R. Stine: The Werewolf of Fever Swamp

"They're right," Will said. "There are no werewolves except in movies. You're a real jerk, Cassie."

"You're a jerk!" Cassie shouted back.

I could see they'd had fights like this before. "Let's play a game or something," I suggested. "Want to play some Nintendo? It's in my room."

"Mr. Warner still hasn't shown up," Cassie told Will, ignoring me. She tugged at her red ponytail, then tossed it behind her head. "You know why? Because he was murdered by the werewolf."

"Don't be stupid," Will said. "How do you know?"

"Maybe you're the werewolf!" I told Cassie.

Will laughed. "Yeah. That's why you're such an expert, Cassie."

"Oh, shut up," Cassie grumbled. "You look more like a werewolf than me, Will!"

"You look like a vampire!" he told her.

"Well, you look like King Kong!" she cried.

"What are you kids talking about?" Mom interrupted, poking her head into the room.

"Just talking about movies and things," I replied quickly.

I couldn't get to sleep that night. I kept rolling onto one side, then the other. I couldn't get comfortable.

I kept listening for the howls.

A strong wind had come up from the Gulf. I could hear it rushing past our small house. It rattled the wire mesh of the deer pen out back. It made a constant ssshhhhhh sound, and I strained to hear the familiar howls.

I had just about drifted off to sleep when the howls began.

Instantly alert, I jumped to my feet. My left ankle ached as I stepped down on it.

Another howl. Far off. Barely carrying over the steady rush of the wind.

I limped to my bedroom window. The ankle had stiffened up a bit while I was lying in bed. I pressed my face against the glass and peered out.

The full moon, gray as a skull, hovered low in the charcoal sky. The dewy grass gleamed under its blanket of pale light.

A burst of wind rattled my window.

Startled, I pulled back. And listened.

Another howl. Closer.

This one sent a cold shudder down my back.

It sounded really close. Or was the wind carrying it from the swamp?

I squinted out the window. Swirls of wind made the grass sway from one side to the other. The ground appeared to be spinning, glowing in the pale moonlight as it twirled.

Another howl. Even closer.

I couldn't see anything. I had to know who or what was making that terrifying sound.

I pulled my jeans on over my pajama bottoms. Struggling in the dark, I managed to slide my feet into a pair of flip-flops.

I started out of my room, but stopped short when I heard a banging. A loud crash. A pounding. A harsh thud.

Right outside.

Right outside my house.

My heart pounding, I ran through the dark hallway. My ankle ached, but I ignored it.

I hurried through the kitchen, unlocked the back door, and pulled it open. A strong gust of wind pushed me back as I opened the screen door.

The wind was hot and wet. Another strong gust pushed me back.

The wind is trying to keep me inside, I thought. Trying to keep me from solving the mystery of the terrifying howls.

I lowered my head against the driving gusts and leapt down off the stoop.

"Ow!" I cried out as pain shot up my leg.

Waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dim light, I listened hard.

No howls now. Just the shrill, steady rush of wind, pushing, pushing me back against the house.

The back yard glowed in the moonlight. Everything was silver and gray.

And silent.

I searched the back yard, my eyes sweeping slowly across the shifting grass. Empty.

But what had caused all the commotion I'd heard in my room? The banging? The loud thuds? The rattling sounds?

Why had the howls stopped when I came outside?

What a mystery, I thought. What a strange mystery.

The wind swirled around me. My face was dripping wet from the heavy dampness of the air.

Feeling defeated, I turned back toward the house.

And uttered a shocked cry when I saw that the werewolf had murdered again.

I took a step through the swirling wind toward the deer pen.

"Dad!" I called. But my voice came out a hushed whisper. "Dad!" I tried to shout, but my throat was too dry and choked with fear.

Staring straight ahead, I took another step. I could see it all clearly now. A scene of death. Pale light and shadows. The only sounds were the pounding of my heart, the swell of the wind, and the rattling of the wire mesh of the pen.

I took another step closer. "Dad? Dad?" I cried out without thinking, without hearing myself, knowing he couldn't hear.

But I wanted him to be there. I wanted someone to be there with me. I didn't want to be all alone out there in the back yard.

I didn't want to be staring at the hole that had been ripped from the side of the pen. I didn't want to see the murdered deer lying so pitifully on its side.

The five remaining deer huddled together at the other end of the pen. Their eyes were on me. Frightened eyes.

The wind swept around me, hot and wet. But I felt cold all over. A cold shudder of terror ran down my body. I swallowed hard. Once. Twice. Trying to choke down the heavy lump in my throat.

Then, before I even realized what I was doing, I began running to the house, screaming, "Dad! Mom! Dad! Mom!" at the top of my lungs.

My cries rose on the gusting wind like the terrifying howls I'd heard just a few moments before.

His pajama shirt flapping over the jeans he had pulled on, Dad dragged the dead deer to the back of the yard. Then, as I watched from the kitchen window, he patched the deer pen with a large sheet of box cardboard.

As he tried to return to the house, the strong winds nearly blew the screen door off its hinges. Dad jerked the door shut, then locked it.

His face was dripping with perspiration. He had mud down the side of one pajama sleeve.

Mom poured him a glass of water from the sink, and he drank it down without taking a breath. Then he wiped the sweat from his forehead with a dish towel.

"I'm afraid your dog is a killer," he said softly to me. He tossed the towel back onto the counter.

"It wasn't Wolf!" I cried. "It wasn't!"

Dad didn't reply. He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Mom and Emily watched silently from in front of the sink.

"What makes you think it was Wolf?" I demanded.

"I saw the prints on the ground," he replied, frowning. "Paw prints."

"It wasn't Wolf," I insisted.

"I'm going to have to take him to the pound in the morning," Dad said. "The one over in the next county."

"But they'll kill him!" I cried.

"The dog is a killer," Dad insisted softly. "I know how you feel, Grady. I know. But the dog is a killer."

"It wasn't Wolf," I cried. "Dad, I know it wasn't Wolf. I heard the howls, Dad. It was a wolf."

"Grady, please — " he started wearily.

Then the words just burst out of me. I lost all control of them. They just poured out in a flood. "It was a werewolf, Dad. There's a werewolf in the swamp. Cassie is right. It wasn't a dog, and it wasn't a wolf. It's a werewolf who's been killing animals, who killed your deer."

"Grady, stop — " Dad pleaded impatiently.

But I couldn't stop. "I know I'm right, Dad," I cried in a shrill voice that didn't sound like me. "It's been a full moon this week, right? And that's when the howls began. It's a werewolf, Dad. The swamp hermit. That crazy guy who lives in the shack in the swamp. He's a werewolf. He told us he is. He chased us and he told us he's a werewolf. He did it, Dad. Not Wolf. He killed the deer tonight. I heard him howling outside, and then — then — "

My voice caught in my throat. I started to choke.

Dad filled the glass with water and handed it to me. I gulped it down thirstily.

He put a hand on my shoulder. "Grady, let's talk about it in the morning, okay? We're both too tired to think straight now. What do you say?"