by Amy Cross
“Maisie, what happened to your neck?” Linda asks, hurrying over and kneeling next to Maisie.
“It's sore,” Maisie replies.
“It's cut!” Linda continues, sounding worried as she pulls Maisie's hair aside to reveal several thick red scratches below her ear. “Maisie, did you do this to yourself?”
“I didn't do anything,” she whimpers, as tears finally start running down her cheek. “I just woke up like it.”
“These are deep!” Linda says, clearly horrified before turning to Michael. “Something's scratched her!”
“Well that settles it, then,” Michael replies, looking down at me with an angry gaze. “Who said this animal is allowed back inside, anyway? It's one thing for him to be barking, but if he's starting to hurt Maisie, I think it's time to get tough with him.”
Chapter Twenty
“No, Daddy!” Maisie sobs, as Michael attaches the rope to my collar. “You can't make him stay outside!”
“He can reach the shed if it rains,” Michael replies, stepping back.
I hurry toward Maisie, only for the rope to pull tight and keep me from reaching her. Whereas last time I was tied up close to the house, this time I've been tied to a wooden peg in the ground, over near the twisted black tree.
“He didn't scratch me!” Maisie shouts.
“This is wrong, Mike,” Linda says, holding her shoulders. “It's animal cruelty. He hasn't been causing any trouble since I let him back inside, and we don't know he caused the scratches. Not for sure.”
“What else could it have been?” Michael replies, staring down at me with contempt as I try to pull free of the rope. “I was willing to give him another chance after all the barking, but now he's gone too far. It's no wonder Maisie's getting hyper when the dog's causing trouble. He's an animal, he'll be happier outside. It's not normal for them to spend all their time inside.”
“Let me sleep out here with him!” Maisie begs. “Please, I want to be with Hugo!”
“You're going to have to grow up,” Michael tells her, heading over to where she's still being held back by Linda. “This is a lesson you need to learn, Maisie. When you act out, there are consequences. We all have an obligation to be the best possible versions of ourselves. The sooner you accept and understand that, the sooner you can start growing up a little. Which you very much need to do, young lady.”
She opens her mouth to say something, but then tears seem to hold her back. After a moment, she turns to Linda.
“Mummy,” she sobs, “can you tell Daddy that it's okay for Hugo to come inside. I don't want him to be out here. He'll get cold!”
Linda stares at her for a moment, before looking up at Michael. She, too, has tears in her eyes. She watches Michael for a moment, as if she's expecting him to say something, and then finally she turns back to Maisie.
“Your father's right, honey,” she says sadly, as if she doesn't quite believe the words that are coming from her mouth. “If this is what he thinks is best, then maybe we should give it a try for a little while. And who knows? Maybe Hugo will have much more fun out here at night. After all, he's on a much longer rope this time, so he can explore all over the yard. I bet the smells out here are so much more interesting at night.”
“But he'll be cold!” Maisie cries, before dissolving into a series of sobs.
Linda picks her up and carries her back into the house, leaving Michael staring down at me.
Forgetting for a moment about the rope, I try to hurry after Maisie, only to find myself held back. This time, I can't get close to the house at all, even as I keep scrabbling in the dirt. And then, a moment later, I hear Michael laughing as he steps over me and makes his way toward the car.
“Don't worry, Hugo,” he calls back to me, “you'll get used to it out here. You'll even start to like it after a while. And in the meantime, if you're thinking about getting yappy during the night, I've got an extra little surprised for you.”
He reaches into the car and takes something from a bag, before coming back toward me. In his hands, he's holding some kind of smallish brown object with lots of different straps. I sniff the air as he brings the object closer, but I can't work out what he's planning.
“Here we go,” he says, kneeling next to me and holding me still, before placing the object over my nose and tying it behind my ears. “Your very own muzzle, Hugo. There'll be no barking now, will there?”
I try to pull away, but he holds me tight as he continues to fiddle with the straps, and then finally he steps back. I immediately try barking, but the muzzle is holding my jaws shut so I reach up with my right paw and try to push the straps out of the way.
“You won't have much luck there,” Michael says with a grin, watching as I try again and again to get free. “That's the best muzzle the pound-shop had to offer.”
Unable to remove the straps, I instead press the side of my head against the ground and try pushing the muzzle off. When that doesn't work, I lower the front of my body and try again, letting out a frustrated grunt as I realize that nothing seems to be working. I turn the other side of my head against the ground, but this fails as well, and then I start using my paw again.
“At least you look like you're going to be busy,” Michael continues, getting to his feet and heading toward the house. “Trust me, Hugo, this is the best thing that could ever have happened to you. You've spent your life being treated like a teddy bear. Now it's time to be a proper dog.”
Reaching the top of the steps, he turns to me and watches for a moment as I continue trying to paw the muzzle away.
“See you in the morning, buddy,” he says with a chuckle. “I reckon it's just fine if you want to spend the rest of the afternoon tiring yourself out. That way, you'll sleep real good tonight. Oh, and just so you know, if you hurt my daughter again you'll be straight down to the vet's office. And you won't get to come back!”
Chapter TwentyOne
I grunt again as my rear paw slips from the muzzle's side. Falling over, I quickly get back to my feet and start trying again, but deep down I know that nothing so far has made the muzzle move even slightly.
I can't give up, though.
Night has fallen, and I've been trying to remove the muzzle for hours.
I have to get inside and look after Maisie, or that horrible broken-jawed woman might get to her again. I already failed her last night when I let the woman get right up behind us, but at least I tried. Michael and Linda don't seem to care about the woman at all, and now there's no-one inside the house who can keep Maisie safe.
I press my paw against the side of the muzzle and push as hard as I can manage, until my entire leg hurts, but finally my paw simply slips loose and I fall onto my side yet again. Refusing to give up, however, I'm about to start again when I spot movement nearby. Turning, I spot Linda taking some dishes from a cupboard in the kitchen, and she spends a moment at the window before stepping out of view.
Instinctively I try to bark to remind her that I'm here, but the muzzle holds my jaws shut so all I manage is a very faint grumbling sound. I try again, but without any more success.
A moment later, Linda comes back to the window. She takes some more plates down, but this time she stops and looks out at the yard. She stares straight at me, and I can see sadness in her expression, but then she simply carries the plates back to the table.
Why doesn't she come and set me free?
I try dislodging the muzzle again, digging my paw deep into the straps. This time I feel one of my claws slipping under the strap's upper section, which gives me hope that I might be able to tear the entire muzzle away. I let out a low, pained grumble as I push harder than I've ever pushed before, but at the same time I the muzzle's side strap starting to slip up toward my left ear. I roll onto my side, still pushing, and for a moment I actually start to think that I might be able to get the muzzle loose.
And then, suddenly, one of my claws snaps and I feel a burst of pain as my paw slips away from the strap.
Lo
oking down, I'm just about able to make out blood glistening in moonlight at the end of my paw. The pain is immediate and throbbing, but I don't have time to worry about that now. Turning to look at the house, I see Linda at the window again. She seems sad, and I can see from her sloped shoulders that she's not feeling good. She's the only one who can help me right now, so I keep my eyes focused on her, willing her to notice me and come to my rescue. I like Linda, even though she can be quite mean sometimes, and I'm certain she likes me in return.
So far, however, she seems focused on whatever she's doing at the sink.
A moment later, I realize I can hear somebody sobbing nearby.
I turn and look over my shoulder, and I'm shocked to see that the pale girl is sitting slumped on the ground next to the black tree. She's right by the side of the hole I dug the other day when I found that book, and she has her hands covering her face as she continues to cry. I watch her for a moment, while sniffing the air in the vain hope that this time I might pick up a hint of her scent, but the only smell comes from the old, wet trees roots deep down at the bottom of the hole.
And maybe something else.
As the girl continues to sob, I take a few cautious steps closer, sniffing the air in an attempt to identify that little extra smell that's curling up from the depths. Reaching the edge of the hole, I keep my eyes fixed on the girl as I lower my nose and sniff the hole more carefully, and now I'm certain that there's something else down there. It's too dark for me to really see the bottom of the hole, but I don't need to see when I can smell, so I lower my head even further into the cold air.
There's something there.
Something...
Dead.
Ordinarily I'd want to get far away from anything that smells dead, but this particular odor is clearly very old. There's no disease about it, nothing to warn me away, and I can already feel my curiosity starting to swell. Sometimes, when a really interesting scent grabs my attention, I get into a frame of mind that doesn't let me think of anything else. I can feel that happening now, and sure enough – almost without thinking – I finally scramble down into the hole and pick my way around the twisting damp tree roots until I find the spot where a crack in the half-dry ground is letting this fresh smell emerge.
I paw at the ground, disturbing some muddy soil, and immediately the scent becomes a little clearer.
Above me, at the edge of the hole, the girl is still sobbing.
I paw some more soil away, then some more, and now I can feel myself becoming fascinated by whatever's down in the hole. I can't hold back, so I keep scraping more and more soil away. I keep catching my claws on some more sections of the tree's roots, but that doesn't matter as I dig deeper and deeper, working as fast as I can manage while taking care to ensure that I don't get too much soil stuck in the gaps at the sides of my muzzle. My heart is racing and my attention is entirely focused on whatever's down here in the mud, and I dig and I dig and I dig until -
Suddenly my paw scrapes against something hard, something that isn't a tree root.
I dig carefully around the object, and now the smell is clear. This is a bone. I instinctively reach down to take hold of the bone with my teeth, only for the muzzle to securely keep my jaws together. I let out a faint whimper as I scratch some more soil away from the end of the bone, which is longer than any bone I've ever been given before. And as I get the end clear, I find that there's another bone a little further along, and several more nearby.
And more.
So many more.
I don't know how long I spend digging, but with almost every scrape I uncover another piece of bone. I work fast, removing clump after clump of soil, until suddenly I uncover a section of bone that's different to the others.
This bone is curved.
Domed.
I dig some more soil away, and now my eyesight is getting a little more accustomed to the dark. I feel my paws catching against some holes further down on the domed bone, and finally I see what looks like a pair of eye sockets half-buried in the mud.
I pause for a moment, as the pale girl whimpers and cries above me at the edge of the hole.
Although I'd usually keep digging, something about this set of bones makes me hold back. For one thing, the empty sockets seem to be staring straight at me, leaving me feeling uneasy. For another, I'm starting to notice that the skull has a lot of marks cut into its surface, as if it some point it was terribly scratched. My paws didn't cause those scratches, some of which curl around into the eye sockets themselves. There's also some damage to one side of the skull, as if a section of bone was cracked at some point.
I think there's still part of the brain inside, or at least some residual matter.
I can smell some kind of odor drifting out from the skull.
Something very rotten.
Almost gone, but still rotting in the darkness.
“Linda!” Michael's voice shouts suddenly, in the distance. “Don't be ridiculous!”
Realizing I can hear footsteps rushing across the yard, I immediately start scrambling up the side of the hole. It's not easy to get out, and I slip a couple of times, but finally I reach the top and I see that Linda is shoving some kind of bag onto the car's back seat.
“You're being irrational,” Michael says, stopping at the top of the steps and watching as she slams the car door shut. “Can you please just stop for a moment and consider what you're actually suggesting?”
“You saw her!” Linda replies, heading back toward the house. “Maisie's not well. Something's wrong, and I'm not subjecting her to another night in this house.”
“Why? Because some ghoul's going to hurt her?”
She hurries up the steps and tries to force her way past, but he grabs her arm and forces her to stop.
“Just think about this for a moment,” he says, as I step cautiously toward them with the rope still tied to my collar. “Think about what you're suggesting. Maisie's just a girl with an overactive imagination, she's picked up on something and now she thinks she sees and hears bumps around every corner.”
I take a few more steps, but then the rope pulls tight and keeps me from getting any closer to the house.
“I know you're not an irrational person,” Michael says firmly. “You don't believe in this kind of stuff, so take a moment to calm down and think about what's really happening here. Because it's sure as hell not what you're suggesting.”
“You saw those marks on her!” Linda yells. “That wasn't Hugo!”
“Calm down and -”
“Don't tell me to calm down!” she hisses, pulling away from him. “I'm not -”
“Mummy!”
The front door slams shut and the house's lights go off.
“Maisie!” Linda shouts, rushing toward the door and trying to get it open. “Maisie, come out of there!”
I strain to reach them, but the rope is still too short.
I try to bark, but the muzzle is too tight.
“Mummy, she's here!” Maisie screams from inside the pitch-black house. “She's hurting me!”
“Break it down!” Linda yells, before stepping back and trying to slam the door open with her shoulder.
“Get out of the way!” Michael shouts, using his foot to try kicking through the door.
“Mummy!” Maisie shouts from upstairs. “She's here! She's hurting me!”
I look up at the window to Maisie's bedroom, and that's when I see a tall, adult figure leaning over the bed as Maisie cries out again.
Chapter TwentyTwo
“It won't budge!” Michael shouts, before trying again to break the front door down. “I don't know what's wrong with -”
Before he can finish, there's a loud smashing sound, and I turn to see that Linda has broken one of the downstairs windows. She immediately starts climbing through, and I see her right hand catch on some glass. The scent of blood immediately hits my nostrils, but Linda is already on the other side and I hear her racing through the house.
Michael r
uns over to the window and knocks some more glass out, before hauling himself up and inside.
“Mummy!” Maisie screams upstairs. “Daddy! Help me!”
I pull on the rope, but all that happens is my collar digs tight into my neck. I try again and again, until I can't even breathe, but each time the rope holds firm. Scrambling in the dirt, I strain every sinew in my attempts to somehow break free and get to Maisie.
“Leave her alone!” I hear Linda scream suddenly, from somewhere inside the house. “Don't you touch my daughter!”
A moment later there's the sound of more breaking glass, and frantic footsteps.
“Run!” Michael shouts. “Get her out of here!”
More glass break, and then there's the sound of smashing wood. I can still hear footsteps, and I think somebody's rushing down the stairs. Then, finally, the front door swings open and Linda runs out with Maisie wrapped in a blanket in her arms.
“Run!” Michael yells again, racing out right behind them. “Get to the car!”
They scramble down the steps, but as they reach the bottom Linda suddenly falls back and slams against the railing. As she does so, Maisie falls from her arms and hits the steps, and somehow she rolls up until she's on the porch.
I try to bark, to warn Linda as she gets to her feet.
Behind her, Maisie spins around and then slides across the porch, as if some invisible force is dragging her back to the front door.
Looking up, I see the silhouette of a woman in one of the dark windows. A fraction of a second later, however, the woman turns and walks out of view.
“Hurry!” Michael shouts, as he starts the car's engine. “Get her in here!”
Linda lunges at Maisie, grabbing her legs before she can get dragged into the house. She pulls her away from the door and gathers her back up into her arms, only to immediately have her legs whipped out from under her. She lands hard, letting out a cry, and Maisie is immediately snatched from her and sent slamming into the wall next to the door.
