21. Slivers of White

I suddenly notice how cold it’s become. Cold and dark.

My arms are bare in my thin T-shirt. I shiver and move on down the hill, walking slowly, making sure I don’t fall on a branch or crash into anything.

Just in case someone is around.

What if they have armed guards on their property?

What if security cameras are watching me now?

What if there are booby traps wired up somewhere?

The animals in the forest have apparently all gone to sleep.

A slight gust—invisible, almost unheard—brushes up against my skin. I try to hurry up to stop feeling so cold.

I feel like eyes are bearing down on me. Not just from one direction, but from all around me.

Whoever is turning the lights to dim is doing a fast job of it. I consider turning on my flashlight, then decide against it, knowing it would attract attention.

There’s a slight dip in the ground, and my foot plunges in, sending me falling. My face lands an inch away from a jutting tree limb. I know even in the growing darkness that the sharp edge could have done something nasty to my face. Especially my eye.

I stand up and brush the leaves and dirt off my shirt. I find the flashlight I dropped.

Better start trying to figure out a way over the wall before the night swallows me whole.

I’ve been walking downhill close to the wall. So far, I haven’t seen another tree growing against it like the one that got me in here.

I stare downhill.

Beyond the trees, I see a reddish glow seeping through.

Maybe it’s the Staunch house. The one they don’t want people to either see or come inside.

I feel a dread come over me. It’s as if the ruby glimmer down below is starting to glide up toward me like a ghostly fog.

I check alongside the wall for anything—an opening, something to stand on, another tree.

Then I hear the sound.

A slight rustling along the forest ground.

I stop and listen.

Then I hear something else.

I hear the clink of a chain.

A dog chain.

I think of Gus’s face and the sign that says No Trespassing.

What kind of dog would Gus get?

I think of a pit bull, like the one we used to have in our neighborhood that was always in the news because of his love of biting strangers. They eventually had to get rid of him, something that caused a unified celebration along our block.

I hear a slight jingle and shine my light toward a group of trees nearby.

Then I see them. Slivers of white.

At first I think it’s the dog’s eyes. Then I realize that it’s his teeth.

His mouth is open, panting, the sharp teeth ready to attack.

I back up, still facing toward the dog, moving slowly until I hit the stone wall.

I’m an idiot, and this is what happens to idiots.

I’m still holding the flashlight, but I don’t think it will be much help in fighting off this dog.

It moves slowly toward me.

It’s black or mostly black. I still can’t see exactly what type of dog it is. I see its eyes. For a minute it seems as if …

They’re not glowing those eyes are not glowing.

I stumble over something and almost lose my footing.

The dog growls.

As if to warn me. As if to say, “You can try and run and I’ll even give you a head start, but your hide is mine.”