Who Let the Ghosts Out? Read Free Page B

week, Buster tried to chew my leg off!”
    Colin shrugged. “Maybe
you
taste like chicken.” He squeezed Joey tighter. “Deal?”
    I stared at the little pigeon, his little head poking out of Colin's fist. “Deal,” I said.
    I could see Buster's eyes glowing in the darkness of the garage. I clicked on the light and raised the leather leash. “Walk, Buster? Go for a walk?”
    The huge dog ducked his head and uttered a low growl.
    “Good boy,” I lied. “Good boy. Go for a walk.”
    I took a step toward the dog. My legs were kinda shaky. Why am I doing this? I wondered. I had to remind myself I was saving a pigeon's life.
    To my surprise, Buster loped up to me and lowered his head so I could put on the leash. “Good boy. Good boy,” I kept repeating. “Please don't bite my face off tonight. I want to look good for the class photographs.”
    The dog nodded as if he understood. I clicked the leash onto his collar. He gave a hard tug, eager to get outside and do his business.
    I let him lead me out of the garage, down the driveway, and into the street. He raised his leg at the tree stump at the bottom of the drive, one of his favorite places. Then we walked on toward the corner.
    It was a cool October night. Gusts of wind sent brittle dead leaves swirling down the street. The moon had disappeared behind low black clouds.
    Buster loped along, sniffing the grass, sniffing a pile of leaves, sniffing everything. I think to dogs, sniffing is like reading. They can't read, so they sniff everything instead.
    I let Buster sniff whatever he wanted. I was so happy that he wasn't snarling and trying to turn me into a dog biscuit.
    It all went fine until we reached the corner.
    We stepped into the circle of yellow light from the streetlamp, and Buster started to change.
    He stopped suddenly and turned his big furry head to me.
    I leaned down. “Buster, what's wrong?”
    Then the dog opened his mouth—as if to speak!
    As I stared in shock, his mouth opened wider. His black lips pulled back until I could see all his teeth. The lips pulled back farther. The mouth pulled open even wider.
    “Buster—?”
    I gasped in horror as the lips pulled back…back …until Buster's whole head disappeared. Was he
swallowing
himself?
    His eyes disappeared inside his skin. The gaping mouth slid back over Buster's body. I could see glistening wet, pink flesh—the insides of his throat.
    And then, as the fur peeled back, I saw pale bones and gleaming yellow and red organs. Buster's purple, pulsing heart. His rib cage. His balloonlike stomach. His twisting yellow guts.
    “Ohhh.” My stomach churned as I stared, frozen in horror.
    Blood shot through purple, pulsing veins. Buster's heart throbbed
outside
his body. Gloppy, half-digested food fell from his stomach and plopped onto the sidewalk.
    In seconds, he stood in front of me—
inside out
!
    Only his wagging tail remained covered with fur. The rest of him pulsed and throbbed and glistened, his wet and shiny insides
on the outside
.
    “Ohh.” I let out another groan. I pressed a hand over my mouth, trying to keep my dinner down. My whole body shook.
    How could this be happening? I glanced around quickly. Was anyone else nearby? Was I the only one seeing this?
    The houses were all dark. No one else was on the street.
    Something moved from inside the bulging, pinkdog stomach. A shadow formed. A wisp of black mist floated up from the panting inside-out dog.
    Under the streetlamp, the black mist rose quickly, and spread.
    And in the swirling fog, I saw the figure of a man.
    I dropped to my knees in fright and stared helplessly as the man formed, lifting himself slowly. His face was hidden in darkness. His body was wrapped in a flowing black cloak down to his ankles.
    The figure shifted and swayed in the swirling black fog. I huddled beside Buster and stared up as the shadowy figure floated over me.
    And in a booming voice, so powerful it made the grass quiver and bend, he said:
    “Where are