The 12 Screams of Christmas

by R. L. Stine

  It took him a while to answer. The ghosts pressed in closer, tightening their circle around Paco and me. I could smell them now, smell the decay of their clothes, the stale odor of their skin.

  Their eyes were all locked on me. Unblinking. Wide-eyed stares. Mouths hanging open.

  “What do they want? Tell me!” I screamed.

  “Kate, they want you to audition,” Paco said finally.

  “Huh?” I blinked. I felt another cold shiver.

  “They want you to sing,” Paco said. “Sing the ‘12 Screams of Christmas’ song from the play.”

  “No,” I whispered. “Get me away from here, Paco. I won’t do it. I won’t.”

  The ghosts began to murmur. Some shook their heads. Some jumped up and down.

  “Oh, look,” Paco said. “You’re making them angry, Kate.”

  The ghosts moved even closer. They practically bumped up against me now. The odor was overwhelming. Their mouths jabbered up and down. Their cold stares made me shut my eyes.

  “You have to do it, Kate,” Paco insisted. “If you want to get back upstairs, you have to sing for them. Go ahead. Now.”

  All around me, the ghosts began to chant: “Sing sing sing sing …”

  The chant rose to a horrible roar, an ugly rumble from deep in their hollow chests. “Sing sing sing …”

  “Okay!” I cried. “Okay! Please — stop!”

  The chanting cut off instantly.

  I turned to Paco, my heart pounding. “If I sing for them, will I be able to go back to the others? Will you show me how to go back upstairs?”

  He nodded, his dark hair falling over his face, hiding his expression.

  “Okay,” I said again. I started to run the words to the song through my head. Could I remember them all?

  The ghosts stood in silence now, not moving. They slid back a few feet, as if to give me room to sing.

  I took a deep breath. And I started the song. “On the first day of Christmas my true love screamed, ‘I see …’” I stopped with a gasp.

  No voice. I had no voice. The words escaped in a choked whisper, so softly even I couldn’t hear them.

  “Try again,” Paco urged. “Hurry.”

  I took another breath. And started the song.

  No. Not even a whisper this time. It felt as if someone was squeezing my throat shut. I struggled to breathe.

  I opened my mouth to try again. “On the first day of Christmas …”

  No. I mouthed the words but no sound came out.

  What’s happening? Why can’t I sing?

  The ghosts’ blank expressions turned to anger. Once again, their murmurs became a roar.

  They moved as a group. Closed in on me. Tightened the circle until they bumped against me. Their mouths sliding up and down, eyes rolling, they raised their hands. Like marionettes on strings. They raised their dead hands in front of them.

  “Ohhhhh.” I let out a moan as a cold hand brushed my cheek.

  “Paco — help!”

  But he had vanished. Disappeared into the angry mob of ghosts.

  I was helpless. Surrounded. Another ghost’s hand scraped my forehead. Another cold hand brushed my cheek.

  Hard hands grabbed my shoulders. They began pulling me down … down …

  I shut my eyes and started to scream.

  I couldn’t bear the feel of their icy touch on my skin. I raised both hands to the sides of my face, trying to keep their hands away.

  To my surprise, their angry mumbles and murmurs faded. The room grew silent.

  Slowly, I opened my eyes. I blinked a few times. Bright light shone down from above.

  A face loomed over me. Mr. Piccolo. His eye-glasses gleamed in the light. He leaned over me, his face tight with concern.

  “Kate? Are you okay? How do you feel?”

  “I …” My throat felt too dry to speak. It took me a while to realize I was on my back. On the floor. He was on his knees, leaning over me. “Where …?” I choked out.

  “You and Courtney had a bad fall,” he said, studying my face. “You’ve been out cold for a minute or two. We were all very worried.”

  I raised my head off the floor. “Ow.” A hard, throbbing headache made me lie back down.

  Over Mr. P’s shoulder, I saw other kids huddled against the wall, watching tensely. And I saw Paco near the door, hands shoved in his jeans pockets.

  Paco. He wasn’t a ghost. I mean, he isn’t a ghost.

  I was dreaming. That whole frightening scene with Paco and the ghosts was a crazy dream while I was knocked unconscious.

  Mr. P’s bald head glowed under the ceiling lights. He frowned at me. “Do you feel strong enough to sit up?”

  “I … think so,” I said.

  He grabbed my shoulders and helped me into a sitting position. “Okay?”

  “Okay,” I said. I was still trying to force that ghost scene from my mind.

  “No broken bones?” Mr. P asked.

  I tested my arms, my legs. “I think I’m okay.”

  “That trapdoor shouldn’t have been open,” he said, shaking his head. “Luckily, you didn’t fall very far.”

  “How is Courtney?” I asked.

  She appeared beside Mr. P. Her white wig was disheveled and some of the white ghost makeup had smeared off her cheeks. “I’m okay,” she said. “Luckily, I landed on top of you. Thanks for breaking my fall.”

  Chalk up another win for Courtney.

  “Any time,” I said.

  I was starting to feel better. I climbed to my knees, then stood up. “Where are we?”

  “In the basement under the stage,” Mr. P said. “Let’s go back upstairs, people.”

  He wiped sweat off his forehead with a handkerchief. I could see he was very relieved that Courtney and I weren’t hurt.

  He motioned for the others to follow the hall to the stairs. But he held Courtney and me back. Courtney tried to fix her hair. I knew I must look a mess, but I didn’t care. I had no broken bones, and there weren’t any ugly ghosts forcing me to sing.

  “I’m very disappointed in both of you,” Mr. P said, mopping his forehead some more. “Disappointed and surprised.”

  “It was her fault —” Courtney started. But Mr. P raised a hand to cut her off.

  “That was the kind of fighting that could get you girls suspended from school,” he said. “I’m not going to do that. But I’m not giving you the part you want in the Christmas play, either.”

  We both stared at him. “You mean —” I started.

  “I mean I’ve given the part of Livvy, the lead sister, to Carol Ann.”

  “No way!” Courtney cried.

  I remained silent. My brain was spinning around. I was glad Courtney didn’t get the part. But I felt bad that I had totally lost it, totally lost my temper and acted like a wild animal.

  “You two can be in the chorus,” Mr. P said. “If you promise to get along and not start any more fights.”

  She and I mumbled okay. He stared at us till we shook hands.

  As soon as he was out of the room, Courtney turned to me, her eyes blazing angrily. “This is all your fault. You ruined it for both of us.”

  “My fault? I didn’t lock you in Mr. P’s office,” I snapped. I had a strong urge to grab her by the neck and shake her till her head fell off.

  Uh-oh. Kate, get control.

  But how could I not hate Courtney?

  As soon as she saw Jack upstairs in the auditorium, she started to limp. As if she’d hurt herself in the fall.

  He hurried over to help her walk down the aisle.

  Watching her lean on him, another wave of anger swept over me.

  Courtney knows I like Jack. She’s faking that limp to get his attention.

  Okay, okay. It was a bad night.

  I wasn’t going to have a starring role. I was only going to be in the chorus.

  I could handle that. And I guess now I’d have the time to deal with my other problems.

  Namely, how could I get
the kids to stop teasing me and calling me Ghost Girl? And, how could I stop Courtney from ruining my life?

  Of course, I didn’t realize that I had much bigger problems ahead. I had no way of knowing that I was about to enter a haunted world — and might never see the school, my parents, or my friends again.

  The day after the tryouts, Mr. Piccolo said he didn’t want to rehearse the play in the school auditorium. He said he wanted to take us away for the weekend to a place where we’d really feel the right atmosphere.

  He said he was taking us to an old house in the next town, on a street called Ardmore Road. I’d never heard of it. He said the house was right across the street from a graveyard. It was dark and creepy and had been empty for years. The perfect place to get in the right mood and rehearse his Christmas play.

  So, three days later, I sat between Carol Ann and Paco in the back of the school bus. Outside, the morning sun was still a red ball just climbing over the tops of the trees. A hard rain the night before had melted all the snow, except for a few ugly patches along the side of the road.

  Kids screamed as the bus hit a sharp bump. I nearly bounced into Paco’s lap.

  A big red-haired dude named Shawn O’Hara pretended to fall into the aisle. Shawn is a real clown. He is always falling off his chair or walking into walls. He once told Mrs. Wentz that when he grows up, he wants to be a cartoon character.

  I think he was serious.

  Up near the front of the bus, I saw Courtney sitting next to Jack. She was pretending to slap him. She tickled him, and shoved him toward the window. Totally flirting with him, and he was really into it.

  Courtney had been flirting with Jack ever since the tryouts three nights ago. And I knew she didn’t really care that much about him. She just wanted to make sure I saw her claim another victory.

  I told myself I was going to ignore her all weekend. Sure, we’d be staying in an old house together, and we’d be singing together in the chorus. But I vowed I wouldn’t let anything she said or did annoy me.

  No way I was going to lose it this weekend.

  Carol Ann looked awesome. She’s totally the hottest-looking girl in our class. And the nicest. She had her silky blond hair tied behind her head in a tight ponytail. Under her down parka, she wore a cowl-necked blue ski sweater that matched her eyes. And she had a short black skirt over black tights, and black Ugg boots.

  She and Paco were leaning across me, arguing about Pop-Tarts. Carol Ann said they were too sweet for breakfast. Paco insisted you need the sugar in the morning for energy.

  “Let’s say you have a couple of Pop-Tarts without icing,” he said. “Well, then you drag around all morning because you didn’t get enough sugar.”

  “You can put sugar in a bowl of cereal,” Carol Ann told him. “Or have Frosted Flakes or something.”

  “Cereal takes too long to eat,” Paco said. “I’m always late. I just grab some Pop-Tarts and wolf them down on the way to school. I don’t even toast them.”

  “Gross,” I said. “Do you eat them still in the wrapper?”

  “No. I take them out first,” Paco said. He’s a little lame in the sense-of-humor department.

  “Did you know my mom is a nutritionist?” I said.

  Paco squinted at me. “Does that mean you have to eat vegetables?”

  I laughed. “Sometimes.”

  He shook his head. “Now that’s gross.”

  The bus squealed as it made a sharp turn. I read the street sign out the window: N ARDMORE ROAD.

  “This is the street,” I said. “We must be almost there.”

  “Do you think they’ll have Pop-Tarts?” Paco asked, grinning.

  “Could you shut up about Pop-Tarts?” Carol Ann said.

  “No, I can’t.”

  “The house we’re staying in is supposed to be old and run-down and spooky,” I said, trying to change the subject.

  “Perfect,” Carol Ann said. “We’ll feel like we’re living inside Mr. P’s play.”

  “That’s the idea,” I said.

  As I said, the play is about a family that spends Christmas in a haunted house. The ghosts of the house terrify the family. There are lots of thrills and chills. Twelve horrifying screams. Terrible things happen. But in the end, they celebrate Christmas together and learn that the holiday is meant for everyone.

  There are a lot of songs. But it’s a pretty scary Christmas play. And Mr. P said he knew we’d do a better job with it if we rehearsed in a really scary place.

  We all were bounced forward as the bus squealed to a sudden stop. “Here we go!” the driver called. “Everybody out.”

  I squinted out the dust-smeared window. I could see a tall iron fence stretching down the block. Behind the fence, I saw rows of gravestones. Patches of snow between the graves. The cemetery.

  The back of my neck tingled. I didn’t like being so close to a graveyard. But I had no choice.

  I turned and gazed out the window across the aisle. Past a small, square front yard, a tall gray house filled the bus window. I could see a broken awning over a wide front stoop and black shutters tilting at dark windows.

  Up front, Courtney turned to me. “See any ghosts yet, Ghost Girl?”

  Some kids laughed. I just ignored her.

  I followed Paco and Carol Ann out of the bus. Just as we stepped onto the ground, the sun slid behind clouds. The sky faded to a deep gray, making the old house appear even more dark and frightening.

  “Welcome to the haunted house!” a voice called. “Give up all hope, ye who enter here.” Mr. P stepped out of the house, onto the front stoop, his arms spread in welcome. He wore a long black overcoat. His head was topped with a Santa hat, tilted to one side.

  “How did you turn off the sun?” Shawn shouted.

  “It’s all special effects,” Mr. P said. “I hope this old place creeps you out and gets you in the mood.”

  The driver started to pull our bags from the compartment in the side of the bus. “Your rooms are ready,” Mr. P said. “It’s cold in the house, but I started a fire. That should warm things up.”

  The air felt cold. The sun stayed hidden behind a wall of clouds. I pulled my hood up and zipped my parka to the top. Then I picked up the canvas bag my mom had helped me pack and carried it to the house.

  A steep stairway stood in front of the narrow entryway. To the left, I could see the flickering light of the fire in the front room. I shivered. The air felt colder inside the house than outside.

  Carol Ann rubbed her nose. “We’re going to freeze,” she said. “Look. I can see my breath.”

  Mr. P appeared behind us. “I’m working on starting up the furnace,” he said, rubbing his hands, trying to warm them. “It hasn’t been used in a long time. But we’ll get the house nice and toasty.”

  He led the way up the steep stairs. The old floorboards creaked and groaned. The wood banister was loose and wobbled from side to side as I slid my hand along it.

  “Careful,” Mr. P warned. “Some of the stairs are rotting. Hold on to the banister.”

  “But the banister is loose,” I called.

  He turned, a frown on his face. “This house is more dangerous than I remembered.”

  Remembered?

  “Mr. P, have you been here before?” Jack asked.

  Mr. P didn’t answer. Maybe he didn’t hear him.

  The bedrooms were along a twisting, dimly lit hall on the second floor. The wallpaper was torn and peeling. Dark paintings covered the walls, so dark I couldn’t see what was on them. A tall vase of wilted, dead flowers stood on a table against the wall.

  Mr. P assigned Courtney, Carol Ann, and me the first bedroom. It was a big square room with a furry carpet on the floor. Three cots had been placed against the walls.

  Of course, Courtney instantly claimed the cot farthest from the window. I got the window cot. I could feel the cold air leaking through the rattling window frame. I was glad Mom forced me to pack my woolly nightshirt.

  Carol Ann shivered. Sh
e pointed out the window. “We’re facing the backyard. Look. There is an old shack out there and a big garden shed. And an old-fashioned well.”

  “I can’t wait to explore the place,” I said.

  Courtney claimed the top dresser drawer and began to shove her stuff into it. “Kate, see any ghosts yet?” she asked.

  “Courtney, isn’t that getting a little stale?” I said. “Why don’t we declare a truce?”

  “Yes. Why don’t we?” she said. Then she laughed and shook her head. “Whatever.”

  I decided I’d unpack later. Carol Ann and I hurried downstairs.

  Mr. P greeted us in the front room. He was standing close to the fire in the wide fireplace, warming his hands. He had taken off his overcoat. But he still had the Santa hat tilted on his head.

  “People, why don’t you take some time to explore the house and the backyard?” he said. “I think you’ll find it very interesting. We’ll start our rehearsals after lunch.”

  I saw Jack and Shawn wander down the hall toward the kitchen. Some other kids followed them. I decided to explore the backyard instead.

  Carol Ann followed me through a side door and around to the back. The sun had come out, but the sky was still a pale gray. Shadows from the tall trees in the yard appeared to crawl over the ground, which was bare except for clumps of low weeds.

  We gazed at the small guesthouse. Part of the roof had collapsed and tilted against the side of the house. The shack and the shed stood side-by-side, paint peeling. A bare tree branch lay on the ground beneath the fat old tree it had fallen from.

  “I’m trying to picture what this looked like back in the day,” Carol Ann said. “I mean, when everything was fresh and new.”

  I turned and saw Courtney coming around the side of the house. “Let’s keep walking,” I said. “I don’t want her to catch up.”

  Carol Ann scrunched up her face. “What’s up with you and Courtney? What’s her problem?”

  I shrugged. “Who knows?”

  Our shoes crunched over the hard ground. Carol Ann walked up to one of the sheds and tugged open the door. She screamed as a dozen mice came scurrying out.

  I laughed. “It’s only mice!”