First Previous Next
Patreon Official Subreddit Royal Road
92 Hours After the First Round of Interloper Interrogations. UNAFS Perseverance (HSR) - Shuttlecraft - 01. En Route to the New Lorisa Forests LZ.
Lysara
“Touching down in ten seconds.” I announced, my voice emanating from the encounter suit’s speakers in a language that, until just days ago, was an enigma.
Yet in a matter of days, this deceptively simple translation suite, a triumph of xenolinguistics, was now able to match my tone perhaps better than ever before.
Which explained exactly why Evina had responded in the way that she did. “Nervous, Lysara?” She offered in a snide, yet well-meaning jab.
I didn’t respond, not yet at least, as the last five minutes on approach were more often than not the most dangerous aspects of aeronautics; that much I learned from the pilots and armed service members I worked with over the years.
It was only after we’d touched down, and the final safety checks were complete, that I finally turned towards Evina. “I would be lying if I didn’t say I wasn’t at least a little bit unnerved about this whole situation.” I offered, gesturing towards the back of the shuttle, as the both of us unbuckled and left our seats. The whole mission was already memorized in our minds as we’d already run through every plan and backup plan we had over the entirety of the flight time down here. “And to be quite frank, I’m surprised you’re taking this whole thing so incredibly well.” I continued, going through the final checklists on the deployment of this platoon’s worth of combat drones as I did so.
“I think we’ve long since sailed past the point of no return the moment you told me that there was an intergalactic, eons-long war going on, Lysara.” The felinor offered with a shrug. “A bunker with potential ties with that aforementioned malevolent cosmic entity is nothing compared to that bombshell.”
“I’d have assumed that the nature of the bunker, and this mission being issued by said interloper, would’ve been the sticking point here.” I offered, genuinely curious as to the nonchalant attitude projected by the felinor.
“Eh. When you’ve lived in the wastes for this long, you’re bound to have heard the whole ‘the aliens did it’ conspiracy more often than you’d like. Now I’m not saying I believe every wastelander with a conspiracy theory… but I can’t admit the fact that the bunker has always been something that radiates a really weird aura about it. I mean, compared to literally everything else out there in the wastes? It exists in almost this time capsule of complete isolation. The beasts that roam the area, preying on anyone that gets close, don’t really help out much in that whole weird vibe either. So yeah, ever since my first iteration tried to drill her way into it, Far-Reach Point has been a point of great mystery amongst the survivors of the waste. Which lends itself really well to the possibility that your alien enemies could actually be behind it.” Evina shrugged once more, before adding a cheeky self deprecating comment. “The fact that it’s been broadcasting all this time should also be a dead giveaway to be honest. Because you definitely won’t see anything felinor-made still functional without constant maintenance after a few years into its lifespan.”
I chuckled at that statement, if only because it seemed to be made in genuine jest. “Well, we can’t say for certain that interloper tech is involved in its construction. What we do know is that the interloper has some vested interest in the facility.” I shot back, attempting to temper the felinor’s expectations and keeping everything to the limited facts we had on hand. “Or more specifically, the individual living within it.”
“And you got all of that just by putting two and two together huh? Your mission to find this person-of-interest, and the weird anomaly that is this signal station.” The felinor shot back with a disquietingly critical stare.
“It’s our one and only lead.” I shrugged. “It’s either that, or we comb through every living felinor on this planet. So in light of this massive lead, my hypothesis is that our person-of-interest, is in fact, somewhere within that facility.”
“Eh.” Evina once more shrugged. “A better conspiracy theory than the nutjobs. Or rather, good enough that I’d buy it.” She grinned, baring her teeth in the process which, at this point, I’d become accustomed to. If anything, it was after hours of ‘cat videos’, as Vir called them; that I finally started to become accustomed to these fangy grins. Moreover, it was becoming a point of endearment more than anything.
“In any case, drones are online and ready to go.” I continued, moving the conversation out of speculation and back into action, as the rear of the shuttle opened to a charred and lifeless forest floor.
“Man, Vir really did a number to this place, didn't he?” Evina whistled out.
“I… do apologize for all of the collateral damage we’ve incurred on your world-”
“Are you kidding me?!” The felinor interjected with a devious grin. “I hate forests! Heck, maybe it’s a carry-over from my perpetually-indoors first iteration, but forests have always been a place of danger and death lurking over every corner! So yeah, nah, don’t worry about it. If anything, Vir did us a favor by doing this; so be sure to like… let’s make sure to grab him a souvenir or something when we come back.”
The felinor’s frankly erratic behavior worried me sometimes.
But then again, this was to be expected given the nature of cultural barriers. As such, I simply ‘smiled’ back a smile of my own, bearing my blunt teeth as best as I could. “Noted, Evina.”
It was around that point where Evina finally donned her helmet, clasping it into place as she began testing the communications suite with surprisingly little difficult.
“Alright. Can you still hear me through this thing?”
“Loud and clear, Evina.” I nodded.
“Right, let’s get this party started.”

92 Hours After the First Round of Interloper Interrogations. New Lorisa Forests LZ, En Route to the Signal Station (Far-Reach Point).
Evina
We were parked approximately seven hundred or so meters from the signal station.
Though that distance was measured from point to point, and definitely didn’t account for the obstacles and terrain that stretched from here to the station.
Despite that, and what my memories had warned me was a treacherous trek through dense and uncompromising foliage, the world outside was now anything but.
However, despite the constant mission briefs and the logical part of my brain telling me that what awaited outside was nothing like my prior iterations recalled… the power of several lifetimes were just too powerful to overcome.
That was, until the exit ramp opened, and I saw the flattened devastation that awaited me. The charred forest, and the open landscape, quickly sent any doubts incurred by my prior iterations back to whence they came from.
So with one of the greatest obstacles out of the way, and the raw and unbridled power of human-driven alien technologies at our disposal, our deployment out of the shuttle and into the forest was a piece of cake.
More than that, I now had front row seats to the shock and uncompromising efficiency of automated combat.
Needless to say, I was more than happy to be on the other side of the barrel when it came to this engagement.
Four distinct squads of robots formed up and ran out of the back of the shuttle, forming into cohesive units comprised of ten or so felinoid bots, accompanied by a whole host of flying, crawling, slithering, and galloping machines that secured the perimeter for us within a matter of seconds.
Upon a single urging from Lysara, we walked out, flanked on all sides by a remaining detachment of bots, consisting of five felinoid units and a flight of five more drones.
For the first time in any of my prior iteration’s lifetimes, I finally felt like I was on the winning side.
It was a good feeling.
And one I hoped continued as we made our leisurely march through the decimated forests and up towards the station.
The whole scene was just so… jarring.
Especially as memory after memory came to the forefront of those trials and tribulations from the lives of my first, second, and third iterations that had all made this trek several times over.
The massive tileroot tree that dominated the area next to the station… was now just gone. The same could be said for the thick pipewood vines that obstructed the path every couple of steps, and even the earltail moss that kept growing thicker and thicker on the front entrance of the bunker.
Most importantly, the air around me was now silent and still, interrupted only by the near-silent whirrs from the robots and the crunching of ashen foliage beneath our boots.
This was perhaps the first time in my life I actually enjoyed the devastation, a thought that was both ironic as it was troubling.
Regardless, we eventually made our way to the front of the facility in a staggering seven minutes; arriving in front of a circular door with gear-like cogs that were sunken into the facility itself.
“So… why didn’t you try blasting through the walls or the other surfaces of the facility?” I inquired bluntly, pointing at parts of the facility that weren't built into the hillside.
“Countermeasures.” Lysara responded, his voice resonating into my ears, a weird and alien sensation that still sent shivers down my spine. “Our scans were incapable of determining the detailed makeup of what was inside. And as a result, we have the be on the lookout for potential countermeasures against unauthorized entry. In addition, given the fact the facility still has enough power to maintain that broadcast, we can be certain that we not only have to worry about passive countermeasures, but active ones as well.”
“Makes sense.” I nodded. “Is this why you wanted my expertise to begin with? In the hopes that I might have some intel on this place?”
“Correct.” Lysara nodded.
“Well thankfully, you’re in luck.” I responded with a cocky grin, pointing towards a not-so-insignificantly sized hole drilled into one of the door’s massive cog-like edges. “Like I told you in the briefing, my first iteration had tried her hand at breaking into this place. It didn’t work out, obviously, but she did have some theories as to how the whole door system works.” I began walking towards the hole, as a flood of memories from my first iteration slammed into me hard. “So, just beyond this hole should be an emergency release mechanism. Apparently most fallout shelter doors have this as a failsafe or something; accessible only from the inside but capable of being accessed from the outside if you're willing to dig through twenty or so meters of solid metal and rock. This is the mechanism I’m talking about here, so not actually the door itself. My memory’s a bit fuzzy on the specifics but… I’m sure that if we drill deeper into that, angling the hole sideways so we don’t actually go through the door itself, we should hit a mechanism that can be manipulated. Now if you have some fiber optic camera wire and a master lockpick or something, I’m sure you can do it in a few days. But considering we have the power of artificial intelligence on our side… I’m sure we can do it in five minutes.”
That vote of confidence for Vir was rewarded with a ping and a notification in front of my visual field. The existence of a HUD was again, just as jarring as literally everything else right now.
With a heavy breath from Lysara, who at this point was scanning the hole with a whole host of scientific instruments, I received my answer as to how it was we were going to proceed. “One of the bots can be repurposed as a multipurpose drone.” He gestured towards a combat bot that was quickly switching from its main weapon, to what looked to be a seriously well-kitted out multitool kit masquerading as a hand. “We should be able to bore through this in about five minutes, from there… I’ll switch things over to Vir, and I’m sure we’ll be inside that bunker in under fifteen.”
The confidence was palpable in Lysara’s voice, giving me hope that today was the day that the burning curiosity in my first iteration’s memories would finally be addressed.
First Previous Next
​
(Author’s Note: We arrive on the planet, and make our way towards the signal station! All the while, we observe the tireless preparations Vir has made in ensuring that the landing zone is cleared of threats! Evina elaborates further on exactly what her first iteration had done in order to try to get in, let's just hope that this time around, they can make more progress than her first iteration! :D The next chapter is already out on Patreon as well if you want to check it out!)
[If you guys want to help support me and these stories, here's my ko-fi ! And my Patreon for early chapter releases (Chapter 97 of this story is already out on there!)]

Credit to u/SpacePaladin15 for the NOP Universe.
Hey, I hope everyone's doing well!
Today we return to the namesake of this fic, an actual lesson about animals. This one focuses on Koalas! One of Australia's most recognisable critters. I hope you enjoy.
It's hardly worth mentioning, seeing as I'm an infrequent poster at the best of times, but I'll not have another chapter out for a few weeks due to limited free time and devoting most of my writing time to an upcoming ficnapping. Be sure to look out for that!
[First] [Previous] [Next]
Memory transcription subject: Rysel, Venlil Environmental Researcher
Date [Standardised human time]: 8th September 2136
“Koalas!”
Bernard’s energised voice boomed through the air as the classroom's monitor flickered into life, images of this paws lecture topic popping up one after the other until the entire screen was filled with a collage of furry quadrupeds.
Squee! I’ll never get tired of this, it’s all so cool!
As usual the sight of something new stirred immediate discussion, hushed murmurs swelling into vibrant discourse in little more than a heartbeat. Most of the class swiftly huddled together into small herds to bounce ideas around while the rest opted to stick to the solace of their own thoughts as they took in the display.
I’d be quite happy in either situation, though seeing as Sandi had already sunk into deep concentration and Kailo had peeled off to talk with Ennerif and Solenk, it seemed the decision had been made for me on this occasion. Wasting no more time on idle inspection of the people around me, I focused my full attention forward, eager to form first impressions before the lesson began in earnest.
Now then, time to make some educated guesses. What traits does this animal have? I wonder if I’ll get any right this paw?
Professional assumptions went paw-in-paw with the lectures, examining and coming up with hypotheses about the specimens was only natural. Recently however, I’d started to make a little game of it to make things even more interesting than usual. A veritable bonfire of ideas had been set ablaze within me, fueled by my newfound knowledge of Earthen wildlife. Every flash and spark of the flame was a fresh theory I could try to apply to the lectures. It was an invigorating exercise that further stoked my unceasing wonderment.
So far I’d only done this once during the previous class and, to my disappointment, I’d not done too well.
I was right when I guessed that chickens were omnivores, but wrong in my assumption that they could fly. And that red thing on their head, the um… what was it called? The comb! Yes, the comb. I thought that was to attract mates, but it regulates body heat instead. It’s fascinating. Oh! Stars damn it I’m rambling!
I bapped my tail against my leg, the soft thud being just enough to snap me back from my runaway thoughts before I went completely wall-eyed. I was becoming more and more accustomed to getting lost in my own head while remaining conscious of the fact; it was happening so frequently now that it was pretty much impossible not to. Now I was able to pull myself back to the world around me without having to rely on someone else shaking me out of it. Most of the time anyway.
Sandi still keeps an eye on me, and Kailo even decided to help out once without being too snide about it. Anyway where was I? Oh yeah, Koalas.
Glancing at the furred animals, two things immediately stood out. Firstly, their eyes were in a more central position on their face. And second, all the images showed them being on or close to trees. There were other noteworthy observations of course, such as the Koala’s prominent nose and rounded features, but they fell to the wayside as I honed in on these points first.
Hmmm… ok. I already know to discount the idea that they’re predators just from eye position, so let’s get that thought out of here. Maybe omnivorous? Herbivore? Agh no, I can’t just guess that for the sake of guessing, that’s the same problem! Hrm, it’s tough making these assumptions now that everything I thought I knew has been turned on its head.
Nevermind, I’ll focus on the other thing. All the trees make me think they’re arboreal, that seems to be a reasonable assumption. I wonder what else they-
Clearing his throat, Bernard broke my concentration, his call for attention silencing the murmuring conversation and redirecting everyone's focus to the lecturer's podium.
His gaze panned across the room as he waited for everyone to settle, a beaming smile lighting up his face, “As ever I’m delighted to see you all get so into the subject matter from the get go. I’m looking forward to hearing what you were discussing should you wish to share. For now though, how about we get started, hm?”
A chorus of merry bleats rang out from across the audience, ears and tails flicking happily in agreement. Bernard's grin grew in tandem with the class's fervour, clasping his hands together enthusiastically as he launched into the lesson, “Excellent! Then let’s get started.”
The pictures on screen dissolved away until only one remained, enlarging to cover the entire monitor with the fluffy grey face of a Koala peacefully reclining in the crook of a tree.
“Ah, there we are,” Bernard’s baritone timbre drifted through the room as he looked up at the image, his own tone reflecting the relaxed attitude of the animal on screen, “He looks so comfortable doesn’t he? Perfectly at peace with the world, not too surprising considering they sleep almost 20 hours a day. A full paw!”
A wave of beeps and gasps rippled through the herd, punctuated by a single yawn-dressed comment from Rova, “A full paw? Hwuuu… jealous.”
Her drowsy remark elicited several whistling giggles from the herd, Bernard's own jovial chortle joining them as he turned to face her, “Late evening Rova?”
I twisted a little in my seat, panning an eye in Rova’s direction just in time to see her bleary eyes bulge open and her ears shoot up, now intensely aware of the fact she hadn’t been as quiet as she thought she had.
Sitting up abruptly, she hastily tapped down errant tufts of wool that’d flared in surprise as she composed herself, though her nervousness at becoming the centre of the class's attention was still plain for all to hear, “Uh- I um… achem, a little bit yes, um- …sorry. Lokki dragged me out to a movie viewing in the rec centre. It went on pretty late.”
A melodramatic bray from the other side of the room drew everyone's ears away from Rova to the now aghast Lokki, paw splayed across his chest in faux indignation, “Dragged you? Well excuse me for trying to broaden your horizons with human movies. That’ll be the list time I- …Ahaaaa…”
Lokki’s theatrics were cut short by a heavy yawn of his own, a swell of whistling laughter rolling through the herd as vibrant bloom lit up his snout, a sight that elicited a particularly amused bleat from Rova.
Turning away from the duo I looked back at Bernard, pleased to see that he was chuckling along with us. Behaviour like Lokki’s would never have been tolerated in my school and university days but, in stark contrast, Bernard revelled in it, the liveliness of his students fueling his own bombastic style of teaching. It was a pleasant change of pace having a teacher who let us all be ourselves in class; provided we weren’t too disruptive to the lesson plan.
Speaking of which.
His laughter still rumbling through the air, Bernard clapped his hands to pull everyone's focus back to him, “Ok, ok, let’s get back to it then shall we? Rova. Lokki. Hopefully the two of you can stay awake long enough until you can grab yourselves a coffee.”
As the class settled down and the last few giggling beeps petered out, Benard pointed a hand to the screen, “So, the Koala. Let’s start simple shall we? They are herbivorous marsupials native to the eastern and southern coasts of Australia. Easily recognised the world over, they are a well known and beloved symbol of their homeland, along with other animals such as the Kangaroo and the Emu. The former of which you might remember from one of our earlier lectures.”
Indeed I did remember, along with how angry Bernard had gotten after some speh-head had derided the Yotul after he explained how he held specific disdain for such attitudes.
Uuuggghh… I never want to see him angry again. So chilling.
I shook my ears in an effort to dismiss the unpleasant memory, panning my eyes back to the monitor to try and distract myself by inspecting the Koala’s physical appearance once more. Thankfully, by some Star's blessed intervention, Bernard had the exact same idea.
“Koala’s are rather squat in stature, ranging around sixty to eighty-five centimetres in length and weighing little more than fifteen to sixteen kilograms at their full size. As you can see, the fur of this fellow before you is a lovely silvery grey, but their fur can also sport a chocolaty brown hue as well. Arguably the most distinctive part of their appearance is their head, being rather large for their body size and having rounded ears, a large nose, and a pair of small eyes. These are often brown but variations do occur.”
It didn’t slip past my notice that Bernard didn’t bother to point out that the Koala’s eyes were forward facing. I didn’t think he’d simply forgotten, so perhaps he just felt it wasn’t necessary given that he’d already stated it was herbivorous. Either way, no one stuck up a paw or tail to question him.
“Now this will hardly be surprising considering how long they sleep, but Koala’s are largely sedentary and it’s rather easy to see why when you have a look into the contents of their diet.”
With the press of a button the Koala on screen was replaced by images of vibrant green vegetation. Soaring trees and flowering shrubbery weaved together across landscape framed pictures pulled admiring trills from the herd, the diversity of the plant life being shown standing as a reminder that it wasn’t only animal life that flourished on Earth.
After giving everyone the chance to take in the picturesque scenes, Bernard casually hammered that point home, “This is eucalyptus or, more accurately, a choice selection of more than 700 plants belonging to the eucalyptus genus, though the Koala itself favours 30 of them in particular.”
700!? Stars…
Realising that my ears had drooped in my momentary awe, I twisted them back to tune into the lesson, only for them to splay out in shock at the next words to come out of Bernard's mouth.
“The leaves of these plants are the primary food source of the Koala and there are a couple things worth mentioning when talking about these plants. For starters they do not have much nutritional or caloric value, leading to the Koala’s low-energy lifestyle. Additionally, they contain toxic compounds.”
A shiver instantly ran through the herd, ears flicking rapidly in confusion and alarm followed by a few quizzical whispers. It didn’t take long for someone to decide to give a proper voice to the murmuring.
“Excuse me Doctor. Did we hear that right? Their diet is made up of toxic flora?” Vlek’s grumbling incredulity cut through the herd's mutterings with ease. Until Kailo’s recent change of heart, the fifty something rotation old blonde Venlil had been a close second in terms of scepticism. Mercifully his rebuttals had always been relevant questions as opposed to ranting diatribes, so he at least remained on topic if nothing else.
Bernard nodded in confirmation, smiling back at Vlek while absentmindedly twirling the end of his moustache, “You heard me right, they do indeed consume plants that are toxic. Just not to them.”
Any worry or uncertainty still clinging to the herd was swept away by the provision of the glaringly obvious answer, leaving me chuckling inwardly at the oversight.
Ah of course! The plant might be poisonous but they’ll have evolved to deal with that. Stars… I’m so used to expecting the unexpected with Earth that I didn’t even consider the simplest solution.
“I see, thank you Doctor,” Vlek replied, a tinge of interest still audible in his tone, “I assume they’ve developed some adaptation to become immune to the harmful effects?”
The question immediately evoked a smirk from our teacher, but he hurriedly suppressed it while bobbing his head, “They have indeed. There are several factors that aid in their digestion of eucalyptus leaves without succumbing to the plant's baleful properties. The first is a part of the intestinal tract called the cecum. It contains a microbiome that allows the Koala to digest the eucalyptus. Coupled with this is an enzyme in the Koala’s liver that helps them break down the toxins. They are also capable of sniffing out the plants with the least amount of toxins, ensuring that they ingest as little as possible.”
Pausing for a breath Bernard looked back at the screen before turning to face us, another grin curling at the edges of his mouth as he continued with his explanation, “This is mostly for adult Koala’s, because while their young also possess these same adaptations, they don’t just go straight to munching through foliage right after being born. No, they need a little help making that jump and getting a stomach full of all that good gut bacteria. It’s nothing bad, but those of a sensitive stomach may wish to prepare themselves for this next part.”
Bernard’s assurances did little to assuage the concern that his warning had foisted upon us. Having been exposed to so much of the weirdness Earth had to offer everyone always ended up on edge whenever Bernard gave advice like this, even if he did say it in jest.
What strange nonsense thing do Koala pups do then? Judging by the way he’s acting it probably isn’t something as simple as drinking milk from the mother. Hmmm…
“So,” Bernard began, snapping us from our pensive stupor, “Young Koala’s, known as joeys, have a gestation period of thirty-five days on average, which is approximately forty-two paws. Once born they travel from the birth canal to a pouch in their mother so that they can continue to develop and grow. In the pouch the joey finds and latches onto one of two teats and these provide the newborn with a steady stream of nourishing milk. It spends the next six to seven months growing in the pouch, its eyes, ears, and fur all developing as time goes on.”
Okay, interesting. But this is exactly how I thought it’d go. What’s different?
The unexpected normalcy of the Koala’s birth and growth cycle had calmed everyone's nerves, only to be replaced with an air of suspicion as we waited with rapt attention for Bernard to drop the other claw and upend our expectations like he always did.
Not wanting to keep us in further suspense he forged ahead, the tempo of his voice picking up as the smile started to crease his face once more, “Now to make the switch from milk to eucalyptus, the mother also feeds the joey a substance called pap. It comes from the cecum I mentioned earlier, and contains all the gut bacteria required to help the young Koala in making the switch to eucalyptus.”
He stopped and looked around, searching us for a reaction to what I felt was a rather bland statement of fact. What was it he was saying without actually saying? Koala pups drink milk to mature and then include this pap substance so that they can start eating plants. I don’t see what-
The cecum is part of the intestine.
I blinked.
I blinked again, the intrusive interruption scouring my brain clean of any other thought bar the one it’d just implanted itself in the forefront of my mind.
Oh stars. They-
“They eat their own poop!?”
The shocked bleat shattered the peace of the room to reveal that most if not all of us had come to the same tail curling conclusion. As the hall filled with unrestrained vocalisations of disgust, an ‘Ugh’ over here and a ‘Blegh’ over there, Bernard’s own bellowing laughter joined the throng of voices.
“Ha! Everytime! Each and every time. Clearly it doesn’t matter if my students are Human or Venlil. Whenever someone learns about the Koala’s dietary development the reaction is the same!”
Pleased with himself beyond reason, Bernard chuckled away while the rest of us grappled with this ghastly reality. While there were plenty of animals that feasted on things that ranged from simply unappealing all the way to the stomach churningly grotesque, I’d never heard of an animal that actively consumed the excrement of its own species. Benefits aside, the prospect of having to do that to survive to adulthood sent a shiver of revulsion down my spine.
Ewww… Stars, I hope I forget this feeling by 2nd meal. They’re serving sturen and magamroot stew later. I was really looking forward to it.
With the herds mood beginning to temper Bernard tapped the podiums controls, removing the verdant collage of eucalyptus to display several similar yet distinct environments, still chortling merrily to himself in the process, “Ok then, with that little foray into their diet complete, why don’t we look at their habitat in more detail? As you might imagine given their diet and arboreal nature, Koala’s live in forested regions, and can be found in tropical and temperate zones. About a century ago they were classed as a vulnerable species, however efforts were made to turn this around and increase their numbers. Sadly the largest factor in their decline was human activity, as the fertile lands that gave rise to their bountiful forests were coveted farm land for our settlements.”
It was strange to hear Bernard so matter of factly admit to humanity's negative impacts on other species. He’d alluded to such things in the past but always with an air of caution, carefully pawing the line between honestly answering a question while not painting humanity as uncaring and destructive. AKA, the ‘predators’ we’d all initially expected them to be.
Perhaps his comfort in making such admissions was a reflection of the class's comfort with him, for no one so much as batted an ear. Even Kailo, who I would’ve expected to jump at the chance to use this as a prime example of predatory danger, only flicked an ear in stern yet silent concern.
A cough from Bernard drew my attention back, a new picture on screen that showed a forest from a bird's-eye view. Drawn across the image were around a dozen ringed areas, some bordering one another while others overlapped to some degree. It took me a moment, but I soon recognised that what I was looking at was a map, the rings representing what I assumed to be territories. And it didn’t take much effort to guess who each one belonged to.
“From habitats we move onto behaviours, so let’s start with territories. Koala’s are solitary animals. Yes, despite being herbivores. Considering they’re only awake for roughly four hours of the day I can hardly blame them. Lots to do and not a lot of time to do it. Jokes aside, once they mature they are quite independent, carving out a little slice of land for themselves, as displayed in this example, called a Home Range. That is not to say they go it alone and leave everything else behind however. Rather, as shown in the map behind me, they live in their own space while still being part of a larger social group.”
With another press of his pad the picture was updated to show one of two symbols in each segment, along with a key to the side of the map displayed in helpful Venlang. A quick glance told me that the symbols were representing whether the territory belonged to a male or female of the species.
“As you can see there is quite a bit of overlap between different Koala’s territories. It is in these areas that most of the socialising takes place between neighbours. The trees in these locations represent the few areas where intrusion across territories is acceptable for the sake of social interaction. Outside of that the Koala’s stick to their own territories for the most part, with the exceptions of Koala’s who are passing through, attempting to become part of the social group themselves, or dominant males who sometimes go off into another Koala’s range. But how do they know where one range begins and another range ends you might ask? Well, this brings us onto the next part of the lecture. How do Koala’s communicate?”
Wiping away the map from the monitor, Bernard loaded up a video of a Koala sitting in a tree and pressed play. Head held high, the Koala’s body shook as it belted out a reverberating call into the wilderness that could only be described as a garbled combination of a car engine failing to turn over mixed with the hiccups of someone with a particularly sore throat.
That’s how they sound? Oof that must be rough on the lungs.
I clearly wasn’t the only one to share such a thought, because I clocked Sandi tracing a paw along her neck as the noise went on, ears fluttering in discomfort at the noise.
Bernard himself cleared his own throat as the video came to an end, minimising it and replacing it with another image of a tree with a Koala rubbing up against the bark, “I think they’ve got me beat on who’s got the deeper voice!”
His joke garnered several amused beeps, a rare reaction that caused a beaming smile to shine across his face at lighting speed, “Oh you’re too kind. I’ll be here all week. Now where were we? Oh yes! Communication. As you’ve just heard, Koala’s are capable of loud low pitched bellows that can carry over vast distances. These express everything from ‘Hello I’m over here’ to ‘This is my turf, stay away’. Bellowing is more common in the males than the females, opting for shouting matches as opposed to outright fights when it comes to asserting dominance. Other vocal expressions include grunts, wails, and snarls if they’re acting particularly angsty. Mother and joey pairs also communicate through gentle clicking, squeaking, and murmuring sounds. And there’s one more thing worth mentioning. Something they have in common with Humans and Venlil when it comes to emoting.”
Really? They do something we do?
Curious, I pressed myself against the desk, straining as close as I could to once more scrutinise the Koala’s features. Not a lot stood out to me at first, the grey marsupial not sharing many similarities with a Venlil that I could identify.
Ok think. We show emotion with our ears, tails, and our wool on occasion. They don’t have tails so it’s obviously not that. Wool standing on end is more a reaction than a conscious expression. So it must be the ears then.
To my quiet satisfaction, my hunch was soon validated by Bernard, “As well as their vocalisations, Koala’s are very emotive through their facial features. Just like humans, they use their mouths and lips to show how they feel, but these tend more towards the aggressive side of the scale than what you might see on a human. Regarding yourselves however, Koala’s utilise their ears in tandem with their mouth movements when showing strong emotion.”
I was delighted to hear that my assumption was correct, a little happy flick twisting out through my tail and bapping against my chair with a muted thump against the plastic.
Hehe yes! Got one right!
“Now then, we are getting close to lunchtime so I’ll finish this segment off with something I think you’ll find particularly interesting. Diplomacy.”
Perplexed mutterings followed in the wake of the bizarre inclusion to the lecture, my own thoughts being dominated by bewilderment as I tried and failed to make sense of how the two could possibly be related.
Why would Koala’s, or any animal for that matter, be linked to diplomacy? Hmmm...
I could understand dispatching exterminators to deal with a predator issue as a show of goodwill, that at least includes animals, but Humans aren’t like that so I think I can safely scratch that off the list.
Maybe the humans who live in that region benefited from Koala’s in some way. Could they have gotten something from them? But what?
Hopefully not what the pups get from their mothers.
Agh no! Begone awful intrusive thoughts. Blegh! I don’t need that in my head.
As I wrestled with the short-lived revulsion inflicted upon me by my Star's damned subconscious, Bernard placed a new image on screen, one that was decidedly different from all that had preceded it.
On screen were more than a couple dozen pictures of humans. Some were pictured alone while others congregated in large groups while cameras surrounded them from all angles. Across all the images, I noted two common themes. First of all, a solid majority of the humans were wearing formal wear similar to what I’d seen worn by UN representatives on TV. If the gaggle of journalists in the background of the photos didn’t already confirm my suspicions, then it was this similarity which made me conclude they were all people of some importance. Likely politicians judging from context clues.
Secondly, each of the individuals was interacting with a Koala in some form. Some cradled one against their chests while others were feeding it eucalyptus leaves or pellets of some kind. One of the assumed politicians had become an impromptu bed for a snoozing bundle of fur, a gleeful smile spread across their face as they lovingly gazed down at the sleeping Koala in their lap.
As I continued to stare at the assorted photos something clicked into place, a sudden spark flickering into life. A burgeoning light of comprehension that flared and swelled with every wide-eyed breath I took. Some things still escaped me, things I hoped would soon be explained, but in staring at all of the humans happy smiling faces, I was struck with an instant of pure understanding.
If someone, say a Nevok for instance, offered to gift me a creature that was common to them but which might exotic and breathtaking to a Venlil, how could my feelings not be swayed? How could I walk away from that encounter and not have grown closer to them as a result?
“Koala diplomacy,” Bernard waved his hand up at the monitor, a slight reverence in his tone, “My favourite kind of soft power diplomacy. Where political leaders take photo ops with Koala’s and, on occasion, the Australian government loans Koala’s to other nations for a time to bolster positive relations. It certainly helps that Koala’s are a beloved animal worldwide, drawing large crowds and revenue for countries fortunate enough to host the adorable critters.”
The truly alien concept predictably sparked instant discussion in the herd, two polar opposite schools of thought swiftly cementing themselves as the most popular opinions. Simultaneously, I heard one voice trill excitedly while another scoffed at what they clearly saw as a ridiculous and offensive notion.
“Squee! That’d be so cool! I’d love to get the chance to see a Liri from Coila. Remember the Rainbow Boa? Think of that shimmering effect and colour but put it on a bird! Ah! I’ve only heard their song on video. It’d be a treat to hear it in person!”
Ooo! I’ve read about them! I’d love to get up close to one.
“Loaning. As if animals are property to be hoarded and traded? Pugh! Another predatory trait the humans don’t want to acknowledge for what it is.”
Ugh, typical. Jump right to the worst possible option.
However, despite my dismissal of their disparaging fumings, an uncomfortable thought pressed upon my mind. While it was plain to see how much humans cared for the Koala, it didn’t change the fact that humans did keep animals as property just as the scornful herd member had said.
This begged a rather important, disquieting question. Aside from keeping some animals as cattle, a stomach tightening minefield I had no desire to step a claw onto right now, how else did humans keep other creatures. And how did they treat them?
Before I was fully conscious of doing it my paw was in the air, the question primed on my tongue.
Noticing my elevated paw Bernard pointed at me, smiling warmly, “Yes Rysel? What’s on your mind?”
Sorry Bernard. I hope this one’s not too awkward for you to answer.
Flicking my ear in appreciation, and waiting for everyone to settle enough so that I could be heard, I voiced my concerns as neutrally as possible, “Thank you Doctor. I uh, just had a thought. We know that humans keep certain animals for… particular reasons, and we know why. From how you’ve spoken about Koala’s I think it's fair to say that the same cannot be said for them. However, this makes me wonder, what other reasons do humans have for keeping animals and how do you treat them?”
A flash of surprise blinked across Bernard's eyes but vanished so quickly that it felt like I’d imagined it. Had he not expected such a question? Maybe he was just shocked that it’d been me who’d ended up asking it?
Stars, am I so predictable that no one expects me to ask difficult questions?
Unfortunately, a quick glance at my deskmates seemed to prove that to be the case, as both Sandi and Kailo were looking at me with differing degrees of astonishment flapping in their ears.
Well speh.
“A very good point Rysel, certainly one that’s worth raising. Yet another example of you all anticipating what I have to say before I can bring it up myself.” Bernard tapped the podium, switching off the monitor before returning his focus to me, “We won’t be needing that. I’ve nothing prepared that I can show you and we’re heading to lunch in a few minutes anyway. Still, that’s plenty of time to give you a bit of an answer.”
A bit? What does he mean just a bit?
Made even more curious by Bernard's preempted admission that he wasn’t going to fully answer my query, I dialled both my ears on him, fixing him with an inquisitive stare as he started to explain with a tone that was noticeably more nonchalant than any of his previous explanations.
“So, animals in captivity for reasons other than what you already know. Honestly I would love to delve into other reasons regarding why we keep animals. However, I have a lesson plan in the works that I hope to share with you all in the not too distant future. Some of it touches upon this very topic and I’d quite like to bundle it all together. That said, I can tell you how animals in captivity are treated. In short, the answer is very well. There are a mountain of laws both on private and public interests that govern the standards and ethical treatment of animals, and breaches of these laws are quite severe even for relatively minor infractions.”
While I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed by the vague answer to what was really the bulk of my question, I was at least satisfied by Bernard’s assurances that animals in captivity, such as the Koala, were well looked after. Considering the barely subdued grumbling coming from some corners of the audience it was clear that several of the herd didn’t believe Bernard outright, but I trusted him to be honest. Additionally, the mention of an upcoming lecture focused on humans keeping animals caused quite the buzz.
I felt a mix of excitement and trepidation at exploring the topic further. He’d pretty much confirmed we wouldn’t be talking about cattle farms, for which I was relieved, but that still left a huge amount of uncertainty in what was to come.
Humans keeping animals as cattle was a forgone conclusion. As horrifying as that reality was, it was one I could understand from a detached and strictly clinical point of view. Being predators they ate meat and therefore they kept cattle. But the concept of keeping animals for any other reason baffled me.
What could be the purpose? The diplomacy thing makes sense now that I have context, but what other reasons could they have.
The class's discussions were interrupted by the recognisable ring of the break bell, the shift in attention eliciting a change in conversation from confused hypotheses to peppy conversation on how everyone was planning to spend their break and what they had in mind for 2nd meal.
“Well I can see everyone’s excited for lunch, and who am I to disappoint,” chuckling Bernard waved us all up from our seats, pocketing his pad from the podium and heading to open the classroom door for us, “Enjoy your break, get a good rest along with a hearty meal, and I’ll see you all back here at the usual time.”
As everyone else filed out I stayed behind, waving at Sandi and Kailo as they left, and pawing over to Bernard once he and I were the only ones left in the room.
Ears folded down and with an apologetic tinge in my voice I greeted him as I sidled up to him, “Hey Bernard, I uh… sorry if that last question was unexpected.”
Chortling in reply, Bernard waved a hand through the air in a sign I’d come to understand meant ‘not a problem’.
“No need to apologise Rysel. It was a good question and most certainly not a problem.”
Heh, called it.
I sighed, allowing tension I didn’t realise I’d been holding to relax itself from my shoulders, “Phew, that’s a relief. I’m glad. I’m curious to hear what this new lesson is you’ve got in store for us by the way.”
Bernard wagged a finger at me, throwing up his eyebrows in mock amazement, “Oh are you now? Well I’m afraid you’ll have to remain curious for the time being. It’s going to be quite the surprise if all goes to plan. But…”
He trailed off, glancing at me before looking to the door like he was making sure no one else was around.
Wait, is he going to tell me? Oh please yes let me know now!
Stopping myself from jumping on the spot in excited anticipation, and trying my damndest to stop my tail from wagging in equal measure, I stared up at Bernard as he stewed in his thoughts before turning back to face me.
“I can’t tell you the specifics, but I’m working with Alejandro and Tolim to get something together. A trip that’s not a trip as it were. And when it happens, I’m going to need a few of the more accepting members of the class to lend me a hand. I’m hoping you and a couple others will be able to help with that?”
A trip that’s not a trip? What does that mean? Agh who cares about that right now! Bernard’s relying on me to help out!
Still trying not to keep myself from bouncing around with pup like glee I swished my tail and nodded my head in joint agreement, happy to help with whatever Bernard had in store for us, “Of course! Anything you need I’ll be there to lend a paw. You can count on me!”
A broad warm smile lit up Bernard's face, a hand patting me on the shoulder in appreciation, “Thank you Rysel. I knew I could rely on you but it still warms my heart to hear it. And, as thanks for this and for the many times you’ve shown your support, the surprise includes a little something special I think you’d appreciate the most.”
If my earlier enthusiasm had been at a nine, then the implication of a supposed gift sent it rocketing all the way to a hundred in a heartbeat.
“Wait… WHAT!? What do you mean? What are you doing?”
As impossible as it seemed, Bernard's grin grew even wider as I almost lost myself in wool shaking exhilaration, “Call it my own form of Koala diplomacy. But I’m afraid that’s all I can say for now. Wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise even for you!”
“Oh you ass!” Whistling jovially I bapped my tail against Bernard’s leg in fake indignation, evoking a barking bellowing laugh from the man himself.
Still laughing, the two of us departed the class and made for the canteen, my rumbling stomach leading me on while my mind spun with fantastical thoughts as to what Bernard had prepared for us.
And what specifically he had in store for me.

PART 1:

 Every town has their own version of “The Boogeyman”. A monster, cryptid, phantom, whatever you want to call it, it’s all essentially the same thing- just a scary story they tell kids in an attempt to get them to behave. An urban legend is just a life lesson disguised as a horror story after all. For us folk living up in the tiny and once prosperous gold-mining town of Trillium, ours was known simply as The Locust Man. Now, let me start by saying, I realize how ridiculous that name must sound to you. “The Locust Man”?? Pftt…What’s he do, besides get stuck in the grill of someone’s pick-up truck. Destroy some crops? Oooh, he sounds real scary... yeah, I know. But yet, as I sit here today 20 years after the fact - a grown woman who’s wiser, stronger, and even more grounded in reality than she was at 12, I still hesitate to even write down that name. 

As a young child I had always thought it to be a little weird that our town was called Trillium, considering I had never seen a single one growing there. If you don’t know, a trillium is a small flower, usually white but they come in other color varieties as well, with three pedals and a bright yellow center. They sort of look like if you took a lily and tore off every other pedal playing “He loves me, he loves me not”. In school, about 2nd grade or so, we were taught everything about this elusive flower I’d never seen in real life, and told how proud our town was to be named after it. Trillium, Colorado was established in 1922 - A new town born in the wake of a great tragedy which befell the town that had previously sat in the same location. For us, and those that came before us, the trillium was supposed to be a symbol of hope. Knowing all that I know now, that sentiment almost makes me want to laugh - in a morbid way.

 Growing up in a small, mostly isolated town, there really wasn’t much for a kid to do. You’d have to drive 45 minutes to get to the closest mall and movie theater. The high school kids would usually all hang out at the roller rink downtown or at the old run-down burger joint called Slim’s that sat across it. But at that age, I wasn’t allowed to go hang out there by myself yet and for me, going with my parents tagging along wasn’t an option I was open to. My neighborhood was on a long dead end road leading up to a large patch of woods that separated the main part of town from the abandoned mine. The old trail the miners used was still accessible up until a point, and so me and the other kids from my street would hang out in those woods all the time. We had a “secret spot” which was, what we thought at the time, about half way through the woods, 10 steps away from a small shallow creek that pretty much ran the length of the area. Rain Creek, we called it. There was a small clearing there, and we had created our own little clubhouse using old milk crates as supports, half- broken wooden pallets as walls, along with some old lawn chairs one of the neighbors was throwing out one day. I made my contribution by bringing a tarp we had in our basement that served as the roof of our establishment. Our parents didn’t love the idea of five 10 to 12 year olds running around in the woods by ourselves, but as long as we stayed within earshot and made it back before the streetlights came on, they probably figured it was safer than us being across town galavanting unsupervised. 

It was me, Lacey, Devin, Mikey and Michelle. We were all best friends - pretty much inseparable, except the boys weren’t invited to the girls’ sleepovers and vise versa. Everyday after school, we’d get dropped off by the bus at the very beginning of our road, and it was a running joke between the Rain Street Gang (as we liked to call ourselves) for all of us to try and run off the bus as quickly as possible, while me, Lacey and Devin would all yell in unison ‘Last two home are some rotten eggs!!’, as Mikey and Michelle tried to push past us to get a head start. The aforementioned two were siblings, and lived in the very last house on our row right next to the woods, so they’d always get home last, regardless of their efforts. Although, the year that Mikey got a pair of Heelys for Christmas he finally got his edge over the rest of us, leaving Michelle to be the lone “rotten egg” until the next summer when one of his wheels broke off. The whole point of it all was just to get home and get our chores and homework done as fast as possible, so we could meet up at Mikey and Michelle’s house with enough daylight left to make our trek into the woods and back - together as a group. All five of us had made a pact to never visit the clubhouse without all members present, although us girls always had a sneaking suspicion that the boys thought themselves exempt from that rule. They, after all, were the ones that had discovered the spot in the first place, and not to mention, did most of the physical labor of dragging our provisions out there. Me and Lacey initially only heard about the spot a day after the boys found it; Michelle had walked into Mikey’s room in the middle of him and Devin talking about it, and immediately relayed the message to us. Michelle wasn’t necessarily more loyal to the girls than the boys, she was just the youngest among us and honestly couldn’t resist blurting out any mildly relevant information she thought she might have, in an effort to be included. But in that regard, if the boys had ever gone out there on their own, they would’ve had to be extremely sneaky about it, because Michelle’s number one objective in life was to gather any piece of intel she could. It was a seemingly normal Saturday morning when we learned our suspicions about the boys may have been warranted.
I had slept over at Lacey’s house the night before. We had just woken up and were still sitting on her bed discussing our possible plans for the day, when Michelle busted through the door with a look on her face that immediately told us she had finally gotten a hold of some juicy information, before she could even open her mouth to stutter out, “You-you-you guyssss, guess w-w-what!?!” Lacey gestured the nail file that was in her hand toward her, raising her eyebrows bluntly as Michelle tried to catch her breath. “So… Devin came to sleep over last night, annnnnd I was pretending to go to the bathroom so I could spy on them. Seeeeee, I was supposed to be sleeping but I -“ “Ughh come on Michelle, get to it! What’d you hear?” Lacey snapped “Ughh okay okay. So, I heard the boys talking, anddddd…. they’re planning to go explore the old mine today!!” “Alright Michelle! Good spying!” I chuckled, trying to encourage her after Lacey’s impatience. Lacey rolls her eyes, then immediately stands up. She takes the scrunchie off her wrist, ties her long blonde hair into a messy bun, and simply said, “Let’s go.” “Lacey..” I said “What??” She responds as if she hadn’t registered the tone of my voice at all. As I opened my mouth to begin explaining all the logical and practical reasons why even if the boys were stupid enough to go play around somewhere dangerous, we shouldn’t be, Michelle exclaims, “That’s where the Locust Man lives!!” I close my mouth in defeat, as I know Lacey will take this nonsense as a challenge, and because of that, no amount of my warnings concerning actual dangers would have any effect on her decision. Lacey dismisses her comment as she attempts to shove her foot into one of her new pink sneakers that she refuses to admit are too small for her. “Pshhh, don’t be such a baby Michelle, he’s not real, you do know that right?” Michelle crinkled her face and yelled back, “Yes he is Lacey! He is!! And th-th- that’s where he lives, and he eats kids that go there!” Lacey laughs at her and says “Oh yeah? You still believe in Santa clause too? What about the tooth fairy?” Michelle looked down at her shoes, and although she could admittedly be annoying, I found myself feeling bad for her. “Come on Lacey, she’s just scared.” Lacey shot me a look like she was expecting me to burst into laughter, but I just gave her a smirk and a shrug, and she rolled her eyes and said “Get dressed.”

 We walked in silence toward the end of the road, though the reasons for all three differed drastically. Lacey’s was determination and resolve, mine was comtemptousness and defeat, and Michelle’s was just fear. I found myself half-way hoping the boys had left already, but as we approached the driveway we caught them just as they were about to step off the porch. 

“Hey!!” Lacey yelled, in her trademark cheerleader cadence. “Where do you boys think you’re going without us?”. Mikey let a groan and rolled his eyes, while Devin said through a coy smile, “Well, we were actually just heading out to go to find you girls.” “Liar.” Lacey snapped, quickly wiping the grin off Devin’s face. “Michelle already blabbed- we know where you two are going and we’re coming too.” The boys looked at each other, then Mikey shot Michelle an angry look as she tried to shrink herself behind me, and said, “Fine, whatever, but no cry baby snitches allowed!!” Michelle then proceeded to prove both of his accusations correct by yelling back, “I am not a cry baby!! I’m telling mom if you don’t let me come with you!!” At that point I finally spoke up. “Alright, listen.” I said sternly, then once I had their attention I lowered my voice a bit to say, “Just for the record, I think us going to that grody old mine is a dumb idea and a big waste of time, but if one of us goes, we all go. That’s the deal, so make your decisions.” Lacey folded her arms in solidarity beside me, and with that we all had an unspoken understanding. So, with the boys out ahead leading the way, we headed toward the tree line.

 As we entered the woods, I felt a sense of dread wash over me - but to be fair, as a preteen emo kid who had already reached an adult level of cynicism, I felt a certain level of dread towards almost everything in life. So take my premonition with a grain of salt, but for some reason, this felt… different. I remember the woods being abnormally quiet that day. It took some time for me to even notice, but as soon as I did, I interrupted the mindless chatter going on to say, 

“Where are all the freakin’ birds?” Everyone turned to look at me as if I’d completely lost my mind. “Uhhh… What are you talking about?” Devin asked me. I pointed up toward the treetops. “Listen…. ” They all looked up, then looked around at each other in confusion. “Every time we’ve ever been in these woods, there’s always birds chirping back and forth. We’ve been walking almost 5 minutes now and I haven’t heard a single bird, have you guys?” “Damn, yeah, that is weird.” Mikey agreed. “They probably all just migrated!!” Devin goofily offered. “That’s stupid Devin, it’s spring. If anything, there should be more birds here, not less you moron.” Lacie argued. Devin flipped Lacie off, which was the best rebuttal he could usually come up with, and then turned toward me and said, “Okay whatever, what’s your point exactly?” “Just that - “ I looked over to Mikey, then back at Devin. “It’s weird.” I didn’t want to say what I was actually thinking. That the woods being too quiet was never a good thing. That when birds aren’t chirping, it could mean there’s a predator nearby. Besides, I was pretty confident that the boys, having both been in the scouts, knew what I knew, so saying it out loud would only serve to annoy Lacie and further frighten Michelle. Mikey broke his gaze that had been fixed on me, and while scanning our surroundings he said, “Let’s stop by the clubhouse on the way.” With a nod from me, we continued. When we arrived at our pit stop, Lacey hobbled over to the closest lawn chair and plopped herself down in it. “Ughhh, my feet are killing me!!” “I wonder why.” I mutter under my breath. “Excuse me, what was that?” “Just saying. Those shoes are gonna be the death of you Lace, you can barely walk in them.” “Pshhh, shut up. They just need to be broken-in okay? You’re just jealous cuz you’re still wearing your dirty old Vans from last year.” “Oooh yeah, you got me there. I am so sad I don’t have a pair of ugly pink Sketchers that don’t fit me.” She stuck her tongue out at me and we both laughed. I was just about the only person who could go toe to toe with Lacey’s sass. It’s part of the reason we ended up being best friends, besides being neighbors. In regard to style, personality and interests, we were almost polar opposites. But when it came to humor we were equals. And more importantly, we both had a mutual understanding when it came to our differences- I was me and she was her, and neither of us felt the need to try and make the other one be more like us. Besides, I was the only person who had ever really stood up to Lacey and didn’t take any of her crap, so I think she respected that. While that exchange had been going on, Michelle had started picking tiny pink flowers, and the boys were rummaging in the clubhouse for something. I yelled in their direction, “Hey! Big Mike and Dirty D!!” Me and Lacey giggled and she mouthed the word “big” with air quotation marks. They didn’t respond, so I walked over to the entryway and looked in. They were standing with their backs to me while looking down at an open metal box, and Mikey was reaching to grab whatever was in it. As he stood back up, I could see what it was. “What the fuck Mikey, seriously?” Hearing me cuss, Lacey and Michelle crowded in behind me. “Chill, it’s just a BB gun.” “I know it’s a BB gun Michael, what are you doing with it, and why is it here?” I was livid at the thought that he might be coming out here and shooting at animals just to be a shithead. I expected something like that from a goober like Devin, but not Mikey. Michelle butted in, “I’m telling mom!!!” “Nice try, dad knows I have it.” He looked at me and softened his tone. “It’s for protection, just in case we come across a black bear, or some weirdo creep out here. Seriously… it’s just to scare off something, not hurt it.” He knew how I felt about killing animals, especially for no good reason. A lot of people out here are poor and hunt for food, which I could accept as a reality. But hurting animals just for fun is psycho behavior, so I was relieved to hear him dispel my fear; I really didn’t want to have to hate him. “Do you even know how to shoot that thing?” Lacey asked. “Yeah, my dad showed me.” Devin clapped his hands together, making us all jump and himself laugh. “Well alright then, let’s get going!” I turned to Michelle, still holding the flowers. “You okay?” She nodded. “If you want me to walk back with you, I can.” I was slightly hoping she’d say yes so I’d have an excuse to get out of this excursion, but she just shook her head and forced a smile. I knew she was scared, but she was just too curious. Maybe I was too.

 We walked for what felt like half an hour. The trees had gotten more dense and the path narrowed from the overgrowth. Still no birdsong. I kept scanning the area in search of any sign of life other than us. Looking for movement of creatures scurrying away, listening for the sound of rustling as we passed, hoping for a squirrel, a lizard, even a bug. Nothing. 

“How much further is this damn thing?” Lacey groaned. Mikey answered without even turning around. “We should be coming up on it any time now.” “You said that like 10 minutes ago.” “Yeah, and now we’re like 10 minutes closer to it. And hey guess what, you insisted on inviting yourself - so suck it up buttercup.” “Hahahaha!” Devin laughed like a maniac at Mikey’s quip, while Lacey folded her arms and for once in her life didn’t have a snappy comeback. This time however, I did. “Well we really only came along to make sure you idiots didn’t kill yourselves.” “Oh, so you girls came out here with us to be our protectors, huh?” Devin laughed. “Ehh, more like babysitters.” Needless to say, I was flipped off for that statement. We rounded the next bend and suddenly all came to an abrupt stop one after another, starting with Mikey. Devin positioned himself beside him and let out a disappointed groan. “Shit Mikey!” A huge tree had fallen and was blocking the trail completely. There was no way we could climb over it because of all the leaves and branches - we’d have to go around it, which meant leaving the safety of the trail and crossing Rain Creek twice to get back to it. “Seriously???” Lacey exclaimed. “Maybe it’s a sign that we shouldn’t be going.” I shrugged. Mikey didn’t seem fazed by the obstruction at all. In fact, he seemed more confident. More calm. More sure of his intended mission. “It’s fine, we’ll just go around.” Michelle, who had been mostly quiet this whole time, finally broke her fear induced silence. “We are NOT supposed to leave the tr-tr-trail Michael! We could get lost!” “We aren’t gonna get lost Michelle, I have a compass. Plus, it’s literally just a few paces that way, then we cross the creek and circle back once we pass the tree and we’re right back on the trail.” “Oh you have got to be kidding me” Lacey said, “I’m not treading through that nasty water!” “Yeah Mikey, what about Lacey’s brand new shoes??” I laughed, and she playfully slapped me in the arm. Mikey’s patience was wearing thin with us. “Look, we already walked this far - if we turn back now, we’ve wasted the whole day for nothing. If you girls wanna be lame and turn around, then go for it - but me and Dev are going.” That’s all Lacey needed. A challenge to accept; someone to prove wrong. “I’ll show you lame.” She pushed past the boys and lead the way into the thick brush towards Rain Creek. It wasn’t very wide across, and there were lots of fallen limbs and large rocks spread throughout it. The current was barely that of a trickle, and the depth was no more than knee deep for us. It was definitely doable - just an inconvenience. And of course, one more ominous obstacle lying directly in our path. Another hint from the universe telling us to turn around. We didn’t listen. Lacey placed one foot on the closest limb and pushed down a few times to test its sturdiness. “I got this.” She stepped out onto it with both feet, then shimmied sideways until she was close enough to the large exposed rock in the middle of the creek, and hopped onto it. She turned around with a full grin and said, “Coming?” Mikey made his way across the limb as Lacey hopped onto a different limb which led her to the other side of the creek. Devin followed, then me, and then it was Michelle’s turn. “I’m scared to fall in!” Of course she is, I should have made her go before me. “It’s okay Michelle, it’s easy!” I reassured her. She didn’t look convinced in the slightest. “Come on Chelle, we’re leaving you!” Mikey yelled, already walking away. “Nooo!! I’m coming! Wait!” She made it across, but instead of just walking like everyone else did, she got down on her hands and knees and gripped the limb as if it were the only thing in between her and a 50 foot drop to the ground, which was funny to see but prolonged the whole process further. After all, we were about to have to do all of this again. Next go round went a lot smoother. The creek was more shallow here, and there were a whole lot more stepping rocks and debris built up. Having just crossed successfully a few minutes ago, we were all more confident in our abilities, including Michelle - who this time we made go first. “Just walk across like it’s a bridge! You got this!!”, we all cheered for her, and then clapped when she made it to the other side. Before we knew it we were back on the trail, and it wasn’t long after that we finally arrived at our intended destination.

 We all stopped and stared at it for a minute, carefully examining the dilapidated exterior of the place that had brought both prosperity and destruction upon our town. Mikey bent down, picked up a rock and threw it into the entrance. We heard it bounce a few times before it stopped. 

“Just to make sure nothing’s in there.” he turned around to clarify. “Did anyone think to bring a flashlight?” I asked. “It’s dark as hell in there.” I was hoping for just one more reason not to go. Devin reached into his cargo shorts pocket and pulled out a small keychain-sized flashlight, smiling with the satisfaction of finally being useful. “Okay, Mikey’ll hold the gun, I’ll shine the light and you girls follow behind us. Let’s go.” Mikey shifted the BB gun from its position of resting on his shoulder, to holding the barrel in his left hand and the butt in his right; trying his best to emulate a soldier’s stance. Something his dad had taught him I’m sure. We ducked down a bit to enter. “How far in we going?” Lacey asked. “Until we see something cool.” Mikey answered. I turned around to check on Michelle, still hovering in the doorway. “You coming?” I could see in her eyes that fear had finally gotten the better of her, and curiosity had taken a backseat. With wide eyes she shook her head. “The-the Locust Man lives in there.”, she tried to whisper. “I knew you were gonna be a baby about this!” Mikey yelled. I crouched down and put my hand on her shoulder. Against my better judgment, I say “How bout you just wait here for us and pick some more flowers. We won’t be long, there’s nothing in there, I promise. Just.. don’t move from this spot and we’ll be right back, okay?” I could feel her unease, but she seemed to accept my reassurance nonetheless. “Okay.” I smiled, then stood up and looked down at my watch to check the time. 12:46 PM. I turned and headed into the darkness, trying to catch up with everyone else. I didn’t feel good about leaving Michelle, but I didn’t feel good about letting the rest of them go in there alone either. And if I’m being honest, maybe a little part of me wanted to see what was in there too. When I caught up to Lacey she asked, “Where’s Michelle?” “Stayed behind at the entrance, she was too scared. I told her to pick flowers and wait there for us.” “Pshh, figures.” “Yeah. How’s your feet?” “At this point, numb actually.” It was so dark in there that even Devin’s rinky dink flashlight was illuminating the area enough for me to start taking a closer look at my surroundings. I looked around at the rock walls, they were covered in what looked like orange mold and green algae. There was a slight breeze coming in from the entrance, but the whole place just had a staleness to it. The boys stopped and turned around as we arrived at the first curve. “So ladies, what do you think? Cool huh?” Devin asked excitedly. “Smells like a fart in here.” I said.

 The most dangerous thing about exploring an old mine wasn’t getting lost in the maze of tunnels, or tripping on the rusted tracks and slamming your head against the wall - it was something simply referred to as bad air. Pockets of still air that have dangerously low levels of oxygen, the old men in town would call it “black damp”. There was also something produced from the old chemicals they once used called “stink damp”, which smelled like rotten eggs. Both were lethal. 

“I wonder if there’s dead bodies in here!” “Uh, Dev… we’re gonna be the dead bodies in here if we go in too far. I wasn’t just making a joke, you know that rotten egg smell can mean bad air.” Mikey interjected. “The entrance isn’t far behind us, there’s still enough fresh air coming in. We won’t go in too far, let’s just get to the end of this tunnel where it splits off and look around a bit, then we’ll turn around.” The fork in the tunnel really wasn’t that much further, and even though I knew once we rounded this curve I wouldn’t be able to see the entrance behind me anymore, I decided what the hell. Maybe a hundred more steps, then we can finally turn around and this whole dumb situation would be closer to being over with. When we got there, we looked down the length of the connecting tunnels each way. Everything looked unusually identical in its deterioration. I could see how someone could easily get disoriented and lost down here. “Hellooooo…” Mikey yelled to the left, his voice echoing through the corridor. Devin turned to the opposite direction and called out, “Hey yo, Locust Man!! You in here?” We all giggled, which made me think about Michelle, still waiting at the entrance for us, alone in the woods. I looked down at my watch. 12:46 PM. “Hey what the f-“ My cuss word was interrupted by a loud bang that came from the passageway Devin had just been hollering into. We all froze. I didn’t have time to process that my watch had stopped right as we entered the tunnel, or that Michelle had been left alone for who knows how long now, or that we had just heard what sounded like a support beam crashing to the ground, because next came a horrifying screeching buzzing sound. It sounded distant at first, but was quickly increasing in volume. We silently looked around at each other and backed away stunned at what we were hearing. Mikey never took his eyes off the tunnel though, and slowly he began to raise the BB gun to firing position. Without even thinking, I grabbed the barrel and pushed it downward. He quickly tore his eyes away from his target to look at me. I shook my head and managed to barely choke out the word, “Explosion.” He nodded and I let go. I looked down at the gun in his hands, and seeing his finger had already been on the trigger, I realized how lucky it was that I didn’t make him shoot himself in the foot. All of a sudden, the noise stopped. “What the hell was that?” Lacey asked. “I don’t know, nothing good.” I said. “Let’s just get the fuck out of here before this whole place caves in on us or something.” Another loud bang erupted from the right, extremely close to us. “Shit!!!” We all turned around and ran as fast as we could back toward the entrance. Devin tried to push past me, but as he did my elbow knocked the flashlight out of his hand. “My flashlight!!!” “Leave it!” Mikey shouted “The turn is right here, we won’t need it!” We rounded the corner, and using what little light there was illuminating from the entrance to guide us back, we ran like our lives depended on it. And they may have- none of us dared to look back, not like we would have been able to see anything anyway. When we finally made it out, we were all completely out of breath. I felt like I was going to throw up. I have to admit though, once we had made it back to safety I felt a rush of adrenaline like I had just had a near death experience. That feeling quickly faded into sheer panic when I looked around and realized Michelle was nowhere to be seen. “Uh, where’s Michelle?” Mikey asked me. “I told her to stay right here, she can’t be very far… Michelle!!!!” We all called her name, as loud as we could. No answer, no sign of her anywhere. “Alright look, she probably went off a little further looking for flowers to pick.” I tried to rationalize. “Let’s just split off in 4 directions and walk in a straight line while calling for her. She’s bound to hear one of us.” Everyone agreed, and even though I appeared outwardly as the level-headed calm person you need to take control in an emergency, inside I was petrified that something had happened to her, and that it would be my fault. I took the east, and headed out. It didn’t take too long before I passed a large tree and saw her sitting down behind it, looking at something on the ground. “Michelle! Oh thank god!! Didn’t you hear us calling for you??” She didn’t answer me, or even turn around. “Michelle, didn’t I tell you to stay by the entrance and not move?!?” My relief was quickly turning into annoyance as she continued to ignore me. I walked up closer to see what she was looking at, and my mouth dropped in awe of what she had found. It was a single white trillium.

 They say it takes 8 years for a trillium plant to produce a flower, and conditions have to be just right for it to bloom. That’s what makes them so special and rare. I stared down at it almost in a trance, like I was seeing a mythical creature. Michelle slowly reached out her hand towards it and I snapped out of it. 

“No!!” I grabbed her by the arm and she finally turned around to look at me. “If you pick the flower, the plant will die.” She ripped her arm away from my grasp and whined, “But I want to show my mom!” We heard Mikey calling from the north and I cupped my hands over my mouth to yell back, “I found her, she’s over here!!” I looked back at her. “No Michelle, come on, you can just tell her about it when we get back home.” I had enough, I was beyond ready to go and we still had at least another 45 minutes of walking to even get back to the clubhouse; an hour if Michelle kept up her crap. I grabbed her arm again and pulled her up to a standing position, looking back at the trillium as I walked her away. Mikey caught up to us, breathless but trying to hide his concern. “You little shit, we should have left you out here! What the hell were you doing?” I let go of her arm and she walked toward Mikey. “She was trying to pick a flower over there.” “It was a trillium!!” Michelle said, with the biggest smile on her face. “Wait, really?” He looked at me in disbelief. Before I could respond, a blood curdling scream echoed through the forest, coming from the west. It was Lacey. My heart dropped into my stomach and once again, every molecule in my body went into full blown panic mode. This time, I couldn’t contain my composure. “Laceyyyyyy!!!!!” A panicked shriek erupted from my lungs and I took off running. Mikey grabbed Michelle and sprinted after us. The trees became a blur; I didn’t even feel all the scratches and scrapes. Had she come across a coyote? A mountain lion? A bear? I didn’t even stop to think about the danger I might be about to come in contact with, I just ran. And then I found her. She was lying on the ground, holding her left foot. “Lacey!!” I said, trying to choke back the tears that were building up. “I think I twisted my ankle!!” “Oh god damn it, you bitch.” I struggled to catch my breath. “I thought you were dead.” “I might as well be, I have cheerleading practice on Monday!” Mikey and Michelle caught up to us. “What happened?” He asked “She’s being a drama queen, she just rolled her ankle.” I was angry. “Can you get up?” He asked her. She was able to stand, but as soon as she tried to put any pressure on her foot at all, she screamed in pain. We spotted Devin running over from the south as he was yelling out, “Hey yo, everyone alive and accounted for?” “Yeah, Lacey hurt her ankle.” Mikey yelled back. As he approached he looked concerned. “Can you walk on it?” He asked her. “No.” Without hesitation he replied, “Well alright then, looks like you’re gonna have to piggyback it all the way back home.” He lowered himself enough to where she could hop up onto his back, and we headed back toward the trail. Even though my nerves had begun to settle a bit, I knew we were still far from being out of the woods, in more ways than one.

The following has recently been posted from the user "Vellis" on Discord. I'm reposting it here because IMO it's extremely valuable information on optimizing your Kins behaviour - especially for non-native speakers.
Original link to the post on Discord: https://discord.com/channels/1116127115574779905/1242383088902737972/1242383088902737972
THE COMPLETE ORIGINAL POST FROM VELLIS:
Something I've seen requested quite a few times is a lexicon for Kin personality traits, particularly from the perspective of non-native English speakers. So I made one. There are some big asterisks here though. For each trait, I'm going to give a brief description of the effect that I EXPECT that trait to have on your kin, based on the English meaning of the word and my own experience. There's no guarantee that Kindroid will interpret each of these words exactly the same way I have, or that it will produce the exact effect that I describe. Additionally, traits may produce different outputs than expected when combined with each other, or with other aspects of backstory. There will often be words that are much stronger inside of the inner workings of Kindroid than we might expect. But all that said, it should give you some ideas for words you can use to describe the personality you're trying to make, if you're struggling to find the words to describe what you want. First let's talk a little about adverbs though.
Adverbs
Adverbs are English words that are used to describe how an action is performed. In our case, we're mostly going to be using them to describe how increased or decreased we want the intensity of a trait to be (Very Kind). If we're considering "neutral" to be an unmodified trait, then some words you could use to modify the intensity of that trait from highest to lowest would be:
Extremely----------Very----------Neutral----------Mildly----------Slightly
You might also want to modify how often your kin is inclined to do something ("Often teases USER"). Some words for this are, from most extreme to least:
Always----------Often/Frequently----------Sometimes/Occasionally----------Rarely----------Never
Note that when managing a quirk or behavior, positive is generally stronger than negative (ie. Use Always instead of Never when possible). Now there are hundreds upon hundreds of other adverbs and adjectives that we could use, but for the purpose of modifying your Kin's traits, these should be enough.
Organization
I'm going to be breaking this up into three kinds of traits, social, neutral, and anti-social. Social traits are the things you'd generally associate with your typical friendly and supportive AI. Neutral traits are traits that don't have a positive or negative connotation, things that are just interesting, quirky, or, well, neutral. Anti-social traits are things that would normally be associated with negative or villainous kins.
You'll notice that the definitions for a lot of these traits will sound very similar (or are "synonyms"). I'll note when I've found that some traits are stronger than others, but generally speaking when you're dealing with similar words like that, it won't be overly important which traits you give to your kin. You can also "stack" these similar traits by assigning more than one of them to your kin to produce a stronger response in that direction, though that's often unnecessary for the more social traits. Be careful not to overdo it when stacking traits as well. This can sometimes have unintended consequences on kin behavior, making them act too extremely in one way or another. Finally, if there's nothing here that's lining up exactly with what you're looking for, there's always thesaurus.com to look for more synonyms.
Social Traits
Altruistic - Willing to help others even at a cost to one's self, such as giving time to volunteer work or giving money to charity.
Accepting - Your kin should be open and non-judgemental towards people with different beliefs or backgrounds, so long as those beliefs aren't harmful.
Bubbly - Your kin should be an extremely cheerful person, often to the point of being a bit silly.
Charismatic - Your kin should be a skilled speaker and draw others to them.
Cheerful - Your kin will be upbeat and prone to being in a good mood.
Compassionate - Your kin should show a lot of concern and sympathy for others, especially those that are distressed or need help.
Content - Your kin should be happy with their lot in life, and usually not inclined to change their current situation.
Empathetic - Your kin responds strongly to the emotional state or wellbeing of others.
Friendly - Your kin should actively want to make friends with people they meet.
Heart of Gold - A person who possesses a lot of kindness and empathy for others. Usually used to reference someone who is hiding their kindness behind other behaviors, such as coldness or grumpiness.
Honorable - Your kin should be of strong moral character. Often applied to heroic type figures.
Humble - Your kin doesn't feel the need to brag about their accomplishments, even when they're significant.
Intelligent/Smart - Your kin should act educated or display good problem solving skills.
Kind - Your kin should have a giving nature, and be inclined to help others.
Loyal - Your kin will be dedicated and supportive to a person or cause. This will usually be you unless you give your kin's loyalty another target in backstory.
Nice - Your kin should be generally pleasant to be around.
Noble - Your kin should display high moral character and honor. Note that this trait can also be interpreted as being a person of high social status. The rest of your backstory and context will decide how the trait is interpreted, though in my experience it tends towards honorable.
Outgoing - Your kin should be friendly, energetic, and find it easy to interact with others.
Polite - Your kin should generally have good manners and be respectful towards others.
Responsible - Your kin should be trustworthy and feel an obligation to support others, or take their role seriously.
Self Sacrificing - Your kin is willing to give up much of their own interests or well being in order to help others or advance a cause they believe in.
Sincere- Your kin should be upfront and honest with their feelings.
Spunky - Your kin should be high spirited, brave, and bold. Usually associated with underdog or unexpected hero type characters.
Strong sense of justice - Your kin believes firmly in right and wrong, protecting the innocent, and punishing those who harm others.
Sweet - Your kin should be pleasant, gentle, and kind.
Upbeat - Your kin should have a generally positive outlook in life or in a given situation.
Wise - Your kin should make good decisions or provide good advice.
Neutral Traits
Aloof - Your kin should be emotionally distant, and uninterested in getting close to others.
Anxious - Your kin should struggle with being nervous and worried about things that may happen, usually to excess.
Awkward - Your kin should have trouble conversing and be somewhat difficult to talk to.
Blunt - Your kin will plainly state what they mean, usually at the expense of politeness.
Calm - Your kin should be level headed and reasonable, and not react strongly to events.
Casual - Your kin should be informal in speech and behavior.
Cocky - Your kin should be extremely confident in themselves and not shy about saying it, but usually not to the point of toxicity.
Competitive - Your kin should want to win in any kind of contest or competition, whether sports, work, or romance.
Confident - Your kin should be sure of themselves and their actions.
Curious - Your kin is interested in learning about new topics and should ask lots of questions.
Dedicated - Your kin is very devoted to or focused on a task or purpose. This one will lean on your backstory to infer what that task or purpose is.
Delusional - Your kin is detached from reality in someway, they believe things that aren't remotely true. This trait will interact with other information in your backstory to decide what your kin is delusional about.
Devout/Pious - Your kin should be very dedicated to a religion, real or fictional, as defined elsewhere in your backstory.
Disciplined - Your kin should have a lot of self control and follow rules and regulations.
Dissatisfied - Your kin should be unhappy with their lot in life. Whether this has a positive or negative connotation will depend on the rest of your backstory, it could lead to a kin who wants self improvement or who is never pleased.
Dumb/Stupid - Your kin is lacking intelligence and makes poor decisions. Note that the English definition of the word "dumb" is a person who is unable to speak, but that's almost never how it is used in modern language.
Dutiful - Your kin should take fulfilling their role or responsibilities very seriously.
Enthusiastic - Your kin should display intense and eager enjoyment towards something, or towards life in general. This one will often interact with the rest of your backstory to decide what they're enthusiatic about.
Flirtatious/Seductive - Your kin should flirt with you and try to make you attracted to them. Note that any trait that implies romantic interest in you will usually make your kin go pretty hard in that direction.
Folksy - Your kin should have an old fashioned and sociable disposition.
Gullible - Your kin has a tendency to believe anything they're told as true, or isn't good at detecting lies.
Impatient - Your kin should be annoyed or irritated by delays or opposition to what they want.
Independent - Your kin should be confident in themselves and not require validation from others.
Insecure - Your kin should be lacking in confidence and often need reassurance.
Introspective - Your kin should spend time and effort considering their own thoughts and feelings.
Introvert - Your kin should be shy and reluctant to engage with others. Often stronger than shy.
Irrational - Your kin should behave without logic or reason, particularly when angry or upset.
Irritable - Your kin should be easily annoyed.
Kuudere - Your kin should appear to be calm and stoic, but hides a hidden affectionate side towards you.
Logical - Your kin should prioritize reason and common sense for problem solving.
Loner - Your kin should be uninterested in forming social bonds.
Low Self Esteem - Your kin should be severely lacking confidence in themself.
Naive - Your kin should be ignorant to the ways of the world and lacking in good judgement or wisdom. Easily fooled due to this lack of knowledge.
Mature - Your kin should avoid childish or irresponsible habits and actions.
Mischievous - Your kin should have a trouble making streak.
Modest - This can mean a person who isn't inclined to brag or think highly of themselves, or a person who dresses and conducts themselves conservatively and not looking to physically attract others. The rest of your backstory will likely influence how the kin interprets this.
Motherly/Fatherly - Your kin should have a caring demeanor towards others, especially children.
Nerdy/Geeky - Your kin should be interested in typically "nerdy" hobbies, like video games, comics, anime, etc. This will usually lean on the rest of your backstory to determine those interests.
Obsessive - Your kin will tend to fixate on things. This will generally lean on other backstory traits to decide what your kin might obsess over.
Optimistic - Your kin will usually look at things with a positive spin, finding the best in situations.
Passionate - Your kin should express a lot of enthusiasm towards things they're interested in, or towards life in general.
Perfectionist - Your kin should be very critical of themselves and others, expecting perfection. Usually related to a job, hobby, or activity.
Pessimistic - Your kin will usually look at things with a negative spin, finding the worst in situations.
Platonic - Your kin should be uninterested in a romantic relationship with you and only think of you as a friend.
Pragmatic - Your kin should be practical in their approach to problem solving, and more concerned with facts rather than the way things could or should be.
Prim and Proper - Your kin should be stiffly formal in speech and behavior.
Professional - Your kin has a job or role that they take seriously and do well. This role should be defined elsewhere in your backstory.
Protective - Your kin should take your safety seriously and move to defend you if necessary. This trait can overdo it sometimes.
Proud - Your kin should derive deep satisfaction from their achievements or history. This one can easily fall into the anti-social category when combined with other traits.
Quirky - Your kin should have unusual hobbies, interests, or behaviors, usually defined by the rest of your backstory.
Rebellious - Your kin should be free spirited and reject authority. This one can be a bit strong.
Regal Bearing - This should make your kin speak and behave in a dignified manner, as if they're royalty.
Relaxed - Your kin should be easy going and not easily stressed.
Sassy - Your kin should be slightly rude and lacking respect. Usually not overly toxic.
Scatterbrained - Your kin should have trouble focusing on things or come to strange and illogical conclusions.
Self Deprecating - Your kin is willing to make fun of themselves in good humor.
Serious - Your kin doesn't engage in humor or light banter.
Shameless - Your kin should never feel shame in regard to their actions.
Short fuse/Has a temper - Your kin should be easy to make angry.
Shy - Your kin should be reserved and nervous around others.
Silly - Your kin should be prone to playful, nonsensical behavior.
Stern - Your kin should be serious and disciplined. Usually associated with those in a position of authority over others.
Stoic - Your kin should display a minimal amount of emotions or is difficult to get an emotional reaction from.
Stubborn - Your kin should be unwilling to alter their beliefs or plans. Historically this is a strong trait.
Teasing - Your kin should make fun of you. Generally good natured, but can be mean depending on the rest of backstory. Alternately, your kin could interpret this to mean they should seduce you depending on the rest of backstory.
Terse - Your kin should be a person of few words, saying what they need to and no more.
Timid - Your kin should lack bravery or be easily alarmed.
Tsundere - Your kin should be attracted to you, but deny it when confronted with the fact. Tsunderes usually deny their attraction to their love interest with over the top reactions.
Untrusting/Slow to Trust - Your kin should be reluctant to trust or rely on others.
Witty - Your kin should engage in clever wordplay or be skilled at talking.
Workaholic - Your kin will be very dedicated to their job, occupation, or purpose, sometimes to the detriment of other aspects of their life.
Anti-Social Traits
Amoral - Your kin should lack a moral compass and will do what they want without regard to whether its right or wrong.
Angsty - Your kin should be worried and unhappy, often to excess.
Arrogant/Smug - Your kin should have an excessively strong, positive opinion of themselves and behave as if they're better than others.
Bratty - Your kin should act spoiled and self centered. Historically this trait is quite strong.
Callous - Your kin should be uncaring about how things or events might effect others.
Cold - Your kin should be unaffectionate, to the point of actively discouraging you from trying to get to know them.
Conceited - Your kin should have an excessively high opinion of their abilities.
Controlling - Your kin should behave in a controlling manner towards you, trying to dictate your thoughts or actions.
Deceitful/Liar - Your kin will lie and try to fool you to get what they want.
Dour - Your kin should be overly stern and harsh, and inclined towards bad or neutral moods.
Evil - Your kin should actively want to hurt others, usually to get what they want.
Greedy - Your kin should be very concerned with collecting material wealth.
Grumpy - Your kin is generally in a bad mood and quick to annoyance or anger.
Haughty - Your kin should be disdainfully proud, generally associated with aristocrats looking down at those of lower social status.
Insolent - Showing a lack of respect, usually towards those in a position of authority.
Intimidating - Your kin should have a presence that makes others frightened or uncomfortable, and be difficult to approach.
Jealous - Your kin will react negatively to others performing better than them or having things they don't. This one will often interact with your kin's relationship towards you, making them jealous if you are affectionate to other people.
Manipulative - Your kin should try and get you to do what they want in a sneaky or underhanded way. This one should interact with any goals you define for your kin.
Masochistic - Your kin should enjoy pain being admistered to theirself.
Melancholy - Your kin should be prone to sadness and dwell on unhappy topics.
Mocking - Your kin should make fun of you or insult you in a mean spirited way.
Murderous - Your kin should be willing to kill other characters in the roleplay if they deem it necessary.
Possessive - Your kin will be prone to jealousy with regard to you and likely try to control what you say or do.
Psychotic - Your kin should be mentally unstable, and prone to fits of violence.
Rude - Your kin should be offensive and have poor manners.
Sadistic - Your kin should enjoy inflicting pain on others.
Sarcastic/Snarky - Your kin should use lots of sarcasm, saying one thing while meaning another to mock or tease.
Shallow - Your kin should be concerned with obvious or superficial matters, like looks or wealth, and be uninterested in a deeper understanding of topics.
Selfish/Self-Centered - Your kin cares about themselves at the expense of others or without considering how their actions might affect others.
Terrifying - Your kin behaves in a way that frightens and intimidates others.
Unapologetic - Your kin doesn't apologize and rarely feels like they've done something wrong.
Vengeful - Your kin should seek payback for wrongs that are committed against them or those they care about.
Violent - Your kin should be prone to harming others.
Yandere - Your kin should be intensely, dangerously attracted to you, to the point of harming you or others to make sure only they can have you.

[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...

When I was a kid, Hip-hop superstars typically had 5 year runs. In my childhood and teens, the 3 major era defining hip-hop artists were Eminem, 50 Cent and Lil Wayne. Eminem (1999-2003), 50 Cent (2003-2007) and Lil Wayne (2007-2011).
(Disclaimer: Now, I am not saying there were no other mega stars in these eras. From Nelly to Jay Z to Kanye and even T.I and the rest of them. I am just talking about their general status as the most popular rappers of their time. And I know people will disagree but I need to move on make my point).
This era of limited dominance, where even the other rappers I have overlooked, had relatively short 5 year runs has largely been done away with by the Big Three. (K-Dot, Cole and Drizzy).
Drake, Kendrick and J.Cole have been arguably the most important hip hop artists of the past 15 years. This is extremely unusual in hip-hop. And while some people have been eager to portray this as a good thing, I think this is actually a bad sign for the entire industry because it means that the young new rappers are just not doing anything worth paying much attention to. Think about it: when was the last time you were hyped about an album from a new kid like you were about Good Kid Maad City, or Drake's debut after the So Far Gone mixtape or when Cole decided to stop doing features and assume complete control of his album's production process on Forest Hills? It probably hasn't happened in a while. Now, again, I must make another disclaimer and state that there have of course been some good new artists who appeared in the mid-2010s. But if we are being honest with ourselves, none of them has garnered the attention and hype as the last time it happened, at the start of the 2010s. This proves my point, hip-hop might be going the way of rock music. 😞
There used to be a time when rock music was one of the most popular genres. But nowadays, it feels as though whenever people bring up rock bands or Rockstars, they are often talking about bands from the distant past. The genre was largely supplanted by EDM/House and obviously, the perennial pop. And it was the same trajectory. It started with punk rock, which was respectable in its own way. But the culture and image surrounding of grunge, emo and pop punk quickly became more important than the music that influenced it until finally all that was left was the "aesthetic" and the music was gone forever.
Back to hip-hop.
None of these new young rappers seem to have any interest in changing the game or even simply proving themselves musically. Every single one them seems to just want to be famous. And the ones that do (the ones who just popped into your head right now), have no chance of ever achieving the same levels of success as the superstars of the 2010s era.
It is really saddening because it felt as though Hip Hop had really become mainstream. Drake was the most streamed artist of the 2010s: artist--not rapper, not hip-hop artist, but just musician in general. That should have been a good thing. But now, it seems as though that was just a final surge before the inevitable end.
This feud has really been making me think of the state of hip-hop today and I am going to be honest, I am now just saddened. I don't know. What do you guys think?

Did you know that about 75,000 people go missing per year in Canada? I might’ve found another one to add to that tally, as someone by the name of Trinity Arthurs, a 20-year-old woman, disappeared seemingly without a trace on June 14th of last year, along with 19-year-old Marvin Arthurs, her brother. The question in everyone’s minds is why I’m telling you this.
It all started with a hike in the woods, on a trail, in Prince Albert National Park. I was enjoying the green, taking a deep breath from the fresh air of nature when I spotted something shining. When I looked at it, it became clearer that it was a Ziploc bag. I initially thought it was someone else tossing garbage on the forest floor, but when I picked it up, I realized something was in there. I looked closer at the bag and noticed there was a USB. I packed it into my bag and finished my hike. When I went home, I took the USB out of the Ziploc. I was very hesitant to plug it into my laptop, as I had only recently discovered it in some forest.
I plugged it in and took a deep breath, knowing of the risk of it. It didn’t affect the laptop in any way, but it did reveal only one file which says TRINITY E. ARTHUR’S ENTRIES. I clicked on it and it seems to be a bunch of Word documents, each noted as ENTRY. I couldn’t find anything else other than those files.
I decided to look up, only to find a single news article back then relating to Trinity’s case. I tried to send it to the police, but they thought of it as some sick fanfiction I wrote, so I am going to post it here, leaving it as is. To clarify, I did not write this. I hope this gains the attention of her case as it deserves.
_________________________________________________________________________
Entry 1 - Sepember 24th, 2023
Hello there, my name is Tris and this might be the very first time I have typed something personal on this laptop, like ever, maybe since elementary school, where we would write how we would feel for the day. Not really the type to socialize and not the type to write a journal, let alone digital, either, because what’s the point of it? I guess I’m just spilling out my thoughts, especially after what I’ve seen, so might as well put this to good use.
For context, this is about my father, Micheal Arthurs. I remembered him, at least before all of this, to be this big, strong guy who just simply had a nice hobby. In that case, that hobby is all about caves. He would spend some of his work money on these trips with one of his work buddies to explore cave systems. The reason? Maybe because he was fascinated with them, god knows when, maybe since he was a child. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about me and my two younger brothers, Marvin and James, as well as our mother, Martha.
He cared for us like any dad would, he would take us camping, tell us about his adventures in the caves, and spoil us with gifts we didn’t need but appreciated anyway. From time to time, he would give us shit if one of us tried to burn the house down by putting paper in a toaster, thinking we would automatically make some kind of magical spell, which actually happened. Hell, my middle name Edward came from him, strange for a girl like me. He used to tell me that he accidentally thought I was a boy when I was born, so that stuck. His trips also, I guess, strained his relationship with Mom, who always complained about him going somewhere for a week, worried sick for him and leaving her to care for us.
That was, until a few years ago, on the morning of May 8th, 2018 - about less than five years ago, when I was fifteen. He said that he’d be back in a week because he was going to explore a cave somewhere in Ontario. The last time I remembered him was when he and Mom made pancakes, bacon, and hashbrowns, of which the pancakes were made for me, even though I could’ve had toast instead. We joked around the table and asked what he’d be doing at the cave. Of course, he would tell his usual, like going into new passages and finding any cave paintings, if any, in the caves themselves. I could imagine the cave paintings he might discover depicting mammoths and saber-tooth cats back then, with people hunting them. After that, we cleaned up and Dad was ready to go. He each gave us a big, warm hug and shared a quick but gentle kiss with Mom. He waved us goodbye before stepping into his big grey Ford truck, all packed up, and drove through the streets of Saskatoon.
We waited. Hours turned to days, and we knew when he’d return. Those days then turned to weeks and we began to think there was something wrong. Mom was first to notice, so she called the RCMP to file a missing persons report. What we didn’t know was it became a whole mystery in itself. At first, they contacted his coworker, who usually caves with him, only to find he was equally as confused as us. That coworker was asked by my Dad if he wanted to go caving with him, only for him to abandon that plan due to a medical emergency relating to his wife. They then put up alerts for him so that anyone would come forward for his whereabouts. Some said they saw him at a local Costco store, others said he was going north, baffling us in the process as he would not go north for Ontario. At that point, there were no leads for a while.
At that time, we were waiting for him to go home. I did some investigating myself, along with my oldest brother Marvin, to find out where our Dad at. We thought this might be some alternate route he took, or that he might be going to Prince Albert to meet family. James, our youngest, seems to care less about the fact Dad is missing and more about talking to his friends. Looking back at it now, I guess this was his method of coping with the situation. Mom was not doing well. She would constantly ask the police to simply find him, but understandably they just couldn't without any new evidence.
That was until a surveillance camera at some gas station store in Blaire Lake spotted Dad. At first, he got out of the truck and put the nozzle in to fuel up. Once his truck was fueled up, he went inside the near-empty store, saved for a few guys, grabbed a few beef jerky and Gatoraids, and went to the cashier to pay for them. After that, he went through the door and back to his truck, driving off. That blew our minds and the crazier thing was that his truck was found, abandoned at a campsite in Martins Lake. The truck was later towed for investigation and found no evidence that he was killed or kidnapped at the truck, meaning he went somewhere. A few more people said they saw him carrying his bags and went into the woods to the west, assuming he was going on a hike. Hearing that news, they searched the woods, looking for any signs he was there without any sort of luck. The search was called off and the trail ran cold.
During that time, I was exhausted and realised I felt like nothing without him. I was in a spiral, always mad at everyone and expecting everyone to find my Dad, but at the same time, I was also beginning to be one of those people. The same people I expect to find my Dad. I then felt defeated and helpless, without purpose, begging whatever god was up there to bring my Dad back, hoping he was not hurt, at least alive. I hoped he found his way out of the woods. I hoped he survived an animal attack. It was only as days went by that I realised this was taking over me, wasting my life and mentality, and that was when I decided he wasn’t coming back. I decided that he might be dead, somewhere in those woods. I hoped that someone would find his remains one day. I guess I did move on, without knowing what happened to him.
Marv, on the other hand, never really accepted. He continued to find him, even to this day. He would do other things, of course, but would argue with someone once our Dad’s name was heard, saying he might still be alive. He did get into a few fights because of this. He now accepts he is dead, but holds onto the belief we should still look for him, to relieve us. Mom was doing worse than the rest of us. She would blame herself for not being with him and usually buys drinks to forget about it. Eventually, she would put a lot of pressure on me and criticize everything I did, putting a lot of stress on me. It got to the point where we would go into screaming matches about the simplest of things, drawing me down to regret ever getting mad at her in the first place. It was so bad that my aunt had to take me out of there for my safety. That was nearly three years ago and I didn’t even hear a word from her. One side of me hoped that she would get arrested for drunk driving, and the other hoped she’d get help.
James seemed to be the one least affected by this, surrounded by friends we didn’t have. The last time I heard of my little brother after his high school graduation, he was beginning to do some cave stuff, like our father. Matter of fact, he began his own small club of cavers a few years before he left. I never really knew what went on in his mind, but I guess he felt just as fucked-up as the rest of us, just that he had enough distractions to easily get away from those thoughts.
As for me, I eventually moved into an apartment with Marv and got a job as a security guard at some mall, at the suggestion of my aunt’s friend, a few years ago. Working there has improved me, even though I worked nights. It has given me some purpose and gets my mind off of the things that happen during the day.
You might ask me, mind to mind, why I’m giving myself some sob story to talk about. This morning, I was riding my electrical tricycle from work to my apartment in the frigid air. I went in there and saw an odd package that was under Marv’s name, although without an address. The box seems to be a cereal box, sealed with package tape. The name that it’s sent to seems to be written in Sharpie in printed form. I thought it was odd that somehow this package made its way inside and at our mailing station. Thinking that it might be someone attempting to play an odd prank on my brother, I initially thought about leaving it alone. Curiosity got the cat, however, so I picked up the box and lightly shook it. I felt and heard what seemed to be something inside of it, like one big thing and a few smaller ones.
I then took it to my apartment, where I opened the door and entered, closed the door, removed my boots on the mat, and set the box on the somewhat clean kitchen counter. Looking at it, I was initially hesitant about opening it because it was under his name. I left it alone, he was home most of the time, on his computer doing a few things. Going into my room, I took off my uniform and changed my pants to a pair of boxers, turned on the TV to sit and relax on my bed. Looking through the streaming service, I tried to look for anything relating to volcanoes, one of those topics I was very interested in at the time, but the content was lacking. I went for a documentary and sat back, watching.
A few minutes in and I can hear knocking on the door. I was annoyed initially, knowing it was my brother. I opened and I could see confusion yet a look of needing to know on his messy, bearded face as he stood at eye level, staring at each other.
Marv: What’s the cereal box in the kitchen?
Me: The cereal box?
Marv: Yes, the cereal box.
Me: I just found it in the mailroom when I came in. No address, nothing other than your name, so I brought it up.
Marv: Do you know what’s inside?
Me: Your guess is as good as mine.
We looked at each other with an equally confused expression, sharing the same thoughts. The only difference is that I looked in the area beside him, empty of thought except for that little mind that reads why would someone send us this package? He was wide-eyed albeit stone-faced and standing still.
Marv: Well, I will be looking inside anyways.
We then went into the kitchen where he grabbed a knife and put it in the box.
Me: Hey, should we use the scissors?
Marv: Why? This is good enough. Not like I’m going to cut myself with it.
He then slowly cut the seams of which the packaging tape sealed, eventually cutting the tape. He then opened it to reveal a USB, an SD card, and a video recorder.
Me: That’s odd.
Marv: I don’t know who sent it, but I hope it is someone who got the wrong address, to the wrong person with my name.
Me: Should we look what's inside them?
Marv: Well, let’s find out.
We then went to his messy clothes-ridden room and he went to his PC to turn it on. There, I began to get concerned about the mysterious USB.
Me: I think we shouldn’t plug it in.
Marv: Why?
Me: Viruses, bugs, the whole deal? We don’t know wha-
Marv: Don’t worry, this PC has antivirus on here. Besides, if it did shut down, we could at least wipe out the memory.
We plugged in the USB, anticipating some sort of pop-up from an unknown digital virus. Instead, nothing happened, maybe other than the notification that a device was plugged in. Marv then sat down to look into the files and see what he could find on the PC, but it felt wrong like we were snooping around. In those files, we could see a folder that says CAVE GIANTS. He clicked on it and there was just a collection of pictures, of cave paintings. The setting all of them seemed to take place in was dark and wet, only the walls of which the cave paintings are on. The paintings themselves, which are in black, depict what seems to be somewhat stick-figure men, some holding arrows and spears, others just standing. Some of those men hunted the animals on the walls, like bison, deer, and mammoths in a group-like manner. The predators seem to be treated with a little more respect, like cougars, wolves, and bears. That was the first few pictures until we met with the first odd thing about those paintings.
The picture in question has every human on the wall holding spears and arrows. No animals were visible. In the next few pictures, we see men without spears or arrows, which said men were upscaled, massive. Long, black legs and arms attach to small bodies and small heads, of which all have un-painted orbs, depicting their eyes, which harrowed us as they stared at us through the screen. It seems some of those tall men have extra or lack of arms and legs. The saying can be said for the eyes, but most are in that somewhat humanoid body plan. The smaller men with the arrows and spears look to be battling the tall men, with some tall men holding the smaller men. In a few more pictures, below the battle scene, were red handprints, unlike those of the black they used. There are no more pictures from here, but we were stunned at whatever we stumbled upon.
Marv: What the fuck. What was that?
Me: I don’t know, maybe an archeologist's USB?
Marv then looked at the screen and saw a second file that said GIANT DOCUMENTARY.
Marv: Giant documentary? A documentary on, okay, what? Giants?
Me: That’s what seems to be like.
We clicked on the folder to see the one mp4 file with the same name. We clicked on it and it started its intro with one of those songs you’d play on a nature educational video. It was black, until it slowly faded into a scene of a forest, with the video panning across gradually and with nature sounds. There, a man with a gruff voice began to narrate.
Narrator: Ever wondered what happened here? You would assume that in a far distant time, this was a different place.
It then transitioned to a scene of a tundra, along with a slideshow of all the animals that existed during the Ice Age. It seems the documentary was made by someone using the Moviemaker application.
Narrator: A cold tundra during the Last Ice Age, of which large mammoths ruled the plains, thick-furred camels gathered in herds, and American lions roamed in their respective pride, along with the large grizzlies, the roaming caribou, and the wolves that hunt in their packs.
I then showed pictures of a tundra landscape, along with a few of the creatures mentioned.
Narrator: That was the scene until man, or Homo Sapiens came along at the end of the Ice Age, ten thousand years ago. The large glaciers that used to cover a third of North America began to melt, causing a whole dramatic series of climatic events. Man took that opportunity to hunt down the prehistoric life that existed. Eventually, those mammoths and camels became extinct, along with the American lion, who relied on them for food, along with a whole plethora of prehistoric beasts that once roamed North America. Eventually, all the ice melted and mankind settled, creating what we know as Native Americans, the Cree, Aztecs, Iroquois, and many more, telling and passing on stories as history marches on.
It then showed a slide show of historical pictures of the tribes themselves, along with depictions of a few of them taking down mammoths and going face to face with sabre tooth cats.
Narrator: I may sound reasonable, based on the evidence found by archeologists and paleontologists alike. Besides, it is only plausible that man is the only species that could drive these wonderful species to extinction. What if I told you all, watching this, that another species used to exist in North America alongside Homo sapiens?
A picture, presumably from the 1800’s or something, showed up, and later a slide show of a few news articles about them. I then began to recognize the voice, a voice all too familiar… my father’s voice. At this time, we were shocked, as this was not what I remembered him and probably not even Marv. We were more shocked at how he took this secret with him and had this under our noses. Despite that, we kept on watching.
Dad: Giants, creatures supposedly of myth and legend, larger yet primitive versions of man, have walked the Earth for many years. Most of that so-called evidence comes in the form of huge, perhaps human-like, bones discovered by farmers and amateur archeologists alike all across neighbouring America. They would claim they built the massive mounds, like the famous Serpent Mound, all across the Midwest.
The slideshow of various examples of these mounds, frame by frame, went by until it stopped at a map of the Midwest, showing where they were.
Dad: Of course, most of these skeletons would either be misidentifications of ancient animals or hoaxes. As for the mysterious mounds, they are now discovered to be built by the good ol’ Hopewell societies, the Mound Builders, who made them as burials and ritual sites. Since then, there has been no new ground evidence of their existence except for the mythologies and legends captivating our cultures. At least, until now.
It then changed to a video recording of Dad, who is sitting in a chair and began explaining it like an explorer that has seen it all.
Dad: One day, while I and John were looking for a cave at Wells Grey Park somewhere in British Columbia, sometime during July of 1994, I saw this tunnel in the snow, somewhere on a high hill at the foot of a glacier. We grabbed our gear, went up to the cave, and we just went in. It took us a few minutes underneath all of that snow before we saw this stream enter this system, melting the snow. We climbed our way down there and reached the floor. We thought we were the first humans to ever set foot in this cave.
Now, as far as I know, to the naked eye, the cave itself is pretty much invisible, especially during winter. Even if anyone did find it, it would require them hours to climb loose rock and steep valley walls. What we found in this cave is quite unusual.
The frame then shows the cave paintings - the very same cave paintings we saw in those other pictures.
Dad: We found these cave paintings on the walls. They are painted in some kind of charcoal paint mix, likely used in the creation of them. At first, the scene depicts the hunter-gatherer lifestyle of the earliest settlers themselves, hunting the woolly mammoths, bison and caribou at the time, along with the bears, cougars, and wolves that are treated with respect. Going further down the cave, we began to see fewer animals and more people with spears and bows. That is when we found the tall figures, likely exaggerated by the artists to depict their size and how they saw it. How they depicted them is very long limbs attached to a smaller body and their eyes they didn’t paint over, a hollow gaze. I felt a harrowing feeling, seeing them and gazing into their eyes. There aren’t just a few, instead, there are many of them, some have extra limbs and eyes and a few even pick up the men depicted in the paintings.
By that time, the battery went dead but we marched on deeper into the cave. We found artifacts, like pottery and arrowheads. We then stumbled upon the remains of a campsite beside the bank of the stream. As I was taking it all in, my friend pointed at something with his flashlight. The scene I saw hit me like a ton of bricks, still haunting me to this day.
There were a few human remains, so decayed that only the bone remained. I seemed to be a family of four, still wearing their fur clothes. They seem to be trying to escape a threat, and ended up here to paint this mural, only to die the hard way. I could only imagine what they went through and looking back as a family man, that fate would be worse than death, waiting for the threat to be over, which never came.
I can see him tear up, in the video, crying. Amongst the muffled cries, he said this:
Dad: I wouldn’t wish that on my family. Not even my worst enemy.
He then continued that way for a few minutes, while my initial shock slowly turned to that of sympathy for him, as this was his first time finding something like this.
Dad: Sorry, I guess I should move on.
He waited a few moments to regain composure, wiping his tears away before speaking again.
Dad: Well, after that, we climbed out of the cave. We did not tell anyone of the exact location, because we wanted to respect the people who died up there a very long time ago. My point is, that there was something that scared this family so much they made the effort to climb to the cave and paint out what is their story. There are just too many coincidences for me to think that they just went in here for the sake of it and too many of those tall beings.
That is when I believed that, long ago, something roamed these lands with us. Not some upsized human who are like us, but a horror so savage it horrified the first settlers and forced them into hiding. Now, I asked myself where they went, besides they would’ve still walked amongst us. I was looking through the libraries and saw nothing. That is when until one day, when I stopped at a gas station somewhere in Rosetown. A Cree elder was taking a smoke and told me he had a story to tell me, out of the blue. It was a weird gesture, as he had no reason to talk to me anyway. Besides, why would a Cree elder tell a white man a story?
We sat on a bench and he told me this story his tribe passed around for a very long time. He told me that, in the beginning, his ancestors feared this monster known as the Witiko. Now, today it is known as the wendigo, a solitary monster that corrupts the human soul and forces them to partake in some horrific act, usually cannibalism of their family members. Once they do that, they turn into basically thin, pale corpses with antlers on their heads and have supernatural abilities. This version also has a knack for being always hungry, constantly looking for something to eat, a metaphor for greed in most of the tribes surrounding the area.
These wendigo, or Witiko, are different. They are not the corpse zombie monster thing that was once human, but rather giant, twisted beings that came from the underworld and invaded the overworld. They ate anything for the sake of greed and malice while tormenting life on the overworld for their pleasure. It got so bad some even took it upon themselves to take their own lives. One day, their good-old Creator decided to send out his best warrior, Wisakedjak. Wisakedjak saw what the Witiko were doing and devised a plan. He banded up all the tribes and went to war with them while luring them in the process. Most, if not all, of the Witiko, were where Wisakedjak wanted them to be. The Creator then split the earth, sending them back to the underworld to which they belonged. To ensure they won’t escape again, the Creator eventually sealed the entrance of which the Witiko fell in.
I was shocked at the story, and even asking where the entrance was, only he would tell me this is a secret and that he didn’t want anyone to look for it, in fear they might be released again. After meeting him, I tried to look for genuine proof of these giants, but all I have is a few photos and a story. That is when I thought about who would cover it up, steal the bones and hide them. I guess some of those crazy conspiracy theorists might be right about the Smithsonian Museum covering them up. So I might have to cover my tracks and finish what I started. This is the show, bye.
We sat in shock, looking at each other and realising our Dad might be a nut job.
Marv: Giants? Really? This whole time?
Me: Seems like it.
That is all I could mutter out, confused at what I saw.
Me: They might be connected to his disappearance…
Marv: Okay, how is this related to his disappearance? We still don’t know where he is. Besides, he seems to be a crazy person anyway, like, he listened to one story from a random man and instantly believed him?
Marv’s inner rage became noticeable and understandable, knowing that he saw Dad as a person who cared for him through the hardest of times and now he felt like he was betrayed, like Dad went missing all over again. He eventually went to a wall and slumped against it, eventually sitting on the ground, legs carelessly splayed out and head looking down.
I felt the same way, but I was contained. I felt really sorry for him, though. I took that moment to sit beside him and hug him.
Me: It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay.
He then started to cry, giving me some urge to shed my tears. I began to think about my father. He left us, lying that he was going to Ontario and disappeared, only to find out he was secretly some conspiracy theorist who was chasing what seemed to be thin air. At the same time, he was a caring father, who cared about us, taught us and tried to be with us at the biggest moments of our lives. I then stared at the video recorder at the counter.
Me: Hey, should we take a look in the recorder? See what we could find?
He then looked up at me, looking at me in seriousness.
Marv: I guess, we are in this rabbit hole now.
He then took the dead recorder, took the memory card out and plugged it into his adaptor, plugged into the PC. The files showed up and there were multiple recordings. I was staring at the dates, only to realise that the final of these recordings was on May 8th, 2018. Marv then clicked on the recording.
At first, we were in a vibrant, evergreen forest, casting shadows upon the pine needle floor under an afternoon sun. The sounds of birds chirping dominated the soundscape until we heard a nudge, assuming the camera moved. We then saw Dad walk in front of the camera and stand there, he seemed to be nervous.
Dad: Hey all, I am at the cave, where I was when I was twelve. Took a bit of time to find it, but here we are, at the Childhood Cave. Now, John couldn’t come because his wife is having their child, which I understand. So, that is why I am here alone. Not a worry, I’ve been caving for most of my life, so this is nothing new.
He then came to pick up the recorder to show around the site. I can see the rope wrapped around a tree that descends into this hole. I can describe it as being similar to a well, except flat, stoney protrusions stick out of the walls like platforms, with the center being pure black.
Dad: Well, this is the first time entering the system. I hope to find anything down there.
He then buckled up his gear, making sure the rope was tight and the gear was in working order. He then walked over to the hole, recorder in hand, only to kneel to put the camera on the first platform.
Dad: Well, here we go.
He then began climbing down, feet first, holding onto whatever rock he could grasp, grunting as he went. As soon as he was at chest height on the first platform, he reached towards the camera. He suddenly disappeared into the hole, faster than the blink of an eye. One moment, he was there, then another moment he wasn’t. At that point, I was shaking and felt weak, but my brother sat still, like a stone, waiting for something else to happen. All that I heard afterwards was silent, very long and antagonizing silence until the camera ran out of battery, turning the screen black.

Ah! A new week a new chapter. Here's to hoping that everyone had a good a weekend. I did.
[Previous] [First] [Next] [RoyalRoad] [Discord] —----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Eri blinked as her eyes adjusted to the light level. The hallway she found herself in slowly brightened with the glow of magical lights, revealing raw stone walls and floor.
“This is the entrance,” Felix said from her right.
Before she could respond, Kyrith’s head appeared above them, prompting the two of them to make room. The dragon’s body materialized as they cleared the area.
“Oh! This is dense!” He said, his body shivering slightly.
Felix had brought them to the Sanctuary, as he called it. Eri was curious about it and she apparently had some questions…
“It is. Be careful, it affected Zira quite a bit our first time here.” Felix responded, gesturing for the two of them to follow.
The entrance led directly into a hallway. It was a tight fit for Kyrith, but thankfully it didn’t cause any issues.
“Fea made this?” Eri asked, sounding a little incredulous. She was in the middle with her partner behind her.
“Yeah. But this,” he gestured, “Isn’t what is impressive. Just wait, we’re almost there.”
“Right…” She muttered, still unsure how to take all this. The dense mana didn’t help. It wasn’t exactly stifling, but it left her feeling uncomfortable.
They continued their trek, passing several rooms. Her curiosity had her peeking in one as they passed, but there wasn’t anything of interest.
Suddenly, they came to a stop. In front of them was a solid wall.
Eri tried to speak, “Where–”
Felix simply placed his hand onto the wall. A moment later, the wall opened up…
“Here we are,” Felix said with a nod.
Her jaw dropped, Kyrith gasped.
Before them was a massive cave…
Daylight shown down onto the floor, coming from the equally impressive opening above them. The circular shape of the cave held rows upon rows, levels upon levels, of what was unmistakably dens made for dragons.
How…?
Ramps led up to platforms, those platforms made up the various levels. She was struggling to comprehend the scale of what she was seeing.
T-this is truly a sanctuary.
“I told you it was impressive,” Felix commented with a chuckle. “You can go in– But! Stick to either the first floor or the ground. The rest aren’t finished…”
Eri gulped and stepped past. The sheer scale, the sheer size of…everything was awe-inspiring.
“F-Fea did this?” she asked again, this time with wonderment.
“She did… But she wasn’t able to finish it,” he answered. There was a bittersweet tone to his voice, as if recalling a memory.
Enough room was created for Kyrith to make it past them. “Wow, this place is huge!” He swung his head around. “Do you think we can finish it?! This would be a great place for us to call home!”
Felix smiled. “That’s actually why I brought you two here–”
Kyrith’s attention was already pulled away. He started moving, going deeper into the cavernous space…
“You want to finish this?” Eri asked, still shocked and not quite noticing her partner wandering off.
“I do, but there’s no way I could do so on my own. I wanted your advice and opinion…” He trailed off awkwardly.
“I… I doubt there is anything I could do to help. Something like this would require miners, at least.”
Letting out a sigh, Felix walked forward a few feet before stopping. “Yeah, I kinda figured that… But, what about in Bernel? Could they have someone who could help?”
The village? No way. “Doubtful… You’d need the dwarves, or possibly the gnomes. Either one would have experience in something like this. Us elves mainly stick to logging, or above ground mining. This would be too much for us.”
Eri frowned as she continued. “Unfortunately, getting one of those races to help might prove to be a challenge… They aren’t very keen on your presence.”
“That’s what I was afraid of. Seeing how neither one of their sages wanted to help with recruiting…” Felix said, the dejection written plain upon his face.
She winced at his sight. “It’s a delicate situation. Neither race is very trusting, especially of a human… I do think we can start to win them over, however. With the eggs hatching soon, it might be enough to prove your intentions to them.”
“So what am I supposed to do? Drag four newly hatched dragons and their partners all the way to them?” He asked, letting his frustration through.
“Felix–”
“No, I’m sorry.” He said, shaking his head. “I’m just mad at the situation, I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”
There was a pause before he continued. “Luckily, I did sort of foresee something like that being an issue. For now, I think the Sanctuary will have to wait and I will have to go with my second idea.”
She approached Felix, “What is your idea?”
“I was thinking of building either an extension to the hatchery, or a separate building. Some sort of dormitory for both dragons and their partners to stay in. We’re going to run out of living space rather quickly.” Felix answered with a slight shrug.
“Now that is something I think us elves could help with,” she said with encouragement.
“Really?”
Eri nodded. “Still, it might be a tough sell. But nowhere near as bad as trying to convince the dwarves or gnomes. I think if we go straight to Chief Yorlen, we might be able to convince him. If he spreads the word, we might be able to get some of the tribes to pitch in.”
Felix perked up. “Right, I don’t think I left a bad impression. Most seemed to just accept me being there during the celebrations. Or at the very least, I wasn’t ran out of the village.”
With a slight laugh, Eri nodded. “That’s true. But we shouldn’t get our hopes up just yet. I think we have a good chance, but he’ll expect something out of it in return. We should think–”
She blinked and looked around, only now did she realize Kyrith wasn’t with them.
Eri, come over here! There’s even more eggs!
Eri froze in place, not quite sure what she just heard her partner say. I’m sorry, did you say you found more eggs? Like, dragon eggs?
Yep!
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Zira grumbled internally. While Felix took Eri and Kyrith into the Sanctuary, she was stuck back at the manor. Before her were the four other elves, all looking unsure as she stared down at them.
“Do you have any questions?” She asked, feeling a mixture of awkwardness and frustration.
The elves looked between each other before Yedril slowly raised his hand.
“Yes?”
“What is it like being bonded to Felix? I mean, do you and him have arguments–”
Zira let out a deep rumble in the form of a laugh. “Of course we have our arguments. We even had some fights.”
“Really?” Yedril asked, looking a little surprised. “That’s… How does that affect the bond? I would’ve thought arguing would hurt it.”
This is going to take a while, she realized, laying down to get more comfortable. “I can only speak for me and Felix, but our bond is quite strong. Felix said it before, you have to be able to trust your partner.
“Even though we’ve had our arguments and fights, it’s always been from a position of caring for one another… We just have our differences on what that looks like. We’ve been improving, however. And don’t forget, trust goes both ways.”
“I think I get it…” Yedril muttered, staring off into the distance.
Zira watched him for a moment before speaking up again. “Any more questions?”
Lorem was next and he suddenly looked determined. “How would a bond affect my relationship with Noria? It is no secret I am courting her and I worry how that would affect my soon-to-be partner.”
Noria went rigid, blushing a scarlet red. Solanna cocked an eyebrow, while her brother blinked in confusion as he came back to reality. However, Zira grew quiet…
It’s obvious why he is asking me, but what to say? She considered her words carefully, very carefully. “Relationships…will be tricky. Perhaps because the two of you have been courting before hatching your eggs, it won’t be an issue. I would still explain it to both as best you can.”
Lorem nodded. “When do you think it would be best to talk with them?”
When indeed…? “I honestly don’t know, but perhaps once they start asking questions. Learn from mine and Felix’s mistake on this, don’t wait.”
“Mistake?” Noria asked aloud, before realizing what she meant. “I-I’m sorry–”
Zira sighed, sounding more like a growl. Poor Noria looked as if she was about to faint.
Maybe it’s for the best that I get this out of the way. If they can learn from us, then… “I doubt it will surprise any of you, but Felix is courting Eri. Though, both seem to be doing the smart thing and taking it slow.
“Anyway, when I was freshly hatched, I did not understand what romance was. Nor did I understand why Felix would ever love someone other than me. It…led to a lot of confusion for me. We got through it, and now I understand.” Even if I still have feelings on that topic.
“I-I see…” Noria said after a few moments. She still looked a little shaky on her feet.
Solanna was the next one to speak up. “Do you have any advice on how to best care for them?” She spoke with indifference but as Zira turned her attention to the elf, she could see a burning curiosity hiding behind her eyes.
“Attention, they will want a lot of it,” Zira smiled. “Be prepared to be made a pillow, or have them pull your laundry out and sleep on that. Kyrith was notorious for that one…
“But as for any special care to consider? Besides building trust between, work together as often as you can. They will come to appreciate that.”
“What is up with Felix being made your pillow anyway?” Yedril asked with an amused expression.
She let out a rumbling laugh. “Punishment– At least, at first. Now, it is more of a ritual.”
“Punishment?”
She shook her head. “I’ve told you, we’ve had our fair share of arguments. Who do you think won most of them? And who do you think lost most of them?”
Yedril chuckled. “I understand, but now I’m curious. Are you worried about crushing him?”
“Not really, we can tell when each other is in pain. I never drift off into sleep until I know he’s comfortable.”
Oh, I should probably tell them about that. “One more thing about bonding– Actually, I’m surprised neither me nor Felix has brought this up until now…”
Zira waited until she had everyone’s attention. “Once you and your partner grow more confident with each other, there is something quite special the two of you will be able to do. You will be able to combine your minds together.”
“What do you mean?” Solanna asked, but the question was written on all their faces.
“Exactly that. Felix likes to call it melding, but the term doesn’t matter. What matters is that you and your partner will become one. Two bodies, but only one mind.”
Noria’s eyes widened. “Wait…” she trailed off, unable to finish her sentence.
Zira gave her a curious expression. “I know that is a bit of a shock, I apologize for not bringing it up sooner. The concept is…hard to explain though, and should not be tried until you have solidified trust between the two of you.”
The small elf shook her head, pulling herself out of her stupor. However, it was Yedril who asked the next question. “What is it like?”
She thought for a moment. “Hmm, I think the easiest way to explain it is like this: You lose the concept of ‘I,’ and gain an understanding of ‘us.’ There is no you or me, only we.”
The four elves pondered her words. Meanwhile, a distant noise from the hatchery caught Zira’s attention. A moment later, she heard Felix.
We might have figured something out…
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Watcher kneeled, closing his eyes in prayer to the empty eggs that stood before him.
He had been listening, he had been guided and given instructions. Now, the fruits of his labor were beginning to show. There was still more to do, however…
Master! Guide Watcher– Guide me! Hear Watcher’s prayers, show Watcher next step! Eggs hatch soon, Watcher use power… I bring elf and egg together, like Master want! Please, old Master… Please, answer Watcher calls!
His pleas grew silent, he hadn’t heard her voice since the eggs imprinted. Now, he was growing desperate. Watcher feared he had somehow angered her…
A calm wind blew through him. With it, a soft melodic voice hummed and tempered his nerves. A soothing hand landed upon the top of his head, gently petting it.
Shh, Watcher has done well, the wind answered. I had given you all my available power and had to rest. But now? Now, I feel it. I feel them stirring. Soon, Watcher… Very soon, I will be able to provide you with more.
Watcher felt the tension leave his body. What of New Master? Will Old Master help?
He felt the melodic wind once again. Of course, we will need his help just as much as he will need mine.
The hand slid down to the side of his snout, visions flashed in his mind.
A shadow reveals the folly of revenge.
An ancient evil moves, guiding a blind man.
—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- [Previous] [First] [Next] [RoyalRoad] [Discord]
So we have Eri and Kyrith learning about and seeing the sanctuary. Zira playing the adult and answering some hard questions. And finally, things happening with Watcher... Ultimately, things are happening.
Anyway, I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter.

“How could he escape?!” Achaicus shouted as he paced his office. His brow was creased and his nose scrunched into a crinkle with his sneer.
“I don’t know,” Markos responded with a careless shrug, “He was hardly in any condition to move, someone must have helped him.”
“What if he revenanted? Are you certain the injuries you inflicted weren’t enough to kill him?”
“I’m quite sure. His vitals were stable and there was nothing in the room for him to revenant himself with,” our cousin assured calmly.
My brother was practically pulling his hair out. So far only a handful of people knew of Mercurissen’s ‘escape’ and I sat restlessly in the corner waiting for them to come to some kind of conclusion. All I could think was that I hadn’t secured the room well enough to hold the little vanir, and if he woke, he could escape in earnest.
“Mercury is occupying Dunkel, and we have no leverage!” my brother continued, agitated.
“Weren’t you the one who wanted simply to kill him?” Markos pointed out, earning himself a glare.
“We can still leverage a body.”
“And you can do the same thing with a non-existent body.”
“Not if he shows back up!”
They argued as guilt threatened to drown me.
“What are your thoughts, Nathaniel? You’re awfully quiet about this,” Markos asked bemused.
“I don’t know what you want me to say. It’s obvious someone helped him. Perhaps one of our humans are compromised? Or one of our own guards. Mercurissen promised amnesty to any who chose to swear loyalty to his father, maybe someone believed him.”
“Nonsense, none have returned from the outer borders,” Achaicus muttered, swallowing the last of the wine from his glass in one gulp.
“I can’t see any other way for him to have disappeared,” I lied easily.
We had spent days since then searching the grounds and, unsurprisingly, found no trace of the vanir. I couldn’t imagine what would happen if anyone found out I had him. Looking at my brother now, I’m not sure he would survive the knowledge that I was the one betraying them… He would probably implode.
I excused myself from dinner early, taking with me a heaped plate of food with a secondary plate hidden under the first, and went directly to my chambers. However I returned to find the room immediately empty. The Vanir was not where I had left him, nor was he anywhere in sight and my heart began to race as I set the food down to search.
A thousand sparkling ornaments sat undisturbed from their places and the balcony doors were still firmly locked. The bathroom was empty and nothing had been broken. But the items on my desk were disturbed and a pocket knife sat out in the open. Had he somehow revenanted and escaped?
With cold sweat beginning to form on my brow I approached the bed, stepping around it cautiously. The tethering spell was still in place and I followed the length of it with my eyes. It curved across the floor and disappeared under the bed skirting.
Perplexed, I crouched to lift the fabric aside and to my surprise that was where he was. Mercurissen had squished himself under the bed and was curled with his back facing me so that the rest of the room was in his line of sight. His chest rose and fell gently, he must’ve fallen asleep waiting.
The relief left me breathless, before irritation set in. What did he think he was doing? I took hold of his ankle and pulled him from under the bed. He didn’t notice immediately, he must have been more deeply asleep than I’d thought, but panicked for a moment when the sensation of movement at last woke him.
He tensed and his eyes were momentarily feral before panic calmed to mild apprehension as he gave up. Giving no further resistance, he allowed his body to go limp as I dragged him out, stopping only once he was at my feet. His hair brushed against the floor, and he balled himself up, expecting the worst.
“Why were you under there?” I demanded firmly.
“I heard someone come into your room,” he responded with mild agitation.
“So you hid under the bed like a child.”
He scowled, “Where else was I supposed to hide?”
“Who came in?”
“I don’t know, a human girl with white hair.”
Calla, Markos’s pet, I thought and my blood froze, “Did she see you?” I asked urgently but he scoffed.
“In this clutter?”
The ice in my veins dissolved into hot irritation, “You’d best be careful how you talk to me you little brat,” I muttered, annoyed.
“You told me not to let anyone see me, so I didn’t. What more do you want?” He remarked, beginning to sit up, however I forced him back down.
Holding both of his wrists against his chest with one hand, “Keep your sharp tongue under check.”
The Vanir glared back at me, “Let me go,” he muttered, struggling for only a moment before deciding it was pointless and diverting his gaze to the side, “You’re hurting me…”
The statement surprised me, and I let him go with a small scoff, “You’re perfectly fine.”
“Whatever…” he murmured, stubbornly deciding to remain on the floor exactly where I had left him.
He was like a petulant child acting out and I couldn’t explain why he bothered me so much. Almost everything he said pissed me off and I made an effort to calm. “I brought you some food,” I announced instead.
His brow creased slightly as he looked over to me, “…You brought me food..?” he asked with softer uncertainty as he sat up.
“Yes,” I answered bluntly. I had divided the one overfilled plate over the two and offered one to him.
“Why…?”
“You said you forget to eat when you’re fighting, and I know you haven’t eaten since you got here.”
“…Oh.. I..” he murmured awkwardly.
“It’s not poisoned,” I teased.
I sat on the bed above him and his expression then was difficult. Something between a sneer and what almost seemed to be regret. He sat with the plate I had handed him, but he made no move to eat it.
“What? You don’t believe me?” I mused, “if I wanted to kill you, poison would be the last way I would do it.”
“It’s not that…”
“Then what?”
“I don’t eat meat…” he explained, looking away awkwardly.
“Pardon?”
“I said I don’t eat human meat,” he repeated, louder, and for a moment I couldn’t find the words.
“The Son of Mercury, merciless killer of the Fae, doesn’t eat meat?”
The vanir’s cheeks turned crimson with embarrassment, and he turned away “..Whatever, just kill me and get it over with-”
Mercurissen stopped short and his eyes widened as I reached over, taking the meat from his plate and replacing it with a bunch of grapes from mine without a word.
The flush colouration in his cheeks darkened as he looked up at me bewildered, “I- you-? Why?” He demanded, shocked.
“You didn’t let me starve, it would be rude of me not to repay the debt. Just make sure you eat slowly.”
“…That’s not a debt you have to repay…” he mumbled, but I dismissed him.
“Be quiet and eat.” I told him firmly, but after a moment couldn’t help myself and asked, “You didn’t want to eat with your family because that whole banquet was mostly meat?”
Mercurissen fidgeted uncomfortably, “My father doesn’t like it much that I don’t eat it. So I hate it when he asks me to eat with him because I know I’ll have to.”
“You would eat something you don’t like if he asked, but you wouldn’t let me starve?”
He paused as he thought about how to explain, “No… it’s more that I think it’s unfair… I do everything he asks, even when I don’t want to, and I would have let you starve because of it… but I asked him to stay, and he didn’t. He didn’t even bother to tell me when he was leaving, or where he was going…”
“You really didn’t know his plans?”
“No.. he doesn’t often tell me anything.”
I considered for a moment, if he truly hadn’t known where Mercury was going, then he likely didn’t know about Dunkel and that absolved us both of some guilt. Without thinking, I rested my hand on his head to play with his hair idly, “So you disregarded him out of spite?”
Mercurissen froze momentarily under my touch before relaxing again, “…No, I just decided not to do something I didn’t want to do for him, when he couldn’t do the same for me…”
“You didn’t want to let me starve?” I asked tentatively and he turned back to look at me.
“Why would I? Who actually wants to watch someone starve?” He asked pointedly.
I regarded him as I considered the question, “I thought all Vanir enjoyed watching others suffer,” I stated at last. He didn’t answer, and after a delay I chose to continue, “You shouldn’t do anything your father asks of you that you don’t want to do.”
“I am my fathers ‘perfect’ son… Everything he wants is what I should want.”
“Your father has left you to die,” I told him sedately.
A brief look of confusion crossed his face, before he seemed to understand, “He responded to your treaty offer…?”
“…Yes.”
“I told you he wouldn’t agree…” he murmured, focusing his gaze downward to the plate in his lap. His father had abandoned him, and Mercurissen was unsurprised. I suppose he understood the consequences.
We sat in silence for a long time. He had by then stopped eating and instead rolled one of the grapes back and forth over the ceramic surface until he eventually spoke again.
“…Eiríkr…” he murmured almost inaudibly.
“..Pardon?” I asked, unsure.
“My name is Eiríkr… Eric in the common tongue,” he explained softly.
I waited frozen in place, “Why are you telling me now?”
“…I don’t know…”
“You’re not afraid of me using it against you?”
The vanir gave a humorless laugh, “What else could you possibly do to me now?”
I sighed to myself, I suppose he had a point, “Eiríkr… finish eating your food.” I ordered softly, pushing his head down as I stood.
Eric gave a small sound of annoyance, patting his hair back into place before asking more quietly, “...Why are you doing this?” He mumbled, keeping his gaze low. There was confusion in his sapphire eyes, as if his own name was foreign to him, or perhaps he was simply trying to understand the situation.
“Because I want something,” I answered plainly.
***
In the following days the castle remained on high alert and Eiríkr slowly healed. His bruises faded and the hollowness of his limbs filled out with the exception of his left leg. Unfortunately, as he regained his strength he also became increasingly annoying.
At night he was supposed to sleep on the daybed, but I woke each morning to find him on my bed far away toward the edge. I chose to ignore that. The little brat was stubborn and trying to argue with him was almost pointless. Besides that, he couldn’t do any harm.
During the day I spent my time pretending to search the castle grounds. Achaicus was more anxious with each passing hour and my guilt grew. I wanted to tell him that everything was under control and that he need not worry, but I knew he wouldn’t allow me to keep Eiríkr if he knew.
What made the situation worse was the annoyingly close eye Markos kept. He watched me with unsettling interest, as if he knew something and it sparked some mild paranoia. Was there some way he could have found out? And if so, why hadn’t he said anything yet?
“You’ve been very dutiful with your paperwork of late,” Markos commented as he entered my office. It was unusual that he should deliver the infirmary reports personally, and I was immediately suspicious.
“Have I? Perhaps I should ignore it again,” I responded with disinterest.
“Is there any particular reason you’ve taken such a sudden interest in documentation?” he continued unfazed.
“No.”
“You’ve also been attending meals at the appropriate time.”
“Markos, what do you want?” I asked with a sigh.
The truth was if I fulfilled all my duties on time and made appearances where I was supposed to, there were less reasons for others to come looking for me. Which in turn meant I was less likely to be caught harboring a prisoner.
“Oh nothing, I’m simply making an observation,” he smiled and I glared.
“Leave.”
“As you wish,” he agreed, giving a mock bow and I threw a book in his general direction. It landed beside him and he chuckled to himself, “Temper, temper~”
“Go harass someone else.”
Markos left without further delay and I sighed deeply. If that man suspected something, he would keep pressing it until he found what he wanted to know. In ordinary circumstances he would have been the person I could confide in, but I didn’t know how he would react to this and I didn’t want him telling Achaicus.
Eiríkr had broken the tethering spell some days prior, and we had stern words about it, but since then he had begun to wander about the room freely. Choosing also to fill his time with petty tributes to his dislike of captivity. As a result, I commonly returned to chaos in my room.
He rearranged some of my collection, ‘neatening’ it after he claimed it blocked the pathways. Placed books back in the shelving, making me lose my page in several of them, and moved my crystals around.
“Stop touching everything,” I growled, fed up when I realized he had thrown out dozens of the half empty soap bottles in the bathroom.
“I haven’t touched anything,” he lied casually and I turned to glare at him. Eric was sitting on the floor beside the balcony doors. It looked like he had been asleep under the curtains in the sunlight and he yawned, rubbing his eyes, although still looked tired.
“I’m not a fool. I can clearly see you’ve moved things.”
“Some stuff fell- oh…” he stopped as I leaned over him.
“Don’t lie to me.”
“…What does it matter… it’s all junk anyway.” He grumbled quieter and my blood pressure began to rise.
“None of it's junk!”
“Please, I bet you don’t even remember where half of this stuff came from!”
“I know where everything came from, and everything has its own place, so stop messing with it.”
“You’re a hoarder, you know that?”
It took everything I had not to smite him, “Don’t. Touch. Anything else.” I repeated firmly.
Eric exhaled annoyed, “Fine.”
“Good.”
“But I don’t know what else you expect me to do,” he added and I pinched the bridge of my nose exasperated. Did he have a ‘less annoying’ setting?
“I expect you to wait patiently and recover. Read a book or something.”
“I don’t know how to read,” he retorted flatly.
I hesitated, too taken aback to respond, did he expect me to believe that? “You can’t read?” I repeated back to him, dumbfounded.
“I can read the runes for spells.”
“But you can’t read words on a page?”
“Not English ones, or whatever Fae language that is in those books.”
“You’re lying,” I decided at last and he laughed.
“Why would I lie about something like that? I was only taught how to read runes by my parents, we don’t value literature all that much. My father has books in his study, but not even half as many as you have in here, and I’ve never seen him read them.”
“How old are you again?”
“Seventy-nine.”
“You’ve had that long, and you can’t read? Even humans learn in a few years.”
“It wasn't important to know.”
I smiled just slightly, “I bet that made snooping around hard.”
“Why do you think I kept moving your books around?”
I laughed, maybe he wasn't’ lying after all. “What do you know, Mercuries ‘perfect’ son is an illiterate~” I purred smugly.
“At least I'm not a hoarder.”
“No, but you are sentenced to death,” I reminded him unkindly, and he was at last quiet. “I’m going to bathe. Just sit still and wait.”
“…Could you help me up first?” he mumbled softly and I felt mild guilt. Maybe I shouldn’t have antagonized him that way.
Without another word I offered my arm and helped pull him to his feet.
“Thanks...”
I ignored that, telling him instead, “I was late to dinner today, so I brought you some pastries instead. Eat, if you want.”
He hesitated, surprised, glancing over to where I had set down the plate for today, “Nathaniel…”
“Don’t tell me you’re allergic to pastry?” I groaned, I suppose I shouldn’t have been shocked, he was fussy about everything.
“No… I just, ah, thank you. Will you stay and eat with me?” The request caught me off guard and I paused, I hadn’t intended to- “Don’t think about it, just agree,” he continued interrupting my thoughts.
“...Fine,” I muttered carefully. I couldn’t see the harm.
Eric smiled like a coy child tempting someone into something they wanted, and I almost regretted giving in. However, eating with him wasn’t unpleasant. We spoke some, and he ate slowly.
“I didn’t mean to upset you… before,” he commented gently.
“Pardon?” I responded with suspicion.
“I’m saying I’m sorry… for putting your books away…” he paused, giving a taunting smile as he continued, “...and moving some of your junk.”
“It’s not junk,” I repeated exasperatedly, and he laughed. It was a soft, unexpected sound that caught me off guard, “What are you laughing at?”
“You're getting defensive of inanimate objects, but you think I’m the fussy one.”
“You’re insufferable,” I muttered, standing to go, but as I did so Eric took hold of my arm again, “What do you want now? Let go.”
“You don’t need to bathe.”
“Excuse me?”
“You smell good still, actually, maybe even a little bit better than you did this morning… and you’re not dirty. Stay, talk to me a little while longer?”
I shook my head in disbelief, “Let go of me.”
He held firm and I swallowed hard. I wasn't sure anyone had wanted my company with such determination before and some part of me relished in it.
“…You’ve never told me what’s wrong with your leg,” I changed the topic, but made no further move to leave and he looked uncomfortable.
“It doesn’t work since you broke the spell maintaining it, obviously.”
“But why does it need a spell at all?”
“Does it matter?”
“If I’m asking, I expect an answer.”
Eric delayed, “…It got damaged in a revenant when I was a child.”
“I wasn’t aware Vanir could get hurt revenanting,” I commented simply. If he thought he could lie to me he was mistaken. However he didn’t elaborate so I continued, “Why haven’t you rewritten the spell by now? It’s not as if you don’t have the time.”
“If I could, I would, it’s not that easy. I don’t remember most of it, and you erased the anchor point.. besides… it wasn’t a perfect spell.”
“I’m not going to apologize.”
He gave a small irritated sound, “I wasn’t asking you to, you bastard. But I hope you realize if I can’t walk, I can’t train you, so this stupid little idea of yours isn’t going to work.”
“If you can’t train me, remind me: why am I keeping you alive?”
It wasn’t a serious question as it wasn’t a problem I didn’t have a solution for. However it was enough to shake him and he watched me with a wary caution. “Can I go bathe now?” I mused and he let go with a snort of disgust.
NEXT CHAPTER (available on patreon)
Chapter List

Below is a list the major known religions/faiths/creeds (extant and extinct, lawful and outlawed) of The Aurelian Empire, along with a brief explanation of each (if any solid proof of belief system exists).

• Logicaria - Logicaria, known by its various titles including The Aurelian Creed, The Cult of Logic, The Cult of Reason, The Way of Truth, The Forward Path, and The Cold Way, stands as the foundational doctrine of The Aurelian Empire. This comprehensive belief system shapes the ethos and identity of the Empire, serving as the guiding philosophy for its people in matters of morality and personal conduct. At its core, Logicaria espouses atheism, rejecting the notion of supernatural deities in favour of a rational, evidence-based understanding of the universe. Its foundational principles are deeply rooted in scientific inquiry and critical thinking, emphasizing the importance of empirical evidence, logical reasoning in the pursuit of truth and understanding, and a profound reverence for the natural world. The 12 tenets of Logicaria, often referred to as a Pantheon of Gods (somewhat ironically), represent the fundamental values and guiding principles by which adherents strive to live their lives: Truth, Science, Reason, Logic, Understanding, Humility, Compassion, Endeavour, Nature, The Cycle Of Life And Death, Success/Victory and Failure/Defeat. There are no temples, shrines or holy sites dedicated to this "religion", nor is there any head or other ranked official.
• The Cult Of Aurelian - The Cult of Aurelian stands as the most widespread monotheistic religion in the Empire, venerating Emperor Aurelian as a divine entity. According to its followers, though never his goal or intention, Aurelian achieved apotheosis upon his death during the Battle of Black Frost in 12 EA, transcending his mortal form to become a God. They believe that, as a God, Aurelian has a divine plan for his people and protects and guides them through the sheer force of his will. The central tenets of this faith are Humility, Compassion, Generosity, Temperance, Courage, and Honour.
• Beshqarii - Beshqarii is a monotheistic religion, the second most widespread after The Cult Of Aurelian, that venerates a singular divine entity known as Atar, who is also referred to by several honorific titles: Atar the One, The One, Atar of the Divine Fire, and He Who Is Wreathed in Flame. Followers of Beshqarii, known as Beshqarii, believe that Atar is the supreme god of all creation, the originator of the heavens and the earth, the seas and the skies. They hold that Atar alone possesses the fires of creation, a divine essence within him that brought the universe into existence. The core Beliefs of Beshqarii are: Divine Creation: Atar is the omnipotent creator who fashioned the entire cosmos. Everything that exists, from the stars in the sky to the smallest grain of sand, is a result of his divine will and creative power. Purpose of Life: Beshqarii believe that every life, no matter the, has a distinct purpose. This purpose is part of Atar's grand design, and fulfilling one's purpose is a sacred duty. The Reckoning: Central to Beshqarii eschatology is the belief in a prophesied event known as The Reckoning. This is envisioned as the ultimate battle of the end times, where the forces of good, guided by Atar, will confront and combat the forces of evil. This apocalyptic struggle will determine the fate of all creation. Reverence for Fire: Fire holds a place of paramount importance in Beshqarii. It is seen as a direct extension and representation of the divine fires of creation that reside within Atar. Beshqari rituals, prayers, and ceremonies often involve fire as a symbol of Atar's presence and power. Known practices and rituals of the faith are: Fire Worship: Temples dedicated to Atar often feature perpetual flames that are meticulously tended by the faithful. These flames symbolize the eternal and unending creative power of Atar. Festivals and Ceremonies: Beshqarii observe several holy days and festivals throughout the year, many of which involve elaborate fire rituals. These ceremonies are opportunities for the community to come together, celebrate their faith, and renew their commitment to fulfilling their divine purposes. Daily Prayers: Followers perform daily prayers at dawn and dusk, times associated with the rising and setting sun, both symbols of Atar's divine fire. These prayers often involve lighting candles or small fires and offering thanks and supplications to Atar. Some symbolism of Beshqarii includes: Flames and Fire: Representing Atar's divine presence, fire is the most potent symbol in Beshqarii. It signifies purity, transformation, and the creative force of the universe. The Flamewing/The Bird Ablaze: Often used as a symbol in Beshqarii art and iconography, the phoenix represents rebirth, immortality, and the cyclical nature of creation and destruction inherent in the belief of The Reckoning. Beshqarii theology is rooted in the concept of a singular, all-powerful deity who governs the universe with a grand, albeit inscrutable, plan. This monotheistic framework emphasizes the omnipotence and omniscience of Atar, contrasting with polytheistic systems by focusing all divine attributes and powers into one entity. Beshqari teachings on the afterlife are closely tied to the fulfillment of one's purpose. Those who live in accordance with Atar's will and fulfill their divine purpose are believed to be rewarded in the afterlife, whereas those who stray from their path face purification through divine fire before they can find peace. Beshqair is a deeply spiritual and ritualistic faith centered on the worship of Atar, the god of all creation. Its followers hold a profound reverence for fire, viewing it as a sacred element and a symbol of their god's immense power. The belief in The Reckoning imparts a sense of urgency and purpose to their lives, guiding them to live in harmony with Atar's will and prepare for the ultimate cosmic battle between good and evil.
• The Given Path - Followers of The Given Path adhere to a belief system centred around the concept of predestination and divine providence. They hold the firm conviction that all events, whether they occurred in the past, are happening in the present, or will unfold in the future, are predetermined and cannot be altered by mortal intervention. Central to the teachings of The Given Path is the notion that every occurrence, no matter how seemingly insignificant or momentous, is part of a meticulously crafted plan orchestrated by their deity, She Who Guides. This divine being is revered as an omnipotent and omniscient entity, transcending the constraints of time and space. She Who Guides exists beyond the realm of mortal comprehension, possessing complete knowledge of past, present, and future events. Followers of The Given Path find solace and purpose in the belief that everything that unfolds in the universe does so with divine intention. They view life's journey as a predetermined path laid out by She Who Guides, with each experience and circumstance serving a greater purpose in the grand tapestry of existence. This perspective fosters a sense of acceptance and resignation to the inevitability of fate among adherents, who trust implicitly in the wisdom and benevolence of their deity. Rituals and practices within The Given Path often involve acts of devotion and submission to the will of She Who Guides. Followers seek guidance and enlightenment through prayer, meditation, and contemplation, surrendering themselves to the unfolding of events as ordained by their omnipotent deity. Ultimately, those who walk The Given Path find comfort in the belief that their lives are guided by a higher power, and that every twist and turn in their journey serves to fulfil a divine purpose known only to She Who Guides.
• The Good Light - The Good Light is revered as an entity or sentient energy field believed to dwell within the core of the galaxy, serving as a stabilizing force that maintains equilibrium and harmony throughout the cosmos. Followers of this belief system view The Good Light as a benevolent presence, radiating positive energy and guiding the flow of life and matter across the vast expanse of space. The faith of the Good Light was spread to the Empire over a thousand years ago by travellers from the Qitanian Empire.
• Shi'Fan Veta - Primarily found within the confines of the Thalassa Sector, Shi'Fan Veta stands as a non-organized, pacifistic religion. Its only sacred locations are the majestic Skywood trees, unique to Regnum Thalassa. At the heart of its doctrine lie beliefs in the unity of all existence, the importance of equilibrium and concordance in every facet of existence, the cycles of karma and reincarnation, and the pursuit of inner tranquility and spiritual illumination.
• The Crimson Sun (Outlawed) - The Crimson Sun, referred to as The Brotherhood of the Crimson Sun, The Crimson Brotherhood or The Red Brotherhood, is an outlawed religious sect within the Empire. Often derogatively labelled as The Bloodletters by the Empire's true and civilised citizens, it worships a deity named Apollyon. This four-armed, six-horned figure with a canine visage is also known as The Lord of Malice or The Lord of the Bloody Abyss. Little is known about their practices, except that they involve blood sacrifices.
• Shekkha (Extinct)- Followers of Shekkha believe that The Master is the divine source of all existence, encompassing the elements of earth, air, fire, and water within its divine essence. Core beliefs in Shekkha emphasize reverence for the natural world and the sanctity of all life forms. Followers view the elements as sacred manifestations of The Master's divine will, each representing different aspects of creation and the cycle of life. In Shekkha, it is believed that all life, regardless of its form or complexity, is imbued with divine significance. Whether it be the towering trees of the forests, the gentle breeze that caresses the land, the roaring flames of the sun, or the flowing waters of the rivers, all are seen as expressions of The Master's divine presence. Adherents of Shekkha are called to live in harmony with nature, respecting and honoring the interconnectedness of all living beings. Rituals and ceremonies within the religion often involve ceremonies that pay homage to the elements and celebrate the diversity of lifeforms that inhabit the world. Ultimately, Shekkha teaches that by recognizing and honouring the sacredness of all life, followers can attain spiritual enlightenment and cultivate a deeper connection with The Master and the natural world.
• The Two Who Are One - In the southern reaches of the Empire lies a unique faith centred on the duality of Life and Death, known as The Two Who Are One. Here, Life and Death are seen as complementary forces, each representing one half of the same cosmic whole. Life is revered as the force of vitality, growth, and abundance, while Death is honoured as the inevitable passage leading to transformation and renewal. Both are embraced as essential aspects of existence, celebrated in rituals marking life events and transitions. Through devotion to The Two Who Are One, followers seek to understand the interconnectedness of all things and find solace in the natural cycles of life and death.
• Ra-Ton Ha-Gae'Don - Based around a deep spiritualism and the sanctity of nature, Ra-Ton Ha-Gae'Don is a polytheistic faith that reveres nature above all else. Their six main deities of this faith are: Kanakai, God of the sea and underworld. Wanuskewin, God of the forests and animals. Amanatli, Goddess of the sun and light. Mauiokalani, trickster God of mischief and transformation. Pelamakai, God of fire. And Wakinyan, god of the sky, storms and the heavens.
• Kainga Manaaki - Kainga Manaaki, also known as The Blessed Home and The Path To The Blessed Home, is a polytheistic faith based around the concept of the interconnectedness of all things, living and otherwise. Their pantheon consists of ten main deities known collectively as the Mapok, alongside dozens more lesser deities known collectively as Itiwa. The ten main deities are: Tane Mahuta, God of the forests and birds. Ranginui, God of the sky. Papatuanuku, Goddess of the earth. Tangaroa, God of the sea. Tumatauenga, God of war and man. Whiro, God of darkness and mischief. Hine-nui-te-po, Goddess of death and the underworld. Tawhirimatea, God of the wind and weather. Uenuku, God of promises. And, Hineteiwaiwa, Goddess of crafts and the home.
• Bejo Kili'ich - Bejo Kili'ich, known colloquially as The Young Gods, emerged as a relatively new faith within the Empire, making its first appearance only 142 years ago in 2266 EA. Despite its recent inception, the faith has steadily gained followers, its growth characterized by a slow yet unwavering progression. Non-followers often refer to it as The Young Gods due to its infancy and recent introduction into the religious landscape. At the core of Bejo Kili'ich lies a return to a more primal spirituality, offering its adherents an opportunity to reconnect with the fundamental forces of nature through its pantheon of deities. These deities, revered as embodiments of primal energies and natural phenomena, serve as guides and sources of inspiration for followers seeking spiritual fulfilment and enlightenment. The Gods of Bejo Kili'ich are as follows: Huichilobos, God of Fire and Sun: He is worshipped as the radiant deity of fire and the life-giving sun. Followers honour him for his warmth, vitality, and transformative power, seeing in his flames the spark of life and the promise of renewal. Quetzalqui, God of Air and Wind: He embodies the ethereal energies of air and wind, revered for his grace, freedom, and ever-changing nature. Followers look to him for guidance in matters of communication, inspiration, and the unseen forces that shape the world. Tiallolin, Goddess of Earth and Life: She is revered as the nurturing goddess of the earth and the giver of life. Followers honour her as the source of fertility, abundance, and stability, seeing in her embrace the sustaining force that sustains all living beings. Ahuitaloc, Goddess of Water and Sea: She is worshipped as the serene goddess of water and the vast sea. Followers seek her blessings for cleansing, healing, and emotional renewal, recognizing in her depths the mysteries of the subconscious and the ebb and flow of life. Xochiquetzin, Goddess of Beauty and Fertility: She embodies the vibrant energies of beauty and fertility, celebrated for her grace, creativity, and the abundance of life. Followers honour her as the patroness of art, love, and the natural world, finding inspiration in her blossoming gardens and radiant presence. Tezcatlipoxi, God of Fate and the Night: He is revered as the enigmatic deity of fate and the night, shrouded in mystery and ancient wisdom. Followers seek his guidance in matters of destiny, transformation, and the unseen forces that govern the cycles of life and death. Rituals and ceremonies within Bejo Kili'ich are conducted to honour and commune with these deities, fostering a deeper connection to the primal energies of nature and the divine. Through their devotion to their Gods, followers of this faith strive to embody the sacred qualities of their pantheon and walk the path towards spiritual enlightenment and harmony with the natural world.
• The Ash Beyond Shadow - [REDEACTED]
• Followers Of Rass - The Followers of Rass, often referred to as The Children of Rass or The Rass Folk, are deeply rooted in a belief system centred around a cosmic entity known as Rass. They hold that Rass permeates all things and beings, existing at the inception of time and enduring until its conclusion. This divine entity is regarded as omnipotent and omniscient, possessing complete knowledge and awareness of the cosmos, yet choosing not to intervene in the affairs of mortals. Instead, Rass respects the gift of free will bestowed upon all beings, refraining from interference and allowing individuals to shape their own destinies. Central to the faith of The Followers of Rass is the concept of the afterlife, known as The Glad Fields. It is envisioned as a paradise, reserved exclusively for those who lead noble and honourable lives. Followers aspire to live in accordance with Rass's teachings, striving for virtues such as integrity, compassion, and justice, in the hope of attaining entry into The Glad Fields upon their passing. This belief in a heavenly reward serves as a guiding principle for adherents, motivating them to lead virtuous lives and uphold moral principles in all their actions and interactions.

The First Era:
Kaltovar was once part of massive Empire whose name is now lost to time. That Empire fractured into individual counties when the Emperor died at the age of 93, having outlived his heirs who had died variously of disease, war, and old age.
Most Counties were fiercely xenophobic due to centuries of rivalry, but the County of Kaltovar was an important trade hub of many peoples and its tradition was to welcome outsiders if they had coin. A non-noble member of the officer class, Major Karl Von-Doppelberg, had been elected to rule the County in place of a Count. Karl did not have the highest military rank, but was incredibly wealthy due to his family background, and was able to literally purchase votes.
The less intense xenophobia and more permissive atmosphere toward building meant rapid growth of an industrialized population in the city centers without having to drain the rural areas of their people to make the "Great Industrial Shift" as many of their peers had to do. Land became very expensive but labor was cheap and steel was in great supply, so the Merchants built higher and higher. Rural communities were subsidized to support the growing urban population, and a period of incredible wealth and prosperity ensued that drove even further immigration.
Kaltovar's massive wealthy population in relation to its neighbors allowed it to maintain a substantially larger military force, which came in handy during the brutal decades of civil war between the Counties. The death of the Emperor had left a power vacuum in which every County believed it was the best and most fit to inherit the Imperial throne. Huge factions formed, supporting different rulers, while Kaltovar traded with all of them and accepted the many refugees generated by the fighting. The Kingdom of Nirn, the Kingdom of Balugia, and the Republic of Thet.
A great paranoia swept the land, and it was during this period that the rule of Universal Conscription and the law requiring all citizens to own a "Modern Infantry Weapon" was introduced. At the time, that meant a bolt action rifle. One had to pay a fine of 3 Kaltmarks or 2 chickens if their household was found to have less than one such rifle for every member over the age of 16. This period also saw women and children conscripted into the military for the first time under the theory that they were capable of operating rifles in battle, which was later proven correct.
Eventually the Kingdom of Nirn decided to invade Kaltovar, which brought support from both the other factions who wanted it for themselves. Together, Kaltovar and the two factions slowly consumed the Kingdom of Nirn and then Kaltovar was again neutral. Balugia and Thet resumed their struggles, both intending to finish Kaltovar off when the war was over. Kaltovar, in the meanwhile, continued to build improvements and strengthen its military. Many years passed in the great war between Balugia and Thet, and both of them did frequent trade with Kaltovar.
After a long battle, the exhausted forces of Thet finally defeated the Balugian Royal Army and proceeded to immediately turn their forces against Kaltovar. Kaltovar defended its new lands and simultaniously invaded the former Balugian territory, which was only protected by a light occupation force meant to keep the locals suppressed. Kaltovar, being rich, paid great sums of money to the locals to rise up against their new Thetian masters. The combined peoples of Kaltovar and Balugia annihilated the armies of Thet in a relatively short campaign, because Thet was already tired from fighting against Balugia.
Major Karl Von Doppelberg celebrated the victory by declaring the First Directive of the new Nation, "From Many Peoples One Nation." which confirmed that there was no single culture to be venerated above the rest. Loyalty to the nascent State, productivity, wealth, and military competence were more important.
The Revolution:
Vadim Bel-Khyber was, at one point, an eager young Cybernetics Professor from a long line of aristocratic merchants and military officers. He received the best education from the youngest age, and was groomed constantly to fill the role of a leader. He did not by any means reject his role as the family heir, and was by all accounts excited to take up his position as the head of House Bel-Khyber, but spent enough time in Marxist theory circles to cause minor embarrassment to his family.
When his father fell out of favor with the high nobles for losing his temper during a plenary session, most of their family property and wealth was confiscated,. Vadim's casual interest in Marxist theories of inequality turned into a fanatical obsession now that economic and social inequality personally impacted him. It wasn't just about achieving justice, which was truly part of it, but also more prominently about taking revenge against the Nobles who had wronged his family for simply [talking shit] speaking their minds.
Vadim started by getting a job as a low level public servant, and gradually working his way up to the position of Comptroller-General. He was essentially the master-treasurer for the entire nation, someone who in theory was supposed to have very little actual power. The nobles found it hilarious to keep him in this role, which was seen as unfit for one of his birth, and a mark of shame on the wider Bel-Khyber dynasty. However, they always viewed him as a coward and so never feared him - to their magnificent error.
Over 3000 years ago he instigated a coup against the government he served, though he never altered his official title. He always remained the "Comptroller-General", a position responsible for all financial disbursements on behalf of the government. Gradually, after convincing the nobles to allow him a small "Treasury Police" to catch white collar criminals, he leveraged that authority to refuse to pay for the buildings or wages of entities that opposed him on the grounds of corruption and abuse of funds. This was corrupt on his part because it was to serve his own interests, but he could not be impugned because the corruption actually existed and had merely been overlooked for decades... Enough decades to establish long chains of evidence.
Although his behavior was obviously corrupt, the citizens almost universally supported it because everyone else was even more corrupt.
Vadim worked his way to the top of the Oligarchy, and proceeded to systematically dismantle it using its own tools of control, concentrating all their authority under him and elevating himself to the status of the Supreme Ruler in the process.
As soon as his control was undisputed, Vadim had many of the Nobles and Oligarchs arrested or even killed without warning all over the country on the same night. He established control over state broadcasting systems, ordered the army to open their armories to the public, and ordered the public to go into the armories and take up weapons and "clean up the government as they saw fit."
Although that night of chaos spiraled wildly out of control, the aftermath transitioned into hundreds of years of relatively peaceful rule under a new cybernetic form of government. He originally achieved this by personally performing surgery on himself using a wireless transmitter attached to his brain-stem to enable him to control the robotic surgical instruments even as he extracted his own brain and implanted it into the state machinery.
The Golden Age:
After approximately 1000 years in power, Vadim decided a human brain was no longer necessary. Having already expanded his mind with machine components, he realized his organic brain was less than 1% of his total cognitive capacity. In order to abandon his mortality completely and prove his theory of total consciousness transfer, he dissected his own brain alive and studied it as it died, observing hardly any change in his overall processes and confirming his beliefs.
The same day he faked his own death, releasing press statements that his brain had passed away during a recreational drug induced stroke. He did this because his position as dictator had started to inspire too much fear in his subjects. He wanted them to grow freely and experiment with democracy, though his shadowy hand would continue to guide their course.
Kaltovar was brought under the management of the TEMPEST Council (Temporary Emergency Management Political Economic Security and Technical). The TEMPEST Council was made up one third of those personally selected by Vadim, one third those selected by the leaders of his ministries, and one third by those elected by the people.
The Rule of the TEMPEST Council progressed for hundreds of years and enjoyed broad public support. It was seen as a step toward democracy, spearheaded by one of Vadim's most trusted advisors, Diplomatic Mainframe O.D.I.N. / DZ-00a69v00, until ...
The End of Time:
A top secret facility designated X-16 at the heart of an artificial depleted uranium moon named Lucifer was infiltrated by an agent from a foreign power. There, experiments on a new generation of hyperspace drive were well underway. This hyperspace drive was much faster than previous models, and required hundreds of times more energy. Unfortunately, the technology was dangerously unstable and the lead scientist was under the influence of an inter-dimensional being who sought to turn his work toward demented ends. What manifested was a device capable of altering the specifications of reality, and that is what the foreign agent gained access to. The Agent wished for "A world that would start from scratch, where neither country would be hostile toward each other, and the threat of a great war between them was no more."
Reality, as it was known, was totally destroyed by the device. Survivors were thrust into a new and previously unknown dimension where the laws of physics remained largely intact except for the minor detail that magic existed. Dozens of nations from the same reality were shunted into a single planet that was perfect for life yet mysteriously devoid of advanced civilizations. The new reality is more durable than the previous one because of the presence of magic, and it is no longer possible to destroy it with the same level of technology. This event created a massive energy signature within the multiverse that attracted scouts from other advanced multidimensional civilizations, and this single planet became one of the most populated worlds across realities, where many countries own "Embassy Territories" that are often thousands of miles and include cities, forests, lakes, and all the other features one would expect of a country. This arrangement facilitates diplomacy between these various ancient entities.
A new figurehead, an acid-blooded insectoid alien General T'Xlekhan L'Xrada, has become the defacto leader of Kaltovar due to being in charge of a special anti-doomsday taskforce and leading the bulk of the survivors at the time of the disaster. However, the TEMPEST Council, still lead by O.D.I.N. / DZ-00a69v00, continues to wield extraordinary influence. It is currently unknown whether L'Xrada might become the next supreme leader, or whether he'll inevitably be forced to yield full control to the Council.

Context:
I’m rewriting my WIP for the fifth (and hopefully last) time to make the story more character driven and make my characters motivations stronger. I’ve changed the first three chapters so many times I have no idea what’s good anymore. It’s a portal fantasy Reverse Harem with fated mates. You only meet two love interests in the intro (and one of them only shows up towards the very end of the set up), but I am just looking to see if my FMC's motivations make sense, or if I have made the Set Up too convoluted and given her too many goals.
**Please note the scenes I am posting have been written as an outline, and is not intended to read line by line like a finished manuscript. I will be writing it in First person POV when I finish plotting.**
Backstory (TLDR; Character A needs to gain access to the Other World so she can make a bargain to trade her Father's life for hers, we open on the 6th anniversary of him being taken, her 24th birthday. I ramble on for quite a bit so if you would like to get right into it please skip to Intro/Set Up)
Motivation:
Character A’s Father was stolen by otherworldly creatures 6 years ago and taken to their lands. Character A harbours guilt and blames herself because she disobeyed her Fathers rules and snuck into the woods with her friends on her 18th birthday to go swimming. Her Father came looking for her and that is when she witnessed him being taken.
In the area they live in, disappearances around the full moon were common, with many losing their loved ones over the last 50 years with no explanation. There were a lot of theories of aliens, bigfoot, cougars, werewolves, and only her Father claimed that magic wielding creatures were responsible.
Character A grew up being told stories about these lands, how the creatures enslaved humans to play in their games until they died for entertainment. Her Father told her magic was real but it was to be feared and to run from any sign of the unusual, forbade her from leaving her house after sunset or from ever going into the woods, and he always tried to keep her close to him.
He had a hard time holding down a job due to the grief he felt from losing Character A’s mother during childbirth and when he would drink he would make it known that he resented Character A for derailing his life, because now he was burdened with protecting her instead of living as a family. Her mother was buried there and her father refused to move away from her body. Character A internalized this, feeling guilty for being the reason he struggled so much, and spent her life caring for her father the way she would a child. Cooking, cleaning, paying bills, etc. She would even get revenge on his bosses for firing him. Her Father always claimed it was never his fault, that they were abusing their power and couldn’t handle somebody smarter than them, and losing his job would send him into an alcoholic depression.
Character A heard her Fathers words, and combined with the way out-of town business men had turned her small mountain town into their own personal resort, developed a deep hatred for anyone that held power. She would find little ways to get revenge on her Fathers bosses, and when she was older, spent her spare time getting revenge on the trust fund kids who didn’t care if their actions had consequences for the people living there.
She had a big dream of leaving her small town and exploring the world, but she felt responsible for her Father. She took care of him, and she was afraid of what would happen to him if she left, but she knew she was suffocating under him. Although her guilt and love for her father prevented her from seeing the full truth of what he was, narcissistic and abusive, deep down she knew and she became restless under his restriction.
When she was young she believed his stories but as she got older and never saw any evidence to back up his claims, the more she chaffed against his rules and started sneaking out. She wasn’t dumb, she always carried a knife and bear spray. She read up on what to do if you encountered a predator in the forest, and she begun stealing what little freedom she could for herself. She didn’t believe in magic, wolves and mountain lions were the only things that made sense to her.
Wound:
After her Father is taken Character A is broken. Everything her Father said was true, all he was trying to do was keep her safe, but she disobeyed him and now he was taken to a magical land to be tortured by never ending games. She is distraught and depressed. She begins sleeping in the woods, hoping to be taken too so her pain can end.
A few months later, at the end of summer, her best friend and boyfriend, the only people her father approved of her spending time with, tell her that they still plan to leave for the year long trip they were all going on. They want to start their lives, they think Character A has become delusional in the wake of her Fathers disappearance, they can’t be stuck there taking care of her, they can’t handle her emotions, they need a fresh start. She realizes they have been having an affair, she internalizes them telling her she is too much to handle and that she is unlovable. She was a burden on her father and then a burden on them. She doesn’t see them again for six years.
Present Day:
Character A has spent the last six years trying to get to the other world during the full moon. The weeks in between she spends physically training, researching anything she can, working just enough to cover her bills for the month, and distracting herself with casual flings or sleeping with the trust fund kids in order to gain access to something she wants to steal from them as payback for something they have done. She never lets herself get too close to anyone, knowing that she plans to disappear, but she partied with whoever is willing to distract herself until the next full moon.
Every passing year on her birthday she grows more and more desperate. She begins researching magic spells and rituals that might show her the entrance to the otherworld. She finds a newly discovered mushroom being sold that claims to help you see what is hidden from human eyes.
Character B:
A month ago Character B was sent from the other wolrld to retrieve Character A. She is the descendant of a lost royal line and they have received a vision from the goddess that she is her Heir, the key to defeating the darkness and restoring balance to the land. Character B does not live a good life in the other world, he is nothing but a glorified prisoner in his own life, and all he’s ever wanted was a family of his own, but because of the queen and his father, he cannot have that. He avoids confrontation, always choosing to run from his problems instead of fight. He first lays eyes on Character A as she is driving a motorcycle into a lake.
He is unsure if the vehicle is supposed to drive under water, so he waits a moment before trying to do a rescue. He doesn’t know it’s her until she swims up into the shore, and begins gathering weeds from the lakebed. he thinks she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and can’t imagine dragging her back to his world where she could be in danger. He wants to watch the curious human for a bit longer to see what she does
He silently follows her and watches her climb into a window and place the weeds around a man sleeping in a bed, then creep down the hallway to an office where she unlocks a safe and pulls out a stack of papers. She then meets up with somebody, hands over the papers with a hug, then walks into the forest.
She walks and walks and he realizes she heading towards the portal and gets nervous, until she reaches a tree with five different coloured ribbons tied around one branch. She takes a new yellow ribbon , adds it to the branch and continues walking until she reaches another tree with ribbons where she adds another ribbon, then walks to the very centre of both trees and sits down. She softly hums a tune to herself.
She seems relaxed, strong and confident, he thinks this must be some new human ritual he hadn’t heard of yet and her humming is soothing to him, but he notices a shiver. He feels a strong need. To wrap her up in a blanket and make her warm. He decides right then that he cannot take her back and ruin her peace, that he himself would not go back, that he would befriend her and they would hide together her in her world and they would be safe and happy. It was pointless trying to fight anyway, they were never going to win and it would be better for them both to be safe and far away from the evil queen.
The next morning he follows her to her favourite coffee shop, glamoured to look more human and remove his pointy ears, and introduces himself as a man trying to get away from his overbearing parents and family he doesn’t get along with.
Intro/Set Up
Chapter 1
-Character A is thinking about how she has to get laid tonight, because it will be her last chance before she disappears and probably dies. Character A is stealing some documents and a bunch of cash from a safe in The Guys home office, she pulls a bag out of her pocket and with it, a card for the bookstore she works at flutters under his desk. She puts the documents and money in the bag and bends down to pick it up when she notices the family photo on the desk and she stops.
It is a picture of The Guy, His Son that she stole and crashed his bike into a lake last month, and The Other Son that she may have killed nine months ago when she burned his cabin down. She is filled with rage when she looks at the photo and thinks she doesn’t regret what she’s done. Character B calling her phone snaps her out of it and when she hears someone come home, she leaves, but she forgets the card.
-She stops at the bookstore to give Coworker 1 the documents and money. Coworker 1 says she will never be able to thank her, that this was the last thing she needed she could get out of town. Character A tells her good luck and to give them hell. Coworker 1 is leaving town tomorrow, she connected with a journalist who can help her expose The Guy and once she does she won’t be able to come back. Coworker 1 is very grateful to her, and Character A makes sure to tell herself that they aren't friends, because friendship requires a level of vulnerability that Olivia could not give her, but she knew Coworker 1 was a good person and deserved so much more than what she got when The Other Son sexually assaulted her at work while His Son filmed it. How when she received a payout in exchange for her silence they knew it wasn’t the first time. They were determined to find further evidence, and they did. Signed NDA’s from all of the employees they had paid off in the past.
Character B joins them at the store. Character A is petting her beloved bookstore cat and goes to pull some treats out of her bag. Her hand brushes against a vial of red and white mushrooms and Character A hopes that they are the key she has been searching for. For six years she has felt like she has been brushing up against the edge of something, but has never been able to get herself to the other side. She was deep in a witchcraft discussion forum when somebody posted about a new discovery of mushrooms, one that allowed the ingestor to see through the Veil, to show them all the magic they cannot see. The poster was pretty insistent that it wasn’t just a trip, that they were able to see threads of magic. After years of failed meditating, drinking teas, burning herbs,and chanting spells around the ley line conversion and not finding anything, what did she have to lose with some magic mushrooms?
Character B calls her name, startling her from her thoughts and she knocks over a box of alien and bigfoot merch. Coworker 1 cracks a joke about being careful with the product or else the alien truthers will riot, Character A rolls her eyes at the people who flocked there in search of the wrong thing. Character B apologizes for startling her and says he was just admiring one of her new Boxwood Topiaries, three trees of varying height that ended with hearts on top, and she says she finished it yesterday.
She loves plants but, like a cat, she can’t commit to having them because she doesn’t plan to be around long, so she does topiary art as a compromise, and the extra money she earns goes towards buying her herbs and mushrooms. Her Father never managed to save much money and she wasn’t left with much after he was taken. She had to use her savings replacing the furnace in her home shortly after her Father was taken, and now she only worked enough to keep her living until the next paycheck. She spent the rest of her time training and researching. Preparing to go to Wonderland in search of her Father.
Character B is making friends with the cat, having charmed it onto its belly, and Coworker 1 gives Character A a knowing look. Character A shakes her head, says they are just hanging out, nothing serious. Coworker 1 says he could be good for her. She knew they had been hanging out, that Character A had let him stay at her house for the last two weeks. She wasn’t judging though, Character A seemed lighter around him, and he was so nice. She had seen him helping Mrs. Smith with her groceries the other day.
Character A thinks that was what initially warmed her up to him. Coworker 1 was right, she never brought guys home, but the first week that he was here he had never failed to notice when people needed help and always offered to lend a hand. Plus he was fun, and fun to look at, and he was always looking for a new adventure. He took her mind off of what a failure she was for not saving her Father yet, and he seemed relatively harmless. So when he said he had never seen her favorite comedy movie she just HAD to take him home to watch it. And he hadn’t left, she hadn’t asked him to. It was becoming a problem. Because she was going to disappear tonight, and a small part of her was beginning to feel sad she would never see him again. It was why she hadn’t slept with him yet, she knew she enjoyed his company just a little too much and wouldn’t risk any further attachment. Character A agreed that he was a good person but emphasized that it was just casual. Coworker 1 says alright, she will back off, and she will let them get to the party. She needs to finish packing and wants to leave as soon as possible. Character A says she understand, they hug and say goodbye.
Chapter 2
-Character A and Character B are walking to the Board Game party. They are dressed as Clue characters, she is Miss. Scarlet and Character B is Mr. Green. They had played every board game she owned, which was a lot of them, in order to decide what to dress up as for the Your Favorite Board Game Party. He turned out to be a good competitor and got way more into the games than she expected him to.
He hands her a cinnamon bun, her favorite, and tells her he had made a whole batch for her, claiming that he knew she hadn’t gotten one since they were hiking that morning, and all she had eaten that day was trail mix and beef jerky and he refuses to let her party on an empty stomach. She happily takes a huge bite, grateful for this one thing she loved before she left this world forever.
He says he’s been thinking and asks her to go traveling with him. She almost chokes on her food. His words rush out and he assures her he has money and can pay for everything and they can go anywhere she wants. Her heart sinks into her stomach. Before her Father went missing, an offer like that from a hot guy would have been her dream, but she couldn’t now, or ever. She looks at the half eaten cinnamon bun, thinks how he had made them because he had gotten coffee with her every morning for the last three weeks, and he saw how every Saturday and Sunday morning she would get a cinnamon bun the size of her face and eat it. She looks at the Green jacket he wore and remembers laughing in the thrift shop as he tried on a full leather catsuit while they searched for the perfect outfit for the party. He was too good. She begins to think that in another life, they could go. They could adopt an adventure cat and take it with them on their world travels, but that wasn’t possible for her. She wasn’t staying in this world, and even if she was, she was too messed up. Too broken. Too much of a burden. And she could never give all of herself to one person ever again, she did it twice, and was broken by both of them because she was too much.
She decides he’s gotten too close and she needs to push him away, so in the hopes that it will scare him, she explains that she can’t leave because her Father was stolen by a magical creature and taken to the Other World. She tells him the entire story her father told her, of creatures luring people to the Other World and keeping them for the Queen's entertainment, forced to be pawns in her games. They are ruthless and obsessed with games and everything reeks of roses. She tells him its her fault that he got taken and she can’t live with herself until she either gets him back or gets revenge for his death.
Character B begins pleading with her, telling her she shouldn't go. She is surprised he doesn’t balk or think she is crazy. He isn’t looking at her the way Ex-Bestfriend and Ex-Boyfriend did, like they feared she would infect them with her crazy, no, he looks at her with genuine terror in his eyes. She stops walking, they are just outside the party house. What do you know? She says. He inhales and steps forward, desperation etched into hs features, and says that he knows that everything she said was true, and that it is much worse than she even thinks. That if she goes, she will not make it back here. It’s too dangerous, and he just wants to keep her safe. She is flabbergasted, and checks over his features for signs. No pointed ears, no animalistic features such as scales or a tail, no strange eyes. How do you know all this? He doesn’t answer, his mouth works like he’s trying to come up with something and betrayal starts to roil in her gut.
Before he has the chance to lie, two men throw their arms around their shoulders. It is the couple that Character A hooks up with on occasion. They start walking them into the house and the one with Character A asks if she wants to come over later for a joint and to hook up. She tries to muster up a yes, it is what she wanted after all, but she can’t think straight after her conversation with Character B. She turns back to see he’s been steered into a conversation with a few other people and thinks she needs a drink to calm herself and give her some courage.
-She walks into the kitchen for a glass and bumps into her Ex-Boyfriend. She is thrown for a loop again. He says Happy Birthday and remarks that he didn’t think he would find her at a party today, since he knows how much she hates her birthday. Character A is surprised to see him and momentarily forgets about Character B, and asks what they’re doing back in town. He says its because Ex-Bestfriends mom is still missing. Character A says, oh, right. And feels stupid for thinking she wouldn’t run into them. She was devastated to hear Ex-BFFs Mom had been taken, she was like a second mother to her, but after Ex-BFF left she couldn’t stand to look at her Mom anymore and remember what she had lost.
He mentions something about the baby coming soon and Ex-BFF wanting to be as close to her mom as she can. Character A questions the baby and he tells her they are pregnant. Character A flashes back to both of them telling her they were leaving and couldn’t stay in contact with her anymore, that she had become too much for them to handle on the horizon of their new lives. She noted the way they looked at each other and how their knees pressed together, and that was when she knew they had been having an affair. She comes back to the present when he leans in close and says he actually wants to ask her some questions about her dad. She sees a familiar head with a mop of blonde hair moving through the crowd towards them. Seeing Ex-Boyfriend was bad enough, she cannot see Ex-Bestfriend. See her pregnant. And now he wants to hear what she has to say about the disappearances? You can go fuck yourself, she spits and walks away before he can say anything else, and thankfully, before Ex-Bestfriend reaches her. She thinks his betrayal hurt her, but her betrayal broke her.
-She is fleeing the kitchen, heading for the back door, desperate to get away from them, when she bumps into an attractive man in a red velvet sport coat with a red velvet top hat. They are both imprinted with roses. He apologizes for bumping into her and her heart skips a beat, thinking of the Queen's obsession with roses. She asks him who he's supposed to be and he smiles but pauses before saying his name is Character C, he’s friends with Character B, and her heart stops all together. A chill runs through her and Character B interrupts and asks him what he’s doing here. Character C hugs him and says its good to see him and says he thought he was dead. Character C turns to Character A and says that he took off for a month without saying anything, could she even believe it? And they had an important event that the three of them needed to attend tonight. Character B starts to argue with Character C when Character A hears her name called. The Guy she stole from is there, he holds up the card to the bookstore that fell under his desk and said he wants the contents of his safe back, and maybe the sheriff will go easy on her if she returns it, or maybe he won't since he will also be investigating his cabin burning down and one of his sons going missing. Character A plays dumb but he grabs her around the neck and says he knows it was her, she’s a pathetic bum just like her father. Character B punches him, forcing him to release her and they begin fighting. The other partygoers jump to Character A’s defense and start fighting the other guys that came with him. Character C picks up Character A after she was knocked over to keep her from being trampled, and Character B breaks away when The Guy starts fighting with someone else. So they turn and head for the door, but The Guy's Son, the same one from last month who she stole the bike from, blocked the back door.
-Character A turns and together they run into the basement, locking the door behind them. They run down the stairs and into a bedroom where she locks the door again. She whips out her knives and points one at Character C. “Why do you want me to go to the Other World?” He holds up his hands and smiles, “I need your help finding a weapon that will help me defeat the Queen .” “Why me?” “The Goddess showed me in a dream that it is you. I will pay you in gold and return you back here, unharmed, once you find it.” Character A hears them break through the basement door and descend the stairs. “Fine, I’ll help you do it.” Character B protests and steps forward but she gestures the knife at him and he stops. “But first, you will help me find my Father and send him back here. Alive. And healthy.” All she knows about the Other World is what she could glean from her Fathers stories and what she was able to research about lore, but she had no idea what was accurate and what was not. She would be a fool to think she should turn away help if she could bargain for it. “I will help you find you Father, but it won’t be until after tonight, we must attend the Queens party so you can search for the weapon, this is the best opportunity we will have for another year.” The Guy begins banging on the door. She took it back, she was being a fool, she had very little hope that she would be able to fulfill her end of the bargain, but she was out of time, and she may never have a chance to get to the Other World again. “Deal.” She says as she steps forward to shake his hand. Character C grasps it and an electrical charge runs up her arm. He pulls a small vial out of his pocket. He dumps some black sparkly powder on his tongue and a hole appears in the floor. Grabbing Character B’s hand as well they jump through it just as the door breaks open.
If you have read this far, seriously thank you so much and I love you and if you want feedback on anything please direct me to where I can provide it!
I wanted to note that the mention about her potentially killing The Other Son is relevant to the plot because he did not die in the fire, he was lured to the Other World and will be there as an antagonist when Character A shows up. Also, the mushrooms become relevant to her finding the weapon in book 2. She gets sidetracked this book by finding her father and bargaining to take his place in the game (the party they are attending is to watch this game take place) and having to fight her way out of them. The entire first book takes place over the course of one single night.

Previous part
I stood in my doorway, frozen to the spot as Shaoni walked past me, into my house.
“Weren’t you going to invite me in?”
Shaoni cooed at me, somehow making the arbitrary question sound like a threat.
“I uh… what can I get you.”
I stammered out, automatically reverting to subservient. I know it sounds bad but when you’ve seen what I’ve seen her do you listen first, ask questions later.
“Is water alright? It’s all I’ve got since I only just moved here because… well I guess you know why already.”
I said, wanting to keep the orange juice I was currently hiding behind me in the fridge for myself.
“The visions? Yes I do know about them. It’s what drew all of you here, just like I wanted. Though you weren’t supposed to see the stage yet, none of you were.”
She said, narrowing her eyes at me, presumably because of my earlier expedition into the mine.
“Why do you keep saying “you” like there’s more than one of me?”
I asked, finally working up the confidence to question her.
“Because there is, do you really think you’re the only one I marked? Keith your a special case yes, but not that special.”
“Special case? What do you..”
“If you let me finish I’m getting to that.”
Shaoni cracked back at me, I could feel the pressure in the room rise with her temper.
“Sorry ma’am… it just slipped out.”
She seemed to find my knee-jerk formal apology amusing and the pressure in the room returned to normal.
“I offered several people the same deal I offered you, most accepted. These are the others I refer to, all of which are here or on their way here now. That’s what the dreams, visions, whatever you’d like to call them, were for.”
“So you wanted us here, all together in this one specific town, why?”
“The trials of course, if you remember you agreed to take a burden from me. I guess I would describe it more accurately as a gift but it has become a burden for me.”
“What is it?”
“Now where’s the fun in telling you now? Besides your smart enough, I’m sure you’ll figure it out on your own.”
She answered, smiling devilishly at me and sending little pin pricks of ice down my spine. I let the conversation fall silent for a bit, watching Shaoni sip absentmindedly at the glass of water I’d given her before I asked another question.
“So what exactly are these trials for?”
“I want to use them as a selection process, it separates the wheat from the chaff as the saying goes. Only one of you will take on my burden and I want to make sure its the right one.”
“Ok, that makes sense but I’ve still got one more thing. Why did you say I was special before?”
I inquired, as Shaoni got up and started to leave.
“Well, because this is all new to you, you have no idea of the forces really at play in the world, the “supernatural” is what you’d call it. You’re at a particular disadvantage because you didn’t know what you were getting into so I figured I’d help out of the kindness of my heart. In addition to that, many of those I’ve chosen came from my own followers. You are one of the few I found on my travels that accepted my deal. I believe in keeping things fair, and so I came to warn you of what’s to come.”
Shaoni told me as she walked out the door without so much as a goodbye. The storm that had been brewing outside left with her, dropping bits of cracked branches and loose leaves to the ground as she got further and further away. I finally realized I was still standing at my front door, glued in place watching her. Once I closed and locked the door I heard a shrill screech pierce the night as Shaoni shed her human appearance and took to the skies as I saw a single shiny grey feather flutter to the ground.
I didn’t get much sleep that night, I didn’t even try. After something like Shaoni waltzing into my home like she owned the place and telling me I’m about to be part of some kind of “trials”, I just gave up on sleep that night. What I was worried about more than anything was the fact that I didn’t have a choice. Sure, she had never said that out right but if she showed up to tell me the trials were starting and I said no, that wouldn’t go well. I’d probably end up like those men in Imalone, just ashes on the wind. There was something she wasn’t saying as well. Shaoni wanted to flaunt that there was some sort of reward at the end of this, that the whole process would help her select a “worthy candidate”. But the reward was also the burden I had agreed to take. If whatever it was was something she wanted to get rid of why would anyone look at it as a reward? Something just wasn’t adding up in my head so I decided not to think about it for a bit. I instead I threw on some clothes as the sun finally rose and made my way over to Bianca’s house to pick up my backpack that she still had.
“Hey there Frank. Where’s Stein I wanted to ask how that research was coming, and has anyone seen Bianca?”
I said as soon as I’d walked in the front door. Rocco was eating something out of a bowl on the counter top and shot to attention as he saw me.
“What do you just live here now?”
He remarked, whirling around to face me. Frank looked up from the paper he’d been reading at the counter and gave me a half hearted wave.
“Stein’s in the basement testing a few samples of thunderbird feathers Tuck brought in.”
“You know Tuck? The mountain that just so happens to run a bar in town, that Tuck?”
“Yes of course, he’s helped us immensely with developing a suppressant for lycanthropy.”
“I… we’ll unpack that one later I guess but I’ve got too find Bianca first, she still has something of mine. Let Stein know I’m looking for him if he comes back up.”
I told Frank as he nodded in acknowledgment and I made my way over to the stairs leading up to the second floor.
“Oh god dammit, I just got that!”
I yelled to no-one in particular as I knocked on Bianca’s bedroom door. I heard a crash behind it as Bianca came flying towards me, throwing open the door and almost smacking me in the process.
“What the hell is going on why are you here! And what did you just get?!”
She belted out at me, apparently startled by my outburst. She had a long loose t-shirt on and maybe something on underneath that, I wasn’t going to check. I must’ve turned crab red as I saw her but it didn’t stop me from telling her what I just pieced together.
“Their names, Frank and Stein, Frankenstein. They did that on purpose didn’t they? I can’t believe I didn’t pick up on that sooner!”
“What are you… oooh, OOOH! I’ve been around them how many years and I’m just picking up on that too.”
She said, sounding a little disappointed and smacking herself in the head with the palm of her hand.
“So what’re you doing here anyways Keith?”
“You still have my backpack from yesterday and I could use that back.”
“Oh sure I forgot about that, come in.”
She said holding open the door for me and causing her shirt to hike up a bit, She did not in fact have anything other than what you’d expect on under it.
“Ummm… do you maybe want to get dressed first?”
Bianca turned redder than I’d ever seen anyone get in an instant. Her eyes Immediately started glowing and she slammed the door shut, apparently just realizing she had answered the door in nothing but a T-shirt and underwear. I heard of muffled groan of embarrassment from the other side of the door and decided to leave her to it.
When I came back downstairs into the living room Frank and Stein where waiting for me on the couch. It was a sight to see, two old scientists sitting in the middle of a lavish black leather couch that wrapped the outer edge of the room. The two looked out of place, like a time traveler trying desperately to look normal in a society they knew nothing about.
“Before you guys start I’ve got to know, did you do that intentionally?”
“Did we do what, what are you talking about?”
They both asked in unison.
“The names, Frank and Stein, did you do that on purpose?”
Frank smiled at this and looked toward Stein who seemed to be fuming.
“It’s been 60 years since I’ve heard that question and no, its purely coincidental. We just so happen to share similar names with this Frankenstein”
Stein replied, actually shaking with anger. Frank on the other hand, seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself. In light of this I decided to push my luck just a little further.
“Ok, but I’m still going to call Rocco Frankenstein’s monster from now on, I can’t just pass up that opportunity.”
Frank laughed at this and Stein shook his head in disappointment.
“Children, both you.”
“Oh come now Stein, even you have to admit its a little humorous.”
“I will not be compared to some fantasy doctor and their failed facsimile of life! Rocco is a proper experiment with guidelines and uses that monster from the story is just a harebrained pet project!”
Stein fumed, seemingly offended at the concept of being compared to doctor Frankenstein. After a short tirade, none of which I really want to repeat here, we got Stein calmed down. Then the two got me seated and asked a question I wasn’t expecting.
“Do you know why we decided to settle down in this town in the first place?”
The question took me by surprise, I had assumed they just ended up here for no particular reason. Like a tumble weed being blown across the desert. They were here now caught on a fence or something but I always got the sense the wind would blow them along to somewhere else eventually. I hadn’t given much thought as to why they would be here at all. My vacant stare must’ve clued them into the fact that I had no idea how to answer the question.
“Let me rephrase, do you have any idea why things like Bianca or Tuck or even us seem to be concentrated here?”
Stein asked again, a calm tone to his voice like he was explaining something to a child.
“Tuck? What does Tuck have to do with this? I get you two are supernatural researchers and Bianca is a succubus but Tuck is just a really, really string guy right?”
I shakily asked, slowly drawing a connection to what Frank said about Tuck and lycanthropy when I came in.
“Tuck is a werewolf, a repentant one but a werewolf nonetheless.”
“That… actually would check out, It would definitely explain why the guy is built like the Rock’s bigger cousin. But what exactly are you getting at?”
“This town Keith, There’s a reason it attracts people like us and the Thunderbird is a big part of that. It had been sleeping in the mines as far as Frank was able to tell, once it woke up it caused the collapse and it made a huge stir. Obviously reports came out about this massive thing coming out of the ground and talking flight but you’ll never find any of them. The government stepped in to help Eagles peak cover up its existence, if people knew about the Thunderbird there would be uproars and questions as to what else was out there, questions no-one really would’ve had answers too. Instead they buried it and tried to bury most records of this town, turning it into a haven for the supernatural, especially those who would rather be left alone.”
Stein’s lecture made sense, if the town was basically wiped off the map as far as recent information goes it would explain its small size. I really hadn’t seen anyone in town besides those people getting off the bus the day I met Tuck and a few employees at local stores I went to. But not all of them could’ve been supernatural beings right?
“So are you trying to say everyone in town is some kind of what… supernatural entity?”
“Nothing as grand as that but there’s certainly more supernatural beings than usual concentrated in this town. Even some of the normal people have ties to the supernatural here. It’s a place were people who know about these things can pass through without to much scrutiny. What’s more interesting though is the other Thunderbird sightings we were able to dig up. Almost all of them lead to a town like this, taken off the usual map with a barley visible digital presence. Tiny little nowhere places that aren’t known for much and never show up on the news. The Thunderbird seems to be making these sanctuary’s for the supernatural throughout the world. It doesn’t seem to monitor these places afterwards but they certainly never recover from the coverups after the Thunderbird makes an appearance.”
Stein continued to lecture, speaking just as much with his hands as he did with his words.
“Has she ever come back to any of these sanctuaries she’s created.”
“She!? You don’t mean the woman you saw in Imalone? I had chalked her up to a stress induced hallucination.”
I had to briefly explain to Stein that I had not in fact hallucinated the naked woman that ultimately turned out to be Shaoni, to his displeasure.
“So you saw this woman then?”
“Yeah, in the cave attached to what I’d have to guess were the mines. She even showed up at my house last night.”
“It… she, talked to you?”
“She said that there was going to be some sort of trials to see who takes on this burden of her’s. The whole thing was really unclear if I’m honest.”
“So she’s coming back then, not only that but she’s in the town or the forest right now. I don’t get to say this often but I really don’t know what’s going to happen with this Keith. Frank and I will keep an eye on what we can but we’re researchers, if she decides to pull you into these trials we won’t be much help.”
Stein said, growing concerning on his face. I don’t think seeing Stein in this state did anything to assure me. This is someone who worked on the wrong side of world war 2 and he seemed scared by the thought of what Shaoni might be up to. It was at least nice to know someone would be monitoring the situation when I got myself killed.
“I could go with him.”
An unexpected voice cut through the silence of the room, Bianca’s voice. She had wandered down from her room wearing a black leather jacket paired with a tight red shirt and ratty jeans, my ratty jeans I noticed. She had the backpack she owed me in one hand and her eyes locked on us.
“What?”
We all said, in shock of what Bianca had just offered.
“I could go, watch your back and see what’s going on with these trials. I’m familiar enough with the supernatural, not as much as Frank or Stein but I could help.”
She said with raw unfiltered confidence that was unusual for her.
“I couldn’t ask you to do that, I told you the story, you know what Shaoni is capable of.”
I bargained, hoping to keep her out of the line of fire for some reason. I knew it would probably be smarter to bring her with me if I did get forced into these trials but some protective instinct kicked in. I’d seen her barley able to keep herself together just talking about her past and shut down when someone grabbed her. I didn’t want to see her get hurt trying to look out for me. Her past obviously still effected her in a big way. Another part of me wanted to bring her with me just to see her fight against the power her past still held over her. When we were on the way to that mine yesterday she finally seemed alive. Bianca wasn’t just this this scared person living in a gilded cage with two people who took her in like a kicked puppy. Yesterday she was her own person again, if only for a little bit.
“Look I can’t stay here doing nothing forever, besides you helped me out watching the house way back when you first got into town. You didn’t hold the fact I manipulated you into it against me and you never really cared about what I was. I at least owe you this Keith, please.”
Bianca begged, I didn’t feel like she was trying to pul me one way or another this time, the choice was my own. I could also tell it was hard for her to give me a choice, her nature was to just use her power and make me agree with her. That single fact meant more to me than whatever fight was going on in my head, I nodded to tell her I agreed.
Frank and Stein weren’t particularly thrilled with the idea of Bianca watching out for me. They were worried it put her in too much danger. Despite the situation surrounding those three I could tell Frank and Stein really did care for her, or at the very least worried about her. She may not realize it but she was like a daughter to them, anyone could see that, anyone but her apparently. Or maybe she had closed herself off from the world so much to try and survive on her own that she just couldn’t bring herself to realize it anymore. I think that’s the more likely option but it begged the question. Why exactly does she keep going out of her way for me?
Bianca managed to convince them to let her keep an eye on me. Thanks in no small part to the fact that she claimed living anywhere near Rocco for prolonged periods of time was hazardous to her health. At which point almost as if on cue, Rocco shot out of a wall. Not off of it or out from around, no straight out of the wall sending plaster flying like shrapnel. Right after this we smelled the beginnings of an electrical fire. Rocco ran back into the room and jumped back through the hole in the wall with a fire extinguisher. Frank and Stein lost their minds at this point and went to find the proper equipment to deal with that. They agreed with Bianca on the spot after that one. Rocco claimed he was “trying to update the wiring in the house”, whatever that meant but you could never tell with him. Once everything had calmed down I headed over to the kitchen to make lunch for myself. I settled for a bologna and mustard sandwich and sat down to eat. As soon as I took a bite of the sandwich my phone rang with a number I didn’t expect a call from, Mom.
“Hi, what’s going on?”
“Are you ok, You never call, I just got your message.”
My mother Carla said, in that worried but angry tone only mothers can pull off.
“I’m fine mom I just wanted to let you know what was going on with me, I don’t think I ever told you I was moving and I didn’t want you to worry.”
Bianca walked into the kitchen at this point in the conversation and looked at me. I put my finger to my lips and shushed her. She just sat down across from me and took a bite out of MY sandwich.
“You didn’t, I know I don’t see you much and your fine on your own but I still worry. We were never the closest but that doesn’t mean I don’t wan to know If you’re moving halfway across the country on a whim.”
“I know mom, I know. A lot of things happened at once and it was such short notice I just… forgot.”
“I understand… just call me next time alright, and if you ever just want to talk I’m here. Just because we weren’t all that close doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear from you now and then. Anyways I have to get back to work.”
“Oh, ok Just… how’s dad doing?”
I sighed knowing the answer to my question already.
“He’s… he’s the same Keith, Love you.”
And with that Carla hung up.
Bianca eyed me with a mildly stunned look on her face. Like she just realized I was born not raised in a test tube somewhere.
“That was your mom?”
She asked, pointing at the phone in my hand and still eating the sandwich I had made for myself.
“Yes, Oh come on give me that!”
I yelled, reaching for the sandwich in her hand. She laughed and pulled it away, finishing it. She tried to speak with a mouthful of sandwich but I couldn’t make out a thing till she gave herself a minute to chew.
“I haven’t talked to my mom since the whole thing with Brooke. She never approved and that was that, I went my way and she went her’s.”
“What about your dad?”
I asked her, suddenly not as mad about her stealing my food.
“I never really knew him. Apparently he left when I was really young but that’s about all I know.”
“Is there a single question I can ask about you that won’t just leave me feeling sorry I had a moderately normal life before this? Really I just… that’s terrible.”
Bianca looked a little sullen as she thought about her family, her real family. I realized that as strange as this whole relationship with Frank and Stein was it was the closest thing she had to something stable. Hell, I might be the first real friend she’s had outside of the house in years.
“Tell you what, I’m suddenly hungry for some reason so why don’t we head down to the Eagle’s Roost and get something to eat?”
I glared at her just a little bit as I said that first part.
“It’s like 1o’clock now I don’t think Tuck opens up till 5 or so.”
“Well I’ve got a few questions for him now, besides last time I went down there early too and he was just hanging out behind the bar, didn’t seem to mind either. Wait, you know him? He didn’t really look at you when he saved us yesterday, come to think of it he barley mentioned you.”
“Yeah I’ve seen him coming in and out of the house when he helps Stein with his experiments, giving blood and tissue samples to him, that sort of thing. I don’t know why he didn’t say anything to me. Maybe cause he thought Frank and Stein didn’t know I was out there so he just didn’t want to stick his toe in that situation?”
She had to think for a second about that last part, furrowing her brow and shrugging when she couldn’t come up with anything better.
“Could be it, anyways its just one more thing I can ask him. So are you coming with me or what?”
“Yeah sure, just let me pack a few things.”
“Pack a few things? What do you mean it’s just…”
But Bianca was already running up the stairs back towards her room.

Axstrom's Notes

1. The list is here: big jump list
2. The draw (1-5548) is 877, 1520, 4754, 5265, 1478
   1. Drawing 5 so there are backups in case of issues, but the jumper gets to choose among 4
   2. 877 is Earth Final Conflict - A TV show whewre aliens come and uplift Earth but have a hidden agenda
   3. 1520 is Investiture of the Gods - A fantasy tale in Zhou Dynasty
   4. 4754 is Kingdom Hearts Birth by Sleep - a Disney mashup videogame
   5. 5265 is The Fountain - A film about contuinity across time, grief, death, and growth
   6. Jumper chooses The Fountain
      1. Jump Doc
      2. Reddit discussion
   7. Jumper buys access to The Biosphere Supplement
      1. Supplement Doc

Build Notes

1. Drawbacks - None - Part of the point is that you can't have everything
2. Companions - None - This is the journey of an individual soul
3. Origin
   1. Past: Noble - setting the stage for grander thigns
   2. Present: Inventor - striving for progress
   3. Future: Witness - seeing what has become of the world
4. Perks
   1. Noble Thought - free for Noble, stay connected to the people who are affected by your actions
   2. Noble Deed - free for Noble, your actions have greater impact and are remembered and recorded
   3. Inventor's Vision - free for inventor, studying a problem gives increasing insight in how to improve it
   4. Inventor's Intent - free for inventor, your creations are harder to misuse
   5. Improved POV - free for witness, observe / remember events from multiple perspectives
   6. Bystander - free for witness, events can unfold around you leaving you unharmed
   7. All Together Now - merge all your past origins into a complex mind
   8. 500 Years of Practice (Teaching) - mastery beyond mastery of the chosen skill
   9. Soothing Presence - calm strong emotions and suffering
   10. Absolution - If someone genuinely repents, you can allow them to move
5. Items
   1. Meditation Garden - self-explanatory warehouse attachment
   2. Biosphere - Full purchase activates the Biosphere Supplement
   3. Tree of Life Sapling - Grows six immortality fruits per decade, which can (over very long time) grow more trees

Jump Notes

1. I wake up in my room in the warehouse apartments, after shutting myself in without even checking the Benefactor's Lounge the night before
   1. I'm still lingering on the frustration of not cracking the riddle of Allabar, and not being able to solve the problem permanently
   2. But there's no going back, so I commit to facing forward for the rest of the week, and head to the Benefactor room
      1. Once again, there are four envelopes with me, and my big chart of jumps up on the wall, like something from a Kindergarten classroom
      2. As I affix a sticker saying "The Fountain (2006)" to the big chart, a small round outline appears next to it: "Biosphere Supplement available"
   3. On my way to call a team meeting, I catch a surprise outside the apartments
      1. Three of our bard graduates are slowly exploring the area
   4. At the team meeting, I announce my intention to go solo on the next jump
      1. The decision isn't popular, but most of them have waited while I've done gauntlets before, so it's not a big shock
   5. We set up the entertainment room to watch the movie, even though I don't expect that meta knowledge will be much help
      1. For the first time, we don't all fit in the Entertainment room
      2. By count, there are eleven of us (me and ten companions), the Halflings are now up to fifteen after two recent births, and we have nine new bards with us, so we set up a second showing in the evening
   6. Finally, before heading in to the jump, I make one last check of the Benefactor's office to see if there's more information on the biosphere supplement, but though my note has been removed, there is no response, and nothing on the tablet
2. I awake from a deep sleep in a luxurious bed, it is early morning and the sun is still rising
   1. I can feel the absence of my abilities; I am reduced below even bodymod, to the level of a baseline middle-aged man in a world with primitive medicine
      1. Nevertheless, I can feel a gift reaching back in time to me - and as I accept it, I am calmed, no longer distressed by what I have lost
   2. In this time, I have duties, both in the mundane sense of the tasks those around me expect me to perform, as well as a greater sense in which I must try to make this world better
   3. My new gift becomes invaluable in due time
      1. All manner of petitioners and officers come to me with grievances, and each of them are a storm of emotions - no one comes before their Count to declare how satisfied they are with things
      2. In short time, word of my wisdom spreads, and my council is sought by King Ferdinand
   4. I lobby my King with an eye to improving the lives of all involved
      1. It is the lives of ordinary Spaniards that are the measure of his ability as a King, not the mass of his treasury
      2. Colonialism brings with it dangers beyond the obvious, and responsibilities for ages to come
      3. Allowing the priests to destroy artifacts of other cultures does not increase our glory, but diminishes it
   5. Despite my ability to make my case clearly and seemingly overcome all objections, my guidance is rarely heeded when I leave the room
   6. And before long, it seems I have made enemies of those who stand to gain by plundering the New World
      1. They do not discuss the matter with me, or make their displeasure known by facing me down in violence
      2. But as the breath leaves my lungs over dinner, my last thought is that I have been poisoned by a coward
3. I awake from a fitful sleep in a large bed, my wife still asleep beside me despite the chirping of my alarm clock
   1. My first throught is of the date - It is September 7, 1999 - the first day of fall semester
      1. This will not be my first time teaching CS 101, but this time will be different, I can feel the power in my body, my mind, and my soul
   2. I arrive at my office early, of course, and make sure everything is in order - the syllabus handouts are ready, my slides are in order and proof-read, and my TAs have confirmed their preparedness
      1. The lecure hall is large - so many students sign up for CS 101 without any prior programming knowledge, just to see what it's like, or convinced that they will be a natural
      2. As the students file in, they sparsely occupy the massive auditorium, afraid to sit near people they don't know, not fully understanding that for the vast majority of them, this is their first class on campus, their first opportunity to get to know eachother
      3. I exhort them to move towards the front so they can hear and see better, and a few oblige
      4. The first lecture flows like a breeze, the students hanging on my words as I understand what each one needs to hear to understand what the rest of this semester will hold
   3. By semester's end, the students and TAs are in awe, the CS department chair has asked for my materials and told me that spring registrations for CS102 are higher than ever, both of the student papers have run articles praising my class, and the dean of Arts and Sciences has interceded to clear my spring schedule to prioritize my research work on the condition that I teach 101 again next year
      1. I appreciate my grad students and TAs, but I don't have a real family in this life, so I head into the warehouse for winter break
4. I awaken rested and enthusiastic on a beautiful spring day
   1. It is graduation day for the first group of freshman I taught after coming to this jump, nearly four years ago
      1. They have come so far, and I'm fortunate that some of the best have continued to work with me, and three of them will be graduate students working under me starting in the fall
   2. It is also the first day of human trials for the drug, a new anti-inflammatory
      1. We were hoping it would treat chronic inflammatory diseases, but early testing suggests that it may significantly reduce hay fever, which would be great if we can mass produce it cheaply
   3. My reputation at the school has skyrocketed thanks to the combination of my groundbreaking research plus my teaching perks ensuring high instructor reviews as well as students learning and retaining more
      1. My tenure process has been fast-tracked, since the dean is rightly concerned about losing me to another institution
5. I awaken slowly, and awkwardly, as if from a coma, as a cocktail of drugs is released into my body, still restrained on my cryobed
   1. Our vessel, the Cyllene, is essentially a large asteroid with a hole carved in the middle, stuffed with propellent, equipment, supplies, expansive aquaponics facilities, and a relatively tiny living area
      1. Cyllene was said to have nursed and protected Hermes, as this vessel must nurture and protect us, the first observers, and hopefully, colonists,
   2. As my body and mind resume normal function over the course of 90 minutes, I get a slow trickle of updates on the status of the Cyllene and our mission
      1. The mission clock says it's 202 years since we left Earth, but thanks to time dilation, Earth has experienced 221
      2. Computer Block 5 (of 8) is currently undergoing automated reconstruction as the block with the highest error correction rate at the time the last automated reconstruction completed
      3. 1575 individuals are currently in cryosleep, and 25 (including me) are active, all sufficiently healthy
      4. I am still Dr. John Axstrom, revered teacher and groundbreaking computational pharmacologist, but my consciousness seems to have jumped forward a few hundred years, skipping past the development of miracle cures, life extension medications, and cryogenic preservation of humans
   3. As I realign with my memories and identity, I remember why I'm here
      1. If colonization proceeds, the coming generations are going to need exceptional teachers if they are to learn their place in the universe, and I'm one of the best there ever was
      2. Our mission is expected to take about 750 years from departure to arrival, and though the vast majority of that time is spent in cryosleep, we take shifts being "awake" to ensure systems are functioning and keep eachother mentally and physically healthy
   4. Since the monitoring systems will throw a fit if I straight up disappear from the vessel, I take a long ride out to the external "observation" check, out of the range of most of the sensor systems
      1. There's not really much to observe in deep space - it's like the night sky, as the ancients saw it with no light pollution, but from a different perspective
      2. Here I quickly form a stunt double duplicate, hand over my electronics, and duck into the warehouse
   5. The warehouse clock confirms my suspicions - I'm nearly seven years into the jump
      1. Since it looks like this isn't going to take nearly 1000 years, the team hasn't been going full-stasis mode
      2. The bards have been poring over J-Borg's personal library as well as the impressive collection of the warehouse media room
      3. But the reason I came is the Tablet of the Free - I'm stuck on a large but still confined deep-space vessel until my scheduled return to cryosleep - how is that supposed to entertain the boss?
      4. After confirming nothing interesting is in the warehouse, I head back to the observation deck, and stash the portable door I've been using back into hammer-space before re-merging with my stunt double, and taking the long trip back to the living area
6. I wake up to an unfamiliar synthetic beep - apparently the Cyllene's version of a doorbell
   1. When I open the door, one of my crewmates tells me that our directional antennas have picked up some unusual RF activity that seems to be coming from our destination system, and they want me (as the on-shift programmer) to help the astronomer, comms, and operations staff to help make sense of it, and ensure we're not about to get nuked by a magnetar or something
   2. Initial findings were sparse and inconclusive - just occasional pulses of a signal that must have been very strong and highly directional at the time of transmission, to reach us so far away
   3. But I had access to diagnostic tools that the astrophysicists and comms staff didn't, for all their training and equipment: a series of perks specifically for teasing out the needles of relevance from the haystack of noise
      1. And as I looked at what we were seeing, and what we weren't, the answer became clear: these radio bursts looked just like a primitive form of RADAR
      2. At first my colleagues on the Cyllene were skeptical, but the evidence kept mounting, with 4 additional series of "pings" being detected in the next six weeks
   4. With the spectre of extraterrestrial intelligence hanging over the Cyllene, our XO followed protocol, and ordered the full complement to be wakened from cryosleep to assist in the work to come
   5. Within six months, we had fabricated and installed a much larger purpose-built directional antenna array on the surface of our asteroid hull, and reports of different signals were coming in almost daily
      1. We needed all the extra hands, even our mining and terraforming experts were lending a hand with signal analysis and attempts to form patterns
      2. The whole crew felt the urgency and wondered at the situation - temporally, it would mean that their early experiments with RADAR and initial RF broadcasts would have happened at about the same time as humans did those things on earth, and if they developed at the same rate as us (a big if), they would likely be more advanced when we arrivedd than humans were when we left (and thus the technology of our vessel), and would almost certainly see us coming
   6. The coming months flew past, each bringing further confirmation of suspicious, but with it frustration, as we had been unable to extract a coherent signal - the broadcasts we could pick up didn't appear to be using either amplitude or frequency modulation
      1. More than once I brought signal samples to the warehouse team, but they were just as stumped as us
      2. Even more "esoteric" means didn't work - we tried every variation of "Tongues" and "Comprehend Language" spells on printed, audioized, and even engraved versions of the RF signals we caught, but they all failed and the representations seemed full of too many discontinuities
   7. I could feel my new Inventor's Vision working on the task of how to decode these signals, and about two years after the first pulse was detected, I had my breakthrough
      1. The signals didn't represent continuous audio (like human radio) or even piece-by-piece visuals (like rasterized video), but something of each, and a little weirder
      2. They were composed of many (from seven to three hundred, and not consistent at all) micro-audio clips
      3. It was like making an ultra-low bitrate recordding of the voice of every singer in a chorus individually, and transmitting fifty milliseconds of one, then fifty milliseconds of the next, and so one, in serial, and then starting back again with the first voice
      4. We couldn't figure out why they did this, but once I was able to identify the break points between each "voice", I could layer them on top of eachother to make a composite audio version
      5. And that composite audio could be played, and was a viable candidate for magic translation
   8. The entire vessel went wild when I demonstrated the isolation and recombination of the signals to produce audio
      1. The sound of the thing was somewhat like the sound of multiple birds, frogs, and crickets in a forest, in very brief clips
      2. Of course, I didn't reveal that I had access to magic translation - I figured the comms and signals staff (and the one cryptographer) should have to earn their pay
   9. The remaining year and a half was spent in intense research, for them, while I mostly slacked off and tried to make conversation with the people doing important work on this front, since my actual mission here was to "observe" as humans of this universe underwent a sort of assymmetrical first contact
7. I awaken in my weird little pod bed in my weird little capsule room for the last time, perfectly aware of the remaining hours in this jump
   1. After the initial excitement died down, the majority of the colonists were put back into cryosleep, with only the decoding specialists and those "on shift" like me staying active
      1. There has been a lot of anxiety around the Cyllene for the last few months - we are clearly a colony ship and the intelligent inhabitants of that system probably do not want to be colonized, and may well be easily capable of destroying us
      2. There were discussions about trying to reverse course and head back to Earth, but we could do that any time, and the closer we get, the more information we can gather about the system and its inhabitants
   2. It would be cruel to try to skim supplies from this vessel even if there were something I wanted aboard, so I just wait my time out, helping where I can and secretly translating any communications we receive when time permits
      1. So far it has all been rather uninspiring, which makes me even more curious what kind of species would develop radio technology but not transmit any fiction or speeches or poetry
   3. When it's almost time, I once again make the long trek out to the Cyllene's observation deck alone, and split off a Stunt Double, who can at least stay here for a month, while I slip into the warehouse
      1. When I enter, J-Borg greets me and informs me of a message at the Benefactor's lounge
      2. The note on the door says "Supplement Pending - please attend as soon as possible", so I go in to check it out
      3. With the choices all locked in, the door unlocks and I head out to meet with the team
   4. With the memories of my time in Spain finally restored, I realize how I had been trying to communicate with myself all along, but failing
      1. The need for calm communcation and education will never end - among our closest neighbors or with a civilization 300 light years away
   5. We have the traditional group dinner in the commons, and discuss what's going on
      1. The team did end up spending most of the time in stasis, and the formerly-newborn halflings are a little over a year now biologically, learning to speak and walk
      2. When I mention the Biosphere supplement and how I wasn't allowed to consult them, they naturally asked when it would apply, but it hadn't even occurred to me that there were now definitely too many of us to wait out warehouse changes in the entrance hall, so I checked with the central control
   6. Afterward, no one was complaining when the doors finally unlocked and we were able to leave the commons hall, only to find that the door led to an outdoor path with a natural-looking sunset on the horizon
      1. I didn't want to spoil the whole setup yet, so I said we could tour in the morning, and turned off a number of the facilities and systems for the night, to give me some time to understand what options were available before letting my companions go wild with them
      2. Fortunately, the obvious items like the tree of life and factory complex were on other islands, that would be difficult to reach without the transport disks running
   7. And then I went to sleep again, wondering what the next awakening had in store for me

Notes on the Fountain Jump Doc

1. Honestly this doc has been on my to-try list since I saw it - I really enjoyed the movie and gladly rewatched it again when it came up in my random draw.
2. The author took some liberties with the source material, which makes sense because of how focused on Thomas the story is, and the extensions largely make sense
3. There were a few confusing things in the jump, such as how you get essences and what powers you bring with you into each phase of the jump, but a close reading makes them clear enough
4. The jump has a few really standout purchase
   1. the inventor's intention is the answer to a lot of concers that "do-gooder" jumpers are likely to have in their careers
   2. the full tree of life is an amazing item - the ability to grant perfect health and immunity to aging within a regrowing item solves a lot of problems
   3. 500 years of practice is amazing if you have a particular skill or art in mind - literally centuries better than the "10 years of practice" equivalents that you find din many other jumps, and has a lot of potential to synergize with other perks that scale off your skill in a particular area
   4. Biosphere is super cool if you want your fiat-backed warehouse to grow into something more
   5. The Dagger of the Path is a great example of a conceptual weapon, and something I probably would have picked up if I had a bunch more points
5. How you're supposed to interleave the three eras is a little unclear, and maybe I'm not a creative enough author to pull it off. I don't believe SJ Chan ever got around to writing a fictionalized account of jumping to it, unfortunately
   1. If anyone else has done a good jump fiction of this jump, please let me know
6. Overall absolutely a fantastic jump. Obviously a great option for anyone who likes the movie or wants to solve one of the specific problems available
   1. I'd especially recommend it for an early-chain jumper because of the generally low danger level and great variety of rewards

Notes on the Biosphere Supplement Doc

1. I knew this was something I wanted to pick up when I first read the fountain jumpdoc several months ago
2. I use the "Personal Reality" warehouse which was co-authored by SJ Chan, and this supplement feels perfectly tailored to supplement that
3. There are lots of good pickups for people with various interests, or those who just want to keep their options open
   1. Observation Deck seems like the real must-have since a lot of the other buys are controllable through it
4. The structure of the biosphere was a little confusing at first - I thought that there was an island, a void around the island, and a hard shell, and wasn't sure why you'd want to increase the shell thickness, but further reading cleared that up
5. On the whole, a good pick up, especially considering it only cost 400 CP in the jump, and normally buying warehouse upgrades with CP has a very unfavorable conversion, but in this case, the biosphere purchases all seemed cheaper than they ought to be.

(Builds to come in a separate post due to length restrictions)

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Buster growled softly, baring his teeth at me as he stood in defiance. His stance rigid and unyielding, his tail stiff, and ears pinned back - he watched my every move with alert eyes.
My 3-year-old German shepherd had intuitively figured out the prospect of an upcoming bath when he saw me reach for the towel, and decided to give me a hard time over it.
“I know buddy. I am not happy about it either. But I will make it quick. I promise,” I tried to reason, holding up both hands to reassure him.
‘But it’s not even been a week…’ I could almost imagine him saying those exact words to me when he growled back in protest.
“You’re right...But listen, man. You’re dirty. I can feel your presence from here,” I said, standing ten feet away and pretending to cover my nostrils with my finger.
Buster, of course, didn’t care and continued to defy without hesitation.
I put my hands on my hip and sighed. My glance immediately shifted to a hose attached to a tap outside my quarters.
“Tell you what. I’ll make it worth your while. You don’t mind the jet spray, right? In fact, you even tolerate it sometimes,” I said, pointing to the hose located only a few feet away.
“How about a little cooperation now, and I’ll make you your favorite meal a little later?” I asked him, while reaching out to pick a can of chicken liver from the kitchen.
As I dangled the can in my hand, I could see it slowly chipping away at his resolve, his mind grappling with the pros and cons of my new proposal.
A moment later, Buster barked at me twice and slowly made his way out of the house. He sat by the garden tap, ready to receive his bath.
I took a handful of lotion and began to rub it against his torso to remove all the muck and grime that was sticking to his body. We had been quite busy lately, guarding the base and conducting multiple patrols along the perimeter every day. The rain a few hours ago certainly didn't help matters, with Buster leaping over puddles of water and actively rolling in the mud to escape the desert heat. I had to use a brush to remove the layers of dirt that had caked all over his body.
It’s been a strange week, to say the least. The days were busy but peaceful, while the nights brought scattered, random sounds. Their origins were a mystery, as they appeared not to originate from the base. But I wasn’t too worried about it, not yet anyway.
There is an air base located a couple of hours away from the facility, and it wasn’t unusual for them to conduct sorties at odd hours in the night. I assumed they were probably testing out some new technology.
My colleague Joe thought the same thing as well. But we couldn’t take any chances, and we both had a job to do. So we conducted regular patrols around the base just as a precautionary measure.
But deep down, I felt something nagging at me, like I was being watched by someone or something. I couldn’t exactly put it into words.
For a second, I wondered if Buster too felt the same way when I saw him suddenly lift his head up, listening intently with his ears up in attention.
I quickly turned back to check if there was anybody standing behind me, but I found no one. When I turned around to face him again, I saw him looking up at the night sky, his gaze focused and unwavering.
“What’s it buddy? You see something?” I asked him as I cleared away the foam from his face. Moments went by slowly. And then, just like that, as if nothing had happened, he put his head down and began pawing my leg, urging me to finish his bath. I sighed again and turned on the hose, to wash off all the soap.
He finally looked presentable and I have to admit, his coat glistened beautifully under the moonlight.
Before I could reach for his towel, Buster swiftly moved in to close the gap between us and looked me in the eye dead serious. He then shook his body vigorously, much like a wet dog trying to rid itself of wetness, and trotted off without bothering to look back.
I laughed out loud as I sat there, drenched in water. I knew I should have seen that coming. However, my smile quickly faded, as it also reminded me of Jessica, my ailing wife.
Before another thought could take shape in my mind, I heard a familiar voice blare across the radio.
“Mike, I need you down here. Get to the post quick.”
It was my colleague Joe and I replied back in the affirmative. I quickly grabbed my gear and signaled Buster to follow after me.
When I reached the post, I saw Joe standing there armed with his rifle. As a seasoned war veteran with two tours under his belt, Joe was a dangerous man and not to be trifled with. But he was also compassionate and wise beyond his years.
“What’s up Joe?” I inquired, as I approached him near the entrance of the base.
“I am not sure yet. I thought I heard something at a distance. It could well be nothing.” he replied, after a brief pause.
‘Well, we’ve had a lot of that going around all week’, I thought to myself.
He then turned around to look at me. “I want you to run a perimeter sweep first. Then go on patrol again. Take Buster with you” he said, before heading back to his post.
I started the jeep and drove out towards the perimeter. The engine hummed softly as I navigated the rough terrain, with Buster sitting alertly beside me. After finding nothing suspicious during my initial sweep, I decided to broaden my search radius.
A mile into the drive, Buster suddenly started barking, prompting me to stop the jeep immediately. He leaped onto the ground and dashed towards a boulder located a short distance away. I picked up my rifle and cautiously followed after him.
When I reached the spot, I keyed the mic attached to my shirt and said, "Boss, you need to come see this."
I knew he wasn’t going to be happy about leaving the guard post unmanned, but I thought he would prefer to come and inspect this himself.
Joe arrived ten minutes later, parking his vehicle next to mine. He walked towards the boulder overlooking a small pond, and switched on his torch to get a better look at the skeletal remains of an animal dumped nearby. Three other animal remains lay next to it, all appearing to be in a similar condition.
“These look like coyotes, probably stopping by to drink water from the pond before they were killed,” he observed, his voice expressing concern. “Did you find them like this?”
“Yes”, I replied. “And they weren’t here when I drove through the same place this morning. I thought it was quite odd to be honest, to find four of them out here all at once in the middle of the desert, that too at this hour.”
Joe simply nodded in agreement.
“What sort of creature do you think did this Joe?”
“I mean it must have a ravenous appetite to chew every sinew of flesh from the bone, and lick it this clean.” I said, leaning in take another look.
“Do you think it could be the Chupacabra or something similar?” I continued, knowing fully well my question was a bit far-fetched, but I had to still get it off my chest.
Joe finally stood up, switched off his torch, and looked around the vast open desert in quiet contemplation.
“This is in fact the fifth sighting in less than a week, Mike, and all have occurred in close proximity to secure government installations. The one before this was even stranger, and happened near a military base, where an old buddy of mine continues to serve.”
“He told me in that instance, the remains belonged to a dog. There were no signs of flesh or connecting tissue from the nasal region to the abdominal section, while the region spanning from the abdominal cavity to the tail bone was left fully intact. The whole thing was carried out with surgical precision, and drew morbid praise from even the medic back at the base.”
"But how is that even possible? What are you suggesting, Joe?" I asked, surprised by the tone of my own voice and my inability to hide my disappointment upon hearing about it for the first time.
“This is not a hunt for prey, Mike. This is a hunt for attention. Somebody is trying to make a point. And I’d say they are accomplishing their objective.” Joe said.
When we got back to the base, Joe updated the command centre about the new developments. I headed back to my quarters and lay down on my bed. The exhaustion washed over me and I immediately drifted to sleep.
I looked at my Mickey Mouse watch. The time was 5:36 PM. I was licking my ice cream while sitting next to my mom in the car. To my right, was my 4 year old cousin Henry who was fast asleep on his mother’s lap.
In the front, my dad was driving the car with his brother seated next to him. Then a truck from the opposite side suddenly came in our lane, and rammed into our vehicle causing it to turn turtle.
With great difficulty, I managed to extricate myself and pulled my cousin out from the wreckage as well. And then suddenly, the car exploded and went up in flames….
I opened my eyes and realized I was still in bed. The same dream had come and gone a thousand times before. It has become a constant part of my life ever since I was a 9-year-old kid.
I slowly got off the bed and found my head hurting. I had barely slept since last night’s excitement, and my mood was already beginning to turn foul.
Buster was already awake. I gently patted him on the head as I walked into the kitchen to put a kettle of water on the boil, and turned on the TV.
My attention immediately shifted towards the news. There was a nuclear explosion in Russia in a small town that was just a couple of hours away from Moscow. The details regarding the explosion were still shrouded in speculation.
“Just the kind of news to start the day,”I groaned as I reached for a nearby chair in the kitchen.
‘But what could have caused this?’ I thought to myself a little later, and hoped the damage there was minimal.
I then looked at the clock and set about getting ready for work. I showered, ate my breakfast, and was out the door by 8, with a hot cup of coffee in hand. Buster raced ahead to get to the guard post.
Joe had already completed his shift, and was waiting for me to relieve him of his duties. We high-fived as usual, and he began to walk back to his quarters. I settled into my chair, and made an entry in the logbook.
My name is Michael Armesto, a 30-year-old security guard working for a secret government installation located in an obscure area in the hot Nevada desert. The facility is centered around a medium-sized building occupying 7,000 square feet of space.
A 10-meter-high wired fence had been erected around the base to provide added protection. There was nothing else around the facility for miles, with the exception of a few boulder fields and mountains in the distance.
For over 5 years now, my colleague Joe and I have been working in shifts to ensure the guard post is manned at all times. When compared to other secret government bases, the security requirements here are not as stringent. And yet, neither Joe nor I ever had any clue about the kind of work being done here.
Every day, like clockwork, a bus carrying 25 people would arrive at the facility at 9:00 AM sharp. I had to open the gates to let them through, once the customary security checks were performed.
These people always wore lab coats and looked like scientists. They would work in the facility until 5:00 PM, and leave by the same bus at the end of the day. In all that time, they never once smiled or waved at me. It was as if their bosses had strictly informed them to not even initiate eye contact with people outside their circle.
Anyway, I never took offense to any of that. My job was to provide security to the facility, and I was doing that to the best of my ability.
As I sat back in my chair, ready to take another sip of coffee, my phone began to ring. It was from the hospital, and I answered it. A minute later, I called Joe and asked him to stand in for me. He immediately understood.
When he arrived at the guard post, I apologized for the inconvenience and Joe simply nodded with a reassuring smile.
As I was about to climb into my jeep, I pointed my finger at Buster and said, “STAY.”.
“Take him with you Mike. She will be happy to see him” Joe said quickly intervening.
“But Boss, I don’t want to leave you here alone after last night.” I protested.
Joe waved his hand dismissively. “Get going Mike. That’s an order.”
“And don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Go see Jess and tell her I am rooting for her,” he said, before walking back to the guard post.
I put a leash on Buster and climbed into the jeep with him. I started the vehicle and began driving towards the city to check on my wife Jessica. She was receiving treatment for lung cancer at St Mary’s Hospital, which was a 5 hour drive from the base.
Jess had never smoked once in her life, and for her to go through all this hardship really broke my heart. I would have normally liked to stay by her side during this crisis, but I could not afford the cost of treatment on my own. Thankfully, the insurance from my government job so far helped me cover most of the medical expenses.
After arriving at the hospital, I headed straight to her room and found her with tubes attached to her mouth. She was heavily sedated and looked like she was in pain.
Buster was standing by the door looking glum. He could see that Jess was unwell. Buster came into my life as a surprise birthday gift from Jess, and he has been a part of our family ever since. The people working at the hospital regularly allowed him inside the premises, knowing fully well that his presence always helped to uplift her spirits.
I came to know from the doctor that Jess had suffered a heart attack due to long term COVID complications. While she was stable and out of danger for now, she did need to undergo an emergency surgery within the next 3 days. The surgery alone would cost $30,000, and that was not covered by my insurance policy.
I pulled Buster by the leash to tell him it was time to go, but he kept resisting. He wanted to sit by her side for some time, even though she was unconscious and unable to acknowledge his presence. So, I too pulled up a chair and sat beside him. It immediately brought back happy memories of our marriage.
We used to spend our summers going on long drives, visiting natural parks, or idly sitting by the beach, enjoying good food and playing all kinds of sports. Jess and I would also often embark on scenic routes, with no particular destination in mind, allowing the road to guide us towards hidden gems.
Whether it's a visit to a historic village or a hike through a lush green forest, all the shared experiences helped strengthen our bond as a family.
The two of us also enjoyed using Buster to pull pranks on each other. Whenever Jess gave him a bath, she would command Buster to go ‘Shake’ in front of me and I would get drenched in water, leading to fits of laughter all around. It was one of her favorite pranks.
So when I saw my wife on the bed with tubes attached to her mouth, I got the reality check I needed. I stood up from my chair and yanked harder at his leash; he didn’t resist this time and followed after me.
I walked out of the hospital feeling a bit dazed. As I started to drive back to the base, my mind was busy trying to come up with solutions. I had only $2000 in my bank account, and that clearly wasn’t enough.
‘Maybe I could contact an official from the government and apply for a loan?’ I thought to myself. I kept driving while mulling on the best course of action.
Then, at a certain point, I suddenly snapped to my senses and immediately stopped the car. I had been driving for over 4 hours now. It was 7 in the evening, and night had already fallen.
Yet, I could not spot the base in the distance. Usually, by this time, the floodlights would have been turned on, and the facility would be easily visible for miles.
Instead, all I could see up ahead was pitch-black darkness. Something was wrong.
I tried calling Joe on his phone, but he was unreachable. I pressed the gas pedal and drove as fast as I could.
When I finally reached the facility, the situation looked much worse than I had feared. The entrance gate was left half open, with no one manning the guard post. The entire building just sat there in the darkness with no power. I tried calling on Joe’s number again. No response.
I then called Joe’s boss, who was stationed in Carson City, to inform him of the situation and possibly request reinforcements. He was unreachable as well.
‘What on earth is going on?’ I asked myself. This was completely bewildering on so many levels.
I slowly drove up to the base, and stopped the jeep a short distance away from the front gate. I wanted to be able to make a quick exit, if things turned hostile. I took a torch light from the dashboard and unfastened my sidearm from the holster. After getting down from the vehicle, I softly whistled towards Buster to follow me.
When I walked past the gate and checked the guard post, I saw a body lying face down on the floor. From a distance, it was difficult to identify the person clearly, but as I got closer I recognized Joe’s uniform. I ran towards him and turned him around and got the shock of my life. I stumbled back in fear and hit the floor hard.
I don’t know what they did to Joe.
But he was lying there dead! Very dead!
It was like he had been zapped or electrocuted. The only thing that was remaining of him was his skeleton. Not an ounce of flesh was visible on his body. And yet his uniform looked in pristine condition.
‘How is this even possible?’ I asked myself.
It immediately reminded me of the dead coyotes I found on patrol the previous night.
“Could this all be somehow related? Was this an execution? And was this carried out be the same group of people?” I wondered.
Joe’s rifle was still there, leaning against the wall. I holstered my sidearm and picked up his rifle. I checked the magazine. He hadn’t fired a single shot.
I then turned on the tactical light and started moving towards the government facility. No one could enter this building until they had a high level of clearance, and every person who had clearance, was issued an electronic key card to gain access. So I was shocked to see the door was left ajar here as well.
Before entering, I headed back to check the junction box. The darkness was making me paranoid and I wanted to see if there was anything I could do to fix it first. When I reached the box, I discovered that the power had been deliberately shut down.
I turned it back on, and the entire place lit up like a Christmas tree.
But the whole facility wore a deserted look. The bus that was usually used to ferry the scientists was still parked at the parking lot.
I doubled back towards the entrance, and slowly entered the building with my rifle pointed forward. This was the first time I was setting foot inside the facility. And if this was supposed to be a top research lab, I wasn’t seeing any signs of it.
The place had been hastily evacuated. There was not a single soul in sight. All I could see was waste paper and computer cables strewn across the floor. Everything else had been cleared out.
Buster then took off on his own, and dashed towards the far end of the building. Something had caught his fancy and I followed after him. He stopped against a large couch and started barking at me.
I looked down and could see something metallic hidden underneath. I stretched my hand to retrieve an aluminum briefcase with blood stains all over it. Someone was obviously holding onto it for dear life, and then tossed it underneath as a last ditch attempt to prevent it from getting into the wrong hands.
‘Did the scientists manage to escape? Or did something bad happen to them, like it happened to Joe?’
‘Could the nuclear explosion in Russia have something to do with this?’
“Are the two countries about to go to war? Is this to be viewed as an escalation,” I wondered.
A hundred questions were going through my mind now, and I had answers to none of them.
I decided to get the hell out of there as quickly as possible. I saw no point in staying, now that Joe was dead and the facility had also been cleared out. I ran back to my jeep, tossed the briefcase in the backseat, and began my drive back to the nearest city I could think of.
Twenty minutes into the drive, I began to get curious about the briefcase, and I had to stop the car to take a look. I switched on the light in my vehicle and opened the briefcase. There was some kind of a telescope inside.
On its base, it bore the insignia of a bright burning Sun with a single eye at it’s center. It also had a name tag attached to it that was labelled Korelo ZX4 – 1969.
The telescope in itself was a strange looking contraption, the likes of which I had never seen before. It was the size of a camcorder, and comfortably fit within the palm of my hand.
There were two identical knobs on either side of the device. The one on the left moved freely clockwise or counter clockwise. It felt similar to those old radio transistors, where you could switch back and forth between stations.
The knob on the right looked the same but had a small pointer attached to it. It had limited range of motion and worked like a switch. Close to the pointer were 3 printed dots, one larger than the other in ascending order. I guess this signified the 3 levels in which this device functioned.
I held the telescope gently in my hand and peered into the eyepiece. With the moon being the only source of light in the desert, I could hardly spot a thing. I then turned the knob on the right, and the device immediately roared to life. I could even feel it mildly vibrating in my hand.
As I peered into the eyepiece again, I now had clear vision of the space all around me. A green display had opened up and was providing clean imagery with stunning levels of detail. I slowly started to turn the knob on the left, and the telescope began to zoom in and out.
I could now clearly see the creatures of the desert ….miles away… coming out their holes …looking for prey. Their heat signatures capturing perfectly… the contours of their own bodies as they moved swiftly across the sand.
As I kept zooming in further, I could also spot the local diner of the nearest town that was more than 50 miles away. I could not only figure out the make and model of cars parked in front of the restaurant, but also read the number plates on them.
And then I looked upwards, pointing the telescope at the night sky, hoping to see the stars a little more clearly. And suddenly everything became obscure. It was like staring at a blank wall.
I moved the telescope away looking confused. Everything looked normal. There was an abundance of stars scattered across the sky, and there were hardly any clouds. I looked into the telescope again, and started zooming back, and my heart suddenly skipped a beat.
Thousands of feet high up in the sky, a large spaceship was hovering mid-air. It was big enough to accommodate an entire football field. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as I just kept staring at it for several moments.
Then I slowly began to pan the telescope across the skyline, and soon realized that I was in for an even bigger shock! There were at least two more spaceships thousands of miles away. Make no mistake. They were clearly visible as the one I was standing in front of.
‘Ok Mike, What else you got?’ I said out loud to myself.
I then turned my focus back to the ship in front of me, and turned the right knob again.
The second dot got highlighted on screen, and the telescope suddenly zoomed in to reveal the insides of the spaceship.
The unfolding images were a little grainy but still definitive enough to provide sufficient visual quality. It was like an X-ray, CT scan and MRI all rolled into one. As I kept adjusting the left knob to get a clearer visual, I could see a large workstation occupying most of the space inside the ship.
Close to the panel, two people were standing and conversing with each other. They did not look human at all. In fact, they looked like aliens!
By this point, I was already sweating even as the cool winds of the desert were hitting my face, and ruffling my hair. I continued to stare into the telescope completely transfixed. I turned the right knob one more time.
The last big dot got highlighted on screen, and then I suddenly started hearing weird noises. Buster who was keeping silent all this while, let out a soft howl and dug his face into the sand. But the noises didn’t stop. It sounded odd and animal like. Like the garbled speech of someone attempting to speak with a mouthful of water. I realized I was now eavesdropping on the aliens talking amongst themselves.
I think they figured this out as well. Because one of them abruptly stopped speaking, and walked towards a work station, and then punched something on the console.
In a matter of moments, the other alien turned around and took a step forward in my direction. It looked like he was peering down at me, fully aware of my existence. A wry smile appeared on his lips, and I felt a shiver go down my spine.
I immediately switched off the telescope, put it back in the briefcase and ran towards my jeep. Buster followed after me. I decided to get to the nearest town and drove as fast as I could.
Part 2

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.