the series of r/nosleep | volume one: the {smile} series

{D}oghouse

It was a sea of lilies and roses expanding from the center of a freshly tilled garden. I floated above them, my flannel pajamas flapping in the wind. The flowers expanded out from the center then collapsed back in like looking through the wrong end of a telescope. Out then in. Out then in. Out then... they burned from a black mass in the center. Wilting petals puffed off plumes of dying smoke. The roses turned black from invisible flames while the white lilies morphed to a bruised shade of purple and twisted around the thorned stems choking the dying buds. The black mass in the center seized violently; it rolled back and forth crushing the flowers on either side. Two thick black stems shot out from each side of its body like a half-bred spider. The black crust cracked. Blood-drenched tufts of brown hair pushed through the breaks while a head formed at the top. A long snout covered in the black crust raised itself towards me. Below the snout a mouth opened showing rows of broken teeth. The thing sucked in a tidal wave of air drawing me in. I fought the wind, but felt myself floating into its gaping maw. And then a click in its throat as the pressure changed. Lungs, wheezing and dry, expelled rotten meat air in a violent and sorrowful...

Howl.

A warm thin arm draped over me.

Howl.

The arm retreats towards my back, the hand lingering on my shoulder.

Howl.

The hand is shaking my shoulder now, gently rocking me back and forth. Out and in.

Howl.

Words whisper across the back of my neck. Breath mixed with a faint floral fragrance waft over my shoulder.

Howl.

"John." More flowers; more gentle rocking.

Howl.

"John, wake up."

My eyes flicker. I'm tugged from a dream (a memory?). Consciousness seeps in through the cracks of my reality.

"John," she says again. Her nose is nestled in the back of my hair, her arm is still shaking me awake. "John, the dog."

The black mass shakes off its crust. Four legs, mangled and broken, sway and buckle as it tries to stand. A long snout on a crooked head covered in wrinkles tilts knowingly at me...

I'm awake. My eyes flutter open. The moon is bright through pulled curtains. It silhouettes the high back chair propped against the wall where Greta likes to read. It casts light down on the pile of gym shoes I refuse to put away, the guitar I pretend to play, and the little girl standing at the side of my bed.

Howl.

"John! The dog," the voice behind me reminds.

The little girl, barely tall enough to look over the edge of the mattress, stares at me through eyes that are identical to her mother's. "What is it, sweetheart?" I say. "Did you have a bad dream?"

"Wrinkles wants to come inside, daddy," she says and points to the open window.

Greta's awake now and lifts her head from the pillow. She places a hand on Becky's cheek. "Oh, honey. You know Wrinkles isn't outside –"

"But he is!" cries the little girl. "He is! Daddy left him out there today."

I sigh and sit up. Becky's three and weighs about as much as the doll she drags around behind her, so when she climbs up into my lap and works her way into the bend of my arm she's as light and natural as the football I carried for all those years. I use my free hand to push the long brown hair from her face and tuck it behind her ear. She looks so much like her mother. Her older brother looks so much like me. I smile.

Howl.

"See, daddy?" She whines. "Wrinkles is still out there."

I put her down and cross the room to the window. The backyard is bright in the full moon. I look out passed the garden and the doghouse, over our privacy fence, and scan the neighbors' yards. "Maybe it's the Reynolds' dog Centipede or Centimeter or –"

"Centaur," Becky corrects. "And no, daddy. Centaur's big, he barks like this –" she makes a deep woofing sound. She smiles. "Wrinkles is not as big. He barks like this –" she howls.

Howl.

The smiles on both our faces shrink. I kneel in front of Becky and take both her shoulders in my hands. "Sweetheart, that's not Wrinkles." She pouts. "But, daddy will go out and see who it is, okay?" She nods. "Greta, can you take her back to bed, please?"

"Of course," she says and pulls on a robe. She leads Becky away, two nearly identical clones walking hand in hand down the hall.

I slip on a pair of shoes, pull a t-shirt on over my flannel pants, and trot down the stairs. Underneath the kitchen sink I grab a flashlight, check that it's still working and open the back door. The dog door flaps open and shut, and sadness hits me unexpectedly. I shake it off and pull the door closed behind me.

Late night dew has already settled on the grass. My canvas shoes soak in the moisture and I can feel the coldness on my toes. To my right the garden is empty, its flowers trimmed down before the winter's months. There's a lump of dirt bulging on the back side. Fresh dirt. I shine the flashlight's weak beam on the dirt and trace it down the side to a deep hole. A deep empty hole in the middle of my garden where we buried –

"John, what is it?" Greta says from behind me.

I spin on a heel and shine the flashlight in her face. "Where's Becky?" I ask.

"She's in her room," she says shielding her eyes from the light. "Up there." She points to the window overlooking the backyard. The light's on in her room. Becky waves. I aim the flashlight at the ground and wave back. "She cannot come out here," I whisper.

"What is it? What happened?" Greta's voice is rising with each word.

"Shh..." I say. "I think... I think something dug up the garden." I point the flashlight at the mound of fresh dirt. Greta gasps. "It's not a big deal. Probably just an animal or something. Maybe a neighbor's dog."

"But, John, Becky cannot see this! What will we tell her? What do we tell Derek when he gets home? They'll be traumatized!"

"I know, I'll get my shovel back from that new guy across the street and fill it up tomorrow. She won't see anything." I put my arm around her shoulder and lead her back to the house. She's shivering.

"But, what about Wrinkles. Was he in there?"

"No, whatever dug the hole probably took him away. I'll look around the house tomorrow and see –"

Howl.

My blood goes cold. The howl came from right behind me; from in my yard. I push Greta towards the door and spin around. The flashlight shakes in my hand as I pan across the yard. There's no movement in the dark corners of the fences. Nothing in the grass. The hole in the garden is still just an empty hole in the garden, and the empty doghouse is still just a –

The doghouse pitches to the left. The painted "Wrinkles" sign sways on a bent nail. I try to shine my light into the dark entrance, but I'm too far away and the batteries are too weak.

"What are you doing?!" Greta asks as I walk towards the squat blue house. The red paint of its roof reflects the moon.

"Shhh..." I say, looking back at her with a finger to my lips. I'm ten feet away now. I lean over, trying to get a better view. Five feet away the dark of the doghouse's insides start to give way to the light. Three feet. I'm crouching now, leaning forward with my arm outstretched; the flashlight shaking violently in my hand, its light fading in and out. Two feet. I'm on my hands and knees leaning forward into the hole. One foot.

The window opens upstairs and Becky leans out. "It's okay, Daddy," she says. "Wrinkles is asleep in my bed."

Her light blinks out. The backyard is silent, even the air seems to stop moving.

Panic. I turn to run inside, Becky's name screaming out of my mouth, but before I can get to my feet a hand reaches out from inside the doghouse and grabs my wrist.

"Shhh...," it says. "You'll wake the baby."