Slappy- Locked Door

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.
...

“You have to help me,” I told her. “Right now.”
Sara’s smile vanished. “Help you do what?” she demanded.
“We have to get rid of Slappy,” I told her. “We have to get rid of him for good.”
I tugged her hand. She followed me down the hall.
“But—how?” she asked.
Stepping into my room, we both cried out at once.
We heard a final kick—and the closet door swung open.
Slappy burst out, his eyes wild with rage.
“Guess what, slaves?” he rasped. “Slappy wins!”

- Night of the Living Dummy II, chapters 20 and 21