The Haunted Traveler December 2017 Edition

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the girls.
“She’s your dog,” Amelie returns. At least Annie will wait on the towels.
“She’s your daughter,” He counters, and then drops his bowl into the sink. “I’m
headed downstairs to work.”
Amelie looks out at the puppy, sitting at the edge of a puddle and watching as Annie
brings her booted foot down. Something twists in her heart. “Stay and watch them
with me,” she pleads, suddenly desperately aware both are getting older and puddles
don’t last forever. Micah grins, a little forlornly. “Can’t, too much work.” He kisses
her on the forehead, right where her hairline meets her temple, and she tries to hide her
disappointment. Then, Annie shrieks as water sloshes up and into her shoes, and she
turns her attention back through the sliding glass doors.
“I told you,” She crows at her daughter, and Annie and the puppy both look over
at her. Annie huffs just a little and puts her hands on her hips, mirroring her mother
unintentionally. The puppy’s tail flops. They act as though they’ve been interrupted, as
though they hadn’t wanted to share this moment. Screw that, I am your mother, Amelie
thinks to herself. She puts her hands up in a gesture of innocence, and then returns
to the dwindling stack of dishes. Annie pauses to rub Riri between her ears, two black
points cocked forward to protect her inner ears from the rain.
It is not until she is drying Micah’s breakfast bowl that she realizes she has stopped
hearing splashing noises and barks of protest when the puppy gets a wave to the face.
Annie’s giggles have gone quiet. Amelie sighs and flicks her fingers towards the sink,
splattering water over the dried dishes instead. Goddammit.
“Alright you two—I know what quiet means. What did you…” The backyard is
empty. Annie and the puppy have abandoned their post. Amelie rolls her eyes to the
heavens, wondering how muddy the hill in the front yard is by now and how much of
it has gotten on the girls. She shucks her feet into Micah’s slippers and paddles outside,
the soles separating from her heels and making thick noises on the concrete. “Annie,
Riri, where are you?”
“Mommy!” Annie screams, careening out of nowhere. Her face is wet, and Amelie
doesn’t realize it’s with tears. “Mommy come help!” She grabs her mother with her
hand, still rounded with baby fat, and pulls her towards the front yard. “Riri’s in the
ditch and I can’t reach her.” A thrill of fear goes down Amelie’s spine, or maybe it’s a
raindrop. She screams for Micah and takes off for the drainage ditch the front yard.
As she rounds the corner of the house, she barely stops herself from skidding to a halt.
Riri has always been a tiny puppy. Even her name is a mispronunciation of Annie’s,
trying to say ‘wee-wee’. The water in the drainage ditch is moving too fast; and there’s
way too much of it. It’s been raining for days, filling up to where the current almost
runs over the road. She’s trying to keep her little black nose above the water, her ears
pulled all the way back with adrenaline and exertion, but the current is stronger than
her paws are, and she’s moving rapidly towards the hollow tunnel under the corner of