The old stone bridge stood at the far end of a narrow country road, where the fields gave way to a deep, twisting creek. It was built long before Ginger was born, with moss growing between its stones and a wooden railing that leaned slightly to one side. Nobody used it much anymore. There was a newer bridge farther down the road, and the old one had been left to the weeds, the spiders, and whatever else might have found a home beneath it.

Ginger had heard stories about the bridge. Her brother said something lived underneath it, something with enormous hands and teeth sharp enough to bite through rocks. He claimed it came out after dark and dragged unsuspecting children into the water. Ginger didn't believe him, of course. Her brother was always making things up. But she had noticed that even the older boys hurried across the bridge instead of stopping to look over the railing.

One late afternoon, Ginger decided to investigate. She followed the dusty road until the bridge appeared ahead of her, its long shadow stretching across the creek. The sun was beginning to sink, and the air had grown strangely still. Even the grasshoppers seemed to have stopped singing. Ginger stepped onto the bridge, and the wooden planks creaked beneath her shoes. Halfway across, she stopped and leaned over the railing. Below her, the creek was almost dry, with only a narrow ribbon of muddy water winding between the rocks. The space beneath the bridge was dark, much darker than it should have been.

Then something moved. Two small yellow lights appeared in the darkness. They blinked once, disappeared, and appeared again, farther apart this time. "Hello?" Ginger called. Something scraped against the stone. A low, wet breathing sound drifted up from beneath the bridge, followed by three slow knocks against the underside of the wooden planks.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Ginger straightened. Perhaps investigating old bridges wasn't such a wonderful idea after all. She turned to leave, but something knocked again, directly beneath her feet. This time, the sound was followed by a voice.

"Giiiiinger."

She froze. It was a terrible voice, deep and scratchy, as though someone were trying to speak with a mouth full of gravel. Ginger's fingers tightened around the railing. She had never told anyone beneath the bridge her name. "Who said that?" she called. A long silence followed. Then came a sound like fingernails dragging slowly across stone.

"Come... closer."

Ginger took a step backward. One of the planks beneath her shoe shifted, and she heard something moving quickly through the darkness below. The yellow eyes appeared again, followed by a pale, enormous hand curling around the edge of the bridge. It had six fingers. Each finger was as long as Ginger's arm, with dark, crooked nails that scraped against the stones. A second hand appeared beside it, and something began pulling itself upward.

Ginger ran.

She raced toward the road, but before she reached the end of the bridge, a tremendous crash sounded behind her. She turned just long enough to see a creature rising above the railing. Its head was enormous and covered in tangled gray hair. Two crooked horns curled from its forehead, and its wide mouth opened to reveal rows of teeth that looked like broken pieces of glass.

"WAIT!" it roared.

Ginger ran faster. Behind her came the thundering sound of something scrambling across the wooden planks. The whole bridge shook. She could hear its claws striking the boards, closer and closer, until she was certain one of those enormous hands would close around her. Then, just as she reached the end of the bridge, everything stopped.

Ginger stumbled into the grass and turned around. The monster stood at the edge of the bridge, its huge shoulders hunched and its long fingers curled around the railing. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then the monster lifted one enormous hand. Something small and red dangled between two of its fingers. Ginger stared. It was the ribbon from her hair.

"You dropped this," the creature said.

His voice was still dreadful, but it sounded considerably less dreadful when he wasn't roaring. Ginger touched the back of her head. Her ponytail had come loose. "You chased me for a ribbon?" The monster looked down at the ribbon, then back at Ginger. "I tried calling you." Ginger frowned. "You sounded like you wanted to eat me!"

His enormous mouth fell open. "Eat you?" He looked so horrified by the suggestion that Ginger almost laughed. "I don't eat children," he said. "I eat fish. And occasionally frogs. And once, a very unfortunate boot."

Ginger took a cautious step closer. "Then why did you say my name?" The monster pointed one crooked finger toward the road. "Your brother comes here. He told me about you. He said you were terribly nosy." Ginger folded her arms. That sounded exactly like her brother.

The creature lowered himself onto the bridge with a tremendous sigh. Up close, Ginger noticed that one of his horns was chipped, his hair was full of dried leaves, and a little green frog was sitting quite comfortably on his shoulder. "What's your name?" she asked. "Grumble." Ginger tilted her head. "That's a funny name." The monster looked offended. "It's a perfectly respectable monster name."

Ginger considered this. "Well, Grumble, you scared me half to death." He looked rather pleased with himself. "I know. I'm very good at it." He held out the ribbon, and Ginger approached carefully to take it from his enormous fingers. His hand was cold and smelled faintly of creek water.

"Do you always live under this bridge?" she asked. "Only when people aren't looking," Grumble replied. "Where do you go when they are?" He smiled, showing every one of his terrible teeth. "That's a secret."

The frog on his shoulder croaked. Grumble turned his enormous head and listened as though the frog had said something important. "You're right," he told it. "It's getting late." Ginger looked toward the road. The sun had nearly disappeared, and the shadows beneath the bridge were growing deeper. She tied the ribbon back into her hair and started toward home.

"Goodbye, Grumble."

"Goodbye, Ginger."

She had gone only a few steps when he called after her. "And Ginger?" She turned. "Don't come under the bridge after dark." Ginger frowned. "Why not?" Grumble's smile disappeared. He glanced toward the black opening beneath the stone arch, and for the first time, he looked almost frightened.

"Because," he said quietly, "I'm not the only thing that lives down there."

Then he slipped beneath the bridge, and the darkness swallowed him. Ginger stood very still. From somewhere deep beneath the stones came three slow knocks.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

And then, in a voice much smaller than Grumble's, something whispered, "Is she gone?"

Ginger decided it was time to go home. She would visit Grumble again, certainly.

But next time, she was bringing a flashlight.