And to top it all off… I’ve wound up with another spirit in safe-keeping. Early Wednesday morning, on the back road that leads to Dter’s school, I passed a Dark on the ground. There was just enough light for me to see it was the burnt out carcass of a dog on the side of the road. Nothing else was burnt around the carcass, and to my surprise, none of the brushfire prone scrub was burnt as well. I thought it was an apparition because of how neat the burnt area was.
On the way back, I slowed down to take a closer look. Nope. Not an apparition. The metal choke collar was charred and soot covered, but still recognizable.
Someone took a dog here, and tried to destroy the body with fire. On the realization, I felt overcome with fire and smoke as if I was on fire myself. I noted the area, make a note to the police, and immediately went home.
Early Thursday morning, I drove past the same spot. If Dter saw, she said nothing. Most of the body was gone. Either scavengers had come to gnaw what they could, or someone came back for parts. I tried to remind myself that the area is coyote prone and rarely patrolled. But I could not shake that the scattering was too neat. That the dog was destroyed for the express purpose of gathering bones for workings and such.
My rage kicked in and again I smelled smoke. But this time, I heard barking. I looked in the rear view mirror, and saw the dog standing over what was left of him. He was barking at me with great expression. He was also on fire and was a burning skeleton.
On the return trip, what little I saw of the skeleton was gone. The apparition of the burning dog was waiting for me. Barking at me as I approached, turning to track the car, and barking as I left. I realized the metal collar was on the apparition, and a bound leash was keeping the apparition from following me.
Early Friday morning, I found the site had been completely scrubbed of evidence. Only a darkened spot on the ground marked where the dog had been. But to my eyes, the apparition was still there. He tracked me with his head, but did not bark. He only whined. I realized his spirit was trapped to that spot even though his body was long gone. I started to make plans to release him.
This morning, after the dream which will be posted shortly, I realized why he was bound. The human putrescence that intentionally burned his body to collect his bones for workings had spiked the dogs spirit to that spot for later. The person would eventually call the spirit back into the bones for fuck all knows what.
Not if I can help it.
I went back to that site this afternoon. The dogs spirit was nowhere to be felt. No smoke. No fire. No canine scent. I felt that I was too late. The area itself felt almost as scrubbed as the asphalt.
I whistled. “Here boy! Come on, you! I have a belly rubs to give out!” Nothing. I turned away. A scent of smoke. “Hey, boy!” Smoke surrounded me. I heard a whimper. “Come close enough and I’ll take that collar off. That bastard is yanking hard, isn’t he.” Another whimper. A scramble on the asphalt. I closed my eyes and trusted my spirit vision.
He’s burning bones. His head stands at my hip. A substantial sized dog. He’s trying to come close, but something keeps yanking his head around. “Fire can’t hurt me, boy. Not that kind of fire. I can’t come any closer. Reach, boy. Just one more time.”
He pushed hard. I felt his skull under my hand. Quickly I reached for his vertebrae and the metal collar. The collar had been weakened in the fire. To the dog, it was unbreakable. To me, it was toothpicks.
I watched the broken collar snap back into the surrounding darkness. Quickly, I jumped back into my car, but held the car door open. In my spirit vision, the burning dog jumped into the car with me.
Weaver Flamed And Winged was giving the burning dog belly rubs, and head scratches and foot rubs and all those things that you should spoil dogs with. The flames on the dog slowly receded. Finally Weaver was able to smooth out the flames. With long body rubs, flesh was restored.
He was a rust colored pit-bull mix. He’s all slobbers and tail wags. He snores like a freight train. He doesn’t care that he’s dead, and that’s assuming he knows that he’s dead. He likes it better with Weaver, and that’s all he needs to know.
To deter any spirit sighted folks in the area, I’ve made a collar for him. It bears the icon of a black feather as symbol of my ‘ownership’. I really don’t own him though. I’m just safe shelter.
So.
I have a spirit dog.
The fuck do I do now? It was a rhetorical question.