R. Stine - The Barking Ghost

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!

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 through 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?

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.