Slappy Birthday to You Read online

  CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  SLAPPY HERE, EVERYONE.

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  SLAPPY HERE, BOYS AND GHOULS.

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  SLAPPY HERE, EVERYONE.

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  SLAPPY HERE, GUYS.

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  SLAPPY BIRTHDAY EPILOGUE

  SNEAK PEEK!

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ALSO AVAILABLE

  COPYRIGHT

  Welcome to My World.

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

  Readers Beware: Don’t call me a dummy, Dummy. I’m so wonderful, I wish I could kiss myself!

  (But, hey, I might get splinters!)

  I’m so great, I give myself goosebumps. Do you know the only thing in the world that’s almost as handsome as my face? That’s right—my face in a mirror! Haha.

  I’m good looking—and I’m generous, too. I like to share. Mainly, I like to share frightening stories to give you chills—and make you do the Slappy Dance.

  Do you know how to do the Slappy Dance?

  That’s right—you shake all over! Hahaha!

  The story you are about to read is one of the most awesome stories ever told. That’s because it’s about ME! Haha.

  And it’s about a boy named Ian Barker. It’s Ian’s birthday and, guess what? He’s having a party. At the party, Ian gets a present he thinks he’s going to love.

  Wouldn’t you know it? The gift turns out to be a bit of a nightmare! Isn’t that a scream?

  Sure, it’s Ian’s birthday—but I’m the one who takes the cake! Hahaha!

  Go ahead, readers. Start the story. I call it Slappy Birthday to You!

  It’s just one more terrifying tale from SlappyWorld!

  On Ian Barker’s twelfth birthday, he received a gift that brought pain and terror to him and his entire family.

  But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

  Let’s try to enjoy Ian’s birthday for as long as we can. Just keep in mind that it was not the birthday Ian had hoped for. In fact, it quickly became a day he would have given anything to forget.

  Ian came down to breakfast on that sunny spring morning, eager for his special day to begin. Almost at once, he had trouble with his nine-year-old sister, Molly. But that was nothing new. If you ask Ian, “How do you spell Molly?” He’ll answer, “T-R-O-U-B-L-E.”

  Since blueberry pancakes were Ian’s favorite, Mrs. Barker had a tall stack of them on the table. Ian and Molly ate peacefully for a while. Molly liked her pancakes drowned in maple syrup, and she used up most of the syrup before Ian had a chance. But Ian didn’t complain. He was determined to be cheerful on his birthday.

  But then they came down to the last pancake on the platter. When they both stabbed a fork into it, that’s when the t-r-o-u-b-l-e began.

  “Mine,” Ian said. “You’ve already had six.”

  “But I saw it first,” Molly insisted. She kept her fork poking into her side of the pancake.

  “It’s my birthday,” Ian reminded her. “I should get what I want today.”

  “You always think you should get what you want,” Molly declared. Molly has wavy red hair and blue eyes, and when she gets into an argument about pancakes—or anything else—her pale, lightly freckled cheeks turn bright pink.

  Their mom turned from the kitchen counter. She had been arranging cupcakes on a tray for Ian’s birthday party. “Fighting again?”

  “We’re not fighting,” Molly said. “We’re disputing.”

  “Oooh, big word,” Ian said, rolling his eyes. “I’m so totally impressed.”

  They both kept their forks in the last remaining pancake.

  “You’re a jerk,” Molly said. “I know you know that word.”

  “Don’t call Ian names on his birthday,” Mrs. Barker said. “Wait till tomorrow.” She had a good sense of humor. Sometimes the kids appreciated it. Sometimes they didn’t. “Why don’t you split the pancake in two?” she suggested.

  “Good idea,” Ian said. He used his fork to divide the pancake into two pieces.

  “No fair!” Molly cried. “Your half is twice as big as mine.”

  Ian laughed and gobbled up his half before Molly could do anything about it.

  Molly frowned at her brother. “Don’t you know how to eat, slob? You have syrup on your chin.”

  Ian raised the syrup bottle. “How would you like it in your hair?”

  Mrs. Barker turned away from the cupcakes and stepped up to the table. “Stop,” she said. “Breakfast is over.” She took the syrup bottle from Ian’s hand. “You’re twelve now. You really have to stop all the fighting.”

  “But—” Ian started.

  She squeezed Ian’s shoulder. “Your cousins are coming for your party. I want you to be extra nice to them and don’t pick fights the way you always do.”

  Ian groaned. “Vinny and Jonny? They always start it.”

  “Ian always starts it,” Molly chimed in.

  “Shut up!” Ian cried.

  “Just listen to me,” Mrs. Barker pleaded. “I want you to be nice to your cousins. You know their parents have been going through a tough time. Uncle Donny is still out of work. And Aunt Marie is getting over that operation.”

  “Could I have a cupcake now?” Molly asked.

  Ian slapped the table. “If she has one, I want one, too.”

  “Have you heard a word I said?” their mom demanded.

  “I swear I won’t start any fights with Jonny and Vinny,” Ian said. He raised his right hand, as if swearing an oath. Then he stood up from his seat and started toward the cupcake tray.

  “Hands off,” Mrs. Barker said. “Go get your dad, Ian. Tell him the guests will be arriving soon.”

  “Where is he?” Ian asked.

  “In his workshop,” his mom answered. “Where else?”

  “Where else?” Molly mimicked.

  Ian walked down the back hall to the door to the basement. He thought about Jonny and Vinny.

  Jonny and Vinny lived just a few blocks away. Jonny was twelve and Vinny was eleven, but they looked like twins. They were both big bruisers. Tough guys, big for their age, loud and grabby, with pudgy, round heads, short-cropped blond hair, and upturned pig noses.

  At least, that’s how Ian described them. The kind of guys who were always bumping up against people and each other, always giggling, always grinning about something mean. Mean guys.

  “They’re just jealous of you.” That’s what Mrs. Barker always told Ian. “They’re your only cousins, so you have to be nice to them.”

  Ian opened the basement door and went down the stairs two at a time. The air grew warmer as he reached the basement, and it smelled of glue.

  Under bright white ceiling lights, his father stood hunched over his long worktable. He turned as Ian approached. “Oh, hi, Ian.”

  “Hey, Dad,” Ian started. “Mom says—”

  “Here’s a birthday surprise for you,” Mr. Barker said. He reached both hands to his face, plucked out his eyes, and held them up to Ian.

  Ian groaned. “Dad, you’ve been doing that joke since I was two. It jus
t isn’t funny anymore.”

  Mr. Barker tossed the eyeballs in the air and caught them. “You love it,” he said. He set down the eyes and picked up a tiny arm and leg from the table. “You’d give an arm and a leg to do the eye joke as well as I do.”

  Ian laughed.

  He gazed at the pile of arms and legs and other body parts on the long worktable. Broken dolls were piled at the other end. Doll heads stared wide-eyed at Ian as he surveyed his dad’s work area.

  Dolls stared down from shelves along two walls. Headless dolls. Dolls with eyes or arms or legs missing. A bucket beside the worktable was filled to the brim with yellow, red, and brown doll hair. There were shelves of dresses and pants and shirts and all kinds of new and old-fashioned doll clothing.

  Ian’s dad had started his doll hospital before Ian was born. He spent most every day down here, repairing the broken dolls, replacing missing parts, painting fresh faces, making old dolls look new. Then he carefully wrapped them and sent them back to their owners.

  He picked up a slender paintbrush and began dabbing pale pink paint on a doll head’s gray cheeks. “This is a vintage Madame Alexander doll,” he told Ian. “It’s quite valuable, and when I received it, the face was completely rubbed off. So I—”

  A hard knock on a door upstairs made him stop. Someone pounded the door four times, then four more.

  “That’s the front door,” Mr. Barker said. “It must be your cousins. Go let them in.” He squinted at the doll face and applied some more dabs with his paintbrush. “I’ll be there in a few seconds.”

  Ian trotted up the stairs, then hurried down the hall toward the front door. He heard four more hard knocks. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he muttered.

  Ian pulled open the front door—and let out a startled shriek as Jonny landed a hard-fisted punch in the middle of his face.

  “OWWWWW!”

  Ian shut his eyes and screamed as his entire head throbbed in pain. He felt a trickle of blood drip from his nose. Screaming again, he grabbed Jonny by the throat and began to shake him.

  “Hey—stop! It was an accident! An accident!” Jonny cried.

  Vinny tried to pull the two boys apart. But Ian swung his elbow and bumped him off the front stoop.

  “I swear it was an accident!” Jonny insisted. “I was knocking on the door.”

  Mrs. Barker appeared. “Didn’t you see the sign by the driveway? This is a No Fight Zone.”

  Ian let go of his cousin and, breathing hard, retreated a step. Jonny scowled, rubbing his throat. “An accident,” he repeated.

  “Ian, why is your nose bleeding?” his mom asked.

  “It was an accident,” Jonny said again. “I knocked on Ian instead of the door.”

  Mrs. Barker gave Ian a gentle push. “Go get some tissues. You don’t want to bleed on your birthday cake.” She stepped aside so Jonny and Vinny could enter the house. “No fights today, guys,” she said. “Let’s have a nice, peaceful party.”

  “What kind of tortilla chips do you have?” Vinny asked.

  The question took her by surprise. “Tortilla chips?”

  “Do you have nacho cheese?” Vinny asked. “Jonny and I didn’t have breakfast.”

  The two large boys lumbered toward the kitchen.

  “Do your parents let you have tortilla chips for breakfast?” Mrs. Barker asked, following them.

  “They don’t care what we have,” Jonny said. “They sleep late. They just tell us to grab something.”

  Molly appeared outside the kitchen. “Yo, Molly. How’s it going?” Vinny said. He reached out a big hand and mussed up her hair. He and Jonny laughed.

  “I just finished brushing it,” Molly grumbled.

  “Looks awesome,” Vinny said. He snapped his fingers over her nose.

  “Owww! You jerk face.” Molly punched him hard on the shoulder.

  He grinned at her. “Hey, no fighting. It’s Ian’s birthday.” He mussed up her hair with both hands.

  Jonny pushed past them into the kitchen. “Whoa. Cupcakes!” he cried. He grabbed one off the tray and shoved the whole thing into his mouth.

  “Any good?” Vinny asked. He slapped his brother on the back, and a big glob of cupcake came flying from Jonny’s mouth and landed on the floor. Both boys broke into loud hee-haws.

  “You two are a riot,” Molly said.

  Vinny grabbed a cupcake and bit off the icing. He put the rest of it back on the tray.

  Mrs. Barker lifted the tray, swung it away from the boys, and carried it to the breakfast table. “Let’s save the cupcakes till later,” she said. “I have a chocolate ice-cream cake for Ian, too. His favorite.”

  “I hate chocolate,” Vinny said. “It gives me diarrhea.”

  Molly rolled her eyes. “Thanks for sharing.”

  Ian returned to the kitchen with a wadded-up tissue stuck in one nostril. He had decided to force himself to be cheerful and ignore the punch in the face. He really wanted to get along with his cousins today.

  “What’s up with you guys?” he asked.

  “Jonny had a little trouble in school,” Vinny said. He patted his brother on the shoulder. “He got caught stealing. Do you believe it?”

  Mrs. Barker gasped. “Stealing? Really, Jonny?”

  “No way,” Jonny insisted. “I didn’t steal that girl’s iPad. I borrowed it. I guess she didn’t hear me ask.”

  Mrs. Barker narrowed her eyes at Vinny. “Vinny, that’s serious. Why are you grinning like that?”

  Vinny shrugged. “Just grinning. You know. It’s kind of funny.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Mrs. Barker said. She turned to Jonny. “So what happened?”

  “No big whoop,” Jonny replied. He avoided her eyes. “I returned it and everything was okay.” He gave Vinny a hard shove. “Do we really have to talk about it?”

  Vinny raised both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I was just saying …”

  Jonny started opening cabinet doors. “Where are the tortilla chips, Aunt Hannah?”

  “I thought I’d save them for lunch,” she answered. “Why don’t the three of you go play video games while I get things ready?”

  Jonny grabbed another cupcake and jammed it into his mouth.

  “I don’t want to play with them,” Molly said. “They cheat.”

  “We don’t cheat. You just stink at it,” Vinny said.

  “Vinny, that’s not a good thing to say,” Mrs. Barker scolded.

  “I could beat you if you didn’t cheat!” Molly declared.

  Vinny snapped his fingers over her nose.

  “Owwww!”

  Mrs. Barker sighed. “Molly, stay with me and help me get the sandwiches ready. You three—get out of here. Go play with the PlayStation upstairs.”

  Ian pulled the tissue from his nose. “Mom? Is my nose swollen?” he asked.

  “A little, maybe.”

  “It was an accident. Really,” Jonny said. He turned and the two cousins followed Ian out of the kitchen.

  “I seriously hate them,” Molly said when they had disappeared upstairs. She rubbed her sore nose.

  “Yes, they’re difficult,” her mom agreed. “But as I said before, they have a pretty tough life. They’re your only cousins, so—”

  “I know, I know,” Molly said, rolling her eyes. “So we have to be nice to them. But why do they have to be such animals?”

  Mrs. Barker didn’t reply. She started to pull food from the fridge. Molly found the hamburger rolls and began to spread them on a platter.

  The house was quiet for at least five minutes.

  Then Molly and her mom heard a loud shriek. Shouts. Hard thuds and thumps on the ceiling above their heads. One heavy thud shook the ceiling light. More angry shouts.

  “What’s happening up there?” Molly cried.

  She and her mom went running to the stairs.

  The screams grew louder as they raced to Ian’s room. “What’s going on?” Mrs. Barker shouted. Mr. Barker had run up from the basement. He was standing
in the bedroom doorway.

  “A wrestling match,” he reported, shaking his head. “Jonny and Vinny are playing keep-away with the controller.”

  “Well, don’t just stand there, George. Stop them!” Mrs. Barker cried. “Hey, guys, come on. No fighting. No fighting!”

  Jonny sat on top of Ian, crushing Ian’s chest under his bulk. Vinny waved the PlayStation controller in one hand. Ian swiped at it. Missed.

  All three boys turned when Mrs. Barker yelled at them.

  “Ian is being a jerk,” Jonny said.

  “Get off me, you fat pig!” Ian cried, shoving Jonny with all his strength. “I can’t breathe.”

  “Ian, don’t call names on your birthday,” his mom scolded.

  “I told you they are animals,” Molly said.

  “You’re not an animal,” Vinny told her. “You’re an insect.”

  “She’s not an insect,” Jonny chimed in. “She’s insect larva.”

  “What exactly is the problem here?” Ian’s dad demanded. “Can’t you guys even play video games without fighting?”

  Jonny finally climbed off Ian. “Ian won’t play fair,” he said.

  “That’s a lie,” Ian said, rubbing his crushed ribs. “They are total cheaters. They want double turns.” He grabbed for the controller, but Vinny tossed it across the room to Jonny.

  “We don’t have a PlayStation at home,” Vinny explained. “So we should get double turns.”

  “That’s totally stupid,” Ian said.

  The three boys all started shouting at once. Mr. Barker stepped between them in the middle of the room. “I know what,” he said. “Let’s go downstairs and do birthday presents.”

  “I hope you won’t fight over them,” Ian’s mom said, sighing.

  The boys grudgingly agreed. “But Jonny and I still get another turn on the game,” Vinny insisted.

  A few minutes later, they had gathered in the living room to give Ian his presents. Jonny and Vinny sprawled on the couch. Jonny grabbed a handful of peanuts from the bowl on the coffee table and tossed them one by one to his mouth. The ones he missed fell onto the carpet.

  Molly sat by the fireplace, straightening her hair with both hands. Ian dropped down on the floor.

  His dad handed him a box wrapped in red-and-white paper. “This is from Vinny and Jonny,” he said.