Goosebumps- All In One

The Werewolf of Fever Swamp

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THE WEREWOLF 

OF FEVER SWAMP 

Goosebumps - 14 

R.L. Stine 

(An Undead Scan v1.5) 

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1 

We  moved  to  Florida  during  Christmas  vacation.  A  week  later,  I  heard  the 

frightening howls in the swamp for the first time. 

Night after night, the howls made me sit up in bed. I would hold my breath and 

wrap my arms around myself to keep from shivering. 

I  would  stare  out  my  bedroom  window  at  the  chalk-colored  full  moon.  And  I 

would listen. 

What kind of creature makes such a cry? I would ask myself. 

And how close is it? Why does it sound as if it’s right outside my window? 

The wails rose and fell like police car sirens. They weren’t sad or mournful. They 

were menacing. 

Angry. 

They  sounded  to  me  like  a  warning. Stay  out  of  the  swamp.  You  do  not  belong 

here. 

When  my  family  first  moved  to  Florida,  to  our  new  house  at  the  edge  of  the 

swamp,  I  couldn’t  wait  to  explore.  I  stood  in  the  back  yard  with  the  binoculars  my 

dad had given me for my twelfth birthday and gazed toward the swamp. 

Trees  with  slender,  white  trunks  tilted  over  each  other.  Their  flat,  broad  leaves 

appeared to form a roof, covering the swamp floor in blue shadow. 

Behind  me,  the  deer  paced  uneasily  in  their  wire-mesh  pen.  I  could  hear  them 

pawing the soft, sandy ground, rubbing their antlers against the walls of their pen. 

Lowering my binoculars,  I turned to look at them. The deer  were the reason we 

had moved to Florida. 

You see, my dad, Michael F. Tucker, is a scientist. He works for the University of 

Vermont in Burlington, which, believe me, is a long way from the Florida swamps! 

Dad  got  these  six  deer  from  some  country  in  South  America.  They’re  called 

swamp deer.  They’re not like regular deer.  I mean, they don’t look like Bambi. For 

one thing, their fur is very red, not brown. And their hooves are really big and kind of 

webbed. For walking on wet, swampy ground, I guess. 

Dad wants to see if these South American swamp deer can survive in Florida. He 

plans  to  put  little  radio  transmitters  on  them,  and  set  them  free  in  the  swamp.  Then 

he’ll study how they get along. 

When  he  told  us  back  in  Burlington  that  we  were  moving  to  Florida  because  of 

the deer, we all totally freaked. We didn’t want to move. 

My  sister,  Emily,  cried  for  days.  She’s  sixteen,  and  she  didn’t  want  to  miss  her 

senior year in high school. I didn’t want to leave my friends, either. 

But Dad quickly got Mom on his side. Mom is a scientist, too. She and Dad work 

together on a lot of projects. So, of course, she agreed with him. 

  3 

And the two of them tried to persuade Emily and me that this was the chance of a 

lifetime, that it was going to be really exciting. An adventure we’d never forget. 

So here we were, living in a little white house in a neighborhood of four or five 

other  little  white  houses.  We  had  six  weird-looking  red  deer  penned  up  behind  the 

house.  The  hot  Florida  sun  was  beaming  down.  And  an  endless  swamp  stretched 

beyond our flat, grassy back yard. 

I  turned  away  from  the  deer  and  raised  the  binoculars  to  my  face.  “Oh,”  I  cried 

out as two dark eyes seemed to be staring back at me. 

I pulled the binoculars away and squinted toward the swamp. In the near distance 

I saw a large white bird on two long, spindly legs. 

“It’s a crane,” Emily said. I hadn’t realized Emily had stepped up beside me. She 

was  wearing  a  sleeveless  white  T-shirt  and  short  red  denim  shorts.  My  sister  is  tall 

and thin and very blonde. She looks a lot like a crane. 

The bird turned and began high-stepping toward the swamp. 

“Let’s follow it,” I said. 

Emily made her pouting face, an expression we’d all seen a lot of since moving 

down here. “No way. It’s too hot.” 

“Aw, come on.” I tugged her skinny arm. “Let’s do some exploring, check out the 

swamp.” 

She  shook  her  head,  her  white-blonde  ponytail  swinging  behind  her.  “I  really 

don’t want to, Grady.” She adjusted her sunglasses on her nose. “I’m kind of waiting 

for the mail.” 

Since  we’re  so  far  from  the  nearest  post  office,  we  only  get  mail  two  times  a 

week. Emily had been spending most of her time waiting for the mail. 

“Waiting  for  a  love  letter  from  Martin?”  I  asked  with  a  grin.  She  hated  when  I 

teased her about Martin, her boyfriend back in Burlington. So I teased her as often as 

I could. 

“Maybe,” she said. She reached out with both hands and messed up my hair. She 

knows I hate to have my hair messed up. 

“Please?” I pleaded. “Come on, Emily. Just a short walk. Very short.” 

“Emily,  take  a  short  walk  with  Grady,”  Dad’s  voice broke  in.  We  turned  to  see 

him inside the deer pen. He had a clipboard in one hand and was going from deer to 

deer, taking notes. “Go ahead,” he urged my sister. “You’re not doing anything else.” 

“But, Dad—” Emily could whine with the best of them when she wanted. 

“Go  ahead,  Em,”  Dad  insisted.  “It  will  be  interesting.  More  interesting  than 

standing around in the heat arguing with him.” 

Emily  pushed  the  sunglasses  up  again.  They  kept  slipping  down  her  nose. 

“Well…” 

“Great!”  I  cried.  I  was  really  excited.  I’d  never  been  in  a  real  swamp  before. 

“Let’s go!” I grabbed my sister’s hand and pulled. 

Emily reluctantly followed, a fretful expression on her face. “I have a bad feeling 

about this,” she muttered. 

My  shadow  slanting  behind  me,  I  hurried  toward  the low,  tilting  trees.  “Emily, 

what could go wrong?” I asked. 

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2 

It  was  hot  and  wet  under  the  trees.  The  air  felt  sticky  against  my  face.  The  broad 

palm  leaves  were  so  low,  I  could  almost  reach  up  and  touch  them.  They  nearly 

blocked out the sun, but shafts of  yellow light broke through, beaming down on the 

swamp floor like spotlights. 

Scratchy weeds and fern leaves brushed against my bare legs. I wished I’d worn 

jeans instead of shorts. I kept close to my sister as we made our way along a narrow, 

winding trail. The binoculars, strapped around my neck, began to feel heavy against 

my chest. I should’ve left them at home, I realized. 

“It’s so noisy here,” Emily complained, stepping over a decaying log. 

She was right. The most surprising thing about the swamp was all the sounds. 

A bird trilled from somewhere above. Another bird replied with a shrill whistle. 

Insects  chittered  loudly  all  around  us.  I  heard  a  steady tap-tap-tap, like  someone 

hammering on wood. A woodpecker? Palm leaves crackled as they swayed. Slender 

tree  trunks  creaked.  My  sandals  made thup  thup sounds,  sinking  into  the  marshy 

ground as I walked. 

“Hey, look,” Emily said, pointing. She pulled off her dark glasses to see better. 

We  had  come  to  a  small,  oval-shaped  pond.  The  water  was  dark  green,  half-hidden in shade. Floating on top were white water lilies, bending gracefully over flat, 

green lily pads. 

“Pretty,”  Emily  said,  brushing  a  bug  off  her  shoulder.  “I’m  going  to  come  back 

here with my camera and take pictures of this pond. Look at the great light.” 

I  followed  her  gaze.  The  near  end  of  the  pond  was  darkened  by  long  shadows. 

But light slanted down through the trees at the other end, forming what looked like a 

bright curtain that spilled into the still pond water. 

“It is kind of cool,” I admitted. I wasn’t really into ponds. I was more interested 

in wildlife. 

I  let  Emily  admire  the  pond  and  the  water  lilies  a little  longer.  Then  I  headed 

around the pond and deeper into the swamp. 

My  sandals  slapped  over  the  wet  ground.  Up  ahead,  a  swarm  of  tiny  gnats, 

thousands of them, danced silently in a shaft of sunlight. 

“Yuck,” Emily muttered. “I hate  gnats.  It makes  me itchy just to look  at them.” 

She scratched her arms. 

We  turned  away—and  both  saw  something  scamper  behind  a  fallen,  moss-covered log. 

“Hey—what was that?” Emily cried, grabbing my elbow. 

“An alligator!” I shouted. “A hungry alligator!” 

She uttered a short, frightened cry. 

  5 

I laughed. “What’s your problem, Em? It was just some kind of lizard.” 

She squeezed my  arm hard, trying to make me  flinch. “You’re  a  creep,  Grady,” 

she muttered. She scratched her arms some more. “It’s too itchy in this swamp,” she 

complained. “Let’s head back.” 

“Just a little bit farther,” I pleaded. 

“No. Come on. I really want to get back.” She tried to pull me, but I backed out 

of her grasp. “Grady—” 

I  turned  and  started  walking  away  from  her,  deeper into  the  swamp.  I  heard  the 

tap-tap-tap again, directly overhead. The low palm leaves scraped against each other, 

shifting in a soft, wet breeze. The shrill cluttering of the insects grew louder. 

“I’m going home and leaving you here,” Emily threatened. 

I ignored her and kept walking. I knew she was bluffing. 

My  sandals  crackled  over  dried,  brown  palm  leaves. Without  turning  around,  I 

could hear Emily a few steps behind me. 

Another  little  lizard  scampered  across  the  path,  just  in  front  of  my  sandals.  It 

looked like a dark arrow, shooting into the underbrush. 

The ground suddenly sloped upward. We found ourselves climbing a low hill into 

bright sunlight. A clearing of some sort. 

Beads  of  sweat  ran  down  my  cheeks.  The  air  was  so  wet,  I  felt  as  if  I  were 

swimming. 

At the top of the hill, we stopped to look around. “Hey—another pond!” I cried, 

running over fat, yellow swamp grass, hurrying up to the water’s edge. 

But this pond looked different. 

The dark green water wasn’t flat and smooth. Leaning over it, I could see that it 

was  murky  and  thick,  like  split-pea  soup.  It  made  disgusting  gurgling  and  plopping 

sounds as it churned. 

I leaned down closer to get a better look. 

“It’s quicksand!” I heard Emily cry in horror. 

And then two hands shoved me hard from behind. 

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3 

As  I  started  to  fall  into  the  bubbling  green  stew, the  same  hands  grabbed  my  waist 

and pulled me back. 

Emily  giggled. “Gotcha!” she cried, holding on to me, keeping me from turning 

around and slugging her. 

“Hey—let  go!”  I  cried  angrily.  “You  almost  pushed  me  into quicksand!  That’s 

not funny!” 

She laughed some more, then let me go. “It isn’t quicksand, dork,” she muttered. 

“It’s a bog.” 

“Huh?” I turned to stare into the gloppy green water. 

“It’s a bog. A peat bog,” she repeated impatiently. “Don’t you know anything?” 

“What’s a peat bog?” I asked, ignoring her insults. Emily the Know-It-All. She’s 

always bragging about how she knows everything and I’m a stupid clod. But she gets 

B’s in school, and I get A’s. So who’s the smart one? 

“We learned about this last year when we studied the wetlands and rain forests,” 

she  replied  smugly.  “The  pond  is  thick  because  it  has  peat  moss  growing  in  it.  The 

moss grows and grows. It absorbs twenty-five times its own weight in water.” 

“It’s gross-looking,” I said. 

“Why don’t you drink some and see how it tastes,” she urged. 

She  tried  to  push  me  again,  but  I  ducked  and  skirted  away.  “I’m  not  thirsty,”  I 

muttered. I realize it wasn’t too clever, but it was the best reply I could think of. 

“Let’s  get  going,”  she  said,  wiping  sweat  off  her  forehead  with  her  hand.  “I’m 

really hot.” 

“Yeah. Okay,” I reluctantly agreed. “This was a pretty neat walk.” 

We turned away from the peat bog and started back down the hill. “Hey, look!” I 

cried, pointing to two black shadows floating high above us under a white cloud. 

“Falcons,” Emily said, shielding her eyes with one hand as she gazed up. “I think 

they’re falcons. It’s hard to see. They sure are big.” 

We watched them soar out of sight. Then we continued down the hill, making our 

way carefully on the damp, sandy ground. 

At the bottom of the hill, back under the deep shade of the trees, we stopped to 

catch our breath. 

I  was  really  sweating  now.  The  back  of  my  neck  felt  hot  and  itchy.  I  rubbed  it 

with one hand, but it didn’t seem to help. 

The breeze had stopped. The air felt heavy. Nothing moved. 

Loud cawing sounds made me glance up. Two enormous blackbirds peered down 

at  us  from  a  low  branch  of  a  cypress  tree.  They  cawed  again,  as  if  telling  us  to  go 

away. 

  7 

“This way,” Emily said with a sigh. 

I  followed  her,  feeling  prickly  and  itchy  all  over.  “I  wish  we  had  a  swimming 

pool at our new house,” I said. “I’d jump right in with my clothes on!” 

We walked for several minutes. The trees grew  thicker. The light  grew dimmer. 

The path ended. We had to push our way through tall, leafy ferns. 

“I—I don’t think we’ve been here before,” I stammered. “I don’t think this is the 

right way.” 

We stared at each other, watching each other’s face fill with fright. 

We both realized we were lost. Completely lost. 

  8 

4 

“I don’t believe this!” Emily shrieked. 

Her  loud  shout  made  the  two  blackbirds  flutter  off their  tree  limb.  They  soared 

away, cawing angrily. 

“What am I doing here?” she cried. Emily is not good in emergencies. When she 

got  a  flat  tire  during  one  of  her  first  driving  lessons  back  home  in  Burlington,  she 

jumped out of the car and ran away! 

So I didn’t exactly expect her to be calm and cool now. Since we were totally lost 

in the middle of a dark, hot swamp, I expected her to panic. And she did. 

I’m the  calm one in the family.  I take after Dad. Cool and scientific. “Let’s just 

figure out the direction of the sun,” I said, ignoring the fluttering in my chest. 

“What sun?” Emily cried, throwing her hands up. 

It  was  really  dark.  The  palm  trees  with  their  wide leaves  formed  a  pretty  solid 

roof above us. 

“Well,  we  could  check  out  some  moss,”  I  suggested. The  fluttering  in  my  chest 

was growing stronger. “Isn’t moss supposed to grow on the north side of trees?” 

“East side, I think,” Emily muttered. “Or is it the west?” 

“I’m pretty sure it’s the north,” I insisted, gazing around. 

“Pretty sure? What good is pretty sure?” Emily cried shrilly. 

“Forget  the  moss,”  I  said,  rolling  my  eyes.  “I’m  not  even  sure  what  moss  looks 

like.” 

We stared at each other for a long time. 

“Didn’t you used to carry a compass with you wherever you went?” Emily asked, 

sounding a little shaky. 

“Yeah. When I was four,” I replied. 

“I can’t believe we were so stupid,” Emily wailed. “We should have worn one of 

the radio transmitters. You know. For the deer. Then Dad could track us down.” 

“I should have worn jeans,” I muttered, noticing some tiny red bumps along my 

calf. Poison ivy? Some kind of rash? 

“What  should  we  do?”  Emily  asked  impatiently,  wiping  sweat  off  her  forehead 

with her hand. 

“Go  back  up  the  hill,  I  guess,”  I  told  her.  “There were  no  trees  there.  It  was 

sunny. Once we see where the sun is, we can figure out the direction to get back.” 

“But which way is the hill?” Emily demanded. 

I spun around. Was it behind us? To our right? A cold chill ran down my back as 

I realized I wasn’t sure. 

I shrugged. “We’re really lost,” I murmured with a sigh. 

  9 

“Let’s go this way,” Emily said, starting to walk away. “I just have a feeling this 

is the way. If we come to that bog, we’ll know we’re going right.” 

“And if we don’t?” I demanded. 

“We’ll come to something else, maybe,” she replied. 

Brilliant. 

But I didn’t see any good in arguing with her. So I followed. 

We  walked  in  silence,  the  shrill  ringing  of  the  insects  on  all  sides,  the  calls  of 

birds  startling  us  from  above.  After  a  short  while,  we  pushed  our  way  through  a 

clump of tall, stiff reeds. 

“Have we been here before?” Emily asked. 

I couldn’t remember. I pushed a reed away to step through and realized it had left 

something sticky on my hand. “Yuck!” 

“Hey, look!” Emily’s excited cry made me glance up from the sticky green gunk 

that clung to my hand. 

The bog! It was right in front of us. The same bog we had stopped at before. 

“Yay!” Emily cried. “I knew I was right. I just had a feeling.” 

The sight of the gurgling green pond cheered us both up. Once past it, we began 

to run. We knew we were on the right path, nearly home. 

“Way to go!” I cried happily, running past my sister. “Way to go!” 

I was feeling really good again. 

Then  something  reached  up,  grabbed  my  ankle,  and  pulled  me  down  to  the 

swampy ground. 

  10 

5 

I hit the ground hard, landing on my elbows and knees. 

My heart leapt into my mouth. 

I tasted blood. 

“Get up! Get up!” Emily was screaming. 

“It—it’s got me!” I cried in a tight, trembling voice. 

The fluttering in my chest had become a pounding. Again, I tasted blood. 

I raised my eyes to see Emily laughing. 

Laughing? 

“It’s just a tree root,” she said, pointing. 

I followed the direction of her finger—and instantly realized I hadn’t been pulled 

down.  I  had  tripped  over  one  of  the  many  upraised  tree  roots  that  arched  over  the 

ground. 

I stared at the bonelike root. It was bent in the middle and looked like a skinny, 

white leg. 

But what was the blood I tasted? 

I felt my aching lip. I had bitten it when I fell. 

With a loud groan, I pulled myself to my feet. My knees ached. My lip throbbed. 

Blood trickled down my chin. 

“That  was  pretty  clumsy,”  Emily  said  softly.  And  then  she  added,  “Are  you 

okay?” She brushed some dried leaves off the back of my T-shirt. 

“Yeah, I guess,” I replied, still feeling a little shaky. “I really thought something 

had grabbed me.” I forced a laugh. 

She  rested  a  hand  on  my  shoulder,  and  we  started  walking  again,  slower  than 

before, side by side. 

Slender  beams  of  light  poked  down  through  the  thick  tree  leaves,  dotting  the 

ground in front of us. It all looked unreal, like something in a dream. 

Some  creature  scampered  noisily  behind  the  tangle  of  low  shrubs  at  our  right. 

Emily and I didn’t even turn to try to see it. We just wanted to get home. 

It didn’t take us long to realize we were headed in the wrong direction. 

We stopped at the edge of a small, round clearing. Birds chattered noisily above 

us. A light breeze made the palm leaves scrape and creak. 

“What are those huge gray things?” I asked, lingering behind my sister. 

“Mushrooms, I think,” she replied quietly. 

“Mushrooms as big as footballs,” I murmured. 

We both saw the small shack at the same time. 

It  was  hidden  in  the  shadow  of  two  low  cypress  trees  beyond  the  field  of  giant 

mushrooms at the other side of the clearing. 

  11 

We  both  gaped  at  it  in  surprise,  studying  it  in  shocked  silence.  We  took  a  few 

steps toward it. Then a few more. 

The shack was tiny, built low to the ground, not much taller than me. It had some 

kind  of  thatched  roof,  made  of  long  reeds  or  dried grass.  The  walls  were  made  of 

layers of dried palm leaves. 

The door, built of slender tree limbs bound together, was shut tight. There were 

no windows. 

A  pile  of  gray  ashes  formed  a  circle  a  few  yards  from  the  door.  Signs  of  a 

campfire. 

I saw a pair of battered, old workboots lying at the side of the shack. Beside them 

were  several  empty  tin  cans  on  their  sides  and  a  plastic  water  bottle,  also  empty, 

partly crumpled. 

I  turned  to  Emily  and  whispered,  “Do  you  think  someone  lives  here?  In  the 

middle of the swamp?” 

She shrugged, her features tight with fear. 

“If  someone  lives  here,  maybe  he  can  tell  us  which way  to  go  to  get  home,”  I 

suggested. 

“Maybe,”  Emily  murmured.  Her  eyes  were  straight  ahead  on  the  tiny  shack 

covered in blue shadow. 

We took another couple of steps closer. 

Why  would  someone  want  to  live  in  a  tiny  shack  like  this  in  the  middle  of  a 

swamp? I wondered. 

An  answer  flashed  into  my  mind:  Because  whoever  it is  wants  to  hide  from  the 

world. 

“It’s a hideout,” I muttered, not realizing I was speaking out loud. “A criminal. A 

bank robber. Or a killer. He’s hiding here.” 

“Sshhh.” Emily put a finger on my mouth to silence me, hitting the cut on my lip. 

I pulled away. 

“Anyone home?” she called. Her voice came out low and shaky, so low  I  could 

barely hear her. “Anyone home?” she repeated, a little more forcefully. 

I decided to join in. We shouted together: “Anyone home? Anyone in there?” 

We listened. 

No reply. 

We stepped up to the low door. 

“Anyone in there?” I called one more time. 

Then I reached for the doorknob. 

  12 

6 

Just as I was about to pull open the crude wooden door, it swung out, nearly hitting 

us both. We leapt back as a man burst out from the dark doorway of the hut. 

He glared at us with wild black eyes. He had long, gray-white hair, down past his 

shoulders, tied behind him in a loose ponytail. 

His face was bright red, sunburned, maybe. Or maybe red from anger. He stared 

at us with a menacing scowl, standing bent over, stooped from being inside the low 

hut. 

He wore a loose-fitting white T-shirt, dirt-stained and wrinkled, over heavy black 

trousers that bagged over his sandals. 

As  he  glared  at  us  with  those  amazing  black  eyes,  his  mouth  opened,  revealing 

rows of jagged yellow teeth. 

Huddling close to my sister, I took a step back. 

I wanted to ask him who he was, why he lived in the swamp. I wanted to ask if he 

could help us find our way back home. 

A dozen questions flashed through my mind. 

But all I could utter was, “Uh… sorry.” 

Then  I  realized  that  Emily  was  already  running  away.  Her  ponytail  flew  behind 

her as she dived through the tall weeds. 

And  a  second  later,  I  was  running  after  her.  My  heart  pounded.  My  sandals 

squished over the soft ground. 

“Hey, Emily—wait up! Wait up!” 

I ran over the rough carpet of dead leaves and twigs. 

As  I  struggled  to  catch  up  to  her,  I  glanced  behind  me—and  cried  out  in  terror. 

“Emily—he’s chasing us!” 

  13 

7 

Bent  low  to  the  ground,  the  man  from  the  hut  moved steadily  after  us,  taking  long 

strides.  His  hands  bobbed  at  his  sides.  He  was  breathing  hard,  and  his  mouth  was 

open, revealing the jagged teeth. 

“Run!” Emily cried. “Run, Grady!” 

We were following a narrow path between tall weeds. The trees thinned out. We 

ran through shadow and sunlight and back into shadow. 

“Emily—wait up!” I called breathlessly. But she didn’t slow down. 

A long, narrow pond appeared to our left. Strange trees lifted up from the middle 

of  the  water.  The  slender  trunks  were  surrounded  by  a  thicket  of  dark  roots. 

Mangrove trees. 

I wanted to stop and look at the eerie-looking trees. But this wasn’t the time for 

sightseeing. 

We ran along the edge of the pond, our sandals sinking into the marshy ground. 

Then,  my  chest  heaving,  my  throat  choked  and  dry,  I  followed  Emily  as  the  path 

curved into the trees. 

A sharp pain in my side made me cry out. I stopped running. I gasped for breath. 

“Hey—he’s gone,” Emily said, swallowing hard. She stopped a few yards ahead 

of me and leaned against a tree trunk. “We lost him.” 

I  bent  over,  trying  to  force  away  the  pain  in  my  side.  After  a  short  while,  my 

breathing slowed to normal. “Weird,” I said. I couldn’t think of anything else. 

“Yeah. Weird,” Emily agreed. She walked back to me and pulled me up straight. 

“You okay?” 

“I guess.” At least the pain had faded away. I always get a pain in my right side 

when I run a long time. This one was worse than usual. I usually don’t have to run for 

my life! 

“Come on,” Emily said. She let go of me and started walking quickly, following 

the path. 

“Hey, this looks familiar,” I said. I began to feel a little better. I started to jog. We 

passed clusters of trees and ferns that looked familiar. I could see our footprints in the 

sandy ground, going the other way. 

A short while later, our back yard came into view. “Home sweet home!” I cried. 

Emily  and  I  stepped  out  from  the  low  trees  and  began  running  across  the  grass 

toward the back of the house. 

Mom  and  Dad  were  in  the  back  yard  setting  up  outdoor  furniture.  Dad  was 

lowering an umbrella into the white umbrella table. Mom was washing off the white 

lawn chairs with the garden hose. 

“Hey—welcome back,” Dad said, smiling. 

  14 

“We thought you got lost,” Mom said. 

“We did!” I cried breathlessly. 

Mom turned off the nozzle, stopping the spray of water. “You what?” 

“A man chased us!” Emily exclaimed. “A strange man with long white hair.” 

“He lives in a hut. In the middle of the swamp,” I added, dropping down into one 

of the lawn chairs. It was wet, but I didn’t care. 

“Huh? He chased you?” Dad’s eyes narrowed in alarm. Then he said, “I heard in 

town there’s a swamp hermit out there.” 

“Yes, he chased us!” Emily repeated. Her normally pale face was bright red. Her 

hair had come loose and fell wildly around her face. “It—it was scary.” 

“A guy in the hardware store told me about him,” Dad said. “Said he was strange, 

but perfectly harmless. No one knows his name.” 

“Harmless?” Emily cried. “Then why did he chase us?” 

Dad  shrugged.  “I’m  only  repeating  what  I  heard.  Evidently  he’s  lived  in  the 

swamp most of his life. By himself. He never comes to town.” 

Mom dropped the hose and walked over to Emily. She placed a hand on Emily’s 

shoulder.  In  the  bright  sunlight,  they  looked  like sisters.  They’re  both  tall  and  thin, 

with  long,  straight  blonde  hair.  I  look  more  like  my  dad.  Wavy  brown  hair.  Dark 

eyes. A little chunky. 

“Maybe they shouldn’t go back in the swamp by  themselves,” Mom said, biting 

her lower lip fretfully. She started to gather Emily’s hair back up into a ponytail. 

“The hermit is supposed to be completely harmless,” Dad repeated. He was still 

struggling to lower the umbrella into the concrete base. Every time he lowered it, he 

missed the opening. 

“Here,  Dad.  I’ll  help  you.”  I  scooted  under  the  table  and  guided  the  umbrella 

stem into the base. 

“Don’t  worry,”  Emily  said.  “You  won’t  catch  me  back  in  that  swamp.”  She 

scratched both shoulders. “I’m going to be itchy for the rest of my life!” she groaned. 

“We saw a lot of neat things,”  I said, starting to feel normal again. “A peat bog 

and mangrove trees…” 

“I  told  you  this  was  going  to  be  an  experience,”  Dad  said,  arranging  the  white 

chairs around the table. 

“Some  experience,”  Emily  grumbled,  rolling  her  eyes.  “I’m  going  in  to  take  a 

shower. Maybe if I stay in it for an hour or so, I’ll stop itching.” 

Mom  shook  her  head,  watching  Emily  stomp  toward  the  back  door.  “This  is 

going to be a hard year for Em,” she muttered. 

Dad wiped his dirty hands on the sides of his jeans. “Come with me, Grady,” he 

said, motioning for me to follow him. “Time to feed the deer.” 

We  talked  more  about  the  swamp  at  dinner.  Dad  told us  stories  about  how  they 

hunted and trapped the swamp deer that he was using for his experiment. 

Dad and his helpers searched the South American jungles  for weeks. They  used 

tranquilizer guns to capture the deer. Then they had to bring in helicopters to pull the 

deer out, and the deer were not too happy about flying. 

  15 

“The  swamp  you  two  were  exploring  this  afternoon,” he  said,  twirling  his 

spaghetti. “Know what it’s called? Fever Swamp. That’s what the local people call it, 

anyway.” 

“Why?” Emily asked. “Because it’s so hot in there?” 

Dad chewed and swallowed a mouthful of spaghetti. He had orange splotches of 

tomato  sauce  on  both  sides  of  his  mouth.  “I  don’t  know  why  it’s  called  Fever 

Swamp. But I’m sure we’ll find out eventually.”  

“It was probably discovered by a guy named Mr. Fever,” Mom joked. 

“I want to go home to Vermont!” Emily wailed. 

After dinner, I found myself feeling a little homesick, too. I took a tennis ball out to 

the back of the house. I thought maybe I could bounce it off the wall and catch it the 

way I had done back home. 

But the deer pen was in the way. 

I thought about my two best friends back in Burlington, Ben and Adam. We had 

lived on the same block and used to hang out after dinner. We’d throw a ball around 

or walk down to the playground and just mess around. 

Staring  at the deer, who  milled silently at one  end of the pen,  I  realized  I really 

missed  my  friends.  I  wondered  what  they  were  doing right  now.  Probably  hanging 

out in Ben’s back yard. 

Feeling  glum,  I  was  about  to  go  back  inside  and  see  what  was  on  TV—when  a 

hand grabbed me from behind. 

The swamp hermit! 

  16 

8 

He found me! 

The swamp hermit found me! And now he’s got me! 

Those are the thoughts that burst into my mind. 

I  spun  around—and  uttered  a  startled  cry  when  I  saw  that  it  wasn’t  the  swamp 

hermit. It was a boy. 

“Hi,”  he  said.  “I  thought  you  saw  me.  I  didn’t  mean  to  scare  you.”  He  had  a 

funny voice, gravelly and hoarse. 

“Oh. Uh… that’s okay,” I stammered. 

“I saw you in your yard,” he said. “I live over there.” He pointed to the house two 

doors down. “You just moved in?” 

I  nodded.  “Yeah.  I’m  Grady  Tucker.”  I  slapped  the  tennis  ball  into  my  hand. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Will. Will Blake,” he said in his hoarse voice. He was about my height, but he 

was heavier, bigger somehow. His shoulders were broader. His neck was thicker. He 

reminded me of a football lineman. 

He had dark brown hair, cut very short. It stood straight up on top, like a flattop, 

and was swept back on the sides. He wore a blue-and-white-striped T-shirt and denim 

cutoffs. 

“How old are you?” he asked. 

“Twelve,” I answered. 

“Me, too,” he told me, glancing over my shoulder at the deer. “I thought maybe 

you were eleven. I mean, you look kind of young.” 

I  was  insulted  by  that  remark,  but  I  decided  to  ignore  it.  “How  long  have  you 

lived here?” I asked, tossing the tennis ball from hand to hand. 

“A few months,” Will said. 

“Are there any other kids our age?” I asked, glancing down the row of six houses. 

“Yeah. One,” Will replied. “But she’s a girl. And she’s kind of weird.” 

In the distance, the sun was lowering itself behind the swamp trees. The sky was 

a dark scarlet. The air suddenly became cooler. Gazing high in the sky, I could see a 

pale moon, nearly full. 

Will headed over to the deer pen, and I followed him. He walked heavily, his big 

shoulders bobbing with each step. He poked his hand through the wire mesh and let a 

deer lick his palm. 

“Your father works for the Forest Service, too?” he asked, his eyes studying the 

deer. 

“No,”  I  told  him.  “My  mom  and  dad  are  both  scientists.  They’re  doing  studies 

with these deer.” 

  17 

“Weird-looking deer,” Will said. He pulled his wet hand from the pen and held it 

up. “Yuck. Deer slime.” 

I laughed. “They’re called swamp deer,” I told him. I tossed him the tennis ball. 

We backed away from the deer pen and started to throw the ball back and forth. 

“Have you been in the swamp?” he asked. 

I  missed  the  ball  and  had  to  chase  it  across  the  grass.  “Yeah.  This  afternoon,”  I 

told him. “My sister and I, we got lost.” 

He snickered. 

“Do you know why it’s called Fever Swamp?” I asked, tossing him a high one. 

It  was  getting  pretty  dark,  harder  to  see.  But  he  caught  the  ball  one-handed. 

“Yeah.  My  dad  told  me  the  story,”  Will  said.  “I  think  it  was  a  hundred  years  ago. 

Maybe longer. Everyone in town came down with a strange fever.” 

“Everyone?” I asked. 

He nodded. “Everyone who had been in the swamp.” He held on to the ball and 

moved closer. “My dad said the fever lasted for weeks, sometimes even months. And 

lots of people died from it.” 

“That’s  horrible,”  I  murmured,  glancing  across  the back  yard  to  the  darkening 

trees at the swamp edge. 

“And  those  who  didn’t  die  from  the  fever  began  acting  very  strange,”  Will 

continued.  He  had  small,  round  eyes.  And  as  he  told  his  story,  his  eyes  gleamed. 

“They started talking crazy, not making any sense, just saying nonsense words. And 

they couldn’t walk very well. They’d fall down a lot or walk around in circles.” 

“Weird,”  I  said,  my  eyes  still  trained  on  the  swamp.  The  sky  darkened  from 

scarlet to a deep purple. The nearly full moon seemed to glow brighter. 

“Ever since that time, they called it Fever Swamp,” Will said, finishing his story. 

He flipped the tennis ball to me. “I’d better get home.” 

“Did you ever see the swamp hermit?” I asked. 

He shook his head. “No. I heard about him, but I’ve never seen him.” 

“I did,” I told him. “My sister and I saw him this afternoon. We found his hut.” 

“That’s cool!” Will exclaimed. “Did you talk to him or anything?” 

“No way,” I replied. “He chased us.” 

“He did?” Will’s expression turned thoughtful. “Why?” 

“I don’t know. We were pretty scared,” I admitted. 

“I’ve  got  to  go,”  Will  said.  He  started  jogging  toward  his  house.  “Hey,  maybe 

you and I can go exploring in the swamp together,” he called back. 

“Yeah. Great!” I replied. 

I felt a little cheered up. I’d made a new friend. Maybe it won’t be so bad living 

here, I thought. 

I  watched  Will  head  around  the  side  of  his  house  two  doors  down.  His  house 

looked almost identical to ours, except there was no deer pen in back, of course. 

I saw a swing set with a small slide and seesaw in his back yard. I wondered if he 

had a little brother or sister. 

I thought about Emily as I headed to the house. I knew she’d be jealous that I’d 

made a  friend. Poor Emily was really sad without that goon Martin hanging  around 

her. 

  18 

I never liked Martin. He always called me “Kiddo”. 

I  watched  one  of  the  deer  lower  itself  to  the  ground,  folding  its  legs  gracefully. 

Another deer did the same. They were settling in for the night. 

I  made  my  way  inside  and  joined  my  family  in  the  living  room.  They  were 

watching  a  show  about  sharks  on  the  Discovery  Channel.  My  parents love  the 

Discovery Channel. Big surprise, huh? 

I watched for a short while. Then I began to realize I wasn’t feeling very well. I 

had a headache, a sharp throbbing at my temples. And I had chills. 

I told Mom. She got up and walked over to my chair. “You look a little flushed,” 

she said, studying me with concern. She placed a cool hand on my forehead and left 

it there for a few seconds. 

“Grady, I think you have a little fever,” she said. 

  19 

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. 

  20 

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. 

  21 

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. 

  22 

“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. 

  23 

11 

A gust of hot, wet air rushed in through the open door. The chirp of cicadas greeted 

my ears. 

Holding on to the door, I peered into the darkness of the back yard. 

Nothing. 

The nearly full moon,  yellow as a lemon, floated high in the sky. Thin wisps of 

black clouds drifted over it. 

The cicadas stopped suddenly, and all was quiet. 

Too quiet. 

I squinted into the distance, toward the blackness of the swamp. 

Nothing moved. Nothing made a sound. 

I  waited  for  my  eyes  to  adjust  to  the  darkness.  The  moonlight  sent  a  pale  glow 

over the grass. In the far distance, I could see the black outline of slanting trees where 

the swamp began. 

Who or what had scratched at the door? Were they hiding in the darkness now? 

Watching me? 

Waiting  for  me  to  close  the  door  so  they  could  begin  their  frightening  howls 

again? 

“Grady—close the door.” 

I could hear my sister’s voice behind me. She sounded so frightened. 

“Grady—do you see something? Do you?” 

“No,” I told her. “Just the moon.” 

I ventured out onto the back stoop. The air was hot and steamy, like the air in the 

bathroom after you’ve taken a hot shower. 

“Grady—come back. Close the door.” Emily’s voice was shrill and trembly. 

I gazed toward the deer pen. I could see their shadowy forms, still and silent. The 

hot wind rustled the grass. The cicadas began chirping again. 

“Is anybody out here?” I called. I immediately felt foolish. 

There was no one out here. 

“Grady—shut the door. Now.” 

I felt Emily’s hand on my pajama sleeve. She tugged me back into the kitchen. I 

closed the door and locked it. 

My face felt wet from the damp night air. I had chills. My knees were shaking. 

“You look kind of sick,” Emily said. She glanced over my shoulder to the door. 

“Did you see anything?” 

“No,” I told her. “Nothing. It’s so dark in back, even with a full moon.” 

  24 

“What’s going on in here?” A stern voice interrupted us. Dad lumbered into the 

kitchen,  adjusting  the  collar  of  the  long  nightshirt  he  always  wore.  “It’s  past 

midnight.” He glanced from Emily to me, then back to Emily, looking for a clue. 

“We heard noises,” Emily said. “Howls outside.” 

“And  then  something  was  scratching  on  the  door,”  I added,  trying  to  keep  my 

knees from shaking. 

“Fever  dreams,”  Dad  said  to  me.  “Look  at  you.  You’re  red  as  a  tomato.  And 

you’re  shaking.  Let’s  take  your  temperature.  You  must  be  burning  up.”  He  started 

toward the bathroom to get the thermometer. 

“It wasn’t a dream,” Emily called after him. “I heard the noises, too.” 

Dad stopped in the doorway. “Did you check the deer?” 

“Yeah. They’re okay,” I said. 

“Then maybe it was just the wind. Or some creatures in the swamp.  It’s hard to 

sleep in a new house. The sounds are all so new, so unfamiliar.  But  you’ll both get 

used to them after a while.” 

I’ll never get  used  to  those  horrible  howls,  I  thought  stubbornly.  But  I  headed 

back to my room. 

Dad took my temperature. It was just slightly above normal. “You should be fine 

by tomorrow,” he said, smoothing my blanket over me. “No more wandering around 

tonight, okay?” 

I murmured a reply and almost instantly drifted into a restless sleep. 

Again I had strange, troubling dreams. I dreamed I was walking in the swamp. I 

heard  the  howls.  I  could  see  the  full  moon  between the  slender  tree  trunks  of  the 

swamp. 

I  started  to  run.  And  then  suddenly  I  was  up  to  my waist  in  a  thick,  green  bog. 

And the howls continued, one after the other, echoing through the trees as I sank into 

the murky bog. 

When  I  awoke the next morning, the dream lingered in my mind.  I wondered if the 

howls were real, or just part of the dream. 

Climbing  out  of  bed,  I  realized  I  felt  fine.  Yellow  morning  sunlight  poured  in 

through  the  window.  I  could  see  a  clear  blue  sky.  The  beautiful  morning  made  me 

forget my nightmares. 

I wondered if Will was around this morning. Maybe he and I could go exploring 

in the swamp. 

I got dressed quickly, pulling on pale blue jeans and a black-and-silver Raiders T-shirt. (I’m not a Raiders fan. I just like their colors.) 

I  gulped  down  a  bowl  of  Frosted  Flakes,  allowed  my mom  to  feel  my  head  to 

make sure my fever was gone, and hurried to the back door. 

“Whoa.  Hold  on,”  Mom  called,  setting  down  her  coffee  cup.  “Where  are  you 

going so early?” 

“I want to see if Will is home,” I said. “Maybe we’ll hang out or something.” 

“Okay. Just don’t overdo it,” she warned. “Promise?” 

“Yeah. Promise,” I replied. 

  25 

I pulled open the kitchen door, stepped out into blinding sunlight—and screamed 

as an enormous, dark monster leapt onto my chest and heaved me to the ground. 

  26 

12 

“It—it’s got me!” I screamed as it pushed me to the ground and jumped on my chest. 

“Help! It—it’s licking my face!” 

I was so startled, it took me a long time to realize my attacker was a dog. 

By the time Mom and Dad came to my rescue and started to pull the big creature 

off my chest, I was laughing. “Hey—that tickles! Stop!” 

I wiped the dog spit off my face with my hands and scrambled to my feet. 

“Where’d you come from?” Mom asked the dog. She and Dad were holding on to 

the enormous beast. 

They  both  let  go,  and  it  stood  wagging  its  tail  excitedly,  panting,  its  big  red 

tongue hanging down practically to the ground. 

“He’s enormous!” Dad exclaimed. “He must be part shepherd.” 

I was still wiping the sticky saliva off my cheeks. 

“He  scared  me  to  death,”  I  confessed.  “Didn’t  you, fella?”  I  reached  down  and 

stroked the dark gray fur on the top of his head. His long tail started wagging faster. 

“He likes you,” Mom said. 

“He practically killed me!” I exclaimed. “Look at him. He must weigh more than 

a hundred pounds!” 

“Were you the  one  scratching  at  our  door  last  night?”  Emily  appeared  in  the 

doorway, still in the long T-shirt she used as a nightshirt. “I think this clears up the 

mystery,”  she  said  to  me,  yawning  sleepily  and  pulling  her  blonde  hair  behind  her 

shoulders with both hands. 

“I guess,” I muttered. I got down on my knees beside the big dog and stroked his 

back. He turned his head and licked my cheek again. “Yuck! Quit that!” I told him. 

“I  wonder  who  he  belongs  to?”  Mom  said,  staring  at the  dog  thoughtfully. 

“Grady, check his collar. There’s probably an ID tag.” 

I  reached  up  to  the  dog’s  broad  neck  and  felt  around  in  his  fur  for  a  collar. 

“Nothing there,” I reported. 

“Maybe he’s a stray,” Emily said from inside the kitchen. “Maybe that’s why he 

was scratching the door last night.” 

“Yeah,” I said quickly. “He needs a place to live.” 

“Whoa,”  Mom  said,  shaking  her  head.  “I  don’t  think we  need  a  dog  right  now, 

Grady. We just moved in, and—” 

“But  I need a pet!” I insisted. “It’s so lonely here. A dog would be great, Mom. 

He could keep me company.” 

“You have the deer for pets,” Dad said, frowning. He turned to the deer pen. The 

six deer were all standing alertly at attention, staring warily at the dog. 

  27 

“You can’t walk a deer!” I protested. “Besides, you’re going to set the deer free, 

right?” 

“The  dog  probably  belongs  to  someone,”  Mom  said.  “You  can’t  just  claim  any 

dog that wanders by. Besides, he’s so big, Grady. He’s too big to—” 

“Aw, let him keep it,” Emily called from the house. 

I stared at her in shock. I couldn’t remember the last time Emily and I had been 

on the same side of a family argument. 

The  discussion  continued  for  several  minutes  more. Everyone  agreed  that  he 

seemed like a sweet-tempered, gentle dog despite his huge size. And he certainly was 

affectionate. I couldn’t make him stop licking me. 

Glancing  up,  I  saw  Will  come  out  of  his  house  and  head  across  the  back  lawns 

toward  us.  He  was  wearing  a  sleeveless  blue  T-shirt  and  blue  Lycra  bicycle  shorts. 

“Hi! Look what we found!” I called. 

I introduced Will to my mom and dad. Emily had disappeared back to her room 

to get dressed. 

“Have  you seen this dog before?” Dad asked Will. “Does he belong to someone 

in the neighborhood?” 

Will  shook  his  head.  “Nope.  Never  seen  him.”  He  cautiously  petted  the  dog’s 

head. 

“Where’d  you come  from, fella?”  I  asked, staring into the  creature’s eyes. They 

were blue. Sky-blue. 

“He looks more like a wolf than a dog,” Will said. 

“Yeah.  He  really  does,”  I  agreed.  “Was  that  you  howling  like  a  wolf  all  last 

night?” I asked the dog. He tried to lick my nose, but I pulled my face back in time. 

I  glanced  up  at  Will.  “Did  you  hear  those  howls  last  night?  They  were  really 

weird.” 

“No.  I  didn’t  hear  anything,”  Will  replied.  “I’m  a very  sound  sleeper.  My  dad 

comes into my room and shouts through a megaphone to wake me up in the morning. 

Really!” 

We all laughed. 

“He  really does look  like  a  wolf,”  Mom  commented,  staring  at  the  dog’s  blue 

eyes. 

“Wolves  are  skinnier,”  Dad  remarked.  “Their  snouts are  narrower.  He  could  be 

part wolf, I suppose. But it’s not very likely in this geographical area.” 

“Let’s  call  him  Wolf,”  I  suggested  enthusiastically.  “It’s  the  perfect  name  for 

him.” I climbed to my feet. “Hi, Wolf,” I called to the dog. “Wolf! Hi, Wolf!” 

His ears perked straight up. 

“See? He likes the name!” I exclaimed. “Wolf! Wolf!” 

He barked at me, a single yip. 

“Can I keep him?” I asked. 

Mom and Dad exchanged long glances. “We’ll see,” Mom said. 

That  afternoon,  Will  and  I  headed  to  the  swamp  to  do  some  exploring.  My 

nightmares  about  the  swamp  lingered  in  my  mind.  But  I  did  my  best  to  force  them 

away. 

  28 

It  was a blazing hot day. The sun burned down in a clear,  cloudless sky.  As we 

crossed my back yard, I hoped it would be cooler in the leafy shade of the swamp. 

I glanced back at Wolf. He was napping in the hot sunlight on his side, his four 

legs stretched straight out in front of him. 

We had fed him before lunch, some leftover roast beef scraps from our dinner the 

night  before.  He  gobbled  it  up  hungrily.  Then,  after  slurping  up  an  entire  bowl  of 

water, he dropped down in the grass in front of the back stoop to take his nap. 

Will  and  I  followed  the  dirt  path  into  the  slanting  trees.  Black-and-orange 

monarch butterflies, four or five of them, fluttered over a bank of tall wildflowers. 

“Hey!” I cried out as my foot sank into a marshy spot in the dirt. When I pulled 

my sneaker out, it was covered with wet sand. 

“Have you seen the bog?” Will asked. “It’s kind of neat.” 

“Yeah. Let’s go there,” I said enthusiastically. “We can throw sticks in and stuff, 

and watch them sink.” 

“Do you think any people ever got sunk in the bog?” Will asked thoughtfully. He 

brushed a mosquito off his broad forehead, then scratched his short, dark brown hair. 

“Maybe,” I replied, following him as he turned off the path and headed through a 

wide  patch  of  tall  reeds.  “Do  you  think  it  would  really  suck  you  down  into  it,  like 

quicksand?” 

“My dad says there’s no such thing as quicksand,” Will said. 

“I bet there is,” I told him. “I bet people have fallen into the bog accidentally and 

gotten sucked down. If we brought a fishing rod, we could cast a line in and pull up 

their bones.” 

“Gross,” he said. 

We  were  walking  over  a  carpet  of  dead  brown  leaves.  Our  sneakers  crunched 

noisily as we made our way under tangled palm trees toward the bog. 

Suddenly, Will stopped. “Ssshhh.” He raised a finger to his lips. 

I heard it, too. 

Crunching behind us. 

Footsteps. 

We both froze in place, listening hard. The footsteps drew closer. 

Will’s dark eyes narrowed in fear. “Someone’s following us,” he murmured. “It’s 

the swamp hermit!” 

  29 

13 

“Quick—hide!” I cried. 

Will  dived  behind  a  thick  clump  of  tall  weeds.  I  tried  to  follow  him,  but  there 

wasn’t room for both of us. 

Crawling  on  my  hands  and  knees,  I  searched  frantically  for  something  to  hide 

behind. 

The crackling of dead leaves became louder. The footsteps hurried closer. 

I scrambled toward a nest of brambles. No. They wouldn’t hide me. 

A clump of ferns across from me was too low. 

The footsteps crackled closer. 

Closer. 

“Hide! Hide!” Will urged. 

But I was trapped out in the open. Caught. 

I struggled to my feet just as our pursuer came into view. 

“Wolf!” I cried. 

The  big  dog’s  tail  began  wagging  furiously  as  soon as  he  saw  me.  He  uttered  a 

joyful bark—and jumped. 

“No!” I managed to cry. 

His front paws landed hard on my chest. I stumbled backwards into the tall weeds 

and fell onto Will. 

“Hey!” He cried out and scrambled to his feet. 

Wolf barked happily and practically smothered me, trying to lick my face. 

“Wolf—down! Down!” I shouted. I stood up and started brushing dead leaves off 

my T-shirt. “Wolf, you’ve got to stop doing that, boy,” I told him. “You’re not a little 

puppy, you know?” 

“How  did  he  find  us?”  Will  asked,  pulling  a  burr  off  the  seat  of  his  blue  Lycra 

shorts. 

“Good nose, I guess,” I replied, staring down at the happily panting dog. “Maybe 

he’s part hunting dog or something.” 

“Let’s get to the bog,” Will said impatiently. He began leading the way, but Wolf 

pushed  past  him,  nearly  bumping  him  over,  and  continued  trotting  toward  the  bog, 

his powerful legs taking long, steady strides. 

“Wolf acts as if he knows where we’re going,” I said, a little surprised. 

“Maybe he’s been here before,” Will replied. “Maybe he’s a swamp dog.” 

“Maybe,” I replied thoughtfully, staring down at Wolf. Where do you come from, 

dog? I wondered. He certainly did seem at home in the swamp. 

In a short while, we came to the edge of the peat bog. I wiped the sweat off my 

forehead with the back of my hand and stared across the oval-shaped pond. 

  30 

Shafts  of  sunlight  made  the  green  surface  sparkle. Thousands  of  tiny  white 

insects fluttered just above it, catching the light, glistening like little diamonds. 

Will picked up a small tree branch. He cracked it in half between his hands. Then 

he heaved one of the halves high into the air. 

It hit the surface of the bog with more of a thunk than a splash. And then it just 

lay there. It didn’t sink. 

“Weird,” I said. “Let’s try something heavier.” 

I  started  to  search  for  something,  but  a  low  growl caught  my  attention.  I  turned 

toward the sound. To my surprise, it was coming from Wolf. 

The  dog  had  lowered  its  big  head.  Its  entire  body  stood  tensed,  as  if  in  attack 

position. Its dark lips were pulled back, revealing two sharp rows of teeth. It uttered a 

low growl, then another. 

“I think he senses danger,” Will said softly. 

  31 

14 

Wolf  uttered  another  menacing  growl,  baring  his  jagged  teeth.  The  fur  on  his  back 

stood up stiffly. His legs tensed as if preparing to attack. 

The sound of crackling twigs made me raise my eyes. I saw a gray figure darting 

behind tall weeds on the other side of the bog. 

“Who—who’s that?” Will whispered. 

I stared straight ahead, unable to speak. 

“Is that—” Will started. 

“Yes,” I managed to choke out. “It’s him. The swamp hermit.” I dropped quickly 

to my knees, hoping to keep out of view. 

But had he already seen us? 

Had he been there at the other side of the bog all along? 

Will must have been sharing my thoughts. “Has that weirdo been spying on us?” 

he demanded, huddling beside me. 

Wolf uttered a quiet growl, still frozen in place, ready to attack. 

Keeping low, I scooted closer to the dog. For protection, I guess. 

I watched the strange man as he made his way through the weeds. His long, gray-white  hair  was  wild,  standing  straight  out  around  his  face.  He  kept  glancing  behind 

him as he walked, as if making sure he wasn’t being followed. 

He carried a brown sack over one shoulder. 

He turned his gaze in our direction. I dropped down lower, trying to hide behind 

Wolf, my heart pounding. 

Wolf  hadn’t  moved,  but  he  was  silent  now.  His  ears were  still  pulled  back,  his 

lips still open in a soundless snarl. 

What were those dark stains on the front of the swamp hermit’s grimy shirt? 

Bloodstains? 

A shiver of fear ran down my back. 

Wolf stared straight ahead without blinking, without moving a muscle. 

The swamp hermit disappeared behind the tall weeds. We  couldn’t see him, but 

we could still hear his footsteps crunching over dead leaves and fallen twigs. 

I  glanced  over  at  Wolf.  The  big  dog  shook  himself, as  if  shaking  the  swamp 

hermit from his mind. His tail wagged slowly. His body relaxed. 

He uttered soft whimpers, as if telling me how scared he had been. 

“It’s okay, boy,” I said quietly, and rubbed the soft fur on top of the dog’s head. 

He stopped whimpering and licked at my wrist. 

“That guy is creepy!” Will exclaimed, climbing slowly to his feet. 

“He even scared the dog,” I said, petting Wolf some more. “What do you think he 

had in the sack?” 

  32 

“Probably someone’s head!” Will said, his dark eyes wide with horror. 

I laughed. But I stopped when I saw that Will wasn’t joking. “Everyone says he’s 

harmless,” I said. 

“He  had  blood  all  over  the  front  of  his  shirt,”  Will  said  with  a  shudder.  He 

scratched his short, dark hair nervously. 

The  sunlight  faded  quickly  as  clouds  rolled  over  the  sun.  Long  shadows  crept 

over  the  bog.  The  stick  Will  had  thrown  had  disappeared,  sucked  into  the  thick, 

murky water. 

“Let’s get home,” I suggested. 

“Yeah. Okay,” Will agreed quickly. 

I called to Wolf, who was exploring in the tall weeds. Then we turned and started 

to make our way back along the twisting dirt path. 

A soft breeze fluttered the trees, making the palm leaves scrape and clatter. Tall 

ferns shivered in the wind. The shadows grew deeper and darker. 

I could hear Wolf behind us. I could hear his body brushing through low shrubs 

and weeds. 

We  were  nearly  to  where  the  trees  ended  and  the  flat  grass  leading  to  our  back 

yards began. We were nearly out of the swamp when Will stopped suddenly. 

I saw his mouth drop open in horror. 

I turned to follow his gaze. 

Then I uttered a shocked cry and covered my eyes to shut out the gruesome sight. 

  33 

15 

When  I  opened  my  eyes,  the  hideous  pile  of  feathers  and  blood-covered  flesh  was 

still at my feet. 

“Wh-what is it?” Will stammered. 

It took me a long while to realize we were staring at a bird. A large heron. 

It was hard to recognize because it had been torn apart. 

Long,  white  feathers  were  scattered  over  the  soft  ground.  The  poor  bird’s  chest 

had been torn wide open. 

“The swamp hermit!” Will cried. 

“Huh?” I cried. I turned away from the hideous sight and tried to force the image 

from my mind. 

“That’s why he had blood all over his shirt!” Will declared. 

“But why would he rip a bird apart?” I asked weakly. 

“Because… because he’s a monster!” Will exclaimed. 

“He’s just a weird old guy who lives alone in the swamp,” I said. “He didn’t do 

this, Will. Some kind of animal did it. Look!” I pointed to the ground. 

There were paw prints in the soft ground. All around the dead bird. 

“They look like dog’s paws,” I said, thinking out loud. 

“Dogs don’t rip apart birds,” Will replied quietly. 

At that moment, Wolf came bounding up to us through the weeds. He came to a 

stop in front of the dead bird and started to sniff it. 

“Get  away  from  there,  Wolf,”  I  ordered.  “Come  on.  Get  away.”  I  tugged  him 

back, pulling him with both hands around his thick neck. 

“Let’s  get home,” Will said. “Let’s  get away from this thing.  I’m  going to have 

bad dreams. I really will.” 

I pulled Wolf with both hands. We stepped carefully around the dead heron and 

then hurried toward the swamp edge. Neither of us said a word. I guess we were both 

still picturing what we had seen. 

As  we  reached  the  flat  grass  behind  our  houses,  I  said  good-bye  to  Will.  I 

watched him hurry to his house. Wolf scampered after him for part of the way. Then 

he turned and hurried back to me. 

The  late  afternoon  sun  burned  its  way  through  the  clouds.  I  shielded  my  eyes 

from  the  sudden  brightness,  and  saw  my  dad  working in  the  deer  pen  behind  the 

house. 

“Hey, Dad—” I ran toward him over the grass. 

He  glanced  up  when  I  called  to  him.  He  was  wearing denim  cutoffs  and  a 

sleeveless  yellow  T-shirt.  He  had  an  Orlando  Magic cap  pulled  down  over  his 

forehead. “What’s up, Grady?” 

  34 

“Will and I—we saw a dead heron,” I told him breathlessly. 

“Where?  In  the  swamp?”  he  asked  casually.  He  pulled  off  the  cap,  wiped  his 

forehead with the back of his hand, and replaced the cap. 

“Dad, it—it was torn apart!” I cried. 

He  didn’t  react.  “That’s  part  of  life  in  the  wild,”  he  said,  pulling  up  one  of  the 

deer’s  hooves  to  examine  the  bottom.  “You  know  that,  Grady.  It  can  get  pretty 

violent out there. We’ve talked about survival of the fittest and stuff like that.” 

“No, Dad. This is different,” I insisted. “The heron—it was ripped in two. I mean, 

like someone took it, and—” 

“Another bird, maybe,” Dad said, concentrating on the deer hoof. “A larger bird 

of prey. It could have been—” 

“We saw the swamp hermit,” I interrupted. “He had blood all over his shirt. Then 

we saw paw prints in the ground. All around the dead bird.” 

“Grady, calm down,” Dad said, setting down the deer’s leg. “If you go exploring 

in  the  swamp,  you’re  going  to  see  a  lot  of  frightening-looking  things.  But  don’t  let 

your imagination run away with you.” 

“Will said it was done by a monster!” I exclaimed. 

Dad frowned and scratched his head through the cap. “I see your new friend has a 

good imagination, too,” he said quietly. 

That  night,  I  was  glad  my  parents  agreed  to  let  Wolf  sleep  in  my  room.  I  felt  a  lot 

safer with the big dog curled up on the rug beside my bed. 

I  hadn’t  been  able  to  shake  the  ugly  picture  of  the  dead  heron  from  my  mind.  I 

watched  some  TV  until  dinnertime.  Then  after  dinner,  I  played  a  long  chess  game 

with Emily. 

But  no  matter  what  I  did,  I  kept  seeing  the  white  feathers  scattered  over  the 

ground, the torn-apart bird lying crumpled on the path. 

So now  I felt  a little comforted with Wolf sleeping in the  room. “You’ll protect 

me, won’t you, boy?” I whispered from my bed. 

He  uttered  a  low  snort.  Light  from  the  full  moon  spilled  over  him  through  the 

window. I saw that he was sleeping with his head resting on his two front paws. 

Then I drifted into a dreamless sleep. 

I don’t know how long I slept. 

I was awakened some time later by a horrifying crash. 

I sat straight up with a startled gasp. 

The crash had come from the living room, I realized. 

Someone was breaking in! 

  35 

16 

Was it a burglar? 

I climbed out of bed, my heart pounding, and crept to the door. 

Another crash. A loud thump. 

Footsteps. 

“Who—who is it?” I cried. My voice came out in a choked whisper. 

Keeping against the wall, I made my way slowly toward the living room. “Who’s 

there?” I shouted. 

Mom  and  Dad  and  Emily  met  me  in  the  dark  hallway.  Even  in  the  darkness  I 

could see the fear and confusion on their faces. 

I  was  the  first  to  the  living  room.  Pale  yellow  light  from  the  full  moon  washed 

across the room. “Hey!” I called out. 

Wolf  leaped  against  the  big  front  window.  His  shoulders  made  a  loud thud 

against the glass. 

“Wolf—stop!” I cried. 

In the pale light,  I  saw  what had caused the loud crash. Wolf had knocked over 

the table and a lamp that had stood in front of the window. 

“He—he’s trying to get outside,” I stammered. 

I felt Dad’s hand on the shoulder of my pajama shirt. “What a mess he’s made,” 

he murmured. 

“Wolf—stop!” I called again. 

The big dog turned, breathing hard. His eyes glowed red in the moonlight through 

the window. 

“Why is he so desperate to get out?” Emily demanded. 

“We  can’t  have  him  in  the  house  if  he  does  this  every  night,”  Mom  said,  her 

voice hoarse from sleep. 

The big dog lowered his head and let out an excited growl. His tail stood straight 

up behind him. 

“Open  the  front  door.  Let  him  out,”  Mom  said.  “Before  he  wrecks  the  whole 

house.” 

Dad hurried across the room and pulled open the door. Wolf didn’t hesitate for a 

second. He bounded to the door and burst out. 

I ran to the window to watch him. But the big dog disappeared around the side of 

the house, running toward the back yard. 

“He’s heading to the swamp,” I guessed. 

“He tried to break right through the window,” Mom said. 

Emily  clicked  on  a  lamp.  “He’s  so  strong,  he  probably  could  have  broken  the 

window,” she said quietly. 

  36 

Dad  closed  the  front  door.  He  yawned.  Then  he  turned  his  gaze  on  me.  “You 

know what this means, don’t you, Grady?” 

I was still staring out at the full moon. “No. What?” 

“Wolf will have to stay outdoors from now on,” Dad said. He stooped and began 

picking up pieces of the broken lamp. 

“But, Dad—” I started to protest. 

“He’s  too  big  and  too  restless  to  stay  in  the  house,”  Dad  continued.  He  handed 

the lamp pieces to Emily. Then he pulled the table rightside up and returned it to its 

place in front of the window. 

“Wolf didn’t mean to break the lamp,” I argued weakly. 

“He’ll break everything we have,” Mom said quietly. 

“He’s just too big,” Dad added. “He’ll have to stay outside, Grady.” 

“Why did he want out so desperately?” Emily demanded. 

“He’s probably used to being outside,” Dad told her. “He’ll be happier out there,” 

he said, turning to me. 

“Yeah.  Maybe,”  I  replied  glumly.  I  liked  having  Wolf  sleep  beside  me  in  my 

bedroom. But I knew there was no way I could convince my parents to give the dog a 

second chance. Their minds were made up. 

And at least they were letting me keep Wolf. 

I  pulled  the  vacuum  cleaner  out  of  the  closet  and  plugged  it  in.  Dad  took  the 

nozzle and began vacuuming up the tiny pieces of glass from the carpet. 

That  crazy  dog,  I  thought,  shaking  my  head  unhappily.  What  is  his problem, 

anyway? 

When Dad finished, I carried the vacuum cleaner back to the closet. 

“Now maybe we can all sleep in peace,” Mom said, yawning. 

She was wrong. 

  37 

17 

I heard the frightening howls again a short while later. 

At first I thought I was dreaming them. 

But  when  I  opened  my  eyes  and  gazed  around  my  dark bedroom,  the  howls 

continued. Still half asleep, I gripped the covers with both hands and pulled them up 

to my chin. 

The  howls  sounded  so  close,  as  if  they  were  right  outside  my  window.  They 

didn’t seem like the cries of an animal. They were too angry, too deliberate. 

Too human. 

Stop trying to frighten  yourself,  I thought.  It’s a  wolf.  It has to be some  kind of 

swamp wolf. 

In  the  back  of  my  mind,  I  knew  it  might  be  Wolf  making  those  frightening 

sounds. But I kept pushing the thought away. 

Why would the dog howl like that? 

Dogs bark. They don’t howl unless they’re very sad or upset. 

I shut my eyes, wishing the frightening wails away. 

Suddenly, they stopped. Silence. 

Then I heard rapid thumps on the ground. Footsteps. 

Some kind of a struggle. 

I heard a short, terrifying cry. It cut off almost as soon as it began. 

It’s right in back of the house, I realized. 

Wide awake now, I jumped out of bed, dragging the covers with me. I stumbled 

to the bedroom window and grabbed the windowsill. 

The full moon had risen high in the night sky. The back yard stretched out silvery 

in the moonlight, the dewy grass shimmering in the bright light. 

Pressing  my  forehead  against  the  windowpane,  I  peered  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? 

  38 

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? 

  39 

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. 

  40 

“Of course he didn’t!”  I cried, feeling myself lose control. “Didn’t  you hear the 

howls last night? Didn’t you hear those  frightening howls? It wasn’t a dog howling 

like that. Dogs don’t howl like that!” 

“Then what was it?” Emily demanded. 

“I  heard  them,  too,”  Dad  said,  stepping  between  us.  “They  sounded  more  like 

wolf howls. Or maybe a coyote.” 

“See?” I told Emily. 

“But I’d be very surprised to find a wolf or coyote in this area,” Dad continued, 

gazing out toward the swamp. 

Emily still had her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She gazed down at Wolf 

and shuddered. “He’s dangerous, Dad. You really have to get rid of him.” 

Dad  walked  over  and  patted  Wolf’s  head.  He  scratched  Wolf  under  the  chin. 

Wolf licked Dad’s hand. 

“Let’s  just  be  careful  around  him,”  Dad  said.  “He  seems  very  gentle.  But  we 

don’t really know anything about him—do we? So let’s be very careful, okay?” 

“I’m going to be careful,” Emily replied, narrowing her eyes at Wolf. “I’m going 

to stay as far away from that monster as I can.” She turned and stormed back to the 

house. 

Dad  made  his  way  to  the  shed  to  get  a  shovel  and  box  to  carry  away  the  dead 

rabbit in. 

I dropped to my knees and hugged Wolf’s broad neck. “You aren’t a monster, are 

you, boy?” I asked. “Emily is crazy, isn’t she? You’re not a monster. That wasn’t you 

I saw running toward the swamp last night, was it?” 

Wolf raised his deep blue eyes to mine. He stared hard at me. 

He seemed to be trying to tell me something. 

But I had no idea what it could be. 

  41 

19 

That night I didn’t hear the howls. 

I woke up in the middle of the night and stared out the window. Wolf was gone, 

probably  exploring  the  swamp.  In  the  morning,  I  knew  he’d  come  running  back  to 

greet me as if I were a long lost friend. 

The next morning Will showed up just as I was giving Wolf his breakfast, a big 

bowl of crunchy, dry dog food. “Hey, what’s up?” Will asked, his usual greeting. 

“Nothing  much,”  I  said.  I  rolled  up  the  top  of  the big  bag  of  dog  food  and 

dragged  it  back  into  the  kitchen.  Wolf  stood  over  his  bowl,  his  head  lowered, 

chewing noisily away. 

I pushed open the screen door and returned to Will. He was wearing a dark blue 

muscle shirt and black Lycra bike shorts. He had a green-and-yellow Forest Service 

cap pulled down over his dark hair. 

“Want  to  go  exploring?”  he  asked  in  his  hoarse  voice,  watching  Wolf  hungrily 

gobble down his breakfast. “You know. In the swamp?” 

“Yeah. Sure,” I said. I called inside to tell my parents where I was going. Then I 

followed Will across the back lawn toward the swamp. 

Wolf came scampering after us. He’d run past us, then let us catch up. Then he’d 

run in crazy zigzags in front of us, behind us, romping happily under the hot morning 

sun. 

“Did  you  hear  about  Mr.  Warner?”  Will  asked.  He  stopped  to  pick  up  a  long 

blade of grass and put it between his teeth. 

“Who?” 

“Ed Warner,” Will replied. “I guess  you haven’t met the Warners  yet. They live 

in the very last house.” He turned and pointed behind us to the last white house at the 

end of the row of white houses. 

“What about him?”  I asked, nearly tripping over Wolf, who had come rumbling 

past my feet. 

“He’s missing,” Will replied, chewing on the grass blade. “He didn’t come home 

last night.” 

“Huh? From where?” I asked, turning to stare at the Warners’ house. Heat waves 

shimmered up from the grass, making the house appear to bend and quiver. 

“From  the  swamp,”  Will  replied  darkly.  “Mrs.  Warner  called  my  mom  this 

morning.  She  said  Mr.  Warner  went  hunting  yesterday  afternoon.  He  likes  to  hunt 

wild  turkeys.  He  took  me  with  him  a  couple  times.  He’s  real  good  at  chasing  them 

down. When he kills one, he hangs its feet up on his den wall.” 

“He does?” I cried. It sounded pretty gross to me. 

  42 

“Yeah.  You  know.  Like  a  trophy,”  Will  continued.  “Anyway,  he  went  hunting 

wild turkeys in the swamp yesterday afternoon, and he hasn’t come home.” 

“Weird,” I said, watching Wolf stop at the edge of the trees. “Maybe he got lost.” 

“No  way,”  Will  insisted,  shaking  his  head.  “Not  Mr.  Warner.  He’s  lived  here  a 

long time. He was the first one to move here. Mr. Warner wouldn’t get lost.” 

“Then maybe the werewolf got him!” called a strange voice behind us. 

  43 

20 

Startled,  we  both  spun  around  to  see  a  girl  about  our  age.  She  had  rust-colored  red 

hair tied in a ponytail on one side. She had catlike green eyes, and a short stub of a 

nose, and freckles all over her face. She was wearing faded red denim jeans and a T-shirt with a grinning green alligator on the front. 

“Cassie, what are you doing here?” Will demanded. 

“Following  you,”  she  replied,  making  a  face  at  him.  She  turned  to  me.  “You’re 

the new kid, Grady, right? Will told me about you.” 

“Hi,”  I  said  awkwardly.  “He  told  me  a  girl  lived  in  the  neighborhood.  But  he 

didn’t tell me much about you.” 

“What’s to tell?” Will teased. 

“I’m  Cassie  O’Rourke,”  she  said.  She  shot  up  her  hand  and  pulled  the  blade  of 

grass from Will’s mouth. 

“Hey!” He playfully tried to slug her, but missed. 

“What did you say about a werewolf?” I asked. 

“Don’t start with that stuff again,” Will grumbled to Cassie. “It’s so stupid.” 

“You’re just afraid,” Cassie accused. 

“No, I’m not. It’s too stupid,” Will insisted. 

We  stepped  into  the  shade  of  the  trees  at  the  swamp  edge.  A  funnel  cloud  of 

white gnats whirred crazily in a shaft of light between the trees. 

“There’s  a  werewolf  in  the  swamp,”  Cassie  said,  lowering  her  voice  as  we 

ducked past the gnats and moved deeper into the shade. 

“And I’m going to flap my wings and fly to Mars,” Will said sarcastically. 

“Shut up, Will,” Cassie snapped. “Grady doesn’t think it’s stupid—do you?” 

I shrugged. “I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t think I believe in werewolves.” 

Will laughed. “Cassie believes in the Easter Bunny, too,” he said. 

Cassie socked him hard in the chest. 

“Hey!” Will cried out angrily as he staggered back. “What’s your problem?” 

“Mosquito,” she said, pointing. “A big one. I got him.” 

Scowling,  Will  glanced  down.  “I  don’t  see  any  mosquito.  Give  me  a  break, 

Cassie.” 

We  made  our  way  along  the  winding  path.  It  had  rained  the  day  before.  The 

ground was marshier than usual. We kept slipping in the soft mud. 

“Do you hear the howling sounds at night?” I asked Cassie. 

“That’s  the  werewolf,”  she  replied  softly.  Her  green  cat-eyes  burned  into  mine. 

“I’m  not  kidding  around,  Grady.  I’m  serious.  Those howls  aren’t  human.  Those 

howls come from a werewolf who has just killed.” 

  44 

Will snickered. “You’ve got a good imagination, Cassie. I guess you watch a lot 

of scary movies on TV, huh?” 

“Real life is scarier than the movies,” she said, lowering her voice to a whisper. 

“Ooh, stop. You’re making me shake all over!” Will exclaimed sarcastically. 

She  didn’t  reply.  She  was  still  staring  at  me  as  we  walked.  “You  believe  me, 

don’t you?” 

“I don’t know,” I said. 

The  bog  came  into  view.  The  air  became  heavier,  wetter.  The  tall  weeds  on  the 

other side stood straight up. The bog gurgled quietly. Two big flies danced over the 

dark green surface. 

“There’s  no  such  thing  as  werewolves,  Cassie,”  Will  muttered,  searching  for 

something to throw into the bog. He grinned at her. “Unless maybe you’re one!” 

She rolled her eyes. “Very funny.” She made biting motions with her teeth as if 

she were going to bite him. 

I  heard  a  rustling  sound  across  the  oval-shaped  bog.  The  tall  weeds  suddenly 

parted, and Wolf appeared at the edge of the water. 

“What does the werewolf look like?” Will asked sarcastically. “Does it have red 

hair and freckles?” 

Cassie didn’t reply. 

I turned to see a look of terror freeze on her face. Her green eyes grew wide, and 

her  freckles  seemed  to  fade.  “Th-there’s  the werewolf!”  she  stammered  in  a  choked 

whisper. She pointed. 

Feeling a chill of fear, I turned to see where she was pointing. 

To my horror, she was pointing right at Wolf! 

  45 

21 

“No!” I started to protest. 

But then I saw that I had misunderstood. Cassie wasn’t pointing at Wolf. She was 

pointing to the figure moving through the tall weeds behind the dog. 

The swamp hermit! 

I saw him walking quickly behind the weeds, his shoulders bent, his mangy head 

bobbing with each step. 

As  he  moved  into  a  small  break  in  the  weeds,  I  could  see  why  he  was  leaning 

forward. He carried something over one shoulder. A bag of some sort. 

Wolf started to growl. 

The hermit stopped walking. 

It wasn’t a bag slung over his shoulder, I saw. It was a turkey. A wild turkey. 

A chilling thought burst into my mind: Had he taken it from Mr. Warner? 

Was  Cassie  right  about  the  swamp  hermit?  Was  he  a  werewolf?  Had  he  done 

something horrible to Mr. Warner and claimed the wild turkey as his prize? 

I tried to dismiss these horrible thoughts. They were crazy. Impossible. 

But  Cassie  looked  so  frightened,  staring  across  the  gurgling  green  bog  at  the 

wild-eyed  hermit.  And  the  howls  at  night,  the  howls  had  been  so  frightening,  so 

human. 

And the dead animals I’d seen, torn so brutally apart, as if… as if by a werewolf! 

Wolf  uttered  another  warning  growl.  He  stared  at  the  hermit,  his  tail  standing 

stiffly behind him, his fur rising up on his back. 

The  hermit  moved  quickly.  I  saw  his  dark  eyes  flash  just  before  he  disappeared 

behind the weeds. 

“It’s him!” Cassie cried, still pointing. “It’s the werewolf!” 

“Cassie—shut up!” Will warned. “He’ll hear you!” 

I swallowed hard, frozen in place by my fear. I saw the weeds tremble across the 

bog. I heard rustling sounds growing closer. 

“Run!” Will cried, his hoarse voice shrill and frightened. “Come on—run!” 

Too late. 

The swamp hermit burst out of the weeds right behind us. “I’m the werewolf!” he 

shrieked. His eyes were wild, excited. His face, surrounded by his long, tangled hair, 

was bright red. “I’m the werewolf!” 

He had heard Cassie! 

Laughing at the top of his lungs, he tossed up both hands, then began to swing the 

turkey in a wide circle over his head. “I’m the werewolf!” he cried. 

Cassie, Will, and I all cried out at the same time. 

Then we started to run. 

  46 

Out  of  the  corner  of  my  eye,  I  could  see  Wolf.  He  hadn’t  moved  from  his  spot 

across  the  bog.  But  now,  as  I  started  to  run,  he  came  bounding  toward  us,  barking 

excitedly. 

“I’m the werewolf!” the hermit shrieked. He howled with laughter, still swinging 

the turkey as he chased after us. 

“Leave us alone!” Cassie cried, running beside Will a few steps ahead of me. “Do 

you hear me? Leave us alone!” 

Her pleas made the hermit howl again. 

My shoes slipped in the muddy ground. 

I turned back. He was gaining on me. Right behind me. 

Gasping  for  breath,  I  struggled  to  run  faster.  Sharp  vines  and  heavy  leaves 

slapped at my face and arms as I plunged forward. 

It  was  all  a  blur  now.  A  blur  of  light  and  shade,  trees  and  vines,  tall  weeds  and 

sharp brambles. 

“I’m the werewolf! I’m the werewolf!” 

The crazed hermit’s high-pitched wails of laughter echoed through the swamp. 

Keep going, Grady, I urged myself. Keep going. 

Then, with a terrified cry, I felt my feet slide out from under me. 

I fell face forward into the mud, landing hard on my hands and knees. 

He’s got me, I realized. 

The werewolf has got me. 

  47 

22 

I  tried  frantically  to  scramble  up  from  the  mud.  But  I  slipped  again  and  tumbled 

forward with a splat. 

He’s got me now, I thought. 

The werewolf has got me now. I cannot escape. 

My muscles all froze in panic. I struggled to crawl away. 

I turned back, expecting the hermit to grab me. 

But he had stopped several  yards away. The turkey  dangled to the  ground as he 

stared down at me, a strange grin on his weathered face. 

Where was Wolf? I wondered. 

Wolf  had  been  growling  furiously  at  the  swamp  hermit.  Why  hadn’t  Wolf 

attacked? 

“Help! Will! Cassie!” I called desperately. 

Silence. 

They were gone. They were both probably out of the swamp by now, running for 

home. 

I was alone. Alone to face the hermit. 

I  stumbled  to  my  feet,  my  eyes  locked  on  his.  Why  was  he  grinning  at  me  like 

that? 

“Go on. Go,” he murmured, gesturing with his free hand. “Just teasing you.” 

“What?” My voice came out tiny and frightened. 

“Go. I’m not going to bite you,” he said. His grin faded. The light seemed to dim 

in his shiny black eyes. 

Wolf appeared behind him. The dog gazed up at the hermit, then lowered his eyes 

to  the  dead  turkey.  He  barked  once,  a  shrill yip. But  I  could  see  that  Wolf  had 

relaxed. He had no intention of attacking the hermit. 

“This dog yours?” the hermit asked, eyeing Wolf warily. 

“Yeah,” I replied, still breathing hard. “I… found him.” 

“Watch  out  for  him,”  the  hermit  said  sharply.  Then he  turned  and,  hoisting  the 

large bird on his shoulder, headed back into the weeds. 

“W-watch out for him?” I stammered. “What do you mean?” 

But the hermit didn’t reply. I could hear him brushing the tall weeds away as he 

disappeared back into the swamp. 

“What do you mean?” I called after him. 

But he was gone. The swamp was silent now except for the chirping and clicking 

of insects and the dry sound of palm leaves brushing against each other. 

I stared straight ahead at the tall weeds.  I  guess I expected the swamp hermit to 

return, to burst back into view, to attack again. 

  48 

Two white moths fluttered together over the weeds. Nothing else moved. 

He was teasing us, he had said. 

That’s all it was, just teasing. 

I swallowed hard. Then I forced myself to breathe normally again. 

After a while, I lowered my gaze to Wolf. The dog was busily sniffing the ground 

where the hermit had stood. 

“Wolf—why didn’t you protect me?” I scolded. 

The dog glanced up, then returned to his sniffing. 

“Hey, dog—are you a big coward?” I asked, brushing at the wet dirt on the knees 

of my jeans. “Is that your problem? You sound real tough, but you’re actually a big 

chicken?” 

Wolf ignored me. 

I  turned  and  headed  home,  thinking  about  the  hermit’s  warning.  As  I  made  my 

way  along  the  narrow  path,  I  could  hear  Wolf  running  through  the  weeds  and  tall 

grass, following close behind. 

“Watch out for him,” the hermit had said. 

Was he teasing about that, too? Was he just trying to scare me? 

The strange man saw that Will, Cassie, and I were afraid of him. So he decided to 

have some fun with us. 

That’s all it was, I decided. 

He heard Cassie call him a werewolf. So he decided to give us a real scare. 

As I walked along the marshy ground under the shade of the tilted palm trees, my 

mind spun with thoughts about Cassie and Will and Wolf and werewolves. 

I didn’t see the snake until I stepped on it. 

I glanced down in time to see its bright green head shoot forward. 

I felt a sharp stab of pain as its fangs dug into my ankle. 

The pain jolted up my leg. 

I uttered a choked gasp before I crumpled to the ground. 

  49 

23 

I hit the ground and curled into a tight ball as the pain throbbed through my body. 

Red dots formed in my eyes. The dots grew larger and larger until I saw only red. 

The color shimmered in rhythm to the throbbing pain. 

Through the curtain of red, I saw the snake slither into the bushes. 

I grabbed my ankle, trying to force the pain down. 

Slowly, the red faded, then vanished, leaving only the pain. 

My hand suddenly felt wet. 

Blood? 

I  glanced down to see  Wolf licking my hand. Fierce licking, as if trying to cure 

me, trying to make everything okay again. 

Despite the pain, I laughed. “It’s okay, boy,” I said. “I’m okay.” 

He kept licking my hand until I climbed to my feet. I felt a little dizzy. My legs 

were shaky. 

I tried putting weight on the foot that had been bitten. 

It felt a little better. 

I took a step, limping. Then another. 

“Let’s go, Wolf,” I said. He gazed up at me sympathetically. 

I  knew  I  had  to  get  home  quickly.  If  the  snake  was poisonous,  I  was  in  big 

trouble.  I  had  no  way  of  knowing  how  much  time  I  had  before  the  venom  would 

paralyze me completely—or worse. 

Wolf  stayed  by  my  side  as  I  limped  over  the  soft  ground  toward  home.  I  was 

gasping for breath. My chest felt tight. The ground swayed beneath me. 

Was it because of the snake venom? Or was it just because I was so frightened? 

Pain shot up my side with every step I took. 

But  I  kept  pulling  myself  along,  talking  to  Wolf  all  the  while,  ignoring  the 

throbbing ache of my ankle. 

“We’re almost there, Wolf,” I said, panting loudly. “Almost there, boy.” 

The  dog  sensed  that  something  was  seriously  wrong. He  stayed  by  my  side 

instead of running his usual zigzag patterns in front of me and behind me. 

The end of the trees  came into view.  I  could see bright sunlight just beyond the 

swamp. 

“Hey—”  a  voice  called  to  me.  I  saw  Will  and Cassie waiting  for  me  on  the  flat 

grass. 

They began running toward me. “Are you okay?” Cassie called. 

“No. I… I got bit!” I managed to choke out. “Please—go get my dad!” 

They both took off, running full speed to my house. I dropped down on the grass, 

spreading my legs straight out, and waited. 

  50 

I tried to stay calm, but it was impossible. 

Was  the  snake  poisonous?  Was  the  venom  heading  straight  to  my  heart?  Was  I 

about to die any second? 

I  reached  down  with  both  hands  and  carefully,  carefully,  pulled  off  my  mud-covered sneaker. Then, moving it a tiny bit at a time, I lowered my white sock down 

over the ankle and off my foot. 

The ankle was a little swollen. The skin was red except for a white, puckered spot 

around the bite. Inside that spot, I saw two small puncture marks, bright red droplets 

of blood oozing from each hole. 

When  I raised my eyes  from the wound,  I saw my  dad, dressed in brown  shorts 

and a white T-shirt, hurrying along the flat grass toward me, followed closely by Will 

and Cassie. 

“What happened?” I heard my dad ask them. “What happened to Grady?” 

“He was bitten by a werewolf!” I heard Cassie reply. 

* * * 

“Keep the ice pack on it,” Dad instructed. “The swelling will go down.” 

I groaned and held the ice pack against my ankle. 

Mom tsk-tsked from the kitchen table. She had a newspaper spread out in front of 

her. I couldn’t tell if she was tsk-tsking over me or over the day’s news. 

Outside  the  screen  door  I  could  see  Wolf,  on  his  side  on  the  grass  just  past  the 

back stoop, sound asleep. Emily was in the front room, watching some soap on TV. 

“How does it feel?” Mom asked. 

“A lot better,” I told her. “I think I was mainly scared.” 

“Green  snakes  aren’t  poisonous,”  Dad  reminded  me  for  the  tenth  time.  “But  I 

took every precaution, just in case. We’ll wrap it up really good when you’re through 

putting ice on it.” 

“What was all that talk about werewolves?” Mom asked. 

“Cassie has werewolves on the brain,” I said. “She thinks the swamp hermit is a 

werewolf.” 

“She seems like a sweet girl,” Mom said quietly. “I had a nice talk with her while 

your father was taking care of your bite. You’re lucky, Grady, to find two kids your 

age out here on the edge of a swamp.” 

“Yeah, I guess,” I replied, shifting the ice pack on the ankle. “But she was driving 

Will and me nuts with all her werewolf talk.” 

Dad  was  washing  his  hands  in  the  kitchen  sink.  He  dried  them  on  a  dish  towel, 

then turned to me. “That old swamp hermit is supposed to be harmless,” he said. “At 

least, that’s what everyone says.” 

“Well,  he  gave  us  a  real  scare,”  I  told  him.  “He  chased  us  through  the  swamp, 

shouting, ‘I’m the werewolf!’” 

“Weird,” Dad replied thoughtfully. He tossed the dish towel onto the counter. 

“You should stay away from him,” Mom said, looking up from the newspaper. 

“Do you believe in werewolves?” I asked. 

  51 

Dad  snickered.  “Your  mom  and  I  are  scientists,  Grady.  We’re  not  supposed  to 

believe in supernatural things like werewolves.” 

“Your  father  is  a  werewolf,”  Mom  joked.  “I  have  to shave  his  back  every 

morning so he’ll look human.” 

“Ha-ha,”  I  said  sarcastically.  “I’m  serious.  I  mean,  haven’t  you  heard  the  weird 

howls at night?” 

“Lots of creatures howl,” Mom replied. “I’ll bet you howled when that snake bit 

your ankle!” 

“Can’t you be serious?” I cried shrilly. “You know, the howls didn’t start until it 

was a full moon.” 

“I remember. The howls didn’t start until that dog showed up!” Emily called from 

the front room. 

“Emily, give me a break!” I shouted. 

“Your dog is a werewolf!” Emily called. 

“Enough  werewolf  talk,”  Mom  muttered.  “Look.  I’ve  got  hair  growing  on  my 

palms!” She held up her hands. 

“That’s just ink off the newspaper,” Dad said. He turned to me. “See? There’s a 

scientific explanation for everything.” 

“I really would like to be taken seriously,” I said through clenched teeth. 

“Well…”  Dad  glanced  outside.  Wolf  had  rolled  onto  his  back  and  was  sleeping 

with all four legs up in the air. “The moon will look full for only two more nights,” 

Dad told me. “Tonight and tomorrow night.  If the howls stop after tomorrow night, 

we’ll know it was a werewolf, howling at the full moon.” 

Dad chuckled. He thought it was all a big joke. 

We had no idea that something was about to happen that night that might change 

his opinion about werewolves—forever. 

  52 

24 

Will and Cassie came over after dinner. Mom and Dad were still loading dishes into 

the dishwasher and cleaning up. Emily had hurried into town to go to the only movie 

playing. 

I  was  walking  around  pretty  well.  The  ankle  barely hurt  at  all.  Dad’s  a  pretty 

good doctor, I guess. 

The  three  of  us  settled  in  the  front  room,  and  we  instantly  got  into  an  argument 

about werewolves. 

Cassie  insisted  that  the  swamp  hermit  wasn’t  kidding,  that  he  really  was  a 

werewolf. 

Will told her she was a complete jerk. “He only chased us because he heard you 

call him a werewolf,” he told Cassie angrily. 

“Why  do  you  think  he  lives  by  himself  way  deep  in  the  swamp?”  Cassie 

demanded of Will. “Because he knows what happens to him when the moon is full, 

and he doesn’t want anyone else to know it!” 

“Then  why  did  he  scream  to  us  that  he  was  a  werewolf  this  afternoon?”  Will 

asked impatiently. “Because he was just joking, that’s why.” 

“Come  on,  guys.  Let’s  change  the  subject,”  I  said. “My  parents  are  both 

scientists, and they say there’s no proof that werewolves exist.” 

“That’s what scientists always say,” Cassie insisted. 

“They’re right,” Will said. “There are no werewolves except in movies. You’re a 

real jerk, Cassie.” 

“You’re a jerk!” Cassie shouted back. 

I could see they’d had fights like this before. “Let’s play a game or something,” I 

suggested. “Want to play some Nintendo? It’s in my room.” 

“Mr. Warner still hasn’t shown up,” Cassie told Will, ignoring me. She tugged at 

her  red  ponytail,  then  tossed  it  behind  her  head.  “You  know  why?  Because  he  was 

murdered by the werewolf!” 

“Don’t be stupid,” Will said. “How do you know?” 

“Maybe you’re the werewolf!” I told Cassie. 

Will laughed. “Yeah. That’s why you’re such an expert, Cassie.” 

“Oh, shut up,” Cassie grumbled. “You look more like a werewolf than me, Will!” 

“You look like a vampire!” he told her. 

“Well, you look like King Kong!” she cried. 

“What  are  you  kids  talking  about?”  Mom  interrupted,  poking  her  head  into  the 

room. 

“Just talking about movies and things,” I replied quickly. 

  53 

I  couldn’t  get  to  sleep  that  night.  I  kept  rolling onto  one  side,  then  the  other.  I 

couldn’t get comfortable. 

I kept listening for the howls. 

A strong wind had come up from the Gulf. I could hear it rushing past our small 

house. It rattled the wire mesh of the deer pen out back. It made a constant ssshhhhhh 

sound, and I strained to hear the familiar howls. 

I had just about drifted off to sleep when the howls began. 

Instantly alert, I jumped to my feet. My left ankle ached as I stepped down on it. 

Another howl. Far off. Barely carrying over the steady rush of the wind. 

I  limped  to  my  bedroom  window.  The  ankle  had  stiffened  up  a  bit  while  I  was 

lying in bed. I pressed my face against the glass and peered out. 

The full moon, gray as a skull, hovered low in the charcoal sky. The dewy grass 

gleamed under its blanket of pale light. 

A burst of wind rattled my window. 

Startled, I pulled back. And listened. 

Another howl. Closer. 

This one sent a cold shudder down my back. 

It sounded really close. Or was the wind carrying it from the swamp? 

I squinted out the window. Swirls of wind made the grass sway from one side to 

the  other.  The  ground  appeared  to  be  spinning,  glowing  in  the  pale  moonlight  as  it 

twirled. 

Another howl. Even closer. 

I  couldn’t  see  anything.  I had to  know  who  or  what  was  making  that  terrifying 

sound. 

I pulled my jeans on over my pajama bottoms. Struggling in the dark, I managed 

to slide my feet into a pair of flip-flops. 

I started out of my room, but stopped short when I heard a banging. A loud crash. 

A pounding. A harsh thud. 

Right outside. 

Right outside my house. 

My  heart  pounding,  I  ran  through  the  dark  hallway. My  ankle  ached,  but  I 

ignored it. 

I  hurried  through  the  kitchen,  unlocked  the  back  door,  and  pulled  it  open.  A 

strong gust of wind pushed me back as I opened the screen door. 

The wind was hot and wet. Another strong gust pushed me back. 

The wind is trying to keep me inside, I thought. Trying to keep me from solving 

the mystery of the terrifying howls. 

I lowered my head against the driving gusts and leapt down off the stoop. 

“Ow!” I cried out as pain shot up my leg. 

Waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dim light, I listened hard. 

No  howls  now.  Just  the  shrill,  steady  rush  of  wind,  pushing,  pushing  me  back 

against the house. 

The back yard glowed in the moonlight. Everything was silver and gray. 

And silent. 

  54 

I  searched  the  back  yard,  my  eyes  sweeping  slowly  across  the  shifting  grass. 

Empty. 

But what had caused all the commotion I’d heard in my room? The banging? The 

loud thuds? The rattling sounds? 

Why had the howls stopped when I came outside? 

What a mystery, I thought. What a strange mystery. 

The  wind  swirled  around  me.  My  face  was  dripping  wet  from  the  heavy 

dampness of the air. 

Feeling defeated, I turned back toward the house. 

And uttered a shocked cry when I saw that the werewolf had murdered again. 

  55 

25 

I took a step through the swirling wind toward the deer pen. 

“Dad!” I called. But my voice came out a hushed whisper. “Dad!” I tried to shout, 

but my throat was too dry and choked with fear. 

Staring straight ahead, I took another step. I could see it all clearly now. A scene 

of death. Pale light and shadows. The only sounds were the pounding of my heart, the 

swell of the wind, and the rattling of the wire mesh of the pen. 

I  took  another  step  closer.  “Dad?  Dad?”  I  cried  out  without  thinking,  without 

hearing myself, knowing he couldn’t hear. 

But I wanted him to be there. I wanted someone to be there with me. I didn’t want 

to be all alone out there in the back yard. 

I didn’t want to be staring at the hole that had been ripped in the side of the pen. I 

didn’t want to see the murdered deer lying so pitifully on its side. 

The five remaining deer huddled together at the other end of the pen. Their eyes 

were on me. Frightened eyes. 

The wind swept around me, hot and wet. But I felt cold all over. A cold shudder 

of terror ran down my body. I swallowed hard. Once. Twice. Trying to choke down 

the heavy lump in my throat. 

Then,  before  I  even  realized  what  I  was  doing,  I  began  running  to  the  house, 

screaming, “Dad! Mom! Dad! Mom!” at the top of my lungs. 

My  cries  rose  on  the  gusting  wind  like  the  terrifying  howls  I’d  heard  just  a  few 

moments before. 

His pajama shirt flapping over the jeans he had pulled on, Dad dragged the dead deer 

to the back of the yard. Then, as I watched from the kitchen window, he patched the 

deer pen with a large sheet of box cardboard. 

As  he  tried  to  return  to the  house,  the  strong  winds  nearly  blew  the  screen  door 

off its hinges. Dad jerked the door shut, then locked it. 

His  face  was  dripping  with  perspiration.  He  had  mud  down  the  side  of  one 

pajama sleeve. 

Mom  poured  him  a  glass  of  water  from  the  sink,  and he  drank  it  down  without 

taking a breath. Then he wiped the sweat from his forehead with a dish towel. 

“I’m afraid  your dog is  a killer,” he said softly to me. He tossed the towel back 

onto the counter. 

“It wasn’t Wolf!” I cried. “It wasn’t!” 

Dad didn’t reply. He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Mom and Emily 

watched silently from in front of the sink. 

“What makes you think it was Wolf?” I demanded. 

  56 

“I saw the prints on the ground,” he replied, frowning. “Paw prints.” 

“It wasn’t Wolf,” I insisted. 

“I’m going to have to take him to the pound in the morning,” Dad said. “The one 

over in the next county.” 

“But they’ll kill him!” I cried. 

“The dog is a killer,” Dad insisted softly. “I know how you feel, Grady. I know. 

But the dog is a killer.” 

“It wasn’t Wolf,” I cried. “Dad, I know it wasn’t Wolf. I heard the howls, Dad. It 

was a wolf.” 

“Grady, please—” he started wearily. 

Then the words just burst out of me. I lost all control of them. They just poured 

out in a flood. “It was a werewolf, Dad. There’s a werewolf in the swamp. Cassie is 

right.  It  wasn’t  a  dog,  and  it  wasn’t  a  wolf.  It’s a  werewolf  who’s  been  killing 

animals, who killed your deer.” 

“Grady, stop—” Dad pleaded impatiently. 

But  I couldn’t stop. “I know  I’m right, Dad,”  I  cried in a shrill voice that didn’t 

sound like me. 

“It’s been a full moon this week, right? And that’s when the howls began. It’s a 

werewolf,  Dad.  The  swamp  hermit.  That  crazy  guy  who  lives  in  the  shack  in  the 

swamp.  He’s  a  werewolf.  He  told  us  he  is.  He  chased  us  and  he  told  us  he’s  a 

werewolf. He did it, Dad. Not Wolf. He killed the deer tonight. I heard him howling 

outside, and then—then—” 

My voice caught in my throat. I started to choke. 

Dad filled the glass with water and handed it to me. I gulped it down thirstily. 

He put a hand on my shoulder. “Grady, let’s talk about it in the morning, okay? 

We’re both too tired to think straight now. What do you say?” 

“It wasn’t Wolf!” I cried stubbornly. “I know it wasn’t.” 

“In the morning,” Dad repeated, his hand still on my shoulder. He held it there to 

comfort me, to steady me. 

I felt shaky. I was panting. My heart pounded. 

“Yeah. Okay,” I agreed finally. “In the morning.” 

I made my way slowly to my room, but I knew I wouldn’t sleep. 

The next morning, Dad was gone when I got up. “He went to the lumber yard,” Mom 

told me, “to get wire mesh to repair the pen.” 

I yawned and stretched. I had fallen into a restless sleep at about two-thirty. But I 

still felt tired and nervous. 

“Is  Wolf  out  there?”  I  asked  anxiously.  I  ran  to  the  kitchen  window  before  she 

could reply. 

I could see Wolf at the head of the driveway. He had a blue rubber ball between 

his front paws, and he was chewing at it furiously. 

“Bet he’s hungry for breakfast,” I muttered. 

I  heard  the  crunch  of  gravel,  and  Dad’s  car  pulled up  the  drive.  The  trunk  was 

opened partway, a roll of wire mesh bulging inside. 

“Morning,” Dad said as he came into the kitchen. His expression was grim. 

  57 

“Are  you  going  to  take  Wolf?”  I  demanded  immediately.  My  eyes  were  on  the 

dog, chewing on the rubber ball outside. He looked so cute. 

“People in town are upset,” Dad replied, pouring himself a cup of coffee from the 

coffeemaker.  “A  lot  of  animals  have  been  killed  this  week.  And  a  guy  who  lives 

down the way, Ed Warner, has disappeared in the swamp. People  are very  worried. 

They’ve heard the howls, too.” 

“Are you taking Wolf away?” I repeated shrilly, my voice trembling. 

Dad  nodded.  His  expression  remained  grim.  He  took  a  long  sip  of  coffee.  “Go 

look at the paw prints outside the pen, Grady,” he said, locking his eyes on mine. “Go 

ahead. Take a look.” 

“I don’t care about prints,” I moaned. “I just know—” 

“I can’t take any more chances,” Dad said. 

“I don’t care! He’s my dog!” I screamed. 

“Grady—” Dad set down the cup and started toward me. 

But I burst past him and ran to the door. Pushing open the screen door, I leapt off 

the back stoop. 

Wolf  stood  up  as  soon  as  he  saw  me.  His  tail  started  to  wag.  Leaving  the  blue 

rubber ball behind, he began loping toward me eagerly. 

Dad was right behind me. “I’m going to take the dog away now, Grady,” he said. 

“Do you want to come along?” 

“No!” I cried. 

“I have no choice,” Dad said, his voice just above a whisper. He stepped forward 

and reached for Wolf. 

“No!” I shouted. “No! Run, Wolf! Run!” 

I gave the dog a shove. Wolf turned to me uncertainly. 

“Run!” I screamed. “Run! Run!” 

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26 

I gave Wolf another hard shove. “Run! Run, boy! Go!” 

Dad had his hands around Wolf’s shoulders, but he didn’t have a good grip. 

Wolf broke free and started to run toward the swamp. 

“Hey—!” Dad called angrily. He chased Wolf to the end of the back yard. But the 

big dog was too fast for him. 

I stood behind the house, breathing hard, and watched Wolf until he disappeared 

into the low trees at the edge of the swamp. 

Dad  turned  back  toward  me,  an  angry  expression  on  his  face.  “That  was  dumb, 

Grady,” he muttered. 

I didn’t say anything. 

“Wolf  will  come  back  later,”  Dad  said.  “When  he  does,  I’ll  have  to  take  him 

away.” 

“But, Dad—” I started. 

“No  more  discussion,”  he  said  sternly.  “As  soon  as the  dog  returns,  I’m  taking 

him to the pound.” 

“You can’t!” I screamed. 

“The dog is a killer, Grady. I have no choice.” Dad headed toward the car. “Come 

help me unload this wire mesh. I’ll need your help getting the pen patched up.” 

I gazed toward the swamp as I followed Dad to the car. Don’t come back, Wolf, I 

pleaded silently. Please, don’t come back. 

All  day  long,  I  watched  the  swamp.  I  felt  nervous, shaky.  I  had  no  appetite  at  all. 

After  I helped Dad  repair the deer pen,  I stayed in my room.  I tried to read a book, 

but the words were just a blur. 

By evening, Wolf hadn’t returned. 

You’re safe, Wolf, I thought. At least for today. 

My whole family was tense. At dinner, we hardly spoke. Emily talked about the 

movie she had seen the night before, but no one joined in with any comments. 

I went to bed early. I was really tired. From tension, I guess. And from being up 

most of the night before. 

My room was darker than usual. It was the last night of the full moon, but heavy 

blankets of clouds covered the moonlight. 

I  settled  my  head  onto  my  pillow  and  tried  to  get  to  sleep.  But  I  kept  thinking 

about Wolf. 

The howls started a short while later. 

I  crept  out  of  bed  and  hurried  to  the  window.  I  squinted  out  into  the  darkness. 

Heavy, black clouds still covered the moon. The air was still. Nothing moved. 

  59 

I heard a low growl, and Wolf came into focus. 

He  was  standing  stiffly  in  the  middle  of  the  back  yard,  his  head  tilted  up  to  the 

sky,  uttering  low  growls.  As  I  stared  out  the  window  at  him,  the  big  dog  began  to 

pace, back and forth from one side of the yard to the other. 

He’s pacing like a caged animal, I thought. Pacing and growling, as if something 

is really troubling him. 

Or scaring him. 

As he paced, he kept raising his head toward the full moon behind the clouds and 

growling. 

What is going on? I wondered. I had to find out. 

I got dressed quickly in the darkness, pulling on the jeans and T-shirt I had worn 

all day. 

I fumbled into my sneakers. At first I had the left one on the right foot. It was so 

dark in my room without the moonlight pouring in! 

As  soon  as  my  sneakers  were  tied,  I  hurried  back  to  the  window.  Wolf  was 

leaving the back yard, I saw. He was lumbering slowly in the direction of the swamp. 

I’m going to follow Wolf, I decided. I’m going to prove once and for all that he 

isn’t a killer—or a werewolf. 

I was afraid my parents might hear me if I went to the kitchen door. So I crawled 

out my window. 

The grass was wet from a heavy dew. The air was wet, too, and nearly as hot as 

during  the  day.  My  sneakers  squeaked  and  slid  on  the  damp  grass  as  I  hurried  to 

follow Wolf. 

I stopped at the end of the back yard. I’d lost him. 

I could still hear him somewhere up ahead. I could hear the soft thud of his paws 

on the marshy ground. 

But it was too dark to see him. 

I followed the sound of his footsteps, gazing up at the shifting, shadowy clouds. 

I was nearly to the swamp when I heard footsteps behind me. 

With a gasp of fright, I stopped and listened hard. 

Yes. Footsteps. 

Moving rapidly toward me. 

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27 

“Hey!” 

I let out a choked cry and spun around. 

At first, all I could see was blackness. “Hey—who’s there?” My voice came out 

in a hushed whisper. 

Will stepped out from the darkness. “Grady—it’s you!” he cried. He came closer. 

He was wearing a dark sweatshirt over black jeans. 

“Will—what are you doing out here?” I asked breathlessly. 

“I heard the howls,” he replied. “I decided to investigate.” 

“Me, too. I’m so glad to see you!” I exclaimed. “We can explore together.” 

“I’m glad to see you, too,” he said. “It was so dark, I—I didn’t know it was you. I 

thought—” 

“I’m  following  Wolf,”  I  told  him.  I  led  the  way  into  the  swamp.  It  grew  even 

darker as we made our way under the low trees. 

As  we  walked,  I  told  Will  about  the  night  before,  about  the  murdered  deer,  the 

paw  prints  around  the  deer  pen.  I  told  him  about  how  people  in  town  were  talking. 

And about how my dad planned to take Wolf away to the pound. 

“I know Wolf isn’t the killer,”  I told him. “I just know it. But Cassie got  me so 

scared with all her werewolf stories, and—” 

“Cassie  is  a  jerk,”  Will  muttered.  He  pointed  into the  weeds.  “Look—there’s 

Wolf!” 

I could see his black outline moving steadily through the heavy darkness. “I was 

so stupid. I should have brought a flashlight,” I murmured. 

Wolf  disappeared  behind  the  weeds.  Will  and  I  followed  the  sound  of  his 

footsteps. We walked for several minutes. Suddenly, I realized I could no longer hear 

the dog. 

“Where’s Wolf?” I whispered, my eyes searching the dark bushes and low trees. 

“I don’t want to lose him.” 

“He went this way,” Will called back to me. “Follow me.” 

Our sneakers slid over the damp, marshy ground. I slapped at a mosquito on the 

back of my neck. Too late. I could feel warm blood. 

Deeper into the swamp. Past the bog, eerily silent now. 

“Hey, Will?” 

I stopped—and searched. “Oh.” A soft cry escaped my lips as I realized I had lost 

him. 

Somehow we had gotten separated. 

I  heard  rustling  up  ahead.  The  crack  of  twigs.  The whispering  brush  of  weeds 

being stepped on and pushed out of the way. 

  61 

“Will? Is that you?” 

Or was it Wolf? 

“Will?” 

“Where are you?” 

Pale  light  suddenly  washed  over  me,  washed  slowly  over  the  ground.  Glancing 

up, I saw the heavy clouds pull away. The yellow full moon hovered high in the sky. 

As the light slowly swept over the swamp, a low structure came into view straight 

ahead of me. 

At first, I couldn’t figure out what it was. Some kind of gigantic plant? 

No. 

As  the  moonlight  shone  down,  I  realized  I  was  staring  at  the  swamp  hermit’s 

shack. 

I stopped, frozen in sudden fear. 

And then the howls began. 

The frightening sound tore through the heavy silence. A horrifying wail, so loud, 

so nearby, rose on the still air, rose and then fell. 

The sound was so terrifying, I raised my hands to cover my ears. 

The swamp hermit! I thought. He is a werewolf! 

I knew he was the werewolf. 

I’ve got to get away from here, I realized. I’ve got to get home. 

I turned away from the small shack. 

My legs were trembling so hard, I didn’t know if I could walk. 

Got to go! Got to go! Got to go! The words repeated in my mind. 

But  before  I  could  move,  the  werewolf  burst  out  from  behind  a  tree—and, 

howling its hideous howl, leapt onto my shoulders and shoved me to the ground. 

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28 

As  the  yellow  light  of  the  full  moon  shone  down,  I gazed  into  the  face  of  the 

werewolf as it pinned me to the ground. 

Its dark eyes glared out at me from a human face, a human face covered in wolf 

fur. It howled its rage, its animal snout opening wide to reveal two gleaming rows of 

wolf fangs. 

It’s a human wolf! I realized to my terror. A werewolf! 

“Get off!” I shrieked. “Will—get off me!” 

It was Will. The werewolf was Will. 

Even through the thick,  matted wolf fur,  I  could recognize his dark features, his 

small, black eyes, his thick, stubby neck. 

“Will—!” I screamed. 

I struggled to push him away, to squirm out from under. 

But he was too powerful. I couldn’t move. 

“Will—get off!” 

He  raised  his  fur-covered  face  to  the  moon  and  uttered  an  animal  howl.  Then, 

snarling out his rage, he lowered his beastly head and dug his fangs into my shoulder. 

I let out a shriek of pain. 

Blinding flashes of red filled my eyes. 

I thrust out my hands, kicked my legs—struggled blindly to free myself. 

But he had animal strength. He was much too strong for me… too strong… . 

The flashing  red faded, turned to black. Everything was fading to black. I could 

feel  myself  sinking,  sinking  down  a  black  tunnel,  sinking  forever  into  deep,  deep, 

endlessly deep darkness. 

A loud growl brought me back. 

Bewildered, I gazed up to see Wolf leap onto Will. 

Will uttered a shrill howl of anger and turned to wrestle with the snarling dog. 

I  watched  in  stunned  disbelief  as  they  scrabbled  over  the  ground,  biting  and 

clawing, raging at each other, growling and grunting. 

“Will… Will, it was you… it was you all along….” I murmured, struggling to my 

feet. 

I gripped a tree trunk. The ground appeared to be sliding beneath me. 

The  two  creatures  continued  to  battle,  grunting  and  growling  as  they  clawed  at 

each other, wrestling over the wet ground. 

“I knew it wasn’t Wolf,” I muttered aloud. “I knew…” 

And then a deafening high-pitched shriek startled me, and I tumbled to my knees. 

  63 

I looked up in time to see Will running away, fleeing on all fours through the tall 

weeds.  Wolf  followed  close  behind,  snapping  at  Will’s  ankles,  jumping  on  him, 

biting and clawing him as they ran. 

Then, I heard Will utter another cry of pain, a wail of defeat. 

As  the  anguished  sound  faded,  I  sank  down,  down,  down  into  the  blue-black 

darkness. 

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29 

“You have a slight fever,” Mom said. “But you’ll be okay.” 

“Swamp fever,” I murmured weakly. I gazed up at her, trying to focus. Her face 

was blurred, hovering over me in the soft light. 

It took me a long while to realize I was in my own bedroom. “How—how did I 

get here?” I stammered. 

“The swamp hermit—he found  you in the swamp and carried  you home,” Mom 

said. 

“He did?” I tried to sit up, but my shoulder ached. To my surprise, it was tightly 

bandaged. “The—the werewolf—Will—he bit me,” I said, swallowing hard. 

Dad’s  face,  hovered  beside  Mom’s.  “What  are  you  saying,  Grady?  Why  do  you 

keep muttering about a werewolf?” 

I pulled myself up a little and told them the whole story. They listened in silence, 

glancing at each other from time to time as I talked. 

“Will  is  a  werewolf,”  I  concluded.  “He  changed.  Under  the  full  moon.  He 

changed into a wolf, and—” 

“I’m  going  to  check  this  out  right  now,”  Dad  said, staring  intently  down  at  me. 

“Your story is crazy, Grady. Just crazy. Maybe it’s the fever. I don’t know. But I’m 

going right over to your friend’s house and see what’s what.” 

“Dad—be careful,” I called after him. “Be careful.” 

Dad  returned  a  short  while  later,  a  bewildered  look  on  his  face.  I  was  sitting  in  the 

living room, feeling a lot better, a big bowl of popcorn in my lap. 

“There’s no one there,” Dad said, scratching his head. 

“Huh? What do you mean?” Mom asked. 

“The  house  is  empty,”  Dad  told  us.  “Deserted.  It  doesn’t  look  like  anyone  has 

lived there in months!” 

“Wow, Grady. You certainly have strange friends!” Emily exclaimed, rolling her 

eyes. 

“I don’t get it,” Dad said, shaking his head. 

I  didn’t,  either.  But  I  didn’t  care.  Will  was  gone.  The  werewolf  was  gone  for 

good. 

“So can I keep Wolf?” I asked Dad, climbing up from the chair and crossing the 

room to him. “Wolf saved my life. Can I keep him?” 

Dad stared back at me thoughtfully, but didn’t reply. 

“The swamp hermit told us he saw the dog chase some kind of animal away from 

Grady,” Mom said. 

“Probably a squirrel,” Emily joked. 

  65 

“Emily, give me a break,” I groaned. “Wolf really saved my life,” I told them. 

“I guess you can keep him,” Dad said reluctantly. 

“YAY!” I thanked him and eagerly made my way to the back yard to give Wolf a 

happy hug. 

That all happened nearly a month ago. 

Since  then,  Wolf  and  I  have  had  a  wonderful  time  exploring  the  swamp.  I’ve 

gotten to know just about every inch of Fever Swamp. It’s like my second home. 

Sometimes  Wolf  and  I  let  Cassie  come  along  exploring  with  us.  She’s  kind  of 

fun, even though she’s always on the lookout for werewolves. I really wish she’d just 

drop the subject. 

I’m standing at my bedroom window now, watching the full moon rising over the 

distant trees. This first full moon in a month makes me think of Will. 

Will may be gone, but he changed my life. I know I’ll never forget him. 

I can feel the fur sprouting on my face. My snout is expanding, and my fangs are 

sliding out between my dark lips. 

Yes, when he bit me, Will passed the curse on to me. 

But I don’t mind. I’m not upset. 

I mean, with Will out of the way, the swamp is now mine! All mine! 

I’m climbing out of my  window now. There’s Wolf waiting for me, eager to do 

some night exploring. 

I drop easily to the ground on all fours. I raise my fur-covered face to the moon 

and utter a long, joyful howl. 

Let’s go, Wolf. Let’s hurry to Fever Swamp. 

I’m ready to hunt. 

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