Hound Man

She ran, panic-stricken, across the yard, which suddenly seemed to stretch for miles ahead of her,  up a stony, pot-holed drive, to a dank, grey house. 

It looked desolate, but she tried to push any feelings of doubt aside, there didn’t seem to be any other option, there had to be someone in.

After what seemed like an eternity, she reached the door, and as she rapped on it she noticed the cobwebs running across the cracks, indicating that it hadn’t been opened for some time.

She knocked again, this time more urgently, and stood back, looking even more desperately now, for some sign of intelligent life.

As she walked further back, she suddenly noticed a big pen at the side of the house. At least 8 feet tall, and full of 9 yapping hounds. She had somehow overlooked it, and them, in her panic. 

There was a scruffy looking individual, dressed in baggy blue clothes and hat, tending to the dogs. He was of medium height and build, with stunning ginger hair that spilled over his shoulders.
She ran over, thankful to find someone who might be able to help. 

‘Hi, sorry’, 

Unable to think why she felt the need to apologise, she stuttered on; 

‘Hi, sorry, please, umm…’ 

the rest came out in a rush. 

‘Do you have the number of a local doctor?’ 

‘Yes,’ replied the scruffy character. ‘It’s 2 – nothing -‘

‘Sorry?’

He rolled his eyes.

‘2 zero, 209.’ 

He seemed more amused than anything else, to find such a flustered mess of teenager on his doorstep.

She thanked him and ran back to the house, so grateful, that it didn’t even occur to her that it was slightly strange to know the doctors number by heart.

©Fry

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