Slappy New Year! Read online

  I tried to pull myself to my feet.

  The hedge clippers snapped again.

  “How about a nice cut?” Slappy shrieked. “Maybe it’ll teach you not to lock me in the cold!”

  I raised both hands to shield myself. The clippers came down fast. He lowered them over my face.

  “NO! STOP!” I screamed. “STOP! You’re going to CUT MY HEAD OFF!”

  SNAAAAAP. SNAAAAAP.

  Suddenly, the hedge clippers flew into the air. I blinked. Brandon had slapped them away. They landed with a thud in the snow and sank deep into a high drift.

  “Let go of me, loser!” Slappy shrieked.

  Brandon had his arms wrapped around the dummy’s waist. He lifted Slappy off his feet.

  “You’ll pay! You’ll pay for this, slave! I’m gonna chop till I drop! No more Mr. Nice Guy! Put me down!”

  But Brandon shoved the dummy under his arm. Then he started to run. “Follow me, Ray. I see something!” he shouted breathlessly.

  I was still plopped down in the snow. Kind of dazed, I guess, from my narrow escape. I pulled myself up, shook myself off, and started to follow Brandon.

  The dummy kicked and thrashed its arms, shouting and spitting.

  “You’ll pay! You’ll pay! I’ll put your heads on snowmen! You don’t know what you’re doing!”

  The blinding sunlight on the snow stunned my eyes. I shielded them with one glove as I trotted over the deep drifts, following Brandon.

  Slappy punched the back of Brandon’s parka with both fists. But Brandon held on to him tightly and kept trotting.

  We reached the street, and I saw what my brother had in mind. I heard the loud roar as the big white truck came into clear view.

  It was stopped in front of the Simkins’ house on the corner. A big garbage truck. The truck rocked a little as its engine idled. Steam poured out of the exhaust.

  Two men in gray parkas emptied trash cans into the back. A grinding roar rose up as the garbage was mashed inside.

  The men dragged the empty trash cans up the long driveway.

  As soon as they were gone, Brandon went into action. He carried Slappy up to the back of the truck.

  “Put me down!” the dummy wailed. “YOU’RE the garbage! Drop me! Watch out! You don’t want to see me when I’m ANGRY!”

  Brandon’s eyes narrowed. He gritted his jaw. Then he raised the thrashing, screaming dummy in both hands.

  With a groan, he started to heave the dummy into the truck.

  But Slappy twisted his body — gave a hard jerk. He slipped out of Brandon’s hands and fell to the snow.

  “Hey!” Brandon let out a startled cry. He grabbed for Slappy. Missed.

  Slappy scrambled quickly to his feet. He swung around on his flimsy legs — and grabbed me with both wooden hands.

  “Whoooooaah!” I shouted as the dummy lifted me off my feet and into the air.

  How can he be so strong?

  Is it his deep evil that gives him so much power?

  The questions flashed through my mind. But I didn’t have time to figure out the answers.

  The wooden hands dug into my ribs. Before I could move or squirm or twist or cry out, the dummy raised me high over his head — and heaved me into the back of the grinding truck.

  “Noooo!”

  I heard Brandon’s shout over the roar of the truck. He burst forward — and bumped me hard with his whole body.

  I sailed over the side of the truck and landed on my back in the snow. Pain shot up my entire body.

  Shaking it off, I pulled myself up — in time to see Brandon wrestling with the dummy on the ground. Grunting and groaning, they rolled over each other, making the snow fly.

  “Brandon —” I called to him, struggling to my feet.

  Brandon was on his back, half buried in snow. Slappy sat on top of him. The dummy raised a fist to pound my brother.

  But I grabbed him around the waist. I pulled him off Brandon. And without thinking … without really planning it, I flung the dummy with all my strength.

  Slappy bounced off the back of the garbage truck. Then he slid down … down … and he was sucked into the truck.

  Slappy kicked and screamed as he was pulled inside.

  Brandon and I froze as a long, shrill howl rang in our ears. A howl of pain and horror.

  And then the truck began to grind. The roar drowned out the howl.

  I shut my eyes and pictured the dummy — the wood, the cloth suit jacket and pants, the little shoes — all ground up … ground to wood shavings and bits of cloth. Mixed with the disgusting garbage.

  We didn’t move. We were both breathing hard. Our breath puffed up in front of us.

  The grinding roar ended. Silence now.

  “Hey — what are you two kids doing?”

  The men were returning to their truck. One of them hoisted himself into the front cabin. The other one stared hard at Brandon and me.

  “Nothing,” I said. “Just watching.”

  He stared at us a while longer. Then he gave us a two-fingered salute and joined his partner in the truck. We watched as the truck crunched over the snow and headed up the block.

  Then Brandon and I let out victory whoops and slapped knuckles and danced up and down in the snow. “Tell the truth,” Brandon said. “Was I brave or was I brave?”

  “You were a superhero!” I said.

  We hurried home, dancing and laughing, tossing snow at each other. A great morning. An awesome morning.

  “I’m never going to be scared again,” Brandon said. He beat his chest with both fists and made gorilla sounds.

  We both entered the house, beating our chests and grunting like gorillas. Mom and Dad thought we had gone snow crazy.

  * * *

  I called Elena. I apologized. I pleaded with her to come over. She appeared after lunch.

  Mom and Dad greeted her and wanted to chat. But Elena and I knew we had work to do. We had to start begging — and beg better than we ever begged in our lives.

  We begged and pleaded with my parents to let us have the New Year’s party.

  We promised to be perfect for the whole new year. We promised to help out with everything in the house — forever. We promised to make sure the basement was totally spotless after the party.

  We promised everything a kid could promise. And finally, after a long, private talk with Elena’s parents, Mom and Dad said yes. Go ahead and have your New Year’s Eve party.

  Elena and I didn’t have time to celebrate our victory. We still had lots of work to do in the basement.

  We hurried down there. There were still some paint cans to move out of the way. We stacked them near the walls. Then we found two brooms and swept the floor clean.

  “This basement is so dark,” Elena said, gazing around. “We’ll need lots of colorful balloons. And some streamers across the ceiling. We have to make it look like a party.”

  I started to answer — but I stopped with a gasp.

  From the top of the basement stairs there was rasping, evil laughter.

  My heart skipped a beat. I let out a sharp cry.

  We both turned to the stairs — and saw Brandon up at the top.

  He tossed back his head and did his evil laugh again. He sounded just like Slappy.

  “I gotcha that time,” Brandon said, shaking his head. “You really thought the dummy was back.” He laughed some more.

  I rolled my eyes. “Brandon, just because you’re brave now doesn’t mean you have to scare us to death!”

  That made him laugh even harder.

  * * *

  New Year’s Eve, the basement was a whirl of colors. Elena and I put red and blue lightbulbs in all the ceiling lights. And we strung gold and silver crepe paper streamers across the low ceiling. Silver and gold helium balloons bounced against the streamers.

  Music pounded. The streamers and balloons made the colored lights appear to flash and flicker. The stacks of silvery paint cans gleamed in the light and looked like party decoratio
ns.

  “It looks like a nightclub — not like a basement!” Elena cried.

  Kids started piling in around seven-thirty. Mom and Dad showed them the way to the basement. But my parents promised to stay upstairs.

  Our friends were ready to party. We did crazy karaoke songs. We danced and hung out. We had a wild limbo contest.

  Someone found a beach ball, and we had an insane volleyball game with paint cans as the net. We gobbled pizza and big bowls of chips.

  Elena and I kept congratulating each other. We both agreed the party was awesome.

  It was awesome until a little after ten o’clock.

  That’s when the music suddenly stopped. As if someone had pulled out the plug. And in the sudden silence, hideous, evil laughter rang out from the top of the basement stairs.

  I had a mouthful of chips. The ugly laugh made me spit them all over the floor.

  I spun around and shouted, “Brandon — not funny!”

  The light was dim at the top of the stairs. I heard a step creak and saw thin legs walking down slowly, one step at a time.

  “Ooh, what’s that smell?” someone shouted. A sharp, putrid odor floated over the basement. Kids held their noses.

  “Slappy!” I gasped.

  He stopped halfway down the stairs. His gray suit was shredded. His shoes were gone. His head and shoulders were covered in scraps of garbage.

  “Slappy New Year!” he screamed at the top of his lungs.

  Kids gasped and cried out. A wave of fear swept over the room. My whole body shuddered.

  How could he be back?

  What did he plan to do?

  “Th-that dummy. It’s talking,” someone stammered.

  Everyone started talking at once….

  “Is it real? It’s walking by itself.”

  “Who’s making it talk?”

  “Is someone inside that thing? Is it a robot?”

  “Ray, is this a joke? Are you trying to trick us?”

  I didn’t want to answer. I knew it wasn’t a joke.

  Slappy lowered himself another step. Another. He took a few staggering steps across the basement floor.

  The odor from the garbage made my eyes burn. Garbage scraps fell off him as he limped forward.

  His evil eyes focused on me. “You didn’t invite me,” he rasped. “So I thought I’d CRASH!”

  He lifted a gallon can of paint off a stack. Then he swung his arm hard and sent the can sailing. It crashed against the wall, and bright yellow paint spewed out in a geyser.

  “Oh, noooo,” I let out a moan as the paint ran down the wall.

  And before I could move, Slappy had another can open. He jerked it forward in both hands — and sent a thick wave of blue paint over three girls who were standing nearby.

  They screamed as the paint swept over them. It splashed on their hair and ran down their faces.

  Kids were screaming now. Backing away. Looking for hiding places.

  “It’s ALIVE!” a girl cried. “It’s ALIVE! ALIVE! ALIVE!” She couldn’t stop screaming.

  Elena gasped in horror. She turned to me. “Is this really happening?”

  I nodded.

  Slappy staggered to a wall of paint cans. He pulled a can off the top and quickly pried the lid off.

  “That’s enough!” Elena shouted. She dove past me and tore across the room toward Slappy, both hands outstretched to stop him.

  “Ohhh!” Elena screamed as she slipped in a puddle of blue paint. Her feet slid out from under her. She went facedown in the paint.

  Slappy raised a can over her and dumped a gallon of black paint on her head.

  Elena gasped and choked, struggling to breathe under the thick coating of paint. I bent down beside her and tried to smear paint away from her eyes and nose.

  Looking up, I saw terrified kids racing up the basement stairs.

  Slappy laughed his hideous laugh and heaved another tidal wave of paint over two boys trying to hide under the food table.

  “We have to get out of here!” a boy shouted.

  “It’s ALIVE! It’s ALIVE!” the girl continued to scream.

  Slipping and sliding in the thick paint, kids stampeded up the stairs.

  I saw a boy reach the top. He grabbed the doorknob. I saw him struggling. Pushing. Pulling.

  Two other kids jammed beside him. I saw them start to pound on the door.

  “It’s locked!” someone screamed. “The door — we can’t open it! Help! We’re locked in!”

  A wave of black paint sailed at my head. I ducked, and it splashed onto my back.

  Kids screamed and cried and pounded the basement door.

  Where were my parents? They had mentioned going next door for a few minutes to say Happy New Year to the Willards….

  Slappy tossed back his head in a hyena laugh and sent another gallon of paint splashing over the kids on the stairs. The paint covered their heads and made them splutter and choke.

  “Treat me like GARBAGE?” Slappy shrieked. “You’ll all end up in the garbage!”

  Brandon — brave now — dove forward to tackle the cackling dummy. But he slid on the paint-drenched floor. Fell and cracked his head on the hard concrete.

  “Brandon?” I screamed.

  I heard a loud banging and then excited cries. I raised my eyes to the top of the stairs and saw the basement door fly open. Elena, covered in black paint, began to lead kids out the door.

  Slappy heaved a gallon can of paint up the stairs at them. Kids shrieked and ducked. A girl went toppling headfirst down the sticky, wet steps. That made the dummy laugh even harder.

  I dropped down beside Brandon. “Are you okay?”

  He raised his head groggily. “I guess so.” He had purple and green paint in his hair and down one side of his face.

  I helped him to his feet. He rubbed a hand back through his paint-soaked hair.

  Kids were frantically trying to get to the basement stairs. Slappy had three boys trapped against the food table. He was menacing them with a can of white paint.

  Suddenly, I had an idea. Slappy had his back turned to Brandon and me. It was easy to slip behind him.

  I pulled my brother behind a wall of paint cans. “Push!” I said. “We’ll push together.”

  Brandon squinted at me. “Huh?”

  “If we can push this wall of cans on Slappy, maybe we can crush him under them.”

  Brandon shook his head. “But the garbage truck didn’t crush him.”

  “Maybe we can at least stop him,” I said. “Come on. It’s worth a try.”

  The heavy cans were stacked about a foot over my head. Brandon and I leaned our shoulders against the wall of cans.

  “On the count of three,” I said. We both took deep breaths. “One … two … THREE!”

  We lunged forward. Heaved our shoulders against the cans.

  And … yes! The whole wall toppled over.

  Slappy let out a high, shrill wail as the wall caved in on him. Burying him … crushing him under its weight.

  I watched him crumble to the floor. The paint cans thudded on top of him. He disappeared beneath them.

  Silence now.

  Brandon and I stood together, staring at the pile of paint cans.

  Did we really defeat him?

  I gazed around. No one else in the basement. Everyone else had escaped. Brandon and I were the only ones still here.

  I shuddered. We were both drenched in thick paint.

  I rolled a can of paint out of my way with one shoe. Then I bent down to examine the cans on the floor.

  And a wooden hand shot up from under the cans and grabbed me by the throat.

  “Aaaaach!” I uttered a choked scream as the hand tightened its grip.

  Slappy sat up. His evil, red-lipped grin appeared to spread over his face.

  “Ch-choking me …” I gasped.

  The hand tightened. My neck throbbed. I struggled to suck in air. “Choking …”

  The dummy grinned up at me. I tugged hard.
Pulled back with all my might.

  But Slappy had evil strength. I couldn’t free myself from the hard wooden hand.

  “Where are you going? The party is just starting!” the dummy declared.

  “Ch-choking …” I gasped.

  “Slappy New Year! Slappy New Year to both of my slaves!”

  I knew I was passing out. I saw bright yellow. And then the room started to fade away.

  Brandon grabbed my waist and tried to pull me free. But Slappy was too strong.

  I thrashed my arms wildly. I tried to punch the dummy. My hand slid to his jacket pocket.

  The room was spinning darkly now. I actually saw bright yellow stars before my eyes.

  My hand tore at the dummy’s jacket pocket. And without realizing it, I pulled out the folded sheet of paper.

  The paper with the strange words on it. The words that brought the evil dummy to life.

  If we read the words again, will they put him back to sleep?

  Frantically, I pushed the paper at my brother. “Read …” I choked out. “Read …”

  Did Brandon understand me?

  Yes.

  He grabbed the paper from my hand. His fingers struggled to unfold it.

  The room spun. The bright stars swam in front of me. Darkness … darkness …

  I saw Brandon raise the paper to his face. His eyes went wide.

  “Read …” I choked out.

  He squeezed my arm. “Ray,” he said, “I can’t read the words. They’re covered in paint!”

  Slappy tossed his head back and laughed. “Losers!”

  He let go of my throat and made a grab for the paper.

  It flew out of Brandon’s hands and fluttered to the floor.

  Slappy and I both dove for it. I grabbed it first. I swung it away from Slappy. Held it above my head. Light from the ceiling poured through the paper.

  And I realized I could see the words through the paint!

  “ ‘KARRU MARRI ODONNA LOMA MOLONU KARRANO!’ ”

  My voice was hoarse, but I shouted them as loud as I could.

  Slappy made a sound like air going out of a balloon. His head tilted back. His legs collapsed. He sank to the floor. His head hit hard and bounced a couple of times.

  Then he didn’t move.