Hellhounds

The burden of being the middle child is insufferable. To be fair – we were created simultaneously. So technically, I am the middle head. Destined to spend eternity between those two morons.

Lefty is the one who can be fooled for a bag of juicy bones. Who’ll slobber all over Hades if he scratches the right spot. Righty is the short-tempered one. Growling at every potential threat. Sometimes, the dead only glance towards the exit, and he’s already snarling. I have to be the middle ground: the one licking Righty when his anger shakes through our body; nipping Lefty when he gets too distracted.

How I envy the mortal dogs… howling at the moon, guarding sheep. Growing old with their masters. Dying out there, under the starry sky.

Instead, we lie here in the onyx dust, the underworld breeze ruffling our fur. There’s a rock shard stuck in our left paw. I pull it free and spit it out. I hear the entrance creaking open once again. There have been so many souls incoming today. The ferryman’s already annoyed — there are hundreds wandering the riverbanks, but none can pay for his services.

Charon rows towards us, frowning more than usual. A soul sits curled behind him on the boat.

“No pyre. Rotting corpses in the field. No coins. What has the world come to,” the ferryman groans as the boat hits our bank. I stand up and come closer. “You’re just lucky the laments of those you left behind echoed even here. And that Persephone has a kind heart.”

The soul stumbles out of the boat and mumbles a silent ‘thank you’. Charon sighs and turns his boat, glancing at us. “Sorry, pup. No bones today.”

None? Lefty whines, heartbroken. I drool at the thought of the juicy marrow.

I sniff the newcomer’s despair. His clothes are muddy; a sword cut his throat. His weapons and shields are lying in the field upstairs, useless now – and given his wounds, they were never of any help.

He stops and stares at us. Righty’s already grumbling. Lefty is distracted by the shard I pulled out, desperate to play with it.

“Cerberus”, the man exhales, fists clenching on his bloody tunic. Our tail wags at the mention of our given name.

Righty forces our body to sit straight up. A terrifying look for most souls. But this one… looks at us in awe. His mouth opens up without ever speaking. Just staring at us, his whole body shaking.

He takes tiny steps to come closer. Extends his arm. Lefty breaks our posture, extends his neck and touches the soul’s fingers with his dry snout. The man smiles, gently caressing Lefty’s cheek.

“Is this what you play with down here?” he asks softly, picking the rock shard, waving it in front of Lefty. Our tail slaps against the ground, sweeping the dust. “Do you want to fetch it for me? Your brothers might eat me alive. Or should I say eat me dead from now on?”

Righty pauses. He eyes the intruder and the rock he’s holding. He sniffs and bites down on it gently. As the soul tries to tug it free, Righty growls. Playfully. Our rear end lifts up to the air, while the front paws stay on ground. “Oh, even you like to play?” The man laughs quietly, and then dares to command us. “Leave it!”

All our jaws release the tension. The shard clinks on the ground. He picks it up, shaking as the nape of his neck is dangerously close to our canines. He shouldn’t be afraid. We can’t hurt him that way any more. The shard flies through the air, and he shouts: “Get it!”

I jolt our body onwards. We need that shard. I don’t know what for yet – but it’s the most precious possession we can have right now. I grab it and run back to the unfortunate soul. Drop it at his feet. And lie down, showing our mighty belly. He rubs the fur cautiously. “You still won’t let me leave, will you?”

“Damn right,” a voice claps in the silence. Even Lefty stiffens when our master calls. The poor soul falls to his knees, his neck arched to look at his new god.

Hades brushes off the dust from his robe and glances at us. I whine quietly, our body retreating, backing up into the wall.

“Please don’t play with the dog and proceed through the gate,” Hades commands coldly. The man nods, pale and resigned.

Our body lowers to the ground. Lefty lets out a tragic whimper, resting on our front paw.

Hades turns to the sound. “What is it, boy?”

The whimper gets louder, repeated. I heard Righty’s exasperated sigh.

I see the black hem of our master’s clothes brushing the ground as he approaches us. He pets me first. “Come on. Haven’t you learned your lesson? Don’t ever lose focus again.”

Lefty squirms at that memory. The lyre’s strings rocked us to sleep. The boy had such sad eyes that even Righty stopped guarding for a moment, and listened to that cursed song.

“This one didn’t even play a single tune, so stop whining,” he says gently, patting Lefty now. He tries his best impression at puppy eyes – which is difficult, when the eyes are red and full of eternal void – and barks in defiance. Hades lowers himself to one knee, scratching Lefty behind his flopped ear.

The soul shivers. “Um. Sir… Hades. Might I ask for something?”

“Still here?” Hades asks, amused by the courage. “Well, go ahead and ask.“

“I… I died in combat,” he almost whispers.

“Not a question,” Hades points out. “If you wanted merit from that, you should’ve been born some hundreds of seasons later; and in the North. I heard there are some plans to reward that. Can’t say it’s worth it, though – the sea is cold up there, and the nights can get very long.” He pauses, looking at the cut on the man’s throat. “What was your name?”

“Iason,” he whispers.

“Parents didn’t think much when picking that, did they? Well, Iason, what was the question?”

“I didn’t even say goodbye to my wife,” he says, shivering as Hades squints at him, realising he still hadn’t asked anything. “Could I… would it be possible for me to visit her? One last time?”

“Your question isn’t original either, you know?” Hades grins, straightening up. “Do you think you’re the first one to ask that? Well, Iason… let me ask something in return. Would you do it again?”

“What? Marriage?” Iason blinks, arms crossed against his chest, seeking comfort in his cold body.

“No.” Hades rolls his eyes. “The war. Would you give your life again for your king?”

Iason freezes. Rubs his arm. Righty yawns, nibbling at our claws, cleaning them from the accumulated dirt.

“I wouldn’t,” he whispers finally. “I wouldn’t join a conquest far from my home, for a king who’d never bother to learn my name.”

“Sounds cowardly,” Hades chuckles. “Not ready to die again for a cause?”

“That’s not what I said,” Iason says quietly. “I would be first to defend my family. Even my town, maybe. But gold and territory… were not worth it.”

Hades nods once and pats Iason’s shoulder. “Maybe I should let you leave and scream this at your fellow men. Alas, I don’t think they’d listen anyway, not even with your slashed throat.” He snaps his fingers. A golden leash materialises in his hand, wrapping around the wrist. Three leather collars hang at the end of it.

“I might regret this later… but Cerberus has been whining about the outside since that fool dragged him out. To show off to a king! How is that tool a demi-god, evades me,” he grunts, swirling the leash between his fingers. “Go see your wife. I can give you until the sunset. But you have to take Cerberus with you. He’ll pull you down, if you forget about the deal.”

Iason fastens the collars around our necks. Lefty’s tongue is already hanging out, as he pants in excitement. I give a nervous yawn and lick my snout. Righty snarls, but Hades’s hand calms him down, the growl dies out in his throat.

“Don’t pull!” Iason yanks the leash as our body bolts forward – Lefty commanding. We stop, but our tail keeps wagging.

“Be a good boy,” Hades murmurs, ghosting his fingertips over a rectangular-shaped rock. “Where did you use to live, Iason?”

“Outside of Thebes,” he says, gripping on the leash. Hades hums and knocks on the rock. It opens up, revealing a steep staircase. “Then go ahead. The portal is on the south edge of Thebes – you’ll have to walk home. I’m sorry… I couldn’t do more for you.”

· · ·

As we step out, I immediately wince at the scorching heat. The midday sun burns our dark fur. The cobblestones are painfully hot to touch. I can almost hear the sizzle as our paws step on them.

“I know, I know,” Iason soothes us, caressing our back. “We’ll be out of the city soon, boy. It won’t be as miserable as here, out in the fields.”

People stare as we walk by. Maybe it’s Iason’s bubbling throat wound. Or the dark brown blood, dried on the linen he’s wearing. Or maybe it’s us — three heads, sniffing freedom. People chattering. Telling the kids not to pet that strange dog. Birds singing under blue skies and unforgiving sunshine.

Iason was right, as soon as we leave the city, the heat becomes manageable. The wheat straws tickle as we run through them. They scratch Iason’s skin, but he doesn’t seem to care. His pace is brutal; we have to gallop beside him to keep up. He’s in a hurry. The sun shifts across the sky. He knows it’ll be over once it reaches the mountain on the west.

· · ·

We reach his farm. There are bed sheets, hanging in the air, drying after being washed. They wave at us, as we walk past them. We sniff the ground. Righty’s evaluating possible dangers. Lefty focuses on the tiny paw prints in the dried mud. I hear chickens clucking. Sounds delicious.

Iason hesitates at the door, his hand already raised, fingers curled — everything but his mind prepared to knock. “What if she’s not home? What if… she’ll be scared?” he asks us. We all tilt our heads in confusion. Seeking comfort in a hellhound? I’m afraid we can’t assist with that. But we’ll wait and guard. If you want to spend your last chance standing in front of this door — then so be it.

He takes a deep breath. It falters as he dares to knock. Three times. Every beat is louder than the previous. His hand falls to his side as he waits for the answer. We sit down. Righty keeps his gaze locked on the door. Lefty notices a flea in our coat that dared to drink the poisoned blood running in our veins. Its demise was instant. But the bite itches, and Lefty tries to soothe the irritation with profound licking.

The joints creak as the door slowly opens. I can immediately sniff the new scent. Flowers. Gentle hands. Infused oils, keeping the skin smooth to the touch.

“Iason?” she asks, her eyes widened. Even the voice is soft. Almost similar to our master’s beloved. The one he tried to take away! The memory rises sharp in my head and I growl. If only we met him once again… I’d tear that damned lute to shreds.

Her eyes are pulled to us. She stares into three jaws of the beast we are, and trembles. “You’re… dead.”

“Yes,” he says, still as eternity.

“Then… why are you here?” she asks, her hands pressing to her collarbones. She gulps, but doesn’t step back.

“Cerberus needed a walk,” he smiles faintly. Perhaps that’s as good as an explanation as it can get, when a talking cadaver shows up at your door.

“And you volunteered,” she returns the quivering smile and wraps her arms around Iason’s neck. He pulls her to an embrace, pressing on her shoulder blades as she weeps quietly into his cheek.

“Why did you sign up,” she sniffles, her fingers tugging on Iason’s curly hair. “Damn you, why did you need the gold so much?!”

Iason shakes his head, eyes shut close. “You know why…”

She pulls away, wipes her tears and looks into his cloudy eyes. “Yes… a better life, you said. For all three of us. Somehow, it doesn’t feel that way, now that I’m here alone all day.”

The leash tenses up, as Lefty catches a sound coming from the back of the house. He tries to follow it instinctively. Iason almost tumbles, dragged by Lefty’s curiosity.

“Oh boy,” he sighs. “You want to play, don’t you? If I unclip this leash… will you run away? I don’t want to spend eternity rolling a boulder uphill.”

“Do you think he’d hurt the pups?” the wife asks, leaning against Iason.

“No… I don’t think he would. And Calli is more than capable of defending her children,” he smiles, unhooking our leash. The muscles in our back vibrate with excitement. “Come on, Cerberus. Let me show you… life.”

They had built a pen for the dog mother. There was a big, flat bowl where she received her portions of meat. She is curled up on a rag; the pups sleeping around her, clinging to her despite the hot weather. They are still weaning, but already some weeks old. They still have paws and ears too big for their bodies; but they shall grow into that.

As I come closer, following Iason, the mother lifts her head. The wolf eyes watch me, as I sniff the ground. Lefty’s about to lose his mind. And Righty is afraid. He doesn’t know how to act around the pup, wobbling towards him, so he lets out an alerting growl.

The mother reacts instantly. She’s on all fours, her ears folded and teeth bared. The dark, yellow eyes follow us as she circles around, barking sharply.

How to tell her we don’t mean harm? I decide to flop onto our side, paws sticking up in air. Waving the canine white flag. She freezes, the puffed fur starts to fold back. She approaches us and sniffs our body, starting with the collars, and ending up under our tail.

How humiliating. But we allow it, while the pups start to swarm over us. One of them bites my dangling lip with those needle-sharp puppy teeth. I cry out and roll to the other side — but there’s no escape. There are two more, already waiting to launch at Righty’s ears.

“Have fun,” Iason laughs as one of the puppies attacks his ankle. “I’ll be inside… come get me, when we’ll need to leave.”

· · ·

The shadows grow longer. The pups are tired now, nursing hungrily, yapping at each other. We get up and Righty nudges the mother’s flank. She turns to us, and her tail thumps against the ground. A proper goodbye.

I enter the house. I find them, peacefully lying on the bed. The wife’s arm is draped over Iason’s stomach. She’s snoring lightly. It can’t be easy, being with child in this hot and humid air. Iason’s wide awake — dead men don’t sleep.

Righty gently licks his elbow. He sighs, looking out of the window. “It’s time, isn’t it.”

The wife wakes up from her shallow slumber. “I wish you could stay,” she whispers, burying her face in his biceps.

“I’d sell my soul for that,” Iason says, his lower lip trembling. “But I’m afraid it’s not mine anymore.” He gets up slowly, dragging his feet.

“You should have seen Niko,” she murmurs, opening the wooden chest, standing under the window. “He’s… devastated. Looked like he hasn’t slept for days when he came here to tell me what happened to you.” She searches through the contents of the chest, her back tensed up. “He thinks he broke a promise, you know? When he left you there, behind the enemy’s lines. Without a proper funeral.”

“He couldn’t do more,” Iason says slowly.

“I know,” she says, her smile full of sorrow. “He’s a good man. I really hope he sticks to rope-making instead. Look at this, how well it’s done.” She wraps her fingers around a thick piece of rope, dangling it in front of our jaws. “There you go, boy. You seem like you could use some joy.”

We take it. Thank gods it’s long enough.