Diary of a Dummy Page 3

  “That sounds like Slappy,” I said, rolling my eyes. “He floods our house with cockroaches, and then he says he wants to be liked.”

  Maggie elbowed me in the ribs. “Keep reading.”

  I have so many wonderful memories to tell you about, Diary. Where shall I start? At the very first birthday party I went to?

  Dean “The Dream” Harrigan was my ventriloquist. Yes, Dean thought he controlled me. It took him a while to see that I was in charge.

  Dean “The Dream” had big dreams. He wanted to be a famous ventriloquist. He wanted to entertain kids all over the world.

  He started out small, at birthday parties. Moms and dads hired Dean to put on a funny show for their little four- and five-year-olds. And guess who was the real star?

  Slappy “The Nightmare”! Hahahaha.

  I love kids, Dear Diary. I love them fried with mashed potatoes on the side. Or roasted over a low fire. I even like them boiled! Hahaha.

  And I especially like them when they become my servants for life!

  So there I was, my first birthday party. Sitting on Dean Harrigan’s lap. The kids all perched on the floor in front of us. Donny, the big, blond, red-cheeked birthday boy, in the front row, waiting for his birthday treat.

  And what an amazing treat I had for Donny. I gave it my all!

  I threw up on the kids in the front row. Of course, I saved a special hurl for the birthday boy!

  Then, while everyone was screaming and carrying on, I jumped off Dean’s lap and ran headfirst into the birthday cake.

  What smashing fun. The cake exploded. You should have seen it, Dear Diary. It flew in all directions. Cake all over me. Cake splashed onto the wallpaper. A huge mountain of cake on the carpet. Ha.

  I guess that’s when kids started crying.

  Or was it when I sank my choppers into Donny’s hand and nearly bit it off? Donny squealed like a little pig. Haha.

  I love to surprise people, Diary. It gives me such a thrill to get people excited.

  It was a great party. I still remember the look on the father’s face as he struggled to pry my teeth off his son’s wrist.

  And, of course, I’ll never forget Dean “The Dream” Harrigan. How he just stood there, eyes bulging, mouth hanging open to the floor. Hey, it wasn’t my fault Dean was arrested. I’m not the one who called the cops.

  Donny’s parents called the cops. And—boo-hoo—Dean “The Dream” never worked another kids’ birthday party.

  And ta-daa! A good time was had by all.

  At least, by ME!

  * * *

  I raised my eyes from the page and turned to Maggie. “Slappy is horrible!” I said. “He’s totally evil.”

  Maggie twisted a strand of her red hair between two fingers. “He’s sick. And he doesn’t know it. He thinks what he did was funny.”

  I turned the page. “Look at this. He’s bragging about how he burned someone’s house down.”

  I turned a few more pages and started to read again:

  Dear Diary,

  Jillian Jones and I had fun at the school talent show. At least, I had some fun.

  Jillian found me in my suitcase in an alley and brought me home. She begged her parents to let her keep me. And they finally said yes.

  Jillian wanted to do a ventriloquist act with me at the big talent show her school has every year. The show is at night, and they invite the parents to come to the auditorium to watch.

  Jillian wrote a lot of jokes for me to say. She practiced with me every night in her room after she finished her homework. She really wanted to be a hit.

  In the act that she wrote, I was a bad boy who never did his homework and never did what my parents asked me to do. She tried to teach me manners and how to be good, and I kept messing up.

  It was pretty funny, Diary.

  But guess what? When we got onstage, yours truly made it a lot funnier!

  The night of the talent show, Jillian was shaking with nerves. She was seriously stressed out. I wanted to tell her to relax, that I’d take care of everything.

  But she thought I was just a dummy. And I didn’t want to spoil my surprise.

  The show started. The auditorium was jammed with parents and kids. All of Jillian’s friends came to cheer her on.

  With me under one arm, Jillian paced back and forth backstage as act after act went up to perform. Lots of cheers and applause. She seemed to get more nervous by the minute.

  Finally, her turn came. She stepped onstage into the spotlight and sat down on a folding chair. She propped me carefully on her lap.

  “Hello, everyone—!” she started.

  And that’s when I went into action.

  I waved one hand and froze her. Yes, Diary, I froze her like a stone statue and turned her mind blank.

  She sat there in silence, and everyone in the audience stared at her, waiting for her to start her act.

  The auditorium grew very silent. And Jillian was silent.

  Such lovely quiet, Diary. You could almost hear the silence!

  I grinned at everyone and watched them wait. And wait. And wait.

  Then people started to mumble and stir. I could hear whispered questions. What’s wrong with Jillian?

  Finally, Ms. Haskins, the principal, walked onstage. She was biting her bottom lip, and her eyes were narrowed. I could see she was worried about Jillian. She crossed the stage and stepped up to Stone Statue Jillian.

  “Are you okay?” Ms. Haskins asked.

  That’s when I waved my hand again and unfroze Jillian.

  She blinked and stared up at the principal. “Uh …”

  “Just a little stage fright!” I made her say. “No worries.”

  Ms. Haskins nodded. Then she turned and walked back offstage.

  Jillian shifted me on her lap. She looked very confused. She squinted out at the audience. “Now, Slappy—” she started.

  That’s when I waved my hand and froze her again.

  Hahaha.

  Yes, I’m laughing, Dear Diary. What a wonderful joke. Is anyone as clever as I am? I don’t think so.

  The audience gave Jillian a few seconds. Then everyone began talking at once.

  I heard her mother and father shouting: “You can do it, Jillian! Go, Jillian! Go, Jillian!”

  Of course, Jillian was under my spell. She couldn’t move.

  Finally, Ms. Haskins returned to walk Jillian off the stage. “Come with me,” she said. “You’ll be fine, dear.”

  That’s when I unfroze Jillian again.

  She blinked. She let the principal lead her away. She had no idea what had happened.

  The audience started to clap. It was sympathy clapping. Everyone felt sorry for poor Jillian.

  Haha. Another great show for Slappy!

  Who won the talent show? I did!

  I wanted to take a bow. Too bad Jillian had carried me offstage with her!

  * * *

  I shook my head. “Horrible,” I murmured to Maggie. “He’s horrible.”

  “Poor Jillian,” Maggie said. “I don’t know her, but I feel so bad for her.”

  “He embarrassed her in front of everyone,” I said. “And she’ll never know what really happened.”

  I glanced at the clock on the mantel. “It’s getting late,” I said.

  “Just a few more pages, Billy,” Maggie said. She took the diary from me and flipped to near the back of the book. “It’s disgusting, but I can’t stop reading.”

  Her eyes scanned the page—and then she suddenly stopped.

  “Whoa. Wait. Hold on,” she murmured. “Oh wow. Billy—you’re not going to believe this!”

  “Read this part here,” Maggie said, pointing.

  I took the diary from her and raised it closer. But before I could read anything, it was swiped from my hands. “Hey—!”

  I looked up to see Dad holding the book in one hand. “Sorry. Enough,” he said. “I don’t know why you two are so fascinated by this little book. But it’s way late. Time for bed.�
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  “But Dad—” I grabbed for the book. He swung it out of my reach.

  “It will still be here tomorrow,” he said. “Now come on, you two. Give me a break. It’s been a tough night.”

  “But Dad—” I tried once more.

  “And it was all your fault,” he said, ignoring me. “Bringing that thing home from the dump.” Dad waved a finger at us. “From now on, what is in the dump stays in the dump. Do you hear me?”

  Maggie and I nodded but didn’t say anything. Sometimes Dad goes into long rants—especially when he’s tired and stressed. And the best thing to do is just stay silent.

  “I want you to keep away from the dump from now on.” Dad sighed.

  Maggie jumped up and gave him a hug. “Sorry we caused so much trouble.”

  “It won’t happen again,” I said. “Good night.”

  Maggie and I knew how to handle Dad when he was this upset. Mainly, we had to pretend to agree to do anything he wanted. Like stay away from the dump.

  Dad walked off with the diary. “You can have it back tomorrow,” he said. “Now go to sleep.”

  A few minutes later, I changed into my pajamas. Then I tiptoed across the hall to Maggie’s room. I wanted to ask her what she saw in the diary. But she was already fast asleep.

  Back in my room, I climbed into bed and pulled the covers to my chin. I knew it would be tough for me to fall asleep. I had too many thoughts and questions swirling around in my brain.

  I kept picturing Slappy and thinking about him. How could a dummy come to life? Was he some kind of cloning experiment that went wrong?

  Maybe we should have kept him. A living dummy could make us famous—and rich. Slappy could be valuable.

  Or … maybe he should be buried and hidden away under a pile of trash. Maybe we did the right thing by saving others from his evil …

  * * *

  The next morning, Maggie and I searched for the diary. But we couldn’t find it. Dad had already left for work. We were late. We decided we’d look for it after school.

  At lunchtime, I hung out with my new friends, the guys I had played soccer with. Damien and Ramone bought hot lunches in the lunchroom—spaghetti and meatballs and salads and powdered doughnuts for dessert. I had the tuna sandwich my dad had packed for me in a brown paper bag.

  The guys had been really nice to me up till then. But today they were into making jokes.

  “Billy, do you get to ride in your dad’s dumpster?” Damien asked. He was eating his doughnut first and had powdered sugar all around his grinning mouth.

  Ramone laughed. “That would be cool. Do you get to sample the trash? Ever find anything tasty?”

  They both laughed at that one.

  “Did you get that T-shirt in the trash? Or does it just smell like it?”

  More hilarious laughter.

  I wasn’t in the mood. And I knew once they started making jokes about the dump and the dumpster truck, they’d never stop.

  So I decided to tell them about Slappy and about last night. I decided to show them just how cool the dump could be. And I guess I wanted to show off. I wanted to boast about this amazing thing that happened.

  “My sister and I found a suitcase in the dump last night,” I told them. I swiped the last section of doughnut from Damien’s tray and stuffed it into my mouth before he could grab it back.

  “Big whoop,” Ramone said. “Who cares about a suitcase?”

  “We brought it home. It had a dummy in it,” I continued.

  “A what?” Ramone asked.

  “You know. A ventriloquist dummy. A big doll. Maggie and I found a slip of paper in its pocket. It said his name was Slappy, and it had these weird words.”

  They gazed at me while they ate their spaghetti.

  “I read the words, and then a crazy thing happened,” I said.

  Damien swallowed. “You turned into a dummy?”

  Ramone laughed. He wiped spaghetti sauce off his chin with the back of his hand.

  “The dummy came to life,” I said. “I know it sounds crazy. But listen to me. I’m not making it up. The dummy started insulting my dad. Then it puked up hundreds of cockroaches on our kitchen table. Then—”

  “Whoa.” Damien squeezed my hand. “Stop. When did you make this up, Billy? Is this a story you wrote for our homework?”

  “No. Listen to me, guys—”

  “Hey, look!” Ramone pulled a meatball off his plate. “This meatball just came to life!” He pushed it close to my face. “Say hello, Billy. Say hi to a living meatball!”

  Roars of laughter.

  I shoved the meatball away. “I’m being serious, guys. The dummy—”

  “My backpack is alive!” Damien cried. He tossed his backpack in the air. “Look out! It’s alive!” It crashed onto the table and knocked over Ramone’s juice box.

  “My whole lunch just came to life!” Ramone shouted. He burped really loud and long. “It’s inside me—and it’s ALIVE!”

  I jumped to my feet. My face was burning, and I knew I was blushing a deep red.

  How could I have been so stupid?

  Only a total jerk would expect anyone to believe my story. I made a real fool of myself.

  I was so eager to impress my new friends. So eager to convince them that I was cool, too.

  “I can show you!” I cried. “I can prove it to you!”

  “Go ahead. Prove it,” Damien said. He grinned at me. “Did you and the dummy take any selfies?”

  Ramone wiped his chin again. “Yeah. Show us the selfies.”

  I sighed. “You know I don’t have a phone.”

  “Well, bring him to school tomorrow,” Ramone said. “He’s a living dummy, right? He can walk to school with you!”

  They both cracked up at that one and slapped high fives.

  “Look! My hand is alive! It’s ALIVE!” Ramone cried. He shot his hand out and pinched my nose really hard. “I didn’t do that. My living hand did!”

  “Forget the whole thing,” I said. I spun away and strode angrily to the lunchroom doors.

  I was really mad. The guys had gone too far this time.

  Know what I’m going to do? I thought. I’m going to dig Slappy up and bring him in. When that evil dummy spews roaches on them, they’ll be sorry they laughed at me. Sorry and terrified.

  Maggie and I hurried home to find the diary. Dad had hidden it under a pile of magazines in his room. Now that we weren’t in a hurry, we found it easily.

  He left us a note on the kitchen table. It read: Don’t mind the smell. The cockroaches came back. The exterminator had to spray. I’ll be home early, and I’ll bring dinner.

  The air felt heavy and damp in the kitchen, and the smell was horrible. “Yuck. I can feel the putrid odor on my skin!” Maggie wailed. We hurried upstairs to my room, where the air was a little better.

  We dropped down on the edge of my bed. Maggie raised the diary in both hands and opened it.

  “What did you want to show me last night?” I asked. “Before Dad grabbed it away?”

  “Check this out.” Maggie shuffled pages until she got toward the end of the book. “This is awesome. Down at the bottom. Read it.”

  I took the book from her and read:

  Dear Diary,

  I’ve been lucky to come alive and have had so much fun. But now, of course, my only goal is to get to The Gold. I need to find The Gold, and I know just how to do it.

  I blinked. And read those words again just to make sure I had read them right. Then I turned to Maggie. “The gold?” I said. “Slappy knows about a treasure of gold?”

  Maggie nodded. “That’s what it sounds like. When he wrote that, he was after gold.” She crinkled up her nose, the way she does when she’s thinking hard. “Maybe a lot of gold?”

  I slapped the book on my leg. “Maggie, if we could find the gold, then Dad wouldn’t have to worry about money anymore. Just think …”

  My mind drifted off. I pictured piles of gold coins. Then Dad’s smiling face. T
hen I pictured … our house all shiny and filled with new furniture … a huge TV on the wall in my room … a new car …

  Maggie waved a hand in front of my face. “Billy, come back. I can see you’re in daydream land. Snap out of it.”

  She grabbed the diary from my hand and flipped through the pages, searching for where we left off.

  “Does he say where the gold is?” I asked, inching closer to her. “Does he tell us where to find it?”

  She elbowed me away. “Give me some room. I’m looking.” She frowned.

  The writing was smeared. It was hard to read. “It says something about a Coldman house,” Maggie said. “What’s that?”

  I shrugged. “I think I heard some kids talking about it in school,” I said. “Turn the page. He’s got to tell us where the gold is.”

  She thumbed the page over. “Hey, we’re at the last page.”

  I read over her shoulder:

  I hate to leave you, Diary, but your pages are filled. Never fear. I will continue my brilliant thoughts in Diary Number Two.

  I gasped. “Huh? Another diary?”

  Maggie stared down at the page. “Another diary,” she murmured. “Was it in the suitcase?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “I didn’t see it. We were so busy trying to stuff that evil dummy back in it …”

  I shook my head. “It’s got to be in that case,” I said. I jumped to my feet. “Maggie, we’ve got to get that suitcase.”

  A few minutes later, the Dumpster Dave truck eased to the curb in front of our house. Dad parked the truck and came walking up the drive, carrying a bucket of fried chicken.

  Maggie and I didn’t give him a chance to get in the house. We ran up to meet him halfway up the driveway. “Dad, we’ve got to talk to you,” I said breathlessly.

  He squinted at us. “What’s wrong? Something wrong in the house?”

  “No. Everything is okay,” I said. “It’s just—”

  “We have to go back to the dump,” Maggie finished my sentence for me.

  Dad shifted the chicken bucket from one arm to the other. “Can we discuss this inside? I’m hungry, and this chicken smells really good.”