32 - The Barking Ghost (5 page)

“Don’t you have anything better to do than to try and scare me?” I yelled.

“I don’t even have to try,” Mickey replied, grinning.

Fergie stood over us, her arms crossed in front of her.

“Were you in on this little joke, too?” I demanded angrily.

“No! No way!” Fergie insisted.

Mickey pinned my arms to the ground. “Say ‘Uncle’, wimp.”

I’d never been so embarrassed in my life.

Never.

And that includes the time Mickey locked me out of the house in my underwear.

“You’re dead meat!” I shouted in his face.

“What are you going to do, Drooper? Knock me out with your bouquet of
violets?”

He threw his head back and laughed at his stupid joke. Lucky for me, it gave
me a chance to bite his arm.

“Ow! You
mutant!
Look what you did! I’m bleeding!”

He jumped up and examined the bite mark on his arm. Then he growled at me,
turned, and trotted away.

I wanted to chase after him. But Margaret held me back.

“Let him go,” she said, clutching my shirt. “He’s a creep. Really.”

Grumbling to myself, I brushed off my clothes. Then I picked up the flowers
for Mom. I couldn’t face Fergie.

“Are you going home?” she asked.

“Uh-huh,” I grunted.

“Will I see you in school tomorrow?”

I shrugged. I wished she would leave me alone. I wanted to be by myself.

I grunted again. I think she got the message.

“Well, guess I’ll head home now. Don’t worry, Cooper,” she said, starting
in the direction of her house. “We’ll come up with a plan to get him back. I
promise.”

I didn’t answer.

“See you tomorrow!” she called out, waving.

I didn’t bother to wave back. I watched her leave. Then I made my way over to
the stream to take a drink of cold water. The sight of Mickey all bloody had
made my throat dry. And it was from screaming.

I leaned over the sparkling, cool water and lowered my hand. I scooped some
water up to my mouth and drank.

But when I saw my reflection in the stream, I choked.

It wasn’t me.

The face staring back at me in the water was the face of a black dog!

I jerked my head up.

No dogs on the shore.

No dogs anywhere in sight.

“Whoa!” I cried aloud.

I leaned over the stream again and peered into the water.

The dog stared up at me from beneath the surface.

I raised my head again. No dog on the shore.

So how could I see a dog’s reflection in the water?

Once again, I squinted into the clear stream. The dog appeared to ripple with
the water.

And as I gaped at the eerie reflection in horror, it pulled back its thin
lips and bared its ugly yellow teeth in a silent growl.

I raced home without glancing back.

I crashed through the front door and charged straight for the bathroom. I had
to check myself out in the mirror.

I don’t know what I thought I’d see.

A dog face staring back at me?

Even I know how stupid that sounds.

But I couldn’t explain the dog reflection in the water. I should have seen
my
face in that stream—not the growling face of a black Lab.

Stepping into the bathroom, I approached the mirror slowly. I peeked in.

And I saw—my own freckled face.

Did it make me feel better?

Not much.

I didn’t speak to anyone in my family for the rest of the afternoon. And at
dinnertime, I nibbled a few bites, then asked to be excused.

“Are you feeling okay, Cooper?” Mom asked, frowning. “Liver and onions is
your favorite. I’ve never seen you leave liver and onions on your plate.”

She walked over and felt my forehead. That’s what she always does whenever I
act a little strange. Feels my forehead.

“I’m fine, Mom,” I replied. “I’m just not very hungry. That’s all.”

“Cooper is probably a little nervous about tomorrow. His first day in a new
school,” Dad said to Mom. He turned to me. “Am I right?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” I agreed. No sense in bringing up the dogs again. No one
would believe me, anyway.

“Aw. Poor little Drooper. Scared of his new school,” Mickey teased.

Mom and Dad shot Mickey a warning glance. “Mickey—not tonight,” Dad
muttered.

I ignored my dumb brother. I climbed up from my chair and headed for my
room.

I couldn’t fall asleep that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the
face of the angry black dog, rippling in the stream.

I finally dozed off after midnight.

I awoke to Mom’s impatient cries. “Cooper. Cooper. You’ve overslept. Time to
get up!”

I couldn’t believe it. I’m always up early. I never oversleep.

I’m going to be late for my first day of school! I thought unhappily. And
it’s all because of those creepy dogs.

I threw my T-shirt and jeans on and rushed down the hall to the kitchen. No
time for a big breakfast. I gulped down a glass of milk. Then I opened the
fridge and reached for the peanut butter and jelly to make a sandwich for lunch.

As I spread the peanut butter on the bread, I heard whimpering behind me.

“Cut it out, Mickey,” I said without turning around.

The whimpering grew louder.

“Mickey! Quit it! Stop being such a—”

They sprang out of nowhere. The dogs.

They were
in the kitchen!

Their jaws hung loose. They drooled hungrily. Thick yellow drool.

My knees buckled. I clutched for the counter to steady myself.

Their dark, furry bodies shimmered under the bright kitchen lights. Growling,
their teeth bared, they stepped side by side away from the wall.

I moved back slowly. One small step.

Their dark eyes tracked my move.

One more step back. Slowly. Then another.

Their steady gaze followed me.

The back door stood inches away. If I reached back, I could touch the
doorknob now.

I reached back. Slowly. Very slowly.

My hand fumbled. Then I found it. The small round knob…

Too late!

They jumped.

I screamed as their dark bodies hurtled toward me.

I shut my eyes.

I heard the sound of snapping jaws.

I opened my eyes in time to see one of the dogs snatch my lunch from the
counter.

Then they disappeared.

Through
the kitchen door. They dove right
through
the wooden door.

Breathing hard, I sank into a kitchen chair.

I held my head tightly. I shut my eyes and tried to calm myself.

I had just seen two dogs run right through a door. How could that be?

Mom raced into the room. Dad followed.

“Cooper, what’s wrong?” Mom cried. “What was that horrible scream we heard?”

I had to tell them what happened. I had to. This was too weird. Too scary and
too weird.

So I told them the whole story.

“Two black dogs—they jumped through the wall. Into the kitchen. One of them
grabbed my lunch. Then they dove through the door.”

Big mistake.

Mom and Dad gave me a lecture about the stress of moving. I think I heard
them mention the word
psychiatrist.

They didn’t believe a word of it.

I didn’t have the strength to argue. I shuffled out the door and headed for
school.

No way I could stop thinking about those dogs. Dogs that only I could see.
Dogs that stole lunches. Dogs that could walk through doors.

I didn’t see them again that week. But every morning I’d hear them barking
somewhere around the house. Nobody else heard them.

On Friday, I met Fergie after school and we walked home together. She talked
nonstop about our math teacher, but I wasn’t really paying attention. I couldn’t
stop thinking about the dogs.

“What?” I asked Fergie. She’d just asked me something about math homework.

“I
said,”
she repeated impatiently, “that we can do our math homework
together this weekend.”

I shrugged. “Yeah, whatever.”

Fergie was going to stay at our house Saturday night. Her parents had to go
to Vermont for the weekend.

We had become pretty good friends this past week. So had our parents. Mom and
Dad invited the Fergusons over for dinner on Tuesday, and the Fergusons had us
over on Wednesday.

Maybe having Fergie sleep over will be fun, I thought. If I can shut those dogs out of my mind.

“We still have to come up with a trick to play on Mickey,” Fergie pointed
out. “I’ve been thinking—”

“Listen, Fergie,” I said, interrupting her. “There’s something I’ve been
meaning to tell you all week.”

She waited for me to begin.

I took a deep breath, then blurted out the whole story. About the dog
reflection in the stream. And the dogs in the kitchen.

“I’ve been hearing them all week,” I confessed. “Sometimes outside the house,
sometimes inside. It’s been a nightmare.”

Fergie’s jaw dropped open. “How come you didn’t tell me before?” she asked.

I sighed. “Because no one in my family believes me,” I said. “I thought you
wouldn’t, either.”

“I believe you, Cooper,” she replied solemnly.

I smiled. “Thanks, Fergie. That means a lot.”

Fergie’s expression turned thoughtful. “Well, maybe we’ll both hear them on
Saturday night. Your parents will have to believe
both
of us.”

I nodded. Fergie was right. Mom and Dad couldn’t think the
two
of us
needed to see a doctor. I started to feel a little more cheerful.

“Now about the get-back-at-Mickey plan,” Fergie said. “I have another idea.”

I tried to listen to Fergie’s plan—it had something to do with rats and a
rope—but I couldn’t concentrate on what she was saying. I could only think
about the dogs.

Would they turn up again this weekend?

I watched each minute tick away on the alarm clock near my bed. Finally—midnight. Time to get moving.

I tiptoed down the hall to the guest room where Fergie slept. I knocked on
the door.

“Fergie,” I whispered. “Fergie, get up!”

She appeared at the door in an instant, fully dressed. “The dogs? Are the
dogs here?” she asked, eyes wide with fright.

She seemed really spooked. And she had awful pillow-hair static.

“No, dope.” I whispered. “It’s time to scare Mickey.”

Fergie rubbed her eyes. “Oh, yeah, right.”

Without saying another word, she slid under the bed and came out with a shoe
box and some string.

“Let me see it again,” I said eagerly.

Fergie smiled, then opened the box. Inside sat a huge, hairy, totally gross, disgusting black rat.

A fake, of course. But it looked
so
real! Real enough to fool another
rat. A rat like Mickey.

I lifted the rat from the box and shook it in Fergie’s face.

She backed away and let out a yelp, even though she knew it was made of
rubber or something.

I tied the string around the rat’s neck and waved at Fergie to follow me. We
crept silently into the hall and headed for Mickey’s room.

This was going to be totally awesome! I couldn’t wait to see the look on
Mickey’s face when our hairy rat slithered across his bed!

We stopped in the hall outside Mickey’s room. His door stood slightly open. I
poked my head in and checked out his bedroom.

By the dim light in the hallway, I could see Mickey in bed, all covered up,
fast asleep. Mickey never sleeps with a pillow. He always tosses it on the floor
when he climbs into bed. There it was, next to his shoes.

I stepped back from the door and pulled Fergie aside.

“Okay, here’s the plan,” I whispered. “When we’re inside the room, go to the
left. That’s where the closet is. I’ll tiptoe over to the bed and put the rat on
Mickey. Then I’ll meet you in the closet.”

“Check,” Fergie whispered solemnly.

“And, remember,” I warned her, “be quiet!”

“Check,” Fergie said again.

With the rat in one hand, I carefully made my way into Mickey’s room. I
glimpsed Fergie heading left to the closet. I headed right.

I had nearly reached Mickey’s bed when I heard a loud
crack.

My heart jumped to my throat. I spun around and stared at Fergie in horror.

I saw instantly what had happened. She had stepped on Mickey’s skateboard.

We both turned to the bed.

Mickey didn’t move a muscle.

He hadn’t heard the noise.

I let out a quiet sigh of relief, then shot Fergie a warning glance.

She nodded nervously.

I watched as she opened the closet door and ducked inside.

I held the rat out in front of me and edged closer to Mickey’s bed. My hand
shook, but I gripped the hairy creature tightly.

I stared down at Mickey under the covers. He slept soundly.

I crept closer.

Bundled under the blankets, it was impossible to tell where Mickey’s body
started. I set the rat down gently, near his stomach, I think.

Then I tiptoed to the closet. Inside, I knelt next to Fergie and gave her a
thumbs-up sign.

Operation “Scare Mickey” was in effect.

And I couldn’t be more excited.

It served him right.

I quietly pulled the closet door toward me, leaving it open just a crack. I
held tightly onto the end of the string.

“Ready?” I whispered.

“Ready,” she whispered back.

“Okay,” I said. “On three. One… two… uh, Fergie, stop kicking me.”

“I’m not touching you,” she whispered sharply.

“You are, too. Stop it, okay?”

“No way. My feet are all the way over here,” Fergie protested.

“Ow! You kicked me again!” I whispered.

She raised her voice. “I did not!”

I clamped my hand over her mouth.

We both froze.

I heard breathing.