Hey mate,

It’s Sassy here, the laughter of Pawsburg and phantom fetcher par extraordinaire! Joined Max and found ourselves playing fetch with a ghostly apparition at Opal Pomeranian Park of all places. Not sure I find steak and citrus as appealing anymore, I tell you! Life’s a puppy, isn’t it?

Catch you at sunrise,
Sassy Sidesplitter

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As Pawsburgh once again sighed itself into evening, I, Sassy, found myself strolling down to my customary haunt, Pearl Papillon Promenade. My whimsical sense of humor never failed to amuse the local merchants – like the charming Bichon Frise who ran The Tail Wagger’s Tailor. Truth be told, the allure of its well-worn tennis balls displayed in the window was irresistible.

Max joined me at our favorite haunt, Rottweiler’s Ribs, his usual mischief glinting in his eyes. He was unnecessarily excited about some gruesome rumors about Opal Pomeranian Park. Of late, there had been whispers of a grotesque phantom terrorizing unsuspecting canine folks in the glow of moonlight.

Fascinating and awful, all put together in a ghostly sushi roll. My comedy-previewed nervous system could only deal with the idea by laughing, but life, or rather unlife, had other plans.

The next day, in broad dog light, with the hope of proving these tall tales false, Max and I ventured into the park. The marble huskies of the fountain stared at us with their chilly and firm eyes, presenting an uncannily eerie aura.

As twilight shrouded the park, a spine-shivering yowl echoed through the silence. Paws gripped in apprehension, Max and I veered around the central fountain, its waters thrashing and gurgling like a sea in a tempest, when a citrusy smell assaulted our nostrils, an affront magnified by the sapid stench of…steak.

An orangish specter shot out from the fountain, scattering water droplets that gleamed in the incandescent glow of the moon. Its semi-transparent skeletal body was draped in a mix of billowing trauma and ghastly unearthly laughter. In tatters, it menaced, “Sassy…Max…Playtime!”

Our chased squirrels dashed about our heads and nodded in morbid agreement. We wanted to run but our paws froze with terror. Even my cheeky humor failed me, like it had misplaced some critical component, say, humor?

Despite being a horror of otherworldly proportions, Max and I had to endure its favorite game – fetch. As the phantom tossed a ghoulishly shimmering tennis ball, it cackled, “Fetch, if you dare!” It was my first toy’s spectral doppelganger!

Max, ever the brave or rogue, bolted after the ball. Upon touching it, he was transported instantaneously back. Blinking against the phosphorescent orange, Max whimpered, “That was…terrifyingly fun…let’s…do it again?”

We played fetch, each round an increasing swell of dread, yet, oddly entertaining, like a horror movie you laugh at rather than with.

We played until the phantom tired and said it would continue the next day. It vanished back into the fountain, leaving us with the dreadful smell of citrus and steak and an increased aversion towards oranges.

As dawn broke, leaving the enigma of the spectral visitation in its wake, Max and I returned to the safety of our humble abodes. Pawsburg may be a magical place, and I didn’t mind a dash of horror seasoning our adventures, as long as Max was by my side. But if someone could kindly figure out a way to get rid of the phantom’s abominable citrus aroma… oh, that would be a real treat.

The End.

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