32 - The Barking Ghost

  THE BARKING GHOST

  Goosebumps - 32

  R.L. Stine

  (An Undead Scan v1.5)

  1

  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!

  2

  I didn’t move.

  I couldn’t move.

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

  O
kay, 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.

  I lowered my hands.

  Silence now. No settling. No pipes. No breathing.

  I must be losing my mind.

  If I told Gary and Todd about this one, they’d really laugh their heads off.

  And then the breathing started again. Raspy and wet. Hoarse breathing. Like a sick animal.

  I couldn’t just lie there. I had to see what it was.

  I swung my legs out of bed. I took a deep breath. Then I lowered myself to the floor.

  Carefully, I lifted the blanket from the bottom of the bed. Then carefully, carefully, I lowered my head and peeked under the bed.

  That’s when the hands darted out—and grabbed me. Two strong, cold hands. Slowly tightening their grip around my throat.

  3

  I screamed.

  So loudly, I surprised myself.

  My attacker must have been surprised, too. He quickly let go of my neck. I clutched my throat and sputtered for air.

  “Cooper, will you keep it down?” a voice whispered. “You’ll wake Mom and Dad!”

  Huh?

  Oh, man.

  It was Mickey. My totally obnoxious older brother.

  “Mickey! You jerk!” I cried. “You scared me to death!”

  Mickey slid out from under the bed and wiped some dust off his pajamas. “No big challenge,” he muttered.

  “Shut up,” I snapped, rubbing my sore neck. In the mirror I could see where Mickey’s hands had grabbed my throat. Dark red blotches circled my neck.

  “Look what you did!” I cried. “You know I bruise easily!”

  “Oh, don’t be such a baby! I got you, man!” Mickey cried, grinning.

  I stared furiously at my idiot brother. I wished I could wipe that grin off his face. And not get in trouble for it.

  “You’re a jerk!” was all I could think to say.

  “Grow up!” Mickey shot back. He headed for the door, then turned around. “Would Cooper like a little night-light next to his bed?” he asked in a tiny baby voice.

  That’s when I lost it.

  I leaped on to his back and pounded his head with my fists.

  “Hey!” he screamed, trying to shake me off. “What do you think you’re doing? Get off me!”

  Mickey’s legs buckled under him, and he fell to the floor. I clung to his back. I kept pounding him with my fists.

  Mickey is three years older than me, and he’s a lot bigger. But I had him in the right position, and landed a few good punches.

  Then he shifted to the right.

  And started pounding me back. Luckily, he got in only one really good wallop before Mom and Dad ran in to break it up.

  “Cooper! Mickey! What’s going on in here?”

  “He started it!” I called out, trying to duck Mickey’s fists.

  My father reached down and pulled Mickey off me. “I don’t care who started it!” he said angrily. “This is no way to act on the first night in your new house. Mickey, get back to your room!”

  “But, Dad, he—”

  “Never mind who started it. This behavior had better stop—now! Because if there is a next time, you’ll both start off the new school year grounded!”

  Grumbling, Mickey stomped out of the room. But not before sticking his tongue out at me. Mickey was the baby. Not me.

  “Really, Dad, Mickey started it,” I said when he was gone.

  “And you’re totally innocent, right?” my father asked, rolling his eyes.

  “Yes!” I insisted.

  Dad just shook his head. “Go to sleep, Cooper.”

  When my parents left the room, I paced back and forth, rubbing my neck.

  I was so steamed!

  It wasn’t the first time Mickey’s pulled something like this. For as long as I can remember, Mickey has played tricks on me, trying to terrify me.

  He usually succeeds, too.

  Once, when Mom and Dad went away for a weekend, he hid a tape recorder in my room. It played horrifying screams all night long.

  And another time, he didn’t come to get me after Little League practice. He left me standing there, all alone on the playground, while he hid out and watched me panic.

  But hiding under my bed tonight was the worst. He has to be one of the biggest jerks alive.

  I climbed back into bed and stared up at the ceiling. I had to think of a way to get Mickey back.

  What could I do? Hide outside his window and scream?

  Jump out from behind the shower curtain when he’s brushing his teeth?

  No. Too dumb. It would have to be something totally excellent. Something so creepy it would scare me. Even though I was the one doing it.

  I watched the spooky shadows move along my walls and ceiling. And listened to the frightening noises of my new house—noises I would have to hear for the rest of my life.

  The pipes rattling. The dogs barking.

  Wait a minute.

  Dogs?

  I sat up. We don’t have a dog. And there isn’t another house around here for miles.

  But I definitely heard a barking dog.

  I listened closely. The dog barked again. Then started to howl.

  I sighed and pulled off the covers again. I started to climb out of bed. Then it hit me.

  Mickey!

  This had to be another one of my brother’s stupid tricks. He was an excellent dog-barker. He practiced it all the time.

  Smiling, I settled back on my pillow. I wouldn’t get up. I wouldn’t go to the window.

  He wasn’t going to get me this time. No way.

  I lay there listening to Mickey make a fool of himself. Howling and barking like a big old dog.

  What a jerk.

  Then, suddenly, I sat up again. Whoa. I heard two dogs howling now.

  Even Mickey couldn’t pull that off.

  The howling turned to piercing cries. So close. Right under my window.

  As I said, I made it through a whole day without being scared. But, boy, was I making up for it tonight!

  For the zillionth and third time, I slowly crept to the window. I could hear them clearly. Two dogs. Wailing and howling.

  For the zillionth and third time, I gazed out the window.

  But for the first time, I couldn’t believe what I saw.

  4

  I didn’t see anything.

  Nothing at all. No dogs. Not one.

  I squinted into the yard. Empty.

  How could they have vanished so quickly?

  I stood at the window for a few more seconds, but no dogs appeared.

  I shivered. I’ll never sleep again, I thought. Not as long as I have to live here.

  I crept back to bed. I pulled the covers up to my chin. And counted the green and blue squigglies on the wallpaper by my head.

  I guess I finally fell asleep. When I opened my eyes, light streamed in through my window.

  Yawning, I glanced at the clock. Six-thirty. I’m usually an early bird. I like to start my day as soon as possible.

  I leaped out of bed and checked the yard. It didn’t seem half as scary in the morning light.

  I smiled when I noticed the jungle gym in the far corner. The last owners of the house built it. It had a slide and really high monkey bars. Yesterday, Dad hung a rope and tire from one of its beams, so now it had a swing, too.

  Behind the jungle gym, the woods stretched all around. Woods thick with all different kinds o
f trees and shrubs and weeds. The woods surrounded our house on three sides. It seemed to go on forever.

  I changed quickly, pulling a clean Red Sox T-shirt over my jeans. Grabbing my baseball cap, I flew through the house and ran outside.

  A great summer day! Sunny and warm. If I were back home in Boston, I would hop on my bike and ride over to Gary’s or Todd’s house. Then we would spend the day outdoors, playing softball at the playground. Or just messing around.

  But I’m not in Boston anymore. Better get used to that, I told myself.

  I hoped some cool kids lived in this neighborhood. When we drove up to our house yesterday, I didn’t see any other houses around. I guessed I’d have to spend the next few days alone—until school started next week.

  I wandered over to the jungle gym. I swung on the tire swing for a little while. Back and forth. Back and forth. Staring at my bedroom window from the outside. Back and forth. Back and forth. Remembering last night.

  Remembering just how brave Super Cooper had been. Yuck!

  Back and forth. Back and forth.

  Remembering the dogs.

  Hey. That’s weird, I thought. Those dogs I heard should have left paw prints all over the yard. But I couldn’t see a single one.

  I hopped off the swing and searched the ground all around the house. No sign of any dogs.

  That’s funny. I knew there were dogs out here last night.

  I glanced up at the edge of the woods. Maybe those dogs were lost, I thought. Maybe they came to the house last night searching for help.

  Maybe I should go track them down.

  I bit my lower lip. A kid could lose his way—forever—in those woods, I thought nervously.

  Well, I’m going in, I decided. Today is the first day of the new me. Super Cooper—for real. I wanted to find those dogs. To prove to myself that I wasn’t going crazy.

  Who knows? If I find the dogs, maybe Dad will let me keep one, I decided. It might be fun to have a dog.

  I’d always wanted a puppy. But Mom said the fur made her sneeze. Maybe she’d change her mind.

  I took one long, deep breath. Then I stepped into the woods. I saw some amazing trees. I saw beautiful old birch trees with smooth, white trunks. And I saw sassafras and maple trees. Their trunks were gnarled and thick.