Felix
Emily was studying at university and, like most students, worked night shifts to make ends meet. Her mother couldn’t support her, and the scholarship alone wasn’t enough to survive in London.
After summer exams, she took a break and spent three weeks at her mum’s in the countryside. She returned refreshed, well-rested, and laden with homegrown vegetables and jars of jam carefully packed by her mother into her bag.
Stepping off the bus at the station square, Emily felt the weight of the bag double after the long journey. She dragged herself to the bus stop and dropped it onto the bench with relief.
Returning to the city always lifted her spirits. She loved her mum, but after two years living alone, she’d grown used to her independence. She missed the noise, the buzz of the city, her friends. Once she started working, she’d even managed to rent a tiny flat, leaving the cramped dorms behind.
The flat was small—barely more than a studio in a quiet suburb—but the rent was affordable. Her windows overlooked an overgrown lot, tall grass swaying in the wind, with a dense forest rising beyond it. At night, not a single light pierced the darkness, but mornings flooded the flat with golden sunlight. And in winter, the snow-covered field glowed white, bright even at midnight.
A soft whimper caught her attention. Emily peered under the bench and saw a sharp brown muzzle. Large, dark eyes stared back, filled with fear and loneliness. Only then did she notice the leash, tying the dachshund to the metal leg of the bench. She crouched down. The dog shrank back, trembling violently.
“Don’t be scared,” she murmured, gently tugging the leash.
Reluctantly, still whining, the dachshud inched forward, ready to bolt back at the first sign of danger. But Emily held firm.
The dog panted heavily, tongue lolling in the August heat. Its fur was damp, desperate for shade. Emily guessed it was thirsty. A nearby kiosk sold drinks and snacks.
“I’ll be right back,” she whispered, hurrying over.
“A small bottle of water, please,” she asked the surly cashier. “And—do you have an empty tin? For a dog?”
The woman smirked. “Wouldn’t a paper cup do?”
“No, it’s for the dachshund tied to the bench. Any idea how long it’s been there?”
The woman squinted toward the bench and sighed. “People can be heartless. Saw a bloke pull up in a fancy car this morning, tie it there, and drive off. Never came back. Here—it’s dirty, but it’s all I’ve got.” She handed over an empty sardine tin.
Thanking her, Emily paid—double what water cost anywhere else—and rushed back. She rinsed the tin, filled it, and set it down. The dog had retreated again. “Drink,” she coaxed.
At the sound of her voice, the dachshund crept forward, sniffed, then lapped noisily. When the tin was dry, Emily refilled it.
“What am I going to do with you? Stray dogs might tear you apart at night. Or worse.” She shuddered at the thought. “You’re coming home with me. No choice.”
She scribbled her number on a scrap of paper and left it at the kiosk in case the owner turned up. Untying the leash, she coaxed the reluctant dog toward the bus. She paid for them both—no one objected, and the dachshund curled silently in her lap.
At home, it cowered in the hallway, sniffing warily. Emily folded a blanket into a bed, and the dog collapsed onto it, watching her with big, dark eyes.
“What should I call you?” She listed names, testing the air. “Felix?”
The dog yipped.
“Felix it is.” Another yip. “You understand me, don’t you? Why would anyone leave you?”
That night, the click of claws on laminate kept her awake. Felix explored the flat, darting back to his corner if she stirred. But after a few days, he relaxed, whining impatiently when she returned from work.
The yard was crammed with cars, so they walked in the overgrown field. Once they were clear of roads, she let him off the leash—terrified he’d bolt, but he always came when called. She marveled at how fast his tiny legs could carry him through the grass.
September arrived, warm and dry, and with it, university classes. Emily worked nights again, leaving Felix alone most days. He greeted her with wild joy, and soon, she couldn’t imagine life without him.
One Sunday morning, they walked the field as usual. Felix circled her, then bolted toward the woods. She called, but the tangled grass slowed her.
“Felix! Home!” Silence.
Maybe he’d found a burrow? Then—a sharp, sudden yelp, cut off mid-cry. Her stomach dropped. She ran.
The woods weren’t as dense as they looked. Through the trees, she saw figures crouched on a clearing. Teenagers, maybe fifteen, examining something. She marched over.
At her voice, they scrambled up. Then she saw Felix—pinned to the ground by a thick, sharpened branch. Blood seeped from his side.
The tallest boy yanked it free. Felix jerked, whining pitifully. Blood gushed.
The boy stepped toward her, brandishing the bloody stake. His friends flanked him, grins twisting their faces. She tried to scream—nothing came out. His eyes were empty. Dead.
She turned and ran. Grass snagged her legs. Footsteps pounded behind her. The house—so close—
Something heavy slammed into her back. Pain stole her breath. She stumbled, knees hitting pavement. She braced for the stab—
Silence.
They’d fled. A stone, not a stake, had struck her. A silver car stopped. A man helped her up. Every breath burned.
“Who attacked you?”
“Three—maybe four. Teens. They—” Her voice broke. “They killed Felix.”
“Your boyfriend?”
“My dog! Please—help me get him!”
Relief flashed in his eyes. “Stay here.” He flagged down another driver, and together, they vanished into the field.
An eternity passed before they returned. One carried a bloody bundle—Felix, wrapped in a jumper.
“He’s alive. Get in—we’re going to the vet.”
In the backseat, Emily stroked Felix’s head. His breath rasped, eyes closed. The man pressed, “Did you recognize them?”
“One. His eyes.”
Felix died before they arrived.
Emily couldn’t bring herself to move his bed or bowl. Nights tricked her—the phantom click of claws. She’d pause at the door, waiting for his happy whine. Nothing.
Autumn rains came. One evening, she stopped at a shop for bread.
On the way out, she collided with a boy—and froze. Gray, lifeless eyes.
He bolted before she could speak. Tires screeched. Around the corner, he lay motionless. A stunned driver stammered, “He ran right—!”
Police arrived. One officer—the man who’d helped with Felix—recognized her.
“It’s him,” she whispered. “He knew me.”
Two weeks later, the buzzer shattered her Sunday quiet. Groggy, she opened the door—then slammed it, realizing she stood there in just a long T-shirt. She scrambled for a robe.
The man—Yaroslav—held a square carrier. “Sorry to wake you. I’m on duty—no one to watch her.”
Emily took it—then nearly dropped it as something shifted inside. She unzipped it. A pointed brown nose poked out.
“I thought a girl would be different. Her name’s Fiona.”
Emily lifted the trembling dachshund, heart swelling as Fiona licked her chin.
“Glad you didn’t put that away.” Yaroslav nodded at Felix’s untouched bed.
“Couldn’t,” she admitted. “Thank you. I don’t even know your name.”
“Yaroslav.”
Fiona was nothing like Felix—stubborn, shoe-chewing, refusing to sleep anywhere but Emily’s bed.
She never let her off-leash near the field. On weekends, Yaroslav drove them to parks. Fiona buried her nose in leaves, sprinted like her short legs might take flight. Her ears flapped wildly. They chased each other, laughter ringing.
