08 - The Girl Who Cried Monster (8 page)

My dad’s car pulled up the drive as I reached the front porch. I went tearing
after him, running around the side of the house to the back.

“Dad! Hi!” I called as he climbed out of the car.

“Hey, how’s it going?” he asked. His suit was rumpled. His hair was
disheveled. He looked tired.

“Dad, can we get this film developed—right away?” I demanded, shoving the
camera toward him.

“Whoa!” he cried. “I just got home. Let’s talk about it at dinner, okay?”

“No, Dad—really!” I insisted. “I have to get this developed. There’s
something very important on it.”

He walked past me toward the house, his shoes crunching over the gravel
driveway.

I followed right behind, still holding my camera up high. “Please, Dad? It’s
really important. Really really important!”

He turned, chuckling. “What have you got? A picture of that boy who moved
across the street?”

“No,” I replied angrily. “I’m serious, Dad. Can’t you take me to the mall?
There’s that one-hour developing place there.”

“What’s so important?” he asked, his smile fading. He ran a hand over his
head, smoothing down his thick, black hair.

I had the urge to tell him. I had the urge to tell him I had a photo of the
monster in there. But I stopped myself.

I knew he wouldn’t believe me. I knew he wouldn’t take me seriously.

And then he wouldn’t drive me to the mall to get my film developed. No way.

“I’ll show it to you when it’s developed,” I said.

He held open the screen door. We walked into the kitchen. Dad sniffed the air
a couple of times, expecting the aroma of cooking food.

Mom came bursting in from the hallway to greet us. “Don’t sniff,” she told my
dad. “There’s nothing cooking. We’re eating out tonight.”

“Great!” I cried. “Can we eat at the mall? At that Chinese restaurant you
like?” I turned to my Dad. “Please? Please? Then I could get my film developed
while we eat.”

“I could go for Chinese food,” Mom said thoughtfully. Then she turned her
gaze on me. “Why so eager to get your film developed?”

“It’s a secret,” Dad said before I could reply. “She won’t tell.”

I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “It’s a picture I snapped of Mr. Mortman,”
I told them excitedly. “It’s my proof that he’s a monster.”

Mom rolled her eyes. Dad shook his head.

“It’s proof!” I insisted. “Maybe when you see the photo, you’ll finally
believe me.”

“You’re right,” Dad said sarcastically. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Randy! Hurry downstairs!” Mom shouted into the hallway. “We’re going to the
mall for Chinese food!”

“Aw, do we
have
to have Chinese food?” my brother called down
unhappily. His standard reply.

“I’ll get you the plain
lo mein
noodles you like,” Mom called up to
him. “Just hurry. We’re all hungry.”

I pushed the button on my camera to rewind the roll of film. “I’m going to
drop this at the one-hour developing place before dinner,” I told them. “Then we
can pick it up after dinner.”

“No monster talk at dinner tonight—promise?” Mom said sternly. “I don’t
want you scaring your brother.”

“Promise,” I said, pulling the film roll out of the camera, squeezing it
between my fingers.

After dinner,
I told myself,
I won’t have to
talk
about
monsters
—
I’ll
show
you one!

Dinner seemed to take forever.

Randy didn’t stop complaining the whole time. He said his noodles tasted
funny. He said the spareribs were too greasy, and the soup was too hot. He
spilled his glass of water all over the table.

I barely paid any attention to what anyone said. I was thinking about my
snapshot. I couldn’t wait to see it—and to show it to Mom and Dad.

I could just imagine the looks on their faces when they saw that I was right,
that I hadn’t been making it up—that Mr. Mortman really was a monster.

I imagined both my parents apologizing to me, promising they’d never doubt me
again.

“I feel so bad,” I imagined my dad saying, “I’m going to buy you that
computer you’ve been asking for.”

“And a new bike,” I imagined Mom saying. “Please forgive us for doubting
you.”

“And I’m sorry, too,” I imagined Randy saying. “I know I’ve been a real
jerk.”

“And you can stay up till midnight every night from now on, even on school
nights,” I imagined Dad saying.

Suddenly, my mom’s voice broke into my daydreams. “Lucy, I don’t think you
heard a word I said,” she scolded.

“No… I… uh… was thinking about something,” I admitted. I
picked up my chopsticks and raised a chunk of rice to my mouth.

“She was thinking about
monsters!”
Randy cried, raising both hands up
over the table, squeezing his fingers as if he were a monster about to attack
me.

“No monster talk!” Mom insisted sharply.

“Don’t look at me!” I cried. “He said it—not me!” I pointed an accusing
finger at Randy.

“Just finish your dinner,” Dad said quietly. He had sparerib grease all over
his chin.

Finally, we were opening our fortune cookies. Mine said something about
waiting for sunshine when the clouds part. I never
get
those fortunes.

Dad paid the check. Randy nearly spilled another glass of water as we were standing up. I went running out of the
restaurant. I was so excited, so eager, I couldn’t wait another second.

The little photo store was on the upper level. I leapt onto the escalator,
grabbed the rail, and rode to the top. Then I tore into the store, up to the
counter, and called breathlessly to the young woman at the developing machine,
“Are my photos ready yet?”

She turned, startled by my loud voice. “I think so. What’s your name?”

I told her. She walked over to a rack of yellow envelopes and began slowly
shuffling through them.

I tapped my fingers nervously on the counter-top, staring at the stack of
yellow envelopes.
Couldn’t she hurry it up a little?

She shuffled all the way through the stack, then turned back to me. “What did
you say your name was again?”

Trying not to sound too exasperated, I told her my name again. I leaned
eagerly on the counter-top, my heart pounding, and stared at her as she began
once again to shuffle through the yellow envelopes, moving her lips as she read
the names.

Finally, she pulled one out and handed it to me.

I grabbed it and started to tear it open.

“That comes to fourteen dollars even,” she said.

I realized I didn’t have any money. “I’ll have to get my dad,” I told her, not letting go of the precious package.

I turned, and Dad appeared in the doorway. Mom and Randy waited outside.

He paid.

I carried the envelope of photos out of the store. My hands were shaking as I
pulled it open and removed the snapshots.

“Lucy, calm down,” Mom said, sounding worried.

I stared down at the snapshots. All photos of Randy’s birthday party.

I sifted through them quickly, staring at the grinning faces of Randy’s
stupid friends.

Where is it? Where is it? Where is it?

Of course, it was the very last photo, the one on the bottom of the stack.

“Here it is!” I cried.

Mom and Dad leaned forward to see over my shoulder.

The other photos fell from my hand and scattered over the floor as I raised
the photo to my face—

—and gasped.

The photo was clear and sharp.

Mr. Mortman’s large desk stood in the center in a burst of bright light. I
could see papers on the desk, the pan of turtles at the far corner, a low pile
of books.

Behind the desk, I could see the top of Mr. Mortman’s tall wooden stool. And
behind the stool, the shelves were in clear focus, even the glass jar of flies
on the lower shelf.

But there was no monster.

No Mr. Mortman.

No one.

No one in the snapshot at all.

“He—he was standing right there!” I cried. “Beside the desk!”

“The room looks empty,” Dad said, staring down over my shoulder at the
snapshot in my quivering hand.

“There’s no one there,” Mom said, turning her gaze on me.

“He was there,” I insisted, unable to take my eyes off the photo. “Right
there.” I pointed to where the monster had stood.

Randy laughed. “Let me see.” He pulled the photo from my hand and examined
it. “I see him!” he declared. “He’s invisible!”

“It isn’t funny,” I said weakly. I pulled the photo away from him. I sighed
unhappily. I felt so bad. I wanted to sink into a hole in the floor and never
come out.

“He’s invisible!” Randy repeated gleefully, enjoying his own joke.

Mom and Dad were staring at me, looks of concern on their faces.

“Don’t you see?” I cried, waving the photo in one hand. “Don’t you see? This
proves
it! This proves he’s a monster. He doesn’t show up in
photographs!”

Dad shook his head and frowned. “Lucy, haven’t you carried this joke far
enough?”

Mom put a hand on my shoulder. “I’m starting to get worried about you,” she
said softly. “I think you’re really starting to believe in your own monster
joke.”

“Can we get ice cream?” Randy asked.

* * *

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Aaron complained.

“Just shut up. You
owe
me!” I snapped.

It was the next evening. We were crouched low, hiding behind the low shrubs
at the side of the library.

It was a crisp, cool day. The sun was already lowering itself behind the
trees. The shadows stretched long and blue over the library lawn.

“I owe you?” Aaron protested. “Are you crazy?”

“You owe me,” I repeated. “You were supposed to come to the library with me
yesterday, remember. You let me down.”

He brushed a bug off his freckled nose. “Can I help it if I had an
orthodontist appointment?” He sounded funny. His words were coming out all
sticky. He wasn’t used to his new braces yet.

“Yes,” I insisted. “I counted on you, and you let me down—and you got me in
all kinds of trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?” He dropped to the ground and sat cross-legged,
keeping his head low behind the evergreen shrub.

“My parents said I’m never again allowed to mention Mr. Mortman or the fact
that he’s a monster,” I told him.

“Good,” Aaron said.

“Not good. It means I really need you, Aaron. I need you to see that I’m
telling the truth, and tell my parents.” My voice broke. “They think I’m crazy. They really do!”

He started to reply, but he could see I was really upset. So he stopped
himself.

A cool breeze swept past, making the trees all seem to whisper at us.

I kept my eyes trained on the library door. It was five-twenty. Past closing
time. Mr. Mortman should be coming out any second.

“So we’re going to follow Mr. Mortman home?” Aaron asked, scratching the back
of his. neck. “And spy on him at his house? Why don’t we just watch him through
the library window?”

“The window is too high,” I replied. “We have to follow him. He told me he
walks home every evening. I want you to see him turn into a monster,” I said,
staring straight ahead over the top of the bush. “I want you to believe me.”

“What if I just
say
I believe you?” Aaron asked, grinning. “Then could
we just go home?”

“Ssshhh!” I pressed a hand over Aaron’s mouth.

The library door was opening. Mr. Mortman appeared on the front steps.

Aaron and I ducked down lower.

I peered through the branches of the shrub. The librarian turned to lock the
front door. He was wearing a red-and-white-striped short-sleeved sportshirt and
baggy gray slacks. He had a red baseball cap on his bald head.

“Stay far behind,” I whispered to Aaron. “Don’t let him see you.”

“Good advice,” Aaron said sarcastically.

We both shifted onto our knees and waited for Mr. Mortman to head down the
sidewalk. He hesitated on the steps, replacing the keys in his pants pocket.
Then, humming to himself, he walked down the driveway and turned away from us.

“What’s he humming about?” Aaron whispered.

“He always hums,” I whispered back. Mr. Mortman was more than half a block
away. “Let’s go,” I said, climbing quickly to my feet.

Keeping in the shadows of the trees and shrubs, I began following the
librarian. Aaron followed just behind me.

“Do you know where he lives?” Aaron asked.

I turned back to him, frowning. “If I knew where he lived, we wouldn’t have
to follow him—would we?”

“Oh. Right.”

Following someone was a lot harder than I thought. We had to cut through
front yards. Some of them had barking dogs. Some had lawn sprinklers going. Some
had thick hedges we somehow had to duck through.

At every street corner, Mr. Mortman would stop and look both ways for
oncoming cars. Each time, I was certain he was going to look over his shoulder, too, and see Aaron and me creeping along behind him.

He lived farther from the library than I had thought. After several blocks,
the houses ended, and a bare, flat field spread in front of us.

Mr. Mortman cut through the field, walking quickly, swinging his stubby arms
rhythmically with each step. We had no choice but to follow him across the
field. There were no hiding place’s. No shrubs to duck behind. No hedges to
shield us.

We were completely out in the open. We just had to pray that he didn’t turn
around in the middle of the field and see us.

A block of small, older houses stood beyond the field. Most of the houses
were brick, set close to the street on tiny front yards.

Mr. Mortman turned onto a block of these houses. Aaron and I crouched behind
a mailbox and watched him walk up to a house near the middle of the block. He
stepped onto the small front stoop and fiddled in his pocket for the keys.