The Hound from Hell

 

It seemed like the perfect gig, working the weekend at Casey’s Upscale Suites for the Discerning Canine.

“Please Scott.” Casey with the big green eyes, was also braless. Not that I had a prayer at anything but friendship, what with her being a Master Wizard and me being – well – me. A Magic Studies drop-out. Still, I could use the cash. There were those pesky gambling debts I owed to Big Barry Short Fuse.

     I said yes. What could go wrong?

 

     On Friday night I walked into a Boston Blue Blood decorating scheme, complete with Perrier in the drinking bowls and a tuxedo for me. Casey changed the Upscale Suites décor often. Her customers probably thought their exorbitant contributions did this. Wrong! It was Casey’s wizardry.

 “No vacancies,” Casey said. “But there’s an Ambrose Jenkins yet to arrive.”

She left on a cloud of Zanzibar perfume and shortly after, the doorbell chimed.  A large gentleman, Yorkie in arms, stood next to a thin, greying man with hooded eyes and – oh my Zeus – a three headed hound?

“We’re full,” I said. “Unless one of you is Mr. Jenkins.”

     “I am.” The portly man pushed inside.

     The hound owner followed. “I’m Darius Mortimer. You will take my dog.” His voice echoed like we were in an underground cavern.

     Jenkins lifted his triple chins. “I have a reservation.”

     “I decided to take a holiday. That trumps your reservation.” Mortimer blasted fetid breath in every direction.

Jenkins stepped back. His face paled. “My niece can watch my dog.”

     Mortimer’s smile was grim. “How fortuitous.”

     Jenkins’ exiting speed was impressive in one so large. Fearing I’d lost Casey a regular customer, I asked Mortimer the strange dog’s name and whether it required three bowls?”

     “It’s Cerberus, and that would be wise. You won’t want the heads fighting each other.”

     I led the hound toward its suite. He smelled like he’d rolled in dead horse and encountered a bonfire. That seemed odd, but not as strange as the other dogs’ behavior. Instead of lying on their comfy beds, each animal was pressed close to the furthest wall of its enclosure. Poor things, I thought. Those sensitive noses.

     I settled in to play Video Poker.

     Around 9PM I heard a commotion outside and looked out.  A small crowd milled about on both sides of the street.  Strange. The kennel wasn’t in the entertainment district. Some were shuffling, and a few were naked. I slammed the door and locked it. Whatever was happening out there, the police could handle things.

     Then Cerberus set up a howl. It sounded like 5000 lost souls from hell and soon every other dog joined in.

     “Shut up,” I yelled. That bought me five seconds before the din resumed.

     My cell rang. It was Casey. To escape the barking, I took it outside. The sidewalk had grown more packed. Three people grabbed my arm and started yelling:

“Where am I?”

“Who are you?”

“Is this Detroit?”

     Casey’s voice was louder. “Scott, our neighborhood’s on the news. What’s happening over there?”

     “I don’t know!” Ducking back inside, I triple locked the door. The dogs still howled in concert, but that was less disturbing than whatever was going on outside.

     “Biscuits,” Casey yelled. “Bottom drawer.”

I found a small box under a huge flashlight which I took out and laid on the desk. The box was tiny. How could there be more than a couple inside? But as I upended it, biscuits rained down. Ah! Casey’s magic. I grabbed a handful, began tossing them into the suites. One by one, each dog collapsed in a snoring heap. It took three biscuits per head before Cerberus went down.

     As I got back to the desk, the lights went out. Grabbing the flashlight, I flicked the switch but instead of lighting up the place, it started singing “When you walk through a storm……”

     That’s when I heard banging on the door and Casey yelling “Let me in.” I felt my way over and undid the locks.

     “Why’s it dark in here?” Casey demanded. “And what’s that stupid music?” She grabbed the useless flashlight and shook it. “Stop that!”

     The flashlight quieted. A white glow lit up the room and shimmered at the edges until Casey told it to dial down. She grabbed the check-in sheet. There’s no phone number here for Death.”

     “What?”

     “Cerberus’ owner.”

     “That was death?” My breath caught. “I thought he was just some guy with a weird dog. How do you know about Cerberus anyway?”

     “Everybody who’s anybody knows by now. That dog is supposed to be guarding the gates of Hades, not letting the dead out to come back topside like what’s happening out there.”

     I waved my arms. “Those are dead people? Dead people are coming back everywhere?”

     “No. Just Detroit. We think they followed Death and his hound.” She frowned. “He’s in big trouble. But where’d he go?”

     “Mortimer? He said something about taking a holiday.”

     “The movie!” She snapped her fingers. “Of course. Such a perverted sense of humor.”

     “What movie?” I was lost.

     “1934,” said the flashlight. “Romantic drama.”

     Casey tightened her grip. “And where did Death go?” 

     “Italy,” whimpered the flashlight. “And stop squeezing me.”

     “He wouldn’t leave Cerberus here and go all the way to Italy. He’s somewhere close. Think, everyone.”

     “Little Italy?” I ventured. “In Windsor?”

     “That’s it. He’s crazy for Tiramisu.” 

     She found him by getting the astral plane involved, which caused a fracas since it was supposed to be down for a weekend upgrade. An hour later, Mortimer, or Death, or whatever you want to call him slunk back and roused his sleeping dog.

     “You’d better get that crowd back to Hades,” Casey told him. “You’re lucky they didn’t try and cross the river. What if Customs had gotten involved?”    

     I was awarded a bonus. The next day I paid my gambling debts and re-enrolled in Intro to Magic like Casey told me to. You don’t say no to a hot babe like Casey.