Dogs in the Attic!

'When Sobaka devours the Earth, so will it slide down his esophagus into the pit of his stomach in a "Great Cleansing". In the first hour, the ground will rumble and a mighty Earthquick will furcate the Earth. Upon the second hour, the world will be plunged into a mist of deadly oxygen of the most unspeakable smell. And on the third hour, Sobaka will commence with "A Great Squat", and a purified Earth shall be created. Lest constipation should be imminent.'

Buster laid the cockatrice's corpse in the center of the pentagon, everydoggy finding their respectful positions.

"Hey!" Spot whined, feeling the air with a paw. "Who is that? Who's standing on my side of the pentagram? Get your own!"

"I was already here, blind... fool." Chewy murmured from beneath Spot's hiney.

"It's always 'I was already here this;' 'This is mine that;' but it's never mine this and this is mine that! Whatever happened to sharing your demonic symbols? Why can't we all just get along and share a pentagram for once?"

"Oh, hush now, sweety." Sweet Thing said. She got up from her side of the star and laid a paw on his dewlap. "There's no need for that sensitivity in this attic. This is everyone's pentagram, after all."

"But why does it never feel like everyone's pentagram. Why does it never feel like I have part ownership of the pentagram? Sometimes I think everyone gets their own pentagram. You get a pentagram, you get a pentagram—well, where's my pentagram?"

"You have all four more sides of... one." Chewy murmured beneath his toosh. "If you just get off... me, that is."

"You're always in it for yourself. 'Get off of me this;' 'Get off of me that;' why can no one ever just get off on me? I have offing rights too, you know!"

Sweet Thing raised a paw. "I get off on you!"

"You're so kind to me, Sweet."

"Can you get off of... me?"

"If you'll all get into positions..." Mr. Ginny muttered with a touch of annoyance. "We will start the ritual."

"Right, see what happens when no one shares? Nothing ever gets done."

"If you just get off of... me, I can find my own side of the... pentagram."

Mr. Ginny tapped a foot… thing. "Spot, up boy!”

Chewy was finally released from the severe hienarchy as Spot lifted his rear end from the chi-poo's face. The so-called offspring of a dog wasted no time skipping off to a spot across from Spot's.

"Good. Are we settled?"

Winona shook in her triangle, feeling shaved and declawed. Every glimpse at Mr. Ginny or Buster left a sinister imprint in her brain. She tried divulging which directions to take if things went haywire, or if she could find an opening where everyone's attention would be diverted long enough for her to escape.

Every dog, however, remained attentive—even Spot, who was still upset by the fact that nodoggy could get along and share their pentagrams like macaroni art—ready to hear the next order from this placebo master dog whisperer with a bird call for a taunt.

"Great. Now, if you all will just—"

"It's Buster's birthday." Sweet Thing chirped. The pitbull threw her an annoyed glare. "You agreed we could all sing him a happy birthday before commencing with the ritual."

Mr. Ginny sighed, looking up from his ritual book. "We don't have time for that."

"Why don't we have time for that?"

"Because we just don't."

"But I remember walking up to you while you were going over the ritual chant and asking you if we could do it, when you said, 'Yes,' and I said, 'Really?' and you said, 'Yes,' and so I said, 'Great! So what are we going to get him?' and you said, 'Yes,' and I thought that meant you would take care of the present and I don't see the present anywhere, SO I assume you're hiding it somewhere! Unless you didn't get him a present of course, then that would mean he would have a terrible birthday—" ("Sweet.") "—and I would hate for him to have a terrible birthday. I can't imagine having that on my—" ("Sweet Thing.") "—conscience! Can you imagine that? Knowing someone's birthday in advance and not doing anything in preparation for it?"

"Sweet Thing!"

Sweet Thing turned to the steaming pitbull. "Yes, birthday boy?"

"It's not my birthday."

"What?"

"I said it's not my birthday."

"Oh."

"It's your birthday."

"Oooh."

Buster grinned. "Happy birthday to you..."

"Let's not do that, now."

"Happy birthday to... you..." Chewy chirped in.

"That's not necessary."

"Happy birthday dear Sweet Thing..." Winona was starting to feel the rhythm.

"Really, I don't bloody care whose birthday it is. You're only a year closer to death."

"Happy birthday to you." Spot ended on a high note.

"Right, right, now let's just—"

"In many more..." Buster continued.

"Shut up!"

Flews fell as all the dogs in the room shared a collective depression.

"You are all equally worthless—get that across! We're about to summon an intergalactic demon that has the power to destroy and recreate the planet and all you are here spewing nonsense about birthdays and pentagrams!"

Sweet Thing raised her paw.

“And no Pentagram Upside-down Cake!"

Sweet Thing lowered her paw.

Extruding a frustrated sigh, Mr. Ginny glared back down at his ritual tome. After the turning of a few pages, he set it down against a stack of books and looked at everyone.

"Tonight's the night," he began. "Tonight's the night He arrives. Let his presence mean the world to not only us but to the animals of Mother Nature. Not only will we be changing the lives of pets everywhere for the better, but the lives of animals in particular. We'll be saving what ponies and griffons and minotaurs all the same unrightfully stole from us at the dawn of time. The birds of time and their gently falling white feathers that eventually became known as snow; the deer of old when he laid his coat against the ground and planted the first grass. When Horton heard a Who. This is everything we will be reclaiming with one swift ritual."

Bending over a metal box next to him, he flipped the latch and took out an Exacto knife. The sight of the triangular blade glowing in the candlelight made Winona's loins shrivel.

Turning back to the dogs, he declared, "Sobaka demands the blood of his kin."

The duck first waddled over to Buster, who already had his paw out. Taking the paw into wing, he lowered his head over the top side of it and made a thin slice. A trickle flowed into a tame river as the floor was splotched in red ichor from the drip, drip, drip of the Exacto blade.
Winona's stomach lurched into the back of her spine at the sight of all the blood, but she refrained from saying anything. If she was displaying her fear, she couldn't tell.

Mr. Ginny made his way over to Sweet Thing next. Taking her paw, he made another thin slice. The red on cotton fur looked as if a painter would simply spill his paint on a dozing cloud.

Mr. Ginny had to hold Spots paw up to make the cut, and Chewy he had to be careful to not sear through a ligament. Finally, he arrived at her. The duck and border collie stared at each other, Winona catching a brief glare of cynicism from the gleam in his eyes.

"Hold out your paw," he said.

The blood of the previous four dogs cloaked the feathers on his right wing and drenched his feet. The dark ichor almost resembled ink in the candlelight. Winona shook her head.

Mr. Ginny growled. "Do as you're told, pup."

Winona still shivered, but managed to boost her confidence to utter, "N-nah-no!"

"Fine," he huffed. "Buster..."

Winona's eyes darted toward the pitbull, the white of teeth visible just beyond the darkness like a cherish cat's smile. Her mind jumped back to a few minutes ago when she was being dragged up the stairs. It had been one of the scariest experiences of her life, this moment a close second.

Looking up at Mr. Ginny, and making quick glances toward Buster, Winona said, "Fine." and stuck her leg out.

The duck lowered his head cranelike over the top, and slowly began slicing. White-hot seared her paw as the blade tore into flesh. A thin pool trailed over her fur, soaking into every last hair and staining the white with its dye.

All Winona could do was stare in horror as the bloodletting grew in size. She had to put her paw down to keep it from running down her leg, pooling into a small puddle on the floor.

Something guffawed at her and she looked around. Everyone remained in their idle place, however, she began to notice slight twinges coming from each of them. She could see it from Sweet Thing most of all.

Her pupils were growing and shrinking spasmodically.

Winona suddenly felt a kettle burst with steam. "Um... Hey, Mista Ginny was it? Ah don't feel so well all the sudden."

"Yes, I laced the blade with a psychedelic."

"A psychowhat?"

Mr. Ginny finished wiping the blade clean with his wing and put it back inside the box. Closing it, he said, "That doesn't matter. All that matters is it will stimulate you long enough to endure the ritual process."

The laughing grew louder, Winona wincing through the crowd of jeers and cheers that she couldn't see. "Where is all that laughter coming from?"

Mr. Ginny twisted his head 180°(F) and gave a demonic grin, fangs and all. "Good," the owl said, blood oozing from his mouth. "That means it's working."

Winona blinked, but she didn't have eyelids, so that meant she forgot to buy eyes at the eyestore (Poor Spot.). "okay, Oh," she said.

Suddenly, this is all starting to make sense.

Mr. Ginny took his head off and placed it in front of the ritual tome, scouring the text. "Repeat after me," he said repeat after me.

"Okay," but I don't want to.

Winona looked down at the tome, the text looking like swivel and lines to him. But years of studying this sacred text have taught him how to eat frogs. Concentrating on the page, he uttered, "Ereme murof da allerbmu muc sibi."

“Ereme murof da allerbmu muc sibi.”

“Muitnun mutatlucco est coh.”

“Muitnun mutatlucco est coh.”

Sparks blossomed in the center of the pentagram. This went unheeded by Mr. Ginny, Winonononona noticed, but she figured it was from the heckin' awesome LCD she choked down.

“Reeuq metua sieadui.” he continued.

“Reeuq metua sieadui.”

“Erebihorp non tsetop usnes coh te.”

“Erebihorp non tsetop usnes coh te.”

Tendrils of smoke whisked all around, caressing their fur. Winonahhhhhh could smell something being burnt—heck, it was almost sulfuric.

Her ears folded back when a gust of wind erupted from the center of the pentagram and blew all around. The floor glimmered in a blinding glow (Oh no, Winona thought. I hope it doesn’t blind Spot!).

Oh no, Spot thought. I hope it doesn’t blind Spot!

But it did.

“Hoc est retrorsum.” Mr. Ginny unfurled his wings, rearing his head back toward the ceiling and screamed, “Ka ka!”

“Hoc est retrorsum, ka ka!”

Winona felt like an anchor was pulling at her. The entire right side of her body had gone numb, the floor around her kept toppling sideways and ᔕ𝄩ᗜጠᓬᗆ⤙ᔕ, and she was shrinking away from the world. She felt like a macro victim under anesthesia for vertigo.

“Maimedipe anivid eregel.”

“Maimedipe anivid eregel.”

The light faded away, a strange hole-like thing clearing up in place of the pentagon. Looking down, Winona couldn’t decide what she was seeing. Stars pitter-pattered the background of a fine red mist. The further down it went, the cloudier it got.

“Sutop ni tneinev mine tis.”

A face emerged from the cloud. The thing arriving could only be described in the sense of a thing. Its skin had been boiled off to the point where it became a fine, fleshy leather. Its teeth hung to-and-fro in different directions—looking like a prison of the most terrifying nature. Its eyes, however, were what scared her most... or the lack thereof.

Two giant black holes. Any form of light she recognized was absent in them.

Winnona stood there slack-jawed. She pressed her weight forward to get a better look at the monster before her but backed up when she realized she could fall in.

“HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”
Mr. Ginny screeched.

“HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” the others sceeched.

Winona looked around, thinking about whatever (anything, come on, anything!) she could do. She was standing just beyond an interdimensional vortex meant to summon a demon that could devour the Earth, and it looked as if it were about to succeed.

Her eyes darted from Sweet Thing to Spot, to Chewy, to Buster, and finally to Mr. Ginny. The duck was too distracted to notice she stopped doing the chant.

Behind him was the sanctuary of the clutter. She could make a dash for it, perhaps distance herself from the ritual before Buster can tear her neck in half.

But what would happen from there?

“Tiphet loha.”

“Tiphet loha.”

The portal flickered, and for a brief moment, she could see the sanctity of the attic floor. The others looked around in confusion; Winona gasped in realization. If she doesn’t participate in the ritual...

“Hanc est sutseuq agnol."

“Hanc est sutseuq agnol." The others nervously muttered.

Winona slowly edged her way out of her triangle.

“Herarara!”

The floor flickered back—the creature’s face flew closer—the floor flickered back—everyone looked around the room—the floor flickered back—“herarara,” everyone muttered—the floor flickered back—eyes sat on Winona—the floor flickered back—realizing her plan had been compromised as soon as she could hear Buster’s growl, she made a dash for the—

VROOOOM!

The weight of the world was lifted off her as she began to fly by. It started with the floor, then the ceiling, the floor, the ceiling, the floor, and finally she was caught by the pile of clutter.

Winona emerged from the cesspool of neglected knick-knacks in angst. Shaking off the century-old knickers from her head, she realized the explosion bought her infinitesimal time to escape. It was all she needed to work with.

Buster emerged from the floor. The explosion had thrown him back into the wall, leaving a dent that would make a demolition expert angry. But he would not whimper through the pain, years of hardship under a serious owner have taught him to soldier on!

The first thing he would do is hold that runt by the scruff and peel back its skin. He would then reach in with one of his claws, and dig inside its meaty flesh until he tore through the other side.

Yes, he would do exactly that, and through his drunken rage, he didn’t notice the others getting up, screaming. He was already on trial with the border collie, who was worming her way through the maze of forgotten relics.

Buster practically slammed into the pile. He growled and snapped, but somehow the pup managed to remain just beyond his reach.

Ahead, Winona whimpered. Every snip at her tail she responded to with a frightened yelp and a cry for help. But the drugs mixed with the adrenaline of having her life taken away caused her voice to become distorted.

The brazen pitbull headbutted through a pile of clothes, scattering them everywhere. Winona nearly tripped on a loose floorboard, giving him time to catch up. She escaped barely in the knick of space.

Winona emerged from the clutter and broke for the door. She pawed at the floor, trying to get it to fall open.

Dammit! She thought. How did they open it the first time?

Her attempt at freedom was cut short as the gift of gravity was lifted from her—for it to come bearing back down in a grunt-worthy slam. A vice wrapped around her neck, the teeth slowly sinking beneath her fur.

Winona kicked beneath Buster’s control, but the pitbull’s dense structure proved almost stone-like. His teeth sunk in further as he swung her around, her body sliding against the splintered wood.

She brought her paw up, trying to swat at his face. But it merely slid off like a lame attempt to pet the beast.

She tried again, this time flinging it faster. The beast grunted and shook her violently. Winona screamed an agony as she felt the white stalagmites and stalactites tear into her skin.

Winona tried it a third time, not really focused at all anymore. The paw slid along his face, falling off again—but not before a claw caught onto his eye.

Winona was released from the vice as Buster gave off a blood-curdling howl. The blinded beast backpedaled into the same box Winona had run into when she came into the attic. He snarled and he swung his head side-to-side, but he could not see beyond the blood and gray ooze streaming down his face.

Winona scrambled to all fours, searching the room frantically for any means of escape. The clacking of paws could be heard from the other side of the clutter.

Without thinking, and without missing a beat, she ran for the window.

Sharp water stung her all around and she was caught in the vortex of its splash. Droplets swatted her from all around; some cutting, some getting caught in her fur. The splash settled downward, and so did Winona.

She tumbled down the roof, yelping in pain as something tore through her shoulder blade. The border collie slid the rest of the way down. She had a moment of bliss when her body hit the gutter, but the force of slamming into it caused the guards to snap and she fell to the ground.

Pain filled her body all over. The grass felt like a taunting comfort compared to everything else that she felt. Without a doubt, this was the most pain Winona had felt in her life.

Winona's body glittered in the moonlight as blood dyed her fur.