Ghost Town by Joan Lowery Nixon Read Free Book Online Page B

Comstock's head and back should have been.
    Nothing was there.
    Gasping, Alan drew his hand back and pressed it against his chest. “You're a ghost! A ghost dog!” he whispered.
    The dog's tongue lolled from his mouth, and he panted. He even seemed to be smiling.
    “What are you doing here?” Alan asked. “Why did you follow me to the motel?”
    Faster than a snap of the fingers, Comstock vanished,only to reappear across the walkway, where Alan had first seen him.
    For a few moments Alan watched Comstock, and Comstock watched Alan.
    A warm, happy glow spread through Alan's body as he realized what Comstock wanted him to know. Alan had protected Comstock. Comstock was now prepared to protect Alan. It would be payback time— in more ways than one.
    Alan grinned. “We'll get those guys,” he said quietly. The Tigers had no idea what they were in for.
    “Maybe you could grow to be the size of an Irish wolfhound,” Alan added. “Or a horse. Or a bear. Ghosts can be any size they want. Right? You could eat each of the Tigers—one crunching bite at a time. Maybe start with Bert … no, Harley. Start with that finger he uses to poke me.”
    Comstock wagged his tail. Again he seemed to smile.
    Alan stood. “Good night, Comstock. I'll think of some more stuff before tomorrow morning when they come after me. Okay?”
    The dog's eyes never left Alan's face, and Alan was now sure he could see Comstock smiling. Tomorrow morning Comstock would be at his side when he had to face the Tigers. Comstock had come to the motel to show Alan he was there for him, hadn't he?
    Alan could hardly contain his excitement. Only he and Comstock knew that tomorrow was going to be the end of the Tigers and the beginning of Alan's real adjustment to his new school.
    As he entered his motel room and again locked the door, Alan couldn't help laughing. Finally he had a solution to his problem. The Tigers would make a good meal for Comstock, and there wouldn't be a crumb left. Everyone would wonder where and how they'd disappeared. They'd search the mountains and the mines and never find them. He—Alan—would be the only one who knew what had happened to them, and he'd never tell. And no one would ever think to blame
him
for the disappearance. Alan didn't expect to sleep much that night. There were important plans to be made.
    The moment Alan awakened the next morning, he ran to his window and opened the drapes a crack. Even though it was barely light, Comstock was sitting quietly across the walkway, waiting patiently. The dog raised his head and met Alan's eyes.
    Alan raised a hand in greeting, then let the drapes fall back. To his relief, Johnny was still asleep.
    Alan dressed and slipped out of the room and onto the walkway.
    Quietly he waited for the Tigers to come.
    He didn't have to wait long. Within fifteen minutes he saw them at the end of the block, ambling toward him. When they spotted Alan, they began to walk faster.
    “Come on, Comstock,” Alan called. He ran to the far end of the walkway and around the corner. There had to be an alley behind the motel, somewhere food for the kitchen could be unloaded. He and Comstock would be out of the way where they wouldn't be noticed.
    He was right. His heart thumping, he saw that the alley was a perfect spot. The Tigers would think they had trapped him, but they'd soon find they were the ones who were trapped. He threw one quick glance over his shoulder and saw the Tigers racing after him.
    Good! They were falling into the trap—just as they were supposed to.
    Alan ran to the stained metal Dumpster at the end of the alley and leaned against it, breathing hard. He heard the Tigers pound into the alley and stop. He turned to face them.
    Harley taunted, “There he is now, and no way out.”
    Alan raised his head and let out a piercing whistle.
    “What are you doing?” Red stared at him suspiciously.
    Alan leaned against the Dumpster. “Calling my dog,” he said.
    “Oh, sure,” Bert said. He