Algernon Blackwood

“ The sharp sound had broken the morning stillness for many days; no one but the boy was awake at that early hour; the boy and the dog had the dawn entirely to themselves. He used to lie in bed, counting the number of barks. They seemed endless, they jarred, they never stopped. They came singly, then in groups of three and four at a time, then in a longer series, then singly again. These single barks often had a sound of finality about them, the creature’s breath was giving out, it was tired ”

“ He remembered Carlo, with his rheumatism, his awkward gambol, his squashy dog-biscuit beside the kennel and⁠—his bark.
In the state of semi-unconsciousness he lay, weary, weak, depressed and very lonely. The nurse, on her rare visits, afflicted him, the hotel guests did not ask after him. ”

“ It was in the melancholy season between autumn and winter, snow on the heights and fog upon the lower levels, when he was suddenly laid low by the plague that milked the world. The Spanish influenza caught him. He went to bed; he had a doctor and a nurse; no one else in the hotel came near his room; the police forgot him, and he forgot the police. His hated alias, Baker, also was forgotten, or perhaps merged back into the parent self.⁠ ⁠... ”

“ In later years this sound always brought back the childhood visualisation: across his mind would flit a streak of vivid colour, a peeling skin, a noisy dog, all set against a background of emotional discomfort and physical distress.
“It’s barking at me!” he complained to his old nurse, whose explanation that it was “Carlo with his rheumatics in the stables” brought no relief. He spoke to his mother later; “It never, never stops. ”

“ Certain things had made a deep impression in his childhood days; among these was the incident of the barking dog.
It barked during his convalescence from something that involved scarlet and a peeling skin; his early mind associated bright colour and peeling skin with the distress of illness. The tiresome barking of a dog accompanied it. ”