Lonely

It was a quiet night.  No cars driving by, honking their horns.  No sounds of little kids

yelling.  No dogs barking.  Just peaceful and quiet.  A gentle breeze blew with an occasional

smell of spring in it.  The air was just right, cool and fresh.  Keith sat on his favorite porch

rocking chair.  He was just relaxing and gathering his thoughts.  He liked to think.  He liked to

think.  He thought about his dreams, he thought about his life and how it  was going.  He thought

about his dog and how it used to be a playful puppy full of energy.  It sure grew up fast.  Keith

thought about a girl he once fell in love with.  He should probably get married before he turned

thirty.  Who knows maybe he'll never get married.

As Keith sat there, now thinking about his new, red truck, he noticed his shoe was

untied.  He stretched down to retie it and saw a small card beside his foot.  Funny, he hadn't

noticed it there before.  Maybe it blew up in the breeze.  Yes that's what happened, the wind

had blown it there when he was off in dreamland.  Oh well, he thought and then he picked it up.

The card had printing on it.  It simply read, "go look in your mail box".  Keith gave out  a small

chuckle and thought about his mailbox.  Was someone joking around with him?  It was

probably that pesky neighbor boy, James.  He was always coming up with something new and

unusual to try out on his neighbors.  "What the hell", Keith said aloud.  He then stood  up and

walked over to his mailbox and opened it up.  "Yep, another card", he said.  The same small,

black print on it too.  Except this card said something just a little different.

As Keith ran to his back yard where his dog house was, all he could think of was what

the card had said in his mailbox.  "YOUR dog is DEAD".  Keith suddenly stopped dead in his

tracks.  He could see blood.  The dog house, which he had just painted a nice fresh coat of

white, was now covered with red, blotchy stains.  Blood everywhere.  Who could have done

such a deed?  The golden retriever that Keith had loved so much and raised for four years now

lay dead.  There was hardly anything left of it.  Its legs had been ripped completely off and were

thrown around the yard.  Its head was nailed to the front of the dog house. The body of his

favorite and only pet was cut wide open and staked to the ground like some kind of science

dissection.  Is this really happening, he thought.  He then leaned over and vomited up everything

he had.  He let it all go, then sat and cried for his dog and all the pain it must have went through.

Keith realized that the mouth of the dog had something in it.  Another damned piece of paper.

He snatched it out with anger and read it slowly.  The paper had some blood stains on it and

had been wrinkled by the dogs still sharp teeth.  But it was still readable.  It said, "Fools follow

clues, and you are no fool".  

A few days later Keith got a call from the police which informed him that their where no

finger prints found except his own and not to worry about it.  They said it was probably some

sick prank played buy some punk kids.  Keith agreed and hung up the phone.  He was still

shaken up buy the notes and his deceased dog, but he was doing better.  He had cleaned up the

mess, burried his dog, and hauled his dog house to a trash pile.  He decided that a country drive

would do him some good.  He needed to get out anyway.  He also definitely needed a wife

now.  He might lose his sanity if things like this kept happening to him.  He went outside and

smelled  the air.  It smelled good.  Someone was barbecuing nearby.  His mouth watered.  He

loved barbecued anything.  Keith got in his new truck and turned the key.  The truck didn't

start.  Keith frowned and thought that usually new trucks start when they are less than a week

old.  That dealer was going to here about this one.  Yes sir.  He didn't like him much anyway.

The man was very loud and persuasive.  He also smelled like a pine tree air freshener.     

 Keith popped the hood of his truck and walked around to have a look.  Most trucks

don't start due to a dead battery or fuel flooding in the carburetor.  But this problem was

different than that.  On top of his new engine was another piece of paper and where his battery

had once been was the head of his dog he had buried a few days earlier.  Keith grabbed the

note and ran inside.  He read it aloud and it said, "You better run far away because you only

have a few minutes before your house blows up".   Sure enough Keith smelled gas.  He ran out

of the house and to the neighbor's house. As soon as he got to the door his house blew apart.

Why was this happening to him?  Who was responsible for this madness?  Why in the hell

would someone go to such extreme trouble?  This was not the work of some kids gone rebel,

that was for sure.  He used the phone and called the police.  They arrived and took the dog

head in for inspection and examination. Again there was no fingerprints or no clues to be found.

The next day, Keith went back and replaced the battery in his truck and drove out of

town.  He was still dumbfounded.  He had no house and no dog.  His favorite chair  was

destroyed also.  "What a loss", he thought.  This must all be a bad dream and he was going to

get away for a while.  Keith didn't get very far.  About half a mile just out of town, his truck quit

running.  He looked at his gas gage and it was empty.  It shouldn't have been but now it was.

He started laughing.  He laughed for a long while and then got out of his truck.  He walked back

to town and went up to what was left of his house.    

What was this?  His rocking chair wasn't destroyed after all.  It was a little burnt and

crispy but it still looked functional.  He sat down in it just to think.  He thought of  his life and

how he should get married soon.  He was going to be thirty years old next year.  He thought of

his dog.  He loved that thing.  He thought of his note cards and how he a written those neat little

notes to himself.  He thought of the police and how foolish they were for looking for clues.  He

thought of  the loud car dealer and the letter he was going to write to him about the trouble his

truck was giving him.  He didn't need to tell him that he had cut his own gas line shortly after he

blew up his own house and killed his favorite dog.  He thought of the cool, fresh breeze and the

smell of barbecue.  He loved  barbecue.