Dog Days bright and clear
Indicate a happy year;
But when accompanied by rain,
For better times, our hopes are vain.
The period of sweltering weather in July and August coincides with the rising of Sirius, the Dog Star. In ancient Greece and Rome, the Dog Days or diēs caniculārēs were believed to be a time of drought, bad luck, and unrest, when dogs and men alike would be driven mad by the extreme heat.
"Only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun!"
"The dog days, bring strange and breathless ways, when people are led to do things they are sure to be sorry for after."
In the glare of summer sun, plants and animals rotted in idleness.
Through the August heat and a thin haze of smog, passing cars shimmered like mirages, trembling southward toward cleaner air and the cooling sea of the English Channel.
Judith watched the passing traffic on the distant motorway from the bedroom window. Children played in the garden across the street, but she could not bear to watch them. Their laughter, shouts, and squeals of delight abraded her nerves and sparked in her an irrational anger.
Three years since her marriage to Peter, and the excitement had trickled away like sand in an hourglass. She was forty, and with each passing month, Judith grew more despondent. Her biological clock was ticking. Their sex life had dwindled. Judith had never been confident in the bedroom. She'd been a virgin when they'd first met. She'd got to thirty-five before finally losing her virginity. In this day and age, with porn and casual hook-ups just a few clicks away, one might see that as very unusual. But Judith was extremely timid. An only child, her parents had been quite old when she was born and were very old-fashioned in their ways. Honest, God-fearing people. Well-meaning, but hopelessly out of touch.
With such a sheltered upbringing, Judith had started to wonder if she'd ever meet anyone, but then along came Peter, a mild-mannered financial advisor, viewed as a dullard by those who worked with him. He was fifty, kind, patient and like her, an introvert. He'd never had a proper relationship and was as hopeless at chatting up women as she was at chatting up men. It seemed they were perfect for each other.
They'd settled in the sleepy little Hampshire village of Coombe Appleby. The place was a stereotypical chocolate box English village; of the sort you'd read about in an Agatha Christie novel, or see in an episode of Midsomer Murders. Tourists were drawn to it, like bees around a honeypot. Thatched cottages, a small church and a couple of shops. The village was only a half-hour's drive from the bustling city of Portsmouth, yet seemed to be stuck forever in the 1950s.
Though a sizeable group of American visitors arrived every summer, the village avoided the mass crowds that flocked to the Cotswolds. Judith recalled last year, chatting to a lovely couple from Kentucky, who were fascinated by nearby Black Dog Hill, a small hill some 230 metres above sea level, affording excellent views of the surrounding countryside. On its summit, a stone circle, said to date to Neolithic times, but historians in recent years had cast doubt on this.
Black Dog Hill had a legend of its own, one that could rival the Loch Ness Monster.
Locals spoke of the strange man that was said to appear and roam the area during the hottest months of the year, seducing innocent young women. He was a werewolf, said to be linked to the rising of Sirius, the brightest star in the sky. It was a ridiculous story, she knew, but there was something thrilling about the idea of a mythical lover lurking in the ancient stones. Not that a werewolf would be interested in seducing her. At forty, she was far to old to fall victim to his charms...
Even more amusing was that some of the older villagers fervently believed in this tourist tale, and would warn young women to avoid walking up the hill alone during July and August. Tom Jackson, an ancient man who still worked as churchwarden, told anyone who would listen that his newly-wedded wife was seduced by the Man of the Hill in 1954.
"I was twenty and she was but nineteen...went up that hill she did and was never seen again!"
In reality, young Maud Jackson had fled to London with a rugged Irishman. Nothing supernatural about it. But it kept the tourist cash rolling in. Groups of young couples often went up the hill for a joke and would have sex in the stone circle. It had become a popular spot for teens to hang out during Halloween too.
Peter had no time for the old legend either. "Stuff and nonsense," he would mutter, every time a new article on the "Coombe Appleby Werewolf" appeared in the local news. "For a start, a werewolf would surely be associated with the constellation of Lupus, not Canis Major, which contains Sirius."
Judith had just agreed with him, to keep the peace. "Thought werewolves were linked to the full moon, but what do I know? Old myths can vary..."
Her husband was somewhat of an amateur astronomer, and a pedant when it came to misinformation.
High on silent pinions, shining white, three sea gulls flew northward, then they soared over the downs and wheeled across the sky.
With Peter at work, Judith took it upon herself to head up the hill, feeling the need to escape the confines of the village and get back to nature. Taking sensible precautions, she packed bottled water, her smartphone and a snack into a lightweight rucksack. The walk up the hill was a gentle, easy climb that wouldn't faze an elderly person, but in such heat, it was best to be prepared.
Throughout the gradual ascent, Judith felt certain she'd have encountered at least one other person -- a dog walker perhaps, a lone rambler. She'd walked up here many times in the past and always met a friendly stranger. But not today.
The moment she stepped into the shade of the stone circle, the air cooled around her. The towering monoliths cast long shadows that danced with the heat haze, creating an eerie, yet strangely comforting embrace. She took a deep breath and let her eyes wander over the ancient stones, feeling a sudden and inexplicable sense of belonging. The sun blazed overhead, turning the landscape into a watercolour painting of greens and golds, and she was glad she'd brought a hat.
Judith sat on one of the fallen rocks in the middle of the stone circle and gazed out towards the distant sea. Brushing her blonde hair across her face, she took a sip of water and gathered her thoughts.
The day had changed. Indefinably but unquestionably changed, and she wasn't sure how. Something had drawn her to this hill. Overcome by a sudden tiredness, she reclined against the warm stone.
When she awoke, instinct immediately told her she wasn't alone.
Judith checked her smartphone, wondering what time it was. To her surprise, the phone battery was dead, despite her having charged it fully before leaving.
Then she saw him, a man emerging from the shadows of the treeline like a mirage. He was tall and pale, with shoulder-length hair as dark as the night sky and eyes that shone like polished silver. Shirtless and shoeless, his attire consisted only of torn black trousers. His body was a blend of human grace and animal power, and she knew immediately that he was not of this world. He was the very one the old wives' tales spoke of, the one they called Sirius. He moved towards her with a predatory grace that sent shivers down her spine, his gaze never leaving hers.
She stood up and was about to scream, but found she couldn't make a sound.
Sirius's approach was silent, his feet making no sound on the sun-baked ground of the summit. His fur rippled in the heat, and his eyes held a promise that was at once terrifying and exhilarating. Judith felt a sudden surge of energy, as if she had been plugged into the very essence of the earth itself. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she took a step back, her hand reaching for the cool stone of the nearest monolith.
