The Werewolf of Fever Swamp

10

I gasped. I was gripping the countertop so hard, my hand ached.

"Wh-who's there?" I whispered.

The kitchen light flashed on.

"Emily!" I practically shouted her name, in surprise and relief. "Emily — "

"Did you hear the howls?" she asked, speaking just above a whisper. Her blue eyes burned into mine.

"Yes. They woke me up," I said. "They sound so angry."

"Like a cry of attack," Emily whispered. "Why do you look so weird, Grady?"

"Huh?" Her question caught me off guard.

"Your face is all red," she said. "And look at you — you're all shaky."

"I think my fever is back," I told her.

"Swamp fever," she murmured, examining me with her eyes. "Maybe it's the swamp fever you were telling me about."

I turned to the kitchen door, "Did you hear the scratching sounds?" I asked. "Something was scratching on the back door."

"Yes," she whispered. She stared at the door.

We both listened.

Silence.

"Do you think one of the deer escaped?" she asked, taking a few steps toward the door, her arms crossed in front of her pink-and-white robe.

"Do you think a deer would scratch at the door?" I asked.

It was such a silly question, we both burst out laughing.

"Maybe it wanted a glass of water!" Emily exclaimed, and we both laughed some more. Giddy laughter. Nervous laughter.

We both cut our laughter short at the same time, and listened.

Another howl rose up outside like a police siren.

I saw Emily's eyes narrow in fear. "It's a wolf!" she cried in a hushed whisper. She raised a hand to her mouth. "Only a wolf makes a sound like that, Grady."

"Emily, come on — " I started to protest.

"No. I'm right," she insisted. "It's a wolf howl."

"Em, stop," I said, sinking onto a kitchen stool. "There are no wolves in the Florida swamps. You can look in the guidebooks. Or better yet, ask Mom and Dad. Wolves don't live in swamps."

She started to argue, but a scratching at the door made her stop.

Scratch scratch scratch.

We both heard it. We both reacted with sharp gasps.

"What is that?" I whispered. And then, reading her expression, I quickly added, "Don't say it's a wolf."

"I–I don't know," she replied, both hands raised to her face. I recognized her look of panic. "Let's get Mom and Dad."

I grabbed the door handle. "Let's just take a look," I said.

I don't know where my sudden courage came from. Maybe it was the fever. But, suddenly, I just wanted to solve the mystery.

Who or what was scratching at the door?

There was one good way to find out — open the door and look outside.

"No, Grady — wait!" Emily pleaded.

But I waved away her protests.

Then I turned the doorknob and pulled open the kitchen door.