Hey Mom, just had the wildest night in Pawsburgh. Turns out it’s not all tail-wags and fire hydrants here; there’s a shady side too, literally and figuratively. Dived into a doggone mystery at Saluki Sands and barely made it out with tails intact. Had to face some twisted canines, but Rascal, Rufus, and I kept our pack promise. We’re the type to fight nightmares with nose boops. Remind me to stick to chasing squirrels and sunrises, okay? Call you later, Kitten 🐾✨

You wouldn’t think a place as chipper as Pawsburgh could hold shadows, could it? But ah, let me tell you, behind the wagging tails and the cheerful barks, every dog’s paradise has its dark alleys. And I’m not talking about the one behind Dachshund’s Deli where you might occasionally find a fish bone gone astray from someone’s Pawfect Pastries bag.

No, it was one balmy night at Saluki Sands, where the trees whispered with an urgency that prickled the fur on my back. Rascal and Rufus were with me; we were no strays to adventures or the blissful ignorance that often accompanies it. I figured we’d chase the waves, maybe dig for buried treasures that would smell suspiciously like leftover Pup’s Poutine.

But the moon was full, too full if you ask me—an overripe pumpkin looming over our playground, casting everything in a glow that didn’t quite reach the corners. The smell of the sea was different too, like it had turned and rolled over in its sleep, comfortable with the nightmares it had been having.

Rufus, big and bold, was the first to hear it—the whimpers coming from Affenpinscher Avenue. Rascal, with his eye that’s seen too much, looked at me, and I knew. Adventure, the word that once danced in my heart, suddenly had claws.

We trekked up the avenue, our ears high, our tails low. I thought of bones, not the nice ones you gnaw at The Pawfect Training Center, but the kind that stick in your throat and remind you that sometimes…sometimes playtime is over.

The whimpers led us to Happy Hounds Dog Walking, a quivering scrawl of a place under the moon’s bloated stare. The front door creaked open like a question we didn’t want the answer to, and before our feet could decide, our hearts had shoved us in.

“It’s just a place, Lexi,” I told myself, but I know places. They’re like dogs—some fetch balls, some fetch your soul.

And that’s when I saw them. Paws, too many paws, all tangled up in a dance that wasn’t a dance at all, moving to a song that sung of ends and never agains. It was a mirror, shattered and reflecting bits of what used to be good dogs of Pawsburgh, now…now twisted like the toys I so loved, only these weren’t stuffed squirrels.

I wanted to bark, to bite, to run, but Rufus growled something that made my insides curl. “We’re in it now, Lexi. Can’t turn tail.”

Rascal just blinked his one good eye, steady and brave, reminding me friends don’t let friends face horrid reflections alone.

So we stepped forward, even when the ground felt like it was made of banana peels, slick with treachery. We stepped into the center of this… this nightmare carousel and we spoke the only truth that mattered in that moment: “We’re dogs of Pawsburgh. We stick together.”

I don’t remember much after—only flashes. Licks of something ancient and hungry, the sharp taste of salt and fear, and the baton of our will being passed from paw to paw till we outran the night itself.

Later, they’d say we imagined it, that someone must’ve slipped something into the kibble at Pup’s Poutine. But I still have the sniffles when I remember how close we came to losing what makes us wag, makes us nuzzle, makes us…

When dawn broke it was a sigh, and I returned, a Beagle mix with a tale no human would believe, but then again… that’s Pawsburgh for you. Shadows and all, the real horror is forgetting to chase the sunrise with your favorite tabby and a Saint Bernard who knows no fear. Even if it’s just in a story whispered silently to oneself, while the world sleeps, blissfully unaware of what prowls in the darkness of a dog’s imagination.

The End.