Jamal Aharish was technically an American, but his tenant, Aljiran, was not. Together, they were bringing home the dogs of war, or more accurately, the Americans' own American war dogs.
The puppies had smooth, hairless skin that possessed a slightly oily sheen. These were not your typical canines; they were the offspring of a breed that existed solely in nightmares. They cast shadows during the day, left footprints in the sand, yet remained elusive to the human eye. These creatures hailed from a sinister realm, where the latest and most lethal weapons originated, only to be left behind on the battlefield. Now, they had come home. For those unaware of the truth, it was an enigma—a challenge to differentiate reality from illusion. Seeing wasn't believing; believing was seeing.
"Is there one left?" Jamal asked Aljiran, his gaze fixed on the teeth lurking within the shadows beyond the backyard shed's window.
"It killed and devoured the others. Not due to lack of nourishment. Just because," Aljiran responded, his English flawless, his beard impeccable.
"Dhaer," Jamal christened the beast. "I'll call him Dhaer."
"La min hunalik." Aljiran whispered, his voice barely audible.
"Why fear it? We are its masters now," Jamal replied, a frown creasing his face. Aljiran observed Jamal's mouth for signs of vulnerability. No beard—how disgraceful.
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"Lower your voice. His hearing is acute. The others, they made too much noise, I think."
"He'll only target the Americans. They can't shoot what they can't see, nor fight what they don't believe in. At last, victory shall be ours," Jamal declared.
"Dhaer is but one creature. There are countless Americans," Aljiran glanced at the neighbor next door, who was watering his lawn, offering a polite wave to the American neighbor.
"It's the fear that will defeat them. They'll barricade themselves in their mansions and wither away from hunger. It's God's will," Jamal boomed.
"Speak more softly. I don't mind if someone hears you, but Dhaer becomes agitated by loud sounds, your clamor," Aljiran cautioned his companion.
Growls and restlessness emanated from the shed. Dhaer was undeniably agitated. The frenzied amalgamation of fangs and shadows relentlessly attacked the shed's door. Though it was a shoddy prefab structure, the door stubbornly resisted, bending without breaking—until now.
Both men circled around to peer into the shed's obscurity.
"It's escaped," Aljiran's voice trembled, a whisper filled with dread.
"Then we must assert our mastery," Jamal proclaimed, his voice defiant.
Dhaer's teeth flashed, sinking deep into Jamal's hip. As Jamal collapsed, his screams morphed into silence, but Dhaer's teeth continued their brutal assault. Fragments of Jamal were torn away until the movement ceased.
The neighbor had dialed the police.
Aljiran had fled into his house, sliding the glass door shut. Dhaer made a single attempt to breach the translucent barrier, revealing its blood-soaked form. It was now grotesque and misshapen, more frightening visible than when concealed.
Blood smears stained the glass. Aljiran sighed in relief; the transparent shield remained unbroken. Surveying the backyard, he realized Dhaer was gone—vanished.
Darkness in broad daylight.
A terror-incarnate.
Unleashed.