…I was awoken by moisture on my face applied by a small dark, leathersome object, darting up and down as it searched for my weak spot. As alert consciousness began to take control I could see that this beacon was no slug, but the attached to the very jaws of some beast of death. It’s eyes peered at me as if in some murderous frenzy and it’s jaws salivated with expectancy, as I, it’s prey, squirmed beneath the great beast.
I reached for my cane, for I would not perish under the weight and hunger of this ungodly beast. I was still under the bush, it’s branches now heavy with damp, wet snow, and I could see it lodged in the undergrowth, out of reach.
The beast, meanwhile had climbed atop my person, bearing it’s full weight upon my slight frame and was leaning in, it’s dripping tongue looping from side to side within it’s devilish jaws as it decided where it would start it’s meal.
And then it came: it’s tongue slapping across my face as if to tenderize, it’s putrid breath pouring over me like 3 year old pea soup rejected years ago from a two-bit cabane à sucre.
“My pistol”, I thought as I grappled with the monster, clumps of golden fur in my hand. My life was now a toy in the great beast’s jaws and I was facing certain doom. I realized that my pistol was my only item of salvation. Fending off the canine with one exposed arm, I dug deep into my winter coat’s pockets to pull out the weapon.
My heart sank, and a small whimper came from deep within. It too was gone.
Most likely was I doomed as I continued to struggle. Panic was fast setting in, and as my retaliation became more frenetic, so did the almighty beast’s tongue-lashing.
I reached around, looking for something, anything to beat the hound with… a twig to pierce the eyes, a log to bash over his skull. Tugging on a branch, I was granted the former, and I extended my arm in readiness for the deadly act.
As I lunged, the stick flew from my grasp and soared through the air and onto the icy, powdered pavement.
The beast jumped, and leaped roadward, leaving my beaten form as it had re-targeted it’s prey.
I had only seconds before the hellhound would return, I was sure.
The smell came back to me, omnipresent and overpowering… somehow it seemed stronger than before and clung to me as if I had become it’s very host. Still, there was no time to worry about the pungent odour. I reached for my cane and then turned towards the other bush to attend to my deceased aide.
He was gone. Where there had been human form at the last of my memory, there was now nothing but grime and compressed snow.
A heart stopping growl to my left. It was back… slowly I rolled over and faced the behemoth. The sight which awaited me made my blood run cold.
It was hunched, no more than 2 feet from my face, it’s haunches coiled and ready for it’s final deadly assault. It dropped the very stick with which I had used to try to blind the animal in an act of sheer defiance, it’s rear shaking uncontrollably with it’s heinous bloodlust.
I braced myself, a small silent scream forcing it’s way from my petrified lungs. Through all the adventures, all the cases, I had never been so soundly beaten, so soundly humiliated. I felt the branches bend down, as if to secure my tomb.
Finally, a high pitched sound! An angel calling me. I closed my eyes tightly and felt peace – relaxed – awaiting my fate. There would be no pain, no suffering, just sweet passage to a better place.
And then… nothing.
Nothing but a large clump of cold, wet snow descending from atop the highest branch onto my moustache. The beast was gone; the only remnant was my murderous stick, lying inches from me.
Instinctively I clambered up, brushing off the snow and grime and was surrounded immediately by a myriad of questions:
Why had I collapsed so suddenly? What was that ungodly smell? Why had the beast come for me? Where had it gone? What of my allegedly deceased friend?
I brushed off the grime from my well starched chemise and winter long coat, the putrid odourous grim clinging to them like… manure…
The wretched stench was indeed foul and impossibly strong, but my resolve was strong. I must find my reborn colleague for surely he held the key to this mystery.
It was then that I realized that I was indeed fortunate, for the curious climate conditions for as the snow had fallen, it had left a canvas for footprints to be detected.
And being the ever observant detective that I am, it seemed elementary that the footprints that lead from the bush beside would indeed lead me to my mystery’s answer.
And those footprints lead haphazardly out onto the pavement and towards the park where the beasts do play.
From there, would he seek refuge on the mountain?
Or seek refuge in the dark underbelly of the city below?
Pulling my collar up, I strode, purposefully into the dark night…
