32 - 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.

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.

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.