I spun around.
And there he stood.
The swamp monster.
In the kitchen—lumbering toward us hungrily.
The monster glared at me with his horrible bulging eyes. I watched the veins in his head throb as he let out a long, low growl.
I stared at those huge, pulsing veins. Stared as they beat against his coarse alligator skin.
“Run, Gretchen!” Clark pulled me from behind. He yanked me out of the dining room. We dove toward the stairs.
“We need a place to hide.” Clark panted as we fled to the second floor. “We have to hide until Grandma and Grandpa come back with help.”
“They’re not coming back!” I screamed at him. “They’re not coming back with help!”
“They said they would,” Clark insisted. “They said so in the letter.”
“Clark, you are such a jerk.” We reached the top of the stairs. I stopped to catch my breath. “Who is going to believe them?” I said, gulping air. “Who’s going to believe they have a swamp monster trapped in their house?”
Clark didn’t reply.
I answered for him. “No one! That’s who. Everyone they tell the story to will think they’re joking.”
“Someone might believe them.” Clark’s voice cracked. “Someone might want to help.”
“Yeah, right. ‘Will you help us kill a swamp monster?’ they’ll ask. I’ll bet they get loads of volunteers!” I rolled my eyes.
I stopped yelling at Clark when I heard the monster’s heavy breathing. I spun around—and saw the creature.
He stood at the bottom of the stairs. Eyeing us. Drooling hungrily.
Clark and I backed slowly away from the top of the stairs.
The monster followed us with his eyes.
“We have to kill it,” Clark whispered. “That’s what the letter said. We have to kill it. But how?”
“I have an idea!” I told Clark. “Follow me!”
We turned and ran. As we charged past the bathroom, we heard Charley whimpering.
“Let’s get Charley!” Clark stopped running. “It’s too dangerous to leave him closed up in there. We have to take him with us.”
“We can’t, Clark,” I replied. “He’ll be okay. Don’t worry.”
I wasn’t as sure about that as I sounded. But there was no time to stop for Charley now—because the monster had reached the second floor.
There he stood. Looming at the end of the hall.
He raised his hands up over his head. I saw that he held the wooden footstool I had tripped over in the living room.
His eyes burned with anger.
He glared at me, then growled a loud, savage growl. A stream of thick white drool dribbled down his chin.
He licked the drool away with a reptile tongue—and smashed the stool down across his leg. It splintered into two jagged pieces.
He raised the pieces and hurled them at us.
“Let’s go!” Clark shrieked as the footstool bounced off the wall.
We ran up the stairs. Up to the third floor.
The monster lumbered after us. The whole house shook with each heavy step he took.
“He’s coming!” Clark cried. “What are we going to do? You said you had an idea. What?”
“There’s a collapsed stairway up here,” I told Clark, running as fast as I could through the dark, twisting hall. “It’s totally fallen down. Just a big hole. When we turn the corner, grab onto the railing. The monster will chase us around the corner—and he’ll fall down the open stairway.”
The roar of the monster thundered in my ears. I saw him plodding down the hall after us.
“Come on, Clark! Hurry!”
“What if it doesn’t work?” Clark demanded, very frightened. “What if the fall only hurts him? Won’t it make him even more angry?”
