Canine Curse.

The term stinking rich couldn’t fit anyone better. Having an age old family fishing business, the Browns were one of the affluent few in the city of St. John. The only thing that probably spread more that the stench of their wealth was the myth associated with the family. 

Legend had it that Martha Brown had once rescued the pup of a dog and had brought it home. Mr. Brown, in return, had brought the house down and commanded his servants for its immediate riddance. That was the last Martha saw of the wet, white and brown furred body. Four and a half months later, people of St. John attended the funeral of Late Elliot Brown. He was mauled to death by a dog. Martha brown was offered sincere sympathies for the mishap. Around a decade later, Emmett Brown died of rabies after being bitten by a stray.  The mishap had taken the name of a curse. 

Edith Brown was only twelve years then. Protected by his widowed mother and grandmother, he led a life of extreme caution. He was fifteen when he took over the business. One could rarely see such a preoccupied teenager. But no one knew that what kept young Edith most occupied was the determination of not letting history repeat itself. He swore that he would never let such a situation arise where he would have to face a dog.

His determination started bordering on obsession. He refused to step out of the house and handled all business from indoors. He denied opportunities that involved travel. Security was tightened around his residence. "Keep even the smell of a dog at bay". These were his orders. Years passed as Edith continued living within four walls. Grandma Martha passed away the year Edith was blessed with Elliot Brown Jr. The city of St John had now grown accustomed to the manic Edith Brown. 

The year was 1950. Monsoon promised good business this time. His son had turned five. Although Edith hated to admit it but he felt his life was secure and at ease. It was his sister in laws wedding. His wife and son were away attending the occasion. He sorely wanted to accompany them but had promised himself that he would not leave the house as long as he breathed. 

It had been three days that they had gone. It was a regular Wednesday. Edith had a sumptuous lunch and took off for his siesta. The weather was calm and he could smell the salt of the sea through his window . . . his eyes closed. Edith was seeing a weird dream. An unknown hand was blowing a sharp whistle to which it felt the demons were marching, such was the intensity of the sound. He did not like what he was seeing and opened his eyes. But the sound didn’t cease. The sight that caught his eyes through the window was unreal.

The erstwhile blue sea had turned a frothy white that was churning itself over and over. The fishermen’s’ boats looked like little brown almonds waiting to be ground into the mixture. It was as if someone had finally opened the shackles tied to the foot of the trees. Their dancing and swaying knew no end. The sky resembled a laughing black monster spreading its wiry tentacles of lightning. The people on the shore ran helter skelter like disobedient children only to be picked up by the gale in its loving arms. Even with the wind and dust in his face, Edith was struck by the awful beauty, his gaze broken by the call off his name. Edith scrambled downstairs amidst the deafening sounds of destruction.

Everybody in the house was running out or helping the other escape the plight. Edith was caught in a dilemma. How could he leave the house? What if he met the same end as his forefathers? He was shaking with anxiety. He heard his name being called out again. Windows came crashing down. It dawned on him that if stuck around here he would most definitely die. One of his servants informed him that a heavy transport vehicle was waiting at a distance to take them away from the shore. Edith took a plunge and stepped out.

He could barely stand straight. The wind pounced on his body, scratching and biting him. Guarding his eyes and holding down his clothes, he looked back at his house. He thought about his wife and child. Would he see them again? Scrambled thoughts crossed his head. His tears spelt grief. It spelt fear. And repentance. He looked down and started scurrying behind the others. The vehicle was nowhere in sight. The snarl of the lightning under the open sky gave him shudders. Suddenly there were shouts. He looked towards where people were pointing. To his right, the wind was working evil and an immensely tall tree was being uprooted. Edith ran and tried to make his way to safety .He looked back. The tree was losing balance and falling with its heavy frame.  He knew it was too late. The thunder barked and Edith felt the tree pounce on him. He felt the last bit of life being bitten out of him. His eyes were closing but he lay assured that his death had finally broken the canine curse. Grimly gay, he rested at last.

The next morning the world read the headlines: Developing in the Lesser Antilles, Hurricane Dog produced a storm surge of 8 feet (2.4m) in Antigua with an estimated gust of 144mph (232km/h) recorded at St. John’s Antigua & Barbuda.

P.S. - Hurricane Dog was the most intense Category 5 hurricane in the 1950 Atlantic Hurricane season. Google it. : )