Dog Seed. Part 2.

1

[CW: >!Animal Abuse, Sexual Content!<]

Folk punk played from a cheap phone speaker as I went about ripping up all the rotted carpet downstairs. A thick summer heat worked quickly to cook inside of the house, and despite my desperate attempts to pry open every window I could find that wasn’t broken, I still ended up wearing nothing but dirty shorts and a bra.

Sweat dowsed my entire body, and I had to tie my messy hair up into a loose bun so as to not experience every strand sticking to my spine and shoulders. This exposed the small scar I usually hid behind chopped bangs, but rather than feel self-conscious about it, I got straight to work.

This meant starting the morning with a quick trip to a big box store located further in town, buying what few essentials I needed before coming home and making the first large purchase required to start the renovation.

I made the decision over lukewarm coffee and a single plain bagel to do everything by myself. Hiring professionals was too expensive. And if I wanted to stretch every penny my late mother left me, that meant relying on the experience of total strangers on the internet as well as my own pride.

I wouldn’t call my dad unless I had to. I assumed he wouldn’t help unless I was dying. Still, a morning spent watching videos and making plans inevitably culminated in renting a sizeable dumpster. Besides the house itself, I think it was the second most expensive thing I’d ever purchased.

It wouldn’t fit out along the street, but I guess that was the only benefit in not owning a car. The person I spoke with promised to have it delivered later in the afternoon. I’d have them put it in the driveway once they show up. Here’s to hoping they could find it underneath all the crabgrass.

Still, the first major hurdle I discovered was in finding the condenser unit to the ancient air conditioner filled to the brim with gravel and weeds. That meant I couldn’t excise the rampant heat inside the house until I bought the correct tools from the store. The screws were too tight to turn with my nails. I would have to make another run into town tomorrow.

This was the determining factor which inevitably left me gasping for breath by the open front door. The years of debris pulled up alongside a stained carpet had successfully left every inch of me feeling itchy. I felt a heat rash developing beneath my armpits and worse, between my thighs.

The only thing I had to fend off an inevitable heatstroke was lukewarm water. The faucet in the kitchen barely worked, and there was no fridge to stick my head in. So instead, I took what solace I could in the ineffectual shade provided just outside the entry. The air was perpetually still, yet I noticed a persistent cold spot just outside the front door.

I’d rest along the stoop, counting each breath as my inherited stubbornness fought against weaker limbs. Occasionally, a car would pass. Curious eyes kept peeking over at the chaos of my home. But no one ever came over to introduce themselves. I guess they might’ve thought of me as an intrusive vagrant.

I was dirty and particularly disheveled. I’d taken my first shower in over a month this morning but lacked any of the proper supplies, and just as well, everything I owned was several times overused and full of holes. It was a miracle my bra didn’t have a fucking nipple poking out of it.

I assumed the neighbors simply had the capacity to pick out delinquents. And this wouldn’t have been an unfair assessment, mind. I’ve not many stories to tell about myself that didn’t start or end with a short stay behind bars. Too many that had me getting chased out of public parks and bathroom stalls.

Never a genuine conviction though. I’d seen the inside of a jailcell more times than I could count, but I had been lucky to stay out of prison. I was a mess and thought misdemeanor crimes were conducive towards survival, but I was at least well enough put together to step back from committing a felony.

With a deep breath, I kicked myself back up to both feet. My old shoes were taking the brunt of the damage, and I was starting to notice that more duct tape was needed to keep a sole from falling off entirely. Still, I trudged from the front door over into the kitchen. I’d drink straight from the faucet, wiping what little I could from off my chin before resuming a painstaking progress.

The day grew longer and I didn’t stop until all the ruined carpet was rolled up into more manageable portions and organized into a pile out along the front lawn. I’d need to get a lawnmower or something, perhaps tomorrow. Perhaps I could make a better impression if the front of the house looked less like a forest.

A red truck would pass. This one honked and the driver gave me a wave. Like an idiot, I’d simply stare. Unsure if waving back wouldn’t be seen as a threat. A dog barked from further down the road. I’d immediately stare back into the house as though I were expecting someone to come bounding out on four legs.

I was beyond exhausted. That might have been my cue to take a break. I’d just barely start working my way back inside when a large truck pulled up in front of the house. It was carrying the dumpster, and so I spent the next forty-five minutes spectating an almost uneventful drop off.

I should’ve gone inside. I should’ve put a shirt on, or something. Instead, I stood there leaning into a lopsided stance as two men went about sheathing a bright blue dumpster into an overladen driveway. Small talk was had, and I’d fumble through it.

“Damned if I ever thought someone would actually buy this place.” Spoke the larger of the two men. He had a grizzly beard and rolled both his sleeves up to showcase a mess of cheap tattoos. “I heard the HOA was going to try and pressure the city into tearing the whole thing down.”

I winced at his simple mention. Was it fate that my mother died before that happened? Had she remained in remission for another year or so, would I have found nothing to come home to? “Is it as bad inside as out?” The second man asked. He wore glasses and a professional smile. I could tell he was looking me up and down. I probably smelled worse than the carpet.

“I-It’s a fixer upper, for sure.” I stammered, uncomfortable with speaking to anyone. “Are you planning on fixing it up yourself?” Calm down Lori. This is merely small talk. “I’m gonna try.” I respond. Metal screeches against stone as the dumpster leaves the bed of their truck and carves a path through untrimmed foliage.

“That’s hot.” So unprofessional. The larger man scoffs at the recklessness of his partner. “Cut it out, dumbass. We don’t need another complaint cause you can’t keep it in your pants.” He strode up to me after that. “Pickup’s every Friday. Should be in the morning, but there’s a lot of construction going on up north so you might see us closer to the evening. Remember to give us a call when you’re done with it too. My boss is a bit of a dick and will nickel and dime you for every needless charge he can think of.”

I received his scrawled receipt. “You have a good day, ma’am. Welcome to the neighborhood.” His sincerity was enough to garner a short enough smile. “Thanks.” Was all I could offer however, and I watched as the two climbed back up into their truck. The younger man leaning out his window. “Lemme know if the ghosts are real, yeah? The previous residents moved out so fast, I didn’t get the chance to ask em!”

His partner would punch him in the shoulder. Their camaraderie following them down the street and out of sight. I’d chew the inside of my cheek for a moment before looking back at the house behind me. Ghosts? How absurd.

Like I’d have the choice to leave anyway. I was only able to afford this place because of my mother. I’d already spent so much of it, and every day since has been effectively bleeding the remainder. I was already of the mind that there is a strict time limit. But so long as I was smart about doing things, I should be able to complete the necessary renovations to make the house into a home before needing to find a job.

I wasn’t picky. I’d work fast food if that was the only option. There wasn’t a loan to pay off, simply utilities and a land tax. But if it meant that I could keep this house, I didn’t care what dead end employment I found to cover the lingering expenses.

Still, the idea that this place could be haunted? I’ve already spent a night alone inside. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. Shaking my head to clear a bevy of burgeoning thoughts, I stuff the paper receipt into the back pocket of my shorts and begin carting the rolls of old carpet over and into the dumpster.

By the time I was done, exhaustion meant little compared to the pride I felt in achieving that first step. There was progress being made here. And I began to firmly believe that I could do this. Sure, there were still limitations given I needed a host of additional supplies.

But I was able to write out a list while eating uncooked soup from a can for dinner. I sat out back this time. The sun had started to set below the far mountains and it was beginning to cool down. I filled my belly with smoke and chicken noodle while resting my back along the trunk of the tall oak tree.

Just sitting by it was enough to calm my aching joints. And as I watched the setting hues of purple and orange run along the bottoms of clouded skies, I couldn’t help but fall asleep. A poor decision. The mosquitoes were quick to have their way with me, and I awoke to a bark sometime after the stars came to pierce the velvet dark.

Groggy eyes did little to penetrate the shadows coiling amidst the deadening heat, yet for a moment, I swore I saw a pitch-black pelt standing nearby within the overgrowth. I held my breath, but nothing happened. No neighbor dog attacked me. No sound came to address its limping movement.

I all but gasped when I felt its cool nose press against my shoulder. “Toby?” The name was stupid. I was stupid. I blinked my eyes and the image and sensation had vanished. I was alone out here in the backyard. The oak tree straining against a subtle breeze.

But I felt it. Pressed up against my spine. The tree was emitting warmth. Its trunk pulsed like it was breathing. I’d stand up before turning to stare at it. There was something strange about the dog tree. Glancing back towards the house, I wondered if maybe leaving the back door ajar would be enough to let his ghost in.

Except there was someone standing inside the kitchen. Watching me through the open window. It was too dark to pick out any detail, but the figure was beckoning me inside. I realized this once it turned around as if to meet me halfway. It barely made it to the archway leading into the living room before falling out of sight.

I was itchy. I was still tired. Yet I was beginning to understand the reasons behind why everyone kept a fair distance. But my stubbornness came at the cost of grace, I guess. I wasn’t going to let myself be scared. I wasn’t about to become homeless again.

Despite the quaking of thin, bug bitten limbs. I marched back inside. I took a cold shower then put on what little remained of acceptable clothing. Then I slept once more inside my old room. The house shifted more vigorously throughout the night, but I didn’t mind it. At some point, I heard someone walking down the hall below me. A slow, methodical step. But then I felt the short grunt of effort as something furry settled in for the night along my spine. I didn’t feel fear after that.