The storm was so heavy last night. I couldn’t sleep. I got a glass of water and gazed out the window as the wind and rain beat against it. That was when I saw it.
At the edge of the field, a rain-soaked figure stood silently. A flash of lightning cast it into eerie relief for an instant. For a moment I thought it was a large, emaciated dog, standing on its hind legs and staring mutely towards the house, its shaggy fur hanging wetly. But then I realised the gaunt figure couldn’t be a dog at all.
Despite an odd feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach, I went outside to see if they were alright, being out in elements on a bitter night like that. By the time I opened the door, the figure was gone. The next morning, with the storm clear, I walked up to the edge of the field to investigate and found muddy footprints. The rain had beaten at them and I was strangely unable to tell if they were left by a human or an animal.