Fright Christmas

by R. L. Stine

  Hey, there aren’t any windows in Dalby’s! Where was that wind coming from?

  A freezing blast of air stung my face and eyes. I trembled—huddled in a frozen ball on the bed.

  The wind tore at my quilt. It snapped and billowed in the powerful gusts. I clung on to it desperately.

  The wind rose again, raging now—ripping the quilt from my grasp. It soared to the ceiling on a current of air.

  Rows of curtains ripped from their rods. Towels and bath mats flew from the shelves.

  Another blast of air whipped through the store, hurling a metal curtain rod right at me.

  I lifted my pillow to block it. The rod bounced off the pillow and crashed to the floor.

  But the wind beat against my pillow—and tore it wide open.

  I grabbed for another pillow. But all the pillows on all the beds were sailing through the air now. The wind beat at them—tearing them to shreds. Feathers and foam swirled everywhere.

  Feathers and foam swirling, swirling—then drifting down on me. Cold and wet.

  Cold and wet!

  The feathers had turned to snow.

  Snow? In the middle of Dalby’s?

  “Night Watchman?” I shouted, my words swallowed by the freezing wind. “Are you out there? Are you doing this to me?”

  I spotted something coming toward me.

  No—not something.

  Someone.

  In a long, swirling robe. White as the snowflakes that whirled overhead.

  Icicles hung from his face. Glistening icicles—dripping down from his white hair and his long, stringy beard.

  He glided slowly toward me through the swirling snow.

  My pulse quickened.

  As he came closer, I could make out his ghastly face. A face carved out of a rough chunk of ice—with cold blue eyes trapped inside its glassy walls.

  And frosty, hollowed cheeks.

  And a long, jagged cut for a mouth.

  “Ken-ny,” he wailed in a voice like the freezing, howling wind.

  “Who . . . are . . . you?” I screamed. “What . . . are . . . you?”

  He moved closer. An icy, clawed hand slipped out from the long sleeve of his robe. It glistened in the darkness.

  I inched back on the bed. As far back as I could go.

  The robed creature reached out—and clamped his frozen hand on my shoulder.

  An icy blast shot through my veins.

  “Kenny,” the creature groaned. “I am your Christmas Present!”

  14

  The creature squeezed my shoulder hard and another chill surged through my veins.

  “Who—who are you?” I asked again, my teeth chattering.

  “I am called the Iceman,” he declared.

  I tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip.

  Snow fell harder. Icy flakes stung my face.

  The frigid wind stormed through the store.

  “I’m f-freezing!” My teeth chattered. “Make it stop!”

  A gruesome smile twisted the Iceman’s lips. “You get used to it,” he said, “after a while.”

  “But you’re a ghost!” I exclaimed.

  “You’ll get used to that too!” he rasped.

  I gulped back a huge lump in my throat.

  Was I going to freeze to death—and turn into a ghost too?

  No way, I shuddered, shaking my head.

  I felt something strange clinging to my hair.

  I reached up and touched it.

  A long icicle.

  Oh, no!

  “What are you doing to me?” I cried.

  “Nothing yet,” he replied in a low voice. “Now—look up.”

  I glanced up—and saw the sky! The stars and moon were fading. The sun was beginning to rise.

  When I glanced back down, Dalby’s had disappeared.

  Totally vanished.

  We were standing outside!

  Yes! I had finally escaped Dalby’s!

  “Where are we?” I asked with excitement.

  “Don’t you recognize Fear Street?” the Iceman groaned.

  I spun around and saw my own house. We stood on the sidewalk, right out front. A Christmas wreath hung on our front door. A wave of happiness and relief washed over me.

  “Is it Christmas morning already?” I asked eagerly. “Everything is okay now, isn’t it?”

  The Iceman shook his head again. “For you, it is your darkest hour,” he announced.

  “But it’s Christmas! And I’m home!” I exclaimed.

  The Iceman glanced at our picket gate. A sharp gust of wind blew it open. He pointed an icy finger at me.

  “Go!” he commanded.

  I walked up our path.

  The Iceman floated behind me.

  I still felt really cold. Chilled to the bone.

  I hugged my body and rubbed my arms.

  I’ll warm up when I get inside, I told myself.

  I reached the front door and peeked through the living room window. Sure enough, Mom, Dad, and Kristi sat around the fireplace. Decorated for Christmas, our tree stood off to the side, twinkling with bright, colorful lights.

  I sighed.

  It was Christmas—and I was home.

  I reached for the bell on the front door.

  The Iceman’s frozen fingers brushed my hand aside. “Why disturb them?” he asked.

  “We keep the door locked,” I explained. “And I don’t have a key.”

  “You’re a smart boy, Kenny,” the Iceman declared. “Haven’t you figured out that we don’t need a key?”

  “Huh?”

  He didn’t wait to explain. He took a step—and his foot went right through the door!

  “Come on, Kenny!”

  “I can’t!” I said.

  The Iceman’s frozen hand locked around my wrist. He jerked me forward.

  Oh, no! I closed my eyes, ready to smack into the door.

  But I didn’t.

  My body floated right through it!

  I gazed down and checked myself out. How did this happen?

  “But I’m not a ghost!” I exclaimed as I stood in our front hall.

  “Not yet,” the Iceman replied with a shrug. He gestured to the living room.

  Mom, Dad, and Kristi sat beside the fire. I expected to see them opening their presents. But I spotted the gifts piled neatly under the tree. Still wrapped.

  Weird.

  “He’s gone,” Kristi sobbed. “He’s gone and he’s never coming back!”

  “Sometimes these things happen,” Mom comforted her. She patted Kristi tenderly on the shoulder.

  “But it’s not fair!” Kristi cried. “I miss him so much!”

  My father rose and picked up the biggest box under the tree. “Here, honey,” he urged Kristi. “Open it. It will cheer you up!”

  “Nothing is going to cheer me up,” Kristi replied tearfully. “Not till he’s home, safe and sound.”

  I saw Mom and Dad exchange sad looks.

  I didn’t have to ask why. They missed me!

  I couldn’t stand seeing them so miserable.

  I pulled away from the Iceman and ran toward them. “I’m home, Mom and Dad!” I yelled. “I’m home, Kristi! Everything is okay. We can all celebrate Christmas together.”

  But no one looked up.

  Didn’t they see me?

  “I’m right here,” I shouted. “Please don’t cry anymore. I’m back!”

  But Kristi kept crying.

  Mom and Dad looked grim.

  I turned back to the Iceman. “What’s wrong with them?” I asked.

  The Iceman shrugged. “They can’t see you, Kenny,” he grumbled. “They can’t hear you either.”

  “Why not?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”

  The doorbell rang. My dad went to answer it.

  Timmy Smathers stood on the front steps.

  Oh, great! What did that geek want now?

  “Merry Christmas, Mr. Frobisher!” he exclaimed.

  “I’m afraid it’
s not very merry for us,” my father announced gloomily. “Not this year.”

  Pushing back the hood on his parka, Timmy stepped into the hall. I noticed a leash in his hand. As Timmy tugged on it, a dog bounded to the middle of the living room!

  Rags! Our cocker spaniel.

  Why did Timmy have Rags?

  “Woof! Woof!” Rags barked, and jumped around, wagging his tail.

  “Rags!” Kristi squealed. “You did come back. You’re home! You’re home—safe and sound!”

  She kneeled down and Rags jumped into her arms. He licked her all over the face. Mom stepped over and patted Rags on the head.

  “I guess things really do work out for the best, don’t they?” Mom sighed happily.

  “Well, it wouldn’t be Christmas without Rags!” Dad declared.

  I bit back a startled cry.

  They hadn’t missed me!

  All those tears had been for Rags! Our dog!

  “Thank you, Timmy.” Dad clapped Timmy on the back. “Thanks for finding Rags and bringing him home. Now we can really have a Merry Christmas!”

  “Please, Timmy. Why don’t you stay and have something to eat with us?” Mom suggested.

  Timmy glanced at the dining room table, all set for Christmas dinner.

  “Gee, your dinner looks delicious. And we ate ours really early,” he replied. “Just looking at that delicious food—makes me feel hungry all over again.

  “Then it’s settled!” Mom exclaimed. “You’ll stay for dinner.”

  “Are you sure?” Timmy asked. “I mean, do you have enough?

  “Sure, Timmy! You can take Kenny’s portion,” Dad said cheerfully.

  “You can’t do that, Dad!” I burst out. “What about me? What am I going to eat?”

  But I’d forgotten.

  Dad couldn’t see me. Or hear a word I said.

  “Kenny’s never on time for dinner anyway,” he explained to Timmy. “Even on Christmas!”

  “I don’t believe it!” I groaned. “You’re giving Timmy my Christmas dinner!”

  I felt the Iceman’s frozen fingers clawing my arm. Another awful chill made me shiver.

  “Look,” he said, pointing at the Christmas tree.

  Mom pulled a big box from under the tree. “Merry Christmas!” she said, handing the present to Timmy. “From the whole Frobisher family.”

  Timmy read the little card underneath the red bow. “But it says, ‘For Kenny.’”

  Smiling, Mom ripped the tag off the box and tossed it into the fire. “Oh, that’s nothing,” she exclaimed. “Kenny never likes anything we give him. He always complains about our presents.”

  “But that’s not true!” I cried.

  I felt my heart sink.

  It was true.

  “Come, Kenny,” the Iceman ordered. “We must go.”

  “But how can they do this? We’re supposed to have Christmas together! It’s not the same without me.”

  “You are right.” His icy blue lips smiled cruelly. “It is better without you, Kenny. Much better.”

  I guess that was true too.

  As I looked back, my family opened the rest of their presents. I’d never seen them so happy.

  The Iceman grasped my wrist.

  I didn’t try to pull away. I knew it was hopeless—my family didn’t miss me. They didn’t even like me!

  The Iceman tugged me through the front door again. Outside, a heavy snow began to fall. A blast of icy wind sliced right through me, and I shivered.

  The Iceman glided ahead of me.

  “I have to talk to you!” I shouted.

  But he didn’t stop. He floated farther ahead. I walked faster. I had to catch up to him!

  The snowflakes whirled around me, stinging my face and my hands. The snow fell thick and fast. I could barely see more than a few feet ahead now.

  I’d lost sight of the Iceman completely.

  I didn’t know which way to go.

  I was totally blinded by the whirling, swirling snow.

  The wind whipped at my head, my chest, my legs. It blew me back . . . sideways . . . in a circle.

  I struggled to walk.

  Was I moving forward? I couldn’t tell!

  I’m lost!

  My heartbeat quickened.

  I’m frozen and lost.

  The Iceman said I would end up like him. A frozen ghost.

  Was that what was happening to me?

  I spun around, searching frantically for the Iceman.

  The winds howled around me. I stumbled in the snow. Fell to the icy ground.

  I forced myself to get up. To keep going.

  “Iceman! Where are you?” I screamed. “Don’t leave me out here alone!”

  15

  I staggered forward in the icy blizzard.

  My feet felt frozen—like two blocks of ice. My hands tingled. I had no feeling in my fingers—none at all.

  “Iceman!” I cried. “Iceman! Where are you?”

  A strong gust of wind knocked me down. I fell headfirst into a snowbank.

  I had to find the Iceman!

  I wiped the snow from my face and stared into the storm. Then, on my hands and knees, I crawled through the blizzard.

  I crawled and crawled—until I spotted a clearing ahead. A patch where it didn’t seem to be snowing!

  With my head down, I crawled some more, pushing against the wind.

  I crawled until I felt something soft under my hands. Something warm and dry!

  I wiped the snow from my cheeks, from my eyelashes. Only it wasn’t snow. It was—feathers!

  I gazed up.

  I was back in Dalby’s!

  Back in the bedding department—crouched on my hands and knees in the bed!

  What is going on?

  The bedding department looked as if it had been struck by a blizzard. The curtains, towels, quilts, and bath mats were scattered everywhere—all coated with a white blanket of feathers and foam.

  Everything—buried under what looked like a heavy snowfall.

  I shuddered.

  I knew now that I definitely wasn’t dreaming.

  Everything that happened was real. Even the ghosts—both of them—were real ghosts.

  I have to get out of here, fast. Before the third ghost comes.

  I swung my feet to the floor—and I started to yawn.

  My eyelids drooped.

  “No!” I cried. “Not now! Not again!”

  I slapped my face. “Wake up!” I yelled.

  It wasn’t working.

  I yawned again—and curled up on the bed.

  My cheek touched the cool, smooth pillow. “I can’t let myself—” I mumbled as my eyes closed.

  Then I drifted off to sleep.

  WHAM!

  I woke with a start and jerked up in the bed.

  Bright lights flashed before my eyes!

  Red! Yellow! Green!

  On and off! On and off!

  Crazy music blared.

  “Deck your grave with boughs of hemlock!” a high voice shrieked. “Fa-la-la-la-la!”

  I checked my wristwatch.

  Twelve—midnight!

  My heart hammered in my chest.

  The third ghost had arrived!

  16

  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 ca
st 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!”