Diary of a Dummy

by R. L. Stine

  “I could swear—” I started.

  “Get that thing out of here,” Dad said. “We haven’t had a chance to clean him yet. Put him in the back room while we eat.”

  I stuffed Slappy into the suitcase and carried him to the little storage room by the back door. Then I returned to the kitchen, my stomach growling.

  “Let’s all wash our hands one more time,” Dad said. “I worry about the bacteria at the dump.”

  So we went and washed our hands again. I soaped myself all the way up my arms. I wondered if I still smelled like the trash heap.

  When I got back to the kitchen, Dad and Maggie were staring at the table. I turned to see what they were looking at. My mouth dropped open when I saw Slappy sitting up in a chair at the head of the table.

  “I asked you to put him away,” Dad said.

  “But … I did!” I stammered.

  “Is this your idea of a joke?” Dad said. “I told you, that dummy is probably infested.”

  “YOU’RE the one who’s infested!” the dummy shouted. “Infested with STUPIDITY! Hahaha!”

  I gasped. Maggie clapped her hands to the sides of her face.

  “It talks?” Dad said. “That’s impossible!”

  “Your brain is impossible!” Slappy rasped. “Impossible to FIND! Haha!”

  All three of us just stared at him, unable to speak. I had this sudden feeling that I was dreaming and about to wake up.

  “Is this what you call DINNER?” the dummy yelled. “It smells like something I STEPPED in!”

  Slappy tossed his head back and laughed.

  Dad’s face turned red, and he gritted his teeth. That’s what he does when he gets angry but doesn’t want to shout. “Get that thing back in the suitcase—now!” he said.

  “YOU go in the suitcase!” Slappy cried. “And take a long trip. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out! Hahaha!”

  “How is he doing that?” Maggie said. “How is he talking and moving on his own?”

  “I don’t care,” Dad said, his jaw clenched tight. “Just get him out of here. We’ll figure it out after dinner.”

  “Aww, can I have one more chance, Pops!” the dummy rasped. “Let me give you a present. A nice dessert.”

  Slappy leaned over the table and opened his mouth wide.

  “Oh noooo,” I moaned as I watched a fat brown cockroach climb out of his mouth. The cockroach dropped onto the table and scampered under a dinner plate.

  Then another cockroach poked out between the dummy’s wooden lips and fell onto the table. Then another. And another.

  We all gasped and moaned as a stream of fat cockroaches poured onto the table. They swarmed over our plates, in our food, and across the table.

  Slappy tossed his head back again and spit a few of the disgusting bugs across the room.

  “Stop it!” I screamed. “Stop it!”

  The dummy turned and belched a stream of cockroaches at me. They clung to my T-shirt and began to swarm up my neck. Cockroaches prickled my cheeks.

  “Stop it! Stop!” I didn’t want to touch them, but I had no choice. I slapped one off my face. Then I twisted and squirmed and tried to pull them off the front of my shirt.

  I kept swatting at them, screaming the whole time. Or was that Maggie screaming as she watched in horror?

  “Hold still!” Dad tried to help brush them off, but Slappy just spewed some more. He sent a spray of cockroaches into my hair. Then his shoulders heaved up and down as he giggled.

  “Hate to be a pest.” He laughed, really enjoying himself. “But I just love BUGGING people!”

  Slappy’s laughter rang in my ears.

  Dad dove forward and raised both hands, ready to grab the dummy around the neck. But Slappy ducked to one side. Dad lost his balance. With a loud groan, he hit the floor.

  Slappy laughed his ugly laugh. Then he turned to Dad, who was still down on the floor. “Would you BELIEVE it?” Slappy screamed. “You were right! I AM infested! Hahaha!”

  Maggie and I struggled to wipe the disgusting roaches off my clothes. Dad jumped up and lunged for the dummy. But Slappy dodged away again—and Dad went sailing into the broom closet door.

  The door sprung open. Dad steadied himself against the wall.

  I uttered a startled gasp as Slappy suddenly turned in his chair—and leaped into my arms. “Hey—!” I managed to cry out. “I—I’ve got him, Dad!”

  “Who has WHO?” Slappy rasped. He spun his head around and dug his hard wooden lips into my earlobe.

  “OWWWWWW!” I howled as the pain shot over my whole head. I grabbed my ear. It felt wet. Was it bleeding?

  “Hey—what’s eating you, kid?” Slappy cried. “Is it ME? Haha!”

  Giggling, the dummy jumped to the floor. “Let’s all calm down, folks!” he shouted, waving both hands over his head to get us quiet. “It’s been fun. But we have to get serious.”

  Cockroaches scuttled down the table legs and swarmed across the floor.

  I thought I had brushed them all off me until I felt a tickle—and pulled one out from behind my ear.

  “Let’s talk about how you three are going to be my SERVANTS for the rest of your lives!” Slappy shouted. “You’ll be obeying my every wish—FOREVER!”

  His head turned from Dad to Maggie, then to me. “I can see you’re not too smart. But do you GET it?”

  “No way—” I started to protest.

  But I saw Dad raise his hands, as if in surrender. “Okay, Slappy,” he said. “We know we can’t fight you. We give in.” Dad stared down at the dummy, his hands still raised. “We’ll be your servants. How can we serve you?”

  “Dad—!” Maggie cried. “What are you doing? Are you giving up so quickly?” She had tears in her eyes.

  But I knew what Dad was up to.

  I knew he was stalling for time. I knew Dad had a plan because his eyes kept darting to the open broom closet. I figured he was waiting for the right moment to use something from the closet to bring Slappy down.

  “I’m sorry, Maggie. But we have no choice,” Dad told her. “Slappy has powers. We can’t fight him.”

  “Very smart, Pops,” Slappy said. “You’re a wimp and a loser. And you know when to give up!”

  My brain was spinning. I wanted to help Dad. But how?

  I decided maybe I could distract the dummy to give Dad time to get to the broom closet. I curled both hands into tight fists.

  “Maybe Dad is ready to give up,” I said. “But I’m not!”

  I raised my fists and charged at Slappy.

  I only got two steps.

  The dummy raised his wooden hand, waved it once in the air—and I froze.

  I mean, I really froze. My muscles all tightened. I was totally stuck.

  I strained and struggled, but my arms wouldn’t budge. My hands were locked into tight fists. And my legs … my legs were as solid and heavy as stone.

  “Can’t move …” I choked out in a faint whisper. “Help me. I … can’t … move.”

  “Slappy—let him go!” Maggie screamed. “Unfreeze him! Let Billy MOVE!”

  The painted grin on the dummy’s face appeared to grow wider. “Want to hear a secret?” he said softly. “I don’t know HOW to unfreeze people. I only know how to freeze them.”

  I struggled to breathe. My stomach wouldn’t move in or out. Every breath I took hurt all the way down.

  I felt an itch on the back of my neck. A cockroach? I couldn’t move my hands. I couldn’t scratch it away. It prickled my skin. I felt myself start to sweat.

  I couldn’t blink, but my eyes moved a little from side to side. I saw Dad edge toward the broom closet against the wall.

  “Let him go! Unfreeze him!” Maggie cried again.

  “Maybe someday I’ll learn how!” Slappy exclaimed. “Hahahaha!”

  Maggie’s face turned red. “You can’t DO this, Slappy!”

  The dummy laughed again. “I already did it! Your brother is a good-looking statue. Would you like to join him?” />
  Slappy raised his hand to freeze my sister. And that’s when Dad made his move. He snatched a broom from the broom closet and rushed at Slappy from behind.

  He swung the broom hard at the dummy’s head. So hard that Slappy went flying from the chair. He sailed a few feet in the air, then came down hard.

  His wooden head hit the floor with a loud smaaaack. His arms and legs were spread out flat.

  “I think he’s dead!” Maggie cheered happily.

  I felt a burst of energy. My knees bent, and I staggered a few steps. I turned my head from side to side. I tested my hands.

  “Hey—I can move again!” I cried. “That broke the spell. I can move!”

  “Yaaaay!” Maggie shouted. Then we heard a moan and stared at the floor.

  “Oh no,” Maggie cried. “He’s not dead!”

  With a groan, Slappy pulled his legs together and started to sit up.

  Dad grabbed a metal bucket from the closet and slammed it down over the dummy’s head. Slappy groaned again. “That’s NOT on my bucket list! You’re giving me a HEADACHE!”

  “Quick—get him back in the suitcase!” Dad ordered.

  I tossed the bucket aside and grabbed Slappy by the head. I lifted him off the floor. Maggie had the suitcase open by the kitchen door. I gripped the dummy tightly and strode toward her.

  Slappy kicked both legs hard and whipped his arms, trying to twist free. His head slipped from my hands. But I caught the shoulders of his suit jacket before he fell.

  “You’ll pay for this! You’ll pay!” the dummy screamed. “Let me go, servants! I’m warning you. You’ll be EATING cockroaches before I’m through with—”

  He didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence. Dad and I jammed him into the open suitcase. Maggie gripped the lid tight to make sure it stayed open. Something fell out of the case. But there was no time to see what it was.

  I grabbed Slappy’s legs and tried to fold them over his head.

  But the dummy had a surprise for me. As I leaned over the case, struggling with his legs, his hands shot up. They grabbed me by the shoulders.

  I cried out in pain as his wooden fingers dug into my skin. Dad tried to yank me free—but the dummy had astounding strength.

  “Whoooooaaaa!” I wailed in horror and shock as I realized the dummy had tugged himself up.

  Slappy stood—and swung me down hard. My head hit the suitcase lid. Bright red and yellow lights flashed in my eyes. I didn’t move for a few seconds. But it was long enough for Slappy to accomplish what he wanted.

  I saw Dad make a grab for me. Too late. The dummy jammed me into the suitcase, tucked me in tight, and slammed the lid shut.

  I heard the latches click.

  I was breathing so hard my chest throbbed. I strained against the lid, pressing my head against it, trying to force it open.

  I stopped when outside the case, I heard Slappy shout at my dad: “Okay, Pops. Let’s take this trash to the dump!”

  What happened next?

  I don’t know.

  I couldn’t see a thing. I was locked in the suitcase. It grew hot in there very quickly, and I started gasping for breath. The air was running out fast.

  Over the steady beats of my pounding heart, I could hear voices in the kitchen. Shouts and angry cries.

  I held my breath, trying to slow my panic. But my heart kept pounding away. My face was drenched with sweat. I was folded up tight, my muscles all aching.

  I tried to bump the lid open with one shoulder. But there was no way I could move enough.

  Outside the suitcase, I heard a struggle. A crash. A loud thud.

  I heard Maggie scream, “Nooooo!”

  I heard Dad utter a hoarse cry.

  Then another crash.

  My heart pounding so hard it hurt, I heard Slappy’s cackling laughter. And then the laughter cut off suddenly with a sharp cry.

  Then silence.

  The longest silence of my life.

  What did Slappy do?

  What did Slappy do to them?

  Did he really hurt them? Did he knock them out?

  What is he going to do to ME now?

  When the suitcase lid popped open, I screamed.

  Someone unfolded my legs, and now I could see. The light pouring in blinded me at first. Blinking hard, I struggled to move my arms.

  Dad lifted me from the case.

  “Dad—” I choked out. “Oh wow. Oh wow. You’re okay?”

  Dad nodded.

  “Slappy? Where is he?” I demanded.

  Dad tried to help me stand, but my legs started to give way. I caught myself before I fell.

  I saw the dummy sprawled on the floor, not moving. “Wh-what did you do to him?” I stammered.

  “Maggie used a frying pan on him,” Dad said. “Let’s just say if his head wasn’t made of wood, he’d have a terrific headache.” Dad was breathing hard, his chest heaving up and down. “Hurry—get the dummy into the case.”

  He held it open while Maggie and I jammed the evil thing in, folded him, and twisted him. Slappy didn’t attempt to move. He was totally out.

  Dad slammed the lid shut and latched it. A few minutes later, we were in the truck, on our way to the dump.

  We didn’t talk for a long while. I stared through the window at the passing trees, black against a dark sky. The moon had slipped behind the clouds. It was pretty late, and we were the only ones on the road.

  Maggie broke the silence as we neared the dump. “I feel like we’re in a horror movie! I keep expecting the dummy to come roaring up from the suitcase and attack us.”

  “I think we’ll be okay now,” Dad said, eyes staring straight ahead through the windshield. “Craziest thing I ever saw,” he muttered. “We can’t tell anyone about this. No one would believe it.”

  Dad parked the truck at the edge of the dump. He grabbed a flashlight, clicked it on, and handed it to me. “So dark tonight. Keep this at our feet, Billy.”

  He carried the suitcase in both hands. We followed him across the ocean of trash. We walked slowly, carefully toward the far end.

  Dad set the case down. “I think this is far enough. No one ever comes over here.”

  I held my breath. The smell here was pretty gross. Squinting into the tiny beam of light, I saw a family of raccoons in a circle, pawing into a large trash bag.

  “Cover the suitcase up,” Dad said. “We don’t want anyone to find it.”

  Maggie and I grabbed trash bags and piled them on top of the case. Maggie found a stack of decaying clothes, and she spread them on top of the trash bags.

  “Completely buried,” I said. “I think we’re safe now.”

  “I think everyone in town is safe,” Dad agreed. “I don’t know how a wooden dummy can come to life. But I think the dummy’s story is over once and for all.”

  We drove home with the radio cranked up. Singing along. Feeling happy and relieved.

  At home, we celebrated with some dishes of ice cream. The cockroaches had all disappeared into the cracks of the floorboards. Dad fretted that he couldn’t afford to call an exterminator, but we knew they’d return when the lights were out.

  “Too late to do homework,” I said, spooning up the last of my Rocky Road. “Dad, can you give us a note to our teachers saying we couldn’t do homework because we had to fight a living dummy?”

  “Sure thing,” Dad said. “No problem.” We laughed. He went to the basement to see if he had any cans of cockroach spray.

  And that’s when we found the book.

  Actually, Maggie spotted it first. A small square book with a dark brown cover. She lifted it off the floor.

  “That fell out of the suitcase,” I said. I hurried over to examine it with her.

  “It’s a diary,” Maggie said. “I wonder who it belongs to?”

  Who does it belong to? It’s mine, you dummies. We wouldn’t have a very good story if it wasn’t mine—would we? Hahaha.

  It’s so good, I can’t put it down. It’s my favorite bo
ok. The main character is so interesting and lovable. And it has such an awesome plot—MY LIFE! Hahaha.

  And now Billy and Maggie are enjoying the diary. Believe me, it will lead them to a very exciting adventure.

  Spoiler alert: This story has a happy ending.

  A happy ending for ME!

  Deal with it! Hahahahaha.

  We carried the little book to the living room. The front cover read: My Diary by Slappy. We plopped down in the middle of the couch and started to thumb through it. The pages were lined and gray and silver-tipped. Pretty fancy.

  The diary was written in blue ink. The handwriting was small and neat.

  “It all looks totally normal,” I said. “Like anyone’s diary. Except it was written by a dummy.”

  “This is awesome!” Maggie exclaimed. “Do you think it’s worth a lot of money?”

  I shook my head. “A dummy’s diary? Who would want it?”

  “Scientists, maybe?” Maggie replied.

  “I don’t think so.” I shrugged. “I bet no one would believe that a dummy wrote it.”

  We both thought about money a lot. We wanted to get our house fixed up. We were desperate to help Dad. But I knew that finding this diary wasn’t exactly like winning the lottery.

  “Let’s start at the beginning,” I said, flipping to the front of the book. “Maybe we can find out something about him—like how a dummy can be alive. That might be worth some money.”

  We hunched close together, raised the diary close to our faces, and started to read:

  Dear Diary,

  I am so glad to have you in my hands. No one understands me. Only you understand me, Dear Diary. Only you know the real me.

  You know that I’m not evil. I would hate for people to think I am evil. I am just mischievous.

  I like to have fun. I like to play jokes on people. I love to laugh. Laughter is what keeps me going when times get tough.

  I don’t want to be hated. I want people to like me.

  I want people to like me—so they will be happy servants and do everything I tell them to! Hahaha.