dog.pngA young couple moves into a new home, only to be disturbed by strange events after the wife’s dog, Qiuqiu, is killed by her father. Soon after, they hear the dog’s ghostly cries and find its mutilated body under their bed. As they uncover the house’s dark past, they realize they must face a malevolent spirit while protecting themselves. What started as a peaceful home becomes a battleground between the living and the dead.

My wife's dog, which she had raised for five years, was killed and eaten by her father.

During the pandemic lockdown, when we couldn't go out and even buying medicine from pharmacies was impossible if you got sick, my wife's brother caught a cold.

Her father thought he'd make some nourishing food for his son. My wife and I had gone out to collect our food rations, and since she rarely got to leave the apartment, she persuaded me to walk around downstairs for half an hour just to get some fresh air.

When we returned, we found the dog had been butchered—chopped into pieces in a basin, with its head thrown into the garbage bin.

My wife broke down crying immediately. "You killed my Ball-Ball!" she sobbed. Ball-Ball was the dog's name.

Her father said it should have been killed long ago. Ever since they moved into the new apartment, the dog had been barking every night for two whole years. My wife couldn't control it, and he had wanted to slaughter it for a long time.

To be fair, we had tried everything to stop Ball-Ball's nighttime barking. We tried muzzles and anti-barking collars. Every time Ball-Ball got shocked after barking, he would whimper pitifully, and my wife would hold him, crying, begging him not to bark anymore.

But Ball-Ball seemed almost trained to do it. Ever since we moved to the new place, he would run to the front door every night at eleven o'clock and bark continuously until one in the morning—a full two hours of barking.

My brother-in-law stood beside us, smirking. I asked if he had tried to stop his father from killing the dog.

"Not only did I not stop him," he said, "I helped hold the dog down."

He went on to describe how Ball-Ball struggled fiercely, so he lifted the dog up and slammed it against the floor twice, like killing a fish. After that, Ball-Ball couldn't move, and they began butchering it.

He deliberately described it in graphic detail. My wife couldn't take it anymore. She stood up, screaming that her father and brother were monsters, then ran back to our bedroom in tears.

My brother-in-law had the nerve to be offended, demanding that my wife apologize for her words and behavior.

I was even more furious. "You know she's had that dog since she was young," I said. He replied, "So what? It's your fault for not controlling the dog. It barked every night."

I didn't want to argue with him, so I went back to comfort my wife.

My brother-in-law deliberately said hurtful things outside our door. I wanted to lash out, but because of the pandemic lockdown, we were dependent on their hospitality. I had no standing in their home, so I could only cover my wife's ears so she wouldn't hear.

My wife cried for a long time until she finally fell asleep from exhaustion.

I imagined Ball-Ball would have cried too if he could. Not wanting to disturb my wife, I quietly wiped away my own tears.

Deep into the night, I was still haunted by Ball-Ball's violent death when suddenly I heard something outside—what sounded like a dog barking.

The barking sounded exactly like Ball-Ball's, just much weaker than usual.

My wife woke up in my arms. Wiping her tears, she said she thought she heard Ball-Ball calling for her.

She became almost hysterical, jumping up and running outside, saying Ball-Ball had come back to find her.

I was puzzled too and followed her to the living room. When we turned on the lights, the place was empty—nothing there.

I checked the time deliberately: it was eleven o'clock at night—exactly when Ball-Ball used to bark.

My wife started crying again. The dog's barking continued intermittently. I thought it might be a dog from downstairs, so I held my wife and suggested we go back to sleep. She refused, continuing to talk about Ball-Ball.

At one in the morning, the barking stopped.

I stayed up with my wife until dawn. When we left our room, my father-in-law was busy in the kitchen. Seeing us, he remarked with surprise that we were up early and had even taken out the garbage.

But we hadn't taken out any garbage—I had been in the room with my wife the whole time.

My father-in-law pointed at the garbage bin, saying the dog's head, bones, and skin were all gone. The bin was completely empty.

At the mention of this, my wife started crying again, though she had no tears left. She fled back to our room.

I figured her brother must have thrown it away, so I went to comfort her, telling her not to be sad.

Without Ball-Ball, my wife refused to eat all day. I was heartbroken seeing her like this. I reminded her that although Ball-Ball was gone, we still had Miaow-Miaow at home.

Miaow-Miaow was my cat, and my wife loved it too. I told her, "If you starve yourself thin, when the lockdown ends and we go home, Miaow-Miaow won't recognize you. At least let me take you to the convenience store downstairs to buy some snacks. We can see what they have in stock and walk around a bit."

My wife agreed. We went out for a while, making sure to avoid the pandemic control staff, and secretly visited the place in the community where we used to walk Ball-Ball.

When we returned home, my father-in-law scolded us for bringing back so many snacks, saying the packaging might carry the virus and ordering us to disinfect everything immediately.

My wife and I went back to our room. I thought of stashing the bag of snacks under our bed, which had built-in storage.

But when I lifted the mattress and my wife opened the wooden panel, she froze.

Under our bed lay the corpse of a dog—Ball-Ball.

Ball-Ball was skin and bones, his head staring right at us.

I picked him up. It was clearly a dog's corpse, but the meat and internal organs were gone. It was incredibly light—just a dog that had been reassembled.

I was absolutely furious. I stormed into my brother-in-law's room. The bastard was still sleeping and hadn't locked his door. I pounced on him, grabbed his hair, and started punching his head.

I hit him again and again. My brother-in-law woke up from the beating and struggled, shouting loudly.

My father-in-law, seeing me hitting his son, rushed into the room and started hitting me with a broom, making my face sting.

I ignored my father-in-law and kept punching my brother-in-law, calling him a psychopath for killing the dog and then tormenting us.

But I disappointed everyone.

I couldn't beat my brother-in-law. He worked in a factory all year round, while I sat in an office—I never had a chance to build any strength.

In no time, he had me pinned down and was beating me instead. Finally, my wife rushed in and bit his face in desperation.

My middle-aged father-in-law cried until his voice was hoarse. "This family is falling apart," he sobbed, "all because of a dog."

With my brother-in-law pinning me down and beating me, I still cursed him for being inhuman. My father-in-law shoved the broom into my mouth, telling me to get out of his house and go back where I came from.

Then he sat on the floor crying, saying I, an outsider, had destroyed his family, and after this physical fight, how could the family ever face each other again?

Next, he cursed my wife for being heartless, making such a fuss over a dog, saying he had promised to compensate her but she showed no appreciation or empathy.

My brother-in-law, still pinning me down, slapped my face and demanded to know why I had attacked him.

"You fucking idiot," I said, "you reassembled the dog and put it under our bed. I'm not just going to beat you—when the lockdown ends, I'm going to have people deal with you."

My brother-in-law said I was talking nonsense, that he hadn't done it. My wife brought Ball-Ball's corpse in.

My brother-in-law insisted he really hadn't done it and suggested we check the security footage if we didn't believe him.

My father-in-law's home had security cameras, but they only monitored the living room. He had bought the apartment at a court auction, and many people had advised him against buying court-auctioned properties, but he didn't listen, saying it was a bargain.

As a result, the previous owner's creditors often came to make trouble, even banging on the door. Frightened, my father-in-law installed security cameras and frequently had to explain to people that the apartment had changed hands.

Seeing my brother-in-law's shamelessness, I agreed to check the footage, saying, "If I've wrongly accused you, I'll get on my knees and apologize."

So we reviewed the security footage, but when the images appeared, my wife and I were stunned.

The footage showed that at eleven o'clock the previous night, my wife and I had come out of our room.

We should have been looking for the source of the dog's barking, but instead, we went to the garbage bin and emptied it out.

There we sat on the floor, reassembling Ball-Ball's skeleton.

My brother-in-law's face grew increasingly cold as he fast-forwarded the video. I watched as the footage showed my wife and I completing Ball-Ball's reassembly, covering him with dog skin, attaching his head, and carrying him back to our room.

My father-in-law cursed, slapped me twice, and forced me to kneel and apologize to my brother-in-law.

My brother-in-law didn't let me off either. He kicked my legs hard, demanding I kneel, and called me a backstabber for framing him.

I truly had no memory of doing any of this. I said I had heard Ball-Ball barking and only went out to look.

"Barking my ass," my brother-in-law said. "There was no dog barking yesterday."

My wife also insisted she had heard Ball-Ball barking and that we hadn't done what the footage showed.

The situation became very tense. Finally, my father-in-law told me, in his exact words, "When the lockdown ends, you get the fuck out. From now on, I want nothing to do with you two. When I'm old, I don't need you to take care of me!"

Then he angrily grabbed Ball-Ball's corpse, threw it into the garbage bin, and took it out to dispose of it.

My wife and I returned to our room in a daze, finding the whole incident bewildering.

I don't know if it was from shame or from the many scratches the broom had left on my face, but my skin burned intensely.

That night, we didn't hear any dog barking.

I was in pain all over from the beating, both hurting and exhausted. My wife was also exhausted from crying all day, so we went to sleep together.

When we got up the next day and walked out of our room, we were shocked.

My brother-in-law and father-in-law were reviewing the security footage again, with Ball-Ball's corpse on the table!

I asked what was going on. My brother-in-law told me to be quiet and played the footage.

The security camera showed that at eleven o'clock the previous night, my brother-in-law's door had opened.

He left the apartment and returned ten minutes later carrying Ball-Ball's corpse, carefully cleaning it.

After showing the video, my brother-in-law asked if we had heard any dog barking the night before. We both shook our heads.

My father-in-law said it was eerie—the dog had become a spirit and was driving the whole family insane.

Experiencing something like this, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't terrified.

I was scared shitless, worried I might have developed sleepwalking.

My father-in-law muttered curses about Ball-Ball while my brother-in-law and I repeatedly checked the security footage from the past two nights.

As I watched, I suddenly noticed something odd. "Wait," I said.

It was the first night after Ball-Ball's death, exactly eleven o'clock.

When our bedroom door opened, I stared intently at the doormat.

I asked my brother-in-law if he could zoom in. He tried operating the computer for a while, checked the manual, but couldn't figure it out.

I took over, quickly figured it out, and enlarged the image.

Something was wrong with the doormat.

When my wife and I stepped on the doormat as we came out, a footprint appeared out of nowhere, as if someone was walking into the room.

My wife and I were coming out, but there was a pair of feet walking in.

This sight sent chills down my spine. What was that thing?

My father-in-law cursed at us to stop watching, saying it was pointless and that they should never have killed the dog—it was all too strange.

Ignoring him, I took starch from the kitchen and spread it at the doorways of all three bedrooms.

I told everyone to be careful not to step in the starch and to close doors gently.

My father-in-law couldn't stand the atmosphere. Angrily, he took Ball-Ball's corpse and went out, saying he would burn it to prevent the dog's spirit from harming us!

By this point, my wife couldn't cry anymore. She just trembled in my arms, terrified.

After a while, my father-in-law returned, saying he had burned Ball-Ball's remains so the dog couldn't come back to haunt us.

We closed our doors gently, but my father-in-law didn't care at all. He slammed his door shut, scattering starch everywhere, and cursed loudly.

I had no choice but to spread more starch outside his room.

That evening, my wife was very afraid.

I was scared too.

Around ten, my brother-in-law knocked on our door. He said we should put our fight aside for now—something strange was happening, and we should wait together until midnight.

So we waited in our room until eleven o'clock, but heard no dog barking.

My brother-in-law suddenly mentioned that from the very first day we moved in, Ball-Ball had always started barking at midnight—the most ominous hour.

My wife was frightened and asked him to stop talking about it. My brother-in-law stood up, saying he would check his father's doorway.

When he opened our door, he urgently called for us to come out quickly.

We rushed out, and I swear I'll never forget what I saw.

In the previously undisturbed starch outside my father-in-law's room, a footprint suddenly appeared.

The footprint materialized right before my eyes. We quickly opened my father-in-law's door.

He was still snoring in bed. My wife rushed in, screaming, "Get out! Get out now!"

My father-in-law woke up, grumbling that we shouldn't be making such a racket in the middle of the night, asking if we'd gone crazy again.

I asked worriedly if he was alright. He said he was fine, just too hot from the radiator to sleep, and was going to open the window for some air.

He walked to the window and opened it.

A cool breeze blew in, but suddenly my father-in-law's head jerked forward. The back of his shirt was mysteriously pulled up, and he angrily said, "What are you doing? Don't push me!"

The next second, he was thrown out the window.

I stared in shock—he hadn't jumped; he had clearly been thrown out!

My brother-in-law screamed and rushed to grab him. Fortunately, the people below had installed security bars on their windows. My father-in-law hit those bars first, then his body began to slide down.

He kept trying to climb up, but he was falling faster and faster. My brother-in-law quickly extended a broom for him to grab, but the handle was slippery and gradually slid from my brother-in-law's hands.

My brother-in-law panicked, crying out, "Dad! Dad!"

In those few seconds, my mind worked faster than ever. I quickly dove to the floor, covered my hands with starch, and grabbed the broom.

Just as the broom slipped from my brother-in-law's hands, I caught it.

The starch gave me better grip, and my father-in-law was holding the other end of the broom, which wasn't as slippery.

He kept banging his knees against the security bars, hard enough to break the skin through his pants and draw blood. My brother-in-law quickly grabbed some starch too, and together we pulled my father-in-law back up.

Once safe, my father-in-law collapsed on the floor, suddenly breaking into hysterical sobs, his voice hoarse as he said he had nearly died.

My wife and brother-in-law were crying too, terrified by what had happened. Perhaps because he wasn't my father, I didn't cry.

My brother-in-law, still crying, thanked me, saying I had saved his father and that he would do anything to repay me.

As he spoke, he even knelt before me and kowtowed, saying he would return my earlier humiliation tenfold.

I quickly helped him up. The events of the day were too bizarre.

As we were talking, my wife suddenly screamed.

Her clothes, too, seemed to be grabbed by something invisible, forcefully dragging her away.

I immediately lunged to grab her feet, but my body was dragged along too—whatever invisible force this was, it was incredibly strong.

My wife and I were dragged into the kitchen. Her head was forced down onto the cutting board, and a kitchen knife floated into the air, poised to chop at her head!

I couldn't let anything happen to my wife. Just as I was scrambling to help her, my father-in-law rushed in, shouting, and grabbed the knife with both hands, refusing to let it fall.

My wife cried out for help. I pulled her away, and by then my brother-in-law had arrived too. We grabbed all the knives in the kitchen and stood there, terrified, looking around.

The room was completely silent except for our heavy breathing and my wife's sobs.

We held our positions, and I lost track of time—it felt like an eternity.

After what seemed like forever, I checked the time and saw it was past one o'clock.

The apartment was completely still.

My wife began crying again. She said she had raised Ball-Ball for five years, and for the first three years, he never barked. It was only after moving here that he barked every night for two years—he had been protecting us.

Even in death, he was protecting us from harm.

Through her tears, she said the saying about dogs protecting their masters was absolutely true.

I understood what my wife meant. She was suggesting our apartment had something unclean in it.

In simpler terms... it was haunted.

My father-in-law, still clutching a knife, told everyone to get some rest, but how could we sleep? We all sat together, talking.

I asked my father-in-law what had happened in this apartment before. He shook his head, saying he only knew the previous owner had debt problems, and the place was sold at a court auction, which is how he bought it.

My brother-in-law suggested we ask the neighbors when daylight came. They had lived here for many years, and although we hadn't interacted much, we could at least ask them some questions.

So we waited until morning, then knocked on a neighbor's door.

The neighbor was cautious—probably looking at us through the peephole—and asked what we wanted.

I said we were all wearing masks and wouldn't enter their home, but could we talk briefly?

The neighbor asked what about, and we explained we wanted to know about the previous owners and if anything had happened here.

Finally, the neighbor opened the door. It was an elderly woman, also wearing a mask, maintaining a safe distance from us.

She told us the apartment had previously belonged to a married couple.

The husband was a gambler who had accumulated significant high-interest debts. Creditors came to their door daily, so he fled and hid for seven or eight years.

Two years ago, he secretly returned for the Lunar New Year. One creditor learned of this and brought people to confront him, leading to a violent confrontation.

The husband tried to bluff his way out by handing a kitchen knife to the creditor, saying, "I have no money, only my life. Kill me if you want—my life for your money."

He was just trying to call the creditor's bluff and get through the situation.

The problem was, he was dealing with a lowlife, and the creditor was a drug addict who had just taken drugs before arriving.

The creditor took the knife and said, "Fine, I'll take your life then."

And he actually chopped off the husband's head. Everyone present was shocked. Reportedly, after the first chop to his neck, the husband was still alive, clutching his neck while sitting on the floor, saying, "You're really killing me?"

Before he could finish speaking, the second chop fell.

After the husband died, the creditor was executed. The wife couldn't resolve the debt issues, and the apartment was seized as collateral.

After that, my father-in-law bought it.

Hearing this story left us all deeply disturbed.

Without a doubt, our apartment was haunted.

Perhaps, as my wife had said, Ball-Ball had been protecting us all along.

My father-in-law apologetically thanked the neighbor, saying the dog had been barking for two years and he'd never apologized for the disturbance.

But the old woman's eyes widened in surprise. "I've never heard your dog barking," she said.

We were stunned.

Thinking about it, Ball-Ball had barked for two whole years, yet no neighbor had ever complained.

We should have realized something was wrong back then.

We returned to our apartment. My father-in-law, trembling, said we needed to leave. "How?" I asked.

The roads were all blocked due to the pandemic lockdown. We couldn't leave even if we wanted to.

"But the apartment is haunted," he insisted.

I replied, "If you try to leave and tell the authorities your home is haunted, they'll think you're insane."

I knew we had to stay in this apartment because we simply couldn't leave.

But I was extremely reluctant to return to sleeping in our rooms.

My brother-in-law thought for a moment, then suddenly said, "If the apartment is haunted and we can't leave because of the lockdown, why don't we take our bedding and sleep in the hallway?"

Honestly, I thought this was a good plan.

We all agreed and first went back to catch some sleep. I had thought we wouldn't be able to sleep in a haunted apartment, but we were all so exhausted from the previous night that we fell asleep immediately.

When we woke up, it was already afternoon. My father-in-law prepared a lot of food, and we took our bedding and chamber pots down several floors to sleep in the hallway.

Thankfully, the building had radiators, or we would have frozen in the cold weather.

We all huddled in the hallway while my brother-in-law checked the security camera feed on his phone to see if anything would happen in the apartment.

Everyone was curious and gathered around to watch.

When eleven o'clock came, nothing seemed to be happening in the apartment.

But I stared intently at the doormat and saw footprints appear on it.

I quickly pointed at the mat, saying, "Look!"

The mat was clearly depressed in one spot, indicating someone was standing on it, but the security camera showed nothing.

After a while, a knife from the kitchen began to float.

The knife slowly drifted toward our bedroom, and the door gently opened. My wife was terrified, saying if we had been sleeping in there, we would probably be dead by now!

I watched with my heart pounding.

Next, the knife emerged from our room and went into my brother-in-law's and father-in-law's rooms in turn. They both felt a chill of fear.

After finding no one in the apartment, the entity returned the knife to its place and began destroying things.

First, it took my mother-in-law's memorial photo from the wall and smashed it on the floor, then started breaking the wedding photos my wife and I had placed in the home.

My father-in-law said it was vicious—it wouldn't allow anyone else's presence in the apartment.

The entity wreaked havoc for a long time, smashing almost everything it could, leaving our apartment in shambles.

After the destruction, things went quiet.

A little later, the gas stove in the kitchen suddenly turned on.

We all froze. Was it going to cook something?

But then, the kitchen curtain was torn down and thrown toward the gas stove!

My father-in-law cried out in alarm, "This bastard is trying to burn down the apartment!"

The three of us men jumped up immediately. My brother-in-law tossed his phone to my wife, and we ran back to the apartment!

We never imagined that upon finding the apartment empty, the entity would try to burn it down! It had died in this apartment and wouldn't allow anyone else to live there!

This wasn't a question of choosing between property and human lives. If we didn't act, what kind of people would we be?

With the roads blocked, fire trucks couldn't easily reach us. There were hundreds of families locked down in the building. If a fire broke out, how many innocent people would die? How many families would be destroyed?

Having seen what was happening, we had to stop it!

My wife was too afraid to stay alone in the hallway and followed behind us. Holding the phone, she cried out to us, "He's standing at the door with a knife! He's waiting for you with a knife!"

I couldn't worry about that now. I rushed to the apartment door, inserted the key into the lock, and held my left arm across my chest. If the entity stabbed me, I'd sacrifice my left arm to save my life, then try to seize the knife!

This wasn't some noble sacrifice—it was a split-second decision made in the heat of the moment.

I couldn't let hundreds of innocent neighbors die with us!

When I opened the door, a knife indeed lunged toward me.

I was prepared and grabbed the knife with my left hand. The pain as it cut into my hand was excruciating, but I held on tightly. Something grabbed my hair and dragged me into the room.

My brother-in-law and father-in-law rushed in. Seeing I was in trouble, they came to help, but I shouted for them to put out the fire first—if it spread, everyone would die!

I struggled to break free from the invisible restraint, but this thing was much stronger than me. It dragged me into the bedroom and closed the door.

The room was pitch black.

I couldn't see my hand in front of my face.

I groped around, trying to find the light switch, but I was afraid of being stabbed in the darkness, unsure whether to protect my neck or my stomach.

My brother-in-law shouted from outside, asking if I was okay. I had thought I wasn't afraid, but when I spoke, my voice broke into sobs.

A grown man, I cried out that I couldn't see, that I was going to die here, but they should put out the fire first so my death wouldn't be meaningless.

He told me not to worry, that he'd help me see.

Suddenly, though he was in the living room, the light in my room came on.

It was the emergency light.

My brother-in-law had cut the power from outside, and the emergency light, thinking there was a power outage, had activated.

The moment the light came on, a sharp knife lunged toward my eyes, growing larger in my vision.

Terrified, I jerked my head backward and raised both hands to protect my face, banging the back of my head against the door.

Normal people don't dodge attacks like martial artists, sidestepping with perfect timing—normal people instinctively flinch backward!

My head throbbed with pain, and the knife stabbed into my already injured left arm, adding another wound.

Having missed me, the knife pulled back and lunged again.

This time I managed to dodge sideways. The knife embedded itself in the wooden door. In a moment of instinct, with my mind blank, I took off my shirt and threw it over the knife like a net.

After successfully trapping it, I frantically wrapped my shirt around the knife, completely entangling it so I could hold it without getting hurt. I finally breathed a sigh of relief.

But just as I relaxed, the knife was dropped to the floor, and my hair was grabbed again, dragging me toward the window!

It was going to throw me out!

Damn it, this thing was incredibly strong—I couldn't break free!

I felt my body lift into the air and slam against the window!

There was a loud bang as I hit the window, but the glass didn't break. Instead, I was the one badly hurt, falling to the floor.

At that moment, the bedroom door finally opened.

My brother-in-law and father-in-law rushed in. Seeing all the blood on me, they were horrified and quickly moved to protect me.

My wife wasn't there—they must have told her to hide.

My father-in-law asked if I was okay. Trembling, I said I was fine, though I struggled to get up. The three of us warily watched our surroundings as my brother-in-law retrieved the knife.

He told me to hang on—it was almost one o'clock, when the entity would leave.

We were all terrified, maintaining our positions without moving.

We finally made it to one o'clock, and the apartment went still.

Exhausted, I sat on the floor. My wife ran in and embraced me, asking if I was alright.

As the tension released, I couldn't help but cry. Through tears, I told my father-in-law that I had been thrown against the window—the quality of his windows must be excellent, or I would surely have died.

He replied proudly, "Of course! Living this high up, the windows can't shatter easily like in the movies."

He left to clean up the apartment while my brother-in-law brought the first aid kit to treat my wounds.

It was just a basic home medical kit, only good for simple disinfection and bandaging. He carefully examined my wounds and said they weren't deep enough to need stitches.

I doubted his assessment since he had no medical training, and said I thought I should go to the hospital for stitches.

He asked if I dared to go to the hospital now.

Thinking about it, I realized I didn't, so I decided to bear with it for now.

By the time my father-in-law finished cleaning the apartment, dawn had broken.

We gathered with worried faces to figure out what to do. Someone had to stay in the apartment, or it might be burned down.

But how could we fight against this supernatural entity?

My wife suddenly said she had an idea. She knew a woman in our building who owned two golden retrievers, and she wanted to borrow one.

We quickly agreed. Dogs can keep evil spirits at bay—having a dog would be perfect.

My wife hurried off. Fortunately, she had a good relationship with this woman, who was willing to open her door even during the pandemic and actually lent us her golden retriever.

The dog's name was Lieutenant, and he looked big and powerful. The woman had specially trained him to understand certain commands.

We were all exhausted from the night's events and fell asleep immediately after bringing Lieutenant home.

Lieutenant was well-behaved. Despite being in a strange home, he didn't bark, as my wife often visited his owner and was somewhat familiar to him.

The big, powerful Lieutenant gave us a great sense of security.

That evening, we ate a little and anxiously watched the front door.

Lieutenant sat in the living room, panting steadily.

At eleven o'clock, the previously well-behaved Lieutenant visibly changed. He suddenly stood up and paced anxiously in circles. Just when we thought he might start barking, he did something we never expected.

He began whimpering in fear, then darted into a room and hid in a corner.

This massive golden retriever was proving less useful than Ball-Ball had been!

My wife couldn't help saying, "Dogs are loyal to their masters... but we're not his masters, so he won't protect us!"

Only then did we realize how complicated the situation was!

Lieutenant was someone else's dog, not ours—he had no obligation to protect us!

Panicking, I quickly grabbed starch from the kitchen and sprinkled it on the floor around us.

We huddled in the middle of the starch, watching our surroundings intently.

A footprint appeared out of nowhere on the floor, this time lunging toward me.

I frantically swung the kitchen knife in front of me but hit nothing. Instead, I was lifted into the air, feeling myself floating.

My father-in-law and brother-in-law quickly pulled me back. My brother-in-law cursed in panic, "I don't give a fuck! If I die, I'll be a ghost too—I'm not afraid of you!"

Then everything went quiet again.

We remained on high alert, and at that moment, we heard movement in the kitchen.

We saw the lighter floating across the room. It ignited the tablecloth, which burst into flames.

A human figure slowly materialized before us.

In normal light, we couldn't see anything.

But in the firelight, we could see clearly.

It was a headless body, its wounds clearly visible, still bleeding.

Yet when the blood dripped onto the floor, it was invisible.

It was the dead husband!

My father-in-law couldn't bear to see his hard-earned apartment burn. He quickly pulled the tablecloth away and stamped out the fire, but the headless ghost took the lighter and headed toward the balcony.

It was going to set the curtains on fire!

I tried to run over and hack at it with the kitchen knife. I actually managed to hit it, leaving a deep gash in its body.

But something strange happened—the wound visibly healed before our eyes!

I realized then that we were humans and it was a ghost. We couldn't cause it any real harm!

At that moment, the headless corpse abandoned the lighter and grabbed my throat.

Its strength was incredible—it lifted me off the ground!

My legs kicked wildly as my vision rapidly blurred. I couldn't breathe and felt a nauseating pain.

My wife panicked and tried to help, but her punches and kicks had no effect.

That's when my brother-in-law grabbed the lighter and tried to burn the entity.

Suddenly, the headless ghost seemed terrified and immediately dropped me, backing away!

I fell to the floor, coughing painfully and vomiting my dinner onto the floor.

My wife helped me up, crying, "It's afraid of fire! It's afraid of fire!"

We quickly gathered around my brother-in-law. The firelight helped us see the entity, and flames seemed to harm it—otherwise, it wouldn't have been so afraid.

My father-in-law smashed a chair on the floor, breaking it, and handed me one of the legs. He tried to light his own chair leg but couldn't get it to catch fire.

I quickly said I'd do it, took off my shirt, and wrapped it around the chair leg.

But I knew this wouldn't ignite fast enough.

Holding the chair leg, I ran to my room, opened a drawer, and took out my Zippo lighter fluid, squeezing it generously onto the shirt.

As I was doing this, my brother-in-law suddenly shouted, "It's coming toward you!"

I flinched in fear, nearly dropping the chair leg.

There was no light in the room—I couldn't see anything. I quickly took out my lighter and lit the chair leg.

The flame burst to life, and in that instant, I saw the headless corpse right next to me!

I reflexively thrust the burning chair leg at it. The makeshift torch was surprisingly effective.

The headless corpse kept retreating, clearly terrified of my torch. It backed all the way to the living room as I waved the torch, shouting, "Come on! Come on, you bastard!"

It kept its distance. Though it had no head, I somehow felt it was staring at me.

Summoning my courage, I told my wife and the others to stay back, then advanced toward it alone, torch raised.

As I walked, I was so scared that I wet myself.

I was truly terrified, but my wife was right there—I had to protect her!

Walking with wet pants, feeling the dampness, I continued advancing. As I got closer, the headless corpse kept retreating.

It backed eerily to the door, which was closed, yet its body passed through it supernaturally and disappeared.

I checked the time: 12:30.

It wasn't even its usual departure time yet.

We huddled together again, pointing the torch at the door, and endured the next half hour.

At one o'clock, we all collapsed to the floor, exhausted and breathing heavily.

My wife hugged me, crying, saying how brave I was.

I was a bit embarrassed and told her I smelled bad and she shouldn't come close.

She said she didn't mind and continued hugging me, sobbing intermittently.

I awkwardly raised the torch, saying we'd probably need to rely on these from now on, though I worried we'd run out of things to burn.

My father-in-law said not to worry—at daybreak, he'd chop up the bed boards and make as many torches as possible.

The next morning, my father-in-law was indeed chopping up bed boards. After my wife returned Lieutenant to his owner, she received a call from the property management office saying there was something for us to pick up.

When we went downstairs, I was surprised to find it was Miaow-Miaow, my cat, that had been brought to us.

I asked the security guard what was going on. Keeping a safe distance, he told me not to come too close and said my mother had dropped the cat off.

Puzzled, I called my mother to ask why she had sent the cat.

She explained that she had found volunteer work at a hotel, helping with quarantine services by delivering boxed meals.

On her way to work, she passed by our place, and since she was tired of cleaning the litter box and thought the apartment smelled, she decided to bring Miaow-Miaow to me.

I felt helpless. I was already dealing with a major problem, but I couldn't tell my mother about it because I didn't want her to worry.

So I took Miaow-Miaow upstairs, set up the litter box, and put out food and water.

The new environment frightened Miaow-Miaow, but since the cat was familiar with my wife and me, it stayed close to us. My wife held and petted it, finding comfort after losing Ball-Ball.

That evening, I knew our battle would begin again.

At 10:50, we lit our torches early and aimed them at the door.

Cats are curious creatures, and Miaow-Miaow kept jumping up, trying to play with my torch, which worried me—I was afraid it would get burned.

But Miaow-Miaow had a bad temper. When I wouldn't let it play with the torch, it scratched my leg, leaving marks through my pants.

My mother hadn't taken proper care of it at home and hadn't trimmed its claws, which were razor-sharp.

I could only tell Miaow-Miaow to stop misbehaving. My brother-in-law warned me that it was time—to be careful.

I quickly stopped paying attention to Miaow-Miaow, but at that moment, the cat stopped bothering me.

It walked to the doorway, eyes wide open, staring fixedly at the door, neither moving nor making a sound.

Worried something might happen to Miaow-Miaow, I cautiously moved closer.

But the headless ghost didn't appear.

I remained vigilant, holding the torch, replacing it with a new one when it burned low.

But by one o'clock, the headless ghost still hadn't appeared.

After the hour passed, Miaow-Miaow returned to the cat tree I had assembled, stretched lazily, and purred, wanting me to pet it.

The second and third nights were the same—the headless ghost never reappeared.

Every night at the witching hour, Miaow-Miaow would position itself at the door.

Even if it had been sleeping, it would get up and go to the door, staring intently.

My wife told me that Ball-Ball used to protect us, and now Miaow-Miaow was protecting us.

Looking at Miaow-Miaow sitting there, I said, "Yes, and to repay Miaow-Miaow, once the lockdown ends, I'll take it to the vet to be neutered. What if it goes into heat and runs off looking for a female cat while we're not home? The whole family could die!"

My wife laughed for the first time in days. "Is that how you show gratitude?" she said. "Miaow-Miaow isn't human, but you're truly a dog."

The headless ghost never appeared again.

After the roads reopened, my father-in-law specially took Ball-Ball's photo to make a memorial portrait, which he hung in the home. He said he owed the dog an apology and hoped that if Ball-Ball had any awareness in the afterlife, it would forgive him.

As he apologized to the portrait, my brother-in-law also kept saying sorry.

Later, my brother-in-law brought home a kitten and carefully raised it.

When the new kitten was three months old, it also began sitting with Miaow-Miaow, staring blankly at the door. Though occasionally bullied by Miaow-Miaow, it finally learned to guard the door.

We tried taking Miaow-Miaow back to our own home. At one in the morning, my brother-in-law called to tell us the kitten was watching the door, and the entity hadn't appeared.

At that moment, we finally felt at peace...

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