The suitcase

A very short story involving an old dog and a bad guy

Jan 18, 2025

Saturday Morning Serial is the weekend section of Library Binding. It’s a personal corner where I publish short stories, book reviews, and literary musings. I’m Michelle Watson, and I’m so glad you stopped by.

I wrote this tiny story a few months ago for Writing With Dorothy Sayers, a class taught by

Jonathan Rogers

at The Habit.

I'm sharing it today because 1.) It's amusing, I hope, 2.) My family members will recognize it, and 3.) Jonathan is gearing up to start another literature-based writing workshop next week, and I highly recommend it to you.

I spruced up the original story, and here it is for entertainment purposes.

🎧 Today’s article comes with audio narration by yours truly. 🎧

0:00

-3:51

I yanked the blue suitcase by the handle, trying to heave it onto the subway train. The wheels had rolled into the gap, and the thing was so heavy, I couldn’t dislodge it.

A guy in a gray hoodie grabbed the handle on the side of the suitcase, and together we hefted it on before the doors slid shut.

"Woah, that’s heavy," the guy said, "What've you got in there?"

Oh my gosh, what do I say? I scrambled for an answer. Two agonizing seconds crawled by. The subway train lurched forward, and I collapsed onto the plastic bench.

“Um, computer equipment," I said.

Hoodie Guy chuckled. He plopped next to me and smiled. I was nervous, so I kept talking.

"I'm, uh, moving offices across town. Got my whole desk in here." I stroked the suitcase's scratchy upholstery and rolled the coffin-sized contraption closer.

I don't usually lie, but how could I explain that I was hauling a dead Newfoundland dog inside a suitcase that wasn't even mine?

I'd known something was wrong when Jax hadn't greeted me at the door with his usual slobbery nuzzle. I walk him for Sarah when she goes on business trips, which is often, and I always need the extra cash.

It took ten minutes to find Jax curled inside a closet. I thought he was sleeping, but when my fingertips brushed his silky black coat, I knew.

"Sarah, I don't know how to tell you this, but Jax died,” I murmured into my phone.

She got weepy but took the news like a champ. He was old and had been acting weird lately, so it wasn't a complete shock. Could I take his body to the vet?

"Of course. Don't worry about a thing, Sarah. I'll take care of it."

I hung up and realized I had no clue how to get a hundred-pound dog out of this apartment, down six flights, and over twenty blocks to Sarah’s fancy vet. Who keeps a Newfie in an apartment anyway?

One glance around her closet and bingo. A big blue suitcase with wheels.

Poor Jax. He barely fit. It wasn't dignified, but it was all I could think of.

Hoodie Guy asked what kind of office work I did. I spewed the first thing that sprang to mind, praying he wasn't growing suspicious.

“Video game development."

His whole face sprang to life, and he started jabbering about his favorite games, none of which I recognized, but that didn’t seem to bother him. Finally, the subway stopped at Eastgate, and I cut in, "This is me."

I stood. He stood too.

"Let me help you get that thing off."

"That'd be great, thanks."

Together, we lugged the suitcase off the train. I started to thank him, but the next thing I knew, my eye exploded in pain, and I staggered backward, knocking into people as I moaned and clutched my face. That jerk hit me in the head!

I forced open my good eye, and I spotted him sprinting across the crowded tunnel with the blue suitcase rattling heavily on his heels.

Note: This fictional story is inspired by a true one that a cousin of mine told (to uproarious laughter) one Christmas Eve back in the early 2000s, and it's been part of our personal lore ever since. There is no way I could make this up.