شبی با عروسک زنده فصل 17

Night of the Living Dummy - Chapter 17

“You have to believe me!” Kris cried in a trembling voice. “I really didn’t say any of those things. Mr. Wood was talking by himself!” Lindy rolled her eyes. “Tell me another one,” she muttered sarcastically.

Lindy had followed Kris upstairs. Down in the living room, her parents were still apologizing to the Millers. Now, Kris sat on the edge of her bed, wiping tears off her cheeks. Lindy stood with her arms crossed in front of the dressing table.

“I don’t make insulting jokes like that,” Kris said, glancing at Mr. Wood, who lay crumpled in the center of the floor where Kris had tossed him. “You know that isn’t my sense of humor.” “So why’d you do it?” Lindy demanded. “Why’d you want to make everyone mad?”

“But I didn’t!” Kris shrieked, tugging at the sides of her hair. “Mr. Wood said those things! I didn’t!” “How can you be such a copycat?” Lindy asked disgustedly. “I already did that joke, Kris. Can’t you think of something original?” “It’s not a joke,” Kris insisted. “Why don’t you believe me?”

“No way,” Lindy replied, shaking her head, her arms still crossed in front of her chest. “No way I’m going to fall for the same gag.” “Lindy, please!” Kris pleaded. “I’m frightened. I’m really frightened.”

“Yeah. Sure,” Lindy said sarcastically. “I’m shaking all over, too. Wow. You really fooled me, Kris. Guess you showed me you can play funny tricks, too.” “Shut up!” Kris snapped. More tears formed in the corners of her eyes.

“Very good crying,” Lindy said. “But it doesn’t fool me, either. And it won’t fool Mom and Dad.” She turned and picked up Slappy. “Maybe Slappy and I should practice some jokes. After your performance tonight, Mom and Dad might not let you do the concert tomorrow night.” She slung Slappy over her shoulder and, stepping over the crumpled form of Mr. Wood, hurried from the room.

It was hot and noisy backstage in the auditorium. Kris’ throat was dry, and she kept walking over to the water fountain and slurping mouthfuls of the warm water.

The voices of the audience on the other side of the curtain seemed to echo off all four walls and the ceiling. The louder the noise became as the auditorium filled, the more nervous Kris felt.

How am I ever going to do my act in front of all those people? she asked herself, pulling the edge of the curtain back a few inches and peering out. Her parents were off to the side, in the third row.

Seeing them brought memories of the night before flooding back to Kris. Her parents had grounded her for two weeks as punishment for insulting the Millers. They almost hadn’t let her come to the concert.

Kris stared at the kids and adults filing into the large auditorium, recognizing a lot of faces. She realized her hands were ice cold. Her throat was dry again.

Don’t think of it as an audience, she told herself. Think of it as a bunch of kids and parents, most of whom you know.

Somehow that made it worse.

She let go of the curtain, hurried to get one last drink from the fountain, then retrieved Mr. Wood from the table she had left him on.

It suddenly grew quiet on the other side of the curtain. The concert was about to begin.

“Break a leg!” Lindy called across to her as she hurried to join the other chorus members.

“Thanks,” Kris replied weakly. She pulled up Mr. Wood and straightened his shirt. “Your hands are clammy!” she made him say.

“No insults tonight,” Kris told him sternly.

To her shock, the dummy blinked.

“Hey!” she cried. She hadn’t touched his eye controls.

She had a stab of fear that went beyond stage fright. Maybe I shouldn’t go on with this, she thought, staring intently at Mr. Wood, watching for him to blink again.

Maybe I should say I’m sick and not perform with him.

“Are you nervous?” a voice whispered.

“Huh?” At first, she thought it was Mr. Wood. But then she quickly realized that it was Mrs. Berman, the music teacher.

“Yeah. A little,” Kris admitted, feeling her face grow hot.

“You’ll be terrific,” Mrs. Berman gushed, squeezing Kris’ shoulder with a sweaty hand. She was a large, heavyset woman with several chins, a red lipsticked mouth, and flowing black hair. She was wearing a long, loose-fitting dress of red-and-blue flower patterns. “Here goes,” she said, giving Kris’ shoulder one more squeeze.

Then she stepped onstage, blinking against the harsh white light of the spotlight, to introduce Kris and Mr. Wood.

Am I really doing this? Kris asked herself.

Can I do this?

Her heart was pounding so hard, she couldn’t hear Mrs. Berman’s introduction. Then, suddenly, the audience was applauding, and Kris found herself walking across the stage to the microphone, carrying Mr. Wood in both hands.

Mrs. Berman, her flowery dress flowing around her, was heading offstage. She smiled at Kris and gave her an encouraging wink as they passed each other.

Squinting against the bright spotlight, Kris walked to the middle of the stage. Her mouth felt as dry as cotton. She wondered if she could make a sound.

A folding chair had been set up for her. She sat down, arranging Mr. Wood on her lap, then realized that the microphone was much too high.

This drew titters of soft laughter from the audience.

Embarrassed, Kris stood up and, holding Mr. Wood under one arm, struggled to lower the microphone.

“Are you having trouble?” Mrs. Berman called from the side of the stage. She hurried over to help Kris.

But before the music teacher got halfway across the stage, Mr. Wood leaned into the microphone. “What time does the blimp go up?” he rasped nastily, staring at Mrs. Berman’s dress.

“What?” She stopped in surprise.

“Your face reminds me of a wart I had removed!” Mr. Wood growled at the startled woman.

Her mouth dropped open in horror. “Kris!”

“If we count your chins, will it tell us your age?”

There was laughter floating up from the audience. But it was mixed with gasps of horror.

“Kris—that’s enough!” Mrs. Berman cried, the microphone picking up her angry protest.

“You’re more than enough! You’re enough for two!” Mr. Wood declared nastily. “If you got any bigger, you’d need your own zip code!” “Kris—really! I’m going to ask you to apologize,” Mrs. Berman said, her face bright red.

“Mrs. Berman, I—I’m not doing it!” Kris stammered. “I’m not saying these things!”

“Please apologize. To me and to the audience,” Mrs. Berman demanded.

Mr. Wood leaned into the microphone. “Apologize for THIS!” he screamed.

The dummy’s head tilted back. His jaw dropped. His mouth opened wide.

And a thick green liquid came spewing out.

“Yuck!” someone screamed.

It looked like pea soup. It spurted up out of Mr. Wood’s open mouth like water rushing from a fire hose.

Voices screamed and cried out their surprise as the thick, green liquid showered over the people in the front rows.

“Stop it!”

“Help!”

“Somebody—turn it off!”

“It stinks!”

Kris froze in horror, staring as more and more of the disgusting substance poured from her dummy’s gaping mouth.

A putrid stench—the smell of sour milk, of rotten eggs, of burning rubber, of decayed meat—rose up from the liquid. It puddled over the stage and showered over the front seats.

Blinded by the spotlight, Kris couldn’t see the audience in front of her. But she could hear the choking and the gagging, the frantic cries for help.

“Clear the auditorium! Clear the auditorium!” Mrs. Berman was shouting.

Kris heard the rumble and scrape of people shoving their way up the aisles and out the doors.

“It stinks!”

“I’m sick!”

“Somebody—help!”

Kris tried to clamp her hand over the dummy’s mouth. But the force of the putrid green liquid frothing and spewing out was too strong. It pushed her hand away.

Suddenly she realized she was being shoved from behind. Off the stage. Away from the shouting people fleeing the auditorium. Out of the glaring spotlight.

She was backstage before she realized that it was Mrs. Berman who was pushing her.

“I—I don’t know how you did that. Or why!” Mrs. Berman shouted angrily, frantically wiping splotches of the disgusting green liquid off the front of her dress with both hands. “But I’m going to see that you’re suspended from school, Kris! And if I have my way,” she sputtered, “you’ll be suspended for life!”