THE BLACK DOG
Las Vegas, Nevada is a very arid desert and it can suck the youth out of you with no problem. Funny thing is, the few times when it does rain, we get flashfloods and throughout the 18 years that I have lived here, I've never really seen rain fall like the rain in the Philippines during the monsoon season. I laugh every time we get a "storm" warning and then the "storm" that finally falls upon us is merely what we would call "ambon" or a light drizzle in the Philippines. I remember rain that falls in sheets, the nervous eerie feeling one gets when the eye of the storm passes, the rolling thunder and lightnings that remind everyone that there is a greater power above, the sublime feeling of being so insignificant amidst a power that quite literally, changes the world around you. That is the storm that I know. That's real rain. Macho rain.
But this story is really not about rain. Although, it was raining sheets that night. For some reason, the night "felt" very black...as if blackness were a living, breathing entity that seemed to permeate the already starless, moonless, dark night. My sister and I were alone in our house with our father's young cousin, Pete, who lived with us and who was charged with watching over us. I was about 13 years old at the time when it happened. It had been raining all day but by this time, though large amounts of water were pouring, it was cascading in a strangely calm manner. It had already dominated during the day and this time, this night, relentless as the volume of water was pouring, the stillness communicated the supremacy of conquest. The rain was our conquering master.
Not a single person was on the street. All were summarily vanquished to their homes to hunker down without resistance to the majesty of the rain...and the darkness.
It was early evening and our gate was wide open. For some reason, we all felt that the gate needed to be closed so we could all feel secure. But Pete showed a strange reluctance to open our front door, walk the few paces past the driveway and then to the yard to grab one side gate, pull it to the center, walk across, pull the other side of the gate and then finally, bolt them together. It seemed all so simple. But there he was, frightened to open the front door to let himself out.
We pleaded with him to close the gate.
Finally, because he knew he had no choice, Pete took a breath, opened the front door and darted out slamming the door behind him. I held my breath. All was still and quiet.
Suddenly, the front door opened and in comes Pete with a shocked expression on his face nervously stammering about "a dog".
"What are you saying?" we asked.
"There's...there's a dog outside!"
"What dog?"
"There's a big, tall black dog outside with demon eyes!"
"Don't scare us like that, you jerk!"
I didn't know if I should succumb to fear or get angry at Pete being scared of a stupid dog. That didn't compute. And if the dog was the devil himself, I instinctively decided to deny that that was true. I got mad instead.
"What are you----a girl? So what if there's a dog outside?"
"It's a dog I've never seen before. He just stood there looking at me---straight through me. He knew who I was! He's not a dog. He's a demon disguised as a dog!"
The fear in his eyes grabbed me like static electricity. The anger I latched on to for defense melted away and in its place, sheer terror began to surge. Pete was now starting to panic. My sister and I were frozen. I began to shape some words in my mouth.
"I don't believe you!"
Perhaps because of the dire to need find some solution to alleviate our situation, denial began to take the place of my terror. It seemed logical. If I pretend that Pete's lying and convince myself that a demon-dog does not exist, all can be made well.
"I'm going to open that door!" I screamed.
I charged to the door suddenly armed with the cloak of denial. Then I turned the door knob. I slowly but deliberately opened the door to take a peek but at the last minute, decided to fling the door open. And...
I was jolted by the sight of a large, tall, black dog. He came to about my chest level but his head was raised and his crimson eyes staring at me with such malevolence that he seemed tall enough to be eye-level with me. He did not bark or growl. He just looked at me. He looked like he had the power to just pounce at me in a twinkling of an eye, crush my head and vanish. Terror began to surge again. I slammed the door. Locked the door.
A few moments later, the malevolent feeling subsided, and I nervously opened the door again. The black dog was gone. The gate was bolted shut. Rain was still falling in sheets. There would have been no place for him to get out unless he could jump the gate or the walls. The eerie feeling was gone.
I slowly closed the door.
It rained all night that night.
The next morning, the rain stopped. And the skies were clear and blue again.
But this story is really not about rain. Although, it was raining sheets that night. For some reason, the night "felt" very black...as if blackness were a living, breathing entity that seemed to permeate the already starless, moonless, dark night. My sister and I were alone in our house with our father's young cousin, Pete, who lived with us and who was charged with watching over us. I was about 13 years old at the time when it happened. It had been raining all day but by this time, though large amounts of water were pouring, it was cascading in a strangely calm manner. It had already dominated during the day and this time, this night, relentless as the volume of water was pouring, the stillness communicated the supremacy of conquest. The rain was our conquering master.
Not a single person was on the street. All were summarily vanquished to their homes to hunker down without resistance to the majesty of the rain...and the darkness.
It was early evening and our gate was wide open. For some reason, we all felt that the gate needed to be closed so we could all feel secure. But Pete showed a strange reluctance to open our front door, walk the few paces past the driveway and then to the yard to grab one side gate, pull it to the center, walk across, pull the other side of the gate and then finally, bolt them together. It seemed all so simple. But there he was, frightened to open the front door to let himself out.
We pleaded with him to close the gate.
Finally, because he knew he had no choice, Pete took a breath, opened the front door and darted out slamming the door behind him. I held my breath. All was still and quiet.
Suddenly, the front door opened and in comes Pete with a shocked expression on his face nervously stammering about "a dog".
"What are you saying?" we asked.
"There's...there's a dog outside!"
"What dog?"
"There's a big, tall black dog outside with demon eyes!"
"Don't scare us like that, you jerk!"
I didn't know if I should succumb to fear or get angry at Pete being scared of a stupid dog. That didn't compute. And if the dog was the devil himself, I instinctively decided to deny that that was true. I got mad instead.
"What are you----a girl? So what if there's a dog outside?"
"It's a dog I've never seen before. He just stood there looking at me---straight through me. He knew who I was! He's not a dog. He's a demon disguised as a dog!"
The fear in his eyes grabbed me like static electricity. The anger I latched on to for defense melted away and in its place, sheer terror began to surge. Pete was now starting to panic. My sister and I were frozen. I began to shape some words in my mouth.
"I don't believe you!"
Perhaps because of the dire to need find some solution to alleviate our situation, denial began to take the place of my terror. It seemed logical. If I pretend that Pete's lying and convince myself that a demon-dog does not exist, all can be made well.
"I'm going to open that door!" I screamed.
I charged to the door suddenly armed with the cloak of denial. Then I turned the door knob. I slowly but deliberately opened the door to take a peek but at the last minute, decided to fling the door open. And...
I was jolted by the sight of a large, tall, black dog. He came to about my chest level but his head was raised and his crimson eyes staring at me with such malevolence that he seemed tall enough to be eye-level with me. He did not bark or growl. He just looked at me. He looked like he had the power to just pounce at me in a twinkling of an eye, crush my head and vanish. Terror began to surge again. I slammed the door. Locked the door.
A few moments later, the malevolent feeling subsided, and I nervously opened the door again. The black dog was gone. The gate was bolted shut. Rain was still falling in sheets. There would have been no place for him to get out unless he could jump the gate or the walls. The eerie feeling was gone.
I slowly closed the door.
It rained all night that night.
The next morning, the rain stopped. And the skies were clear and blue again.
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