Good Boy

I live in a rural part of eastern Kansas. It’s your typical Midwestern small town: there’s a church on every block but the nearest hospital is twenty miles out. It’s the quiet, bucolic little corner of the world that I call home. It can get boring sometimes, yes, but I wouldn't trade it for anything.

When I returned to my hometown after college, I stayed with my folks until I was able to get a place of my own. There aren't any apartments here, only houses, so it took a year of working my ass off to afford the smallest, cheapest bungalow in town. But for me, a single guy in his mid 20's, it's the perfect bachelor pad. My subdivision only has twenty houses in it, so I’ve gotten to know most of my neighbors fairly well in the three years I've lived here. But my closest neighbor, Tom, is the only one I would consider more of a friend than an acquaintance.

Like me, Tom lives alone. He’s a 63-year-old widower and his two adult sons live across town with families of their own. They visit each other occasionally; he stays with them during the holidays and sometimes in the summer I’ll hear the shrill, joyful laughter of his grandchildren in his backyard. But he's on his own most of the time. He’s retired and I don’t think he has any friends apart from me. To be honest, he’s all I’ve got too. I mean, I have a few friends at work, but we don’t hang out after hours.

Every morning at eight, when I’m out getting the mail and Tom is leaving for his “health walk” as he calls it, we stop and chat for a few minutes. It’s usually just run-of-the-mill small talk about the weather or our plans for the day, but I always enjoy conversing with him. His sharp wit, booming laugh, and friendly personality reminds me of my dad. Funnily enough, he told me I remind him of his sons. He always says, “Mason, you’ve got a good head on your shoulders just like my boys.”

One morning while I was out getting the mail as usual, Tom exited his house and began walking down his long gravel driveway to greet me.

But unlike every day since I’d known him, he wasn’t alone.

A fluffy gray dog with a red collar trotted along beside him on a leash. Noticing that I’d spotted his canine companion, Tom smiled at me and waved. I did the same, thrilled to see that he had a new friend to keep him company.

"Hey, neighbor!" Tom called out. "How's it goin'?"

“Going good!” I called back. "New dog?"

“Yeah, just got him yesterday! Figured it was about time I had someone to take walks with.”

I tucked the mail under my arm so I could pet the dog. “He’s a handsome fella! What’s his name?”

“Max.” Tom replied, reaching down to scratch the dog behind the ears. “That was the name the shelter gave him. He already responds to it, so I didn’t see any point in changing it.”

As the two approached me, I noticed Max wasn’t wagging his tail or panting. This wouldn’t have been strange in and of itself, but it was his lack of animation coupled with the way his eyes looked that made my excitement shift into unease.

While the rest of him was gray, the fur around his eyes was black like a raccoon, making them appear sunken in. The eyes themselves were an icy bright blue, but they were not the soft, gentle eyes of a dog. They were human-like, glowering at me from within their dark pits with an uncanny intelligence I’d never seen from an animal before.

Max sat at Tom’s feet as he stood next to me at the mailbox. The dog looked up at me and I unconsciously took a step back as his piercing gaze met my own. He stared, eyes slowly moving up and down as he appraised me, sizing me up as if I was nothing more than a piece of meat. Suddenly the idea of petting him didn’t sound so nice.

“You can pet him if you want,” Tom said, as if reading my mind. I hesitated, and he added, “he’s friendly.”

I could’ve begged to differ, but I didn’t want to seem rude and although there was hunger in his eyes, Max wasn’t growling or acting like he would hurt me. Tentatively, I reached down and gave him a pat on the head. At least he felt like a normal dog.

“Good boy.” I said, more as pacification than praise. Like in the movies when someone tells a wolf “nice doggy” as if that would somehow stop the animal from eating them alive.

The whole time I talked to Tom, I could feel Max’s eyes on me. Thankfully Tom kept the conversation short and after they’d left for their walk, the rest of the day passed uneventfully.

However, that night, I dreamt of being chased by a gray dog-shaped thing with the face of a man. It whispered in a raspy voice that sounded like bone cracking: "Good boy. Good boy. Good boy."

I woke up sweating, heart racing. I sat up and reached for my lamp, fumbling blindly for the switch. As soon as light flooded the room, I darted my eyes around, trying to spot the hideous creature that had surely followed me into the waking world. Once I was certain that my room was creature-free, I flopped back down on the bed with a sigh of relief.

I wiped the sweat from my forehead and told myself, it was just a nightmare. I said it over and over like a mantra until my heart rate and breathing slowed and I felt calm enough to go back to sleep. I reached over to click the light off but stopped when I happened to glance out the window at Tom’s house. There was a light on in his upstairs window and I could see his silhouette standing there.

Tom was - no, wait, it couldn’t be Tom. Tom didn’t have a snout and pointed ears.

It was Max. He was standing on his hind legs, perfectly still, perfectly balanced, just staring. I couldn’t see his eyes from this far away, but I knew they were looking directly at me. I could feel it.

I shivered and drew the blinds, then the curtains for good measure.

It didn’t matter. I knew he was still there.

I tried to rationalize it. Maybe it was a trick of the light, or maybe Max had a medical issue. Dogs could stand, sometimes. But not like that. Not with posture. Not with intent.

The next morning, I waited at the mailbox for a few minutes for Tom and Max but they never showed. A part of me was relieved. As much as I wanted to see Tom, I did not want to see that dog again. But another part of me was worried. Tom was a regimented man; he kept to a strict routine and rarely strayed from it. He wouldn’t have missed his health walk unless something was up.

Then again, he had a new dog now and might’ve needed to adjust his schedule around Max’s bathroom habits. Maybe he’d left early or hadn’t left at all yet. I managed to convince myself that this was the case and went back inside.

That night, when I drifted off to sleep, I was blissfully unaware of the nightmare waiting for me on the other side of consciousness.

The dream began with me waking up inexplicably around 1am. I’m a light sleeper, so it could’ve been any number of things: the odd house noise, the bellow of a train horn - hell, even my own farts if they're loud enough.

I closed my eyes to go back to sleep only to open them again when I heard the sound of a dog barking from outside. It was coming from the direction of Tom’s house. As the seconds passed, the barking got louder - closer - and the more clearly I heard it, the more I realized that something about it was…wrong. Unnatural. I lay there in the dark, listening, trying to discern what was so strange about the noise.

The barking continued for a few seconds, paused, and then came the very faint, but very human sound of a person clearing their throat. Then the barking resumed.

It wasn’t a dog at all.

It was a person imitating a dog.

In my backyard in the middle of the night.

What the hell?

Confused, I went to the window and opened it. Just as I did, the motion detection light in my backyard clicked on.

What it illuminated chilled me to my soul.

Tom was on all fours, barking and looking up at me with wide, terrified eyes. His hands and knees were bloodied and bruised and he was naked save for a red dog collar - Max’s collar - around his neck. The collar was attached to a leash and the end of it was wrapped around the paw of…Max. He stood upright, shoulders slack, head tilted up at the window and panting - no, smiling - at me. His lips were pulled back to reveal sharp teeth and his piercing blue eyes burned with malice.

My mind screamed at me to help my friend but when I tried to move, I found myself paralyzed. I could only watch helplessly as Max turned his gaze to Tom. He looked down at his quivering pet and his grin widened in sick satisfaction. Tom had stopped barking and now only whimpered, never taking his eyes off me, silently pleading for help.

Then, in a raspy, guttural voice, Max spoke:

“Tom, sit.”

Obediently, Tom folded his injured legs and sat on them, wincing slightly.

Max licked his lips and snarled, “Speak.”

Tom opened his mouth and began to scream.

I woke up in the same terrified panic I had the night before only this time, in my frantic search of the room, my eyes found Max’s silhouette standing in the doorway.

I froze.

Terror slammed into me so hard I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t think anything except fuck, fuck, FUCK! I was trapped in that catatonic state until a wave of adrenaline swept through me and jolted my body into action.

I reached for my lamp and flicked the switch with a shaking hand. The instant the room was illuminated, Max’s silhouette disappeared. I stared at the empty doorway, breathing heavily. Where is he? Is he gone? Was he even there to begin with? It took me a moment to realize that it was just my mind playing tricks on me but once I did, relief rushed through me. A short, sharp exhalation of breath escaped my lips, as much of a laugh as it was a sob. I put my face in my hands and scrubbed at it, convinced I was going crazy. I lay back down, suddenly feeling exhausted. Somehow, after a while, I was able to fall asleep again.

There was still no sign of Tom and Max the next morning. I decided I’d go knock on his door later that evening and ask if he’d changed his morning walk time.

As the last of the sun's rays faded from the sky, I walked up Tom’s driveway and gave his front door a few raps. I waited, but there was no answer. I rang the doorbell. Nothing, not even Max barking. Tom’s car was still in the driveway - he never went anywhere at night due to his cataracts making it difficult to see.

I snuck a peak through the glass panels that ran along the left side of the door, but couldn't see any movement or anything at all besides darkness. It didn’t look like a single light was on. My stomach tightened. Something wasn’t right. What if he fell or hurt himself somehow and can’t reach the phone, I thought worriedly.

I tried the doorknob and found it was unlocked. I didn’t know if that was unusual for Tom or not, but it deepened my concern nonetheless. Slowly, I opened the door just wide enough to poke my head in.

“Tom?” I called out into the darkness. The silence I was met with sent alarm bells ringing in my head. The nightmares that had plagued my sleep for the last few days surfaced in my mind and with them came a disturbing thought: what if Max did something to him? I shook my head. That’s ridiculous. He’s just a dog. I tried to convince myself that this was true, but I couldn’t stop the doubt from creeping in.

I wondered if I should call the cops, have them do a welfare check instead of just waltzing myself into God knows what. But any rational thought I had was being overridden by an urgent need to help my friend.

Cautiously, I stepped into the house.

“Tom?” I called again, louder this time. I stood there, listening, but the house was eerily quiet and still. Where’s Max?

The hair on the back of my neck stood on end as I was suddenly overcome by the feeling of being watched. Desperate for light, I felt along the wall for a switch and, thankfully, my fingers brushed across one on the first sweep. I flicked it on.

Shock and horror rocketed through me as I was met with a scene straight from my nightmares.

In the middle of the living room sat a large metal dog crate. Inside it was Tom, wearing only Max’s collar. A wave of panic engulfed me as I saw he was sitting in a pool of his own blood, his body riddled with injuries. He was unconscious. Or maybe….

“Oh god, Tom! Oh, fuck!” I cried, rushing to the crate on shaking legs. I dropped to my knees beside him and my heart sank as I looked him over. There was a chunk of flesh missing from his left arm and the top half of his left thumb was completely devoid of skin and muscle, leaving only the bone poking out like a half-eaten pork rib. His right leg was in a similarly ruined state: there was a large wound above his ankle so deep that I could see the exposed white of his shin bone. The bone was marred with indentations that looked like teeth marks, as if something had been gnawing on it.

Heart in my throat, I watched Tom’s chest, hoping and praying for any sign of life. I didn’t know if he could still be alive with the amount of blood loss he’d suffered. But by some miracle, he was - his chest rose and fell so slightly it was almost imperceptible. Relief flooded through me and I let out the breath I’d been holding. But I sucked it back in as a startled gasp when I heard a low, guttural chuckle from the hallway behind me.

My heart stopped.

The breath left my lungs as fear gripped my insides with an icy hand. Oh no. Oh God.

Despite every fiber of my being screaming at me not to, I turned around, my heart thudding against my rib cage.

There, perfectly balanced on his hind legs, stood Max.

The light from the living room barely reached the hallway so he was shrouded in shadows, but I could see his sharp white teeth showing in a wide, demonic grin. Drool dripped from his mouth and onto the floor with a soft plip. His eyes, which were locked on me, rolled back until only the whites were visible.

Trembling, I began to slowly back away. Max’s eyes followed my movements and, in the same raspy voice from my nightmares, he said, “Stay.”

As if the word had put a spell on me, I felt my body freeze up. My mind reeled, my lungs gasped for air and my heart raced, but my muscles were paralyzed. I couldn’t even move my eyelids to blink. Try as I might, it was frighteningly clear that this evil presence masquerading as a dog had me at his mercy.

Max’s blood-stained lips curled up even further as he reveled in his power over me. “Good boy” he rasped, “Now, let me chew on your bones.”

Then he lunged at me, shrieking like metal being torn in half, his claws clicking on the hardwood.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

He ran with unnatural speed and fluidity on two legs and in the blink of an eye he was on me, leaping onto my chest and knocking me to the ground.

Max sunk his teeth into my lower thigh muscle and I screamed as white-hot agony exploded in my leg. No longer frozen, my limbs flailed about frantically, punching and kicking, but Max seemed unfazed by the blows. He tore at my flesh with impossible strength and I heard the sickening sound of teeth scraping against bone. Max had found what he was looking for. My stomach churned, bile rising in my throat. My brain had turned to mush, clouded with a hazy fog of fear and pain.

But somehow, a single thought was able to break through: If you die, Tom dies too - you have to get out and get help! With this realization came a sudden, overpowering urge to survive. I summoned all the strength I could muster and with a roar of anger, I gripped my leg and yanked it from Max's jaws.

I ran. Through the open front door, stumbling into the yard. The pain was blinding but I didn’t stop. I heard Max behind me, claws scraping, that awful voice chanting: "Stay. Stay. Stay."

My house was only a few yards away, but it felt like miles. Gritting my teeth, I bolted up the driveway to the front door and slammed it shut just as Max reached me. I locked it just in case and collapsed to the floor, heaving, clutching my leg in agony. My vision swam but I refused to lose consciousness before I could call for help. Thankfully, my phone hadn’t dislodged itself from my pocket in the scuffle and I tried to hold it steady in my shaking hands as I dialed 911.

As I spoke to the dispatcher, I could hear the sound of claws scratching and teeth tearing into wood as Max tried feverishly to get it. I knew it wouldn’t take him long. What will he do to me? Eat me alive? Keep me prisoner and make me his personal chew toy like Tom?

Grunting in pain, I dragged myself into the bathroom, leaving a trail of blood behind me. I shut the door and locked it, putting another barrier between me and that monstrosity. However, this final exertion proved to be too much and darkness began to overtake me. Through the growing haze, I became dimly aware of the sound of sirens growing closer. I prayed that my salvation arrived in time.

I woke up in the hospital a few hours later. Thanks to a cocktail of drugs, my excruciating pain had been reduced to a tolerable level. I asked how Tom was and to my immense relief, they said he was in stable condition. Since I’d told the dispatcher we’d been attacked by a dog and our injuries confirmed it, animal control searched the area around our houses for Max. But apart from the claw marks on my door, no trace of him was found.

Try as I might to distract myself while I recuperated, the horrors I'd experienced haunted me relentlessly, playing on a loop in my head. I worried about Tom - he might've been stable physically but mentally he was probably fairing even worse than I was. He'd been at that Hell-hound's mercy for far longer after all.

A few days later, I was released from the hospital. But before I left, I wanted to visit Tom and make sure he was doing okay. To my relief, he seemed in good spirits and apart from being covered in bandages, he looked well. He shot me a beaming smile as I walked in, greeting me the way he always did when we met for our morning chat.

“Hey, neighbor! How's it goin'?” He noticed my crutches and added, “Not so good for that leg it looks like!" He nodded his head toward a chair in the corner of the room. "Have a seat, take a load off!”

I hobbled over to the chair and sat down carefully. “Hey, Tom.” I said, returning my friend’s smile. Now that I was closer to him, I could see there were dark circles under his eyes like he he hadn't slept in days. “How are you feeling?” I asked, worrying that I'd been right to worry.

He held up his thumbs. His left was bandaged and significantly shorter than the other. “One and a half thumbs up! How about you?"

"I'm okay." I wasn't, but compared to what Tom had gone through, I didn't feel like I had room to complain. Still, he was the only one I could confide in about what I was feeling, so I decided to share what was on my mind. I ran a hand through my hair, sighing heavily. "Still trying to wrap my head around what happened. I just don’t understand.”

Tom's face turned grim, his eyes somber. He shook his head. “Shit, son, I don’t either.” His voice was quiet, hollow - a stark contrast from the chipper tone he'd had a moment ago. Silence fell between us, the weight of the physical and emotional trauma we'd suffered hung heavy in the air. When Tom finally spoke, he sounded like his old self again, "All I know is I’m gettin' a goldfish next time.”

I couldn’t help but laugh despite myself. Tom did too, a booming guffaw, and I knew then that he'd be okay. Maybe I would be too.

Once our laughter had subsided, Tom looked hard at me and said earnestly, "Listen, I can't thank you enough for saving my ass, Mason."

The gratitude in his voice made my heavy heart feel a bit lighter and I grinned at him, shrugging like it was no big deal. "Hey, you would've done the same for me."

Tom nodded. "Damn straight!"

Before I left, I asked Tom what he was going to do when he got out of the hospital and he said he'd be staying with his son and daughter-in-law for a few weeks while he recovered. I was relieved, not just because he would be looked after by his loved ones, but because he wouldn't be alone at his house where Max could find him. I know he’s still out there, prowling around in search of the ones who got away.

It’s for that reason that I’ve decided to stay at my parents house for a bit, at least until Tom gets back. I’ve been missing them lately anyways and of course they’re happy to have their son home.

It’s been two weeks and I’m still having nightmares about Max, ones where I wake up screaming every time. That’s not what worries me though. My parents’ house backs up to a corn field and for the last few days, when I’ve looked out the window at night, I swear I can see Max's silhouette standing among the stalks. Always upright, always facing towards the house.

I’m keeping the curtains closed from now on and I asked my dad if I could keep his rifle in my room, just to feel a little safer. He obliged and I have it under my bed, primed and ready. It could just be my imagination, but if Max really is out there, then it's only a matter of time before I wake up to the sound of his claws clicking on the floor as he makes his way to me.

Click. Click. Click. Click.