4 Scary Animal Horror Stories | Werewolf, Killer Hippos, Demon Cat & Monster Dog!!!

Whoever decided how Lowen had to wait until October clearly never spent a warm summer night listening to something scratch inside the walls. The fireflies are glowing, the moon is hanging over the trees. Somewhere nearby, something is growling, and it may not be as domesticated as its collar would have you believe. Tonight, we're celebrating summer ween with four frightening reminders that nature does not need our permission to become unnatural. Deep in the jungle, hungry giants are waiting beneath the water. In Strickfield, anger can bring out the animal hiding beneath the skin. Inside one quiet home, man's best friend is learning a few disturbing new tricks, and somewhere in the darkness, a pair of red eyes is watching from the furniture.

So lock your doors, keep your pets where you can see them, and try not to smell to appetizing. These are some of the scariest stories from our weekly Spooky Vault, But remember every single Wednesday is a brand new scary story, So make sure you're subscribed on your favorite podcast app and join us for even more fear. As we lead in to October. Now, I say we head out and see about a meal, but hopefully not of us stay hungry by David Ohany. Ella Scott watched in disbelief as the man passed the folded bills to the boat captain.

Kane Marlowe was one of the most infamous poachers in the world, and last she'd heard was in a Kenyon prison. She doubted he'd been released on good behavior. Ella's face reddened as Marlowe went to stow his luggage, Her finger nails dug into her palms, and her entire body shook. Keith, the cameraman for the documentary, stepped in front of her with his hands raised defensively deep breaths. He said, it's just a mix up, I'm sure. Ella shoved him out of her way and stormed over to the captain, grabbing for his collar but mostly getting chest hair.

The short, stocky man whined and slapped at her hands. What are you thinking? She demanded that I didn't ask for a manscaping. He rubbed his chest. You want to go up the river or no? Yes, Ella barked back to film the hippos migrating, not being butchered. Goddamn it. Louise, do you know who that is? Of course, Louise said, he's the guy that just paid me a lot more than you did to go to the exact same place. I can make a dozen trips to more popular locations in the same time. This trip is not cost effective.

I got plenty of room. If someone else wants to come along, I'll take them too. I think you misunderstood. Keith chimed in. Ella is concerned because that man is a poacher. I don't care how he eats his eggs. Louise shrugged and started up to the ship's helm. He'll slaughter them, Ella said, this is Columbia, Miss Scott. Louise leaned on the rusted railing. This village here has been burned down at least three times since I've been alive. Human life is cheap. Hippos aren't many men pay to hunt these animals. You're upset that he is here, but you use this boat, so you'll tolerate him.

I understand it's your boat, but it's their boat. The captain cut her off. The hunters are why this boat has a running motor. They are the reason I was able to pay off my debts. When your hippos killed the fish I used to catch for a living. You hate the hunters, but the hunters are the only reason you're going upriver to go where you wish. You either take this boat or you swim. Guess we're riding with the poacher. Keith muttered, I'm not letting him kill anything. Ella said, mark my words. After the Colombian government slaughtered the bull named Pepe, there had been an international outcry to protect the so called cocaine hippos.

Pablo Escobar had imported four of the animals for his private zoo back in the eighties, which had escaped into the wild after his death. Without a dry season, they begun reaching sexual maturity faster. Their number had swelled to at least two hundred in the years since. If interventions weren't found, there would be a thousand by the end of the next decade. In recent months, reports had come in of hippopotamus sightings far from Median. However, a local group of activists exploiting the rampant political corruption, had supplied Ella with satellite imagery of the area, as well as aerial photographs of what appeared to be three juveniles.

Several hundred miles to the north. Ella studied the photos with the same intrigue she had when she first seen them in the alien jungles of South America. The animals often behaved in ways unseen among their African relatives. Still, it seemed unreasonable. Still, it seemed unreasonable for a group to break off from the herd when all their needs were being met in the Magdalena River they called home. If they had been forced out by a dominant bull, then they should have stopped moving once they were outside his range, which would have been no more than ten miles.

The exodus made no sense. Ella needed to film them in the wild and to figure out exactly why they had moved so far. She had to show the world that the Colombian hippo had become its own species if she wanted to save them. They'd been on the river all day. Keith had occupied himself with filming establishing shots for the first few hours. Ella had shot thirty three takes of her introduction, detailing the history of the hippos in Columbia, the efforts to contain them, and how they had transformed from an invasive species to a meaningful part of the ecosystem.

That they now lived within. Keith wasn't sure he bought into that last part, no matter how many times she made him reshoot it. He was from Indiana and had seen the negative effects of feral hog's first hand. The hippos were a lot bigger and more ill tempered than the pigs back home. They'd started their trip at the tourist trap in Median The hippopotamuses had created a strange paradox for the locals. They killed the fish that provided the basis for their economy and diet, while simultaneously creating revenue through eco tourism. It was much cheaper to come see the hippos in South America than venturing to Africa for a pricey photo safari.

Keith didn't see the appeal. The hippos did nothing but soak in a river and immodestly shit for the flashing cameras. It hardly seemed worth the airfare. While Ella reviewed the maps and photographs again, he optioned to take some still photos of the vast array of wildlife occupying the riverbanks. He zoomed in on the stone faced Colombian sitting at the rear of the boat. Hector filled every role on the boat as he was needed. He was a former FARC soldier and his bear torso was pock marked with shrapnel, scars and burns from his past life. Once they made land, Hector would make sure they were safe while filming.

Ella had of course protested an armed guard, but Luis had only been paid half up front and insisted Hector go with them. Keith wasn't sure if the man never spoke because he didn't know English, or if it was some sense of warrior stoicism. Either way, the cameraman found Hector as intriguing as he was frightening. Keith pried his lens away from his subject and moved to the opposite end of the rickety boat. Cain Marlowe stood at the bow with one boot on the edge and his Rigby rifle propped on his hip, like he was gracing the cover of a Harley Quinn romance novel.

He looked the part with his Safari shirt, sleeves rolled up over muscular forearms, and the top two buttons down to show the valley between thick pectorals. Exotic oils made his golden beard glisten in the setting sun. He was a bondy Beach Allen Quartermain. The only thing out of place about him was the ragged scar on the right side of his face. The claws had left distinctive raised lines from his temple to his jaw. His eye was stuck in a permanent squint on account of the nerve damage. Keith wondered if some unfortunate jungle cat had turned the tables on the poacher, or if it had been his origin story.

Perhaps the beast had mauled a young Marlowe, beginning his desperate need to kill them in retaliation. Like Hector, Keith found Marlowe to be more interesting than the hippos. This is insane, Ella said, snapping him back to reality. The photos clearly show the hippos have moved on. This is completely uncharted behavior for them. We're onto something huge here, and crocodile dun dumbass wants to murder them. Maybe they're trying to go home, Keith said. They are moving in the general direction of Africa. Ancient Egyptians thought they were supernatural beings. Ella seemed to consider it. Perhaps the truth is somewhere in between, perhaps, Keith snorted.

Or perhaps you're reading too much into them going for a walk. They've traveled over two hundred miles. Ella scoffed. That's hardly an evening stroll. It's an invasion. Marlow said, that's what the Venezuelans are calling it. They've got enough problems without a bunch of hungry, hungry hippos coming to dinner. So you're going to kill them and be the big hero. Ella asked, wouldn't be much fun or profit in that. Marlow corrected her. If the herd crosses the border, they'll be slaughtered. That's exactly what you don't want. If I recall, you're killing them for their own good Ella laughed, that's a new spin.

I'll kill one or two. Marlow admitted. These animals are simply exploring their boundaries. It takes a predator to set some Luckily you have me. They don't go to Venezuela to be massacred, and I get a grand hunt. We both win. Miss Scott Keith looked around the boat and raised his hand like he was back in film school. Yes, Marlow asked, there doesn't seem to be room for a dead hippo, let alone two of them. The cameraman said he's only bringing back the teeth, Ella said, pointedly, trading in hippo ivory is illegal internationally. Marlow said, with a grim smile.

They're not an indigenous species, so the Colombian government doesn't have a law on the books about domestic sales. You think you Americans have the patent on rich assholes. I can sell those tusks in Bogata for a mint. I won't let that happen. Ella ensured him the sightings indicate an entire pod up there that's big enough that we can both get the kind of shots we're looking for without being in each other's way. Marlow stepped closer to Ella. You're on the backside of Burke now. No police ya, no human rights, no fucking Starbucks. Is that supposed to be a threat.

A reminder you're not live streaming a protest outside of Maybelene. Everything out here is lethal. Piranha, crocs and acandas and jaguars, even the fucking ants. Anyone can come into the jungle, but it takes a special breed to come back out. And I don't think you're of that stock. He nodded to Keith. That bloke certainly isn't Marlowe climbed the ladder to join Louise at the helm. Ella looked back at Hector, wondering if his role as their protector extended to keeping them safe from marlow as well. The former soldier locked eyes with her and replaced the strap on his holster, letting her know he'd been prepared to move if things had escalated.

On Whose behalf he'd have acted was still a mystery. It had been a long night, so far from civilization. The wildlife went about their routines uninterrupted all night long. Animals carried on in an endless cacophony of mating calls and ferocious hunts. Every time an animal cried out from the jaws of some predator, Ella would snap awake, expecting to see Marlowe carrying a gruesome trophy back on board the boat. It never happened. Each time she was roused from sleep, she found the hunter peacefully resting in his hammock. The sounds of death must have been his favorite lullaby.

He didn't stir in the slightest while she snuck away with his rifle. They made good time. The next morning, Keith sat beside Louise at the helm. Ella watched him shakily pouring a fresh cup of coffee into a cracked mug with faded letters. Despite having gotten even less sleep than her, Keith seemed wide awake. Now. Ella went to the top of the ladder. Keith, She called, yeah. He yipped excitedly. His feet tapped rapidly, and he was grinding his teeth. Oh you want me to get some more, Beeyl, that would be great. She gestured to the cup.

How much coffee have you had? This is my second cup. Keith nodded vigorously. Louise held up three fingers. You seem a little jittery, Ella said, it's really good. Keith slapped Louise on the back. Folgers doesn't know shit about Columbian blend. Colombian blend, Ella asked, Colombian blend, Louise said, tapping his nostril for clarity. Take him before he shakes us off course, Jesus, Okay, no more coffee, Keith. Ella snapped her fingers, pointing to the bow. We have work to do. Pour it over the side. I don't think so. Louise took the mug from Keith and down to gulp.

Last thing we need is piranhas swimming in this. Go make movies with your girlfriend and leave the coffee to the men. Keith laughed, he thinks you're my girlfriend, Move your ass, Keith. Ella dropped to the deck and went to stern for the camera equipment. She looked around suspiciously. Hector had stayed at the rear of the ship the entire day, but had seemingly given up his post. A sharp whistle drew her attention and apparently the captain's as the boat slowed. I think you should come and see this, miss Scott, marlow shouted from the bow. Ella pulled the camera from the bag and shoved it into Keith's arms.

On the way past. Hector was there, cradling an assault rifle in his arms and sipping at his own coffee. Marlowe pointed to the riverbank. You see that, miss Scott, he asked. Make sure your cameraman gets a good look. Flies swarmed over the corpse of the American crocodile. It laid on its back, with its intestines bulging out of its split belly. One leg was completely torn from its body. A yellow headed vulture tugged at a strand of muscle hanging from the stump. The birds stretched the tissue until it snapped loose. Was trampled around the scene, with deep hoof prints clearly visible in the mud.

There are five thousand American crocodiles in the entire world, Marlow said, minus one, thanks to your hippos. Maybe you two would like to get off the boat and film that. Fuck you, Marlow, Ella spat. Territorial disputes happen across species in every ecosystem. Don't try to justify what you do. That croc was at least fifty years old, Marlow said, pointing at the carcass. There was no dispute, dearie. This was his territory. Your hippos kill him for the sport of it. Funny how you seem to have such a problem when I do that. The crocodile has not been dead long, maybe since last night, Hector said, in an even mechanical tone.

We should not be this close. What do you mean? Keith looked around, swinging the camera as he turned his head close to what blimey? Marlow scanned the water for air bubbles. A territorial dispute, you say, Ella gasped, Oh shit? What? Keith shouted? Why does everyone know what's going on except me. We moving on or what Louise asked, we were wrong, Ella shouted, get down here and bring your map. Ella laid her photos in topographic map on a small table and waited for Luis to add his own. The others gathered around to hear what she said, but Hector and Marlowe kept their eyes on the river.

Hippos stay in the water most of the time, but will travel around ten miles to graze. Ella pointed at a circle on the map. Our photos were taken here, so we assumed they had migrated up the Magdalena to this inlet. It was the only logical place they could be. But we know a hippo was here recently. The inlet is too far away for a bull to have wandered. We were going to go right past them. I'm thrilled for you, lady, Louise said, But like my mother in law always says, you pay full price even if you don't go all the way.

Was your mother in law a prostitute, Keith asked, second finest in all of Columbia. Louise told him if she'd have been the first, I'd have married her instead. It might have worked out better, Hector added, the answer seemed so obvious that no one looked for another. Ella sketched a rough circle that joined their current location to the confirmed sighting. The calves were photographed at one end of the grays Lands, and we're sitting on the other. You can't see it on my map because of the canopy, but yours is hand drawn. There's a large pond right in the center.

What isn't on your map is the tributary that feeds it. That's because we already have enough ways to get killed in this country without going down. Rio dedl mortal seriously, Ella stiffened. It's actually called the river of deadly evil. You have a river of deadly evil. Keith screeched, Of course not, Luis laughed. It's hard enough to get taurists this far into the jungle without scary rivers. It looks narrow and shallow. Probably someone just figured there was no point drawing it on. Can the boat make it through? Marlow asked, If not, I don't give refunds. Louise sipped his coffee.

You'll both see your hippos soon. Louise ducked under a branch, careful to keep his hand on the wheel. The hull scraped noisily against the rocky banks of the narrow channel. He stood and eased back on the throttle. Navigating the unmarked river had proven more challenging than the map suggested. The jungle reached out for the boat on both sides, swatting at the passengers like it was shooting gnats. A monkey jumped from one of the trees, using the boat as a stepping stone to the other side. Louise watched the foliage to make sure it wasn't being pursued Alto Alto.

Hector called out from the bow. Something in the bushes ahead. Check it out quickly, Pendell Louise shouted back. Hector stepped onto the rail, using a branch for stability as he hopped over a round boulder and on to the bank. The former rebel moved gracefully through the brush. He stopped in his tracks as something rustled behind him. He turned to find Ella picking herself up from the ground. He should have stayed on the boat, Hector told her, many dangerous things here. Marlowe swung from a vine to land between them. He unslung the rifle from across his back.

Hector groaned and signaled for both of them to stay quiet before moving on. Ella shoved past marlow to catch up. The hunter chuckled. The smell of death lingered, but without the usual accompaniment of scavengers. Hector pushed through waste high grass, stepping into mud. Blood squished up around his boot soles. A hippopotamus carcass laid on its side. The bones were still wet where the meat had been removed, and its organs were strewn from its split belly all the way to the water's edge. Ornaments hung from the trees like archaic wind chimes. Ella investigated one of them.

Vertebrae were spaced out along hand braided ropes with conical spikes at the end. These teeth are crocodilian, she said. The bones aren't, though they're human. Marlowe informed them some poor bastard spine. This animal was butchered, Hector said, kneeling to examine the bear femur. There are knife marks another poacher. Ella asked, with a baleful glare at Marlowe, Jesus the monsters cut out its teeth, all of them. Marlowe said a hunter would have only taken the tusks These cuts are ragged and much too rough for steel. This was indios revenge. Hector rattled one of the wind chimes.

The crocodile has been revered across the globe since time began. Marlowe nodded. The hippo killed one of their gods. They got their payback. They probably took the meat to appease the other crocs and keeping there good graces. Holy shit, Keith called from the boat. He zoomed in on the carnage. That's insane, Ella, you're not going to believe the shot. He should probably keep quiet, Marlow suggested, while bringing his rifle to bear. This was a pup. The hippos will be more aggressive now. There's too many rocks here. Louise bellowed, I can't slow down anymore. You need to get back on the boat.

Hector, what color is the bottom of the boat. Ella watched the crock teeth swaying on the ceremonial decor white, I guess. Hector shrugged like a croc belly. Marlow whispered back on the boat, Louis ordered. Marlow turned slowly, scanning the jungle for movement. Ella gasped when he pointed the rifle straight at her. She watched as his finger moved to the trigger and took up the slack. The muzzle flash stretched at her like dragon's breath, accompanying the terrifying roar of the big game rifle. The ground rumbled around her. She whirled around to see the hippo dead at her feet.

A wisp of smoke drifted from the fist sized hole in its skull. Crikey, that was a close one. Marlow chambered another round. Good thing, I reloaded, since someone took the bullets from my rifle. No worries I brought more. Keith screamed as the boat listed violently. Great boulders bobbed to the surface around the vessel. A muffled whoomp came from the water, jostling the boat again. The group stood petrified as the boulders stretched open their wide jaws and cried out. Unseen members of the pod responded throughout the jungle. An immense hippo exploded out of the water, crashing bodily onto the boat's stern.

The bow rose up, throwing Louis from the helm. The captain hit the deck with a splash. Four thousand pounds of hippopotamus pressed it deeper into the water. Louis clawed at the floorboards. The beast's fetid breath washed over him as he slid closer to the gaping maw on the shore. The others watched as Louise was dragged, screaming beneath the surface. Keith Ella cried out, you have to jump. Water rose around the cameraman's legs. The ship was going down fast. Hippo jaws snapped at him over the guardrails. He shook his head. I can't jump, Are you insane?

He whined, They'll eat me. You're sinking, dopey. Marlow shouted, now get off the bloody boat. Automatic rifle fire masked any reply Keith might have given. Hector sprayed from his hip at the charging bull. The barrage did nothing to slow the beast. Hector fumbled a fresh magazine. The hippo swiped its head once, impaling the soldier with its tusks. It raised Hector's screaming body into the air, crushing his torso like an aluminum can. Marlowe knelt and fired a shot through the hippo's eye. The hippopotamus collapsed with Hector wheezing his last breaths still between its teeth. Everybody run, Marlowe barked.

Keith put a foot on the railing and leapt for the shore. Ella reached out for him, and so did a hippo. The jaws closed around his legs, swinging him to the shore. Ella grabbed him by the wrists. The hippo tugged on him. Ella dug her heels into the muck and tried desperately to pull him free. The hippo gave a slight jerk, ripping Keith's legs off with ease. Ella cried as she dragged him up the embankment to her. She was torn away from him. Suddenly, she landed on her back, expecting to see tusks closing around her face.

Instead, she saw Marlowe dragging her away by the collar. No, she shouted, She clawed at the hunter's hands. We have to help him. There's no help for him. Marlowe struggled to get her up. Get on your feet, Keith cried out. Ella wrestled free and scrambled to the edge. The big female that capsized the boat rushed out to meet her. A hoof came down on Keith his rib cage collapsed in one wet crunch. Jaws snapped shut in front of Ella's face with enough force to blow her auburn hair back. Marlowe blasted a chunk from the beast's snout and worked the rifle bolt.

Now can we bloody leave? Ella used Marlowe's belt to pull herself up. The hunter swung her by the arm. Despite the uneven start, she gained her footing quickly and broke into a full sprint with marlow on her heels. The giant female charged out of the jungle, uprooting trees in furious pursuit of the humans. Shoot it. Ella plaied, I only have one more shot. Marlow answered, you said you had more on the boat. Marlow snarled, what is that? Look up ahead? The jungle broke open, giving way to a sun drenched clearing full of tall grass. On the far end stood something as out of place as the cocaine hippos themselves?

Is that a mansion? We're not going to live long enough to find out. Marlow growled that Sheila's right on our ass. The hippo let its jaw hang open, ready to chomp through them. Marlowe knew he wouldn't have time to line up a kill shot. He threw himself into Ella, sending her careening into the lush flora. Marlowe leaped the other direction. The hippo slid and stumbled as it tried to correct course. It wheeled around, turning its head between the two possible victims. Its black eye focused on the rifle that had mauled its face. It snorted and scratched at the earth with its hoof.

There was no time to aim. Marlowe's bullet went wide, striking the hippo in the neck. Blood spurted from the crater. The monster fell on a bent knee. Ella walked towards it, cupping her hands over her mouth. The hippo dragged itself along. Its jaws snapped weakly as it tried to get close to marlow for one final go finish it. Ella sniffled. Put it out of its misery. I told you I'm out of ammunition now, Marlowe laughed. As the hippo collapsed. He watched its struggle for breath. Even after all of this, here still on their side. You still have my bullets.

Ella reached to the pocket on her vest. The brass rattled as she shakily fished out a single bullet. That's a good lass. Marlowe walked to her and shoved the rifle into her chest. You got the ammo, now you have the rifle too. Marlowe leaned against a tree trunk and gestured for her to finish the wounded animal. Go on, he said, do it, end it suffering. Ella loaded a bullet into the chamber and closed the bolt. You heard the calls, Ella, We're surrounded by them, Marlowe continued. I can keep you alive until help comes. I'm the only chance you have, and you haven't even got that until you show me you're worth saving.

Kill the fucking thing. Ella raised the rifle to her shoulder. She tried to sight through the scope, but tears obscured her view. A long, plaintive wine came from the hippopotamus before it fell still. Ella watched for signs of life, but none came. It had bled out. She let the rifle hang limply in her hands. How's that for principles? Marlow snorted and walked away. Such an animal lover, but you let one die like that, I reckon, that makes you a damn sight worse than me. Fuck you keep shouting, Ella, It'll distract the others while I make a run for the hacienda.

Ella kept her finger on the trigger as they crossed the clearing. If there was another attack, she'd be ready, ready to put her one shot right between Marlowe's shoulder blades before she died. Nearby, a hippo bellowed. Ella listened to the number of responses and shook her head. The calls were coming from across the POD's entire range. She tried to guess at how many animals were out there. The number she came up with was entirely too large. She'd assumed the hippo sidings were a secondary herd that had migrated away from the original. She'd anticipated a colony of a dozen at most.

The female that attacked them was fully matured and larger than average. A pungent stench disrupted her thoughts. Ella paid attention to the grass for the first time. Hippo shit clung to the long, swaying blades. It had smeared across her shorts and bare legs. Ella stared at the small mansion beyond. It looked like a private getaway and had clearly been abandoned for quite a while. Pablo Escobar had many homes across the country. This one looked special, a place where he was a father and not a drug lord. She froze in her tracks. Hippos were her daughter's favorite animal.

Looks like Pablo was a regular. P T. Barnum Marlow said, coming to the same conclusion. He waved a hand at the expansive retaining pond. A rusty fence lay in ruins around it. Red algae formed a thick layer, concealing its murky depths. Guess they're more effective than guard dogs. The authorities definitely never found this place. I bet there's a ton of cocaine inside. You won't find out. Ella said, Oh, why is that? Marlow put his hands on his hips. I'm perfectly safe as long as you have the gun. Ella aimed the rifle. Marlow followed the barrel to the pond and the bubbles popping on its surface.

She fired. The stagnant water erupted in a geyser that showered the hunter. The bull sprang up. Marlowe watched the small fortune of ivory stretch open wide. The pink gullet rushed towards him. Darkness enshrouded the poacher. His feet kicked helplessly as he descended whole down the hippo's throat. The four ton bull let itself slide off the side and sunk back to the bottom of the lake to digest its meal. Ella walked to the mansion steps. A baby hippo ran from the porch when it saw her coming. The door was long gone. Inside, she found all the furnishing still in place.

It seemed as though Marlowe had been correct about no one finding the property. The local wildlife certainly had, though. Ella flopped onto a couch, freeing thirty years of dust. If she was never found, at least she'd die in style. Ella ejected the empty casing from the rifle and rummaged for another bullet. She wondered if any canned goods would still be edible, or if she'd find some way to call for help. Ella pressed a bullet into the chamber and closed the bolt. There may have been things she could use, but she needed to search while there was still daylight coming through the dingy windows.

She begrudgingly gave up the comfort of the sofa. The door frame crashed inward, showered, ring the imported marble with debris. The bull looked around slowly. Ella ducked behind the couch and risked a peak at the animal. Years of battle scars ornamented its flesh. The bull stared back at her and snorted, its jaw hung open. Ella swore she could hear Marlowe crying deep inside its belly. She'd been so adamant about preserving the Colombian hippos, but she didn't want to die either. She raised the rifle, steadying it on the back of the couch. Tears welled up. She thought about killing it to save herself, only to be killed by another one later.

It would all be worthless. Then she broke down, sobbing and choking for a breath. She heard the marble cracking under his hoofs. The room shook. All she could see was the blurry mammoth form charging at her. Someone was crying out for help. Maybe it was Marlowe slowly digesting inside, or maybe it was her own voice begging for another solution. Heaving, stinking breaths assaulted her. As it drew closer, Ella squeezed the trigger. Wolf rage by rob fields. It's Friday night, and I'm out here on the football field at Strickfield High School. It wasn't too long ago.

I was entertaining people in Malibu, California as they watched me strut my shit on the runway while posing in the latest fashions. Now I'm strutting my shit to the local crowds in Strickfield, Ohio in a cheerleading uniform. Yeah, I was on top of the world. I'd made it. I had everything, and I lost it all just like that. My name's Danielle Boyd, which my friends usually shortened to Danny boy. I left Strickfield after Junior High was over, taking what little money I had and wearing only the clothes on my back. I was determined to get away from my parents and get to California anyway I could.

I got there by riding my thumb and believe me when I say I had no problem getting rides. I didn't even have to show any of my goodies or perform sexual favors. Anyway. I made it to Malibu. Like I said, I had very little money. I was homeless. Here's some irony. When mom and I had our last fight, she told me I'd never be able to get by on my looks alone. But that's exactly what I ended up doing. I wasn't homeless long before someone from the Inglewood Talent agency approached me. No I wasn't being tapped star in movies and damn sure not porn.

No I had the look the agent was looking for, so after going through all the formalities, they didn't care I was under age at the time. I ended up posing for magazine ads and appearing in commercials. It wasn't long before I became a runway model, posing in some really extravagant fashions. I didn't become rich, but I was making more than enough money to be able to eat, have fun, and come up with my share of rent. Once I started living with a few girls from the agent, we were living in a house at the Ocean, I had it made.

I really felt like I was going to be carefree in living the good life for as long as I wanted to. I always played by the rules when it came to the agency. I didn't drink or do drugs. I did what was asked of me and got paid great money. But you just knew something was going to go horribly wrong just looking around this football field. Now I'm half naked and feeling my tits bounce as I'm doing the routines. I'm sure plenty of the male population are checking out my ass when I bend over. God, I fucking hate cheerleading.

Hate it. I'm only doing it as a kind of meditation, you see. I have some serious anger issues. When the game's over, I'm in the shower and cleaning up. Then I get dressed and start walking back to the apartment that Darla Cantrell, my best friend, is sharing with me. Oh, my parents definitely know I'm back. They let me know on no uncertain terms, I'm not welcome back home. Yeah, fuck my parents. My anger issues definitely started with them. My parents are constant Bible thumpers for the First Church of the Divine Power, and just kept shoving their religion down my throat.

They'd even yell at me for the stupidest shit. They'd make me dress up in the shittiest clothes, and they dragged me to church as much as possible. My parents hated all the looks people gave me. I guess I made any clothes look good, and my parents accused me of being a flirt a slut or a harlot because of it. The day came when they told me I was going to marry the evangelist's son and be his loyal wife. Oh that was the last fucking straw. My anger built up so much over the years that I finally couldn't take my parents anymore and totally lost my shit.

That was when I grabbed the handyman's hammer and started smashing anything in that church I could. I never knew I could get that angry, but God damn did releasing it just feel exhilarating. When I finished, I walked right out of that church and left for Malibu that very night. When Mom told me before that I'd never make it on my looks, I told her to just watch me. In fact, Mom was quick to tell me that again when she saw I was back in Strickfield. So here I am living the poor life again. But I'd rather be living the poor life than living with my parents.

I'd rather live my life for me. Do I sound selfish and conceited? Well, you try living with my parents then, Speaking of whom, their van just pulled up beside me. I keep walking, but they're driving to a crawl. I tell them to leave me alone, but they keep telling me I'm a Jezebel who turned her back on God when I walked out on them. Now I know they were at the game and saw me cheerleading. I keep telling them to leave me the fuck alone, that I'm never coming back home or back to their church.

Finally, Dad gets out of the van and comes at me. He grabs me and tells me they're bringing me back to God if it's the last thing they do. As I'm struggling against Dad, I gasp. When I feel the sudden surge throughout my body. I scream and pull, free falling on my ass. I quickly get up and I run. I'm really hating my parents for lighting my fuse right now. I make it into an alley. When I feel my clothes starting to get tight and rip, my spine crackles and gets long. My muscle's hurt and get bigger and thicker.

I feel pricklyes as the fur starts growing out my mouth, my hands, and my feet start to elongate. My body's even growing. When I finish changing, I'm a big silver werewolf. When Dad finally comes at me, I glare right at him and roar I chase my dad back to his van. Mom screams when she sees me. I give her a roar. She won't soon forget. When Dad gets the van going, I grab the driver's side door and rip it off. I roar at them before I throw the door away and run after them on all fours.

When they make a turn, they feel me slam against the side of the van and make it stop. I pull Dad out and slam him up against the side of the van. I roar again. Then Mom comes around with a gun. I'm so pissed at them right now. We parted ways a long time ago. Just leave me the fuck alone. Mom shoots me with a few silver bullets. Oh yeah, that'll work. I slapped the gun out of her hand and watch them run away. I really want to tear them apart. The more I think about it, the more I decide they're not worth it.

I turn and run before other people can see me. Anyway. Now you know why I had to leave Malibu behind. In fact, it was there where I was cursed. Now I know what you're going to ask. Wait a minute, Danny boy, don't you change only when it's a full moon? You'd figure I suppose I better explain that I just finished to follow up pictorial in Vanity Fair, followed by a Runway show two months ago. I posed nude for Vanity Fair. It was quite the artistic pictorial, if I do say so myself. Today, like most days, was a long one.

I was very tired and wanted to go home. I was going to get naked and go swimming in the ocean out back, like I did most every night. That or some night surfing for the record. There was a solar eclipse going on. I knew my roommates would be on the upper patio watching it. I just wanted to go swimming. I took a shortcut through Malibu Bluff's Park to save me ten minutes getting home. Any other night there was no problem, but not on that eclipse night. No. Something was going to happen that would change my life forever.

As I walked through the park, I had that strange feeling I was being watched. I walked faster, but still had a little ways to walk before reaching Malibu Road. Suddenly I heard a loud growl and was attacked by something big. It crashed into me and knocked me on my ass. Then the thing grabbed me, and I screamed as it bit into my naked shoulder and clamped down hard. The pain was unbearable and I couldn't stop screaming. I felt blood slowly running down my skin. I stopped screaming and cried. The more I struggled, the worse the pain got.

When I screamed again, the monster finally moved away from me. I think we both heard voices. Something deep down told me I didn't want those people finding me. I forced myself to move and hide in some bushes. A bunch of people hurried past me, probably looking for the thing that bit me. I took my top off to push it against my bites until I could get home. Funny thing, I wasn't hurting anymore. Also, my injuries healed up fast. Deep down, I knew shit was going to get real, just a question of when, not if. When I got home, my roommates saw me and asked what happened.

I lied and told them I was daydreaming and tripped on my own feet. Yeah, they didn't believe me. When I assured them I wasn't raped, they left me alone. I got naked and headed out back to do some night swimming. A few weeks later, Ldonna, one of my roommates, asked if i'd pick up her car at the garage since I was off. She gave me her plastic and I went and got her car. I was driving it back to the house. Of course, some drunken fuck tard had run a red light and slammed into me.

At the same time I heard a tire blow. I had to fight to control the car, but I still slammed into a tree. I was fine thanks to the seatbelt. However, I was trapped inside the car, pinned by the steering wheel, and worse, I couldn't open my door. I got scared fast when I saw smoke coming out from under the hood and knew the end was on fire. This car was going to explode. First, I was bitten by whatever that thing was. Now I was trapped in Ladanna's car. That's two nights in two weeks. I was in situations where I felt like I was going to die, but now I knew I was completely fucked.

The more I struggled, the more I got pissed. I'm not dying, not like this, I yelled. Suddenly, a powerful surge seemingly shot through my body. I screamed when I saw the whole front of the car was on fire. Now that sudden surge made me feel so weird. What was happening to me? I felt myself aching all over. I heard my clothes ripping and saw my top and booty shorts were coming apart. And I started to feel amazingly strong. Hair was growing all over my body. I felt my mouth stretching out. My teeth were getting really sharp.

I could see my fingers turning into claws. I kept changing, changing, changing. I put my clawed hand on the side of the door and pushed it away. I grabbed the steering wheel and easily broke it off. I got out of the car and leaped away from it just as it exploded. I landed on my hind legs. I looked myself over and saw I was covered with silver fur. I looked and felt incredibly strong. I was much taller, I had claws for hands, wolf like feet, and even a long tail. I wanted to ask what the actual fucking fuck, but all that came out was a bunch of growls.

I was attacked by a werewolf and survived. So now the curse finally caught me only. There were a few things wrong with my particular story. One there was no full moon. Two, I could think for myself, not like a beast. I knew my name was Danielle Boyd and lived in Malibu, California. I knew I was a fucking werewolf. I couldn't speak as a human, but I could think in English. Just fine. I was a werewolf for the rest of that night. When daylight came, I was still a werewolf. Would I be what was supposed to be a creature of the night forever?

Fortunately? No. As I hid and sat down to think, I started to change, change, change. I was Danielle Boyd again, and completely naked. A few cops saw me and chased me down. I lost them fast. I made it home and got inside through an open window. After I took a shower, I got dressed and took an uber to the agency. And that's where things got messy. Don't go away weekly, Spooky will be right back. I was modeling some new designer swimwear. The photographer, Kendall Boswell, was a real asshole who liked biting and snapping at everyone.

Kendall's pissed me off many times. I'm in this chute with Paris, my other roommate, who's a very sensitive girl. Almost midway through the chute, Kendall pushed Paris to the point where she started to cry. I comforted Paris and told Kendall to go get fucked. He never liked when I stood up to him. He quickly put the camera down. Then he lashed out, slapped me and told me to start knowing my place. Oh did I ever see red? And that sudden surge hit me like lightning. Kendall got scared quick and pissed his pants when he saw me changing.

I felt the pain when I changed. Soon I was a werewolf again, just like before. I was fully aware of everything, including the fact that I was still seeing red. I grabbed Kendall and lifted him off the floor. He screamed and shrieked like a little girl. I wanted to yell fuck you, but all that came out was a loud roar. I heard Paris scream and look to see her hands were covering her mouth and her eyes were wide open. I dropped Kendall, who got up and ran away like his ass depended on it. I turned to tell Paris not to be scared.

I just couldn't speak English, only growl and snap. I held up my clawed hands to tell Paris to calm down, but she screamed again. Then the security guards were coming. I turned and escaped, running on all fours. I crashed through a window and dropped to the alley below. It was still daytime. More people saw me and screamed. I turned and ran. I kept running until I got back to the house. I crawled in through a window and sat in a corner. I needed to think. As time passed, I was calming down and relaxing to where I could change back to my human form again.

Like before, I was completely naked, being honest, I love my body. Before this shit happened, i'd catch hell from Paris and LaDonna for walking around the house naked. They'd really give me hell when I answered the door naked to the pizza guys. I didn't care. I feel free when I'm naked. Besides, pizza delivery boys know what naked females look like, right, But seeing my nudity now reminded me I was cursed, and I cried that werewolf attacked me and passed his shit to me. Somehow, I knew deep down the werewolf that attacked me was a normal one, not capable of thinking the way I could.

Also, it was during a solar eclipse, which probably counted as a full moon. But the more I thought about it, the more I felt it had to be the eclipse. How else could I explain my unique differences from regular werewolves, at least as I understand them from books and movies. I decided to find the werewolf who turned me and tear that fucker apart. I waited until the next full moon and went back to Malibu Bluff's Park. I hung around there and waited. Then I saw I was still human, which meant I did not change during a full moon, was being cursed under a lunar eclipse.

Really that big of a deal shows how much I know about things like werewolves, and I fucking hate horror movies. Suddenly, the monster shot out of the bushes and attacked me. After we rolled around, I got up and faced the fucker. Oh I was pissed. I mean I was fighting mad. I gasped when the powerful surge hit me, and the other wolf watched as I changed. When I was finished, I roared and attacked. At first I was fighting like an animal. Then I remembered I could actually think, so I used my skills that I learned on the streets and started kicking the other werewolve's ass.

I relished every bit of this. I was going to rip that other wolf into as many pieces as I could. Unfortunately, that didn't happen. Those people showed up again, and they had shotguns. I easily saw the one leading them. He was a big, fat hillbilly bob with a camel fla vest, a hunting cap, and a shotgun of his own. Those people wasted no time shooting first and asking questions later. We both got shot up with silver bullets. I didn't even fight back. The truth was I really didn't want this curse and no such luck. The fucker who turned me was definitely killed.

In fact, that werewolf turned back into some fuckwad I'd never even seen before me. I suddenly sat right up. I was still a werewolf, and all the silver bullets were popping right out of me. Seriously. When I stood up, the hunters and I had a brief stare down before I surprised them. I moved my hand to my shoulder and acted like I was brushing dirt off it. Then I raised both my middle fingers to them and ran off to quickly leave them behind. That was it. That was the end of Malibu for me. I couldn't stay there anymore, especially with those hillbilly Bob's and Bessie's who hunted my kind being around like that.

Okay, silver bullets couldn't kill me, and I wasn't waiting around for those trigger happy fuckers to find something that would. But what hurt more was that Paris was scared of me, so I couldn't live at the house with her and LaDonna anymore. Plus other people had seen me change. My dream life in Malibu was fucked. I was fucked. After I got dressed, I left my final share of the rent on the kitchen table with a note saying goodbye, and walked out for the last time. All I had was the money I had on me and the clothes on my back.

The only place I could go was back to Strickfield. As before, I walked and rowed my thumb along the way. I worked a few odd jobs for room and board when offered, which was how I learned about working on a farm. I finally made it back to Strickfield. There was no way I was going back home, though it wouldn't matter. Someone would eventually tell my parents I was back, Like when I first got to Malibu. I was all set to live on the streets. Then my childhood friend, Darla Cantrell saw me. I kept in touch with her since leaving Strickfield.

She was my best friend and I couldn't just shit on her. I didn't want to tell her I was homeless. I could never get anything past Darla, though she quickly invited me to come live with her at her apartment at Strickfield Cove. Darla was a senior at Strickfield High School. However, she worked as a stripper at Sexpectations, a gentleman's club just a couple miles outside the village. She really didn't care if the principal of the high school found out or not. She started working as a stripper just after she turned eighteen. Darla told me she could get me a job at Sexpectations.

I would have liked to have taken it, but I knew I had to stay out of the limelight. Darla told me about the kinds of assholes that frequent there. I didn't need to lose my shit because of them. Darla talked me into coming to school with her. Strickfield High always has open enrollment. When I was modeling the agency I worked for, got teachers for me. Since I couldn't go to public school on account of the job, I just had to get through senior year and would do it at Strickfield High. When I was enrolling, Principal Matthew Van Diast couldn't keep his eyes off of my bust line.

He's a man, so I couldn't really blame him anyway. I love the attention. I quickly noticed he had his eyes on some skinny chick named Bella Tabon, who would soon become one of my fellow cheerleaders. So there I was in an actual high school. It really hurt deep inside. I missed Malibu so much much. I knew I could never go back thanks to my curse I had fallen from grace. I didn't know how smart those hillbilly bob werewolf hunters were, but I couldn't take the chance of tapping any of the money I put in my bank account back in California.

I didn't need to bring those fucks to Strickfield. I filled out some job applications and got a night management position at Roth's Rings, a twenty four hour donut shop near the university. The pay wasn't bad and the hours were great. At least it was something until I could find something better. Darla talked me into going out for the cheerleading squad. At first I didn't want to. Finally I gave in and tried out. I made the cut. Darla still wasn't giving up on trying to get me to come to work with her at sexpectations. Come on, Danny boy, you know you wanna, she says at lunch break.

You're just dying to show off that sizzling body of yours. You always walk around our apartment naked, So do it for an appreciative audience and get paid good for it. I shake my head. I'll keep making donuts and shaking my TNA on Friday nights. Thanks anyway, Darla flashes her sexy smile. Stephen Chase is looking at you right now. I can tell he's carrying a torch for you. Stephen Chase is in most of my classes, including the one I'm in now. He seems like a good guy. I can tell he wants to ask me out, but he's having a hard time approaching me.

I definitely can't hide my feelings from Darla. She knows I'm considering giving him a chance if he asks me. But dare I take that leap? How do I explain it to him? When I get pissed off and change? And could he deal with a girl with serious anger issues? And again I relegate myself to playing the shy girl. I just can't get romantic with anybody. There can never be a normal me again. I put my hands on my forehead and groan. Suddenly, mister Scott Samborn is on me and points right at me. Since you seem to think my lecture's boring, you can take over and explain the problem on the board.

I try to protest, at least to get my shoes. He won't even let me do that. Now I'm standing in front of the class. Every guy is checking out my bare legs and feet. As I'm explaining how to do the problem, Darla gives me that smirk that tells me I'm out there now and guys are going to be asking me out. Then she blows me a kiss. After I finished drying off from taking a shower. I walked to my room to get dressed for work. Darla sees me in the hallway and gives me that look again.

Really, Danny, boy, you can't wear a towel to your room. She gives me a sexy smile. Siously, you want to be naked all the time, come to work at sexpectations with me? I smirk. What's the matter? Does me being naked make you nervous? I point at her, ain't no different than you walking around in your underwear. Darla groans again when she knows she won't win with me. Suddenly the door bursts open. My parents are there, along with some of their church people, and they've got guns. Get the fuck out of here, Darla demands. One of the fuckers raises his gun and shoots Darla in the shoulder, making her drop fast.

I scream in terror, and then Dad shoots me, but it's a dart. I'm falling to the floor. In just seconds, I wake up to some familiar surroundings. I'm in the basement of the First Church of the Divine Power, a church my parents have been devout followers of. I'm in an office. I feel the gag and the handcuffs behind my back. Your father told you we were bringing you back to God, Danielle. Mom says, then I see the fucker who shot Darla, and I scream and rage through my gag. I'll fucking kill you. And then I hear Darla moan and see her tied and gagged across the room.

She looks pretty bad, probably from blood loss. Then Mom says to me, your friend there lived in sin and wanted to take my baby girl with her. She deserves to die. She points at me. You owe God. He gave you your great beauty, and all you did was squander it. You even went against God's plan for you to marry the evangelist's son. Fuck you, I growl through the gag. Mom tightens her jaw and slaps me hard across the face. Don't you ever use vulgarity in God's house? She holds up a copy of Vanity Fair from two months ago.

She slaps me harder, confirming she's seen my nude pictorial. I close my eyes in pain. Then Mom says, in disgust, how dare you? Then she says, to the coltist who shot Darla, give Danielle's friend her final judgment. She turns to Darla. You tainted my baby girl, and now you're going straight to hell. When Darla screams through her gag, I shake with anger and open my eyes. Mom, the coltists, and Darla gasp with surprise. Turns out. When my fire gets burning, my eyes turn blood red. I feel that incredible surge throughout my body again. I have an oversized T shirt on me, but it becomes too tight and rips apart as I change.

The handcuffs break on both shackles. When I stand up, the coldest who shot Darla shoots me in the face. I want to scream at him, but all that comes out are angry roars. The bullet pops out of my face and I heel up fast. I grab the bastard's gun and break it. Then I hit him hard enough to send him through the wall. Now I turn to Mom to see her shaking all over. She makes the sign of the Cross as she utters, Oh God in heaven, Danielle, Oh my baby. My fire is a raging inferno.

All I see is pure red. To think these fuckers were spying on me the whole time. Mom and Dad knew everything I was doing In Malibu, with the exception of getting cursed in my pissed off state, I remember that I call the shots when it comes to my werewolf body. Then I get shot again. I look and see Dad emptying him pistol into me, silver bullets. Like in Malibu, they just pop right out of my body. I roar in utter rage and knock Dad aside. I even shove Mom on her ass. The other Coultists try and attack me, but I easily throw them off.

Darla looks at me with wide eyes as I untie her and lift her into my arms and get her out of that church. I run as fast as my hind legs can move me and quickly get Darla to the hospital. Three days later, I'm leaving Strickfield. I'm still reading yesterday's paper. It says everybody at the first Church of the Divine Power was slaughtered. In fact, the event is being called the Strickfield Church massacre. But I know I didn't kill anybody. The police talk to me but couldn't connect me with the event. They even question Darla, and she didn't say one word to them about me.

I could see she was afraid of me. Though I had no choice. I had to leave Strickfield and keep moving from town to town. I have to stay away from people, period. My life is totally fucked now. Suddenly a car pulls up beside me. Stop right there, Danny boy. Darla. She's out of the hospital with a sling on her arm. I can tell she's still hurting, but here she is with her car. I'm not coming back, Darla, I reply, you saw what I am. Darla gets out of her car and comes to me. You didn't kill those people.

I was there with you. I shake my head, but I can't prove it wasn't me. So you're gonna run. Darla snaps, You're gonna take the blame bullshit. She shoves me. You're coming home with me and we are going to figure out the truth together. But I'm a monster, Darla, I remind her. Darla growls and shoves me again. So fucking use it. Find the fuckers who did the massacre, clear your name. Stop fucking running away, Danny boy. You're stronger than this. When Darla hugs me, I know I can't run from her. Darla truly is my dearest friend.

I agree to return to Strickfield with her. We have to solve the Strickfield Church massacre, which means I'll be back to share more of my exploits with you find people. But until then, Tata my dog Dug by David o'hin daddy, I want this one. Abby's tiny voice replayed in Barry's head as he wiped the dog shit off of his bare foot. Lindsey found the Armant on Craigslist. Normally, they were extremely hard to find outside of their native Egypt, not to mention expensive, smart, protective, and loyal. They were the perfect breed for just about any family.

He wasn't a very large dog, less than two feet at his scraggly shoulders, nor did he look like he ate a lot. Plus he was free, which sealed the deal. The lady had told them that Doug needed more attention than she could provide, which wouldn't be an issue with Abbey. Why any one would name a dog Doug, however, was beyond Barry's understanding. Still, Abby and Lindsay thought it was adorable, So Doug the dog joined the family with an excited wag of his curly tail and a more excited screech from Abbey. The Warners had just bought a new home.

It was much larger than they needed, but the location was isolated and it had been priced to sell. That was always a plus for the frugal Berry Warner. The fourth bedroom was an extra, so Barry had made it into a playroom for his daughter, who promptly re christened it the set of the Abbey and Doug tea time review. Every afternoon, they sat at the pretty pink picnic table in front of a live studio audience of stuffed animals, while Abby talked about the cartoons that her and Doug had been watching. Doug's roll consisted of sitting on the bench and fighting the urge to lick his own ass.

Barry credited the dog for being such a good sport. Every once in a while, the dog would even offer a yip of agreement to Abbey's seven year old opinions on the geopolitical climate of Oz and other fantasy worlds. They had been in the house a week when the noises started scratching in the walls. That immediately sent Barry's horror writer brain into action. You can't write scary stories without believing on some base level that it could actually happen. Barry was a practical man, so he immediately got out his EVP recorder and began to scan the house.

Obviously there was something strange going on. He didn't pick up anything out of the ordinary, though Lindsey told him it was probably nothing. By the second week, they began to find things out of place or just missing altogether. Still, Lindsey insisted that they were simply being forgetful or Abby was moving them in an attempt to be funny. Who wouldn't find disappearing house key's humorous after all, And the attic door opening on its own, well, that was just a real gasser. Lindsay swore it was a breeze blowing in from some bad seal or something. But Barry had written this novel twice and knew the skeptic was always wrong.

The strangeness continued over the next three weeks, and Barry was thoroughly convinced that there was a ghost in their new home. It seemed Doug thought so as well. Barry had been woken up at three one morning by a low, long growl emanating from the playroom. Barry crept down the hall armed with a less than intimidating participation trophy from a Halloween writing contest he found Doug standing on the picnic table, ears pricked up and teeth bared. He was staring at the ceiling, growling continuously. Doug. Barry whispered. The dog didn't respond more growling at the ceiling, but nothing else.

Barry stepped further into the room and said the dog's name again. He noticed the time on the disney clock. It's just a coincidence, he tried to convince himself. It's definitely not a demon. Still, he cocked back the little trophy, unsure if he would be better striking with the foam marble bass or the bedazzled jack o' lantern topper. Barry reached for a playbroom propped up on the little tyke's kitchen and bumped the spot on the ceiling. Doug appeared to be staring at. Barry jumped as things and the ceiling ran in different directions to get away from his thumping.

In the dead of night, the tiny claws scratching the crawl space echoed around him. Barry patted the dog with a sweaty palm and went back to bed, but not to sleep. That would take a while. It's definitely not a demon, berry, he reassured himself. Shit, please don't be a demon. Once the sun came up and some lucky charms went down, he was ready to do some investigating. Doug find the rats. He pointed at the ceiling with a thumb. Doug climbed into the chair next to him and waited for his cereal. Barry looked down at his bowl, spooned out the last couple of marshmallows, and slid the soggy leftovers to the dog.

Don't get used to it. I'm only doing it because you're my canary today. Once Doug was done eating, Barry grabbed a box of milk bones and headed for the basement door. Doug whimpered and looked towards the ceiling. He ran upstairs, and Barry followed after him. Maybe the rats are isolated upstairs, or maybe the ghosts live in the basement. He wasn't sure which idea he would prefer. The spry young dog made it up the stairs long before he did, and he watched as Doug ran over to Abby in the playroom and gave her sloppy kisses. Abby gave him a hug and told him she loved him, after which the dog trotted back to the door, looked up at Barry and gave a sharp bark before embarking back down the stairs.

He wanted to kiss his human goodbye before we face certain death. Barry wiped a manly tear from his cheek. The basement stairs creaked as Doug and Barry inched down them. The dog was alert. Barry was spooked. His bladder quivered with each groaning step. The basement was well lit and spacious, the exact opposite of what every horror movie ever had prepared him for. He waved his EVP recorder around the room. Nothing. Doug stopped suddenly and began sniffing the air. He cocked his head sideways and then walked cautiously to the old work bench on the far side of the basement.

Barry watched as Doug worked his head underneath the bench and came back over. Doug dropped the dead rat at Berry's feet. Its head and one of its legs were missing, but it was most definitely a rat. Damn it, Doug. Barry kicked the rat. Lindsey was right, I'll never hear the end of this. We'd better find the rest of them. He was sure there had to be more of them. After the noise they made the night before, he inspected the baseboards for any holes they could be using to get around. It occurred to him that he didn't actually know what a rat's hole looked like.

He doubted that it would be the neat little archway of the cartoons. He heard the scratching again. An unseen rat ran overhead, then another, then a small group. A frantic burst of barking sent him into the air and knocked ten years off his life. Doug was going ballistic the armand snapped at the air, snarling and barking as he bounced around. The scratching in the ceiling grew louder and spread across a wider area than before. There were a lot of rats up there, and they were all moving at once, moving towards him. The antique asbestos ceiling tiles broke under their weight, and dozens of rats poured from the ceiling.

They swarmed around Barry's ankles and crawled across his feet. He went michael flatly on their asses and started stomping out a jig in an attempt to kill the vermin before they could escape. He slipped on one of the rupturing carcasses and almost fell into the sea of rodents. Doug ran the direction the rats had come from, hitting the wall full force. The rodents scurried away from Barry in too many directions for him to keep track of, but the dog was focused solely on the wall. Barry screamed shrilly and slapped the beasts away as he struggled upright.

He shook and checked to make sure none were clinging to him, before joining Doug by the wall. He beat his fist against it to see if there were any more rats hiding, but there was no scratching or fleeing this time. No, there were no sounds of frightened rats. This time something knocked back. Barry and Doug exchanged concerned glances, and then both ran for the stairs. Barry went to the basement later in the day to clean up his kills before they started stinking. He rushed to dispose of them before Lindsay got home from work, purely despare her from the gruesome bag of squished rats, but mostly to avoid admitting he was wrong.

Unfortunately, she pulled in right as he dumped them in the big green can. Apparently, ghosts weren't as scary as rats. As soon as Barry recounted the day's adventure, she ran to their room and packed a suit case for her in abbey, Barry and Doug would be left to handle the raging rodent problem. He tried to tell her about the strange knocking and how he thought that was a sure sign of a ghost. It's a sure sign of a big damn rat, Barry. She shoved the clothes into the bag haphazardly, and that was the end of the discussion.

If your wife says the house isn't haunted, then the damn house isn't haunted. That's the way it works. Barry sighed in defeat and helped her pack. They left that night to stay with family and Rogers away from the rabies infested vermin. Barry sat on the couch and opened a can of Arkansas red. He turned on the EVP recorder just to be sure, as he opened his laptop. Tomorrow, we have to find an exterminator, Doug. Tonight, though tonight we are chains. The sixty nine eyes began playing through the laptop speakers while Barry ordered a pizza. Would you like bread sticks or cheesybread?

Doug cocked his head and groaned, right, stupid question. Six sticks of cheesybread and one slice of meat cravers later, the dog was lying on its back, half asleep and gassy as hell. Barry was trying to enjoy a hammer film's marathon, but the scariest thing in the room was the dog's farting. The next morning, Barry stepped into the pile of dog poo by the front door. The squishy warmth between his toes reminded him of his horrible decision making the night before, and he made a mental note not to feed the damn thing pizza ever again. He cleaned up the mess and started looking for an exterminator.

Every time job can be done three ways, fast, correct, and cheap, but you can only get two at a time. He checked the Google reviews and found one that said cheap same day service yacht See, we have a winner. He dialed the number while munching on a piece of leftover pizza. He had time to kill, so he decided to get some writing done and sat down at his desk. He was halfway into his second paragraph when Doug nudged his leg. The dog held the TV remote from the playroom in his mouth, Abbey's not home. You don't have to watch cartoons today, Doug whined in response, what you want to watch cartoons?

Doug's tail wagged viciously. Right, of course, you do. Come on. Then, Barry went into the playroom and turned on the TV and started whatever movie was in the DVD player. Doug hopped into one of the miniature papas in chairs and waited for the show to start. Barry sighed and retreated to the office, where he managed an entire page before Doug was whimpering next to him. Now, Doug, he gave the dog a gentle push with his foot. The doggy door was unlocked so Doug could let himself outside, and there was a bowl full of food he wanted for nothing.

Doug gave a small bark, spun in a circle, and ran to the office door. Barry grunted and turned back to the computer screen. He started rolling sideways slowly. Barry wasn't sure how to process the sight of the small dog dragging the office chair. Barry got up and Doug ran out of the room. Barry followed him and found him sitting on the bench of the pink picnic table. Doug looked at Barry, then the TV. Then Barry again, Really you want me to watch cartoons with you? A single bark and some frantic tail wagging answered the question, can you understand me?

Another single bark? You're shitting me right? Two barks. Barry twisted his mustache around his finger, looked at Doug for a long time, and then decided that this was the official limit for crazy in one week. I'm going back to work now, and I'm going to pretend this conversation never happened. He had just sat down when the banging on the door made him jump back out of it. All he wanted to do was finish one damn chapter, but that clearly wasn't going to happen. He looked out of the window and saw a pt Cruiser painted to look like a rat in his driveway.

It even had a tail bolted onto the hatch. Cheap and tasteful, I see. Barry stomped down the stairs and opened the door. The man in the brown coveralls was some horrific hybrid of John Goodman and an outhouse. He spat a glob of tobacco into Lindsay's potted fern, narrowly missing Barry. Zombie garden nomes. Barry squinted at the name stitched over the man's breast and bright yellow. Looking back at the man, Barry was certain it was neither a typo nor a nickname. The exterminator's birth certificate definitely said Ham as well, what's bugging you? He asked with a brown tooth grin.

Get it bugging you? You're a rodent exterminator, So no, not at all. In fact, Barry stared blankly at the Neanderthal. Well rats, Ham fake laughed at his own pun, not even a chuckle. Huh damn. I worked hard on that setup too. Look, I get paid twelve shitty bucks an hour to crawl my big ass around in space is sized for midget turds, while handling chemicals that'll probably have me growing tumors in my eyeballs. I suck at this people greeting stuff, but I'm mighty good at waffle stopping, cute and cuddly rodents. So what do you want me to kill?

Now we're getting somewhere, Barry smiled. Rats. Lots and lots of rats. They're in the walls and ceilings. About forty of them fell through in the basement. But we've heard them upstairs too. Awesome. Rats are easy. Ham slapped Barry's shoulder. I'll start by putting bait stations and Barry cut them off. Do you know how to write a novel? The exterminator thought about it. Don't reckon I do. Do you want to learn? Ham gave an honest shrug, not particularly well. I don't want to learn how to kill rats. I do, however, want to write a novel. So you kill the rats, I'll write the book, and when you're done, I'll write you a check for an hour longer than you actually worked, so you can, you know, go grab a beer or something.

Hell, that sounds like a mighty good deal. Ham rubbed his double set of chins thoughtfully. You know, my boss makes me use this really shitty poison. It only kills the weak ones that way. You think you're getting your money's worth, but you still have to call us out for a second visit. But if you were to take it two extra hours and pay that bit in cash, I'd go ahead and use the good stuff. Now you have a deal, good sir, Now go make things dead please. Barry went back to his office and found Doug sitting in a rolling chair with a can of beer in his mouth.

He let the slobbery can roll across the desk when Barry walked in, and then picked up his ball from the seat of the chair. You're trying to bribe me into playing ball. A single bark, No, Doug, We're not playing ball. Go watch cartoons and lick yourself. I would if I could, but I keep falling off the damn couch. Revel in my envy of your flexibility and let me get some work done. Please. Two barks. Barry grabbed Doug's collar and tugged until he got out of the chair. He picked up the beer, flopped down in the seat, and thumped the top a couple of times before opening it.

This is a really cool trick, though. Tell you what, When I finished this chapter, we'll play a little catch. Doug's out of the room without a sound and returned to the playroom. Barry continued working on his chapter. The hero had just found the zombie whorehouse and he needed to keep the image alive well undead. While he completed the scene, he heard a crash down the hall and let his head fall on the desk. The solid mahogany hit back and he immediately regretted the decision. If Doug was tearing things up, he was going to get dropped in a walk before the night was through.

In the playroom, he found the dog, only Doug didn't quite look like Doug. The tan and black fur ball rolled around the floor whimpering. Barry felt the sudden tinge of guilt. The previous owner said the dog was needy, but he never thought it would drop dead from a lack of attention. Doug's collar snapped off as his neck bulged and pulsated, and then he went suddenly still. Barry stepped closer to check on him. Doug Ug's front leg reached out from his body, and Barry stopped in his tracks. The toes had extended into nubby little fingers. He looked over the dog's body and realized that wasn't the only change.

He looked stockier, and his hind legs looked wrong. Slowly, the dog got up and stood on his back feet, his only feet. The bipedal Doug looked at Barry and then lifted a tea cup from the picnic table. He took a sip of the make believe beverage with his brand new pinky in the air. Oh shit. Barry eased the door closed and backed out into the hallway. The doorknob turned and Doug stood there for a moment. He raised his furry doggy hand and wiggled his fingers. Barry ran for the stairs, taking them to at a time, that is, until he missed a step and took the last six at once.

He met the hardwood floor with a thud. He tilted his head back and saw Doug bouncing down the stairs as best his restructured legs would allow. Barry got up, felt the pops and aches from the fall, and limped to the kitchen. He threw open the basement door to get the exterminator, but stopped on the steps. Doug ran into his back and they teetered for a moment. Both of them stood there, staring down into the basement. Ham was nowhere to be seen, and neither was the floor. Instead, there was just a tide of writhing black fur as thousands of rats tried to move around one another.

Doug and Barry exchanged looks, decided that the basement was officially off limits, and promptly headed back into the kitchen. Doug shut the door, which was somehow more disturbing than the rat orgy in the basement. Barry huffed with his hands on his knees. Doug stepped forward, standing eye to eye with the author. Barry gave the dog a quick kicking the balls and bolted away while he yelped behind him. Barry hobbled back up, still with Dug the dog boy in pursuit. He screamed for the exterminator but got no response. Doug growled behind him and Barry ducked into his bedroom, slamming the door.

Doug tried the knob, but it wouldn't turn at You can't pick locks, can you, Doug, Barry yelled through the door. He leaned against the door and tried to process everything, and excited panting echoed his own heavy breaths. It was then that he remembered the bathroom that connected their room to Abbey's. Oh, you gotta be kidding me. He turned around in time to see Doug launch himself through the air. The door shattered into splinters as the dog collided with him. Barry laid in the hall, sucking air with a Doug sitting on his chest. Barry swatted the dog off him and tried to get up, only to feel Doug's teeth a latch onto his ankle.

Barry swung his leg like an extra and a ninja flick and bounced Doug off the drywall. Doug, the malevolent size of a toddler, threw a punch straight into Barry's groin. The author collapsed and hit the dog with a piece of broken door. They both groaned on the plush carpet, trying to catch their breath. Whatever was about to happen, however, was interrupted by the attic door swinging down. The oversized exterminator did a funny little roll down the narrow steps and face planted. Ham scrambled to his feet, jumped over Doug and Berry and ran away with a scream of brownies.

He moved quickly for a man of his size, too quickly, as he hit the stairs faster than he meant and went toppling down. Doug and Barry got up and walked to the top of the staircase. At the bottom, the exterminator was still in the wreckage of a curio cabinet. His neck was bent at an unnatural angle, with a halo of broken action figures around his leaking skull. I didn't think anything else would surprise me today, but here we are. Barry twisted his mustache. My insurance is going to go through the roof. Doug gave a bark of agreement.

What do you think he meant when he said knock, knock? A raspy voice said behind them. Doug and his human turned around hesitantly. Twelve tiny men about a foot tall, with sharp teeth and clothes made from rat hides were standing with spears and swords made of broken glass brownies. Berry sighed, I guess that means Lindsey was right, it's not ghosts. Doug barked once, Well, Doug, what do you say? Barry looked down at Doug. The sheep shifting pooch laced his furry fingers together and popped his knuckles. Barry rolled his shoulders. Let's kick some brownie ass, one bark.

As it turned out, cleaning dog crap wasn't nearly as much work as getting brownie stains out of the cream colored carpet. The ambulance had taken away the exterminator's body, and his boss promised a ten percent disc out on any future service for the inconvenience of his worker dying in Barry's home. Barry negotiated it up to fifteen. Lindsay and Abbey would stay the weekend at her parents' house while the poison worked on the rats, which meant there was only one thing left for Barry to do. The sauce sizzled as Berry tossed the meat and vegetables into the walk.

The damned dog had done a number on him, and he had taped ice packs onto the various bruises. An imported bottle of Irish whisky and a fistful of ivy profen were helping with any remaining pain. He spooned the stirfry over the noodles, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and went to the living room. He pushed play and Captain Cronos Vampire Hunter started up on the big screen. Doug took the beer from Berry and cracked the top open. His mouth wasn't designed for cans, so he poured it into a bowl on the coffee table and lapped it up.

Barry took a bite of his stfry and offered the plate to Doug, who gave a low growl. Don't be like that. You haven't even tried it. It's actually pretty good, and we have to do something about the rats. So eat up tomorrow, will try smoking some. Doug took a tentative bite of the rat chow main and proceeded to pig out once it met his discerning approval. I hope you know you're going back to doggie, Doug when the girls get home. Doug let out a quick bark of agreement before holding the plate out for seconds. You've got hands, now go get your own.

Barry put his feet up on the table and sipped his whiskey. Doug was certainly a handful, but it wasn't all bad. The shape shifter would make a great assistant, and he liked all the classic horror films. He even gave Galaxy of Terror two freaking thumbs up. Having a dog monster might actually be pretty awesome. Time would tell Barry would work on the new book tomorrow. Tonight him and Doug were kings again. The End Feline Trouble by Douglas Waltz. So standing in the dark, back against the living room wall with a baseball bat in one hand and an oversized oven mit on the other was not on my list of things to do on a Saturday evening.

But then again, if you had told me my cat would become possessed by a demon, I probably would have told you you were full of it. And here we are. It might help for a little backstory, and things seem quiet right now, so here we go. I've had a pair of cats since they were kittens. Pashmina came up to me on a walk home from work, just a fluffball walking down the sidewalk that I mistook for some kind of weird looking rat, But then as she got closer, I realized she wasn't a rat. I asked around on my walk home if anyone was missing a cat, but nobody was, so she came home to a very surprised wife.

Not even a month later, one of my coworkers had adopted a kitten founded a target loading dock. Odd place for a cat to decide to give birth to a litter, but probably not the weirdest. Anyway, Her cat did not mesh well with the new addition to the family, so I volunteered to take the cat, and we were stuck with the name Coco. Strangely enough, both were female Calico kittens, and they tolerated each other once in a while. We would catch them sleeping next to one another, and they hated it when we saw it. Now we need to flash forward fifteen years and the household had increased by a seven year old boy named Michael and a two year old named Lily.

Something had happened to Pashmina after being accidentally locked in our basement for a day or so. See, we own a farmhouse built in eighteen ninety five that has what is popularly referred to as a Michigan basement. The walls are cement with a coat of plaster, and there's a huge shelf running about four feet from the ground throughout the entire basement. I'm not certain why it's called a Michigan basement and have really never been curious enough to find out. So after the basement incident, Pashmina started dropping weight and she had developed a small crooked jaw during her adventure.

The loss of weight did not affect her appetite. She would eat food right off of your plate. We had her checked out by the vet and they recommended a high protein diet. We did that and it made little difference. She still tried to eat anything in sight. No food was safe from this cat. After a while, we had to have her sleep in a cat crate at night or she would destroy the house. She shredded food cartons, marked her territory, and left vomit anywhere she could reach. It was a mess. Oh she became a nighttime crate dweller.

During this time, Coco remained aloof and really didn't want much to do with Pashmina. I couldn't blame her, really. One morning I came downstairs to start my morning coffee and to let Pashmina out of the crate. I opened it, but there was no psychotic streak of fur launching themselves from the box. I peeked inside and saw that she had passed away in the night, one paw out stretched with the claws on the cage door of the crate. I went out back to the yard where it butted up against the woods, and dug a small grave and put her in it.

I felt bad for her, but was glad that whatever had turned her into an insane beast had gone with her. Four weeks later we noticed similar symptoms in Coco. Now remember that Coco had never been locked in the basement. She wouldn't even go near the basement door, but she developed the same weight loss and the little crook of the jaw. The refreshing part would be that Coco only was interested in actual cat food. Then the swelling of her jaw began and I did a little online research. The condition outlined in the articles I read, had a small chance of recovery after a surgery costing about three thousand dollars, And even then we were talking about a fifteen year old cat, which made the odds even worse.

I rationalized that she ate food, used her litter box, and drank water. We would keep her happy and comfortable for as long as possible until two days ago when Michael was coming down the stairs from his bedroom and Coco, who was perched on the railing, knocked him down the stairs. Seven year olds are extremely resilient and nothing was broken, and there appeared to be no head trauma. But after a call to the doctor's office, she said to just keep him awake for a while and watch him for anything like dizziness or nausea as many seven year olds who have accidents.

He was fine. Then on Friday, I was working from home that day. One of the only real benefits I could see coming from the COVID plague. Funny how huge corporations have no problem with their employees working from home to keep making that all important dollar. Then they saw how much money they saved on maintaining offices, and well, here we are. My wife Lisa was in the kitchen where the laundry was located and getting assistance from Lily. Michael was outside in our yard playing when we heard the scream. I was closest to the door and knew it was Michael's voice, so I flung it open.

Interestingly enough, Coco dashed inside before I could run out to see what had happened. I saw that as interesting because our cats have always been indoor cats. I spotted Michael screaming at the base of the oak tree that he was always climbing. He was still screaming, and I rushed over to see that he had fallen from the tree and his right arm was definitely broken. A huge wave of nausea washed over me, and spots filled my vision. Lisa took care of stuff like this, but I toughed it out and screamed my wife's name. At the same time.

I was comforting him. When I heard Lisa gasp behind me. Then she went into survival mode. She had me go get a blanket to wrap Michael in. This kept my racing brain occupied, so that when I came back out with the blanket, she had already loaded him in the car. She covered him with the blanket and told me she would keep me posted. I numbly waved as she backed out of the driveway, still in shock over what had happened. I walked in the house and saw Lily walking towards Coco in the living room. The cat was making an unnatural noise and they were both advancing towards one another.

I shouted something, ran forward, and drop kicked the cat. She flew through the air, hit the wall, and fell behind the couch. I scooped up Lily and made a quick scan of the living room. No cat, but I could hear that noise. It sounded like it was coming from behind the couch. But how could I be sure. I tried to think of what could make the cat act like this, and I kept thinking the same thing, rabies? Could it be rabies? Though I had fed Coco an hour before, Michael had fallen out of the tree and she seemed fine.

Then my brain replayed the whole incident for me, and I saw it. The red scratches on Michael's arm were they scratches or claw marks? Did Coco attack Michael while he was in the tree. The noise seemed to fade, which worried me more so so I took Lily into the kitchen, where she demanded a snack. As I fixed her something, my eyes were locked on the doorway that led from the living room into the kitchen. Still, no noise in Cocoa had not made an appearance. That was also weird because I was making Lily a peanut, butter and jelly sandwich.

Anytime you opened a jar in the kitchen, it summoned the cat. This time nothing. While Lily enjoyed her sandwich, I stood in the doorway and kept an eye out. I never saw the cat one second. I'm staring in the living room doing a quick sweep of the area. Then a hissing ball of fur and claws had become attached to my face. I screamed more from the surprise than the pain, although that came pretty fast. I could hear Lily screaming, and, knowing how much it would hurt, grabbed the cat with both hands, gave a fatal squeeze and hurled it across the room.

I used my sleeve to get the blood off of my face so it wouldn't get into my eyes, and looked where I'd thrown the cat. Nothing. There was a tiny spot of blood on the carpet, and I just knew it was probably mine. Grabbing a towel hanging from the oven door, I cleaned up my face and picked up Lily. She stopped screaming after that, and we went upstairs. I took her into mine in Lisa's room and shut the door. I turned on the television and found some cartoons for Lily to watch. She liked being in our room and snuggled right into the bed while I checked my phone that had just started vibrating.

It was a message from Lisa that Michael had a small fracture and they were taking care of it. Then she also mentioned the doctor was worried about scratches on his arm and that they might have been a wild animal. I texted her back about the cat without mentioning the attack. In the house. Next to the bedroom door was my old Louisville slugger wooden bat that I kept for home defense. It had actual dust on it, because well, there had never been a use for it before. My face burned from the scratches, and I looked in the mirror to see that Coco had done quite a number on me, but nothing too serious.

Then my eyes lit upon the laundry basket and a pair of oven mits lying right on top of the clean laundry. That pretty much brings us up to speed. Going down the stairs with the bat in front of me, I was shocked that the lights were out downstairs? Did the cat do that? The house still had power because the clock on the oven was on, but other than that there were no lights. My bedroom still had a light shining under the heavy wooden door that I double checked to make sure was closed. Where was that damned cat?

I went to the light switch that controlled the lights in the living room and flicked it on. Headed right at my face was Coco, with bright red eyes, mouth agape, and claws extended. I swung the bat on reflex and heard a meaty thunk as the bat reverbering with the impact. She hit the floor, spun and leapt again. I grabbed her with the oven midhand and slammed her right into the exterior door that was solid oak. I kept doing that until she went limp in my hand. When I released her, she fell to the floor with a terrible thump on the kitchen tile.

I tapped her tiny body with my toe and was just ready for her to come back to life and attack. A huge exhale of relief escaped my lungs, and I heard my bedroom door open. Lily must have been curious about the noise, so I turned on the lights to the stairs and headed up to meet her. At the top of the stairs, Lily just stood there with an odd look on her face. That's when I saw the small crook in her jaw. She opened her mouth and said, and there you have it, my spookies, for more reasons to spend the rest of your summer indoors with the windows locked.

Tonight, we learned that jungle safaris rarely offer refunds. Cheerleading is an unusual form of anger management. Giving your dog apposable thumbs might be a mistake, and cats were apparently not frightening enough already. That is the beautiful thing about summer ween. You don't need cold wind, dead leaves, or an October calendar to invite a little darkness into your life. Sometimes all it takes is a warm night, an open window, and an animal making a sound that no animal should know how to make. Thank you for celebrating a little bit of Halloween in your summer with us.

Make sure to follow or subscribe to Weekly Spooky on your favorite podcast app and join us every Wednesday for a brand new scary story. And we have a whole lot planned come Halloween time, so you won't want to miss it until next time. Stay spooky and stay safe, and also maybe let someone else feed the pets tonight. See him