R. Stine: The Barking Ghost

I hopped off the tire and followed Fergie into the woods. I spotted a long, thick stick and picked it up. "In case the dogs come back," I told Fergie.

We walked a little while until we reached the stream. Fergie searched around for her rock.

"I know it's here somewhere," she said, turning to me. "I can never — "

She stopped short when her eyes met mine.

"Cooper!" she whispered. "What is it?"

I stumbled backwards. My hand trembled as I pointed to the trees directly behind Fergie.

"Mar — Margaret!" I whispered in terror. "The dogs! Look out! They're coming! They're coming right at us!"

Fergie spun around. She let out a frightened cry.

"Here they come!" I shrieked.

Fergie froze in terror. "Oh, no! Help me, Cooper! I told you! I'm afraid of dogs!"

"Run!" I shouted at her. "Run!"

In a flash, Fergie dashed past me. I've never seen anyone run so fast.

She ran about ten steps. Then her hands flew up as she tripped over a rock.

She uttered a shrill cry of panic and went sprawling on the ground.

I had to laugh. "Got you back!" I cried gleefully.

"Huh?" Fergie lifted her head.

"I got you back," I repeated. "For playing that mean trick on me. For helping Mickey."

I watched as the color slowly returned to Fergie's face. "You scared me to death," she muttered. "How could you play such a horrible joke?"

"Easy," I replied, still grinning.

Fergie growled at me. "I told you, it wasn't totally my fault. Your brother said you played tricks on each other all the time." Then she stood up and shook her head. "That was mean, Cooper. Really mean."

I shrugged. "Yeah. I know. But now we're even."

Fergie brushed some dirt off her jeans and examined a scrape on her elbow. "You know, we should both get back at Mickey," she said.

"I've been thinking about that all morning," I told her. "And yesterday, too. Mickey's been playing really mean tricks on me since we moved here. And I have to get back at him. But it has to be something totally awesome."

We walked along the stream a while longer, trying to figure out how to get back at Mickey. Then Fergie found the arrowhead rock.

She climbed up first, and I followed. It was a big, craggy rock, great for climbing.

We hung out on the rock, thinking up ways to get Mickey back. Fergie wanted to drag him deep into the woods blindfolded and leave him stranded. But I didn't think that would scare Mickey one bit.

I jumped off the rock and began circling it. Sometimes I think better on my feet.

On my third trip around, I got my foot caught in a thick, leafy plant. I glanced down — and cried out. "Oh, perfect! I'm standing in poison ivy!"

Fergie laughed. "It only looks like poison ivy," she assured me. "My science teacher checked it out last year. She told us it's a harmless weed."

I smiled a really evil smile.

"I think I have a great idea. What if we pulled out a bunch of this stuff? What if it somehow ended up in Mickey's bed? Would he freak — or what?"

"He might," Fergie agreed, grinning down at me.

We gathered a bunch of the weeds. They grew all along the stream. So we picked some more as we walked slowly back to my house.

Just past the stream, Fergie showed me a clearing in the trees I hadn't noticed before. A small clearing filled with wildflowers.

I knew right away Mom would flip out if she saw them. She always bought flowers at the Faneuil Hall market back in Boston. I started to pick some for her.

I reached down for a few pretty violet and yellow flowers when something moving through the trees caught my eye. I glanced up just in time to see Mickey stagger into the clearing.

Fergie and I both cried out when we spotted him.

Mickey's clothes were ripped and shredded. Dark scratches covered his face and arms. And bright red blood trickled down his neck.

"Cooper," he croaked weakly, barely able to talk. "Cooper — the dogs — "

Those were the last words he spoke before he crumpled to the ground.

"Mickey!" I screamed in horror.

I dropped the wildflowers and weeds and ran to his side.

Fergie and I knelt down beside him. "Is he okay?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

I leaned over him and, with both hands, tugged on his tattered shirt. But I couldn't pull him up. With each try, his limp body slumped back to the ground.

"Mickey! Mickey!" I cried his name again and again. "Are you all right? The dogs! Did they -?"

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.