My Parents, Their Pet, My Hell

enter of their lives. "We need to clear our heads," my mother had said, "and Buddy loves his wal

as my

vingly quiet without them. I went straight to my parents' bedroom, to the spot where Buddy's plu

Its throat had been torn out, and its button eyes were scratched into nothing. But that wasn't the w

ted to the dishwasher's heating element was new. Its protective cap was gone. If that wire had co

. Even before the bite,

re, cold rage. This thing wasn't just manipulating

amount of cash I had hidden away, money I' d been saving for an emergency, an

old the man behind the counter. "A

heart pounding. I found the perfect spot: a dusty ventilation grate in the corner of the living room, hi

ens peeking through a slit. I connected it to my old laptop, w

ming back up the stairs. I scrambl

y parents coo over Buddy, feeding him scraps from their meager d

ed the laptop from under my bed. The screen flickered to lif

only sound was my father's snoring from the other room. I

nd 3 a.m.,

in one fluid, silent motion, as if pulled up by strings. He stood p

atural, so eerie, th

he camera's view. I could hear faint scratching sounds,

mouth, he was carefully carrying my mother's bottle of s

e. With a dexterity that should have been impossible for a dog, he used his nos

y water bottle. Then he carefully nudged the cap back on, not

rd the faint sound of the medicine cabinet closing. He re

look like an overdose, like a suicide. In this economy, with our family's problems, no one would hav

sn't a dog. It was a monster wearing a dog's skin. My pare

the screen, then at the creature

e. And he had sealed my p

oof I needed. Not for the police, not fo

It was the justification