Page 50 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

Because someoneiswatching—and I almost forgot.

Slowly, I turn toward the ruined doorway.

Not someone—something.

A fluffy white creature waddles into view like he owns the place. Head tilted. Tongue out. Snaggletooth jutting like a warning fang. He blinks with all the gravitas of a marshmallow come to life.

A dog.

A little dog.

“Oh no,” I whisper.

He trots forward, nails ticking on concrete. Sniffs like he’s rating the place on Yelp.

“Hi there, buddy,” I murmur, crouching. “I know this looks bad. I can explain.”

He keeps sniffing. Closer to the corpse.

The corpse.

Oh God. I’m going to be sick again.

“Okay, I can’t explain. But I’m really sorry you had to see that. It’s not... who I am.”

He pauses beside the body, sniffs, then lifts his leg and pees directly onto the chest cavity.

“Are you serious?”

He shakes off, then steps into a puddle of blood. Tiny red paw prints trail behind him like some violent art project from an unhinged doggy daycare.

“No, no—stop, little puppy?—”

I shuffle after him, trying not to leave more prints. “Please don’t extend the crime scene. We’ve already exceeded the limits of my psyche.”

The dog pauses, wags his tail, then flops onto his back.

Right in another smear.

“Oh my—why?” I whisper.

His tail thumps. He’s covered in blood now. Pink streaks matted into fur. Ears dipped. A red belly like he rolled in a strawberry smoothie.

Except it’s not strawberries.

And this isn’t a park.

And I’m not okay.

I take a step closer, hands out like I’m coaxing a skittish raccoon off a porch.

He tilts his head—sweet and innocent—like he didn’t just defile a corpse and take a spa day in arterial spray.

“Okay, come here, little baby. I just need to?—”

He bolts.

“No! Get back here!”

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