It was evening on the final day of eighteen ninety-five. Snow had already begun to fall, preparing to lay down a fresh canvas for the sunrise colors of the approaching new year. Papa was in the barn harnessing the horses to the sleigh while Mama finished getting ready. She had been looking forward to the New Year’s Eve dance all month. Estelle had helped Mama prepare a new dress, which had been kept hidden from Papa. It would be a surprise when he finally saw her in it. The material had been costly, but Mama was frugal and with the assistance of the neighboring wives she had obtained the green velvet and trimmings.
“You look beautiful, Mama. Papa will be the proudest man there.” Estelle said, helping her mother into her coat.
“Are you sure you will be alright, Sweetheart?” Mama asked as she wrapped a scarf about her neck.
“Yes, Mama.” Estelle replied with a sigh. She had been answering the same question all evening. “You will be back after midnight and Charlie will be here for company and protection.” As if giving assurance of these facts, the large black dog before the fire thumped his tail on the floor.
“Well, if you are sure.” Mother said, forcing a smile; she was the farthest thing from sure.
Papa came in from the yard. “The horses are hitched and ready to go, Mama.” He said, shaking a dust of snow from his beard.
Mama kissed Estelle. “Be sure to lock all the doors and windows before you go to bed.”
“Make sure to check the cellar windows too. Jones was doing some work down there this morning.” Father said, bestowing his own kiss on his daughter. She promised she would make everything secure, though she had no doubt that Jones had closed everything properly. The old farmhand was meticulous about such things.
“Enjoy the dance!” Estelle called after her parents as they rode of toward the town. The air swirled with snowflakes, foretelling another foot or two by morning. Estelle closed the door to winter wind. She did not regret her decision to remain home for this year’s dance. Her special young man would also not be in attendance and she did not feel inclined to stand up with anyone else.
To fill the twilight hours, Estelle made progress with her embroidery. She was sewing a floral chain on the hem of her own new dress. When her fingers were too tired to stitch another flower, she put her needlework away. She chose a book from her father’s shelves and then engrossed herself in its pages. The only sounds to break up the silence were the crackling of the fire and the gentle snores of Charlie.
A log fell and sparked in the fireplace startling Estelle from her reading. Charlie sat up and nuzzled her hand. “Good boy, Charlie.” She said. “It is late so why don’t we lock up. Will you come with me to the cellar?” Charlie licked her fingers, his way of saying “Yes, mistress. I will follow you always.”
Estelle returned her book to the shelf and then built up the fire for the night. Lighting an oil lamp, she made her way through the house, checking that all the windows and doors were closed tight and locked. She carefully made her way down the steps to the cellar, Charlie padding alongside her. Estelle felt silly checking the two small windows here. Even if Jones had worked here in the morning, why would he have opened the windows to the cold? Still, she had promised Papa to check them.
One was soundly shut and latched, but the other, to Estelle’s surprise, was slightly open. The wind whistled through the small gap and a miniature drift of snow had formed on the earthen floor beneath it. Estelle pushed, pushed hard, and at last shoved, but the window was frozen into position. “Oh well.” She said. “Come on, Charlie. The window isn’t open enough to let anything in so it will keep until morning. I’ll have Papa close it later.”
With the cellar and main level closed up, Estelle and Charlie went upstairs. The fire under the water heater was still burning so Estelle opened the tap and filled the bathtub. The hot water was in stark contrast to the cold air and at first Estelle simply soaked and let the steam rise around her. It did not take long for the water to begin cooling so she lathered up with soap and scrubbed away the dirt of the day. With one last dip beneath the water’s surface Estelle rinsed off then, bracing herself, she got up from the water and reached for her towel. Her skin prickled with goosebumps as the chilled air hit her wet skin.
In her nightgown, dried and warm, Estelle drained the bathtub and dried off the water she had dripped onto the floor. She finished preparing for bed, climbed beneath her pile of quilts, and blew out the lamp. As she lay in the dark she reached down to give Charlie a goodnight pat on the head. He settled down on the rug beside her bed and both were soon asleep.
Estelle awoke with a start. Had she heard a noise or had she been dreaming? For a moment she sat straining her ears in the darkness. All was still. She lay back down and reached down for Charlie. A familiar lick on her fingers assured her that all was well so she closed her eyes and went back to sleep. It was not long, however, before Estelle awoke a second time. This time she could hear the sound of water dripping onto the floor. Drip. Drip. Drip. She was certain she had turned the tap off so it had to be something else. Deciding it was too cold to get out of bed to check, she rolled over and tried to go back to sleep.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Again Estelle awoke, disturbed by the rhythmic dripping. Surely if she ignored it she could manage to sleep. Still certain she had closed the tap, Estelle concluded there must be a leak in one of the pipes. Papa would be unhappy about that.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Estelle tossed about, struggling to ignore the constant sound. The water was now dripping into a puddle. It was not so very loud, yet there was something unsettling about it. An uneasy feeling began to come over her and again she reached for her canine companion. She felt the animal warmth and again the reassuring licking of her fingers.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Estelle could take it no more. She threw off her covers and got up and shuffled to the little stove where a the coals were still bravely glowing in a vain attempt to provide warmth to the room. Fumbling in the dark, Estelle took a taper and lit it on the embers. Careful not to drip any wax on the floor, she returned to her bed and relit the lamp on her nightstand. The flame was almost blinding, so accustomed were her eyes to the dark. Estelle blew out the taper and took up the lamp, noticing for the first time that Charlie was not on the rug nor anywhere in the room. Assuming he must have gone downstairs, Estelle turned her attention to the bathroom and the offending drip.
The clock on the downstairs mantle was just chiming out two in the morning. Papa and Mama were coming up the stairs at last, having returned from the dance and put the horses to bed
“Sweetheart, what are you doing awake at this hour?” Mama asked, seeing Estelle crossing the hall from her room. Estelle entered the bathroom. The sight that met her eyes was one she never could have imagined. Hanging from the ceiling was Charlie. It was not water from the boiler, but blood from the slit in dog’s throat that continued its horrid dripping cadence.
Mama’s inquiry was met with Estelle’s scream, horror blended with grief. Papa reached her in time to catch the oil lamp as it slipped from his daughter’s fingers. Mama pulled her away and back into her bedroom.
“Who could have done such a thing?” Estelle sobbed. “Why would anyone hurt Charlie?”
Mama said nothing, but held the trembling girl close offering up a silent prayer of thanks that it was not her daughter hanging from the ceiling.
Papa joined them; his hands were smeared with blood from taking Charlie down. “What happened, Estelle?” He asked. His voice was steady, but strained and there were tears in his eyes.
Estelle shook her head. “Charlie was just here. The dripping water disturbed me while I was asleep. I reached for him and Charlie was just here.” Her words were forced out in a hoarse whisper. Mama unconsciously tightened her hold.
Papa hung his head and something caught his eye. He bent down and picked up a piece of folded paper from the rug where Charlie had been sleeping. Estelle’s name was on the outside. He handed it to her and she took it a puzzled look replacing her sorrow as she unfolded it. Immediately her expression became one of terror. All color drained from her face. Papa took the note back from her. In a scrawling hand he read, “Humans can lick too.”
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