Short story: Hellhounds

I thought I’d make a Halloween special and write a horrorish short story (“-ish” being the key morpheme here). Here is what I came up with.


Some beasts are roaming around. I can hear them growl. I caught a glimpse of them once: dog head, black fur, glowing red eyes. They seem out of place. Why are they here?

They’re coming after me. I have to run. I can still keep them at a distance, but they’re getting closer. They’re getting faster. I have to keep sprinting. I can’t keep that up much longer.

Somebody save me.

I felt the pain before I realised they had caught me. Hellhounds, that’s what they are. They’re cutting through my skin with their claws and teeth. One of them has ripped my belly open and is chewing at my guts, the other has torn off my heart. I can’t yell, I am choking on my own blood. My whole body is convulsing.

I should be dead.

I touch my chest, there is no wound. The hounds are immaterial. Yet I feel them shredding my whole being into pieces.

They’re eating my soul.

They’re tearing it apart and swallowing it. The torment is unspeakable. I wish they would kill me and put an end to this torture. I beg for mercy.

Somebody kill me.

It’s over. They’ve eaten it all and left. I feel good. The pain is gone and I can think clearly. My emotions are gone too, but I am better without them. They only made me suffer. I’m ready to start a new life. I have no purpose anymore, but I have stopped caring about such whims.

I am free.

One cruel angel retrieved parts of my soul and gave them back to me. I told her to leave me alone, to mind her own business, but she wouldn’t listen. “You need it,” she said. Like hell!

I am in agony.

My soul is in pieces. It is bleeding. The angel said I had to sew the pieces back together, but I don’t know how. I cannot focus on the task. I hurt so much. It’s like the hounds are eating me from the inside.

God came to me in my sleep. She assembled two pieces of my soul. I know how to do now. I can do this.

It looked easy when God did it. For me, it’s impossible.

I went to see a prophet. He is enlightened. He knows how to sew souls together, but he cannot do it for me, so he’s teaching me how.

This is difficult. It is taking so long. I can’t do this. Just let me die.

I went to see the prophet again. He taught me patience. I sewed other parts together. I think I’m getting the hang of it.

That’s it. It’s done, finally! My soul is back together. I feel good. I can see things clearly now.

There were no hellhounds.

There was no angel.

There was no God.

Only me.

And the prophet.

My therapist.


Seriously, I’m experimenting here and I have no idea whether this is any good. I’m glad I wrote it though; it was cathartic.

Critics are welcome!