08 - The Girl Who Cried Monster (10 page)

“I waited for you,” he said. His voice trembled.

His hands were knotted into fists. He looked about ready to burst into tears.

“Aaron—”

“I’ve been waiting all this time,” he said shrilly. “Where’ve you been? I’ve
been so scared.”

“I was… back there,” I told him.

“I was ready to call the police or something,” Aaron said. “I was hiding down
the block. I—”

“You saw him?” I asked eagerly, suddenly remembering why we had risked our
lives tonight. “You saw Mr. Mortman?”

Aaron shook his head. “No, I didn’t. I was too far away.”

“But earlier,” I said. “Through the window. When he was a monster. Didn’t you
see him then? Didn’t you see him eat the snails and the eels?”

Aaron shook his head again. “I didn’t see anything, Lucy,” he said softly.
“I’m sorry. I wish I had.”

Big help,
I thought bitterly.

Now
what was I going to do?

“Mom—you don’t understand. I
can’t
go!”

“Lucy, I’m not giving you a choice. You’re going, and that’s that.”

It was the next afternoon, a stormy, gray day, and Mom and I were in the
kitchen, arguing. I was trying to tell her there was no way I could go to my
Reading Rangers meeting at the library. And she was insisting that I had to go.

“Mom, you’ve got to believe me,” I pleaded. I was trying not to whine, but my
voice kept creeping higher and higher. “Mr. Mortman is a monster. I can’t go to
the library anymore.”

Mom made a disgusted face and tossed down the dish towel she’d been folding.
“Lucy, your father and I have had it up to here with your silly monster
stories.”

She turned to face me. Her expression was angry. “The fact is, Lucy dear,
that you are a quitter. You never stick with anything. You’re lazy. That’s your problem.”

“Mr. Mortman is a monster,” I interrupted.
“That’s
my problem.”

“Well, I don’t care,” Mom replied sharply. “I don’t care if he turns into a
drooling werewolf at night. You’re not quitting Reading Rangers. You’re going to
your appointment this afternoon if I have to take you by the hand and walk you
there myself.”

“Gee—would you?” I asked.

The idea flashed into my head that Mom could hide in the stacks and see for
herself when Mr. Mortman turned into a monster.

But I guess she thought I was being sarcastic. She just scowled and walked
out of the kitchen.

And so, an hour later, I was trudging up the stone steps to the old library.
It was raining hard, but I didn’t take an umbrella. I didn’t care if I got
drenched.

My hair was soaked and matted on my head. I shook my head hard as I stepped
into the entry-way, sending drops of water flying in all directions.

I shivered, more from my fear, from being back in this frightening place,
than from the cold. I pulled off my backpack. It was dripping wet, too.

How can I face Mr. Mortman? I wondered as I made my way reluctantly into the
main reading room. How can I face him after last night?

He must surely suspect that I know his secret.

He
couldn’t
have believed me last night, could he?

I was so furious at my mom for forcing me to come here.

I hope he turns into a monster and chews me to bits! I thought bitterly. That
will really teach Mom a lesson.

I pictured Mom and Dad and Randy, sitting mournfully in our living room,
crying their eyes out, wailing, “If only we had believed her! If only we had
listened!”

Holding my wet backpack in front of me like a shield, I made my way slowly
past the long rows of books to the front of the room.

To my relief, there were several people in the library. I saw two little kids
with their mothers and a couple of other women browsing in the mystery book
section.

Great! I thought, starting to feel a little calmer. Mr. Mortman won’t dare do
anything while the library is filled with people.

The librarian was dressed in a green turtleneck today, which really made him
look like a big, round turtle. He was stamping a stack of books and didn’t look
up as I stepped close to the desk.

I cleared my throat nervously. “Mr. Mortman?”

It took him a long while to look up. When he finally did, a warm smile formed above his chins. “Hi, Lucy. Give me a few
minutes, okay?”

“Sure,” I said. “I’ll go dry off.”

He seems very friendly, I thought, heading over to a chair at one of the long
tables. He doesn’t seem angry at all.

Maybe he really did believe my story last night.

Maybe he really doesn’t know that I’ve seen him turn into a monster.

Maybe I’ll get out of here alive….

I sat down at the table and shook some more water from my hair. I stared at
the big, round wall clock, nervously waiting for him to call me up for our
meeting. The clock ticked noisily. Each second seemed to take a minute.

The kids with their mothers checked out some books and left. I turned to the
mystery section and saw that the two women had also cleared out. The librarian
and I were the only ones left.

Mr. Mortman shoved a stack of books across his desk and stood up. “I’ll be
right back, Lucy,” he said, another friendly, reassuring smile on his face.
“Then we’ll have our meeting.”

He stepped away from his desk and, walking briskly, headed to the back of the
reading room. I guessed he was going to the bathroom or something.

A jagged flash of white lightning flickered across the dark sky outside the window. It was followed by a drumroll of
thunder.

I stood up from the table and, carrying my wet backpack by the straps,
started toward Mr. Mortman’s desk.

I was halfway to the desk when I heard the loud click.

I knew at once that he had locked the front door.

A few seconds later, he returned, walking briskly, still smiling. He was
rubbing his pudgy white hands together as he walked.

“Shall we talk about your book?” he asked, stepping up to me.

“Mr. Mortman—you locked the front door,” I said, swallowing hard.

His smile didn’t fade.

His dark little eyes locked on mine.

“Yes. Of course,” he said softly, studying my face. His hands were still
clasped together in front of him.

“But—why?” I stammered.

He brought his face close to mine, and his smile faded. “I know why you were
at my house last night,” he growled into my ear. “I know everything.”

“But, Mr. Mortman, I—”

“I’m sorry,” he said in his throaty growl. “But I can’t let you leave, Lucy.
I can’t let you leave the library.”

“Ohhh.” The sound escaped my lips, a moan of total terror.

I stared at him without moving. I guess I wanted to see if he was serious or
not. If he really meant what he said.

His eyes told me he did.

And as I stared at him, his head began to inflate. His tiny, round eyes shot
out of their sockets and grew into throbbing, black bulbs.

“Ohhh.”

Again, the terrified sound escaped my lips. My entire body convulsed in a
shudder of terror.

His head was throbbing now, throbbing like a heart. His mouth opened into a
gaping, gruesome leer, and green spittle ran down his quivering chin.

Move!
I told myself.
Move, Lucy! DO something!

His disgusting grin grew wider. His enormous head bobbed and throbbed excitedly.

He uttered a low growl of attack. And reached out both arms to grab me.

“No!” I shrieked.

I leaned back and, with all my might, swung the backpack into his flabby
stomach.

It caught him by surprise.

He gasped as it took his breath away.

I let go of the backpack, spun around, and started to run.

He was right behind me. I could hear his panting breath and low, menacing
growls.

I ran through a narrow aisle between two tall shelves.

A rumble of thunder from outside seemed to shake the room.

He was still behind me. Close. Closer.

He was going to catch me, going to grab me from behind.

I reached the end of the row. I hesitated. I didn’t know which way to turn. I
couldn’t think.

He roared, a monstrous animal sound.

I turned left and started to run along the back wall of the room.

Another rumble of thunder.

“Ohh!” I realized to my horror that I’d made a mistake.

A fatal mistake.

I was running right into the corner.

There was no exit here. No escape.

He roared again, so loud that it drowned out the thunder.

I was trapped.

I knew it.

Trapped.

With a desperate cry, I ran blindly—headlong into the card catalogue.

Behind me, I heard the monster’s roar of laughter.

He knew he had won.

The card catalogue toppled over. Drawers came sliding out. Cards spilled at
my feet, scattering over the floor.

“Noooo!” the monster howled. At first I thought it was a victory cry. But
then I realized it was an angry cry of protest.

With a moan of horror, he stooped to the floor and began gathering up the
cards.

Staring in disbelief, I plunged past him, running frantically, my arms
thrashing wildly at my sides.

In that moment of terror, I remembered the one thing that librarians hate
most: having cards from the card catalogue spilled on the floor!

Mr. Mortman was a monster—but he was also a librarian.

He couldn’t bear to have those cards in disorder. He had to try to replace
them before chasing after me.

It took only seconds to run into the front entryway, turn the lock, pull open the door, and flee out into the rain.

My sneakers slapped the pavement as I ran, sending up splashes of rainwater.

I made my way to the street and was halfway up the block when I realized he
was chasing after me.

A flash of lightning crackled to my left.

I cried out, startled, as a deafening burst of thunder shook the ground.

I glanced back to see how close the monster was.

And stopped.

With trembling hands, I frantically brushed a glaze of rainwater from my
eyes.

“Aaron!” I cried. “What are
you
doing here?”

He ran up to me, hunching against the cold rain. He was breathing hard. His
eyes were wide and frightened. “I—I was in the library,” he stammered,
struggling to catch his breath. “Hiding. I saw it. I saw the monster. I saw
everything.”

“You
did
?” I was so happy. I wanted to hug him.

A sheet of rain swept over us, driven by a gust of wind.

“Let’s get to my house!” I cried. “You can tell my parents. Now maybe they’ll
finally believe it!”

* * *

Aaron and I burst into the den. Mom looked up from the couch, lowering the
newspaper to her lap. “You’re dripping on the rug,” she said.

“Where’s Dad? Is he home yet?” I asked, rainwater running down my forehead.
Aaron and I were soaked from head to foot.

“Here I am.” He appeared behind us. He had changed out of his work clothes.
“What’s all the excitement?”

“It’s about the monster!” I blurted out. “Mr. Mortman—he—”

Mom shook her head and started to raise a hand to stop me.

But Aaron quickly came to my rescue. “I saw him, too!” Aaron exclaimed. “Lucy
didn’t make it up. It’s true!”

Mom and Dad listened to Aaron. I knew they would.

He told them what he had seen in the library. He told them how the librarian
had turned into a monster and chased me into the corner.

Mom listened intently to Aaron’s story, shaking her head. “I guess Lucy’s
story is true,” she said when Aaron had finished.

“Yeah. I guess it is,” Dad said, putting a hand gently on my shoulder.

“Well, now that you
finally
believe me—what are you going to do,
Dad?” I demanded.

He gazed at me thoughtfully. “We’ll invite Mr. Mortman for dinner,” he said.

“Huh?” I goggled at him, rainwater running down my face. “You’ll
what?
He tried to gobble me up! You
can’t
invite him here!” I protested. “You
can’t!”

“Lucy, we have no choice,” Dad insisted. “We’ll invite him for dinner.”

Mr. Mortman arrived a few evenings later, carrying a bouquet of flowers. He
was wearing lime-green trousers and a bright yellow, short-sleeved sport shirt.

Mom accepted the flowers from him and led him into the living room where Dad,
Randy, and I were waiting. I gripped the back of a chair tightly as he entered.
My legs felt rubbery, and my stomach felt as if I’d swallowed a heavy rock.

I
still
couldn’t believe that Dad had invited Mr. Mortman into our
house!

Dad stepped forward to shake hands with the librarian. “We’ve been meaning to
invite you for quite a while,” Dad told him, smiling. “We want to thank you for
the excellent reading program at the library.”

“Yes,” Mom joined in. “It’s really meant a lot to Lucy.”

Mr. Mortman glanced at me uncertainly. I could see that he was studying my expression. “I’m glad,” he said, forcing a
tight-lipped smile.

Mr. Mortman lowered himself onto the couch. Mom offered him a tray of
crackers with cheese on them. He took one and chewed on it delicately.

Randy sat down on the rug. I was still standing behind the armchair, gripping
the back of it so tightly, my hands ached. I had never been so nervous in all my
life.

Mr. Mortman seemed nervous, too. When Dad handed him a glass of iced tea, Mr.
Mortman spilled a little on his trousers. “It’s such a humid day,” he said.
“This iced tea hits the spot.”

“Being a librarian must be interesting work,” Mom said, taking a seat beside
Mr. Mortman on the couch.

Dad was standing at the side of the couch.