47 - Legend of the Lost Legend Read Free Page A

his tail happily.
    “What is he doing out here?” Marissa demanded in a loud whisper. “Is he a wild dog? Justin—he might be dangerous.”
    The dog licked my hand.
    “I don’t think he’s too dangerous,” I told her.
    “But maybe he’s part of a pack,” Marissa warned. She let go of the tent flap
and took another step across the ground toward me. “Maybe the other wild dogs
sent him out as a scout. Maybe there are a hundred of them!”
    I climbed to my feet and glanced around. Squinting through the blue mist, I
could see the tall, dark trees that circled the clearing. A half-moon floated
low over the trees, shimmery through the fog.
    I listened hard.
    Silence.
    “I think this guy is alone,” I told my sister.
    Marissa gazed down at the dog. “Remember that story Dad used to tell about
the ghost dog?” she asked. “Remember? The dog used to appear outside someone’s
house. It was such a cute little dog. Very sweet and cuddly. It would tilt its
head up toward the moon and let out an ‘eeeh eeeh’ sound, as if it were
laughing.
    “The dog was so cute, people had to come out and pet it. And when they did,
the dog would start to bark. It would call its ghost dog friends.
    “The friends were mean and ugly. And they would circle the person, circle
faster and faster. And then gobble the poor victim up. And the last thing the victim would see was the cute, cuddly dog tilting back its head,
laughing ‘eeeh eeeh’, laughing at the moon.
    “Remember that story?” Marissa demanded.
    “No, I don’t,” I told her. “I don’t think that’s one of Dad’s stories. It
isn’t good enough. I think it’s one of yours.”
    Marissa thinks she’s a great storyteller like Dad. But her stories are pretty
dumb.
    Whoever heard of a laughing dog?
    She took another step toward the dog and me. I shivered. The forest air was
cold and damp, too cold to be out in pajamas and bare feet.
    “If he’s a wild dog, he could be dangerous,” Marissa repeated.
    “He seems gentle enough,” I said. I petted his head again. And as my hand
slid down the fur on the back of the dog’s neck, I felt something hard.
    At first I thought it was another dead leaf matted in his thick, white fur. I
wrapped my hand around it.
    Not a leaf. A collar. A leather dog collar.
    “It’s not a wild dog,” I told my sister. “He has a collar. He must belong to
someone.”
    “Maybe he ran away and got lost,” Marissa said, kneeling beside the dog.
“Maybe his owner is searching the forest for him.”
    “Maybe,” I agreed. I tugged the collar up over the thick fur. The dog turned
his head and licked my hand.
    “Does it have an ID tag or a license?” Marissa asked.
    “That’s what I’m looking for,” I replied. “Whoa. Hold on. There is something
tucked under the collar.”
    I pulled out a folded-up wad of paper. Squinting in the dim light, I started
to unfold it. “It’s a note,” I told Marissa.
    “Maybe it has the owner’s address or a phone number on it,” she said.
    I finished unfolding it and held the sheet of paper up close to my face to
read it.
    “Well? What does it say?” Marissa demanded.
    I read the handwritten words silently to myself—and gasped in surprise.
    “Justin—what does it say?” Marissa repeated.

 
 
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    Marissa tried to grab the note from my hand. But I swung it away from her.
    “It’s a very short note,” I told her. I held it up again and read it out
loud:
    “‘I KNOW WHY YOU’RE HERE. FOLLOW SILVERDOG.’”
    “Silverdog?” Marissa lowered her gaze to the dog. “Silverdog?”
    His ears perked up.
    “He knows his name,” I said. I ran my eyes over the paper, trying to see if I
had missed anything. But that’s all there was. No name at the bottom. Nothing
else.
    Marissa took the note from me and read it for herself. “ ‘I KNOW WHY YOU’RE
HERE’,” she repeated.
    I shivered. The blue fog lowered around us. “We’d better show this to Dad,” I
said.
    Marissa agreed.