Clive and Sherman are about to find out the truth to the rumors of spirits on the train they’ve hitched a ride on. But will they survive?

Today’s story is“Brunhilda” by Nenekiri Bookwyrm, who is a dragon that makes games and writes stories. He’s also been known to paint and play the ukulele on occasion. When he’s not reading from his hoard of To-Read books, he makes time to write some stories of his own. He’s recently been featured in Shark Week: An Anthro Ocean Animal Anthology by Rainbow Dog Books, and you can find more of his stories on www.nenekiri.com.

He who seeketh danger, comes not back empty handed. If at all. Old proverb, of possible relevance. Also of possible relevance: the things seen on crossroads, bridges, train stations, and all the other liminal spaces where the known and the unknown meet. But judge that relevance for yourself, listener, in “Brunhilda” tonight on the Ghost of Dog.

thevoice.dog | Apple podcasts | Spotify | Google Podcasts

If you have a story you think would be a good fit, you can check out the requirements, fill out the submission template and get in touch with Khaki on Twitter or Telegram!

You’re listening to The Voice of Dog.

and this week we’re reading Halloween stories

Today’s story

is“Brunhilda” by Nenekiri Bookwyrm,

who is a dragon that makes games

and writes stories.

He’s also been known to paint and play the ukulele on occasion.

When he’s not reading from his hoard of To-Read books,

he makes time to write some stories of his own.

He’s recently been featured in

An Anthro Ocean Animal Anthology

by Rainbow Dog Books,

and you can find more of his stories

on www.nenekiri.com.

He who seeketh danger, comes not back empty handed.

If at all. Old proverb, of possible relevance.

Also of possible relevance:

the things seen on crossroads, bridges,

train stations, and all the other liminal spaces where the known and the unknown meet.

But judge that relevance for yourself, listener,

in “Brunhilda” tonight

on the Ghost of Dog. Copy and paste your story here: Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-kachunk-kachunk

Sherman couldn't believe that Clive had talked him into this.

While other kids were out trick-or-treating or going

to Halloween parties, they were stowing away

on an old timey passenger train.

He didn't think the trains ran this late,

but the Night Express

5382 was an exception.

That was a mouthful for most, so folks started calling the train Brunhilda,

after the old conductor that used to work the cars centuries ago.

There were more rumors about a possible paranormal connection to the train than there were cabs in the line.

And as members of their school's paranormal investigation club, they had an obligation to check into them.

Or more accurately, Clive thought they had an obligation.

Sherman was fine with letting the stories go uninvestigated.

It’s not like anyone else in their group was raising their paws to volunteer either.

Even Raúl, who Sherman thought would be all over this particular story, didn't offer a helping hoof.

Before they got on the train, Sherman tried to convince Clive that they could just take some pictures outside of the

train station and tell everyone they got thrown off,

but he wasn't having it.

Some nonsense about “getting the first proof of train ghosts” that made Sherman roll his eyes

and throw up his wings in exasperation.

They had packed light for their mission.

Sherman brought a small instant camera

and Clive had a tape recorder he borrowed from his Dad along with a fanny pack to hold some snacks.

The idea was to get onto the train without the conductor noticing

and ride it until morning.

They had somehow managed to make it onto the nearest passenger car without arousing suspicion

and hid themselves underneath the seats.

It was a tight squeeze to get their bodies under there,

but they had managed it better than he expected.

To their surprise and relief,

the train took off shortly after they boarded.

Picking up steam as it rattled along the tracks in a rhythm of its own. Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-kachunk-kachunk

What felt like hours later,

Sherman poked his beak out from under the seat and looked around the empty car.

He couldn’t see if anyone was waiting for him

and the only sound seemed to be

the movement of the train.

Taking a chance that it was safe,

he stretched out his wings

and pulled himself out from under the seat.

He stood up slowly and fluffed out his feathers.

Preening himself a bit before unfortunately finding

a piece of old gum stuck to his wings.

He spit it out immediately

and used his beak to lay his feathers flat once more.

Now that he was able to stretch out his legs and wings

properly, Sherman could focus once again on being completely unnerved.

Even without the possibility of ghosts, the train car was creepy.

The only light coming from the full moon outside shining through the glass windows heightened the rest of the shadows in the rickety room.

There was a feeling creeping at the back of Sherman’s neck

that being in the passenger car when there were no other passengers was wrong.

It was the same feeling he got when he would have to pick something up at the school

after all the kids and teachers had left.

That without others around him, he was intruding

on the car’s rest somehow,

as absurd as that sounded.

He let the feeling wash over him

and shivered to try and get it to pass.

There was a part of his brain that insisted he shouldn’t be so scared all the time.

Being a falcon meant he was a bird of prey after all.

But then another voice reminded him that his bones were light and hollow

and very, very breakable.

So if there was a ghost hiding in the shadows of the train car,

he was almost certainly going to die.

Especially if the ghost decided to throw him out of the train.

Sherman kept coming up with worse and worse scenarios until he noticed he was nervously chewing on his hind talons.

The habit was one he was trying to break,

but he was glad it had stopped him from spiraling further.

He put his talon down and decided that he should check on Clive.

He’d been suspiciously quiet through all of the recent commotion. Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-kachunk-kachunk

Sherman peeked under the seat across from him and saw that Clive’s eyes were closed.

The sound of the train had drowned it out earlier, but when he leaned in, Sherman could hear the soft sound of Clive’s even breathing.

He was curled up in a ball of pale yellow and dark amber scales

cuddling his own tail.

Sherman reached over to his snout and used his feathers to tickle under his chin. “C’mon ya big lizard.

Time to hunt for your ghosts,”

Sherman whispered to Clive while moving his hand back and forth.

Clive squirmed a little

and let go of his tail instinctively.

He opened his eyes and yawned,

smacking his lips together as he did so.

“Oh, hey Sherman. I had the strangest dream.

I was an expensive vase in a millionaire’s mansion and I was getting dusted by this really fluffy feather duster.”

Sherman stopped moving his hand under his chin

and Clive looked up into his friend’s face.

“Ah, that might explain that.”

He pulled himself out from under the seat and went to stand.

Clive was a skink,

which meant a short neck

and shorter legs.

It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that Clive was mostly torso,

with the next biggest part of him being his tail.

Because of this, Sherman was the taller and lankier of the two of them.

“You’re lucky you looked cute sleeping around your tail or else I wouldn’t have woken you up so gently.”

“Aww, you do care.” Sherman responded by lightly slapping Clive’s snout with his wing.

Clive laughed it off, blowing away a feather that stuck to his nose with a puff of air.

He stuck out his blue tongue at Sherman

who shook his head in exasperation.

“What am I gonna do with you?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,”

Clive said after pulling his tongue back into his mouth.

“Have you noticed anything weird yet?”

Sherman chirped indignantly.

“You mean to tell me taking midnight rides on old trains isn’t weird enough for you?

No wonder you didn’t want to go to that Halloween party tonight.

Not a lot of high schoolers who would pass that opportunity up for a musty train car.”

“Hey, come on. Don’t be like that. You know I’m missing out tonight too.

I heard Mrs. Butterbean is giving out full-size candy bars at her house,”

Clive said while digging out his tape recorder from his fanny pack.

“Somehow I think you’ll manage.” Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-kachunk-kachunk

Sherman and Clive

had stood for about an hour waiting for something to happen in the train

car. From the reports they had gotten from other folks,

the train was supposed to be a hotbed of paranormal activity.

But Clive wasn’t impressed.

He had expected to see something,

anything within the first hour of observation.

Sherman did his best to persuade his friend

that the ghosts might just be shy.

At least, that’s what he hoped.

Having Clive there did help to settle some of his nerves a bit,

but it was still a good deal creepier than Sherman would have cared for.

Clive didn’t seem to be affected by the lonesome clanking of the train

and the emptiness of the train car.

Or if he was, he wasn’t showing it to Sherman.

They both grew tired of standing and decided to sit on the seats and wait for the ghosts to show up that way.

They chose seats facing each other and sat down carefully.

Sherman noticed that the seats looked almost brand new.

He didn’t notice when he was hiding under them,

but there were hardly any signs of age on the cushions.

Some discoloration from exposure to the sun,

but no rips or tears to be found.

The whole surface was smooth to the touch of his wingtip.

“Clive, do you think it’s weird how good this train looks?” “What do you mean Sherman?”

Sherman clicked his beak in consternation and said,

“It’s just that, this is supposed to be an old train right? From the 1800’s at least.

Why would a train that old have no visible wear and tear on it?

Even the paint on the inside isn’t peeling.

It should be beat up to hell and back.”

Clive put a hand to his chin

and thought for a second before coming back

with, “Maybe it was restored?

That’s a big thing nowadays.

Making sure old stuff can be enjoyed by a new group of people.

They might’ve just reupholstered the seats or something.”

“It just doesn’t sit well with me.

I get an urge to ruffle all my feathers just thinking about it.”

“Well then don’t think about it.

That’s what I do.”

“You can’t be serious.”

Clive smiled and adjusted his tail so that it laid over his lap before saying,

“It’s worked for me so far.”

Sherman couldn’t really argue with him.

He’d seen Clive’s nerves of steel firsthand multiple times.

This wasn’t the first time they’d sneaked into somewhere they weren’t supposed to be chasing after a story.

He was just surprised that the explanation for his calm demeanor in the face of mortal terror

was so simple. Sherman had expected him to say he meditates or

has seen something so terrifying that everything else is small potatoes in comparison. Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-kachunk-kachunk

He was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of a bag crinkling.

When he went to look over at Clive he could see that he was pulling open a snack bag.

The bag had an exuberant cartoon cricket

on the side and a logo in bold impact font that spelled out

“Cricket Chips”. “How can you be hungry right now?” Clive shrugged as he popped one of the chips into his mouth.

“We’ve been up half the night. I’m surprised you’re not.

Besides, it doesn’t seem like anything is gonna happen anyway.

I was really hoping this time we’d get the scoop of the century.”

“We’ve never gotten any concrete evidence before. Let’s just

embellish our experience and call it a column.”

“Yeah, yeah. I was just hoping this time would be different.”

Sherman felt a strange mixture

of relief and sadness.

He hated to see his friend disappointed, but was glad the ghosts had decided to keep away from them tonight.

He got up from his seat

and went over to place his wing on Clive’s shoulder.

“You want to take some pictures of me looking scared?

That always seems to be a hit with the people who read our

stuff.” Clive perked his snout up and nodded. He took another chip from his bag and popped it into his mouth before setting the bag down on his seat. He motioned to Sherman to give him the instant camera.

Together they found some spots in the train car that had sufficiently spooky lighting

and Sherman posed for the camera.

As they finished their small photoshoot,

Clive handed the camera back over to Sherman.

“That should just about do it.

Now what?” “Well, we’ll have to wait until the train stops to get off.

Come to think of it, I’m surprised it hasn’t stopped yet.”

But Sherman couldn’t think about that right now.

There was something terribly wrong and he couldn’t put a wingtip on it.

Something had changed in the train car

as they were taking the pictures.

But what? Then it hit him. “Clive?

Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” “Exactly.”

The train car had become

eerily quiet. So quiet that they couldn’t hear the train moving anymore.

Sherman slowly turned his head

to the side to look out the window.

Sure enough, they were still moving.

He could see the landscape sliding along

just as easily as before.

He wasn’t sure if that was a relief or not.

And out of the corner of his vision, Sherman could see a faint orange light coming from the other end of the train car.

Clive had noticed it too.

“Uh, Sherman? What’s that?”

Sherman turned around slowly

and looked over where his friend was pointing.

The orange light was faint at first,

but it grew in intensity quickly.

Whatever it was pushed through the closed train car door

and manifested just on the other side.

Now that the light was brighter,

they could make out an outlined shape of a frog

that appeared to be a knight of some sort.

He was wearing a light suit of armor and carried his helmet under his arm.

The only truly perceivable portion of his body was his outline.

The rest was a pale translucent orange that made him see through.

He walked slowly around the train car,

turning around at random intervals.

He didn’t pay attention to the stunned kids at the other end of the train car

who couldn’t believe what they were seeing.

Sherman went to whisper something to Clive,

beak chattering against his will,

but Clive had already clicked on his tape recorder.

He took his eyes off the apparition for a second to look at Clive

and saw the lizard’s face

had the biggest smile plastered over it.

“Sherman! That’s an honest to goodness ghost!

Do you know what this means?”

“That we’re in horrible danger?”

“No! That we’ve got a chance at that unbelievable scoop after all.

Quick, get your camera back out.

I’m going to try and make contact with it.”

“Are you crazy Clive? You’re

not seriously going to talk to that thing are you?” But Clive was already walking toward the spirit,

enthusiasm clear in his bouncy step.

Sherman had never seen him this excited.

He tried to follow after him, but had to walk at a much slower pace to avoid feeling like sprinting in the opposite direction.

When he did catch up,

Clive looked as confused as the spirit.

He tried waving his hands in front of him.

Yelling out to him.

Even offering him the tape recorder.

But he didn’t react to any of what Clive tried.

Sherman even took some pictures of him, shakily, with the instant camera.

And still no reaction from the spirit.

Clive brought the tape recorder back to his mouth and said,

“I don’t get it. Why isn’t he reacting?

What do you think, Sherman?”

He extended the tape recorder over to Sherman’s beak

and waited for the falcon to answer. Sherman cleared his throat a little too loudly and responded with,

“He can’t tell we’re even here.

He’s already looked around the train car a couple times.

If we were what he was looking for, he would have said something by now. And besides...”

Sherman put a wingtip on the tape recorder

and slowly pushed it back over to Clive.

He whispered, “We shouldn’t be trying to get his attention in the first place.

What if he decides to hurt us?

Or worse, follow us off the train

and haunt us back at school?”

“You think he would do that?”

Clive asked excitedly.

“It’s not supposed to be a good thing Clive!”

The frog knight had stopped moving while the two were whispering to each other and

now both of them had noticed that he was looking out the window.

The spirit shook his head side-to-side,

shrugged his shoulders,

and croaked deeply in a language neither of the boys understood.

The croaking had sent a shiver down the tailfeathers of Sherman

as he willed his feathers

from puffing up around him.

Clive double checked his tape recorder to make sure it was recording,

no doubt hoping that the otherworldly sound would get caught for reference later.

The spirit moved his helmet out from under his shoulder,

put it on his head,

and started walking away.

It was a curious sight to see,

as the direction he was walking

was headed straight for the side of the train car

and through the window.

Before he could collide with the boundary,

however, his form dissipated into motes of orange light

that scattered out

until he could no longer be seen.

Sherman breathed a sigh of relief

and began to chew at his hind talons to try and calm himself down.

Clive clicked off the tape recorder

and jumped the highest Sherman had ever seen into the air.

When he landed back onto the train car with a *thud*

he was beaming. “We’ve hit the jackpot!

Photographic evidence

AND a sound sample!

The guys back at the paranormal investigation club are going to lose their minds over this evidence!”

Sherman wanted to share in Clive’s celebration,

but he couldn’t help but to notice

that the orange light

was entering the train car once again.

And this time, it wasn’t just one point of light that entered.

All around them were balls of orange light

that shimmered and shifted into spirits.

Until the entire train car was lit up in

their warm orange glow.

As they moved around, the two could see a pattern forming.

They were dancing.

The spirits had the outlines of noble folk,

looking for all the world like they had stepped out of a castle and into a train car.

They must have attended a masquerade ball as they all wore masks that covered their faces.

The strangest part about their costumes though, was the lack of a face under the masks.

The dancers glided to and fro,

and as they spun and twirled,

Sherman and Clive could see that there was no head, snout, or ears to hold the masks aloft.

Sherman ran to the nearest seat

and ducked behind it,

hoping to avoid detection.

As he ran, one of the dancers

passed through his body,

diffusing into orange sparks, before coalescing back into shape.

While he didn’t notice this,

Clive did. “Did you see that?”

“Do you mean the headless parade of dancing ghosts?” Sherman warbled from behind his shelter.

“Yeah I did see that! It’s very hard to miss.”

“No, I mean when you passed through them.

They came back together again. Look,”

He wiggled his tail

and a couple of the dancers scattered into light, then reformed behind him.

He waved his arms and legs around the middle of the circle of dancers, scattering them all.

It took them longer to reform this time,

but soon enough they were right back to dancing.

“They’re completely harmless.”

Sherman poked his beak out from the side of the seat and said,

“I’m glad you think so.

I’ll be staying over here, thank you very much!”

Clive shook his head and said,

“You’re overreacting!

If they were malicious spirits, they would have tried something by now.

Trust me, I’ve done a lot of research into this.”

Sherman wanted to believe Clive, he really did.

Maybe he was overreacting to this whole mess.

But how else was one supposed to react to seeing a ghost for the first time?

Let alone an entire dancing troupe of them?

To Sherman, Clive was the one acting abnormally.

He went to go to stand up, but stopped himself when he saw that the dancers

had stopped moving.

They were all staring up at something above them,

but whatever it was the two boys couldn’t see it.

There were frightened whispers between the ghosts in that language that they couldn’t make out.

And then they all screamed.

An enormous ball of orange light

crashed through the ceiling of the train car

and scattered the dancers beneath it.

As the light coursed through the train car, Clive hit the floor

and Sherman ducked back under the seat.

It was chaos as the dancers were snuffed out

by the bigger light engulfing them.

When the light had reached Sherman,

he could not take anymore.

He let out an ear-piercing shriek that resounded off the train car walls

and out into the night. “AHHHHHHHHHHH!!!”

Surprisingly, the light vanished from view.

The train car was empty, save for

the two boys again.

Sherman’s eyes were wild with fear.

He darted out from the seat shouting,

“That’s enough! Get me off this train

now!” Clive was still stunned when he figured out what Sherman was trying to do. He got up and ran toward his friend just as Sherman had thrown open the door to the train car. Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-kachunk-kachunk

The wind whistled in their ears

and tugged at Sherman’s outstretched wings,

pulling him up, up,

up away from the train car.

Clive wrapped his tail around a nearby pole and leaned out,

trying to grab Sherman before he was carried away.

He managed to get a hold of his legs

and pulled with all he had until Sherman could pull his wings back inside the train car.

He fell back onto Clive and they both landed

in a heap behind the door.

Clive unwrapped his tail

and smacked it into the door, slamming it shut.

When they had both gotten their breath again,

Clive asked, “What were you thinking? Are you trying to become a ghost?”

Sherman had curled up into a small ball

and was softly crying.

Clive immediately regretted his outburst

as he put his hand on his friend’s wing.

He went to give him a hug and Sherman unfolded his wings enough to let Clive in.

When he next spoke, he said,

“I just want to go home.

This is all too much for me.”

Clive held him as he collected himself.

He wanted to tell him that everything would be OK.

That they weren’t in any danger and

the first safe chance they had, they’d hop off the train

and find a way to get back home.

But as the orange light returned, he felt saying those things would be moot.

“Don’t open your eyes.

I think there’s another spirit in the train car.”

Sherman did as he was told and kept his eyes shut.

Clive turned around

and faced the new spirit that was manifesting.

The glow in the cabin

was immense as it arrived.

The whole of the train car was bathed in orange light as

a reptilian snout poked through the door first.

Snuffling left, then right,

it’s nose looking for something it could not see.

The rest of the head pushed through shortly after and

Clive had to stifle a gasp.

Whatever it was, it’s neck was enormous.

Easily long enough to reach its head all the way down the train car

and look down at him and Sherman.

The eyes were as big as the seats and slitted,

both sharp as daggers,

and pointed directly at him.

“Sherman, I think this one can see us.”

“What do we do?” “Let’s try to show we mean no harm.

Very slowly put your hands up.”

Sherman shakily moved his wings out to the side of Clive

as he too put his hands up.

“See? We’re friendly.”

The creature seemed to understand the gesture

as it’s eyes relaxed

and its head posture lowered.

Clive was about to tell Sherman that he could open his eyes

when he noticed that the creature was moving its head down toward him.

He waved his arms in protest

before the creature carefully opened its mouth a fraction of an inch and pinched the fabric of his shirt.

Puzzled as to what the creature was trying to communicate with him,

he grabbed his own shirt

and was fascinated to see that it had

turned the same

translucent orange as the spirits.

He felt Sherman hug him again,

this time tightly,

and the next thing he felt was the sensation of being flung into the air.

For the first time that night,

Clive screamed. They were above the train,

being carried in the creature’s mouth as it flew past

all of the cars towards the locomotive.

The creature dove down and Clive braced himself for an impact that never came

as they phased through the top of the engine car

and down into the heart of the train.

Once in the car, Clive and Sherman were let go

and they tumbled to a stop just short of the engine.

The creature shrank as it phased its massive body

through the engine door, leaving the two boys to reorient themselves on their own.

“Brunhilda!” a snarling voice screamed from the pilot’s seat.

“What is all that racket?”

A frazzled looking cougar came stomping into the room wearing a disheveled pair of striped pajamas.

She took one look at the boys sprawled on the floor of her cabin and hissed.

“Stowaways, huh? Well, I know exactly what to do with you.”

Tilly moved toward the both of them,

eyes glinting like mad in the moonlight.

She reached out with her claws as the sound of the train

roared below them. Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-kachunk-kachunk

Sitting on a blanket listening to the conductor explain how this train worked was quite the surreal experience.

Clive had picked the spot closest to the engine so that

he could warm his scales.

Sherman had opted to sit a safe distance away for now.

Tilly, the cougar that had found them,

had explained what was going on over a cup of warm cider.

“I find folk are more willing to accept what I tell them with a hot drink in their belly.”

Clive sipped the cider and nodded, though he still wasn’t sure he could follow what she had said.

Thankfully, Sherman spoke up and asked for him.

“So wait. You’re telling me that Brunhilda is a dragon? Like a

real, honest to goodness dragon?”

“Yes, more specifically the soul of a dragon.

But at that point we’re just splitting hairs.”

“And she powers the whole train from the engine?”

“Yep.” “How?” “I don’t rightly know myself.

But it’s a wonder innit?”

Clive held up his hand, school instincts taking over,

and when Tilly’s focus shifted to him he asked,

“But how did she end up in the engine?

Aren’t dragons, y’know,

huge?” Tilly laughed and then said,

“Well, you’re not wrong.

Fact of the matter is, she got there because my great-great-great-great-great aunt took pity on her.

She transferred her soul into the engine

as the train was being built because it was a construct that would be big enough to hold the entirety of her.”

“Why would they even need to do that?”

Tilly frowned a little and said,

“Too many machines.

Air was too heavy. The poor girl couldn’t take off and fly right anymore.

When my aunt found her, she couldn’t lift off the ground.

Couldn’t move. That’s no way for a dragon to live.

Brunhilda had so much life left in her, but she was bound to her body. So, my aunt gave her a way to see the world and continue living.”

“That’s amazing! Isn’t that amazing Sherman?”

Sherman took a sip of his cider and then said,

“But that doesn’t explain the spirits. What about all those dancing ghosts and the frog knight?”

Tilly looked at Sherman

as though he had laid an egg.

“There’s no spirits on this train boy.

I think you might have had a little too much cider.”

She reached over to grab the mug back from Sherman,

but he smacked her hand away with his wing.

“What Sherman means to say is, we saw the same orange light that Brunhilda is made of pass through the train car earlier.

Do you know what that’s about?”

Tilly thought for a second

and then her eyes lit up.

She motioned for the two of them to follow her

as she walked over to the engine

and pulled back the cover to the engine door.

The heat from inside was tremendous, but it was comforting too.

Her presence a pleasant warmth that seeped out into the cabin.

Looking inside, they could all see Brunhilda’s spectral body

coiled around the engine.

She was much smaller in there, but her whole body

was laid flat along the ground and it looked as though she was sleeping. “Sometimes Brunhilda gets restless and she needs to run off some steam to get a good night’s rest.

I took her out tonight so she could calm down enough to finally sleep.”

“So, she was dreaming?”

“Bingo.” Clive looked disappointed so Sherman chimed in with, “Aww,

don’t worry Clive. There’s at least one ghost on the train.

And you got the chance to see her.”

Tilly shook her head and said,

“You have got to get it through your head

that I say what I mean and I mean what I say.

There are no spirits on this train.

Long as she’s still running, Brunhilda is just as alive as you or me.

And speaking of which...”

A growl had crept into her voice as she lowered herself down to stare at the two of them dead in their eyes.

“None of this, is to leave this here train car.

If the wrong person found out,

they’d want to dismantle her

and find out what makes her tick.

I can’t let that happen.”

She held out her palm, waiting for the boys to take the hint.

Sherman understood immediately

and turned over his instant camera.

“Consider it already forgotten ma’am.”

Then he nudged Clive in the ribs

so he would give her the tape recorder.

Tilly smiled and said,

“Much obliged gentlemen.

Make yourselves comfy. I’ll make sure you get dropped off proper in the morning.”

As she walked away to dispose of the evidence,

Clive turned to Sherman and smiled.

“What are you so happy about?”

“After everything that’s happened,

I forgot it was Halloween.

We managed to get a good scare in after all!”

This was “Brunhilda”

by Nenekiri Bookwyrm,

read for you by Kergiby,

a full-time panther,

as part of a special Halloween presentation

called The Ghost Of Dog.

As always, You can find more stories on the web at thevoice.dog,

or find the show wherever you get your podcasts.

Thank you for listening

to The Voice of Dog.