Silence howls like thunder under the gathering clouds, in the dead silence of the night you can hear a rumbling in the distance. A peaceful bar sits nestled in between lush trees of the low population suburbia.
John sits with a beer in front of him, its staring right at him. A cigarette is smouldering in an ash tray slightly to its left. He’s disinterested in both and his gaze is fixed on the paraphernalia on the bar. He’s staring at each piece for the hundredth time. In the middle is a big picture with a gold frame of a black dog. A South African Mastiff standing proud, chest out, spectacularly muscular, looking obediently at its owner taking a photograph. The name tag under it reads, “Keizer”.
Damien, a younger version of the old farmer sitting next to him, tips his tumbler from one angle to the other, letting the ice settle then clink over as he tips the glass. Chantelle, the blonde girl with a husky voice whose dad owns the place, hands four beers to a young man with hair hanging in his face. The man walks up to the makeshift stage and passes a beer on to each musician setting up. The sound guy sitting at the side of the bar with his equipment seems happy with the sound and the band is making a few last arrangements before they start.
A howl, sickly and deep, pierces the night outside and rumbles on with the thunder. The quiet woods around the bar, with a single tarred road leading into the mostly empty parking lot seem quieter than usual. Even when the animals are preparing for an almighty downpour it isn’t usually this quiet. The people inside don’t notice.
“It’s that poor boy’s dog.” says John to Damien.
“Who the young guy who came to fetch the beer?” he replies.
“No. Guy with the guitar.” he says and drags the last r out with some meaning. “He grew up around here and that dog’s been as much a part of his life as this bar’s been to me over my lifetime. That picture there was him. Beautiful dog if I do say so myself. Shame it had to die...”
His voice trails off as the band begins to play, a tattooed man stomping on a box, blowing into a harmonica. The man, whose still the boy he gave the dog to in John’ eyes, starts singing in a low key together with the tattooed man. “Oh my best friend’s dying...”
The door of the bar creeks open slowly, the low rumbling of the storm coming in with it, till the pressure arms pushes it shut again. Only Damien notices from across the bar that no one came in. Must’ve been the wind that pushed it open a little bit, he thinks and turns to watch the band. The tattooed man’s foot stomping on the box in rhythm with the drums now. Damien get up to walk to the loo, the door’s right next to the entrance, but he gets up and as he gets sight of the door his face freezes in terror. His eyes widen as he sees the black dog, Keizer, standing by the door, standing in its proud manner, drool and blood dripping from its sagging maw. A low growl escapes its muzzle and the farmer turns heel and bolts the other way, past John who’s taking a sip of his beer and snubbing his cigarette. Running in silent terror out the back door.
The band keeps on playing. The black dog starts walking in, a sickly smell peeling off of it. Dirt and decay falloff of it as it gives one heavy step with its massive paws, seemingly on the beat of the music...
“Oh a black dog’s dying...” the band continues, enthralled by their own performance. A tear running down the singer’s face. The man on the stomp box fixed on his harmonica. The others equally focussed on their own instruments.
The black dog moves with heavy feet, and heavy gouts of breath exploding from its muzzle as it sways forward intently. John finally noticing the beast at first surprised. This quickly turned to terror as he saw the rotten pots of flesh on the creatures body and it looked at him with cold, dead yellow eyes and snarled. John fell of his chair and sprawled as he ran for the exit Damien escaped out of earlier. The rest of the sparse audience was equally influenced. Keizer, the walking dead, moving intently to the front of the stage, teeth bare, breathing heavily, blood and drool dripping from its maw. People screamed and fell, ran this way and that to the exits, making way for the terrifying black dog, Keizer.
“Oh my best friend’s dying...” the band continues and the bassist stops playing, perhaps because he was meant to, or perhaps he felt the terrifying horror walking up to the stage. He staggered back, threw his guitar off and ran for the door. The keyboardist saw this and also looked at the crowd, now missing, except for the lone black dog. He went running without a second look at the creatures muscles moving under its rough black hair. The tattooed man with the harmonica had a chance to blow his wind bar alone while the boy, who lost his dog, harmonised along humming.
The drummer stopped and stared through his band-mate’s legs into the oncoming picture of death. He saw pure evil and murder in the dogs eyes and fell off the back of the stage, he crawled out behind and rand into the door, before pulling it and bolting outside.
“Oh a black dog’s dying...”
The singer stats in low lonely voice. The tattooed man is standing frozen in fear. He opened his eyes and saw Keizer, whom he knew well as his friend’s best friend. The very best friend this new song was written about. He glanced at his friend, wanting to warn him, but he saw... He saw his friend looking straight into the eyes of the black dog. He jumped of the side of the stage and ran out the back door, past the bar.
The last riff, oh a black dog’s dying, oh my best friends dying... the lead singer ends, alone with his hands folded over his guitar and tears welled up in his eyes. The song was over and here was his best friend, the black dog Keizer, right in front of him. It was supposed to be dead, by the look of the animal, he can see it is dead. Yet, he connects with his old friend, death in its yellow eyes, love in his. The dog sits, as proud as the day the photo hanging over the bar was taken. The boy looks at his dog with love, as he did on that day.
The silence of the bar was deafening. Unbearable. The dropping of a bottle and the scuffle of an iron bucket at the back behind the bar made both Keizer and the boy jump.
Chantelle gives a sharp yelp, and raises her hands to her mouth in panic. Keizer whips his head around like lightning and a deep hungry growl escapes his jaws. He starts with the intent to kill, but the singer simply says: “No! Keizer...” And the dog stops. “Go home.”
The black dog turns around to face the boy. Walk up slowly to the stage and looks his best friend of a past life in the eyes. Such terrible eyes of death meeting the immense gaze of love.
The dog turns and jumps to the door. Running full speed and bursts out the back door.
A loud rumble of thunder rolls over the clouds outside followed by a bone-chilling howl. A tear drips from the boy’s eye and he clears his throat before he steps down and walk to the bar to order a beer.
In South Africa today security plays a vital part in any business or private home. This book and the volumes to follow, will guide you step by step through the essential precautionary measures to be taken in protecting your family and valuables. From employing security guards, evacuation of your site and security measures to burglar bars and alarms in your private home.
a Book compiled by me from experience gained after 10 years in the security industry as Industrial relations officer with Nosa qualifications, 1st Aid, fire protection and also S.O.B. grade A.
Print this short story
Show the next latest work
