The Stray

By Stephanie Scissom

The doorbell woke Margaret from her nap. She grabbed her cane and tapped to the front door. Gravel crunched as the grocery delivery truck reversed down the drive. She waited until she was sure he was gone. He was a nice man, but he talked too much.

She opened the door and struck the box with her cane. When she reached for it, something licked her hand.

“Ooh!” She jerked back.

Something small danced around her ankles then seized her pant leg.

“Stop that!”

A pup, of all things. Who would dump a stray here?

Not her problem. She dragged the box inside, then shook the pup loose from her leg. A battle ensued to shut the door.

Finally, Margaret won. “Aha! Gotcha, you stinker.”

The pup whined and scratched her door.

“Go on! Git!” she hissed through the mail slot. He whined again.

Poor scamp was probably hungry. Margaret carried the box to her kitchen, hesitated, then retrieved a bowl from the fridge that contained last night’s meatloaf.

Carrying it to the front door, she warned the pup through the slot. “I’m gonna open this door. But don’t you try anything funny.”

The pup bounded into the house.

Sighing, Margaret placed the bowl in front of him. “Goodness, you sound like my brother when he eats. No manners.”

When he finished, she scooped him up. “Time to go.” She gagged. “Heavens, you reek! You smell like rotten eggs and burnt matches.”

His matted fur felt frozen. His fat little body trembled.

Margaret sighed. “Okay, you can stay tonight, but tomorrow you go. Another thing—you need a bath. I can’t tolerate that smell.”

She bathed him in the sink. Even her strongest soap didn’t take away the stench, but it helped. When she toweled him dry, he licked her face.

“Ugh, stop that. Your breath smells like carrion.”

She made him a bed near the fireplace.

“Don’t you whine all night and disturb my husband. He’s sick. You understand?”

The pup yelped once, as if in confirmation.

The next morning, she called Animal Relocation. A worker arrived promptly, but he couldn’t find the pup.

“I know he’s here. I smell him. For heaven’s sake, follow your nose. He reeks!”

The man searched again. “Ma’am, I don’t see him.”

The pup nuzzled her ankles. “Here!” She grabbed at him but the puppy darted away.

“Ma’am… there’s nothing there.”

“You’re as blind as I am,” Margaret snapped.

“Have a good day, ma’am,” he said, and shut the door behind him.

“Of all the incompetent— I’m going to call his supervisor!”

But then Horace moaned her name and Margaret raced to his side. The pup’s keening matched her own sobs as her husband died.

She and Horace were childless and had outlived most of their friends. After the funeral, Margaret found herself alone with the pup, whom she called “Stinker.”

She never phoned Animal Relocation again.

No matter how often she bathed Stinker, he still stank, but she became used to his sulphurous smell. He grew to a dismaying size and slept at the foot of her bed.

One night, someone tried to break in. Usually playful Stinker went crazy—snarling and chasing the robber around the house.

The burglar nearly tore her door down escaping. “What is that?” he shrieked.

Stinker bounded after him.

“Don’t you hurt my puppy!” Margaret yelled out the broken screen.

Stinker returned home more foul-smelling than ever.

A year passed. One day, someone knocked on her door.

Margaret opened it. “Yes?”

“Good day, Ma’am,” a smooth voice said. “I believe you have something that belongs to me.”

“Nonsense! Leave an old lady alone before I sic my Stinker on you.”

“Your, ah… Stinker?” The man sounded amused.

She tapped her cane and Stinker bounded to her.

“Oh!” the man chuckled. “You’re blind. That explains things.”

“Explains what?”

“I’m here about that dog. He wandered off nearly a year ago. A very special breed.”

Stinker nudged Margaret. Her heart sank, but she tried to sound firm. “Finders keepers.”

“Is he wearing… a sweater?” her visitor asked incredulously.

“The cottage gets chilly,” she replied. “Perhaps you should come in, Mr…?”

“Lucifer.”

Margaret chuckled. “Like the devil?”

“Yes. Exactly like that. There’s been a misunderstanding, Mrs…?”

“Margaret.”

He brushed by her and entered. Margaret wrinkled her nose at the stench of sulphur.

“Stinker, as you call him,” said Lucifer, “isn’t an ordinary pet.”

“Oh, I know. He reeks to high Heaven, but it’s not as bad if I bathe him twice a week in lavender shampoo.”

“Lavender shampoo,” Lucifer repeated. “Sweaters.”

Something squeaked and he muttered, “chew toys, doggy treats. Astonishing.”

“He’s a bit spoiled,” she admitted.

“Margaret, Stinker is a hellhound.”

“What?”

“Was someone dying here, before he came?”

Margaret bristled. “My husband, but Horace did not go to Hell. He was a Baptist.”

“No, Ma’am,” Lucifer said. “But the smell of death probably attracted Stinker.”

Margaret stroked Stinker’s silky fur that she’d spent so many months untangling and conditioning. Could it be true?

She burst into tears.

“Ma’am!” Lucifer exclaimed. “Stop that!”

Stinker growled and pressed himself against Margaret’s leg.

“Don’t take him.” She raked her fingers in his fur. “He’s all I have. I—I’ll sign paperwork. Just let me keep him.”

“I don’t want your soul, Margaret,” Lucifer said gently. “You’re a nice lady. I don’t deal in your kind.” He chuckled. “Besides, I don’t want you around any more of my beasts. You’ve ruined this one. I thought most of humanity had gone ‘round the bend, then I meet a lady who takes in a hellhound. As you said, finders keepers.”

“Thank you,” she sniffled. “Would you like some tea? Or a crumpet?”

He laughed. “No. Nor a lavender bath either. It’s been a delight, Margaret. Take care of her, Stinker.”

The windows rattled, and he was gone.

“Well,” Margaret said. “A lavender bath wouldn’t hurt that one. Would you like a crumpet, Stinker? Only one, then we have to brush your teeth. Who’s a good boy?”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Stephanie Scissom is from Altamont, Tennessee. She inspects tires and plots murder by night at a tire factory and attends a somewhat excessive number of Jake Owen concerts on her nights off. She’s published in romantic suspense and horror, with four full-length novels and numerous shorts. Her story Dandelions recently placed first in an international competition.

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