by R. L. Stine
“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!
11
Frantically, I searched for a weapon. Something to protect me from the barking dogs.
I found my aluminum baseball bat in the closet. I gripped it tightly and crept across the room to my bedroom door.
I pushed it open. And listened.
Yes.
The barking was definitely coming from inside the house. From the living room, I decided.
I took a deep breath and slipped into the hallway. Where were my parents? Their bedroom is directly over the living room on the second floor. They had to hear this.
Why hadn’t they come running out?
Mickey’s room was on the first floor down the hall from mine. I peered down the hall and saw that his bedroom door was closed.
What’s his problem? I wondered. Where is everyone?
I crept quietly down the hall, inching my way to the living room. I could hear the dogs racing around in there.
I gasped when I heard a loud crash.
Something clattered to the floor. Great-grandma’s lamp, I guessed.
I stared up at the ceiling—to my parents’ bedroom. Were they deaf or something?
Holding the bat in front of me, I jumped into the living room and snapped on the ceiling light.
The dogs were…
The dogs were…
NOT THERE!
The room stood empty.
“Huh?” I blinked a few times from the sudden brightness of the light, then stared around the room.
No dogs.
No growling. No barking.
But, wait! Great-grandma’s lamp lay on its side on the floor.
I took a step over to the sofa. Something crunched under my bare feet.
Potato chips?
Yes. Potato chips. Scattered across the room.
I spotted the potato chip bag—ripped to shreds on the floor.
My heart thumped so hard, I thought it might burst out of my chest.
As I bent to pick up the torn bag, a shadow fell over me.
I heard heavy breathing.
And I felt a gust of hot, smelly breath shoot across my neck.
12
“Drooper, what are you doing?”
I straightened up and spun around.
“Mickey!”
“That’s my name. Don’t wear it out,” he replied.
“Mickey! Did you hear them? Did you?”
Mickey glanced around the room. “Hear who?” he asked. Then, before I could answer, he snapped, “Cooper, you jerk, why did you throw potato chips around the living room?”
“The dogs!” I cried. “The dogs did it! Did you hear them?”
Mickey shook his head. “No way. I didn’t hear anything.”
I was stunned. “You didn’t hear wild dogs running around the room a few minutes ago?”
Mickey rolled his eyes and whistled. “You’re losing it, Cooper. Hearing invisible dogs is one thing. But feeding them potato chips? You’re really messed up, man.”
“I didn’t do this!” I said angrily. “I told you. The dogs did.”
Mickey shook his head. “Just promise me one thing,” he said seriously.
“What?” I asked.
“Promise me when school starts next week, you won’t tell anybody you’re related to me.”
I wanted to throw something at him. I wished I had Great-grandma’s lamp in my hand, but I didn’t. So I threw what I did have—the empty potato chip bag.
It flew about three inches, then dropped at my feet.
“You’re pathetic!” Mickey laughed. “I know why you’re doing this, too. You’re trying to make Mom and Dad think the house is haunted. So then they’ll move back to Boston, and you can see your dweeby little friends Gary and Todd again.”
He made a face at me. “Dumb, Drooper. Really dumb.”
He shuffled away, shaking his head.
Just you wait, Mickey, I thought. I’m going to get even with you. Just you wait.
And I’m going to make everyone believe me about the dogs. I’m going to make everyone believe that I’m telling the truth.
But how? I wondered, gazing around the empty, silent living room.
How?
13
Sunday morning I woke up early as usual. I had only a few more things to unpack, and I knew I could finish before breakfast.
I unrolled my Red Sox poster and tacked it to the wall, over my bed. Same place I’d hung it in Boston.
Then I rummaged through a box, searching for my lucky pair of red socks. As I was slipping them on my feet, I heard the doorbell ring.
“Cooper!” my mother called to me a few seconds later. “There’s someone here to see you!”
Who could it be? I didn’t know anybody here.
Then I had a thought. Maybe Gary asked his dad to drive him and Todd up to Maine to surprise me!
Wow! What a great surprise!
I closed the box and charged out of my room, down the hall, and to the front door. I was so excited!
But no Gary and Todd.
Fergie stared at me from the front doorway. I could see at first glance that she was kind of nervous. She kept shifting her weight from one foot to the other. And she twirled a lock of her bright red hair between her fingers.
“Oh. Hi,” I mumbled, unable to hide my disappointment.
“I need to talk to you,” she said. “Right away.”
“Okay, sure,” I replied.
“Not here,” she said, nudging her head toward the den where my mom and dad were reading the newspaper.
I sighed. “Okay, wait a sec.” I ran back to my room and pulled on a pair of sneakers.
“Let’s go out back,” I suggested. She nodded solemnly and followed me outside.
I swung on the tire and listened to Fergie. “It was all your brother’s idea!” she blurted out.
“Excuse me?” I cried.
“I don’t know why I agreed to do it, but it was really all his idea. Every bit of it.”
“What was?” I asked.
“Everything I told you yesterday. About your house. And the woods.”
“You mean they’re not haunted?” I asked, confused.
Fergie shook her head. “Of course not.”
“But why did you tell me they were?” I asked.
“I told you, it was all Mickey’s idea. I met Mickey the day you moved in,” Fergie explained. “He told me it would be funny if I played this trick on you.”
“He what?” I cried.
“He told me the two of you always played all kinds of tricks on each other,” Fergie replied. “He said you would think it was a riot.”
“A joke?” I asked. “It was all one of Mickey’s jokes?” I couldn’t believe it.
Fergie bit her bottom lip and nodded. “Mickey said to tell you the woods were haunted. He said to tell you the house was haunted, too.” Fergie sighed. “So I did it. But when I saw how scared you were, I felt really bad about it. I wished I hadn’t listened to your brother.”
Mickey. That jerk.
“But how did you know about the dogs?” I asked.
Fergie stared blankly at me. “Dogs? What dogs?”
“That’s the word you whispered to me,” I explained. “Dogs.”
Fergie twisted her face, thinking hard. “No, I don’t remember saying that. Are you sure I said ‘dogs’?”
I nodded. “Definitely. That was all you said. Dogs. And, then, after you ran off, two mean-looking black Labradors chased me through the woods.”
“Really?”
I nodded. “They chased me all the way home. Then they just vanished.”
“Weird,” Fergie mumbled.
“Tell me about it,” I replied, rolling my eyes.
“Where did you first see the dogs?” Fergie asked me.
I pointed into the woods. “Back there. Near a stream.”
“That’s the stream that leads to the Martells’ house,” Fergie said. “They’re friends of my parents. They don’t own any dogs, Cooper.”
I shrugged, then batted a fly that buzzed in my ear. “Well, someone around here must have dogs,” I told her.
“I’m scared of dogs,” Fergie admitted. “I’m glad I didn’t see them yesterday.”
“They weren’t nice dogs,” I muttered. “You wouldn’t like them.”
“Hey, did you see a big rock in the shape of an arrowhead when you were near the stream?” she asked.
I shook my head. “No, I didn’t.”
“It’s really cool,” she gushed. “You should check it out. I go there all the time. It’s a great rock for climbing.”
“Let’s check it out now,” I suggested. I still thought the woods were scary—haunted or not. But I didn’t feel like hanging around the house.
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!”
14
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.
“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.
