R. Stine: The Werewolf of Fever Swamp

"Weird," I said, my eyes still trained on the swamp. The sky darkened from scarlet to a deep purple. The nearly full moon seemed to glow brighter.

"Ever since that time, they called it Fever Swamp," Will said, finishing his story. He flipped the tennis ball to me. "I'd better get home."

"Did you ever see the swamp hermit?" I asked.

He shook his head. "No. I heard about him, but I've never seen him."

"I did," I told him. "My sister and I saw him this afternoon. We found his hut."

"That's cool!" Will exclaimed. "Did you talk to him or anything?"

"No way," I replied. "He chased us."

"He did?" Will's expression turned thoughtful. "Why?"

"I don't know. We were pretty scared," I admitted.

"I've got to go," Will said. He started jogging toward his house. "Hey, maybe you and I can go exploring in the swamp together," he called back.

"Yeah. Great!" I replied.

I felt a little cheered up. I'd made a new friend. Maybe it won't be so bad living here, I thought.

I watched Will head around the side of his house two doors down. His house looked almost identical to ours, except there was no deer pen in back, of course.

I saw a swing set with a small slide and seesaw in his back yard. I wondered if he had a little brother or sister.

I thought about Emily as I headed to the house. I knew she'd be jealous that I'd made a friend. Poor Emily was really sad without that goon Martin hanging around her.

I never liked Martin. He always called me "Kiddo."

I watched one of the deer lower itself to the ground, folding its legs gracefully. Another deer did the same. They were settling in for the night.

I made my way inside and joined my family in the living room. They were watching a show about sharks on the Discovery Channel. My parents love the Discovery Channel. Big surprise, huh?

I watched for a short while. Then I began to realize I wasn't feeling very well. I had a headache, a sharp throbbing at my temples. And I had chills.

I told Mom. She got up and walked over to my chair. "You look a little flushed," she said, studying me with concern. She placed a cool hand on my forehead and left it there for a few seconds.

"Grady, I think you have a little fever," she said.

A few nights later, I heard the strange, frightening howls for the first time.

My fever had gone up to 101 degrees and stayed there for a day. Then it went away. Then it came back.

"It's the swamp fever!" I told my parents earlier that night. "Pretty soon I'm going to start acting crazy."

"You already act crazy," Mom teased. She handed me a glass of orange juice. "Drink. Keep drinking."

"Drinking won't help swamp fever," I insisted glumly, taking the glass anyway. "There's no cure for it."

Mom tsk-tsked. Dad continued to read his science magazine.

I had strange dreams that night, disturbing dreams. I was back in Vermont, running through the snow. Something was chasing me. I thought maybe it was the swamp hermit. I kept running and running. I was very cold. I was shivering in the dream.

I turned back to see who was chasing me. There wasn't anyone there. And suddenly, I was in the swamp. I was sinking in a peat bog. It gurgled all around me, green and thick, making these sick sucking sounds.

It was sucking me down. Down…

The howls woke me up.

I sat straight up in my bed and stared out the window at the nearly full moon. It floated right beyond the window, silvery and bright against the blue-black sky.

Another long howl rose on the night air.

I realized I was shaking all over. I was sweating. My pajama shirt stuck to my back.

Gripping the covers with both hands, I listened hard.

Another howl. The cry of an animal.

From the swamp?

The cries sounded so close. Right outside the window. Long, angry howls.

I shoved down the covers and lowered my feet to the floor. I was still trembling, and my head throbbed as I stood up. I guessed I still had a fever.

Another long howl.

I made my way to the hall on shaky legs. I had to find out if my parents had heard the howls, too.

Walking through the darkness, I bumped into a low table in the hall. I still wasn't used to this new house.

My feet were cold as ice, but my head felt burning hot, as if it were on fire. Rubbing the knee I had banged, I waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Then I continued down the hall.

My parents' room was just past the kitchen in the back of the house. I was halfway across the kitchen when I stopped short.

What was that sound?

A scratching sound.

My breath caught in my throat. I froze, my arms stiff at my sides.

I listened.

There it was again.

Over the pounding of my heart, I heard it.

Scratch scratch scratch.

Someone — or something — scratching at the kitchen door.

Then — another howl. So close. So terrifyingly close.

Scratch scratch scratch.

What could it be? Some kind of animal? Just outside the house?

Some kind of swamp animal howling and scratching at the door?

I realized I'd been holding my breath a long while, I let it out in a whoosh, then sucked in another breath.

I listened hard, straining to hear over the pounding of my heart.

The refrigerator clicked on. The loud click nearly made me jump out of my skin. I grabbed the countertop. My hands were as cold as my feet, cold and clammy.

I listened.

Scratch scratch scratch,

I took a step toward the kitchen door.

One step, then I stopped.

A shudder of fear ran down my back.

I realized I wasn't alone.

Someone was there, breathing beside me in the dark kitchen.

I gasped. I was gripping the countertop so hard, my hand ached.

"Wh-who's there?" I whispered.

The kitchen light flashed on.

"Emily!" I practically shouted her name, in surprise and relief. "Emily — "

"Did you hear the howls?" she asked, speaking just above a whisper. Her blue eyes burned into mine.

"Yes. They woke me up," I said. "They sound so angry."

"Like a cry of attack," Emily whispered. "Why do you look so weird, Grady?"

"Huh?" Her question caught me off guard.

"Your face is all red," she said. "And look at you — you're all shaky."

"I think my fever is back," I told her.

"Swamp fever," she murmured, examining me with her eyes. "Maybe it's the swamp fever you were telling me about."

I turned to the kitchen door, "Did you hear the scratching sounds?" I asked. "Something was scratching on the back door."

"Yes," she whispered. She stared at the door.

We both listened.

Silence.

"Do you think one of the deer escaped?" she asked, taking a few steps toward the door, her arms crossed in front of her pink-and-white robe.

"Do you think a deer would scratch at the door?" I asked.

It was such a silly question, we both burst out laughing.

"Maybe it wanted a glass of water!" Emily exclaimed, and we both laughed some more. Giddy laughter. Nervous laughter.

We both cut our laughter short at the same time, and listened.

Another howl rose up outside like a police siren.

I saw Emily's eyes narrow in fear. "It's a wolf!" she cried in a hushed whisper. She raised a hand to her mouth. "Only a wolf makes a sound like that, Grady."

"Emily, come on — " I started to protest.

"No. I'm right," she insisted. "It's a wolf howl."

"Em, stop," I said, sinking onto a kitchen stool. "There are no wolves in the Florida swamps. You can look in the guidebooks. Or better yet, ask Mom and Dad. Wolves don't live in swamps."

She started to argue, but a scratching at the door made her stop.

Scratch scratch scratch.

We both heard it. We both reacted with sharp gasps.