Changeling

Suspense Stories | Jun 7, 2014 | 4 min read
48 Votes, average: 4 out of 5
IT did not matter that I and Padfoot hadn't been on the best of terms before he died, before he was taken.
Before I killed him.
See, Padfoot is my dog and the best friend I ever had. Was my dog, I mean. I'd found, bought and owned him since he was a little Labrador puppy cutie, not more than a month old; staring out of the cage in Mr. Mendez's little pet shop in Milwaukee on my way to a convention. We'd connected instantly, became best buddies, enjoyed picnics, took hikes, and had adventures together…
But I killed him. And I had to.
Thing was, ever since we returned from the Rocky mountains, the ones that you see in the distance, smothered in dusty obscurity when travelling on the Trans-Canada highway, neither of us had ever been the same.
It was the worm-thing, man.
I was returning from a lecture at Prince George College and we'd stopped by for a brief we-have-been-to-the-Rockies photo op. I don't know how exactly but Padfoot, a year older and vibrant as an inspired flock of swifts swimming in pleasant updrafts, was the one that found it first.
No, that's not right. It found my Padfoot first.
Having taken our pictures, we were about getting back on the road when Padfoot got bitten. I was packing the gear away into the trunk of my Cadillac when his sudden high-pitched squeal had me running. The worm-thing had lodged in his right hind leg and he fought desperately to dislodge it.
It was unlike anything I had ever seen: a giant, sinuous, segmented slug with no visible eyes but a large round maw featuring serrated teeth and glossy skin clumsily patterned by strange, graffiti-like textures. I killed the thing with a huge rock, hammered it over and over till I had it completely reduced to greyish-black and blood-red gelatinous mush; and then I kicked every tiniest bit of it into the gloom of a rock hollow I believed it'd emerged. We went home and I had Padfoot's wound vetted.
But through the following weeks Padfoot never recovered. First, he became alopecic. I would find him most times hidden away in some hard-to-reach corners of the house, scratching vigorously. Before long, I started to sweep his hairs off the carpets in clumps. In two weeks, he had become nearly hairless as a newborn shrewlet. I was deeply worried.
In that time, he became moody too. His temperament grew erratic. He started to greet visitors with a savagery that had never been his own. Several nights he'd yap into the morning. He licked me one day; the next day he bit me. Hard. And his appetite dipped, worsening every day. I mean his appetite for dog food. On the bright part, he did away with all of the scampering verminous pests that had survived every form of extermination I had administered to my surroundings.
I thought he'd developed side effects from the treatment or he had contacted rabies somehow (I always took care of him so well) so I returned him to the vet (with multiple bite wounds). Dr. Somerset was the most respected vet in town; he had integrity. He found nothing but he extracted a blood sample for further examination. No results have come in since. And my Padfoot's condition deteriorated.
Last night was worst and I didn't hold back the axe. I couldn't. I was offering him some food, hoping he was going to consume something. And he waited patiently till I came close enough. He got his teeth sunk in my left arm deep and didn't let go. I had to drag him and myself to the shed beside the house. The axe had been recently sharpened. I chopped his head and removed the locked jaw myself. I buried him immediately.
Sitting here now, though, writing this, my left arm in an irredeemable mess, occupied by an infernal pain, I have seen it was never his fault. See, the infestation is in me too. My scalp has begun to weaken; my hairs are already falling off.
I have created a noose round the ceiling fan in my room. If you find me dead, report to the CDC or have the local authorities do that.
If you don't find me dead, avoid contact and report to the authorities regardless.
But, God, stay away from me.

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