by Stine, R. L.
Mom and Dad discussed it. They didn’t really want me to go to Stick’s. They still wanted to keep me home, where they could watch me.
But I pleaded with them. I told them how much everyone at the YC was counting on me to help keep the YC alive. And I reminded them I’d been good for days.
Finally, they agreed to let me go to Stick’s house for a few hours.
“I promise I won’t get in any trouble,” I said, raising my right hand to swear. “I promise I’ll be just like the old me.”
Think I was able to keep that promise?
It was a warm, sunny day with a few puffy clouds high in the sky. The sunshine felt good on my face as I walked to Stick’s house.
It had poured down rain the night before. The sidewalks and the street still had deep puddles, and the grass gleamed wetly.
A black cat ran right in front of me as I turned the corner. But I didn’t care. I felt so lucky to be out of the house and out in the sunshine. And I felt lucky to feel like my old self.
Stick, Miles, and I still had a problem. We hadn’t thought up a better idea for what to bake. The giant cupcake was our most awesome idea. But of course, it was impossible.
I was thinking about cookies and cakes when I saw the little kid near the curb. He was about seven or eight. He had curly blond hair and a round red face. His black T-shirt came down nearly to the knees of his cargo jeans.
He was bent over his bike, tugging at the handlebars, making loud groaning sounds with each tug.
I hurried over to him. “Can I help?” I said. “What’s the problem?”
“It’s stuck,” he groaned. “My bike. I’m late for my tennis lesson. But my bike got stuck in the mud.”
“Stand back.” I pushed him gently to the side. “I’ll get it out. No problem.”
“Hey, thanks,” he said. He was breathing hard, and his face was still red from all the tugging.
I grabbed the handlebars and started to pull. But then I heard a loud chirp.
I let go of the handlebars. The sky darkened for a second. And it felt like the ground was shaking under my feet.
I turned from the bike. “Can I see your tennis racket?” I said.
The boy pointed to the basket on the front of the bike. I lifted the racket case from the basket.
I opened the case and slid out the tennis racket. “Nice,” I said. “Is it titanium?”
The little guy nodded.
I swung the racket hard and jammed the head deep in the mud.
“Hey!” The boy let out a cry.
Then I tugged the bike up from the mud. I raised it over my head in both hands — and heaved it into the street.
Then I dipped my hands into the mud. I swung around and wiped mud all over the boy’s face.
He screamed again and twisted away.
I tossed back my head and uttered a long Slappy laugh.
The boy started to cry. That made me laugh even harder.
Then I took off running. My feet slapped the sidewalk as I ran.
I gasped when I heard a man’s booming shout: “Hey, you! Come back here!”
I turned my head and saw Mr. Gurewitz, our neighbor.
He saw me. He saw what I did.
Now what?
“Come back here!” Gurewitz shouted.
I turned and ran toward the nearest house. I pushed open the wooden gate and darted along the garage to the backyard.
I could hear Gurewitz’s heavy footsteps. He was chasing after me. “Come back! Stop! I saw you!”
I ducked my head under a volleyball net and ran into the next yard. A man was watering his garden with a long hose. He had his back turned and didn’t see me as I crossed to the next house.
“Stop right there!” Mr. Gurewitz’s shout made the man spin around, and a powerful stream of water sprayed Gurewitz from head to foot.
Gurewitz cried out in shock. He stopped running.
I glimpsed him wiping water off his face as I turned and ducked along the side of a house. I made it to the street and kept running.
No sign of Gurewitz. I guess his cold shower made him give up.
I started to feel like myself again as I crossed the street onto Stick’s block. Two kids passed by on bikes. Both of them wore blue baseball caps and had iPod buds in their ears. They didn’t turn to look at me.
I stopped to catch my breath. I felt bad about the little boy with the tennis racket. How could I do such a mean thing?
Did Mr. Gurewitz recognize me? He only saw me from the back. But he probably knew it was me. That meant he would probably tell my parents.
And then … I was doomed.
I tried not to think about it as Stick greeted me at his front door. “Yo, what’s up?”
“Not much,” I said. I pictured the tennis racket jammed deep in the mud. “I’m feeling okay. Think I can go back to school on Monday.”
Miles popped up from the living room couch. “What for?” he asked. “You got it made, dude. You get to stay home all day.” He laughed.
“It’s way boring,” I said. I glimpsed the time display on the cable box on top of the TV. “Hey, let’s get going,” I said. “I’m only allowed to stay an hour or so. My parents are still on my case.”
“That’s cuz you’re a mental case!” Miles said.
“Not funny,” Stick said. “That’s not cool, Miles. Jackson isn’t a mental case. He’s a nut case.”
They both laughed. Stick’s mom walked into the room.
“What are you guys laughing about?” she asked. “Did someone burp?”
“Mom, give us a break,” Stick groaned. “We’re a little more sophisticated than that.”
Miles burped really loud, and we all laughed.
“You three are going to turn my kitchen into a disaster zone,” she said. “Will I need to hose it down when you’re finished?”
My heart skipped a beat. I thought of Mr. Gurewitz getting the hose spray in the face.
“No. We’ll be neat,” Stick told her. “I promise. We’ll clean it up perfectly when we’re done.”
“First we have to decide what to bake,” Miles said.
“Your giant cupcake idea was a real loser,” Mrs. Haggerty said.
“Thanks for the support, Mom.” Stick rolled his eyes.
“I know,” Miles said, jumping to his feet. “Why not bake regular cupcakes? We could do dozens of them. Maybe make the icing all different colors. Maybe the icing spells out something when they’re on the tray?”
“Cool,” I said. “Maybe put Y’s and C’s on the icing. You know. For YC?”
“You’re a good speller,” Mrs. Haggerty joked. “Okay, guys. Have fun. Just don’t make my kitchen look like a tsunami rolled over it. I’m serious.”
We watched her walk out of the room. Then we made our way to the kitchen.
It took us a while to find a nice, easy cupcake recipe in Mrs. Haggerty’s collection of cookbooks. Then we scrambled around the kitchen in search of the ingredients for the cake batter.
“Have you ever baked anything before?” I asked my two friends.
They both shook their heads. “I made Cheerios once,” Miles said. “That’s all I ever made.”
“It’s easy,” Stick said, pouring flour into a big mixing bowl. “You just follow the recipe step by step. You can’t mess up.”
We poured a bunch of ingredients into the mixing bowl. Then we put the bowl under the mixer and started the blades whirring.
“It’s like magic!” Miles exclaimed. “Like science fiction or something. Look. It’s turning into chocolate cake batter.”
I sniffed it. “Smells like chocolate cake, too. This is totally awesome.”
Stick pulled cupcake pans from the cabinet. Each pan held six cupcakes. “We have to make a lot,” he said. “No one will be impressed if we walk in with twelve cupcakes. We need a hundred!”
I shook my head. “I don’t think we have enough batter.” All three of us stared into the bowl. The thick chocolate glop looked about
ready to pour into the baking trays.
“Tell you what,” Stick said. “Miles and I will run to Garrity’s on the corner. We’ll buy cake batter mixes. It’ll take five minutes.” He pointed to the bowl. “You stay and mix, Jackson.”
And that’s what happened. Stick got his wallet. Then he and Miles ran to the store. I stood at the mixer, watching it slowly fold the chocolate batter.
And then, a few seconds after my friends were out the door, I heard a loud chirp.
“Oh nooo,” I groaned.
The room shook. The floor tilted up, then down.
“No. Please. Please. No.”
I struggled. I tried to fight it. But I wasn’t strong enough.
I had to give in.
I’m the Son of Slappy. I can’t stop myself!
I clicked off the mixer and pulled the big bowl of chocolate batter out from under it. I set the bowl down on the kitchen table.
Then, giggling to myself, I dipped my hand into the batter. I grabbed a big, gooey hunk of the chocolate stuff. Then I crossed the room and smeared it all over the yellow-and-white wallpaper.
I scooped out another handful of batter and smeared it on the side of the fridge. Then another big hunk of batter. And another. I spread them over the table and along the wall.
I couldn’t stop laughing. This was so much fun!
I grabbed a blob of batter and tossed it onto the ceiling. Then I smeared chocolate over the kitchen cabinet doors.
“Yes! Yes! Beautiful!” A long, cruel laugh burst from deep in my throat.
The big bowl was almost empty. I’d smeared the batter all over the room. Breathing hard from excitement, I stuck my head in the bowl and licked batter off the sides.
“Yes! Delicious! Yes!”
I made loud animal noises as I licked up the sweet batter. I knew I had chocolate all over my face, but I didn’t care.
Finally, I took the bowl and heaved it across the room. It bounced off the sink and clattered over the floor.
I stood there, licking chocolate off my lips and admiring my work. I whirled around when I heard a gasp behind me.
Mrs. Haggerty stood in the kitchen doorway, her mouth open in horror. Her eyes darted around the kitchen.
“Uh … how long have you been standing there?” I asked.
She replied through gritted teeth. “Long enough, Jackson.” And then a sharp cry burst from her throat. “Have you gone crazy? Are you sick?”
“I can explain,” I said.
“Huh?” She swallowed hard. Her whole body was trembling. “Explain?”
I nodded. “Yes. See, I was just redecorating your kitchen. I think it’s an improvement — don’t you?”
I tossed back my head and laughed.
She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Finally, she uttered a shrill scream.
“If you don’t like it, just say so,” I told her.
After that, things happened fast. She grabbed me by the shoulders and pushed me out the back door. Next thing I knew, I was seated beside her in her car.
Then I was home. Then Mrs. Haggerty was facing my mom, squealing and squawking and exploding with anger. She was talking so fast and in such a high voice, I held my hands over my ears.
“Jackson, is this true?” My mom kept repeating, “Is this true? Is this true?”
She apologized a hundred times to Stick’s mom. She offered to help clean up the mess. Mrs. Haggerty flashed me a concerned look. Then she hurried out, shaking her head.
Their words became a buzzing in my ears. My head spun.
I could feel Slappy moving out. Leaving my mind. I felt myself returning to normal. And as I did, I finally realized the horrible thing I’d done. And the horrible trouble I was in.
Dad came home from work early. His face was pale and grim. “Jackson, Mr. Gurewitz called me,” Dad said. “He told me some terrible things about you. He said he saw you go berserk with a little boy’s bike.”
He stared at me, waiting for me to say something. But I didn’t know how to reply. I just lowered my eyes and stared at the rug.
“Well, is it true?” Dad demanded. “Is it true that you smashed a little boy’s tennis racket and threw his bike in the street?”
“I … guess,” I muttered.
“I just got off the phone with Dr. Marx,” Mom said, returning to the room. “He said he can see you right away.”
“But, Mom —”
“No arguments, Jackson.”
“Let’s all stay calm,” Dad said, motioning with both hands. I could see he wasn’t calm at all. “You’re acting very strange, and you know it. The things you’ve done and the things you’ve said — they’re not like you at all, Jackson.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll take care of you,” Mom said. “You’ll be back to normal in no time.” She glanced at Dad. I could see she didn’t believe what she was saying.
I wanted to tell them about Slappy. I wanted to say if we just got rid of that dummy, maybe he’d stay out of my mind.
But I suddenly thought about the play rehearsal at the YC.
“I … I’m late for rehearsal,” I stammered. “The YC show is in a few days, and —”
“I’m sorry, Jackson,” Dad said softly. “I’m afraid you’ll have to miss the YC show.”
I’m going to skip to the night of the YC show because the past few days weren’t interesting at all. Mostly, I clumped around the house feeling sorry for myself.
Dr. Marx gave me some blue pills to take that were supposed to mellow me out. But I only pretended to take them.
Rachel was being nice to me for a change. Actually, she was in a very good mood. I think she definitely enjoyed being the good kid in the family.
She came into my room and sat down on the edge of the bed. “I’m really sorry you’re missing the YC show tonight,” she said. “You must be very sad about it.”
I nodded. “Yes. Very sad.”
She glanced around my room. “Where is that dummy?”
“I stuffed him in the closet,” I said. “I wanted to do a comedy act with him tonight at the YC. But since I’m not allowed to go …”
“At least you feel okay — right?”
I couldn’t believe she was being so nice to me.
I felt bad that I was lying to her.
Lying about staying home and missing the YC show. No way would I miss that show tonight.
I couldn’t let all the kids down. I couldn’t let Mrs. Lawson and the YC people down. I had to be there. I had to be there to help with the play the kids were performing. And to do my comedy act with Slappy.
Yes, I planned to sneak out of the house.
I’d been thinking about it since I’d been grounded. I planned to sneak out and run to the YC.
And I wasn’t worried about Slappy. I wasn’t worried about that dummy slipping into my mind and making me evil.
I’d finally figured out how to defeat him. How to keep him from turning me into his dummy.
It was so totally simple.
All I had to do was stop his chirp. He hypnotized me with that chirp so he could take over my brain. That chirp was the signal that I was about to become his slave, his son.
And where did the chirp come from? It took me so long to figure it out. But I finally realized the chirp had to come from my game-player. Yes, the game-player I carried with me wherever I went.
Chirping Chickens. That was the game I always played. And that’s where the chirp signal came from.
So how easy was it to tuck the game-player deep in a dresser drawer?
No problem.
And now the dummy had no power over me. He couldn’t signal me. And if he couldn’t give me the signal, he was helpless to control me.
Score one for Jackson!
I grabbed Slappy and lifted him out of my closet. His eyes were glassy, lifeless. He slumped limply under my arm.
“You have no power over me,” I said. “You cannot signal me. You cannot do anything to me.”
I tos
sed him over my shoulder, took a deep breath — and sneaked out of the house.
I ran all the way to the YC and crept in through the back door. I stepped into the backstage area of the auditorium. I dropped Slappy against the wall and peeked out through the side of the curtain.
Wow. The auditorium was full. A huge crowd. Awesome.
The show had already begun. A jazz band was playing, and a tall blond boy was bobbing up and down, blowing a wild saxophone. The golden horn glowed in the spotlight. The audience began clapping along.
Mrs. Lawson smiled at me from across the stage. She had gathered all my kids to get them ready for their play. Froggy carried the canary cage in both hands.
Our play was about some kids who don’t have a clue about how to take care of canaries. I wrote the play with the kids, and I think it’s pretty funny.
I made my way over to the kids and flashed them a thumbs-up. “You guys are going to be terrific,” I said. “Go out there and knock ’em dead.”
The jazz band finished to wild applause. I slapped high fives with all the kids as they marched onto the stage.
I felt great. I knew I’d be in trouble at home for sneaking out. But I had to be here to help all my friends.
I felt like my old self again. It made me so happy to know that Slappy couldn’t ruin the night.
The curtain opened. The play began. I watched it from the side of the stage. Everyone did an awesome job. The audience was laughing hard.
Froggy almost dropped the canary cage. It was a mistake, but it made the audience laugh even harder.
My heart was pounding. I mouthed every word along with the kids. I was more nervous than they were. But I could see the play was a huge hit.
When it was over, the audience roared and jumped to their feet, clapping and cheering. I was so excited, I almost forgot it was my turn to go out and do my act with Slappy.
I hurried to the back wall and lifted the dummy off the floor. It sank limply into my arms. The glassy eyes gazed down at the floor.
“Sorry, Slappy,” I muttered. “No tricks for you tonight. For once, I’m in charge.”