Whispers From The Dark by Bryan Hall Page B

stinking brown stuff it was last night?  If that was the case, it meant that he had turned the only friend he’d ever known into a monster.   
    “Shoulda buried them,” he said to the gun.  “Coulda used a backhoe and just buried them but I had to fucking burn them.”  Tears welled up, but Cody fought them back; crying wouldn’t solve this.
    Outside, Pecker howled.  There was pain in the howl, coloring the rage just slightly.  It may have been barely perceptible, but it was pain all the same.  How the hell could the poor thing not be in agony? 
    He had to be put out of his misery. 
    Cody slipped on some clothes and made his way through the kitchen to the back door.  The dog would be on him in an instant if he tried to go out the front door, and shooting through the window would mean a repair job or moving to another house.  It was winter, after all. 
    His only chance was to sneak around the house and surprise Pecker on the porch.  But sneaking up on a dog wasn’t going to be easy. 
    Cody turned the knob slowly, inch by inch, until he heard it click.  Then he opened the door, listening for any sign that Pecker had left the front porch.  The dog continued its display of menace, its sounds showing no sign that it had heard him. 
    He stepped out into the morning air, much colder today than yesterday.  The sun was out in full force and Cody had to squint against its rays.  The ground was inundated with the rust-colored rain, each time his feet met earth they made a quiet squishing noise.  He prayed Pecker wouldn’t hear it.   
    Cody made his way around the corner to the side of the house, his steps slow and methodical. 
    Suddenly, the dog stopped barking. 
    Cody froze, holding his breath.  His finger trembled on the trigger of the gun.  He waited, expecting the dog to round the corner of the house like a hellhound charging at him, seeking revenge for what he had done. 
    Pecker resumed his barking, as suddenly as he had stopped it.  He was still on the porch. 
    It took Cody a full five minutes to make the fifty-foot walk down the length of the house.  He stopped a few feet from the corner, staring at the edge of the porch.  Between the barks, he could hear Pecker’s toenails clicking on the wood. 
    Cody gripped the gun tightly and steeled his nerves.
    The barking intensified and Pecker’s footsteps turned to thunder.  Before Cody even realized what was happening the dog exploded off the porch and into the yard.  Pecker landed on the wet ground, turning to face Cody as he did.  The inundated earth gave way and the dog slipped at it landed, falling on its side and sliding for a few feet before regaining its footing.
    Pecker charged towards Cody, gnashing teeth and snarling with rage. 
    Cody flung the gun upwards and pulled the trigger. 
    The blast tore most of the dog’s head and left shoulder apart, knocking it backwards.  It fell into a bloody heap on the wet ground.
    Cody’s heartbeat pounded a rapid drumbeat in his head, his body shaking from the adrenaline of what had happened.
    He stared at Pecker's lifeless body and leaned against the house's wall, unable to fight back his tears. 
    In the distance, he could hear the approaching sound of dogs, an army of rabid barks and howls charging towards him, no doubt drawn to the sound of the gunshot.
    Cody listened to them and realized that he had never felt more alone in his entire life.
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
    DIRT DON'T HURT
     
    By the time Todd awoke, he was buried up to his neck with the foul smelling dirt.  He tried to move, but the weight made it impossible.  Besides that, he was pretty sure he felt a rope around his wrists.  He looked around, his mind crawling out from underneath a fog.  He was in a small room, about the size of his living room.  The walls were made of stone, and the entire place was filled with dirt, him buried in one corner with only his head exposed.  A steep staircase led up to a trapdoor.