Slappy Birthday to You

by R. L. Stine

  Vinny groaned. “Another talent show? Do we have to?”

  “Don’t start grumbling,” Mr. Harding said. “You know we all get together once a year and have a talent show. It’s a wonderful tradition your grandparents started long before you were born.”

  “It’s a dumb tradition,” Jonny muttered.

  “That’s because you’re dumb,” Molly chimed in from the corner of the room.

  “Don’t start fighting again, Molly,” Mrs. Barker snapped. “Your cousins are leaving.”

  Vinny stomped over to Molly. “What do you want?” she demanded.

  “Just wanted to say good-bye,” Vinny answered. Then he grabbed the head of Molly’s doll and snapped it backward.

  “You broke it! Dad, he broke it!” Molly shrieked.

  Mr. Barker scratched his head. “It looks bad, but I think I can fix it.”

  Molly glared at Vinny. “Why did you do that?”

  “Because she’s ugly,” Vinny said.

  “Hey, Vinny—want to talk about ugly?” a harsh voice rasped.

  Everyone turned to see Slappy moving in Ian’s arms.

  “Your face looks like something I pulled out of my nose!” Slappy cried.

  Vinny growled. “Ian, you jerk. You’re not funny!” He rushed at Ian and tried to wrestle the dummy from his arms.

  “Guys! Guys!” Uncle Donny pulled Vinny away. “Let’s go. Enough fighting.” He led Vinny and Jonny to the front door.

  “You boys can fight all you want,” Molly called after them. “Abigail and I are going to win the talent show next week.”

  Ian snickered. “Do you honestly think that old doll can compete with Slappy? You’re crazy.”

  “We’ll see,” Molly said. “We’ll see …”

  After dinner the next night, Ian did his homework. Then he picked up Slappy and started to work with the dummy.

  He slid his hand around inside the dummy’s back, practicing the moves for nodding the head and making the red-lipped mouth go up and down. Ian’s hand fumbled around until he found the control for making the dummy’s eyes slide back and forth. He practiced moving the eyes until it came naturally for him.

  Then Ian practiced talking in a shrill voice without moving his lips. It was harder than he thought. He clamped his teeth together and recited the alphabet. The letter B was impossible to say without touching his lips together. And the letters M and P were just as hard.

  Now I need some jokes for our comedy act, Ian thought. But before he could begin, his father’s shout rang up the stairs. “Bedtime, Ian. See you at breakfast.”

  Ian yawned. He wanted to spend more time with Slappy. There were only a few days till the family talent show, and he wanted to be ready. He yawned again. He knew he was too tired to work any longer.

  He carried the dummy to his bedroom closet and sat him down against the back wall. Then he pulled out his pajamas and got changed for bed.

  Ian fell asleep quickly, with the whisper of a soft breeze outside his open bedroom window. Soon he found himself having the weirdest dream.

  Ian dreamed that Vinny and Jonny were ventriloquist dummies. In the dream, they had wooden heads, with their blond hair painted on top. And wooden lips that clicked when their mouths moved up and down.

  They were much chubbier than Slappy, and they both had big hands covered by white gloves.

  Ian had the Jonny dummy on one lap and the Vinny dummy on the other lap. Somehow, he was able to make them both talk at once. As Ian worked their heads, the two dummies started to shout at one another. Then they began to fight, swinging their arms and smacking each other with their big wooden hands.

  Ian lost control. He couldn’t stop the fight. The two dummies slid off his lap and began wrestling on the floor, both screaming at once.

  Ian woke up laughing. What a crazy dream. His two cousins looked so dumb.

  Red morning sunlight washed through the open bedroom window. Ian heard birds chirping in the trees in the front yard.

  Blinking himself awake, he started to sit up. “Whoa. Wait.”

  The closet door was open. Hadn’t he closed it tightly last night?

  Ian pulled himself all the way up. His arm hit a bump in the covers.

  Ian turned. Looked down. And saw the grinning face staring up at him. The grinning face of Slappy, beside him in bed.

  He’s not alive. That’s crazy. That’s impossible.

  Ian shoved the dummy to the edge of the bed. Slappy’s eyes gazed blankly into the sunlight from the window. Ian squeezed the dummy’s middle. Testing it. Slappy didn’t react at all.

  No way. He’s not alive.

  Ian turned and lowered his feet to the floor. A shrill scream from downstairs made him jump up. Was that Molly screaming?

  He took off, his bare feet slapping the rug, his heart pounding. He took the stairs two at a time. Another scream rang out. From the kitchen.

  He burst through the living room to the dining room to see Molly, red-faced, waving her doll in the air. Their dad stood by the counter, hands on his waist.

  “Molly? What’s wrong?” Ian demanded.

  “Look at her. Just look!” Molly screamed. She waved the doll in Ian’s face. “You know what’s wrong!”

  Ian squinted at the doll as Molly jabbed it at him. Abigail’s head was turned backward again.

  “Ian, how could you do that to your sister?” his dad demanded angrily. “It took me an hour to fix that doll’s head. And now you think it’s funny to twist it around again?”

  “But—but—” Ian sputtered.

  “Do you have any idea how valuable the doll is?” Mr. Barker asked.

  “How can you be so mean?” Molly wailed. “Were you trying to break Abigail’s head off?”

  “No way!” Ian cried. “I didn’t—”

  Mrs. Barker appeared, fastening the belt to her robe. “Ian, we know you want to win the talent contest on Saturday. But you have to play fair.”

  “But I didn’t do it!” Ian screamed. “Read my lips. It wasn’t me. I didn’t touch Molly’s doll.”

  “Ha!” Molly cried. She brought her face up close to his and shouted it again. “Ha!”

  Ian made a disgusted face. “Your breath smells like you ate a dead mouse,” he said.

  “I don’t care!” Molly cried. “Mom and Dad didn’t twist the doll’s head—did they! You’re the only other one in the house, Ian. So stop being such a liar.”

  “Hand me the doll,” Mr. Barker said. “I’ll take her downstairs and see what I can do. We have to be careful that the head doesn’t completely snap off.”

  Molly handed Abigail to him. Ian saw his mom studying him. She’s looking at me like I’m some kind of criminal, he thought.

  And then he had a brain flash.

  He suddenly knew who had twisted Abigail’s head around.

  “YOU did it!” Ian screamed at his sister. “YOU turned the doll’s head! I know it!”

  Molly spun around, her eyes wide with shock. “Huh? Are you joking?”

  “I know you did it,” Ian said, jabbing her with his pointer finger.

  She danced away from him. “Mom, feel Ian’s head. He must have a really high fever. Listen, dumb head, why would I wreck my own doll?”

  “To make me look bad,” Ian said. “You wanted to make Mom and Dad think that I did it. That I was trying to cheat to win the contest. So you wrecked your own doll.”

  “Liar!” Molly screamed. “You liar!”

  “Stop it—right now.” Mrs. Barker stepped between them. “Break it up. Stop being awful to each other. Do you hear me?” She shook her head. “How are we ever going to make it to talent night? And what’s the big deal? It’s just a family get-together.”

  “You know Ian,” Molly said, sneering. “He has to win everything.”

  Mrs. Barker pressed her hand over Molly’s mouth. “Stop. Truce. Enough, you two. I mean it.” She spun Molly around. “I put breakfast on the table. Go eat.”

  Ian and Molly started toward the br
eakfast table—but stopped when they saw the grinning figure already sitting there.

  “Oh, wow!” Ian cried as the table came into focus. Two glasses had been tipped over, and puddles of orange juice covered the table. The eggs from Molly’s plate were smeared over the tablecloth. The seat of Mr. Barker’s chair was covered in spilled ketchup.

  Slappy sat propped up in Molly’s chair, grinning at them, the ketchup bottle in one hand. Ian saw that the dummy had egg smeared on both of his cheeks.

  No one said a word. Mom, Dad, and Molly stared hard at Ian.

  Ian took a step back. “You—you can’t think I did this!” he cried in a trembling voice. “You can’t. You can’t!”

  That Saturday, Ian, Molly, and their two cousins met in Ian’s backyard. “There’s no way you guys can win,” Ian told his cousins. “Because I’ve had all week to practice with Slappy.”

  “That’s because Ian was grounded all week,” Molly added. “He had to stay in his room after dinner every night because of the little joke he played in our kitchen on Monday.”

  Ian rolled his eyes. “I was grounded for something I didn’t do.”

  Molly shook her head. “Ian, nobody believes you that the dummy messed up the kitchen. Nobody.”

  The truth was that Ian kept the dummy in the back of his closet all week—because he was terrified of it. Each day, he expected the dummy to stand up and burst out of the closet. Ian was sure that Slappy would do more mischief to cause him trouble.

  But to his surprise, the dummy never moved or giggled or talked. It stayed there, folded up in the closet, completely lifeless. Ian began to wonder if maybe the dummy had gone back to sleep for good.

  And now, he carried it out for the talent show—mainly because everyone expected it. And because Ian had no other talent he could present.

  “We’re not too worried about you and your dummy,” Jonny told Ian. He waved a big wooden duckpin in Ian’s face. “Vinny and I have been practicing, too. And we’re awesome.”

  “We’re going to start our own YouTube channel,” Vinny said. “And we’re going to have millions of subscribers.”

  Ian laughed. “Why would anyone watch a juggling channel on YouTube? Get serious. Why would anyone spend more than five seconds watching you toss short, fat bowling pins back and forth?”

  “Because we’re awesome,” Jonny said. He flipped the heavy duckpin in the air, high over his head, and caught it behind his back. “You should just give up. Vinny and I have this locked.”

  The four kids were standing in the shade of a wide maple tree in the Barkers’ backyard. The warm Saturday afternoon sunlight felt more like summer than spring. The sun made all the fresh leaves sparkle like beaded jewels on the trees.

  Jonny and Vinny needed a lot of space for their duckpin juggling. So Mr. and Mrs. Barker decided their act would be better outdoors. They set up chairs facing the flat grassy area in the center of the yard. Then they disappeared into the house.

  “Hey, what’s keeping you guys?” Vinny shouted into the kitchen window. His mother wasn’t feeling well, so Mr. Harding came alone. “It’s showtime!”

  Mr. and Mrs. Barker and Mr. Harding finally came out of the house, carrying glasses of iced tea. All three of them were talking at once. Ian couldn’t really hear what it was about. Something about politics, he thought.

  Jonny flipped a duckpin high over his head again. It came down end-over-end, and this time he missed it. It bounced heavily on the ground with a loud thud.

  Mr. Barker shielded his eyes from the sun with one hand. “You guys are juggling duckpins now?” he said. “What happened to your juggling act with the white dinner plates?”

  “They broke too many of them,” Mr. Harding said. “The duckpins should last longer.”

  The three adults sat down on folding chairs. Molly, holding Abigail in her lap, sat cross-legged in the grass. Ian stood at her side, holding Slappy against his chest.

  “We’re first,” Vinny said. He had four duckpins clamped in his hands. He carried them to the center of the yard.

  “We’re first and we’re best,” Jonny said.

  “We’ll be the judge of that,” his dad said.

  “Uncle Donny should have two votes, since Aunt Marie isn’t here,” Molly said.

  “Yes. Sweet!” Vinny declared. “And you’ll vote for us—right, Dad?”

  “I’ll vote for the best act,” Mr. Harding said. “Are you two going to talk our heads off, or are you going to juggle?”

  Ian reached down and squeezed Molly’s shoulder. “Better not sit too close. They’ll probably bean you.”

  Jonny turned and shook his head. “No way. You’re about to witness total control.”

  They took their places several yards apart. Vinny pulled down the visor of his baseball cap to keep the bright sun from his eyes. They faced each other, standing straight, shoulders back.

  Vinny set three of the four duckpins on the grass beside him. He raised the remaining pin in his right hand. “We start with one pin,” he announced. “We end up with four pins in the air at once!”

  Jonny leaned forward and reached out a hand. Vinny sent the duckpin flying end over end. Its shadow shot across the grass. Jonny caught it easily and, in one motion, sent it sailing back to his brother.

  A few seconds later, there were two pins flying back and forth. And then three. The boys kept their arms whirling. The pins flew rapidly. They caught them in rhythm and sent them toppling back.

  The three adults began to clap. Molly clapped, too. Ian hugged Slappy to his chest. Ian’s eyes darted left, then right, following the pins.

  “Great job!” Mr. Barker shouted. “You boys look like pros.”

  The two boys kept their eyes straight ahead. Their hands worked fast. Like machines. The pins flew faster and faster between them.

  They’re really good, Ian thought.

  Then they heard a hard thud that made Ian and Molly jump.

  Ian wasn’t sure he was seeing right. Did a duckpin just smash into Jonny’s head and bounce to the ground?

  Mrs. Barker screamed. Both dads leapt to their feet, openmouthed.

  Jonny’s eyes bulged. A soft moan escaped his throat. His knees folded and he went down on the grass. Crumpled, his body folded up on itself. He didn’t move.

  “It was an accident!” Vinny screamed, running to his brother. “The pin slipped. It was an accident.”

  “Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.” Mrs. Barker had her hands pressed to her cheeks.

  Mr. Harding was down on one knee, leaning over his son. “Jonny, can you hear me? Jonny? Can you open your eyes?”

  “We may need a doctor,” Mr. Barker said. “He’s out. He’s unconscious.”

  Holding Slappy tightly around his middle, Ian gasped when the dummy suddenly began to move. As the adults huddled over the fallen boy, Slappy tossed his head back—and let out a long, ringing, gleeful laugh.

  The dummy’s cold laughter rang out over the yard.

  “Ian—what’s wrong with you?” Mr. Barker shouted, looking up from the folded body of Jonny at his feet. “That’s not funny. Your cousin is really hurt.”

  Molly turned to scold him. “Make Slappy stop! That’s horrible, Ian. Make him stop!”

  “I … I can’t!” Ian cried. His voice cracked. His throat tightened in fear. “I’m not doing it! I swear.” He shook the dummy hard in both hands. Finally, the wooden mouth snapped shut and the cruel laughter stopped.

  Mr. Barker shook a finger at Ian. “You and I are going to have a serious talk later,” he said.

  “But, Dad—” Ian started. “I swear …”

  Molly frowned at Ian. “What’s your problem? That was totally dumb.”

  Ian didn’t answer. Frightening thoughts shot through his mind. The dummy was definitely acting on his own. How could Ian make anyone believe him? He took a few steps toward Jonny.

  Vinny paced back and forth across the lawn. He still held a duckpin in each hand. He turned to Ian. “It just slipped,” he said
. “I didn’t mean to throw it that hard.”

  “Everyone knows it was an accident,” Ian told him.

  Down on the grass, Jonny groaned. He opened his eyes. He blinked them several times. “Did I get hit?” he asked, rubbing his forehead.

  His dad nodded. “You’re going to have a very big bump on your head.”

  “I think I have a headache,” Jonny said, blinking his eyes some more.

  “My hand slipped,” Vinny told him. “I didn’t mean to—”

  Jonny waved a hand. “It wasn’t your fault. I should have kept my head out of the way.”

  That made everyone laugh. Mr. Harding helped Jonny sit up. “Are you dizzy? Do you feel light-headed?”

  “Of course he feels light-headed,” Slappy suddenly chimed in. “There’s no brain in there!”

  Everyone turned to Ian. “Put the dummy down,” Mr. Barker said. “Do you really think this is a time for jokes?”

  “I … uh …” Ian stammered. “I’m just happy that Jonny is okay.”

  The two men each took an arm and pulled Jonny to his feet. “Do you feel strange? Can you stand up?”

  Jonny nodded. “I feel pretty good. I just have a headache. You know. It’s kind of throbbing right here.” He tenderly rubbed his right temple. He turned to Mr. Barker. “Does this mean that Vinny and I don’t win?”

  “You can still win,” Ian’s dad told him. “You guys were terrific … for a while.”

  “We’ll have to see the other talents before we decide,” Mrs. Barker said.

  They made Jonny walk back and forth across the back lawn. “I feel okay,” he said. “I’m not dizzy or anything.”

  “We need to put ice on that bump,” Mrs. Barker said. She took him by the shoulder. “Come on, everyone. Let’s go inside.”

  Ian tossed Slappy over his shoulder and followed the others into the house. This day isn’t going well at all, he thought. First, Jonny gets clonked in the head and knocked out. Then Slappy starts laughing and making jokes without me.

  Ian was desperate to talk about it with his parents. He was desperate to tell them he wasn’t always in control of Slappy.