Something in the basement?

One night, John noticed Max becoming unusually agitated near the basement door. The dog, typically composed, began whining and scratching furiously at the frame.

“What is it, boy?” John asked, crouching down to comfort him.

But Max refused to be calmed. His paws kept scraping the door, his eyes wide and intense, as though something urgent was on the other side.

John stared at the basement door, a chill creeping down his spine. He had no idea what Max sensed—but it clearly wasn’t nothing.

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