by Amy Cross
I don't like this.
I don't like strangers in our house, and this particular stranger is making me feel on edge. I don't even know what's wrong, but somehow my instincts are causing my heart to beat faster than ever.
A moment later I hear a bump, and I head over to the door. I want to keep away from the woman, of course, but I force myself to look through and I immediately see that she's bending over in the far corner, looking under one of the sofas. She stands up straight again and walks over to the window, and there she peers around the sides of the curtains as if she's looking for someone. She hesitates, and then I watch as she turns and heads to the table in the far corner, where she again leans down to take a look.
She's searching for something.
Once she's checked under the table, she starts walking this way. I back away from the door as she emerges into the hallway, and I instinctively curl my lips and let out a low, rumbling growl as she walks past me and goes to the large wooden trunk next to the front door. She leans down and opens the clasp, and then she lifts the trunk's lid and takes a look. The lid bangs briefly against the wall, and the woman leaves the trunk open as she turns and starts walking toward the kitchen.
Suddenly the study door opens and Michael emerges, still holding that odd thing against the side of his face. Ignoring the broken-jawed woman, he stops and looks at me.
“No, it's nothing,” he says, before walking over to the trunk and swinging the lid shut. “I think it's just the dog being a lunatic as usual.”
I glance at the broken-jawed woman and see that she's stopped, and that she's now looking back over her shoulder toward Michael.
“I don't know how I'm expected to concentrate on work with a flea-ball in the house,” he says, heading to the front door and pulling it open, before turning to me and gesturing for me to join him. “Come on, dog. This way. You're gonna go play in the yard for a while so I can focus.”
I turn and look at the woman.
She's still watching Michael.
“What are you staring at, Hugo?” Michael asks with a sigh. He looks over toward the woman, and then back at me. “It's just the stupid dog being weird,” he continues. “He keeps staring into thin air, like...”
He looks over toward the woman again, and for a moment he pauses.
“It's like he's looking at someone,” he adds, “even though there's no-one else here.”
He pauses, before chuckling.
“Well, actually, yeah, he is giving me the creeps. Goddamn furball's acting all strange.”
He waves at me, while still holding the door open.
“Hugo, come on,” he says firmly, trying to sound like he's in charge. “Hugo, I mean it. Come! You're going outside for a while, now come!”
I stare at him for a moment, before turning to look at the woman again. She's still watching him, even though he doesn't seem to have acknowledged her in any way. He's talking, of course, but I don't think he's specifically talking to her; instead, I think he's just talking to himself the way he often did back in London.
“Okay, Hugo,” he says after a moment, “this is your last chance to be obedient. I'm your master and I'm telling you... Go outside!”
Chapter Ten
“You'll have fun, I promise,” Michael says as he puts me down on the porch and then heads back inside. “Go play by yourself. Go be outside, like a normal dog.”
I immediately try to go back inside, but he uses a leg to block me and then he pushes me back.
“Stay!” Michael says firmly, which is a word I know. “Hugo! Stay!”
I sit down. The door is open and I could easily slip inside, but I know that I'm not allowed. I take a deep breath, then, and sit obediently as I hear Michael talking to someone. He does that sometimes, when he's got that funny black object held against the side of his face. Linda does the same, but not nearly as often, and Michael always does it when the others are out. I don't really understand what's happening, but he's still talking as he comes back to the door and tosses one of my rope toys out onto the porch.
“Entertain yourself, buddy,” he says, with the broken-jawed woman still watching him, and then he swings the door shut.
I can hear him walking away inside.
“No, there's no problem,” he's saying. “Probably at least an hour. Even the shop is a trek, you have no idea just how far out in the middle of nowhere we are. I could scream and nobody'd be close enough to hear. Now how about you get that webcam up and running, huh? I didn't pay your wi-fi bill just so I could hear your voice.”
Once I can't hear him, I look down at the rope toy, which to be honest isn't much fun unless there's someone else around to play tug. I walk over and nudge the toy with my nose, but I really don't see much point so I leave the toy behind and walk to the door. I don't really like Michael that much, but I don't think he should be alone in the house so I gently paw at the door, hoping that he'll hear me and let me inside.
I wait.
Nothing.
I paw at the door again, a little louder this time, but still he doesn't come and let me inside.
Finally, realizing that maybe he put me out here deliberately, I turn and walk slowly down the steps until I reach the muddy yard again. At least it's warm out here, with bright sunlight streaming over the tops of the distant trees, and I wouldn't mind finding a nice spot so I can roll onto my back and get my belly hot. Of course, it'd be a lot more fun with Maisie, but hopefully she'll be back soon and then we can play.
Walking around the house, I finally hear Michael's voice again. He's in the study, still talking to himself, and I really don't think he wants me around right now. So I head out across the yard, sniffing the ground as I go, and then I stop as another sudden scent reaches me. Raising my head, I turn to the left, and I spot the twisted old tree that's leaning to one side at the far end of the garden. I noticed the tree before, because it looks so low and damaged compared to the forest a little further on, but now for the first time I'm noticing a strange, earthy smell that seems distinct from all the other smells out here in the yard.
With nothing else to do, I wander over, still sniffing the air as I try to get a better handle on this particular scent. Whatever I've picked up, it's nothing too strong, and as I reach the tree I understand why.
It's buried.
When I sniff the ground, I find that I'm definitely right.
Something is buried here, in the shade of the tree. The ground is hard and dry, and there's no sign of anything having been digging here. Still, I follow my nose for a few more feet before stopping again and leaning down to inspect some cracks running through the soil. Now that I'm this close, I can really smell something that reminds me of the inside of the house, although I'm not entirely sure what I've found.
I use my right paw to scratch gently at the soil, but this doesn't really help.
I scratch again, and then again, and now I'm managing to get a few clumps of dried dirt away. This doesn't help much with the scent, however, so I dig away a little more. I have no intention of digging a big hole, of course, at least not as I continue to paw at the ground. After a few more tries, however, I sort of forget that there's anything else I could be doing, and all my senses focus on this little patch of dirt that lets out – through a few tiny cracks – a faint but constant scent that I really can't quite fathom.
I have to know what's down there.
I paw at the ground for a little while longer, before starting to dig properly. I used to dig sometimes in London, but this is the first time in my life that I've ever had the chance to really dig in a proper patch of dirt, and I can feel some kind of instinctive buzz taking over.
Working faster and faster, I start using both paws to scrape dirt away.
Whatever's buried down there, the smell is becoming a little clearer now. I stop for a moment to press my nose almost against the crack, and then I lick my nose to get a better scent pick-up. There's something old buried here, something that smells like something I've been arou
nd before, something leathery and slightly damp, something that has been touched by people. Something that has been inside the house. Whatever it is, I've got to get to it quickly, so I start digging again until finally my paw starts scratching against something large and hard, something wooden with a twisted, gnarled edge. I lean down to sniff, but I'm immediately disappointed as I realize that this is just a tree root.
Letting out a brief, frustrated growl, I adjust my angle and resume digging, trying to get around the root. I must be close to the buried item now, because the scent is getting stronger and stronger. I keep expecting to finally find whatever's down there, but so far all that I've uncovered is more and more dirt. It's clear that this hole has been filled in for a long time, but I'm so close now and -
“Hugo!”
Startled, I look up and see Maisie standing above me.
Looking round, I'm surprised to find that I've dug myself down into a decent little hole.
“Did you hear me?” she asks, as Linda shuts a car door nearby and starts carrying shopping bags inside. “I was calling your name. What are you doing out here?”
She looks past me.
“Are you digging a hole?”
She looks back toward the house.
“Mum! Hugo's digging a hole!”
“Lovely, darling,” I hear Linda's bored voice reply. “Come and help me with the bags.”
“An actual hole!” Maisie says, smiling as she kneels next to me. “Oh Hugo, you're being a normal dog! I love you so much! What have you found?”
I don't know what she's saying, so I simply let out another annoyed grunt before turning back to the bottom of the hole and scraping again with my paw. Sometimes Maisie helps me with things, so I'm hoping that she might notice the same scent. If she does, she has to want to see what's down in the ground.
“Is it a bone?” she asks. “Are you burying a bone? Or are you digging something up?”
I groan again, and now I'm getting really annoyed. I've been digging for a while, and the scent is definitely stronger, but I still haven't found whatever's down in the ground. I start scraping more soil away, determined to find whatever's here, and finally my paw starts catching against something hard and dark that's poking up from the dirt. Realizing that I've found the buried item, I start digging frantically around the edges and then I lean down and take the edge of the item with my teeth, trying to pull it loose, only for a soggy section to come loose.
“What have you found?” Maisie asks, reaching past me and using her fingers to pull some larger clumps of dirt from the hole. “Hugo, what -”
Suddenly she pulls the item loose and pulls it up. Chunks of dirt come raining down from the edges as she wipes the item clean, and I scurry up to sit next to her so I can sniff the item. It definitely smells of the house, and of people too, and of a hundred different scents that are all mingling together. Whatever this thing is, it's old and it must have been down in the ground for a long time.
“It's a book,” Maisie says, with a hint of awe in her voice as she turns the object over. “Wow, I think it's a bible!”
Chapter Eleven
“Why would someone bury a bible?” Maisie asks as she sits at the kitchen table, turning the book's pages. “Is it even legal to bury a bible?”
“I don't know, honey,” Linda says as she puts more cans away in the cupboards. “People do weird things sometimes.”
“But aren't there laws?”
“Not that I'm aware of.”
“It's so old, I'm scared it might fall apart,” Maisie continues, before leaning down and sniffing the pages. “It stinks! Imagine all the people who must have touched this in the past!”
Sitting on the chair next to her, I lean over and sniff the book as well. Although it's my find, I've let Maisie take over, but I still want to know as much as possible. There are so many individual smells wafting out from the book, and I'm having trouble untangling them all, but so far I can identify the scents of at least two different people who touched the book a long time ago. The rest of the smells are difficult to figure out, because the book has been very damp for a long time, but I can smell the house. This book has definitely been in the house at some point in the past.
“Some of the pages are upside-down,” Maisie says suddenly, furrowing her brow. “Mum, someone tore out pages and then stuck them back in upside-down.”
“That's nice, honey.”
“Why would someone do that?”
“People get their kicks in different ways.”
“It's not every page,” Maisie continues, turning the pages slowly one-by-one. “It's not even every other page. It just seems random. Why would someone tear out pages from a bible and then stick them back in?”
Linda mutters something under her breath as she screws up a plastic bag and tosses it into a larger, cloth bag. Then she starts emptying another of the bags that they brought from the shop.
“It really smells, too,” Maisie says, turning back to the front of the book and carefully opening the front again. “Wait, I think some of the first pages are stuck together.”
She peels the edges of a page carefully, and then she slowly manages to peel them apart. For a moment, I pick up a fresh burst of the book's scent, and I sniff the air frantically as the smell begins to fade. I can smell so many things that are old, yet which I never ever encountered in London. This book is like a bundle of stinks and stenches, and I want to just sniff it for hours so I can figure out its secrets.
“There's a name,” Maisie says, peering closer at one of the first pages. “It's so faint, it's...”
She pauses, and I can see her lips moving slightly.
“Elizabeth,” she whispers finally, “Water... Water something... Waterfield!”
She turns to Linda.
“Elizabeth Waterfield!” she says triumphantly.
At that moment, there's a loud bump above us. I look up at the ceiling, and then at Maisie and then at Linda.
“It's just your father pottering about,” Linda says with a sigh, before glancing at me. “Easy there, guard-dog. Retract fangs.”
I look over at the doorway. I'm sure Michael is in the study, although the smell of the book is overwhelming so it's a little difficult for me to pick up on anything else right now. I sniff the air, and I think I can detect Michael's scent coming from the study, but I'm not entirely sure. My sense of smell has always been reliable, but in this house I've become less certain.
“There's a date, too,” Maisie says, and I turn to see that she's still peering at the book. “The something of August... 1881.”
With a shocked expression on her face, she looks over at Linda.
“Mum!” she gasps. “This book is ancient! It's from 1881! That's before I was born!”
“Huh?”
Linda comes over and looks down at the book.
“So it is,” she says after a moment, picking the book up and – for the first time – taking a closer look. “Well, that's before I was born too. And before your grandparents too. Hugo really dug this up in the yard, did he?”
“Can I keep it?” Maisie asks. “Please? Hugo found it, so technically it's mine! I mean, technically it's his, but I'm sure he'd want me to look after it for him.”
Linda sniffs the book, and then she instantly wrinkles her nose.
“It reeks!” she says, setting the book back on the table as she heads back over to the shopping bags. “You're welcome to the foul thing, honey, but make sure you always wash your hands after you've been touching it. And keep it in your room. Maybe in a plastic bag or something. If I start noticing that horrible smell around the house, I'll have to throw it out. It absolutely reeks to high heaven!”
“I wonder who Elizabeth Waterfield was,” Maisie says, picking up the book and holding it in her hands. “I wonder if she lived here in the past, but then why would she bury a bible?” She opens the book to another page and stares for a moment, before slowly turning the whole thing upside down. “Why would anyone turn the page
s of a book upside-down?”
“Maybe she was just nuts,” Linda says.
“No, there has to have been a reason,” Maisie continues. She pauses, thinking hard, and she stays quiet while Linda puts some boxes in one of the cupboards. Then, suddenly, Maisie's eyes widen and her mouth opens, as if she's had an idea. “What if she was in trouble?” she asks. “In school, Miss Dolan told us that in old times, people sometimes used to put a flag upside-down if they were in trouble. What if someone did the same thing to this bible?”
She stares at the book for a moment longer, before turning to Linda.
“Mum, do you think that's what happened?”
“I don't know, honey.”
“But it makes sense, doesn't it?”
“It might do.”
“But why else would -”
“I really don't know, Maisie. Maybe ask your father some of these questions.”
“Can I use your computer?”
“Why?”
“I want to look some things up.”
“You're really not supposed -”
“Please, Mum!” she pleads. “Please, please! I won't play any games, and I promise I won't accidentally order anything this time! I just want to look up some things from the past and see if I can find out who buried this book!”
Linda sighs.
“Go and ask your father,” she says, sounding exhausted. “Maybe he'll let you borrow his phone. But I don't want you spending too long on the internet, okay? Do some research, and then get off, is that understood? No straying from the websites you're allowed to go on.”
“Yes!” Maisie says excitedly, getting up from the chair and hurrying to the door. “Thank you!”
“You're welcome,” Linda sighs as I jump down from my chair and run after Maisie. “I mean it, though! You have half an hour of internet time! Tops! Make sure your father makes you stick to that!”
I follow Maisie across the hallway, and then she pushes open the study door and bursts in.
“Dad, I -”
