I don’t know what came back to my home but I do know one thing: That is not my dog.
So my father went on vacation and left me his dog, a beautiful Weimaraner named Bella. In case you don’t know, Weimaraner are hunting hounds. They only really bond with one human and the rest are, at best, pack. The human Bella bonded with was my dad. Obviously, he’s the one she spent most of her life with. But still, she listens to me. When I call, she comes. When I tell her to stay, she stays.
Of course, a dog needs walking and that’s fine. My dad’s retired and so he always walks her at the same time. And she’s used to that. She has trouble doing her business if it’s not ‘her’ time. So I try to accommodate that. My job has pretty comfortable times so having her around just means I need to get up a few minutes earlier. There’s a little strip of forest behind my home so I can just open the terrace door, open the fence door and let her run.
All fine, all good, until last Friday. I had to get up at an ungodly early hour that day. Even worse, when I woke up it was raining like crazy. The middle of the night and rain coming down in torrents. I was absolutely stoked to have to walk the dog.
So I just put on some clothes and go outside with her, leaving the light on the terrace on but pulling the door shut so she doesn’t run in with her paws all wet before I’ve had time to dry her off.
I walk through the pouring rain and to the garden fence. It’s a tall fence, seven feet and sturdy enough that you can’t see through it. I unlock the door, shove it open, and Bella is off like a shot, the way she always is.
The moment I step past the fence I realize how fucking stupid of an idea this was. I can’t see shit. It’s dark, so dark I can barely see. The little porch light doesn’t reach past the fence. Two steps out and I immediately trip over a root that I’ve apparently always avoided in better lighting.
I want to go back but Bella’s still out there, hopefully doing her business.
So I walk out, stumbling around in the dark. My optometrist tells me that I’m very good at seeing in the dark but between the forest, the early hour and the rain I can barely see six feet in front of me.
A coworker introduced me to the Magnus Archives recently and the stories that always got me were the ones where people get stuck in these bizarre endless dreamscapes. I feel like I’m in one of these, an infinite plane of cold, dark wetness.
I’m getting scared. I call out to Bella. My voice barely reaches my own ears through the pouring rain. Bella always comes when called but clearly she doesn’t hear me. I can’t even tell if she’s coming closer because the rain is louder than the rustling of her paws on the forest floor could ever be.
Oh god, what if I can’t find her? What if I’m late to work because of this? Should have just let her poop in the backyard.
I call out to Bella some more to no avail. This is useless. I decide to go back home, grab a flashlight, and search for her properly.
Stumbling and slipping I feel more than find my way back to the fence and into the backyard and see the unmistakable shape of a Weimaraner backlit by the porch light. Smart dog ran back to the terrace when she couldn’t find me and is waiting for me in front of the terrace door.
Relief floods me. If you’ve ever been worried sick about something and then you probably know the kind of relief I’m talking about. It’s the kind that’s like a warm shower over your back. I’m so relieved, in fact, that I don’t question the red specks on Bella’s snout.
It’s Sunday now and I’m certain that whatever showed up on my porch, it wasn’t Bella. I only write this down now because I wasn’t sure at first but now I am.
That… thing… looks like my dog but it isn’t.
The first thing I noticed was off was the eating habits. Bella is not a picky eater and her sweet tooth is almost as big as mine. So long as it’s sweet she wants a bite of it. But this… thing… doesn’t. It only cares about meat. Dried meat won’t do, either. The fresher the better. It refused Bella’s kibble. It refused the jerky I keep around for Bella. At first I thought Bella was just being a bit prissy but then I accidentally cut myself while chopping some veggies for dinner and the picky eater was suddenly right there, licking up the red. I was mostly just happy that she wanted something so I didn’t question it until I felt her teeth scraping at the wound to make me bleed more.
I yanked my hand away in shock. Normally when she nips me she gets this really apologetic look but this thing just stared at me as if offended that I was taking its delicacy away.
The eyes were the next thing that tipped me off. Bella has these beautiful, soulful gray-green eyes but this… thing… has eyes that are the most putrid shade of yellow. It’s teeth are whiter and sharper than Bella’s, too. But the looks this thing gives me…
I firmly believe that dogs are incapable of being evil or mean. Even pitbulls, bred killing machines that they are, think they’re being good boys when they maul and kill. But when this thing stares at me it feels actively malevolent.
I spent Saturday wondering why it didn’t attack me in my sleep. I leave my bedroom door open for Bella so she doesn’t wake me up at night by throwing herself against it. And she takes frequent advantage of that, coming into my room to lick my hand to get me to wake up and walk her. It’s super cute. But this thing doesn’t do that. It just stands right at the threshold, staring at me.
Eventually I got an inkling of why that might be the case: I keep a crucifix over my bedroom door. In fact, after trying it out I learned that whatever room I hang the crucifix up in, the thing pretending to be Bella refuses to enter it.
The worst part is that I have no idea what this thing is. Is there such a thing as a skinwalker for dogs? Or is Bella still out there while I’m taking care of this creepy changeling?
I haven’t walked this thing. I just open the terrace door and watch it. I often have birds coming into my garden, sparrows and blackbirds mostly. Bella has long since given up trying to catch them. She’s just not fast enough. This thing is, though.
It’s already caught and mauled three blackbirds to death, two of them a couple. First it killed the female, then it waited in ambush until the male came to grieve.
The picky eater that didn’t want its kibble devoured the birds without blinking.
But the worst part is that I have no idea what I’m supposed to do about this. My dad’s vacation ends on Wednesday. I can’t very well hand that monster over to him. But I can’t exactly get rid of it.
Can I?