I turned to the window. I pulled back my arm to swing the heavy candlestick—when I heard the whimpering.

Charley’s whimpering. From upstairs.

“Oh, no!” I gasped. “The monster—he’s got Charley!”

I ran for the stairway, clutching the candlestick in one hand, dragging Clark with the other.

I had to save Charley! I had to!

I raced up the stairs. I stopped when I reached the top.

My heart pounded in my chest as I peered down the hall.

The corridor was empty.

I crept toward the bathroom. Except for Clark’s raspy breathing and the thudding of my heart, the house was still.

As I neared the bathroom, the bathroom door came into view.

Shut.

I gripped the doorknob. It slipped in my sweat-drenched hand.

I opened the door a crack and peeked inside. But I couldn’t see anything.

I could feel Clark breathing down my neck as I pushed the door open a bit more.

A bit more.

“Charley!” I cried out with relief.

Charley sat in the bathtub. Curled up in a corner. Scared—but safe.

He gazed up at us with his big brown eyes. He wagged his tail weakly. Then he began to bark.

“Shhhh!” I whispered, petting him. “Please, Charley. Don’t let the monster hear you. Quiet, boy.”

Charley barked even louder.

So loud that we almost didn’t hear the car pull up outside.

“Shhhh!” I urged Charley. I turned to Clark. “Did you hear that?”

His mouth dropped open. “A car door!”

“Yes!” I cried.

“Grandma and Grandpa are back!” Clark shouted. “I’ll bet they brought help!”

“Stay,” I commanded Charley as we eased out of the bathroom. “Good boy. Stay.”

Clark slammed the door behind us, and we bolted down the stairs.

“I knew they’d be back! I knew they wouldn’t just leave us!” I flew down the steps, two at a time.

And heard the engine start.

Heard the car rumble away.

Heard the tires crunch down the driveway.

“Noooo!” I shouted as I reached the front door. “Don’t go! Don’t go!”

I pounded the door with my fists. I kicked it hard. And then I saw the pink slip of paper on the floor, slipped under the door.

A message. I picked it up with a trembling hand. And started to read:

We’re not coming back. Until next week. Sorry, kids. But work is taking much longer than we thought.

A phone message—from Mom and Dad.

Grandma and Grandpa didn’t come back, I realized. Mr. Donner, from the general store, had driven over to deliver this phone message.

The roar of the monster tore through my thoughts.

I spun around.

Clark was gone.

“Clark!” I shouted. “Where are you?”

The monster’s growls grew louder. Meaner.

“Clark!” I called out again. “Clark!”

“Gretchen—come quick!” I heard his desperate cry from the kitchen.

“Gretchen! Gretchen!”

As I charged through the living room, he shouted my name over and over again. Each time his voice grew higher, more excited.

“I’m coming!” I yelled. “Hold on, Clark. I’m coming!”

I rounded the couch—and tripped over a footstool. My head hit the floor hard.