He saw it, too, and slammed on his brakes. The headlights flickered a bit as he tried to keep the car in control, only fishtailing a little before righting himself and throwing the car into park. His own breath was heavy but the kid’s was heavier, nervous in the passenger seat, hand lowering as the engine ticked and idled. 

The headlights, steady now, poured out into the night, strong as they fell upon the shape standing still just ahead of them, then fizzling out in a gaussian blur beyond it. They cut into the shape of it, illuminating it in valleys of shadow and light. It stood there, unmoving, four legs and two yellow eyes that reflected the pale yellow of the headlights like high beams. 

It was a dog. As dark and still as death.