The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time

It was twelve minutes after midnight. I was having a difficult time falling asleep as the room seemed too
hot and stuffy. I kept checking the clock on my mobile phone every ten minutes just to reassure myself
that there was still some time left before dawn.

The bedroom was pitch-dark and absolutely quite. Then, I seemed to hear some indistinct sounds
coming from outside. Someone was in my garden. Just for you not to take me for a coward or worse for
a damsel in distress, let me tell you that having lived in this weird world for over fifty years, I am not
afraid of anything or anyone. I stood up, wrapped a gown around my pajamas, and marched to the front
door. What puzzled me though was that Wellington, my 4-year old poodle, was not making his usual
barking show. Where was he? Asleep? For a brief moment I felt uneasy and even wanted to grab a big
butcher’s knife from the kitchen counter, but then decided it would be unnecessary.

When I opened the front door and peered in the cold darkness, the sight in front of my eyes made my
knees go weak. I think I even let out quite a shriek. In the middle of the garden, just below the old apple
tree, stood our neighbor’s son, Christopher, and he was holding Wellington in his arms. I was absolutely
sure the poodle was dead as dark-cherry blood was leaking from his side. Christopher seemed to be
hugging the dog, almost squeezing him in his arms. The boy’s face looked tortured and pained.

Christopher is not completely right in his head if you must know. I believe he is autistic or something of
the sort. I do feel sorry for his poor Dad who lost his wife a couple of years ago and now has to deal with
his very difficult son. Just yesterday I saw Christopher throwing a tantrum in Marks and Spencer’s
parking lot and his poor Dad trying to calm him down.

So the boy stood there, rocking on his heels, the dead dog in his arms. Coming closer I noticed a
bloodied garden fork lying on the ground just next to the boy’s feet. It looked Christopher had gone
totally bonkers and killed Wellington.

“What have you done to my dog?” I shouted. “Let go of the dog!”

Christopher put the dog down and took two steps back. The boy did not utter a single word. He was just
breathing heavily and his eyes were wet with tears.

I bent down and took a closer look at Wellington. Yes, my beautiful black prince was definitely dead. I
could not help myself and whaled very loudly. I saw the boy put his hands over his ears, closed his eyes
and rolled forward till he was hunched up with his forehead pressed onto the grass. It looked like he was
not going anywhere. In that moment I realized that I was not wearing any shoes. My bright-pink toe
nails looked flashy and incongruous considering the gravity of the situation.

I ran into the house, grabbed my phone and dialed 911. I was so agitated that it took me three attempts
to hit the right buttons. I somehow managed to explain what had just happened to the operator, put the
phone on the kitchen table and went again outside to make sure the boy would not try to escape. Ten
minutes later the police arrived. There was a policewoman and a policeman. To tell you the truth, I do
not trust police, especially female officers, but I had no choice but to let them deal with the bastard.

The policewoman seemed rather nice: she put her arms round my shoulders and led me back toward
the house. She even made me a cup of strong tea with sugar which helped me steady my nerves a bit. I
took the tea mug and positioned myself on the veranda as I wanted to hear what Christopher had to say
for himself. I could not hear everything that was said, but apparently the boy denied having killed
Wellington. He even looked quite please when the policeman led him to the car. But then, what could
you expect from a crazy boy like Christopher? I doubt it he even understood that he was being driven to
the police station for further interrogation.

I once spotted Christopher in the Market Street talking to the second-hand book seller. The boy had a
pile of strange –looking cards in his hands. I moved closer and saw that each card had a smiley face of a
sort drawn on it with black permanent marker. Christopher was talking to and showing his cards to the
guy. Weird.

So the police officers and the boy left. It was around 1:15 AM and I had to do something with
Wellington’s dead body. I could not bring myself to burying him just yet, so I brought a small woolen
blanket from the closet and covered by poor baby with it. The night was chilly and absolutely moonless,
so I went back to the house, made myself another cup of hot tea and settled on the couch. I decided
against going back to bed as there was no point in trying to fall asleep after all the horrors of the night. I
was sitting there in complete darkness, feeling the warmth of the tea spreading around my body,
thinking of Wellington and crying softly. That beautiful curly creature was not just a pet to me. He was
my companion whom I loved more than anything else in this world. Now he was dead. I only hoped
Christopher would be punished for what he had done to Wellington. I did not care if the boy lacked
some marbles in his head – he killed the dog so he had to answer for his terrible deed.

The first rays of morning sun penetrated the darkness of the room. I stood up, washed my face,
switched on a coffee machine and braced myself for the troubles of the new day.