Scrape and Snarl

I heard it again last night.

The odd, metallic scraping combined with an otherworldly snarling outside my window. It seems like every time I hear it, it gets louder and somehow more menacing. The snarl gets deeper, the scraping gets louder. Something is out there, but I'm too afraid to go look. I'm sure it's just someone's stray dog, but I have never heard a dog -- or any other beast, for that matter -- sound like this.

I search the area outside of the window the next day every time I hear it, and find nothing. No scrapings, no blood, no evidence of anything at all. Just the half-dead grass surrounding my first floor apartment window and the brickwork which seems to have been done by someone paid bare minimum for their work. Serviceable, yet in no way professional. The window itself is nothing unusual, except that the owner apparently did not want me to use it for its intended purpose by placing a storm window on the outside fused shut. To me, this seems like some sort of building violation, but I dare not complain as the rent here is far below the rent of any other apartment complex I have looked at in any decent area of town. Except for the noise I'm hearing at night, the place is quiet, it's in a good neighborhood, and close to everything I ever need. It's just that lately, the place has seen fewer people going to and from their apartments and fewer automobiles parked in the lots, meaning for some reason, people are leaving this complex.

In the darkest corners of my mind, I wonder if it has something to do with the noise.

--

The next three days are uneventful as I go about my routine, simple life as usual. I have no interest in any sort of relationship or pet ownership, preferring to spend my time at home in peace and quiet. That night, I end a marathon of silly internet viral videos, turn off the alarm for the weekend, and prepare for bed. Putting my fear of that noise aside for a brief moment, I walk outside to my bedroom window with a flashlight, looking around for anything odd. Nothing. A calm, peaceful night surrounds me, with barely any noise coming from anything besides a few echoes of traffic noise from afar. Going back inside, I put on comfortable clothing and get into bed.

Scrape, snarl.

Again. There it is again. I jump up, put on some pants, grab my flashlight, and go out the door carefully as to not scare off whatever is there. Fear has left me at this point and curiosity has taken over. Sneaking around to the window, I look without the use of the flashlight to make sure I don't scare whatever is there away.

Nothing.

I shine the flashlight over. Still nothing. I shine it around, on the side of the apartment, above me, everywhere. Still absolutely nothing.

Slightly shaken, I wander back inside, turning off the flashlight but forgetting to remove my pants.

Scrape, snarl.

I jump up again. Twice in the same night. That's never happened. I look for my pants for a moment before I realize I still had them on, grabbed the flashlight, and went outside. Abandoning stealth for speed, I ran to the window to see what was there.

What I saw stopped me in my tracks and chilled me to the bone.

The hind-quarters of a large beast, the size of a very large dog, were sticking out of a sickly purple and black shimmering, swirling thing hovering over the grass, just outside of my window. The beast was dark gray, with shaggy, unkempt fur, and long legs ending in almost human-like feet with what looked like sharp dagger-like claws. As soon as the beast managed to pull itself into the portal-like swirl inexplicably hovering outside of my window, the portal vanished -- not with a flash or any sort of flourish, but just ceased to exist, disappearing in an instant as though it was never there.

The last thing I remember was my head swimming.

Daylight and a balding, bearded old man who must have been pushing eighty years old was the next thing I saw. The man -- who introduced himself as "Sammy" and said he had been living here since the 1970s -- asked if I was all right and what I was doing lying here in the grass. I explained that I had come out here from my apartment -- the one right next to us, the one the window belonged to -- and must have fainted, or fell asleep, or something. I dared not tell him about what I saw last night. Or what I thought I saw.

A vague promise to go get checked out by a medical professional later, Sammy went on his way and told me to take it easy. He was long gone before I even thought about the idea that maybe Sammy had heard the noises as well, since something was scaring off the people here.

A trip to the store and the purchase of a security camera was my next move. Setting it up at my window and pointing exactly to the place I had seen that beast and the portal, I would at least be able to confirm that I wasn't going absolutely out of my head.

For an entire week, that camera detected nothing but random people walking by my apartment window. And one bird who decided to land on the grass, searching for any sort of sustenance.

Scrape, snarl.

The day had been a whirlwind of activity. Work had been particularly brutal and unforgiving that day, the drive home nightmarish, and the store seemed to be out of every single thing I really wanted (my precious cookies and cream ice cream pints!). I came home and reviewed the tape from that day as was my habit, hoping to see something unusual in broad daylight for once. Again, nothing but random passers-by.

But that night, I heard it again. Rushing outside, I saw it again -- the same horrific figure climbing into the portal. This time, though, I had proof. Rushing back inside, I went to the tape only to discover that I had unfortunately not reset and turned the camera back on after reviewing the tape earlier. No footage!

Cursing my bad luck, I set the camera back up properly this time, and went back to bed.

Scrape, snarl.

I was outside in record time. No pants or flashlight this time. I wanted to see this beast in all its glory.

Unfortunately, my wish came true. It was standing there, shifting form as if I was seeing it through some sort of filter. It looked at me with bright purple eyes, opened its mouth revealing an impossible number of teeth, and made a new sound. It roared, and I felt the pressure of the sound it made, pushing me backwards. I wanted to run, but my legs refused to work. Its arms wrapped me up inside of itself and pulled me within itself. I felt like I couldn't breathe for a moment, but eventually found that it didn't matter any more. I had become part of It. The nexus point where that apartment complex was built was a feeding ground for the multi-dimensional creature that I -- and the other people who have lived in those apartments -- now live within.

We -- the creature, and everyone it had absorbed as part of itself -- began to enter the portal. On the other side was a new world I couldn't even comprehend. Impossible structures as far as the eye could see stretched out over infinite horizons. But I knew that, somehow. It started to make more sense as I was absorbed into this creature. It couldn’t get me from inside my apartment; I was too far away and it used my curiosity to lure me out for the few moments it could exist in my world. I was this creature now, or at least, a part of it. More than just its food, I became part of it. Maybe -- no, I knew -- that this is how it survives, by what it called in its chaotic tongue Taking. And that was my last independent thought as I melted into the creature and knew no more of my own self.

--

"Another damaged window," reported the owner of the apartment complex. As was all too familiar at this point, the lease was ended, the renter's possessions found their way into the hands of his family, and repairs were quickly made. The camera and tape device was given away but ultimately trashed because both were broken beyond compare by the same force that damaged the window and everything around it.

The next night, Sammy was woken by a strange noise just outside his window.

Scrape, snarl.