I have to write this quickly in case I die tonight. What you are about to read are events that took place in the last two weeks.
Thankfully, I don’t hear anything now, so maybe that thing won’t return.
***
Buddy was hanging from our american elm tree in the backyard.
He was a german shepherd, four years old, and 70 pounds. He slept in the doghouse out back, which I never wanted, but my wife, Anna, wouldn’t let me hear the end of it when Buddy kept tearing through shoes and couches. So, she gave me an ultimatum: get rid of him or have him live outside. The following day, I bought the doghouse.
Buddy sleeping outside went well in the beginning, but he began to whine late at night. Our windows are paper-thin; it was impossible not to hear him. It gutted me to imagine him sitting by the sliding glass door, crying to get in. So, one night, I thought to hell with it; if Anna made a big fuss about it, so be it, but I wasn’t going to let that dog sit out there and cry all night.
When I went down the stairs and flipped the back porch lights on, he wasn’t sitting there like I thought he would be. He sat in the middle of the yard, staring at the woods behind our house.
I slid open the door. “Buddy, come here.”
He turned to me and whined, then looked back at the dark tree line.
I stared too, and felt goosebumps on my skin. That slow, growing instinct of fear in the gut – when you don’t know why or what was causing it – began to grow. There was nothing unusual; in fact, everything seemed calming. The crickets chirped, the wind was cool, and the moon shone its blue light across the land.
But the fear continued to crawl throughout me.
I ran out, grabbed Buddy by the collar, and dragged him back inside. And when my back was turned to those woods, that’s when the feeling of dread peaked.
“I don’t want that dog in the house anymore,” Anna said the next morning. “We agreed he’d stay outside unless the weather is bad.”
“I know,” I said, “but I heard him whining last night, and I wasn’t going just to leave him out there.” I took a sip of coffee. “And there might have been something out back – in the woods.”
She crossed her arms. “Something out back?”
“Yeah, maybe a predator or something, I don’t know. Listen, we’ll have him sleep inside for a few nights, and then he’ll go back out.”
“Fine,” she said, walking off.
Buddy went back outside four days later, and I hoped whatever was out there was long gone. And the next morning is when I found him hanging.
I, regrettably, blew up at Anna, blaming her for wanting him to be outside in the first place. She went to sleep at a friend’s house for a few nights. And that first night is when I heard it – the scratching.
At first, I figured it was mice in the walls again. We deal with them often, but as I listened closer, I realized it wasn’t coming from within the walls but outside. I peered through the window and couldn’t see anything. There was no moon out that night. Figuring it was just an animal, I ignored it and drifted off.
The next night, I heard it again. There was more force this time, and a low groan accompanied the scratching. I looked outside and again saw nothing. When it didn’t stop and grew more insistent, I got out of bed and went to turn the back porch lights on. I opened the glass door and listened. The scratching and groaning stopped. I shut the door, locked it, and went back upstairs. There were no more sounds the rest of that night.
The third night though, that’s when I saw it.
Whatever was out there was no long groaning but screaming with pain, it sounded like. I would have called the police if I thought it was a person, but the sound was animal-like. My heart raced as I went to grab the shotgun I used to hunt with and a flashlight. I loaded it and went out back. The sound came from the doghouse. After building up some false courage, I cautiously approached and shone my light and gun into that enclosed space. I felt the color drain from my face.
Inside was a pallid, lanky creature. Its body was emaciated, and its pale skin clung tight around its frame, accentuating every bone in the creature’s body. The beast began screaming at me, contorting its body to try and untwist itself out of the small space; its expression was twisted in agony, and its mouth opened wide, revealing rows of rotting teeth.
I dropped my gun and flashlight and ran back to the house, slamming the door shut. The thing stood in the middle of the yard. It must’ve been at least 8 feet tall. My green eyes locked with milky white eyes, and I was too afraid to move. It cried into the air and moved with speed I’d never seen before, darting back into the woods.
***
That happened last night, and I don’t know what to do.
I can hear it now – the scratching. But god, it sounds like it’s directly on the window.
I see it. That thing is smiling at me and banging on the window.
Please, someone, help me.