Slappy New Year!, Page 2
R. L. Stine
“What’s so scary about this?” Brandon demanded. “What’s the special part? It’s just a bunch of mirrors. They aren’t curved or twisted or anything.”
“You’re right,” I said. I turned to him — and gasped. “Hey — where are you?”
“What do you mean, Ray?”
“I — I can’t see you,” I replied. My heart started to pound.
“Stop it, Ray,” Brandon snapped. “You’re not funny. I’m so sick of your dumb jokes.”
“I’m not joking,” I said. “Brandon, I really can’t see you!”
“But I’m standing right next to you!” he cried.
I gazed into the mirrors. Yes. There he was. Standing beside me. His face twisted in an angry frown.
“I can see your reflections,” I said. “But I can’t see you.”
“You jerk.” Brandon gave me a hard shove that sent my shoulder crashing into a mirror. “See me now?”
“No,” I told him. “I’m not joking, Brandon.”
“Look,” he said. “Look at my reflections. See me pointing at the mirror? See me getting ready to punch you in the stomach?”
“I … I see the reflection,” I said. “But I can’t see you standing next to me. I’m not joking, Brandon. I’m totally serious.”
He turned away from the mirrors. There was a long silence.
He finally spoke. “Oh, wow,” he said with a moan. “Oh, wow. Ray. Now I can’t see you, either.”
We were both silent for a long time.
“This has to be some kind of light trick,” I murmured. “The lights up on the ceiling block us out somehow.”
“But — that’s impossible,” Brandon answered in a whisper.
Then I looked down — and gasped again. “Oh, noo,” I moaned. “Brandon, I can’t see myself!”
I waved my hands in front of my face. I couldn’t see them.
I saw them moving in the mirror in front of me. But I couldn’t see my hands in front of me!
“I’m invisible, too!” Brandon cried. “Ray — help me. I’m invisible!”
“Somebody let us out of here!” I shouted. My voice came out hoarse and frightened. I started to pound on a mirror with both fists. “Let us out of here! Somebody — let us OUT!”
And then I stopped pounding. My words choked in my throat. And I staggered back as the reflections in the mirror began to move.
Brandon and me. Our reflections. All down the two long rows of mirrors, they tossed back their heads and began to laugh.
“AAAAIIIIIIIEEEE!”
I opened my mouth in a scream of horror that drowned out the crazy laughter from the mirrors.
Our reflections laughed and laughed. Cold, mechanical laughter. Cold and cruel.
I felt a stab of pain and realized Brandon was squeezing my arm. I couldn’t see him. I couldn’t see myself. But I felt his hand grabbing me in panic.
I stumbled back against a mirror. I pressed my hands over my ears, trying to shut out the wild laughter.
And suddenly the reflections all vanished. The mirrors went blank. Dark, empty mirrors.
No reflections. And no Brandon and me.
I stood there in silence. I realized I was holding my breath. I let it out in a long whoosh. My legs were trembling. I stared straight ahead at the dark mirror in front of me.
“Hey!” I uttered a startled shout as bright lights flashed on.
Blinking, I turned and saw Brandon. Yes! He was standing there, looking as shocked as I was.
We stared at each other for a long moment. There we were. Back. Under the bright lights. Our reflections bright in front of us.
The door swung open.
We raced each other, bumping, squeezing down the narrow aisle. Out into the daylight.
I struggled to catch my breath. The cool afternoon air felt good on my hot, sweaty face. “Yaaaaay!” I pumped my fists above my head.
I stopped when Winn-Doe appeared in our path. My reflection stared back at me from his mirrored face.
“You liked it?” he asked.
Brandon and I stared at him. We were both still breathing hard.
“How did you do that?” I finally found my voice. “Tell us! How did you make us invisible like that?”
“Yeah,” Brandon chimed in. “How did you make our reflections laugh at us?”
Winn-Doe scratched his glassy head with a mirrored hand. “Huh? Do what?” he asked. “It’s just a Hall of Mirrors.”
“You turned us invisible,” I said. “And you made our reflections laugh at us.”
“What are you saying?” Winn-Doe replied. “That’s impossible!”
I stared at him. My brain whirred. “You mean …” I started. “You mean you don’t know about it? Really?”
“It’s just mirrors,” Winn-Doe said. “That’s all. A long, dark room with mirrors.”
“But …” Brandon started.
“Prove it to me,” Winn-Doe said. He grabbed my hand and started to pull me back to the Hall of Mirrors. “Let’s go back inside, guys. Prove it to me.”
“No way!” I cried.
No way was I going back into that creepy little building!
“Brandon — run!” I cried. I swung my hand free of Winn-Doe’s grip and took off.
Brandon came lumbering after me.
I didn’t look back. Was Winn-Doe chasing after us? I didn’t care. I just wanted to get away from him.
I pushed open the gate to the test area and burst back into the park. Brandon and I ran full speed into a crowd of people.
We ran until we were back in Zombie Plaza. I gazed all around at the shops and food stands. I nearly crashed into a drinks cart selling DEAD SKUNK & DIET DEAD SKUNK. TASTES GREAT IF YOU HOLD YOUR NOSE WHILE YOU DRINK.
“I think … I think he’s coming after us.” Brandon’s voice cracked. His black hair was matted to his forehead with sweat. His chest heaved up and down.
I pointed. “We’ll hide in that shop.”
We dodged through the crowd. Up to the front door of a little store at the end of the row.
CHILLER HOUSE. That’s what the sign above the door said. I saw skulls and funny dolls and other souvenirs in the front window.
I pulled open the door and bolted inside.
A bell rang overhead.
Brandon stumbled in after me.
We made our way to the back of the shop. I kept glancing at the door. No sign of Winn-Doe.
The shop was long and narrow. Cluttered shelves and display cases rose up on both sides of us.
I bumped into a wall display of brown shrunken heads. The heads bobbed and swayed as if they were alive.
“Check this out,” Brandon said. He held up a building set for kids. Coffin Fun Kit. The box showed a little man lying in a handmade wooden coffin with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Sweet,” I said.
I picked up a plastic snake. It was actually a candy dispenser. When you squeezed its jaws open, a piece of candy slid out.
“Awesome store,” I muttered. I checked the door. Still no sign of Winn-Doe. Maybe we lost him.
“Whoa.” I saw something way cool on a table across from me. A wooden ventriloquist’s dummy. It wore a tight-fitting gray suit and polka dot bow tie. Its brown hair was painted on its head. Its glassy blue eyes appeared to stare up at me.
It had an ugly, totally evil grin on its painted red lips.
“Brandon, check out this awesome dummy,” I said. My brother dropped what he was looking at and came over.
I reached for the dummy and started to lift it into my arms.
Before I could pick it up, the dummy opened its mouth and shouted: “Get your clammy hands off me!”
“Hey!” I uttered a cry. I jumped back and fell onto Brandon.
An old man popped up behind the dummy. He had a shiny forehead with thinning white hair combed straight back. He wore weird-looking square glasses at the end of his nose. And he was dressed in a brown suit and vest that looked like they came from an old movi
e.
He held the dummy up in his hands. “Did you think Slappy here was talking?” he asked.
“Well …” I started. “I was a little surprised —”
The man laughed. A gold tooth sparkled on the side of his mouth. “I confess. I did it,” he said. He set the dummy down on the counter behind him.
“Welcome to Chiller House.” He waved his hand around the shop. I noticed that his shirt cuff was ruffled. “My name is Jonathan Chiller,” he said. “Do you like Slappy?”
“Yes,” I said. “Is he very expensive?”
“Not very,” Chiller replied.
“You don’t want him!” Brandon said. He pushed me away from the dummy. “He’s too ugly and evil looking.”
Chiller snickered. “He does have an evil grin — doesn’t he?”
“I think he’s cool,” I said. “Maybe I’ll start a dummy collection.”
I collect a lot of stuff. Dad says I have the collecting bug. That makes it sound like a disease. But I think it’s fun.
I have a skateboard collection, and a Transformers collection, and a baseball card collection, and a cereal box collection. And a lot of others.
I gazed at the grinning dummy. I pictured six or seven dummies like him sitting around in my room.
“Don’t buy it, Ray,” Brandon said, tugging my arm. “Really. I don’t like it.”
“It’s not for you — it’s for me,” I said.
“But I’ll see it every time I go in your room,” Brandon said. “It will give me nightmares. You know I’m afraid of puppets and dummies.”
“That’s way dumb,” I said. “Get over it.”
Brandon pulled me toward the door. “Come on, Ray. That weird mirror guy is gone. Let’s get out of here.”
I could see that my big little brother was really afraid of the dummy. I have to help the poor guy get over his fears, I decided.
“I’ll buy the dummy,” I said to Chiller.
The old man’s eyes twinkled behind the square glasses. “Very good. Slappy is yours. Come up front.”
He picked up the dummy and carried it to the cash register at the counter. I followed after him.
Brandon grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. “Please —” he whined. “Please don’t buy that thing, Ray. It’s too creepy. Remember that movie you made me watch? The one with the dummy that comes to life and kills all those people?”
I laughed. “Yeah. That was funny. Awesome movie.”
Then I remembered how angry Mom and Dad were at me for making Brandon watch that film. He had nightmares and had to sleep in their bed for a week!
“Dummies don’t come alive in real life,” I told Brandon. “So grow up.”
“Please —” Brandon whined. “This one is so totally creepy.”
I stepped up to the counter. “Don’t listen to my brother. I’ll take the dummy,” I told Jonathan Chiller.
Chiller opened a drawer and pulled out a little green-and-purple doll. He held it up. It looked just like the Horrors who work in HorrorLand.
He tucked the little figure into the pocket of Slappy’s jacket. “Take a little Horror home with you,” Chiller said.
“We don’t want it!” Brandon cried.
I ignored him. I reached for my money. “How much is it?” I asked.
Chiller waved a hand. “No. Don’t pay me now,” he said. He lifted the dummy into my arms. “You can pay me next time.”
Huh? Next time?
What does he mean by that?
“Let’s go,” Brandon said. He kept shaking his head unhappily. “Mom and Dad are waiting, Ray. They’re not going to be happy about that dummy.”
“Don’t be a total jerk,” I said. I flung the dummy over my shoulder. Then I thanked Jonathan Chiller and followed Brandon back out onto Zombie Plaza.
The park was crowded. A Horror walked past with dozens of black helium balloons bobbing over his head. All the balloons in HorrorLand were black.
“Want a balloon?” I asked Brandon. “Oh, wait. You’re probably scared of balloons.”
“Don’t be mean to me,” Brandon pouted. He stuck out his bottom lip. “Don’t make fun of me, Ray. You’ll be sorry about that dummy. You really will.”
We walked toward the hotel. The dummy bounced on my shoulder. Brandon had his pouty face on the whole way.
We were almost to the hotel when the dummy tilted its head toward Brandon. And it said in a hoarse whisper: “You’ll be sorry, punk!”
Brandon punched me in the back. “Stop it, Ray. That’s not funny. Stop it!”
I turned to him. “Stop what?” I asked. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Stop trying to scare me,” Brandon said. “You made the dummy talk. I know you did!”
I squinted hard at him. “Huh? Me? Are you crazy?”
Back home two days early.
That’s right. Mom and Dad cut our HorrorLand visit short. Why? Three guesses.
Brandon. Brandon. Brandon.
My big, hulking little brother was too scared of everything. So we had to come home.
You know how to spell his name? A-N-N-O-Y-I-N-G.
A few days later, I woke up early. I don’t know why. It was a Saturday morning. I usually sleep late. But that day, I woke up before everyone else.
I opened one eye and saw Slappy staring at me from the little rocking chair I put him in next to my bedroom window. Chuckling to myself, I picked him up and tiptoed out of my room.
I crept silently down the hall. The floorboards felt cold under my bare feet. The house was silent. I could hear the refrigerator humming downstairs.
Brandon sleeps with his door shut tight. He’s afraid of wild animals or werewolves or a killer bat bursting in while he’s asleep. He also has two night-lights. Because one isn’t bright enough.
Carefully, I turned the doorknob and pushed open his bedroom door. It creaked a little. I peeked in. No. It didn’t wake him.
His jeans and T-shirts from the whole week were piled in a heap in the middle of the floor. His SpongeBob SquarePants pillow lay on the floor beside his bed.
I saw his paint jars and other supplies lined up neatly on his art table. My brother is a pretty good artist. He likes to paint and make sculptures and papier-mâché animals and stuff.
Silently, I stepped into his room. Carrying Slappy in front of me, I tiptoed up to his bed.
Brandon was sound asleep on his side, one arm tucked under his pillow.
Holding my breath, I crept behind him. Then I lowered myself to the floor.
I ducked real low and raised the dummy’s head over the bed. I brought it real close to Brandon’s pillow, just a few inches from his nose.
And then I screamed at the top of my lungs in a high, shrill voice: “KILL! KILL! KILL!”
I’ll never forget the look on my brother’s face as he woke up. Opened his eyes — and saw the dummy in his face, shrieking at him.
“KILL! KILL! KILL!”
What a riot!
Brandon tried to scream. But he choked instead, and a gob of drool dripped down his chin.
He leaped from the bed. Got all tangled in his covers. Hit the floor on his elbows and knees.
Then he started to scream for Mom and Dad. He pulled himself up and tore out of his room. I heard his heavy, thudding footsteps as he ran screaming down the hall.
A few seconds later, he was crying and whining in Mom and Dad’s room. Quietly, I picked up Slappy and ran down the hall back to my room.
I dropped Slappy back into his rocking chair. Then I jumped back into bed, pulled the covers over me, and pretended to be asleep.
Mom and Dad came stomping into my room.
“Ray — we need to talk to you!”
“Why did you scare your little brother again?”
I pretended to wake up slowly. I yawned and blinked my eyes. “Huh? Scared who?” I asked in a sleepy voice.
But they weren’t fooled.
“We heard you running back to your room, Ray,” Mom said.
“You know he’s frightened of puppets and things,” Mom said.
I saw Brandon back in my doorway, head down, whimpering softly to himself. He was making a big deal of it. He wasn’t really that scared.
“Is that why you bought this ugly doll?” Dad demanded. “To scare your brother?”
“No,” I said. “I’m going to start collecting dummies. I think they’re cool.”
“Don’t you have enough collections?” Mom asked. “You have so many collections, I can’t ever clean this room!” She stared hard at the flowerpots holding my toadstool collection on the windowsill.
I climbed out of bed, crossed the room, and took the dummy from Dad’s hands. “I’m going to learn how to throw my voice,” I said.
“Just don’t scare Brandon with it,” Dad said. He crossed his arms over his pajama shirt and gave me the fish eye. He thinks that makes him look angry. But it just makes him look weird.
“You really want to have that New Year’s Eve party — right?” Mom said. “You and Elena?”
“She’s his girlfriend,” Brandon said from the doorway.
“She is NOT!” I screamed. “You’re just jealous because you don’t have any friends!”
“Brandon has lots of friends,” Mom said. “Don’t change the subject, Ray. If you and Elena want to have that New Year’s party, you’ve got to change your attitude.”
“Okay. It’s changed,” I said.
Elena and I really wanted to have this party for our whole class. That’s because adults always forget about kids on New Year’s Eve. They leave us home watching TV. And there’s nowhere for us to hang out.
Elena and I had this great idea for a party, which is going to make us totally popular with everybody. And that’s a good thing — right?
“Mom, we have to have the party,” I said. “Everyone in my class is counting on us.”
“Well, you have to earn it,” Mom said. “First, I want you to make a list of New Year’s resolutions.”
“Good idea,” Dad said. “Make a list of all the ways you’re going to be better and nicer next year.”
I stared at them both. “You’re serious about this?”
