08 - The Girl Who Cried Monster (11 page)

They chatted for a while. As they talked, Mr. Mortman kept darting glances at
me. Randy, sitting cross-legged on the floor, drummed his fingers on the carpet.

Mom and Dad seemed calm and perfectly at ease. Mr. Mortman seemed a little
uncomfortable. He had glistening beads of perspiration on his shiny, round
forehead.

My stomach growled loudly, more from nervousness than from hunger. No one seemed to hear it.

The three adults chatted a while longer. Mr. Mortman sipped his iced tea.

He leaned back on the couch and smiled at my mother. “It was so kind of you
to invite me. I don’t get too many home-cooked meals. What’s for dinner?” he
asked.

“You
are!” my Dad told him, stepping in front of the couch.

“What?” Mr. Mortman raised a hand behind his ear. “I didn’t hear you
correctly. What is for dinner?”

“You
are!” Dad repeated.

“Ulllp!” Mr. Mortman let out a little cry and turned bright red. He struggled
to raise himself from the low couch.

But Mom and Dad were too fast for him.

They both pounced on him. Their fangs popped down. And they gobbled the
librarian up in less than a minute, bones and all.

Randy laughed gleefully.

I had a big smile on my face.

My brother and I haven’t gotten our fangs yet. That’s why we couldn’t join
in.

“Well, that’s that,” Mom said, standing up and straightening the couch
cushion. Then she turned to Randy and me. “That’s the first monster to come to Timberland Falls in nearly twenty years,” she told us. “That’s why it
took us so long to believe you, Lucy.”

“You sure gobbled him up fast!” I exclaimed.

“In a few years, you’ll get your fangs,” Mom said.

“Me, too!” Randy declared. “Then maybe I won’t be afraid of monsters
anymore!”

Mom and Dad chuckled. Then Mom’s expression turned serious. “You both
understand why we had to do that, don’t you? We can’t allow any
other
monsters in town. It would frighten the whole community. And we don’t
want
people to get frightened and chase us away. We like it here!”

Dad burped loudly. “Pardon me,” he said, covering his mouth.

Later that night, I was upstairs in Randy’s room. He was all tucked in, and I
was telling him a bedtime story.

“…And so the librarian hid behind the tall bookshelf,” I said in a low,
whispery voice. “And when the little boy named Randy reached up to pull a book
down from the shelf, the librarian stuck his long arms through the shelf and
grabbed
the boy, and—”

“Lucy, how many times do I have to tell you?”

I glanced up to see Mom standing in the doorway, a frown on her face.

“I don’t want you frightening your little brother before bedtime,” Mom
scolded. “You’ll give him nightmares. Now, come on, Lucy—no more monster
stories!”

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