In the middle of the night, silence cuts deeper than noise. A guard dog circles an abandoned warehouse, trained to protect, tethered to duty. But its world of scent and instinct betrays it low whispers drift where no one stands, the stench of rot leaks up through cracked boards, and shadows peel away from walls as if they've learned to move. Each bark comes back wrong. Each howl doesn't sound like its own.

The master should be the anchor. Instead, his step stumbles, his voice grinds with something foreign, and his scent carries a layer that's older, fouler, than anything alive. What once felt like devotion now coils into something darker obedience twisting into compulsion, loyalty curdling into fear.

Instinct says one thing. Command says another. The dog has to choose: guard what it knows, or surrender to the pull of something that speaks without sound and waits in the stillness.

Every act of loyalty tightens the snare. Each choice feeds a hunger that doesn't stop. The line between protector and prisoner fades until there's nothing left to tell them apart.

When silence breaks, the human part is gone. If the voice you trusted most wasn't your master's anymore would you follow?

***

But this is only one glimpse each book threads into Eyes That Shouldn't See, where every animal's gaze unravels a darker secret of its own.

They watch. They wait. They notice what we refuse to face. In Eyes That Shouldn't See, loyalty collides with dread as trusted pets glimpse what humans can't. A dog paces a warehouse where silence feels alive. A cat won't stop staring into a wall that won't stare back. A bird mimics voices that should've stayed buried. A fish drifts through reflections that warp into something else. And a rabbit trembles when a visitor comes at midnight.

Through their eyes, the ordinary unravels, and the world we thought we knew splits open revealing the nightmare that's been waiting all along.

Do you really want to know what they see?