You are at the door looking out into the inky abysmal night through a foggy, frosted glass. You’re shaking your ankle, anxious for Sid to come back up the stairs from her potty trip because you’re cold and don’t want to be there. There in the nucleus, there in the panopticon, barraged with cacophony, insult, and dismay. It’s not clear how much time passes before you notice the tugging and movement on the 50 foot leash tied to the porch has stopped. It is clear, however, upon examination that the leash has not moved once in the minute and thirty two seconds you’ve been watching it. You know because you’ve been listening to the steady tick of the clock, the only thing that helps you remember to breathe.
Something’s not right. You push the door open, the sharp cold zinging up your nostrils and immediately stinging your face. It’s snowing? When did it start snowing? You call for Sid and reach for her leash, but when you go to tug it to drag her inside, it slings backwards too easily. The snow is coming down harder now, sticking to your eyelashes, but your cheeks feel like they’ve been lit aflame. And now your guts are beginning to feel uncomfortably warm as well. You call for her again and keep reeling the leash in, the sound of it dragging against the snowy rocks and up the rotten wooden stairs with a metallic jingle spiking your heart rate into the realm of physical discomfort. when you pull the leash up to the porch light, you witness nothing but a red collar. You lift it to your face to inspect it, but wait, wasn’t Sid’s collar baby blue?
You are at the door looking out into the inky abysmal night through a foggy, frosted glass. There is a weight in your chest and the sense of urgency cracking its way out of your skull. What’s happening? Something is happening. You look around, analyzing every detail as rapidly as a prey animal. Nothing looks amiss. This isn’t right. You look at Sid’s leash gently jostling as it does. Oh. right, you had to take her to the bathroom, and now you’re waiting. You take a deep breath and try to look at the falling snow through the fogged circle your sigh caused.
And then you feel it creep from behind you, the muted roar. The creaks begin to dance around you, and you can feel yourself automatically coordinate the exact locations of each sound. The awareness of it all spills hot, angry breath down the back of your neck.
Barking brings you out of it, staring into the fogged glass again. Barking? Right, Sid is going potty. Barking. Wait, barking? The weight in your chest crawls up your throat, and you grab the flashlight off the counter with one hand and reach for the door with the other. It doesn’t open because it’s locked. Right, it’s nighttime. You unlock it and turn the knob, pulling hard, but the door jams itself with a loud complaint. Half frustrated, half panicked you yank repeatedly becoming more like a beast each time.
You kick the door with a half shout half cry, grab the flashlight from the countertop and frantically pierce the darkness with a dull cone of like through the window.
Something is in the yard. Something other than Sid. You can’t make it out, but you see Sid barking at it defensively. In a single breath, it lurches at her, she yelps, and all you can make out after that is the color red. Screaming, slamming, throwing yourself at the door is all you can do, but it won’t open. But it will never undo what was done. Hands come from behind you, pulling at you, tearing at you. How could you let this happen? You stupid fucking idiot. You miserable useless bitch.
You are gasping for air, choking on coughs. There is nothing through the foggy, frosted window except for the inky abysmal night. The dog leash is gently jostling, and the noise behind you melts into a repetitive mush. And something is very, very wrong. You cannot catch your breath as you whirl around, dizzy, confused, growing sick to your stomach. Your throat aches as if someone or something had choked you, but you know that never happened. At least you think so, right? Right? When the barking begins, you swallow a spiked lump in your throat and throw the tool drawer open, grabbing the hammer several seconds before you even recognize it.
You look back to the cold, flashing glow behind you then forward to the still, gentle darkness before you —so much easier on those exhausted, strained eyes— and slug your arm at the corner of the door creating a web of crystals. The cacophony behind you surges at you, screaming, but you kick through the glass and run outside in your socks with a flashlight in hand. Snow soaks your feet immediately, but the cold quickly numbs away the wet feeling. You don’t even realize you are running until you feel the burn in your thighs and chest.
When you finally reach Sid, you see a fox. No, a coyote. No, a bear. And you see its teeth sink into her flesh with a yelp, and you hear yourself screeching. Although it is so much larger than you, you throw yourself at it, slamming it in the head with the hammer. The only impact the hit has is shocking it into dropping your silent dog and pissing it off.
You swear you see a glow in its eyes as it targets you and snarls with horrific fangs dripping with slobber, blood, and fur. Finally, at long last, you feel back inside your body as you stumble backward, twisting your weak ankle and toppling into the snow. It’s a wolf, not a bear. No, it is a tiger. No, it is unlike anything you have seen before. An abominable, terrific monster. It is hungry, and it is smiling. You stumble backward on your ass and shout when its claws smack your arm, tearing your muscles down to the bone sending the flashlight flying.
Fuck. fuck. How could you let this happen? You stupid fucking idiot. You miserable useless bitch. It bites your leg and thrashes its head. Pajamas, skin, terror rip open and a concussion thunders itself into the side of your skull. Even so, you know immediately when it tugs its head to the sky, that it is eating you. You helplessly look at the pulsating blue light pouring out the broken door shouting for help, but nothing happens. Clawing at the ground is desperately useless.
Through snotty sobs and pleas, your head lolls to the side as you feel the monster work its way toward your stomach. The flashlight is still shining, and the shine of a dog tag catches your eye. You do everything you can to look away, but the intestines and spilling out of the small fluffy form sear through your mind until your own intestines get ripped and pulled from your form and bring you closer to the face of the beast.
It is not a monster. It is you.
