Fright Christmas by R.L. Stine Read Free Book Online Page B

eyes with my hands.
    And suddenly it started to slow.
    Then it stopped—and the doors swished open.
    I stepped out into a narrow room.
    In the dim light, I could barely see the brown walls. I felt a damp chill. I choked on a musty smell.
    Ping!
    I spun around. The elevator was gone! Vanished!
    I let out a low groan.
    Now what?
    I touched a wall. The surface crumbled beneath my fingertips.
    Dirt! The wall was made of dirt!
    I groped the other three walls. Dirt—all dirt.
    I gazed up at the ceiling—but there wasn’t one!
    The bare branches of a tree swayed overhead. Through the branches, I glimpsed stars and a crescent moon in the night sky.
    I turned around slowly, gazing at each dark dirt wall.
    Where am I?
    Suddenly I knew.
    I stood in an open grave.

17

    O h, noooo! What am I doing in a grave?
    Don’t panic, I ordered myself.
    Think.
    The Fear Street Cemetery is only three blocks from home. That’s where I am.
    I gazed at the grave walls. If I can climb out of here, I can run home! I can be back in my own house, in my own bed, in minutes.
    I dug my fingers into the dirt walls and started climbing. The grave was deep, with really steep walls.
    I raised a foot and shoved into a wall. I plunged my fingers into the dirt. Then I heaved myself up.
    I planted my other foot in the wall and climbed some more.
    I slowly made my way up.
    The soil crumpled under my fingertips and fell on my face. Into my eyes. On my lips. I could even taste it on my tongue.
    I climbed and climbed.
    I was halfway there.
    But I had to stop. Something cold, something slimy, wriggled across my hand.
    I released my grip and shook my fingers.
    Yuck.
    A fat, bloated worm flew off.
    I began to raise myself up again—but . . .
    I felt something slither under my jacket sleeve. Under both sleeves. Down my shirt.
    I lost my hold—and plunged to the bottom of the grave.
    I tore off my jacket—and screamed.
    Worms!
    Hundreds of worms slithered around my arms. Slid down my chest. Crept up my legs.
    â€œGet off! Get off me!” I shrieked, shaking my whole body.
    The worms crawled up my neck. Up my cheeks. Into my hair.
    I shook my head wildly. I jumped up and down. Aclump of worms fell off—but more seemed to take their place.
    I clawed at my arms and chest. I brushed the worms frantically from my neck and face.
    I heard a sickening plop as their juicy purple bodies fell to the ground.
    I grabbed at the dirt, searching for a tree root to hoist myself out.
    I found one.
    I grabbed on to it and scaled the grave walls. Climbing up, up.
    I was almost out.
    I peered over the top of the grave.
    The moonlight cast a warm, spooky glow over the tombstones. Over the trees. Shadows shifted over the graves. A heavy mist hung in the air.
    The cemetery was quiet. Totally silent.
    I reached over the top of the grave with both hands.
    With all my strength, I began to pull myself out.
    But something was wrong.
    My leg seemed to be caught.
    I gazed down—and gasped.
    Stretching up through the dirt, I saw—a hand. A hand gripping my ankle. A bony, skeleton hand!
    Its fingers gripped my ankle tighter and tighter.
    â€œNoooo!” I screamed.
    I kicked and kicked.
    The bony fingers dug deeper into my flesh.
    â€œLet me goooo!” I shrieked. I tried to pull myself out—over the edge of the grave.
    But the hand pulled me down.
    Down.
    Down to the bottom of the grave.

18

    â€œL et me goooo!” I screamed again and again.
    I clawed at the dirt. Found the tree root.
    With all my strength, I dragged myself up. Kicking, kicking, trying to kick free of the skeleton’s deadly grip.
    I reached the grave opening. Peered over the edge. Started to lift myself out.
    My hands began to slip.
    I thought I saw something move in the shadows.
    Was someone out there?
    â€œHelp me!” I screamed. “Somebody, help me!”
    The bony fingers tugged at my leg. Pulling me harder. Pulling me down.
    Something moved out in