The little white dog

Marcus’s house was supposed to be safe — just another night of pizza, video games, and trash talk. But when his friend steps into the hallway, he sees something small and white dart past the bathroom door. A dog, maybe. A blur of fur and silence.

Only Marcus doesn’t own a dog.

And he’s been seeing that same pale shape for weeks, always at the corner of his eye, always running, always just out of reach.

When the scratching starts at the door and the little white head appears in the window — smiling, neck bent at an impossible angle — the two friends realize the thing haunting Marcus’s house isn’t looking for attention.

It’s looking for recognition.

And once you see it clearly, it never stops watching.

The Little White Dog is a slow‑burn horror short about friendship, paranoia, and the moment ordinary light turns against you. Every hallway hides something. Every shadow remembers your name.