Mongrel

By Angel Berry

"Long pig was always better from the young..."

Chubby, nine year old Mongrel was smart -- Isaac had told him so. He knew that he had been cursed since birth, and he knew that it was only because of Isaac that his mother had allowed him to survive inside her womb.

On the fateful day that his mother finally left him, surviving on the outside proved to be difficult as well...

"Any evil will lurk in the dark and jump on a small thing as prey."

...and as he sat there alone on his favorite fourth step and waited -- waited for Isaac to return with his mother -- he found that what came through the door was not Isaac. 

What dragged him from his home was not Isaac, but everything that goes bump in the night, and Mongrel soon discovered that the bogeyman would never, ever hide beneath the bed.

Mongrel is a mini story from the anthology Horror Classics

• Language: English
• Publisher: Angel Berry
• Release date: Aug 9, 2016
• ISBN: 9781386096221

Angel Berry

Angel Berry is a court reporter from Detroit, Michigan. She enjoys writing as a hobby.

Book preview

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

MONGREL

First edition. August 9, 2016.

Copyright © 2016 Angel Berry.

ISBN: 978-1386096221

Written by Angel Berry.

Table of Contents

Copyright Page

Mongrel

Mongrel

Copyright 2016

All Rights Reserved

*  *  *

You know, a long time ago being crazy meant something. Nowadays everybody’s crazy. – Charles Manson

Grosse Pointe, Michigan 1984

Rhys Periwinkle pushed her glasses up on her nose with a gloved finger and waited at the intersection for a green light, exhaling an irritated breath as she pulled a tissue from her pocket and licked it then vigorously wiped at a smudge on the windshield. Wesley and his damn careless hands. Satisfied that the car was once again immaculately clean, she neatly folded the tissue and placed it back in the top pocket of her jacket before returning both hands to the steering wheel.

That’s when she spotted the boy alone on the sidewalk and to her disbelief, standing near the curb with his thumb out. As cars sped by him, passerby moved over and around him, noticing the child but never stopping to offer assistance. Behind her a horn blew, startling her, and she pressed the gas pedal down so hard that the old car had a spasm before it jerked and pulled away from the green light.

She told herself that she didn’t have time for this today, but her eyes subconsciously crept back to the boy again and she watched him in her side view mirror even after she had passed. He was a small child – no older than ten – and chubby, and Rhys began to feel the same anxious feeling in her stomach that she got whenever she found a good boy. It had been so long since she’d seen a proper one - six weeks at least - and Rhys rode half a mile before turning and making her way back down the street.

He had started walking. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his pants and his head drooped downward – dejected.

Are you lost? She asked, slowly inching the car down the street alongside him.

Mongrel turned and stared at the woman, surprised that someone had finally stopped. She didn’t have a nice or a mean face and she was neither smiling nor frowning. The large glasses that she wore dwarfed her thin face and her voice was raspy and hoarse and reminded him of his mother’s voice when she screamed from the basement the mornings after Dr. Jacobs had visited all night.

But to Mongrel, this woman looked like a TV teacher and so he decided that it was probably okay to speak to her.

I’m trying to find my dad, he told her, pausing on the sidewalk.

Oh, that’s what it is. Rhys thoughtfully paused for a moment, appearing to be thinking, then clapped her gloved hands together as if an idea had come to her. Do you know your address? she asked, staring out at him.

Mongrel hesitantly shook his head. He was feeling a little nervous and his hands had begun to sweat.

Well, come on then. I’ll get you to a police station.

And she leaned over