"Dean, there's something I've been meaning to ask you."
Can't we ever have a smooth drive, just once? Tell me this isn't going to be one of Sam's big, existential discussions about Life, the Universe and Everything. "Size 11."
"That wasn't the question." He doesn't sound as snarky as I thought he would. Maybe it's time for a dick joke…. "Did we really get chased by hellhounds that time in Poughkeepsie?"
Say what?! "When was this?"
"When we were kids. We got chased by a whole bunch of dogs, and you practically yanked my arm off while we were running. You said they were hellhounds, and if I didn't keep up, they'd tear me apart."
Maybe I need to start taking vitamins or something, because I have no idea what he's talking about. Poughkeepsie? "Was that when we lived in that bungalow with the green trim? We were there for, like, six months because weird shit kept popping up every time Dad got ready to go."
Sam looks constipated when he wrinkles up his face like that. "I don't know. It was the same place we were in when I started school."
"Yeah, okay, that was Poughkeepsie. I don't remember any hell hounds though. Were they big, black dogs with glowing eyes?" Maybe he dreamed it---when he was real little, he used to have trouble remembering if something happened in real life or a movie or a dream.
"I didn't stop to look!" He voice goes up an octave. "I was terrified! We ran and ran, and they cornered us on top of something. They were barking and snapping and they kept jumping up, but they couldn't quite reach us. We were up there for hours. After a while, they went away, but I was scared every time I left the house until we moved away."
"Wait a minute. Dogs jumping up...oh yeah." Twenty years, and I remember the neighborhood like a map. There was a whole line of backyards back with white plank fencing and an alleyway wide enough to drive a car through, with more fencing on the other side. They chased us away from home--- we ran through a couple yards and got through someone's back gate into the alley. There must've been a hole under the fence, because they got through, too. Mud puddles---Sam kept slipping---trash cans, and we ended up on top of an old barrel.
"I had some beef jerky and peanut butter cookies in my pocket, but we got really thirsty." We weren't up there for hours, but it probably seemed like it to a five-year old. I was yanking his chain about hellhounds, though. "I tore my pants and you had a rip in your shirt. We came home and watched Popeye cartoons while I sewed them up."
"That's right! It was cookies and Slim Jims!" It was beef jerky, but…whatever. "So were they really hellhounds? Come on, Dean, it's not funny---I still have nightmares about those dogs!"
Yeah, it is that funny. Our neighbor's dogs got out of their yard---but they weren't exactly hellhounds. Close, though.
"Dude, they were Jack Russells."