40 - Night of the Living Dummy III by R.L. Stine - (ebook by Undead) Page B

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