Harley ran with me every morning. My Dad's retired hunting dog was my favorite jogging partner, with his floppy ears that hung almost all the way to the gravel as he happily waddled along next to me.

But today as we rounded the curve of my road he slowed all of the sudden. I stopped, scared that this was one of the first signs of his advanced age.

His fur stuck up along his spine and he muttered a breathy bark of warning.

"What's got you all riled up?" I asked.

He looked at me and then began howling loudly before taking off again. In shock, I watched the old dog's rear in a full gallop as he began barreling off the road slightly.

I shrugged it off, attributing it to some kind of residual hunting instinct, and did my best to catch up to him. He always did this when he smelled something small and furry.

We passed my closest neighbors house, a light blue trailer with a collection of dirt bikes leaned up against its side. Their Doberman Pinschers that lived under the porch usually came out to greet Harley and me, but today they stayed concealed under the wood planks. I waved to them anyway and kept running after my wailing dog.

The only other house for a few miles was a long abandoned shack set far back from the road. It hadn't been used since before I was born. Someone bought it a few years back, presumably for the land, but had neglected to tear it down.

It sure needed it though. The paint had peeled off in long strips, giving the wood beneath it over to the elements. And the parts of the windows that were still intact were so grimy you couldn't even see inside them, not that anyone wanted to. The shack was too small to really give off a haunted house vibe. It was just early stage rubble.

Harley was headed right for it. I did my best to follow him, but the inertia I'd lost to the overgrown grass slowed me down. I stopped, leaning over with my hands on my knees. Off road running was the worst.

I wiped a few loose brown hairs off my sweaty forehead. The foliage I was standing in, plus my exposed legs promised an itchy rash in my future. But as I was admiring the rawness of my ankles I heard a loud bang. I whipped my head up, hoping Harley hadn't intersected a hunter with good aim. But I soon realized it was the door of the shack swinging freely. The splintering wooden door was ajar and smacking against the frame in the wind.

I straightened up, watching it closely. In my entire life living on this street, I'd never seen it unlocked. Harley must have been just as curious as me, because I saw him with his nose to the ground walking up the porch steps and through the doorway.

"Harley!" I yelled across the field, but after a few seconds, I knew he was ignoring me. I tried a few more times but they proved to be equally as pointless.

Groaning, I began walking towards the little building. Cigarette butts and crushed beer cans became more and more prevalent the closer I got, which didn't faze me, most houses in that part of Kentucky looked like that, mine included.

The smell was what really made me pause. It was thick with mold and rot, which I guessed was what all long abandoned buildings smelled like. Either way, my dog was lucky I loved him so much.

I had to step up on a concrete block to get to the porch. It stretched across the length of the shack but was almost too narrow for a chair to sit comfortably. The softened wood creaked as I shifted my weight onto it, and I flinched. My heart jumped up into my throat but I swallowed it back down. There was no reason to get freaked out.

I pushed the door open with a single finger and set a foot inside. There were no light switches or outlets, which didn't surprise me, it's not like it was a real house.

I estimated only two rooms, the front one included just a moldy recliner and plywood leaned against the wall.

The carpet was peeling up and there was a dense layer of trash that melded together to create a topographical landscape on the floor. The smell was enough to knock you on your ass. I could see why Harley was so endeared.

There was a doorway to the left that led to what looked like a type of kitchen, although all I could see was a small wood burning stove and blackened floor tiles. My heart was pounding but I had to drag my dog away from whatever piece of trash he was apparently infatuated with.

The floors squeaked with every step but I was dead set on getting that stupid dog.

But the second I fully rounded the corner I regretted it. On the floor in front of a rusted stove was a rotting body.

-----

Hey guys! I'm back in action and in the process of editing as well as updating the sequel (every- every other day). I do apologize for being out of action for so long. Anyway I'd love to hear if you like this updated version of the beginning, I took your guy's advice and changed some stuff around so I'd love to hear your thoughts!