The Other Wight Meat

We all remember too much from that day. Too many sights. Too many sounds. The eyes, hollow and glowing. Hands, missing fingers and skin but still strong. Still so so strong. The smell, that rotting peach sweet stench coming off the fresher ones, the musty dirt smell of the older ones.

But you know what I remember?

The dog. I remember the dog.

You saw it.

It was… wrong. Blue. And it was standing. Like a person. Not like a dog standing on its hind legs, but like a person. Or at least a sick imitation of a person. The things swarmed around it. A shambling mass with a dog in the center. Remember it dancing? Remember the costume changes? I do.

At first I thought it was just another grotesquerie, another freak in the parade. But as the day continued I saw that I was wrong. The small dog, which would have been cute had it not been surrounded by rotting corpses, was in charge. This was the dog’s show.

It scampered around, almost like it was trying to be cute despite being against everything we know about how the world is supposed to work. A terrible truth that showed the lie of what we, had until that day, thought the world was. A misshapen jester capering down the street to the end of the world.

I’m still not sure how it picked its recruits. Sometimes there wasn’t much of them left, I saw it pick one that was missing everything from the jaw up. It stood over the corpse and… danced. A little tap routine, complete with tophat and cane.

Then the corpse stood up.

I’m not sure what I saw other than what I saw. But that corpse, missing head and all, sat up and joined the rest. Not sure what it will do without a head but the dog has a plan for it.

I really hope I’m wrong.

I really hope that this was an anomaly. That we won’t see the dog or its servants again. That we won’t have to hide, won’t have to die, won’t have to come back as bits and pieces, broken things made to serve something we could never understand.

I hope I’m wrong.

But I’m not.

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