Read Online Goosebumps Most Wanted - 02 - Son of Slappy by R.L. Stine - Free Book Online
Authors: R.L. Stine
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those words,” I said. “You brought the dummy to life.”
She flattened her back against the wall. She blinked a few times, then stared at me. “You really have gone nuts….”
“No. I’m serious. It’s true,” I insisted.
I pointed toward my room. “Didn’t you see him in there? Didn’t you see him laughing his head off?”
“I only saw you,” she said.
“Well, he’s alive,” I said. “You brought him to life. He’s alive, and he’s evil, and —”
Rachel backed away. “I think I’m scared of you, Jackson. Really.”
“Listen to me,” I cried. “I swear I’m telling the truth. I’m not crazy, Rachel. That dummy —”
“That dummy is a copy,” Rachel said. “It isn’t even the real Slappy. You heard what Grandpa Whitman said.”
“Grandpa Whitman was wrong,” I told her. “This is the real Slappy. This is the totally evil dummy he told us about.”
She stared at me and didn’t reply. I could see her thinking hard.
“It — it’s making me do all those horrible things,” I stammered. “He says I’m his son now, and —”
“His son?”
I nodded. “He — he made me say all those horrible rude insults. He’s totally gross, and he’s making me totally gross. He’s using me as a dummy.”
Rachel shook her head. “How?” she demanded. “How is he doing that?”
“He’s inside my head,” I explained. “I hear a sound and then there he is. He’s in my brain!”
“Really. You’re scaring me,” Rachel said. “Did you hit your head or something? Did you fall down and hit your head?”
I let out a long sigh. “No, I didn’t hit my head. Rachel, you know me. I — I’m not crazy. I don’t insult people. Never. I don’t play practical jokes, right? And I always tell the truth.”
She studied my face. Finally, she said, “Yeah. That’s true. You don’t make things up.”
“So you believe me?”
She grabbed my arm and tugged me toward the bedroom door. “You’ve never lied to me before. Not once. So go ahead. Show me, Jackson. Prove it to me. Show me he’s alive.”
“Okay,” I said. I led her up to the bed. “Okay. Okay. Here goes. Stand back and watch.”
The dummy sat with its legs straight out across my bed. Its back was pressed against the wall. Its head slumped forward, and its arms dangled loosely, folded on the bedspread.
“Slappy, sit up,” I said. “Explain to Rachel.”
The dummy didn’t move.
“Slappy, tell Rachel who the Son of Slappy is,” I demanded.
The dummy remained hunched over, limp and lifeless.
“Come on, Slappy. I know you’re awake,” I said. “Come on, move.”
No. He didn’t budge.
I picked him up and shook him. “Wake up, Slappy. Stop this. Wake up and talk to Rachel.”
The legs flew about loosely as I shook him. The arms dangled limply. The head flopped forward.
“Talk! Talk! Talk!” I screamed.
I felt Rachel’s hand on my arm. “Put it down. Come on, Jackson. Put it down. Shaking it isn’t going to do anything.”
With an angry cry, I tossed the dummy onto the bed. It landed on its back. Its head and hands bounced up once, then settled lifelessly on the bedspread.
I was breathing hard. My heart pounded in my chest.
Rachel stared down at the dummy. Then she raised her eyes to me. “Jackson … I … don’t understand.”
I heard a loud chirp .
Rachel became all fuzzy, like a photo out of focus. Then she slowly became sharp again.
My head felt strange … heavy.
“Of course you don’t understand,” I snapped. “You need a brain to understand.”
“Jackson —”
“Rachel, remember that test you took in school? It said you have the same IQ as a cantaloupe?”
She slapped my shoulder. “Shut up. Why are you being so horrible?”
“A cantaloupe is better looking,” I said. “The skin is so much nicer. If I had your face, I’d walk on my hands. Let people see my better end!”
I tossed back my head and laughed a cold, cruel laugh.
“Just shut up. You’re a jerk!”
I
She flattened her back against the wall. She blinked a few times, then stared at me. “You really have gone nuts….”
“No. I’m serious. It’s true,” I insisted.
I pointed toward my room. “Didn’t you see him in there? Didn’t you see him laughing his head off?”
“I only saw you,” she said.
“Well, he’s alive,” I said. “You brought him to life. He’s alive, and he’s evil, and —”
Rachel backed away. “I think I’m scared of you, Jackson. Really.”
“Listen to me,” I cried. “I swear I’m telling the truth. I’m not crazy, Rachel. That dummy —”
“That dummy is a copy,” Rachel said. “It isn’t even the real Slappy. You heard what Grandpa Whitman said.”
“Grandpa Whitman was wrong,” I told her. “This is the real Slappy. This is the totally evil dummy he told us about.”
She stared at me and didn’t reply. I could see her thinking hard.
“It — it’s making me do all those horrible things,” I stammered. “He says I’m his son now, and —”
“His son?”
I nodded. “He — he made me say all those horrible rude insults. He’s totally gross, and he’s making me totally gross. He’s using me as a dummy.”
Rachel shook her head. “How?” she demanded. “How is he doing that?”
“He’s inside my head,” I explained. “I hear a sound and then there he is. He’s in my brain!”
“Really. You’re scaring me,” Rachel said. “Did you hit your head or something? Did you fall down and hit your head?”
I let out a long sigh. “No, I didn’t hit my head. Rachel, you know me. I — I’m not crazy. I don’t insult people. Never. I don’t play practical jokes, right? And I always tell the truth.”
She studied my face. Finally, she said, “Yeah. That’s true. You don’t make things up.”
“So you believe me?”
She grabbed my arm and tugged me toward the bedroom door. “You’ve never lied to me before. Not once. So go ahead. Show me, Jackson. Prove it to me. Show me he’s alive.”
“Okay,” I said. I led her up to the bed. “Okay. Okay. Here goes. Stand back and watch.”
The dummy sat with its legs straight out across my bed. Its back was pressed against the wall. Its head slumped forward, and its arms dangled loosely, folded on the bedspread.
“Slappy, sit up,” I said. “Explain to Rachel.”
The dummy didn’t move.
“Slappy, tell Rachel who the Son of Slappy is,” I demanded.
The dummy remained hunched over, limp and lifeless.
“Come on, Slappy. I know you’re awake,” I said. “Come on, move.”
No. He didn’t budge.
I picked him up and shook him. “Wake up, Slappy. Stop this. Wake up and talk to Rachel.”
The legs flew about loosely as I shook him. The arms dangled limply. The head flopped forward.
“Talk! Talk! Talk!” I screamed.
I felt Rachel’s hand on my arm. “Put it down. Come on, Jackson. Put it down. Shaking it isn’t going to do anything.”
With an angry cry, I tossed the dummy onto the bed. It landed on its back. Its head and hands bounced up once, then settled lifelessly on the bedspread.
I was breathing hard. My heart pounded in my chest.
Rachel stared down at the dummy. Then she raised her eyes to me. “Jackson … I … don’t understand.”
I heard a loud chirp .
Rachel became all fuzzy, like a photo out of focus. Then she slowly became sharp again.
My head felt strange … heavy.
“Of course you don’t understand,” I snapped. “You need a brain to understand.”
“Jackson —”
“Rachel, remember that test you took in school? It said you have the same IQ as a cantaloupe?”
She slapped my shoulder. “Shut up. Why are you being so horrible?”
“A cantaloupe is better looking,” I said. “The skin is so much nicer. If I had your face, I’d walk on my hands. Let people see my better end!”
I tossed back my head and laughed a cold, cruel laugh.
“Just shut up. You’re a jerk!”
I
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