Fright Christmas Page 3

  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?”

  9

  “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.

  10

  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.

  11

  SQUEEEAAAAAL!

  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.

  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!”

  12

  The 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.

  13

  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.