**The Dog**

I had just gotten my driver’s license back then, was over the moon with excitement, so I decided to take my twelve‑year‑old sister out into nature. In our family it was customary to go to places far from civilization—remote bodies of water where we’d fish and have picnics. That time was no different: I bought some food, packed everything we needed, picked up my sister Asya, and we headed to a semi‑abandoned pond about a hundred kilometers from the city.

We got there without trouble, had a bite to eat, and sat down to fish as planned. After a while Asya said she needed to go to the bathroom and ran off into the bushes. She came back pale and said she didn’t feel well. My sister rarely complained about her health, so I decided not to risk it and head back home. I expected Asya to protest, but she didn’t say a word. That worried me even more. I quickly tossed our things into the car (luckily I’d parked nearby), put my sister in the back seat, and drove off.

I’m driving when suddenly my phone starts ringing. The ringtone was the one I’d set for family members. My phone was in my bag, so I pulled over (there was no traffic at all) and started looking for it. When I found it a minute later, it was still ringing—and the screen showed Asya’s number. Naturally, I was about to scold her for distracting me while I was driving. I turned around—and saw a dog sitting in the back seat. Just a regular dog, looked like some kind of retriever, very dirty—but the sheer strangeness of the situation scared me more than any horror story. I wanted to run, but I was frozen in place, staring at the animal. The dog didn’t move either; it just kept looking me straight in the eyes. And at some point it began to dissolve, as if someone were increasing the transparency of an image in a photo editor. That’s how it disappeared—leaving only muddy paw prints on the seat.

Only then did it finally hit me that I had lost my sister. My heart started pounding wildly, horrifying thoughts flooded my mind, and I clung to a single hope—that Asya was still near the pond. At that very moment the phone rang again. I answered—and Asya started yelling at me, scolding me for leaving her alone.

I turned the car around immediately and drove back to the pond at a speed I’d never thought myself capable of. My sister was there, in tears. A huge weight lifted off my chest. I didn’t tell Asya the whole truth then—I said I’d driven to a kiosk to buy cold drinks, but it was closed. She replied that in the bushes she’d noticed a dog and played with it for a couple of minutes until she heard the sound of our car. At the mention of the dog, goosebumps ran down my spine. But at that point I didn’t care what exactly we’d encountered. I just packed up our things, put my sister in the front seat next to me, and raced home at the maximum allowed speed.

We made it back that time without incident, thankfully. Our parents were staying at the dacha all week, so the apartment was empty. I put the remaining food on the table and was about to take a shower when I heard Asya calling me. When I entered the living room, I saw something that reminded me once again of everything that had happened, shattering my last hope that it had all been a hallucination: clear dog paw prints were visible on the carpet. Before our eyes, they vanished just like the strange dog had. That’s when I finally told my sister everything. I thought Asya would laugh and assume I was joking, but she believed me immediately.

Since then, what happened has become our secret—just like the origin of the sounds we now hear in our apartment. Sometimes they sound like barking, sometimes like something far more sinister. But we keep quiet, especially since I’ll be moving soon. I hope that whatever it is won’t follow me.