It was a bad time for me. 

“You want to say anything nice about him?”

I really didn’t want to. They had put Sherlock in a box so I wouldn’t see his guts spilling out. But it didn’t help since I saw him get hit by a car anyway. I told myself I hated dogs now, and I always would. 

“Harry?” my mom asked. She put a hand on my shoulder. Her fingernails were always too long. I shook my head. My dad huffed through his big, ugly nose and started piling on dirt while my mom said a prayer.

 I stayed outside for a while after they were gone. I gritted my teeth and walked over to the little headstone. I got on my knees to make it look like I was praying. The headstone said: 

“HERE LIES SHERLOCK. HE NEVER LEARNED TO SIT.” 

I had written it myself, because it was true. I tried to teach him. I tried to teach him a lot of things. And I’m a good teacher. But he never listened. Stupid dog.

“I hate you,” I whispered. “I hate you, hate you, hate you.” That was that. I got up and ran inside.

Dinner tasted like dirt. But if I told my mom that, she’d be furious. So I didn’t. Only there wasn’t any dog for me to feed it to. 

“You’ll sit at the table for as long as it takes for you to finish your dinner,” my mom said. So I sat there. Even when the lights went off. I sat staring at the meat on my plate, thinking it might start squirming around if I touched it. The kitchen was always cold at night, because of the draft from under the window, and winter was beginning to crawl up from the ground.

“I hate you, hate you, hate you.” That’s what I heard from outside. It was so quiet, or far away, or lost in the breeze. I looked to see, but a cloud was over the moon. 

“Hello,” I said, or tried to say. The silence in the kitchen strangled me. I squinted. Maybe something was moving out on the grass. 

“Let me have a bite, Harry!” Closer now. That voice was familiar somehow, though I had never heard it before. I ran to the back door and looked out the window, flicking on the porch light. Nobody in front of the door. 

“Better come quick, or I’ll hate you, hate you, hate you!” So familiar. Compelled, I flung open the door, careful not to hit the wall. The wind rushed in, scratching me with cold fingers. I stepped out and looked around. 

“Hello?” I asked in a whisper. But no answer met me. I looked down the stairs of the porch. Muddy splotches, barely visible, led out of my driveway and past the house.  

“Hate you, hate you, hate you!” chanted the voice, farther away, around that corner. I precariously danced down the stairs, my bare feet on the icy stone. The muddy splotches, like footprints, led me down the driveway. 

The only light was a far off streetlamp. The concrete bit my feet with cold as I walked to the sidewalk, looking for any sign of movement. Just me and the empty street. And the prints that led into the middle of the road. They stopped there, where something small glinted on the pavement. Looking both ways, I trod carefully forward and knelt down to get a better look. On the pavement, covered in dirt, was a dog collar. I left it dirty, terrified at what it might say. 

“Sit and stay! Don’t be stupid!” said the voice. I turned, the collar trembling in my hand. On the shadowed driveway just beyond the sidewalk, a four-legged silhouette stood, something hideous hanging from its belly. I couldn’t move at all. Not even as, for one moment, my vision was bleached by swerving headlights, stopped too late by the shrieking of brakes, and familiar eyes shining red from the dark.