R. Stine: The Werewolf of Fever Swamp

"Yay!" Emily cried. "I knew I was right. I just had a feeling."

The sight of the gurgling green pond cheered us both up. Once past it, we began to run. We knew we were on the right path, nearly home.

"Way to go!" I cried happily, running past my sister. "Way to go!"

I was feeling really good again.

Then something reached up, grabbed my ankle, and pulled me down to the swampy ground.

I hit the ground hard, landing on my elbows and knees.

My heart leapt into my mouth.

I tasted blood.

"Get up! Get up!" Emily was screaming.

"It — it's got me!" I cried in a tight, trembling voice.

The fluttering in my chest had become a pounding. Again, I tasted blood.

I raised my eyes to see Emily laughing.

Laughing?

"It's just a tree root," she said, pointing.

I followed the direction of her finger — and instantly realized I hadn't been pulled down. I had tripped over one of the many upraised tree roots that arched over the ground.

I stared at the bonelike root. It was bent in the middle and looked like a skinny, white leg.

But what was the blood I tasted?

I felt my aching lip. I had bitten it when I fell.

With a loud groan, I pulled myself to my feet. My knees ached. My lip throbbed. Blood trickled down my chin.

"That was pretty clumsy," Emily said softly. And then she added, "Are you okay?" She brushed some dried leaves off the back of my T-shirt.

"Yeah, I guess," I replied, still feeling a little shaky. "I really thought something had grabbed me." I forced a laugh.

She rested a hand on my shoulder, and we started walking again, slower than before, side by side.

Slender beams of light poked down through the thick tree leaves, dotting the ground in front of us. It all looked unreal, like something in a dream.

Some creature scampered noisily behind the tangle of low shrubs at our right. Emily and I didn't even turn to try to see it. We just wanted to get home.

It didn't take us long to realize we were headed in the wrong direction.

We stopped at the edge of a small, round clearing. Birds chattered noisily above us. A light breeze made the palm leaves scrape and creak.

"What are those huge gray things?" I asked, lingering behind my sister.

"Mushrooms, I think," she replied quietly.

"Mushrooms as big as footballs," I murmured.

We both saw the small shack at the same time.

It was hidden in the shadow of two low cypress trees beyond the field of giant mushrooms at the other side of the clearing.

We both gaped at it in surprise, studying it in shocked silence. We took a few steps toward it. Then a few more.

The shack was tiny, built low to the ground, not much taller than me. It had some kind of thatched roof, made of long reeds or dried grass. The walls were made of layers of dried palm leaves.

The door, built of slender tree limbs bound together, was shut tight. There were no windows.

A pile of gray ashes formed a circle a few yards from the door. Signs of a campfire.

I saw a pair of battered, old workboots lying at the side of the shack. Beside them were several empty tin cans on their sides and a plastic water bottle, also empty, partly crumpled.

I turned to Emily and whispered, "Do you think someone lives here? In the middle of the swamp?"

She shrugged, her features tight with fear.

"If someone lives here, maybe he can tell us which way to go to get home," I suggested.

"Maybe," Emily murmured. Her eyes were straight ahead on the tiny shack covered in blue shadow.

We took another couple of steps closer.

Why would someone want to live in a tiny shack like this in the middle of a swamp? I wondered.

An answer flashed into my mind: Because whoever it is wants to hide from the world.

"It's a hideout," I muttered, not realizing I was speaking out loud. "A criminal. A bank robber. Or a killer. He's hiding here."

"Sshhh." Emily put a finger on my mouth to silence me, hitting the cut on my lip. I pulled away.

"Anyone home?" she called. Her voice came out low and shaky, so low I could barely hear her. "Anyone home?" she repeated, a little more forcefully.

I decided to join in. We shouted together: "Anyone home? Anyone in there?"

We listened.

No reply.

We stepped up to the low door.

"Anyone in there?" I called one more time.

Then I reached for the doorknob.

Just as I was about to pull open the crude wooden door, it swung out, nearly hitting us both. We leapt back as a man burst out from the dark doorway of the hut.

He glared at us with wild black eyes. He had long, gray-white hair, down past his shoulders, tied behind him in a loose ponytail.

His face was bright red, sunburned, maybe. Or maybe red from anger. He stared at us with a menacing scowl, standing bent over, stooped from being inside the low hut.

He wore a loose-fitting white T-shirt, dirt-stained and wrinkled, over heavy black trousers that bagged over his sandals.

As he glared at us with those amazing black eyes, his mouth opened, revealing rows of jagged yellow teeth.

Huddling close to my sister, I took a step back.

I wanted to ask him who he was, why he lived in the swamp. I wanted to ask if he could help us find our way back home.

A dozen questions flashed through my mind.

But all I could utter was, "Uh… sorry."

Then I realized that Emily was already running away. Her ponytail flew behind her as she dived through the tall weeds.

And a second later, I was running after her. My heart pounded. My sandals squished over the soft ground.

"Hey, Emily — wait up! Wait up!"

I ran over the rough carpet of dead leaves and twigs.

As I struggled to catch up to her, I glanced behind me — and cried out in terror. "Emily — he's chasing us!"

Bent low to the ground, the man from the hut moved steadily after us, taking long strides. His hands bobbed at his sides. He was breathing hard, and his mouth was open, revealing the jagged teeth.

"Run!" Emily cried. "Run, Grady!"

We were following a narrow path between tall weeds. The trees thinned out. We ran through shadow and sunlight and back into shadow.

"Emily — wait up!" I called breathlessly. But she didn't slow down.

A long, narrow pond appeared to our left. Strange trees lifted up from the middle of the water. The slender trunks were surrounded by a thicket of dark roots. Mangrove trees.

I wanted to stop and look at the eerie-looking trees. But this wasn't the time for sightseeing.

We ran along the edge of the pond, our sandals sinking into the marshy ground. Then, my chest heaving, my throat choked and dry, I followed Emily as the path curved into the trees.

A sharp pain in my side made me cry out. I stopped running. I gasped for breath.

"Hey — he's gone," Emily said, swallowing hard. She stopped a few yards ahead of me and leaned against a tree trunk. "We lost him."

I bent over, trying to force away the pain in my side. After a short while, my breathing slowed to normal. "Weird," I said. I couldn't think of anything else.

"Yeah. Weird," Emily agreed. She walked back to me and pulled me up straight. "You okay?"

"I guess." At least the pain had faded away. I always get a pain in my right side when I run a long time. This one was worse than usual. I usually don't have to run for my life!

"Come on," Emily said. She let go of me and started walking quickly, following the path.

"Hey, this looks familiar," I said. I began to feel a little better. I started to jog. We passed clusters of trees and ferns that looked familiar. I could see our footprints in the sandy ground, going the other way.

A short while later, our back yard came into view. "Home sweet home!" I cried.