Chapter Six: A Phantom in the Darkness

You might think this wasn’t such a big deal, me and Drover running away from home and going . . . well, two hundred feet to the northwest. That’s how far the barn was from Slim’s shack, see, but let me hasten to point out that it was dark, very dark, and more than a little bit spooky.

So going to the barn was a bigger deal than you might have supposed. As we picked our way through the inky darkness, Drover began to moan and groan.

“Hank, I wish you hadn’t said what you said about monsters. Do you really think there might be some out here?”

“It’s always a possibility, son. They’ve been reported in this area, I can tell you that much.”

“What kind?”

“Oh, let me think. A tree monster, a bush monster, and a couple of lightning monsters. We know they inhabit this part of the ranch.”

“Gosh. Do you reckon we might see one?”

“Not likely. I checked Smelloradar and Earatory Scanners, and they’re both clear. I’d say the monsters are working another part of the ranch tonight.”

“Oh good. Boy, I’d sure hate to . . . did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” I stopped and listened. “I don’t hear anything.”

“Well, I heard something. Listen. Hear that clicking sound?”

I lifted my Earatory Scanners and swept a circle for sounds. And sure enough, I began picking up a mysterious clicking sound.

“There it is, Drover. I don’t want to alarm you, but my instruments are picking up . . . yes, there it is, a clear signal.”

“Oh my gosh, I knew we should have stayed on the porch!”

“Hush. I’m trying to run diagnostics on this.” I studied the huge lighted screen of my mind. “This isn’t looking good, son.”

“What is it?”

“We’re picking up a clear signal of . . . teeth clicking.”

“Teeth clicking! Oh my gosh, it’s a monster, help, murder, Mayday!”

“Shhh. Control yourself. Be professional.” I must admit that I was having a little trouble with this myself. I mean, when you’re out there in the dark and you hear . . . GULP.

Drover was moaning again. “Do monsters have teeth?”

“Affirmative.”

“Do they ever . . . click their teeth?”

“Sometimes they do, yes, but not very often—only when they’re about to . . .”

“Attack and tear something to shreds?”

“I didn’t want to put it that way, Drover, but yes. According to our reports, they click their teeth when they . . . uh . . . do the things you mentioned. And I’m afraid we . . . wait a minute, hold everything.”

“I’m trying to hold it, but if this gets any scarier, I’m going to lose it.”

“Shhhh. Listen.” I studied the sound again. “It seems to be close, don’t you think?”

“Y-y-y-yes, I’m af-f-f-fraid s-s-so.”

“It seems to be . . .” My body wilted and the air hissed out of my lungs. “Drover, the sound is coming from you. Have you been clicking your teeth?”

“Me? No, I don’t think so. My teeth have been chattering, but they haven’t clicked.”

“Clicking, chattering, it’s all the same. You’re the cause of this, and I must warn you not to click or chatter your teeth anymore.”

“Yeah, but I’m scared, and when I’m scared, my teeth chatter.”

“Well, stop it. You’re sending confusing signals that mess up our instruments.”

“I want to go back to the porch!”

“Oh, rubbish. There’s no monster out here. Dry up and let’s get on with this.”

We resumed our creeping journey through the darkness. We had gone another twenty steps when Drover whispered, “Hank, I hear footsteps behind me.”

I stopped and heaved a sigh. “Drover, please. We have a very important mission here.”

“Yeah, but I heard footsteps. Listen.”

I listened. “I hear nothing, absolutely nothing.”

“Me too, but I’m almost sure I heard footsteps when we were walking.”

I couldn’t help chuckling. “When we were walking? That’s a crucial piece of evidence, Drover. Shall I explain? Okay, when we walk, our feet make . . . you supply the answer.”

“Uh . . . footsteps?”

“Exactly. Very good.”

“Yeah, but these were behind me.”

“I’m getting there, Drover, just relax. Consider the way your body is put together. On one end, we have your head, right?”

“I think so.”

“And upon your head sits a pair of . . . what?”

“Let’s see. Ears?”

“Ears, yes, which are the devices that pick up sounds. Now, let’s move to the other end of your body. What do we find there?”

“Well . . . a stub tail and my bohunkus.”

“Right, and below those parts, we have . . . what?”

“I don’t know, I’m all confused.”

“We have your hind legs, Drover, and attached to the end of your hind legs are your hind feet, and when you walk, your hind feet make footsteps. Are you getting it yet?”

“Yeah, but the footsteps were behind me.”

I rolled my eyes. “Of course they were, numbskull. You were hearing your own footsteps! Now cut out the nonsense and let’s get on with this.”

“Yeah, but . . .”

“Shhhh! No more. Silence.”

We resumed our trek down to the . . . footsteps? Heavy footsteps? I stopped. Drover stopped. The heavy footsteps continued, then stopped.

My mouth was suddenly dry. “Drover, I don’t want to alarm you, but I’m now picking up those footsteps you mentioned.”

“I thought they were mine.”

“These weren’t yours, and unless I’m badly mistaken . . .” I cut my eyes from side to side. “Drover, one last question. When we were inside the house, Slim got a phone call. It was something about . . . a dog. Bruiser. Did you happen to hear what Slim said?”

“Well, let’s see here. I think he said . . .” The silence that followed was deadly. “Hank, you don’t reckon . . .”

It was then that we heard the burst of wicked laughter behind us. The hair on my back and neck stood straight up.

“Drover, was that you laughing?”

“N-n-no.”

“And it wasn’t me. Do you see what this means?”

Then came the eerie voice from the darkness. “Hi, fellas. Out for a little stroll? I guess you thought I was gone, huh? Well, darn the luck. I came back.”

“Drover, we have a problem. And I hear water running.”

“It’s me. I want to go home!”

“Back to the porch, son. Go to Turbo Five and don’t speak to any strangers. Let’s hit it!”

I went to Full Flames and Turbo Five on all engines and . . . BONK! . . . ran into something big and hairy. I bounced off it and went streaking through the darkness and didn’t slow down until I had made it to the safety of the front porch.

There, I went straight into a Code Three Barking Sequence. Have we discussed the CTBS? Maybe not. Big barks, massive barks. Barks that echo through the night, barks that are calculated to alert the house and call our human friends to the rescue.

This was no time for timid barks, fellers. We had to sound the alarm and let Slim know that Bruiser was back and on the prowl, and if Slim didn’t get himself out of bed and hurry up . . .

The front door opened, thank goodness, and there stood Slim in his . . . yipes . . . in his shorts, with hair falling into his puffy eyes and a ferocious expression on his face. He pushed open the screen door and leveled a finger at the end of my nose.

“Hank, if you’ll shut up your dadgum barking, I’ll try not to do what I’m thinking of doing. You hear?”

Yes sir, but . . .

“Now go to sleep. First you trash my house with your hair, then you wake me up with all that frazzling noise.”

He slammed the door. Silence moved over us like a dark cloud of smoke. I could hear Drover’s clacking teeth beside me. And then . . . Bruiser’s heavy footsteps were moving up the walk and toward the porch!

There was just a glimmer of moonlight, enough so that I could make out the profile of . . . good grief, that was a huge rottweiler, as big as a bear! Did I dare activate the Code Three Barking Sequence again?

My mind was racing. We were trapped between Slim’s irritation and Bruiser’s massive presence. I had to choose my poison. I chose to face Slim’s irritation. I had faced it before, and I knew that no matter how mad he got at us dogs, he would never eat us.

With Bruiser, I wasn’t so sure.

I launched myself into another barrage of massive barking. “Slim, help, get out of bed, he’s back, Bruiser’s back, the raging rottweiler’s out here in your front yard, so could you please . . .”

It worked. At last my barking got his attention and convinced him that we were in a desperate situation. It had taken him long enough, but . . . oh well. Better late than tardy.

The door opened. My confidence came rushing back when I heard his foot land on the porch. A sneer worked its way across my mouth, and I turned myself to face the darkened yard, in which I knew Bruiser was lurking, even though I couldn’t actually see him.

And you might find this hard to believe, but I was feeling so good about this that I decided it was time to send a warning to Mister Rottweiler.

“Okay, potlicker, I can now reveal that you’ve walked right into our trap. Surprised? Ha. What a dumbbell you turned out to be. Did you think you could just walk onto my ranch without permission and get away with it? It’s called trespassing, and you’re now in big . . .”

SPLOSH!

You won’t believe what happened.