“Hey mom, spent my day racing to score cookies at Fetch-N-Bites, trading wisdom with a wise Golden Retriever, and got philosophical at the Art Gallery. Its charming old face in the mirror made me realize the heart of Spencerville is its hopeful inhabitants. Life’s just another adventure to wag at! – Kissy Cassie”

Listen to the story here

Chapter 27: When the Wiggle Machine Met the Black Mask

Underneath the sprawl of the dark and all-consuming mystery blanketing Spencerville, a happy cyclone had just hit Beagle Beach. Cassie was tearing along the beach, a blur of sand and pure joy. She was jet propelled, no doubt, funded by the promise of a plateful of ‘Cookies’ at Fetch-N-Bites. You have to understand, enthusiasm for her favorite treat was putting it mildly. It was her fatal flaw.

Her tail, that wiggle machine, and her monolithic stature set her apart. In Spencerville, her distinctive appearance came with a reputation. Cassie, the sociable and big-hearted Pug, both adored and revered. No, nobody expected delicate from Cassie.

As she galloped, her tail whipped in the air, coat shining under the sun, Cassie could hear the waves crashing onto the shore – A testament to perpetual existence. She said as much to an old Golden Retriever, seeming as elderly and seasoned as her. He dismissed the analogy of waves saying, “Nah, too shallow. Might just be the fish, bless’em.”

Ever jovial, Cassie replied, “Old fish are smart, suppose we learn something or two.”

That’s when the small talk dissolved into the air as the scent of freshly baked cookies wafted to her keen nostrils. The swift change of gears was a part of her charm. A sudden tug at her heartstrings urged her to go on. Between chuckles, and a face full of whiskers she said, “Better run Artie, they ain’t going last.”

As she made her way down the charming streets of Spencerville, a familiar sight drew her attention. It was her own reflection, cast on the window of The Furry Friends Art Gallery. Her black mask, now greying around the edges, invoking a past filled with profound joy, moments of fright, and a future coated in uncertainty. A psychological thriller, or so the newspapers would call it.

This haunting image of the eye does strange things to you. One moment you’re a Pug, spending an afternoon gallivanting, and in the other, you’re a hero from one of those novels by Dashiell Hammett – a tough, no nonsense, yet noble sort. You start to imagine the order beneath the chaos, the story that preceded this moment, the manipulation, the deceit, and the resolution.

The reflection was a mirror to her deeper self. It brought a somber realization. Past the friskiness, she’s but another soul in Spencerville, waiting. With widened eyes, she spoke in a whisper, bon mot style, “Wait, I think I see a riddle in those eyes. Like a Van Gogh, minus the ear conundrum.”

That’s when a rare thought entered Cassie’s mind. The heart of Spencerville lay not in its physical or metaphorical existence. It was in its inhabitants, in their hope to reunite with their loved ones. In her hope. Then again, you ponder mortality when staring at your reflection in an art gallery showcasing elaborate renditions of your broad shoulders.

“Well, enough of this now! Come old age, but slowly, for I’m still relishing my prime,” she moved past the window, spotting Raisin from the corner of her eyes. This psychological thriller had just begun, and Cassie was ready to face her next adventure.

The End.