Chapter 1: The Greyhound

Marc was six years old the first time he saw that statue – the one that would haunt his nightmares. For years, it rested on the mantle of his grandmother's fireplace. It was just a greyhound dog, really. There was nothing special or frightening about it. In fact, it had a dull pink color, which really made it even more ridiculous to be frightened of. Surely in the whole world there were no dull pink dogs, and surely in the whole world Marc was the first little boy to be so terrified of something that was pink. Its long, pointed face was stern and composed, and it was, like all greyhounds, incredibly skinny. As Marc grew up he sometimes wondered why the statue was so frightening to him, but he never found an answer he liked. And yet it still had a strange power over him. He even remembered the first time he ever saw it.
Marc's parents, Jordan and Larissa Spall, were visiting Jordan's mother, Mary. It was a sunny Easter day, and the four of them had all returned from Sunday church. This was Marc's first time seeing his grandmother's new house, and he was very eager to explore. So while his parents and grandmother sat in their kitchen and talked about adult things, Marc wandered off to the living room.
It was a nice living room, really – all dark mahogany floors and tasteful wall decorations. But the statue was what caught his eye. It stood there, staring off into the corner impassively, and it cut a terrifying figure. It seemed like it didn't belong. The harsh angles, the curves, the stern face, and the unnatural coloring... mixed with something a little more, something subconscious and dark lurking in the back of Marc's brain. Children are frightened of strange things sometimes, and it's hard to explain some of them. This statue immediately grabbed Marc and held him rapt.
None of these thoughts occurred to him when he saw it, though – he just knew that the statue was terrifying and he wanted to get away from it. So he let out a little gasp and ran back to his mother in the kitchen. He grabbed her dress and buried his face in it.
Larissa put her hand on Marc's back. “What's wrong, honey?” she asked.
Marc did not answer with words, but just pointed to the kitchen and whimpered a bit.
“What's over there?”
Finally Marc got her to get up, and led her to the living room. Jordan and Mary followed behind them, curious and a bit concerned.
Marc nearly pushed Larissa into the living room, and she looked around. She didn't see anything wrong – whatever strange power that statue of the greyhound had with Marc, she felt none of it.
“What is it?” she asked.
Marc squeezed past her, pointed at the dog statue, yelled “That!” and ducked back behind her, out of sight of the statue.
Larissa, Jordan and Mary all filed into the living room and looked at the statue.
“He's scared of it?” asked Jordan.
“I guess so,” said Larissa.
Mary was looking back and forth from her grandson, cowering behind the doorway, and the statue. “Do you want me to move it, Larissa?” she asked.
“No...” Larissa turned around. “Marc, come here, honey.”
Marc slowly, carefully peeked around the corner and shuffled into the room. His eyes never met the statue.
“Marc,” said Larissa, “this statue isn't real. You see? It's just stone and it can't hurt you or scare you unless you let it. You see?”
She put her hand on the dog's snout and rubbed it.
Marc nodded that he understood.
“Just reach out and touch him, see?”
Marc didn't like that idea, but he reached out and tried to touch the statue. He didn't want to do it. He didn't want to do it. He didn't want to -
His fingers brushed the stone surface.
He shrunk away and quickly ran out of the room.
Jordan sighed. Larissa looked down forlornly.
“What should we do?” asked Mary.

Marc was in a castle – ancient, crumbling, every step kicked up dust & every brush against the brick walls seemed to make them give way
& there were people here, maybe not people, but they were here; Marc had to avoid them at all costs – they could do things to him & his companion that he couldn't understand or comprehend
his companion, he couldn't look at her either; no matter where he looked, she was just outside of his range of vision, she was avoiding him, for some reason
good, he didn't want to see her
Marc crept around a corner & took a peek; nobody was there... he emerged & started walking down, he couldn't hear anybody else except for his own two feet & his companion's own four feet
how long had he been here? he tried to remember, but the answer became unimportant as soon as he thought of the question... who knew? who cared? it might have been forever or only an instant, & he would have felt no different
wait; he stopped; his companion stopped right behind him... there were footsteps – heavy ones, coming from down the hall, about to turn a corner & catch them
how could he possibly get out of this one?
Marc only caught a glimpse of some huge, furry beast rounding the corner into the hall before his entire world collapsed
& it happened in an instant – suddenly all he could sense was a blur of light & sound, & then, just as soon as it had begun, he was somewhere else entirely
another room, still in the castle, but this looked almost like an ancient & abandoned throne room – moth-eaten banners lined the walls, adorning a huge, musty hall; where the regal throne should have been, though, was the most remarkable sight
on a raised platform at the end of the room was a huge entranceway – huge enough to see what was on the other side... the entranceway seemed to lead into another room, but this other room expanded out infinitely, as if it was another dimension
Marc had to see it, he had never in his life seen anything like this before; he knew, arriving here, that this was what he had been looking for
he only got one step forward
Marc suddenly became aware of his companion – the figure that had shadowed him for this entire trip, the one he had never seen before... he finally dared to turn around & face it
it was the greyhound, the very same statue that was in his grandmother's house; it seemed to smirk at him, it opened its mouth & spoke
“good job,” it said
the dog leapt at Marc, & Marc's world went black

Marc shocked himself awake, then looked around. He was in his bedroom. That dog had not been real and he was in his own house now.
Two minutes later, Larissa heard a rustle at the end of her bed. Marc had shaken her awake.
“What is it, honey?” she mumbled.
“Can I sleep with you two tonight?” Marc asked.
She nodded, and lifted him up into bed between her and Jordan.

It was a chilly fall afternoon when Jordan and Larissa Spall decided to pay another visit to Jordan's mother, Mary. They brought their thirteen-year-old son Marc along with them. Marc hadn't seen his grandmother in several months and he was very excited to see her again.
He was so excited, in fact, that as soon as he got out of the car, he bounded up to the door and started hammering on it. Mary opened the door and was delighted to see her grandson standing there.
“Is this my grandson?!” she exclaimed as she bent down to give him a hug. “I used to be able to pick you up and swing you around, and now look at you! You're getting so big!”
Marc laughed and just said “Hi, grandma!”
“Oh, it's good to see you,” Mary said. She turned to see Jordan and Larissa. They were standing back and admiring the sweet scene. “Hey, Jordan,” she pulled him into a hug as well, “and Larissa, how are you doing?”
“Wonderful,” said Larissa. “Mary, you won't mind if Marc has to go read by himself for a while, will you? He has a book report due tomorrow and he has to finish the book.”
“Did you start writing the report, Marc?” asked Mary.
Marc hung his head. “No, ma'am.”
Mary scoffed. “Then go finish it! I'll be in the kitchen with your parents when you're done, sweetie. You can have something to eat afterward.”
Marc nodded. “Okay!” he said.
He shuffled his feet and didn't move.
“What's wrong?” asked Mary.
“Did you put the blanket on the dog?” asked Marc.
“Oh!” Mary crossed over to the living room. “I forgot. Sorry, sweetie.” Mary found a blanket lying on one of the couches. She unfolded it and threw it over the head of the dog statue. It still stood on her mantelpiece.
Marc peeked around the corner to make sure it was done, and only then did he creep into the living room, slowly cross it – his eyes on the covered statue the whole time – and then quickly ran up the stairs to to the guest bedroom.
Mary sighed and shook her head.

An hour later, Marc was curled up with his book, almost done. He had plowed through almost 50 pages trying to finish it today, and he was exhausted. He looked up for a second and noticed it was a lot darker outside than it had been when he started. He yawned and turned around.
The dog statue was right there in the doorway.
Marc screamed, threw the book aside and tore into the bathroom. He slammed and locked the door, breathing heavily.
Suddenly he heard his dad laughing.
“Marc! Marc, come out! It's okay!”
Marc didn't open the door. His dad had played a prank on him.
He heard his mom's voice. “For God's sake. Jordan!”
Jordan laughed again. “Sorry!”
“That's not funny, Jordan!” said Mary. “You must have really scared him.”
“I'm sorry,” said Jordan, but he was still giggling. “Marc!”
Marc heard his dad. He didn't do anything.
“Are you okay?”
Marc slid down to the floor.

It was the floor, Marc was looking down at the floor for some reason; Why? he raised his head: ah, that might have been why
when he raised his head, he realized where he was: a blimp, the answer came to him naturally, & he didn't question it when it came; floating probably miles above the ground, he was in a small, elongated room that had rows of neatly arranged seats & it looked for all the world to him like the passenger area of an airplane, maybe it was, Marc thought, maybe he was in an airplane... how did he know he had been in a blimp, anyway? had he ever been in a blimp before?
maybe he had been, he couldn't remember for some reason; any time he tried to recall past information, his brain stubbornly refused... those memories weren't so much slipping away as much as they simply had a brick will erected in front of them, blocking any hope that he might retrieve them; oh well, he cared less than he thought he probably should have & anyway, he definitely was sure it was a blimp
Marc decided to get up & examine where he was; he stood up quickly & easily... was that right? he had always stood up quickly & easily before, but something about doing that here felt wrong
then it came to him, he was on a blimp, shouldn't he be shaky & wobbling when he tried to get up? there should have been some natural uneasiness
& no sooner did this occur to him than he instantly became uneasy, his legs almost gave way, & he had to grab the seat in front of him to steady himself
another burst of turbulence hit; it was much bigger this time & Marc wasn't remotely prepared for this one; it sent him flying out of his row of seats, & his head violently cracked the back of another one
his vision was blurry & indistinct, but lying on the floor he could vaguely make out the shape of his arm, covered with some freely-flowing red liquid... was it blood? please don't let it be blood, thought Marc, please, I can't die here
please
& when his vision snapped back into focus he saw that it wasn't blood at all, no, it was... ketchup, what a silly thing to think, of course it wasn't blood, he could smell the tomato smell now even though he couldn't before
nobody else was on the blimp; I guess I have to go complain to the captain, he thought; Marc uneasily got up & wobbled his way to the front... there was a door at the end of this room & he opened it & he saw who was there
it was the greyhound, the very same statue that was in his grandmother's house; it seemed to smirk at him, it opened its mouth & spoke
“we're almost there,” it said
and then it leapt at Marc & Marc's world went black

When the knock came on Mary's door, she immediately answered it – it was just who she had been waiting for.
“Marc!”
Her handsome nineteen-year-old grandson beamed at her and went in for a hug. “Hi, Grandma. How are you?”
“Oh, I'm good!” she said. “Come on in, sweetie, it's getting so cold outside.”
“It really is,” said Marc. “Thanks.”
The kitchen looked the same as it always had, and as Marc looked around he deeply exhaled and it was if a knot in his stomach had unclenched.
“I'm glad you got here early, I still need to write down some phone numbers,” said Mary. “Do you want anything to eat?”
“Oh, no, I already did.”
“Are you sure?”
Marc grinned. “Yes, I'm sure.”
“Well, if you want some ice cream I have it in the fridge. I have -”
“I'm really totally fine, grandma,” said Marc. If he stuck around in the kitchen she'd keep wanting to feed him. He went into the living room and looked around instead.
There was something missing here.
“Hey, grandma, where'd the dog statue go?”
Mary followed him into the living room. “Oh, I put it away. It's in the attic somewhere, I think. Why?” she asked. “You don't want to see it, do you?”
“I'm good,” laughed Marc. “You didn't have to put it away for me, though. I can, you know, be in the same room with it.”
Mary chuckled. “That old thing scared you so much.”
“I know! Gave me nightmares.”
Mary walked back into the kitchen and pulled an old Polaroid from the refrigerator. “Look at this,” she said.
Marc took it from her and examined it. It was from when he was little – nine years old, maybe. He and his cousins were crouched on the floor in front of the fireplace. Looming over them was the thin, stern figure of the greyhound statue.
He didn't remember it much, but when this picture was taken, Marc must have been terrified of that dog. He would have known it was back there, he would have been scared that it would leap at him. Marc looked at the photo more closely. Was there a glint of fear in his eyes? Did little Marc want to get the picture taken and get out of the room as soon as possible? He must have. Even looking at it now, the dog seemed to be looking right at the camera, its eyes were narrowed, its face was cold, its -
“You've grown up so much.”
Mary's voice snapped Marc out of it. “I guess so,” he said finally. “I don't remember this at all.”
“Really?” said Mary. “You were so happy to see your cousins and the rest of your family. I remember that.”
“Hmm,” said Marc. “I remember some things, now that you mention it, but it's just not connecting together. I guess I was just too young.”
“I guess so,” Mary said. “Anyway, Marc, here are the emergency numbers I wrote down. There's Mrs. Katherine next door, and if that one cat comes around the yard and tries to scratch you up, you can call its owners, they're the Wrights, they live across the street, you can call them and they'll come take him.”
Mary handed Marc a small sheet of paper with some phone numbers written down on it.
“So you're gone for four days?” asked Marc.
“That's right, I've already got everything packed so you don't need to help me with anything. Just keep the plants watered and feed the fish and aside from that you can just stay at the house. Or you can go out with your friends, it doesn't matter.”
“Parties?” Marc asked with a grin.
“No,” said Mary flatly.
Marc shrugged. “Okay, I figured. I hope you have a good vacation, grandma.”
“Thank you, Marc.” She reached up and pecked his cheek. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
With that Mary grabbed her purse, went out the front door and got in her car. Marc waved her goodbye until she turned the corner and went out of sight.
Back in the house, Marc took another look in the living room. It was odd to be here, he thought, and not to have to cast a glance at the mantle every couple seconds. No feeling of unbearably being watched and sized up.
He flopped down on the recliner and turned on the television.

Marc could have taken the hour-long drive back to his mother and father's house, but he had decided early on that he wasn't going to. Mary had made up the guest bedroom for him and she had made sure her pantry and fridge were even more full of food than they normally were.
So Marc stayed over at Mary's house that night. He had done it many times as a kid. He went to sleep in the same bed he had slept in so many times, and he was ready to go to sleep quickly and deeply.
And that was what he got, at least for an hour or two. But in the middle of the night, a loud bang from inside the house woke him up.
Marc could barely comprehend what was going on when he was shocked awake, and he spent at least a few minutes on his feet groggy and walking around the room and waiting for his brain to start working again.
There were footsteps outside his door. There definitely were. That was what snapped Marc back to reality. A burglar? Why would there be a burglar here? There was a car outside, anyone with half a brain would have known that someone was in the house.
No time to wonder. Someone was in the house, upstairs, with him. He heard the footsteps, he haerd the old floorboards creaking. No mistake.
He ducked into the bathroom. Looked for something there, something he could hit an attacker with. Not deodorant. He couldn't stab someone with a toothbrush. They made rubber tips for that. The shower curtain? If only he could detach the shower rod and hit the attacker with it -
There was a knock.
Marc was almost offended at the nerve of this burglar. Someone had broken into his house and knocked on his door?
A voice came from behind the door.
It was a woman's voice.
“Marc,” it said. “Can you open up?
Marc tried to hold his toothbrush as threateningly as possible. He crept back out into the room. The door had not been opened. “W-who are you?” he yelled at it.
“My name is Icelus.”
What a weird name.
“Are you a burglar?”
What a stupid question. She had just told him her name. What kind of burglar would do that?
“No. I needed to see you.”
“Are you a neighbor?” Maybe his grandmother had given a key to a neighbor and she hadn't told him.
“I live here.”
“What?”
“I live here,” she said again.
Marc couldn't believe this. This was so bizarre. Why was a mysterious woman in his grandmother's house claiming to live there?
“Can you let me in?” she asked.
Marc had to make a decision. “Icelus,” he said. He figured it couldn't hurt to use her name, “Y-you aren't going to attack me when I open this, are you?”
“No, of course not,” she said. It sounded like she meant it, too. Marc knew it was a crazy thing, but it was just about enough for him. It was either this or stay barricaded in this room for who-knows-how-long.
“Okay,” he said apprehensively. “I'm opening the door.”
As Marc reached down to turn the door handle, he noticed that it wasn't locked. Whoever this person was, she could have burst in any time. Instead she had asked his permission. That made him feel a little better.
He turned the handle and opened the door.
What he saw behind it made him scream. He fell backwards and collapsed on the floor.
It was the dog. The greyhound statue. It was here, right at his threshold.
Marc was about to get eaten, he knew it. That's how it went. He saw the dog and the dog ate him. This was a nightmare and he was about to wake up.
The statue opened its mouth and spoke to him.
“Marc,” she said, “I need your help.”


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