Hey, just wanted to give you a tail-wagging update! I’m Apollo, the brave Malinois detective of Pawsburgh. Tonight, the town’s taken a dark turn, and it’s not because the streetlights are on the fritz. Encountered a eerie growl and a citrus-scented spook trying to steal our spirit. But with my fur-friends Gizmo and Bailey, we’re ready to sniff out this mystery and light up the night again. Don’t worry, this pup’s got the bark and the bite for the job. 🐾 – Apollo

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Ah, the clandestine veil of night had once again fallen over the human world, and with a practiced sneakiness, I, Apollo, made my usual escape to the luminous streets of Pawsburgh. Tonight was awash with a chill that hinted of untold stories, and Samoyed Square was bustling beneath the glow of a pallid moon.

I trotted along, ears perked with the crisp silence that often precedes a storm. A whisper of unease brushed my coat. Something felt off tonight. Maybe it was the way shadows clung a little too desperately to the corners, or how the wind carried an odd, citrus scent—my least favorite—that was out of place among the savory wafts from Bulldog’s BBQ.

As I followed the cobbled path towards Pointer Pier, a shiver not caused by the cold tickled my spine. The lampposts flickered, rhythmic and slow, like the heartbeat of some great, dozing beast. “Gizmo, Bailey?” I called out for my comrades, hoping for the warmth of their presence. But where the cheerful bark of greeting should be, there was only silence.

A growl reverberated from the shadows. Not the defensive sound of a cornered stray, but something more foreboding, something born from the void where the light dared not reach. Time seemed to stretch, the way it does when humans watch those screens filled with specters and suspense.

As I cautiously navigated my way forward, the outline of Diamond Doberman Dunes rose ahead, but under the sinister smothering of night, they seemed less the shimmering playground of our memories and more a scene plucked from a chilling horror tale. Could it be our own Pawsburgh now housed nightmares, just as it had once cradled dreams?

The air turned icy, the kind of cold that makes even a thick Malinois coat feel as thin as yesterday’s newspaper. The bark of warning, usually robust within my throat, came out as a timid squeak: an admission of vulnerability.

I hadn’t felt fear like this since I was but a pup, hidden away from the thunder’s wrath under Jamie’s bed. But here, in the absence of human comfort, fear tightened its grip around my heart, demanding to be felt, insisting I face it alone.

At Best in Show Photography, where once captured the gleeful moments of our dog days, the windows were now gaping maws, glass eyes reflecting an empty soul. Gone was the cheerful click of camera shutters, replaced by a silence that screamed.

Was this the work of a citrus ghost? A malignant spirit that knew my distaste for lemon and lime and turned it into a weapon to rob our Pawsburgh of warmth and light?

It seemed hopeless, the darkness too great for one Belgian Malinois to tackle. I’d need more than the cleverness that could solve a puzzle ball to unravel this mystery. But then I remembered the oldest truth known to canine and man alike: Courage can spark from the tiniest ember of hope.

And so, just when I thought despair would have me, I heard it—the faintest patter of paws against stone. Gizmo, his eyes alight with indomitable spirit, and beside him, Bailey, wise and unyielding, emerged from the murk.

With my friends beside me, that shadowy cloak of fear began to recede. We faced the unknown together, bravely baring our teeth at the whisper of terror, prepared to reclaim Pawsburgh from whatever ghastly force dared disrupt our sanctuary.

Let this be a tale, a canine’s cautionary note, that the true horror lies not in the darkness that invades—but in facing it without your pack. So here I stand, Apollo, with friends at flank, ready to chase away the shadows till the sun once again kisses the cheek of Pawsburgh.

The End.