The Werewolf of Fever Swamp

9

A few nights later, I heard the strange, frightening howls for the first time.

My fever had gone up to 101 degrees and stayed there for a day. Then it went away. Then it came back.

"It's the swamp fever!" I told my parents earlier that night. "Pretty soon I'm going to start acting crazy."

"You already act crazy," Mom teased. She handed me a glass of orange juice. "Drink. Keep drinking."

"Drinking won't help swamp fever," I insisted glumly, taking the glass anyway. "There's no cure for it."

Mom tsk-tsked. Dad continued to read his science magazine.

I had strange dreams that night, disturbing dreams. I was back in Vermont, running through the snow. Something was chasing me. I thought maybe it was the swamp hermit. I kept running and running. I was very cold. I was shivering in the dream.

I turned back to see who was chasing me. There wasn't anyone there. And suddenly, I was in the swamp. I was sinking in a peat bog. It gurgled all around me, green and thick, making these sick sucking sounds.

It was sucking me down. Down…

The howls woke me up.

I sat straight up in my bed and stared out the window at the nearly full moon. It floated right beyond the window, silvery and bright against the blue-black sky.

Another long howl rose on the night air.

I realized I was shaking all over. I was sweating. My pajama shirt stuck to my back.

Gripping the covers with both hands, I listened hard.

Another howl. The cry of an animal.

From the swamp?

The cries sounded so close. Right outside the window. Long, angry howls.

I shoved down the covers and lowered my feet to the floor. I was still trembling, and my head throbbed as I stood up. I guessed I still had a fever.

Another long howl.

I made my way to the hall on shaky legs. I had to find out if my parents had heard the howls, too.

Walking through the darkness, I bumped into a low table in the hall. I still wasn't used to this new house.

My feet were cold as ice, but my head felt burning hot, as if it were on fire. Rubbing the knee I had banged, I waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Then I continued down the hall.

My parents' room was just past the kitchen in the back of the house. I was halfway across the kitchen when I stopped short.

What was that sound?

A scratching sound.

My breath caught in my throat. I froze, my arms stiff at my sides.

I listened.

There it was again.

Over the pounding of my heart, I heard it.

Scratch scratch scratch.

Someone — or something — scratching at the kitchen door.

Then — another howl. So close. So terrifyingly close.

Scratch scratch scratch.

What could it be? Some kind of animal? Just outside the house?

Some kind of swamp animal howling and scratching at the door?

I realized I'd been holding my breath a long while, I let it out in a whoosh, then sucked in another breath.

I listened hard, straining to hear over the pounding of my heart.

The refrigerator clicked on. The loud click nearly made me jump out of my skin. I grabbed the countertop. My hands were as cold as my feet, cold and clammy.

I listened.

Scratch scratch scratch,

I took a step toward the kitchen door.

One step, then I stopped.

A shudder of fear ran down my back.

I realized I wasn't alone.

Someone was there, breathing beside me in the dark kitchen.