The doorbell rang again, several times in succession. Whoever was out there didn't have much patience.
I have strict instructions never to open the door when I'm home alone unless I'm positive it's someone I know, so even if the collie's ghost hadn't come, I would have been cautious. There's a peephole in the door, and I looked through it.
A chill rippled down my arms. Mean Man stood on my front step!
He rang the bell again. I sat down on the floor with my back to the door and gathered Ra into my arms, hoping he wouldn't bark. If we stayed next to the door, Mean Man couldn't see us, even if he looked in the window. The collie stood beside us, staring at the door as if she could see right through it.
Mean Man pounded on the door with his fist. “Open up! ” he hollered. “I know you're in there; I can hear the TV.”
At the sound of Mean Man's voice, the hair stood up along the back of Ra's neck. He stared at the door and growled a low, throaty growl.
I leaned over him so his head was up against my chest. “Shh!” I whispered into one ear as I stroked his head.
The ghost leaned forward and head-butted Ra. Ra quit growling.
I shivered, feeling cold clear into my bones. Was it the collie's icy aura? Or was it my own fear?
Clunk !
I jumped at the sudden sharp noise. It sounded as if the man had kicked the door!
I wondered if I should stay where I was or if I should run to the phone and dial 911. Was Mean Man capable of kicking the door down? I was afraid if I let go of Ra he would bark, and Mean Man would know for sure Ra was here, so I sat still, holding Ra close and bracing myself for another clunk.
It didn't come. Instead, I heard footsteps stomp across the porch. Then a car engine started. I crawled to the front window and carefully peeked out. The old blue clunker pulled away from the curb in front of my house.
I reached down to pet Ra, who had followed me to the window. As I did so, I realized the ghost dog was gone. She had come to warn me about Mean Man and now that the danger was over, she had left.
My hands shook as I clicked off the ball game. How had he found us? He must have seen our license plate number when we left his house.
I opened the door and looked out, in case he had left a note, but there was nothing.
He'll be back
, I thought.
Now that he knows where we live, he'll be back.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I
called Andrew. “Mean Man was here,” I said. “He came to my house.”
“What did he say?”
“I didn't talk to him. Mom's not home, so I didn't open the door. I saw him through the peephole. He pounded on the door awhile, and kicked at it, and then he left.”
“Oh, man,” Andrew said. “This is not good.”
“No,” I said. “It isn't.”
“Do you want me to tell my parents? Should we come over there?”
I knew what Andrew really meant was that if I was scared to be alone, they would keep me company.
“Mom said she wouldn't be late. By the time you could get here, she'll probably be home. Besides, what can you do here?”
“Hold your hand? ” Andrew said. “Help you be a fervently fearless fellow?”
“I'm okay,” I said. “Ra's inside with me. Mom let me bring him in because she had to go to a meeting.” I decided not to mention that the collie's ghost had tried to keep me away from the door. I knew it bothered Andrew that I could see the ghost dog and he couldn't, so why bring it up?
“What did Ra do?” Andrew asked. “Did he bark? Did the man hear him?”
“Ra stayed by me but he didn't bark.”
“Maybe he couldn't smell the man through the solid door.”
“Ra knew who was out there, all right. He growled when the man yelled for me to open the door.”
“Maybe he was too smart to bark and let the man know he was there.”
“I held his head up against me to muffle the growling, and I petted him to keep him quiet.” Talking about it made me feel better, and I started to relax. “I was a bodaciously brave boy,” I said.
“The man must have traced your mom's license plate number. You can do it online for a fee.”
“Don't say anything to your parents.”
“You're going to tell your mom, aren't you? If he came once, he'll probably come again, so she needs to know.”
“I'll tell her, but not tonight. I want to wait until she's talked to the animal control person. If I tell her now, she'll be spooked. I don't want her to give up Ra without a fight just because she's scared of Mean Man.”
“Write down exactly what happened, with the day and time, in that journal you keep about Ra,” Andrew said. “If there's more trouble with Mean Man down the road, you need a record of when he was there.”
“I will.”
“And, Rusty?”
“What?”
“Be careful.”
After I hung up, I felt restless. I left the TV off; the ball game no longer interested me.
I took Ra up to my bedroom and we sat on the floor together while I paged through an old comic book. Somehow I felt safer upstairs.
I opened the Ra folder on my computer, created a new document, “Mean Man,” and wrote down the date and time that he had pounded on the door. I remembered what Andrew had said about more trouble with Mean Man down the road. I was pretty sure Andrew was right.
I decided to go to bed early. If I was asleep, or pretending to be asleep, when Mom got home, I wouldn't have to talk to her. It's uncanny sometimes how she can tell when something is bothering me even if I don't say a word. Mean Man's unexpected visit had rattled me and I didn't want to take a chance that Mom would pick up on my nervousness and start asking questions.
I needed to take Ra for his walk before I went to bed. For the first time since I'd brought him home, I didn't want to put the leash on Ra and take him outside. What if Mean Man was parked down the street, waiting for us?
I went downstairs and looked out the window again. The street lamp in front of our house threw a pool of soft light onto the dark sidewalk. I didn't see Mean Man's car. I went into the kitchen and looked out that window, too. Then I snapped the leash on Ra's collar, grabbed a plastic bag and a flashlight, and led him out the door.
I took him into the trees around our fort. He was used to being walked there and we wouldn't be visible to anyone driving past. Even so, I kept listening for a car or, worse, footsteps. When the wind rustled the pine needles, I tensed and swung my flashlight in an arc behind me.
When Ra was finished, I led him back toward home. We were almost there, just beyond the circle of light from the street lamp, when a car drove down the street toward us. I froze as I watched it approach.
Andrew and I used to play a game on summer nights called Carlight Kill. Whoever saw the approaching lights of a car first yelled “Carlight Kill!” and the other person had to freeze in whatever position they were in and stay motionless until the car drove past. We had fits of laughter when we were stuck in an awkward stance. I wasn't laughing now.
Ra sniffed the grass, not paying any attention to my fear. The car slowed as it came closer, and my heart beat faster, but my feet stayed glued to the sidewalk. Because I was looking into the headlights, I couldn't tell what sort of vehicle it was.
It continued past me and when the lights were no longer in my eyes, I recognized my neighbor Mr. Conway. He waved as he turned into the driveway across the street.
Back inside, I gave Ra a dog biscuit, showed him the water bowl again, and then went upstairs to bed. I made Ra stay on the rug beside my bed because I knew Mom would check on me when she came home.
By the time she did, my light was out. I heard her pause outside my door. She turned the knob and cracked the door open. Ra's tail thumped on the rug. I took deep breaths, pretending to be asleep.
As soon as Mom closed the door, I patted the bed beside me. “It's okay now, Ra,” I whispered. “Come on, boy.”
I felt safer with Ra stretched out next to me. I lay on my side, with one arm around him. As I inhaled his doggy smell, I hoped with all my heart that this would not be the only night I ever got to sleep with him.
At school the next day, Mrs. Webster handed out copies of the instructions for how to knit cat blankets. “If anyone wants to make these,” she said, “you can bring them to me and I'll take them to the Humane Society cats.”
For language arts we were supposed to write how we felt about helping the puppy mill dogs. Usually during writing time there's a lot of pencil sharpening and paper rustling and shifting about because some kids don't know what to say. That day, everyone settled down to write. It's easier to write when you have deep feelings about the topic, and all of us had come to care about those rescued dogs. Even Gerald wrote a paragraph without looking at someone else's paper first.
Â
After school, I noticed the light blinking on the answering machine at home. We had two messages. While I bit into a piece of cold pizza, I pushed the
play
button to listen to the messages. The first was Mom's dentist's office, reminding her that she had an appointment next week.
The second one was Mean Man. “You have my watchdog,” he said, “and I want him back.” That was all. No phone number, no name, just, “You have my watchdog and I want him back.”
The pizza no longer tasted good. I rewrapped it and put it in the fridge.
When Andrew got there, I played the message for him.
“I either have to erase this,” I said, “or I'll have to tell Mom before she listens to it that Mean Man was here last night.”
“Don't erase it,” Andrew said. “You might want it as evidence.”
“What? Do you think we're going to end up in court over Ra?”
“I only know this guy is not a good person, and you need to keep track of anything he says or does. Maybe you should put a new tape in the machine and save this one.”
“I don't have another tape.”
“It's interesting,” Andrew said, “that he refers to Ra as his watchdog. Most people would say âYou have my dog.' It tells you why Mean Man got a dogânot because he wanted a companion, but because he wanted a guard for his property.”
“What's to guard?” I asked. “The place is a dump.”
Â
We played with Ra, but it was not as much fun as usual because we both kept watching and listening for any sign of Mean Man. When Andrew left, I took Ra in the house with me. I did my homework and he lay on the floor with his head on my left shoe.
As soon as Mom came home I asked if she had talked to the person in animal control. “Yes,” she said, “and it was interesting. She said she's had another complaint for that address. The owner's name is Myers. The animal control officer went there and found the black puppy chained up with no food, water, or shelter.”
“Did you tell her about Ra?”
“Yes. She will investigate the owner for animal negligence but she needs to collect more evidence. We're going to have Ra examined by a veterinarian tomorrow.”
“He came here last night,” I said.
“Who?” Mom dropped her purse on the table and stared at me. “Who came here?”
“The man we saw when we were going to return Ra. He knocked on the door last night while you were at your meeting. I looked through the peephole and saw who it was, so I didn't open the door. Before he left, he yelled and kicked the door.”
“Russell Edward Larson! ” I knew I was in hot water when Mom used my full name. “Why didn't you tell me this last night?”
“I was asleep when you got home.”
Mom gave me her fishy look, the one that means she does not believe my story for one minute.
“You could have told me this morning.”
“We were both in a hurry this morning.”
“That's no excuse, and you know it.”
I figured I might as well tell her the rest. “He left a message on the answering machine today,” I said.
She walked to the kitchen desk where the answering machine sits and punched the
play
button. While the dentist's receptionist gave her reminder, Mom hit
erase.
Then Mean Man's voice filled the kitchen: “You have my watchdog and I want him back.”
Mom closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She replayed the message and wrote it down.
I waited.
She did not erase his message. She took a piece of paper out of her wallet and dialed the number she'd written on it. I could tell she was listening to a voice-mail recording before she left her message. “This is Pat Larson. I talked to you earlier about the neglected dog on Woodson Street and the dog that my son took from that address. Rusty just told me that the dog's owner came to our house last night, demanding that we give his dog back. He also left a message on my answering machine today. Please call me when you get this message.” Mom gave our phone number, then hung up.
“What's going to happen?” I asked.
“I don't know. It will depend on what the animal control officer says. Her name is Heidi Kellogg, and she was angry at finding the Lab puppy with no water or shelter. I think she'll pursue this.”
“Heidi Kellogg? I talked to her when I first started feeding Ra. I called to report that Ra was neglected and Ms. Kellogg told me I needed proof. She said to call back when I had documented the situation.”
“So you did try to go through proper channels,” Mom said. “You didn't just jump in and take the dog.”
I'd forgotten to tell her about that phone call, probably because I was embarrassed that I'd made it without having an address.