They Call Me Creature by R.L. Stine Page A

into the woods anymore. He thinks it’s too dangerous,” I said, running my fingers over the raw stitches. “But then he called Mom and … and … ” A sob burst from my throat.
    â€œHow could he do that?” I wailed. “He just wants to get rid of me. He called my mom without even talking to me about it. How could he, Ellen? He doesn’t even care about me anymore.”
    Ellen hurried across the room and hugged me. “Of course he cares about you,” she said. “He was upset that you were attacked. He just wants you to be safe. That’s why he called your mom. But he’s not serious. He’d never send you away.”
    â€œHe’s serious,” I insisted. “He’s very serious, Ellen. He wants to get rid of me.”
    I took a deep breath—and a new thought came to me. One that sent a shiver down my spine. “I know why he’s doing this. He checked the film in his camera on the shed. He saw that I was in there.”
    â€œWhoa. Slow down.” Ellen raised a hand. “Your father has a camera on the shed now?”
    I nodded.
    â€œAnd you went inside? What was in there?” she asked.
    â€œHis instruments and stuff. That’s all,” I told her. I didn’t want to talk about the journal I had found. I didn’t know if my father was killing animals or not. And I didn’t want to say anything to Ellen until I was sure.
    â€œWhat about the animals? What about the one we heard howling?” she asked.
    â€œThere weren’t any animals inside. I don’t know what happened to them,” I said.
    I plopped down on my bed. “I’m not going to Chicago. I’m not!” I declared.
    Ellen’s chin trembled. “I sure hope not,” she said softly. I could see she was really upset, too. But then a smile crossed her face. “At least, not until after my birthday party!”
    We both laughed.
    She always knows how to make me laugh.
    â€œI have to make him change his mind,” I said. “And the only way I can do that is to find out what is making him act so strange. If only—”
    I stopped when I heard a sharp cry from outside.
    We both turned to the open window.
    â€œWhat was that?” Ellen asked.
    A horrifying howl rang out. A shrill cry of pain.
    And then I heard a different sound.
    An animal screech.
    I dived for the window and peered out into the evening darkness.
    A hunched figure darted toward the woods. I could see it loping away on four legs. It was about the size of a large dog.
    As it reached the edge of the woods, it stopped—and I gasped. It stood up. Stood on two legs—and charged into the trees.
    My eyes searched the backyard—
    And on the ground …
    â€¦ on the ground …
    Lying on his side on the ground …
    â€œGeorgie!” I screamed. “Oh, no! Georgie!”

 

    Ellen and I flew out of my bedroom and down the stairs. I pushed open the kitchen door and tore across the grass.
    â€œGeorgie! Are you okay?” I cried.
    The poor dog lay on his side whimpering. His legs twitched. His chest heaved up and down.
    â€œGeorgie? Georgie?”
    I dropped beside him. I started to pet his head. His eyes rolled crazily. His tongue fell limply from his mouth.
    â€œOhhhh. Look. His leg,” Ellen moaned. “Ohhhhh. Sick.”
    I followed her gaze. Georgie’s leg … oh … Georgie’s leg …
    The creature had practically chewed it off.
    The fur had been ripped away. Chunks of flesh had been torn off. Blood flowed onto the grass. I could see veins pulsing in the chewed-up mess, and a white bone poked out.
    My breath caught in my chest. I couldn’t stop myself. I started to gag. I could feel my dinner lurch up to my throat, and I struggled to choke it back.
    I forced myself to turn away from the horrifying wound. “Georgie,” I whispered, petting his head softly. “You’ll be okay. You’ll be