The Dining Room

The Dining Room
By Alex Maria

Such a good old pupper

I seem to wake, as if into a dream. I don't know where I am, I don't know how I got here. I feel cold air on my skin, and a hard grainy surface under my body.

It's dark down here. Like a basement or a dungeon, it feels like this chamber has been dug out of the earth.

My eyes still haven't fully adjusted, but I can see a little bit around me. It is drab and dreary- cold stonework braces the walls and the low, arched ceiling. The few pieces of furniture, the fixtures on the wall- all are caked with grime and the air is coldly damp. The central piece of furniture is a long, mahogany table on which I myself am lying, uncomfortable on my back.

I am about to move and investigate my surroundings, when I hear a noise which causes my ears to strain forward and everything else in my body to freeze silent.

From the dark at the end of the room I hear two -people? Animals?- breathing. One is light and raspy, the other is harsh and guttural.

I open my lids wider, to try and soak in as much light as possible.
There is a hooded woman sitting at the head of the table, and it is clear that she is the master. She sits erect. Her posture indicates confidence, power, and authority. She wears a cowl or hood, and her face is shrouded in shadow, but her eyes are gleaming steadily.

I wonder if I have seen her before.

And with that question, I feel a rush of familiarity- like de ja vu... I have been here before.

I begin to remember that I've had this dream before. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to wake.

When I open my eyes again, she is looking at me, and I can almost see a smile, faint in the darkness, it is possible I imagine it.

It makes me uncomfortable. I would rather I hadn't seen or imagined her smiling.

Have I been kidnapped? No, I remember I am dreaming.
I am safe.

Still... I would rather dream something else.

She softly pats the table, and I hear a shuffle against one of the chairs. A dog grunts, I hear it's claws scrape the floor as it tries to stand-  but I can't yet see it.

A bald paw scrapes against the table top, and pulls a head into view.

It's not a dog at all- but a man.

He is looking at her, his eyes milky with age. He is also a stranger who I have dreamed before... I know what he is but I do not want to look: At first glance he appears to be an old man, his face wrinkled to the point of ugliness. His rough hair and beard are grizzled and untidy. But after a second, closer look, it is clear that he is not simply man. Old certainly, but not merely a man.

He strains to raise himself up, until he rests on his haunches with both hands flat on the table's edge.

He has man-like features- a masculine brow line, a tangled scrub of facial hair, slouched, muscular shoulders and a powerful chest... But his face is grotesque. His jaw protrudes and his mouth and nose coalesce in a shape reminiscent of a dog's snout and muzzle. His ears are pointed like a gargoyle's and his clouded eyes glitter in the faint light. His short hairs shimmer like spines of silver.

Aside from the slow heaving of his chest, his body remains perfectly still, and his eyes remain intently focused on her.

My mind is hazy, but I know that I don't want to be here. I know that I am in danger. I think of escape. Perhaps if I leap to my feet I can try and run. But I don't know where I am and I'm not sure there are exits... I mean I'm not sure where they are.

Her eyes linger on me, though they reveal nothing besides obscure, malign intent.

THIS IS A GODDAMN DREAM, ONE I'VE HAD BEFORE.

There's no reason to panic. I try to wake up.

His breathing is steady, and slow; he is waiting. Hers is methodical; she is preparing.

And I am slipping. My head hurts.

I don't know where I am- I don't know how I got to be wherever here is. I rack my brain, but it feels like the gears are slipping. I remain confused, and that vague realization bothers me.

My eyes feel heavy, they try to drift shut, but a buried fear forces them back open.

They are sitting there, she is looking at me, and I strive to remember.

I eye them both, and measure my chances against their's. He looks strong, but they are both old. Perhaps if I leap to my feet... But I feel so tired and heavy. So physically relaxed. But some part of my mind races.

Perhaps the dream is fading. Perhaps I'm waking up.

The old man watches her, and wrinkles his brow. He follows her gaze and his eyes light on me.

My heart leaps and plummets.

I freeze, I feel my heart drumming against the inside of my ribcage. The back of my neck is starting to sweat. But the front of my mind remains stupidly calm. It's as though my body knows to be afraid, but my mind is... Confused, in two different locations.

He squints to get a better look, he sniffs the air and his features are awash with sudden realization. The edges of his mouth pull back to show yellowed teeth- it looks like a mockery of a smile, he opens his mouth further and smacks his lips.

My mind snaps into focus around one glaring imperative- escape!
But when I jerk forward I hear chains jingle. The man's ears perk up, and he licks his lips.

All hope of escape is stricken from my wasted mind. But my body is slow to accept hopelessness. The certainty of danger pulses through my veins and my limbs try to lurch into action... They are slow to respond and sluggish once in motion.

A thought rockets through my mind: I've been drugged. I lift myself up with great strain and try to turn around, but my movement is restricted by the chains- whenever I try against them, the dog... man seems to twitch.

His lips part again in anticipation, and he begins to salivate.

The smile I imagined on the woman is now broader and sharper. I know I see it plainly and know that it is not a product of shadow-play and my own slippery mind.

This is my dream, my nightmare. I've had it before.

I will wake.

It has to be a dream. But it's so vivid it's hard not to believe.
The creature lets out a moan and shifts in his chair, his tongue is out, lolling back and forth hungrily. Drool puddles at the corners of his ugly mouth.

He looks from her to me, and back again and again. His half blind eyes skewer me. But they show only adoration and loyalty to the woman. Back to me. He is getting impatient.

She glowers at me and raises a hand to the old creature. "Soon" is all she says, her voice is cold and jagged, but he seems to take comfort in it. She scratches behind his ears and he tilts his head into her touch. His eyes roll shut and he begins to pant.
He lifts his chin, and she scratches under his neck. She pats his head. His eys drift shut. He lets out a low guttural moan as her fingers knead the droopy flesh under his jowels.

He shifts his weight and reaches across the table, and I get a better look at his limbs.

His arms are long and gnarled like the boughs of an iron-wood tree. The joints are knobby with arthritic growths, but the muscles which grip his bones are still strong and hard. The skin is coated with a patchy grey hairs, and each time he raises a limb, wiry tendons pluck back and forth. His limbs terminate in ugly, stubby hands. The yellow-clawed fingers on his hands are cupped tight and the pads of his palm are thickly calloused. They seem more adapted for bearing weight and clawing than for manipulating objects- his thumbs might as well be fused.

He crosses one forearm lazily over the other. If he were to lay his head on them he'd perfectly convey the impression of a dog lounging by the dining room table, waiting for scraps to fall to the floor.

He lets out a mighty yawn, and I am given an unwanted look at his wide gullet. Drool hangs from his mouth in thick strands.
His teeth are worn an dull, but they must have once been sharp and keen-white.

His mouth snaps back shut. There is still power in those old jaws.
She stops petting him, and his eyes pop open. They find me. They try to focus.

I hate the look.

I rattle my chains, vainly. I know escape is unattainable, but I rattle them because that is the only thing I can do.

Her smile parts and she speaks again, "Soon, it is beginning to wear off. Let his fear bloom, once his system is clean and his flesh is safe- then you shall dine."

The muscles in his face work into a clumsy, hybrid smile. My chains fall silent and I suddenly wonder how many people have been chained here before me, in this abominable creature's long and deplorable life. I realize these chains must be, for him, not unlike a dinner bell.

I feel the last lingering calm into which I had awoken entirely recede. The blanket of indifference had been pleasant, but now it is unraveling, and fast. The fear which had lain hidden beneath is now utterly palpable.

Everything begins to feel, appropriately, personal.

This is too real to be a dream.

He licks his chops. And I realize again, this time more fully, that there is nothing I can do.

I am stricken with pure dread. My muscles which before had been poised and ready are awash with weakness. My bladder unleashes a stream, but I hardly notice. The woman rises, and her hood falls back- but I look away- because I see in her hands a carving knife, and it captures my frantic attention.

She approaches me with deadly, imposing strides. The blade glimmers in the faint light. She looms over me. I wish the terror of the moment would knock me into a faint. But I am wide awake, and hyper alert. I avoid looking at her, for fear that whatever I'd see in that hag's face would somehow worsen my situation.

She raises her blade, and all I can hope for is a quick end.

I can't help but look, and I see the malice in every feature of her face. There is nothing of mercy in her eyes, they are deep and red and terrible.

I start to cry, and to flail against my bonds. My entire being is a quivering mess.

She speaks and her voice is a misery to my ears, "It's sad isn't it when a wild dog grows too old to hunt? In the wild, a mighty predator grows old, and then starves and dies. That is the way of things... But he isn't wild. He's my pet, and while he's too old to hunt, he's not to old to be fed."

Then she looks loving towards the thing at the end of the table.

"You're still just a puppy to me, and you've been a good servant for many years- you deserve fresh meat."

I hear him bark in anticipation- his voice is like a dog's or a wolf's.
And I pray, please God if you exist, please let me faint. Let me wake up! Let the dream end!

I feel her cut at the fabric of my clothes, stripping away everything. "He's been pampered in his old age. He can no longer abide the taste of synthetic fabrics."

She tears away the last of the cloth- so I am stark naked in the cold damp.

My eyes clamp shut. I hear her clap her hands.

I hear him bark, as he lurches out of his chair, and struggles onto the table...

Tears squeeze there way out of my clenched eyes.

I'm trembling.

I hear his panting breath, hear him clamboring towards me on all fours.

I hear his claws scraping the table at each step.

I feel the cold air on my exposed testicles.

I hope he doesn't bite there first! The thought makes me swoon, I feel myself fainting, thank God...

----
I wake in a sweat- my heart thudding against my chest.

There was a nightmare there, but it fades quickly now that I am awake, and the frayed pieces of memory disappear before I can grasp them.

I throw off the covers and stumble out of bed- the normal morning routine: I wake from a nightmare I can never remember. Then I brush my teeth and shower like a normal person, and spend the morning sending out job apps.

Not that I'm unemployed- but it's retail, so come on. It can't last. It better not.

As they say, 'something's gotta give.'

I can do better.

Once I'm cleaned up I sit at the computer... Not a single response to any of my inquiries, not a single response to any of the applications or cover letters I sent over the past week. Even the animal shelter is silent as a ghost- I'm especially bitter about that. I wasn't even trying to get paid with that one, just offering to volunteer.... And all I get is silence.

The only emails I've received are: a sales tactic from Amazon, a recommendation from GoodReads, and a handful of nagging messages from Facebook...

I couldn't give fewer damns about Amazon and Facebook. And the intrusive thought that '-I'll never be on there-' makes GoodReads a bit of a drag.

I fantasize about a job that gives some satisfaction, something that helps others, something that makes a difference. Something that doesn't make me feel like a cookie cutter punching shapes out of a pile of shit.

It's all so defeating.

I just don't have the energy to send out any more applications.
So I go for a walk.

It's sunny but cold. Kinda windy.

Nobody else is out, and I'm okay with that.

Up ahead a makeshift sign flaps in the breeze, I think it might tear away from the telephone pole where it is taped.

I read, 'Free time? Looking for ways to help? If you are good with animals, please call-' I take out my phone and dial the number while I read the rest. 'Help needed: an old- but well loved- dog needs to be fed! Paying.'

A woman picks up on the other end, she sounds old and kindly. "Hello, this is Lily."

Her voice is familiar, but I can't place it.

"Hi, Lily? I'm calling because I found your help wanted sign. I'm interested, can you offer me any more information?"

She laughs gently. It makes me feel good to bring a smile to her face."Of course. Thankyou for calling. I have an elderly dog whom I adore. But I'm even farther along than he is. Sometimes I need some help with the basics, you know feeding, entertaining. Nothing out of the ordinary. And, the poster mentions this, I'll pay- not only in cash but in all the tea you can drink!"

So what if nobody returned my emails. It finally feels like a weight has been taken off my mind. Something new!
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What did you think? Let me know in the comments, even if it's vicious I like constructive feedback!

(this was based off a dream/ nightmare I had... And I know dreams often fail to translate into stories. Would love to hear what worked or did not work- what's your take?)

PS- when I actually had the dream this was playing in my head: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vwmU343eBu0)

And here's a drawing of Algernon Blackwood as the old werewolf: