Hey Ma,

Just wanted you to know I’ve had quite a night defending Spencerville from specters with Nikita. Turns out, I’m part protector, part ghostbuster! Who knew your Bubbies had it in him? Anyways, all’s well now. The town’s safe, and we’re feasting on victory and bacon muffins. Give my regards to pop.

Keep the hearth warm,

Grim

Well, now, sit yerself down and prick them ears, ’cause ol’ Grim’s got a tail to spin that’ll curl the whiskers right off yer muzzle. This here’s a tale from the shadowy hollers of Spencerville, where the night creeps in like blackstrap molasses and the flickering candlelight ain’t but the jittery dance of spirits.

T’was a night so dark, y’could chew the dread in the air. I’d been rompin’ down Perfect Pooch Lane, my snout a-quiverin’ with the scent of unseen things. The wind whispered through Collie Canyon, tossin’ secrets and shivers down the back of my ebony and ivory coat, which, befittin’ my station, was as sleek as a raven’s wing in the moon’s tease.

As I made my way to The Barkery, hungerin’ for the kind of eats that’d make a canine’s heart leap, a shadow loomed afore me. There it stood, lank and bleak ‘pon the path. “Now, what manner of critter be you?” I barked up somethin’ fierce. But the thing answered not, just growled low – a sound that could curdle the cream in yer bowl.

I padded closer, bold as brass, didn’t I, with that ol’ Border collie pluck. And who should emerge from the enshrouding murk but Nikita, her grey coat minglin’ with the fog like smoke through timber. “Grim,” she howled, “we’s got ourselves a ghastly bother!”

Her eyes, wild as the untamed moors, led us yonder to Retriever River, where the waters ran not with the gleeful splish-splash of days sunny, but with a bloodcurdlin’ chill. And there, amid the lappin’ waves, the phantoms of hounds long past wailed their mournful song.

“Nikita, darlin’,” says I, “let’s hightail it hence and seek the wisdom of Fetch! Toys and Treats. They’s got charms and trinkets what might just save our furry hides.”

But afore we could leg it, the ghostly pack descended, howlin’ as they came, their cries tearin’ through Spencerville like the screech of a buzzard’s frenzy. With hackles raised and teeth barred, I stood ‘side Nikita, preparin’ for a tussle of otherworldly sorts.

Now, mind you, I ain’t no pup to be trifled with. I met their baleful gazes with one of me own, fierce and unblinkin’. “Ye devilish currs,” I growled, my voice a-grit with righteous ire, “ye shan’t lay a paw on this hamlet!”

And so, with a bound and a leap to make the spirits of South Siberian Summit proud, I launched at the spectral beasts. They yipped and yowled, all hide and no hair, as I snapped and snarled like the tail-end of a tornado. Nikita, bless her steadfast heart, was at me flank, her teeth a-gleam in the moon’s wan light.

‘Tis hard to tell how the fracas unfolded, with fur a-flyin’ and the night filled with unholy din. But, as the first light of dawn peeked ‘bove the edge of the world, them ghostly hounds melted away like dew on a mornin’ bud.

Nikita and I, we panted there, side by side on the muddy banks of Retriever River, the taste of victory bitter on our tongues. The Barkery opened its doors not long thereon, and the smell of fresh-baked bread and bacon muffins filled the air, wipin’ away the remnants of our eerie frolic.

So it went, that wild night in Spencerville, where the shadows play tricks and the brave of heart stand firm ‘gainst the unexplainable. And should ever yer find yourself a-traverse these parts, remember ol’ Grim’s yarn, and tread with caution where the darkness lays thick. But fear ye not, for as long as hounds like us roam, the light’ll hold fast ‘gainst the creeping shadow’s caress.

And that, my furry friends, is how Grim and the steadfast Nikita stared down a phantom pack and lived to wag the tail.

The End.

Share This Story: