The Demon Dog
Nestled deep inside a thick forest, in the abandoned hamlet of Springfield, an old horror lurked under the shadows — a monster mentioned in subdued tones over hearth fires and dreaded by anyone who ventured into the forest after darkness. They termed it the Dog Demon.
According to legend, the Dog Demon was once a devoted defender of the community but became evil once a dark ceremony corrupted of its soul. Now it slithered the darkness on four twisted limbs, its fur matted with crusted blood and its eyes gleamed like burning embers. Even the toughest people shivered down their spines just at the name of it.
Brenda, a visitor, lost her way on the maze-like Springfield trails one rainy night. She stumbled upon an ancient, run-down cottage, disoriented and soaked to the bone. She pulled open the cracking door, desperate for cover and entered.
The air smelled strongly of wet wood and rot. Strange sounds came from the forest outside as Brenda curled around the weak glow of a flickering candle. Branches ripped at the walls of the cabin like twisted fingers, and far-off cries tore over the night.
Brenda listened suddenly for a low growl from the darkness. Fear frozen, she saw two blazing orbs flashing at her — a set of eyes full of hate and want. Emerging from the shadows, the Dog Demon had a skeleton physique moving with inhuman speed.
Brenda stepped away, her pulse beating and her head whirling with stories of the cursed protector for the town. Saliva streamed from the demon’s bared fangs, its howls echoing in the little cabin. It caught Brenda against a wall and whirled around her.
Brenda closed her eyes and prayed as she had nowhere to flee. The cabin was silently gloomy, interrupted only by the raspy breath of the monster. A bright flash of lightning lit the room as the beast rushed. Brenda glimpsed the demon’s actual appearance in that brief instant: a hideous fusion of human and canine traits, its eyes full of suffering and wrath. It stopped, as if its own presence hurt it.
Brenda had the bravery and grabbed the chance. She reached for a rusty iron poker from the fireplace and pushed it against the chest of the monster. The monster howled in pain, its shape breaking apart into wisps of smoke that disappeared into the outer storm.
Except for the far-off rumbling of thunder, the cabin went still once again. Brenda fell to her knees, shivering with both relief and weariness. She would keep with her always, a monument to the horror that resides in the core of every legend: she had survived the meeting with Springfield’s cursed guardian.
