Diary of a Dummy

by R. L. Stine

  “It was like a horror-movie house,” Laci replied. “Seriously. Bats flying around it at night … strange sounds … weird animal howls … shadows moving in the windows … The house has been empty for years. Most everyone thinks it’s definitely haunted.”

  Maggie shuddered. “The house … it’s right in town?”

  Laci nodded. “At the end of the bus line. The very last stop.”

  I waved the diary in front of me. “Well, I think we have to go there,” I said. “Right away.”

  Maggie frowned at me. “Huh? Are you crazy?”

  “I just told you it’s totally creepy,” Laci said. “Why on earth—”

  “Because I think we will find the second diary there,” I interrupted. “I think Slappy left his second diary in that house. And the second diary will tell us where The Gold is.”

  Laci jumped to her feet. She tossed back her blond ponytail. “Am I on the right planet?” she said. “I don’t understand a word you’re saying. Can you translate—”

  “We’re looking for a diary,” Maggie told her. “I won’t tell you whose diary. You won’t believe me. But we think the diary can lead us to a mess of gold.”

  Laci’s eyes went wide. “You mean it’s like a treasure hunt?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “A treasure hunt.” I held up the diary. “I think the second book is hidden at the Coldman House. Will you two come with me?”

  “I’m ready. Let’s go now,” Maggie said.

  We both turned to Laci. She was shaking her head. “I guess I’ll go. But … I’m warning you. This is a big mistake.”

  Of course, it began to rain. Whenever you pay a visit to a haunted house, there has to be pouring rain and flickering flashes of lightning in the sky. Thunder rumbled around the bus and shook the windows as we rolled toward the edge of town.

  We were the only passengers. Maggie and I sat with our backs to the windows. Laci hunched between us.

  The driver was an older woman with wavy white hair falling out of her bus driver’s cap. She kept mumbling a song to herself and tapping a rhythm on the steering wheel as she drove. Every once in a while, I could see her glimpse us in the rearview mirror.

  “Billy, what’s in the bag?” Laci asked.

  She pointed to the brown paper bag I held in my lap.

  “It’s a sandwich,” I said. “My favorite. Swiss cheese and hamburger pickles.”

  She squinted at me. “You’re bringing a sandwich to a haunted house?”

  “I’m kinda hungry,” I said, starting to open it.

  “Why didn’t you bring us sandwiches?” Maggie demanded. “You’re going to sit there and eat that in front of us?”

  “Okay, okay,” I muttered. I rolled up the bag and jammed the sandwich into my pants pocket.

  “Wow. It’s really raining,” Laci said.

  “Why didn’t we think of wearing our jackets?” Maggie asked. “Or bringing an umbrella?” Thunder crashed low overhead.

  “You have to get soaked before you enter a creepy old mansion,” I said. “That way, you can start to shiver as soon as you go inside.”

  “You’re about as funny as a mud milkshake,” Maggie said.

  Laci laughed. “That’s a new one.”

  “My brother has seen too many horror movies,” Maggie told her.

  “How could there be too many?” I asked.

  The bus hit a bump, and we bounced in the seat. A wave of water splashed out from under the tires.

  “Sorry about that!” the driver called back to us.

  A few seconds later, the bus squealed to a stop. “End of the line,” she called. “This is as far as I go.”

  I led the way to the front of the bus. She pushed a button and the door slid open. “Where you kids headed?” she asked.

  “The Coldman House,” I said.

  She pushed back her cap and squinted at me. “You serious?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “It’s just up the road, right?”

  She nodded.

  I started down the steps to the curb. Laci and Maggie followed me out into the rain.

  The driver leaned toward the door. “I bring a lot of people to that house,” she said. “But I never bring them back.”

  “What does that mean?” Maggie asked.

  “Good luck.” The driver closed the bus door. I watched her turn and wrap her hands around the wheel. The bus slowly pulled away.

  I shivered as we began to walk. We ducked our heads against the rain. It was spring, but the raindrops were cold, and the gusts of wind were even colder.

  Lightning crackled high above us. All three of us cried out as a tall tree, still bare from winter, tilted over the road as if it was about to fall.

  Laci swung her ponytail behind her head. “Tell me again why we are doing this.”

  “For gold,” Maggie told her. “We think there’s gold.”

  “That’s what the first diary said,” I explained. “But the clues to find the gold are in the second diary.”

  “And who wrote the diary?” Laci asked. “How did you get it?”

  “We can’t tell you,” Maggie answered. “If we tell you, you’ll never speak to us again.”

  Laci squinted at her. “Seriously?”

  “A dummy wrote the diary,” I blurted out. “A living ventriloquist dummy.”

  “You’re right,” Laci said. “I’m never speaking to either of you again.”

  “It’s a long story,” I said. “I know you don’t believe us now. But—”

  I stopped because the Coldman House came into view.

  The house rose like a dark tower behind a tall row of scraggly hedges. It was four stories high, the windows large and empty. A black tile roof slanted steeply down. At the top, two chimneys stood broken and crooked.

  In a bright flash of lightning, the house suddenly shimmered, making it appear alive.

  Laci screamed and grabbed Maggie’s arm. She sucked in a deep breath. “Do we have to do this?” she asked Maggie. “Can’t we call your dad and ask him to pick us up?”

  Maggie shook her head. “We can’t. Billy and I don’t have phones.”

  “Well, I have a phone,” Laci said. She pawed through the little bag she had strapped to her shoulder. Then she let out a groan. “I didn’t bring it.”

  The rain started to come down harder. It sounded like a hundred drums pounding all around us, louder than the thunder.

  I started to run. “Let’s get inside. At least we can dry off.”

  I pushed through a narrow opening in the scraggly hedge. Then I trotted toward the wide front door, my shoes slipping on the tall, wet grass and weeds.

  I jumped onto the front stoop with Maggie and Laci close behind me. Thunder exploded in a roar. I nearly tumbled off the stoop. I grabbed the brass door knob to brace myself.

  And the front door creaked open.

  We stumbled inside. A lightning flash lit up the dark walls of the entry hall. The wallpaper had big tears in it, holes where the plaster showed through. The carpet beneath our shoes was thin and ragged.

  I shook off rainwater like a dog. I swept a hand back through my hair, and more water came flying off me.

  “Ewwww, it smells in here,” Laci said, wrinkling her nose.

  “And the air is even colder than outside,” Maggie complained, hugging herself.

  “Think warm thoughts,” I said. “That always works for me.”

  “You’re both weird,” Laci said. “I can’t believe I’m really here.”

  Huddling close together, we made our way down the narrow entry hall. A huge living room stretched in front of us.

  Dim light from the tall front windows cast the room in a blur of grays and blacks. I bumped into a low couch and quickly backed away. It was covered with swarming black insects. The walls were bare. There were big rectangles on the wallpaper where paintings must have hung.

  Maggie tripped over a gap in the carpet and grabbed the mantelpiece to steady herself. I lowered my gaze—and gasped. There was a dea
d animal in the fireplace.

  Or what was left of a dead animal.

  Covered in a blanket of thick dust, it was the size of a raccoon or perhaps a medium-sized dog. It lay on its side. The fur had come off, revealing decaying gray skin. The head was just bone, a cone-shaped skeleton.

  “Wow,” I muttered. “I wish I could unsee that.”

  “Look. The kitchen is over here,” Maggie called.

  Laci and I followed her into the kitchen. I sniffed the air. “Smells like burnt toast in here,” I said.

  Laci sniffed, too. “Strange. No one has cooked anything in here for maybe a hundred years.”

  An old-fashioned refrigerator stood against the wall with its door missing. Beside it, clumps of dust were piled up in the sink. The burner grates were all missing on the stove, leaving round holes across the top.

  And then we saw a large chest. It stretched wide and low across from the stove. It was a metal box, shaped like a coffin. It had a black lid on top.

  “What is that?” Laci asked.

  “I think it’s a freezer,” Maggie said. “We used to have a freezer like that when I was little.”

  “Think anything is inside?” I asked, studying it in the dim light from the kitchen window.

  “Don’t open it!” Laci cried.

  “But what if the gold is hidden there?” I said.

  I didn’t wait for her to answer. I stepped forward and gripped the lid with both hands. My heart was suddenly pounding. A chill of fear rolled down my back.

  “Billy, are you going to open it?” Maggie demanded.

  “Uh … yeah. Sure,” I said. I took a deep breath and raised the heavy lid all the way.

  “Whoa!” I cried. “There’s ice in here!”

  “That’s impossible,” Maggie said. “There’s no electricity.”

  The two girls stepped up beside me and peered into the freezer.

  We gazed down at a huge clump of ice.

  “Impossible,” Maggie repeated.

  And then I heard a crackling sound.

  And then I saw the ice start to move.

  And then …

  And then …

  I let out a scream.

  My scream echoed through the empty house.

  Maggie and Laci gaped wide-eyed as the ice clump broke apart. Cracking and crumpling, it shifted and shook.

  I uttered another cry as the ice began to rise up from the bottom of the freezer.

  I staggered back. Maggie and Laci held on to each other and slowly shrank away.

  The ice rose up and started to take shape. Arms formed. Then legs. Then a head.

  “It’s—it’s a man.” I shuddered.

  An ice man! Climbing up from the freezer!

  I couldn’t stop my legs from trembling. The horrifying creature gave off waves and waves of cold. The air turned freezing. I was suddenly shivering. My teeth were chattering. I struggled to breathe in the frigid air.

  As the three of us backed away, the ice broke with a crack as loud as thunder. It fell away from the head first and shattered on the floor. And a frozen, pale white face—a face as white as snow—emerged from the icy covering.

  A face of horror. Of death. Frozen eyes wide, and a toothless mouth hanging open.

  Then the ice began to splinter from his tall body. His arms remained stiffly out at his sides. His frozen legs cracked as he stepped out from the freezer. His eyes … his dead eyes … on ME!

  “I’m the Cold Man,” he moaned. His voice was like the rattle of ice cubes … a death rattle.

  “I’m the Cold Man. Welcome to Coldman House.”

  “N-no—!” Laci stammered. She cowered in a corner with my sister, whose eyes were wide with terror.

  “I’ve been waiting …”

  Each icy word sent a chill down my spine.

  “I’ve been waiting for someone to let me out—”

  I was shaking so hard, I could barely stand. Gasping for breath, I shut my eyes for a moment.

  “Please—” I whispered to myself. “Please—when I open my eyes, let this all be a dream.”

  I opened my eyes.

  The Cold Man lurched toward me, bringing a whoosh of frozen air with him.

  “I’ve been waiting …” he repeated. “Waiting for someone to take my place!”

  He grabbed me by the shoulders. An icy grip so cold, it burned.

  “Now it’s YOUR turn!” he cried.

  He gripped my shoulders with his hard, frigid fingers and dragged me to the open freezer.

  “N-no! No—please!” A hoarse cry escaped my throat.

  I struggled to pull free, but his icy hands froze my muscles. My shoes scraped the floor as he dragged me to the freezer. “Please—!” My cry came out in a desperate whisper.

  The cold air froze my face and made my skin burn.

  I wrapped my arms around the Cold Man’s waist. I held on to him and dragged my feet, trying to slow him down.

  “Leave Billy alone!” Maggie shouted.

  Suddenly, she and Laci were beside me. Screaming at the icy creature. They each grabbed one of his legs and wrapped themselves around it to hold him back. Struggling to force him to stop.

  And to my shock, he stopped.

  My heart thudding in my chest, it took me a few seconds to realize what was happening.

  The Cold Man was melting.

  The heat of our bodies was causing him to thaw.

  I saw a puddle of water at our feet. And I felt his waist grow slimmer as the ice warmed and dripped to the floor.

  I held on … held on with all my strength. I pressed my chest against him as I gripped his waist tightly with both arms.

  He raised his cold, pale face to the ceiling and let out an angry roar. The roar quickly became a groan. And then a gurgling whisper as he melted down.

  And then he was silent. The three of us held on … Held on, pressing our warmth against his cold, shrinking body.

  I gasped as his head broke off. With a craaaack, it tumbled off his shrinking shoulders. The head hit the floor and shattered into a million shards of ice.

  The creature’s body collapsed into the puddle on the floor. Water splashed over my shoes.

  For a long time, I just stood there, breathing noisily, panting like a dog. My whole body shuddered violently. I hugged myself to stop the shaking. I stayed there, staring down at the melting pieces of ice.

  Maggie’s voice brought me back to life. “We’re safe!” she cried. “We’re safe!” She grabbed my shoulder and shook me. “Billy, are you okay? We’re safe.”

  And then I heard someone moving in the next room.

  “Run. Let’s get out of here,” Laci cried.

  But before we could move, a man stepped into the kitchen. Not an ice man. A real person. He had a gray cap pulled down over short white hair. He wore baggy jeans, stained at the knees, and a worn plaid flannel shirt. His boots were covered in mud.

  He had tiny blue eyes—like bird eyes—in a red, wrinkled face. White whiskery stubble covered his cheeks. He looked older than my grandfather. He carried a long walking stick in his right fist.

  He blinked when he saw us. He swallowed and squinted at us. “Did you come to deliver the new mulch?” he asked in a quivering old-man voice.

  “Uh … no,” I stammered. “We … uh …”

  “I was out back in the garden,” he said, leaning on the walking stick. “I’m the gardener. Any idea how long I’ve been tending that garden?”

  We stared at him and didn’t reply.

  “Going on thirty years,” he said. “I’m right proud of it. It’s a beautiful garden.”

  He motioned to the door. “The rain finally stopped. You want to bring the mulch out back?”

  “Uh … We don’t have any mulch,” I told him. “We—”

  “We have to go,” Maggie chimed in. “We made a mistake.”

  “Yes, this is the wrong house,” Laci added. “We are in the wrong house. Sorry.”

  The old man gazed at us for a long
moment. His jaw worked up and down. “No problem,” he said finally. “I’ll take you out through the back so you can see my garden.”

  Before we could reply, he turned and started toward the kitchen door. His stick tapped the floor as he walked. His boots splashed right through the big puddle of water on the floor, and he didn’t seem to notice.

  Laci and Maggie hesitated.

  “Let’s follow him,” I said. “He’ll take us out of this house. We can come back some other time to search for the diary.”

  Laci shivered. “Come back here? Are you serious?”

  I turned and led the way, following the old gardener out the kitchen door. The rain had stopped, and the sun was trying to burn through the glare of white clouds. The air still felt damp and chilly.

  “This way,” the old man said, tapping his stick on the dirt path that led away from the house. Tall hedges surrounded the backyard. They glistened with raindrops from the morning rain.

  “I don’t think you kids have ever seen a garden like this before.” He chuckled softly to himself.

  Maggie stepped up close to me. “I don’t see any garden,” she whispered in my ear.

  She was right. The yard was bare. No shrubs or plants or flowers.

  “It’s just weeds that haven’t been cut down,” Maggie whispered. “There’s nothing else here.”

  The dirt path curved toward the side of the yard. We followed it in silence, watching for signs of a garden.

  “What’s up with this?” Laci whispered. “It’s all just a mess. Where is the old man’s garden?”

  I watched him stroll along the path, tapping his stick. His head bobbed up and down as he walked. He rubbed his stubbly white beard with one hand.

  “He thinks he has a garden back here,” I whispered. “So weird.”

  Finally, the old man turned to face us. A thin smile crossed his face, wrinkling his red cheeks. “Are you ready to see the garden?” he asked.

  He didn’t give us a chance to answer.

  He let the walking stick fall to the ground. Then he began waving his hands in front of him. He waved his hands like an orchestra conductor, moving both of them up and down to a silent rhythm.

  I exchanged glances with Maggie and Laci. What did this creepy old dude think he was doing?