I think there’s something wrong with my new tenant.

  As always, I tried to be a likable landlord—shared spaces and resources were open to the tenant, including food in the fridge, the garden, and the barbecue. Since Rafe and Otto moved in, I even installed child locks on all the cabinets the dog could open and baked homemade treats for him. He liked them a lot.

  The first thing that made me suspicious was Otto. He was a strong and gorgeous black Labrador—not a golden retriever, but a Labrador with a long-hair gene. His coat gleamed like polished leather in the sunlight. He was absolutely beautiful.

  I adored the little guy. I even considered the possibility of living with him long-term. Every moment with him brought me joy. I didn’t think my bitter, venomous soul was capable of this much affection. It was beautiful and bewildering.

  But for someone Rafe called “a dumb little thing raised since puppyhood,” Otto managed to open a cabinet locked with a child lock, steal the chicken jerky I’d made (I was pleased to see he actually liked my treats), then bury the wrappers deep in the trash and carefully put the displaced garbage back—so that it looked like nothing had ever happened. This wasn’t some paranoid delusion. It was all captured, timestamped, at 10:25 last night on the security camera.

  Oh, I’m not—at least not yet—the kind of trauma victim who turns neurotic overnight. That camera was installed three and a half years ago. If you dice up food that’s just shy of going bad and leave it out on the kitchen-side balcony long enough, in a country like Australia where wildlife is rampant, you can basically run your own miniature zoo without a license.

  The camera was meant to observe animals. Most of the time, it just caught birds. Spiders and lizards didn’t show up much when birds were around. Sometimes, bats would flash by in the middle of the night—little creatures darting like lightning, leaving only a blurred shadow on the screen. I’m not a zoologist; this level of observation was enough to satisfy my curiosity.

  Honestly, watching a dog rear up awkwardly on two legs, brace against a child lock, and pull the cabinet open while stumbling backward—and succeed after only a few tries—it was eerie. Then he took each piece of jerky wrapper and dropped it into the bin. If the child lock failure was just bad design, what kind of animal had the awareness to hide the evidence?

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  I was reminded of the horror stories my dad used to tell me to stop me from running off when I was little. He said bad kids who wandered would be kidnapped, skinned, and have animal hides sewn onto their bodies so they could be paraded around the streets as freakish beggars—left to die slowly in pain and fear. The memory sent a chill through me. I curled up under my blanket, trying to accept this as reality.

  But by daylight, Otto was still that angelic pup who bounded toward me with a wagging tail, dropped his plush toy at my feet, and curled up in my lap for a nap. My brain told me to keep my distance from this little monster, but my body betrayed me—I couldn’t help but stay close.

  Like today: after his meal, I ended up cuddling with him for a nap, and later tossed his jelly-cat coffee cup plush into the yard so we could play fetch. He was adorable.

  Compared to Otto’s weirdness, Rafe’s quirks were less terrifying. He just snuck into my room when I was out and went through my things, then carefully put them back. Creepy? Sure. But I actually found it kind of funny.

  I only figured it out because I smelled him—in my bedroom and bathroom. Ever since I got out of the hospital, I’d been unconsciously using all my senses to gather information. So when I noticed the shift in scent while breathing through my nose, I became certain—especially after two days of keeping the windows shut.

  Writing all this down, I realize just how bizarre it all sounds. But the camera, my sense of smell, and my logical deductions are all reliable. Rafe and Otto are hiding something I can’t explain. Just like that maniac who tried to kill me.

  In any case, I’ll keep an eye on the two of them. Meanwhile, I’ve been adjusting to some changes of my own—and I’ve set up a few dumb-looking experiments. Hopefully the results won’t be too disturbing.