A nightmare woke me up. A terrible nightmare. Filled with ghosts and werewolves and scores of other deadly nocturnal beasts, all howling, howling, howling. So I awoke, thankfully, to escape them. Slowly, I opened my eyes, irrationally still afraid of those who pursued me in my sleep. But a glance to my left told me that my fears were absurd; I saw no brutes or monsters, only Joly, sleeping peacefully with his tiny mouth hung open a little bit. Feeling much better, I smiled, and leaned into the warmth of his back, preparing myself for sleep once more.

Until I realized that, while my nightmare had ended, the howling had not.

This realization did not make me happy in the least, as it was a direct result of my giving into Joly this afternoon. Ah well, I thought, at least it's just this one night, won't be too bad. Though I might as well put the dog out of the room so that I can have a little sleep.

Lethargically, I rose, pulled on the pair of pants that waited for me on the chair next to the bed, and made my way over to the dog.

Tache was sitting next to the door, howling softly. I wondered why Joly had not yet waked from the noise. Then I remembered that he had been complaining of blocked ears a few days ago, and blamed that.

"Tache," I whispered. He perked up at the sound of his name. Well, I have to give the dog some credit; he must be pretty smart to have learned his name so quickly. Even if it is a silly name. "Come here, Tache!" To my surprise, the dog actually did "come here," padding over to me on his gigantic paws and making that peculiar little purring sound that he had made earlier.

Oh God, I remember now. That's not purring. That's growling.

I backed away from the advancing animal. "Easy, Tache….calm down, big dog…" Tache ignored me.

Panicking a little, I shook Joly. "Joly! Joly! Please wake up!" I hissed at him. But he did not wake up; he gave a colossal snore and turned over. Useless.

I turned back to the dog. His teeth were still bared, causing long strands of saliva to drip onto the floor. He growled one last time, and that was enough. Terrified, I ran from the room, letting out a howl of my own.

With Tache snapping at my heels, I flew into the kitchen. I leaped up onto our rickety table in the centre of the room, cracking the plates which had been resting there, and knocking over several bottles of medicine which belonged to Joly. I grabbed the closest of the bottles before it could fall onto the floor and break. Tache tried to end his chase, but inertia would not let him actually stop moving, and he eventually skid to a stop inches away from the far wall, despite his efforts to halt. Recognizing that this may be my only chance to clear away from Tache for good, I took an instant to formulate a simple plan: throw the shards of plate at the dog to distract him, then dart back into the bedroom. I snatched up the said shars and bolted for the door.

Finally, some good luck! I guess there's a first time for everything.

I hastened back towards the bedroom, my heart racing. In seconds, I would be safe, safe, safe!

Then I felt a sudden, sharp pain in my leg. I swung around, and there was Tache, triumphantly holding a bloody bit of my pants in his mouth. How did he get over here so quickly? I thought wildly. I hurled the broken plates at him, but missed completely. Panicking, I looked down into my hands, and realized that I was still holding the bottle of medicine. I read the label: "to be taken for the treatment of insomnia," it said. Insomnia? At that moment, Tache opened his gigantic maw and howled. Acting on a wild hope, I threw the bottle of medicine into the dog's mouth. Seconds later, his teeth crunched down on it, sending shards of glass flying across the room. Rivulets of yellow liquid dripped down his muzzle and neck. But the desired effect did not occur; Tache was still awake. How could such a large dosage fail to affect him?

Franticly, I sought then only to get the table in between myself and the dog. I ran to the far side of the table, but, baying and growling, Tache chased after me.

I ran once around the table, twice, with Tache fiercely pursuing me. A few times, Tache caught me, his teeth sinking into whichever leg he'd happened to bite, and ripping away new patches of cloth from my increasingly ragged trousers. Both of our chairs were knocked over; this and the bits of plate which now littered the floor slowed me down. I was finished.

Tache finally lunged at me. He barrelled straight into my back, knocking me to the floor. Before I could spring back up, he pounced on me, his claws scraping and puncturing my bare skin. I struggled to get up, but the dog was too heavy. I was pinned to the floor, absolutely unable to move, completely immobile. I winced, and waited for my impending dog-wrought death.

But Tache wasn't eating me. Why wasn't Tache eating me? Then I realized; the insomnia medicine. The dog was completely unconscious.

So there I stayed, with the massive Tache sleeping serenely on top of me, surrounded by the few dishes we had, three slices of stale bread, two overturned chairs and the remnants of my pants, until morning.

Thanks to AmZ, who suggested I revise this chapter!