Various Stages of Decay
By: Dawn DeBraal
Billy Findley told us about a dog on the side of the road that was hit by a car. Someone pulled it off months ago, and he checked on it periodically, documenting the various stages of decay. Billy said he wanted to be a coroner someday. There is something wrong with someone who wants to work with dead people, so my Aunt Sue told me.
We liked Billy, but all of us in the fifth grade knew he was "different." That is the polite way of saying he wasn't firing on all pistons, as my Uncle Ned, the mechanic, would say.
We were bored to tears when Billy came by with his Brownie camera slung around his neck that hot, sultry summer day.
"Hey, Findley, where are you going?" I called.
"Taking pictures; another week has passed. The dog will be in the next stage of decay." Randy Heightman looked at me, and I, at him.
"What the heck. Let's go see it," and we fell in line with Billy. The three of us hiked it to the main highway, where the cars whizzed by going seventy miles an hour.
"We shouldn't be on the highway," Randy cautioned.
"If you don't want to be here, just go," Billy told him. I could see Randy didn't like that and puffed up his chest.
"Make me."
"Oh, Randy, stop. Let's go see the dead dog." Turning to Billy, I asked him questions like, "Do any bones show?"
"Yes, the insects have eaten away his muzzle. They had that gone in the first week."
"Oh, gross," Randy said. I knew I should have gone without him, but Randy and I were best friends, and he went where I went, usually. I was more interested in peeking into Billy Findley's world right then. Walking along this busy highway was scaring the crap out of me, too; only Randy had the guts to pipe up.
"Do your parents know you are doing this?" I asked Billy.
"They don't care what I do," he said.
"Mine either," said Randy, and that was a fact. Walking farther into the ditch, the grass was high, and it tickled our bare legs. I worried about ticks, but kept it to myself.
"We're here."
"I don't see anything." Randy guffawed at Billy.
"You are blind; the grass has grown around the dog's body." He pushed the grass aside like he was parting the Red Sea, and there it was, melting into the ground.
The dog had a collar on it. "What's the collar say?" I asked, stepping forward.
"Hold it, let me take my pictures before you disturb it." I stepped back and let Billy take several shots, walking around the corpse. There were bugs still buzzing around the last few chunks of meat. The jawbone showed sharp teeth because the insects had eaten the dog's lips, and its eyes were dried up slits.
"Okay, now you can look at the collar." Even though it was gross, I read the name.
"Sparky."
"Hey! That's my neighbor's missing dog!" Randy shouted, running back to tell them.
We heard the screech when the car clipped Randy, who tumbled down the hill. The driver never stopped.
Randy wasn’t moving. Blood came from his mouth and ears. Billy checked his pulse. "Dead,” he said.
We never told anyone we were on the highway that day.
***
"Hey, Findley, where are you going?" I asked Billy at the end of summer.
"To check on Randy." He headed for the main highway with the Brownie camera around his neck. Curiosity got the better of me.
"Wait up!"
**
Dawn DeBraal lives in rural Wisconsin with her husband, a stray cat and a rescued dog. She has published over 700 short stories, drabbles, and poems in online ezines and anthologies. She tends to lean toward the horror genre because it makes her life seem so much better! Falling Star Magazine nominated Dawn for the 2019 Pushcart Award; she was Runner-up in the 2022 Horror Story Competition, two-time Author of the Month, nominated 2020, 2022, 2023 Author of the Year and received Contributor of the Year 2023 from Spillwords Magazine. Her newest novel is The Lord’s Prayer, A Series in Horror.
https://www.facebook.com/All-The-Clever-Names-Were-Taken-114783950248991
https://linktr.ee/dawndebraal
