Dog Days of Summer - Complete Story
The Complete Chilling Campfire Tale Inspired by the Michigan Dogman
I wrote Dog Days of Summer, a tragic and creepy tale inspired by the Michigan Dogman, in four parts and published them over the summer for paid subscribers. Now that the weather has chilled and the nights feel more like fall as spooky season approaches, I want to share Dog Days of Summer in its entirety. So, for one week only, I’m making the complete story available to all readers in one place. Please enjoy this fictional tale inspired by the legendary cryptid from my home state, the Michigan Dogman.
When you’re young and growing up in a family that’s not entirely safe, monsters can be found in many forms. Join a girl in her last summer of childhood as she faces off with the legendary Dogman to find her missing cousin and reveal something far more insidious and sinister lurking in the Northern Michigan woods.
Dog Days of Summer
Two bikes slammed down on the dirt drive in front of the campground’s small store, wheels spinning, as my younger brother and sister ran toward the shop’s screen door, shouting over their shoulders for me to hurry up.
Grimacing at them, I swatted a horse fly into a bloody smear against my calf.
“Get me some Hubba Bubba and a Nehi!”
“Walk Like and Egyptian” blared from the shop’s radio into the woods around us. My siblings stopped and did the song’s popular dance before cracking up and rushing into the shop, slamming the door behind them. The shop owner barked at them, “Watch the door!”
Motorboats roared and pontoon boats putted across the lake behind the shop. My scuffed-up white Ked slid along the gravel, slowing my bike, while my other sneaker rested on its pedal. As my bike came to a complete stop, I popped a giant pink bubble. As I sucked the gum back into my mouth, I glanced back at the dirt road emerging from the forest around the lake. I rolled my eyes as I dragged my bike around to face the way we had just come from.
“Megan!” I shouted, batting another giant fly off my freckled thigh. “You’ve got to be freaking kidding me,” I mumbled under my breath, glaring down the empty dirt road. I swung my leg over my seat and let the bike fall to the ground. “If you don’t hurry, I’m letting Jenny and Tom eat your candy!”
My cousin was always playing games, and it was too hot and humid for her hide-and-seek bullshit today. I could almost take a bite out of the air it was so thick. Seriously, there was an actual texture in my mouth when I breathed in, like a small film of pine, gasoline, and bug spray covering my tongue and teeth. I spit out my gum, and kicked dirt over it until it was properly buried.
I walked briskly down the path away from my bike and the lake, hands in my cut-off jean pockets. Peering into the woods, I tried to catch a glimpse of Megan’s bright yellow overalls through the trees. She was nowhere to be seen as I screamed her name into the trees. I cursed my best friend, Tasha, for cancelling on me last minute to spend the summer with her grandma. Together, we would have handled these kids and become queens of this campground. Alone, I was barely tagging along with the piss ant crew.
Photo by Sonja Langford on Unsplash
“Megan! Seriously, stop messin’ around!”
I stepped out of the blazing sun’s rays back into the shaded part of the road, the thick canopy of the forest from each side connecting above me. The comforting sounds from the lake became muffled the further I walked away from the shop, backtracking into the woods. As the layer of glistening sweat covering my entire body chilled, I shuddered, feeling cold despite it being mid-day during a heat wave. The road turned sharply just ahead so I couldn’t see if anyone was coming as I continued, checking the swampy ditch for signs of Megan and her bike. They were no signs of either among the copious amounts of orange Michigan Lilies. I stiffened when a large snap of a branch echoed from around the bend.
As my senses heightened and warped, adrenaline pumping through my system, the sounds of the lake and campground faded away.
The bugs’ buzzing and frogs’ chirping quieted.
The wind rustling the leaves stilled.
My own breath felt like a roar in this sudden silence.
Another snap, followed by heavy footsteps running over twigs and bushes. My brow knitted together. This dramatic show was classic Megan and hadn’t been funny for two summers.
“Cut the shit, Megan!”
I sped up to catch her in the act, practically flying around the bend.
“I mean it!”
A flash of bright yellow.
A blur of black fur.
Giant claws.
Sharp, long teeth.
Glowing eyes.
I screamed. My breath became ragged, and I felt dizzy. My world went black and my knees buckled.
My vision returned as I pulled myself up off the ground. A ray of sun pierced through the canopy, and the shadow beast was gone.
Another loud snap from the forest.
Footsteps stomped over twigs and bushes, moving away from me.
The wind rustled the leaves once again.
But the bugs and frogs remained silent as I crept toward something hot pink in the middle of the road.
With each of my shaky footsteps, it became clearer that it was a pink Converse high-top. Once I was a few feet from the sneaker, I could see the dinosaurs on the sides of the soles and the shoelaces. The shoe was definitely one of Megan’s Converse sneakers. I stopped breathing when I realized that the shoe was not just a shoe. There was something horrible peeking out above its pull tab.
A small patch of pale skin stuck up above the shoe’s tongue, ending in a fleshy, gory stump with a small circular bone at its center. Wet, fresh, and bright-red blood dripped down the sides of the sneaker, pooling at its sole.
I felt woozy, sweating and freezing all at once. My cousin’s little foot was still in her shoe, bleeding below me. I leaned over and dry heaved. I began trembling and my eyes stung, but before the tears could arrive, terror cut them off.
The sounds of heavy breathing and a thundering heartbeat surrounded me. I couldn’t tell if they were mine or something else’s. I could feel warm breath hitting the top of my head and smell rotting meat and berries surround me. I was petrified, unable to turn to see what stood behind me or move away from it, let alone run. As the thing behind me slowly backed away and fled into the forest, I remained frozen, my eyes glued to Megan’s bloody foot sticking out of her hot pink sneaker.
Even after I discovered my cousin’s bloody foot, my family still barely acknowledged my existence. My mom had hugged me a bit longer and tighter than usual when she stumbled off the pontoon, two hours into my chat with the local sheriff. She smelled like Coors Light and menthol cigarettes and quickly made Megan’s bloody foot all about her. My mother was nothing but consistent in her narcissism; most alcoholics tend to be reliable in that department. With each boat that returned to shore that afternoon, another drunken search party dispersed, all combing the surrounding woods for Megan.
After my older cousins grew bored of me and the gory details of Megan’s bloody shoe, they formed their own search party to which I was clearly not invited. I would only slow them down. After all, I had lost Megan in the first place, right?
Right.
Relegated to my grandmother’s cabin with my kid brother and sister, I was guilted into consuming a steady stream of cheesy casseroles and sticky sweets while grandma frequently wailed over her sweet, innocent grand baby. During which, she smoked a pack of cigarettes while calling everyone she knew on her yellow rotary phone. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my grandma, and she genuinely loved us, but I resented the hell out of being cooped up with her and the littles. Especially, when Megan was missing, and everyone thought the whole thing was my fault. Including me. The stains of Grandma’s red lipstick on the white cigarette butts in the ashtray only reminded me of Megan’s bloody foot, conjuring the unimaginable horrors that might have been inflicted on the rest of her body.
I couldn’t stay inside, not if there was a chance Megan was still alive. I wouldn’t. Sneaking out was always easy when you were mostly invisible. The night after Megan went missing was no different.
Mostly invisible. My little brother made it his business to see everything I did. I shoved a handful of quarters and a bag of gummy worms at him, the usual cost of his silence. Tom crossed his arms and shook his head, glaring up at me. “Nope. I’m going with you this time.”
“You can’t go, Tom. Someone has to watch Jenny.”
“You always say shit like that. Grandma’s watching Jen,” he hissed. We both looked over at my grandma sprawled out on her teal recliner, mouth open, snoring, manicured hand on the phone’s receiver.
“Like she’s watching me? You? She can’t protect her.”
“Did you really see it? Did you see the Dogman?”
“I don’t know what I saw but it was big and hairy with claws.”
“Then you need to not go out there,” he hissed.
I touched my dad’s silver Nikon camera hanging around my neck. “I need to find Megan.”
He glared at the camera. “Dad’s gonna kill you if you take that, you know.”
“Can you just stay here and cover for me?” I hissed at him.
“If you’re not back by midnight, I’m telling.”
I nodded. “I’ll be back.”
“And hand over the candy and money.”
I forced back a smile as I slapped the change and bag of gummy worms into his grubby little hands. As far as little brothers went, he wasn’t the worst, but he was a definite pain in my ass. Still, I liked him enough that I wanted him safe, here with Grandma, eating my candy.
“Don’t get killed,” he said as he dangled a gummy over his mouth, shooting me a semi-concerned look. I guess he felt the same about me.
“Megan!”
“Megan!”
“Megan!”
A cacophony of grown-up voices shouting my cousin’s name echoed over and over from all directions. The typical lazy, wind-down, evening energy of the lake’s campground had been replaced with a palpable unease and frantic action. There were no campfires lit, kids running around squealing, or adults drinking and laughing, not even a fight breaking out over a few bottles breaking. Just every voice in the area yelling Megan’s name over and over again, desperately wanting to find the missing girl so they could return to their summer dream filled with grills and card games. With each unanswered call of her name, the happy ending to this story was evaporating. The rot in my stomach expanded and my throat got tighter, making it harder to breathe, nearly impossible to call out her name. My thoughts began spiraling into hopelessness.
Megan was never going to drive me crazy again. I was never going to tell her to drop dead again. We were never going to choreograph another dance together at Christmas.
The bike ride this afternoon might have been our last moment together.
No. That wouldn’t be the end of our story. Not if I could do anything about it. I placed my fingers gently on the camera hanging from a strap around my neck and closed my eyes. I took several deep breaths, and when I finally silenced the voices in my head and stopped feeling woozy, I continued toward the woods.
I was going to find Megan.
Crouching under several bent tree branches, I stepped onto a concealed coyote trail that only us kids knew about or used. Because of how low the branches hung and how thick the bushes grew, most of the trail was hidden from and inaccessible to grown-ups. It was our secret passageway to the deeper forest. I hesitated, glancing back at the lights of the cabins lining the lake. Something terrible had happened to Megan in these woods only hours ago. Something terrible could happen to me if I didn’t return to my grandma’s cabin right now. Maybe whatever had hurt Megan was already tracking me, waiting for a moment like this to eliminate the only witness to its crimes. Maybe I was already a dead girl walking.
The familiar smells of pine, dirt, and skunk engulfed me, slowly calming these frantic thoughts. This was the same forest I’d played, hidden, and adventured in my whole life. This forest was good to me. This forest would help me find my cousin. I turned back and stared down the dark, narrow path with wild raspberry bushes reaching out across it. The path was filled with shadows and most certainly all types of nocturnal creatures. Creatures that left you alone if you left them alone. I took a few steps down the path, hoping those creatures would stay out of sight as I looked for my cousin, especially the one that shouldn’t exist with its gnashing teeth and giant claws.
The path weaved through the denser part of the woods slowly leading to the thicketed area adjacent to the dirt road where I had found Megan’s shoe. Cradling my dad’s camera, I wondered if my brother Tom was right. Was I really trying to help Megan, or did I just want people to take me seriously? Believe me? I scoffed and kicked the dirt. Both those things could be true at the same time.
With each branch or twig that scratched a piece of my exposed flesh, I regretted more that I had chosen shorts and a tank. The night was humid and unbearably hot so jeans and a sweatshirt would have had their own set of consequences. Even in my skimpiest outfit, sweat dripped from my forehead as I slapped yet another blood-sucking mosquito against my arm. I felt at least twelve circular welts from their bites forming on my back, legs, and arms. Forget the Dogman tearing me apart, these little devils were eating me alive.
The nearby sound of men talking stopped me in my tracks. Several hundred yards away, lights from the roped off crime scene illuminated the woods to the side of the path. The Sheriff was barking indistinguishable orders at one of his deputies. I shifted my gaze from the light to the darkness beyond to the place I had seen the monster dash off into earlier today. I hoped that it had been running toward where it left Megan, praying she was alive in its den somewhere, and hoping that it was out hunting when I located that den. I couldn’t allow myself to think about the other endings, only the one where I’m the hero, and she’s alive.
No matter how this story ended, the one thing I had learned while talking to the sheriff and my mom was that no one was going to listen to me, not without some proof. And they needed to believe me if there was any hope of finding Megan, dead or alive. They needed to be looking for this monster that my brother had decided was the Dogman of local legends and our Uncle Gus’s campfire stories.
Adults only tell spooky stories about the Dogman. They don’t believe in him as I learned very quickly today when talking to the sheriff. The Dogman of Michigan was a legend, made famous recently by a local radio D.J. doing an April Fool’s show. The Dogman from the stories is a reclusive half-wolf, half-man creature that reappears every ten years to terrorize the deep woods of different counties in Michigan. In my uncle’s campfire stories, the dogman maims and kills people. Even considering that this monster might exist made me feel like a stupid child, but what I had seen earlier that afternoon was best explained by this local legend. There must be some truth in this long-lasting folktale, and I was going to reveal that truth. I clutched my dad’s silver Nikon, knowing that if I lost or damaged it, I wouldn’t have to worry about getting slain by the Dogman—my dad would take me out of the world himself. I turned away from the light once again to hike into a wilder part of the woods.
Every surface of my body was burning as salty sweat dripped into my fresh scratches. I swatted sprigs out of my way as I trudged through thick brush that most certainly was sprinkled with poison ivy. I was deeper in the woods than I had ever been. The echoes of adults shouting Megan’s name were barely audible as I pushed onward. The moths were surrounding the beam of my flashlight, so I clicked it off and let me eyes adjust. The moon was half full, so some light broke through the canopy of the forest, illuminating the area around me. At least the night was not completely pitch. I’m not sure I could have braved it if it were.
I stumbled out of the brambles into a clearing. The dry soil was covered in pine needles, and large trees circled the space like a gathered council of ancient forest giants, revealing a magnitude of stars to their unlikely guest. This was a space in the woods I had never stepped foot in. I don’t believe many people had. It felt untouched. Its eerie beauty took my breath away. The needles crunched under my tennis shoes as a I twirled around, neck craned as I took in the night sky.
A cool breeze hit my skin, giving a brief reprieve from the humidity’s suffocating hold. For just a moment, I forgot the horror that had brought me to this sacred space. That moment did not last long.
A low, growl rumbled from behind one of the large trees. I snapped to attention, searching the area. Finally, my eyes rested on a pair of glowing eyes, staring back at me. The growl intensified, followed by a thunderous thud of what must have been a giant paw against the earth. Trembling and stepping back, I lifted the camera to my cheek. Peering through the viewfinder, I adjusted the focus and flipped on the flash. A few more thuds and a loud snarl nearly paralyzed me with fear as I watched a large shadow stalk toward me through the viewfinder. I forced my finger to move and press the button, and a bright light revealed a lunging beast, its gigantic, jagged teeth bared.
A gunshot blasted across the clearing, and the monster released a whelp as it slammed backwards. It howled and snarled, clutching its shoulder as it retreated into the trees. I snapped another photo, the flash revealed a half-man, half wolf face grimacing in anger and pain, eyes staring past me with a deep hatred. I felt woozy and dropped the camera, its weight hitting my belly in slow motion. The smell of charcoal with a hint of sulphur filled the air. The taste of it coated my throat and nose. Another shot rang loudly and hit the tree, sending bark flying. The beast howled again, and it fled into the thick. Footsteps rushed up behind me, but I couldn’t look away from the spot I had last seen the creature. The Dogman had tried to kill me. He was real, and he was vicious and terrifying. And, I had proof. God, I hoped I had proof.
A hand shook my shoulder, and the smell of Jim Bean and Marlboro Red’s filled my nostrils. A slurred voice said my name, and I knew I was screwed.
“Rachel, what the hell? You nearly got yourself killed.”
I was so busted. It was my Uncle Gus. He was the “cool” uncle who let us drive his truck and take sips of his beer. He told us scary stories that were way too gory. He normally wouldn’t rat you out, but he wouldn’t keep this a secret. It was too big. He was also the real drunk of the family, so maybe, if I was very lucky, he wouldn’t remember this moment.
“Did you see it?” I whispered, my voice unsteady.
He glanced down at me and then back to the woods, giving a curt nod. He still had the barrel of his rifle pointing into the woods.
“I saw something with teeth, something big enough and mean enough to rip a kid’s foot off or worse. Something that almost killed you. Probably killed…” His voice cracked and trailed off, but then quickly rose with anger. “I should whoop your ass!”
I shrunk a bit, really hoping he wouldn’t. It’d been a long time since an adult had raised a hand to me, but Uncle Gus was sometimes a mean drunk.
“But you’re getting a little too old for that, aren’t you?” He looked me over and his voice changed, got huskier, weird. “What am I going to do with you?”
I quickly wrapped my arms around my chest and shrunk into myself, trying to summon my superpower of invisibility. I didn’t like being around drunk people, especially men. I didn’t like the way he was looking at me or the sound of his voice. He had never looked at me like that before, and I hoped he wouldn’t ever again.
“Why did you come out here?”
He kept looking at me in a way that made me feel smaller and smaller. I felt my cheeks redden. I locked eyes with him and stumbled back a bit. A wildness filled his eyes, and a darkness covered his face. He seemed to get taller and bigger as his grip on his gun tightened. In the moonlight, he looked like a dangerous animal.
“I-I, just thought I might f-find her.” My voice was rasp, and my eyes stung.
After agonizing seconds, he finally shifted his gaze back to where the creature had run. “Yeah, me too, kid.” He placed his hand on my shoulder, and I flinched at his touch, a new fear burning up my spine, prickling below the surface of my skin. He squeezed my shoulder and his fingers rested on my neck for a beat too long. “Now, get back home.”
He pulled his hand away and stalked toward the tree his bullet had grazed. I started following after him. “I want to stay—"
“If you go straight home, maybe I won’t tell your mama you were out here,” he stated, sternly. “If Megan’s out here, I’ll find her. Promise. Now, go.”
I didn’t say another word. I knew when not to argue with an adult. Instead, I remained still and watched him make his way to the edge of the clearing, gun up and ready. He touched the tree where his bullet had hit before he bent down and felt the ground. He lifted his finger to his nose. It was covered in wet redness that shimmered in the moonlight. Blood. He rose and looked back at me. His face animalistic and angry again.
“Git home, girl!” He snarled.
I jumped and darted back into the bramble toward the coyote path with my hands wrapped around the camera, praying I had captured the Dogman on film. Glancing behind my shoulder, I saw my uncle disappear from the clearing, tracking the monster that had just tried to kill me. It was a good thing Uncle Gus had been out here. He saved my life.
Still, I never wanted to be alone with him again. Never.
Just after sunrise, the whole family gathered outside Aunt Lorraine’s cabin, including my very hungover Uncle Gus. He looked and smelled like I imagined a zombie would—his saggy skin grayish-green and his eyes drooping. I stood as far from him as possible, avoiding his gaze, praying he felt too terrible to rat me out.
“Is Lorraine joining us?” my mom whispered to Megan’s dad, my Uncle Peltier. He rubbed his watery, red eyes as he shook his head, and replied with a raspy voice. “She’s fallen completely apart. I’m letting her sleep.”
Under her breath, my oldest cousin, Beth, made a mean-spiritedly joke to my stoner cousin, Marshall. “Pretty sure Megan’s not at the bottom of a Chardonnay bottle.”
Marshall elbowed her. “Dude. Give it a rest, Beth. Her daughter’s missing. Like you’d be any better.”
“I’d be awake looking for my kid just like we’re looking for our little cuz, right now.” Beth elbowed him back.
Beth wasn’t the sensitive type. Everything was a joke at someone’s expense, as long as it made her seem like she was in the know and superior to everyone else. Problem was, she mostly just spoke the truth about our family’s dysfunction, said the sad shit out loud while the rest of us were trying to bury it as deep as possible. No one liked her very much.
My dad was handing out cheap walkie talkies that he had picked up from the Meijer two hours away. He had made the round trip before the sun came up, and it was pretty clear he hadn’t slept and was jacked-up on some cheap, gas station speed. His speech was too fast and his movements too jittery. My Uncle Gus burped into his hand and then smelled it. I grimaced as I watched him, growing more disgusted as I waited for him to tell everyone about last night, but he remained silent. Finally, he caught my eyes on him. I quickly averted my gaze to the ground, scared his next move, my heart racing.
If he doesn’t tell everyone, do I? Will anyone believe me if he doesn’t back me up?
Those thoughts battled in my brain as the adults continued to map out their search strategy that ended in them breaking into groups of two. I was never given a walkie or assigned a partner or even addressed. Typical.
Pulling out one of the last two remaining walkies from his bag, my dad accidentally ran right into me. He started and lifted his head. When his bloodshot eyes met mine, it was even clearer just how tired and sad he felt.
“There you are, bean,” he said, placing his hand on my shoulder. “How you holding up?”
I remained quiet for a moment, lowering my gaze to his chest, fearing if I looked into his eyes too long I’d start to cry.
“Hey, everything’s going to be okay. We’re going to find Megan,” he spoke softly. I raised my eyes to meet his, hopeful. This was my chance. If anyone would believe me, it was my dad. “I saw something…”
My words trailed off as my Uncle Gus saddled up next to my dad. “You got one of those for me, little brother?” My dad tensed, and he pulled his hand off my shoulder. He was never completely comfortable around Gus who was a good decade older than him. He handed the walkie he was holding to his brother and fished out the last remaining one for himself.
Gus smelled like Irish Spring soap, stale cigarettes, booze, and mouthwash. I covered my nose and mouth with my arm and decided to be brave. “Did you find that wolf?”
I didn’t sound brave, my question barely a whisper, muffled by my arm.
Uncle Gus stared at me blankly. My father shot me a quizzical glance. “Wolf?”
I dropped my arm and raised my voice a bit. “You told me you were going to go after a wolf last night.”
“Are you talking about the Dogman, bean?” Gus nearly let a sneer slip past his mask of civility. I used to like it when he used my dad’s nickname for me. Not today.
My dad turned to me and put his shaky hand back on my shoulder. “You know the Sheriff told you to stop telling stories about the Dogman. It distracts from the search.”
I pulled my shoulder out of his grasp. “Not the Dogman or a story. A wolf. The one I saw by Megan’s... the one Uncle Gus told me he saw, too.” I stepped toward my uncle, chin up, challenging.
My dad’s gaze moved from me to his brother. “Gus? You saw a wolf?”
“I have seen wolves in this forest but what Rachel’s talking about? This Dogman stuff? That’s just stories I’ve told around the fire, little bean. He doesn’t exist. I thought you knew that.”
I studied my uncle’s face. Any earlier hints of anger were gone as he gazed at me with compassion and concern.
“So, you really didn’t see anything last night?”
“Nope. I sure looked though,” he replied, sadly. “And I’ll keep looking. I promise you that. But you need to stay here with your gramma, protect your brother and sister.”
My father nodded in agreement. “I need you safe, okay?”
Clenching my fists, I stood there feeling helpless, face red, preparing to call Gus a liar and tell my dad everything, but in the end, I chickened out. I didn’t tell my dad about what had transpired the night before. I was too afraid he wouldn’t believe me. I was too afraid of what my Uncle Gus might do. I just deflated like a coward and nodded. I slumped lower as my dad and uncle disappeared into the woods together and everyone else slowly dispersed. Soon, shouts for Megan resumed, and I grew angrier and angrier. I stopped beating myself up and stood tall. Either my uncle was lying, or he was too drunk to remember. Either way, he had let me and Megan down big-time. Now, I had no choice but to go it alone. Determined but freaked out of my mind, I sprinted to our cabin.
I snapped the last few shots before removing the film from my dad’s camera. I gently placed the camera back in its spot. I rushed into the room I shared with my brother and sister, and tripped over a Castle Greyskull castle, nearly breaking my toe. Swearing, I hopped over to the bed and dropped to my knees. From under the bed, I pulled out an old shoebox I had decoupaged with my favorite bands and celebrity magazine clippings. Lifting the lid, I grabbed my Shera Velcro wallet and then shoved the box back under the bed.
I pedaled my bike so fast I was sure it was about to fly out from under me. I was speeding down the big road that led to the main street of this cozy lake town, desperately pleading with the universe that none of my family members spotted me. The local pharmacy was on that main street, and they developed film. It was eight miles from the lake, and I definitely was not allowed to bike into town on my own. That went double since Megan went missing.
Still huffing and puffing from the ride, I gently placed the film down in front of the teen cashier standing under the Kodak sign. “One-hour, please?”
“Past the deadline today,” he said, hardly looking at me as he picked up the cartridge. “Earliest will be tomorrow.”
He pushed over a photo envelop with a space for my name and address. “Fill that out.”
“Are you sure you can’t do it today?” I picked up a pen and started filling out the blank spaces on the envelope. He shot me an annoyed look. “Yeah, the guy who does it left for the day. Like I said, it’ll be ready at 4 tomorrow.”
I finished filling in all the blank spots on the form and pushed it back toward him.
After grabbing a pack of Lemonheads from beneath the counter, I pulled out a wad of babysitting money from my wallet. “These and a roll of 35mm film.”
When the tire of my bike hit the dirt road leading back into the campground, every nerve in my body tingled—the fear of being on the same path that my cousin went missing on really hitting home. As I approached the turn where I had found her shoe, I slowed my pedaling. From here, it wouldn’t be that long of a walk to the clearing from last night. I dropped my feet on either side of my bike, stopping my bike abruptly.
I carefully pushed the bike down into the ditch and up through the long grass and bright orange lilies. Once a little deeper in the forest, I concealed my bike among a large cluster of ferns. I shook some sour candies out of their box and popped them in my mouth. A few gnats flew around my hair plastered to my scalp. I inhaled the sharp smells of citrus, sweat, and grass. I exhaled fear. This was easily my worst idea, but Uncle Gus had left me with no choice.
I took a few cautious steps from my hidden bike in the direction of the clearing where the beast had disappeared into the night before. I couldn’t bring up what happened with the wolf to my dad, not until I got my proof back from the pharmacy. He wouldn’t believe me, not if my Uncle Gus wasn’t going to back me up. His older, messed-up brother controlled him in ways my mom called co-dependent when they fought at night. Blood ties are strong and mysterious, and his with his brother was older and more dysfunctional than his and mine. I feared their relationship would trump our shaky and still evolving father-daughter bond. I wiped a tear away as I swatted branches and long grass out of my path. I wished I trusted my dad to take my side.
I really needed my father beside me once standing in the center of the coven of ancient trees. A cloud moved in front of the sun, darkening the area further. The drop in temperature was a slight relief but I would have traded it for full light.
I rushed toward the tree where the Dogman, or whatever it was I saw, had stood last night. I searched the surface of the tree with my fingertips until they found the shattered bark where Uncle Gus’s bullet had hit. I whispered an apology to the wounded tree as my fingers traced the indentation. I surveyed the surrounding forest floor for the place my uncle had bent down and touched the ground. It didn’t take long for me to locate dried blood on several leaves. I retched but swallowed it back down, causing my throat to burn.
As I stood up, I stared in the direction my uncle had chased after the beast last night. His clumsy path revealed itself easily enough; flattened tall grass and broken branches led the way. I took a wary glance back at the clearing before stepping further into the thicker, wilder woods. A few yards in, I discovered more dried blood on the leaves of a raspberry bush. This continued for another half a mile, a clear blood trail guiding me to the beast.
I should have spotted the drop-off hidden in the tall grass and wildflowers, but fear was making me careless. I slammed my elbow, and then rolled head-over-heel twenty feet down the steep embankment, crashing against a moss-covered dead tree. My elbow was stinging, and my knees were bleeding. As I stumbled to my feet, making sure nothing was broken, I noticed that it was significantly cooler in this small valley. Often, an oasis filled with cooler air and damper soil occurs in the woods. I usually loved discovering these places for the first time, but with my neck aching and my cousin missing, I felt trapped and isolated. The sudden dip in temperature felt like an omen. Goosebumps raised on my arms, and I became dizzy and queasy with the overwhelming feeling of being watched.
This dip in the middle of the woods was about fifty yards long. I surveyed the space until my eyes landed on something that chilled my blood and stole my breath. At the farthest end from me, the monstrous beast was hunched low to the ground partially concealed by the high grass and wild flowers. A large black tuff of thick fur covered its broad, muscular shoulders. At first I thought it might be a black bear foraging for berries, but once it raised its head to smell the air, that hope was crushed. The beast’s snout was long like a wolf, but its hairy cheeks were shaped like a prehistoric man’s. Its curled lip revealed its deadly canines that were the size of the long-extinct dire wolf’s teeth. After a few sniffs into the air, it turned its gigantic, terrifying head toward me.
We locked eyes. I couldn’t run. My legs were frozen. The thing’s eyes were that of a man, but supernatural as their irises glowed a golden orange like a campfire’s flames. Standing petrified, I studied every deep black crevasse and wayward hair on this monstrous face that looked more like my grandmother’s wolfman Halloween mask than any natural being. An old nightmare of mine had materialized in flesh and blood. The creature rose to its full height which was easily a foot taller than any man I’d ever met and took two cautious steps toward me. I whimpered, and it stopped, releasing a low growl. It looked back down to the ground behind it for a moment, and then back to me. All I could think was that I was about to be torn to bits because I was the world’s biggest idiot. I was going to die alone in the woods, and for what? So, my family would pay attention to me for once? Every story told to me about the Dogman ended is some type of maiming or brutal death, yet I had come out here looking for the monster from those stories. Now, I had found him, just like my cousin had. She was most assuredly dead, and soon, I would be too. My whole body trembled as my throat closed up. Panic caused my heart to nearly pound out of my chest as my face became red and blotchy. I felt like I might drop dead before the monster even reached me. Yet, when I dared to look into its eyes again, my heart swelled with a small bit of hope. There was no malice or hunger in the Dogman’s expression, only sorrow. It made no other movement toward me as it cocked its head and burrowed its brow, examining me. After several moments, he released a howl and dropped to all fours, dashing up and over the hill, back into the forest, leaving me blinking at empty air wondering if I had seen him at all.
I don’t know how long I stood there staring at the spot where the Dogman had stood, but it was long enough to make out something small sticking out of those blades of tall grass. Something even more chilling than the Dogman—a petite bluish hand.
As I moved closer, the rigid hand came into focus. It was discolored and covered in a light dusting of dirt. This ghostly hand was attached to a skinny arm that led to a bony shoulder and torso, bloated and covered with dirt and a blood-stained pink tank top. I vomited about five feet from the body. I threw up three more times from the smell of rotting flesh intermingled with fungus. I practically crawled the rest of the way to my cousin’s resting place. Piles of hastily piled dirt surrounded her remains. Only the top half of the body stuck out of the ground and Megan’s swollen hand reached out toward me from her shallow grave in what looked like one last final desperate attempt to be saved. Her wide eyes were bulging, and her body was stiff.
Sobs racked my body, and I curled up on the ground next to her hand, unable to touch her or get any closer.
A voice shouting Megan’s name snapped me out of my hysterics. The voice was human, and that’s all I cared about in that moment. I shot to my feet, desperate for back-up, and yelled out, “Over here! I found her! We’re over here! I’m over—”
The words sucked back in my throat when I spotted the hole in Megan’s pink tank top caked in dried blood, still a bit wet in the center. Claw marks could be seen in the soil all around her but not on her actual body. There was not a scratch or bite mark on her skin. The hole in her chest was smaller and circular, the type caused by a rifle, not one caused by animal claws and jaws.
Footsteps pounded in my direction, and then I heard the one voice I really didn’t want to hear.
“Rachel!? Is that you?” My Uncle Gus shouted. His voice chilled me from my very core to my fingertips.
I didn’t answer while the fresh memory of him stumbling through the forest drunk, waving his ol’ rifle around replayed in my head over and over. Remember how he raised it and shot so quickly, without hardly aiming or thinking about it. I couldn’t take my eyes off Megan, half-buried in the damp soil of this remote area, trying to repress the one unimaginable thought that was rising above the rest—the Dogman wasn’t the one that put Megan here.
I slowly looked up the embankment I had fallen down at my Uncle Gus peering at me with a strange and conflicted type of expression I had never seen on anyone’s face before, and my body made a choice before consulting my brain.
My body ran.
My heart and mind raced as I jumped over bushes and dodged the bramble, my uncle chasing and calling after me. All the facts pointed to the impossible – Uncle Gus had done the unthinkable—killed my cousin and buried her out here, hoping no one would find her body. Outrunning the hungover piece-of-shit was possible but staying hidden from him was going to be much more difficult. He lived up north year-round and knew these woods better than anyone. He was also an excellent tracker and shot when he wasn’t playing the town drunk.
“Rachel, come back! It’s not safe out here!” My uncle shouted, several hundred yards behind me. His desperate plea was followed by a stream of expletives.
I veered left. Tears stung my cheeks as bramble thorns scratched my bare legs. After running for another twenty yards, I turned left again to head back toward my uncle but keeping my distance. My only hope was to circle back on my uncle and get to the coyote trail where he was too big to follow. If I could do that, I might be able to make it home before he caught me. First, I had to successfully sneak by him which would be no small feat. I slowed and began moving as stealthily as I could.
My uncle wasn’t trying to be stealth. He wanted to be heard. His steps were loud, a challenge to me and whatever else lurked in the woods. His frequent pleas to me to come out grew louder as I got closer and closer. I stopped behind a tree, parallel to him. Peeking around the trunk, I spotted a bit of my uncle’s red plaid shirt pop in and out of sight. We weren’t as far apart as I had planned, only about ten yards. Staying on track in a wild wood was not easy and I was failing. Holding my breath, I watched as he stopped and adjusted his rifle. And then, without warning, he jerked his head toward me. I pulled my head back behind the tree, but it was too late, our eyes had met. I had seen him, and he had seen me. I leaned back against the trunk of the tree, trembling.
“Come on out, Rachel. We need to get you home,” he sighed.
I remained silent, frantically searching for an escape route.
“I know you’re scared about what you saw, but you have to believe I was trying to save Megan from that wolf…” his voice trailed off.
I worked up all my courage and shouted back to him, “you shot her!”
“I was trying to shoot the wolf that was attacking her.”
“Why didn’t you just tell everyone that!?”
“I wanted to, bean. I really did, but then that beast dragged her into the forest. I didn’t want to tell everyone what happened, not until I found her.”
“You didn’t want to tell because you were probably drunk!” I don’t know why I yelled that out. It was stupid. I didn’t even know if it was true. I was just so mad and hurt, and someone had to hold him to account. Everyone else in this family always made excuses for his bad behavior.
“I wasn’t drunk!” His voice transformed to a snarl. “That beast was tearing her apart and I took a shot…”
“You’re a liar! There wasn’t a claw mark on her body!” I yelled.
“You aren’t seeing things straight. Her body’s torn apart. Christ, you saw what it did to her foot. You need to come with me right now before you get hurt, too.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you!”
“You’re in shock, Rachel, and aren’t making good choices.” His voice was calm, but not friendly. “If something happens to you, I won’t forgive myself, neither will your father.”
My whole body was shaking as my hands balled into fists. I hated how he was trying to use my dad to manipulate me into trusting him. In that moment, I knew one thing to be completely true—going to my uncle would be the last thing I ever did. He’d bury me with Megan. So, I ran away from him faster than I’d ever run, dashing from tree to tree. At first, it was completely quiet behind me. No footsteps or angry curses. Uncle Gus must have been formulating his next move as I sprinted toward the coyote run.
When the first gunshot rang through the forest, my heart left my body. My feet stopped and I unwillingly froze. My uncle was shooting at me. I had been right about him. When the second gunshot rang and hit a tree about five feet from where I stood, I accepted this new reality and darted off.
I placed my hand on the splintered bark of the tree on the outskirts of the clearing where my uncle had saved me from the Dogman. At least I had thought he had been there to save my life, but more likely, he had only been there to cover his tracks. My breath was ragged, and my lungs burned. My legs felt like jelly as I wobbled across the clearing. I was exhausted and terrified from playing this game of cat and mouse, but I would only be okay if I kept moving. I had to get to the coyote run before my uncle caught up with me. As I stumbled to the center of the clearing, something gigantic rushed behind me, leaving me swaying and covered in a musky scent. Another gunshot rang.
“Rachel, you need to come over to me, right now,” my uncle’s commanded, his voice terse and strained. I faced his smoking gun that was aimed in my direction. I couldn’t speak I was so afraid. I shook my head a staggered away from him. “Rachel, don’t!” my uncle hissed, his eyes wide.
My back hit something fleshy and muscular, caving in and out with each of its breathes. Coarse, thick hair brushed against my bare arms and legs. Trembling, I glanced up over my shoulder.
Standing on its hind legs, towering at least three feet above me, teeth bared, black fur bristling, claws out and raised was the legendary and terrifying Dogman. I felt his low growl vibrate against my back before I heard it.
I stagged forward and fell to the ground, crawling away from the beast, unable to scream or call out.
“Rachel, move!” my uncle shouted again. I kicked away from both the Dogman and him, staggering to me feet as the snarling Dogman stalked toward my uncle.
My eyes travelled from the beast’s teeth to the dried blood surrounding a bloody gash, partially scabbed over, partially ripped open, on its shoulder. It was a place where a bullet had grazed its flesh. Another similar wound oozed blood on its abdomen. I glanced back at my uncle who was preparing to shoot. My uncle and the Dogman had done this dance before, and my cousin had paid the price.
The beast growled and lunged toward my uncle. My uncle aimed the barrel of his gun.
Again, I ran.
A final gunshot rang through the forest. The beast snarled and howled. My uncle screamed in agony. I ran and ran until the snarling and flesh tearing and screaming finally faded away. I never turned back, not until I got to the entrance of the coyote trail. Before ducking under the low-hanging branches, I surveyed the woods, searching for signs of the beast or my uncle. Neither emerged.
I stumbled along the trail, checking behind me every few moments, and jumping at every squirrel and bird that moved up in a tree or down on the ground. This magical forest of my childhood had forever been transformed from safe haven to bloody battlefield. It had swallowed my sweet cousin and revealed to me that the line between monster and man did not exist. I only prayed that my photos came out so my family would finally hear the story I was trying to tell them.
Wow! This was a great, suspense -filled story. You did a great job conveying the fear that Rachel felt. Not only fear of the Dogman but the realization that terror doesn't always come from the unknown.
Oh, the dogman sounds terrifying 😱