The Lost Dogs

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**How ya goin’, mates?**

This one's easily one of the darkest, most gut-wrenching stories I've ever come across. It's eerie. It's tragic. Feels like something straight out of a grim, gothic noir tale. So strap in—what you're about to hear is heavy.

Out in the sticks, away from the hustle and bustle of the city, sat a little wooden cottage perched on a hill. Quiet. Simple. Homely. Just below the hill, there’s a massive bloke—like, properly huge. He’s wearing this red-striped sailor tee, one hand in the dirt, working away.

Out of nowhere, his little daughter comes runnin’ up to him, gigglin’ her head off. He drops everything, scoops her up in his arms, showers her in kisses. She's chuffed. Then they both head back up the hill for dinner.

Inside the cabin, it’s him, his missus, their daughter, and the family dog sittin’ ‘round the table. They're eatin’, laughin’. But the moment you lay eyes on the bloke, somethin' feels... off. He’s not just tall—he's a bloody mountain. Table looks tiny beneath him, chairs creakin’ under the weight.

The dog’s whinin’ next to the girl, eyes sad, wantin’ a bite. Mum tells her not to feed him, but the girl looks at her dad with those big, soft eyes. And the giant—who’d probably scare most blokes in the street—breaks off a bit of food and gently feeds the dog, just to see his little girl smile.

Later, she asks her mum, “Mum, when we go to the city tomorrow, will we see the big ships?”

Mum laughs, “’Course we will, love.”

The girl pauses, thinks, and then asks, “Are there any men in the city stronger than Dad?”

Mum looks at her husband—this big, gentle giant layin' beside them—and says softly, “No, sweetheart. None.”

Next day, they're in the cart, headin’ to the city. The giant’s takin’ up half the bench on his own, the girl on his lap, the missus clutchin’ his hand.

They arrive just in time for a puppet show—two puppets fightin’ like it’s a boxing match. One’s gettin’ belted, stumbles to the ground, and the other starts messin’ with him, pullin' his pants down. Crowd roars with laughter—even the giant chuckles, warm and thunderous. It’s the first time in his life he’s laughed without worry.

Show ends. The daughter tugs at her mum again, “Mum, aren’t we gonna see the ships?” She can’t hide the excitement. Mum hesitates, but the girl’s smile wins her over. “Alright, let’s go.”

The three of them head to the docks. The girl’s eyes light up, starin’ at the giant vessels rockin' in the water. She looks up at her dad, proud as punch, and says, “When I grow up, I’m gonna be a sailor like you, Dad.”

It was such a pure, beautiful moment.

But good things… they never last.

While they're watchin’ the ships, a group of blokes starts approachin’ from behind—steps heavy, eyes full of menace. Some of 'em freeze when they clock the size of the sailor, but their leader, a nasty piece of work, smirks, “He can’t take all of us. Even if he’s built like a house.”

Instead of attackin’ him directly, they start tauntin’ his wife. One sneers, “Don't worry love. If you know how to handle a big guy like him, reckon you could take a few of us too.”

Everyone knew exactly what they were after.

The giant turned ‘round, eyes full of fury and fear.

“Stay away from my family,” he growled, raising his arms like steel beams.

His daughter starts cryin’, clingin’ to her mum.

And then… the bastards attacked.

The giant stood firm—takin’ them down one by one, fightin’ like a wild storm. But the leader—coward that he was—snuck behind and stabbed the sailor deep in the chest.

Blood poured. They knocked him down, beat him to a pulp.

The leader carved his face open with a smile.

The gentle man was now a broken, bleeding horror.

Still, even while lyin’ there dyin’, the giant scanned the area for his wife and daughter.

Then came the worst part.

The leader pointed at the wife: “Take her under the bridge.”

“And the kid—finish her.”

The sailor tried to get up, legs shakin’, vision blurred.

And then he saw it—one of the thugs stabbin’ his little girl.

His scream wasn’t human. It was like the Earth itself was crackin’.

As he tried to crawl to her, one of the blokes kicked him off the edge of the dock. He grabbed the wood, lookin’ back at his wife—trapped and surrounded. One final boot slammed into his face, and he plunged into the dark, cold sea.

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A while later, out at sea, some fishermen were haulin’ in a heavy net. With a bit of struggle, they pulled up somethin’ they weren’t expectin’—the giant. Still breathin’. Barely.

Covered in blood and bruises, the bloke looked more dead than alive.

One fisherman muttered, “We’re a day and a half from shore. He’s drifted a bloody long way.”

As they talked about his wounds, the giant suddenly snapped. Started thrashin’ around like a beast, screamin’, punchin’. Took all of ‘em to wrestle him down. One of the crew finally knocked him out cold with a broken oar.

Some of the lads wanted to chuck him back overboard—too dangerous to keep. But the skipper shook his head, “No. We hand him over to the cops when we dock.”

They chained him to the deck, unsure if he was dead or just passed out.

That night, the giant dreamt of his daughter. She was cryin’, standin’ on the ship, callin’ out to him, beggin’ him to live. Then—blood burst from her neck, and she dropped to the floor.

He woke up screaming, like his soul was on fire.

Next day, they reached the harbour. Just before handin’ him to the cops, a strange old bloke turned up. Creepy kind of fella, eyes full of curiosity, grin far from friendly.

He looked at the fishermen and said, “Instead of givin’ him to the coppers, bring him to mine. Flat’s not far. I’ll pay fifty pence each.”

They glanced at each other. One asked, “What’s he gonna do with a bloke like that?”

Another shrugged, “Dunno. But that’s good coin. Let’s do it.”

So they dragged the barely breathin’ sailor to the old man’s flat.

The giant woke up in a dark, eerie room. Still bleedin’, still chained.

The old man came back and said calmly, “I’m goin’ out to fetch a few things. Wait here.”

Time passed. The sailor drifted in and out. Then, he heard a voice whisper in his ear:

“Glad you’re still with us.”

He opened his eyes. The old man was there. His hands stained red—he’d stitched the giant’s wounds. Crude job, but just enough to stop the bleeding.

He poured himself a drink, then asked, “Hungry?”

The giant didn’t say a word.

The old bloke continued, “Name’s Jack. And you, mate—you’re a gift from God. I’ve been prayin’ for somethin’ like this. And then—boom—you wash up right in front of me.”

Jack knew what happened at the docks. Said, “If you were local, you’d never bring your missus and kid here. This city’s not for the soft-hearted.”

He told his own story—how he lost his wife in childbirth, and the bub was born dead.

“I know what it’s like to lose everythin’. You and me—we’re the same.”

Eyes full of madness and twisted hope, he said,

“You’re the answer to my prayers, mate. My way out of this filthy life.”

Then Jack leaned in. “You heard of Wally Thompson? Strongest bloke in the city. Undefeated in the ring. Never lost a fight.”

He smiled, cold and calm.

“There’s a match in three days. I want you to fight.”

He unlocked the chains.

“If you say yes—you’re a bloody miracle. If not... I’ll kill you. God’s will either way.”

Then he dropped the bombshell:

“Your wife—she’s alive.”

The giant froze.

“Yeah. They did what they did… but she lived. And I know where she is. But you’ve got to fight for me first.”

That was all it took.

The giant nodded. He was in.

Three days later, they arrived at a secret underground fight ring. Bloodstains all over the dirt floor. Jack turned to the giant, “Stay here. No one’s supposed to see you until the match starts—bets’ll be off if they get spooked.”

But the giant—boilin’ with rage—grabbed Jack by the collar and shouted,

“Tell me where my wife is!”

Jack, gasping, said, “After the fight. Kill me if you want. I got nothin’ left.”

The giant let him go.

Jack exhaled, wiped his face, and said,

“All you need to do is win. Then we both get what we want.”

They stepped into the ring.

Wally Thompson—undefeated champ for three years—was already there, smashing another poor bloke into the dirt.

The announcer yelled,

“There’s only one man brave enough to end Wally Thompson’s reign...”

Everyone went quiet.

Jack walked into the circle and said boldly,

“I accept the challenge. My fighter’s ready.”

Crowd laughed. They thought he was mad. Just another fool feedin’ Wally.

Then the giant walked in.

Gasps. One bloke shouted, “That’s not human!”

Jack raised his arm and shouted,

“This man’s fought monsters—killed men with his bare hands to get here!”

Even Wally looked rattled.

But then the announcer, McGowan, pulled Jack aside.

“Listen. The giant’s gotta lose. Powerful people got money ridin’ on Wally. His image has to stay clean.”

Jack smirked.

“People’ve laughed at me all me life. But today—I brought the beast. I’m changin’ history.”

McGowan warned, “Push this, and the only thing people’ll remember is your corpse.”

Meanwhile, Wally told his crew, “This ain’t a fight. It’s a bloody execution.”

And then—the countdown began.

Three... Two... One...

Fight starts.

But the giant doesn’t move. Doesn’t lift a hand. Just stands there.

“I’m not here to be a monster,” he mutters.

Wally unloads punch after punch. Each one like a hammer on stone. The giant’s face splits. Blood everywhere. Still, he doesn’t strike back.

Jack’s screamin’, “Hit him! Defend yourself!”

But the giant stands there—like he’s takin’ punishment for every sin. Finally, he drops to one knee, cryin’ as blood runs down his face.

Wally goes for the kill.

But then—the giant opens his eyes.

Sees his daughter. Her laugh.

Sees his wife.

Sees the puppet show.

And realises—**he’s become one of them**. A puppet. Dancin’ for a crowd who loves blood.

He roars. Unleashes one massive punch. Wally hits the dirt, out cold.

The crowd loses it.

Jack can’t believe it—his fighter just made history.

But the giant doesn’t celebrate.

He turns to Jack and growls,

“My wife.”

Jack, still stunned, finally mutters,

“Grace Hospital. Second floor.”

The giant bolts.

Bloodied. Limping. Barely standin’.

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The giant ran like a madman through the rainy streets. Blood still oozin’ from his wounds, face half-smashed, but nothin’ could stop him now.

People moved aside, startled—some scared stiff. But he didn’t see ‘em.

All he could see was the hospital.

He charged through the doors of **Grace Hospital**, second floor.

And there she was.

His wife.

Barely recognisable—face battered, covered in gauze and bruises.

But still her. Still breathin’.

He fell to his knees beside the bed. Gently took her hand in his, tears streamin’ down his bloodied cheeks.

A nurse walked in and froze.

He looked up at her and whispered, broken, “Is… is she dyin’?”

The nurse stayed quiet for a second, then said softly,

“The man who attacked her... he hit her bad. There’s nothin’ more we can do. Just… stay with her. For her last moments.”

Then, almost in a whisper, she added,

“This isn’t the end, love. Maybe… maybe God’s got a different plan for your family.”

He looked forward, heart torn in half, and murmured,

“And me? What’s God’s plan for a bloke like me?”

He fell silent again. Sat beside her. Watched the woman he loved slip away.

Hours passed.

Then, in the quiet of the night, her voice broke through the silence.

“Hey…”

It was her.

**Lucy.**

She’d woken up.

He wrapped his arms around her like it was the last time he’d ever get to.

“This isn’t your fault,” she whispered. “Don’t carry it. Please…”

He stared at her, beggin’, “Stay. Please just stay a little longer. I can’t do this alone.”

She smiled weakly.

“You won’t be. I’ll be with you. But… take me home. I want to die at home.”

He cried, nodding.

“Alright. We’ll go home. Soon. You’ll be okay. Just… hang in there.”

But life doesn’t wait for promises.

In his arms, she drew her last breath. Peacefully.

And just like that… she was gone.

He didn’t move.

Just held her.

In silence.

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Next morning, he was ready to leave. The nurses gave him some food for the road. The doctors helped him prepare his wife’s and daughter’s bodies to take with him. He sat quietly, plannin’ to find a cart and horse to take them home.

But as he stepped into the rain—eyes hollow, body limp—

a voice behind him.

Then—**a blow to the head.**

Everything went black.

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He woke up again.

Dark room.

Chained up.

Across the room—**Jack.** Also tied, also bleeding.

Still didn’t make sense.

Then the door creaked open.

In walked **Wally Thompson** and **McGowan**, the announcer.

But they weren’t smilin’ anymore. Their faces were twisted with rage.

“You ruined us,” McGowan spat.

“Stole our crowd. Crushed our reputation. Took the money and ran.”

He leaned in close.

“Your wife and kid are gone. You’ve got nothin’ now. But I can give you somethin’ new.”

He grinned.

“You be our monster. Our main event. Let the people come see **The Beast of the Ring.** Start fresh.”

The giant looked him dead in the eye and growled,

“All of you… you just want blood. You love watchin’ people break.”

He paused.

“But I’ve seen enough blood. Let me be.”

McGowan snapped.

“You think we’ll let you walk? You think we care who you are?”

The giant replied quietly,

“All me life, people looked at me like I was a monster.

But with them… with Lucy, with my little girl... I wasn’t.

I was a **father.** A **husband.**

Now I’m just a broken man with nothin’ left to fight for.”

McGowan smiled coldly.

“Exactly what I was hopin’ you’d say.”

Suddenly—**he pulled a knife** and shoved it deep into the giant’s gut.

Blood splattered across the floor.

Then he turned to Jack.

“No loose ends.”

Another stab.

Jack screamed in pain, collapsed to the ground.

Before leavin’, McGowan looked at both of ‘em and sneered,

“You two deserve each other.”

He slammed the door behind him.

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Jack was gaspin’, blood pourin’ from his chest.

The giant crawled toward him, tryin’ to comfort him.

Jack, cryin’ like a child, choked out,

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything. Please… forgive me…”

The giant looked him in the eyes and nodded,

“I forgive you.”

Jack, terrified of the end, asked,

“Tell me… tell me about your Lucy. What was she like?”

The giant took a shaky breath.

“She never looked at me like I was different.

Never saw me as a beast.

With her, I wasn’t a monster—I was just… me.

We didn’t need money. Or a big house.

We just needed each other.”

He smiled, through the pain.

“She was… the most beautiful thing in my life.”

Jack’s breath slowed. His eyes froze.

He was gone.

Dead.

The man who’d used him. Lied to him.

Still, the giant forgave him.

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But he didn’t cry.

Not this time.

Because he saw somethin’.

Out of the dark, a **small dog**—just like his daughter’s—appeared.

It trotted up to him, gently licking the tears from his face.

And in that moment—it all came rushing back.

The laughter at dinner.

The puppet show.

Lucy’s warm voice.

His daughter’s proud smile.

That broken table.

That tiny, perfect life… that only they understood.

He wasn’t just a beast.

He was a father.

A husband.

A man.

And as the dog curled up beside him, the giant let out one last breath…

And died.

In silence.

Alone.

But finally at peace.

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**That’s the end of our story, folks.**

Let me know what you thought in the comments below.

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