Bones
A story about a girl and her dog. This story was originally used in the Anthrodreams podcast.
Bones
By Searska GreyRaven
The shovel was empty, so he filled it.
It had taken time to get into the rhythm, but now the motion was second nature. The moon hung like a silver dinar above him, framed by the rim of his rectangular hole. A few fireflies flickered like vagrant stars against the backdrop of the blackened city sky, searching for their celestial counterparts. (It was all in vain, of course. The stars don't shine in the city.) The digger paused and picked at his teeth. Something stringy was stuck between his molars, and he absently pried it loose with a grime-crusted nail. Grave dirt coated his tongue, and he spat it out in disgust. The ground was so dry that the dirt crumbled back into the hole almost as fast as he dug it, and yet it seemed determined to worm under his claws, between his toes, and now, between his teeth.
The shovel was empty, so he filled it.
His spade rose and fell, steel flashing through the streaks of rust-colored dirt. With each motion, it became more apparent that this was no ordinary digger. His back was bowed at an odd angle; his knees bent digigrade. And what could be mistaken for the tails of a coat were, in fact, a single tail of the canine variety. He paused for a moment and ran the blistered pads of his paw-like hand through the thicker fur behind his neck. He had the manual dexterity of a human--it was what made using the shovel possible--but he had the fur, the tail, and the face of a...well, his Lady called him a husky. It was she who rescued him from the Bad Place With Bars, she who fed him Tasty Crunchy Things, and she who scratched him just so behind his ears. And it was she who bade him to drink from her own footprint by the light of the full moon, triggering the first Change. And as he became more like her, she became more like him. Her teeth grow long and her ears become pointed, and together they howled with joy at the darkened sky. They ran through the night together--dancing through the urban jungle, darting from streetlamp to streetlamp, and he marveled at this world of steel and glass. She taught him how to live again! She had but to ask for the moon, and he would leap until he caught it for her.
This wasn't the moon, just a hole. A simple thing. It was just one night; the Change would come again. But, she said, only if he did exactly as she said. He looked up. The moon was as bright and round as his first Change all those months ago. Could he bear never seeing it again? He gritted his teeth. He had to keep going until it was done. If he faltered, if he was caught, he would lose both the moon and his Lady.
She handed him a canvas bag that fell heavily into his arms, told him to be quiet and careful, the knife in her other hand still dripping darkly in the dim light of the bedroom, the scent of copper thick and heavy in his nose--
The shovel was empty, so he filled it.
The pile of dirt forming above him grew taller, a mountain of soil, obscuring the gleaming moon from view. With a grunt, he shoved the point of the shovel as deep as he could and came up with a chunk of pale clay. Almost there, he thought, launching the chunk out of the hole. It hit the side of his new-born mountain with a dull thud and rolled into the dew-covered grass. He had to pause again. He stabbed the spade into the ground and leaned heavily against the side of the hole, but he refused to take more than a few gasping breaths as a break. His tongue lolled from the side of his muzzle and he was sore from the tip of his nose to the tip of his tail, but he was almost done. Just a little more. He reached for the spade, but the capricious soil shifted and the handle fell loose, smacking into his side with a dull crack. He bit back a yelp and knocked the shovel aside.
It wasn't the shovel that hurt him--very little actually hurt him anymore--but the memory of crunching bone was still fresh in his mind, and his side still bore the remains of a boot-shaped bruise. All the trouble began with the Bad Man. His Lady stopped smiling when the Bad Man came into her life. Something was wrong with him, but he couldn't put it into words. It was an animal feeling, a warning, and his Lady couldn't feel it. (Or, if she did, she ignored it. It was a common flaw among them, he'd seen.) Because he loved her with all his heart, he retreated from his instincts and tried to do what would make her happy. But as the months passed, she wasn't getting happier. The light slowly went out of her eyes, and it was like watching his own transformation in reverse. And then the unexplained bruises began to appear; the lilt slowly went out of her voice. He became protective of his Lady, and would growl at the Bad Man every time he came near her. The Bad Man would frown, and back off for a time, but he had that look, like he was contemplating something awful.
As it turned out, the Bad Man had something in mind. A cage appeared, and every time the Bad Man was present, he forced him into it. There was nothing he could do. He threw himself at the bars, mad with rage, but could not break free. It was then that he learned the meaning of hate. But he still had one secret, one ace in the hole. Wait, patiently wait. Your time will come, she whispered to him. The moon rose, spilling its pale light across his cage, and he grinned. The bars shuddering as he shifted, the feeling of the lock snapping between his paws. He remembered bursting through the cage, snarling, the Bad Man losing his balance, his neck falling between his canine jaws like ripe fruit--
The Bad Man shouldn't have touched his Lady.
Shouldn't have kicked him.
Shouldn't have--
The shovel was empty, so he filled it.
Slowly, the pain in his side faded as the dull burn of flexing muscle overwhelmed it. His back was stiff, his fur caked with dirt, but at long last, it was done. He peeked his nose over the rim of the hole and sniffed the air. There was still a lingering trace of humanity on the wind, but it was old and fading. He pushed the shovel out of the hole before pulling himself the rest of the way out. His red tongue hung from between his black lips as he panted, and for a moment he simply laid in the cool grass and let his aching body take a much-needed rest. His ears twitched at the sound of an owl crying out, but it was a half-hearted motion. Just need to bury the bones, and I can go Home.
Home. It wasn't a new concept to him, but it was strange to hang a human word on it. It was a place-feeling-memory before it was a word. Home was his Lady's dwelling place, soft grass, red bricks, and a tall fence. It was where, after his first Change, she had embraced him, told him she loved him, and promised to protect him. His ribs, once pressed against his hide, had slowly filled in. His fur was smooth and sleek, and even the ragged ends of his ears had slowly healed with each Change until they were as good as new. And as he healed, her smile grew broader, her eyes became brighter, and the nights sweeter.
At least, until the Bad Man came. He didn't know how or why his Lady ended up with him. From the look on her face when the Man first appeared on her doorstep, she knew him and had been waiting for him to return. But every day since the Bad Man came, he'd watched the light go out in her eyes, and it was like watching his own transformation in reverse. She was Pack--more than Pack--and he would die before he let her down. With a muffled grunt, he picked himself up, determined to finish his task.
Tombstones stood out all around him, pale moonlight illuminating their faces. Even the gravestones were ghosts tonight. He hoped the ghosts would keep their silence, and not tell where he was burying his Bones. It wasn't his idea to come here. His Lady gave him the idea, and his sore body thanked her for it. He hadn't dug the whole hole. (He shuddered at the thought. If his body ached this much after digging half the hole, he wasn't sure he would have been able to dig the whole hole.) Another human was meant to be laid to rest here. Another human, who had died of natural causes, or cancer, or over-indulgence. It didn't matter. All that mattered was there there was a ready-dug hole that only needed a little bit of deepening to be of use to him. He rubbed his neck again, wishing for the familiar jangle of his dog tags to sooth him.
"Why do you keep that damned dog around? I hate that damned dog."
He shuddered, glancing at the bag. He knew that voice. It was the Bad Man's voice.
"I mean it, get rid of that damned dog. I can't stand those freakish eyes. He's always looking at me with that green eye. Something's wrong with that damned dog."
He snarled and kicked the bag, his foot connecting with a hollow thump. "Shut. Up." He growled, his voice as rough as gravel. "Bones don't talk. Bones get buried."
He shoved the bag with his foot, hard, and it tumbled to the bottom of the hole. A wet thump echoed from the hole's rim. At the bottom, he could see the bag curled in a fetal position, and the sight of it made his lips curl into a feral grin. As a final farewell, he lifted his leg and gave the hole a good watering.
The shovel was empty, so he filled it.
Behind him, the moon began to set.
***
The sound of birdsong woke him, but he wasn't outside; he was laying on something soft. Her bed, and he was surrounded by her blankets. He was smaller, his hands once again paws. His Lady must have found him outside and brought him indoors to sleep off the Change. He whined and snuggled into the blankets, his nose filled with her scent, and fell back asleep.
He didn't nap for long. An unfamiliar sound caused his ears to twitch again. Strange car, approaching his Lady's home. He roused, shaking his neck and making his dog tags jingle. He sat on her bed for a long moment, listening to the sound of a strange engine. The car's engine thrummed up to the house and cut off in the driveway. Alarmed, he shook off the last of his sleep and trotted to the front door. A pair of Strange Men in dark clothes approached his Lady's front door. He huffed, and barked once to get her attention. She was at his side a moment later, holding a coffee mug, a concerned look on her face. He whined, and she dropped her hand behind his ears. Her left eye was half-closed, a pool of dark, puffy flesh preventing her from opening it fully.
"You be a Good Dog, okay?" She said, trying to smile.
He whined again, promising.
She didn't even give the Strange Men a chance to ring the bell. "Tell me you found him" She said, sounding anxious.
One of the dark-clothed men shook his head. "Sorry ma'am. He seems to have vanished. It may be a good idea to cancel any credit cards he might have gotten a hold of, and you may want to consider getting a home security system. Though," he glanced down, "with a dog like that, you may not need one. Is that...a husky, ma'am? When we got the call last night, no one mentioned that you had a dog."
"Really? It's no surprise. I think he spent the night hiding under the bed. Between the fight and all the strange people, I bet he got spooked. There's a little German Shepherd in him. His tail isn't curled quite like a husky." She replied, her nails working magic behind his ears. "Stewert...wasn't very fond of him. He kicked him awfully hard last night, and I was afraid I'd have to take him in to the vet today. But he seems alright now." She smiled and bent down to kiss his nose. "Such a brave boy."
"He looks like a wolf. What do you call him? Fluffy?" The second man asked, chuckling.
"He's a shelter dog." She replied. "I got him four years ago. The shelter people had no idea what he really was. Animal control found him in an alley, trying to dig scraps out of a dumpster. They said he didn't even put up a fight, he was so weak." She scratched him behind the ears, and he wagged his tail happily. "Looks like life in suburbia agrees with him. And his name is Luther." His ears perked up at the sound of his name, but he was quickly distracted once her fingers went back to scratching.
"Some guard dog!" The first Strange Man said. "May I?" She nodded, and the Strange Man scratched him behind his ear. He decided these men were no threat, and he relaxed. He rolled onto his back and looked at the man expectantly. The Strange man laughed and rubbed his belly.
"Luther doesn't have a mean bone in his body. He just looks scary. But you're just a fluffy teddy bear, aren't you?" She said, rubbing his chin.
He made a tolerant grumble as his tongue darted out to lick her cheek.
The Stranger smiled, still looking at Luther. "Strange eyes. I've never seen eyes like that on a husky before, but I've heard of it."
She nodded. "It was partially why I got him. Such a unique pair of eyes."
The second Strange Man snorted. "Not really a pair. Looks like he couldn't decide, and got one of each!"
They laughed, and the Stranger spoke to his Lady for a little longer, took a few more notes, and handed her a small, white card with dark writing on it. "Be careful, ma'am. And if he shows up, don't hesitate to give us a call." The Strange Man left, and his Lady quietly shut the door. She hugged Luther close, her slender frame shaking. He whined and nuzzled her shoulder, but she winced away. He caught a flash of darkened skin through the V of her blouse--a fist-shaped bruise splayed across her collarbone.
"It'll heal, boy. He didn't manage to break it. Luther, did you do exactly what I said?"
He yipped, nodded, and licked her face, his tongue brushing gently across her black eye.
She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed tight. "Such a good dog! I'm sorry you had to spend your full moon digging in the dirt. But you did a Good Thing, for both of us. I have something for you." She got up and opened her star-covered canvas bag and drew out a slender, tan object that had a broad knot at both ends.
He barked and jumped up and down with anticipation. His tail was wagging so hard that his whole backside wiggled.
"Such a good dog!" She said, giving him the bone. "Now don't go burying that one with your other ones. Or they will find them. And we don't want them to find your bones, do we?"
No, he didn't want anyone to find the Bad Bones. Bad Bones needed to _stay_buried.