by R. L. Stine
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.
4
I grabbed onto 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!
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. “Tonight’s the big night.”
“All right. All right. You’re still mad at me for pulling your beard off,” I said sarcastically. “You wanted to teach me a lesson, right?”
Joe walked 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.
“Are you sorry about what you did, Kenny?” he asked.
“What’s the big deal?” I scoffed. “Those kids will get over it.”
“You’ve been naughty all year, Kenny,” Joe said grimly.
“Naughty?” I mimicked his voice. Then I chuckled. “You can save the Santa act for next year. Okay, Joe?”
Joe wagged his finger, frowning.
“Come on, Joe. Lighten up,” I teased. “You don’t have to drag out this Santa act for me.”
Then 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.
With a shaky hand, I reached out to give it a really hard tug.
5
“W-what did you stick this thing on with anyway?” I stammered.
Joe’s round cheeks puffed out. They turned really red.
He gripped my hand strongly. He pried it off his beard. But he didn’t let go of my wrist.
I stared up into his face—and studied it closely. Even in the shadowy light this guy didn’t look that much like Joe to me anymore.
My mouth suddenly felt very dry. I licked my lips and tugged my wrist out of his hand.
I took a quick step backward. Away from him. Whoever he was . . .
“That beard. It’s—it’s real, right?” I murmured.
“That’s right.” He nodded slowly. A small bell on his cap jingled. It sounded creepy in the silent department store.
“And you’re not Joe,” I blurted out.
“Right again.” He crossed his arms over his wide chest. “It’s time we had a talk, Kenny,” the stranger said to me. His deep voice boomed through the empty store.
He moved even closer.
“Talk? About what?” I asked slowly.
“About you, Kenny,” he said.
“What do you mean, about me? Who are you anyway?” I shot back.
“Ho-ho-ho!” he laughed. The sound came from deep in his belly. His entire body shook. “You’re kidding me, Kenny. Right?”
“I’m not kidding,” I shouted at him. “How am I supposed to know who you are? You stomp around here, dressed in that stupid Santa suit. Trying to scare me, or something—”
“Are you sure you don’t know me, Kenny?” He leaned over, his face very close to mine. “You’re a smart kid. Think about it.”
I stared up at him.
I thought about it.
Only one answer made sense.
No. Impossible.
“Well?” he asked.
“This is a joke, right?” I answered. “Pretty good.” I forced a laugh. “You really had me going there for a minute. Well, see you around. My folks must be looking for me. They must be worried.”
“You can’t go yet, Kenny.” The big man shook his head. “Not until we’ve had our talk.”
“Hey, I’m sorry about the beard,” I said in a rush. “It was just a little joke. I’m really sorry, honest.”
“You’ve got a lot more than the beard to apologize for,” he replied in that booming voice. “You’ve done a lot of bad things. It’s time for you to learn-before it’s too late.”
“Come along,” he ordered me. He grabbed my sleeve and led me to the ballerina-doll display.
He reached down and pulled out a doll from the bottom of the pile. The ballerina doll Kristi had shown me.
The doll’s hair was totally flattened. Her eyes, permanently jammed shut.
“Did you do this?” he asked me.
“I was just teasing Kristi a little. No big deal,” I said. “It’s not as though I hurt anyone for real. The doll can’t feel anything.”
“But little girls can,” he said, gently lifting the doll’s lids. “And so can classmates. And parents. And school custodians.”
He set the doll carefully back on the display. Then he turned to me.
“So, is that it? Is that what you wanted to show me?” I asked eagerly. “I really have to go now. It’s really getting late.”
I turned to make a run for it. I waved at him over my shoulder.
“See you!” I called out.
“Not so fast.” He reached out and grabbed my arm. He stared deeply into my eyes.
I tried to squirm out of his hold, but I couldn’t.
“By tomorrow morning you will be a different boy, Kenny. A nice, decent kid. Kind and thoughtful. Considerate of other people’s feelings. You won’t think it’s fun anymore to play mean tricks. Or hurt people’s feelings. What do think of that?”
“Great,” I sai
d nervously. “Can I go now?”
“No, Kenny. Some friends of mine are coming to visit you,” he told me. His voice sounded serious. Real serious.
Not a good sign.
“Friends?” I croaked. “Why do your friends want to see me?”
“You’ll find out,” he said. “The first will come at nine o’clock. The second, at ten. And the third one, at the stroke of midnight.”
“Midnight,” I repeated. “Gee, I’m sorry, but I can’t stay till midnight.” I wrestled free of his grip and started to walk away.
Is he going to try to stop me?
No.
He just stood there and watched me go.
I breathed a long sigh of relief.
I headed for the escalator. It wasn’t moving. I ran all the way down it to the main floor.
The aisle straight ahead of me glowed with the red light of the exit sign. I headed toward the sign.
But when I reached it, I couldn’t find the door.
No door in sight.
Far off, on the other side of the store, I spotted another glowing exit sign.
I charged across the main aisle—past the shadowy shapes of handbags, perfumes, and ladies’ hats—straight for the sign.
Hey! What’s going on here!
Under the exit sign I found a solid wall.
No door.
I ran through the shoe department. To the back of the store. To another exit sign.
No door!
I heard footsteps. Heavy footsteps. And the faint jingling of bells.
I spun around and faced the bearded stranger again. “Hey, how am I supposed to get out of here?”
“You’re not leaving, Kenny. Not tonight,” he told me in a calm, quiet tone.
But I felt a chill.
“I can’t stay here all night,” I protested. “You can’t leave me here all alone.”
He placed his heavy hand on my shoulder. He wore black leather gloves now. And beside him, I spotted a huge red sack—so stuffed, it looked about to burst.
“You won’t be alone, Kenny,” he reminded me. “My friends are going to visit you. You’re going to have a Christmas Eve you’ll never forget.”
I didn’t like the sound of that one bit.
My throat suddenly felt tight.
“Who—who are your friends?” I murmured.
“Ghosts, Kenny,” the bearded man replied. His eyes twinkled in the darkness. “Three ghosts who love to have fun. And play jokes. Just like you.”
He leaned over and hoisted the huge sack to his shoulder. Then he started to walk away.
“Merry Christmas, Kenny.” As he gave a short wave, his figure grew fainter and fainter.
He was disappearing—right before my eyes!
“Wait!” I called out to him.
“Remember, the first at nine o’clock. The second at ten—”
I jumped forward and tried to grab him.
But he was a shadow now. A dim shadow—fading fast.
“And the third at the stroke of midnight.”
His words hung in the air.
And before they’d died away, he was gone!
6
“Hey!” I called out. “Come back!”
I spun around. I searched the shadows.
“Where are you?” I shouted.
My voice echoed all around me.
Ghosts, Kenny. Three ghosts who love to have fun. And play jokes. Just like you. His words came back to me.
Ghosts. Give me a break.
Did he really think I was going believe that one?
I checked my watch.
Ten minutes to nine.
The first ghost was supposed to show up at nine.
I felt my heartbeat quicken. Then I laughed at myself.
Get a grip, Kenny, I told myself. Do you really think a ghost is going to appear in ten minutes? In the middle of Dalby’s Department Store?
Yeah, right.
I gazed around the darkened store, searching for another exit sign. I spotted one over in a corner of the store and jogged to it.
As I brushed past the scarves, I felt someone watching me. The bearded man. Hiding somewhere in the shadows.
I could feel his eyes on me.
I stopped and spun around.
“Hey, I know you’re there,” I shouted into the darkness. “Come on. Show me the way out of here.”
No reply.
“Oh, forget it. I’ll find my own way out of here,” I muttered.
I continued toward the exit sign. The rubber soles of my sneakers slapped against the marble floor, echoing in the darkness.
I came to the end of the aisle.
To another exit sign.
Another exit sign with no door underneath it!
What’s going on here?
I kicked the spot on the wall where the door should have been.
How could all the doors just disappear? This didn’t make any sense!
A cold bead of sweat trickled down the middle of my forehead.
I spun around. I turned down the next aisle.
The red glow of the exit sign reflected off the glass counters. Counters stacked with lipsticks, makeup, and perfume bottles.
I searched frantically for a door. There had to be one somewhere.
I walked down another aisle. And another.
I jogged by dummies. Rows of dummies wearing gloves.
Dummies with outstretched arms.
Dummies reaching over the counters. Reaching into the aisles with their black-gloved hands.
Stretching forward. Reaching out for me.
My heart pounded in my chest.
They’re just dummies. They can’t move.
I broke into a run.
And stopped short.
Something snagged my jacket. Yanked me backward.
I peered down—and gasped.
7
A hand gripped my jacket.
The black-gloved hand of a dummy.
I yanked my arm free.
You ran into it. You ran into the dummy—and it snagged you, I convinced myself.
I started to run again.
I glanced down to check my watch—five minutes to nine.
My pulse began to race.
What should I do? I can’t find a door anywhere in this whole store. Where should I go?
A telephone.
That’s it! I’ll use the pay phone on the second floor to call home. I know just where it is, too. I used it last week to call Dad to pick me up.
I raced to the escalator and took the metal steps two at a time. I ran down a long aisle of kitchen appliances—blenders, toasters, microwave ovens—and saw someone standing at the end of the aisle.
A tall, thin man.
Yes! Someone to help me.
“Hey!” I yelled as I ran toward him. “I’m stuck in here. I can’t find the doors downstairs—”
The man stood frozen.
Didn’t he hear me?
I ran up to him so fast—I knocked him over.
I felt like a total jerk.
I’d been yelling at a big cardboard figure. The figure of Tex Tabasco—a famous chef with his own TV show—holding up a frying pan that was on sale.
I got so mad, I jumped on Tex. Stomped on him hard. That’s when I saw the blue-and-white sign glowing in the distance: telephone.
I left Tex crumpled on the floor and charged through the bedding department—past rows of beds covered with thick, fluffy quilts.
My sneakers screeched to a halt.
Under the sign for the telephone, there was—nothing.
No phone under the sign.
No phone anywhere.
“I don’t get it!” I screamed. “What is going on around here?”
I sat down on a bed next to me. “Think, Kenny,” I ordered myself. “Something crazy is going on here. You have to find a way out. Now!”
I thought hard. And yawned.
Suddenly, I felt so tired.
My eyelids felt heavy
. They began to close.
I forced them open.
“You can’t sleep now! What’s wrong with you?” I yelled at myself. “You have to get out of here!”
I leaned back against the soft pillow on the bed. Snuggled under the fluffy quilt.
“Get up!” I ordered myself.
But I couldn’t. I don’t know why. I just couldn’t. My body felt so heavy. So tired suddenly.
I glanced at my watch: 8:59.
“I’ve got to get out of here,” I mumbled.
My eyes closed. For a minute? For an hour? I didn’t know.
A loud bang jolted me out of my sleep.
My eyelids flew open.
The bed’s big brass headboard vibrated. Banged against the wall.
Faster and faster.
The entire bed quaked.
I tried to sit up. But the bed shook so hard, I couldn’t keep my balance.
Something white and powdery showered down on my face. I brushed it off and glanced up.
The chandelier above the bed swung wildly. Tiny bits of the ceiling snowed down on me.
What was happening? Was it an earthquake? In Shadyside?
The entire bedding department shook now. The beds bounced up and down. Their legs pounded the floor. China lamps crashed all around me.
And then I heard a roar that echoed through the dark store. The roar of a huge, powerful engine.
The roar grew louder.
Coming from everywhere at once.
I gripped the shaking bed. Struggled to sit up.
I stared into the blackness. The sound was almost deafening. Coming closer.
Something flashed in the dark. What was it? A beam of light? A flashing beam of light?
Where did it come from?
It disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.
Then it flashed again. This time directly into my eyes!
I shielded my eyes with my hand.
“Who’s there?” I screamed.
And then I saw it—a big, gleaming motorcycle.
Charging down the aisle.
Coming straight at me!
8
“Turn! Turn!” I screamed.
The headlight blinded me as the motorcycle headed straight for me.
I gripped the bed, frozen with fear.
I closed my eyes—and waited for the crash.
But it didn’t come.
I heard the squeal of brakes and breathed in the smell of burning rubber.
