46 - How to Kill a Monster

by R. L. Stine

  “I’m coming!” I yelled. “Hold on, Clark. I’m coming!”

  I rounded the couch—and tripped over a footstool. My head hit the floor hard.

  Clark continued to cry out my name, but his voice seemed distant now. So far away.

  My head throbbed with pain.

  I struggled to stand, and the room spun around me.

  “Gre-tchen! Gre-tchen!”

  He sounded more frantic than ever.

  “I’m coming!” I said through a dizzy haze.

  Then I heard the monster’s bellow. It thundered through the house.

  I have to get to Clark. He’s in trouble! The monster has him! I realized.

  I stumbled through the living room. Toward the kitchen.

  The creature’s roars shook the walls.

  “Hold on, Clark!” I tried to shout, but my voice came out in a moan. “I’m coming!”

  I stumbled into the kitchen.

  “Gretchen!” Clark stood next to the refrigerator.

  Alone.

  “Where is he?” I cried. My eyes darted around the room, searching for the monster.

  “Wh-where’s who?” Clark stammered.

  “The monster!” I yelled.

  “Upstairs,” Clark replied, puzzled. “What took you so long to get here?”

  Clark didn’t wait for an answer. “Look at this.” He pointed to the refrigerator. I turned and saw two letters stuck there with magnets.

  “You were screaming like a maniac to show me that?” I shrieked. “I nearly killed myself! I thought the monster had grabbed you!”

  Clark’s hand trembled as he lifted the envelopes from the refrigerator. “It’s two letters addressed to us. From Grandma and Grandpa.”

  I stared at the envelopes in Clark’s hand. They were addressed to us, just as he said. And they were numbered, one and two.

  “They left us letters?” I couldn’t believe it.

  Clark ripped open the first envelope. The paper shook in his hands as he began to read it to himself.

  His eyes scanned the paper. He mumbled as he read. I couldn’t understand what he was saying.

  “Let me have that!” I reached out for the letter, but Clark jerked back. He held the paper tightly and continued to read.

  “Clark, what does it say?” I demanded.

  He ignored me. He pushed his glasses up on his nose and kept on reading. Mumbling.

  I watched Clark as he read.

  I watched his eyes move down the page.

  I watched his eyes grow wide with horror.

  21

  “Clark!” I shouted impatiently. “What does it say?”

  Clark began to read the letter out loud. “‘Dear Gretchen and Clark,’” he started. The paper fluttered between his trembling fingers.

  “‘We’re sorry to do this to you, but we had to leave. A few weeks ago, a swamp monster invaded our house. We captured it in the room upstairs. Then we didn’t know what to do with it. We didn’t have a car, so we couldn’t get to a phone to call for help.

  “‘We’ve lived in terror for the past few weeks. We were afraid to let the monster out. It’s so loud and angry all the time. We know it would have killed us.’”

  My knees started to wobble as Clark continued.

  “‘We didn’t want to tell your parents about the creature. If we did, they wouldn’t have let you come. We don’t get many visitors here. We wanted so much to see you. But I guess we were wrong. You should have gone to Atlanta with your mother and father. I guess we were wrong to let you stay.’”

  “They guess they were wrong! They guess!” I shrieked. “Can you believe them?”

  Clark peered up from the letter. His face was white. Even his freckles seemed to disappear. He shook his head, stunned.

  Then he continued to read our grandparents’ letter. “‘We’ve been feeding the creature, slipping food through an opening Grandpa sawed in the bottom of the door. The monster eats a lot. But we had to feed him. We were afraid not to.

  “‘We know it’s unfair to run off now. But we’re just going for help. We’ll be back—as soon as we can find someone. Someone who knows what to do with this horrible beast.

  “‘Sorry, kids. We really are—but we had to bolt you inside the house. To make sure you didn’t wander into the swamp by yourselves. It’s not safe out there.’”

  Were they for real?”

  “Not safe out there!” I cried. “They left us in this house with a killer monster—and they say it’s not safe out there! They’re both crazy, Clark. Totally crazy!”

  Clark nodded and continued reading. “‘Sorry, kids. We really, really are sorry. But just remember one thing: You are perfectly safe as long as…’”

  The monster upstairs let out a loud bellow. And Clark dropped the letter.

  I watched in horror as it sailed through the air.

  Floated down to the floor.

  And slid under the refrigerator.

  “Get it, Clark!” I yelled. “Quick!”

  Clark stretched out on the floor and shoved his fingers under the refrigerator. But his fingers only managed to brush the tip of the paper, shoving it back.

  “Stop!” I yelled. “You’re pushing it away!”

  But Clark didn’t listen.

  He shoved his hand in deeper. Groping for the paper.

  Pushing it back. Farther and farther.

  Until we couldn’t see it anymore.

  “What did it say?” I hollered. “You read the letter! We’re perfectly safe as long as… what?”

  “I—I didn’t get to that part,” Clark stammered.

  I wanted to strangle him.

  I spun around. And frantically searched for something to slip under the refrigerator—to ease out the letter.

  But I couldn’t find anything slim enough or long enough. Everything was way too big to fit underneath.

  Clark tore open the kitchen cabinets and drawers looking for something we could use.

  The monster stomped on the floor above us.

  The ceiling quaked.

  A dish fell off the counter and shattered on the cold gray tiles. Shattered into a thousand tiny pieces.

  “Oh, no,” I moaned, staring up at the ceiling, watching the paint crack and crumble. “He’s down to the second floor. He’s coming closer.”

  “We’re doomed,” Clark groaned. “He’s going to catch us and—”

  “Clark. We have to move the refrigerator. We have to find out what it says in the rest of that letter!”

  Clark and I tugged on the refrigerator. We pushed and tugged with all our strength.

  Upstairs, the monster roared an angry roar.

  We tugged harder.

  The refrigerator began to move.

  Clark knelt down and peered underneath it. “Push!” he told me. “Push! I can see a corner of the letter! Push—just a little more!”

  I gave the refrigerator one more hard shove—and Clark had it! He grasped the corner of the letter between his thumb and index finger. And pulled it out.

  He shook the paper, to free a clump of dust that clung to it.

  “Just read it!” I shouted at him. “Read it!”

  Clark started to read again. “‘You are perfectly safe as long as…’”

  22

  I held my breath, waiting for Clark to finish the sentence. Waiting to find out how we could keep ourselves safe.

  “‘You are perfectly safe,’” Clark read, “‘as long as you do not open the door and let the monster out.’”

  “That’s it?” My jaw dropped. “It’s too late for that! It’s too late! Did they say anything else? They must have said something else!”

  “There’s a little more.” Clark read on:

  “‘Please. Please stay away from that room. Do not open that door.’”

  “Too late!” I wailed. “It’s too late!”

  “‘If the monster escapes, you will have no choice. You will have to find a way to kill it.’” Clark looked up from the letter
. “That’s it, Gretchen. That’s all it says. You will have to find a way to kill it.”

  “Quick!” I ordered Clark. “Open the other letter. It’ll probably tell us more. It has to!”

  Clark started to tear open the second envelope when we heard the heavy footsteps.

  Footsteps downstairs.

  In the next room—the living room.

  “Hurry, Clark! Open it!”

  Clark’s fingers fumbled as he tried to rip through the sealed envelope. But he stopped when we heard the creature’s breathing.

  Deep, wheezing breaths.

  Coming nearer.

  My heart thumped wildly as the monster’s wheezing grew louder.

  “He-he’s coming for us!” Clark cried, stuffing the unopened envelope in his pocket.

  “The dining room!” I shouted. “Head for the dining room!”

  “What are we going to do? How can we kill it?” Clark cried as we bolted from the kitchen.

  “We—owwww!” A sharp pain shot up my leg as I ran smack into the dining-room table.

  I clutched my knee. I tried to bend it. But the pain tore through it.

  I spun around.

  And there he stood.

  The swamp monster.

  In the kitchen—lumbering toward us hungrily.

  23

  The monster glared at me with his horrible bulging eyes. I watched the veins in his head throb as he let out a long, low growl.

  I stared at those huge, pulsing veins. Stared as they beat against his coarse alligator skin.

  “Run, Gretchen!” Clark pulled me from behind. He yanked me out of the dining room. We dove toward the stairs.

  “We need a place to hide.” Clark panted as we fled to the second floor. “We have to hide until Grandma and Grandpa come back with help.”

  “They’re not coming back!” I screamed at him. “They’re not coming back with help!”

  “They said they would,” Clark insisted. “They said so in the letter.”

  “Clark, you are such a jerk.” We reached the top of the stairs. I stopped to catch my breath. “Who is going to believe them?” I said, gulping air. “Who’s going to believe they have a swamp monster trapped in their house?”

  Clark didn’t reply.

  I answered for him. “No one! That’s who. Everyone they tell the story to will think they’re nuts.”

  “Someone might believe them.” Clark’s voice cracked. “Someone might want to help.”

  “Yeah, right. ‘Will you help us kill a swamp monster?’ they’ll ask. I’ll bet they get loads of volunteers!” I rolled my eyes.

  I stopped yelling at Clark when I heard the monster’s heavy breathing. I spun around—and saw the creature.

  He stood at the bottom of the stairs. Eyeing us. Drooling hungrily.

  Clark and I backed slowly away from the top of the stairs.

  The monster followed us with his eyes.

  “We have to kill it,” Clark whispered. “That’s what the letter said. We have to kill it. But how?”

  “I have an idea!” I told Clark. “Follow me!”

  We turned and ran. As we charged past the bathroom, we heard Charley whimpering.

  “Let’s get Charley!” Clark stopped running. “It’s too dangerous to leave him closed up in there. We have to take him with us.”

  “We can’t, Clark,” I replied. “He’ll be okay. Don’t worry.”

  I wasn’t as sure about that as I sounded. But there was no time to stop for Charley now—because the monster had reached the second floor.

  There he stood. Looming at the end of the hall.

  He raised his hands up over his head. I saw that he held the wooden footstool I had tripped over in the living room.

  His eyes burned with anger.

  He glared at me, then growled a loud, savage growl. A stream of thick white drool dribbled down his chin.

  He licked the drool away with a reptile tongue—and smashed the stool down across his leg. It splintered into two jagged pieces.

  He raised the pieces and hurled them at us.

  “Let’s go!” Clark shrieked as the footstool bounced off the wall.

  We ran up the stairs. Up to the third floor.

  The monster lumbered after us. The whole house shook with each heavy step he took.

  “He’s coming!” Clark cried. “What are we going to do? You said you had an idea. What?”

  “There’s a collapsed stairway up here,” I told Clark, running as fast as I could through the dark, twisting hall. “It’s totally fallen down. Just a big hole. When we turn the corner, grab onto the railing. The monster will chase us around the corner—and he’ll fall down the open stairway.”

  The roar of the monster thundered in my ears. I saw him plodding down the hall after us.

  “Come on, Clark! Hurry!”

  “What if it doesn’t work?” Clark demanded, very frightened. “What if the fall only hurts him? Won’t it make him even more angry?”

  “Don’t ask questions, Clark,” I replied impatiently. “It’s got to work! It’s got to!”

  We started to run again.

  The monster howled. Howled with rage.

  “There’s the turn, Clark. Up ahead.”

  The creature roared. Only steps behind us.

  My heart pounded hard. My chest felt as if it were about to explode. “Grab the railing, Clark. Or else you’ll drop to the bottom. Here goes!”

  We turned the corner.

  We both threw our hands up. And grabbed the railing.

  Our bodies slammed hard against the wall—then dangled over the black, empty hole.

  The creature turned the corner.

  Would my plan work? Would he fall to his death?

  Was this the way to kill a monster?

  24

  The beast whirled around the corner.

  Staggered on the edge of the hole.

  His head jerked to face us. His eyes glowed red.

  He opened his mouth in an ugly growl. He swayed, trying to keep his balance. Then he plunged down the open staircase.

  I heard him land with a heavy thud.

  Clark and I hung on to the rotted banister. It creaked under the strain of our weight.

  My hands ached. My fingers were numb. I knew I couldn’t hold on much longer.

  We listened.

  Silence.

  The creature didn’t move.

  I looked down, but it was too dark to see.

  “My fingers are slipping,” Clark groaned. Then he swung out his foot, searching with his sneaker for the hallway floor.

  Hand over hand, he inched his way along the banister to the safety of the hall. I followed.

  We peered down into the black hole once more. But it was so black down there—we couldn’t make out a thing. Dark and silent. Totally silent.

  “We did it! We’re safe!” I cheered. “We killed the monster!”

  Clark and I jumped up and down in celebration. “We did it! We did it!”

  We ran downstairs. We let Charley out of the bathroom.

  “Everything is okay, Charley.” I hugged my dog. “We did it, boy,” I told him. “We killed the swamp monster.”

  “Let’s get out of here,” Clark urged. “We can walk to town. Call Mom and Dad from the general store. Tell them to pick us up—now!”

  We were so happy, we practically danced down the steps. The three of us headed into the library. “Stand back,” I told Clark. “And hold Charley. I’ll break the window, and we’ll get out of here.”

  I glanced around the room, searching for the heavy brass candlestick to break the glass. It wasn’t there.

  “Wait here,” I told Clark. “I left the candlestick up in the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

  I sprinted out of the library.

  I couldn’t wait to break out of this creepy place. To leave this horrible swamp. And tell Mom and Dad how stupid they were to dump us here in a house with a real, live monster inside.

  I ran throug
h the living room—to the stairs.

  I jogged up three steps—and stopped.

  Stopped when I heard the low groan.

  It can’t be, I thought. Maybe it’s Charley. Maybe Charley is growling.

  I listened.

  And heard it again.

  Not a dog growl. Definitely not a dog growl.

  Then I heard the rumbling footsteps, the footsteps of the swamp monster, coming from somewhere nearby.

  Closer.

  Closer.

  25

  “Clark!” I staggered back into the library. My legs were shaking. My whole body trembled. “He’s not dead!” I cried. “The monster isn’t dead!”

  The library was empty.

  “Clark? Where are you?” I shouted.

  “In the kitchen,” he called. “Feeding Charley.”

  I raced into the kitchen. Clark and Charley sat on the floor. Charley was lapping up a bowl of water.

  “The fall didn’t kill him! The monster isn’t dead!” I shrieked.

  Clark gasped in horror. “He must be really angry now. He must be furious. What are we going to do?”

  My eyes darted around the kitchen. “Put Charley in there,” I ordered. “In that closet. I have another idea.”

  “I hope it’s better than your last idea,” Clark moaned.

  “Do you have an idea?” I yelled at him. “Do you?”

  He didn’t.

  Clark dragged Charley across the kitchen. “Gretchen, this isn’t a closet. It’s some kind of room.”

  “I don’t care what it is,” I hollered. “Just put Charley in there.”

  On the counter sat one of Grandma’s rhubarb pies. “The monster hasn’t eaten since this morning,” I told Clark. “We’ll put this pie out on the counter where he’ll see it.”

  “But that will only slow him down for a second,” Clark whined. He shut Charley in the room. “He’ll gobble the pie in one bite. Then he’ll come after us again.”

  “No, he won’t,” I insisted. “We’re going to poison the pie. We’ll put stuff in it. Enough stuff to kill him!”

  “I don’t know, Gretchen,” Clark argued. “I don’t think that’s going to work.”