Monster Lake

Monster Lake

by Edward Lee

This book is for readers ages 8-12.

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Monster Lake © 2005 by Edward Lee

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DEDICATION: This book is for Audrey Craker. Perhaps one day I'll write The Little Girl Who Was A Skeleton By Day. Oh, and don't forget what redundant means.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS: The author would like to thank Taylor Bartscht for much needed editorial consultation. Further, I must acknowledge the swamp behind my grandmother's house in Pound Ridge, New York, which was full of green muck...a far-reaching inspiration.

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Prologue

It’s nighttime…

The lake is still, like a black crystal mirror. Fireflies hover over the water, reflecting swarms of green-glowing dots. Bullfrogs and toads hop about at the water’s edge; salamanders climb sluggishly over rocks.

And the moon hangs low over the trees…

The night is teeming with sounds. Crickets and peepers pipe their throbbing chorus. Nightbirds caw, and big white-faced owls hoot from high in the trees. And if you listen carefully, you can even hear the distant titters of bats.

But then—

Suddenly, the woods turn dead silent.

The nightbirds fly away. The bullfrogs and toads scamper to hide…

And the still surface of the lake begins to churn.

From the water, the hideous thing rises, its huge black eyes never blinking, its mouth crammed with rows of razor-sharp teeth that glitter like bits of broken glass in the moonlight.

But what is the thing? It’s big, tall as a man, with a wide head and a pitted, bumpy face.

Not an animal at all but a creature, a monster—

And it’s coming up out of the water now, looking for something.

Maybe it’s looking for you…

Monster Lake

“Ter-ri!” Patricia complained. The shuttlecock whizzed past her as she rushed to swing her racket and missed. “Don’t serve so hard!”

“Sorry,” Terri replied. She knew she was a good badminton player; her only problem was finding someone good enough to practice against. And here, in Devonsville, there weren’t many kids her own age. “Let’s just volley, okay?” she suggested, trying to make the game a little easier for Patricia.

“Yeah, that’d be better. I’m nowhere near as good as you.”

It was a beautiful summer day, a cloudless blue sky, birds chirping high in the trees around Terri’s house. She and Patricia Kennedy had only met a few weeks ago, when the Kennedys had first moved here, but they’d become best friends fast. They were both the same age—twelve—and they both liked a lot of the same things, like Game Boy, The Simpsons, and nachos with cheese and salsa. And, of course, they both liked to play badminton—or lawn tennis, as Terri’s Uncle Chuck like to call it—but Patricia wasn’t very good. It didn’t matter. They’d been hanging out together most every day since Patricia had moved to Devonsville.

Patricia’s long blond hair swayed as she rose on her tiptoes to serve. Poink! the shuttlecock went, then sailed across the net. Terri’s hair was just as long but a shiny dark chestnut color, and she had emerald-green eyes instead of blue, like Patricia’s. She easily returned her friend’s serve, and they volleyed the shuttlecock back and forth for several minutes. Terri could tell that Patricia was trying hard to beat her but— poink-poink-poink-poink—Terri was able to return all of Patrica’s hits back hardly without even working up a sweat. Eventually, Patricia missed and declared, “All right, already! You win!”

Terri smiled to herself. “It’s getting hot. Let’s go around to the back of the house and get a drink from the hose.”

“Good idea,” Patricia agreed, wiping her brow.

They returned the badminton rackets to the side shed, then headed for the house, a nice, three-bedroom ranch with cedar shingles. “You’re really good at badminton,” Patricia complimented. “Who taught you to play?”

Terri’s smile faded. “My Dad. He was going to start teaching me to play tennis soon, too, so that once I get to high school, I’d be good enough for the team. Dad and I would do lots of stuff, until…”

Patricia kicked at a dandelion puff. “Oh, you mean before he and your Mom got divorced?”

“Yeah,” Terri sadly replied. These days lots of kids’ parents got divorced. Terri never quite understood it until Uncle Chuck explained that sometimes people changed over time, and they didn’t agree on things, or see things the same way. “Sometimes parents grow apart,” her uncle had explained, “and they can’t get along anymore.” But that was the weirder part, because Terri could never remember a time when her Mom and Dad didn’t get along.

She could only hope that one day her parents would get back together…

And there was one thing she’d noticed very clearly: that since the divorce, her mother had started acting really weird, and Uncle Chuck too.

“How do you like Devonsville so far?” Terri asked, to get her mind off the subject.

“Oh, it’s okay. It’s a lot different from the city, where we used to live. The city was real crowded and had lots of smog. Devonsville is so pretty,” Patricia observed, looking around now at the healthy, green lawn, the clear sky, and the woods behind Terri’s house.

“We used to live in the city too,” Terri said. “But I like it here much better.”

“What’s school like?”

“It’s okay. Not as many kids as the city, but everyone’s nicer here.”

Patricia grinned wickedly. “Any cute boys?”

“There are some,” Terri answered. And then her thoughts drifted. Yes, she was at the age now where she’d be getting interested in boys. She even knew some girls at school who were going steady! And there were a few boys, she knew, who were interested in her, like Matt Slattery, who was on the eighth-grade wrestling team; and Marty Cadeaux, who was fat but nice and asked her to the school dance once. And Terri knew she must be pretty, because if she weren’t, why would these boys be interested in her? It was nice to know that boys liked her, and that she could have a boyfriend if she wanted, but it just seemed that…

Terri frowned at herself as she and Patricia cut across the big yard.

It seemed that she’d lost interest in those kinds of things since her parents had gotten divorced.

And there was still one more weird thing. Terri knew that when parents got divorced, the father usually moved away—like Terri’s father had—but she also knew there was something called visitation rights, so that the father could visit on weekends.

But my father’s been gone all summer, she reflected; for months, and