14 - The Werewolf of Fever Swamp

by R. L. Stine

  Suddenly, Will stopped. “Ssshhh.” He raised a finger to his lips.

  I heard it, too.

  Crunching behind us.

  Footsteps.

  We both froze in place, listening hard. The footsteps drew closer.

  Will’s dark eyes narrowed in fear. “Someone’s following us,” he murmured. “It’s the swamp hermit!”

  13

  “Quick—hide!” I cried.

  Will dived behind a thick clump of tall weeds. I tried to follow him, but there wasn’t room for both of us.

  Crawling on my hands and knees, I searched frantically for something to hide behind.

  The crackling of dead leaves became louder. The footsteps hurried closer.

  I scrambled toward a nest of brambles. No. They wouldn’t hide me.

  A clump of ferns across from me was too low.

  The footsteps crackled closer.

  Closer.

  “Hide! Hide!” Will urged.

  But I was trapped out in the open. Caught.

  I struggled to my feet just as our pursuer came into view.

  “Wolf!” I cried.

  The big dog’s tail began wagging furiously as soon as he saw me. He uttered a joyful bark—and jumped.

  “No!” I managed to cry.

  His front paws landed hard on my chest. I stumbled backwards into the tall weeds and fell onto Will.

  “Hey!” He cried out and scrambled to his feet.

  Wolf barked happily and practically smothered me, trying to lick my face.

  “Wolf—down! Down!” I shouted. I stood up and started brushing dead leaves off my T-shirt. “Wolf, you’ve got to stop doing that, boy,” I told him. “You’re not a little puppy, you know?”

  “How did he find us?” Will asked, pulling a burr off the seat of his blue Lycra shorts.

  “Good nose, I guess,” I replied, staring down at the happily panting dog. “Maybe he’s part hunting dog or something.”

  “Let’s get to the bog,” Will said impatiently. He began leading the way, but Wolf pushed past him, nearly bumping him over, and continued trotting toward the bog, his powerful legs taking long, steady strides.

  “Wolf acts as if he knows where we’re going,” I said, a little surprised.

  “Maybe he’s been here before,” Will replied. “Maybe he’s a swamp dog.”

  “Maybe,” I replied thoughtfully, staring down at Wolf. Where do you come from, dog? I wondered. He certainly did seem at home in the swamp.

  In a short while, we came to the edge of the peat bog. I wiped the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand and stared across the oval-shaped pond.

  Shafts of sunlight made the green surface sparkle. Thousands of tiny white insects fluttered just above it, catching the light, glistening like little diamonds.

  Will picked up a small tree branch. He cracked it in half between his hands. Then he heaved one of the halves high into the air.

  It hit the surface of the bog with more of a thunk than a splash. And then it just lay there. It didn’t sink.

  “Weird,” I said. “Let’s try something heavier.”

  I started to search for something, but a low growl caught my attention. I turned toward the sound. To my surprise, it was coming from Wolf.

  The dog had lowered its big head. Its entire body stood tensed, as if in attack position. Its dark lips were pulled back, revealing two sharp rows of teeth. It uttered a low growl, then another.

  “I think he senses danger,” Will said softly.

  14

  Wolf uttered another menacing growl, baring his jagged teeth. The fur on his back stood up stiffly. His legs tensed as if preparing to attack.

  The sound of crackling twigs made me raise my eyes. I saw a gray figure darting behind tall weeds on the other side of the bog.

  “Who—who’s that?” Will whispered.

  I stared straight ahead, unable to speak.

  “Is that—” Will started.

  “Yes,” I managed to choke out. “It’s him. The swamp hermit.” I dropped quickly to my knees, hoping to keep out of view.

  But had he already seen us?

  Had he been there at the other side of the bog all along?

  Will must have been sharing my thoughts. “Has that weirdo been spying on us?” he demanded, huddling beside me.

  Wolf uttered a quiet growl, still frozen in place, ready to attack.

  Keeping low, I scooted closer to the dog. For protection, I guess.

  I watched the strange man as he made his way through the weeds. His long, gray-white hair was wild, standing straight out around his face. He kept glancing behind him as he walked, as if making sure he wasn’t being followed.

  He carried a brown sack over one shoulder.

  He turned his gaze in our direction. I dropped down lower, trying to hide behind Wolf, my heart pounding.

  Wolf hadn’t moved, but he was silent now. His ears were still pulled back, his lips still open in a soundless snarl.

  What were those dark stains on the front of the swamp hermit’s grimy shirt?

  Bloodstains?

  A shiver of fear ran down my back.

  Wolf stared straight ahead without blinking, without moving a muscle.

  The swamp hermit disappeared behind the tall weeds. We couldn’t see him, but we could still hear his footsteps crunching over dead leaves and fallen twigs.

  I glanced over at Wolf. The big dog shook himself, as if shaking the swamp hermit from his mind. His tail wagged slowly. His body relaxed.

  He uttered soft whimpers, as if telling me how scared he had been.

  “It’s okay, boy,” I said quietly, and rubbed the soft fur on top of the dog’s head. He stopped whimpering and licked at my wrist.

  “That guy is creepy!” Will exclaimed, climbing slowly to his feet.

  “He even scared the dog,” I said, petting Wolf some more. “What do you think he had in the sack?”

  “Probably someone’s head!” Will said, his dark eyes wide with horror.

  I laughed. But I stopped when I saw that Will wasn’t joking. “Everyone says he’s harmless,” I said.

  “He had blood all over the front of his shirt,” Will said with a shudder. He scratched his short, dark hair nervously.

  The sunlight faded quickly as clouds rolled over the sun. Long shadows crept over the bog. The stick Will had thrown had disappeared, sucked into the thick, murky water.

  “Let’s get home,” I suggested.

  “Yeah. Okay,” Will agreed quickly.

  I called to Wolf, who was exploring in the tall weeds. Then we turned and started to make our way back along the twisting dirt path.

  A soft breeze fluttered the trees, making the palm leaves scrape and clatter. Tall ferns shivered in the wind. The shadows grew deeper and darker.

  I could hear Wolf behind us. I could hear his body brushing through low shrubs and weeds.

  We were nearly to where the trees ended and the flat grass leading to our back yards began. We were nearly out of the swamp when Will stopped suddenly.

  I saw his mouth drop open in horror.

  I turned to follow his gaze.

  Then I uttered a shocked cry and covered my eyes to shut out the gruesome sight.

  15

  When I opened my eyes, the hideous pile of feathers and blood-covered flesh was still at my feet.

  “Wh-what is it?” Will stammered.

  It took me a long while to realize we were staring at a bird. A large heron.

  It was hard to recognize because it had been torn apart.

  Long, white feathers were scattered over the soft ground. The poor bird’s chest had been torn wide open.

  “The swamp hermit!” Will cried.

  “Huh?” I cried. I turned away from the hideous sight and tried to force the image from my mind.

  “That’s why he had blood all over his shirt!” Will declared.

  “But why would he rip a bird apart?” I asked weakly.

  “Because�
� because he’s a monster!” Will exclaimed.

  “He’s just a weird old guy who lives alone in the swamp,” I said. “He didn’t do this, Will. Some kind of animal did it. Look!” I pointed to the ground.

  There were paw prints in the soft ground. All around the dead bird.

  “They look like dog’s paws,” I said, thinking out loud.

  “Dogs don’t rip apart birds,” Will replied quietly.

  At that moment, Wolf came bounding up to us through the weeds. He came to a stop in front of the dead bird and started to sniff it.

  “Get away from there, Wolf,” I ordered. “Come on. Get away.” I tugged him back, pulling him with both hands around his thick neck.

  “Let’s get home,” Will said. “Let’s get away from this thing. I’m going to have bad dreams. I really will.”

  I pulled Wolf with both hands. We stepped carefully around the dead heron and then hurried toward the swamp edge. Neither of us said a word. I guess we were both still picturing what we had seen.

  As we reached the flat grass behind our houses, I said good-bye to Will. I watched him hurry to his house. Wolf scampered after him for part of the way. Then he turned and hurried back to me.

  The late afternoon sun burned its way through the clouds. I shielded my eyes from the sudden brightness, and saw my dad working in the deer pen behind the house.

  “Hey, Dad—” I ran toward him over the grass.

  He glanced up when I called to him. He was wearing denim cutoffs and a sleeveless yellow T-shirt. He had an Orlando Magic cap pulled down over his forehead. “What’s up, Grady?”

  “Will and I—we saw a dead heron,” I told him breathlessly.

  “Where? In the swamp?” he asked casually. He pulled off the cap, wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, and replaced the cap.

  “Dad, it—it was torn apart!” I cried.

  He didn’t react. “That’s part of life in the wild,” he said, pulling up one of the deer’s hooves to examine the bottom. “You know that, Grady. It can get pretty violent out there. We’ve talked about survival of the fittest and stuff like that.”

  “No, Dad. This is different,” I insisted. “The heron—it was ripped in two. I mean, like someone took it, and—”

  “Another bird, maybe,” Dad said, concentrating on the deer hoof. “A larger bird of prey. It could have been—”

  “We saw the swamp hermit,” I interrupted. “He had blood all over his shirt. Then we saw paw prints in the ground. All around the dead bird.”

  “Grady, calm down,” Dad said, setting down the deer’s leg. “If you go exploring in the swamp, you’re going to see a lot of frightening-looking things. But don’t let your imagination run away with you.”

  “Will said it was done by a monster!” I exclaimed.

  Dad frowned and scratched his head through the cap. “I see your new friend has a good imagination, too,” he said quietly.

  That night, I was glad my parents agreed to let Wolf sleep in my room. I felt a lot safer with the big dog curled up on the rug beside my bed.

  I hadn’t been able to shake the ugly picture of the dead heron from my mind. I watched some TV until dinnertime. Then after dinner, I played a long chess game with Emily.

  But no matter what I did, I kept seeing the white feathers scattered over the ground, the torn-apart bird lying crumpled on the path.

  So now I felt a little comforted with Wolf sleeping in the room. “You’ll protect me, won’t you, boy?” I whispered from my bed.

  He uttered a low snort. Light from the full moon spilled over him through the window. I saw that he was sleeping with his head resting on his two front paws.

  Then I drifted into a dreamless sleep.

  I don’t know how long I slept.

  I was awakened some time later by a horrifying crash.

  I sat straight up with a startled gasp.

  The crash had come from the living room, I realized.

  Someone was breaking in!

  16

  Was it a burglar?

  I climbed out of bed, my heart pounding, and crept to the door.

  Another crash. A loud thump.

  Footsteps.

  “Who—who is it?” I cried. My voice came out in a choked whisper.

  Keeping against the wall, I made my way slowly toward the living room. “Who’s there?” I shouted.

  Mom and Dad and Emily met me in the dark hallway. Even in the darkness I could see the fear and confusion on their faces.

  I was the first to the living room. Pale yellow light from the full moon washed across the room. “Hey!” I called out.

  Wolf leaped against the big front window. His shoulders made a loud thud against the glass.

  “Wolf—stop!” I cried.

  In the pale light, I saw what had caused the loud crash. Wolf had knocked over the table and a lamp that had stood in front of the window.

  “He—he’s trying to get outside,” I stammered.

  I felt Dad’s hand on the shoulder of my pajama shirt. “What a mess he’s made,” he murmured.

  “Wolf—stop!” I called again.

  The big dog turned, breathing hard. His eyes glowed red in the moonlight through the window.

  “Why is he so desperate to get out?” Emily demanded.

  “We can’t have him in the house if he does this every night,” Mom said, her voice hoarse from sleep.

  The big dog lowered his head and let out an excited growl. His tail stood straight up behind him.

  “Open the front door. Let him out,” Mom said. “Before he wrecks the whole house.”

  Dad hurried across the room and pulled open the door. Wolf didn’t hesitate for a second. He bounded to the door and burst out.

  I ran to the window to watch him. But the big dog disappeared around the side of the house, running toward the back yard.

  “He’s heading to the swamp,” I guessed.

  “He tried to break right through the window,” Mom said.

  Emily clicked on a lamp. “He’s so strong, he probably could have broken the window,” she said quietly.

  Dad closed the front door. He yawned. Then he turned his gaze on me. “You know what this means, don’t you, Grady?”

  I was still staring out at the full moon. “No. What?”

  “Wolf will have to stay outdoors from now on,” Dad said. He stooped and began picking up pieces of the broken lamp.

  “But, Dad—” I started to protest.

  “He’s too big and too restless to stay in the house,” Dad continued. He handed the lamp pieces to Emily. Then he pulled the table rightside up and returned it to its place in front of the window.

  “Wolf didn’t mean to break the lamp,” I argued weakly.

  “He’ll break everything we have,” Mom said quietly.

  “He’s just too big,” Dad added. “He’ll have to stay outside, Grady.”

  “Why did he want out so desperately?” Emily demanded.

  “He’s probably used to being outside,” Dad told her. “He’ll be happier out there,” he said, turning to me.

  “Yeah. Maybe,” I replied glumly. I liked having Wolf sleep beside me in my bedroom. But I knew there was no way I could convince my parents to give the dog a second chance. Their minds were made up.

  And at least they were letting me keep Wolf.

  I pulled the vacuum cleaner out of the closet and plugged it in. Dad took the nozzle and began vacuuming up the tiny pieces of glass from the carpet.

  That crazy dog, I thought, shaking my head unhappily. What is his problem, anyway?

  When Dad finished, I carried the vacuum cleaner back to the closet.

  “Now maybe we can all sleep in peace,” Mom said, yawning.

  She was wrong.

  17

  I heard the frightening howls again a short while later.

  At first I thought I was dreaming them.

  But when I opened my eyes and gazed around my dark bedroom, the howls continued. Still half as
leep, I gripped the covers with both hands and pulled them up to my chin.

  The howls sounded so close, as if they were right outside my window. They didn’t seem like the cries of an animal. They were too angry, too deliberate.

  Too human.

  Stop trying to frighten yourself, I thought. It’s a wolf. It has to be some kind of swamp wolf.

  In the back of my mind, I knew it might be Wolf making those frightening sounds. But I kept pushing the thought away.

  Why would the dog howl like that?

  Dogs bark. They don’t howl unless they’re very sad or upset.

  I shut my eyes, wishing the frightening wails away.

  Suddenly, they stopped. Silence.

  Then I heard rapid thumps on the ground. Footsteps.

  Some kind of a struggle.

  I heard a short, terrifying cry. It cut off almost as soon as it began.

  It’s right in back of the house, I realized.

  Wide awake now, I jumped out of bed, dragging the covers with me. I stumbled to the bedroom window and grabbed the windowsill.

  The full moon had risen high in the night sky. The back yard stretched out silvery in the moonlight, the dewy grass shimmering in the bright light.

  Pressing my forehead against the windowpane, I peered out toward the dark swamp. I uttered a near-silent gasp when I saw the shadowy creature running toward the trees.

  A large creature, running on all fours.

  It was only a black outline fading into the darkness. But I could see how big it was, and I could see how fast it was running.

  And I heard its howls. Triumphant howls, I thought.

  Is it Wolf? I wondered. I peered out the window without moving, even though the darkness had swallowed the creature up. I could see only the outline of distant trees.

  But I could still hear the howls rising and falling on the heavy night air.

  Is it Wolf?

  It can’t be Wolf—can it?

  I lowered my gaze. My breath caught in my throat. I saw something. In the middle of the backyard. A few feet from the deer pen.

  At first I thought it was a pile of rags.