…or the reasons why Grandfather had lied.
PETER AND THE SWAMP MONSTER
1
Rory McCusken and Greg Witherspoon sat on the old wooden dock and dangled their bare feet in the lake. Rory had a simple bamboo stick, and Greg was using a carbon shaft fishing pole, but neither of them was having any luck.
“We didn’t get out here early enough,” Greg complained.
“It’s only 8 o’clock,” Rory pointed out.
“I told you we shoulda been out here by seven.”
“Quit yer whinin’, it’s all good.”
Rory was dressed in cut–off blue jeans and a white t–shirt. Greg was a bit tubby, and his mom wasn’t kind when buying his school clothes. She always went preppy rather than cool, and she seemed to be in denial about Greg’s weight issues. As a result, Greg had on khaki shorts and a collared, button–up shirt that was a size too small. His belly poked out a little from beneath the bottom.
“They’re not biting,” Greg grumbled.
“They will.”
“Maybe we should go tubing instead.”
Rory sighed. “You got no patience, Greg. Just relax.”
“I’d relax better if I had a coke. Get me a coke, will you?”
Rory got to his feet on the boards of the gently swaying dock. It was the floating type that rose and sank as the water level changed, but was still anchored to tall wooden posts sticking up out of the lake. That way, heavy rains wouldn’t cover the dock, and a really dry summer wouldn’t leave it too high above the water.
Rory walked the twenty feet up to the shore. They had left their supplies up closer to the bank so they wouldn’t accidentally knock anything in. The park rangers looooved to hand out tickets for even the smallest bits of littering. If a potato chip bag got away from them and a ranger spotted it, Rory would be cutting grass for two months trying to pay off the fine.
He rummaged in the cooler and pulled out a couple of soda cans from the sixpack. He figured they could have one now, one about eleven when they ate their PB&J sandwiches, and one for the bike ride back home.
He looked up the muddy dirt path that circled through the weeds and marsh grasses. The bikes were a good tenth of a mile up the trail, deep among the twisted swamp trees. He wasn’t worried anybody would steal them, though; the innertube riders never came this far down the springs. Besides, Rory had locked the bikes up with his chain, and that sucker was heavy–duty. Nothing but a blow torch was going to cut through those links.
Frogs croaked from the water and insects buzzed in the trees. The sun sparkled off the lake. The air had started off cool on their bike ride earlier that morning, but was quickly warming up.
Rory popped the top on one of the sodas and took a long, slurping gulp. By the time he’d finished drinking, all the animal noises were gone.
Rory didn’t notice it at first. He was only a few steps along the dock before he realized how silent the lake had become.
“Everything went awful quiet, didn’t it?” he called out.
“Huh?” Greg cocked his head, then noticed that Rory had already opened his drink. “Hey, man, quit takin’ so long with the cokes, I’m gonna die of thirst up here.”
“Okay, okay, I’m comin’, I’m — ”
There was a noise from the marsh reeds over by the bank. A low, rumbling kwwwwwwwwwhhhhh, like a kid using the back of his throat to imitate a bomb going off.
Rory stood still on the dock.
Maybe it was a bullfrog…a really HUGE bullfrog…
“Hey Greg, did you hear that?”
“What?”
“It was like a…a rumbling sound.”
“I hear my stomach rumbling, that’s what I hear. Come on!”
Rory was about to take another step when something long and dark moved through the water to the right of the dock.
It must’ve been ten feet long, maybe more. It was hard to see; the water was pretty clear because of the spring that dumped into the lake, but the sun glinting off the surface didn’t help any. The only detail Rory could make out for sure was a thick tail that tapered to just a few inches wide…
…right before it disappeared under the dock.
Alligator.
“Rory, come ON!”
Rory looked up to see his friend still seated on the edge of the wooden pier.
With his feet in the water.
“Greg, GET UP!” Rory screamed. “GET OUT OF THE WATER!”
Greg frowned in confusion. “Rory, what — ”
“ALLIGATOR! GET OUT OF THE WATER! UNDER THE DOCK, ALLIGATOR!”
Greg’s eyes went wide. Then he grinned.
“Awwwww, good one, man. This ain’t Florida, there aren’t any gators around here.”
Spit flew out of Rory’s mouth, he was so frantic. “GREG JUST PLEASE GET OUT OF THE WATER, PLEASE GET OUT OF THE WATER PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!”
Greg was obviously confused to see this screaming crazy person who, just a few seconds before, had been his mild–mannered friend. Greg rolled onto his back and lifted his dripping feet high in the air.
“There, are you happy n — ”
CRACK.
The dock between Rory and Greg lifted a foot into the air and buckled in the middle. A dozen boards splintered into jagged pieces before crashing back down.
Between the scraps of shattered wood, Rory caught a glimpse of something before it slipped back into the water.
Rory had never seen a live alligator in his life. The few times he’d been out of Duskerville were to visit his grandparents in Iowa and to go on a family car trip to see Mt. Rushmore. He’d been to Canada twice. That was about it.
But he’d seen plenty of Discovery Channel programs on cable.
And that wasn’t an alligator.
Alligators were scaly and tough and green. This thing…it was grayish and slick and round. The head, or what he had seen of it, was about the same size as his family’s super–huge big screen TV.
Exactly what the creature was, Rory had no idea. But it was very large, and it was powerful enough to turn a six–foot wide dock into matchsticks.
“Greg! Get up!”
Greg scrambled to his feet. His face was white as a ghost, and his body was trembling.
“Greg, get over here!”
Greg shook his head rapidly.
“Greg, you gotta get out of there!” Rory yelled. “It’s still in the water!”
“What do I do?” Greg wailed.
“Jump the cracked part!”
“I caaaaan’t!”
“Yes you can, yes you can! You can do it, I know you can do it!”
Greg crouched down on the wooden planks and started to cry.
Rory scanned the water around the dock and between the broken floorboards, searching for any more dark shapes. Nothing so far, but the thing could be back any second.
“Greg, you can do it, I know you can, just try!”
Greg shook his head. “I can’t…please don’t make me…”
“Greg, it’s going to get you if you don’t get out of there! Just run and jump, you can make it, I know you can!”
Something caught Rory’s attention. Maybe a foot away from him was a glint of red in the gap between the boards. Then it disappeared. Dark sliminess covered it for a brief second, then pulled back, and the red reappeared.
An eye — it’s an eye blinking.
Suddenly, the sun–baked boards directly under Rory’s feet buckled and pitched wildly to the side.
He was in the air. And then he was falling.
As he hit the cold water, he saw the shape shoot out from under the dock, and he knew it was over. He just hoped it wouldn’t hurt too much.
Water rushed over his face and pounded in his ears.
He felt a tiny sting on his leg, like an ant bite. Immediately, everything started to get fuzzy and confusing. And though he was underwater and could feel himself sliding down into unconsciousness, he could hear a muffled sound somewhere up above him.
<
br /> It was Greg screaming.
And screaming.
And screaming.
Then the screaming faded away, and there was only darkness.
2
“Come on, now,” Dill said. “You know it’ll be cool.”
Peter and Dill were seated around the kitchen table, eating waffles that Mom had cooked in the toaster. Dill had only agreed to come in the house once Peter had assured him that Grandfather was locked away in the study, as the old man usually was on Saturday mornings. And Saturday afternoons. In fact, almost all of the time.
Mom sat a few feet away, trying to get Beth to eat some Cheerios.
“What did you say this place was again?” Peter asked.
“Itcheepatucknee Springs. You can start all the way up at the top and rent an innertube or a raft, and go all the way down the river and stop before you get to the lake. Then they’ll load you up in a truck and drive you back up to the top and you can do it all over again. It takes like an hour, and sometimes there’s otters in the springs, and you can see clear down to the bottom. You gotta wear old shoes, though, cuz there’s some rocks.”
“I don’t understand how you can’t say ‘hypocrite’ but you can say Itchy — what is it again?”
“ITCH–ee puh–TUCK–nee,” Dill enunciated. “It’s an Indian name. I’m part Indian, so I can say it real easy.”
Mom looked over at Dill. With his blond buzz cut, his sunburned white skin, and his jug ears sticking out, he looked like the most un–Indian person in the entire world.
“You’re part Indian,” Mom repeated, clearly not believing him.
Dill nodded. “Yes.”
“American Indian.”
“Ye–eeees,” Dill said in a sing–song voice, annoyed that his ancestry was being questioned.
“Didn’t you say last week that you were part pirate, too?” Peter asked.
“Yeah, so?” Dill scowled.
“Nothing.”
“What?!”
“You just seem to be ‘part something’ of whatever movie you watched that day.”
“What are you saying?” Dill asked, his eyes narrowing.
“Well, you watched Pirates Of The Caribbean last week, and yesterday you watched Dances With Wolves. What are you going to be when you watch E.T.?”
Dill squinted angrily at Peter.
Peter tried to contain his laughter. “Or…or a movie about poop?”
“Poooooop!” Beth spluttered at the other end of the table, splattering Cheerios everywhere.
“I don’t like what you’re saying,” Dill snarled. “Plus, there aren’t any movies about poop.” He cocked his head as though considering something very important. “Cuz I’d totally watch that movie.”
“Boys, boys,” Mom called out. “Let’s keep this conversation out of the toilet, shall we? Where do you get the last name Bodinksi from, Dill?”
“Why do you ask me totally crazy questions like that?” Dill fumed. “That has nothing to do with Indians.”
“Okay, Mr. Bodiniski, what’s your Indian name?”
Dill didn’t miss a beat. “Swims With Big Otters.”
“Swims With Big Otters.” Mom’s tone of voice sounded like Uh huh. Riiiiight.
“Yes! Itcheepatucknee! Otters swim around there all the time!”
“Are you sure it’s not ‘Tells Big Stories And Fibs?’” Peter asked, laughing again.
“I’ll bet you.” Dill stuck out his small finger. “Pinky swear. Five bucks says there’s otters.”
“Unh–unh,” Peter said, shaking his head.
“We don’t bet, Dill,” Mom explained.
“Cuz you’re scared,” Dill smirked.
Mom looked at Dill like he was about to get a spanking. Dill stopped smirking and went back to eating his waffle.
“Whas an ottah?” Beth asked.
“It’s like a big rat that lives in the water,” Dill stated matter–of–factly.
Beth looked horrified.
“But it’s friendly, and it swims around and plays with other otters all the time, and it’ll come up to you if you’re in an innertube in Itcheepatucknee,” Dill emphasized.
Beth’s face wrinkled up in worry. “I don’ wanna see no ottahs,” she whined.
“You’re not, don’t worry,” Mom told her.
“Come oooooonnnn,” Dill pleaded. “This is probably gonna be the last hot day for the rest of the year, and the water’s really cool, and did I mention the otters? We can innertube down the spring — ”
“Alright, alright, ALRIGHT,” Mom groaned. “Just — stop talking. You want to go, Peter?”
Peter shrugged. “It could be neat.”
Mom glared at Dill. “All right, you two can go.”
Dill beamed a thousand–watt smile. “Cool. Can you drive us?”
3
“I have no idea why I’m doing this,” Mom grumbled as her car chugged down the tree–lined road.
“Cause you looooove us,” Dill answered.
“I don’t love you, Dill,” Mom muttered.
“I’m okay with that as long as you drive me there.”
Peter laughed. Mom had never liked Dill much, but she put up with him because he was Peter’s only friend since they had moved to Duskerville a month ago. She tried to get Peter to make new friends every week at school, but Peter and Dill were kind of outsiders. Other kids didn’t like Peter much because he was new, and they didn’t like Dill because he was…Dill.
Actually, that wasn’t true. Nobody except the school bullies really disliked them. Peter got along fine with most of the kids, but nobody was really welcoming or super nice to him…except the nerds. Or weird girls who turned into vampires.
That was another thing: he and Dill had been through too much together. From the dead men in the garden patch, to the undead mess with Mercy Chalmers, to Beth being replaced with a troll baby just a week before, Dill had suffered through a lot with Peter. That created a bond that went beyond just having a bud to hang out with after school.
Not that Peter’s mom understood, but that was okay. She didn’t know about the vampires, and she still blamed Dill for the black soot marks the dead guys had left when they invaded the house. Peter intended on keeping it that way. He didn’t know how she would react if he told her the truth. She probably wouldn’t believe any of it…but then again, what if she were presented with undeniable evidence? She might move them back to California. A month ago, that would have suited Peter just fine. But now he had Dill, his best friend in his entire life, and he didn’t want to move just because some stupid classmates had come back from the dead.
Peter often wondered, Why is this happening to me? And why here? Nothing even remotely strange had ever happened back in California. He figured it had to be related to the notebook he’d seen in Grandfather’s study the day Beth disappeared: “The CURSE shall fall upon the Flannagan family for thirteen generations…”
He wanted to know what it meant, but the one time he had asked Grandfather about it, the old man had seemed to lie. He said it was nothing more than a rumor. The topic was clearly off–limits, like the doorway under the stairs that Peter was forbidden to open ‘ON PAIN OF DEATH.’
Asking Grandfather about it again would only get him in trouble, and trouble was the furthest thing from his mind right now. The weather was gorgeous. It was already October, and for the first time in weeks — and maybe the last time for months to come — it felt like summer again. The sun beat down on the car’s roof, and the wind blowing through the open windows was deliciously hot.
“Why can’t you ride your bikes?” Mom asked.
“Too far, too far!” Dill protested.
“Too fah, too fah,” Beth echoed. She was strapped in the back seat next to Dill, and kept trying to smack him on the head.
“It’s like, ten miles,” Dill continued as he batted away Beth’s hand.
“Ten my–uws,” Beth shrieked.
“Fine. I guess just give me a phone call when you�
�re ready to come home. Do they have payphones there?”
“Oh yeah,” Dill said. “We’ll just need a couple of quarters.”
“Alright. Is there anything else you need, Peter?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Money,” Dill said. “He’ll need some money for an innertube.”
“How much?” Mom asked.
“Five dollars.”
“Ohhhhh, so that explains why you wanted to bet,” Mom realized.
“Yeah, but only five dollars. I’m not greedy, you know.”
Peter snorted. Dill whacked him on the head from the backseat.
“Okay, Peter, get my purse out and grab a five. And some quarters.”
“Ahem.” Dill cleared his throat. “I, uh…I could use some money, too. Since you guys don’t bet.”
Mom didn’t even glance over her shoulder. “How much.”
“Five dollars.”
Mom breathed out in exasperation. “Fine.”
“And we could use another five dollars for food…they’ve got a cool little cart where they sell hot dogs and stuff.”
Mom shook her head. “Fine.”
“Five dollars…each.”
Mom glared at Dill in the rearview mirror. “You’re really pushing it, you know that, Mr. ‘Swims With Big Otters’?”
“Just think of it as my babysitting fee for that time that helped you get a job.”
It was true; Mom had been offered the job as a legal secretary at Charterton University immediately after her interview, which had been made possible by Peter and Dill babysitting Beth for the afternoon. Peter didn’t think it wise to mention that they had lost Beth, though. In another dimension. And that, for a while, she had been replaced with a green–skinned changeling.
Mom grimaced. “Fine. Five babysitting dollars for each of you, but the rest is coming out of your allowance, Peter.”
“Aw, man!”
Dill patted him on the shoulder. “It’s worth it, dude.”
“It better be,” Peter grumbled, “cuz you’re paying me back.”
Dill smiled and nodded. “Sure, sure.”
“I’m serious, Dill.”
“Sure, sure.”
“Dilllll…” Peter warned.
“Ottahs!” Beth screamed, and pulled Dill’s hair.
“Aaaaaah!” Dill yelled, and the subject of money was forgotten.
4
Mom’s Honda turned off the main road and through the gate, which had a big log on top with the words ITCHEEPATUCKNEE STATE PARK burned into the wood. It looked exactly like the signs outside summer camps in any of a dozen kids movies Peter had seen over the years.
Peter And The Vampires (Volume One) Page 27