The Becoming - a novella (14 page)

The couple had
never been able to conceive children, so Wallace’s death meant Ida Mae was all
alone for the first time in her life. She had moved from her parents’ home
straight to Wallace’s tiny but comfortable house when they married, and in that
little house she still lived. Their inability to conceive had been a blow to
Ida Mae and Wallace, but they had come to terms with the heartbreak after years
of trying and had been happy for the most part ever since.

After Wallace’s
death, Ida Mae bought a golden retriever puppy, Butch, for company, needing a
living, breathing subject upon which to lavish all her love and attention. When
the first retriever passed away, Ida Mae bought another, naming him Butch II.
Now, Ida Mae was on the phone to the Paskagankee Police Department, sobbing and
requesting assistance immediately.

“What’s the nature
of the difficulty, ma’am?” the dispatcher asked.

“It’s Butch,
something’s happened to my poor Butch,” she wailed into the telephone receiver.

“Who is Butch,
ma’am, and what has happened to him?”

“Just send an
officer, please, and tell him to hurry,” she said, tears running down her face.
She provided her address to the bewildered dispatcher and hung up.

Now the cruiser
moved slowly up the long dirt driveway, sliding and lurching from one pothole
to another, nearly bottoming out in spots but making steady progress, finally
easing to a stop in front of the house. Ida Mae opened the front door and
shivered violently as a gust of cold air blew freezing rain into her home,
soaking her housecoat and plastering her silver hair to her head.

Two police
officers exited the cruiser, simultaneously pulling the collars of their
jackets up against the wind and rain and running clumsily on the icy ground for
the shelter of Ida Mae’s small porch. She opened the door further to allow them
to enter the house, then quickly slammed it shut, moving to the thermostat and
cranking up the heat, despite the fact the temperature inside the house already
hovered around seventy-five degrees.

She turned to see
the two officers, a man and a woman, holding their wet hats in their hands and
dripping water on to the hardwood floor of the foyer. “Oh,” she exclaimed.
“Where are my manners? Please, come in. Have a seat on the couch, officers.”

“We’re fine,
ma’am,” the male policeman said. “What seems to be the problem? The only
information we were given is that something has happened to someone named
Butch. Is that your husband?”

“Oh, goodness,
no,” she said. “My husband was named Wallace, and he’s been gone since probably
before this little thing was born,” she said, nodding at Officer Dupont, who
smiled back at her. “No, Butch is my dog. It’s actually Butch II, but I just
call him Butch. It’s easier for me, you know, and he doesn’t know the
difference.”

“I understand,”
said the man, who seemed to be in charge. It only made sense, thought Ida Mae;
the young man looks to be at least ten years older than the young lady. “So,
can you tell me what has happened to Butch?” he asked.

“Oh, dear,”
sniffled Ida Mae. “I put Butch out to get some air and, you know, to do his
doggie business, earlier this afternoon, and when he hadn’t returned within a
couple of hours, I went to the back door to call him and, well . . .” The
elderly woman burst into tears, leading the two officers through the kitchen to
the back door. She opened it and gestured bleakly toward the yard.

The two police
officers crowded into the doorway, hips and elbows touching. They cringed
simultaneously at the sight that greeted them. In the elderly woman’s back
yard, just visible in the waning grey light of the late afternoon, were the
gruesome remains of a golden retriever dog. The animal had literally been
ripped apart; its body parts strewn around a circle roughly ten feet in
diameter. A portion of a foreleg had come to rest midway up the wooden steps
leading to the door, and blood was everywhere. The dog’s head was nowhere to be
seen.

The petite, young
female officer placed her hand on Ida Mae’s elbow and guided her back into the
small living room to the couch. She sat her down and held her hand, doing her
best to console her. The other officer, the man who seemed to be in charge,
closed the door and stood uncomfortably as Ida Mae wrapped an afghan tightly
around her shoulders. The little house seemed to have gotten much, much colder.

PASKAGANKEE is  the first entry
in Allan Leverone’s series of supernatural suspense novels set in the isolated
little town of Paskagankee, Maine, and is available for purchase here:
http://www.amazon.com/PASKAGANKEE-ebook/dp/B0072PMYNM

About
the author

Allan Leverone is a 2012 Derringer
Award winner and 2011 Pushcart Prize nominee. He is the author of the Amazon
bestselling thriller,
THE LONELY
MILE
, as well as the thrillers, FINAL VECTOR and
PASKAGANKEE
.
In addition to THE BECOMING, he is the author of the horror novellas,
DARKNESS FALLS
and
HEARTLESS
.
Connect with Allan on Facebook, Twitter, @AllanLeverone and at
AllanLeverone.com
.