Diary of a Dummy Page 4

  So we waited until we were sitting around the table, and the chicken, potatoes, coleslaw, and biscuits had been piled onto our plates.

  Dad finished a leg and a couple of wings. He’s a tall, lanky guy, but he can put the food away. Mom always said he had a secret compartment for it. Anyway, Dad had some chicken and had downed all his mashed potatoes before he turned to us.

  “Okay—so what’s this about the dump? Didn’t you two learn your lesson the first time?”

  I hesitated. “Well … there’s something we have to find.”

  Dad frowned at me. “What?”

  I glanced at Maggie. She shook her head. “It’s kind of a secret,” I said. “We don’t really want to tell you. But—”

  “It’s a good thing,” Maggie chimed in. “Not something bad. Something we have to find.”

  Dad shook his head. He peeled some skin off a chicken breast and pushed it into his mouth. “I don’t know why you’re being so weird,” he said. “But the answer is no. Definitely no. I do not want you going back to the dump.”

  “But Dad—” I started.

  “I’m serious,” Dad said. “Look what happened last night. That was a disaster.” He shuddered. “All those cockroaches pouring out of that evil doll. I don’t even want to think about it.” He shuddered again.

  “We’ll be careful,” Maggie said. “We promise—”

  “Just forget about it,” Dad said. “Whatever it is, forget about it. You stay away from the dump. If I catch you anywhere near there, you’ll be grounded for a month. Do you hear me?”

  We both nodded. “Okay, Dad,” I said.

  After dinner, Maggie and I whispered in the den. “What are we going to do?” she asked.

  A smile crossed my face. “I think I have a plan.”

  My plan was simple. We had to get to the dump and pull up that suitcase. So what was the easiest way to get to the dump?

  In Dad’s dumpster, of course.

  “This is my idea,” I told Maggie. “We catch up to Dad on his Dumpster Dave route. Then hide in the dumpster as he drives to the dump. We jump out. He never sees us. We go find the suitcase. We search it. We pull out the second diary. Sneak back into the empty dumpster. And Dad drives us home without ever knowing we were there.”

  Simple, right?

  What could go wrong?

  Plenty.

  After school, Maggie and I caught up to Dad’s truck in front of a restaurant a few blocks away. We waited until he walked around to the back of the building. Then we hoisted ourselves over the side of the dumpster and dropped onto the trash.

  But one thing we hadn’t counted on was how stinky and gross it was going to be inside the dumpster when it was nearly full. There was a lot of decayed, rotting food we hadn’t thought about. And we sat on squishy trash bags that truly smelled like they were loaded with rotten meat.

  Even before the smell hit me, my hands wrapped around something soft and squishy. I tried to hide between two piles of old newspaper. But my hands were covered in thick yellow goo, and I slipped between two torn trash bags to the floor of the dumpster.

  I heard Maggie moan a few feet away from me. “I’m … going … to be sick,” she said. “There’s a dead cat falling out of a bag.”

  I started to reply. But I heard footsteps. And then two large plastic bags, bulging with trash, came flying over the side of the dumpster. I lowered my head, and they bounced off my back.

  I heard Dad groan, and then he tossed two more bags onto the pile.

  A few seconds later, the truck door slammed as Dad climbed back inside. The engine started, and we slid away from the curb.

  “This was your plan?” Maggie whispered. I could hear her, but I couldn’t see her over the enormous trash bags.

  “It isn’t the way I pictured it,” I said.

  The truck hit a bump, and a heavy plastic bag bounced on top of me.

  “I’m going to puke. Really,” Maggie moaned.

  “Just remember why we’re here,” I said.

  “Because we’re stupid?”

  “No,” I said. “Because we’re going to find Slappy’s second diary. Because we’re going to find the gold. And we’re going to surprise Dad and change our lives forever.”

  She didn’t answer. As we bounced along the road, I tried to wipe the yellow gunk off my hands. I couldn’t tell what it was—maybe slimy egg yolks. But it sure didn’t want to come off.

  It seemed like hours before we arrived at the dump. Maggie and I bounced and rolled and fell into the trash. The putrid odor was on my skin. I knew I’d smell gross for the rest of my life!

  Maggie kept her hand over her mouth and nose. But I could see that it didn’t help a bit.

  Finally, we bounced over the dirt road at the dump. The truck squealed to a stop. After a few seconds, I heard a grinding sound. The truck bed began to tilt up. Soon, trash would begin tumbling out of the dumpster.

  I grabbed the side of the dumpster and pulled myself up. I could see that Dad hadn’t moved from behind the wheel of the truck. Keeping my head low, I gripped the dumpster side with both hands and hoisted myself out. Carefully, I lowered myself to the ground.

  Maggie swung her legs over the side and dropped to the ground beside me. I pulled a piece of eggshell from her hair. Then we took off, ducking low, around the other side of the dumpster.

  Had Dad seen us?

  No. I could see him behind the wheel, staring straight ahead, one hand on the dumpster control. The truck bed groaned as it tilted the dumpster down toward the ocean of trash.

  “Which way?” I whispered to my sister. “It all looks alike. I don’t remember—”

  “Over by those trees,” she whispered back. “I think.”

  I turned toward Dad’s truck. The dumpster was tilted up all the way. The trash came pouring down in an avalanche. Dad still hadn’t seen us. He hadn’t moved from the truck.

  “This old chair looks familiar,” Maggie said. “Maybe. Everything looks different in the daytime.”

  I started to answer. But I tripped over a half-buried wooden carton and went flying. I landed facedown in a cold puddle of muddy water. “Gaaaack.” Sputtering and spitting, I pulled myself to my feet.

  I wiped my face with both hands. But I couldn’t get the taste of mud out of my mouth.

  I turned and saw that Maggie had started to trot. She pointed. “See that heap of old clothes? I remember that,” she called.

  “Yes!” I remembered it, too. Maggie had piled the clothes on top of the suitcase.

  We both arrived at the heap at the same time. My heart started to pound as I frantically shoved the old shirts and pants away with both hands. Then Maggie and I bent down to lift the stack of newspapers we had placed beneath the clothing.

  “This is it. I know it is,” I said breathlessly as we worked.

  “And there it is!” Maggie cried as a corner of the suitcase came into view.

  We pawed away the rest of the old newspapers and lifted the suitcase from the dirt. I set it down on its bottom and reached for the two latches.

  “The diary has got to be in there,” Maggie said. She was tugging tensely at the sides of her hair with both hands. “Hurry. Open it.”

  My hands were trembling. “I am hurrying!” I snapped.

  I clicked open the two latches. Took a deep breath.

  I shoved open the suitcase lid—and we both screamed.

  Empty.

  The suitcase was empty.

  No diary. No Slappy. Not even a dust ball.

  Totally empty.

  Maggie and I stared wide-eyed into the open suitcase. We didn’t speak. I could barely breathe.

  Finally, she broke the silence. “Impossible,” she murmured. “He was locked in.”

  I slammed the lid shut. I glanced all around. “Maybe he fell out. Maybe the diary fell out with him. Maybe they are around here somewhere.”

  I didn’t really believe what I was saying. But I bent down and started pawing through the trash. Magg
ie circled the case, her eyes on the trash bags and broken furniture nearby.

  We were still searching when it started to rain.

  “Major fail,” I said, shaking my head. “No diary. And no dummy.”

  The raindrops were light at first, but they were growing heavier, and a steady rain began to drench us. At the far edge of the trash, I saw a family of raccoons scampering toward the trees. Running for cover, I guessed.

  “Back to the truck,” Maggie said. The rainwater was matting her red hair to her forehead. “Hurry.”

  I turned—and gasped. “Oh no.”

  Dad’s truck was moving. It had started to rumble toward the dump exit.

  “He’s leaving without us!” I cried.

  Maggie frowned at me. “Billy—he doesn’t know we’re here, remember?”

  “Dad! Hey—Dad!” I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted. “Dad—wait!”

  Maggie sighed. “He can’t hear you over the rain.”

  We started to run. We both waved our hands in the air wildly and shouted: “Stop! Stop! Dad—STOP!”

  My shoes slid from under me. The wet plastic trash bags were slippery, and now the wind had started to blow hard. I dropped to my knees. Pulled myself up quickly. Then slipped again.

  “Dad! Hey—Dad!” Maggie jumped up and down, waving her hands over her head.

  I shivered. The wind gusts were cold, and the rain swept over me, big drops running down my face.

  Maggie and I huddled together, up to our knees in trash. We watched Dad’s truck roll over the dirt road. The empty dumpster bounced behind it. It picked up speed as it disappeared out the exit.

  Maggie swept her soaked hair back off her forehead. She shook raindrops off the shoulders of her T-shirt. Then she turned to me.

  “Billy—do you have any more bright ideas?”

  Poor Billy and Maggie. They’re going to get soaked. To the bone.

  I don’t have to worry about that. I don’t have any bones. Haha!

  But … how did I get out of the suitcase? And where did I go?

  That’s a mystery.

  I could tell you. But then it wouldn’t be much of a mystery—would it?

  You’d better stick with Billy and Maggie. I think they’re about to find The Gold.

  And that’s when things get really interesting! Hahaha.

  Well, I don’t really want to talk about it. But the truth is, we had to walk to a gas station, use their phone to call Dad, and ask him to come pick us up. What choice did we have?

  He was just a few blocks from home when he got our call. He turned the truck around and returned to the dump.

  We were so smelly and soaked and disgusting, he didn’t want us to get into the cab of his truck with him. And, of course, he was more than a little steamed that we had disobeyed him and sneaked our way to the dump.

  But when he saw how miserable Maggie and I were, he forgot about his anger and drove home without yelling at us once. I think he held his breath the whole way so he wouldn’t smell us.

  When we got home, Maggie and I hurried to change into clean, dry clothes. When we came back downstairs, Dad was setting a bucket down on the floor under dripping water.

  He sighed. “Our roof is like Swiss cheese … so many holes. Wish I had money to have it repaired.”

  We’ve GOT to find that gold, I thought.

  The three of us sat down with mugs of hot chocolate and listened to the ping ping ping of the rainwater dripping into the metal bucket.

  “Why did you sneak back to the dump?” Dad asked.

  Maggie and I exchanged glances. “Uh … We wanted to dig up that dummy, Slappy,” I confessed.

  Dad squinted at me. “Why? You thought we needed more cockroaches in the house?”

  “We were looking for something in his suitcase,” Maggie explained.

  Dad turned his gaze on her. “And what might that be?”

  “We can’t tell you,” I said quickly. “It’s a secret.”

  “But it’s a good secret,” Maggie added.

  I twirled the hot chocolate mug between my hands. “Except we couldn’t find the suitcase,” I lied. I didn’t want Dad to know we had failed.

  “Don’t go back there,” Dad said. “I’m serious. When you two go to the dump, bad things seem to happen. So what’s the best way to keep bad things from happening?”

  “Stay away from the dump?” I answered.

  He nodded.

  And that was that.

  Maggie and I got off easy. Sometimes Dad has a real temper. These days, he’s in a bad mood most of the time. Mainly because he’s always worried about paying the bills. And also because when it rains, our rickety old house is like living in a waterfall.

  The next day was Saturday. I should have been working on my model of the universe for the science fair. I had an awesome idea for it. I was stringing up different fruits for the planets. I used oranges and lemons and apples, depending on the size of the planet. And I had a grapefruit for the bright yellow sun.

  Dad said it was a waste of good fruit. I thanked him for his support. He hurried out the door to go do his Saturday trash pickup.

  Maggie and her friend Laci Munroe were in the den. They were playing some kind of game on Dad’s laptop. My sister and I think we should have our own laptops, especially for schoolwork. But, of course, Dad says it’s not in the budget.

  As I stepped into the den, I could hear tinkly music playing on the game. And the girls kept laughing as they played.

  “Hey, Laci,” I said. “How’s kindergarten?”

  “Shut up, Billy,” Maggie snapped. “You’re not funny.”

  “Yes, I am,” I said.

  “Funny looking,” Laci muttered.

  “Ooh, clever,” I said. “Did you just think that up?”

  Laci looks like a little blond mouse, and she has a whispery, mousy voice. She has to be the tiniest fourth grader in school. Seriously, she makes Maggie look like a giant.

  I like to tease Laci because she has a good sense of humor and doesn’t get hurt or angry. She plays the flute in the school jazz band. I joke that she has to play the flute. It’s the only instrument smaller than she is! But really, she’s amazing at it.

  She’s also an awesome gymnast. Maggie met Laci at a gymnastics class in a gym in town, and she was the first friend Maggie made when we moved here.

  I stepped behind the couch and glanced at the laptop screen. “What is that?” I asked. “A My Little Pony game?”

  “Go away, Billy,” Laci said. “It’s Sims 5. It’s way too sophisticated for you.”

  Maggie just shook her head.

  I could take a hint. They didn’t want me around. I went up to my room and picked up Slappy’s diary. There has to be a way to find that gold, I thought. There have to be more clues in this diary.

  I dropped down onto the edge of my bed and began to thumb through it. I had to squint to make the tiny writing come into focus.

  We had only skimmed through some of the pages the other night. We hadn’t read everything carefully.

  Maybe there’s a hint we missed about where we can find Diary Number Two.

  I read page after page. I found story after story about Slappy ruining people’s parties, or spoiling their dinner, or biting people and hurting them.

  People always tried hard to get rid of him for good. But then Slappy would reappear in a new town with a new family or a new kid. The poor victim would read out the secret words. And the dummy’s evil would start all over again.

  Slappy did a lot of bragging in his diary. And he wrote a lot about how great he was and how people didn’t understand him:

  I just like to have a good time. I like to laugh, laugh a lot. I know how to party, Dear Diary. And I don’t understand why people don’t appreciate all the fun and good times I bring into the world.

  If I laugh at people and make rude jokes about them, does that mean I’m bad? Of course not!

  * * *

  Besides bragging a lot in the d
iary, he also complained. He complained that he didn’t really have all the powers he wanted:

  Dear Diary,

  Just because I have a wooden head doesn’t mean I don’t have dreams. I dream that I am all-powerful. I dream that I can summon up spirits. That I can control minds and make everyone obey me.

  I know where I can get these powers, Diary. I must have them. I must! The powers will allow me to do whatever I want whenever I want.

  And that’s why I must find The Gold.

  * * *

  Leaning over the diary, on the edge of my bed, I read those words again. My mind began to spin. I knew this was an important clue.

  Slappy wanted powers … powers that he didn’t have. And he wrote that he knew where to find them. But in order to get the powers, he needed The Gold.

  Maggie and I didn’t want any powers. We just wanted the money. We just wanted to help our dad. So I kept reading.

  I could hear Maggie and Laci downstairs. They were laughing about something in the Sims game they were playing. I shut out their laughter and studied the diary, concentrating hard.

  I didn’t find another clue until the very last page.

  The ink was smeared on this page. Most of the words had been blotted out. But down near the bottom, three words stood out clearly:

  The Coldman House.

  Yes. I remembered that house the first time we read the diary.

  I heard kids talking about it soon after we moved here. I knew it was somewhere in town. And I knew that people liked to tell scary stories about it. Like it was a haunted house or something.

  “Hey, Laci—!” I shouted down the stairs.

  She didn’t hear me. So I ran down, taking the stairs two at a time.

  The girls looked up from their game as I came bursting into the den. “Laci, have you heard of the Coldman House?” I asked.

  She wrinkled her nose. “Of course. Everyone knows the Coldman House.”

  “Why?” I said. “What about it?”

  “My grandparents lived near it,” Laci said. “On the next block. But they had to move away. It was too scary to live there.”

  Maggie’s mouth dropped open. “Why? Why was it so scary?”