Blackie [A short story of love, death, and animal companionship in the 1900's rural Alabama countryside by Matthew Munsey]

Old Peter sat patiently on his rocking chair, creaking its aged bones back and forth under the hot, Alabama sun. It was a beautiful day. The birds were singing, a cool breeze was coming down from up above. Nothing was the matter is Old Peter's world. He was happy.

To Old Peter’s left lay a dog. And not just any dog, no. His dog. Old Peter loved that animal - more than he loved himself, some might be want to say. He had raised her from a pup, after all. And he was all that she had ever known.

“Good Blackie” Peter crooned melodically, reaching one gnarled and weather worn hand down to meet the scruff of the Labs supple and well tended neck. As he gave her a pat, Peter saw the grey that had recently begun to creep up more and more from deep below her furs jet black surface. Peter gave a soft chuckle and muttered, “Gonna have to start calling you, Grey-ie now, huh?” Laughing in earnest at his quick wit, Old Peter turned his attention back towards the road. “So where are you, huh?” Peter spoke, more to himself than to his faithful companion, as he continued to absentmindedly stroke Blackies’ thick, dark fur.

Old Peter had been confused often lately. Sometimes he would find himself walking to the kitchen, plate in hand, with not an inkling of why. Or staring into the mirror, the look of purest bemusement stiched loosely across his wrinkling and aged face. Blackie saw of all of this of course, but she didn’t care. And why should she? Peter never forgot to feed her, or to play with her. No, as far as Blackie was concerned, Old Peter was the perfect image of health. And she would do anything for him.

Suddenly the delicate tinkle of bird song was underwritten by something new. A low rumble, coming from the direction of town, like that of some great dormant beast - that had been provoked to awakededness by one foolhardy adventurer or the next. “Oh hey now, here we go, girl.” Old Peter spoke, an air of dry satisfaction in his old and crinkling voice. Blackie was already on her feet, ears up and snout poised in the direction of the oncoming visitor. Old Peter gave Blackie another stroke or two, then said with a soft smile. “Okay, now darlin’, why don’t you go get in your house. I’ll let you know when it’s time.” Peter never had to ask Blackie twice. With a satisfied jaunt to her gait, Blackie ambled easily from the porch, slithering down into the grass towards the base of the that old oak - where her little dog house stood, mouth agape and cast in shadows, awaiting her arrival pleasantly enough. Arriving at last, and with one final look in Peters direction, Blackie slunk her way into the darkness within, layed down on the cool dirt floor, and began to wait.

Even with his ears how they had been these past few months - the rumble was growing louder now, Peter was sure of it. Rocking back and forth faster now, Peter’s face began to grow flush, just as tears excitement began to well in his decrepit and time sunken eyes. He rocked so fast, that the steady creek - creek - creek - of the old chair was soon the only sound that Peter could hear, so vivacious were his movements that they allowed for everything else to simply drift away. Everything besides, of course, the still steady hum of that automobile, coming closer and closer to Peter and Blackie with every passing creek.

“It won’t be long now, baby” Old Peter crooned again, this time in the direction of the stout little shed that he had built years ago for another of his beloved dogs. In the darkness there, Peter couldn’t see her - but he was sure she was wagging appreciatively. It was rare that an animal took to Peter's work as naturally as Blackie had. Usually he had to train them, to show them what they could really do. But not her, no. Not Blackie. She had been a natural from the start.

Old Peter’s smile widened as he reminisced. She had always been a good dog. His favorite, in fact, though he felt a little guilty as he thought it. But it was true, she was. Never had Old Peter, in all of his years, loved a creature so much as he loved that dog.

The rumbling of the automobile engine was more pronounced now. Closer and closer the beast drew in, huffing and foaming as it did. Soon, Peter knew, the time would come. Soon, he and Blackie would have their fun.

It felt as if it had been only a moment more, but the sun was a bit lower in the sky than it had been, of that much at least Old Peter was sure. Before his rocker, stood a young man. Dressed gaudily in a suit of yellow fabric like some great anthropomorphised banana - a white cap adorning his pompous little head. The boy shot his hand out to meet Old Peter, a look delight in his young eyes, hope oozing from every orifice of his young, supple body. Oh yes, he would do just fine.

“Well hey there mister!” The young man shouted into Peter’s face. “I sure hope I didn’t wake you.” The young man said, a look of mock respect suddenly pasted across his boyish face. He continued brazenly, not waiting for a response. “But I’ve got important work to do, see!” At this, the young man held out a clipboard, attached to it a pamphlet that read ‘Emmet O’Neal - paving the way towards a brighter future!’

Reaching out one old, gnarled set of fingers, Peter slowly drew is hand close to the clipboard, inching its progression like some old sludge, oozing slowly out of a standpipe - dripping resolutely into some dank cavern below. As he reached, the boy eyed his paper thin skin, its splotches and its creases - all of its old and tired tales. A look of abject disgust flickered through the young man's eyes. It was there for only a moment, but Peter saw. They were all the same, he knew it. But still, it broke his heart every time he confirmed it to be true.

Old Peters wizened claw was at the clipboard now, poised to grasp hold of the thin wooden sheet. The boy spoke up again, his voice slightly raised for some reason - a tinge of worry dancing behind each of his words. “You see, mister, Emmet O’Neal is gonna’ pave this whole dang state!” Still Peters hand came reaching, as slow as ever. “You won’t have to deal with that old dirt road for much longer, that for sure!” As the boy went, a bit of his original confidence seemed to creep back into him. He continued. “Just imagine it, pavement from here to Montgomery! Why, life will be so much easi- Hey!” Suddenly the the young man's eyes were wide - like the eyes of a young buck, caught dead to rights in the center of a hunter's rifle site. Around the boys hearty wrist lay a crumpled, weathworn hand - clasped white into the flesh of the boys arm like that of some great decaying avian claw. “Hey, what are you-?” The young man couldn’t even finish the sentence before Peter began shouting, high at the top of his lungs. “Now girl, now, now, now, now!” He repeated that last word over and over again, cackling maniacally as he shouted - unrelenting in his demented chorus even as the young man bucked and twisted in an effort to get free.

Something like a shadow was racing from the side of Old Peter's vision. His already brimming smile widened even further, pushing itself towards the edges of Peter’s cracked and glossy eyes. Old Peter’s teeth were displayed like fangs, yellowed and dirty - and gnashing at one another, as if each of them themselves were somehow suddenly alive.

All at once, underneath Old Peters cacophonous holws of mirth, there was a scream; and the stench of copper filled the air, pouring itself thick over the porch where Old Peter now stood. The young man's arm was still clenched tightly in Peters alabaster fist, but all of its resistance had left it. Below Peter, there was a frenzy of motion, of ripping and tearing. The sound of rending flesh was like music to the old man's dirty, clogged and wax filled ears. Below the yellow and red of the mangled corpse, that shadow still flailed, resolute in its determination to do its masters bidding - and to devour what had been given to it. Like the devil herself, it worked and tore and bit and shredded - until anything that could have once been recognizable had been reduced to nothing but a pile of sickly undulating red goo. And still Old Peter laughed, clenching that boys arm in his sickly pale monster claw. Squeezing, unrelenting, until.

“Good girl.” Old Peter crooned, as his grip finally began to relax. “Here, a little something extra.” He said, as he tossed the severed white and yellow thing over near the oak tree, under which Blackie’s little dog house sat. Blackie looked up at Old Peter for a moment, her eyes full of love and admiration, her red jowls still dripping with the flesh of the boy that had stood before her master not but a moment ago. Her tail wagged quickly back and worth. Old Peter sat back down onto his rocking chair, and commenced in some wagging of his own. “Come on, go get it now.” Old Peter spoke to his friend, love dripping off of every word. Blackie moved quickly towards where that boy's severed arm now lay, and slowly began to chew. “Good girl.” Old Peter sang again. Blackie’s tail began to wag as she ate. “Good girl.” Old Peter said again.

Blackie looked up for a moment, bits of yellow fabric and pink flesh poking forth here and there out from behind her jagged time worn teeth - a veritable patchwork of gruesome delight. Old Peter was falling asleep now, rocking as he went. The pile of flesh before him giving the air and soil an acrid, stale aroma. The old man smiled, and sighed in his relief. With one half closed, bleary eye still cocked in the direction of where he could still hear chewing her prize, he said it one last time before he drifted off. “Good girl.” Blackie’s tail wagged all the more, as she continued to chew.

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Dear Reader,
I just wanted to thank you for taking the time to read this story, and to let you know how much it means to me that you did! If you enjoyed this story (or hated it), please do not hesitate to let me know in the comments section! If you did enjoy this story, it would also mean a lot to me if you would be so kind as to upvote, resteem, and generally just let people know that you thought that what you read was worthwhile! Thanks again Reader, and I hope to see you next time! -Matthew Munsey