The Pale Girl

The Pale Girl
David Francis
January 18, 2005

It’s my duty to walk the dog; unfortunately five thirty in the morning and a sub zero temperature is enough to keep me in bed. A whine and a thump from the cage, however, remind me that there are others, one four legged one in particular, that are in more need than I. Besides, I would have to get up in another half hour anyway and it would be cruel to leave the poor thing cooped up in the cage yearning for the outside. So with a grunt I get up, stretching in the cold air long enough to pop a few tight joints before putting on my sweats.
With a flick of the latches the door to the cage swings open and a very happy, and very anxious friend leaps forth. Dozer is a handsome dog despite his mixed background. Easily eighty pounds of muscle and attitude, he usually gets what he wants. Sure he’s spoiled, but we have an agreement of sorts. He seems to understand that I’m boss and that what I say goes, but for others, he’s just plain stubborn. I follow him downstairs to where he waits by the front door, leash in mouth.
After a brief tug of war I managed to get the ratty collar and leash around Dozer’s neck. It had seen much wear and tare, Dozer had seen to that. He had managed to chew sections of it fairly thin, but it was still good and promised to hold together should he bolt. After fishing around the closet for my coat I’m good to go, at least I think I am. Something is stopping me, much to the annoyance of Dozer who sits staring at me. Beyond the door I can hear the wind whipping through the sleeping community, but there is something else. Perhaps I am only imagining it, but there seems to be a scratching sound, as of a small animal wanting to get in. Dozer gets up, whining his impatience and nuzzling the back of my leg, as if telling me that its time to go. Peering through the window I can see nothing in the darkness, but the nagging doubt and unease still hold my senses. Shaking my head I chide myself for these misgivings, but to be on the safe side, I lead Dozer to the back door.
Stepping onto the back porch I’m quickly folded into the cold early morning air, feeling the dryness steal into my nose and sear my lungs. Dozer bolts out from behind me, happily bounding into the dusting of snow left overnight. I follow him after sliding the glass door shut behind me. The wind picks up, blowing the snow into stinging clouds of ice; Dozer however, does not share my sour view of it and is content to chase the flying snow. Huddled in my coat, all I can do is wish the dog would stop playing and get down to business. After a few minutes he finally settles on a place where he deposits a stinking heap.
Moving forward to collect the nasty little package I stop, Dozer is acting strangely. I have seen him truly upset only a few times before, but there’s something different about this. The hackles stand on end from his shoulders to the tip of his tail. He remains squatting, frozen in place nose to the sky working fiercely. I hear, ever so faintly, a scratching noise from behind me. I turn my head slightly, taking my eyes off Dozer and looking back towards the house. In this moment I am harshly reminded of the misgivings I had at the front door. The scratching has stopped, but now Dozer commands my attention.
Dozer is no longer sniffing at the air, he looking with narrowed eyes to the west where the shadows of night lay deeper beyond the buildings of the community to where the playground is. His lips pull back, parting to bare his fangs as deep growls escape from him. I’m transfixed on what I’m seeing and hearing, but mostly I’m chilled to the core by the guttural noises. Three sharp, deep barks break the frosty silence as Dozer lunges forward. I hold tightly to the leash, praying it will hold up under the strain, but Dozer is in a state I have never seen. His muscles ripple and bulge across his hind legs as he fights for freedom. I call to him, trying all the training techniques I can think of, but for all my praying and hoping, I feel the snap of the leash and can only try to catch myself as Dozer bolts into the darkness.
I’m alone, cold and in the dark, holding the frayed leash, but I cannot bring myself to call to him. My heart is racing, and I feel a little weak in the knees. There seems to be something in the air, something tangible, and not altogether savory. I no longer want to be out here in this bitter cold with its howling wind and stinging snow. I want to be back in my bed, away from whatever Dozer is chasing and these strange feelings it’s instilling in me. But I know that I can’t just leave him out here, I need to get him back inside. Resolved, I turn and head back to the house knowing that I’ll need a flashlight to hunt the mutt down. It still bothers me though, and I can’t get that image of him mad, and the sound of his growling out of my mind. Shuddering I reach for the door handle, but stop. Now I can hear something, carrying on the wind from the west, from the playground. Pausing to listen I hear it again, a faint barking and, a scream? Apparently Dozer had found what he was looking for and was giving in a hard time. The scream carried to me again and a new feeling of unease was growing in me. What if Dozer had attacked someone? He was friendly enough, and a lovable thing to be sure, but in his current state he may attack anything. I turn from the door and trot out to find Dozer’s trail, once found I set out at a jog.
The trail, easy to follow in the snow, leads me across the back road and towards the clubhouse. I haven’t heard anything since the scream that caused me to forgo a flashlight, but as I approach the clubhouse and the playground beyond, I hear something new. Someone, or something, is crying and whimpering. Abruptly I find Dozer, huddled by a garbage can crying pitifully. I look him over, but can find no sign of injury, he appears to be upset only. I straighten up, giving him a loving pat and grabbing his collar.
A scream splits the air, drawing my heart into my throat, and causing me to start violently. High pitched and moaning it sounds like grating metal mixed with a scream of terror, but I can’t tell if its human or animal. Dozer whines again and tries to lay down in the snow, but my grip, now iron clad in fear, keeps him sitting. I look around, trying to blink away the tears that sprung so readily to my eyes. The scream dies to a moan as I sweep the area, trying to locate the creature making it. Not twenty feet away I spot a dark form in the snow. I can tell from here that its vaguely human. Now I’m worried that Dozer has done something horribly wrong, and he knows it. Patting him and telling him to stay I walk with some trepidation towards the still form. Not ten feet away my fears are confirmed, a little girl is lying in the snow before me.
I rush to her side, kneeling in the snow to scoop her up. I stop in surprise though, not believing what I am seeing. Temperatures are well below freezing out here, but this girl is dressed only in her nightie. Her arms are thrown over her face and long black hair spills around her body. Her skin is pale, almost translucent, and shows no signs of being exposed to the fierce cold.
I reach out for her carefully. “Are you alright? I’m sorry; my dog didn’t mean to frighten you. Did he bite you?” She is motionless seeming no more than a discarded doll. I look back towards Dozer who is still hiding behind the garbage can, but is watching me intently. “Way to go, Dozer.” I say, wanting desperately to believe that he has only found her and is not responsible for her condition. I’m brought back to the girl by a familiar sound. One arm has pulled away from her face and she is clawing at the ground, making a sickening scratching noise.
My heart is racing, once again I am reminded of the scratching sound that first deterred me from the front door, then surprised me behind the house. Could it have been this girl that was making the sound, somehow trying to get my attention? What ever it was, I need to get her out of the cold before she freezes to death. I reach out a hand and grasp her arm; it burns to the touch with an intense cold. With a curse I wrench my hand back, wringing the warmth back into it. I looked down, the girl is moving, but there’s nothing natural about it. She is rising up from the ground, but not through my help, or even her own. It appears that she is being pulled up by her neck, her head lolls to the side unnaturally. Her arms and legs twitch in spasms of pain as she pulls off the ground and into the sky. She is hanging right before my eyes; I cast around for the rope, only to find that there isn’t even a tree or pole around for her to hang from. I take a step back, watching her twitch in the air with her back to me, but nothing could have prepared me for what happens next. I hear a deep growl from behind me, and realized that Dozer is on his feet and is slowly backing away. I watch in horror as her head flops almost completely around and twists to rest its gaze on me. The face is hollow with sunken cheeks and no lips to be seen, but it’s the eyes, or I should say, the lack of eyes that hold me to the spot. Two hollow sockets that seemingly pulse with anguish. The mouth parts slightly and a scream rips forth, sounding of the anguish racking her body. She is floating close to me, her gaze locked on me, her arms twitching and reaching. Its too much; I turn at that moment, knowing nothing but the fear coursing through my body. Dozer is gone, having fled back to the house, and I know that he was the smart one. I don’t remember the mad dash back to the house other than the feeling of those eyes boring into the back of my skull and the swish of grasping hands just barely missing me.
I never looked back, not even when I slammed the glass door shut behind me and latched it. I made my way back upstairs, to my warm bed and sleeping wife, but it was not for me. I wanted to get back to sleep, but the sound of the scratching seemed to come from every corner of the house. I did notice though, in later days that Dozer steadfastly refused to go out in the dark. While it confused my wife to no end, I understood only too well, for from that point on if I needed to go out in the dark, I never went alone. And if anything scratched against the windows, I was more than quick to draw the blinds. I would be happy if I never met the pale girl again, and so far my luck has held out.