شبی با عروسک زنده 2 فصل 04

Night of the Living Dummy 2 - Chapter 4

Margo came over the next afternoon. Margo is real tiny, sort of like a mini-person. She has a tiny face, and is very pretty, with bright blue eyes, and delicate features.

Her blond hair is very light and very fine. She let it grow this year. It’s just about down to her tiny little waist.

She’s nearly a foot shorter than me, even though we both turned twelve in February. She’s very smart and very popular. But the boys like to make fun of her soft, whispery voice.

Today she was wearing a bright blue tank top tucked into white tennis shorts. “I bought the new Beatles collection,” she told me as she stepped into the house. She held up a CD box.

Margo loves the Beatles. She doesn’t listen to any of the new groups. In her room, she has an entire shelf of Beatles CDs and tapes. And she has Beatles posters on her walls.

We went to my room and put on the CD. Margo settled on the bed. I sprawled on the carpet across from her.

“My dad almost didn’t let me come over,” Margo told me, pushing her long hair behind her shoulder. “He thought he might need me to work at the restaurant.” Margo’s dad owns a huge restaurant downtown called The Party House. It’s not really a restaurant. It’s a big, old house filled with enormous rooms where people can hold parties.

A lot of kids have birthday parties there. And there are bar mitzvahs and confirmations and wedding receptions there, too. Sometimes there are six parties going on at once!

One Beatles song ended. The next song, “Love Me Do”, started up.

“I love this song!” Margo exclaimed. She sang along with it for a while. I tried singing with her, but I’m totally tone deaf. As my dad says, I can’t carry a tune in a wheelbarrow.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t have to work today,” I told Margo.

“Me, too,” Margo sighed. “Dad always gives me the worst jobs. You know. Clearing tables. Or putting away dishes. Or wrapping up garbage bags. Yuck.” She started singing again—and then stopped. She sat up on the bed. “Amy, I almost forgot. Dad may have a job for you.” “Excuse me?” I replied. “Wrapping up garbage bags? I don’t think so, Margo.”

“No. No. Listen,” Margo pleaded excitedly in her mouselike voice. “It’s a good job. Dad has a bunch of birthday parties coming up. For teeny tiny kids. You know. Two-year-olds. Maybe three- or four-year-olds. And he thought you could entertain them.” “Huh?” I stared at my friend. I still didn’t understand. “You mean, sing or something?”

“No. With Dennis,” Margo explained. She twisted a lock of hair around in her fingers and bobbed her head in time to the music as she talked. “Dad saw you with Dennis at the sixth-grade talent night. He was really impressed.” “He was? I was terrible that night!” I replied.

“Well, Dad didn’t think so. He wonders if you’d like to come to the birthday parties and put on a show with Dennis. The little kids will love it. Dad said he’d even pay you.” “Wow! That’s cool!” I replied. What an exciting idea.

Then I remembered something.

I jumped to my feet, crossed the room to the chair, and held up Dennis’ head. “One small problem,” I groaned.

Margo let go of her hair and made a sick face. “His head? Why did you take off his head?”

“I didn’t,” I replied. “It fell off. Every time I use Dennis, his head falls off.”

“Oh.” Margo uttered a disappointed sigh. “The head looks weird all by itself. I don’t think little kids would like it if it fell off.” “I don’t think so,” I agreed.

“It might frighten them or something,” Margo said. “You know. Give them nightmares. Make them think their own head might fall off.” “Dennis is totally wrecked. Dad promised me a new dummy. But he hasn’t been able to find one.”

“Too bad,” Margo replied. “You’d have fun performing for the kids.”

We listened to more Beatles music. Then Margo had to go home.

A few minutes after she left, I heard the front door slam.

“Hey, Amy! Amy—are you home?” I heard Dad call from the living room.

“Coming!” I called. I made my way to the front of the house. Dad stood in the entryway, a long carton under his arm, a smile on his face.

He handed the carton to me. “Happy Un-birthday!” he exclaimed.

“Dad! Is it—?” I cried. I tore open the carton. “Yes!” A new dummy!

I lifted him carefully out of the carton.

The dummy had wavy brown hair painted on top of his wooden head. I studied his face. It was kind of strange. Kind of intense. His eyes were bright blue—not faded like Dennis’. He had bright red painted lips, curved up into an eerie smile. His lower lip had a chip on one side so that it didn’t quite match the other lip.

As I pulled him from the box, the dummy appeared to stare into my eyes. The eyes sparkled. The grin grew wider.

I felt a sudden chill. Why does this dummy seem to be laughing at me? I wondered.

I held him up, examining him carefully. He wore a gray, double-breasted suit over a white shirt collar. The collar was stapled to his neck. He didn’t have a shirt. Instead, his wooden chest had been painted white.

Big, black leather shoes were attached to the ends of his thin, dangling legs.

“Dad—he’s great!” I exclaimed.

“I found him in a pawnshop,” Dad said, picking up the dummy’s hand and pretending to shake hands with it. “How do you do, Slappy.” “Slappy? Is that his name?”

“That’s what the man in the store said,” Dad replied. He lifted Slappy’s arms, examining his suit. “I don’t know why he sold Slappy so cheaply. He practically gave the dummy away!” I turned the dummy around and looked for the string in his back that made the mouth open and close. “He’s excellent, Dad,” I said. I kissed my dad on the cheek. “Thanks.” “Do you really like him?” Dad asked.

Slappy grinned up at me. His blue eyes stared into mine. He seemed to be waiting for an answer, too.

“Yes. He’s awesome!” I said. “I like his serious eyes. They look so real.”

“The eyes move,” Dad said. “They’re not painted on like Dennis’. They don’t blink, but they move from side to side.” I reached my hand inside the dummy’s back. “How do you make his eyes move?” I asked.

“The man showed me,” Dad said. “It’s not hard. First you grab the string that works the mouth.” “I’ve got that,” I told him.

“Then you move your hand up into the dummy’s head. There is a little lever up there. Do you feel it? Push on it. The eyes will move in the direction you push.” “Okay. I’ll try,” I said.

Slowly I moved my hand up inside the dummy’s back. Through the neck. And into his head.

I stopped and let out a startled cry as my hand hit something soft.

Something soft and warm.

His brain!