This story is by Katy Eldred and was part of our 2023 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.
It was one of those days where I squinted at the sun that warmed my face while the icy wind blew my wavy dark hair into my eyes. Why didn’t I pack something warmer? The small streets were in a drowsy mood this morning, the inhabitants of floral boutiques, various sweets shops, and antique thrift stores setting out their signs and sweeping away the brown leaves before the wind blew all the foliage right back to where it was.
Moose stepped out of his creaky red pickup truck, a vehicle far too small for him. Moose was all flannel and beard, and his real name was Great-uncle Henry. We came from a small family. It was just Moose and his brother, Grandpa, then Dad with no siblings, and I was the only child of Mom and Dad.
Well, sort of.
We settled into the square table squished by the wide window of Sunny’s Cafe.
“How ‘bout a cup of Joe, Ez?” Moose said, unrolling his newspaper.
That’s one thing I liked about him. If I ever needed underage coffee, I knew exactly who to ask.
“No, thanks.”
“Hot chocolate?” he offered.
Shaking my head, I stared mindlessly at the back of the newspaper. A scruffy dog with its tongue hanging out of the side of its mouth smiled at the readers.
“You’re going to bite your lip off.” Moose tapped me with his boot under the table.
“Where did you put Johann?” I asked.
Moose flicked his eyes from the newspaper to me. “In the back of the truck. We’ll have a memorial service when we get home.”
I tore the paper napkin holder into shreds as he continued.
“How about we get a new cat?”
“No,” I said flatly. No cat could replace Johann. His crackled meow. My ‘piano teacher’, Mom used to call him, before she went silent. Mom loved Bach, so I would occasionally learn a song for her. My preferences rested with film score arrangements. I spent six months learning a Chopin piece — anything to help Mom get out of her zombie-like state.
Johann was the best and only pet I ever owned. He was my shadow as I stepped into the world of homeschooling. Every assignment, every lesson, every boring book, Johann was by my side. It was a ‘time to grieve’, Dad had said when he pulled me out of public school. The only thing it actually did was force me into their stifling grief.
Now I had a reason to grieve.
Johann was gone.
“Two coffees, please,” Moose told the waitress, a blonde middle aged lady with a beaming smile. Her grin got real bright when she spoke to Moose.
My coffee was built with four spoonfuls of sugar and enough creamer to turn it the color of sand. The smell of pancakes and bacon filled the diner as the morning grew later.
The thought of putting Johann to rest put me in a mental state of suffocation everytime it bubbled up in my mind. Another death in my life might kill me.
Moose flipped through the last page of the newspaper, letting it fall to the table.
“Ready?” he asked.
“You don’t want to take this home?” I picked up the newspaper. The scruffy dog story caught my eye again. It read The Legend of Mel’s Hole: The Story of a Lost Soul Found.
Old Johnny Spencer was interviewed about an aging dog who ran off in the woods, never to return home. Of course, they thought he ran off to die. Near an old mining hole, a bottomless pit, the dog was found alive. Legend had it that if a deceased animal fell down this hole, they would return to the living world.
“How could a dead dog fall down a hole then come back to life?” I asked.
Moose grunted. “Legends!”
“Not for Old Johnny Spencer!” I tapped the photograph of the scruffy dog.
“I read it.” Moose stood. “Myths!”
My focus rested on the grayed-out dog in the newspaper. Revived.
“No, Ezra.”
“You don’t even know what I’m going to say!” I shot back.
Moose shook the newspaper. “It’s a fairytale.”
“What if it’s not! Johann is the only one who really cares about me.” Not Mom and Dad. Not ‘friends’ from school. Not one person.
“What am I? Chopped liver?”
I cracked a smile. “Besides you. How do you know it’s a myth? Have you ever thrown a dead dog down there?”
As we exited the diner, our waitress finger waved goodbye and flashed a shiny smile under red lips. The truck groaned underneath Moose’s weight as he stepped into it.
The drive was long and pretty, the road bordered in bright green trees with the smell of fresh earth filling the cabin of the truck. The man behind us, driving one of those shiny red sedans, shook his fist several times until he finally zipped around us, his car coughing black smoke. Of course, Moose did drive an average of five to ten miles underneath the speed limit.
It was a quiet ride. That was another thing I liked about Moose: he didn’t ask all the wrong questions, which were the only things that everyone else seemed to be interested in these days.
How are you, Ezra? How’s school? Mom and Dad?
An image of a dozen framed photos laying facedown flashed through my mind. The dusty house. The taste of overcooked noodles. Dad flipping through channels in bed, Mom staring at the ceiling fan on the couch.
I opened my mouth to speak, then hesitated. “Have you ever met someone who looks dead? But they’re alive?” I asked slowly.
Moose drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Sure have.”
“That’s Mom and Dad.”
“Sure is.”
Mom was prone to what I called ‘fits’. Wailing and weeping with no tears. Dad said her tears were all dried up after Amelia passed.
Amelia.
The girl I never got to know.
My heart felt like someone was squeezing it until it threatened to pop. Not because of Amelia. Because of Johann. Was I a bad person for missing Johann more than Amelia? Johann, my best friend? Who slept on my pillow next to my head each night? Who lived to be my personal alarm clock, pawing me in the face at 6:00 each morning? Who was my comfort when my parents were drowning in their own sea of sadness?
…
Legend or not, we pulled into a dirt parking lot. The wind blew the tall skinny grass into a ferocious dance. Mel Waters’ Hole was etched onto a wooden sign.
The hole was as big as a tractor.
Tears nearly came to my eyes when Moose entrusted me with a stiff body rolled up in a ragged towel. Was this how stiff Amelia felt when she left this world? She was smaller than Johann when she passed away.
“This is it, buddy,” I whispered, standing on the wrong side of the barbed wire that surrounded the hole. “You’ve been better to me than anyone else in the world.” I kissed the towel. “Come back, Johann. Please, come back.” I choked back a sob as I rested Johann’s body on the edge of the hole. As if handling fine china, I inched him off the edge. The white of the towel grew smaller and smaller until it disappeared without a sound.
Maybe the hole really didn’t have a bottom.
…
We stayed in the truck that night. Since we hadn’t planned on an evening freezing in the cabin of the truck, I was swimming in Moose’s vest and snacked on powdery bags of trail mix. The night was cold and restless. Every time I looked in Moose’s direction, he was awake.
A soft orange light finally broke the horizon.
Much to my horror, the only occupants remained to be Moose and me.
Moose ruffled my hair. “Come on, kid. How about some grub?”
How was I supposed to eat when the grim reaper had ripped my heart out of my chest? Over a breakfast of coffee and buttery toast, I let my face sag, propped up in my hand. Even though Moose assured me we could get another cat, regardless of what my dad said, I was sure nothing could mend my broken heart. Soon, I would become like Mom and Dad, floating around the house because of a stifling grief.
“Please, Moose, can we go back for just a few minutes?” I begged as he dropped a stack of wrinkled one-dollar bills on the table. The drive here was only twenty minutes, and Moose agreed with a grunt.
The wind blew the grass around wildly as I desperately scanned the trees for any sign of life.
Something brushed against my leg. I gave a sharp intake of breath. There, staring up at me with bright green eyes, was my Johann.
That’s the biggest thing I liked about Moose: he always let me try the impossible.
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