07 - Night of the Living Dummy Read online

  “Your first job,” Mr. Powell said, a smile crossing his slender face.

  “Amy and Ben liked Slappy so much, they insisted on him,” Lindy said. “Mrs. Marshall is going to pay me twenty dollars.”

  “That’s great!” their mother exclaimed. She passed the salad bowl across the table to her husband.

  It had been a week since Lindy rescued Slappy from the trash Dumpster. Every day after school, she had spent hours up in her room rehearsing with him, working on his voice, practicing not moving her lips, thinking up jokes to perform with him.

  Kris kept insisting the whole thing was dumb. “I can’t believe you’re being such a nerd,” she told her sister. She refused to be an audience for Lindy’s routines.

  But when Lindy brought Slappy into school on Friday, Kris’ attitude began to change. A group of kids had gathered around Lindy outside her locker.

  As Lindy made Slappy talk for them, Kris watched from down the hall. She’s going to make a total fool of herself, Kris thought.

  But to her surprise, the kids hooted and howled. They thought Slappy was a riot. Even Robby Martin, the guy Kris had had a crush on for two years, thought Lindy was terrific.

  Watching Robby laugh along with the other kids made Kris think hard. Becoming a ventriloquist might be fun.

  And profitable. Lindy was going to earn twenty dollars at the Marshalls’ birthday party. And when word got around, she’d probably perform at a lot of parties and earn even more money.

  After dinner that evening, Lindy and Kris washed and dried the dishes. Then Lindy asked her parents if she could practice her new comedy routine on them. She hurried up to her room to get Slappy.

  Mr. and Mrs. Powell took a seat on the living room couch. “Maybe Lindy will be a TV star,” Mrs. Powell said.

  “Maybe,” Mr. Powell agreed, settling back on the couch, a pleased smile on his face. Barky yapped and climbed between Mr. and Mrs. Powell, his tiny stub of a tail wagging furiously.

  “You know you’re not allowed on the couch,” Mrs. Powell said, sighing. But she made no move to push Barky off.

  Kris sat down away from the others, on the floor by the steps, cradling her chin in her hands.

  “You’re looking glum this evening,” her father remarked.

  “Can I get a dummy, too?” Kris asked. She hadn’t really planned to say it. The question just popped out of her mouth.

  Lindy came back into the room, carrying Slappy around the waist. “Ready?” she asked. She pulled a dining room chair into the center of the living room and sat down on it.

  “Well, can I?” Kris repeated.

  “You really want one, too?” Mrs. Powell asked, surprised.

  “Want what?” Lindy asked, confused.

  “Kris says she wants a dummy, too,” Mrs. Powell reported.

  “No way,” Lindy said heatedly. “Why do you want to be such a copycat?”

  “It looks like fun,” Kris replied, her cheeks turning bright pink. “If you can do it, I can do it, too,” she added shrilly.

  “You always copy everything I do,” Lindy protested angrily. “Why don’t you find something of your own for once? Go upstairs and work on your junk jewelry collection. That’s your hobby. Let me be the ventriloquist.”

  “Girls”—Mr. Powell started, raising a hand for quiet—“please, don’t fight over a dummy.”

  “I really think I’d be better at it,” Kris said. “I mean, Lindy isn’t very funny.”

  “Everyone thinks I’m funny,” Lindy insisted.

  “That’s not very nice, Kris,” Mrs. Powell scolded.

  “Well, I just think if Lindy has one, I should be able to have one, too,” Kris said to her parents.

  “Copycat,” Lindy repeated, shaking her head. “You’ve been putting me down all week. You said it was nerdy. But I know why you changed your mind. You’re upset because I’m going to earn some money and you’re not.”

  “I really wish you two wouldn’t argue about everything,” Mr. Powell said disgustedly.

  “Well, can I have a dummy?” Kris asked him.

  “They’re expensive,” Mr. Powell replied, glancing at his wife. “A good one will cost more than a hundred dollars. I really don’t think we can afford to buy one now.”

  “Why don’t you both share Slappy?” Mrs. Powell suggested.

  “Huh?” Lindy’s mouth dropped open in protest.

  “You two always share everything,” Mrs. Powell continued. “So why don’t you share Slappy?”

  “But, Mom—” Lindy whined unhappily.

  “Excellent idea,” Mr. Powell interrupted. He motioned to Kris. “Try it out. After you share him for a while, I’m sure one of you will lose interest in him. Maybe even both of you.”

  Kris climbed to her feet and walked over to Lindy. She reached out for the dummy. “I don’t mind sharing,” she said quietly, searching her sister’s eyes for approval of the idea. “Can I hold him for just a second?”

  Lindy held onto Slappy tightly.

  Suddenly the dummy’s head tilted back and his mouth opened wide. “Beat it, Kris!” he snarled in a harsh raspy voice. “Get lost, you stupid moron!”

  Before Kris could back away, Slappy’s wooden hand shot up, and he slapped her hard across the face.

  4

  “Ow!”

  Kris screamed and raised her hand to her cheek, which was bright pink. She stepped back. “Stop it, Lindy! That hurt!”

  “Me?” Lindy cried. “I didn’t do it! Slappy did!”

  “Don’t be dumb,” Kris protested, rubbing her cheek. “You really hurt me.”

  “But I didn’t do it!” Lindy cried. She turned Slappy’s face toward her. “Why were you so rude to Kris?”

  Mr. Powell jumped up from the couch. “Stop acting dumb and apologize to your sister,” he ordered.

  Lindy bowed Slappy’s head. “I’m sorry,” she made the dummy say.

  “No. In your own voice,” Mr. Powell insisted, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Slappy didn’t hurt Kris. You did.”

  “Okay, okay,” Lindy muttered, blushing. She avoided Kris’ angry stare. “I’m sorry. Here.” She dumped Slappy into Kris’ arms.

  Kris was so surprised, she nearly dropped the dummy. Slappy was heavier than she’d imagined.

  “Now what am I supposed to do with him?” Kris asked Lindy.

  Lindy shrugged and crossed the room to the couch, where she dropped down beside her mother.

  “Why’d you make such a fuss?” Mrs. Powell whispered, leaning close to Lindy. “That was so babyish.”

  Lindy blushed. “Slappy is mine! Why can’t something be mine for once?”

  “Sometimes you girls are so nice to each other, and sometimes…” Mrs. Powell’s voice trailed off.

  Mr. Powell took a seat on the padded arm of the chair across the room.

  “How do I make his mouth work?” Kris asked, tilting the dummy upside down to examine its back.

  “There’s a string in his back, inside the slit in his jacket,” Lindy told her grudgingly. “You just pull it.”

  I don’t want Kris to work Slappy, Lindy thought unhappily.

  I don’t want to share Slappy.

  Why can’t I have something that just belongs to me? Why do I have to share everything with her?

  Why does Kris always want to copy me?

  She gritted her teeth and waited for her anger to fade.

  Later that night, Kris sat straight up in bed. She’d had a bad dream.

  I was being chased, she remembered, her heart still pounding. Chased by what? By whom?

  She couldn’t remember.

  She glanced around the shadowy room, waiting for her heartbeat to return to normal. The room felt hot and stuffy, even though the window was open and the curtains were fluttering.

  Lindy lay sound asleep on her side in the twin bed next to Kris’. She was snoring softly, her lips slightly parted, her long hair falling loose about her face.

  Kris glanced at the clock-r
adio on the bed table between the two twin beds. It was nearly three in the morning.

  Even though she was now wide awake, the nightmare wouldn’t completely fade away. She still felt uncomfortable, a little frightened, as if she were still being chased by someone or something. The back of her neck felt hot and prickly.

  She turned and fluffed up her pillow, propping it higher on the headboard. As she lay back on it, something caught her eye.

  Someone sitting in the chair in front of the bedroom window. Someone staring at her.

  After a sharp intake of breath, she realized it was Slappy.

  Yellow moonlight poured over him, making his staring eyes glow. He was sitting up in the chair, tilted to the right at a slight angle, one arm resting on the slender arm of the chair.

  His mouth locked in a wide, mocking grin, his eyes seemed to be staring right at Kris.

  Kris stared back, studying the dummy’s expression in the eerie yellow moonlight. Then, without thinking, without even realizing what she was doing, she climbed silently out of bed.

  Her foot got tangled in the bedsheet and she nearly tripped. Kicking the sheet away, she made her way quickly across the room to the window.

  Slappy stared up at her as her shadow fell over him. His grin seemed to grow wider as Kris leaned closer.

  A gust of wind made the soft curtains flutter against her face. Kris pushed them away and peered down at the dummy’s painted head.

  She reached a hand out and rubbed his wooden hair, shining in the moonlight. His head felt warm, warmer than she’d imagined.

  Kris quickly jerked her hand away.

  What was that sound?

  Had Slappy snickered? Had he laughed at her?

  No. Of course not.

  Kris realized she was breathing hard.

  Why am I so freaked out by this stupid dummy? she thought.

  In the bed behind her, Lindy made a gurgling sound and rolled onto her back.

  Kris stared hard into Slappy’s big eyes, gleaming in the light from the window. She waited for him to blink or to roll his eyes from side to side.

  She suddenly felt foolish.

  He’s just a stupid wooden dummy, she told herself.

  She reached out and pushed him over.

  The stiff body swung to the side. The hard head made a soft clonk as it hit the wooden arm of the chair.

  Kris stared down at him, feeling strangely satisfied, as if she’d somehow taught him a lesson.

  The curtains rustled against her face again. She pushed them away.

  Feeling sleepy, she started back to bed.

  She had only gone one step when Slappy reached up and grabbed her wrist.

  5

  “Oh!” As the hand tightened around her wrist, Kris cried out and spun around.

  To her surprise, Lindy was crouched beside her. Lindy had a tight grip on Kris’ wrist.

  Kris jerked her hand from Lindy’s grasp.

  Moonlight through the window lit up Lindy’s devilish grin. “Gotcha again!” she declared.

  “You didn’t scare me!” Kris insisted. But her voice came out a trembling whisper.

  “You jumped a mile!” Lindy exclaimed gleefully. “You really thought the dummy grabbed you.”

  “Did not!” Kris replied. She hurried to her bed.

  “What were you doing up, anyway?” Lindy demanded. “Were you messing with Slappy?”

  “No. I… uh… had a bad dream,” Kris told her. “I just went to look out the window.”

  Lindy snickered. “You should’ve seen the look on your face.”

  “I’m going back to sleep. Leave me alone,” Kris snapped. She pulled the covers up to her chin.

  Lindy pushed the dummy back to a sitting position. Then she returned to her bed, still chuckling over the scare she’d given her sister.

  Kris rearranged her pillows, then glanced across the room to the window. The dummy’s face was half covered in shadow now. But the eyes glowed as if he were alive. And they stared into hers as if they were trying to tell her something.

  Why does he have to grin like that? Kris asked herself, trying to rub away the prickly feeling on the back of her neck.

  She pulled up the sheet, settled into the bed, and turned on her side, away from the wide, staring eyes.

  But even with her back turned, she could feel them gazing at her. Even with her eyes closed and the covers pulled up to her head, she could picture the shadowy, distorted grin, the unblinking eyes. Staring at her. Staring. Staring.

  She drifted into an uncomfortable sleep, drifted into another dark nightmare. Someone was chasing her. Someone very evil was chasing her.

  But who?

  On Monday afternoon, Lindy and Kris both stayed after school to rehearse for the spring concert. It was nearly five when they arrived home, and they were surprised to see their dad’s car in the driveway.

  “You’re home so early!” Kris exclaimed, finding him in the kitchen helping their mother prepare dinner.

  “I’m leaving tomorrow for a sales conference in Portland,” Mr. Powell explained, peeling an onion over the sink with a small paring knife. “So I only worked half a day today.”

  “What’s for dinner?” Lindy asked.

  “Meatloaf,” Mrs. Powell replied, “if your father ever gets the onion peeled.”

  “There’s a trick to not crying when you peel an onion,” Mr. Powell said, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Wish I knew it.”

  “How was chorus rehearsal?” Mrs. Powell asked, kneading a big ball of red ground beef in her hands.

  “Boring,” Lindy complained, opening the refrigerator and taking out a can of Coke.

  “Yeah. We’re doing all these Russian and Yugoslavian songs,” Kris said. “They’re so sad. They’re all about sheep or something. We don’t really know what they’re about. There’s no translation.”

  Mr. Powell rushed to the sink and began splashing cold water on his red, runny eyes. “I can’t take this!” he wailed. He tossed the half-peeled onion back to his wife.

  “Crybaby,” she muttered, shaking her head.

  Kris headed up the stairs to drop her backpack in her room. She tossed it onto the desk she shared with Lindy, then turned to go back downstairs.

  But something by the window caught her eye.

  Spinning around, she gasped.

  “Oh, no!” The startled cry escaped her lips.

  Kris raised her hands to her cheeks and stared in disbelief.

  Slappy was propped up in the chair in front of the window, grinning at her with his usual wide-eyed stare. And seated beside him was another dummy, also grinning at her.

  And they were holding hands.

  “What’s going on here?” Kris cried aloud.

  6

  “Do you like him?”

  At first, Kris thought that Slappy had asked the question.

  She gaped in stunned disbelief.

  “Well? What do you think of him?”

  It took Kris a long moment to realize that the voice was coming from behind her. She turned to find her father standing in the doorway, still dabbing at his eyes with a wet dishtowel.

  “The—the new dummy?” Kris stammered.

  “He’s for you,” Mr. Powell said, stepping into the room, the wet towel pressed against both eyes.

  “Really?” Kris hurried over to the chair and picked the new dummy up to examine him.

  “There’s a tiny pawnshop on the corner across from my office,” Mr. Powell said, lowering the towel. “I was walking past and, believe it or not, this guy was in the window. He was cheap, too. I think the pawnbroker was glad to get rid of him.”

  “He’s… cute,” Kris said, searching for the right word. “He looks just like Lindy’s dummy, except his hair is bright red, not brown.”

  “Probably made by the same company,” Mr. Powell said.

  “His clothes are better than Slappy’s,” Kris said, holding the dummy out at arm’s length to get a good view. “I hate that stupid gray suit
on Lindy’s dummy.”

  The new dummy wore blue denim jeans and a red-and-green flannel shirt. And instead of the formal-looking, shiny brown shoes, he had white high-top sneakers on his feet.

  “So you like him?” Mr. Powell asked, smiling.

  “I love him!” Kris cried happily. She crossed the room and gave her dad a hug.

  Then she picked up the dummy and ran out of the room, down the stairs, and into the kitchen. “Hey, everybody! Meet Mr. Wood!” she declared happily, holding the grinning dummy up in front of her.

  Barky yapped excitedly, leaping up to nip at the dummy’s sneakers. Kris pulled her dummy away.

  “Hey!” Lindy cried in surprise. “Where’d you get that?”

  “From Daddy,” Kris said, her grin wider than the dummy’s. “I’m going to start practicing with him after dinner, and I’m going to be a better ventriloquist than you.”

  “Kris!” Mrs. Powell scolded. “Everything isn’t a competition, you know!”

  “I already have a job with Slappy,” Lindy said with a superior sneer. “And you’re just getting started. You’re just a beginner.”

  “Mr. Wood is much better-looking than Slappy,” Kris said, mirroring her twin’s sneer. “Mr. Wood is cool-looking. That gray suit on your dummy is the pits.”

  “You think that ratty old shirt is cool-looking?” Lindy scoffed, making a disgusted face. “Yuck. That old dummy probably has worms!”

  ““You have worms!” Kris exclaimed.

  “Your dummy won’t be funny,” Lindy said nastily, “because you don’t have a sense of humor.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Kris replied, tossing Mr. Wood over her shoulder. “I must have a sense of humor. I put up with you, don’t I?”

  “Copycat! Copycat!” Lindy cried angrily.

  “Out of the kitchen!” Mrs. Powell ordered with an impatient shriek. “Out! Get out! You two are impossible! The dummies have better personalities than either of you!”

  “Thanks, Mom,” Kris said sarcastically.

  “Call me for dinner,” Lindy called back. “I’m going upstairs to practice my act with Slappy for the birthday party on Saturday.”