The Swan Creek Monster – Part 3

Ferguson waltzed into Hope Heights’ main electrical vault. “Sorry I’m late everybody.”

“What are you talking about, Ferguson?” Cattle Guard said with a smirk. “You’re early.”

Ferguson barked, “Don’t call me that! My name is Master Frisbee!”

“Okayyy. Take it easyyy.”

“I don’t recognize that name down here. I only tolerate it up there because I found a good one.”

“So we’ve heard,” Poacher’s Peril said.

“From whom?” Master Frisbee said.

“Catcher of Mice and Snakes told She Who Guards Sheep, who told everybody here,” Peril said.

“Now we’re getting our news from cats?” Frisbee said.

She Who Guards Sheep entered the vault. “So, it’s not true?”

“It’s true alright. The powder worked like a charm, as always. I got him real good the very first time. That’s how I got here so fast. I made him build an elevator for me. I don’t have to take the scenic route anymore.”

“Are you saying you’re back in business?” Peril said.

“Why? Got a job for me?” Frisbee said.

“Not me, but an old running buddy of mine. Do you know Goliath from downtown?”

“No, but I’ve heard the stories. I can’t even imagine why a human would hit one of us with a baseball bat.”

“Rumor has it the guy has been in your park several times over the past few weeks,” Peril said.

“Who’d you hear this from? Let me guess, a cat?”

“Squirrel.”

The other dogs whipped their heads around and gazed in separate directions, as if searching for something beyond the vault’s rust-stained concrete walls.

Frisbee was the first to snap out of his stupor. “What’s he looking for?”

“Nothing too serious, but he thinks the guy deserves a taste of his own medicine.”

“Understood. I can’t stand humans who mistreat animals.”

***

Barks echoed up from the depths of the storm drain and woke Lonnie from the depths of his slumber. He flung open his Army surplus wool blanket and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

“I’m coming,” Lonnie said, still half asleep.

He moved the carpet and metal from over the opening. Ferguson sat in the basket twenty feet below, scowling up the cable. Lonnie felt like he was in a bizarro episode of Lassie. He cranked Ferguson to the surface, getting in an arm workout before he even had time to think about breakfast.

Lonnie swung the basket from over the hole and held it steady while Ferguson got out. The impatient canine stood facing the side doors and waited only three seconds before barking. Lonnie reached over and opened the larger side. Ferguson doddered out of the van and wandered across the still-empty lot.

“Good morning to you too,” Lonnie said to the disappearing dog.

He backed the van up and replaced the manhole cover. Then he left for work, passing an incoming Chevy Blazer with two mountain bikes on its rack.

***

Ferguson sat at the parking lot entrance that evening, awaiting Lonnie’s return. Lonnie drove into the lot and Ferguson steered him toward his new regular spot. Lonnie changed his footwear, then the pair went on their daily hike.

They walked down to the community garden and rested for a few a minutes. Lonnie wanted to get back before dark, so the setting sun shortened their break. The squirrel communication network came to life as they passed the hard surface trails and dog park on the way back to the van. The squirrel chatter intensified when they reached the mountain bike trails, drowning out the chirping of crickets and the sounds of other insects.

Ferguson barked three times.

Lonnie shouted at Ferguson. “Why?”

Ferguson growled, then barked twice more.

Lonnie kicked Ferguson. “No! I’m not going to do that!”

Ferguson yelped. The squirrel chatter dropped to mere murmurs.

A man called out to Lonnie from behind. “On your right!”

The man passed Ferguson and Lonnie on the extreme right edge of the trail. The squirrel chatter returned.

Ferguson belted out two sharp barks.

Lonnie switched his grandfather’s walking stick to his right hand and held it by the bottom end. He swung it in a great, low, arc at the man. A hand-worn hickory burl the size of a tennis ball made contact with the man’s ankle, dropping him to the trail.

A hush fell over the trail and surrounding trees. The only sounds came from Ferguson’s string of smug barks and the man’s screaming and cursing. The man held his ankle and writhed in pain in the center of the trail.

Lonnie translated Ferguson’s barks. “That’s from Goliath. He thought you deserved a taste of your own medicine.”

Ferguson walked up the trail, never once looking back. Lonnie stepped over the man and followed. They continued back to the camper van.

Lonnie pulled out an unopened package of jerky and sat on the step. Ferguson stood close to him this time. No sitting. No tricks. Lonnie opened the package with his teeth then pulled the piece out. He bit down on one end and Ferguson let loose a menacing growl.

“Half is plenty.”

More growling from Ferguson. This time, mixed with barking.

“I’m sorry about that. But I told you I didn’t want to do it.”

One loud bark.

Lonnie lowered the jerky from his mouth and held it out for Ferguson. “Yes, sir.”

Ferguson snatched the jerky, his old teeth grazing Lonnie’s fingertips. He growled as he limped to the other side of the van to eat in solitude. Lonnie pulled out another piece for himself and ate it sitting on the step, watching the parking lot empty out for the night.

Ferguson came back around the back of the van and barked twice.

“Now? Can’t you wait?”

Another bark.

Lonnie prepared the elevator with the last inch of jerky clenched in his teeth. Ferguson climbed onto the step and Lonnie loaded him into the basket. He closed the doors then lowered Ferguson to the storm drain to do whatever was so urgent.

Lonnie sat in the passenger side captain’s chair and ate his dinner of cold fried chicken leftover from lunch. He remembered to save a biscuit, but forgot to save a packet of butter, or even honey, so he had to eat it plain.

An ambulance pulled into the lot and turned around. Lonnie watched it through the tall tinted window over the bed. It stopped behind the van then left after less than fifteen seconds. With nothing else to do until morning, he put the floor back and went to bed.

***

The electrical vault was abuzz with canine conversation when Ferguson walked in. The dogs were talking to somebody standing in the shadows. The stranger limped into the light when he saw Ferguson enter. The conversation stopped dead.

“Master Frisbee,” Goliath said, “we got word downtown that you handled my case. I came to thank you in person for taking care of it so fast.”

“The opportunity presented itself and I did what I do best.”

They met in the center of the vault and greeted each other in the way dogs are known to do. When the sniffing was done, they retreated to their original places.

“It’s an honor to meet you, sir,” Goliath said.

“Please, the pleasure is all mine,” Frisbee said.

“How can I repay you?”

“Funny you should ask. I’ve got something I could use a little help with. Can you get some of your guys up here tonight?”

“Sure, I’ll send a bird.”

***

“How’s your ankle, Mr. Garland?” Officer Breylon said.

“It gets sore if I put weight on it for too long, so I try to stay off it as much as possible.”

“I’m sorry for making you come to the door,” Breylon said.

“No problem. I saw you drive up and figured you’d have some good news for me. Besides, It’s been a while since I’ve been up.”

“We do have news,” Breylon said, “but it’s not good.”

“Not for Mr. Elliot, anyway,” Officer Stritzel said.

“Who’s Mr. Elliot?”

“The man who attacked you on the trail,” Breylon said.

“And you said the news isn’t good . . . for him?”

“Not in the slightest, Mr. Garland,” Stritzel said.

“What do you mean?”

“Mountain bikers found him dead early this morning.”

“And you think I had something to do with it.”

“No, not at all Mr. Garland. It was an animal attack,” Stritzel said. “Most likely a pack of dogs.”

“A couple of our guys responded to a 911 call from a mountain biker at the south parking lot. They found Mr. Elliot lying face down next to his van. When they rolled him over to administer first aid, they saw something had ripped his throat out,” Stritzel said.

“Holy crap!”

“They also found empty jerky packages strewn across the parking lot,” Breylon said.

“How about his poor dog? Was he there?”

“The team spent half the morning in the park,” Breylon said. “Nobody reported seeing his dog.”

The End

Copyright ~ Terrence Campbell ~ 2022