Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - How My Anger Killed the Dog That Saved My Life—and Why I’ll Never Be the Same Again #3

Episode Date: July 30, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales  #trauma #loss #emotionalstruggle #healingjourney #hauntedpast  “How My Anger Killed the Dog That Saved My Life—and Why I’ll Never Be the Same Again”A heartbreaking and raw story about how unresolved anger led to the tragic loss of a loyal dog who once saved the narrator’s life. This powerful narrative explores the depths of grief, guilt, and the long path toward healing. It’s a personal journey into how trauma can fracture us and the difficult process of finding peace again.A haunting tale of loss, regret, and the emotional scars that linger long after tragedy strikes.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales,  trauma, loss, emotionalstruggle, healingjourney, hauntedpast,  grief, guilt, brokenbond, personalstory, heartbreak,  lifesavingdog, tragicloss, mentalhealth, journeytohealing

I'm 17. Just a regular guy trying to make it through school and all the chaos that comes with being a teenager. I live with my family, and while it's not a perfect setup, we make it work. One of my few joys in life is food, more specifically, the food from this one little Mexican joint about 15 minutes from our house. They're carnisada tacos. Absolute heaven. They're burritos. Life-changing. Every time I eat there, it feels like the world stops being awful for a bit. It's my happy place.

So, a couple nights ago, I went there and got my usual. I was hyped. Like, legit excited. I even had leftovers, which made it ten times better. You know that feeling when you open the fridge the next day and your favorite food is waiting for you. That's the kind of joy that's hard to put into words. So I did what anyone would do, I put a note on it. Actually, I didn't just put a note on it, I went around and told everyone in the house,

Don't touch my food. Now, my little brother is 14. He's one of those kids who's always sneaking snacks, touching stuff that's not his, and acting like he's five years old instead of a teenager. I love the kid, don't get me wrong, but he can be annoying as hell. We fight like all siblings do, but usually it's. small stuff. Harmless bickering. This time. It went way beyond that. I woke up the next day, dreaming of that leftover burrito. I went straight to the fridge, ready for bliss. But when I opened the

door, gone, nothing. Nada. Just the empty container sitting there like some kind of cruel joke. I swear, I could see red. My blood boiled. I stormed around the house until I found him in the living room, just chilling like he hadn't committed the biggest betrayal since Judas. I went off. Full on rage. I yelled at him like I've never yelled at anyone before. I called him names, said things I shouldn't have, stuff I can't take back. I was seeing red, man.

Just pure fury. He sat there, kind of stunned, and I could tell he was scared. But I didn't care in that moment. I just turned around, ready to walk away, still fuming, and that's when it happened. I slammed the door. Hard. Not just your average, I'm mad, slam, this was a full body, adrenaline-fueled, anger-powered door slam. And then I heard it.

This sickening thud, like something got caught. I looked down, and I felt my stomach drop out of my body. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. All I saw was him, Maui. See, Maui wasn't my brother. Not a human one, anyway. Maui was my dog. My sweet, stupid, loving little rescue mutt. The best thing that ever happened to me. He had followed me into the room without me even noticing, probably thinking I was just going to chill or something. And I, God, I didn't even see him there. I was too focused on being angry. Two focused on yelling. Two focused on stupid damn leftovers. He tried to slip through the door as I was storming out, and I slammed it right on him.

I don't even know exactly where he got hit, his head, his neck, maybe his spine. All I know is that he yelped. This horrible, high-pitched scream that I still hear every time I close my eyes. He collapsed on the floor, twitching, eyes wide with pain and fear. And I just, froze. Then I panicked. I dropped to the floor, cradling him, trying to do something, anything. I called his name over and over.

Maui, buddy, it's okay, it's okay, I'm here, I'm so sorry. But it wasn't okay. He looked at me with those big brown eyes, and I knew. I just knew. There was nothing I could do. He was dying, and it was my fault. Entirely. No one else to blame. Just me. He was gone within a minute. Maybe less. I don't know. Time kind of stopped. I sat there on the floor, sobbing, holding this warm, lifeless body in my arms, and the weight of what I'd done hit me like a freight train. I killed my dog. My best friend. My reason for smiling some days. Because I was mad.

about food. I haven't been okay since. I don't even know what okay looks like anymore. I can't eat. Can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see him. Hear him. Feel that horrible moment replaying like a movie I can't shut off. I wake up crying. I go to bed crying. Sometimes I just sit and stare at the wall, completely numb. Maui wasn't just a pet. He was a lifeline. My parents got him for me two years ago when I was going through it, like, really going through it. Depression. Self-harm. All that darkness that swallows you whole and makes you feel like you'll never be normal again. They thought maybe a dog would help. And man, did he ever? Maui wasn't just a dog. He was a therapist, a guardian, a silent friend who

never judged me, never left me. He'd sleep at the foot of my bed every night. Follow me from room to room. Cuddle up next to me whenever I was having a bad day, which was more often than I'd admit. He made me feel seen, loved, worth something, and now he's gone. Because of me. My anger issues have always been a problem. Since I was a little kid, I've had this volcano inside me. Teachers would write notes home. My mom would talk to counselors. My dad would try to teach me to control the fire. But I never listened.

Or maybe I did, but I just didn't care enough. I always brushed it off. Like, it's just who I am, but it's not just who I am. It's what killed my dog. I think that's the worst part. This wasn't just an accident. This was preventable. If I had taken one deep breath, if I had turned around and looked, if I had paused for

even a second to think, but I didn't, because I was too caught up in my own rage to care about anyone or anything else. That's the truth. And that truth is what's going to haunt me for the rest of my life. My parents tried to comfort me, but they're grieving too. Maui was a part of our family. My mom cried for hours. My dad didn't say much, but I saw the way he looked at me.

Like he didn't know what to say. Like he wanted to help but didn't know how. Like he didn't recognize me. And honestly, I don't recognize myself either. I haven't left the house in days. I can't look at his bed. I can't touch his toys. I tried once and broke down halfway through.

The guilt is too much. The house feels too quiet without his little paws tapping around. Every creak of the floor makes me think it's him. Every soft sound from the other room makes my heart jump, just for a second, hoping maybe, just maybe, he's still here. But he's not. And I hate myself for it. I've thought about getting help. Maybe talking to someone.

A therapist or something. But part of me feels like I don't deserve to be helped. Like I should just sit in this pain and live with the consequences of what I did. That's fair, right? Maui doesn't get another chance. Why should I? But then there's another part of me, a really small, barely there whisper, that says maybe Maui wouldn't want me to drown in this forever.

He was love, you know, pure, unconditional love. The kind that forgives you when you don't deserve it. the kind that stays with you even when you're at your worst. Maybe he'd want me to forgive myself. I don't know. I'm not there yet. I don't know if I'll ever be. All I know is that I can't keep living like this.

Something has to change. I can't let anger ruin my life. Not anymore. I've already lost too much. Maui paid the ultimate price for my inability to keep it together. And I can't let his death be meaningless. So I'm making a promise. Right here. Right now.

I'm done letting my temper control me. I'm done thinking that being mad justifies hurting people, or pets. I'm going to figure out how to be better. For him. For me. For everyone around me. Maui, if there's some version of heaven where dogs go, I hope you're there. running through fields, chasing butterflies, barking at squirrels.

I hope you're happy. I hope you know how much you meant to me. I hope you can forgive me. I'm so sorry, buddy. You didn't deserve what happened to you. Not even close. You were the best boy. The sweetest soul.

The kind of dog that only comes around once in a lifetime. And I'll miss you every day until I see you. again, if I even deserve that chance. I love you, Maui. Forever and always. Goodbye, my sweet boy. The end.