TABLE OF CONTENTS

1. STORY 1 – PRELUDE

2. STORY 2 – THE ARRIVAL OF CRICKET. REVENGE ON THE RACCOON

3. STORY 3 – CRICKET’S TALE

4. STORY 4 – CRICKET DEMONSTRATES HIS POWER

5. STORY 5 – ONE NIGHT

6. STORY 6 – CAMPING ON THE ISLAND

7. STORY 7 – THE MARCH OF THE WOLVES

8. STORY 8 – THE CONTINUATION OF CRICKET’S TALE

9. STORY 9 – SCARING OF A THIEF

10. STORY 10 – A BOY IN TROUBLE

11. STORY 11 – ADVENTURE IN THE GHOST TOWN

12. STORY 12 – HALLOWEEN

13. STORY 13 – THE TERRIFYING NIGHT

14. STORY 14 – THE ESCAPE

15. STORY 15 – THE SHAMAN: LISTENING FOREST

16. STORY 16 – RUN, ALICE, RUN (PART 1)

17. STORY 17 – RUN, ALICE, RUN (PART 2)

18. STORY 18 – THE STORY OF THOMAS

19. STORY 19 – LONE BIRD

20. STORY 20 – THE WITCHES’ PLAN

21. STORY 21 – THE POLICE RAID

22. STORY 22 – THE SHAMAN’S REVENGE

23. STORY 23 – THOMAS'S ESCAPE

24. STORY 24 – EPILOGUE
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stоry 1. Prelude

Told by Bella

I’m Bella—a big black dog. Not just big, very big. And beautiful. I’m two years old, long-legged, and well-proportioned—almost a perfect square. A mix of Labrador and Mastiff. Completely black.

I notice everything. I understand a lot. My owners say I’m smart. They love me. And I’m a skilled swimmer—after all, Labradors are my ancestors.

I came to my owners almost by chance. Annie, who would become my owner, came to the breeder where I lived with my siblings. She told them:

“I need a big, strong, black dog. But one that’s good with children.”

Then she explained:

“Last night, someone tried to break into our house. It scared us. I live alone with my daughter. I need a muscular dog—one that will love and protect children.”

The breeder pointed to us.

“Take your pick. These will grow big and strong. Beautiful black coats. They make splendid companions and won’t let anyone harm your child.”

Annie chose me.

I liked my new home right away. Annie and her daughter, Alice, love dogs. They spoil us sometimes, but they also make sure we follow the rules. They taught us basic commands.

Then Thomas appeared in our lives. At first, I thought he was just Annie’s friend. But when he stayed around, started feeding me in the mornings, and training me, I realized—he was my owner too.

I also have a friend—Lola. Though our owners often call her “Lo.” I guess they like it that way. And I’m Bella. Sounds nice, doesn’t it? Bella!

They got Lo just for me—so I wouldn’t be bored. Before that, I used to dig holes and chew on any boots I could find. I had no idea what to do with myself. I was so bored.

Thomas—more about him later—understood. He didn’t punish me for my mischief. Instead, one day, he brought me a friend. In a box.

It was pure joy!

We live in a cozy doghouse in the backyard—a luxury two-dog kennel, built by our owner. Our names are carved above the entrance. The walls are insulated. There’s a heated mat, soft bedding, and even a heat lamp above. It’s warm and comfortable, even in winter. But when it gets really cold, they let us inside the house.

I’m almost two years old. Lo is only eight months. But she’s an English Mastiff! Not some tiny terrier you can’t see under a chair. At eight months, she’s already almost as big as me. She’s brindle-colored and moves like a tiger—silent, smooth, flexible. Like a model, my girl.

Lo is incredibly strong. A little smaller than me, but powerful. Still a bit clumsy, but she’s learning fast. We’re like sisters. We wrestle sometimes, but just for fun. Our fights are like elephant battles—at least, that’s what our owner says.

Our owner is Thomas. Annie’s partner. He feeds us in the mornings, takes us on walks, and spends the most time with us. He’s our boss. He teaches us a lot. Commands and everything.

Thomas is young—just over thirty. Handsome face, athletic build, strong, always moving. He does things around the house—fixes things, types on his small computer. He doesn’t tolerate mess… When he’s with us, we can feel it in our bones—he must be obeyed.

In the mornings, he drives off in his truck. A covered pickup. Sometimes he has to work far away, and he’s gone for days. We miss him when he’s not around.

But he’s kind. Loves us a lot. Even though he pretends to be strict. We feel guilty when he scolds us. I once told Lo, “Don’t chew on the owner’s slippers.”

Annie is our mistress. A young woman—tall, slender, dark-haired. Her face is well-defined, high cheekbones. She has her own business—she’s a psychologist. Always smiling, very pleasant. She plays with us, takes us on walks. She’s kind and loves us.

And we would protect her with our lives.

And then there’s Alice. Their daughter. Our favorite. She’s nine. She has delicate features and long blonde hair—always braided. A real beauty. And athletic, too. She loves climbing trees, running, jumping.

She’s more like a boy—restless, mischievous, not always obedient. She gets scolded often. Sometimes Annie punishes her—not letting her go out with friends. Alice cries.

And we feel lost, whimpering, trying to cheer her up.

It’s pure happiness being with Alice. She spoils us. Brings us treats.

“Here, doggies, some meat and fat from the table.”

For us, giant dogs, it’s just a bite—but it’s the thought that counts. We adore her. Lick her face. She giggles and tries to push us away. But we let her do anything—lie on us, play with our ears, roll us over.

The best time is when we sprawl on the grass, and Alice flops on top of us like a mattress. We all gaze at the starry sky. Then Annie calls, “Alice, come inside!”

And we know—Alice would love to stay with us a little longer.

What else can I tell you about our life?

Yes, we wrestle a lot, Lo and I. Too much energy to burn. But if another dog dares to attack one of us—well, they won’t like what happens next.

At the dog park, I usually run freely. Lo, though, stays on a leash. If some dog barks at me, Lo charges in and flattens the poor thing. Lo may look clumsy, but she isn’t. She’s fast. Agile. And those jaws… those teeth… Best not to anger her.

We live in a beautiful place. A small valley town, surrounded by hills. Snow-capped mountains in the distance. Huge, long lakes stretching between the peaks.

On a still day, the lakes become perfect mirrors, reflecting the mountains. Unbelievably beautiful. Feels like there’s no better place on Earth.

The owners’ house is small but cozy. And the backyard—our territory. Two huge dogs in charge. There are chickens, ducks, and quails too. They have their own fenced-off area and a little house.

And we love quail eggs.

Every evening, Thomas comes out with quail eggs. We know he’s bringing them. We start wagging, excited. Lo nibbles my ear.

Thomas lifts two fingers—“Sit.”

We sit. Lo on his right, me on his left. Our tails thump the ground impatiently. I always get the first egg. Then Lo. He places them right in our mouths. We crush them and swallow.

So delicious.

Then he pets us, scratches our ears. Tells us we’re the best dogs ever.

And in that moment, we know—this is true happiness.

Story 2. The Arrival of Cricket. The Revenge on the Raccoon

Told by Bella

Everything would have been perfect—if not for that raccoon. A real troublemaker.

He loved sneaking around our yard at night, shouting insults at us from behind the fence. At first, we used to chase along the fence, barking back. But our owner didn’t like that. He would wake up, come outside, and send us back to our house.

We understood why—people in the neighborhood were sleeping. But oh, how we wanted to teach that raccoon a lesson!

The little rascal knew we couldn’t reach him, so he taunted us almost every night, calling us all sorts of names in his raccoon language. If I were to translate from raccoon-speak, it would go something like this:

"You two are pathetic, useless dogs! Ha-ha-ha! Can’t even catch an old raccoon!
What’s wrong, big girls? Can’t bite me? Ha! Ha! Here, let me mark your fence so you know who really owns this yard."

That, of course, drove us mad. But we—two mighty dogs—could only snap our teeth in frustration, trapped in our yard, unable to do anything.

This went on until Cricket arrived.

The Arrival of Cricket

Cricket appeared out of nowhere.

Thomas’s sister, Gerda, had come to visit for a few days. We had a great time with her—walking along the lake, sitting by the fire. Then she left.

The next morning, Alice ran outside and asked:

"Doggies, have you seen Cricket?"

We tilted our heads. There were plenty of crickets in the yard, so we weren’t sure what she meant.

Alice explained:

"I had a dream... Gerda left a special cricket for us. It’s from her father, and it must be here somewhere!"

We sniffed around, just to humor her. But honestly, we thought it was just one of Alice’s fairy tales.

Then, one night, I woke up to the sound of chirping.

But this chirping—I could understand it!

"Wake up, Bella! Want to get revenge on the raccoon?"

I almost barked in excitement! I nipped Lola’s ear.

"Wake up, lazybones! Something’s happening!"

We bolted out of our house. And there, on top of our roof, was Cricket—a tiny insect, barely noticeable. We hadn’t even realized he was there until he spoke again:

"The raccoon is coming. The same one. He’s going to laugh at you again, call you helpless dogs.
Do you want revenge?"

We wagged our tails furiously. We could already hear the raccoon’s annoying muttering approaching.

Cricket continued:

"Then listen carefully and do exactly as I say!"

We didn’t even ask who he was or how he could talk. He had struck right at our emotions, and we were ready to follow him.

The Plan

Cricket laid out the plan:

"See that table near the fence? You are big, strong dogs, and you can jump.
If you take a running start and jump onto the table, you can leap over the fence.
Once outside, split up and move quietly along the fence.
The raccoon is coming from the right. Find him—but stay silent!
No barking, no noise, or else you’ll get in trouble. Now go, teach that beast a lesson!"

It took only seconds. I whispered to Lola:

"Do as I do."

With a short run, I leaped onto the table and, without stopping, cleared the fence. Lola followed almost instantly.

In the moonlight, two giant dogs—two shadowy figures—moved soundlessly across the yard. We landed softly and stalked forward in silence, sniffing for our enemy.

I followed his trail, trembling with excitement. Every part of me burned with anticipation.

And then—there he was.

The raccoon, casually strutting along the fence, muttering insults, completely oblivious to what was coming.

I savored the moment, then pounced.

In three quick leaps, I tackled him to the ground. My teeth clamped around his neck. One move, and I could finish him.

I growled:

"Say it again. Who’s the useless dog now?"

The raccoon froze in shock.
Then Lola arrived, lowering her massive head toward his terrified face.

Oh, the sweet moment of revenge! His eyes bulged in horror. He didn’t even try to fight back—he was paralyzed with fear.

I loosened my grip just a bit, and suddenly, the raccoon let out a horrifying shriek:

"HELP! HELP! THEY’RE KILLING ME! SOMEONE HELP!"

His screams were deafening. We hesitated, startled by his wailing.
I clamped my teeth again—this time, silencing him.

Then, we froze.

The door of the house creaked open. Thomas stepped onto the porch.
The raccoon had woken him up!
The moment was ruined! We had to let the raccoon go.

Lola and I darted into the shadows, pressing ourselves against the fence.

Thomas sighed:

"Probably just raccoons fighting over garbage bins again. Our dogs are fast asleep."

He went back inside.

The raccoon, now free, limped away, whimpering as he disappeared into the darkness.

We felt defeated.

But then, a soft chirping sounded above us. Cricket was sitting on a nearby branch.

"Doggies, do you want to go home?"

We nodded. Of course, we wanted to go home! But how? The fence was tall, and we had no way back in.

Cricket clicked his wings and said:

"Listen. There’s a weak board in the fence. If you press against it just right, it will move, and you can squeeze through. But be gentle—you must push it back in place after you get in. No evidence left behind. Understood?"

Lola and I exchanged glances—what a genius!

It took just a few moments. We found the board, nudged it aside, slipped through, and pressed it back into place. Silent as shadows. Not a single clue left behind.

We rushed into our house and fell asleep instantly.

The Morning After

The next morning, we woke up with big dog smiles. We replayed the night’s events over and over, relishing our victory.

Then, Alice came outside, looking suspicious.

"Doggies, I had a dream that you bit the raccoon a little.
Serves him right, the troublemaker! What good dogs you are!"

We danced around her in our victory dance, tails wagging furiously.

And from that night on, the raccoon never dared come near our yard again. He had learned his lesson.

And Cricket became our most trusted friend and advisor.

STORY 3 – CRICKET’S TALE

Told by Bella

This summer has been scorching hot. Our owners take us running in the mornings. Sometimes, we go swimming at a nearby lake with a special dog beach.

First, we ride in the owner’s truck. We sit in the backseat with Alice, and it’s pure bliss. We lick her, she pets us, and we become her extra mattresses, not that we mind.

When we get to the park, we walk a short trail. I’m off-leash, but Lola has to stay on hers, she hasn’t learned how to behave yet. She might scare a passing dog. Finally, we descend the trail to the lake, reaching the remote dog beach.

Swimming and Fights at the Dog Beach

And that’s where the fun begins! The owner throws a ball or a stick he finds on the beach, and I dive into the water to fetch it.

Being part Labrador, I’m a great swimmer, and it’s pure joy for me. Lola, however, doesn’t know how to swim. She won’t go far into the water, even though she really wants to. She waits for me at the shore, trying to snatch the stick or ball from me.

I always have to outsmart her to deliver the prize to the owner. The owner even promised to buy Lola a special doggy life vest, one made for big dogs who can’t swim.

As for dog fights, we’ve had a few.

Once, at that same dog beach, a huge Rottweiler burst out of the bushes. A terrifying creature, like a suitcase full of teeth and muscles, charged straight at Lola.

She could’ve been hurt by that torpedo attack.

But I saw what was happening and rushed in to protect her, colliding with the Rottweiler from the side. Lola joined in, and the Rottweiler quickly realized he’d made a mistake.

One of us was attacking from the front, and the other from behind.

Thankfully, the fight didn’t escalate—our owners quickly broke it up.

Conversations with Cricket

But the most remarkable part of this summer has been our conversations with Cricket.

Whenever the owners leave for work, he appears out of nowhere.
Lola and I usually retreat to the shade, and that’s when Cricket shows up.

We’ve had so many chats.

We got used to his oddness surprisingly fast—how we can understand him, he understands us, and how he seems to know everything.

For instance, he told us that five cougars live in the hills outside the city. He explained that we should never charge at a cougar,

"If you do, it’ll swipe you across the face with its paw, and you’ll be nursing your wounds for a long time. Instead, you should bark and gradually close in, pressuring it to retreat."

That seemed like good advice.

One day, I asked him, “It’s kind of sad that you won’t be around next summer.”

"Why do you think that?" he replied.

“Crickets don’t live long,” I said. “Just one summer. We won’t see you next year, right?” I said

He chuckled.

"I’m not an ordinary cricket. I’ve been alive for 72 years, and honestly, I have no idea how much longer I’ll live!"

Lola and I didn’t believe him. We grinned, clearly amused.

Cricket noticed our skeptical faces and continued:

"For doubters like you, I sometimes have to perform miracles. Haven’t I already shown you enough?"

We twitched our ears and smiled again,

“Yeah, you’ve certainly spiced up our lives recently,” we said. “But at the end of the day, you’re just a cricket. Sure, a smart one. But we’re two very intelligent dogs, and even we don’t buy all your stories.”

Cricket puffed himself up, started chirping furiously, and almost growled,

"Watch this!"

Suddenly, he vanished from sight.

At the same moment, something exploded against the fence. The air smelled like burning. Smoke rose from one of the fence planks, a thin tendril curling upward.

We bolted to the fence and found a small, blackened hole burned through one of the planks.

It smelled like something had shot through it.
Cricket was already behind us, chirping smugly,

"Well? Convinced now?"

Cricket’s Secret

I sat down beside Cricket, resting my head on my paws.
Lola lay down on the other side of him.

“Honestly, I have no idea what just happened or who shot at the fence. So why don’t you finally tell us who you are?”

Cricket began his story,

"Long ago, before dogs like you even existed, I found myself in a forest in a faraway country. One night, something happened to me, and I became… different. Completely different. Later, I learned that waves from space passed through that forest—and through me. It’s what advanced civilizations call a ‘lens of possibilities.’ They send these waves across the universe. This wave, tiny by cosmic standards, enveloped the forest—and me, purely by chance."

Lola and I listened, our jaws hanging open.
Cricket continued:

"This lens changed my structure. My insides became completely different. Now, I can do many things and know a great deal. I’ve also learned to communicate with any being capable of thought."

Lola barked, “So, what are you? An alien?”

Cricket paused and then replied,

"I’m not an alien, but you could say I’m charged with alien energy."

Lola tilted her head and said,

"Got it. You could’ve just said that from the start."

Final Thoughts

Lola and I didn’t understand much of what he said.
But we knew one thing for sure—Cricket wasn’t just a talking insect. He was something far more mysterious. And whatever he was, one thing was certain… . He was our friend.

STORY 7 – THE MARCH OF THE WOLVES

Told by Bella

Summer was rolling toward autumn. The heat still lingered, and we spent most days swimming as a family. Cricket had taught us so much—how to handle different creatures, from the smallest to the biggest—and we soaked it all up like sponges. Compared to other dogs, we felt like professors.

One of the most useful things Cricket taught us was how to listen to the cricket radio. At first, it was just random chirping.
But now? Now we knew,

“Three houses away, a raccoon was rummaging through trash. “

“Up in the hills, a cougar had left its cave, stalking a deer in the grove nearby.”

It was like listening to a police scanner.
Lying there, pretending to nap, when in reality, we were on duty.
Listening.
Understanding the language of insects.
We would be grateful to Cricket for the rest of our lives.

One day, our family decided to go camping again.
This time, far away, deep into a provincial park by the lake.
We loaded up the truck with our trailer home and drove off, crossing into the next valley.

The landscape?
The same as always, mountains covered in forest, endless lakes stretching for miles. Few people. Almost no one.

We had a blast! Lola and I?
Heads sticking out the window, feeling the wind rush past our faces.
Ears flapping wildly. Pure joy.

The Campground

Finally, we arrived. A perfect spot, near the water, slightly elevated.

The beach? Just below us. A shore of smooth pebbles.
Lola and Alice ran straight into the water.
I?
I had a job to do.

Marking our territory.
Ten minutes later, the perimeter was secured.
Then? Playtime.

Wrestling, rolling, splashing in the warm water.
Laughing, Alice laughing, us barking.
Until, exhausted, we collapsed on the shore.
Alice snuggled between us, and we rested.

Meanwhile Thomas and Annie built the campfire.
Cooking something delicious.
Then they joined us.
Playing. Splashing.
Running wild on the shore.

This was heaven. For humans. For dogs. Just heaven.

The Hike

One day, our owners decided to go on a long hike.
An overnight trip to a distant, beautiful beach.
A full day of walking.

The night before, rain had poured.

We lay under the trailer’s awning, listening.
Watching.

The rainfall. The forest. The crickets’ chatter.

No danger nearby.
The animals knew we were here.
Most avoided our perimeter.

Only a reckless deer came too close.
I growled once. Gone.

The owners?
Sleeping inside the trailer.
For them, rain was nothing.

By morning, everything had changed.
Tiny streams now rushed down from the mountains.
Even places where there were never streams before.
But a hike is a hike.
And with Thomas?
Everything was prepared.

• Backpacks packed.

• Every detail considered.

• Knife, flashlight, hatchet, rope, fishing line, water, food.

With Thomas, I’d follow him anywhere.
He thinks ahead.

We set out early. Walking slowly, everyone carrying backpacks.
Thomas’s was the biggest. Alice’s was the smallest, a spare outfit and a water bottle.

Our job? Scouting. Running ahead, checking the trail.
Listening. And marking. Letting the world know:
“Two huge dogs are here now. Stay away.”

The Fall

The problem?
It came out of nowhere.
The trail was wide, almost like a road, gently sloping toward the lake.

Then a new stream.
Created by the night’s rain.
A thin trickle of water flowing down the trail, then vanishing over the steep slope.
A minor obstacle. We ran through it.
Annie and Alice walked through it fine.

Thomas? He slipped.
His foot hit a wet rock.
And because of his heavy backpack, he lost his balance.

Suddenly, he was sliding down the hill, toward the lake.
No one even realized what was happening.
Then, Thomas shouted.

Halfway down, he grabbed a tree.
Stopped his fall. We barked.
Annie and Alice screamed in fear.

From below, Thomas called up,
“I’m okay! I’ll climb down slowly.
You take the trail and meet me at the shore.”

I sent Lola with the girls, for protection.
I ran to Thomas. Too fast, overshot.
Scrambled back up.
And then, together, we descended.
Thomas sliding carefully, using one leg.
Sometimes, leaning on me. We made it to the rocky beach.

Thomas? Limping.
He checked his swollen ankle.
Sat on a rock, leg in the lake.
And waited.

Eventually, Annie and Alice arrived. Reunited. Hugging.

And so, a new plan. Set up camp here.

The Nightfall

They built a fire. Made dinner.
We ate, too.
Sausages. Buckwheat porridge.
Heaven.

Thomas dragged over a log for the fire.
Said, “Let it burn all night.”
Then, one by one, everyone went to bed.
Alice first.
Then, as the sky darkened, Annie and Thomas.
Too many emotions for one day.

Lola and I? We lay by the tent, ready to sleep.

The Warning

Then Cricket appeared,

“Listen carefully, dogs. This is important.
Something is coming.
Your actions will decide everything.
Stay still. Do not move.
Or everyone dies.”

We froze. Whimpered softly.

“What’s coming?”

Cricket’s voice was calm.

“In one hour… a wolf pack. Fifty strong.”

My heart stopped. We would die here.
I knew what wolves were.
Wolves don’t play. They go for the throat.

And fifty?
Even two big dogs like us, we stood no chance.

Cricket continued,

“The alpha agreed to pass by.
But only if you stay down.
Do not challenge them.”

I didn’t trust him.
But… We had no choice.
And so, we waited.
For death to march by.

The Wolf Pack Arrives

We lay there, frozen, hearts pounding.
Lola didn’t understand at first.
She growled,

“Wolves? Ha! I’ll crush them all.”

I snapped at her.

“Stay down, idiot. Lie still.
Be quiet if you don’t understand what’s happening.”

Cricket had promised they wouldn’t touch us.
But… . Could I really trust an insect?

Then, we saw them.

First, a few glowing dots.
Eyes.
Four.
Then eight.
Then more.
I lost count.

A sea of glowing eyes, flickering like fireflies.
Reflected in the light of our fire.

Then, Cricket spoke one last time,

“They’re coming. Do not move.”

The Silent March

And then—they appeared. Silhouettes.
Dark, silent, enormous. They moved like shadows.
The alpha led the way. Four wolves across.
Marching like soldiers. Dignified. Silent.
A wolf’s parade.

They looked at us. Not with fear.
Not with anger. With amusement.

A wolf’s smile.
That eerie mix of respect… and superiority.

They knew.
They could end us in seconds.
But tonight?
Tonight, they had a deal.
Tonight, we were beneath their notice.

They slid past us like mist.
Only the sound of waves and cricket chirps around us.
And I felt it.
This was death itself, walking before me.
Wolves. Not dogs.

Perfect. Elite. Killers.

It Was Over in Seconds
Less then a minute.
An eternity.
The pack vanished into the darkness.
Like ghosts.
Gone.
As if they had never been there.

I exhaled.
And for the first time, I thought about Cricket.

He… made this happen.
How could a tiny insect command wolves?

Cricket’s voice returned.

“The wolves are gone. They won’t return.
Two cougars are in the area, but far away.
Stay alert.”

I stumbled to the water and drank.
Lola was already there, gulping thirstily.
Then Thomas stirred.
He unzipped the tent, stretched, and yawned.
He looked at us, confused.

“Why are you whining, doggies?”

“Oh, Thomas…
If only you knew what happened here.
If only you knew why we’re shaking.
Why we’re gulping water like we just faced death.
If only we could tell you.”

But we couldn’t.
And Cricket?
Once again the invisible hero.

That night, I lay beside Lola. Listening to the forest.
Hearing the silence.

And I knew. Tonight, we had walked among legends.
And lived to tell the tale.

STORY 12 – HALLOWEEN

Told by Bella

Autumn arrived. The rains came.
The sky turned gray and heavy.
It was still warm, but the season was changing.
And with it—Halloween was approaching.

A strange holiday.
A night when humans lose their minds.
That’s how it seemed to us, at least.

Cricket tried to explain it.
He talked about witches. Sorcery. The forces of darkness.
We didn’t really understand.
Maybe the gloomy weather was clouding our brains.
But we listened.

Visitors Before the Holiday

Just before Halloween, Thomas’s sister, Gerda, arrived again.
This time she brought her son Lukas.

Lukas was older than Alice, maybe twelve or thirteen.
A skinny kid, but we loved him.
He understood us. He scratched our bellies.
Ran and played with us and Alice.
With him, life was fun.

As Halloween night approached, people started decorating their homes. Some simply placed pumpkins outside, the symbol of the holiday.
Others? They went all out.
Skeletons. Witches. Gravestones.
Horrifying creatures suddenly appeared on front lawns.
And some of them moved.

Even we, big dogs, felt uneasy.
On Halloween night itself, humans did the strangest thing.
They dressed up.
Some wore funny costumes.
Some wore terrifying ones.
Then, they flooded the streets.
Going from house to house, laughing, shouting.
A strange parade.
A carnival of fear.

The Plan

Lukas and Alice plotted their own mischief.
They didn’t tell any adults. Instead, they snuck off to a little shop downtown.

Bought:
Two jars of glow-in-the-dark paint.
Two black bodysuits with printed skeletons on them.
Wear them, and you look like a walking skeleton.
Two flowing black cloaks.
Two terrifying skull masks.

Lukas had saved his own money for this.
They hid everything under the porch.
Ready for Halloween night.

By evening, it was dark. The adults were busy inside.
Lukas and Alice got dressed in the yard.
They pulled on their black bodysuits.
Put on their masks. If I hadn’t known better… .
And I saw them in the night?
I would have run.

Then they painted our faces.
Glow-in-the-dark circles around our eyes.
Stripes on our ears.
Lines across our muzzles.

I sat still.
Lola fidgeted.
I growled at her,

"Hold still! This is serious business."

They painted ribs on our sides.
Outlined our tails.
And legs.
In the dark?
We looked like monsters.
Like the Hounds of Baskerville.
That’s what Cricket called us.

The First Scare

Once fully dressed, we snuck out the back gate.
Then, we walked around to the front of our own house.
Lukas knocked on the door.
As if he were a stranger.

Gerda answered.
She took one look at us.
And gasped.
Standing there in the dark.
Two glowing demon dogs.
Two small skeletons.

A chilling silence.

Then, she laughed.
And called out,

"Thomas! Annie! Come see this!"

The adults were impressed.
Then Annie said,

"Wait. I have something too."

And she disappeared into the house.

A few minutes later she emerged.

The Witch Appears

She was unrecognizable.
Dressed in a flowing black cloak.
A wide-brimmed hat.
A veil covering her face.
And in her hand… .
A staff.
A real witch.

Even Thomas and Gerda were stunned.

"Wow."

But the most shocking part?
Her cloak.
It shimmered.
Almost as if it glowed from within.
And her hat?
Not cheap fabric.
It sparkled, like it was covered in gemstones.

She smiled.

"A gift from my friend," she said.

And so, our parade set off down the street.
First us, the ghost dogs, glowing in the dark.
Then two small skeletons.
Then the terrifying witch.
And behind Thomas and Gerda, wearing masks.

We walked toward the clearing at the end of the street.
A place where neighbors gathered for celebrations.

As we walked, people stared.
More and more joined us.
They filmed us on their phones.
By the time we reached the clearing, a crowd had gathered.

The Witch’s Final Trick

The clearing was a grassy square, 100 meters wide.
Trees lined the edges.
A small stage stood at the far side.
People greeted us, cheering.

But Annie?
She ignored them.
She strode toward the stage.
Climbed the steps.

Silence fell.

She raised her staff.
Shouted something in a strange language.
Spun in place.
Then she struck the ground with her staff.
A flare shot into the sky.
A thick white fog rolled over the stage.
And when it cleared—
She was gone.
The crowd exploded in applause.
What a performance!

When we got home, Annie was already waiting inside.
Everyone praised her trick.
It was perfect.

Cricket’s Warning

That night, we told Cricket all about the evening.
We expected him to laugh.
But instead, he just sighed.
Then said, almost sadly,

"Well… it looks like it has begun."