Goosebumps Most Wanted - 02 - Son of Slappy (3 page)

Rachel let out a scream. She grabbed my arm. We both staggered back a step.

“
What’s your problem?
” the dummy rasped in a tinny, high voice. Its lips moved up and down when it spoke. Its eyes slid from side to side.

“It’s … alive,” Rachel whispered. “Jackson, it … it’s moving by itself.”

“No way,” I replied.

“
Who’s the dummy around here?”
it demanded.

And then I heard someone laughing. From the house.

I raised my eyes and saw Grandpa Whitman behind the screen door. He stepped out onto the porch, shaking his head. He waved some kind of black box in his hand.

“Hey, I think I fooled you,” he called. “Did I? Did I give you a little scare?” He held up the black box. “A remote control. Moves the dummy’s mouth and eyes, and makes him speak.”

“You didn’t fool us,” Rachel said. “No way.”

He laughed. “Don’t lie. I saw the looks on your faces.” He patted the dummy’s head. “This is Morty. Cute, isn’t he?”

“
Don’t touch me!
” he made the dummy say.

We all laughed. Then he wrapped Rachel and me in a big bear hug. “It’s so good to see you two.” He has a deep voice that booms. He never whispers.

Grandpa Whitman is a tall, heavy man with broad shoulders and a big belly. He has a full head of wavy white hair and bright blue eyes. He always wears denim bib overalls a few sizes too big with a red T-shirt underneath.

Rachel backed out of the hug. She motioned to the dummy on the step. “Do you have more surprises like that waiting for us?”

Grandpa Whitman’s blue eyes flashed. Before he could answer, another man came out the front door. He was dressed all in black, as usual — a black suit over a black shirt. His pale, bald head caught the fading sunlight. It appeared to glow like a lightbulb.

“Edgar! There you are,” Grandpa Whitman said. He turned to us. “You haven’t forgotten Edgar, have you?”

“No way,” I said. “Hey, Edgar.”

He nodded solemnly. His dark eyes studied Rachel and me coldly. “Hello again,” he whispered.

Edgar seldom speaks. When he does, it’s only in a whisper.

He takes care of the house and Grandpa Whitman. Grandpa told us: “Edgar is a strange man. But once you get to know him … he’s even stranger!”

One of Grandpa Whitman’s jokes. I think Mom got her wacky sense of humor from him.

Edgar carried our suitcases into the house. The sunlight faded. A cool breeze shook the trees.

“I want to show you my newest purchase,” Grandpa Whitman said. He motioned us toward the wide garage behind the house. The garage is big enough for at least four cars. But Grandpa Whitman has it filled up with cartons and cartons of his collections.

He disappeared into the garage. Rachel turned to me. “That dummy gave me the creeps,” she whispered. “I hate those things. Uh-oh. What’s he bringing out?”

It looked like a coiled-up rope. But as he strode closer, I saw the knotted loop at one end.

“It’s a noose!” I cried. “Grandpa — what are you going to do with that?”

His eyes narrowed. His expression suddenly turned hard and angry. “You’ll see,” he said. “You’ll see.”

Rachel took a step back. Her eyes were on the thick knot of the rope loop.

Grandpa Whitman laughed. “Just kidding you.” He waved the rope in his hand. “Actually, this is a valuable noose. That’s why I bought it for my noose collection.”

“A noose collection?” Rachel shook her head in disbelief.

I reached out and squeezed the rope. “Why is it valuable?” I asked.

Grandpa Whitman ran his hands around the loop. “This is the noose that was used to hang Big Barney Brandywine, the outlaw, in Laramie in 1836,” he explained. “I’ve been trying to buy this noose for years.”

“Why bother?” Rachel said. “It’s gross.”

I squeezed it again. “Wow. Can you imagine?” I said. “Someone was actually hanged by this rope.”

“Yuck.” Rachel made a disgusted face. “That’s horrible. Someone swinging from this rope? I don’t want to think about it. Take it away.”

Grandpa Whitman patted my shoulder. “Jackson gets the idea. This isn’t just a piece of rope. It’s a piece of American history.”

Grandpa Whitman turned and carried the noose back to the garage.

Rachel gave me a hard poke in the ribs. “
Jackson gets the idea … Jackson gets the idea …
” She mimicked Grandpa Whitman. “Jackson is perfect. Jackson gets the idea.”

She tried to poke me again, but I danced away. “Stop it, Rachel.”

“That rope was disgusting. But you had to act like you were so interested in it.”

“I
was
interested,” I insisted.

Grandpa Whitman came bouncing back across the grass. “What are you two talking about?”

“The noose,” I said.

He swept a hand through his white hair. “If you think that noose is scary, come with me,” he said. He started walking toward the house. “I’m going to show you the most terrifying creature in the whole house.”

He pulled open the front door and waved us inside. The front hall was almost as big as our whole house. The walls were covered in big paintings of old-fashioned-looking people. An enormous glass chandelier hung on a thick chain from the high ceiling.

I sniffed. “I smell chocolate.”

“I think Edgar is baking a cake,” Grandpa Whitman said. “To welcome you.”

I peeked into the dark living room. Small purple creatures floated up and down in a tall glass tank.

“Those are my jellyfish,” Grandpa Whitman said. “You can check them out later.”

“Are they poisonous?” Rachel asked.

“Probably,” Grandpa Whitman answered. “Follow me.”

He walked to the wide wooden staircase at the side of the room. The carpet on the stairway was tattered and worn. The stairs creaked and
groaned as Grandpa Whitman led us up to the second floor.

We followed him down the long, dimly lit hall. We passed a room filled with old radios. Another room had trains set up in a miniature town.

We stopped at the end of the hall. Grandpa Whitman pushed open a door. “Go ahead. Take a look,” he said.

Rachel and I stepped into the doorway and peered into the room.

Grandpa Whitman flashed on the light — and we both gasped.

Dozens of ugly, grinning faces stared back at us.

“Oh, wow,” I murmured. “I can’t believe this. So many dummies!”

The room was jammed with ventriloquist dummies.

I glanced around at half a dozen old-fashioned couches and chairs. Two low coffee tables sat side by side. And there were grinning dummies sprawled over every piece of furniture.

Some sat in little chairs. Several were on the floor with their backs against the wall. I saw a pile of dummies near the window, just heaped on top of one another.

Rachel shook her head. “I hate the way they’re all grinning.” She turned to Grandpa Whitman. “They’re so ugly and creepy. Why do you like them?”

He walked into the room. He smiled at the crowd of dummies. “These are my children.”

Rachel rolled her eyes.

“I think I have every famous dummy in history,” Grandpa said. “Look. That’s Mr. Tipply over there.” He pointed to a dummy wearing a black tuxedo and a tall black top hat. “He was in a dozen movies.”

He stepped into the middle of the wooden dolls. “That’s Charlie Harley and Foo-Foo. And the one with the goofy face and all the freckles? That’s Ronnie Rascal.”

“Thrills,” Rachel whispered.

“They’re awesome!” I said. “They are totally cool. They’re all different, and they’re all so funny looking.”

“These are all TV and movie stars,” Grandpa Whitman said. “They’re all famous.”

“Know what?” I told him. “I’d love to have a ventriloquist dummy to entertain the kids at the YC. I could put on great shows. You know. Do a comedy act.”

Grandpa scratched the back of his head. “Your mother always wanted to be a comedian. Beats me how she ever became a banker. What a mystery.”

I gazed from dummy to dummy. “The kids at the YC would love a funny ventriloquist act,” I said.

“They’d love it like a toothache,” Rachel muttered.

Grandpa Whitman laughed. “Rachel, you’re funny.”

“I was
serious
,” Rachel insisted.

A dummy in a gray suit and shiny black shoes caught my eye. It was perched in an armchair against the wall, away from the others. Something about this dummy sent a shiver down my back.

Its big head had an evil, red-lipped grin. And it appeared to be smiling right at me. The dummy’s dark, painted eyes locked on my face.

“What’s that one called?” I asked, pointing.

“That dummy is named Slappy,” Grandpa Whitman answered. “Let me tell you about that guy. He’s an interesting story.”

But before he could begin, Edgar slid into the room. He stepped in front of Rachel and me. His dark eyes were circles of fright.

“
Stay away from Slappy,
” Edgar rasped. “
Stay away from that one. I’m WARNING you!”

Grandpa Whitman’s face turned red. “Edgar, don’t scare them,” he said. “You’ve got to calm down. You’re acting like a frightened child. This dummy has a bad history. But he’s totally safe.”

Edgar backed away. But his worried expression didn’t change. “Listen to me,” he whispered. “Stay away from that one.”

Grandpa Whitman bumped past him and lifted the dummy from its armchair. “Say hi, Slappy.” He made the dummy wave its wooden hand.

“Gross,” Rachel muttered.

Grandpa Whitman carried the dummy over to us. “I’ll tell you the old legend about him. The legend that has Edgar so worked up.”

“It isn’t a legend,” Edgar insisted. “It’s the truth.”

Grandpa Whitman laughed. He winked at Rachel and me. “You can believe it if you want to. The story goes that an evil sorcerer carved
Slappy out of coffin wood. And he put a curse on the dummy.”

I stared at the dummy’s frozen, red-lipped grin. “A curse?”

Grandpa Whitman nodded. “If a bunch of strange words are said aloud, the dummy will come to life. It will turn its owner into a slave. And it will work to spread its evil everywhere.”

He made Slappy’s mouth open and close. Then Grandpa tilted the head back and made a shrill laughing sound through his teeth. “Anyone who owns Slappy will face a
horrifying
fate,” he said.

“It’s true. It’s true,” Edgar whispered. He had backed up to the wall. I saw beads of sweat on his bald head.

Rachel squeezed the dummy’s black shoe. Then she raised her eyes to Grandpa Whitman. “What if it
is
true? Why did you buy this dummy? Why did you buy something that could come to life and do horrible things?”

Grandpa shifted the dummy in his arms. “Because this
isn’t
Slappy,” he said softly.

“Not Slappy? What do you mean?” I asked.

“The original Slappy was destroyed a long time ago,” he answered. “He was destroyed so that his evil would die with him. This is only a copy. I call him
Son of Slappy
. This dummy is perfectly harmless.”

Rachel frowned at the dummy. “Are you sure?”

Grandpa Whitman nodded. “Only a copy.”

“Can I hold him?” I asked.

He settled the dummy into my arms. It was heavier than I thought. The wooden head must have weighed ten pounds!

I made the dummy sit up straight. I reached my hand into its back and fumbled for the controls to make the mouth move up and down.

And suddenly, the dummy screamed in a high, shrill voice: “
Let GO of me! Let GO or I’ll punch your teeth out!”