شبی با عروسک زنده 2 فصل 14

Night of the Living Dummy 2 - Chapter 14

I pointed triumphantly at Slappy. “See? See?”

The dummy sat crossed-legged on the closet floor. His head stood erect on his narrow shoulders. He appeared to grin up at us.

Slappy’s left hand rested on the closet floor. His right hand was in his lap.

And in his right hand he clutched a fat paintbrush.

The bristles on the brush were caked with red paint.

“I told you Slappy did it!” I cried, stepping back so the others could get a better view.

But everyone remained silent. Mom and Dad frowned and shook their heads.

Jed’s giggle broke the silence. “This is dumb,” he told Sara.

Sara lowered her eyes and didn’t reply.

“Oh, Amy,” Mom said, sighing. “Did you really think you could blame it on the dummy by putting the paintbrush in his hand?” “Huh?” I cried. I didn’t understand what Mom was saying.

“Did you really expect us to believe this?” Dad asked softly. His eyes stared hard into mine.

“Did you think you could put the brush into Slappy’s hand, and make us think he painted your name on Sara’s walls?” “But I didn’t!” I shrieked.

“When did he learn how to spell?” Jed chimed in.

“Be quiet, Jed,” Dad said sharply. “This is serious. It isn’t a joke.” “Sara, take Jed out of here,” Mom instructed. “The two of you go to the kitchen and get breakfast started.” Sara began to guide Jed to the door. But he pulled away. “I want to stay!” he cried. “I want to see how you punish Amy.” “Get!” Mom cried, shooing him away with both hands.

Sara tugged him out of the room.

I was shaking all over. I narrowed my eyes at Slappy. Had his grin grown even wider?

I stared at the paintbrush in his hand. The red paint on the bristles blurred, blurred until I saw only red.

I blinked several times and turned back to my parents. “You really don’t believe me?” I asked softly, my voice trembling.

They shook their heads. “How can we believe you, dear?” Mom replied.

“We can’t believe that a wooden dummy has been doing these horrible things in Sara’s room,” Dad added. “Why don’t you tell us the truth, Amy?” “But I am!” I protested.

How could I prove it to them? How?

I let out an angry cry and slammed the closet door shut.

“Let’s try to calm down,” Mom urged quietly. “Let’s all get dressed and have some breakfast. We can talk about this when we’re feeling better.” “Good idea,” Dad replied, still squinting at me through his glasses. He was studying me as if he’d never seen me before.

He scratched his bald head. “Guess I’ll have to call a painter for Sara’s room. It’ll take at least two coats to cover up the red.” They turned and made their way slowly from my room, talking about how much it was going to cost to have my sister’s room painted.

I stood in the center of the room and shut my eyes. Every time I closed them, I saw red. All over Sara’s wall: AMY AMY AMY AMY.

“But I didn’t do it!” I cried out loud.

My heart pounding, I spun around. I grabbed the knob and jerked open the closet door.

I grabbed Slappy by the shoulders of his gray jacket and pulled him up from the floor.

The paintbrush fell from his hand. It landed with a thud beside my bare foot.

I shook the dummy angrily. Shook him so hard that his arms and legs swung back and forth, and his head snapped back.

Then I lifted him so that we were eye to eye.

“Admit it!” I screamed, glaring into his grinning face. “Go ahead! Admit that you did it! Tell me that you did it!” The glassy blue eyes gazed up at me.

Lifelessly.

Blankly.

Neither of us moved.

And then, to my horror, the wooden lips parted. The red mouth slowly opened.

And Slappy let out a soft, evil, “Hee hee hee.”