Fright Christmas by R.L. Stine Page A

department—to Santa’s Village.
    Santa’s Village. The stupidest place I ever saw. A big sign at the entrance said: SANTA’S STREET! FILLED WITH TOYS—FOR ALL GOOD LITTLE GIRLS AND BOYS!
    At each side of the entrance stood two tall wooden soldiers. Big plastic structures, painted to look like gingerbread houses, lined the street insidethe entrance. They were dusted with fake snow. Icicles hung from their rooftops.
    We walked through a little white gate and stood in line with the other kids.
    I craned my neck to see up ahead.
    At the very end of Santa Street, I spotted the jolly fat man himself. He sat in a big gold sleigh decorated with thick red satin ribbons and big golden bells.
    A little boy sat on Santa’s lap and whispered in the old guy’s ear. “Ho-ho-ho!” Santa boomed. His voice sounded totally fake.
    Boy, what a lame Santa. I can’t believe these little kids don’t catch on.
    The line crept forward slowly.
    Santa’s elves ran up and down Santa Street, ringing their annoying bells and handing out candy canes. They tried to make everyone sing Christmas carols with them.
    Kristi sang along in her squeaky little voice, happily sucking on a candy cane.
    â€œHow long until we get to the front, Kenny?” she asked between licks on her candy cane. “I can’t wait to see Santa.”
    â€œHow old are you now, Kristi?”
    â€œI’m six, Kenny, and you know it!” she exclaimed.
    â€œWell, by the time you get to sit on Santa’s lap, you’ll be about eight,” I told her.
    â€œKen-nnny,” Kristi groaned. She turned and stared longingly at Santa. Her little blond curls bounced around her face.
    Mom says my hair looked just like that when I was six. Yuck! I’m glad I’ve got normal hair now—straight, regular brown hair.
    And I’m glad I’m really tall—not short like Tiny Timmy. Or these stupid elves, I thought as one tried to shove a candy cane into my hand.
    â€œHey, Kristi,” I leaned over and whispered. “I bet I know something about Santa that you don’t know.”
    â€œLeave me alone, Kenny,” she sniffed.
    â€œBut it’s about Santa,” I said. “It’s a secret. It’s really important.”
    She turned her head and peered up at me through narrowed eyes. I could tell I’d made her curious.
    â€œWhat about him?” she asked.
    â€œThat guy up there is not the real Santa,” I whispered.
    â€œHe is too!” she shot back.
    â€œNope.” I shook my head seriously. “He isn’t.”
    â€œHe is!” Kristi insisted. Her eyes grew round and her lower lip quivered.
    â€œHe is what?” Mom asked, coming up behind us.
    â€œKenny says—” Kristi started to say.
    One of the elves rang a golden bell. “It’s your turn, little girl.” He smiled brightly at Kristi.
    Phew! Saved by the bell, I laughed to myself.
    The elf led Kristi up to Santa’s sleigh. Two other elves hoisted her up onto Santa’s lap.
    Kristi’s blue eyes sparkled as bright as Christmas-tree lights. I never saw a little kid so happy.
    This was going to be great.
    I strolled up to the sleigh and stood behind my mother. She watched Kristi, smiling and waving.
    She’d never even notice if I disappeared.
    â€œHo-ho-ho!” Santa bellowed as Kristi settled on his lap. “What’s your name, little girl?”
    I slipped through the crowd to the far end of the sleigh.
    I darted past a few elves and stood there, pretending to watch Kristi.
    â€œKristi Frobisher,” Kristi replied happily. “I live at 27 Fear Street. It’s the fourth house on the left. It has blue shutters and two big chimneys and—”
    â€œThat’s okay, Kristi. Santa will find it,” he promised. “And what would you like me to bring you for Christmas, dear?”
    I peered around.
    Everyone had their eyes glued to Santa.
    I dropped