And hoped the dog would let him get close before the cold claimed them both.
As Jeremy drew closer, he noticed the dog’s posture had shifted. It no longer looked aggressive—just frightened and fiercely protective. The growl had faded into a low whine, a mournful sound that pierced the silence and stirred something deeper in him.
It wasn’t trying to threaten him. It was guarding something.
Jeremy’s pulse quickened with unease and curiosity. What could it be hiding? He inched forward, his breath steadying as he murmured, “Easy there… I’m not here to hurt you.”
The dog’s eyes followed his every step, unblinking. But it didn’t growl. Instead, it shifted its body just enough for Jeremy to glimpse what was tucked beneath it.
Then he heard it—soft, muffled noises. Not quite whimpers, not quite cries. The sound sent a cold ripple through his chest.
At first, he thought they were kittens.
He took a sharp step back. Kittens? A spike of panic shot through him—he was severely allergic to cats. Touching them, even being near them too long, could send his body into full revolt.
Back inside, Jeremy fumbled for his laptop, hands still shaking. He typed frantically: How to care for kittens if you’re allergic. He clicked the first video that appeared, but barely heard it. His thoughts were already spiraling.
Because those sounds—those muffled cries—they weren’t kitten-like, not really.
The tone was off. The pitch was wrong. Jeremy muted the video and turned his gaze back to the backyard.
What was the dog really guarding?
Outside, the snow thickened, swirling under the streetlight in soft, blinding sheets. The storm was building fast, and Jeremy felt an urgency gnawing at his gut. Whatever was out there, it wouldn’t survive the night in this cold.