The Butcher's Husband and Other Stories

by Amy Cross

  Suddenly she reaches over and tries to take the pages from my hands, but I manage to pull away just in time.

  “Let me see,” she says firmly. “Why are you being selfish?”

  “I'm not,” I reply, “I just... I'm fine, thank you.”

  “The messages are from higher-placed beings who have transcended their corporeal bodies,” she explains, her eyes filled with a kind of mania. “They seek out those of us who can understand their new world, and they try to help us ascend to their level. It's not easy, though. They only want the absolute best people. That's why they hide their messages in such secret places.”

  She leans closer, and I get a strong whiff of stale urine.

  “I found my first message,” she adds, “in a crossword puzzle.”

  I wait for her to continue, but she's simply staring at me as if she thinks that I'll somehow understand.

  “Uh huh,” I say finally. “That's great.”

  “They use word searches sometimes too,” she continues. “They like to test us in different ways. That's their way of telling whether or not we're mentally nimble. It's a quality I call transbioluminescence.”

  “Is it?” I reply, figuring that I just need to stay friendly. At the same time, I ring the bell to get off the bus; I'm a couple of stops early, but I don't mind a little walk, not if it means getting away from this lady.

  I just hope she stays on the bus.

  “I'm a level ten,” she says, tapping the side of her head. “If you're just starting out, you're probably a level one.” She looks at the pages again. “You need to give those to me,” she adds. “If there's a message in there, it's probably for me. The beings probably put you on this bus so that you could give me the message.”

  “I'm not sure,” I say, getting to my feet as the bus pulls to the side of the road. “It was nice to meet you. Thank you. Have a nice evening.”

  With that, I turn and hurry off the bus. I force myself to not look back, and at the same time I'm desperately hoping that the woman isn't following me. Only once I'm on the side of the road, and once I hear the bus pulling away again, do I dare turn and look back. To my immense relief, I see that the woman is still on the bus as it passes me, although she's glaring at me as if she's mad that I didn't give her the papers.

  I force an empty smile, but I think I'm too late.

  She's gone.

  Left standing alone on the side of the road, I take a moment to slip the papers into my bag. At the same time, I'm starting to think that my encounter with the woman might have been quite well-timed. I've been thinking about the strange notes all day at work, and now I realize that I was in danger of letting them take over my life.

  I mean, Jasper, come on...

  They're a prank.

  Someone, at some point over the past few months, obviously put them into your bed while they were at our apartment. I don't know who'd do that, but it's the only possible explanation. This whole thing is a hoax.

  Dogs don't have a secret language.

  Dogs don't write diaries.

  So as I walk home, I make a big decision. I'm not going to waste any more time translating the nonsense that I found hidden in your bed. I'm just going to put the pages aside and probably throw them away, and then I'm going to focus on getting on with my life. You understand, Jasper, don't you? If I really thought that you'd magically left a diary behind, I'd be all over that thing. But I'm not insane. Not yet, anyway.

  I don't want to end up like that lady on the bus, rambling about ridiculous theories and smelling of stale wee. I want to keep my feet planted firmly on the ground.

  Chapter Eight

  Three months later...

  “We meet again.”

  Startled, I turn and see a smiling, handsome man standing behind me in the queue at the corner shop. I know I've seen him before, but it takes a moment before I can quite place him.

  “Justin,” he says, having evidently clocked my confusion. “We live in the same building.”

  “I know that,” I reply. “I mean, of course I do. Sorry, it's just been a long day.”

  “Getting dinner, huh?”

  He looks down at the items I'm holding. I look down too, and I don't feel particularly proud of myself as I see that all I have in my arms is a box of frozen fish fingers, a jar of mayonnaise, and some toilet paper.

  “I just didn't have anything in,” I explain, “and -”

  Before I can finish, he suddenly breaks into a coughing fit. He turns away and covers his mouth with his hands, but for a few seconds he seems to be really struggling. I figure that maybe this would be an appropriate moment to pat him on the back, but I don't really have a free hand.

  “Are you okay?” I ask finally, as he stops coughing and turns back to me.

  “I'm fine,” he says, although he sounds a little raspy. “I swear, after I moved into my new flat about six months ago, my lungs have been terrible. If I didn't know better, I'd swear there was an asbestos problem in that building.”

  The woman at the front of the queue heads out with her shopping, so we all shuffle forward a spot.

  “I'm pretty sure there's no asbestos in there,” I tell Justin. “It's quite a new building.”

  “I know,” he replies, “but have you noticed that bluey-red dust that's always in the hallways and the stairwells? I even find it in my flat sometimes.”

  “Yeah, I've noticed,” I tell him. “My dog always seemed not to like it.”

  I pause for a moment.

  “His name was Jasper,” I add.

  I like saying your name still. Even three months after you died, I miss you so much. But then, you know that already, don't you? I mean, I almost always talk to you in my head.

  “I'm thinking of calling someone in to look at that dust,” Justin says. “The guy in charge of the building says it's nothing to worry about, he just thinks we should take it in turns to vacuum the communal spaces. But I told him, that dust isn't just normal dust. I don't know what it is, but it should at least be checked out. Does he listen to me, though? Hell, no. He's more interested in handing out notices for cars that are parked in the wrong bay.”

  The next customer leaves, and we shuffle forward again. There's only one person ahead of me now.

  I can't really think of anything to say about the dust. Does that make me unimaginative, or is it just that there isn't much to say about dust in the first place? I mean, he's right that the dust is there, and he's probably right that someone should clean it away more often. Beyond that, however, I really don't know that there's much to be gained from a conversation on the subject. And if there is, I certainly can't think of it.

  The woman ahead of me is really taking her time as she tries to decide which scratch-cards to buy.

  “I used to love fish fingers as a kid,” Justin says suddenly. “I used to call them fishy fingers, because I used to eat them by hand and then my fingers would end up smelling of fish.”

  I wait, but he doesn't continue that story.

  “I eat mine with a knife and fork,” I say finally.

  “That's probably smart. At least your fingers don't smell of fish, I guess.”

  “No, they do not,” I reply, shuddering inside at the bizarre turns this conversation is taking.

  Suddenly the woman ahead of me shuffles out of the way, and I find that it's my turn at the counter. I set my items down, and then I wait patiently as the guy scans them one by one. I really want to buy some chocolate, but at the same time I don't want Justin to think that I'm some kind of unhealthy eater, so I figure I can do without for tonight. Or, I can just come back a little later if I get desperate.

  The perils of living alone. I've only been living alone for three months, Jasper, since you died. Already, I'm finding it tough. Then again, some people might think living with a dog also counts as living alone. Are they right?

  I think I'm glad I didn't just say that out loud.

  “You want a bag?” the guy behind the counters asks.

&nb
sp; “No, thank you,” I reply as I get my money out. “Gotta save the environment, right?”

  That's better. I turn to see if Justin's impressed by my environmentally friendly shopping habits, but I don't think he's noticed. He's too busy picking some of that dust out from under his fingernails.

  Chapter Nine

  Wandering along the path that leads to my building, I can't help but think about the times you and I used to walk this way. You liked to mix your walks up a lot, Jasper, but this path near the river was always your favorite. Up ahead, there's the bridge you always liked crossing. Sometimes you'd stop and wag your tail as you watched the water.

  Spotting movement nearby, I see a man hurrying through the darkness, carrying a large plastic bag as he makes his way onto the bridge.

  I glance over my shoulder, but there's no sign of Justin. I kinda assumed that he'd catch up to me after I left the shop. I mean, this is the fastest way back to the building by far, but I guess maybe he's not heading home. For all I know, he's going off to visit people somewhere. I mean, he probably has a girlfriend somewhere. He's a nice guy, very handsome and friendly, so it'd almost be weird if he didn't have a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend. Whatever he wants. The point is, I'm sure he's very busy.

  I walk on for a moment, and then I glance back again, just in case he comes into view.

  Nope.

  Nothing.

  Nada.

  “Fuck you!” a voice says suddenly.

  Turning as I reach the bridge, I'm just in time to see that the man from earlier is now holding up the plastic bag, as if he's going to throw it into the river. I slow my pace a little, and at that point I notice that the bag is moving slightly as if something's wriggling inside. And then, just as I begin to wonder exactly what I'm witnessing, the man suddenly tosses the bag over the side of the bridge, sending it crashing down into the dark water below.

  I watch as the man hurries this way, and he pushes me aside as he races off into the night.

  And then, as if to confirm my worst suspicions, I hear a faint, terrified yelping sound coming from down in the water.

  Dropping my shopping, I race onto the bridge and look down, just in time to see that the bag is being carried away by the current. I hesitate for a moment, telling myself that I must be wrong about what I think I just saw, but then there's another yelp and I feel a rush of panic in my chest as I realize that I was right all along.

  Puppies!

  I race back across the bridge, and then I make my way as fast as possible down the muddy slope that leads to the river's edge. Once I'm down there, I slither down onto my butt and look out across the water. There's not much moonlight tonight, but I can just about see the plastic bag as it drifts further and further away. It's starting to sink, and now the yelping sound is getting louder.

  “I'm coming!” I shout, before clambering into the river and starting to wade out under the bridge.

  For the first few steps, the water's only waist deep, but suddenly there's a heavy drop and I crash down. I'm momentarily submerged, but then I manage to pull myself back up to the surface. Gasping and spluttering, I look around, and for a moment I can't see the bag at all. Finally, however, I spot something glinting in the distance, so I start swimming under the bridge and over toward what I hope is the bag. I can still hear the sound of the puppies crying out, but after a moment I realize that the bag seems to have sunk completely.

  “No!” I gasp as I reach the spot where I last saw the bag.

  I look around, but there's no sign of anything, so I start reaching down and feeling under the water. At first, this whole thing feels hopeless, but at finally my fingers brush against the side of something. I dive down and grab the bag, and then I struggle as I try to pull it to the shore.

  It takes longer than I'd hoped, and every second feels like an eternity, but finally I manage to haul both myself and the bag onto the riverbank, at which point I start desperately untying the top of the bag.

  When I pull the bag open, I feel a thud of shock hitting me in the chest.

  There are four puppies inside, beautiful little straw-colored things, but they're not moving. I wait, telling myself that the world can't possibly be this cruel, but the puppies still aren't moving. Their little eyes are shut, and for a moment I can only stare down at this awful sight as tears start to fill my eyes.

  “No,” I whisper, “please... God, please, don't let them be...”

  I wait, shivering and soaked.

  “Please,” I whisper again.

  Finally, with trembling hands, I reach down to touch the puppies, to check whether there's any hope at all. I touch the first and nudge it slightly, and I let out a faint, horrified gasp as I realize that it's definitely dead. I do the same with the second, and I find that this one too is dead. The third is gone too, and then I hesitate, too shocked and disgusted to even try touching the fourth puppy.

  I stare at its little face, at its closed little eyes, and I feel absolute heartbreak that anything like this could ever have happened.

  I'm about to close the bag again, but then I realize that I should at least check the fourth puppy, so I reach down and press my fingers against his cold, matted, wet fur. Just like the others, he's -

  Suddenly his eyes open and he starts coughing and spluttering, bringing up river water.

  For a moment I can only stare, not daring to believe that this could be possible, but then I watch as he struggles to get to his feet. He's clearly gasping for air, but he manages to turn around and after a few seconds he looks up at me.

  Filled with a sudden sense of relief that at least one of these poor things, I reach down with shaking hands and I very carefully pick the puppy up. He can't be more than a few weeks old and, as I lift him up, I barely feel any weight at all. He wriggles slightly as he lets out a few coughing, spluttering yelps, but finally I hold him in front of my face and we stare at one another for a moment.

  He's alive!

  Part Three

  LARRY

  Chapter Ten

  “It's okay!” I gasp as I rush around the front room, trying to find anything and everything that might be useful. “Everything's going to be okay!”

  The puppy's shivering, and I need to dry him fast in case he gets pneumonia or hypothermia. Or whatever doggy equivalents exist for those conditions. I finally race to the bathroom and grab a towel and my hairdryer, and then I race back through and see that the puppy is trying to stand.

  “Don't strain yourself,” I say as I plug the hairdryer in and switch it on. “Just stay calm and everything will be fine.”

  I drop to my knees and turn to the puppy, and then I very gently aim the hairdryer at him. He looks startled, but he stays in place as the warm air begins to ruffle his fur.

  “Please let this be the right thing to do,” I stammer, worried that I might accidentally hurt him. After all, I've never been good in emergencies. I tend to panic and do the exact opposite of what I should.

  Finally, once the puppy's dry, I switch the hairdryer off and set it aside, and then I stare in silence at the little guy as he in turn stares back at me.

  “Hey,” I say cautiously, my voice still trembling with shock, “are you okay?”

  I wait, but he looks terrified.

  “I'm so sorry I couldn't save your brothers and sisters,” I continue, before reaching out toward him.

  He flinches, but then he lets me stroke his flank.

  “I don't know who that guy was, the one who tried to drown you. How old are you, anyway? You look so young, like maybe just a few weeks old.”

  I stroke him some more, and after a moment I realize that he seems to be shivering a little. At first I assume that he must still be feeling cold, but then I begin to realize that he actually seems terrified. I guess I can't blame him, after everything that must have happened to him so far in his short life, so I smile in a vain attempt to make him feel more comfortable.

  “Are you hungry?” I ask, suddenly getting to my feet as I realize tha
t the poor guy must be starving. “Wait right here, I think I have some food for you.”

  I hurry through to the kitchen and start searching for the old bag of your food. I finally managed to throw away some of your things, Jasper, but there were other things that I stowed away at the bottom of a cupboard. Sure enough, I quickly find a large bag of dry food, which I haul out. I hear a brief, faint bumping sound coming from the front room, but I ignore that as I pour some of the food into a bowl, and then I grab a saucer of water before heading back through.

  “Here you go,” I say, trying again to sound friendly. “There's more if you want it, too.”

  Stopping in the doorway, I'm shocked to see that the puppy is no longer on the table. I look around, but there's no sign of him anywhere. Taking a step forward, I try to work out what could have happened, and then I remember the faint bump that I heard. Is it possible that the puppy fell off the table? I look down, worried that he might have hurt himself, but there's no sign of him at all.

  And then, suddenly, I realize I can hear a faint whimpering sound coming from nearby.

  I turn and look toward the desk, and finally I spot the puppy shivering with fear as he watches me from behind one of the legs. He looks absolutely terrified, and he pulls away when I take a step forward. I guess he's pretty traumatized, and grabbing him and forcing him into a hug probably wouldn't achieve anything, so instead I simply reach down and set the bowl and saucer on the floor, and then I take a step back.

  “They're for you,” I tell him, even though I know he can't possibly understand.

  Chapter Eleven

  The following morning, the first thing I notice after I get up is that there's a folded note on my doormat. Even before I pick the note up, I know that it must be yet another comment from Mr. Seymour in 5a. That man complains about everything, although – as I open the note and see his neat handwriting – I find that he's really outdone himself this time.