Journal - Dog Days

In my head, each scenario played out poorly. I glanced back at the hound as it loped along nearly in the heel position. There was just enough distance as an indicator that, though it followed, we were strangers. It was nearly skin and bones. She was nearly skin and bones.

As we walked back to the hotel, I ran my hand down my face and as I thought about what came next.

Yet another stray.

I sighed again, moving through the cemetery and into the city streets. The cemetery was on the edge of town; not too distant from the hotel itself. This is where the soldier saw the creature. Gleaming eyes in the night. Predatory, but only in principle. Not in action. He tracked it to the taxidermist’s outbuilding as the wolflike creature evaded on two legs, slipping behind the attached outbuilding.

Jonas, this soldier, knew to report to his chain of command. From his fawning, it was clear that he was enamored with the idea of his words making it to our ears. Nachtrichter. We were these mysterious protectors. Holders of hidden knowledge. Unflinching in the face of the dangerous and uncanny. If Jonas knew the simplicity of the things I struggled over, he’d likely think less of the role.

That is, until he had to make those decisions himself.

I walked in deep thought, listening to the rhythmic clicking of it’s claws on the cobblestones behind me. Each click was a reminder that I had a problem that I didn’t know how to deal with.

Earlier that day, a short trip to the Kalderari camp told me that the two legged wolfen creature was not one of theirs. In fact, they were here to dispatch the beast. It was an aberration. At that moment, during my conversation with Babik the Peddler, I saw a level of fanaticism that nearly bordered their passion for blustery showmanship to sell their wares. Nearly the same level of fanaticism when they spoke about when maneuvering to protect their family. Babik had assured me a splendid price on an “anytool” if I were to dispatch the beast myself. The tool itself was eye-catching, reminiscent of the sword that one of the Rhinkani wielded against us. He said his people had the secret of their creation.

Earlier, this offer seemed like a clean transaction, no strings attached. Kill the beast and return for your prize.

It’s still an option.

I shook my head at the thought, the words were too painful to keep in my head. Trying to do right by everyone always makes for conflict. I was already rolling my eyes at Bjorn’s words; the words I knew he’d say.

I moved up to the front door of the hotel, then looked at the dog. It stood expectantly first, then sat, waiting patiently. I held up a hand.

“Stay.” I said, unnecessarily.

I walked in. The attendant at the front desk raised his head and his eyes moved in my direction. The man looked like a typical Almani, sandy brown hair with pale blue eyes that were nearly gray.

“Do you allow dogs?” I said in High Alaman.

He gave me a look of disgust that morphed quickly into contempt. I shrugged at him and his gaze dropped  back down to the desk. Mumbling to himself while shaking his head.

I squinted at the restaurant with a bar adjoining the hotel lobby. I walked in, moving to the bartender.

“Can I order here?”

He nodded. His wizened face was covered in freckles and now split with a smile as he saw a paying customer.

“I want a rare steak. Nevermind, don’t cook it, just bring it out in butcher paper. I’ll pay full price.”

He looked at me twice, his smile fading between glances, then nodded with a bewildered look. He left  the counter and moved into the kitchen.

Maybe she wouldn’t be there when I get back?

The thought was wishful thinking. I looked at the menu and thumbed out the Lyra ahead of time. Adding a few extra for a tip and another few for the exchange to Alamani Marks. The man returned quickly with a brown paper wrapped portion. He plopped it on the counter in front of me and I pushed the pile of Lyra toward him. At first his look soured, but counting through it, he nodded approvingly. A few of the other patrons looked on with mild distaste.

“What?” I challenged the onlookers, “You don’t like a good rare steak?”

This triggered queasy looks from the patrons who quickly returned to their conversations. I picked up the paper wrapped slab and moved outside.

She was still there, unmoved. Her tail wagged sluggishly when she saw me. I moved over to where my motorcycle and sidecar were parked and sat on the raised stone planter box that was attached to the hotel. She moved forward, her nails clicking, and looked curiously at me, her nose scenting the air. I unwrapped the paper and placed the heft of meat on the ground. She looked at the portion, then looked back at me. I nodded, then motioned toward the steak.

She moved deliberately, smelling the meat and then taking it gingerly in her jaws moving under the wheel well of an adjacent car and proceeded to messily devour it.

---

It had been the taxidermist that was the common thread to both the soldier’s and the Kalderari’s stories. I decided to investigate the next morning. Whatever it was, I would rather face the beast when I was rested and had the advantage of daylight.

The place was unkempt. The windows stared darkly on the sun washed street. It appeared that all maintenance keeping the grass at bay had ceased and it was starting to give the appearance of being abandoned. I moved around the property, seeing signs of disuse. I lifted the lid of the steel bin adjoining the large barn and was greeted by a swarm of flies and the reek of discarded guts. I quickly backed away and swore at my stupidity, but the oily smell clung to the inside of my nose. I took a moment to steady myself.

I knew this was unusual. Taxidermists were artists and salespeople. The appearance of the store was just important as the final product. That smell, alone, would drive away would-be buyers.

There were no signs of forced entry at the front door or anywhere else around the house. I had thought that, perhaps, the Taxidermist, himself, had an encounter similar to the one we saw in Neuchatel. A chance encounter with a temperamental Kalderari youth, a bite, and the most recent full moon had then taken him. With that thought, I ran my hand over my jacket, feeling the shortened double barrel shotgun at my side.

The Revjakt was something that Elias was preparing before I left. I was just walking into the armory as he finished sawing it down and sanding down the rough edges. I figured that if anything were to happen, it would happen up close. The sawed-off shotgun was loaded with silver buckshot. And the bandolier that I wore like a belt was loaded with more of the same. If all else failed, I had even put the special rounds into the Toro revolver. I wasn’t taking any chances.

Well, except for the chance of doing this entirely alone.

The front door was unlocked and loosely latched, it gave way with a touch.

“Is there anyone home?” I called out into the house, “I’ve been asked to check in on you.”

I pulled the Revjakt and gripped it tightly in my right hand. I closed the door behind me with a click. I glanced around; a main hallway ran to the back of the house into a sitting room. In that hallway, a stairway moved up the right wall. A bannister ran along the walkways. Multiple doorways were visible from the front entrance. To the left of the front door there was a dining room and a kitchen sat off to the right.

A glance into the dining room showed that table was set, but only a single plate looked used. Fine dust covered all of the furniture and dishes. The only chair and the area around the used plate was filthy with a greasy coating. An acrid smell hung in the air, blending with the must of age.

I tried to hide from the smell using a kerchief, but the stench from the metal bin still clung to me. I began breathing through my mouth. It didn’t help as much as I’d have hoped.

The kitchen was surprisingly tidy outside of some cabinets hanging open and various cans in neat stacks. There was very little food residue remaining in cans.

I was bewildered. Something didn’t add up. If my thought was that the Taxidermist had turned, nothing would be this neat and orderly. He’d be a feral creature.

Yes, and he’d be on top of me right now.

The thought was unsettling.

Seemingly as an answer, a floorboard shifted under weight upstairs, sending a chill up my spine. I moved slowly into the entryway and began to move up the stairs, still holding the shotgun. Pictures were hung along the stairs. They were of the Taxidermist, over the years, the most recent pictures showed him to be an older gentleman.

“I am coming up. I am here to make sure you are well.” I called ahead.

I still wondered if that was a good idea. I knew that if he still maintained his humanity, I may still be able talk him down. If not, I hoped that a careful aim and two barrels of silver shot would protect me.

The acrid tang to the air became more apparent as I moved into the heat of the upstairs. I followed the banister around the corner to the room above the kitchen. The door was in shadow with sunlight brightly shining under it. I listened briefly, then tested the doorknob. It opened quietly, without much effort. Inside, the room was bright, the sun was blazing through the windows. The sunlight illuminated several haunting figures draped in white sheets, some with claws outstretched menacingly. The Taxidermist’s menagerie. I held my breath, watching dust motes lingering in the stirred air. I could hear a quiet panting in the room. I shivered, in spite of the heat, and moved back out of the room.

I took a moment to  wipe the sweat from my forehead, then I spoke at the door.

“I need you to come out as a person, a human. If I see you as a creature, I am armed and I will shoot.”

I waited at the door for what felt like ages, listening for motion. Behind me, I heard a click from another door. I crouched in the dark hallway and quietly turned to face the noise. The door at the top of the stairs pulled open and a woman emerged from the room. She was naked, rail thin, and covered in streaks of filth. She looked down either side of the hallway, then chanced a few steps forward, moving silently with a preternatural grace. As soon as her foot touched the second stair, I called out, firm and low.

“Stop.”

I moved from my position with the Revjakt trained on her, making myself visible.

“Nyet! Pozhaluysta!” She said, her eyes wide.

I put up a hand and shushed her. I was worried that there were others in the house. If the Taxidermist might have captured others, they might converge to overwhelm me.

I pointed at the room she’d come from and made a shooing motion into the room. She moved backwards, her wide eyes glistened, pleading. I recognized the language as Beryat, only because I recognized “Nyet” in her pleading. She moved low to the ground as she retreated, following my instructions.

---

The memory from less than an hour earlier faded as the hound finished her steak. My goal was to get some answers and get her to safety. The first step to that? I needed to bring her into the hotel.

“We need to get you some clothes.” I said.

She tilted her head, it was a very natural reaction since I knew she didn’t understand me. When I stood, she fell in step, now closer to the heel position as we walked. I asked others on the street about a clothier and, possibly, a bookstore. A few eyes settled on the hound, some were curious; others eyed her with fear.

After receiving various instructions to both locations, I made my way down the street with the loping hound following close.

We repeated the same process for both the clothier and the bookstore; her sitting, waiting patiently outside. From the first, I emerged with a dainty, wide-necked sun dress, sky blues dotted with yellow flowers along with a pair of flat, leather-soled yellow slippers. From the second, I returned clutching a Beryat phrasebook and dictionary. I then gestured for her to follow.

We passed a few short alleyways, clearly visible to the street. I found a longer alleyway with a hard right angle that joined with another street. It still wasn’t exactly private, but obscured well enough by trash cans and large wheeled bins. In the corner, she sat and looked up at me. I unfurled the dress and pointed at her and then the dress.

“How do you say ‘I need you to look human’?” I said to myself.

I mumbled aloud as I leafed through the phrasebook. I realized how little this phrasebook was going to work for this situation.

She let out a pained whimper which brought me to look away from my book. She was instantly standing next to me, stark naked. I was startled by the suddenness of her change. And she reacted to my reaction by looking worried. She pulled back slightly, her stance hunched and protective. She shifted from foot to foot, teetering for balance in her new form. I rolled up the dress and moved slowly toward her motioning that I intended to place it over her head. She obliged, moving into it and raising her arms. I managed to get them through the slight sleeves with only a little fuss. I let the dress unfurl and it nearly touched the ground. She was a very slight creature. I dropped to a knee, placing the shoes in front of her. They were a little large. She put a hand on my shoulder as she shakily raised a foot and I slid the slipper into place. As I attempted to help with the next shoe, she did not move to raise her foot.

“Idti, idti.”

As she spoke, she made a shooing motion. Then slipped the other shoe on and pulled the back into place. I stood and gave a satisfied nod.

After she was ready, she looked up at me, almost a mirror to how the hound looked up at me moments earlier. There was a residue of blood smeared near her mouth from the steak. I pulled a kerchief from my pocket and pantomimed dabbing at my face and then moved toward her. She looked at me quizzically, dodging away at first, but then allowing me to clean off her face.

This may have been a mistake because of the oily filth that coated her from head to toe. I cleared a clean spot that made her face look unbalanced. I looked in the phrasebook for the word “bathe”.

“Kupat’. Kupat’?” I said after thumbing through the phrasebook for a moment.

When I looked up, I saw that she understood, but did not look amused. I shrugged, closed the phrasebook and started making my way out of the alley. Her body was hunched, unused to moving as a human. That strange grace emerged again as she maneuvered past the bins. She used her whole body as she moved, almost looking like a dancer with the assured placement of each step. She appeared to get used to moving on two feet again, but her stance remained that of a predator. Before we emerged on the street I held a hand up and faced her. I hunched briefly then pushed out my chest, straightening my back.

She mimicked. I put my hand in the small of her back, then adjusted her shoulders. She held it, looking very uncomfortable.

“We’ll work on it.” I said to myself.

Her brows were furrowed. She seemed determined. The graceful gait was lost as she tried to maintain this overly rigid posture. We got back to the hotel and unhurriedly moved through the lobby without acknowledging the man at the front desk.

I opened the door to the hotel room and motioned her in. She moved slowly, I could see her nostrils flare as she looked around. She dropped into her feral grace again, moving through each room, inspecting every corner of the room. I moved past her, letting her investigate. I removed my tan leather riding jacket and the various weapons I’d taken with me. When she returned after her review of the hotel room, she squinted up at me, her head tilted, and her nostrils flared toward me again while standing very close.

“V odinochestve?” She said.

I shrugged then picked up the phrasebook and showed it to her. I opened it up and traced my fingers along the lines of words. She looked at me and shook her head.

“You don’t read?” I said.

I fumbled through the dictionary portion of the phrase book. This was going to be much more difficult than I expected.

“Vy mozhete chitat'?” I said, cobbling the words together from the phrasebook.

She shook her head again, but then she also corrected my pronunciation. I looked at her with a grimace. She returned the expression for a second then gave an unpracticed shrug.

She did catch on quickly.

As she stood close to me, I was starting to catch that acrid odor from the house. It reminded me that I wanted a shower, but she needed a bath first. I motioned to her and beckoned her to the bathroom. When I stepped in, I stared at the toilet and a worrisome realization hit me.

Oh my god. Is she housebroken?

I shook my head at the thought, then pushed it out of my mind. There was nothing I could do about that. I wasn’t even going to attempt it.

I turned on the faucet and began to fill the tub. I put a small amount of bath soap in, letting the bubbles rise with the water. She looked on in fascination. I took a bar of soap and got it wet in the sink. I took her hand, and lifted her arm, spreading soap on her skin, then rinsing it off, showing a patch of grim-free pale, pink skin. I pantomimed using the bar all over me, then motioned to her. I pulled up a small bottle of the complimentary shampoo and demonstrated it for her hair.

“And don’t get soap in your eyes.”

I acted it out and made a pained noise. During this gesticulating and pantomime, she stopped paying attention to what I was trying to convey and humor crept into her eyes.

I shook my head and waved dismissively.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” 

I reached down and shut off the water. I motioned toward the bath and turned out the door. I heard her clothes hit the floor almost immediately and there was a slosh of bathwater. I closed the door behind me and moved back into the room.

I had a moment to pause and reflect while she took a bath. I settled into the lounge chair close to the window and leafed through the phrasebook; gathering simple words and phrases as best I could. My mind drifted back to the Taxidermist’s house.

---

It wasn’t just her at the house. 

There was a rumble of an engine and a squeak of a parking brake. Someone had pulled up to the front just as she was retreating into the guest room. I continued to motion for her to move back, now a little more forcefully. I followed her into the guest room and closed the door to just a crack. I saw a large standing armoire in the room. I moved over to it and opened the door and beckoned for her to get inside. The fear in her eyes changed to uncertainty. I moved back to the door, averting my attention from her. In a way, making her aware that I wasn’t the one to be worried about. I clicked the hallway door shut just as I heard someone noisily kick through the front door. There was shouting into the house. I looked back to her and saw her move into the armoire, tugging at the edge until it was shut.

I took a deep breath and held the Revjakt at the ready.

I unlatched the door quietly and moved out quickly. Two men dressed in Kalderari colors were moving into the main entry.

“Get out.” I shouted down at them, “You’re on private property.”

“What are you doing here?” One of the men said, clearly flustered.

“No. What are you doing here?” 

There was a growl of aggravation and they rushed to the foot of the stairs, brandishing revolvers with untrained hands. I moved down the stairs, keeping them from advancing.

“This is our business. We need to kill the stray. Get out of our way.”

“No.” I said, doing my best to be imposing from the superior position. I pulled out my badge and thrust it at them, I was using it as more of a prop than something they’d recognize.

“I’m here on official business and you are trespassing.”

While they barely glanced at the Nachrichter badge, the effect was apparent. There was hesitation. They spoke to each other in low whispers, words I didn’t understand. I pulled back my riding jacket, exposing the belt full of buckshot.

“If there’s any question, keep in mind that this is all silver. Do you want to take a chance?”

More fervent whispers erupted between the two. It was clear that they were young, maybe in their early twenties. Frothing and excited to spill blood.

“You have until sundown to get rid of the problem. If you don’t, we will.”

It was the older of the two said, posturing for the younger, showing off his bravado. In response, I levelled the shotgun at him and nodded toward the door.

“Leave.”

They backed out of the house slowly keeping weapons in hand and then moving quickly to the car once they exited.

“Well, shit.” I said aloud, putting the sawed off shotgun back in its sling.

I looked back at the door that was still open. There was a slight yelp and a dark, long-haired hound looked deliberately around the corner at me. I put my hand over my face in exasperation, as several realizations hit me at once.

The hound approached, hesitating at the top of the stairs, watching me. I turned and made my way down to the bottom of the stairs. The dog walked up beside me, staring at the front door, then turned to look at me with a questioning look.

I shook my head and pushed the now broken door open. The hound moved through pushing past the screen door. I watched as it moved down the steps, turned toward me, and sat on the long grass. It’s eyes were on me; watching, waiting.

“Oh. You’re waiting for me?” I said, putting my hand to my chest.

I let the exasperation subside with a few deep breaths. I put a finger up, indicating that I’d be back, then turned and walked into the house. As I moved in, I pulled the Revjakt again. I needed to make sure there were no others. I did a quick sweep of the main floor and out into the garage. Unfinished projects were rotting away in the heat. The front room had been untouched for some time, now.

As I moved up the stairs, I looked again at the pictures. The man, over the years, had this loyal hound by his side. I watched the age progression and the hound, this woman, had remained the same over the many years. I pulled the three photos down, removed them from the frames, and slid them into my sling pouch. I was suddenly aware of the acrid smell again. I moved into the room with the sheets covering various trophy kills. A door at the rear of the room was open, leading into the room where the woman had emerged.

Inspecting the remaining rooms, it appeared she was alone here, after all. I moved to the final room, more realizations came as the overall situation dawned on me. I knew exactly what I would find. I cracked open the door and the smell of rot spilled out. Heat rolled in from an open window on the opposite wall.

It was likely that the Taxidermist had died in his sleep. Putrefaction had stained the sheets along with the bile from the oozing body. He’d likely been dead for weeks. I looked around the room briefly, but left without disturbing the area, shutting the door behind me.

I would have to reach out to the authorities and see that this was called in. I holstered the weapon again and made my way out the front door.

“You’ve been through a lot.” I said to the dog.

I knelt down near the hound. She laid down putting her head between her paws, still facing toward the house. It felt odd. Knowing that there was a person in there. I laid my hand on her back. Her dark tousled hair was greasy and unkempt. I scratched along her back, neck, and behind the ears. She didn’t move. During that moment, I swear I saw a tear drop from her eyes.

After a moment of silence, I stood.

“We have until sundown to figure out what to do next.” I said aloud, but mainly to myself.

A moment passed as I got my bearings by looking at the cemetery. The hound stood facing the house, then turned toward me and waited, glancing up at me. I nodded to her and we began the walk back to the hotel.

---

Her bath took an extraordinarily long time. I was watching the sun make its way closer to the horizon, feeling more and more anxious with each passing moment.

I knocked at the door and heard a slosh of water and a splash on the tile floors. I could see water peek from under the door. The sound of thrashing led me to open the door, water sprayed everywhere as the hound shook herself dry.

“Dammit.” I grabbed the spare towels and tossed them to the floor to soak up the pooling water.

The hound looked at me and woofed.

“What?” I gestured, bringing my hands up with the word.

She woofed a little louder motioning toward the door.

“Shh… What’s wrong?”

She leaned into me pushing me out the door.

“Oh. I see.” I said, then stood, walked out, and shut the door.

She emerged some moments later in human form, dewy and wearing the sun dress. Her dark hair hung around her shoulders, reminiscent of the hound’s tousled black hair.

I patted on the bed. She bounded up and sat cross legged. I went across the room and sat facing her while she dabbed at her hair with the last of the towels. I knew I wasn’t going to be getting a shower tonight.

“Time for some answers,” I said.

I pulled out the phrasebook and started with simple questions. This was going to be especially challenging since she couldn’t read.

After nearly two hours of awkward charades and fishing for words and phrases, I was able to determine that her name was Oksana. She was from Keurg, deep in the woods, but likely not able to point it out on a map. Her parents were werewolves, forced to change by the moon. She, however, was able to control her gift when she grew into it. She wasn’t sure when things changed, but it was early, maybe at nine or ten years old.

One year, both of her parents were killed by local superstitious townspeople. To avoid the same fate, Oksana discovered that she could take the shape of the hound. This was a deep transition that reduced her own capacity to reason. She lived that way for so long that she’d lost herself, living like an animal. The Taxidermist was hunting. He saw her and fed her scraps. She stayed close while he camped and prepared his kill. He recognized that she was extremely intelligent with a mild disposition. He brought her home and named her Amelie.

He did not know of her nature until they visited the Kalderari camp over a decade later. She smelled the others and they were familiar. It helped her remember that there was more to her. She had to relearn how to move between forms. Oksana revealed herself to her master and he grew very agitated. He banished her. During that time, she had to fend for herself. She hunted in the true werewolf form, where she was faster, and it felt natural to her, but that was when she was first discovered.

This was when the journalists, hunters, and police came from all over to see, catch, or kill the creature. This lined up with Angelica’s account of noteworthy news in the area.

The Taxidermist came to terms with his own issues and called her back in. She remained his hound, not daring to change back to her human form. Then, one day, he didn’t wake. She had to shift her form in order to get around the house, but as food became scarce, she was forced to hunt again. This was when the soldier discovered her and tracked her to the Taxidermist’s house.

Using the phrasebook, I explained that the soldier told us about her.

The word “us” made her react. Oksana trembled, her eyes glistened. It took me a few minutes with her gesticulating and spouting words to find something.

The word she fell silent on was family.

I leaned forward, putting my face into my hand with the realization. Everyone she’d considered family had been taken from her, and there had been three people in the world that held that role. I felt myself tear up with the revelation.

“I’m Bani. I will keep you safe, Oksana. I will help you find a family.”

The rough translation was understood. She wiped at her face, tears were flowing, but she did not actually cry.

I looked out the window.

“In order to do that, we’re going to need to leave now.” I said, looking at the sun that was almost an hour from setting.

I packed, my bags quickly; holstering the pistol, slinging the shotgun, and putting the bandolier back around my waist. If there was going to be a fight, I was going to be prepared. I moved out to the motorcycle and started strapping my gear into place.

I looked around, seeing if anyone else was watching. We were between a series of cars. I struggled briefly with the word for dog. 

“Sobaka.”

Oksana nodded. She looked around, too, then crouched. This is the first time I was able to experience the process up close and undistracted. It was momentary, a blur of fur and contortion. It was clear that the process was painful. A rapid, shifting and realignment of flesh and bone that emitted the sound of tearing and cracking as it happened. It was over just as quickly as it began and she seemed to shake it off without issue. Still, it made me cringe just recognizing the process.

She wriggled backwards out of the sundress and the fluffy hound looked up at me. I patted inside the seat of the sidecar. She climbed in and settled in the footwell. I picked up her shoes and sundress and placed them in my duffel then put the duffel into the seat. I snapped the cover over the sidecar’s cockpit, leaving enough of the snaps open to allow for air to pass easily in.

I heard the familiar squeak of a brake and saw the Kalderari youths pull up in a lane adjacent to the hotel.

“Leaving town?” The older one taunted.

I saw the younger one scenting the air, he looked at me first, his nostrils flaring, then squinted at my motorcycle. He tapped the older one on the shoulder and nodded.

“This isn’t your concern. I am taking care of it.”

“Oh, that’s not how this works, outsider. The unbonded of our kind are predators. They put our way of life, our family, at risk. They need to be dealt with.”

I moved close, unbuttoning my jacket to show iron.

“It’s under control, and if you can’t accept it, then,” I paused and scrutinized them, “Wait. Why am I even talking to you? Tell Babik that I want an audience at your camp in an hour. After that, if you want a fight, I’ll give you a fight.”