The Story of the Black Dogs

Chapter 2.1

     *Ting

     Charles looks up from his food, turning his attention to the now closing door.

     There stood a man, grimy and old. He wore a dark orange skullcap and a long dusty grey coat hung from his sunken shoulders. His grimy yellow shirt was riddled with holes, and his pants leg was torn at a seam riding all the way up to his knee. The man wore no shoes, but instead wore one dirt-caked sock that was torn in the front and exposed his jagged yellow toenails.

     The old man looked around frantically, as he scratched at his scraggly white beard in a nervous fit.

     His eyes darted around the room before finally settling on Charles. The old man broke into a toothy grin, showing off his few blackened, broken teeth.

     No

     The old man made a beeline for Charles's table.

     "Nope, no," Charles said in protest, but the man slid into the booth across from him anyway.

     'Just great'. Charles thought to himself. 'He would sit here of all places.'

     The old man sat down before leaning his body over the table, bringing his face closer to Charles, allowing him to smell the rotten stench of tobacco coming off him. "He-Hey there I-"

     "Look sir," Charles interrupted the old man as he pulled his food closer to himself.

     "Oh-Oh, I'm no sir." The man said clasping his shaky hands together. "Yo-you my friend-"

     "Not your friend." Charles clarified.

     "M-my friends, they uh, the- they call me Vil."

     "Alright, look, Phil," Charles tried to continue.

     "N-no Vil." the old man corrected, a little spit flying from his mouth.

     Charles grimaced in disgust as he covered his food with both of his arms to protect it.

     "Vil?" he asked.

     "C-cuz it's short fo-for Stevil."

     "I see." Charles nodded.

     "Stevil's i-is ma name." the old man said proudly, his smile once again exposing his blackened teeth.

     "Well, look Stevil."

     "Vil." the man said spitting.

     Charles fought to take a breath and hide his disgust for the old man. "Vil. If you're looking for money or food-"

     "O-oh no. I-I ain't here to take your food." Vil shook his head violently, causing the stench of tobacco to flood the area around him. "Oh no. Y-you, see them mountain d-dogs! N-Now th-they w-want food."

     'He must be a nutcase.' Charles thought.

     "I'm sorry what?"

     "T-They l-looking for food f-for an l-long time." the old man rambled on. "T-they still out h-huntin' it."

     "Ooookay." Charles simply said. He knew that there was no use trying to understand the old kook. "What do you need Vil?"

     Vil looked at either side of him like he was making sure that no one was listening, as if anyone would. Then he leaned forward and dropped his voice to a whisper as if telling me a secret. "M-my dog, h-her name is D-Daisy."

     "Alright." Charles nodded. "What about Daisy?'

     "H-have y-you seen, m-my Daisy?" The old man asked.

     "I can't say I have," Charles told him.

     He hoped that the old man would leave after that, but unfortunately, he didn't.

     "Sh-she's a b-black h-hound dog." the old man continued. "W-with the m-most beautiful red eyes. Sh-she's sweet a-as a button."

     Black. With red eyes.

     A chill ran down Charles' spine as his eyes unconsciously drifted over to the black and white photo on the wall.

     Gone.

     The deep red eyes that had once glared at him from under the carriage were gone. Had he imagined it? No, he couldn't have.

     "So?" the old man smiled. "Have you seen my Daisy?"