The Dog on the Landing

I’m Maya, and I’m fourteen. For the past three years, my house has been a doorway for things that shouldn’t exist. It started when I was eleven, in the old farmhouse my parents rented on the edge of a forest that seemed to swallow the sky. That first time, I woke up gasping, my chest crushed by an invisible weight. I couldn’t move, couldn’t even call out. The pressure lasted for what felt like an eternity before it vanished, leaving me dizzy and cold. I thought it was a nightmare, a panic attack, something that would pass.

But it didn’t. A week later, I saw a boy standing at the foot of my bed. He was translucent, like a smudge on reality, and he stared at me without blinking. My blood turned to ice. Then, from the window, a woman and a little girl drifted in, their forms hazy and wrong. The woman moved toward me, and I squeezed my eyes shut, praying for it to end. When I opened them, they were gone, but I felt their absence like a chill that stayed in my bones.

Months passed, and the encounters grew bolder. A shadow sprinted across my room, stopping inches from my face. It whispered, ‘Have you seen my dog?’ before dissolving into the wallpaper. I didn’t sleep for days after that. But the strangest thing came four months ago: a Dalmatian. It would appear at the top of the stairs, its spots like negative space, its eyes too bright. It never barked, just watched me, as if waiting for something I couldn’t understand.

Yesterday, the dog came closer than ever before. I was home alone, the house creaking around me. It emerged from the hallway, walked past my bedroom door, and stopped. It looked at me with a gaze that felt like a question. And then, it spoke. Its voice was a dry rustle, like leaves skittering across pavement: ‘Do you know where my boy is?’

I didn’t know how to answer. The dog turned and trotted down the stairs, pausing at the bottom to look back. Against every instinct, I followed. It led me to the basement door, which was slightly ajar. I never opened that door, but the dog nosed it wider and descended into the dark. I heard a faint whimpering from below, and then the dog’s voice again, but now more urgent: ‘He’s lost. Help him.’

I grabbed a flashlight and crept down the wooden steps. The basement smelled of damp earth and old coal. In the corner, I saw a small figure curled up, wearing clothes from another era. The boy from my bedroom. He was crying, but when he looked up, his face twisted into a grin. ‘You can see me now,’ he said. ‘That means you’re ready to take my place.’

I backed away, but the dog was right behind me, its eyes glowing. ‘It’s the only way,’ it said. ‘He’s been waiting for a friend.’

I ran. I didn’t stop until I was in my room, door locked, curtains drawn. But when I looked into the mirror, I saw the boy’s face staring back at me, and at the bottom of the stairs, I heard the dog’s paws clicking on the floor, coming closer. I don’t know how much longer I can hold out. The house is hungry, and I think I’m on the menu.