I started work at ShawbRyt a week ago and am already Team Lead for Night Collections, the first female Team Lead for this district. Name’s Charley. Wish I could say what we collect for but I don’t care so I never asked. All I know is, my team only accepts cash. No debit, no credit, no cheques, no body parts, just paper cash issued by our government. And we get a lot of it, every day, brought in by muscular people who I think got it from other people. That’s all I know. But that amount of cash means someone from the team has to make a bank deposit at the end of every shift.
Today (well, tonight really, since it’s night shift) the district manager told me to take Kedgewick with me when I go to the bank. That way I wouldn’t be the only one on the Team that knows how to make the deposit and so that I’m not going alone. That isn’t him being sexist. The previous Team Lead was a guy and he disappeared while doing a night deposit so I guess it’s good for business. Even if it isn’t good for business, I don’t care. Not my business.
Kedge is new, he’s only been with us two days. He’s a jeans, T-shirt and blazer kinda guy. Brand name athletic shoes; today’s were red. No tie. Blond hair, slightly messy, no beard or mustache or earring. Always somewhat nervous and a lot annoying but I get paid to do what I’m told, not to ask questions.
At the appointed time, which I’m not going to say for security reasons, I tapped Kedge on the shoulder of his irritatingly clean white T-shirt. The kid jumped like I’d shoved a gun in his face.
“Deposit time,” I whispered.
He looked at me like I was kidnapping him.
I pointed to the gray blazer on the back of his chair. “We gotta go.”
He kept staring at me while he put on his jacket.
Once outside, I pointed to the bank, two blocks away. “Ever made a night deposit?”
He kept staring. I realized he might think I was propositioning him.
I held the deposit slip in front of his face to make sure he saw it. “See this? There’s 1,000 fives, 400 tens, 500 twenties, 120 fifties and 50 hundreds in the pouch. Thirty grand. Just like the total. Sign here.” I handed him a pen, hoping he knew how to use it and turned so he could use my back as a table. I kept a tight grip on the deposit pouch until he was done, then opened the pouch so he could put the slip inside.
He hesitated before releasing the paper. “We don’t keep a copy?”
“Got one in the office.” I grabbed the paper, jammed it into the pouch then sealed it shut. “We gotta go.”
He mostly kept up with me on the way to the bank. I slowed down as we approached and handed the pouch to him. “The night deposit box is inside those doors on the left. The door opens when you put this card,” I gave him my deposit card, “into the slot on the left of the door, see it? Then pull the deposit box handle, throw this in, slam it shut and come out. Any questions?”
He shook his head, looking about as confused as when I told him to put on his jacket. But he did head towards the door so I stood on the corner, wondering how long it would take for the guy already in the bank to finish and get out of Kedge’s way. The guy in the bank was hard to miss. He was wearing white jeans and a white jacket with a white cowboy hat. I started humming a Bee Gees' tune.
I stopped humming when movement a couple of yards up the street caught my attention. A man dressed in black walked out from behind a streetlight pole. I say behind, but it was more like he was the streetlight pole, because once he started walking, there was no more light, no more pole. I know it was dark but how was the pole there one second and gone the next?
That’s a good example of why I’m better off sticking to following orders, not asking questions. In the time it took me to wonder about the pole, the man walked up to the guy coming out of the bank and shot him twice through the head and twice thru the chest.
I couldn’t breathe or move. I watched in horror as the man grabbed the dead body by the shoulders. At the first touch, the man in black's wardrobe changed to white jeans and jacket. He even had a white cowboy hat. All without removing the dead guy's clothes. He threw the original man in white into the back parking lot's dumpster without so much as a grunt.
Kedge’s very loud running commentary snapped me back into action. "Did you see that? He killed that guy! Did you see that? He threw that guy away! Did you see that? He is that guy now!"
The man in black, now the man in white, might lack fashion sense but he had street smarts. He whipped around and stared at Kedge who then screamed, "He's looking at me! What should I do? Charley!"
At least I think that’s what Kedge was yelling. As soon as I saw the murderer pointing his gun at us, I ran towards the building across the street. Before Kedge finished yelling, I jumped over the fence to that building's parking lot. Once there, I looked back and saw Kedge following me, aiming a gun right at me. A bullet flew past me, grazing my arm. It hurt like the last time I got shot, and I dropped the damn deposit pouch.
I took a sharp right and zigzagged my way up the street behind buildings to the nearest main road. At some point, Kedge stopped following me which made things worse. The more I ran, the more my fear ramped up. It didn’t feel right, seeing a man commit murder, then Kedge trying to kill me and then they both disappear? Not right at all.
It was so wrong, I stopped running at the intersection of Gardiner Drive and Hornpot Lane. The light facing me was red and, well, my lungs, arm and legs were aching. My arm wasn't bleeding but it felt like it was on fire. I took a second to look at it and noticed something moving in the forsythia bush down the street, close enough to see under the street lights along Gardiner.
It was Kedge. He had the gun. He shot at me as he tripped and fell out of the bush.
My legs started pumping and everything around me became a blur. I was in the elevator in my apartment building before I noticed anything else and by then I was gasping for breath.
Kedge missed me, I'm not sure how. Every creak the elevator made sounded like a gunshot to me, all the way to the third floor. My hands shook so bad it took several tries to get the key in the door lock and I kept checking over my shoulders the whole time. I almost turned on the lights when I got inside but realized that wasn’t normal for most people at this time of night. I felt my way to the balcony door and made sure it was locked with curtains drawn.
My sofa is now behind the door to the apartment hallway. Not wanting to smell up the bedsheets and too sore to change them, I tossed a blanket on the sofa before lying down on it. Maybe everyone else would take a shower then listen to a podcast or two before sleep. But this is the middle of the night for people working “normal” hours. Building management said I get thrown out the next time I piss off my neighbors by showering this time of night, so I won’t.
Just as my heart beat was slowing, things took a bad turn. Which is why I'm sending this, in case — look, things could get worse.
Someone's knocking on my door. In the middle of the night. In an apartment building where I'll be up for eviction if there's one more complaint from a neighbor.
I've looked out the peephole. I can describe the person perfectly. His blond hair is slightly messy. He's wearing a blood-stained white T-shirt, jeans and a gray blazer. No tie, beard, mustache or earring. Red athletic shoes, one with the shoelace undone.
He's smiling. He's holding a gun.
I called Emergency Services and they said they'll be here soon. No, they could not define soon. I need to stay put and wait for them.
But the guy at my door won't stop smiling or knocking. And I'm afraid he's going to get in and I'll never get out again.

The day's simply pass by, there is little difference between them any more. Once, oh once there was pain, unbearable maddening and so endless sweet, for it was her, her who once loved me as only few ever could. At the beginning it was perhaps a little strange, but nothing that would have raised to many eyebrows, especially not with her. Then it changed, not quick as lightning from clear blue sky, but rather slow, like winters chill slowly draining plants of life. And with it came the pain, nothing that would leave permanent marks, but even that changed, slowly my back, arms and chest started to look as silver has her hair, they were not the angry red scars a sword might leave when it bites deep into flesh, they were the fine silver scars that only a razor, or equally narrow blades leave. Then there came to choking, for minutes i would be without breath, my body slowly loosing control, beginning to spasm beneath her hands, but she held me, held me tight with love so perfect that only she still saw it. She would never let go, so my bones ached as they tried to push against her body, trying to move, trying to breathe, to breathe, to breathe.
All this i tolerated without a word, not knowing how to approach the subject, but that is when i, no it's, not that i had enough, i still loved her deeply and without question, but i wasn't sure what was happening. So i talked to her, tried to at least, it was like she didn't even hear me, as if i never even asked, and perhaps i never did, perhaps i only sat there in silence. Only the dead gods know for certain.
And so it continued, pleasure being slowly replaced with agony, heated steel, spiked leather and things i will not mention became common place, but make not mistake to believe she drove me with whips like a slave, not to here it was most likely the purest form of love there could be. To her my pain must have looked like love, like joy or pleasure, but it was not. Still though all of this i held my mind firm, hoping, the fool i was, hoping for her to change, and how she changed, but not the way i hoped, no, my sweet Erato never became the way she was. With this i still held on, still, a foolish part of me hoping, if only i had known, then i would not held madness off that long. Slowly her love ground me away, like bone beneath a mill stone, a strange comparison as mill stones are from a time that lies so long past only the dead gods remember it. And like bones beneath a millstone my body broke, bones at first, an arm, a leg, more often ribs or my hip. So my mind was slowly ground away, like a statue that had not been cared for over millennia of rain. When she began to tear away flesh and muscle i was already numb to the pain, my body still screamed in agony, but my mind was still, it did not cry out any more. My body found pain so exquisite that to speak of it would be pure folly, as there are no words, in any language, meant to capture such agony.
And so the days flew by, in all fairness, i cannot say if days had past, time lost it's meaning to me, as what once was my body got ravaged, as limbs stood of in odd angles, or were torn away entirely, as needles, like the root of trees snaked throughout my body, as they burned. My body screamed, but my mind only wept. When this body became to broken for her to continue, she would call upon her surgeons, needs, appendixes and all other manner of medical, or tortuous devices righting this body where she broke it, grafting new limbs where old ones went missing.
i do not know what had happened, perhaps i could have done something, maybe i did not speak back then, dead gods now if it would have changed something. All this, it is long gone, she has not tired of this body, perhaps she never will, likely she still believes this to be love, still striving for perfection where not even madmen would seek it.
It is irrelevant, at least to that broken sliver of me that still remains, that still is not allowed to leave, that still hoped for her to change back, as if things never happened, for even this sliver has welcomed madness with open arms, that poor sliver that still held for so long, for so long, and now even it has gone past madnesses door, for death lies forbidden

As of recent, Amnesia: The Bunker has taken over my thoughts and has quickly become one of my favorite horror games of all time.
It also would make for an excellent Chapter in Dead by Daylight, or at least I think so. As such, please enjoy this absolutely MASSIVE post where I make up a bunch of stuff for something that may or may not happen one day in the future.

THE BEAST

THE BEAST is a ferocious killer, able to use its power, DARK URGES, to force Survivors to play a game of careful resource management should they wish to escape the Trial unscathed.
It's three unique Perks, HEIGHTENED SENSES, HAYWIRE and DESCENT INTO DARKNESS allow THE BEAST to locate Survivors much easier, even through their objectives.

DARK URGES
The urge to cause immense pain and suffering fuels THE BEAST'S bloodlust, and can only be stopped by the sanctity of light.
At the start of the match, the Trial is covered in inky black darkness, limiting the Survivor's field of view.
In order to light up the Trial, Survivors must locate Fuel Canisters found within special Chests and bring them to the Gas-Powered Generator found within the depths of the Basement. Only six of these special Chests can spawn in a single Trial.
One Fuel Canister gives one minute of light, and the Generator is fully fueled when 2 Canisters are deposited.
While the Trial is plunged in darkness, THE BEAST can hear grunts of pain and footsteps far easier. In addition, whenever a Loud Noise Notification is triggered within THE BEAST'S Terror Radius, THE BEAST gains the Haste Status Effect for 3 seconds, while the Survivor that triggered the Loud Noise Notification is afflicted with the Exposed Status Effect for 5 seconds.
When the map is lit up, THE BEAST loses the ability to track Survivors easier, and Loud Noise Notifications triggered within its Terror Radius no longer cause the Haste and Exposed Status Effects.
Instead, THE BEAST can then traverse the map via a system of Rat Tunnels scattered across the map. These Rat Tunnels can be blocked by Survivors, causing THE BEAST to emerge from them at a slower rate and give the Survivors a warning that it's emerging.
Blocking a Rat Tunnel takes 5 seconds.
"Watch each other's backs. Keep each other safe. Do not let the light go out... For all our sakes..." - Unknown

HEIGHTENED SENSES:
Your animalistic senses make it so that even proceeding with caution will not save them.
Survivors that slow vault or enter a Locker slowly within your Terror Radius still trigger a Loud Noise Notification.
This effect can only be triggered once every 70/50/45 seconds.
"Every time I take a step, I swear it can hear me." - Sdt. Chanard

HAYWIRE:
Your mere presence causes electronics to malfunction.
When a Generator that is being worked on by a Survivor enters your Terror Radius, that Generator is afflicted with the Haywire Status Effect for 5/10/15 seconds.
While afflicted with the Haywire Status Effect, the lights located on the top of the Generator begin to wildly flash on and off, and sputtering noises begin to emanate from the Generator itself.
"ES KOMMT!" - Prisoner #73014

DESCENT INTO DARKNESS:
The darkness can mess with one's senses, causing them to spiral into a panic and giving you the opportunity to land a killing blow.
Whenever a Survivor is afflicted with the Blindness Status Effect, they scream and reveal their location for 1/2/3 second(s).
This effect can only be triggered once every 50 seconds.
"We whirl the world, the world we whirl... It all gets lost in a terrible twirl..." - Sdt. Toussaint Beaufoy

Henri Clément is a resourceful member of the French Army stationed within an underground bunker during the first World War. After suffering severe head trauma that left him with Amnesia, he awoke to a nightmare that he could not escape from without careful planning... And a little bit of luck.
Henri Clément comes with three unique Perks: HIDEAWAY, C'EST LA VIE, and BLOODY ATONEMENT.

HIDEAWAY:
Within the suffocating darkness, you manage to survive despite all odds.
While in the Basement, your Aura is hidden from the Killer for 10/15/25 seconds and your breathing volume, grunts of pain and footstep volume is reduced by 75%.

C'EST LA VIE:
When life deals a bad hand, you simply keep moving. You must keep moving.
While suffering from Status Effects inflicted by Killer Perks or Powers, your Scratch Marks are tightly packed and fade away 5/10/15% faster.
"Ah, fate's a bastard!" - Sdt. Augustin Lambert

BLOODY ATONEMENT:
Your guilt compels you to act to save the life of another.
Whenever you take a Protection Hit for another Survivor, that Survivor gains the Haste Status Effect for 3 seconds and they leave no Scratch Marks.
This effect can only be triggered once every 90/60/50 seconds.
"I must do something or risk greeting Hell itself as a relief." - Sdt. Henri Clément

Map: THE BUNKER
The Bunker is an indoor map with two levels: the Bunker itself, and the Roman Tunnels.
The Entity has mashed together sections of the Bunker in order to keep things nice and compact... Well, more compact than they already were.
Tight hallways and small rooms make it so that evading the Killer is difficult, but not entirely impossible if Survivors play it smart. Dark corners all around the map also allow Survivors to hide effectively, should they wish to take a more stealthy approach.
Special features include mutated rats that serve a similar function to crows, skittering off into holes whenever a Survivor or the Killer draws near. A stray artillery shell will also hit the Bunker every time a Generator is completed, causing the entire first level of the Bunker to quake.

today after a long time i’m gonna exercise even im suffering cardiophobia , even im 17 y.o guy who did 2 bloodtests , 2 ekg , 1 stress test , 1 chest scan in the last 3 months im scared about a heart attack because in the last days i had a chest pain for 3 days but the last 2 days no , i had like a breathing problems yesterday , and a little bit of cough . I want finally exercise to proof myself that my heart is healthy

Hi all! I’m a newbie to the world of thyroid issues. I’ve been reading a lot of posts to get more of an understanding - but I’m really hoping to share my journey to see if anyone else has been in a similar boat (excuse the essay)
I got covid in November last year for the second time. Everything was fine, then at the very end of the week of it I got a feeling of pressure in my chest that lasted for 24 hours. I had an ecg done and cardiac markers tested and nothing.
This feeling would come and go. At the time I had my thyroid tested after a previous high TSH over 1.5 years prior - but it came back normal.
The last 6 months has been a series of blood tests & questioning whether I just have anxiety. I got tested for celiac which one marker came back slightly positive, had an endoscopy - it was negative. The dr told me my results could be from inflammation in my body but didn’t bother to keep insisting on finding where it’s coming from.
Fast forward to the last few weeks I’ve since seen a new dr who’s amazing. And found some new interesting results: • TSH: 12.6 (3x the range) • TPO antibodies: positive - came back as 84 • ANA serology: 1:640 Titre (was 1:320 a few months ago but has increased). • moderately suspicious nodule on my thyroid - just had an FNA doctor explained it was calcified.
Now I’m going to a rheumatologist in 5 weeks to figure out whether I have an autoimmune disease causing my autoimmune thyroiditis, and also trying to determine whether it’s just hashimotos.
These are my current symptoms - •dull ache in my left side under rib cage when I lie down at night • increased acne •hair thinning around hairline and dry hair • chest pain on left side almost under armpit on side of chest. • fatigue - can sleep 8 hours and feel unrested/struggling to open my eyes in the morning. • joint aches and body aches especially when I’m inactive all day. • frequent brain fog • previous insomnia - now better thanks to magnesium • itchy dry skin • intensified TMJ jaw pain, had Botox but it’s still there
There’s been other stuff but those are the most obvious. I’ve been reading loads of posts like I said and it’s been great to see the community that exists online providing support. Just wanted to share my journey so far.

I have this weird symptom:

• the pain is dull and at the upper- mid part of my thoracic (back). Sometimes it gets sharp but not too painful
  
• when i lay flat, i feel like that part of the back (spine) sinks in to my pectus and pushes me forward so that i develop a rib flare (my rib pushes forward and the back arcs forcefully). This also happens when i breathe deep, it feels like that part of the spine gets stuck and sinks into my chest.
  
• when this happens, i get dizzy, breathing issues, dry eyes and worst of all my facial skin and hair starts to peel (literally). Its like some scars start to form on them. I suppose this is a reaction to the mechanical problem.
  
• I have done DUS but no issue was seen around this area (there was only a slipping in 10 rib and 9 is mobile).
  
• Thoracic MRI came out fine
  

Does anyone know what this might be? I was thinking pectus excavatum but not sure since i dont have any noticeable deformity.
A chiropractor once adjusted my thoracic in that area and i felt free and could breath better, wet eyes, no dizziness etc

We have not had sex in more than 5 years. He has made a few idle comments that he wished we had more sex, but he’s never tried to have A Real Conversation about it. I now have zero libido, so I am fine with the current situation. But I worry he’s more upset than he lets on, and will leave me. We’re essentially roommates… but we’re damn good roommates and I neither want nor can afford to live alone. Should I just let sleeping dogs lie? Or try to discuss, which would mean telling him that I lost interest in sex because of his actions?
When we met, and for the first few years together, I was a very sexual person. He has never stimulated me orally; I tried hinting once, and he made it so clear the concept disgusted him that I never progressed to an actual request. (I still extended the favor, even though it was never returned.). But we were young, digital stimulation was usually enough, so I accepted that.
Move forward a few years, and perimenopause hit at the same time as a really stressful time at work. It became harder for me to orgasm, and he made it clear that annoyed him. There was eye-rolling, impatient huffing, and more than one exclamation of “how can you not be done YET?” I gave up trying to orgasm, and just told myself if the sex felt nice for a little while, that was enough. It wasn’t, and I started to dread sex and make excuses to delay it.
When my husband realized that I had given up trying to orgasm, he stopped any attempt to please me; digital stimulation was limited to making sure I wasn’t dry. Sex often hurt. I started drinking to get through it. He knew, and didn’t care. It got to the point where I blacked out during sex.
The last time we had sex, I passed out during the (limited as previously mentioned) so-called “foreplay.” My husband had sex with my unconscious body and I learned about it the next day. That was the nail in my libido’s coffin. It was bad enough that he lacked interest in giving me pleasure, but to violate my bodily autonomy like that… I just couldn’t imagine ever trusting him enough to be intimate again. I haven’t so much as fantasized since then. I tried reading erotica, watching sexy movies, daydreaming about past loves… I felt nothing.
I don’t miss sex, it’s like that part of myself flew away. Sometimes I half-wish that I missed it. But I worry that if I don’t find a way to force myself through it again, my husband is going to leave. We’re good friends and roommates, good as financial partners, and (his issues with weaponizing incompetence aside) a pretty good team overall. So… do I find the courage to broach the subject, or just sit tight? And if the former, how do I tell him that he’s the reason I went from having a high to a nonexistent libido?

I’ve always hated the smell of gun oil. It clings to everything it touches, soaking deep into the fibers of my clothes, the lining of my backpack, the coarse hair on the back of my hands. Yet here I am, kneeling on the cracked linoleum of our mudroom, a Remington .308 laid across my thighs, and the stench of gun oil sharp in my nostrils. The early morning light barely scratches at the edges of the blinds, dim and gray like the belly of a dead fish.
My dad Frank is in the kitchen, clattering around with the coffeepot and mumbling under his breath. Today we’re heading up to the woods of Northern Michigan, same as we did every year before Leah… before we lost her.
I can’t help but feel the old scars throbbing as I load bullets into the magazine. It’s been ten years since that hunting trip, the one that tore my family into before and after. Before, when Leah's laughter was a constant soundtrack to our lives; after, when every silence was filled with her absence.
We were just kids back then. I was ten, Leah was eight. It was supposed to be a typical hunting trip, one of those bonding experiences Dad was always talking about. But things went wrong. We got separated from Dad somehow. One minute we were following him, the next we were lost, the dense woods closing in around us.
Dad says when he found me, I was huddled under a fallen tree, my eyes wide, my body frozen. All I could mutter through chattering teeth was "Dogman."
It was only later, after the search parties had combed through every thicket and hollow, that they found her. What remained of Leah was barely recognizable, the evidence of a brutal mauling undeniable. The authorities concluded it was likely a bear attack, but Dad... he never accepted that explanation. He had seen the tracks, too large and oddly shaped for any bear.
As I load another round, the memory flashes, unbidden and unwelcome. Large, hairy clawed hands reaching out towards us, impossibly big, grotesque in their form. Yet, the rest of the creature eludes me, a shadow just beyond the edge of my recall, leaving me with nothing but fragmented terrors and Leah’s haunting, echoing screams. My mind blocked most of it out, a self-defense mechanism, I guess.
For years after that day, sleep was a battleground. I'd wake up in strange places—kitchen floor, backyard, even at the edge of the nearby creek. My therapist said it was my mind's way of trying to resolve the unresolved, to wander back through the woods searching for Leah. But all I found in those sleepless nights was a deeper sense of loss.
It took time, a lot of therapy, and patience I didn't know I had, but the sleepwalking did eventually stop. I guess I started to find some semblance of peace.
I have mostly moved on with my life. The fragmentary memories of that day are still there, lurking in the corners of my mind, but they don’t dominate my thoughts like they used to. I just finished my sophomore year at Michigan State, majoring in Environmental Science.
As for Dad, the loss of Leah broke him. He became a shell of himself. It destroyed his marriage with Mom. He blamed himself for letting us out of his sight, for not protecting Leah. His life took on a single, consuming focus: finding the creature that killed her. He read every book, every article on cryptids and unexplained phenomena. He mapped sightings, connected dots across blurry photos and shaky testimonies of the Dogman.
But as the tenth anniversary of Leah’s death approaches, Dad's obsession has grown more intense. He’s started staying up late, poring over his maps and notes, muttering to himself about patterns and cycles. He’s convinced that the dogman reappears every ten years, and this is our window of opportunity to finally hunt it down.
I’m not nearly as convinced. The whole dogman thing seems like a coping mechanism, a way for Dad to channel his guilt and grief into something tangible, something he can fight against. But I decided to tag along on this trip, partly to keep an eye on him, partly because a small part of me hopes that maybe, just maybe, we’ll find some kind of closure out there in the woods.
I finish loading the rifle and set it aside, standing up to stretch my legs. I wipe my greasy hands on an old rag, trying to get rid of the smell. The early morning light is starting to seep into the room, casting long shadows across the floor.
Dad comes out of the kitchen with two thermoses of coffee in hand. His eyes are bleary and tired.
“You ready, Ryan?” he asks, handing me a thermos, his voice rough from too many sleepless nights.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” I reply, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
We load our gear into the truck, the weight of our supplies and weapons a physical reminder of the burden we carry. The drive from Lansing across the Lower Peninsula is long and quiet, the silence between us filled with unspoken memories and unresolved grief.
—
The drive north is a blur of highway lines and the dull hum of the engine. I drift off, the landscape outside blending into a haze. In my sleep, fragments of that day with Leah replay like scattered pieces of a puzzle. I see her smile, the way she tugged at my sleeve, eager to explore. The sunlight filters through the trees in sharp, jagged streaks.
Then, the memory shifts—darker, disjointed. Leah's voice echoes, a playful laugh turning into a scream that pierces the air. The crunch of leaves underfoot as something heavy moves through the underbrush. I see a shadow, large and looming, not quite fitting the shapes of any creature I know.
Then, something darker creeps into the dream, something I’ve never allowed myself to remember clearly.
Before I can see what it is I wake up with a start as the truck jerks slightly on a rough patch of road. Dad glances over. "Bad dream?" he asks. I nod, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, the remnants of the dream clinging to me like the cold.
"Yeah, just... thinking about Leah," I manage to say.
As we drive, Dad attempts to bridge the silence with small talk. He asks about my finals, my plans for the summer, anything to keep the conversation going. His voice carries a forced cheerfulness, but it’s clear his heart isn’t in it. I respond when necessary, my answers brief, my gaze fixed on the passing scenery.
The landscape changes as we head further north, from flat expanses to rolling hills dotted with dense patches of forest. It's beautiful country, the kind that reminds you how vast and wild Michigan can be, but today it just feels oppressive, like it’s closing in on us.
—
We finally arrive at the cabin, nestled deep in the woods, its weathered wood blending seamlessly with the surrounding trees. The place hasn't changed much since the last time I was here—a relic from another time, filled with the echoes of our past. I can still see Leah running around the porch, her laughter ringing out into the forest.
Dad parks the truck, and we step out into the crisp air. The smell of pine and damp earth fills my nostrils. We start unloading our gear, the tension between us palpable.
“Let’s get this inside,” Dad says, his voice gruff as he hefts a duffel bag onto his shoulder.
I nod, grabbing my own bag and following him to the cabin. Inside, it’s a mix of old and new—the same rustic furniture, but with new hunting gear and maps strewn across the table. Dad’s obsession is evident in every corner of the room, a constant reminder of why we’re here.
As we unpack, we exchange strained attempts at normalcy. He talks about the latest cryptid sightings he’s read about, his eyes lighting up with a fervor that both worries and saddens me.
“Did you hear about the sighting up near Alpena?” he asks, laying out his maps on the table.
“Yeah, you mentioned it,” I reply, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “Do you really think there’s something to it?”
Dad’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of doubt. But it’s quickly replaced by grim determination. “I have to believe it, Ryan. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
We finish unpacking, the silence between us growing heavier with each passing minute. I step outside to clear my head, the cool air a welcome relief. The sun is starting to set, casting long shadows across the clearing. I can’t shake the feeling of unease.
"You can take the upstairs room," Dad mutters. His voice is strained, trying to sound normal, but it's clear the weight of the past is heavy on him. I nod, hauling my backpack up the creaking stairs to the small bedroom that I used to share with Leah. The room feels smaller now, or maybe I've just grown too much since those innocent days.
I unpack silently, setting my things aside. The bed is stiff and cold under my touch. As I settle in, I can't help but glance at the corner where Leah and I would huddle together, whispering secrets and making plans for adventures that would never happen. I push the thoughts away, focusing on the practicalities of unpacking.
After settling in, I go back downstairs to find Dad loading up a backpack with supplies for our hunt. The intensity in his eyes is palpable, his hands moving with practiced precision. I know this routine; it's one he's perfected over countless solo trips since that fateful day.
"We'll head out early," he says, not looking up from his task. "Gotta make the most of the daylight."
I nod, though unease curls in my stomach. I'm not just worried about what we might find—or not find—out there. I'm worried about him. Each year, the obsession seems to carve him out a bit more, leaving less of the Dad I knew.
—
The morning air is sharp with the scent of pine and wet earth as Dad and I head into the deeper parts of the forest. The terrain is rugged, familiar in its untamed beauty, but there’s a tension between us that makes the landscape feel alien. Dad moves with a purposeful stride, his eyes scanning the woods around us. Every snap of a twig, every rustle in the underbrush seems to draw his attention. He’s on edge, and it puts me on edge too.
As we walk, my mind drifts back to that day ten years ago. I can almost hear Leah’s voice echoing through the trees, her high-pitched call as she darted ahead, "Catch me, Ryan!" I remember how the sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground. Those memories are so vivid, so tangible, it feels like I could just turn a corner and see her there, waiting for us.
Dad suddenly stops and kneels, examining the ground. He points out a set of tracks that are too large for a deer, with an unusual gait pattern. "It’s been here, Ry. I’m telling you, it’s close," he whispers, a mixture of excitement and something darker in his voice. I nod, though I’m not sure what to believe. Part of me wants to dismiss it all as grief-fueled obsession, but another part, the part that heard Leah's scream and saw something monstrous in the woods that day, isn’t so sure.
As we continue, Dad's comments become increasingly cryptic. "You know, they say the dogman moves in cycles, drawn to certain places, certain times. Like it’s tied to the land itself," he muses, more to himself than to me. His fixation on the creature has always been intense, but now it borders on mania.
We set up a makeshift blind near a clearing where Dad insists the creature will pass. Hours drag by with little to see but the occasional bird or distant deer.
The sun rises higher in the sky, casting long, slender shadows through the dense canopy. I shift uncomfortably in my spot, the forest floor hard and unyielding beneath me. My eyes dart between the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of something, anything, to break the monotony. Dad, on the other hand, remains steadfast, his gaze fixed on the treeline as if he can will the dogman into existence by sheer force of will.
A bird chirps nearby, startling me. I sigh and adjust my grip on the rifle. I glance over at Dad.
“Anything?” I ask, more out of boredom than genuine curiosity.
“Not yet,” he replies, his voice tight. “But it’s out there. I know it.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I believe him. The forest seems too quiet, too still. Maybe we’re chasing ghosts.
As the sun begins its descent, the forest is bathed in a warm, golden light. The air cools, and a breeze rustles the leaves. I shiver, more from anticipation than the cold. The long hours of sitting and waiting are starting to wear on me.
“Let’s call it a day for now,” Dad says finally, his voice heavy with disappointment. “We’ll head back to the cabin, get some rest, and try again tomorrow.”
I stand and stretch, feeling the stiffness in my muscles. We pack up our gear in silence and start the trek back to the cabin. The walk is long and quiet, the only sounds are the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant calls of birds settling in for the night.
—
Dinner is a quiet affair, both of us lost in our thoughts. I try to make small talk, asking Dad about his plans for tomorrow, but it feels forced. We clean up in silence.
After dinner, I retreat to the small bedroom. The fatigue from the day's hike has settled into my bones, but sleep still feels like a distant hope. I lie down, staring at the ceiling, the room cloaked in darkness save for the sliver of moonlight creeping through the window. Downstairs, I hear the faint sound of Dad moving around, likely unable to sleep himself.
I drift into sleep, but it's not restful. My dreams pull me back to that fateful day in the woods. Leah's voice is clear and vibrant, her laughter echoing through the trees. She looks just as she did then—bright-eyed and full of life, her blonde hair catching the sunlight as she runs ahead of me.
"Come on, Ry! You can't catch me!" she taunts, her voice playful and teasing.
I chase after her, but the scene shifts abruptly. The sky darkens, the woods around us growing dense and foreboding. Leah's laughter fades, replaced by a chilling silence. I see her ahead, standing still, her back to me.
"Leah?" I call out, my voice trembling. She turns slowly, her eyes wide and filled with fear. "Ryan, you have to remember," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "It wasn't what you think. You need to know the truth."
Leah’s words hang in the air, cryptic and unsettling. Before I can respond, she turns and starts running again, her figure becoming a blur among the trees. Panic rises in my chest as I sprint after her, my feet pounding against the forest floor.
“Leah, wait!” I shout, desperation lacing my voice. The forest around me seems to close in, the trees towering and twisted, shadows dancing menacingly in the dim light. I push forward, trying to keep her in sight, but she’s too fast, slipping away like a wisp of smoke.
Suddenly, there’s a rustle, a flash of movement in the corner of my vision. Leah screams, a sound that pierces through the heavy silence. It happens too quickly—I can’t see what it is, only a dark blur that snatches her up.
“Leah!” I scream, my voice breaking. I stumble, falling to my knees as the forest spins around me. My heart races, and the terror is so real, so visceral, that it pulls me back to that awful day, the one that changed everything.
I jolt awake, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I sit up, wiping the cold sweat from my forehead as I try to steady my breathing. The room is still dark, the shadows cast by the moonlight seem to flicker and dance on the walls. My heart is still racing from the nightmare, the echo of Leah's scream lingering in my ears.
As I struggle to calm down, the floorboards outside my room creak. The door opens slowly, and I see the silhouette of my dad in the doorway, a Bowie knife in his hand, his posture tense.
“Dad, what the hell are you doing?” I whisper, my voice shaking.
“Shh,” he hisses, holding up a hand to silence me. “I heard something. Something moving around in the cabin. Stay quiet.”
I swallow hard, my mouth dry. I glance at the clock on the nightstand—it’s just past three in the morning. The cabin is silent, the kind of deep, oppressive silence that makes every small sound seem louder. I can’t hear anything out of the ordinary, but Dad’s expression is deadly serious.
He motions for me to get up, and I do, moving as quietly as I can. My heart is racing, a mix of lingering fear from the dream and the sudden, sharp anxiety of the present moment. Dad leads the way, stepping cautiously out of the bedroom and into the hallway, the knife held ready in front of him.
We move through the cabin, checking each room in turn. The living room is empty, the furniture casting long shadows in the dim moonlight. The kitchen is just as we left it, the plates from dinner still drying on the counter. Everything seems normal, untouched.
We finish our sweep of the cabin without finding anything amiss. The silence is heavy, punctuated only by our soft footfalls. I can see the tension in Dad’s frame, his grip on the knife unwavering. After checking the last room, we pause in the dimly lit hallway, the air thick with unspoken questions.
“There’s nothing here,” I say, my voice low. “Are you sure you heard something?”
He looks at me, his eyes searching for something in my face. “I heard growling. Deep and close. It was right outside the window.”
“Maybe it was just an animal outside, a raccoon or something?” I suggest, although the certainty in his voice makes me doubt my own reassurance.
“No, it wasn’t like that. It was different,” he insists, his voice tense.
I nod, not wanting to argue, but the seeds of worry are planted deep.
The look in his eyes sends a chill down my spine. It’s not just fear—it’s desperation. The kind of desperation that comes from years of chasing shadows and finding nothing. I can see the toll this hunt has taken on him, the way it’s worn him down, turned him into a man I barely recognize.
We head back to our rooms. As I lie down, my mind races with thoughts of my dad. I can’t help but wonder if he’s losing it, if the years of grief and guilt have finally pushed him over the edge.
Dad wasn’t always like this. Before Leah’s death, he was the kind of father who took us fishing, helped with homework, and told terrible jokes that made us groan and laugh at the same time. He was solid, dependable. But losing Leah changed him. The guilt twisted him into someone I barely recognize, someone driven by a need for answers, for closure, that may never come.
I try to sleep, but my thoughts keep me awake. I can hear Dad moving around downstairs, probably pacing or double-checking the locks. His paranoia has become a constant presence, and I don’t know how to help him. I don’t even know if I can help him.
—
The next morning, the sunlight filters weakly through the cabin windows, casting a pale light that does little to lift the heavy mood. I drag myself out of bed, feeling the exhaustion of another restless night. Dad is already up, hunched over his maps at the kitchen table, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
“Morning,” I mumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I pour myself a cup of coffee. “Did you sleep at all?”
He shakes his head, not looking up from his notes. “Not much. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I heard last night.”
I sip my coffee, trying to shake off the remnants of my nightmare. “Maybe it was just an animal, Dad. We’re deep in the woods, after all.”
He finally looks up, his eyes intense. “Ryan, I know what I heard. It wasn’t just an animal. It was something else.”
I sigh, not wanting to argue. “Okay, fine, Dad. What’s the plan for today?”
“We’re going back out. I found some tracks yesterday, and I want to follow them. See where they lead.”
I nod, feeling a mix of apprehension and resignation. I can see how much this means to him, how desperate he is for any kind of lead. “Alright. Let’s get packed and head out.”
We spend the morning preparing, loading up our gear and double-checking our supplies. Dad is meticulous, going over everything with a fine-toothed comb. I try to match his focus, but my mind keeps drifting back to Leah and the dream I had. Her words echo in my head, cryptic and unsettling: “You need to know the truth.”
We set off into the woods, the air crisp and cool. The forest is alive with the sounds of birds and rustling leaves, but it all feels distant, like background noise to the tension between us. Dad leads the way, his eyes scanning the ground for any sign of the tracks he found yesterday.
As we walk, I can’t help but notice how erratically he’s acting. He mutters to himself, his eyes darting around as if expecting something to jump out at us. His grip on his rifle is tight, his knuckles white.
“Dad, are you okay?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
He glances at me, his expression unreadable. “I’m fine. Just focused.”
He stops frequently to examine the ground or the bark of trees, pointing out marks and signs that seem meaningless to me.
“Look at this,” he says, crouching down to examine a broken branch. “See how it’s snapped? That’s not a deer or a bear. That’s something bigger. Stronger.”
I crouch next to Dad, squinting at the broken branch. To me, it just looks like a regular broken branch, the kind you see all over the forest. "I don't know, Dad. It just looks like a branch to me," I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.
Dad's eyes flicker with frustration. "You're not looking close enough. It's the way it's snapped—too clean, too deliberate. Something did this."
I nod, not wanting to argue. "Okay, sure. But even if you're right, it could be anything. A storm, another hunter..."
His expression hardens. "I know what I'm looking for. This is different."
I sigh, feeling the weight of the past and the tension between us pressing down on me. "Dad, I had a dream last night. About Leah." The words hang in the air between us, heavy and fraught with unspoken emotions.
Dad's eyes widen, and he straightens up, his entire demeanor shifting. "What kind of dream? What did you see?" His voice is urgent, almost desperate.
"It was... strange. We were in the woods, like we are now, but everything felt different. Leah was there, running ahead of me, laughing. Then she stopped and told me I needed to know the truth, that it wasn't what I thought."
Dad grabs my shoulders, his grip tight. "What else did she say? Did she tell you anything specific? Anything about the creature?"
I shake my head, feeling a chill run down my spine. "No, that was it. She just said I needed to know the truth, and then she was gone."
Dad’s grip on my shoulders tightens, and his eyes bore into mine with a mixture of desperation and hope. “Ryan, you have to try to remember. Think hard. What did the creature look like? Did you see anything else?”
I pull back slightly, uneasy with his intensity. “Dad, I told you. I don’t remember. It was just a dream. A nightmare, really. My mind’s probably just mixing things up.”
He lets go of me and runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated and lost. “Dreams can be important. They can hold memories we’ve buried deep. Please, try to remember. This could be a sign, a clue.”
I rub my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “I’ve tried, okay? I’ve tried for years to piece together what happened that day. But it’s all just fragments, like pieces of a puzzle that don’t fit. The dream… it felt real, but I don’t think it’s telling me anything new.”
Dad’s face falls, and he looks older than I’ve ever seen him. He turns away, staring into the forest as if it holds all the answers.
—
As we make our way back to the cabin, the sun begins to set, casting long shadows through the trees. The air grows colder, and I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter around me. Dad is silent, lost in his thoughts, his face drawn and haggard.
Back at the cabin, we unload our gear once again in silence. Dad disappears into his room, muttering something about going over his notes. I decide to explore the cabin, hoping to find something that might help me understand what’s going on with him.
In the attic, I find a box of old family photos and documents. As I sift through the contents, I come across a worn journal with Dad’s handwriting on the cover. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I open it, flipping through the pages.
The journal is filled with notes and sketches, detailing his obsession with the dogman. But there’s something else—entries that talk about Leah, about that day in the woods. His handwriting becomes more erratic, the words harder to read. One entry stands out, dated just a few days after Leah’s death:
“June 15, 2013 – It was supposed to be a normal trip. Keep them close, Frank, I kept telling myself. But I failed. Leah is gone, and it’s my fault. I heard her scream, saw the shadows. I tried to get to her, but… the thing, it was there. Too fast. Too strong. My hands… blood everywhere. No one will believe me. I can’t even believe myself. I have to find it. I have to protect Ryan. I have to make it right. God, what have I done?”
Before I can read further, the attic door creaks open, and Dad’s voice slices through the stillness.
“What are you doing up here?” His tone is sharp, almost panicked.
I turn to see him standing in the doorway, his face pale and his eyes wide with something between anger and fear. I clutch the journal to my chest, my mind racing. “I found this… I was just trying to understand…”
In an instant, he crosses the room and snatches the journal from my hands. His grip is tight, his knuckles white. “You had no right,” he growls, his voice trembling.
“Dad, I just wanted to know the truth!” I shout, frustration boiling over. “What really happened to Leah.”
His eyes flash with a mix of rage and anguish, and before I can react, he slaps me across the face. The force of it knocks me off balance, and I stumble backward, my cheek stinging.
For a moment, there’s a stunned silence. We both stand there, breathing hard, the air thick with tension.
“I’m sorry,” Dad says finally, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to… I just…” He trails off, clutching the journal to his chest like a lifeline.
I touch my cheek, feeling the heat from the slap, and take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Dad, what aren’t you telling me? What really happened that day?”
“Stay out of it, Ryan,” Dad growls, his eyes dark with anger. “You don’t know what you’re messing with.”
He turns and storms out of the attic. I’m left standing there, my cheek throbbing, my mind racing. What the fuck is going on? What really happened to Leah? And what is Dad so afraid of?
—
That night, I sleep with my rifle within arm's reach, more afraid of my dad than any dogman. The slap still burns on my cheek, and the look in his eyes—rage, fear, something darker—haunts me. I lie awake, listening to the creaks and groans of the old cabin, every sound amplified in the stillness. Eventually, exhaustion pulls me under, and I fall into a restless sleep.
The dream returns, vivid and unsettling. I'm back in the woods, chasing after Leah. Her laughter echoes through the trees, a haunting reminder of happier times. This time, though, I push myself harder, refusing to let her slip away.
"Ryan, catch me!" she calls, her voice playful.
"I'm coming, Leah!" I shout, my legs pumping, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
The forest around us is a twisted, shadowy maze, the trees seeming to close in on us. Leah's figure becomes clearer, her blonde hair catching the dim light filtering through the canopy. She stops suddenly, turning to face me, her eyes wide with fear.
"Leah, what is it?" I ask, my voice trembling.
"Look behind you," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I turn slowly, dread creeping up my spine. In the shadows, I see a figure, its form indistinct and shifting. It’s not quite animal, not quite human—something in between. The sight of it sends a jolt of terror through me, and I wake up with a start, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I’m not in my bed. The ground beneath me is cold and hard, the smell of damp earth filling my nostrils. Panic rises as I realize I’ve sleepwalked into the woods. I scramble to my feet, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The moon casts a pale glow over the surroundings, revealing what looks like a long-abandoned animal lair.
The walls are covered in giant claw marks, deep gouges in the wood and earth. The air is heavy with the scent of decay, and a chill runs through me. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.
Carefully, I start to move, my eyes scanning the ground, desperate for a familiar landmark. That's when I see them—faded scraps of fabric caught on the jagged edges of the underbrush. My steps falter, a sense of dread washing over me as I bend down to examine them. The fabric is torn, weathered by time and the elements, but unmistakably familiar. It's part of Leah's jacket—the bright pink one she wore on the day she disappeared.
As I strain to make sense of it all, a rustling sound behind me snaps my focus. My heart leaps into my throat. I spin around, my hand instinctively reaching for the rifle I don't have—because, of course, I didn't bring it in my unconscious state.
The shadowy figure that emerges from the trees is unsettlingly familiar, mirroring the menacing forms of my nightmares. But as it steps into the moonlight, I recognize the worn jacket, the weary posture. It's Dad.
"Ryan!" he calls out, his voice a mix of relief and stern concern. "I've been looking everywhere for you. What the hell are you doing out here?"
I exhale slowly, the terror ebbing away as reality sets back in. "I—I don't know, Dad. I must've sleepwalked again." My voice is shaky, my earlier dream still clinging to the edges of my consciousness.
Dad stares at me in disbelief. "You haven't sleepwalked since you were a kid, Ry. This... this isn't just a coincidence." His eyes dart around, taking in the surroundings—the eerie, claw-marked den, the unsettling quiet of the woods. "How did you even find this place?"
I shake my head, struggling to find an answer. "I don't know, Dad. I just... I woke up here." The uncertainty in my voice does nothing to ease the tension.
His eyes lock onto the tattered remains of Leah's jacket in my hands, and something inside him snaps. The color drains from his face as he stumbles a few steps backward. "This... this is where it happened," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. “This is where we found Leah."
“I thought you said you don’t remember anything from that night,” he says accusingly.
"I swear, Dad, I don't know anything about this place," I insist, my own heart pounding.
“It was you, wasn’t it? You’ve been hiding this from me.” His voice is frantic. “You... last night, the growling, it was you.” His voice rises, tinged with hysteria.
I step back, my pulse racing, feeling the chill of the night and the weight of his accusation. "Dad, I don't know what you're talking ab—”
"No!" he interrupts, his voice breaking as he points a trembling finger at me. "You knew, you always knew. It was you, Ryan. All these years, the evidence was right there, but I refused to see it. You were the dogman. You killed Leah!"
His words hit me like a physical blow, absurd and horrifying in their implications. "Dad, you're not making any sense. You're talking crazy! I was just a little kid! How could I–" I protest, my voice shaky.
He steps closer, his presence looming over me, the outline of his figure distorted by the shadows of the trees. "Think about it! It all makes sense now. You led us here, to this place, because you remember. Because you did it."
"Dad, stop it!" I shout, my heart pounding in my chest. "You're scaring me. You need help, professional help. This isn't you."
But he's beyond reason, his eyes wild with a haunted grief. "I have to end this," he mutters, more to himself than to me, his hand tightening around his rifle.
His finger hovers dangerously over the trigger of his rifle. My instincts kick in, and I know I have to act fast.
I lunge toward him, trying to knock the weapon away, but he's quicker than I expected. We struggle, our breaths heavy in the cold night air, the sounds of our scuffle the only noise in the otherwise silent woods. His strength surprises me, fueled by his frantic emotions. He shoves me back, and I stumble over a root, my balance lost for a crucial second. That's all he needs. He raises his rifle, his intentions clear in his wild, pained eyes.
I dive to the ground just as the shot rings out, a deafening blast that echoes ominously through the trees. The bullet whizzes past, narrowly missing me, embedding itself in the bark of an old pine. I scramble to my feet, my heart pounding in my ears, and I start running. The underbrush claws at my clothes and skin, but I push through, driven by a primal urge to survive.
"Dad, stop! It's me, Ryan!" I shout back as I dodge between the trees. Another shot breaks the silence, closer this time, sending splinters of wood flying from a nearby tree trunk. It's surreal, being hunted by my own father, a man tormented by grief and lost in his delusions.
I don't stop to look back. I can hear him crashing through the forest behind me, his heavy breaths and muttered curses carried on the wind. The terrain is rough, and I'm fueled by adrenaline, but exhaustion is setting in. I need a plan.
Ahead, I see a rocky outcrop and make a split-second decision to head for it. It offers a chance to hide, to catch my breath and maybe reason with him if he catches up. As I reach the rocks, I slip behind the largest one, my body pressed tight against the cold, damp surface. I hear his footsteps approaching, slow and cautious now.
As I press against the rock, trying to calm my racing heart, I can hear Dad's footsteps drawing closer, each step crunching ominously on the forest floor. He's methodical, deliberate, like a hunter stalking his prey.
“Come out, Ryan!” Dad’s voice is ragged, filled with a blend of fury and pain.
My heart pounds against my chest, the cold sweat on my back making me shiver against the rough surface of the rock. I know I can't just sit here; it's only a matter of time before he finds me.
Taking a deep breath, I peek around the edge of the rock, trying to gauge his position. I see him, rifle raised, scanning the area slowly. This might be my only chance to end this madness without further violence. I need to disarm him, to talk some sense into him if I can.
As quietly as I can, I move out from behind the rock, my steps careful to avoid any twigs or leaves that might betray my position. I'm almost upon him when a branch snaps under my foot—a sound so trivial yet so alarmingly loud in the quiet of the woods.
Dad whirls around, looking completely unhinged. "Ryan!" he exclaims, his rifle swinging in my direction. Panic overtakes me, and I lunge forward, my hands reaching for the gun.
We struggle, the rifle between us, our breaths heavy and erratic. "Dad, please, stop!" I plead, trying to wrestle the gun away. But he's strong, stronger than I expected.
In the chaos, the rifle goes off. The sound is deafening, a sharp echo that seems to reverberate off every tree around us. Pain explodes in my abdomen, sharp and burning, like nothing I've ever felt before. I stagger back, my hands instinctively going to the wound. The warmth of my own blood coats my fingers, stark and terrifying.
Dad drops the rifle, his eyes wide with horror. "Oh my God! What have I done?" he gasps, rushing to my side as I collapse onto the forest floor.
As the pain sears through me, a strange, overpowering energy surges within. It's wild, primal, unlike anything I've ever experienced. Looking down in horror, my hands are no longer hands but large, hairy, clawed appendages. The transformation is rapid, consuming—my vision blurs, senses heighten, and a raw, guttural growl builds in my throat.
In that moment, a flood of understanding washes over me, mingling with the horror of realization. These are the hands of the creature from my nightmares, the creature whose face I can never fully recall because, as I now understand, it is me.
What happens next feels detached, as if I'm no longer in control of my own actions, watching from a distance as my body moves on its own. I turn towards my dad, his face a mask of terror. He stumbles back, his eyes wide with the dawning realization of what his son has become.
The forest around us seems to fall silent, holding its breath as the nightmarish scene unfolds. I can hear my own growls, guttural and deep, filling the air with a sound that's both foreign and intimately familiar. The pain in my abdomen fuels a dark, violent urge, an urge that's too strong to resist.
With a ferocity that feels both alien and intrinsic, I move towards him. My dad, paralyzed by fear and shock, doesn't run. Maybe he can't. Maybe he doesn't want to.
The encounter was brutal and swift, a blur of motion and violence. My dad barely puts up a struggle, as though resigned to his fate.
Not that there is anything he can do. The creature that I’ve become is too powerful, too consumed by the wild instincts surging through me. I tear him apart, limb from bloody limb, my hands—no, my claws—rending through fabric and flesh with disgusting ease.
The sound of my dad’s screams, of tearing fabric and flesh is drowned out by the animalistic growls that echo through the trees.
When it’s all over, the red mist that had clouded my vision begins to fade, and the fierce, uncontrollable rage that drove my actions subsides. I'm left standing, my breaths heavy and erratic, in the eerie stillness of the forest. The transformation reverses as quickly as it came on, and I find myself back in my human form. My clothes are ripped to shreds, hanging off my frame in tattered remnants. At my feet lies what’s left of my dad, his body torn and unrecognizable.
I glance down at my abdomen, expecting agony, but instead find my wound miraculously healed. No sign of the gunshot remains, just a faint scar where I expected a bloody mess.
Shock sets in, a numbing disbelief mixed with a gut-wrenching realization of what I've become and what I've done. My hands, now human again, tremble as I look at them, half-expecting to see the claws that had so effortlessly ripped through flesh and bone. But there's only blood, my father's blood against my skin.
I stand there for what feels like an eternity, trapped in a nightmare of my own making.
Eventually, the shock wears thin, and a cold practicality takes hold. I need to get out of here. I need to cover my tracks, to disappear. Because who would believe this? Who would understand that I didn't choose this, that I'm not a monster by choice?
With trembling hands, I do what’s necessary. I bury my dad in a shallow grave, the physical act of digging strangely grounding. I cover him with leaves and branches, a pitiful attempt to hide the brutality of his end. I take a moment, whispering apologies into the wind, knowing full well that nothing I say can change what happened.
I leave the forest behind, my mind a whirl of dark thoughts. As I walk, the first hints of dawn brush against the horizon, the sky bleeding a soft pink. It’s hauntingly beautiful.

Hello and bore da (Welsh for good morning)! After a long grey winter and spring, summer seems to have found my corner of the world and it’s got me in a great mood. I’ve been enjoying a long weekend this weekend with a mix of spending some in the local countryside and heading into Cardiff to go to the theatre last night. I hope you’re having a fun weekend too!
And while the alone time is fantastic and I’m more than happy in my own company, it would also be nice to have someone with whom I can share those sorts of experiences. Getting out and into the world and making memories that can be talked about and enjoyed together. If that sounds good then there’s more about me below.
I’m an open-minded guy willing to try new things and love exploring new places. I’m excited to travel to South America later in the year and am aiming to go to every continent at least one, I’ve covered the Northern hemisphere but this is my first time going below the equator! At home, I like all the usual things, films, reading, tv and music, have eclectic tastes in all of them and I’m up for giving recommendations and excited to hear your favourites too. I’m also learning Welsh, doing a bit of writing from time to time (should do more), enjoy cooking and getting out in the countryside for some casual photography.
Personality wise, I’m non-judgemental, passionate, with a dry sense of humour and enough of an ego to hopefully be endearing. I definitely wear my heart on my sleeve and am open about how I feel. While there’s not much I expect in a partner, openness definitely is, so if you’re one to play your card close to your chest or keep people at arm’s length, we’re probably not compatible.
On the subject of being open, I’m more than happy to see where things take us. I don’t have any specific relationship goals in mind, so up for discussing and figuring out what works.
Diolch for reading and I look forward to hearing from you.

Hey all, I (25M) had COVID in december 23, and probably again in February 24, in total I had it 5 or 6 times, first time for 3/4 weeks in April 2022, then mostly milder in the acute phase.
In February 24 I thought I was fit again after a week, so I went to the gym, but there I felt really bad and ended it, at home I got a fever and felt really bad in general. The next 4 weeks I was having some coughs, some nasal congestion, but all the time tachycardia, my RHR was at 90, instead of about 60. And I was much more exhausted. And my BP was always really high 180/110 from then on. (Right now I am on betablockers and losartan (ARB))
cMRI 15.3.24 LVEF40-50% slightly reduced And some LGE in the myocard indicating myocarditis but no active edema or inflammation
From the beginning of April I was feeling much worse, I could not stand working anymore, getting dizzy upon walking and I started having a lot of palpitations. (Premature atrial contractions, PACs, about 10%)
These days, I am having these palpitations, mostly PACs, sometimes in trigeminy, sometimes only one per minute or even less. Fatigue and upon walking sometimes severe dizziness/ brain fog and SOB. In my back I always have a pain which sometimes flares out to my left shoulder and sometimes also chest pain, but that it he only thing that had a peak and then pretty much got better. My heart rate upon sitting varies between 50 and 80. My oxygen saturation is basically always at 95%. Before it was basically always at 99%.
Do some of you have these symptoms or similar symtpoms and recovered or gotten better at least?

19M, 90-100kg, from a SEA country.
Got some discolouration and roughness of skin around the chest area last October. It typically presented as a brown-ish color on my skin. However, after exercise, it would be red instead Was diagnosed with Tinea Versicolor and received topical antifungal Mycoban. It helped to control the spread but not eliminate it. Since then, i had tried oral antifungal medication and a special antidandruff shampoo but both are not very effective in their results.
Recently, the nature of my work resulted in me having to wear unclean clothing for days while staying outdoors. The rash spread to the rest of my chest, back, neck, nether regions and arms. They seem to congregate closer to the folds on my body as well as my armpits and belly buttons. Apart from the brown-ish spots, they also present with extremely dry skin which has caused a lot of pain for me. Currently, i require painkillers and loads of moisturiser to be able to sleep, and i only average 3-4hours a day because of the pain.
Under the sun, my skin itches badly. I also develop red patches that have bumps on it. These patches are extremely painful under sun. I have photos but I am not allowed to post under this subreddit. They can be found in my profile (SFW)
Please tell me if this is tinea versicolor and how i could finally save myself