Fright Christmas (8 page)

T
he ghost slowly nodded its head.

Silently, he drew a bony hand from under his robe and raised it in the air. The index finger glowed yellow in the mist.

With his glowing finger, he pointed to the other side of the cemetery.

To three figures coming through the mist. Coming my way.

As they neared, I could see they were kids. About my height. About my age. A boy with curly blond hair. Another boy with short dark hair. A girl with long blond hair.

These kids would help me!

“Over here!” I shouted. “Help! I can't hold on much longer!”

The kids came closer. Slowly.

“Hurry!” I yelled.

They didn't speak.

They didn't quicken their pace.

What's wrong with them? Why aren't they running over here? Why don't they say something?

They came closer.

Something about the way they walked looked strange. So stiff.

Something about their faces looked strange too. Dull and vacant.

“Are you okay?” I shouted up to them. “Are you guys in trouble too?”

The kids stopped at the edge of the grave.

I peered up into their faces—and they began to hum.

Softly at first.

Then louder. More like moaning now.

The boy with the blond hair stood closest to me. “Help me! Give me your hand!” I called out to him.

He didn't answer.

Their moaning grew louder.

Then, suddenly, it stopped—and the kids began to laugh. And as they did, their faces began to change.

Their eyes bulged out.

Their lips turned black and scaly.

Their skin began to rot away.

I stared in horror as slimy mucus oozed from their pores.

A foul stench drifted down toward me. The stench of their decaying flesh.

Monsters!

They were monsters!

Hideous monsters!

“M
onsters!” I cried, glancing away from their terrifying faces.

“Look, Kenny!” they shrieked in unison. “Look at us!”

“I—I can't,” I stammered.

The monsters shrieked with laughter. The girl monster pushed her hideous face close to mine. “Aren't I beautiful?” she grinned, revealing a row of black, rotted teeth.

“Answer her!” the blond-haired boy ordered.

“You're—you're the most disgusting thing I've ever seen!” I choked out.

“You'll change your mind soon,” the brown-haired
monster hooted. “When you look just like us!”

His eyeballs rolled back in his bulging eye sockets and disappeared totally.

“Never!” I shrieked. “I'll never look like you!”

“Live a monster. Die a monster. Live a monster. Die a monster,” the three hideous creatures began to chant.

They lowered themselves to the edge of the grave. Their stench filled my nostrils. I started to gag.

“Go away!” I shouted. “Leave me alone!”

“Thought you wanted our help,” the brown-haired boy chuckled.

“Help me. Somebody helllp meeee,” the girl mimicked me. “Hur-rry!”

The monsters burst out laughing.

I glanced at the ghost. He held up his glowing finger and the laughter abruptly stopped.

“We used to be just like you!” one of the monsters said. “We loved being mean.”

“Just like you. Just like you,” the three monsters chanted.

The three monsters giggled.

“You are our past,” the girl rasped. “But we are your future!”

“Oh, noooo!” I moaned.

Now I understood.

That woman in Dalby's called me a monster.

And the wooden soldiers did too.

Live a monster. Die a monster.

Now I definitely understood.

I stared up at the third ghost.

He pointed his glowing finger at me.

He was going to turn me into a monster—for real.

The ghost brushed his finger across my cheek.

“Noooo!” I begged. “Don't!

“Please, please! Give me a second chance! I'll do anything! Anything! I'll change. I'll be . . . good!”

“P
lease!” I screamed. “Please! Please!”

“Calm down, son!” A light flashed on above me. “Believe me. There's nothing to get upset about!”

Someone grabbed my arm. I opened my eyes. It was a security guard. A Dalby's security guard.

“The door jams now and then,” the guard explained as he led me out of the closet.

A crowd of shoppers gathered around us. I could see Santa's Village just ahead.

“It took us a while to realize you were in there,” the guard continued as he patted me on the shoulder. “With all the noise out here, it was hard to hear you yelling!”

I glanced back over my shoulder at the computer control room. The guard reached back and closed the door.

I checked my wristwatch: 7:50.

I checked the date window: 12-24.

“Is it still Christmas Eve?” I asked—just to make sure.

“Of course it's Christmas Eve,” he replied with a puzzled look. “But the store closes in ten minutes. If we hadn't found you now, you might have been here right through Christmas Day!”

I glanced down Santa Street.

I saw Santa give the last kid in line a candy cane.

The kid beamed a smile from ear to ear!

I saw all the cheerful little elves gather around the Christmas tree to sing one last Christmas carol.

I'd never seen anything so wonderful in my whole life.

“Your mom and sister thought you'd left without them,” the guard went on. “So they went home. You'd better hurry back, before they start to worry about you!”

“Right, I'd better hurry!” I agreed.

I checked my watch again: 7:55.

Only five minutes till the store closed.

Was it enough time?

I raced over to the doll display.

I had to find that cute little ballerina doll! Kristi never did finish telling Santa about it. And it was my fault. If I didn't give it to her, who would?

I spotted the doll at the bottom of a pile of dolls. I snapped it up and ran over to a salesclerk.

“How much is this doll?” I asked.

“Oh, that one is ten dollars,” the lady said pleasantly. “Isn't she beautiful?”

I let out a sigh.

I reached into my pocket—even though I knew I had only a five-dollar bill.

“Do you have a smaller doll? One that costs five dollars?” I asked the clerk as I unfolded the bill.

I glanced down—and gasped with surprise.

In my hand I held a ten-dollar bill!

“Here you are!” I exclaimed, handing her the money. “I can buy this doll after all. Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas to you too.” The woman smiled. She dropped the doll in a bag and carefully reached over the counter to give it to me.

I raced through the store.

“Merry Christmas!” I shouted, and waved as I glided down the escalator. “Merry Christmas, everybody!”

“It's Kenny Frobisher,” I heard a woman exclaim.

“No, it can't be,” another woman said. “Kenny Frobisher never said anything nice to anyone.”

“But it
is
me,” I shouted. “And a happy new year too!” I exclaimed as I dashed out the store.

I
ran all the way home, hugging the shopping bag that held Kristi's gift.

As I dashed down Fear Street, I saw the Christmas wreaths on all our neighbors' doors. Through their windows, I could see their Christmas trees all lit up. They looked so beautiful!

But the most beautiful tree stood in the big front window at 27 Fear Street. My house.

I knocked hard on the front door. Mom flung it open.

“Kenny!” she exclaimed. “There you are!” Her face lit up with a huge smile. “I was so worried about you, honey!”

“Merry Christmas, Mom!” I greeted her. I jumped inside and ran into the living room.

The Christmas tree, the roaring fire in the fireplace, the Christmas music—it was all perfect. Just the way Christmas Eve is supposed to be.

Dad sat in front of the tree. There was an old book on his lap. Mom sat down next to Kristi in front of the fireplace.

On the coffee table sat a tray with mugs of steaming hot chocolate and a plate of homemade cookies.

“Sorry, Kenny,” Dad said softly. “We were reading
A Christmas Carol
I know how you hate it.”

“Not anymore, Dad,” I said, shaking my head. I grabbed a mug of hot chocolate and flopped down on the couch. “I love it! It's one of my favorite stories now!”

Laughing, Dad shook his head. “Since when, Kenny?” he asked. “How did that happen?”

I took a sip from my mug and snuggled into the couch pillows. “It's a long story, Dad,” I replied.

And a scary one.

One I'll never forget.

*   *   *

The next morning I jumped out of bed and snapped open the window shade.

Wow!

A ton of snow had fallen on Shadyside overnight. It sparkled and glistened in the bright morning sun. Fear Street looked like a Christmas card.

“Kenny, are you awake yet?” Mom called. She poked her head in the doorway. “Is Rags with you? I can't find him.”

“Rags? Here, boy!” I called.

I searched my room. I checked under the bed, then inside the closet. No sign of him in any of his usual hiding places.

“He's not here, Mom.”

“I guess we'll just have to keep looking,” Mom sighed. “Kristi is so upset. If we don't find him soon, it will ruin her whole Christmas.”

“He came back last time, didn't he?”

“Last time?” Mom asked. She frowned at me. “We've never lost Rags before.”

I watched Mom close the door and remembered everything all in a rush.

The Night Watchman.

The Iceman.

The ghost in the Fear Street Cemetery.

The three gruesome monsters . . .

I shuddered.

I gazed around my room. At my bed, my posters,
my electric guitar—just to remind myself that it had all been a dream! A nightmare. The worst I'd ever had!

I pulled on a sweatshirt and jeans. Then I dashed downstairs. In the kitchen I found Kristi kneeling beside Rags's little bed.

“He'll come back,” I promised her.

She peered up at me and I saw the tears in her eyes. “What if he never comes back?” she whispered. “What if he's lost? What if a car . . .”

“Don't worry, Kristi.” I patted her on the shoulder. “He's okay. He'll be home any minute.”

Would Rags come home? I didn't know. But I had to say something, didn't I?

The doorbell rang.

“I'll answer it,” I called out.

I pulled open the door and found Timmy Smathers standing on our porch.

He was holding a leash.

Just like in my dream!

“Look who I found!” Timmy exclaimed. He stepped aside and Rags dashed by him, into our living room.