“How?”
Kevinsmiles as he espies the sleeping dog through the slats in the fence. He’samazed at himself for never realizing just how simple it would be. “I’ll goover the fence and get Butch to chase me. If I can get a lap or two around thedoghouse, that will take up enough slack on his line to keep him tied up. Then youjump the fence, grab the glider plane, and jump back over. Once you’resafe, I’ll come back over, too.”
Inthe dream, Reggie flashes a grin that is both innocent and mischievous at thesame time. It makes his freckled nose crinkle and his eyebrows float up hisforehead until they almost touch the bushy locks of his bright red hair. It’sthe same Reggie Acton that haunts Kevin every day of his life; the image of theboy while he still has his face. The sleeping Kevin Ellis is already turningand struggling in the twin-size bed, desperately wishing he could stop thedream from progressing until both children are in old man Grady’s backyard andButch’s clothesline rope leash snaps, and…
* * *
Theroar of thunder echoed off the walls around him, and Kevin opened his eyes. Theghost was hovering above him, its face still marred where the pitbull mauledaway the flesh and cartilage. The freckles and the bright red hair were nowthin white vapors of cold eternity. The ghost lifted a wavering hand into theair and placed it in front of its mouth as if to say, “Shhhhh.” Before Kevincould protest, the thing with no face waved its arm slowly, as if beckoning forhim to follow.
“Goaway,” Kevin whispered. “Please, just go away!”
Theghost peered silently for a moment, lowered its head as if in defeat, andfloated out the bedroom door.
Kevingripped his blankets tight around his body and cried himself back to sleep.Outside the window, raindrops pelted the aluminum siding and lightning flashesturned his bedroom into unbearable moments of daylight until the thunderclapssnuffed them back out again.
* * *
Whenhe awoke, the room was freezing. He’d left the air conditioner shut off beforefalling asleep but now it was on again, thrumming strong at sixty degrees.Kevin sat up slowly, pulled the comforter tight around his body, and walkedacross the room to turn it off again. He lifted his finger to press the off switch,but before he could touch it he heard the dog barking from old man Grady’syard. He jabbed the switch, and then twisted the rod and opened the slits inthe blinds.
Itwas just before dawn, and the air was saturated with a wall of fog that made itnearly impossible to see. The dog continued barking, agitated at first and thenfalling into a slow, steady howl that resembled fear or injury. Kevin leanedcloser to the glass, held his breath, and gazed harder into old man Grady’sbackyard. The doghouse came into focus, like a blood-red heart just off centerof the decrepit lawn. And just outside its front was the ghost of a little boythat had once been his next door neighbor. Reggie Acton was hunched over,gazing into the open front of Butch’s doorway, as if trying to call to whateverwas inside. Whatever was inside whimpered and yelped in despair.Watching the scene from his window made his blood run colder than thetemperature in his bedroom.
“Thereis a goddamn dog in there,” he said to himself.
Hepicked up his jeans off the floor and threw them on, then slipped his feet intohis sneakers. The world around him felt like a dream. He crept down the stairsand slipped through the house quietly, hoping that his mother was still asleep;dreaming her own dreams in her guilt-free world where husbands didn’t sufferheart attacks from too much fatty foods and where there were no bad dogs, onlybad dog-owners. The world of Faye Ellis meant making justifications and excuseswhile neighbors moved away after losing their child to an angry pitbull. Evenafter Reggie’s body was recovered and taken away, and after the policequestioned Kevin over and over again about what happened, his mother never onceinsinuated that what happened was her son’s fault. But it was.
Itwas his fault. Guilt did have a face if he was brave enoughto look in the mirror and accept that what happened was because he’d convincedReggie to jump the fence and help him get his glider plane back.
Kevinwrapped his hand around the door handle and threw it open. The cool morning fogdraped his flesh, wetting it to the touch with glistening beads. He steeledhimself and marched across the back lawn until he reached the white picketfence that separated the two yards. It was time to tell Reggie Acton that hewas sorry, time to finally accept responsibility for what happened. He gazedover the fence at the doghouse.
Thething with no face was gone.
Hecould feel the tears welling in the corners of his eyes. His heart pounded inhis chest, and butterflies flitted and scratched at the pit of his belly.
“I’mgoing crazy,” he whispered.
Fromsomewhere inside the doghouse, an unearthly howl responded as if to confirm thesentiment. Hearing it filled him with dread deeper than he’d ever felt, deepereven than the day Reginald Acton was buried in Shady Acres Cemetery. For onebrutal moment he felt absolutely paralyzed, and he could almost see the puddleof blood that had collected where Butch had knocked his eleven-year-old friendover and ravaged his face completely off. He could almost see the weatheredclothesline leash, could picture where the rope had broken away from the stakeand how it slithered in the mud like a snake as Butch attacked and shook hishead back and forth with Reggie’s cheeks and nose planted in its maw.
Themoment passed, and then Kevin jumped over the fence and crept up to the door ofthe doghouse. He drew a deep breath, held it in, and then swung around so thathis face could look in to see what was hiding inside.
Thedoghouse was empty, except for his Styrofoam glider plane leaning toward theback wall. The fuselage wings were bent into a crooked
