Green Eyed Beast

*TW: light mention of violence and reference to suicide.

People let their dogs off leash at Sound Park all the time even though they aren’t supposed to. I don’t like dogs, and my dislike is indiscriminate. I don’t like any of them, big or small. Too needy. 

It scuttled right past me. A few seconds slid, then a few more. No person calling out or following behind. Irresponsible owner.

The dog was gone. And a woman screamed somewhere close after a moment of lightning. It didn’t sound like she had spooked, but rather like something bad had happened. High pitched and desperate. Couldn’t have been more than thirty feet from me. Out from under the shelter of the derelict bridge the view was empty. Before I could start looking for her, I was distracted. 

I don't like them, but if a dog is in trouble, I’m going to help it. 

It was trapped on the bank.  I could see the marshmallow cloud of white fur wrapped in what looked like barbed wire and loose plastic. Something I dislike more than dogs is people who litter. The dog wasn’t whining or anything. It was moving though, I could see it shaking under the cover of garbage. 

The jagged edge of the rocks caught my pants. Some of the loose gravel imploded immediately when I tried to step up. I checked to make sure no one was watching my pathetic scramble. Strangely, the park was empty. It was raining, but it’s almost always raining, people are rarely deterred. Not even in a thunderstorm. Here they are all gluttons for nature’s punishments. 

On my second attempt my ankle was ensnared under some brush. Cords of dead blackberry growth would not let go. The non native blackberry bushes so the thorns are extra painful. Arthur taught me that. He teaches me a lot even though I don’t think I’ve ever asked him a question in my life other than, “where’s your part of the rent?” when he invariably falls behind.

I futzed with the stuff at my ankles for ages, big blobs of rain falling down my face. 

The dog was gone. It must have freed itself. Sliding on my butt down the bankside was unpleasant. It didn’t matter if my pants got ripped or dirty. I was already filthy and sopping wet as it was. 

Then the dog was there. Beside my bag with its head leaning against the side pocket. It was playing with it, like my backpack was a chew toy. Dogs. I didn’t want to get too close, but I couldn’t let it rip my stuff to shreds. I called out, a bit awkwardly, like I was talking to a person. Everything froze when it lifted itself up. It had three tails. 

I was dreaming. It wasn’t a dog. Under the bridge with my torn apart backpack was a white fox with three tails. And three heads. The head on the right was holding my journal in its mouth. The one in the middle was staring at me, bright olive colored eyes that seemed to be glaring. The head on the left was the most unsettling. It was laughing. Little choked sounds, a repressed chuckle. 

It turned and fled with my journal still in one of its mouths. Take my book, my wallet, hell, take my keys, but not my journal. 

Even weighed down by three heads, the thing was fast. Out from under the cover of the bridge and down the trail like a light. I blame myself for hesitating as long as I did. But I was terrified. I was shivering too, drenched. 

The hesitation was powerful. Not so much because of the fox but because of the fact that by seeing the fox I had proved my lack of sanity. And by chasing it that fact would further solidify. I wasn’t dreaming, I was insane. 

I could hear Arthur saying to me, cigarette in hand as usual, 

“White foxes don't live in Washington State. In fact, I’ve lived here for forty years and I’ve only seen a red one twice!” 

A kind of person who packed full of knowledge to the point of bursting. No one has ever even made it a full paragraph into telling a story before he interrupts. It explodes out of him, like vomit,

“The Civil War started in 1861, not 1862!” 

I swore to myself in that brief moment I considered turning around and walking home that I would never tell a soul. Especially Arthur. 

My chase turned into a game. Despite being capable of outrunning me in ten seconds flat, the fox bobbed and zigzagged down the trail, taking it's time. The cackling head on the left glanced back at me every once in a while. I swear I could see it whispering to the one in the middle in between laughing. It was telling jokes about me. To be fair, I do look stupid when I run. 

The journal was gone. I would have looked behind myself, but I’d  been on the creature the whole time. The journal was there, it had just been. The color of a traffic cone, there’s no way I would have missed it. 

Scanning the bushes along the side, I almost collided with the laughing head. The fox was stopped in the middle of the trail and turned to face me. It was smaller up close, less scary. A large cat size.  The head on the right started coughing when I approached. The same way a cat coughs up a hairball. 

Instead of fur, a crumpled ball of paper splattered onto the trail. A single page. That’s all. One thin and delicate white paw with black long nails reached out and began to paw at the soaked paper. Not rough housing, but rather unraveling. 

I wasn’t shaking now. All three heads turned towards the paper spread out. Rain and fox saliva had skewed a lot of what was written. At the top of the page was a date. 

10/15/2025

What an idiot. Probably written when I was drunk. Threes slide into fives. Fives slide into eights. Mistakes abound.

The fox scurried further up the trail. It was going backwards, all six of its green eyes on me. 

In unison, they spoke. A crack of thunder followed and obscured the last word. It didn’t make sense, the storm had been retreating before. This thunder was close. What they said, that didn’t make sense either. And they spoke in German. 

Blood. October 15th. Beware of the egg search. 

I had lost my mind. Lost it.

Just like that, the thing left, scampered over the edge of the trail and then lost. The page at my feet was complete mush. The only legible thing that I could still see save the date at the top was a name in the middle. Ink running off all the letters. 

Arthur. 

I hadn’t completely lost it. It was only that my German was rusty, abysmal. I'd let it slide after college. It didn’t say egg search, the fox had been warning me about jealousy. These things sound similar. 

Jealousy. I couldn’t understand it. Sure, Arthur has a few things that I don’t. But I wouldn’t be jealous of him to the point it would bring about any sort of danger. 

I was in denial those first few months. It was when the season turned it dawned on me what it was. Allison. Of course, her name comes up in my journal all the time. Arthur’s ex fiancé. Now his girlfriend again. 

She deserves better. That is a simple summary of what I write about Allison. I’ve lived with Arthur for three and a half years. I’ve been in love with Allison for four. 

She was a regular at Howard’s. Asked me to help her retrieve a book from the high shelves once and I was smitten. A beaten up copy of Dostoyevsky’s The Idiot. When I discovered she was the girl Arthur had mentioned, I was silently devastated. She deserves better and doesn’t believe it. A common problem that seems to be stronger depending on how attractive a woman is. Allison. The problem is huge.

I had the object, the source worked out. Through the summer I felt excited. The message could mean that Allison was going to finally leave Arthur for good. She'd confess her feelings for me on the date of October 15th, 2025. And the tragedy would be something small like Arthur committing suicide. 

Then I worried. Because Allison started spending more time at our place. Which was lovely for me, I got to see her more. But it also meant that she and Arthur were growing closer and closer. Maybe they are going to get married on October 15th, 2025 and then I’ll be so distraught I’ll finally jump off that bridge. 

Arthur has an extensive collection of weapons. Things like knives mostly. He meticulously sharpens them all the time. I should move out, he could murder me. Be so overcome by Allison's bond with me that he goes rogue and stabs me in my sleep.

He’s been very nice to me lately. Almost more than cordial. Still, I lock my bedroom door when sleeping. 

Today is October 16th, 2024. It is five in the morning. I normally sleep until nine if I can. I lock my bedroom door, but I don’t lock my window. Shortly after falling asleep last night I felt something weigh down on the top of my covers over my feet. I keep a lot of pillows on my bed, one had fallen on its side and onto me, happens all the time. 

The weight moved, became sharp, and my body automatically pulled back. My dulled eyes were staring into those dense green ones of the three headed fox. 

Outside it felt almost natural. I’d been so distracted by the message, I’d stopped thinking about the fox itself altogether. Self delusion tricked me into believing that part was a hallucination. 

Now it was in my room, my tiny room, which made the thing seem far larger than last time. It stared. The left head was laughing as a whisper, as though it knew better than to make too much noise. There was someone else in the house. 

I squeezed my eyes shut and my body into a ball to wake myself up and shake out of it. Go away, go away, go away. Green eyed beast. 

I’m not sure how long I remained that way. When I opened my eyes, it was gone. My window was open, wide open, and drops of rain were falling off the sill and onto some paper lying on my night stand. A rolled piece of paper tied with something plastic. The kind of stuff that cans are held together by. 

I haven’t opened it yet. Something tells me whatever message is inside will not clarify my situation. Or maybe it will. I can’t tell which scenario frightens me more. Arthur is snoring so loudly that the walls of this place are practically shaking. The thing to do might be confess. Yes, confess the whole situation to him. He wouldn’t believe me. But it would be something. 

Less than a year to go. I should throw the paper away. Get as far away from here as I can. No. 

Someone’s knocking on my door. I have to stop writing now. A voice. It’s Allison.