After That Walk.

A short story based on this GIF.

I slowly walked down the spindly road of Spencer Avenue. The crisp air cooling my skin as I glanced across the Halloween porches, pumpkins speckled along the cracked, weathered steps. I see a large fluffy dog, standing in place panting. Suddenly, long, skinny, mustard things manifest under the lid of the largest pumpkin. Fingers sharply sprawl out of the gourd while they speed towards the dog, seemingly creating arms and elbows. I blink for just a second and all I see is a snout peeking out of the lid of the orange pumpkin. I sprint as fast as possible towards to mysterious porch. Hurdling the fence, hands shaking, I reach out for the pumpkin. My jittery hands pull the knobby stem off of the plant. I see wet fur. And red. Just red. My hands come back to me. Just red. I lean over the pumpkin as the horrors enter my eyes. I see the poor, poor dog, headless, covered in blood. The snout the only thing not this deathly hue. A pool of thick liquid ensnaring the large head. I see the canine’s red stained spine jutting out from underneath the hair. I reach up to cover my eyes, covering my face in thick blood. I finally blink again. I glance down, hands still covered in blood. Yet, a cold metal tool is now squeezed in my right hand, and bloody fur covering my left one. The tool of choice, a sickle; the fur, the dog’s. On the porch, no pumpkins. At my feet, the head of the dog, of which I quickly killed, for a barking dog, is a bad one.