When you were a kid, around six years old, your parents got a, normal, pet dog with regular black fur. They didn't know what to call him, but praised him for being a good boy, and now that's what he responds to, so now he's called Good Boy.

One day, when you were playing with Good Boy, he bit you. You cried, of course. But your parents dismissed it as normal dog behavior, which it was, but Good Boy never attacked a person unless it was out of self defense. You didn't know why he did that, and honestly... Neither did he.

You managed to patch yourself up, but when you turned to look back at Good Boy, he was in the hallway, his mouth in the shape of an oval, and his eyes lacked pupils and irises. He just stared at you.