Legend of the Lost Legend

by R. L. Stine

  I had almost drifted off — when an animal howl cut through the silence.

  An angry howl. A menacing howl.

  So close!

  Right outside the tent.

  I jerked straight up. Wide awake. Breathing hard.

  I knew this wasn’t a storybook creature.

  This creature was real.

  The air in the tent felt cold against my hot skin. I realized that I was sweating.

  I listened hard.

  And heard a shuffling sound. A low growl. The crackle of heavy paws over the leafy forest ground.

  My heart pounding, I slid the sleeping bag down. Started to crawl out of it.

  “Oh!” I let out a whispered cry as someone pushed past me.

  “Dad — ?”

  No. I could still hear Dad’s steady snores from across the tent.

  I knew it would take more than a terrifying animal howl to wake Dad up!

  “Marissa — ” I whispered.

  “Sssshh.” She held a finger up to her mouth as she crawled toward the tent flap. “I heard it, too.”

  I moved quickly beside her. We stopped in front of the closed flap.

  “It’s some kind of animal,” Marissa whispered.

  “Maybe it’s a werewolf!” I whispered back.

  There goes my wild imagination again.

  But aren’t werewolves supposed to live deep in the forests of Europe? I think that’s where all the old werewolf movies took place. In a forest just like this one.

  I heard another low growl.

  I grabbed the tent flap and pulled it up. Cold air rushed in. A gust of wind ruffled my pajama shirt.

  I peered out into the night. A mist had fallen over the small clearing where we had set up the tent. Pale moonlight shining through the mist turned everything a shade of blue.

  “What is it?” Marissa whispered from close behind me. “Do you see it?”

  I couldn’t see any animal. Only swirls of blue mist.

  “Get back inside,” Marissa ordered.

  I heard more shuffling sounds. A loud sniff.

  “Hurry. Get back in,” Marissa urged.

  “Just wait,” I whispered. I had to see what was out there. I had to see what was making those noises.

  I shivered. The air felt heavy and damp.

  Wisps of the blue fog seemed to cling to me. I took a step out of the tent. The ground sent a shock of cold up from my bare feet.

  I held my breath and took another step.

  And saw the creature.

  A dog. A big dog, tall. Like a shepherd, only with long, white fur. The white fur shimmered like silver under the misty moonlight. The dog had his head lowered. He sniffed the ground.

  As I stared at the animal, he raised his head and turned to me. And started to wag his tail.

  I love dogs.

  I’ve always loved dogs.

  Without thinking, I reached out my arms. And I ran to pet him.

  “No! Don’t!” Marissa screamed.

  Too late.

  I knelt down and petted the fur on the big dog’s back. It felt soft and thick. My hand touched leaves and small twigs tangled in the fur.

  The dog’s tail wagged furiously. I petted his head. He raised his eyes to me.

  “Hey — !” I cried out. The dog had one brown eye, one blue.

  “He might be a wolf!” Marissa called. I turned to see that she had taken only one step from the tent. She clung to the flap, ready to duck inside at any instant.

  “He’s not a wolf. He’s a dog,” I told her. I studied him again. “At least, I think he’s not a wolf,” I added. “I mean, he’s too friendly to be a wolf.”

  I rubbed the top of his head. Then I scratched the thick, white fur on his chest. I pulled blades of dried grass and weeds from his fur.

  The dog wagged his tail happily.

  “What is he doing out here?” Marissa demanded in a loud whisper. “Is he a wild dog? Justin — he might be dangerous.”

  The dog licked my hand.

  “I don’t think he’s too dangerous,” I told her.

  “But maybe he’s part of a pack,” Marissa warned. She let go of the tent flap and took another step across the ground toward me. “Maybe the other wild dogs sent him out as a scout. Maybe there are a hundred of them!”

  I climbed to my feet and glanced around. Squinting through the blue mist, I could see the tall, dark trees that circled the clearing. A half-moon floated low over the trees, shimmery through the fog.

  I listened hard.

  Silence.

  “I think this guy is alone,” I told my sister.

  Marissa gazed down at the dog. “Remember that story Dad used to tell about the ghost dog?” she asked. “Remember? The dog used to appear outside someone’s house. It was such a cute little dog. Very sweet and cuddly. It would tilt its head up toward the moon and let out an ‘eeeh eeeh’ sound, as if it were laughing.

  “The dog was so cute, people had to come out and pet it. And when they did, the dog would start to bark. It would call its ghost dog friends.

  “The friends were mean and ugly. And they would circle the person, circle faster and faster. And then gobble the poor victim up. And the last thing the victim would see was the cute, cuddly dog tilting back its head, laughing ‘eeeh eeeh,’ laughing at the moon.

  “Remember that story?” Marissa demanded.

  “No, I don’t,” I told her. “I don’t think that’s one of Dad’s stories. It isn’t good enough. I think it’s one of yours.”

  Marissa thinks she’s a great storyteller like Dad. But her stories are pretty dumb.

  Whoever heard of a laughing dog?

  She took another step toward the dog and me. I shivered. The forest air was cold and damp, too cold to be out in pajamas and bare feet.

  “If he’s a wild dog, he could be dangerous,” Marissa repeated.

  “He seems gentle enough,” I said. I petted his head again. And as my hand slid down the fur on the back of the dog’s neck, I felt something hard.

  At first I thought it was another dead leaf matted in his thick, white fur. I wrapped my hand around it.

  Not a leaf. A collar. A leather dog collar.

  “It’s not a wild dog,” I told my sister. “He has a collar. He must belong to someone.”

  “Maybe he ran away and got lost,” Marissa said, kneeling beside the dog. “Maybe his owner is searching the forest for him.”

  “Maybe,” I agreed. I tugged the collar up over the thick fur. The dog turned his head and licked my hand.

  “Does it have an ID tag or a license?” Marissa asked.

  “That’s what I’m looking for,” I replied. “Whoa. Hold on. There is something tucked under the collar.”

  I pulled out a folded-up wad of paper. Squinting in the dim light, I started to unfold it. “It’s a note,” I told Marissa.

  “Maybe it has the owner’s address or a phone number on it,” she said.

  I finished unfolding it and held the sheet of paper up close to my face to read it.

  “Well? What does it say?” Marissa demanded.

  I read the handwritten words silently to myself — and gasped in surprise.

  “Justin — what does it say?” Marissa repeated.

  Marissa tried to grab the note from my hand. But I swung it away from her.

  “It’s a very short note,” I told her. I held it up again and read it out loud:

  “ ‘I KNOW WHY YOU’RE HERE. FOLLOW SILVERDOG.’ “

  “Silverdog?” Marissa lowered her gaze to the dog. “Silverdog?”

  His ears perked up.

  “He knows his name,” I said. I ran my eyes over the paper, trying to see if I had missed anything. But that’s all there was. No name at the bottom. Nothing else.

  Marissa took the note from me and read it for herself. “ ‘I KNOW WHY YOU’RE HERE,’ ” she repeated.

  I shivered. The blue fog lowered around us. “We’d better show this to Dad,” I said.

  Marissa
agreed. We turned and hurried to the tent. I glanced back to make sure the dog wasn’t leaving. Silverdog had walked over to a clump of tall weeds and was sniffing around them.

  “Hurry,” I whispered to Marissa.

  We both made our way to Dad’s sleeping bag. He was sound asleep on his back, making soft blowing sounds through his lips.

  I dropped to my knees and leaned over him. “Dad? Dad?”

  He didn’t stir.

  “Dad? Wake up! It’s important! Dad?”

  Marissa and I both shouted at him. But he’s such a sound sleeper, he didn’t hear us.

  “Tickle his beard,” Marissa suggested. “Sometimes that works.”

  I tickled his beard.

  Nothing. He snored away.

  I brought my face down to his ear. “Dad? Dad?”

  I tried shaking him by the shoulders. But it was hard to get a good grip under the sleeping bag.

  “Dad? Please! Wake up!” Marissa pleaded.

  He let out a groan.

  “Yes!” I cried. “Dad?”

  He rolled onto his side. Sound asleep.

  I turned and saw that Marissa had crawled back to the tent opening. She stared out. “The dog is heading toward the trees,” she reported. “What should we do?”

  “Get dressed,” I urged. “Hurry.”

  We both pulled on the jeans and sweatshirts we’d been wearing. I got one hiking boot on, then discovered I had a knot in the other shoelace.

  By the time I pulled the second boot on, Marissa was already back outside. “Where is Silverdog?” I asked, hurrying up beside her.

  She pointed through the thickening fog. Clouds had rolled over the moon. The heavy darkness made it almost impossible to see.

  But I spotted the big dog loping slowly toward the trees.

  “He’s leaving!” I gasped. “We have to follow him.” I started jogging across the dirt.

  Marissa hung back. “Not without Dad,” she insisted. “We can’t.”

  “But someone is trying to help us!” I cried. “Someone knows where the Lost Legend is. They sent the dog to bring us.”

  “It may be a trap,” Marissa insisted. “Some kind of evil trick.”

  “But, Marissa — ”

  I searched through the fog. Where was the dog? I could barely see him. He had reached the trees on the far side of the clearing.

  “Remember the story Dad tells about the forest imp?” Marissa asked. “The imp puts out a trail of flowers and candy in the forest. And when children follow the trail, it leads them into The Pit With No Bottom. And the kids fall and fall for the rest of their lives. Remember?”

  “Marissa — please!” I begged. “No more stories. Silverdog is getting away.”

  “But — but — ” she sputtered. “Dad wouldn’t want us to go wandering off on our own in the forest. You know he wouldn’t. We’ll be in real trouble.”

  “What if we found the Lost Legend?” I replied. “Then what? Then we wouldn’t be in trouble — would we!”

  “No! No way!” Marissa protested, folding her arms over her chest. “We can’t go. No way, Justin.”

  I sighed and shook my head. “I guess you’re right,” I said softly. “Let the dog go on its way. Let’s get some sleep.”

  I put my hand on her shoulder and led her back to the tent.

  “Are you crazy?” Marissa cried. She spun away from me. “We can’t let the dog get away! It may lead us right to the Lost Legend!”

  She grabbed my hand, gave me a hard tug, and started to run, pulling me across the clearing.

  As I ran after her, I tried hard not to let her see the big smile on my face. I knew my little trick would work with Marissa. It always does.

  If I ever really want to do something, all I have to say is, “Let’s not do it.”

  Marissa always disagrees with me. Always.

  That makes it very easy to get her to do what I want.

  “Dad said we weren’t being helpful,” she murmured. “He was giving us a hard time because we wouldn’t find firewood. What if we find the Lost Legend? Then we’ll be helping him — big-time!”

  “Big-time,” I repeated.

  I pictured Marissa and me handing Dad the silver chest containing the Lost Legend. I pictured the shock on Dad’s face. Then I pictured his smile.

  Then I pictured the three of us on the TV news shows. I imagined myself telling everyone how Marissa and I found the valuable old manuscript — without any help from Dad.

  My boots clumped over the soft ground. I stopped when we reached the trees.

  “There’s just one problem,” I told Marissa.

  She spun around. “What’s that?”

  “Where’s the dog?”

  “Huh?” She turned back to the trees.

  We both searched the darkness.

  The dog had disappeared.

  The fog clung to the dark trees. Clouds still covered the moon.

  Marissa and I peered into the darkness, listening hard.

  I sighed. I felt so disappointed. “I think our adventure is over before it even started,” I murmured.

  Wrong.

  A loud bark made us both jump. “Hey — !” I cried out.

  Silverdog barked again. He was calling us!

  We stepped between the trees, following the sound.

  My boots sank into the soft dirt. Under the tall trees, the sky grew even darker.

  “Stick close together,” Marissa pleaded. “It’s so hard to see.”

  “We should have brought a flashlight,” I replied. “We left in such a hurry, I didn’t think — ”

  A loud crackling sound made me stop. The crisp thud of paws over dead leaves.

  “This way,” I urged Marissa. I turned toward the sound. “Silverdog is right up ahead.”

  I still couldn’t see the dog. But I could hear his footsteps over the dry twigs and leaves of the forest floor.

  The dog had turned to the left, following a narrow path through the trees. The ground beneath my boots became hard. We both raised our arms in front of our faces as we stepped through a thicket of brambles.

  “Ouch!” I cried out as prickly thorns pierced through the sleeve of my sweatshirt.

  “Where is that dog taking us?” Marissa asked shrilly. I knew she was trying to sound calm. But I could hear the fear creep into her voice.

  “He’s taking us to someone who wants to help us,” I reminded her. “He’s taking us to someone who is going to make us rich and famous.

  “Ow!” I pulled a burr from my wrist.

  I hoped I was right. I hoped that the note didn’t lie. I hoped that the dog was taking us someplace nice.

  The footsteps turned sharply up ahead. I couldn’t see a path now. Actually, I couldn’t see three feet in front of me!

  We kept our arms in front of us, using them as shields. And we pushed our way through a thicket of tall weeds.

  “He’s speeding up,” Marissa whispered.

  She was right. I could hear the dog’s footsteps moving more rapidly over the ground.

  Marissa and I began jogging, eager to keep up. Over our own crunching footsteps, I could hear the dog breathing hard.

  The flutter of wings — many wings, low overhead — made me duck.

  “Were those birds?” Marissa cried. She swallowed hard. And then she added, “Or bats?”

  I could still hear the fluttering, in the distance now. The sound sent a chill down my back.

  So many flapping wings!

  “They were birds,” I told Marissa. “They had to be birds.”

  “Since when do birds fly like that at night?” she demanded.

  I didn’t answer. Instead, I listened for the dog’s footsteps up ahead. They seemed to be slowing down.

  We followed the sound through an opening between tall bushes. And stepped into a broad, grassy clearing.

  As we made our way into the grass, the clouds floated away from the moon. Under the moonlight, dew-covered grass shimmered like diamonds.

&n
bsp; I gazed up from the grass — and gasped in horror.

  Marissa grabbed my arm. Her mouth dropped open in shock.

  “I don’t believe it!” I cried.

  I stared at the creature standing a few yards up ahead of us.

  Not the dog.

  Not Silverdog.

  A brown-and-black-spotted deer. A stag with antlers that curled up from his head and gleamed in the moonlight.

  We had followed the wrong animal.

  And now we were hopelessly lost.

  The big deer stared at us. Then he turned and trotted across the grass, into the trees on the other side.

  Frozen in shock, I watched him disappear. Then I turned to my sister. “We — we made a bad mistake,” I managed to choke out. “I thought it was the dog. I really did.”

  “Let’s not panic,” Marissa said. She huddled close to me.

  A gust of wind made the tall grass whisper and bend. I heard a low moaning sound from the trees behind us. I tried to ignore it.

  “You’re right. We won’t panic,” I agreed. But my legs were shaking, and my mouth suddenly felt as dry as cotton.

  “We’ll go back the way we came,” Marissa said. “We didn’t walk that far. It shouldn’t be too hard to retrace our steps.” She glanced around. “Which way did we come?”

  I spun around. “That way?” I pointed. “No. That way? No …”

  I wasn’t sure.

  “Maybe we should panic,” I said.

  “Why did we do this?” Marissa wailed. “Why were we so stupid?”

  “We thought we were helping Dad,” I reminded her.

  “Now we may never see him again!” she cried.

  I wanted to say something to calm her down. But the words caught in my throat.

  “This forest goes on for miles and miles!” Marissa continued. “The whole country is probably forest. We’ll never find anyone who can help us. We–we’ll probably be eaten by bears or something before we ever get out.”

  “Don’t say bears,” I begged. “There aren’t any bears in this forest — are there?”

  I shuddered. Dad had told us too many stories that ended with children being eaten by bears. That seemed to be one of Dad’s favorite endings.

  It was never one of mine.

  The wind bent the grass back the other way. In the far distance, I heard the flutter of wings once again.