46 - How to Kill a Monster (2 page)

It
was
scary in the swamp. But Clark seemed so petrified that I
started to giggle.

And then I heard the footsteps.

Clark heard them too.

Heavy, thudding footsteps across the black, misty swamp.

Charging closer.

Headed straight for us.

“Come on!” Clark cried, yanking on my arm. “Time to go!”

But I didn’t move. I
couldn’t
move.

Now I could hear the creature’s breathing. Heavy, rasping breaths. Nearer.
Nearer.

It came springing out. From behind the gray-bearded tree limbs.

A tall black form. A huge swamp creature. Loping toward us. Darker than the
black swamp mud—with glowing red eyes.

“Charley—! What are you doing down there?” Mom cried, marching into the
clearing. “I thought you kids were watching him.”

Charley?

I’d forgotten all about Charley.

Charley was the swamp monster.

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” Mom snapped angrily. “Didn’t we tell
you to stay by the car? Dad and I have been searching everywhere.”

“Sorry, Mom,” I apologized. I couldn’t say any more. Charley leaped on me and
knocked me down—into the mud.

“Off! Charley! Off!” I shouted. But he planted his huge paws on my shoulders
and licked my face.

I was covered in mud. Totally covered.

“Come on, boy.” Clark tugged on Charley’s collar. “You were scared, Gretchen.
You thought Charley was a swamp monster.” Clark laughed. “You were really
scared.”

“I—I was not,” I sputtered, wiping the mud from my jeans. “I was just
trying to scare you.”

“You were really scared. Just admit it,” Clark insisted. “Just admit it.”

“I was NOT scared.” My voice started to rise. “Who was the one begging to go
back?” I reminded him. “You! You! You!”

“What’s all the fighting about?” Dad demanded. “And what are you two doing
way out here? Didn’t I tell you to stay near the car?”

“Um, sorry, Dad,” I apologized. “But we were kind of bored, just waiting
around.”

“We! What do you mean
we?
It was all Gretchen’s idea,” Clark
protested. “She was the one who wanted to explore the swamp.”

“That’s enough!” Dad scolded. “Everyone—back to the car.”

Clark and I argued all the way back. Charley trotted by my side, flinging
more mud on my jeans.

The flat was fixed—but now Dad had to get the car back on the road. And it
wasn’t easy. Every time he stepped on the gas, the tires just spun around and
around in the thick mud.

Finally, we all got out and pushed.

Now Mom and Clark were splattered with mud, too.

As we drove away, I stared out at the dark, eerie marsh.

And listened to the night sounds.

Sharp chitters.

Low moans.

Shrill cries.

I’d heard lots of stories about swamp monsters. And I’d read some ancient
legends about them. Could they be real? I wondered. Do swamp monsters really
exist?

Little did I know that I would soon find out the answer to that question. The
hard way.

“Yes. Yes. They do.”

“No way!” I told Dad. “That can’t be where they live!”

“That’s their house,” Dad insisted as the car bumped up a narrow sandy road.
“That’s Grandma and Grandpa’s house.”

“That
can’t
be their house.” Clark rubbed his eyes. “It’s a swamp
mirage. I read about them in
Creatures from the Muck.
The swamp mud plays
tricks on your eyes. It makes you see things.”

See what I mean about Clark? He really does believe the stuff he reads.

And it was beginning to sound right to me, too. How else could you explain
Grandma and Grandpa’s house?

A castle.

A castle in the middle of a swamp.

Almost hidden in a grove of dark, towering trees.

Dad pulled the car up to the front door. I stared at the house in the glow of
the headlights.

Three stories high. Built of dark gray stone. A turret rose up on the right
side. On the left, a sliver of white smoke curled from a blackened chimney.

“I thought swamp houses were smaller,” I murmured, “and built on stilts.”

“That’s the way they look in my comic,” Clark agreed. “And what’s with the
windows?” His voice shook. “Are they vampires or something?”

I stared at the windows. They were tiny. And I could see only three of them.
Three tiny windows in the entire house. One on each floor.

“Come on, kids,” Mom said. “Let’s get your luggage.”

Mom, Dad, and Clark climbed out of the car and headed for the trunk. I stood
by the car door with Charley.

The night air felt cold and damp on my skin.

I stared up.

Up at the big dark house. Almost hidden behind the trees. In the middle of
nowhere.

And then I heard the howl. A mournful howl. From somewhere deep in the swamp.

A chill swept through me.

Charley pressed against my leg. I bent to pet him. “What could that be?” I
whispered to the dog in the dark. “What kind of creature howls like that?”

“Gretchen. Gretchen.” Mom waved from the front door of the house. Everyone
else had gone inside.

“Oh, my,” Grandma said as I stepped into the dim entrance. “This can’t be our
little Gretchen.” She wrapped her frail arms around me and gave me a big hug.

She smelled just the way I had remembered—musty. I glanced at Clark. He
rolled his eyes.

I stepped back and forced a smile.

“Move aside, Rose,” Grandpa yelled. “Let me get a look at her.”

“He’s a little hard-of-hearing,” Dad whispered to me.

Grandpa clasped my hand between his wrinkled fingers. He and Grandma seemed
so slight. So fragile.

“We’re really happy you’re here!” Grandma exclaimed. Her blue eyes twinkled.
“We don’t get many visitors!”

“For a while, we thought you weren’t coming!” Grandpa shouted. “We expected
you hours ago.”

“Flat tire,” Dad explained.

“Tired?” Grandpa wrapped his arms around Dad. “Well, then come in and sit
down, son.”

Clark giggled. Mom shoved an elbow into his side. Grandpa and Grandma led us
into the living room.

The room was enormous. Our whole house could probably fit inside it.

The walls were painted green. Drab green. I stared up at the ceiling. Up at
an iron chandelier that held twelve candles, in a circle.

An enormous fireplace took up most of one wall.

The other walls were covered with black-and-white photographs. Yellowed with
age.

Photographs everywhere. Of people I didn’t recognize. Probably dead
relatives, I thought.

I glanced through a doorway into the next room. The dining room. It appeared
to be as big as the living room. Just as dark. Just as dreary.

Clark and I sat down on a tattered green couch. I felt the old springs sag
under my weight. Charley groaned and stretched out on the floor at our feet.

I glanced around the room. At the pictures. At the worn rug. At the shabby
tables and chairs. The flickering light high above us made our shadows dance on
the dark walls.

“This place is creepy,” Clark whispered. “And it really smells bad—worse
than Grandma and Grandpa.”

I choked back a laugh. But Clark was right. The room smelled strange. Damp
and sour.

Why do two old people want to live like this? I wondered. In this musty, dark
house. Deep in the swamp.

“Would anyone like something to drink?” Grandma interrupted my thoughts. “How
about a nice cup of tea?”

Clark and I shook our heads no.

Mom and Dad also said no. They sat opposite us. The stuffing in their chairs
spilled out the backs.

“Well, you’re finally here!” Grandpa yelled to us. “It’s just great. So, tell
me—how come you were late?”

“Grandpa,” Grandma shouted to him, “no more questions!” Then she turned to
us. “After such a long trip, you must be starving. Come into the kitchen. I made
my special chicken pot pie—just for you.”

We followed Grandma and Grandpa into the kitchen. It looked like all the
other rooms. Dark and dingy.

But it didn’t smell as ancient as the other rooms. The tangy aroma of chicken
pot pie floated through the air.

Grandma removed eight small pies from the oven. One for each of us—and a
couple of extras in case we were starving, I guessed.

Grandma placed one on my plate, and I began to dig right in. I
was
starving.

As I lifted the fork to my mouth, Charley sprang up from his place on the
floor and started to sniff.

He sniffed our chairs.

The counter.

The floor.

He leaped up to the table and sniffed.

“Charley, stop!” Dad ordered. “Down!”

Charley jumped from the table. Then he reared up in front of us—and curled
his upper lip.

He let out a growl.

A low, menacing growl that erupted into loud barking.

Furious barking.

“What on earth is wrong with him?” Grandma demanded, frowning at the dog.

“I don’t know,” Dad told her. “He’s never done that before.”

“What is it, Charley?” I asked. I shoved my chair from the table and
approached him.

Charley sniffed the air.

He barked.

He sniffed some more.

A chill of fear washed over me.

“What is it, boy? What do you smell?”

I grabbed Charley’s collar. Petted him. Tried to calm him down. But he jerked
out of my grasp.

He barked even louder.

I reached for his collar again and tugged him toward me. His nails scraped
the floor as he pulled away.

The more I tugged on his collar, the harder Charley fought. He swung his head
sharply from side to side. And started to growl.

“Easy, boy,” I said softly. “Eeea—sy.”

Nothing worked.

Finally Clark helped me drag Charley into the living room—where he started
to settle down.

“What do you think is wrong with him?” Clark asked as we stroked the dog’s
head.

“I don’t know.” I stared down at Charley. Restless now, he turned in circles.
Then he sat. Then turned in circles. Again and again.

“I just don’t get it. He’s never done that before. Ever.”

Clark and I decided to wait in the living room with Charley while Mom and Dad
finished eating. We weren’t hungry anymore.

“How’s that dog of yours?” Grandpa came in and sat down next to us. He ran
his wrinkled fingers through his thinning gray hair.

“Better,” Clark answered, pushing his glasses up.

“Pet her?” Grandpa hollered. “Sure! If you think that will help.”

After dinner, Mom, Dad, Grandma, and Grandpa talked and talked—about
practically everything that had happened since they last saw each other. Eight
years ago.

Clark and I were bored. Really bored.

“Can we, um, watch television?” Clark finally asked.

“Oh, sorry, dear,” Grandma apologized. “We don’t have a television.”

Clark glowered at me—as if it was my fault.

“Why don’t you call Arnold?” I suggested. Arnold is the biggest nerd in our
neighborhood. And Clark’s best friend. “Remind him to pick up your new comic.”

“Okay,” Clark grumbled. “Um, where’s the phone?”

“In town.” Grandma smiled weakly. “We don’t know many people—still alive.
Doesn’t pay to have a phone. Mr. Donner—at the general store—he takes messages for us.”

“Haven’t seen Donner all week, though,” Grandpa added. “Our car broke down.
Should be fixed soon. Any day now.”

No television.

No phone.

No car.

In the middle of a swamp.

This time it was my turn to glower—at Mom and Dad.

I put on my angriest face. I was sure they were going to take us to Atlanta
with them now. Absolutely sure.

Dad glanced at Mom. He opened his mouth to speak. Then he turned toward me.
And shrugged an apology.

“Guess it’s time for bed!” Grandpa checked his watch. “You two have to get an
early start,” he said to Mom and Dad.

“Tomorrow you’re going to have so much fun,” Grandma assured Clark and me.

“Yes, indeed,” Grandpa agreed. “This big old house is great to explore.
You’ll have a real adventure!”

“And I’m going to bake my famous rhubarb pie!” Grandma exclaimed. “You kids
can help me. You’ll love it. It’s so sweet, your teeth will fall out after one
bite!”

I heard Clark gulp.

I groaned—loudly.

Mom and Dad ignored us. They said good night. And good-bye. They were leaving
real early in the morning. Probably before we got up.

We followed Grandma up the dark, creaky old steps and down a long, winding
hall to our rooms on the second floor.

Clark’s room was right next to mine. I didn’t have a chance to see what it
looked like. After Clark went in, Grandma quickly ushered me to my room.

My room. My gloomy room.

I set my suitcase down next to the bed and glanced around. The room was
nearly as big as a gym! And it didn’t have a single window.

The only light came from a dim yellow bulb in a small lamp next to the bed.

A handmade rug covered the floor. Worn thin in spots, its rings of color were
dingy with age.

A warped wooden dresser sat against the wall opposite the bed. It leaned to
one side. The drawers hung out.

A bed. A lamp. A dresser.

Only three pieces of furniture in this huge, windowless room.

Even the walls were bare. Not a single picture covered the dreary gray paint.

I sat down on the bed. I leaned against the bars of the iron headboard.

I ran my fingers over the blanket. Scratchy wool. Scratchy wool that smelled
of mothballs.

“No way I’m going to use that blanket,” I said out loud. “No way.” But I knew
I would. The room was cold and damp, and I began to shiver.

I quickly changed into my pajamas and pulled the smelly old blanket over me.