They Call Me Creature by R.L. Stine Read Free Book Online Page A

me.
    â€œExcuse me?” I gaped at him.
    â€œWe’d better have that film,” he said. “If you don’t mind.”
    â€œI do mind!” I cried.
    But his partner moved fast. He grabbed the camera and tugged it off my neck.
    â€œHey—give me that!” I shouted. “I need that! That’s mine!” I made a grab for it—and missed.
    He snapped open the camera and pulled out the film cartridge. He yanked the film from the cartridge, exposing it to the sunlight. Ruining it.
    Then he handed the camera back.
    â€œYou have no right to do that.” I scowled angrily.
    They turned and walked to the Jeep, carrying their rifles at their waists.
    â€œWhat’s in the trailer?” I shouted. “What’s kicking so hard in there?”
    They exchanged glances. The bald one swung his rifle onto his shoulder.
    â€œIt’s a deer,” his partner said.
    â€œYeah, it’s a deer,” the bald one repeated, his silvery eyes flashing. “We’ve got a sick deer in there.”
    â€œBut—the rifles—” I blurted out.
    â€œTranquilizer guns,” the one in the cap said.
    â€œWe’re taking this deer to be treated,” the bald one said. “He’s in pretty bad shape. Something bad going on here.”
    â€œYou should stay out of the woods for a while,” his partner warned. “Yeah. And don’t take pictures. It’s dangerous.”
    Was he threatening me?
    I watched them climb into the Jeep. The bald one started the engine. The Jeep roared and sent a cloud of black exhaust up to the treetops. Then it rumbled away, the trailer bouncing heavily behind it.
    I stood in the path, waiting to calm down. I clenched and unclenched my fists at my sides.
    â€œThose two creeps are liars,” I said out loud.
    That wasn’t a sick deer in that trailer. How could a sick deer kick that hard if it was tranquilized?
    Those men were definitely lying.
    I jumped over a jagged, white rock and started along the path to home. I had walked only a few steps when I saw a little creature, half-hidden by a thick tuft of grass.
    It looked like a newborn pig. It had tiny, round black eyes and a cute pink snout.
    It can’t be a baby pig, I thought. There aren’t any pigs in these woods. I leaned down to get a closer look. Are you a wild pig? You must be some kind of runt!
    The little creature let out a squeak—and jumped into my hand.
    I cried out in surprise. I nearly dropped it.
    It sat in my palm, staring up at me with those cute, little black eyes.
    â€œWow. You’re a friendly guy,” I said to it. I raised my palm to study it. “I’m glad you’re not afraid of me. I wish I had something to feed you.”
    It tilted its round head to one side, as if it understood me. It squeaked again, twitched its pink snout, and opened its mouth. I was startled to see two rows of sharp, pointed teeth.
    I really have to photograph this guy, I thought. But I don’t have any film. I think I’ll bring him home with me and take his picture there.
    He jumped again. Onto my shoulder.
    A second later I felt a sharp stab of pain in my neck.
    â€œOwwww!” I uttered a shocked cry as the creature clamped its teeth into my throat.
    â€œHey—OWWWW!” I gripped its back and struggled to pull it off me.
    But the pain made me stop.
    The pain … the pain …
    It shot down my whole body.
    The teeth were so deep—and shut so tightly—if I pulled the creature away, I’d tear a hole in my throat!
    â€œNoooo!” I moaned, gripping the animal, squeezing it, struggling to remove it.
    Warm liquid trickled down my neck. My blood!
    I heard a lapping sound. Sucking and lapping.
    The pain throbbed and pulsed.
    The blood flowed down my neck.
    The pointed teeth chomped and dug in hard.
    The lapping and smacking sounds grew more rapid. Frantic.
    He’s drinking … I realized.
    Drinking my