Goosebumps Most Wanted - 02 - Son of Slappy
Read Goosebumps Most Wanted - 02 - Son of Slappy Online
Authors: R.L. Stine
Come in. I’m R.L. Stine. Welcome to the Goosebumps office.
Just step around that big hole in the floor. We call that hole The Bottomless Pit. Do you know why?
Because it’s a bottomless pit! Ha-ha.
We filled the pit with alligators once. But it didn’t work out. The alligators escaped and started swallowing people in the office.
I hate when that happens — don’t you?
Yes, that’s the laptop I use to write all the Goosebumps books. I know it looks strange. That’s because someone’s
lap
is still attached.
Don’t touch it. I think it’s contagious.
I see you are admiring the WANTED posters on the wall. Those posters show the creepiest, crawliest, grossest villains of all time. They are the MOST WANTED bad guys from the MOST WANTED Goosebumps books.
I am telling their stories in the Goosebumps: MOST WANTED series.
Yes, that face with the wide, evil grin and the glassy stare belongs to a ventriloquist dummy. His name is Slappy, and he may be the most ghoulish villain in Goosebumps history.
A boy named Jackson Stander can tell you all about him.
Jackson found himself living a double nightmare with Slappy —
and
the Son of Slappy. To his horror, he quickly learned that two Slappys are NOT better than one!
Go ahead. Read Jackson’s story. Better read it with all the lights on and all the doors locked.
You’ll quickly find out why Slappy is … MOST WANTED.
My name is Jackson Stander. I’m twelve, and I know a secret.
You don’t have to ask. I’m going to share my secret with you. When I tell you what it is, you might laugh at me.
My sister, Rachel, laughs at me. She rolls her eyes and groans and calls me a goodie-goodie.
But I don’t care. Rachel is in trouble all the time, and I’m not. And that’s because of my secret, which I’m going to share with you now:
It’s a lot easier to be good than to be bad.
That’s the whole thing. You’re probably shaking your head and saying, “What’s the big deal? What kind of crazy secret is that?”
It’s simple. Let me explain. I try hard to do the right thing all the time. I try to be nice to everyone, and work hard in school, and be cheerful and kind, and help people when I can, and just be a good dude.
This makes Rachel sick. She’s always poking her finger down her throat and making gagging sounds whenever I say or do something nice.
Rachel is a real sarcastic kid and a troublemaker. She likes to argue with her teacher, and she gets into fights with kids in her class. She hates it when the teachers say, “Why can’t you be more like your brother, Jackson?”
What does she call me? She calls me
Robot
. She says I’m some kind of goodie-goodie machine.
You’ve probably guessed that Rachel and I don’t get along that well, even though she’s just a year younger than me.
We both look a lot alike, too. We’re kind of average height. We have straight brown hair and brown eyes, and we both have freckles on our noses and dimples when we smile.
Rachel hates her dimples and her freckles. She says she
hates
it that she looks more like Dad than like Mom. Of course, that doesn’t make Dad very happy. He calls Rachel “Problem Child.” Mom scolds him every time he says it.
But she
is
a problem child. Mainly, she’s
my
problem because she’s always in my face. And she’s always testing me, teasing me. Trying to make me lose it, blow up, get steamed, start to shout, or fight.
Rachel’s mission in life is to get me in trouble with Mom and Dad. She’s always trying to make
me look bad. But she’s so lame. There’s
no way
she can win.
A few weeks ago, she was doing an art project in her room and spilled red paint on her floor. She went running to Mom and said, “Jackson was messing around with my paint, and look what he did.”
Of course, Mom didn’t believe her for a second. Why would I be messing around with
her
paint?
Last night before dinner, Rachel was helping Mom carry the food to the table. She tripped over Sparky, our cat, and dropped a platter of chicken — and it went flying all over the floor.
“Jackson tripped me!” Rachel told Mom.
I was standing all the way across the room. How lame was that?
But Rachel keeps trying.
Now, please don’t get me wrong. I’m not perfect. If I told you I’m perfect, that would be obnoxious. Besides, no one is perfect.
I just try to do my best. I really do believe it’s easier to be good than bad.
It’s something I knew from the time I was a tiny kid.
And then something happened.
Something happened, and I turned bad. I turned very bad. No. Let’s tell the truth. I, Jackson Stander, became
evil.
And that’s what this story is all about.
We have two canaries at the YC. I gave them their names — Pete and Repete. I can’t really tell which one is which, but I pretend.
After school on Wednesday, I was showing a bunch of kids how to pick up the canaries in your hand when you want to clean their cage.
YC stands for Youth Center. Actually, it’s called the Morton Applegate Jr. Borderville Youth Center. But no one remembers who Morton Applegate Jr. is. And everyone knows we live in the town of Borderville. So people just call it the YC.
A lot of little kids go to the YC after school. They stay till their parents pick them up after work.
The YC playroom is very bright and cheerful. The walls are shiny red and yellow with funny cows and sheep painted upside down all over them, as if it was raining cows and sheep. The room has shelves to the ceiling, crammed with games and books and art supplies and puzzles and all kinds of great toys for the little kids.
There are stacks of car tires to bounce and climb on. A big flat screen for playing video games. A fish tank, a rabbit cage, and the canary cage. Plenty of cool stuff to keep the kids busy till their parents arrive.
I like to go there after school when I don’t have my piano lessons or tennis practice. I go to help out with the little kids. It’s fun to play and read with them. The kids are funny, and they treat me like I’m a big deal.
There’s a cute, chubby red-haired kid everyone calls Froggy because he’s got a funny, scratchy voice. Froggy is my favorite. He’s goofy and says the dumbest things to make everyone laugh. If I had a little brother, I’d like him to be Froggy.
Froggy and another favorite of mine — a little blond-haired girl named Nikki — were watching as I reached into the canary cage. Nikki is very shy and quiet, and speaks in a tiny mouse voice. She has a sad face most of the time. But I know how to make her laugh.
“You have to move your hand in very slowly,” I told them. “If you move too fast, you’ll scare the canary, and he will start fluttering and flapping and cheeping like crazy.”
Froggy, Nikki, and a few other kids watched silently as I tugged open the birdcage door. I slowly slid my open hand into the cage and moved it toward Pete.
“Sshhhh,” I whispered. “You have to be very
quiet and very careful.” The canary stared at me from his wooden perch. The other one, head tilted to one side, watched from the swing.
“If you squeeze it too hard, will he explode?” Froggy asked in a raspy whisper. “I saw that in a cartoon.”
“We don’t want him to explode,” I whispered. “We have to be very gentle.”
I opened my hand and prepared to wrap it around the canary. The bird cheeped softly but didn’t move. I held my breath and reached forward.
And someone right behind me screamed, “BOO!”
The canary squawked, fluttered out of my grasp — and darted out the open cage door.
My heart skipped a beat. I swung around. I saw my sister, Rachel, standing behind me, a grin on her face. Guess who shouted
Boo
?
The canary flew up to the ceiling.
Kids shouted in surprise. They chased after him.
The frightened canary flew in wild circles, round and round the room. He darted low. “Catch him!” I cried. “Somebody —”
Hands grabbed at the tiny yellow bird. He swooped high again. And then headed toward the far wall. Kids shrieked and ran after him.
“Nooo!” A scream burst from my throat. I could see where he was flying. “Close the window!” I shouted. “Hurry! Close the window!”
