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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/WoodflyNecktie on 2024-10-30 21:09:47+00:00.
I feel absolutely sick writing this, but I’ve been told by a friend that writing this stuff down might be important. That same friend also told me that it wouldn’t be a good idea to share my name, so I won’t. I’m writing this from a Hilton Garden Inn about five minutes from my apartment. I haven’t been there in two months, but my neighbor texted me an update about it today. It sounds bad. They have torn up all of the carpet, large sections of drywall are missing, and they’ve started ripping out the ceiling. “When I say “they,” I’m not sure if it’s still the police, or if the leasing agency has hired someone to clean up. I have pictures, letters, furniture, and memories in that apartment. It was home for almost five years, and I just don’t care. I’ll never, ever set foot in that place again.
Two months ago, we had a MASSIVE storm roll through Cincinnati. I live, or lived, in an apartment complex closer to the edge of the city. I don’t want to give too many specifics, but imagine one of those cookie-cutter standalone complexes that has a few apartment buildings and a shitty pool. The rent wasn’t the cheapest I could find, but the complex is gated, so I justified the cost with an increase in safety. I’m a single woman, and have always been a little paranoid about living alone. Once I finished college and took a graphic design job here in the city, I realized that I no longer had a pool of college friends to choose a roommate from. I was faced with two options; either live by myself for the first time, or play random roommate roulette. Unimpressed by either, I decided to create a third option: my Murphy.
Murphy is, or was, the greatest thing that ever happened to me. I know a lot of dog owners say that about their pets, but Murphy really was my saving grace. Moving to the city was hard for me, and starting my first real job was even harder. Being greeted by Murphy’s big goofy smile was the highlight of coming home every day. When I adopted murphy, he was about the size of a soccer ball, and almost as round. However, it didn’t take more than a couple of months before that soccer ball began growing into a mountain . . . pun intended; my Murphy was a Bernese Mountain Dog, and at just under 120 pounds, he was more mountain than dog. He was a gentle giant, and probably not the stalwart guardian I’d adopted him to be, but he was my very best friend. We’d sit on the couch together every night, and he’d lay his heavy head in my lap. We’d go for walks in the common areas, and the handful of older people who stroll around our complex would always give him a treat. Every night, we’d lay in bed next to one another.
This nightmare began with the storm. Our complex is kind of in the middle of corporate-chain hell; surrounded by gas stations, a red lobster, an outback steakhouse, you get the gist. However, despite our proximity to the center of this commercial purgatory, we ALWAYS lose power during these nasty storms. What’s worse, we must be near the end of some network or grid, because we’re always the last group of buildings in our area to have power restored.
This storm was particularly bad. I remember getting home sometime after dark and it was pouring down rain. The leaves hadn’t begun to change just yet, but there were twigs and leaves all over the parking lot from the wind. Luck would have it that I slipped into my apartment just before the complex’s street lights went out.
I was greeted by a dark apartment. I don’t think people realize how poorly apartment complexes like this are designed in terms of natural light. My whole apartment only has two windows: one at the front in the kitchen, and one in my little bedroom. That leaves the main hallway, both bathrooms, and the living room without light for most of the day. During an outage like this, and especially after the sun goes down, you open that door to a PITCH black apartment.
The primal fear one has when they’re met with such darkness evaporated the minute I heard Murphy’s collar jingle in from somewhere in the dark. He came bounding out and I felt him barrel into my leg, and up onto me. I scratched his heavy head and he plopped down, trotting back into the darkened living room.
I did what every sane person does when returning to a dark apartment on a stormy night; I walked through every room with my phone’s light to make sure there weren’t any unwelcome visitors lurking in the shadows. That split second before you throw back a shower curtain, when your mind has prepared itself for the small chance that there’s actually something there, can leave you on edge. Anyways, after making my rounds, it was time to brave the dreaded rain to let Murphy use the bathroom. I had been diligent in training him, and we’d actually gotten to the point where I could just stand at the top of the stairs while he’d run down to the bushes next to our building. With a quick clap, he’d bound right back up the steps and into the apartment.
As I opened our front door, it really struck me just how dark it was outside. Not one of the nauseatingly bright restaurant signs was glowing, and the handful of headlights I could see through the rain were far off in the distance. The project I’m toiling on at work is for an overseas client, so I’ve had to keep some weird hours to keep my meetings with them. I hadn’t checked my phone when I got home, but I’m sure it was at least 11:00pm.
Murphy must have darted past my leg without me even knowing (not an uncommon occurrence), and was doing his business somewhere in the dark. I couldn’t see much in the murky night, but I did catch a glance at one thing as the beam of a distant car danced across the sheets of rain. Across the parking lot, I saw a man turned 90 degrees to my building, and he was relieving himself. He was only illuminated for second, but I swear I saw it. It isn’t unusual to see drunk people stumbling around the complex at night, and I’ve seen a lot worse in this parking lot than a drunk dude pissing. Even still, there was something so creepy about it; the rain, the darkness, it was like he was hiding out there.
Murphy took longer to come back than usual, but he eventually crawled up the steps out of the rain. I could hear him panting as he reached the top step, and he began a half-hearted shake to get the water off of his fur. We both moseyed back into the apartment.
I felt my way back inside, and plopped down on the couch. I used my phone’s screen to light my path, as the little flashlight on my phone stopped working after I dropped it a few months earlier. I pulled up a blanket and started scrolling on my phone. I kept the brightness low to conserve battery. I heard Murphy thumping his way down the hall towards me, and I realized that his cadence wasn’t quite right. Maybe six months previously, Murphy had injured one of his front paws on a piece of glass in the parking lot, and developed an odd walk for the better part of two weeks. His cadence now was similar to that, irregular and slightly off kilter. Even still, I felt his weight impact the couch cushions as he jumped up to join me. As I scrolled, Murphy’s head nuzzled under my arm. His head felt big, and I winced at the water still clinging to his fur. Something else struck me too; Murphy stank. Don’t get me wrong, a wet dog smelling bad isn’t exactly unheard of, but I mean he smelt BAD. It wasn’t “dog” bad, either. The only thing I could liken it to was a smell I’d encountered while I was working at Dollar General in high school. There was this guy who worked there, probably 18 or 19, who just smelled terrible ALL the time. Just the worst body odor you could imagine, the guy obviously didn’t bathe a lot, as evidenced by his perpetually greasy hair. Murphy smelled something like that. As he nuzzled his snout into my chest, I briskly patted his head and told him to “go on” and get off the couch. He snapped up, and lumbered elsewhere.
Scrolling on my phone got kind of old, and the rhythmic pattering of the rain outside was tempting my eyelids closed. Once again feeling my way through the dark, I made my way into the bedroom. Feeling bad about the scolding I had given Murphy, I called for him to join me in bed. I know some people think its gross to let their dog sleep with them, but Murphy has always been a great pup to sleep next to. Sometimes he sleeps at the end of the bed, and other times he snuggles right up next to me.
I hoped that Murphy didn’t smell quite as bad now that he had had some time to dry off. As I heard him in the hallway, the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I heard footsteps in the hallway. Not the friendly trotting of my Murphy, but the distinct, menacing footfalls of a human being. My ears rang in the silence, just as Murphy came bounding into the room unbothered. I sighed in relief. Hearing the neighbor’s footsteps isn’t that uncommon, but they seldom sound that loud. I guessed that the power outage had killed all of the background noise I was used to, as there was no air conditioner or refrigerator running to muffle the sounds of apartment living. The darkness is one thing, but the silence is another. I’m glad I still had the sound of rain to serve as my white noise.
Murphy jumped into bed with one big leap. He wasn’t wet anymore, but he still stank to high heaven. As he pawed at my side, I decided to pet him a little before banishing him to the end of the bed. I rubbed his big head, and realized just how big he’d gotten. L...
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