Patches by Ellen Miles Page A

the cemetery. He says he hears it moaning all the time. Nighttime, daytime, it doesn’t matter. That ghost is always wailing.”
    “Has — has he seen it?” Charles did not like to admit that he was afraid of ghosts.
    “Not yet. Nobody has. So we’ll be the first!”
    Suddenly, helping Mom clean out the basement was sounding a lot more interesting. But Charles knew how Sammy was. When he came up with a Plan, he just
had
to follow through. And he expected company.
    Half an hour later, Sammy and Charles rode their bikes around a corner near the cemetery and stopped short. It was obvious which house was haunted. It had to be the enormous, rambling gray mansion that looked like it belonged in a scary movie.
    Charles could tell right away that nobody had lived in that house for a long, long time. Its windows and doors were cockeyed. Twining vines with poisonous-looking purple flowers crawled all over the falling-down porch. The yard was full of weeds, most of them taller than Charles. And a rusty bicycle lay near the front steps, like someone tossed it down twenty years ago and never came back to pick it up.
    Charles swallowed. His mouth felt dry. “I — I don’t hear any moaning,” he said.
    “Me, neither.” Sammy leaned his bike against the fence and pulled open the creaking gate. “Maybe we have to get closer.”
    Charles wanted to run in the opposite direction,but Sammy was already halfway down the front walk. He couldn’t abandon his friend! Charles left his bike next to Sammy’s and tiptoed through the gate.
    “Dare you to go up on the porch!” Sammy had stopped near the rusty bicycle.
    Charles shook his head. “No, thanks.” He took a closer look at Sammy. Could his friend be scared, too?
    But Sammy just shrugged and started up the rotten wooden stairs. Then, mid-step, he froze. “Do you hear what I hear?”
    Charles gulped. He nodded. He heard it, all right. And it sent chills down his spine. The low moaning sound seemed to fill the air around him.
    “Where’s it
coming
from?” Sammy tilted his head.
    “I don’t know, but —” Charles was about to say that it must be just about time to go home for lunch, but Sammy interrupted.
    “Come on! Let’s find out.”
    Charles had no choice but to follow Sammy up onto the porch. The boys cupped their hands and peered into the windows of the dark, empty, tumbledown house.
    “Nothing.” Sammy sounded disappointed. Charles hoped that meant they could leave. But the moaning didn’t stop.
    “I think it’s coming from out back,” Sammy said, after he’d listened for a moment. He led the way around the porch. Charles followed, watching where he put his feet so that he didn’t fall through the rotten boards. When Sammy stopped short, Charles almost slammed into him. “Look!” Sammy pointed. “Oh, man!”
    Charles could hardly believe his eyes. The sad moaning sound was not coming from any ghost. It was coming from a dog! A puppy, actually. A little brown puppy that was tied up in the garage next door.

CHAPTER TWO
    Sammy stared at Charles.
    Charles stared at Sammy.
    There was no ghost. There was just a tiny, cute brown puppy, crying and howling for attention.
    Ohhhhh, waahhhhh, I’m sooooooo looooonely! Soooommmebody pleeeeeease plaaaaaaay with meeeeee!
    The puppy threw back his head and howled even louder when he saw Charles and Sammy. How could such a big sound come out of such a little puppy?
    “I can’t take it!” Sammy put his hands over his ears.
    “The poor little guy!” Charles ran right down the porch stairs and into the next-door neighbor’s yard. He cut across the driveway and knelt by the puppy. The tiny dog looked up at him with soft brown eyes. When he held up one little paw, Charles felt his heart melt. What was this cute little guy
doing
out here all by himself?
    “Charles! What are you
up
to?” Sammy was still standing on the porch.
    “He needs help!” The puppy was tied to a long rope. And the rope was tangled around a