I am puzzled and worried.
Then a thought comes to me. I remember the morning after the Thing
appeared. I remember that the dog licked my hand. It was this one, with
the scratch on it; though I have not been even conscious of the
abasement, until now. A horrible fear has come to me. It creeps into my
brain--the dog's wound, shines at night. With a dazed feeling, I sit
down on the side of the bed, and try to think; but cannot. My brain
seems numbed with the sheer horror of this new fear.
Time moves on, unheeded. Once, I rouse up, and try to persuade myself
that I am mistaken; but it is no use. In my heart, I have no doubt.
Hour after hour, I sit in the darkness and silence, and shiver,
hopelessly....
The day has come and gone, and it is night again.
This morning, early, I shot the dog, and buried it, away among the
bushes. My sister is startled and frightened; but I am desperate.
Besides, it is better so. The foul growth had almost hidden its left
side. And I--the place on my wrist has enlarged, perceptibly.
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