urban legend

some of you have probably heard the story about the boy who was afraid to go to bed at night. if not, let me quickly summarize the plot. in the story, a boy is told by his mother to hang his arm over the edge of his bed so the dog lying underneath would lick his hand and make him feel better so he could go to sleep unafraid. the boy hears a dripping sound, and when he goes to investigate he finds his dog hanging upside down in the bathroom, its throat slit, dripping blood, and the words humans can lick hands, too scrawled on the mirror in the dog's blood.

at this point, most listeners are supposed to experience a chill of terror as the reality of the situation dawns on the little boy. often we cannot truly say how we would feel in a given situation unless we are in the middle of the story ourselves. for example, our protagonist, the boy, had no such reaction. i know it seems contrary to reason, but he was young enough that the implications of what he saw did not sink in right away. he simply turned out the light and plodded down the hall, back to his room.

the boy sat for a while on the edge of the bed, his bare feet dangling a few inches from the floor. he covered his face with his hands and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to make himself tired so he could go back to sleep. finally, he stood up and began to walk towards the light switch near the door, when he heard a man's voice say, from under his bed, "aren't you scared?"

the boy stopped and turned around to face the bed. to his surprise, he realized he was not afraid at all. "no," said the boy.

"hmm," said the man under the bed, "well, now, why don't you come closer so i can get a good look at you." the boy walked over to his bed, lifted the edge of his comforter, and looked into the darkened face of a man, rough, unshaven. "that's better," said the man.

"why did you do it?" asked the boy. the man said nothing. there was a long pause. the man's eyes shifted from side to side, but he still didn't say anything. finally, when the boy decided the man must not have heard him, he asked again, "why did you kill my dog?"

"i didn't," said the man, looking up at the boy.

"what do you mean you didn't kill him? then who did?" asked the boy. again, a long pause, and no response from the man. the boy decided to switch the question. "how did you get in?"

"through the window," the man offered eagerly. "your mom always leaves the kitchen window unlocked. it's easy not to be heard if you come through the kitchen."

the boy thought about this for several seconds. finally, the boy repeated his first question, "if you didn't kill my dog, then who did?"

dark furrows formed across the man's forehead. his eyes shifted. "lean in close," he said. the boy sat down on the floor and put his ear next to the man's mouth. "i can't tell you," the man hissed.

"why not!" exclaimed the boy loudly, which resulted in the man startling, bumping his head on the bottom of the bed, and reacting with a series of shushes.

a long painful silence followed which lasted at least an hour. the man lay underneath the boy's bed, the boy sat cross-legged in front of the man. the man closed his eyes, and the boy nodded off several times, slipping in and out of sleep. at one point he had a disturbing dream that the man was hanging from the bathroom ceiling, and his dog was under his bed. the boy woke up to the sound of the man sobbing. "why are you crying?"

the man opened his red eyes. "no reason."

"why are you under the bed anyway?"

"i'm afraid," answered the man.

the boy stretched his arms. he was now wide awake. "you won't tell me who killed my dog, then?"

"i can't."

"if i guess right, would you tell me?"

the man thought for a long time about this before finally saying, "i guess that would be okay."

"okay, then; did you kill my dog?"

"i already told you i did not."

the boy screwed up his face and thought hard. "did my mom kill my dog?"

"no," said the man, with a look of intense sadness. " i think you know the right question to ask," he added.

the boy thought, and thought, and thought, but could come up with nothing.

"i can come up with nothing," said the boy. "did..." but the boy stopped. abruptly, shock and understanding came over the boy, the chill of terror, if that's what you want to call it, and the man started sobbing uncontrollably.

"go ahead," gasped the man between sobs, tears running down his face, "ask it."

the boy's lips trembled, the blood ran out of his face, and everything you would expect to happen to a person sitting around a fire listening to a horror story happened to the boy all at once as he asked his final question.

"did i kill my dog?"