Part #3

 

    Helloooo! Welcome back! Here's Part Three of I-don't-know-what-to-call-it!

Part 3

Puppy ignored everything around her as she ran as quickly as her tiny legs could take her toward Mrs. Fernickle’s house.

The old lady was the meanest on the block, according to some people. Some rumors even say she’s a witch, which is why Puppy tried not to think about what might happen to her if she barged into Fernickle’s home without permission.

The worst part was, she didn’t even have a plan. When Cat was really angry at her, he called her a hopeless little dog. And this was the first time she actually believed him.

“I can’t do this. I’ll get Paw,” She muttered to herself, turning around. She was only a few feet away from Jon’s porch, and the moment she started walking, her face rammed into Paw’s legs.

“I read your mind,” Paw chuckled as they headed toward Fernickle’s house. Puppy didn’t laugh back. Her head was crammed with thoughts about what might happen to Paw if he did go back to the shelter. Would he have a comfortable bed? Would he get enough food? Would they treat him as bad as Fernickle did? And most of all, would he miss her?

Before she knew it, they reached Fernickle’s house. To her surprise, Paw led her around the house to the back, instead of up the porch and through the doggy door.

“Fernickle doesn’t have a doggy door,” Paw explained as they made their way through the dried grass and dead flowers of Fernickle’s backdoor. “She believes that a doggy door is a perfect way for uninvited dogs to come in.”

Puppy dragged her eyes away from the back of the house and looked at him. “Like me,” she said.

Paw read her troubled face and said, “You’ll be fine.”

They walked around the rusty swing set and to the back of the tall, aged house. “What does she need that for? Does she have kids?” Puppy asked, gesturing toward the swings.

Paw chuckled again. “Kids? She can’t handle a dog like me, what would she do with kids? The swings are from years ago, when another family used to live here. Once they moved out and Fernickle moved in, she never bothered to move it.”

Puppy shuddered, and not because of the cold. The place seemed… vaguely familiar, in an eerie way. They trotted up the back deck stairs. Paw pull Puppy up on a broken step; she couldn’t stretch high enough to climb up.

“If you stay behind me, you’ll be alright,” Paw told her as he pushed the creaking door open with his muzzle.

“Where were you, you ignorant thing? Going out wherever you please? Get over here!” A voice screeched from Puppy’s left the moment they entered.

“Is that Fernickle?” Puppy whispered from behind Paw as they followed the voice.

Paw answered, “Yup.”

The voice came from the kitchen, where a large old lady, two times as wide as Jon, glared down at them. If looks could kill, Puppy would have been dead.