R. Stine - The Barking Ghost

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!"

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?"

Mickey 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!"

"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.

I spun around.

No glaring red eyes. No dogs. Except for Fergie and me, the room stood empty.

"Wow, your mom sure was upset," Fergie whispered as we trudged back down the hall to our rooms.

"But now you believe me, right, Fergie?" I asked. "You heard the dogs yourself!"

Fergie nodded. "For sure. There were definitely dogs here."

"Go to sleep!" Mom called sternly. "Immediately!"

"Okay, Mom!" I called back. I turned to Fergie. "We'll check out the woods in the morning," I told her. "Those dogs have to be somewhere!"

"Good idea," Fergie agreed. "See you in the morning."

Back in my room, I couldn't fall asleep. I sat on my bed and tossed a baseball into the air. I watched the numbers slowly click by on my alarm clock.

I thought about the dogs. They were definitely here tonight. Fergie had heard them, too.

But how do they get in and out of my house? I wondered.

And how do they vanish into thin air like that?

And why do they keep bothering me? Why?

I tossed down the baseball and crept into the hall.

I knocked softly on Fergie's door. "It's me. Can I come in?"

"What's wrong?" she whispered, opening the door.

"Listen," I said. "I don't think I can wait until tomorrow. Let's search for those dogs now"

Fergie narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. "It — it might be dangerous," she stammered.

"I don't care," I told her. "Let's go."

A few minutes later, Fergie and I skulked around the backyard with our flashlights.

No moon tonight. No stars. A chilly mist hung in the air.

We both shivered.

I pointed my flashlight at the ground and searched for paw prints.

None. As usual.

"How come they never leave prints?" I muttered under my breath.