Read Online Night of the Living Dummy by R. L. Stine - Free Book Online Page A

Wood, who lay crumpled in the center of the floor where Kris had tossed him. “You know that isn’t my sense of humor.”
    “So why’d you do it?” Lindy demanded. “Why’d you want to make everyone mad?”
    “But I didn’t!” Kris shrieked, tugging at the sides of her hair. “Mr. Wood said those things! I didn’t!”
    “How can you be such a copycat?” Lindy asked disgustedly. “I already did that joke, Kris. Can’t you think of something original?”
    “It’s not a joke,” Kris insisted. “Why don’t you believe me?”
    “No way,” Lindy replied, shaking her head, her arms still crossed in front of her chest. “No way I’m going to fall for the same gag.”
    “Lindy, please!” Kris pleaded. “I’m frightened. I’m really frightened.”
    “Yeah. Sure,” Lindy said sarcastically. “I’m shaking all over, too. Wow. You really fooled me, Kris. Guess you showed me you can play funny tricks, too.”
    “Shut up!” Kris snapped. More tears formed in the corners of her eyes.
    “Very good crying,” Lindy said. “But it doesn’t fool me, either. And it won’t fool Mom and Dad.” She turned and picked up Slappy. “Maybe Slappy and I should practice some jokes. After your performance tonight, Mom and Dad might not let you do the concert tomorrow night.”
    She slung Slappy over her shoulder and, stepping over the crumpled form of Mr. Wood, hurried from the room.

    It was hot and noisy backstage in the auditorium. Kris’ throat was dry, and she kept walking over to the water fountain and slurping mouthfuls of the warm water.
    The voices of the audience on the other side of the curtain seemed to echo off all four walls and the ceiling. The louder the noise became as the auditorium filled, the more nervous Kris felt.
    How am I ever going to do my act in front of all those people? she asked herself, pulling the edge of the curtain back a few inches and peering out. Her parents were off to the side, in the third row.
    Seeing them brought memories of the night before flooding back to Kris. Her parents had grounded her for two weeks as punishment for insulting the Millers. They almost hadn’t let her come to the concert.
    Kris stared at the kids and adults filing into the large auditorium, recognizing a lot of faces. She realized her hands were ice cold. Her throat was dry again.
    Don’t think of it as an audience, she told herself. Think of it as a bunch of kids and parents, most of whom you know.
    Somehow that made it worse.
    She let go of the curtain, hurried to get one last drink from the fountain, then retrieved Mr. Wood from the table she had left him on.
    It suddenly grew quiet on the other side of the curtain. The concert was about to begin.
    “Break a leg!” Lindy called across to her as she hurried to join the other chorus members.
    “Thanks,” Kris replied weakly. She pulled up Mr. Wood and straightened his shirt. “Your hands are clammy!” she made him say.
    “No insults tonight,” Kris told him sternly.
    To her shock, the dummy blinked.
    “Hey!” she cried. She hadn’t touched his eye controls.
    She had a stab of fear that went beyond stage fright. Maybe I shouldn’t go on with this, she thought, staring intently at Mr. Wood, watching for him to blink again.
    Maybe I should say I’m sick and not perform with him.
    “Are you nervous?” a voice whispered.
    “Huh?” At first, she thought it was Mr. Wood. But then she quickly realized that it was Mrs. Berman, the music teacher.
    “Yeah. A little,” Kris admitted, feeling her face grow hot.
    “You’ll be terrific,” Mrs. Berman gushed, squeezing Kris’ shoulder with a sweaty hand. She was a large, heavyset woman with several chins, a red lipsticked mouth, and flowing black hair. She was wearing a long, loose-fitting dress of red-and-blue flower patterns. “Here goes,” she said, giving Kris’ shoulder one more squeeze.
    Then she stepped onstage, blinking against the harsh white light of the spotlight, to introduce