Rog Phillips by Rat In The Skull

Author:Rat In The Skull [Skull, Rat In The]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2012-08-08T09:29:32+00:00

THE HOLES IN MY HEAD

I PULLED the letter out of my pocket, looked at it, and then looked at the number on the mailbox. They were the same. I looked across the stretch of weed patch at the front of the house, taking in the broken window patched with cardboard, and the lap siding which looked like it had never been painted. I shifted my gaze to the roof which had one whole corner of shingles stripped spottily, resembling a man’s balding head.

I tried to associate this run down place with the Paul Fairness I had known in college – and couldn’t.

A possible explanation occurred to me. Paul must live in the neat cabin off in the woods that I noticed about a quarter of a mile in back of the shanty. This was the nearest mailbox, so he used it for an address. That would be it.

I drove my car down the dirt driveway. From the weeds growing there, it was obvious the driveway hadn’t been used for a long time.

As my car neared the house I was able to get a partial view of the back yard. It was fenced in with chicken wire six feet high, which was tightly held to straight two-by-four frames. The section I could see was tied to the corner of the house. Whoever had built that fence had done a professional job that was completely out of keeping with the house.

Something came into view in that fenced – in back yard. At first I thought it was some species of monkey or baboon, then I recognized it as an Afghan Hound.

The dog walked with slow deliberation to the fence where it could look in my direction. It was not using its right front leg. He dragged the leg as though it were paralyzed, rather than holding it up like a dog usually does when its leg is injured.

What particularly attracted my attention was a white covering that hugged the dog’s cranium with small metal studs forming a dotted circle around the top of the skull, to which the white covering was fastened.

I stopped the car beside the house and climbed out. The Afghan Hound wagged his tail in a friendly greeting, panting as if to say hello.

There was still no one in sight and the windows were too dusty to see inside. I went over to the fence, squatted down, and stuck my fingers through the chicken wire mesh. The dog licked them, shaking his body happily.

I studied the paralyzed front leg.

The paw was worn raw from dragging. It glistened with fresh blood, yet it seemed to give the creature no discomfort.

I worked my fingers in a caressing manner along the dog’s jaw, and got him to turn his head enough so that I could touch the small screw heads.

I seemed to be imbedded right into the head.

By using my other hand to scratch the dog’s shoulder, I was able to push the white cloth covering up far enough to see under it.

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