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