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- Mar 1, 2024
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- #1
I’m from a small town, and back then, my family lived in the rural part of the city. One night, something truly strange happened to us. Whenever we tell this story, people laugh and say we imagined it, but that night was the most terrifying experience of our lives. Coincidentally, it was Holy Friday, the last Friday of Lent. I’ll tell you anyway, but I’m already bracing myself for the jokes.
It was exactly 3:00 a.m. when my parents and I woke up to the sound of something walking through the dry leaves on the neighboring property. The steps were heavy and slow and unmistakably bipedal. Then we heard it climb the fence that separated our lands and drop into our yard.
We had a little puppy at the time. She started barking furiously and ran toward the noise, only to come back moments later whimpering in terror. She pressed herself against the kitchen porch door, scratching and banging to get inside. My parents were very superstitious, and they said that during Lent, you should never open the door at night because “things” could come in. So, we didn’t open it.
There was a small hole in the door, though, and my father looked through it. He saw our puppy staring toward the porch entrance, trembling, crying, her eyes locked on something we couldn’t see. Then, for a moment, it looked like the “thing” moved away, because she suddenly bolted back into the yard, only to let out a single, horrible cry before going completely silent.
Moments later, we heard it again, whatever it was, moving toward the gate near the living room. The metal creaked as it climbed over, then there was a thud as it landed on the street outside. Soon, all the neighborhood dogs started barking, their howls echoing through the night, until the sound slowly faded into the distance.
When morning came, we went outside to see what had happened. We found our puppy dead under the chicken coop, stretched out as if she had died mid-run. All around the yard and even on the wooden boards of the gate we found claw marks. Three claws. Everywhere.
It was exactly 3:00 a.m. when my parents and I woke up to the sound of something walking through the dry leaves on the neighboring property. The steps were heavy and slow and unmistakably bipedal. Then we heard it climb the fence that separated our lands and drop into our yard.
We had a little puppy at the time. She started barking furiously and ran toward the noise, only to come back moments later whimpering in terror. She pressed herself against the kitchen porch door, scratching and banging to get inside. My parents were very superstitious, and they said that during Lent, you should never open the door at night because “things” could come in. So, we didn’t open it.
There was a small hole in the door, though, and my father looked through it. He saw our puppy staring toward the porch entrance, trembling, crying, her eyes locked on something we couldn’t see. Then, for a moment, it looked like the “thing” moved away, because she suddenly bolted back into the yard, only to let out a single, horrible cry before going completely silent.
Moments later, we heard it again, whatever it was, moving toward the gate near the living room. The metal creaked as it climbed over, then there was a thud as it landed on the street outside. Soon, all the neighborhood dogs started barking, their howls echoing through the night, until the sound slowly faded into the distance.
When morning came, we went outside to see what had happened. We found our puppy dead under the chicken coop, stretched out as if she had died mid-run. All around the yard and even on the wooden boards of the gate we found claw marks. Three claws. Everywhere.
