I found an old can of orange paint and dumped it into the pie.
“That’s enough! We have enough!” Clark insisted in a panic.
“Okay. Okay. I just want to make sure this works.”
I shoved in a handful of mothballs.
“Hurry!” Clark urged. “Close it up. He’s coming!”
The monster’s footsteps pounded the living-room floor.
“Hurry!” Clark begged.
I sprayed the top of the pie with bug spray.
“Gretchen!” Clark pleaded with me.
I placed the poisoned pie on the counter.
It’s so sweet, your teeth will fall out after one bite. Grandma’s words came back to me.
It better do more than that! I told myself. It better kill a monster!
“Here he comes!” Clark cried.
We ducked under the kitchen table.
The monster stomped into the kitchen. Peering out from under the table, I could see him swing his arms wildly. He knocked over dishes, pots, glasses. Everything in sight.
Then my heart stopped when I saw the big creature turn.
He hesitated. Then he took a step toward the kitchen table. Another step. Another.
Clark and I huddled together under the table. We were both trembling so hard, the table shook.
The swamp monster sees us under here! I realized.
We’re trapped.
What is he going to do?
Clark and I held on to each other. The monster stepped up to the table—so close I could smell the sour odor of his thick fur.
Clark started to let out soft, whimpering sounds.
I clapped my hands over his mouth. I shut my eyes.
Please go away, I prayed. Please, monster, don’t see us.
I heard the creature sniffing. Like a dog trying to sniff out a bone.
When I opened my eyes, he had moved away from the table.
“Whew!” I breathed a long, silent sigh of relief.
The monster rumbled around the room.
Sniffing loudly, urgently.
He sniffed the refrigerator.
He lumbered over to the stove and sniffed some more. He plodded around the room. Sniffing.
He smells us. He smells Clark and me, I thought. Please, see the pie. See the pie.
The creature stomped back to the stove.
Sniffing.
He bent down and peered into the oven. Then he ripped the oven door off its hinges and hurled it across the room.
The door hit the wall with a loud crash. Clark jumped in fright and banged his head on the table. He let out a low moan.
I moaned too. “Look,” I whispered.
The creature was eating—but he wasn’t eating our pie. There were two pies still in the oven. And the creature was stuffing himself with them.
