Dog Days (Notes of Necrosoph Book 2) Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Early Morning Blues

  Miserable Men

  The Truth About Cats

  Woofer Want to Come

  Happy Birthday

  New Rules

  Into the Unknown

  Long Slog

  A Call Back

  Stupid Apology

  Damsel in Distress

  Infinite Possibilities

  Pets!

  Trudging North

  Travel Blues

  Cool and Dreamy

  Through the Woods

  How to Train Your Dragon

  Definitely Back at It

  Scouse Madness

  Disobedient Dragons

  Haunted Memories

  Down Comes the Rain

  New Levels of Stupid

  One Man and His Dog

  Bloody Wizards

  Necro Meh

  Unholy Union

  Homeward Bound

  A Daughter's Concern

  Home at Last

  The Usual Chat

  Copyright © 2021 Al K. Line

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  EARLY MORNING BLUES

  "Dad! DAD! There's a man in the hall. A burglar! Get out! Shoo! Help! Dad!"

  I shot out of my tatty recliner and knocked over a delicious glass of Pinot—don't judge, I had good reason to be drinking at 7AM—as I raced towards the hallway from the living room.

  Awoken by the screams, Woofer leaped up from the murder rug. I tried to step over him, but he moved at the same time, so I trod on his tail. My needy Lab yelped, I stumbled, and as he ran off, bewildered, I skidded on the rug, tripped over the bunched-up corner, and careened headfirst at the stove. I cracked my temple on the corner of the cast iron beast, gripped it for purchase, then hauled myself up and dashed out into the hall. I was dazed, and utterly bewildered, but more than ready to kill anyone who dared intrude on my family's sanctuary.

  Knife already in hand, I grabbed Jen where she stood, terrified, in the open doorway and pushed her behind me then readied to destroy this lowlife.

  "Oh, it's you," I said, relieved. Adrenaline dissipated and I was left with nothing but a throbbing head and a sense of disorientation.

  "Why is it so bright?" The man squinted and put a meaty hand up to shield his eyes.

  "Because it's daytime. In the summer."

  "Is it always like this?"

  "Um, yeah. Usually."

  "Glad I've never bothered then."

  "Yeah, me too." I fastened my knife back in its sheath and sighed as I felt my head. A massive lump was already forming.

  Woofer wandered over and sniffed perfunctorily, then trotted off, uninterested. They'd met a few times; Woofer was nonchalant about him for some reason. Probably because they were a similar size and he never got any attention, not even a hello.

  "What's going on?" shouted Jen. "Who is this… er, man? Is it a man? What's happening?"

  I scowled at the idiot in my hallway and turned to Jen, my beautiful princess dressed in her school uniform. "Hey, it's okay, no need to worry. Everything's fine."

  "He's in our house. He scared me. Who is he? Why is he here?" Jen sniffed and wiped away the tears.

  "Sorry, sweetie, please don't get upset. Don't cry, there's nothing to fear."

  "But who is he?"

  "Annoying." I turned back to him and scowled. He shrugged his shoulders, then at least had the sense to find his glasses and put them on.

  "This is Shey Redgold of Oxten. He's, um, how do I put this?"

  "I'm a dwarf an' I live in your basement. Me an' your dad have bin friends for over sixty years after I saved him from certain death. I saved his life, that's what I did."

  "Now, that's not exactly true," I told him. "You know that. You were running away after nicking loads of gold, and happened to swing your axe and cut my bonds. That's not exactly heroic."

  "No, but I still saved you," he said, scowling from underneath enough hair to open a wig shop.

  "And I helped you survive, and keep all that lovely gold, didn't I?"

  "What are you talking about?" yelled Jen. "What is this? Dwarves, gold, saving each other from other dwarves. And he isn't even sixty!" Jen wagged a finger at the myopic dwarf. "He's loads younger than that!"

  "No he bleedin' well ain't. That'd make him a child. A teeny-tiny child. Us dwarves aren't even adult then, still babes. Like you. What are you, forty or summit?"

  "No, I'm eleven. Argh, what is happening?" Jen put her hands to her temples and shook her head. I think she was somewhat surprised. It was understandable—dwarves don't appear in your hallway very often. At least this one didn't.

  "Sorry, Jen, this must be a bit of a shock to you. I don't want you to feel threatened. Shey Redgold is a very old friend." I shot him daggers. "And, um, that other stuff? Guess we better have a chat about that. But first, let's make the introductions properly. You okay?"

  "I'm… yes, I suppose. Dad, this is nuts."

  "Honey, you have a dragon. You have a unicorn. Our cat is immortal. He named himself Mr. Wonderful. You talk to the dog. Grandma is a witch. You fly when riding Bernard, and we have a troll on the lawn. What's so weird about a dwarf in the basement?" I grinned at her as she smiled, then chewed at her lip.

  "Guess I've never thought about it much. Just the way things are." She shrugged, like all good young Necros would.

  "Exactly. But I'm sorry, I should have told you about Shey Redgold."

  "Of Oxten."

  "Oh, shut up!" I told him. "Yes, alright, of Oxten. Like anyone knows where that is."

  He pointed down and smiled smugly.

  "In our basement?" asked Jen.

  "No, deep down in the bowels of the earth where the dwarves live. My home, where I was happy for many years before a slight misunderstanding. Now I live here. It's nice. I have my gold, and it's dark."

  "You have gold?" Jen was suddenly all ears.

  "What? No! Who said gold?" Shey Redgold fidgeted and panicked, looking shifty as hell. He was ready to run. I'd seen it before. "I didn't say gold. Did you say gold? Cause I never. No gold. None. An' if there was, it'd be mine. Hands off. Not that there is any. So, this is the human world, is it?" he said, changing the subject, and looking at the floor, walls, lamps, and whatnot. "What do you do?"

  "How'd you mean? " asked Jen, her fear gone, now just utterly fascinated to be having a conversation with a four-foot-nothing dwarf draped in leather and chainmail.

  "You know, what do you do? Up here? Fight? Count your money? That's what you have, ain't it? Money? It sure is bright. Makes my eyes hurt."

  Jen moved closer to Shey Redgold and studied him properly. He stood there, nonplussed, checking out our uninspiring hallway.

  "Um, let's go into the living room and have a chat," I told them. I gave the dwarf another glare as he bumbled past, following Jen.

  "What's all this then?" he asked.

  "It's our living room," I told him. "We chill out, relax, play games, watch TV, that kind of thing."

  "What's TV?"

  "It's this large screen here," said Jen, amused, as she pointed at it.

  He stared at it for several minutes while Jen and I snickered, then he sighed and said, "I prefer watc
hin' my gold. Um, if I had any. Which I don't."

  "Not when it's off, silly," said Jen. "When it's on." Jen picked up the remote and turned on crappy morning TV. A load of women sat around talking about some other woman in a movie or something. Boring!

  Shey Redgold's eyes lit up. He plonked himself down in my chair—yes, my chair!—laughed when it reclined, then just stared at the TV, seemingly utterly fascinated.

  "I think you better turn that off," I told Jen. "Don't want an addict."

  Jen nodded, and pressed the standby button. The dwarf moaned, then rubbed at his eyes after removing his glasses. He replaced them then heaved out of the recliner and beamed. "That was awesome! What's it called again?"

  "TV." Jen crouched and looked at him. "So. You really are a dwarf?"

  "Well, I'm short, I have a very impressive beard, I own an axe, I like to dig, an' I do love gold. But I don't have any!" he added hurriedly.

  "Honey, he is a dwarf. He lives in the basement and always has. That's why I have a key and you have never been allowed down there."

  "I never really thought about it. It was always locked and when I was little you said it was dangerous, that the stairs were broken."

  "A white lie. And we will have to talk about my age, and some other stuff, later, but for now, I have one question. Cover your ears, Jen, just for a moment. Please?"

  Jen raised her eyebrows but did as I asked. I turned to Shey Redgold and roared, "What the fuck are you doing out of the basement? You utter dwarfy dickhead."

  "Just wondered what the human world was like. Fancied a peek. I, er, picked the lock an' came out. Then this girl, your daughter, was there, screaming, so I didn't know what to do. I like it. Bit bright, but I like the TV. Can we put it back on?"

  "No way. You can't just pop up like that. It's our home."

  "Mine too. I live here too."

  I fought down my frustration. He was right. "Sorry. Yes, it is your home too. But please ask before you just turn up. It's polite."

  "You don't ask before you come into the basement to get your foul wine. You turn on the light, blind me, then swear at me. An' try to steal my gold."

  "I do not steal your gold."

  "Only because I catch you."

  "That's a lie! I—"

  "Can I move my hands now?" shouted Jen.

  I turned and nodded at her. "Sorry, our visitor was just saying he won't do it again. And he has to go now."

  "I don't. I want to watch TV. What do you eat up here? Got any mead? Let's have the tour then."

  And so, on one of the most surreal mornings of my life, my eleven-year-old daughter and I gave a truly ancient dwarf who had lived in my basement for many-a-year a tour of our home.

  He wasn't impressed.

  He hated the carpets—said they weren't natural even though they were wool. He disliked the bathroom—he had a real aversion to water. And he thought beds were for idiots, as who would choose to sleep on something that soft when gold was perfect for sleeping on and so much better in every way.

  Phage called up the stairs for Jen to get a move on. It was time for school. We both checked our watches.

  "Time to go, my little apple. Don't want to be late."

  "Not so little any more," she said, smiling, still utterly bemused by the whole situation.

  "No, I suppose not. How come you've gone from being seven and tiny to eleven and almost as tall as me in what seems like a day?"

  Jen stood on tiptoe and kissed my cheek. "Happy birthday, Dad. Love you. Nice meeting you, Shey Redgold," she said, her smile faltering a little.

  The dwarf nodded gravely. "You too."

  Jen shot down the stairs and we followed. No point trying to hide this from Phage.

  "Hello, Phage."

  "Oh, erm, hello. You're, ah, out."

  "Yes, but it wasn't worth it. Apart from the TV. I think I like that."

  "Oh, yes, well, okay. Bye, Jen."

  Jen waved at us then was out the door. She was old enough to cycle to school on her own now. Another hard-to-accept part of having children and them refusing to stop getting older.

  "Bye, love. Have a good day," I called after her. She waved without turning and then stopped. She rushed back in, snatched her school bag, grinned sheepishly, then closed the door behind her.

  There was an awkward silence, then we both turned to confront our morning visitor. He was gone. I shrugged and went to get another wine. It was only once a year, and you know I had the right.

  MISERABLE MEN

  "What on earth is he building over there?" asked Phage, as we peered over the high hedge into my neighbor Job's property—you pronounce it Jobe if you value your tongue.

  "No idea. He's being super-secretive about it and a right smug bastard too. Four bloody years he's been at it. I figured he'd have caved by now and spilled the beans." I'd asked him every time I saw him, which, thankfully, wasn't that often, as he made me seem like a happy-go-lucky kinda fella. Job took being a miserable old bastard to the next level. Guess he'd had over four hundred years to perfect his technique.

  We peeked through overgrown hawthorn, careful of the rotting posts holding the stock proof fencing, trying to get a proper look at the small copse of trees in the meadow and the towering structure Job had been constructing at random times of the day and night for what now felt like an eternity.

  "I can't see properly," said Phage, craning her neck forward like that would somehow make a difference.

  "Let's just go visit him. Say hello. Maybe if you're with me he'll take pity on us."

  "Do I have to?" whined Phage. "He's such a grumpy old sod, and he seems so angry to see me. Like I've done something wrong."

  "Haha, don't take it personally. He's annoyed to see everyone. Come on, it'll be fun. He said we could pick as many flowers as we wanted. He even hates them. Calls them 'bastard weeds' right to their pretty little faces."

  "Well, maybe… Oh, okay, let's do it!" Phage grinned at me like a naughty schoolgirl, as though we were doing something bad and bunking off school.

  "That's the spirit," I told her. I felt happy, light, free. Grounded in a way I couldn't ever recall. For the better part of a year I had done nothing but relax and enjoy life. There were several weeks of utter stress after Phage had her note, as when she returned she was in a rough way both physically and mentally, but she recovered quickly, and the year had basically been a great one.

  Four years had passed since I'd had my double-whammy of notes, and in the intervening years the work had been gross, yes, but nothing like the previous notes. I killed on auto-pilot, tried not to dwell on my despicable actions, knowing I trod a dangerous path by not accepting the foul deeds I'd committed, but if it meant I retained my sanity, then I'd go with it and sleep better for it.

  Yes, for once, I was a rather chipper bloke who just so happened to commit the odd murder when I was so directed. We also got a swimming pool, which helped. Fuck, this heat was unbearable.

  Giggling like our daughter, Jen, as she'd opened her birthday presents three days ago, we hopped over the fence, battled the unruly wilting hedge, then stepped into paradise. At least, you could call it that if you ignored the piles of baths, the rusting tractors and farm machinery, and the endless stacks of pallets and general crap that signified the land of a man definitely no longer interested in maintaining a working farm. His loss, our gain. For one, it was quieter, apart from the weird construction project, but mainly because the many acres Job owned had outshone themselves this year.

  The wild flowers were an assault to the senses in every way. The drier the UK got, the more parched the land, the longer the days, the crappier the air, the better the meadow did. Blood-red poppies stood tall and proud, spires of rattleweed shone as bright as the sun. Daisies and endless varieties of native wildflowers created a kaleidoscope of carpeted magnificence almost too intense to look at for long.

  And the smell, oh the smell. It was intoxicating, dizzying, and beyond delightful.

  "I feel drunk,"
giggled Phage, as she skipped through the meadow, spinning in circles with her arms spread wide, turning fast to take it all in.

  "See," I laughed, "told you it was worth braving the wrath of Job to come visit him more often. We'll pick some of these beauties on the way back. Let's go see what he's up to in the damn copse."

  "We can't do that," Phage whispered, suddenly serious.

  "Why not?"

  "We're trespassing. We have to go tell him we're here. Ask him if we can take a look."

  "He won't mind."

  "He bloody well will. And you know it. And what if he doesn't know it's us and begins blasting with his shotgun? Have you seen him with the crows? He's mental."

  "Okay, fair point. Let's go say hi. We need to thank him for Jen's present anyway, although she'll have to come herself and say thanks too."

  "I'll bring her around later, to his front door, just so he doesn't accidentally shoot her or throw a hammer in her face."

  "Good idea."

  Hand in hand, we wandered through the meadow, past the junk covered in creeping bindweed, and up to the large, decrepit barn where Job spent most of his time when he wasn't building mysterious structures in his tiny forest.

  We heard him before we saw him.

  With the air blue from such creative use of British swear words, we approached the barn cautiously, ready to duck if any tools came flying at us.

  "Job," I shouted. "Job? You in there?"

  "Of course he is. We can hear him," Phage told me.

  "Um, yeah, I know that. It's just what you say. You know, to be polite."

  "I don't think you need to bother." Phage nodded at the angry old man stomping out of the barn with a club hammer in one hand, a beer in the other, and a mighty fine scowl on his lined face. He glared from under bushy yellow eyebrows then downed his beer, threw the bottle in a pile, and took off his hat and wiped at his sweaty forehead where lank hair was plastered.

  "What the fuck do you pair of bastards want?"

  "Blimey, been practicing for the swear Olympics, have you?" I chortled.

  "Fuck off, Soph. I'm busy."