Hounds

Footprints gleam upon the sand, and the wet howl of a hound signals the beginning of his death.

BLACK HOUND

 

 

            The bay was sleek and grey, soaked and salty, gleaming under smouldering stars that periodically appeared and disappeared behind the whirling clouds as they traversed the ebony sky. The boy thought it was beautiful. He tilted his head slightly, allowing the comforting sounds of the sea to drain the restlessness from his bones, listening to the waves as they whispered, whispered. The boy was alone, padding quietly along the stretch of sand, wandering further and further away from the four-room flat he called home - trying to dredge up a shred of weariness that he could use to his advantage. Swaddled in blankets, staring at the soft red paint of his ceiling, he had been so edgy with anxiety that sleep had seemed impossible. And thus, with the hope that the sea may yet have the power to lull him into drowsiness, he had rolled from bed, hauled on yesterday's clothes and silently pushed open the front door.

            The moon hovered swollen and fat, suspended over the horizon, milky pale, spraying beams of creamy light that glittered wonderfully off the inky black surface of the ocean. The boy shivered, hissing through his teeth as another frigid breath of wind murmured through his hair, and watched his breath curl white and lazy before him. His feet squished into the damp sand, leaving imprints that rapidly filled with murky seawater. He tugged his coat tighter around himself, glad for his gloves, and thought about what was to come.

            Tomorrow, he was getting married.

            The though send a shudder of dread and joy rushing through him, battling fiercely in the pit of his stomach, making him feel simultaneously elated and terrified. Him. Married. To a person. Who is also getting married. To him. His thoughts had long since failed to be coherent, let alone his spoken words - and the past few weeks had been a startling tide of congratulations, back-slaps, hugs, phone-calls, hyperventilation and spontaneous stabs of pure excitement. Sleep had eluded him for weeks now, slipping away just when he needed it most, so he had taken to long walks in an attempt to tire himself into exhaustion. It failed most nights. This night most of all, he thought dryly. He was going to be a yawning wreck on the day of his wedding.

            He paused in his journey, for the end of the beach was looming close in the form of a sheer harbour wall, a haphazard mess of bricks drenched in moss and algae. He gazed up at it, almost uncomprehending, his mind thick with thoughts of tomorrows hefty trials and life-changing consequences, and absently swung around to wander back the way he had came. This time tomorrow, his life would be completely different. He let his gaze meander over the rearing town that jutted from where the dunes sloped into soft sand, studying the amber windows and pale streetlamps, his mind turning over thoughts and emotions and terrors and wants and--

            That's when he heard the howl.

            He stopped dead. His train of thought crashed. A wavering, mournful wail shivered from the sea, seemingly coming from the watery depths. A pulse of panic sounded in his gut, but he pushed it away scornfully. Couldn't be anything, he reasoned. Couldn't be anything. But it had to be something. He decided he would rather not find out what, and resumed his return-journey, pace quickening a little.

            The howl faltered, fading into a gentle whimpering. Gooseprickles rose upon his flesh, and he stuffed his hands into his pockets. He kept his eyes trained upon the ground in front of him. He kept walking..

            He couldn't help but glance back, furtively, and what he saw made him wonder if he was actually awake.

            Emerging, dripping, oozing, soaked, ominous - a dog. Shaggy and black and gleaming, the moon glinted off its dark fur in pallid smears of light. The creature was still distant, lurking as the waves washed around its feet, muzzle lowered and cascading water - but he glimpsed pale teeth and a long tail and green, green eyes that burned and smouldered and crackled like violent jade fires so full of hate. Across the sand, he heard the splash of the water as the hound padded into the shore, water rolling from its paws and hitting the shallows with every step. The beast shook vigorously, and padded out onto the sand. The boy was frozen.

            Then, the dog swung its vast head round, snout still lowered, and locked eyes with him. The boy exhaled sharply, the panic - no matter how unreasonable, irrational, clutching at his heart. He turned around, trying to think once more of crimson roses, laughing guests, black suits and ties and a creamy dress. He began once again to move. He forced himself to remain a steady pace, because after all, his fear of dogs had long since been dispelled by numerous reassuring talks and forced encounters with vast Rottweilers. Only a child was afraid of dogs. Right? He looked back again, casually.

            A second dog. A third dog. A fourth dog. Then he could no longer help himself. There were so many, striding from the ocean with purposeful bounds, tongues lolling and eyes emeralds. They were all looking at him now, he was sure of it. The walking turned to jogging turned to running turned to sprinting and a howl sounded behind him, urging him on. Sand sprayed from his boots, and he was slithering gracelessly on the slippery surface, and oh god did he hate dogs he really really did hate dogs especially big ones--

            Pattering paws. Sawing breath. How was it so loud? Surely the monsters were still far away--

            He turned back and saw the metres dwindle. The pack swept ghostly and hazy across the bay, like shadows turned real, flickering in and out of existence like unreliable candles trying desperately to remain aglow in violent gusting wind--

            He backed away, hands snapping up to defend himself, a scream tearing from his lips--

            The scream was now a gurgle, as teeth closes about his throat and tore--

            The black monster lunged, green eyes gleaming malevolently, blood arcing in all directions in a flow worthy of a hose-pipe, and a flash of images melted and twisting in front of him. The rush of pleasure he had felt as the ring shone within a plush red box, presented to him by a girl so beautiful and fantastic he decided that yes, he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her; the coppery taste of wine in his mouth as he turned eighteen, secretly hating it but feigning a cheerful smile, discreetly spitting it back into the glass; the joy of grinning and running onto the bay, spade hanging loosely from young fingertips on this very beach where now his blood was soaking into the grey, grey sand and then everything he every knew or thought was gone.

            The dog stepped back, admiring its work. Glancing at his companions, clustered around the cooling corpse, he threw back his head in a grisly howl of triumph. First kill of many. The beginnings of a massacre. Then they were loping away, a roaming pack of ghosts leaving no pawprints, no marks, only the boy.

            The red smile in his throat widened into a laughing grin, and the sun began to rise.

            The wolves melted away, like they were never there at all.

             

           

             

 

Author's Note

this is actually pretty old but i figured i'd upload it anyway. tell me what you think?? image is shaggydog - a direwolf from game of thrones.

Reviews

[JordanStories]

Oh my god! This is so awesome! I am so glad to be able to find this on discover, it was truly a blessing!

[Solar]

Whoa! That was a throat-grip of a read, arterial in its finale-flow.

Just a couple of typos but other than that game on!

I like the shift of pace - from homely to horror, skilful 'needle' work.

[bisskat]

Thank you so much! :)

[Solar]

you're welcome!