The dog kept creeping forward. The rope hissed against the ground. It was almost impossible for Simon to remain focused. For a while, he had meditated on the pain in his legs caused by sitting without moving for so long, but then the pain had given way to numbness and he turned his attention instead to other body parts; his rising heartbeat, the ache in his forehead, the dryness of his throat.
His head nodded and he blinked hard to stay awake, recalling for inspiration Firdy's warning that the rope around the dog's neck was intended to prevent it running away once it had killed him; it was not intended to protect him.
Its ears pricked up.
It stood.
Simon shook the thought from his head. Back to breathing. In. Out. In ... but the creature remained agitated. It whined, dropped its head and walked to the door.
Simon felt what had disturbed it. Clarity was returning. And then it was done, in the time it takes to fall to the ground.
He and the dog-thing were now free. Free to think. Free to act. Free to kill. He had little doubt that the dog would turn on him. It was in the doorway, still whining, its tail between its legs.
Simon rolled and managed to get to his feet though his legs felt leaden.
The dog's enormous head inclined. Staring into its black eyes, Simon was flooded with adrenaline. He no longer bit back his emotional response. His hands shook and his legs threatened to buckle as he backed away. He had never seen anything like this. He didn't know how to kill it. All he knew was that it intended to prevent him from leaving and it would die rather than let him go.
It advanced and he lumbered towards the window. Behind him, the thing barked and its paws skidded on the boards.
Snapping jaws.
Simon threw himself into the curtains, into the nets, into the glass and through, into the night.
It was dark for a long time. His legs kicked. He had time to wonder which way up he was before he hit the ground – feet, shoulder, ear - and tumbled over and over, skidding along the drive. He may as well have landed on his head. The only reason he didn’t cry out with pain was because the collision knocked the wind out of him. He lay on the stone amid broken glass and his bedroom curtains, wearing them like a shroud.
When he unwrapped himself, he saw the dog hanging by the rope that Firdy had attached to its neck. The other side was still attached to Simon's desk. The dog whimpered noisily and it kicked its legs, which caused it to swing like a pendulum. Each time it bashed into the side of the house it scrabbled at the wall, but it didn't have that kind of dexterity. If the rope held out, it was going to die. Simon thought it unwise to trust the knot of a one-handed man any further and so once again he forced himself to his knees and then to his feet, swaying, feeling as though he’d been swatted by a giant hand, but no part of his body was screaming for attention more than any other and so soon he was hobbling into the house, arming himself and returning to his room.