I eat lunch in the park every day. I take the elevator down, exit the lobby, and walk to whatever food truck is parked on the corner. Sometimes it’s a hotdog, other times it’s street tacos.
Once I buy my food I like to go and sit at the park and eat. There’s a fountain in the middle and a jogging trail that circles around it. On the days it’s busy it’s nice to sit and people watch, on the days it’s not I scroll through my phone to kill time while I enjoy the breeze.
Parents pushing strollers, men and women jogging in spandex. Sometimes the pigeons bounce over and I toss them bits of my hotdog bun or tortilla, or the last of my fries. It’s been pretty peaceful, aside from the guy I saw two days ago.
A homeless man running in the park, shouting at everyone around him. His commotion seemed to make everyone uneasy, heads turning and watching him flail at seemingly nothing. People sort of turned the other cheek and ignored him, as it wasn’t entirely uncommon in the big city. In the end he ran away, his help me’s echoing until he was out of sight. I tossed my scraps to the pigeons and returned to work. Back through the lobby, back up the elevator. Back to work.
Yesterday, I did the same as usual. Same regime down to get food, a deluxe hotdog today, with the poppy seed bun and huge pickle. Like a salad bar and link on a bun. I sat on the bench like usual. There weren’t many people out, so I settled into the bench, took a messy bite of my lunch, and started scrolling through social media.
“Oh god, oh god, someone help me please—”
I heard it coming from behind me, an approaching whimper that approached so fast, it startled me. A blur rushed past me, and knocked me in the elbow. My lunch tumbled onto the dirty concrete, a sight that made the pigeons take notice.
A woman ran past me and into the park, huffing and crying, tears streaming down her face. There wasn’t really anyone around, and those that saw her made an effort to ignore. With hands squeezed into fists she let out a panic cry, looking to anyone for help. She whirled around, and I felt my stomach twist when she saw me. She must not have even noticed me sitting there, despite ruining my lunch.
“Y-you! You gotta help me! It’s coming” She shouted, begging me to come closer. Her hair was a mess but she didn’t look homeless, she just looked desperately out of breath.
Sitting on the bench I look at her reluctantly. I looked at my lunch on the ground, then swiveled on the bench to look behind me.
There was nobody there, just your average busy street. No one giving chase, No one even really saw her. I turned around, and saw the chubby little birds had already swarmed my food.
“What’s coming?” I called to her awkwardly, seeing nothing but hungry pigeons.
She looked at me incredulously.
“Are you fucking kidding me? Look at it? Look!” She pointed desperately, starting to sob. I started to feel anxious, and I turned to look again.
There was nothing chasing her. Nothing at all.
I heard sirens in the distance, and the busy horns of traffic. There was nothing to see.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know how to help you. You want me to call the police?” I sat up from the bench and offered my phone.
She just shook her head, her lip trembling. She started backing away.
“Miss?” I called out to her.
A jogger came around the corner in bright green spandex, air-pods stuck in his ears. She reached for him and touched his shoulder.
He flinched away, waving her off and saying something like “I don’t have any money”.
She looked past me, a look of utter defeat as she kept backing away. I looked the same direction, wanting to help. But still, I found nothing.
“Oh god. I’m going to die. I’m going to die,” She was saying.
“Miss, let me help you,” I said, heading towards her, “here, “I’ll call the police. I’ll stay with you until they—”
“NO! I can’t stay. I have to go now. It’s too close”
Then she was gone, running in the same fashion the homeless man had the day before.
Today, it is raining. I look out at the weather, and contemplate my lunch. I don’t want to get wet, but I really want to get out of the office. I decide to go. I grab my wallet and keys, and pull on my jacket. I step into the elevator and ride down. I exit through the lobby, and step out into the rain. There’s a pretzel truck today, and I can already taste the salt and cheese.
I wince against the rain, and order a giant pretzel. I pay the guy and wait patiently, looking at my bench from underneath the shelter of the food truck. It’s empty just like I expected. The park is empty too. Except for something laying in the middle of the park. I can’t quite see it, but I get the nagging feeling something isn’t right. Like it’s a body.
“Hey man, you see that?” I asked the cook, and he leans out the window to look.
“See what?” He asks impatiently, squinting to see through the rain.
“I don’t know, man. It’s green. There. You see it?” I asked, pointing directly at it.
“Nah, man.” He says, and goes about getting the pretzel ready.
I want to wait, but the eerie curiosity nags at me. I leave the food truck, and cross the street in the rain. I see the shape clearer as I get close, and I start to feel sick. There’s no way, it couldn’t be.
Rain is hammering the fountain water and the stretch of grass before it. Slumped on their side off the running path is the jogger in green, their body still in the heavy rain. I approach cautiously, digging out my phone. Before I even see him I know he’s dead.
The jogger’s eyes are lifeless, globes with the light sucked out of them. His mouth is open, and it looked like he was foaming at the mouth. I try to shake him, but his body is solid and ice cold. Like he’s been dead a while. Frozen.
Suddenly I get a searing, mind-splitting headache. Like my brain is being ripped apart. I cry out in pain, squeezing my eyes closed as I grab my head and try to ride out the pain. My knees buckle and I fall next to the jogger, writhing on the ground in agony.
As soon as it starts, the migraine blinks away. I sit up in the grass, water soaking through my pants and running down my face. My chest is heavy and I gasp for breath, overcome with the relief that the pain has faded away.
When I look at the ground next to me, I gasp. The jogger is gone.
“What the…” I look to see if anyone else saw it, and there’s no one there. It’s mind boggling, but through my confusion, is a gnawing, primal fear. I feel its presence before I see it, but when I do, I feel my breath ripped from my lungs. There’s a faint ringing in my ears, one I can faintly tell is getting louder as it gets closer.
An unexplainable horror in both its appearances and its movements. I watch it approach from across the park, a slow glide that seems to be homing in where I’m standing.
It’s a floating dog, dead from the looks of it. It’s standing up straight, its hind legs dangling perfectly still just inches above the ground. Its paws are aimed straight out like they’re posed, like a real life model of something that didn’t render properly. Blood is dripping down the sharp teeth of its bottom jaw, trickling down a red stain that’s soaked into its fur. The top jaw is missing completely, like it broke off the base of its skull.
Just seeing it makes me scream. I start to move and it turns just slightly, adjusting its path so it will eventually meet me. Even with it so far away, I can smell it. A putrid gagging smell of death, decay, and festering maggots.
I shout again, and there’s no one to hear me. I panic and run across the street, cars laying on the horn as they halt right before me. I yell and ramble at them, and they wave me furiously off the road.
When I look back, it’s following. The same slow glide, paws pointing towards me. Standing perfectly still, even as it starts clipping through the passing cars. It stops for nothing.
The man at the pretzel truck is irritated, still holding the order for me. He clears his throat to let me hear it, I don’t even give him the chance.
“Help! You gotta help me! You see that? You see that thing following me?!” I cry, grabbing his arm and shaking him.
“C’mon, man—” He starts, but I beg him to look.
He looks down the sidewalk, where the floating dog is approaching. My ears ring and I gag on the smell, a gurgle of vomit splashing against the side of the food truck.
“Man, what the hell. There’s nothing there man, now get outta here!” He shouts angrily, and I take off down the sidewalk.
It won’t stop for anything, the same eerie glide through the rain.
When I look at it, I feel like I’m going to die.
I run down the street like a madman, asking every person that crosses my path. They don’t see the dog. Of course they don’t. They wave me off and pull out their phones, offering to call the police or get me help or hand me money.
They can’t see it. Nobody can see it.
Why won’t it stop?
Why won’t it stop following me?
I’ve been riding the subway for hours. I’m afraid to go home, afraid of what will happen when it catches me. I know it’s out there. I don’t want to see it. I’m scared to see it. But I’m so tired. I’m not sure how long I can keep running from it.
The subway rides on a loop across the entire city, and I paid to ride it through the night. I’m pretty sure I’m safe. For now at least.
But every time I close my eyes, I catch a whiff of that horrible smell.
Only for a moment, and then it’s gone.