It was basically just a normal, stormy Tuesday. I was walking home from school, and with how tired and wet I was, I was willing to take any shortcut I could find.

There is this one road where I live but nobody else lives: Blood Point Road. I'm assuming people once did, since the houses looked rather elegant. Well, except for the fact that they are now rotting down to the foundation, and look as if they will disintegrate if the wind blew.


Anyway, I knew that was the quickest shortcut to my street. Despite all the horror stories and other bullshit I hear about that road, I walked down its creepy, abandoned streets.

I felt sad, honestly. I mean, there was nothing here. No children playing in the streets, no barking dogs, no angry neighbors shouting to one another for stolen lawn ornaments. There was nothing. All the poor, lonely houses standing next to each other, with nobody to occupy them. I couldn't help but feel depressed while walking down the road.

Then I saw one spark of life. I saw a small puppy slowly crawl out from underneath one of the buildings. He could only have been about 7 weeks old. I called him over, and without hesitation, the bouncy pup came sprinting over to me. I checked for a collar. There were no tags, no information. Nothing.

I found a stray puppy on the scariest road in all of Illinois. I couldn't resist, though. I took him home with me.

My mother wasn't too thrilled about where I found the little guy, but she allowed me to keep him. I remember naming him Rye. He was black with a white, fluffy chest. I grew to love him very quickly. I never stopped loving him, even after the residents of my town wanted to kill him. Kill me, as well, for loving such a beast. I never saw anything wrong with him.

A few days after I found Rye, people started disappearing. First, small children, then teenagers, then adults and the elderly. Everyone thought there was a serial killer on the loose, but the odd thing was, people only started to disappear at night, after curfew.

Nobody was ever allowed out after curfew. We even had security guards out all night, making sure nobody was sneaking around.

After about a week of strange disappearances, my mother blamed it all on Rye. We'd fight every night about him. She'd get fed up and just say I'm right and all this other shit that would make me feel bad in the end. I always believed she was wrong about my puppy. Well, until one Friday night, in the middle of November.

It had now been 3 months, since Rye came into my household.

I woke up at 4:00 in the morning. I stepped outside to get some fresh air. I saw Rye in his dog house. I never put him out, so I assumed my mother did, since she hates him so much. I tried to call him over and bring him in.

The strangest thing happened. Rye growled at me and showed his teeth. But, his teeth weren't...his. They were longer and sharper and just plain terrifying. I staggered backwards thinking to myself, This isn't my dog. Then his tag flashed in the moonlight, making his name and our home phone number eligible.

I was frozen in place. Rye stopped looking at me and went back to the contents in his dog house. He bent over and started eating...but we don't put food out here because of raccoons.

I slowly crept towards him, making it unnoticeable. As I got closer, the moonlight shimmered light into the dog house, showing what Rye was eating. All I could see was what looked like a hand, with a fancy wedding ring upon the finger.

Rye noticed me and ran towards me. As fast as I could, I took off into the house and slammed the door behind me. I went into my room, horrified, and somehow fell asleep on my bed. The next morning, I woke up with Rye sleeping at my feet, completely back to normal.

That whole day, I tried to act like what I saw that night was nothing but a horrid dream. During breakfast, I heard my mother on the phone with her friend. I picked up bits and pieces of their conversation, but not much. Enough to know that another person is missing. A young married woman. My eyes grew wide as I thought back to last night. The bloodied hand with the wedding ring.

I dropped my spoon into my cereal bowl and ran upstairs. I pulled Rye's mouth open, and his teeth were just like they always had been: normal puppy teeth. There were faint, orangish stains on his teeth, though, and a foul odor. An odor like rotten corpses.

The next few days, more people accused my dog of murder. I defended him as long as I could until this one night.

I was taking Rye on a walk, and it got very late. It was about 9 p.m. when I decided to start heading home. Halfway there, I noticed a change. Rye was bigger, his eyes glowing a pure white color, his teeth much like they were the other night. I pretended not to notice. He chewed through his leash.

He took off down the street. I ran after him, calling his name.

"Rye! Rye, where are you? Come here!"

I spent what seemed like forever, walking down the street, calling his name. I then heard a low growl behind me.


I turned around to face what was once my bubbly puppy. He was now a monster. A blood-stained monster.

I tried to scream, but nothing came out. I felt paralyzed.

The last thing I could see was Rye leaping at me with his fangs showing. He pounced on me and I felt the most agonizing pain I could ever have imagined.

I saw black dots everywhere. Then I felt nothing in my right arm. My arm was ripped off, tossed across the street.

I couldn't believe it. The creature I rescued and fell in love with, turned out to be the enemy. All he wanted was to kill me.

I lost feeling in all my limbs. I knew they were gone, but I didn't care anymore. I was dead.

As Rye clawed into my chest, ripping out my organs, I whispered to him, "see you in hell you, monster."

I blacked out.