Sheepdog By �anna Cullen The sky was dimming as he crept towards the roadside. There was no sound, nothing at all. He could only hear his breath and the squelching of his boots in the mud. He was only a few minutes away from the cottage now, but this part of the journey had to be made out in the open, away from the trees, away from safety. * �Where�s Rob?� Sandra asked. Terry looked up and shrugged. �Don�t know� he said. �He should have been back an hour ago.� Looking back down to his King novel, Terry added, �He probably went for a quick drink with that farmer�Philips was it?� �I don�t care!� said Sandra, �I�m starved and it�s freezing in here!� Sandra moved to the window and gazed into the fading evening. There was no movement from the road that wound away off in front of the house. In her opinion it wasn�t the greatest idea in the world to come down into the country at this time of year but she was told that she didn�t have to come and had come anyway, leaving here zero reasons to complain. Until. �No wood or coal, no food and no hot water!� she said, �You guys organised this trip real well!� �Mmm.� said Terry, not looking up from his notebook, leaving Sandra to shake her head and returns to her vigil. Having to deal with Rob�s shaggy head stuck in a book all the time was bad enough. Spending a weekend with two literary zombies was going to be a blast. �A blast.� She said. �Mmm.� said Terry. Yes, the evening was dimming and greying slowly outside the window. All around the small cottage, fields lay empty except for a flock of dark feathered birds occupying a field way off to the right, examining the hardened soil for foody goodness. Sandra was wondering which one was the leader when the whole flock suddenly took to the sky, scattering wildly, startling her. A figure had just burst from the undergrowth and was moving rapidly across the field towards the gate. It cleared the gate and came onto the road, running up towards the cottage. �Terry!� she said, as the figure drew nearer. �Something�s coming!� Terry wasn�t listening. �Terry!� she said again, unable to turn from watching the shadow race towards her. �Mmm?� responded Terry, as the figure came within a hundred yards. Sandra couldn�t answer. Her eyes were distracted by a second shadow gaining on the first. Smaller but faster it shortened the distance between the two. Then the first figure came close enough to discern. It was Rob. * He could see the cottage now. But he knew what was behind him and gaining since he left the trees. His heart was bursting. The panic kept fading into mild discomfort only to return, refuelled by the metallic smell of fresh blood. I was very hard to keep that urgent sense of panic for such a long chase and again and again Rob felt himself slowing down and thinking about taking a rest before shooting off again wellies shlooping underneath. He had to make it. He wasn�t going to end up like that. * Sandra ran to the door as Rob arrived. �Quick!� she cried, �Get in!� Rob tumbled through the door and she slammed it, banging in the hatch with a thump. �What�s going on?� asked Terry. �Where�s our food and fuel?� He looked at the two by the door. Robert looked petrified, there was muck all over him and he was panting hard. Sandra looked just as frightened. �Well?� he commented on the lack of reply. �What was that thing?� Sandra asked Rob �Why was it chasing you?� �Chasing you? What was chasing you?� Terry asked also. Rob didn�t answer straight away, he just panted. �Sheepdog� he said finally �it�s a sheepdog.� He moved cautiously towards the window a very large carving knife in his hand, and peered outside. Nothing. �Sheepdog? You were being chased by a dog?� Sandra said �I though it was�� she stopped. ��Something else.� She finished. Terry started to laugh. �A Sheepdog!� he tittered. �Big deal! Where�s the food? I thought you were going over to that farmer guy to get our stuff?� Sandra and Terry looked at Rob and waited for his response. �They�re dead� he said. Squinting out into the evening. �It killed them, tore they�re necks out and went after me!� * |
| (c) Eanna Cullen |