Chester raccoon coloring pagesx
Tightniks Run One: You Probably Should Go...
2024.05.21 04:29 featherwinglove Tightniks Run One: You Probably Should Go...
[Run Zero chapter: https://redd.it/1csb71x not every run will have a chapter; it won't be long before there are multiple runs per chapter.]
Portal load: Agility 1, Bait 3, Trumps 1, Pheromones 1, Packrat 1, Motivation 1, Power 2, Toughness 2, Looting 5, Discipline Challenge, 54 of 54 He allocated, 7.8% AP at start.
[This is probably the lowest helium load I've ever done, and sorta keeping my own advice on a recent Reddit post, Bait and Looting are up. Especially Looting, but it's not like I don't always do something like this.]
The human emerges from the glowing green mist and hits the ground. Groans. Pushes against that ground, trying to get back up. I feel really heavy. I'm not that fat, am I? He's got a dark blue button-down shirt on. A uniform? A shoulder patch. Rolls over- Ah, what's that? His shoulder pressed into something hard and metallic, He reaches over and his hand naturally seems to find a folding handle. He pulls it out from under himself and gets it up on his chest, sort of in a semi-comfortable position to hold it up and look at the screen while lying on his back. Some fiddling around the edges gets the power button pressed and the screen lights up with:
"Manual portal activation 1 successful: Void enabled. / 54 He loaded / Discipline challenge active / Total portal activation 955"
"Kakka," its one of his trimps.
'My' trimps? The human sets aside the portal pad and gets up.
Are you the guy? They all seem to be looking at him, as though they have a frickin' huge problem to solve and they need his help to solve it.
32s: First trap.
Do you bite? It doesn't matter much to us. The trimps look hopefully up at him through the trap's grating, We're so friggin' screwed.
I didn't think four of you could fit in there! He opens it and they all start following him around like imprinted hatchling birds. It seems his tactic of making a catch-alive trap confirmed to them that he was 'the guy' to help solve whatever problem...
26m42s: Z2c15, 58 pop, 7.7s RC with Z1/2; 29m44s: Fresh turkimp c25.
"Hey, buddy," he says to his first scientist, "can you speak yet?"
"Shijou?" it says, then it starts writing, "Hi Tightniks."
"Who do you mean 'Tightniks'?" he asks, "I mean, it's not like I remember my own name, but what makes you think it's Tightniks?"
"Tai," it points right at him with one paw.
"Just pointing at me isn't going to answer that," he chuckles.
The trimp's hands are quite prehensile, but it's hard to tell without it holding something, they don't seem able to make their fingers visually distinguishable. [Puchim@s all the puchidoru, although some have big round hands and some have small pointy hands; Takanya is the latter. Probably Final Fantasy Red XIII as well, but I'm not familiar enough with him to be satisfied.] This one starts climbing up his leg.
"Wait, wait," he stops it. It's a challenge to stoop in this gravity, but not as much of one as carrying a trimp. He gets down on his knees and back on his haunches and-
"Tai," it points again to a spot on his chest just left of his heart, then climbs on his lap and grabs his uniform at that spot, "Tai!"
He looks down and sees "Tightniks" embroidered into the fabric above his pocket. "Ah," he sighs, "Well, if that's my name, that's my name."
"Shijou," it gives him a friendly whack on the shoulder.
2h38m55s: Mskel in Z11c3.
"Hey guys?" Tightniks points at his bone box, waving his finger, "Does anyone remember where these came from?"
"Nope," the yellow one says.
"Yeah, there are 12 more in here than we got kills to account for," Tightniks says.
"I've been getting a sense of deja vu about just about everything," the red one points at the metal box on the strap over his shoulder, "That's a big exception. Any clues there?"
"It says it's for something called a DT Experimental Industries Time Portal," the human shrugs, "I have no idea what it's talking about, honest."
3h25m46s: Block PB, 0.3% AP sub-4h, 540 pop, 8.3s RC, no turkimp
That thing is beeping? He takes a look at his TPCS pad and he's got a message saying that he finished the Block in under 4 hours and there's a little attack bonus- Under 4 hours? It's been over 4 days!! Checking the time on the device reveals that the portal times in terms of a "map frame" out there in space, and the passage of time has been vastly dilated on this planet.
4h15m56s: Zone 15, 954 pop, 11.9s RC with Z14/60, no turkimp.
"Tightniks," the yellow one comes back from the second full bin to the filling third bin, watching the human fold up another of his very first inventions, the very first thing he built after jumping through the mysterious green phenomenon exiting the crashed ship, "Why in blazes are you building so many traps?"
The human had finished another and tossed it into the bin, then picked up the now ever-present portal control pad, gets it out of auto-sleep and called up the "Achievement Points" page. "I have this weird hunch," he says.
"Deja vu? That familiar feeling we always have?" the yellow one inquires politely, slightly tilting its head.
"May I?" Tightniks turns up his hand and waves it up and down in a lifting gesticulation, then points at the trap pile.
"Sure," the yellow one understands, "if you'll put me back down after."
The human sets the pad down, stoops at the knees and gets his arms under the yellow trimp scientist's front limbs and lifts it up onto that stack of traps with a grunt; it is an impressive demonstration of his improving strength against the planet's high gravity. Then he picks up the pad again and points at one of the blank purple squares near the bottom.
"You don't know what that is," the yellow one says, "Are we going after that first one that is readable?"
"Yes," the human nods, "it's for finishing something called a Dimension of Anger, whatever that is, before getting something called Bounty."
"Whatever that is," the trimp chuckles.
"No, I know what it is," the human says, "I remember it being access to a resource-rich area on the other side of a green Wall we'll find with our next map route. It doubles our resource production."
"That would be handy," the yellow one says.
"Hmm," he nods, "But all the traps are for this one," pointing at the third square in the top row of the array the pad labels "Feats", the second of three that are purple.
"Oh," a stylus materializes in the yellow one's paw, "Well, all it says is 2.5%. It doesn't say how to get it. Something to do with traps?"
"Something to do with traps," the human chuckles, "that's only convenient to do now."
4h29m46s...
Other trimps can understand the grey one better than the human, "Shijou shijou shijou?" is what a human ear would hear, but it's really asking the yellow one, "You mean he knew it was going to be here?"
"Yeah," the yellow one nods.
"Well, it's gotta be that pad none of us finds familiar," the grey one insists.
"I don't think so," the yellow one argues, "He showed the reason for all these traps to me on the pad, and the information is not yet available there."
"Well, it can't be just a coincidence," the grey one grumbles.
6h23m16s: Our first void map dropped.
"What is that?" The red one asks the yellow one. It grabs a stick and lifts the strange square object up by an edge from as far away as he can.
"I have no idea," The yellow one says.
"It seems to have some sort of cooling effect," the red one says, looking underneath it, having tilted it up with the stick, "Like it's not just cold, but actually cooling down, as though it were the opposite of on fire."
"Shijou," the grey one says, holding a note.
"It's a void map. Grab it with a blanket and put it on the cart please. - Tightniks"
"Shijou shijou," the grey one clarifies, "The new pad said 'void enabled'. Guessing it's that."
10h06m21s: Zone 21, 1975 pop, 19.6s RC with Z20/232, no turkimp.
"Ooooookay," Tightniks growls, "There is something off about this thing."
"Shijou?" the grey one looks at the yellow one with concern about their human starship pilot friend.
The human stoops, picks up the little green gem on the ridge between Zone 20 and 21, looks at it, huffs, and asks, "Any idea where this comes from?"
"Err..." the red one seems hesitant to say, "I think you made it."
"Really?" the human huffs, "How could that be?" Then he tosses it at Red, "See if anything reacts to it. It might be radioactive, so we should take turns to minimize exposure."
"Really?" Red's holding it now, "What makes you say that?"
"Because I'm pissed off for no reason I can figure out," the human says, "I think it's coming from-" he gasps, "Waitamint!" He starts searching for the portal pad.
"Frags," the red one says quickly, "I think it's arranging a route. You're good with maps," it tosses the gem to the grey scientist.
The human has his portal pad up and reads aloud, "You have the Discipline challenge active. Tweak the portal to- yada yada yada. Tiss tiss t- completing The Dimension Of Anger will cause Trimp damage to return to normal." He snaps his fingers, "That's gotta be it."
"Shijou," the grey one says hopefully, and has a map drawn within a few minutes.
12h30m06s: Portal, 45 He, 3.600 He/hr, 2098 pop, 18.3s RC, 1% AP for Portal-before-Bounty.
The last head of the map's boss monster goes limp as one of the fighting trimps' dagger points goes into it, and the huge thing settles on its tail, resting on the package that seems to be the prize of this map. And there's a popping sound, and then something mechanical.
Is that a scroll compressor? Tightniks looks at the package. The deflating monster's lifting envelope material drapes over everything underneath it. "Red, Shijou!" he snaps and points, "roll up that side of it. Keep this part from sucking down on the extractor nozzle!"
All fifty of the scientists jump in, literally, pushing the gas in the bag towards the compressor. Tightniks as well, rolling up the front.
Until he kicks, and nearly trips over, a smaller package that might be the explanation for the reason why the center of the monster's defense seemed to be a little away from the big package he could see. It's in the right place, he realizes. He gets it uncovered and reads stenciled-and-sprayed block letters on it:
"DT TIME PORTAL / THIS SIDE DOWN"
Perhaps the Dimension of Anger is so named because of the rage suddenly rising up in Tightniks' throat. It isn't so much as the free-floating aggression suddenly has an answer, there is definitely a fresh batch of rage and anger as he grips the nearest Dagger V, Mark 2 with both hands- ...I must have gotten used to destroying it at some point. He lets go of his weapon with his right hand first and dangles his left arm while holdi-
Refocusing on surviving the next few seconds, the pilot turns on the radar for the final approach and takes a last look around, then straight ahead at his forward camera and primary flight display...
He crouches, sets the dagger down gently, then starts clearing the debris from the box's grab iron. He tries to lift it- Damn, this is heavy!
Surprised at this turn of events, his two oldest scientists, Grey and Yellow, rush to either side of him and help out. They get it flipped over and read the other side of the device, Tightniks chuckles a bit at its predictability:
"DT TIME PORTAL / THIS SIDE UP" There's a square cutout in the middle of one side of it, with a sliding cover at the bottom of it.
"Thanks," he pats his scientists, "but back off, please." He gets the cover unlatched, and slides it open to see, first a big rainbow-colored wide data cable and card edge connector, then several fluid ports. "There's something missing," he says aloud as he gets the cover completely off and onto the grass, "this connects to some-" he's got the wide flat cable up in his hand, realizing what it plugs into. He looks at his scientists, lips trembling, "G-g-g-get the pad."
The grey one already has the survival data pad and offers it to him.
"No, the other pad," Tightniks clarifies, "The big one. The big one," he picks up wide flat rainbow cable and its edge socket in one hand, "It goes here," he points at it with the other. "It must have come with me end of the last cycle."
Both the yellow one and the red one bring it, one on each side.
"Thank you," the human takes it, gets its hinge lugs on the trunnions at the top of each corner of the cavity, then gets the cable connector on the card edge in the pad's base recess, "See, that's where it came from." It comes on:
"12h30m05s: You have completed the Discipline challenge, unlocking a new memory-enable coolant loop and restoring your trimps to normal combat discipline."
"Do you have any idea what that's about?" the yellow one points at the edge of the left side.
"That's-" Tightniks examines it, then suddenly realizes, "It's gotta be for the void map."
He's got a port cover open, and the bottom of it says, "NULLIFIUM/VOID HEIRLOOM INTERFACE"
"Shijou?" the grey one brings the blanket-wrapped void map.
The human clears an edge of the map; doesn't seem to matter which one, and then gets it into the slot. It disappears and the blanket settles down while the environment goes deep blue and suddenly goes super cold. "Hoe Lee!" he shivers, wrapping the blanket around himself, "I hope this isn't too much of a Napolean-Hitler Maneuver!" He glances around, but all the trimps don't seem to discomforted by the sudden cold.
12h35m24s: Void 1, 55 He, 4.369 He/hr, 2098 pop, 18.3s RC, first void AP 1% and 0.3% AP for 100 He simultaneously, we got a rare shield, but it's lame with attack, storage, and empty.
As the environment around them return to normal, the trimps cheer over the deflated corpse of the- ...whatever, who give a hoot? Tightniks finds a flurry of messages on the portal screen, two regard APs, one is about having recovered 10 He units, and the big one was about a "shield". Through the touchscreen, he enables it, and gets the status effects that it's talking about.
"Where to now, boss?" the yellow one asks, Tightniks can feel the draft off the cold trimps. They seem to be extraordinarily robust ectotherms, unlike him.
"Let's go back to that friggin' Wall, where it's warmer," he shivers, "We got that AP and could use the resources." As he leads them to the L15 route, he thinks, Maybe I did that void too early. It takes on the level of our most recently entered Zone, and the resources probably go up accordingly. [I did for character reasons after seriously considering running it at Z25 or 30.]
12h49m37s: Nursery unlocked.
"Four hundred thousand gems!" the human squeaks, "Are you kidding me?"
Grey and Yellow glance at each other, the former says "Shijou?" and starts doodling a real answer.
"I'm not sure if you've noticed, but young trimps have special diets for healthy bones," the yellow one explains.
"You eat gems?" the human gasps.
"Shijou," Grey says with a shit eating grin just above a little sign that says, "Babies eat aluminate, and gems are the best!"
"Do they like the taste?" Tighniks tosses a gem from the helium compressor in the direction of the nearest house.
"Uh-Uuuuh!" after it bounces off a paving stone, a yellow juvenile with red head fur jumps into the air to catch it in its mouth. [Puchim@s Yayo. Liek seriously, she jumps after pennies.]
13h32m59s: Zone 25, 84 He, 6.199 He/hr, 2217 pop, 52.6s RC with Z24/568, no turkimp.
It has an unusually light colored body, dark head fur that lies flat, and for trimp tails, wide and not all that prehensile, reminds Tightniks of a- ...he remembers what the animal looks like, but not that his home planet is called Earth nor that the animal is called a tanuki raccoon. Just the tail, the rest of the trimp looks like a trimp for the most part. Oh yeah, the mining foreman. [Puchim@s Yukipo] He turns to Red and asks, "What's wrong with it?"
"It's in a bad mood," the red one answers.
"I can tell," Tightniks glares angrily at the red one for a moment, cools off, takes a breath, and asks kindly, "Why is it in a bad mood?"
"We've never been out this far," the yellow one offers, "...well, with the portal captured at least. Now, it was in a good mood before it got near the cart after we started this zone. Something new on the cart?"
Tightniks approaches the mopey mining foreman and asks it, "What's the matter, little fella?"
It sighs, then starts struggling to climb [see 1x6] onto the compressor cart. Tightniks helps it up with a lift, then it goes to the portal pad and turns it on, opens up the coolant page, the challenges tab there, and sort of sighs and looks questioningly at him.
"Metal challenge:" the pad reads, "Tweak the portal to bring you to an alternate reality, where the concept of Miners does not exist..."
"Oh," Tightniks realizes, then huffs, "That explains the bad mood." He sits down with the mining foreman trimp and brushes its tail, "Don't worry, my friend. You'll be back after one cycle, and I'm sure I'll miss you and your miners. These guys," he nods at the scientists, "we're scared they wouldn't be back when I first used it on purpose, but they came back. If there's a 'Science challenge' later on, I'll have you and not them-"
The scientists flinch.
"It'll be okay," he assures the mining foreman he hasn't yet realized has fallen comfortably asleep in his lap, "It'll be okay, buddy."
16h11m02s: Gymnastic Z25 taken and gyms rapidly increasing now.
The 710 fighting trimps are majestic with their new gymnastic skill and nearly impossible to hit. Only occasionally did the gorillimp do damage. They took it down easily.
Then the dragimp they faced next blew them away with a fireball that made Tightniks flinch. It took him a second to get the dragimp back in his bee nickels. The next group was all ready to relieve their fallen comrades before they went down, even without the welcoming traps for the wild volunteers (of which Tightniks has just started into the 41st bin of ten thousand.) The dragimp can do nothing to them; anything that hits gets deflected by their V-8 shields; they never got sufficiently blindsided.
[Funny: V-8 is a veggie drink similar to clamato juice I can't find anymore, but it's really five-eight, which just happens to be the squadron number of the cast in Space: Above and Beyond. Herp-a-derp!]
19h11m12s: Spammed some random biome maps...
"Tai?" the grey one looks up at the human holding a little sign, "Last couple zones, you've been mapping a lot of random biome routes we never used. Is there any point to that?"
"Stats," the human says, fitting another one together, "Oh, and this," he tosses the trimp the completed forest route map."
As it registers in the portal system, the pad starts beeping and flashing its screen.
"What?" Tightniks sneers incredulously, "There's an AP for that?" He checks and sure enough, there's a 5% Achievement Point for making a 'perfect' map, by a full notch the biggest AP so far.
The yellow one was relaxing on the corner of the latest filled up trap bin, the 49th, notices, and leans back, "Yarey yarey..." shaking its head.
19h13m28s: Uberhouse taken.
"Shijou," the grey one stands at Tightniks feet holding a small book.
Tightniks takes a brief break from his trapmaking and stoops for his oldest scientist.
"Shijou," the grey one bobs the small book in its hands to offer it to Tightniks.
"Flush toilets and septic systems?" Tightniks reads, "You do this yourself?"
"Oh, don't you wish," the red one snickers, "No, it was in that perfect route you mapped up."
20h39m26s: Zone 30, 161 He, 7.794 He/hr, 4656 pop, 20N, 74.5s RC with Z29/1735, no turkimp, 2.5% AP for sub-60 He Z30 start...
"Oh?" Tightniks has an Ax V-3 over one shoulder and screws the helium hose connector to the portal system with one hand. He grunts, sounds kinda disappointed, sets the ax down and continues working on his massive pile of traps; he's almost finished the 55th of, he just learned, 100 huge bins.
The mining foreman had struggled up onto the cart to see, and just looks baffled. It usually looks a bit lost just as part of its demeanor, but this time it looks really quite confused, and makes rather bemused sounds too.
"Oh, what is this?" Red jumps up on the cart, sounding like it's gotta be silly.
The mining foreman climbs back down and spots a purple ore vein, makes a happy sound and pulls its shovel out of its back pocket to start digging into it.
[OC: This is not even close to an exaggeration vs. OG Puchim@s Yukipo who, in 1x2, just pulls out her shovel from nowhere and digs a hole through Project 765's indoor tile-and-concrete office floor to have a nap in the cold open of a 137 second long cartoon episode. Never run out of mushroom boxes! Also, 2nd season Golden Week gold medallion, she and Yayo dig into a volcanic island and hit an oil gusher ...you don't need to know much geology to realize...]
"Really?" Red groans, "Sheesh."
What's on the pad? "Hoarder: Have over 1 million traps at once, 2.5% damage."
20h48m06s: Gateways.
"Hmm," Tightniks pauses from his trap building and gazes over where they came from.
"Thinking of something?" the yellow one asks from the stack he's building under his feet as he puts the most recent trap on the pile.
"Yunno, we have a lot of territory back there that should be pretty pleasant to live in," Tightniks says, "You'd think we should be able to just map an enemy-free route that trimps can just sit down and live peacefully in. I'd love to be able to do that."
"Shijou," the grey one is at his feet with a massive shit-eating grin, not really "hiding" a big piece of documentation behind its back. Obviously it's not so dumb as to realize that it isn't concealed. It then pulls it out and offers it to the human, "Shijou."
"What's this-" the human gasps, "Are you kidding?"
"Shijou."
"Well?" the yellow one prompts, "Let's friggin' try it, shall we?"
21h34m53s...
For some odd reason, that quiet little mining foreman is on the trap pile, fiddling around. Seems to be trying to arm one, has the spring catch on-
"Hey, buddy!" the human notices, "What are you-"
SPROING and it goes flying through the air. Does a few flips and turns, and then sticks the landing, strikes a pose, and makes a happy sound. [op cit. 1x57]
"What the-" Tightniks says, scratching his head, I wonder how much more damage the fighters could avoid if they could do stuff like that.
"Shijou," the grey one is carefully copying out the trimpese from a tattered and dusty scroll.
"What is that?" Tightniks asks.
"Where mining buddy learned that flip," Yellow says from the cart with feet playfully dangling, "another gymnastic book we picked up a few NMEs back. Probably another chapter from the same book, actually. It seems to have been torn apart and scattered."
"Is that right, bud-" the human looks around, can't seem to find the mining foreman, "Buddy, where are you?" It can't move so fast as to get out of sight this quickly!
"Po-wee!" it cheers from the bottom of its latest hole, which is beside a pile of rich bluish-greenish copper ore, onto which another shovelful flies out of the hole onto it.
22h44m17s: Zone 32, 205 He, 9.016 He/hr, 9548 pop, 30N, 37.7s RC with Z31/2712, no tkp.
"You should probably go," Red whispers.
The exhausted human has just sat down for a nap after tossing yet another trap into the huge bin stenciled "61".
"Really, I mean it," the red trimp scientist gently sets a paw on the pilot's shoulder, "Listen to sense please. Charge all this helium and use the portal; it'll make us so much stronger."
"Only 392 thousand to go," Tightniks sighs, "All the ones I've made go to waste if I use it now. I know it's only a two-and-a-halfer, but if I go now, I'll never be in de-" his head slumps into the nodding-off of post-all-nighter fatigue, "moo."
Red and the mining foreman help the snoring human gently down onto his side. The former quietly asks the latter, "Do you think he's doing the right thing?"
The mining foreman makes a particularly delighted squeak, grabs its latest flask of leafy-flowery infusion, which is just now cool enough not to punish such a maneuver with a nasty burn, and upends the whole thing in a couple seconds. It then bounds off joyfully towards the big pit mine over there. It does not often lead the general laborers because of the gymnastic and shield driven block fight, which needs wood, but it happens to be doing so today.
Yellow stands next to the grumbling unhappy green lumber foreman trimp, who is standing on the head of its dual bit ax with its chin on the end of the haft sticking up from the head on the ground. "Cheer up!" the yellow scientist gently prods it in the elbow, "There isn't a Lumber challenge."
1d00h20m05s: Zone 33, 229 He, 9.410 He/hr, 10120 pop, 50N, 40.8s RC with Z32/3390, no turkimp.
"It's a familiar smell," the human says.
"There's no way we've been out this far since whatever it is that shtfed Trimp civilization," Red grumbles. [Word based on acronym SHTF, which stands for "stuff hits the fan" in its G-rated version. Long time ago, similarly derived "nsfw" was a kerbalese cuss word.]
"I think it's from before that," Tightniks clarifies, "from before the time loop stuff."
"I'm worried our fighting group is nearly a third of our population," Yellow sighs.
"Casualties bother you?" Tightniks asks, "I thought we talked about that."
"It's taking forever to breed up new groups, and these things, *snap* ow," Yellow didn't quite touch that one the right way, "you've got 661 thousand of are too small to help. If you don't go now, this will probably be our last Coordination and we won't be able to finish the next zone."
1d06h52m14s: Gymnastic Z35 finally away.
"Did you know it was there?" The red one asks the human as they watch the grey one transcribe another lost chapter of the Gymnastic book.
"No," Tightniks huffs, in a few minutes' break from his trap building, "But I'm not surprised, I hope it gets us Zone 36. In any case, as soon as I finish that millionth trap-"
The mining foreman makes a mournful sound.
"Don't worry, buddy," Tightniks pats it on the head, "I'll brush your tail again last thing before I go." He's working on bin #88.
1d08h00m10s: 12802 pop, 80N, 43.7s RC with Z34/5298, down from 27.4s; '31m00s...
Tightniks, wearing wool-lined leather gloves mixing shimp and bovimp ingredients, plugs the void map that they got from earlier in the zone into the portal, bundled up against the expected cold. He hopes that the fresh Gymnastic Z35 and Coordination Z34 will get them through it.
1d08h33m03s...
"Do you think you can get it back out of there?" Red asks the shivering human as he reaches for the portal.
There are a pair of ejector levers beside the void map slot which clicked when he inserted it, but the void map disappears, so it remained an open question as to whether they could get it back out. Making sure not to have his hands over the void map slot, Tightniks gets a thumb over each one and there's resistance like something is in the empty slot. He grunts and pushes down until they suddenly snap down, the ejected void map rematerializes. "Well, that's a relief," he sets it down and the starts doffing his coats and sweaters to let the warm air of the normal world reach him.
"Try again later?" Yellow asks.
"Yes," the human says.
"What, are you kidding?" Red scoffs, these things level up with the zones!"
"Later on in this zone, obviously," Tightniks grunts with a huff, and then turns to see the grey one holding its little sign with those exact words on it, can't help but smile.
1d09h08m09s: Snimp in Z36c74...
Having just finished yet another trap for bin #95 of the hundred that he needs for the million-traps AP, he tosses it in and looks to the front. There's not much left of that snimp, but it just killed a third fighting group. "The training bonus from running ten laps in an on-level map route doesn't transfer to the void, does it?"
"Shijou," the grey one says with a note of confirmation.
"And I'm getting close to done this pile of traps we need for that 2.5% AP damage bonus."
"Shijou," it says again.
1d09h08m21s: Snimp in Z36c75...
Tightniks sighs, "...and there's another one. So much for that void map with its heinous critically accurate fast voidsnimps and ugly boss fight." And he returns to building traps.
1d10h14m08s: Trying again...
"NULLIFIUM/VOID HEIRLOOM INTERFACE," Tightniks tightens the stuff around himself and then finishes getting the void map inserted with his gloves, and his fingers come together as it puffs out in a brief blue mist in the void environment.
"Timba timba," Tightniks hadn't even noticed that the lumber foreman was up on his head, pats him on the head, wants to get back to work. [No Puchim@s resembles the lumber foreman.]
"Oh, there you are," the human says, "Sorry, I wanted to finish the run with the mining foreman in charge of the resourcing workers. I don't know what's about to happen to it when I hit the Metal challenge."
"Who the devon talked you into into trying this thing again?" Yellow grumbles, looking up at the indigo sky and mysteriously shrunken and dim sun, hands- ...forepaws on its waist, not discomforted by the cold, but bothered by the re-attempt. [This cuss-word after Disturbed song "Inside the Fire".]
"Shijou," the grey one grins above a Rosetta-stone-like sign it's holding with "It was me." in forty-seven languages both human and trimp.
"Zone 37 is hopeless in the time it'll take me to finish building the traps," Tightniks says.
"Won't the cold slow you down?" Red inquires, "It seems to get to you for some reason we don't get."
"Timba timba," the lumber foreman confirms from its perch on Tightiks' jacket hood.
"Yeah," he huffs, tightening it down, "but it slows down the portal clock by the same amount, so who cares?"
1d10h38m48s: Voidsnimp in c12...
Even in the void, Tightniks has gotten used to the sounds of the combat and trimps dying en masse, but when he heard that voidsnimp screech, which is similar to a "drill" robot from an Earth video game he has almost totally forgotten called Descent (Interplay 1995), he almost involuntarily turned to see, Even way back here, they can damage us despite all that gymnastic training? Then it landed the critical hit and wiped them out, as all critical hits do on this void route. He still finished the trap he was working on before going back to the portal, "Forget this, we're just getting the zone blimp." He pops the map from the portal's void slot, and starts getting his void gear off. His uniform long since wore out, so he's wearing something much more cave-manny. [I picked that sound because that sucker was dangerous and terrifying and carried the nearly hitscan Vulcan cannon. There was no Descent II equivalent, but the Thiefbot was pretty annoying.]
1d10h45m30s: 1M traps AP for 2.5%. 1d10h47m36s: Zone 37, 345 He, 9.916 He/hr, 13120 pop, 100N, 33.6s RC with Z34/5298, 2774 pop short, no turkimp.
Tightniks had nearly finished the long procedure for loading and configuring the portal, then sat down with the mining foreman to brush its tail like he promised.
The scientist trimps tried to hit the portal's activation plunger, but it refused to travel the full distance closed for any of them. Quite tired themselves out trying. The only one not exhausted into total silence was the grey one with its exasperated "Shijou..."
The mining foreman refused to go to sleep, and watched intently as Tightniks finally reached over and set it home with one hand. Its last nervous little sigh was the only thing he remembered-
The ship is without power, and Tightniks can't run the radar much without draining the batteries...
submitted by featherwinglove to Trimps [link] [comments]
Portal load: Agility 1, Bait 3, Trumps 1, Pheromones 1, Packrat 1, Motivation 1, Power 2, Toughness 2, Looting 5, Discipline Challenge, 54 of 54 He allocated, 7.8% AP at start.
[This is probably the lowest helium load I've ever done, and sorta keeping my own advice on a recent Reddit post, Bait and Looting are up. Especially Looting, but it's not like I don't always do something like this.]
The human emerges from the glowing green mist and hits the ground. Groans. Pushes against that ground, trying to get back up. I feel really heavy. I'm not that fat, am I? He's got a dark blue button-down shirt on. A uniform? A shoulder patch. Rolls over- Ah, what's that? His shoulder pressed into something hard and metallic, He reaches over and his hand naturally seems to find a folding handle. He pulls it out from under himself and gets it up on his chest, sort of in a semi-comfortable position to hold it up and look at the screen while lying on his back. Some fiddling around the edges gets the power button pressed and the screen lights up with:
"Manual portal activation 1 successful: Void enabled. / 54 He loaded / Discipline challenge active / Total portal activation 955"
"Kakka," its one of his trimps.
'My' trimps? The human sets aside the portal pad and gets up.
Are you the guy? They all seem to be looking at him, as though they have a frickin' huge problem to solve and they need his help to solve it.
32s: First trap.
Do you bite? It doesn't matter much to us. The trimps look hopefully up at him through the trap's grating, We're so friggin' screwed.
I didn't think four of you could fit in there! He opens it and they all start following him around like imprinted hatchling birds. It seems his tactic of making a catch-alive trap confirmed to them that he was 'the guy' to help solve whatever problem...
26m42s: Z2c15, 58 pop, 7.7s RC with Z1/2; 29m44s: Fresh turkimp c25.
"Hey, buddy," he says to his first scientist, "can you speak yet?"
"Shijou?" it says, then it starts writing, "Hi Tightniks."
"Who do you mean 'Tightniks'?" he asks, "I mean, it's not like I remember my own name, but what makes you think it's Tightniks?"
"Tai," it points right at him with one paw.
"Just pointing at me isn't going to answer that," he chuckles.
The trimp's hands are quite prehensile, but it's hard to tell without it holding something, they don't seem able to make their fingers visually distinguishable. [Puchim@s all the puchidoru, although some have big round hands and some have small pointy hands; Takanya is the latter. Probably Final Fantasy Red XIII as well, but I'm not familiar enough with him to be satisfied.] This one starts climbing up his leg.
"Wait, wait," he stops it. It's a challenge to stoop in this gravity, but not as much of one as carrying a trimp. He gets down on his knees and back on his haunches and-
"Tai," it points again to a spot on his chest just left of his heart, then climbs on his lap and grabs his uniform at that spot, "Tai!"
He looks down and sees "Tightniks" embroidered into the fabric above his pocket. "Ah," he sighs, "Well, if that's my name, that's my name."
"Shijou," it gives him a friendly whack on the shoulder.
2h38m55s: Mskel in Z11c3.
"Hey guys?" Tightniks points at his bone box, waving his finger, "Does anyone remember where these came from?"
"Nope," the yellow one says.
"Yeah, there are 12 more in here than we got kills to account for," Tightniks says.
"I've been getting a sense of deja vu about just about everything," the red one points at the metal box on the strap over his shoulder, "That's a big exception. Any clues there?"
"It says it's for something called a DT Experimental Industries Time Portal," the human shrugs, "I have no idea what it's talking about, honest."
3h25m46s: Block PB, 0.3% AP sub-4h, 540 pop, 8.3s RC, no turkimp
That thing is beeping? He takes a look at his TPCS pad and he's got a message saying that he finished the Block in under 4 hours and there's a little attack bonus- Under 4 hours? It's been over 4 days!! Checking the time on the device reveals that the portal times in terms of a "map frame" out there in space, and the passage of time has been vastly dilated on this planet.
4h15m56s: Zone 15, 954 pop, 11.9s RC with Z14/60, no turkimp.
"Tightniks," the yellow one comes back from the second full bin to the filling third bin, watching the human fold up another of his very first inventions, the very first thing he built after jumping through the mysterious green phenomenon exiting the crashed ship, "Why in blazes are you building so many traps?"
The human had finished another and tossed it into the bin, then picked up the now ever-present portal control pad, gets it out of auto-sleep and called up the "Achievement Points" page. "I have this weird hunch," he says.
"Deja vu? That familiar feeling we always have?" the yellow one inquires politely, slightly tilting its head.
"May I?" Tightniks turns up his hand and waves it up and down in a lifting gesticulation, then points at the trap pile.
"Sure," the yellow one understands, "if you'll put me back down after."
The human sets the pad down, stoops at the knees and gets his arms under the yellow trimp scientist's front limbs and lifts it up onto that stack of traps with a grunt; it is an impressive demonstration of his improving strength against the planet's high gravity. Then he picks up the pad again and points at one of the blank purple squares near the bottom.
"You don't know what that is," the yellow one says, "Are we going after that first one that is readable?"
"Yes," the human nods, "it's for finishing something called a Dimension of Anger, whatever that is, before getting something called Bounty."
"Whatever that is," the trimp chuckles.
"No, I know what it is," the human says, "I remember it being access to a resource-rich area on the other side of a green Wall we'll find with our next map route. It doubles our resource production."
"That would be handy," the yellow one says.
"Hmm," he nods, "But all the traps are for this one," pointing at the third square in the top row of the array the pad labels "Feats", the second of three that are purple.
"Oh," a stylus materializes in the yellow one's paw, "Well, all it says is 2.5%. It doesn't say how to get it. Something to do with traps?"
"Something to do with traps," the human chuckles, "that's only convenient to do now."
4h29m46s...
Other trimps can understand the grey one better than the human, "Shijou shijou shijou?" is what a human ear would hear, but it's really asking the yellow one, "You mean he knew it was going to be here?"
"Yeah," the yellow one nods.
"Well, it's gotta be that pad none of us finds familiar," the grey one insists.
"I don't think so," the yellow one argues, "He showed the reason for all these traps to me on the pad, and the information is not yet available there."
"Well, it can't be just a coincidence," the grey one grumbles.
6h23m16s: Our first void map dropped.
"What is that?" The red one asks the yellow one. It grabs a stick and lifts the strange square object up by an edge from as far away as he can.
"I have no idea," The yellow one says.
"It seems to have some sort of cooling effect," the red one says, looking underneath it, having tilted it up with the stick, "Like it's not just cold, but actually cooling down, as though it were the opposite of on fire."
"Shijou," the grey one says, holding a note.
"It's a void map. Grab it with a blanket and put it on the cart please. - Tightniks"
"Shijou shijou," the grey one clarifies, "The new pad said 'void enabled'. Guessing it's that."
10h06m21s: Zone 21, 1975 pop, 19.6s RC with Z20/232, no turkimp.
"Ooooookay," Tightniks growls, "There is something off about this thing."
"Shijou?" the grey one looks at the yellow one with concern about their human starship pilot friend.
The human stoops, picks up the little green gem on the ridge between Zone 20 and 21, looks at it, huffs, and asks, "Any idea where this comes from?"
"Err..." the red one seems hesitant to say, "I think you made it."
"Really?" the human huffs, "How could that be?" Then he tosses it at Red, "See if anything reacts to it. It might be radioactive, so we should take turns to minimize exposure."
"Really?" Red's holding it now, "What makes you say that?"
"Because I'm pissed off for no reason I can figure out," the human says, "I think it's coming from-" he gasps, "Waitamint!" He starts searching for the portal pad.
"Frags," the red one says quickly, "I think it's arranging a route. You're good with maps," it tosses the gem to the grey scientist.
The human has his portal pad up and reads aloud, "You have the Discipline challenge active. Tweak the portal to- yada yada yada. Tiss tiss t- completing The Dimension Of Anger will cause Trimp damage to return to normal." He snaps his fingers, "That's gotta be it."
"Shijou," the grey one says hopefully, and has a map drawn within a few minutes.
12h30m06s: Portal, 45 He, 3.600 He/hr, 2098 pop, 18.3s RC, 1% AP for Portal-before-Bounty.
The last head of the map's boss monster goes limp as one of the fighting trimps' dagger points goes into it, and the huge thing settles on its tail, resting on the package that seems to be the prize of this map. And there's a popping sound, and then something mechanical.
Is that a scroll compressor? Tightniks looks at the package. The deflating monster's lifting envelope material drapes over everything underneath it. "Red, Shijou!" he snaps and points, "roll up that side of it. Keep this part from sucking down on the extractor nozzle!"
All fifty of the scientists jump in, literally, pushing the gas in the bag towards the compressor. Tightniks as well, rolling up the front.
Until he kicks, and nearly trips over, a smaller package that might be the explanation for the reason why the center of the monster's defense seemed to be a little away from the big package he could see. It's in the right place, he realizes. He gets it uncovered and reads stenciled-and-sprayed block letters on it:
"DT TIME PORTAL / THIS SIDE DOWN"
Perhaps the Dimension of Anger is so named because of the rage suddenly rising up in Tightniks' throat. It isn't so much as the free-floating aggression suddenly has an answer, there is definitely a fresh batch of rage and anger as he grips the nearest Dagger V, Mark 2 with both hands- ...I must have gotten used to destroying it at some point. He lets go of his weapon with his right hand first and dangles his left arm while holdi-
Refocusing on surviving the next few seconds, the pilot turns on the radar for the final approach and takes a last look around, then straight ahead at his forward camera and primary flight display...
He crouches, sets the dagger down gently, then starts clearing the debris from the box's grab iron. He tries to lift it- Damn, this is heavy!
Surprised at this turn of events, his two oldest scientists, Grey and Yellow, rush to either side of him and help out. They get it flipped over and read the other side of the device, Tightniks chuckles a bit at its predictability:
"DT TIME PORTAL / THIS SIDE UP" There's a square cutout in the middle of one side of it, with a sliding cover at the bottom of it.
"Thanks," he pats his scientists, "but back off, please." He gets the cover unlatched, and slides it open to see, first a big rainbow-colored wide data cable and card edge connector, then several fluid ports. "There's something missing," he says aloud as he gets the cover completely off and onto the grass, "this connects to some-" he's got the wide flat cable up in his hand, realizing what it plugs into. He looks at his scientists, lips trembling, "G-g-g-get the pad."
The grey one already has the survival data pad and offers it to him.
"No, the other pad," Tightniks clarifies, "The big one. The big one," he picks up wide flat rainbow cable and its edge socket in one hand, "It goes here," he points at it with the other. "It must have come with me end of the last cycle."
Both the yellow one and the red one bring it, one on each side.
"Thank you," the human takes it, gets its hinge lugs on the trunnions at the top of each corner of the cavity, then gets the cable connector on the card edge in the pad's base recess, "See, that's where it came from." It comes on:
"12h30m05s: You have completed the Discipline challenge, unlocking a new memory-enable coolant loop and restoring your trimps to normal combat discipline."
"Do you have any idea what that's about?" the yellow one points at the edge of the left side.
"That's-" Tightniks examines it, then suddenly realizes, "It's gotta be for the void map."
He's got a port cover open, and the bottom of it says, "NULLIFIUM/VOID HEIRLOOM INTERFACE"
"Shijou?" the grey one brings the blanket-wrapped void map.
The human clears an edge of the map; doesn't seem to matter which one, and then gets it into the slot. It disappears and the blanket settles down while the environment goes deep blue and suddenly goes super cold. "Hoe Lee!" he shivers, wrapping the blanket around himself, "I hope this isn't too much of a Napolean-Hitler Maneuver!" He glances around, but all the trimps don't seem to discomforted by the sudden cold.
12h35m24s: Void 1, 55 He, 4.369 He/hr, 2098 pop, 18.3s RC, first void AP 1% and 0.3% AP for 100 He simultaneously, we got a rare shield, but it's lame with attack, storage, and empty.
As the environment around them return to normal, the trimps cheer over the deflated corpse of the- ...whatever, who give a hoot? Tightniks finds a flurry of messages on the portal screen, two regard APs, one is about having recovered 10 He units, and the big one was about a "shield". Through the touchscreen, he enables it, and gets the status effects that it's talking about.
"Where to now, boss?" the yellow one asks, Tightniks can feel the draft off the cold trimps. They seem to be extraordinarily robust ectotherms, unlike him.
"Let's go back to that friggin' Wall, where it's warmer," he shivers, "We got that AP and could use the resources." As he leads them to the L15 route, he thinks, Maybe I did that void too early. It takes on the level of our most recently entered Zone, and the resources probably go up accordingly. [I did for character reasons after seriously considering running it at Z25 or 30.]
12h49m37s: Nursery unlocked.
"Four hundred thousand gems!" the human squeaks, "Are you kidding me?"
Grey and Yellow glance at each other, the former says "Shijou?" and starts doodling a real answer.
"I'm not sure if you've noticed, but young trimps have special diets for healthy bones," the yellow one explains.
"You eat gems?" the human gasps.
"Shijou," Grey says with a shit eating grin just above a little sign that says, "Babies eat aluminate, and gems are the best!"
"Do they like the taste?" Tighniks tosses a gem from the helium compressor in the direction of the nearest house.
"Uh-Uuuuh!" after it bounces off a paving stone, a yellow juvenile with red head fur jumps into the air to catch it in its mouth. [Puchim@s Yayo. Liek seriously, she jumps after pennies.]
13h32m59s: Zone 25, 84 He, 6.199 He/hr, 2217 pop, 52.6s RC with Z24/568, no turkimp.
It has an unusually light colored body, dark head fur that lies flat, and for trimp tails, wide and not all that prehensile, reminds Tightniks of a- ...he remembers what the animal looks like, but not that his home planet is called Earth nor that the animal is called a tanuki raccoon. Just the tail, the rest of the trimp looks like a trimp for the most part. Oh yeah, the mining foreman. [Puchim@s Yukipo] He turns to Red and asks, "What's wrong with it?"
"It's in a bad mood," the red one answers.
"I can tell," Tightniks glares angrily at the red one for a moment, cools off, takes a breath, and asks kindly, "Why is it in a bad mood?"
"We've never been out this far," the yellow one offers, "...well, with the portal captured at least. Now, it was in a good mood before it got near the cart after we started this zone. Something new on the cart?"
Tightniks approaches the mopey mining foreman and asks it, "What's the matter, little fella?"
It sighs, then starts struggling to climb [see 1x6] onto the compressor cart. Tightniks helps it up with a lift, then it goes to the portal pad and turns it on, opens up the coolant page, the challenges tab there, and sort of sighs and looks questioningly at him.
"Metal challenge:" the pad reads, "Tweak the portal to bring you to an alternate reality, where the concept of Miners does not exist..."
"Oh," Tightniks realizes, then huffs, "That explains the bad mood." He sits down with the mining foreman trimp and brushes its tail, "Don't worry, my friend. You'll be back after one cycle, and I'm sure I'll miss you and your miners. These guys," he nods at the scientists, "we're scared they wouldn't be back when I first used it on purpose, but they came back. If there's a 'Science challenge' later on, I'll have you and not them-"
The scientists flinch.
"It'll be okay," he assures the mining foreman he hasn't yet realized has fallen comfortably asleep in his lap, "It'll be okay, buddy."
16h11m02s: Gymnastic Z25 taken and gyms rapidly increasing now.
The 710 fighting trimps are majestic with their new gymnastic skill and nearly impossible to hit. Only occasionally did the gorillimp do damage. They took it down easily.
Then the dragimp they faced next blew them away with a fireball that made Tightniks flinch. It took him a second to get the dragimp back in his bee nickels. The next group was all ready to relieve their fallen comrades before they went down, even without the welcoming traps for the wild volunteers (of which Tightniks has just started into the 41st bin of ten thousand.) The dragimp can do nothing to them; anything that hits gets deflected by their V-8 shields; they never got sufficiently blindsided.
[Funny: V-8 is a veggie drink similar to clamato juice I can't find anymore, but it's really five-eight, which just happens to be the squadron number of the cast in Space: Above and Beyond. Herp-a-derp!]
19h11m12s: Spammed some random biome maps...
"Tai?" the grey one looks up at the human holding a little sign, "Last couple zones, you've been mapping a lot of random biome routes we never used. Is there any point to that?"
"Stats," the human says, fitting another one together, "Oh, and this," he tosses the trimp the completed forest route map."
As it registers in the portal system, the pad starts beeping and flashing its screen.
"What?" Tightniks sneers incredulously, "There's an AP for that?" He checks and sure enough, there's a 5% Achievement Point for making a 'perfect' map, by a full notch the biggest AP so far.
The yellow one was relaxing on the corner of the latest filled up trap bin, the 49th, notices, and leans back, "Yarey yarey..." shaking its head.
19h13m28s: Uberhouse taken.
"Shijou," the grey one stands at Tightniks feet holding a small book.
Tightniks takes a brief break from his trapmaking and stoops for his oldest scientist.
"Shijou," the grey one bobs the small book in its hands to offer it to Tightniks.
"Flush toilets and septic systems?" Tightniks reads, "You do this yourself?"
"Oh, don't you wish," the red one snickers, "No, it was in that perfect route you mapped up."
20h39m26s: Zone 30, 161 He, 7.794 He/hr, 4656 pop, 20N, 74.5s RC with Z29/1735, no turkimp, 2.5% AP for sub-60 He Z30 start...
"Oh?" Tightniks has an Ax V-3 over one shoulder and screws the helium hose connector to the portal system with one hand. He grunts, sounds kinda disappointed, sets the ax down and continues working on his massive pile of traps; he's almost finished the 55th of, he just learned, 100 huge bins.
The mining foreman had struggled up onto the cart to see, and just looks baffled. It usually looks a bit lost just as part of its demeanor, but this time it looks really quite confused, and makes rather bemused sounds too.
"Oh, what is this?" Red jumps up on the cart, sounding like it's gotta be silly.
The mining foreman climbs back down and spots a purple ore vein, makes a happy sound and pulls its shovel out of its back pocket to start digging into it.
[OC: This is not even close to an exaggeration vs. OG Puchim@s Yukipo who, in 1x2, just pulls out her shovel from nowhere and digs a hole through Project 765's indoor tile-and-concrete office floor to have a nap in the cold open of a 137 second long cartoon episode. Never run out of mushroom boxes! Also, 2nd season Golden Week gold medallion, she and Yayo dig into a volcanic island and hit an oil gusher ...you don't need to know much geology to realize...]
"Really?" Red groans, "Sheesh."
What's on the pad? "Hoarder: Have over 1 million traps at once, 2.5% damage."
20h48m06s: Gateways.
"Hmm," Tightniks pauses from his trap building and gazes over where they came from.
"Thinking of something?" the yellow one asks from the stack he's building under his feet as he puts the most recent trap on the pile.
"Yunno, we have a lot of territory back there that should be pretty pleasant to live in," Tightniks says, "You'd think we should be able to just map an enemy-free route that trimps can just sit down and live peacefully in. I'd love to be able to do that."
"Shijou," the grey one is at his feet with a massive shit-eating grin, not really "hiding" a big piece of documentation behind its back. Obviously it's not so dumb as to realize that it isn't concealed. It then pulls it out and offers it to the human, "Shijou."
"What's this-" the human gasps, "Are you kidding?"
"Shijou."
"Well?" the yellow one prompts, "Let's friggin' try it, shall we?"
21h34m53s...
For some odd reason, that quiet little mining foreman is on the trap pile, fiddling around. Seems to be trying to arm one, has the spring catch on-
"Hey, buddy!" the human notices, "What are you-"
SPROING and it goes flying through the air. Does a few flips and turns, and then sticks the landing, strikes a pose, and makes a happy sound. [op cit. 1x57]
"What the-" Tightniks says, scratching his head, I wonder how much more damage the fighters could avoid if they could do stuff like that.
"Shijou," the grey one is carefully copying out the trimpese from a tattered and dusty scroll.
"What is that?" Tightniks asks.
"Where mining buddy learned that flip," Yellow says from the cart with feet playfully dangling, "another gymnastic book we picked up a few NMEs back. Probably another chapter from the same book, actually. It seems to have been torn apart and scattered."
"Is that right, bud-" the human looks around, can't seem to find the mining foreman, "Buddy, where are you?" It can't move so fast as to get out of sight this quickly!
"Po-wee!" it cheers from the bottom of its latest hole, which is beside a pile of rich bluish-greenish copper ore, onto which another shovelful flies out of the hole onto it.
22h44m17s: Zone 32, 205 He, 9.016 He/hr, 9548 pop, 30N, 37.7s RC with Z31/2712, no tkp.
"You should probably go," Red whispers.
The exhausted human has just sat down for a nap after tossing yet another trap into the huge bin stenciled "61".
"Really, I mean it," the red trimp scientist gently sets a paw on the pilot's shoulder, "Listen to sense please. Charge all this helium and use the portal; it'll make us so much stronger."
"Only 392 thousand to go," Tightniks sighs, "All the ones I've made go to waste if I use it now. I know it's only a two-and-a-halfer, but if I go now, I'll never be in de-" his head slumps into the nodding-off of post-all-nighter fatigue, "moo."
Red and the mining foreman help the snoring human gently down onto his side. The former quietly asks the latter, "Do you think he's doing the right thing?"
The mining foreman makes a particularly delighted squeak, grabs its latest flask of leafy-flowery infusion, which is just now cool enough not to punish such a maneuver with a nasty burn, and upends the whole thing in a couple seconds. It then bounds off joyfully towards the big pit mine over there. It does not often lead the general laborers because of the gymnastic and shield driven block fight, which needs wood, but it happens to be doing so today.
Yellow stands next to the grumbling unhappy green lumber foreman trimp, who is standing on the head of its dual bit ax with its chin on the end of the haft sticking up from the head on the ground. "Cheer up!" the yellow scientist gently prods it in the elbow, "There isn't a Lumber challenge."
1d00h20m05s: Zone 33, 229 He, 9.410 He/hr, 10120 pop, 50N, 40.8s RC with Z32/3390, no turkimp.
"It's a familiar smell," the human says.
"There's no way we've been out this far since whatever it is that shtfed Trimp civilization," Red grumbles. [Word based on acronym SHTF, which stands for "stuff hits the fan" in its G-rated version. Long time ago, similarly derived "nsfw" was a kerbalese cuss word.]
"I think it's from before that," Tightniks clarifies, "from before the time loop stuff."
"I'm worried our fighting group is nearly a third of our population," Yellow sighs.
"Casualties bother you?" Tightniks asks, "I thought we talked about that."
"It's taking forever to breed up new groups, and these things, *snap* ow," Yellow didn't quite touch that one the right way, "you've got 661 thousand of are too small to help. If you don't go now, this will probably be our last Coordination and we won't be able to finish the next zone."
1d06h52m14s: Gymnastic Z35 finally away.
"Did you know it was there?" The red one asks the human as they watch the grey one transcribe another lost chapter of the Gymnastic book.
"No," Tightniks huffs, in a few minutes' break from his trap building, "But I'm not surprised, I hope it gets us Zone 36. In any case, as soon as I finish that millionth trap-"
The mining foreman makes a mournful sound.
"Don't worry, buddy," Tightniks pats it on the head, "I'll brush your tail again last thing before I go." He's working on bin #88.
1d08h00m10s: 12802 pop, 80N, 43.7s RC with Z34/5298, down from 27.4s; '31m00s...
Tightniks, wearing wool-lined leather gloves mixing shimp and bovimp ingredients, plugs the void map that they got from earlier in the zone into the portal, bundled up against the expected cold. He hopes that the fresh Gymnastic Z35 and Coordination Z34 will get them through it.
1d08h33m03s...
"Do you think you can get it back out of there?" Red asks the shivering human as he reaches for the portal.
There are a pair of ejector levers beside the void map slot which clicked when he inserted it, but the void map disappears, so it remained an open question as to whether they could get it back out. Making sure not to have his hands over the void map slot, Tightniks gets a thumb over each one and there's resistance like something is in the empty slot. He grunts and pushes down until they suddenly snap down, the ejected void map rematerializes. "Well, that's a relief," he sets it down and the starts doffing his coats and sweaters to let the warm air of the normal world reach him.
"Try again later?" Yellow asks.
"Yes," the human says.
"What, are you kidding?" Red scoffs, these things level up with the zones!"
"Later on in this zone, obviously," Tightniks grunts with a huff, and then turns to see the grey one holding its little sign with those exact words on it, can't help but smile.
1d09h08m09s: Snimp in Z36c74...
Having just finished yet another trap for bin #95 of the hundred that he needs for the million-traps AP, he tosses it in and looks to the front. There's not much left of that snimp, but it just killed a third fighting group. "The training bonus from running ten laps in an on-level map route doesn't transfer to the void, does it?"
"Shijou," the grey one says with a note of confirmation.
"And I'm getting close to done this pile of traps we need for that 2.5% AP damage bonus."
"Shijou," it says again.
1d09h08m21s: Snimp in Z36c75...
Tightniks sighs, "...and there's another one. So much for that void map with its heinous critically accurate fast voidsnimps and ugly boss fight." And he returns to building traps.
1d10h14m08s: Trying again...
"NULLIFIUM/VOID HEIRLOOM INTERFACE," Tightniks tightens the stuff around himself and then finishes getting the void map inserted with his gloves, and his fingers come together as it puffs out in a brief blue mist in the void environment.
"Timba timba," Tightniks hadn't even noticed that the lumber foreman was up on his head, pats him on the head, wants to get back to work. [No Puchim@s resembles the lumber foreman.]
"Oh, there you are," the human says, "Sorry, I wanted to finish the run with the mining foreman in charge of the resourcing workers. I don't know what's about to happen to it when I hit the Metal challenge."
"Who the devon talked you into into trying this thing again?" Yellow grumbles, looking up at the indigo sky and mysteriously shrunken and dim sun, hands- ...forepaws on its waist, not discomforted by the cold, but bothered by the re-attempt. [This cuss-word after Disturbed song "Inside the Fire".]
"Shijou," the grey one grins above a Rosetta-stone-like sign it's holding with "It was me." in forty-seven languages both human and trimp.
"Zone 37 is hopeless in the time it'll take me to finish building the traps," Tightniks says.
"Won't the cold slow you down?" Red inquires, "It seems to get to you for some reason we don't get."
"Timba timba," the lumber foreman confirms from its perch on Tightiks' jacket hood.
"Yeah," he huffs, tightening it down, "but it slows down the portal clock by the same amount, so who cares?"
1d10h38m48s: Voidsnimp in c12...
Even in the void, Tightniks has gotten used to the sounds of the combat and trimps dying en masse, but when he heard that voidsnimp screech, which is similar to a "drill" robot from an Earth video game he has almost totally forgotten called Descent (Interplay 1995), he almost involuntarily turned to see, Even way back here, they can damage us despite all that gymnastic training? Then it landed the critical hit and wiped them out, as all critical hits do on this void route. He still finished the trap he was working on before going back to the portal, "Forget this, we're just getting the zone blimp." He pops the map from the portal's void slot, and starts getting his void gear off. His uniform long since wore out, so he's wearing something much more cave-manny. [I picked that sound because that sucker was dangerous and terrifying and carried the nearly hitscan Vulcan cannon. There was no Descent II equivalent, but the Thiefbot was pretty annoying.]
1d10h45m30s: 1M traps AP for 2.5%. 1d10h47m36s: Zone 37, 345 He, 9.916 He/hr, 13120 pop, 100N, 33.6s RC with Z34/5298, 2774 pop short, no turkimp.
Tightniks had nearly finished the long procedure for loading and configuring the portal, then sat down with the mining foreman to brush its tail like he promised.
The scientist trimps tried to hit the portal's activation plunger, but it refused to travel the full distance closed for any of them. Quite tired themselves out trying. The only one not exhausted into total silence was the grey one with its exasperated "Shijou..."
The mining foreman refused to go to sleep, and watched intently as Tightniks finally reached over and set it home with one hand. Its last nervous little sigh was the only thing he remembered-
The ship is without power, and Tightniks can't run the radar much without draining the batteries...
2024.05.21 01:29 Avulpesvulpes Is this raccoon poop?
Just found this on the back deck. Kind of looks like a cat made it and we do have a neighborhood Tom but the consistency looks pretty different (fibers, weird colored stuff in the middle of the main tire) and I’m mainly concerned it might be a raccoon.
Just need to figure it out because we’re trying for another baby and I have a little kid and would like for none of us to end up with roundworm..
submitted by Avulpesvulpes to animalid [link] [comments]
Just need to figure it out because we’re trying for another baby and I have a little kid and would like for none of us to end up with roundworm..
2024.05.20 17:50 nahimavegan (Selling) Huge List Of 1100+ Movies! Lots Of New And Rare Titles!
**Prices firm, but I take off $1.00 for every $10 spent (multiple items)*\*
**I accept PayPal, Venmo, & Cashapp*\*
**Codes are always split/dual portion where applicable, & have no DMI*\*
**Only redeem the portion you pay for!*\*
**Get 'em before WB expires these titles!*\*
Birds of Prey HD/MA $3.5
Scoob! HD/MA $3.5
Wonder Woman: Bloodlines HD/MA $3.5
New additions
2000s 10-Film Bundle (The Departed 4K, I Am Legend 4K, Pan's Labyrinth 4K, The Hangover 4K, A History of Violence HD, Best in Show HD, A.I. Artificial Intelligence HD, Mystic River HD, Ocean's Eleven HD, Letters from Iwo Jima HD) HD/MA $30
24 Hours to Live HD/VU $3.5
355 HD/MA $4.5
48 Hrs HD/VU $6
65 HD/MA $4.5 or SD/MA $2.5
80 for Brady HD/VU $5
976-Evil HD/MA $5.5
A League of Their Own 4K/MA $5.5 or HD/MA $4
A Most Violent Year HD/VU $4.5
A24 Horror 5-Film Collection (X, Green Room, It Comes at Night, Hereditary, Witch) HD/VU $13.5
Addams Family '19 4K/IT $4.5
Addams Family '91 4K/VU $5.5
Afflicted HD/MA $4
Aliens 4K/MA $6.5
Almost Famous 4K/VU $5
American Psycho 4K/VU $5.5
Angels & Demons 4K/MA $6
Anyone But You HD/MA $7.5
Armageddon Time HD/MA $4.5
As Good as it Gets 4K/MA $6
Asteroid City 4K/MA $6.5
Atlantis Milo's Return HD/MA $5 or HD/GP $4.5
Avatar The Way of Water HD/MA $4.5 or HD/GP $4
Avengers 4K/MA $5.5
Back to the Future Trilogy HD/MA $10
Bad Boys 4K/MA $5.5
Bad Guys HD/MA $4.5
Bad Times at the El Royale 4K/MA $6
Banshees of Inisherin HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
Barbie HD/MA $6
Battle for Terra HD/VU $4.5
Beast HD/MA $4.5
Beekeeper 4K/VU $9.5
Beguiled HD/IT $3
Beyond Re-Animator HD/VU $4
Big Chill 4K/MA $5.5
Big Eyes HD/VU $4
Billy Lynn’s Long Half Time Walk HD/MA $4
Black Adam 4K/MA $5.5
Black Phone HD/MA $4
Blockers HD/MA $3.5
Blood Father HD/VU $3
Bloodshot HD/MA $4
Body Double 4K/MA $5.5
Book Club Next Chapter HD/MA $5
Book of Life HD/MA $3.5
Bram Stoker's Dracula 4K/MA $6
Broken Hearts Gallery HD/VU $4.5
Bros HD/MA $4.5
Bullet Train HD/MA $4
Burrowers HD/VU $4
Call Jane HD/VU $4.5
Cannibal Cabin 4K/VU $5
Charlie's Angels '00 4K/MA $5.5
Cheech & Chong's Up in Smoke HD/VU or IT $3.5
Christmas Classics 4-Film Set (Miracle on 34th Street '94, A Christmas Carol '84, Home Alone, Jingle all the Way) HD/MA $12
Cinderella '50 HD/MA $4.5
Cinderella 2 HD/MA $4.5
Cinderella 3 HD/MA $4.5
Cobweb 4K/VU $7.5
Cocaine Bear HD/MA $5
Colossal HD/VU or IT $4
Come to Daddy HD/VU $4.5
Contagion 4K/MA $6.5
Creature from the Black Lagoon '54 HD/MA $3.5 or 4K/IT $4
Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon 4K/MA $6
Counselor HD/MA $4
Da Vinci Code 4K/MA $6
Dagon HD/VU $4
Dark Skies HD/VU $3.5
Dear David 4K/VU $6
Dear White People HD/VU $3.5
Devil's Workshop 4K/VU $5.5
Devil's Workshop HD/VU $4.5
Devotion 4K/VU $6 or HD/VU $4.5
Diary of the Dead HD/VU $4
Dig 4K/VU $5.5
District 9 / Elysium Bundle HD/MA $7.5
Dragon Blade HD/VU $3.5
Dr. Strangelove 4K/MA $5
Dreamland HD/VU $4.5
Dream Scenario HD/VU $7
Dumb Money HD/MA $6
Dune Part 2 HD/MA $9.5
Easy Rider 4K/MA $6
Emperor HD/VU $3.5
Equalizer 3 HD/MA $5.5
Evil Dead '13 4K/MA $5.5 or HD/MA $4
Evil Dead Rise 4K/MA $6 or HD/MA $4.5
Evil Under The Sun HD/VU $4
Exorcist (2-cuts) 4K/VU $6.5
Exorcist Believer 4K/MA $7 or HD/MA $5.5
Expendables 1-3 Set 4K/MA $10 or HD/VU $7
Expendables 1-4 Set 4K/VU $15 or HD/VU $11
F9 Fast Saga (Thea & Ext) HD/MA $4
Fall 4K/VU $6 or HD/VU $4.5
Fast & the Furious 10-film Set HD/MA $25
Fast X HD/MA $5
Feast (Unr) HD/VU $4
Fifth Element 4K/MA $5.5
Fifty Shades 6-Cut Set (Thea & Unr) HD/MA $12
First Purge HD/MA $3.5
Five Nights at Freddy's HD/MA $6
Fool's Paradise HD/VU $6
Force of Nature '20 HD/VU $3.5
Forger HD/VU $3
Freeheld HD/VU $4
Friendsgiving HD/VU $4
Front Runner HD/MA $4
Frozen '10 HD/VU $4
Funny Girl 4K/MA $5.5
Gandhi 4K/MA $5.5
Gateway 4K/VU $5.5
Gattaca 4K/MA $6
Ghostbusters Afterlife HD/MA $4
Ghoulies Go To College HD/VU $3.5
Glory 4K/MA $6
Godfather 3 Coda HD/VU $4
Good Boys HD/MA $3.5
Good House 4K/VU $5.5
Goodnight Mommy HD/VU $4
Goosebumps 2 HD/MA $3
Gran Turismo 4K/MA $7 or HD/MA $5.5
Grease Trilogy HD/VU $9 or 4K/IT $10.5
Green Knight 4K/VU $5
Green Room HD/VU $4
Groundhog Day 4K/MA $5.5
Guess Who's Coming to Dinner 4K/MA $6
Hail, Caesar! HD/VU or IT $2.5
Hammett HD/VU $4
Halloween Ends HD/MA $4.5
Halloween Kills (Ext) HD/MA $4.5
Harriet 4K/MA $6 or HD/MA $4.5
Hex 4K/VU $5.5
High Tension HD/VU $4.5
Hellbenders HD/VU $4
Hellraiser: Judgment HD/VU $4
Home Alone 1 & 2 Set HD/MA $6.5
Hook 4K/MA $6
Hot Tub Time Machine 2 HD/VU $3.5 or 4K/IT $4
Hunger Games Ballad of Songbirds & Snakes HD/VU $6.5
Ice Age Continental Drift HD/MA $3
I, Frankenstein HD/VU or IT $3
I Saw the Light HD/MA $4
Identity Thief HD/IT $3.5
Indiana Jones & the Last Crusade HD/VU $4 or 4K/IT $4.5
If Beale Street Could Talk HD/MA $4
Inhabitant HD/VU $4.5
Insidious The Last Key HD/MA $3.5
Insidious Red Door HD/MA $5
Jay and Silent Bob Reboot HD/VU $3.5
Jerry Maguire 4K/MA $6
Jesus Revolution HD/VU $4.5
John Wick 4 4K/VU $6.5
John Wick 4-Film Collection HD/VU $13
Journey to Bethlehem HD/MA $5.5
Jumanji '95 4K/MA $6
Jungle Book '67 HD/MA $4
Jurassic World 6-film Set HD/MA $18
Kandahar HD/MA $5.5
Karate Kid '84 4K/MA $6
Kiss the Girls 4K/VU $6
Knights of the Zodiac HD/MA $5
Kramer vs Kramer 4K/MA $6
Last Action Hero 4K/MA $5.5
Last Christmas HD/MA $4.5
Last Night in Soho 4K/MA $5.5
Leprechaun 8-Film Set HD/VU $15
Lincoln Lawyer 4K/VU $6
Little Mermaid '23 HD/MA $5
Lost Boys 4K/MA $6
Love Again SD/MA $2.5
Lucky Number Slevin HD/VU $4.5
M3GAN (Thea & Unr) HD/MA $5
Ma '19 HD/MA $4
Madame Web 4K/MA $10 or HD/MA $8.5
Mamma Mia Here We Go Again HD/MA $3
Manodrome HD/VU $5.5
Marsh King's Daughter 4K/VU $5.5
Martyrs HD/VU $4.5
May HD/VU $4
Memories of Murder 4K/MA $6.5
Menu HD/GP $3.5
Meryl Streep 8-Film Set HD/MA $22
MIB International HD/MA $4
Midnight Meat Train (Unr) HD/VU $4
Migration HD/MA $6
Miller's Girl 4K/VU $9.5
Miracle on 34th Street HD/MA $4
Missing HD/MA $5
Mission Impossible Dead Reckoning Pt 1 HD/VU $6
Mist 4K/VU $6.5
Mitchells vs the Machines HD/MA $4.5
Monster High Electrified HD/MA or IT $2.5
Mortal Kombat Legends Cage Match HD/MA $5.5
Mr. Holmes HD/VU $3.5
Mulan '98 HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
My Big Fat Greek Wedding 3 HD/MA $5.5
My Girl 4K/MA $6
National Champions 4K/IT $5
New Mutants HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
Night at the Museum Secret of the Tomb HD/MA $3
Night Swim HD/MA $8
Night Train to Lisbon HD/VU $4
No Good Deed HD/MA $3
No Hard Feelings HD/MA $5.5
Nope HD/MA $4.5
Nun 2 HD/MA $5.5
Ocean's Trilogy 4K/MA $16
Old 4K/MA $6 or HD/MA $4.5
Once Upon a Time in Hollywood HD/MA $3.5
Oppenheimer HD/MA $6
Other Side of the Door HD/MA $4
Out Of The Blue HD/VU $4
Overlord 4K/VU or IT $4.5
Parental Guidance HD/MA $2.5
Parents HD/VU $4
Parasite HD/MA $4
Paw Patrol Mighty Movie HD/VU $6.5
Pet Sematary Bloodlines HD/VU $5.5
Peter Pan Return to Neverland HD/GP $4
Philadelphia 4K/MA $5.5
Pick 1 (Black Christmas '18 4K, Dog's Purpose 4K, Sparks Brothers 4K, Raw, Agnes Bourne, Antz, Being Frank, Loving, Don't Let Go, Kicks, Final Account) HD/MA $4
Pitch Perfect 3 4K/MA $5
Pixels HD/MA $3
Plane 4K/VU $5.5
Poor Things HD/MA $7.5
Pope's Exorcist HD/MA $5
Prey for the Devil 4K/VU $5.5
Priscilla HD/VU $6
Punch-Drunk Love 4K/MA $6.5
Queen & Slim HD/MA $4
Quick & the Dead '95 4K/MA $6
Rambo First Blood HD/VU $4
Rambo First Blood Pt 2 HD/VU $4
Rango HD/VU $3
Real Genius 4K/MA $5.5
Red Rocket HD/VU $4
Red Sparrow HD/MA $3.5
Renfield HD/MA $5.5
Requin HD/VU $4.5
Resident Evil Welcome to Raccoon City HD/MA $4
Robin Hood '73 HD/MA $4
Rosemary's Baby 4K/VU $6.5
Rhythm Section HD/VU $3.5
Ruby Gilman Teenage Kraken HD/MA $5.5
Rudy (Dir Cut) 4K/MA $6.5
Run Lola Run 4K/MA $6.5
Saint Maud HD/VU $4
Samurai Jack Complete Series HD/VU $40
Saw 8-film Set (Unr except Jigsaw) HD/VU $20
Secret Life of Walter Mitty HD/MA $3.5
Shaun of the Dead HD/MA $4 or 4K/IT $4.5
Shrek 6-Film Set (1-4, Musical, Puss in Boots) HD/MA $19
Skiptrace HD/VU $3.5
Scorpion King 4-Film Set (1, 3, 4, Book of Souls) HD/MA $12
Scream 3 4K/VU $5.5
Scream 5 4K/VU $5.5 or HD/VU $4
Scream 6 4K/VU $7 or HD/VU $5.5
Sharktopus HD/VU $3.5
Shazam 2-film Set HD/MA $8
Shazam Fury of the Gods 4K/MA $6 or HD/MA $4.5
She Said HD/MA $4.5
She's the Man HD/VU $3.5
Silver Linings Playbook HD/VU $3 or HD/GP $2.5
Sisu 4K/VU $6
Sixteen Candles HD/MA $3.5 or HD/IT $3.5
Sleepless in Seattle 4K/MA $6
Smile HD/VU $4.5
Social Network 4K/MA $6
Sometimes They Come Back...Again HD/VU $4
Sometimes They Come Back...For More HD/VU $3.5
Sonic the Hedgehog 2 4K/VU $5.5
Spider-Man Across the Spider-Verse 4K/MA $7 or HD/MA $5.5
Split HD/MA $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Spoiler Alert HD/MA $5
Star Trek First Contact 4K/VU $5.5
Star Trek Generations 4K/VU $5.5
Star Trek Insurrection 4K/VU $5.5
Star Trek Nemesis 4K/VU $5.5
Star Wars A New Hope HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
Starship Troopers 4K/MA $6
Step Brothers 4K/MA $6.5
Stillwater HD/MA $4
Studio 666 HD/MA $5
Sum of All Fears 4K/VU $5
Supercell HD/VU $4.5
Super Mario Bros Movie HD/MA $5
Super Troopers 2 HD/MA $3.5
Superfly HD/MA $4
Suspiria (2018) HD/VU $4
T2 Trainspotting 4K/MA $6
Talk to Me 4K/VU $6
Talladega Nights 4K/MA $6.5
Taxi Driver 4K/MA $5.5
Thanksgiving 4K/MA $7.5
The Batman 4K/MA $5.5
The Bay HD/VU $4
The Color Purple '23 4K/MA $8 or HD/MA $6.5
The Descent (Unr) HD/VU $4.5
The Flash HD/MA $5
The Marvels HD/MA $6.5
The Natural 4K/MA $6
The Other Guys 4K/MA $6
The Professional (Ext) 4K/MA $6
The Super '17 HD/VU $4
Ticket to Paradise HD/MA $4.5
Titanic 4K/VU or IT $6 or HD/VU $4.5
Top Gun Maverick HD/VU $4
Toy Story 3 HD/MA $4
Trading Places 4K/VU $6
Transformers Rise of the Beasts 4K/MA $7 or HD/VU $5.5
Trolls 3-Film Collection HD/MA $12
Trolls Band Together HD/MA $6.5
Tusk HD/VU $4.5
Umma HD/MA $4.5
Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent 4K/VU $5
Universal Monsters 4-Film Set 4K/MA $17
V for Vendetta 4K/MA $6.5
Vanilla Sky HD/VU $5.5
Velvet Goldmine HD/VU $4.5
Venture Bros Radiant is the Blood of the Baboon Heart HD/MA $5.5
Violent Night HD/MA $5
Walking Dead Season 9 HD/VU $7
Watchmen Ultimate Cut 4K/MA $7.5
Waxwork 2 HD/VU $3.5
We Summon the Darkness HD/VU $4.5
Welcome to Marwen HD/MA $4.5
Welcome to Monster High HD/MA or IT $3
Whiplash 4K/MA $6 or HD/MA $4.5
Whitney Houston I Wanna Dance w/ Somebody HD/MA $4
Wicker Man 4K/VU $5.5
Wish HD/MA $7
Witch HD/VU $3.5
Woman King 4K/MA $5 or HD/MA $4
Woman Walks Ahead HD/VU $4
You're Next HD/VU $3.5
X-Men 1-4 Set SD/MA $7.5
Zombieland Double Tap HD/MA $4
All other movies (A-Z)
10 Cloverfield Lane HD/VU $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
101 Dalmatians '61 HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
13 Hours HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
14 Blades HD/VU $3.5
1917 4K/MA $5 or HD/MA $3.5
2 Guns 4K/MA $4 or HD/MA or IT $2.5
21 Jump Street HD/MA $3
22 Jump Street HD/MA $3.5
3 Extremes HD/VU $4
3 From Hell (Unr) 4K/VU $4 or HD/VU $2.5
3:10 to Yuma 4K/VU $5
31 HD/VU $2.5
47 Meters Down HD/IT $3.5
47 Meters Down Uncaged 4K/VU $4.5 or HD/VU $3
47 Ronin HD/MA $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
600 Miles HD/VU $3.5
71 HD/VU $3.5
A Christmas Story 4K/MA $6
A Dog's Purpose HD/IT $3
A Good Day to Die Hard (Ext) HD/VU $2.5
A Journal For Jordan HD/MA $4
A Quiet Place HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
A Walk Among the Tombstones HD/IT $3.5
A Wrinkle in Time HD/MA $3 or HD/GP $2.5
A.C.O.D. HD/VU or IT $3.5
Abominable 4K/MA $5.5 or HD/MA $4
About Last Night HD/MA $3
Action Point HD/IT $2
Ad Astra HD/MA $4
Adaptation 4K/MA $6
Adrift HD/IT $3.5
Adverse 4K/VU $5
After Earth HD/MA $3
Aftermath HD/VU $3
Air Force One 4K/MA $6
Aladdin ‘19 HD/MA $3 or HD/GP $2.5
Aladdin ‘92 HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Alien HD/MA $4
Alien Covenant HD/MA $2.5
Alfred Hitchcock 4-Film Set Vol 1 4K/MA $18
Alfred Hitchcock 5-Film Set Vol 2 4K/MA $21
Alien 6-film Set HD/MA $16
Alita Battle Angel 4K/MA $5 or HD/MA $3.5
All Eyez on Me HD/VU or IT $3
All is Lost HD/VU $3.5
All the Money in the World HD/MA $3.5
Allied HD/VU or IT $3.5
Almost Christmas HD/MA or IT $3
Amazing Spider-Man 2 HD/MA $3.5 or SD/MA $1.5
Amazing Spider-Man HD/MA $3.5 or SD/MA $1.5
American Assassin 4K/VU $4.5 or HD/VU $3
American Hustle HD/MA $3.5
American Reunion HD/VU or IT $3
American Ultra HD/VU or IT $4
American Underdog 4K/VU $5.5 or HD/VU $4
Anatomy of a Murder 4K/MA $5
Anchorman 2 HD/VU or IT $2.5
Angel Has Fallen 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Angel Heart 4K/VU $5.5
Angel of Mine 4K/VU $5.5
Angry Birds Movie HD/MA $3.5
Anna Karenina HD/IT $3.5
Annie ‘14 HD/MA $3.5
Annihilation HD/VU $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Antebellum 4K/VU $5
Antlers HD/GP $3
Ant-Man & the Wasp HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Ant-Man HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
Apache Junction HD/VU $3.5
Apollo 13 4K/MA or IT $5 or HD/MA $3.5
Arctic HD/MA $4
Arrival HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
Art of Self-Defense HD/MA $4
Ash vs Evil Dead S.3 HD/VU $5
Assassination Nation HD/MA $3.5
Assassin's Creed HD/MA $3
Assignment HD/VU $4
Atomic Blonde 4K/MA or IT $4.5 or HD/MA $3
August Osage County HD/VU $3
Avengers Age of Ultron HD/GP $3
Avengers Endgame HD/MA $2.5 or HD/GP $2
Avengers Infinity War 4K/MA $4 or HD/MA $2.5 or HD/GP $2
Baby Driver HD/MA $4
Backdraft 4K/IT $5.5
Bad Grandpa HD/VU or IT $2.5
Bad Words HD/MA or IT $3
Bandslam HD/VU $4
Bank Job HD/VU $3.5
Barb & Star go to Vista Del Mar HD/VU $4
Barbie & Her Sisters in the Great Puppy Adventure HD/IT $3.5
Bart Got a Room HD/VU $4
Battle Royale HD/VU $4.5
Battleship 4K/MA or IT $4.5 or HD/MA $3
Baywatch HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
Beauty & the Beast ‘17 HD/MA $2.5 or HD/GP $2
Beauty & the Beast ‘91 HD/GP $3
Bedknobs & Broomsticks HD/GP $3.5
Before I Fall HD/VU or IT $3.5
Begin Again HD/VU $3.5
Beiruit HD/MA $3.5
Belly 4K/VU $5.5
Ben-Hur ‘16 HD/VU $3.5
Between Worlds HD/VU $3.5
Big Hero 6 4K/MA $5 or HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Big Lebowski 4K/MA or IT $5.5
Big Short HD/VU $3.5
Big Wedding HD/VU or IT $3
Billy Elliot HD/MA or IT $4
Birdman HD/MA $4
Black & Blue HD/MA $4
Black Christmas '19 HD/MA $4.5
Black Panther 4K/MA $4.5 or HD/GP $2.5
Black Panther Wakanda Forever HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
BlackKklansman HD/MA $4.5
Blacklight HD/MA $4
Black Widow HD/GP $3
Blackhat HD/IT $3.5
Blair Witch Project ‘99 HD/VU $4
Bleeding Steel HD/VU $3.5
Blindspotting 4K/VU $5.5 or HD/VU $4
Blood Money ‘17 HD/VU $3.5
Blood Ties HD/VU $3.5
Blue Jasmine HD/MA $3.5
Blue Ruin HD/VU $4
Blues Brothers HD/MA $4 or 4K/IT $4.5
Bob's Burgers Movie HD/GP $3
Body Cam HD/VU $4
Bohemian Rhapsody 4K/MA $5 or HD/MA $3.5
Bombshell 4K/VU $5
Book Club HD/VU or IT $2.5
Book of Life HD/MA $3.5
Boss Baby HD/MA $2.5
Bourne Identity 4K/IT $5 or HD/MA $3.5
Bourne Legacy HD/VU $2 or 4K/IT $2.5
Bourne Supremacy HD/MA $3.5 or 4K/IT $4
Bourne Ultimatum 4K/MA or IT $5 or HD/MA $3.5
Boy ‘16 HD/IT $3.5
Boy & the World HD/IT $3.5
Boyhood HD/VU or IT $2.5
Braven HD/VU $4
Breakfast Club HD/MA or IT $4
Breakthrough HD/MA $3
Brian Banks HD/MA $3
Bridge of Spies HD/GP $3.5
Brothers Bloom HD/VU $4.5
Bumblebee 4K/VU or IT $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Butler HD/VU $3
Cabin in the Woods HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
Cake HD/MA $4
Call of Wild 4K/MA $4.5 or HD/MA $3 or HD/GP $2.5
Calvary HD/MA $4
Candyman '20 4K/MA $6 or HD/MA $4.5
Candyman 3 HD/VU $4
Captain America Civil War HD/GP $2.5
Captain America First Avenger HD/GP $3.5
Captain America Winter Soldier HD/GP $3.5
Captain Marvel 4K/MA $4 or HD/MA $2.5 or HD/GP $2
Captain Phillips HD/MA $3.5
Captain Underpants First Epic Movie HD/MA $2.5
Carol HD/VU $4
Cars 3 HD/GP $2.5
Casablanca 4K/MA $5.5
Case for Christ HD/MA or IT $2.5
Casper HD/IT $4
Celebrating Mickey HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Chaos Walking 4K/VU $5
Chappaquiddick HD/VU $4
Chasing Mavericks HD/MA $3.5
Chicago HD/VU $4
Child 44 HD/VU $4
Children ‘08 HD/VU $4
Christopher Robin HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
Chronicles of Riddick HD/IT $4
Clerks 3 4K/VU $4.5
Clifford the Big Red Dog HD/VU $4
Cloverfield 4K/VU $5.5 or HD/VU $4
Coco HD/GP $2.5
Cold Pursuit 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Collection HD/VU $3.5
Collide ‘17 HD/VU or IT $2.5
Colma The Musical HD/VU $4
Colombiana (Unr) HD/MA $4
Colony 4K/VU $5
Come & Find Me HD/VU $4
Commuter 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Company of Heroes HD/MA $4
Conan the Barbarian ‘11 4K/VU $5
Conspirator HD/VU $4
Contraband HD/IT $3
Contractor HD/VU $4.5
Cooler HD/VU $4
Cool Hand Luke 4K/MA $5.5
Cooties HD/VU $4
Cotton Club Encore 4K/VU $5.5
Countdown ‘16 HD/VU $3.5
Courier 4K/VU $5.5 or HD/VU $4
Craft Legacy HD/MA $4.5
Criminal HD/VU or IT $3
Croods HD/VU $3.5
Cruella HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Crypto 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Daddy's Home HD/IT $2.5
Daddy's Home 2 HD/VU or IT $3
Damsel HD/VU $4.5
Dangerous 4K/VU $4.5 or HD/VU $3
Danny Collins HD/IT $3.5
Dark Crimes HD/VU $4
Darkest Minds HD/MA $4
Dark Places HD/VU $4
Dark Tower HD/MA $3.5
Darkest Hour ‘17 4K/MA $5 or HD/MA $3.5
Dawn of the Planet of the Apes HD/MA $3.5
Deadpool 2 (w/Super Duper Cut) HD/MA $4
Deadpool HD/MA $2.5
Death of Me HD/VU $4
Death on the Nile HD/GP $3
Death Wish '18 HD/VU $3
Deepwater Horizon HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
Deliver Us From Evil HD/MA $3.5
Dentist 2-Film Set HD/VU $7
Despicable Me 2 HD/VU $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Despicable Me 3 4K/MA or IT $4.5
Despicable Me 4K/MA or IT $4.5
Detroit HD/MA $3.5
Devil Inside HD/VU $3.5
Devil's Due HD/MA $3.5
Die Hard HD/MA $3.5
Die Hard 5-film Set HD/MA $18
Die in a Gunfight 4K/VU $5
Dilemma HD/VU $3.5
Dirty Dancing 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Disney Animated Short Films Set HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Disneynature Monkey Kingdom HD/MA $3
Django Unchained HD/VU $3
Doctor Strange HD/MA $3 or HD/GP $2.5
Doctor Strange Multiverse of Madness HD/GP $3
Dolittle HD/MA $3.5
Dom Hemingway HD/MA $3.5
Don Verdean HD/VU $4.5
Doorman HD/VU $3.5
Doors 4K/VU $5.5 or HD/VU $4
Downsizing HD/VU $2 or 4K/IT $2.5
Downton Abbey A New Era HD/MA $4
Downton Abbey The Movie HD/MA $3.5
Draft Day HD/IT $3.5
Dragged Across Concrete HD/VU $3.5
Dragonslayer 4K/VU $5.5
Dream a Little Dream HD/VU $4
Dreamkatcher HD/VU $4
Dreamworks 10-Film HD/MA $25
Dredd 4K/VU $4 or HD/VU $2.5
Dying of the Light HD/VU $2.5
E.T. Extra Terrestrial 4K/MA or IT $5 or HD/MA $3.5
Early Man 4K/VU $5.5
Earth Girls are Easy HD/VU $4
Eddie the Eagle HD/MA $4
Edge of Seventeen HD/IT $3
Edward Scissorhands HD/MA $3.5
El Chicano HD/MA $4
Elysium HD/MA $3.5
Emoji Movie HD/MA $3
Empire of Light HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Empire State HD/VU $3
Encanto 4K/GP $3.5
Enough Said HD/MA $3.5
Enter the Dragon 4K/MA $6
Epic HD/MA $3
Equalizer HD/MA $3.5
Equalizer 2 HD/MA $3.5
Escape From Planet Earth HD/VU $3
Eternals HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Everest HD/MA $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Everything Must Go HD/VU $4
Evil Dead 2 HD/VU $3.5
Ex Machina HD/VU $3
Exodus Gods & Kings HD/MA $3.5
Expired 4K/VU $4.5
Fair Game (Dir) HD/VU $4
Fantastic Four ‘15 HD/MA $4
Fast & Furious 4 4K/MA $5
Fast & the Furious 8-film Set HD/MA $17.5
Fast & the Furious 9-film Set HD/MA $20
Fast Color 4K/VU $5.5
Fatale ‘20 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Fatherhood HD/MA $4
Fault in Our Stars HD/MA $3.5
Fear of Rain 4K/VU $5.5
Fences HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
Ferdinand HD/MA $3.5
Field of Dreams 4K/MA or IT $5.5
Fifty Shades Darker (Unr) HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
Fifty Shades Freed HD/MA $4
Fifty Shades of Grey (Unr) 4K/MA or IT $4
Finding Dory HD/MA $2.5 or HD/GP $2
Finding Nemo HD/GP $3.5
Finest Hours HD/GP $3
Firm 4K/VU $6
First Man HD/MA $4
Flashback ‘20 HD/VU $4
Flight HD/VU or IT $3
Florence Foster Jenkins HD/VU or IT $3
Footloose ‘11 HD/IT $3
Forbidden Kingdom HD/VU $4.5
Ford v Ferrari HD/MA $4
Forest HD/IT $3.5
Forever My Girl HD/IT $3
Fortress HD/VU $3.5
Fortress Sniper's Eye HD/VU $3.5
Fox & the Hound 2 HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
Foxcatcher HD/MA $4
Frank & Lola HD/VU or IT $3
Free Guy HD/GP $3
French Dispatch HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
Friday the 13th 4K/VU $5.5
From Here to Eternity 4K/MA $5.5
Frozen (Sing-Along) HD/MA $2 or HD/GP $1.5
Frozen HD/GP $2
Frozen 2 HD/MA $2.5 or HD/GP $2
Frozen Ground ‘13 HD/VU $3.5
Fury HD/MA $3.5
Future World HD/VU $3.5
G.I. Joe Retaliation HD/VU $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Gambit ‘12 HD/MA $4
Gambler HD/VU or IT $3
Gamer 4K/VU $5.5
Gemini Man 4K/VU or IT $4.5 or HD/VU $3
Get Out 4K/MA or IT $5 or HD/MA $3.5
Ghost in the Shell ‘17 HD/VU $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Ghost in the Shell ‘95 4K/VU $5
Ghost Rider Spirit of Vengeance HD/MA $4
Ghost Team One HD/VU or IT $3.5
Ghostbusters ‘84 HD/MA $3.5
Ghostbusters (Thea & Ext) ‘16 HD/MA $3
Ghostbusters 2 HD/MA $3.5
Gifted HD/MA $3
Girl in Spider's Web HD/MA $4
Girl on Train HD/VU $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Girl w/ All Gifts HD/VU $4
Giver HD/VU $3.5
Glass Castle 4K/VU $5.5
Glass HD/MA $4
God Bless The Broken Road HD/VU $3.5
God's Not Dead 2 HD/MA or IT $2.5
God's Not Dead 3 HD/MA $3
Gods of Egypt HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
Gold ‘16 HD/VU $2.5
Good Dinosaur HD/GP $2.5
Good Kill HD/VU or IT $3.5
Grease 2 HD/VU $4
Great Wall 4K/MA or IT $4.5 or HD/MA $3
Greatest Showman HD/MA $3.5
Green Book HD/MA $4
Grey HD/VU or IT $3
Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 1 HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2 HD/GP $2
Guilt Trip HD/VU or IT $3
Gunman HD/MA or IT $3
Guns of Navarone 4K/MA $5.5
Hacksaw Ridge 4K/VU or IT $4.5 or HD/VU $3
Halloween ‘18 HD/MA $3
Hammer of the Gods HD/VU $2
Hannibal S.1 HD/VU $5
Hansel & Gretel Witch Hunters (Unr) HD/VU or IT $3
Hard Luck Love Song 4K/VU $5.5
Hard Target 2 HD/IT $1.5
Hardcore Henry HD/VU or IT $3.5
Hate U Give HD/MA $4
Hateful Eight HD/VU $3.5
Heat (Director's Cut) ‘95 4K/MA $5.5
Heaven is for Real HD/MA $3.5
Hercules ‘14 HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
Here Comes the Boom HD/MA $3.5
Hereditary HD/VU $3.5
Hidden Figures HD/MA $3
High Note HD/MA $4
Highlander 4K/VU $5.5 or HD/VU $4
Hitchcock '12 HD/MA $4
Hitman Agent 47 HD/MA $3
Hitman's Bodyguard HD/VU $3.5
Hocus Pocus HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Home HD/MA $3
Home Again HD/MA $3
Home Alone 4K/MA $5 or HD/MA $3.5
Homefront HD/MA or IT $3
Homesman HD/VU $3
Honey 2 HD/VU $3
Hostiles 4K/VU $4.5 or HD/VU $3
Hotel Transylvania 3 HD/MA $3.5
Hot Fuzz HD/VU $4
Hotel Mumbai HD/MA $4
Hours ‘13 HD/VU $4
House of 1000 Corpses HD/VU $4
House of Gucci 4K/IT $5.5
House w/ a Clock in Its Walls sHD/MA $4
How to Train Your Dragon 2 HD/MA $2.5
Hugo HD/VU $3
Hunt for Red October 4K/VU $5.5 or HD/VU $4
Huntsman Winter's War (Ext) HD/MA $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
I Can Only Imagine HD/VU $3.5
I Feel Pretty HD/IT $2
Ides of March HD/MA $4
I Know What You Did Last Summer 4K/MA $5.5
Imitation Game HD/VU $3
In a Valley of Violence HD/MA or IT $3
In Secret ‘14 HD/VU $4.5
In the Blood HD/VU $4
Incredibles 2 HD/GP $3
Independence Day ‘96 HD/MA $4
Independence Day Resurgence HD/MA $2.5
Indiana Jones & the Raiders of the Lost Ark 4K/VU or IT $5.5 or HD/VU $4
Indiana Jones & the Temple of Doom 4K/VU or IT $5.5 or HD/VU $4
Indignation HD/VU $4
Indivisible HD/MA $3.5
Inferno HD/MA $3
Initiation 4K/VU $5
Initiation HD/VU $3.5
Internship HD/MA $3
Interstellar 4K/VU or IT $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Interview HD/MA $3.5
Into the Woods HD/MA $3 or HD/GP $2.5
Invisible Man '20 HD/MA $3.5
Invisible Man ‘33 HD/MA $3.5
Iron Man 3 HD/MA $2.5 or HD/GP $2
Iron Man & Hulk Heroes United HD/GP $3.5
Iron Mask ‘19 HD/VU $4.5
It Follows HD/VU $3.5
It's a Wonderful Life HD/VU $3
Jack & Jill HD/MA $3.5
Jack Reacher 4K/IT $4.5
Jack Reacher Never Go Back HD/VU $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Jack Ryan Shadow Recruit 4K/IT $4 or HD/VU $2.5
Jacob's Ladder HD/VU $4
Jane Got a Gun HD/VU $4
Jarhead 3 (Unr) HD/IT $2.5
Jason Bourne HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
Jesus Music HD/VU $3.5
Jexi HD/VU $3.5
Jobs HD/MA or IT $3.5
Joe HD/VU $3.5
Joe Kidd HD/IT $4
John Wick 1 & 2 Bundle HD/VU $4
John Wick 3 Parabellum 4K/VU $4.5
John Wick Chapter 2 HD/VU $3.5 or 4K/IT $4
John Wick HD/VU $2 or 4K/IT $2.5
John Wick Trilogy (Parabellum 4K) HD/VU $9 or all HD/VU $8
Journey to the West Conquering the Demons HD/VU $3.5
Joy HD/MA $3
Judy 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Juliet, Naked 4K/VU $5.5
Jumanji Welcome To The Jungle HD/MA $2.5
Jungle Book ‘16 4K/MA $4.5 or HD/GP $2.5
Jungle Cruise HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
Jurassic Park 3 HD/VU $3.5 or 4K/IT $4
Jurassic Park 4K/MA or IT $5 or HD/MA $3.5
Jurassic World 5-film Set HD/MA $14
Jurassic World Fallen Kingdom 4K/MA $4.5 or HD/MA $3
Jurassic World HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
Justice ‘17 HD/VU or IT $3
Kama Sutra HD/VU $4
Kick-Ass 2 HD/MA $3.5
Kid ‘19 HD/VU $3.5
Kid Who Would Be King 4K/MA $5.5 or HD/MA $4
Kidnap HD/VU or IT $2.5
Kill Zone ‘05 HD/VU $4.5
Killer Elite HD/IT $3
Killing Gunther HD/VU $4
Kin ‘18 4K/VU $4.5 or HD/VU $3
King Kong ‘05 4K/MA or IT $5 or HD/MA $3.5
King of Staten Island HD/MA $4
King's Man HD/GP $3.5
Kingsman The Golden Circle HD/MA $3
Kingsman The Secret Service HD/MA $3.5
Knives Out HD/VU $3.5
Knowing 4K/VU $5.5
La La Land HD/VU $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Labor Day HD/VU or IT $3
Lady Macbeth HD/VU $4.5
Lady of the Manor 4K/VU $5
Lair of White Worm HD/VU $4.5
Lake Mungo HD/VU $4
Lara Croft Tomb Raider 4K/VU $5.5 or HD/VU $4
Last Dragon HD/MA $4.5
Last Duel HD/GP $3.5
Last Exorcism HD/VU $4
Last Knights HD/VU $3.5
Last Man ‘19 HD/VU $4
Last Stand HD/IT $2
Last Vegas HD/VU $3
Last Witch Hunter HD/VU $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Lawrence of Arabia 4K/MA $5.5
Legend of Hercules 4K/IT $3
Legends of Oz Dorothy's Return HD/MA $3.5
Leprechaun 7-film Set HD/VU $12
Let's be Cops HD/MA $3.5
Let Him Go HD/MA $4
Let Me Explain HD/IT $2.5
Life ‘17 HD/MA $3.5
Life of Crime HD/VU $3.5
Life of Pi 4K/MA $5 or HD/MA or IT $3.5
Light of My Life HD/IT $3.5
Lightyear HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Like a Boss HD/VU $3.5
Lilo & Stitch 2 HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
Lion HD/VU $4
Lion King ‘19 4K/MA $4 or HD/GP $2
Lion King ‘94 4K/MA $5 or HD/GP $3
Little HD/MA $3.5
Little Mermaid ‘89 HD/MA $4
Live Free or Die Hard HD/MA $4
Locked Down 4K/MA $5.5
Logan HD/MA $3
Logan Lucky HD/MA $3.5 or /IT $4
Lone Ranger HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Lone Survivor HD/VU $2.5
Longest Ride HD/MA $3
Longest Week HD/VU $3.5
Looper HD/MA $3.5
Lorax HD/MA or IT $3
Lord of War 4K/VU $5.5
Lords of Salem HD/VU $4
Lost World Jurassic Park HD/MA $3.5
Love & Mercy HD/VU $3.5
Love the Coopers HD/VU or IT $4
Love, Simon HD/MA $3.5
Loving HD/VU or IT $3.5
Luca HD/GP $3
Lucy 4K/MA or IT $4.5 or HD/MA $3
Lyle, Lyle Crocodile HD/MA $4.5 or SD/MA $2
Madagascar 3 HD/MA $3
Maggie HD/VU $2.5
Magic Mike's Last Dance HD/MA $4.5
Magnificent Seven ‘16 HD/VU $3
Maleficent HD/MA $2.5 or HD/GP $2
Maleficent Mistress of Evil HD/GP $2.5
Man Who Fell To Earth ‘76 4K/VU $5
Man Who Shot Liberty Vance 4K/VU $5.5
Marauders HD/VU $3.5
Marksman HD/MA $4
Martian HD/MA $3.5
Mary Poppins ‘64 HD/MA $3.5 or ‘64 HD/GP $3
Mary Poppins Returns 4K/MA $4.5 or HD/GP $2.5
Mask of Zorro 4K/MA $6
Mauritanian 4K/IT $5
Max Steel HD/IT $3
Maze Runner HD/MA $3.5
McKenna Shoots for the Stars HD/IT $2
Meatballs HD/VU $4
Megan Leavey HD/VU or IT $3
Memory HD/MA $3.5
Men HD/VU $4
Men in Black 3 HD/MA $3
Men in Black 4K/MA $5.5 or HD/MA $4
MI-5 Spooks '15 HD/VU $4
Mickey & Minnie 10 Classic Shorts HD/GP $4.5
Mid-Century 4K/VU $5
Midnight in the Switchgrass 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Midsommar (CANADA) 4K/IT $3
Midway 4K/VU $4.5 or HD/VU $3
Mile 22 HD/IT $3
Million Dollar Arm HD/GP $2.5
MindGamers HD/MA or IT $3.5
Minions 4K/MA or IT $4.5 or HD/VU $3
Miracles from Heaven HD/MA $3.5
Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children HD/MA $3
Mission Impossible 3 4K/VU $5
Mission Impossible 6-film Set HD/VU $17
Mommy HD/VU $4
Moneyball HD/MA $3
Monster High Electrified HD/IT $2.5
Monster Hunter HD/MA $3.5
Money Monster HD/MA $3.5
Monster Trucks HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
Monsters University HD/GP $3
Monuments Men HD/MA $3.5
Moon 4K/MA $5.5
Morbius HD/MA $4
Morgan HD/MA $4
Mortal Engines 4K/MA $5.5 or HD/MA $4
Mortal HD/VU $4
Mortal Instruments City of Bones HD/MA $3
Mortdecai HD/VU $3.5
Mother! HD/VU $2.5
Mountain Between Us HD/MA $2.5
Mr. Peabody & Sherman HD/MA $3
Mud HD/VU $2.5
Mulan 2 HD/GP $3
Mulan ‘20 4K/MA $4.5 or ‘20 HD/MA $3 or HD/GP $2.5
Mummy ‘17 4K/MA or IT $4.5 or HD/MA $3
Mummy ‘99 HD/MA $3.5
Mummy 4-Film Set (Mummy 1-3, Scorpion King) HD/MA $12
Mummy Trilogy 4K/MA or IT $14 or HD/MA $9 4K/IT
Muppets Most Wanted HD/GP $3
Murder on the Orient Express HD/MA $3.5
My All American HD/MA or IT $3.5
My Best Friend is a Vampire HD/VU $4
National Lampoon's Vacation 4K/MA $5.5
Nebraska HD/VU $3
Need for Speed HD/GP $3.5
Needle in a Timestack 4K/VU $5.5
Nerve HD/VU $3.5
News of the World HD/MA $4
Night at the Museum Trilogy HD/MA $11
Night House HD/MA $4.5 or HD/GP $4
Nightmare Alley HD/GP $3.5
Nightmare Before Christmas 4K/MA $5.5 or HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
No Time to Die 4K/IT $4.5
Noah HD/VU or IT $2.5
Nobody's Fool HD/IT $2.5
Non-Stop HD/VU or IT $3
Norm of the North HD/VU $2.5
Nostalgia ‘18 HD/MA $3.5
Now You See Me 2 4K/IT $4
Now You See Me HD/VU or IT $2.5 or SD/VU $1
Nut Job 2 HD/IT $2.5
Nut Job HD/IT $2.5
Nutcracker & Four Realms HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Oblivion 4K/MA or IT $5 or HD/MA $3.5
Occupation ‘18 HD/VU $3.5
Occupation Rainfall HD/VU $4
Office Christmas Party 4K/IT $3.5
Olaf's Frozen Adventure HD/GP $3
Oliver! 4K/MA $5
On Chesil Beach HD/MA $4.5
One Ranger HD/VU $4.5
Onward HD/GP $2.5
Open Water 2 Adrift HD/VU $4
Open Water HD/VU $4
Operation Avalanche HD/VU $4
Other Woman HD/MA $3
Ouija HD/MA or IT $3.5
Our Kind of Traitor HD/MA $4
Outlander S.1 Vol 1 HD/VU $5
Overboard ‘18 HD/VU $3.5
Oz the Great & Powerful HD/MA $3 or HD/GP $2.5
Pacific Rim Uprising HD/MA $4
Paddington HD/VU $3.5
Pain & Gain HD/VU or IT $3.5
Paper Towns HD/MA $3
Paradise Highway 4K/VU $5
Paranormal Activity 3 (Ext) HD/VU or IT $3
Paranormal Activity 4 (Unr) HD/VU or IT $2.5
Paranormal Activity Ghost Dimension (Unr) HD/VU or IT $3.5
Paranormal Activity HD/VU $4
Paranormal Activity The Marked Ones HD/VU or IT $3.5
Passengers HD/MA $3.5
Patriot Games 4K/VU $5
Patriot's Day HD/VU $3
Paul Apostle of Christ HD/MA $3
Peanuts Movie HD/MA $3
Penelope HD/VU $4.5
Peppermint HD/IT $3.5
Percy Jackson Sea of Monsters HD/MA $3
Perfect Guy HD/MA $2.5
Perks of Being a Wallflower HD/VU or IT $3 or SD/VU or IT $1
Pet Sematary ‘19 HD/VU $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Pet Sematary ‘89 HD/VU $3.5 or 4K/IT $4
Peter Rabbit HD/MA $3.5
Pete's Dragon ‘16 HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Phantom Thread HD/MA $4
Philomena HD/VU $2.5
Pirates of the Caribbean 5 HD/MA $3 or HD/GP $2.5
Pirates! Band of Misfits HD/MA $3.5
Pitch Perfect 2 4K/MA $4 or HD/MA $2.5
Pitch Perfect HD/MA $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
Pixar Short Films Set Vol. 3 HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Planes Fire & Rescue HD/GP $3
Planes HD/MA $2.5 or HD/GP $2
Planes, Trains & Automobiles 4K/VU $5.5 or HD/VU $4
Playing w/ Fire HD/VU or IT $2.5
Poltergeist ‘82 4K/MA $5.5
Poltergeist (Ext) ‘15 HD/MA $4
Pompeii HD/MA $3.5
Power Rangers ‘17 HD/VU $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Predator ‘18 HD/MA $3
Predator ‘87 HD/MA $4
Pride & Prejudice & Zombies HD/MA $3.5
Primal HD/VU $3.5
Promise HD/MA or IT $3.5
Protege HD/VU $4
Proud Mary HD/MA $3.5
Psycho 4K/MA $5
Pulp Fiction 4K/VU $5.5 or HD/VU $4
Punisher War Zone 4K/VU $5.5
Purge Anarchy HD/MA $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Purge Election Year HD/MA $3.5
Purge 4K/MA or IT $4.5 or HD/MA $3 or
Push 4K/VU $6
Quantum of Solace HD/VU $4.5
Quarry 4K/VU $5
Quartet HD/VU $4
Queen of Katwe HD/GP $2.5
Quiet Ones HD/VU $3.5
Rambo ‘08 HD/VU $4
Rambo 5-film Set HD/VU $18
Rambo Last Blood 4K/VU $4.5 or HD/VU $3
Ran ‘85 4K/VU $5.5
Raya & the Last Dragon HD/MA $3.5
Rear Window 4K/IT $3.5
Rebel Without a Cause 4K/MA $5.5
Reclaim HD/VU $3.5
RED 2 HD/VU $2
Red Dawn ‘12 HD/IT $3
Redline ‘10 HD/VU $4.5
Reign of Assassins HD/VU $4.5
Replicant ‘01 HD/VU $3.5
Replicas HD/VU $3.5
Rescuers Down Under HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
Rescuers HD/MA $4.5 or HD/GP $4
Reservoir Dogs HD/VU $4
Resident Evil Retribution 4K/MA $5 or HD/MA $3.5
Resurrection of Gavin Stone HD/VU or IT $2.5
Retaliation ‘17 HD/VU $4
Revenant 4K/MA $5 or HD/MA $3.5
Ricki & the Flash HD/MA $3
Riddick (Unr) HD/VU or IT $3
Ride Like a Girl HD/VU $4
Right At Your Door HD/VU $4
Right One 4K/VU $5.5
Rings HD/VU or IT $2.5
Rio 2 (Sing-Along) HD/MA $3
Riot HD/VU or IT $3
RIPD HD/IT $2.5
Risen HD/MA $3
Rob Zombie Trilogy (3 From Hell, House of 1000 Corpses, Devil's Rejects) HD/VU $8
Robin Hood ‘18 HD/VU $3
Robocop ‘14 HD/VU $2.5
Rocketman ‘19 HD/VU $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Rocky Horror Picture Show HD/MA $4
Roman J. Israel Esq HD/MA $3
Ron's Gone Wrong HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Room '15 HD/VU $3.5
Rough Night 4K/MA $5 or HD/MA $3.5
Run The Race HD/MA $3
Runner Runner HD/MA $3.5
Rush HD/IT $3
Safe HD/VU or IT $2.5
Same Kind of Different As Me HD/VU or IT $3
Samson HD/MA $3.5
Santa Clause HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Santa Clause 2 HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Santa Clause 3 HD/GP $2.5
Sapphires HD/VU $4
Sausage Party HD/MA $3.5
Saving Mr. Banks HD/GP $3
Saw (Unr) 4K/VU $4.5
Saw 7-film Set (Unr) HD/VU $16
Saw HD/VU $3
Scarface HD/MA $4 or 4K/IT $4.5
Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark 4K/VU $4.5
Schindler's List 4K/MA or IT $5.5 or HD/MA $4
Scream '96 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Scream Trilogy HD/VU $11
Secret Garden ‘20 4K/VU or IT $5.5
Secret in Their Eyes HD/VU or IT $3
Secret Life of Pets 4K/MA or IT $4.5 or HD/MA $3
See No Evil 2 HD/VU $3.5
Selma HD/VU or IT $2.5
Serenity ‘05 4K/MA $5.5 or HD/MA $4
Seriously Red HD/VU $4
Sex Tape HD/MA $3.5
Shack HD/VU or IT $2.5
Shallows HD/MA $3.5
Shang-Chi Legend of the Ten Rings HD/GP $3
Shape of Water HD/MA $3.5
Sherlock Gnomes HD/VU or IT $2.5
Shivers HD/VU $4
Show Dogs HD/MA $3.5
Sicario HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
Sicario Day of the Soldado HD/MA $4
Sicario, Wind River, Hell or High Water HD/VU $7.5
Side Effects HD/IT $3.5
Silencing HD/VU $4
Silent Night, Deadly Night 3-Film Set (3-5 HD/VU $7.5
Silk Road 4K/VU $5
Sing ‘16 HD/MA $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Sing Street HD/VU $4
Sinister HD/VU $3
Sisters (Unr) HD/IT $2.5
Skeleton Twins HD/VU $4
Skyfall HD/VU $2.5
Skyscraper 4K/MA $5 or HD/MA $3.5
Sleeping Beauty ‘59 HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
Sleepless HD/IT $2
Sleepy Hollow 4K/VU $6.5
Slender Man HD/MA $4
Smokey & the Bandit HD/MA $3.5
Smokin' Aces 4K/MA $5.5
Smurfs The Lost Village HD/MA or IT $3
Snitch 4K/IT $3 or HD/VU $2.5 or SD/VU or IT $1
Snow White & the Huntsman (Ext) 4K/VU or IT $4.5 or HD/VU $3
Snow White & the Seven Dwarfs ‘37 4K/MA $6 or HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Snowden HD/MA or IT $3.5
Snowpiercer HD/VU $4.5
Solo A Star Wars Story HD/GP $3
Son of God HD/MA $3
Sonic the Hedgehog 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Soul HD/MA $3 or HD/GP $2.5
Source Code 4K/VU $5.5
Southpaw HD/VU $3
Spartacus HD/MA $3.5
Spectre HD/VU $3.5
Spider-Man 2 (Thea & Ext) HD/MA $4.5
Spider-Man 3 HD/MA $3.5
Spider-Man 4-Cut Set (Spider-Man 2 w/ Thea & Ext) HD/MA $11.5
Spider-Man Far From Home HD/MA $3
Spider-Man Homecoming HD/MA $2.5
Spider-Man Into the Spider-Verse HD/MA $4.5
Spider-Man No Way Home HD/MA $4 or SD/MA $2
Spies in Disguise HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Spinning Man HD/VU $4
Spiral 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Spongebob Sponge out of Water HD/IT $2.5
Spontaneous HD/VU $4.5
Spy Who Dumped Me 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU $3.5
St. Vincent HD/VU $3
Stand Up Guys HD/VU $3.5
Star Trek 3 Search for Spock 4K/VU $5
Star Trek 4 Voyage Home 4K/VU $5
Star Trek Beyond HD/VU $3
Star Trek Into Darkness HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
Star Trek The Motion Picture ‘79 4K/VU $5
Steel Dawn HD/VU $3.5
Still Alice HD/MA $4
Straight Outta Compton (Unr) HD/MA $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Strange World HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
Suburbicon HD/VU $3 or /IT $3.5
Sundown The Vampire in Retreat HD/VU $3.5
Super 8 4K/VU or IT $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Sword in the Stone HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
Taken 2 HD/MA $3.5
Taken 3 (Unr) HD/MA $3.5
Tangled HD/GP $3.5
Ted (Unr) HD/MA or IT $2.5
Teen Spirit ‘19 HD/MA $4
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles ‘14 4K/VU or IT $4.5 or HD/VU $2.5
Terminator 2 Judgment Day (Special) HD/VU $4.5
Terminator 2 Judgment Day 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Terminator Dark Fate 4K/IT $4
Terminator Genisys HD/VU $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Texas Chainsaw ‘13 HD/VU $3.5
Thanks for Sharing HD/VU $4
The Heat HD/MA $3
The Impossible HD/VU $3.5
The Sting 4K/MA $5.5
Think Like a Dog 4K/VU $5
This is the End HD/MA $3.5
Thor Dark World HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
Thor HD/GP $3.5
Thor Love & Thunder HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Thor Ragnarok HD/MA $2.5 or HD/GP $2
Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri HD/MA $3.5
To Kill a Mockingbird HD/MA $3.5
Toll HD/VU $4.5
Tomorrowland HD/GP $3
Top Five HD/IT $3
Top Gun ‘86 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Total Recall ‘90 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Touched w/ Fire HD/VU $4.5
Toy Story HD/GP $3.5
Toy Story 4 HD/GP $2
Training Day 4K/MA $5.5
Transformers Age of Extinction HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
Transformers Dark of the Moon 4K/VU $4.5 or HD/VU $3
Transformers The Last Knight 4K/VU or IT $4 or HD/VU $2.5
Trolls HD/MA $2.5
Trust ‘16 HD/VU $4
Tucker The Man & His Dream 4K/VU $5
Tulip Fever HD/VU $4
Tumbledown HD/VU $4
Turbo HD/MA or IT $3
Turning HD/MA $4
Ugly Dolls 4K/VU or IT $5.5
Unbreakable HD/GP $3.5
Unbroken HD/VU or IT $3
Uncharted 4K/MA $5.5 or HD/MA $4
Uncle Drew HD/VU $3.5
Underworld Awakening HD/MA $3
Underworld Blood Wars HD/MA $3
Untouchables 4K/VU $5.5
Us ‘19 4K/MA $5.5 or HD/MA $4
Valerian & the City of a Thousand Planets HD/VU $3.5
Vampire Academy HD/VU $3.5
Vanishing ‘18 HD/VU $4
Venom HD/MA $3.5
Victoria & Abdul HD/MA $4
Virtuoso 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Vivo HD/MA $4.5
Voices ‘14 HD/VU $4
Voyagers 4K/VU $5
Walk HD/MA $3.5
Walking w/ Dinosaurs HD/MA $3
Wall '17 HD/VU $4
War for the Planet of the Apes HD/MA $3
War of the Worlds ‘53 4K/VU $5.5
War on Everyone HD/VU $4
Warcraft 4K/IT $4.5 or HD/MA $3
Warhunt 4K/VU $4.5
Warm Bodies HD/VU $3 or SD/VU $1.5
Warning HD/VU $4
Watch HD/MA or IT $3.5
Wayne's World HD/VU $4.5
We Die Young HD/VU $3.5
Weekend HD/VU $4
Werewolf The Beast Among Us (Unr) HD/MA or IT $3.5
West Side Story 4K/MA $5 or HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
What Men Want HD/VU $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
What We Did on our Holiday HD/VU $4
When the Game Stands Tall HD/MA $3
Whiskey Tango Foxtrot HD/VU or IT $3
Why Him? HD/MA $3
Widows HD/MA $3.5
Wild Card HD/VU $3
Willow HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
Wilson HD/MA $3.5
Winchester HD/VU $3.5
Winnie the Pooh Springtime w/ Roo HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
Wolf Hound 4K/VU $4.5
Wolf of Wall Street 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU or IT $3.5
Wolverine (Unr) (w/Thea) HD/MA $3.5
Woman in Gold HD/VU $3.5
Won't Back Down HD/MA $3.5
Woodlawn HD/MA or IT $3.5
World War Z HD/VU or IT $2.5
Wraith HD/VU $4
X-Men Apocalypse HD/MA $3
X-Men Days of Future Past HD/MA $3
XXX Return of Xander Cage HD/VU $2 or 4K/IT $2.5
Z for Zachariah HD/VU $4
Zero Dark Thirty HD/MA $3.5
Zeros & Ones HD/VU $4
Zootopia HD/MA $3 or HD/GP $2.5
submitted by nahimavegan to DigitalCodeSELL [link] [comments]
**I accept PayPal, Venmo, & Cashapp*\*
**Codes are always split/dual portion where applicable, & have no DMI*\*
**Only redeem the portion you pay for!*\*
Birds of Prey HD/MA $3.5
Scoob! HD/MA $3.5
Wonder Woman: Bloodlines HD/MA $3.5
2000s 10-Film Bundle (The Departed 4K, I Am Legend 4K, Pan's Labyrinth 4K, The Hangover 4K, A History of Violence HD, Best in Show HD, A.I. Artificial Intelligence HD, Mystic River HD, Ocean's Eleven HD, Letters from Iwo Jima HD) HD/MA $30
24 Hours to Live HD/VU $3.5
355 HD/MA $4.5
48 Hrs HD/VU $6
65 HD/MA $4.5 or SD/MA $2.5
80 for Brady HD/VU $5
976-Evil HD/MA $5.5
A League of Their Own 4K/MA $5.5 or HD/MA $4
A Most Violent Year HD/VU $4.5
A24 Horror 5-Film Collection (X, Green Room, It Comes at Night, Hereditary, Witch) HD/VU $13.5
Addams Family '19 4K/IT $4.5
Addams Family '91 4K/VU $5.5
Afflicted HD/MA $4
Aliens 4K/MA $6.5
Almost Famous 4K/VU $5
American Psycho 4K/VU $5.5
Angels & Demons 4K/MA $6
Anyone But You HD/MA $7.5
Armageddon Time HD/MA $4.5
As Good as it Gets 4K/MA $6
Asteroid City 4K/MA $6.5
Atlantis Milo's Return HD/MA $5 or HD/GP $4.5
Avatar The Way of Water HD/MA $4.5 or HD/GP $4
Avengers 4K/MA $5.5
Back to the Future Trilogy HD/MA $10
Bad Boys 4K/MA $5.5
Bad Guys HD/MA $4.5
Bad Times at the El Royale 4K/MA $6
Banshees of Inisherin HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
Barbie HD/MA $6
Battle for Terra HD/VU $4.5
Beast HD/MA $4.5
Beekeeper 4K/VU $9.5
Beguiled HD/IT $3
Beyond Re-Animator HD/VU $4
Big Chill 4K/MA $5.5
Big Eyes HD/VU $4
Billy Lynn’s Long Half Time Walk HD/MA $4
Black Adam 4K/MA $5.5
Black Phone HD/MA $4
Blockers HD/MA $3.5
Blood Father HD/VU $3
Bloodshot HD/MA $4
Body Double 4K/MA $5.5
Book Club Next Chapter HD/MA $5
Book of Life HD/MA $3.5
Bram Stoker's Dracula 4K/MA $6
Broken Hearts Gallery HD/VU $4.5
Bros HD/MA $4.5
Bullet Train HD/MA $4
Burrowers HD/VU $4
Call Jane HD/VU $4.5
Cannibal Cabin 4K/VU $5
Charlie's Angels '00 4K/MA $5.5
Cheech & Chong's Up in Smoke HD/VU or IT $3.5
Christmas Classics 4-Film Set (Miracle on 34th Street '94, A Christmas Carol '84, Home Alone, Jingle all the Way) HD/MA $12
Cinderella '50 HD/MA $4.5
Cinderella 2 HD/MA $4.5
Cinderella 3 HD/MA $4.5
Cobweb 4K/VU $7.5
Cocaine Bear HD/MA $5
Colossal HD/VU or IT $4
Come to Daddy HD/VU $4.5
Contagion 4K/MA $6.5
Creature from the Black Lagoon '54 HD/MA $3.5 or 4K/IT $4
Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon 4K/MA $6
Counselor HD/MA $4
Da Vinci Code 4K/MA $6
Dagon HD/VU $4
Dark Skies HD/VU $3.5
Dear David 4K/VU $6
Dear White People HD/VU $3.5
Devil's Workshop 4K/VU $5.5
Devil's Workshop HD/VU $4.5
Devotion 4K/VU $6 or HD/VU $4.5
Diary of the Dead HD/VU $4
Dig 4K/VU $5.5
District 9 / Elysium Bundle HD/MA $7.5
Dragon Blade HD/VU $3.5
Dr. Strangelove 4K/MA $5
Dreamland HD/VU $4.5
Dream Scenario HD/VU $7
Dumb Money HD/MA $6
Dune Part 2 HD/MA $9.5
Easy Rider 4K/MA $6
Emperor HD/VU $3.5
Equalizer 3 HD/MA $5.5
Evil Dead '13 4K/MA $5.5 or HD/MA $4
Evil Dead Rise 4K/MA $6 or HD/MA $4.5
Evil Under The Sun HD/VU $4
Exorcist (2-cuts) 4K/VU $6.5
Exorcist Believer 4K/MA $7 or HD/MA $5.5
Expendables 1-3 Set 4K/MA $10 or HD/VU $7
Expendables 1-4 Set 4K/VU $15 or HD/VU $11
F9 Fast Saga (Thea & Ext) HD/MA $4
Fall 4K/VU $6 or HD/VU $4.5
Fast & the Furious 10-film Set HD/MA $25
Fast X HD/MA $5
Feast (Unr) HD/VU $4
Fifth Element 4K/MA $5.5
Fifty Shades 6-Cut Set (Thea & Unr) HD/MA $12
First Purge HD/MA $3.5
Five Nights at Freddy's HD/MA $6
Fool's Paradise HD/VU $6
Force of Nature '20 HD/VU $3.5
Forger HD/VU $3
Freeheld HD/VU $4
Friendsgiving HD/VU $4
Front Runner HD/MA $4
Frozen '10 HD/VU $4
Funny Girl 4K/MA $5.5
Gandhi 4K/MA $5.5
Gateway 4K/VU $5.5
Gattaca 4K/MA $6
Ghostbusters Afterlife HD/MA $4
Ghoulies Go To College HD/VU $3.5
Glory 4K/MA $6
Godfather 3 Coda HD/VU $4
Good Boys HD/MA $3.5
Good House 4K/VU $5.5
Goodnight Mommy HD/VU $4
Goosebumps 2 HD/MA $3
Gran Turismo 4K/MA $7 or HD/MA $5.5
Grease Trilogy HD/VU $9 or 4K/IT $10.5
Green Knight 4K/VU $5
Green Room HD/VU $4
Groundhog Day 4K/MA $5.5
Guess Who's Coming to Dinner 4K/MA $6
Hail, Caesar! HD/VU or IT $2.5
Hammett HD/VU $4
Halloween Ends HD/MA $4.5
Halloween Kills (Ext) HD/MA $4.5
Harriet 4K/MA $6 or HD/MA $4.5
Hex 4K/VU $5.5
High Tension HD/VU $4.5
Hellbenders HD/VU $4
Hellraiser: Judgment HD/VU $4
Home Alone 1 & 2 Set HD/MA $6.5
Hook 4K/MA $6
Hot Tub Time Machine 2 HD/VU $3.5 or 4K/IT $4
Hunger Games Ballad of Songbirds & Snakes HD/VU $6.5
Ice Age Continental Drift HD/MA $3
I, Frankenstein HD/VU or IT $3
I Saw the Light HD/MA $4
Identity Thief HD/IT $3.5
Indiana Jones & the Last Crusade HD/VU $4 or 4K/IT $4.5
If Beale Street Could Talk HD/MA $4
Inhabitant HD/VU $4.5
Insidious The Last Key HD/MA $3.5
Insidious Red Door HD/MA $5
Jay and Silent Bob Reboot HD/VU $3.5
Jerry Maguire 4K/MA $6
Jesus Revolution HD/VU $4.5
John Wick 4 4K/VU $6.5
John Wick 4-Film Collection HD/VU $13
Journey to Bethlehem HD/MA $5.5
Jumanji '95 4K/MA $6
Jungle Book '67 HD/MA $4
Jurassic World 6-film Set HD/MA $18
Kandahar HD/MA $5.5
Karate Kid '84 4K/MA $6
Kiss the Girls 4K/VU $6
Knights of the Zodiac HD/MA $5
Kramer vs Kramer 4K/MA $6
Last Action Hero 4K/MA $5.5
Last Christmas HD/MA $4.5
Last Night in Soho 4K/MA $5.5
Leprechaun 8-Film Set HD/VU $15
Lincoln Lawyer 4K/VU $6
Little Mermaid '23 HD/MA $5
Lost Boys 4K/MA $6
Love Again SD/MA $2.5
Lucky Number Slevin HD/VU $4.5
M3GAN (Thea & Unr) HD/MA $5
Ma '19 HD/MA $4
Madame Web 4K/MA $10 or HD/MA $8.5
Mamma Mia Here We Go Again HD/MA $3
Manodrome HD/VU $5.5
Marsh King's Daughter 4K/VU $5.5
Martyrs HD/VU $4.5
May HD/VU $4
Memories of Murder 4K/MA $6.5
Menu HD/GP $3.5
Meryl Streep 8-Film Set HD/MA $22
MIB International HD/MA $4
Midnight Meat Train (Unr) HD/VU $4
Migration HD/MA $6
Miller's Girl 4K/VU $9.5
Miracle on 34th Street HD/MA $4
Missing HD/MA $5
Mission Impossible Dead Reckoning Pt 1 HD/VU $6
Mist 4K/VU $6.5
Mitchells vs the Machines HD/MA $4.5
Monster High Electrified HD/MA or IT $2.5
Mortal Kombat Legends Cage Match HD/MA $5.5
Mr. Holmes HD/VU $3.5
Mulan '98 HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
My Big Fat Greek Wedding 3 HD/MA $5.5
My Girl 4K/MA $6
National Champions 4K/IT $5
New Mutants HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
Night at the Museum Secret of the Tomb HD/MA $3
Night Swim HD/MA $8
Night Train to Lisbon HD/VU $4
No Good Deed HD/MA $3
No Hard Feelings HD/MA $5.5
Nope HD/MA $4.5
Nun 2 HD/MA $5.5
Ocean's Trilogy 4K/MA $16
Old 4K/MA $6 or HD/MA $4.5
Once Upon a Time in Hollywood HD/MA $3.5
Oppenheimer HD/MA $6
Other Side of the Door HD/MA $4
Out Of The Blue HD/VU $4
Overlord 4K/VU or IT $4.5
Parental Guidance HD/MA $2.5
Parents HD/VU $4
Parasite HD/MA $4
Paw Patrol Mighty Movie HD/VU $6.5
Pet Sematary Bloodlines HD/VU $5.5
Peter Pan Return to Neverland HD/GP $4
Philadelphia 4K/MA $5.5
Pick 1 (Black Christmas '18 4K, Dog's Purpose 4K, Sparks Brothers 4K, Raw, Agnes Bourne, Antz, Being Frank, Loving, Don't Let Go, Kicks, Final Account) HD/MA $4
Pitch Perfect 3 4K/MA $5
Pixels HD/MA $3
Plane 4K/VU $5.5
Poor Things HD/MA $7.5
Pope's Exorcist HD/MA $5
Prey for the Devil 4K/VU $5.5
Priscilla HD/VU $6
Punch-Drunk Love 4K/MA $6.5
Queen & Slim HD/MA $4
Quick & the Dead '95 4K/MA $6
Rambo First Blood HD/VU $4
Rambo First Blood Pt 2 HD/VU $4
Rango HD/VU $3
Real Genius 4K/MA $5.5
Red Rocket HD/VU $4
Red Sparrow HD/MA $3.5
Renfield HD/MA $5.5
Requin HD/VU $4.5
Resident Evil Welcome to Raccoon City HD/MA $4
Robin Hood '73 HD/MA $4
Rosemary's Baby 4K/VU $6.5
Rhythm Section HD/VU $3.5
Ruby Gilman Teenage Kraken HD/MA $5.5
Rudy (Dir Cut) 4K/MA $6.5
Run Lola Run 4K/MA $6.5
Saint Maud HD/VU $4
Samurai Jack Complete Series HD/VU $40
Saw 8-film Set (Unr except Jigsaw) HD/VU $20
Secret Life of Walter Mitty HD/MA $3.5
Shaun of the Dead HD/MA $4 or 4K/IT $4.5
Shrek 6-Film Set (1-4, Musical, Puss in Boots) HD/MA $19
Skiptrace HD/VU $3.5
Scorpion King 4-Film Set (1, 3, 4, Book of Souls) HD/MA $12
Scream 3 4K/VU $5.5
Scream 5 4K/VU $5.5 or HD/VU $4
Scream 6 4K/VU $7 or HD/VU $5.5
Sharktopus HD/VU $3.5
Shazam 2-film Set HD/MA $8
Shazam Fury of the Gods 4K/MA $6 or HD/MA $4.5
She Said HD/MA $4.5
She's the Man HD/VU $3.5
Silver Linings Playbook HD/VU $3 or HD/GP $2.5
Sisu 4K/VU $6
Sixteen Candles HD/MA $3.5 or HD/IT $3.5
Sleepless in Seattle 4K/MA $6
Smile HD/VU $4.5
Social Network 4K/MA $6
Sometimes They Come Back...Again HD/VU $4
Sometimes They Come Back...For More HD/VU $3.5
Sonic the Hedgehog 2 4K/VU $5.5
Spider-Man Across the Spider-Verse 4K/MA $7 or HD/MA $5.5
Split HD/MA $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Spoiler Alert HD/MA $5
Star Trek First Contact 4K/VU $5.5
Star Trek Generations 4K/VU $5.5
Star Trek Insurrection 4K/VU $5.5
Star Trek Nemesis 4K/VU $5.5
Star Wars A New Hope HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
Starship Troopers 4K/MA $6
Step Brothers 4K/MA $6.5
Stillwater HD/MA $4
Studio 666 HD/MA $5
Sum of All Fears 4K/VU $5
Supercell HD/VU $4.5
Super Mario Bros Movie HD/MA $5
Super Troopers 2 HD/MA $3.5
Superfly HD/MA $4
Suspiria (2018) HD/VU $4
T2 Trainspotting 4K/MA $6
Talk to Me 4K/VU $6
Talladega Nights 4K/MA $6.5
Taxi Driver 4K/MA $5.5
Thanksgiving 4K/MA $7.5
The Batman 4K/MA $5.5
The Bay HD/VU $4
The Color Purple '23 4K/MA $8 or HD/MA $6.5
The Descent (Unr) HD/VU $4.5
The Flash HD/MA $5
The Marvels HD/MA $6.5
The Natural 4K/MA $6
The Other Guys 4K/MA $6
The Professional (Ext) 4K/MA $6
The Super '17 HD/VU $4
Ticket to Paradise HD/MA $4.5
Titanic 4K/VU or IT $6 or HD/VU $4.5
Top Gun Maverick HD/VU $4
Toy Story 3 HD/MA $4
Trading Places 4K/VU $6
Transformers Rise of the Beasts 4K/MA $7 or HD/VU $5.5
Trolls 3-Film Collection HD/MA $12
Trolls Band Together HD/MA $6.5
Tusk HD/VU $4.5
Umma HD/MA $4.5
Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent 4K/VU $5
Universal Monsters 4-Film Set 4K/MA $17
V for Vendetta 4K/MA $6.5
Vanilla Sky HD/VU $5.5
Velvet Goldmine HD/VU $4.5
Venture Bros Radiant is the Blood of the Baboon Heart HD/MA $5.5
Violent Night HD/MA $5
Walking Dead Season 9 HD/VU $7
Watchmen Ultimate Cut 4K/MA $7.5
Waxwork 2 HD/VU $3.5
We Summon the Darkness HD/VU $4.5
Welcome to Marwen HD/MA $4.5
Welcome to Monster High HD/MA or IT $3
Whiplash 4K/MA $6 or HD/MA $4.5
Whitney Houston I Wanna Dance w/ Somebody HD/MA $4
Wicker Man 4K/VU $5.5
Wish HD/MA $7
Witch HD/VU $3.5
Woman King 4K/MA $5 or HD/MA $4
Woman Walks Ahead HD/VU $4
You're Next HD/VU $3.5
X-Men 1-4 Set SD/MA $7.5
Zombieland Double Tap HD/MA $4
10 Cloverfield Lane HD/VU $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
101 Dalmatians '61 HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
13 Hours HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
14 Blades HD/VU $3.5
1917 4K/MA $5 or HD/MA $3.5
2 Guns 4K/MA $4 or HD/MA or IT $2.5
21 Jump Street HD/MA $3
22 Jump Street HD/MA $3.5
3 Extremes HD/VU $4
3 From Hell (Unr) 4K/VU $4 or HD/VU $2.5
3:10 to Yuma 4K/VU $5
31 HD/VU $2.5
47 Meters Down HD/IT $3.5
47 Meters Down Uncaged 4K/VU $4.5 or HD/VU $3
47 Ronin HD/MA $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
600 Miles HD/VU $3.5
71 HD/VU $3.5
A Christmas Story 4K/MA $6
A Dog's Purpose HD/IT $3
A Good Day to Die Hard (Ext) HD/VU $2.5
A Journal For Jordan HD/MA $4
A Quiet Place HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
A Walk Among the Tombstones HD/IT $3.5
A Wrinkle in Time HD/MA $3 or HD/GP $2.5
A.C.O.D. HD/VU or IT $3.5
Abominable 4K/MA $5.5 or HD/MA $4
About Last Night HD/MA $3
Action Point HD/IT $2
Ad Astra HD/MA $4
Adaptation 4K/MA $6
Adrift HD/IT $3.5
Adverse 4K/VU $5
After Earth HD/MA $3
Aftermath HD/VU $3
Air Force One 4K/MA $6
Aladdin ‘19 HD/MA $3 or HD/GP $2.5
Aladdin ‘92 HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Alien HD/MA $4
Alien Covenant HD/MA $2.5
Alfred Hitchcock 4-Film Set Vol 1 4K/MA $18
Alfred Hitchcock 5-Film Set Vol 2 4K/MA $21
Alien 6-film Set HD/MA $16
Alita Battle Angel 4K/MA $5 or HD/MA $3.5
All Eyez on Me HD/VU or IT $3
All is Lost HD/VU $3.5
All the Money in the World HD/MA $3.5
Allied HD/VU or IT $3.5
Almost Christmas HD/MA or IT $3
Amazing Spider-Man 2 HD/MA $3.5 or SD/MA $1.5
Amazing Spider-Man HD/MA $3.5 or SD/MA $1.5
American Assassin 4K/VU $4.5 or HD/VU $3
American Hustle HD/MA $3.5
American Reunion HD/VU or IT $3
American Ultra HD/VU or IT $4
American Underdog 4K/VU $5.5 or HD/VU $4
Anatomy of a Murder 4K/MA $5
Anchorman 2 HD/VU or IT $2.5
Angel Has Fallen 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Angel Heart 4K/VU $5.5
Angel of Mine 4K/VU $5.5
Angry Birds Movie HD/MA $3.5
Anna Karenina HD/IT $3.5
Annie ‘14 HD/MA $3.5
Annihilation HD/VU $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Antebellum 4K/VU $5
Antlers HD/GP $3
Ant-Man & the Wasp HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Ant-Man HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
Apache Junction HD/VU $3.5
Apollo 13 4K/MA or IT $5 or HD/MA $3.5
Arctic HD/MA $4
Arrival HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
Art of Self-Defense HD/MA $4
Ash vs Evil Dead S.3 HD/VU $5
Assassination Nation HD/MA $3.5
Assassin's Creed HD/MA $3
Assignment HD/VU $4
Atomic Blonde 4K/MA or IT $4.5 or HD/MA $3
August Osage County HD/VU $3
Avengers Age of Ultron HD/GP $3
Avengers Endgame HD/MA $2.5 or HD/GP $2
Avengers Infinity War 4K/MA $4 or HD/MA $2.5 or HD/GP $2
Baby Driver HD/MA $4
Backdraft 4K/IT $5.5
Bad Grandpa HD/VU or IT $2.5
Bad Words HD/MA or IT $3
Bandslam HD/VU $4
Bank Job HD/VU $3.5
Barb & Star go to Vista Del Mar HD/VU $4
Barbie & Her Sisters in the Great Puppy Adventure HD/IT $3.5
Bart Got a Room HD/VU $4
Battle Royale HD/VU $4.5
Battleship 4K/MA or IT $4.5 or HD/MA $3
Baywatch HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
Beauty & the Beast ‘17 HD/MA $2.5 or HD/GP $2
Beauty & the Beast ‘91 HD/GP $3
Bedknobs & Broomsticks HD/GP $3.5
Before I Fall HD/VU or IT $3.5
Begin Again HD/VU $3.5
Beiruit HD/MA $3.5
Belly 4K/VU $5.5
Ben-Hur ‘16 HD/VU $3.5
Between Worlds HD/VU $3.5
Big Hero 6 4K/MA $5 or HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Big Lebowski 4K/MA or IT $5.5
Big Short HD/VU $3.5
Big Wedding HD/VU or IT $3
Billy Elliot HD/MA or IT $4
Birdman HD/MA $4
Black & Blue HD/MA $4
Black Christmas '19 HD/MA $4.5
Black Panther 4K/MA $4.5 or HD/GP $2.5
Black Panther Wakanda Forever HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
BlackKklansman HD/MA $4.5
Blacklight HD/MA $4
Black Widow HD/GP $3
Blackhat HD/IT $3.5
Blair Witch Project ‘99 HD/VU $4
Bleeding Steel HD/VU $3.5
Blindspotting 4K/VU $5.5 or HD/VU $4
Blood Money ‘17 HD/VU $3.5
Blood Ties HD/VU $3.5
Blue Jasmine HD/MA $3.5
Blue Ruin HD/VU $4
Blues Brothers HD/MA $4 or 4K/IT $4.5
Bob's Burgers Movie HD/GP $3
Body Cam HD/VU $4
Bohemian Rhapsody 4K/MA $5 or HD/MA $3.5
Bombshell 4K/VU $5
Book Club HD/VU or IT $2.5
Book of Life HD/MA $3.5
Boss Baby HD/MA $2.5
Bourne Identity 4K/IT $5 or HD/MA $3.5
Bourne Legacy HD/VU $2 or 4K/IT $2.5
Bourne Supremacy HD/MA $3.5 or 4K/IT $4
Bourne Ultimatum 4K/MA or IT $5 or HD/MA $3.5
Boy ‘16 HD/IT $3.5
Boy & the World HD/IT $3.5
Boyhood HD/VU or IT $2.5
Braven HD/VU $4
Breakfast Club HD/MA or IT $4
Breakthrough HD/MA $3
Brian Banks HD/MA $3
Bridge of Spies HD/GP $3.5
Brothers Bloom HD/VU $4.5
Bumblebee 4K/VU or IT $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Butler HD/VU $3
Cabin in the Woods HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
Cake HD/MA $4
Call of Wild 4K/MA $4.5 or HD/MA $3 or HD/GP $2.5
Calvary HD/MA $4
Candyman '20 4K/MA $6 or HD/MA $4.5
Candyman 3 HD/VU $4
Captain America Civil War HD/GP $2.5
Captain America First Avenger HD/GP $3.5
Captain America Winter Soldier HD/GP $3.5
Captain Marvel 4K/MA $4 or HD/MA $2.5 or HD/GP $2
Captain Phillips HD/MA $3.5
Captain Underpants First Epic Movie HD/MA $2.5
Carol HD/VU $4
Cars 3 HD/GP $2.5
Casablanca 4K/MA $5.5
Case for Christ HD/MA or IT $2.5
Casper HD/IT $4
Celebrating Mickey HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Chaos Walking 4K/VU $5
Chappaquiddick HD/VU $4
Chasing Mavericks HD/MA $3.5
Chicago HD/VU $4
Child 44 HD/VU $4
Children ‘08 HD/VU $4
Christopher Robin HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
Chronicles of Riddick HD/IT $4
Clerks 3 4K/VU $4.5
Clifford the Big Red Dog HD/VU $4
Cloverfield 4K/VU $5.5 or HD/VU $4
Coco HD/GP $2.5
Cold Pursuit 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Collection HD/VU $3.5
Collide ‘17 HD/VU or IT $2.5
Colma The Musical HD/VU $4
Colombiana (Unr) HD/MA $4
Colony 4K/VU $5
Come & Find Me HD/VU $4
Commuter 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Company of Heroes HD/MA $4
Conan the Barbarian ‘11 4K/VU $5
Conspirator HD/VU $4
Contraband HD/IT $3
Contractor HD/VU $4.5
Cooler HD/VU $4
Cool Hand Luke 4K/MA $5.5
Cooties HD/VU $4
Cotton Club Encore 4K/VU $5.5
Countdown ‘16 HD/VU $3.5
Courier 4K/VU $5.5 or HD/VU $4
Craft Legacy HD/MA $4.5
Criminal HD/VU or IT $3
Croods HD/VU $3.5
Cruella HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Crypto 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Daddy's Home HD/IT $2.5
Daddy's Home 2 HD/VU or IT $3
Damsel HD/VU $4.5
Dangerous 4K/VU $4.5 or HD/VU $3
Danny Collins HD/IT $3.5
Dark Crimes HD/VU $4
Darkest Minds HD/MA $4
Dark Places HD/VU $4
Dark Tower HD/MA $3.5
Darkest Hour ‘17 4K/MA $5 or HD/MA $3.5
Dawn of the Planet of the Apes HD/MA $3.5
Deadpool 2 (w/Super Duper Cut) HD/MA $4
Deadpool HD/MA $2.5
Death of Me HD/VU $4
Death on the Nile HD/GP $3
Death Wish '18 HD/VU $3
Deepwater Horizon HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
Deliver Us From Evil HD/MA $3.5
Dentist 2-Film Set HD/VU $7
Despicable Me 2 HD/VU $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Despicable Me 3 4K/MA or IT $4.5
Despicable Me 4K/MA or IT $4.5
Detroit HD/MA $3.5
Devil Inside HD/VU $3.5
Devil's Due HD/MA $3.5
Die Hard HD/MA $3.5
Die Hard 5-film Set HD/MA $18
Die in a Gunfight 4K/VU $5
Dilemma HD/VU $3.5
Dirty Dancing 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Disney Animated Short Films Set HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Disneynature Monkey Kingdom HD/MA $3
Django Unchained HD/VU $3
Doctor Strange HD/MA $3 or HD/GP $2.5
Doctor Strange Multiverse of Madness HD/GP $3
Dolittle HD/MA $3.5
Dom Hemingway HD/MA $3.5
Don Verdean HD/VU $4.5
Doorman HD/VU $3.5
Doors 4K/VU $5.5 or HD/VU $4
Downsizing HD/VU $2 or 4K/IT $2.5
Downton Abbey A New Era HD/MA $4
Downton Abbey The Movie HD/MA $3.5
Draft Day HD/IT $3.5
Dragged Across Concrete HD/VU $3.5
Dragonslayer 4K/VU $5.5
Dream a Little Dream HD/VU $4
Dreamkatcher HD/VU $4
Dreamworks 10-Film HD/MA $25
Dredd 4K/VU $4 or HD/VU $2.5
Dying of the Light HD/VU $2.5
E.T. Extra Terrestrial 4K/MA or IT $5 or HD/MA $3.5
Early Man 4K/VU $5.5
Earth Girls are Easy HD/VU $4
Eddie the Eagle HD/MA $4
Edge of Seventeen HD/IT $3
Edward Scissorhands HD/MA $3.5
El Chicano HD/MA $4
Elysium HD/MA $3.5
Emoji Movie HD/MA $3
Empire of Light HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Empire State HD/VU $3
Encanto 4K/GP $3.5
Enough Said HD/MA $3.5
Enter the Dragon 4K/MA $6
Epic HD/MA $3
Equalizer HD/MA $3.5
Equalizer 2 HD/MA $3.5
Escape From Planet Earth HD/VU $3
Eternals HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Everest HD/MA $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Everything Must Go HD/VU $4
Evil Dead 2 HD/VU $3.5
Ex Machina HD/VU $3
Exodus Gods & Kings HD/MA $3.5
Expired 4K/VU $4.5
Fair Game (Dir) HD/VU $4
Fantastic Four ‘15 HD/MA $4
Fast & Furious 4 4K/MA $5
Fast & the Furious 8-film Set HD/MA $17.5
Fast & the Furious 9-film Set HD/MA $20
Fast Color 4K/VU $5.5
Fatale ‘20 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Fatherhood HD/MA $4
Fault in Our Stars HD/MA $3.5
Fear of Rain 4K/VU $5.5
Fences HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
Ferdinand HD/MA $3.5
Field of Dreams 4K/MA or IT $5.5
Fifty Shades Darker (Unr) HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
Fifty Shades Freed HD/MA $4
Fifty Shades of Grey (Unr) 4K/MA or IT $4
Finding Dory HD/MA $2.5 or HD/GP $2
Finding Nemo HD/GP $3.5
Finest Hours HD/GP $3
Firm 4K/VU $6
First Man HD/MA $4
Flashback ‘20 HD/VU $4
Flight HD/VU or IT $3
Florence Foster Jenkins HD/VU or IT $3
Footloose ‘11 HD/IT $3
Forbidden Kingdom HD/VU $4.5
Ford v Ferrari HD/MA $4
Forest HD/IT $3.5
Forever My Girl HD/IT $3
Fortress HD/VU $3.5
Fortress Sniper's Eye HD/VU $3.5
Fox & the Hound 2 HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
Foxcatcher HD/MA $4
Frank & Lola HD/VU or IT $3
Free Guy HD/GP $3
French Dispatch HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
Friday the 13th 4K/VU $5.5
From Here to Eternity 4K/MA $5.5
Frozen (Sing-Along) HD/MA $2 or HD/GP $1.5
Frozen HD/GP $2
Frozen 2 HD/MA $2.5 or HD/GP $2
Frozen Ground ‘13 HD/VU $3.5
Fury HD/MA $3.5
Future World HD/VU $3.5
G.I. Joe Retaliation HD/VU $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Gambit ‘12 HD/MA $4
Gambler HD/VU or IT $3
Gamer 4K/VU $5.5
Gemini Man 4K/VU or IT $4.5 or HD/VU $3
Get Out 4K/MA or IT $5 or HD/MA $3.5
Ghost in the Shell ‘17 HD/VU $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Ghost in the Shell ‘95 4K/VU $5
Ghost Rider Spirit of Vengeance HD/MA $4
Ghost Team One HD/VU or IT $3.5
Ghostbusters ‘84 HD/MA $3.5
Ghostbusters (Thea & Ext) ‘16 HD/MA $3
Ghostbusters 2 HD/MA $3.5
Gifted HD/MA $3
Girl in Spider's Web HD/MA $4
Girl on Train HD/VU $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Girl w/ All Gifts HD/VU $4
Giver HD/VU $3.5
Glass Castle 4K/VU $5.5
Glass HD/MA $4
God Bless The Broken Road HD/VU $3.5
God's Not Dead 2 HD/MA or IT $2.5
God's Not Dead 3 HD/MA $3
Gods of Egypt HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
Gold ‘16 HD/VU $2.5
Good Dinosaur HD/GP $2.5
Good Kill HD/VU or IT $3.5
Grease 2 HD/VU $4
Great Wall 4K/MA or IT $4.5 or HD/MA $3
Greatest Showman HD/MA $3.5
Green Book HD/MA $4
Grey HD/VU or IT $3
Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 1 HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2 HD/GP $2
Guilt Trip HD/VU or IT $3
Gunman HD/MA or IT $3
Guns of Navarone 4K/MA $5.5
Hacksaw Ridge 4K/VU or IT $4.5 or HD/VU $3
Halloween ‘18 HD/MA $3
Hammer of the Gods HD/VU $2
Hannibal S.1 HD/VU $5
Hansel & Gretel Witch Hunters (Unr) HD/VU or IT $3
Hard Luck Love Song 4K/VU $5.5
Hard Target 2 HD/IT $1.5
Hardcore Henry HD/VU or IT $3.5
Hate U Give HD/MA $4
Hateful Eight HD/VU $3.5
Heat (Director's Cut) ‘95 4K/MA $5.5
Heaven is for Real HD/MA $3.5
Hercules ‘14 HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
Here Comes the Boom HD/MA $3.5
Hereditary HD/VU $3.5
Hidden Figures HD/MA $3
High Note HD/MA $4
Highlander 4K/VU $5.5 or HD/VU $4
Hitchcock '12 HD/MA $4
Hitman Agent 47 HD/MA $3
Hitman's Bodyguard HD/VU $3.5
Hocus Pocus HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Home HD/MA $3
Home Again HD/MA $3
Home Alone 4K/MA $5 or HD/MA $3.5
Homefront HD/MA or IT $3
Homesman HD/VU $3
Honey 2 HD/VU $3
Hostiles 4K/VU $4.5 or HD/VU $3
Hotel Transylvania 3 HD/MA $3.5
Hot Fuzz HD/VU $4
Hotel Mumbai HD/MA $4
Hours ‘13 HD/VU $4
House of 1000 Corpses HD/VU $4
House of Gucci 4K/IT $5.5
House w/ a Clock in Its Walls sHD/MA $4
How to Train Your Dragon 2 HD/MA $2.5
Hugo HD/VU $3
Hunt for Red October 4K/VU $5.5 or HD/VU $4
Huntsman Winter's War (Ext) HD/MA $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
I Can Only Imagine HD/VU $3.5
I Feel Pretty HD/IT $2
Ides of March HD/MA $4
I Know What You Did Last Summer 4K/MA $5.5
Imitation Game HD/VU $3
In a Valley of Violence HD/MA or IT $3
In Secret ‘14 HD/VU $4.5
In the Blood HD/VU $4
Incredibles 2 HD/GP $3
Independence Day ‘96 HD/MA $4
Independence Day Resurgence HD/MA $2.5
Indiana Jones & the Raiders of the Lost Ark 4K/VU or IT $5.5 or HD/VU $4
Indiana Jones & the Temple of Doom 4K/VU or IT $5.5 or HD/VU $4
Indignation HD/VU $4
Indivisible HD/MA $3.5
Inferno HD/MA $3
Initiation 4K/VU $5
Initiation HD/VU $3.5
Internship HD/MA $3
Interstellar 4K/VU or IT $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Interview HD/MA $3.5
Into the Woods HD/MA $3 or HD/GP $2.5
Invisible Man '20 HD/MA $3.5
Invisible Man ‘33 HD/MA $3.5
Iron Man 3 HD/MA $2.5 or HD/GP $2
Iron Man & Hulk Heroes United HD/GP $3.5
Iron Mask ‘19 HD/VU $4.5
It Follows HD/VU $3.5
It's a Wonderful Life HD/VU $3
Jack & Jill HD/MA $3.5
Jack Reacher 4K/IT $4.5
Jack Reacher Never Go Back HD/VU $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Jack Ryan Shadow Recruit 4K/IT $4 or HD/VU $2.5
Jacob's Ladder HD/VU $4
Jane Got a Gun HD/VU $4
Jarhead 3 (Unr) HD/IT $2.5
Jason Bourne HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
Jesus Music HD/VU $3.5
Jexi HD/VU $3.5
Jobs HD/MA or IT $3.5
Joe HD/VU $3.5
Joe Kidd HD/IT $4
John Wick 1 & 2 Bundle HD/VU $4
John Wick 3 Parabellum 4K/VU $4.5
John Wick Chapter 2 HD/VU $3.5 or 4K/IT $4
John Wick HD/VU $2 or 4K/IT $2.5
John Wick Trilogy (Parabellum 4K) HD/VU $9 or all HD/VU $8
Journey to the West Conquering the Demons HD/VU $3.5
Joy HD/MA $3
Judy 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Juliet, Naked 4K/VU $5.5
Jumanji Welcome To The Jungle HD/MA $2.5
Jungle Book ‘16 4K/MA $4.5 or HD/GP $2.5
Jungle Cruise HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
Jurassic Park 3 HD/VU $3.5 or 4K/IT $4
Jurassic Park 4K/MA or IT $5 or HD/MA $3.5
Jurassic World 5-film Set HD/MA $14
Jurassic World Fallen Kingdom 4K/MA $4.5 or HD/MA $3
Jurassic World HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
Justice ‘17 HD/VU or IT $3
Kama Sutra HD/VU $4
Kick-Ass 2 HD/MA $3.5
Kid ‘19 HD/VU $3.5
Kid Who Would Be King 4K/MA $5.5 or HD/MA $4
Kidnap HD/VU or IT $2.5
Kill Zone ‘05 HD/VU $4.5
Killer Elite HD/IT $3
Killing Gunther HD/VU $4
Kin ‘18 4K/VU $4.5 or HD/VU $3
King Kong ‘05 4K/MA or IT $5 or HD/MA $3.5
King of Staten Island HD/MA $4
King's Man HD/GP $3.5
Kingsman The Golden Circle HD/MA $3
Kingsman The Secret Service HD/MA $3.5
Knives Out HD/VU $3.5
Knowing 4K/VU $5.5
La La Land HD/VU $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Labor Day HD/VU or IT $3
Lady Macbeth HD/VU $4.5
Lady of the Manor 4K/VU $5
Lair of White Worm HD/VU $4.5
Lake Mungo HD/VU $4
Lara Croft Tomb Raider 4K/VU $5.5 or HD/VU $4
Last Dragon HD/MA $4.5
Last Duel HD/GP $3.5
Last Exorcism HD/VU $4
Last Knights HD/VU $3.5
Last Man ‘19 HD/VU $4
Last Stand HD/IT $2
Last Vegas HD/VU $3
Last Witch Hunter HD/VU $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Lawrence of Arabia 4K/MA $5.5
Legend of Hercules 4K/IT $3
Legends of Oz Dorothy's Return HD/MA $3.5
Leprechaun 7-film Set HD/VU $12
Let's be Cops HD/MA $3.5
Let Him Go HD/MA $4
Let Me Explain HD/IT $2.5
Life ‘17 HD/MA $3.5
Life of Crime HD/VU $3.5
Life of Pi 4K/MA $5 or HD/MA or IT $3.5
Light of My Life HD/IT $3.5
Lightyear HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Like a Boss HD/VU $3.5
Lilo & Stitch 2 HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
Lion HD/VU $4
Lion King ‘19 4K/MA $4 or HD/GP $2
Lion King ‘94 4K/MA $5 or HD/GP $3
Little HD/MA $3.5
Little Mermaid ‘89 HD/MA $4
Live Free or Die Hard HD/MA $4
Locked Down 4K/MA $5.5
Logan HD/MA $3
Logan Lucky HD/MA $3.5 or /IT $4
Lone Ranger HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Lone Survivor HD/VU $2.5
Longest Ride HD/MA $3
Longest Week HD/VU $3.5
Looper HD/MA $3.5
Lorax HD/MA or IT $3
Lord of War 4K/VU $5.5
Lords of Salem HD/VU $4
Lost World Jurassic Park HD/MA $3.5
Love & Mercy HD/VU $3.5
Love the Coopers HD/VU or IT $4
Love, Simon HD/MA $3.5
Loving HD/VU or IT $3.5
Luca HD/GP $3
Lucy 4K/MA or IT $4.5 or HD/MA $3
Lyle, Lyle Crocodile HD/MA $4.5 or SD/MA $2
Madagascar 3 HD/MA $3
Maggie HD/VU $2.5
Magic Mike's Last Dance HD/MA $4.5
Magnificent Seven ‘16 HD/VU $3
Maleficent HD/MA $2.5 or HD/GP $2
Maleficent Mistress of Evil HD/GP $2.5
Man Who Fell To Earth ‘76 4K/VU $5
Man Who Shot Liberty Vance 4K/VU $5.5
Marauders HD/VU $3.5
Marksman HD/MA $4
Martian HD/MA $3.5
Mary Poppins ‘64 HD/MA $3.5 or ‘64 HD/GP $3
Mary Poppins Returns 4K/MA $4.5 or HD/GP $2.5
Mask of Zorro 4K/MA $6
Mauritanian 4K/IT $5
Max Steel HD/IT $3
Maze Runner HD/MA $3.5
McKenna Shoots for the Stars HD/IT $2
Meatballs HD/VU $4
Megan Leavey HD/VU or IT $3
Memory HD/MA $3.5
Men HD/VU $4
Men in Black 3 HD/MA $3
Men in Black 4K/MA $5.5 or HD/MA $4
MI-5 Spooks '15 HD/VU $4
Mickey & Minnie 10 Classic Shorts HD/GP $4.5
Mid-Century 4K/VU $5
Midnight in the Switchgrass 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Midsommar (CANADA) 4K/IT $3
Midway 4K/VU $4.5 or HD/VU $3
Mile 22 HD/IT $3
Million Dollar Arm HD/GP $2.5
MindGamers HD/MA or IT $3.5
Minions 4K/MA or IT $4.5 or HD/VU $3
Miracles from Heaven HD/MA $3.5
Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children HD/MA $3
Mission Impossible 3 4K/VU $5
Mission Impossible 6-film Set HD/VU $17
Mommy HD/VU $4
Moneyball HD/MA $3
Monster High Electrified HD/IT $2.5
Monster Hunter HD/MA $3.5
Money Monster HD/MA $3.5
Monster Trucks HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
Monsters University HD/GP $3
Monuments Men HD/MA $3.5
Moon 4K/MA $5.5
Morbius HD/MA $4
Morgan HD/MA $4
Mortal Engines 4K/MA $5.5 or HD/MA $4
Mortal HD/VU $4
Mortal Instruments City of Bones HD/MA $3
Mortdecai HD/VU $3.5
Mother! HD/VU $2.5
Mountain Between Us HD/MA $2.5
Mr. Peabody & Sherman HD/MA $3
Mud HD/VU $2.5
Mulan 2 HD/GP $3
Mulan ‘20 4K/MA $4.5 or ‘20 HD/MA $3 or HD/GP $2.5
Mummy ‘17 4K/MA or IT $4.5 or HD/MA $3
Mummy ‘99 HD/MA $3.5
Mummy 4-Film Set (Mummy 1-3, Scorpion King) HD/MA $12
Mummy Trilogy 4K/MA or IT $14 or HD/MA $9 4K/IT
Muppets Most Wanted HD/GP $3
Murder on the Orient Express HD/MA $3.5
My All American HD/MA or IT $3.5
My Best Friend is a Vampire HD/VU $4
National Lampoon's Vacation 4K/MA $5.5
Nebraska HD/VU $3
Need for Speed HD/GP $3.5
Needle in a Timestack 4K/VU $5.5
Nerve HD/VU $3.5
News of the World HD/MA $4
Night at the Museum Trilogy HD/MA $11
Night House HD/MA $4.5 or HD/GP $4
Nightmare Alley HD/GP $3.5
Nightmare Before Christmas 4K/MA $5.5 or HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
No Time to Die 4K/IT $4.5
Noah HD/VU or IT $2.5
Nobody's Fool HD/IT $2.5
Non-Stop HD/VU or IT $3
Norm of the North HD/VU $2.5
Nostalgia ‘18 HD/MA $3.5
Now You See Me 2 4K/IT $4
Now You See Me HD/VU or IT $2.5 or SD/VU $1
Nut Job 2 HD/IT $2.5
Nut Job HD/IT $2.5
Nutcracker & Four Realms HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Oblivion 4K/MA or IT $5 or HD/MA $3.5
Occupation ‘18 HD/VU $3.5
Occupation Rainfall HD/VU $4
Office Christmas Party 4K/IT $3.5
Olaf's Frozen Adventure HD/GP $3
Oliver! 4K/MA $5
On Chesil Beach HD/MA $4.5
One Ranger HD/VU $4.5
Onward HD/GP $2.5
Open Water 2 Adrift HD/VU $4
Open Water HD/VU $4
Operation Avalanche HD/VU $4
Other Woman HD/MA $3
Ouija HD/MA or IT $3.5
Our Kind of Traitor HD/MA $4
Outlander S.1 Vol 1 HD/VU $5
Overboard ‘18 HD/VU $3.5
Oz the Great & Powerful HD/MA $3 or HD/GP $2.5
Pacific Rim Uprising HD/MA $4
Paddington HD/VU $3.5
Pain & Gain HD/VU or IT $3.5
Paper Towns HD/MA $3
Paradise Highway 4K/VU $5
Paranormal Activity 3 (Ext) HD/VU or IT $3
Paranormal Activity 4 (Unr) HD/VU or IT $2.5
Paranormal Activity Ghost Dimension (Unr) HD/VU or IT $3.5
Paranormal Activity HD/VU $4
Paranormal Activity The Marked Ones HD/VU or IT $3.5
Passengers HD/MA $3.5
Patriot Games 4K/VU $5
Patriot's Day HD/VU $3
Paul Apostle of Christ HD/MA $3
Peanuts Movie HD/MA $3
Penelope HD/VU $4.5
Peppermint HD/IT $3.5
Percy Jackson Sea of Monsters HD/MA $3
Perfect Guy HD/MA $2.5
Perks of Being a Wallflower HD/VU or IT $3 or SD/VU or IT $1
Pet Sematary ‘19 HD/VU $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Pet Sematary ‘89 HD/VU $3.5 or 4K/IT $4
Peter Rabbit HD/MA $3.5
Pete's Dragon ‘16 HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Phantom Thread HD/MA $4
Philomena HD/VU $2.5
Pirates of the Caribbean 5 HD/MA $3 or HD/GP $2.5
Pirates! Band of Misfits HD/MA $3.5
Pitch Perfect 2 4K/MA $4 or HD/MA $2.5
Pitch Perfect HD/MA $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
Pixar Short Films Set Vol. 3 HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Planes Fire & Rescue HD/GP $3
Planes HD/MA $2.5 or HD/GP $2
Planes, Trains & Automobiles 4K/VU $5.5 or HD/VU $4
Playing w/ Fire HD/VU or IT $2.5
Poltergeist ‘82 4K/MA $5.5
Poltergeist (Ext) ‘15 HD/MA $4
Pompeii HD/MA $3.5
Power Rangers ‘17 HD/VU $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Predator ‘18 HD/MA $3
Predator ‘87 HD/MA $4
Pride & Prejudice & Zombies HD/MA $3.5
Primal HD/VU $3.5
Promise HD/MA or IT $3.5
Protege HD/VU $4
Proud Mary HD/MA $3.5
Psycho 4K/MA $5
Pulp Fiction 4K/VU $5.5 or HD/VU $4
Punisher War Zone 4K/VU $5.5
Purge Anarchy HD/MA $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Purge Election Year HD/MA $3.5
Purge 4K/MA or IT $4.5 or HD/MA $3 or
Push 4K/VU $6
Quantum of Solace HD/VU $4.5
Quarry 4K/VU $5
Quartet HD/VU $4
Queen of Katwe HD/GP $2.5
Quiet Ones HD/VU $3.5
Rambo ‘08 HD/VU $4
Rambo 5-film Set HD/VU $18
Rambo Last Blood 4K/VU $4.5 or HD/VU $3
Ran ‘85 4K/VU $5.5
Raya & the Last Dragon HD/MA $3.5
Rear Window 4K/IT $3.5
Rebel Without a Cause 4K/MA $5.5
Reclaim HD/VU $3.5
RED 2 HD/VU $2
Red Dawn ‘12 HD/IT $3
Redline ‘10 HD/VU $4.5
Reign of Assassins HD/VU $4.5
Replicant ‘01 HD/VU $3.5
Replicas HD/VU $3.5
Rescuers Down Under HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
Rescuers HD/MA $4.5 or HD/GP $4
Reservoir Dogs HD/VU $4
Resident Evil Retribution 4K/MA $5 or HD/MA $3.5
Resurrection of Gavin Stone HD/VU or IT $2.5
Retaliation ‘17 HD/VU $4
Revenant 4K/MA $5 or HD/MA $3.5
Ricki & the Flash HD/MA $3
Riddick (Unr) HD/VU or IT $3
Ride Like a Girl HD/VU $4
Right At Your Door HD/VU $4
Right One 4K/VU $5.5
Rings HD/VU or IT $2.5
Rio 2 (Sing-Along) HD/MA $3
Riot HD/VU or IT $3
RIPD HD/IT $2.5
Risen HD/MA $3
Rob Zombie Trilogy (3 From Hell, House of 1000 Corpses, Devil's Rejects) HD/VU $8
Robin Hood ‘18 HD/VU $3
Robocop ‘14 HD/VU $2.5
Rocketman ‘19 HD/VU $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Rocky Horror Picture Show HD/MA $4
Roman J. Israel Esq HD/MA $3
Ron's Gone Wrong HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Room '15 HD/VU $3.5
Rough Night 4K/MA $5 or HD/MA $3.5
Run The Race HD/MA $3
Runner Runner HD/MA $3.5
Rush HD/IT $3
Safe HD/VU or IT $2.5
Same Kind of Different As Me HD/VU or IT $3
Samson HD/MA $3.5
Santa Clause HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Santa Clause 2 HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Santa Clause 3 HD/GP $2.5
Sapphires HD/VU $4
Sausage Party HD/MA $3.5
Saving Mr. Banks HD/GP $3
Saw (Unr) 4K/VU $4.5
Saw 7-film Set (Unr) HD/VU $16
Saw HD/VU $3
Scarface HD/MA $4 or 4K/IT $4.5
Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark 4K/VU $4.5
Schindler's List 4K/MA or IT $5.5 or HD/MA $4
Scream '96 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Scream Trilogy HD/VU $11
Secret Garden ‘20 4K/VU or IT $5.5
Secret in Their Eyes HD/VU or IT $3
Secret Life of Pets 4K/MA or IT $4.5 or HD/MA $3
See No Evil 2 HD/VU $3.5
Selma HD/VU or IT $2.5
Serenity ‘05 4K/MA $5.5 or HD/MA $4
Seriously Red HD/VU $4
Sex Tape HD/MA $3.5
Shack HD/VU or IT $2.5
Shallows HD/MA $3.5
Shang-Chi Legend of the Ten Rings HD/GP $3
Shape of Water HD/MA $3.5
Sherlock Gnomes HD/VU or IT $2.5
Shivers HD/VU $4
Show Dogs HD/MA $3.5
Sicario HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
Sicario Day of the Soldado HD/MA $4
Sicario, Wind River, Hell or High Water HD/VU $7.5
Side Effects HD/IT $3.5
Silencing HD/VU $4
Silent Night, Deadly Night 3-Film Set (3-5 HD/VU $7.5
Silk Road 4K/VU $5
Sing ‘16 HD/MA $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Sing Street HD/VU $4
Sinister HD/VU $3
Sisters (Unr) HD/IT $2.5
Skeleton Twins HD/VU $4
Skyfall HD/VU $2.5
Skyscraper 4K/MA $5 or HD/MA $3.5
Sleeping Beauty ‘59 HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
Sleepless HD/IT $2
Sleepy Hollow 4K/VU $6.5
Slender Man HD/MA $4
Smokey & the Bandit HD/MA $3.5
Smokin' Aces 4K/MA $5.5
Smurfs The Lost Village HD/MA or IT $3
Snitch 4K/IT $3 or HD/VU $2.5 or SD/VU or IT $1
Snow White & the Huntsman (Ext) 4K/VU or IT $4.5 or HD/VU $3
Snow White & the Seven Dwarfs ‘37 4K/MA $6 or HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Snowden HD/MA or IT $3.5
Snowpiercer HD/VU $4.5
Solo A Star Wars Story HD/GP $3
Son of God HD/MA $3
Sonic the Hedgehog 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Soul HD/MA $3 or HD/GP $2.5
Source Code 4K/VU $5.5
Southpaw HD/VU $3
Spartacus HD/MA $3.5
Spectre HD/VU $3.5
Spider-Man 2 (Thea & Ext) HD/MA $4.5
Spider-Man 3 HD/MA $3.5
Spider-Man 4-Cut Set (Spider-Man 2 w/ Thea & Ext) HD/MA $11.5
Spider-Man Far From Home HD/MA $3
Spider-Man Homecoming HD/MA $2.5
Spider-Man Into the Spider-Verse HD/MA $4.5
Spider-Man No Way Home HD/MA $4 or SD/MA $2
Spies in Disguise HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Spinning Man HD/VU $4
Spiral 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Spongebob Sponge out of Water HD/IT $2.5
Spontaneous HD/VU $4.5
Spy Who Dumped Me 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU $3.5
St. Vincent HD/VU $3
Stand Up Guys HD/VU $3.5
Star Trek 3 Search for Spock 4K/VU $5
Star Trek 4 Voyage Home 4K/VU $5
Star Trek Beyond HD/VU $3
Star Trek Into Darkness HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
Star Trek The Motion Picture ‘79 4K/VU $5
Steel Dawn HD/VU $3.5
Still Alice HD/MA $4
Straight Outta Compton (Unr) HD/MA $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Strange World HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
Suburbicon HD/VU $3 or /IT $3.5
Sundown The Vampire in Retreat HD/VU $3.5
Super 8 4K/VU or IT $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Sword in the Stone HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
Taken 2 HD/MA $3.5
Taken 3 (Unr) HD/MA $3.5
Tangled HD/GP $3.5
Ted (Unr) HD/MA or IT $2.5
Teen Spirit ‘19 HD/MA $4
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles ‘14 4K/VU or IT $4.5 or HD/VU $2.5
Terminator 2 Judgment Day (Special) HD/VU $4.5
Terminator 2 Judgment Day 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Terminator Dark Fate 4K/IT $4
Terminator Genisys HD/VU $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Texas Chainsaw ‘13 HD/VU $3.5
Thanks for Sharing HD/VU $4
The Heat HD/MA $3
The Impossible HD/VU $3.5
The Sting 4K/MA $5.5
Think Like a Dog 4K/VU $5
This is the End HD/MA $3.5
Thor Dark World HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
Thor HD/GP $3.5
Thor Love & Thunder HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Thor Ragnarok HD/MA $2.5 or HD/GP $2
Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri HD/MA $3.5
To Kill a Mockingbird HD/MA $3.5
Toll HD/VU $4.5
Tomorrowland HD/GP $3
Top Five HD/IT $3
Top Gun ‘86 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Total Recall ‘90 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Touched w/ Fire HD/VU $4.5
Toy Story HD/GP $3.5
Toy Story 4 HD/GP $2
Training Day 4K/MA $5.5
Transformers Age of Extinction HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
Transformers Dark of the Moon 4K/VU $4.5 or HD/VU $3
Transformers The Last Knight 4K/VU or IT $4 or HD/VU $2.5
Trolls HD/MA $2.5
Trust ‘16 HD/VU $4
Tucker The Man & His Dream 4K/VU $5
Tulip Fever HD/VU $4
Tumbledown HD/VU $4
Turbo HD/MA or IT $3
Turning HD/MA $4
Ugly Dolls 4K/VU or IT $5.5
Unbreakable HD/GP $3.5
Unbroken HD/VU or IT $3
Uncharted 4K/MA $5.5 or HD/MA $4
Uncle Drew HD/VU $3.5
Underworld Awakening HD/MA $3
Underworld Blood Wars HD/MA $3
Untouchables 4K/VU $5.5
Us ‘19 4K/MA $5.5 or HD/MA $4
Valerian & the City of a Thousand Planets HD/VU $3.5
Vampire Academy HD/VU $3.5
Vanishing ‘18 HD/VU $4
Venom HD/MA $3.5
Victoria & Abdul HD/MA $4
Virtuoso 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Vivo HD/MA $4.5
Voices ‘14 HD/VU $4
Voyagers 4K/VU $5
Walk HD/MA $3.5
Walking w/ Dinosaurs HD/MA $3
Wall '17 HD/VU $4
War for the Planet of the Apes HD/MA $3
War of the Worlds ‘53 4K/VU $5.5
War on Everyone HD/VU $4
Warcraft 4K/IT $4.5 or HD/MA $3
Warhunt 4K/VU $4.5
Warm Bodies HD/VU $3 or SD/VU $1.5
Warning HD/VU $4
Watch HD/MA or IT $3.5
Wayne's World HD/VU $4.5
We Die Young HD/VU $3.5
Weekend HD/VU $4
Werewolf The Beast Among Us (Unr) HD/MA or IT $3.5
West Side Story 4K/MA $5 or HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
What Men Want HD/VU $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
What We Did on our Holiday HD/VU $4
When the Game Stands Tall HD/MA $3
Whiskey Tango Foxtrot HD/VU or IT $3
Why Him? HD/MA $3
Widows HD/MA $3.5
Wild Card HD/VU $3
Willow HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
Wilson HD/MA $3.5
Winchester HD/VU $3.5
Winnie the Pooh Springtime w/ Roo HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
Wolf Hound 4K/VU $4.5
Wolf of Wall Street 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU or IT $3.5
Wolverine (Unr) (w/Thea) HD/MA $3.5
Woman in Gold HD/VU $3.5
Won't Back Down HD/MA $3.5
Woodlawn HD/MA or IT $3.5
World War Z HD/VU or IT $2.5
Wraith HD/VU $4
X-Men Apocalypse HD/MA $3
X-Men Days of Future Past HD/MA $3
XXX Return of Xander Cage HD/VU $2 or 4K/IT $2.5
Z for Zachariah HD/VU $4
Zero Dark Thirty HD/MA $3.5
Zeros & Ones HD/VU $4
Zootopia HD/MA $3 or HD/GP $2.5
2024.05.20 14:30 TeaAndCozy Nocturne Alchemy review batch #7: 20 more Nocturne Alchemy reviews
I continue to have the best time exploring my way through Nocturne Alchemy! My previous NAVA reviews are here:
Nocturne Alchemy, sometimes known as "NAVA" from when they combined Nocturne Alchemy and VApothecary, is one of the most expensive houses, and I want to point out that you don't have to buy hundreds of dollars of full-sizes in order to explore their catalog and enjoy their artistry. I owe huge thanks to everyone who has sold or gifted me a decant, sample, or partial bottle. In fact, I have never actually ordered direct from the house myself! My best advice, if you want to explore NAVA, is to include freebie sniffies in your Ajevie order. When you check out, there's a text box in which you can ask for NAVAs specifically, and if they're available, they'll send you empty full-sizes! There's almost always still enough left to try, and it's been a great (and fantastically cost-effective) way for me to experience so many of NAVA's perfumes. You don't get to pick what you get, of course, but that in itself has been useful because it has allowed me to try a wide range of NAVA's notes, including some things I wouldn't have picked for myself (as you can see in a few of the reviews below). And then I can include these "empty" bottles as freebies when people order from my own destash - always great to spread the love!
Since folks keep saying it's helpful, I'll recopy my "basics of the NAVA collections" information. NAVA sells three categories of things:
submitted by TeaAndCozy to Indiemakeupandmore [link] [comments]
- Batch #1, my favorites including Alchemist Chamomile, Cardamom Musk, Afternoon Tea Cat, and Eternal Ankh Snow
- Batch #2, my favorites including Honeysuckle Crystalline, Snowy Woolly, and Love & Otters
- Batch #3, my favorites including Crystalline #8 and #9, Eternal Ankh Violet, Butterfly Orange and Butterfly Yellow, Tea Rex, and Peter
- Batch #4, my favorites including Spring '23 Musk, Mourning Tea, Aset's Frangipani Sandalwood, Eternal Ankh Rose de Mai, and Eternal Ankh Summer
- Batch #5, my favorites including Eternal Tut Ankh Amun, Eternal Ankh Labradorite, Masquerade RA, and V by Thoth
- Batch #6, my favorites including Sandalwood Musk, Tibetan Crystalline, and Incense Chai
Nocturne Alchemy, sometimes known as "NAVA" from when they combined Nocturne Alchemy and VApothecary, is one of the most expensive houses, and I want to point out that you don't have to buy hundreds of dollars of full-sizes in order to explore their catalog and enjoy their artistry. I owe huge thanks to everyone who has sold or gifted me a decant, sample, or partial bottle. In fact, I have never actually ordered direct from the house myself! My best advice, if you want to explore NAVA, is to include freebie sniffies in your Ajevie order. When you check out, there's a text box in which you can ask for NAVAs specifically, and if they're available, they'll send you empty full-sizes! There's almost always still enough left to try, and it's been a great (and fantastically cost-effective) way for me to experience so many of NAVA's perfumes. You don't get to pick what you get, of course, but that in itself has been useful because it has allowed me to try a wide range of NAVA's notes, including some things I wouldn't have picked for myself (as you can see in a few of the reviews below). And then I can include these "empty" bottles as freebies when people order from my own destash - always great to spread the love!
Since folks keep saying it's helpful, I'll recopy my "basics of the NAVA collections" information. NAVA sells three categories of things:
- The Permanent Collection are those scents they always keep around. PC scents are available in small 2-mls (which range in price from $11.50 to $12.50) in addition to the larger full-size bottles. (This is useful because if you're placing an Ajevie order during a NAVA pre-order window, you can get PCs as reasonably affordable add-ons - this is a great way to try some of the most beloved NAVA scents.) Unfortunately, the vanillas are not PCs...
- Which brings us to the second category: Studio Limited scents. SL scents are basically permanent as far as I can tell, but they are not offered in 2-ml small sizes. This is troublesome when you're a newbie NAVA fan trying to learn your way around this house but not spend too much money. Ajevie will occasionally decant SL scents, but only when NAVA adds new ones to a given SL collection. Otherwise, you have to buy full-sizes, or seek a friendly decanter. This is where to find the famous "Vanilla Haven" and "Musk Haven" collections. u/anathemas has tried and reviewed a LOT of the musks (bless you!). u/araelykin of Arae Decantery is working on getting a lot of the Studio Limited scents, especially the Musk Haven, in stock as decants, and already has quite a few available for order.
- The third category is the one that seems to turn a lot of people off from this house: the Limited Edition collections. NAVA is a house that runs on FOMO (fear of missing out). Seasonally throughout the year (Valentines, spring, summer, Halloween, holiday, and so on), NAVA releases a giant Limited Edition collection that is made up of two parts. First, the new scents that year; second, the "Resurgence" scents, which are (most of) the scents newly introduced in the previous year. Thus, a given LE perfume is likely to be around for exactly two years, no more: the first year it appears, and the next year when it's a Resurgence. You can find a fantastically useful archive of NAVA LEs HERE (I refer to that handy website all the time!). On the one hand, this is a decent model because you can theoretically sample in the first year (from Ajevie or Arae, or for much faster shipping since they only deal with NAVA, Crypta Obscura; or by seeking decants/samples from this community a few months later) and then buy more the next year if you love it. The NAVA Facebook group contains really useful review roundup posts if you're wondering what folks think of any of these LE scents. On the other hand, this sales model absolutely encourages a spirit of frantic buying to stave off FOMO. ("Oh no, this is its second year, the scent will be gone forever, I must buy more than I'll ever actually realistically use!") The best advice I've heard is not to worry: NAVA recycles basic combinations a lot, so if you miss a particular perfume, chances are something similar will come around within a couple of years.
Permanent Collection
"Bastet's Garden" collection- Frangipani Egyptian Musk [Egyptian Frangipani, Egyptian Jasmine, Egyptian Lilac, Italian Bergamot, Irish Plumeria resting gently in a bath of exquisite original Studio Limited - Egyptian Musk] - I really do adore NAVA's frangipani, but here it's wildly overpowered by the Egyptian musk. Egyptian musk always smells to me like a slightly salty skin musk (but a really strong one, not skin-hugging) that has been made golden, almost caramelized. To me, it goes really well with autumnal scents - resins, incense, spices; I especially like the use of Egyptian musk in Nui Cobalt Ailurophilia [Egyptian musk, tonka, and dulce de leche wrapped in luxuriant cashmere, soft suede, wisps of sandalwood and copal smoke] - but this is my first time trying it in a floral perfume, and perhaps my skin just amps it, because here it is too much. There's an undercurrent of velvety white florals, but this one feels unbalanced - as a Bastet's Garden, I wanted it to be florals foremost, with Egyptian musk in the background. This would be much more successful for me with Bastet's Musk instead.
- White Pear Crystalline [Egyptian White Pear Accord, African Mandarin Essence, a quiet drop of Vanilla of Crystalline and Vanilla of Moonstone] (Note - mine is the old version, not the reformulated 2024 version) - It's named "Crystalline," but it's thicker and richer with touches of vanilla frosting, so coming back to the notes list I wasn't surprised at all to see Moonstone also listed. The pear is soft and fruity and a bit fantasy rather than realistic, and I could swear I get a touch of rose petal as well.
- Artemisia [White Musk, Skin Musk, Bastet's Musk, Tibetan Musk, Vetiver essence, Nevada Sage, Benzoin, Fresh Dirt accord, Vanilla, Dragon’s Blood Incense resin] - This is a remarkably tame, soft and gentle dragon's blood. The whole scent is quiet and velvety, mostly pillowy skin musk with Tibetan incense and dragon's blood incense in the background. The dirt feels more "light grey ash" than "dirty".
- Dionysus [Teak Wood, Mahogany Wood, Honey & Almond accord, Heliotrope, White Musk, Dragon’s Blood resin, eNVie ambre saphir] - A soft, powdery dragon's blood (I honestly didn't know that was possible! Dragon's blood usually hits me over the face) plus a honeyed almond that reminds me really strongly of Nui Cobalt's, Silver Fox [White tea with honey and rice milk, almond macaron, soft grey cashmere and cool woodland musk] in particular, over a base of white musk and powdery heliotrope (which are definitely doing a lot to soften the dragon's blood). As it dries, the dragon's blood does come out more strongly - definitely not for me. If I must do NAVA dragon's blood, I liked Selene more than this one.
- Selene [Dragon Blood Incense, French Vanilla, Vanilla Fleck (and sifted) of Tahiti, White Pepper, Crystal and Egyptian Musks, Dragon's Blood Tears (resin), and aged Moonstone Vanilla] - My blind guesses, not remembering any of the notes list, were lunar musk, ash, and non-gourmand vanilla. It's a very calm, ever so slightly soapy scent, and has very much a lunar effect. Now that I'm seeing the notes list, I can definitely make out the white pepper, which adds just a bit of ashy bite to the vanilla (like in Arcana Haint). And yes, I can now identify the dragon's blood, but it's the calmest, most serene dragon's blood I've ever encountered.
Studio Limited
Originals- Pink Quartz [Pink Vanilla Blossom, Crystalline, Crimson Egyptian Musk, Bastet’s White Amber Absolute, and a minimal drop of aged Oak] - This sugary pink floral-vanilla musk isn't a bad substitute for Eternal Ankh Pink [White Amber Absolute, Powdered and reconstructed oil of Egyptian Vanilla Husk, Vanilla fleck, African White Vanilla Absolute, Amber Resin, Bastet’s Amber, Pink Sugar and a touch of Crimson Musk] if you can't find the latter. Pink Quartz has more of that fruity warm Crimson red musk than EA Pink does, which (alas, because it's hard to find - I myself have only ever managed to find a half-ml decant) means that I do prefer EA Pink over Pink Quartz. Husband's reaction: "ooh, very nice!" It dries down to a whole lotta Crimson, and at this point I washed it off because I'm here for the vanilla-floral, not the red musk.
- Indigo/Crystalline [Indigo: Words to visualize with this perfume oil are 'heavenly,' 'purple,' 'peaceful,' 'ethereal,' and 'grounding'; imported African Musk. Crystalline: A thick viscous Vanilla that comes on soft and subtle creates a cacophony of a beautiful cloud of vanilla purity. It is not a food vanilla, but one that makes you feel at peace, tranquil, and right with the world. Crystalline, named in 2009 - for the signature Vanilla scent it creates, is one solid scent of uplifting Vanilla from the stigma of a Vanilla Orchid, especially for this perfume. Wear alone or layered with most any NA perfume from our site. Crystalline is composed of a supple skin musk to lift the vanilla note. Crystalline is a naturally occurring viscous perfume oil due to its vanilla components.] - It's heavenly, ethereal, restful, peaceful, all right, a soft velvet purple haze…but alas, there's something ever so slightly too animalic at close range, that Indigo musk too sheepy or b.o-ish for me to really relax into this scent. I do love the way NAVA blends Crystalline into other things, it's such a wonderful base.
Limited Edition
Eternal Ankh Colors & Gems- Eternal Ankh Pearl [Crystalline Absolute, aged Bastet Amber Absolute, Heliotrope EO, Siberian Rhododendron EO, White Amber Absolute, Powdered and reconstructed oil of Egyptian Vanilla Husk, Vanilla fleck and Vanilla bean] - I'm in love! It's a baby powder-ish, delicate and ethereal white floral. Is this what rhododendrons smell like? If so, I want one! "Pearl" is exactly the right description for this shimmery white scent. Those florals float on a cloud of Eternal Ankh - of all the EA Colors and Gems I've tried, this one has the strongest proportion of the original EA vanilla with its slightly sandy quality. If this ever comes back around from the house, I would absolutely FS this; it's absolutely glorious. It also has pretty astonishing longevity for such a delicate scent, lasting basically the entire day on me.
- Blueberry Musk [Bastet’s Musk absolute (Tuberose, Mallow, Angelica, Musk Flower, and White Lily), Blueberry essence, Snow Blueberry accord, Bastet’s Amber absolute, eNVie saphir absolute, and Blueberry Mallow essence accord] - It goes on as artificial, over-sweet candied blueberries, but within a few minutes the blueberry calms down and the soft luscious vague white floral blanket of the Bastet's Musk kicks in, and it because just incredibly velvety and pretty, a blueberry-floral-musk. I had thought perhaps this would be best as a layering note, but to my surprise I'm finding I enjoy it quite enough all on its own! Longevity isn't great, but I never expected it to be, and lasting about three hours, it's actually slightly longer than I thought it would be. And it's awfully pretty!
- Raspberry Musk [Bastet’s Musk absolute (Tuberose, Mallow, Angelica, Musk Flower, and White Lily), Wild Transylvanian Raspberry accord, Raspberry skin accord, Crystalline (Studio Limited Vanilla) absolute, Bastet’s Amber absolute, eNVie saphir, Bastet’s Ice Cream Essence] - A fairly realistic raspberry - tart and sweet, juicy but also with a hint of bitter greenery - paired with the soft velvety white florals of Bastet's Musk. I don't get any amber or ice cream; my nose is simply reading them as part of the Bastet's Musk background, if at all. I don't wear raspberry perfumes much (and this is very much a raspberry single-note) so I'll try it alongside my Poesie Fan Dance [Sugar-dusted tart raspberries, vanilla bean, and powder-white skin] this summer and see which one I want to keep because I don't think I need both.
- Dream Musk [Blue Chamomile Paste extraction, Bulgarian and Moroccan Rose blend, Jasmine, Ylang Ylang, Sandalwood, Lavender, French Lavender, Cola root extract, Cola accord, Caramel, Frangipani, and Bastet’s Musk absolute] - I love NAVA's blue chamomile note, and I'm coming to realize how much I love their seasonal musks, so this one was kind of an automatic purchase for me. The cola note in the description took me aback, a bit, but I figured it was still very much worth a try! And as expected, this one is gorgeous. Any mix of florals from NAVA, even those that contain jasmine (usually a note I steer clear of), tend to be astonishingly velvety, soft and plush, and super luxurious-feeling, with great longevity, and this is no exception! Here in Dream Musk, blue chamomile is at the fore of the otherwise well-blended florals. And yes indeed, there's a definite cola note, especially when wet - but it really kind of works and makes this a much more cold-weather scent when it could otherwise definitely be extremely springtime. Dry, the cola reads more like an undertone of frankincense, which grounds the florals in a really lovely way.
- Parisian Musk [Lily of the Valley accord, Muguet Musk accord, eNVie saphir absolute, Honeysuckle extraction, Honeysuckle sugar accord, Bastet’s Musk absolute and White Musk] - Super unique in NAVA's catalog? No - but gorgeous as always! NAVA has the most wonderful soft velvety florals, and to my great delight this one features the honeysuckle prominently. There's nothing sharp or loud about this scent - though the perfume itself has great throw and longevity, the florals are feathery and glossy, with the slight lime-ish quality I always get from honeysuckle. The Bastet's Musk helps keep them soft and delicate, and the Saphir, barely noticeable, grounds them so that the floral scent has depth, richness, and longevity. Parisian Musk is closer to Masquerade RA [Honeysuckle Nectar accord, SLO Egyptian Musk, Veil Vanilla Bean Absolute, eNVie saphir Absolute, Amber Resin, and Bastet’s Musk Absolute] )though it has a LOT less amber) than it is to Eternal Ankh Labradorite [White Amber light, Powdered and reconstructed oil of Egyptian Vanilla Husk, Vanilla fleck, enfleurage of South American Honeysuckle (Lonicera japonica), gorgeous Crystalline Absolute infused Bastet's Amber Absolute blend and a drop of pure Egyptian Honeysuckle and Peony Extract], which has more vanilla and white amber, but if you missed EA Labradorite and are looking for another really fabulous NAVA honeysuckle, this one is a phenomenal choice. The first time I tried Parisian Musk, I liked it but wasn't wowed, but honestly I haven't been able to keep away from it ever since. It has definitely become one of my top-favorite NAVAs!
- Crystalline #10 [Toasted Coconut, Coconut Pulp, Caramelized Sugar, Tonka, Coconut Milk, Bastet’s Musk, eNVie saphir, Crystalline (Studio Limited Originals)] - Sweetened coconut. It's simple yet gorgeous. The sugary note helps it avoid sunscreen status, and there's something really light and refreshing about this one. Longevity is not great though.
- Amber Cotton Candy & Honey Bee [Fossilized Amber accord, Bastet’s Amber absolute, Labdanum, Patchouli, Sandalwood, Cedar Chips, Cotton Candy accord, Vanilla-sugar, Whipped Orange Blossom Honey accord, Languid Amber Cordial accord (rich PC Ozymandias amber absolute), French Vanilla, Caramel and Raspberry Essence] - I don't buy NAVA's Bees because their honey doesn't work on me - their orange blossom honey is quite cloying, sickly sweet, and a bit urinous on me. This was a freebie sniffie bottle from Ajevie, which I still tried because it's always fun to try new things, and because (having experienced the orange blossom honey before) I figured I could overlook the honey to evaluate the other notes. This amber definitely has a thick, syrupy quality to it - I get almost a whiff of their limestone accord - and it's heavy on the labdanum. The pink spun-sugar cotton candy note amps the already quite sweet honey note. I also, to my surprise, actually can make out a touch of tart juicy raspbery - but not any patchouli.
- Dia de los Muertos - Fuego [Black Cardamom, Wood Ember accord, Smoke, Mexican Wedding Cake accord (ground almonds, powdered sugar, and sugared butter) and the perfume of Horchata; a drink made from ground up rice along with sweet cinnamon sugar infused with almond milk and blended into Studio Limited Vanilla, Crystal. Horchata - (light spices of clove, nutmeg, allspice and cinnamon)] - I can't get past the thick, cloying ember smoke, which sticks in my throat and leans barbeque-y. If I sort of hold my breath and sniff, yes, I can get some underlying cardamom and baked-good sweetness, but oh my gosh I can't handle the smoke. Husband sniffed my wrist and pointed out curry powder, which I can totally see. He laughed and said he kind of likes it!
- Eclipse Ambrosia [Sugared Summer White Tuberose, Velvet Jasmine, Sugared Ylang Ylang, Vanilla Custard Crème accord, Tonka Bean absolute, Labdanum, Benzoin, Eternal Ankh Vanilla absolute, Moonstone absolute and African Vanilla] - Huh, there's no coconut listed, but the first note I get Is delicate white coconut flesh, followed by a gentle pink tuberose. This is a very feminine, softly floral scent with a tropical flair. I like it - and it's further evidence that I don't need to be nervous when I see jasmine or ylang ylang listed for a NAVA perfume - but I don't love it so much that I'll seek out more after this sniffie.
- Crystalline Rose de Mai [Our much-loved Crystalline Studio Limited aged to perfection for this particular blend of Vanilla from the stigma of a Vanilla Orchid, Vanilla Bean extract, Bastet’s Musk blended into the special Rose de Mai perfume oil blend] - Sugared rose petals, sweet and pink and absolutely lovely. I really do get sugar crystals alongside the rose (and not, as I expected, immediately recognizable Crystalline vanilla). This is such a delicate and dainty scent, though sweet enough that it also feels quite girlish and youthful. It reminds me of Wylde Ivy's Love Note collection, all sugar and floral and femininity, and also of Death & Floral Macarons & Roses [Sugared rose macarons with a light raspberry and strawberry cream filling]. However, Crystalline Rose de Mai is really too sweet for me, and I found myself always reaching for Eternal Ankh Rose de Mai instead, so I destashed this one.
- Whale Totem [Copaiba Balsam, Amber Incense, Musk Incense, drop of Ambergris accord (vegan) and Bastet’s Amber Absolute] - I absolutely see why everyone raves about this - it's ethereal, alluring, captivating, the best kind of my-skin-but-better scent. For me it's a multifaceted grey musk, white amber plus a delicately dirty, slightly salty musk. It is totally work-appropriate but also totally unique. And as much as I appreciate its beauty, and see why everyone loves it, it's also not quite my thing - I don't think its gossamer "dirtiness" suits my general persona or wardrobe. I suspect I'd always reach for a white amber or a silk note (now that I think about it, this is very similar conceptually to Arcana Moth-Like Stars [Creamy white amber, elegant cashmere, soft silk voile, salty Ambroxan, and diaphanous musk], which I love) before I'd reach for this. I'm truly delighted to have had the chance to try this, and I was also happy to pass it along to someone seeking it.
- Orchid Yellow [Kobalt Vanilla SL Absolute, Dogwood accord, Sweet Egyptian Musk, Plumeria and Cyclamen] - First and foremost is the dogwood, an extremely musky that truly reads to my nose more like a dirty, earthy cottonseed than a floral. I'm not opposed to dogwood - I love it in Nui Cobalt Robin's Egg [Dainty forget-me-nots and lily of the valley, a dollop of whipped blueberry creme, and a cozy birch nest tucked into a flowering dogwood tree] - but here it's too strong and makes the perfume unbalanced. Along with the musky dogwood I get lime soda, with a very distinct fizzy note. Apparently cyclamen can be quite aldehydic, so that's probably where the fizz comes from. Meanwhile, I adore NAVA's plumeria, but I really don't get any of that intoxicating while floral here, except for the lime overtone I associate with plumeria. Orchid Yellow is a swing and a miss for me, unfortunately.
- Cardamom & Coconut Milk [Beautiful pure Sri Lanka Cardamom essential oil bathed in creamy California coconut milk, an ember of coconut husk smoke, Indonesian Vanilla bean with natural hints of caramel and chocolate notes] - Oh this is absolutely lovely - not too foodie, artificial, or sweet! Just a very vanilla-ish coconut milk that highlights the cardamom so well. This cardamom also feels spicier, more like Poesie's than most of NAVA's cardamom notes which feel a little musty and disappear quickly. (The cardamom does recede within about an hour, but unlike some - looking at you, Meditating Raccoon - Cardamom & Coconut Milk isn't left feeling "empty" but only less spiced.) Pity I could only eke out one scant wear from my sniffie.
2024.05.20 10:46 Flaky_Ad2182 Light no fire: every thing you’ll need to know about character customisation:
 | Here are 20 images from the official trailer that explain the character customization features:(some facts are denied based on later discoveries and facts) submitted by Flaky_Ad2182 to LightNoFireHelloGames [link] [comments] Exhibit 1: 1. You can display either a weapon or a backpack on your character's back, but not both simultaneously.(denied) 2. Capes can be hooded or unhooded. 3. Cape options are available for all races. 4. You can change your human character's hair and skin color. 5. Various hairstyles are available for both genders. Exhibit 2: 6. Your "human" character can have elf-like ears, indicating it doesn't have to be strictly human. Exhibit 3: 7. There are multiple backpack options for your characters. 8. For headgear, you can choose hoods, helmets, or masks. Mask attachments can be added to helmets, as shown here with the horns. Exhibit 4: 9. Different genders and body types are available for human race. 10. You can opt for no headgear, revealing the full face customization options (details provided later). Exhibit 5/6: 11. Various hairstyles and colors are confirmed. 12. Gloves are a separate customization option and can be unequipped, independent of the torso options. Exhibit 7: 13. Multiple fur colors are confirmed for the rabbit race. Exhibit 8: 14. Backpacks add to the immersive feel of weight, suggesting they might have more functionality than just being cosmetic. Exhibit 9: 15. Your character's appearance remains consistent in and out of water. 16. Hair physics are confirmed, affecting how hair moves. Exhibit 10: 17. A character equipped with both a staff(as seen later on the trailer) and a bow suggests the ability to switch between ranged and melee weapons. Exhibit 11: 18. First look at the bear race with gray fur. 19. Another look at the weapon and backpack combination option. Exhibit 12: 20. Hair color options seen so far include white, gray, red, black, brown, dark brown, and blonde. Exhibit 13: 21. Another look at the rabbit race, this time with slightly browner fur and possibly different ears. Exhibit 14: 22. Another view of elf ears and a new hairstyle. 23. Possible raccoon/skunk race, or an NPC that offers boat rides. Exhibit 15: 24. A character using a bow while another weapon is attached to the backpack confirms the possibility of displaying multiple weapons at once. Exhibit 16: 25. You can choose to display nothing on your back. 26. Weapons displayed on the back are visually removed when equipped. Exhibit 17: 27. Different backpack sizes make your character look heavier, indicating again that backpacks might have roles beyond decoration. Exhibit 18: 28. Various weapon sizes and classes can be displayed on your back, such as the mage staff shown here. Exhibit 19: 29. Possible cat/fox race. Exhibit 20: 30. You can display a shield, which is likely functional and cannot be displayed with a backpack simultaneously. 31. Brown fur option for the rabbit race. 32. Different fur color patterns for non-human races. Additional Details Not Linked to a Specific Image: 33. Each race has a variety of sizes within certain limits. 34. Most outfit options are shared across different races. 35. Some body types, like the skeleton, are non-customizable. 36. The human race offers the most diverse head customization options yet they don’t have fur options. 37. You can choose how many and which weapons are up for display. |
2024.05.20 10:28 GeminiRabbit63194 [TOMT] kids picture book where his cat encourages him to misbehave, but he gets in trouble for a weird reason?
This was a picture book that was read to me in elementary school (2007-2008?) about a boy named Patrick and I think the cat was named Chester? I could be wrong though. I remember quite a few details but can't find the right one when Googling it. I am from Canada if that helps, so it's very likely that the book was Canadian or American.
It started off with Chester telling Patrick to peek at his presents before Christmas and Patrick was in trouble "up to his neck" (quoting the book). Patrick later gets in trouble "up to his ears" for climbing a tree and breaking his arm after falling.
Patrick later gets in trouble "all the way over his head" with his mom for drawing a rocket ship. I think it was on a piece of paper taped to the wall and not drawn on the wall, so it didn't make sense to me why he got in so much trouble for that if that was the case. It never occurred to me to ask for some reason.
Later on in the book he learns not to listen to his cat when he tells him to do things that will get him in trouble. Patrick's dad also gets in trouble with his mom for painting the house ugly colors near the end of the book, and I don't remember much other than this.
I don't think it is one of the Chester books by Mélanie Watt. I checked read-a longs plot summaries and and they didn't have what I was talking about in them. No mention of a kid named Patrick. I also don't remember the cat breaking the fourth wall like Chester did in those books. It also came up when I tried to google the book.
submitted by GeminiRabbit63194 to tipofmytongue [link] [comments]
It started off with Chester telling Patrick to peek at his presents before Christmas and Patrick was in trouble "up to his neck" (quoting the book). Patrick later gets in trouble "up to his ears" for climbing a tree and breaking his arm after falling.
Patrick later gets in trouble "all the way over his head" with his mom for drawing a rocket ship. I think it was on a piece of paper taped to the wall and not drawn on the wall, so it didn't make sense to me why he got in so much trouble for that if that was the case. It never occurred to me to ask for some reason.
Later on in the book he learns not to listen to his cat when he tells him to do things that will get him in trouble. Patrick's dad also gets in trouble with his mom for painting the house ugly colors near the end of the book, and I don't remember much other than this.
I don't think it is one of the Chester books by Mélanie Watt. I checked read-a longs plot summaries and and they didn't have what I was talking about in them. No mention of a kid named Patrick. I also don't remember the cat breaking the fourth wall like Chester did in those books. It also came up when I tried to google the book.
2024.05.20 07:57 Significant-Tower146 Best Chanel Earmuffs
 | submitted by Significant-Tower146 to u/Significant-Tower146 [link] [comments] https://preview.redd.it/yl4y2a9uti1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=886de7c702a74d214a0d9e0e0fcb4cf12bb37007 Get ready to dive into the world of luxury with our Chanel Earmuffs roundup! In this article, we've handpicked some of the most stylish and comfortable earmuffs available today, all infused with the iconic Chanel touch. From sleek leather designs to bold, statement-making colors, our selection is sure to impress even the most discerning fashion enthusiasts. Come explore the perfect blend of warmth, style, and sophistication that Chanel Earmuffs have to offer. The Top 9 Best Chanel Earmuffs
Reviews🔗Luxurious Coach Shearling Earmuffs - Raccoon Colorhttps://preview.redd.it/0gucxgouti1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=5c62ebcbdc6c28c688f2e414655ce02134a3077f I recently got my hands on these stylish earmuffs and let me tell you, they did not disappoint. The Coach raccoon earmuffs in black and white are made of high-quality sheep shearling fur and are perfect for those chilly winter days. One size fits all, making them a convenient purchase for people of all ages. The off-white leather trim on the silver balls adds a touch of luxury, giving them an overall premium look. The earmuffs measure 4 inches in diameter or 12 inches in circumference, providing a comfy fit for everyone. The most impressive part is the soft 100% Merino wool body, which not only looks great but also feels incredibly cozy. They come with the original Coach box and are in excellent condition with no flaws or issues. Overall, these earmuffs are a perfect blend of style and warmth, making them a must-have accessory for your winter wardrobe. I paid $140 after tax for mine, but I'd happily recommend them to anyone looking for a high-quality earmuff. 🔗Luxurious Leather Earmuffs - Brown Shearlinghttps://preview.redd.it/hhbpx4zuti1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=808e2cf0fd544598806b69994e875c74738f085c I recently tried the Surell earmuffs, and let me tell you, they've become a staple in my daily life. Made of rich, genuine 100% lamb shearling, these earmuffs not only kept my ears warm during the cold winter months but also added a touch of style to my outfits. Plus, their dry clean-only feature makes them perfect for those who value simplicity when it comes to taking care of their belongings. Despite the high price tag, I believe these earmuffs are worth every penny – a perfect luxury accessory for the fashion-focused individual. 🔗Comfy Chanel-inspired Faux Fur Earmuffshttps://preview.redd.it/vjr864avti1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=83a52c1854910b1e4535b43009815b2b24d3703d In my quest for stylish and comfortable earmuffs, I stumbled upon the Surell Surrell Rex Rabbit Faux Fur Earmuff - Black. I was instantly drawn to their sleek design and the thought of cozying up with a touch of luxury. The earmuffs are crafted from fluffy faux beaver fur, making them not only attractive but also warm and comfortable. One of the features that stood out to me was the well-thought-out construction. The headband is sturdy and solid, ensuring a snug and comfortable fit, and it doesn't dig into my head. The acrylic and polyester blend used in the fur provides the perfect balance of softness and warmth, keeping my ears toasty even on biting cold days. However, there is one downside - the sizing can be a bit tricky. Some customers reported that the fit was a little too tight, leading to discomfort. But overall, the Surell Surrell Rex Rabbit Faux Fur Earmuffs are a practical and chic choice for anyone looking for a touch of luxury in their winter wardrobe. 🔗Black Tonal Shearling Earmuffs by Burberryhttps://preview.redd.it/qb5or4mvti1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=b44319202a0406bbd924b99fa561db10135d8260 The Burberry Tonal Shearling Earmuffs in Black might just be the perfect addition to your winter wardrobe. I've been using them for the past few weeks, and I must say, they've become my go-to accessory. The first thing that struck me about them was the quality of the materials. The earmuffs are made from a blend of sheepskin and shearling, which not only look great, but also feel incredibly cozy and warm on your ears. This high-quality combination ensures they're perfect for those chilly winter days. One of the features I appreciate the most is the adjustable fit. They come with a slider, which allows you to easily customize the size to fit your head comfortably. It's a small detail, but it makes a huge difference when you're trying to stay warm and comfortable outside. However, there have been a couple of minor drawbacks. The earmuffs can be a bit tricky to slip on and off due to the adjustable fit mechanism. It might take a little getting used to, but once you've got it down, it shouldn't be an issue. Overall, the Burberry Tonal Shearling Earmuffs in Black are a fantastic choice for anyone looking for a stylish and practical way to keep their ears toasty this winter. Despite the minor inconvenience of slipping them on and off, the quality and warmth they offer make up for it. 🔗Burberry Kids' Check Fleece Earmuffs with Teddy Fleece Comforthttps://preview.redd.it/8anwwbxvti1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=de6c01483e07e67270ad01147373c3bb1394a2d8 I have been an avid fan of Burberry for years, and when I saw their iconic check pattern on these Burberry Kid's Check Fleece Earmuffs, I knew I had to try them out. These earmuffs provided the perfect balance of style and comfort for my kids. The quality of the earmuffs had me sold right away, as they are lined with soft fleece that feels fantastic against their little ears. I also love how versatile they are; they can be worn by both boys and girls, making them suitable for the whole family. The flexible headband is a game-changer, as it ensures a perfect fit without feeling constricting or uncomfortable. My kids never complain about wearing these earmuffs, which is a definite bonus. However, one drawback I noticed was that the earmuffs do not come in many different colors, limiting the range of options for discerning customers. But overall, these Burberry Earmuffs are a great addition to our winter wardrobe, offering both fashion and protection from the cold. 🔗Fashionable CC Sherpa Fur Earmuffs in Ivoryhttps://preview.redd.it/4xdu83ewti1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=9f7c819a5610868ef6ea067e6ae54f4841617234 I recently had the chance to try out the CC Beanie Sherpa Fur Earmuffs in Ivory color, and I must say, they're an essential addition to my winter wardrobe. The earmuffs are incredibly cozy, thanks to their luxuriously soft faux fur lining that feels like a warm embrace in these chilly months. What really stood out for me was how adjustable they are for a perfect fit, making them suitable for both adults and kids alike. I appreciate the fact that they're versatile - I've been wearing them when running errands, at playdates, and even when just lounging around the house. However, there are a couple of things I noticed. Firstly, because they're hand-dyed, the color might vary slightly from one pair to another. Secondly, the dimensions might differ slightly due to the manual measurement process, so it's worth bearing these things in mind when you're purchasing them. All in all, the CC Beanie Sherpa Fur Earmuffs provide fantastic warmth and style combined. You can rest assured knowing they're made from authentic CC brand quality and are relatively easy to care for – just remember to hand wash and lay flat to dry. 🔗Warm Ear Chenille Earmuffs in Eye-catching Wine by Inchttps://preview.redd.it/rovhg3vwti1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=7106bacac42dcb6dc8ee71de5c43c2fdd15c783a My first impression of the Inc International Concepts Chenille Earmuffs in Wine was the softness of the material. The faux fur and shell were comfortable on my ears, and I loved the filling made of polyester that added to the warmth. I appreciated how these chenille earmuffs could fit most people, making them a great investment for anyone who wants to stay toasty. Using them has been a cozy experience, and I don't mind at all that they're named after the prestigious fashion house Chanel. Overall, the comfort they provide and the warmth they bring make them an excellent choice for keeping ears warm during colder days. 🔗Stylish Cable Knit Earmuffs for Warmth and Comforthttps://preview.redd.it/vbz1l45xti1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=353ff0ec5de5d8c5d551e5a95533a751ff59e1a8 When I first tried the CC Cable Knit Earmuffs, I was struck by the softness of the Sherpa lining and the coziness it provided. The adjustable fit made it easy to wear, and the flattering design meant I felt good while wearing them. However, I did notice that the color variation between screens could alter the appearance of the product. Nonetheless, these earmuffs are perfect for keeping your ears warm and comfortable, making them a great gift option. 🔗Sanrio Hello Kitty Foldable Cosplay Earmuffs for a Whimsical Touchhttps://preview.redd.it/4b9l7o9yti1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=157a007ad067df556dfb3666da2150ff125794dc Ever since I started using the Sanrio Hello Kitty Foldable Cosplay Earmuff, my daily life has been filled with joy and a touch of sweetness! The super soft microfiber base and comfy, foldable earmuffs make these the perfect accessory for any rave festival or day out. Not only do they look absolutely adorable with cute Hello Kitty ears and red bow detailing, but they also provide excellent noise-cancellation. One of my favorite features is the adjustable band, which ensures a perfect fit for every user. The earmuffs are made of 100% polyester, making them a versatile choice for a year-round fabric construction. However, some users may find the lack of lining and unlined feature slightly bothersome for prolonged use. Overall, the Sanrio Hello Kitty Foldable Cosplay Earmuff adds a unique and fun touch to any outfit while providing practical noise-cancellation, making it a perfect accessory for any Hello Kitty adventure! Buyer's GuideChanel, a well-known luxury brand, has expanded its product line to include earmuffs. These fashionable accessories provide both style and functionality, making them an attractive choice for those seeking both comfort and chic appeal. In this buyer's guide, we'll discuss some of the essential features and considerations when purchasing Chanel earmuffs, helping you make an informed decision.Warmth and Insulationhttps://preview.redd.it/x74agmiyti1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=828f6233b3f46757552a1942c96c9eab86241fe6 When considering Chanel earmuffs, it's crucial to look into the warmth and insulation they provide. Chanel earmuffs often feature thick foam or similar materials that provide excellent insulation against cold temperatures. Make sure to check the manufacturer's specifications or the product description to guarantee that the earmuffs will protect you from the elements. Sound QualityIf sound quality is a priority, ensure that the earmuffs you choose are designed to reduce noise and not amplify it. Consider earmuffs with noise-cancelling technology or those engineered to minimize sound leakage, providing a more quiet and comfortable experience.Design and StyleChanel is known for its sophisticated and elegant designs. Look for earmuffs made with high-quality materials and featuring the signature Chanel quilting and logo elements. Remember that investing in Chanel earmuffs means you are not only buying warmth and protection but also a fashion statement. https://preview.redd.it/16igej61ui1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=076b417b8e0d2865e5a3ec0004d8c91bdf5d0ca3 AdjustabilityEarmuffs should be comfortable, and adjustability can help ensure the best fit for your needs. Look for options that allow you to customize the earmuff's fit around the ears and head to achieve maximum comfort.Maintenance and CareChanel earmuffs, like any other luxury accessory, require proper care to maintain their quality. Make sure to understand the care instructions provided by the manufacturer, which will often include cleaning and storage guidelines. Proper care will help your earmuffs maintain their appearance and functionality for years to come.Warrantyhttps://preview.redd.it/29lzfbe1ui1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=5b9da5233c1bdedbe618e30df5c4d49656819c6f Protect your investment with a warranty, if available. A warranty will provide peace of mind and ensure that any defects in materials or workmanship are covered. Check with the manufacturer for warranty terms and conditions. When purchasing Chanel earmuffs, consider the warmth and insulation provided, sound quality, design and style, adjustability, maintenance, and warranty. By focusing on these aspects, you'll be more likely to choose the right earmuffs to fit both your personal needs and your sense of style. FAQWhat are Chanel Earmuffs?Chanel Earmuffs are a popular fashion accessory designed by the luxury brand Chanel. They are available in various styles, colors, and materials, making them suitable for different occasions and preferences. https://preview.redd.it/o9hcqnr1ui1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=5bf9ca19f98c0d0f47277b23fea74767ffd42a90 Who can wear Chanel Earmuffs?Chanel Earmuffs are designed for both men and women who appreciate luxury fashion and want to add a touch of sophistication to their outfits. They can be worn with various types of clothing, such as coats, jackets, and sweaters, and are suitable for different occasions, including casual outings, office wear, and formal events.What types of Chanel Earmuffs are available?Chanel offers a variety of earmuff styles, including:
How do I care for my Chanel Earmuffs?To maintain the quality and appearance of your Chanel Earmuffs, follow these care instructions:
What is the price range of Chanel Earmuffs?The price range of Chanel Earmuffs can vary depending on the style, material, and design. Generally, they can cost anywhere from $500 to $3,000 or more. It's best to check Chanel's official website or visit an authorized retailer for the most up-to-date pricing information.Where can I buy Chanel Earmuffs?Chanel Earmuffs can be purchased through the brand's official website, as well as at authorized retailers, such as department stores and specialty boutiques. Make sure to check the authenticity of the product before making a purchase to ensure that you are getting a genuine Chanel accessory.As an Amazon™ Associate, we earn from qualifying purchases. |
2024.05.20 06:12 fragdelta [US][Selling] Slipcovers for Sale!!
I accept Zelle, Cash App, and Venmo F&F
Selling some 4K and Blu-Ray slipcovers. Unless otherwise marked, a 4K UHD slipcover is $5 each and a Blu-Ray slipcover is $3 each. I'm happy to take pictures of the items for you, just ask.
Shipping is $5; free if total is over $50. Please note that these are SLIPCOVERS ONLY, no movies are included.
Disney 4K UHD Slipcovers ($5, unless marked)
submitted by fragdelta to MediaSwap [link] [comments]
Selling some 4K and Blu-Ray slipcovers. Unless otherwise marked, a 4K UHD slipcover is $5 each and a Blu-Ray slipcover is $3 each. I'm happy to take pictures of the items for you, just ask.
Shipping is $5; free if total is over $50. Please note that these are SLIPCOVERS ONLY, no movies are included.
Disney 4K UHD Slipcovers ($5, unless marked)
- Aladdin [2019] 4K
- Avengers, The: Endgame 4K
- Dumbo [2019] 4K
- Jungle Cruise 4K
- Star Wars: The Last Jedi 4K
- Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker 4K
- 65 4K - $7
- Ambulance 4K
- American Assassin 4K
- Angel Has Fallen 4K
- Aquaman 4K
- Bad Guys 4K, The
- Batman [2022] 4K, The
- Batman: The Killing Joke 4K - $9
- Battlestar Galactica [1978] 4K
- Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) 4K
- Blade 4K - $7
- Brightburn 4K - $9
- Bumblebee 4K
- Candyman (2021) 4K
- Christmas Story 4K, A - $7
- Cold Pursuit 4K
- Color Out of Space 4K - $7
- Commuter 4K, The
- Contractor 4K, The
- Days of Thunder 4K - $9
- Dirty Dancing 4K
- Don't Breathe 2 4K - $7
- Doom 4K
- Downton Abbey: A New Era 4K
- Dune 4K
- Edge of Tomorrow 4K
- Elvis 4K
- Enter the Dragon 4K - $7
- Everything Everywhere All At Once 4K
- Everything Everywhere All At Once 4K (White Walmart Exclusive)
- Evil Dead Rise 4K
- Fantastic Beasts: The Secrets of Dumbledore 4K
- First Man 4k
- First Purge, The 4K
- Free Guy 4K - $7
- Ghost in the Shell [2017] 4K - $7
- Ghostbusters: Afterlife 4K - $7
- Great Wall 4K, The
- Green Knight [A24] 4K, The - $7
- Green Mile 4K, The - $7
- Grinch [2018] 4K, The
- Hellboy [2019] 4K
- Hitman's Wife's Bodyguard 4K, The
- Howard the Duck 4K
- Hunt for Red October 4K, The
- Hustlers 4K - $9
- It's a Wonderful Life 4K
- Jaws 2 4K
- Jigsaw 4K
- John Wick Chapter 4 4K
- Jurassic World 4K
- Jurassic World: Dominion 4K
- Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom 4K
- Kid Who Would Be King 4K, The - $7
- King Arthur: Legend of the Sword 4K
- King's Man [2021] 4K, The
- Knock at the Cabin 4K - $7
- Lost Boys 4K, The
- Monster Hunter 4K - $7
- Monty Python's The Meaning of Life 4K - $7
- Mortal Kombat 4K
- Mule 4K, The
- National Lampoon's Vacation 4K
- News of the World 4K
- Nightmare Alley 4K
- Nobody 4K
- Nope 4K
- Old 4K
- SOLD
Pan's Labyrinth 4K - $10 - Patriot Games 4K
- Planes, Trains and Automobiles 4K - $7
- Poltergeist 4K
- Power Rangers 4K
- Protégé 4K, The - $7
- Quiet Place 4K, A - $7
- Quiet Place part II 4K, A - $7
- Rambo: Last Blood 4K
- Rampage 4K
- Rebel Without a Cause 4K
- Requiem for a Dream 4K - $7
- Resident Evil: Welcome to Raccoon City 4K
- Robin Hood [2018] 4K
- Shadow 4K - $10
- Shazam! 4K
- Sisu 4K
- Skyscraper 4K
- Smokin' Aces 4K
- Sonic the Hedgehog 2 4K
- Space Jam [1996] 4K
- Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse 4K - $7
- Spider-Man: Far from Home 4K - $7
- Spiral 4K
- Stuber 4K - $7
- Suicide Squad [2021] 4K - $7
- Sum of All Fears 4K, The
- Super 8 4K - $7
- Tenet 4K - $7
- Terminator: Dark Fate 4K - $7
- Top Gun Maverick 4K
- Training Day 4K - $7
- Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent 4K, The
- Voyagers 4K
- Wonder Woman 1984 4K
- X-Men: Dark Phoenix 4K - $7
- Zombieland: Double Tap 4K - $9
- Child's Play (Scream Factory Collector's Edition) - $8
- Drug War (Well Go) - $5
- Firestarter (Scream Factory Collector's Edition) - $8
- New World (Well Go) - $5
- Stranger, The (Scream Factory / IFC) - $5
- 101 Dalmatians
- Avengers: Age of Ultron 3D
- Bambi
- Beauty and the Beast [2017]
- Brave
- Brave 3D (lenticular) - $4
- Bug's Life, A -- fair condition
- Captain America: The Winter Soldier 3D [Nick Fury cover] - $5
- Celebrating Mickey
- Cinderella [1950]
- Disneynature: Monkey Kingdom
- Finding Dory
- Finding Nemo
- Finding Nemo 3D (lenticular) - $4
- Frozen
- Gnomeo & Juliet
- Good Dinosaur, The
- Incredible Hulk, The
- Inside Out
- Iron Man
- Iron Man 2
- Iron Man 3 3D
- Jungle Book [2016], The
- Lady and the Tramp
- Lion King [1994], The
- Lion King 1 1/2, The
- Lion King 2, The: Simba's Pride
- Little Mermaid 3D, The
- Lone Ranger, The
- Maleficent
- Mars Needs Moms
- Mary Poppins Returns
- Moana
- Moana 3D (lenticular) - $5
- Monsters, Inc.
- Monsters University [BD+DVD]
- Monsters University (Collector's Edition, BD+DVD+DC]
- Muppets, The
- Olaf's Frozen Adventure
- Oz: The Great and Powerful
- Pirate Fairy
- POTC: At World's End
- POTC: On Stranger Tides
- Pixar Short Films Collection Vol 3
- Ratatouille
- Rogue One: A Star Wars Story
- Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs [1937]
- Star Wars: A New Hope
- Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back
- Star Wars: Return of the Jedi
- Star Wars: The Phantom Menace
- Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith
- Star Wars: The Force Awakens
- Star Wars: The Last Jedi
- Solo: A Star Wars Story
- Thor
- Winnie the Pooh: Springtime with Roo
- Zootopia
- Zootopia 3D (lenticular) - $5
- 007 Live and Let Die
- 47 Ronin
- Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter (lenticular)
- Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Road Chip
- Angry Birds: The Movie (w/ eyebrows)
- Annihilation
- Appaloosa
- Arthur Christmas
- Assassin's Creed
- Avatar 3D
- Bag Man, The
- Baggage Claim
- Barbie
- Blood Father
- Card Counter, The
- Chicago (Diamond Edition)
- Copshop
- Courier, The
- Criminal Activities
- Crimson Peak
- Croods, The
- Cry Macho
- DCU: Batman & Superman Battle of the Supersons
- DCU: Throne of Atlantis
- Deep Blue Sea 2
- Dictator, The
- Divergent Series, The: Allegiant (lenticular)
- Dying of the Light
- Entourage: The Movie
- Exodus: Gods and Kings
- Fall
- Fantastic 4 (2015)
- Fantastic 4 / Fantastic 4 Silver Surfer
- Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
- Fast and the Furious, The (Roman Numeral I)
- Fast & Furious (Roman Numeral IV)
- Fear the Walking Dead Season 1
- Fear the Walking Dead Season 1 (lenticular) - $5
- Ferdinand
- Forrest Gump
- Ghostbusters
- Ghostbusters: Afterlife
- Girl in the Spider's Web, The
- Green Knight, The
- Halloween Kills
- Halo: Legends
- Halo: The Fall of Reach
- Hangover Part II, The
- Happy Feet Two
- Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2 3D (lenticular)
- Hitman's Bodyguard, The
- Home (Target Exclusive)
- Hotel Transylvania
- How to Train Your Dragon
- Hunger Games, The
- Hunger Games, The: Catching Fire
- Hunger Games, The: Mockingjay Pt 1
- Hunger Games, The: Mockingjay Pt 2
- I, Tonya - $5
- Ice Age: A Mammoth Christmas Special
- In the Heart of the Sea
- It (Target Exclusive lenticular) - $5
- Jexi
- Jigsaw
- Jumanji: The Next Level
- Jupiter Ascending
- Kin
- Knock at the Cabin
- Knowing
- Kubo and the Two Strings
- La La Land (Target Exclusive) - $5
- Last Airbender, The
- Last Night in Soho - $5
- Legend of Tarzan, The
- Lego Movie, The
- Maggie
- Mamma Mia (Original)
- Man Who Killed Hitler and the Big Foot, The
- March of the Penguins (Gold AA)
- Max Steel [fair condition]
- Meatballs (VHS)
- Men in Black 3
- Million Ways to Die in the West, A
- Monster Trucks
- Mountain Between Us, The
- My All-American
- Night Hunter
- Norm of the North
- Ocean's 8
- Oklahoma
- Pan
- Paradise Hills
- Parasite
- Paul Blart: Mall Cop 2
- Peanuts Movie, The
- Pearl
- Phantom Thread
- Polar Express, The (Target Exclusive lenticular) - $5
- Puss in Boots
- Ready Player One (Target Exclusive lenticular) - $5
- Reminiscence
- Rhythm Section, The
- Rise of the Planet of the Apes
- Rock the Kasbah
- Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer (50th Anniversary Collector's Edition)
- San Andreas (Best Buy Exclusive lenticular)
- Shallows, The
- Shape of Water, The
- Shaun the Sheep
- Sisters
- Smallfoot
- Snitch
- Sonic 2
- Source Code
- Spider-Man 3
- Spies in Disguise
- Split
- Stand, The
- Star Trek: Into Darkness (Best Buy Exclusive)
- Storks
- Submerged - $5
- Tag
- Tower Heist
- Tracers
- Transformers: Dark of the Moon
- Transformers: The Last Knight
- Twilight Saga, The: Eclipse
- Underwater
- Unfinished Business
- Violent Night
- Walking with Dinosaurs (original)
- Walking with Dinosaurs
- Warcraft
- Warning Shot
- Witch, The - $5
- Woman in Black 2, The: Angel of Death
- X-Men Origins: Wolverine
- Yesterday
- Your Name - $5
- Zipper
2024.05.19 22:54 CDown01 Eagles Peak pt. 5.5
Previous Part
I grabbed the back pack Bianca had left in the kitchen and waited in the living room. I had no idea what she was packing for but after this morning I wasn’t going up there to check. I wasn’t really sure what I wanted to ask Tuck yet. I wanted him to tell me he was a werewolf himself, that seemed like pretty important information just on the basis of trust. But I also wanted to know why he was really out by the mine yesterday. His story didn’t add up and there’s no way he knew we would be up there, I think that was just a coincidence. As I was trying to come up with exactly how I wanted to broach the question to Tuck, Frank put a hand on my shoulder. He was wearing his lab coat so I guessed he just came up from the basement. The hairnet he always seemed to wear when he was working was in its usual spot. I suppose he wore it to protect the memory of hair that was once on his head. He looked solemn and a little sick as he turned to me.
“Keep her out of trouble will you? I know we haven’t always been the best to her and I’m sure Stein and I don’t really give her the help she needs. But she’s like the daughter I never had time to have, I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to her.”
“Frank, you probably do more than you know for her. Did she ever talk about her family with you?”
“Very briefly throughout the years, I don’t know if she’s told you much or anything for that matter. It… it certainly wasn’t easy for her growing up and it never got easier.”
“I’ll do my best to keep her out of trouble. If she does end up following me into… whatever this trial ends up being just promise me you’ll have a way to get her out. Some kind of contingency, I can fend for myself but I’ve seen her just shut down before. Like yesterday in the caves someone grabbed her and she lashed out and just… wasn’t herself. She just froze and I don’t want that to happen anywhere near Shaoni.”
“I’ll work on something but I can’t promise that. Like Stein said we’re scientists, we don’t really do field work like that. If I do come up with something you’ll be the first to know. I’m glad she ran into you when she did Keith, she could really use a friend.”
With that Frank walked away, back towards the kitchen and into the basement.
It wasn’t long after that when I heard Bianca coming down the stairs asking if anyone had seen her toothbrush. At which point Rocco appeared in front of me from god knows where holding a suspicious disassembled toothbrush.
“Not. A. Word. Kid.”
Rocco growled at me as he scampered out the door behind me.
“I have a couple that I packed for the trip here from Wisconsin I can just give you one of those.”
I called to Bianca. Partially because I wanted to get a move on and partially because I wanted no part in whatever Rocco was getting up to. If there was one supernatural thing about this town it was that raccoon’s knack for mischief. I get that’s what raccoons are known for but seriously, Rocco was on another level. Bianca reluctantly agreed to take one of the travel tooth brushes I had back at my house. I wasn’t even going to ask why she packed a duffle bag to go a few hundred feet into town and back again.
“Come on we’ll take the bikes again.”
Bianca said as she made her way behind the house.
“I’m telling you they’re going to give me tetanus one of these days but sure. Lets just stop at my place first, I want to drop off this backpack you took yesterday first.”
Bianca was still wearing the ratty jeans she’d taken from me yesterday and at this point I just figured she could have them. I really wasn’t about to get into an argument as to why she should take my pants off and… ugh even saying it is just… no. Those were hers now as far as I was concerned.
We rode over to my house through the crisp autumn afternoon. The trees along the street were finally being to change color, it looked like a scene from a postcard. One of those one’s of the idyllic towns that could’ve come straight out of a hallmark movie. I had to give it to Eagles Peak, it may by turning into a den of vipers for me minute by minute but it sure could be beautiful, in it’s own isolated kind of way.
“Wow its very… small.”
Bianca commented as she stepped into my house and looked around.
“Yeah not everyone has a blank check from two different governments like Stein.”
“I didn’t mean li…”
“It’s ok I know what you meant, its different.”
I said cutting her off before she had the chance to apologize. I dropped off the backpack in my room and rooted around in the one duffle bag I still hadn’t unpacked from my trip here. I found the toothbrush without to much trouble and walked into the living room to give it to Bianca only to find her unpacking on the couch.
“What’s going on here, are you moving in?”
I joked, not expecting the answer I was about to get.
“Yeah, kind of hard to keep an eye on you from my house. I suppose I could from the top floor but if we’re working against Shaoni that doesn’t seem like a great idea. She’s got that whole thing with lighting and I get the sense her being angry at you while your up in the air isn’t a great combination.”
Bianca said, unpacking a blanket like she wasn’t just inserting herself into my house.
“WHAT?”
I shouted, maybe a little too loud.
“Is there a problem?I thought you wanted me looking out for you, this is me, doing that.”
She said looking up at me with puppy dog eyes. You’ve got to understand, those eyes coming from someone like Bianca, glowing or otherwise, well you just can’t say no to that. When it’s Bianca you really can’t say no. She can just take that option away in an instant but again she didn’t for me, it was still my choice.
“I.. sure but you can have my bed. We’ll get everything set up once we get back from the Roost. You did tell Frank and Stein about this right?”
I gave in, deciding to let her stay.
“I’m a big girl, they doin’t need to know everything I do, and… thanks”
“It’s alright, just let me know next time you’re going to pull something like this ok?”
I added, equal parts excited to actually have someone to talk to besides myself in my own home, and worried what Frank and Stein might think was going on here. I put those thoughts out of my head for the moment as we got back on the bikes.
It was about 3 by the time we made it to Tuck’s bar after the delay Bianca had caused by moving herself out before we left. Just as I expected the sign said closed but the door was unlocked. The bar looked exactly the same as the last time I was there. Stone fireplace roaring and pristine wooden floor looking like it had been polished just this morning. Tuck was sitting behind the bar looking worse for wear. The look on his face said he knew we were coming and he wasn’t to thrilled about it.
“Does he know?”
Tuck asked pointedly, looking straight through me and speaking to Bianca.
“About me or you, because the answer is both of us.”
Tuck shook his head at this and a grim look came over him.
“Ya shouldn’t have pulled him into this.”
“Actually I pulled her into it if anything, going out there was my idea. I’ve got a mark like Robert’s, its actually what brought me to town in the first place.”
I said, hoping my honesty would get the same out of Tuck.
“So that bird called ya out here somehow?”
“More or less, but that’s not what I’m here about. I want to know why exactly you followed us out there yesterday.”
Tuck sighed and gestured to the seats at the bar, beckoning Bianca and I to take a seat.
“When Robert chased ya out the other night some of his friends came by. They all got that mark like him, they were sayin’ something about the thunderbird makin’ an appearance back at the old mine. I wanted to see for myself and make sure they were wrong. I found those bikes and ended up followin’ the trail. By the time I got there some guys were poking around that hole in the wall and a storm had kicked up. I saw them cut that rope and figured they weren’t doin’ no good. I… changed and dealt with them then forced my way into the old mine entrance, the rest ya already know cause I ran into ya not long after.”
This story made more sense to me, Tuck never came out there to find me, I just so happened to be out there. Those boulders I thought were moved had been, by Tuck which made me question just how strong he was. Each of those huge things had to weigh tons and there were three strewn about the entrance.
“Ok that makes more sense than what you told me, but what were you hoping to accomplish up there. If you ran into the thunderbird what would you have done?”
“I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t really up there again but the storm seemed to say otherwise. No storm like that just pops up and goes away, the bird had to be involved with that.”
“Actually she was there, just not as some huge bird. She was down in the caves with us but she looked human, native American to be more precise. That’s how I met her when I got marked and now she’s holding some kind of trial out in those mines.”
“You met the thunderbird, its a person? What does she want with this place now.”
Tuck said his demeanor changing into one full of concern. I didn’t know what else to say cause at the moment I didn’t actually know much more than that. It’s infuriating, this being in the dark thing. I just settled for dodging the question.
“Not to change the topic but are we to early to grab a bite to eat?”
I wish I had a camera handy because the face Tuck made at that whiplash change of topics was priceless. I can’t properly do it justice with words. Suffice it to say one of his eyebrows hit the ceiling while the other hit the floor and a violently confused expression plastered his face.
“Sure I guess, what do the two of ya want!”
Tuck exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air and walking back behind the counter. I ended up ordering some fried chicken sandwich with bacon and pickles, and as I took the first bite my risk of heart attack increased ten fold. Bianca ordered the same thing and was pecking at it inquisitively when I asked,
“So what’s the story with Rocco?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean why, why did Frank and Stein make him in the first place?”
I asked through a mouthful of greasy goodness.
“Well I think it started out as a joke, then Stein actually wanted an assistant and that joke became Rocco. They worked on him for a while, pretty much they took a random raccoon off the street and played around in its head. I know there was some gene splicing involved but if you want to know how they did it ask them.”
“So he was supposed to be an assistant in the lab? I think I’ve seen him doing one thing to help them out this whole time and he was poking through a back alley for old batteries.”
“Yeah, he’s not a great assistant, must be good enough though cause they haven’t tossed him out.”
“Are you kidding me! If they tossed him out he be so much worse! Just think, Rocco left to his own devices without any supervision.”
Both of us shuddered at the thought, if he was bad now he’d be a menace to society without the little control we had over him.
Bianca and I ate and eventually Tuck came out and I told him my story about Imalone. He seemed really concerned at the fact that the thunderbird could be walking around town and he wouldn’t know about it. I assured him that Shaoni was really hard to miss if you just looked at the eyes. It wasn’t like she looked any different either, no matter what she was wearing those tattoos would be a dead giveaway. Tuck assured me he was going to keep an eye out and gave me his number to call if I saw her. I don’t want to talk down on Bianca, but something about having a werewolf looking out for me as well was reassuring. Tuck told us a bit about what he was doing with Frank and Stein too. Apparently he contracted his “disease” as he called it long before he came to work in Eagles Peak. He was originally from Louisiana and moved to New York for a change of scenery and ended up getting a job in the mines here around 1940. I should also mention Tuck ages very slowly due to his “disease” so he looks like he’s in his 50’s or so but he was born in 1900. To his credit you’d never know he was anything other than your friendly middle aged bartender.
Bianca and I were getting ready to leave as it came time to open the bar for real. When Tuck offered us a round of drinks on the house.
“No, no that’s alright Tuck, you’ve done enough for us we’ll see you later.”
Bianca politely declined, pulling me towards the door. After I said my goodbyes and we had gotten back to the bikes I asked Bianca,
“Do you not drink? I’m not judging just… when Tuck offered you seemed kind of jumpy.”
“I just never have, I was kind of bouncing around the country when I turned 21 so I just never started.”
“So your telling me you never had your first drink? Well, we have to fix that then.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, its like a right of passage where I’m from. We’ll pick up a six pack or something on the way back but we don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”
I said, trying to convince her. I’m not a huge drinker but I am from Wisconsin, alcohol is a way of life out there and we’re know for our beer. In my family turning 21 and having your first drink is cause to bring the whole family together. I couldn’t do that for her but I could at least give her the experience, maybe give her just one more good thing to remember.
Bianca agreed and we pulled into the Save-A-Lot just outside town. The building was painted white bit it was slowly peeling away revealing a concrete grey underneath. The big glowing sign was missing a few letters now simply reading Sav- -Lo. Despite its decaying state it still had the classic beer cave inside. I took a second to look for something from Wisconsin, call me a snob but we do beer right. I settled on a 12 pack of Leinenkugel, that was close enough to home for me. Bianca trailed behind me in the store, a bit like a scared cat looking for a place to hide. Obviously she didn’t get out much and having people she didn’t really know much about was stressing her out somewhat. We got to the checkout and an older cashier eyed my suspiciously.
“Can I see an ID”
She croaked in a hoarse smokey voice. Now I don’t always look my age but I’m 28 there was no reason to try and ID me. That didn’t really bother me so much as the fact that my wallet was still at home. I’ve been spending the cash Bianca gave me back when I watched her house and I just keep that in my pocket. I also have a bad habit of only brining my wallet when I knew I would need it instead of carrying it on me. Regardless I started to sweat a little as I tried to explain the situation.
“You see I would but I left mine at home and I’m not sure if…”
I was cut off by Bianca reaching out and brushing the cashier’s hand Then looking her straight in the eye. I knew exactly what she was doing.
“Look we don’t have an ID for you right now can you just take it on faith?”
“I understand sweetie, here why don’t I cover it for you, my treat.”
The cashier said, turning a complete 180 on her previous question. I looked from Bianca to the old woman a few times before Bianca finally shrugged.
“What?”
I wondered if it was that easy for her to change my mind back when she manipulated me into watching the house.
“So she just payed for it?”
I asked Bianca as we walked back to the bikes.
“That was her, not that I couldn’t make her do that. As far as I can work out, if I suggest something people tend to do it. Over the years I learned how to control that to the point where I’m only able to do it when I want to. Frank said it has something to do with pheromones in my breath or something like that.”
Bianca explained, hoping onto her bike and keeping pace with me back towards my house. I didn’t ask for an explanation but she gave it. I’m not really sure pheromones were something that could have that profound of an effect on someone but I’d just add it to the list of questions I’d have to ask Frank or Stein at some point.
“Still it was a bit weird seeing it from the outside. Was I that easy to convince before?”
Bianca got a mischievous look in her eye.
“Oh, you were so much easier, I barley needed to try. Just flip my hair and flutter my eyes a few times and that was that.”
She said, smiling devilishly at me. I blushed a little bit, partly because that’s probably all it would’ve taken from someone who looked like her and partly because I was embarrassed that she might not just be poking fun at me.
“No you definitely did something to me, I lost like 6 hours in your kitchen! That was you right…right?!”
I asked a little nervous. Bianca just laughed and pedaled off ahead of me. She did not put my mind at ease with any sort of answer but she did beat me back to the house.
When I got in She was sitting on the couch sorting through a pile of movies she pulled out of her duffle bag. She really had just thrown the entire contents of her room into a bag and brought them over. Bianca seemed to settle on a movie before she realized I’d walked in.
“So you like horror?”
I said, gesturing to the same movies I’d seen lying out earlier when I watched her house.
“Yeah, I just like seeing how people think all these things act. Like Tuck, werewolves are always looked at as these big imposing things in movies but he’s a puppy in comparison.”
“The guy looks like he could tear me apart down the middle with his bare hands buuuut, I see your point.”
Thinking back to every interaction I’d had with the guy so far, he never really was as scary as he looked. I sat down on the couch, dropping the case of beer on the coffee table.
“So, have you picked out a movie yet?”
To which Bianca closed her eyes and poked at a random movie in the pile. “Dog Soldiers”, it was called, actually I think I’ve heard of that movie before. One of those its so bad its entertaining things. I popped the movie into my DVD player and sat back, handing Bianca a beer.
“ Is this how normal people feel?”
She asked as the movie started.
“Depends on what you mean by normal, even then I’m not sure that’s the question I’d be asking. Maybe you just finally have a chance to relax after years of never being able to.”
“Oh sure, I’ll just relax now that I know we have the actual thunderbird looking to force you into some kind of trial.”
Bianca joked sarcastically before suddenly softening and taking a sip of her beer.
“Uggg that’s bitter… but not bad. Maybe your onto something Kieth.”
I don’t remember much from the movie. One scene stuck with me, a guy trying to fist fight a werewolf. It was already campy but the effects on the werewolf were just dated enough to make it that much funnier. Bianca and I couldn’t help but to Imagine Tuck as the werewolf, bewildered as to why this scrawny thing thought it could fight him. At some point the beer ran out, Bianca and I making it through the whole case. I remember getting up to go to my own room and Bianca pulling me back. What I didn’t remember though was letting Shaoni into my house. I was woken up by a tap on my shoulder, coming face to face with her. Shaoni’s hand was on one shoulder and Bianca’s head was on the other. At some point we both feel asleep on the couch together, the TV was still on, illuminating the dark room.
“Well well, I wasn’t expecting you to have guests Keith.”
Shaoni mocked, clicking her tongue at me as she finished. She wore the same white night dress I’d seen her in before. Something in the house was open, a window, a door? I didn’t know but the smells of an autumn rainstorm blew into the house, a storm no doubt caused by Shaoni.
“I… its not what it looks like.”
I stammered out, embarrassed to be caught like this.
“I don’t care what you get up to in your free time Keith. I just came to tell you I’ll expect you at the mine tomorrow, The trials will be starting soon and I want everyone who will be participating to meet each other, you will be participating, won’t you Keith?”
She asked like it was a question but it really wasn’t, wether I liked it or not I was going to be there, I could come willingly or kicking and screaming. She was simply asking which I wanted it to be.
“When do you want me there?”
“Oh don’t worry about that, I’ll send someone to collect you around noon.”
With that she turned to walk away, but I wasn’t done with her yet.
“Wait! What exactly are these trials, what am I going to be doing out there?”
“That would spoil the surprise Keith, be patient, you’ll know in time. That pretty little thing there, her name wouldn’t happen to be Bianca, would it?”
Shaoni asked, pointing at Bianca who was still asleep on my shoulder.
“How did you know that?”
I shot back, immediately jumping to Bianca’s defense. I hadn’t known her all that long true, but I didn’t want her any closer to this than she had to be.
“Oh no reason.”
Shaoni said with a snicker that sounded more like a hiss. With that she disappeared, and I mean she was just gone. One minute she was there the next there was a gust of wind and a brief flash of light and she was gone. The disruption was enough to wake Bianca up finally.
“Ugh, head..still…spinning.”
“Heh, I think you overdid it a bit last night.”
“Ugh maybe.”
She said, holding her head that still rested on my shoulder.
“What’s going on anyway, why’d you wake me up.”
“It’s just… well things are moving a bit faster than I hoped.”
I said, trying to reassure her that it was nothing, most likely failing miserably but she didn’t seem to notice. There was a second there that I thought maybe things could just be normal. This whole thing would just blow over and Shaoni would never come back and get me for these “trials” but I always knew it was wishful thinking. Now Bianca was a part of it to somehow, that had made up my mind. She’d been through enough, now Shaoni seemed interested in her all of a sudden. If putting myself through these trials kept her away from Bianca that’s exactly what I’d do.
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I grabbed the back pack Bianca had left in the kitchen and waited in the living room. I had no idea what she was packing for but after this morning I wasn’t going up there to check. I wasn’t really sure what I wanted to ask Tuck yet. I wanted him to tell me he was a werewolf himself, that seemed like pretty important information just on the basis of trust. But I also wanted to know why he was really out by the mine yesterday. His story didn’t add up and there’s no way he knew we would be up there, I think that was just a coincidence. As I was trying to come up with exactly how I wanted to broach the question to Tuck, Frank put a hand on my shoulder. He was wearing his lab coat so I guessed he just came up from the basement. The hairnet he always seemed to wear when he was working was in its usual spot. I suppose he wore it to protect the memory of hair that was once on his head. He looked solemn and a little sick as he turned to me.
“Keep her out of trouble will you? I know we haven’t always been the best to her and I’m sure Stein and I don’t really give her the help she needs. But she’s like the daughter I never had time to have, I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to her.”
“Frank, you probably do more than you know for her. Did she ever talk about her family with you?”
“Very briefly throughout the years, I don’t know if she’s told you much or anything for that matter. It… it certainly wasn’t easy for her growing up and it never got easier.”
“I’ll do my best to keep her out of trouble. If she does end up following me into… whatever this trial ends up being just promise me you’ll have a way to get her out. Some kind of contingency, I can fend for myself but I’ve seen her just shut down before. Like yesterday in the caves someone grabbed her and she lashed out and just… wasn’t herself. She just froze and I don’t want that to happen anywhere near Shaoni.”
“I’ll work on something but I can’t promise that. Like Stein said we’re scientists, we don’t really do field work like that. If I do come up with something you’ll be the first to know. I’m glad she ran into you when she did Keith, she could really use a friend.”
With that Frank walked away, back towards the kitchen and into the basement.
It wasn’t long after that when I heard Bianca coming down the stairs asking if anyone had seen her toothbrush. At which point Rocco appeared in front of me from god knows where holding a suspicious disassembled toothbrush.
“Not. A. Word. Kid.”
Rocco growled at me as he scampered out the door behind me.
“I have a couple that I packed for the trip here from Wisconsin I can just give you one of those.”
I called to Bianca. Partially because I wanted to get a move on and partially because I wanted no part in whatever Rocco was getting up to. If there was one supernatural thing about this town it was that raccoon’s knack for mischief. I get that’s what raccoons are known for but seriously, Rocco was on another level. Bianca reluctantly agreed to take one of the travel tooth brushes I had back at my house. I wasn’t even going to ask why she packed a duffle bag to go a few hundred feet into town and back again.
“Come on we’ll take the bikes again.”
Bianca said as she made her way behind the house.
“I’m telling you they’re going to give me tetanus one of these days but sure. Lets just stop at my place first, I want to drop off this backpack you took yesterday first.”
Bianca was still wearing the ratty jeans she’d taken from me yesterday and at this point I just figured she could have them. I really wasn’t about to get into an argument as to why she should take my pants off and… ugh even saying it is just… no. Those were hers now as far as I was concerned.
We rode over to my house through the crisp autumn afternoon. The trees along the street were finally being to change color, it looked like a scene from a postcard. One of those one’s of the idyllic towns that could’ve come straight out of a hallmark movie. I had to give it to Eagles Peak, it may by turning into a den of vipers for me minute by minute but it sure could be beautiful, in it’s own isolated kind of way.
“Wow its very… small.”
Bianca commented as she stepped into my house and looked around.
“Yeah not everyone has a blank check from two different governments like Stein.”
“I didn’t mean li…”
“It’s ok I know what you meant, its different.”
I said cutting her off before she had the chance to apologize. I dropped off the backpack in my room and rooted around in the one duffle bag I still hadn’t unpacked from my trip here. I found the toothbrush without to much trouble and walked into the living room to give it to Bianca only to find her unpacking on the couch.
“What’s going on here, are you moving in?”
I joked, not expecting the answer I was about to get.
“Yeah, kind of hard to keep an eye on you from my house. I suppose I could from the top floor but if we’re working against Shaoni that doesn’t seem like a great idea. She’s got that whole thing with lighting and I get the sense her being angry at you while your up in the air isn’t a great combination.”
Bianca said, unpacking a blanket like she wasn’t just inserting herself into my house.
“WHAT?”
I shouted, maybe a little too loud.
“Is there a problem?I thought you wanted me looking out for you, this is me, doing that.”
She said looking up at me with puppy dog eyes. You’ve got to understand, those eyes coming from someone like Bianca, glowing or otherwise, well you just can’t say no to that. When it’s Bianca you really can’t say no. She can just take that option away in an instant but again she didn’t for me, it was still my choice.
“I.. sure but you can have my bed. We’ll get everything set up once we get back from the Roost. You did tell Frank and Stein about this right?”
I gave in, deciding to let her stay.
“I’m a big girl, they doin’t need to know everything I do, and… thanks”
“It’s alright, just let me know next time you’re going to pull something like this ok?”
I added, equal parts excited to actually have someone to talk to besides myself in my own home, and worried what Frank and Stein might think was going on here. I put those thoughts out of my head for the moment as we got back on the bikes.
It was about 3 by the time we made it to Tuck’s bar after the delay Bianca had caused by moving herself out before we left. Just as I expected the sign said closed but the door was unlocked. The bar looked exactly the same as the last time I was there. Stone fireplace roaring and pristine wooden floor looking like it had been polished just this morning. Tuck was sitting behind the bar looking worse for wear. The look on his face said he knew we were coming and he wasn’t to thrilled about it.
“Does he know?”
Tuck asked pointedly, looking straight through me and speaking to Bianca.
“About me or you, because the answer is both of us.”
Tuck shook his head at this and a grim look came over him.
“Ya shouldn’t have pulled him into this.”
“Actually I pulled her into it if anything, going out there was my idea. I’ve got a mark like Robert’s, its actually what brought me to town in the first place.”
I said, hoping my honesty would get the same out of Tuck.
“So that bird called ya out here somehow?”
“More or less, but that’s not what I’m here about. I want to know why exactly you followed us out there yesterday.”
Tuck sighed and gestured to the seats at the bar, beckoning Bianca and I to take a seat.
“When Robert chased ya out the other night some of his friends came by. They all got that mark like him, they were sayin’ something about the thunderbird makin’ an appearance back at the old mine. I wanted to see for myself and make sure they were wrong. I found those bikes and ended up followin’ the trail. By the time I got there some guys were poking around that hole in the wall and a storm had kicked up. I saw them cut that rope and figured they weren’t doin’ no good. I… changed and dealt with them then forced my way into the old mine entrance, the rest ya already know cause I ran into ya not long after.”
This story made more sense to me, Tuck never came out there to find me, I just so happened to be out there. Those boulders I thought were moved had been, by Tuck which made me question just how strong he was. Each of those huge things had to weigh tons and there were three strewn about the entrance.
“Ok that makes more sense than what you told me, but what were you hoping to accomplish up there. If you ran into the thunderbird what would you have done?”
“I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t really up there again but the storm seemed to say otherwise. No storm like that just pops up and goes away, the bird had to be involved with that.”
“Actually she was there, just not as some huge bird. She was down in the caves with us but she looked human, native American to be more precise. That’s how I met her when I got marked and now she’s holding some kind of trial out in those mines.”
“You met the thunderbird, its a person? What does she want with this place now.”
Tuck said his demeanor changing into one full of concern. I didn’t know what else to say cause at the moment I didn’t actually know much more than that. It’s infuriating, this being in the dark thing. I just settled for dodging the question.
“Not to change the topic but are we to early to grab a bite to eat?”
I wish I had a camera handy because the face Tuck made at that whiplash change of topics was priceless. I can’t properly do it justice with words. Suffice it to say one of his eyebrows hit the ceiling while the other hit the floor and a violently confused expression plastered his face.
“Sure I guess, what do the two of ya want!”
Tuck exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air and walking back behind the counter. I ended up ordering some fried chicken sandwich with bacon and pickles, and as I took the first bite my risk of heart attack increased ten fold. Bianca ordered the same thing and was pecking at it inquisitively when I asked,
“So what’s the story with Rocco?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean why, why did Frank and Stein make him in the first place?”
I asked through a mouthful of greasy goodness.
“Well I think it started out as a joke, then Stein actually wanted an assistant and that joke became Rocco. They worked on him for a while, pretty much they took a random raccoon off the street and played around in its head. I know there was some gene splicing involved but if you want to know how they did it ask them.”
“So he was supposed to be an assistant in the lab? I think I’ve seen him doing one thing to help them out this whole time and he was poking through a back alley for old batteries.”
“Yeah, he’s not a great assistant, must be good enough though cause they haven’t tossed him out.”
“Are you kidding me! If they tossed him out he be so much worse! Just think, Rocco left to his own devices without any supervision.”
Both of us shuddered at the thought, if he was bad now he’d be a menace to society without the little control we had over him.
Bianca and I ate and eventually Tuck came out and I told him my story about Imalone. He seemed really concerned at the fact that the thunderbird could be walking around town and he wouldn’t know about it. I assured him that Shaoni was really hard to miss if you just looked at the eyes. It wasn’t like she looked any different either, no matter what she was wearing those tattoos would be a dead giveaway. Tuck assured me he was going to keep an eye out and gave me his number to call if I saw her. I don’t want to talk down on Bianca, but something about having a werewolf looking out for me as well was reassuring. Tuck told us a bit about what he was doing with Frank and Stein too. Apparently he contracted his “disease” as he called it long before he came to work in Eagles Peak. He was originally from Louisiana and moved to New York for a change of scenery and ended up getting a job in the mines here around 1940. I should also mention Tuck ages very slowly due to his “disease” so he looks like he’s in his 50’s or so but he was born in 1900. To his credit you’d never know he was anything other than your friendly middle aged bartender.
Bianca and I were getting ready to leave as it came time to open the bar for real. When Tuck offered us a round of drinks on the house.
“No, no that’s alright Tuck, you’ve done enough for us we’ll see you later.”
Bianca politely declined, pulling me towards the door. After I said my goodbyes and we had gotten back to the bikes I asked Bianca,
“Do you not drink? I’m not judging just… when Tuck offered you seemed kind of jumpy.”
“I just never have, I was kind of bouncing around the country when I turned 21 so I just never started.”
“So your telling me you never had your first drink? Well, we have to fix that then.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, its like a right of passage where I’m from. We’ll pick up a six pack or something on the way back but we don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”
I said, trying to convince her. I’m not a huge drinker but I am from Wisconsin, alcohol is a way of life out there and we’re know for our beer. In my family turning 21 and having your first drink is cause to bring the whole family together. I couldn’t do that for her but I could at least give her the experience, maybe give her just one more good thing to remember.
Bianca agreed and we pulled into the Save-A-Lot just outside town. The building was painted white bit it was slowly peeling away revealing a concrete grey underneath. The big glowing sign was missing a few letters now simply reading Sav- -Lo. Despite its decaying state it still had the classic beer cave inside. I took a second to look for something from Wisconsin, call me a snob but we do beer right. I settled on a 12 pack of Leinenkugel, that was close enough to home for me. Bianca trailed behind me in the store, a bit like a scared cat looking for a place to hide. Obviously she didn’t get out much and having people she didn’t really know much about was stressing her out somewhat. We got to the checkout and an older cashier eyed my suspiciously.
“Can I see an ID”
She croaked in a hoarse smokey voice. Now I don’t always look my age but I’m 28 there was no reason to try and ID me. That didn’t really bother me so much as the fact that my wallet was still at home. I’ve been spending the cash Bianca gave me back when I watched her house and I just keep that in my pocket. I also have a bad habit of only brining my wallet when I knew I would need it instead of carrying it on me. Regardless I started to sweat a little as I tried to explain the situation.
“You see I would but I left mine at home and I’m not sure if…”
I was cut off by Bianca reaching out and brushing the cashier’s hand Then looking her straight in the eye. I knew exactly what she was doing.
“Look we don’t have an ID for you right now can you just take it on faith?”
“I understand sweetie, here why don’t I cover it for you, my treat.”
The cashier said, turning a complete 180 on her previous question. I looked from Bianca to the old woman a few times before Bianca finally shrugged.
“What?”
I wondered if it was that easy for her to change my mind back when she manipulated me into watching the house.
“So she just payed for it?”
I asked Bianca as we walked back to the bikes.
“That was her, not that I couldn’t make her do that. As far as I can work out, if I suggest something people tend to do it. Over the years I learned how to control that to the point where I’m only able to do it when I want to. Frank said it has something to do with pheromones in my breath or something like that.”
Bianca explained, hoping onto her bike and keeping pace with me back towards my house. I didn’t ask for an explanation but she gave it. I’m not really sure pheromones were something that could have that profound of an effect on someone but I’d just add it to the list of questions I’d have to ask Frank or Stein at some point.
“Still it was a bit weird seeing it from the outside. Was I that easy to convince before?”
Bianca got a mischievous look in her eye.
“Oh, you were so much easier, I barley needed to try. Just flip my hair and flutter my eyes a few times and that was that.”
She said, smiling devilishly at me. I blushed a little bit, partly because that’s probably all it would’ve taken from someone who looked like her and partly because I was embarrassed that she might not just be poking fun at me.
“No you definitely did something to me, I lost like 6 hours in your kitchen! That was you right…right?!”
I asked a little nervous. Bianca just laughed and pedaled off ahead of me. She did not put my mind at ease with any sort of answer but she did beat me back to the house.
When I got in She was sitting on the couch sorting through a pile of movies she pulled out of her duffle bag. She really had just thrown the entire contents of her room into a bag and brought them over. Bianca seemed to settle on a movie before she realized I’d walked in.
“So you like horror?”
I said, gesturing to the same movies I’d seen lying out earlier when I watched her house.
“Yeah, I just like seeing how people think all these things act. Like Tuck, werewolves are always looked at as these big imposing things in movies but he’s a puppy in comparison.”
“The guy looks like he could tear me apart down the middle with his bare hands buuuut, I see your point.”
Thinking back to every interaction I’d had with the guy so far, he never really was as scary as he looked. I sat down on the couch, dropping the case of beer on the coffee table.
“So, have you picked out a movie yet?”
To which Bianca closed her eyes and poked at a random movie in the pile. “Dog Soldiers”, it was called, actually I think I’ve heard of that movie before. One of those its so bad its entertaining things. I popped the movie into my DVD player and sat back, handing Bianca a beer.
“ Is this how normal people feel?”
She asked as the movie started.
“Depends on what you mean by normal, even then I’m not sure that’s the question I’d be asking. Maybe you just finally have a chance to relax after years of never being able to.”
“Oh sure, I’ll just relax now that I know we have the actual thunderbird looking to force you into some kind of trial.”
Bianca joked sarcastically before suddenly softening and taking a sip of her beer.
“Uggg that’s bitter… but not bad. Maybe your onto something Kieth.”
I don’t remember much from the movie. One scene stuck with me, a guy trying to fist fight a werewolf. It was already campy but the effects on the werewolf were just dated enough to make it that much funnier. Bianca and I couldn’t help but to Imagine Tuck as the werewolf, bewildered as to why this scrawny thing thought it could fight him. At some point the beer ran out, Bianca and I making it through the whole case. I remember getting up to go to my own room and Bianca pulling me back. What I didn’t remember though was letting Shaoni into my house. I was woken up by a tap on my shoulder, coming face to face with her. Shaoni’s hand was on one shoulder and Bianca’s head was on the other. At some point we both feel asleep on the couch together, the TV was still on, illuminating the dark room.
“Well well, I wasn’t expecting you to have guests Keith.”
Shaoni mocked, clicking her tongue at me as she finished. She wore the same white night dress I’d seen her in before. Something in the house was open, a window, a door? I didn’t know but the smells of an autumn rainstorm blew into the house, a storm no doubt caused by Shaoni.
“I… its not what it looks like.”
I stammered out, embarrassed to be caught like this.
“I don’t care what you get up to in your free time Keith. I just came to tell you I’ll expect you at the mine tomorrow, The trials will be starting soon and I want everyone who will be participating to meet each other, you will be participating, won’t you Keith?”
She asked like it was a question but it really wasn’t, wether I liked it or not I was going to be there, I could come willingly or kicking and screaming. She was simply asking which I wanted it to be.
“When do you want me there?”
“Oh don’t worry about that, I’ll send someone to collect you around noon.”
With that she turned to walk away, but I wasn’t done with her yet.
“Wait! What exactly are these trials, what am I going to be doing out there?”
“That would spoil the surprise Keith, be patient, you’ll know in time. That pretty little thing there, her name wouldn’t happen to be Bianca, would it?”
Shaoni asked, pointing at Bianca who was still asleep on my shoulder.
“How did you know that?”
I shot back, immediately jumping to Bianca’s defense. I hadn’t known her all that long true, but I didn’t want her any closer to this than she had to be.
“Oh no reason.”
Shaoni said with a snicker that sounded more like a hiss. With that she disappeared, and I mean she was just gone. One minute she was there the next there was a gust of wind and a brief flash of light and she was gone. The disruption was enough to wake Bianca up finally.
“Ugh, head..still…spinning.”
“Heh, I think you overdid it a bit last night.”
“Ugh maybe.”
She said, holding her head that still rested on my shoulder.
“What’s going on anyway, why’d you wake me up.”
“It’s just… well things are moving a bit faster than I hoped.”
I said, trying to reassure her that it was nothing, most likely failing miserably but she didn’t seem to notice. There was a second there that I thought maybe things could just be normal. This whole thing would just blow over and Shaoni would never come back and get me for these “trials” but I always knew it was wishful thinking. Now Bianca was a part of it to somehow, that had made up my mind. She’d been through enough, now Shaoni seemed interested in her all of a sudden. If putting myself through these trials kept her away from Bianca that’s exactly what I’d do.
2024.05.19 20:13 PageTurner627 My Dad and I Hunted Down the Dogman that Killed My Sister
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 is 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.
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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 is 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.
2024.05.19 20:12 PageTurner627 My Dad and I Hunted Down the Dogman that Killed My Sister
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 is 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.
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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 is 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.
2024.05.19 20:10 PageTurner627 My Dad and I Hunted Down the Dogman that Killed My Sister
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 is 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.
submitted by PageTurner627 to creepypasta [link] [comments]
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 is 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.
2024.05.19 20:08 PageTurner627 My Dad and I Hunted Down the Dogman that Killed My Sister
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 is 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.
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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 is 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.
2024.05.19 20:02 PageTurner627 My Dad and I Hunted Down the Dogman that Killed My Sister
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 is 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.
submitted by PageTurner627 to scarystories [link] [comments]
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 is 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.
2024.05.19 18:27 kdbleeep Official trash panda
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2024.05.19 16:53 ChasingChelseap Official trash panda
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2024.05.19 10:54 PageTurner627 My Dad and I Hunted Down the Dogman that Killed My Sister
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 is 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.
submitted by PageTurner627 to nosleep [link] [comments]
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 is 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.
2024.05.19 06:08 SpezNc Which team name and logo for new WNBA Toronto Franchise?
Let’s brainstorm.
I have generated with the AI App “AI Chatbot” / “chat GPT” some ideas for logos around colours Black, white , blue and purple . It’s just a brainstorm to generate discussion.
I particularly like the name Toronto Rebels or Bandits with a raccoon. Also that animal scream Toronto.
Don’t hesitate to bring more names or suggest colour palette or logos ideas.
Colors : Blue, Purple, black and white
Names ideas :
-Toronto Rebels -Toronto Talons (could be too close to Raptors ?) -Toronto Towers -Toronto Heroes -Toronto Ice -Toronto Huskies (maybe we should start from scratch and be more creative) -Toronto Snowbirds -Toronto Sirens -Toronto North Stars -Toronto Vixens (could be controversial though) -Toronto Polar Bears -Toronto Icons (found the idea in another Reddit post ) -Toronto Eclipse -Toronto North -Toronto Blizzard -Toronto Aurora -Toronto Vortex -Toronto Dragons -Toronto Sting
Many more names to consider .
Other colours theme could be Blue, Silver and white
Discuss !
submitted by SpezNc to wnba [link] [comments]
I have generated with the AI App “AI Chatbot” / “chat GPT” some ideas for logos around colours Black, white , blue and purple . It’s just a brainstorm to generate discussion.
I particularly like the name Toronto Rebels or Bandits with a raccoon. Also that animal scream Toronto.
Don’t hesitate to bring more names or suggest colour palette or logos ideas.
Colors : Blue, Purple, black and white
Names ideas :
-Toronto Rebels -Toronto Talons (could be too close to Raptors ?) -Toronto Towers -Toronto Heroes -Toronto Ice -Toronto Huskies (maybe we should start from scratch and be more creative) -Toronto Snowbirds -Toronto Sirens -Toronto North Stars -Toronto Vixens (could be controversial though) -Toronto Polar Bears -Toronto Icons (found the idea in another Reddit post ) -Toronto Eclipse -Toronto North -Toronto Blizzard -Toronto Aurora -Toronto Vortex -Toronto Dragons -Toronto Sting
Many more names to consider .
Other colours theme could be Blue, Silver and white
Discuss !
2024.05.19 01:18 69rekaosrepus Worst sleep paralysis I’ve had
I have sleep paralysis somewhat regularly, it comes and goes. I have noticed I tend to get it more often when I don’t have a lot of sleep for a couple days. I have seen different sleep paralysis “demons” how ever the hat man experience I had was probably the worst sleep paralysis I have ever had. Here is the story
At the time I was living by myself in somewhat rural Alaska in a small duplex. My place was sorta small it was about 1000 sq ft with 2 bed 1 bath. When you open the front door the living room opens up to your right, the kitchen then bathroom are to your left and the 2 rooms are straight back with the doors being on the back side of the living room. Both rooms were pretty small, one I used for storage and the other my bedroom. Since the room was small my queen sized bed only fit comfortably in one orientation with the front door to the home being in direct line of sight from my bed and vice versa. Normally I sleep with my door closed but this particular night I slept with it open because I was so tired and accidentally fell asleep when I got home from a long day of work. I remember waking up to a noise and immediately noticed I couldn’t move. Since I get sleep paralysis often I have gotten better about not freaking out and normally if I close my eyes and focus on quickly rolling my body or moving my arm or leg I can move myself out of it. So almost routine at this point I quickly get myself out of it and sit up and look out into my living room to see what the noise was. Right next to my front door is a big window, I leave the blinds closed but light goes through them fairly easily. On this night the moon was probably full and the moonlight was coming through the window pretty bright and I could see my living room and kitchen fairly good. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary and I figured the sound came from sleep paralysis because not only do I sometimes see things but I also sometimes hear things. I went back to sleep. I again awoke in sleep paralysis but this time my chest was a bit heavier and my heart was pounding. The anxiety was a little more frightening and I didn’t immediately do my routine to get out of the sleep paralysis and mistakenly started looking around. That’s when I saw the hat man. My front door was wide open and white moon light shining in. At the door way the completely black figure with the distinct hat stood staring at me. I was in a state of panic and shock, I couldn’t tell if it was real or not because normally the environment doesn’t change and this time my front door was clearly open. I have a pistol I keep for self defense and it was on my nightstand. I did my routine, rolled my body and quickly grabbed my pistol. I sat up and pointed my pistol at my front door but it was closed and everything was normal. At this point my anxiety was high and I was nervous to fall back asleep because I haven’t had such bad sleep paralysis in a while but I laid back down, went on my phone for a bit and decided to go back to sleep. The way my duplex is set up my neighbor is on the bottom unit and I’m on the top so you have to go up some stairs to get to my front door. There is a small one car garage but it belongs to my downstairs neighbor and was used for storage so I parked my truck in front of it and the stairs to my front door was to the right of the garage and my truck. Now the dream is foggy but for some reason I dreamed that I woke up again, gotten scared and went outside to get in my truck and fell back asleep. I woke up again in sleep paralysis but this time I was in the passenger seat of my truck. Again I didn’t follow my routine, my head was foggy, confused, and nervous. I started looking around not being able to move and having my heart have this indescribable heavy pit of anxiety. I looked at my front door open with the hat man standing there looking inside my house. I was at this point, in such a state of panic I wanted to start crying, the type of crying when you make those disgusting audible sobs and gasp for air in between each sob, but because I couldn’t still being in sleep paralysis and not being able to move or make sound all I could do is watch this hat man in horror. It would get worse, while being a completely pitch black figure I could see the hat man move and turn his body around. He was now looking at me, my anxiety was at an all time high and at this point everything felt so real and looked so real that I believed it was real. I watched him slowly walk down the steps and make his way to my truck. He walked up to the window and I looked directly at his pitch black figure staring at me through the tinted window of my truck. And for the first time I saw a sleep paralysis “demon” with a color other than pitch black when the hat man grinned from ear to ear with pearly white teeth. His smile looked like Chester cat’s smile from Alice in Wonderland. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this level of fear at any other point in my life, panicked, I squeezed my eyes closed and tried to roll out of the sleep paralysis. I could vividly feel the cold leather of my car seat on my skin but when I finally rolled out of my sleep paralysis I was in my bed. Safe to say I didn’t go back to sleep. That was my worst and most frightening sleep paralysis experience and (knock on wood) I haven’t experienced anything nearly as scary since.
That was when I was about to turn 20, I’m now about to turn 23 and I have made significant improvements to my sleep which in turn has caused me to experience way less sleep paralysis. That time still haunts me. The worst part was how real it felt I legit thought I was in my car I couldn’t tell the difference between reality and dream, everything felt so real. Sleep paralysis is the worst and none of my friends and family experience it, so when I talk about it they don’t seem to grasp how scary it is for me. I have had demons squeeze my throat to where I couldn’t breathe while their pitch black face stares at me. I’ve had people stand in my room and all I could do is watch hoping they aren’t real feeling so vulnerable from not being able to move. I’ve tried screaming at my partner to help as I watched them sleep next to me not being able to get the scream out and feeling so trapped and anxious. It really does suck and I’m sorry for all the other folks who have to deal with it. Feel free to share your worst sleep paralysis stories I’m curious as to what other people have experienced.
submitted by 69rekaosrepus to SleepParalysisStories [link] [comments]
At the time I was living by myself in somewhat rural Alaska in a small duplex. My place was sorta small it was about 1000 sq ft with 2 bed 1 bath. When you open the front door the living room opens up to your right, the kitchen then bathroom are to your left and the 2 rooms are straight back with the doors being on the back side of the living room. Both rooms were pretty small, one I used for storage and the other my bedroom. Since the room was small my queen sized bed only fit comfortably in one orientation with the front door to the home being in direct line of sight from my bed and vice versa. Normally I sleep with my door closed but this particular night I slept with it open because I was so tired and accidentally fell asleep when I got home from a long day of work. I remember waking up to a noise and immediately noticed I couldn’t move. Since I get sleep paralysis often I have gotten better about not freaking out and normally if I close my eyes and focus on quickly rolling my body or moving my arm or leg I can move myself out of it. So almost routine at this point I quickly get myself out of it and sit up and look out into my living room to see what the noise was. Right next to my front door is a big window, I leave the blinds closed but light goes through them fairly easily. On this night the moon was probably full and the moonlight was coming through the window pretty bright and I could see my living room and kitchen fairly good. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary and I figured the sound came from sleep paralysis because not only do I sometimes see things but I also sometimes hear things. I went back to sleep. I again awoke in sleep paralysis but this time my chest was a bit heavier and my heart was pounding. The anxiety was a little more frightening and I didn’t immediately do my routine to get out of the sleep paralysis and mistakenly started looking around. That’s when I saw the hat man. My front door was wide open and white moon light shining in. At the door way the completely black figure with the distinct hat stood staring at me. I was in a state of panic and shock, I couldn’t tell if it was real or not because normally the environment doesn’t change and this time my front door was clearly open. I have a pistol I keep for self defense and it was on my nightstand. I did my routine, rolled my body and quickly grabbed my pistol. I sat up and pointed my pistol at my front door but it was closed and everything was normal. At this point my anxiety was high and I was nervous to fall back asleep because I haven’t had such bad sleep paralysis in a while but I laid back down, went on my phone for a bit and decided to go back to sleep. The way my duplex is set up my neighbor is on the bottom unit and I’m on the top so you have to go up some stairs to get to my front door. There is a small one car garage but it belongs to my downstairs neighbor and was used for storage so I parked my truck in front of it and the stairs to my front door was to the right of the garage and my truck. Now the dream is foggy but for some reason I dreamed that I woke up again, gotten scared and went outside to get in my truck and fell back asleep. I woke up again in sleep paralysis but this time I was in the passenger seat of my truck. Again I didn’t follow my routine, my head was foggy, confused, and nervous. I started looking around not being able to move and having my heart have this indescribable heavy pit of anxiety. I looked at my front door open with the hat man standing there looking inside my house. I was at this point, in such a state of panic I wanted to start crying, the type of crying when you make those disgusting audible sobs and gasp for air in between each sob, but because I couldn’t still being in sleep paralysis and not being able to move or make sound all I could do is watch this hat man in horror. It would get worse, while being a completely pitch black figure I could see the hat man move and turn his body around. He was now looking at me, my anxiety was at an all time high and at this point everything felt so real and looked so real that I believed it was real. I watched him slowly walk down the steps and make his way to my truck. He walked up to the window and I looked directly at his pitch black figure staring at me through the tinted window of my truck. And for the first time I saw a sleep paralysis “demon” with a color other than pitch black when the hat man grinned from ear to ear with pearly white teeth. His smile looked like Chester cat’s smile from Alice in Wonderland. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this level of fear at any other point in my life, panicked, I squeezed my eyes closed and tried to roll out of the sleep paralysis. I could vividly feel the cold leather of my car seat on my skin but when I finally rolled out of my sleep paralysis I was in my bed. Safe to say I didn’t go back to sleep. That was my worst and most frightening sleep paralysis experience and (knock on wood) I haven’t experienced anything nearly as scary since.
That was when I was about to turn 20, I’m now about to turn 23 and I have made significant improvements to my sleep which in turn has caused me to experience way less sleep paralysis. That time still haunts me. The worst part was how real it felt I legit thought I was in my car I couldn’t tell the difference between reality and dream, everything felt so real. Sleep paralysis is the worst and none of my friends and family experience it, so when I talk about it they don’t seem to grasp how scary it is for me. I have had demons squeeze my throat to where I couldn’t breathe while their pitch black face stares at me. I’ve had people stand in my room and all I could do is watch hoping they aren’t real feeling so vulnerable from not being able to move. I’ve tried screaming at my partner to help as I watched them sleep next to me not being able to get the scream out and feeling so trapped and anxious. It really does suck and I’m sorry for all the other folks who have to deal with it. Feel free to share your worst sleep paralysis stories I’m curious as to what other people have experienced.
2024.05.18 07:18 cboski Was happy to find these three all lined up!
 | I was excited to be able to adopt the leucistic and melanistic raccoons. I hope I can get some baby’s with similar coloring 🥰 submitted by cboski to PlanetZoo [link] [comments] |
2024.05.17 21:48 Play_Careless Stylized Fox 8" x 10" Acrylic on Canvas
 | Was done as a commission for a friend - he basically gave me stylistic freedom highlighting that he wanted bold colors! He was really happy with how it turned out! Up next I'll be doing a possum and raccoon in the same style :) submitted by Play_Careless to painting [link] [comments] |
2024.05.17 14:07 hylicism Sultai Reanimator/plot
 | Was thinking about how to best use Jace’s plot ability with these specific cards (Bramble Familiar and Esika) and realized that the other deck that loves to have big dumb creatures in it might synergize together. Analyze the pollen here is basically always a 1 mana creature tutor which gives you a little toolbox for your Harvester of Misery or turtle. Not too sure though still if I should be running brainstorm or not, wouldn’t even know what to take out. Anyone experimented with something similar? submitted by hylicism to TimelessMagic [link] [comments] |