R. Stine: The Barking Ghost

For the zillionth time that night, I threw the covers off my legs and bolted up from the bed.

I definitely heard something that time.

And it wasn't the wind, either. I'm always hearing things. But no matter what I hear, Mom says, "It's just the wind, Cooper. Just the wind."

But the wind doesn't sound like heavy footsteps crunching through the leaves. And that's what I heard this time. Definitely.

I stood next to my bedroom window. Then I leaned over and peered out. It sure was spooky out there.

I squinted to see better in the dark. Don't lean over too far, I thought. Don't let whoever or whatever is out there see you.

My eyes searched the backyard. I lifted my head — and spotted them. A few feet away. Huge, black, gnarly arms. Reaching out toward the window.

Ready to grab me.

No. It was only the branches of the old oak tree.

Well, give me a break. I said it was dark out!

My eyes swept over the yard again. The sound. There it was!

I ducked. My legs trembled as I crouched beneath the window. I broke out into a cold sweat.

Crunch. Crunch.

Even louder than before.

I swallowed hard and took another peek. Something moved in the shadows. Under the oak tree. I held my breath.

Crunch. Crunch, crunch.

A gust of wind blew the tree branches furiously.

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

The frightening sounds grew louder. Closer to the house.

As I peered out, two eyes suddenly flashed in the dark. My throat went dry. I couldn't cry out.

The eyes flashed again. They were even closer to the house this time. Right outside my window.

Staring at me.

Moving toward me.

The creature's dark shape began to take form. It was a — - bunny rabbit??

I let out a long sigh.

The first night in my new house — and I was already shaking in terror.

I shuffled into the bathroom for a towel. As I mopped the sweat from my forehead, I stared at my reflection in the medicine chest mirror.

Whenever I'm scared, my freckles really stand out. There they were. Millions of them.

I ran my fingers through my hair. I wear it long. To help cover my big, droopy ears.

I've had these huge ears my whole life. Mom keeps telling me not to worry. She says I'll grow into them. But I'm twelve now, and nothing has changed. My ears are still huge. Huge and droopy.

I wear a cap most of the time to help hide them. It's my favorite cap from my favorite baseball team — the Red Sox. So I don't mind wearing it.

A bunny rabbit, I mumbled as I stared at myself in the mirror. Scared by a bunny rabbit.

I'd made it through the entire day without being scared once. That's pretty good for me.

Back where I used to live — in Boston, Massachusetts — my best friends, Gary and Todd, always made fun of me.

"Cooper," they'd say, "you probably scare yourself on Halloween!"

They were right. I get scared a lot. Some people just scare easier than others. I'm an easy scarer.

Take last summer at camp. I got lost in the woods on my way to the bathroom cabin. What did I do?

Nothing. I just stood there.

When the kids from my bunk finally found me, I was shaking all over. Practically in tears. Turns out I was standing a few feet from the dining hall the whole time.

So, okay. I admit it. When it comes to bravery, I'm not exactly Indiana Jones!

When my parents announced we were moving from the city into a house in the woods, I was a little tense.

Maybe even scared.

Scared to leave the apartment I'd lived in my entire life.

Scared of a house in the woods.

And then I learned that our new house was deep in the woods, somewhere in Maine. Miles from the nearest town.

The only two scary books I'd ever read took place in Maine. In the woods.

But I had no choice. We were moving. Mom's new job landed us in Maine, and there was nothing I could do about it.

I left the bathroom and crept back to my bed. The floorboards creaked and cracked with each step. It was going to be hard getting used to that.

It was also going to be hard getting used to all the other strange noises this old house made. The rattling pipes. The scraping shutters. And some weird noise that thumped really loudly every hour.

At dinner, Mom said that the thumping noise was only the house "settling."

Whatever that means.

At least she didn't say, "It's just the wind, Cooper."

I jumped into bed and pulled the covers up to my chin. Then I fluffed my pillows two or three times, trying hard to get comfortable. I felt a little safer in bed.

I love my bed. Mom wanted to trash it when we moved. She said I needed a new one. But I said no way. It had taken me years to break this bed in. The mattress had just the right amount of lumps, and they were in all the right spots.

In the dark, I glanced around my new room. It was so weird seeing all my things in this strange place. When the movers carried my stuff in here this morning, I had them put the furniture exactly the way it was in my old room.

Across from my bed, my dad built a really cool bookcase for all my snow domes. It has a light in it and everything.

I can't wait to unpack my snow domes. I have seventy-seven of them from all over the world — even Australia and Hong Kong. I guess you could call me a snow dome collector.

Anyway, I was finally beginning to relax, thinking about my snow domes — when I heard another noise.

Not a bunch of little crunches like before — but one long, drawn-out crunch.

I shot straight up in bed. This time I was sure. One hundred percent sure. Someone — or something — was creeping around out there. Right outside my window!

I threw off the covers. Then I dropped to the floor on my hands and knees. Moving slowly, I crawled to the window. Then I carefully pulled myself up and peered outside.

What was it?

A snake?

I flung open the window. I grabbed a softball from the floor and tossed it at the snake. Then I fell back down to my knees and listened.

Silence. No crunching. No slithering.

A direct hit. Great!

I stood and leaned carefully out the window. I was feeling pretty proud of myself. After all, I had just saved my family from a deadly — - garden hose!

I let out a disappointed sigh and shook my head. Get a grip, Cooper.

If Gary and Todd were here, they would never let me hear the end of this. They'd be laughing their heads off.

"Nice going, Coop!" Gary would say. "Saved your family from a poisonous garden hose!"

"Yeah. Super Cooper strikes again!" Todd would say. Back in bed again, I fluffed up my pillows one more time. Then I closed my eyes as tightly as I could.

That's it, I said to myself. I am not getting up again. I don't care what I hear next.

I will not get up from this bed again. No matter what.

And then I heard another noise. A different kind of noise. A sound that made my heart pound right through my chest.

Breathing.

Deep, heavy breathing.

In my room.

Under my bed!

I didn't move.

I couldn't move.

I stared at the ceiling. Listening. Listening to the raspy breathing under my bed.

Okay, Cooper, I told myself. Calm down. It's probably your imagination. Playing tricks on you again.

The breathing grew louder. Raspier.

I covered my ears and shut my eyes tight.

It's nothing. It's nothing. It's nothing.

It's an old house, I thought, still covering my ears. Old houses have to breathe — don't they?

Or, what was it that Mom said? Settling? Yeah, that's what it must be. The house settling.

Or maybe it's the pipes. We had pipes in our apartment in Boston, and they made crazy noises all the time. I'll bet that's what it is — the pipes.