The Ghost of Slappy

by R. L. Stine

  Yes. I have an enemy.

  Most kids don’t have an enemy. But Trevor is mine. How did I get an enemy? Just lucky, I guess.

  Actually, Trevor and I had been good friends. We hung out together. And we spent a lot of hours playing Xbox games at his house. We were good buddies. Until I kicked him during a school soccer game and broke his ankle.

  Of course, it was an accident. I’d slipped on the grass and my feet slid out from under me.

  I heard the horrible craaack from Trevor’s ankle before I hit the ground. He just stood there staring wide-eyed, his mouth hanging open. Until the pain made him scream and he fell to his knees.

  He had to have a few operations. And he walked on crutches for months.

  How many times did I apologize? Maybe a thousand? My parents sent Trevor gifts. I hurried to his house as soon as he came out of the hospital to apologize some more times. But he refused to see me. Later, he wouldn’t even talk to me or text me back ever.

  So that was the end of our friendship. And the beginning of our enemyship.

  And now from the bus seat behind me, Trevor gave the back of my head a hard slap. And he said, “You’re such a total jerk, Shep. You screamed like a baby when you saw that stupid dummy in the driver’s seat.”

  “Did not,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “Leave Shep alone,” Carlos told Trevor.

  “Who’s going to make me?” Trevor kicked the back of my seat, so hard it made me snap forward, then back.

  “Just ignore him,” Carlos said to me. He handed me a Twizzler. We sat chewing. Trevor settled back in his seat.

  Carlos eats only candy. I’ve never seen him eat much real food. He is big and tall and strong. So I guess it agrees with him.

  Carlos is a good friend to have. For one thing, his parents work at the Springdale Riding Academy. So some weekends, Carlos and I get to feed the horses and hang out with them.

  The bus slowed down and edged to the curb in front of Courtney Levitt’s house. I’ve been to Courtney’s house. Her family has a swimming pool in back. And one summer, Courtney invited me to one of her pool parties.

  The driver opened the bus door. Then she climbed up and scurried to the back. Hanson quickly lowered the dummy into the driver’s seat. He raised the dummy’s hands to the steering wheel.

  “Horrible Hanson strikes again,” Carlos murmured. He offered me another Twizzler. “He gets such a charge out of scaring us.”

  “He’s a menace,” I whispered. “He wants us to live in a horror movie.”

  Carlos nodded. “I’ll bet he’s been saving his best ghost stories for the campfire tonight.”

  That sent a chill to the back of my neck. It made me think of Annalee. A picture flashed into my mind. The picture of her coming at me, that stern look on her face … reaching for me … reaching for me.

  I shuddered.

  “What’s wrong?” Carlos asked, bumping my shoulder with his.

  “Nothing,” I said. I pointed out the window. “Here comes Courtney.”

  Courtney and her parents were striding down their driveway, carrying her overnight bag and backpack and sleeping bag.

  Everyone got quiet. They all wanted to see how Courtney would react when she saw the dummy in the driver’s seat. Hanson had his phone ready to snap her photo. He couldn’t hide his excitement. He was actually giggling.

  I leaned forward, my hands on the seat back in front of me. I watched Courtney climb onto the bus. She turned and gazed down the long aisle. I guessed she was trying to see who was already on board.

  Then she turned to the driver. She squinted at the dummy for a moment. Then she grabbed its hand and shook it. “Nice to meet you. I’m Courtney,” she said.

  Everyone laughed. Hanson groaned. He lowered his phone. I could see how disappointed he was that Courtney didn’t scream or act horrified.

  “Take a seat, Courtney,” he said. “Dawn Meadows’s house is the next stop.”

  Courtney pushed past him, waving at some of her friends near the back.

  Hanson reached for the dummy.

  But he stopped when the bus door slammed shut. I heard a loud roar. Hanson’s eyes bulged as the bus jerked forward. Hard.

  The teacher stumbled and fell onto the front row. Sprawled over two kids.

  Another roar. The bus lurched away from the curb.

  Kids started to scream. Hanson struggled to stand up.

  The bus rocketed down the middle of the street, picking up speed.

  We were zigzagging crazily from side to side. The tires squealing. Engine thundering.

  We were roaring away—and the dummy was driving!

  Carlos and I were both screaming, gripping the seat backs in front of us. The bag of Twizzlers went flying into the aisle.

  All around, kids were screaming and shouting, “Stop! Stop!”

  Hanson struggled to his feet. His eyes still bulged and his face was as red as a tomato. He gripped the pole behind the driver’s seat as the bus swung hard from left to right.

  More screams as our bus scraped a parked car on the side of the street. The squeal of metal on metal rang in my ears.

  Hanson came up behind the driver’s seat. He reached out both hands to grab the dummy.

  “Nooooooo.”

  A horrified moan escaped my throat as the dummy tossed back its head. I could see it clearly. I wasn’t imagining it. The dummy had both hands on the wheel. And it tossed back its head and laughed—a shrill, evil laugh. The laugh sent chill after chill down my body, and I could feel the hairs rise on the back of my neck.

  The white-haired driver staggered past, bumping the seats as she hurtled to the front. She squeezed past Hanson, bent forward, and grabbed the dummy around the waist with both hands.

  The dummy continued its ugly laugh as the woman swept it up and heaved it at Hanson. Then she dived into the driver’s seat and slowed the bus to a stop.

  Hanson caught the dummy and held it tightly in front of him. The dummy kicked and thrashed and beat its head against Hanson’s chest.

  “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry about this!” Hanson kept screaming to us.

  A hush fell over the bus as Hanson fought to gain control over the squirming, twisting creature.

  “I … don’t … believe it,” Carlos muttered. “This has to be one of Hanson’s tricks, right?”

  I opened my mouth to reply, but no sound came out.

  It wasn’t a trick. It couldn’t be a trick.

  But then … what had we just seen?

  Hanson suddenly had a folded-up sheet of paper in his hand. I think he’d pulled it from the dummy’s jacket pocket.

  As the dummy struggled and squirmed, Hanson unfolded the paper in one hand. He raised it to his face and began to read in a desperate shout:

  “Karru Marri Odonna Loma Molonu Karrano!”

  The dummy stopped struggling. Its big, glassy eyes slid shut. Its wooden head lowered. And then its whole body slumped in Hanson’s arms.

  The teacher’s mouth hung open. He was shaking. He squeezed the dummy tightly against him. He was wheezing with each breath.

  Finally, he took a deep breath and held it. It seemed to calm him. He squeezed the dummy against his chest.

  “I … I think we’re safe now,” Hanson said. “I put him to sleep. He isn’t a danger anymore.”

  Then he cried out as the dummy slid from his arms and dropped to the floor.

  Screams rang out all around. Carlos and I jumped to our feet.

  The dummy crumpled in a heap in the aisle.

  “Don’t panic!” Hanson shouted. “Not a problem. I just dropped him.”

  He bent, wrapped one hand around the dummy’s head, and lifted it off the floor. “He’s harmless now,” Hanson said. He waved for everyone to sit back down. “It’s okay. He won’t bother us again. He’s not alive.”

  “You mean he was alive?” Carlos cried.

  Hanson sighed. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you the whole thing at the campfire toni
ght. But I swear this wasn’t one of my tricks to scare you.” He raised the dummy high. “This dummy is way too scary for me. I promise that he’ll never come to life again.”

  If only our teacher had kept that promise …

  Don’t go away, folks. This story is just getting good.

  You don’t think I’d let a few magic words keep me from having fun—do you?

  And for me, having fun is making sure no one else does!

  Hahahahaha.

  Aren’t I a scream?

  We hiked through the woods for most of the afternoon. We carried our bags and equipment with us. Mr. Hanson led us along a winding path, and we crunched through a thick blanket of dry brown leaves.

  It was a cool October day. The sun floated very low over the bare tree branches, and the wind was gusty and strong.

  We saw a family of rabbits and some brave squirrels that tried to stare us down. Mr. Hanson pointed to a bird high in the sky and said it was a hawk. But it was too small and plump to be a hawk. I’m pretty sure it was a pigeon.

  Everyone was quiet the whole hike. I think we were all freaked by what had happened on the bus. I know I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  Hanson had stuffed the dummy into his big duffel bag. I watched the bag bounce on his back as we walked. And I couldn’t stop hearing the dummy’s ugly laugh, again and again. His shrill, evil laugh as he crashed the bus down the street.

  Hanson swore it wasn’t a trick. But what else could it have been? Dummies don’t come to life, do they? Only in the movies …

  I was glad to arrive at the clearing where we were going to light the campfire, set up the tents, and spend the night. My back hurt from carrying all the equipment, and my stomach was growling. Carlos had a big bag of Peanut M&M’s, which helped us get through the hike. But now I was hungry for dinner. Hungry and tired and drenched with sweat despite the cold evening air. I hate being outdoors. Wish I were home having dinner, I thought.

  But then a picture of Annalee flashed into my mind. And I thought: Maybe being out here with my friends is better than being home with a ghost.

  A circle of ashes and burnt wood chips in the center of the clearing showed where other groups had built their campfires. The sun had dropped below the trees, and the air was growing colder. We were going to need a big fire.

  Hanson sent us all into the trees to gather firewood. Carlos and I worked together. There were sticks and tree branches all over the ground.

  I held out my arms and Carlos piled wood on them. Soon I was carrying a tall stack, nearly as high as my head. “It’s getting heavy,” I groaned. “Let’s go back.”

  I turned toward the clearing. But stopped when I heard a roar and the thunder of pounding feet over the leafy ground.

  “Sneak attack!”

  I heard the cry. Then I saw Trevor Pincus barreling toward us. He lowered his shoulder like a football running back—and rammed right into me with all his might.

  “Ooof!” I uttered a choking cry. All the firewood went flying as I doubled over.

  Trevor tossed back his head and laughed. “Sneak attack!” he repeated.

  “Not funny.” I burst forward, grabbed his shoulders, and gave him a shove.

  He shoved back. “I thought it was hilarious!”

  “Give us a break,” Carlos yelled.

  Trevor gave me another hard shove. “Can’t take a joke?”

  “You’re a joke!” I said. I shoved him back.

  Carlos moved to break up the shoving match. Trevor swept a pile of dead leaves into his hands and dropped them over Carlos’s head. Then he laughed and took off, running back to the clearing.

  “I hate having an enemy,” I said. “I wish Trevor and I could get it together and make up.”

  “Make up? Yeah, sure. And I wish I had a Snickers bar as big as my head,” Carlos said. “Know what I’m saying?”

  By the time we got back to the clearing, everyone was setting up tents. The girls lined up their tents on the far side of the fire. The boys took the other side.

  Carlos and I made sure our tent was far away from Trevor’s. We didn’t want any sneak attacks in the middle of the night.

  Hanson made hot dogs on a charcoal grill for dinner. And we had potato salad and baked beans. I followed Carlos to the food table and grabbed a paper plate.

  I stopped when I saw Maryjane Dewey smiling at me from across the table. I’ve had a crush on Maryjane ever since I was old enough to have crushes.

  I think she’s awesome. She has long black hair, which she keeps in a wide braid that goes down her back. Big green eyes. And a terrific smile. And she’s funny and smart and very popular.

  Maryjane seldom smiles at me, even though we sit next to each other in class. Truth is, she pretty much doesn’t know I exist.

  So you can imagine my shock when I saw the big smile she had for me at the food table. “Hi,” I said. “How’s it going?”

  She didn’t answer. Just kept smiling.

  “Fun night, huh?” I said.

  She blinked. “Oh. Shep. Hi.”

  “You … uh … were smiling at me, so I thought I’d say hi.”

  She laughed. “I was smiling at the hot dogs. I’m totally starving.”

  “Smiling at the hot dogs?”

  She nodded.

  Awkward.

  I grabbed a couple of hot dogs, spun away from the table, and hurried to catch up to Carlos.

  The sun had gone down. The sky was purple and filled with stars. I zipped my parka to the top and pulled the hood down over my head.

  The fire crackled and blazed. The red and yellow flames swept high, reaching for the sky.

  We huddled in a circle around the fire. Our faces were red in the firelight, with shadows flickering over us.

  “Listen up, everyone,” Hanson said, warming his hands in front of the fire. “I was going to tell a ghost story. But I think we’ve had enough scares for one day.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. I really didn’t want to hear a scary ghost story. I have my own real ghost story at home.

  “I’m going to tell you the truth about that dummy,” Hanson said. “It’s a crazy, insane, unbelievable story. But I know you’ll believe me—because you were there. You saw it with your own eyes. The dummy can come to life.”

  The fire crackled loudly and some logs toppled down. A few kids jumped at the sound. No one spoke. No one said a word.

  “The dummy has a name,” Hanson continued. “The name is Slappy. He’s very old. I don’t know exactly how old. I found him in my grandfather’s attic. I don’t know how he got there.”

  He crossed his legs and rubbed his hands together, warming them. “I started to do research on Slappy. Do you believe the dummy has his own Wikipedia page?”

  Carlos and I exchanged glances. Was Hanson doing his usual horror-story routine? He had sworn this wasn’t a joke.

  “This is what I learned,” he continued, raising his voice over the crackle of the fire. “Slappy was made by some kind of sorcerer. The dummy has powers. Evil magic. I mean, it can come to life.”

  Some kids started to murmur and whisper. Hanson waited for them to get silent again.

  “There is a set of words. The words you heard me say on the bus. If you say the words aloud, Slappy will come to life. The only way to put him back to sleep is to say the words again.”

  “Are you making this all up?” Courtney Levitt demanded.

  Hanson shook his head. “You saw it, Courtney. You saw me use the words to put Slappy back to sleep on the bus. This isn’t a story. It’s real!”

  “And he’s asleep now?” I asked. “He can’t wake up?”

  Hanson nodded. “He can’t wake up on his own. Someone has to read the words to wake him up. And believe me, people—no way I’ll ever say those words again!”

  “He’s, like, dead?” a boy on the other side of the fire demanded. “It’s really safe to have him here?”

  “He’s like dead,” Hanson said. “I made a terrible mistak
e. Last night—I said the words out loud. I didn’t believe the whole story. I thought it was a joke. I said the words and … and you saw what happened on the bus this morning.”

  A lot of whispering and low voices around the fire. Then Trevor said, “If it’s totally safe, can we see him again?”

  That made a lot of kids chime in. Both yes and no.

  “Do you really want to see him?” Hanson asked. “It’s perfectly safe. Trust me. We can even pass him around.”

  More murmured conversations.

  “Okay. Let’s go get him,” Hanson said. “You can see this evil guy close up.” He pointed at Trevor. “The dummy is in my tent. Right over there. In the big duffel bag. Pull him out and bring him here, okay?”

  Trevor gave Hanson a two-fingered salute. Then he climbed to his feet and took off, running to Hanson’s tent. He disappeared into the tent. We all turned to watch.

  The fire danced in front of us. I heard the whoo whoo of owls far away in the trees. I shivered and pulled my hoodie tighter around my face.

  We watched Hanson’s tent. And waited. It seemed to be taking Trevor a long time.

  Hanson scratched his head. “I told him the big duffel bag. There’s only one duffel bag,” he said.

  And then we all saw Trevor’s head poke out of the tent. Trevor took a few steps toward us. “Mr. Hanson—” he called. “Mr. Hanson … the dummy—it’s GONE!”

  I gasped. A few kids uttered cries.

  Hanson jumped to his feet. “That’s impossible,” he said. He spun away from the fire and began striding fast toward Trevor, swinging his fists at his sides. “You looked in the wrong place.”

  We watched Trevor follow Hanson into the tent.

  “The dummy is still alive,” I heard Dawn Meadows say. “He’s out there somewhere.” She jumped up. So did a bunch of other kids. They all turned slowly, peering into the dark trees.

  “Hanson put him to sleep,” someone said. “Trevor is just an idiot. He can never find anything.”

  “But what if the dummy came to life again? What then?”

  “He’s dangerous. He tried to kill us driving that bus.”