John Saul - Nathaniel

Quickly, Amos clambered to the top of the ladder and glanced around the loft.

Shadow had disappeared.

"All right, Michael," Amos said, the softness of his voice concealing his anger. "The joke's over. Wherever you're hiding, show yourself."

Nothing happened.

Amos moved toward the small pile of hay bales. They stood beneath the slanting roof, and Amos had to bend down to peer into the narrow space behind him.

Glaring back at him, his eyes glowing, was Shadow.

Startled, Amos stood up, and his head struck one of the beams that supported the barn roof. He staggered back, and Shadow, as if sensing his advantage, growled and moved forward.

"Get back, damn you," Amos muttered. He glanced around the loft, searching for a weapon, and spotted a pitchfork lying near the edge of the loft.

Moving slowly, his eyes never leaving the dog, he began edging toward the fork.

Shadow advanced, his hackles raised now, and his growl grew into an angry snarl.

Suddenly Amos made his move and had the pitchfork in his right hand. The dog tensed and came to a halt, as if sensing that the situation had changed.

Amos felt his heartbeat begin settling back to normal, and tightened his grip on the pitchfork. He began jabbing it at the dog, and slowly Shadow began to retreat, his growl subsiding into a sullen whimper.

And then Shadow's sinewy rump hit the stacked bales of hay, and he could move no further. His hackles rose once more, and his tail, still tucked between his legs, began to twitch. His yellow eyes, glinting in the shadows of the loft, seemed to narrow into evil slits, and fastened on the fork as if it were a snake.

"Not so brave now, are you?" Amos whispered. "Goddamn cur-lots of courage a minute ago, but look at you now."

Suddenly, Shadow leaped, twisting in midair to clamp his jaws onto the handle of the pitchfork, the force of his weight wrenching the tool out of Amos's grip. Before Amos could react, the dog darted toward the open door to the loft, and a moment later the fork dropped harmlessly to the ground below.

And then, as Amos watched, Shadow turned back, and began advancing on him once more, stalking him as if he were a rabbit, watching him, closing the gap between them, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Once again, Amos began backing away, and once more his eyes searched for a weapon.

There was none.

And suddenly Amos felt the edge of the loft. He came to a halt, glaring at the dog with a mixture of fear and anger.

"Down, damn you," he whispered. "Down!"

Shadow ignored him and came even closer, crouching on his haunches, his eyes glowing malevolently, the snarl in his throat settling into a steady evil hum.

And finally, once more, he leaped. His mouth wide open, he hurled his body forward.

Instinctively, Amos's hands and arms came up to ward off the attack, but he knew it was useless. The animal's jaws were about to close on his throat, its teeth about to sink into his flesh, tearing him apart.

Shadow's weight crashed against him, and Amos lost his balance, rumbling backward off the edge of the loft.

He could almost feel the tines of the waiting pitchfork, feel them plunging into his back, impaling him as they'd impaled Mark.

The split second it took before he struck the bin seemed like an eternity, and he half wished that Shadow's jaws would close on his throat, ripping his life out before the tines of the fork slashed through his body. At least with the dog, death would be quick, and the pain short lived.

And then, just before the fall ended, he blacked out.

The telephone was ringing as Janet returned from feeding her small flock of chickens. She hurried to answer it, but Michael got to it first. A moment later, he called out from the living room.

"Mom? It's Grandma, and she wants to talk to you." Then, as Janet took the receiver, he added, "She sounds real funny."

"Anna? I was going to call you in a few-"

And then she fell silent, lowering herself onto the chair next to the desk. "I see," she said at last. "But he's going to be all right? You're sure?" She listened once again, then hung up the phone and turned to face Michael. "Grandpa's had an accident," she said, reaching for her purse. "We have to go over there right away." Suddenly her eyes darted around the small living room, and she frowned. "Where's Shadow?"

As if in answer to her question, there was a soft woofing at the front door, and Michael went to let the big dog in. He nuzzled eagerly at Michael for a minute, but then, as if he felt Janet's eyes studying him, went to her and laid his head against her side. She hesitated, but finally gave him a tentative scratch behind the ears. As he watched, Michael felt suddenly worried.

"What happened to Grandpa?" he asked, and finally his mother looked at him, removing her hand from Shadow at the same time.

"I'm not sure," she said softly. "Apparently he fell from the hayloft. He's all right, but he says Shadow attacked him."

Instantly Michael was kneeling next to the dog, his arms around the beast's neck. "He did not! Shadow wouldn't hurt anyone. Besides, he was here when I got up, weren't you, Shadow?"

The dog whined happily and licked Michael's face. "But we've only been up an hour," Janet pointed out. "Your grandfather's been up since dawn. Shadow could have been over there."

"But why would he go to Grandpa's? He doesn't even like Grandpa!"

Janet sighed, and got to her feet. "Well, we don't really know what happened, do we? So why don't we go over there and find out?" Suddenly Michael stiffened. "No!"

"Michael!"

"I don't want to go over there. Grandpa's going to try to blame everything on Shadow, and it's not fair."

Suddenly Janet's own thoughts from the night before came back to her. Don't argue with him . "All right," she agreed. "You can stay here. But I want you to stay in the house, and rest. You still limp, even if it's just a little."

"Can't I even go out to the backyard and play with Shadow? I could just throw sticks for him."

Janet was already at the front door. "Okay, but that's as far as you go. The yard. Understood?"

"Uh-huh."

"I'll be back as soon as I can." And then she was gone, and Michael and Shadow were alone in the house.

"Did you get him, Shadow?" Michael said softly when the sound of the old truck had faded away. "Did you really get him?" The dog whimpered, and pressed closer. "Good boy," Michael whispered. "Next time, maybe you can make him die."

The scene at the Halls' was eerily familiar: there was Anna, her wheelchair pushed close to the sofa in the parlor, and there was Ione Simpson, doing her best to fill the gap left by Dr. Potter's death, bending over the supine figure on the sofa. But this time, it was Amos Hall, not Michael, on the sofa. Janet paused at the doorway for a moment, but Anna motioned her into the room.

"He's all right," she assured the younger woman. "Nothing's broken, and Ione doesn't think there're any internal injuries. Mostly, he got the wind knocked out of him, and his dignity's taken a beating." Suddenly she frowned. "Where's Michael?"

"I left him at home," Janet replied hastily. "I didn't know what was happening here, and I was afraid he'd just add to the confusion."

"It's his dog, I want," Amos suddenly growled. He struggled a moment, then sat up, fury in his eyes. "That mutt attacked me, and I want it destroyed."

"Now, Amos," Anna began, but her husband cut her off.

"You saw him, Anna. You saw him sneaking around the barn. And then he went for me."

"Oh, Amos, I'm so sorry," Janet said. "What happened? Why did he attack you?"

"How the hell do I know why?" Amos snorted. Briefly, he told them what had happened. When he was done, Janet sighed.

"We'll just have to get rid of the dog then, I suppose."