08 - The Girl Who Cried Monster (6 page)

Randy grabbed the monster head from my lap and started out the door. “I don’t
believe you about Mr. Mortman.”

“But it’s true!” I protested shrilly.

“I’m missing my cartoons,” he said.

Just then, I heard a knock at the front door.

“Mom!” I cried. I leapt off the bed and went tearing to the stairs. I shoved
Randy out of my way, and practically flew down the steps, taking them three at a
time.

“Mom! Dad—you’re home! I have to tell you—”

I froze in front of the screen door.

It wasn’t my parents.

It was Mr. Mortman.

My first thought was to
run.

My next thought was to slam the front door.

My next thought was to run back upstairs and hide in my room.

But it was too late to hide. Mr. Mortman had already seen me. He was staring
at me through the screen door with those beady black eyes, an evil, thin-lipped
smile on his pale, round face.

He saw me,
I realized.

He saw me spying on him in the library.

He saw me running away.

He knows that I know his secret. He knows that I know he’s a monster.

And he’s come to get me.

He’s come to get rid of me, to make sure his secret is safe.

“Lucy?” he called.

I stared at him through the screen.

I could see in his eyes that he knew it had been me in the library.

The sun had nearly gone down. The sky behind him was sunset-purple. His face
looked even paler than usual in the evening light.

“Lucy, hi. It’s me,” he said.

He was waiting for me to say something. But I was frozen there in panic,
trying to decide whether to run or scream. Or both.

Randy had stopped halfway down the stairs. “Who is it?” he asked.

“It’s Mr. Mortman,” I replied softly.

“Oh.” That was what my little brother said. He came the rest of the way down,
then walked past me on his way back to the den.

“Hi, Mr. Mortman,” I managed to say, not moving any closer to the door. Then
I blurted out, “My parents aren’t home.”

I knew instantly that it was a dumb thing to say.

Now the monster knew that Randy and I were here alone.

Why did I say that?
I asked myself.
How could I be so stupid?

“I didn’t come to see your parents,” Mr. Mortman said softly. “I came to see
you, Lucy.”

He knows!
I thought.
He really knows!

I’m dead meat!

I swallowed hard. I didn’t know what to say. My eyes searched the front
hallway for a weapon, something to hit him with when he broke through the screen
door and came after me.

Mr. Mortman’s eyes narrowed. His smile faded.

This is it!
I thought.

There was nothing around that I could use to fight him off. A little glass
flower vase. That’s all I could see. I didn’t think it would be too effective
against a roaring monster.

“Lucy, I believe this belongs to you,” Mr. Mortman said. He held up my blue
canvas backpack.

“Huh?”

“I found it back in the stacks,” Mr. Mortman said, his smile returning. “I
didn’t know who had left it. But I found your name and address on the tag here.”

“You—you mean—?” I stammered.

“I always walk home after I close the library, so I thought I’d bring it to
you,” he said.

Was this a trap?

I studied his face warily. I couldn’t tell
what
he was thinking.

I had no choice. I pushed open the screen door, and he handed me the
backpack. “Wow. Thanks,” I said. “That was really nice of you.”

He straightened the sleeves of his yellow turtleneck. “Well, I figured you’d
probably want to get started on
Anne of Green Gables
tonight,” he said.

“Yeah. Sure,” I replied uncertainly.

“I guess you ran out of the library pretty quickly,” Mr. Mortman said,
staring into my eyes.

“Uh… yeah. I had to get home,” I told him, glancing back to the den. The
cartoon music floated into the hallway.

“So you didn’t wait around or anything after our appointment?” he asked.

Does he know?
I wonder.

Or is he just trying to find out if it was me or not?

“No,” I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking. “I ran right out. I was
in a hurry. I—I guess that’s why I forgot my bag.”

“Oh, I see,” Mr. Mortman replied thoughtfully, rubbing his chins.

“Why?” I blurted out.

The question seemed to surprise him. “Oh, it’s nothing, really,” he said. “I
think someone was playing a trick on me. Staying in the library after closing.”

“Really?” I asked, opening my eyes wide and trying to sound as innocent as
possible. “Why would they do that?”

“To scare me,” Mr. Mortman answered, chuckling. “Some kids don’t have
anything better to do than try to scare the kindly old librarian.”

But you’re
not
a kindly old librarian, I thought. You’re a
monster!

“I got up to look around,” Mr. Mortman continued, “and whoever it was
high-tailed it.” He chuckled again.

“I wouldn’t want to be locked in there overnight,” I said, studying his face,
hoping my innocent act was working.

“Neither would I!” he exclaimed. “It’s a pretty creepy old building!
Sometimes I get so scared from all the strange creaks and groans.”

Yeah. Sure!
I thought sarcastically.

Behind him, I saw my parents’ car turn into the driveway. I breathed a silent
sigh of relief. Thank
goodness
they were finally home!

“Guess I’ll say good night,” Mr. Mortman said pleasantly. He turned and
watched as my parents rolled past him up the driveway, heading to the back of
the house.

“Thanks for bringing the bag,” I said, eager to go greet Mom and Dad.

“No problem. See you next week.” He hurried away.

I went running to the kitchen. Mom was just coming in through the kitchen
door, carrying a brown grocery bag. “Wasn’t that Mr. Mortman at the front door?” she asked,
surprised.

“Yeah,” I answered eagerly. “I’m so glad to see you, Mom. I have to tell you—”

“What did he want?” Mom interrupted.

“He… uh… returned my backpack. I left it at the library, see. I
have to tell you about him, Mom. He—”

“That was really nice of him,” Mom said, setting the grocery bag down on the
counter. “How come you forgot it, Lucy?”

“I ran out of there really fast, Mom. You see—”

“Well, that was really nice of Mr. Mortman,” she interrupted again. She
started to remove things from the grocery bag. “He doesn’t live in this
direction. I think he lives way over on the north side.”

“Mom, I’m
trying
to tell you something!” I cried impatiently. My hands
were balled into tight fists. My heart was pounding. “Mr. Mortman is a monster!”

“Huh?” She turned away from the counter and stared at me.

“He’s a monster, Mom! A real one!” I cried.

“Lucy, Lucy.” She shook her head. “You see monsters everywhere.”

“Mom!”

“Stop it, Lucy. Stop being dumb. I hope you were polite to Mr. Mortman.”

“Mo-om!”

“Enough. Go outside and help your father bring in the rest of the groceries.”

So, once again my wonderful parents refused to believe me.

I tried to describe what I had seen from my hiding place in the library. But
Mom just shook her head. Dad said I had a great imagination. Even Randy refused
to be scared. He told Mom and Dad how he had scared me with his stupid
papier-mâché monster head.

I practically begged them to believe me.

But Mom said I was just lazy. She said I was making up the story about Mr.
Mortman so I could get out of the Reading Rangers program and wouldn’t have to
read any more books this summer.

When she said that, I got really insulted, of course. I yelled something
back. And it ended up with all of us growling and snapping at each other,
followed by me storming up to my room.

Slumped unhappily on my bed, I thought hard about my predicament.

I could see that they were never going to believe me.

I had told too many monster stories, played too many monster jokes.

So, I realized, I needed someone else to tell my parents about Mr. Mortman. I
needed someone else to see Mr. Mortman become a monster. I needed someone else
to
believe
the truth with me.

Aaron.

If Aaron came along with me and hid in the library and saw Mr. Mortman eat
flies and turtles with his bulging head—then Aaron could tell my parents.

And they’d believe Aaron.

They had no reason
not
to believe Aaron. He was a serious, no-nonsense
guy. My most serious, no-nonsense friend.

Aaron was definitely the answer to my problem.

Aaron would finally make my parents realize the truth about Mr. Mortman.

I called him immediately.

I told him I needed him to come hide in the library and spy on Mr. Mortman.

“When?” he asked. “At your next Reading Rangers meeting?”

“No. I can’t wait a whole week,” I said, whispering into the phone, even
though my parents were downstairs and there was no one around. “How about tomorrow afternoon?
Just before closing time. Around five.”

“It’s too dumb,” Aaron insisted. “I don’t think I want to.”

“I’ll
pay
you!” I blurted out.

“How much?” he asked.

What a friend!

“Five dollars,” I said reluctantly. I never save much of my allowance. I
wondered if I still had five dollars in my drawer.

“Well, okay,” Aaron agreed. “Five dollars. In advance.”

“And you’ll hide with me and then tell my parents everything you see?” I
asked.

“Yeah. Okay. But I still think it’s dumb.” He was silent for a moment. “And
what if we get caught?” he asked after a while.

“We’ll be careful,” I said, feeling a little chill of fear.

I spent most of the next day hanging around, teasing Randy. I couldn’t wait
for the afternoon to roll around.

I was so excited. And nervous.

I had it all worked out. Aaron and I would sneak into the main reading room
without Mr. Mortman knowing anyone had come in. We’d hide in the dark shelves,
just as I had done.

Then, when the librarian turned off the lights and closed up the library,
we’d sneak up the aisle, keeping in the shadows, and watch him become a monster.

Then we wouldn’t run out the way I had done. That was far too risky. We would
go back to our hiding places in the low shelves and wait for Mr. Mortman to
leave. Once he was gone, Aaron and I would let ourselves out of the library and
hurry to my house to tell my parents what we had seen.

Easy. Nothing to it, I kept telling myself.

But I was so nervous, so eager to get it over with, I arrived at Aaron’s
house an hour early. I rang the bell.

No answer.

I rang it again.

Finally, after a long wait, Aaron’s teenage brother, Burt, pulled open the
door. He had on blue denim shorts and no shirt. “Hi,” he said, scratching his
chest. “You looking for Aaron?”

“Yeah.” I nodded.

“He isn’t home.”

“Huh?” I practically fell off the porch. “Where is he? I mean, when will he
be back?”

“Don’t know. He went to the dentist,” Burt said, gazing past me to the
street.

“He did?”

“Yeah. He had an appointment. With the orthodontist. He’s getting braces.
Didn’t he tell you?”

“No,” I said glumly. I could feel my heart sink to my knees. “I was supposed
to meet him.”

“Guess he forgot,” Burt said with a shrug. “You know Aaron. He never
remembers stuff like that.”

“Well. Thanks,” I muttered unhappily. I said good-bye and trudged back down
to the sidewalk.

That dirty traitor.

I felt really betrayed.

I had waited all day. I was so
psyched
for spying on Mr. Mortman.

I had counted on Aaron. And all the while, he had a stupid orthodontist appointment.

“I hope your braces really hurt!” I shouted out loud.

I kicked a small rock across the sidewalk. I felt like kicking a
lot
of rocks. I felt like kicking Aaron.

I turned and headed home, thinking all kinds of ugly thoughts. I was at the
bottom of my driveway when an idea popped into my head.

I didn’t need Aaron, I suddenly realized.

I had a camera.

My parents had given me a really good camera last Christmas.

If I sneaked into the library with the camera and took a few snapshots of Mr.
Mortman after he became a monster, the photos would be all the proof I needed.

My parents would
have
to believe actual color snapshots.

Forgetting my disappointment about Aaron, I hurried up to my room and pulled
the camera off the shelf. It already had film in it. I had taken a bunch of
shots at Randy’s birthday party just before school let out.

I examined it carefully. There were still eight or nine shots left on the
roll.

That should be plenty to capture Mr. Mortman at his ugliest.

I glanced at the clock on my desk. It was still early. A little after four-thirty. I had half an hour before the library
closed.

“This has
got
to work,” I said out loud, crossing my fingers on both
hands.

Then I strapped the camera around my neck and headed to the library.

I entered the library silently and crept to the doorway of the main reading
room. My plan was to sneak into the low shelf where I had hidden before. But I
quickly saw that it wasn’t going to be as easy as I thought.

The library was very crowded. There were several kids in the children’s book
section. There were people thumbing through the magazines. One of the microfiche
machines was being used against one wall. And several aisles, including the one
with my special hiding place, had people in them, browsing and searching the
shelves.