Free Legend of the Ghost Dog by Elizabeth Cody Kimmel

couldn’t,” Jack said. “It’s not fair.”
    â€œWhen you put it that way, I guess it’s not,” I told him.
    We trudged quietly for a moment.
    â€œTee? Is there really a dog ghost, or did Quin make it up?”
    â€œShe didn’t make it up,” I said. “She believes there’s a dog ghost, and so do I. I guess we could be wrong, though.”
    â€œDo dogs go the same place as people when they die?” he asked.
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œIs everyone a ghost, or can they decide not to be?” he pressed.
    â€œI don’t know,” I said again.
    Another few moments passed, then Jack asked, “If there are ghosts, can they watch us all the time?”
    â€œI figure even ghosts must have better things to do than that,” I told him, forcing a cheerful note into my voice. Really, his questions were kind of giving me the creeps.
    â€œWhat if a ghost gets mad at you? What if it decides to follow you everywhere you go and never leave you alone?”
    â€œJack, that’s ridiculous,” I said, more sharply than I meant to.
    â€œIs there really a witch living out there?” he asked.
    â€œI don’t think so,” I said. “Anyway, there’s no such thing as witches.”
    I believed that. About ghosts, I was definitely not so sure.
    My little brother finally fell silent for a few moments. And then he changed the subject, thankfully.
    â€œDo you think Quin might have a popcorn maker at her house?” he asked. “And if she does, do you think she’d let us make it, and melt real butter in a saucepan like Mom does and pour it on top?”
    My stomach rumbled and my feet were like blocks of ice and I felt a sudden, gnawing craving for hot buttered popcorn.
    â€œThat would hit the spot,” I said. “Here’s hoping.”
    We had reached the top of the rise, where we paused. I looked around at the landscape, hilly with increasing undergrowth ahead to the north, back in the direction of home. Though it was late afternoon, the sun was high in the sky. Spring sunset in Nome was not until ten o’clock. It was another thing that was hard to get used to — it just threw everything off.
    In the distance, I heard a low, long, quavering howl. Jack froze, his eyes huge and his mouth open in a small frightened O. The howl came again. Henry stood up, ears pricked, his tail quivering as he listened.
    â€œIs that him, Tee? Is that the dog ghost?” Jack asked, his face tight with fear.
    â€œI think it is,” I told him truthfully.
    â€œCan we go home right now?” he pressed anxiously.
    I put my arm around my little brother.
    â€œYeah,” I told him. “We can.”
    Â 
    I stared out the window at the center of Nome as we drove down Front Street. The buildings were low and close together, most only one or two stories high. Telephone wires crisscrossed overhead, strung from tall, T-shaped telephone poles. The street was wide, and the whole town had a sort offrontier feeling to it, like we’d wandered onto the set of a Wild West movie.
    â€œThis is it,” my dad said, pulling over and parking in front of a house.
    â€œCool!” yelled Jack. “Look how close the other houses are — you could pass secret messages through the windows!”
    I got out of the car and looked at the house curiously. Quin’s home was a simple one-story wooden structure with a peaked roof. The wood siding was unpainted and looked fairly old, giving the house the weather-beaten-but-cozy look of so many of the little beach houses I’d seen when we lived on Cape Cod. An oversized mailbox by the front walk-way read, The Hendersons .
    â€œLet’s go,” Dad said.
    Jack shot up the walk ahead of us, my father and I taking a more dignified pace behind him.
    â€œLong, boring day, huh?” he asked, ruffling my hair.
    â€œNo, not at all,” I said. “It was fine. Maybe a little