Bride of the Living Dummy Page 4

  “How about this one?” He pulled another box off the shelf. REALISTIC GUILLOTINE. “The kid puts his head under the blade and — ”

  “I don’t think so.” I pulled out a trick from the bottom shelf. WHIPPED CREAM SURPRISE. “This could be good,” I said. “You fill it up with whipped cream. It looks like a pie. But when someone bends down close to it, you squeeze this pump and it squirts the whipped cream in his face.”

  Harrison laughed. “We’ll do an all-squirting act. Squirting stuff is always funny.”

  “Especially to four-year-olds,” I added.

  We bought the squirting cards and the squirting pie and a few other tricks. I could see that Harrison had a much better attitude. He was starting to get excited about performing at the party.

  Maybe we’ll be good, I thought. Maybe this party is just the start.

  Maybe we’ll become the most popular birthday party clowns in town.

  Maybe we’ll become RICH birthday party clowns!

  I strapped the shopping bag bulging with magic tricks over my handlebars. And the two of us rode home, talking excitedly about our clown act.

  I was in a really good mood.

  Until I walked into the house.

  Until I carried the bag up to my room.

  I stepped into my bedroom.

  And let out a startled scream.

  The bag of tricks fell from my hand. The boxes bounced over the floor.

  I stared at Slappy. He was perched on the table beside my glass lizard cage.

  The glass lid lay on the floor, cracked in half.

  Slappy leaned over the open cage. His head was turned toward me. His mouth hung open in a cruel, mocking grin.

  Both of his hands were lowered into the cage, as if he was reaching in for Petey.

  And Petey …

  Where was he?

  Where was my lizard?

  “What have you done with Petey?” I shrieked.

  Leaning over the empty glass cage, the dummy grinned across the room at me. I dropped to my hands and knees and began frantically searching for the lizard. I crawled from one end of the room to the other, peering under the desk, under my chair, in the closet. I pulled up the bedspread and searched under the bed.

  “Petey? Petey — ?”

  No sign of him.

  I climbed to my feet and spun to the bedroom door. It had been wide open when I arrived. Did the lizard crawl into the hall?

  I dove out into the hall. Searched up and down.

  No lizard.

  I heard voices and music down the hall. The TV was on in the twins’ room. I jerked open the door. Katie and Amanda were sitting on the floor with Mary-Ellen between them. Watching a cartoon.

  “Where is he?” I shrieked. “What did you do with him?”

  They spun around, letting out startled cries. Mary-Ellen toppled onto her side.

  “What’s wrong?” Katie asked, jumping to her feet.

  “You know what’s wrong!” I screamed. “Where is Petey? Where?”

  I grabbed Katie by the shoulders and started to shake her.

  “Stop it! Stop it!” Amanda tried to pull me away. “We didn’t touch Petey! Jillian — stop it!”

  “Yes, you did!” I cried. “You little brats are going to pay for this!”

  “What’s going on?” Dad’s voice boomed over the noise from the TV. He was still in his overcoat, still carrying his briefcase. He had just walked in from work. “Jillian — what is the problem?”

  “Another one of their mean tricks!” I screamed, letting go of Katie. “This time, they killed my lizard!”

  “Huh?” His face filled with surprise. “Killed it?”

  “We did not!” Katie and Amanda cried in unison.

  “We didn’t touch her lizard!” Amanda insisted.

  “Really, Dad!” Katie added. “She’s crazy! Ow! She hurt my arms!” Katie rubbed her shoulders and made a pouty face.

  “I’ll do worse than that!” I threatened. “Look, Dad.”

  I dragged him into my room and showed him Slappy and the open, empty cage. The girls came running in. They pretended they hadn’t seen any of this before.

  “I searched everywhere for Petey,” I told Dad. “We’ve got to find him! He can’t live very long without food or water.”

  Dad shook his head sadly. He dropped his briefcase onto my bed and turned to the twins. “You really went too far this time,” he told them.

  “But we didn’t do it!” Katie protested.

  “We didn’t! We didn’t! We didn’t!” Amanda chanted.

  “Well, the dummy didn’t do it,” Dad told them sternly. “I don’t want any more lies, girls. We tell the truth in this house. I mean it.”

  Dad turned to me. “Petey has to be somewhere in the house, Jillian. He’s slow. He couldn’t have gotten far. We’ll all hunt for him. We’ll find him before he starves to death.”

  “But what if he climbs into a radiator or something?” I wailed. “What if we can’t find him?”

  Before Dad could answer, Mom came bursting into the room. “What’s all the fuss about?” she demanded. Her mouth fell open when she saw Slappy perched over the open cage.

  “We didn’t do it!” Katie squeaked before Mom had a chance to accuse her.

  “We didn’t!” Amanda insisted.

  “Is the lizard okay?” Mom asked.

  “We don’t know. He’s gone!” I cried.

  Mom shook her head at the twins. “You’ve done a really terrible thing this time, girls.”

  “Why won’t anyone believe us?” Katie screamed.

  Dad put a firm hand on each of the twins’ shoulders. “Enough talk. We can discuss this later. Now let’s each take a different room — and search.”

  Katie crossed her arms in front of her chest and pouted. “I won’t search until you say you believe Amanda and me,” she declared.

  “No!” Dad replied sharply. “We don’t believe you, Katie. There’s no way that a dummy can climb up on a table by itself and — and — oh, no!”

  We all saw it.

  We all saw Slappy start to move.

  We saw his head tilt back. And then we saw his mouth open.

  All five of us froze — and stared in shock as the dummy moved on his own.

  “Whoa.” I grabbed Dad’s arm. The twins both uttered frightened cries.

  Slappy’s head tilted. His mouth opened wider.

  And Petey poked out from between the dummy’s lips.

  “Huh?” I let out a gasp. I let go of Dad’s arm and went running across the room.

  The lizard slid his front legs out over Slappy’s chin. His head moved from side to side, as if he was glancing around the room.

  “Petey — how did you get in there?” I cried.

  I gently pulled the lizard the rest of the way out of the dummy. Slappy fell heavily off the table and landed on the floor at my feet. I cradled Petey tenderly in my hands and turned back to Mom and Dad.

  “He’s okay,” I reported.

  My parents were both still frozen in shock. Finally, Mom opened her lips and let out a long whoosh of air. “Wheeeewww. Glad that’s over.”

  Dad laughed and scratched his bald spot. “I really thought the dummy was moving!” he exclaimed. “What a scare!”

  The twins were huddled by my bed. “We didn’t do it,” Amanda said softly. “Really, Jillian.”

  “Of course you did,” Mom snapped. She pressed her hands against her waist and glared angrily at them. “There’s no one else in this house. I didn’t do it. And your father didn’t do it. So who does that leave?”

  “But — but — ” both girls sputtered.

  “But we wouldn’t try to kill a live animal!” Katie finally choked out.

  Mom shook her head. “This was a terrible thing. Not a joke. I want both of you to go get Mary-Ellen,” Mom ordered. “Put the doll away in your closet.”

  “But, Mom — ” Katie started.

  “Put the doll in the closet,” Mom repeated sternl
y. “You can’t bring her out again until you tell the truth about what you did — and apologize to Jillian.”

  “But Mary-Ellen won’t like it in the closet!” Katie protested.

  “We can’t put her away,” Amanda insisted. “We can’t!”

  Mom just stared at her in reply. She turned to me. “Jillian, go put Mary-Ellen away in their closet. Now.”

  The girls continued to protest.

  I set Petey down carefully in the glass cage. He seemed perfectly fine. I think he probably enjoyed his exciting adventure.

  The cage lid was cracked. But it still fit over the top of the cage. I made sure it was on tight.

  Then I made my way into the twins’ room. Mary-Ellen was sitting on the floor in front of the TV. I heaved the big doll over my shoulder and started to the closet.

  “No! Please!”

  Katie and Amanda burst in front of me. “Please don’t put her in there!”

  “Mom said,” I replied quietly. I jammed the doll onto the top shelf where the girls couldn’t reach her. Then I closed the closet door. “If you want her back, just tell the truth,” I instructed them.

  I hurried back to my room and shut the door. Petey was moving around in the cage. Back to normal.

  I shook my head, thinking about Katie and Amanda. They were always pulling mean tricks on me. They both definitely had a cruel streak.

  The haircut in the middle of the night was pretty bad. But this was even worse.

  Revenge. The word burst into my mind. I’d been planning for so long to pay them back for all their cruel tricks.

  Now was the time. But what could I do? What would be the perfect revenge?

  I tried to imagine them sneaking into my room. Pulling Petey from his cage. Propping Slappy over the cage. And stuffing the lizard into the dummy’s mouth.

  Hard to believe …

  And then another picture flashed into my mind.

  I pictured myself standing in the dark hall of the Little Theater, outside Jimmy O’James’s dressing room. Watching the ventriloquist argue with the dummy.

  And once again I pictured Slappy swinging his arm and slamming his fist into the ventriloquist’s nose.

  Impossible, I told myself. That didn’t happen.

  I gazed down at Slappy, still sprawled on my bedroom floor. His dark eyes stared blankly up at me.

  I felt a chill.

  “I’m putting you away too,” I told him.

  I bent down to pick the dummy up — and once again, his jaws snapped down on my hand.

  “Oww!” I let out a cry. And struggled to pry my hand loose.

  He isn’t biting me, I told myself.

  The jaws are just stuck. Just stuck …

  I slapped the knees of my baggy, polka-dot costume and laughed. “You look awesome!”

  Harrison growled at me. He scratched the ball of red hair on the top of his bald head. His face was white except for the big, painted red mouth that swept from one big rubber ear to the other. His eyes were also ringed by huge red circles.

  “I’ll never forgive you for this, Jillian,” he said. The blue ruffle around his neck bobbed up and down as we walked. “I just hope we don’t run into any kids we know.”

  We made our way up the Henlys’ gravel driveway, dragging our bag of tricks with us. I was the happy clown, and Harrison was the sad clown. Mom and Dad had both worked for days on the costumes.

  Dad had wanted to build mechanical arms that would pop out from our sides. Mom convinced him we wouldn’t be able to move at all with heavy machinery under our costumes.

  As we stepped onto the front stoop, my stomach began to flutter. I could hear kids shouting and laughing inside the house.

  I raised my finger to the doorbell. “Hope they like us,” I murmured to Harrison.

  “If they don’t, I’ll give them a few shots with this!” Harrison proclaimed. He pulled out the big airhorn Dad had given him. The horn was loud enough to blast airplanes out of the sky. I don’t know why Dad thought we needed it.

  I pushed the doorbell again. Again.

  The kids were making such a racket inside, no one could hear the bell.

  “This will get them,” Harrison declared. He pressed the trigger on the air horn. The burst of noise nearly blasted me off the stoop.

  The front door swung open. Mrs. Henly smiled out at us. “The clowns have arrived!” she announced.

  She’s a cheerful, round-faced woman. She had put her white-blond hair up on top of her head, but several strands were falling over her forehead. She wiped sweat off her chin.

  “Four-year-olds,” she said, sighing. “I hope you two can quiet them down. They’re going nuts!”

  Mrs. Henly led us into the living room. I saw several other parents huddled in a small den.

  Harrison and I stopped in the doorway and stared at about twenty little kids, running around the room, jumping on the couch, bouncing off the walls, hitting each other with gift-wrapping rolls, tossing stuffed toys at each other.

  Mrs. Henly cupped her hands around her mouth. “The clowns are here!” she shouted. “Everyone sit down for the clown show.”

  It took a long time, but we finally got them all sitting on the floor. A few of them were still hitting each other, and two boys were arm wrestling on the couch. But they were quiet enough for us to start our show.

  “I’m Zippy and he’s Zappy!” I announced. “We’re going to make you laugh! First, we’ll take a bow!”

  Harrison and I took deep bows and cracked heads, just as we’d practiced.

  I waited for the kids to laugh. But they didn’t.

  Harrison and I cracked heads again, just in case they’d missed it. This time, Harrison bowed too fast, and we really cracked heads!

  The kids stared at us in silence. “When do we get cake?” a red-haired girl asked.

  “Sshhh. Watch the show!” Mrs. Henly ordered.

  “It’s my birthday! I want cake!” the red-haired girl screamed.

  “Zappy and I are going to tell you some funny knock-knock jokes,” I announced. “Knock knock!” I shouted, and I knocked on Harrison’s white head.

  I thought the little kids would crack up when I knocked on his head. But they stared up at us in silence.

  “Knock knock!” I repeated, knocking on him again.

  “Who’s there?” he asked.

  “Harry!”

  “Harry who?”

  “Harry up and answer the door!”

  Silence. A cold silence.

  Several kids began to whisper to each other. Two girls near the couch started a shoving match.

  “They don’t get the jokes,” Harrison whispered. “They’re too young.” He pointed to the bag. “Start the tricks.”

  “Okay. Good idea.” I pulled out the squirting cards. I knew this would make them laugh.

  Harrison and I had practiced and practiced our squirting card game. Each time we picked a card, we squirted each other in the face.

  “They’re going to go nuts for this one,” I whispered. “Let’s play cards, Zappy!” I announced loudly. “Do you kids like to play cards?”

  “No!” the birthday girl answered. Several kids laughed. The first laughter we’d heard all afternoon.

  “Let me cut the deck!” Harrison declared. He pulled out a huge butcher knife.

  “Put that knife away!” Mrs. Henly shrieked. A little boy near the fireplace started to cry.

  “Sorry. Just a joke,” Harrison gulped. He shoved the knife into the bag.

  “You’re a very bad card player, Zappy,” I said, dealing him a card. “When it comes to cards, you’re all wet!”

  I squeezed the pump hidden in my costume pocket. The card didn’t squirt. I squeezed it again.

  No water. Nothing.

  “Well, here’s a card for you!” Harrison cried. He held the card toward my face. I could see him squeezing the hidden pump in his costume.

  But the card didn’t squirt.

  The kids started to become restless. Two
girls began chasing each other around the couch. Three boys started wrestling.

  “Did you fill the cards with water?” Harrison whispered.

  “Me?” I cried. “You were supposed to fill them!”

  “No. You were, Jillian.”

  “Is it time for cake now?” the birthday girl demanded.

  “These clowns are dumb!” the boy next to her griped.

  “They stink,” a boy grumbled, his head buried in his hands.

  “Give them a chance!” Mrs. Henly scolded.

  My stomach suddenly felt heavy as a rock. My knees were trembling. I knew I was sweating my makeup off.

  We were bombing. We hadn’t made them laugh once. “They hate us!” I whispered to Harrison.

  He motioned wildly to the bag. “Get the next trick. Hurry!”

  I pulled out the whipped cream pie. My hands were shaking as I unwrapped it.

  “It isn’t time for birthday cake,” I announced. “But who would like to try some birthday pie?”

  “YAAAY!” Several kids cheered. Several jumped up and down, raising their hands.

  “This is yummy pie,” I told them.

  “What kind?” a pouty-looking, dark-haired girl demanded. “Is it apple? I hate apple.”

  “It’s a whipped cream pie!” I told her. “I need two volunteers to try it. Who wants to try some birthday pie?”

  I set the trick pie on the coffee table. Then I called a boy and a girl to the front.

  Harrison and I didn’t plan to squirt the kids with the whipped cream. We planned to let them sniff the pie. Then Harrison and I would bend over the pie. Then Harrison and I would bend over the pie to sniff it — and we’d both get whipped cream in the face!

  We hadn’t been able to practice this one because the whipped cream had to be added at the last minute. But we knew we had to get big laughs with this one.

  “Go ahead. Sniff the pie,” I urged the boy and girl.

  They were really cute. They didn’t want to get too close.

  “Are you going to push it in our faces?” the little girl asked.

  “Would Zappy and I do a thing like that?” I cried. “Go ahead. Just sniff it.”

  Slowly, they bent down to sniff the pie.

  And big, wet globs of whipped cream shot up and splattered their faces.