u/soggy_mushhh

Keep your dog leashed on trails and stay on the trail.

Don't get me wrong, my Bella loves running off like the mini, crack head, mutt she is. Keeping her leashed is not just for her safety, but mine too. No, I'm not talking about some rando's dog attacking one or both of us. Going down "the road not taken" is a poem, a metaphor for life, it not applicable to safety on hiking trails.

This is about something that has made me avoid hiking after sunset ever since.

My usual spot is a trail that's located city adjacent. You can hear cars, even past the playground, for the first quarter mile of the hike. It's got this small, beautiful plateau, with a perfect view for sunrise/sunset, and gets some decent foot traffic in the summer. My favorite time to hit the trail is the week after the schools' spring break ends; when the only people around are elderly couples, some lone singles and, much like me, their dogs.

I've done this specific hike a thousand times, for the perfect "spring into spring" picture. A flat slab at the top of a tall hill, east or west you see nothing but trees. Just don't look north, it holds a small view of where houses begin, several miles away. I know exactly how long it takes me to get in, get the shot, and get out. Bella could do the hike blindfolded.

My annual pilgrimage began. A few families were filing out of the play area, reluctant children in tow, as I reached the trail head. Soon, birds and the piter patter of my companion's tiny paws rose over the fading sound of leaving cars. There are some twists and turns throughout the trail, one steep, corkscrew turn down a dried creek bed, but mostly level terrain before the hill. Bella willed the leash to extend beyond its intended length, kicking up dirt when I didn't match pace.

"Bella, chill, we'll get there," a commen phrase I'd utter, always met with a doubfound look and a huff of quickly-forgotten acceptance. The tan rascal began to rush forward into a bush before being passed by an aged couple with matching trekking poles.

"At this rate, they'll see the sunset before us," I advocated to Bella, only turning her eyes whilst marking the bush as hers. I gave us more than enough time to reach the top, her speed won't be needed until our return. It gets dark about halfway back down the trail, once twilight begins. Routine by this point: I keep a large flashlight and bear mace for nightfall, easyily accessible in the side zip-pockets of my camel pack.

Ushering forward, we passed the couple. Twist, turn, passing an oncoming, middle aged jogger. Twist, turn, Bella claimed more territory before a doberman took it back. Turn, twist, we took a water and a snack break. Non-rythemic marching until we reached the corkscrew.

My next step was stopped, the leash had receeded backwards.

"What? You gotta poop?" I asked, but my smirk immediately faded. Her small frame was stiff, her crooked teeth clenched as her eyes fixated ahead of me. The air felt flat, I didn't notice till this moment how silent the forest was. I slowly shifted my head forward.

A lone, white labrador, well loved and well fed, was at the mouth of the corkscrew. It stood, untethered, tense, tail still. I stayed frozen. It felt as though it was calculating my next movement, unafraid, unthreatened. It stared intently at us, looking down from the top of the slope. The winding, overlapping trees created a dark void of shadows behind it.

"Lenard? Slow down!" A frail voice snapped me out of it, soft grey curls rising out the corkscrew "Oh, hi, don't worry- he won't bite." the woman reassured me, seeing our body language. I look back to the lab, his demeanor turning from ridged stone into a wobbly, slow doof. His small, black eyes gained expression as he sniffed the air, plopping his tongue out of his dark brown lips.

"Sorry, he just surprised us," I replied, gesturing to Bella. Her leash remained taught, despite the reduced tension. A pitched growl eminated from her throat as the two approached.

"Oh? A fighsty one there! Doesn't seem very friendly."

"Bella!" I shortened her leash as she began to lurch and bark, trying to keep her away from the pair, "I'm so sorry, I don't know what's gotten into her."

The woman held a polite smile as she slipped by. The lab looked at the contained storm of fur and yelps with an absent expression before returning to its owner's side. Bella's little body thrashed as they left. She panted and whipped her head back in their direction as I tried to calm her.

"Bella, sit," my demand was clear and stern, snapping my fingers. Her attention returned, her butt planting in the dirt, but gave the receding figures a quick glance before I snapped again.

"Bella, look at me," followed by two snaps, "Bella, look at me."

She huffed, licking her nose before her tail finally wagged, they were completely out of view now.

"What was that?" my question had me kneeling down, her paws immediately resting on my knee with a hop. A flurry of licks met my chin, seemingly in relief, "Common, girl."

We reached the plateau, alone, unpassed for some time. Prioritizing water and snacks, I watched the sun finally touch the horizon. Bella eyed my jerky stick, her half eaten kibble no longer good enough.

"Bella, no. Eat your food," she gave a sad look in response "You've been bad, be grateful I took off the leash. No jerky." Her ears slumped down, turning away as she looked between me and the jerky from the corner of her eye. I swear, she's a little mastermind, her eyes all watery for that pitiful display.

"Fine," I pull out my phone and snap my fingers, "Bella, meercat!" On command, the small fighter sits on her back legs, her front paws held loosely over her chest. I took the picture and toss the last bite of jerky to her. She was swift, catching it mid air and inhaling it just as quick.

She landed at the edge of the slab.

My body stiffened, mind urging me to do something as I heard a frantic scratching. Bella scrambled to regain balance, teetering over the endge. I lunge at her, my fingers grabbing hold of a small tuft of fur. She yelped as I held her ear, dangling over the ledge. A smooth rock was my only brace. She began to growl in protest, her trimmed claws barely providing leverage over the rocky edge.

"I'm sorry, baby girl," I cried, tears pooling over, "fuck, fuck, I'm sorry, baby" I did the only thing I could think of. I released the rock, quickly grabbing her leg and tossed her over my shoulder.

My weight and momentum sent me careening down the steep slope. The limping image of my dog turned out of view. I remember the first two tumbles before a log connected with my forehead.

The smell of kibble and grass, soaking my face, rolled my eyes forward. Bella's panicked hot breath snapped me back to conscienceness. Her paw hung lazily in front of her, dimly lit by the now disappearing sun.

"Bella!" I tried to embrace her, but she cowarded, "oh, poor baby, let me see, let me see." I coaxed her into my arms, huffing and puffing as I checked her out. The leg was dislocated from the shoulder for sure, I later found out her paw was dislocated as well. Her ear had a massive red scab at its base, I couldn't tell if it had ripped or if I pulled out some hair.

Thankfully, my camelpack stuck with me, fastened with a couple buckles. Rifling around, I produce a first aid kit and my flash light. My legs circled around Bella, pouring some of my water onto her ear before using an antiseptic wipes to clean the wound. She only whimpered, figiting until the job was done.

A thick wetness sunk into my eye. I flip on the flashlight and found it to be blood, a gash across my brow. Luckily, I didn't break anything, but I was covered in multiple scrapes, rashes, and what looked like mud. The fall absolutely shredded my leggings, but I'll only have to worry about Bella's x-rays. Sparingly, I used some more water and wipes to clean my self, applying pressure with some gauze. Three butterfly bandages later, the bleeding on my head stopped.

I take the light, trying to asses the size of the bag to my dog. She was a small thing, but too big to sit inside. The chill that still clung to the season prompted me to wear a thin flannel that morning. I felt for it around my waist to find it absent. One quick look and I found it, clinging to a thin whip from where I fell. With an aching groan, I pull myself up. Bella tried to follow me the few feet, but one snap and point of my fingers kept her by the light.

Almost immediately, I tripped. There was a squelching gush under my foot before landing in carnage. The carcus of a well fed, well loved, lab laid ripped open. Its white fur was spotted with blood and dirt, eyes hanging open. Pain cemented across the poor thing's fly infested face.

I stifle a whimpering cry, a choke of tears interrupted by a retching gag. I was already coated in its blood, prior to tripping. My unconscious body had smeared a trail to where I awoke. Guts twisted around my shoe, I scrambled to scrape it off in the grass. Sensing my distress, Bella began to hobble over.

"No, Bella!" I yelled, halting her movement before she got too close, snapping rapidly, "get away, it's bad." She wasn't familiar with the erratic command, hesitating. I pull myself back up, decayed fluid soaking my legs. I properly command her to sit and returned to my initial mission. Upon reteiving the flannel, I fashion it into a sling to cradle Bella. I quickly scoop her up inside before the rotting scent intrigued her.

"You comfortable?" She wiggled in approval, sniffing and licking my chin, "Good, lets get the fuck out of here..."

I gave one greiving glance back. Unable to reflect the flashlights glimmer, dead eyes starred back. Nothing justified it's presence, it's similarly. I recognized the dog's resemblance, but didn't dare to give a rationale.

Darkness enveloped us. I followed the natural structure back to the trail, greeted by a sign naming the mini plateau I fell from. I've never loved the sight of gravel more in my life.

A rumble emearged from Bella's rib cage, resonating through her throat. I reached for my bear mace, scanning my immediate area. A couple small barks whispered through her lips, either too weak to speak or too scared to be heard.

"I don't see anything, Bella," the crumble of windblown leaves chasing behind the shadows of trees, "it's ok, I'll protect you."

No stopping, no breaks. I kept my pace, drinking from my worn, rubber straw, slowing only to trickle a few drops into Bella's mouth. The corkscrew greeted us quickly. The trudge over its apex was more taxing than it ever was before, Bella whining from occasionally bumping into the steep terrain. I showered her with apologies, pausing to plant a kiss on her head.

Bella growled, her whole body shaking. She was furious, but too worn to fully express it. I forrowed my brows, attempting to adjust her in case she was laying wrong. I reach for a low hanging branch to get over the hump. Back on level footing, we were greeted by a familiar sight.

A white labrador, standing like a statue, was there. The muzzle was soaked in a dark liquid, legs now elongated, it's stomach sunk into the barrel of its chest. The flashlight illuminated the turning visage. Bella coughed out small puffs, mimicking barks, as she glared.

It's legs twisted forward, forgotten how to properly walk. Black, beady eyes locked on our position, absorbing light to form hollow holes. It's jaw cracked, unhinging, expelling a pile of flesh. A scalp of soft, blood soaked ringlets slapped onto the trail. Curling back its wet, black lips, barred teeth, a deep growl gurgled out.

I sprinted into the trees as it dove towards us, it's massive body scrapping down the corkscrew. Bella continued to vocalize wheezing squeeks as I dodged foliage and fallen trees. Snapping branches followed in our wake, the creature giving chase. I had a head start, but the opertunity of distance was shrinking as it gained ground.

My back slung around a tree. I kept my light snuffed against my breast, steadied my breath. Bella laid silent, the stress and fatigue caused her to passout. Reaching for my mace, my head tilted to keep an ear on the being's location. Large foot falls dampened into a light crinkle of leaves, nearly silent.

It was listening for me too.

The zipper would sound and alert the creature. I pulled carefully, matching the pattern of its approach. I couldn't hear it as the mace slipped into my hand.

It's hot, wet breath met my ear.

Unloading the can, I sprayed until the nozzle began to sputter. The creature screeched in response, rearing on its hind legs as I ran back to the trail. The sound of it thrashing and squealing echoed through the forest. My labored breaths were impeded by residuals of the propellant, but my will pushed me forward.

Reuniting with the man made path, I felt my feet slap into viscus puddles. I saw more piles of gore, too many for what was left of that woman, but I couldn't give pause. Gravel and blood soaked dirt flew behind me as I swerved through the twists and turns. No stopping, just running.

Relief bloomed through my chest as I crossed the playground, far from that trail. I dove into the car, Bella still out cold as my keys woke the engine. Flinching at what I thought were tufts of white fur flickering between trees and streetlights, I sped out the neighborhood.

In the heart of the city, I called 911.

I gave a full recount of events, unloading on that poor operator. I called my mom to meet me at the police station prior and had her rush Bella to a 24hr vet. There were some rigorous questioning after a brief health evaluation. They sent me to the hospital. The fall, the gash, the story, and the fact I had a concussion, had me thrown into an ambulance.

The adrenaline left my body, fatigue threatening to roll my eyes back. The nurses helped me stay awake until I was clear to sleep. To pass time, I shared my story. They had the same baffled response, now accompanied with a look that made me feel crazier than I sounded. I was monitored for the next 24 hours, surrounded by sterile white walls and florescents.

Night threatened the horizon, creeping down the next day as I was rolled out to my mother. The nurse repeated my aftercare to her, someone capable of listening and retaining, before they both helped me stand. Remnants of the previous night ran through my head, only giving pause when I laid my eyes on Bella. She was curled up in a dog car seat, a sling around her injured leg. Flapping her tail when our eyes met, she whimpered as I wrapped my arms around her.

I wasn't sure of what they did on their end, but the county got people out there. They found the woman, shards of bones and strips guts had been dragged up the trail for a mile. They found the bodies of an elderly couple, their matching clothes and gear rendered into a mangled mess, never seeing their last sunset.

The police were convinced it was just a cougar or some large game.

I'm convinced, that an old lab had wandered off, was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and was replaced.

It knew the trail like I did. It knew how vulnerable it's prey would be. It saw four large meals. It saw an opertunity to feast.

Keep your dog leashed on trails and don't stray from it.

Keep your dog leashed on trails and stay on the trail.

Don't get me wrong, my Bella loves running off like the mini, crack head, mutt she is. Keeping her leashed is not just for her safety, but mine too. No, I'm not talking about some rando's dog attacking one or both of us. Going down "the road not taken" is a poem, a metaphor for life, it not applicable to safety on hiking trails.

This is about something that has made me avoid hiking after sunset ever since.

My usual spot is a trail that's located city adjacent. You can hear cars, even past the playground, for the first quarter mile of the hike. It's got this small, beautiful plateau, with a perfect view for sunrise/sunset, and gets some decent foot traffic in the summer. My favorite time to hit the trail is the week after the schools' spring break ends; when the only people around are elderly couples, some lone singles and, much like me, their dogs.

I've done this specific hike a thousand times, for the perfect "spring into spring" picture. A flat slab at the top of a tall hill, east or west you see nothing but trees. Just don't look north, it holds a small view of where houses begin, several miles away. I know exactly how long it takes me to get in, get the shot, and get out. Bella could do the hike blindfolded.

My annual pilgrimage began. A few families were filing out of the play area, reluctant children in tow, as I reached the trail head. Soon, birds and the piter patter of my companion's tiny paws rose over the fading sound of leaving cars. There are some twists and turns throughout the trail, one steep, corkscrew turn down a dried creek bed, but mostly level terrain before the hill. Bella willed the leash to extend beyond its intended length, kicking up dirt when I didn't match pace.

"Bella, chill, we'll get there," a commen phrase I'd utter, always met with a doubfound look and a huff of quickly-forgotten acceptance. The tan rascal began to rush forward into a bush before being passed by an aged couple with matching trekking poles.

"At this rate, they'll see the sunset before us," I advocated to Bella, only turning her eyes whilst marking the bush as hers. I gave us more than enough time to reach the top, her speed won't be needed until our return. It gets dark about halfway back down the trail, once twilight begins. Routine by this point: I keep a large flashlight and bear mace for nightfall, easyily accessible in the side zip-pockets of my camel pack.

Ushering forward, we passed the couple. Twist, turn, passing an oncoming, middle aged jogger. Twist, turn, Bella claimed more territory before a doberman took it back. Turn, twist, we took a water and a snack break. Non-rythemic marching until we reached the corkscrew.

My next step was stopped, the leash had receeded backwards.

"What? You gotta poop?" I asked, but my smirk immediately faded. Her small frame was stiff, her crooked teeth clenched as her eyes fixated ahead of me. The air felt flat, I didn't notice till this moment how silent the forest was. I slowly shifted my head forward.

A lone, white labrador, well loved and well fed, was at the mouth of the corkscrew. It stood, untethered, tense, tail still. I stayed frozen. It felt as though it was calculating my next movement, unafraid, unthreatened. It stared intently at us, looking down from the top of the slope. The winding, overlapping trees created a dark void of shadows behind it.

"Lenard? Slow down!" A frail voice snapped me out of it, soft grey curls rising out the corkscrew "Oh, hi, don't worry- he won't bite." the woman reassured me, seeing our body language. I look back to the lab, his demeanor turning from ridged stone into a wobbly, slow doof. His small, black eyes gained expression as he sniffed the air, plopping his tongue out of his dark brown lips.

"Sorry, he just surprised us," I replied, gesturing to Bella. Her leash remained taught, despite the reduced tension. A pitched growl eminated from her throat as the two approached.

"Oh? A fighsty one there! Doesn't seem very friendly."

"Bella!" I shortened her leash as she began to lurch and bark, trying to keep her away from the pair, "I'm so sorry, I don't know what's gotten into her."

The woman held a polite smile as she slipped by. The lab looked at the contained storm of fur and yelps with an absent expression before returning to its owner's side. Bella's little body thrashed as they left. She panted and whipped her head back in their direction as I tried to calm her.

"Bella, sit," my demand was clear and stern, snapping my fingers. Her attention returned, her butt planting in the dirt, but gave the receding figures a quick glance before I snapped again.

"Bella, look at me," followed by two snaps, "Bella, look at me."

She huffed, licking her nose before her tail finally wagged, they were completely out of view now.

"What was that?" my question had me kneeling down, her paws immediately resting on my knee with a hop. A flurry of licks met my chin, seemingly in relief, "Common, girl."

We reached the plateau, alone, unpassed for some time. Prioritizing water and snacks, I watched the sun finally touch the horizon. Bella eyed my jerky stick, her half eaten kibble no longer good enough.

"Bella, no. Eat your food," she gave a sad look in response "You've been bad, be grateful I took off the leash. No jerky." Her ears slumped down, turning away as she looked between me and the jerky from the corner of her eye. I swear, she's a little mastermind, her eyes all watery for that pitiful display.

"Fine," I pull out my phone and snap my fingers, "Bella, meercat!" On command, the small fighter sits on her back legs, her front paws held loosely over her chest. I took the picture and toss the last bite of jerky to her. She was swift, catching it mid air and inhaling it just as quick.

She landed at the edge of the slab.

My body stiffened, mind urging me to do something as I heard a frantic scratching. Bella scrambled to regain balance, teetering over the endge. I lunge at her, my fingers grabbing hold of a small tuft of fur. She yelped as I held her ear, dangling over the ledge. A smooth rock was my only brace. She began to growl in protest, her trimmed claws barely providing leverage over the rocky edge.

"I'm sorry, baby girl," I cried, tears pooling over, "fuck, fuck, I'm sorry, baby" I did the only thing I could think of. I released the rock, quickly grabbing her leg and tossed her over my shoulder.

My weight and momentum sent me careening down the steep slope. The limping image of my dog turned out of view. I remember the first two tumbles before a log connected with my forehead.

The smell of kibble and grass, soaking my face, rolled my eyes forward. Bella's panicked hot breath snapped me back to conscienceness. Her paw hung lazily in front of her, dimly lit by the now disappearing sun.

"Bella!" I tried to embrace her, but she cowarded, "oh, poor baby, let me see, let me see." I coaxed her into my arms, huffing and puffing as I checked her out. The leg was dislocated from the shoulder for sure, I later found out her paw was dislocated as well. Her ear had a massive red scab at its base, I couldn't tell if it had ripped or if I pulled out some hair.

Thankfully, my camelpack stuck with me, fastened with a couple buckles. Rifling around, I produce a first aid kit and my flash light. My legs circled around Bella, pouring some of my water onto her ear before using an antiseptic wipes to clean the wound. She only whimpered, figiting until the job was done.

A thick wetness sunk into my eye. I flip on the flashlight and found it to be blood, a gash across my brow. Luckily, I didn't break anything, but I was covered in multiple scrapes, rashes, and what looked like mud. The fall absolutely shredded my leggings, but I'll only have to worry about Bella's x-rays. Sparingly, I used some more water and wipes to clean my self, applying pressure with some gauze. Three butterfly bandages later, the bleeding on my head stopped.

I take the light, trying to asses the size of the bag to my dog. She was a small thing, but too big to sit inside. The chill that still clung to the season prompted me to wear a thin flannel that morning. I felt for it around my waist to find it absent. One quick look and I found it, clinging to a thin whip from where I fell. With an aching groan, I pull myself up. Bella tried to follow me the few feet, but one snap and point of my fingers kept her by the light.

Almost immediately, I tripped. There was a squelching gush under my foot before landing in carnage. The carcus of a well fed, well loved, lab laid ripped open. Its white fur was spotted with blood and dirt, eyes hanging open. Pain cemented across the poor thing's fly infested face.

I stifle a whimpering cry, a choke of tears interrupted by a retching gag. I was already coated in its blood, prior to tripping. My unconscious body had smeared a trail to where I awoke. Guts twisted around my shoe, I scrambled to scrape it off in the grass. Sensing my distress, Bella began to hobble over.

"No, Bella!" I yelled, halting her movement before she got too close, snapping rapidly, "get away, it's bad." She wasn't familiar with the erratic command, hesitating. I pull myself back up, decayed fluid soaking my legs. I properly command her to sit and returned to my initial mission. Upon reteiving the flannel, I fashion it into a sling to cradle Bella. I quickly scoop her up inside before the rotting scent intrigued her.

"You comfortable?" She wiggled in approval, sniffing and licking my chin, "Good, lets get the fuck out of here..."

I gave one greiving glance back. Unable to reflect the flashlights glimmer, dead eyes starred back. Nothing justified it's presence, it's similarly. I recognized the dog's resemblance, but didn't dare to give a rationale.

Darkness enveloped us. I followed the natural structure back to the trail, greeted by a sign naming the mini plateau I fell from. I've never loved the sight of gravel more in my life.

A rumble emearged from Bella's rib cage, resonating through her throat. I reached for my bear mace, scanning my immediate area. A couple small barks whispered through her lips, either too weak to speak or too scared to be heard.

"I don't see anything, Bella," the crumble of windblown leaves chasing behind the shadows of trees, "it's ok, I'll protect you."

No stopping, no breaks. I kept my pace, drinking from my worn, rubber straw, slowing only to trickle a few drops into Bella's mouth. The corkscrew greeted us quickly. The trudge over its apex was more taxing than it ever was before, Bella whining from occasionally bumping into the steep terrain. I showered her with apologies, pausing to plant a kiss on her head.

Bella growled, her whole body shaking. She was furious, but too worn to fully express it. I forrowed my brows, attempting to adjust her in case she was laying wrong. I reach for a low hanging branch to get over the hump. Back on level footing, we were greeted by a familiar sight.

A white labrador, standing like a statue, was there. The muzzle was soaked in a dark liquid, legs now elongated, it's stomach sunk into the barrel of its chest. The flashlight illuminated the turning visage. Bella coughed out small puffs, mimicking barks, as she glared.

It's legs twisted forward, forgotten how to properly walk. Black, beady eyes locked on our position, absorbing light to form hollow holes. It's jaw cracked, unhinging, expelling a pile of flesh. A scalp of soft, blood soaked ringlets slapped onto the trail. Curling back its wet, black lips, barred teeth, a deep growl gurgled out.

I sprinted into the trees as it dove towards us, it's massive body scrapping down the corkscrew. Bella continued to vocalize wheezing squeeks as I dodged foliage and fallen trees. Snapping branches followed in our wake, the creature giving chase. I had a head start, but the opertunity of distance was shrinking as it gained ground.

My back slung around a tree. I kept my light snuffed against my breast, steadied my breath. Bella laid silent, the stress and fatigue caused her to passout. Reaching for my mace, my head tilted to keep an ear on the being's location. Large foot falls dampened into a light crinkle of leaves, nearly silent.

It was listening for me too.

The zipper would sound and alert the creature. I pulled carefully, matching the pattern of its approach. I couldn't hear it as the mace slipped into my hand.

It's hot, wet breath met my ear.

Unloading the can, I sprayed until the nozzle began to sputter. The creature screeched in response, rearing on its hind legs as I ran back to the trail. The sound of it thrashing and squealing echoed through the forest. My labored breaths were impeded by residuals of the propellant, but my will pushed me forward.

Reuniting with the man made path, I felt my feet slap into viscus puddles. I saw more piles of gore, too many for what was left of that woman, but I couldn't give pause. Gravel and blood soaked dirt flew behind me as I swerved through the twists and turns. No stopping, just running.

Relief bloomed through my chest as I crossed the playground, far from that trail. I dove into the car, Bella still out cold as my keys woke the engine. Flinching at what I thought were tufts of white fur flickering between trees and streetlights, I sped out the neighborhood.

In the heart of the city, I called 911.

I gave a full recount of events, unloading on that poor operator. I called my mom to meet me at the police station prior and had her rush Bella to a 24hr vet. There were some rigorous questioning after a brief health evaluation. They sent me to the hospital. The fall, the gash, the story, and the fact I had a concussion, had me thrown into an ambulance.

The adrenaline left my body, fatigue threatening to roll my eyes back. The nurses helped me stay awake until I was clear to sleep. To pass time, I shared my story. They had the same baffled response, now accompanied with a look that made me feel crazier than I sounded. I was monitored for the next 24 hours, surrounded by sterile white walls and florescents.

Night threatened the horizon, creeping down the next day as I was rolled out to my mother. The nurse repeated my aftercare to her, someone capable of listening and retaining, before they both helped me stand. Remnants of the previous night ran through my head, only giving pause when I laid my eyes on Bella. She was curled up in a dog car seat, a sling around her injured leg. Flapping her tail when our eyes met, she whimpered as I wrapped my arms around her.

I wasn't sure of what they did on their end, but the county got people out there. They found the woman, shards of bones and strips guts had been dragged up the trail for a mile. They found the bodies of an elderly couple, their matching clothes and gear rendered into a mangled mess, never seeing their last sunset.

The police were convinced it was just a cougar or some large game.

I'm convinced, that an old lab had wandered off, was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and was replaced.

It knew the trail like I did. It knew how vulnerable it's prey would be. It saw four large meals. It saw an opertunity to feast.

Keep your dog leashed on trails and don't stray from it.

When I was young, I really liked listening to MCR, Fall Out Boy, Panic!, etc. the works, and have kept that love since. I've rekindled my love for Black Veil Brides in a concert my dad took me to, the openers were As December Falls, TX2, and From Ashes to New. I really liked their stuff, especially the first two. Any recommendations for more contemporary artists in the Punk/Emo/Rock genre?

Every summer I visit my dad. Every night I'm there, I flip the porch lights on, curl up on the closest chair, and keep the back door open- leaving just the thin netting of a screen between me and the inside. The only sounds are from the creek just next to the house and the electric click, inhale, exhale made by my incessant habit. A dark void encroaches from the hem of the deck, high above the sloped hill. Nothing but the illuminated wooden planks, cascading down the stairs, and faint highlights on the pines are visible.

On occasion, in the vale of darkness, I see it.

Two, perfectly round, perfectly black eyes catching the light.

It's the wilderness, I've seen eyes of lone animals from time to time, but these were just wrong. Too symmetrical, too close together.

The first time I saw it, I was leaning over the railing during one of my smoke breaks, when I caught a glimpse of eyes looming below the trees. The realization it was staring back caused my shoulders to stiffen, my throat to tighten.

Slowly, my feet pulled me backwards until the screen door knob stabbed my back. Pain erupted up my spine as I winced, my eyelids fighting to stay open as my face contorted, fixated on the orbs under the gap of the rail. My hands soon began to fumble in a quiet panic to open the two layers of doors. It wasn't until I broke the barrier did I finally exhale, a small puff of vaper leaving my lips. I braced myself against the door as that breath turned into a cough.

"I told you to quit," my dad, on que, said, closing the fridge.

"There's something out there," I squeezed out, clearing my throat, "I don't think it's an animal."

A silent nod and the old man was by my side, picking up the rifle leaning on the fireplace. With one quick sweep, he checked the tree line from were I originally stood. The eyes were gone.

When I tried describing them to my dad, he shook his head, not knowing of such a creature.

"I thought some creep was in the yard," he sighed as the gun's weight thumped against the carpet, "you think it was a person?"

"I guess, they didn't look like deer or bear eyes at least," I mumbled into my jacket, "...I couldn't tell."

"It probably was just some critter, buttercup."

"Sure."

I began to only vape in the daytime or sneak hits in the bathroom. There's no vaping allowed in dad's house, so that was all I could afford with my newfound fear. I even developed a fear of looking out windows at night, scared to make eye contact through a thin sheet of glass.

Eventually, I tried to convince myself of my dad's words.

I stared out the screen, scanning the tree line, working up the nerve to step out. The crisp night air licked my skin, water lapping over the rocks just below. Creaking metal hummed across the hinges as the ache in my throat and lungs coaxed me out. I'm gave myself conditions: keep the porch lights on, stay close to the door, and keep one door open.

I didn't see the eyes that night, I didn't see them the rest of that summer.

I flew back to the heat of my college town. Fall and spring passed in a blur of notes and tests. The reprieve of winter break didn't leave an impack, just waiting around for classes to start and finish once again. I didn't regain a true sense of presence until I was back. Standing at that screen door.

"Still haven't quit?" His voice snapped my trance, a frantic hand gripping the wooden door to swing it close. The booming thud shook it's frame and rattled the screen behind it.

"Sorry, you scared me."

I was met with an awkward, graveled chuckle as the man grabbed his drink and hobbled back to his basement. I returned to my routine.

Light on, chair in the same spot I left it. I slinked down into it, deciding to leave an old boot to make an easy escape through the gapped screen if necessary.

Click, inhale, exhale.

The cloud was thick, obscuring my view. My shaky hand waved it away, anticipating my next breath by directing it away from my eyeline. Nothing but the rustle of wind ran through the trees.

Click, inhale, exhale.

Trickling water filled my ears when the wind died between gusts. The mouth piece leaned against my lips with earnest, tasting the residue it left behind. Menthol distracting from the dry crust of my mouth.

Click, inhale-

Eyes blinked into view. Not from the trees, but beneath the railing. Set in the smooth, pale skin of its holder was a closer view of last year's visitor. It's forehead seemed to rest against the thin wood, mouth hidden by the base of the deck. It's bulbus, black eyes consumed my vision.

In less than a second, I sprang from my perch. The chair screached from my sudden movement, thin remnants of mist escaping and rapidly disapating as I scrambled to get inside. My foot caught on the boot, slamming me onto the plush carpet. Crawling, flipping my hips, then swinging my legs out, I managed to kick the door close. I leave my feet there, too scared to stand, too scared to move. My nails rooted my body as blood thrummed through my ears.

"The gun," I gasped, snapping my head to its last location. More than an arms length away, it leaned against the brick fire place.

"Lock the door or get the gun," were my first thoughts after assessing. I gave pause to the moment, catching my breath, listening for what would lead my next action.

Nothing but my dad's TV booming from the basement was audible. The faint proclaimation of duty sent me sliding towards the gun, ripping the door open and pointing the barrel were I assumed the thing was.

Only the yellow glow of the porch light and an all but ordinary deck sat before me.

The last few things I remember were closing the door, cursing the boot, and locking up, even double checking the front door and window locks. Then the dark comfort of my childhood room, downy pillows dragging me into a restless sleep.

That morning, I grinded my teeth in seething deep thought. The snap of bacon and sizzling eggs didn't lighten my mood as they were cooked and served to me.

"Your face will get stuck like that," my dad said before sipping his dark, caffeinated, ichor.

"I know."

"Then stop," his sentence seemed to have ended, before adding, "Or tell me what's wrong."

"Imma take that gun out while I smoke," my words overlapping his addition.

"Or quit"

"Or shoot the damn thing."

My words caused him to lean back in his chair, an ammusement growing across his face.

"That critter bothering you again, buttercup?"

"Yeah."

"Then take care of it," a breathy laugh escaped his lips, taking one last gulp before leaving the table.

With a bitter bite of old bacon, I scarff down my food, the numb flavor sliding down in half chewed chunks. My sour mood and ill temper needing a fix.

Not in my pockets, nor at my bedside, my rage grew trying to find my vape. Outside was the last place to look.

"Where the fuck is it?" My boot slammed on the deck in a huff, an irrational justification popping into my mind, "Did that fucking thing take it?" In a final thrash of anger, I threw the cushions off my chair. A square of plastic went flying, bouncing off the screen door, slipping through a gap in the rotted corner. I cursed my former god and trudged down the stairs to retrieve it.

Click, inhale, exhale.

In a dark corner, I saw an all too familiar glow.

Fight or flight. I thought my anger would decide for me, but instincts sent me running.

Reluctantly, I went out and got a new vape, not mentioning the incident to my dad. Maybe, I bought it out of spite of both of them, definitely because I couldn't stand not having one. Definitely because I didn't want to wrestle it from the thing under the deck.

"That fucker, stealing my shit, I'll kill it," I cursed, anger ripe from the drive over. I rush the entrance of the gas station, interrupt the greeting with my request, preuptivly show ID, pay, leave. Ripping open the packaging, I sucked life into the mechanism. The buzz engulfed my starved lungs and mind.

My drive over was muddled with resentment, so I spent the next 15 minutes planning my next steps. Nothing special, just "shoot it on sight" was the premise. I mostly rehursed the event over and over in my head till I got home.

Light, chair, door, and now gun was the routine.

The night passed and no sign of it. The night after, no sign of it. A week passed, no sign of it.

"Where are you?!" I yelled, 30 minutes of waiting later, 12 days of waiting later, "Come here you mother-"

"Melissa Mae!" My name rang in succession with a gun shot, squeezed by my clammy hands, "God damn it, inside, now!"

"But dad-'

"Now!"

The gun was ripped from my hands, the safety flipped on as soon as he possessed it. My sleeve was drug towards him and I stumbled inside.

"Enough, it's just a fucking deer-"

"N-no! It stole my vape, it's taunting me! Dad, I swear, I-"

"I said enough!" He tossed the gun aside, grabbing my shoulders, "What are you smoking, Melissa?"

"Dad, it's just that thing-"

"There is no thing, no creature. You're too smart for this, Melissa. You're acting crazy, screaming in the middle of the night? Waiting out here with a gun every night? Really?"

My eyes search his, disbelief in mine. His frustration was clear, both in words and expression. I cower, slumping my shoulders as I look past him in a disassociative haze. His words of reasoning continued to batter me as wells of tears gathered and fell down my cheeks.

"I swear it's real," was my only reply, him gathering me into his arms was his, "I'm not crazy, I'm not..."

"I know, buttercup," he cooed, stroking my hair as a damp pool formed on my shoulder, "Just... stop."

The guilt of his tears caused a lump to form in my throat. I choked back a sob, allowing my own tears to continued to blur my vision.

Out of focus, at the edge of the porch light, I saw an outline of a hand creeping onto the deck.

Two glinting orbs fixated on us.

I grip the thin fabric of my dad's shirt tightly, his hug deepening as a misunderstanding. My sobs turned into seizing gasps of air. The tears dried, my eyelids receaded into my skull.

"Turn around" or "let go" my brain couldn't pick one. My voice couldn't produce a sound beyond a small, shrill squeak. My legs couldn't muster a movement.

It's hand stopped halfway between us and it, hesitant. It opened one finger at a time, gently placing a blinking, scuffed vape.

"Can we just pretend nothing is out there? Forget about all this?" Dad asked, releasing me after an eternity.

The hand slinked away, the eyes remained.

"Sure."

Every summer I visit my dad. Every night I'm there, I flip the porch lights on, curl up on the closest chair, and keep the back door open- leaving just the thin netting of a screen between me and the inside. The only sounds are from the creek just next to the house and the electric click, inhale, exhale made by my incessant habit. A dark void encroaches from the hem of the deck, high above the sloped hill. Nothing but the illuminated wooden planks, cascading down the stairs, and faint highlights on the pines are visible.

On occasion, in the vale of darkness, I see it.

Two, perfectly round, perfectly black eyes catching the light.

It's the wilderness, I've seen eyes of lone animals from time to time, but these were just wrong. Too symmetrical, too close together.

The first time I saw it, I was leaning over the railing during one of my smoke breaks, when I caught a glimpse of eyes looming below the trees. The realization it was staring back caused my shoulders to stiffen, my throat to tighten.

Slowly, my feet pulled me backwards until the screen door knob stabbed my back. Pain erupted up my spine as I winced, my eyelids fighting to stay open as my face contorted, fixated on the orbs under the gap of the rail. My hands soon began to fumble in a quiet panic to open the two layers of doors. It wasn't until I broke the barrier did I finally exhale, a small puff of vaper leaving my lips. I braced myself against the door as that breath turned into a cough.

"I told you to quit," my dad, on que, said, closing the fridge.

"There's something out there," I squeezed out, clearing my throat, "I don't think it's an animal."

A silent nod and the old man was by my side, picking up the rifle leaning on the fireplace. With one quick sweep, he checked the tree line from were I originally stood. The eyes were gone.

When I tried describing them to my dad, he shook his head, not knowing of such a creature.

"I thought some creep was in the yard," he sighed as the gun's weight thumped against the carpet, "you think it was a person?"

"I guess, they didn't look like deer or bear eyes at least," I mumbled into my jacket, "...I couldn't tell."

"It probably was just some critter, buttercup."

"Sure."

I began to only vape in the daytime or sneak hits in the bathroom. There's no vaping allowed in dad's house, so that was all I could afford with my newfound fear. I even developed a fear of looking out windows at night, scared to make eye contact through a thin sheet of glass.

Eventually, I tried to convince myself of my dad's words.

I stared out the screen, scanning the tree line, working up the nerve to step out. The crisp night air licked my skin, water lapping over the rocks just below. Creaking metal hummed across the hinges as the ache in my throat and lungs coaxed me out. I'm gave myself conditions: keep the porch lights on, stay close to the door, and keep one door open.

I didn't see the eyes that night, I didn't see them the rest of that summer.

I flew back to the heat of my college town. Fall and spring passed in a blur of notes and tests. The reprieve of winter break didn't leave an impack, just waiting around for classes to start and finish once again. I didn't regain a true sense of presence until I was back. Standing at that screen door.

"Still haven't quit?" His voice snapped my trance, a frantic hand gripping the wooden door to swing it close. The booming thud shook it's frame and rattled the screen behind it.

"Sorry, you scared me."

I was met with an awkward, graveled chuckle as the man grabbed his drink and hobbled back to his basement. I returned to my routine.

Light on, chair in the same spot I left it. I slinked down into it, deciding to leave an old boot to make an easy escape through the gapped screen if necessary.

Click, inhale, exhale.

The cloud was thick, obscuring my view. My shaky hand waved it away, anticipating my next breath by directing it away from my eyeline. Nothing but the rustle of wind ran through the trees.

Click, inhale, exhale.

Trickling water filled my ears when the wind died between gusts. The mouth piece leaned against my lips with earnest, tasting the residue it left behind. Menthol distracting from the dry crust of my mouth.

Click, inhale-

Eyes blinked into view. Not from the trees, but beneath the railing. Set in the smooth, pale skin of its holder was a closer view of last year's visitor. It's forehead seemed to rest against the thin wood, mouth hidden by the base of the deck. It's bulbus, black eyes consumed my vision.

In less than a second, I sprang from my perch. The chair screached from my sudden movement, thin remnants of mist escaping and rapidly disapating as I scrambled to get inside. My foot caught on the boot, slamming me onto the plush carpet. Crawling, flipping my hips, then swinging my legs out, I managed to kick the door close. I leave my feet there, too scared to stand, too scared to move. My nails rooted my body as blood thrummed through my ears.

"The gun," I gasped, snapping my head to its last location. More than an arms length away, it leaned against the brick fire place.

"Lock the door or get the gun," were my first thoughts after assessing. I gave pause to the moment, catching my breath, listening for what would lead my next action.

Nothing but my dad's TV booming from the basement was audible. The faint proclaimation of duty sent me sliding towards the gun, ripping the door open and pointing the barrel were I assumed the thing was.

Only the yellow glow of the porch light and an all but ordinary deck sat before me.

The last few things I remember were closing the door, cursing the boot, and locking up, even double checking the front door and window locks. Then the dark comfort of my childhood room, downy pillows dragging me into a restless sleep.

That morning, I grinded my teeth in seething deep thought. The snap of bacon and sizzling eggs didn't lighten my mood as they were cooked and served to me.

"Your face will get stuck like that," my dad said before sipping his dark, caffeinated, ichor.

"I know."

"Then stop," his sentence seemed to have ended, before adding, "Or tell me what's wrong."

"Imma take that gun out while I smoke," my words overlapping his addition.

"Or quit"

"Or shoot the damn thing."

My words caused him to lean back in his chair, an ammusement growing across his face.

"That critter bothering you again, buttercup?"

"Yeah."

"Then take care of it," a breathy laugh escaped his lips, taking one last gulp before leaving the table.

With a bitter bite of old bacon, I scarff down my food, the numb flavor sliding down in half chewed chunks. My sour mood and ill temper needing a fix.

Not in my pockets, nor at my bedside, my rage grew trying to find my vape. Outside was the last place to look.

"Where the fuck is it?" My boot slammed on the deck in a huff, an irrational justification popping into my mind, "Did that fucking thing take it?" In a final thrash of anger, I threw the cushions off my chair. A square of plastic went flying, bouncing off the screen door, slipping through a gap in the rotted corner. I cursed my former god and trudged down the stairs to retrieve it.

Inhale, click, exhale.

In a dark corner, I saw an all too familiar glow.

Fight or flight. I thought my anger would decide for me, but instincts sent me running.

Reluctantly, I went out and got a new vape, not mentioning the incident to my dad. Maybe, I bought it out of spite of both of them, definitely because I couldn't stand not having one. Definitely because I didn't want to wrestle it from the thing under the deck.

"That fucker, stealing my shit, I'll kill it," I cursed, anger ripe from the drive over. I rush the entrance of the gas station, interrupt the greeting with my request, preuptivly show ID, pay, leave. Ripping open the packaging, I sucked life into the mechanism. The buzz engulfed my starved lungs and mind.

My drive over was muddled with resentment, so I spent the next 15 minutes planning my next steps. Nothing special, just "shoot it on sight" was the premise. I mostly rehursed the event over and over in my head till I got home.

Light, chair, door, and now gun was the routine.

The night passed and no sign of it. The night after, no sign of it. A week passed, no sign of it.

"Where are you?!" I yelled, 30 minutes of waiting later, 12 days of waiting later, "Come here you mother-"

"Melissa Mae!" My name rang in succession with a gun shot, squeezed by my clammy hands, "God damn it, inside, now!"

"But dad-'

"Now!"

The gun was ripped from my hands, the safety flipped on as soon as he possessed it. My sleeve was drug towards him and I stumbled inside.

"Enough, it's just a fucking deer-"

"N-no! It stole my vape, it's taunting me! Dad, I swear, I-"

"I said enough!" He tossed the gun aside, grabbing my shoulders, "What are you smoking, Melissa?"

"Dad, it's just that thing-"

"There is no thing, no creature. You're too smart for this, Melissa. You're acting crazy, screaming in the middle of the night? Waiting out here with a gun every night? Really?"

My eyes search his, disbelief in mine. His frustration was clear, both in words and expression. I cower, slumping my shoulders as I look past him in a disassociative haze. His words of reasoning continued to batter me as wells of tears gathered and fell down my cheeks.

"I swear it's real," was my only reply, him gathering me into his arms was his, "I'm not crazy, I'm not..."

"I know, buttercup," he cooed, stroking my hair as a damp pool formed on my shoulder, "Just... stop."

The guilt of his tears caused a lump to form in my throat. I choked back a sob, allowing my own tears to continued to blur my vision.

Out of focus, at the edge of the porch light, I saw an outline of a hand creeping onto the deck.

Two glinting orbs fixated on us.

I grip the thin fabric of my dad's shirt tightly, his hug deepening as a misunderstanding. My sobs turned into seizing gasps of air. The tears dried, my eyelids receaded into my skull.

"Turn around" or "let go" my brain couldn't pick one. My voice couldn't produce a sound beyond a small, shrill squeak. My legs couldn't muster a movement.

It's hand stopped halfway between us and it, hesitant. It opened one finger at a time, gently placing a blinking, scuffed vape.

"Can we just pretend nothing is out there? Forget about all this?" Dad asked, releasing me after an eternity.

The hand slinked away, the eyes remained.

"Sure."