It was a late Friday night back in 2012. I didn’t have my phone on me because I was just running to get some milk. My wife Susan, sent me on the errand. I was driving, and driving fast. I was taking curves and twists faster than Verstappen in the latest grand prix. It was way to fast for the rainy weather that oppressed the small town of Pine Grove I used to live in. That’s for sure.
I was singing along to my radio. It was some song I can’t recall now. I was blasting it in my Ford Fusion. The volume was at the max 30 level. The freshly purchased gallon of milk rolled around in the floor, banging against the passenger side door.
I was sent lurching forward when I slammed on my breaks after narrowly avoiding a dog. That’s when I thought the pup looked a little rough and decided to reverse back to him.
He was rough alright. I felt bad for him. I’m an animal lover you see, and frankly I felt bad for the matted little yellow guy. He was a beautiful golden retriever. Just like Charlie was. I looked and saw he had a collar.
“Let’s see who you belong to little fella.” I said as if they dog would understand. For a dog so wimpy and obviously malnourished he was super keen on being my friend. Usually dogs that have been out like he was didn’t act too homely around folks. This one was just different.
That’s when I saw it. Right there are the metal medallion hanging around his neck by the dirty and fading blue collar.
If found please return to 67890 Hanson Street, Pine Grove Missouri. My address.
I was shocked, dumbfounded, but belated and enthused all at once. I knew it was Charlie and even had a fleeting thought it was him as I exited the vehicle. Now it was confirmed. I had told the kids he grew up and got his own house when he ran away. I didn’t want to traumatize my babies about death at such a young age.
When I looked into his eyes and said “Charlie!” I felt a shock go down my spine. The kind of shock that just goes right down your back, over your rear and plum out your toes. It hurt, and nearly knocked me on my butt. His eyes were a ghostly yellow, I swore they were green before. His mouth hung open as my voiced trailed off. Revealing sharper than before fangs and a sickly pink tongue to match.
I disregarded this, just happy to have my friend back. Especially for the kids.
I loaded him up in the back of my silver truck and we took off. This time I drove a little more carefully. Charlie Boy’s tongue was lapping at the rain, and just my mere presence alone seemed to give him a little more life than when he stumbled out in front of my truck. His pictures still hung in the hallways of our house. He was our cherry on top of our nuclear family. Two kids, my wife, a white suburban house with a paved driveway and perfectly preserved sidewalk with no cracks, all topped off by the best damned groomed golden retriever laying in the luscious green grass.
When we got home, my kids, Danny and Emily nearly burst the door down racing out to meet me and our long lost pet. Emily screamed back towards the house “Mommy! Charlie’s home!” Danny didn’t care to spread the news. He was just happy to get a long overdue hug from his doggo.
Susan came out of the house quickly at the news. We discussed the shape he was in and what we’d do about it. We were well off, but not that well off. We couldn’t afford a vet visit. So she decided to just run a bath and sent me back to town for animal shampoo.
When I returned, good ole Charles was neck deep in the bath, lapping at the warm water. The kids were watching and giggling something fierce at the good boy. When he stepped out of the bath in almost human fashion, he looked good as new.
We had dinner, and Charlie stumbled around re-learning the house. When he went out the doggy door we never bothered to remove, a pang of fear reached over me. Now I know it was for a different reason, but before I just thought he might take off again.
When we heard the screaming from the house across the street, we all went to take a look at what happened. Except the kids, who were sleeping in their rooms. Charlie was also asleep, on the porch. He hadn’t come back in yet.
Anyway, the ole Johnson house had quite the scene. Little Darla Johnson was wrapped in her fathers arms screaming and bawling something straight out of hell. When I looked down, I saw the fright she had been possessed by. Her dog, I think his name was Waldo, lay strung out with all his guts and innards torn about the yard. God what an awful scene. It was just something to see, ya know? I feel terrible. Really I do. Poor kid. Even poorer dog.
I thought maybe Charlie had kept his new primal instincts about him, but there wasn’t any blood on him or his sharpened teeth. No, none whatsoever. The police came, questioned the Johnsons, and according to ole John Boy across the way the police said a coyote likely came up and tore the life out of Waldo. May God rest his soul.
Things took quite the turn that night.
I was up late, everyone else was asleep. I decided to pour myself a bit of scotch and relax on the upstairs couch. That’s when I saw it. Little Emily was outside, in some sort of trance. In front of her was this…this…terrible demonic figure. He had horns, well. It had horns, I should say. Good lordy the claws on that thing must’ve stretched ten hundred miles. They were a bone white color that just sent my stomach into a tizzy.
His mouth moved, like he said something to her. She walked right over to the Johnson’s door, and started banging on it. The thing stood behind her. Motionless. Ole Hank Johnson stepped out, and that’s when Emily’s mouth opened up like a black hole, her teeth sharper than Charlie’s, and bit his head clean off. She walked back towards the house. The demon thing stopped under the porch and that was the last I saw of him. Lord, I need to pray.
“Yes you do.” Said the big burly officer with the scraggly beard across from me.
“Can I get these handcuff’s off now?” I asked politely.
“No siree.” He said. “Not a snowball’s chance in hell.”