“I don’t know, Gretchen,” Clark argued. “I don’t think that’s going to work.”
Charley whimpered behind the closed door—as if he agreed.
“We have no choice!” I snapped. “We have to try something!”
I found a fork and carefully lifted up the pie crust with it.
Then I searched the cabinet under the kitchen sink. It was filthy under there. Damp, with green mold growing on the pipes.
I found a jar of turpentine sitting on a shelf right in front. The lid was screwed on tight. I had to twist it hard to open it.
I slowly poured the entire jar of turpentine into the pie.
“Yuck! That stuff stinks,” Clark said, holding his nose.
I studied the pie. It was wet and runny now. “I think we need something to soak up the turpentine,” I told Clark. “This should do it!” I held up a can of drain cleaner.
I sprinkled the blue drain-cleaner crystals over the pie. They made the rhubarb bubble and fizz.
Clark leaped back. “I think that’s enough,” he said.
I ignored him.
I stuck my head under the sink and came up with two jars. “Rat poison!” I exclaimed, reading the dirty label on one of them. “Excellent.” The other jar was filled with ammonia.
“Hurry!” Clark urged. “I hear the monster. He’s coming.”
I sprinkled the pie with the rat poison and poured in the ammonia too.
The monster’s groans came closer. Each time he groaned or growled, I jumped.
I found an old can of orange paint and dumped it into the pie.
“That’s enough! We have enough!” Clark insisted in a panic.
“Okay. Okay. I just want to make sure this works.”
I shoved in a handful of mothballs.
“Hurry!” Clark urged. “Close it up. He’s coming!”
The monster’s footsteps pounded the living-room floor.
“Hurry!” Clark begged.
I sprayed the top of the pie with bug spray.
“Gretchen!” Clark pleaded with me.
I placed the poisoned pie on the counter.
It’s so sweet, your teeth will fall out after one bite. Grandma’s words came back to me.
It better do more than that! I told myself. It better kill a monster!
“Here he comes!” Clark cried.
We ducked under the kitchen table.
The monster stomped into the kitchen. Peering out from under the table, I could see him swing his arms wildly. He knocked over dishes, pots, glasses. Everything in sight.
Then my heart stopped when I saw the big creature turn.
He hesitated. Then he took a step toward the kitchen table. Another step. Another.
Clark and I huddled together under the table. We were both trembling so hard, the table shook.
The swamp monster sees us under here! I realized.
We’re trapped.
What is he going to do?
26
Clark and I held on to each other. The monster stepped up to the table—so close I could smell the sour odor of his thick fur.
Clark started to let out soft, whimpering sounds.
I clapped my hands over his mouth. I shut my eyes.
Please go away, I prayed. Please, monster, don’t see us.
I heard the creature sniffing. Like a dog trying to sniff out a bone.
When I opened my eyes, he had moved away from the table.
“Whew!” I breathed a long, silent sigh of relief.
The monster rumbled around the room.
Sniffing loudly, urgently.
He sniffed the refrigerator.
He lumbered over to the stove and sniffed some more. He plodded around the room. Sniffing.
He smells us. He smells Clark and me, I thought. Please, see the pie. See the pie.
The creature stomped back to the stove.
Sniffing.
He bent down and peered into the oven. Then he ripped the oven door off its hinges and hurled it across the room.
The door hit the wall with a loud crash. Clark jumped in fright and banged his head on the table. He let out a low moan.
I moaned too. “Look,” I whispered.
The creature was eating—but he wasn’t eating our pie. There were two pies still in the oven. And the creature was stuffing himself with them.
Oh, no, I thought. He’ll eat those pies. Then he’ll be full. He won’t eat our pie! We’re as good as dead.
The monster hungrily jammed the two pies into his mouth. He practically swallowed them whole. Then he lumbered to the center of the room.
Sniffing.
Yes! He’s still hungry! I thought. Eat our pie. Eat our pie, I chanted to myself.
I peered out from under the table—and saw the creature, heading toward the counter. Yes!
He stopped.
And sniffed.
He saw the pie.
He eyed it for a moment. Then he lifted it to his mouth and shoved it in.
Yes! I cheered silently. He’s eating it! He’s eating our pie!
He chomped away at the pie. Chomped and shoved more into his huge mouth. Chomped and shoved. Chomped and shoved.
He licked his big lips as he ate.
He licked his paws.
He rubbed his stomach.
“Oh, no!” I groaned. “He likes it!”
27
I watched the monster shove the last bit of pie into his mouth.
Then he flicked his reptile tongue in and out, licking up every last crumb from the pie tin.
“It isn’t working,” I moaned to Clark. “He loves it.”
“Now what are we going to do?” he whispered back. He hugged his knees tightly to his chest to keep them from shaking.
The monster let out a long groan.
I peered out from under the table. I saw the creature’s eyes bug out. They practically popped out of his head!
A gurgling, choking sound escaped his throat.
He grasped his neck with his two hairy paws.
He groaned again.
His stomach rumbled—a deep rumble. He clutched his stomach and doubled over.
He uttered a weak cry of pain—and surprise.
Then he dropped dead on the kitchen floor.
“We did it! We did it!” I cheered. “We killed the swamp monster!”
I pulled Clark out from under the table.
I studied the creature from across the room. I was sure he was dead—but I still didn’t want to get too close.
The monster’s scaly eyelids were closed.
I stared at his chest—to see if it moved. To see if he was breathing.
His chest remained still.
I stared at him a few moments longer.
He didn’t stir.
Clark peered over my shoulder. “Is—is he really dead?” he stammered.
“Yes!” I was sure of it now. Totally sure. “We did it!” I cried. I jumped up and down joyfully. “We killed the monster! We killed him!”
Clark reached into his back pocket—for his comic book, Creatures from the Muck. He hurled it across the room. It hit the monster in the head and fell to the floor.
“I never want to read about swamp monsters again. Never!” Clark cried. “Let’s get out of here!”
Charley scratched at the door. When we opened it, he leaped out and jumped all over us. “It’s okay, boy,” I told him, trying to calm him down. “It’s okay.”
I peered into the room where we had locked Charley. “Hey, Clark, I think there’s a door in here,” I said. “A door that leads out!”
I stepped into the small, dark space—and stumbled over a broom lying on the floor.
I squinted in the darkness.
Two rusty shovels leaned against the wall to my right. On the left sat a coil of old hose.
In front of me I saw the door. A door with a large glass window.
I looked out the window—out to the backyard. To the path that ran through the swamp.
>
Does that path lead through the swamp to town? I wondered. I decided it was worth a try.
“We’re almost out of here!” I declared. “We’re almost free!”
I turned the doorknob, but the door was locked. Bolted from the other side, like all the doors in the house.
“It’s jammed shut,” I told Clark. “But I’ll break the window and we’ll climb out. No problem.”
The shovels against the wall were big and heavy. I gripped the handle of one with both hands and took aim.
I swung it back—and felt the floor quake.
I spun around—and heard the roar.
The roar of the swamp monster.
He wasn’t dead.
28
The creature rumbled into the doorway.
Clark and I both shrieked as he took a giant step into the room. His hideous head made a scraping sound as it brushed against the frame of the door. But he didn’t even seem to notice.
Clark and I pressed against the wall.
Charley backed into a corner, whimpering. Frightened.
We were trapped.
No way out.
Nowhere to run.
The monster’s eyes shifted from Charley, to me, to Clark. They rested on Clark for a moment. Then the creature lifted his head and wailed.
“He-he’s going to get me first,” Clark cried. “I—I shouldn’t have thrown the comic at him. I shouldn’t have hit him in the head.”
“He’s going to get us, you jerk!” I shouted at him. “Because we tried to kill him!”
That shut Clark up.
I have to do something, I thought. I have to do something. But what? What?
The swamp monster staggered forward.
He opened his snout with a snap—and bared jagged yellow teeth.
Sharp yellow teeth, dripping with saliva.
His eyes glowed red as he moved forward. Clomping closer and closer.
I glanced down and realized that I still held the shovel. I lifted it with two hands—and thrust it forward. Jabbing—jabbing at the air between the creature and me.
“Back!” I screamed. “Get back! Leave us alone!”
The monster grunted.
“Get back! Get back!” I swung the shovel wildly. “Go away!”
I swung at the creature.
I swung—and hit his stomach with a sickening thwack.
The room went silent.
Then the monster tossed back his head and let out a piercing howl.
He stumbled forward. Swiped the shovel from my hand. And tossed it out the door. Tossed it as if it were a toothpick.
I gasped as it crashed to the kitchen floor.
I eyed the other shovel leaning against the wall. The monster followed my gaze.
He snatched it up and broke it in half with his bare hands. Then he pitched the pieces into the kitchen.
What can I do? I have to do something!
And then it came to me!
The letter.
The second letter from Grandma and Grandpa—the one we hadn’t opened yet!
“Clark! Quick! The second letter,” I cried. “Maybe it will tell us what to do! Read it!”
Clark stared at me. Frozen. His eyes on the raging monster.
“Clark!” I said, through clenched teeth. “Open… the… letter. NOW!”
He reached into his jeans pocket with a trembling hand. He fumbled with the flap.
“Hurry, Clark!” I pleaded.
He finally managed to tear a hole in the corner of the envelope.
And then I screamed.
The monster dove forward.
He grabbed my arm. He yanked it hard.
And pulled me toward him.
29
The monster pulled me close.
I stared up into his hideous face—and gasped.
His eyes were deep, dark pools—with tiny worms swimming in them!
I twisted my head away—so I wouldn’t have to stare into those horrible, wormy eyes.
The creature gripped me tighter.
His hot, sour breath swept over my cheeks.
He opened his jaws wide.
His mouth was filled with bugs! I saw them crawling up and down his tongue.
I screamed. And struggled against the monster’s hold. But he clutched me too tightly.
“Let me go!” I shrieked. “Please—!”
The monster bellowed in reply, hitting me with a blast of his hot breath.
He smells like a swamp, I realized as I fought against his grasp. He is a swamp. He’s like a living swamp.
With my free hand, I pounded on the creature’s arm. I nearly gagged when I felt the moss. His whole body was covered with a layer of wet moss!
“Let me go!” I pleaded. “Please—let me go!”
Clark leaped forward. He grabbed my arm and tried to tug me away. “Leave her alone!” he shrieked.
Charley charged out of his corner. His lip curled back and he let out a low snarl. Then he sank his teeth into the monster’s hairy leg.
Startled, the monster jerked away, dragging me along with him.
But Charley wouldn’t give up. I glanced down to see him dig his teeth deep into the monster’s foot.
With a growl, the beast raised his foot. And with one fierce shake, he hurled Charley across the room.
“Charley!” I cried out. “Charley!”
I heard Charley whimper on the other side of the room.
“He’s okay,” Clark said, breathlessly. He tugged harder on my arm, trying to wrestle me free.
With another angry growl, the beast swung at Clark. Shoved him hard against the wall. Then the monster leaned down—and pulled me up to his face.
He opened his mouth.
His disgusting, bug-infested tongue rolled out.
And he LICKED me.
He ran his hot, bumpy tongue up and down my arm.
Then he lowered his enormous teeth—as he prepared to chew off my hand.
30
“Nooooo!” A horrified shriek tore from my throat.
The monster’s jaw swung down. His mouth gaped open. The bugs swarmed over his yellow teeth. He lowered his mouth to my hand.
Then he stopped.
And let me go.
He backed away, staring at me. Staring at my arm, eyes bulging.
I stared at my arm too. It was covered with disgusting, monster saliva.
The monster raised his hands and clutched at his throat now. Choking. Choking on something.
He raised his wet eyes to me.
“You—you human?” he choked out.
“He can talk!” Clark gasped.
“You human? You human?” he demanded.
“Y-yes, I’m a human,” I stammered.
The monster threw back his head and groaned. “Oh, no. I’m allergic to humans.”
His eyes rolled up.
He staggered forward and collapsed against the door to the outside. It crashed open under his heavy weight. Moonlight streamed in.
He lay there on his stomach. He didn’t move.
I rubbed my wet arm and stared down at the swamp monster.
Was he really dead this time?
31
“Gretchen! Let’s go!” Clark yanked me toward the open door.
We stepped over the monster. I glanced down at the creature one last time.
His eyes were shut. He didn’t breathe. He didn’t move.
“Come on, Gretchen!” Clark pleaded.
Is he really dead? I stared at the swamp monster. I wasn’t totally sure. But I did know one thing—I wasn’t going to hang around to find out.
Clark and I ran out through the broken door. We found Charley already there, waiting for us. We bolted down the path—away from the house. Into the swamp.
I was so surprised to find it was dark out. Had we really fought the swamp monster all day?
A pale moon hung over the cypress trees, casting an eerie glow over them.
The mud rose up over my ankles as w
e made our way through the marshy ground. Through the tall weeds. Through a blanket of heavy mist.
My shoes plunged into deep pools of water.
Tripped over upraised roots.
I swiped at the long beards of gray that hung from the trees. Swiped them from my face as we headed deeper and deeper into the swamp.
When the house was no longer in view, we stopped running. Stopped to catch our breath.
I listened in the darkness for footsteps.
The swamp monster’s footsteps.
There weren’t any.
“We did it! We killed the monster!” My voice rang out in the night.
“And we escaped!” Clark cheered. “We’re free! We’re okay!”
“Yes!” I shouted. “We really did it!”
Now that we had stopped running for our lives, we stepped through the swamp carefully. Leaping over the inky puddles and gnarled tree roots.
The night air echoed with strange sounds.
Low gurgling. Scampering footsteps. Piercing cries.
But I didn’t care.
I had already battled my worst nightmare—the swamp monster. Battled him and won.
“Hey! Clark!” I suddenly remembered the other letter! “We never read Grandma and Grandpa’s letter. The second letter!”
“So what?” Clark replied. “We don’t have to read it. The monster is dead. We killed it. Just as they told us to do in the first letter.”
“Where is it? Where’s the letter?” I demanded. “Take it out, Clark.” I stopped walking. “I want to know what it says.”
Clark pulled the crumpled envelope from his jeans pocket. As he smoothed out the wrinkles, a fierce animal cry cut through the swamp.
“I—I don’t think we should stop now,” Clark said. “We can read it later. After we reach town. After we call Mom and Dad.”
“Read it now,” I insisted. “Come on. Don’t you want to know what it says?”
“No,” Clark declared.
“Well, I do,” I told him.
“Okay. Okay.” Clark ripped open the envelope and slipped out the letter.
A light wind began to blow, carrying the sharp animal cries to us.
The dark trees rustled over our heads.
Clark began to read slowly, struggling to see in the dim moonlight. “‘Dear Gretchen and Clark. We hope you children are safe and well. We forgot one word of warning in the first letter.
46 - How to Kill a Monster Page 6
