Slappy Birthday to You

by R. L. Stine

“It’s the best present ever,” Vinny said.

  “If you don’t want it, we’ll take it back,” Jonny added.

  Ian ripped away the wrapping paper. “Hey! Cool! A Star Wars robot!”

  “It’s BB-8,” Jonny said. “It’s remote-controlled. Totally awesome.”

  “He goes all around the room, and you can make him say stuff,” Vinny said.

  Ian started to pry open the box lid. “Hey, the box has already been opened.” He raised his eyes to his cousins.

  “Yeah, well,” Vinny said. He shrugged. “Jonny and I played with it at home before we brought it. You know. We tested it out for you.”

  Ian narrowed his eyes at Vinny. “Tested it out?”

  “Sorry. It got a little scratched,” Jonny said. “Hope we didn’t wear down the batteries too much.”

  “Well … it’s way cool,” Ian said. “Thanks, guys.”

  Ian’s dad appeared, carrying a long black leather case by its handle. Larger than a guitar case, it was battered and scratched and looked really old. Mr. Barker wore a wide, pleased grin. “I think you’re going to be surprised by this one,” he told Ian. “You’ve been waiting a long time for it.”

  Ian lowered the case to the floor. It had a layer of dust over it and smelled kind of stale. He snapped the double clasps. The heavy lid didn’t lift easily. He had to push hard with both hands.

  Inside the case, a wide-eyed figure grinned up at him. A ventriloquist dummy.

  The dummy had a large wooden head with dark brown hair painted over the top. Big black eyes. The wood on his sharp nose had a small chip in it. His grinning mouth was painted bright red.

  He was dressed in a shabby gray suit. His white shirt had a stain on the collar. His red bow tie was crooked. The brown leather shoes on his feet were scuffed.

  “Wow!” Ian exclaimed. “Wow! A real dummy! Dad, you know I’ve been wanting one for years.”

  Ian’s parents both grinned happily.

  “Wow. This dude is kind of ugly,” Ian said. “I mean … he looks like a bad boy. His face is almost … evil.”

  Mr. Barker reached down and helped Ian lift the dummy from the case. “His name is Slappy. There’s an interesting story that goes with this dummy,” he said.

  Ian held the dummy in his lap. Jonny leaped off the couch, bumping the peanut bowl off the table, and made a grab for it. “Can I try him?”

  “No way.” Ian swung the dummy out of Jonny’s reach. “Shut up and let my dad tell the story.”

  Jonny muttered something and slumped back to the couch. He and his brother exchanged shoulder punches. Vinny grabbed some peanuts off the floor and shoved them into his mouth.

  “What’s the story, Dad?” Ian asked.

  Mr. Barker reached down and turned the dummy’s head from side to side. “Well, someone sent Slappy to me for repair,” he said. “His eyes were broken, and his head was coming loose, and his jacket was shredded in back.”

  “So he’s a used dummy?” Molly asked.

  “Oh, I think he’s had a lot of owners,” her dad replied. “Slappy is older than he looks.”

  “If someone sent him to you to be fixed, why did you keep him?” Ian asked.

  “That’s the strange thing,” Mr. Barker replied. “The owner didn’t send a return address.”

  “Weird,” Ian muttered, shifting the dummy to his other leg.

  “This is a valuable dummy,” his dad said. “I thought the owner just forgot to tell me where to send it back. So I repaired Slappy, fixed him up as best I could. And I put him in the closet and waited. I waited a year, hoping to hear from the owner. But … no.”

  “They didn’t write to you?” Ian asked.

  His dad shook his head.

  Vinny laughed. “Maybe they didn’t want him back.”

  “Maybe because he’s so ugly,” Jonny added.

  Mr. Barker scratched his head. “Beats me,” he said. “Anyway, he’s all yours, Ian. Now you can practice making him talk without moving your lips, and you can work up a good comedy act with him.”

  “Hey, thanks, Dad,” Ian said. “Check out his eyes. I like the way they stare at you. They’re so real.”

  Jonny jumped off the couch again, dove forward, and grabbed Slappy’s arm. “Come on. Let me have a turn.”

  “Give me a break,” Ian said. “I haven’t even had a turn yet. Let go, Jonny.”

  “I just want to try him,” Jonny insisted. “For a few seconds. Come on, you jerk.”

  “Everybody stop calling names,” Mrs. Barker snapped. “I’m serious.”

  Jonny pulled the dummy’s arm hard. Ian held Slappy tight around the waist. They had a short tug-of-war till Mr. Barker stepped up to them.

  “Let go, Jonny,” he said. “You’re going to wreck him, and I just got him fixed up.”

  “Not fair!” Jonny insisted.

  “Just give Ian a chance,” Mr. Barker insisted. “He’ll give you a turn later, won’t you, Ian?”

  “No,” Ian said.

  Jonny clenched his hands into fists and stomped back to the couch. He grabbed some peanuts from the floor and began tossing them one by one at Ian.

  Ian ignored him. He raised the dummy higher on his lap and placed a hand on its back. “How does it work, Dad?” he asked. “How do you move his mouth? Does your hand go inside here?” Ian pointed to an opening in the dummy’s back.

  Mr. Barker nodded.

  Ian pushed his hand into the opening—and Slappy screamed: “Stop that, you fool! I’m ticklish!”

  Jonny and Vinny both cried out. Molly gasped and squeezed her hands to her face. Mrs. Barker’s eyes went wide with surprise.

  Ian laughed. “That was me—not the dummy. Did you really think the dummy screamed? I must be a pretty good ventriloquist!”

  Mr. Barker patted Ian on the shoulder. “Very good. That was funny. You have to find a good personality for Slappy.”

  “Make him mean,” Molly suggested. “He has that mean grin on his face. Seriously.”

  “I hate your grin, too, Worm Lips!” the dummy cried in a high, shrill voice.

  Molly growled and punched Ian in the back.

  “Hey, you said to make him mean!” Ian protested.

  Molly rolled her eyes. “You’re the dummy, Ian!”

  “Hold on. I have a present for you, too, Molly,” Mr. Barker said. “I always give you a present on Ian’s birthday, don’t I? So you won’t feel left out.”

  “Where’s my present?” Vinny grumbled.

  Mr. Barker disappeared for a few minutes, then returned carrying a long box wrapped in silvery paper. He handed it to Molly, who ripped the paper off immediately. She pulled a tall, old-fashioned-looking doll from the box. The doll had red hair and a pretty pink face. She was dressed in a long blue ball gown under a flowing red cape. “Oh, wow. She’s beautiful.”

  “It’s a very old Patsy doll,” her dad said. “These dolls were popular in the 1930s. Perfect for your collection, I thought.”

  “Oh, thanks, Dad.” Molly said. “I love her. What should I name her?”

  “How about Dumbo, like you?” Jonny suggested. He and his brother hee-hawed and bumped knuckles.

  “I’m going to name her Abigail,” Molly said.

  “Abigail. I like it. That’s a good old-fashioned name,” Mrs. Barker said.

  “Great presents,” Ian said. He stood up, holding Slappy around the waist.

  “Food time! Food time!” Vinny chanted. He and his brother jumped up from the couch. The floor was littered with peanuts. They stepped right over them.

  Vinny grabbed Slappy. “My turn,” he said. He grabbed the wooden hand and tugged.

  Ian tried to swing the dummy away. “Let go, Vinny.”

  Vinny gave another hard tug—and pulled Slappy’s hand off.

  “You lamebrain!” Ian screamed.

  Gaping at the dummy hand he held, Vinny backed away. “It was an accident. You saw it. It was an accident.”

  “You’re going to be in an accident,” Slapp
y cried. “Your face is going to crash into my FIST!”

  Vinny growled and made a move toward Ian.

  “I didn’t say it! The dummy said it!” Ian exclaimed.

  Everyone laughed.

  How ridiculous.

  You have to hand it to Vinny. He sure knows how to ruin a birthday party.

  Vinny and Jonny are the kind of cousins you want to have. They’re the kind of cousins you want to have—a thousand miles away! Hahaha.

  Of course, I can understand the boys fighting over me. If I weren’t me, I’d fight over me, too! Hahahaha! I’m delightful. I’m de-lovely. I’m de-Slappy! Hahaha!

  I didn’t like it when Molly said I looked mean. It just isn’t true. I don’t have a mean bone in my body. That’s because I don’t have any bones in my body!

  But, listen to me, readers: I’m a nice guy. If you don’t believe me, I’ll punch you in the face! Hahaha.

  Anyway, I think Ian and I are going to be good friends. He waited a long time to get me. Actually, he waited three years. But I’m worth the wait! Hahaha.

  He first got interested in ventriloquist dolls on his ninth birthday.

  Let’s go back in time. Let’s go back to Ian’s birthday three years ago, and you’ll see how it happened …

  “Where are we going, Dad?” Ian asked.

  Mr. Barker held the car door open. “Just get in,” he said. “It’s a birthday surprise. How could it be a surprise if I told you?”

  Ian slid into the passenger seat and started to fasten the seat belt. He grinned at his dad. “I already guessed it. We’re going to the video game tournament in Charleston.”

  “Wrong.”

  Mr. Barker backed the car down the driveway and headed toward the highway.

  “SeaWorld?” Ian guessed. “We did that last year, remember? Molly made faces at the sharks?”

  “Not SeaWorld,” Ian’s dad said. “Not any place you’ve been before. You want an adventure, right? You told me you want an adventure.”

  It was a bright spring morning. Sunlight danced over the windshield. The trees along the road shimmered with fresh green leaves.

  “Come on, Dad, tell me,” Ian insisted. “It’s my birthday. And you know I hate suspense.”

  Mr. Barker chuckled. “You love suspense. What about all those scary books you read? And the frightening movies you watch? And the weird PlayStation games you play?”

  Ian rolled his eyes. “Dad …”

  “Okay, okay,” Mr. Barker said. He slowed for a stoplight. “I’m taking you to a doll museum.”

  “Huh?” Ian’s mouth dropped open. “You’re joking, right? Like I’m really into dolls.”

  “Trust me, Ian. This isn’t like all the other antique doll places I visit.”

  Ian fiddled with the seat belt. “Let me out now.”

  “Very funny. Just sit back and relax,” his dad said. “Would I take you to a place you’d hate?”

  Ian growled under his breath. “Where is it, anyway?”

  “It’s hidden on the edge of a large forest,” Mr. Barker said. “It’s called the Castle of the Little People. It’s very hard to get in. The man who runs it is very strange. I’ve been trying for years. I think you and I will have quite an adventure.”

  Ian rolled his eyes. “Bor-ing,” he said.

  Later, Ian changed his mind.

  The visit to the Castle of the Little People was far from boring. It turned out to be terrifying.

  A few hours later, Mr. Barker pulled the car into the wide asphalt parking lot. Ian gazed out the windshield as a shadow rolled over the car.

  The shadow of the Castle of the Little People.

  “Dad, it must be closed,” Ian said. “We’re the only car here.”

  “Yes. It’s closed today,” his dad replied. “But I have an appointment with the owner.”

  Ian stared up at the dark stone castle with its twin towers and rows of black windows and slanting, black tile roof. The huge building rose over the trees like a giant creature guarding the forest behind it. Ready to pounce.

  “It … it looks like a haunted house,” Ian stammered.

  Mr. Barker chuckled. “I told you it’s your kind of place.”

  They climbed out of the car. Ian shivered. The air had suddenly turned cold. “Dad, there’s no one here,” he said. “The whole castle is dark.”

  “Stop being so tense,” his dad said. “You’re about to see some amazing creations.”

  The front entrance rose high above their heads. A brass door knocker poked out of the middle of the door. Mr. Barker banged it three times.

  A few minutes later, the heavy door creaked open. Ian gasped at the figure in the doorway. A giant doll!

  No. It took him a few seconds to realize he was staring at a tall man wearing a mask. A rubber baby-doll mask. It had curly blond hair at the top, rosy pink cheeks, and bright red lips in a pouty smile.

  The masked man stepped forward. He was dressed in black and had a long black cape draped over his shoulders. Behind the mask, his eyes were a silvery gray. Like metal, Ian thought.

  “Welcome to my castle,” he said in a soft, whispery voice. “I am Dr. Klausmann.”

  “Thank you for seeing us when the museum is closed,” Mr. Barker said. “This is my son, Ian.”

  The doll mask nodded up and down. “Please come in. And please pardon the mask. I’m afraid my face is unpleasant to look at. Actually, it gives people nightmares. I don’t show my face to children.”

  Ian stared hard at the mask. He tried to imagine what Dr. Klausmann’s face looked like. How ugly could it be? Could it really give nightmares? Or was the castle owner joking … trying to make himself mysterious?

  Ian and his dad followed the masked man into the large front entryway. It was dimly lit by flickering torches on the wall. Two hallways led in different directions. Each was guarded by a silvery suit of armor carrying a battle-ax.

  Ian shivered. The air inside the castle was colder than the air outside. He heard a chittering, squeaky sound in the distance. Bats?

  Dr. Klausmann led them to the hallway on the left. All the way down the hall, Ian could see glass display cases on both walls. They were brightly lit and appeared to be filled with dolls … Dolls posed in different scenes … dolls wearing safari clothes in a jungle scene … dolls in sailor suits on board a ship … dolls in ball gowns in a fancy ballroom … The displays glowed, making the hall as bright as day. The dolls stood alone or in groups of three and four, eyes wide and smiles bright.

  “Because of my ugliness, I have surrounded myself with beauty,” Dr. Klausmann said. He adjusted the baby-doll mask over his face as he led them slowly from display to display.

  “I’ve never seen some of these dolls,” Mr. Barker said. “They must be very rare—and very valuable.”

  “I hope you have not come to buy any dolls from me,” Dr. Klausmann said, his voice muffled behind the mask. “These dolls are my family. I cannot sell my family.”

  “Ian and I are happy just to see them,” Mr. Barker said.

  They turned a corner. The dolls along this corridor were older. “Some of these are three hundred years old,” Dr. Klausmann explained.

  “And all in perfect condition,” Mr. Barker added.

  “Better than perfect,” Dr. Klausmann said. “I’ve brought them to life!”

  What does he mean by that? Ian wondered. He stifled a yawn. A bunch of old dolls. Big whoop.

  Dad should have brought Molly here, he thought. Six-year-old Molly had already started her own doll collection.

  Dr. Klausmann stopped. He leaned over Ian, the silvery eyes peering out from behind the baby-doll face. “Ian, I can read your mind,” he said in his whispery voice.

  “Huh?” Ian’s heart started to pound. He didn’t know what to say. This tall man towering over him, staring at him with that rosy baby face and those weird eyes …

  How long do we have to stay here? he thought. And then he hoped Dr. Klausmann couldn’t really read his mind.
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  “Follow me,” Dr. Klausmann said, motioning them down another long hall. “I have something I know Ian will find fascinating.”

  Their shoes echoed off the hard marble floors. They passed a large glass case filled with doll heads. The heads were piled on one another, the eyes all staring through the glass.

  Mr. Barker stopped to admire them. “I recognize some of them,” he said. He pointed. “That one is very rare. Very valuable.”

  “I love pretty faces,” Dr. Klausmann whispered. “My face is so ugly, my own mother couldn’t bear to look at me. But these faces are all lovely to look at.”

  In the distance, Ian heard the shrill, chittering cries again. If Dr. Klausmann likes pretty dolls, why does he keep them in this creepy castle? Again, Ian hoped the man couldn’t read his thoughts.

  Dr. Klausmann pushed open a heavy wooden door at the end of the hall. He motioned for Ian to go in first. Ian stepped into a large, dark room. The air smelled stale and damp.

  An enormous ceiling chandelier flashed on. Ian blinked in the bright white light. When his eyes could focus, he saw people sitting very still … dozens of odd-looking people on armchairs, sitting stiffly, gazing blankly …

  “Ian, what do you think?”

  Ian felt Dr. Klausmann’s hand on his shoulder. As his eyes adjusted to the light, the seated figures became clearer. They were ventriloquist dummies. A roomful of them, on couches and stuffed into broad armchairs. Dozens more were propped up side by side along the back wall. They appeared to stare at him, wide-eyed, glassy-eyed … painted faces … ugly grins and hair standing up wild or plastered to the tops of their heads.

  “My ventriloquist doll collection,” Dr. Klausmann said. “Ian, are you impressed?”

  Ian nodded. “They’re awesome. They’re totally freaky.”

  “They are my friends,” Dr. Klausmann said. “Would you like to try one?”

  Ian glanced at his dad. Mr. Barker was gazing from dummy to dummy, shaking his head in admiration.

  “Whoa. Cool. Can I really try one?” Ian said. He followed Dr. Klausmann to an armchair in the front row. The doll collector lifted a dummy off the chair.

  The dummy had black hair painted on its head. Its eyes were dark brown, and it had a dopey grin frozen on its freckled face, and a big front tooth poking out of its mouth.