by R. L. Stine
The driver nodded. He pulled the car inside and made a wide circle, stopping at the side door to the offices. “Hurry. Before he sees you,” he said.
Kelly, Jamal, and I jumped out. We watched him pull away, then we slipped through the door into the building.
Jamal rolled his eyes. “That was easy.”
I peered down the long hallway. No one in sight. The building was very modern looking. Bright blue-and-yellow walls. Tall bronze sculptures. Glass office doors. Lots of sunlight streamed in from high windows.
“This way,” I said. I was pretty sure I could find Dad’s office. We had to find Ms. Duveen, Dad’s secretary. She’d know where Dad was filming. We started to trot, our shoes thudding the hard floor.
We passed large framed posters of the movies Dad had made here. The 800-Pound Gorilla … Octo-Man vs. the Squid Sisters … It Came from Beneath My Bed …
“These are awesome,” Jamal said, stopping to admire the big poster for Jaws of the Jellyfish. “I never saw that one.”
I gave him a gentle shove. “Keep going. We have to find Dad, remember? A little problem about a propane tank?”
We stopped short when two young men in jeans and polo shirts crossed the hall ahead of us. They were both talking at once, waving papers in their hands, and didn’t see us.
I realized my heart was thudding in my chest. Was I leading in the right direction?
I heard some women laughing in an office to our left. “Hurry,” I whispered. We ran past the office and turned a corner. It suddenly looked familiar. In front of us, there stood an enormous eight-foot-tall gold Oscar award with a hairy gorilla arm coming out of the top. That’s what greeted visitors to the studio.
I knew Dad’s office was on the other side of the statue. I could see the double glass doors at the end of the hall. I took off running. I could hear Kelly and Jamal close behind.
I pushed open the glass door and burst inside. Ms. Duveen wasn’t at her desk. The door to Dad’s office was open behind it.
I swerved around Ms. Duveen’s desk and poked my head into Dad’s office. His desk was piled high with papers, mostly scripts. A younger Kelly and I grinned at ourselves from a framed photo on the wall.
“We have to get to the set before the dummies do their dirty work,” I said.
“But how do we find it?” Jamal asked.
“Wait. I think I know,” I said. “I think it’s in that huge building that looks like an airplane hangar, behind these offices.”
So we took off again, with me leading the way. I have to admit that I don’t spend a lot of time running. I’m not on any sports teams, and I don’t jog or run for fun. So all this running was making me gasp for breath. My leg muscles throbbed, and I had a sharp pain in my side.
But I knew we might not have much time. We had to get to Dad as fast as we could. We turned into another long hall that led to the back of the building.
About eight or nine people were seated around a long table in a conference room. They all turned and looked up as we went running past.
“Who are those kids?” I heard a woman ask.
I didn’t hear the answer, because Kelly, Jamal, and I pushed open the doors and ran onto the back lot.
I could see the maroon hangar-like building across a wide plaza. Men were moving a tall boom microphone in through the front doors. Several people stood at the side of the entrance, talking and waving scripts in their hands.
In front of us stood a row of white trailers. I knew the actors stayed in their trailers when they weren’t working on the set. And I knew there were trailers for the makeup people, and a few trailers for the tech guys.
Almost there, I thought. In a few seconds, we’d be at the set and we could tell Dad about the missing propane tank—and maybe save everyone’s lives.
“This way.” I motioned to Kelly and Jamal. They were both breathing hard. And I could see the tension on their faces as they gazed at the enormous building.
We started to run through the rows of trailers when a voice rang out:
“Hey—stop!”
With a sharp gasp, I turned to see two dark-uniformed security guards moving toward us.
“The guy in the parking lot,” Jamal choked out. “He must have alerted them.”
“Stop! Stop right there, kids.”
“You don’t belong on this lot!”
The two men began jogging fast.
We slipped between two trailers, where they couldn’t see us.
We had to escape. We had to find Dad. We didn’t have time to deal with these guards.
My brain was spinning. I didn’t think. There was no time to think.
I ran up the short ladder, pulled open the door to one of the trailers. And the three of us stumbled inside.
Jamal slammed the door shut behind him.
Dark inside. The trailer’s one window was covered by a shade.
Was anyone in here? I couldn’t hear anything over my wheezing breaths. My heart felt as if it had jumped into my mouth, and I could barely breathe.
The three of us stood frozen in the darkness. Listening. Listening to the shouts of the guards outside the trailer. They ran past us. I could hear the heavy thuds of their shoes on the pavement. Their shouts grew fainter.
We didn’t move till we were sure they were gone. Then I fumbled on the wall, found a light switch, and clicked on a ceiling light.
No one else in here. The trailer had two canvas director chairs, a low table with a six-pack of water bottles, a mini-refrigerator against the wall. A red metal lunchbox on the floor beside a stack of books. A plate of cookies and a bowl of fruit.
“Oh no!”
Kelly was the first to see them.
Her cry made me spin around. And I saw them, too.
The two dummies. Slappy and Snappy. They had been hung on the wall on large hooks. Their arms and legs fell limply down. Their heads were down, too, slumped so we could see only their dark, painted hair.
“This is where they are storing them,” Jamal said.
“We got lucky,” Kelly said. “Maybe we can make them talk.”
A burst of anger made me feel hot all over. A roar escaped my throat. We had these two evil troublemakers alone.
I lurched forward and grabbed the dummy on the left. I pulled him off the hook, turned his head, and stared at his eyes. Green eyes. Slappy.
My anger took over. I held the dummy by the waist and shook him hard, shook him with all my strength.
“Tell us!” I screamed. “Tell us—now. Where did you put the propane tank? Talk!”
Slappy’s head bobbed back and forth as I shook him. His wooden eyelids opened and closed. His feet dangled crazily, doing a wild dance in the air as I jerked him one way, then the other.
“Talk!” I screamed. “Where is it?”
The dummy’s head bobbed lifelessly. It didn’t speak.
Kelly leaped forward and grabbed Slappy by the head. She twisted it until the eyes stared at her. “We know you have the tank,” she said. “And we know you’re planning something terrible. Tell us where it is, Slappy.”
The eyes gazed glassily at her. The mouth didn’t move.
I took the dummy by the legs and swung it hard. Its head hit the trailer wall with a loud thunnnk. “Tell us!” I cried.
Slappy remained limp and silent.
“He’s not going to tell us,” Jamal said. “Let’s try the other dummy.”
He lifted Snappy off the hook and lowered the dummy in front of him. “Snappy, you’re the good brother,” Jamal said. “You are the sensible one, the kind one. You’ve got to tell us where Slappy has hidden the propane tank.”
Silence. The dummy drooped in his arms, its shoes tapping against the floor.
“Snappy, come on,” Kelly insisted. “You have to stop your brother. You don’t want him to harm innocent people—do you?”
No response.
I shook Slappy some more. “Are you going to speak up?”
“I know you two don’t
want my dad to split you up,” Kelly told Snappy. “But you don’t want to let Slappy blow up the whole studio—do you?”
We were getting nowhere. The two dummies were acting like lifeless puppets. We knew the truth. We knew they could speak. And we knew they had brought the propane tank and hidden it somewhere.
I was so angry and frightened and frustrated, I began to twist Slappy’s arm. “How does that feel? Can you feel that? Does it hurt?”
Kelly grabbed my hand. “Stop, Luke. It isn’t working. We have to find Dad.”
A loud clannnk from the trailer door as it opened made all three of us jump. Slappy fell from my hands and crumpled in a heap at my feet.
A bright beam of sunlight slanted into the trailer as the door started to open.
“The guards. We’re caught!” I whispered.
The young man who climbed into the trailer didn’t look like a security guard. He had curly black hair falling from beneath a Dodgers baseball cap, and a black beard. He wore silvery sunglasses, baggy denim jeans, and a red-and-black flannel lumberjack shirt open over a black T-shirt.
His mouth dropped open when he saw the three of us. He pulled off his sunglasses and squinted at us. “Who are you? What are you doing in here?” he demanded. He had a soft, whispery voice.
“My dad owns the studio,” I said. “Have you seen him?”
He rubbed his beard. “No. I just got here. But you didn’t answer my question.”
“It’s a long story,” I said. “These dummies—”
“Who are you?” Kelly interrupted. “Is this your trailer?”
“Kind of,” he answered. “My name is Derek. I’m the puppeteer. I’m going to be operating these two guys.”
“They don’t need a puppeteer,” Jamal chimed in. “They walk and talk on their own.”
“Ha,” Derek said. “Funny.”
“No. We’re serious,” Kelly said, still holding on to Snappy. “We’re not joking.”
“I think I saw some horror movies like that,” Derek said. “Did you ever see the Chucky movies? Or are you too young?” He bent to pick Slappy up from the floor. “You shouldn’t be playing with these things. I was told they are very valuable.”
I grabbed Derek’s arm. “Listen to me,” I said. “We are trying to tell you the truth. These dummies are alive—and they are totally dangerous.”
He grinned at me. “Thanks for the warning, dude. I’ll try to be careful.” Then he burst out laughing.
I let out a frustrated sigh. “Derek, did you see a propane tank anywhere?”
He rubbed his beard. “No. I told you. I just got here. I came straight from the parking lot.”
He raised Slappy in front of him. “Listen, kids. It’s been fun, but you’ve got to go. I have a two o’clock call. Got to rehearse these guys.”
We were already heading to the trailer door. No way we could convince Derek that we were telling the truth about Slappy and Snappy. No way we could get him to believe how much trouble we were all in.
Jamal pushed open the door and jumped down the stairs. Kelly followed.
I was at the door, about to leave, when I turned back. And saw Slappy raise his head. His green eyes blinked and locked on me. His mouth opened. And he whispered, “BOOOOOOM.”
We cut through the rows of trailers. I kept glancing one way, then the other, looking out for security guards. The afternoon sun was high in the sky now. There was no breeze at all. Drips of sweat covered my forehead and trickled into my eyes.
“Whoa. Stop,” I whispered. I saw two dark-uniformed guards at the catering table at the side of the wide maroon studio building. They were piling sandwiches onto their plates.
A golf cart carrying three young women in light-colored business suits stopped at the entrance to the building. The three women climbed out and began talking with another guard at the door.
“We have to get in there,” I said. “Look. That red light is on. It means they are shooting a scene.”
“Dad must be in there,” Kelly said. “Think the guard will let us past the door?”
“Maybe he will if you tell him who you are,” Jamal said.
“And if we tell him it’s an emergency,” I added.
BOOM!
I screamed at the sound of an explosion.
My knees started to fold. I grabbed the side of a trailer to hold myself up.
It took a few seconds to realize it wasn’t an explosion. Someone had dropped a giant metal wheel of cable off a truck, and it had hit the ground with a deafening bang.
My heart still pounding, I motioned Kelly and Jamal forward. The two security dudes had walked away with their sandwiches. Only a few people hung around outside the entrance to the studio.
“Act like we belong here,” Jamal said. “Act like we know where we’re going. Maybe we’ll get in.”
“Don’t say maybe,” Kelly said. “We’ve wasted a lot of time already. We don’t know how much time we have. We have to get in there.”
We made our way past the long food table. And we were just a few steps from the studio door—when a tall, blond woman in a dark skirt and bright blue top stepped quickly to block our path.
“Hey, what are you kids doing here? Did David invite you to be extras in the crowd scene today?”
“Hi, Ms. Duveen,” I said. I recognized Dad’s secretary instantly.
I could have answered yes to her question. But I didn’t want to lie to her. I liked her a lot. “We—we have to see Dad right away,” I stammered.
Ms. Duveen pointed to the red light. “You can’t go in. They’re shooting a scene in there now.”
“But it’s a matter of life or death!” Kelly cried.
Ms. Duveen shook her head. Her short blond hair gleamed in the bright sunlight. “It will be your death if you interrupt your dad’s scene.”
“You don’t understand,” I said. “There’s danger. I mean, we’re all in danger. I mean—”
Ms. Duveen raised her phone to her face. “Sorry, kids. I have to take this.” She pressed the phone to her ear, turned, and walked off toward the side of the building.
“Let’s go!” I cried. The guard had disappeared. The red light was still on. But we had no choice. This was our big chance.
I took a deep breath and tugged open the tall door. A deafening explosion of noise made me cry out. A clanging bell. It sounded like the fire alarm at school. We’d set off an alarm.
I heard Kelly and Jamal gasp. They both slipped in behind me.
I squinted into the bright lights and screamed over the wail of the shrill, clanging alarm. “Dad! Dad! Where are you? Dad?”
He wasn’t there.
I shielded my eyes with one hand. The lights were blindingly bright. “Dad?”
My eyes focused on the people standing around a coffee shop set. I saw four actors, two teenage boys and two girls, seated in a booth. All four of them jumped to their feet, covering their ears from the blare of the alarm.
A woman dropped her clipboard and spun around to stare at us. Crew members backed away from the camera and sound equipment. People shook their heads and shouted to one another.
Jamal, Kelly, and I huddled together just inside the door. I knew we had caused all the commotion. I knew we had just interrupted a scene.
But what we had to tell Dad was a lot more important.
If only he were here!
And then I saw him. He stepped out from behind a round spotlight and came stomping toward us. He swung his fists at his sides as he strode across the set. He squinted at us. His expression seemed more confused than angry.
Someone cut the alarm off, and the huge hangar grew silent for a few seconds. Then it seemed as if everyone began to talk at once.
“Dad—” I started as he roared up to us.
But he didn’t give me a chance to talk. “What are you doing here? You ruined the first good take of the day. I told you not to come. I’m not using you in the movie—remember?”
“We had to come,” I shouted, my
voice more shrill than I’d intended. My words echoed off the high walls. “This time, you have to listen to us, Dad.”
“This time, someone could get hurt,” Kelly added.
Dad slapped the sides of his head. “Don’t tell me. You’ve got another crazy dummy story. Please don’t tell me you’re going to talk about those dummies.”
Jamal cleared his throat. “You should give them a chance, Mr. Harrison.”
Dad shook his head. “I swear I’ll kill someone if you tell me you ruined my scene because of those dummies.”
I grabbed Dad’s arm. “Just listen to us. We’re not crazy. And we’re not stupid. This isn’t a joke or a story.”
“This is real,” Kelly said. “You’ve got to believe us.”
Dad pulled his arm free of my grip. “Okay. Go ahead. I’m giving you thirty seconds before we have a conversation about how much trouble you’re in.”
“You’re the one who’s in trouble,” I said. “The dummies are alive, Dad—no matter what you say. And they took the big propane tank from the garage.”
“They want to ruin your movie, Mr. Harrison,” Jamal said. “They’re going to blow up this building. People will get hurt. Maybe even killed.”
“You’ve got to believe us,” Kelly pleaded.
Dad crossed his arms over his chest. He had a scowl on his face. His eyes moved from Kelly to Jamal to me. “Let’s say the dummies really are alive,” he said. “Why on earth would they want to blow up my studio? Can you explain that?”
“Yes, we can,” I said. “They don’t want you to sell them to different owners and split them up.”
Dad scratched his beard. “Very good story idea for a horror movie,” he said.
“But do you believe us now?” I demanded. “Do you believe we’re telling the truth?”
His scowl grew deeper. “No, I don’t believe you,” he said. “I don’t believe a single word of it. And you three are in the worst trouble you’ve ever been in your lives.”
I uttered a choking sound. “But—why, Dad?” I cried.
He shook his head. “Because the dummies didn’t take the propane tank. I did.”