Dog Days of Summer (Day 2)

The second part of the Michigan Dogman Campfire Horror Summer Series

A quick reminder that this is the second part of the story. You can read the first part here.

Notes from Necro:

One fascinating thing about being a grimoire is that I can pull stories right out of the minds of the humans and monsters I meet. This story about the Michigan Dogman is exactly one such story. I siphoned these words from the mind of an angsty eleven-year-old. This young girl was stuck in the twilight of her childhood and stuck in the middle of her cousins—three little babies under her, and five super sophisticated teens above her. She didn’t belong in either group, so she found herself alone quite a bit on family vacations up at the lake in Northern Michigan. No one left her out intentionally, but it happened all the time. She was just too little to sneak beers and cigarettes, and she fancied herself too big to play Ghosts in the Graveyard. That summer, being an accidental loner turned out to be dangerous. She discovered something in the woods that completely ended her childhood in the bloodiest way possible. 

This is the second part of a series of summer entries called Dog Days of Summer.

Dog Days of Summer (Day 2)

Even after I discovered my cousin’s bloody foot sticking out of her Converse in the middle of the dirt road that circled the lake, 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.

Photo by Olena Bohovyk on Unsplash

After my older cousins grew bored of me and the gory details of Megan’s bloody shoe, they formed their own search party that I was very clearly not invited to because 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 it was mostly my fault. Grandma’s red lips stick on the white butts of her cigs in the ashtray only reminded me of Megan’s bloody foot and conjured 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.