شبی با عروسک زنده 2 فصل 08

Night of the Living Dummy 2 - Chapter 8

Everyone started shouting at once.

I stood up and dropped Slappy facedown on the armchair.

My legs were trembling. My entire body was shaking.

What’s going on here? I asked myself. I didn’t say those things. I really didn’t.

But Slappy can’t be talking on his own—can he?

Of course not, I realized.

But what did that mean? Did that mean I was saying those horrible, insulting things to my parents without even knowing it?

Mom and Dad stood side by side, staring at me angrily, demanding to know why I insulted them.

“Did you really think that was funny?” Mom asked. “Didn’t you think it would hurt my feelings to call me fatso?” Meanwhile, Jed was sprawled on his back in the middle of the floor, giggling like a moron. He thought the whole thing was a riot.

Sara sat cross-legged against the wall, shaking her head, her black hair falling over her face. “You’re in major trouble,” she muttered. “What’s your problem, Amy?” I turned to Mom and Dad. My hands were balled into tight fists. I couldn’t stop shaking.

“You’ve got to believe me!” I shrieked. “I didn’t say those things! I really didn’t!” “Yeah. Right. Slappy is a baaad dude!” Jed chimed in, grinning.

“Everybody, just be quiet!” Dad screamed. His face turned bright red.

Mom squeezed his arm. She didn’t like it when he got too angry or excited. I guess she worried he might totally explode or something.

Dad crossed his arms in front of his chest. I saw that he had a sweat stain on the chest of his polo shirt. His face was still red.

The room suddenly fell silent.

“Amy, we’re not going to believe you,” Dad said softly.

“But—but—but—”

He raised a hand to silence me.

“You’re a wonderful storyteller, Amy,” Dad continued. “You make up wonderful fantasies and fairy tales. But we’re not going to believe this one. I’m sorry. We’re not going to believe that your dummy spoke up on his own.” “But he did!” I screamed. I felt like bursting out in sobs. I bit my lip hard, trying to force them back.

Dad shook his head. “No, Slappy didn’t insult us. You said those things, Amy. You did. And now I want you to apologize to your mother and me. Then I want you to take your dummy and go to your room.” There was no way they’d ever believe me. No way. I wasn’t sure I believed it myself.

“Sorry,” I muttered, still holding back the tears. “Really. I’m sorry.” With an unhappy sigh, I lifted Slappy off the chair. I carried him around the waist so that his arms and legs dangled toward the floor. “Good night,” I said. I walked slowly toward my room.

“What about my turn?” I heard Sara ask.

“Sharing Night is over,” Dad replied grumpily. “You two—get lost. Leave your mom and me alone.” Dad sounded really upset.

I didn’t blame him.

I stepped into my room and closed the door behind me. Then I lifted Slappy up, holding him under the shoulders. I raised his face to mine.

His eyes seemed to stare into my face.

Such cold blue eyes, I thought.

His bright red lips curled up into that smirking grin. The smile suddenly seemed evil. Mocking.

As if Slappy were laughing at me.

But of course that was impossible. My wild imagination was playing tricks on me, I decided.

Frightening tricks.

Slappy was just a dummy, after all. Just a hunk of painted wood.

I stared hard into those cold blue eyes. “Slappy, look at all the trouble you caused me tonight,” I told him.

Thursday night had been awful. Totally awful.

But Friday turned out to be much worse.