The Barking Ghost

24

"Fergie, I don't like this," I whispered. "Let's get away from here — fast!"

I felt the dog clamp its jaw tighter on my ankle.

Had he understood what I'd said?

"They're not going to let us get away," Fergie said softly.

Snarling and growling, the dogs backed us up against the door to the shack.

"Whoa!" I cried out as the dogs leaped at the side of the shack.

"I don't believe it!" Fergie screamed.

The dogs jumped right through the wooden wall. They disappeared inside.

"That's impossible!" Fergie cried.

"Tell that to the dogs," I murmured.

I had seen them do it before — in my own kitchen.

"They're ghosts or something!" Fergie cried.

I grabbed her arm. "Let's get out of here! Whatever happens… we can't go in that shack!"

We'd taken only a few steps when the dogs came tearing out through the shack wall.

They edged in close, pressing us up against the shack again. Before we could struggle or try to get away, the dogs rose up on their hind legs.

Standing up, they were taller than us! Fergie and I exchanged terrified glances.

The dogs staggered forward. Pressed their front paws against our chests. And shoved us backwards into the shack.

We screamed as we started to fall.

The shack had no floor.

We fell, hurtling down. Tumbling as we fell.

Down, down, down.

Into a deep, black hole.

A deep, black hole that didn't seem to end.