Existentially Challenged, page 32
Arby the dog immediately leapt up from his slump on the floor of the van, lowered his head, and began to growl in warning.
“Hello, Arby,” said the man, unperturbed. He peeled the sausage away from the baton and held it up. “I’d like to be friends. Can we be friends?”
He flicked the sausage away into the corner of the van. Arby ceased to growl and watched it go. He took a single sad glance at the floor of the van, and at what he had felt was important to defend, before realizing that a free sausage upended his entire list of priorities. He bounded after it, leaving behind Roger’s gray, dried-out corpse.
The man looked at the body without emotion before glancing quickly around to confirm that Beatrice was sleeping peacefully and that nobody else was present. Satisfied, he returned to his pockets and produced one of Doctor Diablerie’s white gloves, which he placed on the end of the baton.
Arby had finished the sausage and was checking around for the next development. When the glove was waved under his nose, he took a cautious sniff. His tail flicked.
“There, now we know one another,” said the man. He was now holding a magazine clipping, from which he read aloud. “ ‘Arby the Psychic Dog.’ That’s you, isn’t it? ‘The resident pooch at the Sundown Care Home for the Elderly has been making headlines with his uncanny ability to predict which resident will be the next to pass on. Whenever he chooses a new friend and begins resting on their bed at night, staff members know that their days are getting numbered.’ ”
Arby cocked his head, sticking out his tongue uncomprehendingly.
“Except it wasn’t precognition, was it?” said the man, tucking the clipping back into his jacket. “It was your power. Who’s going to notice the last few drops of life being drained from someone already old and gray?”
Arby glanced down at Roger’s body and lowered his head in guilt, as if it were merely a chewed-up sofa cushion. He let out a brief whine.
“I know you didn’t mean to,” said the man gently. “You haven’t been taught to control when the power strikes. We have a lot to learn from each other. I’ve never met an animal that could resist possession. Perhaps some dogs truly are incorruptible.” He carefully worked the end of his baton under the dog’s collar and began to inch the dog forward. “Come on. I have a forever home in mind for you, Arby. Or should I call you Harbinger?”
Arby jumped down onto the tarmac and trotted a few steps away, sniffing the evening air and giving a little huff of excitement. The man took one last look at Roger’s corpse, then gently closed up the van.
Yahtzee Croshaw, Existentially Challenged
