Free 31 - Night of the Living Dummy II by R.L. Stine - (ebook by Undead)

ducked low. Grabbed his boneless arm with both hands. Swung my shoulder.
Flipped him over my back.
    He landed hard on his stomach. His head made a loud clonk as it hit
the floor.
    Breathing hard, my heart thudding wildly, I dove.
    I can handle him. I can beat him.
    I tried to pin him to the floor with my knees.
    But he spun away and scrambled up, faster than I could believe.
    I cried out as he swung his wooden fist.
    I tried to dodge away. But he was too fast.
    The heavy fist hit me square in the forehead.
    My face felt as if it had exploded. Pain shot down my body.
    Everything went bright red.
    And, holding both sides of my head, I crumpled to the floor.

 
 
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    I can handle him. I can beat him.
    The words repeated in my mind.
    I blinked my eyes. Raised my head.
    I refused to give up.
    Through the haze of red, I reached up with both hands.
    I grabbed Slappy by the waist and pulled him down.
    Ignoring my throbbing forehead, I wrestled him to the ground. He kicked both
feet and thrashed his arms wildly. He swung at me, trying to land another blow.
    But I dug my knee into his middle. Then I wrapped my hands around his
thrashing arms and pinned them to the floor.
    “Let go, slave!” he squealed. “I command you—let go!” He struggled and
squirmed.
    But I held tight.
    His eyes darted frantically from side to side.
    His wooden jaw clicked open and shut, open and shut, as he strained to squirm
free.
    “I command you to let go, slave! You have no choice! You must obey me!”
    I ignored his shrill cries and swung his arms behind his back. Holding them
tightly in place, I climbed to my feet.
    He tried to kick me with both shoes. But I let go of the arms and grabbed his
legs.
    I swung him upside down. Once again, his head hit the floor with a clonk.
    It didn’t seem to hurt him a bit.
    “Let go! Let go, slave! You will pay! You will pay dearly for this!” He
screamed and protested, squirming and swinging his arms.
    Breathing hard, I dragged him across the rug—and swung him into the open
closet.
    He dove quickly, trying to escape.
    But I slammed the door in his face. And turned the lock.
    With a sigh, I leaned my back against the closet door and struggled to catch
my breath.
    “Let me out! You can’t keep me in here!” Slappy raged.
    He began pounding on the door. Then he kicked the door.
    “I’ll break it down! I really will!” he threatened. He pounded even harder.
The big wooden hands thudded against the wooden door.
    I turned and saw the door start to give.
    He’s going to break it open! I realized.
    What can I do? What can I do now? I tried to fight back my panic,
struggled to think clearly.
    Slappy furiously kicked at the door.
    I need help, I decided.
    I bolted into the hall. Mom and Dad had their bedroom door closed, I saw.
Should I wake them up?
    No. They wouldn’t believe me.
    I’d drag them into my room. Slappy would be slumped lifelessly on the closet
floor. Mom and Dad would be even more upset about me.
    Sara, I thought. Maybe I can convince Sara. Maybe Sara will listen to me.
    Her door was open. I burst into her bedroom.
    She stood at the mural, brush in hand, dabbing yellow paint on the beach.
    She turned as I ran in, and her face tightened in anger. “Amy—what do you want?” she demanded.
    “You—you’ve got to believe me!” I sputtered. “I need your help! It wasn’t
me who did those horrible things. It really wasn’t, Sara. It was Slappy. Please—believe me! It was Slappy!”
    “Yes. I know,” Sara replied calmly.

 
 
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    “Huh?” My mouth dropped open. I stared at her in surprise. “What did you
say?”
    Sara set down the paintbrush. She wiped her hands on her gray smock. “Amy—I
know it’s Slappy,” she repeated in a whisper.
    “I—I—” I was so stunned, I couldn’t speak. “But, Sara—you—”
    “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” she cried with emotion. She rushed forward and
threw her arms around me. She hugged me tightly.
    I still