(Apologies, I'm posting this story to this section because there's no group for the "Haunting Ground" CAPCOM game)
As the door opened, Hewie felt fear. Rather, he smelled it in the air. It was sharp, and acidic. His ears folded back against his head, and he whined.
He had become accustomed to the regular beatings that the large man would deliver. Confined within this damp room with no view to the outside world, Hewie had to rely on his internal senses to determine the time of day. He knew, for example, that it was at some time in what would be the beginning of the day that he would receive the first beating. The middle of the day would trigger the second beating, accompanied by food and water, not always in that order. The final beating would occur near the "end" of the day, at which point Hewie would know that it was safe to rest for the night.
"You worthless dog. You're not even worth cutting up to experiment on, you know?"
The man struck at Hewie with a thick black stick. It hit Hewie in the haunch, bringing Hewie a fresh bruise to replace the one that was under his fur, still healing.
Hewie had long ago given up on any attempts to fight back, to attack the man wielding the stick, or the stick itself. Many times he had tried, to only find the rope tighten around his neck, and the man savagely apply more beatings. Even so much as a bark in defiance would earn him a sharp fresh welt.
He whined again, back away from the man. But there was really nowhere to go in the tiny room. The man struck again, and again, and Hewie could only attempt to leap away whenever the man struck, so to only get, if he was lucky, a glancing blow to a leg, rather than something more severe.
"Don't smile at me. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, if that rope wasn't on you, you'd be at my throat, wouldn't you? After all this time, you'd still love a chance, wouldn't you?"
The stick struck again. Hewie winced.
"You'll never get that chance," the man said, and smiled. Hewie just looked at him, waiting for the next blow.
The man wiped off some sweat from his brow, turned, and left. Hewie heard a loud click that would always accompany the door closing. He did not know anything about things like locks.
Left to himself, Hewie immediately started licking his new bruises. It hadn't been so bad this morning. Most of the bruises were down to a dull painful throbbing that licking seemed to help. His left rear leg felt a little wobbly, so he sat, folding his front legs under himself, and continued licking.
Hewie could not remember much from his youth. As a pup, he had been born in a large litter. Almost immediately, he had been taken away from his mother, and spent his time growing up in this place. But not down here. No, his former master, now seemingly gone, would take him for walks around the grounds. He had his run of the place, which seemed large, but now was mostly forgotten.
But then, recently, the large man came, and his master disappeared. He was brought down to this room, tied, and beaten. So it had begun.
Initially, Hewie had been confused. He could not understand what had happened. He thought that perhaps there was something he had done, but he could not think of anything.
But then, as the beatings continued, Hewie gave up on trying to figure things out. He gave up on looking for answers, and was content in simple confusion. And, in short time, that confusion grew into a feeling that Hewie was not too familiar with.
Anger.
Anger with the pain he felt. Anger with the darkness, with the constant dampness that befuddled his sense of smell. Anger at the wood walls that his normally sensitive hearing could not seemingly penetrate. Anger at being forced to sit in his own filth. But most of all, anger towards the large man.
He had tried to attack the man several times early on. Each time he had been rebuffed, and beaten soundly. The man was surprisingly strong, and even more surprisingly, very quick. Hewie was a large dog, but this man knew all of Hewie's tricks.
There were times, like today, that Hewie would sit and think of all the things he would do to this man, given the opportunity. Given any opening, Hewie would bite, tear, scratch. Hewie was saving his strength over the last few weeks. The food was scarce, and Hewie knew that to expend his energy at the wrong time would probably mean death. He had to wait, recover and wait, and look for that one moment. And then --
The door opened suddenly, and without warning. Hewie jumped up, and made a startled bark. He had not heard or smelt anything that would have informed him that anyone was about to open the door, had he? Or had he missed it while day-dreaming?
It was the large man again. With surprising swiftness, the man kicked Hewie and untied the top end of the rope in one motion. Then, he wrapped the end of the rope around his grizzled hand several times.
"Looks like it's finally time to get rid of you once and for all," the man said. "You better come with me, and come nicely, if you know what's good for you."
He dragged him out of the room. Hewie had not seen the outside hallway for what seemed like a very long time. The dark damp smell continued through the hallway, lingering.
The man dragged him along the hallway, through several doors, up stairs, around corners. Hewie tried to use all his senses to determine where he was. Was there a smell that he could remember? A sound, ever so slight, that he could pick up? Every time it seemed like perhaps there was a hint of something, the large man pulled violently on the rope, distracting Hewie.
They entered what appeared to be a small garden. Enclosed on most of the sides by tall walls with some open windows, the garden, although lit by the sun, seemed dark. The smells of even the growing plants here seemed unfamiliar to Hewie, as though they were plants that had given up.
There was suddenly a loud crashing noise. Both the man and Hewie jumped.
"What was that?" the main said out loud. He dragged on the rope hard, choking Hewie, and yanked him over to a nearby tree.
"Lucky for you, I'll have to see what that's about. But I'll come back for you. Don't get any ideas." He pulled sharply on the rope, and tied it to the tree. He tested the rope by pulling it, and when satisfied, gave the dog one more angry look, and ran off, leaving Hewie alone.
Hewie tugged at the rope, but could not budge it. He paced restless in the short distance the rope allowed.
Time passed.
And then, Hewie smelled something completely new. Something that was such a change from the usual smells, that he immediately set to whining and frantically looking around for the source of the smell. He spotted it, through a window into the garden. A pale colored girl, with wide almond eyes and a concerned look.
In moments, she found the doorway into the garden and slowly approached him. Hewie didn't really know what to expect. Was this new person going to treat him differently? In a dog's world, trust was freely given out, but Hewie had been fooled many times.
She held out her hand in a peace offering. Hewie smelled the air near her hand. He recognized the smell.
Fear, again. A different smell of fear, of course. This one was almost "fresh" – fear from someone who was not accustomed to the surroundings, or really anything that was going on. She was new, not only to Hewie, but to this place.
"It's ok, I'm going to untie you," she said. Hewie only saw as she came closer that her hands moved near the rope. He felt agitated – as though he couldn't make up his mind to trust her or not. But then he smelled her fear again, combined with her eyes, always looking straight at him. He realized that she was no threat to him, or likely anyone.
He felt her moving the rope, and felt the rope becoming loose.
He looked at her again. Innocence. Something he had not seen or felt in a human in a long time.
At that moment, Hewie knew what he had to do. Hewie would protect this girl. To protect this girl meant a distraction from his own feelings, as well as helping out someone innocent of the surrounding evil. And just maybe, if he followed her long enough, he also would find a way to win his freedom, and find the large man. Then, he would remember his anger.