The night air was whisking away the sounds of an ambulance as I stood inside of Detective Denny Samson’s brick ranch. Getting inside the living room where Denny was sitting on the couch was made easier by the front door being torn from the hinges.

Broken furniture, memories and blood littered the pale blue carpet and off white walls.

Denny’s hands were covered with blood and shards of flesh.

“Did you see it?”

“Detective?”

“The Hound. Blazing eyes, heart shaped patch of deep red hair on its chest.”

Crazy, just like the Bentley chick. “Nora’s fine, but you killed the attacker.”

Denny replied with fear, “No. Not me. The beast,” and then he looked up shakily at me, “There’s more. I don’t think the hound was alone.”

Knowing that fear and adrenalin can combine for powerful hallucinations during moments of intense stress, and also knowing that my brother in arms and one of my best friends over the last decade needed some calming, I asked him,” Do you think you can recount what happened? Or would you rather wait until you’ve calmed down?”

“I don’t think I can,” cradling a now blood smeared face in his hands.

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that his rights would most likely be read to him before he told the whole story.

It turned out he knew; knew how things looked and knew I was only doing my job. But I could still see the treachery in his eyes.

I couldn’t blame him for that. I could feel the strength of my convictions bubbling up inside me and it weren’t pretty.

Sitting there in front of me, with the blood on his hands beginning to dry and flake off, he didn’t look like the Denny I knew any more. There was something else…Something more than the betrayal he’d shown me earlier. Only this wasn’t a look or a sense, this was a knowing.

Denny had changed.

Thinking back to when he was sitting in his living room, I’d taken his arm to guide him gently towards my issue car. I’d needed to take him down to the station for questioning but I already knew that he was going to describe a thing; something I could never hope to bring to trial. He’d stumbled then, on the way to the car, but his reaction to his impending fall had been quick. Too quick.

It was afterwards as I was driving, that I had felt that sensation of ‘knowing’ for the first time. It had frightened me then.

Now, with a look that would haunt me for the rest of my life, he began…

With a deep breath, Denny started to talk.

The story came slowly at first but soon started to pick up speed as Denny grew in confidence. Only it wasn’t confidence as he knew it. It felt alien to him but there also blew an air of familiarity around it, too.

Trying to ignore the pounding of his heart, and this feeling growing inside of him, he continued:

“It just came out of nowhere, this black mass…It just flew through the door; I didn’t even have time to react. I mean, how could it do that? Just fly through a closed door as if it wasn’t there?”

Denny looked up at his best friend at that point, but he didn’t receive an indication that his friend had even heard the question. It was as if he was all alone. He might have well as been; he knew his friend didn’t believe him one little bit. Denny sighed but continued to relay his side of the story.

“I heard snarling but couldn’t see what was making the noise. I couldn’t see anything. It was pitch black. But I could hear…” He stopped, as if working out in his mind just exactly what it was he heard earlier that night. “…the screaming…it was blood-curdling, terrible…a sickening sound of pain, distress and …hopelessness. It took me some time to realise who it was that was screaming…then the snarling stopped. Even the screams grew quieter at that point. I turned in the direction where I thought the noise had come from and, at last in the gloom, I could make out the shape of a dog. A huge black hound with, what looked like to me, a big red heart on its chest. But there was something else with it. It wasn’t alone…but I couldn’t make it out…” Denny tailed off again.

He placed his face in his hands and just sat there for a few minutes in silence. Then, he slowly moved his fingers down over his eyes, cheeks and mouth as if trying to rub the images flashing through his mind out through the tiniest pores in his skin.

Denny knew how he must sound. But, he wasn’t lying; had never lied since his childhood. He’d learnt his lesson then and had resolved never to repeat that mistake ever again. His father had beaten it hard into him that very night after Denny had gone to bed. His butt was so raw afterwards that he hadn’t been able to sit down for several weeks.

From then on, he felt compelled to tell the truth no matter how stupid it sounded and how often it got him into hot water. He couldn’t blame is pa for that. He was only doing what he thought was right; trying to teach Denny how to be a man.

Looking at me with eyes so dark and deep they pierced my heart, his voice trembled, “Jack, that dead perp; it wasn’t me. I swear it wasn’t, but the cocksucker deserved to die. He was going to hurt Nora.”

“Look, someone is going to come along and get your account on tape, and if you tell them what you…”

“Fuck that. I know, they’ll accuse me of getting too involved in the Bentley case. Job pressure or some shit drove me over the edge and started to believe that ‘crazy bitch’”, his voice suddenly as calm as I have ever heard it, “Well, she wasn’t nuts, and neither am I.”

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© 2010, Alex Crabtree. All rights reserved.

Years ago I started writing Flash Fiction for just the sheer enjoyment of writing, and now it has turned into a full blown addiction. I can't quit the horse, man! Another dirty little secret about me is my ability to write all kinds of web content. SEO content, articles, blog posts, manifests; you name it, I'll write it. Looking for some help? My gun hangs at r.alex.crabtree@gmail.com

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Tags: 55 word fiction, Building A Short Story, Fiction, flash, micro fiction, Series, Writing

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