I missed New York’s art museums already, even if I hardly ever visited them. It was nice to have the option.
“So.” I tried to sound casual. “Have you been in my woods lately?”
Adam scratched at a mosquito bite on his elbow. “Not since the real estate guys told us it was yours now. Promise.”
I waved my fudge pop. “Oh, trespass all you want. I don’t care. I was just wondering when you’d been there last. Especially the creek.”
Adam smiled. “Your aunt was so cool. She gave us free run of the place. Charlie and I used to catch tadpoles there. And soft-shelled turtles, but those don’t come out often. They’re shy.”
He hadn’t taken the bait. He didn’t seem to know about anything weird in the creek. And he seemed too—I don’t know—open, to lie. I nodded, sticking my fudge pop back in my mouth so I wouldn’t have to say anything right away.
Then it hit me. I didn’t have to ask him to go monster hunting.
“So,” I said, feeling sneaky and underhanded but at the same time really proud of myself for being so smart. “Want to help me find some turtles tomorrow morning?”
SCENE THREE:
RETURN TO THE WOODS
I have to break the fourth wall here, which is normally a lazy way to convey information in a movie—have the main character speak right to the audience.
But it’s worth it to acknowledge, honestly, that I know what you’re thinking: I was wrong for not fessing up to the real reason I was asking Adam to come with me into the woods. He was all excited, thinking he’d met a new friend, and here I was, leading him to certain death.
No wonder country people don’t trust city folk.
But I’d already justified everything to myself: If the monster was a hallucination due to a tiny brain tumor missed during my last checkup, no harm, no foul. We’d go into the woods, splash around looking for turtles and tadpoles and whatever, and Adam would be none the wiser.
And if there really was a swamp creature, it wasn’t like I’d stay and prance around, picking berries and smelling flowers. I’d be on alert for any sound or sight out of the ordinary, ready to vamoose and take Adam with me.
Finally, when it came down to it, Adam could kick a swamp creature’s butt. The kid’s built like an ox.
As any good Boy Scout, Adam showed up right on time the next morning, holding a bottle of water in each hand. I was still chewing my Cinnamon Toast Crunch when the doorbell rang. Even though I knew it was Adam, I looked through the peephole out of habit. It had the same view as looking through a fish-eye lens—Adam’s head looked huge compared to the rest of his body. It was like a shot out of a Hitchcock movie.
I swung the door open. “Whoa, is that a fanny pack?” I pointed to the green pouch strapped around Adam’s waist.
He held out a bottle of water. “Of course not. It’s a waist pack.”
“Huh.” It looked exactly like the fanny pack Mom wore to Six Flags last year. “How is a waist pack different from a fanny pack?”
“A waist pack is a specially designed piece of survival equipment,” Adam said. “It’s fireproof, and waterproof, and it can hold up to fifteen pounds of supplies.” He uncapped his water and took a huge swig.
“I see.” I wondered why fifteen pounds of supplies were necessary to splash around in a creek looking for turtles.
“Let’s get a move on.” Adam turned and walked around the side of our house. I followed, noticing that he wore galoshes—big yellow boots that squeaked with every step. I had to bite my lip not to comment on them.
The woods were totally Disneyfied. Yellow sunlight streamed through the trees, and birds chirped happily. I half-expected Thumper, the rabbit from Bambi, to come hopping through the leaves to hug my leg while bluebirds placed a garland of wildflowers around my neck.
Adam grabbed a big knobby stick from the ground. “You should pick out a walking stick, too,” he said, waving his around. “They’re good for swiping away spiderwebs and pushing back branches.”
I scanned the ground but couldn’t find anything long enough or strong enough to pass for a walking stick.
Adam held his out. “Here.”
“Aww, you’re being chivalrous. How adorable.”
He grinned. “I handed you a big old stick. If you think that’s chivalrous, you must have really low expectations.”
I shrugged. “Then I’m never disappointed.” Like I knew anything about chivalry. Guys never paid attention to me, mainly because I was always with Taylor.
“How are you liking Freeburg?” Adam asked, snatching up another broken limb.
After my encounter with the swamp monster, I was done with being polite about this Podunk town. “Oh, you know.” I pretended to strum a banjo, humming. “Good old country life.”
“It’s not that bad,” Adam said. “You can’t walk around the woods like this in the city.”
“Tragic.”
“Well, what do you normally do for fun?”
I shrugged. “Hang out with my friends. Watch movies. Write stuff.”
“Can’t you do all that here?”
“My parents wouldn’t let me pack my friends in the U-Haul. Plus I wouldn’t subject them to this.”
“Nice attitude.” He charged ahead with his stick, whacking at branches like we were fighting our way through a jungle with wild animals on the prowl.
“Hey,” I said, jogging to catch up with him. “I’m not usually this grouchy. This is all just really—” Depressing. Boring. “—different.”
“Gotcha.” I couldn’t read his tone.
After a short hike, we veered off the path toward the creek. When I heard the burbling, I remembered why we were there. What we might see. My body tensed.
I fell back behind Adam. My heart was thumping so loudly I was afraid he’d hear it and ask me what was wrong.
He sidestepped down the creek’s embankment, dropping onto the red clay below and landing heavily on the stones.
I surveyed the creek bed. The water sounded almost cheerful the way it bounced off the rocks. And little animals wouldn’t be making noise in the bushes if something scary was around, right?
My body relaxed. I was safe here with Adam.
It occurred to me that Casey and Taylor would want to know about this. As long as Adam didn’t hack me into little pieces and stuff me into his fanny pack, they’d be totally jealous that a guy took me for a walk in the woods.
I followed him into the creek, knees bent and arms out for balance. But the hill was slicker than I’d remembered, and my right foot slipped.
“Ahhh!”
My butt hit the mud so hard it knocked the wind out of me. I grabbed at the little roots jutting out of the mud but they snapped in my hands, and I slid all the way to the bottom of the creek bed.
“Wow,” Adam said. “You’re really not good at this nature stuff, are you?”
“I’m fine, thanks,” I grumbled, letting Adam help me up. I stretched my arms and legs, checking for damage, but I seemed okay.
He glanced behind me and snorted.
“What?” I asked, brushing my butt. There was something wet there. When I pulled my hand away, it was covered in chocolate-brown mud.
“It looks like you pooped your pants.” He bent down to pick up a rock, and then skipped it across the creek. It bounced four times before hitting the other side.
I decided that Casey and Taylor didn’t need to know about this part of the walk. Or what Adam was like in general.
He shrugged. “Maybe if you’d worn galoshes, that wouldn’t have happened.” He picked up his foot, showing me the ridged sole of his boot. “See? They’re good for climbing. They give you traction.”
“Thanks for the tip.” I kneeled to rinse my muddy hand in the creek. The water was cold and clear, but it got all cloudy when I rubbed my hands together.
I eyed the beaver dam—or whatever it was—farther down the bank. There was no sign of the swamp monster, but it had appeared suddenly last time. I clenc
hed my fists, my legs tensing to run if need be. Water trickled over the stones, and a light wind rustled the leaves overhead. “Want to keep walking?” I asked.
“Didn’t you want to look for turtles?”
Right, turtles. “Oh, yeah. Um, I don’t know. I kind of feel like hiking more. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, sure. Follow the creek?”
I nodded and we started walking downstream, pebbles crunching under our feet.
With Adam there, the idea of a monster suddenly seemed dumb. This was just a creek. The water was shallow and clear. And the brush along the sides wasn’t tall and dense enough to hide a monster.
Up ahead, a felled tree blocked the stream. It must have fallen pretty recently, because its leaves were still green and the trunk hadn’t started rotting. Adam climbed on top. “Come on. There’s something really cool I want to show you.”
I scrambled up, clutching the rough bark. Some of it crumbled under my hands, and I teetered when I stood, holding out my arms for balance.
My heartbeat had slowed to normal by then. I couldn’t explain what I’d seen the day before, but whatever it was, I must have imagined it.
You didn’t imagine it, a little voice in my head nagged.
Shut up, little voice.
We jumped down from the fallen tree and continued on, walking for what felt like forever. Finally, Adam pointed up at a tree with a particularly thick trunk. “Dad and I made this a few years ago.”
I shaded my eyes so I could look up. About ten short boards were nailed into the side of the tree—steps. They led to a wooden platform with a railing wrapped around it. “Cool, a tree house!”
Adam glanced at me scornfully. “It isn’t a tree house. It’s a deer stand. For deer hunting.”
“Right. Of course I should have known that right away.”
Adam ignored me, grabbing the lowest board and shinnying up to the platform. “Wanna come up? It’ll hold both of us.”
I climbed up to the platform and admired the view of wildflowers tangled together with weeds and roots. “Wow, pretty. This would look amazing in 3D. All the different colors popping out, you know?”
“I guess. I think it looks good the way it is.” Adam unzipped his fanny pack, pulling out a package of beef jerky. “Want some?”
I shook my head. The idea of dried meat seemed so wrong. Like astronaut ice cream—what’s the point?
Adam held the package out farther. “You sure? Good stuff.”
“Nope, it’s all yours.”
He burped, tucking the package into his fanny pack. “What’s up? You’re staring off into space.”
“Oh, sorry. Just thinking.”
Adam squinted to the right, raising his hand slowly. “Shhhh!”
“What?” I whispered back, and he tilted his head.
“See?” he said softly.
It was like one of those optical illusion pictures—the kind where you look and, at first, there’s nothing there except a bunch of colors and blobs. But when you stare long enough, the hidden picture pops out.
At first, all I saw was a bunch of green and brown all scrambled together. But when my eyes adjusted, I realized a deer was standing about a hundred feet from us. It had long, spindly legs and a few white spots on its back near its little nub of a tail. Its head was raised like it was listening for something.
“Cute,” I breathed at the exact same time Adam whispered, “Dinner.”
“Adam!” I said loudly. The deer startled and bounded away, disappearing into some bushes.
“Oh, well. Guess we’ll have pizza instead of venison. That’s deer meat, city girl.”
“Ha, ha,” I said, standing up and brushing myself off. “Should we keep walking?” I wanted to cover as much ground as possible. Staying in one spot was making me antsy.
We climbed down from the deer stand, and as I dropped onto the loose dirt, I heard a tree splinter and crash.
“What was that?” Adam asked sharply.
I pressed myself against the tree. “It’s the—” Could a swamp monster knock down trees?
Another tree cracked and fell, closer now. Birds squawked and flew up and into the sky. Twigs snapped, branches broke, bushes shook, but I couldn’t see a thing. Adam and I stayed planted at the base of the tree, craning our heads. I imagined what this would look like from an arc shot—the camera swiveling around us as we cowered, waiting for whatever came next.
There was a brown flash about thirty feet away. “Th-th-there,” I stuttered, pointing.
“Quick!” Adam barked, grabbing my arm so hard it hurt. “Back up to the deer stand! Flat on the floor!”
We raced up the ladder, hitting the floor of the platform and pressing ourselves against the wood. I willed myself to stop shaking. Happy thoughts, happy thoughts. Kittens. Chocolate. Best Original Screenplay Oscar.
Loud footsteps boomed below us. They were far away at first, but getting closer, closer … I squeezed my eyes shut, breathing in the earthy smell of the deer stand.
The footsteps stopped right below us. I squeezed my eyes shut tighter, counting in my head. One-Mississippi, two-Mississippi, three-Mississippi, four-Mississippi.
I was up to fifty-seven Mississippis before I realized that not just the footsteps had gone quiet. Everything had. No more birds chirping, no woodpeckers pecking, no small animals rustling in the bushes.
I counted to one hundred and opened my eyes. A huge, furry brown thing was six inches away, staring at me. It had a wide, flat nose and sunken eyes. They reminded me a lot of the swamp creature’s—brown and liquid.
“Adam,” I tried to say, but nothing came out. I tried to lift my hand to poke him, but I couldn’t move. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Adam was motionless beside me, his arms over his head like we were hiding under our desks for an earthquake drill.
“Adam,” I mouthed again, this time managing a squeak. He lowered his arms and peeked at the monster. His face drained of color.
The monster leaned closer. Its breath smelled like hot, fifty-year-old garbage. The muscles in its massive neck tensed as it opened its mouth.
“Moooooooooooo!”
Adam and I scrambled down from the deer stand, falling at the monster’s furry brown feet. They were the size of tennis rackets. It grinned down at me, scratching at the matted fur on its back.
Adam shoved me. “Run!”
My limbs unlocked and I took off through the trees, sprinting until my chest tightened and the muscles in my legs felt like wound springs.
When I whacked my elbow on a tree, I cried out—yikes, that smarted! —but I never looked behind me. That’s how you die in horror movies.
I could see light through trees up ahead. “Almost there,” Adam called out. “Just a few more feet.”
That’s always when the monsters get you. When you think you’re safe.
Stumbling on a root, I fell flat on my face. “Oh!” I scrambled to my feet and kept going.
Don’t look behind you, don’t look behind you, don’t look behind you …
We burst from the edge of the woods, sprinted across my backyard, pounded up the steps to the deck, and yanked open the glass sliding door. I closed and latched it behind us, and we sank to the floor. It all felt like déjà vu.
Only today the house was empty. Everyone else must have gone into town.
The memory of the creature’s brown eyes burned in my head, and I hugged myself. It had been so close to me. Close enough to—
I wouldn’t think about it.
“Holy cow.” Adam rubbed the sweat from his forehead. “What was that? I’ve never seen an animal stand up on two legs like that before.”
My arms were covered with red scratches, and a blue bruise was already forming on my elbow where I’d whacked it against a tree.
“I don’t know,” I said, panting, my mind flipping from the creature we’d seen today to the one I’d seen yesterday. “I think it was a Sasquatch.”
Adam’s brow furrowed. “You mean, like
Bigfoot?”
I dropped my head into my hands. “I know! I know how crazy that sounds.” I took a deep breath. “Adam, I have to tell you something.” The words came out muffled.
“What?”
I spilled the beans—the whole story about the swamp monster rising up from the creek and staring at me and how I’d tricked Adam into scouting the area with me to investigate.
When I was finished, Adam didn’t look angry, but he did look like someone had unhinged his jaw. Like he was a snake getting ready to eat a rat. It would have been hilarious if I wasn’t so freaked out.
“I’m really sorry,” I said feebly. “I should have told you why I wanted you to show me around the woods.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. I should have warned you.”
Adam picked a round, brown sticker-thing off his jeans. “Yeah, but I can understand why you didn’t. Seeing is believing, right?”
I looked at him. Adam was exactly the kind of person I needed in a situation like this, and I had to ask him something I never imagined I’d ask anyone in a million years. I took a deep breath.
“Adam, will you help me catch some monsters?”
SCENE FOUR:
THE MONSTER TRAP
I wasn’t that surprised when Adam agreed to help me. Boy Scouts are supposed to be helpful. Plus, capturing weird-looking creatures was probably right up his alley.
“What kind of trap do you think we should use?” I asked the next evening. We were hanging out next to the Griggs’ cow pen, which was basically a fenced-in field adjacent to two big sheds. “Maybe we could try a bunch of different ones? Like, all over the woods?”
“Hmm,” Adam said thoughtfully. He grunted as he hoisted up a bag of feed, spilling it through the wire fence and into a long trough. Cows lumbered over, and I stepped back. They seemed gentle, but they were big. Squish-you-flat big.
“Maybe we could dig a trench,” I suggested, bending to pick a dandelion. It was soft under my fingers. “We could cover it with something really flimsy and put a bunch of grass on top of that. The … monster … would fall through to the bottom.” It felt weird to say that word out loud. Monster.
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