The Hounds of Well

flash fictionThe Huntsman shadowed me all over town. Through pimp-infected alleys and cat-fighting streets, the bridge over troubled slaughterhouses, past primped-up boutiques, night-tripping on dried-up talc-encrusted frosty sleeping feet.

At first I’d stood my ground sodden with pluck and propriety, but the large gun shifted my perspective and legs. I greyhound-sprinted, thankful for my early morning jogs with the dogs, but I was the rabbit being chased, and my shoes were sincerely disagreeable! This bumpy, dark, treacherous trail traipsed far from accustomed territory. I’d fallen down seven times, but leapt up before the Huntsman gained headway.

Intuition had been obliging, but this place is stained by jumbled sounds, disconcerting spectres and acrid sulphur mounds, discombobulating any postulated skill regarding the huntsman’s orientation. I hunt for a signal, for one last shallow reveal. But in this hallowed sequestered point, I dabble in infinite mysteries.

thriller, mystery, crime, story, flash fiction, the hounds of hellTrapped in this Necropolis, my appetite for endurance has ebbed to irritation, frustration, exhaustion. The man with the gun still pursues me, but it’s improbable he will ascertain my position. I pray his hounding madness be wearier than me.

Battered, bruised, dog-tired and ankle-twisted, not aware of my feet. I stumble-plunge into a place of shelter, hidden inside the graveyard deep. In the light, they will fill the hole but rest resounds its plea. My chilling self-narratives tire me into a skein of harrowed sleep.

licking dog, puppy, affectionThe sun, flamboyant, flaunting its might, blasts my face, like the whack of a whipping-past drag car. Flanked by a shaggy beast, my left eyelid unfolds, to disclose…nothing could comfort me more! My other eye unfurls to a tongue of slobber: Maggie my golden retriever, my whiskered furry bliss, my centre. Paw print patterns are everywhere and I am somehow freed from my grave hidey-hole. She’s not alone. She’s inducted champion guardian angels: Labs and Goldens and breeds of mixed shape and stature. I recognise my protectors from the Pet Sanctuary, where I’d long volunteered. They’ve all been placed in forever homes, but my affection for them will never wane.

Maggie’s eyes sing with love saying, ‘you’re safe now, always and forever.’

I hope that the Huntsman has departed, but believe he would not harm the pooches. I suspect it was my refusal to grant him partnership with Caesar – a pup he regarded as property – that spurred his descent to psycho stalker. Less than 19 hours later he was arrested for armed robbery.


golden retriever, love, happiness
I may have spent a shudder-some night in a dank burial hollow, but I couldn’t be happier. My furry protectors have returned to their houses. We are all alive and well. Maggie gazes at me, surveying my demeanour; happy to be home. I know what’s on her mind: It’s definitely cuddle time! 😀

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25 thoughts on “The Hounds of Well

  1. The story just spins. Nice to have a happy ending. 🙂

    I believe they are rescued children…though I haven’t gotten that far from when or where.
    The rock tossing came from the idea of burning prayers in a brass bowl. And I had to use the photo prompt somewhere 🙂

    Thanks for stopping by. ~Jules

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