We found Pal in the morning, hanging by his leash over the top of his kennel fence. Pal was a big mutt and scared us when he got out because he ran around like wild. My friend’s dad didn’t take Pal out of the kennel much, so the dog had been escaping often.
There’d been some complaints from neighbours, so it looks like Pal’s owner had come up with a leash as the solution. Too bad he didn’t tell Pal about it. The dog must have hopped the fence as per usual and hung himself. Or so we all thought.
Pal’s death became the focus of conversation on Ferry Street. Feelings were mixed about his passing. He had bitten a few kids, nipped at their fingers, eager to play with someone.
I used to think my friend would have taken care of Pal fine, if he’d been allowed to. But his dad was a tool, rarely home, and often drunk when he was.
A week later, a pet tragedy struck my household. Our black cat, Zoomie, was run over in the street. My mom buried him in the gorge, she said, though I doubt she really took her that far.
It wasn’t the best summer for animals on our street. Less than five days later, a dog got hit by a car. It didn’t die right away but had to be put down later. The owner lived four houses away and didn’t understand how his dog had gotten out of the yard. It was a little dog and quite content on a shady deck with a fan while his owner was at work. It’d never tried to leave before.
When another cat was hit the following week by a car and killed, people started to get kind of freaked and kept closer eyes on their pets.
Honestly, I didn’t think too much about it. I liked Zoomie, of course, and missed her but was more preoccupied with my friends and playing outside. My friend, Sean, sort of disappeared after his dog died; we didn’t think much of it because he had a Nintendo and thought he was just playing it all the time.
One afternoon, however, it was too hot to play street hockey anymore. The game broke up early, and I went into our backyard to drench myself with the hose.
Sean was there, talking to my youngest brother, who was only six, half our age. I got an instant bad feeling. They didn’t see me yet, so I stuck close to the big pine tree and crept closer to listen.
“Say ‘shit,’” Sean instructed my little brother.
“Shit,” my brother said.
I lost it. I leaped out of hiding and clocked Sean in the back of the head. He fell and smacked his forehead on one of the big limestone rocks we had in our yard for no reason. He calmly stood up while blood poured over his right eye and started walking away.
“Walk faster,” I said.
I asked my brother what had happened, but he was frightened by what he didn’t understand. I took him inside and told my mom about it. She went next door and bitched out Sean’s dad but he was drunk and didn’t understand, so, no discipline for Sean came after.
“Keep a closer eye on your brother,” my mom said.
“Sure. He can come to hockey.”
My mom gave me a look but didn’t say anything.
The next day, my little brother came to hockey out front of our house. He was disappointed when he didn’t get to play and didn’t want to be the referee or the commentator. I promised to buy him a popsicle if he waited till the first game was over.
He was gone within ten minutes and I didn’t notice. One of my friends pointed out his absence. I didn’t run to my house. I went to Sean’s. His stupid dad answered the door and thought I wanted Sean. He kept calling him and calling him and disappeared inside to look for his son.
I ran around the side of the house to the backyard and found Sean there with my little brother. He was in the kennel on top of the dog house with the leash around his neck and the other end tied to a steel ring.
“Come on, climb up, you can do it,” Sean said to him from outside the kennel. So this was how Pal had died and the other pets too. Sean has coaxed them to their deaths and when people got suspicious he escalated to new prey.
If we found my little brother hanging like Pal, there’d be a great deal of scrutiny but also a pretty good chance it’d be written off as an accident, a little kid imitating what he’d seen. He didn’t understand that Pal had been dead when we found him that morning.
My brother reached up the chain link fence and grabbed a hold of the top bar.
“Good job,” Sean said, “you’re so strong. Keep going.” The bastard smiled.
Those were the last words I ever heard from Sean because I beat him so severely. I think I would have killed him if my mom hadn’t stopped me.
My little brother still had the leash around his neck and hadn’t gotten down from the doghouse. He cried and cried.
Lucky for me, my mom understood what had been about to go down and who was responsible. Sean was unconscious and bloody when his dad came out. He saw the leash too. He wasn’t so drunk that he didn’t get it either.
“I’m sorry,” was all he said before collecting his son, tossing him into the car, and driving off. We never saw him or Sean in the neighbourhood again. The house went up for sale and movers collected the crap inside. A new family moved in and they were nice.
The only reason I know Sean didn’t die from my attack that day is because I ran into him a few years later at a bar on Tour Hill. He recognized me and smiled before patting something on the bar. I thought he was inviting me over to sit. Little did he know I wasn’t too old to give him another beating.
He left fast, however, using a backdoor patio entrance and hopping the fence to escape. He’d forgotten two things on the bar. Or maybe left them for me to find: A whistle and stop sign paddle.
The psycho had become a crossing guard.
Now I recognize this isn’t really weird in the supernatural sense, Mr. Cleriot, but I thought it was crazy enough for you to look into since your ad said you and your friends are investigating all the weird stuff that’s happened in Bridal Veil Lake
Plus, Sean is still out there, and I think we both know nobody seems really interested in putting away the psychos in this town.
I have two school age daughters, Mr.Cleriot. They both walk to school, and there are three crossing guards they meet along the way.
None of them are Sean. But what if one suddenly is on some random day? People get sick. Crossing guards probably fill in for ill coworkers all the time.
I tried calling the city but they won’t give me any info, even after I told them my story.
I can’t quit my job. I’m a single dad. I can’t be with them every second of the day.
He left his paddle and whistle at the bar, though. What the hell does that mean?
How else might he lure my kids, or yours, to their deaths?