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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/MikeJesus on 2024-09-12 20:30:31+00:00.
Our basement is filled with VHS tapes. Originally, I kept them in a box under the old TV set, yet over the years I have developed quite the collection. There’s shelves of the stuff now. Uncountable black boxes filled with mystery.
Usually, the faint smell of plastic that envelops our basement soothes me. It reminds me that I’m not at work. It’s the scent of my cherished hobby. Of nostalgia.
Usually, the faint smell of plastic in the basement calms me, yet this time it does not.
The dog skitters past her legs, jumps on the couch and curls up into comfort. ‘Isn’t Betty so precious?’ my wife fawns, as she sits next to the dog. Her slender fingers quickly find the magic spot behind the ear. Betty’s eyes flutter and close. ‘Oh, look at her! She’s already asleep! What a beautiful princess! She must be so tired from the dog park.’
‘Yeah,’ I say, still standing on the stairs, ‘She did run a lot.’
I walk down the steps but stop on the last one. ‘Hey,’ I say, ‘How about we just go upstairs and watch something streamable? It’s a better TV. I can make some popcorn.’
‘Betty? Do you want to go? No? You’re too comfortable?’ the dog barely opens her eyes. She’s not moving. Neither is my wife. ‘Also,’ she says to me, ‘Dr. Shipman said we should engage with each other’s hobbies. Dogpark in the morning, VHS in the evening — we agreed.’
I don’t get off the creaky step. I keep searching for a way to get my wife upstairs.
‘You said there’s no porn on those tapes, Ryan,’ she says, with more than a glint of accusation.
‘There’s no porn!’ I say, ‘I just like collecting mysterious VHS tapes!’
It’s the truth, I’m reasonably certain. I haven’t seen half the tapes in my collection. It’s not nudity I’m scared of my wife finding. There are more disturbing things lingering on those old tapes than porn.
‘What about this one?’ she says, sliding a tape out of the shelves. ‘Professor Willow’s Amazing Dogshow. That sounds fun!’
I pick up the sleeve. It’s blank. Aside from the neatly written title, there’s no indicator of what’s on the tape.
‘It’s a VHS-C,’ I say. ‘A home movie. Anything could be on this thing. It could be disturbing.’
‘Well, if it’s disturbing, we’ll turn it off,’ she says, carefree. Then her brow furrows. ‘Come on Ryan, I don’t get this VHS obses— hobby but I want to try. We promised Dr. Shipman we would. There’s no point going to therapy if we’re going to ignore the homework.’
I feel no more assured, but I submit. With a staccato of clicks, the VCR eats up the tape. A faint image sharpens on the old television set.
We’re in some expansive, dark warehouse. There’s a sparse audience of silhouettes that shuffles before the camera. In the center of the warehouse, lit up by a handful of industrial lights, stands a tall bald man in a lab coat.
‘Friends, comrades and esteemed colleagues! I have gathered you here for another exposition of the research I have tirelessly worked on!’ The man does not speak loudly. The barren warehouse amplifies his words enough. ‘Professor Kamer’s fertilizer is, indeed, impressive. It will optimize the land and provide plentiful breeding space for the Hybrids. Truly, the scientific achievement of the decade. But now, it is time for you to see the greatest achievement of the century!’
There’s a religious zeal behind the man’s words. The warehouse, the scientist’s identity, the Hybrids he speaks of — it all picks at my hunger for mystery. Yet I still fear what the tape might reveal. I fear how my wife will react.
‘Bring me the dog!’ the scientist yells into the shadows.
My wife watches the fuzzy warehouse scene with a deep confusion, yet the moment the dog is mentioned she sits upright. When the said dog is trotted up on a leash from the darkness, a smile spreads across her lips.
‘Look, Ryan! It looks just like Betty!’ she squeals. ‘Betty, can you see it? That puppy looks just like you!’
Betty opens her eyes, but the screen is of no interest to her. She, instead, looks up at my wife in expectation of more ear scratches. When Betty gets them, her eyes slowly shut again.
‘Oh, how we have tamed the wild wolf!’ the scientist proclaims, as he takes the leash from his assistant. ‘Man has molded Canis Lupus to be small and meek and friendly. He has taken predator and turned it to ally, to guardian, to companion.’ As if to attest to its amicable nature, the dog at the scientist’s feet raises its paw.
‘Man has worked for millennia to transform Canis Lupus to his needs,’ the scientist continues, ‘Yet he has not done enough.’
The scientist holds the leash far away from his body, as if seized by sudden disgust. The assistant takes the dog, silently marching it into the darkness. The man in the lab coat doesn’t speak again until they are out of sight.
‘Man has tried to alter the genealogy of canines through selective breeding. Yet this process is far too slow,’ the scientist declares. ‘To mate, to gestate, to raise, to mate again — this is science fit for a monkey. To mate, to gestate, to raise, to mate again — this requires decades which we do not have. This requires time which we cannot afford. No, to truly tame the nature of the canine one must strike at its genome.’
Even in the fuzzy resolution of the aged tape, I can see it. A flash of static beyond the lights. Something materializes out from thin air in the darkness.
‘Friends, comrades and colleagues! Let it be my honor to present to you — specimen ND-059.’
There is no applause in the audience when the thing walks into the light. There is but curious shuffling and a single strained cough. The creature on screen is most definitely not the product of natural evolution.
‘Oh my god,’ she whispers, getting her face closer to the screen. ‘It’s adorable!’
The creature is, to my wife’s credit, cute. Discomfortingly so. It has the general form of a puppy, yet it’s bigger than our full-grown springer. Its eyes are like big saucers filled with innocence and one of its pointed ears hangs inside out. It looks like a dog.
It looks like a dog but it’s not.
‘Is that real?’ my wife says, her forehead almost touching the screen. ‘That can’t be a real thing, right? It has to be animated or something.’
I don’t need to take a closer look. My sellers are reliable. I know my way around image quality. I know the tape is legit, yet I still meet her face by the screen.
‘VHS-C,’ I say, ‘Putting any altered footage on it would require a lot of work with the tape. Too much work. Also, see these? Those are tracking lines. They show up on aged tapes.’
I guide her hand, tracing it along the distortions. When I let go, her slender fingers continue to run along the tracking lines. Her soft breath fogs up a bit of the screen. For a moment, a very brief moment, I find myself thankful to Dr. Shipman.
‘Canines have evolved to be loved by man,’ the scientist on the television preaches. ‘They have the eyes of babes. Their cries provoke our genetic similes. Nature lured the canine with treats to appeal to us. Hybrid ND-059 is a mere tug of the leash.’
A growl rises from the couch. Betty’s eyes are opened and her head is low. She doesn’t like what she’s seeing on the screen. My wife scratches her behind the ear, but the dog’s rumble doesn’t subside.
‘Those that do not tend to the land. Those that are called to higher purpose and have to spend their days away from life beyond their concern — they need these ties to nature. To the reminder that life is, in its core, simple. Dogs have long served this role in urban societies. When their time comes, Hybrid ND-059 will take up this labor.’
Off in the darkness there’s another brief flash. The silhouette it produces is considerably bigger. Betty’s displeasure at the screen grows. She bares her teeth at the hulking form in the shadows.
The scientist, this Professor Willow, he once again stays silent until his assistant has left the stage. There’s a commotion among the audience. A group of silhouettes moves past the camera to sit further away. They’ve noticed the creature in the darkness. They’re scared of it.
‘Hey, how about we go upstairs,’ I suggest. ‘We can check out the new season of Yellowja—’
‘Shhh! I want to know what happens next!’ She turns around, but she doesn’t look at me. Instead, she holds up a single finger to the dog as if it were a saber. ‘You too, Betty. Shush. I’m watching something. Be a good girl.’
‘Yet the canine was never just a simple companion! No! He served as protector, as hunter, as the right hand of law! The dog has helped feed us and keep order, yet its instincts are dull. Its body is frail compared to that which science can birth. Friends, comrades and colleagues! I present to you specimen OD-041!’
Betty’s growls immediately break out into terrified barks. My wife repels from the screen. ‘What is that?!’ she yells.
It looks like a mole rat. A mole rat with bulging muscles and the snout of a wolf and eyes that scream violence. The assistant does not lead the beast on a leash. He is dragged behind it.
‘Ryan?’ my wife says, breathless. ‘That can’t be real right? That thing is not real.’
‘It isn’t,’ I say, trying to think straight past Betty’s shrieking barks and the horror on the screen. ‘Probably a prank. Someone just used AI to… make that. Happens all the time.’
From the television Professor Willow rambles on about security forces and the inherent handicap of canines not being able to bite through steel. My wife is scared and the dog is going nuts, but there’s still a ...
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