Indian Burial Ground
by Chelsea Manning

The dog scrabbled and barked at the other side of the door as I tried to fit the key into the lock and open the front door to let him out.

“Down boy, down boy,” I laughed when I finally got it open.  The big greyhound leapt on me, licking my face.

“Come on, you,” I said, pushing him down with the hand not holding the mail, “Get down!”

He fell off me and before I could stop him, ran outside and danced around the lawn.

I shook my head and went into the house.

The house was cool and dark, the only sound I could hear was the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.  I went in and put the mail on the counter with the rest of the week’s.  The light on the answering machine was blinking red, but the Yanish’s had not told me to check their voicemail so I left it alone.

Chief’s bowl of food had been pushed across the wooden kitchen floor and his water bowl once again looked as though he had put a firecracker in it and watched it explode.  There was water everywhere as well as bits of dog food in the bowl.  I wrinkled my nose and washed it out, using the hose to wash the dog food bits off the sides of the sink and into the garbage disposal.  I flipped the switch and it made a horrid grinding noise.  I turned the water on to see if that would help, and when it didn’t, I turned it off with a grimace.  I refilled the water bowl and, after cleaning up the slopped water on the floor with a few paper towels, put the bowl back where it belonged.  I tossed the paper towels.  The trash smelled, so I quickly closed the lid, my face averted from the stench.  Maybe I should take out the garbage so it didn’t eventually make the kitchen reek, but I thought it could last another day. 

Absently, I looked in the fridge.  There was a plate of leftover Christmas cookies wrapped in saran wrap on the second shelf.  The Yanish’s hadn’t invited me to eat them but they were such a nice couple and Christmas was over, so I felt sure they wouldn’t mind if I took just one.  I had been eyeing the haystacks all week, so I took one, rearranged the tray so it wouldn’t look like any of the cookies were missing and carefully replaced the saran wrap.

The plants needed watering today, according to Ms. Yanish’s house-sitting note, so I grabbed the can and hunted the house for all the potted plants, licking the chocolate off my fingers.  Chief had pooped on the tile of one of the bathrooms.  I groaned in disgust, put the watering can on the vanity counter by the aloe vera plant and picked it up with an unnecessarily large wad of toilet paper. Ms. Yanish had told me Chief sometimes became upset when his masters were out of town and that he often liked to leave little surprises for whoever was watching the house for the week.  Even after I had flushed the wad down the toilet, there was still a yellow-brown stain on the tile.  I scrubbed it, gagged at the smell, and got it as clean as I could.

The dog was still reveling in his freedom in the front yard when I went out to find him.  He barked at me and feigned an attack.  I stomped at him and he ran off across the grass, turning back to lunge at me again.  Again, I stomped and he ran away again.  When he tired of this game, I threw a rotten tennis ball for him which he faithfully returned to me until he became too weary and lay down with it, guarding it between his two front legs, panting happily.

“Chief, come on,” I finally said.  I checked my phone.  It was nearly four in the afternoon and I wanted to go home.  “Come inside, boy.  Come on!”

He lay on the ground and thumped his tail at me.

“Come on!” I said. 

He lay there, cocking his head impudently, pretending he didn’t quite understand what I was saying.

“Chief,” I said sternly, “Come.”

He got up, stretched and stood in the yard, looking at me curiously.

Slowly, he walked to the front porch and even more slowly padded up to me.  I grabbed him around his ribcage and pushed him into the house, carefully slamming the door between him and me.  As I jumped off the porch to get in my car and go home, I heard a muffled howl.  I rolled my eyes and went home.

There was nothing but dried potatoes and gummy bears in my apartment and I ate those.  My phone buzzed suddenly, the sound of it making me jump and drop a red gummy bear onto the floor.

“Hello?” I said, picking up the phone and bending over to get the gummy bear off the floor.

“Hiya!  It’s Wendy,” Ms. Yanish said on the other end.

She asked me about the house, about the plants and about Chief.  I told him he was all right, that he seemed to becoming more and more stressed as the week wore on.  I told her about his anger poo in the bathroom and she clicked her tongue.

“I’m so sorry, hon,” she cooed.  “You know, if you want to spend the night with him, you’re more than welcome to.  We don’t have much, but we have pay-per-view and there’s probably popcorn in the cabinets.  You don’t have to, of course, but it might be fun!”

“Thanks, Ms. Yanish,” I said, “I think I’ll probably just stay in my apartment tonight.”

“All right, love,” she said, “but if you change your mind, you’re more than welcome to stay over.”

I said a brief goodbye and hung up. 

I finished my potatoes, sat in front of my ancient television and surfed through the few channels I had.  There was nothing on.  After melting into the couch for a half hour, I decided that I would go over to the Yanish’s, see if their television choices were any better and sleep in their better-decorated house for the night.  There was nothing else to do and my apartment was eerily silent.  Chief would be good company.

When I pulled up, my headlights shone through the curtains of the main living room window.  Immediately, I heard deep barking come from the house.  Even as I walked up to the front door, knowing that Chief was the one barking, the sound made my heart beat a little faster than normal.

I unlocked the door and opened it carefully, calling gently into the house, “Chief!  Chief, it’s me!  Be quiet, silly.”
He quit barking as I closed the door behind me and turned on the hall light. He came up slowly, his tail wagging in cautious greeting.

“Come here, you goof,” I said, “I was just here.  You’re an idiot if you don’t remember me.”

He nuzzled my hand as I held it out to him and licked it. 

The living room of the Yanish’s was carpeted with cliché white carpet with pale green walls, fat leather sofas, a black and glass entertainment center and sparse oriental flowers and candelabra.  I collapsed on one of the sofas, Chief jumping up and curling into the crook of my knees.

I fiddled with the remote until I found the movie channels and settled on a mildly entertaining chick flick.  I tousled Chief’s ears absently as bright images lit up the living room in blue and green fluorescent colors.  Chief fell asleep for a bit and when he woke up, he stretched off the couch and trotted into the kitchen.  I heard him sloppily shovel water into his jowls and then wander through the house.  After a while, I pulled myself from the movie to see where Chief was and look for a bag of popcorn.

I saw Chief standing attentively between the living room and the kitchen, his nose pointed toward the door that led to the basement.  His ears were pricked and I saw his hackles were raised.

“Chief?” I said.  He wagged his tail distractedly, keeping his focus on the door.  I petted him tentatively and he jumped as if I had startled him and scrabbled away from me with a whimper.

“Chief,” I said, feeling goosebumps prickle on my skin.  “Come on, boy, it’s just me.”

He muttered something in his throat, looked at the door and came to bump his head against my side.

“Don’t do that, Chief, you hear?” I said.  “You scared me.”

He yawned and groaned and stayed with me as I looked for popcorn.

I found some, unwrapped it and threw the plastic away.  The trash still smelled, but I felt nervous about going into the garage at night.  Chief had made me feel superstitious.

I took my popcorn bag back out to the living room, put it on the coffee table where Chief sniffed it curiously until I tapped him on the nose and returned to the movie.  On the screen two girls were discussing a man they had met the night before and cracking jokes about his penis.  I laughed at the mild jokes, grabbed a handful of popcorn and stuffed it absently into my mouth.  Suddenly, I heard a loud slam! and jumped in fear, letting out a small squeal.  Chief barked in his bass voice and looked to where the sound had come from. 

The bathroom door, which I had left open earlier that afternoon was shut.  I tried to calm the adrenaline now badumping! through my body and walked carefully over to the door to open it.  I opened it and quickly turned on the light.  I thought of the game, “Bloody Mary,” and shuddered.  It was just my reflection in the mirror, and I told myself that my reflection, even if I saw it in the dark, would still just be me, not some undead Queen of the Scots.  Nevertheless, I turned on all the lights I could find before returning to the sofa.

I thought about just going home.  But I half-wanted to watch the end of the movie, eat my popcorn and maybe fall asleep on the couch for the night.  I fell onto the couch once again, watched the movie and felt my eyes getting heavy. 

I woke up sometime later in the night.  The movie was running again.  My popcorn lay half eaten on the coffee table.  I didn’t know where Chief was.  Blearily, I decided to throw away the rest of the popcorn and drive home to sleep in my own bed.

I went in to the kitchen, turned on the light and saw Chief sitting there among piles and piles of shit.  It looked as though he had pooped and peed on every possible inch of floor.  Horrified, I took a step back and gasped, “Chief!  What a bad—”

Before I could finish, the dog started screaming.  It was the most terrifying sound I had ever heard in my life and I felt like the hairs on my arms and neck would fly off me in fright.  Siren after siren of his piercing voice reverberated through the house.

“Stop it, Chief!” I screamed.  “Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!  Bad dog! Bad dog!” 

But he continued screaming.  I covered my ears, took a step toward him and stopped abruptly.  His hackles raised and despite his screams, he bared his teeth as well.

I slowly backed away, keeping my eyes on the dog and out of the hallway to the kitchen, through the living room and to the breezeway to the front door.

I closed the door and ran to my car only to remember that I had left my keys in the house.  Desperate, I pulled out my phone, managed to get to the Y section of my phonebook and dialed the Yanish’s number.

“Hello?” a bleary voice said.

“Wendy? Wendy? It’s me!  Please, your dog has gone crazy!  I think he has rabies or something.  I left my car keys in your house and I can’t go back in there and get them.  He’s howling or something and he won’t stop!”

“Honey,” she said, “calm down a bit.  What’s wrong?”

“There’s something wrong with your dog!  I don’t know what, but he’s howling and he won’t stop!”

“Have the doors been slamming?” she asked.

“What?” I said, and then, remembering the bathroom, said, “Yes.  One of them did earlier.”

“All right, hon.  I need you to go back in there, get Chief out of the house before he craps all over the place, get your keys and get out.”

“Why?” I said, beginning to sob in terror.

“Just do it, please,” Ms. Yanish said.

“Why?” I asked.

“I probably shouldn’t say.  I’d just scare you.”

“Why?” I screeched.

“Don’t worry, hon, just go in there, get Chief out and get your keys.  You’ll be fine.”

“No way!” I wept and shut my phone.

I had a spare key under the front bumper of my car and I was relieved to find that it was still there.  I grabbed it, afraid that something under my car might grab my hand and threw myself into my car and my car down the road.  As I screeched away, I could still hear Chief’s faint screams.

BIO: Chelsea Manning is a creative writing major at the University of Colorado in Boulder.