Ghost Hound

Jack Mercer never stopped for strays. Life had taught him not to. A former private investigator turned small-town mechanic, he had seen the worst humanity had to offer—betrayal, cruelty, blood spilled over things that never mattered. He had buried his past deep, trading high-speed chases and shootouts for oil changes and carburetor repairs. Simple. Predictable. Safe.

But that night, as he sped down the deserted backroads of Blackwood County, something made him slam on the brakes.

A dog—ragged, skeletal, and soaked to the bone—stood dead center in the road. Eyes like molten gold burned through the darkness, locking onto his with unsettling intensity. Rain hammered the hood of his truck, the wipers smearing streaks of water across the windshield. The dog’s fur—once black, now dulled by grime and streaked with silver—clung to its gaunt frame. Scars crisscrossed its body, some old and faded, others fresh and raw. Yet it stood firm, unwavering, staring him down like it had been waiting for him.

Jack exhaled sharply. “Damn it.”

He wasn’t a dog person. Never had been. He’d spent years tracking killers and con men, unraveling lies that led to dead ends and broken lives. But this? This was different. His gut twisted in a way it hadn’t in years.

He stepped out, boots splashing into the mud. The air was thick with the scent of rain and something metallic—something wrong.

“Move, mutt,” he muttered, shoving his hands into the pockets of his battered leather jacket.

The dog didn’t budge. It simply stared, those strange, knowing eyes locked onto his. Then, just as Jack took another step forward, its legs buckled, and it collapsed.

“Shit.”

Every instinct screamed at him to walk away. But against all logic, he found himself crouching, scooping the half-dead creature into his arms. It barely weighed anything. Just ribs, wet fur, and tension coiled like a spring.

“Hope you’re not gonna make me regret this,” he muttered, hauling the dog to his truck.

The storm raged as Jack pulled into his driveway. He carried the animal inside, setting it down on an old towel near the fireplace. The dog barely moved, only its chest rising and falling in slow, deliberate breaths.

Jack grabbed a rag and started dabbing at the grime and blood caked into its fur. Closer now, he noticed something else—something odd. A faint tattoo, almost hidden beneath the scars, just behind its left ear. Numbers. A sequence too precise to be random.

“What the hell have I picked up?” he muttered.

The dog’s eyes flickered open. For a moment, Jack swore he saw understanding in them, something deeper than instinct. Then, just as quickly, they slid shut again.

The scratching woke him.

Soft. Persistent. A slow, deliberate drag against the bedroom door.

Jack reached for the Glock beneath his pillow, years of paranoia snapping him into focus. He moved silently, gun raised, and pulled the door open.

The dog sat there, staring up at him.

Jack exhaled. “Jesus. You scared the hell out of me.”

The dog didn’t blink. It stood, body taut, ears pricked toward the window. Jack followed its gaze.

Outside, the streetlight flickered. A shadow moved beyond the reach of its glow.

His pulse quickened. Years of hunting people who didn’t want to be found had sharpened his instincts, and right now, every single one of them was screaming.

He turned back—

The dog was gone.

Jack spun, gun up. The house was silent. Too silent.

Then—low, guttural growling from the kitchen.

He moved swiftly, rounding the corner just in time to see the back door swing open. Cold air flooded in. The dog stood just outside, hackles raised, teeth bared. Beyond it, a figure emerged from the darkness.

Black clothes. Mask. Knife glinting in the dim light.

Jack didn’t hesitate.

“Move,” he ordered the dog.

The animal didn’t.

The intruder lunged—

The dog struck first.

A blur of muscle and teeth. A sickening crunch as jaws clamped down. The masked man screamed, dropping the knife as the dog dragged him to the ground. Jack moved fast, boot slamming into the man’s wrist, sending the blade skittering across the porch. He pressed the gun to the man’s temple.

“Talk.”

The man gasped through the pain. “You—shouldn’t—have taken the dog.”

Jack’s stomach twisted. “What?”

“They’ll come for it,” the man rasped. “You have no idea what you’ve done.”

Before Jack could demand more, headlights flooded the driveway.

SUVs. Blacked-out windows. Doors swinging open in eerie unison.

Jack barely had time to react before bullets tore through the night. He ducked, using the intruder as cover. The dog let out a sharp, guttural bark before bolting inside. Jack fired three rounds, dropping one of the advancing men before retreating into the house.

His mind raced. Who the hell were these people?

And what the hell kind of dog had he just brought home?

Barricading the door, Jack grabbed his duffel bag of spare ammo. The dog stood beside him, steady, waiting. Too calm. Too knowing.

“You got me into this,” he muttered. “Hope you’re worth it.”

The dog didn’t blink.

Then, silence.

A voice cut through the dark.

“Jack Mercer. We just want the dog.”

Jack tightened his grip on the pistol. “Not happening.”

A chuckle. “You don’t know what you’re protecting, do you?”

Jack glanced at the dog. Those molten-gold eyes never left his.

“Enlighten me.”

“The dog isn’t just some stray,” the voice continued. “It’s property of Dominion Labs. And you’re harboring a very, very expensive experiment.”

Jack’s blood ran cold.

Dominion Labs. He’d heard whispers—government-funded black projects, bioengineering, genetic weapons. The kind of nightmare fuel that never made the news.

His gaze snapped back to the dog.

Not just a dog.

Something else.

Something engineered.

The dog’s ears twitched. A second later, it moved—faster than anything should. A streak of black and silver tore through the shattered window, launching into the night.

Screams followed. Then gunfire. Then silence.

Jack didn’t wait to see the carnage. He grabbed his gear and bolted for the truck. By the time he reached it, the dog was there, blood dripping from its muzzle.

“Get in!” Jack barked.

The dog leaped into the passenger seat. Tires screeched as he floored it. The SUVs gave chase, but Jack had spent years outrunning people who wanted him dead.

The road stretched ahead, dark and endless. He stole a glance at the dog, heart hammering.

“What the hell are you?”

The dog simply stared, eyes glowing in the dim light. And for the first time, Jack could’ve sworn it smiled.

He had a feeling life wasn’t going to be simple anymore.