Mama's Boy and Other Dark Tales

by Fran Friel

  Will huddled against the wall behind the bunk, holding his breath, as the crewman pounded on the door. With no answer from the first mate, he heard the crewman's footsteps racing up the stairs to the deck. Will exhaled in relief and gingerly stepped off the bunk to retrieve his clothes. The serpent's fangs remained deep in the pirate's flesh, a trickle of blood flowing from each wound. After putting on his trousers, Will wrapped the comforting weight of the wool coat around him. Side-stepping the body and the snake, he opened the door and escaped up the steps to the deck. The crew was lined along the rails looking out at the ocean, some with lanterns in hand, others readying the guns to fire on the attacking whales.

  Whales breached and spouted, the ocean writhing in the moonlight. Another hull-cracking impact struck the ship. The whale song that followed sounded like an angry scream to Will as he skirted along the deck to the galley door. He slipped down below to the safety of his friend, Mister Spiers. As he descended the steps, the floor of the galley seemed to ripple in the dim light of the oil lamps, but as Will stepped farther down, he saw a mass of rats swarming the floor. The skittering sound of their claws on the wood planks made him shiver. And in the corner lay the cook, his pallet infested. His color was grey and the rats circled his lifeless body without biting or scratching his flesh. Clutching the amulet, Will staggered back up the steps. The rats followed in a stream of greasy dark fur.

  Although dazed by Rutt's assault and the death of his friend, Will knew in his heart the rats would not harm him. Instead, they swarmed onto the deck and in moments began their attack on the crew. As the ship shuddered with another battering from the whales, the rats assaulted the distracted men.

  In a horrified stupor, Will watched men covered head to toe with waves of filthy, starved rats. The animals stripped them of clothing and flesh like an army of small butchers as sailors bawled and screamed, blood slicking the deck. Men slashed wildly at the deadly rodents with daggers and swords, wounding each other in a frantic attempt to defend themselves. But the weapons were useless—the rats were crazed in their thirst for the pirates’ blood and the crew was falling fast.

  From the quarterdeck above, Will heard the captain hollering his name.

  "Pennycock!” he shouted. “Pennycock! You must stop this. Stop this now before the ship's destroyed and all our lives with it!"

  Will looked up at the man. He was swinging a bloodied cutlass in a futile attempt to guard his post at the helm, slicing at the rats as they climbed the deck ladder. Not sure what to do, Will brought the amulet to his lips then shouted a desperate cry.

  "Stop! I beg you all to stop!"

  In quick order, the rats retreated from their attack, leaving the screams of the living and the bloodied flesh and bone of the dead behind. As quickly as they had come, the rodents filed down into the hold of the ship in a silent withdrawal. The whales circling the vessel spouted and sang as they retreated out to sea.

  Will stood alone in the center of the main deck. All around him men wailed and moaned in agony and fear. Tears streamed down his face. He was responsible for the massacre, unable to move from the shock of what had happened all around him.

  He felt something warm rub against his calf. It was Mog. The big orange cat looked up at him, mewling. Will bent down and scooped him into his arms. The tabby's warmth gave him comfort in the midst of the devastation.

  He watched as the captain slowly made his way down the stairs to the main deck. His pant legs were wet with blood from the rat attacks.

  Looking over the state of his men, he shook his head.

  "What have you done, boy?"

  "Sir,” was all Will managed to say. He hung his head and hugged the cat closer to his chest.

  "What do you want? What will stop you from destroying my ship?"

  Without a thought, without a moment of hesitation, Will replied, “Take me home, sir."

  * * * *

  With what was left of the able men aboard, the captain set course for the coast and The Queen's Promise limped back toward the port of Eastville, Virginia. After two days sailing, they anchored off shore and the captain himself rowed a jolly boat into port to deliver Will to the village that had been his home. With the big tabby in his arms, Will climbed free of the boat. Not a word spoken, he stared out to sea as the captain maneuvered around and oared his way back to his ailing ship.

  Will kissed Mog on the top of the head. The cat gave him an indignant look, but continued to purr in his arms. The docks were dark so late at night, and the only sound was the splash of the waves against wood and sand.

  Before his nightmare at sea, a dark night alone at the docks would have frightened Will, but now all he felt was the peace of it. Weary from the horrors of his journey, Will put the cat down beside him. He needed all his strength to climb the hill to the village, a shortcut he and his friends used when they hid at the docks. That life was so foreign now, so long ago. He climbed along the rocky path, Mog wandering along beside him, keeping pace as he headed to the only place he knew as home, the Eastville Inn. He hoped the missus still had use for him.

  The inn was dark as he approached the old wooden building worn by the wind and the sea air. He knocked on the door—his attempt feeble for fear of waking the master. When no one answered, he pulled his wool coat tight around him and headed for the stable where at least he would find a bed of hay in which to rest. Mog stayed by the door, rubbing his whiskers against the jam.

  "Come, Moggie. We'll try the door again in the morning."

  A faint light appeared at the window near the door. Will heard the sound of the latch release and saw the missus’ face aglow in the light of a candle.

  "Who's rappin’ at me door so late this night?” she called.

  "Missus, it's me, Will Pennycock. I'm sorry to wake you."

  The woman threw the door wide and rushed out into the night toward Will, still standing in the shadows.

  "Will, lad,” she said as she wrapped her arms around him, “you must be froze out here in the night. Come in, boy. Come inside.” With an arm tight around his small shoulders, she hustled him indoors. The cat slipped past her feet as she closed the door behind them.

  "Shush, shush.” She batted at the cat.

  "If it's okay, missus, he's my friend. Mog."

  "Oh well then, I suppose he's a friend a mine too then. Let's get ye somethin’ warm in yer belly."

  Missus Cavender guided Will to the great oak table in the kitchen. His weariness was heavy in his bones and his eyes began to droop. He was half asleep at the table before the kettle boiled.

  Bringing tea with honey and a plate of bread and cheese, she sat down beside Will. She pulled a folded letter from her pocket and laid it on the table in front of him. The seal of red wax was broken. Elbow on the table, with his head in his hand, Will's eyelids drooped.

  "Eat a bit, me boy. We'll have you off to bed soon, but I've somethin’ to tell ye before ye go off to sleep."

  "Yes, Missus.” Will yawned, took a piece of the cheese and tried his best to listen. After what he had been through, the quiet of the inn and the kindness of Missus Cavender felt foreign, but safe and peaceful.

  "Will,” said the missus, “seems Mister Worthing sent word of your mama's death to her family and shortly after those pirates stole you away, a messenger came to the village looking for you. He gave me money to ensure yer safety if ye were ever to return.” She paused and looked at him closely. “Do you have a green stone with a family crest, lad?"

  She waited with earnest anticipation, her expression hopeful for his future.

  Will dug his hand inside his shirt and pulled out the amulet.

  "Is this it, Missus? I promise I didn't take it. It was my mother's."

  Missus Cavender's eyes brimmed with tears. “Yes, Will. That's it. And not to worry, my boy. It's yours, all yours."

  She rose from her seat and took Will by the shoulders, guiding him to the stairs. With wet eyes, she said. “Come along, lad. Tomorrow a new life awaits ye, but for
now you've earned a fine long rest."

  "Thank you, missus,” said Will. Still bundled in his heavy wool coat, he shuffled up the steps, feeling safe and warm, the big orange tabby following close behind.

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  Orange and Golden

  You look bad, man,” they said. “It'll be your last chance."

  They'll be back around in the boat later, so I need to say goodbye. But I can't. If I want to live, I need to say goodbye. He wouldn't—no matter how hungry, how hot and how afraid he was, he would never leave me.

  We've been friends for years. He's warmed my feet on winter nights. And I'd eyed him when a couch cushion turned up gutted—"Bad! Don't you ever do that again.” Then I'd shrugged. Can't stay mad at someone who is never mad at me.

  The water sits at the edge of the rooftop and the heat is bearing down. The shingles have rubbed my fingers raw and torn his paws. I cling to him, my arm around his strong neck. He struggles with the heat, his long hair matted down by my sweaty hands. But he never tires of my clinging, he never pulls away.

  The water kept rising floor by floor, pouring through my broken windows. We had no where else to go but up. When I thought that I would die here on this roof, when no other soul in the world was here to comfort me, he lay beside me all through the watery night.

  He's so calm. I am not. My skin is blistered from the sun, and my lips are cracked, my mouth rough and spitless. There is no help from outside. The guys in the boat are just guys with a boat—they offered me a ride. “No dog, man,” they said. “We got one more stop—we'll be back. Last chance."

  I can't leave him. He wouldn't. I can't. He'd die for me.

  I open my sticky eyes and I see them coming—an aluminum oasis. The killing sun sets behind them—silhouettes with waving arms. My body has stiffened and I feel the fever and chills—sun poisoning. A hulking figure climbs onto my roof raft. I feel the thud of his feet hammer through my body. On my back, I cannot move—I can only open my eyes. A warm muzzle rests on my shoulder; brown eyes watch over me.

  Hands grab my shoulders and the muzzle disappears from my sight. Lifted, my body is pulled, my heels dragging across the grit of the shingles.

  "No,” I whisper. “I can't."

  My head rolls to the side and I see his fur lifting in the breeze as he sits near the peak of the roof, tongue lolling. The sunset colors him orange and golden.

  "Please,” I beg with no sound.

  I am lumped onto the floor of the boat, cool metal against my back. The boat thrusts forward with grunts and rowing. No tears fall with my voiceless sobs.

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  Under the Dryer

  I tried to warn them, but the humans wouldn't listen and the cats just taunted me.

  The faint paw prints in the dust were the first sign. I started sniffing out the cause and became alarmed at my findings. The great mastiff, Old Sam, my sire's brother, warned me about such things, but I never thought I would see them for myself. I stayed with Sam's family whenever my humans went away, and at night in the dark when the masters were asleep, he would whisper the old secrets.

  "Nowadays it's just considered dog lore, boy,” he said in his deep, growling voice. “But believe you me, these things can still happen. And it's the forgettin’ that gives ‘em power. Promise me, boy, no matter what they tell ya', you remember the truth. It's your sacred duty."

  I promised him, of course. And later I tried to tell my friends at the park about my talks with Old Sam. They laughed at me and told me he was an old dog and those were just stupid stories. The Doberman twins teased me about it so much one day that I lost my temper. One of them ended up at the vet—served him right. I got banned from the park.

  But I never forgot Old Sam's stories, and as the danger to my masters grew, I kept my word. He was long gone when the trouble started, but I knew I couldn't let Sam down—it was my duty.

  At first, the furry Long Tooths were confined to the space beneath the bed in Ashley's room—no chance of discovery by the humans amidst the teenager's detritus. I paced outside her door, but the silly girl wouldn't let me in.

  "Get away from my door, you stupid dog,” she said, followed by her favorite whine. “Mom! Goliath's going to mess up my room.” As if I could make it any worse.

  One of the cats arrived and curled around Ashley's ankles. She sneered at me as she picked it up for a cuddle. The cat grinned its smug grin as the girl carried her off into the room, slamming the door in my face. The cat would live to regret her preferred status.

  * * * *

  The unseen fiends seemed emboldened by my banishment, and their infestation spread down the hall. Their numbers were multiplying, as their kind was destined to do.

  As my concern escalated, my mistress caught me digging and scratching under the boy's bed—apparently I damaged the finish on the hardwood floor. She gave me a stern warning and sent me to the laundry room for punishment. It was there I discovered the nest—it was under the dryer. I heard their dusty voices and the sounds of hopping before they detected my presence. At that moment, I decided—if need be, I would stand guard there for the rest of my days. I would not allow the evil to spread and harm my family. I had to stop the dust bunnies.

  Day after day and night after night I held vigil in the laundry room. One of the cats stopped by, as usual, to mock my efforts.

  "You lummox,” she said as she passed by the door with her fluffy groomed tail held high.

  She circled back and lingered, rubbing against the doorjamb.

  "Goliath's the big hero—guarding the dirty underwear. Oh, I do feel ever so much safer now.” She walked away with a dismissive glance over her shoulder.

  "Loser!"

  * * * *

  Eventually the furry devils beneath the dryer became restless—I was thwarting their plans. If I nodded off for even a moment, they darted out to pluck my whiskers or poke me with sharp objects. I thought if I could only hold out long enough, perhaps they would tire of waiting and leave through the dryer vent; then my humans would be safe. But my masters worried that I wasn't eating so they brought dishes of kibble and water to my stronghold. I tried to resist, but eventually they coaxed me from the laundry room to relieve myself, and the determined little beasts started to plan their operations around my forced relief schedule. While I was gone, they ducked out to spill my water dish and prove to me they were on the move and winning the war.

  Finally, I refused to leave my fortress. I had to protect my family. They didn't understand the danger they were facing. Unable to hold my bladder any longer, I soiled the floor. My master's patience was already growing thin with my laundry room vigil, but the soiling completely destroyed my credibility.

  My master hurled threats of the pound as he dragged me from the laundry room. I strained and pulled at my collar as he tore me away from the only safety I could ensure the family. I whimpered as the voices giggled and chittered and chided me from under the dryer. My master forced me to the front door and threw me outside into the yard.

  "Maybe a night alone in the cold will sort you out, Goliath."

  I was frantic. I barked and clawed at the door. As the lights went out for the night, I howled in wretched fear for my family. If only I could make them listen, get them to let me back inside the house.

  But no one came to the door; instead they shouted from the upstairs window.

  "You're going to the pound tomorrow! That's it! Now SHUT UP!"

  I lowered my head and dropped my ears. I silenced my sorrowful howls. Wandering around to the deck at the back of the house, I peered through the sliding glass doors, hoping I could at least keep watch from there.

  For hours nothing happened. A tentative relief came over me. Perhaps all the threats from the dusty nest were hollow. Maybe my family was safe after all. The moon washed over me in the chilly night. I was weary, and I stretched out on my stomach and rested my muzzle on my paws so I could keep watch through the big glass doors. Soon all the stress
and burden of the last few weeks came over me. My eyelids felt like stones, and finally I fell into a deep sleep.

  As I slept, I dreamed good dog dreams of running with the boy in the green grass of the yard and fetching my yellow tennis ball. My master looked on with pride and scratched behind my ears when I came to show him my ball.

  "Good boy, Goliath. You are the best dog a family could ever have."

  My heart soared with joy and love for my humans. I would give my life for them.

  Tap, tap, tap. The sound roused me from my dream, and I felt the cold night air in my bones and the frosted dew on my nose. Tap, tap, tap. I opened my eyes to the sight of hundreds of the dusty little long-eared fiends on the other side of the glass doors. They were each holding a weapon. The one tapping on the glass was grinning a long-toothed grin and wielding a meat cleaver from the kitchen above his scraggly, cockeyed ears. Several of the others waved their paws at me, bouncing up and down on their mutant bunny hind feet. A procession passed in front of the door; at least twenty of the dirty beasts danced by, carrying a half-bald cat, legs tied to a broomstick like a pig ready for the spit. The cat's once pink tongue lolled bloody from her mouth. As they paraded by, whiskers twitching, I could hear their wicked laughter through the door.

  I leapt to my feet and barked with all my might, and something hit the glass with a splatter. It stuck to the window in a red, sticky mass. As it began its smeary slide down the glass, I could see it was a human ear. I was too late.

  In a panic, I barked and pounded my heavy paws against the glass door, but the little beasts turned their backs and shook their dusty cotton tails at me. Through the doorway across the room, I could see a mob of them dragging a body down the stairs, like grimy-furred Lilliputians. I pounced at the doors, throwing the entire weight of my mastiff body at the glass—the frame cracked and splintered. I barked and howled and continued to hurl myself against the glass until the wood around the door finally gave way. The doors caved in and the glass shattered on the hardwood floor, destroying the little fiends that hadn't managed to scatter.