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For as long as Glen could remember, he was afraid of dogs. The memory of why was always clear, the large, growling dog the old neighbors had when he was a small child always present in his mind, the bite mark that would require tetanus shots and fifteen stitches on his leg that though long healed left a jagged scar just above the knee, would serve as a constant reminder that dogs and he were enemies, no matter the size, the wound and the memory would have him scrambling away from even the smallest puffball, though, he had improved in his nearly 27 years of life on that front, he could at least pet dogs up to medium breeds, larger breeds were still panic attacks and god forbid, fainting, if he couldn’t reign them in. So, when he saw on the news people were encountering packs of mean dogs at night, Glen knew that for the foreseeable future, barring any fun magical encounters with the negaverse or any sort of bad guy, he would absolutely not be out past dark. At least, until he accepted a date from that handsome guy he met at the art museum. Damn his hind brain.

It had been simple enough, meet guy, he takes Glen out for a wonderful lunch, great afternoon, and fantastic evening, at least, until the guys exes(!?) confront them then and there. Glen, resisting his own urge to kick the guy in a very personal place once he heard two men and woman that had chose the middle of the Halloween festivities taking place in town to confront the guy dish out all the guys dirty relationship laundry, fled, angry and humiliated he had fallen for the same trappings, and the pity he saw from all three exes eyes, ran through the town, past the festivities until he reached the part of the city leading to the park where he knew Thierry lived full time. He wiped his face of the tears and snot that had gathered because screw it, Thierry wouldn’t care, especially once he scooped him up from his little gardeners shed to take him to Glen’s house for dish of fish of his choice with sun dried tomatoes (how a cat, even a talking one, could love tomatoes so much was beyond Glen but, oh well, he was more than happy for someone to feed). He made his way through the seemingly lonely part of the city, not really paying attention that it was a bit darker than it should be, until he heard it. A growl.

Glen turned, at last noticing several things; that he was deep in the city, that his feet hurt, so he had been running quite a while and probably ruined the pumps he bought, and damn if he didn’t like them too, he was also a bit chilly but hey, he picked the tuck and small skirt, of course he was chilly. And three, that the sun was setting.

The sun was setting. “Oh ********.” He exclaimed just as he heard the growls from the shadows. Oh dammit he was gonna die a frigging cliche wasn’t he!? The girl in horror movies stupid enough to wear the tight tiny clothes and get hopelessly lost when the killer was about! Except it wasn’t one man with a machete, or a hook or whatever, it was his worst fear, an entire group of dogs ready to pull his apart. So Glen ran, kicking off the heels as he went. He heard them snarling and barking from behind, he tried to turn and one was positioned, growling, waiting to strike, so he ran another direction, pretty sure he was definitely not going towards the park to his cat’s house now. Tears of fear obscuring his vision, he could barely see in front of him, around him even as he tried futilely to lose the dogs. He screamed as one managed to bite his hand. Not deep enough to break skin but enough to leave a nasty bruise. Absolutely terrified now, he blindly ran through the alleys and buildings until, in his panicked crying state, he thought he saw a light. The dogs must have been aware of it too because they seemed to try and herd them away, back into the alleys, but Glen wasn’t having it, despite his panicked state, he followed the path of the light he had seen, only knowing in that state that light equals safety. As he ran to the park to the from the hole in the alley(on the entire opposite side of where he had started),the dogs attempted to get one final bite in, and succeeded, as they hissed and growled retreating into the shadows, one left Glen with another bite wound, another bad memory, to his lower leg, close to the ankle.

From this point he wouldn’t remember much, not even the terrified faces of the couple he had scared as he ran into the lit area, a complete mess, barefoot, panicked and bleeding, then finally passing out. He’d wake up later in the hospital, describing what happened to the police, and prepared for another damn tetanus shot and a call to his therapist, though he doubted this time there’d be any cure to his cynophobia after this.