skeletal, were but dark depressions, with the faintest points of cold, green light...bare pinpricks, showing from within.  The creature drew back the skin around its mouth in a most savage manner, bearing sharp but yellowed fangs.  From one corner of the mouth fell a viscous line of saliva.  The entirety of this strange apparition disturbed and frightened Steele very deeply.

The creature paced slowly around him, growling and hissing as it slinked along, arching its bony spine and lowering its head menacingly as it stared right into Steele's eyes.  Now completely unnerved, the usually confident sled dog found himself fighting to speak.  "Y...you are the spirit of the future?", he stammered. "You're here to show me things that will happen in the future?" 

The creature said nothing, but responded with a sharper, louder growl.  Steele shivered in fear at this menacing presence.  He was deathly afraid of it, but tried to muster what courage he could.  "Look, I'm sorry to be blunt, but I like you the least of all the spirits I've been visited by tonight."

Again, the dark creature said nothing, but turned slowly and began walking down the darkened street.  Steele cautiously followed, fearful of getting too close to this particular apparition. 

The street seemed almost to swallow them up as they walked, and very quickly Steele found himself back in the same room, where he had earlier witnessed Charger first taking notice of his younger self as "useful"...the large room with the furnace, boiler and shelves.  Excepting now they saw several huskies in there...about five or six.  Steele recognized a few of them as old team leaders...even the one whom he had beaten in the recent race.  That dog looked rather old now.  Next to him was a young dog whom Steele recognized.  "That's Kirby", he remarked without looking directly at the spirit.  "I've heard he's been moving along quickly through the ranks of Simpson's team.  Don't tell me he managed to make lead dog!"  But the spirit gave no response other than another low, menacing growl and a hiss.

Steele noticed the dogs were all engaged in some light banter, and it was apparent that the spirit wanted him to listen in.

"No", said Kirby. "I don't know much about it anyway.  I only heard that he's dead."

"When did he die?" another dog asked.

"Last night, I think", Kirby replied.

"Does anyone know what was the matter with him?", the old leader asked.  "I thought the old cheater would never die."

"Who knows?" asked yet another dog, yawning indifferently.

"Does anyone know what they did with the remains?", the old leader asked.  "I mean, given how the old place fell into disrepair and neglect after the incident with the antitoxin all those years ago."

Steele's eyes widened, and his ears shot forward at the mention of this.  He risked a glance back at the spirit, who only stared at him with a cold, sinister countenance.

"I hear that there's going to be a burial in the old yard", Kirby noted.  "Some of the mushers are planning to go, and I suppose I might go over as well."

"Really?" another dog asked.  "Weeeell, I suppose I might go...if it's not going to be too long and drawn out.  I hate funerals."  The dogs all laughed in response.

"Well I certainly am the most disinterested of you all", the old leader scoffed.  "But I imagine my master will be there, which will necessitate my going.  I cannot say that I was ever particularly a friend of his, though I cannot say either that we were enemies.  So I suppose that's something, if perhaps very little after all."

The dogs all laughed again, and they gradually began to make for the door, chatting together as they went.

As the dogs exited out the door, the scene began to fade, and Steele suddenly found himself standing inside the parlor of a home he did not, from the present perspective, recognize.  The strange and dark spirit stood next to him in silence.

There, before the both of them, sat young Rosy's mother, in their love seat by the hearth.  She had a blanket over her legs, and she was holding onto a little doll, which must have been one of Rosy's favorite toys.  Jenna lay at her feet, staring sadly into the fireplace.  A fire was burning there, and the dancing light reflected in her eyes.  Standing just a few steps away from them was a man whom Steele recognized him as the town preacher; he stood before Rosy's mother and was reading aloud some verse, the last words of which Steele managed to catch...

"And he took a child, and set him in the midst of them."  The preacher stopped reading.  He looked up from the pages, and wiped away a tear.  He walked up to where Rosy's mother was sitting, and offered a sympathetic hand.  She reached out and gently grasped it.  The preacher smiled at her, saying "try to reassure yourself if you can, Martha.  The Lord will be there for you, and has welcomed her into His glory."

Rosy's mother started to cry, and placed a handkerchief up to her nose.  The preacher gently squeezed her hand.  "Don't worry", he comforted her.  "It's about time your husband was coming home."

She looked up at a small grandmother clock on the mantle, which chimed half-past five o'clock.  Sniffing and trying to compose herself, she murmured "Past time, actually."  She sniffled again and touched the corners of her eyes with the handkerchief to wipe away her tears.  "Though I think he's taken to walking a bit slower in the evenings anymore."

The preacher sat beside her and placed both of his hands over hers in a gesture of comfort and sympathy.  They were both quiet for some time, when at last Rosy's mother said, in a steady and cheerful voice, that only faltered once as she fought back her sorrow: "I have known him to walk with--I have known him to walk with Rosy on his shoulders, very lively indeed."

"And so have I", replied the preacher with a gentle laugh.  "Often".

Just then Rosy's father entered through the front door, and both the preacher and Rosy's mother stood to greet him, she joining him at the door and embracing him tightly.  The preacher stepped over and shook his hand, and offered to take his coat, which was quickly hung up on the rack at the door, along with his hat.  Jenna slowly joined them and, with a weak wag of her tail, greeted her master.

"Darling", Rosy's mother asked her husband, "what kept you?  I was starting to worry."  They each retired to the chairs before the hearth, and sat down to a waiting tea kettle.  Jenna lay back down, this time at the feet of Rosy's father...and once again stared off into space.

"I went to pay my respects again, my dear.  I wish you could have been there with me.  It would have done you good to see how green the place is even now, at this time of year."  He held her hands in his, but cast his glance down sadly.  "I promised her I'd walk there on a Sunday.  My sweet little girl..."  His voice trailed off, and he choked on the last few words, fighting back tears.  He embraced his wife again, and they held each other comfortingly for a few minutes.

Rosy's father noticed then that her favorite doll was sitting on the love seat between them.  He picked it up and looked it over for a minute, and then looked down at Jenna, who seemed oblivious to everything.  "You know, the strangest thing happened as I was walking back home this evening.  A young dog approached me and nudged my hand, as though it seemed concerned with me for some reason.  And you know, I think it was one of Dan's dogs...Tommy if I remember his name right..."

Steele's eyes opened wide at this news, and then he frowned.  "Hmph", he huffed.

"...It seemed strange at first, but then it struck me as an act of kindness.  As if he was expressing his sympathy for me...as if he understood why I was so withdrawn as I walked along the street.  What a pleasant young dog.  I'm glad that young fellow Simpson was able to take him in.  He deserves a good home."

Steele was flummoxed, at first he could only think of how silly he felt his young nephew was.  But the question of why someone else would need to take his nephew in and give him a home bothered Steele greatly.  The scene, however, began to change around him and the spirit.  And now he found himself standing before an old, abandoned house, in a terrible state of disrepair.  There were no lights in the windows (many of which had broken panes), and no signs of any life coming from within.  On one side of the old house was a large fence, partially broken and dilapidated in places. 

And then it hit Steele with a shock.  This was the master's house and the kennel yard!  He turned to the spirit, which stared back at him with its cold, menacing eyes.  "Spirit, what does this mean?  What's happened here?  Where is the master?  Where is my team?"

But the spirit merely stood in abject silence, beyond its unpleasant low growl, punctuated as it occasionally drew breath with a low hiss.  Not being able to bear the sight for too long without a terrible dread, Steele turned away again and