شبی با عروسک زنده 2 فصل 22

Night of the Living Dummy 2 - Chapter 22

“Grab him!” I cried to my sister.

I reached out both arms and made a frantic dive for the dummy. But he scampered to the side and slipped away from my tackle.

His blue eyes flashed excitedly. His red lips twisted in an ugly grin.

“Give up, slaves!” he rasped. “You cannot win!”

Sara held back, hands against the door frame. I could see the fear in her eyes.

I made another grab for Slappy. Missed again.

“Sara—help me!” I pleaded.

Sara took a step into the room.

I leaped at Slappy, grabbed one boneless ankle.

With a grunt, he pulled out of my grasp. He darted toward the door—and ran right into Sara.

The collision stunned them both.

Sara staggered back.

Slappy teetered off balance.

I threw myself at him, caught his arms, and pulled them behind his back.

He squirmed and twisted. He kicked out furiously.

But Sara grabbed both of his big leather shoes. “Tie him in a knot!” she cried breathlessly.

He kicked and thrashed.

But we held tight.

I twisted his arms behind him. Twisted them around each other. Twisted. Twisted. Then tied them in as tight a knot as I could.

Slappy squirmed and bucked, grunting loudly, his wooden jaws clicking.

When I glanced up from my work on the arms, I saw that Sara had wrapped his legs in a knot, too.

Slappy tilted back his head and uttered a roar of rage. His eyes slid up into his head so that only the whites showed. “Put me down, slaves! Put me down at once!” With one hand, I grabbed a wad of tissues from my bed table and jammed it into Slappy’s mouth.

He uttered a grunt of protest, then went silent.

“Now what?” Sara cried breathlessly. “Where should we put him?” My eyes shot around the room. No, I decided. I don’t want him in my room. I don’t want him in the house.

“Outside,” I instructed my sister, holding on to the knotted arms with both of my hands. “Let’s get him outside.” Struggling to hold on to the bucking legs, Sara glanced at the clock. “It’s after eleven. What if Mom and Dad hear us?” “I don’t care!” I cried. “Hurry! I want him out of here! I never want to see him again!” We dragged Slappy out into the hall. Mom and Dad’s door remained closed.

Good, I thought. They hadn’t heard our struggle.

Sara carried him by the knotted legs. I held on to the arms.

Slappy had stopped struggling and squirming. I think he was waiting to see what we were going to do with him. The wad of tissues had silenced his cries.

I didn’t know where to take him. I only knew I wanted him out of the house.

We carried him through the darkened living room and out the front door. We stepped into a hot, sticky night, more like summer than spring. A pale sliver of a moon hovered low in a blue-black sky.

There was no breeze. No sounds of any kind. Nothing moved.

Sara and I carried the dummy to the driveway. “Should we take him somewhere on our bikes?” she suggested.

“How will we balance him?” I asked. “Besides, it’s too dark. Too dangerous. Let’s just carry him a few blocks and dump him somewhere.” “You mean in a trash can or something?” Sara asked.

I nodded. “That’s where he belongs. In the trash.”

Luckily, the dummy didn’t weigh much at all. We made our way to the sidewalk, then carried him to the end of the block.

Slappy remained limp, his eyes rolled up in his head.

At the corner, I spotted two circles of white light approaching. Car headlights. “Quick—!” I whispered to Sara.

We slipped behind a hedge just in time. The car rolled by without slowing.

We waited for the glow of red taillights to disappear in the darkness. Then we continued down the next block, carrying the dummy between us.

“Hey—how about those?” Sara asked, pointing with her free hand.

I squinted to see what she had spotted. A row of metal trash cans lined up at the curb in front of a dark house across the street.

“Looks good,” I said. “Let’s shove him in and clamp down the lid. Maybe the trash guys will haul him away tomorrow.” I led the way across the street—and then stopped. “Sara—wait,” I whispered. “I have a better idea.” I dragged the dummy toward the corner. I motioned to the metal drain down at the curb.

“The sewer?” Sara whispered.

I nodded. “It’s perfect.” Through the narrow opening at the curb, I could hear running water far down below. “Come on. Shove him in.” Slappy still didn’t move or protest in any way.

I lowered his head to the drain opening. Then Sara and I pushed him in headfirst.

I heard a splash and a hard thud as he hit the sewer floor.

We both listened. Silence. Then the soft trickle of water.

Sara and I grinned at each other.

We hurried home. I was so happy, I skipped most of the way.

The next morning, Sara and I came to the kitchen for breakfast together. Mom turned from the counter, where she was pouring herself a cup of coffee.

Jed was already at the table, eating his Frosted Flakes. “What’s he doing down here?” Jed asked.

He pointed across the table.

At Slappy. Sitting in the .