I was only fourteen when it happened. My brother and I had decided we'd visit our aunt, Marie, up north. It was a fun day. However, as we rain began pouring harshly from the obsidian-colored sky. Yet, still, we left.

The conversations of the early portion of our ride replaced with the memory of our car tumbling down into a ditch. Blood, glass and car parts scattered around the crash site. The blaring car horn fully awakening my half-conscious mind. A sharp cry leaving my lips as I saw and felt the large, sharp glass protruding from my side.

In the near distance came a large dog with sleek black fur, its glare silencing my screams. “Do you wish to live?” I remembered it say.

A small nod came from me. The spirit, as I supposed it to be, dissolving into a white mist before entering my body. Tears streaming down my face as the glass was magically pulled out and the most grievous wounds slowly begin to heal.

It was only thanks to the Black Dog that I survived to see my brother and mother once again. Only because its soul sleeps within my chest.