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.”
“I don’t care what it is,” I hollered. “Just put Charley in there.”
On the counter sat one of Grandma’s rhubarb pies. “The monster hasn’t eaten since this morning,” I told Clark. “We’ll put this pie out on the counter where he’ll see it.”
“But that will only slow him down for a second,” Clark whined. He shut Charley in the room. “He’ll gobble the pie in one bite. Then he’ll come after us again.”
“No, he won’t,” I insisted. “We’re going to poison the pie. We’ll put stuff in it. Enough stuff to kill him!”
“I don’t know, Gretchen,” Clark argued. “I don’t think that’s going to work.”
Charley whimpered behind the closed door—as if he agreed.
“We have no choice!” I snapped. “We have to try something!”
I found a fork and carefully lifted up the pie crust with it.
Then I searched the cabinet under the kitchen sink. It was filthy under there. Damp, with green mold growing on the pipes.
I found a jar of turpentine sitting on a shelf right in front. The lid was screwed on tight. I had to twist it hard to open it.
I slowly poured the entire jar of turpentine into the pie.
“Yuck! That stuff stinks,” Clark said, holding his nose.
I studied the pie. It was wet and runny now. “I think we need something to soak up the turpentine,” I told Clark. “This should do it!” I held up a can of drain cleaner.
I sprinkled the blue drain-cleaner crystals over the pie. They made the rhubarb bubble and fizz.
Clark leaped back. “I think that’s enough,” he said.
I ignored him.
I stuck my head under the sink and came up with two jars. “Rat poison!” I exclaimed, reading the dirty label on one of them. “Excellent.” The other jar was filled with ammonia.
“Hurry!” Clark urged. “I hear the monster. He’s coming.”
I sprinkled the pie with the rat poison and poured in the ammonia too.
The monster’s groans came closer. Each time he groaned or growled, I jumped.
