“Hot? This is nothing,” said Billie. “Heat, mosquitoes, alligators, we have it all down here in the Atchafalaya Basin.”
Benny asked, “The Achoo-fly-what?”
“The Atchafalaya Basin,” repeated Billie. “That’s the official name of all this water and swamp along this part of Louisiana.” Seeing Benny’s expression, she added, “Don’t worry. You can call where I live Alligator Swamp. That’s the local name for it.”
“Are there more alligators here than in the rest of the basin?” asked Violet.
“No. But we used to have a famous alligator named Gator Ann. She’d come right up by the pier down here and just float along. I guess she knew she was safe here.”
“Safe from what?” asked Henry.
“People,” said Billie. “People hunt them. Sell the hides, the teeth, the jaws, eat the meat. But I don’t allow any hunting of anything in my part of this swamp. No guns. Fishing, that’s it.”
“Don’t forget birdwatching,” a voice as dry as the rustle of leaves said from behind them.
No one had heard him come in, but there he was, a man not much bigger, it seemed, than an elf. He wore a wide straw hat over hair that was almost the same color, patched and faded khakis, and an even more faded but unpatched long-sleeved blue work shirt. A pair of binoculars hung around his neck.
Billie didn’t seemed surprised at all by the man’s sudden appearance. She said, “My old friend Gaston Doucet, meet my old friend James Alden and his grandchildren, Henry, Jessie, Violet, and Benny. Gaston lives just down the bayou. He’s a librarian.”
“Retired librarian,” rasped Gaston. “Full-time birdwatcher.” He tapped the binoculars that hung around his neck. “Am I still invited to dinner?”
“Pull up a chair,” said Billie. “I was hoping you wouldn’t forget the time, out there in the swamp watching birds with those fancy new binoculars of yours. Is Eve coming?”
Gaston shook his head. He sat down and began to fill his plate. He took off his hat, but he kept his binoculars around his neck.
“She’s not with you?” Billie asked.
Gaston shook his head again. “Went off with Rose today.”
“Eve is Gaston’s niece,” Billie explained. “Rose is a guide with one of the swamp tours around here.”
Gaston seemed content to let Billie do most of the talking. She went on, “Eve’s about your age, Jessie. She’s a swamp expert, same as her uncle.”
Gaston smiled a little at that. But he shook his head and said, “She was turning into a good birdwatcher, too. But now all she thinks about is that ghost alligator.”
“Ghost alligator?” Benny cried. He looked around as if he expected the ghost of an alligator to come walking through the door.
“Yep. The ghost of Gator Ann,” Billie said. “At least that’s what people say.”
“Ghosts. Huh.” Gaston snorted.
“Gator Ann? The alligator who used to live right out there in the bayou?” Jessie asked.
“That’s right,” said Billie.
Grandfather said, “Looks like you four might have another mystery to solve.”
“No mystery,” said Gaston. “Just some fishermen who’ve been out in the sun too long.”
“They see the ghost in the middle of the day?” Violet asked nervously.
“Early mornings and late afternoons, right around dark, mostly,” Billie said. “A fisherman will fish all day long, but anyone any good at fishing will tell you the fish bite best at dawn and at dusk.”
“How big was Gator Ann?” Benny asked, excited by the idea.
“She was a big old gator, bigger than any of you,” said Gaston. “No one knows what happened to her. She probably just lived out her life and died of old age.”
“Is her ghost big, too?” Henry asked.
“According to those sun-fried fishermen,” said Gaston. He gave Billie a narrow-eyed look. “And you make it worse, telling ’em all about it.”
Billie shrugged. She had a mischievous sparkle in her eye. “Makes ’em be more careful. And makes ’em return the boats on time … before sunset.”
“Well, if it keeps away the foolish people who don’t appreciate an amazing place like the basin, then good for the ghost alligator,” said Gaston. “Maybe I do believe in it, at that.” He pushed his chair back and stood up. “A fine dinner, and it was nice to meet you all.”
“Aren’t you going to eat dessert?” Benny cried.
“Don’t like dessert,” Gaston said. He nodded and glided out of the room into the darkening night as quietly as a ghost.
The children stared at one another.
Billie laughed. “Gaston doesn’t talk much,” she explained. “But Eve makes up for it.”
“When will we meet Eve?” asked Jessie.
“Tomorrow,” said Billie. “When you meet Swampwater Nelson.”
“Who’s that?” asked Henry.
“He’s a guide. He and his assistant, Rose Delane, run tours and are swamp guides. Nobody knows these swamps better than Nelson. I’ve arranged for Swampwater to give you four kids a special tour of the swamp, first thing in the morning.”
“That sounds great,” cried Jessie.
“Oh, it will be,” Billie said. “You never know, what’s going to happen on one of Nelson’s special tours, but it’s always fan.”
“Maybe we’ll see a ghost,” said Benny.
“Maybe you will,” said Billie. She sounded amused. The Aldens could tell Billie didn’t really believe in a ghost alligator.
Of course, they didn’t, either.
Chapter 3
A Haunted Fish Camp?
Benny sat up in his creaky bed on the sleeping porch of the cabin. He’d thought it would be very quiet out in the middle of a swamp. But he was wrong.
It was noisy. Tree frogs shrilled from the trees. Bigger frogs croaked like bass fiddles from the darkness. He heard strange calls that he hoped came from owls.
No matter how hard he tried to go to sleep, Benny kept hearing strange sounds that kept him awake.
And he was hot. Even the thin sheet he was clutching felt as heavy and hot as a blanket. He didn’t let it go, though. He wanted to hold on to it in case he had to yank it over his head.
What was that? Benny tried to see in the dark. He couldn’t. Remembering his flashlight by the bed, he decided to turn it on.
Slowly and carefully, Benny picked up his flashlight. Was that something walking out in front of the cabin?
He clicked the flashlight on — and gasped. “Oh!” he cried, jumping up. His feet got tangled in the sheet. He fell and the whole small cabin seemed to shake.
“What is it?” It was Jessie, her voice sharp. She always woke up quickly.
“Wh-who’s there?” Violet’s voice was slower, sleepier.
The porch light clicked on. Henry stood there, his hair sticking up. Grandfather came out from the bedroom. “Is everything okay?” he asked.
“Look! Look!” Benny almost shouted. He waved his flashlight. The beam of it danced across the screen and the sandy strip in front of the cabin.
“At what? A ghost?” asked Henry, lifting his eyebrows.
“No. It wasn’t a ghost. It was a raccoon,” Benny explained.
“A raccoon won’t hurt you, Benny,” said Jessie.
“I wasn’t scared,” said Benny indignantly. “Just surprised.”
“Well, the raccoon was scared, I’d say. It’s long gone. Good night, everybody,” Grandfather said. He turned off the porch light and went back to his room.
Soon everybody had gone back to sleep — everybody except Benny. He closed his eyes and tried very hard to go to sleep, too.
Swish, swish, swish.
Benny’s eyes flew open.
Something was in the bayou, not far away!
Swish, swish, swish.
How did an alligator sound when it was swimming in the water? If it was a ghost alligator, did it make the same sound?
Swish, swish, swish.
Then, sudden
ly, Benny heard a thump, a crash, and a huge splash.
Benny imagined an enormous ghost alligator jumping up out of the swamp. He screamed and turned his flashlight on.
“Benny, what is it?” This time Violet was wide awake.
The porch light clicked on. Benny looked around at the faces of his family. “I heard it!” he said. “The ghost of Gator Ann!”
Henry grabbed his flashlight and flung open the screen door. The beam shone across the narrow strip of dirt between the cabin and the bayou and across the water.
Violet and Jessie got their flashlights, too, and did the same. Benny pushed under Henry’s arm with his own flashlight pointed toward the bayou.
Nothing moved. They saw flat black water, drifting strands of moss in the branches of dark trees.
“I don’t see anything,” Jessie said.
“No ghosts. No alligators. Nothing,” said Violet, sounding very relieved.
“I heard it! It went ‘swish, swish, swish,’ like an alligator swimming,” Benny insisted.
“Is that how an alligator sounds when it is swimming?” asked Grandfather, who had stayed on the porch in the doorway of the cabin.
“Maybe it was a branch brushing the water,” said Violet. “Or you could have been dreaming.”
“I was awake,” insisted Benny. He squinted, trying hard to see the shape of a ghostly alligator disappearing into the swamp. But he couldn’t see anything at all.
Violet yawned. “We have to get some sleep, Benny,” she said.
“Okay,” said Benny. “I guess it wasn’t the ghost of Gator Ann.”
“No,” said Jessie. “Well, good night.”
They all went back to bed. Benny lay down. But he held on to his flashlight, just in case.
“Wake up, Benny.” Benny opened his eyes. Violet was bending down to shake him awake by the shoulder.
Benny sat up. He unwrapped his fingers from the flashlight. It was still dark.
“Did you hear something?” he whispered.
“No. It’s time to get up,” Violet answered.
Jessie came out onto the porch and snapped the porch light on. She was already dressed and ready to go. “It’ll be dawn soon,” she reported. “Hurry up, everybody.”
Benny hurried. Even though it was very early in the morning, it was already hot. He put on shorts, a T-shirt, and sneakers.
They went out quietly, so they wouldn’t wake up their grandfather. They followed the beam of their flashlights down the short trail to the fishing camp pier.
The night was fading fast. Now light was beginning to show over the tops of the trees to the east.
At the dock, Jessie stopped and pointed. “What’s that?” she said in a low voice.
Benny peered out at the bayou. Something pale and ghostly was floating in the water! Benny’s heart skipped a beat. Then he realized it wasn’t a ghost, but a boat. The boat was floating upside down!
“Do you think that’s Mr. Nelson’s boat?” Violet said.
“I hope not,” said Henry.
Just then they heard the puttering of a motor. A boat came around the bend in the bayou and pulled up to the dock. A large man with a thick black mustache and coal-black hair curling under a broad-brimmed hat sat at the wheel at the front of the boat, steering. Near the back, by the motor, sat a young woman with long, beautiful black hair pulled into a braid. In the middle of the boat was a girl about Jessie’s age.
Written on the side of the boat was SWAMPWATER NELSON’S SWAMP TOURS. Near the front of the boat was the boat’s name: Swamp Flower.
“Hello, there, Aldens,” said the man.
“Are you Mr. Swampwater Nelson?” asked Jessie.
“In person. Call me Swampwater. And these are my assistants Rose, motor-mechanic and a swamp fox almost as smart as I am, and Eve, who has the sharpest eyes in Alligator Swamp.”
“Hi,” said Eve.
Rose said, “What happened to that pirogue?”
“Pirogue?” repeated Jessie in a puzzled voice.
“It’s what we call boats here. They’re special boats that float easily in shallow water,” Rose said impatiently. “And they’re hard to turn over. Have you kids been fooling around with it?”
“No!” said Benny indignantly.
“We just got here,” Henry explained. “That’s how we found it.”
Swampwater steered his pirogue out to the middle of the bayou. “It’s Billie’s old pirogue,” he said. “The one made out of a hollow cypress log. Not one of these newfangled boats we just call pirogues, but a real one. Cher, she is going to be mad when she sees this. That old boat is her favorite.”
“Let’s get it back to the dock, then,” said Rose.
As the Aldens watched, the three swamp guides turned Billie’s boat over and towed it back to the dock. Rose began to tie it back to one of the pilings. She stopped. “Look,” she said. “This rope’s been cut!”
It was true.
“Someone did that on purpose, then,” said Swampwater.
“And that’s not all,” said Eve. She pointed. “Look.”
Along one edge of the pirogue a large, jagged chunk was missing.
Swampwater frowned. “What on earth is that?” he said.
“It looks like something bit the boat,” Violet said.
“What would bite a boat?” asked Jessie.
“An alligator!” said Benny. He was very excited. “We heard it last night. It came swimming up the bayou and bit the rope and bit the boat!”
Everyone stared at Benny.
“What are you talking about?” asked Swampwater.
Benny told the guide what he’d heard in the night. “Swish, swish, swish,” he said. “That’s what it sounded like. An alligator swimming.”
“That’s crazy,” said Swampwater.
“No, its not,” said Eve. She was sitting bolt upright in the boat, her hands to her cheeks. “It’s not crazy at all.”
“The boat got loose, or maybe, someone cut it loose for a joke, and it bumped into something,” said Swampwater.
“If that’s what happened, then what’s this?” asked Rose. She leaned over and pried something out of the bite-shaped place on the pirogue. She held it up.
“That’s an alligator tooth,” said Swampwater slowly. “And from a big alligator, too. Well, I’ll be swamped.”
No one spoke for a long moment.
Then Eve said quietly, “Swish, swish, swish. That’s the sound I heard right before I saw the ghost alligator in Crying Bayou.”
Chapter 4
The Ghost Alligator
“Eve, there’s no such thing as a ghost alligator,” said Swampwater loudly. His voice echoed in the quiet dawn.
Again no one spoke. But Rose looked nervous.
Then Violet asked, “If it wasn’t an alligator, what was it?”
“Someone mean as a swamp rat, thinking it’s a funny joke,” said Swampwater.
“Or maybe someone trying to scare Billie,” suggested Henry.
“Scare Billie? Who would want to do that?” asked Eve, looking surprised.
“Travis Bush. He’s staying at the camp. He wants to buy it from Billie, but she doesn’t want to sell it to him,” said Jessie.
“Him. Huh.” Swampwater snorted. “I’d like to see him sneak around in the bayou in the middle of the night. If he tried to do something like this, he’d fall in. He can’t walk without tripping over his feet.”
“No one’s trying to scare Billie,” Rose said. “Maybe it was an alligator.”
“A ghost alligator,” said Eve stubbornly.
Rose gave her a sharp look. She shook her head slightly, then said, “Let’s get started. Put on those life jackets and climb into the Swamp Flower one at a time.”
Quickly the Aldens obeyed and Swampwater pointed the boat out into the bayou.
Henry looked at Eve. “Crying Bayou,” he said. “Where’s that? And why is it called Crying Bayou?”
“It’s a long way from here,” said Rose quic
kly.
Eve nodded. “It’s called Crying Bayou because that’s how the wind sounds when it blows through that part of the swamp,” she told them. “At least, people say it’s the wind. Of course, some think it’s a long-lost fisherman, crying to get home.”
“Do you think it was the ghost of Gator Ann you saw there?” asked Violet.
Before Eve could answer, Swampwater said, “Now, why would Gator Ann, ghost or no, go all the way to Crying Bayou? Alligators have strict rules about where they live. Females, especially, like to stay in their own home pond. And that pond was Billie’s bayou.”
“I don’t think it was Gator Ann,” Eve said. “She wasn’t mean, the way this gator was. Red eyes and big teeth and ghostly. I left in a big hurry!”
“It chased you?” Benny cried.
“I don’t know. I didn’t look back. I just turned the motor up high and got out of there as fast as I could,” said Eve.
“Will we see it today?” asked Violet, shivering a little.
“No,” Swampwater said. “Because there is no ghost. What you’ll see if you look up on the branch of that tree is a snake.”
“A snake!” Violet shrieked. That made all of them jump a little. The pirogue rocked, but it didn’t turn over.
Sure enough, a big snake was looped around the branch of a tree overhanging the water.
“Does it bite?” Benny asked.
“Yep. If you get close enough to let it,” said Swampwater. “It’s a water moccasin. A poisonous bite, so if you see one, give it plenty of room.”
“Don’t worry,” said Henry.
Swampwater, Rose, and Eve took the Aldens up and down the watery roads of the swamp. They passed brown pelicans perched on the ends of docks by fishing shacks. Ducks flew from the water as they turned into quiet channels. A raccoon peered at them from the shadows, then slipped away. They saw buzzards circling overhead. That made Violet shudder.
Rose said, “Buzzards aren’t so bad. Think of them as the garbage collectors for the swamp.”
“Ick,” said Violet.
“Wow,” said Benny.
Swampwater laughed and pulled the boat closer to the edge of one of the bayous.
“Do people get lost a lot in the swamp?” Benny asked.