Byron Starr - Doppelgänger

Larry sat up in his bed and stretched. The bloodhound-handler-Larry wasn’t as much of the type to worry about inconveniencing others as the family-man-Larry was. The bloodhound-handler-Larry had a one-track mind, and his only two concerns were tracking down whomever — or in this case whatever — he was sent to track down. And the welfare of his dogs. To hell with anything and everything else that didn’t have to do with one of these two concerns. However, the way Larry saw it, keeping the Ellises’ happy had a lot to do with both of these concerns. The Ellis house and the area around it were perfect for Larry and his hounds. Aside from the three horses that Larry had convinced Bob to move to another pasture for the duration of his stay, the Ellis place was well away from the various things that could distract the dogs from their training, like nosy neighbors and other dogs and animals. The Ellises also had a large backyard and a pasture to work the dogs, and the woods were near the house, so Larry could work them in the woods without having to load them up and transport them somewhere else.

As Larry searched the floor and under his bed for his pants (the bloodhound-handler-Larry was also quite a slob), he heard the dog’s baying change dramatically. Fear.

He heard a yelp.

Larry grabbed his revolver off the nightstand and took off, starting down the hall clad only in his long johns.

The Ellis master bedroom was on the other end of the house. Jewel woke up when the dogs started baying the first time, and she hadn’t been able to get back to sleep when they started again. She woke Bob and asked him to go see if Larry could do anything to quiet the dogs down. Bob, who had been sleeping like a rock through all the commotion, got up and put on his robe. He was on his way down the hall to Larry’s room when his guest burst out the door and slammed into him. Despite being about fifty pounds lighter than Bob, Larry didn’t fall. In fact, his step didn’t falter; he didn’t even break stride. He plowed into and over Bob and kept going.

Outside the dogs’ barking had turned to outright panic. Another startled yelp was heard, and was abruptly silenced.

Larry threw the sliding glass door that lead to the back porch open with such force that it jumped off its tracks and fell to the porch, shattering.

Another yelp came from the pen, this one long and pained. He could hear the rest of the dogs were barking and howling in outright terror.

Driven by a combination of rage, fear, and panic usually reserved for parents protecting their children, Larry leaped from the porch and started toward the pen.

There were security lights in the backyard of the Ellis house, but none of them were close to the pen. Larry was halfway across the backyard before he could make out something in the pen with the dogs. It was standing on two legs. Larry saw this intruder swing a long arm, and then saw what seemed to be one of his dogs fly across the pen and against the far wall of the pen.

“Son-of-a-bitch!” Larry shrieked, and fired his.38 in the air. There was no chance of him hitting whatever it was at this range without a risk of hitting one of the dogs, but perhaps he could scare it off.

Apparently it worked. Whatever was in the pen with the dogs ran out the gate and started for the woods. Larry fired two poorly aimed shots at the shape while still on the run.

The beast crashed into the woods with Larry not too far behind.

Larry continued chasing whatever it was that had hurt his babies. He couldn’t see it, but he could hear it. Every once in a while he would let his rage out, and shriek an expletive at the top of his panic-stricken voice. About ten cuss words later Larry tripped over a root and went sprawling face first.

Larry raised his head. “Bastard,” he said now in a hoarse whisper.

He then pointed his revolver in the direction he had been running and blindly fired his remaining three shots.

Bob made it to the back door just in time to see Larry crash into the woods. He turned to Jewel, who had heard the commotion and gotten up and now stood right behind him. “Call the sheriff’s office,” he told her.

Then Bob rushed back into the living room and turned on the light. He went to the gun-cabinet, and selected a.308 out of the dozen or so shotguns and rifles. Bob hurried to the back door, where he stepped outside, carefully trying to avoid stepping on the broken glass with his bare feet. Once past the glass, he started toward the dog’s pen at a trot.

As Bob hurried across the yard, he noticed the dogs were strangely silent. When he got nearer and saw the gate open, he first began to calm somewhat as he decided that maybe one of the dogs had somehow managed to get out and that Larry had taken off trying to catch them. But this didn’t make any sense. From what he had seen, Larry’s dogs were so well disciplined that if Larry wanted them to come back he’d just have to call them and they’d come running. In fact, it almost seemed that the pen was unnecessary; Larry could probably draw a circle on the ground and tell them to stay in it and they would. Not only that, but why had Larry been shooting?

As Bob approached the gate he began to hear a faint whimper. He knew it had to be a dog, but it almost sounded human. Then he saw the mutilated remains of what had been Larry’s bloodhounds.

“My God,” he gasped

In the distance three shots rang out, causing Bob to jump.

Bill was first to arrive at the scene. He got out of his patrol car, drew his pistol, and started around the house. “Bob! Jewel!” he called out.

“Around back!” He heard Bob answer.

In the backyard Bill found Bob and Jewel standing together halfway between the house and the dog’s pen, facing the pen. Bob had his rifle in one hand and had his other arm wrapped tightly around Jewel, who was shivering. Bob was wearing a bathrobe, and Jewel was wearing only a nightgown.

As Bill approached from behind the couple, he holstered his gun and took off his jacket. Bill placed the jacket on Jewel’s shoulders. “Here you go,” he said softly.

Jewel didn’t say a word. One of her hands reached up and softly grasped Bill’s hand as he positioned the jacket. She was crying. Jewel was no great dog lover, but she had always been a soft-hearted person.

“What happened?” Bill asked.

“Something got Larry’s dogs,” Bob answered in a reverent whisper.

“Where’s Larry?”

“Down there,” Bob gestured toward the pen. “He’s shook up somethin’ terrible.”

Bill started down the hill.

The pen was a bloody mess. To the right of the gate there was what seemed to be a gory strip of dog hide hung in the mesh of the fence. A severed dog’s leg with most of the shoulder still attached was lying right in the doorway. One of the dogs had even been ripped completely in two, with its lower half lying on one side of the pen with guts hanging out of it, and the front half lying near the middle of the pen.

Larry was kneeling in the middle of the pen holding one dog with its head in his lap, another lay near his side. He was covered in his babies’ blood.

“You’ll be okay Jody,” Larry sobbed to the dog in his lap. Then he stroked the dog that was by his side. “Sshh, Cecil, it's okay, Daddy’s here.” He started crying uncontrollably. “My babies. My beautiful babies.”

Bill didn’t say a word. He silently turned and walked back toward the Ellises’ allowing Larry to have his time alone with his babies.

Five of the seven dogs were dead, and Jody, the dog in Larry’s lap, would be dead before sunrise. Cecil, the only surviving dog, would recover and eventually be kept as a house pet at the Williams house. Larry retired from the Department of Public Safety as soon as he returned to Austin.