Fido the Mischievous Hellhound (Short Story)

Caleb thought moving to Pittsburgh after graduation would be a fun, exciting time in his life. Unfortunately for him—he was dirt poor—and living in a slumlord's apartment complex. He tried making the best of it though.

After a long day of cleaning up the dilapidating studio, he looked around and quietly admired the beauty of a (somewhat) tidier living space. Gone were the piles of unfolded clothes, dirty plates, and empty water bottles. He walked towards the couch and plopped down with a sigh of relief. That's when Fido trotted into the room, his black eyes narrowing with discontent as he surveyed the unusual lack of chaos.

"Best behavior today Fido," said Caleb pointing a finger at the beast rather sternly. "It's inspection day, and if we do well then I get my security deposit back."

Fido scoffed. He despised cleanliness, and Caleb knew the massive dog was withholding a violent urge to wreak havoc across the apartment. "...which means I'll have plenty of money to buy you tons of treats."

His eyes—quite literally—glowed bright red with excitement.

"Good boy."

Caleb was walking home one night when he found the pup abandoned in a dark alley. He remembered thinking someone had spray-painted a baby rottweiler. His pitch-black fur was marked in a pattern of ivory white bones which outlined his own skeleton. Even industrial strength doggie shampoo could not remove the stains.

Whatever. So, he's a little peculiar looking. Big deal, thought Caleb. That just makes him cooler.

At least that's what Caleb thought until Fido—if you can actually believe it—sprouted horns!

That was six months ago, and it turns out raising a hellhound isn't so hard. Despite an appetite for raw meat and a mischievous personality, Fido is still Caleb's best friend. Now if only Mr. Fusco the Landlord allowed animals.

Knock knock knock.

Speaking of Mr. Fusco...

"Fido, hide!" whispered Caleb. He had been trained for a day like this, and the seventy-pound beast scampered off.

Knock knock knock.

"Coming!" ejaculated Caleb, rushing towards the door. He opened it to find Mr. Fusco standing outside, tall, thin, and pale. He always reminded Caleb of an underfed vampire.

"You know why I am here," he said contemptuously.

"Of course," said Caleb. "I just tidied up, make yourself at..." but as he turned around, his mouth fell open in horror. The house was completely disheveled. Couch cushions laid ripped up and spread across the living room. Garbage cans were knocked over. Laundry sat piled up, unfolded in every corner.

"Tidied up, did you?"

"Fido..." whispered Caleb in disbelief. Mr. Fusco made his way in from the rear. "I—I don't..."

"Well," said Mr. Fusco as he ran a finger across the filthy countertops. "I have seen worse." His eyes flickered around the studio apartment. "At the very least, I do not detect cockroaches." In the corner of the room, Caleb saw a pile of clothes stir. Fido was hiding inside of it—his snoot poking out. "Yet, I am left feeling uneasy."

"Maybe it's indigestion?" laughed Caleb trying his best to remain casual. Fido continued to move in the background.

"You are not hiding anything from me, are you Mr. Haines?"

"I would never!" and Caleb gave a suspiciously large smile. Subtlety was never one of his strengths.

"Then what..." said Mr. Fusco moving towards the pile of clothes. "Is..." he pointed a finger towards the clothes dramatically. "This?" he bent his tall, lanky body down and picked up a lighter on floor next to them.

"Oh," said Caleb. "Seriously?"

"Smoking is a nasty habit."

"It's..." Caleb laughed with relief. "It's for candles, actually."

Mr. Fusco crept out of the apartment after returning the security deposit to Caleb, who was sweating so badly he wondered if it was noticeable. He walked a few steps forward; Fido popped out of the clothes pile and wagged his docked tail happily, a sock hanging from his left horn.

"WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?!" screamed Caleb. "You could have gotten me in trouble! We could have lost our house! I almost had a—" but even underneath Fido's skull patterned fur, Caleb saw his sad puppy dog eyes. His fiery tempest was extinguished at once. "Don't do that. You might be a hellhound, but you've got to understand the difference between right and wrong."

Fido walked forward, head bowed submissively, and nudged his curled horns affectionately underneath Caleb's fingers.

"I'm sorry too," said Caleb. He knelt down and kissed Fido on the snoot. "Just promise me that next time, you won't make me look like an idiot?"

Knock knock knock.

But before Caleb could even turn around, Mr. Fusco had walked into his apartment. "I am terribly sorry to intrude, but I appear to have forgotten my—" and he stared down at the two in utter shock.

"Mr. Fusco! I swear, this isn't what it looks like!" but to Caleb's surprise, a warm smile stretched across the landlord's cold face.

"Argos!" Mr. Fusco exclaimed. "Caleb, you have found my Argos!"

"...Argos?" said Caleb standing up. He made to shield Fido from a hungry looking Mr. Fusco, but the hellhound had already taken a defensive stance himself. "Easy, Fido."

"Foolish boy," and as Mr. Fusco spoke, Caleb noticed his teeth become sharper with each syllable. "You do not understand the intricacies of the situation, and I do not have time to explain."

The landlord was getting taller. Caleb could not believe his eyes. This had to be some sort of fever dream. Mr. Fusco flicked his hands outward in a dangerous pose. His fingers have grown into long, sharp, and blood covered claws.

"Hand over the hellhound, and you may yet live..."

Author: Joshua Kennedy