A Night in the Lonesome October

October 8

I drew more lines in my head last night and this morning, but before I'd created a satisfactory picture we had a caller.

I barked twice when the door chimes sounded, because it was expected of me. The master went to the door and I followed.

A tall, solidly built man, dark-haired, was on the stoop, and he smiled.

«Hello,» he said, «my name's Larry Talbot. I'm your new neighbor, and I thought I'd come by and pay my respects.»

«Won't you come in and have a cup of tea with me?» Jack said.

«Thank you.»

Jack led him into the parlor and seated him, excused himself, and went to the kitchen. I stayed in the parlor and watched. Talbot glanced several times at the palm of his hand. Then he studied me.

«Good boy,» he said.

I opened my mouth, let my tongue hang out, and panted a few times. But I did not approach him. There was something about the way he smelled, an underlying suggestion of wildness, that puzzled me.

Jack returned with a tray of tea and biscuits and they chatted for a time, about the neighborhood, the weather, the recent rash of grave robbings, the killings. I watched them, two big men, the air of the predator about each, sipping their tea now and discussing the exotic flowers Talbot cultivated and how they might fare, even indoors, in this climate.

Then came a terrible crash from the attic.

I departed the room immediately, bounding up the stair, swinging around corners. Up another stair… .

The wardrobe doors were open. The Thing stood before it.

«Free!» it announced, flexing its limbs, furling and unfurling its dark, scaly wings. «Free!»

«Like hell!» I said, curling back my lips and leaping.

I caught it directly in the midsection, knocking it back into the wardrobe again. I slashed twice, left and right, as it sought to seize me. I dropped down and bit one of its legs. I roared and threw myself on it again, slashing faceward.

It drew back, retreating to the rear of its prison, leaving a heavy scent of musk in the air. I shouldered the doors shut, reared up, and tried to close the latch with my paw. Jack entered just then and did it for me. He held his knife loosely in his right hand.

«You are an exemplary watchdog, Snuff,» he stated.

A moment later Larry Talbot came in.

«Problems?» he said. «Anything I can help with?»

The blade vanished before Jack turned.

«No, thank you,» he said. «It was less serious than it sounded. Shall we return to our tea?»

They departed.

I followed them down the stairs, Talbot moving as silently as the master. I'd a feeling, somehow, that he was in the Game, and that this incident had persuaded him that we were, too. For as he was leaving he said, «I see some busy days ahead, before this month is out. If you ever need help, of any sort, you can count on me.»

Jack studied him for several long moments, then replied, «Without even knowing my persuasion?»

«I think I know it,» Talbot answered.

«How?»

«Good dog you've got there,» Talbot said. «Knows how to close a door.»

Then he was gone. I followed him home, of course, to see whether he really lived where he said he did. When I saw that he did I had even more lines to draw. Interesting ones now, though.

He never turned and looked back, yet I knew that he could tell I was behind him all the way.

Later, I lay in the yard, drawing my lines. It had become a much more complicated enterprise. Footsteps approached along the road, halted.

«Good dog,» croaked an ancient voice. It was the Druid. There followed a plop on the ground nearby, as something he'd tossed over the garden wall landed. «Good dog.»

I rose and inspected it as he passed on along his way. It was a piece of meat. Only the most wretched of alley hounds might not have been wary. The thing reeked of exotic additives.

I picked it up carefully, bore it to a soft spot beneath a tree, dug a hole there, dropped it in, covered it.

«Bravo!» came a sibilant voice from above. «I didn't think you'd fall for that one.»

I glanced up. Quicklime was coiled about a branch overhead.

«How long have you been there?» I asked.

«Since your first visitor came by, the big one. I'd been watching him. Is he in the Game?»

«I don't know. I think he may be, but it's hard to tell. He's a strange one. Doesn't seem to have a companion.»

«Maybe he's his own best friend. Speaking of which…»

«Yes?»

«The crazy witch's companion may be running out of steam about now.»

«What do you mean?»

«'Ding, dong, dell.'»

«I don't follow you.»

«Literally. Pussy's in the well.»

«Who threw her in?»

«MacCab, full of sin.»

«Where is it?»

«By the outhouse, full of shit. Back of Crazy Jill's place. Keeps it from going dry, I guess.»

«Why tell me? You're the antisocial one.»

«I've played before,» he hissed. «I know it's too early in the Game to begin eliminating players. One should wait till after the death of the moon. MacCab and Morris are new at it, though.»

I was on my feet and moving.

«Pussyfoot, pussyfoot. Wet, wet, wet,» I heard him chanting as I ran off toward the hill.

I mounted the hill and raced down it toward Crazy Jill's, the landscape flowing to a blur about me. I pushed my way through a hedge when I reached her place, sought quickly, located the roofed and rock-girt structure, bucket on its rim. I ran to its side, rested my forepaws upon the ledge, and peered down into it. There was a faint splashing sound below.

«Gray!» I called.

A very faint «Here!» came to me.

«Get off to the side! I'm going to drop the bucket!» I called.

The splashing grew louder and faster.

I pushed the bucket off the ledge and listened to it wind down, heard it splash.

«Get in!» I called.

If you've ever tried turning a crank with your paws you know that it is rough work. It was a long, long while before I'd raised the bucket high enough for Graymalk to remove herself to the ledge. She stood there drenched and panting.

«How did you know?» she asked me.

«Quicklime saw it happen, felt the timing was bad, told me.»

She shook herself, began licking her fur.

«Jill snatched a collection of Morris and MacCab's herbs,» she said between licks. «Didn't go inside their place, though. They'd left them on their porch. Nightwind must have spotted us. Anything new?»

I told her about Bubo's visit last night, and Talbot's this morning.

«I'll go with you,» she said. «Later. When I'm rested and dry. We'll check out the Count's crypt.»

She shook herself again, licked again.

«In the meantime,» she went on, «I need a warm place, and some catnappery.»

«I'll see you later then. I have to check some things around the house.»

«I'll come by.»

I left her there near the outhouse. As I was making my way through the hedge, she called out, «By the way, thanks.»

«De nada» I said, and I moved on up the hill.