by Amy Cross
I can smell a summer's day.
“Hugo! This way!”
There's a sound too.
Thudding.
Nearby.
At first I think it's my heartbeat, but then I realize it's someone running.
It's Maisie running.
She's racing ahead of me through the field, and I'm racing right after her, and we're running together.
“Hugo! Come on, Hugo!”
She sounds young again.
We don't have to ever stop running.
I can feel the warmth of the sun on my fur.
And her touch.
Somehow, Maisie is holding me even as I run, grabbing the scruff of my neck hard.
But now the sun's warmth is gone.
Now, instead, I'm getting cold again.
I'm shivering again.
And all I can smell is rotten, decaying death, and -
Suddenly I'm pulled up out of the mud. Coughing and spluttering, I turn and open my eyes, but I immediately find myself staring straight into the brightest light I've ever seen in my life. Before I can react, I'm hauled tight into Maisie's arms and I see that she's holding the flashlight that I remember Michael used to use whenever he came down to fix things in the basement.
A snarling growl fills the air, and I look over my shoulder.
The mud-witch is reaching out of the crack again, and this time the flashlight is aimed straight at her rotten, cracked-open face. She grabs Maisie's ankle and then, with a snarl, she starts pulling her back toward the crack.
“Not this time!” Maisie gasps. “Leave my dog alone, bitch!”
With that, she swings a broken piece of wood at the witch, sending one end crushing straight through the woman's face. With the wood embedded through her nose and eyes, the witch opens her mouth and screams, while Maisie scrambles to her feet and starts limping toward the wooden steps.
“It's okay,” she says, still shivering violently as she starts carrying me up out of the basement. “We're getting out of here.”
As soon as we reach the dark hallway, she takes me to the door. She still has the flashlight, but once we're at the door she has to clamber over the debris from the collapsed porch. She's cradling me in her arms, and I'm shivering as I feel the pain from my severed paw starting to pulse through my body. I want to bark, but I no longer have the energy, and I can feel myself starting to fall asleep as Maisie finally gets onto the yard and starts taking me over to the car.
“It's okay,” she gasps, “we -”
Suddenly she's pulled back through the air. I fall from her arms and clatter against the ground, and then I turn just in time to see Maisie's body slam into the wrecked porch. She lets out a cry of pain, and I can tell that the force is still trying to pull her into the house even though all the debris is in the way.
“I can't fight it!” she groans, her voice filled with agony. “Hugo, she's too strong!”
I start dragging myself toward her, desperate to find some way to help. My heart is pounding and I'm having to fight to stay conscious, but I can't abandon Maisie. We're all that's left of the pack.
“She's crushing me!” Maisie whimpers. “I can feel... my ribs... starting to...”
Her voice becomes a wailing moan, and then a cry of pain.
And then, suddenly, she gasps and seems to relax.
“It stopped,” she says, as if she can't believe what's happening. She hesitates for a moment, before picking me up again and getting to her feet, and carrying me once more to the car. “She's not as strong as that,” she stammers. “She must have to stop to get her strength back.”
She opens the car door and throws me onto the seat, before starting to climb in after me.
“We -”
Before she can finish, she's slammed against the side of the car's frame. She cries out and I hear a snapping sound from her arm, but she manages to grip the car and hold on even as I can tell the force is trying to pull her back toward the house. Letting out a cry of pain, she strains to haul herself into the car, finally managing to get into the seat even though it's clear she can't even breathe.
“Hugo!” she gasps. “I...”
Struggling to reach over to her, I manage to get up on my back legs and start licking the side of her face.
“Hugo...”
Suddenly she lurches forward and takes a series of big, gulping breaths.
“That was even stronger!” she stammers. “We have to get out of here, we have to -”
Stopping for a moment, she stares into the rear-view mirror, and I realize she's looking at the house.
“We have to destroy this thing,” she says finally. “Moss burns, Hugo. Moss is flammable as hell. I've got a spare can of petrol in the boot. I can start a fire that'll burn that whole goddamn place down.” She pauses, still struggling to get her breath back, and then she turns to me. “I have to, Hugo,” she continues. “What if someone else comes here? That thing seems to be trapped in the basement, but what if someone stumbles into the house and gets hurt? If I have a chance to destroy it forever, then no-one else ever needs to suffer.”
She opens the glove compartment and starts sorting through all the old tissue boxes and assorted rubbish. She's muttering to herself under her breath, but finally she pulls out a cigarette lighter and flicks the side, causing a flame to briefly ignite.
“She's going to try pulling me in again at any second,” she says. “I have to time this just right, or she might just pull me straight into the flames. Hugo, you have to stay here, okay? I'll be back so soon.” She leans closer and kisses the side of my face. “Then we'll get you to a vet, but first I have to burn this bloody house to the ground and then -”
Stopping again, she stares at me for a moment before turning and looking back at the house.
“Or do I?” she whispers.
I wait for her to start the car, but she seems lost in thought.
“She's trapped,” she says after a few seconds. “She's not even that powerful. She can get people at the house, but she's pretty weak. And if she could leave the place, wouldn't she have done that by now?” She turns to me. “What if I destroy the house, and I only end up freeing her? Didn't that little girl say something like that, about making sure she stays trapped here? And it's obvious that people don't wander along out here, for some reason they seem to miss the house completely. What if we just have to leave this place alone?”
Still a little short of breath, she stares at me for a moment before setting the lighter on the dashboard and then swinging the car's door shut.
“I'll figure the rest out later,” she says, clicking her seat-belt into place before putting the key in the ignition. “For now, if we can just leave her trapped there forever, I reckon that's not a bad deal.”
She starts the engine, before putting her hands on the wheel and starting to drive the car across the yard.
“This is the right thing,” she says firmly, staring straight ahead. “Destroying the house might be the worst mistake of all. I just have to -”
Suddenly she gasps as the car comes to a halt. The engine is revving, but Maisie is pressed hard against the seat as the force once again tries to pull her into the house. She struggles for air, and it's clear that she can't breathe as she twists first one way and then the other in the seat. Her foot comes off the pedal on the floor, and the engine slows to a ticking crawl, but Maisie is suffocating and after a moment the car starts thudding backward across the yard. The force pulling Maisie is so strong, it's dragging the entire car toward the house.
Realizing that her foot fell off the pedal, and that the pedal seems to be the thing that makes the car go forward, I tumble down off the seat and into the foot-well. I have to squeeze past Maisie's feet, but finally I manage to reach the pedal and I throw all my weight forward, pushing the pedal down and landing hard.
I hope this works.
The engine immediately revs again, almost deafening me. I can smell petrol, but the whole car is shuddering and after a mom
ent the wheels shake as the entire vehicle is jolted a little further back toward the house.
“I can't breathe!” Maisie gasps, clutching her chest. “Hugo, I -”
Suddenly she screams and I hear several snapping sounds from under her shirt.
“My ribs!” she shouts, clearly in searing pain. “She's crushing my...”
Her voice ends in a faint choking sound, and when I look up I can just about see her face starting to turn blue. I have to help her somehow, but I'm still pressed against the pedal and a moment later the car lurches back again. The stench of petrol is getting stronger, and the engine sounds louder than ever, and when I look up at Maisie I see that she's unconscious. I'm starting to slip off the pedal, but somehow I manage to drag myself back on and push down even harder, causing it to press all the way to the floor and -
The engine roars and Maisie lets out a gasp as she opens her eyes. The car rushes forward, getting faster and faster. I don't know whether I should stay on the pedal or not, but I decide it's best not to move. The car bumps hard over something, then again, and then there are several loud crashing sounds we race through what I think might be part of the forest.
Filled with panic, I look up at Maisie.
She's unconscious, slumped in the seat with the belt holding her tight.
Before I can bark, the car slams headfirst into something that causes it to swing out wildly to one side as the windshield shatters and glass rains down all around me. I'm thrown against the side of the foot-well with such force that I'm almost knocked out, and then I look up just in time to see Maisie slumping onto her side. Then the car rolls, crashing down onto its roof before rolling again and coming to a rest back on its wheels.
And then silence.
I wait, too scared to even more, before finally I start clambering up onto Maisie's lap. Despite the pain in my severed paw, I manage to lean up and start licking the side of Maisie's bloodied face, trying desperately to make her wake up. At first she doesn't respond, but finally I realize she's starting to move slightly.
“Hugo,” she stammers, opening her eyes as she regains consciousness. “What...”
She looks around, and for a moment she seems utterly shocked to realize that we're now a fair way from the house.
“How did you...”
She winces slightly, and at that moment I slip back down into the foot-well. I try to stand again, but all four of my legs hurt. One is already missing a paw, but the others have sharp pains rippling up and down their lengths and I have no choice but to slither back down. And then, slowly, I feel Maisie's hands reach down and scoop me up, and then she holds me tight as she climbs stiffly out of the car.
She turns, and I can just about see the house in the distance, although there are lots of trees in the way.
“I think we're far enough now,” Maisie whispers. “I don't know how you got us here, Hugo. My head's spinning, but I think we made it. She can't reach out this far.”
Reaching down, she touches my damaged front left leg. I instinctively pull away.
“It's okay,” she says. “I'm going to get you all fixed up. Stay with me, Hugo. Stay alive until I can get us to a town, okay? I'm going to find a vet who can get you sorted.”
She stumbles through the forest until we reach the road, and then she stops to look at the house again.
“I'm not going to risk freeing her,” she continues, still a little breathless. “So long as people steer clear of the house forever, that bitch can stay right where she is. And they seem to have steered clear of it so far. I guess maybe people are subconsciously repulsed by true evil. They stay away.”
Stay.
That's a word I know.
And as Maisie starts carrying me along the dark road, I nestle closer to her and press my face against her chest. I'm feeling weaker and weaker, and I can't fight sleep, not any longer. In fact, this sleep doesn't even feel like sleep at all, it feels like something deeper. I can smell Maisie, though, and I'm with Maisie, and that's what's important. And I'm going to stay with Maisie forever, no matter what happens.
Closing my eyes, I breathe deep to get a good blast of her scent. As I do so, and as I feel myself slipping into darkness, I hear Maisie's voice calling me and I realize that I don't need to stay awake any longer.
“Hugo!” Maisie shouts, sounding young again. “Hey, come on! Let's play!”
Epilogue
One year later
“Clara Mellor,” Maisie says, holding up a printed piece of paper for me to see. “That's her, Hugo! That's the woman from the basement!”
Looking at the paper, I see a grainy image of a woman standing surrounded by several men. She looks a little bit like the mud-witch from the house, but after a moment my attention is drawn to the dog that's also in the picture. He looks like a big dog, like one of those dogs from the park. I don't understand why I can see him on the piece of paper, though, so I turn and look away across the sun-drenched cafe terrace.
Humans talk.
A lot.
Including Maisie.
They talk and talk and talk and – out of all the words they ever say – I only understand about six or seven. Which is fine for me, I've learned to filter the rest out. But it does mean that I don't often know what's really happening. For example, everything that happened back at the house is still a jumble in my head. Who was the broken-jawed woman? Who was the little girl? Who was the woman trapped in the mud in the basement? Where did Maisie and Michael and Linda go for all that time they were away? I don't know, and I never will. Maybe Maisie knows, although I think she's uncertain. But I'm with Maisie now, and we have a good life. I get fed regularly, and I get treats and snacks. Not enough treats and snacks, of course. But I get some. So the fact that I don't understand much, and that Maisie keeps on talking and talking and talking, is fine.
“I finally tracked her down,” Maisie continues. “Clara Mellor was accused of witchcraft in the nineteenth century. She escaped from jail several times, and the rumors are that several local policemen eventually decided to get rid of her after a chase through the forest. I guess she was buried under that house, but somehow she managed to stay alive. All those tree roots and rot and mold and moss... It's almost like she was the house. I bet if I could get its whole history, I'd find that the house never stayed in the same family for long. New owners moved in and died, eventually the place was sold by grieving relatives, and the whole cycle began again. In the old days, people might not even have made the connection.”
See?
So much talking!
She reaches over and tries to pat me, but I pull away.
“You're food-obsessed,” she says with a sigh, taking a liver treat from her pocket and handing it to me. “Then again, I guess old dogs don't mix well with new tricks.”
I eat the treat, and this time I let her stroke the top of my head. She's earned that.
“Look at the police dog in that old photo,” she says. “Don't be offended, Hugo, but I'm not sure you'd be the best police dog of all time.”
She tries to pat me again, but I pull away.
She needs to earn a fuss first, by giving me another treat.
“Do you want to see something weird?” she continues, turning and tapping at her laptop. “This is really freaky.”
I let out a faint groan.
This isn't food.
A moment later a tinny sound comes from the machine, and when I glance at the screen I see a jerky image of some teenaged boys walking around inside a large, dark building.
“Stockingdale Mansion,” Maisie says. “It's a supposedly haunted house, not too far from where we were. People flock there to spend a night and hunt for the gray lady, or for the headless whatevers that are supposed to lurk in the shadows.” She pauses, watching the screen as one of the figure yells and starts running along a dark corridor. “And all the while, to get to Stockingdale they have to drive right past the turn-off for Moss House. It's almost like some deep instinct keeps them from going near a t
rue haunted house. That's what I'm relying on, anyway. And so long as I never sell the place, I don't think anyone will go near it or even -”
Suddenly I bark, surprising myself a little. To be honest, she's been talking for a while and I know she still has liver treats in her pocket.
“You don't just get them for being cute,” she tells me.
I reach out with my right front paw and tap at her arm.
“You have to do stuff to get more,” she says with a smile. “I know it's hard, but you don't have a choice. Now how about we finish up here and go to the park, and then you can show me that you do remember your new tricks. Then you can maybe have a few more liver treats, but not too many. You're still on a diet, Hugo.”
She gets to her feet and then, reaching over, she picks me up and sets me on the ground. And then, without even giving me one more liver treat, she steps around the table and heads out across the grass. I know what she wants me to do, and I don't want to do it.
“Come on, Hugo!” she calls out. “If you want more liver snacks, you've got to show me you can do it!”
She turns and claps her hands.
I wait, hoping she'll just come back and give me a treat.
“Hugo!” she says firmly. “Come!”
I let out a faint whimper. Why is she making me do this?
Reaching into her pocket, she takes out a treat and holds it up. I immediately pick up the scent of liver, and I can feel myself starting to drool.
“Hugo!” she shouts with a smile. “Snack! Now! Come!”
I suppose I'm going to obey. At least there's a snack waiting for me.
So I set off toward her, slowly at first as I try to keep my balance. The new wheel attached to my stump is a little squeaky, and I find it difficult to keep steady, but finally I reach Maisie and she leans down to give me the treat, before patting me on the side while I eat.
And then she gives me a second treat.
“Now come on,” she says, turning and starting to walk again, much more slowly this time. She's still limping heavily on her left foot. “Let's go together this time. We'll go to the pond and you can bark at the ducks again.”