Fright Christmas (7 page)

I
leaped off the bed.

Run! Run for your life!

I tore down the aisle.

I charged through the store. I ran through a department I hadn't been in before. I passed dummies wearing tennis outfits, ski parkas, and bathing suits. The sportswear department.

I skidded to a stop. Could I hide here?

“Stay, Kenny!” someone whispered.

I spun around. “Who—who's there?”

“Don't be a jerk!” A different voice this time. “Get out of here! Now!”

“Who is that? Where are you?”

I broke out into a sweat.

“Why don't you answer me!” I demanded.

I squinted in the darkness. The dim red light of the exit signs cast their eerie glow on everything—the clothes, the counters, the dummies.

The dummies.

I stared hard at the dummies.

They seemed to stare back at me, with dull eyes and blank faces.

I stared at them harder.

I stared at the dummy right next to me—dressed in a golf outfit, holding a golf club.

Then I saw it.

I saw one of its arms begin to move.

I glanced up at its face. A slow smile spread across its lips. Then its club whipped out at me.

I ducked.

The club whizzed by my head. Struck a counter and shattered the glass.

THWAAAK!

It came at me again.

“It's hopeless, Kenny,” a dummy behind me whispered. “You're doomed, no matter which way you go!”

I gazed at the dummies in horror.

They stirred and wriggled. They moaned and blinked their eyes.

They were all coming to life!

I staggered backward. “Are you doing this, Iceman? Night Watchman, is it you?”

Or was it the ghost I hadn't met yet? The third ghost.

The dummy in the ski parka stretched out its arms. It moved one stiff leg. Then the other. With rigid, jerky steps, it staggered off the platform.

It headed straight for me. Its glassy eyes stared into my eyes.

Then, in one swift movement, it lifted its ski pole and hurled it at me like a javelin.

I dodged it just in time. The pole grazed my head and slammed into the wall behind me. Stuck there, harpoonlike.

I ran down the aisle—and skidded to a sudden stop.

A group of dummies stood waiting for me. Blocking my path.

“I—I'm not afraid of you,” I stammered. “You're just a bunch of dummies.”

“I don't think so, Kenny,” one of the mannequins chuckled. “We're not dummies—you are the dummy!”

All the dummies broke out into a horrible laugh. Shrieking and laughing—and chanting, “Kenny is a dummy. Kenny is a dummy.”

I turned and dashed the other way. I ducked around a corner. All clear. I made a run for it.

“Not so fast, Kenny!” A dummy popped out from behind a counter. He stuck out his stiff, hard leg and tripped me.

“Get away from me!” I shouted as I struggled to my feet.

“Need a hand, Kenny?” the dummy screeched. He unscrewed one of his hands and flung it at me.

I ran and ran.

“You can't leave us, Kenny,” a dummy in a bathing suit warned. “We're just starting to have some fun!”

“Kenny is a dummy. Kenny is a dummy.” Their hideous, chilling cries echoed through the empty store.

I covered my ears and ran back down the aisle.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw more of them chasing me. An army of them—marching out of the men's clothing department!

“Kenny is a dummy. Kenny is a dummy,” they all chanted.

I ran faster!

Straight toward the toy department—and stopped.

In the dim light, two giant wooden soldiers
twisted their stiff heads. Stretched out their stiff arms. Then stepped forward awkwardly.

They slid their long, golden sabers out of their belts.

They gazed straight at me—and began to march.

Their long, sharp blades whistled as the soldiers sliced the air with them.

“Give up, Kenny!” they screamed. “We know what to do with a monster like you.”

Fighting my panic, I turned and ran.

The wooden soldiers chased after me.

“We're going to get you, Kenny!” they shouted. “You don't have a chance!”

I ran faster and faster.

My lungs burned and my legs ached. But I couldn't stop.

I had to get away!

PING!

The sound came from directly in front of me.

The sound of an elevator!

Why hadn't I seen it before?

No time to figure it out.

I ran straight to it. The doors flew open. I jumped in.

The soldiers approached. Only a few feet away now.

I jumped into the elevator. I frantically banged the buttons.

Nothing! The doors wouldn't close.

The soldiers moved in closer.

I hit the buttons again and again.

“Here we come, Kenny!” The soldiers waved their sabers over their heads.

One reached into the elevator and pinned me against the wall.

I pushed and kicked it. I tried to shove it off. It wouldn't let go.

“Hold him!” the other soldier ordered. “Don't let him escape!”

The soldier in the elevator grabbed my arm and yanked it hard, dragging me out.

“No!” I shouted. “Let go! Let go!”

One foot in the elevator, one foot out—I slammed my hand against the buttons.

The elevator doors began to close.

With one mighty yank, I wrenched free of the soldier—just as the doors slammed shut.

I felt the elevator jerk under my feet. I could feel it begin to move. Going down.

Going down.

I stared up at the floor numbers.

The number three lit up.

Would the soldiers take the escalator down?
Would they be there on the first floor? Waiting for me. Ready to attack.

Hurry! Hurry!

I wiped my sweaty palms on my pants.

I hit the button for one again and again.

The light at three went dark.

Two lit up next.

Then one.

I faced the doors—ready to jump out and run.

But the elevator didn't stop. It kept moving. Down. Down. Down.

I pounded on the emergency stop button, but the elevator kept falling.

I swallowed hard.

I felt the elevator picking up speed. Dropping faster and faster.

This can't be! No building in Shadyside had a basement so far down!

The elevator continued to drop—zooming down now.

I crouched down and got ready to crash. I covered my eyes with my hands.

And suddenly it started to slow.

Then it stopped—and the doors swished open.

I stepped out into a narrow room.

In the dim light, I could barely see the brown walls. I felt a damp chill. I choked on a musty smell.

Ping!

I spun around. The elevator was gone! Vanished!

I let out a low groan.

Now what?

I touched a wall. The surface crumbled beneath my fingertips.

Dirt! The wall was made of dirt!

I groped the other three walls. Dirt—all dirt.

I gazed up at the ceiling—but there wasn't one!

The bare branches of a tree swayed overhead. Through the branches, I glimpsed stars and a crescent moon in the night sky.

I turned around slowly, gazing at each dark dirt wall.

Where am I?

Suddenly I knew.

I stood in an open grave.

O
h, noooo!
What am I doing in a grave?

Don't panic, I ordered myself.

Think.

The Fear Street Cemetery is only three blocks from home. That's where I am.

I gazed at the grave walls. If I can climb out of here, I can run home! I can be back in my own house, in my own bed, in minutes.

I dug my fingers into the dirt walls and started climbing. The grave was deep, with really steep walls.

I raised a foot and shoved into a wall. I plunged my fingers into the dirt. Then I heaved myself up.

I planted my other foot in the wall and climbed some more.

I slowly made my way up.

The soil crumpled under my fingertips and fell on my face. Into my eyes. On my lips. I could even taste it on my tongue.

I climbed and climbed.

I was halfway there.

But I had to stop. Something cold, something slimy, wriggled across my hand.

I released my grip and shook my fingers.

Yuck.

A fat, bloated worm flew off.

I began to raise myself up again—but . . .

I felt something slither under my jacket sleeve. Under both sleeves. Down my shirt.

I lost my hold—and plunged to the bottom of the grave.

I tore off my jacket—and screamed.

Worms!

Hundreds of worms slithered around my arms. Slid down my chest. Crept up my legs.

“Get off! Get off me!” I shrieked, shaking my whole body.

The worms crawled up my neck. Up my cheeks. Into my hair.

I shook my head wildly. I jumped up and down. A
clump of worms fell off—but more seemed to take their place.

I clawed at my arms and chest. I brushed the worms frantically from my neck and face.

I heard a sickening plop as their juicy purple bodies fell to the ground.

I grabbed at the dirt, searching for a tree root to hoist myself out.

I found one.

I grabbed on to it and scaled the grave walls. Climbing up, up.

I was almost out.

I peered over the top of the grave.

The moonlight cast a warm, spooky glow over the tombstones. Over the trees. Shadows shifted over the graves. A heavy mist hung in the air.

The cemetery was quiet. Totally silent.

I reached over the top of the grave with both hands.

With all my strength, I began to pull myself out.

But something was wrong.

My leg seemed to be caught.

I gazed down—and gasped.

Stretching up through the dirt, I saw—a hand. A hand gripping my ankle. A bony, skeleton hand!

Its fingers gripped my ankle tighter and tighter.

“Noooo!” I screamed.

I kicked and kicked.

The bony fingers dug deeper into my flesh.

“Let me goooo!” I shrieked. I tried to pull myself out—over the edge of the grave.

But the hand pulled me down.

Down.

Down to the bottom of the grave.

“L
et me goooo!” I screamed again and again.

I clawed at the dirt. Found the tree root.

With all my strength, I dragged myself up. Kicking, kicking, trying to kick free of the skeleton's deadly grip.

I reached the grave opening. Peered over the edge. Started to lift myself out.

My hands began to slip.

I thought I saw something move in the shadows.

Was someone out there?

“Help me!” I screamed. “Somebody, help me!”

The bony fingers tugged at my leg. Pulling me harder. Pulling me down.

Something moved out in the cemetery!

This time I was certain.

A figure moved through the mist. I saw it—moving toward me.

“Help me!” I gasped. “Help . . .”

The figure stopped.

“This way!” I screamed. “Help me! You've got to help me!”

The shadowy form moved forward. It heard me! It was coming to save me!

“Hurry!” I cried. “Before it's too late!”

It moved nearer and nearer. It was a man carrying something. A long pole.

The cemetery caretaker—that's who it must be!

Then I saw the long black robe. And the peaked hood almost completely covering his head.

Who was this man?

He approached the edge of the grave—and I screamed.

Five long, bony fingers grasped the pole. The hand of a skeleton. Under the hood, no face. Just a skull with red, glowing eyes!

“The third ghost!” I stammered. “The Ghost of Christmas Future.”

The ghost of
my
future.