Beyond the Gateway (Cranksepticeye)

Seventeen

Jack heard the whispered murmurings of a hushed and hurried conversation. Ethan. And someone else. Then someone was shaking him gently, calling his name.
He blinked and struggled to sit up. A huge pair of hands grasping his shoulders helped, and he found himself staring up into the open, guileless face of a man maybe twenty years old with ginger-sandy hair and a nice smile.
"Hullo," he said. "I'm Maddox. A friend of Ethan's."
"What are you doing here?" Jack asked, deeply confused. What had happened? He must have have hit his head when that thing . . .
"I was on my way to meet your man, Ethan," he said, squatting beside him. "I saw that stray dog attack you both and came running."
"That was a . . . dog?"
"Bull mastiff by the look of it - big one - and rabid as a bat, most like. Nothing to worry about now, though. The proper authorities are on it, lad." He stood and held out both hands to help him up. " now c'mon, let's get you onto the street and hail a cab. I'll take you home."
"Where's Ethan?" Jack thought that he must of hit his head harder than he'd realized . Everything seemed fuzzy and confused.
Maddox laughed - a low, pleasant rumbling sound deep in his broad chest. "Off chasing the dog. He'll keep an eye on it until the dogcatcher shows. Make sure it doesn't hurt anyone."
"What if it hurts him?" He glanced around a little wildly, a fluttering panic crowding up his throat.
"Now, now," Maddox soothed. "Ol' Eth, he knows how to take care of himself. Don't fret. Come on, lad. Here, let me help."
Maddox tilted Jack's face up so that he could stare directly into his eyes, and Jack suddenly felt all of his questions and fears slip into the background.
Let me help you, boy, he thought he heard him say, but he was fairly convinced his lips hadn't moved.
"What did you call me?"
"Uh . . . you mean 'lad'?" Maddox frowned in confusion.
"Never mind," Jack murmured. "He told me I shouldn't be here now. . . . "
"And so you shouldn't, lad. The park is no place for a boy after nightfall. Come along now."
Jack felt himself slump against Maddox's side as he put a muscled arm around his shoulders, and he let him lead them east along a well-lit path toward the edge of the park, where he hailed a taxi. Somehow he wasn't surprised or worried when he climbed in as he was giving his address.
Just as he got out of the cab in front of his building, he remembered something and, leaning down to the half-open window, said, "He's not my man."
"Sorry?"
"Before, you said 'your man Ethan' to me."
"Ah, right. An idiom, that. Figure of speech, laddie." But as the cab pulled away, he thought he heard Maddox say, "I hope."

Inside the apartment, Jack heard a whickered greeting from the bathroom.
"Hi, Lucky, I'm home," he murmured . He still wasn't sure if he had actually heard an exchange between Ethan and his friend in the park of if he'd dreamed it all up. Jack ran a shaky hand through his hair, trying to remer exactly what it was the big guy - Maddox? - had called the creature in the whispered conversation he'd overheard between him and Ethan. Not a mastiff or dog like he'd been told. To Ethan he'd called it by another name. Black something.
Black . . . Shuck.
What the hell is a Black Shuck?
He went into his bedroom and flipped open his laptop. While he waited for it to boot up, Jack opened the bathroom door to check on Lucky. The horse swiveled his ears in Jack's direction, bobbing his head in greeting.
"Hi, pal." Jack couldn't help but smile. He was really becoming quite fond of the wayward beast. He went to give him a scratch, but as he approached, Lucky suddenly arched his neck, and his eyes rolled until he could see white all the way around. He shuffled his feet in the soapy water, trying to back up in the bathtub even though there was no more room. Jack jumped as the horse began making distressed, high-pitched noises and tossing his head violently. He flared his nostrils so wide he could see the network of veins stretching in the delicate skin, as if he scented danger.
Jack sniffed hesitantly at his clothing. He couldn't smell anything, but that didn't mean Lucky couldn't. Jack supposed the scent of the . . . whatever - he was content, for the moment, to keep referring to it as a dog - might have clung to his clothing.
He backed out of the bathroom, away from the agitated horse, and went back to his bedroom, stripping off his jacket, sweater and jeans and exchanging them for a sweatshirt and pajama pants. He would have a shower but, well, not really an option. Instead he went into the kitchen and scrubbed at his skin with the liquid soap there. It seemed to work, Lucky was a great deal calmer when he returned to the bathroom, shaking a fresh box of cereal.
Lucky sniffed at him, snorted a few times, and sneezed.
Then he nuzzled around him his palm and ate the cereal, seemingly mollified by the scent of Spring Rain liquid soap on his hands. He couldn't exactly figure you why the horse would eat nothing but frosted cereal. Nor why, when it did, what little went in . . . didn't come out. The messy logistical difficulties of keeping a horse in the bathroom never seemed to materialize. Which was suitably mystifying and yet, Jack supposed, good news - considering that their landlord would have them on the street in a flash if Lucky's presence was discovered.
Jack might not have admitted it openly to himself, but he was starting to appreciate having Lucky around. There was something strangely soothing about the big animal's presence. Something . . . familiar, almost. His rational mind may have shied away from the notion, but especially in the wake of the frightening episode in the park, was comforting to come home to the horse in his bathtub. Almost normal, even.
Having fed the horse, Jack went back i to his room and pulled up Google, entering the phrase "Black Shuck." As he read, a cold dread filled his stomach . Beyond a sparse Wikipedia entry, one of the first websites that came up actually looked fairly scholarly, even though it was devoted to supernatural sightings and the paranormal.

Black Shuck: a spectral being, doglike in nature, big as a Shetland pony, with fiery red eyes and sharp, venomous talons. Shuck and their ilk, so-called demon dogs, have been known to roam the hills and moors of Continental Europe and, in particular, the British Isles for centuries. They travel swiftly, often without touching the ground, and are frequently considered harbringers of doom. In Faerie mythology, they are often seen accompanying or preceding an appearance of the fearsome Faerie war band known as The Wild Hunt. Shuck were used by the Hunt to track and flush quarry, much like mortal hunting hounds; they would corner their prey, keeping it at bay until the Faerie hunters could make their kill. See also Hellhounds, Gwyllgi (Welsh), Dog of Darkness, Herne the Hunter's Hounds, the Barghest (Yourkshire), ect . . .

Jack switched on a lamp to dispel the shadows in the room. This is ridiculous, he thought, suddenly angry with himself. A horse in the bathtub was one thing, but "demon dogs"? That was just ghe same silly kind of "ghost story" superstition he'd fought to outgrow as a kid. Jack closed his laptop and went to sit on the side of the bathtub for a while, breathing the comforting scent of his horsey companion, soothed by his steady breathing. Exhausted by the events of the afternoon and evening , the strangeness of his encounter with Ethan - at least he could stop calling him Handsome Stranger - and the unfathomable animal attack, Jack finally stood and tiredly bid Lucky good night.