R. Stine: The Barking Ghost

"But — "

"When school starts, you'll make some new friends and everything will be fine. So come on in and have breakfast. You'll feel better. You'll see."

He led me back to the house.

As Dad held the door open for me, I glanced back and took one last look at the woods.

Two big black dogs stared at me from the trees.

When I blinked, the dogs vanished.

Shaking my head, I made my way into the kitchen.

Mickey had already finished half his breakfast when Dad and I entered the room. He leaned over his cereal bowl, snickering about something. I ignored him.

"Cooper, have some French toast," Mom said. "It's on your plate, waiting for you."

I sat across from Mickey, trying hard not to look at his dumb face. I was still really steamed at him.

"Mom, do you know who our neighbors are?" I asked, pouring maple syrup over the toast.

"Why, sure," Mom answered. "Your father and I met some of them a few weeks ago when we came to see the house."

"Did you meet the Fergusons?" I asked.

Mom squinted her eyes, thinking. Then she shook her head. "No, I don't think we met them. We met the Martells. Joel and Shirley. Very nice people." Then she asked, "Who are the Fergusons?"

I didn't answer. I pressed on. "Did the Martells tell you our house was haunted?"

Mom laughed. "No, Cooper, they didn't. It must have slipped their minds," she joked.

"Ha-ha. It's nothing to laugh about," I insisted. "Our house is haunted. And so are the woods!"

"Cooper, what are you talking about?" my mother demanded.

"Enough, Cooper," my father warned. "Eat your breakfast."

"Yeah," Mickey said with a snort. "Eat your breakfast, Drooper."

I could feel my face turn red. I hated when Mickey called me Drooper. He called me that because of my big droopy ears.

"Shut up, Sickey," I replied.

"Cut it out, you two," Dad snapped.

I dug my fork into the French toast. How could they not believe me? Did they really think I made this story up?

I lifted a chunk of toast to my mouth and stuffed it in.

"Aghhhh!"

Choking and coughing, I spit the food out on my plate.

"Gross!" Mickey cried, grinning. "Gross! A guy could lose his appetite around here."

My eyes teared, and I coughed a few more times.

"You okay, Cooper?" Mom asked.

"Somebody dumped salt on my French toast!" I exclaimed angrily.

Mickey started to laugh.

That creep.

My father climbed up from the table. Without saying a word, he stomped out of the room.

That's how my Dad acts when he's angry. He gets all quiet, then just walks away. Punishments come later.

I gulped down a glass of milk, trying to wash the salt out of my mouth. Mom returned to the stove to make another batch of French toast for me.

"Mickey," she said, sighing, "you know that wasn't funny. Now apologize to your brother."

"Apologize? But it was just a joke!" Mickey complained.

"We're all cracking up," I muttered bitterly, gulping down a second glass of milk. "You're a real riot."

"Apologize!" my mother insisted again.

Mickey hung his head and stared at the floor.

I folded my arms across my chest. "I'm waiting!" I sang happily.

Mickey made an ugly face at me. When Mom turned around, he changed his expression to an innocent smile.

"I'm so sorry, Cooper," Mickey oozed. "It won't happen again." He blinked innocently.

Satisfied, Mom turned back to the stove.

As soon as she did, Mickey pulled on his ears, trying to stretch them as big as mine.

I'd had it with Mickey. I pushed my chair away from the table and hurried out of the room. I didn't want to get into another fight with my stupid brother now.

I had more important things to do. I had to talk to Dad about the dogs. I had to make him believe me.

Dad sat in his favorite chair, which just didn't look right in our new living room. Even he seemed to notice. He kept shifting uncomfortably.

"Maybe it's time for a new chair," he muttered.

"Dad, can I talk to you for a second?" I asked.

"What is it, Cooper?" he asked as he moved Great-grandma's lamp closer to the chair.

"It's about the dogs," I said.

Dad sighed. "Really, Cooper. Aren't you making too big a deal about this? So what if you saw dogs in the woods? They could belong to anybody!"

"But they chased me!" I replied, getting all worked up again. "And then they disappeared into thin air! And after that girl told me the woods were haunted — "

"What girl?" my dad demanded.

"She said her name was Margaret Ferguson," I told him. "She said her family lived next door."

Dad rubbed his chin. "That's strange," he said. "The real estate broker never mentioned the Fergusons."

"Well, I met her this morning, and she told me everyone around here knows that our house is haunted!"

"Maybe that's why we got such a good deal on the house," Dad muttered, chuckling.

I didn't see what was so funny.

He stopped laughing and stared at me seriously. "Forget about the dogs for now, Cooper. We'll deal with it if you see them again. In the meantime, I'll ask around in town if anyone knows who owns them. Okay?"

"But what about the house?" I asked. "Margaret said we should move as fast as we can."

"French toast is ready!" Mom called out, interrupting me. "Come on, Cooper. Before it gets cold."

"Go eat," my father urged. "And please. Not another word about dogs or the house being haunted."

With a sigh, I headed back to the kitchen. As I stepped through the door, Mickey jumped in my face and let out a roar.

Naturally, it scared me to death.

"Mom!" I cried.

"Mickey, enough!" my mother screamed. "Stop teasing Cooper. He's having a hard time adjusting to the new house."

"No, I'm not!" I yelled at her. Why wasn't anybody taking me seriously? "This house is haunted. You'll be sorry you didn't listen to me. You'll be sorry!"

Then I stormed out and stomped off to my room. I collapsed on my bed and gazed around. Same old stuff, but the room didn't feel like my own.

I stayed in there all day. I didn't want to see Mickey. I didn't want to see Mom and Dad. And I really didn't want to see those dogs again.

By dinnertime, I'd unpacked most of my things. The room felt a little better. More like my old bedroom back in Boston.

After dinner, I lugged all seventy-seven snow domes into the bathroom and washed them, one by one. People don't realize that you have to take care of snow domes and keep them clean and filled with water or they'll dry out.

When they were all sparkling clean, I arranged them carefully on my new bookcase.

They looked awesome!

I tried to organize them in some sort of size order, but that didn't work. Instead, I alphabetized them — from Annapolis to Washington, D.C. Of course, I placed my absolute favorite dome — a Boston Red Sox snow dome — on the middle shelf, front and center.

I finished at eleven, then got ready for bed. All that unpacking had tired me out.

I had closed my eyes and was just drifting off to sleep when I heard it.

Loud and clear.

Barking.

And growling.

Outside my window.

I bolted straight up in bed.

I waited for my parents and Mickey to come running in. This time, they must have heard the dogs, too.

I waited. And waited.

The barking grew louder.

No one else in the house stirred.

I lowered one foot to the floor, then the other. I stood up, listening hard.

Listening to the two dogs barking.

And to my horror, I realized that this time the barking wasn't outside my window.

This time it was coming from inside my house!

Frantically, I searched for a weapon. Something to protect me from the barking dogs.