R.L. Stine - The Werewolf in the Living Room

"Aaron, would you be quiet, please?" Dad stepped lightly, weaving his way between the trees. "Try not to walk like an elephant. We don't want them to hear us coming." I was walking like an elephant. Stomping through the dark, chilly forest. Stomping hard on the last brittle leaves of winter. Making the leaves crunch and crackle as loudly as I could.

I wanted THEM to hear us coming. I wanted to scare THEM away. THEM. WEREWOLVES. It was close to midnight as we crept through the woods. Dark woods where the trees grew thick and close together.

Woods where a werewolf could easily hide. Where a werewolf could leap out of the shadows before you knew it. Lunge for your neck. Sink his teeth deep into your skin and pierce your throat. I pictured blood spurting from a hole in my neck. I shuddered.

Back home, I didn't know if I believed in werewolves or not. Here in the dark forest... I was starting to believe. Why was I in the forest hunting werewolves? Let me explain. I Aaron Freidus am eleven years old. I have curly red hair, freckles, and light green eyes.

I'm tall and skinny. I mean really skinny. Mom used to say I was so skinny a breeze could blow me over. Mom died two years ago. I live with my dad, which wouldn't be bad except for one thing. Really. Really.

He doesn't do any of the normal things a dad is supposed to do. You know, go to baseball games in the spring. Barbecue hot dogs in the summer, shovel snow in the winter. Why? Because I Aaron Freidus have a dad who is a werewolf hunter. Dad's big dream in life is to catch a real werewolf. Every chance he gets, he prowls the woods outside our town, hunting werewolves.

He hasn't found one yet. My friends know about my dad and his werewolf hunting. But they don't make fun of him. They're afraid to. That's because Dad is tall and powerful looking, with shoulders wider than a football player's. And he's the sheriff of our town.

No, my friends don't make fun of my dad. They're not that stupid. Instead, they make fun of me. That's why I had to lie about our midterm break. I told everyone we were going to Florida to visit my grandmother. But we weren't going to Florida.

We were going to Bratvia. A country I never heard of, in the middle of Europe. Bratvia. Dad couldn't wait to go there to hunt werewolves. I couldn't wait to go there so I could come home again! Dad thinks Bratvia is crawling with werewolves. What do I think? Do werewolves exist or is he just crazy? I was about to find out An icy breeze blew hard through the dark forest.

I stopped and listened. Listened to the animal cries the wind carried with it. Mournful wails. Angry caws. Fierce screeches. And howls.

Hungry howls. The howls scared me the most. I glanced up at the night sky at the bright full moon that hung there. It bathed the treetops in an eerie silver glow. Werewolves come out during a full moon, I remembered, and eat people. I shuddered again.

I tried to remember everything I had read about werewolves. In some stories, humans turned into werewolves by putting on wolf skins. Or by drinking water from a wolfs paw print. What else did I know? Oh, right how could I forget the most important stuff? You could force a werewolf to change back to human form by shouting out the werewolf s real name. Or by knocking on the creature's forehead three times. That's it.

That's all I knew about werewolves. "Aaron, don't just stand there!" Dad turned around and whispered. "You're a perfect target. You want to be the hunter not the huntedl" "Okay, okay, Dad. I'm coming." I began tiptoeing through the dead leaves. "Dad, slow down!" I called, panic creeping into my voice. "It's too dark. "It's too dark.

I'm going to lose you." But my father didn't slow down. He moved faster. Trotting now. "Dad, please! Slow down!" I yelled, breaking into a run. Why won't he wait for me? I wondered, running faster. "Dad! Wait! I can't keep up!" My sides ached. "Dad! Wait! I can't keep up!" My sides ached.

I couldn't see where I was going. I stumbled over the root of a tree. Scraped my face against its trunk. Felt a trickle of blood run down my face. I ran faster. "Dad!" I finally shouted. "STOP!" Dad stopped. "STOP!" Dad stopped.

He whirled around to face me and I screamed.

Thick brown fur sprouted from my father's face. I watched in horror as his nose lengthened into a snout. He curled back his lips and sharp fangs slipped from his gums. He stood with his legs wide apart. He heaved his chest forward.

Then threw back his head and howled at the moon. I tried to scream. I tried to run. But I couldn't move. I could only gape in terror. Totally covered in fur now, Dad dropped down on all fours.

He gazed hard at me with gleaming black eyes. From the back of his throat he let out a low, menacing snarl. "This is a dream," I whispered. "Please. This has to be a dream. "Only a dream." Yes! It was only a dream. "Only a dream." Yes! It was only a dream.

Still half asleep, I brushed my hair back off my forehead. It was wet and matted with sweat. I turned my pillow over. It felt cool against my hot cheeks. "Only a dream," I murmured. It felt so good to wake up from it.

I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep again And started another dream ... Now I was lying on a cot in a tent, with rain beating hard on the tent walls. I covered my ears. I tried to shut out the pounding rain. The rain stopped. Clawing. Clawing.

Something clawing the tent wall. Something trying to get in! I held my breath and listened closely. The clawing grew louder, more frantic. I bolted up in my bed. No, not my bed. I am on a cot.

I am in a tent, I realized. A tent in the middle of the forest. I'm not dreaming anymore! This is real! I stared at the tent wall. My heart raced as it shook violently. As the clawing grew wilder.

I leaped out of bed. I leaped out of bed.

I bolted across the tent. Then stopped. I was too frightened to see what was clawing its way into my tent. "Please go away," I wished. "Whatever you are leave." I closed my eyes and wished harder. Rougher. Rougher.

More savage. My legs began to tremble. "Calm down, Aaron," I told myself. "Just look outside. You'll see, there's nothing to fear. It's probably just a raccoon out there." I wiped my sweaty palms on my navy-blue T-shirt.

My hands shook as I gently opened the tent flap. I took a deep breath. I peeked outside. Nothing there now. Whatever had ripped my tent was gone. I stared out at the trees, tall and black against the dark sky.

Dad and I entered this creepy forest three days ago. And every night since then I've had terrifying werewolf dreams. Is there really a werewolf hiding in this forest? I wondered. I opened the tent flap a little wider. Stretched my head out. Gazed around the small clearing.

In front of my tent, the remains of our evening campfire still smoldered. I watched a white ribbon of smoke rise and disappear in the breeze. I glanced to the right at Dad's tent. No movement there. No clawing sounds. I stepped outside.

Except for the soft rustling of the trees, the forest was quiet. The air felt crisp against my skin. I shivered as I looked up at the full moon. I wandered a little farther from my tent. I listened for night sounds the hoot of an animal, the grunt of a bear. But I didn't hear anything.

Nothing but an eerie silence. My heart began to pound again. Dad said there were two good reasons to go on this trip. The first reason: to catch a werewolf. The second reason: to toughen me up. I guess Dad thought a sheriff shouldn't have a wimp for a son.

Well, Dad hasn't caught a werewolf. And I'm more afraid than ever. Two good reasons to leave. I thought. I stared up at the moon again and remembered something else Dad told me. "The townspeople swear a werewolf prowls this forest. "The townspeople swear a werewolf prowls this forest.