Werewolf of Fever Swamp by R. L. Stine Read Free Book Online Page A

out toward the dark swamp. I uttered a near-silent gasp when I saw the shadowy creature running toward the trees.
    A large creature, running on all fours.
    It was only a black outline fading into the darkness. But I could see how big it was, and I could see how fast it was running.
    And I heard its howls. Triumphant howls, I thought.
    Is it Wolf? I wondered. I peered out the window without moving, even though the darkness had swallowed the creature up. I could see only the outline of distant trees.
    But I could still hear the howls rising and falling on the heavy night air.
    Is it Wolf?
    It can’t be Wolf—can it?
    I lowered my gaze. My breath caught in my throat. I saw something. In the middle of the backyard. A few feet from the deer pen.
    At first I thought it was a pile of rags.
    My hands trembled as I pulled open my window.
    I had to get a better look. I had to see what that was in the back yard.
    I pulled up my pajama bottoms. Then, gripping the windowsill, I lowered myself out the window onto the grass.
    The wet grass felt cold under my bare feet. I turned to the deer pen. The six swamp deer were standing tensely, huddled together against the house. Their dark eyes followed me as I began to creep across the grass.
    What is that thing? I wondered, staring into the silvery light.
    Is it just a pile of old rags?
    No.
    What is it?

 
    18

    My bare feet felt cold and wet as I made my way slowly across the dew-covered grass. The night air was heavy and still, still as death.
    When I came close enough to see what was lying in a heap on the grass, I uttered a faint cry and started to gag.
    I pressed a hand against my mouth and swallowed hard.
    I realized I was staring down at a rabbit. Its small, black eyes were frozen open in terror. One of its ears had been pulled off.
    The rabbit had been ripped open, nearly torn in half.
    I forced myself to look away.
    My stomach still heaving, I hurried back over the wet grass to my open window and scrambled back in.
    As I struggled to pull the window shut, the howls rang out again, rising triumphantly from the nearby swamp.

    After breakfast the next morning, I led Dad out to the back yard to show him the murdered rabbit. It was a bright, hot day, and a red sun climbed a pale, clear sky.
    As soon as we stepped off the back stoop, Wolf appeared from around the side of his house. His tail began wagging furiously. He came running excitedly to greet me, as if he hadn’t seen me in years, leaping onto my chest, nearly knocking me over.
    “Down, Wolf! Down!” I cried, laughing as the dog stretched to lick my face.
    “Your dog is a killer,” a voice said behind me. I turned to see that Emily had followed us. She was wearing a red T-shirt over white tennis shorts. She had her arms crossed in front of her, and she was glaring disapprovingly at Wolf. “Look what he did to that poor bunny rabbit,” she said, shaking her head.
    “Whoa. Hold on,” I replied, petting Wolf’s gray fur. “Who said Wolf did this?”
    “Who else would have done it?” Emily demanded. “He’s a killer.”
    “Oh, yeah? Look how gentle he is,” I insisted. I put my wrist in Wolf’s mouth. He clamped down gently on it, being careful not to hurt me.
    “Wolf may be a bit of a hunter,” Dad said thoughtfully. He had been staring down at the rabbit, but now he turned his glance to the deer pen.
    Huddled together at one end of the pen, the deer were all staring warily at Wolf. They had their heads lowered cautiously as they followed the dog’s every move.
    “I’m glad they’re safe inside that pen,” Dad said softly.
    “Dad, you have to get rid of this dog!” Emily said shrilly.
    “No way!” I cried. I turned angrily to my sister. “You have no proof that Wolf did anything wrong!” I shouted. “No proof at all!”
    “You have no proof that he didn’t do it!” Emily replied nastily.
    “Of course he didn’t!” I cried, feeling myself lose control. “Didn’t you hear the howls last night?