Whispers of the Black Howl: Pikachu, Tung Tung Sahur, and the Dog Beyond the Door

 Whispers of the Black Howl: Pikachu, Tung Tung Sahur, and the Dog Beyond the Door

Part 1: The Arrival

It started with a delivery. A dusty box arrived at the front door of the Khan family farmhouse. No return address. Inside: a cracked Pikachu plush, its eyes faded to grey, and a note in jagged ink: "Do not let them play after dusk." The youngest daughter, Aila, giggled and tossed the toy to their dog, Moti. The golden retriever sniffed it, tail wagging, and took it to his bed.

That night, thunder rumbled without clouds. Moti whined, ears twitching toward the old barn. At 3:07 a.m., the house lights flickered as a wind blew from the walls.

From the dark hallway, came a low beat.
“Tung… Tung… Tung… Sahur…”

Aila sat up in bed, blinking. She thought she heard chanting. Then the Pikachu toy’s eyes glowed faintly red from the corner.

---

Part 2: The Black Howl
Moti growled in a way no one had heard before—low, guttural, ancient. He stood in the kitchen, teeth bared at the barn door visible through the back window. Then came the first Black Howl. Not a dog’s bark. Not a wolf’s. It was something older.

Pikachu was missing from Moti’s bed. Instead, a trail of black feathers and ash led to the backdoor.

The chant returned.
“Tung... Tung… Sahur…”

Moti pawed at the door, frantically. Aila followed, shivering. She opened it.

Outside stood a figure wrapped in gray mist. Too tall, face obscured, arms stretched too far, fingers crooked like broken twigs. At its feet—Pikachu, sitting up straight, smiling.

The figure whispered in a distorted, doubled voice:
"He brought the gatekeeper."

A shadow passed over the moon. And Moti lunged.

Part 3: The Gatekeeper Bites

Moti tackled the figure, but passed straight through it—like fog that sliced him back. His yelp shattered the stillness. Blood dripped on the threshold. Aila screamed. The figure didn’t move, but the Pikachu plush tilted its head… on its own.

“Gatekeeper has tasted,” it said. A voice not of cotton or toy—but something hollow, layered, like radio static whispering.

Aila dragged Moti back, slamming the door. He limped, paw bleeding, but never took his eyes off the toy. Outside, the figure didn’t approach. It just watched.

Midnight fell again—though it was still 3:09 on every clock.

That’s when the radio turned on in the living room, by itself. A child's voice hummed a nursery rhyme no one had heard before:

🎵 “Tung Tung Sahur comes with night,
If dog defends, you lose the light.” 🎵

The bulbs exploded. The room went black.

Then the scratching started. Not at the windows, but inside the walls.

---

Part 4: Into the Walls

The sound slithered behind the wallpaper—scritch-scratch, low growls, and distant thunder. Aila grabbed Moti and flashlight. They stumbled down the hallway.

In the living room, the Pikachu plush now sat on the mantel. It hadn't been there before. Moti whimpered, body low to the ground.

Then the toy whispered again:
“You opened the wrong door.”

The wallpaper behind the couch bulged outward. Something pressed from inside. Fingernails? A face? Moti barked and leapt—claws tearing the wallpaper.

A hidden crawlspace behind the wall opened, revealing…

A dark, endless tunnel.

Aila turned to run, but the floorboards behind her snapped upward, and from the gap, a long arm reached out. Not human. Not animal. Pale gray and striped in jagged burns.

“Tung… Sahur…” the voice hissed.

The girl and her dog had no choice.

They jumped in.

Part 5: The Crawling Realm

The tunnel was breathing.

Not metaphorically—literally. Every few seconds, the walls pulsed like lungs, contracting around Aila and Moti. The air was damp, tinged with rot and wet fur. Aila’s flashlight flickered, barely illuminating claw marks on the sides of the passage.

Moti barked once. It echoed backward, like time reversed for a second.

Then they saw it.

Scrawled in red across the fleshy walls were words:
“Gatekeepers must bleed. He waits where time forgets.”

Suddenly, the Pikachu plush rolled down the tunnel toward them. But this time, its mouth was stitched shut with metal wire. Its eyes bled ink. Moti growled, but didn’t approach it.

Behind them, they heard footsteps—no, not steps. Dragging. Something was pulling itself through the tunnel. Slowly. Wetly.

Aila grabbed Moti and crawled faster. The tunnel forked—left or right. One side had bone fragments on the floor. The other side whispered:

“Aila… come play with Tung Sahur…”

She turned right—into the whispers.

They emerged into a wide cavern. In the center stood a mirror. But it didn’t reflect them.

It reflected a version of Aila—with black eyes, holding Moti by a leash made of tongues.

And behind that version… Tung Tung Sahur stood, taller than ever, his face now clear.

It was wearing her father's face, stretched like leather.

Part 6: The Face Collector

Aila screamed. The mirror didn’t echo—it laughed. Her own reflection smiled wickedly, tongue snaking out, whispering:
“You left him to die, remember?”

Moti growled, fur standing on end. The real Aila stumbled back. The Tung Sahur in the mirror raised one arm. The stitched Pikachu appeared beside him, now floating, its stitches tearing open to reveal rows of human teeth inside.

From the shadows behind the mirror, they came—dozens of dogs. Twisted, wrong. Extra limbs. Hollow eyes. Some had Pikachu plush heads. Others had human hands instead of paws. They snarled silently, all staring at Moti.

Aila turned to flee, but the exit was gone. Only darkness. The mirror shimmered again.

Now it showed her house—her mother in the kitchen, calling her name. Her father at the table. Alive.

“Home,” Aila whispered. “That’s home…”

But the mirror twisted, the image warping—her parents turned slowly, and both had Pikachu faces stitched onto their skulls.

Moti barked loudly. It snapped Aila out of her trance.

Then she saw it: a key lodged deep inside the stitched Pikachu’s mouth. It glinted faintly in the flickering, bloody light.

Aila gritted her teeth.

“We need that key,” she whispered.

Moti nodded. He understood.

As the mirror shattered behind them, and the distorted dogs circled in, they lunged for the floating Pikachu. Its mouth opened wide.

The key was still there—resting on a tongue that pulsed like it was alive.

But Tung Tung Sahur whispered from above:
“Take the key, lose the dog.”

Part 7: The Tongue and the Choice

Aila froze.

The key gleamed like salvation inside Pikachu’s mouth. But the warning echoed again—“Take the key, lose the dog.” Her hands trembled. Moti whimpered beside her, still growling at the abomination floating midair.

She looked down at her dog. Loyal, wounded, his fur matted with blood—but his eyes still soft, still full of trust.

Above them, Tung Tung Sahur descended slowly, his form unraveling—arms twisting into spirals, fingers forming cruel knives. He was no longer just a figure; he was the place. The walls pulsed with his breath. The air was his hunger.

“You brought the Gatekeeper,” he said, voice gurgling from unseen mouths. “The dog must pay. You broke the rule. He barked at the veil.”

The stitched Pikachu shrieked—a metallic sound—and began rotating in midair, faster and faster. Blood and feathers rained from the ceiling.

Aila stepped forward.

“Take me,” she said. “Let the dog go.”

Tung Tung Sahur paused.

“Brave. Foolish. Pointless.”
He stretched out one hand—thirteen fingers long—and reached toward Moti.

But Moti moved first.

With a sudden burst of energy, Moti leapt—straight into Pikachu’s mouth. The toy convulsed, howled in reverse, and exploded into black mist.

The key clattered to the ground, now free.

“No!” Sahur roared. The cavern shook violently.

Aila dove for the key, grabbing it just as a black storm of claws and teeth swarmed around her. She spun, screaming, calling for Moti—until from the smoke…

He emerged.

Different.

Glowing red around the eyes.

Panting. Still her dog. But something else now pulsed beneath his skin.

“I got the key,” she whispered. “Now let’s find the door…”

Part 8: The Door Without a Handle

The black mist thinned, revealing a corridor built from bones—literal femurs and ribs forming arches above their heads. Aila held the cold metal key tightly, its jagged edges oddly warm. Moti padded beside her, silent now, eyes glowing faintly red.

He didn’t wag his tail anymore.

She tried not to notice.

At the end of the bone corridor stood a massive door. It had no handle. No lock. Only a hollow hole in the center—like an empty eye socket. Carved above it, in scorched letters:

“Only the Changed may open.”

Behind them, the howling returned. Sahur’s voice thundered:
“You flee, but the gate was never yours!”

Aila looked at the key. Then at Moti.

He sat calmly, then walked toward the door and placed his paw into the hole. The bones around the door began to scream—shrill and human—as the entire frame pulsed with light.

A slot opened.

Aila inserted the key.

The door split vertically, opening with a slow, wet crack. On the other side…

A replica of her home.

But everything was… off.

The sky outside was black. Not night—just absence. Trees were upside-down. Birds flew backward. Inside the kitchen, her mother stirred a pot of ash. The television showed static with Pikachu’s stitched smile.

And on the floor lay another Aila—eyes wide open, unmoving. Dead.

Moti growled.

Tung Tung Sahur’s whisper returned, now gentler:
“Stay. You’re home. You’ve always been here.”

The door began closing behind them.

They had seconds to choose.

Step into this reflection…

…or stay with the creature chasing them through the bone tunnel.

Part 9: Reflection Bites Back

Aila hesitated at the threshold. Behind her, the bone corridor collapsed, devoured by the rolling shadow that was Tung Tung Sahur’s true form—an endless mass of twitching limbs and stitched smiles.

The door was closing. She had no time.

She pulled Moti into the house.

The door sealed behind them with a whisper, not a slam.

The air was wrong. Heavy. Time didn’t move here—it stared. Everything was a shade too still, like a photo pretending to breathe. Aila stepped over the body of her other self, lying crumpled by the couch. Her hands trembled as she touched the girl’s face—it was her. Same scar on the chin. Same bracelet.

Moti sniffed her double, then let out a low, distorted growl. The glowing in his eyes intensified. Aila backed away.

“You’re not my home,” she said aloud. “You’re a… trap.”

The television sparked. Pikachu’s face filled the screen.

“You broke him. You don’t get to leave.”

From every shadow in the room, the other dogs returned—half-melted, stitched, crawling in unnatural ways. Moti snarled at them, but this time… he didn’t defend Aila. He watched her.

Aila looked at her dog. Her real Moti. Was he still in there?

Tung Tung Sahur’s voice slithered from the fireplace:

“Choose. This place… or the key again. But the key has one last price.”

In her pocket, it burned red.

She could go deeper. Unlock one more gate. Maybe reach the real world.

But the cost?

The key hummed as words formed across its metal surface:

"Turn me again... and he forgets you."

She looked at Moti.

He wagged his tail. Once.

Tears streamed down her face.

“I can’t lose him.”

But behind her… the stitched dogs advanced.

Part 10: The Final Gate

Aila gripped the key so hard her hand bled. The stitched dogs crept closer, their mouths stretching open without sound, tongues slithering like worms. The TV blinked to a countdown.

00:09
00:08
00:07…

The voice of Tung Tung Sahur hissed louder with every tick:
“Turn it. Leave. Forget the beast. You were alone anyway.”

Moti stood between her and the stitched dogs, chest puffed, unmoving. His eyes still glowed—but a single tear rolled from one. His tail wagged again.

He remembered.

00:04

Aila screamed:
“I WON’T FORGET HIM!”

She turned the key.

The world shattered.

Reality split with the sound of screaming clocks. Gravity flipped. Every inch of the false house peeled away like paper on fire, revealing an infinite red void filled with spinning doors. Above her, suspended in the center—a final door. White. Clean. Wooden.

She floated toward it. Moti beside her. No longer twisted. No longer glowing.

Just her dog.

Tung Tung Sahur’s final voice raged across the void:
“You were meant to forget! You cannot take the guardian across gates!”

Aila held Moti tighter.

“I didn’t bring a guardian,” she shouted back. “He’s family.”

She turned the key one last time.

The white door opened.

---

She awoke in her own bed. Morning light poured through the window. Birds chirped. The world was right.

She sat up. Heart racing.

And then—
thud thud thud

Moti jumped onto the bed, tail wagging, tongue out. No red eyes. No scars. Just Moti.

In his mouth: a chewed-up, torn Pikachu plush. Its eyes stitched shut again.

She moved to grab it—

But Moti growled.

From deep inside the toy, a voice whispered softly…

“Tung… Tung… Sahur…”