Would my plan work? Would he fall to his death?

Was this the way to kill a monster?

The beast whirled around the corner.

Staggered on the edge of the hole.

His head jerked to face us. His eyes glowed red.

He opened his mouth in an ugly growl. He swayed, trying to keep his balance. Then he plunged down the open staircase.

I heard him land with a heavy thud.

Clark and I hung on to the rotted banister. It creaked under the strain of our weight.

My hands ached. My fingers were numb. I knew I couldn’t hold on much longer.

We listened.

Silence.

The creature didn’t move.

I looked down, but it was too dark to see.

“My fingers are slipping,” Clark groaned. Then he swung out his foot, searching with his sneaker for the hallway floor.

Hand over hand, he inched his way along the banister to the safety of the hall. I followed.

We peered down into the black hole once more. But it was so black down there—we couldn’t make out a thing. Dark and silent. Totally silent.

“We did it! We’re safe!” I cheered. “We killed the monster!”

Clark and I jumped up and down in celebration. “We did it! We did it!”

We ran downstairs. We let Charley out of the bathroom.

“Everything is okay, Charley.” I hugged my dog. “We did it, boy,” I told him. “We killed the swamp monster.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Clark urged. “We can walk to town. Call Mom and Dad from the general store. Tell them to pick us up—now!”

We were so happy, we practically danced down the steps. The three of us headed into the library. “Stand back,” I told Clark. “And hold Charley. I’ll break the window, and we’ll get out of here.”

I glanced around the room, searching for the heavy brass candlestick to break the glass. It wasn’t there.

“Wait here,” I told Clark. “I left the candlestick up in the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

I sprinted out of the library.

I couldn’t wait to break out of this creepy place. To leave this horrible swamp. And tell Mom and Dad how stupid they were to dump us here in a house with a real, live monster inside.

I ran through the living room—to the stairs.

I jogged up three steps—and stopped.

Stopped when I heard the low groan.

It can’t be, I thought. Maybe it’s Charley. Maybe Charley is growling.

I listened.

And heard it again.

Not a dog growl. Definitely not a dog growl.

Then I heard the rumbling footsteps, the footsteps of the swamp monster, coming from somewhere nearby.

Closer.

Closer.

“Clark!” I staggered back into the library. My legs were shaking. My whole body trembled. “He’s not dead!” I cried. “The monster isn’t dead!”

The library was empty.

“Clark? Where are you?” I shouted.

“In the kitchen,” he called. “Feeding Charley.”

I raced into the kitchen. Clark and Charley sat on the floor. Charley was lapping up a bowl of water.

“The fall didn’t kill him! The monster isn’t dead!” I shrieked.

Clark gasped in horror. “He must be really angry now. He must be furious. What are we going to do?”

My eyes darted around the kitchen. “Put Charley in there,” I ordered. “In that closet. I have another idea.”

“I hope it’s better than your last idea,” Clark moaned.

“Do you have an idea?” I yelled at him. “Do you?”

He didn’t.

Clark dragged Charley across the kitchen. “Gretchen, this isn’t a closet. It’s some kind of room.”