CHAPTER 9
The next two days at the diner, Chet kept waiting for the guys to come in. Every time the door opened, he looked up, hoping to see them elbowing each other to be first to the counter.
They never even walked by.
Chet kept trying to work up the nerve to go and find them, and finally on Wednesday he was ready. It was another scorching day, the hottest yet. After the lunch rush was over, Uncle Jerry decided to close the diner early. All the ice in the restaurant had melted. The milk had curdled. You could just about cook a flapjack on the kitchen floor.
“I’m going home to stick my head under the water pump,” Uncle Jerry said. “Then I’m going to swing in our hammock until the sun sets.”
Chet said good-bye to Uncle Jerry and headed for the creek, sure he’d find the guys playing ball in the water.
But the swimming hole was quiet.
Chet realized they were still at the factory. Their shift wouldn’t be over for an hour.
While he was waiting, he noticed that there were still splotches of ketchup on the dock. They looked even more like blood now, like evidence of a gruesome crime. He decided to try to clean them before the guys got here, to erase all reminders of his prank. He undressed and jumped into the creek. Then he splashed water up onto the dock, hopped out of the water, and scrubbed the stains with a handful of leaves.
It took three rounds of splashing and scrubbing to clean it up.
By then Chet was so hot that he decided to take a longer swim.
It was peaceful here without everyone splashing and shouting. He floated on his back under the trees, remembering how Papa had taught him to swim in the Mississippi, how Mama sat on the banks waving and clapping.
He had turned to swim back to the dock when — crash, he hit something under the water.
Or something hit him.
Hit him so hard in the chest he couldn’t breathe.
What was that? An old dock plank? A snapping turtle? Had Sid sneaked up on him and smacked him?
The water around him looked funny, like it was filled with red smoke.
Chet looked down in shock. His entire chest was scraped and oozing blood. What could have done that to him?
A cold terror rose up inside him. He suddenly had the feeling that someone — or something — was nearby, watching him.
And then he saw it.
A gray fin.
It glistened in the bright sun as it glided slowly toward him.
He had to be seeing things. Or could this be another prank? Were the guys getting him back?
But no, this was no tile.
As it got closer, Chet could see the dark shape of an enormous fish, bigger than him. Even bigger than Uncle Jerry. Two black eyes peered up through the water.
Chet’s heart stopped.
Killer eyes.
Chet took off toward the shore, pounding through the water, kicking with all his might. Finally his feet touched the bottom. He was running now, his heart hammering, a voice booming through his mind. Get out of the water! Get out of the water! Get out of the water!
Almost there — just a few more steps!
He dove forward, landing hard in the dirt. He rolled onto his side and stared in disbelief: It was a shark, a massive shark — dirty gray on top and pure white underneath. Its jaws snapped open and closed. The teeth, jagged and needle sharp, were bigger than Chet’s fingers, lined up in rows and curving inward. The shark thrashed, as if it was trying to push itself up onto the bank. Chet wanted to get up and run. But he was frozen to the ground.
Those killer eyes stared unblinkingly at Chet. And then, with a flick of its tail, the shark thrust itself backward into the water.
It hovered for a second on the surface.
Then, with a whoosh of its tail, it disappeared back down the creek.
CHAPTER 10
Chet rose to his knees and threw up.
When he could stand, he staggered over to his clothes. His hands were shaking so badly that he could barely button his shirt. He shoved his feet into his boots, not even trying to lace them. And then on wobbly legs, his blood pounding in his ears, he ran up the hill and found his way to Main Street.
He pushed past the ladies with their shopping baskets. He crossed the street, ignoring the honking motorcar that swerved around him. A man in a buggy shouted at him to watch out. The horse whinnied. Chet barely noticed.
He staggered into Mr. Colton’s hardware store, tripping across the doorway and knocking over a display of watering cans. The clattering brought three customers to the front of the store. Mr. Colton hurried out from behind the counter.
“Chet?” he said worriedly. “What’s wrong?”
Chet opened his mouth.
But he couldn’t speak.
“What happened?” Mr. Colton said. “Why is your shirt covered with blood? Are you bleeding? Who did this to you?”
A small group of customers clustered around him, their eyes filled with concern.
Finally, Chet got the words out. “A shark.”
“What?” Mr. Colton said.
“A shark,” Chet repeated.
“Has there been another attack on the shore?” Mr. Colton said. “I didn’t see anything in the newspaper.”
Chet shook his head.
“There’s a shark in the creek,” he said. “I saw it. It crashed into me.”
The crowd erupted into loud laughter.
Mr. Colton offered a sympathetic smile and a hand on his shoulder. “It’s the heat, my boy. It’s driving us all a little mad.”
He asked one of the customers to go into the back and bring Chet a drink. He led Chet through the laughing crowd and sat him on the stool behind the counter. A man handed Chet a tin mug of water.
“Take a drink, son,” Mr. Colton said. But Chet pushed it away, and water splashed onto a pile of seed catalogs.
“We have to warn people!”
But Mr. Colton just shook his head, like Chet was a little kid who was sure he’d seen a unicorn galloping down the sidewalk.
“There’s so much garbage floating in that creek,” Mr. Colton said. “It could have been a plank from the dock, or a barrel, or a —”
“No,” Chet said. “It was a shark!”
“I think maybe all those pranks are getting to you,” Mr. Colton said.
Chet knew that he must sound crazy, that he could spend all day swearing that he’d seen a shark. Nobody would believe him.
Why would they?
A shark in the creek? It was impossible!
Except that Chet had seen it with his own eyes. If he’d been a step slower, he’d be dead right now, another name in the newspaper.
“It’s all right, son,” Mr. Colton said. “How about I call Dr. Jay and he’ll give you a ride home. You’ve never been in his motorcar, have you?”
Mr. Colton headed to the back of the store to use the telephone.
The customers drifted away, shaking their heads and chuckling.
No, nobody would believe it. Meanwhile, that shark was still in the creek.
And then it hit Chet … that there was one person in town who just might believe him, who might know what to do. He wasn’t sure, but it was his best hope.
He slid off the stool and rushed out of the store.
“Chet!” Mr. Colton called. “Where are you going?”
Chet didn’t turn around.
He had to find Captain Wilson. He’d wasted enough time already.
CHAPTER 11
Chet stood on the sagging porch of the Captain’s house. He’d barely knocked when the front door swung open.
The Captain stood there with a scowl on his crumpled-up face.
He looked at Chet like he’d never seen him before.
“Yes?” he said. “What is this about?”
Chet’s heart sank.
He thought of what Uncle Jerry had said, that the Captain’s mind was like Swiss cheese, full of holes and gaps in his memory.
“What is it?” the
Captain said. “Are you selling something? I don’t have all day.”
“Sorry, sir,” Chet said. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”
He almost turned around and walked away. But he forced himself to stay put. He stepped forward, close to the Captain, and peered right into his eyes.
“Captain,” he said in a loud voice. “I saw a shark. In the creek. It crashed into me.”
Chet lifted his shirt to show the angry-looking scrape.
The Captain stared at Chet’s chest. Then he looked into the distance. Did he even know where he was?
“I know it sounds impossible, sir. It doesn’t make any sense at all.”
The Captain looked back at Chet. “Sure it does,” he said.
Chet’s eyes widened in surprise.
“The creek empties out into the Raritan Bay, which leads right to the Atlantic. Pirates used to come to these parts. Buried their treasure all around here.”
The Captain’s eyes kept getting brighter.
“If the tides are high, and the currents are strong, a shark could get swept right up into the creek.”
Of course it could.
“I saw it, Captain,” Chet said, more confident now. “It was huge. And its eyes, just like you said …”
“Killer eyes,” the Captain muttered.
Chet nodded.
“Why are you standing here, son?” the Captain scolded. “We need to warn people! I’m getting my boat. You get down to that swimming hole. You tell people what you saw.”
“What if they won’t believe me?” Chet asked.
The Captain put a hand on Chet’s shoulder. His grip was very strong.
“Go!” he said.
CHAPTER 12
Chet started shouting halfway down the big hill. “Get out of the water!” he screamed. “Get out! Get out now!”
He thundered down the path and onto the dock. “You have to get out! There’s a shark!”
The guys were all there — but they didn’t even look at Chet.
“You have to believe me!” Chet insisted. “This isn’t a joke. You have to get out!”
“You hear that, Monty?” Sid said. “There’s a shark in the creek! We better get out.”
Sid hoisted himself up onto the dock, and Monty and Dewey followed.
Was it working? Were they listening?
But then Sid backed up and took a running leap off the edge of the dock. He cannonballed into the creek with such an enormous splash that Chet got drenched. Monty and Dewey dove in after him.
“Hey,” Sid called. “If the shark attacks me, you guys can split the five-hundred-buck reward from that rich guy.”
“That guy’s dead!” Monty said.
“Too bad!” said Sid.
“Oh, shaaaaaaa-rrrrrrrk!” Monty called through cupped hands. “Here, sharky shark! Come and get us!”
They hooted with laughter, and Chet stood there, totally helpless. That shark was probably long gone. Nobody would ever believe him. For the next hundred years, people around Elm Hills would be talking about Chet Roscow, the kid who had said there was a shark in the creek. He’d be a big joke, like the Captain was.
Chet felt like running away, far away. All the way to California.
But then he noticed Sid, strangely still in the creek. His face had gone white. His mouth was open, like he was going to scream.
Chet’s insides turned to jelly when he saw the glistening fin moving slowly through the water.
“What the …” Dewey said.
“Hurry!” Chet cried “Get out!”
Monty and Dewey flew out of the water.
But Sid seemed stuck, hypnotized.
The shark was closer to the surface now, its black eyes almost glowing. Its massive body looming.
They all screamed at Sid.
“Get out!”
“Hurry!”
“Come on! It’s coming!”
Chet heard a motor in the distance, and Captain’s Wilson’s voice shouting, “Shark! Shark in the creek! Everyone out! Shark in the creek!”
Sid still didn’t budge.
The shark was getting closer.
Suddenly, before he had a chance to think, Chet was in the water, swimming as fast as he could toward Sid. He grabbed hold of Sid’s arm and pulled him.
“Chet! Is it real?” Sid gasped. “Is it real?”
“Yes, yes, hurry!”
Monty and Dewey were at the edge of the dock, reaching down for them. Sid hoisted himself up, and Chet planted his hands on the dock. The guys all grabbed his arms to pull him up. Chet was almost out of the water when something caught his leg.
At first it felt like a giant hand was grabbing him. Then it felt like hot nails were boring into his calf.
“It’s got my leg!” Chet screamed.
“Pull!” Sid shouted.
His friends pulled. They pulled and pulled until Chet was sure he’d be torn in two. After an eternity, his leg finally came free!
His friends hauled him onto the dock.
But then the shark exploded out of the water, its jaws wide open, its teeth smeared with blood. Its gaping mouth was coming right for Chet. And then — BANG!
A gunshot shattered the air.
Time seemed to stop.
The next thing Chet knew, he was sitting on the dock. Everything looked foggy, and people seemed to be moving in slow motion. He heard muffled noises — men’s voices, a boat’s motor.
And the guys, saying his name over and over.
They were leaning close, still holding tight to his arms.
Chet looked down and wondered what he was doing in a puddle of ketchup. Hadn’t he cleaned that up? Why was the puddle getting bigger?
Chet realized it wasn’t the ketchup. It was blood pouring from his leg.
The fog around him grew thicker, until Chet couldn’t see or hear a thing.
CHAPTER 13
SHARK KILLS TWO IN NEW JERSEY CREEK
A third boy survives, but injuries are grave
JULY 13, 1916
ELM HILLS, NEW JERSEY
A boy and a young man were killed yesterday, July 12, by a monster shark that made a shocking appearance in the Matawan Creek in New Jersey. Lester Stillwell, 11, was killed while swimming with friends in the town of Matawan. Minutes later, Stanley Fisher, 24, was killed as he bravely attempted to rescue young Lester.
Farther up the creek, Chet Roscow, 10, encountered the shark as he swam by himself. He managed to escape, and ran into town to alert residents. His cries of warning were ignored, with most residents dismissing his story as a prank. The boy did not give up, and later attempted to warn his friends, who were swimming behind the Templer Tile Factory. It was during these efforts that the lad fell into the jaws of the monstrous shark.
He was rescued moments later when Captain Thomas A. Wilson shot at the shark with a Civil War musket, scaring the beast away.
The brave youth was rushed to St. Peter’s Hospital in New Brunswick. Injuries to his leg are described as extremely grave.
CHAPTER 14
Pictures floated in and out of Chet’s mind. Fuzzy pictures — men lifting him off the dock, the inside of Dr. Jay’s motorcar, the white walls and white sheets of the hospital, unsmiling doctors shaking their heads, a pretty nurse with a soft voice. And Uncle Jerry, who always seemed to be sitting right next to Chet.
Was Chet asleep? Was he awake? Was he alive or was he dead?
It was two days before Chet decided for sure he was alive, and three more before he understood what had happened to him — that the shark had ripped away part of his calf. Another few seconds and that shark would have taken off his whole leg.
“It will heal,” the doctor said, patting Chet on the shoulder. “It will take some time. But your leg will heal.”
“The miracle kid,” said Uncle Jerry. “That’s what the newspapers are calling you. And it’s true.”
By then Chet had heard about the others — the boy attacked a mile down the creek from Elm Hills and the
man who jumped in to try to save him. Both were dead.
Chet’s room was filled with flowers and cards from people all over the country.
But none of it mattered to him. His leg hurt worse than it had when the shark was biting him. The medicine they gave him made him feel sick and woozy. He wanted Mama and Papa, but their train was still making its way across the country.
Every time Chet fell asleep, he woke up suddenly, shaking with fear, his bed soaked with sweat. The terror faded some when he was awake. But somehow that shark was always lurking. Its black killer eyes watching him, its bloody teeth glistening.
Chet had never felt so alone.
CHAPTER 15
It was Chet’s sixth morning in the hospital when there was a knock at his door. He sat up, sure it was Mama and Papa.
But it wasn’t. Dewey, Sid, and Monty stood in the doorway. Uncle Jerry was right behind them. The hospital was a two-hour trip from Elm Hills. Had the guys really come all this way to see him?
They all looked a little scared, and Chet felt nervous. Were they still mad at him? Chet raised his hand and gave the briefest, tiniest wave. And just like that, the guys came barreling across the room, fighting each other for a spot on his little bed. Their jostling hurt his leg, but Chet couldn’t have cared less.
“I’ll be in the hallway, kiddo,” Uncle Jerry said. “I think that pretty nurse likes me.”
The door closed, and all the guys started talking at once.
“They dynamited the creek!”
“A guy caught a shark in the bay, says it’s the same shark!”
“It was ten feet long!”
“They cut open its stomach.”
“They found human bones!”
Of course Uncle Jerry had told Chet all this. But he didn’t stop the guys from telling him again. He liked the sound of their voices around him. He hoped they never stopped talking. They told him that Captain Wilson was a celebrity, that newspaper reporters were coming from around the world to talk to him.
I Survived the Shark Attacks of 1916 Page 3
