Licked Hand

The night was thick with silence, broken only by the occasional creak of the house settling into darkness. A storm brewed outside, casting brief flashes of light through the bedroom window. Megan lay under her blankets, clutching her loyal dog, Max, who lay beside her on the bed, a comforting weight in the shadows. She’d always felt safe with Max. His protective nature had soothed her on countless nights when she’d been alone in the big, empty house.

But tonight felt different. Eerie.

Around midnight, Megan was jolted awake by a loud bang. The sound echoed through the house, rattling her to her core. She held her breath, listening intently for any sign of movement, her fingers tangling into Max's fur. His warm tongue licked her hand reassuringly, grounding her.

“It’s just the storm,” she whispered to herself, as much to Max as to quell her own fear. She pulled the blanket higher, pressing herself close to her dog, and drifted back into a fitful sleep.

The minutes stretched thin, every sound amplified in the dark. Megan shifted restlessly, half-conscious, reaching out to feel the comfort of Max beside her. Her hand was met with another gentle lick—soothing, soft, warm. She smiled, eyes closed, letting the tension seep away.

A second bang echoed through the house. This time it was louder. Megan bolted up, her heart racing. The room was pitch-black, with only the dim glow of her bedside clock illuminating a sliver of the darkness. She strained her ears for any sign of movement. Silence. She reassured herself, nervously petting Max, who again licked her hand, calming her nerves.

“Must be the wind again,” she muttered, desperately trying to believe it.

The storm raged on, thunder rolling ominously across the sky. Each time she heard a creak or thud, she reached out to feel Max’s reassuring lick, grounding herself against the terrifying noises. The warmth of his tongue became her lifeline through the night’s dark and cold.

As dawn crept closer, Megan finally drifted into a deeper sleep. Hours passed in relative silence until the first light of morning spilled across her room. She stretched, turning to greet Max with a sleepy smile, reaching for him—only to find his spot empty. She blinked, sitting up, her eyes darting around the room.

“Max?” she called, her voice barely above a whisper.

Her heart pounded as she slid off the bed, glancing around the room, hoping he’d simply wandered off. But something was wrong. There, on her bedroom floor, she spotted him. Max lay sprawled, lifeless, his once-golden fur matted and bloodstained, his eyes glazed and empty. Megan’s breath caught, her hands trembling.

A wave of horror washed over her as she remembered the gentle, reassuring licks that had comforted her through the night.

On the wall beside her bed, written in smeared red letters, were the chilling words: Humans can lick, too.

The room spun as Megan stumbled back, bile rising in her throat. The realization hit her with the force of a storm—something, someone had been in her room all night. The warm, soothing licks hadn’t been Max’s. A strangled scream clawed its way out of her throat as she backed away, frantically searching for any sign of the intruder.

The closet door creaked open, ever so slightly, a soft scraping sound that made her blood run cold. She turned to face it, her body frozen with dread as she stared into the pitch-black opening, feeling something lurking just beyond her sight.

A soft, raspy voice broke the silence, whispering from the shadows: “Do you want another lick?”