by steve higgs
‘What else does she write.’
‘Sandra tells us that she went to a show by the Great Howsini, then there is a whole bit about how she was approached after the show because she was just right for being hypnotised. The Great Howsini wanted to conduct some experimental sessions with her among some other special persons. The sessions would be free. Blah, blah, blah. Then she says that she went to the session but when she came around from being hypnotised, she had lost five hours and was in a car park in Pluckley, miles from where she had started out. Blah, blah, blah, no memory of getting there but she had an overwhelming sense of wanting to eat human flesh.’ Jane looked up from reading the screen. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think there might be something to it. Please file it somewhere to be considered later.’
Jane and I went through a few more of the email enquiries that had been received in the last twenty-four hours. I explained that I needed her to view each with the very simple standpoint that there was no paranormal and so every single case had a perfectly ordinary explanation. Jane seemed dubious, a trait that I had to forgive. I had learned that most people had a willingness to accept, to a greater or lesser extent, bizarre answers to quandaries that had ordinary explanations. To assist her I wrote, "There is no paranormal" on the board opposite the desk in large letters.
‘Shall we go through the financial stuff?’
‘Sure thing.’ said Jane.
For the next hour, I went over the firm's finances, the paperwork, how to produce invoices etcetera. It was dry, but necessary stuff. The task complete, I had run out of routine things to show her. I checked my watch: 1137hrs. The spectral dog case needed to be pursued and I needed to perform some research, so I might as well do it here with Jane and show her a skill that might prove helpful later.
‘Shove over.’ I said while coming around the desk. I grabbed one of the chairs from by the window and plonked it down next to her as she slid her chair away from the keyboard.
My intention was to resolve the case, in part at least, by catching the spectral dog. With the pooch out of the way, there would be no reason for Mrs. Collins not to reopen the business. This would not determine where her husband had got to, but I was betting that he was alive and well and staying somewhere else. He had not been eaten by a ghost dog after all. So, where was he?
I performed some internet searches with Jane watching and we found out a little bit about the man. Mrs. Collins had given me a photograph upon my request. His age was recorded as fifty-eight so the picture I had was maybe ten years old - he still had mostly brown hair in it. He did not appear in any social media but there had been a couple of newspaper articles about his business when it had been investigated for illegally tipping scrap parts in the countryside. The report did not say whether the allegations had been proven true or not. Mr. Collins was overweight but not obese. Like most men, he was carrying a good few extra pounds around his waist. Regular trips to the pub would do that. He was a big man though, broad-shouldered and tall at over six feet by my estimation. He had probably been considered good looking when he was younger and might still be so by women of a similar age.
An hour of searching the internet gave me nothing helpful. I explained to Jane that at this stage of a case I had to feel my way around. Using the standard assumption that there was nothing supernatural going on I would form a theory based on what else could have happened and then explore those options. I believed that if Mr. Collins was not at home and was not spending money on his credit card – he was not, I had Mrs. Collins check every day, then he had to be shacked up somewhere. He could be staying at a mate's house, but it felt more likely that he had a lady on the side and he was with her. Mrs. Collins told me that he regularly worked late and very often came home later because he was going via the pub. The pub then, if indeed he had ever been going there, was a next most sensible place to visit. The public house was called The Morning Star. I had to look up where it was. Getting there would be easy enough and it was only a few miles away.
Before I went to the pub I needed to go home, have some lunch and take the dogs for a walk. I left Jane to lock up, saying that I would see her the next morning.
On the way home, I called Jagjit and asked to borrow his car. I would need it tonight as he drove a large utility vehicle and the large load bed in the rear would be used to transport the dog to a safe place if we were successful in catching it
I had instructed Big Ben to get an animal control pole from the vet lady. I probably could have bought one, but I had no desire to buy things when I could borrow them, and I doubted I would need it again any time soon, if ever. I also told him to get drugs that we could use to knock the beast out with. It was a cliché, but I intended to feed it a steak loaded with the drug and allow it to knock itself out. If the CCTV footage was anything to go by, the dog was big and big dogs are strong and have big teeth. Dealing with a sleeping giant hellhound felt safer.
I got home at 1316hrs. The dogs were waiting as always. In contrast to recent days, the sun was shining, so we went straight out for a walk. The pair of tiny dogs pulled at their leads, each trying to get to the next smell first. I followed them where they wanted to go, feeling relaxed and happy. The dogs usually calmed or soothed whatever troubles might be bothering me.
The circuitous route around the village led me back to my house at 1357hrs. I made a wholemeal chicken wrap loaded with raw vegetables, shook some hot sauce on to it to keep my metabolism firing and emptied the washing machine. Basic tasks complete, I checked myself in the mirror to make sure that I did not have food stuck to my teeth or dribble on my collar then headed out to see if I could track down the missing Mr. Edgar Collins.
The Morning Star Public House. Thursday, 15th October 1517hrs
Finding the pub had been simple enough, I had just followed the satnav. It was formed from an end of terrace house as the row of houses met the corner formed by the confluence of two roads, Barnes Street and Maple Road. It was poorly kept, the paint was flaking from the walls and the window frames, several panes of glass were broken and had been taped back together, and in front and just to the side of the main door was a stain where someone had recently vomited. Whoever had been tasked with cleaning it up had done a poor job. In general, it was a bit cruddy looking.
I pushed the door open. Inside was not much better. It was mid-afternoon on a Friday and there were more people inside than there ought to be. Perhaps I was being prejudiced. Whatever the case, there were more than twenty chaps of varying ages stood around the bar or sitting at the tables drinking beer or ale. Most of them looked up as I entered. I was inappropriately dressed and stood out wearing smart office clothes where they were all in working clothes. I elected to ignore the stares and proceeded to the bar.
The gentleman behind the counter radiated a personality that made me confident he was the Landlord. I ordered a pint of lager and asked him if he was.
‘I am indeed.' he replied. ‘Is there something I can help you with.' he asked, giving me an easy opener.
I produced the picture of Mr. Collins. ‘I am looking for my Uncle.' I lied. ‘I have been in the Army overseas for years. Now I am back and as I don't have much family I was hoping to reconnect with Uncle Ed. I was a boy the last time I saw him, and he used to drink here, so this is the start point of my search.'
If he questioned the story, he showed no sign of it. He took the picture I was showing him, peered at it squinting, swore and then looked around for his glasses which were on a string around his neck. Finally finding them, he still had to move the picture towards his face and away from it to bring it into focus. ‘Oh, its Eddie.' he said. ‘We don't see him much.' He took a couple of paces along the bar and shouted through a gap in the wall, ‘Rita.' A few seconds ticked by. ‘Rita, my love.'
‘What?’ a distant female voice came back.
‘When did you last see, Eddie?’
‘Who?’
‘Eddie?’
‘Eddie who?' It seemed like thi
s might go on for a while. I took a sip of my pint. I didn't really want a beer at this time of the day, or even this time of the week but it seemed appropriate to order a drink since I was in a bar.
A lady, whom I assumed was Rita, appeared from the gap in the wall, wiping her hands on a pinny around her waist. Like the Landlord, she looked like she could wrestle drunks out the door and probably open a beer bottle with her bum if required.
‘What are you on about, you daft old bugger?’ she asked.
‘Eddie.’ He started again, this time showing her the picture. ‘When did you last see him in here?’
She took the photograph and examined it. ‘Who wants to know?’
‘His nephew.’ he explained pointing at me. I smiled back.
‘He was in here for a bit last week with Sharon. Or was that the week before?' she asked herself. ‘No, I think it was last week, maybe on Thursday night. They stopped for a drink and then went again.' I was focussing on the name Sharon and wishing I had a photograph of Mrs. Collins to show them so that I could confirm by elimination that he had another lady. It had been my original theory after all.
‘Do you know if he lives around here then?’ I asked.
‘Sorry, Love.’ Rita replied. ‘That I cannot help you with.’
‘You said he was here with Sharon. I know he remarried but I thought her name was Louise. I am probably wrong though. Is she a tall lady with blonde hair?’
‘What, Sharon? No, love. Sharon is short, fat and ugly.’ she laughed as if she had said something particularly funny.
I had picked a description that was very much not Mrs. Collins just in case it was his wife that had been in with him and the Landlady just had the name wrong. Short, fat and ugly might be a harsh, if accurate description, but it was not Mrs. Collins. I thanked her and the Landlord for their time and took the photograph back. Rita disappeared back through the hole in the wall and the Landlord moved off to serve another customer.
I took a sip of my drink. Edgar Collins was having an affair, that much seemed certain now. He had kept it from his wife for however long it had been going on but was now most likely shacked up permanently with the new woman. So, I knew why he was missing, but not where he was and still had no idea what part the dog played in this. His disappearance and the spectral dog showing up could not be a coincidence. With luck, I would catch the dog tonight, get Mrs. Collins and her employees back to work and in so doing would flush out her husband. If not, then I felt certain I could perform some non-paranormal investigating and find the address for the short, fat ugly Sharon and in turn, assuming I was right, Edgar Collins.
I had downed less than half of the pint of lager. Quite sufficient I felt. I tapped my pockets to confirm I had my wallet, phone, and keys and left the pub quite happily behind me.
My watch ticked through 1600hrs as I was getting into my car. I was leaving my visit to the breaker's yard until it was dark. I had been there during the day and had seen nothing. I was guessing again, but my guess was that Edgar or one of his chaps was bringing the dogs in at night. I debated setting up an observation post to film that person delivering the dogs, but the equipment I owned was not sophisticated enough. I could therefore only hope to catch them by jumping out from my hiding place when they were doing so. Of course, they were not committing a crime. If it was Edgar setting the dogs then it was technically his property, so all I could do was report back to Mrs. Collins.
The internal debate left me getting to the yard once it was dark, letting ourselves in and seeing if anything happened. We might not get lucky on the first night and I would have to rethink the plan if we struck out for more than a couple of nights in a row. I had a good feeling though, so I gave Big Ben a call, told him what time I would collect him and outlined the plan.
I had a few hours to kill, but plenty of housework and other mundane tasks to keep me busy. It would be action time soon enough and I was looking forward to a bit of night time sneaking around.
Junkyard Dog Thursday 14th October 1937hrs
I collected Jagjit’s car after he finished work. He was good enough to call and let me know it was available. He still lived with his parent’s, or at least had moved back in after a brief and disappointing marriage. Their place was walking distance from my house, so I took the dogs with me and they rode home on the passenger’s seat.
That was two hours ago. Since then I had dressed in my usual black combat gear, eaten a light meal – nothing heavy in case this evening involved a lot of strenuous activity and had gone to collect Big Ben.
We had arrived at the breaker’s yard after dark and waited for thirty minutes to allow our night vision to settle before we had used the key Mrs Collins had provided to slip in through the front gate. Once inside I shut the gate behind us and made sure it would not swing open again. I believed there was a large dog here, that it might be dangerous and thus wanted to ensure it did not escape and wreak havoc elsewhere. Big Ben and I had poked around for a minute or so hoping to spot the dog. He was carrying the animal control pole he borrowed from the vet lady. I wanted two, but she only had two and needed to keep hold of one just in case she needed it. Big Ben did not expand on that, but I supposed that a vet might sometimes be brought a feral dog or cat and need to pin it in a safe manner.
‘I’m bored with this.’ Big Ben had stated after the first minute of searching the yard. ‘Here pooch! Here poochy, poochy, poochy!’ he called loudly while making little whistle come-to-me noises.
It had not been the greatest idea as seconds later the world’s largest dog came barking, growling and bounding around the corner ahead of us. It was picking up speed, heading straight for us and did not appear willing to negotiate the terms of its surrender.
‘Wowza!’ Big Ben uttered. Then he turned and ran. At least I am guessing that he then turned and ran because I had already done so, had covered ten metres and was accelerating away from him. It was not going to take the dog long to cover the distance to where we had been and outrunning it held little hope as a strategy. When Big Ben caught up to me a few paces later I yelled ‘Climb!’ and headed for the nearest bank of cars.
It was a breaker’s yard so there were maybe a thousand or so battered and beaten looking cars piled one atop the other arranged in vaguely neat piles and lines so that it formed a maze of sorts. It probably only seemed like a maze because I had never been inside before and in the daylight, there would in fact be clearly defined and obvious paths through the yard.
I leapt onto the bonnet of something bright yellow then grasped the front tyre of the car next to and one layer above it and swung myself up onto its bonnet. Not convinced this was high enough yet I went a further level up, scrapping my left arm against something sharp as I did so. Now three cars up and thinking that I was probably out of reach I stopped climbing and turned to see where the dog was. The answer to that question was that it was at the line of cars running parallel to the one I had climbed trying to eat Big Ben.
‘Get off me.’ Big Ben yelled with his usual gusto. The dog tried to snap at his feet as he scrambled a little higher. We locked eyes for a second and he grinned at me. ‘That’s a real dog Tempest, definitely not a ghost, I could feel its breath on my leg when it tried to bite me, and I have slobber on my trousers.’
‘That bit was never in doubt. You think we are high enough here?’
‘I reckon so.’ Big Ben said. I watched as he wiped his hands on his trousers, probably to remove grease or dirt and keep his grip ready. ‘Where is the steak?’ he called across to me. We were perhaps eight feet apart with the dog circling around beneath Big Ben.
The almost cartoon like plan was to load a steak up with the drug and hope that the dog ate it. I was not one for using hope as a strategy, so we had brought the animal control pole along as well. I had abandoned the pole while running away like a little girl though. It had seemed unlikely I could climb the cars while holding it anyway so now it was ten metres away laying uselessly on the ground.
I had a
small back pack hooked over my shoulders in which was a Tupperware type box containing the steak. The drug was already applied by use of a hypodermic needle to get it right into the meat, so I fished the box out and threw it across to Big Ben.
He caught it one handed despite the poor light, opened it and as the dog, which was now stood on is hind legs to stretch up for him again took its next lunge he dropped it into its mouth.
Dogasaurus swallowed the meat almost without acknowledging that it had something it its mouth and never once took its gaze off Big Ben. The vet had assured him the dose would knock out but would not endanger the animal so that we could attach a muzzle, collar, animal control pole etcetera and take it to the local RSPCA centre. Apparently, she had not said how long the anaesthetic would take to knock the animal out though and he had failed to ask.
The enormous, gently glowing dog circled for a bit, looked at me briefly and then resumed trying to find a way to get to Big Ben.
‘Ah, Tempest.’ Big Ben called across the void.
‘Yes, mate.’
‘My um. My right hand is going numb.’
I considered that for a second. ‘Did you handle the steak or just tip it out?’
‘I grabbed hold of the damned thing. My hand is really going numb.’
‘Then let us hope our canine friend here is feeling the same effect.’
The dog chose that point stop trying to climb the cars under Big Ben. It dropped back down onto all fours, shook its head a few times, like one might if one was feeling a little fuzzy and let out a bark.
‘I think we have a result.’ I announced.
‘Good because my forearm is numb now and I can’t feel my fingers anymore.’
The giant dog shook its head once more then wandered away from us, its quarry forgotten. ‘Can you climb down?’ I asked Big Ben.