MicroHorror

Mark hated the damned poodle from the moment his wife brought it home from the pound. Fucking fluffy piece of living crap. All it did was eat, sleep and shit. And frequently it would shit on his expensive Persian rug. The last straw was when Mark got up to pee one night and stepped on the dog’s tail, and it nipped his ankle.

“You’re taking that fucking dog to the vet to have it put down!” Mark hollered at his wife. “I will not have a dog living under my roof biting me!”

Mark’s wife’s eyes brimmed with tears as she led the poodle out of the house the next day. Mark kicked back and enjoyed the peace and quiet. Until the phone rang, that is.

“Honey, Fifi’s gone!” It was Mark’s wife crying on the other end.

“Good,” he said. “Come on back home.”

“No, she’s not gone gone,” his wife blubbered. “She’s not here. The shot they gave her did something strange to her. Instead of going to sleep, she started growling and showing her teeth. She kinda puffed up…”

“Puffed up? What do you mean, puffed up?”

“She got bigger,” Mark’s wife explained. “Then she jumped up and tore out the vet’s throat.”

Mark felt the blood draining from his face. His wife’s voice sounded as if it was coming from far away. The knuckles on the hand he was holding the phone with had turned white.

“Then Fifi ran for the door. One of the technicians reached out to try and stop her, and Fifi flashed past her, teeth gnashing, like a buzz saw on four legs. She smashed right through the door with the tech’s severed arm still in her mouth.”

Mark no longer heard his wife. His attention was focused on the front door, where a guttural growl that had started out very low was growing louder and louder. The phone fell from Mark’s hand and clacked to the floor just as the front door exploded inward.