Across the room toward the big picture window.
The tapping is definitely coming from that area. The shades are down and only a sliver of light peeks out along the bottom edge. I grab the back of the couch and vault over it, my Nikes landing soundlessly on the wooden floor. As I approach, I duck to peer beneath the shade. A pair of black googly eyes stares back at me from the other side of the window.
With a strong yank on the shade pull, the window cover flies up to reveal a mole of a man with a big head and overly large hands and feet huddling against the side of the house, his usually pale skin now a dark umber. Bodog. I quickly crank open the window and pop out the screen. Bending deeply, I lean over the windowsill and yank the little guy into the house, where he slumps against himself as if his small stature is too large for the room.
He’s shivering. I don’t know why. It’s 75 degrees—a downright hot day for the wilds of Oregon.
“What are you doing here?” My demand is ignored. I get closer and try to pin down his wide-eyed gaze.
The little man snuffles around seeking shadows to hide in. He bumps into a bookshelf and a few books topple loose. Ducking, he lets out a sharp squeal. I snatch the books before they hit and put them back. When I turn my attention back to Bodog, he’s hiding under Grandpa’s desk. What happened to the little man who braved the torture chamber to rescue me? Something is really wrong.
I bend on one knee and peer into the desk nook. He’s huddled so deeply within the recess, all I see are his big, dark eyes and twitching ears. “Bodog, come out from there.”
A moan ripples from him. “Lost. Forever lost.”
“What have you lost? Do you think I know where it is? Is that why you’re here?”
He says nothing, only hunkers deeper into the corner. Palpable fear ripples from him like heat waves off pavement.
“You’re safe here, Bodog. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Easy promise. Difficult to keep.”
He’s right. I can’t make that promise, so I try again. “You’re in my world, in my home. I’ll do everything in my power to protect you. Do you believe me?”
It seems like forever before the tight ball he’s pulled himself into loosens. “Faith requires risk.”
Seriously, this guy is giving me a headache. My big bang in the barn weakened me, and my brain’s still not functioning at top speed. “Everything’s gonna be fine. Come out of there. Please.”
I’m encouraged when he slowly moves toward me, ears twitching, eyes darting. Out of the sun, his skin has transformed back into a shock of mushroom paleness. “Forever lost,” he says again.
“So you said. You want to expound on that?”
“So much. Too little time.”
“Can’t help you with what I don’t understand, dude.”
He’s almost out when he stops and plucks something off the floor. It’s a wayward piece of hard candy that’s sticky with fuzz. Bodog is undeterred by its appearance and pops it into his mouth. Strange noises come from him as he rolls the candy along his tongue. Suddenly, he makes a face and spits it onto the floor, where it lies in a puddle of green saliva.
Gross. “That is
I pluck a wad of tissue from a nearby box, and with a quick scoop, wipe the candy and spittle off the floor and throw it away. I shake a finger in his unashamed face. “No spitting!”
Bodog makes a move toward the desk again and I grab his arm to stop him. It’s then I realize how thin he’s become. He’s starving. Not that it explains his behavior. He’s always been disgusting, but pity washes away my irritation. I drop my hand and squat eye to eye. “Bodog, what’s going on? How’d you get here?”
“Bodog has talents.”
“I know.” He’s saved my life more than once.
His gaze rockets around the room and lands on the doggy bed and chew toys. He inches closer as he says, “A tunnel. Very small. Very accurate. The guard did not see. In a blink, I slipped through.”
I thought as much. From his network of tunnels spidering beneath the earth in his realm, it’s a wonder the village he lives under hasn’t collapsed. “What are you doing here?”
“Much has changed.”
I haven’t been gone from Teag
“A dark magic. It’s up to you. Only you.”
Suddenly, a muffled cry of alarm blasts from the doorway. Bodog dives for the couch, causing it to thump along the floor as he tries to wriggle beneath it. I turn to see Grandma clutching her throat, her hand red from the heat of washing dishes. “What’s going on? What was that?”
Kera appears, a dish towel clutched in her hands, and gives me a questioning look.
“Bodog,” I mouth to her.
Kera rushes past Grandma and rounds the quaking couch. The large, dirt-encrusted foot sticking out from beneath it retracts to safety with a sharp jerk. She gets on her hands and knees and peers underneath the crisp pleat. “Bodog?”
A veil of satiny dark hair slips over her shoulder as she thrusts her hand toward him. “Come out. You are safe here. I promise.”
A minute passes, then two, but nothing she says will bring him out. Kera glances up at me. “He won’t be moved.”
“This is crazy,” I grumble. I know how to get him out of there. Stooping, I grab hold of the bottom edge along the short side of the couch and dead lift it high. Bodog isn’t crouched on the floor as we suspect, he’s clinging to the couch’s underbelly like a cockroach hiding from the exterminator, except this pest has found a worn doggy rawhide and has it firmly clasped between his teeth.
Grandma backs up. “Oh dear,” is all she says.
“This is ridiculous. Bodog. Let go!” When he ignores my command, I shake the couch in an effort to knock the little man free. It works. He crashes to the floor, resembling a pile of filthy rags more than a living being.
Kera gasps and quickly comes to his rescue, throwing me looks as if I’m the one causing all the trouble. When she gets him up, she gently removes the rawhide from Bodog’s mouth. Spittle runs a line of foam down his chin and splashes onto the floor. “Bodog is hungry.”
“I know.” Kera dabs at his face with a corner of the dish towel.
Grandma shakes her head. “I’ll get him something to eat.”
“My dear friend,” Kera says, drawing the dish towel away from his face. “Why have you come to us?”
His attention latches on to the doggy treat she still holds in her other hand, and big tears slip down his cheeks. “The beginning of the end has begun.”
Holding Secrets
At Bodog’s words, Kera rubs her arms as if she can’t get warm. A sudden sadness invades her; its scent rises like burned molasses. “He’s changed. Like us. And not for the better.”
Kera’s whisper dives past my ribs and kicks at my heart.
“What’s happening is my fault. I should have been stronger. Smarter.” I don’t like the thin, bony skeleton Bodog has become. “Look at him. I killed Faldon, his only protector, and now Bodog’s got no one.”
I’d let Bodog’s help during our wild escape from the land of Teag overshadow his true character. I simply forgot how needy he was—that he was fragile under all the bravery.
“You cannot shoulder the blame. I won’t let you.” She quickly steps away from me, takes Bodog’s hand, and leads him to the kitchen table. I follow them, my mind heavy with concern. Grandma slides a plate of leftover homemade mac and cheese, my favorite, in front of Bodog. He sniffs, tongues a cheese-covered noodle, and gags, spitting and moaning his distaste.
Grandma whisks the plate away and scrounges for something else to feed him.
