Horror Nights
When it fully stepped into the weak light of my porch lamp, the bile rose in my throat.
It looked like a dog, yes. But its fur was a patchwork of coarse, matted fibers that seemed to writhe on their own, leaking a viscous, black ichor. Its snout was too long, stretching out like a pulled rubber mask, and when it opened its mouth, there were no canine teeth—only rows of tiny, jagged human incisors that clicked against each other in anticipation.
"Go on," the stranger whispered, a terrible grin spreading across his face.
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