32 - The Barking Ghost

by R. L. Stine - (ebook by Undead)

  “I’m thinking, I’m thinking,” Fergie answered with a yawn. “I’m really so tired. Maybe after a nap—”

  “No! No naps! We have to do something—now! Listen to me. We’ll get my parents to help. All we have to do is convince them that we’re the real Cooper and Margaret, and that those kids in the house are imposters.”

  “And how are we going to do that?” Fergie asked.

  Good question. Real good question.

  27

  Fergie and I trotted through the woods. I sniffed the ground. Sniffed the weeds. So many great smells!

  We stopped at the edge of the woods behind my house. I heard laughing, shouting voices. Then I saw my parents. In the backyard. Throwing a Frisbee around with Fergie and Cooper!

  Those fakes!

  I growled with anger.

  I bared my teeth. Prepared to attack.

  “Whoa!” Fergie cried. “Cooper, wait! You can’t just barge over there and attack them!”

  Fergie was right. That wouldn’t solve anything.

  I watched my dad send the Frisbee flying across the yard.

  I had a strong urge to jump up and go for that Frisbee.

  But I stopped myself. This was no time for playing.

  Then I had an idea. The greatest idea. The idea of a lifetime.

  “Come on!” I urged Fergie. I began loping toward the side of my house.

  “Cooper, where are you going?” she asked.

  I didn’t answer. I stopped outside the wall to Mickey’s room. “This will just take a second,” I told Fergie.

  She read my mind. She knew what I planned to do.

  Side by side, we leaped through the wall of the house.

  And burst into Mickey’s room.

  He was standing in his underwear. Leaning over his dresser, sorting out his T-shirts. He cried out and spun around as Fergie and I started to growl.

  My brother uttered a short, terrified whimper. He started backing up, his eyes wide with fright.

  Fergie and I began barking and jumping up on our hind legs.

  “How—how did you—?” Mickey stammered.

  Those were the only words he could choke out.

  Then he let out another whimper, stumbled past us, and bolted out through the bedroom door. “Mommy! Daddy! Help!” I heard him scream. “Mommy! Daddy!”

  Fergie and I didn’t want to miss seeing him run through the yard in his underwear. We trotted through the wall and watched until he disappeared around the garage.

  “Did you see his face?” I yelped happily. “Was that awesome?!”

  “Man, that was excellent!” Fergie cheered.

  “Hey, you two!” a stern voice called.

  I turned around.

  Dad!

  “How did you dogs get in this yard?” my father demanded sharply. “Come on. Out! Out!”

  “But, wait! Dad! It’s me, Cooper!” I tried to yell. But all that came out was Woof! Woof! Woof!

  “Out! Out!” Dad repeated angrily.

  “Dad! Wait! It’s really me! Listen! You’ve got to listen!”

  “Woof! Woof! Woof, woof, woof! Woof! Woof, woof, woof, woof!”

  My father armed himself with a broom and waved it wildly at Fergie and me. �Out!� he cried, shaking the broom at us.

  “What’s going on?” Mom called from the doorway.

  “Mom! It’s me. Cooper!” I barked furiously.

  “Oh, Sam. Please get rid of those animals! You know I’m allergic to dogs!”

  “But, Mom!” I cried. “Can’t you tell it’s me?”

  Woof, woof! Woof, woof, woof, woof, woof!

  “Please, Sam! Call the pound! These dogs look dangerous. They might have to be put to sleep! Call the pound. They’ll know what to do.”

  I watched in horror as my dad picked up the phone and dialed.

  28

  Fergie and I bolted into the woods as fast as we could. Even as a dog, Fergie ran faster than I did.

  We hid among the trees and watched my parents and the fake Cooper and Fergie toss the Frisbee around in the backyard.

  The guys from the pound never showed up. But things still looked pretty bad. My parents thought we were stray dogs. And I couldn’t tell them who I was.

  All I could do was bark.

  Hey. Wait a minute. Maybe I could do more than bark.

  “Fergie, I have another idea!” I said, wagging my tail. “Follow me!”

  Fergie and I sneaked around the side of the house and stepped through the wall into the living room. I sniffed around, searching for a pen and some paper.

  “I’ll write them a note,” I explained to Fergie. “Mom will definitely recognize my handwriting.”

  I found a pen lying on the coffee table, next to some notepaper.

  I tried to lift the pen.

  It slipped out from under my paw. I couldn’t wrap my paw around it.

  Fergie tried to help me. She nosed the pen in my direction, but I still couldn’t pick it up.

  Impossible. Dogs can’t hold pens.

  I felt so disappointed. I pushed the pen away, then ripped the paper to shreds. That’s when my dad burst in.

  “Hey! I thought I told you two dogs to beat it!” my father yelled.

  My mother and the two phonies came running into the room.

  I started barking, trying to communicate with Dad. But that seemed to annoy him even more.

  “Stand up on your hind legs!” I instructed Fergie. “Maybe he’ll think we’re trying to tell him something!”

  I hopped up, trying to balance on my back legs. But I wasn’t very good at it. I mean, give me a break. I’d only been a dog for a few hours.

  I toppled over onto my stomach.

  I must have looked pretty stupid, because everyone started laughing. “Weird dogs,” the Cooper imposter said.

  Fergie and I hopped up again and again. But nobody understood what we were doing. And after a while, they grew bored with our little act. Dad picked up the broom again.

  I probably could have yanked that stupid broom right out of his hands and pinned him to the ground. But what would that prove?

  Dad chased Fergie and me out the back door and into the woods.

  “You’re right,” I told her when we were safely hidden by the trees. “We’re going to be dogs for the rest of our lives. And not even real dogs. Ghost dogs.”

  “Don’t worry, Cooper,” Fergie replied, reading my mind. “We’ll convince them. There’s got to be a way to show them who we are.”

  I sighed, then rolled on to my back.

  If only Gary and Todd were here. They’d know what to do.

  I rolled back again. And, suddenly, I felt hot. Burning hot. I sprang up on all fours.

  “What is it?” Fergie cried out. “What’s wrong?”

  I shook violently from head to tail. Out of control. I couldn’t stop shaking. Something had taken over my body.

  29

  “Fleas!” I shrieked.

  There must have been thousands of them! Clinging all over my body! And I couldn’t reach them.

  “My back!” I cried helplessly. “My back!”

  Fergie lifted her front paws and scratched the part of my back I couldn’t reach.

  “Higher,” I pleaded. “Higher. Aaaaahhhhh, that’s it!”

  My ears drooped low, and I sighed with relief.

  Fergie found us a nice spot under a tall birch tree. I stretched out my body and rested my face on my paws. Fergie curled up into a tight ball. It was time to think up another plan.

  And time to nap. I couldn’t believe how tired I’d suddenly become.

  The day passed slowly. I think we both dozed off once or twice.

  Around lunchtime, we ran to the stream in the woods for water. Some fleas still nipped at my skin. And I thought a cool dip in the stream might help.

  We returned to our spot under the shady birch. Now we were both starving.

  “Maybe we can find some scraps of food at my house—in the garbage,” I sugge
sted.

  “Yuck! I’m not eating garbage,” Fergie wailed. “No way.” But she knew we had no choice.

  We returned to my house and quietly made our way to the side door, where Dad stored the garbage pails.

  As we sniffed around for some food, Mickey and my parents opened the back door and stepped out into the yard.

  “I’m telling you, Mom!” Mickey cried. “They’re ghost dogs! They walked right through my bedroom wall! They’re not normal!”

  “Save your jokes for Cooper,” my father snapped.

  “Hey, Fergie, maybe Mickey can help us,” I suggested, watching my brother. “He’s the only one who believes we’re not normal dogs. Maybe we can find a way to tell him who we are.”

  Fergie sighed. “For sure,” she said sarcastically. “Then what? Can you see your parents’ faces when Mickey tells them the two dogs hanging around their house are really Cooper and Margaret Ferguson?”

  I hung my head. Fergie was right. They’d never believe Mickey, either.

  “Well, we have to do something!” I said, scratching behind my ear. “These fleas are driving me crazy! I can’t live like this!”

  “Maybe we can get you a flea collar,” Fergie suggested.

  “Oh, right. I’ll just trot into the Main Street drugstore, put five dollars on the counter, and ask for a flea collar. Nobody will think that’s weird.” I rolled my eyes.

  Fergie snapped at me. “Well, excuse me, Cooper. I was only trying to help!”

  Fergie and I spent the rest of the day snapping at each other, getting on each other’s nerves.

  When dinnertime rolled around, my stomach rumbled loudly. Then I smelled the most wonderful smell.

  I raised my nose high in the air and sniffed excitedly.

  I’d know that aroma anywhere.

  Liver! The leftover liver from last night!

  “Come on!” I barked to Fergie. “I’ve got to get some of that liver!”

  We trotted over to the back door and peered inside. My whole family had gathered around the table, ready to eat.

  “You’re drooling,” Fergie said to me in disgust. “Gross.”

  Like I cared.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off the plate of liver Mom carried to the table. I watched hungrily as she placed a big slab on my father’s plate.

  Then she served some to Mickey. Mickey seemed edgy, nervous. I hoped he was still upset from my little trick this morning.

  Then Mom placed a piece of liver on the phony Cooper’s plate. He jumped from his seat. “Yuck!” he cried out in disgust. “I hate liver!”

  Mom’s jaw dropped. “Cooper! What are you saying? You love liver!”

  The phony Cooper began to stutter.

  “Oh, uh, did I say I hated it? Oh, no. I’m, uh, just joking, Mom. I love liver. Everyone knows that!”

  Mom stared at him suspiciously. “Really, Cooper. You haven’t been yourself all day!”

  My eyes widened.

  This was my chance!

  Now was the perfect time to show Mom he wasn’t himself! He was a total phony!

  “I’m going in!” I told Fergie.

  I burst through the kitchen door and headed straight for the plate of liver. I’ll show Mom who the real Cooper is, I thought happily. The Cooper who loves liver. She’ll know it’s me instantly!

  This has got to work.

  It’s our last chance, I knew. Our only chance.

  30

  Panting excitedly, I charged into the kitchen and leaped up at the table.

  Mom screamed and dropped the plate of liver on the floor.

  In a flash, I bent down and began lapping it up. Delicious!

  “See, Mom? Look, it’s me! Your son, Cooper!” I yelped in between bites.

  “Sam! Do something! That animal is eating our dinner!”

  Huh? Animal? “No, Mom! It’s me! Your son! Look, I love liver!”

  But it was no use.

  All Mom heard was, “Woof, woof! Woof, woof! Woof, woof! Woof, woof, woof, woof!”

  Dad shoved his chair away from the table and grabbed a newspaper from the counter. He rolled it up, then swatted my nose.

  “Ow!”

  That hurt!

  “I’ll see if the line to the pound is still busy,” Mom said, picking up the phone. “Try to chase the dogs into the pantry and lock the door. We’ll hold them in there until the pound can come get them.”

  The fake Cooper and Margaret helped Dad back us toward the pantry. “Bad dogs! Bad!” the phony Margaret shouted.

  “Dad, do you think the pound will use a tranquilizer gun on them?” the phony Cooper asked.

  “Maybe,” Dad replied.

  I glanced over at Fergie.

  Tranquilizer guns? No thank you!

  I never ran so fast in all my life. I even ran faster than Fergie.

  “Got any other bright ideas, fleabag?” she asked when we were safely in the woods.

  I growled at her and turned away. The sun was setting over the trees. The air felt cool. It would be dark soon.

  “And thanks for saving some of that liver for me,” Fergie snapped. “I’m hungry, too, you know!”

  I ignored her.

  I gazed longingly through the trees. Through the window of my house as Mom and Dad washed the dishes.

  I couldn’t help myself. I felt so bad. I started whimpering.

  If only I could be inside my warm, comfortable house right now. In a short while, it would be dark. I didn’t want to spend a night in the woods.

  Think, Cooper! Think! I urged myself. There must be a way to get our human bodies back.

  “Whoa! Wait a minute!” I cried. “I just thought of something!”

  Fergie awoke from a nap. “What?” she asked lazily.

  “We’re dogs, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So we should act like dogs!”

  Fergie narrowed her eyes. “Cooper, what are you talking about?”

  I took a deep breath. “Okay, listen,” I explained. “Remember how those ghost dogs got us out to the shack?”

  Fergie nodded.

  “That’s what we should do! We should pull those kids back there, the way they pulled us! That’s what dogs would do!”

  Fergie raised her head. Her ears perked up. “Not bad! Not bad at all!”

  “We’re dogs,” I continued. “We have sharp teeth, right? Very sharp teeth. We’ll drag them into the woods and into the Changing Room—and before you know it, we’ll be Cooper and Fergie again!”

  Fergie bounced up and began panting happily and wagging her tail. “Excellent!” she cried.

  “Okay, here’s the plan.” With my paw, I drew a diagram in the dirt. “The phonies are here, in the den. We’ll walk through the wall and haul them out through the kitchen door. It’s okay if Mom and Dad follow. We can outrun them.”

  “I’m ready. Let’s do it!” Fergie exclaimed.

  We trotted to the house and pushed through the wall, as planned.

  Inside, the fake Cooper and Fergie were watching MTV on the den TV. We burst through the den wall and surprised them.

  “Mom!” the fake Cooper screamed at the top of his lungs. “Dad! Help! It’s the dogs!”

  Fergie and I moved in on them, snarling as ferociously as we knew how.

  I clamped on to the fake Cooper’s ankle just as my parents and Mickey burst into the room. I motioned to Fergie to get on with it. In a flash, she leaped on to the phony Fergie and clamped her jaws around her wrist.

  Then we tugged.

  “Mom! Dad! Help!” the phony Cooper yelled.

  “Mr. Holmes!” the phony Fergie cried. “Do something! They’re attacking us!”

  Mom ran for the broom. But before Dad could swing into action, Fergie and I had dragged the imposters through the kitchen.

  I caught a glimpse of Mickey as I tugged. He was hiding in the corner, shaking all over.

  Too bad I didn’t have time to enjoy that picture.

  We were out the door now. Eve
rything was working perfectly. Fergie and I would be back to normal in no time.

  The phonies knew where we were taking them. But there was nothing they could do about it. Fergie and I were too strong, too ferocious.

  “Dad! Help!” the fake Cooper cried again.

  “Don’t worry!” Dad called out to him. “The dogs don’t seem to want to hurt you! I think they want us to follow them!”

  Way to go, Dad!

  A short while later, I spotted the clearing where the old shack stood. It won’t be long now, I thought happily. In a few minutes, Fergie and I will walk home with my parents. On two legs. No more fleas. No more food from garbage pails. I couldn’t wait!

  We panted wildly as the struggling imposters attempted to break free. But Fergie and I held on to them for dear life, tugging them, tugging with all our canine strength.

  And, then, finally, we were there. The old shack. We pushed the phonies up against the door.

  I released the fake Cooper from my grip for a second. I had no choice. I had to scratch a flea.

  The phony tried to make a run for it.

  “Cooper! He’s getting away!” Fergie barked.

  “No way!” I barked back. I bounded off after him and clamped my jaws down on the hem of his shirt. Then I dragged him back to the shack.

  The fake Fergie screamed with all her might. “No! No! Not in there again!”

  I glared up at her.

  “Hold on, Margaret,” I heard Mom call. “Don’t be afraid. Let’s see what the dogs are trying to show us.”

  It was time. Time to make the switch.

  “Now!” I yelped.

  Fergie and I jumped on the imposters and sent them tumbling into the shack. Then we leaped in after them.

  All four of us fell down, down, down. Down into the solid blackness.

  Once again, I felt dizzy and warm.

  Warmer. Warmer. As if the warm blanket were being pulled over me.

  I could feel myself changing. Changing in the darkness, in the sweltering heat.

  I gazed above my head. A glowing shadow hovered over me. A shadow with tiny red eyes.

  My body shuddered. I began to shake.

  And all at once I knew. Something wasn’t right.

  “Fergie!” I cried out in a harsh whisper. “It’s not working! Something is wrong! Something is very wrong!”