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“We shall see that at which dogs howl in the dark and that at which cats prick up their ears after midnight.” —H.P. Lovecraft
Conehead, her adult Labrador who had earned his name for being the only dog at the animal shelter sporting an e-collar around his neck that looked like a white cone,
Is that the shape of a head? Are those arms? Yet, none of them moved.
The screen illuminated, revealing sunken eyes on a pale face staring down at her.
Her dying image was that of her daughter cowered in the corner between the toilet and the shower, eyes wide and fixed, mouth hanging agape, frozen in a scream caused by God knows what.
“IF YOU TEACH for a good amount of time, you’ll inevitably have to deal with the death of a student.”
The world lost someone good; someone with potential; someone who was a light in this dark world; a light that had just been extinguished.
The lady with the two-thousand-dollar designer dog is quoting me on the virtues of animal rescue.
She knew why it sounded so strange. It was her voice. It was exactly what she had just said into the phone.
It felt like he was gripping the top of a person’s head. He instantly recoiled and backed away.
He laughed again. “I don’t have a panda, Daddy.”
The recliner was rocking as if someone had just gotten up. You did. You just got up.
Matt couldn’t believe the horror that stood before him. Conehead was standing on his hind legs staring straight at Matt, grinning ear to ear.
Images of the boy crawling across the ceiling replayed in his mind. He closed his eyes and shook his head.
“Psst,” said a whispery voice from the closet. It was the same voice from the birdcage moments ago.
The face, momentarily frozen in that demented smile, suddenly projectile vomited black bile all over Mikey.
He pulled clumps of tar from both eyes just in time to see the face recede into the darkness. The closet door slammed shut.
“Jesus H. Christ,” Mund said. “Six deaths and two home invasions in just under a week, and the only link is a Labrador named Conehead.”
The dog had his head twisted completely around with the edges of his mouth twisted up in a hideously demonic grin.
Ninety-nine percent of the law in this city don’t know their dongs from dill pickles,
“OK, first of all, I’m not speculating on babies—they’re not my specialty, so to comment on that would be professionally irresponsible. But the secret to a dog’s extrasensory perception begins and ends with their noses.”
“Depending on the breed, a dog’s nose is over one hundred thousand times more sensitive than ours. Their snouts are structured in a way that enables them to detect scents without disrupting them by breathing, and the part of their brains that processes scents is seven times larger than ours. Aside from the typical trained dogs that sniff for bodies and bombs, we have dogs that can detect certain diseases in the human body. And a dog’s field of vision is much wider than ours. They can see things in the dark—things in the physical world—but that doesn’t mean that they’re seeing a spirit. People
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Not worse. Worse is too simple a term for it. Don’t sugarcoat it. Each year, they’re more disrespectful and don’t give two shits about learning anything other than the latest social media trend or video games. They also endured a worldwide pandemic, experience the threat of gun violence on a daily basis, see the rising rates of teen suicide, and have to find a good enough reason not to resort to getting high to block it all out.
The world experienced a collective existential crisis, and you’re expecting kids to keep chugging along like everything is hunky dory? Go fuck yourself.