That damned dog again! the officer in charge, PC Paul Hughes, snapped the receiver shut, and the ancient handcrank telephone gave a mournful clatter. Sergeant Anne Whitmore, weve got another call about a dog in the woods. Third one this morning, mind you!
What dog? Sergeant Whitmore looked up from her paperwork, a frown knitting her brows.
Its been three days now. Folks say a stray hound roams the edge of the forest, barking like a mad thing. It leans on peoples coats, whines, and drives everyone halfmad!
Annes eyes narrowed. After fifteen years on the beat she trusted her gut, and this time it whispered that something was amiss.
Serge, she called to her young partner, lets go and have a look.
No, thank you, Sergeant, Serge shrugged. Its just a dog. Maybe its rabid. Or its only scaring folk.
But perhaps its more than that.
She was drawn back to a memory from two decades earlier, when her younger brother Kevin vanished on the way home from school. The whole constabulary, with their dogs and volunteers, scoured the area for three days before finding himfar too late.
Get ready, she said firmly. Well see whats going on.
Twenty minutes later their battered Ford Escort chugged to a halt at the fringe of Sherwood Forest, kicking up a plume of dust on the broken tarmac. The place sent a shiver down the spineancient oaks with twisted, knotted trunks stretched their gnarled branches toward the sky like crippled fingers.
Dead wood lay in tangled piles, blackened by rot, and the thorny underbrush cast shadows even at high noon. Locals avoided this stretch; even the most daring foragers, who usually ventured deep into the woods, gave it a wide berth.
Wheres this dog of yours? Serge asked, scanning the thicket with a skeptical eye.
From behind a clump of trees a bark answered, and then a large, shaggy dog burst onto the clearingmuddy, unkempt, but clearly once a household pet. It froze at the sight of the officers, then lunged forward, tail thrashing desperately.
Easy, easy, lad, Anne crouched down. Whats happened?
The dog whined, clamped its jaws around the cuff of her jacket, and tugged toward the forest.
Anne, you dont intend
I intend, she replied, stepping forward resolutely. It wants to show us something.
Understanding that theyd caught its drift, the hound barked happily and bolted ahead, never straying far from their heels, as if constantly checking they were still following.
They trekked for about twenty minutes. The woods grew denser, the ground squelched beneath their boots. Serge stumbled over roots a couple of times, muttering curses, but kept pace.
Suddenly the dog halted and growled.
What now? Anne whispered, frozen.
Ahead, among the trees, a shape loomed like an old barn, halfovergrown with moss and brambles, almost invisible unless you passed within a few paces.
Hold right there, Anne commanded, moving forward cautiously. The dog stayed glued to her side.
Closer she saw a massive iron lock on the door, and then heard a faint, eerie tapping from within.
Serge! she called. Quickly, over here!
Together they pried the rusted door open; the hinges gave way with a screech. A stale, fetid air rushed out, and when Annes eyes adjusted to the gloom she gasped.
In a corner of the shack, on a sagging mattress covered with filthy rags, a teenage boy huddled. He was gaunt, cheeks sunken, eyes hollow, his skin blanketed in dirt. Rough rope chafed his wrists until they were raw. He squinted at the sudden light, blinking as if the sight were a miracle. Fear and a flicker of hope danced in his gaze. He tried to speak, but only a hoarse cough escaped his parched throat.
Who are you? Anne snapped, pulling a pocketknife to cut the cords.
Arthur, the boy rasped, voice barely audible. Arthur S?
Arthur S? Arthur S.the one who disappeared three days ago?
Annes breath caught. The missing boy was a fifteenyearold from the village, his single mother juggling two jobs. Hed never returned home after school.
Serge fumbled for his radio. Call for backup and an ambulance!
Anne helped Arthur to his feet. Hold on, lad. Well get you out.
The dog, which had watched silently until now, suddenly stiffened. Its fur bristled along the neck, and a low growl rumbled from its throat.
A snap of branches followed as someone fled through the underbrush.
Get down! Anne shouted at the boy, drawing her pistol.
The dog bolted, the echo of a scream and the thud of a falling body trailing behind. When Anne and Serge finally caught up, the scene that unfolded made their hearts seize: a hulking man in a black leather jacketone of those types you steer clear of on the streetslay face down in a bed of autumn leaves. Atop his back, the dog perched, fur standing on end, emitting a guttural snarl that made even Sergeant Whitmores blood run cold. The stray, once harmless, had awakened the heart of a guardian beast.
Calm down, Jack, Anne said, naming the dog on instinct. Well sort this out.
The animal, astonishingly obedient, stepped back but never took its eyes off the fallen man.
What followed was a blur of flashing lights. An ambulance, a police van, and investigators swarmed the spot. The culprit, Victor Clarke, a professional kidnapper known for targeting children and demanding ransom, confessed on the spot. It turned out hed been after a sum his victims mother could scarcely afford.
A week later, Anne sat in her modest kitchen, the walls papered with faded yellow wallpaper, sipping lukewarm tea from her beloved chipped mug while scrolling through the local newspaper on her phone.
The front page blared in bold letters: Brave Dog Helps Crack Kidnapper! Beneath it, a photograph showed Jack, no longer the filthy, disheveled hound but cleancoated, eyes still sharp and vigilant.
Fancy that, hero, Anne murmured, scratching Jacks ear as he lay on the sofa. Hows the new life treating you?
Jack licked her hand and rested his head on her knee.
They say coincidences never truly happen. Perhaps that meeting was meant to befor a solitary woman who, fifteen years earlier, could not save her brother, and for a wandering dog that ended up saving another boy.
You know, Anne whispered, stroking the warm, shaggy head, miracles do happen now and then.
Jack gave a contented sigh. Hed known the truth long before anyone else.
