40 - Night of the Living Dummy III (7 page)

“Yeah. Maybe,” I murmured.

“And tonight he brought Rocky down and set him up on your bed. I’m sure of
it,” Dan insisted. “I’m sure it’s Zane. We have to hide up in the attic again.
Tomorrow night. We’ll catch Zane again. I know we will.”

“Hide up there again? No way!” I cried. “It’s hot up there. And too creepy.
And I’m staying as far away from those dummies as I can.”

My brother sighed. “I know I’m right,” he whispered.

“I don’t know
what
I know,” I replied. “I don’t know anything about
anything.” I slid under the covers, pulled the blanket over my head, and tried
to get back to sleep.

The next night, Mom and Dad had a dinner party in honor of Zane and Uncle
Cal. They invited the Birches and the Canfields from down the street, and Cousin
Robin and her husband Fred.

Fred is a great guy. Everyone calls him Froggy because he can puff out his
cheeks like a frog. Froggy is short and very round and really looks like a frog.

He always makes me laugh. He knows a million great jokes. Robin is always
trying to get him to shut up. But he never does.

Mom and Dad don’t have many dinner parties. So they had to work all day to
get the dining room ready. To set the table. And to cook the dinner.

Mom made a leg of lamb. Dad cooked up his specialty—Caribbean-style
scalloped potatoes. Very spicy.

Mom bought flowers for the table. She and Dad brought out all the fancy
plates and glasses that we usually see only on holidays.

The dining room really looked awesome as we all sat down to dinner. Dan,
Zane, and I were down at the far end of the table. Froggy sat at our end. I
guess, because he’s just a big kid.

Froggy told me a moron joke. Someone asks a moron: “Can you stand on your
head?” And the moron says, “No, I can’t. It’s up too high.”

I started to laugh when I saw Zane jump up from the table. “Where are you
going?” I called after him.

Zane turned back at the dining room doorway. “To get my camera,” he replied.
“I want to take some pictures of the table before it gets all messed up.”

He disappeared upstairs.

A few seconds later, we all heard him scream.

Chairs scraped the floor as everyone jumped up. We all went running up the
stairs.

I reached Zane’s room first. From the doorway, I saw him standing in the
center of the room.

I saw the sick look on Zane’s face.

And then I saw the camera in his hand.

Or what was left of the camera.

It looked as if it had been run over by a truck. The film door had been
twisted off and lay on the floor. The lens was smashed. The whole camera body
was bent and broken.

Zane turned the camera over in his hands, gazing down at it sadly, shaking
his head.

I raised my eyes to the bed. And saw Rocky sitting on the bedspread. A roll
of gray film unspooled across his lap.

Dad burst into the room. All of our other guests pushed in after him.

“What happened?” someone asked.

“Is that Zane’s camera?”

“What’s going on?”

“That’s what happens when you try to take my picture!” Froggy joked.

No one laughed. It wasn’t funny.

Dad’s face turned dark red as he took the camera from Zane’s hand. Dad
examined it carefully. His expression remained grim.

“This isn’t mischief anymore,” he murmured. I could barely hear him over all
the other voices in the room. Everyone had begun talking at once.

“This cannot be allowed,” Dad said solemnly. He raised his eyes to Dan, then
me. He stared at us both for the longest time without saying anything.

Zane let out a long sigh. I turned and saw that he was about to cry.

“Zane—” I started.

But he uttered an angry shout. Then he pushed past Froggy and Mr. and Mrs.
Birch. And went running from the room.

“Someone here has done a very sick thing,” Dad said sadly. He raised the
camera to his face, running a finger over the broken lens. “This is a very
expensive camera. It was Zane’s most prized possession.”

All of our guests became very quiet.

Dad kept his eyes on Dan and me. He started to say something else.

But then we all heard the deafening crash from downstairs.

“What is going
on
here?” Dad cried. He tossed the broken camera onto
the bed and darted from the room.

The others went hurrying after him. All talking at once. I heard their shoes
pounding down the stairs.

I turned to Dan. “Still think Zane is doing these things?”

Dan shrugged. “Maybe.”

“No way,” I told him. “No way Zane is going to smash his own camera. He loved
his camera. No way he would smash it just to get you and me in trouble.”

Dan raised troubled eyes to me. “Then I don’t get it,” he said in a tiny
voice. I could see the fear on his face.

I heard startled shouts and cries of alarm from downstairs. “Let’s check out
the
next
disaster,” I said, rolling my eyes.

We reached the bedroom door at the same time and squeezed through together. Then I led the way along the hall and down the
stairs.

I fought back my own fear as we approached the dining room.

Something very strange was going on in this house, I knew. Dad was right when
he said it was no joke.

Tearing Zane’s room apart wasn’t a joke. It was evil.

Wrecking Zane’s camera was evil, too.

Thinking about Rocky gave me a chill. The dummy was always there. Whenever
something evil happened, there sat Rocky.

Trina, don’t be crazy! I scolded myself. Don’t start thinking that a wooden
ventriloquist’s dummy can be evil.

That’s crazy thinking. That’s really messed up.

But what could I think?

My throat tightened. My mouth suddenly felt very dry.

I took a deep breath and led the way into the dining room.

I saw Dad in the kitchen doorway. He had his arm around Mom’s shoulders. Mom
had her head buried against Dad’s shirtsleeve.

Was she crying?

Yes.

The guests all stood against the wall, shaking their heads, their expressions
grim and confused. They muttered quietly, staring at the disaster.

The disaster. The terrible disaster.

The dining room table.

I saw the overturned platters first. Dad’s scalloped potatoes smeared over
the tablecloth. Clumps of potatoes stuck to the wall and the front of the china
hutch.

The salad poured over the floor and the chairs. The bread ripped into small
chunks, the chunks tossed over the table. The flowers ripped off their stems.
The vase on its side, water pouring over the tablecloth, puddling on the floor.

The glasses all turned over. A bottle of red wine tipped over, a dark red
stain spreading over the tablecloth.

I heard Mom’s sobs. I heard the sounds of Dad’s muttered attempts to calm her
down. I saw the other guests shaking their heads, their faces so upset, so
concerned, so puzzled.

And then Dan grabbed my shoulder and pointed me toward the head of the table.
And I saw two dummies sitting there on dining room chairs.

Wilbur and the new dummy. Wilbur and Smiley.

They sat at the table, grinning at each other, wine glasses in their hands.
As if celebrating. As if toasting each other.

That night, Dan and I hid behind the couch in the attic once again. The attic
stretched dark and silent. So dark, I could barely see my brother sitting beside
me.

We were both in pajamas. The air was hot and dry. But my hands and my bare
feet felt cold and clammy.

We talked softly, our legs stretched out on the floor, resting against the
back of the couch. As we talked, we waited—and listened. Listened to every
sound.

It was nearly midnight, but I didn’t feel sleepy. I felt alert. Ready for
anything.

Ready to catch Zane in the act once again.

This time, I brought my little flash camera with me. When Zane crept up here
to carry one of the dummies downstairs, I’d snap his photo. Then I’d have proof
to show Mom and Dad.

Yes, I finally decided that Dan was right. Zane had to be the one who was
destroying our house.

Destroying our house and trying to scare everyone into thinking the dummies
had come to life.

“But why?” I whispered to Dan. “Did we scare Zane so badly the last time he
was here? So badly that he’ll do
anything
to pay us back?”

“He’s sick,” Dan muttered. “That’s the only answer. He’s totally messed up.”

“So messed up that he wrecked his own camera,” I murmured, shaking my head.

“So messed up that he ran downstairs and trashed the dining room,” Dan added.

The dining room. That’s what convinced me that Zane was guilty.

All of us were upstairs in Zane’s room, examining his broken camera.

Zane was the only other person downstairs.

Zane was the only person in the house who could have trashed the dining room
and wrecked the dinner.

Of course he acted horrified and shocked. Of course he acted as if he didn’t
have a clue about what had happened.

What a sad, sad night.

The dinner guests didn’t know what to say to Mom and Dad. It was such a
frightening mystery. No one had an answer.

The guests helped clean up the mess. The food was ruined. It couldn’t be
eaten. No one felt like eating, anyway.

Everyone left as soon as the dining room was cleaned and cleared.

As the last guest left, I turned to Dan. “Uh-oh,” I whispered. “Family
Conference Time. We’re in for a major lecture now.”

But I was wrong. Mom hurried up to her room. And Dad said he was too
disgusted to talk to anyone.

Uncle Cal asked if Dad would like him to take the car and pick up some fried
chicken or hamburgers or something.

Dad just scowled at him and stomped away. He carried Smiley and Wilbur up to
the attic. I heard him slam the attic door. Then he disappeared into the bedroom
to help comfort Mom.

Zane turned to his dad. “I-I can’t believe my good camera is smashed,” he
whimpered.

Uncle Cal placed a hand on Zane’s shoulder. “I’ll bet your uncle Danny has a
new camera at his shop that he’ll want to give you.”

“But I liked my
old
camera!” Zane wailed.

And that’s when I decided he was guilty. He’s a phony, I decided. He’s
carrying on like this—putting on a show for Dan and me.

But I wasn’t going to fall for it. No way.

I made sure I had film in my little camera. Then I grabbed Dan and we crept
up to the attic to wait. To wait in the darkness and catch Zane.

To end the disasters in our house once and for all.

We didn’t have to wait long.

After about half an hour, I heard the tap of soft footsteps on the attic
floor.

I sucked in my breath. My whole body tensed, and I nearly dropped the camera.

Beside me, Dan raised himself to his knees.

My heart pounding, I crept to the edge of the couch.

Tap tap.
Shuffling footsteps on the bare floorboards.

I saw a dark figure bend down and lift a dummy off a chair.

“It’s Zane,” I whispered to Dan. “I knew it!”

In the heavy darkness, I could see him carrying the dummy to the stairs.

I stood up. My legs trembled. But I moved quickly.

I raised the camera. Stepped in front of the couch.

Pushed the shutter button.

The room flashed in an explosion of white light.

I clicked off another one.

Another bright white flash.

And in the flash, I saw Rocky dangling over Zane’s shoulder.

No.

Not Zane!

Not Zane. Not Zane.

In the flash of light, I saw Rocky dangling over
another dummy’s
shoulder!

Smiley! The new dummy.

The new dummy was shuffling toward the stairs, carrying Rocky away.

The dummy turned.

My hand fumbled for the light switch. I clicked on the light.

I stood frozen in front of the couch. Too startled to move.

“Smiley—stop!” I screamed.

The dummy’s grin faded. The eyes narrowed at me. “I’m not Smiley,” he
croaked. He had a hoarse, raspy voice. “My name is Slappy.”

He turned back to the stairs.

“Stop him!” I cried to my brother.

We both made a dive for the dummy.

Slappy spun around. He pulled Rocky off his shoulder—and heaved him at Dan.

I grabbed Slappy around the waist and tackled him to the floor.

He swung both hands hard. One of them slammed into my forehead.

“Unh.” I let out a groan as the pain shot through me.

My hands slid off the dummy’s slender waist. Slappy jumped nimbly to his
feet, his grin wide and leering.

He was enjoying this!

He kicked me in the side with the toe of his big leather shoe.

My head still throbbing, I rolled out of the way. And turned back in time to
see Dan grab the dummy from behind.

Dan drove his head into the dummy’s back. They both dropped hard to the
floor.

“Let go of me, slave!” Slappy demanded in his ugly, hoarse voice. “You are my
slave now! Let go of me! I order you!”

I pulled myself to my knees as Dan and Slappy wrestled over the floor.

“He’s so…
strong!”
Dan called out to me.

Slappy rolled on top of him. Started to pound him with his wooden fists.

I grabbed Slappy by the shoulders and tugged with all my strength. Slappy
swung his arms, thrashing at my brother.

I pulled hard, trying to tug him off Dan’s stomach.

“Let go! Let go!” the dummy shrieked. “Let go, slave!”

“Get off him!” I cried.

We were making such a racket, I didn’t hear the attic door open downstairs.
And I didn’t hear the footsteps running up the stairs.

A face appeared. And then a large body.