The Danger Dog

When you adopt a stray dog, you think you've found a loyal companion—but something about your new pet is far from normal, and soon, you’re running for your life.

The Danger Dog

Chapter 1: Stray from the Shadows

You weren't even planning to go outside today. But the rainstorm last night had knocked down a few branches from the big oak in your backyard, and your mom made you clear them before lunch. She handed you an old rake with a sigh, her eyes still fixed on the phone call she was having. Typical.

As you step into the damp grass, a strange feeling creeps up your spine. The air smells sharp, like wet wood and something… else. It takes you a moment to realize what’s wrong. The birds aren’t singing. Not a single chirp or flutter. That’s when you see the dog.

At first, you think it’s just another shadow, blending in with the overcast sky. But then it moves—slow, deliberate. A scraggly, black dog slinks out from behind the tree line at the edge of your yard. It looks half-starved, its ribs poking through its matted fur. Its eyes—glowing an unsettling shade of amber—lock onto yours.

You freeze, clutching the rake like a shield. Something’s not right about this dog. It’s too still, too focused. It doesn’t bark. It just watches you, waiting.

For a minute, you think about running inside, but a voice in the back of your mind tells you it’s too late for that. The dog is already here. Besides, it’s probably just hungry. Maybe a stray looking for food, you tell yourself. Nothing dangerous.

“Hey, boy,” you call softly, inching toward it. Your shoes squelch in the mud. “You lost?”

The dog tilts its head, watching your every move. There’s something in those amber eyes that makes you hesitate. Almost like the dog understands you. Almost like it’s deciding what to do next. You fumble with the rake, feeling a bead of sweat run down your neck despite the cool air.

And then it happens.

The dog snarls, a low, rumbling growl that vibrates the ground beneath your feet. Its lips curl back, revealing sharp, yellow teeth. You’ve seen strays before—friendly ones, scared ones—but never one that looked at you like this. Like it wanted something more than food.

Instinctively, you raise the rake in front of you. The dog inches closer, its growl deepening, eyes narrowing. You want to back up, but you feel frozen in place. Your breath comes out shallow, and your pulse quickens. Every muscle in your body tightens.

Suddenly, the dog stops growling. Its lips pull back into what looks like a... smile? No, that’s impossible. Dogs don’t smile like that. Before you can react, it lunges, moving faster than you’ve ever seen anything move.

You swing the rake wildly, hoping to fend it off, but it’s no use. The dog leaps past you, landing just a few feet away. It turns to face you again, but this time, it doesn’t attack. Instead, it sits down, calmly, like it was just testing you. Its amber eyes flicker with a strange intelligence.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you try to figure out what’s happening. What kind of dog is this? And why do you feel like it’s toying with you? As you catch your breath, something else catches your eye—a small tag dangling from the dog’s collar. The words are too far away to read.

Without thinking, you take a step forward, trying to get a better look. The dog doesn’t move. For a brief second, you think maybe it’s over, that the dog is harmless after all. You slowly kneel down, reaching toward the tag, your fingers trembling.

The wind picks up, rustling the leaves around you. The dog’s fur bristles in the breeze, and you feel a shiver crawl up your spine. You’re close enough now to read the words engraved on the tag:

"DANGER."

You pull your hand back like you’ve been burned. The dog lets out a low whine, almost like it’s amused by your reaction. Then, without warning, it bolts off into the woods, vanishing between the trees as quickly as it appeared.

You stand there, heart still hammering, wondering what just happened. The yard feels darker, the shadows longer. You glance around, half-expecting the dog to return, but the woods are still.

“Everything okay out there?” your mom calls from the kitchen window. Her voice snaps you back to reality.

You force a smile and give her a thumbs-up, though your mind is spinning. What kind of dog wears a tag like that? And why do you feel like you just barely escaped something… wrong?

You finish cleaning up the branches as quickly as you can, your eyes darting to the tree line every few seconds. The dog is gone. But somehow, you know this isn’t the last you’ll see of it.

As you head back inside, you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve been marked—by something ancient, something dangerous. And it’s only a matter of time before the danger returns.

Chapter 2: A Visit from Danger

The next morning, you try to shake off the encounter with the strange dog. You tell yourself it was just a stray, hungry and probably scared, but something gnaws at the back of your mind. Those eyes—amber and too human—keep flashing in your thoughts.

You go about your usual Saturday routine, trying to push the memory away. You spend most of the morning glued to your phone, scrolling through videos and messages, trying to drown out the nagging feeling that something is wrong. By lunch, you almost convince yourself that nothing happened.

Almost.

Later in the afternoon, you hear a scratching noise at the door. It’s soft at first, like something brushing against the wood, but then it grows louder, more insistent. You freeze mid-bite, your sandwich half-eaten on the plate in front of you.

No one else is home. Your mom went out to run errands, leaving you alone. You put your sandwich down, the bread going dry in your mouth as the scratching gets worse. It’s coming from the front door. You hear it again—scrape, scrape—like claws.

Your heart pounds as you stand, every nerve in your body on edge. Slowly, you walk toward the door. The air feels thick, heavy, like the storm that passed through the night before had left something behind. When you reach the door, you hesitate. A part of you doesn’t want to open it.

But you do.

The door creaks open just a crack, and there it is—the dog. The same scraggly, black fur. The same glowing amber eyes, watching you with an intensity that sends a chill down your spine. It’s sitting calmly on the front step, its tail twitching back and forth like a pendulum.

You slam the door shut, your heart racing. It followed you home. How did it find you? And why does it feel like it’s been waiting for you?

You back away from the door, your mind racing for answers. The scratching starts again, more urgent this time. The dog isn’t going away. It’s waiting for something. You try to think of what to do, but your thoughts are scattered, tangled with fear.

Then you hear it—a voice. Faint, but clear. Whispering from behind the door.

“Let me in…”

You freeze, every muscle in your body locking in place. Dogs don’t talk. That’s impossible. You must have imagined it. But the voice comes again, soft and raspy.

“Let me in…”

Your heart skips a beat. It’s not possible. You press your ear against the door, listening, barely daring to breathe. The voice is so low, it almost blends with the wind, but you hear it, clear as day.

“Let me in… and I’ll protect you.”

You jump back from the door, stumbling over your feet. The words echo in your head. Protect me? From what? And why would you ever let this thing inside? Your pulse pounds in your ears as you back away, staring at the door like it might burst open any second.

The house suddenly feels too quiet, like it’s holding its breath. You glance at the windows, half-expecting to see those amber eyes peering in, but the dog stays by the front door, its scratching turning into a low, rhythmic thumping, like it’s… knocking.

You grab your phone, fingers shaking as you dial your mom’s number. The call goes straight to voicemail. You leave a frantic message, your voice tight with panic. “Mom, something’s at the door. I think it’s that dog from yesterday. It won’t go away. Please call me back.”

You hang up and pace the living room, trying to figure out what to do. Should you call animal control? The police? But what would you even say? That a dog is talking to you through your front door? They’d think you’ve lost it.

The thumping stops.

You glance at the door again, your heart pounding in your chest. Silence. The dog is gone. You let out a shaky breath, relief flooding through you. Maybe it gave up. Maybe you imagined the whole thing. You sit down on the couch, trying to calm your nerves.

Then, from the hallway, you hear the unmistakable creak of floorboards.

Your blood runs cold.

The front door is still shut, locked. But someone—or something—is inside the house. You feel a knot of fear twist in your gut as you stand up slowly, straining to hear any movement. The creaking continues, steady, like footsteps moving toward you.

Your mind races. How did it get in? You didn’t hear a door open. You didn’t see anything at the windows. But there’s no denying it now—something is inside.

The footsteps stop. You hold your breath, your body trembling as you inch toward the hallway. Every instinct screams at you to run, to hide, but you force yourself to move. You have to know what’s going on.

You peek around the corner, your heart pounding in your chest.

There, standing at the end of the hallway, is the dog.

It’s just sitting there, watching you with those amber eyes, its head cocked to the side as if curious. But it’s not alone. Behind it, the shadows shift, flickering like something—someone—is standing there, just out of sight.

Your throat tightens, fear surging through you. The dog steps forward, its gaze never leaving yours. The voice comes again, but this time it’s louder, clearer.

“Let me in… and I’ll protect you.”

You can barely think. The walls feel like they’re closing in, the air thick with something dark, something you can’t explain. You feel your legs start to give way, but you steady yourself, refusing to collapse under the weight of your fear.

“W-what do you want?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

The dog’s eyes glow brighter. Its lips curl into that unnerving smile again.

“I want to help,” the voice says, closer now, as if it’s coming from inside your head. “But you have to let me.”

You shake your head, backing away. There’s no way you’re letting this thing in. Not after everything you’ve seen, everything you’ve felt. But the shadows behind the dog seem to ripple, growing darker, more menacing, and a cold dread washes over you.

Because suddenly, you’re not sure you have a choice.

Chapter 3: Into the Dark

You don’t sleep that night.

Every creak of the house feels amplified, every shift of the wind sounds like it’s whispering your name. The dog never left. It sits outside your front door, silent now, its amber eyes glowing in the dark. You can’t see it from your room, but you know it’s there. Watching. Waiting.

The shadows in the hallway haven’t returned, but you can still feel them. Like they’re lurking just out of sight, waiting for the right moment to close in. You try calling your mom again, but her phone still goes straight to voicemail. Panic claws at your throat. You’re alone, and no one knows what’s happening.

Morning finally comes, bringing a dull gray light that seeps through the windows. The dog is still outside. You peer through the blinds, hoping against hope that it’s gone, but there it is—sitting in the same spot, unmoving, like a statue. Except for those eyes, which follow your every move.

You don’t know what else to do. You grab your backpack, shove in your essentials, and decide to leave. Maybe you can find help at the neighbor’s house, or at least get far enough away that the dog will lose track of you. You don’t care where you go, as long as it’s away from here.

With a deep breath, you unlock the back door. The morning air is crisp and cool, but there’s an eerie stillness, like the whole world is holding its breath. You step outside, glancing over your shoulder toward the front yard. The dog hasn’t moved.

You take off, sprinting across the yard, your heart racing in your chest. The sound of your own breathing is deafening as you run down the street, past the familiar houses of your neighborhood. You keep checking behind you, half-expecting the dog to be chasing you, but there’s nothing. No sign of it at all.

Maybe you’re safe. Maybe it’s over.

You slow down, catching your breath as you reach the edge of the woods at the far end of the neighborhood. You’ve been here a million times before. It’s where you and your friends would explore during the summer, where you’d build forts and tell ghost stories. But now the trees look different. Darker. More dangerous.

You hesitate at the tree line, glancing back at the street. It’s quiet—too quiet. And then you see it.

The dog.

It’s standing at the far end of the road, motionless, watching you. Your stomach twists into a knot. How did it get there so fast? You take a step back, your pulse quickening. The dog tilts its head, those amber eyes locking onto yours, and you know what’s coming next.

Without thinking, you turn and bolt into the woods.

Branches snap under your feet as you weave through the trees, your breath coming in ragged gasps. You can hear the rustling behind you, the soft padding of paws on the forest floor. It’s following you—stalking you. No matter how fast you run, you can feel it getting closer, the cold prickle of fear creeping up your spine.

And then you see it—a small cabin in the clearing up ahead. You don’t know who it belongs to, but right now, it’s your only chance. You push yourself harder, your legs burning as you close the distance, throwing yourself against the door. You bang on it desperately, hoping someone—anyone—is inside.

The door swings open on its own.

Inside, the cabin is dark, lit only by the dim morning light seeping through cracks in the walls. You hesitate for a second, your instincts screaming that something is wrong, but there’s no time to think. The dog is getting closer. You step inside and slam the door shut behind you, locking it tight.

For a moment, everything is silent. You lean against the door, your chest heaving, waiting for the sound of claws scratching at the wood. But it doesn’t come. Maybe the dog lost your trail. Maybe the cabin is some kind of safe zone. You let out a shaky breath, wiping the sweat from your brow.

That’s when you hear it.

A low growl—inside the cabin.

Your heart skips a beat as you spin around. The darkness feels thick, like it’s pressing in on you from all sides. And then, out of the shadows, the dog steps forward.

It’s not possible. You locked the door. There’s no way it could have gotten inside. But there it is, standing in the middle of the room, its amber eyes glowing with an unsettling brightness. And this time, it’s not alone.

The shadows shift behind it, taking shape, becoming something—someone.

A figure steps out of the darkness. Tall, with a long coat and a face you can’t quite see. It’s like looking at someone through fogged glass. You take a step back, your heart hammering in your chest.

"Why did you run?" the figure asks, its voice soft but deep, like the rumble of distant thunder. "We told you we were here to help."

You swallow hard, your mouth dry. "W-what do you want from me?"

The figure tilts its head, the way the dog had before. "We’ve been watching you. We chose you. Don’t you understand yet?"

Your mind races, trying to piece together what’s happening. Chose you? For what? And why does this all feel… familiar? That’s when it hits you.

The dog wasn’t hunting you. It was guarding you.

You take another step back, your pulse pounding in your ears. The shadows swirl around the figure, but as they do, something else flickers in your memory. A detail you’d overlooked until now—the small tag hanging from the dog’s collar.

"Danger."

But what if the warning wasn’t about the dog?

The figure steps forward, the shadows creeping closer. The dog remains still, watching you, as if waiting for you to understand. And finally, you do.

It wasn’t the dog you should have feared.

It was the thing controlling it.