by R. L. Stine
The early evening sun was lowering itself behind the house. The aroma of a roasting chicken floated out from the kitchen window. Kris could hear her mother busy in the kitchen preparing dinner.
Barky yapped beneath her. Kris dropped her feet to the ground and stopped the swing to avoid kicking him. “Dumb dog. Don’t you know you could get hurt?”
She looked up to see Lindy come running up the driveway, holding Slappy under her arm. From the smile on Lindy’s face, Kris knew at once that the birthday party had been a triumph. But she had to ask anyway. “How’d it go?”
“It was awesome!” Lindy exclaimed. “Slappy and I were great!”
Kris pulled herself off the swing and forced a smile to her face. “That’s nice,” she offered.
“The kids thought we were a riot!” Lindy continued. She pulled Slappy up. “Didn’t they, Slappy?”
“They liked me. Hated you!” Slappy declared in Lindy’s high-pitched voice.
Kris forced a laugh. “I’m glad it went okay,” she said, trying hard to be a good sport.
“I did a sing-along with Slappy, and it went over really well. Then Slappy and I did our rap routine. What a hit!” Lindy gushed.
She’s spreading it on a little thick, Kris thought bitterly. Kris couldn’t help feeling jealous.
“The kids all lined up to talk to Slappy,” Lindy continued. “Didn’t they, Slappy?”
“Everyone loved me,” she made the dummy say. “Where’s my share of the loot?”
“So you got paid twenty dollars?” Kris asked, kicking at a clump of weeds.
“Twenty-five,” Lindy replied. “Amy’s mom said I was so good, she’d pay me extra. Oh. And guess what else? You know Mrs. Evans? The woman who always wears the leopardskin pants? You know—Anna’s mom? She asked me to do Anna’s party next Sunday. She’s going to pay me thirty dollars! I’m going to be rich!”
“Wow. Thirty dollars,” Kris muttered, shaking her head.
“I get twenty. You get ten,” Lindy made Slappy say.
“I have to go tell Mom the good news!” Lindy said. “What have you been doing all afternoon?”
“Well, after you left, I was pretty upset,” Kris replied, following Lindy to the house. “You know. About Mr. Wood. I—I put him upstairs. Alice and Cody went home. Then Mom and I went to the mall.”
His tail wagging furiously, Barky ran right over their feet, nearly tripping both of them. “Barky, look out!” Lindy yelled.
“Oh. I nearly forgot,” Kris said, stopping on the back stoop. “Something good happened.”
Lindy stopped, too. “Something good?”
“Yeah. I ran into Mrs. Berman at the mall.” Mrs. Berman was their music teacher and organizer of the spring concert.
“Thrills,” Lindy replied sarcastically.
“And Mrs. Berman asked if Mr. Wood and I wanted to be master of ceremonies for the spring concert.” Kris smiled at her sister.
Lindy swallowed hard. “She asked you to host the concert?”
“Yeah. I get to perform with Mr. Wood in front of everyone!” Kris gushed happily. She saw a flash of jealousy on Lindy’s face, which made her even happier.
Lindy pulled open the screen door. “Well, good luck,” she said dryly. “With that weird dummy of yours, you’ll need it.”
Dinner was spent talking about Lindy’s performance at Amy Marshall’s birthday party. Lindy and Mrs. Powell chatted excitedly. Kris ate in silence.
“At first I thought the whole thing was strange, I have to admit,” Mrs. Powell said, scooping ice cream into bowls for dessert. “I just couldn’t believe you’d be interested in ventriloquism, Lindy. But I guess you have a flair for it. I guess you have some talent.”
Lindy beamed. Mrs. Powell normally wasn’t big on compliments.
“I found a book in the school library about ventriloquism,” Lindy said. “It had some pretty good tips in it. It even had a comedy routine to perform.” She glanced at Kris. “But I like making up my own jokes better.”
“You should watch your sister’s act,” Mrs. Powell told Kris, handing her a bowl of ice cream. “I mean, you could probably pick up some pointers for the concert at school.”
“Maybe,” Kris replied, trying to hide how annoyed she was.
After dinner, Mr. Powell called from Portland, and they all talked with him. Lindy told him about her success with Slappy at the birthday party. Kris told him about being asked to host the concert with Mr. Wood. Her father promised he wouldn’t schedule any road trips so that he could attend the concert.
After watching a video their mother had rented at the mall, the two sisters went up to their room. It was a little after eleven.
Kris clicked on the light. Lindy followed her in.
They both glanced across the room to the chair where they kept the two dummies—and gasped.
“Oh, no!” Lindy cried, raising one hand to her wide open mouth.
Earlier that night, the dummies had been placed side by side in a sitting position.
But now Slappy was upside down, falling out of the chair, his head on the floor. His brown shoes had been pulled off his feet and tossed against the wall. His suit jacket had been pulled halfway down his arms, trapping his hands behind his back.
“L-look!” Kris stammered, although her sister was already staring in horror at the scene. “Mr. Wood—he’s…” Kris’ voice caught in her throat.
Mr. Wood was sprawled on top of Slappy. His hands were wrapped around Slappy’s throat, as if he were strangling him.
10
“I—I don’t believe this!” Kris managed to whisper. She turned and caught the frightened expression on Lindy’s face.
“What’s going on?” Lindy cried.
Both sisters hurried across the room. Kris grabbed Mr. Wood by the back of the neck and pulled him off the other dummy. She felt as if she were separating two fighting boys.
She held Mr. Wood up in front of her, examining him carefully, staring at his face as if half-expecting him to talk to her.
Then she lowered the dummy and tossed it facedown onto her bed. Her face was pale and taut with fear.
Lindy stooped and picked up Slappy’s brown shoes from the floor. She held them up and studied them, as if they would offer a clue as to what had happened.
“Kris—did you do this?” Lindy asked softly.
“Huh? Me?” Kris reacted with surprise.
“I mean, I know you’re jealous of Slappy and me—” Lindy started.
“Whoa. Wait a minute,” Kris replied angrily in a shrill, trembling voice. “I didn’t do this, Lindy. Don’t accuse me.”
Lindy glared at her sister, studying her face. Then her expression softened and she sighed. “I don’t get. I just don’t get it. Look at Slappy. He’s nearly been torn apart.”
She set the shoes down on the chair and picked the dummy up gently as if picking up a baby. Holding him in one hand, she struggled to pull his suit jacket up with the other.
Kris heard her sister mutter something. It sounded like “Your dummy is evil.”
“What did you say?” Kris demanded.
“Nothing,” Lindy replied, still struggling with the jacket. “I’m… uh… I’m kind of scared about this,” Lindy confessed, blushing, avoiding Kris’ eyes.
“Me, too,” Kris admitted. “Something weird is going on. I think we should tell Mom.”
Lindy buttoned the jacket. Then she sat down on the bed with Slappy on her lap and started to replace the dummy’s shoes. “Yeah. I guess we should,” she replied. “It—it’s just so creepy.”
Their mother was in bed, reading a Stephen King novel. Her bedroom was dark except for a tiny reading lamp on her headboard that threw down a narrow triangle of yellow light.
Mrs. Powell uttered a short cry as her two daughters appeared out of the shadows. “Oh. You startled me. This is such a scary book, and I think I was just about to fall asleep.”
“Can we talk to you?” Kris asked eagerly in a low whisper.
Mrs. Powell yawned and closed her book. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s about Mr. Wood,” Kris said. “He’s been doing a lot of strange things.”
“Huh?” Mrs. Powell’s eyes opened wide. She looked pale and tired under the harsh light from the reading lamp.
“He was strangling Slappy,” Lindy reported. “And this afternoon, he said some really gross things. And—”
“Stop!” Mrs. Powell ordered, raising one hand. “Just stop.”
“But, Mom—” Kris started.
“Give me a break, girls,” their mother said wearily. “I’m tired of your silly competitions.”
“You don’t understand,” Lindy interrupted.
“Yes, I do understand,” Mrs. Powell said sharply. “You two are even competing with those ventriloquist dummies.”
“Mom, please!”
“I want it to stop right now,” Mrs. Powell insisted, tossing the book onto her bed table. “I mean it. I don’t want to hear another word from either of you about those dummies. If you two have problems, settle it between yourselves.”
“Mom, listen—”
“And if you can’t settle it, I’ll take the dummies away. Both of them. I’m serious.” Mrs. Powell reached above her head and clicked off the reading light, throwing the room into darkness. “Good night,” she said.
The girls had no choice but to leave the room. They slunk down the hall in silence.
Kris hesitated at the doorway to their bedroom. She expected to find Mr. Wood strangling Slappy again. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the two dummies on the bed where they had been left.
“Mom wasn’t too helpful,” Lindy said dryly, rolling her eyes. She picked up Slappy and started to arrange him in the chair in front of the window.
“I think she was asleep and we woke her up,” Kris replied.
She picked up Mr. Wood and started toward the chair with him—then stopped. “You know what? I think I’m going to put him in the closet tonight,” she said thoughtfully.
“Good idea,” Lindy said, climbing into bed.
Kris glanced down at the dummy, half-expecting him to react. To complain. To start calling her names.
But Mr. Wood grinned up at her, his painted eyes dull and lifeless.
Kris felt a chill of fear.
I’m becoming afraid of a stupid ventriloquist’s dummy, she thought.
I’m shutting him up in the closet tonight because I’m afraid.
She carried Mr. Wood to the closet. Then, with a groan, she raised him high above her head and slid him onto the top shelf. Carefully closing the closet door, listening for the click, she made her way to her bed.
She slept fitfully, tossing on top of the covers, her sleep filled with disturbing dreams. She awoke to find her nightshirt completely twisted, cutting off the circulation to her right arm. She struggled to straighten it, then fell back to sleep.
She awoke early, drenched in sweat. The sky was still dawn-gray outside the window.
The room felt hot and stuffy. She sat up slowly, feeling weary, as if she hadn’t slept at all.
Blinking away the sleep, her eyes focused on the chair in front of the window.
There sat Slappy, exactly where Lindy had placed him.
And beside him sat Mr. Wood, his arm around Slappy’s shoulder, grinning triumphantly at Kris as if he had just pulled off a wonderful joke.
11
“Now, Mr. Wood, do you go to school?”
“Of course I do. Do you think I’m a dummy?”
“And what’s your favorite class?”
“Wood shop, of course!”
“What project are you building in shop class, Mr. Wood?”
“I’m building a girl dummy! What else? Ha-ha! Think I want to spend the rest of my life on your lap?!”
Kris sat in front of the dressing table mirror with Mr. Wood on her lap, studying herself as she practiced her routine for the school concert.
Mr. Wood had been well-behaved for two days. No frightening, mysterious incidents. Kris was beginning to feel better. Maybe everything would go okay from now on.
She leaned close to the mirror, watching her lips as she made the dummy talk.
The b’s and the m’s were impossible to pronounce without moving her lips. She’d just have to avoid those sounds as best she could.
I’m getting better at switching from Mr. Wood’s voice back to mine, she thought happily. But I’ve got to switch faster. The faster he and I talk, the funnier it is.
“Let’s try it again, Mr. Wood,” she said, pulling her chair closer to the mirror.
“Work, work, work,” she made the dummy grumble.
Before she could begin the routine, Lindy came rushing breathlessly into the room. Kris watched her sister in the mirror as she came up behind her, her long hair flying loosely over her shoulders, an excited smile on her face.
“Guess what?” Lindy asked.
Kris started to reply, but Lindy didn’t give her a chance.
“Mrs. Petrie was at Amy Marshall’s birthday party,” Lindy gushed excitedly. “She works for Channel Three. You know. The TV station. And she thinks I’m good enough to go on Talent Search, the show they have every week.”
“Huh? Really?” was all Kris could manage in reply.
Lindy leapt excitedly in the air and cheered. “Slappy and I are going to be on TV!” she cried. “Isn’t that fabulous?”
Staring at her sister’s jubilant reflection in the mirror, Kris felt a stab of jealousy.
“I’ve got to tell Mom!” Lindy declared. “Hey, Mom! Mom!” She ran from the room. Kris heard her shouting all the way down the stairs.
“Aaaaaargh!” Kris couldn’t hold it in. She uttered an angry cry.
“Why does everything good happen to Lindy?” Kris screamed aloud. “I’m hosting a stupid concert for maybe a hundred parents—and she’s going to be on TV! I’m just as good as she is. Maybe better!”
In a rage, she raised Mr. Wood high over her head and slammed him to the floor.
The dummy’s head made a loud clonk as it hit the hardwood floor. The wide mouth flew open as if about to scream.
“Oh.” Kris struggled to regain her composure.
Mr. Wood, crumpled at her feet, stared up at her accusingly.
Kris lifted him up and cradled the dummy against her. “There, there, Mr. Wood,” she whispered soothingly. “Did I hurt you? Did I? I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
The dummy continued to stare up at her. His painted grin hadn’t changed, but his eyes seemed cold and unforgiving.
It was a still night. No breeze. The curtains in front of the open bedroom window didn’t flutter or move. Pale silver moonlight filtered in, creating long, purple shadows that appeared to creep across the girls’ bedroom.
Lindy had been sleeping fitfully, a light sleep filled with busy, colorful dreams. She was startled awake by a sound. A gentle thud.
“Huh?” she raised her head from the damp pillow and turned.
Someone was moving in the darkness.
The sounds she’d heard were footsteps.
“Hey!” she whispered, wide awake now. “Who is it?”
The figure turned in the doorway, a shadow against even blacker shadows. “It’s only me,” came a whispered reply.
“Kris?”
“Yeah. Something woke me up. My throat is sore,” Kris whispered from the doorway. “I’m going down to the kitchen for a glass of water.”
She disappeared into the shadows. Her head still raised off the pillow, Lindy listened to her footsteps padding down the stairs.
When the sounds faded, Lindy shut her eyes and lowered her head to the pillow.
A few seconds later, she heard Kris’ scream of horror.
12
Her heart pounding, Lindy struggled out of bed. The sheet tangled around her legs, and she nearly fell.
Kris’ bloodcurdling scream echoed in he
r ears.
She practically leapt down the dark stairway, her bare feet thudding hard on the thin carpet of the steps.
It was dark downstairs, except for a thin sliver of yellow light from the kitchen.
“Kris—Kris—are you okay?” Lindy called, her voice sounding small and frightened in the dark hallway.
“Kris?”
Lindy stopped at the kitchen doorway.
What was that eerie light?
It took her a while to focus. Then she realized she was staring at the dim yellow light from inside the refrigerator.
The refrigerator door was wide open.
And… the refrigerator was empty.
“What—what’s going on here?”
She took a step into the kitchen. Then another.
Something cold and wet surrounded her foot.
Lindy gasped and, looking down, saw that she had stepped into a wide puddle.
An overturned milk carton beside her foot revealed that the puddle was spilled milk.
She raised her eyes to Kris, who was standing in darkness across the room, her back against the wall, her hands raised to her face in horror.
“Kris, what on earth—”
The scene was coming into focus now. It was all so weird, so… wrong. It was taking Lindy a long time to see the whole picture.
But, now, following Kris’ horrified stare, Lindy saw the mess on the floor. And realized why the refrigerator was empty.
Everything inside it had been pulled out and dumped on the kitchen floor. An orange juice bottle lay on its side in a puddle of orange juice. Eggs were scattered everywhere. Fruits and vegetables were strewn over the floor.
“Ohh!” Lindy moaned in utter disbelief.
Everything seemed to sparkle and gleam.
What was all that shiny stuff among the food?
Kris’ jewelry!
There were earrings and bracelets and strands of beads tossed everywhere, mixed with the spilled, strewn food like some kind of bizarre salad.
