Part 1: The Morning My Dog Wouldn’t Stop Scratching at the Door

an old shed at the far edge of the property. The door hung unevenly, barely attached.

Baxter stopped at the entrance.

My heart was pounding as I stepped inside.

The shed smelled of damp wood and dust. Sunlight filtered through warped boards, creating pale lines across the floor. My breathing sounded loud in the quiet space.

That’s when I saw it.

In the continue reading …