The Haunted Traveler Vol. 2 Issue 1

137
good dog
Llanwyre Laish
My dog? Yes, she’s pretty–and such a good girl. Only
problem is that she wants to lead as often as she follows.
This sweet girl is the reason I died, you know. I haven’t told
you the story?
Well, when we brought little Colin home from the
hospital to die, Elizabeth slept at his feet. Colin grew paler
and thinner and lost his hair; the dog grew heavier and her
black coat shone. While his bones jutted from under his skin
and he cried constantly, she grew plumper and wagged her
tail. We set up Colin’s bed in the living room where he could
look out the window, hoping he’d find his familiar surroundings
more comforting than the hospital, but as his vomiting
and shaking grew worse, we wondered if we had made the
wrong decision.
I lit the fireplace each night, for when Colin had the
strength, he liked to look at the leaping flames. Elizabeth’s
eyes glowed unnaturally red in the firelight, and she wagged
her tail enthusiastically when the wood began to burn. She
seemed fixated by the fire’s engulfing consumption. I knew
that a dog couldn’t possibly understand destruction, but