Speaker 1: I've always been a dog person. There's something about the
way they're just there for you, no judgment, no strings attached,
that makes everything a little easier to handle. After my divorce,
when I moved into this house by myself, getting Max
was the first thing I did. He's a mutt, mostly shepherd,
maybe some retriever in there, and he's been my rock
ever since. It's just the two of us out here.
The house is in a pretty quiet area, not completely remote,
but far enough from the city that the nights feel
still peaceful. Usually there's a small yard out back with
a fence, and I've got cameras set up on the
front and back porch just for peace of mind. You know,
I've heard stories of coyotes in the area, and while
Max is a solid seventy pounds of muscle, I don't
take the chances. We've got our routine down early morning
walks before I start work, evenings watching TV while Max
dozes at my feet, and late nights locking up the
house and double checking the doors before heading to bed.
He's the kind of dog who sticks close to your side,
always alert but never anxious, loyal as hell. This house
never felt lonely with him in it. Honestly, I'd even
say it's been kind of comforting. There's something grounding about
having a routine, a companion who's always there, and a
quiet space to call your own. But looking back, I
realize that quietness it wasn't just peaceful. It was something else.
It happened on a Tuesday night, and I remember that
because it was one of those nights when nothing feels unusual.
I was sitting on the couch, half watching some mindless
sitcom and Max sprawled out by my feet, snoring softly.
It was the kind of normal, uneventful evening that I'd
come to rely on. Then I heard it, a faint
scratching sound coming from the back door. At first I
barely noticed it. I figured here was the wind, or
maybe some branches brushing against the house. I've heard stuff
like that before, It's not exactly uncommon when you live
in a place like this. But then it came again, louder,
this time, scratch scratch. I muted the TV and tilted
my head listening. Max didn't react, which showed him in
my first clue that something was off. Usually his quick
to bark at anything near the house, but he was
completely out, snoring like nothing was happening. Still, the sound
was hard to ignore now, scratch scratch, followed by what
sounded like whimpering. I told myself it was probably a
stray dog. We've had a few wonder through the neighborhood before,
and the fence usually keeps them out. But something about
it made my stomach twist. Finally, I got up to check.
I peeped through the blinds, and that's when I saw
him Max. He was standing outside, pouring at the door,
his ears pinned back and his tail wagging nervously like
it was desperate to come in. My first thought was
that I must have left the door open earlier and
somehow he got out, But that did makes sense. The
door was locked. I knew it was locked, and besides,
Max wasn't supposed to be outside. Because Max was still inside,
I turned back to the living room and there he was,
lying on the rug, exactly where I'd left him. He
wasn't asleep anymore, though, he lifted his head and was
looking right at me, his ears twitching. At the sound
of the scratching, I froze, my mind racing trying to
process what I was seeing. I looked back at the door.
The Max outside was still there, pouring and whining softly,
his eyes wide and pleading, and the Max inside was
staring at me, tilting his head like he was confused
by my reaction. It didn't make sense. None of it
made sense. My first instinct was to open the door
to let the outside Max in and figure it out later.
But as I reached for the lock, something stopped me.
The way he moved it was subtle, but it was wrong.
His pouring was mechanical, like it was imitating the motion
rather than doing it naturally. And the whimpering it sounded
off too, even like someone had recorded a dog whining
and was playing it back on a loop. My chest
tightened as I stepped back, my hand hovering over the lock.
I didn't let him in. Instead, I locked the dead
bolt and pulled the blind shut, trying to shake the
feeling crawling up my spine. I told myself it was astray,
that it just looked like Max, though I couldn't explain
how it was such a perfect copy Max. The one
inside got up and patted over to me, nuzzling my
hand like he always did when I was upset. I
knelt down and hugged him, burying my face in his fur,
telling myself it was fine, it had to be fine.
But that scratching didn't stop, and neither did the whimpering.
It started at the back door, just like before, scratch scratch,
Then it moved to the windows, first in the kitchen,
then the living room. Each time I thought it was over,
I'd hear it again, faint but deliberate. I'd check the cameras,
hoping for some kind of explanation. Nothing, no sign of
the dog or anything near the house. It was like
the sound wasn't even real, but I knew I was
hearing it. I wasn't imagining it. Max, the one inside,
wasn't acting like himself either. He stood by the back door,
his ears pinned back, his body stiff. His growl was
low and quiet, almost like he didn't want to make
too much noise. I've never seen him like that before,
not even when he heard coyotes in the distance. At
one point, I tried to get him to follow me
to the kitchen to check things out, but he wouldn't budge.
He just stood there, rooted to the spot, his eyes
locked on something I couldn't see. Come on, Max, I whispered,
my voice trembling, but he didn't move. His fur was
standing on end, his tail took so far betw between
his legs it looked like he wasn't there. Whatever he
was sensing it was enough to completely spook him. By now,
I was starting to notice things about the outside dog.
Subtle things, but enough to make my skin crawl. His
movements weren't quite right, too stiff, too calculated. The way
it scratched at the door wasn't frantic like you'd expect
from a dog that wanted to come inside. It was methodical,
and the whimpering. I couldn't shake the feeling that it
wasn't real. I tried to ignore it. I locked all
the doors, shut the blinds, and left the lights on.
But ignoring it didn't help. A couple of nights later,
I woke up to find Max sitting in the hallway
staring at the front door. He wasn't barking or growling.
He wasn't even moving. He was just sitting there, stiff
as a statue, staring at the door like it might
open at any second. Max. I whispered, but he didn't
even turn his head. His ears twitched, but that was it.
I wanted to tell myself he was just being protective.
Maybe he'd heard something and this was his way of
keeping an eye on things. But deep down I didn't
believe that there was something about the way he sat there,
so tense, so quiet, that made my chest tighten, like
he was waiting for something to come inside. I thought
about checking the door, just to prove to myself that
nothing was there, but every time I got close, my
legs felt like lead. I couldn't bring myself to look
through the people or pull back the blinds. I didn't
want to see what was waiting. I kept telling myself
I was overreacting, that this was all in my head,
But every time I looked at Max, his stiff body,
his wide, unblinking eyes, I knew I wasn't imagining it.
Something was out there, and whatever it was, it wasn't leaving.
That's when things went from unsettling to completely impossible. The
scratching hadn't stopped, but now it wasn't just the back
door or the windows. It was everywhere. I'd hear it
on the front porch, on the fenced in patio when
nothing should be able to get in, and once and
my bedroom window. Let me say that again, my bedroom
window on the second floor. I don't know how it
got up there. I don't even want to think about
how it got up there. But when I pulled back
the curtain, there it was the same dog, the one
that looked just like Max, staring in at me with
those wide, pleading eyes. I slammed the curtain shut and
didn't sleep that night. But the worse came a few
nights later. I was sitting in the living room trying
to drown out the scratching, with the TV turned up
louder than usual. Max inside, Max was curled up under
the coffee table, trembling. I've never seen him like that before.
His whole body was shaking, his ears pinned back, and
no matter how much I called for him, he wouldn't
come out. Then I heard it. At first, I thought
it was just the wind, But the longer I listened,
the clearer it got. It was a voice. It wasn't loud,
just faint enough that I couldn't quite make out the
words at first, But as it grew louder, my stomach dropped.
It wasn't speaking to me. It was calling Max's name. Max.
The way it said His name made my skin crawl.
It wasn't like a normal person calling for a dog.
The tone was off, stretched out, like it was trying
too hard to sound human. Max, Come here, Max, I froze.
I didn't know what to do. I wanted to grab
Max and hide in my room, but when I looked
at him, he was still trembling under the table, refusing
to move. The voice kept calling Max. I couldn't take
it any more. My chest felt tight, and every nerve
in my body was screaming at me to stay inside,
to ignore it. But I had to know, I had
to see. I went to the back door and threw
it open. There was nothing there, no dog, no voice,
no sign of anything at all, just the quiet, empty
yards stretching out in the moonlight. I turned to go
back inside, my heart still pounding, but as I stepped
through the doorway, the door slammed shut behind me with
a force that shook the whole house. I nearly jumped
out of my skin. I spun around, trying to convince
myself it was just the wind, even though there hadn't
been so much as a breeze all night. That's when
I decided to check the cameras again. I needed proof,
some kind of explanation for what I found. I don't
even know how to describe it. In the footage, I
watched myself open the back door. There was nothing there,
just me standing alone in the doorway, looking out into
the yard. But when I replayed the clip, something changed.
In the second play back, the dog was there, the
one that looked like Max. It was standing at the
edge of the yard, staring directly at the camera. Its
eyes weren't pleading any more. They were dark, almost empty.
I played the footager third time, hoping to catch something
I'd missed. This time, the dog wasn't at the edge
of the yard anymore. It was closer and its eyes,
its eyes were looking right at me. I shut the
laptop and locked every door and window in the house.
I didn't know what was happening. I don't know what
it wants, but I couldn't shake the feeling that it's
not just watching me, it's waiting. I thought I was
finally starting to get a handle on it. The scratching
had stopped over a couple of nights, and Max seemed
to calm down a little. I even managed to sleep
without the lights on. For the first time in days,
but that peace didn't last. It was late around two
a m. When I heard it again. At first, I
thought he was coming from the back door, the same
faint scratching and whimpering I'd been hearing for weeks. I
sat up in bed, trying to shake off the grogginess.
But something was different this time. The sound wasn't coming
from outside. It was inside the house. The whimpering echoed faintly,
like it was moving through the walls, growing louder and
closer with each second. My heart started raising as I
reached for the lamp, fumbling to turn it on. Max.
I called out, my voice shaking. There was no response.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed
and grabbed the flashlight i'd started keeping on my night stand.
When I looked toward Max's bed, I froze. It was empty.
His collar was lying on the floor, right in the
middle of the bed where he should have been. The
whimpering grew louder, almost frantic, now, like who was coming
from multiple places at once. Then cutting through it, I
heard something else, A voice, not faint or distant like before,
but clear and deliberate, and this time it wasn't calling
for Max. He was calling for me. Hullo, I stammered,
my voice barely above a whisper. The voice called my
name again, dragging it out, each syllable dripping with something
I can only describe as wrong. I don't know what
possessed me to start searching the house, but I couldn't
just sit there. I grabbed the flashlight and crept into
the hallway, my pulse pounding in my ears. Max I
called again, even though I knew he wouldn't answer. The
whimpering echoed from the kitchen, then the living room, then
the stairs, bouncing around like the house itself was alive.
I finally made my way to the living room, gripping
the flashlights so hard my knuckles ached. That's when I
saw them Max, both of him. They were standing side
by side in the middle of the room, perfectly still
staring at me. At first, I thought my mind was
playing tricks on me. I blinked, hoping one of them
would disappear, but they didn't. Two identical dogs, each one
a perfect copy of the other. Max, I whispered, taking
a shaky step forward. Neither of them moved. I shine
the flashlight on them, desperate to see something, anything that
would tell me which one was real. But they were
exactly the same, down to the fur on their paws
and the tilt of their heads. Then one of them growled.
It wasn't a normal growl, though, it was low and guitorial,
deeper than anything a dog should be able to make.
The sound rumbled through the room, vibrating in my chest.
His eyes flickered, catching the light in a way that
wasn't natural. They didn't glow, they shimmered like something beneath
the surface was trying to push through. I stumbled back,
my breath catching in my throat. The other Max, the
real Max, I hoped, cowered, his ears flat against his head,
whimpering softly. Stay back, I choked out, pointing the flashlight
at the growling one. It tilted its head, the growl
fading into a sound that almost almost sounded like a laugh.
It was low and deep, almost vibrating through the room.
I felt it in my bones. The sound didn't stop,
It just kept building, growling louder and louder, like it
was daring me to move. I stepped back, trying to
keep my distance. My legs felt like jelly, barely able
to hold me up. Max, I whispered, but I wasn't
even sure which one I was talking to. The growling
Max took a step forward, its head tilting ever so slightly,
almost like it was mocking me. The other Max, My
Max let out a soft, pitiful whimper, his whole body
pressing into the floor, like he was trying to disappear.
I panicked. I ran to the nearest room, the guest bedroom,
and slammed the door shut, throwing my weight against it.
My hands fumbled for the lock, and when I finally
clicked it into place, I grabbed a chair and wedged
it under the knob. It was a match, but it
was all I had. Then I just sat there. I
don't know how long I stayed in that room, clutching
the chair like it was a lifeline, my breath coming
in shallow gasps. Hours. Maybe the growling eventually stopped, but
I couldn't bring myself to leave. Every time I thought
about opening the door, I imagined what might be waiting
on the other side. Eventually, exhaustion took over and I
must have dozed off. When I woke up, it was morning.
The house was quiet. I waited a while longer, listening
for any sound, any sign of movement. When I finally
worked up the courage to open the door, my legs
felt like lead. The living room was empty Max, both
of them were gone. At first, I tried to convince
myself was a nightmare, some kind of stress induced hallucination,
but the evidence was there. Law marks gouged into the
walls and the furniture, deep enough to leave splinters on
the floor. I didn't know what to think. Part of
me wanted to burn the house down and never look back,
but I couldn't bring myself to leave. It was my home.
Max had been my home, and now he was gone.
For a few days, I tried to act like things
were normal, like I could just move on, but the
house was too quiet, too empty. The silence weighed on
me in a way it hadn't before. So I did
what any dog person would do. I adopted another dog.
I couldn't live without the companionship, especially after what happened.
Being alone was not an option for me. Her name's Bella,
a sweet little Lab mix who wouldn't hurt to fly.
She's been with me for a few weeks now, and
for the most part, things have been fine. She sleeps
in Max's old bed, and I like to think he'd
have liked her. For last night, something happened. I was
sitting on the couch Bella curled up at my feet
when I heard it, a faint scratching sound. He was
coming from the back door. My froze, my whole body
going cold. Bella's ears perked up, and she let out
a low, confused whine, staring at the door like she
was waiting for something. I haven't checked it yet. I
don't think I can. But I know one thing for sure.
It's not done with me.