Slappy Birthday to You

by R. L. Stine

  But everyone was clustered around Jonny. They planted him in the big, comfy armchair in the living room, made him put his feet up on an ottoman, and gave him a blue ice pack to press against his forehead.

  Molly set Abigail down on the dining room table and disappeared upstairs. Ian set Slappy down beside Molly’s doll. Mr. Barker walked into the kitchen and came out a few minutes later with big bowls of tortilla chips and cans of Coke. Vinny had found Ian’s phone and was standing in a corner, playing a game on it.

  After a while, Jonny set the ice pack down at his side. “I feel okay. Really,” he said. “I think we should finish the talent show.”

  “Are you sure you feel all right?” Mrs. Barker asked.

  Jonny convinced everyone that he was fine, so Mrs. Barker called Molly down from upstairs. “You’re next, Molly. What is your talent going to be?”

  “I’m going to do a fashion show with Abigail,” she answered. “With dresses that I designed and made. Get ready to be impressed.”

  “Everyone take a seat,” Mrs. Barker said. “Vinny, put down that game and join the rest of us. Let’s check out these outfits that Molly made for her doll.”

  “Hey, wait!” Molly screamed. “Where’s Abigail?”

  Ian turned and caught the distressed look on his sister’s face.

  “Where is Abigail?” Molly demanded. “I set her down on the table and—”

  Her eyes suddenly went wide. Her mouth dropped open. And she let out a horrified scream: “Oh noooo! I don’t believe it!”

  Ian turned and saw what his sister was screaming about. He uttered a sharp cry as his eyes focused on Abigail, floating on her side, near the bottom of their goldfish tank.

  No one moved. It was as if they were paralyzed by shock.

  Then Molly let out another shrill scream—and leaped at Ian. “How could you? How could you?” she wailed. She pounded his chest with both fists. “Ian, you creep! How could you drown Abigail?”

  “No! No way! Not me!” Ian screamed.

  But Molly was too furious to hear him. She shoved him backward, punching his chest with all her strength. “You creep! You creep! You ruined my doll!”

  Ian tried to tell her he didn’t do it. But the words caught in his throat. Molly shoved him again, and he lost his balance. He stumbled and fell backward—smashing against the fish tank.

  “Oh nooo.” He felt it slide off the table. Before he could catch his balance, he heard the crash of the tank on the floor, the shatter of glass.

  All three adults were shouting now. Molly, red-faced, had tears rolling down both cheeks. The drenched doll rolled out from the broken fish tank and lay facedown in a puddle of water and jagged shards of glass. The three goldfish jerked and flopped on the floor, gasping their last breaths.

  Ian spun away from the table, his heart pounding. He lifted the doll off the floor and handed it to Molly. With a roar of fury, she swung it hard, aiming at his face.

  “Wait! Wait!” he cried, dancing away from her. “You’re wrong, Molly! It wasn’t me!”

  Mrs. Barker knelt over the broken fish tank. “Step back, everybody. Don’t cut yourselves on the glass.” Ian’s dad picked up the three fish and, holding them between his hands, rushed to the kitchen to find some water for them to swim in.

  Vinny and Jonny stood with their dad across the room. All three of them stared at Ian.

  “You’ve got to listen to me!” Ian cried. “I didn’t do it!”

  “Abigail didn’t jump in!” Molly shouted, holding the wet doll to her chest. “You’re such a liar, Ian. Who else would do it?”

  Ian’s mom was carefully lifting shards of glass off the floor and dropping them in her palm. “I’m very disappointed in you, Ian,” she said. “Why were you so desperate to win? It’s just a family contest.”

  Ian balled his hands into tight fists. “Isn’t anyone going to listen to me?” he said through gritted teeth. “I didn’t put the doll in the fish tank. I swear I didn’t.” He pointed at his cousins across the room. “Why don’t you ask them who did it?”

  Vinny and Jonny both started talking at once.

  “I was sitting in the living room with the ice pack on my head,” Jonny said. “You saw me. I didn’t move.”

  “Don’t try to blame me,” Vinny said. “I was across from my brother the whole time.”

  Mr. Barker returned, carrying the three goldfish in a big glass measuring cup filled with water. “Do you swear you didn’t do it, Ian?” he asked.

  Ian raised his right hand. “I swear.”

  “Dad, he’s lying,” Molly insisted. “Look at my doll. She’s ruined forever.”

  “I think I can dry her out,” her dad replied. “I can probably get Abigail looking good again.”

  “Do you believe me, Dad?” Ian asked.

  Mr. Barker frowned. “I don’t know what to believe.”

  “The talent show is a disaster,” Uncle Donny said. He turned Jonny’s face toward him to examine the bump on his forehead. It was still bright red. “I think we should go home and nurse our wounds.”

  “Wait,” Ian’s mom said. “I think we should let Ian do his act.”

  “Huh?” Ian’s mouth dropped open. “Are you sure?” Ian had a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had a bad feeling about this.

  “Go ahead,” Mrs. Barker urged. “I’ll bet it’s funny. You’ve been practicing all week. Go ahead, Ian. It will cheer us all up.”

  Ian shrugged. “I’m not sure …”

  “Ian should save his act for another time,” Uncle Donny said.

  “It’s still early. Why not let him do it?” Mrs. Barker said. “End the day on a happy note.”

  “I’d like to see what he’s worked up,” Mr. Barker said.

  While everyone was still talking, Vinny strode over to the dining room table. “Hey, why don’t I get a turn with the dummy?” he asked. “I can be funny, too.”

  Vinny lifted Slappy off the table and started to push his hand into the opening in the dummy’s back. But he stopped, and his face filled with surprise.

  “Whoa,” he said. “Look. The dummy’s hands are wet.”

  Ian dove across the room and yanked Slappy from Vinny’s arms. “Oh, wow,” he murmured. “The hands are wet.”

  “That’s not going to fool anyone,” Molly said, crossing her arms in front of her. “So you dipped Slappy’s hands in the fish tank. Big whoop. Are we really supposed to think that Slappy shoved my doll under the water?”

  Ian stared at her. He didn’t know how to answer. Molly wouldn’t believe him, no matter what he said. And he knew he was telling the truth. He never touched her doll. And he never moved Slappy from the table.

  He studied Slappy’s face. Was the dummy’s grin a little wider than before? No. No way. Ian had to be imagining that.

  “Ian, sit down and do your ventriloquist act for us,” his dad said.

  “Yes. Let’s get this evening over with,” Uncle Donny said, rolling his eyes.

  “Give Ian a chance,” Mrs. Barker scolded him. “We don’t want to be unfair to him.”

  Suddenly, Slappy spoke up: “Someone was unfair to you, Mrs. Barker. Why did they give you a face that could break mirrors?”

  Ian’s mom shook her head. “Not funny, Ian. I hope you practiced better jokes than that.”

  Ian felt a chill at the back of his neck. I didn’t say that awful joke. The dummy is speaking without me.

  He didn’t want to continue. This was terrifying. But he was trapped. They were all watching him eagerly, even Vinny and Jonny.

  Ian sat down sideways on a dining room chair and propped the dummy on his lap. Uncle Donny squeezed between Ian’s two cousins on the couch. Ian’s parents shared the big armchair beside the couch. Molly remained standing with her arms tightly crossed, an angry expression locked on her face.

  Ian stuck his hand in the dummy’s back and made the wooden lips click up and down. “Did you make the dinner tonight, Mrs. Barker?” Slappy asked. “I’m sorry
, but I throw up better food than that.”

  “Ian—please,” his mother said. “Not so rude. You can be funny without being rude.”

  “But—” Ian tried to explain, but Slappy cut him off.

  “You want to see funny? Look in a mirror!” Slappy rasped.

  The dummy turned to Molly. “Good news, Molly,” Slappy said. “They’re looking for someone to play a pig on Animal Planet. You don’t even have to audition. You’ve got the part!”

  Molly let out a disgusted groan. “Make Ian stop, Mom.”

  “Molly, here’s a riddle. What’s the difference between you and a dead, rotting bird on the sidewalk?”

  Molly rolled her eyes. “I don’t know.”

  “Hahahaha. I don’t know, either!”

  “Ian, your jokes aren’t nice,” his mom said.

  “You know what’s nice?” Slappy demanded. “When you leave a room, and it starts to smell better!”

  Mrs. Barker jumped to her feet. “Ian—I’m warning you!”

  “I … I didn’t say it,” Ian stammered. “Slappy said it. I—I—”

  “Uncle Donny, is that really your face? Or did someone barf all over your shoulders?” the dummy rasped.

  Mr. Barker stood up and shook a finger at Ian. “Enough barf jokes,” he said. “I mean it. If you can’t do nicer jokes—”

  “Mr. Barker,” the dummy interrupted. “I don’t want to say you stink. But you give diarrhea a bad name! Hahahaha!”

  “That’s enough. You’re finished!” Mr. Barker cried. “Go to your room, Ian.”

  “Hey, Molly—know how to make yourself prettier? Stick your head in a Cuisinart and push START.”

  “Go to your room, Ian,” Mr. Barker repeated, “and take the dummy with you.”

  “Jonny and Vinny—you two guys look exactly like something I stepped in at the dog park!”

  Mr. Barker took Ian firmly by the shoulder and guided him to the stairs. “Go. You’re in a lot of trouble, young man. We’re going to have a long talk about this.”

  “You … you have to believe me, Dad,” Ian stammered. “Those aren’t my jokes. I … I didn’t say those things. Really. I—”

  “Ian, just go.” His dad gave him a push up the stairs.

  “Why won’t anyone listen to me?” Ian screamed. “The dummy is alive! The dummy is saying those horrible jokes!”

  “Just go,” Mr. Barker said, his cheeks reddening with anger. “I’m not going to say it again.”

  Ian sighed. With the dummy slung over his shoulder, he turned and began to trudge slowly up the stairs. To his horror, Slappy opened his mouth wide and giggled all the way up.

  Ian slumped into his room and slammed the door shut behind him. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” he cried. But Slappy wouldn’t stop giggling.

  Ian grabbed the dummy by its shoulders and shook it, shook it hard, making its wooden head bounce. “Shut up! Shut up!”

  Slappy’s eyes twirled and he giggled louder.

  With a cry of disgust, Ian pulled open his closet door and heaved the dummy to the back of the closet. Slappy bounced off the wall and folded over himself, sprawled in a pile of dirty T-shirts and jeans. He finally stopped his annoying laughter.

  Ian gripped the closet door handle tightly and stared at the dummy for a long moment. “Are you going to sit up now? Are you going to talk to me? Are you going to get me in more trouble? WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?”

  Ian realized he was trembling, his whole body shaking in fear. The dummy was alive and he was the only one who knew it. No one believed him. No one. He was alone here with this … this creature.

  The dummy didn’t move. Not a twitch. It remained folded over itself on the closet floor.

  Ian shut the closet. He made sure it clicked securely. I wish I had a lock on this door.

  He began to pace back and forth across his room. He held his hands tightly clasped in front of him. He couldn’t stop trembling, couldn’t stop the shudders that rolled down his back.

  Those words … Those weird words must have brought him to life.

  But what did the dummy want? Just to embarrass him in front of his family? To get him in trouble?

  “I should have known something was wrong with this dummy just from the evil grin on its painted mouth,” Ian told himself. “Dad should have known better. Someone sent Dad the dummy with no return address. Of course they didn’t put a return address. They didn’t want it back.”

  Ian shuddered again. He didn’t want the dummy, either.

  But how could he get rid of it? He was going to need help. So first, he had to convince everyone that he was telling the truth. He had to prove to them that the dummy was alive.

  He suddenly felt weary. Worn out. He glanced at the clock above his desk. Half an hour past his bedtime. Could he sleep? Could he sleep knowing that the dummy was alive inside the closet?

  He took a deep breath and pulled open the closet door. He expected Slappy to be standing there, ready to jump out at him. But no. The dummy hadn’t moved. It sat in a lifeless heap with its head bowed.

  Ian let out a long sigh. Once again, he carefully closed the door, making sure it clicked tightly. Should he put a chair or something heavy to block it? Ian yawned. He was suddenly too sleepy to think about it.

  He pulled off his clothes and tossed them on the floor. Then he found a pair of pajamas in his dresser drawer and tugged them on.

  A warm breeze ruffled the curtains at his bedroom window. He heard a car honk somewhere in the distance. He climbed into bed and pulled the covers up to his chin.

  Ian fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

  How long did he sleep? Not very long. He was awakened by a thump and a scraping sound.

  “Huh?” Ian sat straight up, blinking himself awake. He realized it wasn’t morning. He could see a sliver of a moon in the night sky.

  He heard another thump. A bump. Someone walking around? Walking in the dark?

  His senses were all alert now. His skin tingled. He struggled to focus in the dim light.

  Another footstep.

  He started to stand up. His feet tangled in the bedsheet. He nearly fell.

  “Hey!” He caught his balance and stepped away from the bed. He gazed around the room. “Whoa.” Ian saw right away what had changed.

  The closet door was open.

  A chill rolled slowly down his back. He forced himself to walk to the closet. He grabbed the door and clicked on the light. He peered to the back of the closet.

  Slappy was gone.

  Ian felt his knees start to fold. He gripped the edge of the closet door to keep himself up. He squinted into the closet. Yellow light from the ceiling bulb spread over the closet floor. The empty closet floor.

  Ian kept thinking maybe he was still asleep. Maybe he was dreaming this. Maybe he was sleepwalking and dreaming that the dummy had picked himself up and walked away.

  But he knew he was awake. And another soft thud from the hallway, another footstep heading toward the stairs, snapped him completely alert. And he suddenly knew this was his chance.

  Slappy was walking to the stairs. And this was Ian’s chance to get the proof he needed. The proof he needed to show his parents that Slappy was alive.

  “My phone,” he murmured. “Where did I leave my phone?”

  He gazed around the room. Not on his desk, where he usually left it. Not plugged into the charger near his bed. Ian saw his jeans piled in the center of the floor. He picked them up and fumbled through the pockets.

  “Yes!”

  He grabbed the phone in his trembling hand and pushed the camera icon.

  Ready.

  Ian stepped into the hall. A dim night-light at the floor cast a pale cone of light over one wall. No one there.

  Slappy must be making his way down the stairs.

  Holding his breath, Ian tiptoed over the soft carpet, hurrying to the stairway. He raised the phone in front of him, ready to capture his proof. A photo of the dummy walking down the steps
by himself would have to convince his parents that he was telling the truth.

  He heard another soft thud. The stairs creaked.

  Ignoring the chills that swept down his back, Ian stepped to the top of the stairs. Darkness below, but he could see the dummy moving slowly down, one step at a time, a hand sliding along the banister.

  Yes. Got him.

  Ian raised the camera, aimed it down the stairs—and clicked a photo.

  He blinked in the lightning-white burst of the flash.

  Click. He flashed another one. Another burst of white light.

  And Ian opened his mouth in a startled gasp. “Oh no! No way!”

  The hall light flashed on. Ian lowered his phone and squinted down the stairs at his dad.

  Not Slappy. His dad. In his maroon bathrobe. His hair wild about his head from sleep. Halfway down the stairs.

  “D-dad,” Ian stammered, “I thought—”

  Mr. Barker turned. “Ian? Were you walking around? I thought I heard someone walking around upstairs. I came to investigate.”

  “I heard something, too,” Ian said. “It woke me up. I thought it was footsteps and—”

  “What on earth!” Mr. Barker cried. He pointed. “Look. The front door is wide open.”

  Ian’s heart began to pound in his chest. He grabbed the banister, squeezing it tightly in his clammy hand. “It—it’s Slappy,” he said.

  Mr. Barker frowned. “This isn’t a good time for your Slappy stories,” he said. He turned and hurried down the remaining stairs and crossed the hall to the front door.

  “Dad, listen to me.” Ian followed him. He stepped up beside him and gazed out the open door. The sliver of a moon hung low in a purple sky. Ian saw Molly’s scooter on its side beside the driveway. A rabbit stood frozen on its hind legs near the curb, its ears straight up, black eyes glowing.

  No one else out there.

  “It’s Slappy, Dad. You have to believe me. I heard him leave my room.”

  Mr. Barker put a hand on Ian’s shoulder. “You what?”

  “It woke me up. I heard him walking out in the hallway. He isn’t there, Dad. I closed him in my closet. I made sure the door was shut. But he’s gone.”