Free The Haunted Mask II by R. L. Stine Page B

she replied softly. “The dog
found the box this morning and broke into it. I’m sorry, guys. But Sparky ate
them all.”

 
 
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    Mom’s words sent a cold shiver down my back. I let out a weak moan. And
stared down at Sparky.
    The dog gazed up at me and began wagging his stubby tail. As if he were
pleased with himself!
    “You’ve ruined my life, Sparky!” That’s what I felt like screaming. “You
greedy pig! Couldn’t you save me just one cookie? Now I’m doomed. Doomed to live
with this gross, frightening face forever.”
    And all because Sparky loved black-and-white cookies as much as I did.
    Still wagging his tail, Sparky ran over to me and brushed his furry, black
body against my leg. He wanted to be petted.
    Forget it, I thought. No way I’m petting you—you traitor.
    I heard Dad calling Mom from the den. “Have fun, guys,” Mom said. She waved
to Carly Beth and me and hurried off to see what Dad wanted.
    Have fun, guys?
    I’m never going to have fun again, I realized.
    Feeling weak and defeated, I turned to Carly Beth. “Now what do we do?” I
whispered.
    “Quick—pick up Sparky,” she whispered back, motioning to the dog with both
hands.
    “Huh? Do what? I’m never touching this dog again!” I croaked miserably.
    Panting hard, his tongue hanging to the floor, Sparky brushed my ankle again.
    “Pick him up!” Carly Beth insisted.
    “Why?”
    “Sparky is your symbol of love!” Carly Beth declared. “Look at him, Steve.
Look how much that dog loves you.”
    “He loves me so much, he ate all my cookies!” I wailed.
    Carly Beth frowned at me. “Forget about the cookies. Pick up the dog. Sparky
is your symbol of love. Pick him up and hold him against you. And I’ll bet the
mask will come right off.”
    “I guess it’s worth a try,” I said softly. I started to pick up the little
black terrier. My back creaked as I bent down. My aching knees cracked.
    Please work! I pleaded silently. Please let this work!
    I reached for Sparky—and he darted through my hands and ran across the
carpet toward the den.
    “Sparky—come back! Sparky!” I cried, still bent over, still reaching out
both hands.
    The dog stopped halfway across the living room and turned back.
    “Come back, Sparky!” I called in my old man’s quivering voice. “Come back,
boy! Come back to Steve!”
    His stubby tail started wagging again. He stared at me, head tilted, and
didn’t move.
    “He’s playing games with me,” I told Carly Beth. “He wants me to chase him.”
    I got down on my knees and motioned to Sparky with both hands. “Come, boy!
Come! I’m too old to chase you! Come, Sparky!”
    To my surprise, the dog let out a yip, ran back across the room, and
jumped into my arms.
    “Hug him tight, Steve,” Carly Beth urged. “Hug him tight. It’s going to work.
I know it will!”
    The little dog felt so heavy in my weak, aching arms. But I held him against
my chest. Held him tight.
    Held him as tight as I could.
    Held him for a long, long time.
    And nothing happened.

 
 
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    After about a minute, the dog got tired of being squeezed. He jumped out of
my arms, bounced over the carpet, and disappeared into the den.
    I tugged at the mask with both hands.
    But I knew I was wasting my strength. It didn’t feel any different. Nothing
had changed. The hideous face was still tightly attached to my head.
    Carly Beth put a hand gently on my shoulder. “Sorry,” she murmured. “I guess
each mask is different.”
    “You mean I need something else to get it off,” I said, shaking my
old, spider-infested head sadly.
    Carly Beth nodded. “Yes. Something else. But we don’t know what it is.”
    I uttered a helpless cry. “I’m doomed!” I wailed. “I can’t even climb up off
my knees!”
    Carly Beth slid both of her hands under my shoulders and lifted me to my
feet. I steadied myself, leaning on the cane.
    And then I had an idea.
    “The man in the cape,” I croaked. “He’ll know what I