Night of the living dummy by R.L. Stine | Page 7

they stared into hers as if they were trying to tell her something. Why does he have to grin like that? Kris asked herself, trying to rub away the prickly feeling on the back of her neck. She pulled up the sheet, settled into the bed, and turned on her side, away from the wide, staring eyes. But even with her back turned, she could feel them gazing at her. Even with her eyes closed and the covers pulled up to her head, she could picture the shadowy, distorted grin, the unblinking eyes. Staring at her. Staring. Staring. She drifted into an uncomfortable sleep, drifted into another dark nightmare. Someone was chasing her. Someone very evil was chasing her. But who? On Monday afternoon, Lindy and Kris both stayed after school to rehearse for the spring concert. It was nearly five when they arrived home, and they were surprised to see their dad's car in the driveway. "You're home so early!" Kris exclaimed, finding him in the kitchen helping their mother prepare dinner. "I'm leaving tomorrow for a sales conference in Portland," Mr. Powell explained, peeling an onion over the sink with a small paring knife. "So I only worked half a day today." "What's for dinner?" Lindy asked. "Meat loaf," Mrs. Powell replied, "if your father ever gets the onion peeled." "There's a trick to not crying when you peel an onion," Mr. Powell said, tears rolling down his cheeks. "Wish I knew it." "How was chorus rehearsal?" Mrs. Powell asked, kneading a big ball of red ground beef in her hands. "Boring," Lindy complained, opening the refrigerator and taking out a can of Coke. "Yeah. We're doing all these Russian and Yugoslavian songs," Kris said. "They're so sad. They're all about sheep or something. We don't really know what they're about. There's no translation." Mr. Powell rushed to the sink and began splashing cold water on his red, runny eyes. "I can't take this!" he wailed. He tossed the half-peeled onion back to his wife. "Crybaby," she muttered, shaking her head. Kris headed up the stairs to drop her backpack in her room. She tossed it onto the desk she shared with Lindy, then turned to go back downstairs. But something by the window caught her eye. Spinning around, she gasped. "Oh, no!" The startled cry escaped her lips. Kris raised her hands to her cheeks and stared in disbelief. Slappy was propped up in the chair in front of the window, grinning at her with his usual wide-eyed stare. And seated beside him was another dummy, also grinning at her. And they were holding hands. "What's going on here?" Kris cried aloud. "Do you like him?" At first, Kris thought that Slappy had asked the question. She gaped in stunned disbelief. "Well? What do you think of him?" It took Kris a long moment to realize that the voice was coming from behind her. She turned to find her father standing in the doorway, still dabbing at his eyes with a wet dishtowel. "The � the new dummy?" Kris stammered. "He's for you," Mr. Powell said, stepping into the room, the wet towel pressed against both eyes. "Really?" Kris hurried over to the chair and picked the new dummy up to examine him. "There's a tiny pawnshop on the corner across from my office," Mr. Powell said, lowering the towel. "I was walking past and, believe it or not, this guy was in the window. He was cheap, too. I think the pawnbroker was glad to get rid of him." "He's . . . cute," Kris said, searching for the right word. "He looks just like Lindy's dummy, except his hair is bright red, not brown." "Probably made by the same company," Mr. Powell said. "His clothes are better than Slappy's," Kris said, holding the dummy out at arm's length to get a good view. "I hate that stupid gray suit on Lindy's dummy." The new dummy wore blue denim jeans and a red-and-green flannel shirt. And instead of the formal-looking, shiny brown shoes, he had white high-top sneakers on his feet. "So you like him?" Mr. Powell asked, smiling. "I love him!" Kris cried happily. She crossed the room and gave her dad a hug. Then she picked up the dummy and ran out of the room, down the stairs, and into the kitchen. "Hey, everybody! Meet Mr. Wood!" she declared happily, holding the grinning dummy up in front of her. Barky yapped excitedly, leaping up to nip at the dummy's sneakers. Kris pulled her dummy away. "Hey!" Lindy cried in surprise. "Where'd you get that?" "From Daddy," Kris said, her grin wider than the dummy's. "I'm going to start practicing with him after dinner, and I'm going to be a better ventriloquist than you." "Kris!"