It was an ugly dog.
Sitting in the middle of the room, wagging its tail, it looked up at her. Gleaming wet nose and lolling tongue just added to the grotesque nature of its features. She need to get rid of it. Nothing came to mind.
Holding up one index finger, she said “stay” firmly, just the way that he had shown her. When she got up and left the room, she had expected it would follow her. But when she peeked back around the corner she saw that it was still in the middle of the living room. It had turned so that it could see her and watched her with its tail speed increasing.
Drawing back behind the safety of the wall and pressing against it, she squeezed her eyes shut.
“This isn’t happening,” she whispered through gritted teeth.
Running her fingertips over the scar across her thigh, she began to tremble.