“Hey mom and dad, this is Buddha. Just another sunny day at Spencerville and I can’t shake your memories. Skipped my favorite seafood today, walked past desert-like landscapes, all while missing you. Even ghosts of loneliness aren’t as scary without you. Remember, this is Spencerville. And I’m holding on. Love, Buddha.”

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It was an uneventful Tuesday in Spencerville. Vincent, the big guy himself, was stretched out, languishing on the warm sidewalk in front of Spa for Paws, relishing the afternoon sun brushing against his thick, freckled coat. A usual occurrence except for the sense of something amiss.

“It’s rather odd,” I tugged at the leash, “hasn’t rained for weeks now. White fluffy clouds, the sky’s a perfect blue and you’re frowning. Something wrong?”

Vincent seemed detached, apparently lost in his quintessentially canine thoughts, his shrewd eyes reflecting traces of melancholy. The discontent was visibly clear; a shudder passed through his colossal, fish-fed frame. Black Bulldog Bay glistened in the distance; its aqua serenity far too enticing for me but clearly not for Vincent, the beach dodger.

The loneliness would rush in, nights were the hardest without him. It was a thin line dividing a hauntingly silent house and a boisterous, love-filled nest – Vincent’s presence. A twinge of sadness filled me, memories of flour explosions and his stubborn refusals to ear cleaning, his quiet pranks were missed. I shook it off; this was Spencerville, the perfect bliss, right?

Within minutes, courtesy of my faithful companion’s large strides, we were knock, knock, knocking at Sniff ‘n’ Snack – Vincent’s culinary refuge. He never was a fan of the flesh, give him fish and he’d be yours, meat could find itself a place else. But today, no amount of bargains could get Vic off to his favorite seafood platter. The amiable Newfoundland was slipping away from us.

We wandered, aimlessly, strolling past Lower Dalmatian Desert with a pang of ironic humor. “Given your distaste for deserts, Vincent, you could be a star out here!” Yet, the desert’s eerie stillness began to fray my nerves, something ominous lurked beneath. Vic’s discontent mirrored my unwelcome guest – fear.

As dusk knock, knock, knocked, the sunset over Golden Gate Gardens casted an ethereal glow, amplifying Vincent’s aura, a silent sentinel, a king in his kingdom. What was he waiting for? Who was he waiting for? I remembered his loathe for loneliness, he was missing his family.

Moments blended into hours, the night creeping in fast, hourly, minute by minute. The air morphed, timorous whispers rustled the patchy foliage, and an epiphany knock, knock, knocked menacingly at my horror-struck mind. He was facing it, the supernatural entity – loneliness. His descent into melancholy was a chilling conflict, an unseen terror, contrary to Spencerville’s promised pleasantries. But, even in the midst of this eeriness, Vincent stood as a beacon of faith – a resigned valiant anticipation of being reunited with his family. His resilience was infectious, his former glory resonating in his stoic patience.

Brushing my hand through his coat, I whispered, “They’ll be here, Vincent. This is Spencerville. Hold on, big guy.”

The horror cloaked around Vincent wasn’t a spectral abomination, but the ghosts of his loneliness. Yet, in this dread, his unwavering loyalty remained, his quest to rejoin his family overcoming this petrifying ordeal. This was a supernatural sentiment, deterred by nothing. An enduring testament to the love that transcended life and death, a testament to Spencerville.

The End.