one bloody thing after another . table of contents . about the creators
Chapter five Poor stupid Mitchie. -- After the two creepy girls left, Charlie bent down so he could unhook Mitchie's leash, and the dog scrambled up into the woods. He couldn't run very well, but he gave it his all. He was old, sure, but get him out in the underbrush, and Mitchie took off as fast as he could. Charlie was certain that one of these days the little guy would run straight into a tree trunk. Thunk! But it hadn't happened yet. Mitchie ran out of sight, and Charlie let him go. He stood there, listening to the sounds of traffic on the main road down there. Car, car, car, and the occasional bus. One of these days, he would take Mitchie on a longer walk, like they used to go on. They'd walk up to the frog pond, by the water tower. Mitchie used to go nuts on the edge of the frog pond, when every few feet a startled frog would splash into the water. Or they could go down to the Northwest Arm. Mitchie could use some salt air. Probably they both could. Charlie sat down on the wall that ran along the sidewalk, and when enough time had gone by, he called out. "Mitchie, come on." He stood up, and wiped dust off his ass. "Come on now, Mitchie, that headless monstrosity needs our help again today." Nothing. "Mitchie, it's time to eat. Let's go!" And finally there was a rustling in the bushes, and there was Mitchie, sniffing the air, blinking those cloudy eyes, smiling at Charlie. Charlie bent down and hooked his leash on, and Mitchie pushed his warm dry nose into Charlie's palm, and they started home. There was a bloody handprint on the glass front door. But the mailman was coming out just as they arrived, and he didn't seem to notice it. So Charlie figured it belonged to the ghost. And there she was. On the other side of the glass, the woman held her own head in her hands. She was as calm as ever. Today her dress was dark with stains, though. Black stains around the neck, like her head had just been removed. That was new. And Mitchie was stuck in the corner again. "Hey Mitchie, look who it is," Charlie said. He gave a tug on the leash, trying to get Mitchie turned around. "Okay, we're ready," he said to her when they got inside. "Lead the way, Madam." And Mitchie and Charlie followed her down the hall. "Where do you suppose we're going today, Mitch?" Charlie asked. "The vending machine? The TV room?" And when the ghost stopped in front of room 135, he pretended to be surprised. "But, this is where Mrs. Richards lives!" he said. Mitchie sat down and tried to scratch himself behind the ear. Charlie knocked. Mrs. Richards looked tired, when she answered the door. She looked old, and Charlie forgot the funny line he had prepared. He wanted to just leave her alone today, or touch her shoulder, but the ghost was raising its arm, now, pointing at the woman with an incomprehensible certainty, and he had no idea what to do but make jokes the way he always did. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Richards," Charlie said. "Sorry about all the barking last night. You know how Mitchie gets on a full moon." Mitchie was walking around in a slow circle now, at the end of his leash. He stopped suddenly and just fell over on his side for a nap. No grace at all, that dog. "I didn't hear any barking last night," Mrs. Richards said. "Well, you're one of the lucky ones," Charlie said. "He's a little hellion, that one." He looked down at his dog, to make his point, and he couldn't help smiling at the sight of Mitchie's tongue all rolled out of his head. Poor little bastard. All tuckered out from his run. "Anyway, I'm here about the headless pointing woman," Charlie said. "You probably guessed. She is there every day when I come back from my walk, and she leads me down the hallway here and she's just standing there pointing at you. You know I wouldn't bother you about this, except it is every day that this has been happening." "What do you want me to do about it?" Martha Richards said. "I mean, really, Charles. That sounds like a personal problem." But she didn't close the door like usual. She was looking at the ghost, like she wanted to see her, but couldn't. ---- The next day, Margaret and Annette were waiting in the woods, for Mitchie. "Come on," Margaret said. "We can just buy some rats or something at the pet store." "With what money?" Annette said. She crouched down and held her hand out for Mitchie like she had food. She had a burlap sack. She coughed suddenly, and a chunk of something came out with the cough, and hit the ground wetly. "Are you sure you're okay?" Margaret said. "I'm fine," Annette said. "Stop asking me that." Mitchie saw them now. "Here, fella," she called. And when Mitchie came close enough, she took the burlap sack and she scooped him up. In the sack, Mitchie didn't even know what was going on. He didn't know he was being taken away. It felt like being hugged. His fat little tail wagged harder. ---- When Mitchie didn't come back from the woods, Charlie went in after him, looking. He walked around in circles for an hour, calling out for his stupid dog. At first he was sure that Mitchie just hadn't heard him. Then he thought maybe he'd found two trees pressed up against each other and got stuck in the corner where they met. That had happened once. Then he was worried that Mitchie had just found somewhere to fall down and die. That day was coming. Charlie knew it. But he liked to think that it was coming for the both of them. Mitchie wouldn't just die somewhere off in the woods. He'd want to be with Charlie. He would wait until it was just him and Charlie somewhere, and he would die with his snout in Charlie's hand. When the sun went down, Charlie walked back home. Maybe Mitchie was back there now, stuck in the corner outside the front door. But he wasn't. Then Charlie thought maybe someone had let him inside, but he wasn't there either. The headless ghost was standing in the doorway, already moving its mouth, but Charlie walked right past. There was no way he was going to follow it down the hall to Mrs. Richards' room. She always had something to say about Mitchie. He didn't want to hear it. The ghost followed Charlie to the elevator, and he ignored it. The doors opened, and he stepped inside. "God damn it, Mitchie," he said. ONE BLOODY THING AFTER ANOTHER image copyright emily horne 2008. text copyright joey comeau 2008. |