Danger Where It Walks

By Pamela Love

Yesterday, Albert Cook offered me a ride home from school. Thanking him, I scrambled into his Pa’s wagon. We talked of that day’s ball game and spelling bee.

Finally, he asked, “Ever see a ghost around your place, Pete?”

I shook my head. “Nope. My grandfolks died there last month, but they’re lying peaceable in the graveyard.” They’d left Ma their farm, so my family had moved here.

Albert grinned. “Want to? A ghost dog prowls Cumberland Road whenever there’s a full moon. Bigger than a bear, and black as night—except for its white teeth.” Albert bared his own. “Fangs like a jackknife.”

I leaned back against the wagon seat. “Aw, you’re making it up.”

“No, he ain’t. That ghost dog’s been around since before I was born,” said Mr. Cook, turning the horses onto Cumberland Road. “Looks live as any beast, but it’s a phantom.

“My uncle was one of the first to see it up close. Knew he couldn’t outrun it. But Uncle Hiram meant to go down fighting, so he rushed the creature. Luckily, turned out it couldn’t harm him none.” He tilted his head. “Scary, but not solid.”

“Everyone around here has seen it.” Albert jerked his thumb toward the school. “All us boys have gone up and touched it—well, good as touched, it being a ghost. Want to try it tonight, Pete?”

Mr. Cook nodded. “Tell your Pa—”

“Stepfather,” I interrupted. “Pa died five years ago. Battle of Gettysburg.”

“Sorry to hear that.” He patted my hand on the wagon seat. “Anyway, tell your family the ghost dog’s harmless. It can’t hurt people, just like we can’t hurt it. It’s been shot at plenty of times. Bullets go right through it. Stand up to it, and it fades away.”

The wagon stopped by our farm. I hopped down. “I’ll think about it. Thanks for the ride.”

Albert leaned over the wagon’s side. “Meet you there.” He pointed at the big rock marking the boundary between our farms. Then he whispered, “The phantom only comes well after nightfall.” As the wagon rolled off, I realized what he meant—that I could sneak out if I had to.

As I set the table, I told everything I’d heard about the ghost dog.

“Nonsense,” my stepfather snorted, pulling out his chair. “They’re just trying to fool you since you’re new here.”

Ma chuckled. “Oh, there’s a ghost dog, all right. I’ve seen it myself when I was young. Not up close, though. My folks wouldn’t let me. You can go tonight with Albert, Pete.”

My stepfather folded his arms. “No, Helen.”

“Why not?” Ma folded her own.

“That ghost may be harmless. But there is danger where it walks.” He turned to me. “You know why, don’t you, Peter? You heard what Mr. Cook said.”

Ma blinked. “Danger! How could—oh.” Her face turned ashy white. “How is it I’ve never thought of that? No, it isn’t safe to go near. Understand, Peter?”

For a moment I didn’t. Seeing my stepfather’s frown, I figured it out. He’s scared of that ghost. Ma doesn’t want to shame him for not being a hero like Pa. Well, I’m no coward. Let there be danger where it walks! I’ll face it anyhow. “Yes, Ma. Yes, sir,” I said. Mostly I’m obedient, so I knew they wouldn’t suspect I’d ever defy them.

My folks went to bed when the clock struck nine. Fifteen minutes later, I shinnied down the oak outside my bedroom window. The wind blew off my straw hat. I jammed it back on. The night was clear and the moon bright enough to find the rock easily. Albert handed me a snickerdoodle. “Won’t be long.”

Something was coming, its snarling growing louder, more savage. A piece of cookie fell from my mouth. “Go,” whispered Albert.

We stepped forward. The monstrous ghost bounded up the road, then sprang toward us. It roared, huge jaws ready to swallow us whole. Don’t run, I told myself. Don’t scream. Be brave, like Pa.

My heart pounding, I stretched out a trembling hand. The beast looked more wolf than dog. Its shining teeth glistened as I ran my fingers through what looked like thick, shaggy hair on its neck. But like a nightmare, nothing on it was solid.

“Watch this.” Albert shouldered me aside. He stuck his head into the creature’s horrible mouth!

Out of the corner of my eye I saw something else flash in the moonlight—a long, thin silver shape across the road. I’d seen something like it in daylight—something my father had carried to war.

There is danger where it walks. I threw myself onto Albert. As we fell through the ghost dog’s darkness, I screamed, “Don’t shoot!” as a gunshot split the night.

A bullet streaked through the phantom inches above our heads, ricocheting off the rock. “Don’t shoot!” I repeated, half-choked with fear.

“You all right?” A man ran toward us. “I didn’t see you! Please, tell me you ain’t hurt.”

By the time he reached us, the ghost had gone. Albert sat up, his chest heaving. “I’m… I’m all right. What happened?”

“Albert?” said the man. “It’s me, Frank Sherman.”

“He’s… he’s our new hired man, Pete.” Albert stood, shakily.

Mr. Sherman was weeping, his rifle hanging loosely from his hand. “I only saw the ghost. Everyone else in town had taken a shot at it. Blind luck I didn’t kill you. I’m a fool.”

Albert clapped me on the back. “Thanks, Pete.”

My knees were wobbling. “I told my folks about the ghost dog. My stepfather said, ‘There’s danger where it walks.’ I thought he feared it. But he was talking about your Pa saying people shot at it. That dog’s a target.” Grabbing my hat, I felt my finger go through the brim. “Got a hole here.”

“Wait till the boys at school see that!” said Albert, envious.

I sighed. “Wait till my folks do.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Pamela Love was born in New Jersey, and worked as a teacher and in marketing before becoming a writer. Her work has appeared in Havok, Page & Spine, and Luna Station Quarterly. She is the 2020 winner of the Magazine Merit Fiction Award for her story “The Fog Test”, which appeared in Cricket. She and her family live in Maryland.

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