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This Party Tip submitted by BizGirl - Aug 25th, 2008


    • Short Campfire Ghost Stories 3

    • Somewhere a Puppy Cries ©  By Mary K. Whittington

      © 1995. Permission granted by the author who holds the copyright. This story can not be copied without the consent of the copyright owner.  Mary has other written work, some of which is similar to the story below. Please request to contact the author through the BestPartyEver.com contact form or purchase Mary K. Whittington stories.

      Go Back to Short Campfire Ghost Stories

      Shivering, I hide beneath my blankets. If Calico the Cat were here, I wouldn’t mind the shadows by the door, the one that won’t stay closed.
      “You’ll be fine, Lyssa,” Daddy says as he tucks me in.
      “We’ll be right down the hall.” Mama shuts my door, but pretty soon it swings open.
      That’s when I hear a puppy crying. He sounds lonely. I know how he feels. Calico the Cat won’t come upstairs.
      Daddy says she needs to get used to this broken-down house we’ve just moved into. When we opened her traveling cage, she ran out to explore. But she wouldn’t come when I called, not even for her dinner. At bedtime I found her by the inside cellar door, her nose pressed to the bottom crack. When I tried to pick her up, she wiggled free.
      My bed is so cold. I miss Calico. She always keeps me warm at night.
      Every time I wake up, I hear the puppy crying. Who could he belong to? Mama says the nearest house is two miles away.
      In the morning Calico still won’t leave the cellar door. I give her a bowl of food, but she hardly touches it.
      “She probably smells mice,” Mama says at breakfast. “This house has been empty so long, there may be whole families down there.”
      “Could be.” Daddy is fixing pancakes. “I’ll take a look when I get a chance. Have to make sure it’s safe before we turn her loose.” He hands me my plate.
      “Did you hear that puppy crying last night?” I ask.
      “A puppy?” Daddy shakes his head.
      “I didn’t hear anything,” Mama says, picking up the newspaper.
      “I sure did,” I say into my orange-juice glass.
      “He cried all night.”
      “Old houses make lots of strange noises,” Mama says.
      “Maybe ours is haunted,” Daddy says in a spooky voice.
      Mama laughs. “Don’t worry, Lyssa. As soon as you get used to your new room, you’ll sleep through everything.” She pats my arm. “I bet you heard the wind blowing through a crack. That might sound like a dog whining.”
      I pour syrup on my pancakes. There wasn’t any wind last night.
      Right after breakfast, we drive into town. At a hardware store we get cans of paint, and wallpaper with flowers on it. Afterward, we go to the market. I buy two boxes of Calico’s favorite kitty treats.
      When we get back to the house, I stay outside for a while. “Here, pup,” I call, softly because I don’t want Mama or Daddy to hear. I peek under the big bushes growing around the house, but I don’t find anything, not even footprints.
      Inside, I give Calico a handful of treats. She purrs as she eats, but she still won’t leave the cellar door.
      I find Daddy and Mama peeling wallpaper off the walls in the room they call the parlor.
      “Daddy,” I ask, “couldn’t you see if the cellar’s safe now?”
      “Sorry, Lyss,” he says. “These walls have to be ready tonight so we can start painting. But you tell Calico I’ll check it out before breakfast tomorrow, never fear.”
      Tonight it’s colder than ever, and bright moonlight shines across my floor. Soon after I go to bed, the puppy begins to cry. I snuggle under my blankets, but I can’t sleep. Suddenly, I sit up. He sounds like he’s downstairs. What if he got shut up in the cellar before we moved in, and only Calico knows? It’s strange, though, that I’ve only heard him at night. Maybe he sleeps all day.
      Daddy will find him in the morning. But that doesn’t make be feel any better. The pup sounds so lonely. I guess I’d better go down and get him.
      Before I can change my mind, I climb out of bed. The wood floor is cold under my feet, and it creaks a little as I tiptoe into the hall. Now the puppy is howling. As I pass my parents’ room, I wonder why he doesn’t wake them up. Down the stairs I go and along the hallway to the kitchen. Everywhere are scary shadows, but I try not to look at them.
      When Calico sees me, she stands up, stretches, and meows, as if she knows what I’m doing. The doorknob feels like ice against my hand. I wait for a moment. What if the cellar isn’t safe? But I can’t think about that now. I have to help the pup.
      I tug the door open.
      The howling stops.
      Calico brushes past me and runs down the steps.
      “Be careful,” I tell her. My whisper sounds echoey.
      I can’t find a light switch. But there must be a window in the cellar because I see some moonlight down there. I start down the steps, feeling my way with my toes. The cellar air moves up meet me. It smells musty and old, like no one ever comes here.
      Squinting, I look among the piles of boxes against the walls. Thick dust is everywhere. It makes me sneeze.
      “Where are you, pup?” I whisper. “Don’t be afraid.”
      Something rubs against my leg. I jump, but it’s only Calico. She sits beside me, her ears pricked forward, and stares into the one corner I haven’t checked.
      “Meow,” she says softly.
      She’s right. Something’s there. “Puppy?”
      The moonlight isn’t as bright here, but I see a small dog bowl. I picked it up and brush away the dust. “Toby” it says on the side.
      I wonder if this bowl belongs to the pup I’ve been hearing. Expect he hasn’t used it in a long time. Wait a minute, I think. Could the last owners have left him here when they moved out? But he would have starved to death. And that would mean . . .
      I make myself look further into the corner. There’s something bunched up - like an old blanket. And right where Calico is standing, I see a little mound. I touch it and snatch my hands back. Bones.
      Daddy’s right. Our house is haunted.
      Just as my neck starts feeling prickly, I hear a sharp sound at the top of the cellar steps. Oh no, I think, almost forgetting the puppy as I run up to the door. It’s shut. I know I left it open. For a second, I panic. But then I find the knob, turn it, and push the door open.
      Probably it’s like the one to my bedroom, only this door keeps closing. Maybe that’s how the pup got locked in the cellar. And his owners didn’t think to look for him down there before they left. This makes me sad.
      I’d better go back to bed. “Calico,” I call down the steps, but she doesn’t come. I use her bowl to prop open the door, knowing I’ll have to tell Daddy the whole story in the morning.
      Upstairs, I crawl back under the blankets. The house is quiet. Suddenly, Calico jumps up next to me. I reach out to hug her. And that’s when I hear a sound coming up the hall - a clicking, like a puppy running along the floor.
      “Meow,” Calico says and begins to purr.
      The clicking stops outside, then comes in through the shadows by the door. Something tugs at my blanket, climbs on my bed. I hear a faint whuffly noise, and Calico purrs louder.
      Probably I should be scared, but I’m not. “Hi, Toby,” I say. Even though the moonlight shines across my bed, I can’t see him. But I hear a tail thumping against the blanket, and when I reach toward the sound, I feel a small tongue lick my hand. A little body curls up next to my feet, and Calico the Cat settles down against my back.
      All night they keep me warm.

      Go Back to Short Campfire Ghost Stories


    • Tags: halloween ghost stories short campfire
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