Swamp Scarefest

by B. A. Frade

  We edged up to my door and peered through. I could hear the monster, but couldn’t see it. But I did see Snort. She stood just inside my door, teeth bared and her ruff up. I beckoned her over. When she came, I pulled her out and hugged her tight.

  “Good girl, Snort. Such a good girl,” I whispered into her fur. “Now go on. You’ve done your part.” I gave the command that told her to head to her bed. She wasn’t the most obedient dog, but this time she listened. She licked my face once and then padded off, tail and head hung low with exhaustion.

  I turned back and looked at the floor. Slimy footprints led into my room but didn’t lead out. If the noises from inside hadn’t already done so, those footprints confirmed the swamp beast was still in there.

  “Here goes nothing.”

  I readied my weapons—bars of soap in hand, two bottles of window cleaner in my waistband—and nodded at Josh. He nodded back and crouched behind an overturned couch a short distance from my doorway, his can of oven cleaner and bottle of liquid soap aimed at the opening. Jenna stood ready to fend off the monster with a bottle of spot cleaner and a jug of color-safe bleach. Liv, I hoped, was in position in the bathroom.

  “Okay, Liv,” I murmured. “Time to put the twin thing to the test.” I closed my eyes. “If we really do share a brain—and that’s a scary thought for me too—get ready to attack on three. One. Two. Three.”

  I burst into the room with a yell. At the same moment, the bathroom door flew open and Liv charged in, slamming the door behind her.

  The first thing I saw was the swamp beast’s backside, which I recognized this time thanks to my earlier encounter with it. It was hunched over something and undulating like a walrus moving on sand. When we crashed in, the monster straightened. My trash can was stuck on its head. It was making its vomitous chewing sounds.

  “Gross!” I yelled. “It’s eating junk out of my trash!”

  “Gross!” Liv shouted. “You have swamp junk in your trash!”

  “Fire!” we cried together.

  I hurled the bars of soap. Squelch! Squelch! They hit the monster’s gut and immediately fried holes in it. It bellowed with rage and pain.

  “It’s working!” I hollered, yanking the spray bottles out. “More!”

  I spritzed for all I was worth, darting in with left-right-left-right squirts and then dancing back to avoid the monster’s swinging arms. The spray sizzled on its skin like water on a hot griddle. When the bottles were empty, I threw them at the swamp beast for good measure.

  Liv, meanwhile, circled around, unloading the entire container of soap pods rapid-fire. The pods burst like paintballs when they struck, then bored tunnels into the beast’s mucky body. When her pods were gone, she too attacked with her spray bottles.

  I ran into the hangout room. “Josh! Jenna! More ammo, quick!”

  They raced forward, tossing supplies to me. “Should we come help?” Jenna cried.

  “Not enough room! Stay here!”

  “Aidan!”

  Liv cried out in fear. I bolted back in.

  She was on the far side of my room, backing toward the bathroom. She was down to her last spray bottle, and from what I could see, it was almost empty. The beast seemed to know she couldn’t hurt it further. It lurched toward her.

  “Run!” I shouted, not comprehending why she didn’t flee through the bathroom.

  “I can’t!” she cried. “I locked the door!”

  My heart froze. She was trapped! If I didn’t do something…

  I did something. I raced out of my room and headed through the hangout room, nearly crashing into Jenna who was hovering by Liv’s door. “Look out!” I screamed.

  She flattened herself against the wall. “What’s wrong? Where’s Liv?”

  I didn’t have time to explain. I tore open Liv’s door and charged into her room. I ran into the bathroom, unlocked the door, and yanked it open.

  Liv spilled into the room with the swamp beast, my trash can still lodged on its head, right behind her. I pulled her out of the way seconds before the monster crashed on top of her.

  “Now what?” she yelled.

  I took one look at the swamp beast, who was clawing at the trash can and reeling off-balance next to our shower, and I knew exactly what we had to do.

  “Down the drain!” I bellowed.

  She got what I meant, of course. Together, we launched ourselves at the swamp beast. With one mighty shove, we pushed it into our shower. It tripped over the shower stall lip, pulling the curtain down as it fell. Liv gave the hot water tap a vicious twist. I squirted it with liquid dish soap, spraying the monster from head to toe. The soap foamed and bubbled. The creature roared and flailed its arms, scrabbling at the tile, trying to stand. It might have succeeded except…

  “It’s shrinking!” Liv cried. She dumped mouthwash over it. Minty freshness mingled with swamp stench. “Aidan, it’s breaking up, dissolving, disintegrating!”

  “Collapsing, crumbling, and—and every other synonym that means ‘good-bye, swamp beast’!”

  Josh and Jenna rushed in in time to see the last filthy remnants of the monster get sucked down the drain. In the end, my trash can, the shower curtain, and a smooth gray oblong of grade-A feldspar with a starburst of mica in the center of one side were all that remained of the swamp beast.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Oh boy. We. Are. Dead.”

  In the excitement and triumph of washing the swamp beast down the drain, I’d forgotten about the mess it had made in other parts of the house. Now we stood in our hangout room, surveying the damage with growing dismay.

  “No,” Liv disagreed. “We. Are. Cleaning. As in now and probably the rest of the night. What’s left of it, anyway.”

  “Gee, I don’t know.” Josh sidled toward the living room door. “I’m pretty tired. I think I’ll—”

  Jenna cut him off. “You’ll grab a sponge and help clean, is what you’ll do.”

  Josh slumped against the wall. I felt bad for him. But not bad enough to tell him he didn’t need to lend a hand. I’m sympathetic, not stupid.

  “At least we have all the supplies ready to go,” Liv joked lamely.

  We started in the main living room, which wasn’t too bad, considering. When we were done there, we moved into the hangout room, flipping and straightening furniture and scrubbing up the swamp beast’s mucky footprints from the carpet.

  “Huh,” Liv said, stepping back and looking at the area she’d just done, “it’s cleaner now than it was before.”

  The worst thing was the torn curtains. Those we couldn’t do anything about.

  “What will you tell your parents?” Jenna asked as she poked a finger through one long tear.

  “I’ll think of something.” I sighed. “The yellow-green liquid missing from my mom’s lab might be a little more challenging, though.”

  We did Mom’s lab next and the hallway leading to it. I remembered to lock the lab door, pocketing the spare key afterward. Then we returned to my room.

  Liv peered inside. “You know, it doesn’t look much different than before the swamp beast was here.”

  I shooed her and the others away. “I’ll do this myself. You guys grab showers.”

  I found Josh some clothes. Liv did the same for Jenna. I assumed Jenna was showering in the guest bathroom, so I was startled when she poked her head into my doorway.

  “Hey, listen, Aidan, don’t worry about the video. I’m going to delete it.”

  For a moment, I didn’t know what she was talking about. Then I remembered their prank. I flushed. “Thanks. And, um, I’m going to stop with the pranks.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Really?”

  I grinned. “Nah. But I promise not to target you and Josh.”

  She raised her eyebrows even higher. “Really?” she said again.

  I laughed. “Well, we’ll see.”

  “Good night, Aidan.”

  “Night.”

  I finished cleaning my room—well, my vers
ion of clean—and then took my own shower. Liv had left the stone with the starburst of mica next to the sink. I hefted it. Then I took it into my room and put it on a shelf over my desk.

  Josh was snoring on his favorite sleepover spot, the lumpy couch in our hangout room. Beyond that gentle drone, the house was quiet. With a grateful sigh, I sank into bed and fell fast asleep.

  For about twenty minutes.

  “Aidan Michael! Olivia Jean! Get out here and explain this to me!”

  I shot up out of bed. Mom never used our middle names unless she was royally angry. I hurried into the hangout room, passing Josh, who was pretending to be asleep.

  “Don’t squeeze your eyes so tight,” I whispered to him. “It gives you away.”

  “Thanks.”

  Liv was already there with our mother.

  “What the heck happened here?” Mom was in her bathrobe, holding out one of the torn curtains and frowning.

  “Oh, um, we were horsing around last night,” I mumbled.

  “Things got a little out of control. Sorry,” Liv added.

  “Horsing around? With what, machetes?” She gave an exasperated sigh. “Oh, well. I never liked these things anyway.” She dropped the curtain and started toward the kitchen. Then she turned back, puzzled. “Wait a minute. What are you doing home? Why aren’t you sleeping in the tent?”

  “Uh…”

  Liv and I exchanged looks. I don’t know what to tell her! mine said. Me either! hers replied.

  Mom’s eyes darted between us. Her expression softened. She nodded knowingly. “Don’t tell me—you got scared.”

  Josh and Jenna came into the room at that moment. Mom glanced at them and then winked at Liv and me. “Well, never mind. Come on. Now that we’re all up, I’ll make you my world famous chocolate-chip pancakes. And then you can tell me all about your night. Unless—”

  Liv interrupted her with a giggle. “Unless…”

  “Unless…” I echoed.

  “Unless…” Josh and Jenna said together. We burst out laughing.

  Mom smiled at us. “Private joke, huh?”

  She passed the hall to her lab on the way to the kitchen, stopped short, and walked backward. “Did your father come home last night?” she asked, gazing at the hall floor and running her fingers on the wall in wonderment. “I mean, my goodness! It’s so clean in here!”

  That just set us off laughing again.

  “Hey, by the way, did you put the key back under the planter?” Liv whispered when Mom’s back was turned.

  I smacked my forehead. “I forgot.” I ran to my room, dug it out of the pocket of my shorts, and hurried back. Mom was busy making pancakes by then, so she didn’t see me sneak out the back door and replace the key in its hiding place.

  I was about to sneak back in when I spied my backpack in the corner of the porch. A corner of Tales from the Scaremaster poked out of the opening. I stared at it, shocked that we’d all forgotten about the book. I tucked it into the bag, pulled the zipper closed, and carried it inside.

  Josh, Jenna, and Liv were laughing about something. Liv’s laughter died when she saw what I had with me. I put the pack on the floor and shook my head to warn her to keep quiet. Josh and Jenna were too busy eating pancakes to notice.

  After breakfast, Josh and Jenna’s parents called, telling them it was time to come home. Liv and I saw them out. Mom was already in her lab by then. If she had noticed the missing liquid, she didn’t say.

  Liv and I went to the back porch with my backpack. Liv sank down onto the wicker love seat, tilted her head back, and closed her eyes. I sat next to her. Snort trotted up and wriggled between us.

  I took out the book and the black Sharpie.

  “If you draw a mustache on me, I kill you,” Liv muttered without opening her eyes.

  I blinked. “How’d you know what I was holding?”

  She bounced her finger between us. “Twin thing.” She opened her eyes. “What are you going to write?”

  “I’m not sure.” I opened Tales from the Scaremaster to the last page. The unfinished sentence, Unless, stared up at me.

  I uncapped the marker with my teeth and, in big black block letters, finished it with my own words.

  UNLESS THE TWINS END WHAT THEY BEGAN. WHICH THEY DID. SO HOW DO YOU LIKE US NOW, SCAREMASTER?

  It didn’t rhyme, but frankly, I’d had enough of rhymes. I added three more messages for good measure: NEVER UNDERESTIMATE THE POWER OF TWINS then (AND FRIENDS) and THE END.

  The ink wasn’t even dry when the words melted into the page, vanishing like water down a drain. Moments later, the entire swamp beast story disappeared from the book.

  “Whoa.” Liv sat up straighter and stared at the page. “Did that just happen?”

  I capped the Sharpie with a triumphant flourish. “Guess we showed the Scaremaster who’s boss, huh?”

  GUESS AGAIN!

  Bloodred writing, thick, bold, and angry, practically blasted up through the page. Liv and I jerked back. Snort leapt to her feet and growled.

  You finished THIS story, but I have countless tales to tell! Mark my words. Next time…

  We held our breath, waiting. Snort jumped down and paced back and forth.

  … the ending won’t be happy.

  We slammed the book shut and stared at one another. “You thinking what I’m thinking?” I asked Liv.

  “You know I am.”

  “We have to get rid of this book,” I said. “What if we—”

  I didn’t get a chance to finish my thought because Snort suddenly lunged forward and snatched the book from our hands. We leapt up and started after her, but she was too fast and we were just too tired. Moments later, she disappeared into the woods.

  “What do you think she’s doing with it?” I asked.

  Liv let out a long sigh. “Burying it somewhere, probably. I don’t care. In fact, I don’t care if I ever hear another scary story again.”

  “Yeah.”

  But as I sat there, eyes closed and with the summer sun shining down on me, two of the Scaremaster’s last words sneaked into my brain.

  Next time.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Snort raced through the trails, the thing clenched tightly in her teeth. It made her tongue dry and it tasted funny, like rotted meat but not good rotted meat. Still, she refused to drop it. The thing made her humans anxious, and there was only one solution for that.

  Dig a deep hole, drop the thing in, and cover it up.

  She rarely left her home turf, but today, she made an exception. She skirted the lake—nothing good ever came out of that place—and ran far into the woods beyond.

  Finally, when the pads of her paws turned tender and her legs ached, she stopped. Placing the thing on the ground by her feet, she sniffed the air. She detected no humans. She scouted out a spot and started digging.

  She made a good hole, deep and wide and far off the beaten path. She nosed the thing inside, then turned her back and flung dirt on top of it.

  There was no more to be done here. The thing was gone. Time to eat and sleep. She took off for home.

  Epilogue

  “Good afternoon, class.” Mr. McCarthy entered the room. “Eyes up front, Emma and Samantha.”

  Emma’s cheeks turned red as she and her best friend, Sam, stopped talking and faced their teacher.

  “Please take out paper and a pencil,” Mr. McCarthy said, pushing up his thick black glasses. “We’re going to do some free writing. The topic for this assignment is ‘My Plans for the Weekend.’”

  Emma’s jaw dropped. She couldn’t believe her bad luck! She definitely wasn’t looking forward to her weekend plans and didn’t want to write about them.

  Resigned to writing a pathetic paragraph about herself, Mrs. L, and the ferrets, Emma reached into her backpack for a sheet of lined paper.

  Her hand brushed the leather journal. She felt a small electric shock but shook the feeling off.

  The back of her knuckles leaned against the jou
rnal as she dug deeper in her bag. That odd shock she felt before was more like a magnet now. The book seemed to lean into her palm.

  Why not write in the journal? Emma thought. The new librarian with the changing eyes had suggested she start a diary. And Mr. McCarthy wanted a personal essay. He never collected free writing—just looked at it in class—so she wouldn’t have to give up the book. Emma let it fall into her hand.

  She set the journal on her desk and carefully bent back the cover. The pages inside weren’t white or lined. They were yellow, like the yolk of an egg, and the paper was thicker than regular paper. The journal smelled woodsy: damp dirt and fresh pine mixed with smoky campfire. When she sat back up, the scent of wet dog lingered.

  The book seemed like something from an antique store. Emma wondered why the librarian had been so willing to give it away.

  At the top of the first page, Emma wrote:

  My Boring Weekend

  She underlined it twice for emphasis.

  Dear Diary,

  I guess I should call you that.

  I can’t believe that Mom is leaving me behind again! What did I do to deserve another weekend of bathtub scrubbing and ferret socks????

  Emma’s emotions poured out onto the page: anger, disappointment, annoyance… loneliness. She quickly filled one page and turned to the next.

  So, to sum it up: My plans are to have the most boring weekend in the history of the universe. While Sam gets to have the best weekend ever. Life is so unfair!

  Pausing her pencil, Emma couldn’t help glancing over at Sam, who was obviously describing in detail her own amazing weekend plans. Sam raised her head, smiled sympathetically, then continued on a new page.

  Emma looked back at her journal, quickly rereading what she’d written. When she got to the bottom of the page, she gasped.