The Hated Dog and the Sinister Consequence

I despised the dog from the neighbor's house, to be precise, I loathed it. It was a large black dog, capable of snapping my neck with a single bite if it stood up. I had no idea when the neighbor started keeping it, but every time I saw it, it barked at me relentlessly, as if it had rabies. The dog's crazed voice resembled the hysterical scolding of a shrew. Its mouth continually oozed thick, viscous saliva, and its sharp, yellow teeth were grotesque. Its murky eyes and filthy fur seemed as though it were stripped from a corpse, making it utterly repugnant.

Several times, it nearly leaped at me, almost biting me. When others walked by, it would lie on the ground, appearing lethargic, but whenever I passed, it would suddenly stand up.

After several futile attempts to address the issue with the neighbor, I could no longer endure it. One night, while the neighbor was asleep, I prepared a large pot of scalding chili water and poured it all over the dog. Watching it writhe in pain, rolling on the ground, its eyes scorched, its skin peeling off, and emitting smoke, provided an immense sense of relief.

Upon returning home, I whistled my way into the bathroom to wash off the odor. But at that moment, I saw someone standing silently behind me in the mirror, a disheveled figure in white, with white eyes glaring at me. "That wretched dog has finally died. Its incessant barking made it impossible for me to find your house each time."