Black muck

I recently rented an apartment in a remote and almost entirely industrial area of Moscow. I moved in with my pet, a three-year-old Rottweiler.

One day, as usual, I woke up well after noon and spent time on the computer until late at night. During this time, my pet managed to poop in the hallway. It was almost dawn, so I put the dog's collar on and went for a walk before bed.

As I said, I had recently moved to the area, so a night walk along an unfamiliar street with some industrial debris, chimneys billowing smoke even at night, and flickering dim streetlights was a bit nerve-wracking. Moreover, the dog just didn't want to do his business. I decided to take him off his leash (there was not a soul on the street) and let him have some privacy, away from the "disconcerting" light. I heard him rustling in the nearby bushes as I slowly made my way back to my front door. After smoking one cigarette, buying myself some time, I finally called out to him. The dog reacted instantly and appeared behind me as if out of nowhere. He was covered in something resembling tar and exuded a distinct industrial stench. I wasn't surprised that the animal had rolled around in some kind of muck again, but the composition of the substance itself was a bit disconcerting. It felt like he'd bathed in an entire pond filled with this strange black mass. Its consistency was so thick that it had glued his ears to his head so tightly that they seemed like small growths rather than proper hearing organs.

 After bringing the dog home, I felt strangely exhausted—either a false sense of intoxication or a sharp, painful decline in energy. It got to the point where I collapsed on the bed, fully clothed, completely oblivious to the dog, who was covered in black industrial waste.

The next morning, my head was splitting, as if I'd really been quite drunk the night before. Only now did I catch myself: the dog! That stuff must have dried on him by now, and I'll never be able to wash it off!

I called the dog—silence. I walked through the rooms—no one. I peered into the hallway—all the walls and the bathroom door were scratched and smeared with that same black gunk, which had now dried and resembled some kind of roofing felt. All the clothes were off the hooks and were no longer wearable. The trim on the inside of the front door had been ripped out, and the door itself was slightly ajar. Confused, I walked out into the stairwell and examined the door from the other side—everything was clean, except for a very short black trail leading down from my apartment. Then I went outside and saw my dog, casually chewing on some trash or something. Upon seeing me, he ran up and started to show off his joy, as if he hadn't seen me all night. There was no black gunk on him...

Feeling like I was in a dream, I let the dog into the house. My head was buzzing. What had I brought home yesterday instead of my dog? Where had it gone? I couldn't sleep the next night, flinching at every sound. But nothing happened. I seemed to have calmed down, but a month later I noticed black droplets starting to appear here and there around the apartment from time to time. Since their appearance, I began to have trouble sleeping and nightmares. I quickly moved out of there. To this day, I still don't know what happened then...