DAY ONE
All I had to do was go over to their house and feed the dog for a two days while they went on vacation. Simple.
I'd known the Wylers for a few years, every now and then babysitting their kid -- I was one of the few responsible teens they knew in the neighborhood. This was the first time they'd asked me to watch their dog, Leo.
Normally, I'd have no reservations about dog sitting. Dogs are great. Leo was just...different.
Usually, when I went to babysit, Leo made sure to steer clear of me. Not once did he sniff me or come within a few feet of me. He simply sat on his hind legs and stared, ears flat, eyes unblinking. He would remain this way for hours until the adult Wylers returned home.
I never understood why he did that; dogs love me. Leo, however, was the one exception.
Only four years old, Leo stood at two and a half feet tall. He was particularly large for his breed; Ridgebacks weren’t especially known to grow much more than two feet tall. Yet there he was: muscular, sandy-coated and very observant. His intensely maple brown eyes showed no expression, but they followed my movements with a certain… thoughtfulness. It reminded me of the way my girlfriend’s father first looked at me: simultaneously hostile, intrigued, calculating, amused. I felt no discomfort, but a bead of sweat trickled down the small of my back. Leo smirked, but it could have been my imagination.
“… sure you feed him in the mornings before eight and in the afternoons before it gets dark,” Mrs. Wyler was saying, forcing my eyes away from the golden sentinel a few feet behind her. I must have zoned out in the large doorway of their American colonial. It was so easy to get lost in Leo’s eyes. “You can leave him in the yard during the day and he’ll get exercise on his own. He’s smart like that, you know.”
Somehow, I could tell that Leo was much, much smarter than the Wylers thought. I felt his eyes bore into me as I attempted to reply.
“Um, yes, I, uh, I can see that,” I grinned sheepishly. “I’ll be very careful with him!”
She continued speaking, but I was drawn to Leo once again. He was laying down now, his eyes still revealed no emotion. Suddenly, he blinked once, shot up, and retreated within the house. The action was similar to someone who forgot they left the pot on the stove. Very strange. Mrs. Wyler didn’t seem to notice, going on with her instructions, something about Ridgebacks being very clever and once adept at lion hunting. I barely paid any attention.
I lay in bed that night, convincing myself there was nothing to be worried about. I mean, it was just a dog. Still, my gut lobbied my brain with requests to call the Wylers and make up an excuse to not dog sit. Instead I went to bed.
The next morning, I walked across the street to the Wylers’ house. A light fog hung over the grass, the house silent.
I plucked the key from behind the doorbell, marveling at what a genius place to hide it. I was still in wonder when I swung open the door and saw a dark shape at the other end of the foyer. When my eyes adjusted to dark, I could see it was Leo. Sitting. Watching me with those empty eyes, no doubt. We stayed like that for a few moments, him unmoving and me holding my breath. Finally, I gathered myself and turned to close the door and open the blinds. When I turned back, Leo was gone. This dog is a Batman protégé, I mused.
All I had to do was feed him, let him out and go on my merry way. I walked to the kitchen, looking out for Leo, just in case. Just in case what, exactly? I reached up for the dog food bag and suddenly felt a presence behind me. I put the bag on the counter and turned slowly, thinking if it was an intruder, Leo would have barked.
Nothing there.
I glanced over at Leo’s food bowl and saw it was full. He must have not eaten from the night before. I turned back to face the counter. The dog food was torn open. With teeth, apparently.
As if I were a character in a cheap horror movie, I called out “Hello? Is anyone there?”
No answer. Obviously.
I grabbed a butter knife and headed to the living room. As I turned the corner, I thought I saw a dark movement out the corner of my eye. I wheeled on it and saw Leo in the kitchen sitting on his hind legs once again. Observing me. Noting my actions, it seemed. I have no idea how he moved so quickly and so silently.
“Come on, boy!” I whispered. “Help me search this house!” He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even seem to breathe. I left him there. I checked every door on the first floor of the house, making sure each was locked. Whoever was in the house either locked the doors behind them or was already inside before me. Or maybe my imagination was just acting up again. I decided on the third option.
Leo stood at the back door, shifting his gaze from me to the door. I nearly forgot the simple task I had. I slid open the glass door to let him go outside. I almost thought I heard him chuckle as he left. If anything, there was at least a grunt from him.
I locked the door and made my way to the front of the house. A note was stuck to the inside of the door. "Don't forget to come back tonight.” The handwriting was nearly illegible, similar to a kindergartner's formless script.
I must have missed it on my way in. Surely the kid left it as a strange “thank you” note. I tore it down and went home.
That night, I returned. I inserted the key into the lock, and could have sworn a light switched off inside the house. I wasn't too sure; I rarely paid attention to things like that. The door opened. Once again, Leo sat at the other end of the foyer. His dark brown eyes seemed black against his khaki-colored coat. This time, I locked the door without turning around.
A thought crossed my mind: How did he get back inside the house? "He’s smart like that, you know." Mrs. Wyler’s voice echoed in my mind. He must have come in through a dog door or something. Lots of people have them, I reasoned.
Leo seemed to sense my confusion and brought his lips back in a faux smile. He slinked into the kitchen. Cautiously, I followed him.
I walked over to the dog bowl, noticed it was empty, then went for the dog food. As I bent to pour it into the bowl, I looked up. Leo was outside again. The glass door was still locked and closed. Putting the food down on the floor, I checked to see if the other doors were still locked. They were. Leo disappeared from the back yard. Worry began to overcome me. Something was off about this dog. I returned to the kitchen.
That’s when I knew I was losing my mind.
His bowl was gone, the bag was back above the counter, and a step ladder stood facing the refrigerator. A wine bottle was missing from an otherwise complete collection above the fridge. Faint music drifted out from the dining area. Tip-toeing quietly, I reached the end of the hallway and risked a peek around the corner.
On the dining table stood the wine bottle, a partially filled wine glass with amber fluid in it, and Leo’s dog bowl. Light jazz escaped a tiny Bluetooth speaker on the floor near the table. All of the chairs were pulled out, as if I had interrupted a ghostly family dinner, yet only two places were set.
I turned back around, ready to call the police. Leo, once again, sat stoically at the end of the hallway. He shook his head twice slowly. I moved for him and he scampered out of my sight into the kitchen.
I ran for the front door instead of going after him. On it, another note with “They’ll never believe you” scrawled upon it. Ignoring it, I wrenched the door open and ran back to my house.
That night I resolved to call the Wylers in the morning and make up an excuse for not returning to take care of Leo.
As I reached for the phone, I realized that in all of my searches of their house, I never checked upstairs.
I decided that I would go back when the sun was out, prepared for anything. Who knew? Maybe I could catch a squatter AND still get paid for dog sitting! It seemed worth it.
The next morning, I crossed the street again. I had to know what was going on in that house.
Submitted June 28, 2016 at 02:08AM by KRSTheDeal http://ift.tt/299qwCw nosleep
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