A Fido in the Family?
A Beastly Business (1982) by John Blackburn
....I groped for our repulsive, mummified, but extremely valuable find. I winced as I touched the mass of hair which seemed to wrap itself around my fingers. I winced far more when I heard voices.
Peggy was right. The explosion had been noticed and we were not alone.
“Wha . . . Lah . . . Tha.” The voices were speaking . . . trying to speak. The owners of the voices were walking along the passage . . . trying to walk. As they entered the sitting-room a cloud slid away from the moon and I saw their shadows. Four or five distorted images bent like hoops and much larger than the shadows of human beings.
“Cahr . . . Har . . . Wha . . .” The moonlight was obscured again, the shadows vanished and I can’t describe what the voices sounded like. Try to imagine a dog talking and it might give you a clue, but not a normal dog. Not domesticated Fido, the Family Friend. Every syllable had a growl and a snarl and a threat in it, and though I couldn’t see the interlopers I could smell them. A rank, musty smell far stronger than the reek of gunpowder. A stench which reminded me of Smeaton’s flat and though my leg muscles were paralysed by fear, I blurted out a question. “Who are you?”
“Tha . . . Da—damed . . . do-domed . . . Tha hun . . . tered . . .” Four or five of them, and terror increased my mental activity. I’ve heard that drowning men re-live their entire lives at the moment of death. I don’t know whether that’s true, but I know that I re-lived several days in less than a minute.
I pictured the vast, hairy corpse of Oliver Hendricks as I trussed him on his bed. I remembered what we had learned from Bishop Hurst Hutchins, and what Moldon Mott had said about El Dracardo. I knew why Dr Hans Spangel had been summoned to Rhona.
Not to spread sickness, but to cure the sick. The doctor had failed and his patients had killed him.
The farm animals had been driven mad because other animals were roaming the island. Don Francesco’s head had been sealed in brass because it did contain a guardian. A force which had sent Canon Hendricks off on his murderous journey. Which had led to the strange events on Rhona and kept Lady Elizabeth and her brothers out of sight.
Out of sight, but not out of mind. For over a year Allan Grant and his wife had minded their feudal masters, but the masters and the mistress had emerged from the dungeons from time to time and an age-old myth became reality.
Possibly Grant had decided that loyalty had to stop, and died accordingly. Maybe he had just happened to be in the way of his charges. Probably . . .
Possibly—probably—perhaps? Unimportant questions and there was no time to consider them. I had to consider our predicament, because the legend was no longer a fairy tale to frighten children.
Our companions were were-wolves….
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A Beastly Business (1982) by John Blackburn
