The Dog Trick
Toothpicks propped open Jackson’s eyes. Leather straps restrained his wrists and ankles. What remained of his decaying skin, fat and muscle tissue crawled with ticks.
The itch and burn were slowly driving Jackson insane–along with the painful certainty that the bones of his shattered legs were or would soon be raw, exposed. He couldn’t fathom more excruciating pain. The constant glare of the fluorescent lighting and the intermittent knock of the air conditioning unit he’d always been too cheap to repair were unnerving him, too.
He’d screamed himself mute. Now all he could do was try to keep pace with his mind as it raced toward madness.
Last week, this weirdo family had brought in a dog purportedly killed dead beneath their SUV. A terrible accident, they said. They’d actually cried. They’d paid him to taxidermy the beloved Fido into a statue they could prop up in their home’s foyer. As a tribute, they said. Weirdos, but whatever. Their money was as green as anybody’s, Jackson had told himself at the time.
Playing dead was the least of the sinister tricks beloved Fido had mastered.
