Shawn: The Count
The dog corpse was half-rotted. It lay on it's side, eyes open but unseeing, it's mouth slightly open, a fat purple tongue hanging out. Flies buzzed around it's corpse, a swarming mass of insects nearly covered it's whole body. It lay at an unnatural angle, legs splayed out and it's back painfully arched. It looked as though someone had just tossed the dog aside like an unwanted rag doll. It almost did look like an inanimate object. That was of course if it's intestines lay coiled beside it. Something had ripped its stomach open and pulled out the insides. Dried blood pooled around it, tinting it's white stomach a dull red.
Michael poked the stick into the dog's eye causing it to pop right out. His face was an expressionless, mask of stone. He jabbed and poked it in all the harder. "This is the way into the brain," he crowed, "right in through the eye socket."
Despited the smell, and the sound of squishing, Michael carried on as if all he heard was the wind in the trees. "There, I can feel them squishing. If I poke all the harder it'll start coming out better than toothpaste."