Goosebumps Most Wanted - 02 - Son of Slappy (9 page)

Well, guess what? Mom didn’t believe for one second that Rachel poured the honey on my sweater.

She gasped in horror when she saw it. She was so upset, I saw tears in her eyes. Rachel stood in the doorway, shaking her head. I think even
she
was upset about what I had done.

Instead of yelling at me, Mom hugged me. “What is wrong, Jackson?” she said softly. “Can you tell me why you’re doing and saying these horrible things?”

I glimpsed Slappy, perched on the bed with that red-lipped grin frozen on his face. I was desperate to tell Mom the truth. Desperate to tell her that Slappy was alive and inside my head, making me do and say things I didn’t want to.

But who would believe that story?

I just shrugged and didn’t answer.

The next few days were not pleasant. Mom and Dad took me to see our family doctor. They
wanted Dr. Marx to give me pills to calm me down. The doctor talked to me for an hour and decided I should stay home for a few days and just relax.

In other words, I was totally grounded. I couldn’t go to school. And I couldn’t go to the YC to help the kids work on their skit.

I stayed in my room, playing games on my game-player until my thumbs were red and sore.

Stick brought me my homework every afternoon so I wouldn’t get behind. Miss Hathaway even came to visit one afternoon to tell me about things that were going on at school.

All week, my parents kept squinting at me day and night. Studying me like I was some kind of weird alien species. They were so totally tense, they watched my every move. Really. Once, I burped — and they both jumped.

I guess they expected me to go berserk again. Me? I didn’t know
what
to expect.

I carried Slappy to my clothes closet and sat him in a corner. Then I covered him in an old bedsheet. I made sure the closet door was shut tight.

I knew he could get out if he wanted to. But he didn’t move at all while I was grounded. And he stayed out of my mind and didn’t make me say anything horrible.

My parents were so happy that I seemed normal again, they let me go to the YC to help the kids with their skit.

Yes, it was nearly time for the big YC bake sale and show. Everyone was counting on me. The skit was going well. And I had promised I’d do a comedy act with Slappy.

But how could I bring that evil thing to the YC?

I didn’t know. I didn’t want to think about it.

But I kept wondering if maybe I could make a deal with Slappy. Promise him something in return for his being quiet at the YC show. Maybe promise I’d be a perfect son if he swore he wouldn’t ruin the whole night.

Stick, Miles, and I still hadn’t decided what to bake for the big bake sale competition. We were going to have a big meeting at Stick’s house to decide.

Mom and Dad discussed it. They didn’t really want me to go to Stick’s. They still wanted to keep me home, where they could watch me.

But I pleaded with them. I told them how much everyone at the YC was counting on me to help keep the YC alive. And I reminded them I’d been good for days.

Finally, they agreed to let me go to Stick’s house for a few hours.

“I promise I won’t get in any trouble,” I said, raising my right hand to swear. “I promise I’ll be just like the old me.”

Think I was able to keep that promise?

It was a warm, sunny day with a few puffy clouds high in the sky. The sunshine felt good on my face as I walked to Stick’s house.

It had poured down rain the night before. The sidewalks and the street still had deep puddles, and the grass gleamed wetly.

A black cat ran right in front of me as I turned the corner. But I didn’t care. I felt so lucky to be out of the house and out in the sunshine. And I felt lucky to feel like my old self.

Stick, Miles, and I still had a problem. We hadn’t thought up a better idea for what to bake. The giant cupcake was our most awesome idea. But of course, it was impossible.

I was thinking about cookies and cakes when I saw the little kid near the curb. He was about seven or eight. He had curly blond hair and a round red face. His black T-shirt came down nearly to the knees of his cargo jeans.

He was bent over his bike, tugging at the handlebars, making loud groaning sounds with each tug.

I hurried over to him. “Can I help?” I said. “What’s the problem?”

“It’s stuck,” he groaned. “My bike. I’m late for my tennis lesson. But my bike got stuck in the mud.”

“Stand back.” I pushed him gently to the side. “I’ll get it out. No problem.”

“Hey, thanks,” he said. He was breathing hard, and his face was still red from all the tugging.

I grabbed the handlebars and started to pull. But then I heard a loud
chirp
.

I let go of the handlebars. The sky darkened for a second. And it felt like the ground was shaking under my feet.

I turned from the bike. “Can I see your tennis racket?” I said.

The boy pointed to the basket on the front of the bike. I lifted the racket case from the basket.

I opened the case and slid out the tennis racket. “Nice,” I said. “Is it titanium?”

The little guy nodded.

I swung the racket hard and jammed the head deep in the mud.

“Hey!” The boy let out a cry.

Then I tugged the bike up from the mud. I raised it over my head in both hands — and
heaved
it into the street.

Then I dipped my hands into the mud. I swung around and wiped mud all over the boy’s face.

He screamed again and twisted away.

I tossed back my head and uttered a long Slappy laugh.

The boy started to cry. That made me laugh even harder.

Then I took off running. My feet slapped the sidewalk as I ran.

I gasped when I heard a man’s booming shout: “Hey, you! Come back here!”

I turned my head and saw Mr. Gurewitz, our neighbor.

He saw me. He saw what I did.

Now what?

“Come back here!” Gurewitz shouted.

I turned and ran toward the nearest house. I pushed open the wooden gate and darted along the garage to the backyard.

I could hear Gurewitz’s heavy footsteps. He was chasing after me. “Come back! Stop! I saw you!”

I ducked my head under a volleyball net and ran into the next yard. A man was watering his garden with a long hose. He had his back turned and didn’t see me as I crossed to the next house.

“Stop right there!” Mr. Gurewitz’s shout made the man spin around, and a powerful stream of water sprayed Gurewitz from head to foot.

Gurewitz cried out in shock. He stopped running.

I glimpsed him wiping water off his face as I turned and ducked along the side of a house. I made it to the street and kept running.

No sign of Gurewitz. I guess his cold shower made him give up.

I started to feel like myself again as I crossed the street onto Stick’s block. Two kids passed by on bikes. Both of them wore blue baseball caps and had iPod buds in their ears. They didn’t turn to look at me.

I stopped to catch my breath. I felt bad about the little boy with the tennis racket. How could I do such a mean thing?

Did Mr. Gurewitz recognize me? He only saw me from the back. But he probably knew it was me. That meant he would probably tell my parents.

And then … I was doomed.

I tried not to think about it as Stick greeted me at his front door. “Yo, what’s up?”

“Not much,” I said. I pictured the tennis racket jammed deep in the mud. “I’m feeling okay. Think I can go back to school on Monday.”

Miles popped up from the living room couch. “What for?” he asked. “You got it made, dude. You get to stay home all day.” He laughed.

“It’s way boring,” I said. I glimpsed the time display on the cable box on top of the TV. “Hey, let’s get going,” I said. “I’m only allowed to stay an hour or so. My parents are still on my case.”

“That’s cuz you’re a mental case!” Miles said.

“Not funny,” Stick said. “That’s not cool, Miles. Jackson isn’t a mental case. He’s a
nut
case.”

They both laughed. Stick’s mom walked into the room.

“What are you guys laughing about?” she asked. “Did someone burp?”

“Mom, give us a break,” Stick groaned. “We’re a little more sophisticated than that.”

Miles burped really loud, and we all laughed.

“You three are going to turn my kitchen into a disaster zone,” she said. “Will I need to hose it down when you’re finished?”

My heart skipped a beat. I thought of Mr. Gurewitz getting the hose spray in the face.

“No. We’ll be neat,” Stick told her. “I promise. We’ll clean it up perfectly when we’re done.”

“First we have to decide what to bake,” Miles said.

“Your giant cupcake idea was a real loser,” Mrs. Haggerty said.

“Thanks for the support, Mom.” Stick rolled his eyes.

“I know,” Miles said, jumping to his feet. “Why not bake regular cupcakes? We could do dozens of them. Maybe make the icing all different colors. Maybe the icing spells out something when they’re on the tray?”

“Cool,” I said. “Maybe put
Y
’s and
C
’s on the icing. You know. For YC?”

“You’re a good speller,” Mrs. Haggerty joked. “Okay, guys. Have fun. Just don’t make my
kitchen look like a tsunami rolled over it. I’m serious.”

We watched her walk out of the room. Then we made our way to the kitchen.

It took us a while to find a nice, easy cupcake recipe in Mrs. Haggerty’s collection of cookbooks. Then we scrambled around the kitchen in search of the ingredients for the cake batter.

“Have you ever baked anything before?” I asked my two friends.

They both shook their heads. “I made Cheerios once,” Miles said. “That’s all I ever made.”

“It’s easy,” Stick said, pouring flour into a big mixing bowl. “You just follow the recipe step by step. You can’t mess up.”

We poured a bunch of ingredients into the mixing bowl. Then we put the bowl under the mixer and started the blades whirring.

“It’s like magic!” Miles exclaimed. “Like science fiction or something. Look. It’s turning into chocolate cake batter.”

I sniffed it. “Smells like chocolate cake, too. This is totally awesome.”

Stick pulled cupcake pans from the cabinet. Each pan held six cupcakes. “We have to make a lot,” he said. “No one will be impressed if we walk in with twelve cupcakes. We need a hundred!”

I shook my head. “I don’t think we have enough batter.” All three of us stared into the bowl. The
thick chocolate glop looked about ready to pour into the baking trays.

“Tell you what,” Stick said. “Miles and I will run to Garrity’s on the corner. We’ll buy cake batter mixes. It’ll take five minutes.” He pointed to the bowl. “You stay and mix, Jackson.”

And that’s what happened. Stick got his wallet. Then he and Miles ran to the store. I stood at the mixer, watching it slowly fold the chocolate batter.

And then, a few seconds after my friends were out the door, I heard a loud
chirp
.

“Oh nooo,” I groaned.

The room shook. The floor tilted up, then down.

“No. Please. Please. No.”

I struggled. I tried to fight it. But I wasn’t strong enough.

I had to give in.

I’m the Son of Slappy. I can’t stop myself!