Dogs Read Online Free PDF

away to see stuff like that.
    The face disappears. I stare till I see double. The face swims back into view.
    This is too weird. I close my eyes and try to clear my head by thinking about the bus and the Cheerios between Benjie’s teeth. When I open my eyes, everything’s normal. There’s no face. Nothing. Just the night.
    And that’s how it stays.
    I close my curtains, get ready for bed, and crawl under the covers. I hate the way I scare myself. It’s always the same and it’s always stupid. And the scared-er I get, the more I talk to myself, which is even stupider.
    Besides, even if there was a boy in the barn, what’s scary about that? Maybe he just likes exploring places like I do. Still, it’s weird he’s on our property, especially so late. I wonder where he lives.
    Who says he lives anywhere? Who says he’s real? What parents let a kid that young wander around at night?
    Mom knocks on my door. “Cameron?”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œMay I come in?”
    â€œSure.”
    I know she wants to give me a good-night hug, but I told her to stop it when I was twelve, so she just stands in the doorway. “I know you didn’t mean anything. You’ve had a hard day. I’m sorry I overreacted.”
    I hate it when she’s all understanding. It makes me feel like an even bigger jerk. “That’s okay. Mom, I really am sorry.”
    â€œI know.” She pauses. “’Night, then. I love you.”
    I want to say the l-word back, but I feel dumb, so I just say, “You too.”
    Mom closes the door. I go to turn off my lamp and get flashes of Mr. Sinclair and the dogs and the kid I maybe saw in the barn. What’s out there in the dark, circling the house when we’re asleep? What could be out there?
    I leave the light on.

8
    Thursday is pretty much like Wednesday. I get on the bus and I take my place near the back, Cody’s gang barking me down the aisle. A few minutes later, Benjie gets on and it’s Oink City. I offer him a Tic Tac for his egg breath, but he doesn’t take the hint. At lunch I hole up in the can and worry about everything. Then school’s out and I’m back on the bus. I get off at the end of my lane.
    It’s cold and cloudy. The breeze makes it sound as if the cornfields are whispering. I kick a stone up the lane. Past the stalks, I see Mr. Sinclair’s truck poking out from behind the house. He must be clearing the rest of the garbage.
    I don’t exactly feel like being alone with him again, so I slip into the cornfield and follow the rows along the yard and down the side of the house till I reach the rail fence by the barn. I’m totally hidden, but I can see out between the stalks like a spy.
    The shed door at the back of the house swings open. Mr. Sinclair comes out with some boxes. He carries them to his pickup, tosses them on the cargo bed, and goes back inside.
    Corn tassels tickle my nose; leaves wave in front of my face. I need a better lookout. I glance at the barn. That hole up where I thought I saw the kid would be perfect. I break from the field, hop the fence, and sprint to the barn. It’s dark inside except for a few shafts of light from the cracks between the boards. There are wooden stairs ahead on a concrete pad set on the dirt floor. I can also make out cow stalls.
    I climb to the hayloft, testing each step in case it’s loose or rotten. It’s empty except for an overturned pail and the birds lining the rafters. Where there’s birds, there’s bird crap. Guess I won’t be sitting down.
    I crouch by the hole. There’s no sign of Mr. Sinclair. He must still be inside. I glance at my bedroom window. If my curtains were open, I could see right in. I picture night stalkers lurking around up here, watching me.
    The curtains move. Mr. Sinclair’s the only one in the house. What’s he doing in my room?
    Mr. Sinclair comes out of the shed with two