That dog of Shelly’s was a real mean bastard. Big German Shepherd, the kind you’d chain up in a scrap yard. There wasn’t a minute in the day that Shelly didn’t baby that monster, giving it treats and attention. And it adored her.
Mean as Hell to anyone else.
When I killed Shelly, it was when I’d caught her coming out of the bathroom, but before she’d made it back to the yard.
Maybe that bastard just hated me, maybe he knew. Who knows what a dog thinks.
After Shelly was gone, I laid back for a bit. Didn’t want to arouse any suspicions. I took care of that mean bastard, best I could. Told everyone how much Shelly had loved that dog so of course, of course I had to take care of him. For Shelly. Poor, poor Shelly.
The dog was almost as good a hunter as I was. Almost.
It was a real big, mean dog. But even dogs go down as easily as a human with a firm crack to the head.
I told everyone the dog had been hit by a car.
I didn’t tell anyone when Shelly and the beast came knocking.
Nightmare Fuel 2017, Day 5