by R. L. Stine
I started to climb the dusty, wooden stairs. They wound round and round. I looked up ahead, but I couldn’t see where the steps led.
I couldn’t even see my own feet. It was totally black in there.
The stairs creaked and groaned with every step I took. A thick layer of grime coated the banister—but I held onto it anyway. And I groped my way up—up the dark, winding staircase.
Breathing hard, I climbed higher and higher. The dust in the air stuck in my throat. It smelled sour and old.
I finally reached the top of the staircase and peered down the third-floor hallway. It looked like the one below—with the same twists and turns.
The same dark green walls. The same dim shaft of light that entered from a single window.
I slowly moved down the hall and opened the first door I reached.
It was a huge room. Almost as big as the living room. But totally empty.
The next room was just as large. Just as empty.
I moved carefully down the dark hall.
It was really hot up here. Beads of sweat dripped down the sides of my face. I blotted them with the sleeve of my T-shirt.
The next room I entered was small. Well, not exactly small, but the smallest I’d seen so far. Against one wall stood an old player piano.
If it wasn’t so gross up here, I’d come back to this room, I thought. I’d come back and see if the old piano worked.
But right now all I wanted to do was find Clark in his hiding place. And leave.
I walked a little farther.
Rounded a corner.
And choked on a scream—as I started to fall.
No floor!
No floor at all beneath my feet!
My hand shot out in the dark, fumbling for something to grab onto.
I grabbed something hard—an old banister.
And held on. Held on. Held on.
I gripped it tightly with both hands and swung myself back. Back up to the solid hallway floor.
My heart pounding, I stared down into the gaping black hole where I had fallen. A hole where an old staircase once stood. Now rotted away with age.
I let out a long sigh. “I’ll get you for this, Clark,” I cried out loud. “I told you I didn’t want to play.”
I hurried down the hall, searching for my stepbrother. Searching quickly. To get this dumb game over with.
And then I stopped.
And stared—at the door at the end of the hall.
A door with a shiny metal lock.
I moved slowly toward the door. A tarnished silver key rested in the keyhole.
What is inside there? I wondered. Why is it locked?
I stepped closer.
Why don’t Grandma and Grandpa want us in that room?
They said it was a supply room.
Practically every room in this weird old house is a storage room, I thought. Why don’t they want us to open that door?
I stood in front of the door.
I reached out my hand.
And wrapped my fingers around the silver key.
15
No.
I pulled my hand away from the doorknob.
I have to find Clark, I decided. I’m tired of playing this stupid game. I’m tired of being It.
Then I had a great idea.
I’ll hide! I’ll trick Clark into being It!
I’ll hide and Clark will get bored waiting for me to find him. He’ll have to look for me!
Perfect! I thought. Now… where shall I hide?
I searched the rest of the rooms on the third floor—scouting out a good hiding place. But the rooms up here were all empty. Nothing to slip behind.
Nothing to crawl under.
I returned to the little room with the player piano. Maybe I can figure out a way to hide behind that, I thought.
I tried to push the piano away from the wall.
Just enough so I could squeeze behind it. But it was way too heavy. I couldn’t budge it.
I made my way back to the door with the silver key—the locked room.
I peered up and down the dim hall. Had I searched everywhere? Did I miss a room?
That’s when I spotted it.
A small door. A door in the wall.
A door I hadn’t noticed before.
A door to a dumbwaiter.
I’d seen dumbwaiters in the movies. In big, old houses like this one. They were little elevators that carried food and dishes from one floor to another. Pretty cool.
A dumbwaiter! I thought. A perfect place to hide! I turned and started toward it—when I heard a crash. A crash—like the sound of a plate dropping.
A crash coming from the other side of the door with the silver key.
I pressed my ear against the door. I heard footsteps.
So that’s where Clark is hiding! I realized. He is such a cheater! He hid in the one place he knew I wouldn’t look!
He hid in the room Grandma and Grandpa told us to stay out of.
Well, Clark, I thought. Too bad for you. I found you!
I slipped my fingers around the key and turned it. The lock sprang open with a sharp click. I yanked open the door.
And stared at a hideous monster.
16
I nearly fell into the room.
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t back away. Couldn’t take my eyes off him.
A living, breathing monster. At least ten feet tall.
Standing inside the locked room.
I gaped at his big, furry body. A body like a gorilla—with leaves and tree roots and sand tangled in his fur. His head was scaly, with snapping rows of jagged alligator teeth.
A foul stench filled the room. The putrid smell of decay. The smell of the swamp.
My stomach heaved.
The creature raised his eyes to me—bulging eyes set into the sides of his enormous head.
He held me in his stare for a moment. Then he glanced down at his hairy paws—where he balanced a tall stack of pancakes.
He began stuffing the pancakes into his mouth. Devouring them. Gnashing them with his jagged teeth.
Still gripping the door handle, I stared at the monster as he ate. He jammed another stack of pancakes down his throat. He swallowed them whole and grunted with pleasure.
His horrible alligator eyes went wide. The thick veins in his neck throbbed as he ate.
I tried to call for help. To scream. But when I opened my mouth, no sound came out.
With one hand the monster shoved pancakes into his mouth—stacks at a time. With the other, he scratched at one of his furry legs.
Scratched and scratched. Until he found a big black beetle, nesting in his fur.
He held the beetle up to the side of his head—to one of his bulging eyes.
The beetle’s legs waved in the air.
He glared at the beetle. At the waving legs.
Then he popped the bug into his mouth—and chomped down on its shiny black shell with a sickening crunch.
Blueberries and beetle juice oozed from his mouth.
Run! I told myself. Run! But I was too terrified to move.
The creature reached down for another stack of pancakes.
I forced myself to take a small step back—into the hall.
The monster jerked his head up.
He glared at me. Then he let out a deep growl.
He let the pancakes slide to the floor and lumbered toward me.
I ran, screaming for help as I charged into the hall.
“Gretchen! Gretchen! What’s wrong?” Clark turned the corner at the end of the corridor.
“A monster! In the locked room! Hurry!” I shrieked. “Hurry! Get help!”
I leaped down the stairs. “Grandma! Grandpa!” I cried out. “A monster!”
I turned to see if the beast was following me—and realized that Clark hadn’t moved.
“There’s a monster in there!” I wailed. “Get away, Clark! Get away!”
He snickered. “You must think I’m pretty
stupid to fall for that one.”
Clark headed toward the door of the monster’s room. Grinning.
“No! Please!” I pleaded. “I’m telling the truth!”
“You just want to scare me. To get even.”
“I’m not kidding, Clark! Don’t go in there!” I shrieked. “DON’T!”
Clark reached the door. “Here I am, swamp monster!” he called out as he stepped into the room. “Come and get me!”
17
A second later Clark’s terrified screams echoed from the room.
The creature roared over Clark’s cries.
Charley bounded up the stairs, barking wildly.
“Run! Run!” Clark came bursting from the room, waving his arms. “A monster! A swamp monster!”
We tore down the stairs, dragging Charley with us. Charley fought hard. He wanted to turn around and charge back up the steps.
“Charley, come!” I pleaded. “Come!”
But Charley sat down on a step and howled. He wouldn’t budge.
A bellow thundered through the hall.
Oh, no! He’s coming! He’s coming after us!
“PLEASE, CHARLEY!” I begged, yanking on his collar. “PLEASE!”
Clark stood on the steps, frozen in fear.
“Help me, Clark!” I pleaded. “Don’t just stand there. Help me!”
The swamp monster pounded down the hall. The old stairway quaked under our feet.
“He’s coming to get us,” Clark whispered. He still hadn’t moved.
I grabbed my stepbrother’s T-shirt and yanked him hard. “Help me, Clark!” I screamed. “Push Charley!”
We struggled down the stairs. I tugged Charley and Clark shoved him from behind.
“Grandma! Grandpa!” I cried out.
No answer.
The monster’s roar grew louder. Closer.
“Lock Charley in the bathroom!” I ordered Clark when we reached the second floor. “He’ll be safe there. I’ll find Grandma and Grandpa.”
I charged down to the kitchen. “Grandma! Grandpa!” I yelled. “A monster!”
No one in the kitchen.
I flew into the living room. “Where are you? Help!”
Not in the living room.
I searched the library. Empty.
I ran back up the stairs. I checked their bedroom and all the other rooms on the second floor.
I couldn’t find them anywhere.
Where are they? Where could they be? I asked myself.
Clark stepped out of the bathroom—just in time to hear the monster’s footsteps rumbling above us.
“W-where’s Grandma and Grandpa?” he stammered.
“I—I don’t know. I can’t find them!”
“Did you check outside?” His voice came out in a squeak.
That’s it! I thought. Don’t panic, Gretchen. They must be outside. Probably in the back. Grandpa is probably working on the shed.
We bolted down the stairs and into the kitchen.
We stopped at the back door. Stared out across the swamp. To the shed.
No one back there.
“Where are—?” Clark began.
“Listen!” I cut Clark off. “Do you hear that?”
The sound of a car—starting up.
“Grandpa and Grandma’s car! It’s back! It’s fixed!” I shouted.
We followed the sound of the engine. It was coming from the front of the house.
We ran to the front door and peered out the window.
There they were!
“Huh?” I cried out in shock.
My grandparents were backing down the driveway.
They were driving away!
“No—wait! Wait!” I screamed, turning the lock.
“They can’t hear you!” Clark shouted. “Open the door! Open it!”
I yanked on the door. I pulled it as hard as I could. I turned the lock again.
“Hurry!” Clark shrieked. “They’re leaving us here!”
I tugged and tugged. And turned the knob frantically.
Then I realized the horrible truth.
“It’s bolted from the outside!” I told Clark. “They’ve locked us in!”
18
“How could they do this to us?” I wailed. “How could they leave us here? Why did they lock us in?”
The ceiling shook above our heads. Shook hard. Hard enough to send the pictures on the living room wall crashing to the floor.
“What was that?” Clark’s eyebrows shot up.
“The monster! He’s coming after us!” I croaked. “We have to get out of here! We have to find help!”
Clark and I ran back to the kitchen. To the kitchen door.
I twisted the doorknob. Pulled as hard as I could. But this door was also jammed shut—barred from the outside.
We ran through the house.
We checked all the side doors.
All stuck. All of them—bolted shut from the other side.
The monster’s footsteps rumbled above us.
How could Grandma and Grandpa do this to us? How could they? How could they? The question screamed in my head as I charged into the library. To the window.
The only window on the entire first floor.
Our only escape now.
I struggled to shove the window up.
It wouldn’t budge.
I pounded on the wooden sash with my fists.
“Look!” Clark choked. He pointed to the grimy pane. “Look!”
Two rusty nails. Driven into the wooden sash. Nailing the window shut—from the outside.
Nailing us in.
How could they do this to us? How could they? I chanted silently. How could they?
“We have to break the glass!” I turned to Clark. “It’s the only way out!”
“Okay!” Clark cried. He leaned forward and began beating his fists against the pane.
“Are you nuts?” I screamed at him. “Find something stronger to—”
But the rest of my sentence was lost—lost in a deafening crash from above. Followed by the thundering clatter of piano keys.
“Wh-what’s he doing?” Clark stammered.
“There’s an old piano up there. It sounds as if he’s throwing it across the room!”
The floors, the walls, the library ceiling—everything quaked—as the monster hurled the piano across the third-floor room. Over and over again.
A porcelain vase, a crystal dish, little glass animals flew from a nearby table and shattered at our feet.
I threw my hands over my head as the library books spilled from their shelves.
Clark and I huddled together. On the floor. Waiting for the avalanche of books to end.
Waiting for the monster to stop.
We huddled there until the house grew silent.
A final book tumbled from a shelf. It landed on a small table next to me.
“Hand me that!” I ordered Clark, pointing to a heavy brass candlestick next to the book. “Stand back.”
I turned to the window. I pulled back my arm to swing the heavy candlestick—when I heard the whimpering.
Charley’s whimpering. From upstairs.
“Oh, no!” I gasped. “The monster—he’s got Charley!”
19
I ran for the stairway, clutching the candlestick in one hand, dragging Clark with the other.
I had to save Charley! I had to!
I raced up the stairs. I stopped when I reached the top.
My heart pounded in my chest as I peered down the hall.
The corridor was empty.
I crept toward the bathroom. Except for Clark’s raspy breathing and the thudding of my heart, the house was still.
As I neared the bathroom, the bathroom door came into view.
Shut.
I gripped the doorknob. It slipped in my sweat-drenched hand.
I opened the door a crack and peeked inside. But I couldn’t see anything.
I could feel Clark breathing down my neck as I pushed the d
oor open a bit more.
A bit more.
“Charley!” I cried out with relief.
Charley sat in the bathtub. Curled up in a corner. Scared—but safe.
He gazed up at us with his big brown eyes. He wagged his tail weakly. Then he began to bark.
“Shhhh!” I whispered, petting him. “Please, Charley. Don’t let the monster hear you. Quiet, boy.”
Charley barked even louder.
So loud that we almost didn’t hear the car pull up outside.
“Shhhh!” I urged Charley. I turned to Clark. “Did you hear that?”
His mouth dropped open. “A car door!”
“Yes!” I cried.
“Grandma and Grandpa are back!” Clark shouted. “I’ll bet they brought help!”
“Stay,” I commanded Charley as we eased out of the bathroom. “Good boy. Stay.”
Clark slammed the door behind us, and we bolted down the stairs.
“I knew they’d be back! I knew they wouldn’t just leave us!” I flew down the steps, two at a time.
And heard the engine start.
Heard the car rumble away.
Heard the tires crunch down the driveway.
“Noooo!” I shouted as I reached the front door. “Don’t go! Don’t go!”
I pounded the door with my fists. I kicked it hard. And then I saw the pink slip of paper on the floor, slipped under the door.
A message. I picked it up with a trembling hand. And started to read:
We’re not coming back. Until next week. Sorry, kids. But work is taking much longer than we thought.
A phone message—from Mom and Dad.
Grandma and Grandpa didn’t come back, I realized. Mr. Donner, from the general store, had driven over to deliver this phone message.
The roar of the monster tore through my thoughts.
I spun around.
Clark was gone.
“Clark!” I shouted. “Where are you?”
The monster’s growls grew louder. Meaner.
“Clark!” I called out again. “Clark!”
“Gretchen—come quick!” I heard his desperate cry from the kitchen.
20
“Gretchen! Gretchen!”
As I charged through the living room, he shouted my name over and over again. Each time his voice grew higher, more excited.
