Goosebumps Most Wanted - 02 - Son of Slappy (8 page)

I swallowed. My throat was dry from laughing.

I forced myself away from the bed. I hurtled across the room. I grabbed my sister by the arm and pulled her into the hall.

“This — this is all
your
fault!” I cried breathlessly.

She tugged my hand off her arm. “Let go of me. Are you crazy? Mom wants to call Dr. Marx. Aunt Ada thinks you should go to the emergency room.”

“All your fault,” I repeated, trying to clear my mind.

“Jackson, what are you talking about?” Rachel demanded. “What did I do?”

“You shouted out 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 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 something.”

That’s as far as I got when I heard a sharp
chirp
.

The room tilted. Shadows slid over the kitchen. Then it became bright again. My mind suddenly felt strange….

Oh NO! What am I going to do now?

I froze.

Mom stared at me. “Jackson? What did you want to tell me?”

“Uh …” I hesitated. Then the words came from somewhere deep in my brain. “I just wanted to say that your face looks like something I pulled out of the garbage disposal.”

“Huh?” She gasped. I saw her hands tighten into fists.

“But no one notices your face because you smell so bad,” I said.

Mom’s eyes bulged. Her mouth was open, but no sound came out.

“Jackson — shut up. What’s your problem?” Rachel cried.

I spun around to face her. “Hey, I wrote a song for you,” I said. “It describes you perfectly.”

I took a breath and started to grunt.
“Oink oink oink oinnnk.”
I grunted like a pig.

“But cheer up,” I said. “You’re not a fat pig. You’re just an ugly, hairy pig.”

I tossed back my head and laughed.

“Jackson —
stop
!” Mom screamed. “Don’t say another word. I mean it. Not another word.”

I nodded. I took my fingers and made a zipping motion over my lips.

“That’s better,” Mom said. “We have to figure out what’s wrong with you. I’m not sure I can let you go to school like this.”

“He’s crazy,” Rachel said. “Last night he told me that dummy was making him say the bad things.”

Mom squinted at Rachel. “The dummy? That’s crazy. How could a dummy make Jackson say all those horrible things?”

Rachel grinned. She was enjoying this
too much
. “He says the dummy is alive,” she told Mom. “I told you — he’s gone nutso.”

Mom let out a long sigh. Her hands were still balled into tight fists. I could see how worried she was.

But what could I do? I wasn’t in control.

I walked to the breakfast table and picked up Rachel’s cereal bowl. Then I dumped it over her head.

Rachel screamed.

I watched the mushy clumps of cereal run down her hair and the sides of her face.

Mom grabbed me by the shoulders. “That’s the last straw!” She pushed me toward the door. “Go up to your room — now. Stay in there. I’m going to call your father. He and I have to discuss what to do with you.”

I started to the hall. But I turned back at the doorway and gazed at Rachel.
“Oink oink oink,”
I grunted.

Mom hurried to the table to help pull the clumps of cereal from Rachel’s hair. She and Rachel weren’t watching, so I stopped at the pantry. I grabbed Rachel’s jar of honey and carried it upstairs with me.

In my room, I found the new sweater Aunt Ada gave me. I spread it out on my bed. Then I opened the jar and poured the honey all over the sweater.

What a mess.

I set the jar down on the floor. Then I ran to the head of the stairs.

“Mom!” I shouted. “Mom! I don’t believe it! Hurry. Come quick! Look what Rachel did to my new sweater!”