A Ghost’s Tail
Tom crashed through
the door of the old deserted farmhouse and fell flat on the floor.
Scrambling back to
his feet, he shoved a rotting chair against what was left of the
ancient doorway
and desperately
looked for a place to hide.
It was coming. He
could hear it: the God-awful growl, the chomping of teeth, the
full-throated screams that cut him off at every turn. He was lucky to
have found this old farm.
“I wouldn’t be
in this situation if not for that damn dog,” Tom thought. “That
stupid, mangy, crap eating worthless dog!” he spat. Tom hated
dogs. He never wanted a dog and took every opportunity to abuse
his family’s pet, but he took it a bit far this time. Stomping the
cowering, screaming and bleeding dog for tipping over the trash bin
until it lamely ran off towards the woods. His son found the dying
pet behind the garage that evening.
He tried to convinced him
that “poor old Champ" had been hit by a car, and to
steel his son for the inevitable. However, he could not shake the
boy’s belief that the dog would be OK, if only Dad would take
him to the vet. As much as he hated that dog, his son’s
impassioned pleas must have gotten to him, and he found himself
driving the dog to the animal clinic.
Tom dropped the hated beast off
with Doctor Campbell at the clinic, and had been back on
the road less than five minutes when the trouble started. The car
died. Right there in the middle of nowhere, ten miles from home. He tried everything: the motor, the lights, even the radio. Nothing
worked. Tom popped the hood latch from inside the car and slid from his seat to go look at the
fuses. While looking for a stick to prop open the hood by the side of
the road, he heard a faint rustling.
Peering into the
deepening darkness of the late evening woods, he thought he saw
eyes looking back at him. Big, greenish, almost glowing eyes, and they
were coming toward him. They came slowly at first, then faster. He
began hearing the grunting, growling breath and the rhythmic padding
of feet. Tom turned toward the car but that screaming growl met his
ear and filled him with a panic like he’d never felt before,
and he ran.
Whatever this thing was, it was instantly on his trail, and Tom knew he'd
messed up by running into the woods instead of trying to get
back in his car. He hadn't run far though, before he saw the old
farmhouse. He made a beeline for it and sought higher ground. He found stairs in the old farm, and now cowering in an upstairs closet, thought he was safe.
He
could still hear the beast coming - relentless, methodical - and when he heard the remains of the farm’s front door fall accompanied by howls of
delight, he knew it was coming for him.
Tom tried to stay
still and silent as the beast growled, stomped, and trashed the rooms below
him, its horrible cries caused Tom to tremble uncontrollably; and when he heard those plodding, rhythmic footsteps ascending the stairs, he nearly began to cry.
He found himself
cornered in the closet, and was trying his best not to breath as he
heard the footfalls stop mere feet from his hiding spot. “Thank God this
closet had a door,” Tom thought. He heard heavy breathing and a low growl coming from the crack under the door and froze.
Then, puzzlingly to
Tom, this otherworldly sounding growl seemed to change. He heard the
panting, and… then scratching on the door… and whimpering?
“What?” Tom thought, a nervous smile of relief breaking on his
face as he relaxed. He knew that sound. It was a dog. Some damned stray
mutt had spooked him. Tom still had that smile on his face as the
door exploded inward with a shower of splintered wood, and the beast
came through. Tom froze, a horrified silent scream contorting his
face as the horrible monster came face to face with his victim. A
deep, horrible growl that could only have come from the bowels of Hell emanated from the snarled, drooling lips, now
showing a mouthful of large razor sharp teeth. Teeth that seemed to be smiling... Tom looked deep into the horrible, glowing green eyes realized with terror that he knew this beast. This stupid, mangy
beast. “Champ? It’s… it’s you?” Tom whimpered. “…It's you!”
Tom gurgled his last
scream as the beast ripped into his neck.
Doctor Campbell held
the phone to his ear and waited for someone to answer.
“Ah, Mrs. Adkins?
This is Doctor Campbell at the clinic. Yes ma’am. No, he isn’t
here, he left immediately after dropping off Champ. That’s why I’m
calling. I’m afraid there was nothing we could do, the poor thing succumbed to his injuries. Yes ma’am, not more than five
minutes after your husband left… but that’s the puzzling thing,
ma’am. I left the room after Champ had passed to get my
clipboard to do paperwork, and when I came back, the poor fellow was gone…”
