Hey again, R. L. Stein Story Club members, I'm Ivy, your ghostly host and keeper of those strange and spooky tales from the hidden vault of R.L. Stein. Today is another chilling tale. This hair-raising tale, story club members, will have you avoiding the crawl space under your house at all costs.

It's one I call creepy crawler.

Tyler Wilson wondered what the little door was that led under the house.

It was wooden and set into a stone foundation.

His parents had rented an Airbnb in a picturesque seaside town for the weekend.

The place was actually quite unique.

The house was over 130 years old,

and somebody had put real effort into converting it into a rental cottage.

It was the last weekend before school started,

so Tyler had been really looking forward to this special trip with his mom and dad.

They ambled around to all the local shops buying kitchy knickknacks, saltwater taffy, and ice cream.

They went for walks on the beach, took off their shoes and socks, and waited into the frothy

waves that lapped on to the sandy shores.

It was a hot weather weekend, so the cold seawater felt good on Tyler's warm and tired

feet.

The consistent roar of the tide was soothing and humbling. When Tyler and his parents returned

to the old cottage and went to bed the first night, he heard what sounded like a rustling under his bed.

Scrape, scrape, scrape. Tyler thought that maybe a mouse or rat was in his room. He jumped out

a bed, snapped on the bedroom light, and grabbed a flashlight off the nightstand.

Tyler turned it on and peered under the bed skirt. Nothing. A completely clean and waxed wooden floor.

Huh. Scrape, scrape, scrape. No, it wasn't coming from under the bed. The sound was coming from under the house. By that time, Tyler's dad was awake. He had heard it too. Scrope,

scrope, scrape. It's probably a rat or a raccoon, his dad said. I'll call the cottage

...