by R. L. Stine
He grabbed the paper from Ian’s hand and began to read: “Karru Marri Odonna …”
Before Vinny could finish, the dummy dove for him. Slappy swung a big wooden hand up fast and hard—and smashed it under Vinny’s chin.
Vinny’s eyes bulged. As pain swept through his head, he started to choke. He grabbed for his aching throat—and the paper flew out of his hand.
Ian swiped at it, but Slappy got there first. The dummy’s hands moved fast. He ripped the sheet of paper to pieces. They all watched the shreds float to the floor.
Then Slappy tossed his head back, and his laughter rang to the ceiling. “I’m ALIVE!” he screamed. “I’m alive FOREVER! Hahahaha!”
Vinny was still rubbing his throat. Ian stepped back from the gleeful dummy.
Slappy stood on the floor, raising his arms above his head in triumph, and laughing his ugly cackle of a laugh.
“Get ready to start your new lives!” he cried. “Your new lives—as my SLAVES!”
Pressing her hands to her cheeks, Molly let out a horrified cry and stepped back to the wall. Jonny had his eyes on the shreds of paper on the basement floor.
“This isn’t happening,” Ian muttered.
“I’m happening!” Slappy shouted. “Don’t just stand there like dummies. Say hello to your new MASTER!”
“I don’t think so,” Mr. Barker said softly.
He grabbed the dummy in a tight arm-hold, wrapping his arms around him, holding him in place. “Quick, Ian!” Mr. Barker shouted. “Twist his head off. Hurry!”
Slappy thrashed and squirmed, but Mr. Barker held on tight.
“Let go! Let GO of me, slave!”
Ian raised both hands and took a step toward the struggling dummy. He hesitated.
“Grab it! Grab his head!” Mr. Barker shouted breathlessly. “Hurry, Ian. I can’t hold him much longer. Hurry! Twist off his head!”
“Nooooooo!” The dummy let out a screech that rang off the low basement ceiling. He dropped hard, trying to duck out of Mr. Barker’s hold.
Ian stepped close to the screaming dummy. His hands were trembling. His pounding heart sounded like thunder inside his chest.
Slappy ducked his head. Twisted his whole body. Tried to kick his captor.
Ian curled his hands around the dummy’s neck.
“Now!” Mr. Barker cried. “Do it now, Ian!”
Ian took a deep breath and held it. Then he squeezed his hands tight around the dummy’s wooden neck—and twisted his head off.
Mr. Barker let the dummy’s body slide to the floor.
Struggling to catch his breath, Ian slumped against the worktable. He held Slappy’s head in both hands. The eyes stared glassily at him. The wooden lips hung open.
Molly, Vinny, and Jonny didn’t move. A hush fell over the basement.
And then the head between Ian’s hands blinked its eyes. The mouth clicked as it slid up and down. And Slappy’s head screamed in a shrill, furious rasp: “YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE DONE THAT, SLAVES!”
Ian screamed in horror and tossed the head onto the worktable. The head rolled, bounced against the wall, and stopped with its chin on the tabletop. Ian saw Slappy’s body stand and begin to stagger, headless, around the basement.
Jonny and Vinny had backed up to the wall. Their faces were wide with fright. Molly, frozen in place, hugged Abigail in front of her, her eyes on the dummy head on the table.
“YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE! YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE!” the head screeched. “NOW YOU HAVE TO PAY THE PRICE!”
As everyone stared in shock, Slappy’s body stopped its ragged wandering. It stood erect. It raised both hands in the air and waved to the shelves on the basement walls.
Silence.
For a long moment, nothing happened.
And then Ian heard a clattering sound.
A rustling, scraping sound. Soft thuds.
He saw movement. He gazed up at the shelves and gasped. “The dolls!” he choked out.
Everyone saw them now. The broken dolls were sitting up … standing … dropping off the shelves … hitting the basement floor with a clatter and a crash.
They were all moving. Sliding their arms and legs. Letting themselves drop from the shelves. Hitting the floor, then standing. Swinging their arms. Sliding their heads around. Testing themselves.
Alive. The dolls had all come alive.
Slappy’s body stood with both hands raised. On the worktable, the head roared with maniacal laughter.
Ian stepped closer to his dad. The two of them watched the broken dolls move toward them. The one-legged dolls … the armless dolls … the headless dolls …
Moving from all sides of the basement. Their feet clicking and scraping the floor … heads tilting and shaking … The ugly, broken dolls … hundreds of them … all staggering forward … Closing in on Ian, his father, Molly, and the two cousins.
Out of the corner of his eye, Ian saw Slappy’s head bounce up and down excitedly on the worktable. It opened its mouth and cackled in triumph.
“Yes! Yes, my little doll slaves!” Slappy’s head screamed. “That’s right. Keep coming. GET THE HUMANS! GET ALL THE HUMANS!”
Ian screamed as the first doll attacked him. It was a tall boy doll, red hair, its eyes missing. Ian tried to kick it away. But it leaped above his shoe and grabbed on to the front of his T-shirt.
Two one-legged dolls scrabbled across the worktable and dove onto Mr. Barker’s back. As he wrestled with them, a legless doll clung to his right leg with both hands. Another doll bounded onto his head and lowered itself over his face, trying to smother him.
More dolls came hurtling down from the shelves. The basement floor was covered with their ugly, broken bodies. They staggered and slipped and jumped forward, all silent, all moving toward Ian and the others. Slaves. Broken doll slaves. All following Slappy’s orders.
Jonny and Vinny were down on their backs on the floor, wrestling with large cloth dolls. Molly kicked away a headless Barbie doll. But she was instantly swarmed over by three large, one-armed baby dolls.
The screams and cries of the humans were nearly drowned out by the scrape and clatter of the dolls as they attacked. And rising over all the sounds of horror were the cackling bursts of evil laughter from the openmouthed dummy head on the worktable.
And then, as Ian struggled to push a furry bear doll off his face, he saw Slappy’s body stagger toward him. Ian heaved the bear doll across the basement. Two headless dolls clung to his knees, climbing up his legs.
Slappy’s body slid past Ian. Its bow tie was still in place, even though its head was missing. The body stepped to the worktable, grabbed its head in both hands, and stuck it back in place on its wooden neck.
“Nooooo!” Ian screamed as two dolls shoved his legs from behind and he started to fall. His knees collapsed and he dropped to the floor on his back. Half a dozen more broken dolls swarmed onto him.
He kicked and thrashed. Tried to roll over. But they held him in place. A big blond bride doll sprawled over his mouth and nose. It pressed its white bridal gown down on his face. Ian struggled to breathe.
Suddenly, a voice rang out over the clatter and cried, “STOP!”
With a groan, Ian shoved the bride doll off his face. He pulled himself to a sitting position. He gasped as he saw Abigail—Molly’s antique doll—leap from Molly’s arms and stride across the basement floor.
Abigail jumped onto the worktable. “Stop! Stop it—now!” she cried in a squeaky, high voice.
The dolls continued to swarm the humans. Slappy, his head back in its place, moved quickly toward Abigail. “Who ARE you?” the dummy screamed angrily. “How DARE you try to stop my doll slaves!”
He made a grab for Abigail. But she slid out of his grasp.
With her delicate painted face and shimmery blue eyes, she turned to face him.
Her pale lips slid open. And her squeaky voice came out loud and clear as she shouted: “Karru Marri Odonna Loma Molonu Karrano!”
Slappy blinked a few t
imes. Then his eyes snapped shut. His body folded in on itself. Slappy crumpled to the floor at Ian’s feet, and his head fell off. Ian watched it roll to the wall.
Slappy’s body didn’t move. Sitting at the edge of the worktable, Abigail gazed down at it. She had a faint smile on her pale lips. Otherwise, her expression was blank.
The broken dolls all collapsed to the floor. They lay on their backs, their stomachs, their sides, lifeless and still. Jonny, on his back on the floor, lifted a large baby doll off his chest and heaved it across the room.
He stood up, breathing hard, his face red and sweat-drenched. He reached a hand down and helped Vinny to his feet. Vinny still had a doll wrapped around his shoulders. He shook his body and sent it clattering to the floor.
Ian stood close to his dad. They both gazed around the room, stared in amazement at the carpet of dolls over the floor … broken dolls that had come to life … that tried to kill them.
“We’re okay,” Mr. Barker said finally. A smile spread over his face. “We’re okay.”
And then, suddenly, they were hugging. A group hug. A celebration of their triumph. Slappy was asleep, no longer able to harm them. They hugged and laughed, and Mr. Barker had happy tears in his eyes.
He put an arm around Ian’s shoulders and shook his head. “Ian,” he said, “I guess Slappy wasn’t the best birthday present I ever gave you. Don’t worry. I’m going to lock him away where no one will ever find him.”
“Good,” said a voice behind them. Ian turned to see Abigail standing on the worktable. Her small hands pressed the sides of her old-fashioned gown.
“Good,” Abigail repeated, now that all eyes were on her. “I’m so tired of that dummy getting all the attention. Now, clean up this mess, slaves! Then bring me my lunch!”
Slappy here.
Or what’s left of Slappy.
Did you ever read such a tragic ending?
I’d cry my eyes out—but I’m trying to keep my head!
Who is in charge here? I’m very unhappy. And when Slappy is unhappy, Slappy gets revenge. Heads will roll!
Oops. Did I really say that?
Well, don’t worry, slaves. I’ll get myself together. And I’ll be back soon with another Goosebumps story.
Remember, this is SlappyWorld.
You only scream in it!
I sat on the edge of the seat and pressed my nose against the window glass as our bus bumped over the narrow road. A wooden sign came into view. It had a black ship’s anchor across the top, above the words WELCOME TO SEA URCHIN COVE.
“We’re here,” I told my brother, Shawn.
He didn’t look up from the Battle Soccer game on his phone. “I can smell the ocean,” he said.
I pushed up the bus window. Yes, I smelled it, too. The air felt heavy and damp and smelled like fish and salt.
My name is Violet Packer, and I’m twelve, two years older than Shawn. Shawn and I had been to the ocean only once, five years ago on a family vacation. I was seven and he was five, and we were really excited to be there. But it rained every day, and we never got to swim or even play on the beach.
Now, here we were in this little seaside village, about to meet our Uncle Jim. Mom and Dad thought this would be a great summer vacation for us. We’d spend our time with Uncle Jim, and fish and sail and do whatever people who live on the ocean like to do. A whole new world for Shawn and me.
The bus slowed to a halt at the end of a row of low wooden buildings. Across the way, I saw a man with a thick black beard walking quickly along the storefronts, a heavy-looking fisherman’s net rolled up on his shoulders. Two young women in shorts and sleeveless T-shirts stepped out of a small hotel named the Sail Inn.
I bumped Shawn with my shoulder. “Put the game away. We’re here. Check out this cool village.”
Shawn removed his earbuds and slid the phone into his shorts pocket. He’s not like most little brothers. Shawn is very obedient. Mom said I was in charge this summer and, so far, Shawn had taken it seriously.
He isn’t a pest like a lot of brothers. He doesn’t tease me or try to start arguments or try to act like he’s smarter. Actually, Shawn is very, very smart, but I don’t think he has much of a sense of humor. He’s quiet and serious, and doesn’t really goof around.
He pretty much kept to himself during the long bus ride from Yellow Springs, Ohio. He read his baseball books and played sports games on his phone. The only time he got really excited and turned to stare out the window was when four cows started chasing the bus somewhere in Pennsylvania.
I think Shawn and I get along so much better than most sisters and brothers because we’re almost total opposites.
I’m not shy or quiet. I like to talk and gossip and sing and laugh with my friends. I like a good joke, and everyone tells me I’m pretty funny. I get really excited about things, like this trip to Sea Urchin Cove to meet our Uncle Jim.
And I’m definitely not into sports like Shawn. I don’t spend all my time watching ESPN and reading baseball novels and playing in Little League every weekend.
I’m tall and thin, and I’ve been taking ballet lessons since I was six. I love it, and my teachers say I’m a very promising dancer. Of course, I live in Yellow Springs, not New York City, where the great ballet schools are located. But Mom says if I’m still so devoted when I’m in high school, she’ll take me to New York for auditions.
But right now I was in Sea Urchin Cove, and that was pretty exciting, too. I’m about to start the most exciting summer of my life so far, I thought.
R.L. Stine’s books are read all over the world. So far, his books have sold more than 300 million copies, making him one of the most popular children’s authors in history. Besides Goosebumps, R.L. Stine has written the teen series Fear Street and the funny series Rotten School, as well as the Mostly Ghostly series, The Nightmare Room series, and the two-book thriller Dangerous Girls. R.L. Stine lives in New York with his wife, Jane, and Minnie, his King Charles spaniel. You can learn more about him at www.RLStine.com.
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#10 THE LIZARD OF OZ
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SPECIAL EDITION #2 THE 12 SCREAMS OF CHRISTMAS
SPECIAL EDITION #3 TRICK OR TRAP
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HOW I GOT MY SHRUNKEN HEAD
THE WEREWOLF OF FEVER SWAMP
A NIGHT IN TERROR TOWER
WELCOME TO DEAD HOUSE
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GHOST BEACH
THE SCARECROW WALKS AT MIDNIGHT
YOU CAN’T SCARE ME!
RETURN OF THE MUMMY
REVENGE OF THE LAWN GNOMES
PHANTOM OF THE AUDITORIUM
VAMPIRE BREATH
STAY OUT OF THE BASEMENT
A SHOCKER ON SHOCK STREET
NIGHT OF THE LIVING DUMMY 2
NIGHT OF THE LIVING DUMMY 3
THE ABOMINABLE SNOWMAN OF PASADENA
THE BLOB THAT ATE EVERYONE
THE GHOST NEXT DOOR
THE HAUNTED CAR
ATTACK OF THE GRAVEYARD GHOULS
PLEASE DON’T FEED THE VAMPIRE
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Goosebumps book series created by Parachute Press, Inc.
Copyright © 2017 by Scholastic Inc.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
First printing 2017
Cover design by Maeve Norton
Cover art by Brandon Dorman
e-ISBN 978-1-338-06829-0
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