08 - The Girl Who Cried Monster (9 page)

“We’re here,” I whispered to Aaron. “We made it.”

“My friend Ralph lives on this block, I think,” Aaron said.

“Who cares?” I snapped. “Keep your mind on business, okay?”

We waited until Mr. Mortman had disappeared through the front door of his
house, then crept closer.

His house was white clapboard, badly in need of a paint job. He had a small
rectangle of a front yard, with recently cut grass bordered by a single row of
tall, yellow tiger lilies.

Aaron and I made our way quickly to the side of the house where there was a
narrow strip of grass that led to the back. The window near the front of the
house was high enough for us to stand under and not be seen.

A light came on in the window. “That must be his living room,” I whispered.

Aaron had a frightened expression. His freckles seemed a lot paler than
usual. “I don’t like this,” he said.

“The hard part was following him,” I assured Aaron. “This part is easy. We
just watch him through the window.”

“But the window is too high,” Aaron pointed out. “We can’t see anything.”

He was right. Staring up from beneath the window, all I could see was the
living room ceiling.

“We’ll have to stand on something,” I said.

“Huh? What?”

I could see Aaron was going to be no help. He was so frightened, his nose was
twitching like a bunny rabbit’s. I decided if I could keep him busy, maybe I could keep him from totally freaking and running away.

“Go in back. See if there’s a ladder or something,” I whispered, motioning
toward the back of the house.

Another light came on, this one in a back window. Probably the kitchen, I
figured. It was also too high to see into.

“Wait. What about that?” Aaron asked. I followed his gaze to a wheelbarrow,
tilted against the side of the house.

“Yeah. Maybe,” I said. “Bring it over. I’ll try to stand on it.”

Keeping his head and shoulders bent low, Aaron scampered over to the
wheelbarrow. He lifted it away from the house by the handles, then pushed it
under the front window.

“Hold it steady,” I said.

He grabbed the wooden handles, gazing up at me fearfully. “You sure about
this?”

“I’ll give it a try,” I said, glancing up at the high window.

Holding onto Aaron’s shoulder, I gave myself a boost onto the wheelbarrow. He
held firmly to the handles as I struggled to find my balance inside the metal
basket part.

“It—it’s kind of tilty,” I whispered, pressing one hand against the side of
the house to steady myself.

“I’m doing the best I can,” Aaron grumbled.

“There. I think I can stand,” I said. I wasn’t very high off the ground, but
I wasn’t at all comfortable. A wheelbarrow is a difficult thing to stand on.

Somewhere down the block a dog barked. I hoped he wasn’t barking because of
Aaron and me.

Another dog, closer to us, quickly joined in, and it became a barking
conversation.

“Are you high enough? Can you see anything?” Aaron asked.

One hand still pressed against the side of the house, I raised my head and
peered into the house through the bottom of the window.

“Yeah. I can see some,” I called down. “There’s a big aquarium in front of
the window, but I can see most of the living room.”

And just as I said that, Mr. Mortman’s face loomed inches from mine.

He was staring right at me!

I gasped and lost my balance.

I toppled to the ground, knocking over the wheelbarrow, landing hard on my
knees and elbows. “Ow!”

“What happened?” Aaron cried, alarmed.

“He saw me!” I choked out, waiting for the pain to stop throbbing.

“Huh?” Aaron’s mouth dropped open.

We both gazed up at the window. I expected to see Mr. Mortman staring down at
us.

But no. No sign of him.

I climbed quickly to my feet. “Maybe he was looking at his aquarium,” I
whispered, motioning for Aaron to set up the wheelbarrow. “Maybe he didn’t see
me.”

“Wh-what are you going to do?” Aaron stammered.

“Get back up, of course,” I told him. My legs were shaking as I climbed back
onto the wheelbarrow. I grabbed the window ledge and pulled myself up.

The sun had nearly gone down. The darkness outside made it easier to see
inside the house. And, I hoped, harder for Mr. Mortman to see out.

I didn’t have the best view in the world, I quickly realized. The aquarium,
crowded with colorful tropical fish, blocked my view of most of the room.

If only I were a little higher, I thought, I could see over it. But if I
had
been higher, I realized, Mr. Mortman would have seen me.

“What’s he doing?” Aaron asked in a trembling whisper.

“Nothing. He’s… wait!”

Mr. Mortman was staring down at the fish. He stood only a few feet from me,
on the other side of the aquarium.

I froze, pressing my hands against the side of the house.

He gazed down into his aquarium, and a smile formed on his pudgy face. He had
removed the red baseball cap. His bald head looked yellow in the living room
lamplight.

His mouth moved. He was saying something to the tropical fish in the
aquarium. I couldn’t hear him through the glass.

Then, as he smiled down at his fish, he began to change.

“He’s doing it,” I whispered to Aaron. “He’s turning into a monster.”

As I watched Mr. Mortman’s head inflate and his eyes bulge out, I was filled
with all kinds of strange feelings. I was terrified. And I was fascinated. It
was exciting to be so close, inches away from a real monster.

And I felt so happy and relieved that Aaron would finally see for himself
that I was telling the truth.

Then, as Mr. Mortman’s mouth grew wider and began to gyrate, a twisting black
hole on his swollen, yellow face, fear overtook me. I froze there, my face
pressed against the window, not blinking, not moving.

I stared as he reached a hand into the aquarium.

His fat fingers wrapped around a slender blue fish. He pulled it up and
flipped it into his mouth. I could see long, yellow teeth inside the enormous
mouth, biting down, chewing the wriggling fish.

Then, as I gaped in growing terror, Mr. Mortman pulled a black snail off the
side of the aquarium glass. Holding its shell between his fingertips, he stuffed
the snail into his mouth. His teeth crunched down hard on the shell, cracking it—a crack so loud, I could hear it through the window glass.

My stomach churned. I felt sick.

He swallowed the snail, then reached to pull another one off the aquarium glass.

“I think I’m going to toss my lunch,” I whispered down to Aaron.

Aaron.

I had forgotten all about him.

I was so fascinated by the monster, so excited, so terrified to watch him
close up, I had forgotten the whole purpose of being here.

“Aaron, help me down,” I whispered. “Quick.”

Still staring through the window, I reached a hand down for Aaron to take it.

“Aaron—hurry! Help me down so you can climb up here. You have to see this!
You have to see the monster!”

He didn’t reply.

“Aaron? Aaron?”

I lowered my eyes from the window.

Aaron had disappeared.

I felt a stab of panic in my chest.

My entire body convulsed in a tremor of cold fear.

Where was he?

Had he run away?

Was Aaron so frightened that he just took off without telling me?

Or had something happened to him? Something really bad?

“Aaron? Aaron?” In my panic, I forgot that I was inches away from a monster,
and started to shout. “Aaron? Where
are
you?”

“Ssh,” I heard a whisper from the back of the house. Aaron appeared, making
his way quickly toward me along the narrow strip of grass. “I’m right here,
Lucy.”

“Huh? Where’d you go?”

He pointed to the back. “I thought maybe I could find a ladder or something. You know. So I could see, too.”

“You scared me to death!” I cried.

I returned my glance to the window. Mr. Mortman was sucking a slithering eel
into his mouth like a strand of spaghetti.

“Quick, Aaron—help me down,” I instructed, still feeling shaken from the
scare of his disappearance. “You have to see this. You have to. Before he
changes back.”

“He—he’s really a monster?” Aaron’s mouth dropped open. “You’re not
joking?”

“Just get up here!” I cried impatiently.

But as I tried to lower myself to the ground, the wheelbarrow slid out from
under me.

It toppled onto its side, the handles scraping the side of the house.

My hands shot up to grab the windowsill. I missed and fell heavily on top of
the wheelbarrow. “Ow!” I cried out as sharp pain cut through my side.

Glancing up, I saw the monster’s startled face, goggling down at me through
the glass.

I scrambled to get up. But the throbbing pain in my side took my breath away.

“Aaron—help me!”

But he was already running to the street, his sneakers scraping the grass,
his arms stretched straight in front of him as if trying to grab onto safety.

Ignoring the pain in my side, I scrambled to my feet.

I took an unsteady step, then another. I shook my head, trying to shake away
my dizziness.

Then I sucked in a deep breath and started to run, following Aaron toward the
street.

I had gone about four or five steps when I felt Mr. Mortman’s surprisingly
strong hands grab my shoulders from behind.

I tried to scream, but no sound came out.

He held firmly onto my shoulders. I could feel his hot, wet hands through my
T-shirt.

I tried to pull away, but he was too strong.

He spun me around.

His face was back to normal.

He squinted at me with those little black eyes, as if he couldn’t believe
what he was seeing. “Lucy!” he exclaimed in his scratchy voice.

He let go of my shoulders and stepped back.

I was panting loudly. I was so frightened, my chest felt about to explode.

How had he changed back from his monster form so quickly?

What was he going to do to me?

“Lucy, good heavens. I thought you were a burglar,” he said, shaking his
head. He removed a white handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his
perspiring forehead.

“S-sorry,” I stammered. My voice came out in a choked whisper.

He balled up the handkerchief between his fat hands and jammed it back into
his pocket. “What are you doing here?”

“Well…” My heart was pounding so hard, I could feel the blood pulse at my
temples. My side still ached from where I had fallen on the wheelbarrow.

I struggled to clear my mind. I had to think of an answer to his question. I
had
to.

“Well…” I started again, thinking desperately. “I… uh… came to
tell you that I’ll… uh… be a little late for my Reading Rangers
appointment tomorrow.”

He narrowed his eyes and stared at me thoughtfully. “But why were you looking
through my window?” he demanded.

“Well… I just…”

Think, Lucy—think!

“I didn’t know if you were home or not. I just was trying to see if you were
there. I mean. So I could tell you. About the appointment tomorrow.”

Staring into his face, trying to sound sincere, I took a step back, in case I
had to make a run for it.

Did he believe me?

Was he buying it?

I couldn’t tell. He continued to stare at me thoughtfully.

He rubbed his chins. “You really didn’t have to come all the way out here,”
he said softly. “Did you ride your bike?” His eyes darted over the small front
lawn.

“No. I… uh… walked. I like to walk,” I replied awkwardly.

“It’s getting dark,” he said. “Maybe you should call your mom or dad to come
pick you up. Why don’t you come inside and use the phone?”

Come inside?

Come inside the monster’s house?

No way!

“Uh… no thanks, Mr. Mortman,” I said, taking another step backwards toward
the street. “My parents don’t mind if I walk home. It isn’t that far. Really.”

“No. I insist,” he said, an odd grin starting across his molelike face. He
motioned toward the house. “Come on in, Lucy. The phone is in the living room,”
he urged. “Come on. I won’t bite.”

I shuddered.

I’d just seen him bite snails. And eels.

There was no way I was going in that house. I knew that if I went in, chances
are I’d never come out.

“I—I’ve got to go,” I said, giving him a wave of one hand. I could feel the
fear creeping up my back, running over my body. I knew if I didn’t get away from there—
that
moment
—I’d be frozen by my terror, unable to escape.

“Lucy—” Mr. Mortman insisted.

“No. Really. Bye, Mr. Mortman.” I waved again, turned, and started jogging to
the street.

“You really shouldn’t have come all this way!” he called after me in his
high, scratchy voice. “Really. You shouldn’t have!”

I know!
I thought.
I know I shouldn’t have.

I trotted along the street, turned the corner, and continued down the next
block.

Was I really getting away?

Was he really letting me go?

I couldn’t believe he’d bought my lame excuse.

Why was he letting me get away?

I slowed to a walk. My side still ached. I suddenly had a throbbing headache.

Night had fallen. Passing cars had their headlights on. A slender trail of
dark cloud drifted over a pale half-moon still low in the purple-gray sky.

I was about to cross the street onto the broad, empty field when hands
grabbed my shoulders again.

I cried out, more of a
yelp
than a scream, and spun around, expecting
to see the monster.

“Aaron!” I cried. I swallowed hard, trying to force down my fear. “Where—?”