Welcome To Thornhound
It was a starless night, the kind in which heavy fog still clung to the road and frost attacked windows.
The car lights blinked to life cutting through the grey vapor as the wheels passed a sign. ‘Welcome to Thornhound!’ it said. Rust and dirt obscuring it whole. What once was bright green color with spotless white lettering was just a feast for all the grime eating organisms. It was chipped at the edges, turning the smooth curves into jagged, sharp bits of metal.
The driver sighed as her eyes drifted over it. Thornhound. She didn't like it. It was… off. It had that dark aura surrounding it. The shadows wrapped weirdly around buildings. Still, she needed to get out of her own town. It had been suffocating. People knew her, not for the right reasons. But not for the wrong ones either. It was just a small town. Wherever she went, she saw a familiar face. She hated that. All she ever wanted was to disappear into the background. Start anew.
Still, she was glad to be just another passerby. Thornhound was no place for her, but the GPS said it was the fastest route. The only route, since the road works cut off the main road and this detour was all that was left.
This whole city gave her creeps for no reason at all.
People who moved out from this city, exchange students, travelers, they all were different yet so similar. Similar in how they carried themselves. How they walked cautiously, yet so mindlessly about it, like it was instinct they were born with. How they looked at everything just a second too long, just to ‘check if it's right’. And the things they said. The stories they told. So many different people, so many different stories, yet all of them, every single one, so similar.
The native residents of Thornhound city talked about all the bizarre experiences, as if it was normal. Back in her town, she overheard a conversation between two of them. Houses breathing louder than usual. The lawn humming. Reflections being delayed. And none called the other's bullshit.
At first she thought she was just overhearing a conversation about some kind of immersive game, or social experiment, prank to farm content - “Talking about supernatural experiences like it's normal! See the strangers' reactions. [GONE SEXUAL]” - or any other type of clickbait.
She wasn't even looking for it, just casually going through Twitter, and she saw one tweet about a strange conversation. Similar to the one she overheard. Then some days later another. And she fell into the rabbit hole, looked up that hellish city's name.
All she got in return was more questions and useless pseudo-documentaries.
“The mystery of Thornhound.”
“Visiting Thornhound!”
“Bust or Truth - Thornhound.”
“The history of Thornhound city.”
“Thornhound chronicles.”
“Explaining the Thornhound ARG”
There were a few websites too, early 2000s, all of them dead. New posts very rarely showed up, if you saw 10 new posts in the span of 6 years then you could consider the forum full of life!
Apparently the decade old sites agreed that those stories are like cryptids. Beings whose existence no one can prove but thousands believe they’ve seen. So yes, cryptids, but for tales. As weird as it sounded, she couldn't find a better analogy. There had to be some truth in it to make so many people tell so many eerie stories.
The sign disappeared into the embrace of fog in the rear view mirror. ‘Thornhound says goodbye!’ on the back of it. The rust and dirt made it almost impossible to read the first five letters.
The gravel under the wheels scraped against the patchy road. She hadn’t driven on an even surface for a while now, so the asphalt, however unkempt, was pleasant.
The radio started to turn into static as she was losing signal. Shame, her favorite station didn't seem to reach. The driver stretched out her hand to fiddle with the knob, trying to tune in to some other worthwhile station. She heard a few songs playing, none of them were to her tastes. News held no interest to her either. She almost gave up until she heard a low, gritty, somewhat growly - ‘is that even a word? It should be.’ - voice cut through static and horrible music.
“It's 189.16 - Thorn Radio.”
She decided to keep it on. Seemed better than whatever else was playing. Hands on her wheel, she was on a look out for a gas station. Might as well fuel up, God knows where and when the next station could be.
“Back on the air! Hope you enjoyed the music break folks. But it's time to talk ‘hound with yours truly, one and only, Canine!”
The host announced, voice getting louder towards the end with a strong note of excitement. It put a small smile on her face. Hearing someone so happy so late at night was a welcome surprise compared to the monotone speech of news reporters. Still a small voice in her head nagged ‘Canine? Weird name to call yourself by.’ but she couldn't really judge. After all, he wasn't the one who went by ”Bunny Boo” in high school. To this day she doesn't know why. She could admit that Canine was definitely a step up from that.
“As usual, if the sky's lookin’ wrong or your cat barks, gimme a call at XXX-XXX-XXX. Because your reality is my responsibility.”
She looked at the radio and furrowed her brows. Was that the mystery behind all those anomaly stories? An artistic radio show? None of the videos and articles mentioned it. Probably because it was more content worthy. It was… anticlimactic, after all.
“Now, what’s new? If ya missed it, the lost cat, Honey, is no longer missing! Earlier tonight we had a caller that admitted to hit an’ run. Shame. But hey, small mercies. Honey was reunited with her owner in the last moments. He was the one that hit ‘er. So, if you were on a lookout, rest soldier! Your services are no longer needed.”
She took a double take at that, her long hair hitting her face and bangs falling into her eyes. Did the host just- he didn’t make fun of the owner, right? That’s just cruel. “Asshole.” she muttered under her breath but didn’t change the station.
“Other local news. There will be traffic near Adensor’s street due to installing a new electric post. I highly recommend sidetrack by the cliffside. Or just ram your way through the workers.”
The host snorted - snarled more likely - and continued on. ‘Seriously, what’s wrong with that guy?’ she scowled further at that comment.
“Anyway, it will be rainin’ cats ‘n’ - chuckle - cats ‘n’ dogs, later tonight, around nine PM, also watch out for-”
He laughed at the expression, the sound low and sharp. She was confused, what had been so funny? She just rolled her eyes, that clearly was something she wasn’t privy to. The host just kept droning on and on about the weather.
“As I was sayin’,” Canine got cut off by a rhythmic beep, “well look at that. We’ve got a caller.”
That got her attention, eyes snapping from the road ahead to glance at the radio for half a second.
“‘ello caller! You’re on the air with me. What can I do for ya?” the host asked warmly. The caller responded a second after. Hesitant. Nervous. “Am I… am I real?”
The radio fell silent, the only sound was faint tap-tap-tapping that previously was covered by the host’s voice before. Her grip on the wheel tightened, oddly unsure now.
“If you wish to be.”
Then silence again. Radio silence (ha!). The woman frowned at her own shitty joke and loosened her grip. She needed sleep if she really found that funny. The question though, it unnerved her. It sounded so genuine. ‘Actors.’ Doing the most. As always.
The call ended and the host spoke.
“Well, that was something! Y’all are as real as I am. Or as real as the person next to you. If you want to, that is.”
She tuned it out, didn’t turn it off. Background noise helped, didn’t trust herself to stand the gloom city in total silence.
She drove through, taking in the dirty puddles and wet benches. Taller buildings gave her chills for a cause she was yet to figure out.
Eyes focused on the road, but her vision blurred at times. When she’s at the gas station she will buy herself an energy drink. God knows she needs it.
“I do, yeah.” The radio host answered, no, not answered - that was ridiculous. She shook her head, it was just one of those weird coincidences. When you say one thing and a movie character “reacts,” perfectly timed moments. “But hang with me ‘ere. I have a point!” then went on a ramble. Something about a kennel. Something about apple juice. Something about sour cream.
Her gaze kept on landing on alleyways. The shadows stretched too long, color too dark. They seemed to swallow the city. People walked on pavement, she swore she could almost hear their footsteps over her car’s engine, heavy boots landing too lightly.
The road was empty save for the few cars she passed by so far.
Despite the depressing aesthetic of Thornhound, she appreciated not being blinded by neon signs and bazillion advertisements sprawled all over huge screens. Mostly because those huge screens were absent and neon signs slowly dying. Eliminating only dim glow coloring small patches of fog blue, yellow, pink, red, any color, really.
She knew the city was unusual, but the atmosphere made her feel at ease, at home. Her breath was slow and deep. For all the weirdness, she understood the appeal, why one would want to live there.
She got ripped away from her thoughts by the same rhythmic beep from before.
“Wazzup caller! What got ya callin’ in tonight?” the ever so energetic host greeted. Maybe, just maybe, she got why people like him too, this radio show. Canine seemed friendly enough, nice even, ignoring the insensitive comments.
“The river is flowing backwards again,” a tired voice answered, “took my fishin’ rod with it.”
Another one of those actors called, but instead of getting mad, she smiled softly. ‘A little whimsy is good.’ she told herself. It was a radio show or play of some sorts, no need to get worked up about it. It was better than the news at the very least!
She didn’t want to admit it but she actually found it amusing. It felt a whole lot different than the multitude of other things she listened to over the course of her road trip.
What was it again? 189.16? She made a mental note to look it up when she gets to her final destination. Might find another episode if there’s one. A future road trip with this “Canine” character could be a fun idea.
“Ah, lemme check,” the radio host muttered in an uncharacteristically focused tone followed by a familiar sound of mechanical keyboard and clicks of a mouse. “Yea, the river does seem to flow backwards.” Canine fell silent and the key clicking returned. “Here, that should do it.”
“Yeah, works right now. Thanks Canine.”
“Always happy to help, Jamie,” he slurred and hung up before continuing. “Another one of those nights then,” he sighed and all the energy seemed to escape with it. “so, once more, if anything's wrong, gimme a call at XXX-XXX-XXX.”
She felt almost bad with how tired he sounded. Disappointed to hear about the river.
She didn’t get to dwell on it for too long though as a small gas icon lit up on her dashboard.
‘Low fuel? You gotta be kidding me!’ she scoffed. Yeah, she was on a lookout for a station anyways, but didn’t know she was that low. But again, she had been driving for hours now. She decided to push her frustrations down and focus on the more pressing matter. Gas station. She hasn't seen any since entering Thornhound. If she had no luck by now, she was even more crushed glancing at her GPS where no icon for it showed up either.
She took her hand away from the gearbox and zoomed in on the map. ’Still unlucky.’
“Right turn.”
She looked at the radio and stared, the car slowing down as her foot slipped off the pedal. He didn't say that to her, she missed something! Some context. Had to! She wasn't paying attention to it for a bit.
Still, the host continued to speak.
“And he stole it from me! I trusted him, listened to him, I took the right turn, went into that god-damned alleyway and this asshole stole my axe! Who does that!? Not only that but he called me a mutt! A mutt! Not gonna lie, ruffled my feathers.”
‘Oh.’ he was only telling a story, raging about a stolen axe. ‘An axe?’ now she wanted to know the full story! Curse her for not listening.
She pushed her foot down on the pedal once again, fingers digging into the rubber of the wheel and kept listening.
“So what do I do? I bite him, that's what I do! You callin’ me a mutt, you get a mutt. Then I yanked my axe from his dirty hands and… well,” he paused, sounding as if he wanted to stifle his laughter. “So yeah, don't be goin’ aroun’ callin’ me a mutt, kids. Only people I'm particularly fond of can get away with that shit. But, well, I do call myself that… It's complicated! Okay? I have a weird relationship with that word. I'm just Canine. Y’ get it?”
The host announced, quickly, almost nervously, desperate to explain but coming up short with what he wanted to convey. Like someone trying to justify their actions, but couldn't explain well, just getting tangled up and flustered.
She looked at the radio, knowing the feeling all too well. Her mind occupied by thoughts of her own family, friends, trying to explain away all the reasons for her leaving but not being able to.
As she was lost in her own mind she subconsciously took the right turn, Canine's words still tugging at her brain.
And sure enough, a tattletale gas station sign. “Just a chance. It was bound to be somewhere.” she mumbled, and parked her car at the gas pump. The engine stopped its soft rumbling and the radio got cut off in the middle of Canine's sentence. Shame, she was getting invested, she started to like the eccentric host. Even if it was just a radio play, it was a good radio play!
She rubbed sleep off her eyes and opened her car doors and got out. Her knees cracked. ‘Fuck, I really needed to stretch my legs.’ How long had passed since her last stop?
She took the fuel gun in her hands and opened the tank with the other.
Her fingers squeezed the switch, thumb pressing against the handle, as the gun was in the tank.
Her eyes focused on the arrow fluttering to life, counting the gallons. One, two, three… ten. That was enough. Once the fuel gun was in its place she entered the station, automatic doors sliding open before her.
The bright lights blinded her for a moment, making her narrow her eyes. The warm air caressed her skin.
After a few seconds she skimmed over the shelves, walking through the aisles. She settled for a bag of chips, sour cream, and an energy drink. The station didn't carry her favorite, but it had some other brand, she hoped it worked just as well if not better.
She put the items on the counter. “Pump 3,” she said, her voice tired and hoarse. Fuck sleep deprivation.
“Hello,” welcomed the overly cheerful cashier for someone that worked a graveyard shift. “How you doin’ tonight?” They tried to keep the conversation going as they scanned the items.
She dropped her gaze to her purse and fished for a wallet. Her ears picking up a faint, familiar voice of a radio host coming from the employee’s headphones.
The voice shouted into the mic something that sounded suspiciously a lot like “WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE GRANNY IS BARKING!? SHE SHOULD ABSOLUTELY NOT BE DOIN’ THAT!?” followed by frantic typing.
Her body sulked a bit as she realized she missed a caller. The cashier on the other hand was quietly laughing, clearly hearing the radio play well.
“$45.28.” they announced and she handed a $50. Now, that they were counting pennies for a change she got a good look at them.
Their face was a bit pale and had smile lines despite their age - a young adult at most. Bright red eyeliner looping around the eyelid, forming a semi circle. Their trousers decorated with steel accessories. Chains mostly. All of it rattled with every move. The necklace they wore was black, charm being a simple dog head from the side, flashing its teeth. The front of their white t-shirt was blank save for a dog silhouette, she couldn't see the back of the t-shirt clearly but it did look like there was another dog shape on it, in a defensive pose with a battle axe in its mouth. The text “Kennel Of Salvation” circled around the graphic.
The cashier got her change a few seconds later and smiled while saying goodbye. She just nodded and took the chips along with the drink and got back to her car.
She put the key in the ignition and drove off, throwing the coins in a cup holder.
The radio came to life and just as the host was in the middle of the sentence.
“-an't be doin’ this with you people. You drag me into internet drama for no reason at all!” He put the microphone closer once more, she assumed, and whispered into it, the voice gaining that grainy quality of a shitty speaker, but the softness and warmth was undoubtedly. “I don't give a rat’s ass about that gore site. It's beneath me. A maggot I'd crush under my paw,” his giggles turning into a growl towards the end.
‘Back to insults it is.’ she rolled her eyes. If a small smile appeared on her lips then it's nobody's business but her own.
The host pushed the microphone away as he got yet another call.
“You're on air caller! How can I assist ya durin’ this lovely evenin’?” Canine asked.
“Uhm, I just wanted to say thank you… the other day… you saved me. I- I'm not sure I'd be alive if it wasn't for you. Thank you.” the caller stumbled against their own words.
Alright, she definitely missed some lore of the radio play. Meaning it definitely has more episodes! She got a bit giddy and excited to listen to more of this radio show.
“Ah, no problem! That's what I do. No need to thank me. Just y'know, I'm not hittin’ the streets until 9:30 PM, so stay safe y'all! I'm only out early on special occasions.”
The call ended shortly after, now left wondering just which episode it referenced, what happened before.
“Uh, where was I…” he paused, tap-tap-tapping with his nails - ‘sounds too long and hard for nails. Is he wearing acrylics or something?’ - . “Yeah, right, so that internet drama? About me, but not my businesses. That's all I'm gonna say.” He huffed.
‘For now' she chuckled as the thought passed by in her head. She quickly got back to her original path and drove further in the city.
One thing she could tell just by her surroundings was that it had to be more lived in part of Thornhound. The trash cans were overflowing, in the walls of raw blocks little shops found place, all of them looked as if they were one foot into bankruptcy.
Bakeries had a few customers or maybe just people seeking shelter from the cold, pillars covered in posters. Some old, torn and faded, some new, full of color, soaking up the moist air.
Once again, she focused more on the road and GPS than the radio, so it was no surprise when she flinched at the host’s shouting straight into the microphone.
“FOR THE LAST TIME, I'M NOT FUCKIN' AROUND HELEN, YOUR LAWN IS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HUMMING! GIVE IT BONES!” followed by growls and what sounded like mocking the caller under his nose, she was not sure of it because she couldn't understand even one word.
‘The humming lawn!’ She thought excitedly, it was one of the stories she (over)heard personally.
“And before you ask - no, I can't fix that shit remotely! I haven't updated the system so it's not there! Yes, I'm gettin' around to doin’ it.” He grumbled, tapping more frequently on the surface of - maybe - his desk.
“But I like the song! It's soothing!” The caller cried out.
“Then why you callin’ about it if you don't want it fixed!? C'mon now. Use your brain. And seriously, give it bones now. The hummin’ gonna turn into screamin’ and then it will be a lotta harder to stop it.” He hung up, not waiting for the caller's response.
“You heard that? Don't be like that. Wastin’ my time.” A scoff followed his words. “I’m not that serious about it right now, but please, do call when you have a question or want something fixed. Not just to inform me about a problem.”
‘Customer service, been there, done that!’ She related to that on a spiritual level. Canine was becoming her favorite character quickly, which made her wonder if he was the only character.
“Y'know, I need a break! Y'all get ads and music now. No more Canine, baby!” The host exclaimed and went off air. And he followed through, now playing an ad.
She sighed and opened her energy drink, in the chaos of the radio she totally forgot about it. Now, without someone - ‘When did I start thinking about Canine like of a real person?’ - talking her ear off, her brain was falling asleep.
The can hissed as the metal gave way. She gulped a generous portion down since the road was empty. If there's an occasion, leave it to her to take it. Drivers love their energy drinks, at least she did.
As the music played, something she actually found pretty good which was surprising, she drove further and further.
Her car passed by buildings. Old houses - falling apart, the kind in which floors squeak and boards give in under your feet but older folks still refuse to move out or accept any revelations.
New ones with bare brick and concrete, brutalist style.
Until she reached the city square, she hit the breaks as the car rolled onto paving stones.
A community garden, growing all kinds of vegetables. The park connected with it was functioning as an orchard too. She could recognize regular trees like oak or horse chestnut, but there were apple and pear trees too. She couldn't see clearly through the bushes surrounding it, but she guessed more fruits grew there as well.
A stunning decorative fountain was in sight. Beautiful with all its layers and careful And careful carving of the bas-reliefs on the base of it. On top of it was a little statue with ruby eyes.
She drove out of the square, speeding up again.
The most impressive was a cathedral-like building, maybe at some point in time it functioned as such, but now it didn't look like it. The, probably religious, stained glass was replaced with another imaginary. But with how fast the car passed by, paired with a must to focus on the road, the shape just blurred into blackness. She washed she could see more details of the massive building.
The understanding and appreciation of the city flooded her, she only hoped her new home would have beautiful places like that too.
“In 10 miles turn left.” The GPS screeched to life after being silent the entire time since she entered Thornhound.
A quick glance at her phone confused her. Her location mark was jumping all over the screen, the dots marking her road flickering in and out of existence. She hadn't had that problem when she was looking for a gas station earlier. ‘Don’t tell me my signal got fucked over.’ she prayed in her head and pulled over the first chance she had.
Her GPS problem either gets solved now or she's on her own until she catches signal again.
The engine turned off with a tug at the key before she realized she stopped at a bus stop. She bit her lip and pressed park-anywhere-you-want emergency lights. If a cop asks, she could claim car troubles and act surprised when her car works properly now.
She freed the phone from the holder and checked the signal. It was weak. “Goddamnit!’” A groan escaped her throat. She had no idea how to get out of the city, GPS was not working, she had no one to call and on top of that she hadn't showered in three days. Only sleeping in a car and using toilets at gas stations (gross!).
Her hands covered her face and she slouched on the wheel. Tears pressed against her eyelids, she wasn't sad, she was upset, overwhelmed. Everything was too much. The past three days on the road tired her out. She was beyond exhausted and the caffeine didn't help. She had energy drinks mixed with cold coffee before she entered Thornhound, then another energy drink just a few minutes ago. Yet her eyes still couldn't stay open for long.
She needs sleep. Real sleep. In bed. Or at least somewhere that isn't her car.
A knock against her window pulled her away from –pitying herself– whatever she was doing.
Her throat bobbed as the gathered saliva went down. Her eyes uneagerly dragged to the window.
It was a teen tapping at it with a knuckle. He seemed harmless enough.
She rolled down her window, just a bit. Not fully, doors still locked - ‘safety first’ she remembered that one YouTube video saying on self defense.
“Yes?” She cringed at how she sounded. Her voice shouldn't crack like that.
“Are you okay?” He asked, eyes narrowed, analysing her appearance. Suddenly she felt self conscious about her messy hair and eye bags the size of Asia. “You're not from here,” that wasn't a question, just a statement.
“Passing through,” a forced reply with an even more forced smile.
“Figures, no one in their right mind wants to stay. They hear about that one beheadin’ and shit their pants,” - ‘Beheading!?’ - “they're so dramatic. Or shady. But it kept crime rates down. Just like he says, ‘one good public beheadin’ and criminals get a whole lot more timid,’ whatever works, I guess.” The teen muttered, as if it was casual, just a passing fact in a conversation. Normal. Maybe it was normal for Thornhound. What an uncomfortable thought.
“Anyway, you good? Saw ya havin’ a lil’ breakdown right there,” he continued, rolling on the balls of his heels back and forth.
“Uh…” having a teen witnessing your pathetic enough display to make them feel obligated to check on you is just plain embarrassing. “Peachy.” She mumbled, words barely audible.
“Uh-huh.” He nodded, unconvinced. “Car troubles?” the teen inquired, glancing at the blinking red lights.
She looked down at the button before focusing on the person in front of her again. “Something like that.”
The boy hummed, as if taking that into consideration. “You should go to the Kennel, it's not too far. They will let you crash for the night. Just, y'know, you're an outsider, so don't think about things too hard. You won't understand unless you live here for a while,” he smiled.
“The kennel?” She questioned, doing the complete opposite of what the teen asked - trying to make sense of things.
“The Kennel! It's an old cathedral, we call it a Kennel now. Has more meaning.” He looked over the car and continued, “I'm sure we can transport your car to the mechanic. There's a good one, doesn't scam by callin’ for extra parts.”
“I'm not worried about my car.” ‘I’m worried about my safety. An old cathedral is the last place I want to spend the night.’
“Then why not visit? They've got showers, you look like you need one.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” she huffed at the unsolicited comment. She knew she couldn't take care of herself to the level she wanted but she doesn't look terrible!
No answer, just quick glances to her rear view mirror then back to her.
She got the hint and looked at herself.
Well, fine. She will admit it. The kid has a point.
Her hair was greasy and messy, eyes barely open, dirt clung to her oily skin, crumbs of whatever cheap fast-food she got on the road stuck to the corner of her mouth. Still, no need to say it. She glared at him, and the teen only put his hands in the air, muttering something. Probably an apology. She rolled her eyes and looked at her reflection again. It didn't look back. It still glared at the teen, then moved to roll its eyes and finally stare back.
“Oh, it's delayed. That's a safety risk on the road,” he said, unamused, one hand on the roof of the car as he leaned forward, not even a little shocked. “I'll shoot Canine a text since he's on break. He will get to it on his own time.”
‘What!?’