Eveline didn't trust the dog. It wasn't like the others. It was smaller, its fur patchy, like it had been dipped in mud and left out in the rain to dry. Its eyes were dark, almost hollow, but somehow always watching. Her parents claimed it was just a stray they picked up from the side of the road. That made no sense to her. Strays didn't look like this.
The dog followed her everywhere. Not that she minded at first. Maybe it needed her, just like everyone else in this house. Her mom, always tired. Her dad, buried in work. But the dog was different. There was something in its stare, like it knew things about her—about everyone.
She'd caught it staring at her from the hallway more times than she could count, its body still, but its eyes locked on her. Sometimes, she'd wake up at night, the creature's cold presence on the edge of her bed, its breath slow and shallow, but steady. It wasn't normal.
Eveline decided to take action one afternoon. She could no longer ignore the creeping sense of unease that twisted around her chest whenever it came near. She tried to get close to it, give it some affection. But the moment her hand moved toward its fur, the dog bared its teeth. No growl. No bark. Just sharp, white teeth against its darkened face. She backed away.
"Mom," Eveline said, her voice tight. "Something's wrong with it."
Her mom was too busy watching TV to care. "It's just a dog, Eveline."
Eveline clenched her fists. "It's not just a dog, Mom. It's—"
The door slammed open. It was the dog, its eyes fixed on her, its feet barely making a sound as it walked across the room. She took a step back.
"Eveline," it whispered.
Her heart skipped. It was a voice. Her mind screamed to make it stop, but she couldn't move. The words sounded wrong, thick and wet, like they were coming from the deep end of the ocean.
"Eveline," it whispered again. "You're not going to make it."
The dog sat at her feet. It cocked its head, its dark eyes gleaming.
"No one gets out of this house."
She backed away, her breath tight. "What—what do you mean?"
Its mouth opened slightly, a slow smile tugging at its lips.
"You've been here for a long time. You think it's the house? It's not. It's me."
The floor seemed colder. The walls seemed closer, tighter. Eveline turned, almost running, but the dog's voice followed her.
"You've been marked."
It didn't sound like a warning. It sounded like a promise.
She stumbled to the stairs, but the dog was there first, blocking the way. Its teeth gleamed in the dim light.
"Don't run," it murmured. "Don't fight."
The dog's breath was louder now, a wet slithering sound in her ears. Her legs were shaking, her heart pounding in her throat. She couldn't breathe.
"Come closer, Eveline," it said.
Her vision blurred. The stairs seemed farther away, and the dog kept coming. The sound of its paws on the floor made her stomach churn.
"I told you, Eveline," it said with a rasp. "You don't get to leave."