My train passes by that house- that one lonely house in a field full of rusting metal and pools of fetid water every single day 16 times a day whether I am on the train or not.
The house used to be light blue and there are still curtains in the windows frames but the glass has been gone for a long time, and I’m sure if you tried to open the door you would find it locked.
There is a porch on the side of the house and it was there I saw the dog for the first time.
The dog was black and it was wearing an orange collar and it was obviously a very big dog because it looked huge from a distance.
At first I wasn’t sure it was a real dog- it didn’t flinch when the train roared by, it’s longish fur never moved out of place from the wind that flew up to where it sat across from the tracks.
The Dog was watching for something and nothing- not even a train screaming in it’s face could persuade it to look away for even a second.
No, it didn’t act like a dog- it didn’t even act like it was alive.
Last winter- the winter that turned into Summer in the blink of an eye- my train, with me on it sped up to the house and I saw that the front door was open and that the dog was not on the side porch.
He was at the edge of the yard and it was stunning how big he really was. I could see his face and his eyes- they weren’t dark brown or red or orange- they were bright, they were so bright they were blinding.
I didn’t look away from that light because when I heard the Black Dog growl it felt like my heart had stopped. I couldn’t turn my head, I couldn’t shut my eyes I couldn’t have moved even if I had wanted to.
It never really registered- I couldn’t move but I flew all the same.
That dog was the last thing I saw and heard until I woke months later, minus a leg and my right eye and most of the fingers on my right hand.
There was a signal error that caused our train to crash with the freight train I was told probably a million times. But the head injuries I suffered were extensive and it was quite awhile before anything I was told made any sense to my poor damaged brain,
When I was able to tell people about the last thing I remember- the house in the field with the dog that chased us and caught us I suppose, people would pat my arm and smile and gently explain that there wasn’t a house in that field and there probably was never a dog there either.
It was just my mind blotting out a horrific experience with images I could understand, images that were not as terrifying as the reality of what we all went through.
But I am sure of one thing- my life after I saw that dog was a patchwork and weeks of my life went by without me being able to remember them. My short term memory still isn’t all it should be.
But I remember everything from before I saw that dog chase us-
and I am certain of this
Something was in that house behind the locked door and one day it came out and it sent it’s dog after us and I am positive as I said earlier that it caught us.
Look for it. It’s a blue house, there are curtains in the window frames and the front door is shut and probably locked, there is a black dog on the porch steps.
If you see it, go away from it- whatever it takes- don’t go anywhere near it-don’t let it catch you.