32 - The Barking Ghost by R.L. Stine - (ebook by Undead)

 
 
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