 Pearl charged from across the neighbor's lawn. All white fluff and big clumsy paws. My ass collided with the side of my Kia and I squatted down to accept my daily barrage of puppy kisses. Mrs. Douglas came running after her, dropping her hands to her knees as she reached us. Sorry, she huffed. That damn dog is too fast for her own good. I laughed and scratched Pearl's ears. Have you been a good girl today? I asked her. Mrs. Douglas snorted, You're lucky you still have a dog at all. She tried for Pete's hydrangeas today. Oh no, I said, shifting up and wiping the paw prints from my gray slacks. Not too much damage, I hope. Nah, I stopped her in time, thankfully. Thanks Mrs. D. I flashed her a grin. We owe you our lives. She waved the thought away and turned back toward her own house on the corner. I towered over the small little box I called home, shining a light on my personal inadequacies in more ways than one. Oh, she spun back around. That reminds me, he's been asking about your lawn again. Oh, has he? If you just let him mow it, he'll get off your back and mine. I clicked my tongue and wagged a finger at her. Now now, Mrs. D., you know I don't give it away that easily. The older woman rolled her eyes but gave up the fight for now just the same. I corralled Pearl inside and went to work on both of our dinners, chuckling to myself about the whole thing. I didn't know Mr. Douglas all that well, honestly, just the things I'd heard from his wife. He was crazy about his yard. I knew that much. More often than not, he was recipient of the neighborhood's annual Most Beautiful Lawn Award, much to the chagrin of old Mrs. Huxley down the street. He always waved to me as we headed off to work in the morning, but other than that, we didn't talk much. He seemed like an average, boring sort of guy. The pointed comments about my own unmanageable mess of weeds and vines might have been taken with greater offense if he wasn't so harmless. I settled down on the couch with a microwave dinner and a PBR just in time to hear Mrs. Douglas calling for the kids out the back door. There were two of them, a boy around 10, Steven, and his younger sister, Lily. Steven and his friends were little hellions around the neighborhood, stampeding their bikes up and down streets and driveways, hooping and hollering the whole way. Little Lily followed along like a groupie, but from what I could tell, her brother kept a good eye on her. My neighbor's shouts were punctuated by the sound of thunder drumming across the sky. Low and distant, but Pearl longed enough to tell me something massive was coming. Pearl whined next to me. I was in for a long night. Several hours and a handful of beers later, I was laying on my bedroom floor with a pillow and comforter pulled down with me. Pearl was curled tightly in the closet, nose buried in her paws as the rain ripped and rumbled outside. I was just drifting off into a fitful sleep when a resounding crack shook the house and I shot up like a rod. Shit, I thought. Here we go. I've been living in fear of the massive oak tree in the backyard since I bought the house in the first place. Its ancient branches hung like a claw over my roof, threatening with every strong wind to reach down and grab ahold of it. I was saving up to get it trimmed, but damn if that wasn't half the cost of my down payment right then and there. I struggled up off the ground, groaning and pawing at the back of my head. Pearl whimpered and ducked away, so I gave her a quick pat before snatching open the nearby curtain. A torrent of raindrops danced along the window pane, obscuring the view of my backyard. The streetlights from the main road provided a meager amount of light that cast shadows over the barely thawed grass and made me squint to make sense of anything. A flash of lightning lit the air and while the tree in my periphery remained fully intact, that's not what caught my eye. There was someone in my yard. The darkened figure was crouched down in the grass, knees sinking into the watery mud and hands fiddling with something in front of him. I grabbed the jeans though hanging over my dresser and nearly knocked myself back out, hopping around to pull my shoes back over my heels. I should have called the cops. I know that now, but I'd spent plenty of my life living in shittier neighborhoods than this. Honestly, I just thought it was the local crackhead from the apartment complex down the street. I slammed my screen door open and grabbed the aluminum bat I kept propped by the back door. I could handle this just fine on my own, I figured. Hey there buddy, time to move it along. I called out to him, one hand shielding my eyes from the downpour. I stuck under the overhang of the roof to keep cover, but as I turned the corner, the automatic light by the door kicked to life. The shadowed figure turned to face me, and reflexively, I swung the bat up over my head. Mr. Douglas kneeled in my yard in a pair of fraying boxer briefs, balloon-like gut hanging loose over the elastic band. From his torso down, he was stained slick with something dark and viscous that even the downpour above couldn't wash clean. His eyes were wild in the bright fluorescent glow, feral almost, like a raccoon caught in a cage, if only. He pulled the foot underneath himself and pushed slowly off the ground. Mr. Douglas? I said, holding tight on my bat. You alright man? He weaved forward and to the left. His arm raised up in my direction, more dark liquid oozed out of the appendage. My knees turned to jello. He didn't have any fingers. Well, he still had one, his thumb currently hanging off to the side, holding on by a small string of sinew. The dangling digit captured his attention and he raised it, trembling to his mouth. I won't lie. I bolted. My screen door crashed behind me, joining the keen of Pearl's deafening howls. She was out of her closet now, trying to push her way out the door behind me, snarling and spitting. I dropped the bat and grabbed her by the collar instead to wrestle her inside. I clicked the deadbolt in place, just as Mr. Douglas collided full force into the door. My knees sank into my scrunched-up comforter on the bedroom floor as I clawed around for my forgotten phone. Pearl's growls, punctuated by bang after bang, left my own fingers shaking like leaves when I finally scooped it up. Each ring echoed like a church bell bouncing around inside my ribs. I crawled into the dog's hiding space in the closet, and seconds later, she leapt right in with me. 911, what's the location of your emergency? My neighbor. He's hurt. He's trying to break in. Sir, you need to calm down. What's your location? The sound of glass shattering reverberated from the next room, and I nearly dropped my phone scrambling back out. It's 5878, Wollerby Avenue. I shouted out. Shoulder enclosed my bedroom door just as a bloody nub stuck through it. What was left of his hand pinched between the door and the frame, just a mass of grizzle and bone fragments. I gagged and charged the door again. And what's the nature of the emergency? My neighbor broken. There's something wrong with him. There's something it was his turn to throw his body weight against the door. The pressure of the blow left my phone flying from my hand, left me staggering back at its surprising force. The Mr. Douglas I knew was too much of a lily ass to throw a baseball around with a kid. How the hell did he get so strong? Pearl started up again, darting between us just as another thud left the door flying open and pale, pudgy body staggering through it. His skin was reminiscent of cottage cheese in both texture and tone. The gore caked along his torso and arms didn't do him any favors. Pearl lunged for his groin. And while I winced reflexively at the attack, he didn't so much as whimper. He did, however, reach down for my dog's neck, going for the scruff before he seemed to realize that he couldn't grab a hold. Instead, he leveled a swift kick her way, leaving her squealing. I rushed forward, grabbing the lamp on my dresser and shoved it as far as I could into his puffy cheeks. The force of the blow left him staggering, but ultimately didn't do much to deter him. He tumbled back over one of the dining room chairs. A shard of glass left in his wake pierced right up through his heel. But even that didn't seem to stop him. He was back up in no time. To my relief, I heard the sweet call of siren singing in the distance. I shoved the door closed again and wrapped my arms around Pearl. I hadn't picked her up since she was a pup. And before that moment, I wasn't so sure I could anymore. She struggled against me, but I didn't let up. I held her in a bear hug and stumbled out into the front hall. Behind us, Mr. Douglas fell against the door frame and braced himself against the wall with his bloody stumps. Time slowed as I pulled at the chain on my front door, red and blue lights flashing in from the front windows. The deadbolt slid, and I wrenched the door inwards. Mr. Douglas landed flush against my back as I collapsed into the screen door and spilled out onto my front walkway. It was over in a flash as Pearl squirmed from my grasp and something moist and mushy pushed into my hair. Police already had weapons drawn and aimed. I threw myself forward into the unforgiving cement rolling to the side and covering my head. A mass of fluff climbed on top of me and before I knew it I was being pulled from the ground by a team of medics. I was near hysterics as they wheeled me into the ambulance. It didn't help when I glanced over to the house on the corner only to see their windows speckled from the inside with fresh blood. It was seven months ago now and nothing has been quite the same since. The street is quieter, neighbors are more closed off. I used the money I'd been saving for the tree and built myself a privacy fence instead. I don't want to talk about what he did to his family. Honestly, my therapist has heard enough of the details. What a night goes by where I don't still see his manic-eyed gaze as I close my eyes to sleep. At least all of them was accounted for. Mr. Douglas, not so much. You see, they only found four of his fingers. They were sticking up out of thin little holes in my yard. Most days I'm able to keep myself from drifting off, staring into their empty house. Most days I don't even think about those six missing fingers. Between a pandemic and the post-traumatic stress, Pearl has been my lifeline. Neither of us do too well during storms anymore, but most of the time her big, goofy grin is all that keeps me together. She loves having a yard of her own nowadays. She'd spend all day out there if I let her. Pearl's the one who found it first, poking up out of the ground after the first early spring faw, a set of bright red leaves shooting up from the dirt. I didn't think much of it at first when I caught her digging. Lord knows I didn't plan anything, but it wouldn't be the first time some seeds had blown in and made it their home. If they trusted me to provide for them, well, they'd be sorely mistaken. A week later, they were nearly knee-high and it was all I could do to keep the damn dog's nose out of the dirt. Pearl went wild for them, rolling and flopping and barking up a storm. I shoot her away and tried to keep an eye on it. I made a mental note to try to look up the plant later. As they grew, spindly black veins sprouted up through the hole of the leaves. Yesterday, I let her out in the morning and stumbled off towards the kitchen to start my day. I'd barely made it to the coffee pot when Pearl went wild. Pause banging against the back door as she whined for my attention. When I peeked out, she squeezed her way back inside, massive red leaves shooting out from either side of her snout. Before I could make sense of it, she was darting around the house, me chasing behind her and grumbling about the impromptu game of keep away. Soon, she'd cornered herself in the closet. I clicked the bedroom door shut behind me to block her escape. The sliding door squealed as I yanked it open and Pearl knew instantly she'd been caught. She spat the weeds at my feet and dove off under the bed, a low, uncharacteristic growl escaping her. With a sigh, I knelt down to collect the mess of dirt and plant matter only to let them fall again with a startled gasp. At the bottom of the pile, dangling off the roots was a perfectly preserved human thumb. Pearl took my hesitation as an opening to grab it up again, tucking herself and her wagging tail under the bed as she started to chew. I reached a shaking hand up to pull open my curtain. There were three more tufts of red jutting up from the grass. Mr. Douglas planted his fingers in my yard and they're starting to sprout.