08 - The Girl Who Cried Monster (4 page)

Randy was squeezing my pillow against his chest and breathing really hard.
The story got him pretty scared, I guess.

I was just finishing the part where Mr. Mortman stuffed a handful of flies
into his mouth. Randy gasped. He looked sick.

“Lucy!” My dad burst angrily into the room. “What is your
problem?”

“Nothing, Dad, I—”

“How many times do we have to tell you not to frighten Randy with your silly
monster stories?”

“Silly?” I shrieked. “But, Dad—this one is
true!”

He made a disgusted face and stood there glaring at me. I expected fire to
come shooting out of his nostrils at any minute.

“I—I’m not scared. Really!” Randy protested, coming to my defense. But my
poor brother was as white as the pillow he was holding, and trembling all over.

“This is your last warning,” Dad said. “I mean it, Lucy. I’m
really
angry.” He disappeared back downstairs.

I stared at the doorway where he’d been standing.

I’m really angry, too, I thought.

I’m really angry that no one in this family believes me when I’m being
serious.

I knew at that moment that I had no choice.

I had to prove that I wasn’t a liar. I had to prove that I wasn’t crazy.

I had to
prove
to Mom and Dad that Mr. Mortman was a monster.

“What’s that?” I asked Aaron.

It was a week later. I had to pass his house to get to the library for my
Reading Rangers meeting. I stopped when I saw Aaron in the front yard. He was
tossing a blue disc, then catching it when it snapped back at him.

“It’s a sort of a Frisbee on a long rubber band,” he said. He tossed the disc
and it snapped back fast. He missed it and it flew behind him, then snapped back
again—and hit him in the back of the head.

“That’s not how it’s supposed to work exactly,” he said, blushing. He started
to untangle a knot in the thick rubber band.

“Can I play with you?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No. It’s for one person, see.”

“It’s a one-person Frisbee?” I asked.

“Yeah. Haven’t you seen the commercials on TV? You play it by yourself. You throw it and then you catch it.”

“But what if someone wants to play
with
you?” I demanded.

“You can’t,” Aaron answered. “It doesn’t work that way.”

I thought it was pretty dumb. But Aaron seemed to be having a good time. So I
said goodbye and continued on to the library.

It was a beautiful, sunny day. Everything seemed bright and cheerful, golden
and summer green.

The library, as usual, was bathed in blue shadows. I’d only been back once
since that day. Once
very
quickly, to get my Rollerblades. I stopped at
the curb, staring up at it. I felt a sudden chill.

The whole world seemed to grow darker here. Darker and colder.

Just my imagination?

We’ll see, I thought. We’ll see today what’s real and what isn’t.

I pulled my backpack off my shoulders and, swinging it by the straps, made my
way to the front door. Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door and stepped
inside.

Perched over his desk in the main reading room, Mr. Mortman was just
finishing with another Reading Rangers member. It was a girl I knew from school,
Ellen Borders.

I watched from the end of a long row of books. Mr. Mortman was saying
good-bye. He handed her a gold star. Then he shook Ellen’s hand, and I could see
her try not to make a disgusted face. His hand was probably sopping wet, as
usual.

She said something, and they both laughed. Very jolly.

Ellen said good-bye and headed toward the doorway. I stepped out to greet
her. “What book did you get?” I asked after we had said our hellos.

She held it up for me. “It’s called
White Fang,”
she said.

“It’s about a monster?” I guessed.

She laughed. “No, Lucy. It’s about a dog.”

I thought I saw Mr. Mortman’s head lift up when I said the word
monster.

But I might’ve imagined that.

I chatted a short while longer with Ellen, who was three books ahead of me
this summer. She had only one more to read to get her prize. What a show-off.

I heard the front door close behind her as I took my seat next to Mr.
Mortman’s desk and pulled
Frankenstein
from my bookbag.

“Did you enjoy it?” Mr. Mortman asked. He had been studying his turtles, but
he turned to face me, a friendly smile on his face.

He was wearing another turtleneck, a bright yellow one this time. I noticed
that he wore a big, purple ring on one of his pudgy pink fingers. He twirled the ring as he
smiled at me.

“It was kind of hard,” I said. “But I liked it.”

I had read more than half of this one. I would have finished it if it didn’t
have such tiny type.

“Did you enjoy the description in this book, too?” Mr. Mortman asked, leaning
closer to me over the desk.

My eye caught the big jar of flies on the shelf behind him. It was very full.

“Well, yeah,” I said. “I kind of expected more action.”

“What was your favorite part of the book?” Mr. Mortman asked.

“The monster!” I answered instantly.

I watched his face to see if he reacted to that word. But he didn’t even
blink. His tiny black eyes remained locked on mine.

“The monster was really great,” I said. I decided to test him. “Wouldn’t it
be neat if there were
real
monsters, Mr. Mortman?”

Again he didn’t blink. “Most people wouldn’t be too happy about that,” he
said quietly, twirling his purple ring. “Most people like to get their scares in
books or in movies. They don’t want their scares to be in real life.” He
chuckled.

I forced myself to chuckle, too.

I took a deep breath and continued my little test. I was trying to get him to
make a slip, to reveal that he wasn’t really human. “Do you believe that real monsters
exist?” I asked.

Not very subtle. I admit it.

But he didn’t seem to notice.

“Do I believe that a scientist such as Dr. Frankenstein could build a living
monster?” Mr. Mortman asked. He shook his round, bald head. “We can build
robots, but not living creatures.”

That wasn’t what I meant.

Some other people came into the library. A little girl with her white-haired
grandmother. The little girl went skipping to the children’s book section. The
grandmother picked up a newspaper and carried it to an armchair across the room.

I was very unhappy to see them. I knew that the librarian wouldn’t change
into a monster while they were here. I was sure he only ate flies when the
library was empty. I was going to have to hide somewhere and wait for them to
leave.

Mr. Mortman reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a gold star, and handed
it to me. I thought he was going to shake my hand, but he didn’t. “Have you read
Anne of Green Gables
?” he asked, picking up a book from the pile on his
desk.

“No,” I said. “Does it have monsters in it?”

He threw back his head and laughed, his chins quivering.

I thought I caught a flash of recognition in his eyes. A question. A tiny moment of hesitation.

I thought my question brought something strange to his eyes.

But, of course, again it could have been my imagination.

“I don’t think you’ll find any monsters in this one,” he said, still
chuckling. He stamped it with his rubber stamp and handed it to me. The cover
was moist from where his fingers had been.

I made an appointment for the same time next week. Then I walked out of the
main reading room and pretended to leave the library.

I pulled open the front door and let it slam, but I didn’t go out. Instead, I
crept back, keeping in the shadows. I stopped at the back wall, hidden by a long
row of bookshelves.

Where to hide?

I had to find a safe hiding place. Safe from Mr. Mortman’s beady eyes. And
safe from anyone else who might enter the library.

What was my plan?

Well, I’d been thinking about it all week. But I really didn’t have much of a
plan. I just wanted to catch him in the act, that’s all.

I wanted to see clearly. I wanted to erase all doubts from my mind.

My plan was to hide until the library was empty, to spy on Mr. Mortman, to
watch him change into a monster and eat flies again.

Then I’d know I wasn’t crazy. Then I’d know my eyes hadn’t been playing
tricks on me.

On the other side of the room, I could hear the little girl’s grandmother
calling to Mr. Mortman. “Do you have any spelling books? Samantha only likes
picture books. But I want her to learn to spell.”

“Grandma, whisper!” Samantha called harshly. “This is a library, remember!
Whisper!”

My eyes searched the long, dark shelves for a hiding place. And there it was.
A low bookshelf along the floor near the back was empty. It formed a narrow cave
that I could crawl into.

Trying to be as silent as I could, I got down on my knees, sat down on the
shelf, turned, slid my body back, and tucked myself in.

It wasn’t really large enough to stretch out. I had to keep my legs folded.
My head was pressed hard against the upright board. Not very comfortable. I knew
I couldn’t stay like this forever.

But it was late afternoon. Maybe Samantha and her grandmother would leave
soon. Maybe I wouldn’t have to stay tucked on the shelf like a moldy old book
for very long.

My heart was pounding. I could hear Mr. Mortman talking softly to Samantha. I
could hear the rustle of the old lady’s newspaper. I could hear the
tick-tick-tick
of the big wall clock on the front wall.

I could hear every sound, every creak and groan.

I suddenly had to sneeze. My nose tickled like crazy! There was so much dust
down here.

I reached up and squeezed my nose hard between my thumb and forefinger.
Somehow I managed to shut off the sneeze.

My heart was pounding even harder. I could hear it over the
tick-tick-tick
of the clock.

Please leave,
I thought, wishing Samantha and her grandmother
out
of there.

Please leave. Please leave. Please leave.

I don’t know how long I can stay tucked on this dusty shelf.

My neck was already starting to hurt from being pressed against the shelf.
And I felt another sneeze coming on.

“This book is too hard. I need an easier one,” Samantha was saying to Mr.
Mortman.

I heard Mr. Mortman mutter something. I heard shuffling feet. Footsteps.

Were they coming this way?

Were they going to see me?

No. They turned and headed back to the children’s section on the side.

“I’ve already read this one,” I heard Samantha complain.

Please leave. Please leave. Please leave.

It must have been only a few minutes later when Samantha and her grandmother
left, but it seemed like hours to me.

My neck was stiff. My back ached. My legs were tingling, both asleep.

I heard the front door close behind them.

The library was empty now. Except for Mr. Mortman and me.

I waited. And listened.

I heard the scrape of his tall stool against the floor. Then I heard his
footsteps. He coughed.

It suddenly grew darker. He was turning off the lights.

It’s show time!
I thought.

He’s closing up. Now’s the time. Now’s the time he’ll turn into a monster
before my eyes.

I rolled silently off the shelf, onto the floor. Then I pulled myself to a
standing position. Holding onto a higher shelf, I raised one leg, then the
other, trying to get the circulation back.

As the overhead lights went out, most of the library was blanketed in
darkness. The only light came from the late afternoon sunlight flooding through
the window at the front of the room.

Where was Mr. Mortman?

I heard him cough again. Then he began to hum to himself.

He was closing up.

Holding my breath, I tiptoed closer to his desk. I leaned my side against the
shelves as I moved, keeping in the shadows.

Whoa.

I suddenly realized Mr. Mortman wasn’t at his desk.

I heard his footsteps behind me, at the back of the main reading room. Then I
heard his shoes thud across the floor of the front entryway.

I froze in place, listening hard, still holding my breath.

Was he leaving?

No.

I heard a loud
click.

The sound of a lock being turned.

He had locked the front door!

I hadn’t planned on that. No way. That was definitely
not
part of my
plan.

Frozen in the dark aisle, I realized that I was
locked in
with him!

Now what?

Maybe my plan wasn’t exactly the best plan in the world.

Maybe the whole idea was stupid.

You can bet I had plenty of doubts racing through my mind as I heard Mr.
Mortman return to the main reading room.

My plan, of course, was to prove to myself that I was right, that he was a
monster. And then—to
run out of the library!

The plan wasn’t to be locked in that dark, creepy building with him, unable
to escape.

But here I was.

So far, I was okay. He had no idea that anyone else was here with him. No
idea that he was being spied on.

Pressed against the tall shelves, I crept along the narrow aisle until I was
as close as I dared to go. I could see his entire desk, caught in a deep orange
rectangle of light from the high window.

Mr. Mortman stepped behind his desk, humming softly to himself. He
straightened a stack of books, then shoved it to a corner of the desk.

He pulled open his desk drawer and shuffled things around, searching for
something in there.

I crept a little closer. I could see very clearly now. The afternoon sunlight
made everything orangey-red.