I stay in a British suburb, in what I thought what a fairly safe area. I live alone, and have few close friends. It might seem a bit sad to some of you, but the thing I cared about most in this world was my dog, Bud. He was a Labrador Retriever, seven years old, the friendliest animal you’d ever meet, and my best friend. My parents bought him for me, saying they didn’t want me to be alone when I moved out, that they thought I could use a friend. I was sceptical at first, not wanting to have to handle a mess-making mutt, but I fell in love with the pup pretty fast. He was good-natured and easy to train, and his companionship got me through some of the hardest times. He would’ve made a great therapy animal.
Every morning before I go to work and every evening after I eat dinner, we’d enjoy a walk through the woods on the edge of our neighbourhood. They’re made up of a deceptively deep expanse of trees and brush that conceal a massive peat-bog, sitting at its centre. It has well-trodden pathways that we’ve been through hundreds of times, never seeing more than the odd deer or squirrel. You don’t get dangerous animals in Britain, really. No wolves, bears or bobcats, nothing that would seriously pose a threat to you or any pet the size of Bud, so between that and the low crime rates I honestly never felt afraid of anything where I live.
Last night, we headed out for our second walk of the day. I kept him on the lead until we reached the woods, where I unclipped him and let him off. Bud was a good boy, sociable around other people and their dogs, and usually wouldn’t stray far from my side. We started our stroll, the brisk evening air offering a welcome freshness, the leaves, gravel and twigs giving a satisfying crunch with each step. I watched as he moved from scent to interesting scent, sniffing away at whatever caught his fancy. I took a deep breath, appreciating the early-autumn woodland. At this time of year, the sun has been setting a little earlier. Thankfully, I’m not afraid of the dark, and not much spooks me- especially when I had my faithful friend at my side.
We walked on, my hands in my jacket pockets, following our favourite route that would take us deep into the woods near the peat-bog, then loop around and come back out. The way we go is a little off the beaten path, specifically because its quieter, so we run into less people. I usually get a little lost in thought, when I walk. That night I was thinking about my brother. He passed away recently. I hadn’t seen him in a few months, so I can’t help but feel partially responsible for what he did. All that echoed in my head was possibilities, regrets, things I could’ve done differently that might have prevented this.
‘Why didn’t I reach out? Why didn’t I check on him? Why didn’t I visit more? Why am I the way I am, so damned shut-in and unsociable? I knew he was struggling and I did nothing. I’m a shitty excuse for a brother. I may as well have tied the noose for him myself.’
I hadn’t even realised I was crying when I felt the bump of Bud at my leg, his bright eyes looking up at me with a sense of concern, his tail wagging softly. I wiped my eyes and gave a weak smile, petting him before we continued on. Things have been hard, but at least I had him. It had gotten a bit darker in the 30 minutes or so we’d been out. I didn’t feel the need to turn on my phone torch yet, as I could still see the path well-enough, and Bud with his golden-blonde coat stood out pretty well too. It wasn’t long after, though, that I first realised something felt off.
There was a certain smell in the air. Not the usual smell of the bog that carries on a windy day, something… else. It was hard to place at first, smelling almost like an overly-full rubbish bin that hadn’t been taken out in a few weeks, but it was far-enough off that it was only on the edge of my senses. I wondered if some kids had been out here, had a fire and some drinks, burned some stuff they shouldn’t have and didn’t clean up after themselves- but that didn’t seem right either. I could see it was bothering Bud as well, as he was sniffing at the air inquisitively. As I tried to place the sour, trashy, rotten-food smell, I heard something from the woods to my left.
It was a rustling, a quick rush of disturbed bushes, twigs and leaves, that then suddenly stopped, catching me and Bud’s attention immediately. I assumed at first we’d spooked a fox or something, but the sound had been coming towards us, not moving away. Squinting my eyes, I was looking in the direction the sound had come from, but it was difficult to make anything out. I could vaguely discern, a few paces off the path, a slightly round shape at the base of a large bush, but looking right at it somehow made my blood run cold. I wanted to pull up my phone’s light, but something about it made it almost impossible to look away from. The smell was far stronger now, almost making my eyes water. I was snapped out of it by Bud giving a low growl, a noise I almost never hear from him. Realising my heart was racing, I pulled up my phone and turned on the flash in one quick gesture, the bright light blinding my view for a moment before it adjusted, and my heart sank.
It was a face. A head, pale eyes wide and large teeth on full display. It… It looked like the pallid head of a corpse, but not a rotten one, maybe a few days old if I had to guess. Had someone just dumped a body here? I was fixated on it, looking into its impossibly wide eyes, I realised… It seemed to have no eyelids, or lips, and yet it’s expression was a semblance of a rictus grin. Breathless with shock and fear, I took a single step back without even thinking, and then it happened.
As if a trigger had been pulled, the face unleashed an ungodly shriek, burst outwards and rushed towards me, but it was more than just a face. It was arms, long spindly arms ending in digits with sharp nails, it was legs, too many legs, three on each side, and it was a tail- a tail that curled up and over and ended in pale stinger, its end a wicked barbed point like some kind of bone-fashioned spear. I scrambled backwards, screaming in fear, stumbling, dropping my phone and falling due to the uneven ground beneath me, but Bud did the opposite. Just before the thing was upon me, Bud leapt forward, tackling it with a growling bark. The moment they hit, they became a whirl of gnashing teeth and limbs, canine growling and angry, inhuman wailing. As I got to my feet, and grabbed my phone to aim the light at the fight, I heard the a terrible noise.
It was like leather being punctured with a giant needle, an audible impact followed by Bud giving a panicked yelp of pain that immediately overrode my fear with a protective mix of panic and rage. Aiming the light at the mess of shapes, it illuminated a sight that is burned into my memory. The movement stopped, and what I saw was Bud, held in the grip of the monster, his limbs twitching and a light whine coming from his bloodied mouth, the oversized hands gripping his head and neck while its stinger was buried in his back. It looked right at me as it held him, like it knew. Like it fucking knew what it was doing, like it knew it was taking away the thing I held dearest. Gritting my teeth I yelled and rushed forwards, but before I reached it, it retreated. Without turning away, it pulled back into the darkness, its too-many limbs allowing it to reverse far too fast for me to catch it, while looking right at me. Its rotten face disappeared into the shadowy bushes, taking Bud with it, back towards the peat-bog.
That was the last time I saw my best friend. I yelled after him, calling his name uselessly till my throat felt like sandpaper. I didn’t know what to do, what to feel, but I’d spent long enough out there that it was pitch black and my phone died quickly. As I carried myself home, my eyes were glued to the trail. All that was on my mind was thoughts of what that creature was doing. I pictured it tearing into him, ripping my closest companion apart with its oversized human teeth and clawed fingers, reducing him to a mess of bloody meat and fur… Would it come for me next? Or was it satisfied just taking Bud from me? What even was it, where did it come from? How long has it been in those woods, the ones I walk every day? I went home, feeling a mix of disbelief, fear, grief and anger.
He died protecting me, and I couldn’t do a damn thing to help him. I don’t know what the fuck I saw out there, but I know nobody will believe me, certainly not the police. I think I’ll tell them a maniac stabbed and stole my dog on the trail. There’s some blood where they fought, so maybe they’ll follow it up, but I don’t have much hope.
First my parents, then my brother, now Bud. I can’t talk to my friends about this, they already think I’m a freak. Fuck it. If the police don’t come up with anything, I’m going back into the woods with a bat and a knife. I don’t even care if it kills me, I’m done letting the people I care about die on me and doing nothing about it.