by R. L. Stine
“Rachel, it’s only been four days,” I said.
I kept busy the whole time. I played Chirping Chickens a lot. I got up to level fifteen.
I helped Grandpa Whitman weed his garden. And I helped to build some new shelves for his model car collection.
One afternoon, I found an amazing collection of old board games. I dragged some to the dining room table and begged my sister to play them with me.
“No way,” she said. “Look at them. They’ve turned moldy green. And they smell horrible. They’re putrid.”
Grandpa Whitman showed her his incredible collection of antique dolls. Some of them were over two hundred years old. “Too smelly,” Rachel declared, holding her nose.
Grandpa laughed. But I could see he was upset.
“You’re hurting his feelings,” I said after he left the room.
Rachel shrugged. “I have to be honest — don’t I?”
Soon, it was time to leave. Edgar carried out our suitcases and slid them into the back of Grandpa Whitman’s old van.
We said good-bye to Grandpa on the front porch. A breeze fluttered his white hair. His blue eyes seemed faded. He suddenly looked older. I guess he really was sorry to see us leave.
He hugged Rachel. “I hope you weren’t too bored.”
“Bored? This place is too crazy to get bored in.”
That made Grandpa Whitman laugh.
Then it was my turn for a good-bye hug. “I had an awesome time,” I told him. “I loved the old board games and the weird magazines and the old model cars. But I think Son of Slappy was my favorite. I can’t wait to tell the kids at the YC about him and all your ventriloquist dolls.”
“Maybe you two can visit me again before school starts in the fall,” Grandpa Whitman said. “I promise I won’t scare you — too much.” He chuckled.
More hugs. Then we waved good-bye and followed Edgar to the van. It was a short drive to the bus station. Edgar didn’t say a word. He had a news station on the radio. He listened to it and kept his eyes straight ahead on the road.
A few minutes later, the van rumbled up to the little bus station. Rachel and I slid out of the van.
Edgar pulled our suitcases from the back and set them down on the pavement. He wiped sweat off his bald head.
“Bye, Edgar,” I said. “Thanks for driving us.”
He didn’t answer. His eyes went wide and he leaned closer. “I warned you,” he rasped. “I warned you. Be careful. You asked for it.”
Mom and Dad picked us up at the bus station. They carried on as if we’d been gone for months. “Did you have a great time?” Dad asked.
“It was awesome,” I said.
“Great,” Rachel mumbled. She sat beside me in the backseat of the car with her phone in her hands, frantically texting her friends.
“Did your grandfather try to scare you?” Mom asked.
“Every chance he had,” I replied.
Mom laughed. “My dad is so crazy. When I was a little girl, I lived in terror. I jumped at every sound. He loved to make me scream.”
“Well, he’s still doing it,” Rachel muttered, eyes on her phone. “Horrible.”
“No. It was kind of fun,” Mom said. “After a while, I started scaring him back. Once, I even put a tarantula in his bed. Under the covers. Believe that?”
“What happened?” I asked.
“It bit him in the butt. He didn’t think it was funny.”
“Ooh, Mom got into trouble,” Rachel said. “I guess I take after you, Mom.”
“I don’t know who you take after,” Mom joked. “Godzilla, maybe.”
“Oh, thanks a bunch!” Rachel exclaimed. Her thumbs tapped away on her phone.
Back in my room, I hoisted the suitcase to my bed. I clicked it open and pulled up the lid.
A grinning face gazed up at me.
“Huh?” I uttered a startled cry. “Son of Slappy?”
I stared down at the dummy. Its arms and legs were carefully folded under my clothes.
How did it get in my suitcase?
I suddenly realized that Rachel was standing beside me. “I don’t believe it!” she cried. “You wanted that dummy so badly, you STOLE it!”
“N-no —” I stammered.
“Yes!” she said. “You said you wanted it — and you took it!”
“No. No way!” I said. “Listen — I’ll bet Edgar put it in there. He was so eager to get it out of the house.”
“Liar!” Rachel cried. “Liar! You stole it!”
She spun away from me and ran out into the hall. “Mom! Dad!” she screamed. “Jackson stole something from Grandpa Whitman! Come up here! Goodie-goodie Jackson stole something!”
I heard my parents stampeding up the stairs. They burst into my room with confused looks on their faces. “What’s up? What’s all the shouting?” Dad demanded.
Rachel pulled the dummy from my suitcase and held it up to them. “Look. Jackson isn’t as perfect as you think. He stole this. He stole this dummy from Grandpa Whitman.”
Dad squinted hard at me. Mom gasped. “That’s horrible, Jackson. How could you steal from your own grandfather?”
“I — I — I —” I stammered. “No way —”
“We can’t put up with a thief in this house,” Dad said, shaking his head. “Jackson, I’m totally disappointed with you.”
“But —”
I stared hard at the grinning dummy. Was Edgar right about it? Was it truly evil?
The dummy had already gotten me into major trouble.
Was this only the beginning?
Rachel had a sick grin on her face. She was enjoying this moment a lot. She loved seeing me in trouble instead of her.
“I … I didn’t steal the dummy,” I stammered. “I opened my suitcase and —”
Mom and Dad burst out laughing.
“Jackson, don’t look so serious,” Mom said. “Couldn’t you tell we were teasing you?”
Dad turned to Rachel. “What’s wrong with you, Rachel? We all know Jackson would never do anything like that.”
Mom shook her head. Her green eyes flashed. “The idea of Jackson stealing something … That’s just silly.”
Rachel shoved the dummy into my arms. Its big wooden head bumped my nose hard. “Ouch!” Pain shot over my face.
Rachel laughed.
Rubbing my nose, I lowered the Son of Slappy to the bed. “I told Grandpa Whitman I’d love to have a dummy to entertain the kids at the YC,” I told my parents. “I guess he decided to give me this one.”
“Let’s call to make sure,” Mom said.
I found my cell phone on the dresser. I pushed Grandpa Whitman’s number. The phone rang and rang.
“No answer,” I said. “And he doesn’t have voice mail.”
Mom sighed. “My dad never answers the phone. Would it kill him to pick up?”
Dad patted Mom on the shoulder. “He’s probably off somewhere dealing with one collection or another. Nowhere near the phone.”
I clicked the phone off. Dad went back downstairs.
“I’ll help you unpack,” Mom said. She started pulling dirty clothes from my suitcase.
Rachel plopped down on my bed. She took the dummy’s hand and pretended to pick his nose with it. She’s a riot, isn’t she?
“Hey, didn’t you notice the box on your bed?” Mom asked.
I turned and saw a flat, rectangular box wrapped with blue-and-red glittery paper. I reached for it. “What’s this?”
“It’s an early birthday present,” Mom said. “From your aunt Ada. Go ahead. Open it.”
Rachel grabbed it out of my hands. “Let me open it.” She ripped at the wrapping paper and tossed hunks of it onto the floor. Then she yanked open the box and pulled out a gray-and-black sweater.
I felt the sleeve. Very soft. “Cool,” I said. “That’s awesome.”
Rachel tossed the sweater onto the bed. “What about me?” she demanded. “Why don’t I get a present? It’s my birthday soon.”
&nb
sp; “Don’t be upset,” Mom told her. “Aunt Ada said your present is coming later.”
Rachel made a face. “How come Jackson always comes first?”
“Don’t be a baby,” Mom said quietly. She pulled a pair of balled-up socks from the suitcase and closed the suitcase lid.
Rachel climbed down from my bed. “Hey, I just remembered, Mom. I have a present for you and Dad.”
She disappeared into her room and returned a few seconds later carrying a big glass jar. She pushed it into Mom’s hands. “It’s honey,” she said.
Mom studied it. “Honey? Where from?”
“From Grandpa’s new beehive.” Rachel said. “He gave it to me to take home.”
“Nice,” Mom said. She flashed Rachel a smile. “I’ll put it down in the pantry. We can all enjoy it on pancakes tomorrow morning.”
“I don’t want Jackson to have any,” Rachel said.
Mom squinted at her. “Why not?”
“Because he got a sweater and I didn’t.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Mom said. She put two hands on Rachel’s shoulders and guided her out of my room.
As soon as they were gone, I picked up the dummy and sat it on my lap. I fumbled under its gray suit jacket to find the controls in back for its mouth and eyes.
A small square of white paper fell out of the suit pocket. Maybe it’s a note from Grandpa Whitman, I thought.
I picked it up and unfolded it. No. Not a note from my grandfather.
My eyes moved over the strange words printed on the page:
KARRU MARRI ODONNA LOMA MOLONU KARRANO.
I moved my lips, saying them silently to myself. I realized these must be the words that brought the original Slappy to life.
The sheet of paper trembled in my hand.
Should I read the words out loud?
I gazed at the dummy’s grinning face. The lips were painted a glossy red. One nostril had a tiny chip in the wood. The glassy eyes stared blankly back at me. I rubbed one hand over the wavy wooden hair.
This isn’t the real Slappy, I told myself. The original Slappy was evil, according to Grandpa Whitman. This dummy is just a copy.
So if I read the strange words … nothing will happen.
I pulled the sheet of paper closer to my face and started to read: “Karru Marri …”
No.
I stopped. I felt a chill run down my back.
Why look for trouble?
I tucked the paper into the dummy’s jacket pocket. I set him down in a corner and changed into my pajamas for bed.
The next morning, a Saturday, we had pancakes and honey for breakfast.
Sweet. Rachel complained that I was using too much of her honey. But she’s crazy. The jar was still almost full.
After breakfast, I went up to my room to practice with Slappy. I wanted to figure out how to work his eyes and mouth. And I wanted to think up some jokes to tell with him. Stuff the kids at the YC would like.
I sat on the edge of the bed and put the dummy on my lap. I found the eye control in his back and made his eyes slide from side to side. Then I made his mouth open and close. He was pretty easy to control.
“How are you today, Slappy?” I said.
I kept my teeth together and made him reply. “I feel as good as I look — fabulous!”
“Tell me, why do they call you Slappy?”
“Raise my hand to your face and I’ll show you!”
Hey, pretty good. I was pretty good at talking without moving my lips.
The piece of paper in the jacket pocket caught my eye. I pulled it out and read the words silently to myself once again.
It was tempting. Really. Tempting to read the words out loud. Especially since this dude was just a copy of Slappy.
But I kept picturing Edgar’s frightened face. And I kept remembering his warning to keep away from the dummy.
I was still holding the piece of paper when I heard the thunder of footsteps on the stairs. A few seconds later, my two best friends — Mickey and Miles — burst into my room.
Mickey Haggerty is tall and as thin as a broomstick. His nickname is actually Stick. He has long coppery hair and strange green eyes that look like cat eyes. And I’ve never seen him when he wasn’t grinning.
Miles Naylor is African American, shorter than Stick and me. But he works out and looks a lot more athletic than the two of us. He has very short hair, just like a layer of fuzz over his head, dark brown eyes that make him look more serious than he is, and a deep voice.
Miles’s voice changed before anyone else’s in our class. He says it’s because he’s more mature than everyone else. But that doesn’t compute. He’s as big a goof as anyone in the class.
They both started to laugh when they saw me sitting on the bed with the dummy in my lap.
“You’re playing with baby dolls?” Miles said.
“Ha-ha. No. Look,” Stick said. “He has the doll on his lap. He’s practicing for when he has a girlfriend.”
They both thought that was a riot. They bumped knuckles and hee-hawed.
“It’s not a doll,” I said. “It’s a ventriloquist dummy.”
They squinted at it. “Can you make him talk?” Stick asked.
“Which one is the dummy?” Miles asked.
More laughter.
“His name is Slappy,” I said. “I’m going to do a comedy act with him.”
“But you’re not funny, Jackson,” Stick said. “You’re about as funny as stomach flu.”
“No way,” Miles chimed in. “He’s not that funny.”
“Give me a break,” I groaned. “I’m going to think up some jokes. You know. It’s for the kids at the YC after school.”
“Yeah, sure.” Miles rolled his eyes. “You can admit it, dude. We’re your friends. You just like to play with dolls.”
“Maybe you and the doll should have a tea party,” Stick joked.
“Not funny,” I said. “You guys are starting to steam me. Look at this dummy’s face. Does he look like a cute doll to you?”
I turned Slappy’s head so he was gazing at them.
That shut them both up.
“He looks evil, right?” I said. “Well, guess what. He is evil.”
I was so tired of being teased, I decided to give my two friends a good scare. I told them the story of Slappy that Grandpa Whitman told Rachel and me. I told them how he had evil powers and how he could be brought to life by reading a bunch of strange words.
And then I held up the page of strange words. “Should I read them?” I asked.
I didn’t tell them this wasn’t the real Slappy. I didn’t tell them this was just a copy. I really wanted to scare them.
But guess what? They both laughed.
Stick shook his head. “You really believe that story, Jackson?”
“I’ve seen it in some creepy movies,” Miles said. “But no way a stupid wooden dummy can come to life.”
“Okay. You asked for it,” I said.
I sat Slappy up in my lap. And I raised the words close to my face. “Karru … Marri … Odonna …”
“Whoa. Wait a minute.” Miles grabbed my arm. His expression had changed. He looked a little frightened. “When your grandfather told you that story about the dummy, do you think he was just trying to scare you?”
“No,” I said. “Grandpa Whitman believed it. He swore it was true.”
Stick and Miles studied the dummy silently. They had stopped laughing and joking.
“He said the dummy has incredible evil,” I said.
My two friends exchanged glances. “Well … maybe you shouldn’t read the words,” Stick said.
“Just in case,” Miles said. “Maybe you’d better skip it.”
“Well … okay,” I replied. I started to set the piece of paper down.
But before I could move, Rachel came running into the room. I knew she’d been outside the door the whole time. She loved spying on me, hoping to get me in some kind of trouble.
She raced across
the room, grabbed Slappy into her arms, and swiped the paper from my hand.
“Hey — give that back!” I cried. I jumped up from the bed and grabbed for it, but she swung it out of my reach.
And then she shouted the words at the top of her lungs: “Karru Marri Odonna Loma Molonu Karrano!”
Rachel tossed back her head and laughed.
Stick and Miles stood frozen in front of the bed, watching Rachel and the dummy in silence.
“Rachel — I told you to stay out of my room,” I said. “You’re not funny. Give me that dummy.”
I reached out both hands for it. But I stopped when the dummy MOVED.
Slowly, it raised its head. It gazed at my friends. Then it turned to me. And it winked one eye.
“Oh, no. Oh, no,” I moaned. “Rachel — what have you done?”
The dummy’s head slumped down. Rachel squinted at me. “Jackson, what’s your problem?”
“It — it moved,” I stammered. “You said those words, and the dummy started to move.”
“Are you totally losing it?” Rachel said. “It did not.”
I turned to my friends. “You saw it, right? You saw the dummy sit up and wink at me?”
They both shook their heads. Stick snickered. “You’re nuts, Jackson.”
“He’s trying to scare us,” Miles said. “Oooh, I’m scared. I’m scared.”
They both collapsed on my bed, hee-hawing.
I stared at the dummy. It was slumped lifelessly on its back in Rachel’s arms. Did I imagine that it moved?
Of course I did. I imagined the whole thing. I reminded myself that this dummy was just a copy.
She pushed the dummy into my hands. “Take it. It’s dumb. And it’s almost as ugly as you are.”
“Whoa. Little sister disses Jackson!” Miles exclaimed. “Nasty.”
Rachel hurried out of the room. I took the dummy and propped it against the wall.
“I have to tell you the truth,” I told my two friends. “This isn’t the real Slappy. It’s only a copy. My grandfather gave it to me. He called it the Son of Slappy.”
Stick grinned at me. “So this one can’t come to life?”
“No. This one can’t come to life,” I said. “It’s not the evil dummy from the legend. I was just trying to scare you. But for a moment, I scared myself!”