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Hell was in chaos.
Hell was, of course, always in chaos; chaos was all but in the very definition of Hell. But nonetheless, the situation at present was something out of the ordinary.
“ALERT, ALERT, A HELLHOUND IS OUT OF CONTAINMENT. ALERT, ALERT, A HELLHOUND IS OUT OF CONTAINMENT. ALERT, ALERT, AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—”
There was an audible snapping of teeth, an intensification of the vicious snarling noises, and the voice of the demon shouting into the megaphone abruptly cut off. More screams, in other voices, quickly followed.
In the corner of the den where hellhounds were supposed to be confined at all times when not on a set mission, curled safety beneath the massive form of the full-grown hound who sat poised to rip out the throat of any soul, hound, or demon that dared threaten her child (Hell or Earth, some things didn’t change, and protective mothers were one of those things), an as-yet-unnamed pup listened eagerly to the chaos.
The screams, the snarls, the pain, the terror… all that, evoked by one lone hellhound who had somehow managed to escape out the well-guarded gate at feeding time. What fierceness. What power. What hellishness.
Perhaps, the pup thought sleepily, lulled by the comforting sounds of panic, when it grew up and found its Master it would get to do the same thing.
~ ~ ~
It was a beautiful September Saturday, and Mr. Young had left the front door open just long enough to get the mail. Spurred by his Boy’s now-familiar admonishment of It sure would be a bad thing if you were to run outside and I had to go and catch you, Dog had taken advantage of the opportunity.
Now, a five-minute dash down Hogback Lane, with Adam jogging enthusiastically just behind, Dog had no regrets. The day was warm, the air full of smells, and there was no shortage of squirrels to bark at.
P. Tyler, with his usual impeccable timing, came out of the house just as Dog was chasing a rabbit through the begonias. Adam waited on the pavement, whistling tunelessly, watching the pursuit with great interest.
“Boy,” Mr. Tyler shouted, gesticulating furiously, “your dog is out of containment again! I will tell your father! Come and get this beast under control right this very moment, boy!”
Hands in pockets, Adam gave an innocent shrug. “I thought you said last time I’m not s’posed to be goin’ in your garden anymore. I can’t come get him without goin’ in the garden, can I?”
The rabbit disappeared into a hole while Mr. Tyler was still spluttering in indignation at this entirely reasonable response.
Ah, well. Dog yapped happily, rooted around a bit more, then returned to his rightful place at his Boy’s side. And, blissfully ignoring R. P. Tyler’s continued outrage, the pair dashed away again, bringing chaos in their wake.
The distant, near-forgotten corner of Dog’s being that was still a creature born and bred in Hell growled in approval. He was living up to his heritage.