Guardian of the Innocent

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window.

Mr. York was not surprised to see the light. For the last several minutes he had felt drawn to the area and figured it had something to do with the cabin. Still a few hundred feet in the distance, he wondered what he’d find inside.

Charles York was a strange little character. Slender torso, twice the length of his stubby legs. Feet practically a blur as he ran (his preferred method of travel.) Hair unkempt and shaggy. Tom, the local barber gave him a free haircut when he got looking too nappy. Old Tom also let him bathe in an otherwise unused washtub out back behind the shop.

Everyone in town knew Mr. York, though not all appreciated him. Some considered him a watchman of sorts - always on the lookout for trouble. Others considered him a scavenger - more apt to cause trouble than prevent it.

Most of his friends simply called him “Charlie,” though many folks, especially youngsters, used the more formal “Mr. York.” Either one was fine with Charlie. He enjoyed recognition of any kind. Especially if it involved food.

Charlie didn’t care what folks thought of him. His only concern was patrolling the town. Patrolling was how he earned his keep. He let folks know when trouble was brewing and the town, in turn, make sure he had what he needed to survive. Mr. York never went hungry and had his choice of many a porch or barn when he needed rest.

One thing that made Mr. York so successful on patrol was his sense of smell. He fancied himself a connoisseur of scent. He knew what was in the oven down at the bakery and how long until it would be done from clear across town. Even with his eyes closed, he could tell where he was anywhere in town just by taking a few sniffs.

Curiosity and his sense of smell had led Charlie to the cabin that evening. He had caught wind of a combination of odors that he had not encountered at the same time before. It both baffled and excited him.

As he approached the cabin the scents grew stronger. Cigarettes, whiskey, and of course the candle. Those were strong smells. What interested Mr. York was more subtle.

Old Tom was in the cabin. There was no mistaking the barber’s scent. Charlie had known him for years. Interesting. Charlie had never known Tom to come near the cabin before.

The stench of fear overshadowed the other odors lingering in the air. More than one scared man was in the cabin. One man’s fear was complicated. He feared not only for his life, but also feared he would let others down. Charlie was certain this was Tom.

Underneath the fear was the scent of disappointment mixed with a hint of blood.

Old Tom’s a tough one he is, thought Mr. York. Hang in there, Old Tom. I’m on my way.

Voices could be heard coming from the cabin now that Charlie was even closer.

“Being tough won’t protect anybody. Just tell us where the plans are,” a low, angry voice demanded.

“I’m telling the truth. I don’t know anything about plans,” a tired voice replied.

Mr. York recognized this second voice as Old Tom.

“You are one of the few men left in town that was around when the bank was built. We know you helped design it and have a copy of the plans. We will find them even if we have to tear both your shop and your house down to do it.” There was an icy edge to the voice.

A gust of wind blew past the cabin towards Charlie and he once again picked up the scent that originally drew him to the cabin. It was the smell of evil.

***

The door to the cabin opened a crack and a small figure slowly crawled through the door. Two men drew guns and aimed at the cowering shadow. A third man, holding a bowie knife, regarded the newcomer warily, while a final shouted, “Don’t shoot. It’s just Charlie. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Charlie, eh?” asked one of the men as he lowered his pistol. “It’s just a stupid dog.”

“Not just any dog, would be my guess,” said the man with the knife. He turned to Old Tom. “This dog sure looks an awful lot like the old banker’s dog.”

“How did you know our town’s founder?” asked Old Tom, dried blood staining one side of his mouth.

“Oh, we were old business associates - or could have been. But he was stubborn, like you. He refused to help me just like you’re doing. So I killed his family. Almost got that stupid dog of his too.”

He flung the knife at Charlie, but Charlie was too quick and dodged with ease, letting out a growl.

“Now see here, Mr. Pike,” said the man, pistol pointing aimlessly at the wall. “I agreed to scare a man, maybe rough him up a bit, but nobody said nothing about killing dogs or families and such. I’ll just take my share of the money and leave if that’s fine with you.”

“Of course that’s fine. Seeing how we have not yet looted the bank, your share is precisely nothing. Be gone with you!”

“Now see here! I think I’m entitled to something for my trouble so far. Since I’m holding the gun, I’m the one in the negotiating position.”

“I suppose you’re right,” replied Mr. Pike putting up his hands. “What was I thinking. Especially after you just got done telling me you didn’t want to kill anybody. How about this for a deal. You can walk out of here right now with nothing, or you can shoot me.”

“Um, Mr. Pike, sir. I don’t much care for either of those options. I don’t reckon there’s a third option is there?”

“Well, I suppose you could stick around a little longer and see if we make some money. We’d split the profits of course.”

“That sounds reasonable,” the gunman replied. “Deal!”

Charlie struck. As he leaped at Mr. Pike, he emitted a deep growl that belied his small size. Yet, somehow wasn’t as small as anyone remembered.

Mr. Pike was struggling to comprehend what was happening. He was being attacked by a Terrier - not a large animal. But this dog, if that’s what this was, seemed to be changing before his eyes. Stubby legs were now long with sharp claws. The short snout was elongating and filling with menacing teeth. As the creature neared him it resembled a hairy wolf more than someone’s pet.

“Shoot it!” screamed Mr. Pike.

“Run!” yelled Old Tom. “His quarrel’s not with you.”

The two gunmen fled out the door pulling it shut behind them.

Charlie knocked Mr. Pike down and pinned him to the floor, the latter sobbing and begging for forgiveness and mercy. Charlie lowered his face next to Mr. Pike’s and showed bared his teeth.

“Oh!” chuckled Old Tom. “I do believe your new friend has wet himself.”

The barber slowly walked over and asked, “Did you ever hear what happened after you killed Charles York’s family? No? Poor Charles came back to town the next day and found his entire family had been killed while he was away on business. He blamed himself. Poor dog was out of sorts too. Charlie made arrangements for the bank and then left town with his dog. Couple years later the dog came back all alone.

“Rumor is that they were so guilt-ridden and sad that their mourning bound their souls together as one. Now they roam around town looking out for the innocent and bringing justice to evil vermin like you.”

Looking up to the creature he continued, “Charlie, don’t you worry about making a mess in here. Just do what you need to do. Stop by the shop early tomorrow and we’ll get you all washed up.”

Old Tom left the cabin door open behind him as he walked out into the night. He pushed the sounds of rage and terror to the back of his mind by focusing on images of the York family. He was grateful his town and family had a protector.