13 STORIES: THE DOG THAT HATED ITS TAIL

I've skipped posting a few of these last stories, as I was trying to keep the majority of the traffic going to the official Facebook page, but I may switch over for the remaining 5 stories to a new blog dedicated to them exclusively.

I've got another bigger story planned for after this series, where I may issue one new chapter per month so that the complete novel will be finished at the end of the year, but we'll see.

For now here is the 8th story in my macabre series.

And i think I've hit on a unifying style for the accompanying illustrations.  I really like the idea of cross stitch, it has a very folk art feel to it, so my digital version of cross stitch for this months illustration will be the template for all the others.  That of course means I'll be going back to redo the first 7 illustrations in this style.

THE DOG THAT HATED ITS TAIL 
by
Darren Webb

Hubert loved to lick faces. It was his favorite way to greet people, though they didn't always meet him with the same level of enthusiasm. He was a dog of average size, with an unimpressive beige coat, but with the most above average loyalty. No matter how well or how poorly he was treated at the homes he lived in, Hubert was always unabashedly true.

People would forget to feed him, accidentally leave him outdoors during a ferocious rain storm or even be callously and needlessly abusive, but Hubert never lost his loyalty to them. It was the purest of hearts that beat in Hubert. But, that wasn't the only unique aspect to this dog.

As if diametrically opposed to his loyal heart, was his hated tail. Now, to any humans observing his behavior, it simply seemed as though Hubert was playing at chasing his tail, spinning wildly in tight circles until he caught hold of it and then gave his tail the thrashing it deserved, often to the point where he would draw blood. This wasn't some neurotic manifestation of deeply held insecurities, erupting into self mutilation, no Hubert had good reason to hate his tail as he did.

His scraggly, oversized, crimson colored, ever wagging tail was his bitterest enemy. Its odd coloring made it almost seem as though the tail had been an afterthought, tacked on well after Hubert had been born. It was because of his tail that Hubert had gone through so many different homes in his short life. It was the source of all his misery.

In the home where he'd been born, his tail had knocked over an oil based hurricane lantern and burnt the family home to the ground. In his second-chance home, his tail had knocked a toddler that Hubert was trying to keep from attempting to navigate the stairs on its own, tumbling straight down to the bottom floor, and in the home just before the one he found himself in now, his tail knocked over a glass of champagne during a marriage proposal, which resulted in a shockingly vicious physical response from the young woman who was being proposed to.

Now, it wasn't simply a matter of Hubert being clumsy, or being an uncoordinated canine, unable or unaware of how to control his tail. No, the answer wasn't that simple. Hubert knew this, but with his being a dog, there was no way to communicate his predicament to his frustrated humans, that his tail did in fact, have a mind of its' own. And a most vicious one at that. None of the "accidents" that Hubert supposedly caused were his fault at all.

Hubert lost his previous homes because his tail had purposefully knocked over the oil lamp, purposefully knocked the toddler down the stairs and purposefully ruined the engagement with spilt champagne, all to make Hubert miserable and keep him isolated.
Hubert's only recourse was to gnash and gnaw at his tail every chance he got.

The new home that Hubert had come to was a dogs' delight. Huge fenced in back yard with lush green grass for endless playing. Kind, attentive adults and three adorable cherubic little girls, of whom Hubert was fiercely protective and those three cherubic girls adored him in return.

His new family thought it funny how Hubert seemed to constantly be turning on his tail, almost as if he were trying to catch it unawares, as if the tail were trying to do something without Hubert being aware of it. And in truth, that's what was happening, but the sweet family that had taken Hubert in, simply thought their new dog was being silly.

Of the three cherubic little girls, Annabelle loved Hubert the most. She was 5 years old and possibly the most observant person in her family. She could tell that when Hubert would act out against his own tail that he really was in distress. Annabelle would strut right over to Hubert, as he spun in tight circles to catch his tail and just throw herself around his neck and hug him tightly. Instantly his manic tail chasing would stop and the two would sit in a calm embrace, Annabelle giggling while she played with the scraggy hair on his head as Hubert licked her face in deep gratitude.
Hubert felt that he had found his forever home, here with the understanding, gentle Annabelle and her family, but it was not to be.

Hubert had been so happy in the short time that he'd been in his new home, running around that lush yard with the three little girls, eating the delicious boiled chicken, rice and sweet potatoes he was served for each meal and sleeping at the foot of the bed of his beloved Annabelle, that he let his guard down when it came to his maniacal tail.

One afternoon, Hubert and Annabelle were chasing one another around the back yard, while her sisters and parents sat off in the shade, drinking lemonade and eating fresh berries. Annabelle was spinning and turning wildly, trying to catch Hubert off guard. The sweet dog leapt around, rolling in the grass, then springing up like a cannon shot to the sound of Annabelle's musical laughter, when she suddenly took hold of his tail. Hubert's tail had been waiting for a moment like this to destroy his happiness. His tail suddenly and violently wrapped itself around Annabelle's neck and threw her to the ground.

Horrified, Hubert reacted as he always did when his tail acted up, and instinctively began chasing his tail in a tight circle, poor Annabelle still trapped in it's ever tightening grip. The family looked up to see the terrifying sight of their little Annabelle seemingly being thrown around the yard by her dog as though she were helpless prey.

Annabelle's sisters began to cry as her parents rushed over to free their daughter from what they thought was the vicious attack by her beloved pet. Hubert managed to get hold of
his tail and bite down hard. His tail released Annabelle just as her parents reached them. Father struck out at Hubert, while Mother cradled her little girl. Hubert put up no struggle whatsoever as Father dragged him to the far corner of the yard and chained him up to the wrought iron fence,far from his family. Hubert sat with his head drooped, almost touching the ground, but his eyes sadly looked up to watch his dear Annabelle be taken into the house and away from
him.

The doctor arrived and Annabelle was deemed clearly shaken from her ordeal but with no real physical harm at all. The only thing that Annabelle wanted was to have her Hubert in her room, but her parents and the doctor agreed that that would be unwise, despite her unrelenting pleas to the contrary. Hubert could see into her window from where he sat chained in the backyard, and hear her cry out for him, and he joined in, mournfully howling back to answer her cries.

As night came and the family slept, Hubert thought and thought. He thought about Annabelle and how she loved him, the many homes that he'd lost and his vicious, monstrous tail and all the misery it had caused him and the little girl it had almost killed. Hubert had lived with this tormenting for long enough.

He turned suddenly and ferociously gripped his demonic tail between his snarling teeth and began to tear at it as hard as he could. The pain meant nothing as his teeth bore down and began to tear the fur and skin from his tail. He kept biting and tearing, blood streaked down his whiskered chin until finally Hubert tore his tail free from his body. Panting heavily, tears filling his weary eyes, Hubert stared down at his now severed tail, as it lie in a small pool of blood and dirt, motionless. How could this clump of hair, bone and muscle given him so much trouble? But, now it was done. He would be free of his tormenting tail for the rest of his days. Hubert dug a deep hole at the farthest he could reach from where he was chained and then dropped his bloodied tail in and buried it. With that, he lay down to wait for morning.

The next day came and mother and father kept their three cherubic daughters inside, while they fretted all the day long over what to do about Hubert. He'd been such a true and loyal protector for their daughters, but now they were unsure.

Annabelle refused to leave her room unless she could see Hubert, but since her parents would not allow it, she sat at her bedroom window and stared down mournfully at her Hubert all the day long.

That longest of days turned again to night and Hubert fell asleep out in the cold, alone. A gentle rustling suddenly woke Hubert from his sleep. It was well into the early morning hours and Annabelle had crept out of her room and was wriggling out of the dog door in the kitchen to make her way out into the yard to see Hubert.

The bloody stub where his tail had been wagged furiously
with joy as he raced out toward Annabelle and stretched the chain that tied him to the wrought iron fence to it's limits when she finally reached him. Annabelle wrapped her arms around Hubert's neck and hugged him close to her, as he licked her face furiously, as though she were made of ice cream.

She giggled and he panted from joy. Annabelle knew Hubert had been protecting her all along, that it had been his tail that attacked her and not him. Hubert proudly showed his tail free backside to Annabelle, as an assurance that he'd put her safety above all else.
Tears filled Annabelle's eyes, as she understood what he'd done for her, but suddenly her expression was shrouded with dread, as a dark form emerged from the shadows behind Hubert. Hubert could sense something was wrong and turned to face the shadow.

Slowing emerging up from the very spot in the ground where Hubert had buried his severed tail, crawled a creature, not quite a dog, not quite a demon, covered in crimson red matted hair, with no eyes but an enormous mouth filled with charcoal black teeth. Hubert knew instinctively, that this was the creature that had inhabited his tail, that had caused his life to be filled with misery, here now fully formed, fully independent of him and ready to once more snatch away Hubert's happiness, Hubert's Annabelle.

Annabelle ran toward the house and the creature lunged for her. Hubert managed to catch her by her nightgown and pull her safely to him before she could get out of his range, for Hubert still chained to the wrought iron fence knew that he must keep Annabelle close by if he hoped to keep her safe from this creature.

The eyeless demon attacked Hubert, biting his front leg deeply, drawing blood. Hubert backed away, licking his wound, but noticed that the creature suddenly limping, also bearing a wound on the same leg that it had just inflicted on Hubert. Seeing its distress Hubert counter attacked, biting and clawing at the creatures eyeless face.

He strikes a fierce blow, tearing off one of the creatures ears, but at the same time Hubert cries out in pain as his ear is simultaneously torn from his head. Annabelle moves to comfort Hubert, but he now realizes the connection between himself and this creature born out of his own tail. What happens to one happens to the other. If Hubert is to kill this creature and save Annabelle, he too will die. But for a dog whose fierce loyalty and pure heart knew only that, his choice was clear.

When the creature again lunged toward Annabelle, Hubert snared the beast in the chain that held him to the fence. The eyeless beast could only smell Annabelle and Hubert, but couldn't see the chain that Hubert now pulled tighter and tighter, choking the life out of both the demon and himself. Annabelle knew what was happening and grabbed hold of the chain, trying to stop Hubert from completing his task, but as Hubert ended the demonic creatures life, he looked deep into the loving eyes of his dearest Annabelle, knowing that though his life was over, he'd truly saved both of them.

In the morning when Annabelle's parents and sisters found
her in the yard cradling the lifeless body of her dearest Hubert, the only thing that remained of the creature they'd battled together was Hubert's severed tail resting on the ground. No one ever believed Annabelle's story about Hubert's devotion, his possessed tail or the demonic creature that they'd battled, but Annabelle knew it was all true.

Throughout her long, generous and well lived life, Annabelle rescued many more dogs, all of them she would name, Hubert.

           

13 STORIES THAT YOU SHOULD NOT READ TO YOUR CHILDREN: THE MAN WITH A MILLION MOUTHS

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THE MAN WITH A MILLION MOUTHS

BY Darren Webb

Orville lived a solitary life. He roomed at Ms. Fieldings boarding house, in a room on the top floor at the back of
the stairs. He had a separate entrance, which always shrouded his comings and goings in much secrecy. The children who lived in the neighborhood said you always knew when Orville was near for the foul whispering in the air that always followed him, like hushed crowds speaking in angry, muted tones.

Orville worked as an operator on the overnight shift at the newly founded telephone company. The work allowed him to have contact with people without having to physically be in their presence. But, the foul whispers always enveloped him. When he would answer a call at his switchboard to connect a grandparent to their grandchild or a sweetheart to propose marriage to his long distance love, the people on the other end of the line were always subjected to the murmur of voices, uttering horribly vile words. Orville would make the connection for the customers as quickly as he could and then disconnect his line for fear that someone would think it was he who spoke such horrid words.

In a way, the words were Orville's, for where most people have pores in their skin, Orville had in place of each pore, an almost imperceptible, drooling mouth. Minuscule teeth, tongue and tonsils that were all capable of audible speech, but only speech in the most low, whispering of tones. To add to Orville's horror, the mouths never said things like, "How are you this fine day", or "My you look particularly well rested", instead the mouths only spoke in single words, the most vile and repugnant known to civilized man, words that would make even the hardiest and most stout sailor wilt with distress.

Once a woman who called Orville's switchboard asking to be connected to the local orphanage so that she and her barren husband might adopt an unwanted child, became so overwhelmingly distressed by the verbal assault of Orville's mini-mouths, that she passed out from shock. Her irate husband picked up the phone from his fallen wife's hand, heard Orville's mini-mouths filling the line with verbal atrocities, all the while Orville himself trying to offer an unheard apology. The angry husband promised to inflict bodily harm onto Orville should they ever have the chance to encounter one another in a dark alley. This type of misunderstanding occurred often and sometimes the beatings in dark alleys did indeed occur.

At the end of his shift, soaked in what seemed to others to be sweat but, was in actuality, saliva from the drooling million mini-mouths and before the town would awaken, Orville would skulk back to his room on the top floor at the back of the stairs. Once inside his room, door locked, window shades drawn closed, Orville would strip out of his saliva soaked clothes and submerge himself in a scolding hot bath filled with bleach. He would stay under water as long as he could until his lungs would betray him, then burst to the surface, the million mini-mouths gasping for air, the abrasive water burning his skin. This was Orville's way of letting them know how he felt about their existence. Once they regained their composure, the mouths would assail him with their toxic lullaby of hateful notes. Orville would gradually drift off to sleep, knowing he would always be alone.

One Monday night, toward the beginning of his shift at the switchboard, Orville received a call from a young lady, who spoke in a very sweet, yet surprisingly loud voice. She very politely asked if he could connect her to the local bakery, for she would like to order a cake for her birthday celebration that was to take place at the end of the week, promptly at 2:36 on Sunday afternoon. Despite the young woman shouting into the phone, Orville found her voice to be warm and all enveloping. He felt as though one does when wading through a shallow stream during the spring bloom, a sense of joy, nostalgia and tranquility.

Orville was overcome and stammered in trying to find the words to reply, but his mini-mouths did not hesitate. They sensed Orville's longing and began to chant a stream of intolerable words of malice. The sweet, yet stentorian voice on the other end of the line asked Orville if he wouldn't mind speaking louder since she was quite hard of hearing. Orville laughed aloud, not at the young woman's hearing impairment, but because of his realization that she could NOT hear his mini-mouths and their putrid cascade of insults. He was beside himself with joy, for finally, this was the one person who would be immune to the verminous gossip that his pores produced.

Orville and the young woman spoke for hours and hours that first night and each successive night that week, their connection was mutual and adoring. At the end of that Saturday night's conversation, Orville asked if he might deliver her birthday cake in person so that they might meet and celebrate the day of her birth with a lovely cup of tea and a generous slice of white chocolate truffle cake. The young woman on the other end of the line was overjoyed, but a bit nervous, for they'd never yet seen one another. Orville's warm conversation, kind nature and sincere desire to be with her, won her over and she agreed to allow him to deliver the cake for her birthday.

That night, Orville had the most blissful sleep of his life, the voices of his mini-mouths totally drowned out by his excitement over the prospects of a new life a rebirth. He dreamt happy dreams that night in anticipation that his loneliness had finally come to and end at last, but it was not to be.

The next morning Orville woke early, dressed in his finest suit and was completely oblivious to his million mini- mouths cursing and gnashing away. At 12 noon he proudly strode down the busy main street to the bakery, selected the most ornate and delicate white chocolate truffle cake in the shop, had it boxed ever so beautifully. Orville was oblivious to people's adverse reaction to the cloud of cursing whispers that enveloped him, as he made his way to the edge of town to the large house on the hill, where the young woman with the loud voice had told him that she would be waiting.

The house was enormous, completely white and pristine with pink and purple trimming, looking itself like a giant cake. Orville's pores, poured forth their foul murmurings endlessly, but he paid them no notice. He arrived at the giant double front door and a formal butler answered before he could even knock. He directed Orville to follow him to a dimly lit, grand study that was adorned with balloons and streamers. A table dressed in the center of the room, set up for tea for two. Orville was instructed to wait there with his cake.

As the butler took his leave, he glanced back at Orville pausing slightly at the oddly foul cloud of voices surrounding Orville. Three more male servants joined the butler as he whispered suspiciously to them as they all left Orville alone in the room amid his cloud of whispering atrocities.

The study itself was adorned with rich tapestries, exquisite paintings, all quite grand compared to Orville's modest room at the back of the stairs in Mrs. Fielding's Boarding house. He waited and waited, when he suddenly noticed a mantle clock's second hand was about to strike 2:36, when the doors to the study opened and carried in on a settee by the butler and the 3 other powerful male servants was the young lady with the sweet, yet loud voice. From her appearance she must have weighed 800 pounds if she were an ounce. Adorned with silk ribbons and bows, showered in lace, gently gliding in on the straining backs of the butlers, Orville thought that her loveliness put all of the fine art in this grand house to utter shame, for he had never, ever felt like this before. Fate, destiny, love, compassion overwhelmed his entire being and his monstrous mini-mouths could feel it too.

As Orville approached his angel, the one who would rescue him from his lonely, aching life, his mini-mouths shrieked their vicious, mutilating words louder than ever before, desperate to shred Orville's chance at happiness, covering him in saliva, so he looked as though he'd just stepped out of a steam bath, dripping wet.

The mini-mouths strained and screamed as hard as they could, much to the disdain of the servants who could clearly hear
the vile words surrounding Orville but, still unclear of their origin. Orville set down the box with the birthday cake gently on the table as though it were an offering to a goddess, then haltingly took the hand of the young woman in front of him. They peered into one another's sad eyes, when Orville paused for a moment before speaking, still shrouded in the swirling haze of expletives from his mini-mouths, which went blissfully unheard by the woman in front of him. But the million mouths would not let his happiness be.

In the instant that Orville opened his mouth to speak, the mini-mouths all inhaled a deep breath and fell silent. Orville opened his mouth and instead of speaking the loving words he'd been practicing all night, all the day, all the walk over to meet his darling, instead of those words came the hateful, vile words that had surrounded him his whole life! They came pouring, blaring and involuntarily from his very own mouth! The sweet young woman's face recoiled in horror. The servants so wary of Orville from the start, descended upon him and violently dragged him from the house, his beloved, his salvation and cast him out into the street for his shocking cruelty. None of them understanding that
it wasn't Orville at all, but the million vicious mini-mouths.
He sat in a motionless stupor for hours, while the million mini-mouths laughed, and laughed and laughed as he just stared up at that house as the sun slowly retreated and another night settled in.

Orville stumbled home, covered in a haze of those cursed, taunting voices from his own pores. He climbed the back stairs to his room, threw open the door, did not bother to pull down the shades, disrobed and drew a scolding hot bath. The mini-mouths knew it was time for their punishment. Orville grabbed the 13 bottles of bleach off the shelf and dumped them all into the scalding water. Then he grabbed a wire scouring pad and lowered himself into the boiling water. His phone began to ring, but he let it be. Once submerged in the water, Orville began to scrub himself with the wire pad as fast and a hard as he could.  The million mini-mouths cried out in pain as the milky water turned pink, then deep red. The mouths shrieked, the phone rang and Orville laughed and laughed and laughed, until all was quiet.