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Authors: R. L. Stine
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Josh’s light swept over the ground.
“Petey!”
There he was, standing between the nearest row of low stone grave markers. I turned happily to Josh. “I don’t believe it!” I cried. “You were right!”
“Petey! Petey!” Josh and I both started running toward our dog.
But Petey arched back on his hind legs as if he were getting ready to run away. He stared at us, his eyes red as jewels in the light of the flashlight.
“Petey! We found you!” I cried.
The dog lowered his head and started to trot away.
“Petey! Hey — come back! Don’t you recognize us?”
With a burst of speed, Josh caught up with him and grabbed him up off the ground. “Hey, Petey, what’s the matter, fella?”
As I hurried over, Josh dropped Petey back to the ground and stepped back. “Ooh — he stinks!”
“What?” I cried.
“Petey — he stinks. He smells like a dead rat!” Josh held his nose.
Petey started to walk slowly away.
“Josh, he isn’t glad to see us,” I wailed. “He doesn’t even seem to recognize us. Look at him!”
It was true. Petey walked to the next row of gravestones, then turned and glared at us.
I suddenly felt sick. What had happened to Petey? Why was he acting so differently? Why wasn’t he glad to see us?
“I don’t get it,” Josh said, still making a face from the odor the dog gave off. “Usually, if we leave the room for thirty seconds, he goes nuts when we come back.”
“We’d better go!” Ray called. He was still at the edge of the cemetery near the leaning tree.
“Petey — what’s wrong with you?” I called to the dog. He didn’t respond. “Don’t you remember your name? Petey? Petey?”
“Yuck! What a stink!” Josh exclaimed.
“We’ve got to get him home and give him a bath,” I said. My voice was shaking. I felt really sad. And frightened.
“Maybe this isn’t Petey,” Josh said thoughtfully. The dog’s eyes again glared red in the beam of light.
“It’s him, all right,” I said quietly. “Look. He’s dragging the leash. Go get him, Josh — and let’s go home.”
“You
get him!” Josh cried. “He smells too bad!”
“Just grab his leash. You don’t have to pick him up,” he said.
“No.
You.”
Josh was being stubborn again. I could see that I had no choice. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll get him. But I’ll need the light.” I grabbed the flashlight from Josh’s hand and started to run toward Petey.
“Sit, Petey. Sit!” I ordered. It was the only command Petey ever obeyed.
But he didn’t obey it this time. Instead, he turned and trotted away, holding his head down low.
“Petey — stop! Petey, come on!” I yelled, exasperated. “Don’t make me chase you.”
“Don’t let him get away!” Josh yelled, running up behind me.
I moved the flashlight from side to side along the ground. “Where is he?”
“Petey! Petey!” Josh called, sounding shrill and desperate.
I couldn’t see him.
“Oh, no. Don’t tell me we’ve lost him again!” I said.
We both started to call him. “What’s
wrong
with that mutt?” I cried.
I moved the beam of light down one long row of gravestones, then, moving quickly, down the next. No sign of him. We both kept calling his name.
And then the circle of light came to rest on the front of the granite tombstone.
Reading the name on the stone, I stopped short.
And gasped.
“Josh — look!” I grabbed Josh’s sleeve. I held on tight.
“Huh? What’s wrong?” His face filled with confusion.
“Look! The name on the gravestone.”
It was Karen Somerset.
Josh read the name. He stared at me, still confused.
“That’s my new friend, Karen. The one I talk to on the playground every day,” I said.
“Huh? It must be her grandmother or something,” Josh said, and then added impatiently, “Come on. Look for Petey.”
“No. Look at the dates,” I said to him.
We both read the dates under Karen Somerset’s name. 1977–1989.
“It can’t be her mother or grandmother,” I said,
“Petey!”
There he was, standing between the nearest row of low stone grave markers. I turned happily to Josh. “I don’t believe it!” I cried. “You were right!”
“Petey! Petey!” Josh and I both started running toward our dog.
But Petey arched back on his hind legs as if he were getting ready to run away. He stared at us, his eyes red as jewels in the light of the flashlight.
“Petey! We found you!” I cried.
The dog lowered his head and started to trot away.
“Petey! Hey — come back! Don’t you recognize us?”
With a burst of speed, Josh caught up with him and grabbed him up off the ground. “Hey, Petey, what’s the matter, fella?”
As I hurried over, Josh dropped Petey back to the ground and stepped back. “Ooh — he stinks!”
“What?” I cried.
“Petey — he stinks. He smells like a dead rat!” Josh held his nose.
Petey started to walk slowly away.
“Josh, he isn’t glad to see us,” I wailed. “He doesn’t even seem to recognize us. Look at him!”
It was true. Petey walked to the next row of gravestones, then turned and glared at us.
I suddenly felt sick. What had happened to Petey? Why was he acting so differently? Why wasn’t he glad to see us?
“I don’t get it,” Josh said, still making a face from the odor the dog gave off. “Usually, if we leave the room for thirty seconds, he goes nuts when we come back.”
“We’d better go!” Ray called. He was still at the edge of the cemetery near the leaning tree.
“Petey — what’s wrong with you?” I called to the dog. He didn’t respond. “Don’t you remember your name? Petey? Petey?”
“Yuck! What a stink!” Josh exclaimed.
“We’ve got to get him home and give him a bath,” I said. My voice was shaking. I felt really sad. And frightened.
“Maybe this isn’t Petey,” Josh said thoughtfully. The dog’s eyes again glared red in the beam of light.
“It’s him, all right,” I said quietly. “Look. He’s dragging the leash. Go get him, Josh — and let’s go home.”
“You
get him!” Josh cried. “He smells too bad!”
“Just grab his leash. You don’t have to pick him up,” he said.
“No.
You.”
Josh was being stubborn again. I could see that I had no choice. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll get him. But I’ll need the light.” I grabbed the flashlight from Josh’s hand and started to run toward Petey.
“Sit, Petey. Sit!” I ordered. It was the only command Petey ever obeyed.
But he didn’t obey it this time. Instead, he turned and trotted away, holding his head down low.
“Petey — stop! Petey, come on!” I yelled, exasperated. “Don’t make me chase you.”
“Don’t let him get away!” Josh yelled, running up behind me.
I moved the flashlight from side to side along the ground. “Where is he?”
“Petey! Petey!” Josh called, sounding shrill and desperate.
I couldn’t see him.
“Oh, no. Don’t tell me we’ve lost him again!” I said.
We both started to call him. “What’s
wrong
with that mutt?” I cried.
I moved the beam of light down one long row of gravestones, then, moving quickly, down the next. No sign of him. We both kept calling his name.
And then the circle of light came to rest on the front of the granite tombstone.
Reading the name on the stone, I stopped short.
And gasped.
“Josh — look!” I grabbed Josh’s sleeve. I held on tight.
“Huh? What’s wrong?” His face filled with confusion.
“Look! The name on the gravestone.”
It was Karen Somerset.
Josh read the name. He stared at me, still confused.
“That’s my new friend, Karen. The one I talk to on the playground every day,” I said.
“Huh? It must be her grandmother or something,” Josh said, and then added impatiently, “Come on. Look for Petey.”
“No. Look at the dates,” I said to him.
We both read the dates under Karen Somerset’s name. 1977–1989.
“It can’t be her mother or grandmother,” I said,
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