(Very loosely inspired by The Licked Hand urban legend) 

​​

Camille reached a hand under the bed. 

A warm tongue lapped her fingers. It was Pluto, her dog. 

He was very quiet. Never barked or whined. 

All day he just hid from something or someone. 

Camille didn’t know which it was. 

She once asked, “Has anyone ever seen Pluto?” 

“He... always eats at night,” her father responded. 

There that— hesitance. 

Ever since the vet visit nobody spoke a word of him. 

As if Pluto was a ghost fading from memory. 

Back then when her mother returned home, she avoided Camile's eyes.

‘He’s back in your room.’ she said. 

And Camille believed her. 

One evening, she was determined to see Pluto. 

Camille waited stiffly in bed. 

Some unknown hours passed before the noise began. 

Nails scraped along the wooden floors. 

She took a peek around the dim room.

The dim moonlight exposed a tuft of brown fur.

Pluto’s shadow stretched far across the ground. 

Strangely thin and lanky for a dog. 

The silhouette shifted near the drawers. 

With each step the floor creaked under his weight. 

Until everything suddenly quieted. 

She quickly shut her eyes and listened.

It wasn’t long before the noise started again. 

The creaks louder as they moved towards her. 

A presence loomed overhead. 

Tentatively a moist tongue licked her cheek.

Followed by something cold rubbing her arm.

He stayed there watching her all night. 

​

- Scilloles