When it disappeared, he saw Chucky there.
And there, and there, and . . .
Everywhere. Regular-sized Chuckys and big, stretched-out Chuckys and tiny, squashed Chuckys, all sneering.
There has to be a way out of here, Tyler thought. Somewhere.
The Chuckys spoke. With one voice.
“Here’s looking at you, kid.”
And all the Chuckys laughed, the tall ones shaking like strange stick men, the squashed-up ones vibrating like Jell-O.
One of them is real, thought Tyler.
But which one?
He took a step. Another. Yes, he thought. I seem to be moving away from the Chuckys. Another step.
Then all the Chuckys raised their guns.
Tyler froze. And Chucky started firing. The mirrors shattered, and the Chucky reflections fell to the ground, one by one.
And Tyler realized: He’s shooting at me, shooting at my reflections. He doesn’t know which is the real me. So he’s shooting at each reflection.
Until he gets me.
Tyler backed up. Another shot, and the sound of another shattering mirror filled the room.
The boy turned around.
And he saw Andy and De Silva—a bunch of them—and De Silva was holding a gun.
Andy yelled at Tyler, “Run.”
Yes. But which way? Oh, god, which way? Another shot, more shattered mirrors. Tyler saw a hole, an opening leading to darkness, away from the crazy mirrors.
He ran into the darkness.
It was so dark here. Tyler heard more screams from inside the building. But he couldn’t see anything.
’Cause they want to surprise them. They want everyone to have a thrill.
Tyler heard a car coming.
Then I’ll be able to see something, he thought. The car will come and everything will come to life.
Closer, the rattling above him. The car was going to enter from somewhere up there, in the darkness.
The sound of a door being kicked open.
And then Tyler heard something else. A small clicking noise and then a whoosh. He looked up.
And he saw a giant curved blade, a . . . a pendulum. Swinging toward him.
Tyler hit the floor. The blade whooshed over him and he felt the breeze made by the blade. He crawled to his feet.
The car came into the room, and then there were flames above him. The car had to crash through flames. Tyler looked at it. Everything was orange. The flames looked so real. But they couldn’t be real, Tyler thought.
The car curved down past the flames. The pendulum swung back, now taking a swipe at the passengers in the car, missing them as they screamed.
The haunted house car went away.
I’ll follow the track, Tyler thought. That’s what I should do. Follow the track. That way I can get outside, and I can run some more.
He stepped onto the track and started climbing up to where the flames had been.
This will get me out.
He stepped carefully, climbing the track. Climbing up.
There was a small glow up here, from the next room—whatever it was.
I don’t like this place, thought Tyler. I never want to go on a haunted house ride. Never, ever.
Something moved in front of him, at his feet. Something climbed up, through the slats of the track, and faced Tyler.
It was Chucky.
“You sure know how to make a Good Guy work for his soul,” Chucky said.
The doll laughed.
His crazy laugh. His terrible laugh. Tyler stepped back and stumbled. His arm went out to the side. And he felt his hand hit a switch, some kind of switch tripped by the haunted house car as it roared by.
Tyler was flat on his back. And when he looked up he saw the pendulum swinging down, right at Chucky.
“I guess,” Chucky said, “that this is as good a place as any for our picnic.”
He doesn’t see the pendulum.
Doesn’t see it, Tyler thought.
Then Chucky heard it. The whoosh. He looked up.
Just as the pendulum sliced through his head, slicing off his face, as if it were sharpening a pencil. Chucky’s face, sneer and all, flipped down to the ground.
Tyler screamed at what he saw then.
It looked like a machine, inside the head, but there was also blood and skin and bits of bone with wires coming out.
Part machine, part human.
Or something.
Tyler screamed at it, just kept screaming at it. But Chucky reached down to the ground and picked up the sliced-off section of his head.
“Got to put my face on,” he said. “Actually, in a few seconds, it will be your face.”
But the face didn’t stick too well. It kept slipping and sliding over the blood and wires. Chucky grunted and pressed it hard against his head. Tyler heard a sucking noise and—though Chucky’s face was tilted—it didn’t slide off.
Chucky reached into his pocket. He pulled out his knife.
Chucky bent down, close to Tyler. But then the boy heard the rumbling of another haunted house car, close now, nearly at the door.
Chucky, his face all lopsided, stilted, like a pizza that slid to one side, reached down and pulled Tyler up.
“Come on,” he said, his voice even more weird, as if muffled by the fluid inside his head. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
Chucky stuck the blade into Tyler’s side.
“Pick me up, big boy. It’s traveling time.”
30
Andy and De Silva followed the track, all the way to the outside.
De Silva put the gun away. “Andy. Where is he?”
Andy gestured back at Devil’s Lair. “They’re not in there. They have to be out here.”
The people in line laughed at them, wondering: Hey, what are you guys doing walking through the ride? Are you guys crazy?
Andy turned, looking out at Funland.
And he saw Tyler, moving down the midway, hurrying with the doll.
There was a breeze. It chilled Andy.
He started running, thinking: What if we’re too late? What if it already happened?
He ran. But the crowd closed around him, and he was trapped, amidst laughter and cotton candy, while Tyler and Chucky disappeared.
Chucky’s face still moved when he talked. Only it moved all wrong. The plastic bent and twisted in weird ways as Chucky talked.
“Over there,” Chucky said. “We’re going for a ride.”
Tyler looked up. It was a ride called the Zipper. Loud rap music boomed from a giant speaker. It was a big kids’ ride. A scary ride. Tyler didn’t want to go on it.
“Go on,” Chucky said, the knife playing with Tyler’s belly. “Get in line.”
The ride had arms, like a spider. At the end of each arm was a bubble. People sat in the bubble behind a mesh cage, while it spun around higher and higher, faster, spinning. The ride was just ending.
Tyler looked at some of the kids getting off. They looked scared.
Then it was time for the next batch. Tyler moved forward in the line.
“We don’t have a ticket,” Tyler said dully.
Maybe that will keep us off. Maybe.
“Don’t worry, kid. Old Chucky pocketed some from one of those kid’s back pockets. The jerk never even felt it.”
They moved forward in the line.
Until Tyler and Chucky were next to the operator.
“Whoa, sonny. Wait a minute. Aren’t you a little young for this ride.” The operator leaned down. “The merry-go-round’s over there, kid.”
Tyler felt the knife. He held out his ticket. The operator laughed. He looked at Chucky. “You sure your dolly is up for this?”
Tyler just held out the ticket.
The operator laughed. “What, are you deaf?”
“No, sir.”
The operator shook his head and let Tyler in.
Tyler walked to one of the cages.
In a few seconds the operator came over and s
hut the cage.
“Isn’t this cozy?” Chucky said.
Tyler watched the operator move over to a big lever. He grabbed it and pulled it down. Tyler heard a whirring noise, and the ride began to move, slowly at first, but then faster, rising into the air.
De Silva grabbed Andy’s arm. They were still standing in a sea of people, milling about the midway, drifting from one game to another, from the hot dog man to the candy apple stand.
De Silva grabbed him and said, “Oh, god. Andy, look.”
Andy saw the Zipper ride. And he heard the music. He saw the arms rotating and the round cages at the end, spinning.
One arm swung around.
And Andy saw Tyler and Chucky.
I see them, Tyler thought. Down there, watching me. It’s just like I thought. There’s nothing they can do.
Chucky held the knife against Tyler’s throat. The boy felt the point of the blade biting into his skin.
“This is it, kid. End of the line.”
Chucky reached out and put a hand on Tyler’s brow. The cage spun around, pinning Tyler to his seat.
Tyler heard words . . . words he didn’t understand.
“Ade due. Damballa . . . give me the power I beg of you.”
Tyler heard a rumbling coming from the sky. Louder than the music, louder than the terrible thumping coming from the speakers. Tyler looked up. This is part of it, he thought. He saw lightning—a yellow finger, like the skeleton’s finger—reach down to the ground. The stars started to disappear as something thick and dark rolled across the sky.
There’s nothing anyone can do, thought Tyler.
“Ade due, kenyu dictu. Mighty Damballa.”
Tyler felt sick to his stomach.
It wasn’t just from the ride.
They were close to the operator of the Zipper when Andy looked up and saw the storm clouds roll across the sky, a black gray carpet cut by the brilliant white zigzags of lightning.
The operator looked up too. “What the hell?”
Andy saw Tyler’s compartment swing by. He saw just enough for Andy to get a glimpse of Chucky resting his hand on Tyler’s head, the knife at his throat.
“He started the chant!” he said to De Silva.
Andy reached out and grabbed the beefy operator’s arm.
“Stop the ride.”
“What? Are you crazy?”
“Please—stop the ride. That little kid. He’s . . .”
The operator shook his head. “Can’t do that. It will piss off—”
There was a crash in the sky. Another roar, the rumbling of thunder close by. And then a big flash of electricity.
Tyler looked at Chucky’s face. With each spin, it slipped a bit, sliding more to one side, exposing more of the inside of his head.
The doll had his eyes closed.
He mumbled strange words.
“Leveau mercier du bois chaloitte, secoisse entienne mais pois de morte.”
Tyler heard the rumbling in his ears from the thunder clouds hanging above them. Then he saw this tremendous flash of electricity. It leaped from a cloud and stretched down toward him.
It’s coming for me, Tyler thought.
But the white bolt jabbed right at the center of the Zipper, right at the engine that made it spin. There was a tremendous crash, and then sparks filled the air.
Chucky opened his eyes.
The ride slowed, and then it came to a stop. Tyler looked down. Everyone seemed so far away.
Something dripped from the side of Chucky’s head. He closed his eyes.
Chucky kept saying the words.
“What the . . .” the operator said.
Andy turned to De Silva. “There’s still time,” he said. “Give me the gun.”
De Silva passed Andy the gun. The people in line screamed and backed away.
De Silva gave him a kiss, and then Andy hopped over the guardrail. He ran to the center of the ride, and then climbed onto the arm leading to Tyler’s compartment. Andy heard the operator yelling at him.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Andy held the gun tight and grabbed at the arm, feeling for ridges, bumps, wires, anything he could grab on to.
He looked up. The clouds were so close now, settling on top of the ride.
Andy climbed higher. He took another step, and his foot slipped. His hand reached out, snagging an electrical cord.
“Hey, get down!” he heard the operator yell.
He kept climbing.
The sphere—with Tyler and Chucky—was only feet away. And Andy heard the damned doll.
Singing out the words, calling upon the black force to release him, to exchange his body with Tyler’s.
“Adelle bois secois, Damballa! Adelle bois seis, Damballa!”
Then Tyler screamed, terrified, yelling, “Help! Please, someone, help!”
Andy clawed his way another few feet, almost touching the wire mesh of the compartment. Almost there.
Bringing the gun up.
Praying: Let me be in time. Don’t let all of this happen—and have me be too late.
Andy pulled himself onto the mesh, looking down, at Tyler, at Chucky.
When the bowie knife came jabbing upward.
The blade missed Andy, and he rolled to the side, nearly losing his grip, nearly tumbling into space.
The knife came up again, and Andy rolled off the compartment, back onto the arm. His hand locked on the electrical wire, stopping his fall.
He looked at the mesh cage.
He’s waiting for me, Andy thought. Waiting for me to crawl on top and then jab me with his knife.
Andy look a breath, and then scurried onto the compartment, looking down. The blade jabbed up, right at his stomach. But he arched upward, and the blade touched only air.
Andy reached down to the compartment door.
Chucky pulled the blade out, ready to try to stab Andy again.
Andy felt the handle of the compartment. He pushed it down and the compartment door popped open. And Chucky, standing on his seat, leaning against the mesh, slipped out.
But then the doll reached out and grabbed at the door. He clambered up like an insect, desperate and grunting. There was something wrong with the doll’s face. It was slipping off, sliding away.
Chucky grabbed at Andy’s leg. He brought his knife up and jabbed down.
Andy turned around.
And he looked at the twisted face of the doll.
I thought it was over in the apartment. We melted you. You were a melted mess.
Then I thought it was over in the factory.
We covered you with melted plastic, buried you.
But it wasn’t any good.
You kept coming back.
Because you’re not a doll.
You’re something else.
And you have to be killed.
I have to kill you.
Andy raised the gun. Chucky jabbed his blade into Andy’s leg one more time.
Andy raised the gun, and he thought: I’m not a good shot. I’m not even a passable shot.
But this I can’t miss.
Chucky saw the barrel, only inches away from his head. Then it touched Chucky’s head.
“You go to hell!” Andy said. He pulled the trigger. Gently squeezing, the way De Silva had showed him.
Chucky’s head exploded. But the doll was still there. Andy squeezed the trigger again. And another chunk of the head went flying into space. Andy kept repeating.
You. Go. To.
Blast!
Hell.
Until there was nothing there but a headless stalk, which finally started slipping away. The doll plunged to the ground. Andy heard the doll’s body land with a tremendous thud. It exploded, sending off a shower of sparks.
And then Andy lowered himself into the compartment, to Tyler.
Epilogue
There were a half dozen police cars around.
The flashing lights seemed to fit the amusement park.
A
ndy was handcuffed, his arms behind his back. De Silva shook her head.
“You’re not going to tell them?”
Andy shook his head. He saw Tyler pouring out his incredible story to three cops, pointing at Andy, talking about Chucky.
Andy saw the cops shaking their heads.
Tyler’s only a kid. What an imagination, huh?
Andy looked at De Silva. “Yeah, right. Like they’ll really believe me.”
De Silva touched his arm. “They might believe all of us.”
Andy looked at her. He smiled and then shook his head. “Forget it. You don’t want to get mixed up in this. Just forget it.”
But De Silva smiled right back. “Too late, Barclay. I already am.”
He looked at her. And he saw that she wasn’t scared, that she meant it. She’ll stick with me through this. And for the first time in a long time. Andy knew that he wasn’t alone.
Kristin De Silva took his arm. “Let’s go. Let’s tell them everything.”
He let her guide him over to the police officers questioning Tyler.
Thinking: I don’t care if they believe me.
I don’t care.
Because this time, it’s really over.
Damnedest thing, the operator of the Zipper thought. That lightning bolt knocking the ride out, and then that kid, climbing up the arm and the—
Hell. What did I see?
I thought I saw the doll, outside the compartment jabbing at the kid with a knife.
The operator shrugged.
Couldn’t be. Impossible. Just couldn’t be.
But the operator walked over to the mess sitting right near the entrance to the ride.
There were wires, and gooey stuff like blood, and bits of plastic.
Doesn’t look like any doll I’ve ever seen, the guy thought.
He bent down close and fingered the stuff.
He saw wires and switches and bits of metal, but all this red goo couldn’t be blood, and bone.
Couldn’t be . . .
He fingered the pile.
Thinking: I’ll go back and get a broom and dustpan. Sweep this shit up. Maybe keep it, look at it.
You never know, he thought.
There might be something interesting here.
Table of Contents
Backcover
Titlepage
CHILD’S PLAY 3
1
Child’s Play 3 Page 19