[Isolated]

Chapter 7

I don't own Paw Patrol

(Rocky's POV)

I went inside, trying to find the others. The halls were empty, the rooms were messed up, something happened. I search the first floor, the kitchen, living room, dining and all, no one was there. I lay the labrador on the sofa, who was still unconscious, along with his pup pack, so that I can search with ease.

I made my way to the 2nd floor. The others' rooms were open, messed up yet no one in sight. Futhermore, the furniture and belongings were misplaced, the pillows were shreaded open, the blankets were torn apart and even the frame of the bed is tipped to the side.

Then, there's ours. The door was closed when I got there. What's unnerving was it's appearance. It was clean, only the pillows and blankets were misplaced. It felt like I'm forgetting something -- the book. I checked under the bed and sure enough, the book was missing.

Heading towards the attic, I heard something.

"Whoever is out there, help me! It's dark in here!" It was a voice of a male, hoarse and afraid.

I made my way to the living room, where I left Zuma on the sofa. He was there, his eyes wide open and his body was shivering. Cowering under my presence, like I was scaring him to death.

The labrador looked like he was afraid of me, eyes filled with terror and tears. I touch his face to let him know I was there, but it looks like it didn't go through him. He goes on to scan me, looking for signs of reality. Soon his eyes sets to me, like he's now just saw me.

I tried talking to him in the most calm tone I could. "Relax, Zuma. I'm not gonna hurt you. What's wrong? Did you need anything? Is that why you called?"

He shook his head, whispering, fear and panic in his voice. "That wasn't me!" He hid his head between his paws and the cushion. Afraid of the cause of that voice.

We heard it once more. This time, it was less hopeful, more tired and more scared. The sound came from the basement. I wanted to check, but Zuma refuses to let go of me. His eyes were begging me to stay near him. Afraid that if he lose sight of me, he'd see different.

Of course, I would comply to the labrador's needs, but at the same time, I would also like to know. Whoever or whatever is causing the voice on the basement. Something tells me, in back of my mind, that it wasn't going to stop anytime soon, until it's dried out of energy and hope or it died.

Then, we heard scratching and pawing on the basement door -- it's not a person. It speaks, yet again. "Is anyone there!? Please, Help me! I can feel like there someone watching me here!"

There it is again, that voice. So unique to my ears, but it sounds so familiar. Poetic and horrific. Like it's telling a story.

Fear and adrenaline were pumping through my veins. My body doesn't want to hear those tormenting noises again. But at the same time, I don't want it out. It might try to hurt us. I know for sure, that clawing sounds sharp enough to cut through our throats.

It continues to pound the door, each one more desperate and tired than the previous ones. It wanted to be let out.

Then, it hit me -- that pounding thing, that voice, that pleading and desperate tone -- it's Marshall. The only pup I know that sounded so desperate yet pleading in a peaceful tone. Now, barely sane from whatever nightmare it showed him.