horseshoe

Dog was the problem. He wouldn't go in the cottage. He crouched on the doorstep, growling.

"Come on, you silly dog," said Adam. "It's only old Jasmine Cottage." He gave Anathema an
embarrassed look. "Normally he does everything I say, right off."

"You can leave him in the garden," said Anathema.

"No," said Adam. "He's got to do what he's tole. I read it in a book. Trainin' is very important. Any dog can be trained, it said. My father said I can only keep him if he's prop'ly trained. Now, Dog. Go inside."

Dog whined and gave him a pleading look. His stubby tail thumped on the floor once or twice.
His Master's voice. With extreme reluctance, as if making progress in the teeth of a gale, he slunk over the doorstep.

"There," said Adam proudly. "Good boy."

And a little bit more of Hell burned away . . .

Anathema shut the door.

There had always been a horseshoe over the door of Jasmine Cottage, ever since its first tenant centuries before; the Black Death was all the rage at the time and he'd considered that he could use all the protection he could get.

It was corroded and half covered with the paint of centuries. So neither Adam nor Anathema gave it a thought, or noticed how it was now cooling from a white heat.

***

Good Omens - Thursday