They Call Me Creature (7 page)

“Plants and animals,” I replied.

Thummmp thunnk.

“What kind of animals?” the bald one asked, frowning.

“Animals that use the pond,” I said. “You know. Chipmunks … rabbits … raccoons …”

They both nodded.

I stared at the rifles on their shoulders. They knew what I was looking at, but they didn't say anything.

“You explore the woods a lot?” the one in the baseball cap asked finally.

I nodded. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

“See anything strange?” he asked.

“No. Not really,” I replied. I was dying to ask them what they were doing. And what they had in the trailer.

But before I could get the question out, they raised their rifles to their waists. And then they came at me, eyes so cold, expressions so hard.

Gripping their rifles, they moved quickly. Walking heavily toward me.

No chance to run.

“What—what are you going to do?” I whispered.

 

“You'd better give us the camera,” the bald one said, narrowing his eyes at me.

“Excuse me?” I gaped at him.

“We'd better have that film,” he said. “If you don't mind.”

“I
do
mind!” I cried.

But his partner moved fast. He grabbed the camera and tugged it off my neck.

“Hey—give me that!” I shouted. “I need that! That's mine!” I made a grab for it—and missed.

He snapped open the camera and pulled out the film cartridge. He yanked the film from the cartridge, exposing it to the sunlight. Ruining it.

Then he handed the camera back.

“You have no right to do that.” I scowled angrily.

They turned and walked to the Jeep, carrying their rifles at their waists.

“What's in the trailer?” I shouted. “What's kicking so hard in there?”

They exchanged glances. The bald one swung his rifle onto his shoulder.

“It's a deer,” his partner said.

“Yeah, it's a deer,” the bald one repeated, his silvery eyes flashing. “We've got a sick deer in there.”

“But—the rifles—” I blurted out.

“Tranquilizer guns,” the one in the cap said.

“We're taking this deer to be treated,” the bald one said. “He's in pretty bad shape. Something bad going on here.”

“You should stay out of the woods for a while,” his partner warned. “Yeah. And don't take pictures. It's dangerous.”

Was he threatening me?

I watched them climb into the Jeep. The bald one started the engine. The Jeep roared and sent a cloud of black exhaust up to the treetops. Then it rumbled away, the trailer bouncing heavily behind it.

I stood in the path, waiting to calm down. I clenched and unclenched my fists at my sides.

“Those two creeps are liars,” I said out loud.

That wasn't a sick deer in that trailer. How could a sick deer kick that hard if it was tranquilized?

Those men were definitely lying.

I jumped over a jagged, white rock and started along the path to home. I had walked only a few steps when I saw a little creature, half-hidden by a thick tuft of grass.

It looked like a newborn pig. It had tiny, round black eyes and a cute pink snout.

It can't be a baby pig, I thought. There aren't any pigs in these woods. I leaned down to get a closer look. Are you a wild pig? You must be some kind of runt!

The little creature let out a squeak—and jumped into my hand.

I cried out in surprise. I nearly dropped it.

It sat in my palm, staring up at me with those cute, little black eyes.

“Wow. You're a friendly guy,” I said to it. I raised my palm to study it. “I'm glad you're not afraid of me. I wish I had something to feed you.”

It tilted its round head to one side, as if it understood me. It squeaked again, twitched its pink snout, and opened its mouth. I was startled to see two rows of sharp, pointed teeth.

I really have to photograph this guy, I thought. But I don't have any film. I think I'll bring him home with me and take his picture there.

He jumped again. Onto my shoulder.

A second later I felt a sharp stab of pain in my neck.

“Owwww!” I uttered a shocked cry as the creature clamped its teeth into my throat.

“Hey—OWWWW!” I gripped its back and struggled to pull it off me.

But the pain made me stop.

The pain … the pain …

It shot down my whole body.

The teeth were so deep—and shut so tightly—if I pulled the creature away, I'd tear a hole in my throat!

“Noooo!” I moaned, gripping the animal, squeezing it, struggling to remove it.

Warm liquid trickled down my neck. My blood!

I heard a lapping sound. Sucking and lapping.

The pain throbbed and pulsed.

The blood flowed down my neck.

The pointed teeth chomped and dug in hard.

The lapping and smacking sounds grew more rapid. Frantic.

He's drinking … I realized.

Drinking my blood.

 

Gripping the tiny pig, I could feel it start to swell up. Its belly inflated, and I could feel liquid sloshing around inside.

My blood!

I opened my mouth in a scream of horror. “NOOOOOOO!”

The creature drank furiously, sucking hard, its teeth cutting my skin.

I screamed again. Again.

I dropped to my knees. I started to feel weak … so weak.

And then I heard a shout. The snap of twigs.

Dad stepped out from the trees, his eyes wild, his face twisted in fear.

He spotted me down on the ground. And then his mouth dropped open in surprise as he saw the creature at my throat.

“Hold still! Hold still!” he screamed.

He dived down beside me. Dropped to the ground. Reached both hands for the creature.

“Don't pull it!” I shrieked. “It'll rip a hole—”

Dad clenched his teeth as he struggled to pry the little animal's jaws apart. His face darkened to red. “Yessss!” he cried finally.

He stumbled back. I saw the creature leap from his hand and scramble into the tall grass.

The pain still throbbed in my throat. I touched my neck and felt the warm blood trickling down my skin.

“Are you okay? Laura? Are you okay?” Dad kept repeating. He leaned over me and pushed my hand away so he could see the wound.

“I … don't know,” I whispered.

“Here.” Dad pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and handed it to me. “Press this against your neck. It will stop the bleeding.”

I held the handkerchief against my neck, and Dad helped pull me to my feet.

“Whoa,” I murmured, shaking my head. I felt dizzy, kind of light-headed. “What happened? What
was
that?”

Dad shook his head. “I didn't really get a good look at it,” he said. “I was so busy prying its jaws apart…. And then it ran off. How do you feel? Are you okay?”

“Okay, I guess. The pain is starting to fade.” I let out a deep breath. “But it was so weird,” I said, picturing the little animal jumping into my hand, then lunging for my neck. “It didn't just bite me. It was sucking my blood.” I shuddered. “It was sucking my blood like a vampire.”

“Let me see your neck.” Dad took the wadded-up handkerchief and studied the wound.

“I don't like the way that looks.” His brow tightened with worry. “We have to get to Dr. Davis right now.”

Dr. Davis took us into his office immediately. He is a short, pudgy, egg-shaped man with a tiny head. He reminds me of an ostrich.

“Laura—what happened?” he asked, leading me to the examining table.

“Something bit her,” Dad said. “A baby chimpmunk, maybe. But I'm not sure. It was hard to tell because whatever it was, it had lost all its fur.”

I stared over the doctor's shoulder at Dad. Why did he lie? No way that was a chipmunk. Why didn't he tell Dr. Davis that it was a strange little pig?

Dr. Davis examined the wound. “It could have been a diseased animal. Maybe rabid,” he said softly. “Did it look rabid?” the doctor asked.

“I'm sorry,” Dad answered. “It ran off. I just don't know.”

“Rabies shots are very painful,” Dr. Davis said. “I'll rush your blood sample to the lab before we start with shots. I'll have the results by tomorrow morning at the very latest. In the meantime, I'll give you a prescription for strong antibiotics. Start taking them right away.”

Rabies. My stomach tightened. Please let the blood tests be okay, I thought. I watched Dr. Davis prepare a needle and thread to stitch up the wound.

I closed my eyes and pictured the animal that bit me. I saw its pink body. Its little piglike snout. It was not a chipmunk, I thought. It was definitely not a chipmunk.

A short while later Dad and I crossed the parking lot to the car. “How does it look?” I asked. “Do I look like Frankenstein now?”

Dad ran his fingers gently over my neck. “It should heal without much of a scar,” he replied. “It might itch after a while. Try not to scratch it, okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” I muttered.

“Do you have any symptoms at all?” Dad asked as we reached the car. “Do you feel at all strange or sick?”

I shook my head. “No, I feel okay.”

I climbed into the car and waited for him to slide behind the wheel. Dr. Davis had given me some painkillers, but my throat still ached.

“Dad, why did you tell Dr. Davis it was a chipmunk?” I asked. “It didn't look like a chipmunk.”

Dad started the engine and backed out of the parking space. “I didn't see it very well. And without its fur, it was hard to tell what it was.”

“But it looked like a pig,” I said. “It had a snout. It didn't look like chipmunk at all. Why didn't you say it looked like a pig?”

Dad turned to me. “It was simpler, Laura. That's all. It doesn't really matter. We'll get your blood tests and find out what to do next.”

I swallowed and stared out the window. We drove for a while in silence. “I hate to say it, but I'm a little afraid to go back in the woods,” I confessed.

“Don't worry about that,” Dad said. “You won't be back in the woods for a long while.”

My mouth dropped open in surprise. “Excuse me? Why not?”

“Why not?” Dad raised his eyebrows. “You're the one seeing vampire pigs! Do
you
think the woods are safe right now?”

“But—but—” I started to protest.

“But what, Laura?” Dad shook his head. “We don't know what bit you. Whatever it was, it could be rabid. And we know it's dangerous. Aren't those enough reasons?”

I could see there was no point in arguing. I turned away from Dad and stared out the window the rest of the way home.

As soon as we reached our house, I ran up to my room and slammed the door. I dropped facedown on my bed and buried my face in the pillow.

I
have
to go into the woods, I thought. He can't keep me out. He can't!

A short while later I heard Dad's voice downstairs. He was talking to someone on the phone. I climbed out of bed and pulled my door open a crack.

“She seems to be fine,” he said.

Who was he talking to? Dr. Davis?

“By tomorrow. We'll have the blood tests in the morning,” Dad said.

Not Dr. Davis.

I walked to the top of the stairs. I could hear Dad so clearly now. I could hear what he said next—the cruelest, most hurtful words I'd ever heard in my life.

“Can you take Laura for a while? A trip to Chicago right now would help. I really have to get her out of here.”