Hey Mom,

Spencerville had me in a tailspin this morning – woke up to a ghost town and faced off with a shadow beast straight out of a nightmare! No doubt, I defended our turf like the champ I am. Ended up being a weird daydream though – guess I’ve still got a wild imagination. 🐾 Also, as a note, keep the watermelons away from me, please.

Tail wags and face licks,
Gus the Destroyer 🐶✨

You know those mornings, those all-too-quaint and disgustingly cheerful ones where the sun paints everything in gold just to annoy you? This was such a morning in Spencerville, where I, Gus, a typically chipper soul, unexpectedly woke with the sort of unease that sits in your stomach like last year’s Halloween candy.

My abode in Spencerville, of course, isn’t the dreadful sort. It’s the sort where homes look like they’ve been plucked right out of a dog biscuit commercial and the grass is always just a bit too green to be believable. I rolled out of bed, my tan coat not quite as sun-kissed in the eerie predawn light. Descending the stairs of my stately manor (which, in reality, was a moderately proportioned doghouse in a prime location near Fetch-N-Bites), I couldn’t help but feel that this typical day was going to be anything but.

The streets of Spencerville, predictably absent of any proper hustle and bustle at this witching hour, seemed to possess an air of expectation, as though they were all secretly whispering, watching, waiting. I could almost hear them, “Here comes Gus, clueless that with every step, he walks into… The Horror of the Hounding Shadows.”

As I trotted past The Dapper Dog Salon, its windows dark, my reflection seemed distorted. Was it just the odd angle, or did my ivory streak look more like a lightning bolt violently splitting my visage? I shook my head, dismissing the silliness of it all. Such flights of fancy were beneath a sophisticated chap like me.

Longing for my favorite oatmeal cream pie, I was genuinely appalled to find Doggy Delight barred and desolate, the air void of the rich scent of puppy quiches and bacon-wrapped everything. The notice on the door was the stuff of nightmares: “Gone on sabbatical.” How careless of them.

So off I went to Pup-Cakes, only to be greeted by a bone-chilling silence. No clatter of dishes, no drool-worthy aromas wafting out. Just a cold, unwelcoming façade where once the promise of sweet cream pies beckoned.

With the slow horror of a drip-fed realization, I understood that the heart of Spencerville had ceased its vibrant beat. Where was everyone? And why did the wind howl like a scorned lover through Northern Choco Chihuahua Castle?

A distant thudding grew louder, like the drumming paws of a giant Husky. My nape bristled as the space around became somehow sharper, charged with static that pricked my jowls. The thudding stopped abruptly, and before me loomed an ungodly figure – larger than a Mastiff and blacker than the blank space in my mind where watermelon love should be. It had no eyes, but it saw me. It had no mouth, but I felt it speak to my very soul.

“Gusss…” it hissed my name as if testing the flavor of it, rolling my identity around its formless void.

I’d have screamed if I had the lungs for it. Instead, I stood my ground, summoning every ounce of bravado that had ever seen me through confrontations with the vacuum, the ear-cleaning droplets, and heaven forbid, the vet.

“You shan’t pass,” I growled, my legs splayed in the most majestic of stances. But the creature didn’t so much as quaver.

Suddenly, a cardboard box—the very same from which my imagination had often fashioned fierce armors and ships—fluttered past on a gust of wind. Instinctively, I chased after it, my portly frame a testament to the fact that bulldogs can bolt when the occasion demands it.

And bolt I did, round and round Western Husky Hill, until the creature of obfuscation dissolved in the growing light of dawn. Like mist, it just…wafted away, leaving Spencerville as it was, the horror seeping away with the darkness.

As the town slowly began to stir, I pondered if it had all been a dream. But the tang of otherworldliness lingered on my tongue, bittersweet as the memories of my days before Spencerville.

Still, in the comfort of familiar faces emerging from The Howling Husky Hardware Store and Pet Partners Pet Supplies, I chuckled at my own folly. Life in Spencerville may be one long dog day after another, but even I can stomach a dose of horror to spice up my eternal romp.

Just never, ever, sneak up on me with a watermelon slice. That’s where I draw the line.

The End.