We braced ourselves for the vet visit that now seemed inevitable. I pictured the waiting room, the fluorescent lights, the smell of antiseptic, and the mounting bills. I imagined the words “You need to leave him here overnight,” or worse, “It’s more serious than you think.” Our minds filled in the blanks with scenarios that escalated in severity by the second.The dog, meanwhile, seemed completely unconcerned, sniffing at the carpet as if nothing were wrong. But fear has a contagious rhythm. We whispered theories to each other, each more ludicrous than the last, each tinged with genuine dread. Every hair that moved in the light became a crawling parasite. Every flicker of reflection on the floor became evidence of some invisible menace.
Then my girlfriend crouched closer, squinting at the shape in the light. Something about it shifted. There was a glimmer under the kitchen lamp, a subtle movement that suggested… maybe it wasn’t alive. She nudged it with her fingertip. And suddenly, the horror unraveled.
