Hi, my age isn’t really important, but I still live with my mom. I’m an only child so when I was young my mom got me a golden retriever to keep me company; I named him Buster after the character from Arthur and he was 11 years old at the time of the story. He’s been with me through a lot and honestly retelling this story hurts me and just brings back horrific memories.
So it was the summer and everything was pretty normal. My mom recommended that we go camping, which I was pretty excited about. I’ve always dreamed of going out to the forest and telling stories around the campfire. So we packed our things, bought a new tent and headed out to the nearest campsite that allowed pets; yeah, Buster came with us which I’d soon learn was a massive mistake.
When we got there we set everything up pretty quickly, and the campground was basically full as tents lined the lots. Me and my mom had separate tents and Buster stayed with me. If I remember correctly it was the third day when things started to get weird. That day a girl from another camp who was around my age asked if I wanted to go up the trail with her and a few of her friends which after some consideration I decided to go with them. Buster joined us, he was old but still active and his tail wagged the whole way through the trail. Every now and then we’d stop and I’d throw a stick for him to fetch. We walked a few miles until we finally turned around and by that time the sun was starting to go down. A few of the people in our group were worried about not getting back before dark but I reassured them that everything would be alright, after all we had Buster to protect us. On the way back I continued to throw sticks off the path for Buster to fetch, and that was a mistake. We were almost back to camp when I threw another stick, this time farther than usual. Buster bounded after it, his tongue lolling out of him mouth before he dove into the undergrowth and I lost sight of him. A minute passed and I called out for him and the others noticed.
They looked back and at each other with worried looks, then a few minutes later the brush started to shake violently, followed by the sounds of whimpering and pained yelps. Everyone bolted except for me, I just stood there in fear hoping that he was okay. He hobbled out of the brush, the stick wasn’t with him and he seemed to be alright, but it was like something was off. It was dark so I couldn’t exactly get the best look but even once we got back to the camp I still couldn’t see anything off about him. That was until we got home.
Once we got home he became really clingy, always sleeping in my bed whereas usually he’d sleep on the floor. His sleeping position was less curled and was more similar to how a person would sleep. After a few nights being back from the camp I began to notice a sickening but also sweet smell coming from Buster, and flies seemed to be attracted to him but he was still alive and perfectly okay. It was less than a week before I noticed that something was wrong with him beyond his behavior and smell.
I was grooming him, his fur shedding more than usual and as I looked at his eyes I noticed something; they weren’t his. The black orbs that every dog has seemed to be replaced with something more akin to that of a person. They were brown, like that of a straight black coffee. I think I looked too long because the eyes stared at mine and his mouth flopped open and his tongue rolled out, by this time it was dry and no longer produced spit, but he panted all the same.
That night as I rolled onto my side of the bed I asked something out loud; “What are you?” and I didn’t expect an answer but one came anyway.
“I’m Buster, your loyal dog.” It said while my face was away from its muzzle. I was frozen in fear. I felt a human hand grab my side. “And I won’t leave you anytime soon.”
My breathing got fast and my heart raced, I finally unfroze after a few minutes of its hand on me. I rolled out of bed and faced whoever was inside the corpse of my dog, and I was met with a slim shadowy figure. It looked uncanny but still somewhat human. Its torso protruded from my dog’s stomach, Buster’s rotten corpse was made more apparent as I saw his ribs pushed apart to make way for whoever this was. It smiled at me, just like any person would. It tried reaching its hand out to me, its brown eyes staring at me as if it wanted to live inside of me next.
“Get out of my house!!!” I screamed at it. “You’re not my dog!”
It looked taken aback, and in that moment I ran for my bedroom light, flicking it on and when I looked back all I saw was the rotten corpse of Buster, maggots emerging from its ripped open stomach. I still don’t know what that was, and I don’t think I ever will.