Free Camping Chaos by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

plasma-screen TV. Maps of the region covered the walls, along with posters about insects, birds, and rocks. There wasa glass case filled with snake skins, different kinds of fossils, and a stuffed fox with beady golden eyes.
    Joe liked the great room. He especially liked the snake skins, since he and Frank planned on a snake theme for the tent-decorating contest. In fact, they’d already started decorating before dinner, draping toy snakes over the top of their tent.
    And speaking of slithery, slimy creatures . . .
    A swamp monster appeared on the TV screen. It staggered across the marsh with its dripping wet arms outstretched, ready to attack. Joe grabbed a handful of popcorn and munched intently.
    Just then he felt icy-cold fingers on the back of his neck.
    “Agggghhh!” he yelled.
    The lights snapped on. Joe spun around. A little boy with short, curly brown hair and freckles grinned at him. He was holding a soda can.
    Joe’s cheeks grew hot. So that was what had grazedthe back of his neck. How embarrassing was that?
    Ranger Gil hit the pause button on the movie. “What on earth is going on?” he demanded.
    “Did my ginger ale scare you?” the boy asked Joe with a giggle.
    “Garrett! Come over here right this second,” Ranger Gil ordered.
    “But, Daddy, it’s not my fault! My soda can touched him!” Garrett insisted.
    “Over here, now !” Ranger Gil repeated sternly.
    “Oh, okay.” Garrett stood up and shuffled over to his father with a glum expression.
    “Are you all right?” Mr. Hardy asked Joe.
    “Yeah. I just feel dumb,” Joe mumbled.
    After a moment Garrett returned to his seat. “My daddy says I’m supposed to tell you I’m sorry,” he said with a shrug.
    “Apology accepted. Just don’t do that again, okay?” Joe told him.
    “But this movie’s so boooring ,” Garrett complained.
    “What? This is, like, the best movie ever! Wait till we get to the part where the swamp monster takes over New York City!” Chet spoke up.
    Ranger Gil turned the lights off and resumed the movie. Joe scooted over so he sat farther away from Garrett. The ranger’s son seemed like trouble. Hopefully, he wouldn’t bother Joe again over the weekend.
    •  •  •  •
    That night Joe tossed and turned in his sleeping bag. The ground was too hard. The air was too chilly. And outside, strange creatures made hissing and howling noises.
    “ Psssst! Frank!” Joe whispered. “Are you awake?”
    No reply.
    “Bro!” Joe said more loudly. “Are . . . you . . . awake?”
    Frank snored and rolled over in his sleeping bag.
    The moon lit up the walls of the tent and cast long, eerie shadows onto the boys. Joe eyed the shadows nervously. They’re just trees, he told himself.
    Then one of the shadows moved to the right. Footsteps crunched on the ground.
    Someone—or something —was out there!

3
Mysterious Footprints
    F rank! Wake up !” Joe reached over and shook his brother, hard.
    “What?” Frank mumbled groggily, rubbing his eyes. “I was having the best dream ever. We were at the arcade, and I scored a million points on Space Raiders, and—”
    “Forget about that. There’s a person outside our tent. Or maybe it’s a wild animal!” Joe whispered.
    Frank sat up. “Wait, what? How do you know?” he whispered back.
    “Listen!”
    Frank listened. He could hear an owl hooting in the distance. He could also hear Chet muttering in his sleep—something about bears and panthers. Or was it brownies and pizza?
    “There’s nobody out there,” Frank told Joe after a moment.
    “There is! You should go outside and take a look,” Joe suggested.
    “Why don’t you take a look?”
    “Fine! Let’s both go.”
    The brothers scooted up to the front of the tent and peeked through the flaps. Moonlight spilled onto the landscape and illuminated tents, trees, rocks—but nothing else.
    “See?” Frank hissed.
    “I know I heard someone,” Joe insisted. “What if it was the swamp monster?”
    Frank