by R. L. Stine
I shook my head. “I’m trying to tell you —”
Dad took a step toward me. We heard a loud crack. His shoe crunched a glass tree ornament.
“Let me help you clean this mess up,” Mom said.
“That’s okay,” Mrs. Shear said. “We’ll clean up after you go.”
“Yes. Please — just go,” Mr. Shear said. “Deal with Ray. He has some big problems.”
I turned to Elena. I saw tears running down her cheeks. She was staring at the ruined Christmas tree, broken and on its side. “Our New Year’s Eve party …” she murmured.
“There won’t be a party,” Dad said. His whole face was tight. Like he was trying hard to control his anger. “I can tell you that. Ray won’t be going to any parties until he can explain what came over him tonight.”
Mom was still holding on to Brandon. She shook her head sadly, gazing at the mess. “Like a wild animal,” she muttered. “Ray was like a wild animal.”
I tried to get my brother’s attention. But he wouldn’t look at me. Brandon had to know what really happened here. But he was too frightened to say anything.
“The dummy,” I murmured. “I … I’m really sorry. Really.”
I stepped over some broken ornaments to get to Slappy. The dummy’s face was buried in the carpet. He was totally lifeless. Just a doll made of wood and cloth.
I stared down at the thing, my brain spinning. I knew I wasn’t totally crazy. I didn’t say those horrible things that came out of Slappy’s mouth. And I didn’t go berserk and deliberately knock over the Christmas tree. It was totally an accident.
Should I try one more time to explain to everyone?
“The dummy came to life,” I said. My voice cracked. “I didn’t do any of it. The dummy —”
“Shut up, Ray!” Elena cried angrily. “Just shut up. No one is going to believe that stupid story.”
She uttered a hoarse cry. “You ruined Christmas, and you ruined New Year’s Eve!”
“Okay, okay,” I muttered. “I give up.”
I reached down and lifted Slappy off the floor. I swung the dummy over my shoulder. His wooden head hit my back.
Then, before I realized what was happening, the head bounced back up. Slappy’s grinning face slid in front of mine.
The eyes were wild. The wooden lips parted.
And he clamped his jaws tight — on my nose!
“OWWWWWWW!”
I howled in pain. The wooden mouth tightened over my nose.
I gripped the dummy by the waist and tugged. I tried to pull him away, to free myself.
But the wooden lips clamped tight, like pliers. Pain shot down my face, my neck … my entire body.
I screamed again. “Help me! He’s got my NOSE! Help me — please! It hurts! It hurts SO BAD!”
“Stop it, Ray,” Mom shouted. “You’re not funny.”
“Haven’t you done enough damage tonight?” Dad demanded. “Put that dummy down — now!”
“I — I can’t!” I wailed.
The pain was intense. My face throbbed. My nose had gone numb.
I dropped to my knees. “H-help me …” I pleaded.
Blood spurted from my nose.
“He’s bleeding on my white rug!” Mrs. Shear cried. “Get him off the rug!”
I felt Dad’s hands grip my shoulder. He pulled me to my feet.
The dummy’s mouth loosened its grip. Slappy’s head slumped to one side. Lifeless again.
“Not funny, Ray,” Dad whispered in my ear. “I’m very disappointed in you. Disappointed and angry.” He shoved a tissue at me. I raised it to my bloody nose.
A few seconds later, we were all into our coats … carrying shopping bags filled with our presents from Elena’s family … hurrying home in silence … our shoes crunching on the hard, silvery snow.
The cold air made my nose sting. I kept a tissue pressed against it to stop the bleeding. The dummy bounced heavily on my shoulder as I trudged home.
“Up to your room,” Mom said as soon as we arrived. “Not another word.”
“We’ll have a long talk in the morning,” Dad said, scowling at me.
The dummy giggled.
“It’s not funny!” Dad shouted. “There’s nothing funny about it, Ray!”
I was too scared and too upset to tell him I wasn’t the one who giggled. I didn’t say a word. I ran upstairs to my room.
I shoved Slappy into the back of my closet, and I made sure the closet door was locked. Then I started to change my clothes for bed.
As I was pulling on my pajama shirt, I saw Brandon go into his room across the hall. He started to close his door, but I pushed it back open.
“Listen,” I whispered, “you were right. I mean, you were right to be scared of the dummy.”
His eyebrows shot up. “That was pretty weird back at the Shears’ house,” he said.
“We have to get the dummy out of the house,” I whispered. “We have to get it as far from here as we can.”
“How?” Brandon asked. “Just throw it in the trash?”
“We can’t,” I said. “He’s alive. The dummy is alive, Brandon. He would just climb out of the trash. And he would come looking for us. Angry.”
I touched my nose carefully. It was red and swollen and still throbbed with pain.
Brandon suddenly went very pale. “You really weren’t pretending tonight?”
I shook my head. “I wasn’t pretending. Slappy is alive, Brandon. And if we don’t get him away from here, he’ll ruin our lives. I know he will.”
Brandon grabbed my pajama sleeve. “But, Ray — what are we going to do?”
“I — I don’t know,” I stammered. “I —”
Across the hall, I heard a sound that sent a shiver down my back.
Laughter. A high, shrill giggle from deep in my closet.
And then a raspy whisper: “Slave? Come here, slave. Are you ready to obey my orders, slave?”
I didn’t sleep much that night. I kept listening for Slappy’s voice … listening for the rattle of the closet door.
The next morning, I stared at the closet door and shuddered. I had to get away. I had to get out of the house to think.
How do you get rid of a living dummy who wants to make you his slave? How do you make sure he never comes back to get you?
I pulled on my parka and boots. I grabbed my snowboard from the garage. Snowboarding always clears my head.
It had snowed another couple of inches during the night. The new snow was soft and wet on top of the crunchy snow beneath. It was a cold, gray day. The sun was hidden behind heavy, low clouds.
Some of my friends like to snowboard on a steep hill at the end of our street. I was half a block away — when I heard a THWOCK and felt a sharp pain in my shoulder.
I spun around. Snow flew around me. It took me a few seconds to realize I’d been hit by a snowball.
Elena stood a few feet away, rubbing snow off her red wool gloves. She had on a maroon down coat that went past her knees, with the hood pulled over her head.
“You jerk!” she shouted. She scooped up snow and tossed a big handful into my face.
“Hey, give me a break —” I started.
“You jerk! You ruined everything!” she screamed. Her breath puffed up in front of her.
She heaved another handful of snow. I ducked under it.
“It wasn’t my fault, Elena!” I cried.
“You ruined Christmas. And now you’re ruining New Year’s Eve for everyone!” she cried. “Now there’s nowhere for everyone to go!”
“Maybe my mom and dad will listen to reason,” I said.
“My parents think you’re CRAZY!” she cried. “They think you should be locked up. Why did you say those horrible things about them?”
“I … didn’t,” I told her. “The dummy —”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, sure, Ray. You said the magic words, and the dummy came to life. That’s not crazy or anything. That happens all the time — right?”
She sighed, then she kicked a wave of snow onto my jeans. “I don’t get you, Ray. Goodbye. Have a nice life.” She spun around and stomped away.
“Hey, Elena — wait!”
She didn’t turn back. She was swinging her arms and walking fast. Her hood flew off her head, and she didn’t stop to fix it.
I watched her till she turned the corner and disappeared behind a snow-covered hedge. Then I heaved my snowboard to the ground and gave it a hard kick.
I wasn’t angry at the snowboard. And I wasn’t angry at Elena. If I was Elena, I wouldn’t believe me, either.
I didn’t feel like meeting up with my friends anymore. And I wasn’t in the mood to snowboard. Seeing Elena reminded me — I had a serious problem to deal with. A terrifying problem right in my bedroom closet — and no one to help me.
I dragged the snowboard home and tossed it in the garage. I stamped my boots on the mat at the kitchen door and went inside.
The breakfast dishes were still on the counter. A fried egg no one wanted sat in the frying pan on the stove. “Hey, Mom? Dad?” I called.
Then I saw the note on the fridge door. It said they’d taken Brandon to a dentist appointment.
“Good,” I said out loud. “Gives me time to think.”
I poked my finger in the cold fried egg, then licked my finger.
I began pacing back and forth from the kitchen to the living room. Thinking hard about one question: how to get rid of a dummy for good.
When the front doorbell rang, I let out a startled cry and jumped into the air. It took a few seconds for my heart to stop pounding. Then I made my way to the front window and peered out.
A tall, thin man with curly red hair poking out from a red-and-blue Red Sox cap stood on the front stoop. He wore a plaid jacket over baggy brown cargo pants. He turned, and I saw a small coppery mustache beneath a pointy nose.
He pushed the doorbell again.
I pulled the front door open a crack and poked my head out. A gust of icy wind nearly blew the door back in my face.
“Hello? Can I help you?” I asked.
He smiled at me and adjusted his baseball cap. He gazed at me with bright green eyes.
“I think you have something that belongs to me,” he said.
“Yes!” I cried. “Awesome!”
The green eyes squinted at me. He shoved his hands into the pockets of the plaid jacket. “Well … good.”
“I’ll get it!” I said. “Be right down.”
I couldn’t believe my good luck.
There I was, pacing back and forth, thinking, thinking as hard as I could. And coming up with nothing.
And then here’s this stranger in a Red Sox cap at the front door, ready to rescue me from the evil dummy. What incredible timing!
With the dummy gone forever, my life would return to normal. And maybe … maybe if I apologized to everyone all over again, Mom and Dad would let me have the New Year’s Eve party. And Elena and everyone else would be so happy.
Sweet!
I practically skipped up the stairs and across the room. I turned the lock and pulled open the closet door.
The dummy was sitting straight up with his back against the closet wall. Not where I left him. I had tossed him face-first on a pile of shirts.
He had definitely moved. It gave me a shiver of fear as I reached to pick him up.
“You’re going away from here,” I said. “For good.”
He didn’t move.
I grabbed him by the waist and pulled him up with one hand. His body slumped limply. His head bumped the floor hard as I dragged him from the closet.
I let his head bump the stairs all the way down.
Thump thump thump.
I wanted to laugh. I wanted to scream and jump up and down and do a crazy dance.
My life was about to return to normal.
I raised the dummy and held him under the armpits of his jacket. The head bobbed lifelessly on his shoulders.
I trotted to the front door and shoved Slappy at the red-haired man. “Here,” I said. “Take it. And thank you.”
The man’s eyes went wide. He took a step back. He didn’t reach for the dummy.
“That’s not mine,” he said.
My mouth dropped open. The dummy nearly slipped from my hands. “Excuse me?” I uttered.
“That dummy isn’t mine,” he repeated. He adjusted the baseball cap over his forehead. “I came to pick up Robby.”
“Robby?” I squeaked.
“My dog,” the man said. “Isn’t this 127 Beechnut?”
“No,” I said. “It’s 227.”
The man shrugged and gave me an embarrassed smile. “So sorry. Wrong house.”
He shuffled off the stoop and hurried toward the corner.
I let out a long sigh. Slappy suddenly felt heavy in my arms. He slipped to the floor. But he didn’t collapse or fold up.
He stood on his little brown leather shoes. His hands shot out stiffly at his sides. He raised his grinning face at me.
And began to laugh.
A stab of fear made my chest hurt. I gasped — and made a two-handed grab for him.
Still laughing, he dodged away. The dummy spun quickly and ran into the living room on his spindly legs.
“You can’t get rid of me, slave!”
His voice was hoarse and tinny, from somewhere deep in his chest.
I dove at him. Grabbed for him again.
He scampered away. To the other side of the low coffee table.
“Don’t try to lose me again — or you will PAY!” he screeched.
“This can’t be happening!” I cried. “You can’t be alive. What do you want? What do you want?”
“You will do as I say,” he rasped, eyes darting from side to side. “This house will be mine! If you want your family to survive, you will obey my every wish!”
“No way!” I tried to sound angry and tough. But my voice cracked on the words. “You’re going back in the closet! Then you’re going far away from here.”
“I don’t think so,” Slappy snapped.
His wooden hands wrapped around the blue fan-shaped vase on the coffee table. He raised the vase over his head.
A wave of panic tightened my throat. “Put that down!” I gasped. “That was my great-grandmother’s. It’s very valuable.”
“Are you going to play ball with me?” Slappy cried.
“No way —” I said.
“Then I’m going to play ball with you!” he shouted. “Catch!”
He pulled his arm back — and heaved the vase across the room at me.
“Nooooo!” I let out a scream of horror. Raised both hands to catch it.
The vase bounced off my chest. Knocked my breath out. As I started to choke, it crashed onto the top of the coffee table — and shattered into a dozen jagged pieces.
“No! Oh, no!”
I heard a cry behind me.
Still struggling to breathe, I turned and saw Mom, Dad, and Brandon standing at the living room doorway. All three of them had looks of horror on their faces.
“Grandma Rose’s vase!” Mom cried. She pressed her hands to her face. “I don’t believe it!”
“Ray, that vase was precious!” Dad said angrily. “What happened?”
My whole body shook. I turned to the dummy. Slappy lay limply on his back under the coffee table.
“The dummy did it!” I screamed. “Really. The dummy did it!”
Brandon hugged himself. He kept his eyes on the floor.
Mom and Dad stared at Slappy, a lifeless wooden dummy.
Dad moved to the coffee table. He bent down and picked up a few jagged pieces of blue porcelain. He sighed and shook his head. “It can’t be repaired. It’s ruined.”
From under the coffee table, Slappy let out a loud giggle.
“It’s NOT FUNNY, Ray!” Mom shrieked. “Why are you laughing? Have you gone totally crazy? Do we have to take you t
o a doctor?”
Before I could answer, Slappy giggled again.
I spent the rest of the day in my room. Grounded. For life, probably.
Dad took the dummy and hid it away in the garage. Brandon avoided me. He stayed in his room, doing an origami project.
Elena didn’t call or text me. I guessed she was still angry.
It snowed again that night. The next morning, Dad told Brandon and me to shovel the driveway. Brandon complained. He doesn’t like to shovel, and he doesn’t like the cold.
I kept my mouth shut. I knew I was in big trouble. No way I wanted to get in even deeper trouble.
We pulled on our parkas and boots and trudged out to the garage. The wind had blown the snow into tall drifts along the backyard fence. Snow came up to the top of my boots as we crunched our way to the garage door.
We both stopped and gazed at the door. I knew we were both thinking the same thing: Slappy was in there. Was he waiting for us? Waiting to cause more trouble?
I shivered. Not from the cold.
“I’ll open the door,” Brandon said. He reached down for the handle, which was buried in snow.
“Whoa,” I said. “You are going in there first?”
He nodded. His cheeks were red. The parka hood hid his eyes. “I made a New Year’s resolution,” he said. He tugged the door handle.
“What resolution?” I asked.
“You know. To be braver.”
“That’s awesome,” I said.
He groaned as he gave the garage door handle a hard pull. Snow shifted away from the door, and it started to rise.
Another tug, and the door slid up all the way.
Brandon and I both screamed when we saw Slappy standing right in front of us. His glassy eyes seemed to glow. An evil grin spread across his wooden face.
“Greetings, slaves!” he shrieked. And then he raised his hands in front of him — and clicked my dad’s heavy hedge clippers. “How about a nice haircut, dudes?”
I tried to stagger back, but my boots slid on the snow. I went down hard on my butt.
And before I could squirm away, the hedge clippers came down over my head.
SNAAAAP. SNAAAAP.
Slappy snipped the top of my parka hood off. I felt cold air on my head.
