The Night-Howlers (Very Short Story)

The Night-Howlers

Every night, I listened to the music of night the howling of some majestic animals. Everyone thought there were wolves; but they were wrong. The howls built up in sorrow of freedom lost long ago. And as I climbed the dewy heather I saw for myself what these howlers were. Not wild wolves but renegade dogs. But soon the moorland was empty with howls because the dogs were hunted and legend say's at midnight a man appears where the dogs were killed in an ally and he listens to the murmuring of the dog's lost souls; forever howling in the darkness, but lost from the moorland forever...

Scanning the yellowed page, I close The Night-Howlers book and pull the patchwork quilt over my mattress. Morning arrives too quickly, as I pull on some ripped clothes and trudge down the stairs. Ralston my dog pricks her ears as I chuck some bread on a plate. After I've eaten, I reach for Ralston's china bowl where I spoon some red meat and lay it down for her to enjoy. Yawning heavily, I slump into my chair and flicker through the Eadgecombe Pets Weekly. 

Then a wet nose pokes through to my lap. Ralston my ticked border collie pushes her tartan lead on." Ok let's go." I huff outside through the window relentless rain pitter-patters down onto the grey, flagstone cobbles. Laboriously, I open the door and step out into the dreary town. 

 silent street, I race to help Ralston who's probably got herself into trouble. I freeze as I see playing silhouettes.

Ducking under a dumpster, I watch Ralston her tongue lolling out as she bounds around the yard, like she's playing with another dog but there's nothing there. Desperate, I crawl out from under the bins and call my dog to my side. She stalks over obediently enough but her eyes look wild and disturbed by some presence I cannot see. I run my fingers up and down her coat and I notice that her pulse is fluctuating up and down like the steady beat of a drum. She pauses rigid and a growl rises in her throat. Then from nowhere I see a man who's wearing winter clothes; yet it's not winter. Gingerly, I lurk into the shadows and notice Ralston's ears prick up as she whines and I make out a faint moaning like a cry from a lost soul. My own heart pounds in my chest as the moaning gets louder until it's more like a howling. I listen in awe and so does Ralston as she rises her head to the sky and howls, long and mournful. My head shrivels around to where the man was standing. He's bending over as I make out sleek, silvery shapes against the grey yard wall. The shapes have the apprearance of a fox but then others appear and I realise they are dogs. The man sits with them listening to their music, tears fall from his face." Hello?" I break the silence. The howling starts up again louder." This is the song of the Pack..." The man says.

"What?"

"The Night-Howlers."

My heart freezes as I take this all in the silky shapes of fur on dogs the familiar ally that I have never entered until now. The book is right. These dogs travel the streets lost in mournful song. Their souls may be together but forever they will roam in darkness and the hills remain silent but the river and the wind sing for the dogs remembering the day's when dogs ran free...