Tommy looked up and down the deserted street. "Did you ... say something?"
"That's right. Didn't you hear me?" It was a gruff voice, with just a trace of an English accent, and it was definitely coming out of the dog.
"You're a dog." In fact it was a huge, fat bulldog, with big flaps of skin hanging off the sides of its face. From where it sat, on the front steps of the abandoned motel, it looked Tommy straight in the eye.
"That's correct," the dog said.
Tommy stared hard at the dusty windows of the motel office. "This is a trick, right? There's a TV camera back there and you want to make me look stupid."
"No tricks, Tommy. Just three questions."
"C'mon," Tommy said. He deepened his voice. "Sit up." The dog stared at him. "Roll over. Play dead."
"Cut the crap, Tommy. Do you want the shoes or not?"
"Let me see 'em."
The dog s
This story was originally published in the Twilight Zone magazine.
A boy is asked three questions by a talking dog in order to win the magic shoes that would lead him to a treasure.
The story is a little more cynical than the '60s Twilight Zone, but it has the same surface profundity.
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