The woman at the shelter stared at me in wide-eyed shock, before collecting herself with a blink and a self-conscious tuck of a strand of hair behind her ears.

“You want to adopt… that one?”

Maybe I hadn’t been clear enough.

“Yes, please. The reactive one.” I paused, wondering if that was maybe the problem, before adding, “I have experience with reactive dogs.”

I couldn’t understand her trepidation. The dog sitting behind the tarnished bars of her large kennel seemed confused, too, cocking her head and staring at me with inquisitive cocoa eyes. Her coal fur looked like it would be as soft as dust, long but not matted or shaggy. I was guessing some sort of Shepherd based mix, maybe with something larger. She must’ve been at least 40kg. Not that much smaller than myself.

The dog stood up and nudged at the bars of her kennel, just underneath the sign proclaiming her name in a mix of odd greek lettering. The woman spoke again.

“If you’re sure, then go ahead. She’s been in here the longest and we can’t quite figure her out. She can’t be housed with other dogs or children, ideally no men, either. Is that a problem?”

I shook my head, no problems there. My anxiety prevented me from meeting any potential romantic partners, male or female. The dog slowly started to wag her tail, bowing into a stretch with an impatient whine.

“How do you pronounce her name?” I asked, tapping the sign.

“We aren’t sure, we just nicknamed her Kirby. She came with a note and we tried to google translate it but it didn’t make much sense. From the gist of it, we think she was some sort of guard dog. Plus, the kid who was opening the shelter that day loved Nintendo.”

I frowned. What sort of dog came with a note?

It didn’t matter. Kirby stretched her mouth into a smiling, coral pink yawn. She was big, scary enough to avoid unpleasant encounters at night, and didn’t seem that aggressive towards me. I was sure with my previous experiences training nervous dogs that we would get on well.

The next day, after thoroughly reassuring the anxious, slightly flushed shelter worker, I was taking her home.

I first noticed something off about Kirby when I got her out of the car. She waited for me patiently, gently wagging her tail until I had unpacked the boot and gotten all her new stuff together. Her lead was hooked carelessly to the tow trailer at the back of my car (installed primarily as a way to let my old, late, arthritic jack russell enjoy car boot sales without having to jump up and down), but K was sure if I had released her she wouldn’t have moved. She walked right to my heel up to the door. I fumbled with the keys as I let myself in, immediately dumping bags in the middle of the corridor. Kirby didn’t follow, although I didn’t notice immediately, only when ai tried to walk forwards and was stopped by the lead going completely taut. when I turned around she was sat politely at the door. I didn’t want to force her in by the neck, not on her first day.

“Kirby! Cmere!”

No response, not even a flicker of recognition. I walked up to her and tried to gently tug her inside. She was practically immovable, her ears up and alert like a grossly oversized bat.

I sat in front of her, just behind the threshold of the house. I offered her my fingers gently, she didn’t deign to give them a sniff. “Kirby, come on inside.” I spoke in a low, gentle voice.

Immediately she shook off her stupor and bounded happily inside, stopping to give me a sniff and appraise me properly. It’s a bit intimidating having a dog that’s taller standing than you are sitting inspect you, but I tentatively reached out to run a gentle hand through her fur, grinning from ear to ear. This dog didn’t seem reactive at all, yet. I was in love.

I gently scratched behind her ears, following her neck down to the base of her neck. She froze and stared at me out of the corner of her eye. I retreated carefully, not wanting to cross her boundaries too fast, or scare her off. There it was, the whale eye to indicate discomfort. Her past finally somewhat showing.

She gave a satisfied huff and walked into the house further. I let her explore, nowhere was off limits. She waited politely to be invited onto the sofa, the bed, even her crate.

Since then, everything has been great with Kirby. She’s a bit funny about different foods- she’ll only eat a raw diet, which I discovered after much trial and error. Her favourite is pork. She also still won’t let me touch the base of her neck, and I’m worried she’s tender there. From what I could gather, she’s got a couple of lumps. I want to wait to take her to the vet until she’s more comfortable, but they do worry me. I’ve tried to investigate gently, but when I do, a low grumble emanates from her chest, the bass almost shaking the entire house.

She loves watching TV with me, and I love her company. She gets me out of the house, and has never once showed any signs of aggression towards me, beyond her gentle rumbling. Our training didn’t start well at all, but when I realised her old owners were Greek (after trying desperately to discover where her name originated from) I tried some Greek commands. She followed them perfectly! I really had nothing new to teach her. Figuring out the Greek had been a bit of a journey, I had gone back to the shelter to get her old name plate, and it was only after extensive googling that I realised the odd letters were simply another language.

However, I see why the lady at the shelter was worried.

For one, walks. She’s great on walks, doesn’t need a lead, and only leaves my side on a greek “release” command. She also comes back promptly when called, her name being the only English command she understands.

However, she refuses to come to the park with me! As soon as we get to the little bridge crossing the brook, she digs her heels in and sits in that immovable, statuesque fashion as when I first brought her home. No amount of cajoling will get her to cross. It’s the same as when I first brought her home, the line goes taut, and it’s almost like she becomes denser, heavier, rooting her dark paws into the earth.

Also, graveyards. There’s a great spot where I used to love to go to read, a graveyard with a sense of peace surrounding it, dappled with soft light during the day, enclaved in a ring of old, gentle trees. I was so excited to bring her their the first time, but she absolutely refuses to enter. There’s another dog that hangs around there, another black shepherd-like creature. Smaller than Kirby, but yappy and overprotective. I had never seen it there before, and the owner was never around, but this (maybe a stray?) refused to let Kirby in. Kirby never barked back, only sat still, immovable, in that creepy way she does. I’ve stopped trying to take her now. I went back a few times on my own, to try and find the dog and take it to vet, maybe check it’s microchip (I can never see a collar) but it’s never there when I go on my own. I assume the owner must walk it there.

I’ve left a note in the church overlooking the yard, but it doesn’t seem well-used anymore.

Oh yeah, not to mention guests!! She greets them in a way that is extremely unsuitable for small children (thank god not many come by) but when my mum visited, there was a weird order of events that i’ve never seen in a dog before.

First, she hears them coming, sitting by the door with her ears pricked, same as when she’s home alone. Then, I come and let them in, or try to. As soon as the door opens, she stands up and blocked the entrance with her body, too big to really be stepped over. It’s only when I tell her it’s okay, they can enter, that she steps back, rears up and…

Bite is the wrong word. It’s gentle, but firm, but she grips your shoulder with her mouth, in a unusual, unnerving greeting. Only once you’ve stood for a few seconds does she release you, backing down and turning back into the dog I know and love. I ask people to not push her off now, as she will gently increase the pressure around your upper arm. She’s never broken skin, but she’s immovable.

One more thing. When I leave her alone in the house, she does NOTHING. I have baby cameras set up, assuming she might get anxious about me leaving her on her own for the first time, but all she does is sit by the door like a sphinx, unmoving except for the very tip of her ears, which quiver occasionally, I suppose listening to whatever is going on outside.

Whenever I get home, she immediately stands up to greet me, and is back to her cheerful old self.

Anyway, my problem. My problem is that recently, i’ve been getting knocks at the door. Only at night, and never at a sociable time. Kirby hates it, she will whine and growl and making muttering, chugging noises, staring at the door with an angry scowl, like it’s pulled her tail. I’ll usually place her into a sit and open it, but no one is ever there. I at first assumed it was local kids being a menace, but recently I’m not so sure.

You see, I installed a doorbell camera, linked to the indoor ones, to see if I could catch the culprit, as they kept disturbing me and my dog. Today, after loud banging on the door at 3:36 in the morning, stirring my Kirby into a frenzy, I checked my cameras for the first time. I had taken to wearing earplugs to bed, so the event hadn’t woken me at the time.

At first, I couldn’t tell what I was looking at, it looked like a grainy blob of black and white. The night vision on the camera clearly wasn’t very good. it was only when a gnarled hand emerged to knock that I realised I had my culprit.

The person was wearing a robe of some sort, that covered them almost completely. Truthfully, they looked terrible, ratty rags that looked barely like clothes at all. My immediate thought was that they were homeless. I suppressed a shiver, thinking of stories of people sleeping in the walls or the attic for years without the homeowner noticing. But then, why knock?

Then, I heard something coming from the audio, faint but clearly there. I turned it up to hear it better and felt my heartbeat spike, a rush of adrenaline fueling my anxiety at the situation.

A perverse muttering came from my phone speaker, the dialogue jumbled and inaudible. I listened closer, the guttural garbles mostly a mixture of harsh Ks, spat out into the space in front of the speaker.

Then, I could hear Kirby growling on the audio inside the house, making the weird little defensive noises that she does. The speaker at the door paused, then resumed their muttering, louder now, leaning into the door and pressing their hands against it. They were breathing so heavily the microphone had picked it up, their breath rattling, like fluid had filled their lungs. Suddenly, the muttering stopped.

Next to me on the sofa, Kirby’s ears were pricked, her eyes focused on the footage as well.

The speakers head snapped up to face the camera, fast as a striking snake. The hood prevented me from seeing their face, but they slowly raised their withered hands and pulled the hood back from their face.

What I saw caused me to retch in horror. Where there should have been eyes were two empty sockets. They were angry, bleeding and red, mainly due to what had been seemingly hacked into place in place of their eyes.

Two rusted coins, glinting in the dark, their corroded edges digging into the soft, open wound of the speakers missing eyes. I paused the footage for a moment to run to the toilet to vomit, shaking. My anxiety had spiked to an all time high. Who was this man? Why was he at my front door at night? Why does he leave if I answer?

Forcing myself back onto the sofa, the acrid taste stinging the back of my throat, Kirby placed her paw on me supportively, gently nudging her bear-like head against my chest. I pressed play on the footage.

He reached back under his robe, muttering still, before removing a tattered piece of paper. With shaking hands he unrolled it carefully. The paper looked soft, and leathery. Not really like paper at all. He brought the scroll up to the camera.

Upon it was a crude drawing of - I suppose it must have been Kirby- with some spiky lettering underneath, written in a language I couldn’t understand. Then, he retreated into the darkness, and the Kirby from the footage went silent inside the house.

I have just used google lense to translate a still from the footage of the weird sign. It turned out to be a form of Greek. It said:

“Lost dog. Responds to [sic] Κέρβερος. Mercy upon your soul.”

What the hell do I do now?

Part 2