Jock

"Jock"
By W. P. Gerace

A full red moon overlooked the valley this late July night as Brandon drove along the dusty Route 305 by his parent's home in North Phoenix. Anxious to get home before they realized he had not gotten back from his date with Wendy, this would have been the third time this week disobeying his midnight curfew. He recalled his father's stern words as he sat on the patio the other night holding a bottle of beer in his bulky left-hand young man one more time, and you will be grounded for a week. His parents gave him a lot of leeway, but there were times when they reigned in the strings a bit; this was one of those times. Brandon knew that if he was late one more time, he would be grounded.

Brandon had a legitimate reason this time. There was a terrible accident on Canyon Highway, and police had most of it blocked off, with only one or two lanes getting through. Several cars were turned over and tossed off into the ditch below the guardrail. The vehicles looked as if they were all smashed up, ready to be compacted, and sent away for recycling. He could not even see if there were any survivors. However, he saw several Ambulance bright red lights blinking, hopefully looking for survivors.

Turning into the community of North Mountain Court, its white stucco exterior lit up by the beam of luminous lights overlooking the area, Brandon thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Looking twice, it couldn't be. It has been nearly a year since their beloved Jock, their German Shephard they had since Brandon was a child, had disappeared. Staring at the dog, its lush brown and black fur still as sleek and smooth as the day he disappeared. Dangling around his neck was his gold collar. His black ears stood up as he diligently approached the complex's entrance.

Sitting there patiently waiting for his owners to claim him, Brandon could hear Jock's whimpering cries. Getting out of his car and running over to his long-lost friend on this summer hot night, he was as alert as ever. Calling his name, Jock's dark eyes light up, barking happily. How could anyone forget you? Brandon thought to himself. Grabbing the dog, happy to have him back, he quickly brought his pet inside his car, not even caring if he messed up his vinyl seats. It's been a whole damn year. Where have you been, man? Brandon wanted to ask if only dogs could talk.

Opening the tiny grey keypad at the entrance, he quickly entered the family's code to gain access to this remote community. He was driving faster than the required twenty-mile-an-hour speed limit, grateful it was late so that no one would say anything. He could not wait to get home and show his parents. This is one time maybe they would forget about curfews. Crying and laughing simultaneously, Brandon looked back in the rearview mirror. He saw Jock laying down with his pink tongue hanging out as he panted from this oppressive dry heat. Poor guy must be so parched, Brandon thought.

Driving up the winding driveway leading to their three-story home, the porch light still on a sign one of his parents, if not both, were up waiting. Normally he would be shitting his pants right about now, worried he would get an earful which would often come with losing privileges. Not worried as the joyful news would surely override the broken curfew. Brandon remembered reading that German Shepherds were intelligent and used in special projects by the government, but this here and a year later. The fact he remembered where to go was so crazy wild that he still could not believe it.

Pulling up in the driveway behind his dad's rusty beige truck, which he used when he would go junking, as his mom would call it, looking for those prizes. Dad never made much on those things, but as his mom would say in that husky low pitch imitating his dad, you know guys, this is such a steal it could be worth millions. Let us give it a whirl. The family joke, for sure, was on him in that respect. Jock quickly jumped into the back seat of his dad's truck, barking, and wagging his black tail, excited to be in his old environment.

"What the hell. Jock! Is that you! Brandon, where did you find him? "His father came out the door in his red silk shorts and white tee shirt, streams of sweat shimmering across his brows, apparent signs he was working out in his gym or fixing something.

"Yeah, Dad, how cool is that. A whole year later, he is in one piece too. I thought the wolves or coyotes would have gotten to him by now. "Pointing to his best friend, his muscular legs spread across the bare floor of the cargo bed as if he had no intentions of leaving anytime soon.

Perking his ears and sitting up on all fours, Jock's brown eyes had a glare that Brandon had never seen before. It was almost as if he was angry at the words Brandon said. A deep growl came from his throat as he bared his sharp white teeth. It almost appeared his teeth were extra strong, like razors that could split someone's flesh with one bite. That was crazy, though. Brandon thought Jock was not a violent animal, and he never bit anyone.

Not thinking twice, resting his hand on the edge of the truck, Brandon felt a shooting pain shoot up his hand and arm. Jock had snarled his teeth deep into Brandon's hand. Blood began to spurt everywhere. As quickly as he latched onto him, he relinquished his incisive grip.

"Fuck! "Brandon yelled for the first time cursing in front of his father.

"Language! You obviously upset him. Millie, I need you out here! Brandon got bitten by Jock! "His father called in through the open door.

"What! Jock? How? "Brandon's mom asked as she shuffled herself over the oak panel wooden floor, her furry pink slippers swirling about like some swifter’s.

The wound felt like a hidden fire was being released inside it. Brandon's skin started to tingle and burn, reminding him of a bad sunburn. He was able to take a lot of pain; being a former Football player and having everything from cracked ribs to a dislocated shoulder, this was so intense it almost felt like he was on fire. Biting his lips, he hoped that Jock did not have some sort of Rabies or some horrible infection that could kill him. They really did not know where Jock had been this past year.

Holding onto his chest, he felt he was breathing through a straw. He could see his mother Millie arriving with his Asthma pump she always kept in the brown cabinet in the living room just in case. He hasn't had an attack since middle school; he recalls Dr. Hawkins, the Family physician telling him to keep one aspirator as a backup as it could come back at any time. Everything around him swirled around as he suddenly felt dazed and confused. Memories of his childhood illness came back full speed recalling sadly how too much excitement would trigger his worst Asthma spells. He had lost all ability to talk, move, or even breathe. The next thing he felt was the callous surface of the driveway bump against his head.
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The howling of coyotes woke Brandon out of his sleep. It was unusual for them to come close to the community. There was an eerie blood-curdling cry in their howls as if they were waiting to feast upon someone. Sitting up in his bed sweating, his blue sheets drenched, he almost felt like he was getting a bad fever. The green numbers on his digital Apple Watch on his bureau read 3:45 AM. How long had he been asleep? What happened, he wondered. The last thing he remembered was falling outside.

Till now the painful wound Jock inflicted upon Brandon was forgotten. He felt a dull pain swim through his fingers and wrist. Looking at his hand his mother bandaged it up pretty good with one of those gauze bandages. A nurse many years ago knew exactly how to handle any kind of injury. Unfortunately, her nervous breakdown years ago prevented her from ever working in a hospital again.

Complete darkness surrounded him. His room was usually quite dark, but this time it seemed almost pitch black, the kind of darkness one sees during a blackout. On top of that, frightening silence surrounded him as if everything he knew suddenly ceased existence. Nothing else could be heard outside that awful calling of the Coyotes.

Jumping up on the edge of his bed, Jock stood glaring at him. His ears were rigid and pointed up. His tail stood still. Frozen, the animal just stood there towering above Brandon. Jock's dark eyes started to glow again, reminding Brandon of crimson embers from a barbecue pit. A deep guttural sound came from the dog's throat, almost rattling as if something was about to release upon him from inside the canine's throat. Horns came out from his head, the animal's skin, and bones parting to give way to the transformation.

Jock's back arched upward. Each side pushed outward as bloody bones poked through his black and brown coat. His flesh and insides shredding, was like listening to fried bacon in a grease pan. As the bones fell off Jock's body, they rolled onto Brandon's hardwood oak floor. On contact with the floor, the multitude of bones that made up Jock's back suddenly sizzled into thick black smoke. The smell of decomposing flesh permeated the air. Another crooked bloody cartilage appeared from the small of the dog's back. Splitting in two on either side of him, his deep growl increased in intensity as more transformations took place on the family pet's body.

Brandon could not believe what he was seeing. If he had not stopped smoking pot a few weeks ago, he would have sworn he was having one hell of a significant high with hallucinations. But this was a no smoking session, and Brandon had not had one blunt in nearly three months. This was the real deal his once best friend was transforming into something he could not explain. What the fuck happened to you in a year, Jock?

Growing out from the crooked bony structure on both sides of him, oozing blood dripping onto Brandon's new, freshly clean sheets came long skin-like flaps that formed wings. Not noticing this all this time, Jock now had two heads. The second head grew outside of his Skull, connected to the confines of its flesh. Ejecting from his mouth, his teeth started to make this clanking sound as his jaw pushed out, revealing several rows of razor-like teeth sitting on each other.

Brandon wanted to scream and jump or be able to do anything but just sit here like some pathetic loser. He tried to call his mom and dad the way he did in elementary school and swore his closet had a monster in it. That was when Jock was a puppy and would sit beside his bed, his soft brown eyes reassuring him things would be okay. How, just ten years later, things were altogether different.

Jock had grown wings and was flying above Brandon, his previous sleek brown and grey coat now dripping blood from its massive transformation. A deep growl that was like something demonic sinister, as if something of pure evil lived in his once best friend. Finally, what seemed an hour of endless fear and inability to talk released its crippling effect on him. Brandon's voice was no longer hostage.

"Mom!!!! Dad!!! Mommmmmmmmmmmmmmy!!!" Returning to that scared six-year-old boy wearing blue pajamas and fuzzy slippers, he had no choice or would soon be devoured by his now demon dog.

"Honey, what is it? "Standing outside his door, her silhouette though hard to see, was refreshing to Brandon.

"Mom, please come in. Something is wrong with Jock. He is not acting like himself. He is possessed or something. "Brandon shaking inside, found it next to impossible to even speak.

Shaking her head, turning on Brandon's bright neon blue lights illuminating his dark room. Jock sat comfortably on the floor as if the previous episode was just a mirage, his pink tongue sticking out, panting, his bulky paws in front of him, the perfect pose for a photograph. Wagging his tail, a sign, he was excited to see his mom. Brandon began to think he was hallucinating this whole thing; maybe he had a terrible fever. He was sweating profusely, his sheets saturated as if a jug of water had been poured everywhere.

"Honey, see, there is nothing wrong with our boy. He is just the same as he always has been. "Patting his head with her soft hands, Brandon's anxiety perked up when he saw the edges of those pointy horns piercing through the animal's Skull.

"Mom, move your hand. He is doing it again. Mommmm!!" Brandon jumped up, pushing his mother away from Jock.

"Honey, I think you need to get some rest. Let me give you something. You are way too excited. "Sitting up, she pulled out a few white pills, probably one of her Trazodone’s or something she took for her nerves.

"No, I don't think I need that mom. I have to say awake. I want to stay awake. Please. "Brandon begged.

"That's okay, honey. I am putting the medicine here in case you need it. "Brandon's mother placed both pills beside his picture of him and Wendy at the Phoenix Carnival.

Walking out, he wanted to ask her to stay and sit with him. He did not want to be left alone. How could Jock transform into that hideous creature and resemble his usual self so quickly? Maybe he was dreaming. Perhaps he just needed sleep, like she said.

When she shut the lights off and shut the door, he heard that howling sound, this time not from outside his window but somewhere inside his room. Something wet fell on his face. Then another drop and another. Looking around, he could not find the source. In fact, Jock was nowhere to be found either. Just that shrieking howl, its loudness so deafening he felt his ears would shatter. Brandon was unable to move and call for help. This time Brandon thought he would not gain the ability to do so. He had his chance but screwed up.

More drops fell on his face. Grabbing his cell phone, he turned on the flashlight. The droplets were bright red. Blood. But where from? Trepidation rose within him; he wanted to get out of this bed but was frozen, unable to do anything but observe. Slowly he looked up above him, and there was nothing. There was nothing but dead silence. Even that awful howling stopped at this moment.

Brandon could just hear the faint dings from his phone for the many social media notifications he would get. Slowly laying his head on his pillow, he closed his eyes, hoping to get some rest. That could be what Brandon needed, just like Mom said. He wondered if Jock had a nasty infection, and he gave it to Brandon, and all this was just some wild dream from his fever.

Something heavy jumped on him. Opening his eyes, Jock, with wild red eyes and those long vampire fangs, growled at Brandon. Unable to call for help or move, Brandon could do nothing but feel Jock's teeth rip his throat and chest apart. Blood splurged everywhere as the canine dug his teeth into his flesh, pulling him apart as if he were made from putty.

He could hear his mother's fierce screams in his last moments. He watched as Jock ripped his mother's head off with its giant teeth. Just as he gave in to his deadly wounds, his father was next to be attacked. Brandon tried telling his mom something was wrong with Jock. If only she listened, he thought.