Hey Dad,

Guess who just became the hero of Pawsburgh by sitting on crystals to scare off ghostly squirrels & save the doggos? Your own ‘Little slice of Angel pie’! I braved the spooky fog & even faced a canine cult. But don’t worry, it all ended with a feast in my honor (naturally). 🐾👻🦴

Licks & Wags,
Holly

*Okay, sure, I know I’m not the typical narrator for a horror story, but let me tell you, even in Pawsburgh, things can get spooky, and I’m not just talking about the prospect of a kibble shortage.*

So there I was, Holly, the English Bulldog with the encyclopedic knowledge of culinary delights, trotting down the cobblestone streets as the full moon cast eerie shadows across Dachshund Dale. You know me—I’m usually more interested in the scent of a well-aged bone than anything else—but that night, something was different. An unsettling chill whirred through the alleys that even a Pup’s Poutine extra cheese couldn’t fix.

I decided to head to Quartz Qimmiq Quarter, thinking a stroll through the crystal-lit boulevards might soothe my ruffled fur. But the further I wandered, the clearer it became that something was seriously off. I could hear the faint jingle of collars, but there wasn’t a soul—or should I say “paw”—in sight! Even my tail was like, “I’m out,” completely giving up on its wagging duties.

And then I saw it, right outside The Furry Friends Art Gallery—a fog so thick, it could blanket all of Pawsburgh in one swoosh. I backed away, my mind racing faster than when dad’s doing that ridiculously intricate dance to try and clean my ears (like, seriously dude, take a hint).

I needed reinforcements and where better to find them than at Canine Kabobs? I dashed inside, nearly crashing into the counter because let’s face it, grace isn’t exactly my forte. But even here, among the enticing scent of meat skewers, I was met with silence.

Suddenly, a symphony of howls rose from Bloodhound Bluffs that sent shivers down my spine. Let’s be real—nothing good ever follows a howl medley—it’s like the canine equivalent of “I’ll be right back” in a slasher movie.

Feeling bolder with my fellow dogs around—even if I couldn’t see them—I gulped down my fear (and a stray piece of kabob I found on the floor because waste not, want not) and made for Bloodhound Bluffs.

What greeted me was a pupper procession of glowing eyes and glistening fangs. A canine cult under the dread of night. I mean, there had to be at least twenty dogs and they were heading straight towards Canine Couture Clothing, as though in a trance.

I wanted to run, but my paws were like, “Did someone say treats?” because they were definitely not cooperating.

“Hey, uncultured pooches! Cat got your tongues, or what?” I barked, which in hindsight, was probably not the best opening line when facing a pack of potentially possessed pets.

Their leader, a hulking husky with eyes deeper than my undying hate for lettuce, approached. He seemed normal—well, apart from the spectral aura around him.

“You have stumbled upon the Gathering of the Ghost-tail,” he intoned.

I blinked. “Party planning committee? You guys really need better PR. This vibe is less ‘potluck dinner’ and more ‘please plan my funeral.’”

The husky sighed. “Every century, the spirits of Pawsburgh must roam to ward off the spectral squirrels that feast on our eternal happiness.”

Typical Pawsburgh, always finding the balance between the fantastical and the food chain.

“Fine, I’ll bite. How do we de-spookify our town?” I asked, not entirely sure I was ready for the answer.

“We need a guardian. A dog whose heart is pure, whose courage is… Honestly, we just need you to sit in that crystal circle over there for like, five minutes,” the husky explained.

“Oh, so like when Aunt Sue says, ‘We just need to stop at one more store,’ and four hours later, I’m still wondering if life is a just series hard floor nap?”

The husky nodded solemnly. So, I planted my courageous backend on the cool crystals, focused on my happy place (which for the record, is a mound of Woof Waffles), and waited.

I wish I could say it was the great kibble shower of 2017, but what really happened was the fog lifted, the spectral squirrels yipped in defeat, and the pups… well, they threw a party in my honor.

As for me? I did what I do best: I savored the victory – and about three rounds of Canine Kabobs. Because let’s face it, even in the face of the supernatural, a girl’s gotta eat.

The End.