by R. L. Stine
“Wolf—why didn’t you protect me?” I scolded.
The dog glanced up, then returned to his sniffing.
“Hey, dog—are you a big coward?” I asked, brushing at the wet dirt on the knees of my jeans. “Is that your problem? You sound real tough, but you’re actually a big chicken?”
Wolf ignored me.
I turned and headed home, thinking about the hermit’s warning. As I made my way along the narrow path, I could hear Wolf running through the weeds and tall grass, following close behind.
“Watch out for him,” the hermit had said.
Was he teasing about that, too? Was he just trying to scare me?
The strange man saw that Will, Cassie, and I were afraid of him. So he decided to have some fun with us.
That’s all it was, I decided.
He heard Cassie call him a werewolf. So he decided to give us a real scare.
As I walked along the marshy ground under the shade of the tilted palm trees, my mind spun with thoughts about Cassie and Will and Wolf and werewolves.
I didn’t see the snake until I stepped on it.
I glanced down in time to see its bright green head shoot forward.
I felt a sharp stab of pain as its fangs dug into my ankle.
The pain jolted up my leg.
I uttered a choked gasp before I crumpled to the ground.
23
I hit the ground and curled into a tight ball as the pain throbbed through my body.
Red dots formed in my eyes. The dots grew larger and larger until I saw only red. The color shimmered in rhythm to the throbbing pain.
Through the curtain of red, I saw the snake slither into the bushes.
I grabbed my ankle, trying to force the pain down.
Slowly, the red faded, then vanished, leaving only the pain.
My hand suddenly felt wet.
Blood?
I glanced down to see Wolf licking my hand. Fierce licking, as if trying to cure me, trying to make everything okay again.
Despite the pain, I laughed. “It’s okay, boy,” I said. “I’m okay.”
He kept licking my hand until I climbed to my feet. I felt a little dizzy. My legs were shaky.
I tried putting weight on the foot that had been bitten.
It felt a little better.
I took a step, limping. Then another.
“Let’s go, Wolf,” I said. He gazed up at me sympathetically.
I knew I had to get home quickly. If the snake was poisonous, I was in big trouble. I had no way of knowing how much time I had before the venom would paralyze me completely—or worse.
Wolf stayed by my side as I limped over the soft ground toward home. I was gasping for breath. My chest felt tight. The ground swayed beneath me.
Was it because of the snake venom? Or was it just because I was so frightened?
Pain shot up my side with every step I took.
But I kept pulling myself along, talking to Wolf all the while, ignoring the throbbing ache of my ankle.
“We’re almost there, Wolf,” I said, panting loudly. “Almost there, boy.”
The dog sensed that something was seriously wrong. He stayed by my side instead of running his usual zigzag patterns in front of me and behind me.
The end of the trees came into view. I could see bright sunlight just beyond the swamp.
“Hey—” a voice called to me. I saw Will and Cassie waiting for me on the flat grass.
They began running toward me. “Are you okay?” Cassie called.
“No. I… I got bit!” I managed to choke out. “Please—go get my dad!”
They both took off, running full speed to my house. I dropped down on the grass, spreading my legs straight out, and waited.
I tried to stay calm, but it was impossible.
Was the snake poisonous? Was the venom heading straight to my heart? Was I about to die any second?
I reached down with both hands and carefully, carefully, pulled off my mud-covered sneaker. Then, moving it a tiny bit at a time, I lowered my white sock down over the ankle and off my foot.
The ankle was a little swollen. The skin was red except for a white, puckered spot around the bite. Inside that spot, I saw two small puncture marks, bright red droplets of blood oozing from each hole.
When I raised my eyes from the wound, I saw my dad, dressed in brown shorts and a white T-shirt, hurrying along the flat grass toward me, followed closely by Will and Cassie.
“What happened?” I heard my dad ask them. “What happened to Grady?”
“He was bitten by a werewolf!” I heard Cassie reply.
* * *
“Keep the ice pack on it,” Dad instructed. “The swelling will go down.”
I groaned and held the ice pack against my ankle.
Mom tsk-tsked from the kitchen table. She had a newspaper spread out in front of her. I couldn’t tell if she was tsk-tsking over me or over the day’s news.
Outside the screen door I could see Wolf, on his side on the grass just past the back stoop, sound asleep. Emily was in the front room, watching some soap on TV.
“How does it feel?” Mom asked.
“A lot better,” I told her. “I think I was mainly scared.”
“Green snakes aren’t poisonous,” Dad reminded me for the tenth time. “But I took every precaution, just in case. We’ll wrap it up really good when you’re through putting ice on it.”
“What was all that talk about werewolves?” Mom asked.
“Cassie has werewolves on the brain,” I said. “She thinks the swamp hermit is a werewolf.”
“She seems like a sweet girl,” Mom said quietly. “I had a nice talk with her while your father was taking care of your bite. You’re lucky, Grady, to find two kids your age out here on the edge of a swamp.”
“Yeah, I guess,” I replied, shifting the ice pack on the ankle. “But she was driving Will and me nuts with all her werewolf talk.”
Dad was washing his hands in the kitchen sink. He dried them on a dish towel, then turned to me. “That old swamp hermit is supposed to be harmless,” he said. “At least, that’s what everyone says.”
“Well, he gave us a real scare,” I told him. “He chased us through the swamp, shouting, ‘I’m the werewolf!’”
“Weird,” Dad replied thoughtfully. He tossed the dish towel onto the counter.
“You should stay away from him,” Mom said, looking up from the newspaper.
“Do you believe in werewolves?” I asked.
Dad snickered. “Your mom and I are scientists, Grady. We’re not supposed to believe in supernatural things like werewolves.”
“Your father is a werewolf,” Mom joked. “I have to shave his back every morning so he’ll look human.”
“Ha-ha,” I said sarcastically. “I’m serious. I mean, haven’t you heard the weird howls at night?”
“Lots of creatures howl,” Mom replied. “I’ll bet you howled when that snake bit your ankle!”
“Can’t you be serious?” I cried shrilly. “You know, the howls didn’t start until it was a full moon.”
“I remember. The howls didn’t start until that dog showed up!” Emily called from the front room.
“Emily, give me a break!” I shouted.
“Your dog is a werewolf!” Emily called.
“Enough werewolf talk,” Mom muttered. “Look. I’ve got hair growing on my palms!” She held up her hands.
“That’s just ink off the newspaper,” Dad said. He turned to me. “See? There’s a scientific explanation for everything.”
“I really would like to be taken seriously,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Well…” Dad glanced outside. Wolf had rolled onto his back and was sleeping with all four legs up in the air. “The moon will look full for only two more nights,” Dad told me. “Tonight and tomorrow night. If the howls stop after tomorrow night, we’ll know it was a werewolf, howling at the full moon.”
Dad chuckled. He thought it was all a
big joke.
We had no idea that something was about to happen that night that might change his opinion about werewolves—forever.
24
Will and Cassie came over after dinner. Mom and Dad were still loading dishes into the dishwasher and cleaning up. Emily had hurried into town to go to the only movie playing.
I was walking around pretty well. The ankle barely hurt at all. Dad’s a pretty good doctor, I guess.
The three of us settled in the front room, and we instantly got into an argument about werewolves.
Cassie insisted that the swamp hermit wasn’t kidding, that he really was a werewolf.
Will told her she was a complete jerk. “He only chased us because he heard you call him a werewolf,” he told Cassie angrily.
“Why do you think he lives by himself way deep in the swamp?” Cassie demanded of Will. “Because he knows what happens to him when the moon is full, and he doesn’t want anyone else to know it!”
“Then why did he scream to us that he was a werewolf this afternoon?” Will asked impatiently. “Because he was just joking, that’s why.”
“Come on, guys. Let’s change the subject,” I said. “My parents are both scientists, and they say there’s no proof that werewolves exist.”
“That’s what scientists always say,” Cassie insisted.
“They’re right,” Will said. “There are no werewolves except in movies. You’re a real jerk, Cassie.”
“You’re a jerk!” Cassie shouted back.
I could see they’d had fights like this before. “Let’s play a game or something,” I suggested. “Want to play some Nintendo? It’s in my room.”
“Mr. Warner still hasn’t shown up,” Cassie told Will, ignoring me. She tugged at her red ponytail, then tossed it behind her head. “You know why? Because he was murdered by the werewolf!”
“Don’t be stupid,” Will said. “How do you know?”
“Maybe you’re the werewolf!” I told Cassie.
Will laughed. “Yeah. That’s why you’re such an expert, Cassie.”
“Oh, shut up,” Cassie grumbled. “You look more like a werewolf than me, Will!”
“You look like a vampire!” he told her.
“Well, you look like King Kong!” she cried.
“What are you kids talking about?” Mom interrupted, poking her head into the room.
“Just talking about movies and things,” I replied quickly.
I couldn’t get to sleep that night. I kept rolling onto one side, then the other. I couldn’t get comfortable.
I kept listening for the howls.
A strong wind had come up from the Gulf. I could hear it rushing past our small house. It rattled the wire mesh of the deer pen out back. It made a constant ssshhhhhh sound, and I strained to hear the familiar howls.
I had just about drifted off to sleep when the howls began.
Instantly alert, I jumped to my feet. My left ankle ached as I stepped down on it.
Another howl. Far off. Barely carrying over the steady rush of the wind.
I limped to my bedroom window. The ankle had stiffened up a bit while I was lying in bed. I pressed my face against the glass and peered out.
The full moon, gray as a skull, hovered low in the charcoal sky. The dewy grass gleamed under its blanket of pale light.
A burst of wind rattled my window.
Startled, I pulled back. And listened.
Another howl. Closer.
This one sent a cold shudder down my back.
It sounded really close. Or was the wind carrying it from the swamp?
I squinted out the window. Swirls of wind made the grass sway from one side to the other. The ground appeared to be spinning, glowing in the pale moonlight as it twirled.
Another howl. Even closer.
I couldn’t see anything. I had to know who or what was making that terrifying sound.
I pulled my jeans on over my pajama bottoms. Struggling in the dark, I managed to slide my feet into a pair of flip-flops.
I started out of my room, but stopped short when I heard a banging. A loud crash. A pounding. A harsh thud.
Right outside.
Right outside my house.
My heart pounding, I ran through the dark hallway. My ankle ached, but I ignored it.
I hurried through the kitchen, unlocked the back door, and pulled it open. A strong gust of wind pushed me back as I opened the screen door.
The wind was hot and wet. Another strong gust pushed me back.
The wind is trying to keep me inside, I thought. Trying to keep me from solving the mystery of the terrifying howls.
I lowered my head against the driving gusts and leapt down off the stoop.
“Ow!” I cried out as pain shot up my leg.
Waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dim light, I listened hard.
No howls now. Just the shrill, steady rush of wind, pushing, pushing me back against the house.
The back yard glowed in the moonlight. Everything was silver and gray.
And silent.
I searched the back yard, my eyes sweeping slowly across the shifting grass. Empty.
But what had caused all the commotion I’d heard in my room? The banging? The loud thuds? The rattling sounds?
Why had the howls stopped when I came outside?
What a mystery, I thought. What a strange mystery.
The wind swirled around me. My face was dripping wet from the heavy dampness of the air.
Feeling defeated, I turned back toward the house.
And uttered a shocked cry when I saw that the werewolf had murdered again.
25
I took a step through the swirling wind toward the deer pen.
“Dad!” I called. But my voice came out a hushed whisper. “Dad!” I tried to shout, but my throat was too dry and choked with fear.
Staring straight ahead, I took another step. I could see it all clearly now. A scene of death. Pale light and shadows. The only sounds were the pounding of my heart, the swell of the wind, and the rattling of the wire mesh of the pen.
I took another step closer. “Dad? Dad?” I cried out without thinking, without hearing myself, knowing he couldn’t hear.
But I wanted him to be there. I wanted someone to be there with me. I didn’t want to be all alone out there in the back yard.
I didn’t want to be staring at the hole that had been ripped in the side of the pen. I didn’t want to see the murdered deer lying so pitifully on its side.
The five remaining deer huddled together at the other end of the pen. Their eyes were on me. Frightened eyes.
The wind swept around me, hot and wet. But I felt cold all over. A cold shudder of terror ran down my body. I swallowed hard. Once. Twice. Trying to choke down the heavy lump in my throat.
Then, before I even realized what I was doing, I began running to the house, screaming, “Dad! Mom! Dad! Mom!” at the top of my lungs.
My cries rose on the gusting wind like the terrifying howls I’d heard just a few moments before.
His pajama shirt flapping over the jeans he had pulled on, Dad dragged the dead deer to the back of the yard. Then, as I watched from the kitchen window, he patched the deer pen with a large sheet of box cardboard.
As he tried to return to the house, the strong winds nearly blew the screen door off its hinges. Dad jerked the door shut, then locked it.
His face was dripping with perspiration. He had mud down the side of one pajama sleeve.
Mom poured him a glass of water from the sink, and he drank it down without taking a breath. Then he wiped the sweat from his forehead with a dish towel.
“I’m afraid your dog is a killer,” he said softly to me. He tossed the towel back onto the counter.
“It wasn’t Wolf!” I cried. “It wasn’t!”
Dad didn’t reply. He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Mom and Emily watched silently from in front of the sink.
“What makes you think it was Wolf?” I dema
nded.
“I saw the prints on the ground,” he replied, frowning. “Paw prints.”
“It wasn’t Wolf,” I insisted.
“I’m going to have to take him to the pound in the morning,” Dad said. “The one over in the next county.”
“But they’ll kill him!” I cried.
“The dog is a killer,” Dad insisted softly. “I know how you feel, Grady. I know. But the dog is a killer.”
“It wasn’t Wolf,” I cried. “Dad, I know it wasn’t Wolf. I heard the howls, Dad. It was a wolf.”
“Grady, please—” he started wearily.
Then the words just burst out of me. I lost all control of them. They just poured out in a flood. “It was a werewolf, Dad. There’s a werewolf in the swamp. Cassie is right. It wasn’t a dog, and it wasn’t a wolf. It’s a werewolf who’s been killing animals, who killed your deer.”
“Grady, stop—” Dad pleaded impatiently.
But I couldn’t stop. “I know I’m right, Dad,” I cried in a shrill voice that didn’t sound like me.
“It’s been a full moon this week, right? And that’s when the howls began. It’s a werewolf, Dad. The swamp hermit. That crazy guy who lives in the shack in the swamp. He’s a werewolf. He told us he is. He chased us and he told us he’s a werewolf. He did it, Dad. Not Wolf. He killed the deer tonight. I heard him howling outside, and then—then—”
My voice caught in my throat. I started to choke.
Dad filled the glass with water and handed it to me. I gulped it down thirstily.
He put a hand on my shoulder. “Grady, let’s talk about it in the morning, okay? We’re both too tired to think straight now. What do you say?”
“It wasn’t Wolf!” I cried stubbornly. “I know it wasn’t.”
“In the morning,” Dad repeated, his hand still on my shoulder. He held it there to comfort me, to steady me.
I felt shaky. I was panting. My heart pounded.
“Yeah. Okay,” I agreed finally. “In the morning.”
I made my way slowly to my room, but I knew I wouldn’t sleep.
The next morning, Dad was gone when I got up. “He went to the lumber yard,” Mom told me, “to get wire mesh to repair the pen.”
