Look Who's Barking

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Demian: B- | Grade It Now!
Look Who's Barking

Cut to a nearby apartment. A dainty little pug yips at the closed window, then leaps from its perch on the sofa to yip some more at its master’s feet. Its master is seated in an armchair, paging through a photo album. The unfortunate actor portraying Pug’s Master has the painful duty of sighing the line, “Oh, Catherine -- my darling!” with a straight face while he strokes one of the photos in the book. Pug yips as His Master breaks down into sobs. Various items of glassware scattered about the apartment start to vibrate and dance as the yips from Pug grow more frequent and more urgent. Pug’s Master, still sobbing, tells him to cram it. Oh, dear. Pug’s actual name is “Misty.” Poor dog. Must catch a lot of crap around the fire hydrant for that one. Misty, finally exacting revenge for a name that too closely resembles that of a feminine hygiene product, yips, “The hell with you, then, Bucky,” and scoots away as the shaking of the apartment amplifies. Okay, I must admit that what follows is pretty damn cool. Misty’s Master senses the rattling, and whips his head back and forth to glance around the apartment. It’s as if the trembling heralds an earthquake of frightening magnitude. The thinnest glass shatters first. The light bulbs in the various lamps explode, plunging the room into darkness. These are followed by shattering vases, pitchers, tumblers, candy jars, clock crystals, and, finally, the glass in a framed photo of Misty’s Master and the presumably-deceased “Catherine.” To the growing horror of Misty’s Master, the row of windows facing the street blows into the apartment. A shadowy form leaps through one of the gaping window frames to bound to the center of the room. It’s a white-haired woman, clad in diaphanous rags that shift in the breeze. She raises her hands to frame her head, drawing her fingers into claws as she unhinges her lower jaw and lets loose with a high-pitched, piercing shriek. She jumps to loom over Misty’s Master, who has dropped the album to the floor and clapped his hands over his ears in voiceless terror. The intruder leans down inches from his face, screaming continuously. Misty’s Master moves his hands from his ears to his eyes. Blood seeps through his fingers as the shrieks carry us to commercial. Oh. Yeah!

Endless shots of night drifting into day over the city of San Francisco as some alterna-ovary chants drivel on the soundtrack. The shifting camera eventually settles on Halliwell Manor. Prue enters the kitchen with a newspaper and perks out “Morning” to Phoebe, who sits at the table scribbling madly in the BoS with her trusty Sharpie. Prue pours herself a cup of joe and asks Phoebe if she’s “still writing about Cole.” Phoebe reveals that she’s moved on to “his demonic side.” Prue crosses to the table to sit while expressing her concern for Phoebe’s morbid single-mindedness of late. Phoebe counters that it’s Piper with whom Prue should concern herself. The errant P has barricaded herself in the bridal boudoir. Prue opens the paper and changes the subject. She reads aloud that they were not the only ones in the neighborhood annoyed by the canine baying of the previous evening. “Says there was [sic] a record number of noise complaints.” She continues, “Says there was a man murdered at the exact same time.” Phoebe tells Prue to zip it. Prue carries on with the details of the crime: no apparent motive, nothing missing from the apartment, “lots of shattered glass.” Phoebe talks above her, telling Prue that she refuses to be distracted from the task at hand. Phoebe’s power of premonition is of a different mind on that matter. Phoebe grips the page containing Belthazor’s entry and is flung into a vision. A woman in a phone booth wheels about in terror at the sound of hideous shrieking. She covers her eyes as the glass in the booth shatters. Blood then seeps through her fingers. Phoebe snaps out of it and fills Prue in on the vision. She stands, clutching the BoS to her bosom. “I think a demon was responsible for that man’s death,” she announces. “And I think I know which one.” She stomps out into the dining room. After a moment of goggling, Prue rises to follow.

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