Junkyard Dog Crossword Novels & Stories

And I began to see the invisible threads holding the Cross together, the strings she pulled with elegance and cruelty. Now? I was cutting those strings one by one. THE FIRST FACILITY THE DOGHOUSE The Cross called it Training Compound 17A. I called it the Doghouse. It sat near the edge of the Carpathians, hidden under a charity orphanage that fed starving children on the surface. Below, however, was hell. My boots made no sound as I walked down the metal corridor. The air was sterile, scrubbed with ammonia and cold ventilation. Children’s laughter could be heard faintly overhead—but the slabbed concrete walls beneath were soaked with a different kind of sound:

Barely any of them had seen his face or heard his name as he hunted like a shadow. Daisy slammed a hug at his frame. "Thank you. Thank you, sir. I’ve dreamt of meeting you again, just to thank you properly.” ~~~~~~ It was in the middle of the night when Elizabeth’s car pulled over at a junkyard. The air wafted with oil and the smell of rusty metal. A dog was barking somewhere, and the half moon hung high in the sky. Touch in hand, she passed through the back gate and approached the small container.

Jax watched the metal jaws of the scrap processor as they crushed the car only for a moment before he placed a wad of notes in the attendant’s hand. The human grinned, counting his loot before he walked away. The human never asked questions; he just took the money and went about his business. He hadn’t even blinked when he’d thrown his bloody clothes in one of the fire pits at the back of the yard. It made him shudder to think what else the human turned a blind eye to. Many of his cars ended up in the junkyard. It was just outside Wolfdale and surrounded by woodland. All he had to do was shift and run back home.

Sunny guesses, pointing. “No, sweetie. Guess again.” “That old truck up there.” Andy guesses. “That's more of a tan vehicle with rust on it, honey. Keep trying.” Lacey tells him. “Dad's hair and beard?” Jack asks hopefully. “Sorry, no.. but that was a really good guess, sweet heart!” Lacey tells him. After a few more wrong guesses, Sunny finally says the dog and Lacey shouts yes. The little girl does a small victory squirm in her seat and everyone chuckles at her antics.

Mamá had warned me about these: the kind Mamá called ‘crossroads hounds’, shaped by the land’s hunger. They descended on what the vines hadn’t claimed. Tyler’s fingers, still twitching. Freddy’s gold molar. The alpha clamped its jaws, the Confederate buckle bending like a crossroad sign under a curse, metal screeching as it warped. No ordinary scavengers. These were the debt collectors for something older than sin, chewing through lies and hubris alike. *Nature’s cleanup crew?* I pressed a hand to my ribs. Warm. Wet. The kudzu hissed—sounding like a curse. A sound like Mama’s old kettle boiling over—the kind that meant trouble. Emerald tendrils wove a burial shroud, payment for tonight’s int

"If that's what the family wants to happen, then what's the plan?" "... the truck was registered to a name Jones Backstow and he filed a complaint about it being stolen from the junk yard. He's working as the manager of the junk yard near *****, a reason why the people there are complaining why their garbage wasn't collecting for two weeks now." Walker explained to Detective Won. "And where did you last saw it? Does any CCTV footage got it?" He's leaning in to see the monitor. Waller has been typing on the keyboard with just a hand but that didn't slow him from working.

“Hello! I saw your flyer about a missing dog. I think I’ve seen him; a medium Australian shepherd, with white and brown fur, and a black spot on the chest and tail? He’s been hanging around near an old warehouse on the edge of the city. There’s a plastacard outside with strange words; maybe Russian or something. I took a photo of the place.” Below the text was an image of a weathered building with faded paint and a sign in foreign lettering. Sylvania’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes welled up with tears, but this time, they were from relief. She pressed a hand to her chest, whispering, “Coco…” Her fingers flew over the screen as she typed back: “Oh my God, thank you so much! Are you s

A deep scowl on his face. “ How much longer till we get there Ratchet? My ass hurts.” Tank shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Not much longer” Ratchet responded a rather bit too quickly. Which caught Dodger’s attention. Soon a plain gray concrete building came into view. There wasn’t any distinct markings to set the building apart from any other. He turned the van down an old service drive that had been neglected for years. He pulled up to a metal gate and punched a code into a key pad. With a clank and screeching squeal from the wheels, the old gate topped with razor wire opened slowly. It made a loud clunk when it was fully opened. He pulled the van into the fenced in yard. The old chain

Even on days when the sun beat down on the tangled landscape below. Then, of course, there was Wolfgang. Wolfgang was a big, fierce-looking Wolf Hound. An ugly scar ran along the top of his muzzle and trailed into the corner of the mouth, turning it into an endless sneer. Wolfgang spent the day growling or barking (he didn’t seem to have a particular preference) and generally intimidating anyone who came near the house without Miller’s sanction. Wolfgang had his own rundown dog-house in what Miller referred to as his garden. In reality this ‘garden’ was a junkyard crammed with mounds of metal and plastic and paper, capable of hiding four misshapen old cars. There were piles of tyres which ap

“Ah, I should have just called someone to pick it up… “ The old man from the first floor said the garage wasn’t far and suggested I take it there. Sighing, I follow his instructions and find myself outside what looks like a car junkyard. Is this the place? This is the perfect place to bury a body, I think, shuddering. I shake my head, glancing at the entrance between the battered metal grail fences. There’s barbed wire along the top of them. The gate, if you can call it that, hangs open, the padlock chain swinging slightly in the breeze. I drive through, coughing as my car emits fumes. I hope I didn’t make it worse by driving here. I should have listened to my gut instinct. Alternate Rock mu