Free Puppy Fat by Morris Gleitzman Page A

to the fish and chips in his stomach.
    Don’t panic.
    Stay where you are.
    This is just the normal musty smell of a house that’s been shut up for a bit.
    It is not, repeat not, the smell of rotting flesh hanging off the putrid and decomposing body of a ghost.
    â€˜I still can’t hear anything,’ said Tracy.
    Keith listened.
    She was right.
    The wailing had stopped.
    â€˜He’s probably just having a rest: whispered Keith. ‘You probably get out of breath easily when you’re dead.’
    Tracy took the torch and shone it around.
    A ghostly white shape loomed over them.
    Keith flinched.
    But it wasn’t Mr Mellish, it was the water heater above the kitchen sink.
    â€˜Look,’ whispered Keith as the torchlight shone on a pile of mould-covered plates. ‘Vegetable scraps. Meat scraps. Bread scraps. He obviously didn’t die of a bad diet.’
    Keith took the torch and shone it into the cupboards.
    â€˜No empty bottles,’ he added, ‘so it couldn’t have been drink.’
    He shone the torch around the kitchen.
    â€˜And no microwave,’ he concluded, ‘so it wasn’t a radiation leak.’
    He shone the torch on Tracy.
    â€˜Looks like it was loneliness alright,’ he said sadly.
    â€˜Or his heart going bung,’ said Tracy. ‘Or cancer. Or him choking on a vegie. Or . . .’
    Tracy stopped.
    She listened intently.
    Keith could hear it too.
    The mournful wail.
    â€˜See,’ whispered Keith, heart pounding, ‘he’s telling us it was loneliness and we’ve got to save Mum and Dad from the same fate. Satisfied? OK, let’s go home now.’
    He tried to steer Tracy towards the back door, but she took the torch and pulled away from him.
    â€˜Let’s have a squiz,’ she said and moved off into the darkness towards the wail.
    â€˜Wait,’ said Keith, following her down a narrow hallway, ‘he might not want to meet us in person.’
    A stairway loomed up to his left.
    â€˜It’s coming from upstairs,’ said Tracy. ‘Come on.’
    Keith felt sick.
    Nice one, he thought as he went after her up the stairs, forty million best mates in the world and I get the maniac cane-toad hunter with the guts of steel.
    Still, he told himself as they crept along the landing towards the open door the wail was coming through, that’s probably just as well. Because when we see what’s in that bedroom I’ve only got fish and chips to keep down, but she’s got corned beef, apricot halves and baked beans.
    As they slowly poked their heads round the door, Tracy gripped his arm.
    She was shaking just as much as him.
    He hoped that when they’d finished screaming she wouldn’t be too exhausted to run for it.
    The torch lit up the room.
    Keith opened his mouth to yell.
    But he didn’t.
    Because in the neat little bedroom with its neat little bed there wasn’t a ghost to be seen.
    Just a small thin shivering wailing black and grey dog.

11
    Keith and Tracy and the dog were all still shivering when they got back to Mum’s place.
    â€˜Hope it hasn’t caught a chill in the night air,’ said Keith, anxiously peeking inside his jacket for signs of a runny nose.
    The dog peered out at him with mournful eyes.
    Keith could feel its ribs quivering against his own.
    â€˜Dogs are pretty tough,’ said Tracy. ‘Buster shut himself in the freezer once and we didn’t find him for twenty minutes. Would have been longer except we heard him coughing up frozen peas.’
    Keith stroked the dog’s head.
    â€˜You’re probably right,’ he said. ‘It’s probably just suffering from overexcitement like us.’
    â€˜That and not having anything to eat or drink for nine days,’ said Tracy.
    They all had some warm milk, and then the dog had some more.
    And some more.
    And some more.
    By the time it had finished its fourth bowl they’d all stopped