Death of a Neighbour

Short story written for a spoken word event. I'll be reading this out next wednesday. As always all comments and constructive criticisms are much appreciated. :)

Since the split from my ex-husband  nearly two years ago, I have found that my brother has been the only person I can really talk to. He hasn’t been married and I’m not sure that he really gets it, but he knows when to say silent and listen; that was why I liked talking to him. He arrived early, as per. I had only just handed over my daughter to next door, after inspecting the house of course. They were surprised by my questions, but I had to make sure the house was safe, and I had to get rid of her, as she would only make this afternoon’s business so much harder.

My brother carried a large metal cage up the drive. It was half as tall as him, and half as wide as it was tall. “Will this do?” He asked as he sat down in the living room. “It was the biggest I could find. What on earth do you want it for anyway?”

“Have you been keeping up with the news?”

“Not really,” he said.

“You know, my neighbour, Stacey?” He nodded, I think he’s seen her once or twice. “Well, she was murdered four days ago.”

“WHAT?! Holy s**t! How? Are you and Claire all right?”

“We’re fine. You know, I was the one that discovered the body.”

He stared at me in disbelief. “You’re kidding! Jesus, Sam, that’s horrible.”

“Uh-huh. The body was so mutilated I could barely tell it was her.”

He sat there with his hand over his mouth. Eventually he said. “That’s such a shame. She seemed like a lovely person.”

“She was awful.”

“What?”

“She was a cross between a Stepford wife and a Barbie doll. Awful, just awful.”

My brother looked taken aback. “That’s no way to talk about the dead.”

I didn’t reply.

“So what happened to her? Aren’t you worried about the murderer?”

“Sure am, that’s why I need that.”

“You need a cage… for the murderer? Is he a midget?”

“No,” I said, “but I do need to put him in the cage.”

My brother was looking at me with an exasperated expression. “You’re really going to have to explain this to me, Sam.”

“Ok, well,” I thought for a moment. “Stacey was a really odd woman, you know. The first time I saw her when she just moved in- -well, she had a brand new car with two car seats in the back, and she was wheeling a double pushchair up the drive. I didn’t see any sign of a husband or boyfriend or whatever so I thought she was a single mum. A terrible single mother wearing bright pink hot pants.”

“You shouldn’t judge people based on what they wear!” My brother interrupted.

“Anyway, I went over to say hi, and she invited me in. I asked about her children and she told me, I quote, her ‘babies’ were her pride and joy.”

“So?”

“So, I went in for a cup of coffee and she took me upstairs to see her babies. They were asleep.” My brother just stared at me. “Well, her ‘babies’ had large ears, long noses, a mouthful of pointy teeth and tails.”

“Excuse me?”

“They were Chihuahuas. Those horrid little rat dog things. Yeah, she basically put them to bed in cots, gave them bottles of milk, even cooked them steak. She treated them like children!”

“Wow! Yeah… that’s a little weird.”

“Anyway, I was always sure there was something wrong about those dogs. So vicious. They used to snarl at us through the garden fence and I would always hear her laughing and cooing at them.

The other day I was reading in the garden and heard the most horrible noise. Like a really terrified, high-pitched scream, I swear it made my blood go cold. Well, I thought it was Stacey so I ran up to the house and had to smash the window to get in, she couldn’t get to the door.

There was another noise as well, like the rumble of thunder, I couldn’t work out what it was, but it was coming from the kitchen. So I broke in, and when I got there, well… she was already dead… all torn up and bloody. There was blood everywhere.”

“Jesus…”

“And you know what; her precious babies were just sitting there, looking at the body, with their horrid glassy eyes. I wondered why they hadn’t bothered to try to stop her attacker, then I noticed something. For some reason their coats were wet, and, for some reason they stunk of blood. The smoke alarm was going off too �" she had been cooking. I grabbed the pan off the stove in case it started a fire, and in the pan, was steak. One for her, one for each of them; she had been cooking steak, and they killed her for it.”

“Um.” My brother frowned at me. “Are you sure she wasn’t attacked, by a person? That sounds… pretty far-fetched.”

“They did it,” I said. “I knew they did it, when I watched the news later, after the police left.”

“What was on the news?”

“Dog attacks. An epidemic; dogs just turning on their owners, and… ripping them to shreds, for no reason at all. Then apparently, they just turn back into their regular docile selves, like Stacey’s Chihuahuas did.”

“I see.” He looked like he was finally beginning to get it. “That’s why you want the cage, for-"

“For Toby, yes,” I said. We had had our German Shepard, Toby, for about five years. “I can’t take the risk.”

My brother sighed. “This is ridiculous, Sam. Those dogs didn’t kill their owners. That’s just insane.”

“Who did it then?”

“A very clever serial killer.”

I shook my head. “No, one of the autopsies came back that the body was infected with rabies. From a dog bite. I only want to put Toby in the cage, we’re not going to kill him.”

“It wouldn’t be we!” My brother exclaimed. “All right. But I really think you should get out of here for a bit, if there’s a serial killer around.”

“It’s the dogs, I know it is.” I retrieved two knives from the kitchen draw and handed one to my brother.

“Seriously?” He said.

“Just for protection,” I said.

He carried the cage and together we went upstairs to look for Toby. He was lying on my bed as usual. Despite going as quietly as we could he must have heard us coming up the stairs. He regarded us coolly from the bed, pricking up an ear as if to ask what’s up.

“How are we going to get him into the cage?” My brother whispered.

“We’ll have to grab him,” I said. “You grab the muzzle, I’ll push him in.”

My brother put the cage beside the bed and we advanced slowly on the dog.

“Hi Tobes,” I whispered, and stroked his ear. He licked my hand, and for a moment I thought I had got it all wrong.

Toby pricked his ears up and sat up as we heard the door slam and quick footsteps up the stairs. My mind clicked into gear too late and my daughter, Claire, ran into the room before I could stop her, pigtails swinging, school bag flapping. She exclaimed her delight at seeing Toby and my brother, but hadn’t even said a word before Toby leapt over us and knocked her to the ground.

My brother sprang into action while I was paralyzed, my arm outstretched uselessly. The sound of the blade stabbing through fur and flesh was muted under the roar of Toby’s growling. After an eternity it seemed, my brother threw Toby off, like a giant teddy bear, limp and lifeless. As if pulled along by an invisible thread, I crept over to where my daughter lay, and for a moment, thought I saw Stacey, just as she had been when I had discovered her body.