Fright Christmas Read Online Free PDF Page B

shrieked. Even over the engine I could hear his wicked laughter—and the heavy chains he wore, rattling and clanging.
    â€œHide-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.
    â€œTime 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!
    â€œCan’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.
    â€œHappy 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.
    â€œNooooo!” 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.
    â€œThere 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.
    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