swallowed it. Then he started reading,
picking up the story as though it were a letter from an old friend, or
rather what he imagined reading a letter from an old friend would be like.
Afterwards, he thought briefly of asking his parents if they’d buy him
a subscription for his birthday, but he knew they didn’t trust American
companies with their money, even the relative pittance it would cost for
a subscription to
The Tomb of Dracula.
Besides, the day after he received
issue number two from the kind soul at Marvel, the shipment of new
comics—including
The Tomb of Dracula
—arrived at Harper’s Drugs
like rain after a long drought. Issue number three had arrived on the
spiral rack in a relatively timely fashion, considering how far away Parr’s
Landing was from New York City.
Finn was coming up to the highest point of land around Bradley Lake.
He looked around for Sadie, but she was nowhere to be seen. The sky was
lightening, streaked with broad shards of dark pumpkin and deep purple,
and the water reflected the advancing dawn, colours running slick as oil
paint.
Finn called out to the Labrador. “Here, Sadie! Here, girl!” His voice
ricocheted off the rock face. He called out again. “Sadie, come! Come!
Here, girl!”
He frowned. This was unlike her. While she liked to bound ahead at
her own pace, exploring, she always remained within earshot and usually
scampered back several times as if to check that her master was following
her. Finn listened for the sound of barking or rustling in the underbrush,
but heard nothing. He looked backwards, squinting into the dimness of
the path but saw nothing.
The tops of the trees shook in a sudden burst of cold wind, releasing
a cloud of dead autumn leaves that cascaded down before being hijacked
by the sudden shift in the air currents and tattering off across the lake.
The sky was reddening in advance of the sunrise, the light shadow dappled and obscure.
For the first time ever, Finn was aware of his isolation. He was a mile
and a half from home and his dog was nowhere to be seen. He looked
around uneasily. The familiar landscape of rough-hewn cliffs rising out
of black water looked suddenly barbaric and vaguely lunar.
“
Sadie
!” Finn called again. This time there was an edge of panic in
his voice. Hearing nothing, he screamed, “
Here, girl! Sadie, COME
!” He
whipped his head wildly from side to side. “
SADIE! COME!
”
And then from high above him he heard the sound of screaming—a
high-pitched, rending lament that tore through the early morning air
and shattered into echoes against the shield rock of the cliffs. It came
again, then again. And this time, Finn recognized the voice as belonging
to his dog.
“Sadie! Sadie! Where are you?” He tried to orient himself to what
he now realized was a high-pitched howling that had never been part of
Sadie’s vocal repertoire. If pure animal terror or pain could be distilled,
this is what it would sound like.
Oh my God, what if she’s hurt? What if she has her foot caught in some
sort of leg trap left by one of these assholes who hunts up here in the fall?
What if she’s broken her leg or something? Please God, let her be all right.
He crashed through the bush in the general direction of Sadie’s
screams, first left, then right, then doubling back and stopping to check
if he was in the right place, or at least headed in the right direction. The
acoustics of Bradley Lake played tricks with the sound of Sadie’s howls,
seemingly sending it in every direction but its true source.
And then, dead silence.
Oh my God,
he thought again.
Please, no.
Finn came around the bend of a copse of trees and an outcropping
of lichen-covered granite and saw Sadie cowering against a boulder
thirty feet away—teeth bared, lips drawn back from her gums. She was
growling low in her throat, her eyes wild and fixed on a point three feet
from where she crouched. Her ears lay flat
picking up the story as though it were a letter from an old friend, or
rather what he imagined reading a letter from an old friend would be like.
Afterwards, he thought briefly of asking his parents if they’d buy him
a subscription for his birthday, but he knew they didn’t trust American
companies with their money, even the relative pittance it would cost for
a subscription to
The Tomb of Dracula.
Besides, the day after he received
issue number two from the kind soul at Marvel, the shipment of new
comics—including
The Tomb of Dracula
—arrived at Harper’s Drugs
like rain after a long drought. Issue number three had arrived on the
spiral rack in a relatively timely fashion, considering how far away Parr’s
Landing was from New York City.
Finn was coming up to the highest point of land around Bradley Lake.
He looked around for Sadie, but she was nowhere to be seen. The sky was
lightening, streaked with broad shards of dark pumpkin and deep purple,
and the water reflected the advancing dawn, colours running slick as oil
paint.
Finn called out to the Labrador. “Here, Sadie! Here, girl!” His voice
ricocheted off the rock face. He called out again. “Sadie, come! Come!
Here, girl!”
He frowned. This was unlike her. While she liked to bound ahead at
her own pace, exploring, she always remained within earshot and usually
scampered back several times as if to check that her master was following
her. Finn listened for the sound of barking or rustling in the underbrush,
but heard nothing. He looked backwards, squinting into the dimness of
the path but saw nothing.
The tops of the trees shook in a sudden burst of cold wind, releasing
a cloud of dead autumn leaves that cascaded down before being hijacked
by the sudden shift in the air currents and tattering off across the lake.
The sky was reddening in advance of the sunrise, the light shadow dappled and obscure.
For the first time ever, Finn was aware of his isolation. He was a mile
and a half from home and his dog was nowhere to be seen. He looked
around uneasily. The familiar landscape of rough-hewn cliffs rising out
of black water looked suddenly barbaric and vaguely lunar.
“
Sadie
!” Finn called again. This time there was an edge of panic in
his voice. Hearing nothing, he screamed, “
Here, girl! Sadie, COME
!” He
whipped his head wildly from side to side. “
SADIE! COME!
”
And then from high above him he heard the sound of screaming—a
high-pitched, rending lament that tore through the early morning air
and shattered into echoes against the shield rock of the cliffs. It came
again, then again. And this time, Finn recognized the voice as belonging
to his dog.
“Sadie! Sadie! Where are you?” He tried to orient himself to what
he now realized was a high-pitched howling that had never been part of
Sadie’s vocal repertoire. If pure animal terror or pain could be distilled,
this is what it would sound like.
Oh my God, what if she’s hurt? What if she has her foot caught in some
sort of leg trap left by one of these assholes who hunts up here in the fall?
What if she’s broken her leg or something? Please God, let her be all right.
He crashed through the bush in the general direction of Sadie’s
screams, first left, then right, then doubling back and stopping to check
if he was in the right place, or at least headed in the right direction. The
acoustics of Bradley Lake played tricks with the sound of Sadie’s howls,
seemingly sending it in every direction but its true source.
And then, dead silence.
Oh my God,
he thought again.
Please, no.
Finn came around the bend of a copse of trees and an outcropping
of lichen-covered granite and saw Sadie cowering against a boulder
thirty feet away—teeth bared, lips drawn back from her gums. She was
growling low in her throat, her eyes wild and fixed on a point three feet
from where she crouched. Her ears lay flat
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