PART 7: THIS Is What Happens When a DOGMAN Marks Your Property | Wildlife Tracker Explains the Warning Signs
PART 7: THIS Is What Happens When a DOGMAN Marks Your Property | Wildlife Tracker Explains the Warning Signs
PART 7: THE HOUSE UNDER THE HOUSE
The ground beneath my feet breathed.
There is no other word for it.
It rose.
Not much.
Maybe an inch.
Then it fell.
A second later, it rose again.
Slow.
Deep.
Like something enormous was sleeping underneath the house and had just become aware that I was standing above it.
I backed away.
The porch boards creaked behind me.
I looked toward the front door.
Still closed.
Still ordinary.
That should have made me feel better.
It didn’t.
Because I knew what was behind it now.
Or at least I thought I did.
I had spent years believing my house was built on a foundation.
Concrete.
Stone.
Wood.
Something ordinary.
But the sound beneath me wasn’t coming from the basement.
It was coming from deeper.
Much deeper.
And whatever was down there had a rhythm.
Three seconds.
Rise.
Three seconds.
Fall.
Three seconds.
Rise.
I remembered what Walter had said.
The house wasn’t the center of the property.
It was the lid.
I had forgotten that sentence.
Until now.
Then I heard a car.
I turned.
A vehicle was coming down the road.
For one ridiculous second, relief washed over me.
Someone normal.
Someone real.
A neighbor.
A delivery driver.
Anyone.
The vehicle stopped at the end of my driveway.
The driver’s door opened.
And Walter stepped out.
I stared at him.
He stared at me.
Then he looked at the house.
His expression changed immediately.
“What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
He walked quickly toward me.
“What happened?”
“The house.”
“What about it?”
“It’s open.”
Walter stopped.
“What?”
“The front door.”
He looked at it.
Then at me.
“You opened it?”
“No.”
He took another step.
“You went inside?”
“No.”
“Then why is it open?”
“It isn’t.”
Walter looked confused.
“The door is closed.”
I turned.
The front door was shut.
Exactly as it had been.
I looked at Walter.
“It was open.”
He shook his head.
“No.”
“I saw something.”
“I know.”
“What do you mean, you know?”
He stared at me.
“Because I saw it too.”
The House Had Two Doors
Walter walked past me.
He didn’t approach the house.
Instead, he walked to the side yard.
Then he stopped.
“Where is your basement entrance?”
“I don’t have one.”
“You do now.”
I followed him.
Behind the house, near the old shed, the ground had split.
A staircase descended into darkness.
Stone.
Old stone.
Not concrete.
Not anything that belonged beneath my house.
The stairs looked ancient.
Wet.
Black.
And the walls around them were covered with the same four parallel marks.
Except these marks were enormous.
They stretched from the ground all the way down the staircase.
Walter stood at the top.
“I’ve been waiting for this.”
“For what?”
“For the house to open.”
I looked down.
“Where does it go?”
Walter didn’t answer.
Instead, he handed me a flashlight.
I didn’t take it.
“You go.”
He shook his head.
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because it remembers me.”
That answer made no sense.
But after everything I had seen, I wasn’t going to argue.
I took the flashlight.
Then I stepped onto the first stair.
Nothing happened.
Second stair.
Nothing.
Third.
The woods behind me went silent.
I stopped.
Walter whispered:
“Keep going.”
“Why?”
“Because if you turn around now, it knows you’re afraid.”
I almost laughed.
“How do you know that?”
“Because I made the same mistake.”
I kept walking.
The First Room
There were forty-three stairs.
I counted every one.
At the bottom was a room.
Circular.
Stone walls.
No windows.
No furniture.
Except for a wooden chair in the center.
Something was sitting in it.
I raised the flashlight.
The beam shook.
The chair was empty.
But someone had clearly been sitting there.
The cushion was still moving.
I stepped closer.
A photograph was lying on the seat.
I picked it up.
It showed Harold.
He was younger.
Much younger.
Standing beside a woman.
The same woman from the photograph.
The woman who was supposed to become my wife.
Except she wasn’t young in this photograph.
She looked exactly as she had when I saw her in the forest.
I turned the photograph over.
There was writing.
SHE WAS HERE BEFORE YOU.
I felt a cold pressure in my chest.
Then I heard footsteps.
Behind me.
I turned.
Nothing.
I shined the flashlight toward the stairs.
Empty.
I took one step backward.
Another footstep came from the darkness.
This time it was closer.
I raised the flashlight.
Nothing.
Then a voice whispered:
“You’re early.”
I froze.
The voice was female.
I knew it.
It was the woman.
“Where are you?”
“Behind you.”
I turned.
She was standing three feet away.
I nearly dropped the flashlight.
She looked exactly like the woman in the photograph.
She smiled.
But there was something wrong with her eyes.
They were completely black.
“You remembered.”
“Who are you?”
“You know.”
“I don’t.”
“You will.”
She reached toward my face.
I stepped backward.
She stopped.
“Don’t be afraid.”
“What happened to Walter?”
“He never came down.”
“Where is he?”
She smiled.
“He is waiting.”
“For what?”
“For you to make the same mistake again.”
The First Version
I backed away from her.
“What does ‘original’ mean?”
She looked at the chair.
“You want the truth?”
“Yes.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“I don’t care.”
She smiled sadly.
“That’s what you said last time.”
I felt dizzy.
“Last time?”
“You came here before.”
“I know.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“You came here many times.”
I stared at her.
“How many?”
She didn’t answer.
“How many times?”
“Seven.”
My stomach dropped.
“Seven?”
“Seven versions.”
I looked around the room.
The walls suddenly seemed covered in shadows.
Seven doors appeared around the circular chamber.
I hadn’t noticed them before.
Each door had a name carved into it.
The first:
THE BOY
The second:
THE HUNTER
The third:
THE OWNER
The fourth:
THE WITNESS
The fifth:
THE COPY
The sixth:
THE KEEPER
The seventh had no name.
I stared at it.
“What’s behind that one?”
She whispered:
“You.”
The Memory
Something moved behind the seventh door.
I heard breathing.
My breathing.
Then a hand pressed against the other side.
My hand.
I stepped toward it.
The woman grabbed my arm.
“No.”
“Let go.”
“You don’t want to meet him.”
“Who?”
“The one who remembers everything.”
I looked at her.
“You said I was the original.”
“You are.”
“Then who is behind that door?”
She stared at me.
“The part of you that never came back.”
The door opened an inch.
I heard my own voice.
“Please.”
The woman started crying.
“Don’t listen.”
The voice came again.
“Please let me out.”
I looked at her.
“Why is it asking for help?”
She whispered:
“Because it knows you will feel sorry for it.”
The door opened wider.
A hand came through.
Then an arm.
Then a face.
Mine.
But older.
Much older.
The face had deep lines.
Gray hair.
Blood beneath one eye.
And a scar across the mouth.
It looked like me after decades of suffering.
The older version smiled.
“You finally came back.”
I couldn’t speak.
He looked at the woman.
“You shouldn’t have brought him.”
She shook her head.
“I didn’t.”
The older version looked at me.
“You did.”
The Truth About the Woman
I turned toward her.
“Who are you?”
She wiped her tears.
“My name is Anna.”
The name hit me.
Not because I remembered it.
Because something inside me did.
Anna.
I had heard that name.
A long time ago.
Before the property.
Before Walter.
Before the woods.
Anna had been someone I loved.
But I couldn’t remember her.
She looked at me.
“You promised you’d come back for me.”
“When?”
“Seven years ago.”
“Why didn’t I?”
“Because you forgot.”
“Who made me forget?”
She looked toward the older version of me.
“He did.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
The older version smiled.
“Because if you remembered Anna, you’d remember the door.”
“And if I remembered the door?”
“You’d remember what you promised.”
“What did I promise?”
He stepped closer.
The room grew colder.
“You promised to replace me.”
I didn’t understand.
He touched the scar on his mouth.
“I was the first one.”
“What happened?”
“I went through.”
“And?”
“I came back wrong.”
He looked at Anna.
“Then you came through looking for me.”
She nodded.
“And I followed you.”
The older version smiled.
“That’s when the Witness learned it could multiply.”
The Seven Versions
The older me explained everything.
The Witness couldn’t leave the underground chamber.
But it could copy people who entered.
Every person who entered became a possibility.
A version.
The first became the Original.
The second became the Hunter.
The third became the Owner.
The fourth became the Witness.
The fifth became the Copy.
The sixth became the Keeper.
The seventh was me.
The current version.
But there was one problem.
Only one version could remain outside.
The others had to return.
That was the rule.
The Witness didn’t kill them.
It stored them.
Memories.
Voices.
Faces.
Lives.
It kept them beneath the house.
Waiting.
“Why?” I asked.
The older version looked at me.
“Because it needs a body.”
“For what?”
“To leave.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
The woman whispered:
“And it has finally found one.”
I looked at her.
“Mine?”
She nodded.
“Yours.”
The Door Opens
The circular room began shaking.
Dust fell from the ceiling.
The seven doors started opening.
Behind each one stood a version of me.
The boy.
The hunter.
The owner.
The witness.
The copy.
The keeper.
And the original.
Seven faces.
Seven lives.
All looking at me.
Then they spoke together.
“Choose.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“Choose what?”
The older version pointed toward the seventh door.
“Choose which one of us gets to leave.”
Anna grabbed my hand.
“Don’t.”
The room shook harder.
Walter’s voice echoed from somewhere above.
“GET OUT!”
I looked toward the stairs.
A shadow moved across the entrance.
Something had followed me down.
Something tall.
Something enormous.
The Keepers.
No.
Something worse.
The Witness.
It stepped into the room.
For the first time, I saw its real shape.
It wasn’t a giant.
It wasn’t an animal.
It wasn’t human.
It was a mass of faces.
Hundreds of faces layered over one another.
Every face was someone who had entered the house.
Every mouth whispered a different name.
Then all those faces turned toward me.
And one voice came through them.
My mother’s voice.
“Son.”
I froze.
The Witness smiled.
“You finally remembered.”
Anna screamed:
“RUN!”
But it was too late.
The seven versions of me stepped forward.
They weren’t attacking me.
They were surrounding me.
Protecting me.
The older version looked at the Witness.
“No more.”
The Witness laughed.
The sound shook the walls.
“You said that last time.”
The older version looked at me.
Then he whispered:
“Now you understand why I made you forget.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
He pointed toward Anna.
“Because she isn’t here to save you.”
Anna looked at me.
Tears ran down her face.
The older version continued:
“She’s here to make sure you open the second door.”
Anna screamed:
“No!”
The Witness moved closer.
The floor cracked.
A second circular doorway appeared beneath us.
Not behind us.
Beneath us.
And from that darkness came the sound of hundreds of people breathing.
I looked at Anna.
“Did you bring me here?”
She shook her head.
“I tried to stop you.”
The older version laughed.
“She’s telling the truth.”
“Then who brought me?”
Nobody answered.
The Witness leaned closer.
Its hundreds of faces began merging into one.
Mine.
It looked exactly like me.
Then it whispered:
“You did.”
The floor disappeared.
I fell.
Anna fell beside me.
The older version reached for my hand.
Walter shouted somewhere above.
The Keepers screamed.
And the last thing I saw before the darkness swallowed us was the seventh door closing overhead.
Then everything went black.
THE SECOND DOOR
I woke up somewhere cold.
There was water beneath me.
Stone above me.
I couldn’t move.
Anna was beside me.
She was unconscious.
I tried to wake her.
Nothing.
Then I heard breathing.
Not hers.
Mine.
Someone was lying on the other side of the darkness.
I reached for my flashlight.
It was gone.
I heard a match strike.
A small flame appeared.
Someone was sitting across from me.
I couldn’t see the face.
But I recognized the voice.
My voice.
“You shouldn’t have come back.”
I whispered:
“Who are you?”
The flame moved closer.
The face appeared.
It wasn’t the older version.
It wasn’t the copy.
It wasn’t the Witness.
It was me.
Exactly as I looked now.
Same clothes.
Same scars.
Same watch.
Same everything.
He smiled.
Then he said:
“I’m the one who never made the deal.”
I stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
He leaned closer.
“It means everything you’ve been told is a lie.”
Behind him, something enormous moved.
He extinguished the match.
Then whispered:
“And the thing you thought was hunting you…”
Silence.
A deep breath came from the darkness.
“…has actually been protecting you.”
I heard Anna wake up beside me.
She whispered my name.
The other me stood.
Then he pointed behind me.
“Don’t turn around.”
I froze.
“Why?”
His voice became barely audible.
“Because the second door is already open.”
I heard something breathe against the back of my neck.
And then a familiar voice whispered directly into my ear.
My mother’s voice.
“Welcome home.”
I turned.
And saw something I had never seen before.
A room filled with photographs.
Thousands of them.
Every photograph showed me.
Every age.
Every life.
Every version.
And in the center of the room was one final photograph.
A picture of me standing beside Anna.
But neither of us was looking at the camera.
We were looking at something behind it.
Something enormous.
Something smiling.
I reached for the photograph.
Anna screamed:
“Don’t touch it!”
But my fingers had already closed around the frame.
The photograph changed.
The image disappeared.
New words appeared across the paper.
PART 8 BEGINS WHEN THE ORIGINAL REMEMBERS WHO HE WAS.
Then the lights came on.
And every photograph in the room turned toward me.
