14 - The Werewolf of Fever Swamp Page 3

  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.

  10

  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.

  “What is that?” I whispered. And then, reading her expression, I quickly added, “Don’t say it’s a wolf.”

  “I—I don’t know,” she replied, both hands raised to her face. I recognized her look of panic. “Let’s get Mom and Dad.”

  I grabbed the door handle. “Let’s just take a look,” I said.

  I don’t know where my sudden courage came from. Maybe it was the fever. But, suddenly, I just wanted to solve the mystery.

  Who or what was scratching at the door?

  There was one good way to find out—open the door and look outside.

  “No, Grady—wait!” Emily pleaded.

  But I waved away her protests.

  Then I turned the doorknob and pulled open the kitchen door.

  11

  A gust of hot, wet air rushed in through the open door. The chirp of cicadas greeted my ears.

  Holding on to the door, I peered into the darkness of the back yard.

  Nothing.

  The nearly full moon, yellow as a lemon, floated high in the sky. Thin wisps of black clouds drifted over it.

  The cicadas stopped suddenly, and all was quiet.

  Too quiet.

  I squinted into the distance, toward the blackness of the swamp.

  Nothing moved. Nothing made a sound.

  I waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. The moonlight sent a pale glow over the grass. In the far distance, I could see the black outline of slanting trees where the swamp began.

  Who or what had scratched at the door? Were they hiding in the darkness now?

  Watching me?

  Waiting for me to close the door so they could begin their frightening howls again?

  “Grady—close the door.”

  I could hear my sister’s voice behind me. She sounded so frightened.

  “Grady—do you see something? Do you?”

  “No,” I told her. “Just the moon.”

  I ventured out onto the back stoop. The air was hot and steamy, like the air in the bathroom after you’ve taken a hot shower.

  “Grady—come back. Close the door.” Emily’s voice was shrill and trembly.

  I gazed toward the deer pen. I could see their shadowy forms, still and silent. The hot wind rustled the grass. The cicadas began chirping again.

  “Is anybody out here?” I called. I immediately felt foolish.

  There was no one out here.

  “Grady—shut the door. Now.”

  I felt Emily’s hand on my pajama sleeve. She tugged m
e back into the kitchen. I closed the door and locked it.

  My face felt wet from the damp night air. I had chills. My knees were shaking.

  “You look kind of sick,” Emily said. She glanced over my shoulder to the door. “Did you see anything?”

  “No,” I told her. “Nothing. It’s so dark in back, even with a full moon.”

  “What’s going on in here?” A stern voice interrupted us. Dad lumbered into the kitchen, adjusting the collar of the long nightshirt he always wore. “It’s past midnight.” He glanced from Emily to me, then back to Emily, looking for a clue.

  “We heard noises,” Emily said. “Howls outside.”

  “And then something was scratching on the door,” I added, trying to keep my knees from shaking.

  “Fever dreams,” Dad said to me. “Look at you. You’re red as a tomato. And you’re shaking. Let’s take your temperature. You must be burning up.” He started toward the bathroom to get the thermometer.

  “It wasn’t a dream,” Emily called after him. “I heard the noises, too.”

  Dad stopped in the doorway. “Did you check the deer?”

  “Yeah. They’re okay,” I said.

  “Then maybe it was just the wind. Or some creatures in the swamp. It’s hard to sleep in a new house. The sounds are all so new, so unfamiliar. But you’ll both get used to them after a while.”

  I’ll never get used to those horrible howls, I thought stubbornly. But I headed back to my room.

  Dad took my temperature. It was just slightly above normal. “You should be fine by tomorrow,” he said, smoothing my blanket over me. “No more wandering around tonight, okay?”

  I murmured a reply and almost instantly drifted into a restless sleep.

  Again I had strange, troubling dreams. I dreamed I was walking in the swamp. I heard the howls. I could see the full moon between the slender tree trunks of the swamp.

  I started to run. And then suddenly I was up to my waist in a thick, green bog. And the howls continued, one after the other, echoing through the trees as I sank into the murky bog.

  When I awoke the next morning, the dream lingered in my mind. I wondered if the howls were real, or just part of the dream.

  Climbing out of bed, I realized I felt fine. Yellow morning sunlight poured in through the window. I could see a clear blue sky. The beautiful morning made me forget my nightmares.

  I wondered if Will was around this morning. Maybe he and I could go exploring in the swamp.

  I got dressed quickly, pulling on pale blue jeans and a black-and-silver Raiders T-shirt. (I’m not a Raiders fan. I just like their colors.)

  I gulped down a bowl of Frosted Flakes, allowed my mom to feel my head to make sure my fever was gone, and hurried to the back door.

  “Whoa. Hold on,” Mom called, setting down her coffee cup. “Where are you going so early?”

  “I want to see if Will is home,” I said. “Maybe we’ll hang out or something.”

  “Okay. Just don’t overdo it,” she warned. “Promise?”

  “Yeah. Promise,” I replied.

  I pulled open the kitchen door, stepped out into blinding sunlight—and screamed as an enormous, dark monster leapt onto my chest and heaved me to the ground.

  12

  “It—it’s got me!” I screamed as it pushed me to the ground and jumped on my chest.

  “Help! It—it’s licking my face!”

  I was so startled, it took me a long time to realize my attacker was a dog.

  By the time Mom and Dad came to my rescue and started to pull the big creature off my chest, I was laughing. “Hey—that tickles! Stop!”

  I wiped the dog spit off my face with my hands and scrambled to my feet.

  “Where’d you come from?” Mom asked the dog. She and Dad were holding on to the enormous beast.

  They both let go, and it stood wagging its tail excitedly, panting, its big red tongue hanging down practically to the ground.

  “He’s enormous!” Dad exclaimed. “He must be part shepherd.”

  I was still wiping the sticky saliva off my cheeks.

  “He scared me to death,” I confessed. “Didn’t you, fella?” I reached down and stroked the dark gray fur on the top of his head. His long tail started wagging faster.

  “He likes you,” Mom said.

  “He practically killed me!” I exclaimed. “Look at him. He must weigh more than a hundred pounds!”

  “Were you the one scratching at our door last night?” Emily appeared in the doorway, still in the long T-shirt she used as a nightshirt. “I think this clears up the mystery,” she said to me, yawning sleepily and pulling her blonde hair behind her shoulders with both hands.

  “I guess,” I muttered. I got down on my knees beside the big dog and stroked his back. He turned his head and licked my cheek again. “Yuck! Quit that!” I told him.

  “I wonder who he belongs to?” Mom said, staring at the dog thoughtfully. “Grady, check his collar. There’s probably an ID tag.”

  I reached up to the dog’s broad neck and felt around in his fur for a collar. “Nothing there,” I reported.

  “Maybe he’s a stray,” Emily said from inside the kitchen. “Maybe that’s why he was scratching the door last night.”

  “Yeah,” I said quickly. “He needs a place to live.”

  “Whoa,” Mom said, shaking her head. “I don’t think we need a dog right now, Grady. We just moved in, and—”

  “But I need a pet!” I insisted. “It’s so lonely here. A dog would be great, Mom. He could keep me company.”

  “You have the deer for pets,” Dad said, frowning. He turned to the deer pen. The six deer were all standing alertly at attention, staring warily at the dog.

  “You can’t walk a deer!” I protested. “Besides, you’re going to set the deer free, right?”

  “The dog probably belongs to someone,” Mom said. “You can’t just claim any dog that wanders by. Besides, he’s so big, Grady. He’s too big to—”

  “Aw, let him keep it,” Emily called from the house.

  I stared at her in shock. I couldn’t remember the last time Emily and I had been on the same side of a family argument.

  The discussion continued for several minutes more. Everyone agreed that he seemed like a sweet-tempered, gentle dog despite his huge size. And he certainly was affectionate. I couldn’t make him stop licking me.

  Glancing up, I saw Will come out of his house and head across the back lawns toward us. He was wearing a sleeveless blue T-shirt and blue Lycra bicycle shorts. “Hi! Look what we found!” I called.

  I introduced Will to my mom and dad. Emily had disappeared back to her room to get dressed.

  “Have you seen this dog before?” Dad asked Will. “Does he belong to someone in the neighborhood?”

  Will shook his head. “Nope. Never seen him.” He cautiously petted the dog’s head.

  “Where’d you come from, fella?” I asked, staring into the creature’s eyes. They were blue. Sky-blue.

  “He looks more like a wolf than a dog,” Will said.

  “Yeah. He really does,” I agreed. “Was that you howling like a wolf all last night?” I asked the dog. He tried to lick my nose, but I pulled my face back in time.

  I glanced up at Will. “Did you hear those howls last night? They were really weird.”

  “No. I didn’t hear anything,” Will replied. “I’m a very sound sleeper. My dad comes into my room and shouts through a megaphone to wake me up in the morning. Really!”

  We all laughed.

  “He really does look like a wolf,” Mom commented, staring at the dog’s blue eyes.

  “Wolves are skinnier,” Dad remarked. “Their snouts are narrower. He could be part wolf, I suppose. But it’s not very likely in this geographical area.”

  “Let’s call him Wolf,” I suggested enthusiastically. “It’s the perfect name for him.” I climbed to my feet. “Hi, Wolf,” I called to the dog. “Wolf! Hi, Wolf!”

  His ears perked s
traight up.

  “See? He likes the name!” I exclaimed. “Wolf! Wolf!”

  He barked at me, a single yip.

  “Can I keep him?” I asked.

  Mom and Dad exchanged long glances. “We’ll see,” Mom said.

  That afternoon, Will and I headed to the swamp to do some exploring. My nightmares about the swamp lingered in my mind. But I did my best to force them away.

  It was a blazing hot day. The sun burned down in a clear, cloudless sky. As we crossed my back yard, I hoped it would be cooler in the leafy shade of the swamp.

  I glanced back at Wolf. He was napping in the hot sunlight on his side, his four legs stretched straight out in front of him.

  We had fed him before lunch, some leftover roast beef scraps from our dinner the night before. He gobbled it up hungrily. Then, after slurping up an entire bowl of water, he dropped down in the grass in front of the back stoop to take his nap.

  Will and I followed the dirt path into the slanting trees. Black-and-orange monarch butterflies, four or five of them, fluttered over a bank of tall wildflowers.

  “Hey!” I cried out as my foot sank into a marshy spot in the dirt. When I pulled my sneaker out, it was covered with wet sand.

  “Have you seen the bog?” Will asked. “It’s kind of neat.”

  “Yeah. Let’s go there,” I said enthusiastically. “We can throw sticks in and stuff, and watch them sink.”

  “Do you think any people ever got sunk in the bog?” Will asked thoughtfully. He brushed a mosquito off his broad forehead, then scratched his short, dark brown hair.

  “Maybe,” I replied, following him as he turned off the path and headed through a wide patch of tall reeds. “Do you think it would really suck you down into it, like quicksand?”

  “My dad says there’s no such thing as quicksand,” Will said.

  “I bet there is,” I told him. “I bet people have fallen into the bog accidentally and gotten sucked down. If we brought a fishing rod, we could cast a line in and pull up their bones.”

  “Gross,” he said.

  We were walking over a carpet of dead brown leaves. Our sneakers crunched noisily as we made our way under tangled palm trees toward the bog.