I’m 40F and I’m struggling with wearing accessories. There’s something that looks really off and old fashioned about what I’m wearing, even though I’m striving for a minimalist look. Maybe it’s the colors of the accessories? Idk.
Here’s what I usually wear:
Tiny stud diamonds earrings
My wedding ring (silver)
Pink Apple Watch
A slim gold bracelet
A chunky rose gold bracelet
Any suggestions on what to add or take out?

i have 4 cats, 3 boys and 1 girl. all fixed, around the same age and get along great, they share food and snuggle. my first and biggest cat, Tobey, started this habit that i've been trying to break for forever.
about 2 years ago, we got an artificial christmas tree and set it up in our living room. Tobey loved it and was constantly laying under it and looking at the lights, playing with the branches etc. what i didn't know at first was that he was chewing the branches and eating small pieces of plastic. this caused him to have some stomach issues and diarrhea. (i called the vet immediately after figuring it out and they told me there wasn't anything i could do but wait it out and try to help him soothe the tummyache)
prior to these tummy issues, Tobey was litter trained well and almost never had accidents outside the box. when he got the diarrhea though, he started not being able to make it to the litter box. i could see from the mess he made that he was trying to make it there he just couldn't in time. of course i didn't punish him for this because it wasn't his fault. i sprayed the tree with a bitterant and cleaned the floor where he had an accident with pet odor remover every time.
after a few weeks his diarrhea and stomach issues cleared up. but since he wasn't making it to the litter box, tobey was now used to pooping on the floor just outside the litter box. since then i have tried MANY solutions to fixing this problem. we tried to retrain him to the litter, taking him to it every so often and digging his paws in it. i started taking the poops and putting them in the litter box to try and show him that's where it goes. we changed litter, the actual boxes, the location of the box. we have even moved houses since this started. he likes to do this in one specific spot in the living room under an end table. we tried moving the litter box under that table but he just moved a few inches to the side and started pooping right next to it. every time i see him doing this, i stop him and try to take him over to the litter boxes but he almost never agrees to go poop there in the moment. if i ever do see him pooping in the litter box, i get treats out and give him lots of affection and praise.
Tobey does pee in the litter box, and none of my other three cats have followed this habit and still are totally litter trained.
if anyone has dealt with a similar experience and has any advice, i would love to listen

Record temperatures, record migration, record emissions, record displacement, record PFAS……start building an ark.
Last Week in Collapse: May 12-18, 2024
This is Last Week in Collapse, a weekly newsletter compiling some of the most important, timely, useful, soul-crushing, ironic, stunning, exhausting, or otherwise must-see/can’t-look-away moments in Collapse.
This is the 125th newsletter! You can find the May 5-11 edition here if you missed it last week. You can also receive these posts (with images) every Sunday in your email inbox with Substack.
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Flash flooding in northern Afghanistan killed 300+ people and destroyed 1,000+ homes. Hundreds of thousands of others have been affected. Last month, similar floods in the region killed 70+. Four died in Texas storms last week as well.
Venezuela is suffering from record wildfires, which so far this year have burned about 5M acres—almost the size of Sardinia. Some experts think indigenous people started the blaze as an attempt at forest clearance, which quickly got out of hand. “Institutional failures” compounded the disaster when the ailing government responded with an inadequate number of poorly equipped firefighters. Another study from last week examined the impact of wildfires on soil health.
Flooding and “cold lava” killed 50+ in Indonesia, injuring dozens and displacing several thousand. Cold lava is a mixture of water and rocks tumbling down the side of a volcano. Meanwhile, an actual volcano erupted in Indonesia, sending smoke & ash 5000m high; further eruptions are possible soon.
The Swiss Re Institute published a 37-page report last week about natural disasters in 2023—and how much damage, in USD, they caused. The largest catastrophe was the February 7.8 earthquake in Türkiye & Syria, which killed 59,000+ people and caused $163B+ in damage. The report is full of interesting graphics & data about natural disasters.

“Last year, economic losses from natural catastrophes reached USD 280 billion, meaning that 62% of the global losses were uninsured….the insured losses surpassed USD 100 billion for the fourth consecutive year….annual insured losses will grow by 5–7% over the long term…today’s insured losses could double in 10 years….There were 142 insured-loss inducing catastrophes in 2023, a new record. Most were of medium severity, which we define as events resulting in losses of USD 1–5 billion….Over the last 30 years, we estimate that natural catastrophe insured losses have grown by 3 percentage points more annually than the global economy (in inflation adjusted terms)...”

Flooding and heat waves are impacting Brazil’s oranges, responsible for about 70% of the world’s supply. One food analysts declared that the “era of cheap food is over”—in the UK, at least. That may be one reason why UK residents took record food bank packages last year. Madagascar is struggling to adapt to a future with far less rainfall.
France is growing more concerned about a dam on Lake Geneva, controlled exclusively by Switzerland. The Rhône River, which begins in Switzerland and flows south through France, is shrinking in summers as climate change melts Switzerland’s remaining glaciers.
The Tonlé San River has been dammed in Vietnam, lowering the level in Cambodia and sometimes drying the river downstream entirely. Meanwhile, China’s lychee harvest is getting blasted by rain, impacting the world’s largest source of lychee. And, once again, Saudi Arabia is suffering flooding in its inland regions. 7 dead in historic flooding in Iran.
The eminent climate scientist James Hansen posted that, since “human-made aerosols and their cooling effect are in decline,” the cooling effect of La Niña will be counterbalanced by these rising temperatures. He also identifies a “large anomaly of increased absorbed solar radiation at midlatitudes in the Northern Hemisphere” responsible for rising temperatures there. CO2 levels are rising faster today than they have at any point in the previous 50,000 years…and a study of millennia-old trees determined last summer was the hottest worldwide in 2,000+ years…
Record nighttime May temperatures were tied in the Philippines and Vietnam. A couple Indonesian cities broke records for May temperatures. And a number of southern African states saw more records drop. And Toronto saw a record tied for the number of days reaching 14 °C (57 °F). A heat wave has returned to Bangladesh. Flooding in Cali (pop: 2.9M), Colombia.
The University of Washington was ordered to stop a geoengineering project that scientists sere conducting from the deck of a decommissioned aircraft carrier. The experiment ejected aerosolized saltwater in an attempt to reflect solar radiation. A comparative study in Nature Communications of a number of carbon pricing found that, yes, carbon pricing does work to reduce the total CO2 emitted.
It’s that time of the year again. Wildfires in Canada grow, some of which are moving towards the tar sands—forcing thousands to evacuate. 39 of the total nation’s blazes are “out of control,” resulting in air quality alerts in the United States. Meanwhile, across the Caribbean, water shortages have become the new normal, and residents (and tourists) are finding their old consumption habits hard to change. St. Lucia has declared a water emergency. In Myanmar, water shortages worsen, particularly as related to the spiraling conflict.
At least ⅛ of Europeans live in a place at risk of extreme flooding—so says a 175-page report from the European Environment Agency posted on Wednesday. The number of people living in flood-risk coastal areas in the EU & UK is expected to jump 24% by 2050. The graphics-packed report also considers how flooding will impact healthcare facilities, mental health, wastewater treatment plants, the spread of disease, cyanobacteria, permafrost thaw, and much else.

“Europe has seen devastating floods following record rainfall, droughts of magnitudes not experienced in hundreds of years, continuing sea level rise, and increasing lake and sea temperatures….permanent water stress already affects 30% of people in southern Europe….since 2018, more than half of Europe has been impacted by extreme drought conditions….Climate change is expected to increase mercury bioaccumulation in the marine food chain due to rising ocean temperatures, ocean acidification and permafrost thawing….Depression, anxiety and PTSD may persist for years after a flooding event….Under the changing climate, northern Europe is becoming wetter in general, but drier in summer. Southern Europe is becoming drier, especially in winter. For central-eastern and western Europe, the trend is less clear…” -selections from the report

Milan suffered flooding last week, the worst May flooding in 170 years. Early spring in the UK has disrupted migratory bird species and their usual patterns.
A 74-page working paper which is not yet peer-reviewed claims that earlier estimates for how much GDP would be impacted by another 1 °C temperature rise is way less than it would be in actuality. The paper claims the real cost (in USD) is about 6x greater. They claim “global temperature has much more pronounced impacts on economic activity than local temperature” and that extreme weather is mostly behind the projected decline in productivity.
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Epidemiologists are worried about how climate change in Africa may extend the life of disease-bearers like ticks and mosquitoes. Other epidemiologists are worried about how cattle may become a permanent reservoir for H5N1. Growing traced of bird flu have been found in wastewater testing in the U.S., but investigators think it may be runoff from infected dairy farms.
Obesity, high blood sugar, and high blood pressure rates today globally are 50% higher than in 2000—though researchers claim that air pollution still poses a larger threat. Of a study participants in Hawai’i, 75% had respiratory issues, probably from the Maui wildfires last year.
The 2024 World Migration Report is out, and its 384 pages are not as apocalyptic as one might think. However, internally displaced people are at their all-time highest. India, Mexico, Russia, China, and Syria lead the world in emigrants; another document contains the definitions for who exactly constitutes a migrant. Unfortunately much of the data relied upon ends in 2022. Data from this year, not included in the above report, indicates a 40% jump in traffic through the Darien Gap compared to the same time period in 2023.

“The last two years saw major migration and displacement events that have caused great hardship and trauma, as well as loss of life….There have also been large-scale displacements triggered by climate- and weather-related disasters in many parts of the world in 2022 and 2023, including in Pakistan, the Philippines, China, India, Bangladesh, Brazil and Colombia….disinformation tactics are increasingly being used by nefarious actors with negative impacts on public, political and social media discourse on migration….Forced displacement is the highest on record in the modern era…overconsumption and overproduction linked to unsustainable economic growth, resource depletion and biodiversity collapse, as well as ongoing climate change (including global heating) are continuing to grip the world….the risk of further conflict has not been higher in decades, as military spending reached a new record high of USD 2,240 billion in 2022…” -excerpts from the introduction

Another report, focusing on internal displacement, came out last week; its 69 pages show a cross-section of about 47M people displaced by natural disasters (56%) or armed conflict (44%). Most of the disasters were storms & flooding, and most of the conflicts were civil wars of some form. This report also provides detailed region-by-region analyses—with sub-Saharan Africa accounting for 46% of global IDPs.

“Conflict and violence triggered 13.5 million movements, the highest figure for the past 15 years….Disasters and conflict are presented as different triggers, but their impacts can overlap, often leading to repeated and/ or protracted displacement….Drought triggered 331,000 displacements in Somalia….Floods triggered 550,000 displacements in Ethiopia….Conflict and violence triggered 3.8 million displacements in DRC in 2023, a slight fall from the record four million in 2022, but still the second-highest figure globally after Sudan….nearly two-thirds of the internal displacements recorded in 2023 originated from Khartoum state. More than 39 per cent of the state's inhabitants were forced to flee, leaving entire neighbourhoods empty….Criminal and communal violence triggered nearly three-quarters of Nigeria's 291,000 conflict displacements….” -selections from the spotlight on sub-Saharan Africa

Experts are concerned about the mental health impacts that climate change has on our minds. Hotter temperatures reportedly increase depression & aggression. Wildfires and storms can cause PTSD. Workers feel stress and desperation as their usual industries are impacted. And air pollution influences ordinary brain processes in many ways.
Some analysts believe “Peak China” may be over, signaling a period of economic tapering-off, as well as a growing militancy. Increasing U.S. tariffs on Chinese goods are continuing to separate the two economies. The Netherlands finally formed a provisional government, though its proposed immigration & farming policies have set it at odds with the EU.
The Federal Reserve, the U.S. central bank, released a 46-page report on potential climate risks to the banking system’s resilience. As far as I understood, most of the risk lies in extreme weather events and the risk to insurance agencies.
Part of southeast England experienced an outbreak of Cryptosporidium, a diarrhea & vomiting illness, highly contagious, which can last weeks. At least 22 cases have been reported. Meanwhile, the CDC is issuing warnings about the more dangerous strain of monkeypox circulating in the DRC, although cases are currently limited to Africa.
North Carolina’s Senate voted to ban mask-wearing last week, under the reasoning that it would make police identification of protestors difficult. An fMRI study found lasting neurological changes in COVID survivors; they “had significantly higher cognitive complaints of mental fatigue and cognitive failure….even two years after recovering.” Experts say a summer rise in COVID cases is coming to the United States.
A study on The Canadian/American Great Lakes found that PFAS levels are increasing in the 3 largest lakes (Superior, Huron, and Michigan), while decreasing in the other two (Erie, Ontario). The study also found that precipitation is the primary means by which the Lakes are accumulating PFAS, since the chemicals are small & stable enough to move through the water cycle. Meanwhile, in England’s Lake District, a telecom failure resulted in raw sewage being pumped into England’s largest and most famous lake, Windermere, on-and-off for 10 hours; and a major British water CEO took a $4M USD pay package last year. And a look into the Chicago River’s health found that microplastics & trash are endangering health & biodiversity.
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An assassination attempt by a lone wolf on Slovakia’s PM left him in critical condition, but likely to survive. 11 civilians were slain by cartel fighters in a few battles in Mexico. Violence continues to spiral out of control in Goma, DRC.
In Haiti, everything worsens indefinitely. Guns have reportedly entered from Florida, a phenomenon which officials call an “iron river.” Police have been put on the defensive against the growing might of the gang warlords.
A brawl broke out in Taiwan’s parliament. An Iranian plot was allegedly foiled to smuggle weapons into Jordan to destabilize the pro-U.S. regime.
Dozens more died in Sudan from escalating violence around Darfur. People are warning about “a disaster on top of a disaster” and the possibility of Sudan splitting apart. Others have called it “hell on earth” as 1,000+ refugees cross the Chad border every day. Disease and malnutrition are growing, while famine encroaches upon 9M helpless victims of the conflict—but the world’s attention is elsewhere.
The U.S. Army Engineers completed constructing the pier in Gaza to deliver humanitarian aid. Some 600,000 Gazans have been displaced from Rafah already, and fighting has escalated against Hamas militants in northern Gaza.
Taliban forces skirmished with Pakistani soldiers for about 90 minutes last week. Taliban attacks in Pakistan, and counterattacks have resulted in a kind of ambient disruption for the rocky border zone.
Violent protests—and counteroperations—are continuing in New Caledonia (pop: 270,000), a Pacific island part of overseas France. The riots, which have killed 6 people so far, began after metropolitan France proposed a plan to expand voting rights beyond indigenous residents. A state of emergency has been declared amid worries about a spiral of violence taking hold.
As the Sahel dries out, experts are concerned about the links to rising terrorism in the region. The Sahel accounts for over 40% of global terrorism deaths—according to the analysts’ understanding of “terrorism.” Mali in particular has reportedly become home to 41 new, different non-state armed groups (NSAGs) since 2007. A contested election in Chad resulted in the consolidation of the interim leader’s power.

“If governments are continually unable to solve regional issues, the people will be at the whim of any terror group that has a basic organization. It serves these groups’ interests to promote insecurity where they can and create security where they want. A “hearts and minds” campaign in the Sahel could lead to long-term and locally supported insurgencies in a land that is currently rife with civil strife.” -from the article

Some wargamers concluded that a Trump victory in 2020 would spell the end of NATO, or at least the end of its utility. Vladimir Putin replaced his minister of defense with a top economic advisor, just before going to Beijing to reaffirm their friendship with “no limits.” Some say Putin is planning on a forever war. Some say NATO is gearing up for one, too.
Russia made several gains in the suburbs of Kharkiv, seizing several settlements which some analysts doubt they will hold. Putin claims they aren’t really trying to take Kharkiv anyway… Russia also made small progress in the Donbas—although they suffered their largest one-day casualties since the start of the war. The U.S. allocated another $2B to hasten the delivery of weapons to the front lines. The next weeks will be crucial on the front. Switzerland has invited 160+ nations to send delegates to a peace summit intended to design a path to making peace in this War.
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Select comments/threads from the subreddit last week suggest:
-Brazil’s flooding was really, really bad, judging from this post and its accompanying images. Across just one of Brazil’s 26 states, 600,000+ people have been made homeless, 100+ have died, and the storm season isn’t over yet. Some of the flooding isn’t expected to subside for another month.
-How specifically might climate change make humanity extinct? This thread crowdsources a number of plausible ways, from ordinary famines to nuclear war and even a massive deoxygenation process. I tend to think it will be a consequence of an eventual nuclear exchange, followed by extended famine and disease.
Got any feedback, questions, comments, complaints, upvotes, doom prophets to follow, hugelkultur guides, directions to off-grid bunkers, ark schematics, etc.? Check out the Last Week in Collapse SubStack if you don’t want to check collapse every Sunday, you can receive this newsletter sent to your (or someone else’s) email inbox every weekend. What did I forget this week?

I really enjoy actively countering enemy attacks in almost every game that has that, but for some reason no arpg I've played has a skill like that.
LE has already brought plenty of innovation to the genre, so I could see it pulling this off aswell with a cool skill tree for a counter skill.
It would probably make the most sense on a Bladedancer, where the Counter would put you in a parry pose with a sword and when an enemy hits you during that period, you react with a counter attack of some sort.
I think a skill like that could add an actual use case for the 2 reflected dmg to attackers affixes beside the very few niche cases that exist right now.
By default it could last like 1s and be a basic melee slash attack in a 180° cone, triggering after a hit is parried, cooldown of 10s, 100% dmg absorption by default, meaning you take 0 dmg by parried skills. Requires 1h sword. Flat reflected dmg to attackers is applied with 500% effectiveness to the counter attack.
I feel like % reflected dmg should get reworked to apply as an %increase to the flat reflected dmg to attackers stat.
Possible skill nodes I could imagine:

• Reduce cooldown to ~1s to make it viable as a main skill, but instead of a 1s duration it's a very small time window, so you need to learn monsters' attack patterns to get the timing right. Time frame slightly scales with increases to attack speed.
  
• Reduce the cone to 45°, but make it shoot a wave of energy like that Rive Node (which is in need of rebalancing btw)
  
• Every hit you parry during that stance extends the duration by 1s, up to 10s, but -2% dmg absorption for every hit parried. Counter attack no longer triggers when parrying something, but at the end of the duration, 50% more dmg per parried hit.
  
• Change the 180° slash into a Shadow Cascade cast with 200% increased area.
  
• Throw a piercing dagger per 20 reflected dmg to attackers when counter attacking.
  
• Change into a channelling skill and you can turn around freely while channelling, but lose dmg absorption at an accelerating pace until reaching 0
  
• Using another attack shortly after parrying enhances that attack in a unique way: -> Flurry (400% increased area) -> Puncture (300% extended range) -> Cinder Strike (+100% fire penetration) -> Shadow Cascade (cast 2 additional shadows)
  
• Taunt enemies around you during the duration, but -10% dmg absorption.
  

Potential unique item ideas:

• Remote Tracker Gloves (any existing Decoy's are violently flung at the enemy you parried with counter attack)
  
• Wolf's Focus 1h Katana (Successfully parrying a hit makes you flash briefly and with a well timed Shift cast you dash forward with increased range and cast another counter attack (just the attack part, not the parry) at the end of the dash. Only works when Shift is not on cooldown.)
  
• Reckless Rage Helmet (You counter with 3 quick attacks instead of 1, but -50% dmg absorption during Counter attack.)
  
• Zerrick's Shell Body Armour (1% more armour per 10 reflected dmg to attackers, 1% endurance per 20% reflected dmg. Cannot regenerate or leech hp during Counter attack.)
  

This is just me brainstorming and I'm no balance expert, so take any numbers here with a grain of salt, but I think this would be a very fun (although likely niche) skill to add to the game. Do others here enjoy reflect/counter type of playstyles aswell?

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

Re: PODCAST: How to Spot a Lazy Manager
I'm telling ya, other than trying to rip off as many people as possible and get as much work out of them, and do the least amount of effort themselves, I don't know why Hagwonites bother. And I don't know why foreigners care more than the people who own the place and/or will be working there 10 years from now.
It reminds me of George Costanza's frustration with his lazy boss Mr. Kruger. You can see the YouTube clip here. Bust your rear-end for what? So it can backslide back to square 1 as soon as you leave and the new person replaces you? You're not helping the place advance, you are helping it idle in neutral.
See if this sounds like your experience at a Hagwon.
1. They blame low performance and turnover on employees.
--And every other mistake as well. The students are total brats? That's your fault. You don't teach the lesson absolutely perfectly without training? That's your fault. Kids are bored? That's your fault. A child pokes another child and mom calls about it, again --your fault.
None of these managers actually manage. They give irrelevant or no training. They institute no discipline plan all the staff, students, parents will agree on. They often don't give enough material to teach the class, ALL OF THAT falls on the hands of the foreigners. Imagine that, a place that's been open for 5-10 years still hasn't taken point on all these issues, just push them off on the foreigner and go back to gossiping about how terrible the foreigners are.

• Great minds discuss ideas.
• Average minds discuss events.
• Small minds discuss people.

BTW, I'm not an owner of a company, I can discuss people who should be discussing ideas.
2: They look for quick fixes to complex retention problems.
--That's more than true. I declined to accept a 2nd contract by being offered slightly more money, about double the vacation time, and move up to head teacher. Why didn't I accept this promotion? Because everything I said the entire year was totally ignored, the pay wasn't enough to put up with their stupidity. The vacation was totally bogus because we had to threaten a mutiny just to get 2 extra days due to a break between semesters. Why would I trust them to give me more when they didn't honor the ones in the 1st contract? Search Bar: Mutiny. Also, they harassed the head teacher out of a job, why would I then stick my head in the guillotine after they dragged the body away by the ankles?

But wait there's more!

That's the end of that link, but you and I can identify so many more issues.
3. Physically / Intellectually a bad example for everyone.
I don't know about you, but I don't respect slough-offs and idiots. The person that SHOULD Be working the hardest is the person who owns the place. Did you ever see the video of Elan Musk sleeping on his sofa in his office at the production plant? Yeah, really. The billionaire owner is there to field problems as they come up instead of being called at home and have to drive in at 2am. He suffers more and works harder than anyone there.
Some dumb-butt that owns a hagwon said on here one time,

I don't make my employees do anything that I wouldn't do!

You are supposed to do what your employees do and 10x more than that! You're the owner. This is your livelihood, it will destroy your life if it faulters. You have to pay off employees with severance, pay back loans you probably can't pay off, reduce your living space, sell off assets to survive. You put all your eggs in this basket, it HAS to work, why are you putting the outcome in the hands of people who have no skin in the game?
I don't respect boneheads who should have their educational chops figured out by this point. They should have taken notes and improved themselves as each semester rolls on by. Why are the same problems recurring every semester or every year such as the Halloween or Christmas event, you did the same thing a year ago!
4. Doesn't know your job description.
Not only does a lazy boss not educate themselves about what education is, they have neither bothered to know what teachers actually do. Sure, they scowl through the window or monitor on CCTV, but do they know what they are looking at? Almost certainly not. They tend to focus on the most inane "violations" to give themselves and everyone else the false impression they are REALLY on the ball here, nothing slips past their scrutinous eye on quality and detail! When in fact, they reveal themselves to not only being an obnoxious pest, but clearly don't even know what teachers do every day. I've had to tell more than a few in-class and CCTV observers that the things they are bothering with are so miniscule I question whether they have even taught anyone anything before in their entire lives? It's like me storming in on a mechanic, "I gotcha! I see you didn't grease those fittings!" Then they tell me that is done AFTER the breaks and wheel has been fixed and reassembled. I just exposed myself as not knowing what I'm talking about.
Hagwon management and owners don't realize how much time it takes to do the tasks they are demanding because they've never had to do them before. Sure, waive your hand and expect this or that, but a) they don't know how to do it themselves. b) we are not holding out on them with a Mary Poppins bag of lesson plans. We don't have a quick fix for their ideas. c) it takes research, editing, time, contemplation to add something that perfectly match a class's level. Management and owners think it only takes about 30 minutes to throw something together, when in fact it could be 2 hours. For laughs, ask them exactly step-by-step how the task should be carried out and receive the stupidest answers you can imagine. "Uh, I don't know, some teacher website or something? Why are you asking me? I've only been working here for 10 years, why don't you with your philosophy degree, and 3 months on the job, know how to construct exactly what I want?"
5. Boss is too lazy/stubborn to solve problems.
"I'm the boss. I say, you do. That's the end of it, now get to work, no back-talk!"
If you work in any place like this, the boss is trying to avoid being exposed as a fool. They know if they throw out instructions and ideas, they will get shot down as not knowing round holes don't accept square pegs. To avoid a face-losing situation, they avoid communication at all costs. If every idea is idiotic and everyone knows it, they lose stature and the decree will be considered untenable. If the boss demands something runs and hides under their desk, the chances that the smarter people will get together and somehow make it happen is much more likely. Really, poor or no communication can be interpreted as, "Just make what I'm demanding from you happen, and don't ask me, I have no idea how to do it or I'd be helping you do it."
6. No goals.
--Every day is Groundhog's Day with lazy people. Nothing ever improves. The latest freak-out due to procrastination, poor communication, poor judgement, lack of materials, poor training is just a temporary peak until it is resolved, a lull in the action happens, then another peak or freak-out occurs in a frequency that drives everyone crazy. You just had a blow up last semester about a certain issue, it seems to have gotten through to everyone, but yet here we are again the next semester facing the same SNAFU we thought we already settled. Nope. Lazy people get lazy, let things backslide, then get caught with their pants down time after time. It's like a captain of a ship that sleeps at the wheel until he has to wake up and right the ship before it capsizes. There are no goals for improvement, only maintain just enough to do as little as possible to maximize more time for laziness.
7. No boundaries.
--"Eh, they can do it at home if they don't get it done during the day." The boss is too lazy to prioritize proper workloads. If work exceeds the scope of your position, there is no time set aside during the normal work hours, then your boss has not taken the time to contemplate what your job is, what you agreed to do in your contract, has not taken steps to cut the fat and keep the lean meat. They over-sold expectations to parents, undersold expectations to foreigners. They have no idea how long it takes to finish tasks, nor even if the task really needs to be done in the first place. More is always better according to Hagwonites, even if it's useless/pointless busywork.
8. They don't ever seem to know anything.
Your paycheck is wrong, they didn't issue a pay ledger, they have no idea you're supposed to have a break during the day, don't know the law, don't know when your vacation days are, don't know they need supplies for the things they are asking you to do, don't know what's going on 5 minutes before it happens. They make excuses and delays to figure out how to make it up as they go along. Then when they can't, they make up lies and you have to spend energy debunking the lies. It never ends, they simply have no idea about anything other than, "Foreigner work, we get money" that's about the extent of their master plan.
If you are in a personal or professional relationship and the only response after you try to resolve conflicts is anger and annoyance? Buddy, you need to fold up shop and get the heck out of that one while the gettin's good. They are trying to teach you that if you don't have rainbows and sunshine blaring straight out your arse every day and make them slightly uncomfortable, they'll punish you with negative emotions. No good man, ain't gonna work, ain't never gonna work, never gonna improve.

When you think of a lush, tropical vibe for your home or garden, the Cardboard Palm tree might not be the first plant that comes to mind. However, this resilient and visually striking plant can be a fantastic addition to your green space. In this blog post, we will delve into everything you need to know about the Cardboard Palm tree, from its origin to its care requirements.
The Cardboard Palm (Zamia furfuracea) is a unique, low-maintenance plant known for its thick, cardboard-like leaves and compact size, making it perfect for indoor and outdoor settings. Originating from Mexico, this ancient cycad thrives in bright, indirect light and well-draining soil. It requires minimal watering and is highly drought-tolerant, making it ideal for busy plant owners. With moderate fertilizing during the growing season and occasional pruning of dead leaves, the Cardboard Palm can flourish, adding a touch of tropical elegance to your space while also purifying the air.

What is a Cardboard Palm Tree?

The Cardboard Palm, scientifically known as Zamia furfuracea, is not a true palm but a cycad. Cycads are ancient plants that have existed since the age of dinosaurs. Originating from Mexico, the Cardboard Palm is renowned for its thick, cardboard-like leaves, which give it a unique texture and appearance.

Appearance and Characteristics

The Cardboard Palm tree stands out with its leathery, stiff, and pinnate leaves. These leaves grow in a rosette pattern, emerging from a short, stout trunk. The leaves are dark green and can grow up to 3 feet long, making the plant an attractive focal point in any setting.

Key Features:

• Thick, leathery leaves
• Slow-growing, low-maintenance
• Compact size, perfect for indoor spaces

Planting and Care Guide

Ideal Growing Conditions

To keep your Cardboard Palm thriving, mimic its natural habitat. Here's what you need to know:

Light

The Cardboard Palm prefers bright, indirect light. While it can tolerate some direct sunlight, too much can scorch its leaves. If you're growing it indoors, place it near a window with filtered light.

Soil

Well-draining soil is crucial. A cactus or succulent mix works well, as it prevents water from sitting at the roots, which can cause rot.

Watering

One of the best things about the Cardboard Palm is its drought tolerance. Water the plant thoroughly, then allow the soil to dry out before watering again. Overwatering can be more harmful than underwatering.

Temperature and Humidity

This plant loves warm temperatures ranging from 65°F to 75°F. It's not frost-tolerant, so if you live in a cooler climate, ensure it's protected during the winter months. Moderate humidity is ideal, but the Cardboard Palm can adapt to lower levels.

Fertilizing

Feed your Cardboard Palm with a balanced, slow-release fertilizer during the growing season (spring and summer). This helps maintain its vibrant green color and promotes healthy growth.

Pruning

The Cardboard Palm requires minimal pruning. Remove any yellow or dead leaves to keep the plant looking tidy and to prevent disease.

Common Problems and Solutions

Yellowing Leaves

Yellow leaves can be a sign of overwatering. Check the soil moisture and adjust your watering schedule accordingly.

Pests

The Cardboard Palm is relatively pest-resistant but can occasionally attract scale insects or mealybugs. To keep pests at bay, wipe the leaves with a damp cloth or use insecticidal soap.

Root Rot

To avoid root rot, ensure your plant is in well-draining soil and avoid overwatering. If you notice a foul smell or mushy roots, you may need to repot the plant in fresh soil.

Propagation

Propagating the Cardboard Palm is relatively straightforward. It can be done by separating offsets, also known as pups, that grow at the base of the plant. Here's a simple step-by-step guide:

1. Remove the pup: Gently remove the pup from the base of the mother plant.
2. Dry out: Allow the pup to dry for a few days to form a callus.
3. Planting: Plant the pup in a well-draining soil mix and water sparingly until new growth appears.

Benefits of the Cardboard Palm

Aside from its aesthetic appeal, the Cardboard Palm is also known for its air-purifying qualities. It can help remove toxins from the air, making it a great addition to your home for a healthier living environment.

Eco-Friendly Option

The Cardboard Palm is a sustainable choice for gardeners. Its slow growth means it requires less frequent replanting, and its drought tolerance makes it an eco-friendly option in water-scarce regions.

Final Thought

The Cardboard Palm tree is a versatile and hardy plant that can bring a touch of tropical flair to any space. With its unique texture, low maintenance needs, and air-purifying benefits, it's an excellent choice for both novice and experienced gardeners. By following the care tips outlined in this guide, you will be well on your way to enjoying the beauty and resilience of this remarkable plant.
Whether you are looking to enhance your indoor greenery or add an exciting element to your garden, the Cardboard Palm is worth considering. Happy planting!
When you think of a lush, tropical vibe for your home or garden, the Cardboard Palm tree might not be the first plant that comes to mind. However, this resilient and visually striking plant can be a fantastic addition to your green space. In this blog post, we will delve into everything you need to know about the Cardboard Palm tree, from its origin to its care requirements.
The Cardboard Palm (Zamia furfuracea) is a unique, low-maintenance plant known for its thick, cardboard-like leaves and compact size, making it perfect for indoor and outdoor settings. Originating from Mexico, this ancient cycad thrives in bright, indirect light and well-draining soil. It requires minimal watering and is highly drought-tolerant, making it ideal for busy plant owners. With moderate fertilizing during the growing season and occasional pruning of dead leaves, the Cardboard Palm can flourish, adding a touch of tropical elegance to your space while also purifying the air.

What is a Cardboard Palm Tree?

The Cardboard Palm, scientifically known as Zamia furfuracea, is not a true palm but a cycad. Cycads are ancient plants that have existed since the age of dinosaurs. Originating from Mexico, the Cardboard Palm is renowned for its thick, cardboard-like leaves, which give it a unique texture and appearance.

Appearance and Characteristics

The Cardboard Palm tree stands out with its leathery, stiff, and pinnate leaves. These leaves grow in a rosette pattern, emerging from a short, stout trunk. The leaves are dark green and can grow up to 3 feet long, making the plant an attractive focal point in any setting.

Key Features:

• Thick, leathery leaves
• Slow-growing, low-maintenance
• Compact size, perfect for indoor spaces

Planting and Care Guide

Ideal Growing Conditions

To keep your Cardboard Palm thriving, mimic its natural habitat. Here's what you need to know:

Light

The Cardboard Palm prefers bright, indirect light. While it can tolerate some direct sunlight, too much can scorch its leaves. If you're growing it indoors, place it near a window with filtered light.

Soil

Well-draining soil is crucial. A cactus or succulent mix works well, as it prevents water from sitting at the roots, which can cause rot.

Watering

One of the best things about the Cardboard Palm is its drought tolerance. Water the plant thoroughly, then allow the soil to dry out before watering again. Overwatering can be more harmful than underwatering.

Temperature and Humidity

This plant loves warm temperatures ranging from 65°F to 75°F. It's not frost-tolerant, so if you live in a cooler climate, ensure it's protected during the winter months. Moderate humidity is ideal, but the Cardboard Palm can adapt to lower levels.

Fertilizing

Feed your Cardboard Palm with a balanced, slow-release fertilizer during the growing season (spring and summer). This helps maintain its vibrant green color and promotes healthy growth.

Pruning

The Cardboard Palm requires minimal pruning. Remove any yellow or dead leaves to keep the plant looking tidy and to prevent disease.

Common Problems and Solutions

Yellowing Leaves

Yellow leaves can be a sign of overwatering. Check the soil moisture and adjust your watering schedule accordingly.

Pests

The Cardboard Palm is relatively pest-resistant but can occasionally attract scale insects or mealybugs. To keep pests at bay, wipe the leaves with a damp cloth or use insecticidal soap.

Root Rot

To avoid root rot, ensure your plant is in well-draining soil and avoid overwatering. If you notice a foul smell or mushy roots, you may need to repot the plant in fresh soil.

Propagation

Propagating the Cardboard Palm is relatively straightforward. It can be done by separating offsets, also known as pups, that grow at the base of the plant. Here's a simple step-by-step guide:

1. Remove the pup: Gently remove the pup from the base of the mother plant.
2. Dry out: Allow the pup to dry for a few days to form a callus.
3. Planting: Plant the pup in a well-draining soil mix and water sparingly until new growth appears.

Benefits of the Cardboard Palm

Aside from its aesthetic appeal, the Cardboard Palm is also known for its air-purifying qualities. It can help remove toxins from the air, making it a great addition to your home for a healthier living environment.

Eco-Friendly Option

The Cardboard Palm is a sustainable choice for gardeners. Its slow growth means it requires less frequent replanting, and its drought tolerance makes it an eco-friendly option in water-scarce regions.

Final Thought

The Cardboard Palm tree is a versatile and hardy plant that can bring a touch of tropical flair to any space. With its unique texture, low maintenance needs, and air-purifying benefits, it's an excellent choice for both novice and experienced gardeners. By following the care tips outlined in this guide, you will be well on your way to enjoying the beauty and resilience of this remarkable plant.
Whether you are looking to enhance your indoor greenery or add an exciting element to your garden, the Cardboard Palm is worth considering. Happy planting!