I didn’t want to believe it. Not at first. It started with something so small, so subtle, that I could have easily brushed it off. But in hindsight, it’s always the smallest things that begin the descent into madness. I should have seen the signs, but I didn’t. And now, as I sit here—alone, terrified—I wonder if I could have stopped it. If I could have saved Henry.

Henry was always a little strange. He had that air about him, the kind of person you couldn’t help but feel curious about, but also wary. We worked at the same tech firm, both of us handling various projects. I was just a manager, nothing special. Henry, though, he had a way with the numbers, with the coding. People in the office called him a genius, but there was something off. His eyes—cold, too cold—always seemed to be focused on something no one else could see. Like a man lost in a dream, or perhaps a nightmare. He never socialized much, never came to the happy hour events or the after-work gatherings. But I always felt drawn to him.

Maybe it was my fascination with the odd, the unexplained. I couldn’t help myself. Something about Henry made me feel like I was staring at the edge of a cliff, knowing if I looked too long, I might fall.

I remember the first time I noticed it clearly. It was late in the evening, and the office was nearly empty. Henry and I were the last ones working on a big project. I’d stayed behind to finish some paperwork when I heard a noise coming from his corner of the office. I looked up from my desk.

At first, I thought he was just stretching, but something was wrong. His posture was… off. He was standing by his desk, his back hunched in a way that wasn’t normal, even for him. His hands—Jesus, his hands—were shaking. Not a slight tremor, but something deeper, something unnatural. I watched as he grabbed his shirt sleeve, his fingers digging into the fabric with too much force, as if he were trying to tear it off.

“Henry?” I called out, trying to mask the sudden chill in my voice. He froze, his head snapping toward me so quickly it made my heart skip a beat. There was something in his eyes then. Not just the usual emptiness, but a flicker of… something primal. Something that reminded me of an animal trapped in a cage.

He forced a smile. “I’m fine. Just… tired.”

I nodded, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. When I left the office that evening, I could still feel that unease gnawing at me. I tried to put it out of my mind, but it followed me—lingering at the edges of my thoughts, like a shadow that wouldn’t leave.

The next day, it was worse.

Henry was late to work, which wasn’t typical. When he finally arrived, I saw him stumble into the office with a slight limp. Just a small thing, but enough to raise suspicion. He didn’t acknowledge it, though. Instead, he went straight to his desk, avoiding eye contact with everyone. He had a new scent about him too—like wet fur. It lingered in the air for hours, faint, but undeniable. The scent was rancid, but I told myself it was just my imagination.

But then, the changes kept coming. Little things. Minor details that couldn’t be ignored. His behavior became increasingly erratic. He would stare off into space for long stretches of time, his pupils dilated, unblinking. His fingers trembled as he typed, like they were no longer capable of controlling themselves. He would occasionally let out a low, guttural growl under his breath—like a dog, but… wrong. The kind of sound that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

One day, I asked him about the limp. He waved it off, claiming he’d twisted his ankle on a hike. But I could see the truth in his eyes. Something had changed, and it wasn’t just physical. There was a darkness creeping into him, something that wasn’t human.

It didn’t take long for people at the office to notice. The way he moved, the way his eyes kept flicking toward the door like he was anticipating something—or someone—outside. He was becoming unhinged, unpredictable. And I don’t know why, but I felt compelled to watch him. I couldn’t look away. The way his fingers twitched, his jaw clenched, his shoulders seemed to hunch—each small thing piling up, piece by piece, into a picture I was too terrified to put together.

Then, the smell. It got stronger. It wasn’t just wet fur anymore. It was decay. Rot. A scent that made me want to gag, but I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t even get close enough to talk to him. I had to leave the office early just to escape it.

But the final straw came one evening after work, when we were supposed to meet for drinks. It was supposed to be a casual evening, nothing special. Henry had insisted on coming, despite his odd behavior. As we waited for our drinks, he started shifting in his seat, like he couldn’t get comfortable. His legs bounced nervously, and his hands kept twitching, as though he was struggling to keep himself under control. I noticed the sound again—the low growl that came from deep in his throat, almost imperceptible.

“Henry, you okay?” I asked, trying to make light of the situation. He looked at me with those eyes. Those terrible, yellow eyes. He didn’t respond at first.

Then, he stood up abruptly. His hands clenched into fists, and he stumbled back, knocking over his chair. People at the table stared, unsure of what was happening. But I knew. I knew something had gone terribly wrong. And it wasn’t just in his head.

“I need to go,” he muttered, his voice strained, like he was choking on something.

I watched him leave, his back hunched, his feet dragging. But it wasn’t just that—his walk was wrong. His legs didn’t move like they used to. There was a stiffness to them, a jerking motion that reminded me of an animal with an injured leg. I followed him out, despite myself. I had to know what was happening.

I watched him stop in the parking lot, his body stiffening in the cold air. He seemed to be listening, his head tilted back, like he was hearing something I couldn’t. And then, something happened. His body twisted unnaturally. His bones seemed to snap and crack, his fingers elongating into claws. His face… His face changed. His nose began to stretch, contort, and grow. I could hear the sickening sound of his skin stretching, tearing. The hair—dark and matted—began to sprout from his skin, crawling up his neck, his arms.

The transformation wasn’t immediate, but it was happening, right before my eyes. His body was warping, and his mind was slipping further away with each passing moment. His teeth—oh God, his teeth—grew sharper, longer, like those of a beast. And then, the final horror—the howl.

It was animalistic, guttural, and it pierced the night air like a scream. He looked at me—no, it wasn’t Henry anymore. It wasn’t my friend. It was something else. Something primal. Something that should not exist.

I stumbled backward, my heart hammering in my chest. The man I had known was gone. In his place stood a creature—half man, half something else—something that didn’t belong. He looked at me, those eyes full of hunger, full of malice. Then, with one last growl, he turned and disappeared into the night.

I ran. I ran as fast as I could, but I knew—I knew I couldn’t outrun what Henry had become. I didn’t stop until I was in my apartment, locking every door and window behind me. But even then, the fear didn’t stop. It clung to me, like a shadow that refused to leave.

It’s been weeks now. I haven’t seen Henry since that night, and I don’t want to. But I hear rumors—whispers among the people at work. They say they’ve seen a strange dog prowling the area, always in the dark, always watching. Some of them have heard it howl, like a man in agony.

And sometimes, when I’m alone at night, I hear it too.

That howl.

It’s calling for me.