From Beyond the Rainbow Bridge

by Peter Weber

The late evening sun filtered through both a layer of dust and delicate, creamy lace curtains to cast the living room in a melancholic light. The long summer day would soon give way to night. Little Muffy was curled up in her bed in the seat of that dusty bay window, in a sort of coma of misery. A discolored toy rabbit named Mr. Moppy lay in the bed with her, alongside a myriad of other puppy toys. Muffy’s face had tear stains that showed starkly on her white fur, and her claws were beginning to grow out with no human hand to cut them. Her view from the window had shifted from an idyllic neighborhood to that of the apocalypse. Every now and then, a gunshot would ring through the silent, heavy air.

Muffy jolted upright as a cacophonic crash emanated from the kitchen, followed by the ghastly growl of her owner. It was not the growl of a human woman. It was better described as an alien trying to use a human instrument. The sounds were familiar, but the intent behind them was perpetrated by something outside the realm of human understanding. Another crash caused Muffy to yelp in terror, trembling violently as her owner entered the living room in a salvo of porcelain. In times past, Muffy would have leapt from her perch to greet her owner, Martha. Rather, she would not have suffered being in a separate room in the first place. But Martha no longer acted the same. She no longer made the sweet cooing noises, nor did she call Muffy’s name. Her once kind gray eyes were clouded over, bloodshot and darting about like a predator. She was covered head to toe in festering wounds that exuded a foul odor. Odor that no living or dead thing should exude. Every wound that marred her flesh  was gained from blundering through the home aimlessly, smashing into splintered wood, stomping on broken glass and running into walls.  The substance that oozed from her wounds was not quite blood. Rather, it was more of a sickly ichor that stained her nightgown and dripped onto a singular puppy dog slipper that had fused to her foot from weeks of lurching through the home. Martha had been an energetic old woman. Her life was neat, orderly, and tranquil. All it took was a single scratch to rob her of that dignified existence. It began with a fever, then an infection untreatable with home remedies. And by that point the news was reporting that all hospitals were overwhelmed, and most highways were shut down. Martha had spent the last of her energy in a manic frenzy, operating on a level accessible only to those on death’s door. Martha had finally collapsed in a heap after a violent coughing fit, blood oozing down the front of her nightgown. But she did not stay down for long. It was only twelve hours before she arose. Muffy’s excitement quickly turned to fear as she realized that the Martha that arose was no longer the one she had known.

Muffy trembled at the sight of Martha. Another gash now graced her midsection, and a chunk of particle board had embedded itself in her leg. Her one bare foot shuffled along broken glass, bleeding into the plush carpet of the living room. The orange light of the sunset cast the room in an unsettling, almost sickly light. Muffy began to whine hopelessly. This was enough for Martha to take notice of her again. She shuffled across the room to where her former treasured companion sat, petrified. This was the first time Martha had taken notice of Muffy in weeks. The briefest moment of recognition flickered in her cloudy, bloodshot eyes as she gazed down on Muffy. Martha outstretched a single, bloodied hand and raked it gracelessly across Muffy’s back in a crude imitation of a petting motion, leaving a rusty brown streak in her white fur.

That sickly smell flooded Muffy’s senses. She squirmed away and leapt down from her perch. Martha was slow to react, her gnarled talon still performing a petting motion in the air where Muffy once sat. Muffy rushed down the hall, tail tucked between her legs. Her puppy instincts led her into the pantry. Martha had dumped the entirety of the dry kibble onto the polished linoleum, but only a few pieces remained. Muffy gulped them down and then trotted to the kitchen, gingerly picking her way through the debris and wriggling through the doggy door.

The yard was simultaneously overgrown and parched. The painstakingly manicured garden beds were filled with scorched plants and stubborn weeds. The setting sun cast long, menacing shadows from the dead trees onto the lawn. The grass was dotted with a myriad of bowls, pots, and even suitably deep plates. Only one had water, hot to the touch from hours of being under the August sun. Muffy gratefully lapped it up all the same. She rolled around in the dirt, managing to suppress the worst of the smell that clung to her back. Her ears perked up as she heard distant gunshots. They used to scare her, but they were depressingly common now. She did her business as she was trained to do and wriggled back into the home.

One of her little paws landed right on top of a piece of glass. It gave her a small enough cut, but she yipped and limped out of the kitchen all the same. Instinctively, she ran to the living room, her wound making bloodied pawprints in the carpet to match the footprints of Martha. The cut was small enough to eventually stop on its own, but the puppy resolved to never enter the kitchen again. Muffy limped cautiously towards Martha, who remained still at the window. The scent of fresh blood roused Martha from her vigil . She turned around to look at the source but found only Muffy reeling back under her gaze. Muffy began to whimper under the gaze of Martha. She still stood in front of the window; her figure silhouetted by the brilliant orange of the sunset. She stared down at Muffy, who now recoiled in fear from her. Martha turned to the bay window with an almost mournful wheeze and reached out to the glass. She seemed to gaze outside for but a moment, a familiar glint in her eyes once again flickering into sight before she suddenly threw herself against the window.

Muffy yipped at the abrupt violence and leapt onto the couch, squeezing herself into the corner. Blood splattered against the window as Martha staggered backwards, just for a moment, before howling and throwing herself against the window again. This time, a brilliant spiderweb of cracks spread across the panes of glass. Her haggard body was now bleeding profusely. Muffy’s perch was inundated with blood. It spurted onto the bay window and across the carpet. Muffy began to cry, her yips creating a discordant alarm. Martha turned to look at Muffy, and in the amber light she looked like she was smiling. And then she threw herself again.

The bay window gave way and Martha tumbled outwards, a mess of blood, gnarled limbs, and broken glass. She fell to the yard below with a sickening crunch. Muffy forgot her fear for a moment and scampered to the now open window. Martha lay in the grass, a pool of crimson blossoming from her body. Muffy leapt downwards and rushed to her old friend. Martha’s brittle bones were broken in many places and a shard of glass had embedded itself in one of her eyes. But the one intact eye stared directly at Muffy. Her chapped lips pulled back in almost a snarl. Muffy started, but realized the snarl was arranging itself into something softer. Martha was smiling.

In an instant, Muffy’s demeanor changed. She rushed up to Martha and began to lick her face, not caring when the foul taste of diseased blood flooded her mouth. A weak arm lifted itself from the grass and began to scratch Muffy on the spot on her neck that she loved. The spot that made her kick her leg in delight. Muffy nestled into Martha’s chest and her old friend used the last of her strength to pull her close. They lay there on the lawn for some time. Muffy realized Martha was too still and she wriggled out from under Martha’s rigid, unyielding arm. Muffy sniffed at her old friend and her tail fell between her legs. Martha’s eyes were once again staring ahead lifelessly. The only evidence that she had reached out from beyond the rainbow bridge was the serene smile that was still frozen on her face. She had wrestled control of her body back for one glorious moment. The sickly odor that had oozed from the many wounds on her body was gone, replaced only with the pungent smell of fresh blood. Whatever evil that had infested her body had been purged.

Muffy whined and pawed at Martha’s body and finally let loose a single mournful howl. She curled up next to the body of her fallen friend. Muffy was free from the confines of the home, and Muffy knew, in her own puppy way, that she was meant to push forward. She and Martha would meet again someday on the rainbow bridge. Muffy gave a final kiss on Marta’s forehead, a silent show of gratitude as she heard voices rounding the corner of the street. As two men came into view, cradling rifles, Muffy barked once out of instinct. The men started and one pointed at her. Muffy began to jump and scamper about the front lawn as the two men began to approach her. Muffy scampered down the sidewalk to meet them and one of the men knelt to scoop her up in his arms, where she was carried away to safety and into the future.