Late Start

John had never heard her yelp like that. His eyes shot open at the piercing sound but could see nothing in the darkness of the early morning. He sat up in bed, fumbling blindly across his nightstand for his gun. Its metallic grip felt cold and rough against his fingertips.

"Stella?" His dry throat caused his voice to crack as he whispered. "You ok, girl?" John sat still, holding his breath as his eyes adjusted, listening. His mind scrambled to piece together what was happening. He'd only heard her yipe. No barking. No breaking glass. No pounding of a kicked in door. This was a bad part of town, sure, but Stella barked her head off the last time someone tried breaking in. Maybe she was just having some horrible dog nightmare. He listened harder, leaning towards the empty blackness in front of his bed. Nothing.

"Stella." John spoke firmly, but kept his voice low. Normally the sound of his voice was enough to cause her tail to start thumping against the foot of his bed, if

not earn him a few slobbery dog kisses. A foul stench crept into his nostrils. He slowly pulled his covers off, keeping his handgun gripped tightly in one hand while planting his feet softly on the ground.

"Hey, Stella, come here, girl." John's eyes had slightly adjusted to the dark room and he glanced back at his nightstand where his cellphone sat charging. He reached back and yanked it from the cord. The scraping sound of Stella's nails clattered on the laminate floor. John sighed, lowering his gun.

"You scared the shit out of me. Come here already." John clicked on his phone's screen, illuminating the bedroom. The clattering stopped. He took a step forward, angling his light around the foot of the bed where Stella slept every night. There was a large pool of liquid, which smelled like rotting flesh. He covered his mouth with his pistol hand as he pointed his phone's pale light around the other side of the bed.

"What the..." John paused, flashing his light around the room. "Where are you, Stella?" He turned back to the rotten pool at the base of his

bed, crouching to examine it. It was a dark greenish color. John stifled a gag.

Stella had never had problems with house-training, or bowel incontinence for that matter. It seemed unlikely that it was vomit. She'd been eating the same dog food for years. Maybe it was some burst sewage pipe leaking up from the ground.

His phone suddenly burst into a frenzy of noisy clanging bells, his early morning alarm for work. "Shit! Stella, where are you? I don't have time for this bullshit." John stomped back over to his nightstand and slapped his gun down.

"Couple found dead in their home, brutally mauled by animal." John read aloud, flipping through his phone's newsfeed. "Well that's just fucking great." He shook his head, opening his email up. "Need you in early, animal attacks." He sighed. "Now I'm late to being early. That figures."

An autopsy assistant in a rough part of town was never short of early mornings and long nights on the job.

John dialed his boss's cell, rubbing his unshaven face. "Yeah, hey, just saw your email. It's going to take me a few to get ready and get down there." He walked to his bathroom, flicking all the light switches on the panel and frowned when nothing happened. "Well hurry up, John. The morgue is filling up."

In five years on the job he'd never heard Andrea sound so concerned. For that matter he'd never heard her describe the morgue as `filling up'. "Wait, what? What's going on?" "We've got six bodies down here already. We've got another nine on the way." Andrea's voice was tight, as if trying to veil panic. Seeing dead body's everyday had a strange way of dulling one's reaction to violence and death. Something must be seriously wrong if Andrea was freaking out.

The clattering of Stella's nails on the floor broke John's concentration. The sound seemed to be coming from under the bed. But that couldn't be. Stella was a big dog, a guard dog. There was no way she could squeeze under there.

"Andrea, listen. I'll be there as soon as I can. My day isn't off to a great start." John lowered himself to all fours to better see under the bed, grunting as his knees pressed against the floor. He pulled the phone from his ear to use its light again. As he did, the phone's backlight timed out, reducing his vision to total blackness and squiggly light spots which danced around. "Damn it. Something's up with my dog. I don't know where she is and there's puke or something on the floor and my power is out." "Oh my god, John. I didn't even think about your dog!" Andrea sounded short of breath. "That's ok." John wondered if he'd sounded too dramatic when describing his morning's problems. "I need to find a new place, I'm telling ya." He chuckled. "John, get out of there right now!" Andrea shrieked. "Jeez, settle down. I said I'll be there soon. I just woke up, give me a break." He strained his eyes to see under the bed, shifting his weight between his knees on the hard floor. "It's the dog, John. The dogs are killing people!" "What? What do you mean? What dogs?" "John, leave right now! Get away from there!"

A low growl came from underneath the bed, a rumbling guttural sound. John clicked his phone screen back on and froze. A pair of glowing red eyes flashed in the light, embedded in some mutated form of a dog. The creature was drooling, the same putrid green slime that was on his floor. Its lips furled, revealing fangs which protruded from rotting gums. Around the creatures neck, embedded in matted patchy fur, was Stella's collar. A simple black band, which seemed to be chokingly tightly on the beast, with bone shaped tags dangling from it.

"Stella? Wha-what happened?" John could feel his body trembling, but could not will himself to move. "John, are you there?! I'm hanging up and calling the police!" "No, wait! Don't hang u-" The phone beeped as the call ended.

John coughed, choking on the thick smell of death. The creature was sandwiched tightly underneath the bed, its body contorted flat in the tiny space. It crept forward slowly, growling. As it drew closer a pair of short stubby horns from its forehead became visible.

The phone light went dark again and John sprang himself upward onto the bed, reaching franticly at his nightstand. The clatter of Stella's nails moved slowly to the base of the bed where he had abandoned his phone.

John swung around, aiming his pistol down the mattress, flicking the safety off. He gasped in short breaths, fixated on where he heard her. Heard it. The glowing red eyes slowly came into view over the footboard, peering menacingly at him. John raised his gun.

"Stella! What the fuck?! Wha-What are you?!" John's arms shook uncontrollably, but at that distant aim wasn't much of a factor.

It bore its teeth in what seemed like a vicious smile, and then lunged with a fierce bark. The sharp crack of John's bullets swept the creature backwards, against the far wall. "Fuck!" John exhaled, releasing the breath he'd been holding in. It must be dead. He fired four shots. Even if only one or two hit it, he used hollow points for a reason.

For a moment the room was silent, only disturbed by the stench that crept up the walls.

"Stella?" John kept his handgun pointed at the far wall as he stood up off the bed. A siren began growing in the distance accompanied by the steady breaking of the mornings first light. John was glad Andrea had called the police. He stepped carefully towards the foot of the bed.

The sharp clatter of nails on the floor suddenly rushed at him, carrying glowing red eyes with it. John managed to get off two more shots before he was torn apart by his Stella. He arrived at the morgue later that day, six hours after his punch-in time, clutching a collar with tags in an icy clenched fist.