Fright Christmas (5 page)

I turned back to the screen. The camera panned down street after street—filled with people, bundled up in their winter coats. They carried shopping bags and boxes and wrapped packages. Christmas presents!

“Hey, someone must have shot this video today,” I said.

“Hmmm.” The Night Watchman shook his head from side to side. “Keep watching, Kenny.”

The camera zoomed in on a building—my school!

Then the auditorium flashed on the TV screen. The principal stood on the stage, in front of a microphone.

“Students of Shadyside Middle School,” his voice boomed. “I hope you all enjoyed the Christmas show.”

“Hey! Wait a minute. What's going on?” I said. “Our drama teacher broke her leg this Thanksgiving. So we didn't put on a Christmas play this year.”

I shot a glance at the Night Watchman. “Keep watching, Kenny.”

“Now, here to make our annual Christmas speech, is one of the nicest boys in our school,” the principal went on. “Timmy Smathers!”

The camera zoomed in on nerdy Tiny Timmy. He sat in the first row.

I stared hard at the screen. This all looked so familiar, as if I'd seen it before.

All the kids clapped and Timmy stood up. Shuffling sheets and sheets of paper in his hands, he walked up the stage steps toward the podium.

Then—from the back of the stage—a figure inched forward in the shadows. I didn't know who it was at first. I couldn't see his face.

Then it hit me!

I knew what I was watching.

“Hey, that's me!” I exclaimed.

“Do you remember what you did there?” the Night Watchman asked.

“How could I forget?” I declared. “It was last Christmas.” Just the memory of that day made me laugh.

I turned back to the screen—just in time to see me duck behind the podium.

I picked up the special stand the woodworking shop had made just for Timmy. He needed a stool to stand on because he was so short!

I watched me run off the stage, clutching the stand to my chest. Timmy walked up to the podium and rested the pages of his speech on top.

“Fellow students of Shadyside Middle School,” he began. “At this special time of year, we all . . .”

Timmy waved his hands in the air as he spoke. And that's all we could see of him—his hands, waving in the air. The rest of him was hidden behind the podium.

The camera panned over the audience. At first, only a few kids laughed. You could hear some other kids shushing them.

Then the laughter grew louder. Finally, even the shushers were giggling!

It was a riot!

The camera zoomed in on me. I sat in the last row. I started to chant.

“Ti-ny Tim-my! Ti-ny Tim-my!” It didn't take long for the other kids to join in.

The camera zoomed back to the stage. Behind the podium, Timmy bit his lip. A tear streamed down his face.

The principal stormed onto the stage.

The Night Watchman slammed his hand on Stop. Timmy froze on the screen, his face wet with tears.

“Had enough?” he asked.

“Why did you stop it?” I exclaimed. “This is where it gets really good.”

“Because
I've
had enough,” the Night Watchman said.

He pounded his fist on the top of the VCR. The VCR crumpled. The tape spewed out.

Then he flipped up his dark visor—and I saw his eyes.

Creepy yellow eyes with no eyelids. No eyelashes.

My whole body trembled.

“Nowww—what do you think?” he crooned.

I stared in terror as his yellow eyes began to glow.

“Still think I'm crazy, Kenny?”

I broke out into a sweat.

I tried to speak, but the words stuck in my throat.

“Timmy didn't forget that little prank you pulled
last Christmas,” the ghost roared. “What you did hurt him, Kenny.”

“T-take it easy,” I finally choked out. “Th-that's Timmy's problem. Not mine.”

The ghost shook his head. “That's where you're wrong. It's
your
problem, Kenny!”

T
he Night Watchman's thin lips curled into a smile. A horrible, ghostly smile.

He stepped toward me—his thick fingers clenched into two tight fists.

Run!
I told myself.
Get up and run!

But I couldn't move.

“It—it was a joke,” I stammered. “It was just a prank!”

“You're going to pay for what you did to Timmy,” he shouted. His big hands reached out to grab me. I ducked.

I jumped up from the floor and ran.

My heart pounded against my ribs.

I dashed past the long row of TVs. Behind me, I heard the bike's engine thunder to life.

I skidded around the first corner I came to. I saw the furniture department ahead of me. Chairs . . . couches . . . tables. Separated with little walls. Little, fake rooms.

There had to be someplace for me to hide in there!

The bike roared closer.

I dashed through the rooms. In and out. Zigzagging in circles.

Wherever I turned, I heard the bike right behind me.

“You can't escape, Kenny,” the ghost bellowed. “Give up!”

My sides ached from running.

I heard the bike crash through a table as it followed my trail.

“I'm coming for you, Kenny!” the ghost shrieked. Even over the engine I could hear his wicked laughter—and the heavy chains he wore, rattling and clanging.

“Hide-and-seek is over, Kenny,” he cackled madly now. “You lose!”

I ran out of the furniture department.

The bike engine roared through the store, echoing all round me.

I ran and ran—right to the railing straight ahead of me.

I peered over it.

I could see the second floor down below—the home workshop department.

The power saw display. With its rows and rows of knife-sharp edges glistening up at me.

“Time to get my point, Kenny! Good joke, right?”

I spun around.

The ghost sat on his bike—only a few feet in front of me. He had appeared quietly. Out of nowhere!

“Can't we talk about this?” I gulped.

The ghost revved his engine in reply.

My eyes darted nervously to the left. Then to the right. I was trapped—nowhere to run.

I peered down to the second floor. At the razor-sharp blades lined up directly beneath me.

I glanced back at the ghost. His eyes glowed in the dark—a deep yellow glow.

My heart raced. The veins pulsated in my neck.

The ghost flipped his black visor down. Tightened the straps on his helmet.

“Happy landings, Kenny,” he roared. His face broke out in a wide, evil smile.

Then he turned up the throttle on his bike—and headed straight for me.

I squeezed my eyes closed.

“Nooooo!” I shrieked as I leaped over the railing.

And plunged down.

Down.

Down to the razor-sharp blades below.

I
landed with a heavy thud.

I was afraid to open my eyes.

Afraid to move. Afraid to feel the pointed blades cutting through my skin.

But nothing hurt. I didn't feel anything sharp.

In fact, whatever was beneath me felt—soft.

I opened my eyes—and gasped.

I was lying in a bed!

I sat up and gazed around me. Yes. I was back in the bedding department. Back in the same bed!

What happened to the Night Watchman? I sat up, tense and alert. My heart began to pound. I listened for the motorcycle.

Nothing.

The store stood dark and silent.

Did I dream the whole thing? Did I fall asleep and have a horrible nightmare?

Maybe. Probably, I told myself. After all, no one rides through Dalby's on a motorcycle.

And there are no such things as ghosts!

My heart began to slow down. I was starting to feel a little better.

I glanced at my watch.

Almost ten
P.M.

Then I remembered what Santa said. The first ghost at nine. The second ghost at ten.

I shivered and pulled the comforter up around my shoulders.

“There are no such thing as ghosts,” I told myself again.

I slipped my feet over the edge of the bed.

Time to search for a way out of here. I yawned.

I felt so sleepy again. And cold. Chilled to the bone. I shivered and lifted my legs back onto the mattress.

I pulled the quilt up to my chin. Did they have to turn the heat off at night? I yawned loudly as my head hit the pillow.

So sleepy.

So cold.

I pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped the comforter snugly around me.

The room grew icy.

I shivered hard. My teeth chattered.

I wished I were home. Where was Mom? Why didn't she wait for me?

A gust of wind suddenly blew through the store. Across the aisle, a display of curtains flapped and swirled in its wake.

The wind howled through the aisles. Blowing stronger.

Hey, there aren't any windows in Dalby's! Where was that wind coming from?

A freezing blast of air stung my face and eyes. I trembled—huddled in a frozen ball on the bed.

The wind tore at my quilt. It snapped and billowed in the powerful gusts. I clung on to it desperately.

The wind rose again, raging now—ripping the quilt from my grasp. It soared to the ceiling on a current of air.

Rows of curtains ripped from their rods. Towels and bath mats flew from the shelves.

Another blast of air whipped through the store, hurling a metal curtain rod right at me.

I lifted my pillow to block it. The rod bounced off the pillow and crashed to the floor.

But the wind beat against my pillow—and tore it wide open.

I grabbed for another pillow. But all the pillows on all the beds were sailing through the air now. The wind beat at them—tearing them to shreds. Feathers and foam swirled everywhere.

Feathers and foam swirling, swirling—then drifting down on me. Cold and wet.

Cold and wet!

The feathers had turned to snow.

Snow? In the middle of Dalby's?

“Night Watchman?” I shouted, my words swallowed by the freezing wind. “Are you out there? Are you doing this to me?”

I spotted something coming toward me.

No—not something.

Someone.

In a long, swirling robe. White as the snowflakes that whirled overhead.

Icicles hung from his face. Glistening icicles—dripping down from his white hair and his long, stringy beard.

He glided slowly toward me through the swirling snow.

My pulse quickened.

As he came closer, I could make out his ghastly
face. A face carved out of a rough chunk of ice—with cold blue eyes trapped inside its glassy walls.

And frosty, hollowed cheeks.

And a long, jagged cut for a mouth.

“Ken-ny,” he wailed in a voice like the freezing, howling wind.

“Who . . . are . . . you?” I screamed. “What . . . are . . . you?”

He moved closer. An icy, clawed hand slipped out from the long sleeve of his robe. It glistened in the darkness.

I inched back on the bed. As far back as I could go.

The robed creature reached out—and clamped his frozen hand on my shoulder.

An icy blast shot through my veins.

“Kenny,” the creature groaned. “I am your Christmas Present!”