DOGMAN RETURNED TO THE CEMETERY — AND THIS TIME IT WASN’T HIDING ANYMORE | PART 2
DOGMAN RETURNED TO THE CEMETERY — AND THIS TIME IT WASN’T HIDING ANYMORE | PART 2
I thought leaving that cemetery behind would end everything.
For almost four years, I convinced myself that was the truth.
I told myself that whatever lived in those woods had its own territory, its own routine, and once I was gone, it would simply continue doing what it had always done.
Digging.
Hiding.
Waiting.
But I was wrong.
Because some things don’t disappear when you walk away from them.
Some things remember.
The first strange thing happened about six months after I retired.
I was sitting on my back porch at home, drinking coffee, when my phone rang.
It was the new groundskeeper.
His voice sounded different.
Not scared exactly.
More like someone who was trying very hard not to sound scared.
“Mark,” he said.
“You need to come see something.”
I laughed.
I thought maybe he needed help with equipment.
Maybe he had a question about the old irrigation system.
But then he said:
“It’s about the back section.”
The moment he said those words…
I felt my stomach tighten.
Because I knew exactly what he meant.
When I arrived at the cemetery, everything looked the same.
The old stone wall.
The rusted iron gate.
The rows of graves sitting quietly beneath the morning sun.
For a moment, I almost felt foolish.
I almost convinced myself that the past was just that.
The past.
Then we walked toward the back fence.
And I saw it.
A hole.
Not a small one.
Not an animal burrow.
A deep, wide hole beside one of the newer graves.
The dirt was scattered in the exact same pattern I had seen hundreds of times before.
A pile beside it.
Loose soil behind.
A shallow depression where something heavy had been kneeling.
My hands started shaking.
Because after all these years…
I knew exactly what made that hole.
The new groundskeeper looked at me.
“Have you seen this before?”
I didn’t answer immediately.
Because I knew what would happen if I told him the truth.
He would laugh.
Or worse…
He would believe me.
And there are some things you don’t want another person to believe until they are ready.
Finally, I said:
“Just keep the back gate closed at night.”
He stared at me.
“Why?”
I looked toward the tree line.
Because I could feel something.
Not see it.
Not hear it.
But feel it.
Like I wasn’t alone.
I said:
“Just do it.”
That night, I couldn’t sleep.
I kept thinking about the cemetery.
About the cameras.
About those eyes staring directly into the lens.
About the way it had pushed the camera upward.
Not destroyed it.
Not knocked it down.
Moved it.
Like it understood exactly what it was.
That was the part that bothered me more than anything.
A wild animal reacts.
A wild animal runs.
But that thing…
That thing watched.
It studied.
It learned.
Three days later, the new groundskeeper called again.
This time, his voice was different.
There was no confusion anymore.
Only fear.
“Mark…”
“Something happened last night.”
I sat up immediately.
“What?”
He was silent for several seconds.
Then he said:
“The cameras.”
My heart sank.
“What cameras?”
“The ones I installed near the back fence.”
I didn’t say anything.
I already knew.
“What happened?”
He whispered:
“It found them.”
He sent me the footage.
I watched it alone in my living room.
The first video showed the empty cemetery.
2:17 in the morning.
Nothing moved.
Then…
A shadow crossed the grass.
Slowly.
Quietly.
The creature entered the frame.
It looked exactly as I remembered.
The long arms.
The massive shoulders.
The strange dog-like head.
But something was different.
It wasn’t searching for food.
It wasn’t digging.
It walked directly toward the camera.
It stopped about ten feet away.
Then it looked straight into the lens.
For nearly twenty seconds…
It didn’t move.
The only thing visible was its breathing.
The rise and fall of its chest.
Then something happened that made me drop my phone.
It lifted one hand.
Slowly.
Carefully.
And pointed at the camera.
Not touched.
Not grabbed.
Pointed.
As if it knew exactly what it was.
Then the video ended.
The next clip started thirty minutes later.
The camera was no longer facing the cemetery.
It was facing the house.
The old groundskeeper house.
The house where I had lived.
The house where I had watched those graves for 11 years.
The camera had been turned around.
Toward the window.
Toward the room where I used to sleep.
I watched that clip hundreds of times.
Because there was one detail I couldn’t ignore.
In the reflection of the window…
There was movement.
Something standing outside.
Watching the empty house.
The next morning, I drove back.
I needed answers.
Maybe I was crazy.
Maybe there was an explanation.
Maybe someone was playing a cruel joke.
I repeated those possibilities in my head the entire drive.
Because the alternative was impossible.
But when I arrived…
I saw something that changed everything.
The back fence was damaged again.
The same place.
The same spot where I had found the dark hair years earlier.
The wire was pushed down.
The metal posts were bent.
And hanging from the twisted wire…
Was a piece of fabric.
Old.
Faded.
Torn.
At first, I thought it was just trash.
Then I recognized it.
It was from my old work jacket.
The one I had lost years ago.
The one I remembered tearing when I repaired that fence.
I picked it up.
And underneath it…
There were scratches carved into the metal post.
Deep scratches.
Four lines.
Then another four.
Like something had dragged its claws down the steel.
I called the new groundskeeper over.
I asked him if anyone had entered the cemetery.
He shook his head.
“No.”
“Any hunters?”
“No.”
“Any workers?”
“No.”
Then he looked at me.
“Mark…”
“What?”
“Why does it feel like this thing knows you?”
I didn’t answer.
Because that was the question I had been avoiding.
Maybe it wasn’t returning to the cemetery.
Maybe…
It was returning for me.
That night, I stayed at the old groundskeeper house.
I don’t know why.
Maybe curiosity.
Maybe stupidity.
Maybe because after all those years, I needed to know the truth.
I placed a flashlight beside my bed.
I locked every door.
I closed every window.
And I waited.
At exactly 2:41 in the morning…
I heard it.
The fence.
That familiar metallic sound.
The sound of weight pressing against the wire.
A slow vibration.
A deep ringing noise.
Just like before.
I sat frozen.
Every instinct told me not to move.
Not to look.
Not to check.
But then…
Something tapped on the window.
Once.
I stopped breathing.
Another tap.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Not scratching.
Not hitting.
Tapping.
Like a person asking to come inside.
I slowly turned my head.
The window was covered in darkness.
I couldn’t see anything.
Then another tap came.
But this time…
It wasn’t on the glass.
It was on the front door.
I grabbed the flashlight.
I don’t know what possessed me.
Maybe I wanted proof.
Maybe after all those years, I wanted to know if I was afraid of a real creature or just a memory.
I walked toward the door.
My hand reached for the handle.
Then I heard something that froze me completely.
A voice.
Not a human voice.
Not words.
But a sound.
A deep, broken imitation.
Like something had spent years listening to people…
And was trying to copy them.
Then it said my name.
Not clearly.
Not perfectly.
But enough.
“Mark…”
I stepped away from the door.
Because in that moment I understood something.
The creature wasn’t just passing through the cemetery.
It wasn’t just hiding in the woods.
It wasn’t just using the graves because the dirt was soft.
It had been watching me.
Learning me.
For eleven years.
The next morning, I checked the outside of the house.
There were footprints in the mud.
Huge footprints.
But they weren’t heading toward the forest.
They weren’t coming from the cemetery.
They were circling the house.
Around and around.
Like something had been standing there all night.
Thinking.
Waiting.
I left that place the same day.
I never went back.
But before I left, the new groundskeeper gave me one final thing.
A memory card.
He said:
“You should see the last video.”
I almost refused.
I didn’t want to know anymore.
But I took it.
And that night, I watched it.
The footage was from the newest camera.
The one facing the woods.
At first, nothing happened.
Just darkness.
Trees moving in the wind.
Then, at 3:03 in the morning…
Something stepped out.
Not the Dogman.
Something else.
Something smaller.
Something that looked like it was following it.
Behind it were more shapes.
One.
Two.
Three.
Standing between the trees.
Watching the cemetery.
Watching the camera.
Watching the place where I used to live.
And then the largest one turned its head.
Not toward the camera.
Not toward the graves.
Toward the road.
Toward the direction I had driven away.
As if it knew…
I was gone.
But it also knew…
I would eventually look back.
And maybe…
It was waiting for that day.
