Haunting Hound

I make no claims at my sanity -- far from the truth -- I claim I am mad in a world that does not wish to accept this fact. Instead of peace, I see violence; see pain, which tortures my mind, leaves me wishing this darkness would go away. Over the years of my homeless state, I have wandered further into this obscurity with no light or comfort. No friends or carers. I have no companions -- for I have made none -- other than one stray like myself.

A white beast of matted fur that came to me one winter’s night as I sat beneath the darkened sky, with sorrowful eyes that told no lies -- only belief in what I see.  I could only accept this company in my drunken state -- finishing another day of confusion in the shadows of the local tavern. But somehow in the early mist of the following morning -- the bitter cold stinging my skin -- I couldn’t turn her away.  Many more bitter days have awoken me since I found her -- many times have I relished the fact I have the company -- at least of someone who cannot speak back and dispute my claims.

Alas, madness is a funny thing -- I am the example of this -- makes you do things that cannot be reasoned. Perhaps this is why I sit in my usual seat of the bar, hidden in the gloom with her laid beside my feet. Sat thinking about some of the many things I have seen -- still see --and think about how much the world has turned against me.

I look down at my animal companion, see her lift her head up to look at me and almost stare at my soul. The eyes, somehow, had changed their softness to something more brutal and harsh. The soft ash turned to a glinting, stone black. The only attraction I have towards her are the very eyes that have changed. I smile weakly -- to reassure myself more than her -- before taking another drink of my ale. An attempt to rid me of the believed lie I saw. How could one’s eyes change to such malice with no reason or intention?

I return my gaze to her and gave a small sigh of relief at the change of her eyes. “It was the devil of the drink, nothing more.”

But was it? I stare at the brown liquid, seeing her reflection, before I place it down on the worn wooden table and stand, nearly falling over in the same moment. Few people turn to look at me, frowning or whispering but all expecting me to start explaining myself again. I felt like I should -- entertain them from the boredom that had driven them to drink for an evil spirit but a paw gripped at my trouser leg and tugged the motive as to why I should away.

Walking forward, leaving some looks behind, I struggle to the exit using the white creature beside me as a guide. She had -- many times before -- helped me out of the tavern and so knew her way around. She knew each and every person that came regularly to drown themselves from horrors that were lies.

Pausing at the door, I feel the bitter chill of the late winter air against my legs -- the cold seeping under the ill-fitting door -- and as I adjust my patched coat to keep myself warm, I felt a solid, sharp shape in my left pocket.

I pat the shape, trying to feel and deceiver what item it could be with no vision. Sliding my hand under the flap of the pocket, I grasp the surprisingly chilled object. My fingers run along it, feeling it to be narrow at one end and pointed. Sealing my hands around the thicker, blunter end of the item, I pull it out the pocket and raise it to my face.

A knife. A silver knife with a delicate swirling design on its handle sat in my hand, reflecting candle light -- drawing my stunned attention. “My… how long has such an item been held in my pocket?”

I had spoken it to no one -- unless my companion heard -- but the shock faded the more I stared at it. If such an item had residence in my pocket, it must have had a purpose? And where had it come from -- I have no gold for an item so beautiful.

Pocketing the item, I turn to look at my friend and spoke “can you remember where such an item came from?”
The soft ash eyes had once again changed; steeled over like the blade in my pocket and a darker black that mimicked coal. This time I could not have imagined such an evil look -- and it worried me. My only friend, despite being a mutt, was staring at with me an intent I had not felt or could understand. Drunken, mad, or sober.

“My friend, you are one tricky animal,” I speak with concern in my voice. I pull the door open, letting her walk through first, before walking out to greet the crunch of the crystal snow.

Upon exiting the tavern, I retrieve the blade from my pocket and stare at it once again. No emotions coming to my mind while I study it -- trying to decipher an explanation to why I have it.

A sharp bark brought me out of my thoughts. Looking around with blurred vision -- her and the blade the only things in focus -- I see the white creature had scampered off to the side of the tavern. I follow slowly, trying to keep myself up straight and soon find myself standing in the gloom of the pub.

In the cold, glancing at her, the eyes now their normal tone of black, I suddenly remember. I gained the blade for a purpose. And the purpose was now to be completed.

I stand in the shadows, the same place where I first met her, and stare at a silver blade. Raising it to my face, watching how the dim lights glimmer along the blade with a strange beauty.

Some reason fights within me, telling me -- screaming -- that why I had gained this blade was wrong. But then the warmth of her fur graces against my leg. The light touch powerful enough to blank my mind from those right reasons. I bring the blade back down, leaving it hanging over my wrist. My breathing racing at the rise in adrenaline.

Within moments, I felt the change in my wrist.

In the same swift and unnoticeable movement, I raised the knife up to my neck, pausing the blade against my skin. The sharp edge stayed rested against the skin, moving each and every time I took a laboured breath. I took this moment to stare at the angelic creature below me.

As the dog stared at me, an explanation to why this creature had chosen me for friendship tore into my soul like the cold weather. In my years of madness, of careless thinking sending me further into this trap, I had created this beast. A vision of my imagination, oasis of the mind. So, while I stand with the blade clenched in my grip, breathing heavily in the shadows, I watch it disappear with no trace in the new snow fall.
No sound, no paw prints - as silently as it had arrived, it silently left. Taking more than just itself.