Before I Forget Again
1k Views · Ongoing · Agatha Christie
Ten years ago, I sat in the witness stand and told the court my beloved Uncle Arthur was a monster.
My testimony sent him away for twenty years and made my father Robert a hero.
For a decade, I lived inside the perfect world my father built around me — safe and warm and suffocating. Then one afternoon, digging through boxes in the basement, I found Buster's old collar. My golden retriever. The dog I'd made myself forget.
The memory hit like a freight train.
The man in the dark had clamped his hand over my mouth, and I could smell him now — peppermint and cologne, thick and choking. I saw Buster lunge at him. Saw the man's boot connect with the dog's ribs.
But Uncle Arthur was deathly allergic to dogs. He couldn't get near Buster without his throat closing up.
If it wasn't Arthur that night — then who the hell was it?
My testimony sent him away for twenty years and made my father Robert a hero.
For a decade, I lived inside the perfect world my father built around me — safe and warm and suffocating. Then one afternoon, digging through boxes in the basement, I found Buster's old collar. My golden retriever. The dog I'd made myself forget.
The memory hit like a freight train.
The man in the dark had clamped his hand over my mouth, and I could smell him now — peppermint and cologne, thick and choking. I saw Buster lunge at him. Saw the man's boot connect with the dog's ribs.
But Uncle Arthur was deathly allergic to dogs. He couldn't get near Buster without his throat closing up.
If it wasn't Arthur that night — then who the hell was it?














































