Edward Lee: Monster Lake

“Why don’t we sneak down there?” Patricia said.

“We can’t!” Terri exclaimed. “We’re not allowed. If I took you down there without my Mom’s permission, I’d get into all kinds of trouble!”

Patricia grinned like a cunning cat. “They’ll never know,” she said. “We’ll go in the morning, when your Uncle Chuck is taking your Mom to work.”

Terri thought about it.

We really shouldn’t, she thought.

But—

“Okay,” she said. “That’s just what we’ll do.”

««—»»

The best thing about summer vacation was that she could stay up a little later and watch TV. Terri preferred the Disney Channel and the National Geographic shows about nature and wildlife and animals in other countries, and, of course, The Simpsons. But tonight, she found it hard to pay attention to her favorite shows. Her mind felt like it was somewhere else, and she thought she knew why…

Patricia had been right. Terri’s mother and Uncle Chuck were acting weird. Those strange, foreboding glances they’d exchanged, Uncle Chuck’s lie about snakes, and then the entire business with the boathouse. Terri supposed she’d known something was wrong all along, but she’d never wanted to admit it to herself. It was hard enough that her father and mother were divorced, and that she hadn’t seen her father for so long—plus her fear that she’d never see him again. Sometimes, when things were too hard to cope with, people would overlook the obvious. There were a lot of strange things going on recently; Terri was surprised that it took her this long to realize it.

“Terri?” Uncle Chuck stuck his head in the rec room, where Terri lay on the floor before the TV. He was still wearing the same clothes he wore when he’d brought Terri’s mother home from work, and he gripped one of the big black briefcases.

“Bedtime,” he said.

Generally, Terri would’ve complained a little, but tonight she was unusually tired. She straggled up to her feet, and then noticed with some surprise that it was past eleven o’clock.

“Has Mom already gone to bed?” she inquired.

“Not yet,” Uncle Chuck answered. He looked tired too, droopy. “She’s still working in her office.”

Her office, Terri thought to herself. You mean the boathouse…

And whenever she thought of the boathouse, she remembered the rooms in it that her mother and father had forbidden her to ever enter.

“But she’ll be up soon,” Uncle Chuck continued. “Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight,” Terri said.

Uncle Chuck, still toting his briefcase, disappeared down the hall. Terri retreated to her own room, and put on her favorite soft-pink nightgown. Then she climbed into bed, lay back in the pillows, and—

—listened.

She almost always kept her bedroom window open during the summer; summer nights in Devonsville were breezy and cool, unlike the summer days. It was nice to listen to the crickets peep at night, a steady, gentle throbbing sound that always lulled her to sleep. But tonight she felt fidgety and restless. And the nightsounds coming in through the window sounded…different.

But how so?

They sounded louder and faster. They sounded, somehow…

Menacing.

But why should she think that?

They’re just crickets and little tree frogs, she realized.

She was being silly, she knew.

Her hand reached up then, paused, and turned off the light.

Darkness jumped into the room, and the nightsounds seemed to grow even louder and more etchy. She’d never been afraid of the dark before, not even when she was little. Only babies are scared of the dark, she told herself. Unless—

Unless…what?

Unless there’s really something in the dark to be afraid of, Terri thought.

She drifted in and out of sleep, tossing and turning. Every so often she’d wake up and, for some reason, look at her bedroom window, which was full of moonlight. The nightsounds throbbed on without letting up.

She tried to think about fun things. Like about when school started up again next month, about her lessons, and about boys. She hoped Matt Slattery didn’t have a girlfriend by then, and Marty Cadeaux too, even though he was kind of fat. In three or four years, she’d be old enough to go on real dates, and that would be fun…

But the more she tried to think of these things, the more she realized she was forcing herself to do so.

And the more she realized—

She was scared.

But of what, she couldn’t guess.

And that’s when she heard the sound.

Not the typical nightsounds. Not the crickets and peepers and the owls hooting.

This sound was different.

It was coming from her open window, and as she lay wide-eyed in the dark, she eventually figured out just exactly what the sound was:

Footsteps.

««—»»

Footsteps! Terri thought.

And right outside!

At first, she wanted to call out, but then she thought, Don’t be a baby, Terri. Maybe you just dreamed the sound.

But still…

She had to know.

Very slowly, then, she slid out from underneath the sheets and climbed out of bed. The only light was moonlight streaming in from the window, and the window was several yards away. Her bare feet padded across the carpet, through the dark. When she reached the window, she went down onto her knees. Her hands reached out. Her fingers gripped the sill. Then, very slowly, she inched her face toward the window screen, and looked out…

At first, she didn’t see much. Just the back yard, and the dark splotches that were the tall trees where the woods began. Between some of the trees she saw weird green dots that seemed to be glowing… Fireflies, she realized. Lightning bugs.

Then, as her eyes grew accustomed to the dark, she noticed—

Jeeze!

Strange shapes seemed to be jerking about in the back yard. She knew at once that they were toads, hopping around, looking for bugs. But—

They’re huge, she saw.

Her eyes must be playing tricks on her. She’d seen lots of big toads and frogs in the yard before, but never this big!

They were as big as puppies!

Then—

From the bushes, a baby rabbit hopped into the yard, then stopped to nibble some grass. Its ears poked up, its little nose twitched. But Terri’s breath caught in her chest, and she nearly squealed out loud when she saw what happened next.

One of the huge toads hopped toward the rabbit, seeming to move with astonishing quickness, its heavy rear legs flexing mightily with each hop. Terri knew that toads didn’t eat rabbits, not even big ones like this—toads only ate small insects, like flies and moths and beetles. But what frightened her was this:

In the streaming moonlight, the toad’s wide jaw snapped open, and sparkling inside its mouth were two rows of sharp, pointed teeth!

It’s going to eat the rabbit! Terri’s thoughts screamed in her head.

The hideous toad leapt forward several more times, its razor-toothed jaw opening wider. Each leap seemed a yard long—

Oh, no! Terri thought in sheer dread.

But just as the toad would pounce on its unsuspecting prey, the baby rabbit finally took notice, its head jerking aside, and it scampered safely away just in the nick of time.

Terri sighed in relief. It would have been horrible to have to watch that toad eat the rabbit. But then she stopped to think—

None of it made sense, it was impossible. One thing she was sure of: toads, no matter how big they were, didn’t eat animals and they didn’t have long, sharp, pointed teeth!

Am I dreaming? she considered again. She must be, to have witnessed such a thing. Outside, everything looked unreal, the grass like spikes of ice in the moonlight, the blinking green swirls of the fireflies, the cramped shadows between the trees, not to mention the monstrously large toads. But then she remembered the reason she’d gone to look out the window in the first place.