Good Dog by Dan Gemeinhart

Author:Dan Gemeinhart [Gemeinhart, Dan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.
Published: 2018-05-05T04:00:00+00:00

Brodie didn’t wait. He left Tuck behind, he ran right through Patsy (ignoring her hiss), and he sprinted down the hall.

Aiden! Aiden! Aiden! his heart sang.

He rounded the corner into the living room, his tail already in full wag, his bloodless heart bursting with joy.

But his paws stopped quick. And his tail stuck straight. And the hair on his back rose instantly into angry, ready spikes. And his lip pulled back so that the ghost of his teeth could shine white in the shadowy, cluttered room.

Because it wasn’t Aiden’s feet stomping in the door. And it wasn’t Aiden standing in front of him.

It was him.

Big and burly and sour-faced. Shirt untucked, face unshaven.

Aiden’s dad.

The monster.

He was there. And his fists were there. And his scuffed, rock-toed boots were there. And his glowering eyes were there. And his shouting mouth was there, shut silent but there in a tight angry line.

He slammed the door and sniffed loudly.

He looked right at Brodie.

And Brodie? Well, Brodie had years of practice with that monster. And when that man looked at him, Brodie cowered and backed away with his ears down and his tail tucked. It didn’t matter that he was dead, didn’t matter that the man’s eyes and fists and feet would pass right through him without seeing or hurting him. Even ghosts can be scared of monsters, if they’ve been given enough reasons.

But the monster’s eyes just slid past him, unfocused. He dropped a greasy brown paper bag on the coffee table in front of the couch and walked right through Brodie.

Brodie shuddered as the monster passed through him, too frozen with fear to move out of the way.

The monster shivered, too. He paused and cleared his throat, looked around for a second. Then he kept walking into the kitchen. There was the squeak of the fridge door, and the click-pop of a can being opened.

Brodie stepped out of his path as Aiden’s dad walked back into the room and sat down on the couch, a can of beer in his hand. He turned on the TV and dug a hamburger out of the brown bag.

Brodie stood paralyzed, watching him. The monster chewed loudly, his mouth open. He already had a smear of ketchup on his chin.

Patsy and Tuck walked in from the hallway.

“Who’s that guy?” Patsy asked, her voice low.

“I smell french fries,” Tuck whispered.

“That’s his dad,” Brodie said. “Aiden’s, I mean. He’s … he’s …”

There were too many memories choking Brodie’s mind, too many pictures and sounds and feelings. And when he looked at Aiden’s dad, the memories were all bad.

Bruises and bellows. Tempers and tears. Fists and fighting. Slaps and sobs.

And then it was right there. The memory. The one that had lurked and growled at the edges of his memory. The one that had haunted him and brought him back to this dark world with his soul glowing around him.

It was his last memory.

It had been nighttime. The sun had just gone down. Aiden and Brodie had been at the park, playing in the snow.

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