Carver Pike - Scalp

He’d turned her down politely, but he had to admit, if he’d had two more drinks he would have gone back to her trailer to show her his business. That was the reason he’d left when he did. He neither needed two more drinks nor a late night rendezvous with the Cloud 9 hussy.

“Where the hell is everyone?” he asked himself quietly as he drove to the front of Andre’s trailer and parked.

The place was never hopping during the day the way it always was at night, but this was unusual. Old Man Paulson, as everyone in the area called him, was always outside picking up trash or mowing the few patches of grass that remained in the place. Yet, the outside was riddled with beer cans, paper plates, and other clutter left over from last night’s festivities. The old man must have been out of town or sick. He’d never let the place look like this so late in the afternoon.

Moseying up the three wooden steps leading to Andre’s front door, Hal couldn’t help feeling like he was being watched. He turned quickly, expecting to catch someone in the act, but he saw nobody around. Andre was an acquaintance, but he wasn’t a good friend, and if the cops hadn’t located him yet, Hal stood little chance of digging up his whereabouts. These were his thoughts as he tapped his knuckles against Andre’s door.

All was silent on the other side of the door. He recalled Andre’s wife’s name starting with the letter “L,” but, for the life of him, he couldn’t remember her name.

Leslie? Leeanne? Layla?

He knocked again, but nobody called out from the other side of the door. The ex-cop part of him wanted to try the doorknob and see if it was unlocked.

And if it is?

That was the problem. If he tried and found it open, he would feel the need to peek inside.

And what if she’s sitting on the toilet? What if his wife is in the shower? She’s not expecting company.

With his hand on the knob, he fought the urge to turn it and pop it open. More than likely, even if she wasn’t home, it would be unlocked. Hardly anyone locked their doors around here. There was a mutual respect in Clydesville. Nobody took things that weren’t theirs, not even in a place with so many drug-addicted residents. It simply wasn’t done. People were raised right. They were God-fearing folks and stealing was a sin.

Nashville had been entirely different. There, you needed to keep everything locked. That place was too wild for him. He supposed things would be worse in some other cities like Los Angeles or maybe New York, but Nashville was rough. The world knew it as the home of country music, but what they didn’t see was all the bloodshed in the shadier parts of town.

Pop the door open and call out for her. If you hear the shower running or she tells you she’s in the bathroom, you apologize and leave. What’s the harm in that?

Behind him, a dog’s collar jingled. Hal turned around to see a German shepherd prancing through the center of the Circle of Hope. It stopped, sniffed something on the ground, and then turned its attention to one of the trailers.

Hal wasn’t worried. More than likely the dog belonged to one of the people who lived at Cloud 9. It was probably friendly. Hal decided he’d knock once more. This time, as he did, the big dog barked in unison, suddenly aware of his presence, and from the way his snout rose up over his gritted teeth, he didn’t like Hal.

The dog stepped forward, and Hal knew he must be seeing things, but it seemed like its fur shifted. Like a strong wind blew through it and made it move.

But it’s a German-fucking-shepherd, man.

Its fur was short and smooth. The wind wouldn’t make it shift like that.

Hal’s desire to check in on Andre’s wife faded as he glanced at his truck. It was only three steps down and the passenger side door was only three feet from there. Approximately six feet would see him safely inside.

The dog growled and launched itself forward, sprinting toward him.

Hal wasn’t in good enough shape to leap off the stairs, but he took the three steps as quickly as he possibly could, hearing the sounds of the dog’s paws galloping toward him on the other side of the truck. It was close. Too close.

His boot hit mud at the bottom of the stairs and his right leg slid back, forcing him onto a knee. The dog would round the corner any second. If it did, he was a goner. The beast would leap on him and go right for his throat the way dogs always did.

He reached out, grabbed the wooden staircase banister, and hoisted himself back to his feet. The second he reached the passenger side door handle, the dog sped around the back of his truck and dove for him.

Hal slid inside and slammed the door.

It didn’t close, but bounced off the dog’s ugly, enraged face as it struggled to get inside the truck.

Its eyes were bloodshot.

Its mouth dripped saliva.

Its growl ripped through its throat and told him it would kill him if he let up even an inch.

But none of that bothered Hal like what he saw at the top of its head. Its fur shifted again, moved the way he imagined an overhead view of a cornfield would look if someone were running through it. Something wasn’t right here. This wasn’t only an angry dog. It was sick or… or possessed.

Hal hated to hurt an animal. It wasn’t in him to do so, but this was life or death, and as much as he’d considered suicide in the past, he wasn’t ready to die here today.

Pulling his aching knee back as far as he could, he thrust it forward and slammed his heel against the dog’s snout. It whined, growled some more, but slipped out of the doorway, allowing Hal to slam the door shut and lock it. He scrambled to the driver’s side and mashed the lock down on that side as well.

It’s a dog. It’s not going to open the doors.

That didn’t matter right now. He needed those doors locked. It felt safer that way. He was safe now.

A sudden boom rang through the air and Hal felt his entire truck shake. A second strike and he realized the dog was ramming its head against the passenger door.

You’re not safe. You’re not safe at all.

He turned the key, threw the truck into drive, and drove around the circle.

The dog wasn’t finished with him though.

It raced toward the opposite side, planning to cut him off.

This dog is fucking crazy.

Hal floored it, pressing his foot against the gas pedal while at the same time keeping his eyes on the dog racing across the Circle of Hope, leaping over a plastic cooler, and charging toward him. Whatever was driving that ferocious little fucker forward wasn’t going to stop until it had its jaws clamped around Hal’s throat.

Not today, son. You ain’t eating me today.

The pickup was only ten feet from the dip that would take him downhill and away from Cloud 9 when the four-legged monster caught up with him and leaped forward. Acting on instinct alone, Hal waited until the mutt was only a foot or two away and threw open his door. With the dog’s momentum carrying it forward, the door clipped its jaw and swatted the angry bastard away. Its head spun, its ass hit the side of the truck, and the rest of its body bounced off the pickup’s frame.

If it wasn’t dead when it hit the ground, it sure as hell wouldn’t be getting up and chasing anybody else for a while.

Hal checked his rearview mirror as he descended the hill and saw he was no longer being chased.

His hands shook from the encounter with the dog, but he chalked it up to a mean hell hound protecting its territory. In the back of his mind, he wondered if the dog belonged to Andre. Maybe it didn’t like that he was about to walk into the trailer.

He decided he’d call animal control later. Maybe even the cops. Somebody needed to go up there and make sure that dog didn’t attack anyone else.