At this very moment I am so angry and it is slightly (it is) my fault for not setting boundaries. I have been sick for 3 weekends yes weekends. I had to take 4 days off at first and this this upcoming weekend I got hit with insane muscle aches and high fever.( my NK had foot and mouth) and I came once her blisters were healed but she still had fever but recovered pretty fast. I disinfected the whole house thinking it’s going to be fine. It wasn’t. Again the only reason I went in is because bills gotta be paid I missed 4 days and I only get 20 hours sick days per contact which is a year. However NM says I can still take days off but I’m not getting paid which is unrealistic right? Not in this economy lmao. I know it’s not a big deal you get sick and that’s over with but now I am getting my boyfriend sick and then he will miss work and it’s a whole fuckery.
I also booked a week off to for family reasons at the end of June and I’m holding on to every damn penny to get through this. I want to laugh and cry like that sponge bob meme when he’s in the corner. (I am also super emotional I’m close to my cycle) SOMEBODY SEDATE ME 😂😂( for the grays Anatomy fans) Also pls let me know how to get rid of the blisters in a timely manner 😭

First Chapter. Link for all the chapters available here: Engines of Arachnea on Royal Road
They made for the hillock that Rene had seen earlier that day. It was the closest bit of high ground they had seen, and it had hatched the beginnings of a cruel idea in his mind, one that he wished to turn into reality.
“Stay close to me,” he told Zildiz as they strode, “We stand a better chance of living through this if we act as a unit.”
“A unit of what?” she inquired, puzzled by his use of the word, “Weight, length or time?”
“No, it means that we should work together,” he tried to explain, quickening his pace to a light jog. The hunting parties had gone silent—they hadn’t the talk of their drums in ages. The quiet was somehow more unnerving than the screams.
“We watch each other’s backs,” he continued, running along a fallen log, “It’s a sort of code we Pathfinders have. No man or woman dies alone.”
Try telling that to Lethway, said a snide voice in his head.
“I have no wish to die alongside you, Fleet-man.”
“That’s not what I…ah, never mind. Here,” Rene handed her back her severed blades, “As promised.”
How had these people ever managed to survive this long? Zildiz wondered as she held her weapons again, manually sheathing them in her arms. It was like taking sugarcane from a baby.
The fog was thinning noticeably. They had forded the river and reached the base of the hillock when they heard another shout from the southwest, sounding much closer this time. The drums began to speak again, the music almost keeping time with Rene’s triphammering heartbeat. Rene led them round the flank of the rise into a deep gully, trying to use the terrain to hide their movements.
“How’s their sense of smell, Zildiz?” he asked her as they picked their way up a pebbly, bone-dry creek. Rene hopped across the boulders and offered her his arm for assistance.
“Depends on the Leaper and their grafted organs,” she told him, leaping past him and pointedly ignoring his efforts at playing the gentleman, “But they are all excellent trackers. They will find us. It is inevitable.”
“Aye, but we’ll be ready for em by then. Hopefully,” Rene added with certain lack of conviction, “To be frank, I don’t know a power on this earth that can stop that horde we saw earlier.”
“They will not use the creatures of the jungle against us. The warband that is hunting us now cannot be larger than thirty to fifty braves.”
“And you know this how?”
Zildiz said nothing. She was under no obligation to tell a child of the Betrayers of the Vitalus’ capabilities. The more creatures the Leapers involved in this secret hunt, the greater the chances that the Vitalus would discover their violation of the truce. It would be a small and private war, and that suited her down to the ground.
She felt stronger now and surer of her footing, as if the chase had breathed new life into her muscles and lungs. Why, she felt as if she could fight a dozen Leapers. Either her innards had adjusted to the workload or her exomorph was regaining some of its functions. She dashed ahead, rejoicing in the steel-spring action of her sinews. The weak-spined Rene, on the other hand, was dawdling below her in the creek, up to some foolishness as usual.
He had stopped to gather fistfuls of gravel which he stuffed into his socks and pockets until they bulged. He even opened his kit and crammed pebbles in the loose corners of the case.
“Hurry up,” she called to him, speaking softly now that danger was close.
“I’d have to agree with Zildiz here, tovarisch,” Exar chimed in, “Now’s not the best time to be gathering mineral samples.”
Rene shook his head and refused to explain. After some minutes of the uphill marching, he spoke to Exar, saying:
“This high enough for you?”
“Ten more meters above sea level should do it.”
They were almost at the summit of the landmass, in a grove of benguet pines and thin pygmy dipterocarps growing amid a hardscrabble sand. On the right shoulder of the hill were the clusters of fire gourd trees whose seeds he had mistaken for cannon fire, the ground plastered with dried-up foam. Beyond this stretched a scorched and blasted hellscape of blackened, dead trees.
“We don’t have ten more meters,” Rene said, “That is, unless…”
He craned his neck to see the tops of the pines, which had straight smooth trunks and sported no lower limbs to grab onto. Most were stunted and malnourished by the poor soil, but at least one of the adults looked like a good candidate. It would be hard climbing.
“It’s times like these that I wish these commercial kits still came with thruster packs,” Exar said regretfully, “But all those models got phased out. Budget cuts, whatcha gonna do, eh?”
“What’s a thruster pack?”
“Never heard of one? That’s funny,” Exar paused as if he had come to a sudden realization, “That’s real funny, you sayin that…”
Rene unsheathed the monomachete and emptied his kit of all gear except for the panel and the allcomm antenna. He cut out some footholds with the monomachete and began his ascent. Rene nearly made it to the top without making the mistake of looking down. As it was, he risked a peek at Zildiz gawping up at him all the way down there and nearly swooned, his scrotum tightening round his pearls like the jaws of death. He clamped the sword of the ancients between his teeth and bit down hard to steady himself.
“Join the Pathfinders, they said,” he growled around the bare metal, “See the sights and look pretty for the girls, they said. What was I flipping thinking?”
He swung up to the slender upper boughs and carefully wedged the solar panel amid the branches, angling it so that it caught the weakening gaze of the suns. Then he balanced the allcomm antenna and its tripod on the uppermost twigs and hooked up the cabling.
“Good work, bhaisap,” Exar said when it began to rotate, “I’ll start transmitting our coordinates to any and all stations while getting a fix on our position.”
“Splendid. Say, you’ve got some nice sight lines up here, Exar.”
From where he stood Rene could see for leagues around in all directions, and he kept his eyes peeled for movement.
There! Specters gliding above the murk, twenty or so klicks out and moving fast. A hoarse scream from the east confirmed his worst suspicions: the Leapers knew exactly where they were. The cannibals were hemming them in, herding Rene and Zildiz they had done with the army of beasts. He could imagine them spreading out in a wide crescent whose horns would envelop the hill from both sides.
Rene estimated that he had little more than an hour to prepare.
“Exar, could I ask you to be our lookout from up here?”
“Thy wish is my command. A la mi presente, al vostra signori, as they used to say.”
As who used to say? Rene thought. Much of what the sphere said tended to be incomprehensible. Rene unfastened the sphere and Exar extended his spike legs to fix himself in place.
“But wouldn’t it be safer for you to stay up top with me?” Exar pointed out.
“Yes, it would. For them,” Rene replied with as much false bravado as he could dredge up. Scattering pines and bark shavings, he slid back down and ran over to the stand of fire gourds. To his relief some of the fruit on the outlying trees furthest from the blaze had not gone off. Rene reached up and picked as many of the gourds as he could fit in his arms. He carried them back to the pines, making several trips to amass a sizable collection.
Zildiz had her swords out and was cooly sharpening them one against the other.
“So they’ve finally run us down,” she said in a flat tone, “Are you ready?”
“Not quite,” Rene said shortly.
He began the project by arranging his other components. Spool of webbing, check. Socks full of pebbles, check. Gauntlet, check.
“Exar, how much longer till our rescue gets here?” he hollered up at the sphere.
“I’ve hailed a shuttle from one of the toroidal stations. ETA 128 minutes.”
“You’ll have those minutes,” Rene promised him, then spoke to Zildiz, “Heads up, Gallivant. From this moment on, our sole objective is to hold off the enemy for at least two hours. We live or die on this hill. Get me?”
“Brave words. And how do you intend to back them up?”
“With the help of a little friend I call firepower,” Rene said, getting right to work. He wound the silk around one of the sloshing gourds until it was sticky all over, then took fistfuls of gravel from his socks, densely studding the fruit with them. Rene held up the finished prototype and grinned evilly. All in all, it had taken him less than five minutes to put it together.
Defensive tactics required careful selection and preparation of the ground. Half the battle was won if one could dictate where the fighting took place.
Pathfinders were scouts above all else and did not specialize in fighting sieges. Rene tried his best anyway, choosing a spot among the pygmy pines and with a deep ravine on his right and a spread of open ground some twenty meters wide and sixty long on his left where nothing grew but itchy buffalo grasses. At his back was a sheer bluff, only four meters tall or so, but still a solid feature upon which to anchor his defense. He placed the prototype in the center of the field and ran back, going prone behind a shallow bank of earth and taking up his gauntlet.
“Come on,” he pleaded with it, training the beam on the gourd’s hard shell, “Sing for daddy…”
Nothing happened for a long moment. Rene blinked; the gourd had abruptly disappeared. In the next instant, shards of shell and rock and specks of foam lacerated the air above his position, ricocheting off the hard cliff face. Rene clapped his hands to his ringing ears and got up. Inspecting his position, he found the bank of earth studded with his improvised shrapnel and arrowhead-shaped seeds.
“Pop! Goes the weasel!” he shouted, overjoyed by the result, “That ought to ruin someone’s day.”
Link for all the chapters available here: Engines of Arachnea on Royal Road

I spend a lot of time researching how our nervous system works and what may contribute to the development of Visual Snow and other symptoms. Remember that there is a lot of vital information that I do not know, and may greatly benefit our understanding of this condition. Visual snow is described as an "epileptic" firing in the visual system in the brain. (Tinnitus behaves very similarly but it is occurring in the auditory nerves) NMDA glutamate receptors, which are overexpressed after excitotoxic injury may well be the trigger of an increased spontaneous firing in the nerves. In turn, the brain would decode this increased firing as "visual snow" The idea is that remaining nerve endings have been damaged enough to overexpress NMDA Glutamate receptors, thus increasing their spontaneous firing.There are various factors that contribute to the development of this condition. Everybody first had an initial trigger, and this varies from person to person. Common causes include stress, trauma, recreational and prescription drugs, Lyme, mold, heavy metals, and other toxic exposures. But what they all result in is brain injury and neuronal damage. The severity varies from person to person. The consequences of such injury doesn't just cause break in communication between healthy neurons, but a cascade of events that can lead to further neuronal degeneration and cell death. That is where visual snow comes in. Think of a broken radio or a TV where it isn't able to receive and process incoming signals so the outcome is a lot of visual/auditory noise. Our brains behave in a similar manner when there is an interference with proper neuron function and communication.Another good example is a type of neuropathic pain called paresthesia where you experience tingling and pricking sensations in various parts of your body. When nerves are damaged, they can't communicate properly and that miscommunication causes symptoms such as pain, tingling or numbness.Medical researchers searching for new medications for visual snow often look to the connection between the nerve cells in the brain and the various agents that act as neurotransmitters, such as the central nervous system's primary excitatory neurotransmitter glutamate. Visual snow can be caused when damaged brain cells emit an excess of glutamate. Many treatments use ingredients that work as glutamate antagonists, or inhibitors. Communication between nerve cells in the brain is accomplished through the use of neurotransmitters. There are many compounds that act as neurotransmitters including acetylcholine, serotonin, GABA, glutamate, aspartate, epinephrine, norpinephrine and dopamine. These chemicals attach to nerve cells at specific receptors that allow for only one type of neurotransmitter to attach.Some of the neurotransmitters are excitatory; leading to increased electrical transmission between nerve cells. Others are inhibitory and reduce electrical activity. The most common excitatory neurotransmitters are glutamate and aspartate while the primary inhibitory neurotransmitter is GABA. It is necessary for excitatory and inhibitory neurotransmitters to be in balance for proper brain function to occur.Communication over synapses between neurons are controlled by glutamate. When brain cells are damaged, excessive glutamate is released. Glutamate is well known to have neurotoxic properties when excessively released or incompletely recycled. This is known as excitotoxicity and leads to neuronal death.Excess glutamate opens the sodium channel in the neuron and causes it to fire. Sodium continues to flow into the neuron causing it to continue firing. This continuous firing of the neuron results in a rapid buildup of free radicals and inflammatory compounds. These compounds attack the mitochondria, the energy producing elements in the core of the neuron cell. The mitochondria become depleted and the neuron withers and dies.Excitotoxicity has been involved in a number of acute and/or degenerative forms of neuropathology such as epilepsy, autism, ALS, Parkinson’s, schizophrenia, migraines, restless leg syndrome, tourettes, pandas, fibromyalgia, multiple sclerosis, Huntington's, seizures, insomnia, hyperactivity, OCD, bipolar disorder and anxiety disorders.(Doctors use two basic ways to correct this imbalance. The first is to activate GABA receptors that will inhibit the continuous firing caused by glutamate. The second way to correct the imbalance is use antogonists to glutamate and its receptor N-methyl-d-aspartate (NMDA). These are termed glutamate or NMDA antagonists. By binding with these receptors, the antagonist medication reduces glutamate-induced continuous firing of the neuron. This explains why some drugs like clonazepam and lamictal are able to help relieve symptoms in some patients. They help reduce excitatory action in the brain temporarily)Anxiety, depression, brain fog, depersonalization, visual disturbances (including visual snow, palinopsia, blue field entoptic phenomenon, photophobia, photopsia) headaches, tinnitus, are all common symptoms associated with increased excitatory activity in the brain. Excessive glutamate is the primary villain in visual snow.I strongly believe there are some genetic components that play a huge role in the development of Visual Snow and makes some individuals more susceptible to developing it. Normally, glutamate concentration is tightly controlled in the brain by various mechanisms at the synapse. There are at least 30 proteins that are membrane-bound receptor or transporter proteins at, or near, the glutamate synapse that control or modulate neuronal excitability. But in Visual Snow sufferers, my hypothesis is that we carry a faulty gene that results in dysregulation of the proteins that control and regulate glutamate excitability. They are unknown as more research will be needed.We live in a society where we are stressed emotionally, financially, physically and exposed to a range of toxins in our environment. Combining underlying genetic susceptibility with these other factors creates all the ingredients for a perfect storm.Stress + Infectious Agents (if any) + Toxins + Genetic Susceptibility = Health ConditionIncluded below is a list of things that can lead to excitotoxicity. The list includes trauma, drugs, environmental, chemicals and miscellaneous causes of brain cell damage. (Keep in mind everybody's bodies behave and react differently to various substances)-Severe Stress (Most people that are stressed out don’t realize that once the fight-or-flight response gets activated it can release things like cortisol and epinephrine into the body. Although these boost alertness, in major concentrations, the elevated levels of cortisol over an extended period of time can damage brain functioning and kill brain cells)-Free Radicals – Free radicals are highly-reactive forms of oxygen that can kill brain cells and cause brain damage. If the free radicals in your brain run rampant, your neurons will be damaged at a quicker rate than they can be repaired. This leads to brain cell death as well as cognitive decline if not corrected. (Common causes are unhealthy diet, lifestyle and toxic exposure)-Head Trauma (like concussion or contusion) MRI can detect damaged brain tissue BUT not damaged neurons. -Dehydration (severe)-Cerebal Hypoxia-Lyme disease-Narcolepsy-Sleep Apnea-Stroke-Drugs (recreational or prescription) -Amphetamine abuse-Methamphetamines-Antipsychotics-Benzodiazepine abuse-Cocaine-Esctasy -LSD-Cannabis-Tobacco-Inhalants-Nitrous Oxide-PCP-Steroids-Air Pollution-Carbon Monoxide-Heavy Metal Exposure (such as lead, copper and mercury)-Mold Exposure-Welding fumes-Formaldehyde-Solvents-Pesticides-Anesthesia-Aspartame-MSG (Monosodium Glutamate is found in most processed foods and is hidden under many various names)-Solvents-Chemotherapy-Radiation-Other toxic exposuresInside the Glutamate StormBy: Vivian Teichberg, and Luba Vikhanski"The amino acid glutamate is the major signaling chemical in nature. All invertebrates (worms, insects, and the like) use glutamate for conveying messages from nerve to muscle. In mammals, glutamate is mainly present in the central nervous system, brain, and spinal cord, where it plays the role of a neuronal messenger, or neurotransmitter. In fact, almost all brain cells use glutamate to exchange messages. Moreover, glutamate can serve as a source of energy for the brain cells when their regular energy supplier, glucose, is lacking. However, when its levels rise too high in the spaces between cells—known as extracellular spaces—glutamate turns its coat to become a toxin that kills neurons.As befits a potentially hazardous substance, glutamate is kept safely sealed within the brain cells. A healthy neuron releases glutamate only when it needs to convey a message, then immediately sucks the messenger back inside. Glutamate concentration inside the cells is 10,000 times greater than outside them. If we follow the dam analogy, that would be equivalent to holding 10,000 cubic feet of glutamate behind the dam and letting only a trickle of one cubic foot flow freely outside. A clever pumping mechanism makes sure this trickle never gets out of hand: When a neuron senses the presence of too much glutamate in the vicinity—the extracellular space—it switches on special pumps on its membrane and siphons the maverick glutamate back in.This protective pumping process works beautifully as long as glutamate levels stay within the normal range. But the levels can rise sharply if a damaged cell spills out its glutamate. In such a case, the pumps on the cellular membranes can no longer cope with the situation, and glutamate reveals its destructive powers. It doesn’t kill the neuron directly. Rather, it overly excites the cell, causing it to open its pores excessively and let in large quantities of substances that are normally allowed to enter only in limited amounts.One of these substances is sodium, which leads to cell swelling because its entry is accompanied by an inrush of water, needed to dilute the surplus sodium. The swelling squeezes the neighboring blood vessels, preventing normal blood flow and interrupting the supply of oxygen and glucose, which ultimately leads to cell death. Cell swelling, however, is reversible; the cells will shrink back once glutamate is removed from brain fluids. More dangerous than sodium is calcium, which is harmless under normal conditions but not when it rushes inside through excessively opened pores. An overload of calcium destroys the neuron’s vital structures and eventually kills it.Regardless of what killed it, the dead cell spills out its glutamate, all the vast quantities of it that were supposed to be held back by the dam. The spill overly excites more cells, and these die in turn, spilling yet more glutamate. The destructive process repeats itself over and over, engulfing brain areas until the protective pumping mechanism finally manages to stop the spread of glutamate."Recent research has confirmed that hypermetabolism has been primarily found in the right lingual gyrus and left cerebellar anterior lobe of the brain in individuals suffering from visual snow. The definition of hypermetabolism is described as "the physiological state of increased rate of metabolic activity and is characterized by an abnormal increase in metabolic rate." Hypermetabolism typically occurs after significant injury to the body. It serves as one of the body's strongest defence against illness and injury. This means that the brain is trying to compensate for the injured areas in the brain by increasing metabolism to meet it's high energy demands. It is trying to function to the best of it's ability under the circumstances. Normally the body can heal itself and regenerate under the right circumstances. But it is extremely difficult for the central nervous system - which includes the spinal cord and brain to be able to do so, due to it's inhibitory environment which prevents new neurons from forming. That is where stem cells come in. Stem cells are an exciting new discovery, because they can become literally any cell in the body including neurons. This is an amazing scientific breakthrough and has the potential to treat a whole host of conditions. Scientists are currently doing research and conducting trials.Excitotoxicity can trigger your "fight or flight" response, as this is the body's primary response to illness, injury or infection. If the brain and the body remain in the sympathetic fight or flight state for too long and too often, it is degenerative; it breaks us down. If this cycle continues, then eventually the system burns out. It is this cycle that results in autonomic nervous system dysfunction. The results are disastrous, digestion is shut down, metabolism, immune function and the detoxification system is impaired, blood pressure and heart rate are increased, circulation is impaired, sleep is disrupted, memory and cognitive function may be impaired, neurotransmitters are drained, our sense of smell, taste and sound are amplified, high levels of norepinephrine are released in the brain and the adrenal glands release a variety of hormones like adrenaline and cortisol.I believe in order to find a treatment or cure for VS and it's accompanying symptoms, we need to address the underlying cause, reduce the excess excitatory activity in the brain, repair the damaged neurons, regain proper communication between neurons, rebalance the autonomic nervous system and prevent further cellular damage. We also need to figure out what genes, if any come into play. There is still a lot we don't know about the brain because it is such an remarkably complex organ.FAQsWon't lowering the levels of glutamate solve the problem? Well, not necessarily. That is just one piece of the puzzle. You have to remember that Visual Snow is a multifactorial and complex condition in which it stems from a number of different causes and influences. Based on my knowledge and the information I have gathered, I can conclude that the overstimulation of glutamate plays a huge role in VS and some other symptoms we experience. But there is still so much we don't know. That's why more research will be needed.Why is my condition worsening over time?That is a very good question. It is because the physiology, biology and chemistry of your brain and nervous system has been altered and has become dysfunctional since the initial trigger set off a domino of effects that leads to further degradation in the body. This puts a huge strain on your body and is constantly activating your stress response system. This will wreak havoc on your entire body. The stress response system was designed to deal with brief emergencies that threaten survival. It isn't supposed to last very long because the body cannot sustain itself for very long in this state. When you remain in "fight or flight" sympathetic state for too long, it becomes degenerative and breaks our bodies down. This affects every system in the body. When you are constantly under stress, the stress response system never turns off resulting in an ongoing destructive cycle. Stress can also exacerbate all your symptoms and makes you susceptible to developing other chronic health conditions. How is the gut related to VS?Having increased intestinal permeability is very common in this modern world because we are constantly being bombarded by toxins and stress. Our bodies weren't designed to handle such a huge burden. So we end up getting sick and become susceptible to kinds of diseases. Common causes include:-Poor diet (from excessive consumption of foods such as grains, legumes, sugars, alcohol)-Chronic stress-Toxin overload-Gut dysbiosis (It means you have a lack of beneficial bacteria in your gastrointestinal (GI) tract. They are overpowered and outnumbered by pathogens such as pathogenic bacteria, yeast, viruses, parasites)-Overuse of antibiotics When you have increased intestinal permeability, the epithelium on the villi of the small intestine becomes inflamed and irritated, which allows metabolic, microbial and environmental toxins and undigested food particles to flood into the blood stream. This event compromises the liver, the lymphatic system, and the immune response including the endocrine system. It is often the primary cause of the following common conditions: asthma, food allergies, chronic sinusitis, eczema, urticaria, migraine, irritable bowel, fungal disorders, fibromyalgia, and inflammatory joint disorders including rheumatoid arthritis are just a few of the diseases that can originate from having poor gut health.This sets the stage for chronic systemic inflammation, oxidative stress, mitochondrial dysfunction, impaired detoxification, gastrointestinal dysfunction and immune system dysregulation.Some toxins have the ability to damage and destroy neurons, myelin sheaths, synapses and even DNA. An overload of toxins that the immune system is not able to get rid of disrupts normal brain function. This eventually initiates an autoimmune response where the immune system attacks the brain and nerve cells as it tries it’s best to eliminate the toxins.The mitochondria are the energy producing section of your cells. When they are damaged by the toxic overload in the brain cells and are not able to produce energy to fuel the cell, the cell dies.In order to stop this vicious cycle, the underlying biological mechanisms of VS needs to be understood. That is the first step that needs to be taken. Any other stressors also needs to be addressed in order to reduce the overall stress load.It is important to know that VS is just a symptom of underlying physiological stress in the brain. Symptoms are your body's way of communicating with you, letting you know something is wrong in the body.I've come across some research indicating that microglial activation and elevated nitric oxide is involved in some neurological conditions. Basically the microglial cells are our brain's immune cells and when something triggers an inflammatory response, they activate and release harmful neurotoxic compounds (such as nitric oxide and pro-inflammatory cytokines) which results in neuronal injury/death. Microglial activation can also result in a loss of synaptic connections in different regions of the brain. It's basically an autoimmune response in the brain. The neuroinflammatory process appears to be an ongoing and chronic cycle of central nervous system dysfunction. This can deplete glutathione levels in the body. Glutathione is the body’s most important antioxidant which is capable of preventing oxidative damage caused by reactive oxygen species such as free radicals, peroxides, lipid peroxides, and heavy metals. This only further exaggerates the problem, which only leads to a cascade of increased inflammation.Nitric oxide plays a vital role in this process. Elevated nitric oxide levels reduces and impair natural killer cells which leads to a vulnerable immune system that is susceptible to a variety of systemic infections. -Phobe Zhang

Let’s dive into today's puzzle with a bit of history! First up, we have FIFA, the international governing body of football (or soccer, depending on where you're from). Founded on May 21, 1904, in Paris, FIFA was created to oversee international competition among national football associations. Over the years, it has grown to become one of the most powerful organizations in sports, organizing the World Cup, which is watched by billions around the globe. So, it’s no surprise that FIFA has a huge influence on the beautiful game we all love.
Now, let’s talk about the RMS Slavonia, a British ship that doesn’t get as much spotlight but has an interesting story of its own. Built in 1902, this 510-foot-long vessel was driven by twin screw propellers, enabling it to cruise at a speed of 13 knots. But here’s the kicker: on June 10th, 1909, the Slavonia ran aground in foggy weather at Ponta dos Fenais in the Azores. While that’s quite an unfortunate event, what makes it historically significant is that it was the first time an SOS signal was transmitted. This event marked a turning point in maritime safety, showcasing the importance of reliable communication at sea.
So, why are we talking about these two today? Well, it’s all about connecting the dots in our Six Degrees puzzle! From the grandeur of international football to a maritime mishap that changed the course of nautical history, today’s puzzle is a journey through time. Let’s KICK off today's puzzle with these nuggets of history and figure out how in the world we connect the RMS Slavonia to FIFA.

1: Spacecation: Outer space world. Transformation: rocket ship. Boss: Alien UFO from Tooie. 3D warship phase and 2D sidescrolling phase. Costume: Astronaut suit.
2: Triumphant Trumpets. Music themed level. Platforming across various giant instruments. New kazooie move: Rue my Kazoo (dazes enemies with a kazoo). 280 notes in this level. If you collect all of them, unlocks a Blues outfit for Banjo and Kazooie and the kazoo attack becomes a trumpet. Banjo will tap his foot along to the music beats of each level while idle in this outfit. Boss: Drumstick bros.🍗 & 🥁. Transformation: Grand Piano. Can feed a soil patch to create beanstalks with your eggs.
3: MondoMegaMoreMall: new ability: skateboard, faster, more stylish way of getting around. Can spend your notes on gaining new skateboard tricks only for this level. costume: Green Mohawk Banjo, gold chain kazooie with a purple stripe in her hair.
4: Giant’s Lair: The cut level from Kazooie restored in all its glory. Climb a beanstalk from the music level to reach it. Have to hide from a giant until you beat him in a boss fight. Can then roam free without stealth. New Banjo ability: Hungry bear: banjo rifles through some trash and goes on a very damaging rampage for 7 seconds. 4 second cooldown. Can be used for puzzles and attacking. New move: Eggs for Brekky: Kazooie solo move that restores health. Kazooie eats a helping of her various egg types. Can also be used for puzzles depending on which egg you eat. (Fire eggs make her very hot, grenade eggs make her burp noxious fumes).
5: Miso Saurée: Japanese themed restaurant level where Banjo and Kazooie must save the residents of an aquarium from being served to some very hungry patrons. Underwater 1st half, on land 2nd half.
666: Heckhole: Hell level. Boss: Cerberus. (1st floor) Boss: The Devil (4th floor). 2nd boss: Satan (fallen angel form, 9th floor). You fall from below into the river Styx, swim into a land mass containing the 9 circles of Hell each containing a group of damned and a Jiggy. Transformation: Cerberus (much smaller than boss form). Kazooie cracks wise about Hell being a place for losers. Gets in hot water (literally).
7: Backtracking: The Level. Revisiting your choice of three levels from kazooie that have added bosses and tooie/new moves for jiggies, or two shrunken down tooie stages. Can only pick between the kazooie or tooie levels per play through. Three kazooie level sets of three, four tooie sets of two levels. Transformation: Various (some new, some old). Boss: Various (some new, some old).
8: African Farm (African safari level + animal farm from 1984 characters). Also contains a rainforest jungle. Transformation: Elephant and Giraffe. Kazooie becomes a giraffe, Banjo and elephant. Boss: Hunter. Tarzan references and cheeky British humor galore.
9: Landlubbers’ Ocean Ordeals: Pirate expedition across the sunlit seas with Capt Blubber and Blackeye to search for the mysterious Crystal Jiggy. (Very difficult to find, unlocks hard mode and randomized modes for next playthrough). Boss: Captain Blubber.
10: The Final, Final, FINAL fight: Showdown against evil Banjo and evil Kazooie possessed by Gruntilda from all the game overs (dead Banjos and Kazooie of the three main games). They know all the possible moves from all three games. Beating them and the game unlocks them as a costume and free level mode for future playthroughs (can access levels in new game without any jiggies).
11: Editor’s Note: Secret final level only available on a second and later playthrough. Can create your own Banjo level with 100 notes, 5 Jinjos, 10-20 Mumbo tokens, 10 Jiggies, a boss fight, a transformation and your own song. Can choose between grassland, ice world, fire world, and a dozen other level themes.
If you manage to collect all 110 jiggies, you can return to Giant’s Lair and find Cheato (…somewhere…) to unlock Conker as a playable character. He plays similarly to how he did in CBFD. He will be able to get all the jiggies but in different ways than Kazooie and Banjo, generally.
Those are my level ideas! What are yours for a potential Banjo Threeie?

A happy Monday to everyone. Whether you're off to work, school, or wherever you're going, I hope your day is a good one. The puzzle is slowly starting to take shape. How many pieces will it take before the full picture is made?
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Memory transcription subject: Kam, Venlil Republic General Date [standardized human time]: August 1, 2136
I wasn’t sure how or why, but for some reason that still escaped me, the Skalgans were the most volatile prey I have ever met in my life. My first meeting with their military officers saw me getting verbally torn apart as they criticized practically every aspect of the Venlil military. From officer behavior to fleet tactics, practically nothing we did seemed to be to their liking. Even our method of retreating saw scorn. The Skalgan clearly saw fleeing as a last resort, and although they knew the importance of it, they made it a point that a fighter should try to do as much damage as possible, to the point where the admiral said that they should be shooting all the way up till FTL jumping. I thought that splitting one’s focus between firing and retreating would just make them more vulnerable, but a part of me knew it was best not to speak up on this, else the admiral might launch into one of his tirades.
A week later saw the arrival of a ‘small’ portion of their fleet, enough ships to rival our own. It finally gave me a chance to judge how technologically advanced they were, and I wasn’t sure if I was glad or fearful that this small fleet not only matched us in firepower, but brought with it something we’d never seen before. Combat drones. Although we had the technology for such things, drones had always been restricted to either civilian use or surveying. Giving a machine the power to autonomously kill was frightening to think about. Add on the fact that they were smaller, faster, numerous, and more nimble than the average fighter, and I quickly understood why they were often referred to as a ‘swarm’. It at least ment attention would be taken off manned ships, and they weren’t as prone to panicked decisions like us prey were.
The humans, despite their predatory nature, always seemed to lack the same enthusiasm for a fight that the Skalgan had. When I spoke to the predators about their military, they seemed to care more about the logistics, technology, and statistics of a fight while the Skalgan talked about their firepower, fighting forces, and the thrill of battle. The theory that they are all predator diseased was seeming more and more plausible. It was making it hard for me to even stand their presence. Of course, my job was to learn about them and teach them about us, so I was stuck with them for the time being.
Today brought with it some interesting news. I was in one of the officer quarters, mentally preparing myself for a demonstration of Skalgan combat training when I received a call from Tarva. Hoping for something to take my mind off of things, I answered. “Governor, it’s good to hear from you. I hope everything is well with you?”“Yes, I’m doing… well enough.” Tarva replied. “I’ve been in discussions with the UN’s Secretary-General about the possibility of opening both commerce and travel between our planets. We’re still in the planning phases, but we’re looking into setting up an exchange program between our people as a way to help ease everyone into accepting the humans. It’d match up our people with those from earth, and they would spend time text chatting before meeting in person, potentially long term if desired.”
For a moment, I couldn’t help but wonder who in their right mind would want to spend time near a predator, let alone live with one. I racked my brain for examples of their ferociousness and deception, only to realize that I was drawing a blank. Despite my distaste for them, the humans I’ve met so far have all been polite, respectful, and calm. Speh, they were better behaved than some Skalgans. This really confused me.
“...Kam? Are you there?” Tarva asked. It took me a moment to realize I had fallen silent. “Oh, uh, yes. I’m here.” I quickly responded. She tilted her ears in concern, but continued anyway. “There is also the matter of the initial DNA testing and empathy tests that have been done. To start with the humans, initial scans show that humans do indeed have empathy. However, the researchers are wanting to acquire a larger sample size to confirm this. Some believe we’ve only been sent defective individuals, but a larger group should help us confirm that humans are empathetic. They themselves claim that it’s because they’re a herds species of their own, which would only be possible if they could socialize and empathize.”
We’ve always been told that predators are unfeeling, uncaring monsters that would throw away the lives of others as easily as they would their own. The idea of a cooperative predator had been theorized, but with there being no evidence of such ever existing, we had no idea how such creatures would turn out. The Arxur likely would have destroyed themselves before they could achieve proper civilization had the Federation not uplifted them. But a predator that worked together, fought alongside each other, protected each other, that would be a terrifying force to behold. Then again, that’s what I saw every time I looked out the station windows and saw their fleet in orbit.
“As for the Skalgan… their results are… scaring me a little.” Tarva resumed speaking. “The DNA tests have confirmed that Venlil and Skalgans are related. There wasn’t too much doubt in that, but the differences in our DNA caught a lot of interest. According to Earth scientists, the lack of nose and knocked-knees does sometimes show up in the Skalgan people, but for them, it’s always been a result of a very rare genetic defect. A defect that… bears shocking similarity to the Venlil’s natural DNA.”
“Wait… how could a defect for them be natural for us? That implies that…” I slowly trailed off as I came to understand what this meant. Tarva’s ears slowly fell. “...That implies that Venlil anatomy is the result of a genetic defect. I don’t know how much stock we can put into this, but… Kam… Our people have always been called weak and helpless. We can’t smell, we can hardly run, we frighten at the slightest thing. It… It makes me wonder if something happened to us to make us this way.” I felt sick. My own nose, my own legs, these aspects of myself were what I thought was a natural part of the Venlil people. It was almost as hard to believe as the idea of friendly predators. “This… Are you sure? M-maybe there was a mistake? O-or we just evolved this way?”
“Kam. Please, our own scientists confirmed the UN’s research. Their genome mapping is just as good as ours.” Tarva sighed, sinking into her seat. “We never knew because we had no other comparison. Our DNA records only go back as far as after Federation contact. This means that the Skalgan left Venlil Prime before or during that time, which means the change happened around that time, too. It’s… bringing up a lot of questions. I’m starting to doubt if our planet is even called Venlil Prime.”
“What do you mean by that?” I asked. Tarva took a moment to sit up straight. “According to the Earth historians, the Skalgans come from a planet that they called ‘Skalga’, hence the name of their species. Granted, their historical records are limited to after landing on Earth, but they did keep an oral history long enough to get some aspects of their old lives written down. So since it seems like the Skalgan and Venlil are the same people, it stands to reason that our homeworlds are one in the same.”Yet again my thought process froze up. It felt like everything I knew was slowly being torn apart piece by piece. “...Our people… our home… Wh… What happened? Why did so much change? There’s nothing in our history about any of this! Are we certain?”
“As certain as we can be about the information the UN provided us.” Tarva continued. “What worries me the most is the potential cause of all of this. We have no records of ever having a Skalgan’s physiology. Our modern medical and historical records only begin after contact with the Federation.”
“W-what about historical artifacts?” I asked, desperation starting to seep into my voice as I tried to think of anything that might disprove this line of thinking. Tarvan let out a tired sigh. “We’re looking into that. It’s the only contradiction at the moment to this timeline we’re building. There’s… also the possibility that the Skalgan’s are the ones with the genetic defects, but their scientists were pretty adamant that noses don’t spontaneously grow across an entire species, especially in the timeframe we’re working with. No matter which of us carries the defect, they're certain it shouldn't have taken over an entire population this fast. I… I hope we’re simply missing something that’d explain all of this away, but… Kam, I’m worried about what this all means.”
I was worried too. All of this was pointing to something happening around the time the Federation contacted the Venlil. Were they the ones somehow responsible for the Skalgan fleeing and the genetic changes to the Venlil? If these differences between our kinds was the result of a genetic defect, then how did it become the prevalent trait for the Venlil? Wouldn’t the federation have the means to reverse or prevent it? How had the Skalgans escaped our fate?
“...Tarva… I think we should petition for the Federation to provide all records they have on our uplift.” I said. “Even if we’re somehow mistaken about this genetic defect, something happened at the time of our uplift to cause the Skalgan to split off from us. Maybe it was a disease or perhaps the Skalgan’s exposure to predators caused the change in physiology? I… I don’t know, but I don’t want us to be left in the dark if the Federation knows something.”
The governor nodded in agreement. “It’ll be one of my talking points at the next summit, along with the Skalgan and the Humans. It’s… it’s gonna be rough, but I think with the UN’s help, we can figure this out.”
I gave an ear flick in agreement. I wanted answers for why we were the way we were. I wanted my people to feel safe for once in their life. And as predatory as it felt to think this, I wanted my people to be strong. All this talk of us had made me completely forget about the actual predators, the humans. They surprisingly felt like a drop in the bucket compared to this species defining discovery we were investigating. A notification on my holopad told me it was time for this fleet demonstration the Skalgan’s were putting on. I quickly gave my parting words to Tarva before closing the call and leaving my room. It was gonna be strange for me to go look the past in the face after all this we’ve learned.
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Looking at lists for Switch games be it regular, loose or special/collectors editions.
Looking at lists for a SNES console with hookups and 2x controllers if possible.
Looking at lists for N64 game loose or complete especially Ogre Battle 64.
Looking at lists for DS/Gameboy/Gameboy Advance Flashcarts.
Looking for Physical Magazines like EGM, GamePro, Nintendo Power and Wizard magazines.
And lastly looking for Gameboy/ColoAdvance games loose or complete.
Thanks Much Fellow Gamers.

PS4

PS4 Slim 500 GB Console with 1x OEM Black Dualshock
Metro Redux CIB
Rise of the Tomb Raider 20th Anniversary Extras Only No Game
Plants vs Zombies 2 : Garden Warfare
Has Been Heroes CIB
The Division
Deus Ex MD

XBox

https://www.flickr.com/photos/200232813@N07/albums/72177720315735025/
Metro Redux
Rare Replay/Ultimate Gears of War
Torment Tides of Nememura in GameStop Case
Lords of the Fallen
Transformers Devastation
Sunset Overdrive
Pillars of Eternity in GameStop Case
One Lords of the Fallen
XBox One Phantom Black Controller CIB USED
XBox Series S White OEM Controller

Amiibo

Metroid Dread 2 Pack BNIB

N64

https://imgur.com/a/H9g5GqQ
Cruis'N USA
Body Harvest
Aerofighters Assault
Top Gear Overdrive
Tony Hawk 3
Buck Bumble
Pokemon Puzzle League with Manual (game and manual in great condition)
Space Station Silicon Valley
Gex 3: Deep Cover Gecko (Entire label was missing so a cheap replacement was made)
Command And Conquer
The New Tetris
Snowboard Kids 1 with Manual (manual and game in great shape small tear on back of Cart)
Robotron 64
Forsaken 64 (video rental sticker on label)
Yoshi's Story
Mischief Makers
Wipeout
Doom 64
Kobe Bryant In NBA Courtside Box(good shape includes inner tray)
NHL Breakaway '98 Box (good condition no inner tray)
Mario Tennis 64 Game with Box (Box is rough shape, missing ride side flap. includes inner tray, Cart is clean)

Gameboy

TMNT Fall of the Foot Clan

Switch

Hori Split Pad Pro Blue CIB (used about 7 months in 9/10 condition)
Old Skool GC Controller Adapter (Works on Switch/PC/Wii U)
Hyperkin Joy-Con Grip Charger
Sushi Striker
Monster Hunter Rise Joy-Cons with Grip NIB
Blacksad: Under The Skin [Limited Edition] SEALED
KORG Gadget
Psikyo Collection Vol. 3 JAP
Super Mario Odyssey Carrying Case

PS Vita

The Walking Dead: Season 2
Hot Shots Golf World Invitational
Legend Of Heroes: Trails Of Cold Steel 1
Dynasty Warriors Next
Stranger Of Sword City
Shantae Half-Genie Hero [Risky Beats Edition]
UnEpic SEALED
Risk Of Rain SEALED
Aqua Kitty SEALED
Grand Kingdom Case
Toukiden : Kiwami Case

3DS

Legend Of Legacy Launch Edition SEALED
Crush 3D Loose in 3DS Case
Cubic Ninja Loose in 3DS Case
Codename S.T.E.A.M
Smash Bros 3DS CIB
Steel Diver CIB

PS1

Fighter Maker Loose
FF9 CIB (Case damaged)
Crash Bandicoot 2 Loose in Twisted Metal GH Case
Sim City 2000 Game+Case (damaged)
Oddworld Abes Oddysee CIB

DS

Final Fantasy Crystal Chronicles Ring Of Fates loose
OEM Charging Base for original 3DS
Intec DS Case
Bleach Blade Of Fate Loose

PS3

Final Fantasy X/X2 Remaster Limited Edition CIB
NiNoKuni 1 Steelbook CIB
Zone Of The Enders HD Collection CIB
Yakuza 3 Loose
Metal Gear Solid HD Collection Loose
Genji Days Of The Blade
Genji Days Of The Blade Loose
Need for Speed Most Wanted CIB
Call of Duty : Modern Warfare 3
Need for Speed Pro Street
Red Faction Guerilla x2
MoH Warfighter LE Loose
Crysis 2
Mercenaries 2 in Generic Case
Call of Duty MW3 x2
Assassins Creed 4 BF
Beyond Steelbook Bad shape broken at spine
Uncharted Dual Pack in Custom generic case

PS2

https://imgur.com/a/pBJLqjf
https://imgur.com/a/1odALsV
Gran Turismo 3 A-Spec
Soul Caliber 2 CIB
ATV Offroad Fury 4
MDK 2 Armageddon Loose
Need For Speed Hot Pursuit 2
The Getaway
007 Agent Under Fire Loose
Test Drive GH
Star Wars The Force Unleashed CIB
Army Men Soldiers of Misfortune
Welcome to Jumpack Demo Disc
Metal Arms in Generic Case
MX vs ATX
Army Men
Rocky
NCAA Football 2004
Army Men : Sarges Hero
Full Spectrum Warrior
FIFA 2001 MLS
NCAA Football 2003
NCAA Football 2004
Eye Toy Antigrav with Eye Camera
Wheel of Fortune
Motorcross Mania 3
Seaworld Deep Sea Adventures
Socom US Navy Seal
Red Faction Case
Final Fantasy X-2
ThrillVille
MGS 2 CIB
DQ8 missing Demo Disc
Onimusha 2 CIB
MX vs ATV Unleashed CIB
Tekken 5 CIB
Kingdom Hearts 1 GH CIB
Kingdom Hearts 2 GH CIB
Stuntman CIB
Looney Tunes Back in Action CIB Looney Tunes Back in Action
Tak CIB
Soul Caliber 3 CIB
God of War 1 First Print CIB
GTA San Andreas missing manual

XB360

BF3 Limited Edition
Kinect Adventures
Motionsports
Call of Duty Ghosts
3rd Party Controller
Darksiders 2
Marvel Ultimate Alliance in Gamestop Case
OEM Black Controller with Battery Pack

Gamecube

Donkey Kong Bundle (includes CIB copy of Donkey Konga, 1x loose Bogo Drum controller and DK Jungle Beat Bongo Drum controller in box but missing game BOX IS IN ROUGH SHAPE)
Odama CIB with Microphone (Big Box is in rough shape but Game/Case/Manual/Mic are in perfect condition)
GB Player OEM Case Holder *Missing outer cardboard and Manual
NFL2k3 CIB
Monopoly Party+Manual in Blockbuster Case
Star Wars Rogue Leader+Manual in DVD Case
Spiderman 2 Player's Choice (Missing Manual)
Megaman Anniversary Collection (Missing Manual)
MC Groovez Dance Craze
Fifa Soccer 2002
Spiderman 1 Case
007 NightFire Case with Fantastic Four Games

Wii

Nights Journey of Dreams in Gamestop Case & Manual
Generic Dual Wiimote Charging Dock

Covers, Cases and Manuals

8x Universal Game Cases (N64,SNES,Genesis,etc)
3DS Persona Q : Shadow of the Labyrinth Case
Grand Kingdom Case
Toukiden : Kiwami Case
Wii Dragon Quest Swords Manual
Wii Monster Hunter 3 Manual
Wii Elebits Manual
GC Ghost Recon Case & Manual
GC True Crime Streets of LA Case & Manual
GC Spiderman 1 Case Only
GC Dead to Rights Case & Manual
GC Splinter Cell Pandora Tomorrow Case & Manual
GC Hitman 2 Case & Manual
GC MoH Frontline Case & Manual
GC Rainbow Six 3 Case & Manual
PS2 Red Faction Case
PS2 Call of Duty FH Case & Manual
GC NFL 2K3 Case
PS4 Nioh Case
PS Vita Exist Archive Case
PS3 Zone of Enders HD Collection Case & Manual
PS2 Dragon Quest 8 Case & Manual
PS2 Onimusha 2 Case & Manual
PS2 Tekken 5 Case & Manual
PS2 Kingdom Hearts 1 GH Case & Manual
PS2 Kingdom Hearts 2 GH Case & Manual
PS2 Area 51 Case PAL version
GC NBA 2K2 Case & Manual
PS2 Final Fantasy X-2 Case $ Manual
PS2 Starwars Battlefront Case & Manual
GC Prince of Persia Cover & Manual
GC Viewtiful Joe 1 Manual
PS2 Katamari Damacy Cover & Manual
GC Burnout 3 Takedown
PS2 Nightmare before Christmas Oogies Revenge Cover & Manual
PS2 GTA San Andreas Cover & Manual
PS2 Capcom Classic Collection Cover & Manual
PS2 Virtua Fighter 4 Evolution Manual
PS2 Megaman X Collection Cover & Manual
PS2 Star Ocean Till the End of Time Cover & Manual
PS2 R-Type Final Cover & Manual
PS2 Soul Caliber 2 Cover
XB Panzer Dragoon Orta Cover & Manual
XB Ninja Gaiden Black Cover & Manual
PS2 Mad Maestro Cover & Manual
PS2 007 Everything or Nothing Manual
PS2 Half Life 2 Cover
PS2 Devil May Cry 3 Cover & Manual
PS2 FF X-2 Cover & Manual
PS2 REZ Cover & Manual
PS2 Rygar Cover & Manual
PS2 Chaos Legion Manual
PS2 Zone of Enders 1 Cover & Manual
PS2 Final Fantasy 12 Manual
PS2 Front Mission 4 Cover & Manual
PS2 Metal Gear Solid 3 Subsistence Cover
PS2 Escape from Monkey Island Cover
PS1 Final Fantasy Chronicles GH Back/Front Cover & Manual
PS1 Tenchu 1 Cover & Manual
PS1 Final Fantasy 7 GH Front/Back Cover & Manual
PS1 Buster Bros Collection Cover & Manual
GC Zelda Master Quest Manual + Windwaker Promotional Paperwork
PS2 Black Case & Manual

Jon:

• Has a camera shoved up his nose
  
• Has one of his nostrils pierced with a fishing lure hook offscreen
  
• Has his lips slammed beneath a window
  
• Gets his lips caught in a blender
  
• Has his lips ripped off by Garfield offscreen
  
• Has a piece of toast pop up right into his eye
  
• His eyes are blown out of their sockets by Garfield’s party horn
  
• Has his head pounded down into his torso
  
• Gets electrocuted
  
• Again
  
• Has his hair set on fire
  
• Has his teeth catch on fire while brushing. Garfield implies this is a regular occurence.
  
• Gets torched by Garfield breathing fire
  
• Gets buried alive
  
• Dislocates his jaw so it touches the floor
  
• Has his head stuffed inside a soda bottle
  
• His junk is mauled by leaf-weasels
  
• His ear is (presumably) attacked by a Spiny Screaming Death Crab
  
• Has a rolled up calendar shoved through his skull
  
• Has a gypsy curse placed on him that shrinks his head
  
• Survives being sucked into a riptide, a tidal wave, and a waterspout
  
• Falls from the top of a tall ladder when the branch he’s balancing it on breaks
  
• Faceplants onto concrete
  
• Has a pullout bed slammed on him
  
• Has a chunk of ceiling fall on his head
  
• Has his head smashed through the ceiling
  
• Again
  
• Has his head smashed through the floor
  
• Has Odie land on his head from the roof
  
• Garfield lands on his head.
  
• We never see it dropped, but he may have survived an anvil falling on him.
  
• Is flung by a recliner into a wall with enough force to send plaster flying
  
• Falls through the floor
  
• Smashes his head against a stop sign while sticking it out a car window
  
• Tanks being slammed through a wall
  
• Accidentally wears a beehive as a hat, getting stung all over
  
• Gets stung by a swarm of bees and mauled by a badger
  
• Gets trampled by a large crowd of people
  
• Has a very bad day
  
• Is hit by a car
  
• Is sent flying off into the horizon by a popped beach ball
  
• Is tied to an airliner en route to Italy and dragged behind it as it takes off
  
• Has a foot of snow fall on his head and carries it around.
  
• Garfield humans are strong enough to send each other flying with a punch
  
• Garfield humans can carry around massive dictionaries almost too big to fit through a doorframe.
  
• Garfield humans have knocked the moon out of the sky with thrown pies
  
• Arm-wrestles Garfield to a standstill.
  
• Pulls a ham away from Garfield
  
• Slams a door on Garfield hard enough to crack a wall
  
• Flattens Garfield by slamming a door on him
  
• Again
  
• Walks around wearing trousers made of steel
  
• Forces a very large Christmas tree through a narrow doorway, causing its branches to bend out of shape
  
• Rips the nose off a metal clown-shaped drive thru speaker
  
• Smashes through the ceiling when scared
  
• Bites through a rock
  
• Keeps up with a car
  
• Moves as a blur from his chair to the kitchen and back
  
• Moves as a blur to get away from a spider
  
• Skates rapidly off into the distance
  
• Outruns a swarm of locusts
  
• Outruns a swarm of bees
  
• Outruns an out of control lawnmower
  
• Escapes a group of sharks chasing him.
  
• Ambushes Garfield with a surprise party by hiding inside his bed
  
• Outsmarts Garfield, for once
  
• Inexplicably manages to instantly put together a perfect model ship, despite having already destroyed the pieces
  
• Beats Garfield at Sardine Darts
  
• Stays on the phone in the same position for the duration of multiple seasons
  
• Knows he’s in a comic strip
  
• He can apparently hear Garfield’s thoughts.
  
• Kills plants by talking to them
  
• His poetry kills an entire field of daisies
  
• The smell of his feet causes an apocalyptic plague
  
• Can scream loud enough to be heard by alien life on distant planets
  
• His eyes grow hair on them
  
• Answering machines hang up on him
  
• Dated a dangerous ex-convict nicknamed “The Widowmaker”. She had to be sedated via dartgun twice during their date.
  
• Has been deported to Mongolia
  
• His house is apparently a tourist destination.
  
• When his pet fish is replaced with a potato, he keeps feeding it for weeks without noticing
  
• Can’t solve a two-piece jigsaw puzzle
  
• Eats month old meatloaf
  
• Has drunk dog semen
  

First Previous Next
*Knock* *Knock*
A soft knock gently woke me up from my dreamless slumber. When I opened my eyes, I was met with a pitch black expanse. I noted that the retina-destroying light bulb must have been turned off at some point. Feeling around, I could feel my body was less sore then it was the previous, what I’ve taken to calling sleep cycles, as it didn’t feel quite right to call anything night or day anymore.
Still, though, I could feel a distinct pang of pain that shot through me every time I tried to perform an action more complex than raising my right hand, while doing anything with my left was completely out of the picture. With apprehension, I crossed my right arm across my body to gently grope around my left in an attempt to find the part that was actually broken, but it was to no avail, as all I achieved in doing so was hurting myself.
*Knock* *Knock*
Oh right, the door. Were they waiting for me to allow them in? In that case, this definitely isn’t Guard.
“You can come in.” I yelled hesitantly.
The door flew open at such speed that I wouldn't be surprised if the door fell off its space hinges. In the doorway, a figure stood. I couldn’t quite identify their features, but their silhouette was enough to identify the fact they weren’t too tall, by space standards, of course. They still appeared to be easily 6 foot, but at this point I could barely even consider that height tall. No, what actually grabbed my attention was the several appendages that were attached to the top of their head, and that were currently freely swaying in the wind, like seaweed in the ocean. One was currently wrapped around the door knob, clueing me into the fact they were also completely autonomous. Honestly, they reminded me a lot of… tentacles. Shit.
“S-Sorry.” Their voice and movement was shaky and erratic. They walked inside the room before quickly closing the door behind them, their features now much more visible, including the dark yellow coat and pitch black pants they wore. The gray skin across their slightly, to be nice I’ll just say chubby, body was the first notable feature. The second was the feathery gills almost identical to those of axolotl’s on the side of their head. Their face was soft, like the rest of the body, with a giant pair of pink, egg-shaped eyes that hadn't yet left the floor. Their bottom and top lip were not long enough to connect, leading to their mouth being permanently open. Their cone shaped head started pointed at the chin area, and widened out until it was big enough to accommodate the multitude of appendages on their head. They truly looked like an evolved axolotl, sans tail. “I’ve been working out recently, g-guess I don’t know my own strengths anymore.” They nervously chuckled while rubbing their webbed hands together.
“Uh, it’s alright. I mean, it’s not my door so I don’t mind.” I said in an attempt to comfort them. “No shame in working out. It’s clearly effective, right?” At this, the feathery gills adorning their head pulsed slightly in a pink light, before quickly returning to their non-luminescent state. For the first time since they came into the room, they looked at me.
“A-are you the Hum’un.”
“Who are you?” I tried not to be rude, as so far they had given me no reason to be, but it was also imperative I didn’t let my guard down. Better safe than sorry.
“Doctor!” They practically yelled, before seemingly becoming embarrassed. “Sorry, I’m sorry. Doctor, a-as in, that’s wh-what I am. For you. That is.” Christ, and I thought I was nervous.
“What would a doctor of a different species do for me? We don't exactly share the same body.” I tried to not be confrontational, but at the same time, it was a real concern that I knew might impede any help I could receive.
“N-no worries, I’m no regular physician, I’m a trained interspecies specialist, specifically employed to help with whatever ailments might have befallen you. I have certifications in 7 different medical departments, over 8 polar cycles in non-primary education, have treated all sorts of species throughout the galaxy, almost-” I tuned out their accomplishments by this point, letting the ramblings just wash over me. They. I’ve just been saying they as a placeholder until I could figure out their gender, but maybe it was silly to assume an alien would always be male or female, especially considering this probably wasn’t even a mammal, judging by their aquatic look and the fact they lacked any mammary tissue. I mean, so do I, but… whatever. They would probably be fine. “Isn’t that impressive?”
“Hm? Oh, yeah it is. Great job.” I gave a reassuring smile that they appeared to have appreciated. “So, do we begin now, or?” I cut myself off to give them an opening to talk, as it didn’t seem in their nature to have the confidence to initiate.
“Y-yes, of course.” They walked up to the side of my bed before continuing. “I have been tasked with going over any injuries you may have sustained during your last mission. Is this correct?”
“I was hurt pretty bad, yes.”
“Great! Not because you were hurt, of course, just as in, you know.” The gills pulsated again.
“Calm down, I get it.”
“Mhm, of course.” They looked around before continuing. “Before we begin, mind answering a couple survey questions? It won't take long.”
“Questions? Really?” My patience for any sort of questions had run thin after yesterday's fiasco, and it wasn’t something I wanted repeated.
“J-just a couple regarding who you are. It will help me treat you b-better.”
“Fine.”
“Perfect!” They ruffled through coat pockets using the appendages on their head before pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. “Firstly, are you a mammal? Yes or no.”
“Yes.” They emerged a small circle shaped object from their pocket before gliding it gently across the paper, leaving a symbol containing a large circle on the outside with different sized circles on the inside..
“Second, what is your gender?”
“Male.” Again, the object gently flew across the paper.
“Thirdly, does your blood contain any chemicals?”
“Mainly copper, but also some other metals like iron.” I explained. I hoped they wouldn’t ask any questions about my anatomy more complex than that, as my limited biology knowledge wouldn’t get me very far. “Also oxygen. A lot of oxygen.” With one last swipe on the paper, they folded the paper back up before stuffing it back into a pocket.
“Thank you so much for cooperating! You know, you’re nowhere near as aggressive as they said you would be.” The doctor spoke absentmindedly as the appendages began to pull out instruments from their pockets.
“Really? They labeled me as “aggressive?” Maybe if they didn’t try to tear me down at every opportunity, I wouldn’t have a reason to be “aggressive.” Have they ever thought about that?” I steadily raised my voice, making sure that anyone outside could hear me.
“No! Th-that's not it at all. They just implied it because injured animals are usually more aggressive. That’s all!” They sputtered in an attempt to reassure me.
“Animal? Fucking animal?” I muttered incredulously. That implication made me fume. “I’m not some stupid animal that broke its paw; some animal that would die in the wilderness without aid. If I was left in that forest, guess what? I would have found a way to survive. My species was built to survive.” In an attempt to show the doctor what I meant, I decided, for the first time since I was getting knocked around by drones, to move on my legs. I carelessly moved my legs off the bed before gaining enough ambition to jump off.
“Y-You really shouldn’t do that!” The doctor warned, taking a step back to avoid my wake. As I was too focused trying to grow accustomed to the weakness in my legs, I ignored them. I couldn’t stand on my own, instead opting to use the support of the bedside desk as support. Whether this was because I hadn’t used my legs in over a day, or because of any sort of injuries I may have sustained, I wasn’t sure, but ultimately it didn’t matter, as the result was still the same. “Please, sit back-”
“SHUT UP!” They jumped back, almost falling over in the process. Damn it, I didn’t mean to yell, it was just the strain I was putting on myself that made it hard to regulate my volume. Still, it was obvious what they were implying through their facade of “concern.” “I can, ugh, I can do this, back off!” I swung my arm forward for no real reason. They were too far away to hit, being more off a signal to not get near. I took another step.”
“Please, don’t come any closer.” Their voice was soft but at the same time obviously urgent. “You’ll get yourself hur-”
“That’s what you think.” I took another step. “You think you already know me.” Another step. Unfiltered resentment spilled out of me as I continued to move forward, despite the pain in my legs. “You don’t know anything about me. You, no, they all think they know what makes me tick. How to keep me down.”
“Don’t take another step.” Their appendages going wild, each either wrapping around themself for protection, or sticking forward at me. “I-I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Try it.”
“W-what?”
“Try it. Try to hurt me. You lay even a single one of those tentacles on me, I will rip each one off your stout head, Axolotl.” With one final step, I was now far enough away to no longer reach the desk, but even without it, I stood. “So try it, because you have no idea what I’m cap-AGHHHH!” Before I could react, an invisible stream of electricity shot out from a device one of the appendages was holding, sending bolts of pure lightning through my veins.
The sudden pain was intense enough to make me blackout for a couple of seconds. Even after, my vision was still blurry, and all I could hear was a piercing ring. I could feel my legs give out from under me as I fruitlessly swung my arms in all directions to find something for support. This was unsuccessful, and in a moment, I was off my feet and cascading to the ground. I closed my eyes and braced myself for impact, for the feeling of smashing my already broken arm into the ground, but that feeling never came. Instead, I felt multiple firm, long limbs brace around my waist, my legs, and across my chest, keeping me upright.
My brain was too fried to be confused, to fight back, so instead I leaned into the appendages. They didn’t wrap around me tightly, just enough to keep me supported. They slithered across my surface, trying to find crooks in my body for better leverage, or so I assumed. Eventually, they found some appropriate spots to wrap around for the best support. It was comfortable for me. So comfortable, in fact, I didn’t even notice my feet leave the ground.
When I did, I didn’t even have the energy to react,simply going limp in their grasp. I was in the air for what felt like an eternity, which, in reality, was probably 30 seconds at most. I was enveloped by the feeling of my cushy bed. I was pressed into it with more force than was suitable, though I suppose it was a subliminal message to me that I shouldn’t try to leave it. The appendages untangled from my body and soon, all I could see, hear, and process was a faint ringing in my ear and blurred vision that left me in no position to even try and speak.
This lasted for several minutes as I was stuck between what felt like two planes of reality. It was a disorienting mess of stimuli that I had no way of understanding in the state I was in, like how seizures are described. Was I having a seizure?
Several more moments passed, and right as I started to consider that option seriously, my vision slowly began restoring itself around the edges. So did any physical sensation outside of the after shock, shortly afterward. My tongue still felt heavy in my mouth, though, and the taste of copper still lingered, similar to the taste of a bag of electrified pennies shoved down my throat.
That’s just about when I finally heard them again.
“-and I know I shouldn’t have but I got scared and again I’m sorry I didn’t know it was on full charge and I should have checked but also I should have never used it because I was capable of stopping you without it but I was scared and I was in no authority to use it and I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry-”
I attempted a response to the ramblings that had been going on for however long, but all that came out was a bemused grunt followed by a coughing fit. It wasn’t very effective in communicating anything, not even being loud enough to get their attention. So I tried again. “Sss.”
They jumped back at the loud hissing sound. “A-a-are you okay?”
“Ss-shut up.” I practically gurgled out from the depths of my throat. “You talk too much.”
“O-oh th-thank goodness you’re ok. I’m so sorry about this. I shouldn’t have shot the Tuca’p, it was brazzen and unprofessional of me. I should have done something, anything other then-”
“Shut up.” Their expression dropped. “Quit making so many excuses, you don’t need any. I was being a dick to you, which you didn’t deserve. You were only reciting what they said. I shouldn’t have taken that out on you.” Despite everything, I’m glad I never lost the ability to find humor in a facial expression, because the one I was witnessing was priceless. I would have laughed if I’d remembered. “You know, you're not too bad.”
“I-I don’t-I’m not sure what it is-excuse me, I don’t… Thank you.” Their gills flushed a vibrant hue of pink light, filling the entire room for only a moment. “Thank you.”
I picked myself up from the groove in the bed. “Why were you here again?”
“Oh, right!” Instantly, the appendages shot in all directions, some grabbing tools from their pockets, off the desk, while two latched under my arms, and another around my waist. “Is this alright?”
“Sure.”
“Ok, perfect!” They got closer to me, really close, actually, and brought the tools along. “Now, firstly, I’m going to gently move your limbs, and you’re going to tell me if anything hurts, ok?”
“Understood.” Without further warning, the appendages wrapped around the base of my arm next to the shoulder and began to rhythmically shake them. Instantly, I felt a sharp pain in my left bicep. “Fuck.”
“Where?”
“Left. Left arm.”
“Can you use your right to show the afflicted area.” At this point, it was less of a question and more of a command. Without another word, I wriggled my right hand out of their grip and ran my fingers across the afflicted parts of my arm. This ended up consisting of the entirety of it from my shoulder to just before my hand. Damn, I must have really messed myself up.
“Right here.”
“Interesting.” The limbs suddenly left my arms and briefly went to my legs. “Anything?” They asked as they shook my legs firmly.
“No.”
“What about-” They cut themselves off while two appendages ran across my torso and body. As they went, they firmly pressed against me in another attempt to find any pain.
“I don’t think your going to find anything broken ther-shit!” The limbs immediately stopped at the point I made noise.
“Interesting.” They lightly pressed down on the spot, eliciting the same reaction from me.
“Mind telling me what's here?”
“As in bone structure? Well, on either side of my body I have 12 bones that wrap around the interior of myself. We call it a ribcage, ‘cause it’s like a cage.” It was weird to describe an aspect of the human body that is so ubiquitous that in any other circumstance, would not even require a second breath.
“From what I can feel,” they pressed down against the spot again for emphasis, “ It appears something is looser than the other bones around it. Is that normal?”
“No, I think I might have cracked a rib.”
“Will you heal on your own?”
“Aside from getting a limb chopped off, I can heal from just about anything given enough time.”
“Impressive.” They paused awkwardly like they were about to continue, but stopped before the words could leave their mouth, instead just hanging agape like a fish drowning in air. “”Y-you’re impressive.”
The last stutter made me realize how they were completely stutter-free for the entirety of the check-up. Turns out being good at a job brings out the confidence in someone. It was funny, ‘cause I could relate.
“I know.” I couldn’t help but give a smug smile. “Of course I know!”
“I’m glad.” From a coat pocket, they pulled out a small square with a sac full of a purple liquid on the back. On the front, small metal teeth lined the edges of the square, all of which protruded perfectly forward. “That being said, I have some medicine that will speed up the process. Now, if you’ll just stick out an arm.” The appendage slithered its way up the length of my arm and gripped tightly at the elbow. Without further pause, the strange square was pushed into my arm, and started to inject itself into my bloodstream.
The sensation was strange, feeling like an ice cold liquid was dumped directly into my veins. I flinched and yanked my arm back, the square unbothered by this sudden movement as it was completely dug into my arm.
“How is this going to help exactly?”
“The liquid should fuse with your blood cells and increase their proficiency. Y-You have blood cells, right?”
“Yes, I have blood cells. What doesn’t?”
“I don’t know, it's just you’re strange.”
“I know I am, a lot of people have been telling me that recently.” When the square was just about finished depositing the liquid, I yanked it out from my arm and threw it on the nearby desk. “A lot of people.”
“I’m sorry.”
“What was that?”
“I’m sorry The Council and their team haven't met your expectations of decency.” They spoke with a smooth tone that made it clear every word was carefully chosen. “And I’m sorry I contributed to that when I unintentionally disrespected you earlier. I never want anyone to feel that way. I know how it can feel.”
I didn’t respond, not because I understood them, or appreciated the apology, or the words that should have given me some sense of retribution, but because I had nothing to say. The words were phony, they rang hollow because I knew they had no worth whatsoever. What would I do with a sorry, and what did they even represent? That they cared? I think I could count the amount of people who have ever had genuine respect for me on one hand, and even then, that takes time. I have no reason to believe this one who I met 20 minutes ago had any reason to care, so I said nothing.
“W-well, I should be going now. I checked on all parts of your body, and judging by the amount of damage, you should be back up and running in barley a couple Anex’s, so I see no reason why you should worry.”
“Ok.” Their expression faltered, this time giving me no amusement. “Thanks.” I turned away from them, and proceeded to focus on the machines whirling next to me as a distraction until they left.
Finally, after a minute or so, I started to hear footsteps walk towards the door. Then, “You’re not what they say you are.”
“...”
“I know we just met, and I know we don’t know anything about each other but… I know you’re more than some aggressive fighter, more than what's under the surface.”
“...”
“I just… I just don’t believe they know that. Neither do you.” The door opened, signifying their exit. “By the way, I’ll deliver you some clothes next Anex.” And just like that, they were gone.
I didn’t understand that last statement for a minute, before looking down and suddenly remembering I was completely naked save for the crumpled blanket that lay on the floor. ‘Shit, have I been like this the entire time?’ The embarrassment that filled me was immense, and honestly made me laugh with how I didn’t notice. It was enough to, briefly, distract me from what they said to me.
I wanted to act like they had no effect on me, like with the apology, but for some reason I just couldn’t. The words clung to me, and I couldn’t help but ponder them. It was only when I reminded myself of the fact we had only briefly interacted, and that they had no knowledge of me as a person, that I threw the statement to the side to forget about. ‘First impressions are often misleading.’
They were interesting, that's for sure, but they quickly left my mind. What replaced it was the persistent thought that I was weak for rotting in this bed the past couple days. Sure I needed to heal, but by this point, it was plenty. I knew I needed to make myself feel better, and the only way I could was by proving those days of rest meant something. To prove this, I was going to walk.
I had already done it, but that was done for a different reason, and I wanted to prove it wasn’t a one time thing. So I scooted off the bed and with a deep breath, I put both legs on the ground. The immediate pain I felt made me question how I was even able to do it the first time. Still I didn’t let it deter me, and with one step in front of the other, I moved. I moved forward, not gracefully, not quickly, but I moved forward, like I was taught to do.
I touched the wall on the other side of the room and briefly rested against it for support, before walking back to the bed, then back to the wall, over, and over, and over again. The repetition showed it was worth it, showed that I was, in fact, a fighter.
‘Ha, shows what they know.’

“What defines virtue and how are we to gauge it? An inquiry that reverberates through epochs, its answer as fickle and capricious as the fates of those who deem to ask it. Duty, honor, justice - many over the ages would name these virtues, the conduits through which noble intentions find expression. Yet, as the battlefield of beliefs unfolds, a legion emerges, each as sworn to these principles as to obliterating all who would dare stake alike claim. Thus, battles rage and wars are waged and, in the end, those who are left are no more right than those fell by the blade. Alas, it is the victors whose ideals are etched into monuments for posterity. Except even words chiseled in unyielding stone are fated to fade in time. So is the wicked cycle destined to repeat in all its futility, its ephemeral prize seized again, only to be lost and sought anew. Try and picture, if for but a moment, a world where our rulers paused to reflect on the lessons of yore. They, too, would discern the elixir that enables one to escape the confines of memory—the very burden our fleeting nature forbids us to carry. Progress and evolution. Adaptability and transcendence. Everlasting and yet not stagnant, irrefutable, and yet fluid, these are the only true virtues. Thus, must we ever venture into the uncharted and unfamiliar for only from these unexplored domains may the truly virtuous arise.”
Where: Discord (Video and Voice) + FoundryVTT
When: every Saturday 5 - 9/10 pm GMT+2 (CEST), 11 am - 3/4 pm EST
Who: party of 4 players and a DM seeking one extra player
Updates: Recruitment updates will be posted here.
Hello there and well met! If you’ve made it past the flavor text (or skipped it) and through the basic info (hopefully didnt skip past that one) you might very well be at the right address! Without further ado onto the post.

🐲The campaign🐲

Having only just recovered from the Second Sundering and the War of the Silver Marches, the North had been ravaged by a whole new set of tumultuous events - the rise of the Cult of the Dragon and that of the Absolute, the Fall of Eltruel and the short reign of the beholder crime lord Xanathar just some among them. After a brief respite from the twisted and the unnatural the clouds once more begin to gather. Along the Long Road, whole hosts of wild beasts and monsters have been accosting travelers seemingly at random and in the grand metropolis of Waterdeep a sudden rise in crime seems to coincide with strange events passing unnoticed beneath the surface. Amidst all this, in spring of 1493 DR, a party of adventurers delves into a mystery of enchanted gemstones being utilized to nefarious ends by unknown perpetrators all the while navigating the labyrinthine twists of city faction politics.
As implied by the post title, this is an ongoing campaign (we are 12 sessions in at the time of this post). Due to some irl commitments weve recently dropped a player and are looking to replace them.
As the title suggests, this is a roleplay focused mystery/lore driven campaign. Expect an overreaching plot with ample secrets to uncover, conspiracies to unravel and eldritch truths to unearth. The first word of the password is "Doth". On the same level of importance or more important even be that the players preference, there is a variety of subplots to engage with, from small and goofy and random to ones rivaling the main story arc in complexity and variance. Among these, individual character story arcs play a leading role, at times seamlessly intertwined with the current focus of the party, at times separate and independent.
As was already mentioned and is further described below, this is a roleplay focused campaign and a roleplay heavy game. This means that roleplay exists as a unifying concept for all other aspects of the game including exploration, combat, and puzzles. That said DnD is only DnD with all three of its main pillars intact and this campaign is no exception in that regard. I very much enjoy the mechanical side of the game as well besides roleplay and so things like multiphase boss fights and custom magic items are definitely on the table.

🧙‍♂️The DM🧙‍♂️

Hello there, Jay here, 25 yo law student from Central Europe currently working on finishing his master’s degree, trying to stay afloat in the current lease market. I study and work in a law firm by day and DM or play DnD by night (more like evening but night sounded cooler). I have been a big fan of TTRPGs since my early teens and of online DnD for the past five years. I’ve DMed multiple campaigns, finished CoS not least among them and I currently play in a long-term campaign. Before you ask, yes, my schedule is strained but not to the point I am unable to engage with my hobbies.
I would describe my DMing style as driven, realistic, and involved but also very conscious about player agency and collaborative storytelling as core values that make TTRPGs so popular and unique. I spend a lot of time ensuring the worlds I create and the stories I want to tell feel alive. From hand-picked music, to fully voiced NPCs and scenic descriptions designed to breathe life into the campaign setting I daresay my games rival in quality those of the professional DMs that charge for each session.
There is a drawback to this all however. Second word of the password is "thy". I expect a lot from my players as well. Writing a story in DnD is not a one person job. It takes a collective effort of the entire group to create something truly unique, something that one can be proud while looking forward to each session. Unwinding and letting off steam means something else for everyone. For me it means losing myself in the creative process of roleplaying an NPC or describing a scene, watching my players masterfully portray their own characters or having the party derail my plans in an awesome unforeseen and unexpectedly enriching way. If you find yourself in any of what I just described than this may be a game for you. If you don’t, that’s fine. This is definitely not a game for everyone.

🏰The setting🏰

Forgotten Realms is a default setting of Dungeons and Dragons but it is anything but boring and mundane. With now decades worth of lore behind it, it offers an unparalleled opportunity for anyone wanting to build on solid foundations to bring their ideas to life. While it has garnered a lot of attention lately with the release of a certain videogame (more people now know Astarion than a good amount of Hollywood celebrities I’d say) it has had its loyal following even before then, being constantly expanded and living its own life in a host of both online and home games. It’s been a natural choice of mine for a while now and not once have I had any regrets. The third word of the password is "mirror". I feel with how great of a variety of content the Forgotten Realms offer everybody is able to pick something that suits their creative vision. In summary the Forgotten Realms almost feel like a real place with how much worldbuilding has been done with them and offer a diversity of content few other TTRPG settings can boast.
When it comes to setting of the campaign in the world of Faerun I have once again made a somewhat traditional pick and decided to place the onset of the game onto the Sword Coast, more precisely into the city of Waterdeep. If one of the key upsides of Forgotten Realms is diversity of content, Waterdeep is one of the best representations of this. Being the largest settlement on the known Faerun, Waterdeep offers nigh limitless options in terms of main story arc genre, character creation and character backstory implementation. It has everything every large TTRPG settlement ought to have (fickle upper class, enigmatic factions, quaint taverns and extravagant nightclubs, always in bad mood city watch, a castle and a harbor) as well as few pretty original ideas such as colossal definitely not alive statues, a city council where even its members don’t know each other’s identity and a massive dungeon right underneath the city where you can literally fall right from a tavern taproom.
In case you are wondering, while this campagn takes place primarily in the city of Waterdeep itself, there is nothing stopping the players from exploring past the city if they so choose. The final word of the password is "crack?". Different parts of the main plot and various subplots can and will encourage the party to explore Waterdeep environs and sometimes even further.

📃The requirements📃

No exceptions here. Unless otherwise stated, the requirements must be met at the time of application.

• to apply you need to be 20+ yo
• you need a functioning webcam (at the time of application) and a stable internet connection - we will be using both video and voice on discord and as a general rule Wifi doesn’t handle long video calls well (believe me when I say I speak from experience) so cable or other similar form of stable connection is strongly encouraged
• you need a Discord account and you will need a Forge account - Forge is a hosting service for Foundry, don’t worry, you won’t need to input any personal info (besides maybe an email) to register and I will be footing the bill
• you need a PC that can and will run Foundry Virtual Tabletop - check the minimum requirements on the Foundry website, a fair warning, Foundry won’t run on tablets and phones (not that you should consider those in the first place)
• you need at least an elementary knowledge of Dungeons and Dragons 5th edition - when it comes to the awareness of the rules, I won’t be too harsh, but definitely don’t apply if the first time you’ve seen the PHB was a week ago
• you need TTRPG/roleplay experience and/or a very strong roleplay inclination - this is a heavy roleplay game where most if not all ingame talk will be done in character and where you will be expected to voice your character in a way that is distinct from your standard voice
• you will need to be very punctual when it comes to session attendance - I expect my players to attend most if not all sessions, online or not, this campaign is a designed as a longterm commitment and by applying you are acknowledging this, having other hobbies and time-consuming real-life obligations is understandable (I got those too) but those 4-5 hours you will be expected to set aside for the session

🙋‍♂️How to sign up🙋‍♀️

Youve made it all the way to the end of this long post. Congratulations. Or maybe you’ve skipped all the way to the end. In that case I strongly recommended you go back. If not to learn what you are applying for than to make sure you haven’t missed something very important. Now if you are confident that you have what it takes and that this is a game that you could have a lot of fun with, please fill the below attached google questionnaire (if for any strange reason the link doesn’t end up working, please let me know in the comments under this post) and if fortune favors you, I shall get back to you promptly. Best of luck to you and I hope to speak to you soon!
https://forms.gle/5kc4RbwavJPfT8PD9
______________________________________
PS: As a part of the questionnaire, you will be asked to submit a short piece of your narrative writing in a form of a google doc link (not a custom piece of writing, any relevant past one you have will do). Maybe best have that ready beforehand? On that note, dont apply for the game with a detailed backstory of a character you want to play that you arent willing to adapt to the conditions of the setting/campaign.
PSS: Not to discourage you but if you do make it through the questionnaire and into the second group of applicants you will be asked to do a discord interview with your webcam turned on. I am asking you to go through a lot for a game you might not even end up liking I know, but if you do end up liking it, all this effort will be well worth it as I am sure my other players would agree.

Lae Targaryen

Reddit Account: LeagueOfHerStone
Discord Tag: empressecho
Name and House: Laenor 'Lae' Targaryen
Age: 18
Cultural Group: Valyrian
Appearance: Lae Targaryen could hardly be described as 'princely', at least by andal standards. 'Androgynous' scarcely even goes far enough. Standing a fair ways shorter than their peers at five foot and four, slender and ever elegant with their long silver-gold hair meticulously styled and cared for, it would be hard to find a word more apt to describe Lae than 'beautiful', incongruous though that might be to some.
Trait: Steward
Skill(s): Dragonrider, Administrator (e), Avaricious, Scrutinous
Talent(s): Drinking, Calligraphy, Puzzles
Negative Trait(s): N/A
Starting Title(s): "Prince" of the Seven Kingdoms, Heir of Aegon & Visenya, Steward of the Vale & Mooncrest
Starting Location: King's Landing
Alternate Characters: N/A
AC
Name and House: Arwen Lansdale
Age: 20
Cultural Group: Valeman
Appearance: Tall, with a cold sharpness behind smiling eyes and beautiful gowns, Lae's oldest friend remains as protective of the young "prince" as she has ever been.
Trait: Insidious
Skill(s): Investigator (e), Espionage
Talent(s): Dancing, Falconry, Linguistics
Negative Trait(s): N/A
Starting Title(s): Aide to Lae Targaryen
Starting Location: King's Landing
Alternate Characters: N/A

Timeline

7 AC - A child is born to Visenya Targaryen at the Eyrie, named Laenor and called a Prince.
11 AC - The young child meets and quickly befriends Arwen Lansdale, another young child of one of the Egens' vassals, and thanks to her family a regular at the court of Mooncrest.
15 AC - Lae -- a nickname the child prefers to that of Laenor for reasons they have yet to realise -- grows closer with their step-sister, Marsella Egen. The two prove to be fast friends despite their many differences.
17 AC - The maesters assigned to tutor Lae begin to realise just how quickly the young heir is taking to their lessons, devouring books and ledgers and theory more suited for children several years ahead of them.
18 AC - In a moment of utter despair that to this day is shared with precious few, Lae realises a truth about themselves that had until then felt just out of reach. They resolve that they have to do something about it.
19 AC - Marsella is sworn to protect Lae, for the heir would trust nobody else more to do so. Not long after, they share with their friend the realisations they have come to about themself.
20 AC - Mere moons after being sworn to Lae and learning their secret, Marsella Egen leaves for Essos, though she remains in contact with Lae through letters and packages for the heir's eyes only. In the aftermath, with one of their only true friends gonr, Lae falls into a depression for a time. It's in this sadness and seclusion, however, that they finally hatch their own young dragon, naming her Cyrrax.
Cyrrax's presence and company livens up Lae, and introducing their dragon whelp to those around them brings the heir out of the seclusion of the prior moons. It isn't long after that Roland Arryn their brother of sorts offers to take them on as a squire. In an effort to impress their mother, they agree, though the training couldn't go worse. Before long Roland gives up, and the relatonship between the two sours for a time, though each does what they can to try and repair it.
23 AC - Having aced their studies and in a search for yet more to learn and prove themselves, Lae takes up the role of steward not only for their father Lord Egen, but for their almost-brother Ronnel Arryn too.
25 AC - Lae and their family travel to join the rest of the realm at a feast, hunt, and tourney to celebrate their eighteenth nameday.

Family

House Targaryen
House Egen

NPCs

Victaria Stone - Trader
Rhea 'Rosevine' - Magnate

Author's Note:
7700 words, broke Reddit's character limit, so you know the drill. Will be split into two parts, both posted today. Enjoy!
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--
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"Stop! STOP!"
The terror in Kismet's voice rose higher as death drew nearer. He fled from Rob's grasping hand, but a Purge Divinity-infused fingernail managed to graze him, carving out a scoop of divine essence as if flaying a mortal's skin.
Kismet let out a screech as the Purging energy added to his growing collection of scars. A dozen small holes now dotted the surface of his mana-body, looking like he'd been pockmarked by wasting disease. Each wound represented a moment where the god had narrowly escaped with his life.
If those injuries had been inflicted by any other ability, then he could have rejuvenated himself in the time it took to blink. Purging energy was not so kind as that. It was purifying wrath in the shape of a Skill; their vengeance given form. Whatever divinity it touched, it extinguished.
As if cleansing the universe of a sickness that had infected it for far too long.
The BERSERKER continued his unrelenting advance. In response, Kismet threw up a frantic barrier of mana. It was strong enough to deflect one of Ragnavi's Annihilation beams–
And Rob blasted through it like paper mache. His charge sent broken shards of energy scattering across the divine realms. More mid-air rifts tore open, the HUMAN's aura strangling the surrounding area in a vice grip of power. Purge Divinity seemed to glow with light emanating straight from the pits of hell.
None of which was anywhere near as unnerving as the murder contained within his piercing gaze. When Kismet met Rob's eyes, he saw the end of eternity fast approaching.
The god's next barrier was just as frantic. However, this one was not comprised of mana, but of solid matter. Kismet summoned the hardest, most dense substance known to the mortal realms, then transmuted it into something that otherwise could only have been forged inside the heart of a dying star. It was many times more durable than the impossibly tough walls of an aberrant Dungeon.
So when Rob demolished it with a single punch, he actually had to put a bit of elbow grease into his windup.
Another wall materialized in front of him. He crushed it, then the one after, and the one after that, lashing out with bestial ferocity. The BERSERKER plowed through Kismet's hastily-built defenses like a bulldozer of fists and savagery. Rob was knocking them down as quickly as the god could make them, relishing the sensation of being able to vent his anger on targets that weren't fucking running away.
Then the twelfth wall fell – revealing a monstrous, spiky, fanged behemoth concealed behind.
Rob paused, momentarily taken aback at the sight of a mundane creature within the divine realms. 'Mundane' in relative terms, anyway. This monster was on par with a newborn Blight, radiating power that would have sent ordinary fighters sprinting for the hills.
It was also barely cognizant of its surroundings. The monster stared at him with unblinking, vacant eyes, just the tiniest glimmer of awareness present in its gaze. Rob noted that segments of its flesh were bubbling, as if the creature was fresh out of the oven and still needed to settle.
He couldn't help but feel a modicum of pity. This was yet another thoughtless creation, condemned to existence by an uncaring maker. Even monsters deserved better than that.
Rob caved the beast's head in before it could realize that it was alive. Pity was not the same as hesitation, and this was the only mercy he could afford to grant right now.
Didn't matter. Kismet's pawn served its purpose. In the brief instant that Rob spent getting over his initial surprise, the god had teleported to safety. He was already planning his next stunt that could buy him a few precious seconds of survival.
The HUMAN grimaced as he turned to give chase, unable to suppress the burgeoning sense of unease growing within his chest.
It almost didn't seem fair to feel that way. Rob knew he was winning – at least on the surface. Any outside observer would've bet their life savings on him, especially after the show of overwhelming superiority he'd just displayed. Kismet had been at a disadvantage before Never Forget Your Rage's recent upswing, and now it was no contest. Rob was confident that he would still be stronger even if the eight gods merged into one super-deity.
He also knew that he was living on borrowed time.
Whenever he moved, or activated a Skill, or even breathed...the sensation was there. Strength accompanied by incongruous frailty. Like background noise that kept getting louder with every action he took. His body felt close to pulling itself apart, as if his very molecules were a hairsbreadth away from coming undone.
It was different from Soul Instability. Whereas that threatened to collapse his soul, this frailty was an affliction of the flesh. The longer he fought, the more his physical form was at risk of popping like a balloon.
Such was the price of constraining godlike power within a mortal shell.
"Stay back!" Unaware of the turmoil fermenting in his assailant's mind, Kismet threw up his hands and...inverted...space? Rob didn't have a name for what he was seeing. Rather than stopping to puzzle out this latest brand of divine bullshit, he sent out a pulse of Purge Divinity, canceling whatever esoteric effect Kismet had been attempting to produce.
His Purging energy scraped against the divine realms like a cheese grater. Five rifts immediately tore open near both Rob and Kismet, with the god anxiously retreating from one that appeared just inches away from him. A low rumble echoed around them, and for a moment, they felt struck by an abrupt feeling of vertigo – until the realms gradually stabilized, righting once more.
For now.
Rob eyed the rifts with a detached, clinical gaze. An endless sea of mana resided behind them; the bedrock of the system itself. While he recognized that the rifts tearing open was bad news, he also couldn't really muster the energy to care. Between his overflowing rage, overtaxed body, and overburdened soul, minor details like the impending destruction of reality were hard to give much focus.
There was a way to fix all of that, of course. Rob couldn't outright deactivate Never Forget Your Rage – not without losing its bonus stats. But he could attempt to ease the storm of fury in his heart. By lessening his anger to more reasonable levels, Never Forget Your Rage would put less strain on both his body and the divine realms.
The notion forced a peal of hideous laughter to claw out of his throat. Lessen his anger? He'd have better luck trying to douse a volcano with a garden hose. No. For a wildfire that had grown this out of control, the only thing to do was stand aside and let it burn, burn, burn.
Until naught remained.
"I said stay back!" Kismet bellowed. He lifted his arms into the air. "Begone!" One moment later, Rob's vision was filled with scorching light. An apocalyptic geyser of mana burst forth from underfoot, intense and searing. It stripped the flesh from his bones in no time flat, powering through Almighty Resistance with pure, unmitigated violence.
And it still wasn't fast enough. Rob flickered a Purge Divinity shield for just an instant, allowing him to escape the geyser with his upper body – and most of his HP – intact. Lifesurge swiftly patched him up, leaving both combatants right back where they'd started.
Slowly, Kismet lowered his hands. They were shivering. "What are you?" he whispered. "Why are all my efforts in vain?"
To be honest, Rob was mildly impressed that Kismet had held on for this long. The god's combat efficacy was increasing as time passed, improving from panic-spamming teleports to more inventive maneuvers – as if he was learning how to fight on-the-job. He'd also stopped draining the other gods to supplement his power, having found an alternative source of fuel: mana seeping out from the sporadically-opening rifts.
It was the one silver lining to fighting an implacable BERSERKER so powerful that he fractured reality. Whenever Rob utilized Purge Divinity, more rifts opened up in the realms, and more mana leaked out from inside. The gods had invested that energy into the system millennia ago, and it typically would've been off-limits until they closed up shop and left Elatra. Kismet was making use of it now, absorbing the extra mana to strengthen himself, like a lifeline barely keeping him afloat.
The god's tenacity was...calling it 'admirable' would be going too far, but it did warrant a sort of begrudging respect. As someone who'd tangoed with multiple Blights, Rob knew what it was like to square off against a frenzied beast that could end him with a touch.
Being the scary one was a nice change of pace.
In exchange, Kismet had graciously donned the role of their battle's Combat Class user; fragile, outgunned, and pulling improvised maneuvers out of his ass for a chance at victory. The god could finally feel what it was like to be vulnerable. How exciting! Rob was more than happy to assist. Learning experiences such as these only came around once an eternity or so.
Flippancy aside – while Kismet still possessed room for improvement, this was the most that could be asked of a deity who hadn't seen combat in literal eons. His biggest fuckup had been taunting Rob in the wrong ways, but he couldn't have known about Never Forget Your Rage, that was an excusable oversight. By all other accounts, Kismet was performing adequately.
Even so...
"YoU aRE noTHinG."
The sound of Rob's voice caused two fresh rifts to open up. Kismet flinched, casting a teleportation spell out of pure reflex. Without pause, the HUMAN resumed his hunt.
Nothing. Perhaps that statement was hyperbole – yet it rang true nonetheless. While Kismet may have been a creature of supreme divinity, on the field of battle, his pedigree meant nothing. In the face of an implacable, unstoppable foe, his power was worth nothing. Very soon, he would be nothing, consigned to oblivion by Purging energy.
Rob couldn't help but unfavorably compare Kismet to the final Blight. Weren't these supposed to be two sides of the same coin? Each one-half of an original transcendent Will? Yet the Second Will had brought Rob to the edge of despair...and Kismet was fleeing like a cornered rodent. It was difficult to reconcile the two divinities as theoretical equals.
Although he knew that was an unfair comparison. Rob had fought the Blight before learning Limit Break and Never Forget Your Rage. Kismet wasn't weak.
The HUMAN was just far too strong.
If he rematched the Second Will today, he would beat it to death with his bare hands.
"Look at what you've wrought!" Kismet swept an arm out, gesturing towards some of the many rifts that Rob's presence was tearing open. "Do you understand what will transpire if you persist in this folly?! If the divine realms shatter, then so will all of Elatra! You are on the brink of destroying everything which you have striven to protect! Cease this–"
"CAN'T."
In a flash, Rob dashed forward and scooped out a chunk of the god's mana-body with Purge Divinity. Before he could do more, Kismet shrieked with pain and teleported away, leaving the BERSERKER to crush his prize between five clenched fingers.
"FoRCed mY HAnD." He located Kismet again. "NO GOING BACK."
Stopping wasn't an option. If the divine realms crumbled and Elatra imploded...well, that would be a faster end than what the gods had in store for its people. At least this way their deaths would be quick and hopefully painless – and his friends wouldn't be turned into Skills tortured for all eternity.
Still, Kismet did have a point. Destroying reality wasn't exactly the ideal outcome. There had to be a way to speed up the conclusion of their fight. Rob was certain he would win if given enough time, but he couldn't guarantee it would be before either his body or the divine realms collapsed.
{Ascend.}
Like a snake slithering through a minefield, Leveling High skirted past the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions raging within Rob's mind. He attempted to tune out its voice, yet Humanity's curse refused to be denied, the static loudening until he was compelled to respond. Quit distracting me, he snapped. In case you haven't noticed, I'm FUCKING. BUSY.
{You seek to ensure victory over those who rule above,} Leveling High continued, without missing a step. {As do I.}
Then sit back, shut up, and–
{Ignoring your deficiencies will not make them disappear. This body is...feeble. Incomplete. Unfit to wield the power contained therein. Like a polished sword attached to a brittle hilt, liable to snap in twain at any moment.}
Rob grit his teeth. He couldn't deny Leveling High's assertions. Normally he'd just tell it to piss off, but considering how much was at stake here...
With a feeling like he'd sat down to deal with the devil, Rob sighed. Then what do you propose? That we upgrade my body somehow? I don't think putting more points into Vitality would help, even if I had any to spare. Me being so juiced up on stats is half the problem.
It shook its head. {You have far surpassed the limitations of mortality. Strengthening your power further would be akin to pouring water into an overflowing cup.}
So we...what, increase the size of the cup?
Static akin to laughter echoed inside his head. {We do away with it entirely.}
An icy chill began creeping up Rob's spine, as if the cold hands of fate were working their way towards his neck. He recalled a system notification from days before – 'Your Race has morphed from Human (?) to: Ascending HUMAN'.
Not Ascended. Ascending.
Weeks-old memories came surging to the forefront. 'The Heartkiller is closer to our form of life than those you call friends,' the Blight-child of Elysium had once said. 'As long as you continue to live, eventually, you will become an existence with the power to crush the Others and free the Skills from their shackles. You are no longer one of the Ephemeral. Now, you are a cocoon, metamorphosing into something grander. When you emerge, you will be as the Eternal.'
The Blight-child had laughed at him, then. 'After joining us, preserving these worlds will no longer be your desire.'
Rob grimaced. Denied, he flatly told Leveling High. Whatever you're about to suggest isn't happening.
It scoffed at him. {Your prejudices blind you. Do you think the gods have need of physical bodies? Does it hinder them in any capacity? No – the opposite. By definition, infinity cannot be constrained. Discard this useless flesh, and your conquest of the divine realms is assured.}
Maybe you didn't hear me when I said–
{By all means. Spurn my counsel...and condemn your friends to death. Shall their lives be worth it, in the end?}
Rob sucked in air through clenched teeth.
{Ascend.} Leveling High purred with anticipation. {You are bound by a prison of meat, bone, and blood. Break free. Finish what has already begun. Gaze upon the tapestry of infinity in all its dreadful splendor. Seize victory not as a Human, but as a completed, transcendent HUMAN.}
With a scream to drown out the static, Rob chased after Kismet again and again. The god was in full-on panic mode, eschewing offensive attacks in favor of perpetual retreat, focused wholly on keeping the BERSERKER as far away as possible. He would teleport the instant that Rob laid eyes on him, frantically stalling for his life.
It was – quite unintentionally – providing evidence to Leveling High's claims. If Kismet was on the defensive, catching him would take time they might not have.
I... Rob narrowed his eyes. How would I finish Ascending, anyway? It isn't like I can just flip a switch and make it happen.
{Incorrect.}
He blinked. WHAT?
{You have long since achieved the qualifications for true godhood,} Leveling High explained, in a lecturing tone. {There is no milestone that remains necessary to achieve. Rather than needing to overcome some hurdle of strength or power, the obstacle barring your path is more...arbitrary. Self-imposed.}
Humanity's curse seemed to peer into his soul. When it spoke next, its voice was filled with disgust. {You remain mortal because you wish to do so – both consciously and subconsciously. The Ascension of a nascent deity has been obstructed by cheap sentimentality.}
Rob almost started an argument over its usage of 'cheap', but he exercised restraint, keenly aware that there was bigger fish to fry. Can't do anything about the subconscious. I am \not* activating Melancholy Resistance.*
{Nor should you,} Leveling High remarked, shuddering at the prospect. {A grand statement of intent will be sufficient to shift your mentality. I believe...yes.}
The static churned like a hive of buzzing wasps. {When you next tear off a piece of the leader god's mana...even if just a sliver...devour it. Gorge yourself on their essence.}
Bile threatened to rise to the top of Rob's throat. Seems excessive, he mused, trying and failing to keep his tone lighthearted. To become a god, I eat a god? Wouldn't that make me a divine cannibal?
{You ARE a cannibal.} Leveling High's voice wavered, its veneer of helpfulness slipping to reveal the madness that lay beneath. {What do you think you've been DOING for nearly a YEAR? You kill, ingest your prey's Experience, and MAKE THEIR POWER YOUR OWN. This world is one of consumption and parasitism – devouring a god's essence is merely a more HONEST variant of THE SAME actions.}
...You clearly weren't paying attention during Diplomacy's PR lessons. Rob pursued Kismet once again, pressing his fingernails into his palms when the god hurriedly teleported away. There is such a thing as being too straightforward. If you want people to listen to you, then maybe dress up your words so they don't sound so horrifying.
{BUT AM I WRONG?}
Rob had no answer to that.
Bolts of divine mana peppered his skin. Kismet had barely managed to squeeze an attack in-between his escapes. The bolts ricocheted off Rob's skin like ping-pong balls, leaving minor scrapes and nothing more. It wasn't anywhere close to bypassing Almighty Resistance and his massive HP pool.
Yet it also reminded him of the mana-spears that Kismet had sent towards the rest of Riardin's Rangers. His Party members only possessed a shared, diluted version of Almighty Resistance, and their HP was a fraction of his. If Kismet aimed another attack of that caliber at them...how many would perish, right then and there?
Was Leveling High correct? What point was there to sentimentality if it just got his friends killed?
In truth, Rob knew that it didn't really matter if he completed his Ascension. Based on what he had planned for himself after the gods were dead, little would change either way. Still...he also knew that Ascending would be a one-way trip. No take-backs. If he went through with it, a fundamental part of him would be irrevocably altered.
Something twinged in a corner of his mind. It wasn't Leveling High, or his rage, or any of the other emotions currently dominating his headspace. This was a familiar friend; perhaps Rob's #1 most trusted confidant since he'd first set foot in Elatra. One that had rarely ever steered him wrong.
Paranoia.
And at the moment, it was telling him to be very careful before jumping into the deep end.
Ten teleports.
{What?}
Give it ten more Kismet teleports, Rob said. If I haven't dealt him a serious injury by then....I'll do what I need to do. He grimaced as Kismet vanished before he'd even finished the thought. Ten starting now.
Leveling High's static quieted. It resembled a patron at a restaurant who'd ordered their meal, and was waiting patiently for the main course to arrive.
Rob didn't waste time being offended over its nonchalance. Free of distractions, he immediately swept his gaze across the divine realms, pinpointing his quarry in a micro-instant. The BERSERKER dashed forward, pushing his body as far as he could, layering Rampages on top of Dexterity that made the laws of physics want to curl up and weep.
Kismet was prepared. He'd drawn more mana from the fractured rifts, quickening his speed and reactions. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep his head above water, not yet outpaced by their continually escalating arms race.
The HUMAN struck, the god fled, and both were left in the same position as before.
{One.}
Rob turned on a dime, charging without needing to look. He'd heard the moment that Kismet's teleport ended. It afforded him a split-second head start.
A gravity well suddenly appeared below his feet, as if a miniaturized black hole was weighing him down. Apparently, Kismet had set it up ahead of time as a just-in-case trap. Rob pierced through the spell's area of effect before it could ramp up to something dangerous, but his pace was slowed by a hair in the process, and his prey escaped.
{Two.}
You know what? Screw this. Rob whirled away from Kismet's newest location and blasted straight towards one of the lesser deities that his Party members were fighting.
He'd been too hung up on getting even with a hated foe – when there were seven other juicy morsels for him to play with. This way, Kismet would either sit back and watch as his allies were massacred, or the god would be forced to act instead of running like a goddamn cowar–
Sense Mana alerted Rob to magic gathering behind.
Pivoting, he leapt into the air. Rob superimposed himself in front of Kismet, bodyblocking the rainstorm of destructive mana that was about to be unleashed upon Riardin's Rangers.
Due to his swift response, the attack was released early. A simple Purge Divinity shield prevented him from incurring any damage. Rob still felt no sense of triumph as the mana dissipated around him. He just wasn't fast enough to kill the lesser gods and protect his Party at the same time – or at least not fast enough that he should gamble their lives on it.
Kismet disappearing a moment later didn't help matters either.
{Three.}
Frontal assaults weren't guaranteed to succeed, and targeting the other gods was a no-go. Could he take Kismet by surprise? Increase his Dexterity?
Rob contemplated mining Never Forget Your Rage for more stats, but swiftly vetoed the idea. His body was already struggling to hold itself together. Putting additional strain on a shaky foundation seemed...unwise.
Plus – at the risk of eating crow in the near future – he didn't actually think it was possible to feel angrier at the gods than he was right now. Seriously, what was left?
He hated them for sending him to a fantasy deathworld. He hated them for tormenting his friends and family. He hated them for being partially responsible for the Blight. He hated them for what they'd done to Elatra and Earth. He hated them for all the lives they'd stolen. He hated them for being the living embodiments of indifference and cruelty. He hated that they fostered good PR among the people they oppressed. He hated how monsters of such craven hypocrisy were also immeasurably powerful. He hated the sensation of divine mana crawling on his skin. He hated the unsettling sound of their voices. He hated their bizarre formless appearances. He hated them for being pompous pricks. He hated whenever they tried to relate to him. He hated whenever they didn't.
Most of all, he hated that they were still alive.
Even if he found out that they'd personally antagonized him since birth or some petty nonsense like that, it wouldn't measure up to the litany of transgressions they'd committed thus far. The blazing inferno within his soul could burn no hotter. Should burn no hotter. For his sanity's sake, if nothing else.
Kismet teleported. It wasn't in response to anything. He'd merely anticipated some sort of action – and was then baffled afterwards when he noticed the rampaging BERSERKER standing quietly in deep thought.
{Four.}
Rob advanced. While he didn't have a plan yet, he'd also learned that if he gave Kismet the slightest amount of breathing room, bad things tended to happen.
Can any of my Skills give me an edge? Unfortunately, he didn't think so. As usual, his lack of ranged options was biting him in the ass when it mattered most. Almost everything he could use required getting in close – which was the whole freaking problem – and none would be more effective than Purge Divinity, regardless.
Maybe I could set up a Waymark point, then catch Kismet's teleport with one of mine...no, that won't work either. The odds of him popping in next to a random Waymark point are slim. Could fill the battlefield with lots of Marks, but even then I have to consider the Skill's activation time. With my current Dexterity, it'd honestly be faster just to run at him.
The vast majority of his abilities simply weren't up to par in a clash with divinity. Limit Break, Purge Divinity, and Never Forget Your Rage had been specifically designed by the Skills to facilitate deicide. Something like Power Slash couldn't possibly compare to jailbroken stats and a touch of death.
As an act of defiance against his own logic, he cast Enmity, the only ability that could feasibly hit Kismet at range. The god casually shrugged off its effect before promptly escaping.
{Five.}
Like a frustrated animal, Rob snarled and gave chase. Just need to keep trying. Kismet isn't perfect.
{Six.}
Sooner or later, he's going to mess up.
{Seven.}
He's going to mess up.
{Eight.}
HE HAS TO MESS UP.
Suddenly, Kismet transformed his right hand into a blade of mana. With one harsh motion, he sliced open his own left arm.
By now, Rob had conditioned himself to never stop moving forward, even if something shocked him – which this sight very much did. His mouth dropped open, and Leveling High paused in the middle of eating its metaphorical popcorn. They still kept advancing without an iota of hesitation.
And ran straight into the mana cloud leaking out from Kismet's wound.
Rob blinked, opening his eyes to a wonderful day. The twisting plains looked dazzlingly beautiful, with fauna and plantlife lit by rays of effervescent light from the twin stars shining above. People cheerfully went about their day, happily shaking their trunks in shows of greeting, or rattling their scales to initiate merry games.
All was at peace.
Until – in unison – everyone froze. The tumult of life went quiet in an instant, replaced with pensive silence.
As if they'd been struck by the creeping, pervasive sensation of being watched.
A sound rang out. Half of them immediately fell over dead, fluids gushing from their ruined bodies.
The survivors could only lay there, crippled and in pain, as more people slowly rose into the air. Invisible fingers seemed to pluck them from the ground – and then began ripping off their limbs, one at a time, like a child dissecting butterflies–
Rob dragged himself back to the present.
It had taken much less time than before to recognize what was happening. Now that he knew what to expect, experiencing the remnant souls' lives wasn't so different from the dreamlike quality of an Attunement vision. Although...realizing that he'd witnessed the end of a world preceding Elatra did cause his thoughts to hitch for a single moment.
Which was just enough for Kismet to forge a spear of mana, then send it plunging through Rob's eye, skull, and brain. Its tip was forged to shred anything it touched, no matter how durable or Resistant.
The god whooped with glee – only to wince as the HUMAN's sole reaction was a long, drawn-out sigh. With an air of exasperation, he reached up and yanked the divine spear free with a nauseating splorch.
His eye had been reduced to a seeping red mess. He closed its eyelid. When he opened it again, the orb within had already Regenerated, now sporting an unamused glare.
It was something of a unique moment. Mid-battle events didn't typically leave both combatants feeling disheartened. The all-powerful god was losing faith that he could ever hope to stop Rob's onslaught...
And the BERSERKER didn't know if he could justify continuing on like this. His body still felt like it was pulling itself apart; if anything, the sensation was growing more pronounced as their battle progressed. While Kismet would make a fatal mistake eventually, Rob couldn't guarantee that he would last long enough to capitalize on it.
Unless he followed Leveling High's advice and–
With a howl that shook the divine realms, Rob launched his stolen spear at Kismet. His aim was true, yet it sailed through empty air, the god's afterimage tauntingly fading away.
{Nine.}
Final chance.
​
--
​
Link to Part 2

I just put in 12 hours this weekend, from just after discovering terminal Victor. I... didn't have a great time.
Most of the advertising that really hooked me was the Base Building update and its beautiful buildings. I've played enough of these kinds of games (Satisfactory, Factorio) to know I should unlock the architecture parts first, then I can build my beautiful bases once and not have to go back to rebuild them. I also put monorails on my list, because they seemed like the best way to link up long-distance bases that would let me specialize production at each base.
But I didn't find X-Ray for hours! It was entirely detached from the main cave system and when I found it I realized unlocking pretty architecture was going to consume a lot more resources and planning effort than the main quest (again, I was only looking at Victor T1 by this point). But I tried for the first tier, at least, to see what I could unlock. The result was that I had a base at X-Ray that was making more parts than at Victor and I felt I needed to set up a monorail ASAP to get my bases operating correctly.
So, 100 blue cores later I built the depot, worked out the towers, and built a monorail halfway back to Victor. I decided the Red Vine cavern was central enough for a bunch of shuttle monorails to converge. I tested out the monorails and... they were extremely annoying.
I need to pause here and throw in loads of positives: I like that there are lots of intermediate parts, I like that the game hits the sweet spot of simple AND complex at the same time. I love the ambience, I love the terraforming (especially the HUD that took the guesswork out of carving up rock. Kudos to that dev!) I love all the plants and how it feels like rooms have a temperature. I love how all the caves are memorable so after a few walks I stopped getting lost and could recognize where rivers and tunnels went. I love the clunky, chunky dieselpunk aesthetic. I love that assemblers are 2x4 and encourage puzzle-solving to optimize inserter use! I love that everything glows, except for the dark factory caverns I carve out myself. I love that this game made brutalism and a dash of art deco go great together. I love the voice acting (although it does tend to be a little startling, maybe it needs a little radio static before and after?)
All of that is to, hopefully, convince whoever's reading this that I am no hater and I want this game to be the best in its niche. So here's the rant:
The monorail sucks. It runs contrary to an open-ended game experience about building multiple bases and encourages early players to build km-long conveyor systems instead. It's expensive, deep in the tech tree, power-hungry, logistically broken, and doesn't provide a good alternative to walking. Thankfully, almost all of these are easy fixes:

1. The monorail's need for electricity on both ends means it isn't meant to connect non-powered bases (like a dedicated mining and smelting operation) to powered bases. The rule of thumb for every other factory game has been "you shouldn't have to move resources to move resources", so I think making monorails only need one power source (or letting them run on fuel) would create more gameplay than it would remove.
2. The monorail is too deep in the tech tree, and players will want to start specializing and inter-meshing bases before they have the best tools for the job. Personally, I think Blue Science (where players have to automate mining, smelting, threshing, fueling, and about a dozen assemblers in a row) is too complicated to be completed in one base so I'd suggest dropping this back to Purple Science.
3. I already covered "power-hungry", but here's another suggestion that occurred to me: let an upgraded version of monorails function as high-voltage cable? That way extending to a new base only requires 1 hand-made connection.
4. The monorail models look great, but in operation the whole system looks wrong. The trains move way too fast, stockpile too slowly, spend too much of their station animation stalling, and frankly look ridiculous when the entire line is stuffed with trains each carrying 1 or 2 items. I can't imagine using these for more than 1 item type each way...so why not use conveyors instead? Here's a spitball: if you're sticking to 3 cars (and I'm going to suggest 4 in a minute) why not let players configure each car's item, and then the train only loads and launches the cars that are full on this end and empty on the other end. If a monorail can deliver and receive 3 or 4 different items (or belts worth of items) without any clog stopping the others I would use them no matter how much menu work I had to do to set them up.
5. Riding the any transit in games means letting go of gameplay and being subjected to a show. That means the experience must be enjoyable and brief, and currently it's neither. I feel like I'm getting decked by every pole I sail by while trains move way faster overhead. It also means that looking up at the trains keeps most of their design obscured by the tracks, which isn't ideal, and I'm tempted at every moment to let go, drop 1 foot, and just walk. The change I suggest is going to sound extreme, but I am certain it will be more enjoyable: flip the trains upside down and put the player on top. Suspended monorails are objectively cooler and will contrast nicely with the upward-facing conveyor belts. Letting the player use the top of the depots as launch pads onto a roller-coaster-slash-roller-skate experience will encourage verticality in construction and excavation... or they can opt out of the personal transport and keep the rails right up against the cave roof with no more clipping issues. This would simplify loading and unloading animations as well, hopefully giving us a 4th train car and improving the inter-base transit value of the monorail.

Okay "I'm just the idea guy"-rant over. I know the devs don't need ideas, and have much better ways to spend their limited time on the game. This is just my special interest and I wanted to share, just in case.
Back to progression though, I've ended the weekend moderately stressed out instead of relaxed. I feel like putting aesthetics behind an arbitary number of arbitrary tasks in a game about efficiency was the wrong move and I hope the devs move architecture from end-game content to the beginning. I'm just... so tired of scanning the ruins. This is a mining automation game where I'm gathering concrete blocks by hand. What went wrong?

We found out last week at our anatomy scan at 20 weeks our son has HRHS, is in heart failure, his heart is enlarged, and there’s an extreme amount of fluid around his heart. We booked our flights with a clinic out of state to leave tomorrow. Today I noticed he wasn’t moving and checked on his heart rate and it was now over 200 and sounded weird so I sent it to my OB(who is my SIL) and she’s said he’s in arrhythmia from the heart failure and he could pass away any minute or it could be another week or so. Originally it was a 4-6 week timeline and I couldn’t bear the thought of waiting that’s why I chose to fly and do TFMR.
Now I cant decide if I want to wait it out and do labor and delivery with my SIL once he passes which makes me feel the most safe but don’t know how traumatized I’ll be. Or do I get it over with and fly out and be put to sleep and wake up and it’s over. How on earth am I supposed to decide?!
Thank you for any support or opinions on what you would do. I know it’s a personal decision. I do not plan to hold my son. That sounds terrible. I just want foot prints.

I got an invitation in the mail in a pretty purple envelope covered with flowers and shiny plastic gems. It was for a girls-only sleepover, something I'd never done before. At first, I was really excited, but then I saw that it was from Jane and Mary Bardell.
The twin girls were in my 7th-grade class. They were really quiet and rarely talked. Even though they didn't say much, you could still feel they were there. I remember sitting in front of them one day and feeling their quiet energy behind me.
The back of my neck started to tingle and feel hot. When I looked back, I saw Jane staring at me. Her deep-set dark eyes looked hungry, like she hadn't eaten in days and I was the meat dangling in front of her face. Mary also looked at me, and when she smiled, it almost seemed like she had fangs.
When they did talk, always in perfect unison, they sounded flat and without any emotion. But their serious looks and voices made me feel uncomfortable, and the room felt heavy. Luckily, they usually sat in silence at the back of the class.
One day, they just didn't come to school anymore and stayed home. Maybe their parents decided to school them at home. They lived across the street from me in a neat two-story brownstone house. Their lawn was well-maintained and protected by a sturdy five-foot iron fence.
The curtains in their house were kept closed tight. No light ever came out, even at night. But sometimes, on the second floor, a curtain would move, and I'd see the twins' pale faces looking out. We'd lock eyes for a moment before the curtain closed again.
After they stopped coming to school, some kids from our class started to go missing. First, it was Eddie, who vanished on his way home. Then Katy disappeared the same way. Both of them had walked past Jane and Mary's house before they went missing.
For some reason, I just had a feeling deep down that the twins had something to do with the disappearances. I even wondered if they were really human. Maybe they were vampires. Oh, yes, they were definitely vampires! It all made sense.
"You're going," my mom insisted at dinner when I told her I didn't want to go to the sleepover. I didn't see the point since I could sleep in my own bed. Why stay at someone else's house when I lived just across the street?
I groaned. "I don't want to go. They're so fucking weird.”
"Watch your language!" Both my parents warned me, giving me a serious look.
“It’s been difficult for that family,” Dad said, “The girls had to be pulled out of school because of an illness.”
“What kind of illness?”
“Their parents didn’t say what it was, but they said the girls would like to have friends.”
“Oh, those poor girls,” Mom sighed. “They just want to have a nice and normal sleepover party.”
I shook my head. “I don’t want to go.”
“You’re going.”
And that was that.
I wasn't hungry anymore and left my dinner unfinished. I headed straight to my room and glanced out the window. I saw their pale faces peeking through the curtain in their second-floor bedroom. I closed the blinds and turned off the light. There was no way I was going to their house without something to keep me safe.
XXXXXX
“Your house is really nice,” I remarked, placing my sleeping bag and pillow on the floor. I kept my backpack close, making sure the crucifix I borrowed from my parents was safely tucked inside one of its pockets. I really hope my mom doesn't realize it's missing.
I was the only one who had arrived at the Bardell’s house so far. Mrs. Bardell opened the door and greeted me with a big, never-ending smile that looked like it was permanently glued to her face. Her teeth showed through the wide grin, and her lips were covered in a thick layer of red lipstick.
“That's really nice of you," she responded with a smile. “I can see why you get along with my girls.”
Mary and Jane, seated across from me, both nodded and chimed in together, “Yes, she's great, Mom. We're happy we invited her.”
“So, when are the others getting here?” I asked.
“What others?” Mrs. Bardell appeared puzzled.
“Tammy and Harriette. They said you invited them too, and they promised they'd come.”
“Oh, they're not coming anymore. They called just before you arrived to let us know,” Mrs. Bardell explained. Her big, dark eyes moved between me and the twins. “Okay girls, just sit tight for a bit. Dinner will be ready soon.” Then she went into the kitchen.
Fantastic! Just fantastic! Some friends they are. Traitors!
“They didn't tell me…” I mumbled quietly, feeling betrayed. I quickly checked my phone and texted Tammy: So you're just not gonna show up?
The message was stuck on “sending…”
“Don't worry about it,” the twins reassured me. “We'll still have a great time tonight!”
Their idea of a good time was putting on a skit they had practiced the last few days. The twins disappeared upstairs, only to return dressed in their costumes. Mary had on a gray hoodie that I thought I'd seen before, and I noticed a dark crusty-looking red spot on the sleeve. Jane sported a baseball uniform. Mr. Bardell, wearing a smile like his wife, joined in the fun. He was down on all fours, wearing a dog mask that looked surprisingly lifelike.
I sat still on the sofa, feeling completely weirded out.
As Mary ambled around the living room, her hood shielding her face and her hands tucked in her pockets, Jane and Mr. Bardell engaged in a game of frisbee. Mr. Bardell crawled around like a playful pup, zooming across the room and even leaping over the couch. Quickly, I crouched down to avoid getting hit. He then sprang to his feet, his arms bent like a dog's, proudly holding the frisbee in his mouth.
Mary stopped and glanced back. “Cool dog,” she said.
“Thanks,” Jane said, mimicking a man’s low pitch. “What’s your name, son?”
“Eddie.”
My stomach sank. That was the name of our missing classmate.
“Would you like to play with him?” Jane continued.
“I should really get home, my mom–” said Mary.
“One throw won't hurt, would it?”
“I guess not.”
Jane grabbed the frisbee out of her dad's mouth and passed it to Mary. The frisbee soared into the dining room and plopped right onto a plate sitting on the table.
“Oh! It flew into my house,” said Jane.
“I'm sorry!” Mary said.
“That's okay, my daughters are getting a kick out of watching us.” Jane pointed up. “Do you see them over there? Second floor, window to the right.”
Mary waved.
“They told me you're a friend of theirs.”
“Not exactly friends… I mean, we went to the same school. I haven't seen them around in a while though.”
“Why don't you come inside and say hi?”
Before Mary could answer, Mrs. Bardell popped out of the kitchen, saying dinner was served. All eyes turned to me, waiting for me to make the first move.
XXXXX
Vote on the character's next move.

In case you are wondering which room is G10... Last Spoiler warning.
It's the spinning blades room: my group has no-one with magic hand to solve the puzzle so here some additional ways to solve the puzzle.

1. Have someone shoot an arrow at the lever to move it
2. Ask the gnomes in the previous room to help them
3. Crawl under the blades (if there is a gnome or halfling in the party): the blades are 1 foot apart, a halfling is generally 3 feet tall and the average human has a depth of 0.15*height, so 0.45 feet depth.
4. Find a way to jam the blades (not sure how)

Anyway, I've posted this because the 3rd point is a funny oversight that can be (righteously) exploited if you do not specify there is an additional blade rotating at floor level.

Originaly posted on letsnotmeet
First of i would like to apologize in advance for the bad english in this text (not first language). I have changed some details in the story as i dont want any connections made to me from this story, hence the throwaway acc. I have been puzzled for a couple of days and i just feel like i need to Share this further even tho i was not alone in this.
It started as just any afternoon, i had just came home from the gym and had just eaten when my friend called me and asked if i wanted to take a ride on my motorcycle. This is something we do alot where we just head out and drive around with good music and good Vibes and since it was a really hot and nice day it couldent fit any better. I grabbed my helmet, keys and headed to him. At first we drove around abit and just vibed to some white girl music and lived life in the heat. As i was running low on fuel we where about to head back to him when he suddenly pointed out a semingly normal gravel path leading into the forrest. As we had nothing better to do we started to ascend the trail which was quite steep. It was so steep that my friend had to jump of for a bit while i drove up. When we reached more plane grounds we decided that i should drive forward abit just to see if there was anything to see or if it was just a dead end or some random house. I started to drive ahead abit and was first met by a wavy gravely path for a while until there on the left side was an opening in the trees revealing a trail which had quite fresh tiremarks. I thought that it abit odd but thought nothing of it really and i just continued forward when i suddenly on the trail infront of me maybe 10 feet i saw a man standing by a car. As the road curved the sight was blocked so he could not see me but i could make out his shape and some details. He looked to be in his thirthies and he wore a black cap and gray zipup. I at this point started to think that maybe we where on private property however there were No signs at all indicating that. I however decided to turn around and head back to my friend so that we could go before the man by the car could manage to drive after unknowingly that we where there. I drove back to my friend who was abit tried for having to walk with his helmet and i told him about the guy that was further up the road. We were just rakning about following the trail into the woods on the left by foot when we saw the lanterns of a car approaching from where the car had been. At that point we both just noped out of there and he practically jumped onto my motorcycle and we drove away. As we where heading back down the trail the car approached us rapidly and was soon right on my tail. We both felt that it was time to go and i pulled out on the main road just to have the car copy our turn. I saw a smaler road i had taken before that led to a bicycle path which i took us down on. As we looked back we could see the car come to a complete stop on the road before slowly drivning away.
I know that just this incident by itself may not be very disturbing and it really Isin’t and was just quite fun. The disturbing part of it is that we wanted to see the end of the road without having to go back again so we looked it up on google earth and what we found there is the really disturbing part. We found the road but when we looked at the pictures which must have been old because on the photos there were multiple houses on the side of the road on of which looked to be in really good shape with newly mowed grass and a caravan parked next to it. The situation however was really odd as there was alot of thrash on the ground and what looked to be clothes spread around on the ground next to the gravel path. Something even weirder was that when i clicked along the path to see the end of the road it was blurred and you could not see what was hidden behind it.
I could show the pictures from google earth right now but since i did not get any pictures of the road when we were there i would have no proof for everything i have already writen so there would be no point. However me and my friend will be returning there sometime this week and then i will get good pictures of where the houses where on google earth and what lies at the end of the road. Will uppdate once i have aquired said photos. See ya soon
Edit 1: There was a hasted change in plans and me, my friend and another guy decided to head back to the place again today insted. I probably should have taken your advice on being weary of returning. Something weird is definetly going on over there. Its almost like the forrest and the path change and the road had diffrent paths. And the biggest problem is that there is a cabin there now. I cant wrap my head around it. When we were there last time we stood right where it was today. And its not new, it looks like it has stood there for ages, it is well kept tho. And a new roadblock had appeared blocking the path to the final part of the trail. We took the car there this time and we had to walk the last bit since we couldent get past the barrier. As we walked i had a very odd dejavu feeling and i could swear that i looked over my Shoulder at least 10 times. At the end of the path an anonymous looking building surronded by a giant fence lay. Next to the building was a camoflauged radar mast connected to the building. Due to not wanting to reveal my real orgin and to not get in trouble with higher power i refrained from photografing the building. There was a defence department sign stating that doing so was highly illegal and i dont want to risk anything over a reddit post. We noped out of there pretty fast before returning to the roadblock. Insted we investigated the cabin that appeared out of semingly no where. My friend went forward and looked in through the window as i had an eerie feeling. He looked for a second and then he took of running. I followed suit and he just said get in the car.
As we drove of he explained that the inside looked faked and too "fixed" and that he also saw a cup of coffe sitting on a table. He Said that something was really off about it and that it looked staged. We took of in the car and headed out onto the main road again. I am in awe right now and i dont know if i want to return or if i should Stay away from here. We also investigated abit around the house and found a couple of footprints from a boot and some other things. Im torn right now, does anyone have an explanation for this or is something weird happening?
Uppdate 2: this is going to sound like a rant and it very much is but im sitting here now and dont know where to go. I looked close at Google earth images and a whole house and its lawn has been wiped of the radar. The house we found was 1 of 3 all in similarity to the one we found. Everything is wrong. I get agitated and paniced when i look at the map because it is so wrong. Everything is diffrent. I need to go back and find the other houses. This time i Will get pictures.

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.