R. Stine: The Werewolf of Fever Swamp

Footsteps.

"Who — who is it?" I cried. My voice came out in a choked whisper.

Keeping against the wall, I made my way slowly toward the living room. "Who's there?" I shouted.

Mom and Dad and Emily met me in the dark hallway. Even in the darkness I could see the fear and confusion on their faces.

I was the first to the living room. Pale yellow light from the full moon washed across the room. "Hey!" I called out.

Wolf leaped against the big front window. His shoulders made a loud thud against the glass.

"Wolf — stop!" I cried.

In the pale light, I saw what had caused the loud crash. Wolf had knocked over the table and a lamp that had stood in front of the window.

"He — he's trying to get outside," I stammered.

I felt Dad's hand on the shoulder of my pajama shirt. "What a mess he's made," he murmured.

"Wolf — stop!" I called again.

The big dog turned, breathing hard. His eyes glowed red in the moonlight through the window.

"Why is he so desperate to get out?" Emily demanded.

"We can't have him in the house if he does this every night," Mom said, her voice hoarse from sleep.

The big dog lowered his head and let out an excited growl. His tail stood straight up behind him.

"Open the front door. Let him out," Mom said. "Before he wrecks the whole house."

Dad hurried across the room and pulled open the door. Wolf didn't hesitate for a second. He bounded to the door and burst out.

I ran to the window to watch him. But the big dog disappeared around the side of the house, running toward the back yard.

"He's heading to the swamp," I guessed.

"He tried to break right through the window," Mom said.

Emily clicked on a lamp. "He's so strong, he probably could have broken the window," she said quietly.

Dad closed the front door. He yawned. Then he turned his gaze on me. "You know what this means, don't you, Grady?"

I was still staring out at the full moon. "No. What?"

"Wolf will have to stay outdoors from now on," Dad said. He stooped and began picking up pieces of the broken lamp.

"But, Dad — " I started to protest.

"He's too big and too restless to stay in the house," Dad continued. He handed the lamp pieces to Emily. Then he pulled the table rightside up and returned it to its place in front of the window.

"Wolf didn't mean to break the lamp," I argued weakly.

"He'll break everything we have," Mom said quietly.

"He's just too big," Dad added. "He'll have to stay outside, Grady."

"Why did he want out so desperately?" Emily demanded.

"He's probably used to being outside," Dad told her. "He'll be happier out there," he said, turning to me.

"Yeah. Maybe," I replied glumly. I liked having Wolf sleep beside me in my bedroom. But I knew there was no way I could convince my parents to give the dog a second chance. Their minds were made up.

And at least they were letting me keep Wolf.

I pulled the vacuum cleaner out of the closet and plugged it in. Dad took the nozzle and began vacuuming up the tiny pieces of glass from the carpet.

That crazy dog, I thought, shaking my head unhappily. What is his problem, anyway?

When Dad finished, I carried the vacuum cleaner back to the closet.

"Now maybe we can all sleep in peace," Mom said, yawning.

She was wrong.

I heard the frightening howls again a short while later.

At first I thought I was dreaming them.

But when I opened my eyes and gazed around my dark bedroom, the howls continued. Still half asleep, I gripped the covers with both hands and pulled them up to my chin.

The howls sounded so close, as if they were right outside my window. They didn't seem like the cries of an animal. They were too angry, too deliberate.

Too human.

Stop trying to frighten yourself, I thought. It's a wolf. It has to be some kind of swamp wolf.

In the back of my mind, I knew it might be Wolf making those frightening sounds. But I kept pushing the thought away.

Why would the dog howl like that?

Dogs bark. They don't howl unless they're very sad or upset.

I shut my eyes, wishing the frightening wails away.

Suddenly, they stopped. Silence.

Then I heard rapid thumps on the ground. Footsteps.

Some kind of a struggle.

I heard a short, terrifying cry. It cut off almost as soon as it began.

It's right in back of the house, I realized.

Wide awake now, I jumped out of bed, dragging the covers with me. I stumbled to the bedroom window and grabbed the windowsill.

The full moon had risen high in the night sky. The back yard stretched out silvery in the moonlight, the dewy grass shimmering in the bright light.

Pressing my forehead against the windowpane, I peered out toward the dark swamp. I uttered a near-silent gasp when I saw the shadowy creature running toward the trees.

A large creature, running on all fours.

It was only a black outline fading into the darkness. But I could see how big it was, and I could see how fast it was running.

And I heard its howls. Triumphant howls, I thought.

Is it Wolf? I wondered. I peered out the window without moving, even though the darkness had swallowed the creature up. I could see only the outline of distant trees.

But I could still hear the howls rising and falling on the heavy night air.

Is it Wolf?

It can't be Wolf — can it?

I lowered my gaze. My breath caught in my throat. I saw something. In the middle of the backyard. A few feet from the deer pen.

At first I thought it was a pile of rags.

My hands trembled as I pulled open my window.

I had to get a better look. I had to see what that was in the back yard.

I pulled up my pajama bottoms. Then, gripping the windowsill, I lowered myself out the window onto the grass.

The wet grass felt cold under my bare feet. I turned to the deer pen. The six swamp deer were standing tensely, huddled together against the house. Their dark eyes followed me as I began to creep across the grass.

What is that thing? I wondered, staring into the silvery light.

Is it just a pile of old rags?

No.

What is it?

My bare feet felt cold and wet as I made my way slowly across the dew-covered grass. The night air was heavy and still, still as death.

When I came close enough to see what was lying in a heap on the grass, I uttered a faint cry and started to gag.

I pressed a hand against my mouth and swallowed hard.

I realized I was staring down at a rabbit. Its small, black eyes were frozen open in terror. One of its ears had been pulled off.

The rabbit had been ripped open, nearly torn in half.

I forced myself to look away.

My stomach still heaving, I hurried back over the wet grass to my open window and scrambled back in.

As I struggled to pull the window shut, the howls rang out again, rising triumphantly from the nearby swamp.

After breakfast the next morning, I led Dad out to the back yard to show him the murdered rabbit. It was a bright, hot day, and a red sun climbed a pale, clear sky.

As soon as we stepped off the back stoop, Wolf appeared from around the side of his house. His tail began wagging furiously. He came running excitedly to greet me, as if he hadn't seen me in years, leaping onto my chest, nearly knocking me over.

"Down, Wolf! Down!" I cried, laughing as the dog stretched to lick my face.

"Your dog is a killer," a voice said behind me. I turned to see that Emily had followed us. She was wearing a red T-shirt over white tennis shorts. She had her arms crossed in front of her, and she was glaring disapprovingly at Wolf. "Look what he did to that poor bunny rabbit," she said, shaking her head.

"Whoa. Hold on," I replied, petting Wolf's gray fur. "Who said Wolf did this?"