Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine. Vol. 120, No. 3 & 4. Whole No. 733 & 734, September/October 2002

Spooky by David Dean

Since publication of our double issue falls in the month of Halloween, we sometimes include in the issues additional pages a few short pieces that fall slightly outside the mystery genre but contain mysterious elements of a ghostly sort. Such is David. Dean’s new tale “Spooky.” Set, in part, on Halloween, it’s a story that will spook even those who prefer a materialistic interpretation of its events.

It was in the year after his wife’s death that his daughter insisted on giving him the dog. Angelina had rescued the animal from the pound after spotting it there with her kindergarten class on a field trip, and was irrevocably convinced that this was “his” dog.

He had tried to argue, but “Angel,” as his wife and he had always called their only child, had years of dealing with such unreasonable objections from her young students and easily prevailed in his case. His lack of experience, and the fact that he had never owned a pet, was rendered moot by the simultaneous presentation of a book on the care and handling of small breeds.

“Daddy, it’s all in here,” she said, tapping the cover of the book, which featured a perky Highland Terrier; very unlike the creature that cowered silently under the coffee table. “You’re an intelligent man, and this will present very little challenge for you... besides, a little challenge might be good for you right now,” she intoned sagely, peering over her glasses at him, the book bobbing up and down in her hand.

“But I don’t want a dog!” He dared to insist. “I don’t like them!”

“Nonsense! How would you know? You told me yourself that you’ve never had one,” she answered patiently as she stood expectantly over his supine form in the recliner. The book stopped bobbing.

Looking up at this matronly woman with her half-moon glasses, it was hard for him to remember the little person who had so delighted his wife and him as a child. “Dammit,” he muttered, wondering if he would get detention for cursing... and took the book.

“You won’t be sorry, Daddy,” Angel gushed triumphantly. “She’ll liven up the house and be just the best company for you!”

“She...?” he whined uneasily.

“Oh, it’s all right, she’s already spayed so you don’t have to worry about her going into heat.”

The old man winced at his daughter’s casual use of such a crude term.

Angel knelt down to pet the dog on her way to the door and William saw the dog flinch, but submit stoically nonetheless, to a few strokes of its hard-looking skull. Perhaps we do have something in common, he thought meanly.

“I put plenty of dog food out in the garage,” Angel announced with her sweeping exit. “She’s had all her shots, and her vaccination record is on the counter. Put that in a safe place. You’ll need it for any trips to the vet’s. As to potty training...” She halted in the door to intone this last. “She’s a mature dog, so she’s probably been housebroken, but you’d better get in the habit of a few walks a day with her to make sure... I left a leash on the counter in the kitchen!” The door closed and she was gone.

In the ringing silence following her exit, man and dog stared off into separate spaces without movement. From time to time, William would glance over at the dog in her shadowed retreat beneath the table and find the small animal regarding him solemnly, and each time her eyes would cut nervously away. She made no sound or movement.

“I’ve no use for a dog,” William announced impotently to the room. “I’m enjoying my solitude.”

As if in answer, the mongrel sighed heavily within her sanctum and William turned to see that she had closed her eyes and lay with her head on her paws, composed for sleep.

“Well,” he declared softly, convinced by her demeanor that she was no happier than he about the arrangement, “maybe it’ll work out.”

During the first few weeks, it did not. But not for the reasons William had feared. Rather than being a pest, getting underfoot, and barking at the neighbors, the dog was furtive and phantomlike, preferring to be left alone entirely. Other than when he came down in the mornings to find her food bowl empty, there were scant reminders that he shared his home with another living being. The other exception being her amazingly courteous use of the newspaper left out for her. “She’s an intelligent little beast,” William admitted grudgingly, disposing of yet another fouled daily.

It wasn’t until the end of the third week that he even got a really good look at her. He had come downstairs from bed to get a glass of water and, much to his surprise, found her standing over her empty bowl when he switched on the light. “Hey, girl,” he managed.

She peered up at him with moist, brown, almond-shaped eyes that slid away from his after just a moment. Her large ears were flattened against her narrow, sleek skull, but she did not flee. William stood over her awkwardly, unsure how to proceed without spooking her. As if to aid him, she drooped her head over her food bowl and stared into it forlornly.

“Food...” William muttered. “Is that it?... Are you hungry?... You’re hungry, aren’t you, old girl? Haven’t I been giving you enough to eat?” He turned to the cabinet, retrieving the dog food, ridiculously happy over this small breakthrough in communications and unaccountably pleased to be of service. “Of course, I haven’t... I’m sorry, girl, I just didn’t know. I’ll do better, I promise!” he chattered, pouring the dried food, and ever so cautiously kneeling and reaching out his free hand to touch the dog. She stiffened and shied slightly, but did not sidle away from him.

His hand resting in the warmth of her smooth black fur felt like a triumph and, after a moment, the vibration of the hard pellets of food being crunched between her teeth could be felt through her long spine. Slowly, cautiously, he began to stroke her back, and a feeling of contentment settled over him greater than any he had known since before his wife’s long illness and death. With no little surprise, William realized that tears had welled up in his eyes and that he was so very happy not to be alone any longer.

The dog could always count on two feedings after that breakthrough night and, as if in acknowledgment that their relationship could now progress to another level, made the next move herself.

The following night, just as he was about to drift off to sleep, William was startled by a thump against his bedroom door. He sat up instantly, unaccustomed to any noise in his silent house other than the ticking of the clock. This thump was followed a few moments later by another sound that seemed to vibrate the door slightly. He could only imagine it was the kind of sound that would occur if one ran a shoe brush along the wood of the door. Then another light thump, followed by silence.

Nervously, he arose from the bed and tiptoed to the door, his heart beating strangely in his chest. He placed both hands against the door to prevent its being forced and held his breath to listen. From the other side came a long, now-familiar sigh. As he turned the knob he could feel a pressure on the other side.

The dog looked up at him from her curled-up position at his threshold, her eyes and black nose glistening in the moonlight from the landing window. “Well, look who’s come a-calling.” William smiled and left the door standing open for the night.

Two weeks later, William awoke to find that she had spent the night on his wife’s side of the bed, curled up with her bottle-brush tail, foxlike, over her nose. She made no move to flee as he roused himself, but never ceased to regard him with the caution that was her earmark. “You’re a bold little thing!” William observed cheerfully and opened the curtains to greet a new day.

Over the next few months he was rarely without her silent company, as he now found her in whatever room he happened to occupy, though she never seemed to follow him. She never barked and only occasionally growled, and then only when something unusual occurred, such as an unexpected delivery or a stray dog appeared in the yard.

It was his daughter, naturally enough, who pointed out that he had yet to name his new companion. “Dad, I don’t believe you!” she admonished during one of her frequent phone calls. “You’ve had that poor puppy for months and you still haven’t given her a name! What do you call her to get her to come?”

William thought this over, caught off guard by his own omission. “I... um... don’t, I guess. She’s just always there,” he concluded a little defiantly. Nonetheless, he felt bad.

“If you don’t name her, I will!” Angel promised.

He knew her to be good as her word and began to give the matter some thought after hanging up. She will not name my dog, he swore to himself, and turned to study the creature in question. The dog watched him in turn from her catlike perch on the back of the couch, from whence she had an unimpeded view of the backyard. She appeared thoughtful and uneasy, as if sensing she was the subject of some speculation.

“Any thoughts on the matter, of girl?” William inquired gently.

Instead of answering, however, she returned her introspective gaze to the world without and the comings and goings of birds and squirrels. It was only a few days after the call that an unusual event resolved the issue.

The hour was approaching ten o’clock at night and William, as was his habit, sat in his comfortable old recliner and read. The dog, as had become her habit, lay alongside, the length of her body making seamless contact with the chair’s skirting.

From time to time, William would drop a hand to her small head and give it a stroke or two. He had become so accustomed to this routine that when his hand found only air, he was momentarily astonished.

He sat up quickly and looked to where she always lay, but she was not in her spot. It was then that he heard the growling. His eyes sought the source and found it in the dog, who had positioned herself within three feet of the front door. Her entire being was focused on the entrance, as evidenced by her flattened ears and tightly curled tail. Her black lips had been drawn back to reveal surprisingly large canine teeth, and her short pelt stood on end the entire length of her spine. The growl came from deep within her and was almost continuous. But what disturbed William the most was that she was shaking from head to toe. She was badly frightened.

“What...” his voice squeaked, and he began again. “What is it, girl? Someone here?” The book slipped from his grasp to land noiselessly on the carpet, and the clock began to chime the hour. He stood up, feeling his own hair begin to rise. As if released by his action, the dog scooted quickly to her old sanctuary beneath the coffee table and vanished within its shadows.

Feeling oddly abandoned, and more than a little vulnerable, William made a dash for the door, all the while expecting the knob to begin turning. He seized it and threw the deadbolt at the same moment. The bolt sliding home cracked as loud as a gunshot to his ears.

When his heart had slowed enough, he switched on the porch light and peered out the window. There was nothing to be seen — no one was there. When he turned back to the room, the dog awaited him, tail wagging gently, tentatively — her expression one of genuine concern. She bore no resemblance to the terrified creature of a few moments before. It was as if nothing whatsoever had happened.

“Damn,” William whispered hoarsely, his mouth gone dry. “What the hell was that all about?... You spooked the devil out of me!”

So that was it. Spooky.

From that time forward, the pattern of their relationship remained constant — days of quiet companionship and circumspect affection disturbed only by Spooky’s unaccountable and unsettling displays of anxiety. Her performance never altered, and, as William eventually realized, occurred with an almost clockwork precision — Thursday nights, at ten o’clock. To Wiiliam’s astonishment, even the autumn transition to Standard Time did not throw her off schedule. She adjusted accordingly. And never once, despite numerous attempts, was he able to succeed at deflecting her from her purpose. No inducements (and he tried everything from Milk Bones to sow ears) or distractions (leaving the door open; locking her in another room; turning off the lights; playing music loudly; or remaining in another room himself) served to curtail her ritual. At last, both exasperated and fearful for her health, he took Spooky to a veterinarian.

The vet, a woman with a great tumble of curly, frizzy blond hair and granny glasses, regarded Spooky with some interest. Spooky, on the other hand, refused to even look at the young vet but stood nervously upon the examining table with shaking legs, casting occasional beseeching glances at William. The exam, so far as William could tell, had been thorough and, just as important, gentle. He stroked Spooky’s long back soothingly.

“Possibly a Corgie,” the vet murmured, almost to herself. “Certainly has the right build... the legs a bit long, though, and the coloring’s wrong.” She looked to William, pleased with her deductions. “She’s certainly part Corgie, but mixed... what with, I don’t know. But mongrels are the best, aren’t they, girl?” she inquired pleasantly of the dog herself, scratching her affectionately behind the ears. “She’s a sweetie, isn’t she?” This last was directed to William, though his anxiety for Spooky’s welfare had momentarily distracted him.

“Oh... yes. Yes, she certainly is. There’s only that one thing I told you about,” he added anxiously. “Any ideas there... I mean, is she okay?”

The vet took Spooky’s head into her hands and gazed for a moment into her darting brown eyes. “She’s just fine, so far as I can tell. Healthy as can be!” She released the dog, crossing her arms. “When you first described the symptoms I was afraid she might have epileptic seizures.” She noted the slight tremor that began in William’s hands and hastened on. “But now I don’t think so, though I can’t rule that out altogether,” she cautioned. “It’s the regularity of these fits that you’ve described that makes it almost impossible for me to believe it could be epilepsy. Though it’s far from rare in canines, I just don’t think it fits the bill here. All in all, your dog appears to be extremely healthy for her age, and very well loved, I might add. I don’t think there’s anything for you to worry about,” she concluded, smiling broadly at William’s obvious relief. To his own embarrassment, William felt a catch in his throat at this welcome news.

Nonetheless, he persisted. “But what does it mean.... Doctor,” he asked weakly, unsure of his use of the title. “These ‘fits’ of hers.”

The young woman appeared to mull this over, staring into some invisible space. After a few moments she looked directly at him, obviously reluctant. “I’ve worked with animals all my life and I think, sometimes, they see things we can’t.” And with this pronouncement she excused herself for other patients and would not be drawn further on the subject.

It was during one of Angelina’s weekly checks on his well-being that William told her of his visit to the vet and the reason why, carefully describing Spooky’s odd behavior. He concluded with the vet’s cryptic comment.

“So that’s the reason you named her Spooky!” His daughter pounced on the revelation, making William feel like a schoolboy caught passing notes. She returned to preparing their coffees, stirring in cream and sugar, rattling the cups with the spoon, and chuckling to herself. William stared morosely at the tabletop, feeling much put upon that his genuine anxiety should provide such mirth. After a few moments, he became aware that a silence had settled over the room and glanced up at his daughter to find her staring at him, her preparations arrested, a puzzled look on her face.

“Daddy,” she began in a little-girl voice that was most disconcerting in such a large woman. “Thursdays?... Ten o’clock?”

William stared back, dumbfounded at her sudden change and baffling demeanor.

“Mommy’s dance nights,” she continued without waiting for a reply. “Don’t you remember? She always had tap classes on Thursday nights! It was the highlight of her week... she loved it so.” Tears stood in her eyes, magnified by her glasses. “She was so crushed when she couldn’t go anymore... when she got so sick.”

William felt his own eyes grow hot and moist as the sudden memory, so carefully buried, flooded over him. He reached across the table and patted his daughter’s plump hand. “She always got home by ten, or she knew I’d worry,” he managed, and they both turned to look at the dog, which watched them with quiet interest.

If anything, his daughter’s revelation had bonded William even more closely to the dog. In addition to the relief he felt over now knowing that Spooky’s health was in no danger, there was the comforting and welcome knowledge of the source of her anxieties.

Though her alarming behavior continued as it had, it was now looked forward to by William as no other event in his quiet life, and he could not resent the harbinger of this comfort, no matter how fearfully she herself awaited the same moment.

He now understood how complete his withdrawal had been since his wife’s death and how deeply agonized he had been over her absence. Without her he had withdrawn into a half-life, devoid of serious emotion and, therefore, vibrancy — a waking coma that depended on careful routine and meticulous maintenance. With the advent of Spooky these routines had come unraveled in a way that he could not have foreseen, and it was through this creature that an epiphany had been granted him. On Thursday nights, he could bathe in the presence of his wife’s spirit, if only for a brief few moments, and find the rest of his week illumined and charged with joy.

On these nights, William would rest in his favorite chair (bought for him by his wife), with music from various Broadway musicals (his wife’s favorites) playing softly on his old stereo, and the door standing wide open in welcome, regardless of the weather. Unfailingly, several minutes before the hour, Spooky would take up her position and begin the series of behaviors that heralded his wife’s arrival — fur on end, lips drawn back in a fearful snarl; growls rumbling through her thickset body like a small motor, culminating in her seeking the haven beneath the coffee table. Eventually, as Spooky’s spell dissipated, William would rise and reluctantly close the door, the audience with his wife at an end.

It pained William that, unlike Spooky, he could neither see nor hear his departed wife no matter how hard he strained to do so. Nonetheless, since he had come to understand the dog’s behavior, he had come to appreciate her almost palpable presence as surely as if he could.

As autumn wore on and winter’s gray face began to peep out from an increasing number of trees plucked of their blazing adornment, William noticed a worrisome thing. Spooky was not eating well. In fact, she was hardly eating at all and her rib cage had become distinctly discernible. What was worse, she now barked during his wife’s visits, something she had never done before. The distraction was almost more than he could bear; ruining the moment entirely.

Reluctantly, he took to removing her to another room and closing her in prior to the event. In fact, he no longer needed her announcement in order to be prepared. Undeterred, Spooky persisted, barking herself hoarse from her temporary exile.

Spooky’s final night came the week before All Souls’, which coincidentally fell on a Thursday and was looked forward to with great anticipation by William. In the weeks following the advent of Spooky’s barking, her physical deterioration had accelerated markedly — her pelt losing its gloss and fur coming out in tufts that left a forlorn trail through the house. Never a particularly active dog, she now positively languished, hardly moving during most of the week as if to conserve her energies for her Thursday night trials. And to these she committed herself as never before, hiding from William and refusing to be coaxed out until that special time arrived, and then darting out to literally throw herself at the door, snapping at the woodwork, leaving gouges and scratch marks, flecks of foam flying from her mouth.

William, exasperated beyond endurance at these disruptions of the communion he enjoyed with his dead wife, went to snatch the dog up and she bit him. In spite of her apparent fury, the bite did not break the skin, but William was stunned with hurt and outrage over such an apparent betrayal and dropped her to the floor with a sickening thud, followed by a vicious kick. She slunk away, the ten o’clock bell sounding. He slept that night with the door to his bedroom closed.

The following morning he gathered up the now listless dog and reluctantly returned her to the pound. It was a decision made not so much in anger as in sad acceptance of the fact that the creature that had made the ghostly visitations possible now seemed determined to thwart them at all costs. Besides, he consoled himself, Spooky was clearly and quite literally worrying herself to death over the whole business. Things could not go on this way. The little dog was so spent and exhausted she could scarcely raise her head from the counter to watch him depart.

He sat in the car for a moment, his chest tight with remorse and a terrifying loneliness, then forcibly turned his thoughts to the Thursday coming and drove away.

The only difference in his preparations for All Souls’ was the addition of scented votive candles, a touch he felt his wife, a devout Catholic, would appreciate. The wavering points of light gave the room an otherworldly appearance, deepening the shadows in the corners and giving movement to the stillness. In the background a snappy show tune sang counterpoint to the churchlike atmosphere.

Without Spooky, William had to rely on his watch and kept nervously referring to it, a sense of guilt and sneaking regret niggling at his brain each time he did so. The thought suddenly occurred to him that without the dog, his wife might not come. Perhaps Spooky was some kind of supernatural catalyst! Anxiety nearly made him rush back to the pound. Only the fact that they were closed and the hour near prevented him.

He glanced again at his watch and saw with a start that it was three minutes until the hour. In spite of everything, he had almost missed it! He hurried to open the door and then returned to his seat to lean back in the recliner. The doorway was a dim outline framing the greater darkness of the world without, and a steady breeze, cool and exhilarating, raced through and about the room, making the candles dance. A delicious sense of anticipation came with it and William smiled in spite of himself, happy in the invisible touch that even now he felt as surely as the wind that played across his face. As the clock chimed ten times, he closed his eyes and spoke her name aloud. When he opened his eyes again, a figure stood in the doorway.

Unable even to cry out, so great was his shock, he simply stared open-mouthed as it emerged to gather definition in the soft light of the room. The night visitor stared about, seemingly as stupefied as William by his surroundings; his small glittering eyes darting from candle to shadow, shadow to candle, restless and frightened. When they alighted on William, almost invisible in the depths of his chair, they stopped, and a determination, both sly and mirthful, coalesced his haggard features into a rigid parody of happiness. The long-bladed knife he had stolen in his escape from the asylum winked with each votive candle he passed.

It was not so much horror that froze William in place as a paralyzing disappointment over his loss, and a deep regret for his foolishness. He wondered briefly if Spooky was at that moment flinging herself against the chain-link strictures of her cage in fruitless warning. It had never occurred to him that a dog might be clairvoyant.