Author's Note

In case you're wondering why I wrote this, it's because I wanted to write something cute for a change. :)

4

Dgs in the Attic!

‘Tnus teg.’

Sweet Thing darted through the clutter, guided by the sound of Buster’s screaming.

A lot happened in such a short time, she barely had enough of it to recollect. First, Sweet Thing was there on her side of the pentagram, next she was flung against the wall, then she heard a furious banging, like someone being wrestled to the floor—then a bloodcurdling scream and the sound of glass shattering.

Sweet Thing ran faster than she could navigate. She didn’t know how, but Buster—rest his poor soul—was in great danger. Could the same be said for that dear pup? She had only gotten to know the pup for a short while, but it would pain Sweet Thing to see that once she got there that Buster had already done the deed.

She burst through the other side. The first thing Sweet Thing spotted was the mass of meat and bones rising and falling, rising and falling, rising and falling. Blood and gray goo streamed down Buster’s face onto the floor.

Sweet Thing felt a draft hit her and she looked up, then realized what that glass sound was: she must have jumped through the window.

Oh, poor dear. she thought. Why did it have to escalate to this? She was such sweet company. She didn’t deserve to die in a way worthy enough for a glass coffin.

Her thoughts were fractured by Buster’s screaming. Stumbling off the floor, he bumped into the same box the pup had run into and fell into a fighting stance.

“I’ll kill you!” he wailed. “I’ll rip your freaking spleen out and feed it to you!”

Sweet Thing's legs were heavy. Somehow a crane in her shoulders managed to pick them up and bring them forward, albeit slowly. The ravenous beast snarled and jerked every direction, snapping at hopeful air. Watching this made her jaw quiver. Opening it felt as if it were on a rusted hinge.

“Buh-Buster?” she chattered.

The beast stopped his snarling and jerking and jolted upright, ears perked. “Who’s there?” he panted. “Show yourself!”

“It’s… me.”

Buster breathed in. “Sweet Thing… where are you?”

She blinked—trying but failing to take her eyes away from where his should be. “I’m right here… in front of you.”

Buster licked the blood off his nose, only for it to pour over his nostrils again. “Did you see where the runt went?”

“I… think she jumped out the window.”

Sweet Thing stared back at the fractured pane. Red ichor painted the few shards still protruding out. It was very likely she didn’t survive the fall.

“Did you get her? She might still be alive!”

She might still be alive!

It was both jarring and confusing to hear. Jarring because it was unlikely, confusing because it was a possibility. Whatever the case, Sweet Thing didn’t want any more harm to befall the pup.

Inhaling, Sweet Thing said, “A piece of glass got lodged in her stomach, and…” the rusty hinges were suddenly a decade older. “She didn’t survive the fall.”

“Good riddance! She took my good eye!”

“Buster… let’s go back to the others.”

“Forward thinking there.”

“Come on.” She brushed up beside him, letting him lean some of his weight toward her.

“Who we gonna use to replace her?” he said as they were walking back into the clutter.

“I don’t know.”

“Did I go overboard again like the last time?”

Sweet Thing sighed. Like the last time. She flashed back to a few months ago. They had been squatting in a mansion when Mr. Ginny took interest in a Pomeranian. She was very prissy and spoiled and wouldn’t do anything they told her to do.

There’s only so much anger Buster can restrain and well… the owners had to replace their carpet after what he did. Ever since then, all the other dogs in the pack have tried to keep their distance. But, not Mr. Ginny. No, he was intrigued by Buster. It is clear to her that he sees the pitbull as some iron war machine waiting to be utilized. But now that he didn't have sight, he would be put on the same pedestal of worth as Spot.

They emerged from the other side about half a minute later. The others were in different areas of the room: Mr. Ginny waddling back and forth; Chewy being... there; Spot sitting and doing nothing. Possibly contemplating? Unless he was sitting there because he’s blind. Yeah, contemplating.

Sweet Thing took another step, and a loud creak filled the room. Mr. Ginny swiveled around to her with a blistering snarl, then saw Buster’s face and retract.

“Did she get away?” he asked.

Sweet Thing shook her head. “Jumped out the window and died.”

The gothic duck sighed. “I need a moment.”

“I think we all do… Buster is in a lot of pain here. Do you have any more of that… stuff?”

“The LCD?” Mr. Ginny bit. His eyes shifted to the ritual box, the gleam of the lamplight bouncing off it. “Yeah, I do.”

“Well, can you use it to sedate him?”

“It depends. Did he stop that pup from killing herself? Or was he the one who did the task?”

“W-what? Mr. Ginny! Look at him! He’s missing an eye—err—he’s missing his good eye!”

Mr. Ginny turned away from them, waddling up to the pentagram. “And I care?”

“Mr. Ginny! Please! He’s in pain!”

“Then let him remain that way.”

The decade-old rusty hinge on Sweet Thing's maw suddenly felt newer. A fire deep inside her, one she never felt before flared to life. For the first time in her life, she sought the blood of another, and that was Mr. Ginny.

How dare he! She thought. How dare he treat Buster this way! After everything he’s done, that lame duck is just going to turn his back on him?

Opening her jaw until the hinges creaked, she screamed, “How dare—” and was cut off by her ears popping.

Tears trailed down not just hers, but everyone's face as a furious humming sound intensified. Where the pentagram should be, large billows of ethereal magic shot up into the air, disintegrating the ceiling with it.

“Ileac senac senmo.” a voice was saying, but she couldn’t see anyone but Mr. Ginny, who was too in shock to run away from the dark magic.

“Erarticlac cuhda te setana isin muleac senmo senac.”

And like one would turn off a light, the ethereal magic vanished. The high-pitch ringing left, Sweet Thing's ears still recovering with a hum. Everyone but Mr. Ginny stood in shock.

“W-what was it?” Spot managed to utter through his shaking.

Mr. Ginny didn’t move. He stared at the pentagram—where the vortex should have been—like one would look down on another’s grave. Wind blew in from the hole in the ceiling.

“We’ve been cursed.” he finally spoke. “Finish the ritual, or we’ll be finished.”

Sweet Thing felt the vibration of Buster’s growl on her shoulder. “What does that mean?”

His question was answered when a hand of some otherworldly ethereal flow shot out of the pentagram. Its claws slammed against the floorboard, sinking into the wood like a sponge.

Mr. Ginny scrambled for the nearest hiding place he could find, opting for the darkest corner of the room.

Sweet Thing let out an ear-blistering scream, making Buster rear back a bit. The pitbull nearly tripped over his hindlegs, but saved himself and gave a furious snarl. “What is it?” he said. “What do I have to kill now?”

Another hand shot out, slamming into the floorboard the same as the other. With no strain of the muscle, they hefted up an unknown canine creature from some Tartuaristic version of a doghouse. Head to body, it was a whole galaxy of swirling magic and color.

The spirit yanked its hindfeet out of the pentagram, emitting an omnipresent growl from its throat. All the dogs reared their ears back, their drums being banged from all sides of the room. Through this haze of momentary distraction, it leaped for Buster.

It didn’t give him time to prepare. Taking the pitbull into its claws, it slammed his back against the ground. Its head became a thin, smokey mist, cascading downward and forcing his jaw open. Sweet Thing cringed back as the thing slithered down Buster’s throat.

She had the perfect view as it happened. Buster made huge gulping sounds as his mouth was molested by the tangible mist. Almost as quickly as it showed up, the ethereal canine had forced itself completely into Buster’s stomach. That wasn’t the end of it.

The pitbull’s body convulsed, white foam spraying out of his mouth. His legs kicked and scratched at the floor, making it difficult for anyone to get near to him.

“Buh-Buster…” Sweet Thing whispered. She was too in shock to put any force behind it.

Almost as if saying the magic word, he let out a loud ear-rattling scream. It was the loudest, if not only, scream any one of them have ever heard come from Buster.

Smashing crackers emitted from his back while his body curved upward in a u-shape. Beyond the choking of his own saliva-filled bile, he gurgled what they could only interpret as screaming. Blood, bile, and spittle flung from his mouth, drenching the floor in a cesspool of his torment.

Sweet Thing burst into tears.

Everyone was too shocked and cringing away that they didn't notice that another ethereal hand coming out of the pentagram.

It swiveled around in a swirling mass, one canine taking form after another. The first to emerge gnashed its teeth at Spot, scooping him up in its maw and slamming him into the wall. It too became a tendril mist and forced itself down his throat.

Sweet Thing’s crying was amplified by her screaming. She backpedaled toward the clutter, hoping that by chance she could escape this ninth level of Tartarus. Her rear-end met a toppled chest.

Her eyes darted around just as Chewy too was swept up and assaulted. Through this momentary distraction, Sweet Thing barely had time to register the ethereal canine running up toward her.

Sweet Thing screamed. The creature responded by grabbing her face and slamming her head against the chest. Stars flew everywhere as her own world coalesced with space.

Sweet Thing could feel the hinges on her jaw coming loose, every screw falling out as the spaghetti aperture shoved its way down her esophagus, scraping the walls of her throat. The deeper in it got, the wider her jaw was forced open. She could feel it worming its way into her stomach, kicking at her insides like an unborn pup. After what felt like an eternity of molestation, the last bit of the ethereal magic slithered in.

Mr. Ginny hung his beak agape, watching the horror show. Buster continued to convulse and whine on the other side of the room, while the others were struggling to comprehend what had just happened.

“I don’t feel so good…” Sweet Thing said. A powerful uppercut launched its way into her stomach, her gastro chambers writhing in agony. Sweet Thing groaned and fell to the ground in a heap of tears.

“Ginny!” she cried. “Help!”

Mr. Ginny stood still as a near-perfect statue of himself. His eyes hovered over the poodle, then glided along the floor over to the ritual box. Could he make it if things went more haywire than they already have?

“Ginny!”

Spot’s head pumped back and forth, making weird gulping sounds. The labrador retriever aimed his head toward the ground to empty himself of the excrement. Foamy blood barfed from his mouth, pooling around his feet quickly. Mr. Ginny had to take a step back to keep from touching the ever-growing puddle.

“Help Ginny! Help Ginny! Help!”

The duck pressed himself further back into the corner. The moonlight glittered against the ritual box.

Spot made another wrenching sound and something heavy hit the floor. Mr. Ginny looked over expecting to see vomit—

“How could you just stand there and not do anything!”

—Spot’s esophagus hung out of his mouth, snaking its way along the floor. The retriever's body felt like a fishing reel, more of the fibrous string pulling out of him each uncountable moment.

“HeeeeeeeeellllllAAGGHHH—” blood pooled out of Sweet Thing’s maw as something tore through her stomach. Something pointy stabbed the inside of her belly, stretching it out until a large hole poked through.

A horn protruded out—no, it tore through the rest of her stomach and revealed four more horns forked onto one limb.

Sweet Thing’s head slowly went limp—

Chewy’s legs bent backward and forwards, backward and forward, like a government document being folded up to rip easier. It started with his forelegs—a meaty arm tore through one, grabbed onto the other, and tore off the other like a chick leg. A furious cracking emitted as the leg tore off like wet tissue paper, taking peels of skin and meat with—

Buster roared and shot up off the ground as he—

Mr. Ginny stared down the ritual box. Maybe if he thought hard enough he could tap into some inner-levitation power that would allow him to bring it toward him? No matter how hard he concentrated, however—

—Buster’s screams were cut off as his head hung lopsided from his body, held only by a strand of sinew. A monstrous head poked out in its place, sporting fangs, membranes, and a very serious lack of eyes—

—It wouldn’t come toward him. The duck whimpered desperately.

Chewy screamed as a flock of ropes of flesh and sinew tore through his stomachaitseb angam,
taticsus, whipping and reeing(?), slapping trefer elli against the floor in spasmodic rhythm. “Ahhhhhhh… ahhhh.”
tireiruse

Sirevlos tignarf onrefni senm Spot’s eyes were the size of balloons waiting to burst. His esophagus tube slithered around his body like a living sash, gnashing the air with teeth it had grown.

“Heeelllp…” Sweet mer managed to choke one last time.

Both of Spot’s eyes burst, splattering gray and red ooze every which way. Hebruf Mr. Ginny onrefni senm romf pomc back the urge lakto vomit. erohph

Tnureucon non Sweet te, Thingmuicadnem ied sunga sibov ocid nema slammed. Ied sunga' the floor elav erecid other hand mauqmun. Tibamalc from the ied sungastomach et mauqmun. Mucric ererruc teleaving a thin trail of, ied sunga et tellaf on the floorboardsmauqnun.

Itnenimmi lev esse tu noitapitsnoc. Est mutaerc murotcnas arret ni, "Setnebah tnedes te angam." Rep kabos eraohcni maroh maitret te. Mativ da erisnart sapir da inegyxo tse murefitrom orp murarret sibro, aroh adnuces ni. Earret tnemut oitacco kciuqhtrae arret amirp. "Sinoitagrupxe angam." Satidipuc kabos mussyba tivaroved te arret est atrepa.