Fright Christmas (4 page)

The chandelier above the bed swung wildly. Tiny bits of the ceiling snowed down on me.

What was happening? Was it an earthquake? In Shadyside?

The entire bedding department shook now. The beds bounced up and down. Their legs pounded the floor. China lamps crashed all around me.

And then I heard a roar that echoed through the dark store. The roar of a huge, powerful engine.

The roar grew louder.

Coming from everywhere at once.

I gripped the shaking bed. Struggled to sit up.

I stared into the blackness. The sound was almost deafening. Coming closer.

Something flashed in the dark. What was it? A beam of light? A flashing beam of light?

Where did it come from?

It disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

Then it flashed again. This time directly into my eyes!

I shielded my eyes with my hand.

“Who's there?” I screamed.

And then I saw it—a big, gleaming motorcycle.

Charging down the aisle.

Coming straight at me!

“T
urn! Turn!” I screamed.

The headlight blinded me as the motorcycle headed straight for me.

I gripped the bed, frozen with fear.

I closed my eyes—and waited for the crash.

But it didn't come.

I heard the squeal of brakes and breathed in the smell of burning rubber.

I peered up from the bed—and saw the giant front wheel, spinning in midair. Inches from my head.

The headlight lit up the ceiling above me.

I looked at the driver—and my whole body shuddered.

The driver wore a big silver helmet, his eyes masked by a deep black visor. The rest of his face was covered by a bristly black beard.

His body was huge. He wore a black T-shirt and a black vest. But it was the chains that made me gasp—big, heavy chains draped over his shoulders, crossing his chest. And tied around his waist.

His muscular arms held the bike up—with the front wheel spinning. Spinning right next to my face.

I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out.

The biker stared at me.

He gunned the thundering engine—and I leaped back. Then he lowered the bike, slamming the front wheel on the floor.

I swallowed hard. I held my breath.

The motor's roar died.

The biker's lips slowly parted into a grin. A mouthful of metal teeth glistened in the darkness.

“Hi, Kenny!” he growled. “Ready to have some fun?”

“H
-how do you know my name?” I stammered.

He laughed at me. A laugh that boomed like thunder.

I wiped my sweaty hands on my jacket and slid out of the bed. I took a good look at him.

He leaned against his bike now, arms crossed over his barrel-sized chest.

His massive shoulders bulged beneath his T-shirt. On his wrists, thick leather bands glistened with pointed silver studs.

The huge chains—with links bigger than my fist—snaked across his body.

Then I saw his skin. His blue skin.

No. Not blue, I realized. Tattoos. Every inch of his skin, covered with them.

My eyes followed a thick blue-and-green tattoo of a snake that swirled up his arm to his bulging bicep. The snake's beady red eyes seemed to glare at me.

And then I saw its red tongue flicker—and I screamed.

The biker chuckled—as the snake let out a low hiss.

I watched in horror as the snake's thick blue tail slithered around the biker's wrist.

I sucked in a breath.

“Like the tattoos?” the biker asked.

“Yeah, really cool,” I choked out.

Then I gasped—as a big black spider suddenly came alive. It twitched on the biker's forearm—and scampered up to his elbow. Then it disappeared beneath his T-shirt sleeve.

Just below the edge of his sleeve, a purple skull with glowing yellow eyes winked at me.

I gulped and looked away.

“Wh-who are you?” I stammered.

“They call me Night Watchman,” he grumbled.

“S-so you watch the store?” I asked nervously.

“Wrong, kid.” The Night Watchman slowly shook his head. “I've been watching
you.”

His reply sent an icy chill down my back.

“What do you think you're doing in here?” he demanded.

“I—I got locked up in here. It wasn't my fault. Honest,” I sputtered. “See, I got stuck in the computer control room. And then—”

The biker swung a massive leg over his bike as I spoke. He settled into the seat, grabbed the long, curvy handlebars, and adjusted the hand gear. Then he raised his right boot and slammed it down on the pedal.

Long blue flames exploded out of the silver tailpipes. I leaped to the side to stand clear.

Great, he's leaving! I thought.

“Get on!” he yelled. His voice bellowed over the engine's roar.

“That's okay.” I waved at him. “I can find my own way out.”

He pointed to the space behind him on the bike's saddle.
“Now!”
he commanded.

He glared at me. His thin lips curled into a snarl.

Shaking, I stepped up to the bike and jumped on the back.

I searched for something to hold on to. Anything but the Night Watchman himself.

The bike engine roared and surged forward.

Whoa! My head snapped back as we blasted off.

I threw my arms around the Night Watchman's waist.

I gasped.

My arms passed right through him.

I could still see his wide, leather-covered back. I could still see the chains winding around his body. But I couldn't feel a thing.

Nothing.

The Night Watchman was a ghost.

A
ghost!

I gripped the seat—until the bike slowed. Until I could leap off.

But the biker zoomed through the aisles of the bedding department—faster and faster.

I gathered up my courage to speak. “Slow down!” I begged.

“Faster?” he replied. “You want to go faster? No problem!”

He revved the engine higher. Then he tossed back his head and bellowed a ghostly laugh. “Ha-ha-ha!”

“Let me off!” I screamed.

“Stop! Let me off!” I released one hand from the seat and pounded on his back.

My fist passed right through him—striking the air.

“Having fun back there, Kenny?” the Night Watchman yelled over his shoulder.

We sped through the china department—and hit the first set of shelves, head-on.

CRASHHHH!

Smashed dishes flew everywhere. I lowered my head, trying to shield my face from the pieces of china that rained down on us.

“Let me off!” I screamed again and again.

The Night Watchman threw back his head and laughed. “Hey, where's your sense of humor, kid? I thought you loved a good joke. Don't tell me you didn't like that?”

“No-o-o,” I stammered. “Enough. Let me off!”

“Off?” he said. “No problem. Just as soon as we get to the third floor.”

The third floor?

I peeked over his shoulder—and gasped.

Straight ahead. The escalator to the third floor.

He wasn't going to drive a motorcycle up an escalator—was he?

WHAMMMM!

The front wheel slammed up the first step. And the next and the next.

My body rattled as we climbed up and up.

I closed my eyes tightly—and held my breath.

We reached the third floor.

I let out a long whoosh of air.

Then I inhaled sharply as we took a sudden turn—and headed for the electronics department.

The Night Watchman slowed the bike now—slow enough for me to escape.

As he turned down the television aisle, I leaped off.

Yes! Safe at last! Now I'll escape. Find a way out of here, I told myself. The worst part is over.

I didn't know how wrong I was.

S
QUEEEAAAAAL!

The Night Watchman hit the brakes. The bike skidded to a stop.

“Come here, kid!” he boomed.

I turned and ran.

I headed for the escalator—and felt a force pulling me back. Back down the aisle. Back toward the TVs. Back to the Night Watchman.

“Going someplace, Kenny?”

“I have to get home,” I groaned.

“And miss the entertainment?” he sneered.

Entertainment?

What was he talking about? I didn't want to find out.

I spun around—and bolted for the escalator.

And slammed straight into the Night Watchman. This time, his body felt like a brick wall.

I flew backward and landed on the floor.

“Don't waste my time,” he growled. “You can't escape me. I'm a ghost—remember? I am the ghost of your past.”

“Wh-what does that mean?” I stammered.

“I'm disappointed in you, Kenny.” The Night Watchman folded his arms across his chest. “Haven't you figured it out yet?”

“Figured what out?” I glanced up at him. “I don't know what you're talking about!”

“Let me spell it out for you, kid. I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.
Your
past,” he declared.

He grabbed the back of my jacket and lifted me off my feet. The heels of his black boots clicked on the hard floor as he pulled me into the video department.

“Sit!” He shoved me down. I hit the floor with a thud.

Then he began searching through a stack of videos.

“I can watch a movie at home!” I exclaimed. “I have to get home!”

“Sorry, Kenny,” he said. “You don't have
this
movie at your house.”

He inserted the tape into a VCR.

The screen on a giant TV lit up. I saw a street. A familiar street.

“Hey, that's Main Street!” I said. “I never knew they made a movie in Shadyside!”

The Night Watchman leaned against his bike. He took a long, pointy metal toothpick from the pocket of his T-shirt and slipped it between his teeth.

“This is going to be a real treat for you, Kenny!” he sneered as he picked at his metal teeth.