Buried
Leigh Linley
The dog’s bark woke him up. He had heard it in his dream, but when he peeled his eyes open and greeted the darkness, he knew the dog was out there for real; chained up in some yard close by, sniffing the air and catching the scent of something unknown.
Out of habit, he rolled his arm across his chest and touched her backside. She lay next to him, wrapped in moonlight. Her breath steadily rising and falling, her skin cool; sleeping, at rest. In the gloom he could still make out her smooth back, the strong stroke of her spine and gentle curve of her neck, framed with wisps of pale hair. She shuddered - as if she knew he was watching her - and for a second he thought it was happening again. He gave his heart a second to calm down and then closed his eyes.
The dog’s warning, waking him with a start. The realisation that he was alone in his bed, and the knife-point panic that followed. Pulling on his dressing gown; searching the cold, dark house, so unfamiliar in the gloom. Unlocking with door with a shaking hand and stumbling outside onto the lawn. Time stopped, dust and dirt hanging in the air; to be waded through, to be pushed aside and not breathed in -
The memories washed over him, a black, icy stream.
- She stood there, swaying in the wind. Dropped leaves from the spectral Willow dancing around her feet, silverfish across her toes.Skin goose-pricked, nightgown gossamer in the starlight, her eyes dull. A finger, pointing to a spot in the ground, her being extended outward, probing the earth for secrets. Starlight above; shadows surround. The smell of earth, wet and ancient.
All those years ago, he took her shoulders and guided her back to bed; the door locked behind them, the heating turned back on. He remembered how he watched the darkness receding into dawn, how the peach-fleshed light brought normality and drew the familiar mask back on the family home. The friendly, welcoming home; all an illusion, the surface which insects and fear scurried beneath. He didn’t sleep that night, although she did.
The dog’s bark woke him up. He had heard it in his dream, but when he peeled his eyes open and greeted the darkness, he knew the dog was out there for real; chained up in some yard close by, sniffing the air and catching the scent of something unknown.
Out of habit, he rolled his arm across his chest and touched her backside. She lay next to him, wrapped in moonlight. Her breath steadily rising and falling, her skin cool; sleeping, at rest. In the gloom he could still make out her smooth back, the strong stroke of her spine and gentle curve of her neck, framed with wisps of pale hair. She shuddered - as if she knew he was watching her - and for a second he thought it was happening again. He gave his heart a second to calm down and then closed his eyes.
The dog’s warning, waking him with a start. The realisation that he was alone in his bed, and the knife-point panic that followed. Pulling on his dressing gown; searching the cold, dark house, so unfamiliar in the gloom. Unlocking with door with a shaking hand and stumbling outside onto the lawn. Time stopped, dust and dirt hanging in the air; to be waded through, to be pushed aside and not breathed in -
The memories washed over him, a black, icy stream.
- She stood there, swaying in the wind. Dropped leaves from the spectral Willow dancing around her feet, silverfish across her toes.Skin goose-pricked, nightgown gossamer in the starlight, her eyes dull. A finger, pointing to a spot in the ground, her being extended outward, probing the earth for secrets. Starlight above; shadows surround. The smell of earth, wet and ancient.
All those years ago, he took her shoulders and guided her back to bed; the door locked behind them, the heating turned back on. He remembered how he watched the darkness receding into dawn, how the peach-fleshed light brought normality and drew the familiar mask back on the family home. The friendly, welcoming home; all an illusion, the surface which insects and fear scurried beneath. He didn’t sleep that night, although she did.