32 - The Barking Ghost (7 page)

“Too bad,” I muttered. “But what do you want
us
for?”

The dogs snickered. It sounded more like dry coughing than laughter.

“You are in the Changing Room,” the voice told us. “For nearly a hundred
years, we have tried to get two people in here. And now we have succeeded.”

“And—?” I demanded.

“We’re going to change places with you,” the voice said casually.

“Excuse me?” Fergie cried. “You’re going to
what
?”

“We will take your places,” the voice repeated. “And you shall take ours. You
will be the ghost dogs. You will roam these woods as we did—forever!”

“No way!” I cried. I wanted to run.

But where?

I was surrounded by heavy blackness on all sides.

“Fergie—” I started.

But I heard her gasp. And then I began to feel warm. As if someone had
covered me with a heavy blanket.

The warmth swept over my body.

Simmering heat. As if I were in an oven.

Warmer. Warmer. Until sweat dripped down my face, and I was panting in the
heat.

I can’t stand it anymore! I thought. I’m going to
melt!

I opened my mouth to scream. But the sounds that escaped my throat weren’t
mine.

In fact, they didn’t sound human at all.

I opened my eyes to bright sunshine.

The woods around me appeared fuzzy. I struggled to focus.

I yawned. Then I stretched my entire body and shook myself awake.

Yes! That stretch felt good.

I sniffed the air and shook myself again. Wow! Something smelled delicious.

My stomach growled. I suddenly realized I must be starving.

Still trying to focus, I took two steps and fell on my face.

I stood again, feeling unsteady. What’s wrong? I wondered.

I gazed around the woods. Why were the trees suddenly all black and white?
Why was the sky gray? The grass gray?

What had happened to all the color?

Was this a dream?

I heard a gruff sound behind me. Someone clearing his throat.

I turned—and saw a black Labrador.

I started to cry out—but hoarse barks escaped my throat.

Startled, I glanced down at my own body. My own fur-covered body. “Ohhhh.” I
dug my front paws into the dirt. I shook myself hard, trying to shake the dog
body off. Trying to shake it away so I could see my real body. Cooper’s body.

And as I shook, I jerked my head back. And saw a long, black tail!

My
tail!

I let out a startled
yip.
I’m a dog, too, I realized.

The ghosts in the Changing Room weren’t kidding around. They changed places
with us. Fergie and I are dogs.

Fergie whimpered.

Trembling, we both began to trot, our tails hanging between our legs.
Fergie’s whimpers turned into mournful howls.

What was that? Strange! I thought Fergie said something.

“I
did
say something,” she insisted. “Well, actually, I
thought
something. I think we can read each other’s thoughts, Cooper.”

Okay, Fergie, then what am I thinking now?

“You’re thinking of that leftover fried liver from last night that your mom put in the fridge,” Fergie thought.

That’s right!

We could read each other’s mind! Cool!

I licked my lips a few times, thinking about the liver. I loved liver so
much, Mom made it for me once a week. Man, did I want that liver now!

Then I remembered I had other things to worry about.

“Fergie, what are we going to do? We’re dogs!”

“I can see that, Cooper,” she replied, swatting a fly from behind her floppy,
black ear.

“Well, we’ve got to do something!” I cried. “We can’t trot around like this
forever. Those ghost dogs stole our bodies! They’re probably fooling my parents
this very minute!”

Fergie didn’t reply. Instead, she ran around in circles, chasing her tail.
“Hey! This is fun!”

“Fergie! Quit messing around! We’re in major trouble!”

“Okay, okay! I’m sorry! I’m upset about this, too, you know!”

Fergie dropped to the dirt. She buried her snout in her front paws. Deep in
thought. “You know what, Cooper?”

“What?” I asked as I paced back and forth, trying to think of a way to get us
out of this mess.

“Your droopy ears look pretty good—now that you’re a dog.”

“Fergie! Get serious!” I growled.

Then it hit me.

“I know!” I cried. “I know what we can do. We have to drag those ghosts back
to the shack and trade places with them again!”

“Oh, sure, Cooper. No problem,” Fergie barked. “And how do you suppose we do
that? Walk up to them and say, ‘Uh, excuse me, but can you come back to the
shack with us? It’ll only be for a second.’”

I stared at Fergie. She had become a dog. But her personality hadn’t changed
one bit!

“I heard that,” she mumbled.

I sighed. “Well, do you have a better plan?” I asked, scratching furiously at
my neck.

“I’m thinking, I’m thinking,” Fergie answered with a yawn. “I’m really so
tired. Maybe after a nap—”

“No! No naps! We have to do something—now! Listen to me. We’ll get my
parents to help. All we have to do is convince them that we’re the real Cooper
and Margaret, and that those kids in the house are imposters.”

“And how are we going to do that?” Fergie asked.

Good question. Real good question.

Fergie and I trotted through the woods. I sniffed the ground. Sniffed the
weeds. So many great smells!

We stopped at the edge of the woods behind my house. I heard laughing,
shouting voices. Then I saw my parents. In the backyard. Throwing a Frisbee
around with Fergie and Cooper!

Those fakes!

I growled with anger.

I bared my teeth. Prepared to attack.

“Whoa!” Fergie cried. “Cooper, wait! You can’t just barge over there and
attack them!”

Fergie was right. That wouldn’t solve anything.

I watched my dad send the Frisbee flying across the yard.

I had a strong urge to jump up and go for that Frisbee.

But I stopped myself. This was no time for playing.

Then I had an idea. The greatest idea. The idea of a lifetime.

“Come on!” I urged Fergie. I began loping toward the side of my house.

“Cooper, where are you going?” she asked.

I didn’t answer. I stopped outside the wall to Mickey’s room. “This will just
take a second,” I told Fergie.

She read my mind. She knew what I planned to do.

Side by side, we leaped through the wall of the house.

And burst into Mickey’s room.

He was standing in his underwear. Leaning over his dresser, sorting out his
T-shirts. He cried out and spun around as Fergie and I started to growl.

My brother uttered a short, terrified whimper. He started backing up, his
eyes wide with fright.

Fergie and I began barking and jumping up on our hind legs.

“How—how did you—?” Mickey stammered.

Those were the only words he could choke out.

Then he let out another whimper, stumbled past us, and bolted out through the
bedroom door. “Mommy! Daddy! Help!” I heard him scream. “Mommy! Daddy!”

Fergie and I didn’t want to miss seeing him run through the yard in his underwear. We trotted through the wall and watched
until he disappeared around the garage.

“Did you see his face?” I yelped happily. “Was that awesome?!”

“Man, that was excellent!” Fergie cheered.

“Hey, you two!” a stern voice called.

I turned around.

Dad!

“How did you dogs get in this yard?” my father demanded sharply. “Come on.
Out! Out!”

“But, wait! Dad! It’s me, Cooper!” I tried to yell. But all that came out was
Woof! Woof! Woof!

“Out! Out!” Dad repeated angrily.

“Dad! Wait! It’s really me! Listen! You’ve got to listen!”

“Woof! Woof! Woof, woof, woof! Woof! Woof, woof, woof, woof!”

My father armed himself with a broom and waved it wildly at Fergie and me.
�Out!� he cried, shaking the broom at us.

“What’s going on?” Mom called from the doorway.

“Mom! It’s me. Cooper!” I barked furiously.

“Oh, Sam. Please get rid of those animals! You know I’m allergic to dogs!”

“But, Mom!” I cried. “Can’t you tell it’s me?”

Woof, woof! Woof, woof, woof, woof, woof!

“Please, Sam! Call the pound! These dogs look dangerous. They might have to
be put to sleep! Call the pound. They’ll know what to do.”

I watched in horror as my dad picked up the phone and dialed.

Fergie and I bolted into the woods as fast as we could. Even as a dog, Fergie
ran faster than I did.

We hid among the trees and watched my parents and the fake Cooper and Fergie
toss the Frisbee around in the backyard.

The guys from the pound never showed up. But things still looked pretty bad.
My parents thought we were stray dogs. And I couldn’t tell them who I was.

All I could do was bark.

Hey. Wait a minute. Maybe I could do more than bark.

“Fergie, I have another idea!” I said, wagging my tail. “Follow me!”

Fergie and I sneaked around the side of the house and stepped through the
wall into the living room. I sniffed around, searching for a pen and some paper.

“I’ll write them a note,” I explained to Fergie. “Mom will definitely
recognize my handwriting.”

I found a pen lying on the coffee table, next to some notepaper.

I tried to lift the pen.

It slipped out from under my paw. I couldn’t wrap my paw around it.

Fergie tried to help me. She nosed the pen in my direction, but I still
couldn’t pick it up.

Impossible. Dogs can’t hold pens.

I felt so disappointed. I pushed the pen away, then ripped the paper to
shreds. That’s when my dad burst in.

“Hey! I thought I told you two dogs to beat it!” my father yelled.

My mother and the two phonies came running into the room.

I started barking, trying to communicate with Dad. But that seemed to annoy
him even more.

“Stand up on your hind legs!” I instructed Fergie. “Maybe he’ll think we’re
trying to tell him something!”

I hopped up, trying to balance on my back legs. But I wasn’t very good at it.
I mean, give me a break. I’d only been a dog for a few hours.

I toppled over onto my stomach.

I must have looked pretty stupid, because everyone started laughing. “Weird
dogs,” the Cooper imposter said.

Fergie and I hopped up again and again. But nobody understood what we were
doing. And after a while, they grew bored with our little act. Dad picked up the
broom again.

I probably could have yanked that stupid broom right out of his hands and
pinned him to the ground. But what would that prove?

Dad chased Fergie and me out the back door and into the woods.

“You’re right,” I told her when we were safely hidden by the trees. “We’re
going to be dogs for the rest of our lives. And not even real dogs.
Ghost
dogs.”

“Don’t worry, Cooper,” Fergie replied, reading my mind. “We’ll convince them.
There’s got to be a way to show them who we are.”

I sighed, then rolled on to my back.

If only Gary and Todd were here. They’d know what to do.

I rolled back again. And, suddenly, I felt hot. Burning hot. I sprang up on
all fours.

“What is it?” Fergie cried out. “What’s wrong?”

I shook violently from head to tail. Out of control. I couldn’t stop shaking.
Something had taken over my body.

“Fleas!” I shrieked.

There must have been
thousands
of them! Clinging all over my body! And
I couldn’t reach them.

“My back!” I cried helplessly. “My back!”

Fergie lifted her front paws and scratched the part of my back I couldn’t
reach.

“Higher,” I pleaded. “Higher. Aaaaahhhhh, that’s it!”

My ears drooped low, and I sighed with relief.

Fergie found us a nice spot under a tall birch tree. I stretched out my body
and rested my face on my paws. Fergie curled up into a tight ball. It was time
to think up another plan.

And time to nap. I couldn’t believe how tired I’d suddenly become.

The day passed slowly. I think we both dozed off once or twice.

Around lunchtime, we ran to the stream in the woods for water. Some fleas still nipped at my skin. And I thought a cool dip
in the stream might help.

We returned to our spot under the shady birch. Now we were both starving.

“Maybe we can find some scraps of food at my house—in the garbage,” I
suggested.

“Yuck! I’m not eating garbage,” Fergie wailed. “No way.” But she knew we had
no choice.

We returned to my house and quietly made our way to the side door, where Dad
stored the garbage pails.

As we sniffed around for some food, Mickey and my parents opened the back
door and stepped out into the yard.

“I’m telling you, Mom!” Mickey cried. “They’re ghost dogs! They walked right
through my bedroom wall! They’re not normal!”

“Save your jokes for Cooper,” my father snapped.

“Hey, Fergie, maybe Mickey can help us,” I suggested, watching my brother.
“He’s the only one who believes we’re not normal dogs. Maybe we can find a way
to tell him who we are.”

Fergie sighed. “For sure,” she said sarcastically. “Then what? Can you see
your parents’ faces when Mickey tells them the two dogs hanging around their
house are really Cooper and Margaret Ferguson?”

I hung my head. Fergie was right. They’d never believe Mickey, either.

“Well, we have to do
something!”
I said, scratching behind my ear.
“These fleas are driving me crazy! I can’t live like this!”

“Maybe we can get you a flea collar,” Fergie suggested.