Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-5952769-20171126053519

I've never seen anyone fall in love as quickly as Rowen and Poole. Rowen's my former neighbor and current friend. Poole's a dog we found paddling around her family's pool one day. Both pairs of eyes seemed to light up the moment they met for the first time.

Rowen was a sullen, sardonic teen I never could've pictured getting mushy over an animal. I expected her to be outraged when a soaking wet hundred pound dog leaped on her and licked her face. Annoyed at the very least. She kissed him right back. People have facets you never know about 'til you see them head on.

Her family got the message out that they'd found a dog, but no one ever called to claim him. No dog matching his description was reported lost. There was a missing dog in our neighborhood, but he was a red brindle Whippet and Poole's a tricolor Borzoi.

He became Rowen's responsibility. They couldn't have been happier with the arrangement. A loyal companion was just what she needed at that stressful time in her life. Her deepening seclusion quickly reversed when she had an adventurous, gregarious new friend.

She was the center of Poole's universe. He'd gallop toward her the instant he spotted her. He'd howl whenever she had to leave. It almost sounded like he was calling her name. "Rowen, Rowen, Rowen..."

Outside of school I hardly ever saw Rowen without Poole. She'd have him in tow whenever she was running errands on foot or dropping by to see friends. He'd ride with her wherever she drove. When we hung out he'd always be right there. She'd talk to him like he was one of our friends.

A lot's happened since then. College. Work. The deterioration of our friend group. We're not the kids we used to be.

Poole was Rowen's pet 'til very recently. She couldn't take him everywhere she went, like in the old days. She no longer had time to do things like drive a dog to the beach or the country. She still treated him well, but they didn't have the electricity they used to. She'd pet him, but never vigorously. He'd come up to greet her, but wouldn't gallop. When he tried to lick her she'd dodge his tongue.

One evening not long ago something odd happened.

Rowen and I were planning to have a few drinks together. I stopped by her place. It's a big, old house converted to apartments, next to another big, old house converted to apartments, sitting in a weird neighborhood with confused alleys and not enough streets. I parked out of the way of the snow plows. I navigated the snowy sidewalks.

I was in a dark place between the two buildings when an animal brushed past me, running at a terrific speed, steamy breath pouring from its face. I got a blurred impression of something that looked to be about the size and color of a timber wolf. There was something very weird about it. I don't know if it was how it looked, how it ran, or how it felt against my coat. Something about it was just wrong.

By the time I registered what had happened the animal was long gone. I couldn't tell if it'd gone around the apartment building, through the hedges surrounding the house next door, or across the street to the park. I felt a lot safer once I got inside, but there was more strangeness inside to greet me.

When I got to the top of the stairs I noticed scorch marks, in groups of three, burned into the carpet. They got darker as I got closer to Rowen's room. They led right up to her door.

I announced my presence. Nothing. She obviously wasn't waiting by the door. The dog wasn't running to the door either. After some waiting and more knocking and hollering I let myself in.

The room was dark except for one lamp. Acoustic guitar softly drifted from the speakers. The air smelled of burnt hair and another scent I couldn't recognize. Rowen was sitting in the easy chair. Poole was nowhere to be seen. About ten feet away from the chair, right where the trail of scorch marks ended, was a big splotch burned into the carpet.

Rowen was near catatonic when I found her.

"Are you okay?" I asked over and over. She kept silently staring into nowhere. I was afraid she'd gone into shock or something. I was about to take her pulse when she finally responded.

"No."

"What happened?" I asked,. She'd gone quiet again. That was when I noticed a dog tag among the ashes. "Where's Poole?"

"You just missed him," she mumbled.

"What happened?" I asked again.

"I need a drink," was all she said, and with that she stood up and walked to the closet to get her coat.

I was worried about Rowen, worried about Poole, and dumbfounded by the whole situation. When we got outside I forgot that for a few minutes, and just worried about myself. The strange animal was on my mind again. All the way to the car I walked slowly and kept looking around. There were many places an animal could be hiding. I felt like I was being watched.

Fortunately we made it to the bar without incident. After a few drinks Rowen started babbling about Poole. It sounded like a joke at first, but she plainly wasn't in a joking mood. After a while a coherent narrative emerged. It was crazy. Still, the most extraordinary story becomes believable when your best friend tells it with complete conviction.

She'd finished a long shift and wanted to lie back and listen to music for a while. Poole was staring at her. He'd had his walk, had his treat, and ignored his ball and tug-rope. He was just sitting there, outside of petting range, staring at Rowen.

"What do you want?" she finally asked.

"I want the relationship we used to have," Poole replied in perfectly clear English.

Rowen stared at him, stunned, wondering if she'd just had some sort of hallucination.

Poole opened his mouth once again and said, "I'm tired of pretending."

He closed his mouth and eyes and burst into flames. A pink fire consumed his fur 'til his whole body looked like one big neon light. Beneath the crackling of the flames Rowen could hear the straining, popping, and snapping of bone, gristle, and sinew.

When the fire died down Poole looked different. He was a little smaller. Patchy, grey moss covered wrinkly, charcoal skin. He had six-fingered hands where his paws used to be. He'd lost his tail, but grown a third leg. He'd lost his ears and his nose, but grown a twitchy caterpillar on his forehead. He was still glowing faintly.

"Goodbye, Rowen," he said, and he cantered away like a three-legged horse. He stopped at the door for a moment, looked wistfully at Rowen with those same brown eyes she fell in love with, and then he was gone.

Rowen hasn't forgotten Poole. Every day she's out there running around. Calling his name. Showing people his pictures. Looking for his tracks in the snow. Checking everywhere for a sign of her old friend. Every night she's up on the fire escape, listening for his distinctive howl. It's heartbreaking to watch her. To see that lost look in her eyes.

Poole's been gone three weeks now, and she's worried that we'll never see him again. I'm worried that we will. 