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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/11velociraptors on 2024-10-30 05:36:35+00:00.
I live in Middle-of-Nowhere, Great Plains—aka, northwestern South Dakota. It’s not the worst place to live I guess, if you like corn, but as you can imagine, not a lot goes on up here. Not much changes in my static little world, but when something new emerges from the monotony, I take notice, as in the case of the sign I saw about three years ago.
It was a Friday night in late October, and I was driving home from a party at around 10 P.M. I had just reached the most isolated portion of my drive, a winding forest road that has more deer than cars using it on any given day, when my headlights illuminated a flier posted to the trunk of an elm tree. As I passed by, I saw the words “LOST DOG”, along with a photo, presumably of the animal in question.
Now, the location of the flier was already strange enough to give me pause, but from my brief glimpse, the photo was even stranger. Maybe I was tired from a long day or maybe the printer had messed up that particular flier, but the picture hadn’t looked like a dog at all, moreso like a random assortment of shapes.
Like I said, not much happens in my town, and the flier was probably the most interesting thing that I’d seen all month. There was a turnout just after the elm, so I slowed down, pulled over, and stopped my car. I grabbed the flashlight I always keep in my console and got out to take a look.
The flier was even stranger up close. For one thing, there was no contact information, and the reward seemed exorbitant for another. The photo itself was also bizarre. Do you remember that AI-generated image shared on Twitter a couple years back with the caption “name one thing in this photo”? That’s what the so-called “dog” reminded me of—a bunch of colors and shapes that looked like they should’ve been recognizable, but weren’t. It had a short description of the dog beneath the photo:
JOHN
SHEPHERD MIX
WHITE COAT BROWN HOOD, BLUE EYES
$10,000
Weird name for a dog. I chalked it up to an art piece, which helped dispel some of the unease that’d begun to build in me upon staring at the photo. A part of me wanted to take the flier, but I didn’t want to be selfish with the artist’s work, so I contented myself with a photo. Just as I slipped my phone back into my pocket, the sound of snapping twigs made me start. Maybe the deer want a look at the art too, I thought, shining my flashlight into the trees. I waited for a moment, scanning the forest with bated breath, but even though it had sounded like there was an animal right behind me, I saw nothing. I returned to my car after that and continued home.
The next day, I gave my buddy Eric a call, hoping to catch him for drinks at our favorite brewery. Halfway through the call, I remembered the photo I’d taken of the “LOST DOG” flier, and opened my photo gallery so I could send it to him. To my disappointment, the photograph I’d taken was completely black. Either I’d had my thumb over the lens or the photo had somehow gotten corrupted. It was a little strange, but I’ve never been very tech savvy, so I dismissed it as a glitch and told Eric where to look if he was ever returning to town from that direction.
As it turned out, I didn’t have to wait until my next out-of-town drive to see the flier again. The following evening, Eric and I were walking back to our cars from the brewery. Across the street, stapled to a telephone pole, I noticed a familiar flier, and quickly pulled him over to point out the artwork. I was all smiles as I showed him, excited that someone was using our town as a canvas for their project, and even more excited that I’d been one of the first to notice it. This flier was just as devoid of information as the first and featured the same abstract mess of shapes for its “dog.” Eric’s always been more cultured than myself—more inclined to be interested in art history and that sort of thing—so I was interested to hear his take on the piece. When I turned to get his reaction though, he looked more unsettled than amused.
“What up?” I asked him. Instead of answering, he just shook his head.
“Nah, man; you’ll think I’m crazy.”
I tried pressing him a bit more, but when it became clear that he wasn’t going to divulge the source of his apprehension, I let it go. Before I continued towards my car, I pulled out my phone and snapped a photo of my shoes, which showed up in my photo gallery without issue. Then, I pointed my phone at the flier, aimed, pressed the capture button, and …
Nothing. Again, the photograph was completely black. When I got home that night, I went down a rabbit hole of anti-surveillance patterns, a.k.a. designs created for the express purpose of confusing cameras and facial recognition technology. Apparently, “anti-surveillance fashion” is already a big thing in some parts of the world, so it’s likely that the “LOST DOG” artist used one of those patterns in their piece, explaining why I can’t get a good photo of the flier. It didn’t explain Eric’s reaction though. I fell asleep wondering if my friend was seeing something that I wasn’t.
For the next few days, more “LOST DOG” signs continued to appear around town, never in high-traffic areas or obvious places. I found one behind the bleachers at the community soccer field and another tucked behind a different flier on a public bulletin board. Whoever this artist was, they were no Banksy—they seemed more keen to set up an Easter egg hunt than to make a bold public statement.
On the following Saturday, while on a hike, I was surprised to find a “FOUND DOG” sign taped to a picnic table in a quiet clearing off of the main path. I was pleased at the sight; I was starting to think that the art project was meant to encourage the residents of our town to better appreciate their surroundings, and that my attention to detail was paying off as a result. Even more pleasing was the fact that this sign had a phone number to call on it. The sign had no picture, just the words: “FOUND DOG: JOHN” along with the number. Out of curiosity, I gave it a call.
After three rings, someone picked up. I said nothing at first, wondering if I was about to speak to the artist themself, or simply hear some kind of pre-recorded message. After a moment, I heard a very strange voice.
“Looking for a dog?” It said. There was some kind of heavy filter on the voice. It was staticky and guttural, and seemed like it had been pitched down considerably. In a strange way, it reminded me of a large dog growling.
“Yeah, I’m looking for John.”
“What’s the word?” Asked the voice.
The word? I thought, looking over paper in front of me and trying to remember the exact phrasing of the “LOST DOG” flier. Presumably there was some kind of keyphrase I had missed.
“Shepherd?” I guessed, and the person on the other end of the phone hung up. I tried calling back, but they didn’t answer again.
I put my phone away, disappointed, and took a seat atop the picnic bench. The sun was beginning to set and a cool breeze had begun to sweep in from the north, whistling as it wound its way through the trees. I lowered my eyes from the pink and orange sky, staring into the treeline at the far end of the clearing. There was an animal peeking out through the brush. It was difficult to tell what exactly it was at such a distance, but it looked like a coyote (which my state has no shortage of.) It was standing eerily still. I raised my hand slightly and waved at the creature as a joke to myself.
And then, the thing stood up on two legs.
It wasn’t an animal at all, I realized, but a person, clad head to toe in black and wearing a dog mask over their face. The person turned their back to me and walked deeper into the trees.
Needless to say, that was not a comforting thing to witness. I left quickly after that, half-jogging back to my car and glancing over my shoulder every few minutes. If I’d seen a person in a dog mask traipsing through the forest a week ago, I would’ve laughed. I would’ve assumed they were some kind of LARPer, rare as those might be in rural South Dakota. After my strange phone call though, the sighting felt more sinister than funny. Was that the person I’d just been on call with? If so, had they seriously just been standing there waiting for someone to see their “FOUND DOG” flier?
The next day, as I visited my usual weekend haunts, I realized that the “LOST DOG” signs had been torn down. I guessed that the art project had reached its end, even though it seemed like a remarkably short run. I was disappointed that nothing more had come of it, and that I would never get answers regarding who was behind the fliers, but I probably would’ve moved on with my life and forgotten all about it if it weren’t for the visitor I received that night.
It was around midnight. I was at my computer, playing video games and trying not to think about work in the morning when I got a text from Eric. Oddly enough, he asked if he could come over, and it was such an uncharacteristic request that I figured there was something wrong. I said yes and he showed up at my door twenty minutes later. He looked a wreck—his hair was disheveled, his eyes were red, and his whole demeanor was nervous and fidgety. When he walked into my house, he held his phone in one hand and a rolled up piece of paper in the other.
“You’re not gonna believe me man, you’re gonna think I’m going crazy.” He said after declining both my offers for a glass of water and …
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