Read Online Goosebumps Most Wanted - 02 - Son of Slappy by R.L. Stine - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: R.L. Stine
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pushed her back a few inches. “Could you step away? Your breath is curling the wallpaper. Ever hear of a thing called a toothbrush?”
“Aaaaagh!” She let out an angry growl. “I hate you. I really do. I’m going to tell Mom and Dad how mean you were to me.” She shoved me aside and stormed to the stairs.
“I was just telling the truth!” I shouted. Then I tossed back my head and laughed again.
I was still laughing when Slappy suddenly jerked to life. He raised his head and straightened his back. His big wooden hand shot out quickly — and he grabbed my arm.
“Owww.” I let out a howl of pain as the wooden fingers tightened around my arm. Tighter … tighter. Pain roared up my entire right side.
“Ohhhh. Stop. Let go.”
But the hard hand refused to loosen its grip.
“You made a bad mistake, Son,” the dummy rasped in its ugly, shrill voice. “You should never tell others about me.”
“But — but —”
He brought his head close to mine and shouted in my ear. “That makes me very unhappy, Son. You don’t want to see me when I’m unhappy — do you?”
The next morning, I didn’t want to go down to breakfast. I knew I’d have to explain to Mom and Dad why I went berserk at dinner.
But could I tell them the truth?
No way. If I explained about Slappy, they wouldn’t believe me. They would want to drag me to a doctor. And it would make Slappy angry at me again.
He was right. I didn’t want to see him angry. Just thinking about it sent a cold shiver down my back.
“Jackson?” I heard Mom calling from downstairs. “Come down to breakfast. You’re going to be late for school.”
I had no choice. I made my way slowly down the stairs and into the kitchen.
Rachel sat at the table, a bowl of Frosted Flakes in front of her. She had an orange-juice mustache on her upper lip.
Dad’s plate just had crumbs and a puddle of syrup. That meant he had already gone to work.
Mom studied me as I entered. She was still in her pink bathrobe. She held a coffee mug in both hands. She tapped her foot nervously.
“Jackson?”
“I can explain,” I said. “You see, I had a bad headache last night, and —”
I’m such a bad liar.
I’m used to telling the truth all the time. I’m a real good dude, remember?
Mom squinted at me. “A headache? I’m afraid that doesn’t explain your incredible rudeness.”
I lowered my head. “I know,” I murmured. “But you see —”
“Did you suddenly think that you were a comedian?” Mom said. “Did you think all those crude insults were funny ?”
I kept my eyes on the floor. “Not really.”
“I can tell you about funny,” Mom said, growing more angry. “I know about funny. And making fun of people’s looks and hurting their feelings —”
“I know,” I repeated. “I didn’t mean it. I can’t really explain it. I —”
“That was just awful,” Mom said. Her hand trembled as she set her coffee mug down. Her eyes glistened. Did she have tears in them?
“I’m sorry,” I murmured.
“Your aunt and uncle were just horrified,” she said. “They know what a good guy you are. The things you said to them were unforgivable, Jackson. Do you hear me? Unforgivable.”
I glanced at Rachel at the table. She had a huge grin on her face. She was really enjoying this. Really loving seeing me be the bad guy for once.
“You were so awful,” Mom continued in a tense, tight voice. “Your father and I don’t have a clue as to what your punishment should be. But you need to learn that you can’t talk to people that way.”
“He was mean to me, too!” Rachel chimed in.
Mom bit her lips. “Yes. And then you went upstairs and were mean to your sister. You didn’t quit. You had to be horrible to her, too.”
I have to tell her the truth. I have no choice. I have to tell her about how Slappy is controlling me.
Otherwise, she’ll think I’ve turned into some kind of a monster.
I took a deep breath and started. “Mom, I have to explain
“Aaaaagh!” She let out an angry growl. “I hate you. I really do. I’m going to tell Mom and Dad how mean you were to me.” She shoved me aside and stormed to the stairs.
“I was just telling the truth!” I shouted. Then I tossed back my head and laughed again.
I was still laughing when Slappy suddenly jerked to life. He raised his head and straightened his back. His big wooden hand shot out quickly — and he grabbed my arm.
“Owww.” I let out a howl of pain as the wooden fingers tightened around my arm. Tighter … tighter. Pain roared up my entire right side.
“Ohhhh. Stop. Let go.”
But the hard hand refused to loosen its grip.
“You made a bad mistake, Son,” the dummy rasped in its ugly, shrill voice. “You should never tell others about me.”
“But — but —”
He brought his head close to mine and shouted in my ear. “That makes me very unhappy, Son. You don’t want to see me when I’m unhappy — do you?”
The next morning, I didn’t want to go down to breakfast. I knew I’d have to explain to Mom and Dad why I went berserk at dinner.
But could I tell them the truth?
No way. If I explained about Slappy, they wouldn’t believe me. They would want to drag me to a doctor. And it would make Slappy angry at me again.
He was right. I didn’t want to see him angry. Just thinking about it sent a cold shiver down my back.
“Jackson?” I heard Mom calling from downstairs. “Come down to breakfast. You’re going to be late for school.”
I had no choice. I made my way slowly down the stairs and into the kitchen.
Rachel sat at the table, a bowl of Frosted Flakes in front of her. She had an orange-juice mustache on her upper lip.
Dad’s plate just had crumbs and a puddle of syrup. That meant he had already gone to work.
Mom studied me as I entered. She was still in her pink bathrobe. She held a coffee mug in both hands. She tapped her foot nervously.
“Jackson?”
“I can explain,” I said. “You see, I had a bad headache last night, and —”
I’m such a bad liar.
I’m used to telling the truth all the time. I’m a real good dude, remember?
Mom squinted at me. “A headache? I’m afraid that doesn’t explain your incredible rudeness.”
I lowered my head. “I know,” I murmured. “But you see —”
“Did you suddenly think that you were a comedian?” Mom said. “Did you think all those crude insults were funny ?”
I kept my eyes on the floor. “Not really.”
“I can tell you about funny,” Mom said, growing more angry. “I know about funny. And making fun of people’s looks and hurting their feelings —”
“I know,” I repeated. “I didn’t mean it. I can’t really explain it. I —”
“That was just awful,” Mom said. Her hand trembled as she set her coffee mug down. Her eyes glistened. Did she have tears in them?
“I’m sorry,” I murmured.
“Your aunt and uncle were just horrified,” she said. “They know what a good guy you are. The things you said to them were unforgivable, Jackson. Do you hear me? Unforgivable.”
I glanced at Rachel at the table. She had a huge grin on her face. She was really enjoying this. Really loving seeing me be the bad guy for once.
“You were so awful,” Mom continued in a tense, tight voice. “Your father and I don’t have a clue as to what your punishment should be. But you need to learn that you can’t talk to people that way.”
“He was mean to me, too!” Rachel chimed in.
Mom bit her lips. “Yes. And then you went upstairs and were mean to your sister. You didn’t quit. You had to be horrible to her, too.”
I have to tell her the truth. I have no choice. I have to tell her about how Slappy is controlling me.
Otherwise, she’ll think I’ve turned into some kind of a monster.
I took a deep breath and started. “Mom, I have to explain
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