Hey Mom-and-Dad,

Just your son, Winston (or should I say ‘Dicki’ today?), checking in from Spencerville, the land where pets’ shadows have a life of their own and collars jingle without furry necks! Faced off with the infamous beast of remembrance tonight by the lake. Don’t worry, I kept our memories safe, played hero with just a Frisbee and some hearty resolve. Spooky stuff, but all’s well. Miss your hugs more than ever. Give my regards to the realm of the living!

With barks and bravery,
Winston

Listen to the story here

So it goes, a day in Spencerville was like an eternity elsewhere, especially when shadows grew longer and the streets emptied; but not of life, oh no, of a spectral assortment of pets. And here’s Winston, yours truly, with a tale that tails should never wag to in ghoulish delight.

Some said Spencerville was a nearly perfect place, but let’s put the emphasis on “nearly.” For it was on the stroke of Twilight Bone, when the entire town seemed to sigh, that things took a turn for the eerie. Even in a paradise such as this, the wind whistled through Husky Hill like lost souls searching for their tennis balls.

I wandered through the dimming streets, fur bristled, eyeing every spectral carrot stick that fell from The Woofy Bakery’s haunted oven. I wasn’t hungry, mind you; something far more ravenous gnawed at my insides—a mystery, hungry to be solved.

There’s something about a Continental Bulldog’s snout, mine particularly more sculptured, possibly more regal, that smells fear, whispering danger with each sniff. It led me past The Barking Boutique, where ghostly collars jingled without necks to hold them. That’s Spencerville for you; even the accessories have afterlives.

Now, I never fancied the supernatural. I found chasing a squeaky ball far more practical than chasing ghosts, but that night, Spencerville transformed. Shih Tzu Stadium loomed in the distance like a massive bone, the stands filled not with cheers, but with an uncanny silence.

Here’s the thing about shadows—they have the most peculiar way of torturing the perceptive. A shadow slinked by, void of owner, but how? I remembered, with a touch of melancholy, mom-and-dad’s embrace, warmth not found here in the void.

A howl, distant and deeply disconcerted, tickled my brindle ears. My four paws stood still on cobblestone. Was that Smilla? Finja? No, they were chasing phantom mice in East Pug Palace, or so I had been told.

I darted down alleyways carved from whimsy and fear, past The Cat’s Meow Sushi, which for once lacked any purring. It was just me, my paws, and my racing heart—a symphony of thuds, muffled by the fog.

“To the lake,” the wind seemed to whisper, carrying a rotten hint of cucumbers. Disgusting. And yet, I obeyed. Lakeside, the moon’s glint danced upon the water, mirroring another Winston, one I hardly recognized.

Fate is a funny thing. Mom-and-dad said it’d follow me anywhere, even to Spencerville. But what fate leads a bulldog to a lakeside, with nothing but a Frisbee and memories for company?

“The beast,” they had murmured, the residents, “it feeds on memory, feasts upon the life we once knew.” A return to earthiness from our ethereal state, a reminder that once, we were alive.

And there it stood, on spindly legs that contradicted nature, by the tranquil water. The beast of remembrance. Or was it forgetfulness?

I should have felt fear; instead, my muscular frame stiffened with resolve. It turned, its hollow eyes finding mine. Perhaps it yearned for the taste of my delightful outings with mom-and-dad, the feel of sand between my toes, the tease of the city’s smells.

It approached, and I stood my ground. “Not today,” I growled, my voice more brave than I felt, “these memories belong with me.”

This was Spencerville, where spirits lived and played, clad in fur, feather, and scale, their lives in perpetual twilight. The creature cocked its head, letting out an eerie sound that betrayed longing rather than menace.

We are all longing in Spencerville, longing for that reunion, which lies beyond the lake, past the haunted dog parks, for a forever with those we cherish. The beast, it seemed, no different.

I tossed my Frisbee into the night. A peace offering, maybe. It sailed, hit the gibbous moon full on, and returned. The creature watched, wistfully, then dissipated into a cloud of lost bones.

Winston, just a dog, prevailed, and the legend continued. I curled upon my sofa, fading to dreams, where Spencerville was just a whisper of another existence, an echo of the bark I used to know.

The End.