“Yeah, you should do that. My brother and I go into your woods all the time. That’s how we got half our badges.”
“Badges?”
“Yeah. For Boy Scouts. I’m going to be an Eagle Scout in only two years.” He sat up straighter when he said it, like he’d just announced that he’d cured Ebola.
“That’s fantastic,” I said, taking a closer look at him.
When I meet new people, I pretend I’m casting them for a movie. Adam was tough. On one hand, he had nice eyes and teeth. Plus he was tall, like every leading man ever (except for Tom Cruise). But then there was the Boy Scout thing, plus it looked like his mom cut his hair.
“What’s your trespassing badge look like?” I asked, eyeing his jeans. They were way too short. Taylor could tell me if a makeover could save this guy. Unfortunately, she was three hundred miles away.
“Eh, it’s all communal property around here.”
“Remember that when I steal your goat.”
“I don’t have a goat. Just cows and pigs and chickens. What do you think I am, a hick?” He smirked.
I laughed, surprised. This guy was okay. “Well played, my friend.”
Adam flashed his straight white teeth. “Thanks. Well, I gotta go help my dad with some stuff. Nice to meet you.”
“Yeah, you too,” I said as he hit the throttle, taking off down the road. He hit a huge puddle and sprayed muddy water everywhere. Show-off.
Still. I could have a worse neighbor. Even if by “help my dad,” he meant “churn some butter” or “milk the cows.”
I didn’t want to go back to the house. Mom and Dad would be going on and on about their plans to remodel the kitchen. Plans that would make living in Freeburg a permanent condition.
I headed to the backyard. A frayed rope hung from the branch of a giant tree, probably left over from an old tire swing.
As I slipped into the woods, one of my flip-flops sank into goopy, cool mud hidden beneath a layer of dead leaves. I pulled my foot out with a big squishy sound, but the flip-flop stayed behind. Gross. I bent and rescued it from the reddish muck.
At that moment, I almost turned back—nothing about the wet and dark woods was inviting—but it still felt kind of peaceful there, and it was nice to be alone after last night’s Mandatory Family Fun Time.
A bird cawed and then something skittered under the nearby brush. When I pushed my way through some branches, I saw that someone had bulldozed trails. Water pooled in the rutted tracks of the cleared ground.
Now, I know this is going to make me sound super wimpy, but this was my first time in real, honest-to-goodness wild woods. Central Park has woods, but it also has a carousel and carriage rides. And Dad had taken me “hiking” before, but those trails were made of concrete and had guardrails. Nothing like this.
Picking my way down the trail, I checked out the scenery. Maybe someone more nature-savvy could have identified the trees and bushes, but to me it was all: tall tree, short tree, scruffy bush, scruffier bush, repeat. The ground was littered with those gumball things—you know, those spiny little balls with stems sticking out of them—but I didn’t know what kind of tree they’d fallen from. Stubby purple flowers poked up from the dirt, but I had no clue what they were. Ditto the waxy plants shaped like umbrellas. Umbrella plants?
Maybe I’d ask Adam to give me a tour. As a Boy Scout, wasn’t it his job to know what plants you could eat and what could kill you? Also, we were neighbors now. He was supposed to be hospitable.
As I got deeper into the woods, I realized it had become quiet. It was a weird sound. Or non-sound, I guess.
In the city, there was always noise, no matter where I went. If I stopped on the sidewalk, closed my eyes, and just listened, I’d hear taxi horns and voices and footsteps (plus someone would shove me and scream at me to get out of the way).
Standing in this silence made my skin crawl. It was weird to know I was the only person around. And even weirder to know these woods belonged to my family.
Continuing through the trees, I tilted my head back, taking in limbs so thick I could barely see through to the sky. Water burbled somewhere. A creek? That would be cool. Especially if there was a rock to lie out on, someplace quiet where I could work on my first real screenplay.
I fought past branches and brush toward the water, almost face-planting when I tripped on a root sticking up from the ground. Flip-flops had been a dumb idea.
Eventually, I saw the lip of a wide creek. I climbed down a steep, short hill to the water’s edge, slipping a couple of times on the way.
“Wow!” I said aloud when I got to the bottom, my voice echoing.
It was really pretty down there. The creek’s current was fast, racing over rocks and splashing against fallen limbs. About twenty feet farther down, there was a pile of tree branches and leaves in the middle of the creek. It looked like beavers had been building a dam. Water ran around it in deep currents, making a sucking sound.
I wished Casey and Taylor were here. We could hang out with lawn chairs and books, Casey sitting under a huge hat, slathered with SPF150 to protect her fair skin, and Taylor in baby oil to bring out her tan.
I picked up a rock and tried to skim it across the water’s surface. It sank.
Suddenly, the hairs stood up on the back of my neck, and even though it made no sense at all, I had this crazy idea that someone was watching me. I could imagine exactly how I’d look as a camera captured my stalker’s point of view—stepping hesitantly, slow. Vulnerable. Maybe seen in a flash frame, to show the stalker close … then closer … closer….
I tried to shake off the feeling, but my heart drummed against my chest like my body was trying to warn my mind.
Even though I felt paranoid for doing it, I swiveled my head around, making sure everything was in order. You know, no one-eyed fisherman clutching an ax and giggling crazily behind a tree.
Nothing. The water kept burbling lazily in the creek and, far away, a bird called out. Through the gaps above in the trees, the clouds in the bright blue sky looked like cotton candy. In every way, it seemed like a beautiful day for a walk in the woods.
So how come the feeling was still there?
I decided to go back to the house. In movies, when people go against their gut instinct, they end up biting it. I started to climb up the bank, using a root sticking out of the ground as leverage. It was hard going because my hands were shaking and my legs felt weak.
Water splashed in the creek. I froze, one hand grasping a root and the other gripping a handful of gritty mud. What was that? A beaver? A deer? Or—
Someone—or something—moaned. The sound came from near the beaver dam.
I reached for another root, but it snapped off in my hand. With a lurch, I grabbed for another one. Scrambling, not even caring about the mud that was getting all over my clothes, I crawled to the top of the hill.
Stealing a look over my shoulder, I saw bubbles rippling the water, and a huge dark form moving below the surface.
Maybe it’s a turtle, I thought. But turtles don’t thrash around like that, and they aren’t six feet long.
All at once, the thing shot out of the water with a huge splash, like someone coming up after a dive. I screamed and fell backward, landing hard on my butt and rattling my teeth.
The creature had two arms and two legs like a person, but everything else was just … wrong. Fishlike. Water dripped from its scaly body, which shimmered in the sunlight. The creature lifted its green face, its flat nose quivering like it was smelling something.
It locked eyes with me. For what felt like forever, we were frozen, staring at each other. My heart hammered so loudly I was sure the creature could hear it.
What was this thing? It looked like the supernatural villain in a blockbuster film, but there was no mask, no zipper up the front of its body, no campy sound effects.
Meaning, it looked completely real. And this wasn’t a movie. So, based on logic …
It opened its mouth, displaying sh
arp, triangular black teeth and a dark purple tongue.“Don’t come any closer!” I croaked.
Run! It was the first rule of monster movies. Run. Don’t try to get a better look. But I was rooted to the spot. Monster bait.
The creature shook its head. It didn’t have ears—just dark holes where each ear should have been.
I glared at it, trying to hide how scared I was. “What do you want?”
The creature licked its rubbery lips. When it spoke, its voice was a loud rasp. “Brains.”
SCENE TWO:
THE EFFECTS OF MONSTER SPOTTING
I shot out of the woods faster than an Olympic sprinter. I even cleared a fallen tree. Toes pointed and everything.
It’s true what they say: fear can make you move your butt. As I raced across the backyard, I barely felt my chest burning and my legs aching.
I clattered onto the back deck and locked the black latch on the wooden gate behind me, grimacing at myself. Stupid people in horror movies always do that—lock the door. Like that helps when the killer’s got a chainsaw. Or teeth as sharp as razors. I slid open the glass doors and fell into the living room, gasping for air.
Sinking to the floor, I twisted to peer outside.
There was nothing in the backyard. Just shaggy grass dotted with dandelions. The tire-swing rope swayed lazily in the breeze.
Did I imagine the creature?
No. No way. I saw what I saw.
Music blared, and I jumped. Now, I know this is wrong on so many levels, but Mom loves classic Britney Spears. And right then, “Toxic” was turned up so loud I could barely register the blood churning through my ears.
I wrapped my arms around my knees and rocked back and forth, squeezing my fists to stop my hands from shaking. My nails bit into my palms.
I willed myself to calm down. I didn’t want Mom or Dad to find me like this. I’d have to explain why I looked like I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
Footsteps stomped up the basement stairs and Dad emerged through the doorway. He carried a long piece of wood. “Look what I found in the basement!”
“What is it?” I asked through the marbles in my mouth.
“A headboard! Looks like maple. And check out that craftsmanship.” He set the board down to rub his hand over the flowers carved into it. “You want it for your room?”
I shook my head. I couldn’t think about decorating at a time like this.
“You’re quiet.” Dad set the headboard against the wall and moved toward me. “Honey? You okay? You’re muddy. And what’s on your forehead?” I put my hand there. When I pulled it back, my fingers were red.
“What happened?” Dad asked sharply. It was the same tone he used that one time Haylie ate a crayon and we took her to the ER.
“Nothing. I just … fell.”
I hadn’t meant to lie. I just did. Who would have believed the truth? Not my dad, the rational, level-headed, sane doctor.
Sane. That was the operative word here.
I shook my head again to clear it. Maybe I’d gotten heatstroke? Or had a seizure?
Mom came out of the kitchen, drying a plate with a dish towel. There was a dust smudge on her face. “Everything okay in here?” She frowned when she saw my forehead. “Aww, you poor kid. Who won? You or the tree?”
“I’m okay,” I mumbled. “Just a little dizzy.”
“You’re a little pale, too. Ben? Is she dehydrated?”
“Maybe so.” Dad hurrried to the kitchen sink and filled a glass. He raised it to my lips. “Drink,” he commanded.
I wrapped my hands around the glass and tilted it up. I didn’t realize how thirsty I was until the metallic-tasting water filled my mouth. My tongue was so dry it felt fuzzy, and my lips were cracked. The water was gone in ten seconds.
“Thanks,” I wheezed, wiping my mouth.
Mom and Dad were still staring at me, their faces etched with worry.
“Better?” Mom asked, and I nodded.
Dad put his hand on my back and steered me to the bathroom. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up and avoid an infection.”
I perched on the counter, eyes fixed on the bathroom floor. It was made of hundreds of beige tiles, some cracked. Most were cracked, actually. When I looked to my right, I noticed a strip of faded red rose wallpaper sticking up and had to resist the urge to pick at it.
Dad hunted in a box under the sink. “Aha! Here it is!” Gently, he cleaned the cut on my forehead with a cotton ball and some peroxide, which stung. It reminded me of when he cleaned up the cuts and scrapes I got on the playground when I was little. I was always hurting myself.
Haylie appeared in the bathroom with her stuffed squirrel, Sammy. That thing looks like a piece of real roadkill since Haylie had used it for teething.
“What happened, Lissy?”
“Nothing,” I said. “I’m fine, Hails.”
“There.” Dad stepped back so I could hop off the counter. “All fixed.”
I touched the bandage. “Aww, that’s too bad. I wanted a lightning-shaped scar like Harry Potter’s.”
“Maybe next time, kiddo.”
I spent the rest of the day unpacking, dusting, and listening to Mom and Dad discuss color schemes and the pros and cons of knocking down the wall between the dining area and the living room. It was crazy boring, but at least it distracted me from that thing camped out in our creek.
Monster. That’s what it was. I almost couldn’t say the word, even in my head. Monsters only exist in movies and comic books.
And in crazy people’s heads.
When there was a break in the manual labor, I escaped to my room and called Taylor.
“Lissa!” she screeched. Taylor doesn’t say hello like normal people. “How’s the country? Are you wearing overalls?”
“Is that an insult?”
“Why would that be an insult?”
“Because you would never wear overalls.” Taylor doesn’t wear much that isn’t designer or “shabby chic,” which means it’s expensive but looks like garbage.
“That’s only because they’d look weird on me. They’d look adorable on you.”
“Especially if they have little sunflowers sewn onto them.”
“Yes! On the butt. And then you could have those little loop thingies to keep your hammers and other tools handy.”
“Hammers and other tools?” I rolled over to glance in my dresser mirror. I was a mess. Well, at least there was no one here to see me. “I guess as long as I’m living here, I could learn a trade. Like carpentry, or something.”
“That’s the spirit!” Taylor’s voice lowered. “A trade, and fresh air and nature!”
I sucked in my breath. I couldn’t tell her, could I? If our situations were switched, I wouldn’t believe her. No one believes in monsters. And I couldn’t prove what I saw by showing her, since she wasn’t here.
“We have wasps, too,” I said instead. “Dad found them living in the rafters above our porch. So now he has to drive thirty minutes away to Home Depot to buy special wasp-killing spray.”
“The country sounds exciting. I’ve never owned a real wasp’s nest. Oh, hey.” There was rustling on Taylor’s end of the line. “I gotta go. Meeting Ian.”
I picked at the fluff on my bedspread. “For the play?” Taylor had the lead.
“Yeah, we’re running lines. I have lines, which you wrote. And they’re fah-bulous!” Taylor said the last word in a British accent.
“Okay, then. I’ll be here. Suffering.”
After she hung up, I sighed. I hated that I couldn’t tell her what had happened. Just another way I felt disconnected from her and Casey.
And I needed their help. Assuming what I saw was real—and it really seemed like it was—I didn’t like the idea of a swamp creature trolling around our creek when Haylie was outside playing. Plus, I didn’t like not knowing exactly what that thing was. It wanted “brains.” According to every B-movie I’d ever seen, swamp creatures are never after brains. So what was I dea
ling with?
Then I thought of Adam. He’d trespassed in our woods. Maybe if I hinted at what I’d seen, he’d confess to seeing it, too. Seemed like a solid plan to me.
After a dinner of slightly burned pork chops and instant mashed potatoes, I went to find him. Country music twanged as I climbed the stairs to Adam’s house. A fat brown dog lay on its side on the porch, sleeping. When I rang the doorbell, the dog grumbled without opening its eyes.
Adam’s brother opened the door. Or at least I assumed he was Adam’s brother and not his dad, since he was wearing a shirt that said THE VOICES TOLD ME TO.
“I know you,” he said, smiling. He had blue eyes and pale skin, just like Adam. “You’re the new neighbor kid.”
I arched my eyebrows at him. If what Mom said was true, he was only three years older than me. “Yeah, Lissa Black. Is Adam around?”
The guy leaned against the doorframe, his messy brown hair almost grazing the top of it. “Adam!” he screamed. “Lissa Black is here!”
“Thanks.” I rolled my eyes.
“Here to serve.” He opened the door wider. “Come in if you want. I’m Charlie, by the way. But you can call me Chuck. Like woodchuck. Or upchuck.”
“Upchuck?”
“Yeah, you know, like vomit,” he said as I walked into the front hall. Muddy work boots were jumbled together under a coatrack crammed with flannel jackets.
Adam appeared from a side room. “Hey! Lissa, what are you doing here?”
“Oh, I just thought maybe we could hang out.” I ignored the smirk that spread across Upchuck’s face. Seriously, dude. Go groom a horse or something.
“Sure. Want a fudge pop? We could sit on the porch.”
“Sounds good.” I waited while Adam ran to the kitchen. When he came back, he shoved the popsicle in my hand. “Here.”
“Thanks.” I followed him outside, tearing the white paper open. Chocolate smeared on my hand and I licked it off. Then I noticed Adam watching me.
“What? Feeding myself is hard.” I took a bite. It tasted like an off-brand, but it was still good.
We sat on the porch steps, blinking in the glare of the setting sun. It was a mosaic of fiery pinks and oranges, and looked like something out of a painting.
Monsterville Page 2