Author Paul Skelton
The Dog Star
It was a Wednesday afternoon, August 8th to be precise, and
Jenna Muldoon was sunbathing in her back garden, in her birthday suit. Not that
it was her birthday; that was in July, she was a Gemini. Whilst Jenna attached
little significance to her star sign, Charles Rixon did.
Charles was perspiring heavily, partly because it was a hot clammy
afternoon and partly because he was studying Jenna’s naked form through his
telescope from the balcony of his 12th floor flat in Goldings House.
It was a good ‘scope, a Hitachi Cirius named after The Dog Star. Such was its
power that Charles could clearly observe every cleft and mound on Jenna’s body.
Mo Saheed regularly passed Goldings House on his beat. He was the local
P.C.S.O., or plastic cop as the resident louts called him. They were the brash
and proud keepers of dangerous trophy dogs, widely feared and reviled. Mo, on
this occasion, was following up a complaint from the caretaker, Neil Barlow, of
the Primary School overlooked by Goldings House. The school was hosting an
outdoor summer holiday sports activity day, and having spotted Charles Rixon
using his telescope, Neil was concerned that he may be spying on the children
playing outside.
Mo nervously entered Goldings House and took the lift to the 12th
floor. He had calculated which flat was home to the guy with the telescope.
Charles took an age to answer the door, but when he did, there was instant
recognition and familiarity.
‘Hey, it’s the plastic cop. How ya doing, Mo?’
‘Yeh, good. Thanks, mate. Can I come in for a minute, gotta check
something with you,’ Mo replied.
‘Yeh, come on in. Shut the door, come through and take the weight off,’
responded Charles cheerfully.
Mo did as he was bade, and he sat down on a comfy old chair in the main
living room. The doors to the balcony were wide open, the Hitachi Cirius in
full view.
‘Nice telescope, Charles, looks expensive.’ Mo observed.
‘Yep, cost over a grand, very powerful. Got it with the compensation
money. So, how can I help with your enquiries then, Mo?’ Charles smiled easily.
‘Well, it’s Mr. Barlow at the school, mate. He’s a bit worried about
what you may be looking at through that thing. It’s to do with child
protection.’
Charles laughed. ‘Really? Well he needn’t bother himself, I’m into
astrology. It’s my new thing.’
‘What, during the day?’ Mo was incredulous.
‘Well, yeh. These few days in August are the perfect time to observe the
so-called Dog Star, which comes up with the sun.’
Before Charles could stop him, Mo had risen and was on the balcony, peering
into the telescope. Then Mo turned to look back at Charles, his face glum.
‘Oh . . . mate, that’s sad. Voyeurism?’
Charles was suddenly tearful. ‘Yes, Mo. I know. I can’t let go, hurts so
bad.’ He sniffed.
‘Look I know she was a bitch, but you need to move on, mate. There’s
laws against this sort of thing. It’s a bit pervy.’
‘Look at me, Mo. That accident cost me my job, my mobility, and her. My
so-called girlfriend. Everyone said she was selfish, but Christ almighty, she
dumped me while I was still in hospital. She said she couldn’t fancy a guy in a
wheelchair. How cruel’s that? I’m a Leo, she’s Gemini, we should have been
compatible.’
‘It’s not you, is it, Charles, badmouthing her on social media? Posting
those pictures of her on that revenge site? Are you the—’ Mo was cut short.
‘YES, MO!’ ranted Charles. ‘It’s me. I’m the troll called “Dog Star”. I’m
posting all those naked pictures and stuff. Just desserts, I think.’
Mo was conflicted as he left Goldings House. Should he report Charles as
a peeping-tom, a troll, a pervert? Should he, as a friend, turn a blind eye?
Lost in these thoughts, Mo carelessly walked into the path of a delivery van
and was killed instantly, so the decision was never made.
Jenna’s conflict was very different. She knew exactly who the “Dog Star”
troll was but couldn’t bring herself to hate him for it. She felt too guilty
for that, and yet, she couldn’t go on living with the cruel comments and
revenge porn. As she lay there that afternoon, naked, she hoped Charles could
see her one last time, whilst the overdose of tranquilizers, she had taken,
took effect.
Later, as the sun (and its attendant Dog Star) went down, Charles had
ventured out in his electric wheelchair. He was headed for his local Tesco
Express to buy some Frosty Jack cider, which he called “brain damage”. The pack
of Rottweilers were off the leash, their owners high as kites, and Charles
stood no chance against them. Mauled and maimed, Charles died to the sound of
the frenzied dogs howling, but he managed to add one last cry to the cacophony:
‘I AM THE DOG STAR, SEE YOU IN HELL!’
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