Slappy in Dreamland Read online

  CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  SLAPPY HERE, EVERYONE.

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  SLAPPY HERE, EVERYONE.

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  SLAPPY HERE, EVERYONE.

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  EPILOGUE FROM SLAPPY

  SNEAK PEEK!

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ALSO AVAILABLE

  COPYRIGHT

  Welcome to My World.

  Yes, it’s SlappyWorld—you’re only screaming in it! Hahaha!

  Warning: Just because I’m so good-looking doesn’t mean I’m not smart!

  I’m so smart, I can spell my name in the dark! Hahaha.

  I’m so smart, I can spell my name forward, backward, and inside out!

  I know you’re jealous of my good looks. When I look in a mirror, the mirror says, “Thank you!” Hahaha.

  I’m so handsome, every time I look in a mirror, it’s love at first sight!

  Do you know who my dream date would be? Me! Hahahaha.

  And speaking of dreams, here’s a story about a boy named Richard Hsieh. Richard has a problem with nightmares. The problem is, he’s having them day and night!

  I think you’ll like Richard’s story. Mainly because it also stars a fabulous character—ME! Hahaha.

  I’ll promise you one thing—the story won’t put you to sleep!

  It’s another dreamy tale from SlappyWorld!

  Slappy stared across the table at me. His eyes gleamed under the lamplight, and his red-lipped grin made him look like he was happy to be here.

  Maybe you’ll think I’m weird. But that ventriloquist dummy is my best friend. Ever since Dad gave him to me for my twelfth birthday, we’ve been pals.

  I keep Slappy with me wherever I go. I even took him to school once. Mom warned me not to, and she was right. Some kids in my classes laughed at me and made jokes about how I must be a dummy, too.

  Not funny.

  My name is Richard Hsieh, and I’m really not a weird dude. The truth is, I’ve always wanted a pet, and I’m allergic to dogs and cats.

  So I guess Slappy takes the place of a pet for me.

  My family moved to Russet Village less than a year ago, and I started at Russet Middle School last September. So I haven’t had time to make real friends.

  And I have to admit something about me. I’m shy. When I started at the new school, I had to fill out a questionnaire. You know. A lot of questions about what I like to do and what I don’t like.

  At the bottom, it said: Can you describe yourself in one word?

  And that’s what I wrote—shy.

  I was going to write awesome. Just as a joke. But I thought whoever read my answers might take it seriously and think I’m stuck-up.

  I looked at Slappy. Then down at the table.

  I was doing a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle with black-and-white pandas on it—no color—so it was really hard. “It’s almost done. Only twelve pieces to go,” I said.

  Slappy grinned back at me. I really wished he could talk.

  Dad keeps telling me to stop talking to the dummy all the time. He thinks it’s too weird.

  But Mom is a doctor, and she doesn’t see any problem with it. “Lots of kids have imaginary friends they talk to,” she told Dad.

  “Sure. When they are three,” Dad shot back.

  “He can talk to Slappy all he wants,” Mom said. “It’s not like Richard imagines that Slappy is alive.”

  Dad shrugged, blew out a long whoosh of air, and left the room.

  Dad is manager of the hardware store in town. A few days before my birthday, he found a beat-up suitcase in the back room of the store. He opened the case and found Slappy folded up inside it.

  The dummy’s gray suit was wrinkled, and his wooden head had scratches on it and a tiny chip missing from his nose. Dad asked the other store workers if they knew who had left the dummy there. No one had a clue.

  So that’s how Slappy became my birthday gift.

  Mom and Dad washed him up before they let me have him. “He probably has lice or something,” Dad said.

  “What an evil grin,” Mom said.

  “It is not an evil grin,” I said. “He’s just smiling.”

  “It looks like he’s smiling about something evil,” Mom said. “Maybe you can practice with him, Richard. Practice making him talk. Work up a comedy act. That might be fun.”

  “I … I’m not very good with jokes,” I told her.

  Mom frowned at me. “But it might help build up your confidence,” she said.

  I wasn’t sure about that. But I did like having Slappy with me. And maybe I did talk to him too often. But so what?

  I had been staring at the black-and-white jigsaw puzzle so long, my eyes were starting to go blurry. “Just a few more pieces,” I told Slappy.

  But I felt a hand on my shoulder. “Get your coat, Richard,” Mom said. “Dinner ran so long, we’re late.”

  I looked up from the pandas. “Late?”

  “Did you forget? You’re coming with me to my lab tonight. It’s Bring-Your-Kid-to-Work Day.”

  I dropped the puzzle piece in my hand and jumped up from the table. “Sorry, Mom. I’ll get my coat.”

  “And how about some shoes?” she said. “Shoes might be good.”

  I hurried to my room to get my sneakers.

  Mom runs an overnight sleep lab at the hospital. I guess people who have trouble sleeping come to her lab. I’ve never been there before.

  I tied my sneakers. Then I pulled my jacket out of the front closet. “Is it okay if I bring Slappy?” I asked.

  Mom squinted at me. “Slappy?”

  “Yes. Is it okay if I bring him?”

  She thought about it for a moment. “Sure,” she said. “Bring him along. The more the merrier.”

  And that’s when all the trouble started.

  Mom’s sleep lab has its own entrance at the side of the hospital. We walked down a brightly lit hallway. Then Mom pushed open the doors to the lab.

  I blinked as my eyes adjusted to the dim gray light. I saw dark curtains and narrow beds and lots of computer equipment. The curtains formed a row of bedrooms, with a bed and a computer in each room.

  People were already here. Some sat on their beds. Three of them stood in a corner, talking. They were all dressed in pajamas and robes. They turned as Mom and I walked in.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Mom said. “This is my son, Richard. And that thing he has draped over his shoulder is his dummy friend, Slappy.”

  “Slappy might give me nightmares!” a man called from one of the beds.

  A few people laughed. Most of them looked pretty old to me. But I saw a couple of younger people, too.

  “Don’t say that,” Mom said. “This is a no-nightmare zone, remember?”

  A young man in a white lab uniform appeared from a back room. He was tall and thin and had dark eyes and straight black hair pulled behind his head in a short ponytail.

  “Hello, Doctor,” he said. “This must be your son.”

  Mom introduced me and Slappy. “Richard, this is Salazar, my assistant,” she said. “Salazar does all the hard work here. I just watch everyone sleep.”

  He chuckled. “Your mom is being modest,” he said. He t
urned to my mother. “Only six here tonight. Mrs. Baker couldn’t come in. I was just about to hook everyone up.”

  “I’ll put Slappy in my office,” Mom said. She pointed to the back room. Through the big window, I could see rows of computer monitors. “Then you can watch Salazar hook up the patients. He can explain what we do here.”

  She lifted Slappy off my shoulder. “Wow. He’s heavier than I thought.”

  The dummy’s eyelids lowered. I laughed. “Slappy knows he’s in a sleep lab!”

  Shaking her head, Mom had to carry him in both hands.

  “Bedtime, everyone!” Salazar called out. “Settle in, and I’ll get you ready. You all know the routine.”

  In their curtained-off rooms, the patients climbed into their beds. They all stayed on their backs on top of the covers.

  Salazar gave them time to get into place. “What grade are you in, Richard?” he asked.

  “Sixth,” I said.

  “And are you interested in anything particular? Think you might like to be a doctor like your mom?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t really know,” I muttered.

  I hate it when people ask me what I want to be. I know Salazar was just trying to be nice. But I never know what to say. I mean, I’m only a kid. How do I know what I want to do with the rest of my life?

  “You brought that old ventriloquist dummy,” he said. “Are you interested in puppets?”

  “Not really,” I said.

  He nodded. “Well, follow me. We’ll start with Mr. Baldwin.” He led the way to the first bed.

  Mr. Baldwin was an older guy with a fringe of white hair around his head and a short white beard that covered most of his face. He wore a black nightshirt and black socks.

  He squinted at me. “Are you Salazar’s new assistant?”

  Salazar answered for me. “It’s Bring-Your-Kid-to-Work Day at the hospital,” he said. “Richard has never seen what his mother does.”

  “She watches us sleep all night,” Mr. Baldwin said. “I don’t know how she manages to stay awake!”

  “Are you feeling sleepy tonight, Mr. Baldwin?”

  He groaned. “I feel tired all the time,” he said. “Except at bedtime.”

  “We’ll see how you do tonight,” Salazar told him. He lifted a bunch of wires from the computer table beside the bed. “These are electrodes, Richard. We attach them to Mr. Baldwin, and they transmit his sleep patterns to the little monitors beside each bed—and to the big monitors in your mother’s office.”

  He dipped an electrode into a gooey liquid and stuck it onto one side of Mr. Baldwin’s forehead. Then he attached a second electrode to the other side of his forehead.

  “There are eight electrodes in all,” Salazar explained to me.

  “Did you ever see the movie Frankenstein?” Mr. Baldwin asked me. “That’s what this looks like. It’s what they did to the Frankenstein monster.”

  Salazar attached a few more electrodes. “There isn’t anything scary about it,” he said. “It allows us to see how deep Mr. Baldwin’s sleep is, when he wakes up, when he dreams, anything that interrupts his sleep.”

  “Can you see his dreams?” I asked.

  Salazar shook his head. “No. Only when he dreams, not what he dreams.”

  He hooked up the eighth electrode. “Pleasant dreams,” he said. “I’ll turn off all the lights when I get everyone online.”

  I followed him into the next curtained bedroom. Salazar talked quietly with all the patients as he attached the electrodes to them. Some of them appeared sleepy, but some seemed wide awake.

  I wondered if I could fall asleep with all those wires connected to my skin. That might be hard. And I wondered how my mom stayed awake all night, watching the sleep patterns of six patients.

  Salazar hooked up the last patient and pointed to the back room. “You can go see your mom now, Richard,” he said. “She’ll show you what she watches on the computer monitors.”

  I nodded and started toward the office. And on the way, I had an idea.

  It was a funny idea. “Mom, I want to try hooking electrodes to someone,” I said.

  Mom laughed. “Why? Did that look like fun to you? It isn’t as easy as it seems. They have to go in exactly the right place.”

  “I just want to try,” I said. I picked up Slappy. “Can I try it on him? Can I hook up Slappy?”

  She squinted at me. “Seriously?”

  I nodded. “Come on. Let me try.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Why not? Follow me.”

  I slung Slappy over my shoulder and followed Mom to one of the empty beds. “Put him down here on his back,” she said.

  I settled him on the bed. His eyes stayed closed, as if he was already asleep.

  Mom arranged the wires and electrodes on the table beside the bed. She opened a tube of the gooey stuff and poured it into a small bowl. “Okay, go ahead,” she said. “Dip the electrode into the gel and attach it to Slappy.”

  I did it just the way I had watched Salazar work. I stuck a wire on each side of Slappy’s forehead. Then two on his neck. Three on his chest. And one on top of his head.

  “Okay. Good job,” Mom said. She turned and fiddled with the computer monitor on the table. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

  We both gazed at the screen as it came to life.

  Suddenly, Mom’s eyes went wide and she let out a loud gasp. “Whaaaat!” she cried. “I don’t believe it!”

  “Mom—what’s wrong?” I cried.

  She blinked several times and then squinted at the wiggly yellow lines going across the monitor.

  “This … this doesn’t make any sense!” Mom said. “I’m seeing brain activity. But that’s impossible! That can’t happen with a lifeless dummy.”

  Mom stared at the monitor. I heard a loud blip, and then a crackling sound. Like an electric shock.

  The jagged yellow lines rolled across the screen. She gazed down at Slappy again. “Impossible,” she murmured.

  “I … I don’t understand,” I stammered. “Why are you upset?”

  “Because a wooden dummy can’t send out brain signals,” she answered. “Look at the lines on the screen. You have to be alive to send out those brain waves.”

  I laughed. “Remember that cartoon movie we watched a few weeks ago? Pinocchio? Maybe Slappy is a real boy.”

  “And maybe I’m Mother Goose!” Mom shot back. She grabbed the wires I had connected to Slappy and ripped them all off with one hard tug.

  The lines on the screen stopped jumping up and down and went totally flat.

  “I know what’s wrong,” she said, setting the wires back on the table. “It has to be my equipment. There’s definitely something wrong with the software or the connection.”

  She poked her head out into the hall. “Salazar?” she called in a loud whisper. She didn’t want to wake her patients. “Are you there? I need you to reboot this unit and check the electrodes.”

  I picked up Slappy and followed Mom to her office. She checked the wall of monitors to see how her patients were doing. “These monitors seem to be working fine,” she said.

  Mom’s cell phone rang. She glanced at its screen. “That’s your dad. He’s in the parking lot to take you home.”

  I groaned. “I thought I was staying all night with you,” I said.

  “No way, Richard. Tomorrow is school. And this is going to be a busy week. Don’t forget about Willow.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Huh? Willow?”

  Mom shook her head. “I thought I told you. She’s coming to stay with us for a few days. Her parents are going on a business trip.”

  I couldn’t keep the surprise off my face.

  Mom narrowed her eyes at me. “You don’t have a problem with that, do you?” she asked.

  “Of course not,” I answered.

  Of course I had a problem with that.

  The problem was WILLOW!

  Willow and I are first cousins. She is twelve, like me, and she and my aunt and uncle
live about half a mile away. She’s in my science class at school.

  Her parents travel all the time, and Willow always comes to stay with us. So we see each other a lot. Mom and Dad even call the guest room “Willow’s room.”

  Willow and I don’t really get along. I mean, we have nothing in common. We don’t fight or anything. But we aren’t alike at all. In fact, we are total opposites.

  I am tall and dark and kind of serious-looking. Willow is short and has blond hair that bounces like a kitchen sponge. Her whole personality is bouncy like her hair.

  Believe me, she’s not shy like me. She laughs a lot and has a million friends and sometimes sings at the top of her lungs and isn’t afraid of anything, as far as I can tell.

  And she loves to play tricks on people.

  I think she has a cruel sense of humor. But maybe that’s because I would never dream of tricking anyone.

  I guess my major problem with Willow is that she’s always trying to get me to be more like her. She’s always daring me to do things I don’t want to do. Always trying to make me braver and bolder and less shy.

  That can be seriously annoying.

  After school the next afternoon, Willow and I were in the gym, at the back wall, working on our mural. Yes—somehow, we always end up working on projects together.

  We had a huge sheet of paper taped to the wall, and a bunch of paint cans at our feet. Willow stood near the top of a ladder, painting an owl in a tree. I was on my knees below, working my brush up and down in short strokes, filling in the grass at the bottom of the painting.

  “This is going to be awesome!” Willow gushed. “We need to work a lot more animals in.”

  “Careful!” I cried. “You’re dripping paint on my head.”

  “Want to trade places with me?” she called down. “You can start on the sky.”

  “No thanks,” I replied. “I don’t like to be up on ladders.”

  We were painting the mural for our zoo overnight. Every year, the zoo sponsors an overnight sleepover for the Russet Middle School sixth-grade science class.

  We get to have dinner in the Ape and Monkey House, and then a special up-close tour of the zoo animals. And then we have an all-night slumber party in sleeping bags.

  It’s a big deal. Willow and I wanted to do something special for it. It was her idea to paint a mural to put up at the zoo.