R.L. Stine

Goosebumps - 40

(An Undead Scan v1.5)

The stairs up to my attic are narrow and steep. The fifth step is loose and wobbles when you stand on it. All the other stairs creak and groan.

My whole house creaks and groans. It’s a big, old house. And it’s kind of falling apart. Mom and Dad don’t really have the money to repair it.

“Trina—hurry!” my brother, Dan, whispered. His words echoed in the steep attic stairwell. Dan is ten, and he is always in a hurry.

He’s short and very skinny. I think he looks like a mouse. He has short brown hair, dark eyes, and a pointy little chin. And he’s always scurrying around like a mouse searching for a place to hide.

Sometimes I call him Mouse. You know. Like a nickname. Dan hates it. So I only call him Mouse when I want to make him mad.

Dan and I don’t look at all like brother and sister. I’m tall and I have curly red hair and green eyes. I’m a little chubby, but Mom says not to worry about it. I’ll probably slim down by the time I’m thirteen, next August.

Anyway, no one would ever call me Mouse! For one thing, I’m a lot braver than Dan.

You have to be brave to go up to our attic. Not because of the creaking stairs. Or the way the wind whistles through the attic windows and makes the panes rattle. Not because of the dim light up there. Or the shadows. Or the low ceiling covered with cracks.

You have to be brave because of the eyes.

The dozens of eyes that stare at you through the darkness.

The eyes that never blink. The eyes that stare with such eerie, heavy silence.

Dan reached the attic ahead of me. I heard him take a few steps over the squeaking, wooden floorboards. Then I heard him stop.

I knew why he stopped. He was staring back at the eyes, at the grinning faces.

I crept up behind him, moving on tiptoe. I leaned my face close to his ear. And I shouted, “BOO!”

He didn’t jump.

“Trina, you’re about as funny as a wet sponge,” he said. He shoved me away.

“I think wet sponges are funny,” I replied. I admit it. I like to annoy him.

“Give me a break,” Dan muttered.

I grabbed his arm. “Okay.” I pretended to break it in two.

I know it’s dumb. But that’s the way my brother and I kid around all the time.

Dad says we didn’t get our sense of humor from him. But I think we probably did.

Dad owns a little camera store now. But before that he was a ventriloquist. You know. He did a comedy act with a dummy.

Danny O’Dell and Wilbur.

That was the name of the act. Wilbur was the dummy, in case you didn’t guess it.

Danny O’Dell is my dad. My brother is Dan, Jr. But he hates the word junior, so no one ever calls him that.

Except me. When I want to make him really mad!

“Someone left the attic light on,” Dan said, pointing to the ceiling light. The only light in the whole attic.

Our attic is one big room. There are windows at both ends. But they are both caked with dust, so not much light gets through.

Dan and I made our way across the room. The dummies all stared at us, their eyes big and blank. Most of them had wide grins on their wooden faces. Some of their mouths hung open. Some of their heads tilted down so we couldn’t see their faces.

Wilbur—Dad’s first dummy, the original Wilbur—was perched on an old armchair. His hands were draped over the chair arms. His head tilted against the chair back.

Dan laughed. “Wilbur looks just like Dad taking a nap!”

I laughed, too. With his short brown hair, his black eyeglasses, and his goofy grin, Wilbur looked a lot like Dad!

The old dummy’s black-and-yellow checked sports jacket was worn and frayed. But Wilbur’s face was freshly painted. His black leather shoes were shiny.

One wooden hand had part of the thumb chipped out. But Wilbur looked great for such an old dummy.

Dad keeps all of the dummies in good shape. He calls the attic his Dummy Museum. Spread around the room are a dozen old ventriloquist’s dummies that he has collected.

He spends all of his spare time fixing them up. Painting them. Giving them fresh wigs. Making new suits and pants for them. Working on their insides, making sure their eyes and mouths move correctly.

These days, Dad doesn’t get to use his ventriloquist skills very often. Sometimes he’ll take one of the dummies to a kid’s birthday party and put on a show. Sometimes people in town will invite him to perform at a party to raise money for a school or library.

But most of the time the dummies just sit up here, staring at each other.

Some of them are propped against the attic wall. Some are sprawled out on the couch. Some of them sit in folding chairs, hands crossed in their laps. Wilbur is the only one lucky enough to have his own armchair.

When Dan and I were little, we were afraid to come up to the attic. I didn’t like the way the dummies stared at me. I thought their grins were evil.

Dan liked to stick his hand into their backs and move their mouths. He made the dummies say frightening things.

“I’m going to get you, Trina!” he would make Rocky growl. Rocky is the mean-faced dummy that sneers instead of smiles. He’s dressed like a tough guy in a red-and-white striped T-shirt and black jeans. He’s really evil-looking, “I’m coming to your room tonight, Trina. And I’m going to GET you!”

“Stop it, Dan! Stop it!” I would scream. Then I would go running downstairs and tell Mom that Dan was scaring me.

I was only eight or nine.

I’m a lot older now. And braver. But I still feel a little creeped out when I come up here.

I know it’s dumb. But sometimes I imagine the dummies sitting around up here, talking to each other, giggling and laughing.

Sometimes late at night when I’m lying in bed, the ceiling creaks over my head. Footsteps! I picture the dummies walking around in the attic, their heavy black shoes clonking over the floorboards.

I picture them wrestling around on the old couch. Or playing a wild game of catch, their wooden hands snapping as they catch the ball.

Dumb? Of course it’s dumb.

But I can’t help it.

They’re supposed to be funny little guys. But they scare me.

I hate the way they stare at me without blinking. And I hate the red-lipped grins frozen on their faces.

Dan and I come up to the attic because Dan likes to play with them. And because I like to see how Dad fixes them up.

But I really don’t like to come up to the attic alone.

Dan picked up Miss Lucy. That’s the only girl dummy in the group. She has curly blond hair and bright blue eyes.

My brother stuck his hand into the dummy’s back and perched her on his knee. “Hi, Trina,” he made the dummy say in a high, shrill voice.

Dan started to make her say something else.

But he stopped suddenly. His mouth dropped open—like a dummy’s—and he pointed across the room.

“Trina—l-look!” Dan stammered. “Over there!”

I turned quickly. And I saw Rocky, the mean-looking dummy, blink his eyes.

I gasped as the dummy leaned forward and sneered. “Trina, I’m going to GET you!” he growled.

I uttered a startled cry and jumped back.

I swung around, ready to run to the attic steps—and I saw Dan laughing.

“Hey—!” I cried out angrily. “What’s going on here?”

I turned back to see Dad climb to his feet behind Rocky’s chair. He carried Rocky in one arm. Dad’s grin was as wide as a dummy’s!

“Gotcha!” he cried in Rocky’s voice.

I turned angrily on my brother. “Did you know Dad was back there? Did you know Dad was here the whole time?”

Dan nodded. “Of course.”

“You two are both dummies!” I cried. I flung my red hair back with both hands and let out an exasperated sigh. “That was so stupid!”

“You fell for it,” Dan shot back, grinning at Dad.

“Who’s the dummy here?” Dad made Rocky say. “Hey—who’s pulling your string? I’m not a dummy—knock on wood!”

Dan laughed, but I just shook my head.

Dad refused to give up. “Hey—come over here!” he made Rocky say. “Scratch my back. I think I’ve got termites!”

I gave in and laughed. I’d heard that joke a million times. But I knew Dad wouldn’t stop trying until I laughed.

He’s a really good ventriloquist. You can never see his lips move. But his jokes are totally lame.

I guess that’s why he had to give up the act and open a camera store. I don’t know for sure. It all happened before I was born.

Dad set Rocky back on his chair. The dummy sneered up at us. Such a bad-news dummy. Why couldn’t he smile like the others?

Dad pushed his eyeglasses up on his nose. “Come over here,” he said. “I want to show you something.”

He put one hand on my shoulder and one hand on Dan’s shoulder and led us to the other end of the big attic room. This is where Dad has his workshop—his worktable and all his tools and supplies for fixing up the dummies.

Dad reached under the worktable and pulled up a large brown-paper shopping bag. I could tell by the smile on his face what he had in the bag. But I didn’t say anything to ruin his surprise.

Slowly, carefully, Dad reached into the shopping bag. His smile grew wider as he lifted out a dummy. “Hey, guys—check this out!” Dad exclaimed.

The dummy had been folded up inside the bag. Dad set it down flat on the worktable and carefully unfolded the arms and legs. He looked like a surgeon starting an operation.

“I found this one in a trash can,” he told us. “Do you believe someone just threw it away?”

He tilted the dummy up so we could see it. I followed Dan up to the worktable to get a better look.

“The head was split in two,” Dad said, placing one hand at the back of the dummy’s neck. “But it took two seconds to repair it. Just a little glue.”

I leaned close to check out Dad’s new treasure. It had wavy brown hair painted on top of its head. The face was kind of strange. Kind of intense.

The eyes were bright blue. They shimmered. Sort of like real eyes. The dummy had bright red painted lips, curved up into a smile.

An ugly smile, I thought. Kind of gross and nasty.

His lower lip had a chip on one side so that it didn’t quite match the other lip.

The dummy wore a gray double-breasted suit over a white shirt collar. The collar was stapled to his neck.

He didn’t have a shirt. Instead, his wooden chest had been painted white. Big black leather shoes—very scuffed up—dangled from his skinny gray pants legs.

“Can you believe someone just tossed him into the trash?” Dad repeated. “Isn’t he great?”

“Yeah. Great,” I murmured. I didn’t like the new dummy at all. I didn’t like his face, the way his blue eyes gleamed, the crooked smile.

Dan must have felt the same way. “He’s kind of tough-looking,” he said. He picked up one of the dummy’s wooden hands. It had deep scratches all over it. The knuckles appeared cut and bruised. As if the dummy had been in a fight.

“Not as tough-looking as Rocky over there,” Dad replied. “But he does have a strange smile.” He picked at the small chip in the dummy’s lip. “I can fill that in with some liquid wood filler. Then I’ll give the whole face a fresh paint job.”

“What’s the dummy’s name?” I asked.

Dad shrugged. “Beats me. Maybe we’ll call him Smiley.”

“Smiley?” I made a disgusted face.

Dad started to reply. But the phone rang downstairs. One ring. Two. Three.

“I guess your mom is still at that school meeting,” Dad said. He ran to the stairs. “I’d better answer it. Don’t touch Smiley till I get back.” He vanished down the stairs.

I picked up the dummy’s head carefully in both hands. “Dad did a great gluing job,” I said.

“He should do your head next!” Dan shot back.

Typical.

“I don’t think Smiley is a good name for him,” Dan said, slapping the dummy’s hands together.

“How about Dan Junior?” I suggested. “Or Dan the Third?”

He ignored me. “How many dummies does Dad have now?” He turned back toward the others across the attic and quickly counted them.

I counted faster. “This new one makes thirteen,” I said.

Dan’s eyes went wide. “Whoa. That’s an unlucky number.”

“Well, if we count you, it’s fourteen!” I said.

Gotcha, Danny Boy!

Dan stuck out his tongue at me. He set the dummy’s hands down on its chest. “Hey—what’s that?” He reached into the pocket of the gray suit jacket and pulled out a folded-up slip of paper.

“Maybe that has the dummy’s name on it,” I said. I grabbed the paper out of Dan’s hands and raised it to my face. I unfolded it and started to read.

“Well?” Dan tried to grab it back. But I swung out of his reach. “What’s the name?”

“It doesn’t say,” I told him. “There are just these weird words. Foreign, I guess.”

I moved my lips silently as I struggled to read them. Then I read the words out loud: “Karru marri odonna loma molonu karrano.”

Dan’s mouth dropped open. “Huh? What’s that supposed to mean?” he cried.

He grabbed the paper from my hand. “I think you read it upside down!”

“No way!” I protested.

I glanced down at the dummy.

The glassy blue eyes stared up at me.

Then the right eye slowly closed. The dummy winked at me.

And then his left hand shot straight up—and slapped me in the face.

“Hey—!” I shouted. I jerked back as pain shot through my jaw.

“What’s your problem?” Dan demanded, glancing up from the slip of paper.

“Didn’t you see?” I shrieked. “He—he slapped me!” I rubbed my cheek.

Dan rolled his eyes. “Yeah. For sure.”

“No—really!” I cried. “First he winked at me. Then he slapped me.”

“Tell me another one,” Dan groaned. “You’re such a jerk, Trina. Just because you fall for Dad’s jokes doesn’t mean I’m going to fall for yours.”

“But I’m telling the truth!” I insisted.

I glanced up to see Dad poke his head up at the top of the stairs. “What’s going on, guys?”

Dan folded up the slip of paper and tucked it back into the dummy’s jacket pocket. “Nothing much,” he told Dad.

“Dad—the new dummy!” I cried, still rubbing my aching jaw. “He slapped me!”

Dad laughed. “Sorry, Trina. You’ll have to do better than that. You can’t kid a kidder.”

That’s one of Dad’s favorite expressions: “You can’t kid a kidder.”

“But, Dad—” I stopped. I could see he wasn’t going to believe me. I wasn’t even sure I believed it myself.

I glanced down at the dummy. He stared blankly up at the ceiling. Totally lifeless.

“I have news, guys,” Dad said, sitting the new dummy up. “That was my brother—your uncle Cal—on the phone. He’s coming for a short visit while Aunt Susan’s away on business. And he’s bringing your cousin Zane with him. It’s Zane’s spring vacation from school, too.”

Dan and I both groaned. Dan stuck his finger in his mouth and pretended to puke.

Zane isn’t our favorite cousin.

He’s our only cousin.

He’s twelve, but you’d think he was five or six. He’s pretty nerdy. His nose runs a lot. And he’s kind of a wimp.

Kind of a major wimp.

“Hey, stop groaning,” Dad scolded. “Zane is your only cousin. He’s family.”

Dan and I groaned again. We couldn’t help it.

“He isn’t a bad kid,” Dad continued, narrowing his eyes at us behind his glasses. That meant he was being serious. “You two have to promise me something.”

“What kind of promise?” I asked.

“You have to promise me that you’ll be nicer to Zane this time.”

“We were nice to him last time,” Dan insisted. “We talked to him, didn’t we?”

“You scared him to death last time,” Dad said, frowning. “You made him believe that this old house is haunted. And you scared him so badly, he ran outside and refused to come back in.”

“Dad, it was all a joke,” I protested.

“Yeah. It was a scream!” Dan agreed. He poked me in the side with his elbow. “A scream. Get it?”

“Not funny,” Dad said unhappily. “Not funny at all. Listen, guys—Zane can’t help it if he’s a little timid. He’ll outgrow it. You just have to be nice to him.”

Dan snickered. “Zane is afraid of your dummies, Dad. Can you believe it?”

“Then don’t drag him up here and scare the life out of him,” Dad ordered.

“How about if we just play one or two little jokes on him?” Dan asked.

“No tricks,” Dad replied firmly. “None.”

Dan and I exchanged glances.

“Promise me,” Dad insisted. “I mean it. Right now. Both of you. Promise me there will be no tricks. Promise me you won’t try to scare your cousin.”

“Okay. I promise,” I said. I raised my right hand as if I were swearing an oath.

“I promise, too,” Dan said softly.

I checked to see if his fingers were crossed. They weren’t.

Dan and I had both made a solemn promise. We both promised not to terrify our cousin. And we meant it.

But it was a promise we couldn’t keep.

Before the week was over, our cousin Zane would be terrified.

And so would we.

I was playing the piano when Zane arrived. The piano is tucked away in a small room in the back of the house. It’s a small black upright piano, kind of beat-up and scratched. Dad bought it from my old music teacher who moved to Cleveland.

Two of the pedals don’t work. And the piano really needs to be tuned. But I love to play it—especially when I’m stressed out or excited. It always helps to calm me down.

I’m pretty good at it. Even Dan agrees. Most of the time he pushes me off the piano bench so he can play “Chopsticks”. But sometimes he stands beside me and listens. I’ve been practicing some nice Haydn pieces and some of the easy Chopin etudes.

Anyway, I was in the back of the house banging away on the piano when Zane and Uncle Cal arrived. I guess I was a little nervous about seeing Zane again.

Dan and I were really mean to him during his last visit. Like Dad said, Zane has always been scared of this old house. And we did everything we could to make him even more scared.

We walked around in the attic every night, howling softly like ghosts, making the floor creak. We crept into his bedroom closet in the middle of the night and made him think his clothes were dancing. We rigged a pair of Mom’s panty hose so they cast a ghostly shadow of legs onto his bedroom floor.

Poor Zane. I think Dan and I went a little too far. After a few days, he jumped at every sound. And his eyes kept darting from side to side like a frightened lizard’s.

I heard him tell Uncle Cal that he never wanted to come back here.

Dan and I laughed about that. But it wasn’t very nice.

So I was a little nervous about seeing Zane again. I was playing the piano so loudly, I didn’t hear the doorbell. Dan had to come running in and tell me Uncle Cal and Zane had arrived.

I jumped up from the piano bench. “How does Zane look?” I asked my brother.

“Big,” Dan replied. “He grew. A lot. And he let his hair grow long.”

Zane was always a pretty big guy. That’s why Dan and I thought his being a total wimp was so funny.

He’s big and beefy. Not tall. He’s built kind of like a bulldog. A big blond bulldog.

I guess he’s actually good-looking. He has round blue eyes, wavy blond hair, and a nice smile. He looks as if he works out or plays sports. He really doesn’t look like the wimp type at all.

That’s why it’s such a riot to see him quivering in fear. Or wailing like a baby. Running to his mom or dad in terror.

I followed Dan through the back hall. “Did Zane say anything to you?” I asked.

“Just hi,” Dan replied.

“A friendly ‘hi’ or an unfriendly ‘hi’?” I demanded.

Dan didn’t have time to answer. We had reached the front hall.

“Hey—!” Uncle Cal greeted me, stretching out his arms for a hug. Uncle Cal looks a lot like a chipmunk. He’s very small. He has a round face, a twitchy little nose, and two teeth that poke out from his upper lip.

“You’re getting so tall!” he exclaimed as I hugged him. “You’ve grown a lot, Trina!”

Why do grown-ups always have to comment on how tall kids are getting? Can’t they think of anything else to say?

I saw Dad lugging their two heavy suitcases up the stairs.

“I didn’t know if you’d be hungry or not,” Mom told Uncle Cal. “So I made a bunch of sandwiches.”

I turned to say hi to Zane. And a flash of white light made me cry out in surprise.

“Don’t move. One more,” I heard Zane say.

I blinked rapidly, trying to clear the light from my eyes. When I finally focused, I saw that Zane had a camera up to his face.

He clicked it. Another bright flash of light.

“That’s good,” he said. “You looked really surprised. I only like to take candid shots.”

“Zane is really into photography,” Uncle Cal said, grinning proudly.

“I’m blind!” I cried, rubbing my eyes.

“I needed extra flash because this house is so dark,” Zane said. He lowered his head to the camera and fiddled with his lens.

Dad came shuffling down the stairs. Zane turned and snapped his picture.

“Zane is really into photography,” Uncle Cal repeated to my father. “I told him maybe you’ve got an old camera or two at the shop that he could have.”

“Uh… maybe,” Dad replied.

Uncle Cal makes a lot more money than Dad. But whenever he visits, he always tries to get Dad to give him stuff.

“Nice camera,” Dad told Zane. “What kind of photos do you like to take?”

“Candid shots,” Zane replied, pushing back his blond hair. “And I take a lot of still lifes.” He stepped into the hall and flashed a close-up of the banister.

Dan leaned close and whispered in my ear, “He’s still a pain. Let’s give him a really good scare.”

“No way!” I whispered back. “No scares this time. We promised Dad—remember?”

“I’ve set up a darkroom in the basement,” Dad told Zane. “Sometimes I bring developing work home from the store. You can use the darkroom this week, if you want to.”

“Great!” Zane replied.

“I told Zane maybe you have some sheets of developing paper you can spare,” Uncle Cal said to Dad.

Zane raised his camera and flashed another picture. Then he turned to Dan. “Are you still into video games?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Dan replied. “Mostly sports games. I have the new NBA Jams. And I’m saving my allowance to get the new thirty-two-bit system. You still play?”

Zane shook his head. “Not since I got my camera. I don’t really have time for games anymore.”

“How about some sandwiches, everyone?” Mom asked, moving toward the dining room.

“I think I’d like to unpack first,” Uncle Cal told her. “Zane, you should unpack, too.”

We all split up. Dan and Dad disappeared somewhere. Uncle Cal and Zane went up to their rooms to unpack—our big old house has a lot of extra bedrooms.

I was heading into the kitchen to help Mom with the sandwiches when I heard Zane scream.

A shrill scream from upstairs.

A scream of horror.

Mom gasped and dropped the sandwich tray she was carrying.

I spun around and went running to the front hall.

Dad was already halfway up the stairs. “What’s wrong?” he called. “Zane—what’s the matter?”

When I reached the second floor, I saw Dan step out of his room. Zane stood in the hallway. Someone lay stretched across the floor at his feet.

Even from halfway down the hall, I could see that Zane was trembling.

I hurried over to him.

Who was sprawled on the floor like that, legs and arms all twisted?

“Zane—what happened? What happened?” Dad and Uncle Cal both shouted.

Zane stood there shaking all over. The camera seemed to tremble, too, swinging on its strap over his chest.

I glanced down at the body on the floor.

A ventriloquist’s dummy.

Rocky.

Rocky sneered up at the ceiling. His red-and-white striped shirt had rolled up halfway, revealing his wooden body. One leg was bent under him. Both arms were stretched out over the floor.

“That d-dummy—” Zane stammered, pointing down at Rocky. “It—it fell on me when I opened the bedroom door.”

“Huh? It what?” Uncle Cal cried.

“It dropped down on me,” Zane repeated. “When I pushed the door. I didn’t mean to scream. It just scared me, that’s all. It was so heavy. And it fell near my head.”

I turned and saw Dad glaring angrily at Dan.

Dan raised both hands in protest. “Hey—don’t look at me!” he cried.

“Dan, you made a promise,” Dad said sharply.

“I didn’t do it!” Dan cried. “It had to be Trina!”

“Hey—no way!” I protested. “No way! I didn’t do it!”

Dad narrowed his eyes at me. “I suppose the dummy climbed up on top of the door by himself!” he said, rolling his eyes.

“It was just a joke,” Uncle Cal chimed in. “You’re okay—right, Zane?”

“Yeah. Sure.” Zane’s cheeks were red. I could see he was embarrassed by all the fuss. “I just wasn’t expecting something to fall on me. You know.” He stared at the floor.

“Let’s finish unpacking,” Uncle Cal suggested. “I’m starting to get hungry.” He turned to Dad. “Do you have any extra pillows? There’s only one on my bed. And I like to sleep with a lot of pillows.”

“I’ll see if we have any more,” Dad replied. He frowned at me. “You and Dan—take Rocky up to the attic. And no more little jokes. You promised—remember?”

I picked Rocky up carefully and slung him over my shoulder. “Get the attic door for me,” I instructed Dan.

We made our way down the hall. “What is your problem, Mouse?” I whispered to my brother.

“Don’t call me Mouse,” he replied through gritted teeth. “You know I hate it.”

“Well, I hate broken promises,” I told him. “You can’t wait one minute to start scaring Zane? You’re going to get us in major trouble.”

“Me?” Dan put on his innocent act. “I didn’t hide the dummy up there. You did—and you know it!”

“Did not!” I whispered angrily.

“Hey, guys, can I come with you?” I turned to see Zane right behind us. I hadn’t realized he’d followed us.

“You want to come up to the Dummy Museum?” I asked, unable to hide my surprise. Last visit, Zane had been afraid of the dummies.

“Yeah. I want to take some pictures,” he replied. He raised his camera in both hands.

“Cool,” Dan said. “That’s a cool idea.” I could see that he was trying to be friendly to Zane.

I didn’t want to be left out. “It’s neat that you’re into photography,” I told Zane.

“Yeah. I know,” he replied.

Dan led the way up the attic stairs. Halfway up, I turned back. I saw Zane lingering at the bottom.

“Are you coming up or not?” I called down. My voice echoed in the narrow, dark stairwell.

I caught a look of fear on Zane’s face. He was trying to be brave, I realized. Trying not to be afraid the way he was last time.

“Coming,” he called up. I saw him take a deep breath. Then he came running up the stairs.

He stayed close to Dan and me as we crossed the attic. The eyes peered out at us darkly from around the big room.

I clicked on the light. The dummies all came into view. Propped on chairs and the old couch, leaning against the wall, they grinned at us.

I carried Rocky over to his folding chair. I slid him off my shoulder and set him down. I crossed his arms in his lap and straightened his striped shirt. The mean-looking dummy sneered up at me.

“Uncle Danny has a few new guys,” Zane said from across the room. He stood close to Dan in front of the couch. He held the camera in his hands, but he didn’t take any pictures. “Where does he find them?”

“He found the newest one in a trash can,” I replied, pointing to the mean-looking dummy.

Dan picked up Miss Lucy and held it up to Zane. “Hiya, Zane! Take my picture!” Dan made Miss Lucy say in a high, shrill voice.

Zane obediently raised the camera to his eye. “Say cheese,” he told Miss Lucy.

“Cheese,” Dan said in Miss Lucy’s high voice.

Zane flashed a picture.

“Give me a big wet kiss!” Dan made Miss Lucy say. He shoved the dummy’s face close to Zane’s.

Zane backed away. “Yuck.”

“Put the dummy down,” I told my brother. “We’d better get back downstairs. They’re all probably waiting for us.”

“Okay, okay,” Dan grumbled. He turned to set Miss Lucy down. Zane wandered down the row of dummies, studying them.

I bent down and straightened Wilbur’s bow tie. The old dummy was starting to look really ragged.

I was still working on the bow tie when I heard a hard slap.

And I heard Zane’s startled cry of pain.

“Owwww!”

I spun around and saw Zane rubbing his jaw.

“Hey—that dummy slapped me!” he cried angrily.

He pointed to a red-haired dummy on the arm of the couch.

“I-I don’t believe it!” Zane exclaimed. “It swung its arm up, and it—it slapped me!”

Dan stood behind the couch. I saw a smile spread over his face. Then he burst out laughing. “Get serious,” he told Zane. “That’s impossible.”

“You did it!” Zane accused my brother, still rubbing his jaw. “You moved the dummy!”

“No way!” Dan backed away till he bumped the wall. “How could I? I was behind the couch the whole time.”

I stepped quickly up to the couch. “Which dummy was it?” I demanded.

Zane pointed to a dummy with red hair and bright red freckles painted all over his grinning face. “That guy.”

“Arnie,” I reported. “One of Dad’s first dummies.”

“I don’t care what his name is,” Zane snapped. “He slapped me!”

“But that’s dumb,” I insisted. “It’s just a ventriloquist’s dummy, Zane. Here. Look.”

I picked Arnie up. The old dummy was heavier than I remembered. I started to hand him to Zane. But my cousin backed away.

“Something weird is going on here,” Zane said, keeping his eyes on the dummy. “I’m going to tell Uncle Danny.”

“No. Don’t tell Dad,” I pleaded. “Give us a break, Zane. It’ll get us in big trouble.”

“Yeah. Don’t tell,” Dan chimed in. “The dummy probably just slipped or something. You know. It fell over.”

“It reached up,” Zane insisted. “I saw it swing its arm and—”

He was interrupted by Mom’s voice from downstairs. “Hurry up, kids. Get down here. We’re all waiting for you.”

“Coming!” I shouted. I dropped Arnie back onto the arm of the couch. He fell into the dummy next to him. I left him like that and followed Dan and Zane to the stairs.

I held Dan back and let Zane go down by himself. “What are you trying to prove?” I angrily asked my brother. “That wasn’t funny.”

“Trina, I didn’t do it. I swear!” Dan claimed, raising his right hand. “I swear!”

“So what are you saying?” I demanded. “That the dummy really reached up and slapped him?”

Dan twisted his face. He shrugged. “I don’t know. I just know that I didn’t do it. I didn’t swing that dummy’s arm.”

“Don’t be stupid,” I replied. “Of course you did.” I shoved my brother toward the stairs.

“Hey—give me a break,” he muttered.

“You’re a total liar,” I told him. “You think you can scare Zane—and me. But it isn’t worth it, Dan. We promised Dad, remember? Remember?”

He ignored me and started down the stairs.

I felt really angry. I knew that Dan had perched the dummy on top of the bedroom door so that it would fall on Zane. And I knew that he had swung the dummy’s arm to slap Zane.

I wondered how far Dan would go to frighten our cousin.

I knew I had to stop him. If Dan kept this up, he’d get us both grounded for life. Or worse.

But what could I do?

I was still thinking about it in bed later that night. I couldn’t get to sleep. I lay there, staring up at the ceiling, thinking about Dan and what a liar he was.

Dummies are made of wood and cloth, I told myself. They don’t swing their arms and slap people.

And they don’t get up and walk around the house and climb up onto doors on their own. They don’t walk on their own….

They don’t…

I finally started to drift off to sleep when I heard light footsteps on my bedroom carpet.

And then a hoarse whisper close to my ear:

“Trina… Trina…”

“Trina… Trina…”

The hoarse whisper—so near my ear—made me shoot straight up in bed.

I leaped to my feet. Pulled the covers with me. Lurched forward.

And nearly knocked Zane onto his back.

“Zane?”

He stumbled backwards. “Sorry!” he whispered. “I thought you were awake.”

“Zane!” I repeated. My heart thudded in my chest. “What are you doing in here?”

“Sorry,” he whispered, backing up some more. He stopped a few inches in front of my dresser. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just—”

I held my hand over my heart. I could feel it start to slow back down to normal. “Sorry I jumped out at you like that,” I told him. “I was half asleep, I guess. And when you whispered my name…”

I clicked on the bed-table lamp. I rubbed my eyes and squinted at Zane.

He was wearing baggy blue pajamas. One pajama leg had rolled up nearly to his knee. His blond hair had fallen over his face. He had such a frightened, little-boy expression on his face. He looked about six years old!

“I tried to wake up Dad,” he whispered. “But he’s such a sound sleeper. I kept knocking on his bedroom door and calling to him. But he didn’t hear me. So I came in here.”

“What’s your problem?” I asked, stretching my arms over my head.

“I-I heard voices,” he stammered, glancing to the open bedroom door.

“Excuse me? Voices?” I pushed my hair back. Straightened my long nightshirt. Studied him.

He nodded. “I heard voices. Upstairs. I mean, I think they were upstairs. Funny voices. Talking very fast.”

I squinted at him. “You heard voices in the attic?”

He nodded again. “Yeah. I’m pretty sure.”

“I’m pretty sure you were dreaming.” I sighed. I shook my head.

“No. I was wide awake. Really.” He picked up a little stuffed bear from my dresser. He squeezed it between his hands.

“I never sleep very well in new places,” he told me. “I never sleep very well in this house!” He let out an unhappy laugh. “I was wide awake.”

“There’s no one in the attic,” I said, yawning. I tilted my ear to the ceiling. “Listen,” I instructed. “Silent up there. No voices.”

We both listened to the silence for a while.

Then Zane set down the stuffed bear. “Do you think I could have a bowl of cereal?” he asked.

“Huh?” I gaped at him.

“A bowl of cereal always helps calm me down,” he said. An embarrassed smile crossed his face. “Just a habit from when I was a kid.”

I squinted at my clock radio. It was a little after midnight. “You want a bowl of cereal now?”

He nodded. “Is that okay?” he asked shyly.

Poor guy, I thought. He’s really freaked out.

“Sure,” I said. “I’ll come down to the kitchen with you. Show you where everything is.”

I found my flip-flops and slipped my feet into them. I keep them under my bed. I don’t like walking barefoot on the floorboards in the hall. There are a lot of nails that poke up from the floor.

Mom and Dad keep saying they’re going to buy carpet. But money is tight. I don’t think carpet is tops on their list.

Zane appeared a little calmer. I smiled at him and led the way into the hall.

He’s not such a bad guy, I thought. He’s a little wimpy—but so what? I decided to have a serious talk with Dan first thing in the morning. I planned to make Dan promise he wouldn’t pull any more scares on Zane.

The long hall was so dark, Zane and I both held onto the wall as we made our way to the stairs. Mom and Dad used to keep a little night-light at the end of the hall. But the bulb burned out, and they never replaced it.

Holding onto the banister, we made our way slowly down the steps. Pale light from outside cast long blue shadows over the living room. In the dim light, our old furniture rose up like ghosts around the room.

“This house always creeps me out,” Zane whispered, staying close by my side as we crossed through the front room.

“I’ve lived here all my life, and sometimes I’m scared of it, too,” I confessed. “Old houses make so many strange sounds. Sometimes I think I hear the house groaning and moaning.”

“I really did hear voices,” Zane whispered.

We crept through the shadows to the kitchen. My flip-flops slapped on the linoleum. Silvery moonlight washed through the curtains over the kitchen window.

I started to fumble on the wall for the light switch.

But I stopped when I saw the dark figure slumped at the kitchen table.

Zane saw him, too. I heard Zane gasp. He jerked back into the doorway.

“Dad? Are you still up?” I called. “Why are you sitting in the dark?”

My hand found the light switch. I clicked on the kitchen light.

And Zane and I both let out a scream.

I recognized the red-and-white striped shirt. I didn’t even have to see the face.

Rocky leaned over the table, his wooden head propped in his hands.

Zane and I crept closer to the table. I moved to the other side. The dummy sneered at me. His glassy eyes were cold and cruel.

Such a nasty expression.

“How did he get down here?” Zane asked. He stared hard at the dummy, as if expecting the dummy to answer.

“Only one way,” I murmured. “He sure didn’t walk.”

Zane turned to me. “You mean Dan?”

I sighed. “Of course. Who else? Mister Dumb Jokes.”

“But how did your brother know we’d be coming down to the kitchen tonight?” Zane asked.

“Let’s go ask him,” I replied.

I knew Dan was awake. Probably sitting on the edge of his bed, waiting eagerly to hear us scream from the kitchen. Giggling to himself. So pleased with himself.

So pleased that he broke his promise to Dad. And gave Zane and me a little scare.

I balled both hands into tight fists. I could feel the anger rising in my chest.

When I get really furious like that, I usually go to the back room and pound the piano. I pound out a Sousa march or a hard, fast rock song. I pound the keys till I start to calm down.

Tonight, I decided, I would pound my brother instead.

“Come on,” I urged Zane. “Upstairs.”

I took one last glance at Rocky, slouched over the kitchen table. The dummy stared blankly back at me.

I really hate that dummy, I thought. I’m going to ask Dad to put him away in a closet or a trunk.

I forced myself to turn away from the sneering, wooden face. Then I put both hands on Zane’s shoulders and guided him back to the stairs.

“I’m going to tell Dan that we’re both fed up with his dumb jokes,” I whispered to my cousin. “Enough is enough. We’ll make him promise to stop leaving that dummy everywhere we go.”

Zane didn’t reply. In the dim light, I could see the grim expression on his face.

I wondered what he was thinking about. Was he remembering his last visit to our house? Was he remembering how Dan and I terrified him then?

Maybe he doesn’t trust me, either, I told myself.

We climbed the stairs and crept down the dark hallway to my brother’s room.

The door was half open. I pushed it open the rest of the way and stepped inside. Zane kept close behind me.

I expected Dan to be sitting up, waiting for us. I expected to see him grinning, enjoying his little joke.

Silvery moonlight flooded in through his double windows. From the doorway, I could see him clearly. Lying on his side in bed. Covers up to his chin. Eyes tightly closed.

Was he faking? Was he really awake?

“Dan,” I whispered. “Da-an.”

He didn’t move. His eyes didn’t open.

“Dan—I’m coming to tickle you!” I whispered. He could never keep a straight face when I threatened him. Dan is very ticklish.

But he didn’t move.

Zane and I crept closer. Up to the bed. We both stood over my brother, staring hard at him, studying him in the silvery light.

He was breathing softly, in a steady rhythm. His mouth was open a little. He made short whistling sounds. Mouse sounds. With his pointy chin and upturned nose, he really did look like a little mouse.

I leaned over him. “Da-an, get ready to be tickled!” I whispered.

I leaned back, expecting him to leap out at me, to shout “Boo!” or something.

But he continued sleeping, whistling softly with each breath.

I turned to Zane, who hung back in the center of the room. “He’s really asleep,” I reported.

“Let’s go back to our rooms,” Zane replied in a soft whisper. He yawned.

I followed him to the bedroom door. “What about your cereal?” I asked.

“Forget it. I’m too sleepy now.”

We were nearly to the door when I heard someone move in the hall.

“Ohhh.” I let out a low moan as a face appeared in the doorway.

Rocky’s face.

He had followed us upstairs!

I grabbed Zane’s arm. We both shouted cries of surprise.

The dummy moved quickly into the room.

I cut my cry short as I saw that he wasn’t walking on his own. He was being carried.

Dad had the dummy by the back of the neck.

“Hey—what’s going on?” Dan called sleepily from behind us. He raised his head from the pillow and squinted at us. “Huh? What’s everybody doing in my room?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Dad said sharply. He gazed suspiciously from Zane to me.

“You—you woke me up,” Dan murmured. He cleared his throat. Then he propped himself up on one elbow. “Why are you carrying that dummy, Dad?”

“Perhaps one of you would like to answer that question,” Dad growled. He had pulled a robe over his pajamas. His hair was matted to his forehead.

He wasn’t wearing his glasses, so he squinted at us.

“What’s going on? I don’t understand,” Dan said sleepily. He rubbed his eyes.

Was he putting on an act? I wondered. His innocent-little-boy act?

“I heard noises downstairs,” Dad said, shifting Rocky to his other hand. “I went down to see what was going on. I found this dummy sitting at the kitchen table.”

“I didn’t put him there!” Dan cried, suddenly wide awake. “Really. I didn’t!”

“Neither did Zane or me!” I chimed in.

Dad turned to me. He sighed. “I’m really sleepy. I don’t like these jokes in the middle of the night.”

“But I didn’t do it!” I cried.

Dad squinted hard at me. He really couldn’t see at all without his glasses. “Do I have to punish you and your brother?” he demanded. “Do I have to ground you? Or keep you from going away to camp this summer?”

“No!” Dan and I both cried at once. Dan and I were both going to summer camp for the first time this year. It’s all we’ve talked about since Christmas.

“Dad, I was asleep. Really,” Dan insisted.

“No more stories,” Dad replied wearily. “The next time one of my dummies is somewhere he shouldn’t be, you’re both in major trouble.”

“But, Dad—” I started.

“One last chance,” Dad said. “I mean it. If I see Rocky out of the attic again, you’ve both had it!” He waved Zane and me to the door. “Get to your rooms. Now. Not another word.”

“Do you believe me or not?” Dan demanded.

“I don’t believe that Rocky has been moving around the house on his own,” Dad replied. “Now lie down and get back to sleep, Dan. I’m giving you one last chance. Don’t blow it.”

Dad followed Zane and me into the hall. “See you in the morning,” he murmured. He made his way to the attic stairs to take Rocky back up to the Dummy Museum. I heard him muttering to himself all the way up the stairs.

I said good night to Zane and headed to my room. I felt sleepy and upset and worried and confused—all at once.

I knew that Dan had to be the one who kept springing Rocky on Zane. But why was he doing it? And would he quit now—before Dad grounded us or totally ruined our summer?

I fell asleep, still asking myself question after question.

The next morning, I woke up early. I pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt and hurried downstairs for breakfast.

And there sat Rocky at the kitchen table.

I peered around the kitchen. No one else around.

How lucky that I was the first one downstairs!

I grabbed Rocky up by the back of the neck. Then I tucked him under one arm and dragged him up to the attic as fast as I could.

When I returned to the kitchen a few moments later, Mom had already started breakfast.

Whew! A close call.

“Trina—you’re up early,” Mom said, filling the coffee maker with water. “Are you okay?”

I glanced at the table. I had the sick feeling that Rocky would be sitting there sneering at me.

But of course he was upstairs in the attic. I had just carried him up there.

The table stood empty.

“I’m fine,” I told her. “Just fine.”

It was definitely Be Kind to Zane Day. After breakfast, Dad hurried off to the camera store. A short while later, Mom and Uncle Cal left for the mall to do some shopping.

It was a bright morning. Yellow sunlight streamed in through the windows. The sky stretched clear and cloudless.

Zane brought down his camera. He decided it was a perfect day to take some photographs.

Dan and I expected him to go outside. But our cousin wanted to stay indoors and shoot.

“I’m very interested in moldings,” he told us.

We followed him around the house. Dan and I had made a solemn vow to be nice to Zane and not to scare him.

After breakfast, when Zane was upstairs getting his camera, I grabbed my brother. I pinned him against the wall. “No tricks,” I told him.

Dan tried to wriggle away. But I’m stronger than he is. I kept him pinned against the wall. “Raise your right hand and swear,” I instructed him.

“Okay, okay.” He gave in easily. He raised his right hand, and he repeated the vow I recited. “No tricks against Zane. No making fun of Zane. No dummies— anywhere!”

I let him go as Zane returned with his camera. “You have some awesome moldings,” Zane said, gazing up at the living room ceiling.

“Really?” I replied, trying to sound interested.

What could be interesting about a molding?

Zane tilted up his camera. He focused for what seemed like hours. Then he clicked a photo of the molding above the living room curtains.

“Do you have a ladder?” he asked Dan. “I’d really like to get a closer shot. I’m afraid my zoom lens will distort it.”

And so Dan hurried off to the basement to get Zane a ladder.

I was proud of my brother. He didn’t complain about having to go get the ladder. And he’d lasted a whole ten minutes without cracking any molding jokes or making fun of Zane.

Which wasn’t easy.

I mean, what kind of a nerd thinks it’s cool to take photos of ceilings and walls?

Meanwhile, we had no school, and it was the sunniest, warmest, most beautiful day of March outside. Almost like spring. And Dan and I were stuck holding the ladder for Zane so he could use his macro lens and get a really tight molding shot.

“Awesome!” Zane declared, snapping a few more. “Awesome!”

He climbed down the ladder. He adjusted the lens. Fiddled with some other dials on the camera.

“Want to go outside or something?” I suggested.

He didn’t seem to hear me. “I’d like to get a few more banister shots,” he announced. “See the way the sunlight is pouring through the wooden bars? It makes a really interesting pattern on the wall.”

I started to say something rude. But Dan caught my eye. He shook a finger at me. A warning.

I bit my lip and didn’t say anything.

This is sooooo boring, I thought. But at least we’re keeping out of trouble.

We stood beside Zane as he photographed the banister from all angles. After about the tenth shot, his camera began to hum and whir.

“End of the roll,” he announced. His eyes lit up. “Know what would be really cool? To go down into the basement to the darkroom and develop these right now.”

“Cool,” I replied. I tried to sound sincere. Dan and I were both trying so hard to be nice to this kid!

“Uncle Danny said I could use his darkroom downstairs,” Zane said, watching the camera as it rewound the film roll. “That would be awesome.”

“Awesome,” I repeated.

Dan and I exchanged glances. The most beautiful day of the century —and we were heading down to a dark closet in the basement.

“I’ve never watched pictures get developed,” Dan told our cousin. “Can you show me how to do it?”

“It’s pretty easy,” Zane replied, following us down the basement stairs. “Once you get the timing down.”

We made our way through the laundry room, past the furnace, to the darkroom against the far wall. We slipped inside, and I clicked on the special red light.

“Close the door tightly,” Zane instructed. “We can’t let in any light at all.”

I double-checked the darkroom door. Then Zane set to work. He arranged the developing pans. He poured bottles of chemicals into the pans. He unspooled the film roll and began to develop.

I’d watched Dad do it a hundred times before. It really was kind of interesting. And it was cool when the image began to appear and then darken on the developing paper.

Dan and I stood close to Zane, watching him work.

“I think I got some very good angles on the living room moldings,” Zane said. He dipped the large sheet of paper in one pan. Then he pulled it up, let it drip for a few seconds, and lowered it into the pan beside it.

A grin spread over his face. “Let’s take a look.”

He leaned over the table. Raised the sheet of paper. Held it up to the red light.

His grin faded quickly. “Hey—who shot this?” he demanded angrily.

Dan and I moved closer to see the photo.

“Who shot this?” Zane repeated. He furiously picked up another sheet from the developing pan. Another one. Another one.

“How did these get on the roll?” he cried. He shoved them all toward Dan and me.

Photos of Rocky.

Close-up portraits.

Photo after photo of the sneering dummy.

“Who shot them? Who?” Zane demanded angrily, shoving the wet photos in our faces.

“I didn’t!” Dan declared, pulling back.

“I didn’t either!” I protested.

But then, who did? I asked myself, staring hard at the ugly, sneering face on each sheet.

Who did?

“What’s going on up here, guys?”

The dummies stared back at me blankly. None of them replied.

“What’s the story?” I demanded. My eyes moved from one dummy to the next. “Come on, guys. Speak up or I’ll come back here with a buzz saw and give you all haircuts!”

Silence.

I paced back and forth in front of them, gazing at them sternly, my arms crossed in front of my chest.

It was late in the afternoon. The sun had begun to lower itself behind the trees. Orange light washed in through the dusty attic windows.

I had crept up to the attic to search for clues. Something weird was going on.

How did all those photos of Rocky get onto Zane’s roll of film? Who took those photos?

The same person who kept carrying Rocky downstairs and sitting him where he would frighten Zane.

“It was Dan—right, guys?” I asked the wide-eyed dummies. “Dan came up here—right?”

I searched the floor. The couch. Under all the chairs.

I didn’t find a single clue.

Now I was questioning the dummies. But of course they weren’t being very helpful.

Stop wasting time and get back downstairs, I told myself.

I turned and started to the stairs—when I heard soft laughter.

“Huh?” I uttered a startled cry and spun around.

Another quiet laugh. A snicker.

And then a hoarse voice: “Is your hair red? Or are you starting to rust?”

“Excuse me?” I cried, raising a hand to my mouth. My eyes swept quickly from dummy to dummy.

Who said that?

“Hey, Trina… you’re pretty. Pretty ugly!” That was followed by another soft snicker. Evil laughter.

“I like your perfume. What is it… flea and tick spray?”

My eyes stopped on the new dummy, the one Dad called Smiley. He sat straight up in the center of the couch. The voice seemed to be coming from him.

“Pinch me. I’m having a nightmare. Or is that really your face?”

I froze. A cold shiver ran down my back.

The hoarse voice did come from the new dummy!

He stared blankly at me. His mouth hung open in a stiff, unpleasant grin.

But the voice came from Smiley. The rude insults came from Smiley.

But that’s impossible! I told myself.

Impossible!

Ventriloquist’s dummies can’t talk without a ventriloquist.

“Th-this is crazy!” I stammered out loud.

And then the dummy started to move.

I let out a scream.

Dan popped up from behind the couch.

The dummy toppled onto its side.

“You-you-you—!” I sputtered, pointing furiously at my brother.

My heart was pounding. I felt cold all over. “That’s not funny! You—you scared me to death!” I shrieked.

To my surprise, Dan didn’t laugh. His eyes were narrowed. His mouth hung open. “Who was making those jokes?” he demanded. His eyes darted from dummy to dummy.

“Give me a break!” I shot back. “Are you going to tell me it wasn’t you?”

He scratched his short brown hair. “I didn’t say a word.”

“Dan, you’re the biggest liar!” I cried. “How long have you been up here? What are you doing here? You were spying on me—right?”

He shook his head and stepped out from behind the couch. “What are you doing up here, Trina?” he asked. “Did you come up to get Rocky? To take Rocky downstairs again and try to scare Zane?”

I let out an angry growl and shoved Dan with all my might.

He stumbled backwards and fell onto the couch. He cried out as he landed on top of the new dummy. He and the dummy appeared to wrestle for a moment as Dan struggled to climb to his feet.

I stepped up close to the couch and blocked his way. As he tried to get up, I pushed him back down.

“You know I’m not the one who’s been moving Rocky around,” I shouted. “We all know you’ve been doing it, Dan. And you’re going to get the two of us in real trouble with Dad.”

“You’re wrong!” Dan declared angrily. His little mouse face turned bright red. “Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!”

He burst up from the couch. The dummy bounced on the cushion. Its head turned. It appeared to grin up at me.

I turned to my brother. “If you weren’t planning more trouble, what were you doing up here?”

“Waiting,” he replied.

“Excuse me? Waiting for whom?” I demanded, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Just waiting,” he insisted. “Don’t you get it, Trina?”

I kicked at a ball of dust on the floor. It stuck to the toe of my sneaker. “Get it? Get what?”

“Don’t you see what’s going on?” Dan demanded. “Haven’t you caught on yet?”

I bent down and pulled the dust ball off my sneaker. Now it stuck to my fingers. “What is in your little mouse brain?” I asked. I rolled my eyes. “This should be good.”

My brother stepped up beside me. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Zane is doing it all,” he said.

I laughed. I wasn’t sure I’d heard him.

“No. Really.” He grabbed my arm. “I know I’m right, Trina. Zane is doing everything. Zane is moving the dummy, bringing it downstairs, then pretending to be scared. Zane made it slap him. Zane carried it to the kitchen table both of those times.”

I shoved Dan’s hand off my arm. Then I spread my hand over his forehead and pretended to check his temperature. “You are totally losing it,” I told him. “Go lie down. I’ll tell Mom you’re running a high fever.”

“Listen to me!” Dan screeched. “I’m serious! I’m right. I know I’m right!”

“Why?” I demanded. “Why would Zane do that, Dan? Why would he scare himself?”

“To pay us back for last time,” Dan replied. “Don’t you get it? Zane is trying to get us in trouble.”

I dropped down onto the couch beside Smiley. I thought hard about what my brother was saying. “You mean Zane wants Dad to think that you and I are using the dummies to scare Zane.”

“Yes!” Dan cried. “But Zane is doing it all. He’s scaring himself. And making it look as if we’re doing it—to get us in big trouble.”

I fiddled with the dummy’s hand as I thought about it some more. “Zane scare himself? I don’t think so,” I replied finally. “What gave you this idea? What proof do you have?”

Dan dropped down on the couch arm. “First of all,” he started, “you didn’t carry Rocky downstairs all those times, did you?”

I shook my head. “No way.”

“Well, neither did I,” Dan declared. “So who does that leave? Rocky isn’t walking around by himself—right?”

“Of course not. But—”

“It was the camera that gave it away,” Dan said. “The photos Zane developed of Rocky were the biggest clue.”

I let the dummy hand fall to the couch. “What do you mean?” I asked. I really wasn’t following my brother’s thinking at all.

“That camera is never out of Zane’s sight,” Dan replied. “Most of the time, he keeps it around his neck. So who else could have snapped all those photos of Rocky?”

I swallowed hard. “You mean that Zane—?”

Dan nodded. “Zane was the only one who could have taken those pictures of Rocky. He sneaked up to the attic. He snapped them. Then he acted scared and angry when he developed them.”

“But it was all an act?” I asked.

“For sure,” Dan replied. “It’s all been an act. To scare us. And to get us in trouble with Dad. Zane is trying to pay us back for how we scared him last time.”

I still had my doubts. “It isn’t like Zane,” I argued. “He’s so wimpy, so quiet and shy. He’s not the kind of boy who plays tricks on people.”

“He’s had months to plan it!” Dan exclaimed. “Months to plan his revenge. We can prove it, Trina. We can hide up here and wait for him. That’s why I was up here. Hiding behind the couch.”

“To catch him in the act?”

Dan nodded. He whispered even though we were alone. “After everyone goes to bed tonight, let’s sneak up here and wait. Wait and see if Zane comes.”

“Okay,” I agreed. “It’s worth a try… I guess.”

Was Dan right?

Would we catch Zane in the act?

I couldn’t wait for everyone to go to sleep. I was dying to find out.

Gusts of wind rattled the attic windowpanes. Heavy clouds covered the moon.

We crept up the attic stairs into the darkness. Up a step. Then stop. Up a step. Then stop. Trying to be silent.

The old house moaned and groaned beneath us.

The attic stretched blacker than the stairway.

I reached for the light switch. But Dan slapped my hand away. “Are you crazy?” he whispered. “It has to be dark. Totally dark. Or else Zane will know that someone is up here.”

“I know that,” I whispered sleepily. “I just wanted to take one look at the dummies. You know. Make sure they’re all here.”

“They’re all here,” Dan replied impatiently. “Just keep moving. We’ll hide behind the couch.”

We crept on tiptoe over the attic floorboards. I couldn’t see a thing. The heavy clouds kept any light from washing in through the windows.

Finally, my eyes adjusted to the darkness. I could see the arms of the couch. I saw dummy heads. Dummy shoulders. Shadows against shadows.

“Dan—where are you?” I whispered.

“Back here. Hurry.” His whisper came from behind the couch.

I could feel the dummy eyes on me as I made my way around the couch. I thought I heard a soft snicker. The evil laughter again.

But that had to be my imagination.

I trailed my hand over the couch arm. Felt a wooden dummy hand resting on the arm. The dummy hand felt surprisingly warm.

Humanly warm.

Don’t start imagining things, Trina, I scolded myself.

That dummy hand is warm because it’s hot up in this attic.

The wind rattled the glass. Strong gusts roared against the roof, so low over our heads.

I heard a loud groan. A soft chuckle. A strange whistling sound.

Ignoring all the attic noises, I ducked down on the floor beside my brother. “Well? Here we are,” I whispered. “Now what?”

“Sssshhhh.” In the darkness, I could see him raise a finger to his lips. “Now we wait. And listen.”

We both turned and rested our backs against the back of the couch. I raised my knees and wrapped my arms around them.

“He isn’t coming,” I whispered. “This is a waste of time.”

“Ssshhh. Just wait, Trina,” Dan scolded. “Give him time.”

I yawned. I felt so sleepy. The heat of the attic was making me even sleepier.

I shut my eyes and thought about Zane.

At dinner, he couldn’t wait to pass around the photographs of Rocky. “I don’t know who took these shots,” Zane complained to my dad. “But they wasted half a roll of film.”

Dad glared angrily at Dan and me. But he didn’t make a fuss. “Can we talk about it after dinner?” he suggested quietly.

“I’m kind of scared,” Zane told Dad in a trembling voice. “So many weird things have been happening. It’s like the dummies have lives of their own.” He shook his head. “Wow. I hope I don’t have nightmares tonight.”

“Let’s not talk about the dummies now,” Mom chimed in. “Zane, tell us about your school. Who is your teacher this year? What are you studying?”

“Could I have a second helping of potatoes?” Uncle Cal interrupted. He reached for the bowl. “They’re so good. I may have to make a pig of myself.”

Dad took another quick glance at the close-up snapshots of Rocky. He flashed Dan and me another angry scowl. Then he set the photos down on the floor.

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