The Ghost of Popcorn Hill Read Online Free PDF

through the window and landed in the middle of the bedroom.
    Martin watched the big dog explore the room. Each time he passed the window, moonlight shone through him.
    I don’t know if I can do this! Martin thought in a panic. One ghost was bad enough. Two would be even scarier. But then he remembered how sorry he’d felt for Tom Buffle. Tom wanted a friend, and the sheepdog wanted one too. Otherwise the dog wouldn’t be here, pacing around their bedroom in the middle of the night.
    He took a deep breath and started the next step of the plan. It was simple. He was going to tell a story, the saddest story he could think of. If he made it sad enough, Tom Buffle might come to cheer them up.
    â€œOnce upon a time,” he began in a shaky voice, “two boys were left all alone in a cabin in the woods.”
    The sheepdog wandered over to Peter’s bed and sniffed his pillow.
    â€œCry!” Martin whispered. “This is supposed to be a sad story.” Then he realized he didn’t have to tell his brother what to do. Peter was already crying, because of the dog, not because of the story.
    Martin started again. “So these two boys—” He stopped. He couldn’t think of what to say next! Usually when he told a story, he put in real adventures and made-up ones, and the ideas came faster than he could say the words. But not this time. The ghost dog and Peter’s muffled sobs had dried up every thought in his head.
    â€œSo these two boys what?” Peter sniffled. The sheepdog ambled across the bedroom and rested his see-through head close to Martin’s.
    â€œI—I don’t know,” Martin groaned. His plan was falling apart, and all because he hadn’t made up the story in advance.
    The sheepdog padded to the window. He looked as if he might be going to jump out.
    â€œSo the poor boys didn’t have anything to eat!”
    Martin couldn’t believe his ears. Peter had stopped crying. In a quivery, shivery voice, he was telling the next part of the story.
    â€œIt was snowing, and they didn’t have any wood for the stove,” Peter went on. He looked fearfully into the corner where Tom Buffle had stood in the past.
    â€œAnd they didn’t have any blankets. Not even a little one.” There was another pause. Martin held his breath.
    â€œThey didn’t have anything to play with, either.” Peter began to sound desperate.
    â€œThey didn’t have any games.”
    Was that a faint, far-off “ Ho-ho-ho ”? Martin wasn’t sure.
    â€œAnd no storybooks.”
    â€œ Ho-ho-ho! ” This time there could be no doubt.
    â€œThey didn’t have a dog, either!” Peter’s voice faded to a whimper as the scarecrow figure began to appear. First came the long, narrow face, then the red suspenders, then the ragged trouser legs. A booming “ HO-HO-HO! ” brought a quick end to Peter’s story.
    â€œI can’t do it anymore,” he wailed softly and disappeared again under the covers.
    â€œThat’s a very sad story,” the ghost moaned. “Let me cheer you up.”
    Martin had almost forgotten the ghost dog, but now a movement at the window caught his eye. The sheepdog had whirled around and was staring into the corner. He seemed to hesitate, and then with a great bound he crossed the room and threw himself against Tom Buffle’s chest.

    For a moment the two ghosts disappeared entirely. Martin sank back on his pillow in despair. But then they returned, glimmering and shimmering more brightly than ever. Tom Buffle hugged the sheepdog as if he’d never let him go.
    â€œBuster!” he shouted, and this time there wasn’t a trace of a moan in his voice. “Buster, is it really you?”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
    â€œA Great Dog!”
    â€œBuster,” Martin repeated. “Is that his name?”
    â€œSure is.” The sheepdog put his paws on Tom Buffle’s shoulders and licked