Howardsville: A Short Story

Jared realized he hurt Maggie’s feelings and felt bad, because at first, he did believe that maybe Call could speak. “Hey, maybe this is just a bad time for her” Jared told Maggie in a comforting tone. “What?” Maggie responded. “Maybe dogs only communicate when they need to tell us something really important information” Jared said to Maggie. “Do you mean that?” Maggie asked Jared with hope. “Sure” he said, “You should feel honored that Call chose to tell you over anyone that she needed more attention.” Jared smiled and left Maggie to return to his rightful position on the couch.

The mysteries of Putney Mountain began years earlier when strange and scary events started, forever changing the lives of the citizens of the town of Howardsville located near Charleston, West Virginia. Resulting in the myths, legends, and lies, that still exists to this day. Ernest Cassidy, an elderly man, lived as a recluse in the two-story house a few miles out of the town near the Putney Mountains, was familiar with the secrets involving the surrounding area. The townspeople wondered about his connections to these abnormal activities, but no one volunteered to question his involvement.

As they talk, a dog barks at Lin from the street. Strange -- it seems scared of her. A bad feeling washes over Lin. Dizziness. She pays her bill and hurries home.

They narrowed down the search to thirty five people. As the detective went into the house, out of the corner of his eye he saw someone head down some stairs. Once down it looked terrible. There was blood, and an odd odor. It was coming from further down the hall. “This is like a maze…” the detective replied. Simply going down with his weapon out, he made it to the end and found a second body. Running back upstairs he asked if anyone else was missing. “Do a name check now?” Two people we’re missing. Joe Smith and Stan Hawthorne. “Did they come with anyone or does anyone have a grudge with them?” The detective asked Mr. Johnson, “No, but there was three people who went into the house before the murders.” The detective asked who, leading to the three names being found. “Steve Jackson, Richard Sherman, and Bobby Nichols.” The detective had them found and brought to their local precinct for questioning.

“I thought that he’d at least be prepared for the people coming for dogs today. Everyone had to call in advance.” I contemplated. There wasn’t any sort of prepared look about this guy. How was I supposed to know if this guy even had and puppies left here for us in the first place? But my Mom had always told me not to assume (even though that’s all she did), and for once she was right.

One day the dog’s separated and went their own ways. Squirrel overcame many obstacles on his own and he was lucky enough to meet another dog, Moon. Together they went through thick and thin. One day they were traveling, and Moon ran across a street without looking and tragically died. Squirrel slowly learned how to live on his own again. He eventually grew old and started to become weak. Squirrel came across this house with an old lady living in it. He sensed he could trust her and he found his forever

The dog walks toward the door, then turns around and says, "But why are you talking to me like that? You always order me around like I'm nothing. And you only call me when you want something. And then you make me sleep on the floor, with my arthritis. You give me this fahkahkta food and tell me it's a special diet but it tastes like dreck! You should eat it yourself! And do you ever take me for a decent walk? Nope, it's out the house, a short pish

Francois walked through with the new husky, Buck. Buck is a disrespectful little pet, so he set him between Dave and Solleks. He needs to know and learn that I’m the boss around here, and the head dog. I growl once in awhile to show him that I’m boss. He learned quickly, so Francois rewarded him. I should be the one getting the reward. I’m more experienced, skilled, smart. I can tell that Buck hasn’t liked me since that day we attacked Curly. I was laughing and snarling at Curly while she was screaming and getting attacked. Buck cringed and gave me a look that said “I hate you so bitterly.” When Francois fastened him up in the belt to pull the sled and work, he looked like a lost baby. I can’t believe they picked some immature puppy. I found

I ran out the garage door, forgetting to shut it as a bag with dog toys and supplies bounced as I ran to the car. I set the bag in the very back of the car next to the crate and dashed to the backseat. The sun shone bright today, knowing that it was special. I put my seatbelt on, it settling in its resting spot with a faint click. I could barely contain my excitement today. Before I knew it, the car started and we headed off to the breeders. I was worried that something was going to happen, but I tried by hardest to not think about all of the bad possibilities as I settled into my seat.

Alexander ran his hands through his hair, ruffling the short strands. “I’m not looking to open up a shelter but he came to me. Came to my house. I can’t abandon him. I’m going to try and find someone who can take him. He’s a good dog.”

“Oh, I’m sure it wasn’t, “ said Mrs. Minter. “I’m sure your mutt is just as pure and innocent as the new fallen snow.”

She came home, and immediately I knew something was off; even though I used my usually effective methods of persuasion, she did not want to play. Even her favourite squeaky toy didn’t make her want to play. She told me to go lie down, and I did—because that’s what good dogs do.

The narrator in this story is omniscient, expressing the thoughts of the protagonists and the dog, these varying viewpoints exemplify the main character’s arrogance. “The animal was depressed by the tremendous cold. It knew that it was no time for traveling. Its instincts told it a truer tale than was told to the man by the man’s judgement.” The man completely disregards the dog’s natural instincts, which are deeply imbued in nature and relies on his

“Zooee! Come downstairs NOW!” That’s my mother. She gets mad about everything. I should probably go downstairs, but I’m caught up in a whole lot of homework. “Coming,” I replied, so she knew I was on my way. I scattered all my homework back into two neat piles and clipped them together with paper clips-one pile is finished work, and the other is unfinished. I ran out my door and hurried downstairs, not caring to turn off my lights. “What is it?” I asked, knowing it could be anything. “Your dog peed on the rug again,” she said, with a mad attitude, “When will you potty-train your dog?” My dog is a full blood black lab, and I named her Chloe. “Come on mom, she’s only twelve weeks old, and I’m working on it,” I replied. “Well, I’m getting tired of having to be careful where I step, not knowing where your dog did her business.” “Will you please stop calling her ‘your dog’? Just call her Chloe, so she gets used to the name.” “Fine,” she agreed “and by the way, your dog keeps going into that ‘haunted house’ down the street,” she added. I sighed.

“Sorry about that-I’ll fill your food bowl.” Zac came back to the living room with a bowl full of dog chow. “Sparky, Sparky come get your food.” No sign of the dog was heard and the house was pin drop silent. He took the chew toy that usually attracted his dog. Zac then proceeded to check the bedrooms as the floor creaked.