The transcript, p.14
The Transcript, page 14
[Cracking is heard again and another yelp follows]
MSG Hassan: I’m tired of your fucking games. You understand English enough, so cut the shit and answer my questions.
Detainee: Ok, ok. I yield. I yield.
[Bootsteps and movement is heard]
MSG Hassan: We’re going to try this again. Where are you from?
Detainee: I am from the place of your ancestors, Yusuf. Where your great-grandfather’s grandfather walked the sands.
MSG Hassan: [Grunts] That's not my name.
Detainee: That’s what your mother calls you.
MSG Hassan: Nice guess, but you’re wrong.
Detainee: I know I’m right. Inaya calls you Yusuf. But Joseph you are because she didn't want her son to have a name so different from all the proper little American children.
[There is a long silence, approximately two minutes]
MSG Hassan: How did you breach Fort Bragg and gain access to Task Force Orange?
Detainee: Because I can go where I please. Borders, walls, fences, doors; these things mean nothing to me.
MSG Hassan: Answer the question.
Detainee: Because I can, Yusuf. [Growling] Because. I. will.
MSG Hassan: Who trained you?
Detainee: No one, all my skills are inherited.
MSG Hassan: What does that mean?
Detainee: Magic, Yusuf. Magic.
MSG Hassan: What did I say about these games?
Detainee: Concentrate, use that head of yours. Or have you really forgotten the stories of your culture? The tales of your people?
MSG Hassan: What are you talking about?
Detainee: I am Jinn, Yusuf. Remember those stories your mother would tell you to keep you in line? Little stories to scare little Yusuf into obedience?
MSG Hassan: [Snorts] Fables. Ghost stories to scare children and again, you’re full of shit.
Detainee: They’re real. I’m real.
MSG Hassan: You’ve lost me and I’m not fucking aro-und.
[Movement and electric crackling is heard]
Detainee: [Yelling] How about this Master Sergeant Joseph Hassan, US Army. Enlisted in 1985. Born at Bronx Children’s hospital October 29, 1967. You wet the bed until you were eight. Have the scar across your face from when your father beat you, but you tell everyone it was from falling down the stairs. Your first kiss was Randi Jo Johnson freshman year of high school but you never told anyone how she tasted like cigarettes and bubblegum.
[An impact and screaming is heard. It sounds as if MSG Hassan strikes the detainee]
Detainee: [Screaming] Do I have your attention now!?
MSG Hassan: What the fuck is this? [Addresses someone else] Are you hearing this? Who the fuck is this?
Detainee: What’s the matter? Shocked? I told you I know a great many things.
MSG Hassan: We’re done here.
Detainee: I breached Task Force Orange because I can. Because I could. So I could be here. In this room. To be heard…and you will hear.
[A hum is heard and several voices began to whisper. The detainee begins to chant in an unknown language. Analysts suggest that the detainee and the additional voices heard are speaking a potential ancient form of proto-Sum-erian]
[Multiple voices begin to overlap with the detainee’s chants]
Detainee: Are you listening? [It now sounds as if mul-tiple voices are speaking at once with the detainee]
[Chains hit the floor]
Detainee: Your bonds mean nothing to us.
[Furniture is heard being thrown across the room]
MSG Hassan: What the fuck!
[Bootsteps are heard as well as pounding on a door]
MSG Hassan: Hey! Open the fucking door, it's locked! [Slamming is heard]
Detainee: I am here to bring a message. Not to you. To your superiors who will review the recording of this encoun-ter.
[Multiple voices scream]
MSG Hassan: Let me go! Let me go!
Detainee: We are not your ally. We are not your enemy. We are beyond the world of men. We are nameless. We go where we choose.
[An explosion is heard as the door to the cell is brea-ched]
Unknown: On the floor or we will shoot!
MSG Hassan: Help!
Detainee: The lands you occupy were never man’s to claim. Let the wars of man continue once again, like they always do. Tread carefully in the Near East, for we are the true kings.
Unknown: Comply or we will shoot!
Detainee: This is not a warning. This is a threat.
[Several overlapping screams are heard as gunshots ring out before suddenly fading to silence]
Unknown: Holy shit! Where the fuck did they go!?
Unknown: Cut the recording! Cut the recording! We have a Code Black! Code Black!
[Recording abruptly ends]
The transcript appeared on “ANONLeaks” in 2017 and was subsequently deleted in 72 hours. MSG Hassan is officially listed as “Killed in Action on 13 January 2004 supporting Coalition operations as a part of Operation Iraqi Freedom.”
Man’s Best Friend
A convoy of vehicles charged through the flowing traffic as Iraqi civilians lazily weaved in and out of the way. Twelve-gun trucks rumbled down the narrow roads under the hot sun, barely fitting on the roadway. Their gunners scanned the rooftops and traffic for threats, both in plain sight and any signs of hidden danger. The streets of Nasiriyah, Iraq were crowded with civilians going about their lives as best they could in. It had been over a year since the invasion and the battle for the city, but it still bore the scars from when Task Force Tarawa crushed the Iraqi Army in the early days of the war.
The city had been relatively calm since the Americans stood up Combat Operations Base Adder. Until the war had returned, as the burgeoning insurgency had made its home in the city; with all manner of extremist, diehards, killers, and fiends aiming to carve out their own strongholds here. Now the Americans plunged into the city’s depths, sear-ching out the numerous cancerous cells; all threatening the coalition’s peacekeeping efforts.
Gunner lifted her nose to the air. She lay on the bed of the transport at the feet of her handler, Specialist Tovar, as the vehicle bounced down the road. Even in the troop transport, her sense of smell revealed the world around her, even if she couldn’t yet see it. She smelled everything, from the cologne of a passing Iraqi to the apprehension of her fellow soldiers.
Her ears perked when a soldier yelled over the roar of traffic and the groaning truck engine, “So are we seriously going after some serial killer?” Then that soldier spit into a bottle. Gunner twitched her nose at the wintergreen that wafted.
“Not a serial killer,” another soldier replied, “some haji satanist fuck or something.”
“Remember what the S2 said? The locals think he practices black magic, summons demons and shit.”
Gunner’s ears turned towards Spc Tovar, who was saying, “He’s a cultist. Believes in some ancient religion. Some sick fuck who kidnaps and murders people to drink their blood.”
“So…a serial killer, dumbass?” The soldier next to him gave Tovar a push on the shoulder.
Tovar just shrugged with a chuckle, “Sure. A serial killer.”
“Fuck me, man. Did you ever expect to arrest a serial kil-ler in a warzone?” The dipping soldier said as he spit once again into his bottle.
“Apparently the locals say he lives up in some old mansion, keeps all the windows boarded up and the house in the dark,” another soldier piped up. “Likes to kill people with a machete.”
“Great, we’re dealing with an Iraqi Freddy Krueger.”
“That's Jason, dipshit!”
The soldiers continued, back and forth, and Gunner selectively tuned them out to focus on the other sounds around her. She really only cared about what her handler said, and she looked up at him for any commands. Tovar just smiled and gave her the command for “at ease,” which meant she could relax. He reached down and patted her head as she leaned into it. Gunner had quite a few handlers, but she had bonded better with Tovar than with the others and Tovar preferred working with her over the other dogs too.
Gunner was a three-year-old Belgian Malinois and had been in Iraq since the invasion; one of the first military working dogs in country. The soldiers had bestowed upon her the rank of “Sergeant,” and she carried herself like a seasoned vet. Gunner was trained to find things: people, drugs, weapons, the occasional explosive device; and she was dammed good at it. She rarely lost a scent and had keener senses than the other dogs.
More importantly, she wasn't afraid of a fight. Unlike some of the others, she wasn't easily startled or frightened. Explosions and firefights didn't faze her. She had a reputation for keeping her calm under fire and was a favorite for missions that involved higher amounts of danger. The soldiers liked to talk about her “confirmed kill;” she charged a gunman that opened fire in a market, breaking free of her previous handler and diving through bullets to rip the gunman’s throat open.
The troop transport began to slow before lurching to a stop as Gunner and the soldiers braced themselves. A speaker crackled to life as a voice announced they were to dismount.
Gunner’s ears were up and she breathed in the scents of their stop. The same musty desert air she had grown accustomed too, trash, excrement, blood, and…something else? No, something new. Something that taunted her instincts. But she didn't have time to process it just yet.
The soldiers stood up and gathered their gear in the back of the transport. Another soldier quickly walked around back and opened the tailgate before hooking in a ladder for them to dismount. One by one, the soldiers climbed out. Tovar scurried down the ladder and signaled Gunner to come to him. Gunner walked to the edge and waited patiently as she panted in the hot air.
“Alright, stay Gunner, easy now.” Tovar scooped her up and placed her on the ground. “That's a high jump, girl, got to watch those joints,” Tovar said to her as he patted her head. “You’re getting old, girl.”
Gunner shook her body and stretched; her tactical vest felt heavy after sitting in the back of the truck. Tovar fished out a treat and offered it as she wagged her tail, she would never say no to a treat. Tovar then hooked on her leash and led her away, whistling a command. Gunner tensed her body and went on alert.
She took the chance to take in her surroundings. The trucks and soldiers were arrayed around a large house in an open area of the city. This area looked older compared to where she had been before, but many of the buildings smelled run down and abandoned. The soldiers pulled security around her, but as far as she could sense there weren’t many civilians around. Like they were avoiding it. The air seemed off here, and it sat still and heavy in her lungs.
But her attention was soon brought to the large house that loomed over them all. At one point, this was a mansion of sorts, catering to a wealthy family before Saddam’s rise to power. Now it was a decrepit thing, run down and in disrepair. The windows were boarded up and is seemed the only entrance was the front door which hung slightly ajar. Trash and refuse littered the courtyard, as well as bones of an unknown type scattered about.
“This place looks like a crackhouse,” Tovar quipped.
Another soldier, the intel specialist attached for the mission, responded. “Heard that the owner was some Baathist bigshot under Saddam,” he said, “part of the Fedayeen. Liked to torture people in the basement while his kids played upstairs. Supposedly he fell out of favor with Saddam after he started drinking blood and practicing black magic. The locals say that he sacrificed his family for some great power and the only reason he wasn't dragged through the streets was because we invaded that night.”
Gunner huffed quietly as her eyes were locked on the door. A group of soldiers broke off to stack up on the house, Tovar and Gunner fell in behind them as part of the second group. A soldier cautiously opened the door, sweeping his rifle through the passageway as he entered. The others in the stack followed suit, carefully entering the dark confines of the house, rifles at the ready.
“Clear! Dog Up!” Tovar’s radio barked to life.
“Alright, Gunner, let’s move.” Tovar said as she moved in synch with his steps. Her body was low and tense, ready to spring into action.
But as she passed through the threshold of the doorway, her hackles went up. Something was different about this place, something that triggered an alarm deep within her. The air seemed to crackle in here, buzz with some type of…force. This place was in full degradation and the smell of death permeated the air; not that sickly sweet smell of rot-ting flesh, but the smell of death itself.
Something wasn't right about this place; she was sure of that. Her canine ears could hear a strange heartbeat deep within this house and whispers that seemed to come from a deeper place within the void of darkness. She was over-whelmed with the unnaturalness, and she found herself freezing just feet inside the threshold.
Her lease went tight. She refused to take another step.
Tovar was jerked back by the dead weight on his hand. Unlike the others, he didn't jerk the leash in frustration. He sensed Gunner’s apprehension and eased back towards her.
“Tovar, what the fuck is wrong with the dog?” A ser-geant demanded.
“I don't know, sergeant. This isn’t like her at all.” Tovar knelt down.
“What’s up, girl? Alert?” he queried Gunner.
Gunner looked him in the eyes and whimpered. Her fur was standing up as she tapped her paws on the ground, panting in nervousness.
“Sergeant, something’s up. Gunner is bugging out—this isn’t like her.”
“I don't fucking care. Can the dog do the job?” the sergeant retorted. “We’re after a fucking psycho Haji and I don't have time for a spooked dog. The ‘terp said he’s in here and is supposed to be a killer. I’m not here to take chances.”
Gunner huffed again in displeasure, there was some-thing wrong. Something unnatural. There was an energy that reverberated in the air that was only being felt by her. And it frightened her.
Tovar patted her head and looked in her eyes.
“Come on, girl, need you in the game. On me.”
Gunner shook her head, pushing her fear to the back. Her handler was right, she needed to do what she was trained to do, what she was bred to do. She gave a huff.
“Atta girl, now come on. Seek, Gunner. Seek.” Tovar looked up. “We’re good, sergeant.”
“Alright. Lead the way, Tovar,” the sergeant said. “Let’s find this fuck.”
Gunner breathed in through her nose and listened. She could hear all the soldiers’ heartbeats—and another heart-beat, coming deep from within the house. She smelled the unmistakable stench of another man. She walked forward and pulled Tovar after her.
The soldiers moved slowly. The walls were peeled and the floors cracked as they walked down a hallway. It smelled of mold and rot, even he humans could smell it; the kind of stink found in places long forgotten. It was pitch black except for the light of the open doorway, and the soldiers soon used their flashlights on their helmets and rifles to see.
The dark didn't stop Gunner, in fact she could see better without the flashlights. She passed through a small hallway and another set of large wooden doors before stepping into the mansion’s main foyer. Two large staircases spiraled opposite of each other to a landing.
Without warning, the doors behind them slammed shut.
“What the fuck?” a soldier shouted. “Who closed those doors?”
Two soldiers hustled back and tried to open them, soon resorting to using a halogen tool.
“The fucking door is jammed shut,” one yelled. “We can't open them.”
“All the windows are bricked up too,” said the other. “No way we can knock that down.”
The sergeant tried to use his radio to call the security detail outside. All that replied was static.
“I can't get through on the radio,” he said. “Something is jamming the signal.”
Gunner let out a low growl as her hackles rose once more.
“Stop!” the sergeant said suddenly. “Do you guys hear that?”
Dozens of voices were whispering in the dark. Voices without character and identity. It sounded like they were conspiring amongst themselves, whispering in a strange language low enough so that their unexpected guests coul-dn’t hear what they were saying. At once it sounded as if they reached an agreement and their tone changed to something more menacing as the voices began to chant a singular phrase. They began to grow in volume until their whispers were now shouts. The Americans used their flash-lights, shining up and down the foyer but couldn't locate a thing. The voices seemed to be coming from every direction, as if materializing out of the air itself. Their flashlights soon began to flicker, casting shadows that seemed to move along the walls.
The whispers rose into a cacophony before silencing themselves abruptly.
“Hey,” a soldier said, “what the fu—” all their lights went out at once. They were now in pitch blackness.
The soldiers tried in vain to get the lights working again. But, as they panicked, Gunner’s eyes were locked ahead. Unlike her fellow soldiers, she could see just fine. And she tucked her tail between her legs.
Gunner watched a mass, darker than the darkness around it, rise up in front of them. The mass formed was twisting into a vaguely human shape. Gunner began to whine, knowing this thing wasn’t natural and certainly wasn't human. The dark figure in front of them all was gangly and thin and taller than the soldiers. Its limbs were too long and its arms almost touched the floor. A long, skinny neck extended from its torso and was topped with a misshapen, oval head. It stood slack and slouched, observing the soldiers. Then it launching forward with startling speed.
Gunner gave out a yelp and relieved herself in fear as she backed away, tugging on Tovar who swung around. Gunner met his eyes in the dark and gave out a whine.
“Gunner, what the—what’s wrong?” he said, staring down in the darkness towards the deadweight on the end of the leash.
But Gunner watched in horror as dozens of shadowy hands clawed at Tovar. Her handler couldn't even gasp in surprise as they covered his face and pulled his rifle away. Gunner’s leash fell as he was enveloped by shadow and slammed to the floor. Before he could catch his breath, he was dragged away, up the stairs and at an awful speed; all by a mass of shadows, into the darkness.
MSG Hassan: I’m tired of your fucking games. You understand English enough, so cut the shit and answer my questions.
Detainee: Ok, ok. I yield. I yield.
[Bootsteps and movement is heard]
MSG Hassan: We’re going to try this again. Where are you from?
Detainee: I am from the place of your ancestors, Yusuf. Where your great-grandfather’s grandfather walked the sands.
MSG Hassan: [Grunts] That's not my name.
Detainee: That’s what your mother calls you.
MSG Hassan: Nice guess, but you’re wrong.
Detainee: I know I’m right. Inaya calls you Yusuf. But Joseph you are because she didn't want her son to have a name so different from all the proper little American children.
[There is a long silence, approximately two minutes]
MSG Hassan: How did you breach Fort Bragg and gain access to Task Force Orange?
Detainee: Because I can go where I please. Borders, walls, fences, doors; these things mean nothing to me.
MSG Hassan: Answer the question.
Detainee: Because I can, Yusuf. [Growling] Because. I. will.
MSG Hassan: Who trained you?
Detainee: No one, all my skills are inherited.
MSG Hassan: What does that mean?
Detainee: Magic, Yusuf. Magic.
MSG Hassan: What did I say about these games?
Detainee: Concentrate, use that head of yours. Or have you really forgotten the stories of your culture? The tales of your people?
MSG Hassan: What are you talking about?
Detainee: I am Jinn, Yusuf. Remember those stories your mother would tell you to keep you in line? Little stories to scare little Yusuf into obedience?
MSG Hassan: [Snorts] Fables. Ghost stories to scare children and again, you’re full of shit.
Detainee: They’re real. I’m real.
MSG Hassan: You’ve lost me and I’m not fucking aro-und.
[Movement and electric crackling is heard]
Detainee: [Yelling] How about this Master Sergeant Joseph Hassan, US Army. Enlisted in 1985. Born at Bronx Children’s hospital October 29, 1967. You wet the bed until you were eight. Have the scar across your face from when your father beat you, but you tell everyone it was from falling down the stairs. Your first kiss was Randi Jo Johnson freshman year of high school but you never told anyone how she tasted like cigarettes and bubblegum.
[An impact and screaming is heard. It sounds as if MSG Hassan strikes the detainee]
Detainee: [Screaming] Do I have your attention now!?
MSG Hassan: What the fuck is this? [Addresses someone else] Are you hearing this? Who the fuck is this?
Detainee: What’s the matter? Shocked? I told you I know a great many things.
MSG Hassan: We’re done here.
Detainee: I breached Task Force Orange because I can. Because I could. So I could be here. In this room. To be heard…and you will hear.
[A hum is heard and several voices began to whisper. The detainee begins to chant in an unknown language. Analysts suggest that the detainee and the additional voices heard are speaking a potential ancient form of proto-Sum-erian]
[Multiple voices begin to overlap with the detainee’s chants]
Detainee: Are you listening? [It now sounds as if mul-tiple voices are speaking at once with the detainee]
[Chains hit the floor]
Detainee: Your bonds mean nothing to us.
[Furniture is heard being thrown across the room]
MSG Hassan: What the fuck!
[Bootsteps are heard as well as pounding on a door]
MSG Hassan: Hey! Open the fucking door, it's locked! [Slamming is heard]
Detainee: I am here to bring a message. Not to you. To your superiors who will review the recording of this encoun-ter.
[Multiple voices scream]
MSG Hassan: Let me go! Let me go!
Detainee: We are not your ally. We are not your enemy. We are beyond the world of men. We are nameless. We go where we choose.
[An explosion is heard as the door to the cell is brea-ched]
Unknown: On the floor or we will shoot!
MSG Hassan: Help!
Detainee: The lands you occupy were never man’s to claim. Let the wars of man continue once again, like they always do. Tread carefully in the Near East, for we are the true kings.
Unknown: Comply or we will shoot!
Detainee: This is not a warning. This is a threat.
[Several overlapping screams are heard as gunshots ring out before suddenly fading to silence]
Unknown: Holy shit! Where the fuck did they go!?
Unknown: Cut the recording! Cut the recording! We have a Code Black! Code Black!
[Recording abruptly ends]
The transcript appeared on “ANONLeaks” in 2017 and was subsequently deleted in 72 hours. MSG Hassan is officially listed as “Killed in Action on 13 January 2004 supporting Coalition operations as a part of Operation Iraqi Freedom.”
Man’s Best Friend
A convoy of vehicles charged through the flowing traffic as Iraqi civilians lazily weaved in and out of the way. Twelve-gun trucks rumbled down the narrow roads under the hot sun, barely fitting on the roadway. Their gunners scanned the rooftops and traffic for threats, both in plain sight and any signs of hidden danger. The streets of Nasiriyah, Iraq were crowded with civilians going about their lives as best they could in. It had been over a year since the invasion and the battle for the city, but it still bore the scars from when Task Force Tarawa crushed the Iraqi Army in the early days of the war.
The city had been relatively calm since the Americans stood up Combat Operations Base Adder. Until the war had returned, as the burgeoning insurgency had made its home in the city; with all manner of extremist, diehards, killers, and fiends aiming to carve out their own strongholds here. Now the Americans plunged into the city’s depths, sear-ching out the numerous cancerous cells; all threatening the coalition’s peacekeeping efforts.
Gunner lifted her nose to the air. She lay on the bed of the transport at the feet of her handler, Specialist Tovar, as the vehicle bounced down the road. Even in the troop transport, her sense of smell revealed the world around her, even if she couldn’t yet see it. She smelled everything, from the cologne of a passing Iraqi to the apprehension of her fellow soldiers.
Her ears perked when a soldier yelled over the roar of traffic and the groaning truck engine, “So are we seriously going after some serial killer?” Then that soldier spit into a bottle. Gunner twitched her nose at the wintergreen that wafted.
“Not a serial killer,” another soldier replied, “some haji satanist fuck or something.”
“Remember what the S2 said? The locals think he practices black magic, summons demons and shit.”
Gunner’s ears turned towards Spc Tovar, who was saying, “He’s a cultist. Believes in some ancient religion. Some sick fuck who kidnaps and murders people to drink their blood.”
“So…a serial killer, dumbass?” The soldier next to him gave Tovar a push on the shoulder.
Tovar just shrugged with a chuckle, “Sure. A serial killer.”
“Fuck me, man. Did you ever expect to arrest a serial kil-ler in a warzone?” The dipping soldier said as he spit once again into his bottle.
“Apparently the locals say he lives up in some old mansion, keeps all the windows boarded up and the house in the dark,” another soldier piped up. “Likes to kill people with a machete.”
“Great, we’re dealing with an Iraqi Freddy Krueger.”
“That's Jason, dipshit!”
The soldiers continued, back and forth, and Gunner selectively tuned them out to focus on the other sounds around her. She really only cared about what her handler said, and she looked up at him for any commands. Tovar just smiled and gave her the command for “at ease,” which meant she could relax. He reached down and patted her head as she leaned into it. Gunner had quite a few handlers, but she had bonded better with Tovar than with the others and Tovar preferred working with her over the other dogs too.
Gunner was a three-year-old Belgian Malinois and had been in Iraq since the invasion; one of the first military working dogs in country. The soldiers had bestowed upon her the rank of “Sergeant,” and she carried herself like a seasoned vet. Gunner was trained to find things: people, drugs, weapons, the occasional explosive device; and she was dammed good at it. She rarely lost a scent and had keener senses than the other dogs.
More importantly, she wasn't afraid of a fight. Unlike some of the others, she wasn't easily startled or frightened. Explosions and firefights didn't faze her. She had a reputation for keeping her calm under fire and was a favorite for missions that involved higher amounts of danger. The soldiers liked to talk about her “confirmed kill;” she charged a gunman that opened fire in a market, breaking free of her previous handler and diving through bullets to rip the gunman’s throat open.
The troop transport began to slow before lurching to a stop as Gunner and the soldiers braced themselves. A speaker crackled to life as a voice announced they were to dismount.
Gunner’s ears were up and she breathed in the scents of their stop. The same musty desert air she had grown accustomed too, trash, excrement, blood, and…something else? No, something new. Something that taunted her instincts. But she didn't have time to process it just yet.
The soldiers stood up and gathered their gear in the back of the transport. Another soldier quickly walked around back and opened the tailgate before hooking in a ladder for them to dismount. One by one, the soldiers climbed out. Tovar scurried down the ladder and signaled Gunner to come to him. Gunner walked to the edge and waited patiently as she panted in the hot air.
“Alright, stay Gunner, easy now.” Tovar scooped her up and placed her on the ground. “That's a high jump, girl, got to watch those joints,” Tovar said to her as he patted her head. “You’re getting old, girl.”
Gunner shook her body and stretched; her tactical vest felt heavy after sitting in the back of the truck. Tovar fished out a treat and offered it as she wagged her tail, she would never say no to a treat. Tovar then hooked on her leash and led her away, whistling a command. Gunner tensed her body and went on alert.
She took the chance to take in her surroundings. The trucks and soldiers were arrayed around a large house in an open area of the city. This area looked older compared to where she had been before, but many of the buildings smelled run down and abandoned. The soldiers pulled security around her, but as far as she could sense there weren’t many civilians around. Like they were avoiding it. The air seemed off here, and it sat still and heavy in her lungs.
But her attention was soon brought to the large house that loomed over them all. At one point, this was a mansion of sorts, catering to a wealthy family before Saddam’s rise to power. Now it was a decrepit thing, run down and in disrepair. The windows were boarded up and is seemed the only entrance was the front door which hung slightly ajar. Trash and refuse littered the courtyard, as well as bones of an unknown type scattered about.
“This place looks like a crackhouse,” Tovar quipped.
Another soldier, the intel specialist attached for the mission, responded. “Heard that the owner was some Baathist bigshot under Saddam,” he said, “part of the Fedayeen. Liked to torture people in the basement while his kids played upstairs. Supposedly he fell out of favor with Saddam after he started drinking blood and practicing black magic. The locals say that he sacrificed his family for some great power and the only reason he wasn't dragged through the streets was because we invaded that night.”
Gunner huffed quietly as her eyes were locked on the door. A group of soldiers broke off to stack up on the house, Tovar and Gunner fell in behind them as part of the second group. A soldier cautiously opened the door, sweeping his rifle through the passageway as he entered. The others in the stack followed suit, carefully entering the dark confines of the house, rifles at the ready.
“Clear! Dog Up!” Tovar’s radio barked to life.
“Alright, Gunner, let’s move.” Tovar said as she moved in synch with his steps. Her body was low and tense, ready to spring into action.
But as she passed through the threshold of the doorway, her hackles went up. Something was different about this place, something that triggered an alarm deep within her. The air seemed to crackle in here, buzz with some type of…force. This place was in full degradation and the smell of death permeated the air; not that sickly sweet smell of rot-ting flesh, but the smell of death itself.
Something wasn't right about this place; she was sure of that. Her canine ears could hear a strange heartbeat deep within this house and whispers that seemed to come from a deeper place within the void of darkness. She was over-whelmed with the unnaturalness, and she found herself freezing just feet inside the threshold.
Her lease went tight. She refused to take another step.
Tovar was jerked back by the dead weight on his hand. Unlike the others, he didn't jerk the leash in frustration. He sensed Gunner’s apprehension and eased back towards her.
“Tovar, what the fuck is wrong with the dog?” A ser-geant demanded.
“I don't know, sergeant. This isn’t like her at all.” Tovar knelt down.
“What’s up, girl? Alert?” he queried Gunner.
Gunner looked him in the eyes and whimpered. Her fur was standing up as she tapped her paws on the ground, panting in nervousness.
“Sergeant, something’s up. Gunner is bugging out—this isn’t like her.”
“I don't fucking care. Can the dog do the job?” the sergeant retorted. “We’re after a fucking psycho Haji and I don't have time for a spooked dog. The ‘terp said he’s in here and is supposed to be a killer. I’m not here to take chances.”
Gunner huffed again in displeasure, there was some-thing wrong. Something unnatural. There was an energy that reverberated in the air that was only being felt by her. And it frightened her.
Tovar patted her head and looked in her eyes.
“Come on, girl, need you in the game. On me.”
Gunner shook her head, pushing her fear to the back. Her handler was right, she needed to do what she was trained to do, what she was bred to do. She gave a huff.
“Atta girl, now come on. Seek, Gunner. Seek.” Tovar looked up. “We’re good, sergeant.”
“Alright. Lead the way, Tovar,” the sergeant said. “Let’s find this fuck.”
Gunner breathed in through her nose and listened. She could hear all the soldiers’ heartbeats—and another heart-beat, coming deep from within the house. She smelled the unmistakable stench of another man. She walked forward and pulled Tovar after her.
The soldiers moved slowly. The walls were peeled and the floors cracked as they walked down a hallway. It smelled of mold and rot, even he humans could smell it; the kind of stink found in places long forgotten. It was pitch black except for the light of the open doorway, and the soldiers soon used their flashlights on their helmets and rifles to see.
The dark didn't stop Gunner, in fact she could see better without the flashlights. She passed through a small hallway and another set of large wooden doors before stepping into the mansion’s main foyer. Two large staircases spiraled opposite of each other to a landing.
Without warning, the doors behind them slammed shut.
“What the fuck?” a soldier shouted. “Who closed those doors?”
Two soldiers hustled back and tried to open them, soon resorting to using a halogen tool.
“The fucking door is jammed shut,” one yelled. “We can't open them.”
“All the windows are bricked up too,” said the other. “No way we can knock that down.”
The sergeant tried to use his radio to call the security detail outside. All that replied was static.
“I can't get through on the radio,” he said. “Something is jamming the signal.”
Gunner let out a low growl as her hackles rose once more.
“Stop!” the sergeant said suddenly. “Do you guys hear that?”
Dozens of voices were whispering in the dark. Voices without character and identity. It sounded like they were conspiring amongst themselves, whispering in a strange language low enough so that their unexpected guests coul-dn’t hear what they were saying. At once it sounded as if they reached an agreement and their tone changed to something more menacing as the voices began to chant a singular phrase. They began to grow in volume until their whispers were now shouts. The Americans used their flash-lights, shining up and down the foyer but couldn't locate a thing. The voices seemed to be coming from every direction, as if materializing out of the air itself. Their flashlights soon began to flicker, casting shadows that seemed to move along the walls.
The whispers rose into a cacophony before silencing themselves abruptly.
“Hey,” a soldier said, “what the fu—” all their lights went out at once. They were now in pitch blackness.
The soldiers tried in vain to get the lights working again. But, as they panicked, Gunner’s eyes were locked ahead. Unlike her fellow soldiers, she could see just fine. And she tucked her tail between her legs.
Gunner watched a mass, darker than the darkness around it, rise up in front of them. The mass formed was twisting into a vaguely human shape. Gunner began to whine, knowing this thing wasn’t natural and certainly wasn't human. The dark figure in front of them all was gangly and thin and taller than the soldiers. Its limbs were too long and its arms almost touched the floor. A long, skinny neck extended from its torso and was topped with a misshapen, oval head. It stood slack and slouched, observing the soldiers. Then it launching forward with startling speed.
Gunner gave out a yelp and relieved herself in fear as she backed away, tugging on Tovar who swung around. Gunner met his eyes in the dark and gave out a whine.
“Gunner, what the—what’s wrong?” he said, staring down in the darkness towards the deadweight on the end of the leash.
But Gunner watched in horror as dozens of shadowy hands clawed at Tovar. Her handler couldn't even gasp in surprise as they covered his face and pulled his rifle away. Gunner’s leash fell as he was enveloped by shadow and slammed to the floor. Before he could catch his breath, he was dragged away, up the stairs and at an awful speed; all by a mass of shadows, into the darkness.
