The Spectral Book of Horror Stories Read Online Free PDF

“And now,” she added with a note of triumph, “the dog’s home all alone, isn’t he? The neighbour’s feeding him and that’s about it. So she needs someone to go and stay. She needs you to go and stay.”
    I opened my mouth to protest. I saw the look on my mother’s face and closed it again.
    “Make sure that dog loves you,” she said. “Make him love you and she’ll decide she loves you too.”
     
    #
     
    Sandy wasn’t at all the kind of dog I’d expected. I’d thought Aunt Rose would have some sniffy little thing, a chihuahua or a peke, but when I collected her key from the neighbour and let myself in, there he was, a flurry of tail, big paws and weight behind them, all joy and enthusiasm. There was a volley of barks but not a second’s hesitation before he was all over me, licking, covering my sweater in hair and drool. I couldn’t reconcile the idea of Aunt Rose and this living, breathing, messy creature; it didn’t seem they occupied the same universe, let alone the same house. But occupy it Sandy did. I could smell him there, a cooped-up smell that was unmistakably dog, and I sighed and set down my bag at my feet. It looked like I wouldn’t just be staying in her house; I’d be cleaning it too. But first, it was time to visit Aunt Rose.
     
    #
     
    The hospital’s antiseptic smell, barely masking what lay beneath, was a sharp contrast to the shut-in, musty house. Rose was in a room of her own and I was thankful for that. I’d never been around illness, not really. I didn’t look at the wards to either side as I went towards number seven and I found it a small, narrow box, a metal bed clearly visible through a large window. In the bed was the collection of bones and skin that Aunt Rose had become. Looking at her there, I had no idea how I could ever have thought of her as tall. She seemed barely larger than a doll, and when she let her head fall to the side, looking at me from hollowed sockets, she seemed to move like one too.
    “Hello, Aunt Rose,” I said, and she rolled her head back again with a little grunt. I’d intended to play it carefully, but found myself blurting, “I came to look after Sandy. Mum said you might need some help.”
    Some help . I knew, looking at her, how inadequate those words were. She needed more than help, would soon pass beyond the kind of help that anyone could give. But she didn’t appear to think about what I said. She made a brief gesture and I recoiled from it, then realised she had indicated the plastic chair next to her bed. I slid into it. The legs scraped against the tiles and her lip twitched.
    Aunt Rose stared at the ceiling. I didn’t know if she was waiting for me to speak, but I tried. I told her that Mum was fine. I said she’d have come herself, but she couldn’t get away from work—I almost found myself saying that Mum couldn’t afford to have her wages docked, but I wasn’t sure how that might sound. I thought of the slight body in the bed in front of me, hidden under a single sagging sheet, and all the money it possessed. It seemed terribly unlikely.
    “Sandy’s fine,” I said. “He was happy to see—”
    The breath was shocked out of me when she grasped my hand. I looked down. Her fingers, narrow and putty-coloured, held mine, which had turned white under their pressure. I tried to pull away but she held on, moving with me, and I had a sudden image of it being like that forever, her cadaverous hand closed on mine.
    “Bring him to me,” she said.
    “What?”
    Pardon , is what I expected her to say – the remnant of some childhood memory, perhaps—but she did not. “They won’t let him in,” she said, “and they won’t let me out. I want to see my dog.” Her eyes met mine. “It’s all I want. You understand?”
    Her eyes were pale blue and weak-looking, but a cold strength shone through them. It didn’t appear natural. I looked away.
    “I want to see my dog.” She sank back against the pillows. Her face was blank,