Posted: Sep 2, 08 1:10pm
I offer this short story for your consideration. I made every effort to keep it clear of grammar and typographical errors. Feedback is, of course, welcome, but I would certainly appreciate if it is given in a constructive and respectful manner.
------------------------------------------------
As Florence Deagan toweled herself off and pulled on her terrycloth bathrobe she thought back to the conversation she’d had with her daughter the night before. Elaine had called to try once again to convince her mother to move to southern Georgia where she would be closer to her two granddaughters. While Florence was mildly annoyed at the implication that she wasn’t able to take care of herself just because she was old, she couldn’t say that she didn’t see an upside to being closer to Hanna and Kerri. Florence gazed down her driveway on Harvey Hill Rd. as she poured a cup of coffee, it was fifteen minutes before five and the slightest traces of daylight were casting a bit of light onto the morning skies. This was not the brilliant gold light of sunrise, but the trace of illumination that outlines the darkness and signals the coming of the dawn. The familiar headlights a half-mile down the road drew her attention to where Jim, her newspaper carrier, turned onto Enfield Rd. Jim was so reliable, that Florence could set her watch by him. He would pull up to the plastic delivery tube next to her mailbox in exactly twelve minutes. Florence had just enough time to catch the day’s weather. She took a sip of her coffee and turned on the small television on the counter. As she listened to the forecast, she gazed down the road past the Maleski house, watching for Jim.
Stan Maleski passed away three months earlier and his wife Rita had been absolutely lost since then. Florence and Rita were best friends for the fifty-three years since the Maleski's moved in up the road. They took care of the other’s families when babies were born, the families helped one another through hard times and Stan and Rita was there for Florence when her husband, Bill, suffered his fatal heart attack. It absolutely tore at Florence’s heart that she was unable to do anything for Rita since Stan died. What Elaine didn’t know, was that if it wasn’t for Rita, Florence would probably have jumped at the chance to move to Georgia and enjoy her family for however much time she had left. She just felt like she’d be abandoning her friend.
As the weather man told of the oppressive heat that was in store for the day, Jim made the turn back onto Harvey Hill Rd. Florence slid into her slippers and headed for the side door to go down the driveway and get the newspaper. She pulled the door open and took one step onto the porch when the snarling of the enormous, bull mastiff caused her to literally leap out of her right slipper. She jumped back into the kitchen and slammed the door shut as the beast barked and lunged after her, slobbering drool all over the door’s window. When Florence pulled the curtain aside to see if the dog was still out there, she was greeted by the fog of the dog’s hot breath on the window and his huge menacing face gazing back at her through the glass. Worse yet, beyond the lumbering hound, she saw Rita’s kitchen light come on. She knew that the first thing Rita would do would be put on her robe and head down the driveway for her paper. Florence raced to the telephone and dialed Rita’s number, silently praying that she’d catch her friend before she stepped out into the danger.
“Hello?”
“Oh thank God I caught you in time Rita.”
“Goodness Florence, what’s the matter? You sound like you’re out of breath. Are you alright?”
“Rita honey, don’t go out for your paper. There’s a huge dog outside and he just chased me back in the house.”
“Oh my goodness! Are you sure you’re alright.”
“I’m fine, but I was scared to death you’d go wandering out there and get bitten.”
“Florence, I’m looking at your house now and I don’t see a dog.” Rita answered, sounding a tad skeptical.
Florence pulled the curtain back open and peered out the window again. There was no dog. She looked towards Rita’s house and saw nothing but Rita looking out of her window with her phone to her ear.
“Well he was out there a few minutes ago. Maybe he’s gone.” Florence replied. “Oh I hate those damned dogs. Bill always fed them and they’d never go away.”
“What should we do?” Rita asked, sounding helpless.
“Don’t go outside honey, I move better than you. I’ll get one of Bill’s old shovels in the basement and get our newspapers when the sun comes up. Okay?”
“Alright Florence, but call me before you go outside so I can watch you in case you get into trouble.”
“Okay Rita.” Florence answered. “Buhbye.” She said, snickering to her self.
What does she think she’ll be able to do if the dog attacks me! There’d just be two dead little old ladies in the driveway instead of one.
Florence decided to check the front porch and see if the hound from hell was lurking there. She pulled the living room curtains back and peeked out onto the porch. The dog sat on the covered porch, panting as he looked up at where the light streamed out from the window. He looked almost docile as he peered at Florence through the window. Finally, Florence resigned herself to her virtual incarceration and decided to go back to her television and watch the news. After she got back to the table and switched the television from the Weather Channel, Florence sat for several minutes, drinking coffee and waiting for the series of commercials to end. Just as the news came back on, a series of booming reports echoed in the front yard. They were so loud that Florence spilled her coffee all over herself. As she ran back to the living room window the pulses of red and white light illuminated the room. She threw the curtains open to find the dog gone and three state police cars stopped in front of her house. One was in her driveway and had several bullet holes in the windshield. Another was in the muddy ditch, and the third was stopped diagonally across the road. There were about a half-dozen troopers with there guns trained on a man in a white shirt with blood splattered all over it, who lay motionless and obviously seriously wounded, in the mud of her driveway. One of the troopers pointed to Florence’s front door, which caused two of the troopers to hurry, guns still drawn, to her front door. Florence opened the door in response to the frantic knocking.
“Are you alright Ma’am?” The bigger one asked, peering past her into the house.
“I’m fine, boys. What’s going on?” She asked as the troopers came in past her, and began checking through the house.
Almost on queue, the local news that she’d switched to blurted out the story of the convicted murderer who’d escaped from the prison three towns over.
“Is that who’s bleeding on my lawn?”
“Yes Ma’am, that’s him.”
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
“I’m fine, but could you make sure that that dog is gone?”
“Dog?” The trooper asked.
“You can’t miss him, he’s as big as a horse. He chased me back in the house this morning.”
“Well if you see him again, you might want to throw him a bone. We found that guy with a gun, under your porch.” He said nodding towards the front yard.
Once the troopers were satisfied that no other bad people were in the house, Florence escorted them to the front door where she saw Jim walking up the driveway with her newspaper.
“Are you all right Mrs. Deagan?”
“Yes Jim, I’m fine.” She answered, taking the newspaper from him. “What are you doing back here?”
“When I heard about the prison escape on the radio, and the truck that was reported missing from the prison matched the truck I saw on the side of the road back past the intersection, I got nervous. When I came up your road, I thought I saw someone run into your carport, so I called 911 on my cell phone.”
“Then you must have seen that dog. He chased me back in the house just about the time you were passing the house.”
“Nope. Didn’t see any dog. Maybe it was just your guardian angel.” He joked with a chuckle. “But I’m glad you’re okay.” He said as he headed back down the driveway.
Jim’s words hung in her mind as she went onto the back porch to get the slipper she’d been frightened out of. There on the deck sat the slipper, but there was no mud or paw prints on the deck or on the door that the dog had jumped up on. There were no paw prints in the mud at the base of the porch steps. No traces at all of the dog that she knew she’d seen.
