31 - Night of the Living Dummy II (8 page)

“The radio said it’s going to be hot,” I replied.

Jed and Sara were already at the table. They glanced up from their cereal
bowls, but didn’t say anything.

I poured myself a glass of grape juice. I’m the only one in my family who
doesn’t like orange juice. I guess I
am
totally weird.

“Who were you talking to on the phone?” I asked Mom. I took a long drink.

“Uh… Dr. Palmer’s secretary,” she replied hesitantly. “You have purple
above your lip,” she told me, pointing.

I wiped the grape juice off with a napkin. “Dr. Palmer? Isn’t she a shrink?”
I asked.

Mom nodded. “I tried to get an appointment for today. But she can’t see you
until Wednesday.”

“But, Mom—!” I protested.

Mom placed a finger over her mouth. “Sssshhh. No discussion.”

“But, Mom—!” I repeated.

“Ssshhh. Just talk to her once, Amy. You might enjoy it. You might think it’s
helpful.”

“Yeah. Sure,” I muttered.

I turned to Sara and Jed. They stared down at their cereal bowls.

I sighed and set the juice glass down in the sink.

I knew what this meant. It meant that I had until Wednesday to prove to my
family that I wasn’t a total wack job.

In the lunchroom at school, Margo begged me to tell her what was going on
with me. “Why were you locked up in your room all day yesterday?” she demanded.
“Come on, Amy—spill.”

“It’s no big deal,” I lied.

No way I was going to tell her.

I didn’t need the story going around school that Amy Kramer believes her
ventriloquist dummy is alive.

I didn’t need everyone whispering about me and staring at me the way everyone
in my family did.

“Dad wants to know if you’ll change your mind about the birthday party,”
Margo said. “If you want to perform with Slappy, you can—”

“No. Forget it!” I interrupted. “I put Slappy in the closet, and he’s staying
there. Forever.”

Margo’s eyes went wide. “Okay. Okay. Wow. You don’t have to bite my head
off.”

“Sorry,” I said quickly. “I’m a little stressed out these days. Here. Want
this?” I handed her the brownie Mom had packed.

“Thanks,” Margo replied, surprised.

“Later,” I said. I crinkled up my lunch bag, tossed it in the trash, and
hurried away.

In my room that night, I couldn’t concentrate on my homework. I kept staring
at the calendar.

Monday night. I had only two nights to prove that I wasn’t crazy, that Slappy
really was doing these horrible things.

I slammed my history book shut. No way I could read about the firing on Fort
Sumter tonight.

I paced back and forth for a while. Thinking. Thinking hard. But getting
nowhere.

What could I do?

What?

After a while, my head felt about to split open. I reached up both hands and
tugged at my hair.

“Aaaaagh!” I let out a furious cry. Of anger. Of frustration.

Maybe I’ll just get rid of Slappy, I decided.

Maybe I’ll take him outside and toss him in the trash.

And that will end the whole problem.

The idea made me feel a little better.

I turned and took two steps toward the closet.

But I stopped with a gasp when I saw the doorknob slowly turn.

As I stared in shock, the closet door swung open.

Slappy stepped out.

He slumped forward and stopped a few feet in front of me.

His blue eyes glared up at me. His grin grew wider.

“Amy,” he rasped, “it’s time you and I had a little talk.”

“Amy, now you are my slave,” Slappy said. His threat came out in a harsh,
cold rasp. The eerie voice made me shiver.

I stared back at him. I couldn’t reply.

I gaped into those glassy blue eyes, that red-lipped smirk.

“You read the ancient words that bring me to life,” the dummy whispered. “And
now you will serve me. You will do everything I ask.”

“No!” I finally managed to choke out. “No! Please—!”

“Yes!” he cried. The grinning wooden head bobbed up and down, nodding. “Yes,
Amy! You are my slave now! My slave forever!”

“I w-won’t!” I stammered. “You can’t make me—” My voice caught in my
throat. My legs wobbled like rubber. My knees buckled, and I nearly fell.

Slappy raised one hand and grabbed my wrist. I felt the cold, wooden fingers
tighten around me.

“You will do as I tell you—from now on,” the dummy whispered. “Or else…”

“Let go of me!” I cried. I struggled to tug my arm free. But his grasp was
too tight. “Or else
what?”
I cried.

“Or else I will destroy your sister’s mural,” Slappy replied. His painted
grin grew wider. The cold eyes glared into mine.

“Big deal,” I muttered. “Do you really think I’ll be your slave because you
wreck her painting? You’ve already wrecked Sara’s room—haven’t you? That
doesn’t mean I’ll be your slave!”

“I’ll keep on destroying things,” Slappy replied, tightening his grip on my
wrist, tugging me down toward him. “Maybe I’ll start wrecking your brother’s
things, too. And you will be blamed, Amy. You will be blamed for it all.”

“Stop—” I cried, trying to twist free.

“Your parents are already worried about you—aren’t they, Amy?” the dummy
rasped in that harsh, cold whispery voice. “Your parents already think you’re
crazy!”

“Stop! Please—!” I pleaded.

“What do you think they’ll do when you start wrecking everything in the
house?” Slappy demanded. “What do you think they’ll do to you, Amy?”

“Listen to me!” I shrieked. “You can’t—”

He jerked my arm hard. “They’ll send you away!” he rasped, his eyes flashing
wildly. “That’s what your parents will do. They’ll send you away. And you’ll never see them
again—except on visiting days!”

He tilted back his wooden head and uttered a shrill laugh.

A low moan escaped my throat. My entire body shuddered with terror.

Slappy tugged me closer. “You will be an excellent slave,” he whispered in my
ear. “You and I will have many good years together. You will devote your life to
me.”

“No!” I cried. “No, I won’t!”

I sucked in a deep breath. Then I swung my arm hard, as hard as I could.

I caught the dummy by surprise.

Before he could let go of my wrist, I pulled him off balance.

He let out a startled grunt as I lifted him off the floor.

He’s just a dummy,
I told myself.
Just a dummy. I can handle him. I
can beat him.

His hand fell off my wrist.

I ducked low. Grabbed his boneless arm with both hands. Swung my shoulder.
Flipped him over my back.

He landed hard on his stomach. His head made a loud
clonk
as it hit
the floor.

Breathing hard, my heart thudding wildly, I dove.

I can handle him. I can beat him.

I tried to pin him to the floor with my knees.

But he spun away and scrambled up, faster than I could believe.

I cried out as he swung his wooden fist.

I tried to dodge away. But he was too fast.

The heavy fist hit me square in the forehead.

My face felt as if it had exploded. Pain shot down my body.

Everything went bright red.

And, holding both sides of my head, I crumpled to the floor.

I can handle him. I can beat him.

The words repeated in my mind.

I blinked my eyes. Raised my head.

I refused to give up.

Through the haze of red, I reached up with both hands.

I grabbed Slappy by the waist and pulled him down.

Ignoring my throbbing forehead, I wrestled him to the ground. He kicked both
feet and thrashed his arms wildly. He swung at me, trying to land another blow.

But I dug my knee into his middle. Then I wrapped my hands around his
thrashing arms and pinned them to the floor.

“Let go, slave!” he squealed. “I command you—let go!” He struggled and
squirmed.

But I held tight.

His eyes darted frantically from side to side.

His wooden jaw clicked open and shut, open and shut, as he strained to squirm
free.

“I command you to let go, slave! You have no choice! You must obey me!”

I ignored his shrill cries and swung his arms behind his back. Holding them
tightly in place, I climbed to my feet.

He tried to kick me with both shoes. But I let go of the arms and grabbed his
legs.

I swung him upside down. Once again, his head hit the floor with a
clonk.

It didn’t seem to hurt him a bit.

“Let go! Let go, slave! You will pay! You will pay dearly for this!” He
screamed and protested, squirming and swinging his arms.

Breathing hard, I dragged him across the rug—and swung him into the open
closet.

He dove quickly, trying to escape.

But I slammed the door in his face. And turned the lock.

With a sigh, I leaned my back against the closet door and struggled to catch
my breath.

“Let me out! You can’t keep me in here!” Slappy raged.

He began pounding on the door. Then he kicked the door.

“I’ll break it down! I really will!” he threatened. He pounded even harder.
The big wooden hands thudded against the wooden door.

I turned and saw the door start to give.

He’s going to break it open! I realized.

What can I do? What can I do now?
I tried to fight back my panic,
struggled to think clearly.

Slappy furiously kicked at the door.

I need help, I decided.

I bolted into the hall. Mom and Dad had their bedroom door closed, I saw.
Should I wake them up?

No. They wouldn’t believe me.

I’d drag them into my room. Slappy would be slumped lifelessly on the closet
floor. Mom and Dad would be even more upset about me.

Sara, I thought. Maybe I can convince Sara. Maybe Sara will listen to me.

Her door was open. I burst into her bedroom.

She stood at the mural, brush in hand, dabbing yellow paint on the beach.

She turned as I ran in, and her face tightened in anger. “Amy—what do
you
want?” she demanded.

“You—you’ve got to believe me!” I sputtered. “I need your help! It wasn’t
me who did those horrible things. It really wasn’t, Sara. It was Slappy. Please—believe me! It was Slappy!”

“Yes. I know,” Sara replied calmly.

“Huh?” My mouth dropped open. I stared at her in surprise. “What did you
say?”

Sara set down the paintbrush. She wiped her hands on her gray smock. “Amy—I
know it’s Slappy,” she repeated in a whisper.

“I—I—” I was so stunned, I couldn’t speak. “But, Sara—you—”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” she cried with emotion. She rushed forward and
threw her arms around me. She hugged me tightly.

I still didn’t believe what she had said. My head was spinning.

I gently pushed her away. “You knew all this time? You knew it was Slappy and
not me?”

Sara nodded. “The other night, I woke up. I heard someone in my room. I
pretended to be asleep. But I had my eyes open partway.”

“And—?” I demanded.

“I saw Slappy,” Sara confessed, lowering her eyes. “I saw him carrying a red
paintbrush. I saw him painting AMY AMY AMY AMY all over my walls.”

“But you didn’t tell Mom and Dad?” I cried. “You made them think it was me?
And the whole time, you knew the truth?”

Sara kept her eyes on the floor. Her black hair fell over her face. She
brushed it back with a quick, nervous sweep of one hand.

“I—I didn’t want to believe it,” she confessed. “I didn’t want to believe
that a dummy could walk on its own, that it could be… alive.”

I glared at her. “And, so—?”

“So I accused you,” Sara said with a sob. “I guess the truth was just too
scary. I was too frightened, Amy. I
wanted
to believe it was you doing
those horrible things. I wanted to pretend it wasn’t the dummy.”

“You
wanted
to get me in trouble,” I accused. “That’s why you did it,
Sara. That’s why you lied to Mom and Dad. You
wanted
to get me in
trouble.”

She finally raised her face to me. I saw two tears trailing down her cheeks.
“Yeah, I guess,” she murmured.

She wiped the tears off with her hands. Her green eyes locked on mine. “I—I
guess I’m a little jealous of you,” she said.

“Huh?” My sister had stunned me again. I squinted at her, trying to make
sense of her words. “You?” I cried. “You’re jealous of
me?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I guess. Everything is easy for you. You’re so relaxed.
Everyone likes your sense of humor. It’s not like that for me,” Sara explained.
“I have to paint to impress people.”

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

This had to be the biggest surprise of all. Sara jealous of me?

Didn’t she know how jealous I was of
her?

I suddenly had a funny feeling in my chest. My eyes brimmed with tears.
Strong emotion swept over me like an ocean wave.

I rushed forward and hugged Sara.

For some reason, we both started laughing. I can’t explain it. We stood there
in the middle of her room, laughing like lunatics.

I guess we were just so glad that the truth was out.

Then Slappy’s painted face flashed back into my mind. And I remembered with a
chill why I had burst into my sister’s room.

“You have to help me,” I told her. “Right now.”

Sara’s smile vanished. “Help you do what?” she demanded.

“We have to get rid of Slappy,” I told her. “We have to get rid of him for
good.”

I tugged her hand. She followed me down the hall.

“But—how?” she asked.

Stepping into my room, we both cried out at once.

We heard a final kick—and the closet door swung open.

Slappy burst out, his eyes wild with rage.

“Guess what, slaves?” he rasped. “Slappy wins!”