Dog Days of Summer (Day 3)

The third part of the Michigan Dogman Campfire Horror Summer Series

A quick reminder that this is the third part of the story. You can read the first part here and the second part here. The fourth part and chilling conclusion drops next week!

Quick note from Necro, our terrifying and faithful, archivist and Book of the Dead:

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 was just too little to sneak beers and cigarettes, and she fancied herself too big to play Ghosts in the Graveyard. 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. One particular and tragic summer, being an accidental loner turned out to be very dangerous indeed. She discovered something in the woods that completely ended her childhood in the bloodiest way possible. 

Sketch of the Dogman by Brian Rosinski

The Dog Days of Summer (Day 3)

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, annoyed.

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 eyes 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?