The scariest ghost story in my life happened when I was nine. As are most little kids, I was afraid of the dark. My little bee night light glowed through the my dark cloaked room. I tried to imagine a nice bright sunny beach, no use. As I pulled the covers up over my head, I heard a soft padding in my room. Like that of a small puppy. I tried to convince myself to just forget and fall asleep. The padding continued. It seemed to be getting closer to my bed. And it actually was. I peeked over the top of my covers and whimpered. There on my bed was a dent. It looked as if something was sitting on the side of it. And something was. All of a sudden in the place of the dent in my bed growled. I thought, "A ghost of a dog has come to kill me. It's mad!" But I had never harmed an animal in my life! I just didn't move, and breathed quietly, trying not to anger the thing. But it was no use. A rush of wind just came at me and I felt pain on the left side of my face. Then everything was over. I fell asleep.

In the morning I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth. That's when I saw it. The mirror had a long thin scratch, running about five inches long. Then I looked at my face. I had three evenly spread red lines on the left side. I remembered the last night and screamed. I faced the truth that last night I had been attacked by a ghost dog. And I still have three pale scars on my face.