The Barking Ghost g-32 Page 4

  As I leaned in closer, Mickey's arms shot up and clamped around my neck. He yanked me to the ground. Then he jumped up and sat on top of me.

  He was giggling like an idiot.

  "Oh, Mickey! Mickey!" he shrieked in a high voice. "Mickey! Are you all right?"

  I started to sputter, but no words came out.

  "What a wimp!" he teased. "Do you have to fall for the fake blood every single time?" He let out another long, high-pitched giggle.

  I shut my eyes and prayed that I'd disappear. I couldn't believe my brother had tricked me again. In front of Fergie.

  My face grew hot. "I'll pound you for this!" I shouted, struggling to push him off me.

  "Ooooh! I'm shaking!" Mickey snorted.

  "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.

  16

  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!

  17

  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 th
rough 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?

  18

  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.

  Heavy breathing.

  Not my breathing. Not Fergie's breathing.

  I swallowed hard.

  "F-Fergie," I stammered. "We're not alone in here!"

  19

  A low, steady growl proved me right.

  Someone — or something — was hiding in the closet with us.

  We listened to the low growls for another second or two.

  Then we both flew out of the closet, screaming in horror.

  I only made it a few feet. I tripped over Mickey's skateboard. Went sprawling headfirst. Landed flat on my face.

  As I struggled to my feet, I saw a dark figure step out of the closet.

  "You!" I screamed in a hoarse, frightened voice.

  Mickey grinned back at Fergie and me. "Oooohhh! Ooooooohhh! Look at me!" he cried. "I'm a killer poodle!"

  Fergie and I stared at him in disbelief. He had been in the closet the entire time.

  I dove to the bed and pulled down the blanket. "Oh, wow!" I cried out when I saw a bunch of rolled up sheets and towels.

  "But how did you know?" Fergie asked him. "How did you know we were coming?"

  Mic
key flashed us both a smug smirk. "When you showed up this morning clutching that dumb box and whispering to Cooper, I knew something was up. I've been spying on you two jerks all day."

  "You sneak!" I cried.

  "A sneak? Me?" Mickey replied innocently. "What do you call what you're doing, prowling around my room and hiding in my closet?"

  I was so angry. So disappointed. Our great revenge plan — totally ruined.

  I grabbed Fergie by the arm. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

  "That's right!" Mickey called gleefully after us. "Running away with your tails between your legs!" Then he howled and barked some more.

  Great guy — huh?

  Fergie and I sat in the hall outside my room. We had really wanted to give Mickey a good scare. So he could see how it felt.

  But we had messed up. Totally.

  "We'll get him next time," Fergie offered. "We'll come up with an even better plan. Maybe something with knives and fake blood."

  I shrugged. I didn't want to wait. I wanted to scare Mickey out of his skin — tonight!

  Not much chance of that.

  Fergie and I yawned at the same time. Then we both stood up. "Guess we should go back to bed. Maybe — "

  "Did you hear that?" I asked, cutting Fergie off.

  She nodded. "Yeah. I hear it. Barking."

  "That's not my brother," I whispered. "It's definitely the dogs!"

  20

  "I don't get it!" Fergie cried in a trembling voice. "Where are your parents? Where's Mickey?"

  I led her down the hall, in the direction of the barking.

  "I told you," I whispered. "They can't hear the dogs. I don't know why. No one can hear them but us!"

  We turned into the living room and gasped.

  Two sets of red eyes glowed in the dark.

  I reached for Great-grandma's lamp, but knocked it over. It crashed loudly to the floor.

  The dogs barked.

  Fergie clutched my shoulder. Her hand trembled. "Turn on the lights! Please!" she pleaded.

  But before I could reach the switch, the lights snapped on.

  We spun around. And there stood Mom on the stairway, glaring down at us. "Cooper! Margaret! What on earth are you two doing?"

  "It's the dogs, Mom!" I cried. "See? They're — "

  "What dogs?" Mom called.