Strange Magic by Gord Rollo Page A

visitor jam the white leash into his pocket and stroll nonchalantly back to the canine carcass. He clipped the red leash onto the unfortunate animal’s collar and indifferently walked away, dragging the dead dog behind. Maxwell grotesquely bounced along, its tongue sticking out its mouth, swollen and drooling a trail of blood onto the dark green grass.
    What the hell is going on ? Tom asked himself up on his perch. Why take the dead dog? Where’s he going with it? Christ! Looks like he’s taking the damn thing for a walk but that’s insane.
    The killer stopped at the gate, cocking his head a little to the left as if he was listening to something. Tom’s heart skipped a beat on seeing the man turn. His pallid face tilted slowly until he was staring directly up at Tom. Tom shrank into the ivy and the shadow of the overhanging eave. He might have been spotted but he wasn’t quite sure. For one brief horrible moment, their eyes had met and locked. The temperature seemed to drop suddenly, sending a shiver down Tom’s spine.
    Please don’t let him see me.
    Tom was sure he was going to die. This unknown madman was about to walk over, haul him off the trellis, and wrap his powerful fingers around his neck, just like he’d done to Maxwell.
    The killer took a step toward him before coming to an inexplicable stop. A cruel smile permeated his ghostly face followed by a hideous guttural laugh. Tom didn’t share the dark man’s sense of humor and was very close to a bowel movement. He’d never been this scared in his life.
    For some reason known only to the sadist, he changed direction and departed through the squeaky gate, dragging the dead dog in his wake. Tom was too petrified to move. He couldn’t believe the man had left. Had he really not seen him? He had to have. Didn’t he? Who was he? How had he killed Maxwell so easily? And why was he taking the dead dog with him? Questions, questions, questions, but no answers. The only person with the answers had just left.
    It was probably a stupid thing to do, but Tom wanted to know what was going on. He was terrified, but his curiosity was driving him crazy. He decided to creep down and quietly follow the man. Without thinking of the consequences, he quickly climbed down from the window ledge, the luscious Ms. Sullivan all but forgotten. He ran to the open gate and cautiously peered around the fence post in time to see the tip of Maxwell’s limp black tail disappearing around a bush at the front of the house.
    Dragging the carcass would certainly slow the lunatic down a bit, so trailing him shouldn’t be too difficult. As long as he stayed out of sight, everything would be okay. Tom’s bravado started to weaken when he went to retrieve his flashlight where he had left it on the grass. He was troubled to find it gone.
    Or maybe not. In his desire to scale the wall, he hadn’t really paid much attention to where he’d set it down. Maybe he’d placed it somewhere else? Yeah, that might be it. His frightened mind was ready to grasp at any explanation, rather than concede the killer had taken it. That would mean he had been spotted and could be walking into a trap. An image of Maxwell’s unfortunate encounter began to replay in his mind.
    On wobbly legs and not accustomed to feeling the effects of fear, Tom shakily moved to the front of the house. The tall man and the dog were nowhere to be found. It was impossible; he couldn’t have disappeared so quickly. He didn’t have enough time. Tom checked the damp ground for some evidence of direction, but found none. It was as if man and beast had simply vanished into the night air.
    Fear swelled within him as he cautiously walked intothe middle of the road. He knew he shouldn’t expose himself, but he was too scared to go near any of the trees and bushes that lined each side of the street. Perhaps the dog killer was lurking there, ready to pounce at any second.
    His paranoia led to full-fledged panic. Soon he was running