I don't remember the exact moment it all started happening, but I remember the first time I noticed.

I'm not a fan of the dark (sure, laugh all you want at the 25 year old man being afraid of the dark, but it is what it is) so I'm pretty much always home before sundown. I work the morning and/or day shift happily since I'm always in bed by 11:30 tops. I don't usually wake up during the night, but lately I had been getting up almost every night. Not a big deal, right? I'd just get a glass of water or something and fall back asleep.

Then I heard it. I remember I didn't even think much of it, too.

Dogs.

Just a bunch of dogs barking, it sounded like every dog in the neighborhood to be honest. It had to have been over 30, and it sounded like they were coming from every yard.

Then, just as suddenly, they all stopped. One minute to the next, every dog stopped their incessant barking and howling and the entire neighborhood was silent again. I turned on the hall light and went to the living room to check on Pickles (named him after Pickle Rick lol) and he was curled up on the sofa. I didn't hear any barking inside my house, which is weird, right? What dog just doesn't join in on that kinda frenzy?

I just went back to sleep and didn't think much of it.

Not until the barking woke me up again, and again the next night, and again after that.

I wasn't too angry about it, just confused.

It became a bit of a red flag that next Saturday. I took Pickles with me on a jog after work around the neighborhood and ran into Brock, the guy who lives in the house behind me.

"Hey, man, hey Pickles," he grinned down at my dog. He liked corgis and sometimes let Pickles into his yard to play with his two.

"What's up, Brock," I said, motioning that it was okay for him to give Pickles a little attention.

"Nothing much, thankfully. Almost done fixing up the room for the twins."

"Nice, nice. Hopefully your granddaughters don't get spooked with all the barking lately," I commented.

"What do you mean?"

"You know, all the barking at night. Your dogs definitely aren't innocent, but it's no biggie," I joked.

"My dogs don't bark at night. They sleep in the bedroom with me and Jane. We've never had a barking problem." His lips were a firm line, obviously not appreciating my "accusations" or whatever.

"Alright, alright," I raised my hands in surrender. "Maybe your boys are innocent, but they must be some of the only ones. The barking's woken me up for like a week already."

Brock gave me a once over, his eyes boring into me with that kind of intensity only veterans can manage. You know, that dead-eyed look where it feels like they're stripping you and checking for bombs.

"I haven't heard any barking, son. You take care," he muttered, continuing his walk and brushing past me.

There's no way a dude with his history wouldn't be a light sleeper, so if he hadn't been woken up, how was I? I slept through a twister back when I lived down in Omaha. He could have been messing with me, he's a weird guy like that. Still, it left me unnerved.

I didn't work the next day so I decided to stay up late for a little WWE marathon.

I stayed on the sofa, Pickles nuzzled in my lap and a cold one in hand. As the sun kept dipping closer and closer to the horizon, I turned on the lamp on the end table. The warm, yellow glow was good enough to keep the room from being too dark.

I was taking turns scrolling on my phone and watching takedowns on my TV when the barking started again. God, it was even louder than it had been last night, and I rolled my shoulders in discomfort.

I peered down at my phone and noted the time.

2:37am.

By 2:38, the barking stopped. Pickles hadn't even moved off my lap, much less howled along.

"How the fuck did you not hear that," I murmured, giving his head a little pat. He licked my hand.

I set him down on the cushion beside me and went to turn on the room light. I pushed the blinds apart to sneak a look outside, maybe see some dogs running around.

Nothing. The neighborhood was empty, not a living soul in sight.

Weird.

I went to sleep a little while later.

This cycle of waking up at night kept dragging on, and each time I found it harder and harder to fall back asleep. It just felt... off. Like, all of it was extra dodgy, because I tried to casually mention the loud ass barking to a few more neighbors and each time, no one even knew what I was talking about. I obviously couldn't ask him, but I feel even Pickles would have looked at me like I had three heads if I did.

I started checking my phone every time that godforsaken barking woke me up, and each time it began at 2:37 in the morning and stopped at the exact second the clock hit 2:38.

The next day I had off work, I decided I'd wait at my window to see if any dogs come out. I figured they had to be nearby since the racket was just so close and loud.

At 2:36, I muted my TV and held the blinds open again. The minute hand chugged on and like clockwork, the first dog began howling. With a sound that intense, you'd think it was sitting in my front yard, but no. Just like the last time I had checked, the neighborhood was deserted, but the noise was getting ridiculous. The gruff barking and the piercing howls made my skin prickle. If I were in a movie, the hair would stand on the back of my neck or something.

2:38 and it all came to a halt.

I sighed and went to grab the melatonin I had bought and headed for bed. It took what felt like two hours to get to sleep.

I tried this again, but using my phone to record and send to my group chat (just so I didn't feel crazy anymore). I started recording at 2:37, right after the first dog went off, and this is when the second (third?) red flag hit me. The streetlight flickered abruptly and died, making my view outside pitch black. I grimaced, but stayed at the window. As soon as I stopped recording, my phone flashed white and then turned off. It took like 10 minutes to get it on again and when I did, the video was just gone. Not in my gallery, not in the trash, nowhere. It was like the video never existed.

I spent the next night at my friend Patrick's house. I think at this point it was muscle memory or instinct or something, because I jerked awake at 2:37 anyway. I heard a single dog howl and that was it, but nothing as close or loud like it was at my house. I finally got a real good sleep for the first time in half a month and I really didn't wanna leave, but I had to go back for Pickles. Plus I still had a mortgage, so.

Like you'd all expect, it happened again the very next night, 2:37 on the dot.

I felt like I was alone in hell, no one else in my stupid neighborhood was hearing this, I couldn't catch it on camera, and the streetlight hadn't been fixed so I wasn't gonna leave the house and check it out.

Shit really hit the fan when I heard a bang at my door. It sounded like someone, or something, rammed itself against the door. Just once, but that alone kept me up the rest of the night.

The next night, amidst the screeching and howling and barking and awfulness of it all, I heard scratches, both at my front and back door. Like the dogs were trying to get in. I didn't sleep that night either.

My eyes were always bloodshot, the bags under them such a deep brown that they made my eyes look even more sunken in. I'd never had such dark bags, it looked like my face got all hyperpigmented. I couldn't be assed to keep up with taking care of myself because I always felt exhausted. I got written up at work for sleeping on the job, but I could only find solace in quick naps during the day.

I felt the drag taking its toll over me so quickly. Even my bones felt sore and tired, but the closer to 2:37am, it was like someone shot me up with straight caffeine.

It just kept getting louder and louder and fucking louder. That one minute, that one fucking minute, just made every day feel like torture. My hair started falling out. I remember I couldn't even bring myself to feel sad when I saw the clump of black curls piled up on the shower drain. I lost my appetite and now my clothes hang off my body unattractively.

I couldn't bring myself to care.

The only thing on my mind, twenty-four hours a day, was that one minute where piercing dog barking and howls would flood my ears, now accompanied with the sounds of dogs whining and trying to force their way into my house.

Two nights ago was the worst one. I kept thinking it couldn't get worse, and yet it did, every damn night.

2:37.

It sounded like they were in my walls. Inside my house. I laid there, staring at my ceiling with my eyes glazed over. The dim brightness from my wall plug-in light kept me from being engulfed in the darkness, but it almost didn't matter. The scratching was relentless, it sounded like sharp claws were close to breaking open the drywall right behind me. My bed shook a bit, like the wall was pushing against the frame, and I choked out a sob.

Then my back door swung open, I could hear the handle smack right into the wall with a cracking sound. God, the noise... It sounded like the dogs were right in my ear, so loud I couldn't even hear the different barks and howls, like it was all just one buzzing sound bouncing around in my skull.

Somehow, I heard nails (claws) scraping against my floor, and I squeezed my eyes shut. They got in. It had to be at least 10 different dogs running around in my house, towards my bedroom.

"Get out," I gasped, eyes still firmly shut. "Get out, get out, get out of my fucking house, get out of my fucking house!" I was screaming at the top of my lungs, the words stung my throat like bile from how much force I put into them.

2:38.

Silence.

Pickles.

I bolted out of bed, stumbling over the blankets until I managed to scramble into the living room.

He was awake and okay, but he looked at me with a little tilt in his head, like he was confused why I was yelling and running to him. I took sharp, shaky breaths until it didn't hurt to inhale anymore. I turned towards the backdoor and then I had to throw up.

It was open. The handle had broken into the wall, leaving a cracked hole where it smashed into it. There were a few deep scratches, claw marks, on my floor and some dirt. I kept Pickles' claws trimmed, so it wasn't my dog for sure. I scooped him into my arms and held him tight to my chest, the tremors running through me feeling like a seizure. I slowly made my way to the door and closed it. I tried to lock it, but the handle was broken. I pushed a chair in front of it and went to my room, Pickles still in my arms.

I locked my bedroom door and put him on the bed. I wasn't gonna be able to sleep, but he still could.

Yesterday, I called a locksmith to replace the handle and I pointedly ignored the claw marks, especially the four thin lines on the outside of my bedroom door. I also ignored the warped look in my walls, like something was close to ripping them apart.

Last night, I got the gun out of my safe and put it on the pillow beside me.

I didn't even bother to sleep, I just spent the entire night with my knees up to my chest, eyes open and staring at nothing. I could hear Pickles snoring softly at the foot of my bed. My mom always told me it was dirty to have a dog in your bed, especially one that sheds like he does, but I didn't care anymore. He needed to be with me.

2:36.

I let out a shaky breath, my mind racing. I'd have to shoot a dog. I've never even used a gun on anything but bottles in the backyard at my brother's house. I'd probably have to shoot more than one. Fuck, there'd be blood in my bedroom. Pickles gonna freak out, he's never even heard a gunshot.

2:37.

A lone howl sounded outside my window and I gripped the gun tightly, hot tears slipping from my eyes. The barking was insufferable, right there in my ears. There was growling, a rabid and hungry noise that I could feel right behind me. The scratching started again, I could hear them in the walls, seconds from breaking out. The door blew open too, the hinges popping off easily. The footsteps were heavy and fast, and an innumerable amount of claws were at my bedroom door. I could hear the thin wood waning under their weight.

The barking was in my head, I could feel slobbering and saliva hitting the sides of my face and I gasped out a sharp cry.

My night light went out.

I was trapped in the blackness, and I felt my stomach drop. I was confined, the space around me closing in, keeping me trapped in a tightening space where I was lost.

I couldn't even hear the dogs anymore, it was a steady ring in my ears, so painful it felt like blood was going to start trickling out any second. I grabbed my phone off my lap and turned the flashlight on.

The dog in front of me was a monster.

It stood over my legs, with long, black, matted fur and a long, thin snout. It was big enough it could have been a wolf, but it was unmistakably a dog. Its ears were pointed, the snarl on its face inches from mine. I felt a wet drop of its drool land on my skin. The expression on its face was enough to kill, I could feel my entire body shaking as I stared into its red eyes.

The eyes are burned into the back of my brain, red eyes brighter than flames, but they flickered the same way. The smell of it was foul, so bad I could feel my insides churning. It stank like a corpse, like a dead animal left to rot in the summer sun.

It barked, barked right in my face, sending an assault of thick and sticky drool all over my face and the simmering heat of its breath singed my nose. The creak of the springs in my mattress as it leaned forward, closer, was gut wrenching.

It barked again, and the sheer power in its bark made my ears ring. I felt dizzy just listening to the sound, an earsplitting burst that was encouraged by the flurry of other dogs still howling away.

It opened its snout wider, sharp white teeth glistening in the light of my phone. I was done for. I knew this beast of a dog was going to snap my neck in two and-

2:38.

My flashlight went out. The smell, the sound, the weight of it over me was gone. I gasped in short, painful breaths, a deep stitch forming in my side. I was sweating badly, my sheets and clothes practically glued to my skin.

I turned on my flashlight again and pried my fingers off the gun. I was so afraid I didn't even think to use it. I forgot it, honestly.

I shined the light in my room, noting the chips in my walls, the holes, the scratches on the floor and on my door, which hung open ominously. I turned the light towards the foot of my bed.

"Pickles," I croaked, nudging him with a toe. He didn't move. "Pickles."

I fell getting out of bed, my legs about as solid as jello. I smacked my wall until I hit the light switch and trembled the way over to my dog.

"Pickles," I whispered, touching his soft fur with delicate hands. I picked him up and felt every nerve in my body scream in pain when his neck rolled loosely. Deep, bloody teeth holes all over it.

I stumbled over my own feet and promptly threw up, the burn in my throat barely rivaling the heat from my tears.

I don't know what I'm supposed to do now. Pickles is gone. I buried him in the backyard this afternoon and now I'm just so fucking empty. I should have done something different, but what? What the hell can I even do. My best friend is gone. I know what got him. And I know it's coming back tonight.