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Raymond Nichols watched with great satisfaction as the phone broke into pieces upon the living room floor. For the third time that Saturday he’d fought with his soon to be ex-wife Pamela over her so called possessions. The two had argued over everything from the couch to the kitchen sink, screamed their ownership of the kitchen sink and even the can of green beans in the cupboard. Pamela had swore she’d be by tomorrow for her things, but Ray already had a few fiery ideas of his own for her stuff; especially the tacky furniture inherited from her grandmother.

Ray moved from the living room to the hallway where he demolished every last picture of him and Pamela by launching them upon the floor; obscenities flying like the pictures he hurled through the air. Ascending the stairwell to the second floor he obliterated every picture along the steps accompanying wall.  How he hadn’t smashed them before now he didn’t know, but there was no time like the present.

Soon, Raymond found himself in the master bedroom staring at the mattress with its pillows and blankets still tossed about as if it were a crime scene.  Right there as plain as day he could see the chalk outline of what was his marriage. 

Stepping to the bedside table he flung the alarm clock along with a photo of him and Pam at the beach to the floor. He knelt down and picked the alarm clock up and turned towards the old dresser, throwing the clock at the pictures; not taking into account it was still plugged into its outlet. It went forward a few feet before the cable stretched taught and it slammed into the carpeted floor.

Instead of taking his anger out on the alarm clock he walked to the dresser and did the job manually. Afterwards his attention went back to the bed.

 Burn it!

God, the thought was so tempting. In fact, burning the whole house to ashes seemed a viable solution to this whole mess. Just burn every last trace of this horrible marriage to Pamela to cinders and start over somewhere else. Hell, a thirty three year old, successful business man like him shouldn’t be tied down anyways. He should be at the beach, banging the last bit of sense out of some ditzy, college broad. It wasn’t too late; he could leave a candle going with some newspapers at the bottom and be at the beach by the time the house went up in flames.

Thinking better of setting the mattress and the house aflame for the moment, Raymond emerged from the room and quickly, but cautious of all the broken glass, set off for the kitchen for a knife. 

“Now those I’ll see to burning!” Raymond yelled referring to the pictures that were still in tact among the millions of glass shards. Raymond tore into the kitchen, the cutlery within his view. That was when his left leg slid from beneath him and he landed hard on his back. 

“What the hell,” Raymond yelled puzzled as to why he had fallen. 

His nostrils suddenly caught a strong whiff of a very foul and unpleasant odor. Also, the middle of his back was warm and wet, as if he’d landed in hot mud.  It wasn’t to hard to figure out what he had just tripped on and the already insanely maddened Raymond Nichols progressed to homicidally deranged.

“You fucking mutt!” Raymond screamed. “You’re dead.” He searched the kitchen wall to wall for the led grey and white colored dog, Zeppelin.

He stood up from the white linoleum floor and gazed upon the now mashed green substance tainting the kitchen’s beauty.  Tearing the blue button up shirt from his back and slinging it upon the mound of excrement he scooped it up and deposited it shirt and all in the waste basket. Forgetting about the knife ray clenched his fists and set off through the house, whistling and calling for the dog.

Raymond walked up the hall of broken glass back into the living room to see if the dog had slipped in there while he’d been busy with his redecorating.  A quick look over the mess that had become the living room showed the dog wasn’t there.  The bathroom beneath the stairwell had been shut all day but nonetheless Raymond found himself looking there as well. As was obvious just by looking at the shut door Zeppelin wasn’t there either. 

Back up the steps he walked, holding the knife above his head and calling for the dog in as kind a voice he could muster through his anger. Once more he was in his bedroom staring upon his polluted bed. So sure the dog would be lying there Raymond found himself puzzled when he found the bed as he had left it moments ago.  Even a search beneath the bed contained only house slippers, boxes of photographs, and no Zeppelin.

“Zeppelin, here girl” Raymond let out a whistle.

Back down the steps he went to the kitchen once again, having to step over his ruined shirt at the entrance.  He walked to the pantry and picked up a can of wet dog food from the bottom and set it upon the counter. He walked through the small hallway that led from the kitchen to the laundry room. Here there was a door that continued on into the garage.  The last and most important ingredient for the dog’s dinner that night set innocently upon a shelf. The rat with a red line over it announced that it was far from an innocent substance however. Raymond had bought this stuff a few years ago when Pamela had spotted a mouse in their attic. Of course the mouse never touched it, at least as far as he could tell it hadn’t. 

“The mouse was a smarter creature than dumb ass Zeppelin is though,” Raymond assured himself as he proceeded back into the house. 

Zeppelin was Pamela’s dog in a sense, a border collie that was grey and white. Pamela named her Zeppelin because of the lead grey splotches. Something Pamela thought was so darling yet Raymond thought was idiotic. The dog wasn’t completely grey it was just as much white as grey, but Pamela never was very bright.

 It was Raymond’s money that fed the dog, his money that took care of the vet bills when it was sick, and saw to her shots when they needed updated. The dog had been around for four years now and save for one instance, had done nothing of any value or worth.

A few years ago though, Pamela had fallen down the steps and knocked herself out. Zeppelin ran outside through the garage where Raymond had been mowing grass and barked and tugged at his pants legs until he had followed the dog back to his unconscious wife.

 Pamela had screamed she was taking Zeppelin with her when she came by tomorrow. When she came by tomorrow the dog named after the rock band would be planted in the backyard garden. Then when Pamela’s mouth began to run as it was guaranteed to do, Raymond would think heavily on planting her ass right along side Zeppelin’s. 

From behind him at the back door came a familiar scratching sound.  So that’s where the dog had been, Raymond didn’t remember letting her out. No matter, it would just be back out there permanently in a few minutes anyway.

He sat the silver dish down upon the floor and walked to the glass sliding door.  There was Zeppelin with her tongue hanging out and eyeballs wide as always waiting anxiously for her master to open the door. As soon as the door was open enough for her small body to slide through (and Ray decided against sliding it shut on her neck) she hurried in and rushed at her food bowl.

Raymond walked to the garage and lifted a shovel from the wall.  He walked out of the backdoor into the backyard.  Here there was a small wooden porch with a grill and a table and chairs.  Along the house was a garden that Pamela had planted. Here seemed as good a place as any and Raymond proceeded to thrust the shovel into the ground and dig out a box shaped hole. 

After he had dug a hole roughly about three feet deep, and big enough to fit the Border Collie he went back to the garage to put the shovel back in its proper place.  Just as he expected when he walked back to the kitchen Zeppelin lie stiff and lifeless. Though she had to have experienced discomfort and pain that happy, stupid look was still on her face. Her eyes still seemed to twinkle and hold an odd playfulness.

In no hurry Raymond cleaned up the mess that had killed Zeppelin. After that he went to the bedroom and obtained the very bed sheet Pamela had cheated on with Raymond. It only seemed fitting that that be the dog’s burial shroud. Now he placed  the inert Zeppelin into the sheet and hauled it off to the backyard where with a simple thud, he dropped the dog into the ground.

Raymond simply filled the hole by shoveling the dirt back in with the side of his shoe.  He stomped the surface to smooth it out and after the deed was done, he wouldn’t have known anything was buried in the garden if he himself didn’t know any better.

“Tomorrow I’ll put your bitch of a mother right here beside you,” Raymond declared to the garden soil. “And burn this whole damn house down on both of you.”

At this Raymond took his departure from the backyard, which was now awash in the dull shades of dusk. In the kitchen he washed his hands of the soil, and set off and cleaning the house. Once the glass had been swept up he headed back into the kitchen for that vodka.

From the cabinet above the stove he grabbed his bottle of choice from among the rums, gins, and whiskeys and fished a drinking glass from the cupboard. Ray watched as the fluid filled the clear glass up to the half-way point before he stopped. He emptied the contents down his throat in three swift gulps, exhaling deeply as the booze burned his throat. Raymond poured a small amount in the glass and shot it back.

***

“Huh?” Raymond shot up from the couch, not remembering crawling off to sleep. Shaking his head and blinking his eyes from the light of a table lamp. What had woke him? Something he heard maybe?

            His mouth feeling like a desert and his tongue a dry bone, Ray set up. Before drifting back off to sleep he wanted to get some water and some aspirins as well, either that or saw off his throbbing head.

Standing up from the couch he walked down the small hallway, passing the small bathroom set beneath the stairs, and walked into the kitchen. Sitting on the island was the bottle of vodka and the drinking glass which he picked up. He rinsed it in the sink and filled it to the brim with cold water, he’d have to go to the medicine cabinet in the small bathroom to get the aspirin but that was along his way. When he turned towards the kitchen doorway he dropped the glass to shatter upon the floor.

            In the doorway like a statue was Zeppelin. Her eyes no longer held that strange look of happiness but were rather devoid of emotion and unblinking. She sat there watching Raymond, not even wagging her tail an inch. Ray blinked, when he opened his eyes to see that Zeppelin still sat there, he blinked again only longer. Once again, the dog still sat there only turning its head to the side as if perplexed by Ray’s behavior.

            Raymond shut his jaw, which had fallen open without his knowing. He walked around the island keeping his eyes on Zeppelin who did the same in return. He reached the back door and flipped the light switch to turn the light on. Walking into his backyard he made his way to the grave in the flower bed. To his bewilderment, it looked undisturbed; just as he had left it.

            Rational thought finally came back to Raymond, who had been so confused and baffled, his mind had gone blank. He peeked around the edge of the doorway and watched as Zeppelin stared right back at him. The dog’s fur wasn’t dirty at all, but then the grave was still perfect as well. But how?

            “What in the hell is going on?” Raymond said to himself, as if this was all a joke he just didn’t get. “Does rat poison have a fucking shelf date? Does cyanide lose its potency after awhile?”

            Every thought seemed to get more improbable as he went along. Poison was poison and the poison he used earlier should still be strong enough to kill a horse with the right amount.

Maybe he used too little?  Raymond convinced himself that’s what it was, but even that seemed unlikely. He’d used a damn good amount, wanting to get rid of the box so it didn’t take up space in his garage anymore.

“I don’t know how you did it you little bitch,” Raymond’s laughed in bewilderment. “But just in case the rat poison was no more deadly than rat shit, I’ll just do this myself.”

He stooped in front of the Border Collie and grabbed her purple dog collar. Zeppelin still didn’t move or so much as bat an eye as he grabbed her by the neck. Just a quick twist and he’d break her neck and throw her right back in the garden. That’s when he felt the warm rush of air on his left cheek, and became aware of another presence.

Raymond’s body became rigid with fear; the hand gripping Zeppelin’s neck started to shake noticeably. Whoever had snuck up on him was so close to his face their warm breath was causing moisture on his cheek. His palms took on a cold, clammy feeling. He turned his head slowly to the side to find his eyes staring back into...Zeppelins?

How in the...?” Ray’s head shot back in forth, from Zeppelin to Zeppelin. “This is fucking impossible!”

No matter how many times he repeated the line or how loudly he shouted it, it didn’t change the fact that Zeppelin had multiplied. Also, their attitudes had started to change. What was a low sound at first had reached a menacing volume. Both dogs began to growl in unison with each other. It was then that Ray realized he still had his hand wrapped around the first one’s throat. He removed it quickly and slowly began to move away.

            His head danced from front to side as he pulled slowly away, sweat running down his forehead, his whole body shaking with fear. He knew these dogs meant him harm and they put on display the very things they would do such harm with. Their teeth glistened white in the kitchen light, each set identical in every respect of the word. Ray’s gut told him those teeth wouldn’t be white for long if he didn’t manage to get away from them, or get a weapon.

            Weapon, yeah, that was exactly what he needed. Or at least what he needed to make himself feel better about his odds. Right now one man against two medium sized dogs with sharp teeth and stout muscle didn’t sound good. Especially to a thirty three year old business man who only lifted a meager suitcase and was a little filled out around his mid-section. These dogs could tear a body builder apart, much less an out of shape man like Ray.

            Ever mindful of the dogs Ray began to search the kitchen for a decent weapon and quick escape route. The entrance to the garage was to his back, he could make a run for it.  If he could only make it to the garage he could have the assurance of the shovel as a weapon. Hell, if he could make it to the garage he could get in his car and drive right out of here.  What he’d do afterwards he didn’t know, but at least he’d be far away from this lunacy.

            The thought of making a dash for the garage sounded more tempting than ever, but there was still a good chance he wouldn’t make it before Zeppelin, or the Zeppelins, caught him.

Back to square one, attain a weapon and then consider the escape plan.

On his hands and knees Ray continued to back up slowly while the two Zeppelins continued to snarl and bark, showing their teeth to Raymond who had now memorized all the sharp-pointed ones; and there was a lot. The kitchen island was against his heels, a thought he didn’t like. Right now he was pinned; he would have to move to a side before he had open space to his back. That’s when Ray remembered the knife set above him on the counter. The butcher’s knife it contained sounded pretty appealing at that moment.

Mustering a sly smile Ray began to sit up on his knees. The thought of the knife giving him a wind of confidence, those knives could cut through anything, especially a canine’s throat. He reached blindly behind him, not daring to turn his back on the dogs, which had now started to jerk forward as if about to charge. That confidence was starting to fade. Ray needed that knife now, for the dogs would attack very soon. Perhaps they weren’t as stupid as Raymond wished they were, but that was absurd. A dog doesn’t know what a knife is? But then a dog doesn’t die, come back, and come back in multiples of itself either.

When they lurched again they moved forward a step, their barking seem to rise into an unfathomable pitch. Tears tore down Ray’s face like locomotives. They lurched forward again, the gap becoming shorter. Still searching blindly for the knife set Ray knocked the vodka bottle over, spilling its contents along the counter and onto the floor. He could use the bottle but sometimes a bottle didn’t even stop a human, and probably not a mad dog.

Just at the edge of his grip Raymond felt the knife’s handle, and below that the curve of the wood block it was set in. As steadily as he could will himself to be he pulled at block, inching it closer towards him. He’d just gotten it to the edge of the counter when the dogs sprung at him again; only this time it wasn’t for intimidation.

“OH SHIT!” Ray yelled as the dogs advanced on him, the one on his left reached him first knocking him sideways. His hand pulled the knife set off of the island, causing the serrated blades to fall to the floor. How none of them stabbed him or the dog he didn’t know, nor did he have time to contemplate as he desperately fought to fend off both Zeppelins who snapped and shook.

Ray kicked and thrashed like a mad man; yelling and screaming for what seemed to be impossible lengths of time. He kicked one away only to have to punch and push at the other. By the time he had knocked that Zeppelin back, the other was already back on him. The knives lay sprawled upon the floor, all of them including the butcher’s knife were in reaching distance, but to reach for one would expose himself to injury. But just as grim was the fact that his body was beginning to tire from the frantic fight. If he didn’t gamble on reaching a knife soon, the dogs would take him easily once all his adrenaline and stamina had been spent.

With one great stomp of his right heel to one and a quick punch to the other, Ray made his move for the butcher’s knife. His face was flushed with perspiration, which stung his eyes; still he dared not blink. The dogs were quick to recover however, too quickly at that. Before Ray had time to do anything teeth were sinking deep into his left forearm and right shin.

No amount of adrenaline could mask the tearing pain that shot through his body. His eyes went wide as he screamed in agony. Still he reached with his right arm towards the knives, any knife now would do. The first one his hand came across was of decent length and wasting no time he plunged the dagger into the neck of the dog that had his arm. It howled in pain but somehow kept its bite. Ray jerked the knife down to cut across the dog’s neck, which finally freed his arm as it went limp.

Sitting up straight, he gritted his teeth to the pain in his leg. Zeppelin thrashed her head side to side, tearing the wounds deeper and wider. With both hands cupped around the handle Ray raised the knife above his head and plunged it into Zeppelin’s back. The dog released the bite, and stood erect before making a lunge for Raymond’s face. Falling quickly to his left he avoided the lunge, However, Zeppelin was now coming for his throat.

Kicking away quickly, Ray evaded another attack, and finally had in his possession the comforting weight of the butcher’s knife. With all his fear and anger driving him he stabbed the knife all the way to the hilt in Zeppelin’s chest. With a whimper the dog dropped lifeless on the kitchen floor.

Shaking from a prolonged state of adrenaline Ray gazed at the kitchen ceiling. His arm and leg throbbed with excruciating pain, each ache only pushing more blood from the bites. He clutched his forearm in his hand, the slick blood encasing his palm. He sat up and looked at his leg. The right leg of his khaki’s was in tatters; the cream colored fabric a dark crimson.  

             Getting up from the floor was a challenge due to the imbalance of the injuries but Ray finally managed it. He needed to get to a hospital but not before dressing his wounds, not doing so meant risking wrecking from blood loss. The small bathroom had some bandage wraps, gauze, and tape; he’d make quick work of it.

He was halfway down the hallway when he heard an odd ripping sound coming from the kitchen; he suddenly dared not even breathe. His ears were filled with what sounded like a zipper coming undone, followed by wet splashing upon the kitchen floor. And what was that? An odd clicking and scratching sound was becoming audible in the mix as well.

            By the time Ray had mustered up the courage to see for himself just what was taking place behind him a bark made it crystal clear. Stepping lightly Ray limped up the small hallway. Ahead was the entrance to the small bathroom, beyond that the stairs, and just a few steps from that was the front door; exactly where ray had in mind.

            Behind him he could hear the claws on the floor, he was being pursued. Like earlier they were in no hurry yet. It wouldn’t be too much longer before they made a run at him. And this time Ray knew it was more than two dogs. He didn’t know how it was possible but if his ears weren’t lying to him, there had to be at least four dogs coming up behind him.

            No! As if their barks were the starter pistol at a marathon the dogs took off. Ray looked over his shoulder to see four sets of white teeth shining as they approached fast up the hallway. Though his leg was tender and sore from the dog bites, Ray turned his cautious walk into a full blooded run.

The dogs gained on him with every second, Ray reached the bathroom door but blew past it; not knowing if he had enough time to open it and get in. There was no chance of getting out the front door; undoing the locks would serve him on a silver platter to the Zeppelins. Like a classic cliché from a horror movie Ray grabbed the bottom past of the stairs and swung himself onto the first step.

Zeppelin and her exponents went sliding on the hard wood floor as they tried to make the sharp turn. This bought Ray a second. He was halfway up when the first Zeppelin began her ascent. Curse them and their four legs, Ray spat; damning his own two out of shape legs as well.

            There was no more distance to fill; the first dog had reached him. It was nipping at his heels. Risking a bold move Ray turned on the step and delivered a bone jarring kick to the dogs chin, sending it flying in the air. There was a moment of glee as the dog rolled like down the stairwell; tripping and taking with it another Zeppelin.

            The remaining two were quick to evade their tumbling friends and kept racing forward. Finally, Ray reached the landing where he stopped and quickly debated the next move. The spare bedroom and bathroom were to the left, and the master bedroom on the right, and though it disgusted him, Ray made for the master bedroom.

            Arms flailing and lungs yelling he ran like hell down the hall. The dogs were back on him; down the hall the other two had rejoined the chase. He made it in just the nick of time to the safety of his bedroom; slamming the door shut as soon as he crossed the doorway. Two horrendous thuds resonated from the other side, shaking the entire door in its frame.

            Ray gasped for air, sweat streamed down his face which burned like fire. It had to have been over a decade since he’d run a fraction of what he just had. And god the room was beautiful at that moment, even the bed, which he laid outstretched on. “Safe!”

                                                                        ***

            Outside the door the four Zeppelins sat. They’d pursued the man to this point but could go no further. They didn’t even bother with scratching or running into the door, they knew it would be no use. Two dogs turned away from the door and trotted off down the steps and back to the kitchen.

            Here lay crumpled gobs of fur and blood, cutlery, and a puddle of vodka. Walking through the mess they moved to the stove. With a leap one Zeppelin was on the stove-top. She pawed the knobs until one turned to the on position; she repeated to do so until all four eyes had been turned on.

            In the floor the other Zeppelin wrestled with the skin of one of the prior dogs. Grabbing it in her mouth she thrashed her head back in forth; mopping the pelt in the vodka. When this Zeppelin had gained enough momentum she let go, and the skin sailed up onto the counter.

Zeppelin placed the alcohol doused hide on the stove eyes and leapt from the counter. The two dogs raced back to the master bedroom where they jumped onto the other two Zeppelins, biting into their throats, scratching at their necks. They were killing each other.

                                                                        ***

            “What in the hell is going on?” Ray exclaimed. He’d been contemplating jumping out of the window, not liking the fact that it was a bone breaking distance to the ground.

            When he was about sold on the idea he was interrupted by what sounded like a dog fight. Thinking they might be tricking him he opened the door to see two dead Zeppelins lying on the floor while the other two, fought away at each other.

            “Happy day,” Ray shouted. “They’re going to kill themselves.”

            Ray shut the door behind him all the while beaming with a smile. The smile was short lived however. Suddenly the images of the kitchen flooded back to him; he remembered then that Zeppelin didn’t stay dead anymore. None of the multiples of her did. And if two came from one and four from two, how many would come from four?

            Eight. Eight of them would come. From the other side of the door came the ripping sounds, the fighting had ceased. Ray ran a hand over his face. The options were pretty grim. He could risk jumping from the house, or fight his way through the house to the car, or he could burn?

            Why did he say burn? It puzzled Ray at first, but he soon acknowledged the smell of smoke. Picking himself up from the floor he looked at the door; wishing to see beyond it. Had he left the stove on?

            “Those dogs, Ray yelled. “Those impossible bitches are burning the house down.”

            This night was impossible. He had killed Zeppelin, but now he was waging war with her and her infinite self.

“Go on and build up your numbers!” Ray exclaimed to the door. “You’ll fucking need them.”

            Ray threw the closet doors open and tossed clothes from his way. There was his golf bag, complete with clubs and a 12 gauge shotgun. He snatched the cold metal in his hand and slid the gun from the bag.

            From the closet shelf above him he tossed shoe box after shoe box out of his way until he unearthed his box of shells. He loaded seven in the chamber and pocketed several spare rounds. Once the gun was empty there’d be no time for a reload but just in case; anyways the gun was a club too.

            Giving one more thought to jumping out the window Ray picked up his weapon and walked to the door. The time to move was definitely now. With a futile calming breath he kicked open the door.

            His eyes closed involuntarily as he let lose with the shotgun. With a yell he fired off all seven shots towards the floor. There had been no yelps; no tell-tale cries of pain to report he’d hit anything. Ray opened his eyes and saw the hallway was deserted, save for dead bodies which had already been there.

            Every step had Ray walking on the flat corpse of Zeppelin. His hands trembled as he retrieved spare ammo around from his pocket. Walking cautiously, he listened for noise of any kind. The crackle of fire was all that was audible. He peaked into the bathroom, expecting hundreds of eyes to stare back; however, there was only darkness.

            He’d loaded three shells into the shotgun when they came pouring out from the spare bedroom and running up the stairwell. They had to number near a hundred or more all with hungry eyes and anxious mouths. They’d cut off his escape route and three bullets wouldn’t make any kind of dent in this sea of canine bodies.

            Ray braved one more round into the loading chamber, as the ranks displaced and a line opened up from the stairwell. As if they were the Red sea, the Zeppelins moved to the sides. Suddenly, something was running up the stairs. When it appeared on the landing Ray was confused by it at first. A brilliant orange ball running in his direction, his trigger finger wasn’t so slow on the uptake however. With a squeeze, a torrent of lead stopped the burning Zeppelin. From the horde of dogs another jumped onto the pyre, igniting itself.

            Ray let lose with the shotgun as he backed up down the hall. The bullets mangled the dogs skull and busted its brains along the walls. The whole brood moved now, one stopping to light itself on fire before dashing at Ray who shot it down only to have another dog follow suit.

            He fled back to the bedroom, not even having time to shut the door. They were right on him again, biting his ankles, ripping at his calves. His legs went out from under him and he was soon overrun on the ground. Firing the last shell he cut down two more dogs and beat the rest away with the butt of the shotgun.

            Ray managed to pull himself up onto the bed, fighting tooth and nail for his life. His fists and feet did very little to the dogs, Ray watched as his thumb was torn from his hand, forever lost down the gullet of one of the Zeppelins. All over he heard his own bones crunching and splitting to give way for the hundreds of sharp teeth that bit into him.

            From the hallway another ball of fire ran and threw itself onto the bed. As Ray sat shaking and screaming, his blood soaking into the mattress, the bed sparked into an inferno. And soon the fighting was no more.

                                                                        ***

            Pamela Nichols had got the call this morning that her husband Ray was dead. When she asked what had happened she was told he’d burned to death when their house caught fire. She’d been questioned by a detective wanting to know her whereabouts last night.  Knowing she had nothing to hide she told the truth of last night, a night on the town with her new man Barry.

            They told her they’d look into it and made sure it came out straight and then asked about Ray. She’d been honest of how her husband had been acting, and how he’d even threatened to burn the house down before. Both she and the detective agreed they thought he’d have more sense to get out of it if he did. After that the detective had left to retrieve some items found in the ashes this morning.

            “Oh Ray,” Pamela whispered to herself. “My mother always did say you weren’t too bright.” Pamela cracked a smile.

“But if this man doesn’t come back with my dog Ray,” she looked towards the ceiling. “I’m going to kill you.”

The door to the interrogation room opened and in walked the tall cop with the balding, grey hair. He showed Pamela the little object in his hand.

“Does this belong to you by any chance,” the man asked.

“Why yes officer,” Pamela replied. “That’s a very dear heirloom; been in my family for generations.”

“That so?” the cop replied, checking the little round object over.

He handed Pamela the object, just a simple piece of tarnished wood, one that meant the world to the Martin (Pamela’s maiden name) women. Pamela sat flipping the heirloom around her hand as the detective gave a whistle that startled her. The door opened up and in came an officer holding a leash. Her heart gave a jump and her face beamed; there was her girl, Zeppelin, staring happily at her.

                                    ****

Pamela walked to her car, opening the passenger door to let Zeppelin in. From behind her the detective called for her to wait just one moment.

“Glad to see your puppy made it ma’am,” the man exclaimed, nodding towards the dog.

“Thank you, I am too. Ray always hated this dog and I’m glad to see he was human enough not to hurt her.”

“Me too Mrs. Pamela,” the cop asked. “I just wanted to ask. What exactly is that family heirloom of yours about? Reckon it’s got something to do with luck cause that house was completely demolished, yet, your two favorite possessions walk away with out a lick of soot.”

“Well officer,” Pamela replied, wanting to keep the explaining short and sweet. “My mother always told me this here thing would keep us safe, and protect us.”

“Protect ya’ll from what?” the man asked puzzled.

“The Martin women have always had bad men in their lives. So much so my great-great-great grandmother thought we were cursed. She supposedly had this piece of wood enchanted by a slave who was into occult practices.”

“Enchanted?” the cop was really gone now. “So he worked some kind of voodoo on that wood of yours?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Pamela replied; knowing the man didn’t believe anything she was saying. “It just keeps us safe from men who would want to hurt us.”

“Well every families got it’s legends I suppose,” the cop gave a laugh. “S’pose it does work though, she’s safe and all. Guess your husband didn’t know about that, huh?”

The detective nodded towards Zeppelin, Pamela turned to her dog passenger with a beaming smile.

“He sure didn’t!” Pamela exclaimed excitedly. “And who knows whose life that secret saved.”