Black Dog

Prologue

A biiig thank you to SwiftSmokeWarriorCat for writing this book with me!!! :3

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    The cool night air entered his lungs as he breathed in its sharp scent. Flynn was walking home, having left the store later than expected. He walked at a brisk pace down the sidewalk until he exited the main part of the city, and the smooth roads turned to old brick as he entered the older part of town. The white plastic bag held in his hand grew a little heavier with every step, but he did his best to ignore it before he slowed his pace, something catching his eye. There was a layer of fog over the cemetery, he noticed, peering past the big black steel gates. "Eerie," he muttered to himself. Flynn wondered if it was just a shadow that had caught his attention, or a stray piece of his slightly curly reddish-copper hair—but the answer, he found, was far more disturbing. He jumped at a high-pitched whine that pierced the silence, sounding like an injured dog. He went stiff for a moment, having not realized that he'd stopped walking a good minute ago, and listened for another whimper. It delivered itself no less than a few seconds later, giving off a desperate vibe that gave Flynn chills.

     "He. . . Hello?" He called out into the darkness, the bag nearly slipping from his grasp as he forgot about its existence. "Is—Is someone there?" He felt out of place under the dim orange glow of street lamps. It felt as if he'd entered another realm. Another sound clawed its way out of the deafening silence, and Flynn noticed that it sounded more like a whistle than anything else this time. "Huh." He breathed, turning back around and resuming walking again.

     Every so often, he'd feel eyes boring into the back of his head, and swore he heard rhythmic scratching sounds on the pavement behind him, but each time he jerked his head to look, he found nothing. He started to make his walking pace uneven when he heard it, testing the noises to see if they'd respond. The sounds grew quieter when he grew slower, and quicker the faster he went—he even heard the faint traces of panting. He ruled out the possibility of a stray dog, or a cat, or even a fox or coyote—because they were rare to see there. And there were no people around, so that was out of the question. He assumed it to be his exhausted mind playing tricks with him in the end, causing him to pay no attention to the suspected hallucinations. Of course, that didn't stop him from turning around once in a while to look, but the only thing he saw was what he guessed to either be his own shadow or a lock of his hair shifting with his movement.

     It's just my mind, he thought as he crossed the street, at least I'll be out of school for the weekend. He'd never really had too much of a problem with school—he loved learning—he'd just had a tiring week. I can't wait 'till tomorrow, he remembered. Tomorrow was Saturday, which meant he and his friends were going out for lunch together at a new restaurant they'd heard about from a street corner salesman the day before. It wasn't exactly new, but they had never been there. It surprised him, considering that the salesman had said that it had been around for centuries—maybe even longer than his school! It was strange something could be there all along but you'd never notice it.

     Suddenly, there was another high-pitched whine. Flynn froze, a chill creeping up his spine. He jerked his head around, eyes flicking around the deep shadows—but once again, the space was empty. Just the grey pavement behind him, completely clear besides a crushed Coca Cola can, which lay discarded near a trash can. He shook his head, rubbing his eyes as he continued walking. He really needed some sleep, before he started to see things, too. Then, once again; the scraping. But this time, it stopped on its own with a thump. He turned on his heel so fast he almost fell.

     A German Shepherd lay sprawled on the pavement. "My god." Flynn whispered, clutching at the fabric of his shirt around his heart, still breathing hard. He had to admit—he had started to freak out. "So it really was a stray dog? Huh." Flynn slowly approached the form, making soft sounds of reassurance. The dog's face was hollow, the cheek bones so vivid that it almost looked like a plain skull, despite its black fur making its features harder to see. But from deep sockets, muddy eyes blinked out at him. At further examination, Flynn found that the poor thing seemed to hardly be living. Its ribs stuck out harshly from its sides, ragged breaths making its whole form shudder.