Night Witch: Part VI

A short story

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X

Photo by Mobin Jahantark on Unsplash

Day 8 - Before Dawn

June was sitting on the staircase, the freshly cleaned wood still stinking of Dan’s insides. The entryway was a perfect line to the front door. She had opened it up wide before sitting in the place where Dan had died. Her fingers were held loosely around an invisible cigarette. She craved the feel of that thin paper against her skin. The smell of burning tobacco in the air. But she didn’t have any.

She was tired. 

Dog tired.

But sleep wouldn’t come tonight. She couldn’t bring herself to walk upstairs to bed anyway. Movies had told her that she should be reliving that afternoon. The walk to her house. Dan on the stairs. Blood. Blood everywhere. But the movie never started. 

She had paced for a while before opening the door. Whatever had taken Dan couldn’t get to her as long as she was in here. And there was another thought on her mind, persistent and pulsing. 

Compulsive.

It drowned out whatever flashes were lingering from the day, pushed them back into gray matter. Instead, another movie played. In it, she was five years old, playing with neighborhood kids in the heat of summer. No parents around, like American summers used to be. The kids were supposed to look out for each other, but no one was looking out for June that day. Not until it was too late.

They were playing baseball in a cul de sac. Nearly hitting cars parked on the streets. A couple of mothers had poked heads out of front doors to yell Be Careful at a young boy batting. June had been given the job of outfielder.

“Run and get the ball whenever it goes past Jimmy’s house.”

She couldn’t remember who had said it, but she did remember he was at least ten. She moved out to Jimmy’s house, and the kid waved her back, and then back again until she was way past outfield. Past where any ball would ever go. They just wanted her out of their hair. 

Sweat slicked her skin, dripped down around the corners of her jaw. The smell of her must have been what drew it. She heard it before she saw it, her squinting eyes turned towards the players, their voices five houses away and small. It was panting. By the time she turned it was too late. 

The dog was on her, its’ jaws clamped down on her face. She didn’t have time to scream. She fell under the weight of it, its’ feet planted and strong. Its’ head shook back and forth, one, and then two times before the kids saw it and came running. By then her face was bloodied, the sweat intermingling with crimson droplets that fell on her new white sneakers.

A white van had come for it. Men in khaki uniforms with guns. ANIMAL CONTROL was spelled out on the side. They didn’t tranquilize the dog when they found it. They shot him in the woods behind Jimmy’s house. A kid had saved a river rock spotted in its blood and showed it to her the next day. 

That was over a bite.

She looked down at the stairs she was sitting on, seeing them for the first time in over an hour. What would they do to an animal that had ripped a man’s limbs from his body? Tranquilize it like the cop said? Check its’ stomach contents for body parts?

No. They would shoot first and ask questions later. The stomach contents would get looked at during the autopsy, and it would be done to make sure they didn’t need to hunt for another one. Not to make sure, as the police officer had said, that they had the right one before killing it.

She stood to her feet. Her body buzzed with exhaustion. She was two parts blurred. Sleep loss will do that. In the front of her mind was the dog. Her need to know before the others came. That was the part she heard. 

But the other voice, the one that had talked to her about Dan was speaking too. It echoed in the blurry haze of sleep consciousness. It was the same reason that she lied to the officer when he asked, “Have you noticed any animals around the property?” The voice had nudged her. Told her to keep quiet, and she did.

Animal control was coming. There was nothing she could say to stop them from finding the dog when they did. If they scared it, who knew what would happen. It might react. They might kill it. 

It might have killed Dan.

She pushed the thought away. The conscious reason that she had lied to the police was because she didn’t think that it did. Of course, the unconscious thought was the voice telling her not to say anything. 

Why not?

But then the conscious justification came.

I need to find out for myself first.

If the dog did do it, she would let it go. Give it over to the authorities to be euthanized. But if it didn’t, she needed to hide it. To get it some place safe. 

Some place safe.

She hadn’t been able to give that to Mike and Amy, a reality that she didn’t believe you could come back from. Not as a mother. Mike’s eyes hardly met hers now. When they did they were hard and mistrusting. Amy’s were the opposite. All joy, as if nothing had ever happened. She was always counterbalancing Mike. Trying to make June feel okay about things. Taking care of her, when it should have been the other way around. 

She hadn’t done the right thing then. Not for years. The serenity prayer echoed in her mind again. Usually she hung on that first line, because if she was honest, that was the one she needed most. To stop trying to control things she couldn’t. But this time she stopped at the second part.

The courage to change the things I can.

The dog was something she could help. She stood up and eyed the black night beyond. Once she started walking, she didn’t stop until she hit the woods.