ISSUE #8 | Full Story, "Good Boy"
WRITTEN BY LUKE FOSTER, AS SEEN IN PLANET SCUMM ISSUE #8
Illustration by Sam Rheaume; Read More in Planet Scumm Issue #8
< 1 >
Brad and Melanie heard thumping from baby Jack's room, and knew he wasn't just jumping in his crib. Brad pushed open the door, afraid his son had fallen out and hurt himself. With a sigh of relief, he saw that the baby was safe in his crib.
“Hey, big guy,” Brad said to his son as he entered the room. “What's all the noise in—”
“Brad!” Melanie shouted as she looked past her husband.
A growling, full-grown, yellow Labrador was standing in the corner of the room. It had something in its mouth. How this strange dog had gotten into their son's room, and whatever it was holding, they didn't care. The only thing on their minds was keeping their son safe. Not that Jack seemed to mind the intruder. Quite the opposite, in fact.
“Puh! Puh! Puh!” he yelled in delight, pointing at the dog.
Brad raised one arm to shield his son should the animal leap at him. “Stay in your crib, sport.”
The light was still off, but Melanie didn't want to risk taking her eyes off the dog to flip the switch. Instead, she picked up a toy chair. It was light plastic, but the closest thing the room had to a weapon. She walked slowly towards the dog, ready to swing if the animal attacked.
The dog dropped the thing in its mouth and ran by them. Melanie swung the chair and missed. Brad shouted and kicked at the creature, also missing. The dog ran down the hallway and into the bathroom. Melanie sprang after it, and seconds later Brad heard her yell. He spared a glance at Jack—still safe in his crib—before running after his wife.
Melanie stood in the bathroom, the chair dangling in one hand. The light was on. The window—shut. The bathroom—empty.
“Where'd it go?” Brad asked.
“I... I don't know.”
“Downstairs?”
“It couldn't have,” Melanie said in a small voice. “I watched it run in here. I was right behind it.”
“Well, it couldn't have just disappeared!”
“I know that, Brad, but….”
“Puh!”
Brad and Melanie ran back to their son. Brad flipped on the light and exhaled. The dog hadn't come back. Jack looked at his parents in confusion.
“Puh?”
Melanie picked her son out of his crib and hugged him tight.
“It's okay, baby. Mommy and daddy are here now. The mean dog is gone and he's not gonna hurt y—”
“Melanie.”
There was no fear in Brad’s voice, just an eerie calm. Melanie turned and saw Brad pointing to where the dog had been when they first entered. She followed his gaze and gasped. She saw what the dog had been holding in its mouth. A dead rat.
Melanie shielded Jack's eyes and turned away herself. “Oh, God, Brad, is it...”
Brad knelt cautiously in front of the rat. Its teeth were covered in flecks of blood and an ugly-looking foam was coming from its mouth. Brad was no expert, but he suspected the rat had rabies.
“Yeah, it's dead. It's got a lot of bite marks in it. The dog killed it.”
Brad stood and looked at Melanie. Jack burbled away in his mother's arms, not a care in the world.
“Melanie,” Brad said. “What just happened?”
< 9 >
JJ ran as fast as he could. It wasn't going to be fast enough. Big Mike and Pete were after him. They had been threatening him for weeks. They told him a beating was coming if he didn't do their homework. JJ was smart and small and too afraid to stand up for himself. So he did their homework every day, until yesterday, when his mom picked him up early from school and he didn't have time to get their assignments. Now they were following through on their threats. If only they were as lazy chasing him as they were with their math.
JJ huffed as he ran for the woods. He spent a lot of time by himself there, and knew the terrain like the back of his hand. If he could just get to the woods he'd be safe. If he could—
JJ lurched back with a strangled squawk as Pete grabbed his shirt collar. JJ hit the ground hard.
“I told ya not to make us run, ya little bastard,” Pete said as he stared down at JJ. “Now you're gonna pay.”
Big Mike slugged JJ in the stomach. JJ doubled over, air rushing out of his lungs. Tears filled his eyes.
“What's the matter, nerd?” Pete asked. “Ya gonna cry for mommy?”
JJ gasped for breath as he prepared to be hit again. But he wasn't.
JJ heard Big Mike yell something. He saw the bully thrashing around, but couldn't tell why through his tears. He wiped his eyes and saw a dog clinging to Big Mike's arm. It was bigger than a puppy, but not fully grown. It was yellow, but JJ wasn't sure what kind it was. His parents wouldn't let him
have one.
Big Mike spun around, howling and swearing as blood poured from the dog's maw. It had the boy's arm in a death grip, and it wasn't letting go for all the bones at the pet store. Pete swatted at the dog, but it wouldn't let go. Big Mike's bravado fell, and he started to cry. The dog finally released its grip and dropped to the ground. Big Mike collapsed, holding his bleeding arm, tears and snot running down his face. JJ couldn't help it. Despite his fear and confusion, he let out a giggle.
The dog, meanwhile, planted itself between JJ and Pete, and growled at the larger boy. Pete had one secret he never shared with anyone, not even Big Mike: he was scared of dogs. Terrified, in fact. But right now, watching the dog bare its teeth and watching Big Mike’s blood dripping off the animal's fangs, all thoughts of bravery were abandoned. He ran away screaming.
The dog turned to Big Mike and took one step closer. Big Mike stood up, stumbled, stood up again, and took off, cradling his bloody arm.
“Yeah! You wussies better run!” JJ yelled at his tormentors' backs. As soon as they were out of sight, JJ collapsed. The whole ordeal had felt like hours, but it couldn't have been more than a minute or two. He couldn't believe how lucky he’d gotten. If that dog hadn't shown up when it did…
JJ looked up. The dog was still there. All the viciousness had gone out of its eyes and it stared at JJ with a mix of curiosity and concern.
“Hey, pal,” JJ said. “Thanks for saving me. Good dog.”
JJ slowly reached out his hand. The dog walked over and put his head under his hand, moving it around so JJ couldn't help but pet him. JJ laughed, this time with relief and happiness instead of nervous tension.
“What's your name, boy? Where are you from?” JJ searched for a collar and tag. Nothing. The dog could be a stray as far as he knew. “You hungry, boy? You want to come home with me?”
The dog perked up when JJ said “home.” It sniffed at the boy's hand and face. Abruptly, it pulled back. He barked once, then turned and ran for the woods.
JJ followed. “Hey, boy! Come on! Where are you going?”
He ran into the woods and looked around. There was no sign of the dog.
“You there, boy? C'mere!”
JJ whistled and slapped his hand against his thigh, but the dog never showed. JJ searched the woods for two hours. The dog was gone.
< 16 >
Johnny didn't want to cry. Crying was for kids. He wasn't going to cry, dammit. He wasn't. He looked at his phone. The text message hadn't changed in the last three hours, no matter how much he wanted it to. A single drop of salty water splashed on the screen, partially obscuring Kelly's message. Johnny wiped his eyes. Dammit. Derek. Of course it was Derek.
Johnny never liked Derek. He knew Kelly thought he was cute. But she told him not to be jealous. Johnny was her boyfriend. But, apparently, so was Derek. He had been for a month. And she couldn't even tell him in person. She had to send a damn text.
Johnny couldn't hold the tears back. Or the sobs. He dropped his phone and started bawling. He finally thought he had done it. He finally thought he had found someone. He didn't just have a friend, he had a girlfriend. But now it was worse than just being alone. Now he was alone and a laughingstock. He could only imagine what her friends were saying about him. What Derek's friends were saying about him. The awkward science dork who thought he was in the same league as Kelly Kirkp–
“Guh!” Johnny yelped through his sobs. Something had bumped his foot. He looked down. It was a puppy.
Where did a puppy come from? This wide-open stretch of land had been his and Kelly's spot. He loved taking her here and showing her the stars and explaining the physics of how the universe worked. At the time she seemed interested. No one ever came here—they certainly didn't walk their dogs here—and he would have heard an animal walking through the dry grass. But there it was, wagging his tail and staring up at him with its bright, brown eyes.
“Hey, boy,” Johnny said through his tears. “Where's your owner?”
Johnny wiped his eyes and tried to compose himself. He didn't want anyone to see him crying. But no owner showed. Johnny lowered his hands to see if the dog would let him pick it up. He shouldn't have worried. The dog jumped right into his arms. The force knocked Johnny back a little, and he couldn't help but smile.
“Whoa, boy! Easy!” Johnny said. The puppy yelped and started licking Johnny's face. Johnny laughed. He couldn't remember the last time he had done that. Johnny held the puppy to his chest, for how long he didn't know. He just let the dog lick his hands and his chin and felt loved in the way a teenage boy with a broken heart never thought he could feel again.
Johnny watched as the puppy fell asleep in his arms. The little guy probably didn't have a home. Well, he could fix that. His parents wouldn't mind, he was sure of it. He stood up and was about to start walking home when he remembered his phone. He put the sleeping dog down, turned around, and picked up the phone. He turned back around.
“Okay, buddy. Time to—”
The dog was gone. Johnny looked around. The dog hadn't run off. It was just...gone. Johnny walked around for a bit, certain the puppy had woken up and ran off to play, but he couldn't find it anywhere. Johnny stopped. The dog had been there, right? It wasn't just a dream? No, no, he was sure it had been there. Where it had gone, though, was anyone's guess.
Johnny wasn't sure he could take losing two loves in one day, but he was surprised to find he didn't feel as terrible as he did even an hour ago. He was still sad, sure, and he would be sad for a while, but he was going to be okay.
He was going to be okay.
< 31 >
“Dude, seriously, you brought your dog in here?”
Dr. Stashford stared at Dr. Plemons in disbelief. As smart as Plemons was, he made some boneheaded decisions sometimes.
“I couldn't help it, Stash,” Plemons replied. “I was walking him and I finally figured out what was going wrong with the chrono generator.”
Stash looked past Plemons and at the puppy, its leash tied to a chair, and his heart softened. Plemons had been despondent since Suzie died, and the little Labrador had pulled him out of a worryingly dark place.
“All right, man, but he stays in the observation room.”
“Of course.”
Stash looked at him impatiently. “So, the generator?”
“Yes, yes,” Plemons said as the two stepped into the laboratory. “We've been looking at the calculations
all wrong.”
Plemons stopped in front of a computer hooked up to the generator. His fingers danced over the keyboard as he typed a series of equations into the machine. “If we want to create the proper tachyon bursts, we need to compensate for the negative numbers like this and...like so, and...”
“You gonna tell me what you're doing?” Stash asked.
“Almost...there!” Plemons said, not hearing Stash. Plemons grabbed Stash's arm. “Come on, let's test it out!”
The two stepped into the control room. Plemons turned on the generator. It started to hum.
“Aw, yes,” Stash said. “Sounds like we got some time energy!”
Plemons nodded in agreement. The machine hummed louder. The generator was working. The field was growing as it should and—
A burst of energy shot from the generator and slapped into the wall, leaving a brownish-black mark in its wake. It stank of age and decay rather than a burning smell.
“Whoa!” Stash said. “That ain't good!”
“Not good at all,” Plemons said. He looked worryingly down at the controls. “Something's gone wrong with...”
Whatever he was going to say next, Plemons never said it, because another bolt of energy blasted from the machine and hit the wall, leaving another aging mark in its wake.
“No no no no no!” Plemons shouted, running his hands through his hair. “The whole thing's going to overheat!”
“I can't shut it down!” Stash shouted. “We've lost all control from this end!”
Plemons yanked the door open. Stash grabbed his arm before he could leave the room. “What the hell do you think you're doing?”
“If we don't shut that machine down, everyone in this building could be killed!”
Plemons shoved Stash back and ran out to the machine. Stash watched helplessly as his friend tapped frantically at the controls. He wanted to help, but of course Plemons hadn't shared his calculations.
Movement out of the corner of Stash's eye caught his attention. Plemons' dog had somehow freed himself from his collar and was barking frantically at the window of the observation room. A stray beam from the generator arced its way in that direction. Stash wasn't sure if it hit the dog or not, but it sure looked like it did.
Stash looked back at Plemons and the generator. It seemed like his friend was starting to get things under control. Plemons seemed to think so, too.
“I've got it, Stash!” He shouted triumphantly. “I've got...”
But the machine wasn't going down quietly. A final burst of energy expanded outward from the generator. Plemons barely had time to register the shock before he was consumed.
“Plemons!” Stash screamed. “Johhhhn!”
Stash could barely move. He could hardly register what had just happened. Plemons was gone. All that was left were two noises: the quiet, angry hum of the chrono machine as it crackled with its remaining energy, and a loud sound from the observation room. The door pushed open and Stash realized the sound was Plemons' dog, barking in anger and fear for its master.
“Get out of there!” Stash yelled, snapping back to the moment. “It's not safe!”
Stash pulled the control room door open and ran out as the puppy bounded toward the generator. It sniffed at the ground where Plemons had stood less than a minute before, barked, and, in a moment Stash would remember until the day he died, disappeared in a flash of light.
< Everywhen >
Even though he had only been alive for a few months, what the puppy saw was unlike anything he had ever seen before. He had no scope for explaining what was all around him. It was John-master, many John-masters, but wrong ones. They looked wrong. They looked like John-master, but John-master as if he were one of the small people they saw at the park. But maybe they knew how to find the right John-master. He moved towards one.
This one was crying in a field and saying a name the puppy didn't recognize. He nudged this John-master until he picked him up. Then the dog licked his face until this wrong John-master felt better and the pup dozed off. He quickly woke up and knew he couldn't stay. He had to find the right John-master.
He moved on. An older John-master was sitting on a bench reading a big book. He let John-master pet him and he moved on. He saved a wrong John-master from an attack by bigger boys. He watched from a window as the woman John-master called Suzie stopped moving. He found a younger John-master and tripped him so he'd fall in front of a young Suzie-master. John-master blushed. Suzie-master smiled. And he moved on.
Sometimes he'd stay for weeks, watching John-master from a distance, trying to learn if he was the right one. Sometimes he'd only stay for a few minutes. Sometimes he'd play with the young John-master. Sometimes he'd kill an animal that threatened the puppy version of John-master. But it would always be the wrong John-master. So he would move on. And on. And on.
And on.
< 82 >
John sat alone, leaning against a stone and looking at the stars. His rebreather hummed as he inhaled and whistled as he exhaled. He was so very tired.
The last five decades has been long ones. John had been used to loneliness over his long life, but the first three decades paled in comparison to what happened after the accident. This time period was as foreign to him as his era would have been to the dinosaurs. Earth was long gone, the human race gone even longer.
He had met other peoples of course. So many people here at the quiet end of the universe. But if he was alone among his own kind, he was even more isolated when surrounded by species made of song and cultures that communicated with a language of smell.
So he came here, to this little rock in space. He built a house that took care of him. It served all his needs so he could spend his time trying to get back to where he belonged. But the science that caused the accident was an anomaly. He was never able to recreate what happened that fateful day. So he sat and waited. Waited for what would have to happen eventually. Day after day, he waited.
But today, something unusual happened. He heard a shuffling noise and turned. It was a dog. A Labrador. Probably a yellow lab, but his hair had long since turned white. He walked with a shuffle, arthritis seizing up his joints. His eyes were cloudy, the same as any man's would be if they lived as long as the dog.
“Hey, boy,” John said with no surprise in his voice. “It's been a while. I wondered when you'd show up.”
The dog shuffled over to John. He sniffed the man, then rubbed his muzzle against the old man's face. He looked wrong, but he knew it was his John-master. Finally.
“I knew you'd come, pal. My whole life, you were always there when I needed you most.”
The dog lay his head down on the man's lap. He had walked so much and was so very tired.
John looked down at the dog. He was tired too, but not too tired to show his friend love. He slowly pet the dog's head. “You just rest, pal. You're home now.”
The dog closed his eyes. He knew he was home, too.
John leaned back and looked up. The stars were getting dimmer. Or was it his eyes? He didn't know. Nor did he care.
“You can sleep now, pal,” John said, stroking fur he hadn't touched in five decades. He kept petting as he closed his eyes.
“Good boy.”
LUKE FOSTER is a writer from Charlotte, NC. He writes everything from comedy to horror, and his stories have been published in both the US and UK. Recent stories include “Code Gray” for Kzine Magazine, “Bedbug” in Jitter Press, and “Blackout” for Crimson Streets. He has self-published comics since 2008. Recent releases include comedy/ horror anthology “Spookytown” and the all-ages action-comedy “Doctor Bananas: Monkey Magician.” Luke can be found online, usually on Twitter, at @ImLukeFoster.
