15 Fright Christmas by R.L. Stine

Author:R.L. Stine [Stine, R.L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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.

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.

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