08 - The Girl Who Cried Monster (7 page)

I’ll just have to wait them out, I decided, turning and pretending to search
one of the back shelves.

I could see Mr. Mortman standing behind his desk. He was checking out a stack
of books for a young woman, opening the covers, stamping the card, then slamming
the covers shut.

It was nearly five o’clock. Just about closing time.

I crept along the back wall, searching for another hiding spot. Near the
corner, I spotted a large wooden cabinet. I recognized it as I stepped behind it
and lowered myself from view. It was the long, tall cabinet that held the card
catalogue.

It will hide me quite nicely, I thought.

I hunched down behind the old cabinet and waited. Time dragged by. Every
second seemed like an hour.

At five-fifteen, Mr. Mortman was still checking out books for people. He
announced closing time, but some of the magazine readers seemed very reluctant
to leave.

I felt myself getting more and more nervous. My hands were ice cold. The
camera suddenly seemed to weigh a thousand pounds, like a dead weight around my
neck. I removed it and dropped it to my lap.

It will all be worth it, I kept repeating to myself.

It will all be worth it if I get a good, clear shot of the monster.

I leaned against the back of the cabinet and waited, my hand gripping the
camera in my lap.

Finally, the room emptied out.

I climbed to my knees, suddenly very alert, as I heard the librarian go to
lock the front door. A few seconds later, I heard him return to his desk.

I stood up and peered around the side of the cabinet. He was busily shuffling papers, straightening his desk for the
night.

In a few minutes, I hoped, it would be feeding time.

Monster time.

Taking a deep breath, I gripped the camera tightly in one hand and, feeling
my heart start to pound, began to make my way silently toward Mr. Mortman’s desk
at the front of the room.

Everything seemed to be taking so long today.

Was time really in slow motion? Or did everything seem so slow because my
pulse was racing so fast?

I was so eager to get my proof—and get out of there!

But Mr. Mortman was taking his good old time. He shuffled through a stack of
papers, reading some of them, folding some of them in half, and tossing them in
the wire trash basket beside his desk.

He hummed to himself as he read through the entire stack. Finally, he got to
the bottom of the pile and tossed the final sheet away.

Now!
I thought.
Now you’ll start your monster routine, won’t you, Mr.
Mortman!

But no.

He lifted a stack of books from his desk and carried them to the shelves.
Humming loudly, he began returning the books to their places.

I pressed myself into the shadows, hoping he wouldn’t come to my row. I was
near the far wall in front of the row of microfiche machines.

Please, let’s get on with it!
I begged silently.

But when he finished with the first stack, Mr. Mortman returned to his desk
and hoisted up another pile of books to replace.

I’m going to be late for dinner, I realized with a growing sense of dread. My
parents are going to
kill
me!

The thought made me chuckle. Here I was, locked inside this creepy old
library with a monster, and I was worried about getting scolded for being late
for dinner!

I could hear Mr. Mortman, but I couldn’t see him. He was somewhere among the
rows of shelves, replacing books.

Suddenly his humming grew louder.

I realized he was in the next aisle. I could see him over the tops of the
books on the shelf to my right.

And that meant
he
could see
me!

Gripped with panic, I ducked and dropped to the floor.

Had he heard me? Had he seen me?

I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe.

He continued to hum to himself. The sound grew fainter as he moved in the
other direction.

Letting out a silent sigh of relief, I climbed back to my feet. Gripping the
camera tightly in my right hand, I peered around the side of the shelf.

I heard his shoes shuffling along the floor. He reappeared, his bald head
shiny in the late afternoon sunlight from the window, and made his way slowly to
his desk.

The clock on the wall ticked noisily.

My hand gripping the camera was cold and clammy.

Watching him shuffle things around inside his desk drawer, I suddenly lost my
nerve.

This is stupid, I thought. A really bad idea.

I’m going to be caught.

As soon as I step out to snap the picture, he’ll see me.

He’ll chase after me. He won’t let me get out of the library with this
camera.

He won’t let me get out of here
alive.

Turn and run!
a voice inside my head commanded.

Quick, while you have the chance—turn and run!

Then another voice interrupted that one.
He isn’t going to turn into a
monster tonight, Lucy,
the voice said.
You’re wasting your time. You’re
getting yourself all nervous and scared for no reason.

My mind was spinning, whirring with voices and frightening thoughts. I leaned hard against the wooden shelf, steadying
myself. I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to clear my head.

How many shots can you take?
a voice in my head asked.
Can you shoot
off three or four before he realizes what is happening?

You only need one good shot,
another voice told me.
One good clear
shot will be the proof you need.

You’d better hope he’s humming very loudly,
another voice said.
Otherwise, he’ll hear your camera shutter click.

Turn and run!
another voice repeated.
Turn and run!

You only need one good shot.

Don’t let him hear your shutter click.

I stepped forward and peered around the shelf.

Mr. Mortman, humming happily away, was reaching for the fly jar.

Yes!
I cried silently.
Finally!

“Dinnertime, my timid friends,” I heard him say in a pleasant singsong. And
as he started to unscrew the jar lid, his head began to grow.

His eyes bulged. His mouth twisted open and enlarged.

In a few seconds, his monstrous head was bobbing above his shirt. His
snakelike tongue flicked out of his black mouth as he removed the jar lid and
pulled out a handful of flies.

“Dinnertime, my timid friends!”

Picture time!
I thought, gathering my courage.

I raised the camera to my eye with a trembling hand. I gripped it tightly
with both hands to keep it from shaking.

Then, holding my breath, I leaned as far forward as I could.

Mr. Mortman was downing his first handful of flies, chewing noisily, humming
as he chewed.

I struggled to center him in the viewfinder.

I was so nervous, the camera was shaking all over the place!

I’m so glad he’s humming, I thought, raising my finger to the shutter button.

He won’t hear the camera click.

I’ll be able to take more than one shot.

Okay. Okay…

He was still enjoying his first batch of tender flies.

Now!
I told myself.

I was about to push the button—when Mr. Mortman suddenly turned away.

With a gasp, I stopped myself just in time.

My pulse was pounding at my temples so hard, I could barely see straight.

What was he doing?

He was reaching for another jar. He set it down on his desk and unscrewed the
lid.

I raised the camera again and squinted at him through the viewfinder.

What did he have in this jar? Something was fluttering in there. It took me a
while to realize they were moths. White moths.

He closed his fist around one and shoved it hungrily into his mouth. Another
moth fluttered out of the jar before he could close the lid.

Mr. Mortman’s eyes bulged like toadstools growing out of his balloonlike
head. His mouth twisted and coiled as he chewed the moth.

Taking another deep breath and holding it, I leaned forward as far as I
could, steadied the camera in front of my eye—and snapped the shutter.

The FLASH!

I had forgotten about the flash!

I was so worried about the click of the shutter, I had totally forgotten that
my camera had automatic flash!

The instant flash of white light made Mr. Mortman cry out angrily. Startled,
he raised his hands to cover his bulging eyes.

I stood frozen in the aisle, frozen by carelessness, frozen by my stupidity!

“Who’s
there?” he growled, still covering his eyes.

I realized he hadn’t seen me yet. Those big eyes must have been very
sensitive to light. The flash had momentarily blinded him.

He let out a monstrous roar that echoed off the four walls of the vast room.

Somehow I revived my senses enough to pull myself back, out of view.

“Who’s there?” he repeated, his voice a rasping snarl. “You won’t get away!”

I saw him lumbering in
my
direction. As he lurched toward me, his body
swayed awkwardly, as if his eyes were still blinded.

I gaped in horror as he approached.

He seemed steadier with each step. His bulging eyes searched the rows of
shelves. He was breathing hard, each breath a furious growl.

“Who’s there? Who’s there?”

Get going!
I told myself, still gripping the camera in both hands.
Get
going! What are you waiting for?

“You won’t get away!” the monster cried.

Oh, yes, I will!

He was three rows away, his eyes peering down the dark aisles. Searching.
Searching.

He hadn’t seen me, I knew. The light of the flash had startled him, then
blinded him.

He didn’t know it was me.

Now all I had to do was run. All I had to do was get out of there with the
proof safely in my hands.

So what was I waiting for?

He lumbered closer. He was only a row away.

Run!
I ordered my paralyzed legs.
Run! Don’t just stand there!

I spun around, clumsily bumped into a shelf of books. Several books toppled
to the floor.

Run! Don’t stop!

It was taking me so long to move. I was so weighed down by my fear.

Run! Lucy! He’s right behind you!

Finally, my legs started to cooperate.

Holding the camera in one hand, I began to run through the dark aisle toward
the back of the room.

“You won’t get away!” the monster bellowed from the next aisle. “I hear you!
I know where you are!”

Uttering an animal cry of terror, I ran blindly to the end of the aisle,
turned toward the doorway—and crashed into a low book cart.

The cart toppled over as I fell on top of it.

I landed hard on my stomach and knees. The camera bounced from my hand and
slid across the floor.

“I’ve got you now!” the monster growled, moving quickly from the next aisle.

I scrambled to get up, but my leg was caught in the cart.

The monster lumbered toward me, panting loudly.

Once again, my fear tried to paralyze me. I tried to push myself up with both
hands, but my body felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds.

I’m dead meat!
I thought.

Finally, I pushed myself up and freed myself from the cart.

Dead meat. Dead meat.

The panting, growling monster was only a few yards away now, lurching out of
a row of shelves.

I grabbed the camera and stumbled to the door, my knee throbbing, my head
whirring.

I’ll never make it. Never.

And then I heard the loud electronic ringing.

At first, I thought it was an alarm.

But then I realized it was the telephone.

I pulled myself into the doorway and turned.

The monster hesitated at the end of the aisle. His bulbous, black eyes
floated up above his face. His gaping mouth, drooling green liquid, twisted into
an O of surprise.

He stopped short, startled by the sudden interruption.

Saved by the bell!
I thought happily. I pulled open the heavy front door
and burst out to freedom.

I ran for two blocks, my sneakers slapping the pavement, my heart refusing to
slow its frantic beat. I closed my eyes as I ran, enjoying the feel of the warm,
fresh air on my face, the warmth of the late afternoon sun, the sweep of my hair
flying behind me as I ran. Feeling
free.
Free and safe!

When I opened my eyes and slowed my pace, I realized that I was gripping the
camera so tightly, my hands hurt.

My proof. I had my proof.

One snapshot. One snapshot that nearly cost me my life. But I had it in the
camera, my proof that Mr. Mortman was a monster.

“I have to get it developed,” I said out loud. “Fast.”

I jogged the rest of the way home, cradling the camera under my arm.

As my house came into view, I had a chilling feeling that Mr. Mortman would be waiting there. That he would be waiting
beside the front porch, waiting to grab the camera from me, to rob me of my
proof.

I hesitated at the bottom of the driveway.

No one there.

Was he hiding in the bushes? Around the side of the house?

I walked up the front lawn slowly.
You’re being stupid,
I scolded
myself.
How could Mr. Mortman get here before you?

Besides, I wasn’t even sure he had recognized me.

The lights were out in the library. The room was dark. The closest he had
come was the aisle next to mine. And he was blinded for a long while from the
camera flash.

I started to breathe a little easier. Yes, it was possible that the librarian
didn’t know who he was chasing. It was possible that he never got a good look at
me at all.