شبی با عروسک زنده 2 فصل 18

Night of the Living Dummy 2 - Chapter 18

Dad came rumbling in first, adjusting his pajama pants. “What’s going on? What’s the problem?” Mom followed right behind him, blinking and yawning.

“I—I took this from Slappy,” I stammered, holding up the paintbrush. “He—he was going to ruin the mural.” They stared at the paintbrush in my hand.

“I heard Slappy sneak out of the closet,” I explained breathlessly. “I followed him into Sara’s room. I grabbed him just before—before he did something terrible.” I turned to Sara. “You saw Slappy—right? You saw him?”

“Yeah,” Sara said, still in bed, her arms crossed over her chest. “I see Slappy. You’re carrying him on your arm.” The dummy hung over my arm, its head nearly hitting the floor.

“No!” I cried to Sara. “You saw him sneak into your room—right? That’s why you turned on the light?” Sara rolled her eyes. “I saw you come into my room,” she replied. “You’re carrying the dummy, Amy. You’re holding the dummy—and the brush.” “But—but—but—” I sputtered.

My eyes darted from face to face. They all stared back at me as if I had just landed on Earth in a flying saucer.

No one in my family was going to believe me. No one.

The next morning, Mom hung up the phone as I came down for breakfast. “You’re wearing shorts to school?” she asked, eyeing my outfit—olive-green shorts and a red, sleeveless T-shirt.

“The radio said it’s going to be hot,” I replied.

Jed and Sara were already at the table. They glanced up from their cereal bowls, but didn’t say anything.

I poured myself a glass of grape juice. I’m the only one in my family who doesn’t like orange juice. I guess I am totally weird.

“Who were you talking to on the phone?” I asked Mom. I took a long drink.

“Uh… Dr. Palmer’s secretary,” she replied hesitantly. “You have purple above your lip,” she told me, pointing.

I wiped the grape juice off with a napkin. “Dr. Palmer? Isn’t she a shrink?” I asked.

Mom nodded. “I tried to get an appointment for today. But she can’t see you until Wednesday.” “But, Mom—!” I protested.

Mom placed a finger over her mouth. “Sssshhh. No discussion.”

“But, Mom—!” I repeated.

“Ssshhh. Just talk to her once, Amy. You might enjoy it. You might think it’s helpful.” “Yeah. Sure,” I muttered.

I turned to Sara and Jed. They stared down at their cereal bowls.

I sighed and set the juice glass down in the sink.

I knew what this meant. It meant that I had until Wednesday to prove to my family that I wasn’t a total wack job.

In the lunchroom at school, Margo begged me to tell her what was going on with me. “Why were you locked up in your room all day yesterday?” she demanded. “Come on, Amy—spill.” “It’s no big deal,” I lied.

No way I was going to tell her.

I didn’t need the story going around school that Amy Kramer believes her ventriloquist dummy is alive.

I didn’t need everyone whispering about me and staring at me the way everyone in my family did.

“Dad wants to know if you’ll change your mind about the birthday party,” Margo said. “If you want to perform with Slappy, you can—” “No. Forget it!” I interrupted. “I put Slappy in the closet, and he’s staying there. Forever.” Margo’s eyes went wide. “Okay. Okay. Wow. You don’t have to bite my head off.” “Sorry,” I said quickly. “I’m a little stressed out these days. Here. Want this?” I handed her the brownie Mom had packed.

“Thanks,” Margo replied, surprised.

“Later,” I said. I crinkled up my lunch bag, tossed it in the trash, and hurried away.

In my room that night, I couldn’t concentrate on my homework. I kept staring at the calendar.

Monday night. I had only two nights to prove that I wasn’t crazy, that Slappy really was doing these horrible things.

I slammed my history book shut. No way I could read about the firing on Fort Sumter tonight.

I paced back and forth for a while. Thinking. Thinking hard. But getting nowhere.

What could I do?

What?

After a while, my head felt about to split open. I reached up both hands and tugged at my hair.

“Aaaaagh!” I let out a furious cry. Of anger. Of frustration.

Maybe I’ll just get rid of Slappy, I decided.

Maybe I’ll take him outside and toss him in the trash.

And that will end the whole problem.

The idea made me feel a little better.

I turned and took two steps toward the closet.

But I stopped with a gasp when I saw the doorknob slowly turn.

As I stared in shock, the closet door swung open.

Slappy stepped out.

He slumped forward and stopped a few feet in front of me.

His blue eyes glared up at me. His grin grew wider.

“Amy,” he rasped, “it’s time you and I had a little talk.”