Read Online 31 - Night of the Living Dummy II by R.L. Stine - (ebook by Undead) - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: R.L. Stine - (ebook by Undead)
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hand.
“Amy—what are you doing?” she cried.
And, then, without waiting for an answer, Sara began to shout: “Mom! Dad!
Hurry! She’s in here again!”
18
Dad came rumbling in first, adjusting his pajama pants. “What’s going on?
What’s the problem?”
Mom followed right behind him, blinking and yawning.
“I—I took this from Slappy,” I stammered, holding up the paintbrush. “He—he was going to ruin the mural.”
They stared at the paintbrush in my hand.
“I heard Slappy sneak out of the closet,” I explained breathlessly. “I
followed him into Sara’s room. I grabbed him just before—before he did
something terrible.”
I turned to Sara. “You saw Slappy—right? You saw him?”
“Yeah,” Sara said, still in bed, her arms crossed over her chest. “I see
Slappy. You’re carrying him on your arm.”
The dummy hung over my arm, its head nearly hitting the floor.
“No!” I cried to Sara. “You saw him sneak into your room—right? That’s why you turned on the light?”
Sara rolled her eyes. “I saw you come into my room,” she replied.
“You’re carrying the dummy, Amy. You’re holding the dummy—and the
brush.”
“But—but—but—” I sputtered.
My eyes darted from face to face. They all stared back at me as if I had just
landed on Earth in a flying saucer.
No one in my family was going to believe me. No one.
The next morning, Mom hung up the phone as I came down for breakfast. “You’re
wearing shorts to school?” she asked, eyeing my outfit—olive-green shorts and
a red, sleeveless T-shirt.
“The radio said it’s going to be hot,” I replied.
Jed and Sara were already at the table. They glanced up from their cereal
bowls, but didn’t say anything.
I poured myself a glass of grape juice. I’m the only one in my family who
doesn’t like orange juice. I guess I am totally weird.
“Who were you talking to on the phone?” I asked Mom. I took a long drink.
“Uh… Dr. Palmer’s secretary,” she replied hesitantly. “You have purple
above your lip,” she told me, pointing.
I wiped the grape juice off with a napkin. “Dr. Palmer? Isn’t she a shrink?”
I asked.
Mom nodded. “I tried to get an appointment for today. But she can’t see you
until Wednesday.”
“But, Mom—!” I protested.
Mom placed a finger over her mouth. “Sssshhh. No discussion.”
“But, Mom—!” I repeated.
“Ssshhh. Just talk to her once, Amy. You might enjoy it. You might think it’s
helpful.”
“Yeah. Sure,” I muttered.
I turned to Sara and Jed. They stared down at their cereal bowls.
I sighed and set the juice glass down in the sink.
I knew what this meant. It meant that I had until Wednesday to prove to my
family that I wasn’t a total wack job.
In the lunchroom at school, Margo begged me to tell her what was going on
with me. “Why were you locked up in your room all day yesterday?” she demanded.
“Come on, Amy—spill.”
“It’s no big deal,” I lied.
No way I was going to tell her.
I didn’t need the story going around school that Amy Kramer believes her
ventriloquist dummy is alive.
I didn’t need everyone whispering about me and staring at me the way everyone
in my family did.
“Dad wants to know if you’ll change your mind about the birthday party,”
Margo said. “If you want to perform with Slappy, you can—”
“No. Forget it!” I interrupted. “I put Slappy in the closet, and he’s staying
there. Forever.”
Margo’s eyes went wide. “Okay. Okay. Wow. You don’t have to bite my head
off.”
“Sorry,” I said quickly. “I’m a little stressed out these days. Here. Want
this?” I handed her the brownie Mom had packed.
“Thanks,” Margo replied, surprised.
“Later,” I said. I crinkled up my lunch bag, tossed it in the trash, and
hurried away.
In my room that night, I couldn’t concentrate on my homework. I kept staring
at the calendar.
Monday night. I had only two nights
“Amy—what are you doing?” she cried.
And, then, without waiting for an answer, Sara began to shout: “Mom! Dad!
Hurry! She’s in here again!”
18
Dad came rumbling in first, adjusting his pajama pants. “What’s going on?
What’s the problem?”
Mom followed right behind him, blinking and yawning.
“I—I took this from Slappy,” I stammered, holding up the paintbrush. “He—he was going to ruin the mural.”
They stared at the paintbrush in my hand.
“I heard Slappy sneak out of the closet,” I explained breathlessly. “I
followed him into Sara’s room. I grabbed him just before—before he did
something terrible.”
I turned to Sara. “You saw Slappy—right? You saw him?”
“Yeah,” Sara said, still in bed, her arms crossed over her chest. “I see
Slappy. You’re carrying him on your arm.”
The dummy hung over my arm, its head nearly hitting the floor.
“No!” I cried to Sara. “You saw him sneak into your room—right? That’s why you turned on the light?”
Sara rolled her eyes. “I saw you come into my room,” she replied.
“You’re carrying the dummy, Amy. You’re holding the dummy—and the
brush.”
“But—but—but—” I sputtered.
My eyes darted from face to face. They all stared back at me as if I had just
landed on Earth in a flying saucer.
No one in my family was going to believe me. No one.
The next morning, Mom hung up the phone as I came down for breakfast. “You’re
wearing shorts to school?” she asked, eyeing my outfit—olive-green shorts and
a red, sleeveless T-shirt.
“The radio said it’s going to be hot,” I replied.
Jed and Sara were already at the table. They glanced up from their cereal
bowls, but didn’t say anything.
I poured myself a glass of grape juice. I’m the only one in my family who
doesn’t like orange juice. I guess I am totally weird.
“Who were you talking to on the phone?” I asked Mom. I took a long drink.
“Uh… Dr. Palmer’s secretary,” she replied hesitantly. “You have purple
above your lip,” she told me, pointing.
I wiped the grape juice off with a napkin. “Dr. Palmer? Isn’t she a shrink?”
I asked.
Mom nodded. “I tried to get an appointment for today. But she can’t see you
until Wednesday.”
“But, Mom—!” I protested.
Mom placed a finger over her mouth. “Sssshhh. No discussion.”
“But, Mom—!” I repeated.
“Ssshhh. Just talk to her once, Amy. You might enjoy it. You might think it’s
helpful.”
“Yeah. Sure,” I muttered.
I turned to Sara and Jed. They stared down at their cereal bowls.
I sighed and set the juice glass down in the sink.
I knew what this meant. It meant that I had until Wednesday to prove to my
family that I wasn’t a total wack job.
In the lunchroom at school, Margo begged me to tell her what was going on
with me. “Why were you locked up in your room all day yesterday?” she demanded.
“Come on, Amy—spill.”
“It’s no big deal,” I lied.
No way I was going to tell her.
I didn’t need the story going around school that Amy Kramer believes her
ventriloquist dummy is alive.
I didn’t need everyone whispering about me and staring at me the way everyone
in my family did.
“Dad wants to know if you’ll change your mind about the birthday party,”
Margo said. “If you want to perform with Slappy, you can—”
“No. Forget it!” I interrupted. “I put Slappy in the closet, and he’s staying
there. Forever.”
Margo’s eyes went wide. “Okay. Okay. Wow. You don’t have to bite my head
off.”
“Sorry,” I said quickly. “I’m a little stressed out these days. Here. Want
this?” I handed her the brownie Mom had packed.
“Thanks,” Margo replied, surprised.
“Later,” I said. I crinkled up my lunch bag, tossed it in the trash, and
hurried away.
In my room that night, I couldn’t concentrate on my homework. I kept staring
at the calendar.
Monday night. I had only two nights
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