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Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781504951869 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | AuthorHouse |
| Publication date: | 09/26/2015 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 234 |
| File size: | 9 MB |
Read an Excerpt
Sampyre
On the Edge of Barkness
By Aaron G. Paul
AuthorHouse
Copyright © 2015 Aaron G. PaulAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-5049-5185-2
CHAPTER 1
The Dog
"Dogs do speak, but only to those who know how to listen."
--Orhan Pamuk
The lightning flashed all around the dog again, but this time, the thunder was immediate and filled the atmosphere around her. She wasn't quite as concerned with the deluge of rain or the sky becoming bright with electricity, but the thunder frightened her severely. The dog tried to get to her dog house, which was only a few flimsy sheets of particle board held together in some places with gray duct tape, but her effort was in vain. A large tree limb had broken off of the old willow tree (due to the vicious wind) and landed directly on top of the rope that was attached to the dog's neck. The poorly built dog house would have offered little refuge anyways. It was not built to keep rain out or to prevent damaging wind from blowing it away, and this brutal thunderstorm was having its way with the shelter. The dog watched, helpless, as the driving rain created small rivers in the mud. Her copper-colored fur was completely soaked from rain and mud. She was frozen to the bone. All of her barking, whimpering, yelping, and pleas for help fell on deaf ears from her owner.
She could barely stand up and had little room to move, with the weight of the heavy tree limb on the rope that was connected uncomfortably to her neck. It seemed to be getting tighter and tighter with every tug and pull she could muster to escape from its constriction. Her energy fading and continuing on from adrenaline and fear alone, her only hope for freedom from the cold rain and the frightening, incredibly intense thunder, was to try and get her owners attention by barking. She focused her full attention towards the house her owner lived in. She saw that the lights were on in the house. That generally meant her owner was not only home, but still awake. This gave her hope that each and every bark she directed at the house would get the attention of her savior, her owner. There were no neighbors nearby, like the place she used to live. This house was solitary among the trees. The long hours she spent in the shade from the old willow tree were made even longer since she did not have a neighborhood to watch anymore. It was just the tree, the shade and the dirt. It was a miserable existence, but one that disappeared the instant her owner occasionally came out to put food in her bowl or water in her dish. Eventually, the joy would diminish, no matter how hard she tried to make it linger.
The mud was now 2 or 3 inches deep and every step she took not only extracted more energy from her, but created thoughts of becoming stuck and immobile. This resulted in even more fear, more desperation. Her constant, incessant barking was beginning to hurt her throat. The last time she barked this much, her owner came out and hit her to make her stop. That time it was from an empty stomach. Surely her owner wouldn't strike her if the barking was to get his attention to rescue her, right? Cold, wet, scared and desperate, the dog kept up her barking towards the light from the window in the house. Her owner had to hear the racket she was making, and at this point, she did not care if she got beaten, as long as she could get to her dog house and out of the elements. The thunder crashed again, right above the copper-colored mixed breed this time. She let out a yelp of pain from fright, even though she did not get hit by anything. The storm terrified her, but she didn't give up. One more bark should do it! Maybe this one. Maybe this one. Maybe this one! Then she saw him — she saw her owner walk in front of the light in the house! It worked! She knew a beating was coming from getting his attention and making him come outside on a night like this. It was totally worth it, she thought, not only to be removed from the quicksand-like mud, but also to have the branch pulled off of her rope so she could breathe again and to be in her dog house, out of the freezing cold rain and treacherous thunder. Saved! Another terrifying flash of lightning brightened the night sky and the thunder cracked, growled and rolled. She was petrified with fear and urine escaped her fragile bladder, but she did not want to show this fear to her owner. What kind of dog was she? Her eyes were wide with fright, but still she knew her owner would come get her. He hadn't forgotten about her ... had he?
The dog kept her focus on the light coming from the window of the old house. So much had changed in such a short amount of time. This home was not like her old home. She missed her old home. It was warm and cozy and she wasn't kept on a rope in the backyard all the time. There was a little girl that loved her and played with her. The little girl would dress the dog up and have a tea party with her — but that was when she was a puppy. She loved every minute of it! The dog would chase the little girl around in the yard and nip at her heels while she squealed and giggled the whole time. Then she would collapse on the ground with laughter and the dog would pounce on her and lick her little rosy-red cheeks. The little girl's mother would watch from the porch with a big smile on her face. At night, instead of sleeping on dirt with a rope around her neck, the dog would sleep on a plush pillow, right next to the little girl's bed and the little girl would read from a story book to her until they both got tired and fell asleep. And every night like clockwork, the little puppy would climb up into the little girl's bed and that's where she'd stay until the morning. Memories were all the dog had now to keep her warm at night, but this night in particular, thoughts of the past were like embers in a campfire about to expire.
She was so tired. Hungry and tired. And frozen to the bone from the harsh wind and lashing rain. Her barks were coming few and far between and the hope she had of her owner coming out to help her was vanishing quickly. Her neck was raw and sore from the rope crudely tied around it and made uncomfortably tighter from the desperate pulling and tugging to be released from it. But there he was again! Her owner! Still inside, but she saw him pass by the lighted window again! He hadn't forgotten! Her spirit rejuvenated from sighting her master, and she began barking again. It was painful--dreadfully painful--but she knew it was now or never. If he didn't come out to pull the tree branch off her rope and guide her into the inside of her poor dwellings now, she was worried she may not be alive to see the morning light. This bark will do it. This bark will do it! This one right here — this bark will surely gain his attention! Nearly out of energy and hope, and sinking deeper and deeper into the mud, and gasping for air with each labored breath and bark, she saw the light in the window go out. No light. No owner. No rescue. With all she had left in her, she managed a couple more feeble barks, but to no avail. No one was coming to help her. Not her owner. Not the little girl. No one. She was completely alone. Cold--freezing cold--and getting colder, hungry, in complete darkness, devoid of hope, she knew this was the end.
But she couldn't give up. She could not. It wasn't in her genetic make-up to just lie down and submit to the elements and nature. She turned on the rope and began chewing-- and gnawing and biting and chewing some more. She chewed so much and so furiously that blood formed in her mouth. But she couldn't stop. She could not give up. She imagined that she was back home as a puppy with the little girl and chewing a rawhide treat she would periodically get. They were so tasty. The little girl and her mother and father would watch the little puppy chew and chew and chew at the rawhide and take great enjoyment from it. But not as much enjoyment as the little puppy had from gnawing and spending hours doing so. The dog knew the rope was not a rawhide, but it had been so long since she received any kind of treat or special attention that her imagination took control and she forced herself to believe she was chewing rawhide. Not having anything in her belly for a few days helped her mouth water even more as she savored every chomp of the dirty, old, mud-soaked rope. But she had to get to the shelter of her horrible little dog house if she was to survive the night. She knew that she may still feel some rain and some wind while inside the awful box, but it would be much, much less than what she was experiencing at the current moment.
Another crack of terrifying thunder blasted her ears with unexpected might. The dog yelped with fright and she peed a little more, but kept the rope in her mouth. She was so tired, and now her jaw was becoming sore and her mouth hurt and the taste of blood was disheartening, but she knew this was her only chance at survival. The wind picked up and blew her around so much she fell down. Normally sure footed and strong, the lack of food for a few days and the harsh weather had weakened her so. She was much thinner than she used to be and that did not help her fight against the wind at all. But with every bite, with every gnaw, with every chomp and chew and with every thought that she was enjoying rawhide instead of nasty, dirty rope, she kept her focus on her dog house. It was definitely getting thinner and thinner — she hadn't much further to go. If she was as strong and healthy as she was a year ago, she would have been through the rope in no time at all. But she was shaking from the cold and starving. Each bite of the rope came with more and more effort. It was definitely thinner where she was chewing, but she was getting so tired that she just wanted to sleep now. The thoughts were strong now of just wanting to lay down for a few minutes and sleep in the rain and mud and wind and start chewing through the rope later — but she knew those thoughts were poisonous.
She was indeed done. The poisonous thoughts prevailed and she laid down in the mud. Every-thing around her became dark and hazy. She felt the wind drive the rain into her, but she was so tired. The dog had put up an incredible fight against the elements that humans would have succumbed to them much sooner than she. Her breathing became slow and she blinked her eyes. Thoughts of the little girl did not warm her this time, but comforted her. Disappointment that she was merely feet away from the safety of her dog house washed over her, but she was so tired that she did not care. She wasn't sure if the black shape was dream or reality. She was confused. As the thoughts all rolled around in her head of the little girl and her owner and her dog house and even thoughts of being a puppy still with her mother, a sharp tugging pulled at the rope around her neck. More tugging, and more still. The dog was almost upset that her peace in dying was being disturbed by this giant black shape. Suddenly, a pop, and a great swell of relief came from her neck! She stopped blinking her eyes temporarily to see what was really going on and shook her head to gain a better grasp on the reality of the situation. It was still completely dark, but she could sense a dark shape close to her. Then she heard a low rumble, a growl. Fear set in immediately, but fear was good because it meant she was still alive and not yet wanting to go permanently to where all her happy thoughts were pulling her. She managed to get back on her feet again and, with much effort, put one paw in front of the other in the deep mud. She turned to look behind her to see if the dark shape was still there, but there was nothing but more darkness and rain and wind. Was she dreaming? She was dreaming. She was the one who chewed through the rope ... right?
These were all thoughts that she could now contemplate in the safety of her dog house. Exhausted, she took another step toward the dog house just as she heard a loud crack from above. This sound was not thunder — this was different. As she instinctively jumped backwards, clear out of the mud, as tired as she was, it was a split second before another larger branch came rushing straight down from high up on the old willow tree and obliterated her dog house. Her sanctuary was no more. The focus of all her energy in the last few minutes was to get to the shelter of her dog house, and now it was gone. It was flattened before her as if it was made of paper, which wasn't too far from the truth, but it was her one and only way out of the storm. However, she also knew that if she had chewed through her rope any sooner and gained access to the dog house that she, too, may be as flat as a pancake now. And she was still a little foggy about if it was actually her or something else that freed her from her rope imprisonment.
A huge crack of thunder rattled the earth beneath her. She instantly bolted into the woods just behind her poor dog house. She ran. She just ran and ran and ran. She wasn't sure if she was going in circles or not, but she just knew she had to escape the thunder, and the only way she knew how was to run away from it. She had no energy, no hope, and no more home. She knew that this night would eventually be her last — she had nothing left to give — or live for. She was forgotten about, neglected and alone and was sure that she would spend her last night on earth just that way.
CHAPTER 2The Hero
"The capacity for love that makes dogs such rewarding companions has a flipside; They find it difficult to cope without us. Since we humans programmed this vulnerability, it's our responsibility to ensure that our dogs do not suffer as a result."
--John Bradshaw
Sam was a three year old yellow Labrador Retriever. Like most Labs, Sam had more energy than a hyper-active 5 year old child. He wasn't a very large dog — only about 70 pounds — and being that size made him run as fast as a greyhound. He loved to play fetch — it was probably his most favorite game in the entire world. The only other thing Sam loved to do besides play fetch and run as fast as a greyhound was that he sure did love to eat. He was a vacuum cleaner/garbage disposal when it came time to be fed. This is a fairly common trait among Retrievers, and Sam was certainly no exception.
The only really distinguishable feature about Sam was his pink nose. Most dogs, including Labs, have black noses. Sam's nose was pink and very fair. It certainly didn't bother him at all, and was probably overlooked by most people, but nevertheless, his nose was still pink, and Aaron couldn't care any less about it.
Sam jumped upon Aaron's bed well before his alarm was to go off, and immediately began licking his face. Aaron was, of course, Sam's Dad. Now, there is a difference between being a parent and being just an owner of a pet, but that will be touched upon later. Right now, Sam was hungry and this was the way Sam woke Aaron up every morning to get his belly full. While Aaron tried to deflect Sam's tongue in a futile effort to stay asleep for just a few more minutes, he seriously began to wonder why he even set an alarm in the first place. But he always changed his mind rather quickly about the shower of kisses raining down mercilessly upon him because he knew there could be much worse ways in this world to be woken up, he thought to himself. Sam was indeed like clockwork, every morning, whether it was weekday or weekend. His belly had an automatic timer in it and when it went off, then it was time to attack his dad with kisses until Aaron got out of bed to quiet the hungry monster living in Sam's belly. Aaron honestly couldn't even remember what his alarm sounded like anymore because he hadn't heard it in such a long time. He thought it was a Grateful Dead song — Peggy-O? Scarlet Begonias? Before Aaron had the Yellow Alarm Clock, he would always wake up to a Grateful Dead tune. Such a peaceful and very un-stressful way to wake in the morning. The only better way to wake up in the morning was, of course, to have his Yellow Alarm Clock assault him with kisses.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Sampyre by Aaron G. Paul. Copyright © 2015 Aaron G. Paul. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Table of Contents
Contents
The Dog, 1,The Hero, 5,
The Job, 13,
The Legend, 17,
The Forest, 23,
The Benson House, 27,
The Discovery, 31,
The Doctor, 37,
The Park, 41,
The Meeting, 45,
The Transaction, 49,
The Punishment, 52,
The Darkness, 56,
The Drive, 59,
The Aftermath, 64,
The Path, 69,
The Plan, 72,
The Dilemma, 76,
The Battle, 80,
The Reunion, 86,
The Confrontation, 90,
The Return, 95,
The Conclusion, 99,
SAMPYRE: IN A WORLD OF BARKNESS, 103,
1, 107,
2, 113,
3, 117,
4, 122,
5, 128,
6, 133,
7, 138,
8, 143,
9, 147,
10, 152,
11, 156,
12, 160,
13, 163,
14, 166,
15, 171,
16, 176,
17, 181,
18, 185,
19, 190,
20, 193,
21, 198,
22, 203,
23, 206,
24, 209,
25, 213,
26, 217,
27, 222,