1
The stairs up
to my attic are narrow and steep. The fifth step is loose and wobbles
when you stand
on it. All the other stairs creak and groan.
My whole house
creaks and groans. It’s a big, old house. And it’s kind of falling
apart. Mom and
Dad don’t really have the money to repair it.
“Trina—hurry!”
my brother, Dan, whispered. His words echoed in the steep attic
stairwell. Dan
is ten, and he is always in a hurry.
He’s short and
very skinny. I think he looks like a mouse. He has short brown
hair, dark
eyes, and a pointy little chin. And he’s always scurrying around like a
mouse
searching for a place to hide.
Sometimes I
call him Mouse. You know. Like a nickname. Dan hates it. So I only
call him Mouse
when I want to make him mad.
Dan and I
don’t look at all like brother and sister. I’m tall and I have curly red
hair and green
eyes. I’m a little chubby, but Mom says not to worry about it. I’ll
probably slim
down by the time I’m thirteen, next August.
Anyway, no one
would ever call me Mouse! For one thing, I’m a lot braver than
Dan.
You have to be
brave to go up to our attic. Not because of the creaking stairs. Or
the way the
wind whistles through the attic windows and makes the panes rattle. Not
because of the
dim light up there. Or the shadows. Or the low ceiling covered with
cracks.
You have to be
brave because of the eyes.
The dozens of
eyes that stare at you through the darkness.
The eyes that
never blink. The eyes that stare with such eerie, heavy silence.
Dan reached
the attic ahead of me. I heard him take a few steps over the
squeaking,
wooden floorboards. Then I heard him stop.
I knew why he
stopped. He was staring back at the eyes, at the grinning faces.
I crept up
behind him, moving on tiptoe. I leaned my face close to his ear. And I
shouted,
“BOO!”
He didn’t
jump.
“Trina, you’re
about as funny as a wet sponge,” he said. He shoved me away.
“I think wet
sponges are funny,” I replied. I admit it. I like to annoy him.
“Give me a
break,” Dan muttered.
I grabbed his
arm. “Okay.” I pretended to break it in two.
I know it’s
dumb. But that’s the way my brother and I kid around all the time.
Dad says we
didn’t get our sense of humor from him. But I think we probably
did.
Dad owns a
little camera store now. But before that he was a ventriloquist. You
know. He did a
comedy act with a dummy.
Danny O’Dell
and Wilbur.
That was the
name of the act. Wilbur was the dummy, in case you didn’t guess it.
Danny O’Dell
is my dad. My brother is Dan, Jr. But he hates the word junior, so
no one ever
calls him that.
Except me.
When I want to make him really mad!
“Someone left
the attic light on,” Dan said, pointing to the ceiling light. The only
light in the
whole attic.
Our attic is
one big room. There are windows at both ends. But they are both
caked with
dust, so not much light gets through.
Dan and I made
our way across the room. The dummies all stared at us, their eyes
big and blank.
Most of them had wide grins on their wooden faces. Some of their
mouths hung
open. Some of their heads tilted down so we couldn’t see their faces.
Wilbur—Dad’s
first dummy, the original Wilbur—was perched on an old
armchair. His
hands were draped over the chair arms. His head tilted against the chair
back.
Dan laughed.
“Wilbur looks just like Dad taking a nap!”
I laughed,
too. With his short brown hair, his black eyeglasses, and his goofy
grin, Wilbur
looked a lot like Dad!
The old
dummy’s black-and-yellow checked sports jacket was worn and frayed.
But Wilbur’s
face was freshly painted. His black leather shoes were shiny.
One wooden
hand had part of the thumb chipped out. But Wilbur looked great for
such an old
dummy.
Dad keeps all
of the dummies in good shape. He calls the attic his Dummy
Museum. Spread
around the room are a dozen old ventriloquist’s dummies that he
has collected.
He spends all
of his spare time fixing them up. Painting them. Giving them fresh
wigs. Making
new suits and pants for them. Working on their insides, making sure
their eyes and
mouths move correctly.
These days,
Dad doesn’t get to use his ventriloquist skills very often. Sometimes
he’ll take one
of the dummies to a kid’s birthday party and put on a show. Sometimes
people in town
will invite him to perform at a party to raise money for a school or
library.
But most of
the time the dummies just sit up here, staring at each other.
Some of them
are propped against the attic wall. Some are sprawled out on the
couch. Some of
them sit in folding chairs, hands crossed in their laps. Wilbur is the
only one lucky
enough to have his own armchair.
When Dan and I
were little, we were afraid to come up to the attic. I didn’t like
the way the
dummies stared at me. I thought their grins were evil.
Dan liked to
stick his hand into their backs and move their mouths. He made the
dummies say
frightening things.
“I’m
going to get you, Trina!” he would make Rocky growl. Rocky
is the meanfaced
dummy that
sneers instead of smiles. He’s dressed like a tough guy in a redand-
white striped
T-shirt and black jeans. He’s really evil-looking, “I’m
coming to
your
room tonight, Trina. And I’m going to GET you!”
“Stop it, Dan! Stop it!” I would scream. Then
I would go running downstairs and
tell Mom that
Dan was scaring me.
I was only
eight or nine.
I’m a lot
older now. And braver. But I still feel a little creeped out when I come
up here.
I know it’s
dumb. But sometimes I imagine the dummies sitting around up here,
talking to
each other, giggling and laughing.
Sometimes late
at night when I’m lying in bed, the ceiling creaks over my head.
Footsteps! I
picture the dummies walking around in the attic, their heavy black shoes
clonking over
the floorboards.
I picture them
wrestling around on the old couch. Or playing a wild game of
catch, their
wooden hands snapping as they catch the ball.
Dumb? Of
course it’s dumb.
But I can’t
help it.
They’re
supposed to be funny little guys. But they scare me.
I hate the way
they stare at me without blinking. And I hate the red-lipped grins
frozen on
their faces.
Dan and I come
up to the attic because Dan likes to play with them. And because
I like to see
how Dad fixes them up.
But I really
don’t like to come up to the attic alone.
Dan picked up
Miss Lucy. That’s the only girl dummy in the group. She has curly
blond hair and
bright blue eyes.
My brother
stuck his hand into the dummy’s back and perched her on his knee.
“Hi, Trina,”
he made the dummy say in a high, shrill voice.
Dan started to
make her say something else.
But he stopped
suddenly. His mouth dropped open—like a dummy’s—and he
pointed across
the room.
“Trina—l-look!”
Dan stammered. “Over there!”
I turned
quickly. And I saw Rocky, the mean-looking dummy, blink his eyes.
I gasped as
the dummy leaned forward and sneered. “Trina, I’m going
to GET
you!”
he growled.
2
I uttered a
startled cry and jumped back.
I swung
around, ready to run to the attic steps—and I saw Dan laughing.
“Hey—!” I
cried out angrily. “What’s going on here?”
I turned back
to see Dad climb to his feet behind Rocky’s chair. He carried Rocky
in one arm.
Dad’s grin was as wide as a dummy’s!
“Gotcha!” he
cried in Rocky’s voice.
I turned
angrily on my brother. “Did you know Dad was back there? Did you
know Dad was
here the whole time?”
Dan nodded.
“Of course.”
“You two are
both dummies!” I cried. I flung my red hair back with both hands
and let out an
exasperated sigh. “That was so stupid!”
“You fell for
it,” Dan shot back, grinning at Dad.
“Who’s the
dummy here?” Dad made Rocky say. “Hey—who’s pulling your
string? I’m
not a dummy—knock on wood!”
Dan laughed,
but I just shook my head.
Dad refused to
give up. “Hey—come over here!” he made Rocky say. “Scratch
my back. I
think I’ve got termites!”
I gave in and
laughed. I’d heard that joke a million times. But I knew Dad
wouldn’t stop
trying until I laughed.
He’s a really
good ventriloquist. You can never see his lips move. But his jokes
are totally
lame.
I guess that’s
why he had to give up the act and open a camera store. I don’t
know for sure.
It all happened before I was born.
Dad set Rocky
back on his chair. The dummy sneered up at us. Such a bad-news
dummy. Why
couldn’t he smile like the others?
Dad pushed his
eyeglasses up on his nose. “Come over here,” he said. “I want to
show you
something.”
He put one
hand on my shoulder and one hand on Dan’s shoulder and led us to
the other end
of the big attic room. This is where Dad has his workshop—his
worktable and
all his tools and supplies for fixing up the dummies.
Dad reached
under the worktable and pulled up a large brown-paper shopping
bag. I could
tell by the smile on his face what he had in the bag. But I didn’t say
anything to
ruin his surprise.
Slowly,
carefully, Dad reached into the shopping bag. His smile grew wider as he
lifted out a
dummy. “Hey, guys—check this out!” Dad exclaimed.
The dummy had
been folded up inside the bag. Dad set it down flat on the
worktable and
carefully unfolded the arms and legs. He looked like a surgeon starting
an operation.
“I found this
one in a trash can,” he told us. “Do you believe someone just threw
it away?”
He tilted the
dummy up so we could see it. I followed Dan up to the worktable to
get a better
look.
“The head was
split in two,” Dad said, placing one hand at the back of the
dummy’s neck.
“But it took two seconds to repair it. Just a little glue.”
I leaned close
to check out Dad’s new treasure. It had wavy brown hair painted
on top of its
head. The face was kind of strange. Kind of intense.
The eyes were
bright blue. They shimmered. Sort of like real eyes. The dummy
had bright red
painted lips, curved up into a smile.
An ugly smile,
I thought. Kind of gross and nasty.
His lower lip
had a chip on one side so that it didn’t quite match the other lip.
The dummy wore
a gray double-breasted suit over a white shirt collar. The collar
was stapled to
his neck.
He didn’t have
a shirt. Instead, his wooden chest had been painted white. Big
black leather
shoes—very scuffed up—dangled from his skinny gray pants legs.
“Can you
believe someone just tossed him into the trash?” Dad repeated. “Isn’t
he great?”
“Yeah. Great,”
I murmured. I didn’t like the new dummy at all. I didn’t like his
face, the way
his blue eyes gleamed, the crooked smile.
Dan must have
felt the same way. “He’s kind of tough-looking,” he said. He
picked up one
of the dummy’s wooden hands. It had deep scratches all over it. The
knuckles
appeared cut and bruised. As if the dummy had been in a fight.
“Not as
tough-looking as Rocky over there,” Dad replied. “But he does have a
strange
smile.” He picked at the small chip in the dummy’s lip. “I can fill that in
with
some liquid
wood filler. Then I’ll give the whole face a fresh paint job.”
“What’s the
dummy’s name?” I asked.
Dad shrugged.
“Beats me. Maybe we’ll call him Smiley.”
“Smiley?” I
made a disgusted face.
Dad started to
reply. But the phone rang downstairs. One ring. Two. Three.
“I guess your
mom is still at that school meeting,” Dad said. He ran to the stairs.
“I’d better
answer it. Don’t touch Smiley till I get back.” He vanished down the
stairs.
I picked up
the dummy’s head carefully in both hands. “Dad did a great gluing
job,” I said.
“He should do your
head next!” Dan shot back.
Typical.
“I don’t think
Smiley is a good name for him,” Dan said, slapping the dummy’s
hands
together.
“How about Dan
Junior?” I suggested. “Or Dan the Third?”
He ignored me.
“How many dummies does Dad have now?” He turned back
toward the
others across the attic and quickly counted them.
I counted
faster. “This new one makes thirteen,” I said.
Dan’s eyes
went wide. “Whoa. That’s an unlucky number.”
“Well, if we
count you, it’s fourteen!” I said.
Gotcha, Danny
Boy!
Dan stuck out
his tongue at me. He set the dummy’s hands down on its chest.
“Hey—what’s
that?” He reached into the pocket of the gray suit jacket and pulled out
a folded-up
slip of paper.
“Maybe that
has the dummy’s name on it,” I said. I grabbed the paper out of
Dan’s hands
and raised it to my face. I unfolded it and started to read.
“Well?” Dan
tried to grab it back. But I swung out of his reach. “What’s the
name?”
“It doesn’t
say,” I told him. “There are just these weird words. Foreign, I guess.”
I moved my
lips silently as I struggled to read them. Then I read the words out
loud: “Karru
marri odonna loma molonu karrano.”
Dan’s mouth
dropped open. “Huh? What’s that supposed
to mean?” he cried.
He grabbed the
paper from my hand. “I think you read it upside down!”
“No way!” I
protested.
I glanced down
at the dummy.
The glassy
blue eyes stared up at me.
Then the right
eye slowly closed. The dummy winked at
me.
And then his
left hand shot straight up—and slapped me in the face.
3
“Hey—!” I
shouted. I jerked back as pain shot through my jaw.
“What’s your
problem?” Dan demanded, glancing up from the slip of paper.
“Didn’t you see?”
I shrieked. “He—he slapped me!” I rubbed
my cheek.
Dan rolled his
eyes. “Yeah. For sure.”
“No—really!” I
cried. “First he winked at me. Then he slapped me.”
“Tell me
another one,” Dan groaned. “You’re such a jerk, Trina. Just because you
fall for Dad’s
jokes doesn’t mean I’m going to fall for yours.”
“But I’m
telling the truth!” I insisted.
I glanced up
to see Dad poke his head up at the top of the stairs. “What’s going
on, guys?”
Dan folded up
the slip of paper and tucked it back into the dummy’s jacket
pocket.
“Nothing much,” he told Dad.
“Dad—the new
dummy!” I cried, still rubbing my aching jaw. “He slapped
me!”
Dad laughed.
“Sorry, Trina. You’ll have to do better than that. You can’t kid a
kidder.”
That’s one of
Dad’s favorite expressions: “You can’t kid a kidder.”
“But, Dad—” I
stopped. I could see he wasn’t going to believe me. I wasn’t even
sure I
believed it myself.
I glanced down
at the dummy. He stared blankly up at the ceiling. Totally
lifeless.
“I have news,
guys,” Dad said, sitting the new dummy up. “That was my
brother—your
uncle Cal—on the phone. He’s coming for a short visit while Aunt
Susan’s away
on business. And he’s bringing your cousin Zane with him. It’s Zane’s
spring
vacation from school, too.”
Dan and I both
groaned. Dan stuck his finger in his mouth and pretended to puke.
Zane isn’t our
favorite cousin.
He’s our only
cousin.
He’s twelve,
but you’d think he was five or six. He’s pretty nerdy. His nose runs
a lot. And
he’s kind of a wimp.
Kind of a major
wimp.
“Hey, stop
groaning,” Dad scolded. “Zane is your only cousin. He’s family.”
Dan and I
groaned again. We couldn’t help it.
“He isn’t a
bad kid,” Dad continued, narrowing his eyes at us behind his glasses.
That meant he
was being serious. “You two have to promise me something.”
“What kind of
promise?” I asked.
“You have to
promise me that you’ll be nicer to Zane this time.”
“We were nice
to him last time,” Dan insisted. “We talked to
him, didn’t we?”
“You scared
him to death last time,” Dad said, frowning. “You made him believe
that this old
house is haunted. And you scared him so badly, he ran outside and
refused to
come back in.”
“Dad, it was
all a joke,” I protested.
“Yeah. It was
a scream!” Dan agreed. He poked me in the side with his elbow.
“A scream. Get
it?”
“Not funny,”
Dad said unhappily. “Not funny at all. Listen, guys—Zane can’t
help it if
he’s a little timid. He’ll outgrow it. You just have to be nice to him.”
Dan snickered.
“Zane is afraid of your dummies, Dad. Can you believe it?”
“Then don’t
drag him up here and scare the life out of him,” Dad ordered.
“How about if
we just play one or two little jokes on him?” Dan asked.
“No tricks,”
Dad replied firmly. “None.”
Dan and I
exchanged glances.
“Promise me,”
Dad insisted. “I mean it. Right now. Both of you. Promise me
there will be
no tricks. Promise me you won’t try to scare your cousin.”
“Okay. I
promise,” I said. I raised my right hand as if I were swearing an oath.
“I promise,
too,” Dan said softly.
I checked to
see if his fingers were crossed. They weren’t.
Dan and I had
both made a solemn promise. We both promised not to terrify our
cousin. And we
meant it.
But it was a
promise we couldn’t keep.
Before the
week was over, our cousin Zane would be terrified.
And so would we.
4
I was playing
the piano when Zane arrived. The piano is tucked away in a small room
in the back of
the house. It’s a small black upright piano, kind of beat-up and
scratched. Dad
bought it from my old music teacher who moved to Cleveland.
Two of the
pedals don’t work. And the piano really needs to be tuned. But I love
to play
it—especially when I’m stressed out or excited. It always helps to calm me
down.
I’m pretty
good at it. Even Dan agrees. Most of the time he pushes me off the
piano bench so
he can play “Chopsticks”. But sometimes he stands beside me and
listens. I’ve
been practicing some nice Haydn pieces and some of the easy Chopin
etudes.
Anyway, I was
in the back of the house banging away on the piano when Zane
and Uncle Cal
arrived. I guess I was a little nervous about seeing Zane again.
Dan and I were
really mean to him during his last visit. Like Dad said, Zane has
always been
scared of this old house. And we did everything we could to make him
even more
scared.
We walked
around in the attic every night, howling softly like ghosts, making the
floor creak.
We crept into his bedroom closet in the middle of the night and made
him think his
clothes were dancing. We rigged a pair of Mom’s panty hose so they
cast a ghostly
shadow of legs onto his bedroom floor.
Poor Zane. I
think Dan and I went a little too far. After a few days, he jumped at
every sound.
And his eyes kept darting from side to side like a frightened lizard’s.
I heard him
tell Uncle Cal that he never wanted to come back here.
Dan and I
laughed about that. But it wasn’t very nice.
So I was a
little nervous about seeing Zane again. I was playing the piano so
loudly, I
didn’t hear the doorbell. Dan had to come running in and tell me Uncle Cal
and Zane had
arrived.
I jumped up
from the piano bench. “How does Zane look?” I asked my brother.
“Big,” Dan
replied. “He grew. A lot. And he let his hair grow long.”
Zane was
always a pretty big guy. That’s why Dan and I thought his being a total
wimp was so
funny.
He’s big and
beefy. Not tall. He’s built kind of like a bulldog. A big blond
bulldog.
I guess he’s
actually good-looking. He has round blue eyes, wavy blond hair, and
a nice smile.
He looks as if he works out or plays sports. He really doesn’t look like
the wimp type
at all.
That’s why
it’s such a riot to see him quivering in fear. Or wailing like a baby.
Running to his
mom or dad in terror.
I followed Dan
through the back hall. “Did Zane say anything to you?” I asked.
“Just hi,” Dan
replied.
“A friendly
‘hi’ or an unfriendly ‘hi’?” I demanded.
Dan didn’t
have time to answer. We had reached the front hall.
“Hey—!” Uncle
Cal greeted me, stretching out his arms for a hug. Uncle Cal
looks a lot
like a chipmunk. He’s very small. He has a round face, a twitchy little
nose, and two
teeth that poke out from his upper lip.
“You’re
getting so tall!” he exclaimed as I hugged him. “You’ve grown a lot,
Trina!”
Why do
grown-ups always have to
comment on how tall kids are getting? Can’t
they think of
anything else to say?
I saw Dad
lugging their two heavy suitcases up the stairs.
“I didn’t know
if you’d be hungry or not,” Mom told Uncle Cal. “So I made a
bunch of
sandwiches.”
I turned to
say hi to Zane. And a flash of white light made me cry out in surprise.
“Don’t move.
One more,” I heard Zane say.
I blinked
rapidly, trying to clear the light from my eyes. When I finally focused, I
saw that Zane
had a camera up to his face.
He clicked it.
Another bright flash of light.
“That’s good,”
he said. “You looked really surprised. I only like to take candid
shots.”
“Zane is
really into photography,” Uncle Cal said, grinning proudly.
“I’m blind!” I
cried, rubbing my eyes.
“I needed
extra flash because this house is so dark,” Zane said. He lowered his
head to the
camera and fiddled with his lens.
Dad came
shuffling down the stairs. Zane turned and snapped his picture.
“Zane is
really into photography,” Uncle Cal repeated to my father. “I told him
maybe you’ve
got an old camera or two at the shop that he could have.”
“Uh… maybe,”
Dad replied.
Uncle Cal
makes a lot more money than Dad. But whenever he visits, he always
tries to get
Dad to give him stuff.
“Nice camera,”
Dad told Zane. “What kind of photos do you like to take?”
“Candid
shots,” Zane replied, pushing back his blond hair. “And I take a lot of
still lifes.”
He stepped into the hall and flashed a close-up of the banister.
Dan leaned
close and whispered in my ear, “He’s still a pain. Let’s give him a
really good
scare.”
“No way!” I whispered
back. “No scares this time. We promised Dad—
remember?”
“I’ve set up a
darkroom in the basement,” Dad told Zane. “Sometimes I bring
developing
work home from the store. You can use the darkroom this week, if you
want to.”
“Great!” Zane
replied.
“I told Zane
maybe you have some sheets of developing paper you can spare,”
Uncle Cal said
to Dad.
Zane raised
his camera and flashed another picture. Then he turned to Dan. “Are
you still into
video games?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Dan
replied. “Mostly sports games. I have the new NBA Jams. And
I’m
saving my
allowance to get the new thirty-two-bit system. You still play?”
Zane shook his
head. “Not since I got my camera. I don’t really have time for
games
anymore.”
“How about
some sandwiches, everyone?” Mom asked, moving toward the
dining room.
“I think I’d
like to unpack first,” Uncle Cal told her. “Zane, you should unpack,
too.”
We all split
up. Dan and Dad disappeared somewhere. Uncle Cal and Zane went
up to their
rooms to unpack—our big old house has a lot of extra bedrooms.
I was heading
into the kitchen to help Mom with the sandwiches when I heard
Zane scream.
A shrill
scream from upstairs.
A scream of
horror.
5
Mom gasped and
dropped the sandwich tray she was carrying.
I spun around
and went running to the front hall.
Dad was
already halfway up the stairs. “What’s wrong?” he called. “Zane—
what’s the
matter?”
When I reached
the second floor, I saw Dan step out of his room. Zane stood in
the hallway.
Someone lay stretched across the floor at his feet.
Even from
halfway down the hall, I could see that Zane was trembling.
I hurried over
to him.
Who was
sprawled on the floor like that, legs and arms all twisted?
“Zane—what
happened? What happened?” Dad and Uncle Cal both shouted.
Zane stood
there shaking all over. The camera seemed to tremble, too, swinging
on its strap
over his chest.
I glanced down
at the body on the floor.
A
ventriloquist’s dummy.
Rocky.
Rocky sneered
up at the ceiling. His red-and-white striped shirt had rolled up
halfway,
revealing his wooden body. One leg was bent under him. Both arms were
stretched out
over the floor.
“That
d-dummy—” Zane stammered, pointing down at Rocky. “It—it fell
on me
when I opened
the bedroom door.”
“Huh? It what?”
Uncle Cal cried.
“It dropped
down on me,” Zane repeated. “When I pushed the door. I didn’t mean
to scream. It
just scared me, that’s all. It was so heavy. And it fell near my head.”
I turned and
saw Dad glaring angrily at Dan.
Dan raised
both hands in protest. “Hey—don’t look at me!” he cried.
“Dan, you made
a promise,” Dad said sharply.
“I didn’t do
it!” Dan cried. “It had to be Trina!”
“Hey—no way!”
I protested. “No way! I didn’t do it!”
Dad narrowed
his eyes at me. “I suppose the dummy climbed up on top of the
door by
himself!” he said, rolling his eyes.
“It was just a
joke,” Uncle Cal chimed in. “You’re okay—right, Zane?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
Zane’s cheeks were red. I could see he was embarrassed by all the
fuss. “I just
wasn’t expecting something to fall on me. You know.” He stared at the
floor.
“Let’s finish
unpacking,” Uncle Cal suggested. “I’m starting to get hungry.” He
turned to Dad.
“Do you have any extra pillows? There’s only one on my bed. And I
like to sleep
with a lot of pillows.”
“I’ll see if
we have any more,” Dad replied. He frowned at me. “You and Dan—
take Rocky up
to the attic. And no more little jokes. You promised—remember?”
I picked Rocky
up carefully and slung him over my shoulder. “Get the attic door
for me,” I
instructed Dan.
We made our
way down the hall. “What is your problem, Mouse?” I whispered to
my brother.
“Don’t call me
Mouse,” he replied through gritted teeth. “You know I hate it.”
“Well, I hate
broken promises,” I told him. “You can’t wait one minute to start
scaring Zane?
You’re going to get us in major trouble.”
“Me?” Dan put
on his innocent act. “I didn’t hide the dummy up there. You
did—
and you know
it!”
“Did not!” I
whispered angrily.
“Hey, guys,
can I come with you?” I turned to see Zane right behind us. I hadn’t
realized he’d
followed us.
“You want to
come up to the Dummy Museum?” I asked, unable to hide my
surprise. Last
visit, Zane had been afraid of the dummies.
“Yeah. I want
to take some pictures,” he replied. He raised his camera in both
hands.
“Cool,” Dan
said. “That’s a cool idea.” I could see that he was trying to be
friendly to
Zane.
I didn’t want
to be left out. “It’s neat that you’re into photography,” I told Zane.
“Yeah. I
know,” he replied.
Dan led the
way up the attic stairs. Halfway up, I turned back. I saw Zane
lingering at
the bottom.
“Are you
coming up or not?” I called down. My voice echoed in the narrow, dark
stairwell.
I caught a
look of fear on Zane’s face. He was trying to be brave, I realized.
Trying not to
be afraid the way he was last time.
“Coming,” he
called up. I saw him take a deep breath. Then he came running up
the stairs.
He stayed
close to Dan and me as we crossed the attic. The eyes peered out at us
darkly from
around the big room.
I clicked on
the light. The dummies all came into view. Propped on chairs and the
old couch,
leaning against the wall, they grinned at us.
I carried
Rocky over to his folding chair. I slid him off my shoulder and set him
down. I
crossed his arms in his lap and straightened his striped shirt. The meanlooking
dummy sneered
up at me.
“Uncle Danny
has a few new guys,” Zane said from across the room. He stood
close to Dan
in front of the couch. He held the camera in his hands, but he didn’t take
any pictures.
“Where does he find them?”
“He found the
newest one in a trash can,” I replied, pointing to the mean-looking
dummy.
Dan picked up
Miss Lucy and held it up to Zane. “Hiya, Zane! Take my picture!”
Dan made Miss
Lucy say in a high, shrill voice.
Zane
obediently raised the camera to his eye. “Say cheese,” he told Miss Lucy.
“Cheese,” Dan
said in Miss Lucy’s high voice.
Zane flashed a
picture.
“Give me a big
wet kiss!” Dan made Miss Lucy say. He shoved the dummy’s
face close to
Zane’s.
Zane backed
away. “Yuck.”
“Put the dummy
down,” I told my brother. “We’d better get back downstairs.
They’re all
probably waiting for us.”
“Okay, okay,”
Dan grumbled. He turned to set Miss Lucy down. Zane wandered
down the row
of dummies, studying them.
I bent down
and straightened Wilbur’s bow tie. The old dummy was starting to
look really
ragged.
I was still
working on the bow tie when I heard a hard slap.
And I heard
Zane’s startled cry of pain.
“Owwww!”
6
I spun around
and saw Zane rubbing his jaw.
“Hey—that
dummy slapped me!” he cried
angrily.
He pointed to
a red-haired dummy on the arm of the couch.
“I-I don’t believe
it!” Zane exclaimed. “It swung its arm up, and it—it slapped
me!”
Dan stood
behind the couch. I saw a smile spread over his face. Then he burst out
laughing. “Get
serious,” he told Zane. “That’s impossible.”
“You did it!”
Zane accused my brother, still rubbing his jaw. “You moved the
dummy!”
“No way!” Dan
backed away till he bumped the wall. “How could I? I was
behind the
couch the whole time.”
I stepped
quickly up to the couch. “Which dummy was it?” I demanded.
Zane pointed
to a dummy with red hair and bright red freckles painted all over his
grinning face.
“That guy.”
“Arnie,” I
reported. “One of Dad’s first dummies.”
“I don’t care
what his name is,” Zane snapped. “He slapped me!”
“But that’s
dumb,” I insisted. “It’s just a ventriloquist’s dummy, Zane. Here.
Look.”
I picked Arnie
up. The old dummy was heavier than I remembered. I started to
hand him to
Zane. But my cousin backed away.
“Something
weird is going on here,” Zane said, keeping his eyes on the dummy.
“I’m going to
tell Uncle Danny.”
“No. Don’t
tell Dad,” I pleaded. “Give us a break, Zane. It’ll get us in big
trouble.”
“Yeah. Don’t
tell,” Dan chimed in. “The dummy probably just slipped or
something. You
know. It fell over.”
“It reached
up,” Zane insisted. “I saw it swing its arm and—”
He was
interrupted by Mom’s voice from downstairs. “Hurry up, kids. Get down
here. We’re
all waiting for you.”
“Coming!” I
shouted. I dropped Arnie back onto the arm of the couch. He fell
into the dummy
next to him. I left him like that and followed Dan and Zane to the
stairs.
I held Dan
back and let Zane go down by himself. “What are you trying to
prove?” I
angrily asked my brother. “That wasn’t funny.”
“Trina, I
didn’t do it. I swear!” Dan claimed, raising his right hand. “I swear!”
“So what are
you saying?” I demanded. “That the dummy really reached up and
slapped him?”
Dan twisted
his face. He shrugged. “I don’t know. I just know that I didn’t do it. I
didn’t swing
that dummy’s arm.”
“Don’t be
stupid,” I replied. “Of course you did.” I shoved my brother toward the
stairs.
“Hey—give me a
break,” he muttered.
“You’re a
total liar,” I told him. “You think you can scare Zane—and me. But it
isn’t worth
it, Dan. We promised Dad, remember? Remember?”
He ignored me
and started down the stairs.
I felt really
angry. I knew that Dan had perched the dummy on top of the
bedroom door
so that it would fall on Zane. And I knew that he had swung the
dummy’s arm to
slap Zane.
I wondered how
far Dan would go to frighten our cousin.
I knew I had
to stop him. If Dan kept this up, he’d get us both grounded for life.
Or worse.
But what could
I do?
I was still
thinking about it in bed later that night. I couldn’t get to sleep. I lay
there, staring
up at the ceiling, thinking about Dan and what a liar he was.
Dummies are
made of wood and cloth, I told myself. They don’t swing their arms
and slap
people.
And they don’t
get up and walk around the house and climb up onto doors on
their own.
They don’t walk on their own….
They don’t…
I finally
started to drift off to sleep when I heard light footsteps on my bedroom
carpet.
And then a
hoarse whisper close to my ear:
“Trina…
Trina…”
7
“Trina…
Trina…”
The hoarse
whisper—so near my ear—made me shoot straight up in bed.
I leaped to my
feet. Pulled the covers with me. Lurched forward.
And nearly
knocked Zane onto his back.
“Zane?”
He stumbled
backwards. “Sorry!” he whispered. “I thought you were awake.”
“Zane!” I
repeated. My heart thudded in my chest. “What are you doing
in here?”
“Sorry,” he
whispered, backing up some more. He stopped a few inches in front
of my dresser.
“I didn’t mean to scare you. I just—”
I held my hand
over my heart. I could feel it start to slow back down to normal.
“Sorry I
jumped out at you like that,” I told him. “I was half asleep, I guess. And
when you
whispered my name…”
I clicked on
the bed-table lamp. I rubbed my eyes and squinted at Zane.
He was wearing
baggy blue pajamas. One pajama leg had rolled up nearly to his
knee. His
blond hair had fallen over his face. He had such a frightened, little-boy
expression on
his face. He looked about six years old!
“I tried to
wake up Dad,” he whispered. “But he’s such a sound sleeper. I kept
knocking on
his bedroom door and calling to him. But he didn’t hear me. So I came
in here.”
“What’s your
problem?” I asked, stretching my arms over my head.
“I-I heard
voices,” he stammered, glancing to the open bedroom door.
“Excuse me?
Voices?” I pushed my hair back. Straightened my long nightshirt.
Studied him.
He nodded. “I
heard voices. Upstairs. I mean, I think they
were upstairs. Funny
voices.
Talking very fast.”
I squinted at
him. “You heard voices in the attic?”
He nodded
again. “Yeah. I’m pretty sure.”
“I’m pretty
sure you were dreaming.” I sighed. I shook my head.
“No. I was
wide awake. Really.” He picked up a little stuffed bear from my
dresser. He
squeezed it between his hands.
“I never sleep
very well in new places,” he told me. “I never sleep
very well in
this house!”
He let out an unhappy laugh. “I was wide awake.”
“There’s no
one in the attic,” I said, yawning. I tilted my ear to the ceiling.
“Listen,” I
instructed. “Silent up there. No voices.”
We both
listened to the silence for a while.
Then Zane set
down the stuffed bear. “Do you think I could have a bowl of
cereal?” he
asked.
“Huh?” I gaped
at him.
“A bowl of
cereal always helps calm me down,” he said. An embarrassed smile
crossed his
face. “Just a habit from when I was a kid.”
I squinted at
my clock radio. It was a little after midnight. “You want a bowl of
cereal now?”
He nodded. “Is
that okay?” he asked shyly.
Poor guy, I
thought. He’s really freaked out.
“Sure,” I
said. “I’ll come down to the kitchen with you. Show you where
everything
is.”
I found my
flip-flops and slipped my feet into them. I keep them under my bed. I
don’t like
walking barefoot on the floorboards in the hall. There are a lot of nails that
poke up from
the floor.
Mom and Dad
keep saying they’re going to buy carpet. But money is tight. I
don’t think
carpet is tops on their list.
Zane appeared
a little calmer. I smiled at him and led the way into the hall.
He’s not such
a bad guy, I thought. He’s a little wimpy—but so what? I decided
to have a
serious talk with Dan first thing in the morning. I planned to make Dan
promise
he wouldn’t pull any more scares on Zane.
The long hall
was so dark, Zane and I both held onto the wall as we made our
way to the
stairs. Mom and Dad used to keep a little night-light at the end of the hall.
But the bulb
burned out, and they never replaced it.
Holding onto
the banister, we made our way slowly down the steps. Pale light
from outside
cast long blue shadows over the living room. In the dim light, our old
furniture rose
up like ghosts around the room.
“This house
always creeps me out,” Zane whispered, staying close by my side as
we crossed
through the front room.
“I’ve lived
here all my life, and sometimes I’m scared of it, too,” I confessed.
“Old houses
make so many strange sounds. Sometimes I think I hear the house
groaning and
moaning.”
“I really did
hear voices,” Zane whispered.
We crept
through the shadows to the kitchen. My flip-flops slapped on the
linoleum.
Silvery moonlight washed through the curtains over the kitchen window.
I started to
fumble on the wall for the light switch.
But I stopped
when I saw the dark figure slumped at the kitchen table.
Zane saw him,
too. I heard Zane gasp. He jerked back into the doorway.
“Dad? Are you
still up?” I called. “Why are you sitting in the dark?”
My hand found
the light switch. I clicked on the kitchen light.
And Zane and I
both let out a scream.
8
I recognized
the red-and-white striped shirt. I didn’t even have to see the face.
Rocky leaned
over the table, his wooden head propped in his hands.
Zane and I
crept closer to the table. I moved to the other side. The dummy
sneered at me.
His glassy eyes were cold and cruel.
Such a nasty
expression.
“How did he
get down here?” Zane asked. He stared hard at the dummy, as if
expecting the
dummy to answer.
“Only one
way,” I murmured. “He sure didn’t walk.”
Zane turned to
me. “You mean Dan?”
I sighed. “Of
course. Who else? Mister Dumb Jokes.”
“But how did
your brother know we’d be coming down to the kitchen tonight?”
Zane asked.
“Let’s go ask
him,” I replied.
I knew Dan was
awake. Probably sitting on the edge of his bed, waiting eagerly
to hear us
scream from the kitchen. Giggling to himself. So pleased with himself.
So pleased
that he broke his promise to Dad. And gave Zane and me a little scare.
I balled both
hands into tight fists. I could feel the anger rising in my chest.
When I get
really furious like that, I usually go to the back room and pound the
piano. I pound
out a Sousa march or a hard, fast rock song. I pound the keys till I
start to calm
down.
Tonight, I
decided, I would pound my brother instead.
“Come on,” I
urged Zane. “Upstairs.”
I took one
last glance at Rocky, slouched over the kitchen table. The dummy
stared blankly
back at me.
I really hate
that dummy, I thought. I’m going to ask Dad to put him away in a
closet or a
trunk.
I forced
myself to turn away from the sneering, wooden face. Then I put both
hands on
Zane’s shoulders and guided him back to the stairs.
“I’m going to
tell Dan that we’re both fed up with his dumb jokes,” I whispered
to my cousin.
“Enough is enough. We’ll make him promise to stop leaving that
dummy
everywhere we go.”
Zane didn’t
reply. In the dim light, I could see the grim expression on his face.
I wondered
what he was thinking about. Was he remembering his last visit to our
house? Was he
remembering how Dan and I terrified him then?
Maybe he
doesn’t trust me, either, I told myself.
We climbed the
stairs and crept down the dark hallway to my brother’s room.
The door was
half open. I pushed it open the rest of the way and stepped inside.
Zane kept
close behind me.
I expected Dan
to be sitting up, waiting for us. I expected to see him grinning,
enjoying his
little joke.
Silvery
moonlight flooded in through his double windows. From the doorway, I
could see him
clearly. Lying on his side in bed. Covers up to his chin. Eyes tightly
closed.
Was he faking?
Was he really awake?
“Dan,” I
whispered. “Da-an.”
He didn’t
move. His eyes didn’t open.
“Dan—I’m coming
to tickle you!” I whispered. He could never keep a
straight
face when I
threatened him. Dan is very ticklish.
But he didn’t
move.
Zane and I
crept closer. Up to the bed. We both stood over my brother, staring
hard at him,
studying him in the silvery light.
He was
breathing softly, in a steady rhythm. His mouth was open a little. He
made short
whistling sounds. Mouse sounds. With his pointy chin and upturned nose,
he really did
look like a little mouse.
I leaned over
him. “Da-an, get ready to be tickled!” I whispered.
I leaned back,
expecting him to leap out at me, to shout “Boo!” or something.
But he
continued sleeping, whistling softly with each breath.
I turned to
Zane, who hung back in the center of the room. “He’s really asleep,” I
reported.
“Let’s go back
to our rooms,” Zane replied in a soft whisper. He yawned.
I followed him
to the bedroom door. “What about your cereal?” I asked.
“Forget it.
I’m too sleepy now.”
We were nearly
to the door when I heard someone move in the hall.
“Ohhh.” I let
out a low moan as a face appeared in the doorway.
Rocky’s face.
He had
followed us upstairs!
9
I grabbed
Zane’s arm. We both shouted cries of surprise.
The dummy
moved quickly into the room.
I cut my cry
short as I saw that he wasn’t walking on his own. He was being
carried.
Dad had the
dummy by the back of the neck.
“Hey—what’s
going on?” Dan called sleepily from behind us. He raised his head
from the
pillow and squinted at us. “Huh? What’s everybody doing in my room?”
“That’s what I’d
like to know,” Dad said sharply. He gazed suspiciously from
Zane to me.
“You—you woke
me up,” Dan murmured. He cleared his throat. Then he
propped
himself up on one elbow. “Why are you carrying that dummy, Dad?”
“Perhaps one
of you would like to answer that question,” Dad growled. He had
pulled a robe
over his pajamas. His hair was matted to his forehead.
He wasn’t
wearing his glasses, so he squinted at us.
“What’s going
on? I don’t understand,” Dan said sleepily. He rubbed his eyes.
Was he putting
on an act? I wondered. His innocent-little-boy act?
“I heard
noises downstairs,” Dad said, shifting Rocky to his other hand. “I went
down to see
what was going on. I found this dummy sitting at the kitchen table.”
“I didn’t put
him there!” Dan cried, suddenly wide awake. “Really. I didn’t!”
“Neither did
Zane or me!” I chimed in.
Dad turned to
me. He sighed. “I’m really sleepy. I don’t like these jokes in the
middle of the
night.”
“But I didn’t
do it!” I cried.
Dad squinted
hard at me. He really couldn’t see at all without his glasses. “Do I
have to punish
you and your brother?” he demanded. “Do I have to ground you? Or
keep you from
going away to camp this summer?”
“No!”
Dan and I both cried at once. Dan and I were both going to summer
camp
for the first
time this year. It’s all we’ve talked about since Christmas.
“Dad, I was
asleep. Really,” Dan insisted.
“No more
stories,” Dad replied wearily. “The next time one of my dummies is
somewhere he
shouldn’t be, you’re both in major trouble.”
“But, Dad—” I
started.
“One last
chance,” Dad said. “I mean it. If I see Rocky out of the attic again,
you’ve both had
it!” He waved Zane and me to the door. “Get to your rooms. Now.
Not another
word.”
“Do you
believe me or not?” Dan demanded.
“I don’t
believe that Rocky has been moving around the house on his own,” Dad
replied. “Now
lie down and get back to sleep, Dan. I’m giving you one last chance.
Don’t blow
it.”
Dad followed
Zane and me into the hall. “See you in the morning,” he murmured.
He made his
way to the attic stairs to take Rocky back up to the Dummy Museum. I
heard him
muttering to himself all the way up the stairs.
I said good
night to Zane and headed to my room. I felt sleepy and upset and
worried and
confused—all at once.
I knew that
Dan had to be the one who
kept springing Rocky on Zane. But why
was he doing
it? And would he quit now—before Dad grounded us or totally ruined
our summer?
I fell asleep,
still asking myself question after question.
The next
morning, I woke up early. I pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt and hurried
downstairs for
breakfast.
And there sat
Rocky at the kitchen table.
10
I peered
around the kitchen. No one else around.
How lucky that
I was the first one downstairs!
I grabbed
Rocky up by the back of the neck. Then I tucked him under one arm
and dragged
him up to the attic as fast as I could.
When I
returned to the kitchen a few moments later, Mom had already started
breakfast.
Whew! A close
call.
“Trina—you’re
up early,” Mom said, filling the coffee maker with water. “Are
you okay?”
I glanced at
the table. I had the sick feeling that Rocky would be sitting there
sneering at
me.
But of course
he was upstairs in the attic. I had just carried him up there.
The table
stood empty.
“I’m fine,” I
told her. “Just fine.”
It was
definitely Be Kind to Zane Day. After breakfast, Dad hurried off to the camera
store. A short
while later, Mom and Uncle Cal left for the mall to do some shopping.
It was a
bright morning. Yellow sunlight streamed in through the windows. The
sky stretched
clear and cloudless.
Zane brought down
his camera. He decided it was a perfect day to take some
photographs.
Dan and I
expected him to go outside. But our cousin wanted to stay indoors and
shoot.
“I’m very
interested in moldings,” he told us.
We followed
him around the house. Dan and I had made a solemn vow to be nice
to Zane and
not to scare him.
After
breakfast, when Zane was upstairs getting his camera, I grabbed my
brother. I
pinned him against the wall. “No tricks,” I told him.
Dan tried to
wriggle away. But I’m stronger than he is. I kept him pinned against
the wall.
“Raise your right hand and swear,” I instructed him.
“Okay, okay.”
He gave in easily. He raised his right hand, and he repeated the
vow I recited.
“No tricks against Zane. No making fun of Zane. No dummies—
anywhere!”
I let him go
as Zane returned with his camera. “You have some awesome
moldings,”
Zane said, gazing up at the living room ceiling.
“Really?” I
replied, trying to sound interested.
What could be
interesting about a molding?
Zane tilted up
his camera. He focused for what seemed like hours. Then he
clicked a
photo of the molding above the living room curtains.
“Do you have a
ladder?” he asked Dan. “I’d really like to get a closer shot. I’m
afraid my zoom
lens will distort it.”
And so Dan
hurried off to the basement to get Zane a ladder.
I was proud of
my brother. He didn’t complain about having to go get the ladder.
And he’d
lasted a whole ten minutes without cracking any molding jokes or making
fun of Zane.
Which wasn’t
easy.
I mean, what
kind of a nerd thinks it’s cool to take photos of ceilings and walls?
Meanwhile, we
had no school, and it was the sunniest, warmest, most beautiful
day of March
outside. Almost like spring. And Dan and I were stuck holding the
ladder for
Zane so he could use his macro lens and get a really tight molding shot.
“Awesome!”
Zane declared, snapping a few more. “Awesome!”
He climbed
down the ladder. He adjusted the lens. Fiddled with some other dials
on the camera.
“Want to go
outside or something?” I suggested.
He didn’t seem
to hear me. “I’d like to get a few more banister shots,” he
announced.
“See the way the sunlight is pouring through the wooden bars? It makes a
really
interesting pattern on the wall.”
I started to
say something rude. But Dan caught my eye. He shook a finger at me.
A warning.
I bit my lip
and didn’t say anything.
This is sooooo
boring, I thought. But at least we’re keeping out of trouble.
We stood
beside Zane as he photographed the banister from all angles. After
about the
tenth shot, his camera began to hum and whir.
“End of the
roll,” he announced. His eyes lit up. “Know what would be really
cool? To go
down into the basement to the darkroom and develop these right now.”
“Cool,” I
replied. I tried to sound sincere. Dan and I were both trying so hard to
be nice to
this kid!
“Uncle Danny
said I could use his darkroom downstairs,” Zane said, watching the
camera as it
rewound the film roll. “That would be awesome.”
“Awesome,” I
repeated.
Dan and I
exchanged glances. The most beautiful day of the century—and
we
were heading
down to a dark closet in the basement.
“I’ve never
watched pictures get developed,” Dan told our cousin. “Can you
show me how to
do it?”
“It’s pretty
easy,” Zane replied, following us down the basement stairs. “Once
you get the
timing down.”
We made our
way through the laundry room, past the furnace, to the darkroom
against the
far wall. We slipped inside, and I clicked on the special red light.
“Close the
door tightly,” Zane instructed. “We can’t let in any light at all.”
I
double-checked the darkroom door. Then Zane set to work. He arranged the
developing
pans. He poured bottles of chemicals into the pans. He unspooled the film
roll and began
to develop.
I’d watched
Dad do it a hundred times before. It really was kind of interesting.
And it was
cool when the image began to appear and then darken on the developing
paper.
Dan and I
stood close to Zane, watching him work.
“I think I got
some very good angles on the living room moldings,” Zane said. He
dipped the
large sheet of paper in one pan. Then he pulled it up, let it drip for a few
seconds, and
lowered it into the pan beside it.
A grin spread
over his face. “Let’s take a look.”
He leaned over
the table. Raised the sheet of paper. Held it up to the red light.
His grin faded
quickly. “Hey—who shot this?” he demanded angrily.
Dan and I
moved closer to see the photo.
“Who shot
this?” Zane repeated. He furiously picked up another sheet from the
developing
pan. Another one. Another one.
“How did these
get on the roll?” he cried. He shoved them all toward Dan and
me.
Photos of
Rocky.
Close-up
portraits.
Photo after
photo of the sneering dummy.
“Who shot
them? Who?” Zane demanded angrily, shoving the wet photos in our
faces.
“I didn’t!”
Dan declared, pulling back.
“I didn’t
either!” I protested.
But then, who
did? I asked myself, staring hard at the ugly, sneering face on each
sheet.
Who did?
11
“What’s going
on up here, guys?”
The dummies
stared back at me blankly. None of them replied.
“What’s the
story?” I demanded. My eyes moved from one dummy to the next.
“Come on,
guys. Speak up or I’ll come back here with a buzz saw and give you all
haircuts!”
Silence.
I paced back
and forth in front of them, gazing at them sternly, my arms crossed
in front of my
chest.
It was late in
the afternoon. The sun had begun to lower itself behind the trees.
Orange light
washed in through the dusty attic windows.
I had crept up
to the attic to search for clues. Something weird was going on.
How did all
those photos of Rocky get onto Zane’s roll of film? Who took those
photos?
The same
person who kept carrying Rocky downstairs and sitting him where he
would frighten
Zane.
“It was
Dan—right, guys?” I asked the wide-eyed dummies. “Dan came up
here—right?”
I searched the
floor. The couch. Under all the chairs.
I didn’t find
a single clue.
Now I was
questioning the dummies. But of course they weren’t being very
helpful.
Stop wasting
time and get back downstairs, I told myself.
I turned and
started to the stairs—when I heard soft laughter.
“Huh?” I
uttered a startled cry and spun around.
Another quiet
laugh. A snicker.
And then a
hoarse voice: “Is your hair red? Or are you starting to
rust?”
“Excuse me?” I
cried, raising a hand to my mouth. My eyes swept quickly from
dummy to
dummy.
Who said that?
“Hey,
Trina… you’re pretty. Pretty ugly!” That was followed by
another soft
snicker. Evil
laughter.
“I
like your perfume. What is it… flea and tick spray?”
My eyes
stopped on the new dummy, the one Dad called Smiley. He sat straight
up in the
center of the couch. The voice seemed to be coming from him.
“Pinch
me. I’m having a nightmare. Or is that really your face?”
I froze. A
cold shiver ran down my back.
The hoarse
voice did come from the new
dummy!
He stared
blankly at me. His mouth hung open in a stiff, unpleasant grin.
But the voice
came from Smiley. The rude insults came from Smiley.
But that’s
impossible! I told myself.
Impossible!
Ventriloquist’s
dummies can’t talk without a ventriloquist.
“Th-this is
crazy!” I stammered out loud.
And then the
dummy started to move.
12
I let out a
scream.
Dan popped up
from behind the couch.
The dummy
toppled onto its side.
“You-you-you—!”
I sputtered, pointing furiously at my brother.
My heart was
pounding. I felt cold all over. “That’s not funny! You—you scared
me to death!”
I shrieked.
To my
surprise, Dan didn’t laugh. His eyes were narrowed. His mouth hung
open. “Who was
making those jokes?” he demanded. His eyes darted from dummy to
dummy.
“Give me a
break!” I shot back. “Are you going to tell me it wasn’t you?”
He scratched
his short brown hair. “I didn’t say a word.”
“Dan, you’re
the biggest liar!” I cried. “How long have you been up here? What
are you doing
here? You were spying on me—right?”
He shook his
head and stepped out from behind the couch. “What are you
doing
up here,
Trina?” he asked. “Did you come up to get Rocky? To take Rocky
downstairs
again and try to scare Zane?”
I let out an
angry growl and shoved Dan with all my might.
He stumbled
backwards and fell onto the couch. He cried out as he landed on top
of the new
dummy. He and the dummy appeared to wrestle for a moment as Dan
struggled to
climb to his feet.
I stepped up
close to the couch and blocked his way. As he tried to get up, I
pushed him
back down.
“You know I’m
not the one who’s been moving Rocky around,” I shouted. “We
all know you’ve
been doing it, Dan. And you’re going to get the two of us in real
trouble with
Dad.”
“You’re
wrong!” Dan declared angrily. His little mouse face turned bright red.
“Wrong! Wrong!
Wrong!”
He burst up
from the couch. The dummy bounced on the cushion. Its head turned.
It appeared to
grin up at me.
I turned to my
brother. “If you weren’t planning more trouble, what were you
doing up
here?”
“Waiting,” he
replied.
“Excuse me?
Waiting for whom?” I demanded, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Just
waiting,” he insisted. “Don’t you get it,
Trina?”
I kicked at a
ball of dust on the floor. It stuck to the toe of my sneaker. “Get it?
Get what?”
“Don’t you see
what’s going on?” Dan demanded. “Haven’t you caught on yet?”
I bent down
and pulled the dust ball off my sneaker. Now it stuck to my fingers.
“What is in
your little mouse brain?” I asked. I rolled my eyes. “This should be
good.”
My brother
stepped up beside me. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Zane is
doing it all,”
he said.
I laughed. I
wasn’t sure I’d heard him.
“No. Really.”
He grabbed my arm. “I know I’m right, Trina. Zane is doing
everything.
Zane is moving the dummy, bringing it downstairs, then pretending to be
scared. Zane
made it slap him. Zane carried it to the kitchen table both of those
times.”
I shoved Dan’s
hand off my arm. Then I spread my hand over his forehead and
pretended to
check his temperature. “You are totally losing it,” I told him. “Go lie
down. I’ll
tell Mom you’re running a high fever.”
“Listen
to me!” Dan screeched. “I’m serious! I’m right. I
know I’m right!”
“Why?” I
demanded. “Why would Zane do that, Dan? Why would he scare
himself?”
“To pay us
back for last time,” Dan replied. “Don’t you get it? Zane is trying to
get us in
trouble.”
I dropped down
onto the couch beside Smiley. I thought hard about what my
brother was
saying. “You mean Zane wants Dad to think that you and I are using the
dummies to
scare Zane.”
“Yes!” Dan
cried. “But Zane is doing it all. He’s scaring himself. And making it
look as if
we’re doing it—to get us in big trouble.”
I fiddled with
the dummy’s hand as I thought about it some more. “Zane scare
himself? I
don’t think so,” I replied finally. “What gave you this idea? What proof do
you have?”
Dan dropped
down on the couch arm. “First of all,” he started, “you didn’t carry
Rocky
downstairs all those times, did you?”
I shook my
head. “No way.”
“Well, neither
did I,” Dan declared. “So who does that leave? Rocky isn’t
walking around
by himself—right?”
“Of course
not. But—”
“It was the
camera that gave it away,” Dan said. “The photos Zane developed of
Rocky were the
biggest clue.”
I let the
dummy hand fall to the couch. “What do you mean?” I asked. I really
wasn’t
following my brother’s thinking at all.
“That camera
is never out of Zane’s sight,” Dan replied. “Most of the time, he
keeps it
around his neck. So who else could have snapped all those photos of
Rocky?”
I swallowed
hard. “You mean that Zane—?”
Dan nodded.
“Zane was the only one who could have taken those pictures of
Rocky. He
sneaked up to the attic. He snapped them. Then he acted scared and angry
when he
developed them.”
“But it was
all an act?” I asked.
“For sure,”
Dan replied. “It’s all been an act. To scare us. And to get us in trouble
with Dad. Zane
is trying to pay us back for how we scared him last time.”
I still had my
doubts. “It isn’t like Zane,” I argued. “He’s so wimpy, so quiet and
shy. He’s not
the kind of boy who plays tricks on people.”
“He’s had
months to plan it!” Dan exclaimed. “Months to plan his revenge. We
can prove it,
Trina. We can hide up here and wait for him. That’s why I was up here.
Hiding behind
the couch.”
“To catch him
in the act?”
Dan nodded. He
whispered even though we were alone. “After everyone goes to
bed tonight,
let’s sneak up here and wait. Wait and see if Zane comes.”
“Okay,” I
agreed. “It’s worth a try… I guess.”
Was Dan right?
Would we catch
Zane in the act?
I couldn’t wait
for everyone to go to sleep. I was dying to find out.
13
Gusts of wind
rattled the attic windowpanes. Heavy clouds covered the moon.
We crept up
the attic stairs into the darkness. Up a step. Then stop. Up a step.
Then stop.
Trying to be silent.
The old house
moaned and groaned beneath us.
The attic
stretched blacker than the stairway.
I reached for
the light switch. But Dan slapped my hand away. “Are you crazy?”
he whispered.
“It has to be dark. Totally dark. Or else Zane will know that someone
is up here.”
“I know that,”
I whispered sleepily. “I just wanted to take one look at the
dummies. You
know. Make sure they’re all here.”
“They’re all
here,” Dan replied impatiently. “Just keep moving. We’ll hide
behind the
couch.”
We crept on
tiptoe over the attic floorboards. I couldn’t see a thing. The heavy
clouds kept
any light from washing in through the windows.
Finally, my
eyes adjusted to the darkness. I could see the arms of the couch. I saw
dummy heads.
Dummy shoulders. Shadows against shadows.
“Dan—where are
you?” I whispered.
“Back here.
Hurry.” His whisper came from behind the couch.
I could feel
the dummy eyes on me as I made my way around the couch. I
thought I
heard a soft snicker. The evil laughter again.
But that had
to be my imagination.
I trailed my
hand over the couch arm. Felt a wooden dummy hand resting on the
arm. The dummy
hand felt surprisingly warm.
Humanly warm.
Don’t
start imagining things, Trina, I scolded myself.
That dummy
hand is warm because it’s hot up
in this attic.
The wind
rattled the glass. Strong gusts roared against the roof, so low over our
heads.
I heard a loud
groan. A soft chuckle. A strange whistling sound.
Ignoring all
the attic noises, I ducked down on the floor beside my brother.
“Well? Here we
are,” I whispered. “Now what?”
“Sssshhhh.” In
the darkness, I could see him raise a finger to his lips. “Now we
wait. And
listen.”
We both turned
and rested our backs against the back of the couch. I raised my
knees and
wrapped my arms around them.
“He isn’t
coming,” I whispered. “This is a waste of time.”
“Ssshhh. Just
wait, Trina,” Dan scolded. “Give him time.”
I yawned. I
felt so sleepy. The heat of the attic was making me even sleepier.
I shut my eyes
and thought about Zane.
At dinner, he
couldn’t wait to pass around the photographs of Rocky. “I don’t
know who took
these shots,” Zane complained to my dad. “But they wasted half a
roll of film.”
Dad glared
angrily at Dan and me. But he didn’t make a fuss. “Can we talk about
it after
dinner?” he suggested quietly.
“I’m kind of
scared,” Zane told Dad in a trembling voice. “So many weird things
have been
happening. It’s like the dummies have lives of their own.” He shook his
head. “Wow. I
hope I don’t have nightmares tonight.”
“Let’s not
talk about the dummies now,” Mom chimed in. “Zane, tell us about
your school.
Who is your teacher this year? What are you studying?”
“Could I have
a second helping of potatoes?” Uncle Cal interrupted. He reached
for the bowl.
“They’re so good. I may have to make a pig of myself.”
Dad took
another quick glance at the close-up snapshots of Rocky. He flashed
Dan and me
another angry scowl. Then he set the photos down on the floor.
After dinner,
Dan and I were careful to keep as far away from Dad as we could.
No way we
wanted to hear another lecture about how we were terrifying our poor
cousin. And
how we’d be punished if we didn’t stop it at once.
Now it was a
little before midnight. And we were huddled in the dark attic.
Listening to
the swirling wind and the moans and groans of the house. Backs pressed
against the
couch. Waiting…
I kept my eyes
closed. Thinking hard. Thinking about Zane. About Rocky.
Dan and I
aren’t alone up here, I thought drowsily. There are thirteen wooden
dummies up
here with us. Thirteen pairs of eyes staring into the heavy darkness.
Thirteen
frozen grins. Except for Rocky’s sneer, of course.
Empty,
lifeless bodies…
Heavy, wooden
heads and hands…
Thinking about
the dummies, the dummies all around, I guess I drifted off to
sleep.
Did I dream
about the dummies?
Maybe I did.
I don’t know
how long I slept.
I was awakened
by footsteps. Soft, shuffling footsteps across the attic floor.
And I knew the
dummies had come alive.
14
I jerked my
head up, listening hard.
My hands were
still wrapped around my knees. Both hands had fallen asleep.
They tingled.
The back of my neck ached. My mouth felt dry and sour.
I uttered a
silent gasp as I heard the shuffling, scraping footsteps move closer.
Not dummies
walking around, I realized.
A single
figure. One. One person. Moving slowly, carefully toward the couch.
Why did I
think I heard dummies moving? It must have been a picture left over
from my dream.
I shook my
hands, trying to make them stop tingling.
I was wide
awake now. Totally alert.
The footsteps
scraped closer.
Could it be
Dan? Where was Dan?
Had he climbed
up while I slept? Was he making his way back to the couch?
No.
Squinting into
the darkness, I saw Dan beside me.
He had climbed
to his knees. He saw me move. He waved his hand and signaled
for me to be
silent.
Dan gripped
the back of the couch with both hands. Then he leaned forward and
peered out
into the room.
I crawled to
the other end of the couch. Then, keeping low, I poked my head out
and squinted
into the deep shadows. All grays and blacks.
The wind
howled around the house. Across the big attic room, the windowpanes
rattled and
shook.
I wanted to
jump out. To scream and jump out. And flash on the light.
But I felt
Dan’s hand on my arm. He must have read my thoughts. He raised a
finger to his
lips.
We both
waited. Frozen there behind the couch. Crouching low. Listening to each
footstep. Each
creak of the floorboards.
The dark
figure stopped in front of the folding chair next to the couch. He stood
inches from
Dan and me. If I wanted to, I could reach out and grab his leg.
I struggled to
see his face. But it was hidden by the couch. And I didn’t dare raise
myself up
higher.
I heard the clonk
of wood against wood. Two dummy hands hitting each other.
I heard the
rustle of heavy cloth. The thud of
leather shoes bumping each other.
The intruder
had picked up a dummy off the chair.
Squinting into
the deep blackness, I could see him swing the dummy over his
shoulder. I
could see the dummy arms swaying, swaying at his back.
The dark
figure turned away quickly. And began walking to the attic stairs.
I crept out
from behind the couch. Moving on tiptoe, I began to follow the
intruder.
Pressed
against the wall, tiptoeing as silently as I could, I moved across the room.
I held my
breath. I could hear Dan close behind me.
I reached the
light switch just as the intruder made it to the stairs.
My hand
fumbled against the wall as I reached.
Reached…
reached for the light switch with a trembling hand.
Yes!
I flicked on
the light. And Dan and I both shrieked at the same time.
15
“Zane!”
My brother and
I both screamed his name.
Zane’s eyes
bulged. His mouth opened in a high, frightened wail.
I saw his
knees bend. I think he nearly crumpled to the floor.
He uttered
several squeaks. Then his mouth hung open. I could see he was
gasping for
breath.
“Zane—we
caught you!” I managed to choke out.
He had Rocky
draped over his shoulder.
“What—what—?”
Zane struggled to speak, but no words came out. He sputtered
and started to
choke. The sneering dummy bounced on his shoulder.
“Zane—we
figured it out,” Dan told him. “Your little tricks aren’t going to
work.”
Our cousin was
still sputtering and coughing.
“We know it’s
been you all along,” Dan told him.
He stepped
over and slapped Zane hard on the back a few times.
After a few
seconds, Zane stopped sputtering.
Dan picked
Rocky up off Zane’s shoulder and started to carry him back to his
chair.
“How-how-how
did you know?” Zane stammered.
“We just
figured it out,” I told him. “What’s the big idea, anyway?”
Zane shrugged.
He lowered his eyes to the floor. “You know. Just having some
fun.”
I glared at
him. “Some fun?” I cried angrily. “You tried to get us in huge trouble.
You—you could
have ruined our whole summer!”
Zane shrugged
again. “It was kind of my turn. You know?”
“Well, we’re
even now,” Dan chimed in.
“Right,” I
agreed quickly. “We’re all even now—right, Zane?”
He nodded.
“Yeah. I guess.” A grin spread slowly over his face. “I had you guys
going, didn’t
I? With that stupid dummy popping up everywhere you looked.”
Dan and I
didn’t grin back.
“You fooled
us,” I murmured.
“You fooled
everyone,” my brother added.
Zane grinned.
A gleeful grin. I could see how pleased he was with himself. “I
guess Dan and
I deserved it,” I confessed.
“Guess you
did,” Zane shot back. Would he ever stop grinning?
“So now that
we’re even, do we have a truce?” I demanded. “No more joking
around with
the dummies? No more trying to scare each other or get anyone in
trouble?”
Zane bit his
lower lip. He thought about it a long, long time. “Okay. Truce,” he
said finally.
We all shook
hands solemnly. Then we slapped each other high fives. Then the
three of us
started laughing. I’m not sure why. The laughter just burst out of us.
Crazy
giggling.
I guess
because it was so late and we were so sleepy. And we were so glad we
could be
friends now. We didn’t have to play tricks on each other anymore.
As we made our
way down the stairs, I felt really happy.
I thought all
the scary stuff with the dummies was over.
I had no way
of knowing that it was just beginning.
16
The next
morning, Dan, Zane, and I went for a long bike ride. The strong winds had
faded away
during the night. A soft breeze, warm and fresh-smelling, followed us as
we pedaled
along the path.
The trees were
still winter bare. The ground glistened with a silvery morning
frost. But the
sweet, warm air told me that spring was on its way.
We biked
slowly, following a dirt path that curved into the woods. The sun, still
low in the
sky, warmed our faces. I stopped to unzip my jacket. And pointed to a
patch of green
daffodil leaves just beginning to poke up from the ground.
“Only three
more months of school!” Dan cried. He raised both fists in the air and
let out a
cheer.
“We’re going
to camp this summer for the first time,” I told Zane. “Up in
Massachusetts.”
“For eight
weeks!” Dan added happily.
Zane brushed
back his blond hair. He leaned over the handlebars of my dad’s
bike and began
pedaling harder. “I don’t know what I’m doing this summer,” he said.
“Probably just
hanging out.”
“What do you want
to do this summer?” I asked him.
He grinned at
me. “Just hang out.”
We all
laughed. I was in a great mood and so were the guys.
Dan kept
pulling wheelies, leaning way back and raising his front tire off the
ground. Zane
tried to do it—and crashed into a tree.
He went
sailing to the ground, and the bike fell on top of him. I expected him to
whine and
complain. That’s his usual style. But he picked himself up, muttering,
“Smooth move, Zane.”
“I want to see
that one again!” Dan joked.
Zane laughed.
“You try it!”
He brushed the
dirt off his jeans and climbed back onto the bike. We pedaled on
down the path,
joking and laughing.
I think we
were in such great moods because of the truce. We could finally relax
and not worry
about who was trying to terrify who.
The dirt path
ended at a small, round pond. The pond gleamed in the sunlight,
still
half-frozen from the long winter.
Zane climbed
off his bike and rested it on the tall grass. Then he stepped up to the
edge of the
pond to take photos.
“Look at the
weeds poking up from the melting ice!” he exclaimed, clicking
away.
“Awesome. Awesome!” He knelt down low and snapped a bunch of weed
photos.
Dan and I
exchanged glances. I couldn’t see what was so special about the weeds.
But I guess
that’s why I’m not a photographer.
As Zane stood
up, a tiny brown-and-black chipmunk scampered along the edge of
the pond. Zane
swung his camera and clicked off a couple of shots.
“Hey! I think
I got him!” he declared happily.
“Great!” I
cried. Everything seemed great this morning.
We hung out at
the pond for a while. We took a short walk through the woods.
Then we
started to get hungry for lunch. So we rode back to the house.
We were about
to return the bikes to the garage when Zane spotted the old well at
the back of
our yard. “Cool!” he cried, his blue eyes lighting up. “Let’s check it out!”
Holding his
camera in one hand, he hopped off his bike and went running across
the grass to
the well.
It’s a round,
stone well with green moss covering the smooth gray stones. It used
to have a
pointed red roof over it. But the roof blew off during a bad storm, and Dad
hauled it
away.
When we were
little, Dan and I used to scare each other by pretending that
monsters and
trolls lived down inside it. But we hadn’t paid much attention to the old
well in years.
Dad kept saying he was going to tear it down and cover it up. But he
never got
around to it.
Zane clicked a
bunch of photos. “Is there still water down there?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I
don’t know.”
Dan grabbed
Zane around the waist. “We could toss you down and see if you
make a
splash!” he declared.
Zane wrestled
himself out of my brother’s grasp. “I’ve got a better idea.” He
picked up a
stone and dropped it down the well.
After a long
wait, we heard a splash far down below.
“Cool!” Zane
exclaimed. He took several more pictures until he had finished the
roll.
Then we made
our way inside the house for lunch. We hurried upstairs to clean
up.
Zane stopped
at the doorway to his room.
I saw his eyes
bulge and his mouth drop open. I saw his face go white.
Dan and I ran
up next to him.
We stared into
the bedroom—and cried out in horror.
17
“The
r-room—it’s been trashed!” Dan stammered.
The three of
us huddled in the doorway, staring into the bedroom. Staring at an
unbelievable
mess.
At first I
thought maybe Zane had left the windows open all night, and the strong
winds had
blown everything around.
But that
didn’t make any sense.
All of the
clothes had been pulled out of the closet and tossed over the floor. The
dresser
drawers had all been pulled out and dumped over the carpet.
The
bookshelves had been emptied. Books littered the floor, the bed—they were
tossed
everywhere. One bed table was turned on its side. The other stood upside
down on top of
the bed. A lamp lay on the floor in front of the closet. Its shade was
ripped and
broken.
“Look—!” Zane
pointed into the center of the room.
Sitting on a
tangled hill of clothes was Rocky. The dummy sat straight up, his
legs crossed
casually in front of him. He sneered at us as if daring us to enter.
“I-I really
don’t believe this!” I cried, tugging at the sides of my hair.
“What
don’t you believe?”
Mom’s voice
made me jump.
I turned to
see her coming out of her bedroom. She tucked her blue sweater into
her jeans as
she walked toward us.
“Mom—!” I
cried. “Something terrible has happened!”
Her smile
faded. “What on earth—?” she started.
I stepped
aside so she could see into Zane’s room.
“Oh, no!” Mom
cried out and raised both hands to her cheeks. She swallowed
hard. “Did
someone break in?” Her voice sounded tiny and frightened.
I peered
quickly into my room across the hall. “No. I don’t think so,” I reported.
“This is the
only room that’s messed up.”
“But—but—” Mom
sputtered. Then her eyes stopped on Rocky on top of the pile
of clothes.
“What is he doing down here?” Mom
demanded.
“We don’t
know,” I told her.
“But who did
this?” Mom cried, still pressing her hands against her cheeks.
“We didn’t!”
Dan declared.
“We’ve been
outside all morning,” Zane added breathlessly. “It wasn’t Trina, or
Dan, or me. We
weren’t home. We were riding bikes.”
“But—someone
had to do this!” Mom declared. “Someone deliberately tore this
room apart.”
But who was
it? I wondered. My eyes darted around the mess, landing on the
sneering
dummy.
Who was it?
18
We all pitched
in and helped get the room back together. It took the rest of the
afternoon.
The lamp in
front of the closet was broken. Everything else just had to be picked
up and put
back where it belonged.
We worked in
silence. None of us knew what to say.
At first, Mom
wanted to call the police. But there was no sign that someone had
broken into
the house. All the other rooms were perfectly okay.
Dad returned
home from the camera shop while we were still cleaning up. He, of
course, was
furious. “What do I have to do? Bolt the attic door?” he shouted at Dan
and me.
He grabbed up
Rocky and slung the dummy over his shoulder. “This isn’t a joke
anymore,” Dad
said, narrowing his eyes at both of us. “This isn’t funny. This is
serious.”
“But we didn’t
do it!” I protested for the hundredth time.
“Well, the
dummy didn’t do it,” Dad shot back. “That’s one thing I know for
sure.”
I don’t know anything
for sure, I thought. I stared at Rocky’s sneering face as
Dad started
down the hall to the attic stairs. Then I bent down to pick up the broken
lamp from the
floor.
That night I
dreamed once again about ventriloquist’s dummies.
I saw them
dancing. A dozen of them. All of Dad’s dummies from upstairs.
I saw them
dancing in Zane’s room. Dancing over the tangled piles of clothes and
books. Dancing
over the bed. Over the toppled bed table.
I saw Rocky
dancing with Miss Lucy. I saw Wilbur doing a frantic, crazy dance
on top of the
dresser. And I saw Smiley, the new dummy, clapping his wooden
hands, bobbing
his head, grinning, grinning from the middle of the room as the other
dummies danced
around him.
They waved
their big hands over their heads. Their skinny legs twisted and bent.
They danced in
silence. No music. No sound at all.
And as their
bodies twisted and swayed, their faces remained frozen. They
grinned at one
another with blank, unblinking eyes. Grinned their frightening, redlipped
grins.
Bobbed and
bent, tilted and swayed, grinning, grinning, grinning the whole time
in the eerie
silence.
And then the
grins faded as I pulled myself out of the dream.
I opened my
eyes. Slowly woke up.
Felt the heavy
hands on my neck.
Stared up into
Rocky’s ugly face.
Rocky on top
of me. The dummy on top of my blanket. Over me.
Reaching.
Reaching his heavy wooden hands for my throat!
19
I opened my
mouth in a shrill scream of horror.
My hands shot
out. I grabbed the dummy’s hands.
I thrashed my
legs. Kicked off the blanket. Kicked at the dummy.
The big eyes
stared at me as if startled.
I grabbed his
head. Shoved him down.
I sat up, my
entire body trembling. Then I grabbed the dummy’s waist.
And flung him
to the floor.
The ceiling
light flashed on. Mom and Dad burst into my room together.
“What’s
happening?”
“Trina—what’s
wrong?”
They both
stopped short when they saw the dummy sprawled on the floor beside
my bed.
“He—he—” I
gasped, pointing down at Rocky. I struggled to catch my breath.
“Rocky—he
jumped on me. He tried to choke me. I-I woke up and—”
Dad let out a
loud growl and tore at his hair. “This has got to stop!” he bellowed.
Mom dropped
down beside me on the bed and wrapped me in a hug. I couldn’t
stop my
shoulders from trembling.
“It was so
scary!” I choked out. “I woke up—and there he was!”
“This is out
of control!” Dad screamed, shaking his fist in the air. “Out of
control!”
Mom calmed me
down. Then she and I both had to calm Dad down.
Finally, after
everyone was calm, they turned out the light and made their way out
of the room.
They closed the door. I heard Dad carrying Rocky back up to the attic.
Maybe Dad should
get a lock for the attic door, I thought.
I shut my eyes
and tried not to think about Rocky, or Zane, or the dummies—or
anything at
all.
After a while,
I must have drifted back to sleep.
I don’t know
how much time passed.
I was awakened
by a knock on the door. Two sharp knocks and then two more.
I sat straight
up with a gasp.
I knew that
Rocky had come back.
20
The bedroom
door creaked open slowly.
I took a deep
breath and held it, staring through the dark.
“Trina—?” a
voice whispered. “Trina—are you awake?”
As the door
opened, a rectangle of gray light spilled into the room from the
hallway. Dan
poked his head in, then took a few steps across the floor.
“Trina? It’s
me.”
I let out my
breath in a long whoosh. “Dan—what do
you want?” My voice was
hoarse from
sleep.
“I heard
everything,” Dan said, stepping up beside the bed. He pulled down one
pajama sleeve.
Then he raised his eyes to me. “Zane put Rocky on your bed. Zane
did it!” Dan
whispered.
“Huh? Why do
you say that? We all have a truce—remember? Zane agreed the
tricks were
all over.”
“Right,” Dan
whispered. “And now Zane thinks he can really scare
us. Because
we don’t
suspect him any longer. Zane hasn’t given up, Trina. I’m sure of it.”
I bit my lower
lip. I tried to think about what Dan was saying. But I was so
sleepy!
Dan leaned
close and whispered excitedly. “This morning before we went biking,
Zane went up
to his room—remember? He said he forgot his camera. So… he had
time to mess
up his room. Before he left the house.”
“Yeah. Maybe,”
I murmured.
“And tonight
he brought Rocky down and set him up on your bed. I’m sure of it,”
Dan insisted.
“I’m sure it’s Zane. We have to hide up in the attic again. Tomorrow
night. We’ll
catch Zane again. I know we will.”
“Hide up there
again? No way!” I cried. “It’s hot up there. And too creepy. And
I’m staying as
far away from those dummies as I can.”
My brother
sighed. “I know I’m right,” he whispered.
“I don’t know what
I know,” I replied. “I don’t know anything about anything.” I
slid under the
covers, pulled the blanket over my head, and tried to get back to sleep.
The next
night, Mom and Dad had a dinner party in honor of Zane and Uncle Cal.
They invited
the Birches and the Canfields from down the street, and Cousin Robin
and her
husband Fred.
Fred is a
great guy. Everyone calls him Froggy because he can puff out his
cheeks like a
frog. Froggy is short and very round and really looks like a frog.
He always
makes me laugh. He knows a million great jokes. Robin is always
trying to get
him to shut up. But he never does.
Mom and Dad
don’t have many dinner parties. So they had to work all day to get
the dining
room ready. To set the table. And to cook the dinner.
Mom made a leg
of lamb. Dad cooked up his specialty—Caribbean-style
scalloped
potatoes. Very spicy.
Mom bought
flowers for the table. She and Dad brought out all the fancy plates
and glasses
that we usually see only on holidays.
The dining
room really looked awesome as we all sat down to dinner. Dan, Zane,
and I were
down at the far end of the table. Froggy sat at our end. I guess, because
he’s just a
big kid.
Froggy told me
a moron joke. Someone asks a moron: “Can you stand on your
head?” And the
moron says, “No, I can’t. It’s up too high.”
I started to
laugh when I saw Zane jump up from the table. “Where are you
going?” I
called after him.
Zane turned
back at the dining room doorway. “To get my camera,” he replied. “I
want to take
some pictures of the table before it gets all messed up.”
He disappeared
upstairs.
A few seconds
later, we all heard him scream.
Chairs scraped
the floor as everyone jumped up. We all went running up the stairs.
I reached
Zane’s room first. From the doorway, I saw him standing in the center
of the room.
I saw the sick
look on Zane’s face.
And then I saw
the camera in his hand.
Or what was
left of the camera.
It looked as
if it had been run over by a truck. The film door had been twisted off
and lay on the
floor. The lens was smashed. The whole camera body was bent and
broken.
Zane turned
the camera over in his hands, gazing down at it sadly, shaking his
head.
I raised my
eyes to the bed. And saw Rocky sitting on the bedspread. A roll of
gray film
unspooled across his lap.
Dad burst into
the room. All of our other guests pushed in after him.
“What
happened?” someone asked.
“Is that
Zane’s camera?”
“What’s going
on?”
“That’s what
happens when you try to take my picture!” Froggy joked.
No one
laughed. It wasn’t funny.
Dad’s face
turned dark red as he took the camera from Zane’s hand. Dad
examined it
carefully. His expression remained grim.
“This isn’t
mischief anymore,” he murmured. I could barely hear him over all the
other voices
in the room. Everyone had begun talking at once.
“This cannot
be allowed,” Dad said solemnly. He raised his eyes to Dan, then me.
He stared at
us both for the longest time without saying anything.
Zane let out a
long sigh. I turned and saw that he was about to cry.
“Zane—” I
started.
But he uttered
an angry shout. Then he pushed past Froggy and Mr. and Mrs.
Birch. And
went running from the room.
“Someone here
has done a very sick thing,” Dad said sadly. He raised the camera
to his face,
running a finger over the broken lens. “This is a very expensive camera. It
was Zane’s
most prized possession.”
All of our
guests became very quiet.
Dad kept his
eyes on Dan and me. He started to say something else.
But then we
all heard the deafening crash from downstairs.
21
“What is going
on here?” Dad cried. He tossed the broken camera
onto the bed and
darted from
the room.
The others
went hurrying after him. All talking at once. I heard their shoes
pounding down
the stairs.
I turned to
Dan. “Still think Zane is doing these things?”
Dan shrugged.
“Maybe.”
“No way,” I
told him. “No way Zane is going to smash his own camera. He loved
his camera. No
way he would smash it just to get you and me in trouble.”
Dan raised
troubled eyes to me. “Then I don’t get it,” he said in a tiny voice. I
could see the
fear on his face.
I heard
startled shouts and cries of alarm from downstairs. “Let’s check out the
next
disaster,” I said, rolling my eyes.
We reached the
bedroom door at the same time and squeezed through together.
Then I led the
way along the hall and down the stairs.
I fought back
my own fear as we approached the dining room.
Something very
strange was going on in this house, I knew. Dad was right when
he said it was
no joke.
Tearing Zane’s
room apart wasn’t a joke. It was evil.
Wrecking
Zane’s camera was evil, too.
Thinking about
Rocky gave me a chill. The dummy was always there. Whenever
something evil
happened, there sat Rocky.
Trina, don’t
be crazy! I scolded myself. Don’t start thinking that a wooden
ventriloquist’s
dummy can be evil.
That’s crazy
thinking. That’s really messed up.
But
what could I think?
My throat
tightened. My mouth suddenly felt very dry.
I took a deep
breath and led the way into the dining room.
I saw Dad in
the kitchen doorway. He had his arm around Mom’s shoulders.
Mom had her
head buried against Dad’s shirtsleeve.
Was she
crying?
Yes.
The guests all
stood against the wall, shaking their heads, their expressions grim
and confused.
They muttered quietly, staring at the disaster.
The disaster.
The terrible disaster.
The dining
room table.
I saw the
overturned platters first. Dad’s scalloped potatoes smeared over the
tablecloth.
Clumps of potatoes stuck to the wall and the front of the china hutch.
The salad
poured over the floor and the chairs. The bread ripped into small
chunks, the
chunks tossed over the table. The flowers ripped off their stems. The vase
on its side,
water pouring over the tablecloth, puddling on the floor.
The glasses
all turned over. A bottle of red wine tipped over, a dark red stain
spreading over
the tablecloth.
I heard Mom’s
sobs. I heard the sounds of Dad’s muttered attempts to calm her
down. I saw
the other guests shaking their heads, their faces so upset, so concerned,
so puzzled.
And then Dan
grabbed my shoulder and pointed me toward the head of the table.
And I saw two
dummies sitting there on dining room chairs.
Wilbur and the
new dummy. Wilbur and Smiley.
They sat at
the table, grinning at each other, wine glasses in their hands. As if
celebrating.
As if toasting each other.
22
That night,
Dan and I hid behind the couch in the attic once again. The attic stretched
dark and
silent. So dark, I could barely see my brother sitting beside me.
We were both
in pajamas. The air was hot and dry. But my hands and my bare
feet felt cold
and clammy.
We talked
softly, our legs stretched out on the floor, resting against the back of
the couch. As
we talked, we waited—and listened. Listened to every sound.
It was nearly
midnight, but I didn’t feel sleepy. I felt alert. Ready for anything.
Ready to catch
Zane in the act once again.
This time, I
brought my little flash camera with me. When Zane crept up here to
carry one of
the dummies downstairs, I’d snap his photo. Then I’d have proof to
show Mom and
Dad.
Yes, I finally
decided that Dan was right. Zane had to be the one who was
destroying our
house.
Destroying our
house and trying to scare everyone into thinking the dummies had
come to life.
“But why?” I
whispered to Dan. “Did we scare Zane so badly the last time he was
here? So badly
that he’ll do anything to pay us
back?”
“He’s sick,”
Dan muttered. “That’s the only answer. He’s totally messed up.”
“So messed up
that he wrecked his own camera,” I murmured, shaking my head.
“So messed up
that he ran downstairs and trashed the dining room,” Dan added.
The dining
room. That’s what convinced me that Zane was guilty.
All of us were
upstairs in Zane’s room, examining his broken camera.
Zane was the
only other person downstairs.
Zane was the
only person in the house who could have trashed the dining room
and wrecked
the dinner.
Of course he acted
horrified and shocked. Of course he acted as if he didn’t have
a clue about
what had happened.
What a sad,
sad night.
The dinner
guests didn’t know what to say to Mom and Dad. It was such a
frightening
mystery. No one had an answer.
The guests
helped clean up the mess. The food was ruined. It couldn’t be eaten.
No one felt
like eating, anyway.
Everyone left
as soon as the dining room was cleaned and cleared.
As the last
guest left, I turned to Dan. “Uh-oh,” I whispered. “Family Conference
Time. We’re in
for a major lecture now.”
But I was
wrong. Mom hurried up to her room. And Dad said he was too
disgusted to
talk to anyone.
Uncle Cal
asked if Dad would like him to take the car and pick up some fried
chicken or
hamburgers or something.
Dad just
scowled at him and stomped away. He carried Smiley and Wilbur up to
the attic. I
heard him slam the attic door. Then he disappeared into the bedroom to
help comfort
Mom.
Zane turned to
his dad. “I-I can’t believe my good camera is smashed,” he
whimpered.
Uncle Cal
placed a hand on Zane’s shoulder. “I’ll bet your uncle Danny has a
new camera at
his shop that he’ll want to give you.”
“But I liked
my old camera!” Zane wailed.
And that’s
when I decided he was guilty. He’s a phony, I decided. He’s carrying
on like
this—putting on a show for Dan and me.
But I wasn’t
going to fall for it. No way.
I made sure I
had film in my little camera. Then I grabbed Dan and we crept up to
the attic to
wait. To wait in the darkness and catch Zane.
To end the
disasters in our house once and for all.
We didn’t have
to wait long.
After about
half an hour, I heard the tap of soft footsteps on the attic floor.
I sucked in my
breath. My whole body tensed, and I nearly dropped the camera.
Beside me, Dan
raised himself to his knees.
My heart
pounding, I crept to the edge of the couch.
Tap
tap. Shuffling footsteps on the bare floorboards.
I saw a dark
figure bend down and lift a dummy off a chair.
“It’s Zane,” I
whispered to Dan. “I knew it!”
In the heavy
darkness, I could see him carrying the dummy to the stairs.
I stood up. My
legs trembled. But I moved quickly.
I raised the
camera. Stepped in front of the couch.
Pushed the
shutter button.
The room
flashed in an explosion of white light.
I clicked off
another one.
Another bright
white flash.
And in the
flash, I saw Rocky dangling over Zane’s shoulder.
No.
Not Zane!
Not Zane. Not
Zane.
In the flash
of light, I saw Rocky dangling over another dummy’s shoulder!
Smiley! The
new dummy.
The new dummy
was shuffling toward the stairs, carrying Rocky away.
23
The dummy
turned.
My hand
fumbled for the light switch. I clicked on the light.
I stood frozen
in front of the couch. Too startled to move.
“Smiley—stop!”
I screamed.
The dummy’s
grin faded. The eyes narrowed at me. “I’m not Smiley,” he
croaked. He
had a hoarse, raspy voice. “My name is Slappy.”
He turned back
to the stairs.
“Stop him!” I
cried to my brother.
We both made a
dive for the dummy.
Slappy spun
around. He pulled Rocky off his shoulder—and heaved him at Dan.
I grabbed
Slappy around the waist and tackled him to the floor.
He swung both
hands hard. One of them slammed into my forehead.
“Unh.” I let
out a groan as the pain shot through me.
My hands slid
off the dummy’s slender waist. Slappy jumped nimbly to his feet,
his grin wide
and leering.
He was
enjoying this!
He kicked me
in the side with the toe of his big leather shoe.
My head still
throbbing, I rolled out of the way. And turned back in time to see
Dan grab the
dummy from behind.
Dan drove his
head into the dummy’s back. They both dropped hard to the floor.
“Let go of me,
slave!” Slappy demanded in his ugly, hoarse voice. “You are my
slave now! Let
go of me! I order you!”
I pulled
myself to my knees as Dan and Slappy wrestled over the floor.
“He’s so… strong!”
Dan called out to me.
Slappy rolled
on top of him. Started to pound him with his wooden fists.
I grabbed
Slappy by the shoulders and tugged with all my strength. Slappy swung
his arms,
thrashing at my brother.
I pulled hard,
trying to tug him off Dan’s stomach.
“Let go! Let
go!” the dummy shrieked. “Let go, slave!”
“Get off him!”
I cried.
We were making
such a racket, I didn’t hear the attic door open downstairs. And
I didn’t hear
the footsteps running up the stairs.
A face appeared.
And then a large body.
“Dad!” I cried
breathlessly. “Dad—look!”
“What on
earth—!” Dad exclaimed.
“Dad—it’s
alive! The dummy is alive!” I shrieked.
“Huh?”
Squinting through his glasses, Dad lowered his gaze to the dummy on the
floor.
The dummy sprawled
lifelessly on its back beside Dan. One arm was twisted
beneath its
back. Both legs were bent in two.
The mouth hung
open in its painted grin. The eyes stared blankly at the ceiling.
“It is
alive!” Dan insisted. “It really is!”
Dad stared
down at the still, silent dummy.
“The dummy
picked up Rocky!” Dan declared in a high, excited voice. “He said
his name was
Slappy. He picked up Rocky. He was carrying him downstairs.”
Dad tsk-tsked
and shook his head. “Give it up, Dan,” he murmured angrily. “Just
stop it right
now.” He raised his eyes to Dan, then to me. “I knew you two were the
troublemakers.”
“But, Dad—” I
protested.
“I’m not an
idiot,” Dad snapped, scowling at me. “You can’t expect me to believe
a dumb story
about a dummy coming to life and carrying another dummy around.
Have you both
lost your minds entirely?”
“It’s true,”
Dan insisted.
We both gazed
down at Slappy. He sure didn’t look alive. For a moment, I had
the
frightening feeling that I’d dreamed the whole scene.
But then I
remembered something. “I have proof!” I cried. “Dad, I can prove to
you that Dan
and I aren’t lying.”
Dad rubbed the
back of his neck. “I’m so tired,” he moaned. “It’s been such a
long, horrible
day. Please. Give me a break, Trina.”
“But I took
some pictures!” I told him. “I have pictures of Slappy carrying
Rocky!”
“Trina, I’m
warning you—” Dad started.
But I spun
away, searching for my camera. Where was it? Where?
It took me a
few seconds to spot it on the floor against the wall back by the
couch. I hurried
across the room to grab it.
And stopped
halfway.
The back of
the camera—it had sprung open. The film was exposed. The pictures
were ruined.
The camera
must have flown out of my hand when I tried to tackle Slappy, I
realized. I
picked it up and examined it sadly.
No pictures.
No proof.
I turned back
to find Dad scowling at me. “No more wasting my time, Trina. You
two are
grounded until further notice. I’m so disgusted with both of you. Your
mother and I
will think of other punishments after your cousin leaves.”
Then Dad waved
a hand at Slappy and Rocky. “Put them away. Right now. And
stay out of
the attic. Stay away from my dummies. That’s all I have to say to you.
Good night.”
Dad turned
away sharply and stomped down the stairs.
I glanced at
Dan and shrugged. I didn’t know what to say.
My heart was
pounding. I was so angry. So upset. So hurt. My
chest felt about to
explode.
I bent down to
pick up Slappy.
The dummy
winked at me.
His ugly grin
grew wider. And then he puckered his red lips and made disgusting,
wet kissing
sounds.
24
“Don’t touch
me, slave,” Slappy growled.
I gasped and
jumped back. I still couldn’t believe this was happening. I wrapped
my arms around
myself to stop my body from trembling.
“You—you really
are alive?” Dan asked softly.
“You bet your
soft head I am!” the dummy roared.
“What do you
want?” I cried. “Why are you doing this to us? Why are you
getting us in
all this trouble?”
The ugly grin
spread over his face. “If you treat me nice, slaves, maybe I won’t
get you in any
more trouble. Maybe you’ll get lucky.” He tapped his head and added,
“Knock on
wood.”
“We’re not
your slaves!” I insisted.
He tossed back
his head and let out a dry laugh. “Who’s the dummy here?” he
cried. “You or
me?”
“You carried
Rocky downstairs all those times?” Dan asked. I could see that my
brother was
having a hard time believing this, too.
“You don’t
think that bag of kindling can move on his own, do you?” Slappy
sneered. “I
had some fun with that ugly guy. I put him at the scene of the crimes to
throw you off
the track. To keep you slaves guessing.”
“And you
smashed Zane’s camera and ruined the dinner party?” I demanded.
He narrowed
his eyes to evil slits. “I’ll do much worse if you slaves don’t obey
me.”
I could feel
the anger rising through my body. “You—you’re going to ruin
everything!” I
screamed at him. “You’re going to ruin our lives! You’re going to
keep us from
going to camp this summer!”
Slappy
snickered. “You won’t be going to camp. You’ll be staying home to take
good care of
me!”
And then I
exploded.
“Nooooo!” I
uttered a long wail of protest.
I grabbed his
head in both hands. I started to tug.
I remembered
his head had been split in two when Dad found him. I planned to
pull his head
apart—to split it in two again!
He kicked his
legs frantically and thrashed his arms.
His heavy
shoes kicked at my legs.
But I held on
tight. Pulling. Pulling. Struggling to pull his head apart.
“Let me try!
Let me try!” Dan called.
I let out a
sigh and dropped the dummy to the floor. “It’s no use,” I told Dan.
“Dad did too
good a job. It’s glued tight.”
Slappy
scrambled to his feet. He shook his head. “Thanks for the head massage,
slave! Now rub
my back!” He laughed, an ugly dry laugh that sounded more like a
cough.
Dan stared at
the dummy in wide-eyed horror. “Trina—what are we going to
do?” he cried,
his voice just above a whisper.
“How about a
game of Kick the Dummy Down the Stairs?” Slappy suggested,
leering at us.
“We’ll take turns being the dummy. You can go first!”
“We—we have to
do something!” Dan stammered. “He’s a monster! He’s
evil!
We have to get
rid of him!”
But how? I
wondered.
How?
And then I had
an idea.
25
Slappy must
have read my thoughts. He turned and started to run.
But I dove
fast—and wrapped my hands around his skinny legs.
He let out a
harsh, angry cry as I began twisting his legs around each other,
struggling to
tie them in a knot.
He swung an
arm. The wooden hand caught me on the ear.
But I held on.
“Dan—grab his
arms! Hurry!”
My brother moved
quickly. Slappy tried to bat him away. But Dan ducked low.
And when he
came up, he grabbed Slappy’s wrists and held on.
“Let me go,
slaves!” the dummy rasped. “Let me go now. You’ll be sorry! You’ll
pay!”
I saw the fear
on Dan’s face.
Slappy swung a
hand free. He tried to swipe at Dan’s throat.
But Dan
reached out and grabbed onto the loose arm again.
I felt eyes on
me. I glanced up to see the other dummies around the room. They
appeared to
watch us struggle. A silent, still audience.
I pulled a red
kerchief off a dummy’s neck. And I stuffed it into Slappy’s mouth
to keep him
quiet.
“Downstairs!
Hurry!” I instructed my brother.
The dummy
twisted and squirmed, trying to break free.
But I had his
legs tied around each other. And Dan kept a tight grip on his arms.
We began
making our way to the attic stairs. “Where are we taking him?” Dan
demanded.
“Outside,” I
replied. The dummy bucked and squirmed. I nearly dropped him.
“In our
pajamas?” Dan asked.
I nodded and
began backing down the stairs. Slappy struggled hard to get free. I
nearly lost my
balance and toppled over backwards.
“We’re not
going far,” I groaned.
Somehow we
made it all the way downstairs. I had to let go with one hand to
open the front
door. Slappy bucked his knees, trying to untangle his legs.
I pushed the
door open. Grabbed the legs again.
Dan and I
carried the squirming dummy outside.
A cold, clear
night. A light, silvery frost over the grass. A half moon high over
the trees.
“Ohhh.” I let
out a moan as my bare feet touched the frozen grass.
“It’s c-cold!”
Dan stammered. “I can’t hold on much longer.”
I saw him
shiver. The front lawn suddenly darkened as clouds rolled over the
moon. My legs
trembled. The damp cold seeped through my thin pajamas.
“Where are we
taking him?” Dan whispered.
“Around to the
back.”
Slappy kicked
hard. But I held on tightly.
Something
scampered past my bare feet. I heard scurrying footsteps over the
frosty ground.
A rabbit? A
raccoon?
I didn’t stop
to see. Gripping Slappy’s ankles with both hands, I backed up.
Backed along
the side of the house.
“My feet are
numb!” Dan complained.
“Almost
there,” I replied.
Slappy uttered
hoarse cries beneath the kerchief that gagged his mouth. His round
eyes rolled
wildly. Again, he tried to kick free.
Dan and I
hauled him to the back of the yard. By the time we got to the old well,
my feet were
frozen numb, too. And my whole body shook from the cold.
“What are we
going to do?” Dan asked in a tiny voice.
The clouds
rolled away. Shadows pulled back. The silvery moonlight lit up the
old stone
well.
“We’re going
to toss him down the well,” I groaned.
Dan stared at
me, surprised.
“He’s evil,” I
explained. “We have no choice.”
Dan nodded.
We lifted
Slappy onto the smooth stones at the top of the well. He bucked and
kicked. He
tried to scream through his gag.
I saw Dan
shiver again.
“It’s a wooden
dummy,” I told him. “It isn’t a person. It’s an evil wooden
dummy.”
We both shoved
hard at the same time.
The dummy slid
off the stone wall and dropped into the well.
Dan and I both
waited until we heard the splash from far below.
Then we ran
side by side back to the house.
He’s gone! I
thought gratefully. Joyfully. The evil thing is gone for good.
I slept really
well that night. And I didn’t dream about dummies.
The next
morning, Dan and I met in the hall. We both were smiling. We felt so
good.
I was actually
singing as I followed Dan down the stairs for breakfast.
Dad greeted us
at the kitchen door with an angry frown. “What is he
doing down
here?” Dad
demanded.
He pointed
into the kitchen.
Pointed at the
breakfast table.
Pointed to
Slappy, sitting at the breakfast table, grinning his ugly painted grin, his
eyes wide and
innocent.
26
Dan’s mouth
dropped open.
I let out a
sharp cry.
“Don’t act
stunned. Just get him out of here,” Dad said angrily. “And why is he
all wet? Did
you have him out in the rain?”
I glanced out
the kitchen window. Lightning flashed through a dark gray sky.
Sheets of rain
pounded the glass. Thunder rumbled overhead.
“Not a very
nice morning,” Uncle Cal said, stepping up behind Dan and me.
“I’ve got
coffee ready,” Dad told him.
“I see your
friend here beat us down to breakfast,” Uncle Cal said, motioning to
Slappy.
The dummy’s
grin seemed to grow wider.
“Get him out
of here, Trina,” Dad repeated sharply. “Anyone want pancakes this
morning?” He
moved to the cabinet and started searching for a frying pan.
“Make a few
extra for me. I’m starving,” Uncle Cal said. “I’ll go see if Zane is
up.” He turned
and hurried out of the kitchen.
Dad leaned
into the cabinet, banging pots and pans, searching for the one he
always used
for pancakes.
“Dad, I have
to tell you something,” I said softly. I couldn’t hold it in any longer.
I had to tell
Dad the truth. I had to tell him the whole story.
“Dad, Slappy
is evil,” I told him. “He’s alive, and he’s evil. Dan and I threw him
down the well
last night. We had to get rid of him. But now—he’s back. You have to
help us, Dad.
We have to get rid of him—now.”
I took a deep
breath and let it out. It felt so good to get the story off my chest.
Dad pulled his
head from the cabinet and turned to me. “Did you say something,
Trina? I was
making such a racket, I couldn’t hear you.”
“Dad, I-I—” I
stammered.
“Get that
dummy out of here—now!” Dad
shouted. He stuck his head back into
the cabinet.
“How can a whole frying pan disappear into thin air?”
I let out a
disappointed sigh. A loud burst of thunder made me jump.
I motioned
with my head for Dan to help me. We lifted Slappy off the chair. I
held him
around the waist, as far away from me as possible.
His gray suit
was sopping wet. Water dripped off his black leather shoes.
We were
halfway up the attic stairs when Slappy blinked and let out a soft
chuckle. “Nice
try, slaves,” he rasped. “But give up. I’m never going away. Never!”
27
What a dreary
morning.
Rain pounded
the windows. Lightning crackled through the charcoal-gray sky.
Thunder boomed
so close it rocked the house.
I felt as if
the storm were inside my head. As if the heavy, heavy storm clouds
were weighing me
down. As if the thunder erupted inside my brain, drowning out my
thoughts.
Dan and I
slumped on the couch in the den, watching the storm through the
Venetian
blinds over the big window. We were trying to come up with an idea, a way
to get rid of
Slappy.
The room was
chilly. Damp, cold air leaked through the old window. I rubbed the
sleeves of my
sweater, trying to warm myself.
We were alone
in the house. Mom, Dad, Uncle Cal, and Zane had gone into town.
“I tried to
tell Dad,” I said. “You heard me, Dan. I tried to tell him about Slappy.
But he didn’t
hear me.”
“Dad wouldn’t
believe you anyway, Trina,” Dan replied glumly. He sighed.
“Who would
believe it?”
“How can a
wooden dummy come to life?” I asked, shaking my head. “How?”
And then I
remembered.
And then I had
an idea.
I jumped up
from the couch. I tugged my brother by the arm. “Come on.”
He pulled
back. “Where?”
“To the attic.
I think I know how to put Slappy to sleep—for good.”
I stopped at
the attic door and held Dan back. “Be very quiet,” I instructed him.
“Maybe Slappy
is asleep. If he’s asleep, my plan will go a whole lot better.”
Thunder roared
as I opened the door. I led the way up the stairs, moving slowly,
carefully, one
step at a time. I could hear the rain pounding down on the roof. And I
could see the
flicker of lightning on the low ceiling.
I stopped as I
reached the top of the stairs and turned toward the dummy
collection. A
flash of lightning through the window cast the shadows of their heads
on the wall.
As the lightning flickered, the shadows all seemed to be moving.
Dan stepped up
behind me. “Here we are. Now what?” he whispered.
I raised a
finger to my lips and began to tiptoe across the floor. Thunder boomed.
It sounded so
much louder up here under the roof!
When Dan and I
dragged Slappy up here this morning, we had tossed him down
on the floor.
We were too freaked and frightened to spend the time propping him up
on his chair.
We just wanted to dump him and get away from the attic.
I saw Slappy
in the flickering white lightning. Lying on his back in the center of
the floor. The
other dummies sat around him, grinning their silent grins.
I took a step
closer. And then another. Moving as silently as I could.
I peered down
at the evil dummy. His arms were at his sides. His legs were
twisted around
each other.
And his eyes
were closed.
Yes!
His eyes were
closed. He was asleep.
I took another
few steps toward Slappy. But I felt Dan’s hand on my arm, tugging
me back.
“Trina—what are you going to do?” he whispered.
My eyes darted
to Slappy. Still asleep. Thunder roared all around. It sounded as if
we were
standing in the middle of it.
“Remember
those weird words I read?” I whispered to my brother, keeping my
eyes on the
evil dummy. “Remember those weird words on that slip of paper?”
Dan thought
for a moment. Then he nodded.
“Well, maybe
it was those words that brought him to life,” I whispered. “Maybe
it’s some kind
of secret chant.”
Dan shrugged.
“Maybe.” He didn’t sound too hopeful.
“I saw you
tuck that slip of paper back into Slappy’s jacket pocket,” I told my
brother. “I’m
going to take it out and read the words again. Maybe the same words
that bring him
to life will also put him back to sleep.”
Of course
it was a crazy idea.
But a dummy
coming to life was crazy, too. And a dummy trying to turn you into
his slave was
crazy.
It was all
crazy. So maybe my idea was just crazy enough to work.
“Good luck,”
my brother whispered, his eyes on the sleeping dummy on the floor.
I made my way
over to Slappy.
I knelt down
on my knees beside him.
I took a deep
breath and held it. Then slowly, slowly, I began to reach my hand
down to his
jacket pocket.
I knew the
slip of paper was inside that pocket. Could I pull it out without waking
up Slappy?
I lowered my
hand. Lowered it.
My fingers
touched the top of the jacket pocket.
Still holding
my breath, I began to slip two fingers inside.
“Gotcha!”
Slappy shrieked as his hands shot up. He grabbed both of my wrists
and began to
squeeze.
28
I was so
stunned, I nearly fell on top of him.
As I struggled
to keep my balance, his wooden hands dug into my wrists. They
tightened
around me, cutting into my skin.
“Let go of
me!” I screamed. I struggled to pull my arms away. But he was too
strong. Too
strong.
The hard
fingers dug into my wrists. They squeezed harder, harder—until they
cut off all
circulation.
“Let go of me!
Let go!” My cry came out a shrill wail.
“I give the
orders, ssssslave!” Slappy hissed. “You will obey me. Obey me
forever!
Or you will pay!”
“Let go! Let
me go!” I shrieked. I tugged. I struggled to my feet. I jerked my
arms up and
down.
But Slappy
didn’t loosen his hold.
His whole body
bounced in the air. Hit the floor. Bounced back up as I pulled.
But his hands
gripped even harder.
I couldn’t
free myself. And the pain—the intense pain—shot down my arms.
Down my sides.
Down my whole body.
“Pick me up,
sssslave!” the dummy hissed. “Pick me up and put me on my chair.”
“Let go!” I
cried. “You’re breaking my wrists! Let go!”
The dummy
uttered a cold laugh in reply.
The pain shot
through my body. My legs wobbled. I dropped back to my knees.
I turned in
time to see Dan dive toward us.
I thought he
was going to grab the dummy’s hand and try to set me free.
Instead, Dan
grabbed for the jacket pocket.
Slappy let go
of my wrists. But not in time.
Dan pulled the
slip of paper from the pocket.
Slappy swiped
at Dan’s hand, trying to grab the paper away.
But Dan swung
around. He unfolded the paper and raised it to his face. And then
he shouted out
the mysterious words that were written there:
“Karru
marri odonna loma molonu karrano.”
Would it work?
Would it put
Slappy back to sleep?
29
I rubbed my
aching wrists and stared down at the grinning dummy.
He gazed back
at me. And then winked.
His laughter
roared over the thunder, over the hard, steady drumming of rain on
the roof.
“You cannot
defeat me that way, slave!” Slappy cried gleefully.
I took a step
back. A chill ran down my back, making my whole body shudder.
My plan hadn’t
worked.
My only plan.
My last, desperate plan. A total failure.
I caught the
disappointment on Dan’s face. The slip of paper fell from his fingers
and floated to
the floor.
“You will pay
for this!” Slappy threatened. “You will pay for your foolish
attempt to
defeat me.”
He pushed his
hands against the floor and started to climb to his feet.
I backed up.
And saw the
other dummies move.
All of them.
They were sliding off their chairs. Lowering themselves from the
couch.
They stretched
their skinny arms. Flexed their big, wooden hands.
Their heads
bobbed, their knees bent as they started to shuffle toward us.
They had all
come to life! Twelve dummies, brought to life by those strange
words Dan had
cried out.
Twelve dummies
staggering toward Dan and me.
We were
trapped between them. Trapped in the circle as they shuffled, dragging
their heavy
shoes. Their eyes wide. Locked on Dan and me.
As they
staggered and shuffled. Moving stiffly, grinning, grinning so coldly.
Closing in on
Dan and me.
30
Wilbur limped
toward us, his big, chipped hands stretched out, ready to grab us.
Lucy’s big
blue eyes gleamed coldly as she staggered toward us. Arnie let out a
highpitched
giggle as he
pulled himself closer.
Closer.
Dan and I spun
around. But we had nowhere to turn. Nowhere to escape.
The dummies’
big shoes scraped heavily over the wooden floorboards. Their
knees bent
with each step. They looked as if they would tumble to the floor.
But they kept
coming. Lurching forward. Bodies bending. Heads bobbing.
Alive. Wooden
creatures. Alive!
Dan raised his
hands over his face as if to shield himself.
I took a step
back. But the dummies behind me were closing in, too.
I took a long,
deep breath and held it.
Then I waited.
Waited for
their wooden hands to grab us.
I uttered a
loud gasp as Wilbur and Arnie staggered right past me.
The dummies
all brushed past Dan and me.
As if we
weren’t there.
I stared in
shock as they circled Slappy. I saw Rocky grab Slappy by the collar. I
saw Lucy grab
Slappy’s shoes.
Then the circle
of dummies moved in closer. Tighter.
I couldn’t see
what they were doing to Slappy. But I saw their skinny arms
jerking and
tugging. I saw them all struggling together.
Wrestling with
him.
Were they
pulling him apart?
I couldn’t
see. But I heard Slappy’s scream of terror.
Dan and I
clung to each other, watching the strange sight. It looked like a football
huddle. A
huddle of dummies.
The dummies
grunted and groaned, muttering in low tones as they worked over
Slappy.
We couldn’t
see Slappy in the middle.
We heard only
one scream.
We didn’t hear
him scream again.
And then I
heard the attic door open.
Footsteps on
the stairs!
Someone was
coming up.
31
I poked Dan
and turned him to the stairs.
We both cried
out as Zane climbed up to the attic and squinted across the long
room at us.
Did he see the
struggling dummies? Did he see that they were all alive?
I turned
back—in time to see the dummies all collapse in a heap.
“Whoa!” I
cried, my heart pounding. I blinked several times. I didn’t believe
what I saw.
The twelve
dummies lay lifeless on the floor, arms and legs in a wild tangle.
Mouths open.
Eyes gazing up blankly at the low ceiling.
Slappy lay
sprawled in the middle. His head tilted to one side. I saw the blank
stare in his
eyes. Saw the open-mouthed, wooden grin.
He was
completely lifeless now. As lifeless as all the others.
Had the other
dummies somehow destroyed his evil?
Would Slappy
remain a lifeless block of wood forever?
I didn’t have
time to think about it. Zane came hurrying across the attic, an angry
scowl on his
face. His eyes were on the pile of dummies.
“Caught you!”
Zane cried to Dan and me. “Caught you both! Planning your next
trick! I knew
you two were the ones! I’m telling Uncle Danny what you’re doing!”
32
Of course no
one believed Dan and me.
Of course
everyone believed Zane.
We were in the
worst trouble of our lives. Dan and I were grounded forever. We
probably won’t
be allowed to leave the house until we are in our forties!
The next day,
Zane and Uncle Cal were at the front door, saying good-bye. It’s a
terrible thing
to say—but Dan and I were not sad
to see Zane go.
“I hope I
never have to come back here,” he whispered to me in the hall. Then he
put on a big,
phony smile for Mom and Dad.
“Zane, what
kind of camera would you like?” Dad asked, putting a hand on
Zane’s
shoulder. “You have a birthday coming up. I’d like to send you a new camera
for your
birthday.”
Zane shrugged
his big shoulders. “Thanks,” he told my Dad. “But I’m really not
into
photography anymore.”
Mom and Dad
raised their eyebrows in surprise.
“Well, what would
you like for your birthday, Zane?” Mom asked. “Is there
something else
you’re interested in?”
Zane shyly
lowered his eyes to the floor. “Well… I’d kind of like to try being a
ventriloquist—like
you, Uncle Danny.”
Dad beamed
happily.
That creep
Zane had said just the right thing.
“Maybe you
have a spare dummy you can lend Zane,” Uncle Cal suggested.
Dad rubbed his
chin. “Well… maybe I do.” He turned to me. “Trina, run up to the
attic. And
pick out a good dummy for Zane to take home. Not one of the old ones.
But a nice one
that Zane can enjoy.”
“No problem,
Dad,” I replied eagerly. I hurried up to the attic. I hoped they didn’t
see the
enormous grin on my face.
Can you guess
which dummy I picked out for Zane?
I know it’s
horribly mean. But I really had no choice—did I?
“Here’s a good
one, Zane,” I said a few seconds later. I placed the grinning
dummy in
Zane’s arms. “His name is Slappy. I think you two will be very happy
together.”
I hope Zane
has fun learning to be a ventriloquist.
But I have the
feeling he may have a few problems. Because as Zane carried
Slappy into
the car, I saw the dummy wink at me.