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I looked at my daughter. “What else does that book say?”
Sicily nodded and returned to her reading. “The most recent sightings have been in Connecticut, Kentucky, Louisiana, Ohio, and Vilseck, Germany. And every sighting always occurs near or in a graveyard, which makes no sense.”
“Why does it make no sense, darlin’?” Bud asked.
Sicily looked at him and shrugged. “Well, ours wasn’t near a graveyard, was it?”
“No, don’t believe it was,” Slim Jim answered as he scratched his muskrat chin.
“Right,” Sicily nodded. “It crawled out of a bonfire, and General Street is nowhere near the Windy Ridge Cemetery.”
“Summa bitch,” Bud said, shaking his big, furry head and I could tell he was lost in thought. “Maybe the hellhound was near a graveyard, of sorts…” he started, looking up at us with aEureka, I’ve found it!sort of expression.
“Bud, you know this town just as well as the rest o’ us,” Ol’ Ned said, shaking his head. “An’ you know that darned graveyard is almost outta town lines.”
Bud looked at him. “That’s why I termed it a graveyard‘o’ sorts’,” he answered, frowning at his old friend. “Coulda been because someone buried their kinfolk in the backyard,” he mused. “You know it happens ‘round these parts. We ain’t much for rules.”
Ol’ Ned nodded. “So long as you put ‘em down deep enough.”
“Hmm, that’s a good point,” I ceded as I looked at my daughter. “There’s bound to be quite a few people who are buried in their backyards, especially after the Fog came through.”
“That’s not just a little bit freaky,” Mason piped up. “Talk about setting the stage for a zombie infestation.”
“I don’t think we have to worry about zombies,” I said to Mason although I wondered if maybe we did. Two years ago, I never would have imagined what ended up happening to my little town so, in general, it was best to assume anything could happen.
“Maybe the hellhound was near a buried body,” Sicily said, though she didn’t sound convinced. “Or maybe the myths are just that.Myths.I mean,” she continued and pointedly looked at each and every one of us. “There’s no rhyme or reason to how everyone manifested their forms and we’ve searched and re-searched the books for any mention of the Fog and we all know there isn’t one. So maybe our hellhound is another instance of uncharted territory.”
“You thinkin’ it was another feckin’ crazy?” Slim Jim asked.
“No,” Dean and I said automatically. We exchanged a glance and a small smile.
“Why not?” Mason asked.
I made an ‘after you’ gesture and Dean cleared his throat. “I’d bet my life on the fact that this thing was responsible for the fire at the Thatcher house, and consequently, the deaths or disappearances of Ethan Thatcher and his family.”
I nodded. “The hellhound only did as much damage as it needed to and then it disappeared.”
“And that’s a case of premeditation if I’ve ever seen one,” Dean added. “Then it shows up on General Street, but instead of attacking the large group fleeing down the hill who would have been easy prey, it came after you four.”
“True ‘nuff,” Ol’ Ned said with a quick nod. He was sitting on my couch on one of those inflatable butt cushions—apparently, Dean had procured the thing for Ol’ Ned (though where Dean had gotten it, I didn’t ask and he didn’t volunteer).
“Targeting the four of you isn’t something the hellhound would have done if it wanted carnage,” Dean continued, eyeing each one of us resolutely. “Further, none of you died.”
Mason scratched his chin, trying to appear thoughtful, mostly for Sicily’s benefit, I was pretty sure.
“So, what do you think it means?” he asked. “Is the thing just confused?”
“M-m-maybe it were out for c-c-carnage until Miss T-T-Twila turned the hydrant on it?” Boone asked.
“No, I think Dean is right,” I said. “I don’t think it wanted to kill anyone. And it was almost like it… like it was following a plan it had.”
“A feckin’ hellhound with a plan?” Slim Jim repeated.
“Everything was too well thought out,” I reasoned. “This thing isn’t one of the crazies. It wanted to be flashy and loud, and it didn’t want us to get in its way, but I think it wanted to cause mayhem, not death.”
Slim Jim shook his head. “It jist don’t make no feckin’ sense. What does it get outta mayhem?”
Dean stretched and my heart lurched when I realized he was sporting a number of cuts and bruises all over his forearms. Some of them had to have been from Sicily clawing to get away from him, and the rest were probably from corralling the townspeople. He looked exhausted, and I couldn’t help but think it was my fault he was in this mess in the first place. We’d dragged him into our monstrous little world, despite my best efforts to shut him out.
