Writing prompt I did

Proteus

“Brutus! Brutus! Come here boy!” I cry out into the woods. About an hour ago, my dog

had gone bolting off into the forest. I don’t know where he went. My flashlight flickers, engulfing the forest in darkness for a split second. “Brutus!” I scream, “Brutus! Treats!” Nothing. I feel the cold wind brush my skin, and I’m about to give up, when the woods taunt me, dangling a piece of rotten meat just out of reach from the starving lion's jaws, I hear a low whimper, one that sounds just like my dog.

I rush along towards the whining noise, seeing a dark, hunched shape lay on a pile of wet leaves. As I run up to greet my dog, something feels.. off. Even in the dark night, with my weak flashlight, I can tell Brutus’ color is a bit off, his nose too long, his ears slanted in a way that nothing should slant. I push aside my worry as the dark and my mind playing tricks on me. I pet Brutus’ damp, soft fur. I can almost feel his hair shift under my fingers, changing texture rapidly. It’s just the dark, It’s just the night, It’s just my nerves. I repeat these mantras in my head, trying to de-tangle the knot that has formed itself into my stomach. I grab Brutus’ collar, I want to go home now.

 After an hour of walking, I slip into my house, being careful not to wake up my still-sleeping parents. I kick off my boots and collapse into my bed. Brutus follows, laying by my feet. I place my glasses on the nightstand, and as I start to drift off, I see Brutus sneer his rotten teeth at me. I wake up to the sunlight gleaming through my window, and Brutus is gone from my bed. I pull myself up, hastily changing my clothes. I can smell bacon cooking, the familiar scent flooding the house. But, as I step up to the door, I see something crawl from behind me.

I try to scream, but a warped hand covers my mouth. I can see a human-like figure, with a slack jaw that droops, leaving a gaping space for its mouth. It has small eyes, the eyelids almost burnt back. I can feel tears well in my eyes as I’m tossed into the closet. I peek out from the door-crack to see the thing shift into an amalgamation of me, my hair too long, my eyes beady and red. The thing cranes its head to me, giving me a manic grin. It pushes open the door, and I hear it yell “Good morning, mom!” out into the hallway. “Where’s breakfast? I’m just starving.”