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It was a sunny day, a perfect day for me to spend some quality time in the large park near home with man’s best friend. In my case, a spazzy, deliriously happy mutt named Spot.
The feel of someone’s eyes on us broke me from my reverie in the sunshine. A young woman standing nearby, sporting long golden hair and who had the look of someone who enjoyed working extensively in the outdoors, was watching Spot with an odd look on her face. After more than a few moments of her staring, I felt obliged to break the silence. "Hello?”
She shook her head slightly and gestured vaguely to where my dog was scratching at some imagined itch. “Sorry, I couldn’t help but notice that your dog looks familiar to me.”
“Oh? Well, I had brought him home from the pound a few weeks ago, he was picked up as a stray. The workers were told by Animal Control that he had been wandering for several days, he seemed a bit disoriented.” I gulped before adding, “Is he yours?”
“Mine?” The young woman shook her head. “No, not mine. Not specifically, anyway.” Before I could comment on such an odd answer, she gathered up her shoulder bag and nodded at me in farewell. As she walked away, I swore I could hear her muttering to herself, “Though my husband won’t be amused when he sees what his guard dog’s been up to."
- - - - -
“Come on, boy, go get it!” I flung the stick across the yard. Spot, in his manic
endeavor to catch the offering, tumbled head over heels before springing up and tearing up the grass in pursuit.
“I am appalled at such behavior.”
The voice, deep and gravelly, startled me. I spun about, nervous at the idea that someone had wandered onto my property without any sort of notice, and my nerves were further shaken by who I saw standing nearby. A tall man, thin to the point of looking gaunt, dressed in a monochrome palette of clothing, with gray eyes cold as stone.
“Ah. Erm, can I help you?”
He pointed to the now-happily-slobbering Spot. “I am here to collect my guard dog.”
I blinked rapidly for a moment, processing what I had just heard. “Wait, guard dog? Spot?” I couldn’t help but laugh, despite his outrageous request. “You mean my nutty dog?”
“No. I mean my guard dog.” The man gestured to Spot, who had dropped the stick and was now watching us intently. Watching him, specifically, with what looked like concern and resignation and relief all mixed together.
Before I could protest, the man flicked his fingers in a rapid pattern. The answering growl that came from Spot was suddenly all out of proportion to the lovable mutt that I had brought home.
As Spot began to walk towards us, he shimmered as though no more than a heat mirage. When I finished rubbing my eyes, I gasped and staggered back. The nondescript dog was gone; in its place was a massive black canine, far larger than a St Bernard. Its tail had lengthened tremendously, looking positively serpentine. And the canine had three heads.
I rubbed my eyes again, though my brain was desperately trying to bridge what I saw with what a plausible explanation could possibly be. The eventual result was enough to flip my stomach over a few times.
“Cerberus. Cerberus?!”
I gawked at the man beside me, who coldly raised one eyebrow at me in answer and turned away from my house. “Come,” he spoke, and the three-headed guard of the underworld padded after his master. In the blink of an eye, they had vanished.
Breathless, I stood in my yard for several minutes afterwards. Before coherent thought returned, I could only wonder about things such as if the dead of the underworld had made a break for freedom, with the guard dog having left his post.