R. Stine: The Werewolf of Fever Swamp

Emily and I stepped out from the low trees and began running across the grass toward the back of the house.

Mom and Dad were in the back yard setting up outdoor furniture. Dad was lowering an umbrella into the white umbrella table. Mom was washing off the white lawn chairs with the garden hose.

"Hey — welcome back," Dad said, smiling.

"We thought you got lost," Mom said.

"We did!" I cried breathlessly.

Mom turned off the nozzle, stopping the spray of water. "You what?"

"A man chased us!" Emily exclaimed. "A strange man with long white hair."

"He lives in a hut. In the middle of the swamp," I added, dropping down into one of the lawn chairs. It was wet, but I didn't care.

"Huh? He chased you?" Dad's eyes narrowed in alarm. Then he said, "I heard in town there's a swamp hermit out there."

"Yes, he chased us!" Emily repeated. Her normally pale face was bright red. Her hair had come loose and fell wildly around her face. "It — it was scary."

"A guy in the hardware store told me about him," Dad said. "Said he was strange, but perfectly harmless. No one knows his name."

"Harmless?" Emily cried. "Then why did he chase us?"

Dad shrugged. "I'm only repeating what I heard. Evidently he's lived in the swamp most of his life. By himself. He never comes to town."

Mom dropped the hose and walked over to Emily. She placed a hand on Emily's shoulder. In the bright sunlight, they looked like sisters. They're both tall and thin, with long, straight blonde hair. I look more like my dad. Wavy brown hair. Dark eyes. A little chunky.

"Maybe they shouldn't go back in the swamp by themselves," Mom said, biting her lower lip fretfully. She started to gather Emily's hair back up into a ponytail.

"The hermit is supposed to be completely harmless," Dad repeated. He was still struggling to lower the umbrella into the concrete base. Every time he lowered it, he missed the opening.

"Here, Dad. I'll help you." I scooted under the table and guided the umbrella stem into the base.

"Don't worry," Emily said. "You won't catch me back in that swamp." She scratched both shoulders. "I'm going to be itchy for the rest of my life!" she groaned.

"We saw a lot of neat things," I said, starting to feel normal again. "A peat bog and mangrove trees…"

"I told you this was going to be an experience," Dad said, arranging the white chairs around the table.

"Some experience," Emily grumbled, rolling her eyes. "I'm going in to take a shower. Maybe if I stay in it for an hour or so, I'll stop itching."

Mom shook her head, watching Emily stomp toward the back door. "This is going to be a hard year for Em," she muttered.

Dad wiped his dirty hands on the sides of his jeans. "Come with me, Grady," he said, motioning for me to follow him. "Time to feed the deer."

We talked more about the swamp at dinner. Dad told us stories about how they hunted and trapped the swamp deer that he was using for his experiment.

Dad and his helpers searched the South American jungles for weeks. They used tranquilizer guns to capture the deer. Then they had to bring in helicopters to pull the deer out, and the deer were not too happy about flying.

"The swamp you two were exploring this afternoon," he said, twirling his spaghetti. "Know what it's called? Fever Swamp. That's what the local people call it, anyway."

"Why?" Emily asked. "Because it's so hot in there?"

Dad chewed and swallowed a mouthful of spaghetti. He had orange splotches of tomato sauce on both sides of his mouth. "I don't know why it's called Fever Swamp. But I'm sure we'll find out eventually."

"It was probably discovered by a guy named Mr. Fever," Mom joked.

"I want to go home to Vermont!" Emily wailed.

After dinner, I found myself feeling a little homesick, too. I took a tennis ball out to the back of the house. I thought maybe I could bounce it off the wall and catch it the way I had done back home.

But the deer pen was in the way.

I thought about my two best friends back in Burlington, Ben and Adam. We had lived on the same block and used to hang out after dinner. We'd throw a ball around or walk down to the playground and just mess around.

Staring at the deer, who milled silently at one end of the pen, I realized I really missed my friends. I wondered what they were doing right now. Probably hanging out in Ben's back yard.

Feeling glum, I was about to go back inside and see what was on TV — when a hand grabbed me from behind.

The swamp hermit!

He found me!

The swamp hermit found me! And now he's got me!

Those are the thoughts that burst into my mind.

I spun around — and uttered a startled cry when I saw that it wasn't the swamp hermit. It was a boy.

"Hi," he said. "I thought you saw me. I didn't mean to scare you." He had a funny voice, gravelly and hoarse.

"Oh. Uh… that's okay," I stammered.

"I saw you in your yard," he said. "I live over there." He pointed to the house two doors down. "You just moved in?"

I nodded. "Yeah. I'm Grady Tucker." I slapped the tennis ball into my hand. "What's your name?"

"Will. Will Blake," he said in his hoarse voice. He was about my height, but he was heavier, bigger somehow. His shoulders were broader. His neck was thicker. He reminded me of a football lineman.

He had dark brown hair, cut very short. It stood straight up on top, like a flattop, and was swept back on the sides. He wore a blue-and-white-striped T-shirt and denim cutoffs.

"How old are you?" he asked.

"Twelve," I answered.

"Me, too," he told me, glancing over my shoulder at the deer. "I thought maybe you were eleven. I mean, you look kind of young."

I was insulted by that remark, but I decided to ignore it. "How long have you lived here?" I asked, tossing the tennis ball from hand to hand.

"A few months," Will said.

"Are there any other kids our age?" I asked, glancing down the row of six houses.

"Yeah. One," Will replied. "But she's a girl. And she's kind of weird."

In the distance, the sun was lowering itself behind the swamp trees. The sky was a dark scarlet. The air suddenly became cooler. Gazing high in the sky, I could see a pale moon, nearly full.

Will headed over to the deer pen, and I followed him. He walked heavily, his big shoulders bobbing with each step. He poked his hand through the wire mesh and let a deer lick his palm.

"Your father works for the Forest Service, too?" he asked, his eyes studying the deer.

"No," I told him. "My mom and dad are both scientists. They're doing studies with these deer."

"Weird-looking deer," Will said. He pulled his wet hand from the pen and held it up. "Yuck. Deer slime."

I laughed. "They're called swamp deer," I told him. I tossed him the tennis ball. We backed away from the deer pen and started to throw the ball back and forth.

"Have you been in the swamp?" he asked.

I missed the ball and had to chase it across the grass. "Yeah. This afternoon," I told him. "My sister and I, we got lost."

He snickered.

"Do you know why it's called Fever Swamp?" I asked, tossing him a high one.

It was getting pretty dark, harder to see. But he caught the ball one-handed. "Yeah. My dad told me the story," Will said. "I think it was a hundred years ago. Maybe longer. Everyone in town came down with a strange fever."

"Everyone?" I asked.

He nodded. "Everyone who had been in the swamp." He held on to the ball and moved closer. "My dad said the fever lasted for weeks, sometimes even months. And lots of people died from it."

"That's horrible," I murmured, glancing across the back yard to the darkening trees at the swamp edge.

"And those who didn't die from the fever began acting very strange," Will continued. He had small, round eyes. And as he told his story, his eyes gleamed. "They started talking crazy, not making any sense, just saying nonsense words. And they couldn't walk very well. They'd fall down a lot or walk around in circles."