martin-girona1583791253 Martin Girona

Diego tries to recognize his house, while someone watches him through the window and his dog peels off the bones of a human body.

Ужасы Монстро-литература Всех возростов.

#house #killer #psico-killer #terror #monster #canibal
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The dog

The sky was bleeding over the city. Diego took refuge under the precarious roof of the bus stop, next to a woman who looked at the clock impatiently.

He lit a cigarette, covering the wind with the collar of his jacket.

When he got home, the rain had slowed down. There was only the murmur of a fine, steady drizzle. He was soaked, his clothes were glued to his body and his shoes were flooded with water. He liked the rain, but he had had more than enough.

The house looked different.

The hallway connecting the three rooms was darker than usual.

When he hung up his jacket, he noticed that there was a red umbrella on the coat rack. He didn't have an umbrella that color and he was sure Celen didn't either. Had his friend bought one? Celen hated red things, but not everyone is selective about umbrellas when they're in the middle of a storm, and she hated rain much more than red.

He wiped his feet on the carpet as best he could. It was a new carpet, Celen had deigned to change that ragged-hair rag, which had ruined the entrance for many months. The new rug was more discreet and at least it didn't look like a dead, wet animal.

He turned on the light switch.


The colors and objects in the house remained missing in the gloom.

He walked to his room, groping the walls, hitting a bookshelf, and some books fell to the floor. Where did that piece of furniture come from?

Then he looked out the window and saw his dog in the midst of the fading storm. The drizzle fell on his long fur, soaked and crushed against the skin.

He was gnawing on a long bone, too long to have come out of the leftovers from a meal. Shreds of skin hung from its jaws, ripping and tearing its teeth. His eyes sparkled in the dark with a glassy, ​​beastly flash.

A chill climbed up his back.

His mouth was dry.

His hands were sweating.

It was a slimy sweat. Too sticky and thick.

He knocked on the window to call the dog.

He did not remember his name.

He did not remember his dog's name.

Surely he had named it, because Celen liked dogs less than the color red.

A flash of lightning lit the courtyard in a fleeting flash that dissolved into the shadows. But it left him with a sharper and more disturbing image.


Bones throughout the yard.




Those were not the remains of a meal.

He tried to call his dog.

He did not remember his name.

Celen did not like dogs.

Diego never had a dog.

It wasn't his dog.

The courtyard was littered with bones and the house was an unknown grave that reeked of fear and turmoil.

Another lightning bolt buried a chilling photograph of hell in his eyes.

It was not a dog.


Blurred vision.

He felt his heart pounding in his ears and behind his eyes.

His hands were sweating too much.

A thick, sticky sweat.

He looked at his palms. Red.

Her hands dripped blood onto the kitchen tiles.

That figure crouched in the mist of the storm was not a dog.

It was not a dog.

It was not a dog.

That was not his house.

Celen was dead.

That was not his house.

Diego lived alone, in a small apartment on the ninth floor of a cold old building with high ceilings and small windows.

The dog was gone.

The sirens howled as Diego watched his reflection in the window glass.

Her eyes twinkled in the dark. His clothes and skin were stained with blood.

Suddenly, he felt the bitter taste in his mouth and felt the hardness of the meat pounded by his teeth.

Outside it was no longer raining.

He heard a torn scream that shook the bowels of the house. The woman at the bus stop was still alive and had escaped from the basement.

12 марта 2020 г. 2:39:51 1 Отчет Добавить Подписаться

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