The first time I saw the DogMan, I was seven years old, staring through the fogged-up window of a school bus. We were idling at the crossroads of M-37 and Old Stage Road—a place the locals called "The Devil's Elbow." The other kids were laughing, throwing half-eaten apples at a stop sign. I was looking into the cornfield.
And they are looking right at me.
Then I got the transfer request to the Northern Michigan Asylum for the Criminally Insane. My new patient was Edmund Croft. DogMan
"It's not a werewolf, Doctor," he said, picking at a loose thread on his gray jumpsuit. "That implies a man who turns into a beast. A curse. A full moon. This is different. It was never a man. It's a thing that learned to walk like one." The first time I saw the DogMan, I
"What does it want, Edmund?"
I grabbed a flashlight and ran to Edmund's cell. The door was still locked. The slot was open. I shone the light inside. And they are looking right at me