My Friend Slappy

by R. L. Stine

  I jumped. Lizzie and I stumbled out of the closet and spun toward the voice. “Greetings!” Slappy called.

  Lizzie uttered a sharp cry. “Barton? How are you doing this? How do you make him walk?”

  “I … I’m not doing it,” I stammered.

  I’d been with him the whole week I was home. But I had no idea he could walk. Awesome! I thought. This is even better than I had imagined!

  The dummy walked awkwardly. His legs were soft and rubbery as his hard shoes clomped across my bedroom floor.

  “Why are you trying to scare me?” Lizzie inched away from the dummy.

  “Yes, why are you trying to scare her?” Slappy rasped. He tossed back his head and laughed.

  The dummy stopped in the middle of the room. “Where did you two meet? At a Nerd Circus? Hahaha.”

  Lizzie grabbed my arm. Her hand was ice-cold. “Are you … making him talk?”

  “Hey, who’s working your head?” Slappy asked her. He turned to me. “Look out, Barton. Someone dropped a pile of fish guts on your head. Oh, wait—is that your hair? Hahaha.”

  I laughed, too. “Good one, Slappy,” I said.

  “Barton, if you got down on all fours, you could enter yourself in an Ugly Dog contest!” he shouted. “You’d WIN!”

  I laughed again. “You’re funny, Slappy,” I said.

  Lizzie poked me hard in the side. “I don’t think he’s funny. I think he’s terrifying.”

  Slappy nodded. “She’s got the right idea, Barton. I am terrifying!”

  “I want you to be terrifying,” I said. “We talked about it all week, remember? You’re my new friend, Slappy. And I need you to be terrifying.”

  “He … he’s not your friend,” Lizzie stammered. “He’s a dummy!”

  “Don’t call me DUMMY, dummy!” Slappy screamed in a sudden rage. He shot his hands above his head and uttered a long, angry howl.

  “I’m out of here!” Lizzie cried. She bolted toward the door. But Slappy moved quickly to block her path.

  She stumbled into him, and the two of them toppled to the floor.

  “Oh no! Oh no!” Lizzie cried as she scrambled to her feet.

  “Don’t go,” Slappy said, sitting up. “The party is just getting started.”

  “Party?” Lizzie shook her head.

  “Well, it’s a party for me,” Slappy said. “Let’s play a great party game. It’s called Slappy’s Servants for Life! The servants are you two. And the game will last for the rest of your lives! Hahaha!”

  “No way!” Lizzie cried. She jumped over Slappy and burst out of the room. Her shoes thudded loudly down the stairs. The front door slammed behind her.

  I took a few steps toward the grinning dummy. “Slappy, you scared her to death,” I said.

  Slappy shook his head. “It’s weird. Sometimes I have that effect on people! Hahaha!”

  “Well, Lizzie isn’t the one you’re supposed to scare,” I said. “She’s my friend. You’re supposed to scare Travis and Kelly.”

  The dummy’s eyes appeared to glow. “I’ll scare whoever I want whenever I want!” he screamed.

  The dummy walked slowly toward me. “Think you’re so brave, friend? Haha. Everyone is scared of Slappy. And now it’s your turn.”

  “Be scared, Barton,” Slappy said, lowering his voice to a growl. “Be very scared.”

  He raised his hands and I froze. I struggled to move my arms, my legs. But he had cast a spell on them or something. I couldn’t move.

  He raised his hands higher—and my hands shot up, too.

  He made his hands wiggle in the air. And my hands wiggled in the air.

  He bent his legs. My legs bent, too.

  He was completely controlling me!

  “Be scared! Be very scared!” he repeated.

  Then he waved his hands in a circle. And I began to dance. A wild tap dance. My shoes clattered over the floor as I danced.

  Slappy tossed back his head and laughed. “You’re MY puppet now, Barty, old boy!”

  He swung his hands down low. And I collapsed to the floor in a heap.

  “You’re MY puppet now. How does it feel?”

  I tried to stand up. But he kept me down on the floor.

  “Feels awesome!” I said. “What an awesome trick. I love it!”

  The dummy’s mouth fell open. He appeared to be speechless.

  “Barton, are you afraid to admit that you are terrified?” Slappy said finally.

  I shook my head. “I’m not terrified,” I said. “I think you’re funny. We’re going to have a great time. I can’t wait for Travis and Kelly to meet you. This is so much better than I had expected. Slappy, my friend, I can’t wait.”

  “Stop calling me friend!” Slappy screamed. “You’re going to be scared of me. Everyone is scared of Slappy! And it’s your turn. It’s your turn, Barton!”

  I heard a soft squeak. I turned in time to see the closet door swing open.

  I gasped as the first marionette came walking stiffly out of the closet. It was my soldier puppet in a khaki uniform. The puppet walked slowly as if sleepwalking. Its hands were stuck straight in front of it … like a zombie!

  Two more of my puppets—a princess and a clown—came marching out of the closet. Their black eyes stared straight ahead of them. Their arms were outstretched as they moved slowly toward me in a line.

  And then two more marionettes. All my marionettes were out, alive! Marching stiffly, silently. Wooden puppets brought to life by Slappy.

  Again, I struggled to stand up. But a powerful force kept me down on the floor.

  The puppets marched in a line and formed a circle around me. Around and around, they moved faster as they circled me.

  And then their wooden hands began to move, swinging at me.

  Slap slap slap. They slapped my face hard as they marched around me, their bodies stiff, their wooden shoes thumping the floor.

  Slap slap. I raised a hand to protect my face. But Slappy forced my hand back down to my side. And the puppets continued to slap me. Harder. Faster.

  “Ow!” I cried out in pain. Helpless, I struggled to move away from them.

  Slap slap slap slap. My face stung with pain. I opened my mouth in a horrified scream.

  I heard the dummy’s high-pitched laugh.

  “I knew I could scare you, Barton! But that’s nothing. That’s just a warm-up! Watch THIS!”

  Slappy waved a hand and the puppets stopped marching.

  One final slap—and then they all lowered their hands.

  I tried one more time to stand up. But Slappy was using his power to hold me there.

  “Let me up!” I shouted. “Let me up, Slappy!”

  Before I could say any more, the puppets all leaped at once.

  Their soft legs bent—and they jumped high. Jumped onto me.

  “Hey—!” I fell onto my back, and they swarmed over me.

  “It’s WAR!” Slappy screamed at the top of his voice. “Let the BATTLE begin! Hahahaha!”

  I was too stunned to cry out as a wooden puppet hand tugged hard at my nose. Another marionette gripped my hair and pulled so hard, tears streamed down my cheeks.

  Puppets poked and tugged and slapped at me. It felt as if they were trying to pull the top of my head off.

  A marionette tried to move my eyelids up and down. Another one forced my mouth to open and close—like a puppet! I struggled to squirm free. But I was being kicked and slapped, and I couldn’t move.

  And all the while, I could hear Slappy’s shrill laugh ringing off the walls.

  Then, to my surprise, the marionettes pulled back and began to circle me. Marching in a fast rhythm, they wrapped their strings around me, trapping me in a tight cocoon. The strings tightened around my waist … my chest … my head.

  “Please—” I choked out. “Slappy, please—”

  Their strings loosened and fell away. They all froze. As if given a command.

  Silently, the marionettes dropped to the floor and lay in a motionl
ess heap.

  Once again, I heard the dummy’s shrill laughter, crazy, evil laughter.

  I sucked in breath after breath. Slowly, the pain faded from my chest, my head stopped throbbing, and my eyes began to focus again.

  I lifted myself onto one elbow. My whole body was trembling. I took more deep breaths.

  The dummy stood over me, peering down, that painted grin wide across his face. “Well, Barton?” he rasped. “Still want to be friends? Or are you scared of me now?”

  “I—I—” I tried to speak, but my throat ached and I started to choke.

  Slappy laughed. “Yes, you get it now. You see my power, and you’re smart enough to be scared.”

  Rubbing my aching throat, I struggled to my feet. Now I was peering down at Slappy.

  Yes, he’s terrifying, I thought. But I need him. I can’t let him see how afraid I am. So I forced myself to sound calm. “You’re funny,” I said. “Did you really think that was scary? A bunch of puppets marching around? That makes me laugh.”

  “Liar!” he snapped. “I know you’re scared. All kids are scared of me. When they find out they will be my servant for life, they are terrified! They’ll do anything they can to get rid of me!”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “Not scared,” I said. “I’m your friend, Slappy, and you’re my friend.”

  He uttered an angry squawk.

  I shoved my hands into my pockets so he wouldn’t see them trembling. I had a plan, and I needed him. And no way would I admit to him that he was the least bit frightening.

  “Don’t you see I’m evil, Barty? Don’t you see I’m all about one thing—evil!”

  “Then I’m evil, too,” I said. “We’re going to be evil together, Slappy.”

  I grabbed him around the waist and tossed him onto the bed.

  Startled, he sat up instantly with an angry growl.

  “I’m not like the other kids,” I said. “I’m your friend. Your evil friend! Haha! We’re going to do great things together!”

  Late that night, I was in bed, whispering on the phone to Lizzie.

  “I’m sorry you got scared,” I said. “He’s pretty scary.”

  “A dummy coming to life?” Lizzie replied. “That’s like a horror movie, Barton.”

  “I know,” I said. “But I need him. I have a plan.”

  “Barton, listen to me,” she whispered. “Forget your plan. You have an evil thing in your house. You have to get rid of it.”

  I heard footsteps out in the hall. Either Mom or Dad was going to bed. I held the phone tightly in my hand and waited for them to pass my room.

  I’m not allowed to use my phone after nine at night. If Mom or Dad heard me talking to Lizzie now, my jeans pocket would be empty for a long time. No phone.

  “Of course I’m going to get rid of him,” I whispered to Lizzie when it was silent out in the hall again. “But if he thinks we’re friends, I can use him.”

  “For what?”

  “To change my life,” I said.

  “What are you talking about? Travis and Kelly?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’m going to use him to terrify those two jerks. If Slappy thinks he and I are best friends, he’ll help me make sure Travis and Kelly never try anything against me again.”

  “So you’re going to scare them,” Lizzie whispered.

  “I don’t want to scare them,” I said. “I want to terrify them. I’m giving my report about the history of puppets in class on Tuesday. I’m going to bring some puppets to school. And I’m going to bring Slappy.”

  “I get it,” Lizzie whispered. “Travis and Kelly won’t be able to resist. They’ll start messing with the dummy—”

  “And Slappy will go to work on them,” I said. I couldn’t help it. I started to giggle. “This is going to be so cool!”

  Silence on the other end. I could hear Lizzie breathing. “But then what, Barton?” she whispered.

  “Then what? I guess I’ll have to get rid of Slappy.”

  “But how?” Lizzie demanded. “He’s alive. He’s dangerous. You can’t just put him back in his case and leave him somewhere.”

  “I know,” I said. “I already tried to put him in his case. It didn’t work out so well.”

  “Maybe you could take his head off,” Lizzie said. “That might stop him.”

  “That might work,” I said. I yawned. My head suddenly felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. I couldn’t think straight about getting rid of the dummy. “I’m getting sleepy,” I said. “See you tomorrow.”

  I clicked the phone off and set it down on my bed table. Then I turned onto my side and pulled the covers up to my chin.

  I shut my eyes tight and tried to force Slappy from my mind. But his grinning face kept bobbing like a balloon before my eyes. I tried counting sheep. But the sheep all had Slappy’s face. I tried counting down from one thousand.

  Finally, I started to drift to sleep.

  A squeak from across the room startled me. I sat straight up. And heard my closet door swing open. And then the soft pad of shoes across the carpet.

  I blinked myself alert. “Slappy—what are you doing?” I choked out. “What do you want? Where are you going?”

  He moved close to the bed. His green eyes appeared to glow in the dark. “Just wanted to check on you,” he said.

  “Huh?”

  “You’re my friend, Barton. I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable. Make sure you were sleeping okay.”

  “Uh … yeah. I’m fine,” I said. “Thanks for checking on me. Good night, Slappy.”

  “Good night,” he replied. He turned and shuffled back to the closet.

  I lowered my head to the pillow. It’s working, I thought. He really thinks we’re friends.

  This is going to be so much fun!

  “People have been making puppets for longer than you think,” I said. “Some books say that puppets have been around for four thousand years.”

  I moved the controller in my hand and made my soldier marionette walk toward Mr. Plame’s desk. The class watched in silence.

  In the back row, I saw that Travis and Kelly had grins on their faces. I knew they were just waiting to make fun of me. But I continued giving my report.

  “I read that the Egyptians of four thousand years ago had marionettes carved of wood—just like the one I have here. They worked the strings to make the puppets look as if they were kneading bread.”

  “Did you bring any bread?” Travis shouted.

  Some kids laughed. Mr. Plame raised a finger to his lips. “Don’t interrupt, Travis.”

  “Puppets made of clay and ivory were found in Egyptian tombs,” I continued. “Some historians believe that theaters had puppet shows before there were even actors.”

  I made my soldier puppet take a bow. Then I draped it over the wooden chair I had carried to the front of the room. “I’ve been interested in puppets since I was a little kid,” I said.

  I held up the other puppet I had brought to show everyone. “This is a princess marionette,” I said. “My dad got it for me. As you can see, the head isn’t carved of wood. It’s made of straw.”

  “Like your brain!” Kelly shouted.

  Some kids laughed.

  “Sluggs, where are your strings?” Travis called out.

  Mr. Plame jumped to his feet. He pointed to Travis and Kelly. “Let’s be polite, boys. Barton is giving a very interesting report.”

  He turned to Slappy. I had him sitting up on the floor with his back to the wall. “Tell us about this doll, Barton.”

  I picked Slappy up and cradled him between my arms. “This is a ventriloquist dummy,” I said.

  “Which one is the dummy?” Travis called. Big laughter.

  Mr. Plame’s cheeks reddened. “I’m warning you, Travis,” he said.

  “The word ventriloquism actually means speaking from the stomach in Latin,” I said. “In ancient times, some people believed that dead people lived in your stomach. And a ventriloquist could bring their v
oices to life.”

  “That’s very interesting,” Mr. Plame said. “When did the dummies begin to be used for entertainment?”

  “In the 1700s,” I said. “People began doing ventriloquism at parties. At first, they didn’t have puppets or dolls. They used their hands for puppets and talked to them. But then some people had the idea of using dolls.”

  “Barton, can you throw your voice?” Mr. Plame asked.

  I shook my head. “Not really. I just got this dummy, and I haven’t had time to practice.”

  Besides, he talks on his own, I thought. He doesn’t need me to put words in his mouth. “Well, thank you for an excellent report,” Mr. Plame said. “I’m very impressed with the research you did, Barton.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  I started to put Slappy down, but Mr. Plame reached for him. “Can I see him?”

  I had no choice. I handed the dummy to the teacher. He held Slappy like a baby and stared down at his face. “He has such an evil grin,” he said. “I wonder why the puppet-maker decided to carve such an ugly face.”

  I held my breath.

  I saw Slappy blink his eyes. Is he going to say something?

  That morning, I made Slappy promise not to talk. Not to move. To stay limp and lifeless like a normal wooden dummy.

  He promised.

  But Mr. Plame had just insulted him. And I saw Slappy blink. And my heart leaped into my mouth.

  I gasped as the dummy’s mouth dropped open.

  Please don’t say anything. Please don’t move. Please, Slappy, don’t do anything to Mr. Plame.

  Slappy’s mouth slid wide open—and then it clamped shut on Mr. Plame’s pointer finger.

  The teacher uttered a sharp cry. He grabbed the dummy’s head and tried to pry his finger free. But Slappy’s wooden lips remained shut tightly over it.

  “Owwwww. This really hurts!” he cried.

  He tried to twist his finger free. Then he gave a hard pull—and I heard a loud craaack.

  “I … I think my finger’s broken,” Mr. Plame said. His face was flaming red now and twisted in pain.

  He turned to me. “Barton—do something.” He tried to shove the dummy at me. But Slappy’s wooden lips were clamped tightly over the finger.