R. Stine - The Barking Ghost

"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.

"Oh, right. I'll just trot into the Main Street drugstore, put five dollars on the counter, and ask for a flea collar. Nobody will think that's weird." I rolled my eyes.

Fergie snapped at me. "Well, excuse me, Cooper. I was only trying to help!"

Fergie and I spent the rest of the day snapping at each other, getting on each other's nerves.

When dinnertime rolled around, my stomach rumbled loudly. Then I smelled the most wonderful smell.

I raised my nose high in the air and sniffed excitedly.

I'd know that aroma anywhere.

Liver! The leftover liver from last night!

"Come on!" I barked to Fergie. "I've got to get some of that liver!"

We trotted over to the back door and peered inside. My whole family had gathered around the table, ready to eat.

"You're drooling," Fergie said to me in disgust. "Gross."

Like I cared.

I couldn't take my eyes off the plate of liver Mom carried to the table. I watched hungrily as she placed a big slab on my father's plate.

Then she served some to Mickey. Mickey seemed edgy, nervous. I hoped he was still upset from my little trick this morning.

Then Mom placed a piece of liver on the phony Cooper's plate. He jumped from his seat. "Yuck!" he cried out in disgust. "I hate liver!"

Mom's jaw dropped. "Cooper! What are you saying? You love liver!"

The phony Cooper began to stutter.

"Oh, uh, did I say I hated it? Oh, no. I'm, uh, just joking, Mom. I love liver. Everyone knows that!"

Mom stared at him suspiciously. "Really, Cooper. You haven't been yourself all day!"

My eyes widened.

This was my chance!

Now was the perfect time to show Mom he wasn't himself! He was a total phony!

"I'm going in!" I told Fergie.

I burst through the kitchen door and headed straight for the plate of liver. I'll show Mom who the real Cooper is, I thought happily. The Cooper who loves liver. She'll know it's me instantly!

This has got to work.

It's our last chance, I knew. Our only chance.