Clem's Arc

Chapter 3 of 5

The morning sun warmed Clem's back as he left the adobe house behind. His paws carried him down a winding path toward the center of Gremlin's Gorge. The town sat quiet in the early light. He passed wooden buildings with faded signs and empty porches. His nose led him forward, searching for the place that held old records and memories. At the end of the main road, a stone building stood taller than the rest. Clem pushed through the unlocked door. Inside, shelves lined the walls, filled with papers and photographs. This museum held the history of Gremlin's Gorge. Somewhere in these records was proof of where his first friend had really lived. Clem's tail wagged once. The brass collar was closer now. Clem walked past the shelves to a desk covered with old maps. He sniffed each one, searching for street names he remembered. Outside the window, something caught his eye. A dusty fire hydrant stood near the museum steps. The metal looked old, from a time when his first friend was still alive. Rust covered its surface, and faded paint peeled away in strips. A small sign next to it read "Donated by the Harmon Family - 1952." Clem's ears perked up. That was the name. The Harmons had lived in the adobe house. This hydrant had stood on their street corner all those years ago. The records inside would show him exactly where to dig. Clem turned back toward the museum door, his heart beating faster. The brass collar waited in the right place after all. He trotted down the wooden steps and followed his nose through the empty streets. The scent of breakfast drifted from a building with dark wood and carved letters. A sign hung above the door that read "Gremlin Tavern." Clem pushed through and found himself in a dim room with long tables. Three old men sat near the back, drinking coffee. Their voices carried across the empty space, talking about families who used to live here. Clem sat near their table and listened. One man mentioned the Harmons and their sheep. Another pointed out the window and described where the old pens used to be. Clem's ears turned toward every word. Outside the tavern, Clem found what the men had described. A wooden display showed a painted scene of a man with sheep and a dog by his side. The dog wore a brass collar. Below the painting, metal letters spelled out names of shepherds from long ago. Clem read each one until he found "Thomas Harmon - 1950." His tail started wagging. The brass collar he'd buried was just like the one in the painting. His first friend had been part of something real here. The adobe house was the right place. Clem turned and headed back up the path. Tonight he would dig in the spot where the doghouse used to stand. The brass collar was waiting for him there.