Christina had to go home and shower before starting her shift at The Theater.
The Theater was an actual theater once upon a time, but it was now a nightclub.
This town seemed to prefer bars of the honky-tonk variety.
Jessie McCall
Even without Christinas presence, it was my favorite bar in town for that very reason.
I preferred a quieter and relatively redneck-free venue for my social drinking.
Lucas was my oldest friend and current co-worker at a certain large chain department store which will remain nameless.
I guess thats neither here nor there.
I turned on the TV for noise but I realized I was too wound up to sit still.
If anything, I was mentally stimulated.
I wanted to do something with my hands and brain.
That was just the thing!
It was just a cheap old black Ibanez acoustic, but I loved it dearly.
A million fond memories were embedded in its glossy lacquer.
I pulled it off the hooks ignoring all the dust and set to tuning it.
The fact that none of the ancient strings broke in the process was an unexpected and pleasant surprise.
Before I could get bogged down with thoughts I just started strumming out a tune.
That wasnt a part of it.
But I still blamed her.
I never really gave up on my musical aspirations, and she of course never wanted me to.
Emily was always genuinely and enthusiastically supportive of my endeavors.
We were both creative people and she liked that about us.
I liked that about us, too.
The problem wasnt really with Emily anyway, I was just letting her become my excuse.
I lacked the courage to admit those fears to myself and push on anyway.
Maybe thats a struggle everyone goes through, no matter what their life is like.
Almost every New Years Eve I would resolve to finally take my music seriously.
Sometimes I would even follow through, if only for a little while.
Invariably, some setback would occur.
I would get down on myself, depressed.
Distractions would present themselves.
It was only because I lacked the courage or the will to break that cycle.
Did I reach this epiphany during my impromptu jam session?
No, not really.
I have cogitated on a similar line of thinking almost constantly throughout those wasted years.
This time felt different, however.
This thought turned to another: Would she have wanted that support to be in vain?
Did I perhaps owe it to her to give it an honest try?
I thought I did.
I played on through the evening, thinking perhaps that the healing process had begun.
I had finally managed to do something apart from wallow in misery.
I did not suspect for a moment that misery was not yet done with me.
That realization came later.
Once I finally hung my guitar back on the rack I quickly realized how numb my fingers had become.
I needed to build up my callouses again.
The fingertips were cut in a few places, bleeding lazily.
I made the connection while I rinsed my cuts under the bathroom faucet.
In all the hullabaloo I forgot about getting blood on Emma.
I cursed to myself, knowing the doll would surely be stained after all these hours.
She would not have wanted any harm to befall them, not even that horrid Emma.
To my great relief, I found that my initial observation was incorrect.
I did not smear blood on Emma.
She was still ugly, but perfectly clean.
Just to be certain, I inspected her thoroughly, top to bottom.
Not a mark, not a smudge.
Nothing but a false alarm.
Maybe that wasnt the most scientifically sound explanation, but I didnt much care.
It was good enough.
I found myself staring into Emmas loathsome face.
Her expression did not change again.
No, thats not right.
It never did change, I knew that.
Even without the hateful expression I thought I saw, there was something just so vile about that face.
I wanted to stare at the doll until my feelings could crystallize into something I could grasp.
They gaped and contracted, gaped and contracted.
I felt a terrible nausea at the pit of my stomach.
I wanted to hurl the doll across the room.
But it couldnt be real.
I screwed my eyes shut tight and forced the image from my brain.
When I opened them again the holes were still, lifeless.
I was so tired.
I just stared at them unblinking for so long that my eyes started playing tricks on me.
I just needed some sleep.
This doll, Emma, had to be banished from my sight.
If I wanted to survive I had to figure out how to move on.
I found an empty box that would hold Emma.
Im not sure what doll it held before, but it wasnt important.
The process was one that I watched and assisted in many times.
With masking tape, I held the bubble wrap sheets securely in place.
She now looked like a discount mummy in a dime store sarcophagus.
I covered her in enough additional packing peanuts to fill the box entirely.
I only had to tape shut the box to leave her fit to be shipped away.
That would, of course, not yet be necessary.
I placed the Emma Sarcophagus carefully among the others in the Harry Potter closet.
As an added gesture of security, I gave the stack a gentle bump.
Out of sight, hopefully soon to be out of mind.
I ran into the room confused and alarmed, but yet again found no sign of an intruder.
The guitar, however, was swaying slightly on the rack.
I strummed my fingernail across the strings thoughtfully but fell short in finding a cause for the sound.
Another mystery, and I had grown too tired for a mystery.
Instead, I went off to bed.
Despite my better spirits, I still found sleep elusive.
I stared up at the ceiling stains for over an hour, trying to clear my mind.
Eventually, I was successful, but my sleep that night was less than restive.
I had another dream that night, you see.
Two actually, at least that I could remember.
One followed the other almost seamlessly.
The first thing to pierce the darkness was a voice.
It was her voice, of course.
She was saying my name, softly, again and again.
I opened my eyes and I could see her, her own eyes shining in the moonlight.
She reached out and shook my shoulder, gently.
she whispered, Justin, are you awake?
Yeah, Emma, I told her, Im awake.
I could smell her scent, and my pulse quickened.
She held me tightly for a moment before speaking again.
I looked up and I could see tears glistening in her eyes.
Im so sorry, Justin, she said.
I didnt want this to happen, I thought I could stop it.
I thought it was meant for me.
What are you talking about?
She sighed and rolled out of bed.
She stood at the window and pulled the curtain back enough that she could peer through.
It wants you, too, She said, enigmatically.
Maybe you were always the one it wanted.
I think maybe it just used me to get to you, but Im not sure.
I sat up in bed.
What are you talking about, Em?
There are rules, I think, she said, apparently ignoring my question.
Maybe they can protect you, maybe not.
I want to help you, but I dont know how.
I couldnt even help myself, you know?
Im confused, I told her.
I know, She said, genuinely sympathetic.
The first rule is, you must not think about him.
Thats the worst thing you could do.
Have I told you that already?
Its hard to hold on to memories, now.
Hes always listening, and he knows what youre thinking.
He can hear that too.
So promise me you wont learn his name.
I promise, I told her, completely baffled.
I had no clear idea of what any of this meant.
The only thing separating this dream from total nonsense was its remarkable vividness.
She turned back from the window and looked into my eyes.
Have you heard the Black Dog yet?
The only dog Ive heard lately is Pig Dog, I told her.
I think her real name was PJ.
She was a good dog, and seldom barked.
Good, she said, Thats good.
If you hear the Black Dog, attempt to ignore it.
Whatever you do, dont look for it.
Dont let it find you.
He wants you to look at the Black Dog, it gives him power.
Its like a doorway, or maybe it brings the doorway.
The doorway is death, and worse.
Okay, I told her, I understand.
No you dont, She said, sadly.
I didnt say anything.
There was nothing to say.
She was right, of course.
You have to see something, she told me.
Regret was written all over her face.
Leave through the bedroom door and you will be somewhere else.
Youll see it there.
I have to go now.
Her hand dropped to her side, she sighed and faded away.
There was nothing else to do.
I got up and threw on some clothes, just whatever was laying on the floor.
Pausing at the door, I looked back at the window where she stood.
I thought I could smell her scent, still lingering in the air.
How could she be dead if she still smelled the same?
I stepped through the door and found myself-
Outside.
I was outside, and not in my yard, either.
I wasnt even sure if I was still in Breckenridge, at least initially.
It blanketed the earth and obscured the landscape until everything seemed unfamiliar, indistinct.
The thing I couldnt think about, the thing that had a name I must not learn.
Though I could not feel the cold, I shivered.
If I turned my back on those twin satellites, I wouldnt have to think about their owner.
Shielding my eyes from that gaze, I pulled an abrupt about-face and realized immediately where I was.
I was in Lost Boys Park, located about a mile south of my apartment.
I reached out and touched Peters face, trying to anchor myself to reality.
I snatched my hand away as one would do from a dog that might bite.
A hollow voice echoed from within the statue, the brash voice of a wild child.
he said, though his lips moved not at all, Get under cover!
Hes looking for you!
Dont let him find you!
I only stood there, agog, as the wind swirled the massive snowflakes around me.
Beneath my feet, I could feel a strange, terrible vibration.
Peter Pan bellowed, his young voice cracking.
The snow was piled to mid-thigh and even at my fevered pace progress was hideously slow.
My hair had grown too long for them to stand up straight.
I was too late, he saw me.
I could feel his gaze.
It was all I could do to keep myself from turning around to face him.
I landed hard on my ass, a shock I felt all the way up my spine.
My momentum carried me forward several feet.
I was on the pond, frozen over solid.
I hoped solidly enough to support my weight, but there was no time to consider the danger.
I had to get across.
I had to make it to the trees.
Finding my feet proved to be the most difficult part.
The need for concentration was a welcome distraction.
The cracking sound began the moment I reached the center of the pond.
The ice was breaking, I was going to slip through!
The sound was awful, a splintery, echoing sound that seemed to reverberate endlessly in the open air.
My breath came out in tiny gasps, little puffs of steam floating in the air.
The wind had stopped and the cracking sound became the only feature of my world.
I couldnt move, or look anywhere but at my feet, waiting for the cracks to reach them.
I looked up at the heavens as though I was searching for an answer.
There, I found one.
The ice wasnt cracking.
The sky was cracking.
Endlessly growing fissures fractured the night sky, filling the world with that terrible, splintery sound.
I stood there, frozen, unable to will movement into any of my muscles.
I couldnt even blink.
I could only watch, teary-eyed, as the fault in the sky grew and grew.
The twin moons completed the ghastly face, lazy malice replaced by sadistic glee.
Just then the surface of the ice lost its hold upon me, and I fell upward.
I fell into the sky toward that gaping mouth.
The mouth moved, and a voice much like that cracking ice sound issued from the great chasm.
It was trying to tell me its name.
If I heard the name, then all was lost!
I had to…
WAKE UP!
I woke with a start and rolled off my bed, gasping into a discarded t-shirt.
Christ, I muttered and picked myself up off the floor.
I couldnt quite remember the last time I bothered, which must have been a bad sign.
I was feeling hopeful yesterday, but that strange and terrible nightmare lingered in my thoughts.
As I let the water warm my bones, I contemplated Emilys last words to me.
She told me there was something I had to see outside the bedroom door.
Why would she have wanted me to see such a thing?
It made no sense, really.
Maybe she had no choice.
I shook my head, trying to clear away the cobwebs.
I ran my fingers through my damp hair and realized I was being an asshole.
It makes no sense because it was a goddamn dream, I said to myself.
It was just the strain getting to me, making me jump at shadows and believe in dreams.
(like the sky, the sky cracked)
Another errant thought.
I shook it away, too.
I had to cling to reality.
My dead girlfriend was not sending me cryptic messages in my dreams.
Thats just…
Delusional thoughts.
I couldnt give in to them.
If I found it so easy to deny her delusions, I should have no problem denying my own.
Still, the images from that dream lingered in my mind.
In spite of myself, I continued to wonder what it all meant.
It all seemed so real.
Were these delusions so real to her?
Maybe I should have listened to her instead of simply rejecting her perception.
Could I have learned something?
I grimaced at the thought.
That sort of ambiguity plagued me throughout our relationship.
Nothing I ever said or thought or told her seemed to be of any help or comfort.
I could reason against her delusions but it never made them go away.
It was never easy, or I was never up to the challenge.
I felt awful just to think of it.
She needed me to do something for her.
She needed me to be someone she could count on.
She needed an anchor, a tether to the real world.
It was idiotic, but I kept trying that tactic and grew frustrated when it continued not to work.
A loud and heavy THUMP!
shook the entire house, rousing me from my thoughts.
I realized then that I was driving myself into another cycle of guilt and self-loathing.
I didnt want to do that again, I wanted to stop.
I had to heal my wounds, not rip them open again.
I stepped out of the shower and grabbed my towel off the rack.
It needed to be washed, badly, but I resolved to worry about that later.
Getting out of the house, even for such a minor errand, I thought would surely prove beneficial.
I didnt give the sound any further thought.
I didnt think I needed to.
Living in an apartment, you got used to the sounds of your neighbors.
The warmth of the shower was quickly lost.
I examined their patterns and felt nothing.
Despite the bitter cold, I decided to walk to the coffee shop.
It would take ages to unearth the damned thing.
Perhaps the frigid walk would make my hot coffee all the more satisfying.
Anyway, it would delay my inevitable return to that place.
The other apartments were all connected by a sort of foyer with a staircase leading to the upstairs units.
Mine was the only independent unit with its own front and back door.
They were a strange lot.
As I passed their front porch, I could hear some sort of commotion inside.
An argument, perhaps?
I shuffled on through the deep snow, progress made slowly but surely.
As I walked, I looked up at the gray sky.
Through a break in the clouds, I saw the moon, ghostlike in the morning light.
I looked upon it and shivered, remembering my strange dreams again.
But that was stupid.
I shouldnt think that way, it was a bad idea to indulge in strange thoughts.
I shouldnt let my dreams and a couple of weird occurrences turn me into a paranoiac.
It was just the moon.
Still, I turned my gaze back to the earth.
It felt safer, somehow.
Like thinking about those things was dangerous instead of merely inadvisable.
I reached an intersection at the same time as a driver in a gaudy yellow truck.
I never seemed to know if I should cross before a motorist.
People around here seemed as likely to run a stop sign as to wait for a pedestrian.
I didnt like the way he was looking at me.
Why did I think that?
I was in a strange mood that day.
I was feeling better the night before.
I decided to give Lucas or Christina a call when I returned home.
The rest of the walk passed without incident.
I reached the coffee house, which had the unlikely name of Vital Fluids.
I failed, but I did try.
A wasted effort, in this case.
There was no one else in the cafe to distract her.
She looked up from her phone, smiled warmly, and hopped up from her stool.
She welcomed me to Vital Fluids, unable to mask the boredom in her voice entirely.
She was tall, slim, and dressed in a black maxi dress accented with silver jewelry.
An ankh necklace hung from her neck.
She looked to be in her mid-twenties and was very pretty.
I didnt recognize her, for which I was glad.
It meant I would not have to field any awkward questions about Emily.
I gave her my order and settled into an overstuffed chair in the back of the shop.
After a moment the barista came by and gave me my coffee and scone.
I thanked her and she nodded back, quickly returning to whatever fascinating diversion her phone provided.
Some sort of photography collection.
I picked it up and examined the cover.
The title was Green Houses of Breckenridge by Alaina Addams.
A local author, then.
The content, bizarrely, was not of nurseries, but literal greenhouses.
I thumbed through the pages without much interest.
Most of the houses seemed to be in various states of disrepair, which did not surprise me.
That, I did not fail to notice in my years living there.
Sometimes I felt like I was living in a town of haunted houses.
I grimaced at the thought.
Living in a ghost story wasnt as fun as those old black and white horror shows made it seem.
My apartment house made the cut after all, although the picture must have been an old one.
It had been repainted in the intervening years from a gaudy emerald green to a dreary shade of gray.
My landlord, Mr. Petrov, was standing on the front porch, looking grim as he always did.
The next photo showed the house from a different angle, which showed the entrance to the basement.
Mr. Petrov kept it locked tight with heavy chains and a thick padlock.
In the photo the basement door had no such chains, I noticed.
Excuse me, Im sorry to bother you, came a voice to my left.
It was the barista.
Youre not bothering me, I said, unsure if that was, strictly speaking, an honest response.
She cleared her throat, nervously.
I just wanted to tell you thats my book.
I looked down at the book spread out before me and felt myself blush with embarrassment.
I stammered something like, Oh!
Oh, Im sorry, I didnt mean to- I thought it was for anyone to look at.
No, thats not what I meant, She said, laughing.
She had a nice laugh.
No, I mean thatsmybook.
Well, I mean, I took the pictures and everything.
I asked, as she sat down on an adjacent chair, Thats really cool.
Yeah, She said, energetically, I mostly do weddings and senior photos and things like that.
You know, when Im not stuck sitting in this shop slinging mud.
This is my first collection of photographs Ive had published.
Ive been kind of working at it for years.
Most people just come in and look at their tablets or phones or whatever.
No, really, I assured her, Youre really not a bother.
But I have to ask…
Yeah?
I had to know.
You havent noticed all the green houses around town?
I shook my head.
Im always on the lookout for photography subjects, for reference mostly.
Im actually kind of an artist.
One day I realized in my travels that this town is just chock full of green houses.
The rest is just history, I guess.
You want to know something weird?
Always, She said at once.
Or, I live there at least.
Her jaw dropped, and she said, No shit?
That house is yours?
Yeah, I told her, Only, its not green any more.
They divided the place up into apartments and painted the thing gray.
I guess this photo must be a few years old.
Thats my landlord there on the porch.
Oh yeah, She said, furrowing her brow at Petrovs grim visage.
I remember that guy.
Kind of a weird dick, if you ask me.
He just seems like a cranky old dude.
Hes not so bad once you get to know him.
He kept threatening to call the police, but he never left the porch.
Just kept yelling and shooting eye daggers at me.
Finally I left, but he kept shouting until I was out of sight.
I muttered, staring closely at the photo as though it might give me some further insight.
I wonder what crawled up his butt.
Anyway, Im glad you got your photos.
Almost makes that crappy old house look nice.
Thanks, man, she said, obviously pleased.
Alaina, actually, but everyone calls me Lainy.
Or That Black Goth Girl.
Justin, I told her, shaking her hand.
Nice to meet you, Lainy.
The tinkling of bells interrupted me.
Welcome to Vital Fluids, girls!
Ill be right with you!
Alaina called across the cafe.
She turned to me and said Duty calls.
Nice to meet you too, Justin.
Congrats on getting published, I said, gathering my coat and scarf.
It seemed as good a time as any to head back home.
Thanks, man, She said, already on the move.
Energized, my return trip passed much more quickly.
The emergency vehicles I heard were evidently headed to one of my neighbors apartments.
I broke into a jog, eager to see what was the matter.
Standing in my yard were several policemen, fireman, and paramedics.
One of my fellow tenants, it must have been.
Whats going on here?
I asked one of the policeman who did not seem to be actively helping, What happened?
The policeman held up a hand, stopping me in my tracks.
Stay back, He ordered, Do you live on the premises?
Yes, I told him, I live in apartment A.
Its the one over there, not connected to the porch.
Do you know the man who lived in apartment C?
He asked, pen and paper in hand.
Sort of, I told him.
I think his name is George.
He sits out on the porch sometimes and smokes cigars while his dog plays in the yard.
Ive spoken to him a few times.
Im afraid hes deceased.
Do you know if he has any relatives in the area?
Jesus, I muttered.
I thought of the loud thump I had heard earlier that morning.
It must have been him, falling from the railing.
A dark, sick feeling washed over me like the tide of a polluted ocean.
I thought of a hand loosely clutching a handgun submerged in tepid, bloodstained water.
The officer barked, interrupting my thoughts.
I started and looked up at him.
Do you know if he has any relatives in the area?
Yeah, I muttered, Yes.
He has a sister.
I dont know her name, but she comes by sometimes to take him grocery shopping.
Thats the only person Ive ever seen visit him.
He jotted something down in his notebook and looked back up at me.
Im going to need to take down your information just in case we have any more questions for you.
I told him, and answered all the questions that followed.
Coherently, I hope, but I cant be certain.
They were loading Georges body into the back of the ambulance, wrapped in a white sheet.
I wondered what would become of PJ, but I didnt ask.
I could hear the other upstairs neighbor talking to a different policeman as I stepped into the apartment.
Just kept yell… night long… black d… but his dog is white.
I shut the door and slumped into my chair.
The phrase black dog flashed through my mind, and it was my last rational thought for some time.
I kept picturing Raynor falling from the dresser and shattering on the floor below.
All the while, static.
For a while the red and blue lights danced on the walls, shining through my windows.
In my distraction I did not notice when they stopped.
All I know is that when I came to my senses, the daylight had faded along with them.
I seemed to be down to items that held either no appeal or no appeal on their own.
Bits and pieces, but nothing worthwhile.
I seemed to have dozens of cans of black beans and pickled beets, both items I found detestable.
I shrugged, my energy for the enterprise rapidly failing, and pulled the tab on the can.
The bowl went into the microwave, and in two minutes I would stave off starvation for another night.
Thirty seconds in, the power went out.
I swore to myself and at the landlord for his cheap wiring.
The fuse box was outside the apartment on a small back porch, open to the elements.
Just another poor design feature.
Thats when I heard the sound.
It emanated from the bathroom, a low keening sound, as though someone therein was crying despondently.
No, not just someone.
I knew the voice behind those wails.
The keening rose in pitch and volume and broke into sobs.
One last splash, and then- silence.
Tentatively, I took a step forward.
Another step, and I reached out with my free hand, feeling my way blindly ahead.
It finally tapered off again into sobs.
No, her voice called out, raw and ragged by strain, grief, and fear alike.
No, no, no, just no!
I choked out, finally.
She gasped, and screamed, Stay away!
Stay away from me!
I think I screamed, but Im not sure.
The next thing I knew, I had fallen to the floor and the lights hummed back to life.
On shaky, unreliable legs, I forced myself to reenter the bathroom.
I threw the curtain aside.
The shelves in the shower were still covered in her various shampoos and body washes.
Viscous pastel liquids oozed from the open top of the bottles and dripped into the tub.
Oddly, my own shampoo and body wash bottles were untouched.
By the gunshot, I mean.
Emilys face was a surreal distortion, amplifying the destruction she wrought upon herself to grotesque proportions.
Her remaining eye was sunken so deeply into its socket that it glistened like a gimlet in a cavern.
Tears or blood-stained bathwater ran down her cheeks in a constant flood.
In her free hand, she held a long bundle I also recognized.
It was Emma, rescued from the closet.
The right side of her entire head, actually.
The skin around the wound seemed to blister and tear out endlessly at the edges.
This must have been how she looked the moment she died.
That might have been my final realization, my final rational thought preceding total madness.
I only blinked, and she returned to her old self.
Had it only been the space between two blinks?
Those three seconds felt like an eternity, the way moments stretch in dreams.
When I came to my senses she was sitting on the edge of the bed, sobbing.
She was just a ghost.
Emily was dead, and even in the dream, I knew that.
I just pushed the thought far away and did the only thing that made sense to me.
If she was cold and wet I would make her warm again.
Because I loved her.
Bad times and good.
She was still sobbing, moaning, and working at the bundle in her hands.
She wouldnt look at me, but I held her.
She didnt get any warmer, but I held her as she sobbed.
At last, she laid her head against my chest.
Softly, she whispered, Im so, so sorry.
I didnt mean to do that.
I didnt mean to frighten you.
Its just so hard to hold on now.
Its okay, I whispered.
Her hair didnt smell like the grave.
It smelled the way her hair always did, back then.
I realized I even missed her bad times and the losing battle of helping her out of them.
Did I really give up on her?
Its not okay, Justin, she told me, her eyes finally meeting mine.
Thats what I came to tell you.
I couldnt keep him away.
I couldnt protect you.
She shouted, pulling away.
The towel fell from around her as she stood, seeming to crackle with energy under her skin.
Pockmarks began to form, and her right eye darkened.
She covered her face and with the energy that remained to her, she spoke one last time.
It starts tomorrow, she said, mournfully.
Tomorrow youll start to hear it.
I cried as she lurched into the shower stall.
She didnt speak, but I knew the answer.
The Black Dog was coming.
