The Dog with the Old Soul, take two

See the previous post for context: you sees a book title, you gets a idea what it could be but isn’t.

This wouldn’t be a story of “the love, hope and joy animals bring into our lives”.


“Ph’nglui mglw’nath Cthulhu right now”, my dog said, its eyes popping, revealing expanding blood-red spirals beyond, crimson searchlights that, in defiance to all dog geometry, yawned wide enough to swallow me whole.

I fell off my chair, backwards, away from the dog.

The dog rose up on its hind-feet, forefeet spread apart like hands. Smoking blood poured out of its mouth, hitting the concrete floor with hisses, eating holes into it; holes up from which shone a flickering yellow light, and echoed an unvarying electric scream.

“The end is nigh”, my dog said, spraying smoking blood all over itself and me as it spoke. The blood burned like acid. It made the dog’s fur wilt and slough off its thin frame; what this revealed was not a dog.

“Ia!” my ex-dog said. “Ia! Nyarlathotep! The end is here!”

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