I’ve had a lot to think about since my last post, and a lot has happened, too. I know some people wanted an update, so I’ll try and describe everything to the best of my ability.
Firstly, the knocking has continued. The knocker has started to heavily acknowledge the camera, sometimes staring into the lens, cradling the camera with stained, claw-like hands, and peering into it with its fucked up coin-eyes. I’ve stopped being able to watch the footage all the way through because the up-close detail of the angry, swollen bits of torn flesh in the eye, welts formed where the corroded metal stick into the delicate socket flesh… is just not very pleasant to be subjected to.
Kirby HATES the videos. As soon as she hears the muttering noises, the heavy, rasping breathing, the sound of the knockers hands muffling the mic as it cradles the camera, she starts to grumble and shake her head and tail, occasionally standing up and twirling restlessly in a circle. It would be quite cute if it wasn’t for the disturbing footage on the screen.
Last night, though, I decided to try and talk to the knocker.
It happened around 3 am. A loud knocking, a polite pause, and another set of knocks. I knew immediately what it was and steeled my nerves.
I mentioned my anxiety in my last post, and let me delve into that a bit more for you, so you can see how damn impressive it is that I went downstairs. I have PTSD. The complex kind. Prolonged childhood trauma and all the rubbish that comes with it. I’ll spare you the details, but it means my senses are excellent- I’ve been hypervigilant for a long time, and I’m a light sleeper- and, more importantly, I work terribly under any sort of pressure or stress. My adrenaline response initiates, my brain shuts off, and I become about as coordinated as a spasming dead octopus.
The previous few nights that the knocker had been by, I had lain in my bed, breath hitched and heart beating so fast I thought I would die. After they (he?) left, I would stay in that position, frozen for hours. It would be Kirby, actually, who would get me up. She would gently climb up, nose her way under the covers and press her enormous, silky head against my chest. The pressure was calming, and I would soon find myself gently stroking her spine and face and finally kissing the patch of fur right between her crushed-velvet ears. She had been doing wonders for me.
Anyway, this night, I managed to break the paralysis, and I got out of bed. Kirby hadn’t been grumbling so much, instead tucked right into my side as I descended the stairs. I had answered the door before, so I suspected the knocker would have disappeared when I opened it, but I also desperately wanted to figure out what they wanted with Kirby.
Usually, I would make Kirby sit and stay, and then I’d answer. But tonight, I wanted her with me. So, with shaking hands- and the rest of me, actually- I approached. One step from the door, the knocking started again. I felt myself freeze, the imagery from the footage flashing into my mind. I couldn’t will myself to open it.
Kirby pressed her nose- cold and wet- into the back of my hand. For some reason, it broke me out of my panicked reverie. I took a deep breath and swung the door open.
There was no nightmarish ghoul or zombie or grotesquely disfigured eye sockets. Instead, there was a man. A normal man, with hair so black it was almost blue and fierce, silver eyes (I was so grateful to see there were no coins). He was wearing an odd, mahogany-coloured cloak. His hand was up, about to knock again, and his mouth open, slightly surprised that I answered. The scent of something earthy and deep, although not unpleasant, wafted through the door.
Kirby pushed in front of me and did her usual (unusual) greeting, even though I didn’t tell him he could come in. The man didn’t seem phased by it, glancing down at my dog and then back up at me as she assessed him. Neither of us spoke, just staring at each other for a moment while Kirby reared up onto her hind legs and pressed her cold nose into his neck, then opened her maw wide to probe his neck and shoulder.
She backed down and retreated, snaking between my legs and staring with suspicious eyes at the visitor.
Finally, he spoke, voice tinged with an accent. It could have been Greek- as most things were with Kirby- but it still seemed off.
“I apologise sincerely for disturbing you at this time. I must discuss with you an important matter.”
His piercing gaze drifted downwards.
I started to respond huffily. I had so many questions, but I was mainly concerned that whatever was going on would result in Kirby being taken away from me.
“You can’t take my d-“ and he shushed me, eyes flashing with a sudden rage.
“I was not addressing you!” His voice was steely, cutting through me like a dagger into my chest. “Do not speak unless addressed, wench.”
My jaw dropped. This was clearly a crazy person. I stepped forward to slam the door, and Kirby moved with me, a grimacing snarl on her face, teeth gleaming and glinting brightly in the dark.
“Oh, you-!” The man stepped forward to keep the door open, and Kirby went berserk. The moment his hand crossed the threshold, she launched upwards like a streak of void lightning, and with a snap of her jaw, his hand - his HAND- fell to the floor with a thud. I gasped, my vision swimming, and stumbled to my left, leaning against the wall. What had just happened?? How had this escalated so fast?
There was no noise from outside, or maybe there was. My head was loudly ringing; the only stabilising force in my body was the sturdy, muscled furball that had pressed against me once again. The wall was cool, digging into the bone of my shoulder.
A hand. She had bitten off his hand.
As the ringing subsided, I could start to hear cursing and what sounded like beratement. Underlying the angry muttering, I could hear crunching, cracking noises.
“You ungrateful fool! You are needed!” I opened my eyes a slit, peering at the scene. The man had crouched, the stump of his arm not bleeding as I thought it might. He stared treacherously across the line of the door at- at Kirby. She was eating it. Eating his hand. She seemed to savour it, the crack of each finger making me flinch as she started to gnaw the flesh off the bone, digit by digit.
“Let me take it. You know I mean no harm.” He hissed, undoubtedly talking to my dog for some reason.
I closed my eyes again. Why was this crack job talking to my girl?
Kirby growled back, placing her body obstinately against the door, and moving away from me. I wheezed from the loss of support and sank to my knees. She glanced back at me with soft eyes, then placed one back paw on my knee. I leaned my head against her thigh with a groan.
“Dude, you’re scaring my dog.” I managed to mutter.
He moved his attention away from the hand.
“Your dog? YOUR dog? You think you own her? You think she belongs to you!?” He scoffed, incredulous.
“Yes, MY dog. I have the adoption paperwork. If you think I’m giving her to some crazy person who thinks she can understand you, you’re sorely mistaken.” I managed to growl back, matching his energy. Mess with me? Sure. But Kirby was my baby. I felt my heart pumping fast, the usual adrenaline kicking in. For once, it made me feel strong.
He glanced back to Kirby.
“PAPERWORK? Are you SERIOUS, you feeble mutt? Do you understand what is happening without you?”
Kirby started grumbling, her swirling abyssal eyes fixed on the man. He sighed and brought his intact hand to his face, wearily rubbing his cheeks.
“So be it, kólasi kóri, but I will keep attempting to retrieve you.”
His voice softened.
“She misses you, you know?”
After sparing me one more contemptuous glance, he drew himself up and shoved the stump of his arm into the fabric of his tattered robe. For a minute, I could’ve sworn his eyes flashed a tarnished gold.
“You are not safe, human.” He almost threw the words at me. “And you cannot protect her, mutt.” He directed it towards my poor dog.
“Get out of here, weirdo,” I mumbled back, trying and failing to match the venom in his voice. Kirby started stalking forward, snapping the air with her jaw menacingly, her teeth audibly clicking together. One paw crossed the doorway, and her head clicked downward to stare at the offending appendage, almost shocked, before continuing outwards.
The man spat on the ground. “Idiot halfbreed, the rules are different here. I will be back.”
Finally, he walked down the path. I couldn’t see him by the time he reached the road, his robe almost melting into the shadow.
Kirby and I watched him go.
Then, I collapsed. Kirby came down with me, licking my face and neck in an unusual display of outward puppyish ness, her tail wagging happily. Reaching out from the floor, I pushed the door shut, then rolled onto my back, grimacing at the smell of… human… on her breath as she licked me.
“Oh, Kirby, what the hell is going on here,” I murmured, winding my fingers through her fur. She just stared at me, slowing the wag on her tail to a gentle sway, a sheepish look on her face.
I couldn’t sleep after that, so we stayed up watching cartoons. I dug out my old Percy Jackson books, too, just in case. I know I should be more scared of her but I don’t think she would ever harm me, she was just protecting me, after all.
So that’s what has happened so far. You guys keep suggesting to read some greek mythology, and I have, but I also don’t want to jump to conclusions, you know? It’s most likely that Kirby is just a dog, and yes, admittedly, her name does mean Kerberos, but if she was a greek guard dog, that name would be apt. And I suppose the coins on the eyes of the knocker are unusual. But how is the simplest solution that she is a mythical being? I need to see it to believe it. Plus, she only has one head. Her tail isn’t a snake, either.
The knocker said he would be back. Next time, I’m getting answers.