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“You can’t go in there,” an ominous black-hooded figure that is peering through the bars says to him. It absolutely towers over Will, but he finds he’s not intimidated by them. He’s been here for well over a week already, and he used to be in a romantic relationship with a cannibalistic serial killer, so ominous black-hooded figures or no ominous black-hooded figures, nothing quite surprises him anymore.
Will frowns, looking somewhere around where the hooded figure’s face would be, if it has a face at all. “Why not?” If there were news concerning the dog park, he didn’t know it yet; the Nightvale news wasn’t until later that week. The ominous black-hooded figure floats ominously at him. He realizes at that moment, he has no idea what the figure’s voice sounded like, or if it even had a voice at all. For all he knew, the ominous black-hooded figure was simply communicating telepathically. Buster whines and tugged at Will’s pantsleg. It was Buster’s turn to take a walk around town; the dogs exchanged it every third day. Thursday’s was Winston’s.
“Dogs are not allowed in the dog park,” the figure says (maybe) . “People are not allowed in the dog park.” Will opens his mouth to ask why, if they have a dog park, dogs wouldn’t be allowed into the dog park, then closes it. Yesterday, he’d opened a container of I Scream Ice Cream, two days overdue, and it woke the dogs with its awful screaming. A dog park with no dogs allowed (or people, but ominous hooded figures were fine, apparently. Presumably, they didn't count as people, or dogs) was the least strangest thing about Nightvale. Will shrugs, nods towards the figure’s hood in what he hopes communicates thanks, and turns around, away from the dog park. Maybe he’d visit Old Woman Josie instead. She’d mentioned meeting some celestial beings a few days ago. Meeting angels could be pretty damn interesting.