Doggone Disaster

by Margaret Lashley

  I was just about to pee my pants when Buster saved me from certain incontinence. He jumped on top of me, then used me like a springboard to leap toward the back door. When I looked over and saw him circling the threshold, the thought of Buster taking a dump on my floor sobered me right up. “Uh oh,” I said, and scrambled to my feet. “Looks like he’s gotta go. Dang! It’s raining cats and dogs.”

  “I’ll let him out,” Goober said, and ran a hand over his bald head. “I don’t have a hairdo to consider.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Don’t forget to take the net. And be careful! Buster’s an escape artist. If he gets loose in that psycho guy’s yard and poops, I’ll never get my earrings back!”

  “I know one way to avoid that,” Goober said.

  “Really? What?” I asked.

  “Ever heard of a leash?”

  “Oh.” My face grew hot. “There’s one in the garage.”

  While Goober left to fetch the leash, Winky see-sawed himself up to standing.

  “Escape artist, huh?” Winky asked.

  “Yeah. He’s already dug under the fences to both neighbors’ yards,” I explained. “I don’t know what to do about it, either. I’m out of potted plants to cover the holes. And Buster keeps digging up Laverne’s garden. Boy, she’s none too happy about it, either.”

  “My cousin Sharleen had a cat like that,” Winky said. “One time it tried to cross over a swimmin’ pool by sneakin’ along a clothesline like a tightrope walker. Notice I said ‘one time.’”

  I was still eyeing Winky funny when Goober came back in the room. As he fastened the leash on Buster’s collar, he transformed from a hard case to a soft-sided baby-talker.

  “Who’s the dirty digger?” he cooed at Buster. “Hmmm? Is it you? Come on, little one. We’ll see who the real escape artist is.”

  “Watch it,” Winky warned. “I heard a dogs scaling chain link fences a’fore.”

  “Thanks for the helpful hint,” Goober said.

  “The point is, keep an eye on Buster at all times, okay?” I warned. “He’s sneaky.”

  Goober nodded. “Aye aye, Captain Curmudgeon.” He slid open the back door and disappeared into the night.

  “What’s a cur-muh-gin?” Winky asked.

  I opened my mouth to answer, but was cut short by a horrible, high-pitched howl. It shot out from somewhere in the darkness, and echoed through the open back door. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Winky and I exchanged wide-eyed stares.

  “Goober!” we hollered simultaneously. We were scrambling toward the back door when the lights went out, plunging us into total darkness.

  “Lord help us!” Winky cried out.

  My heart throbbed in my throat. I cautiously inched my head out the back door and whispered, “Goober?”

  A hand grabbed my shoulder. I nearly peed my pants. “Winky!” I screamed and whirled around. “You nearly scared me to death!”

  “What’s going on?” he whined.

  Another hideous, mournful howl reverberated in the blackness, sending shivers down my spine. As best I could tell, the howl had come from the right, in the direction of my psycho next-door neighbor’s place. I strained to make out shapes in the inky night air, but it was too dark. For a split second, a sudden flash of lightning lit the backyard like a black-and-white photo. During the millisecond snapshot, in the overgrown hedges lining the chain-link fence, I thought I saw someone swing a shovel or a shotgun. A sickening sound like cracking bones split the air, followed by an inhuman scream, then the boom of thunder.

  Winky and I stood frozen in place like two tongues on a flagpole. I could barely breathe.

  Out of the blackness, a dim figure emerged. It was running right for us! Before Winky and I could swallow our spit, Goober slammed into us, sending us tumbling like three bowling pins across the living room floor.

  Goober scrambled to his feet first. “Don’t go out there!” he yelled. He slammed the sliding door shut and set the lock. “Hurry!” he ordered. “Lock all the doors and windows!”

  Winky and I scattered like crack heads in a police raid. We climbed over beds and bathtubs and dressers until we’d secured every last window latch. Then we stumbled back to the living room to find Goober collapsed in the easy chair, his face slack.

  “What happened?” Winky asked.

  Another blood-curdling howl pierced the night sky. Then someone – or something – started banging on my front door! Winky and I fell to our knees on either side of Goober in the easy chair. We stared at the door, too petrified to speak. Suddenly, the banging stopped and the doorknob slowly began to twist. Terrified, I grabbed Goober’s arm.

  The doorknob shook violently. Winky whimpered. I bit my lip to keep from screaming.

  The doorknob went still. All was quiet for a moment. Then the scratching began. Slow at first, then faster and faster, as if something were trying to rip the door to shreds.

  I looked at Goober and realized my nails were biting into his arm. I loosened my grip, but he didn’t move. He just stared straight ahead at the door. I glanced around for Winky, but he’d disappeared. I was about to swallow my tongue when the scratching suddenly stopped.

  “Winky?” I whispered. I started to get up, but a thump at the door sent me back to my knees.

  The banging at the door started up again. It was faster and more furiously this time. It kept going until the whole frame shook. I was certain that at any moment, the door would splinter and we’d all be eaten alive by the monster on the other side!

  But the door held. The banging stopped. An eerie silence took its place.

  “Is it gone?” Winky whispered from under the couch.

  “I think so,” I whispered back.

  I looked up at Goober. He was still sitting motionless in the chair. Buster’s leash was clutched in his hand, but Buster wasn’t at the other end of it. The only thing that remained was his collar, and it had been chewed to bits.

  Chapter Twenty

  Last night, once the horrifying banging and scratching on my front door had ended and Goober, Winky and I had regained full use of our limbs, Goober had crept over to the back door and opened it wide enough to allow a few molecules of air to pass through. While he’d stood guard with a rolling pin and Winky with a spatula, I’d called out into the black night for Buster. Over and over I’d called, but the poor pooch hadn’t come back. Sometime after 3:00 a.m., our crazy adrenaline highs had worn off and we’d collapsed, exhausted, into unconsciousness.

  I WOKE UP ON THE LIVING room floor, my back slumped against the wall. Goober was leaning against me, his peanut head on my shoulder, his long fingers still wrapped around the rolling pin. It was comforting to know he was still on guard and at the ready, in case we were attacked by the sudden urge to make a batch of sugar cookies.

  Somewhere nearby, Winky was sawing logs. I glanced around and spied him under the couch. An empty Nyquil bottle lay on its side on the floor near his pudgy left hand. I shook my head softly.

  I hope God isn’t watching this.

  I moved my shoulders. My neck cracked loud enough to echo off the kitchen cabinets. I rubbed my shoulder and gently nudged Goober. He jerked to attention, cleared his throat and blinked.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “Yeah. You?”

  “Yeah.” I mustered the courage to ask the question I had been too afraid to pose last night. “What do you think happened to Buster?”

  Goober looked down at the floor. “I dunno, Val. Even back in the day...you know...camping in the woods with all those other homeless guys. Nothing like this ever happened. Last night was unreal.”

  “What do you mean, unreal?”

  Goober sucked in a breath and blew it out. “It’s hard to explain, Val. I was just, you know, waiting for Buster to do his thing. I had the net ready and everything. Then, all of a sudden, the lights went out. I couldn’t see a thing. Buster started tugging on the leash, kind of like when you get a good nibble fishing. Then there was this howl – and
one hard yank. The leash went slack.”

  “Then what happened?”

  Goober looked away. “That’s when I heard that freaking cracking noise. Like something munching bones. I couldn’t see anything, Val. Nothing.” He turned to face me, more serious than I’d ever seen him before. “I panicked, okay? I ran for the house. I’m sorry, Val.”

  “It’s okay, Goober,” I said, and touched his arm. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not blaming you. I’m just trying to figure out what happened. You did the best you could, I’m sure. And I’m glad you’re safe. Believe it or not, you’re more important to me than Buster.”

  Goober’s lip twitched under his moustache. “Easy to say when you hate dogs.”

  “I didn’t hate Buster. I told you that already.”

  Goober smiled weakly, then frowned.

  “You don’t think he’s dead, do you, Goober?”

  Goober’s bloodshot eyes looked down. “I don’t know, Val.”

  “From what you just told me, it doesn’t sound good.”

  “No. It doesn’t,” Goober agreed. “It was almost like...I dunno...like something grabbed him and ate him.”

  I blanched. “Geeze, Goober! What could have done that?”

  Goober hitched an eyebrow. “In Florida? Lots of things.”

  I sighed. “I hope you’re wrong. If Buster is still alive, we’ve got to find him. Today. Tom will be back tomorrow.”

  “And you need the earrings.”

  “Well, yes. And Buster, too. Tom’s pretty attached to him.”

  Goober studied me. “Tom. Right.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Nothing. I’ll get up. Take a look around. See if I can find him. Or what’s left of him.”

  I elbowed Goober in the ribs. “Don’t joke. It’s not funny!”

  Winky rolled over and coughed. His face was covered in ginger stubble and dried snot. He opened a crusty, red eye and muttered, “Do I smell coffee?”

  “Oh no, Goober,” I said. “Winky’s cold has gotten worse. He’s delirious.”

  “Naw,” Goober replied. “He always looks like that in the morning. Put on a pot of coffee and he’ll spring back to life.”

  “Back to life....” I muttered Goober’s words, thought about Buster, and nearly burst into tears.

  Goober twitched his moustache to try and amuse me. It didn’t work. “Val, you remember those freeze-dried shrimp things you used to could order from the back of comic books?” he asked.

  “Huh?” I asked.

  Goober scrambled to his feet. He held a hand out for me. I grabbed it and hauled myself up.

  “I think so,” I said. “What were they called? Sea monsters?”

  “Sea monkeys,” Winky corrected as he scooted out from under the couch. “And they wasn’t no shrimps, neither. They was gen-u-ine monkeys of the sea. That one in the picture had a crown and everything.”

  I shot a glance at Goober.

  “You can’t win this one,” he muttered under his breath.

  “So why on earth did you bring up sea monkeys?” I asked.

  Goober hitched a thumb in Winky’s direction. “Well, Winky’s kind of like a sea monkey. Only instead of water, you have to add coffee. He springs to life, but he never quite lives up to the hype on the package.”

  I offered the best smile I could, given the circumstances. “Thanks for the warning...and for trying to cheer me up. I’ll get the coffee going for King of the Sea.”

  I grabbed a coffee filter and ran some water into the carafe. When I switched on the machine, I realized that sometime during the night, the electricity had come back on.

  “Coffee should be ready in a minute or two, Winky,” I said. “Why don’t you go get yourself a shower?”

  “All right,” Winky said, and brushed himself off. “Val, you really should dust under your couch more often.”

  I MADE TOAST AND SCRAMBLED eggs for us while Winky showered. Goober went outside to poke around in the yard to see what he could find, now that it was daylight. I set aside a few clumps of eggs in a saucer for Buster, then remembered he wasn’t here. My eyes stung. A lump welled in the back of my throat. I scraped the eggs back into the skillet as Winky bumbled out of the hall wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his middle. I sniffed back a tear.

  “Dang, Val. Hope I ain’t gone and give you my dad-burned cold.”

  “Oh. Yeah. No. It’s –”

  The front door flew open. Goober’s bald head jutted inside like a mustachioed tortoise. “Hey you two! Come take a look at this!”

  Winky and I sprinted over to the front door. We looked down at the spot where Goober was pointing. Something had scratched the heck out of the bottom half of the door.

  “What the hell did that?” I asked.

  “Gaul-dang it! I know what it was!” Winky said, and hitched the towel further up over his freckled beer belly.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I seen somethin’ about this on TV, y’all. I bet it was one a them there polter-geezer things.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Poltergeist. And there’s no such thing.”

  “Huh.” Winky scratched his buzz cut. “Min-ature swamp monster?”

  “No.”

  “Well, how about a tiny –”

  “Look, Winky, there’s no such thing as monsters!”

  Winky pouted and pulled his towel tighter. “Sure there is, Val. And where there’s monsters, there’s little baby ‘uns, too. Hey! Maybe that guy next door really is a gen-u-ine werewolf.”

  “Or perhaps a skunk ape in a witness protection program,” Goober sneered.

  “Nope,” Winky said. “Can’t be that. Skunk apes don’t scratch up stuff. They usually just throw rocks or break off tree limbs.”

  My upper lip twitched. “How do you know that?” I asked, immediately regretting it.

  “My Cousin Jim Bob’s a certified bigfoot tracker,” Winky said.

  “I’d say he was certified all right,” I muttered.

  Winky nodded proudly. “Yep.”

  “Well, whatever it is, it appears to possess a respectable set of claws,” Goober said.

  “But why are all the scratch marks so low?” I asked.

  “Maybe he was on its hands and knees. Drunk,” Winky offered. “I mean, it was Saturday night and all.”

  I sighed. “Let’s have some breakfast and figure out what to do next. I think I have an idea.”

  I WAS DRYING THE BREAKFAST dishes when a sudden movement out the kitchen window caught my eye. I peered through the pane. Winky was standing atop my neighbor’s chain-link fence, half naked, wind-milling his arms like a whirligig to keep from toppling over.

  I yelled through the window pane. “Get down from there!”

  Winky looked my way, then obliged me by tumbling backward. He hit the ground flat on his back. “Geeze!” I hollered. I flung my dishtowel aside and ran out the back door. The fall had knocked the wind out of the pudgy redneck. He was sitting up barking like an asthmatic seal. I knelt beside him and whacked him on the back until he caught his breath.

  “What in the world do you think you were doing?” I asked.

  “Reco...recon...,” Winky gasped. “Spyin’!” he finally got out. “That nut job neighbor a yore’s has got holes dug all over the yard, Val. And little tombstones, too.”

  “Come on, Winky,” I said. “You must have knocked what sense you’ve got clean out of you.”

  “I ain’t kiddin’. It’s like that scary movie. You know. Pet Seminary.”

  “Cemetery.”

  “Whatever. Somethin’ ain’t right, Val. It just ain’t right.”

  “Somethin’ ain’t right, all right,” I said, shaking my head. But to be honest, I wasn’t sure what. Was I supposed to believe Winky? Under the influence of Nyquil, no less? I had enough on my hands trying to find Buster without having to babysit a hopped-up redneck who thought he could fly.

  Fly....

  A thought hit me like a spit wad between the eyes. Flyers!
I have a box full of flyers in the trunk!

  “Listen, Winky,” I said, helping him to his feet. “I’m hoping Buster just ran off because of the storm. Before we stir up a hornet’s nest with my crazy neighbor, I think we should explore the other possibilities.”

  “I reckon yore right,” Winky said. “Like my Aunt Daisy always says, ‘Ain’t no use ticking off a wackadoodle a’fore you used your own noodle.’”

  “Yes, a classic adage from the backwoods,” Goober’s voice rang out behind me.

  I turned around. That rat! He’d been five feet away, stretched out in a lounge chair the whole time. “What are you doing, Goober?” I asked.

  “Thinking,” Goober said. “Clearly someone has to.”

  I shot him a sneer. “Think you could make yourself useful and go door-to-door handing out my missing-dog flyers?”

  “Negatory,” Goober said, and re-crossed his long legs. “Winky’s gonna to have to do it.”

  “Why?” I grumbled.

  Goober sat up and smoothed his bushy moustache. “Remember a few months back, when I went through the neighborhood handing out those flyers for our pet cremation services?”

  How could I forget? I haven’t been able to look my neighbors in the face since. “Yeah.”

  “Well, let’s just say that it’s possible I might have burned a couple of bridges along the way.”

  My jaw tightened. “Great. Well, do you think you might be able to trouble yourself to keep an eye on Winky for me? I think he might have a concussion.”

  “I got no such thang,” Winky argued. “Winnie made me get tested for that a’fore we hooked up.”

  I rolled my eyes so hard I could feel them nearly get stuck. “Come with me, Winky,” I said, and marched in the back door. I loaded Winky up with a basketful of water, cough drops and flyers and pointed him down the sidewalk. If he ended up alienating as many neighbors as Goober had, at least I this time I knew a realtor to call if I needed to leave town quick.