I’ll hide! I’ll trick Clark into being It!

I’ll hide and Clark will get bored waiting for me to find him. He’ll have to look for me!

Perfect! I thought. Now … where shall I hide?

I searched the rest of the rooms on the third floor—scouting out a good hiding place. But the rooms up here were all empty. Nothing to slip behind.

Nothing to crawl under.

I returned to the little room with the player piano. Maybe I can figure out a way to hide behind that, I thought.

I tried to push the piano away from the wall. Just enough so I could squeeze behind it. But it was way too heavy. I couldn’t budge it.

I made my way back to the door with the silver key—the locked room.

I peered up and down the dim hall. Had I searched everywhere? Did I miss a room?

That’s when I spotted it.

A small door. A door in the wall.

A door I hadn’t noticed before.

A door to a dumbwaiter.

I’d seen dumbwaiters in the movies. In big, old houses like this one. They were little elevators that carried food and dishes from one floor to another. Pretty cool.

A dumbwaiter! I thought. A perfect place to hide! I turned and started toward it—when I heard a crash. A crash—like the sound of a plate dropping.

A crash coming from the other side of the door with the silver key.

I pressed my ear against the door. I heard footsteps.

So that’s where Clark is hiding! I realized. He is such a cheater! He hid in the one place he knew I wouldn’t look!

He hid in the room Grandma and Grandpa told us to stay out of.

Well, Clark, I thought. Too bad for you. I found you!

I slipped my fingers around the key and turned it. The lock sprang open with a sharp click. I yanked open the door.

And stared at a hideous monster.

I nearly fell into the room.

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t back away. Couldn’t take my eyes off him.

A living, breathing monster. At least ten feet tall.

Standing inside the locked room.

I gaped at his big, furry body. A body like a gorilla—with leaves and tree roots and sand tangled in his fur. His head was scaly, with snapping rows of jagged alligator teeth.

A foul stench filled the room. The putrid smell of decay. The smell of the swamp.

My stomach heaved.

The creature raised his eyes to me—bulging eyes set into the sides of his enormous head.

He held me in his stare for a moment. Then he glanced down at his hairy paws—where he balanced a tall stack of pancakes.

He began stuffing the pancakes into his mouth. Devouring them. Gnashing them with his jagged teeth.

Still gripping the door handle, I stared at the monster as he ate. He jammed another stack of pancakes down his throat. He swallowed them whole and grunted with pleasure.

His horrible alligator eyes went wide. The thick veins in his neck throbbed as he ate.

I tried to call for help. To scream. But when I opened my mouth, no sound came out.

With one hand the monster shoved pancakes into his mouth—stacks at a time. With the other, he scratched at one of his furry legs.

Scratched and scratched. Until he found a big black beetle, nesting in his fur.

He held the beetle up to the side of his head—to one of his bulging eyes.

The beetle’s legs waved in the air.

He glared at the beetle. At the waving legs.

Then he popped the bug into his mouth—and chomped down on its shiny black shell with a sickening crunch.

Blueberries and beetle juice oozed from his mouth.

Run! I told myself. Run! But I was too terrified to move.

The creature reached down for another stack of pancakes.

I forced myself to take a small step back—into the hall.

The monster jerked his head up.

He glared at me. Then he let out a deep growl.

He let the pancakes slide to the floor and lumbered toward me.

I ran, screaming for help as I charged into the hall.