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My bloody dog

I was in my home. My parents were going out for the night so I had to stay alone with my dear old dog, Jessy.
I was 14, it was late on a Saturday night.
My mother had once told me. If ever you are alone and you get scared let Jess lick your hand 3 times.
One for comfort. One for luck. and one to know that I will always love you.
So, getting ready for my bed I brushed my teeth and climbed in.
Jessy had got under the bed. Or so I had thought.
The tap dripped, so I got up and turned it off.
As I climbed back in my bed and closed my eyes, putting my hand out for Jess to lick… 1… 2… 3. The tap dripped again.
I got up, turned it off and thought… I’m sure I turned it off last time.
So i climbed back in my bed and put my hand under for the dog to lick… 1… 2… 3.
The tap went again so I thumped out of bed, turned it off and started getting worried.
I looked in the mirror above and saw a man standing, menaced with blood on his face and his tongue out, just the way his eye was.
He licked his lips, letting me realise…
No! It wasn’t my dog licking my hand!
Turning around in fear, there she was.
Skinned, hanging by a thread around the neck… as the blood trickled down… drip… drip… drip.
Feeling a rope on my neck and a knife on my face I think you know what happened to me next…

(Sent in by Tara Robson)


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