear Slappy’s raspy cackle. He was haunting me. Ruining my life. And he would haunt me until … until … forever.

  I texted Carlos on my way home. He said he was feeling better and he would come over. I hoped he would have some ideas about how to deal with Slappy. He was the only person I could count on.

  I walked into the house from the back door. I kicked off my snowy shoes and dropped my backpack onto the kitchen counter. Then I started to unzip my coat.

  “Anyone home?” I shouted.

  No answer. This was strange, since my parents both worked at home. I grabbed a can of Coke from the fridge and headed toward the front of the house. “Mom? Dad? Are you here?”

  I heard a rustling sound, soft, like someone crinkling paper. And then a scrape.

  “Hey—who’s home?” I shouted. “Patti? Are you here? Who—?”

  I stopped when I saw the dim glow of light from the end of the hall. A flickering circle of yellow light. It grew brighter as it expanded. As I stared, the light filled the hall, so bright now I shielded my eyes.

  And I recognized the dark form inside. Annalee!

  Annalee floated out from the light, her pale face stern, angry, her eyes locked on mine.

  “N-no!” I stammered.

  Now I was being haunted by two ghosts. And both of them wanted to hurt me.

  Annalee’s coppery hair flew behind her as she came toward me. She didn’t blink. Her eyes stared as if trying to burn into my brain.

  Two ghosts … Two ghosts …

  “This isn’t fair!” I yelled.

  No one else was home. I huddled there, alone, with the ghost moving slowly toward me. She raised one hand and pointed. Her pale lips moved, but no sound came out.

  Was she saying my name?

  I staggered back. I concentrated on her hand. She kept curling her fingers, reaching for me.

  And suddenly, my fright turned to anger. This isn’t fair. I took a deep breath and screamed at her, screamed at the top of my lungs. And shook both fists above my head.