Free The Haunting Hour by R.L. Stine Page B

it.
    â€œIs it a stray?” Artie asked. “Do you think someone let it loose on the highway?”
    I glanced back and saw Mom and Dad standing beside the open car doors, watching us, hands on their hips.
    â€œGood dog! Good dog!” Artie called softly, bending down.
    The big collie’s thick fur was all tangled. It lowered its head, nuzzled Artie’s hand, and began to lick it. I petted the dog’s back.
    Dogs love Artie and me, and we love dogs.
    Mom says we have a special relationship with dogs because we’re almost as smart as they are. That’s supposed to be a joke.
    But Artie and I take dogs very seriously. They are wonderful, loving animals. And they need people like Artie and me to take care of them.
    This wasn’t the first time my brother and I had made Dad stop the car because we saw a dog running loose on the road. Once we saw a cute little terrier get run over by a van. We had nightmares about that for weeks. I never forgot the terrible squeal the dog let out when the tires rolled over its back.
    I brushed back the collie’s fur and searched for a collar. No. No collar or ID tags or anything.
    The collie had the biggest brown eyes I had ever seen. “Who would let a beauty like this loose?” I said, rubbing its ears.
    Cars whirred past. Artie and I carefully led the dog away from the highway.
    â€œNot again,” Dad sighed when we reached the car. “Do we have to return him to his owner?”
    â€œWe can’t,” I said. “No tag. He’ll have to come with us.”
    â€œNo room!” Mom exclaimed. “One of you will have to run alongside the car!”
    â€œI will!” Artie volunteered, raising his hand.
    A blue pickup truck bounced up onto the grass and came to a stop behind our car. A young man with long, stringy hair and a thickstubble of beard stuck his head out of the driver’s window.
    â€œHey, Fletch!” he shouted, waving at the dog. “Fletch—get back in here! Bad dog!”
    The collie burst out of Artie’s hands, flew over the tall grass, its tail wagging furiously, and eagerly leaped into the back of the truck.
    The young man turned to us. “Thanks!” he called, flashing us a thumbs-up. “That dog is always trying to give me a scare.”
    He gunned the engine, and the truck skidded back onto the highway as Artie and I waved good-bye.
    Â 
    We stopped for dinner at a restaurant called The Barbecue Barn. Artie and I were starving. We were putting away the barbecued chicken and mashed potatoes. I glanced up and noticed that Mom and Dad still had full plates.
    â€œWe’re just not very hungry,” Mom said.
    They were both quiet too, I realized. Artie and I kept trying to guess where we were going. “Just give us a hint!” we begged. But they wouldn’t play along.
    They kept glancing at each other. Once I saw Dad squeeze Mom’s hand under the table. He let it go when he saw me watching.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with you two?” I asked.
    Dad shrugged. “Nothing. Tired from the long drive.”
    â€œHave some of those collard greens,” Mom urged. “We don’t have those back home.”
    Artie stared down at the pile of greens on his plate and made a face. “Yuck. It looks disgusting.”
    â€œGo ahead. Taste it,” Dad said. “You have to be brave.”
    â€œYes. Brave,” Mom repeated. And suddenly, I saw that she had tears running down her cheeks. “You both have to be brave.”
    â€œMom? What’s wrong?” I asked.
    But she spun away, wiping the tears off her face.
    I turned to Dad. He shrugged. “Finish your dinner,” he said. “We’ve got miles to go before we stop for the night.”
    After dinner, we drove west, into the setting sun. Red sunlight covered our windshield. Then suddenly, we were rolling through a heavy, dreamlike darkness.
    I must have fallen asleep. I let out a sharp cry as a