Slappy New Year! Page 4

  But that was crazy. Ridiculous.

  I stared down at the dummy. He grinned back at me. His glassy eyes appeared to flash with excitement.

  No. No way.

  I didn’t even finish reading the weird words out loud. I never read the last word.

  Besides, dummies don’t come to life. That’s only in dumb horror movies.

  “Ray, you’ll clean everything up,” Dad said in a soft, low voice, a voice that meant business.

  “Right,” I said.

  “And you’ll put that dummy away,” Mom added. “Somewhere we can’t see it.”

  “Right,” I repeated.

  “And you will promise that you will never try to scare your brother again,” Mom said.

  “Never,” I murmured.

  I glanced at the dummy’s smiling face. I blinked. Had the grin grown wider?

  “Now, apologize to Brandon,” Dad said.

  Brandon wiped his face on the bedspread again. He scowled at me.

  “But I can’t apologize for something I didn’t do!” I said.

  “Ray, do you want to have your New Year’s Eve party?” Mom asked.

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Then apologize to Brandon.”

  “Brandon, I apologize,” I said.

  What else could I do?

  “I’m very very very sorry this happened,” I told Brandon.

  Brandon made that glub glub sound again. He nodded his head. I guess that meant he forgave me.

  “Get this room cleaned up, and we won’t talk about this again,” Dad said.

  “Good,” I muttered. I hoisted Slappy onto my shoulder and carried him to the door. “This is the end of it,” I said.

  Wow. Was I wrong!

  * * *

  I tossed Slappy onto the floor of my closet. His head clonked hard on the floorboards. I shoved him under my shirts.

  Mom and Dad were still down the hall in Brandon’s room. I closed the door to my bedroom. I had to think.

  My brain was doing flip-flops. My stomach still felt like a rock.

  What exactly was going on here?

  I was the only one in the Gordon family who knew I was innocent.

  No way could I prove it. The vote was three-to-one that I was guilty.

  So who trashed Brandon’s bedroom and ripped up his wrapping paper? Yes, Slappy had paint on his hands and shreds of paper all over him. But I just wasn’t ready to believe that the dummy came to life and did all that.

  I pulled out the carton I keep my bottle collection in. Then I sat down and studied some of the old bottles.

  That’s what I do sometimes when I need to calm down. There’s something about the cool smoothness of the glass and the nice shapes. My bottles always make me feel better.

  Sure, it sounds weird. Well, lots of kids think I’m weird because I collect things like old bottles.

  I guess that’s one reason the New Year’s Eve party was so important to me. I really wanted to show kids that I’m a good guy. I’ve never been very popular. I guess I was hoping the party would help me out with that.

  A knock on my door interrupted my thoughts.

  “Ray? Are you forgetting something?” Mom called. “Are you forgetting the cleanup in Brandon’s room?”

  “Coming,” I said. “I’ll make it like new. Promise!”

  As I started for the door, I glimpsed Slappy’s shoes poking out of my closet. His legs were halfway out the closet doorway.

  Was that the way I left him? Did he move?

  The next day, Elena came over to help decorate the basement for our party. She wore a baggy gray sweatshirt and sweatpants. “Ready to go to work,” she said.

  Mom gave us lunch first. Big stacks of pancakes drowned in maple syrup. “This will give you strength to work,” Mom said. “Are all the paint cans out of the way?”

  “Most of them,” I said with a mouthful of pancake.

  Elena laughed. “You have a syrup mustache.”

  I tried to lick it off. “Mmmmm. Tastes even better if you lick it off your face.”

  “You’re gross,” Elena said. She nabbed a pancake off my stack and dropped it onto her plate.

  Mom thought it was funny, so I didn’t do anything about it. Mom thinks everything Elena does is cute or funny.

  She’s wrong.

  Later, the two of us were sweeping the basement floor with long-handled brooms. The floor had big balls of dust scattered over it. There were still a few paint cans to lug to the side.

  “Does your Mom have any old rugs we could put on the floor?” Elena asked.

  I shrugged. “How should I know?”

  “Don’t be such a grouch,” she said. She swept a cloud of dust at me. “We want it to look like a party — right? How many pizzas is your dad buying?”

  “He said one pizza for every three kids,” I answered. “About three slices a kid.”

  “Nice,” Elena said. “How come you’re being so weird, Ray? I thought you were psyched about this party. Why are you acting like your puppy died?”

  I shrugged again. I really didn’t want to tell her about the whole thing with Slappy and Brandon’s room.

  “Things are kind of weird around here,” I said.

  “So what else is new?” she snapped.

  That’s when we heard the scream. Another frightened howl from upstairs.

  “Brandon!” I gasped. I tossed the broom down and started for the stairs.

  “What’s he screaming about?” Elena called.

  “I — I don’t know,” I said. I grabbed the metal banister and started to pull myself up the steps. “It doesn’t sound good.”

  Where were Mom and Dad? Could they hear Brandon’s high screams?

  I bolted through the kitchen to the living room, then hurtled up the stairs to Brandon’s room.

  “What’s up? What’s wrong?” I shouted breathlessly.

  The first thing I saw was Slappy.

  The dummy was perched on top of Brandon’s dresser with his legs dangling down the front. The top drawer was open. The dummy grinned at me with his mouth hanging open.

  Elena stopped in the doorway. “Brandon? What’s wrong?” she cried.

  Brandon stood in the center of the room. His face was red and his eyes were wide with fright. “Look!” he cried. “Look in there!” He pointed frantically to the dresser.

  “How did the dummy get out of my closet?” I demanded. “Is that what you’re screaming about?”

  “L-look in the top drawer,” Brandon stammered. “My T-shirt drawer. Look at it!”

  “Huh?” Elena and I stepped up to the dresser. “Oh, wow.”

  What was that dark brown gunk poured all over my brother’s shirts?

  It looked like motor oil.

  I dipped a finger in it. Sticky and thick. I sniffed it.

  “That’s no way to find out,” Elena said. She dipped a finger in. Then she tasted it carefully with the tip of her tongue.

  She made a disgusted face. She swallowed once. Twice.

  “Ohhh, yuck. What is it?” I asked.

  Elena grabbed her throat. “Can’t breathe …” she choked out. “Poison! It’s poison!”

  “Elena! NOOOO!” I screamed.

  She laughed. “Kidding. It’s maple syrup.”

  “Huh? Maple syrup?”

  Brandon nodded. “Maple syrup. Look at it. Poured all over the drawer. My — my shirts are all ruined!”

  I gazed at Slappy. I saw dark syrup stains on the sleeve of his jacket. I stepped back. A thick river of syrup dripped all the way down the front of Brandon’s dresser.

  Brandon lurched forward and gave me a hard bump with his chest. He caught me off balance. I staggered back and toppled onto his bed.

  The big hulk came charging at me. But Elena moved quickly to step between us.

  “Why are you doing this to me?” he cried. “Why are you being such a jerk?”

  Mom burst into the room. She had a stack of clean bath towels in her arms. “Why did Ray do
what?” she asked. “What’s all the racket in here?”

  “He poured syrup in my dresser!” Brandon cried. “And he — he put that dummy up there.”

  Mom dropped the towels beside me on the bed. She brushed past Elena. Stepped up to the dresser and peered into the open drawer.

  “Oh, my goodness. My goodness.” She shook her head hard, as if trying to shake the whole thing away. “My goodness. Your shirts. Oh, it’s all so sticky. What a mess!”

  She spun away from the dresser and narrowed her eyes at me. “Why did you do this? Have you totally lost your mind?”

  I jumped to my feet. The stack of towels fell to the floor. “I — I didn’t,” I stammered. My voice cracked. I cleared my throat. “I didn’t do this! I swear!”

  Mom started angrily stamping one foot on the floor. “Don’t lie, Ray. Just tell us why you did it. What is going on with you?”

  “Nothing!” I cried. “Nothing is going on with me. Mom, I’m telling the truth. I didn’t bring the dummy in here. And I didn’t pour syrup in Brandon’s drawer.”

  “Ray was with me in the basement the whole time,” Elena said.

  “I should cancel your party right now,” Mom said.

  “Mom, please —”

  “All my T-shirts are in that drawer!” Brandon wailed. “Now I have no shirts. What am I supposed to wear?”

  “We’ll find something of your dad’s,” Mom told him. “The syrup will come out in the wash. Don’t worry. Your shirts will be good as new.”

  “Yuck. I don’t want them anymore!” Brandon cried. “He hates me, Mom! Ray hates me!”

  “Not true!” I shouted. “No way. That dummy —”

  I glared angrily at Slappy. His head had tilted to one side. One shoe dangled down into the open drawer.

  Mom stepped forward and put her hands on my shoulders. “Ray?” She brought her face down close to mine. “Stop. Take a breath. We are not going to believe that the dummy did this. So do not even start.”

  “But, Mom —”

  “We live in the real world, Ray,” she said softly. Her eyes burned into mine without blinking. “Do you agree? We don’t live in a fantasy world.”

  “I didn’t do it,” I said. “That’s all I can say.”

  “Well, you’re grounded.” She let go of me and stood up tall. “You’re grounded, and I don’t want to see that dummy out of the closet again.”

  “Okay,” I murmured. No point in arguing.

  “Maybe you can think real hard,” Mom said, “and figure out why you want to scare Brandon with that dummy.”

  “But —”

  “And when you can explain it, then you won’t be grounded anymore,” Mom said.

  “And … what about the New Year’s Eve party?” Elena asked.

  “Canceled,” Mom said. “Forget about it.”

  Elena let out a cry. “No! Please! Give Ray one more chance! Just one! Please!”

  Mom squinted at me, thinking hard. “Okay. I shouldn’t — but one more chance. One more crazy incident — just one more — and the party is canceled,” Mom said. “And no pleading or begging will change my mind.”

  I apologized again. I didn’t know what else to do.

  I carried the dummy back to my room. I shoved it back into the closet. Then I slammed the door shut.

  Elena plopped down on my desk chair. She undid her ponytail and shook her brown hair out. She sighed loudly.

  “You don’t believe me, either — do you?” I said.

  “I know what you’re doing,” she said softly. “And you’re going to ruin our party.”

  “I’m not doing anything,” I argued.

  “You’re trying to pay Brandon back for spoiling your trip to HorrorLand,” Elena said.

  “Not true!” I said. Suddenly, I remembered the words on that folded-up piece of paper. “Elena — listen to me. You know those weird words that are supposed to bring Slappy to life? Well … I read them.”

  She squinted at me. “Really?”

  “Well … I didn’t read them all,” I said. “I only read most of them. But maybe that’s enough to bring him to life.”

  Elena jumped to her feet. She tied her ponytail back up. “I’m leaving.”

  “No. Listen,” I said. “The dummy —”

  She shook her head. “Ray, let’s say the dummy came to life. Why is it only doing bad things to Brandon? Answer that!”

  “Well …”

  “Bye.” She stomped out the door. She turned in the hall. “Just don’t do any more tricks with the dummy, okay? I really want to have the party.”

  What could I say? Even my best friend didn’t believe me.

  I listened to her clomp down the stairs. Then I heard the front door slam shut behind her.

  I paced back and forth in my room for a while. My brain was spinning. But I couldn’t come up with any ideas to prove to everyone I was telling the truth.

  Still thinking hard, I went down to the kitchen for a snack. I tore open a couple of pudding containers and licked the pudding out like a dog. Then I poured myself a tall glass of milk.

  I carried the milk up to my room. Stepped inside — and let out a scream. “Oh, nooo!”

  Slappy was sitting cross-legged on my bed.

  Was I frightened?

  Three guesses — and they’re all yes.

  That night, I climbed into bed and pulled the covers up to my chin. I thought about Brandon and his night-lights. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea.

  Snow swirled outside my bedroom window. The wind made a creepy whistling sound. Moonlight through the whirling snow sent weird shadows dancing over the wall.

  Slappy was on the floor in the back of my closet. I made sure the closet door was closed — and locked. But I still didn’t feel safe.

  I had the terrifying feeling he could find a way out of the closet whenever he wanted. What would he do next? Was he wrecking Brandon’s room to get me in trouble?

  I pressed my hands over my ears. The wind was howling like a wild animal now. My windowpane rattled and shook.

  I kept glancing across the room to the closet door. I pictured it swinging open. And the dummy staggering out on its flimsy legs.

  That’s crazy, I told myself.

  I shut my eyes tight. Pulled the covers higher. I opened my mouth in a long yawn.

  Yes, I was tired. I needed to sleep. But how could I shut off my brain?

  I kept thinking about the horrible things that happened to Brandon in his room. Even more horrible was the fact that my parents thought I did it. No one believed me when I swore it wasn’t me.

  I admit it. I was hurt. It hurts to have your whole family think you’re some kind of wacko criminal.

  Even Elena. Even my best friend thought I did those awful things to Brandon. She even dreamed up some kind of crazy reason about how I was doing it for revenge.

  That hurts, too, when your best friend thinks you’re a liar.

  Mom always says I’m the sensitive one in the family. I don’t really know what she means. I don’t know if I’m sensitive or not. But I don’t want my parents and my best friend to hate me and think I’m a total jerk.

  I jumped at a loud, rattling sound. The closet door? No. Just the wind banging the windowpane.

  Maybe I should get rid of the dummy, I thought. It’s only caused me trouble.

  I could put it in a big trash bag and drop it in a garbage can beside the garage.

  But what if it really IS alive?

  That thought sent a hard shiver down my whole body. Even under the covers I was trembling. I could feel my heart racing in my chest.

  “I’ll never get to sleep,” I murmured to myself.

  I shut my eyes and listened to the howling wind. Silently, I started to count backwards from one thousand. I counted slowly, picturing each number as I counted it.

  Sometimes that helped clear my mind in the past.

  Nine hundred ninety-seven … nine hundred ninety-six …

  After a while, I drifte
d to sleep. But it must have been a very light sleep. The rattling sounds woke me two or three times.

  I pushed my head deep into the pillow, trying to drown them out.

  I slept a little more. And then I woke up — totally alert — at a different sound.

  A thud. A soft scrape.

  Footsteps? Moving lightly past my bed.

  My breath caught in my throat. I suddenly felt cold all over.

  I raised my head and listened. I pressed my hands against the mattress and pushed myself up almost to a sitting position.

  The floor creaked under someone’s footsteps.

  I squinted into the darkness toward the closet. Shadows moved across the floor.

  I heard a click. The click of the lock on the closet door.

  Shadows darkened as the door slowly slid open.

  I struggled to breathe. Shudder after shudder ran down my body.

  Too dark to see. No moonlight through the window.

  The closet door squeaked. I heard a soft thud from inside the closet.

  And then soft footsteps again. Moving toward my bed.

  Someone walking very quietly. Trying to sneak past.

  Shaking, I pulled myself higher. I turned to stand up.

  And the dummy’s face burst up in front of me. Even in the darkness, I could see the glassy eyes set on me. And the grin … that evil grin.

  Slappy pushed his face up against mine. And rasped in a cold, harsh whisper:

  “Don’t mess with me, punk.”

  A weird sound escaped my throat. Like a choked gulp.

  This couldn’t be happening.

  I didn’t think. I just shot out my hands — and grabbed the dummy’s head.

  He tugged back — and I slid out of bed. As I hit the floor, the head slipped from my hands. I grabbed at the legs. My fingers wrapped around one of his little shoes.

  With a loud groan, I forced myself to my feet. I was tangled in the bedcovers. My heart pounded like a bass drum.

  I held my grip on the dummy’s shoe. Reached out my other hand — and clicked on the bed-table lamp.

  I blinked in the flash of bright light. And then I screamed:

  “Brandon!”

  Brandon had hold of the dummy’s waist. He was trying to pull Slappy away from me.