Slappy Beware! (Goosebumps Special Edition) Read online

  “The boy is yours,” Darkwell said again. He shoved Isaac toward Koben.

  Koben gripped Isaac again. He started to pull him to the door.

  “Wait,” Darkwell said. “Please. May I have a moment to say good-bye to him?”

  Darkwell reached under his robe. He pulled out a large metal key. He stepped up to Isaac and swept up the back of the boy’s thick hair.

  Koben’s eyes went wide as Darkwell pushed the key into the back of Isaac’s head. Everyone heard a sharp click as the sorcerer turned the key.

  Isaac’s eyes closed. His mouth fell open. His knees collapsed. He dropped to the floor.

  Koben shouted in horror as Isaac’s head hit the floor and cracked open like a walnut. Gasps rose throughout the cottage as everyone stared at the wires and tubes inside the head.

  Darkwell tucked the key under his robe. “I promised Isaac he wouldn’t have to worry about you,” he said.

  Koben took a few staggering steps back until he bumped into the startled men. “The boy—he … he isn’t real!” Koben stammered, pointing his cane at the body on the floor. “He is one of your creations!”

  A thin smile crossed Darkwell’s face. “One of my best,” he said.

  “Burn him! Burn him now!” a man shouted.

  And the others took up the chant. “Burn him! Burn him! Burn him!”

  Swinging their torches, they stormed forward. Darkwell raised both hands as if to shield himself.

  The ceiling caught fire. A chair and Isaac’s cot burst into flames. Then, with a crackling explosion, the workbench began to burn.

  Coughing and choking in the thick black smoke, the hooded villagers turned and ran. Constable Koben bent to pick up the broken Isaac doll. But then he changed his mind and he, too, tumbled out the door.

  Darkwell shielded himself from the smoke and fire with the front of his robe. The workbench sizzled and burned behind him. He swept Slappy into his hands and, clutching him to his chest, ran into the night.

  Constable Koben and the hooded villagers watched at the edge of the woods. Many had dropped their torches inside the burning cottage, but a few still flamed in their hands.

  “You will not escape, Darkwell!” Koben’s voice echoed in the shadowy trees. “You have committed crimes against nature. Tonight, we will make sure you pay for those crimes!”

  “Burn him! Burn him!” the hooded men picked up their chant again.

  Two men, their torches pointed, moved toward the old sorcerer. The orange flames sputtered in the wind, then trailed behind them like fiery snakes.

  Darkwell called out in surrender. He took a few steps back as the men advanced.

  Then everything seemed to freeze as the doll sat up in the sorcerer’s arms. Slappy’s eyes went wide and his hands flew up at his sides.

  “ENOUGH!”

  His scream made several villagers gasp. One of them dropped his torch, and the tall grass smothered the flames.

  “ENOUGH!” Slappy’s cry rang through the woods.

  The hooded men huddled closer together. No one moved.

  Koben raised his cane. “More evidence of your crimes, sorcerer!” he shouted. “This talking demon proves that your evil magic must be ended tonight!”

  The villagers gasped as Slappy tossed his head back and laughed. “Hahahaha!” A shrill, cold laugh. “Thank you all for the drama and entertainment!” the doll cried. “But Father and I will be leaving now!”

  “You will leave in flames!” Koben shouted. He signaled with his cane for the men to attack with their torches.

  But they stared in shock as Slappy raised both hands above his head and shouted a stream of strange words …

  “Lambda Osiris Karamunder Dominus Malado Venn!”

  The ground shook. Tree branches cracked. The villagers uttered choked gasps. And froze where they stood. Even under their hoods, their fear could be seen.

  * * *

  It was as if time had stopped. None of the hooded men could blink or breathe or move. They stood as still as statues. Even the flames in the torches froze and hung stiffly in the air.

  “We can go now, Father!” Slappy cried, his shrill voice ringing loudly in the frozen silence.

  But Darkwell held back. His eyes remained on Koben. He squinted hard into the man’s bearded face—and saw Koben blink.

  “Your spell has not worked on the constable,” Darkwell murmured.

  Koben let out a furious growl and came charging at Darkwell, the tip of his cane pointed at the sorcerer’s belly. “Your evil cannot work on the righteous!” he boomed.

  “You may want to rethink that,” Slappy called out. He swung both hands above his head once more—and Koben stopped, inches away.

  “Have a good trip!” Slappy shouted.

  He swung his hands higher—and Koben took flight, his boots sailing up from the ground. The cane fell from the constable’s hands as he floated into the night.

  His hands grabbed at the air. His feet kicked frantically as he soared higher, above the burning cottage … above the dark, still trees. His scream faded as he flew into the distance. Then out of sight.

  Silence returned to the woods.

  Darkwell raised his creation in front of him. “I have succeeded with you!” he exclaimed. “Your powers are wonderful!”

  He took one last look at the ashes of his cottage. Then he tucked the grinning doll under his robe and took off, running into the forest.

  “You will make history!” Darkwell declared. “Evil history!”

  “Couldn’t have done it without you!” Slappy exclaimed. “Hahahaha!” His cold laughter rang off the trees.

  CHRISTMASTIME, THIS YEAR

  Well, readers, talk about a change of scenery! Let me move the story up two hundred years to today. And let’s get out of that cold, angry village.

  Here we are at Tampa Bay Middle School on a warm Florida day in December. You’re going to meet twelve-year-old Reggie Foreman, standing backstage in the school’s big auditorium.

  Does Reggie have any idea that he and his sister are about to enter a World of Pain?

  Of course not!

  Reggie is watching his ten-year-old sister, Poppy, from the side of the stage. Poppy is in front of the curtains, perched on a tall wooden stool, strumming away on her banjo. A yellow spotlight shines down on her, so bright Reggie can see the drops of sweat on her forehead.

  It’s the Holiday Talent Show, the last day of school before winter break. Reggie is ready to perform next. He has his dummy, Junior, tucked under one arm. He feels excited, not nervous.

  Reggie knows his ventriloquist act is funny. With his large round eyes and goofy smile, Junior is always a big hit with the audience.

  Reggie is worried about Poppy, though.

  She has made a few mistakes during her banjo solo.

  But Reggie should be worried about other things.

  What exactly should Reggie be worried about?

  And what does this have to do with Darkwell, our sorcerer?

  Be patient, readers. You know I’m going to reveal the answers …

  Reggie watched his younger sister, Poppy, onstage and shuddered.

  Did the kids in the auditorium notice her mistakes?

  Reggie hoped not. Poppy wanted to impress her friends.

  And then … ping.

  Reggie watched a banjo string break.

  He heard Poppy gasp. She stopped for a second. Then she picked up playing.

  She’s being brave, Reggie thought. But under the bright spotlight, he could see the tears in her eyes.

  “Bummer,” Reggie muttered to himself. He knew that Poppy had spent weeks practicing her number. She even wrote an original holiday song for the show.

  Reggie felt bad. His sister was using his old banjo. They should have put new strings on it before she started playing it.

  But it’s Poppy’s own fault, he told himself. She is always copying me. Whatever I do, she wants to do, too. She should have picked a different instrument. But, oh no
—since I played banjo in fifth grade, she has to play banjo, too.

  He could see the broken string waving in the air as she tried to strum. Poppy finished her song, jumped down from the stool, and took a small bow. The kids gave her some quiet applause.

  Wiping the tears from her cheeks, she stomped offstage.

  “Hey, Poppy, you were awesome!” Reggie called to her.

  But she shoved him out of her way and kept walking.

  Whoa, Reggie thought. It’s not MY fault. Maybe I can convince Mom and Dad to buy her a new banjo for Christmas. And I could give her some lessons. Poppy might like that.

  Onstage, Miss Harrison, the middle school principal, leaned over the microphone. “And now,” she announced, “let’s welcome Reggie Foreman and his funny friend, Junior!”

  “Are you ready?” Reggie asked Junior. “Let’s do this!”

  Reggie raised the dummy in both hands and strode out into the spotlight.

  Reggie dropped down on the stool and sat the dummy on his lap. “This is Junior,” he told the audience. “Hey, why do they call you Junior?”

  He pulled the string in the dummy’s back and made the mouth open and close. “Cuz that’s my name!” Reggie made Junior’s voice gruff and deep.

  “Well, Junior,” Reggie continued, “how are you feeling today?”

  “I’d feel a lot better if you didn’t have your hand stuck in my back!”

  That got a good laugh from the kids in the audience.

  “That’s not nice, Junior. I think you should say you’re sorry,” Reggie said.

  “Hey, don’t put words in my mouth!” Junior exclaimed.

  “If I don’t put words in your mouth, it will be pretty quiet up here!” Reggie said.

  The audience laughed hard at that one. Some kids even clapped.

  “Well, who’s working your head?” Junior demanded.

  More laughter.

  “At least my head isn’t made of wood!” Reggie said.

  He made Junior’s eyes blink. “Your head? I’ve seen better heads on a lettuce! I’ve seen a head of cabbage with more personality than you, Reggie!”

  Big laughs.

  “It’s almost Christmastime, Junior,” Reggie told the dummy. “What do you want for Christmas this year?”

  “I thought maybe you could give me five thousand dollars so I can buy a cup of coffee!” Junior answered.

  “Whoa!” Reggie replied. “Why do you need five thousand dollars for a cup of coffee?”

  “I want to drink it in Brazil!” Junior answered.

  More laughs and applause.

  Reggie saw his friend Diego in the front row. Diego had already heard the whole act. But he was laughing harder than anyone.

  Reggie felt good. The kids were laughing and clapping at every joke.

  Now came the part that audiences always loved.

  Reggie had a glass of water on the stage beside the stool.

  “I want to show you a magic trick,” Junior said.

  “You know a magic trick?”

  He made Junior nod his head. “I’m an awesome magician. I’m going to show you a great trick, Reggie. Pick up the glass.”

  Reggie reached down for the glass. “You want me to pick up this glass? It’s full of water.”

  “Yes,” Junior said. “Now lift the glass high and pour it over your head.”

  “Huh? You want me to pour all the water on my head? Give me a break, Junior. What kind of trick is that?”

  “You’ll see,” Junior said. “It’s such an awesome trick. Pour the water on your head, and you won’t get wet.”

  Reggie raised the glass over his head. “You’re sure? I won’t get wet? That’s the trick?”

  Junior nodded. “Go ahead. That’s the trick.”

  “Well, okay,” Reggie said. “Here goes.” He slowly tilted the glass, and the water splashed down over his head, soaking his hair and his shirt.

  “I knew it!” Junior cried. “That trick never works!”

  Shaking water off his hair, Reggie stood up and took a bow. Kids cheered and clapped and stomped their feet.

  Miss Harrison was still laughing as she stepped to the center of the stage. “We have a winner!” she declared. “Actually, two winners of our Holiday Talent Show—Reggie Foreman and Junior!”

  More applause.

  “Enjoy your vacations, people!” the principal said. “See you in January.”

  The auditorium lights came on, and everyone hurried out. Diego was waiting in the hall. He bumped knuckles with Reggie. “You were awesome! That was a riot!”

  Reggie started to reply to his friend, but kids crowded in around him. They all wanted to congratulate Reggie and tell him how funny he was.

  Reggie was eager to change out of his wet clothes. But he loved being the center of attention. And he loved that his performance had been such a big hit.

  “Can I hold Junior for a minute?” asked Phoebe Miller, a girl in his class.

  She didn’t wait for an answer. She tugged Junior from Reggie’s hands and bounced the dummy in front of her. “Hey, he’s pretty heavy.”

  “His head weighs a lot,” Reggie told her.

  “Let me hold him,” another girl said. Reggie felt helpless as kids passed the dummy around.

  He raised his eyes from the crowd of kids around him and saw his sister watching from down the hall. Poppy carried her banjo case stiffly at her side. She had a glum scowl on her face as she stared at her brother.

  She’s giving me the evil eye, Reggie thought. This means trouble.

  “Christmas is totally weird down here,” Reggie’s mom said. She passed the salad bowl to Poppy. “I had to go to the mall today, and the Santa Claus was wearing shorts.”

  Mr. Foreman nodded. He piled a heap of spaghetti onto his plate. “On the way home, I passed a yard where they put Christmas lights on their palm trees.”

  “I guess we won’t have a white Christmas this year,” Reggie said, wiping spaghetti sauce off his chin.

  “Why did we have to leave Ohio?” Poppy grumbled. She passed the salad bowl to her dad without taking any.

  Her dad frowned. “Do I really have to say it again? The office moved my job to Tampa, remember?”

  “Wipe that look off your face, Poppy,” Mom scolded. “You didn’t love Cleveland that much, either. You complained that you had to wear three sweaters at a time. You were always so cold.”

  “I did it because layers are cool,” Poppy muttered into her spaghetti. “Not because I was cold.”

  Reggie watched his sister across the table. Still angry. Jabbing her fork into her plate like a weapon. They didn’t talk about the Holiday Talent Show yesterday. But he knew it was still on her mind and making her grumpy.

  That morning, he had stopped at her bedroom door. “Hey, Poppy,” he said. “I had an idea. Want me to give you a few pointers on the banjo?”

  She said some very rude words and slammed the door in his face.

  He stared at the door. “I guess that’s a no?”

  After breakfast, he had tried again to pull her out of her bad mood. “I’m going to the skate park with Diego. Want to come along?”

  She growled at him. “Should I tell you what you can do with your skateboard?”

  Poppy could have a mean mouth when she was angry.

  Reggie and Diego had gone to the skate park that afternoon and had a great time. They met some guys and picked up a few new tricks and survived without a single scrape or scratch.

  Reggie loved wearing shorts and a T-shirt in December. Who needed gloves and snow parkas and clunky boots?

  How could Poppy be so down on Florida?

  Now dinner was nearly over, and she was still grumpy.

  “Is that all you’re going to eat?” their mom asked, staring at the pile of spaghetti on Poppy’s plate.

  “Are you keeping track?” Poppy snapped. “Do you want to count the strands?”

  “Can I remind you that it’s almost Christmas?” their dad said, his ey
es on Poppy. “That’s probably the best time of year to be nice to your parents. Don’t you think?”

  Poppy didn’t reply.

  “I think I know what you should get Poppy for Christmas,” Reggie said.

  “A muzzle?” their mom suggested.

  It wasn’t a very nice joke, but they all laughed. Even Poppy.

  “A new banjo,” Reggie said. “My old banjo is garbage. And Poppy could be really awesome with a new one.”

  Poppy banged her fork on the table so hard the plate jumped. “I don’t want a banjo!” she said through gritted teeth. “I don’t want to talk about banjos. I hate the banjo. I’m never going to play it again. It’s a stupid instrument.”

  “Just because a string broke—” Reggie started.

  “Shut up about the banjo,” Poppy growled. “I mean it.” She scooted her chair back and started to stand up.

  “Sit down.” Mr. Foreman waved her down with both hands. “Let’s talk about what you do want for Christmas.”

  “This should be a fun conversation,” their mom said. “Not an argument.”

  “Who’s arguing?” Poppy said, crossing her arms in front of her.

  Reggie tossed a dinner roll across the table at his sister. It bounced off her forehead and onto her plate. Poppy didn’t react at all. She just stared straight ahead.

  His mom squinted at him. “Why did you do that?”

  Reggie shrugged. “I don’t know. I just felt like it.”

  Even though it was kind of mean, everyone thought it was funny. Poppy tried not to laugh, but a small smile crossed her face.

  “I had this cool idea,” Reggie told his parents. “Wouldn’t it be funny if Junior had a dummy of his own? You could buy me a little tiny one to put on Junior’s lap. I’d call him Junior Junior. It would be a riot!”

  “Funny idea—” Mr. Foreman started.

  But Poppy interrupted. “I’m the one who likes puppets and dolls. Not Reggie. I’ve always been the one. Look at all the old dolls in my closet. I used to make them talk and put on shows—remember?”

  “True,” their dad said. “But, so what does that mean?”