Hannibal
A True Short Story
(Illustrated)
By Nancy Reil Riojas
U.S. Copyright Office, Washington, D.C.
2010 Literary Works by Nancy Reil Riojas
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-4661-2566-7
2012 Smashwords Edition
Hannibal
1969, San Antonio, Texas
It won’t be long before he’ll be here. My long time friend Rose has an uncle named Dale, an odd fellow, who comes to visit the same two months every year. He says work slows in June and July. For the second year, he brings a friend, a huge Dalmatian named Hannibal, one I cannot seem to befriend.
After graduation from high school, I decide to move out not quite on my own. Rose and her Mom Beth live in a four bedroom house and take me in for little rent.
“Nancy, you’re like another daughter. You can stay here as long as you like; besides you will be good company for Rose,” Beth says.
Beth loves relaxing in her rocker on the front porch while drinking Pepsi Colas. She’s always saying “Why am I so fat? I don’t eat that much,” after she has downed, at minimum, twelve bottles of Pepsi in one day. And there sits her brother, Dale dangling his legs off the edge of the porch and smoking one cigarette after the next while frowning a ravaged face. With an aura of intense distrust, just like his owner, loyal Hannibal spreads his long, husky body right next to him.
Beth says, “Dale, make that dog move over . . . he’s so big I can’t rock my rocker . . . what do you feed him?”
Dale glares at me as if I have done something wrong and replies, “Lots of fresh meat.”
** ~ ~ ~ ~ **
The bus serves as my transportation for now. While walking from the bus stop one hot evening after work, I notice the neighbor’s dog has his eyes on me once again. I step up to his fence, kneel down, place my fingers thru the wire then touch his face while speaking to him. Sampson is a Great Pyrenees who seems to need more love and attention than he receives. As I stand, he rears up on his hind legs, plops his huge paws atop the fence then smiles with those sensitive, old eyes. I understand he wants more conversation from me, but I have chores to do. Not until I walk away and open the front door to Rose’s house does Sampson adjust back down on all fours. He continues gazing at me, making sure I walk inside.
During the week I’m always in a rush readying for work and never reserve time for a decent breakfast. Therefore, before dressing, I place two Poptarts in the toaster. Looks like I found myself a devoted friend who salivates for that Poptart I throw him each morning on my way to the bus stop.
This year, Dale continues to look at me differently, which makes me feel strangely uneasy around him. On this warm Wednesday evening, he’s drinking and watching television in the living room. Hannibal usually spends his time tied up in the backyard, but tonight he sleeps on the floor next to Dale. Rose and I drag Beth’s full length dressing mirror down the hall into Rose’s bedroom so we can watch our reflections while doing some serious dance steps to Marvin Gaye records. After swirling scarves around for hours, we work up a sweat. Rose walks up to the window fan to turn it up, and that’s when we see Dale staggering through the doorway.
He suddenly springs at me, grabbing my waist and pulling me toward him. The stale odor of beer breath fills the room as we struggle with each other.
More angry than fearful, I think to myself while I wrestle and kick, “I can handle this lousy drunk!”
Rose, crying and scared, grabs him from behind and yells, “Uncle Dale, stop it! I’m going to tell Mom as soon as she gets home!”
That’s when Hannibal runs through the doorway and leaps into the struggle to help his master. Hannibal pounces on Rose’s back, and I’m at the bottom of the heap, feeling everyone’s weight. Dale quickly stands and seems to sober up in a snap. He yanks Hannibal back, pulling Hannibal into his bedroom and closes the door behind him.
I turn in for the evening and try to convince myself that what occurred was an isolated incident. But, later that night Beth suggests “starting tonight keep your bedroom door locked, even during the day.”
Around 2:00 A.M. my bedroom doorknob jiggles. Pulling the sheet over my head, I ignore it. The following morning, I look out the window as the bright sun half blocks my ability to see Dale holding my scarf to Hannibal’s nostrils. While speaking in his ear, Dale suddenly repeatedly slugs his snout with hard blows, and even from where I stand, I can see the fear in Hannibal’s eyes.
**~ ~ ~ ~**
July makes June seem cool as a sunny, hot weekend awaits us. Rose and I have plans to go downtown to shop for new dresses. And not understanding why, we just can’t seem to have enough shoes! Footloose and fancy free we go. On our walk to the bus stop, Sampson makes clear that he wants to accompany us by attempting to jump his fence several times, so we walk faster to move out of his view.
Four hours later, we’re back with packages. Running into our rooms, we rip open neatly wrapped dresses, shoes, perfume, and makeup. I can’t wait to put on one of the dresses I bought, and for some unexplainable reason, I change into those tennis shoes, which look a little frumpy with that new dress.
As I walk into the kitchen, Beth says, “Nancy, please fill Hannibal’s water bowl. It’s right there on the counter, and will you take it to him?”
I hesitate to answer then say, “Sure.”
This decision fuels the only thing I am sure of: I fear Hannibal. No matter how much I try not to, Hannibal, the perception king, knows it. Instinct guides me to just stay out of his path at any cost, yet both Rose and Beth are always around him, and he never seems disturbed in any way, with the exception of that isolated incident. Could it be I am just imagining that Hannibal’s aura emits distrust? Sometimes the animal lover in me trusts him, but when he glances at me with his cold eyes, I snap back into reality. He reeks of evil, just like Dale. “If Hannibal was human, they could be twins,” I tell myself.
Opening the back door from the kitchen, walking down the back steps into the backyard …easy … easy, I carry his water bowl. Lying down, he hears me. His eyes are open and his head rests on his huge front paws. Little do I realize that these moments will be our last chance to become friends. Bringing fresh water should mean I’m helping him and could create the chance to pet him.
Feeling safe because he’s tied with what looks like large-scale dungeon chain, I gently set the bowl down a distance away. In my downward view, he appears much too large for a Dalmatian. A possible mixed breed but mixed with what? Staring at his muscular upper torso and enormous upper legs, I see that his neck equals the size of some peoples’ waists. While slowly raising his head to meet mine, wide open eyes immediately minimize to a slit, which he maintains. Speaking sweetly to him, I see something piercingly intimidating . . . something malicious . . . something so sinister in that hideous stare. While my body stands motionless, my face shows not-to-be-mistaken fear. Gently rising up on all fours, he blows out a deep, stern growl then begins his lunge. Petting him ceases as an option. Opening his jaws to bite, trips my instinct to sprint.
I run like never before! Having been a champion runner in high school, I break my own record while trying to stay out of his reach. With no ability to devote to screaming, I run the length of the backside of the house, slowing to turn right and race straight down the cement and dirt driveway that meets with the street. The cement lends my new tennis shoes some much needed traction.
Hannibal’s clamoring chain looks large enough to hold a lion in order, yet the thickness and weight of the chain are of no consequence: his motivating force treats it as if made of rope. Hearing the horrific growl behind me, I can only visualize mammoth teeth! His stride has to be at least seven feet; mine stretches only five. He’s gaining on me! I hear the eerie clank, clank, clank of the nearing, massive chain: will the chain ever end? That sound makes me switch to a higher gear I did not know I had! Keeping my head steady, elbows in, and palms open, I apply the greatest amount of force to the ground to reach my maximum pace, and yet I feel his hot breath on my backside. He’s so close, his exhaling helps my speed. The wind forming behind me forces my dress to reach those teeth as he rips off a piece! In running competitions, our instructor would shake his finger and yell, “Do not look back; that will slow you down!” I do not.
Just seconds later, I hear a snap and a grunt behind me, as though Hannibal’s choking. Abruptly jerking my head to look back, I see giant Hannibal sailing six feet into the air then flipping and plunging down into the dirt, creating a cloud of dust. I am instantly relieved, slowing to a stop, as though I made it to the finish line and won. Bending over and placing my hands on my knees, I try to catch my breath as well as my drained adrenaline. Calm comes to me. Watching us, Sampson heightens to an energized state. Done trying to tear through the fence with his teeth and claws, he backs up, attempting to propel himself over it.
Moments later, like a corpse coming out of its grave, Hannibal steps out of the cloud! The force of the snap must have broken the solid, long chain that once confined him. He’s loose with a section of the chain still attached to his collar. If I try to run to the front porch, he will catch up to me on the stairs. In a one second snap decision, I choose to run once again . . . . out into the street, down the street, quickly gaining traction. Until this moment, with the chain sound further away, my screaming that befalls no one’s ears finally begins, “Help, Help! Please, someone help me!” In a race, there’s only one winner; I’m running to win . . . . my life.
Block after block, grit alone keeps me swift. When able to think rationally . . . . where shall I go? I have to wind up at a place where he cannot reach me, but where?? . . . . Across from my usual bus stop, right next to the busy freeway, a bank under construction can maybe provide a place to hide in the rubble or behind a door in the half built lobby; there has to be a place of safety. The day’s end approaches with darkness almost here. Astonishing anxiety fills me like never before, as I foresee our developing confrontation continue far into the night.
Hannibal dashes through an intersection and does not see the Mustang speeding around the corner. While directing his attention strictly on the pursuit, the Mustang clips his hind legs and tosses him to the side of the street. Landing on his side, he fastidiously flips onto four paws and emerges back into the chase, barely slowed by a limp. Those few moments give me just enough time to climb onto the Caterpillar bulldozer, up to the cab roof. Hannibal, right behind, easily jumps up on the tank-like, continuous tracks; however, the extra chain hanging from his collar catches between tracks. While he tries to jerk himself free, I believe he’s trapped, allowing me better screaming concentration. With a lot of luck, maybe someone will hear me over the roar of the speeding traffic on the freeway. All of a sudden, somehow he gets loose.
I hurriedly jump on a partially constructed brick wall when I hear my dress tear, and at the same instant, I feel the unyielding tug on it, all the way up to the collar, which digs into my neck. Not able to look back until I gain my balance, I am ripped with panic that he has me: sweat erupts from my every pore. I finally turn around then feel a brief moment of elation because what pulls and tears my dress is sharp, jagged rebar. Overheated, with foaming saliva dripping like a faucet, he stands on the cab roof. Only three feet away, he viciously growls with his impatience biting toward me. It comes too clear at this moment that mauling will not be enough; he does mean to kill me. And for an hour my only defense is to kick. His teeth finally catch the tip of my tennis shoe, which becomes a struggle that threatens to pull me off the wall. My eyes bulge with fear, and breathing freezes for the first time in my life. With elbows scraping the rough cement, my fingers tightly grip the wall’s edge.
We hear a bellowing bark and both look over the side of the Caterpillar. At once, Hannibal releases my shoe when he catches sight of Sampson trying to climb, but Sampson’s large size causes him to topple back down to the ground. He continuously jumps up against the side of the Caterpillar then ultimately clenches, between his teeth, the dangling chain from Hannibal’s collar. Pulling like a plow, Sampson anchors his front and back paws into the soft earth and pulls, and pulls, and pulls as Hannibal’s head jerks downward over and over again, until the large body loses balance and drags off the Caterpillar roof, landing with a loud thud into the dirt below.
Sampson takes advantage of Hannibal’s fallen position, pouncing on him, burying his teeth into his thick neck, biting ears and face, until he draws blood. If I had not seen this with my own eyes, I would never believe that Sampson could be capable of such violent behavior. Bloody faced Hannibal rolls out of the dominated position, takes some steps backward, and lunges forward attacking overtired Sampson with plundering precision. They tumble and scuffle in the soft dirt for too long, until they both look black in the moonlight. Not taking my eyes off them, I silently dismount the wall onto the Caterpillar cab roof, down to its tracks, down to the ground. Weakening by the second, Sampson proves no match. Crumpled up in a heap, yelping and grunting in pain, Sampson is losing. Hannibal will win this battle.
Now is my chance to run back to Rose’s, but I can’t leave Sampson to die. He followed me here to protect me. No one will save us . . . . I have to dig deep inside myself to find bravery to face Hannibal: no more running away. My strength must now be equal to his weakened strength.
With my heart pounding like a drum, I scan the construction site and realize there exists an opportunity to possibly save Sampson and myself from this crisis. The muted glow from the moon and a city street light help me to closely search for something with which to defend myself. I look up at the moon and there sits the silhouette of a huge horned owl on a telephone pole, so silent, so still. A thought flits across my mind that after hours of harrowing pandemonium, I have only an owl’s attention. Straightaway, excitement fills me when I see a long piece of free standing rebar with a V welded at the end. Making my way to it, I remain unnoticed. Once in my grip, I point it toward his back and yell, “Turn around and face me, you sorry bastard!”
So exhausted from mauling Sampson, he takes his time turning, and when he realizes I stand before him, it’s as though I rouse an even deeper evil. His confident, hot-tempered eyes tell me that I am the sized up loser. A wicked looking creature, now insane with anger, violently shivers its big head with each screeching roar. Even with this poor lighting, I see its wide open mouth and long, bloody fangs that anticipate ripping me apart.
My fear shakes the rebar, but there’s no backing down now. Then suddenly, the bulky owl takes flight! In the now quiet night, the loud flapping of its wings captures Hannibal’s attention. By the time he looks back to begin his lunge, I charge him with only one chance to catch his wide neck in the V . . . . then the struggle to shove him backward begins. As his four paws stumble over Sampson’s body, I yell, “Get out of the way, Sampson!!” He barely rolls over and withdraws. The full flexing of my thigh and calf muscles powerfully press my tennis shoes into the loose dirt. I lean forward and continue to plunder him back, all the way toward a partially built block wall, encasing a row of protruding rebar. I lose my balance when tripping on the huge chain that drags in front of him. Kicking it aside several times before we reach the wall, I rush him, and with all of my remaining might, I lift his weight up on his hind legs while his front legs wildly quiver.
With the V still at his neck, his back plunges into the sharp rebar spikes. He violently tries to break free when one last surge of physical power releases while I shove and shove until his death . . . showing no mercy . . . showing no mercy.
I toss the rebar with my weakened arms . . . then catch my breath. A few seconds later I feel sorry for him and start to cry until big-hearted Sampson straggles up, placing his huge head under my hand, and licks his bloody wounds. It was him, me or Sampson. Dropping to my knees, I wrap my hands around his big face while we look into each others’ eyes, “Thank you, dear Sampson. You and that beautiful owl saved my life.”
We stay close and gradually walk back to the house. Still feeling shaken, I hope to never experience anything remotely similar. These ten blocks that I walk every weekday from the bus stop now seem like ten miles, which allow me time to mull over what has happened in this living nightmare: Dale was an abusive, irresponsible dog owner who never taught Hannibal the meaning of love and raised him to become an out of control, angry dog.
When we approach the house, I see Dale whistling for Hannibal and pacing the driveway while holding up the broken chain. Opening Sampson’s fence gate, I stand with my back to Dale. Sampson looks up at me with those sensitive, old eyes then he solemnly steps in, turns around, and majestically sits to watch until I reach Rose’s front door.
When I walk in, frightened Beth jumps up from her rocker, pulls the Pepsi bottle out of her mouth, and yells, “Oh, my God! What happened to you?! Where have you been? You’re bleeding, and your new dress is so torn!”
Rose exclaims, “And your new tennis shoes are so dirty!”
THE END
Author’s Note
Thank you for reading “Hannibal.”
More Stories Available:
Moonshiner The Wolf (Short Novel)
Monster at My Window (Novella)
Flood of 1965 (Short Story)
The Rabbi’s Books (Short Story)
Veil of Doom (Short Story)
Lucky (A Children’s Short Story)
U.S. Copyright Office, Washington, D.C.2010
Literary Works by Nancy Reil Riojas