Today’s #teasertuesday post comes from Sarah S. Reida’s Monsterville: A Lissa Black Production out September 20th!

Monsterville: A Lissa Black Production

Monsterville 9781510707337

“We climbed down from the deer stand, and as I dropped onto the loose dirt, I heard a tree splinter and crash.

‘What was that?’ Adam asked sharply.

I pressed myself against the tree. ‘It’s the—’ Could a swamp monster knock down trees?

Another tree cracked and fell, closer now. Birds squawked and flew up and into the sky. Twigs snapped, branches broke, bushes shook, but I couldn’t see a thing. Adam and I stayed planted at the base of the tree, craning our heads. I imagined what this would look like from an arc shot—the camera swiv­eling around us as we cowered, waiting for whatever came next.

There was a brown flash about thirty feet away. ‘Th-th-there,’ I stuttered, pointing.

‘Quick!’ Adam barked, grabbing my arm so hard it hurt. ‘Back up to the deer stand! Flat on the floor!’

We raced up the ladder, hitting the floor of the plat­form and pressing ourselves against the wood. I willed myself to stop shaking. Happy thoughts, happy thoughts. Kittens. Chocolate. Best Original Screenplay Oscar.

Loud footsteps boomed below us. They were far away at first, but getting closer, closer . . . I squeezed my eyes shut, breathing in the earthy smell of the deer stand.

The footsteps stopped right below us. I squeezed my eyes shut tighter, counting in my head. One-Mississippi, two-Mississippi, three-Mississippi, four-Mississippi.

I was up to fifty-seven Mississippis before I realized that not just the footsteps had gone quiet. Everything had. No more birds chirping, no woodpeckers peck­ing, no small animals rustling in the bushes.

I counted to one hundred and opened my eyes. A huge, furry brown thing was six inches away, staring at me. It had a wide, flat nose and sunken eyes. They reminded me a lot of the swamp creature’s—brown and liquid.

‘Adam,’ I tried to say, but nothing came out. I tried to lift my hand to poke him, but I couldn’t move. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Adam was motion­less beside me, his arms over his head like we were hiding under our desks for an earthquake drill.

‘Adam,’ I mouthed again, this time managing a squeak. He lowered his arms and peeked at the mon­ster. His face drained of color.

The monster leaned closer. Its breath smelled like hot, fifty-year-old garbage. The muscles in its massive neck tensed as it opened its mouth.


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