Hey there, it’s Shina. Unraveling Pawsburgh’s phantasmal tail, I’ve gone from glam-pup to ghostbuster. Our town’s turned topsy-turvy; friends are vanishing into thin air. But no fear, I’m on the case with Gaston and a gutsy beagle. We’re digging to the root, ready to rumble with the supernatural. Stay tuned for the bark of the brave trying to bring back our bark-tacular vibe. Paws crossed! 🐾✨ #PawsburghPhantomPuzzle

Shina 😎👻

Listen to the story here

Right out of the gate, let me tell you, Pawsburgh isn’t your everyday fire hydrant to sniff around. It’s where the threadbare tales of muddy paws and stolen steaks become the stuff of legend. I’m Shina, by the way. You might think you know me, but let me take you down the less-traveled path – all four paws of it – where the gloaming swallows the cheery hum of Terrier Town, the jolly jingle of the Emerald Eskimo Estuary, and the sunlit serenity of Cocker Courtyard.

It was a night drawn tight as a drum, the moon hanging suspiciously low, like an old gumball ready to drop. The humans were, as per norm, oblivious to the canine caper about to unfold. I’d decided to hit Pawsburgh, when my humans were steeped in dreams, thinking about Woof Waffles or maybe even Paw-lickin’ Pancakes.

As I trotted along, my hide patterned like I was ready for a black-tie gala at the snap of a finger, my ears caught a whisper – a sinister, static-laced whisper. It’s Pawsburgh alright, but tonight, it seemed each shadow had its own set of teeth. I twitched my tail nervously, moving closer to The Pooch Playhouse. That’s when the ground rumbled like a giant clearing its throat, and a howl split the air – not the boisterous kind that I’m used to, but something else entirely…

The once vibrant streets of Pawsburgh glowed an eerie green, and familiar storefronts like the Woof and Whisker Wellness Center appeared contorted, as if seen through a rain-soaked window. I could feel the cold kiss of fear on my fur, a feeling I thought I had reserved only for thunderstorms.

“Out for a midnight stroll, Shina?” a gruff voice boomed. I turned. It was Gaston the Bulldog, Pawsburgh’s self-appointed guardian of the grotesque on nights like these. Well, that’s what he fancied himself anyway, with the swagger of a prizefighter. I managed a toothy smile, but the uncertainty must have been plain as the nose on my snout.

From afar, we heard the clatter of paws, and the beagle next door, confounded by bravery or foolishness, came yipping up to us. “The dogs are disappearing, one by one, replaced by… by phantoms!”

Before I could bark out a question, a figure emerged from Cocker Courtyard, a spectral version of the Persian cat from the windowsill, bathed in that same sickly light, its purring now a ghastly moan.

Our crew – a motley pack if ever there was one – paced towards The Barking Boutique, the eerie light flickering from within. I’ll be honest, I was ready to bolt for my hill, that idyllic sanctuary overlooking the city, and just be a pitbull – an ordinary pitbull, not the hero of some doggone horror.

Gaston led the charge, and we filed in – a remarkable sight for any bored squirrel watching from the rafters. What we found, though, wasn’t our beloved haven of treats and toys. It was a hive of the ghostly versions of our dear friends.

“This is the heart, the spindle on which our town is wound,” Gaston said, his voice teeming with unusual gravitas. “Something’s turning it sour – like biting into your infernal lemon, Shina.”

Suddenly, the phantoms stopped their milling and stared, their eyes pinpricks in the darkness.

“Let me handle this,” said the beagle, his small frame trembling, but his voice surprisingly steady. “I’ve watched enough of our human’s scary movie marathons through the window to know that sometimes you just have to confront the ghost.”

With bated breath and twitching tails, we formed a circle, Gaston, the beagle, the spectral Persian – and me, Shina, with my moon-like eyes now fixed on the vanishing point of this eerie event.

So there, in the once-joyous heart of Pawsburgh’s Barking Boutique, we stood our ground. I bared my teeth, ready to bark and fight for our friends, who’d mysteriously turned into whispers of their once exuberant selves. Confronting whatever unnatural chill had gripped our town, perhaps a bit of my human’s courage had rubbed off on me – because believe me, friend, I was ready to howl.

The End.