I don’t know why this is happening

I don’t know if it’s a ghost or something worse, but every night at exactly 3:22 AM, I wake up to see my old dog, Bruno, standing at the foot of my bed. He’s been dead for years, but there he is—rotting, his fur matted with dirt and blood. One of his eyes is missing, and his jaw hangs open unnaturally, as if it’s barely attached. The stench is unbearable, thick and suffocating, like rotting meat left in the sun for days.

Then, like always, he leaps onto my bed. His breath is cold against my face, his tongue hanging from his gaping mouth as he pants. My stomach twists, and I can barely keep from gagging.

It’s not just at night—I hear him all the time. The sound of his nails tapping on the hallway floor, a distant whimper, even the occasional bark. My sister thinks I’m imagining it. My dad says it’s just my mind playing tricks on me. But I know what I hear. What I see.

Every night, it’s the same. At 3:22 AM, he appears. I’ve timed it—he stays for exactly 4 minutes and 11 seconds, never a second more or less. Then, he moves closer, his decayed muzzle just inches from my throat. I try to scream, but nothing comes out. That’s when he bites. His teeth sink in, and then—darkness.

Every time, my heart pounds faster—147 BPM right before I pass out.

I don’t know why this is happening. When Bruno was alive, he was the best dog—loyal, loving, never aggressive. Then he got sick, something with his lungs. My parents decided to put him down. I was just a kid—I had no say in it. I wasn’t the one who made that choice.

So why is he haunting me? Why does he come back every night?

And why does he look worse each time?