“Beggars can’t be choosers,” he growled and climbed on his bike.
His home sat about a mile up the road. If he kept a good pace he could get there in time to catch his show after the opening credits and commercials. He hated the crummy little TV at his house, especially compared to the big one the Kellers owned. The fact it sported rabbit ears humiliated the hell out of him. But it did get a signal, albeit fuzzy, and he could watch his shows between bouts of his mother nagging him to clean up this, that, or the other thing.
The gravel crunched beneath the tires of his bike as he moved forward into the leafy tunnel of the road. This early in the autumn, the leaves were still green and locusts buzzed in the lazy heat. The way Russell looked at it, this still counted as summer—only with school to screw up the day for him. In truth he could only think of one thing he hated worse than school…
And that one thing lived only a couple of hundred yards ahead.
Russell slowed his bike momentarily as he approached a small bridge that ran over a tiny, unnamed creek. The creek marked this edge of Purvis’s territory. Fortunately, the German shepherd only ventured out this far when chasing Russell from the other direction. The odds of running into the dog this far out while coming from the highway was remote. Besides, nowadays the big dog posed less of a threat than he used to due to advancing age. He was still mean as hell, but Russell knew he could easily outrun him on his bike.
Not like the one time—when it had been that close, and the dog ripped a tear down the side of his pants. The large German shepherd had ambushed him from the side of the road, far past where he usually attacked, and caught him loafing. Russell barely got away and wanted his mom to go down and raise hell with Clifton Bollard about the evil mutt.
But Farmer Bollard was also their landlord, which his mom apparently decided meant more than his good health. She just said the same thing Bollard did…he ought to go straight down his road to where the bus was supposed to pick him up, instead of turning off on Bollard’s road so he could hang out with the Keller kids.
But that would mean sharing the morning with the bunch of snot nosed elementary kids who used that particular stop, not to mention being seen with them by the girls who rode the bus. So he simply chose not to hear it.
Therefore Russell ran the daily gauntlet, pedaling for his life with the snarling dog hot on his wheels. But these days he discovered he would be further and further ahead of the animal by the time he reached the bridge every morning. Lately he even stopped to pick up a few rocks and fire back in retaliation. The last couple of times, the mutt gave up the chase before reaching the end of its territory.
So after his initial pause, Russell accelerated over the bridge and concentrated on building up speed by the time he reached the Bollard driveway. He bent over the handlebars, legs pumping like a machine, as he accelerated. If he had a good enough head of steam by the time he got there, the race wouldn’t even be close. He’d blow the doors off the damn dog and be home in time to see the end of the opening credits of his show.
He flew past the driveway faster than ever before.
Russell didn’t dare turn his head to look for the dog at this speed, but didn’t see the animal out of the corner of his eye like so many other times. It still didn’t mean the creature wasn’t back there, and the boy took no chances. Besides, he had been ambushed down the road once before. That wouldn’t happen again, if he could help it.
Russell kept his attention focused tightly forward, his one concern maintaining balance and speed. Gravel hissed under his wheels as he shot onwards. The road existed only as a rushing green tunnel for him, the bright sunny exit where it intersected with the lane to his house being the focal point of his entire being.
Nothing else mattered—which is why he almost missed the significance of the dark lump laying at the edge of the ditch as he rocketed past.
It took a couple of seconds for the sight to register. But when it did, Russel locked down his brakes and slid the bike to a stop. He gaped back up the roadway in shock, refusing to believe what he had just seen. The size had been right…the color had been right as well.
Could it be?
Could it really be?
Russell hesitated for a moment, weighing the risks. Going back meant losing all advantage of surprise. He would lose his head start as well. Yet there the form lay, and no other sign of the hated dog could be seen. By now Purvis should have attacked, even if he had been waiting in ambush. But a quick look up and down the tree lined road revealed nothing.
Nothing but the furry lump near the ditch.
After a few more seconds of indecision, Russell swallowed hard and pedaled slowly back toward the object. Every nerve stood at alert. He watched the approaching form with suspicion, ready to turn and flee in a heartbeat. Any second, he expected to hear a warning snarl from one side of the road or the other. Yet nothing but the trill of afternoon birds reached his ears. Only as he closed the last thirty feet did he start to become sure of what lay on the ground ahead.
Purvis was down, and it looked like he wouldn’t be getting back up.
“Oooooohhhhh yyyeeaaahhhhhh….” Russell stepped off his bike about ten feet from the stricken dog. “Helllloooooo roadkill!”
A smile spread across his features as he tip-toed toward the fallen animal. His delight at this unexpected turn of events overshadowed all thoughts of TV.
“Oohhhhhh Puuuurrrvissssss… yooohooooo…. what’s the matter little poochy, poochy, poochy…”
The dog jerked and Russell reacted in an instant. His heart in his throat, he fled back to his bike and yanked it off the ground. He had his leg thrown over the seat and ready to fly before realizing the German shepherd remained in the spot where he left it. It still lay on the gravel, unmoving. The boy watched the animal like a hawk as he brought his breathing back under control. Then a frown crossed his face.
“So you’re still with us, huh, dog?”
The furry mound didn’t respond, but Russell could now detect the faint movement of breathing.
“Oho! So you are still in there!” He sneered as he lay the bike down again. “Not dead yet, eh Purvis?”
Once again Russell approached the stricken canine. This time he only flinched when it twitched at the sound of his approach. He understood now, the dog couldn’t get up. Still, the boy moved with caution. He eased forward, ready to retreat on a second’s notice, until he finally found himself looking down on his adversary of the past three years.
Purvis still lived, barely, but he wouldn’t be getting up again.
The dog lay crumpled on his side, with a thin stream of blood running from his open mouth. His fur appeared matted and stiff, and at this close range Russell could see how old the dog really was. Grey hairs peppered its snout and its ribs showed under its coat. It seemed somehow smaller than he remembered it as well. He could also tell it didn’t matter whether the dog had been hit by a car, or some suffered kind of attack or seizure. The end result would be the same.
“You don’t look so good, dog,” the teen laughed and walked around the animal. “You don’t look good at all. As a matter of fact, I think your bike chasing days are over.”
The dog fixed his eyes on Russell with feverish intensity. It trembled slightly and continued its shallow pants.
“Yep,” the boy continued with vicious glee, “over and done with. And other than that one close call, you never actually managed to catch me, did you. Oh, you got close a few times but….well, you know, horseshoes and hand grenades…right?”
Russell leaned in close. The dogs eyes remained focused on him like a laser.
“But you never actually caught me. For almost three years,” he taunted, “I made it through your territory and you couldn’t stop me. And you know what that makes you?”
An ugly thrill of triumph washed through him, and he almost danced a jig in front of the stricken canine. The dog didn’t move, just continued staring at him with fixed intensity.
“That makes
you a bad dog!” Russell laughed. “You failed bucko! I was in your base, and blowing your doors off…day after day after day…. And you know what? They don’t let loser dogs like you into Doggie Heaven! Oh no! Doggie Heaven’s for Rin Tin Tin and Benji, not some loser mutt who does nothing but lose every day. Nope, not you. I’m afraid it’s Doggie Hell for you!”
Russell laughed at his own joke, and gloried in the feeling of standing over the animal with impunity. This was better than any TV show. This was sweet.
“Yep…Doggie Hell,” he gloated. “Where loser dogs go to spend the rest of forever in eternal shame. Ain’t no doggie treats there, pal! You blew it! You hear me, Purvis? I win! I am the champeeeen…and you are a fuzzy turd beside the road. I’m standing in your territory! See!” He capered in front of the injured dog like a monkey. “What are you going to do about it? Huh? Where’s that big growl now? Hey, you still with me, Purvis?”
He leaned over the dog again to take a closer look.
“Purvis?”
Russell noticed its chest had ceased its shallow movement, and the thin stream of blood stopped running from the animal’s mouth. It was over…Purvis was dead. The dog’s eyes glazed over as he watched, but even in death they seemed to remain fixed on him.
“Well crap, Purvis,” Russell jeered. “You gonna just leave me here talking to myself? I guess this is goodbye then. Aloha! Sayonara! Adios! ”
The teen grinned and gave the dog a salute. Then he flipped it the bird before strolling back toward his bike. He added a little swagger to his walk, but only went about five steps before coming to a stop. His eyes returned to the still form of the dog laying on the road and narrowed.
Both hands clenched into fists.
Three long swift steps brought him back and Russell delivered a vicious kick to the dead animal, hard enough to move it almost half a foot. His face now frozen in a snarl, he backed up and drove the toe of his boot into it again. And again, and again, and then again. He punctuated the blows with loud obscenities, pausing once to even spit on the body. Two more powerful kicks and the carcass tumbled into the ditch.
The boy scowled down at the broken corpse in the ditch, his face a mask of contempt. He breathed hard, almost panting from the exertion. Then Russell scooped up a handful of gravel and dirt and flung it at the wreckage below.
“Enjoy hell, mutt,” he spat then turned back toward his bike. “I’m missing my shows.”
***
Russell shot up in bed, sweat running off his face.
He gasped for air, his chest heaving as if he had been running a race. His eyes darted over to the clock on his beat up stereo. The red digital numbers claimed one o’clock loomed only minutes away. He put his hand to his narrow chest and forced his breathing to slow.
“Okay.” The boy took a long, deep breath. “Okay, then. What the hell was that all about?”
His brow furrowed and he fought to recall the dream he just escaped. No luck. The hint of images slithered between the fingers of his mental grasp before drifting away into nothing. Another scan of the small bedroom also produced nothing to evoke any memories. Whatever the dream had been, nothing remained of it now.
“Nothing. Well that sucks…and now I’m thirsty.”
All that sweating came at a price, even if done in one’s sleep. Russell mopped his forehead with the back of his hand and squinted at the clock one more time. It still read the same, which meant his Mom would get all bitchy if he yelled for her to bring him a Coke from the fridge.
“Great,” he grumbled and threw aside the covers.
Russell kicked his way through the pile of dirty clothes on his floor and eased open his door. The sound of his mother snoring filtered through the door next to his. He felt his way down the dark hallway of the long trailer house, trying not to stumble in the blackness. At least the living room turned out to be navigable, due to the moonlight flooding in through the sliding glass door.
He skirted the scruffy lounge chair and made his way across the room to the kitchen. The teen fumbled around the end of the bar then grabbed the duct taped handle of the fridge. Pulling the door open revealed him to be in luck—sort of. One lone Coke sat behind the bottle of ketchup on the bottom shelf of the door.
Russell considered his options, knowing full well the can of soda hadn’t found its way into such an obscure position by accident. His mom most likely secreted it there to use as a cold, effort free substitute for coffee when she woke up. If he took it, he would most likely hear about it in the morning.
Not like that would be anything new.
“Oh well.” He shrugged and grabbed the can. “It’s just more noise to wake up to.”
He popped the top and took a long thirsty slug before closing the door and turning away. It took a second for his eyes to readjust to the dark again after the light from the refrigerator. It left a red square afterimage that faded as he made his way back around the bar and into the living room. Russell stopped to let his night vision return to full, glancing over at the sliding glass door and out into the moonlit world beyond…and almost choked on the soda.
Purvis sat on the back porch, staring in at him with dead white eyes.
Russel’s own eyes widened in disbelief as they took in the ghastly sight. He stumbled back against the wall, trying to breath after inhaling the fiery mix of citric acid and carbonated water. He blinked, thinking the vision to be a lurking remnant of the forgotten nightmare of earlier, but it remained.
It was Purvis.
And he was deader than ever.
Rigor mortis gave the hideous creature a snarl no living canine could hope to match. The animal’s fur now stood out in the type of stiff spikes only dead or the sickest of animals possessed, but the sense of smallness Russell noted before was gone. If anything, the grisly dog looked larger than ever.
And meaner.
With its permanent snarl set beneath those white, staring eyes, the spectral beast grinned in at him through the door—and not in a friendly way.
Russell fought for air, desperately wanting nothing more than to get out of the sight of the ghastly dog. Recovering a trace of self control, he slid along the wall of the living room in the direction of his bedroom.
The dead animal’s head turned with a mechanical slowness as it tracked him, its white eyes fixed on his face with hungry intensity. The death-mask of a grin gleamed in the bright moonlight. It seemed hard to believe Purvis had that many teeth when he lived, but now his jaws appeared to bristle with them.
Russell gabbled something incoherent, then dashed for the hallway.
He plunged into the blackness and felt his way down the walls with frantic sweeps of his free hand. For some silly reason he took care not to spill his Coke. His fingers closed around the doorknob to his bedroom, and he pushed his way in with a gasping rush before slamming the door shut and putting his back against it.
“I didn’t see that!” he wheezed. “I did not see that! Purvis is dead, and dead is dead!”
The boy clenched his eyes shut and put the soda can against his forehead. He couldn’t have possibly seen what he just thought sat on the other side of the glass door. It must have been some kind of hallucination or holdover from a dream. People didn’t come back from the dead, and neither did dogs.
And thinking back on it, the scene did have a certain sense of unreality to it. The bright moonlight flooding in, the white eyes that almost glowed, the way the dead dog seemed to almost dominate the entire picture as if magnified…it did seem like a dream.
Russell inhaled deeply and started to collect himself.
“Nightmare,” the boy breathed. “It was just a part of a nightmare. Yeah, that’s it. I wasn’t really awake yet. I couldn’t have been. Oh man, that was some messed up shit.”
Saying it out loud made if feel even righter.
He took another long drink of his soda, looked at it, then chugged down the rest. It crumpled easily in his grip. Feeling steadier, Russell tossed the crushed can into the corner. T
hen he walked over and fell into bed. He lay there a moment, staring at the dark ceiling, then got up once more.
Grabbing the chair sitting next to his desk, he tilted it and shoved it under the doorknob. After studying his handiwork for a couple of second, he lay back down again. With the door now secure, the boy managed to close his eyes.
He knew it must have been a dream.
But it never hurts to take precautions.
***
“Russell! Wake up! It’s time to get ready for the bus! What have you done to this door!?”
Russell turned over under his covers and squeezed his eyes shut.
Of course, it never worked.
“Russell! It’s six o’clock! Get up and get dressed!”
“Okay!” he groaned, “I’m moving! Don’t have a cow!”
“What was that?”
“Nothing! Nothing. I’m getting up.” He threw the pillow off his head and swung his legs out over the edge of the bed. It was the same thing every morning. And there was still three more months of this crap till Christmas vacation.
“And did you drink my Coke last night?”
“Huh? No! I didn’t know we had any Cokes!”
His mother’s footsteps retreated from the door and Russell went through the motions of getting dressed. Then he fumbled with the chair to remove it from where he jammed the door. Still half asleep, the boy staggered out of his room, and down the hall toward the brightly lit kitchen. He fumbled past the bar and plopped himself down at the table to face a plate of toaster waffles swimming in thin syrup.
“You sure you didn’t drink my last soda?” His mom stared at their dripping coffee pot in grouchy suspicion.
“Yep.” Russell immediately filled his mouth with waffle, then glanced over at the back sliding door.
Reminded of last night’s apparition, he squinted at the glass with apprehension. But with the moon no longer up, and the interior of the trailer house blazing with light, he could see little in the darkness on the other side of the glass. What he could see of the back porch appeared empty, but still…
Shades: Eight Tales of Terror Page 17
