My friends and I had a joke that my Pomeranian was a demon lord because she could subdue the human race with her cuteness. She wasn’t just cute; she demanded obedience. Her little barks were Pomeranian law. People who would ordinarily be annoyed with “yappy” dogs fell in love with my yappy little dog. People who would rather drop kick fluff balls from here to next Thursday were converted to loving Pomeranians once they laid eyes on my little fluff ball. It was something about the wagging of her fluffy little tail and how tiny she was that made everyone want to pick her up and give her hugs and snacks.
I told my friends tales about how she would drag other poms at my grandma’s house around by their tails and trash their respective areas in order to assert her dominance. She even beat a friend’s Chihuahua into submission once, and it’s well known that those dogs are fierce little bastards looking for a fight. Hell, she’d beat anything within the scope of her abilities into submission that threatened her position of superiority. She really was demonic in that way, but it was still cute because she was so tiny.
My friends and I entertained the prospect of starting a cult dedicated to my cute little Pomeranian, but of course, it’s an unrealistic goal (although I still want to do it because it’s my idea). We still joke about it to this day despite what has been plaguing me at night. My friends don’t know about it, and I’m not telling them. They’re the skeptical type. I was too, until it happened to me.
It started two and a half months ago when I made a makeshift shrine for my little pom after she died. I had just moved to an inconvenient, rude little town after a friend I was living with made a stupid life choice. The new place was terrifyingly still. By that, I mean it was dead silent; so silent, that the wind made no noise when it brutally assaulted the tree limbs beating my window. Alas, that’s another story for another day. Once I was settled in, I began feeling uneasy. There was something off about the place that I couldn’t put my finger on, so I began burning incense to help me relax and hopefully quell the inexplicable dread I started to feel once the lights went out.
Then, it happened. My lifelong disbelief in demons and the supernatural was shattered. While I was sleeping on my back, I felt something settle itself on my lap. It was reminiscent of how my Pomeranian would lay on me when she was still alive. I took some solace in this disturbing feeling since I was still devastated by the loss of my little pom. I half expected her to be there if I were to reach out to that place, but I knew better, so I remained in my position for the entirety of the night. It was like this for several nights, but instead of feeling solace, I felt dread as each night passed to the next. I knew that there was something too good to be true about this whole situation considering how terrifyingly still each passing night became.
Boy was I right because after a few weeks of dreadful peace, I felt something climbing from my lap onto my belly, just like my pom used to do when she needed to go pee. I slowly opened my eyes and was stabbed in the gut with overwhelming terror. My breath caught itself in my throat as I beheld the demonic half decayed Pomeranian standing on my belly. Parts of her coat were matted with a mysterious, brackish substance, while other parts of it were still gloriously full. She excitedly wagged her fluffy little tail while her tongue hungrily hung out of a little mouth half full of jagged teeth. She licked her chops as she stared at me with vicious, blood red eyes as if I was her snack. Something told me to look at her feet, but I was afraid that if I broke eye contact, it would be bad news for me. Still, the voice cried out, “look at the feet!”
I glanced at the demonic dog’s feet, but they weren’t there. What once were precious little paws were now bloody stumps. I started crying uncontrollably. It was just like the horrifying dreams I had when she was alive, but this time she wouldn’t be here for me to protect upon awakening. The bloody stumps stamped my belly, garnering my attention. I immediately calmed down, but tears involuntarily jumped to their deaths despite doing so. For the rest of the night I laid awake and petrified, staring at the demon pom stamping on my belly with her bloody stumps. She did nothing to harm me, but that vicious look in her eyes was almost as terrifying as the stillness of the rude, inconvenient little suburban town I live in.
Every night my demonic little dog pays me a visit. She’ll stand on my belly and stamp her bloody little stumps until I give her attention. I’m too afraid to pet her. What if she really does make me her snack? What the hell is that substance oozing from her skin? I resorted to just talking to her; complimenting her cuteness and telling her that she was a good pom, but it made things worse. She rushed towards my face and sat on my chest.
She glowered at me, blood red eyes flaming with the wrath of the devil himself and started to bark. I did an excellent job suppressing my laughter. Cute little Pomeranian barks emanating from a horrifying creature such as the one I coexist with is enough to make anyone laugh under any circumstances. She made a slight head movement which I instantly recognized. The little demon lord wanted snacks. Come to think of it, what kind of snacks do demon dogs like? Souls? Animal sacrifices? The blood of the innocent? Boy bands? Trail mix? What? I don’t know. All I had available was half of a cheeseburger from Wendy’s.
“I only have this,” I said in a hushed voice as I timidly offered up my precious cheeseburger. “No more barking. My roommates might hear you, and I’ll get evicted. I’m not allowed to have pets.”
The half decayed pom daintily accepted my offering and took her place on my lap where she greedily devoured it. A cute little burp escaped her demonic mouth and she promptly fell asleep. Hours later, I woke up to bloody stumps poking my head and glaring red eyes attempting to look desperately innocent. I knew that look.
“Do you need to go shit?” She nervously wagged her fluffy tail. “Fine.” I snuck her downstairs and let her run about in the yard to find a good place to evacuate her bowels. Big mistake. The neighbor’s dog got a good whiff of her demon stink and went wild, alerting the rest of the neighborhood dogs. This is not going to end well. I’m going to be evicted for sure.
I snuffed out the cigarette I had just lit up and attempted to chase down that little Pomeranian, but she was already gone before I took one step in her direction. I froze mid step when I heard the sounds of hell opening up and swallowing the prissy pooches whole. Lights in random houses flickered on, and I slinked off into the shadows pretending that I knew nothing.
After making it safely back into my room, my breath of relief died in my throat. That damn demon was on my couch sleeping as if nothing happened. I shrugged my shoulders. There was no point in lecturing something that could rip my face off and use it as an appetizer at any given time. Fuck it. I gently picked my little pom up and placed her on my lap as I laid down for a not so peaceful night’s sleep.
The next morning, the neighborhood was up in arms about a mass slaughter of all the dogs on the block. There was speculation that a wild animal was on the prowl, but other neighbors pointed out that since it was only dogs that were killed, it had to have been done by human hands. People were divided, and chaos ensued. While my neighbors were at war with each other, I took the opportunity to inspect the carnage, and a jolt of fear went through me as I realized exactly what the demon had done.
“Oh shit,” I murmured, staring wide eyed at the mutilated corpses. “She made snacks out of all the dogs on the block.” I laughed to myself. No wonder the neighbors couldn’t decide what killed their doggos. It was all the more frightening, though, because it could happen to them if they crossed my little pom, and worst of all it could happen to me since she’s always with me. I should feel responsible for the doggy deaths, but I don’t. What was I supposed to do? Let a demon shit in the house; a demon I’m not even supposed to have or I lose the roof over my head. Has anyone ever smelled demon pom shit? It’s the most foul odor in existence on steroids.
I am absolutely certain that if I don’t leave my little fluff demon a snack, then I might become her snack, and this is a legitimately terrifying truth that keeps me awake at night. I also have a rule that if anyone comes into my room, it is mandatory to leave a snack behind. No exceptions. I won’t be responsible for that little Pomeranian chasing down anyone I know and making a meal out of them. It’s the only thing I can think of to appease the little demon, and so far it’s been a successful plan.
I am never letting my skeptic friends come over. It’s still just a joke between us, and they certainly don’t need to know just how violent a cute little Pomeranian really is.
I’m probably going to Hell for this.