46 - How to Kill a Monster by R.L. Stine - (ebook by Undead) Page A

complained. His comic book dropped to the
floor.
    “Sit still, Gretchen,” Mom muttered. “I knew we should have boarded Charley.”
    “I tried to find a kennel for him,” Dad said. “But no one could take him at
the last minute.”
    Clark pushed Charley off his lap and reached down for his comic. But I
grabbed it first.
    “Oh, brother,” I moaned when I read the title. “Creatures from the Muck? How can you read this garbage?”
    “It’s not garbage,” Clark shot back. “It’s really cool. Better than those
stupid nature magazines you read.”
    “What’s it about?” I asked, flipping through the pages.
    “It’s about some totally gross monsters. Half-human. Half-beast. They set
traps to catch people. Then they hide under the mud. Near the surface,” Clark
explained. He grabbed the comic from my hand.
    “Then what happens?” I asked.
    “They wait. They wait as long as it takes—for the humans to fall in their
traps.” Clark’s voice started to quiver. “Then they force them deep into the
swamp. And make them their slaves!”
    Clark shuddered. He glanced out the window. Out at the eerie cypress trees
with their long beards of gray.
    It was growing dark now. The trees’ shadows shifted over the tall grass.
    Clark lowered himself in his seat. He has a wild imagination. He really
believes the stuff he reads. Then he gets scared—like now.
    “Do they do anything else?” I asked. I wanted Clark to tell me more. He was
really scaring himself good.
    “Well, at night, the monsters rise up from the mud,” he went on, sliding down
in his seat some more. “And they drag kids from their beds. They drag them into
the swamp. They drag them down into the mud. No one ever sees the kids again. Ever.”
    Clark was totally freaked now.
    “There really are creatures like that in the swamp. I read about them in
school,” I lied. “Horrible monsters. Half-alligator, half-human. Covered with
mud. With spiky scales underneath, hidden. If you just brush against one, the
scales rip the flesh right off your bones.”
    “Gretchen, stop,” Mom warned.
    Clark hugged Charley close to him.
    “Hey! Clark!” I pointed out the window to an old narrow bridge up ahead. Its
wooden planks sagged. It looked ready to crumble. “I bet a swamp monster is
waiting for us under that bridge.”
    Clark gazed out the window at the bridge. He hugged Charley closer to him.
    Dad began steering the car over the old wooden planks. They rumbled and
groaned under the weight.
    I held my breath as we slowly rolled across. This bridge can’t hold us, I
thought. No way.
    Dad drove very, very slowly.
    It seemed to take forever to ride across.
    Clark clung to Charley. He kept his eyes out the window, glued to the bridge.
    When we finally neared the end, I let out a long whoosh of air.
    And then I gasped—as a deafening explosion rocked the car.
    “Nooo!” Clark and I both screamed as the car swerved wildly.
    Skidded out of control.
    It crashed into the side of the old bridge.
    Plowed right through the old wood.
    “We-we’re going down!” Dad cried.
    I shut my eyes as we plunged into the swamp.

 
 
2
     
     
    We hit hard, with a loud thud.
    Clark and Charley bounced all over the backseat. When the car finally slid to
a stop, they were sitting on top of me.
    “Is everyone okay?” Mom asked in a shaky voice. She turned to the back.
    “Uh-huh,” I replied. “I guess.”
    We all sat quietly for a moment.
    Charley broke the silence with a soft whimper.
    “Wh-what happened?” Clark stammered.
    “Flat tire.” Dad sighed. “I hope the spare is okay. There’s no way we’re
going to get help at night in the middle of a swamp.”
    I leaned out the window to check out the tire. Dad was right. It was totally
flat.
    Boy, were we lucky, I thought. Lucky this was a low bridge. Otherwise…
    “Okay, everybody out of the car,” Mom interrupted my thoughts. “So Dad can
change the tire.”
    Clark took a long look out the car window