The Butcher's Husband and Other Stories

by Amy Cross

  “Did you take this out of the bin?” I ask Gregory as I pick the piece of paper up. “That's very clever, but -”

  And then I freeze, as I realize that this paper is different. I don't recognize the scrawls, and – when I turn the page over – I find that this can't be one of the original sheets. This time, the symbols have been written on the back of the receipt I was given at the vet's office.

  I only got this piece of paper yesterday.

  “What's going on here?” I ask, and my heart is racing now as I set the page down and look at the symbols. After a moment, I glance around, but I know that nobody else could possibly have been into the flat during the night. For one thing, no-one else has a key. For another, the chain is still in place.

  I look back down at the symbols.

  “Okay,” I say cautiously, as I glance at Gregory and see that he's still staring at me, “you're really starting to freak me out. Did you know that?”

  For a moment, I consider just throwing this sheet away with all the others, and taking them out to the recycling bin in the parking lot. That way, I'd be rid of them forever. At the same time, I can't shake the feeling that in some way Gregory seems to be waiting for something, and finally I realize that I need to call my own bluff. I need to prove to myself that nothing weird is going on here, so I head to the bin and fish out the pages I tossed yesterday, and then I set them on the table.

  “Just give me a moment,” I tell Gregory, before grabbing the pen and setting to work deciphering the latest set of symbols.

  They won't actually mean anything, of course. I'm sure of that. There's literally no way that Gregory or any other dog could have left me some kind of message. Three months ago, I put all those ludicrous ideas out of my head, and I'm reluctant to let them back in now. Still, I need to prove to myself that nothing weird is happening here, so I keep working until I start to notice that the translation is producing actual English words.

  My chest is tight with anticipation now, but it's becoming increasingly clear that there's an actual message hidden in these symbols. Finally I get the entire set translated, and I feel my heart pounding as I hold the sheet up and see what I've come up with. The message is short and to the point. It's also impossible.

  “Thank you for saving me,” I read out loud. “My name is Larry.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “No,” I whisper as I write down more of the symbols on a fresh piece of paper, “this is impossible. You're a dog. You can't be doing this.”

  I double-check my translation, and then I turn the piece of paper around and slide it back over to the puppy.

  With a growing sense of shock, I watch as he looks at the symbols. And then, slowly, he takes the pen in his mouth and he starts scratching his own symbols into the blank space beneath my message.

  “This isn't real,” I say, still kneeling in front of him on the floor in the front room. “It's official. I've lost my mind.”

  I wait, and it takes several minutes for Larry – not Gregory, apparently, but Larry – to finish. Once he's done, he carefully sets the pen down, and I slide the paper back over and start working on a translation.

  “I'm surprised too,” I read out loud, once I'm done. “I didn't think that any human knew our language.”

  I swallow hard.

  “Your language?” I say, looking back at him. “You're a dog!”

  I wait, but he simply stares at me, this time with his mouth hanging open.

  “You're a dog!” I say again. “You bark! You whimper! You don't write messages!”

  He tilts his head, as if he doesn't understand a word that I'm saying.

  “I can't believe that I'm even doing this,” I mutter as I start composing my written response to his message. “I must be losing my mind.”

  I struggle with the translation, but eventually I'm happy with what I've managed to get down. I turn the paper around and watch as he begins to read.

  “How are you doing this?” I ask, echoing the question I just wrote down. “Who trained you to trick me like this?”

  He picks up the pen in his mouth, and once again he starts writing a message. I take a deep breath while I wait, and I tell myself that there has to be a reasonable explanation for what's happening. Dogs do not simply start communicating like this, not in the real world. Even though I know it's unlikely, then, I have to assume that someone has trained this dog with the specific intention of freaking me out.

  But who?

  And why?

  And how?

  Especially with such a young puppy, this should be impossible.

  Once he's done writing, I take the paper back and once again start translating. I'm starting to feel a little frantic now, as if I need to scream. As I finish the latest translation, that feeling intensifies a thousand times.

  “You saved me. I almost died. Are the others dead? Please, tell me you managed to save them.”

  I look at him, and I swear I can see genuine sadness in his eyes. I hesitate for a moment, and then I shake my head.

  He turns away, looking toward the window for a moment, and then he pulls the paper back and starts writing again.

  “I think I need to see someone,” I say as I wait for him to be finished. There are tears in my eyes, and I'm starting to consider the very real possibility that I'm suffering from some kind of complete mental breakdown.

  Mum would just love that.

  “I need a psychiatrist,” I continue. “Or a therapist. Or drugs. Maybe heavy drugs, to counter hallucinations. For all I know, there are other people with similar delusions. Maybe there's a special pill that'll make everything go back to normal.”

  Realizing that Larry seems to be finished, I take the piece of paper again and do some more translation work. Despite the fact that I'm really starting to panic now, I'm actually getting faster at this.

  I hold the page up, and then I freeze as I read the latest message.

  “Can I stay with you?” I whisper.

  I lower the page, just as Larry comes closer and puts a paw on my knee.

  “Can I stay with you?” I say again, shocked by the questions. “Can I stay with you?”

  I look at Larry for a moment, and suddenly I feel as if my heart is about to break all over again.

  “Yes!” I say finally, with fresh tears in my eyes. “Of course you can!”

  Picking him up, I hold him close for a hug, and I feel him licking the side of my face. And although I still have no idea what's really happening right now, I know for certain that I can't let this little fellow go, not now. I'll work everything else out later, but it looks like I've got a new dog in my life. I hope you can understand that, Jasper. I hope you wouldn't be jealous.

  And I really, really hope that I'm not going completely insane.

  Part Four

  THE FOREST

  Chapter Sixteen

  Three months later...

  “Come, Larry!” I shout, watching as he picks the ball up in his mouth and turns to me. “Larry! You know this word! You have to come! Now!”

  He hesitates, and finally he starts running back toward me. I'm on a steep, sloping section of grass behind the building, and Larry and I have a routine now. Every morning that I'm not at work, we come out here and play for a few hours. He's getting bigger now, and he can play for longer. And as he reaches me, he carefully places the ball in my hands.

  “We have to go for a walk soon,” I tell him.

  He tilts his head slightly.

  “We'll try the forest again,” I continue. “Trust me, you'll start to like the forest eventually. Jasper always did.”

  He tilts his head the other way.

  “We've talked about this,” I add. “Well, in our notes, anyway. We can't just play. We have to go for walks as well.”

  Nevertheless, I throw the ball again, and he races after it just as I hear footsteps coming this way. Turning, I see that Justin is wandering over from the path, and I instinctively reach up to try to make my hair a little less m
essy. Fat chance.

  “He looks like a cute little guy,” he says as he reaches me. “Lots of energy.”

  “It's almost impossible to tire him out,” I reply, as I use a hand to shield my eyes from the sun. “I haven't seen you for a while. I was starting to think that maybe you'd -”

  Before I can finish, he breaks into another coughing fit. He takes a seat next to me, and as he continues to cough I can't help but become a little worried. I wait, but the fit goes on and on, and after a few more seconds I see that there's some blood on his hand.

  “Hey, are you okay?” I ask cautiously. “That sounds kinda bad.”

  “It's this building,” he splutters, wiping the blood on the side of his jeans as if he hopes I didn't notice. “I swear, the dust is getting worse and worse, especially up on the higher levels. I've been to see my doctor, but he's not much use. And no-one's willing to actually examine the building and figure out what's happening.” He takes a moment to clear his throat. “I'd move if I could afford to,” he adds, “but you know how it is.”

  “Sure,” I reply, as I look over and see that Larry is managing to play with the ball all by himself.

  “Have you noticed the cracks in the walls?” Justin continues. “They're getting worse.”

  “In the hallways, you mean?”

  “And in my flat up on the fourth floor. I swear, I don't know what's happening in the building, but this isn't right. The higher up you go, the worse it is. You're lucky, living on the ground floor.”

  “I've noticed it too,” I tell him. “That weird powdery dust is getting everywhere. I can't believe no-one's actually going to look into it.”

  “I've been signed off sick from work,” he replies. “That's how bad things are getting. I even reported the building to the local council, but they keep passing me from one department to the next. Legally they have a responsibility to check the place out, but they just refuse. I could try taking legal action, but...”

  He pauses, and I can't shake the feeling that he seems to be in pain.

  “It's all I can manage to get out of bed in the mornings,” he says finally. “Mrs. Morgan from across the hallway is the same. I just have no energy whatsoever.”

  “I know that feeling,” I tell him.

  “It's like something's physically wrong with me,” he continues, “but, like I said, my doctor's next to useless. I could try to change, but I just don't see the point. It took me four hours just to get out of bed this morning. I just didn't have the energy.”

  I open my mouth to ask him if he's talked to his doctor about depression, but at the moment Larry comes running up to me with the ball.

  “Do you want to come with us for a walk in the forest?” I ask Justin. “I'm trying to train Larry to like it out there. So far, he's really not keen, but I figure that's because maybe he remembers being tossed into the river out there. I know it's not the most exciting place to go, but maybe it'd do you some good?”

  “I'm fine, thanks,” he replies. “I think I'm going to go and take a nap.”

  “Are you sure that's the best idea?”

  “I'm just tired,” he explains.

  “Larry uses that excuse sometimes,” I reply, “but I call him out on it. This morning, he even claimed that he'd had a bad dream. He just keeps trying to come up with reasons not to go for long walks in the forest.”

  I wait for Justin to reply, but he's simply staring at me with a somewhat bemused expression on his face.

  “What?” I ask finally.

  “Your dog comes up with excuses?” he says cautiously. “He told you about a bad dream?”

  “I didn't mean it like that,” I say, getting to my feet as I realize that I let my guard down for a moment. “It was just a figure of speech, that's all.” I smile, but it's clear that Justin's still not entirely convinced. “Maybe you can come with us some other time,” I add, taking a step back. “And good luck, I hope you feel better soon.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “I need to be careful,” I say to myself as I wander along the path that leads deep into the forest. “People are going to start thinking that I'm weird if I keep referring to conversations with my dog.”

  Over the past few months, I've managed to keep some pretty big secrets. Even from my parents. I've told absolutely no-one about the symbols that I use when I'm communicating with Larry. Partly, that's because I fear being ridiculed, but it's also partly because I actually think I might be a little crazy. So far, that craziness seems fairly easy to contain, and I don't have any other delusions. At the same time, I think maybe there's another reason that I've been keeping my mouth shut on the subject. Deep down, I'm unable to shake the thought that maybe, just maybe, I really am communicating with my dog.

  Suddenly I feel the lead pull, and I turn to see that Larry has stopped in his tracks.

  “Are we going to do this again?” I ask, tugging gently on the lead in the hope that he'll realize that he has to come with me today. “I've been patient up to now, but it's time for you to come into the forest. It'll be fun, I promise. You just have to get over your fears first.”

  I wait, but he looks absolutely terrified.

  “We talked about this,” I continue, stepping closer to him. “I know, you claim that something smells wrong out here. But isn't the truth a little simpler?”

  I crouch down and look into his eyes.

  “No-one's ever going to put you into the river again, Larry. You know you can trust me, don't you? And look around, do you see anyone else out here? I swear, in all the years I've lived here, I've barely ever seen another soul in this forest. I don't even see any wildlife. The place is empty. You're in no danger.”

  He lets out a faint grumble. I know he doesn't understand me when I speak using words, but I'm definitely picking up on some strong body language right now.

  “Okay,” I say finally, getting to my feet, “you're not leaving me any choice.”

  Picking him up, I start carrying him along the path. I remember that you were never keen about a certain part of the forest, Jasper, and I think maybe I should have forced you to be braver. And I'm not about to make the same mistake with Larry.

  He clings to me a little, and he's starting to shiver, but I tell myself that he's just being a drama queen as usual.

  “See?” I say as we make our way between the trees. “It's just a forest. There's absolutely no reason in the world to get so upset. I reckon that within a few weeks, you'll be begging me every day to come out here. And we're not even very far from our flat, you know. It's absolutely gorgeous out here. I'd like to see you doing dog things occasionally.”

  Reaching a clearing, I set Larry down. I wait for him to start sniffing, but instead he immediately pulls back behind my legs and starts snarling at the path ahead, as if he's picked up on something that he really doesn't like. I follow his gaze, but all I see are more trees.

  “What is it?” I ask. “Can you smell something?”

  I wait, but the hackles are standing on between his shoulders.

  “Fine,” I mutter, picking him up again and carrying him a little further. “We'll loop around and rejoin the road. I was going to take you all the way through the forest, but you're obviously not ready for that. And if -”

  Stopping suddenly, I see that the forest floor ahead is gray and murky. I've never actually been out this way before but, as I peer between the trees, I see that there seems to be some kind of large bog. As Larry continues to growl in my arms, I take a few steps forward, until finally I'm standing right at the edge of a large sludgy patch that's about twenty meters wide. The far end of the bog runs up toward a concrete pipe that runs under the road and leads toward the apartment building, and after a moment I realize that the air here smells a little fusty.

  “Okay,” I say cautiously, “this doesn't seem quite right.”

  Larry turns around in my arms and tries to climb up to my shoulders, as if he's desperate to get away.

  “What is this thing?” I whisper,
taking another step forward.

  Suddenly I feel the ground starting to give way beneath my right foot. I step back and look down, and I see that the ground is extremely muddy. A moment later, I spot several thick bubbles on the surface of the mud, and I realize I can hear a faint squelching sound. It's almost as if this bog is alive.

  “I think maybe you have a point after all,” I say to Larry, as I take a few more steps back. “It looks like someone's been dumping something out here.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “It'll take six to eight weeks for the full results to come back,” Mr. Dorchester says as he makes some notes on his clipboard, “and then we can determine the best course of action to take. There'll be no -”

  “Six to eight weeks?” Justin snaps, stepping toward him. “Are you insane? This is a serious public health risk!”

  Raising a skeptical eyebrow, Mr. Dorchester turns and looks out across the bog. He's seemed distinctly unimpressed since he arrived about an hour ago, and I can already tell that he's not going to be treating this as an emergency.

  “This stuff could be toxic!” Justin says firmly.

  “My preliminary tests indicate -”

  “Your tests are rubbish!” Justin continues, interrupting him. “With all due respect, I've been complaining for months about the state of our flats, and I've been constantly told that there's no reason to worry. And now look! There's this festering things out here, right around one of the rain run-off pipes that goes under the road! The smell's even the same. Whatever's been dumped out here in the forest, it's clearly leeching through into the building itself!”

  “My preliminary tests indicate no immediate dangers,” Mr. Dorchester says calmly. “I've run all the usual checks, and there's no risk to public health.”

  “Come to the building and I'll show you!” Justin replies, before turning to me. “Paula, tell him about the dust!”