by R. L. Stine
I knew I had to try to take my mind off it. Dad dropped us off at home and left to do some errands.
“Can I hang out at your place?” Monroe asked. “No one is at my apartment.”
I stared at him. I had to say yes. I couldn’t let him know that I suspected him of being a monster. “Uh … sure,” I said. “Come on up.”
Mom was away, so the place was empty. I showed Monroe the new 3-D game-player my parents had given me for my birthday. We played some racing games for a while. Monroe beat me every time because my mind wasn’t really into it.
My mind was still back at the pet store with the monster chewing up the gerbils, crunching their tiny bones in its teeth.
I wanted to ask Monroe about it again. I wanted to demand that he tell me the truth.
But I couldn’t. Not because I was chicken. But because I didn’t want him to think I was totally nuts.
Monroe left around five. I followed him into the hall. “Catch you later,” I said. “Fun day.”
“Yeah. Fun day.” He didn’t wait for the elevator. He went thudding down the stairs.
I stepped back into my apartment and closed the door carefully behind me. I let out a long sigh. I was so relieved that nothing bad had happened. Monroe had acted like a normal guy.
Later that night, I went into the kitchen and drank down a whole bottle of apple juice. I decided to call Lissa and tell her about what I saw in the pet store. I needed to ask her what I should do about Monroe.
I walked into my room and clicked on the light. Then I pulled out my phone and started to sit down on the edge of my bed.
“Whoa.”
Something caught my eye. Something on my desk next to my laptop.
I crossed to the desk. Stopped. Held my breath. And stared.
Stared at a dead gerbil, its little body curled and stiff. And two words scrawled in red marker on the desk: MONSTERS RULE.
“Mom! Dad!” I screamed for my parents.
I heard their footsteps thudding in the hall. They burst into my room. “Bean? What is it?” Mom cried.
I couldn’t speak. I jabbed a finger at the dead gerbil on my desk. “L-look,” I managed to choke out.
They both stepped up to the desk, squinting at the dead animal and the scrawled words.
“I don’t believe it!” Dad cried. “Do you … do you think that gerbil came from my shop?” He leaned down to eye it more closely.
“I — I don’t know,” I stammered.
“I’ll get paper towels and wrap it up,” Mom said softly.
Dad nodded.
“Who was in here?” I shouted. “Who came into my room? Who did this?”
Mom motioned with both hands for me to lower my voice. “I’ll get it cleaned up,” she said. “No problem.”
“But don’t you care who did it?” I said.
“Guess someone really wanted to scare you,” Dad said, rubbing his chin.
“Guess it worked!” I said. “Someone knows I have a monster problem. Someone —”
Mom disappeared to the kitchen. Dad stayed leaning over the desk, staring at the gerbil corpse.
My brain was whirring so hard I thought steam would shoot out of my ears. Monroe. It had to be Monroe.
“Monroe was here,” I muttered. “This afternoon.”
Dad squinted at me. “So?”
“Just saying,” I replied.
He shrugged. “Monroe is your friend, right?”
“Yeah. But —”
I stopped. I didn’t want to get into it with my parents about Monroe. I didn’t have any proof. And if I told them I thought he was some kind of furry monster, they’d laugh at me. They’d tell me I was imagining things again.
Mom hurried back in and wrapped the dead gerbil in a paper towel. It was starting to smell really gross. I knew the smell would stay even after the body was gone.
Mom got a sponge and wiped away the two red words. She shook her head. “Bean, what do you think is going on here? Do you have any idea?”
“No. I don’t know. I really don’t. I just know this is going to give me bad dreams for a week!”
I wasn’t lying. I had a horrible nightmare that night.
In this dream, I wasn’t in the water. This time, I was running through our neighborhood. It was night, very dark, very cold. And I heard someone laughing. Hard, cruel laughter.
I ran to get away from it. But the laughter followed, close behind me. I covered both ears with my hands and ran as hard as I could.
But I couldn’t escape it. The laughter grew louder until it became a roar. Monster laughter. And I knew the monster was right behind me.
I was afraid to turn around. I struggled to run faster. I ran behind houses, through hedges. I ripped through backyards and down a long alley, gravel crunching under my sneakers.
Go away. Please — stop laughing! Stop following me!
Again, I knew I was dreaming. As I ran, I struggled, I concentrated hard, trying to wake up, to pull myself out of the nightmare. But no.
The neighborhood disappeared and now I was thundering through dark woods. My shoes slid over a thick bed of dry leaves. Tree trunks, blacker than the night, appeared to bend toward me, as if trying to block my path.
And still, the terrifying laughter in my ears.
I gasped. Who was that standing against a fat tree? I ran right past him. I squinted, trying to focus. Who is standing there? Who is in my dream?
Harlan. Yes. Harlan. Standing with one hand on the tree trunk, watching me as I ran past him. His face a blank. And then he grinned when he saw how frightened I was. A big, toothy grin.
But Harlan didn’t laugh. He only stared, happy at seeing my fear. He disappeared behind me as I ran farther into the woods. I ran until I couldn’t run any more.
My chest felt about to burst. My legs wouldn’t move another step. My head throbbed.
I had no choice. I spun around. I turned to face the monster. My whole body shuddered and shook.
Too dark to see clearly. The trees blocked out the sky and sent a heavy shadow over me, blacker than ink.
But I could see its red eyes. The monster’s eyes glowed as if on fire. And I could see the outline of its broad, fur-covered body. And I could see it raise one giant paw — and point it at me.
It pointed at me, eyes blazing, and growled: “You’re next. You’re NEXT!”
I sat straight up in bed. My whole body shivered. I hugged myself, trying to stop shaking. I was drenched in sweat. It made my skin itch and tingle.
What did that MEAN?
Why did the monster say I was next?
It could mean only one thing — that I was its next victim.
“Only a dream,” I murmured. But such a terrifying, real dream. So impossible to shake off.
And I knew it wasn’t just a dream. I knew it meant something.
Pale morning sunlight washed in through my bedroom window. I raised my eyes to my desk. Somehow I expected the dead gerbil to be there again.
“Bean, you’re late for school!” Mom’s voice shook me out of my frightened thoughts.
“Huh? Late?”
“I’ve been on the phone. I forgot to wake you up. Hurry!”
“Mom — I had another nightmare. Can I tell you about it?”
No answer. She had gone back to the kitchen.
I pulled on the jeans and the T-shirt I’d tossed on the floor last night. I ran a brush through my hair a few times, then hurried to the kitchen for breakfast.
Dad was mopping a spot on his shirt with a wet napkin. He spills coffee on himself almost every morning.
Mom was on the phone, pacing back and forth as she talked. She pulled the phone away and said to Dad, “NASA wants me for two weeks. In Florida. I think I have to go.”
“Maybe we both should go,” Dad said. “Make it a vacation.”
Mom put the phone back to her ear and continued talking.
“I have to tell you something about Monroe,” I said. I didn’t mean to say it. The words
kind of tumbled from my mouth. But I couldn’t hold my suspicions in any longer. I had to tell Mom and Dad my problem with Monroe.
Mom disappeared into the hall, talking on the phone the whole while. She always moved from room to room when she had an important call.
Dad frowned. “Guess I have to change this shirt. The spot isn’t coming out.”
“Can I tell you about Monroe?” I asked.
He glanced at the clock above the kitchen sink. “Oh, wow, Bean. You’re really late. Here. Grab a protein bar and get going. If you run, you should get there in time.”
“But, Dad —”
He shoved one of those horrible, sticky grain bars in my hand and gave me a push toward the door. “Okay, I’m going. I’m going.” I grabbed my backpack and waved to Mom, still on the phone. “But I had a nightmare and I think Monroe —”
“Later,” Dad called from the kitchen. “Have a good day, Bean.”
I took the stairs to the first floor and stepped outside. It was a hot day already. The sun beat down, and the air felt heavy and wet.
I shifted my backpack on my back and started to walk. A squirrel stared up at me from the grass along the sidewalk. I broke off a piece of the protein bar and tossed it to him. He ran away. He didn’t want to eat it, either.
I was halfway down the next block when I heard footsteps. I turned and saw Monroe jogging to catch up to me. “How’s it going?” he called.
I shrugged. “I had a bad night.”
“Bad night?” He brushed his hair off his forehead. He wore a black T-shirt with a yellow frowny face on it and baggy black cargo pants. As always, he carried his lunch in a big brown paper bag.
I studied his face, trying to see if he knew about the dead gerbil on my desk. If he grinned or if his eyes flashed, I’d know he was the one who put it there.
But his face was a blank.
I had to ask. “Monroe, did you bring a gerbil home from my dad’s store?”
“Excuse me?” His mouth dropped open. “A gerbil? Why? Is one missing?”
He seemed really surprised. Could I believe him?
“You didn’t take a gerbil from the store?” I stared into his eyes.
“Well …” He hesitated. “Yes, I took one. And I have three more in my lunch bag.”
“Huh?” I staggered back. “Are you kidding me?”
He grinned. “Of course I’m kidding you, lame-brain. Why would I steal a gerbil? What would I do with it?”
“Well …” I couldn’t keep my eyes off his lunch bag.
Monroe laughed. “Are you totally losing it? You didn’t believe me — did you?”
I didn’t have a chance to answer. Harlan popped up in front of us from behind a clump of high shrubs. Like a wide tank, blocking our way. He wore a long-sleeved black shirt with the words BE AFRAID in bright red on the front.
He nodded to me, then turned his attention to Monroe. “Hey, dude. Your mom makes awesome lunches,” he said. A grin spread over his fat face. “Have you got one of those awesome lunches for me today?”
Harlan made a grab for Monroe’s lunch bag. But Monroe swiped it out of Harlan’s reach.
Harlan growled like an angry animal. “You shouldn’t have done that, dude.”
Monroe’s face turned bright red. He began gnashing his teeth. He hunched his whole body.
Like a dog getting ready to attack, I thought.
Or a monster.
Once again, I pictured the big, dark-furred creature in my dad’s pet shop. I pictured him lifting the gerbils out of the case and sliding them into his gaping mouth.
Was it Monroe? It had to be Monroe.
Watching him seethe and boil, I knew what he was about to do. He was about to transform into a monster and devour Harlan.
I didn’t like Harlan. In fact, I thought of him as my biggest enemy. But I didn’t want to see him get eaten.
And what if I did see it? What if I did discover Monroe’s secret for sure? Would Monroe have to eat me, too? Because I knew too much?
My frightening thoughts made me suddenly feel cold all over. The sky darkened. Heavy clouds rolled over the sun. I shivered.
“Think you’re a tough guy?” Harlan sneered at Monroe.
He didn’t give Monroe a chance to answer. He grabbed him by both shoulders — and heaved him off his feet.
Monroe uttered an angry cry as Harlan dragged him behind the tall shrubs.
Frozen in my place, I heard them scuffle. I heard low growls and grunts. I watched the leafy bush shake.
“Stop! Stop it!” I tried to scream, but my voice came out high and weak.
I knew what was happening. Harlan thought he was the toughest guy in school. But he was no match for a monster.
“Stop it!” I cried again. And finally, I was able to move.
I darted around the bush to see what was happening — and uttered a horrified gasp.
“Oh, no. Oh, noooo,” I moaned.
Monroe stood there, hunched over. Panting like a dog.
And Harlan? There was no Harlan. No Harlan. No Harlan.
And then I lowered my eyes — and stared at a pile of bones on the ground.
I gagged. I grabbed my throat to keep from barfing.
Still panting, Monroe stood up straight. His face was red. He gave me a strange smile. It wasn’t really a smile. It was like he didn’t know what to do with his face.
I pointed to the pile of yellow bones. “H-Harlan?” I stammered.
And then I saw a flash of movement. I raised my eyes and saw Harlan running down the street. He was rocketing along the sidewalk, holding Monroe’s lunch bag in front of him in one hand.
“Phheeeeew.” I let out a long sigh of relief. I began to feel a little more normal.
I turned back to Monroe. He was breathing quietly again, and his face was no longer red. “What are these bones?” I demanded.
He gazed down at them and shrugged. “Beats me. Someone must have had chicken or something and dumped their garbage here. That’s sick, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Sick,” I said. I stared hard at him. He looked like a normal kid.
Monroe rubbed his shoulders. “Harlan really hurt me,” he murmured. “What a jerk.” He kicked the pile of bones under the bush.
“You just handed over your lunch to him?” I said.
He nodded. “Yeah. What choice did I have? That guy is a monster.”
That word again. I shook my head. “We’re both going to starve to death because of him.”
“And he’ll get bigger and bigger,” Monroe said.
We started walking toward school. “Ever since he saved my life, he thinks he owns me,” I said. “He says I’ll be his slave for the rest of my life.”
“He isn’t kidding,” Monroe said. “You and I will probably never eat lunch again.”
“Maybe we should report him to Miss Hingle. You know. The principal.”
Monroe suddenly stopped walking. He turned to me, and his expression turned to a scowl. “Don’t worry about Harlan,” he growled in a deep voice. “His time will come.”
Lissa got a new video game called Battle Tennis, so I went up to her apartment to help her try it out. She’s a good tennis player, and I’m good at war games. So it was a pretty close match.
Her apartment is bigger than mine. Her brother and sister each have a room of their own. But the two little kids didn’t disappear to their rooms. They hung out with us in Lissa’s room and pestered us until we turned the game controllers over to them.
They like a game called Rock Guitar Dance Party. It’s the only game they play. And they always get into huge screaming fights over it.
We went into the kitchen and grabbed two Cokes and a bag of tortilla chips. Then we sat across from each other on tall stools at the kitchen counter. I could hear the two kids already arguing over the game down the hall.
“Little monsters.” Lissa chuckled.
“Speaking of monsters …” I started.
She rolled her eyes. “Now what?
Are you going to tell me you’re seeing monsters again?”
“Listen to me,” I said. “And stop crunching the chips so loud. I can’t hear myself talk.”
“Grouchy much?” she said. “Are you coming to my swim meet on Friday?”
“Don’t change the subject,” I said.
“I want you to come watch me swim Friday. You’re such a loser, Bean. You could have been on the boys’ team. You could have had a good time. It’s way more fun than sneaking around looking for monsters.”
I jumped off the kitchen stool. “Did you just call me a loser?”
Her cheeks turned pink. “I meant it in a nice way.”
“Lissa, someone put a dead gerbil in my room.”
She stopped chewing. She stared at me. She took a long sip from her soda can, eyeing me the whole time.
“Bean, a dead gerbil? In your room?”
“On my desk. Dead. Totally stiff,” I said. “Someone put it there. Do you believe it? Someone killed a gerbil and put it in my room.”
She blinked. “Are you sure it didn’t die of natural causes?”
She tossed her head back and burst out laughing.
“How funny are you?” I said. “Not.”
“Maybe it wandered in from the street and had a heart attack when it saw your room.” She laughed some more.
“Great friend,” I muttered. “Big joke. Ha-ha.”
She forced herself to stop laughing. “Sorry. Really.”
“Whoever did it scrawled two words on my desk. Monsters Rule.”
She took another long drink from the soda can. “So someone was messing with you. Someone who knows you’re afraid of monsters. Any idea who?”
“Monroe,” I said.
She rolled her eyes again. “Always Monroe. Bean, I thought you wanted him to be your new best friend.”
“I do want him to be my best friend. But not if he keeps turning into a hairy monster.”
She chuckled. “What if he’s a friendly monster?”
“Lissa, stop making jokes,” I snapped. “It isn’t funny. You wouldn’t like it if someone came into your room and left a dead animal there.”
