Read Online Spotted Dog Last Seen by Jessica Scott Kerrin - Free Book Online

the stone carver copied out the words with the paper upside down and didn’t notice,” I said.
    Creelman nodded. Then he stopped nodding.
    â€œ This wasn’t my idea ,” he said.
    â€œPardon me?” I asked.
    â€œThat’s another funny epitaph in the book. It reads, This wasn’t my idea. ”
    â€œThat is funny. Famous Last Words sounds like a good book,” I admitted.
    â€œThere’s a copy in the library,” Creelman said.
    â€œMaybe I’ll sign it out,” I said, and I meant it.
    â€œOr you can borrow mine,” Creelman offered. His scowl softened.
    That caught me off guard. Was Creelman being nice?
    â€œWhy are you yawning?” he demanded, scowl returning full-force.
    â€œAm I?” I said, yawning. “I guess I’m tired.”
    â€œI’m tired, too,” Creelman said. “That’s because I’m old. What’s the matter with you?”
    â€œI didn’t get a good sleep last night.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    I shifted in my seat again. More grumbling sounds. I didn’t like where this conversation was headed.
    â€œI had a nightmare,” I admitted.
    Where was the waitress with our food?
    â€œA nightmare? What about?”
    â€œA cemetery.”
    â€œA cemetery! ” Creelman scoffed. “Don’t tell me you think there are ghosts, etcetera, at the cemetery!”
    â€œNo! It’s not like that at all,” I insisted.
    â€œGood. Because there are no ghosts, just so you know.”
    â€œI know that,” I said. I could feel my cheeks burning.
    â€œNo ghosts. No vampires. No zombies.”
    â€œYes, I know.”
    â€œNo phantoms. No ghouls. No werewolves.”
    â€œRight,” I said, but I wondered if he might change his mind after spending more time with Merrilee.
    Creelman scowled at me for a full minute while I stared at the swinging doors to the kitchen, willing the waitress to reappear.
    No luck. I looked back at Creelman.
    â€œStill. People can be haunted,” he admitted, his face softening again.
    â€œWhat do you mean? You just said there are no ghosts.”
    â€œPeople can be troubled by past events. They’re haunted because of things not resolved.”
    â€œThings not resolved?” I repeated.
    â€œHere we are,” the waitress said, doors swinging in her wake. She set down our beverages, then moved to the next table.
    I took a long drink of chocolate milk through my straw.
    Creelman was wrong. Sure, what happened to Dennis bothered me. It bothered me practically every night. But there was nothing to resolve. I knew perfectly well how that terrible story ended.
    Creelman stirred a big dollop of cream into his coffee and poured in the sugar. He set his spoon down.
    â€œSo, what’s haunting you?” he asked, raising his mug to his mouth.
    I don’t know if it was because of the friendly waitress, or the tasty smells in the cafe, or the fact that I had been caught spying on Creelman, but I felt a confession welling from deep inside. My garage door started to roll open, letting a shaft of sunlight stretch across the unswept cement floor.
    In an unexpected rush of words, I blurted, “There was an accident.”
    â€œWhen?” Creelman asked.
    â€œI was only little,” I answered.
    â€œWhat happened?”
    â€œWe were playing. Me and a friend.”
    â€œPlaying?” Creelman repeated.
    â€œMy friend had an orange rubber ball.”
    â€œI see,” Creelman said. He took a slow sip of coffee.
    And then Creelman disappeared, because in my mind’s eye, I heaved my garage door wide open and light shone into all four corners. Then I found myself back in Ferndale on the lawn at our house with the new trees, a fresh popsicle stick in my pocket and the lawnmower whining in the backyard. I described the scene.
    â€œIt’s hot out. Everyone else is inside. The ball is fun. My friend kicks it to me. I miss. I keep missing. So