by R. L. Stine
“What’s a shink?” Pepper screamed.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” Chad-Two said, pushing me and Pepper toward the yellow circle on the floor.
Just then the shed door whooshed open, and Mom and Dad came in. “Oh, good, you’re both here,” Mom said. “It’s time for the body switch.”
Then she noticed me and Pepper. “Who are these humans? What are they doing here? This is going to throw off our schedule!”
“I was just going to shink them,” Chad-Two said. “Chad-One has been misbehaving. He stole this one’s body.” He pointed at me. “No wonder he’s been acting so strange the last couple of days—he had someone else’s brain!”
Pepper grabbed my sleeve and pulled on it. “Who are those people with sitcom damage?” she whispered to me.
“Grown-up aliens.”
“What’s a shink?” she whispered.
“It’s a machine that shrinks you and turns you into a pebble,” I whispered back.
“Nobody shrinks me!” she yelled.
“It doesn’t hurt,” Chad-Two said again. He shoved my shoulder to get me moving toward the yellow circle.
I tripped over that blue box on the floor again and fell across the edge of the yellow circle.
I reached out for anything to break my fall and grabbed the shink from Chad-Two’s hands.
I hugged it to my belly and curled around it as I fell.
I’m not sure exactly how it happened. Only it was way better than falling into a tray full of spaghetti!
I had the shink in my arms, and Mom and Dad and Chads One and Two were racing toward me.
They all looked horrified!
I felt as if everything were moving in slow motion.
I lifted the shink. I turned the fuzzy side toward them.
What if I couldn’t remember the right way to touch the pads?
They were closing in on me! Mom had her arms out to grab me, and for the first time I noticed how long and red her fingernails were!
I tapped the square black pad twice. I tapped the round black pad three times. I tapped the square black pad twice again!
For a second they kept coming. Then they all shrieked! Just like the rat. They shrank, twisting and squirming, until they were tiny statues on the floor!
19
It was a good thing I had that lifter in my pocket. Otherwise there was no way Pepper and I would have been able to cart all that stuff home, even though we shrank it all down—the spaceship, the shed, the body-switching machines, and all those other gadgets I didn’t understand.
I even double-shrank stuff the aliens had already packed into those big hard-sided cases.
The machine was on the reversible setting when I blasted everything. So all the stuff ended up having those little black touch pads on it. I can tap it back up to life size any time I want to.
I keep everything on the top shelf in my closet.
I found an excellent place in my basement to hide the shink so no one would ever find it. Especially Pepper.
Sometimes late at night when everyone else is asleep, I take out one of the machines and tap it up just to look at it. Just so I can convince myself that everything I went through was real—and not some weird, horrible nightmare!
The aliens didn’t shrink down as much as everything else did. They are about three and a half inches high, and you can tell by looking at them that they’re people.
Pepper keeps them on the top shelf with all her best dolls.
I’m thinking of starting a cartoon series about this superhero who can make things bigger and smaller and defeats body-switching aliens. And gets revenge on everyone who ever called him a dork.
I still trip over things. And I’m still klutzy. But Pepper doesn’t tease me as much as she used to. She has major respect for me now.
Because she got caught in the shink blast, too.
And now—any time I want—I can tap that little black pad on the back of her neck. I can make her really small and really quiet for as long as I like.
I guess you could say things are really looking up for Will the Spill.
Are you ready for another walk down Fear Street?
Turn the page for a terrifying sneak preview.
FRIGHT CHRISTMAS
I grabbed the doorknob and turned it. The door remained locked.
I jiggled the knob.
Tugged on the door again.
It didn’t budge.
It was bolted shut—from the outside.
Which meant I was stuck in a closet in Dalby’s Department Store! On Christmas Eve!
A small wave of panic rose up inside me.
I stared around the closet.
Relax, Kenny, I told myself. If you bang on the door, somebody will hear you and let you out.
I listened.
I heard only the low hum of the electrical control panels in the closet.
“Hey, could someone open this door?” I shouted. “I’m stuck in here.”
No one answered me.
“Hey, I’m stuck in here!” I yelled, pounding my fist on the door. “Somebody open up!”
No one came to the door.
With all the people out there, why didn’t anyone hear me?
“I’m a kid trapped in this closet!” I yelled as loud as I could. “Help me! Somebody! Get me out of here!”
I banged on the door with my hands. I kicked it hard with my feet.
There! Somebody had to hear that!
Silence.
An uneasy feeling crept into the pit of my stomach. I stood back from the door and took a deep breath.
Then I took a running leap at it, throwing my shoulder against it, hard.
Nothing.
I banged on the door until my knuckles hurt.
Still nothing.
Where is everyone?
I glanced at my glow-in-the-dark watch. 8:15!
Dalby’s closes at 8:00.
Did everyone go home?
How could that be?
How could everyone have gone home and left me in here? My mom must have told someone I was missing. Why weren’t they looking for me?
My hands began to sweat. I had to get out of this place. But how?
I wiped my sweaty palms on my pants and checked my watch again. 8:20.
It wasn’t that late. There had to be someone in the store. A manager. A security guard locking up. One of the department-store Santa’s stupid elves. Someone.
Oh, I get it! They know I’m in here, I realized. They’re trying to teach me a lesson or something dumb like that.
“Come on, you guys!” I yelled. “Please. Let me out of here! Now!”
No reply.
I grabbed the doorknob and pulled with all my strength.
“Help!” I screamed. “Help!”
I twisted the knob. Then I pulled again, as hard as I could.
“Let me out of here!” I shouted.
No one answered my calls. I backed away from the door, wondering what to do next.
That’s when I heard the sizzling sounds.
I gazed around the room. I couldn’t tell what was making that noise.
Then, suddenly, the hum in the room grew louder.
And the floor began to vibrate.
My legs shook hard.
The humming grew louder. Louder. It filled the room now, shrill and strong. It seemed to come at me from every direction, all at once.
The floor quaked under my feet.
I started to lose my balance.
Started to slam into the control panel—when the door slowly swung open.
I grabbed on to the control panel and caught my balance.
I stared at the door.
It swung open some more. A pale red light glowed through the opening.
I staggered toward the door on shaky legs.
“What took you so long?” I demanded as I stepped outside. “Something crazy was going on in that room!”
Huh?
No one stood outside the
door.
The toy department sat in silence. Except for the dull red glow from the exit signs, it was totally dark.
As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I glanced around. In the shadowy light, I could make out the outline of Santa’s Village.
In the glow of the red light, Santa Street looked eerie—like a miniature Fear Street. The deserted end of Fear Street. The part with the abandoned mansions. The mansions that people say are haunted.
I live on Fear Street. I have to admit it—the mansions do look kind of creepy. But haunted—come on! How could anyone really believe in ghosts.
I took a step forward.
“Hey!” I shouted. “Anybody here?”
My voice echoed back to me.
I took a few more steps. My sneakers squeaked on the marble floor.
I stood perfectly still and listened. All I heard was my own heart beating. Really loud.
Then I heard something else.
I held my breath. What was it?
It sounded like . . . bells.
Sleigh bells. Louder now. Coming closer—from Santa’s Village.
I took a few steps through the village gate.
“Hey, is someone there?” I yelled.
Footsteps. Slow and heavy.
I squinted in the darkness. I saw something move—down by Santa’s sleigh.
I could make out a shadow now—the shadow of a man. A man sitting in Santa’s sleigh.
He stood up and stepped out of the sleigh.
Even in the shadows I could tell he was big. And tall. He walked slowly down Santa Street—right toward me.
“Who’s there?” I shouted. “Who is it?” My voice squeaked a little.
The man didn’t answer.
He came closer.
I heard his heavy shoes scrape the floor.
And with every step he took, I heard the faint sound of jingling bells.
Barely breathing, I stood there and watched him. Now I could make out his fur-trimmed red coat and red pants.
Joe! The department-store Santa.
Joe—still wearing his big white beard. Didn’t he ever take that thing off?
“Hey, did you unlock that door for me?” I called out to him.
He shrugged. “Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t.”
“Give me a break, Joe.” I rolled my eyes at him. “It sure took you long enough,” I complained. “I yelled my head off in there. Didn’t you hear me?”
“I’m a busy guy tonight,” Joe replied. “It’s Christmas Eve, after all—the big night.”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. So you’re still mad at me for pulling your beard off,” I said sarcastically. “You wanted to teach me a lesson, right?”
Joe walked right up to me and stared down into my eyes. He shook his head slowly from side to side. I noticed a funny little smile under his beard.
“You’ve been naughty all year, Kenny,” Joe said grimly.
“Naughty?” I mimicked his voice. Then I chuckled.
Joe wagged his finger at me, frowning.
“Come on, Joe. Lighten up,” I teased. “You don’t have to drag out this Santa act for me. Christmas shopping season is over.”
I reached up. I grabbed hold of his beard—and gave it a good yank.
It didn’t budge.
I pulled on it again—harder this time.
It didn’t come off.
No, I thought. It couldn’t be.
Could it?
About R. L. Stine
R. L. Stine, the creator of Ghosts of Fear Street, has written almost 100 scary novels for kids. The Ghosts of Fear Street series, like the Fear Street series, takes place in Shadyside and centers on the scary events that happen to people on Fear Street.
When he isn’t writing, R. L. Stine likes to play pinball on his very own pinball machine, and explore New York City with his wife, Jane, and son, Matt.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Aladdin
An Imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
Copyright © 1996 by Parachute Press, Inc.
BODY SWITCHERS FROM OUTER SPACE WRITTEN BY NINA KIRIKI HOFFMAN
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
ISBN 0-671-00186-8
ISBN 978-1-4424-8739-0 (eBook)
First Minstrel Books paperback printing November 1996
Aladdin and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster Inc.
