My Friend Slappy

by R. L. Stine

  Then Officer Marcus wrapped his hands around Slappy’s shoes and held the dummy upside down. The dummy hung lifelessly from the officer’s hands.

  He turned to Travis. “No magic,” he said. “Just a doll. He isn’t alive.” He shoved Slappy at Travis. “You take him.”

  “NO!” Travis threw his hands in the air.

  Slappy fell to the floor. His head bounced once on the carpet. He didn’t move.

  Mr. Fox lifted Slappy up and handed him back to me. He shook his head. “Travis,” he said, “when you feel like it, you can tell me what really happened.”

  “But—” Travis started to protest. He could see it was no use.

  The three of them started to the door. I followed, cradling the dummy in my arms.

  “Mr. Fox,” the officer said, “perhaps Travis should see a doctor. Or maybe an eye doctor.”

  “So sorry to waste your time,” Mr. Fox replied.

  I pulled open the front door. Officer Marcus and Mr. Fox stepped onto the front stoop.

  As soon as they were out of the house, Slappy lifted his head. He leaned out of my arms—and clamped his teeth hard on Travis’s arm. I heard a crunch sound as Slappy bit harder.

  “Owwwww!” Travis uttered a cry of pain.

  Officer Marcus and Travis’s dad spun around quickly. But by that time, Slappy’s head slouched lifelessly in my arms. Far from Travis’s arm.

  “He bit me!” Travis cried, pointing at the dummy.

  “Let’s just go home,” Mr. Fox said.

  I closed the door after they left. Slappy sat up and slapped me a high five. “That was awesome!” he exclaimed. “Friends forever! Now let’s see how we can mess with that guy Kelly!”

  Kelly lived in an old brick house near the marshes on the other side of our school. His father worked at one of the casinos here in Atlantic City. His mother was a librarian at a high school.

  Kelly and I had been pretty good friends. We hung out at each other’s houses and played basketball in his backyard. We were friends until Travis came along in fourth grade. Then Kelly decided to be Travis’s buddy—and my enemy!

  Both of his parents were big readers, and the house was filled with books on tall bookshelves everywhere.

  I guess that’s why Kelly never read anything. Too many books to choose from. Ha.

  I carried Slappy to Kelly’s house in a big laundry bag. He wanted to walk. But no way was I letting that happen.

  “Now don’t go too far this time,” I said. “We just want to scare Kelly. We don’t want to hurt him or put him in danger.”

  “Maybe just a little?” Slappy said from inside the bag.

  “No,” I said. “We don’t want to do anything that will bring the police to my house.”

  “Awwww.” Slappy sighed. “What if Kelly just loses a little blood?”

  “No blood,” I said. “We just want to make Kelly promise not to be a beast and make my life miserable. Can you stick to that, Slappy?”

  Silence for a long while. “What are friends for?” Slappy replied finally.

  The laundry bag bounced over my shoulder as I walked. It was starting to feel heavy.

  The afternoon sun had nearly set, but the air was still hot. I felt drops of sweat roll down my cheeks.

  Kelly’s house was half hidden behind a row of tall evergreen shrubs. The doors were open on the four-car garage in back. I saw two ancient black cars inside. Mr. Washington likes to tinker with old cars.

  Groaning, I shifted the laundry bag to my other shoulder and walked up the long driveway to Kelly’s house. The front door had a big stained-glass window in it. I pulled back the brass knocker and knocked really loudly.

  “Remember,” I whispered into the bag, “scare him, but not too much.”

  “You’re talking to a master of scares, Barty, my friend,” Slappy replied.

  The door opened. Kelly blinked a few times, surprised. “You?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Me. Can I come in?”

  “Why?” Kelly demanded. Not too friendly.

  “Just want to talk,” I said.

  He backed up so I could enter the house. A bright chandelier stood overhead in the wide entryway. It took my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the light.

  “You can’t stay,” Kelly said. “My mom will be right back. She is having a thing here in a few minutes.”

  I followed him through the living room. A big painting of his parents stood over the fireplace mantel. Two walls were covered with bookshelves.

  “A thing?” I said. I still hadn’t pulled Slappy from the laundry bag.

  “She invited her book club to dinner,” Kelly said.

  We stopped at the entryway to the dining room. The long table was covered in a white tablecloth. White china plates, wine glasses, and silverware sparkled and gleamed at each setting. A huge centerpiece of red and yellow flowers was placed in the middle of the table.

  “It looks awesome,” I said, taking a few steps into the room. “Very fancy.”

  “Stay out of here,” Kelly said, grabbing my shoulder. “Mom warned me not to touch a thing. She worked all morning on the table.”

  “I’d hate to see it messed up,” I said.

  Kelly’s mouth formed a scowl. “What do you mean?” he snapped. “Are you trying to be funny, Sluggs?”

  I shook my head. “No. I don’t want to be funny.”

  “What do you want?” Kelly snarled. “Why are you here, Sluggs?”

  “It’s simple,” I said. “I need you to swear that you’ll be nice to me from now on.”

  Kelly squinted at me like I was some kind of alien from outer space. “Be nice to you?” he said. “Why would I be nice to you?”

  “Because I’m asking you,” I said. I saw Slappy squirming inside the laundry bag. I knew he was eager to get out.

  Kelly gave me a push. “I’m asking you to get out of here, okay?”

  “Is that a no?” I said. “You really shouldn’t say no, Kelly. I’ll show you why.”

  I raised the bottom of the laundry bag and spilled Slappy out onto the floor. The dummy’s head and shoes clattered loudly on the wood floorboards.

  Kelly stared down at it. “You brought your dummy? You’re so weird, Sluggs.”

  “No, I’m not,” I said. “I knew I’d need to convince you—”

  Kelly laughed and grabbed my face. He squeezed my upper lip and my chin and made my mouth go up and down. “Look at me. I’m a dummy!” he said in a shrill voice. Then he laughed.

  He stopped laughing when Slappy jumped to his feet.

  “Hey—how’d you do that, Sluggs?” Kelly asked. “Never mind. Just take your stupid dummy and get out of here!” he shouted. His eyes were on the dining room window. “My mom just drove up the driveway.”

  “Promise you’ll be nice to me from now on and I’ll leave,” I said.

  “Just leave,” Kelly shot back.

  I heard the back door open. “I’m back!” Mrs. Washington called from the kitchen.

  “Get out! I’m not promising anything!” Kelly said in a loud whisper. “Travis and I will teach you—”

  “I don’t think Travis will help you,” I said. “Travis has changed his mind about me. I’m giving you one last chance.”

  Kelly shook his head. “Do I look stupid to you?”

  “Well …”

  “Do you like to dance?” Slappy interrupted.

  Kelly’s mouth dropped open. “How did you make the dummy talk?”

  His mom walked into the dining room. Her eyes went wide when she saw me there. “Barton? Hi. How are you?”

  “Fine,” I said.

  “You brought a puppet?” she said, staring at Slappy. “To show Kelly?”

  “Kind of,” I said.

  “You boys had better get out of this room,” she said. “I have all my most expensive china and glassware on the table. It took me hours to set the table.”

  “Okay,” I said. “We’ll get out.”

  “But first, Kelly wants to show y
ou a new dance he learned,” Slappy said.

  Mrs. Washington turned her back to adjust a flower arrangement. She didn’t realize the dummy had talked.

  And she didn’t see Slappy swing both hands toward Kelly, then move them high in the air.

  Kelly made a gulping sound as he floated off the floor and drifted high over our heads. “Hey—!” A startled gasp escaped his throat. He thrashed his arms in the air. “What’s happening?”

  Slappy swept his hands to the side and Kelly moved through the air. Now he hovered over the dining room table … then settled down, down, down as Slappy lowered him. His shoes smashed a plate as he landed on the table.

  The crash made Mrs. Washington spin around. She gaped at Kelly in horror. “Kelly! Get down! Get off the table! Have you lost your mind?”

  Slappy crossed his hands in front of him and whispered a few words I couldn’t hear.

  And up on the tabletop, Kelly began to do a dance. His shoes bounced up and down and his arms sailed out to his sides. And he began to tap-dance.

  “Kelly! STOP!” his mother screamed. “STOP!”

  Kelly’s shoes beat out a fast tap rhythm. Plates and glasses shattered and went flying. He crushed wine glasses beneath his shoes and sent a long serving platter sailing toward the dining room window. It fell to the floor and cracked into a thousand pieces.

  “Faster!” Slappy whispered. And Kelly, helpless to stop himself, danced even faster over the table.

  Mrs. Washington screamed and tore at her hair. She made a grab for Kelly. But he backed out of her reach and kept up his wild tap dance.

  He kicked the centerpiece and began to dance on top of it. Flowers and dirt flew off the table.

  “Stop! STOP!” Mrs. Washington shrieked. “What are you DOING? STOP!”

  Finally, Kelly turned to me and cried out breathlessly. “Okay! I promise! I’ll never be mean to you again! Just let me stop! Please!”

  Slappy twirled his hands together. Kelly did a high backflip off the table and landed on the floor on his feet. He blinked, stunned, his eyes rolling in his head.

  Mrs. Washington grabbed him by the shoulders. “Kelly! Why? Why?” she screamed. “You ruined everything. Look at this mess. Everything is broken. Glass everywhere! Have you lost your mind?”

  Kelly didn’t answer.

  I quickly shoved Slappy back into the laundry bag.

  “Sorry, Mrs. Washington,” I said. “I hope this wasn’t my fault.”

  She squinted at me. “Your fault? How could it be your fault, Barton? Kelly went berserk. It couldn’t be your fault.”

  “Well, I’m sorry,” I repeated. “I hope Kelly is okay.”

  I heard him mutter something under his breath. But I didn’t wait to hear what he said. I slung the laundry bag over my shoulder and hurried out of the house.

  I didn’t breathe until I was down the long driveway and back to the street.

  Inside the bag, Slappy laughed. “That was awesome! You didn’t know Kelly had so much talent, did you, Barty?”

  “I never saw him dance before,” I replied. “He was pretty good.”

  “And he promised he’d never try to bully you again, my friend,” Slappy said. “Slappy to the rescue.”

  “Yeah. Thanks,” I said. I was picturing the mess we left behind. Broken china and glass all over the room. I felt sorry for Kelly’s mom. It would take her hours to clean up.

  “Well, my friend, this is fun,” Slappy said, bouncing in the laundry bag as we walked. “Who’s next?”

  “Next?” I said. “No, you’re confused. I told you, Slappy. No one is next.”

  “That girl. Lizzie,” he said. “She’s next.”

  “No. Wait, Slappy—” I protested.

  “She’s next!” he cried. “She can’t be your friend. Because I’m your friend. We’ll teach her a lesson!”

  “No. Wait.” I stopped.

  Slappy lowered his voice to a nasty rasp. “Let’s go get her,” he said. “Walk!”

  I crossed the street. My brain was buzzing. I couldn’t let Slappy hurt Lizzie. I should have known he would take the friend thing too far.

  Lizzie was my only true friend in the world. And now the evil dummy thought he would help me by teaching her a frightening lesson.

  I knew it was time to stop him. But how?

  I turned back to the street. I saw three large SUVs rolling toward me.

  I suddenly knew what I had to do.

  I reached into the bag and pulled Slappy halfway out. “Are we there?” he rasped. “Are we at that girl Lizzie’s house?”

  “Not quite,” I said.

  I wrapped both hands around the dummy’s head.

  “You don’t have to hug me,” he said. “I know I’m your best friend.”

  With a desperate, hard tug, I pulled Slappy’s head off—

  —and tossed it through the back window of a passing SUV.

  * * *

  Yes, I imagined that.

  If only I could act that bravely in real life.

  I didn’t tear off Slappy’s head and toss it away. It seemed like such a good plan. And it worked so well in my mind.

  But what would Slappy really do if I made a grab for his head? I didn’t want to find out.

  So before I knew it, I was at Lizzie’s house. “She is up in her room,” her mom said. “But you can’t stay long. We’re going to a cousin’s for dinner.”

  “It won’t take long,” Slappy said inside the bag.

  Mrs. Hellman squinted at me. “Do you have a cold, Barton? Your voice sounds funny.”

  “No. I’m fine,” I said. I turned and walked down the long hall to Lizzie’s room.

  She was on her knees on the floor, surrounded by dozens of stuffed dogs. She looked up as I stepped into the room.

  “I can’t decide which ones to use for my project,” she said. “Maybe you can help me.”

  “Help you?” I said. I could see Slappy squirming to get out of the bag.

  “Well, my topic is the history of dogs as pets. So I need to show some ancient-looking dogs. Or maybe early breeds that people first adopted.”

  She fumbled through a big pile of stuffed animals. “Here. Like this one.” She held up what looked like a creature that was part German shepherd, part wolf. “The first dogs that people tamed were descended from wolves.”

  “That’s a good one,” I said.

  Lizzie turned her gaze to the laundry bag. “Barton, what’s in there?”

  “It … it’s Slappy!” I cried. My voice was suddenly choked with panic. “We have to do something, Lizzie. Get up! Get up! We have to run! He’s out of control!”

  “What do you mean?” she cried.

  Before I could answer, Slappy squirmed out of the bag and jumped to his feet. He poked his hand angrily at Lizzie. “You can’t be Barton’s friend!” he exclaimed. “I am Barton’s friend. His only friend!”

  I tried to grab the dummy. But he slid out of my grasp and backed to the wall. “Leave Lizzie alone!” I begged. “Please—Slappy. Lizzie can be my friend, too.”

  “No way!” he rasped. “I am your only friend. Your best friend forever. This girl Lizzie has to go. Good-bye, Lizzie!”

  Lizzie jumped to her feet. She still had the stuffed German shepherd in her hand. She tossed it at Slappy, and it bounced off his head. “Leave us alone!” she cried.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” the dummy growled.

  He swept a hand in front of his chest, and the bedroom door slammed shut.

  Lizzie darted to the door. She turned the knob and pulled. “We’re locked in!”

  Slappy tossed back his head and laughed. “Cozy, isn’t it?”

  I dove at him. Tried to tackle him to the floor. But he slipped out of my hands and leaped onto the bed.

  “Lizzie the Dog Lover!” he screamed. “Let’s see how much you love your dogs!”

  “Slappy, don’t—!” I cried. I lurched toward the bed. But I tripped over some stuffed dogs and stumbled to the floor
.

  Slappy raised both hands high above his head and shouted out some strange words.

  And as I struggled to my feet, I saw the stuffed dogs begin to change. The little dogs were growing taller, wider. And their cute faces were changing. Pointed fangs curled down from their mouths.

  “Noooo! Stop!” Lizzie cried. She tried the door again. It wouldn’t budge.

  I made another grab for Slappy. Giggling, he dodged away.

  The stuffed dogs stretched and grew. Dozens of them. Standing as tall as HORSES now. Horse-sized dogs with monster faces. Growing … stretching …

  Lizzie and I backed against the wall. The enormous stuffed creatures were filling the room now. No room for us to move. And still they kept swelling up.

  And then: POPPPPPPPPPP!

  A cloud of white fuzz exploded into the air.

  POPPP POPPP.

  The giant stuffed dogs were exploding!

  The explosions blasted Lizzie and me to the floor. I hit my back hard, and my breath whooshed out.

  Standing on the bed, Slappy opened his mouth in a cackling laugh.

  POP POPPP.

  Clumps of stuffing, thicker than snow, heavy, ragged, came plunging down on us.

  “I can’t see!” I cried.

  “Can’t breathe …” Lizzie moaned. “It … it’s like a blizzard!”

  POPPPP.

  I shut my eyes as stuffing exploded into my face.

  I started to choke. I grabbed Lizzie. She was choking, too. I struggled to see, to breathe.

  And over the explosions of stuffing, the only sound was the laughter of the evil dummy.

  Lizzie struggled to her feet. The clumps of stuffing came up to her knees. She grabbed my hand and pulled me up. Then she pounded on the bedroom door with both fists. “Mom! Mom—help us!”

  Slappy laughed. “She’ll never hear you.”

  I pulled chunks of stuffing from my hair. I wiped my face with both hands. Choking and coughing, I pulled stuffing from my nose and mouth.

  I stood there, gazing at the mess. The floor looked like a stuffed dog graveyard, with torn animals scattered everywhere, half-buried in white and yellow stuffing.

  “Lizzie—do you get my message?” Slappy screamed from the bed. “My message is simple: Stay away from my friend Barton. Do you get it?”