I knew something had been wrong when the flock of sheep came stumbling up over the hill, their shepherd nowhere to be seen.
It had only been three weeks since I had been in the Peruvian Highlands for my study abroad program and yet there was a lot I had already picked up on. For starters, a shepherd never abandons their flock. The one I had been living with, a man named Thiago, was well along in his years. He had been a shepherd since he was old enough to walk. His entire life was dedicated to the act of herding sheep. He knew their temperaments. He understood their tics. It seemed that he could even understand their senseless bleating. He cared for them and their needs as if they were his own children. There was no way he would simply leave them to their own devices like that. Without a leader, there was no way they would have been able to find their way back. Which lead me to my next thought, whatever happened to Thiago happened not long ago.
You see, Thiago’s farm was tucked away on a flat ridge that was surrounded by the rest of the Andes mountains. In order to get to it, you had to cross through a small valley. It was the only way in and out of the area. The valley itself acted as a sort of natural deterrent for people, be it other farmers or vagrants. During the day, you couldn’t tell that anything laid just beyond the hills. At night was no better. There was no direct trail that led back to Thiago’s unless you were already aware that it existed. Given that Thiago was the definition of a hermit, there shouldn’t have been a way for anyone to have found him, let alone been able to get the jump on him. I hadn’t heard anything either. If someone had harmed Thiago this close to home, at the very least I would have been able to hear something. Anything. Sound rarely travelled through there except for the blowing of strong winds and the talking of sheep.
The sheep themselves were silent as well, making no sudden movements once they all made it back into the enclosure. Whoever or whatever had gotten to Thiago had left them spooked. Dusk had already fallen, plunging the rest of the farm in darkness. The only light came back from Thiago’s house. I knew I should have gone out looking for him. It was the brave thing to do. It was the right thing to do. And yet my legs refused to move. I was as frightened as the sheep. I returned back to the house and locked the door behind me. Even if fear hadn’t gripped my heart then, there was little I could actually do under the thick cover of night. For all I knew I would just end up walking right into a trap.
I tried to go to sleep after waiting for an hour, hoping Thiago would return. I had decided that I would go searching for him when daylight returned. If nothing else, I had planned to travel down to the nearest town to see what help I could find.
When sleep finally found me, it was quickly disrupted by the sound of barking. Loud and sharp, it pierced through the night’s silence. I rubbed my eyes, trying to assure that I was actually awake. It made no sense for a dog to be here. Thiago didn’t have a sheepdog, not anymore at least. He had told me about one he used to have back when he was much younger, even showed me a picture. A tricolor border collie named Mateo, with slate blue fur mixed with white, touches of brown on its face and hind legs. He had helped Thiago with the sheep, keeping them in check and out of harms way for the better part of a decade. It wasn’t until Mateo developed a nerve disorder that he could no longer be a proper sheepdog. When he finally passed a few months later, Thiago did not have the heart to seek out another dog.
The barking continued on through the night until morning. When I had gone out to find any trace of where the dog had been, I found none.
I went into the city after thoroughly checking the perimeter of the farm. There was no sign of where Thiago could have gone. I was practically certain no one in the city would be of much help with the search either. Thiago was not exactly a people person so I was doubtful anybody would know who he was. Yet, luck seemed to be on my side that day. Someone, in fact, had seen Thiago the other night. A merchant had recalled seeing him hover just outside the town with his sheep, asking people if they were interested in purchasing wool. When no one did, he shuffled off frustratingly towards the mountains. That had been just as the sun was starting to set. While it was nice to confirm an alibi that he was seen that day, it still offered no insight to what became of him. I decided to go to the police. I gave a report with as much information I had on Thiago, which in hindsight was surprisingly little, and they said a search party would be sent out soon.
I returned back to the farm, making sure the sheep were fed and watered before retiring to his house and going to sleep.
The barking was louder that night. Closer. Previously, it had sounded as if the dog was wandering just along the outline of Thiago’s property. Now it sounded as though it was hanging around the edge of the sheep enclosure. Despite this, I did not get up to go check on where the dog actually was. The sheep were bleating but it did not sound as though panicked, rather a simple response to the dogs barks. I fell asleep not too long after, the weight of how tired I had been those past few days finally catching up to me.
The next morning was much the same. I woke up, surveyed the farm, found no trace of the dog, tended to the sheep once again and headed back into town.
When I got to the police station, I was brought into a side room where two officers sat on one end of a table. One of them was the officer I had given my report to. The other, I assumed, was the chief, given that his uniform was much nicer. They took turns asking me questions regarding my relationship to Thiago, how I knew him, why I was living with him, things like that. After explaining to them that I was just an American student studying abroad, they kept me in a holding cell until they were able to contact the American Embassy to verify my story. It took hours. By the time the officer and chief returned, it was already dark and raining. They took me back to the side room where they explained to me that Thiago was dead. His body had been found deep within a patch of underbrush not too far from where the farm was. They told me they believed it was a heart attack, caused by some sort of shock. When they brought me downstairs to look at the body, to confirm the identity, I was horrified. Thiago’s face was contorted into a permanent expression of fear; his eyes wide and bulged and terrified, his mouth slightly agape as though caught just before he could let a scream out. It was difficult to see him in that state.
Afterwards, before letting me go, they asked me if I had seen anything strange in the area. Anything that could have scared the old shepherd that badly. I told them that nothing particularly weird came to mind, aside from the random dog that had been showing the past two nights. Their expressions quickly changed, concern clouding their gaze. They glanced at one another before turning back to me. The chief got up to leave the room, informing me that he would contact the American Embassy again, to get me on the next available flight back to the States. The other officer escorted me back to the holding cell as it was the only place where a bed was. He gave me a blanket and hot tea, telling me that for my safety, it would be best if I stayed there tonight. I couldn’t understand what it was that they were so concerned about. When I pressed the officer for more information, he hesitated for what felt like an eternity before he spoke again. Looking back, I know he was simply trying to spare me from the truth. I still appreciate him for that.
He told me that it was possible Thiago was killed by what he called a condenado, a cursed spirit. These were souls of the damned that were punished by God, forced to wander the earth again, often terrorizing unsuspecting shepherds by quite literally scaring them to death. When I asked him what that had to do with the dog I had mentioned he put his hand on my shoulder. He said that these spirits were not traditional ghosts as I probably understood them. These spirits had the ability to shape-shift. They took the form of dogs, cats, snakes, even owls. This allowed them to sneak up on people when dusk hit.
I had trouble believing any of what I was told was real. Can you blame me? It wasn’t that I was some sort of atheist. I certainly believed that there had to be something out there but nothing like this. Ghosts and ghouls were one thing but this… this was beyond me.
Sleep did not come any easier that night either because the moment I closed my eyes, I could faintly hear the sound of barking echoing throughout the silent town.
The next morning the officer escorted me as I went back to Thiago’s farm to collect my things and to see the sheep one last time. The officer had said he found another farmer who was willing to take them in now that their shepherd was gone. As we reached the valley that led up towards Thiago’s we noticed there were footprints etched into the mud. They looked like a dog’s at first. Yet as we continued up towards the farm, they got larger. Much larger. At the threshold, the footprints were farther spread apart leading not towards the house.. but towards the sheep enclosure. Without thinking I ran, despite the officer yelling at me to stay close. When I reached the enclosure, my knees gave way at the sight before me. Blood was splattered everywhere, pooling in the middle of this.. of this mangled pile of flesh and wool. Entrails were splayed out around bits of bone and hooves. I can still see the sight whenever I close my eyes. The sleep had been butchered, slaughtered without mercy. My body vomited involuntary, the rotting stench barely hitting my nose. The officer grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me away and towards the house. The front door was gone, pieces of its shattered remains scattered about. We got in quickly and retrieved my items. It was clear that they had been rummaged through although nothing was missing. I could tell that concerned the officer though he didn’t vocalize it.
When we arrived back at the police station, the chief was waiting there with a cab. He gave me a firm handshake and told me to look after myself. The other officer simply offered a solemn nod, his eyes speaking for him.
I’m sorry, is what they told me.
The flight was long and draining, though I was just happy to be back home. Not too long after I contacted my academic advisor and told her that I wanted to change majors.
And I thought that would be the end of it. I thought this would be a story I would bring to my grave, a story to try and forget and move on from. But I can’t. That’s just not a possibility now - because it’s found me.
I don’t know how. I don’t know why. But lately just as I’m about to get into bed, I start to hear a dog barking, just outside of my house. When I finally found the courage one day to look out the window to see where the dog was, I saw it. It’s a tricolor border collie with slate blue fur mixed with white, touches of brown on its face and hind legs. Just like the one Thiago used to have.
I don’t know what else to do other than write my story for someone to find. If anyone knows anything about these condenados, what more can I do? I don’t have enough money to just up and leave. If it found me here, I know it’ll find me no matter where I go.
The barking only gets louder now with each night.
And tonight, I can hear it barking just outside my front door.