My Friend Slappy Page 8

  Still gripping the doorknob, Lizzie stared back at him and didn’t reply.

  “Keep him talking,” I whispered. “I have an idea.”

  She nodded and turned to the dummy. “Why can’t you be my friend?” she demanded.

  “Because I’m Barton’s friend,” Slappy replied. “Barton was the first kid who ever liked me. The first kid who wasn’t scared of me.”

  “So now you can only be Barton’s friend?” Lizzie said.

  Slappy’s grin appeared to grow wider. “You got that right, sister. You know what that means? That means you get lost.”

  As they talked, I slid along the wall, moving closer to Slappy. He stood at the edge of Lizzie’s bed, waving his hands in the air as he shouted at her.

  I took one step. Then another. My eyes were on Slappy’s suit jacket. I saw something in the jacket pocket that gave me a good idea.

  An idea for stopping the evil dummy. An idea for getting him out of my life.

  It was a little slip of white in his jacket pocket. And I remembered. The sheet of paper with the strange words. The words that had brought Slappy to life.

  What would happen if I read those words again?

  Would they put him back to sleep?

  It was a wild, desperate idea. But I didn’t have any others. I had no choice. I had to try it.

  Slappy and Lizzie kept up their argument. Lizzie was watching me as I crept closer to the screaming dummy. Closer.

  When I was close enough, I threw myself at Slappy. I tackled him around the legs and brought him down on his back.

  He uttered an angry cry and tried to bat me with his fists.

  But I ducked under them and grabbed the front of his jacket.

  “What are you doing?” the dummy cried. “We’re friends! Are you forgetting that we’re friends for life?”

  I ignored his screams and dug my fingers into his jacket pocket.

  Yes!

  I pulled the sheet of paper from the pocket.

  I raised it high and unfolded it.

  Would this work? If I shouted the weird words, would they put Slappy to sleep?

  The paper trembled in my hand. I started to raise it close enough to read …

  … and Slappy grabbed it away from me!

  “Give that back!” I cried. I swiped at it. Missed.

  The dummy giggled. And stuffed the paper into his mouth.

  “Noooo!” I let out a horrified cry.

  And watched him chew the paper to bits and swallow it.

  He made a gulp sound as he swallowed the last chunk of paper. Then he burped and grinned at me. “Friends for life, Barty, my boy.” He tossed back his head and laughed. The shrill sound bounced off the walls and ceiling.

  I covered my ears.

  My chest heaved with every breath. I stared at him, helpless. Was that my one chance to defeat him? My only chance?

  Maybe not.

  I blinked as a thought flashed into my mind.

  “You know what, my friend?” Slappy said. “I know something better than friendship. From now on, you won’t just be my friend. You’ll be my servant! Hahaha!”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. And I grabbed him again. I wrapped my arms around his waist and dropped him onto his back.

  My fingers fumbled in the jacket pocket until I found what I was looking for. “OKAY!” I screamed. “Okay! Okay!”

  I tugged the sheet of paper from the pocket.

  I remembered there were two sheets folded up and tucked in the pocket. Not one piece of paper—two pieces of paper!

  Again, my hands shook as I unfolded it. And stared at the strange secret words. Yes! This was the right one!

  I couldn’t stop myself. I laughed. “You ate the wrong sheet of paper, Slappy!” I shouted.

  He ate the one that said Hi. My name is Slappy. Do you want to be my friend?

  “Give me that!” he screamed.

  He tried to jump up. But I kept him pinned to the bed. And I shouted the words as loudly as I could:

  “KARRU MARRI ODONNA LOMA MOLONU KARRANO.”

  Would it put the evil dummy to sleep?

  “Sorry,” Slappy said. “That doesn’t work.”

  “That doesn’t work,” Slappy said. “I … I …”

  He collapsed and slumped onto his back. His eyelids slid down over his eyes. His mouth shut tight with a loud wooden click. His arms and legs went limp.

  Lizzie stepped up beside me. We both stared at him without speaking, waiting for him to sit up, to open his eyes … to move.

  But he didn’t.

  “It worked!” I cried. “He’s totally asleep.”

  Lizzie let out a long sigh. “Wow. I mean, wow. Thank goodness.”

  “Yeah. He wasn’t a very good friend,” I said.

  Lizzie frowned at me. “Do you think?”

  She leaned over the dummy, as if making sure he really was out cold. “What are you going to do now?”

  “Lock him back in his case,” I said. “And dump the case as far away as I can. I’ll take a bus to the beach and—”

  “Oh my goodness!” a voice interrupted.

  We both spun around. Lizzie’s mom poked her head into the room. Her mouth dropped open as she stared at the ripped and shredded animals and heaps of stuffing that covered the room.

  “Wh-what on earth happened in here?” she cried.

  “Oh, I was just rearranging my collection,” Lizzie said.

  * * *

  It took a long time to clean up. We were at it for a few days. When we were finally done, we decided to go for a walk, just to clear our minds and calm down. It’s hard to calm down when you’ve been living in a horror movie!

  It was a warm, sunny afternoon. Everything seemed to sparkle brightly. Maybe it was just my mood. Maybe everything looked magical because I was so happy.

  We walked around the soccer field at school. Travis and Kelly were watching a game from the sidelines. I waved to them.

  They hesitated for a moment, then waved back.

  My new best friends!

  “Let’s go to my house,” I said to Lizzie. “We can pick up Slappy and get rid of him.”

  “The sooner the better,” Lizzie agreed.

  We were half a block from my house when we heard the growls. The growls quickly became deafening barks and howls.

  “Kraken!” I cried.

  The huge dog came charging at us, big paws pounding the ground. His head was lowered. His eyes shone like yellow headlights.

  Was the chain attached?

  I couldn’t see.

  I grabbed Lizzie’s arm, and we stood there frozen in panic.

  Kraken came to a lumbering stop, just inches from us. He raised his big head and pulled back his ears. And the dog said, “Hey, Barty, don’t you want to be my friend?”

  Or did I just imagine that?

  That kid Barton has a great imagination. Do you believe it? He imagined he could defeat me! Hahaha!

  I imagine I’ll wake up in time to star in another book. I always do.

  Barton was a good friend. But he didn’t understand the First Rule of Friendship: Do it to others before they do it to you! Hahahaha.

  Well, time for me to go, my friend. But don’t feel bad. I’ll be back soon with another Goosebumps story.

  Remember, this is SlappyWorld.

  You only scream in it!

  On the day my friend Nicole and I found the Monster Blood and totally ruined our lives, we were both excited and happy enough to burst.

  That’s because we had a chance to be on our favorite TV series.

  A chance to show off the cooking skills we had practiced in my kitchen. All the crazy dishes Nicole and I dreamed up. Slapping food together in the craziest combinations. Dreaming up wild new desserts and pasta casseroles and soups and stews that sometimes even we were afraid to taste!

  Before I go too far, let me say that I’m Sascha Nelson. My best friend Nicole Hilliard and I are twelve, and we consider ourselves kitchen explorers.
We go where no chefs have ever gone before.

  No joke.

  I mean, who else would think of making salty chocolate milk? Or scrambled eggs with marshmallow fluff? Or a bologna cake?

  We’re pioneers. We’re inventors. We’re creators. We’re totally nuts.

  At least, that’s what my mom and dad say. But what do they know? They put jelly on their peanut butter instead of bananas and pickles!

  Who could compete against us in the kitchen?

  We were about to find out. Because—wait for this—Nicole and I were picked for the most awesome TV cooking show in the universe.

  Unless you’re new to this planet, you know what I’m talking about. Kids’ Big Chef Food Fights.

  That’s the one. Three teams of kids competing for the Silver Spatula. That spatula is worth two thousand dollars!

  Can you get excited about two thousand dollars? Nicole and I sure could.

  All of the contestants were coming from our school, Adam Driver Middle School. Nicole and I knew we could out-cook anyone in school with our oven mitts tied behind our back.

  Sure. Maybe I brag a lot. But if you’ve got something to brag about, why not?

  After school on Thursday, we couldn’t wait to get to the TV studio. Luckily, it was only a six-block walk from my house. Nicole and I were in my kitchen, loosening up.

  “Let’s make an ice cream sundae,” I said. “Put everything we can find on it.”

  Nicole nodded. “Yeah. We need to carb up, you know.” She flexed her arm muscles. “Get the energy flowing.”

  “Mainly I just want a sundae,” I said.

  We pulled a carton of vanilla ice cream from the freezer. I found chopped walnuts and caramel syrup and colored sprinkles in the pantry. Nicole produced a banana from the fridge. “Do you have any popcorn?” she asked. “I love popcorn on ice cream.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “There’s a bag of tortilla chips. We could crumble some chips on it.”

  I found a tall can of whipped cream in the refrigerator door. You know, the whipped cream with a nozzle that you push and it sprays out.

  “This is a good start,” I said. “We can build the sundae, then see what else we can find.”

  Nicole glanced at the clock above the kitchen window. “It’s getting late. Maybe we should just have some ice cream.”

  “No way,” I insisted. “This is going to be an awesome creation.”

  I pulled a glass ice cream dish from the cabinet and started to scoop ice cream into it. Nicole heated the caramel sauce in the microwave. Then she poured it on top of the ice cream scoops.

  We were adding the banana slices when Toby came bursting into the kitchen.

  Toby is my little brother. He’s eight going on four. What I mean is, he’s a pain.

  It’s hard to get mad at him because he looks so much like me. Bouncy red hair, a round face with freckled cheeks. But I have blue eyes, and his are brown.

  “Hey, Toby.” I followed his gaze. Guessed what he was about to do—but I was too slow to stop him.

  He grabbed the can of whipped cream off the counter and raised it high, aiming it at me.

  “Toby, put that down,” I said. “I mean it.”

  He moved his finger to the top, ready to press it. He giggled. He has a seriously evil giggle. “Tell me what you got me for my birthday,” he said.

  “Put it down,” I said.

  “I’ll put it down when you tell me my birthday present.” He pointed the can at my face.

  “I’m not telling,” I said.

  I couldn’t tell him, because I hadn’t bought him anything yet. Who wants to shop for an eight-year-old pest?

  He giggled again. Then he pressed the can and shot a big blob of whipped cream into my face.

  “Hey—!” I let out a shout. I wiped the stuff from my eyes with one hand—and grabbed for the can with my other hand. Missed.

  He sprayed another white stream at me. I ducked and it sailed over my shoulder and splattered the kitchen wall.

  “Give me that!” I screamed. I swiped at the can, but he pulled it away. And sent a big wet blob of whipped cream onto my shoes.

  “I’ve got him!” Nicole cried. She grabbed Toby from behind and tried to pin his arms back.

  Laughing, he sprayed her face and hair with whipped cream. A thick white stripe of it spread along the side of the kitchen counter. He shot a big circle of the cream onto the wall.

  “Give it! Give it, you jerk!” I screamed, grabbing wildly for the can.

  That’s when I saw Mom and Dad standing in the doorway.

  Toby must have seen them, too, because he tossed the whipped cream can into my hands.

  Nicole was too busy trying to wipe the stuff from her hair to notice them. Big splotches of whipped cream covered the floor, the kitchen counter, and the wall.

  Mom pressed her hands to the sides of her face. “What on earth is going on here?” she cried.

  “Sascha and Nicole were having a whipped cream fight,” Toby said.

  “Your little brother needs to be taught a lesson,” Nicole said.

  “What lesson?” I asked.

  “That he is obnoxious,” she said.

  I laughed. “Is that a lesson?”

  It was fifteen minutes later. Nicole and I had done our best to wipe the whipped cream off everything. And then we listened to a lecture from my dad about how we had to take better care of Toby when we were in charge.

  We didn’t think we were in charge. But we listened anyway because we were eager to get out of the house.

  Now the afternoon sun was sliding behind the trees and long shadows stretched across the front lawns. We crossed the street and made our way toward the TV studio, taking long strides.

  Nicole kept tugging at her hair. A big clump of it was stuck together because of the whipped cream.

  “There won’t be any camera. This is just a tryout,” I told her.

  But that didn’t make her feel any better.

  Nicole has beautiful long straight black hair. Sometimes she ties it in a single braid. But today it fell behind her back like a dark waterfall.

  We walked past our school. Five or six kids had a soccer game going on at the playground. Some girls from the elementary school had dropped their bikes on the front lawn and were sprawled on the grass, hanging out.

  “I wonder what kind of ingredients we’ll get for the tryout,” I said. My stomach felt a little fluttery. You can’t blame me for feeling a little tense.

  “Probably octopus and pine nuts,” Nicole joked.

  See, the way the contest works is this: Every team gets a box with the same bunch of ingredients in it. No one knows what’s inside until you open the box. Then you have to make something delicious from the ingredients.

  Something more delicious than the other two teams.

  A few weekends ago, Nicole and I did a practice session. We asked my mom to pull four ingredients out for us. We closed our eyes while she scurried around the kitchen.

  When we opened our eyes, we saw her four ingredients on the counter. A box of macaroni noodles. Two apples. A jar of honey. And a little spice jar of cinnamon.

  Nicole and I studied them for a while. Then we mixed everything together and baked the whole thing. And it came out as a very sweet pasta dessert.

  Has anyone ever cooked a pasta dessert before? Maybe Nicole and I invented something new!

  I was thinking about that dessert when the car came squealing around the corner.

  I didn’t realize it was a car at first. I just saw a whirring blur of black.

  I heard the car’s engine roar. The tires squealed. And then it came into focus as it wheeled around the corner. A long black SUV.

  “Sascha—look out!”

  I heard Nicole’s scream.

  I leaped backward. Fell hard onto my back. My head hit the pavement with a thud. The breath whooshed from my chest.

  I’m hit! I told myself. I’m hit! I’m hit! That car … it hit me! My head thro
bbed. I saw red.

  I shut my eyes tight … and waited for the pain to fade.

  R.L. Stine says he gets to scare people all over the world. So far, his books have sold more than 400 million copies, making him one of the most popular children’s authors in history. The Goosebumps series has more than 150 titles and has inspired a TV series and two motion pictures. R.L. himself is a character in the movies! He has also written the teen series Fear Street, and the Mostly Ghostly and Nightmare Room series. He is currently writing a series of graphic novels entitled Just Beyond. R.L. Stine lives in New York City with his wife, Jane, an editor and publisher. You can learn more about him at rlstine.com.

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