by R. L. Stine
What’s happening? she wondered.
The shadow moved again. She heard a scraping sound, the sound of a sleeve brushing the door frame.
Kris pushed herself to her feet. Her legs felt shaky as she crept to the door, following the moving shadow.
Out into the hallway. Even darker out here because there were no windows.
Toward the stairway.
The shadow moved more quickly now.
Kris followed, her bare feet moving lightly over the thin carpet.
What’s happening? What’s happening?
She caught up to the shadowy figure on the landing. “Hey!” she called, her voice a tight whisper.
She grabbed the shoulder and turned the figure around.
And stared into the grinning face of Mr. Wood.
19
Mr. Wood blinked, then hissed at her, an ugly sound, a menacing sound. In the darkness of the stairwell, his painted grin became a threatening leer.
In her fright, Kris squeezed the dummy’s shoulder, wrapping her fingers around the harsh fabric of his shirt.
“This — this is impossible!” she whispered.
He blinked again. He giggled. His mouth opened, making his grin grow wider.
He tried to tug out of Kris’s grasp, but she hung on without even realizing she was holding him.
“But — you’re a dummy!” she squealed.
He giggled again. “So are you,” he replied. His voice was a deep growl, like the angry snarl of a large dog.
“You can’t walk!” Kris cried, her voice trembling.
The dummy giggled its ugly giggle again.
“You can’t be alive!” Kris exclaimed.
“Let go of me — now!” the dummy growled.
Kris held on, tightening her grip. “I’m dreaming,” Kris told herself aloud. “I have to be dreaming.”
“I’m not a dream. I’m a nightmare!” the dummy exclaimed, and tossed back his wooden head, laughing.
Still gripping the shoulder of the shirt, Kris stared through the darkness at the grinning face. The air seemed to grow heavy and hot. She felt as if she couldn’t breathe, as if she were suffocating.
What was that sound?
It took her a while to recognize the strained gasps of her own breathing.
“Let go of me,” the dummy repeated. “Or I’ll throw you down the stairs.” He tried once again to tug out of her grasp.
“No!” Kris insisted, holding tight. “I — I’m putting you back in the closet.”
The dummy laughed, then pushed his painted face close to Kris’s face. “You can’t keep me there.”
“I’m locking you in. I’m locking you in a box. In something!” Kris declared, panic clouding her thoughts.
The darkness seemed to descend over her, choking her, weighing her down.
“Let go of me.” The dummy pulled hard.
Kris reached out her other hand and grabbed him around the waist.
“Let go of me,” he snarled in his raspy, deep rumble of a voice. “I’m in charge now. You will listen to me. This is my house now.”
He pulled hard.
Kris encircled his waist.
They both fell onto the stairs, rolling down a few steps.
“Let go!” the dummy ordered. He rolled on top of her, his wild eyes glaring into hers.
She pushed him off, tried to pin his arms behind his back.
He was surprisingly strong. He pulled back one arm, then shoved a fist hard into the pit of her stomach.
“Ohhh.” Kris groaned, feeling the breath knocked out of her.
The dummy took advantage of her momentary weakness and pulled free. Grasping the banister with one hand, he tried to pull himself past her and down the stairs.
But Kris shot out a foot and tripped him.
Still struggling to breathe, she pounced onto his back. Then she pulled him away from the banister and pushed him down hard onto a step.
“Oh!” Kris gasped loudly as the overhead hall light flashed on. She closed her eyes against the sudden harsh intrusion. The dummy struggled to pull out from under her, but she pushed down on his back with all her weight.
“Kris — what on earth —?!” Lindy’s startled voice called down from the top step.
“It’s Mr. Wood!” Kris managed to cry up to her. “He’s … alive!” She pushed down hard, sprawled over the dummy, keeping him pinned beneath her.
“Kris — what are you doing?” Lindy demanded. “Are you okay?”
“No!” Kris exclaimed. “I’m not okay! Please — Lindy! Go get Mom and Dad! Mr. Wood — he’s alive!”
“It’s just a dummy!” Lindy called down, taking a few reluctant steps toward her sister. “Get up, Kris! Have you lost your mind?”
“Listen to me!” Kris shrieked at the top of her lungs. “Get Mom and Dad! Before he escapes!”
But Lindy didn’t move. She stared down at her sister, her long hair falling in tangles about her face, her features twisted in horror. “Get up, Kris,” she urged. “Please — get up. Let’s go back to bed.”
“I’m telling you, he’s alive!” Kris cried desperately. “You’ve got to believe me, Lindy. You’ve got to!”
The dummy lay lifelessly beneath her, his face buried in the carpet, his arms and legs sprawled out to the sides.
“You had a nightmare,” Lindy insisted, climbing down step by step, holding her long nightshirt up above her ankles until she was standing right above Kris. “Come back to bed, Kris. It was just a nightmare. The horrible thing that happened at the concert — it gave you a nightmare, that’s all.”
Gasping for breath, Kris lifted herself up and twisted her head to face her sister. Grabbing the banister with one hand, she raised herself a little.
The instant she lightened up on him, the dummy grabbed the edge of the stair with both hands and pulled himself out from under her. Half falling, half crawling, he scrambled down the rest of the stairs.
“No! No! I don’t believe it!” Lindy shrieked, seeing the dummy move.
“Go get Mom and Dad!” Kris said. “Hurry!”
Her mouth wide open in shocked disbelief, Lindy turned and headed back up the stairs, screaming for her parents.
Kris dived off the step, thrusting her arms in front of her.
She tackled Mr. Wood from behind, wrapping her arms around his waist.
His head hit the carpet hard as they both crumpled to the floor.
He uttered a low, throaty cry of pain. His eyes closed. He didn’t move.
Dazed, her chest heaving, her entire body trembling, Kris slowly climbed to her feet. She quickly pressed a foot on the dummy’s back to hold him in place.
“Mom and Dad — where are you?” she cried aloud. “Hurry.”
The dummy raised its head. He let out an angry growl and started to thrash his arms and legs wildly.
Kris pressed her foot hard against his back.
“Let go!” he growled viciously.
Kris heard voices upstairs.
“Mom? Dad? Down here!” she called up to them.
Both of her parents appeared at the upstairs landing, their faces filled with worry.
“Look!” Kris cried, frantically pointing down to the dummy beneath her foot.
20
“Look at what?” Mr. Powell cried, adjusting his pajama top.
Kris pointed down to the dummy under her foot. “He — he’s trying to get away,” she stammered.
But Mr. Wood lay lifeless on his stomach.
“Is this supposed to be a joke?” Mrs. Powell demanded angrily, hands at the waist of her cotton nightgown.
“I don’t get it,” Mr. Powell said, shaking his head.
“Mr. Wood — he ran down the stairs,” Kris said frantically. “He’s been doing everything. He —”
“This isn’t funny,” Mrs. Powell said wearily, running a hand back through her blond hair. “It isn’t funny at all, Kris. Waking everyone up in the middle of the night.”
“I really th
ink you’ve lost your mind. I’m very worried about you,” Mr. Powell added. “I mean, after what happened at school tonight —”
“Listen to me!” Kris shrieked. She bent down and pulled Mr. Wood up from the floor. Holding him by the shoulders, she shook him hard. “He moves! He runs! He talks! He — he’s alive!”
She stopped shaking the dummy and let go. He slumped lifelessly to the floor, falling in an unmoving heap at her feet.
“I think maybe you need to see a doctor,” Mr. Powell said, his face tightening with concern.
“No. I saw him, too!” Lindy said, coming to Kris’s aid. “Kris is right. The dummy did move.” But then she added, “I mean, I think it moved!”
You’re a big help, Lindy, Kris thought, suddenly feeling weak, drained.
“Is this just another stupid prank?” Mrs. Powell asked angrily. “After what happened at school tonight, I’d think that would be enough.”
“But, Mom —” Kris started, staring down at the lifeless heap at her feet.
“Back to bed,” Mrs. Powell ordered. “There’s no school tomorrow. We’ll have plenty of time to discuss punishments for you two.”
“Me?” Lindy cried, outraged. “What did I do?”
“Mom, we’re telling the truth!” Kris insisted.
“I still don’t get the joke,” Mr. Powell said, shaking his head. He turned to his wife. “Were we supposed to believe her or something?”
“Get to bed. Both of you. Now!” their mother snapped. She and their father disappeared from the upstairs landing, heading angrily back down the hall to their room.
Lindy remained, one hand on the top of the banister, staring down regretfully at Kris.
“You believe me, don’t you?” Kris called up to her.
“Yeah. I guess,” Lindy replied doubtfully, lowering her eyes to the dummy at Kris’s feet.
Kris looked down, too. She saw Mr. Wood blink. He started to straighten up.
“Whoa!” She uttered an alarmed cry and grabbed him by the neck. “Lindy — hurry!” she called. “He’s moving again!”
“Wh-what should we do?” Lindy stammered, making her way hesitantly down the stairs.
“I don’t know,” Kris replied as the dummy thrashed his arms and legs against the carpet, trying desperately to free himself from her two-handed grip on his neck. “We’ve got to —”
“There’s nothing you can do,” Mr. Wood snarled. “You will be my slaves now. I’m alive once again! Alive!”
“But — how?” Kris demanded, staring at him in disbelief. “I mean, you’re a dummy. How —?”
The dummy snickered. “You brought me back to life,” he told her in his raspy voice. “You read the ancient words.”
The ancient words? What was he talking about?
And then Kris remembered. She had read the strange-sounding words from the sheet of paper in the dummy’s shirt pocket.
“I am back, thanks to you,” the dummy growled. “And now you and your sister will serve me.”
As she stared in horror at the grinning dummy, an idea popped into Kris’s mind.
The paper. She had tucked it back into his pocket.
If I read the words again, Kris thought, it will put him back to sleep.
She reached out and grabbed him. He tried to jerk away, but she was too quick.
The folded sheet of yellow paper was in her hand.
“Give me that!” he cried. He swiped at it, but Kris swung it out of his reach.
She unfolded it quickly. And before the dummy could grab the paper out of her hands, she read the strange words aloud:
“Karru marri odonna loma molonu karrano.”
21
Both sisters stared at the dummy, waiting for him to collapse.
But he gripped the banister and tossed his head back in an amused, scornful laugh. “Those are the words of the ancient sorcerer to bring me to life!” he proclaimed. “Those aren’t the words to kill me!”
Kill him?
Yes, Kris thought frantically. She tossed down the yellow paper disgustedly.
We have no choice.
“We have to kill him, Lindy.”
“Huh?” Her sister’s face filled with surprise.
Kris grabbed the dummy by the shoulders and held on tightly. “I’ll hold him. You pull his head off.”
Lindy was beside her now. She had to duck away from Mr. Wood’s thrashing feet.
“I’ll hold him still,” Kris repeated. “Grab his head. Pull it off.”
“You — you’re sure?” Lindy hesitated, her features tight with fear.
“Just do it!” Kris screamed.
She let her hands slide down around Mr. Wood’s waist.
Lindy grabbed his head in both hands.
“Let go of me!” the dummy rasped.
“Pull!” Kris cried to her terrified sister.
Holding the dummy tightly around the waist, she leaned back, pulling him away from her sister.
Lindy’s hands were wrapped tightly around the dummy’s head. With a loud groan, she pulled hard.
The head didn’t come off.
Mr. Wood uttered a high-pitched giggle. “Stop. You’re tickling me!” he rasped.
“Pull harder!” Kris ordered her sister.
Lindy’s face was bright red. She tightened her grip on the head and pulled again, tugging with all her strength.
The dummy giggled his shrill, unpleasant giggle.
“It — it won’t come off,” Lindy said, sighing in defeat.
“Twist it off!” Kris suggested frantically.
The dummy thrashed out with his feet, kicking Kris in the stomach. But she held on. “Twist the head off!” she cried.
Lindy tried to turn the head.
The dummy giggled.
“It won’t twist!” Lindy cried in frustration. She let go of the head and took a step back.
Mr. Wood raised his head, stared up at Lindy, and grinned. “You can’t kill me. I have powers.”
“What do we do?” Lindy cried, raising her eyes to Kris.
“This is my house now,” the dummy rasped, grinning at Lindy as it struggled to wriggle out of Kris’s arms. “You will do as I say now. Put me down.”
“What do we do?” Lindy repeated.
“Take him upstairs. We’ll cut his head off,” Kris replied.
Mr. Wood swung his head around, his eyes stretched open in an evil glare.
“Ow!” Kris cried out in surprise as the dummy snapped his jaws over her arm, biting her. She pulled her arm away and, without thinking, slapped the dummy’s wooden head with the palm of her hand.
The dummy giggled in response. “Violence! Violence!” he said in a mock scolding tone.
“Get those sharp scissors. In your drawer,” Kris instructed her sister. “I’ll carry him up to our room.”
Her arm throbbed where he had bitten her. But she held on to him tightly and carried him up to their bedroom.
Lindy had already pulled the long metal scissors from the drawer. Her hand trembled as she opened and closed the blades.
“Below the neck,” Kris said, holding Mr. Wood tightly by the shoulders.
He hissed furiously at her. She dodged as he tried to kick her with both sneakered feet.
Holding the scissors with two hands, Lindy tried cutting the head off at the neck. The scissors didn’t cut, so she tried a sawing motion.
Mr. Wood giggled. “I told you. You can’t kill me.”
“It isn’t going to work,” Lindy cried, tears of frustration running down her cheeks. “Now what? “
“We’ll put him in the closet. Then we can think,” Kris replied.
“You have no need to think. You are my slaves,” the dummy rasped. “You will do whatever I ask. I will be in charge from now on.”
“No way,” Kris muttered, shaking her head.
“What if we won’t help you?” Lindy demanded.
The dummy turned to her, casting her a hard, angry stare. “Then I’ll start hurting the
ones you love,” he said casually. “Your parents. Your friends. Or maybe that disgusting dog that’s always yapping at me.” He tossed back his head and a dry, evil laugh escaped his wooden lips.
“Lock him in the closet,” Lindy suggested. “Till we figure out how to get rid of him.”
“You can’t get rid of me,” Mr. Wood insisted. “Don’t make me angry. I have powers. I’m warning you. I’m starting to get tired of your stupid attempts to harm me.”
“The closet doesn’t lock — remember?” Kris cried, struggling to hold on to the wriggling dummy.
“Oh. Wait. How about this?” Lindy hurried to the closet. She pulled out an old suitcase from the back.
“Perfect,” Kris said.
“I’m warning you —” Mr. Wood threatened. “You are becoming very tiresome.”
With a hard tug, he pulled himself free of Kris.
She dove to tackle him, but he darted out from under her. She fell facedown onto her bed.
The dummy ran to the center of the room, then turned his eyes to the doorway, as if trying to decide where to go. “You must do as I tell you,” he said darkly, raising a wooden hand toward Lindy. “I will not run from you two. You are to be my slaves.”
“No!” Kris cried, pushing herself up.
She and her sister both dove at the dummy. Lindy grabbed his arms. Kris ducked to grab his ankles.
Working together, they stuffed him into the open suitcase.
“You will regret this,” he threatened, kicking his legs, struggling to hit them. “You will pay dearly for this. Now someone will die!”
He continued screaming after Kris latched the suitcase and shoved it into the closet. She quickly closed the closet door, then leaned her back against it, sighing wearily.
“Now what?” she asked Lindy.
22
“We’ll bury him,” Kris said.
“Huh?” Lindy stifled a yawn.
They had been whispering together for what seemed like hours. As they tried to come up with a plan, they could hear the dummy’s muffled cries from inside the closet.
“We’ll bury him. Under that huge mound of dirt,” Kris explained, her eyes going to the window. “You know. Next door, at the side of the new house.”