So I spent most of yesterday trying to figure out what scooter to buy. My must haves are 20mph+ speed, tubeless tires, suspension, range of 20 miles or more, good support, price at around or under $1K, and weight under 50 lbs. Good app connectivity, hill climbing, compatible accessories, etc., are secondary but still desirable.
My current list is the NIU KQI 300P, and 300X, and Segway Ninebot F2 Pro and Max G2.
I was hoping folks could weigh in regarding these options a little. It seems like Segway has been around longer but NIU is still a very respected, but newer brand. These NIU models are much newer than the Segway ones, perhaps not as many people out there riding them (not as big of a user community)? And because they are new, the kinks still may be being worked out as far as firmware (which happened over the last year with the G2 Max as I've seen). The NIU's a bit pricier than the Segways, but they are at least lighter than the G2 Max and seem to have bigger displays. I have no idea how the apps compare, but the suspension and breaking and tires all seem to be pretty comparable across all these models, so I'm having a hard time figuring out which would be best. Would be nice to have a scooter shop that sold all these models so I could try them out, lol!
Speaking of which, I notice that all of these, except for the F2 Pro, seem to be sold by Best Buy, and wondering if people have used Best Buy and what the pros and cons are over getting it via the company's website? I know you can get 0% financing for either scenario. I don't think Best Buy will unbox and actually set your scooter up for you as a bike shop might do for a bike (or a scooter shop for a scooter?), right?
It seems like the main difference between the more expensive and cheaper models within a given brand that I mentioned is mainly a slightly larger battery that results in a bit more weight and longer range, but also capable of going to 22-23 mph. The thing is that I'm generally not interested in going on roads with this. We have lots of bike paths around here and I would stick to those for 90% of my trips and those have a speed limit for electric vehicles of 20mph, so I'm not sure that the added few mph is really that important, but something about having the ability to push the speed up just a tiny bit further at times for some reason appeals to me, lol!
Finally, is there any reason to expect the current prices might come down or there might be a sale within the next month or so? The reason I ask is that the lease for one of our cars is up in the beginning of July, and so this is basically going to be replacing that in terms of a commuting vehicle, at least some of the time...

AITA.....You thought you had a vehicle
At the time of this incident I thought our marriage was going through the growing pains of having children ages 21,17, and 9. So when my 40th birthday rolled around I took a personal day at work to treat this newly "over the hill" woman to a spa day. The hubby was out of town and had left only the night before, KNOWING the next day I would be on my own.
At about 8 a.m. (not my idea of a personal day wake up time) the phone rings and it's hubby. He is desperate I complete the purchase of a gently used Cadillac Seville before it was snapped up by another buyer. I did explain that I had other appointments and he could do this from his location via FAX etc. He became unglued. So, I relented. While completing the paperwork at the bank, I mentioned to the loan officer (someone I knew) this was my 40th birthday and I'd had to put my plans aside for this. Her fingers stopped mid-air while typing the title/loan documentation. All she said was "Oh REALLY' (spoken in a true Southern accent), and typing resumed. When she passed the documents to me to review, all the blocks had the appropriate check and Xs. Then I noticed HIS name wasn't on the title/loan. I pointed this out and her response was a lifted eyebrow and a big grin. Conspiracy of two in place. Fast Forward: 18mos he files for divorce (another story) 24 and 1/2 years he flushed down the tubes. While he was playing Romeo, his best friend (whom I told about the Conspiracy) waited until a group of friends were in the car and he was bragging about picking up women with HIS caddy and being "all that and a bag of chips" quietly informed HE didn't own this Caddy. Hubby thought it was a joke until the title was pulled out of the glove box and the name clearly and indelibly typed was mine. Four grown men laughed until breathless and one was flumoxed, aghast, PISSED. None of these men liked what he was doing to me so there was no hope of it being secret. When he called me, I referred him to the attorney and hung up. He did receive the vehicle as part of the divorce settlement, however, everyone knew EXACTLY what had taken place because of records being PUBLIC! I was 42 at the time. I'm now 68. This always brings a smile to my face and laugh to my heart.

I attended the rally in 2019, 2022, and 2023 and here are some spots I like:
Opening ceremony: YOU MUST see the cars on the streets of Alghero! Immediately after the opening ceremony by the harbor, go here and the cars will drive past the shops on their way back around to the service park. Google Maps Image
Shakedown: All new, so I can't comment.
SS1/3, Osilu-Tergu: The only spot I visited at this stage is the crossroads. The stage will run south-north this year, the opposite of 2019, but the cars get pretty wild transitioning from gravel to asphalt and back to gravel. There's a ton of parking on the road going up the hill to the east from the crossroads. Google Maps Image
SS2/4, Sedini-Castelsardo: I've never spectated this one, but I have recce'd a big portion on foot. I'd park near here. If you go east, the stage goes under the road through a concrete tunnel. You can't spectate that spot too close (maybe from above?), but the cars hit a pretty severe bump as they exit the tunnel and turn left heading north-to-west. From there, the road climbs up the mountainside. Some areas under the trees have lots of very fesh-fesh-like dirt, so the dust will be amazing. Very close to the end of the stage the cars can be photographed with Castelsardo and the coastline in the background.
SS5/7, Tempo Pausania: Never visited this one.
SS6/8, Tula-Erula. This is one of my all-time favorites and I visit the stage every year. The cars zigzag through a network of roads around the wind farm and it offers a ton of variety in a very compact area. If you arrive early, you can park right by the stage, here. If not, you'll have to ride a bus to the top of the extremely steep hill. Don't even think about walking this, and the police will close the road for inbound traffic around dawn. All of these photos were taken within a 2-minute walk of each other. Google Maps Image Image Image
SS9/11, Monte Lerno-Monte di Ala: Here is Mickey's jump, near the start. Image There are lots of places to stand and a good amount of parking, but traffic going in can be a real challenge. Arrive early if possible. If you arrive before the road closes and you want something more open, consider this spot. Google Maps Image (The cars will run in the opposite direction compared to the orientation of this photo.) This is about 4 km from the end of the stage. The stage ends in a farmyard that usually has cows roaming around. There is a paved road all the way up from Monte di Ala. Park here.
SS10/12, Coiluna-Loelle: I've never visited this one.
SS11/13, Cala Flumini: I've never visited this one, because the Power Stage is the real attraction.
SS12/14: Sassari-Argentiera. For me, there's really just one place to be. Here. The cars descend the ridge and the dust clouds are big enough to obscure the sun if you pick the right spot. Closer to the beach is pretty as well.

Race information

• What? 3 Days at the Fair 50K
• When? May 18, 2024 ‡
• How far? 31.1mi
• Where? Augusta, NJ
• Website: https://sites.google.com/site/njtrailseries/fair
• Strava activity: https://www.strava.com/activities/11441314526
• Finish time: 4:40:46

Goals

Goal	Description	Completed?
A	4:30:00	No
B	< 5 hours	Yes

Splits

Mile	Time
1	0:39 *
2	7:33
3	7:31
4	8:01
5	7:45
6	7:56
7	8:08
8	8:00
9	8:00
10	8:27
11	8:04
12	8:11
13	8:08
14	8:10
15	8:06
16	8:10
17	8:43
18	8:09
19	8:40
20	8:21
21	8:38
22	8:39
23	9:06
24	9:05
25	9:56
26	9:45
27	9:40
28	10:16
29	11:07
30	10:20
31	11:46
32	11:00
33	6:30 **

• "Lap 1" was from the 50K start to the timing mat. ** "Lap 33" was the remainder from my GPS watch auto-split to the end of the lap/race. ‡ "3 Days at the Fair" went from 13 May to 19 May 2024 (yep!). I was there 18 May.

Training

This was a spring full of sharp turns and hard knocks. The original training went towards the Cheap Marathon in Derry, NH. (That race was reported upon by flocculus here.) Training then consisted of maintaining 30-40 weekly miles, with a weekly long run adding two miles from the prior week, with some fluctuation. My hometown is quite hilly, so I foregone specific hill training as all of my runs were not near flat. My final long run was 21.5 miles March 6 before tapering down my weekly long runs.
A freak snowstorm delayed the Cheap Marathon from 4/6 to 4/20, however on 4/9 I fell in my gym shower. Either a rib contusion or hairline fracture paused any running or training for nearly two weeks. Scrambling for some sort of race to scratch the itch and not toss away months of prior training, I found 3 Days at the Fair online – a six day affair featuring ultramarathon categories from 50K to 144H races. They offered a marathon category, with an alluring 50K at similar start times. Naturally, I signed up for shy of 5 more miles than a marathon. One of my running mates gave me the best advice that "ultra running is more of an eating contest than anything else." Considering that during prior marathons I had salt tabs and 3 or 4 GU packets, I thought more about this statement. Hoping my ribs and legs would stand up, I went for the race.
Note: If registering for this race, you can choose the specific date and time you wish to start it. Just stick to that time. I would end up toeing the line with three other 50K runners who opted for the Saturday 9AM start. One could have theoretically started their run any day between Monday and Saturday, at 9AM or 6PM.

Pre-race

The Sussex County NJ fairgrounds were easy enough for me to get to. Those who were not running longer ultra races had plenty of parking mere steps from the registration/food/starting line. (Those running longer races have opportunities to park campers, tents, and so forth.) Weather was gray and cool, at 58˚F/14˚C -ish. I ended up playing with how I'd pack for the run, before noticing racks set up after the start line into which you could place your water bottle so as to not hold it the entire time.

Race

For check-in, I picked up my swag (a plush bathrobe) and timing ankle chip. No bibs here! At 8:50, marathoners and 50K'ers were brought to the respective start lines, 0.1 and 0.2 miles after the timing mat. At 9AM, we would run against the sea of all other runners back to the starting mat, turn around, and continue in the anti-clockwise 1 mile loop course. This is why marathons are 27 laps and 50K is 32 laps – that quarter lap registered as "lap 1 completed," so 31.1 miles registers as 32 at the end. I'm getting ahead of myself!
I found the course compelling enough to follow. After the timing mat, there is a short uphill that weaves past the toilet and shower area, and toward a hairpin. While the 'pin itself was set wide, most of the time I would walk it because of traffic or weakening knees. This continued straight past a Camper's Row of sorts with mild downhill. The second half runs a long arch around the grounds, with a gradual gentle uphill. The course is paved except for a 200m segment of packed gravel – if it had rained, this part could've been muddy. The course completed after a shot down a causeway, and left turning back to the mat. It's this area where registration, fuel/food/catering, and timing is displayed. Overall, no real potholes to be concerned about, just 31 total laps of this!
Hydration and food – tons of everything including Impossible Burgers, PB&J, cola, and sports vitamins – was supplied after the timing mat. I kept track of which lap I was on with a big-screen projection. My name, lap number, prior lap time, and total time appeared. Every 30 minutes or so I decided to take in calories. This included GU Rocktane, GU Vanilla (sooooo good), two stroopwaffels, two ice pops, and a few salt tabs. It was roughly 400 or so more calories than I would have consumed during a race. Hydration was also a factor, that the course was completely uncovered made me feel hotter and "drier" than normal. I might have taken on about 50 fl oz / 1.5 liters of water. My stomach tolerated this!
The main causeway/timing mat area is where I stopped for water and stowed my foods so I didn't have to carry it around. Early on, I didn't understand where the timing screen was, so took minor detours in the registration area. These factors are why my paces seem inconsistent by 30-odd seconds per mile at points.
The people here are amazing! Other runners were highly supportive, chatty, upbeat. One person was dressed up like a chicken (the race logo featured one), and another person blasted some pretty appropriate and popular tunes. It would be a game for me to guess the artist or song on every lap – we had a great banter going! Another group had a dry-erase board and changed it every few minutes or so with a new dad joke. Naturally, I had to stop to retort with another. For example, they wrote, "3.14% of sailors are pi-rates!" I replied, "if it's $4.50 in Jamaica for a beef patty, $3.50 in DR, and $2 in Trinidad, are those the pie rates of the Caribbean?" Sorry, not sorry.
The lack of proper training began to present itself around mile 22. Pacing was targeted at 8:00-8:15 per mile, with goal half-marathon splits at 1h45m or so. After mile 26, I was 3h40m44s, ten minutes off goal pace. Around that point I slowed, taking more walk breaks but promising myself to run at least half every lap. Landmarks were mentally set to designate where walking and running would occur. When I crossed the line I was done.

Post-race

From a mental standpoint, the concept of so many laps did not bother me. My daily runs more often than not are laps in my parking lot, and I've completed a few half marathons on traditional 400m tracks a few times prior – especially during the Global Pandemilovato of '20. Physically, my legs did not feel any worse than they would have after 26.2 miles. My stomach was actually doing quite alright – nausea and headache would set in within a few minutes of finishing other marathons, but not today. My buddy's advice is making me rethink my marathon strategy.
As the event is ultra-marathon focused, finishers of marathon and 50K received a coin. The longer the distance, the larger the coin, with special awards for those who have invested 100+ miles with the organization. (A paver brick [!] stamped with the runner's name is awarded after 1,500 miles with the organization.) Either way, I circled back to the registration area to press my luck at burger availability. Unfortunately they were out, yet making more. While at the beginning of the race the smell of bacon and pancakes wafted onto the line, the sweet smell of success – naturally, manifest as deliciously greasy burgers – greeted us at the end.
Post-race nutriton in my car included Gatorlyte electrolytes, SiS Rego Rapid recovery, and 1.5 liters of water. I opted against the on-site showers and made the long ride home for one which was far more satisfying.
EDIT: Added info about registration. EDIT 2: Grammar.

This happened about 2 years ago, and we are still no contact because of this issue. Protagonists: my mother (F72), who had 8 dogs at the moment of the event, and I (F39)
A little bit of background:
My mother was a horrible mom to me. She didn't like me very much. When she went out for the weekend going on agility tournaments (dog sport competitions) with my sisters and their dogs, she would leave me alone at home without any money or food. I was lucky when I could find some oats in a cupboard and eat them with water.
As a kid growing up I thought we were just poor, but as an adult I understand she just blew all her money on these tournaments and the trips to them (including gas money and hotel costs as well as the registration fees for the runs).
When I was sick, she never took me to the doctor's. She just didn't care enough about me. I grew up in Germany, going to the doctor's would have been free for her. But it was too much of a hassle to care for a sick child.
On the other hand, she would of course go to the vet as soon as one of her dogs were ill. The dogs were vaccinated, I was not. I wasn't important enough to get vaccinations.
After running away from home with 16, I didn't have much contact to my mother for a long time.
A few years ago, around 2018, I made a conscious effort to mend our relationship. Or to create a relationship at all.
I live about 1000 km away from her in another country, so we mostly called each other. I took the main part in calling her because she is very poor and inter-country calls are very expensive. Her old-age pension is ridiculously low (about 800 Euros, roughly 870 USD per month).
We talked a lot, and I had the feeling we were getting close for the first time in my whole life. It felt good. I finally had the feeling of having a mother. We talked about major events in our life. I shared with her how I was managing to get out of dept (my restaurant went under, and I had a lot of debt to repay).
She was very aware of how much I make and that I was working two fulltime jobs at the same time to pay back my debt. And she also knew how demanding and tiring the workload was for me, but how proud I was of myself.
Now to the event:
One day in October 2022 my mother called me with joy and excitement in her voice.
She said: 'I have a fantastic idea, but I need your help!'
I was excited about her obvious happiness and asked eagerly what it was about and how I could help her.
She: 'There is this dog in the rescue center of your sister. I thought you could buy it for me. You would pay all the big bills like the buying price and the vet. I would provide food and the dog would be living with me up until I am to weak too hold her any longer. Then your dog would be living with you.'
I needed a moment to process this ridiculous proposal. I asked to be sure I understood everything correctly: 'So I would buy the dog, it would be living with you, but I would have to pay any bigger costs for the dog? And in a few years I will have to take it in?'
She, delighted: 'Yes! Isn't that an awesome idea?'
I: 'No, absolutely not. I don't have any spare money. I can't provide for a dog which isn't even mine, and you already have 8 dogs! You are broke, you can't buy yourself good food. You can't provide for the dog, either.'
(English isn't my first language. I told her the points nicely. If it's sounding harsh that's because of my bad translation.)
She went quiet. Then said she had to go and hung up.
I tried calling her a couple of times over the next few weeks. She didn't take my calls nor did she call me back.
Christmas came and went. No call from my mom, no letter, nothing. My birthday came. Still radio silence.
I called a last time at her birthday last year and she picked up. She talked 15 minutes about herself, I couldn't get a word in. She didn't ask how I was doing, nothing. When we ended the call, I knew the relationship was over.
So, that's how I lost my mom for good. Because I didn't want to buy her a ninth dog.
TLDR: My mother wanted me to buy her an additional dog and to cover all bigger costs for the dog as well. When I refused, she basically ghosted me.

For context, I'm autistic and adhd and rely very heavily on routine to help keep my anxiety under control as well as just needing a routine to function.
I park in the same spot everyday, I wake up at the same time everyday, I walk one of the same 4 routes to work everyday (for safety to change it up but keep it familiar), I have the same getting ready routine, etc.
I also park in the same spot everyday. The parking space I use in my complex is one that is very adjacent and no one has ever used that area before. I purposely moved my car to the area that's never been used, even though it's a bit more of a walk, to keep my consistent routine.
Anxiety meds do not help and I have been in therapy for years and even my therapist said this was the best course of action for me.
Keeping gin mind, I'm aware of public areas being free to anyone, I don't ask anyone to move unless I'm blocked in, and strictly keep it a me problem.
However this morning I walked out to a neighbors truck parked next to mine and immediately became afraid of someone ruining the routine I've created to keep myself maintained, again. I'm terrified whenever I need to change my routine when it's not of my own volition.
The anxiety I get from it makes me sick for days if not weeks or months till I'm acclimated to a new routine. I hate this about myself and wish I could treat it like the other people in my complex, but whenever I try to it makes everything worse on my end.
I wish I didn't have this.

I drive a 1l car. It’s small not a lot of power when I put my foot down but it gets me to where I need to go. Today, travelling on a country road with a national speed limit I was behind a horse carrier (the vans that carry horses, whatever you call them) it’s wasn’t massively slow, maybe on some hills it would slow down. But going 45- 50 in a bendy 60 wasn’t too slow for me. Of course though, there’s always that one person that just was impatient. I didn’t feel safe overtaking, bendy roads, small car and a big van in front of me so I didn’t have good visibility. Driving up my arse was a Tesla, in the wing mirror I could see how impatient he was waving his arms around pressuring me to overtake so he could. I didn’t, I didn’t feel safe to, I rather be “stuck” behind than give into pressure and risk mine and others lives. He eventually overtook, very risky, barely missing an oncoming vehicle. Why oh why are some drivers such assholes, no consideration for others. My 1l car is not going to be able to overtake safely so I won’t do it.
Edit: i did actually have 2 car lengths of space for a while as I wanted better visibility. I never drive close to big vehicles and vans as I can’t see what’s in front of them.

There are some points that I noticed some car buyers do when purchasing their new car! Some of these things I have personally experienced myself!

1: Sunroof

I know it totally depends on taste, and frankly, a sunroof is okay, but a panoramic sunroof is not. India is a hot climate country, and while a mini sunroof heats the cabin a bit, a panoramic sunroof doubles it to boiling point. If parked under the sun, even with the curtain on, the AC has to work twice as hard, and your fuel efficiency goes for tank. Some pros and cons of panoramic sunroof

2: Black Color

Black color is nice and all, but it isn’t cheap to maintain (scratches are easily visible). It takes all your time and money to keep it shining. I know PPF will help, but again, you are spending more. Plus, another point is heat. It absorbs a lot of heat, and the cabin gets very hot. Again, the AC needs to work twice as hard, and fuel efficiency suffers. (I have a black car) Just don’t go with Black because another person also brought it.

3: Extended Warranty and Accessories

There is no need to buy hefty price accessories from showroom that too basic one. Should Avoid! them at all costs. Many people don’t know that there is a vast difference between factory warranty and extended warranty, as covered in this article. Extended warranty never covers your whole car compared to factory warranty. You can also buy an extended warranty on the last day of the factory warranty's expiration by just paying an extra Rs 1000 (Hyundai). I don’t think it’s beneficial to pay upfront for something that starts after 3 years. On the last day, judge for yourself whether you really need it. If you have low running, you don’t need it. (Most of buyer never claim extended warranty)

4: Buying Top Model only!

Who’s buying the Nexon for 19L and the Creta for 25L? Those are some overpriced models. The top model doesn’t always mean the best; even the 2nd and 3rd top models can fulfill your needs. Buy a car model based on your needs, not desires, because you already chosen the right car that meets all your requirements. You can save money for other things like accessories and more.

5: SUV only!

People are buying tall hatchbacks in the name of SUVs. You should reconsider your decision. Today, hatchbacks come with good ground clearance. For example, the Baleno and i20 have 170mm, while the Punch has 187mm, which is enough. The Baleno and i20 also offer plenty of space, comfort, and features. True SUVs are more like the Scorpio-N.
There is also one point about Petrol/Diesel, but I’ll cover that another day. I know these opinions can be subjective, and you might not agree with me, which is okay. Instead, we can have a healthy discussion in the comment section.

My last flat was unbearable.
I mean, you try having a family of 11 live above you, when half of them are under the age of 8. Also try having a pair of raging alcoholic neighbours on either side of you. A pair who were once married to each other. My eyes rivalled that of pigeons’ due to no sleep.
I lasted a total of 21 days. I know, new record huh? I just about shoved the keys back in the grubby hands of my landlord when I finally saw the lunacy inscribed on his face. No wonder the rent was dirt cheap.
So I was back on the road, not on the streets though. Luckily enough I started questioning the flat by day 8, looked around for another place by day 15, and made a decision to get the hell out on day 18. 3 days of packing and it was bye-bye.
My new place seemed all the better too: yes, the rent was more expensive, and yes, it only has 2 bedrooms. But at least it was a house, one where pesky neighbours were at least 5 metres away. On my right, at least. On my left? Their house - thankfully - couldn’t even be seen where I stood.
Parking my car, I skipped up towards my new house with my fresh set of keys. And on entering? Silence. Perfect still silence. Thank the Lord. I basked in it for a while before returning to my car, unloading some of my baggage. It took 3-4 hauls, but I managed to fit it into one of the bedrooms. Thankfully, the rest of my things were to be brought by moving vans in about an hour.
I envisioned what the house could look like with a few finishing touches.
“But first…”
I eyed the 2 rooms. “Mine!”
The room I had chosen to be mine gave a bright view of my own smaller garden, as well as a portion of my right neighbour’s house, but that didn’t matter much. The view in the other room would suck: just my car and some reeds.
I was just about done heaving some of my baggage into my newly-chosen room when the doorbell gave an obnoxious ring. I stood, fighting the urge to just run away into one of my rooms when it beeped again.
Reaching the door, I eyed out of the peephole to see nothing but an opaque whiteness. I guess the downside in this house is that the last tenant was a slob. I eyed some of the yellowing walls. Sighing, I opened the door.
“Hello! We’re your neighbours, Jack and Sally, and we live just there,” She motioned towards my right, “We came to introduce ourselves, and to let you know that if you ever need anything, we’re right here.”
She then shoved a basket full of biscuits at my chest, a motherly-smile stretched around her lips. She turned to leave, husband - clearly forced to follow her - in tow, when she turned around.
“Your name, dear?”
“Leen!” I shouted after her.
“Perfect.”
And perfect it was, I thought. Neighbours that respect their distance from you, and give you food? I eyed the delicious snacks in front of me. Definitely an upgrade.
Though it was at dawn the very next day that I woke up, shook.
~
See, I was just sleeping in my newly delivered bed when I heard it. Something that sounded like a bird, a huge caw, before it alternated into different pitches. Disoriented, I tried to wipe the sleep from my eyes in order to focus better. But it just made me more confused.
It sounded like a chicken.
As far as I know, this new place was not the countryside, nor farmland. So what? And why?
I stepped up to my window to take a good look outside. I wouldn’t keep a rooster in my home that’s for sure. Whatever it was, it was coming from…
My jaw dropped.
I closed my eyes and scrubbed at them harshly.
Please tell me why I opened my eyes and saw the exact same thing.
A man, on his haunches, face pointed towards the sky, was making rooster noises.
And he was on my neighbours’ garden. The ones I met earlier.
He looked absolutely demented. I wasn’t even scared then, just flabbergasted. I wasted no time calling the police at this disturbing nuisance.
When they arrived though, I saw my neighbours’ shoot straight from their house, speaking or…was it pleading? With the officers. What on Earth..?
Anyway, it was their problem now, so I went back to bed. I had a whole bunch of chores the next day, and had to get it all sorted before I returned to work.
Shutting my eyes, I wished for peace. And quiet, thank you very much.
~
At last, I woke up at 10 AM. By 1 PM, I had sorted my clothing into its respective drawers, and had decorated my bedroom walls, including a new golden addition. And now? I had food cooking on the stove. It felt satisfying, having cleaned up and now awaiting the prize of food.
I scrolled on my phone as I waited for the pasta to cook, before another ding turned my attention towards the door.
“Huh, what now?”
Unfortunately I hadn’t cleaned the peephole yet, so I had to open the door. There stood Jack and Sally. Or Sally and Jack. Jack looked lost. Sally stared deep into my eyes.
“Was it you?”
“Me? What do you mean?”
“That called the police last night?”
I recalled the past night, and gave her a thumbs up, hoping my smile was reassuring. “Yep, don’t worry, that lunatic will not be coming back ever again. He can go to the zoo if he wants to squawk.”
I should’ve taken the cue from Jack’s paling face, but Sally grabbed hold of me. “Listen here, okay? That man, the one you called the police on...” She trembled, “He’s my son! You can’t do that! He was not even on your property!”
My eyes widened. “He’s…your son?”
“Of course! How can you not see that?”
Nodding at her, I relinquished myself from the hold she had on my arms. “Okay then, sorry for the call. But I do have to mention something,” Jack started to shake his head behind his wife, but I ignored the little-to-say man, “Is there any way you can keep the noise down to a minimum? Honestly, your son has vocal cords of steel! It would wake the entire neighbourhood at this rate.”
Sally stared pointedly at me, then took a look around my house. “Very well.”
She grabbed her husband’s arm as she turned to leave, and I caught the slightest look of fear in his eyes before he was abruptly pulled away.
I dismissed it - and the sinking feeling - on discovering my very soft, overcooked pasta when I came back into my home though.
I managed to also do one thing before wrapping up: I cleaned out my door's peephole. Now I wouldn't have to open the door to know it's them. I'd just speak at them from the inside if they were to come back.
~
I woke, jolting out of my bed the very next morning, or night. I checked my bedside clock to see it was 3:50 AM. The cock-a-doodle-doo was breaking into my head. I grasped my hair in frustration, knowing that I didn’t have the madman’s parents phone numbers’ to call, or maybe scream at them. It was the exact same thing as the day before! Except…maybe…
I strained my ear.
It sounded a lot closer.
My hands, for some reason, became clammy instantly, and the urgent thumping of my own heart - the fragility of my own life - became all the more prominent.
I tiptoed to my window and peeked outside. Nothing.
I then slowly treaded to my spare bedroom, and pulled the curtains apart. Zilch. Nada. Though…
Almost as if under a spell, my head turned towards my main door. I…I could somehow feel it. Just to confirm though, I peeked out of the door-hole.
And with a slam, I collapsed in my new, dream home.
~
When I came to, I was lying on white sheets, and a bright white light hung over me.
A hospital.
I was in my own room, which I found odd. It was not like I needed it. But then a doctor walked in, followed by 3 other people, and it all made sense. Everything - blurs and sureness - melted into a perfect picture.
Sally, Jack, and their son.
He couldn’t be more than 17 really. Though he looked 37 a few hours ago. Face pressed against the glass of my peephole, mouth wide open towards it, eyes pointing in different directions as his face reddened and contorted.
I was deaf in one moment. Then came the COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO.
Of course I fainted. Who could blame me?
“Good afternoon, I’m Dr Lam. You’re in A&E right now. Are you able to tell me your full name and date of birth?
My voice answered the Doctor’s questions, but my eyes stared dazed at the youngster’s abdomen, not daring to reach his its eyes.
“Well, nothing seems to be wrong with you. You may have just been dehydrated. Did you have any headache or pain before you fainted?”
I replied in the negative.
“Luckily, your friends’ son had found you passed out, and ensured your speedy arrival to hospital, so I wouldn’t be worried about any damage.”
My eyes finally strayed, looking towards the ground. I held the nauseousness of bile down my throat. Following a brief check-up, I was allowed to leave.
And 2 people and a demon followed me out.
“Well, Leen, that should give you a lesson,”
Sally.
I turned towards the family, who stood in a 3 person arc. Only 1 managed to look away, equal parts shame and guilt. I don’t need to mention who that was.
“Don’t worry. You can look at me, I don’t bite: not now and not at dawn,” a strained voice whispered at me. “I promise, it’s only at dawn when I…when I…”
“Hush Dean, don’t work your voice that much. You’ll need to save it for later.”
I was still dizzy. That didn’t stop me from running half-hobbled to the taxi stand, where I begged and claimed to many that I would provide double payment if they were to take me to my house.
It took a while, but I managed to pack some of my clothes. There was no way in hell I was sleeping at that damned house again, not now, not ever. I called and booked at a nearby hotel in the meantime.
I was done packing necessities by the evening. Walking out of my house, I saw no sign of those three. I would have been relieved, had I not come face to face with than one thing: standing in my garden, leaning against my car. My breathing picked up instantly.
Dean
It stood with its back resting against my car. And It noticed me immediately. Seems like it was just waiting for me to notice it.
“Are you leaving?” It sounded almost sad, but I needed it to move away, or my only way out of there would be in jeopardy.
“For the night.” My answer? Almost smooth, but even I could hear the first shake in my voice.
It nodded though. “Okay.” And he moved from my car. I counted the distance. 1 metre. 2. 2.5-
It made a sudden dash at me as I - in flight response - ran frantically to the driver’s seat, locking the door. I came in half-squashed, my backpack still on my back. But I didn’t care.
Its face was pressed against the window.
“Mum is waiting for a person that will like me for me, not run away. You’re supposed to like me.” It said, matter-of-factly. It then wailed, and sunk beneath the car window.
I did not dare to sit up and see what it was doing.
I didn’t even need to though. The sound came a split-second later.
COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO
Tears spilled from my eyes. My limbs felt weak. I couldn’t even breathe. It suddenly sprang up to the window. Eyes enlarged: looking at me and everywhere at once.
“I can actually tur-COCK- in the day too, but M-DOODLE- said it would be too much for you,” wheezing, it exclaimed again before adding, “but this is ME. Do you-do you, do you like me?”
With dead limbs I weighed my foot on the pedal, and jump-started the car to speed off. My head shook left-and-right in response, stomach heaving with nausea.
Human preservation kicked me into taking proper control of the car when I saw, out of the rear view mirror, Sally. This time with a rope, which locked around the creature’s neck before she tugged, drawing it into her house. At one point we locked eyes. And what do I mean by we?
Answer: the 2 of them and me.
It was honestly a miracle that I did not get into a road traffic accident.
I spent 3 days living in the hotel after that, my job long-forgotten in the aftermath.
By day 4 I broke down and called my older sister, asking to stay at her place for a while. Her house and area seemed fine the times I’d stopped over. I guess I clearly did not seem right though, as she many-a-time asked me what was wrong. My answer? Stress. She persisted, years of living together as kids helping her figure out my lies, though she ultimately gave up after a week. She knew it was something I didn’t want to share, and that I was safe now. That was enough for her.
For me? I guess at the time I so badly wanted to tell someone. Though it couldn’t be my sister. I didn’t want to cause any trouble. Nor see if she’d even believe me, or instead rank me at the same IQ level as her two 5-year-olds.
For a few weeks, I stayed with my sister and her family, reassuring both her and myself that I was fine. Thankfully, we worked together to find a small apartment. Next to a kids school too - bonus points. I now craved safety above all else. After moving out though, I realised I needed my belongings back.
So, who picked up my stuff from that cursed residence, you ask? The moving people. I called the police from a random phone booth first to head over to that area, emphasising on seeing some suspicious looking men, whilst I got them to collect everything. I did not dare to call the police on that family though. I would prefer if the link between me and them got cut, drawn and quartered.
So now I’m here, in an apartment which thankfully hasn’t shown any sign of insanity. Inspecting my belongings, I noticed that there was one thing missing.
My gold frame, used to encase my make-shift certificate - made by yours truly after her 21-day record from the previous apartment - was gone.
I felt somewhat miffed, but then I realised something.
Something which can maybe bring the light out in this whole situation.
I counted carefully. I broke my record.
With a grand stay of 2 days. Now that - that I don’t think I’d ever be able to beat.

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.

We sit down and try to talk it out I’m livid now. I’m on the verge of just shutting it all down and going emotionless again. She says sorry.. about my mother and everything then starts blaming me! Holy fucking shit I’m providing almost all the finances I’m doing equal shares of laundry dishes and folding except for the last GODDAMN WEEK I’ve been putting atleast one kid to bed getting the puppy calmed down and still having the audacity to workout maintain the lawn and work 9-13 hour days. I called her out and it was cold. I’m not proud but it was needed.
She tried to defend her actions at this point I’m done and just walk out. I need a moment. She gets upset and everyone decides they need to go north to a college down to shop. I’m alone wiring electrical and putting together the toddlers bed and retapping parts of the wall… I haven’t felt this much self loathing in years. I was just sitting there working which was the only thing keeping me away from razors again. I wanted to cry but I can’t anymore. No release could be found that wasn’t self destructive.
They all come back like nothing ever happened. At this point I’ve over excreted what little energy I had. My skin was cold and clammy but my body was sweating profusely. My face was pale and I was struggling to breathe. Now she says I should be resting and she has no idea why I’m pushing so hard?! Am I being fucking gaslit?! This was all your idea this was your demand?!
Flash forward an hour my puppy was outside for about 30 minutes and it’s hot so I try to get her in. She refuses which isn’t uncommon but she’s hiding under the deck.
I get her out and in and make sure she’s drinking water we get down stairs and I’m about to feed her and she fucking pees on the carpet. It’s tinged with blood. Oh fuck no not now, well let the wife know and she knows it’s just like when she first arrived from Iraq. Got a UTI again, so I have to now rearrange all the shit from the projects in the garage get the car seats out and her crate in the truck pushing way past what my body wanted or needed. Yeeted an energy drink. Which was also a mistake.
Then wife goes “you look like your about to pass out I’ll do it for you, I’ll drive her the hour to the vets” cause no where is open on a Saturday except an hour away. No fuck that I just pushed myself as fucking hard for you and got the puppy I’m in it now. Fuck whatever happens.
Drive down to big city, talked to mom entire trip and forced her to tell me what wife said about me. Same shit like always, her and MIL shit on me for everything. barely make it cause I’m dying inside looks like a ghost staring at me in the mirror. Fuck who cares honesty. 5 hours there 1000$ later got meds for her and head home…

I had a couple uncomfortable dreams, and was unable to stay asleep. I woke up at every hou40 minutes. If I managed to sleep past 15-20. I was dehydrated as well, because I ate too much flour right before going to bed. My first dream was about being watched.
There was probably a dream before that. After that one, I dreamt about a unveiled claim that billy corgan was molested by his mom. I was with my parents, sitting in the car by myself. A guy walked past who I acted like was serj tankian, even though he looked nothing like him. He had round features and looked almost mexican. Later, I had another dream where I had the awareness that my dreams were important. For a spiritual reason. Some godly, reason.
In the next dream, I was in a strange building with my family members. There was halloween decoanimatronics near the entrance or exit door. It felt like a ride as we slowly approached the walkway. I gracefully did so, probably trying to not look up at the animatronics. It's usually a reaper, constantly. Once we all were getting ready to leave, I carried a handful of things/candy. We walked outside off the porch, and I saw a younger version of my nephew. He took a piece of candy that was mine and ate it. I punched him square in the face. I vaguely remember seeing baby blankets. Before we walked outside. Everyone stood around, including my nephew at his current age. He was only a toddler. Around this time, we were in a room with some old ladies and boomers. Astrology was relevant for some reason, since I brought it up, likely. 'Leos are excessive, aries are misjudged as mean, and sags are suspicious and paranoid. About the people around them, their friends. About the world..' I paused before describing Sagittarius, feeling uneasy around the old lady who was listening to me. My mom stood at my side, probably bored or indifferent. Just like the lady seemed. She was a bitch; I could feel how much she appeared indifferent towards me. She must've been a sagittarius.
In the other side of the room, I was looking at a packet of paper that was laid in the filing drawer. It talked about the different eras of victorian houses. I saw it mentioned, 'fake doors' under victorian. That would make my house victorian, maybe. It's from the early 1900s, so just barely is it real victorian. I do not have fake doors in my house at all. I was picturing the banister on my stairs that doesn't have a lid that detaches. It's molded into the classic shape. A old lady walked over to me, pushing the filing cabinet away. Bitch, I was reading that.
At home, I went up into my bedroom. Cats were sleeping in it. A black kitten looked up at me, precious, as I tossed a cord across the floor, behind/above him. It was a cord with a plastic kitten arm on the end, like it was supposed to go to a handheld device. I thought of a gameplay controller that you plug into the tv. But it was too thin and obviously made to inject into something else. It had been laying on another kitten.
I took notice of a spider that was crawling on my bookshelf. It was white and pregnant. On one of my books, there was a spider sack on it. It was little. I don't know what happened to I assume was a second spider sack. A book with a white cover got my attention, because black specks ran over every inch of it. My little brothers had came into the room, before the infestation happened. Behind me was a rubber tub full of stuff with fabric on the top. My cats were sleeping on it. I saw my siamese in the room as well, looking at me. I woke up, itchy and scared. I hate this dream, and I also happen to hate spiders. Obviously, I have someone fake in my life. A domineering female/mother figure. Since it was both cats and spiders.

"You gotta know that there's an art to it, Ezra," Hitch said, cutting another piece of duct tape.
The sleeves of his weather-beaten coat were shoved all the way up his arms, to stop the fabric from falling over his knuckles while he was working, and goosebumps lined his skin. He was strapping a rubber chicken to the back of his truck, over the lens of the shattered backup camera, with the legs pointing down so that they hung a couple inches above the ground. There were dents in the hood from the crash last week, and scratches along the door from scraping into a curb. The chicken, hopefully, would keep him from breaking anything else.
"You can't go cheap," Hitch said. "The cheap rubber chickens only make noise when pressure lets go. That's no good. As soon as I back up into something, I want this chicken to be screaming like it’s in the depths of hell."
“Sure thing,” I said in a monotone, leaning against the side of the truck.
There were scrambled electronic parts piled in the back of the truck, the innards of a radio, a broken computer, tangled wires, a couple loose pairs of earbuds. He found the parts in alleyways or bummed them off his friends for a couple bucks or stole them from the vacation homes that were left empty for most of the year. Then he sold them for a profit at the scrapyard. Hitch had bounced between minimum-wage jobs for a while after high school, spending a couple months as a bagger at the grocery store or as a seasonal worker at the farm two hours down the highway. He'd never stuck with it. At the very least, the scrapyard got him enough money to eat and occasionally spend a night in a motel when he got tired of sleeping in his car.
Hitch pressed the last piece of tape in place and grinned up at me. "I've got something for you, duck."
The nickname came from when I’d broken my leg as a child and waddled around in a cast until it was healed. I hated it with a burning passion, and I glared at Hitch with the ease of twenty-one years of practice. He had a duck tattoo at the base of his thumb that he’d gotten in a back-alley shop as a teenager. He said that he’d gotten it to remind him of me, and the fact that I hated the nickname was just a bonus. It was shaky-lined, with an uneven face, but he loved it anyway.
The handle stuck when Hitch tried to open the door, a consequence of the rust collecting in the crevices of the car and running down the sides like blood from a cut. The car groaned when the door finally popped open, a metal against metal screech that had me flinching away. Hitch dug through the cluttered fast food containers in the passenger-side footwell, eventually coming up with a crinkly paper bag. He waved away the flies buzzing around the opening of the bag and held it out to me.
The last time Hitch had brought me food, I’d gotten food poisoning because he’d left it out in the midday sun for two days. The donut was squished slightly, and the icing was stuck to the bag. I still ate it, grimacing at the harsh citrus flavor. Taking Hitch’s food was an instinct engraved from the days when Dad had given us a can of kidney beans for dinner and Hitch had drank the juice, leaving the beans for me.
I rarely went hungry anymore, three mostly square meals a day and granola in my pockets just in case, but habits didn’t die easy.
These days, Hitch only brought me food when he wanted my help, like when he saw a place he wanted to hit but was worried about doing it alone.
I got in the car, like I always did.
We drove past the cluster of seafood-themed restaurants with chipped paint decks, the beachfront park where there were always shifty-eyed men sitting under the slide, the single room library where all the books had been water damaged in the flood last year. The change was quick as we drove across Main Street, heading closer to the beach. The roads were freshly paved, the concrete a smooth black except where the sun had already started to pick away at it. The three-story homes lining the sides of the street were crouched on elegant stilts, with space underneath for a car or three. Most of the garages were empty, with the lights off and curtains drawn in the house. Come summer, the streets would be swarming with tourists and vacationers, but until then, most of the buildings nearest to the beach were unoccupied.
Hitch stopped as the sun started to go down at a house that was leaning precariously out towards the beach, tilted ever so slightly, the edge of its foundation buried in the shifting sand of the beach. It certainly looked deserted, with an overgrown yard and blue paint peeling off the door in sheets.
Hitch took his hammer out of the backseat, hoisting it over his shoulder. It was two feet of solid metal with rags wrapped around the head to muffle the sound of the hits. Hitch squared up, bending his knees and holding the hammer like a baseball bat. Before he could swing, though, the door creaked open on its own, the hinges squeaking. The house beyond was dark enough that I could only make out general shapes, glimpsing the curve of a sofa to the left, what was maybe the shimmer of a chandelier on the other side.
Hitch lowered his hammer, looking vaguely disappointed that he didn’t get to use it. “That’s…weird as hell.”
“Maybe the deadbolt broke, maybe they forgot to lock it, it doesn’t matter,” I hissed, checking our surroundings for other people again. “Just hurry up and get inside before someone calls the cops.”
Hitch flicked the lightswitch on the wall, and the lights flickered on. They were dim, buzzing audibly and blinking off occasionally. The walls were plastered with contrasting swatches of wallpaper and splattered with random colors. There was neon orange behind the dining table, a galaxy swirl in the kitchen, and on the ceiling there was a repeating floral pattern covered in nametag stickers. Each of the stickers was filled out with The Erlking. Chandeliers hung in every room, three or four for each, and rubber ducks sat on every table. A miniature carousel sat in the corner along with a towering model rocket.
Sand was heaped on every surface, at least a couple inches everywhere. It was piled in the corners and stuck to the walls, and it covered the floor in a thick blanket. Our hesitant steps into the house left footprints clearly outlined in the sand.
Hitch took a cursory look around and headed immediately for the TV mounted on the wall. “Look out the windows and tell me if anyone is coming.”
I shook the sand out of the blinds and pulled them open, then had to brush sand off of the window before I could see anything.
Hitch was quick, practiced at finding and appropriating the things that were worth taking. He came back to me with an armful of electronics and chandeliers, dumping it at my feet before turning to head deeper into the house again.
There was a thump, somewhere upstairs, and then footsteps, slow and deliberate. Hitch froze at the threshold of the room, then ran for the door with me just ahead of him, sand flying out from under our feet.
My hand was almost brushing the doorknob, close enough that I could see the light from the streetlamp outside streaming in through the cracks in the door. My fingers touched the wood and it gave under my touch, becoming malleable and warm. I yelped, stumbling backwards, and the door started to melt. The paint ran down in thick drops, pooling at the bottom of the door, and the wood warped like metal being welded. The soft edges of the door ran into the walls until there was no sign of an exit ever being there.
“Well, well, well,” said a cultured voice with just an edge of snooty elitism. “What do we have here?”
The man was well over eight feet tall, with long black hair covering his eyes. He was wearing a yellow raincoat with holes cut out of the hood to accommodate the deer antlers jutting upwards from his head. There was sand settled on his shoulders and hovering around his head like a halo.
“Who the fuck are you?” Hitch said, inching towards a window.
He smiled, just a little bit, and his teeth shone in the dim light. “I am the Erlking.”
Hitch nodded, and seemed about to respond. I grabbed him by the hand and pulled him towards the window. I could feel sand in the wind roaring against my back as the Erlking growled in anger, the grains scraping harshly against my cheeks.
We were almost to the window when Hitch was ripped away from me, and I came to a startled halt. The sand had formed long grasping arms that pressed Hitch against the floral wallpaper. His wrists were held tight, and as I watched, a sandy hand wrapped around his mouth and forced its way between his teeth. He gagged, and sand trickled out of the corners of his mouth.
The Erlking strolled towards him, not seeming to be in any sort of rush. “You know, I’m not very fond of your yapping.”
He made an idle gesture and the sand wrapped around my ankles, tethering me in place.
“I yap all the time,” Hitch said. “Three-time olympic yapper, that’s me. Best to just let me go now and save yourself some trouble.”
The Erlking tapped a manicured nail against Hitch’s mouth, hard enough to hurt, judging by the way he flinched away. “But why would I ever let you go when I’ve gone to this much trouble to catch you and your sister? It’s so hard, these days, to find people that no one will miss.”
Hitch struggled against the sand, trying to escape and failing. “What do you want with us, then? You just said it, we’re nobody.”
“I’m fae, dear one,” the Erlking said. “I get my power from my followers. And I think that you two will make lovely additions to my flock.”

He flicked Hitch's nose and Hitch gasped. Feathers started to form on his arms, popping out from under his skin in a spray of blood.
Hitch pushed off the wall, using his bound hands as a fulcrum, and his knees crashed into the Erlking’s stomach. The Erlking fell backwards, wheezing, and the sand around my ankles loosened.
Hitch made desperate eye contact with me as feathers shot up his neck and jerked his head towards the window. The message was obvious. Run.
The last thing I saw before crashing out the window and into freedom was Hitch’s body twisting, his arms wrenching into wings and feathers covering every inch of his skin. By the time I landed on the concrete outside, he was a small black bird, held tightly in the Erlking’s hands. The whole building was sinking into the ground, burnished-gold sand piling up over top and streaming from the windows.
Thirty years later, I saw Sam’s Supernatural Consultation and Neutralization written in neat, looping handwriting on a piece of paper taped to the door. The tape was peeling at the corners and the paper was yellowed with age, but there was obviously care put into the sign, in its perfectly centered text and looping floral designs drawn over the edges in gold marker.
I knocked, hesitantly, drawing my woolen coat closer around my shoulders. I’d bought it as a fiftieth birthday gift for myself, and I took comfort in the heavy weight of it over my shoulders.
“Coming!” someone called from within the depths of the office.
There were a couple crashes, and the sound of paper shuffling. Eventually, the door was opened by a young woman with ketchup stains on her shirt and pencils stuck through her hair.
“Hi, I’m Sam, I specialize in supernatural consultation and hunting, how may I help you today?” Sam said, customer-service pep in her voice. She stood in the doorway, solidly blocking entry into the office.
“My name is Ezra, I’m for a consultation. I emailed you but you didn’t respond?” I shifted in place, suddenly feeling awkward.
“Oh! Yeah, I lost the password for the email ages ago. Sorry for the bad welcome, I get lots of people thinking I’m crazy or pulling a prank and harassing me.”
She ushered me into the office, clearing papers off one of the chairs to make room for me to sit down. There was a collection of swords along one wall, all of them polished to perfection, several with deep knicks in the metal which indicated that they’d been used heavily.
“So what can I help you with?” Sam asked again, more sincere this time.
“Thirty years ago, my brother was turned into a bird,” I started. I’d told this story so many times that it barely felt ridiculous to say anymore. I was used to the disbelieving looks, the careful pity. But Sam just nodded along, face open and welcoming.
“I’ve almost given up on finding him, at this point,” I said. “But I saw your ad in the newspaper, and…here I am, I suppose.”
“Here you are,” Sam echoed, smiling. She pulled one of the pencils out of her hair and took a bit of paperwork off of one of her stacks, turning it over so that the blank side sat neatly in front of her. “Tell me everything.”
I told Sam everything, and she wrote it all down, pencil scratching along the paper.
The last part of the story was always the hardest to tell. “I left him there. I ran and I didn’t look back.”
I had been to dozens of detectives and investigators over the years, once the police had dropped Hitch’s case. I’d been to professional offices with smartly-dressed secretaries and met scraggly men in coffee shops. All of them had given me the same look, pity and annoyance all mixed up into a humor-the-crazy-lady soup. Sam, though, just seemed thoughtful.
Sam leaned forward and put a hand over mine, carefully, like she thought that I would pull away. “Sometimes you have to leave people behind.”
I tightened her hold on Sam’s hand and drew it towards me, like I could make Sam listen if only I squeezed tight enough. “But that’s why I’m here. I don’t want to leave him behind.”
“Okay then. I’ll do my best to help you.” Sam agreed, finally. Then she paused, and said softly, “You know…I think I met your brother once. He might have saved my life. He’s certainly why I started in this business.”
“Really? What happened?” I asked.
This is the story that Sam told me, related to the best of my abilities:
It was a new moon, so the only illumination came from the stars gazing idly down and distant porch lights shining across the scraggly brush of the dunes. Sam’s neighbors were decent people who cared about baby turtles, so the lights were a low, unobtrusive red, and the ocean sloshed like blood. Sam walked on the beach almost every night, drawing back the gauzy pink curtains and clambering out her bedroom window. She didn’t often bother to be quiet; her mama worked the late shift and came home exhausted. As long as Sam got home before the sun, her mama would never find out that she paced the shoreline and dreamed of inhaling sand until her lungs became their own beach.
The sky was lightening. The sun would come up soon, and that meant Sam’s time on the beach was over. She needed to get back to her real life, go to her fifth grade class and stop that nonsense, as her mother would say. Her mother loved to say things like that, pushing Sam into her proper place by implication alone.
“She’s a good kid, of course, but she’s a bit…” Her mother would trail off there, usually getting a commiserating expression from whoever she was talking to. Sam always wondered how that sentence would have finished. She’s a bit strange, maybe. She’s a bit intense. She’s a bit abrasive. She’s quiet enough but when Jason tried to steal her pencil in math class, she stabbed him in the hand so hard that the lead tattooed him.
Her mother was better, for the most part. The days of her stocking up the fridge, and leaving a post-it note on the counter, and leaving for days at a time were gone. But Sam still stepped around the place on the kitchen tile where her mother had collapsed and caved her head in, even though the bloodstains had been replaced with new tile.
“Your auntie got an abortion, you know,” her mother had said from her place on the couch, slurring her words. “Pill in the mail and then bam, no more baby.”
She had clapped her hands together to illustrate her point. Her mother jerked forward and grabbed Sam by the wrist, then, staring up at her until Sam met her eyes.
“I love you, you know? But sometimes I wonder…” She settled back onto the couch. “Yeah. I wonder.”
She’d gotten up, then, back to the kitchen. She’d been stumbling, a shambling zombie of a woman. The ground in the entryway of the kitchen was raised, ever so slightly, and her mother went down hard. Her head cracked against the tile, chin first, and she didn’t move.
Sam had been the one to call the ambulance. She had stared at the scattering of loose teeth on the ground while she waited, and considered what her life would be like with a dead mom. Not so bad, she thought, and immediately felt guilty for it.
Her mom was better, now, for the most part. But Sam still stepped around the place on the kitchen floor where she had collapsed. There was still a matchbox hidden under her bed with the gleaming shine of her mother’s lost teeth, two canines and a molar. It was nice, having a piece of her mom to keep. Even if she left again, Sam would still have part of her.
Sam sighed, and turned away from the ocean. As she faced towards the low dunes further up the beach, she saw a sandcastle sitting nestled among them. It was such a strange sight that her eyes skipped over it at first, almost automatically, disregarding it because it was so out of place.
Sam found sandcastles out on the beach sometimes, usually half-collapsed and on the verge of being washed away by the waves, but she had never seen anything like the sandcastle in front of her. It was life-sized, something that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the Scottish highlands, with spires shooting up above her head and carefully etched out bricks lining each side. The front wall was dominated by an arched set of double doors, twice her height, with a portcullis nestled at the top, ready to be dropped. All of it was lovingly detailed, down to the rust on the tips of the towers and the wood grain of the door. It was made out of wet, densely-packed sand, held together impossibly. It had not been there two hours ago, when she had come to the beach.
There was a bird sitting on the overhang of the door, small and black.
As soon as she took a step towards the sandcastle, the bird shook out its feathers and swooped down towards Sam, landing at her feet with a little stumble.
“Hey, kid, get out of here,” said the bird.
Sam closed her eyes, very deliberately. When she opened them, the bird was still there. Sam considered herself a very reasonable person, so she immediately drew the most logical conclusion. The bird was, she was almost certain, a demon.
“Trust me, you don’t want to run into Mr. Salty, the queen bitch himself,” the bird said.
“Mr. Salty?” Sam inquired, polite as she knew how to be. She edged to the side, trying to get a good angle to kick the bird like a soccer ball.
The bird did something similar to a wince, all its feathers fluffing up then settling back down. “Ah, don’t call him that. He’d turn you into a toad.”
The bird gestured with its head, towards the looming sand structure. “That’s his castle. He’s in there, probably scuttling along the ceiling or some shit because that’s the sort of weirdo he is.”
Sam nodded, encouraging. She pulled back her foot and lined up her shot, the way she’d seen athletes do on TV. She aimed right for its sharp beak and let loose. The bird saw it coming, its beady eyes widening, and it cawed in distress. It flapped away, avoiding her kick only to fall backward into the sand in a scramble of wings.
“What’s your fucking problem?” it squawked. “I was trying to help you!”
“I don’t need the help of a demon,” Sam yelled, trying to remember the exorcism that her mama had taught her once, because her mama believed in being prepared for anything.
“I’m not a demon,” the bird said indignantly.
It was at about that moment that Sam gave up and just decided to roll with it.
“What are you, then?” Sam asked.
The bird shuffled its clawed feet, looking about as awkward as it could, given that it didn’t really have recognizable facial expressions. “Technically I’m a familiar of the Erlking, prince of the fae, but I prefer to be called Hitch.”
“You can’t blame me for assuming, though,” Sam said. “Ravens do tend to be associated with murder.”
“Hey, excuse you,” Hitch said. “I’m a rook, not a raven. Ravens are way bigger.”
“Sure,” Sam said, not really paying attention. Her eyes had caught on the details of the sandcastle, and she was transfixed by the slow spirals of the sand, the strange beauty of it. She found herself stepping towards the great doors, lifting a hand to knock, and as she did, the sand warped in front of her eyes, heaving itself towards her with bulging slowness. The door creaked open before her, revealing a vast, empty room. Just before she stepped inside, she felt a piercing pain in her foot, and she yelped, leaping backwards.
Hitch pecked her again, really digging his beak in. “Don’t be an idiot.”
Sam glared at him, rubbing her foot. About to retort, she finally really took in the room inside the sandcastle, and her words died in her throat.
There was a body just past the threshold of the door, face down and limbs hanging limp at its sides. Long hair splayed out in a halo around its head.
“Don’t,” Hitch warned, suddenly serious. “Just leave, kid, I mean it. I’ve seen too many people go down this road and you don’t want to be one of them.”
Sam ignored him. She made her way across the beach, slipping with every step. The sand felt deeper, piling up around her feet in silent drifts. She picked up the nearest stick and poked the body with it through the door, ready to leap back if anything went wrong, staying firmly outside of the sandcastle.
This close, Sam could tell that it used to be a woman. Her head wasn’t attached to her body. It hadn’t been a clean amputation, either. Her upper body was bruised, with chunks taken out of it, and the bones in her neck hung mangled, not connected to anything.
“Well, I warned you,” Hitch said, defeated. “I did warn you.”
Sam nudged the head with the end of the stick, nudging it over so that she could see the face. Her mother stared back at her, torn to pieces, breath still wheezing from her lungs. She wasn’t blinking, just gazing forward with glazed eyes. Sweat dripped down from her hairline.
Sam screamed and dropped the stick, tripping over herself in her haste to get away.
Her mother’s eyes were wide and pleading, and she was mouthing desperate words at Sam. Her vocal cords were broken to bits, and the only sound that came out was a strained groan.
The head rolled, inching closer to Sam like a grotesque caterpillar.
Her mother gasped for air, torn lips fluttering. Finally, comprehensible words came out. “Help. Help me, daughter.”
“That’s not your mother,” Hitch said, quiet.
Sam knew that. Her mother was sleeping back at home, and anyways her mom had never asked for her help. She had an aversion to accepting charity, as she put it.
“Okay,” Sam said, shaking all over. “Okay.”
She backed away from the sandcastle, not looking away.
“Failure,” her mother hissed as she stepped away. “I never wanted a daughter like you.”
The sun came up over the horizon. The sandcastle, Hitch, and her mom all disintegrated into sand as the light hit them.
The beach, the next night, was almost exactly how I remembered it. The beams of our flashlights sent light bouncing across the dunes, illuminating the waves, and I imagined faces in the foam of the waves.
“I’ve been back here a hundred times. There’s nothing left,” I said.
Sam took the car key out of her purse and pointed it at the sand, adjusting the sword slung over her shoulder in order to do it. The key had belonged to Hitch; Sam had requested an item of his, and it was the only thing I had left. She rested the key on the sand and drew a circle around it, inscribing symbols around the borders.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Sam shrugged. “Not much, really. I’m…I guess you could say that I’m knocking.”
The key laid inert on the sand for long enough that I was just about to give up and go home, admit to myself that Hitch was dead and that I was a fool to believe that Sam could actually help me. Then a building started to take shape, flickering in and out like it was struggling to get away. With a pop of displaced air, the sandcastle settled into existence.
Sam banged on the entryway. Nothing happened. She did it again, harder, and scowled when the door still didn’t open.
“We demand entrance, under your honor,” Sam yelled. There was a hard rush of wind, and I gripped Sam’s arm to keep my balance, but the doors cracked open reluctantly.
The inside of the sandcastle consisted of one enormous hall, the roof arching up out of sight. Rafters crisscrossed from wall to wall, and a cobbled path led further into the building, but other than that, it was completely empty, except for the birds. There were thousands of them, perched on the rafters or hopping along the ground. They parted in front of Sam and I, and reformed behind us, leaving us in a small pocket of open space. They were all black-feathered, with sharp beaks and beady eyes.
The Erlking sat on a throne at the end of the hall, lounging across it with his feet up on the armrest. He watched them as they came forward, the soft caw of the birds the only sound.
“I am here to bargain for the life of my brother,” I said, with as much dignity as I could muster, before the Erlking could say anything.
The Erlking ignored her, tilting his head to look at Sam. “I remember you. I almost got you, once.”

Sam glared at him but didn’t respond.
“You want your brother,” The Erlking said to me, and he almost sounded amused. “Then go get him.”
As if by some sort of silent signal, every bird in the room took flight at once, and their cawing made me think of screams. I covered my head against the flapping of their wings, and my vision was quickly obscured by the chaotic movement of them. I found myself on my knees, just trying to escape them.
A hand met my shoulder. Sam urged me to my feet, and together we ran for the edge of the room, where the swarm was the thinnest. We pressed ourselves into the corner and the swarm spiraled tighter and tighter at the center of the room. It went on until there seemed to be no differentiation between the birds, all of them fused together into one creature.
When the chaos died down, the birds had become one mass, with wings and eyes and talons sticking out of its flesh, thrashing and chirping. Human body parts stuck out of it, bulging out from the feathers. It was hands, mostly, with a couple knees or staring eyes. The bird amalgamation had no recognizable facial features, but there was one long beak extending from the front of its head. Most of the body parts were concentrated around the beak, and they peeked out from where the beak connected with muscle, or grew from the tongue, nestled between the two crushing halves of the beak.
It turned its beak down and crawled forward, using the hands to balance. The fingers scrambled over the ground. I was afraid of centipedes as a child, and I felt that same crawling dread when it started moving.
“Holy shit,” Sam whispered, which was rather disappointing, because I had been hoping that at least one of us knew what to do.
The creature turned, a lurching movement that crushed some of the hands underneath it, and started heaving itself slowly towards our corner.
“Better hurry up!” the Erlking called from his throne.
It was blocking the exit, by then. The shifting body of it had moved to block us off. It ambled towards us and I tried to sink further into the corner.
As it approached, getting close enough that I could smell the stink of it, I saw a flash of a tattoo on one of the hands. I leaned in, trying to find it again, like looking for dolphins surfacing in the ocean. And again, I caught a glimpse of a duck tattoo, the tattoo that Hitch had gotten on his hand as a teenager.
I ripped away from Sam’s death grip and ran for the monster.
I fell to my knees in front of it, wincing as I impacted the ground, and reached into the nest of hands. I could feel them tearing at my forearms and ripping into me with their sharp nails, but I kept going. I pressed further in, up to my shoulder in a writhing mass of limbs, aiming for the spot where I had last seen that tattoo.
The hands were tugging at me, wrapping around my back and hair. They were pulling together, trying to draw me completely into the mass of them. I was aware of Sam at my side, anchoring me in place and bashing any hand that got too close with her sword or the sparks that leapt from her hands with muttered words. But I didn’t think it would be enough. They were too strong, and there were too many of them.
I was up to my waist in the hands when something grabbed my palm. I felt the way it clung to me, and the calluses on its palm, and I knew that I had found my brother.
I flung herself back. The hands didn’t want to let me go, and they fought the whole way, but slowly, I made progress. I kept hold of Hitch’s hand in mine the whole time, gripping it as hard as I could. I finally broke free, Hitch with me, and Sam was immediately charging the creature, able to use her sword with much greater strength without being worried about injuring Hitch. She swung it forward, and it sliced through the wrist of one of the hands. It fell without a sound, red sand flowing out of it. It deflated until it looked like dirty laundry, just a piece of limp flesh. The creature shrieked, scuttling away enough that the door was finally accessible. The three of us ran for it, Sam and I supporting Hitch between us.
I looked back as I left and found the Erlking staring right at me.
“Interesting,” he murmured, his voice carrying impossibly across the vast space between us.
The sandcastle collapsed behind us, the great walls falling in on themselves. We were out in the morning sun, the sandcastle disappearing as we watched. Hitch was on the ground in front of me, as young as he’d been thirty years ago, when he was captured. He started laughing, feathers puffing out of his mouth. He laughed until he cried and I hugged him in the way that he’d held me when I was young, in the times when my life had been defined by hunger and fear.
Hitch left, afterwards. He scratched at the pinhole scars covering his body, where feathers burst through his skin, and pulled his long sleeves down around his wrists. He didn’t know where he was going but he told me that he needed time
I had spent thirty years worth of time without him. I wanted to grab my brother by the shoulders and beg him to stay. But he flinched when I hugged him goodbye and he refused to go near sand and he stared distrustfully at the birds chirping in the trees. Hitch needed to go away and I loved him too much to stop him.
I sat out on the beach every morning. I felt the sun on my face and I waited for Hitch to come home.

I first started noticing that something was wrong around 3 months ago. At the time, I was working from home and would usually light a scented candle while I worked, which usually helped me relax and stay focused on my work. I would usually burn through a candle a week, but over time, the candles started to take less time to fully burn up. At first, I thought that this was because of a change in ingredients the company that made the candles used, but the problem persisted after I switched candle brands, which I once again blamed on the candle manufacturers.
I kept this belief for another week until the first incident. While getting up from my computer desk, which faces away from the candle, to take a quick bathroom break, I caught a glimpse of the lit candle. A two-inch layer of molten wax rested on another three-inch layer of solid wax, the wicks rising out at first and being somewhat visible through the molten layer, finally breaking the surface and being slowly burned away. The flames flickered as I swung the door open and walked out of the room. When I returned 10 minutes later, the molten layer was gone, and the wicks had been shortened so that the flames rested right above the solid layer of the wax. At first, I thought that the glass jar that contained the candle was leaking, but after a short inspection, I was only able to find two small drops of candle wax that had solidified right next to the candle on the bedside table. I still had 2 hours of work left to do, but I was too lost in thought and was unable to do any work for the rest of the day.
Every night before I go to sleep, I like to read for at least 30 minutes, and while reading, I usually light a candle. Around 4 days later, I had mostly forgotten about the incident and went back to using candles. Due to my naivety, it returned.
I fell asleep while reading with a candle lit on my bedside table. I woke up to loud slurping noises. As I opened my eyes, the brightness of the light I had not turned off almost blinded me. As my eyes tried to readjust to the light and focus on what was in front of me, I saw a somewhat humanoid dark gray to light blue blur that contrasted with the white paint on the walls behind it. Another gray line stretched from the shape's head to the candle on my bedside table. I could feel my heart skip five consecutive beats. I opened my mouth and tried to force out a scream for help, but the pressure I applied to my throat was way beyond what it was able to handle, leading me to only produce a light wheezing sound. I tried to sit up or to at least prop myself up, but my muscles failed me. Trying to push myself up with my arms felt impossible. As I stared at the figure that had suddenly appeared in my room, my eyes finally managed to focus, making it possible for me to see the intruder who was now staring at me. The figure was a man at least 7 feet tall, fully naked; he looked bloated; his eyes were bloodshot and looked like they would pop out of their sockets; at any point, his skin was a grayish light blue.
HIS LIPS
His lips extended from his mouth like an elephant's trunk, which had been split in half. The lips extended from the man's face to the candle; the flames had been put out. He was using his lips as a makeshift straw, slowly sucking up all the molten wax from the candle, which had fully liquified while I was asleep. I laid in bed, unable to move, unable to scream for help, staring until he emptied the jar. His lips retracted back to his face, the molten wax solidifying on their tips and cracking, flakes of wax falling off the man's lips and falling to the floor. The man grinned, staring at me. The ridges and gaps between the teeth were filled in with wax, making it impossible to make out where one tooth ended and the next one began. The man opened the door he was standing next to, but instead of walking out of the room, he stepped behind it. His face peered at me from above the door, and then once again, like he had done to drink the wax, the man puckered his lips, which stretched from his mouth and floated to me. I shook and tried to roll over away from him. I wanted to get up and run, but my fear had taken over my body. Tears flowed from my eyes. He kissed me on the cheek, leaving flakes of wax and light moisture. He retracted his lips and lowered his head behind the door.
I don't remember falling asleep, but when I woke up, I saw the empty glass jar, which at one point contained the candle. Even though I had hoped that what had happened was a dream, it wasn't. I still had flakes of wax on my cheek, and on my bedroom floor, the wax in the jar had disappeared. I called the police, but they were unable to find anyone in my apartment; they also could not find any evidence of a break-in.
After the break-in, I started looking for a new apartment to move to, thinking that the man was tied to the building I was in, but even though I had thrown out all of my candles, I could not stomach spending another hour in my apartment, constantly looking over my shoulder or walking around with my back pressed up against the wall to not allow it to creep up on me. Thankfully, my friend Emma was able to let me stay over at her apartment while I looked for a new one for myself.
Me and Emma have been friends since we were 8, and we've been there to support each other when times get rough. This isn’t the first time I've had to stay over at her house for an extended amount of time; in fact, I have had to stay over at Emma’s as many times as she has had to stay over at my apartment, whether it was because of evictions after losing a job, breakups, or a candle wax drinking squatter. I didn't even know if it was human. I mean, sure, it looked like one, but human lips are not supposed to do what his did, and somehow it didn't have a reaction to molten wax being poured down its esophagus. I didn't tell Emma about what happened—the details at least—I just told her that a man had broken into my house and was watching me sleep. The only people I told the truth to were my therapist and the cops, and all of them disregarded what I told them as my mind making things up after a traumatic event.
For a while, I believed what they said—I mean, why wouldn’t I?—but then I started seeing him again. For a few days, I thought it was my mind playing tricks on me again like it had done during the night of the incident. For split seconds out of the corner of my eye, I would see the outline of a tall, bloated figure. At first, they were hours apart, but after a while, it became constant. He was standing in each room I passed, in every single dark corner I glanced past, and then he spoke.
“FeeD MeEeee”
It stood in the kitchen, peering over from a small gap between the fridge and the sink, where the trash can that had been knocked over onto its side usually stood. His voice was raspy, and every word that came out of his mouth was distorted as if he were gargling water, but still, I could somehow clearly make out each word he said from over 15 feet away.
“Please just leave me alone I… why are you following me?”
I shouted at the figure, the same fear that had taken over my body during the night I saw him for the first time paralyzing me, making it impossible for me to move anything other than my eyes, eyelids, and mouth.
“i’M sTarviNg, I nEEd You To FeEd ME”
It replied again. Now, stepping out from behind the fridge, he stepped directly onto a rotten banana. Its mushy brown content’s seeping out of the peel under the pressure of his decomposing foot, which was covered in scabs, and took up the same grayish light blue color as the rest of his body. He mostly looked the same; his bloodshot eyes bulged from their sockets, but now his tongue was swollen. It peeked out from between his bloated, cracked gray lips; it stared at me, waiting for an answer.
“Ok, I’ll.. I’ll feed you, but please just... leave me alone.”
I replied, the tone of my voice shifting into high-pitched squeals with every quick breath I took. He looked satisfied by my response. He somehow squeezed his bloated body back into the gap that was at least four times smaller than him. After peering over at me from above the fridge, he bent over backwards, his spine releasing a series of sickening cracks until he was fully obscured by the fridge, and then he vanished.
Still barely in control of my body, I limped over to the couch tucked away in the back corner of the living room, it took me at least 10 minutes to steady my breathing and 20 more to fully regain control of my body again but as soon as I did I ran out the house and to the nearest store, during the 15-minute walk he stared at me through dark windows and the backs of cars, peered out at me from gaps between leaves in the trees and bushes, he even followed me into the store staring at me from the middle of deserted isles before disappearing right before my eyes were able to fully catch him, once I finally got the candles I randomly picked four off of the shelves and rushed to the self checkout.
When I arrived home, I had 2 hours before Emma got off work. I didn't want to feed it while she was home, and I didn't want her to see it. I pulled out two of the candles from the black plastic bag and placed them on the kitchen table, the first a light blue candle named “Garden Rain” and the second a red candle named “Juicy Watermelon." I pulled out a lighter from one of the drawers Emma used after her stove stopped lighting on its own and lit each of the 6 wicks on the candles. As soon as I started seeing the wax melt under the heat of the burning wicks, I dropped the lighter onto the table next to the candles and ran out of the room. I could not stomach seeing that thing again; even just thinking about it made me shudder and hyperventilate. The paralyzing fear that seeing him caused me made me want to vomit.
At least 30 minutes later I started to hear it drink even though the living room and kitchen were separated by a wall, even though I had closed the door I could still hear what at first started as slurping sounds which were followed up by loud gulps, then it stopped, and once again 30 minutes later it started drinking, as the slurping started once again I heard the door to the apartment crack open, it was Emma, as she stepped through the door I saw her carrying two large brown paper bags of groceries in her hands, she was headed to the kitchen.
“Hey let me grab those for you”
I said running over to her, my voice shaking.
“Oh, thanks. Are you… okay, you look scared?”
My eyes shot wide open in a mixture of fear and surprise. I said the first thing that came to mind.
“Yeah just umm… I didn't expect you to come home so early and I got a bit spooked”
“shit sorry, I know I should have called you, work let me off early today,”
I started to turn away from her walking to the kitchen.
Trying to keep her away from the kitchen I told her to wait for me in the living room because I wanted to talk to her about something. I didn't know what I would talk to her about but that was a problem for future me to resolve, somehow it worked.
“What's that sound?”
She called out to me while walking towards the living room couch. It took me a few seconds to come up with an excuse.
“I think it’s the sink, or the pipes at least”
I opened the door to the kitchen with my eyes closed at first hesitant to look knowing what would be greeting me. slowly prying my eyes open I started to see its outline, my muscles started to lose strength as the details of the man came into my view, I felt the grocery bags start to slip from my arms, my knees buckled, face first I fell onto the kitchen floor scattering the groceries all over the floor, I mixture of a light scream and a yelp escaped from my mouth as my body made contact with the floor, Emma concerned for my safety ran into the kitchen, she didn't scream, using all of the strength and mobility I had left in my muscles I rolled over expecting to see her face drenched in terror, her body frozen still unable to move just like my body had done the first time that I saw him, but Emma looked concerned, the man was gone, she crouched down beside me.
“Oh my god are you ok? What happened?”
I looked around observing my surroundings.
“I um… I… I tripped on the little thing at the bottom of the doorframe”
I finally managed to blurt out another excuse, not being able to remember what the name of a door sill was. I started to sit up using a part of the energy that had returned to my body, pain pulsed through my chest and arms, Emma looked at me with a concerned face.
“You've been acting really weird since I got home, are you sure you're ok?”
“Yeah… I think I’m just having one of those days you know”
The confusion on Emma’s face said that she didn’t know and to be honest I didn't either, I guess my luck of pulling random excuses out of my ass ran out, Emma thought that she triggered some sort of PTSD response after barging into the house unannounced at first apologizing then trying to change the subject to stop my trembling which I was still unsuccessfully trying to hide from her.
“Did you buy candles?”
Emma asked picking the groceries apart from the garbage that spilled out the can that the man had knocked over, placing them on the table next to the now half-empty glass jars, the flames flickered above the inch or so of molten wax the man was unable to finish drinking.
“Yeah I’ve been struggling with work lately, they usually help me focus”
“Huh Interesting combination you’ve got going on here”
She looked at me and smiled slightly, I smiled back and chuckled to seem normal.
“Yeah even I don't know what I was trying to accomplish here, to be honest”
I tried to help Emma clean up the spilled groceries but she did not let me, she told me that I needed to recover like I had been in a car crash instead of having taken a little tumble. After a few seconds of silence, Emma spoke again.
“Anyway, what did you want to talk to me about earlier?”
A quick jolt of stress shot through my body, in a jumbled mess of lies and fear I had forgotten what I had told Emma, I sat there in silence for a few seconds unable to come up with an excuse
“I…umm… I don’t remember, it wasn't anything serious though”
“Damn did you hit your head too?”
She said once again proudly smiling at her joke.
At this point Emma picked up the last bag of potato chips from the floor and placed it on the table, then she opened the fridge and started loading the groceries into it.
“Anyway I gotta go get back to work’’
I blurted out after a few more seconds of awkward silence.
“Alright well good luck”
I walked over into the living room and sat down in front of my workstation, which now consisted of a laptop sitting on a small foldable TV tray that had just barely enough room left on it to fit a small USB mouse.
The last thing I remember, before I fell asleep, was me mindlessly scrolling through apartment listings while Emma watched a random 90’s horror movie I’m positive only had a budget of $500.
I woke up with a light stinging pain shooting through my dry throat, and a dim hissing sound caused by thousands of water drops striking the ground outside filled the room. I pressed the spacebar on my laptop, the brightness of the screen blinding me temporarily, after taking a few seconds to let my eyes readjust I managed to make out the time, 3:45 AM. A strong smell I was unable to make out the origin of assaulted my nostrils. Lavender.
The smell hitting my nose had the same effect on me that I would expect smelling salts would have on a weightlifter right before they set a world record. Before I knew it my legs were moving on their own at an almost uncontrollable pace, fighting back against my mind which was telling them to slow down after years of being used to navigating both mine and Emma’s apartment as steadily as possible to not bother the neighbors.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity I stood before Emma’s bedroom door, a faint, yellow, pulsating light radiated from a lamp and snuck out of a small gap between the door and the doorframe, reluctantly I pushed my left hand up against the door, my right hand grasping onto the door frame for a sense of stability, once the door was fully agape I scanned the inside of the room my heart skipping a beat for every humanoid shadow cast up onto the wall by the lights from the wicks which were set ablaze and were being slowly burnt away.
I walked into Emma’s room and made my way over to her bedside table to put out the candle, as I stepped closer towards her, her face became more defined, I could finally make out her features, she was awake, but no she could not have been, even though her eyes were wide open they never blinked, she didn't even move slightly, as I moved closer I finally managed to fully make out the expression of pure terror on her face, her mouth wide agape as if she was about to release a deafening screach, but she could not have, a single drop of solidified wax dribbled out of the corner of her mouth and clung to her cheek, my eyes traced the cream colored path back towards her mouth, first up her cheek then between the corner of her mouth and finally behind her teeth, there instead of her tongue or the roof of her mouth I saw a wall of wax which had filled in the entirety of her mouth.
I fell to my knees and hunched forward supporting my body weight with my arms, I was too late, I resisted the urge to vomit and got back up onto my feet, a mixture of tears and snot slid down my face and onto my lips, shaking now I slowly started limping over towards my phone which I had left on the couch next to where I had awoken just minutes before, just minutes before my life was destroyed because of my lies if I had just told Emma what I had gone through, if I had just told her what had happened on the night of the incident which now seemed trivial, even if she thought that I was crazy, I know that she would have complied just to make me feel comfortable.
It took me at least 30 seconds of repeated attempts to stabilize my hands enough to properly dial 911. “Someone broke into my apartment and hurt my friend” was the only reasonable explanation I could come up with that would not get the operator to hang up on me thinking that this was a prank call.
I sat there in the living room for an agonizing 10 minutes, crying, my sadness slowly transformed into anger towards myself, and my mind raced thinking of all the lies I’d told, I kept thinking that if I had just told her the truth she would not have been laying there in her bed, her body bloated, “every single orifice has signs of forced penetration and has been filled with what seems to be candle wax” is what was written on her autopsy report.
For a few days I was the main suspect in Emma’s murder, but due to the almost unstoppable crying and the unresponsive state that I was in when the police arrived, mixed with the lack of evidence of me having a way to produce 30 pounds of candle wax led to me being released out of police custody, but because I was the main suspect I was not told any details about what had fully happened to Emma, for days all I had to work off of was the image of her face frozen in terror, and a short glance I caught of her bloated body as she was being carted out on a stretcher.
I recounted every single word of our last conversations over and over again until they became permanently etched into my brain.
Emma’s parents originally wanted to cremate her, as that is what she had somewhat jokingly asked for whenever the topic of funerals came up, well she had joked about wanting to have had unpopped popcorn shoved down her throat before she was sent off to “scare the shit out of the guy cremating me” but due to all the wax which would have been impossible to get out of her body they were forced to bury her.
A few days before Emma’s funeral her body disappeared.
After Emma’s death, her parents took me into their home, after reading the autopsy reports and seeing her corpse they had thrown out every single candle they owned which made their home the safest choice I had, still, this did not stop me from buying a machete and keeping it under my bed, just in case.
I was laying on the bed in their guest bedroom The day that the police informed Emma’s parents about her disappearance, the bedroom is right above the front porch of the house, at first I heard them ring the doorbell which was followed up by 3 powerful knocks on the door, for about a minute I laid there on the bed listening to muffled voices exchanging distorted words I was barely able to make out which slowly transformed into distorted weeps, curious I lifted myself up from the bed, made my way over to the window and carefully lifted the bottom panel making Shure to not make too much noise, the distorted muffled sounds started forming into coherent words “We checked the security footage but the only strange thing we could see was a 5 second time jump” one of the officers spoke in a serious and almost monotone voice “which meant that the security guard who was the only person in the building had to climb down 2 flights of stairs walk through a 40 foot long hallway and then drag her body back up stairs and out of the building in 5 seconds” Emma’s mom let out yelp “ but don’t worry ma'am that’s actually good news because we know that her corpse is still somewhere within the building and was probably brought to the wrong floor by an intern, we’ve already warned all of the staff at the hospital to keep an eye out, and we also sent 5 officers to search the hospital”
I could not believe what I was hearing, my breathing quickened, but this time instead of fear I felt anger, that fucker stole her corpse and was probably in the weird separate plane of existence he always went back to after terrorizing me, cutting off chunks of her body, melting her, and drinking her.
I closed the window Emma’s mom's cries once again turned into a muffled rumble which was only possible to make out if you knew what to look for, I took a few steps back away from the window planning to lay back down, not wanting to bother Emma’s parents. I bumped into something, not something, someone, its fleshy towering form as solid as a wall sent me tumbling forward, I knew it was him, he had returned to take me too, to stretch his swollen cracked lips, push them down my esophagus, fill my lungs and stomach with wax. But despite all of that this time I was not scared, I was angry, and I was not going to stand there in terror like I had the last time I saw him.
I fell forward onto my knees my face missing the window sill just by mere inches, I put my hands onto the floor, lifted one of my knees, and rotated 180 degrees now facing the monster, to the right of him pushed up against the wall was the bed, light from the sun reflected off of the metallic button which kept my machete in it’s sheathe, the man started to stretch his lips, they were moving towards me, waving a wiggling through the air like a snake slithering towards me.
I dove towards the bed one of my feet pushing off of the floor and the other pushing against the wall which creaked under the pressure applied to it, I flew for a few moments before slamming down onto the carpet and sliding forward, the heat generated by my skin brushing against the carpet released a sharp stinging pain throughout my body, my outstretched arm landed just a few inches short of the machete, I quickly bent my arms, pushing my body up and crawled towards the machete. my fingers wrapped around the handle I spun around, my back pushed up against the bedside table, once again facing the man, he was still facing the window but his lips faced me and were just a few feet away from me, for what felt like minutes but was most likely no longer than a second, I struggled to hook my finger under the strap securing the machete into its sheath, as the lips inched towards me the man started producing gurgling noises, he was regurgitation wax.
I finally pulled the machete out of its sheath, I swung the blade at the man's lips, the blade was not met with any resistance as it sliced through the man’s lips which landed on the carpeted floor with an audible thud, the man did not have a physical reaction to my counter-attack, his lips kept creeping towards me, once again I slashed at the lips, still no reaction, I repeated this at least 3 more times.
I wanted to kill him, I wanted to take revenge for what he had done to Emma, but fighting back was pointless. I realized that no matter how much I tried to hurt it, I could not kill him, I could not get rid of him.
My rage dissipated and a mixture of fear and sadness crept in, and soon took over my body, I screamed for help, I screamed in fear, in agony, tears streamed down my face as the man's lips finally reached my face, he wasn’t met with any resistance as his lips snuck between mine, pried my jaw open and finally started to slide down my esophagus.
I heard the cops run up the stairs, they started banging on the door asking if I was okay only to have been met with muffled screams, hot wax started to pour down inside of me, the stinging pain of the heat made me want to plunge the machete which I had dropped onto the ground next to me into my stomach to create a gaping wound that the wax would hopefully funnel out of, the texture of the man's slippery, oily lips matched with the poison like flavor of the wax caused me to start gagging, I felt my insides bulging like at any moment my intestines would have been filled to the point where they would pop, I wanted to vomit, the drain myself of the filth I was filled with, but his lips had plugged my throat not allowing anything to get out.
Hearing my muffled screams the cops started kicking the door down, the man retracted his lips, the suction aided my attempts at cleansing my insides, I got onto my hands and knees streams of molten wax pouring out of me, solidifying on the the carpet, with another loud thud the door swung open slamming into the wall, the man was gone.
That’s the last thing I remember before I passed out, but according to one of the doctors who was in the ambulance that brought me to the hospital, I was still semi-responsive during the first 10 minutes of the ride to the hospital.
Approximately 13.4 pounds of wax were removed from my body, the doctors said that I was in a critical condition and some of them did not expect me to make it.
One of the officers who was there the day the man attacked me took a report of what had happened to me, due to the unmistakable evidence of what had happened to both me and Emma, and the fact that this was the 3rd instance of me reporting something like this the police finally started investigating who this man might have been.
Around a month later I was discharged from the hospital and once again have been staying in the living room of Emma’s parent's house.
I’ve been seeing the man again, candles were not allowed in the hospital I stayed at, which means that he’s probably very hungry, he’s close to attacking me again, I know it, he wants to finish what he started and I don't know if I have the power to fight back, I’m not sure if defeating him is even possible, I’m tired.
I’ve been seeing Emma too, her bloated, reanimated corpse often appears to be standing next to the man. If I let him take me will I get to join them? I’ve tried asking but they don’t answer, they just stare, I can’t keep living in constant fear, always looking over my shoulder, I miss Emma.

My ex and I have been living together and dating for roughly 5 years of time. We met at a university we both attended where we were getting the same degree, and I thought we were deeply in love. We never argued, had the same views and goals for the future, and the 2-3 problems we did develop were communicated and improved in healthy ways. It was a loving relationship that our friends could only hope to have. He had even custom made me a promise ring that I wore every day and never took off. I was a part of his family gatherings in Maine (where he was from), and he was involved with my family back in Michigan as well. We lived together for years, and I had hoped that we would get married after we graduated, like we had talked about. We were living like we were, anyway, so I was under the impression it would be a welcome next step.
A year after we both graduated, he ended up getting a job across the country (Michigan New Mexico). He would have a pretty large salary increase, would be doing things he enjoyed in the workplace, and be closer to his hobbies and a few friends that he had at our university that were older. I would have to move to a state I've never been, away from all of my friends and family, with no personal plan in place (I did not have a job lined up there like he did). However, he told me I could focus on healing from past trauma I couldn't process while I was focused on school, and work on getting my streaming and music career off of the ground, which is something I would've rather done with my life. I had plenty of contacts to realistically attempt something like that. And if it wasn't working, I could always try to get a job where he did. He would cover the rent of the condo we lived at, but I'd still pay all of my own personal bills (food, insurance, phone, etc.). Weighing the pros and cons, and how I believed our relationship to be/where it was headed, I agreed. We went 50/50 on furniture we would need while we were still in Michigan, because the company paid to move our stuff. The moving company damaged some things of mine that were irreplaceable, and I wanted him to deal with the moving company about it, but he never did. When we got there, I unpacked pretty much everything that was moved for the both of us, set up and organized the house, and did all of the cooking, paperwork, and chores I could so my ex could focus on getting settled in his new job. I put together lists of what we still needed, and continued to buy things for the condo 50/50, even when I was running off of low hustle income and savings. I even sold things that meant a lot to me so I'd be able to deal with all of the moving logistics and support myself when my work was "unpacking and settling".
Right before I finished my stream setup, and I was ready to start grinding on my own career, I had stumbled upon evidence of him cheating when I needed to use his computer. I have documented evidence that he has been paying sex workers for various things for the past 2 years, well before this job and move was in the picture. I didn't have access to his socials or accounts to know the full extent of what he had done, but what I had found was more than enough. When I confronted him, he didn't deny it either. I was distraught and depressed. I cut again for the first time in years. I felt lied to, betrayed, suicidal, and alone. I felt unsafe being alone in the condo, so I went to his friend's house after finding out. I told them what was wrong and they were in total disbelief until I showed them the evidence, it was extremely out of character for him. I lost 10 pounds in 2 days. The day of finding out what he did, I had already bought plane tickets back to Michigan for studio work, and couldn't change it. We agreed to take some space to figure out next steps, so I took that flight back to Michigan with two suitcases of my things, not knowing what was happening. I spent another few months unable to work, because my mental state was horrendous, and I didn't want to cash in any favors to get an engineering position when I didn't know where I was even going to be in a month's time. It seemed like we were going to try couple's therapy, because I really wanted to understand why he needed the external validation. I wanted to help him and figure out exactly what went wrong, because I didn't see any signs of this behavior. But we cut it off for good in December, when he had told me he's been seeing his ex. The breakup was slow and painful, and I was constantly living in a state of not knowing what was going on, and suffering mentally and financially for it. All of my plants that were there are now dead because he couldn't care for them, he still has my two cats, and I may have to sell my dream car in order to really afford starting over again. I can't even sell it as is since he didn't turn it on the entire time, so the battery and alternator are now dead too. It feels like my life was ripped out from under me in a blink of an eye, and I was the one being punished for it when I was the one who didn't do anything wrong.
My mom flew me out to Guam in December, knowing how much I was hurting and she wanted to get me away from it all. I was supposed to leave 2 months later in February, but here I am, still here 5 months later. Still essentially living off of two suitcases of my belongings. I am ready to move on with my life. I want my cats and my things back, and I want a fresh start. I have a few jobs lined up for me here to get back on my feet. I had to purchase a new wardrobe for the office, and a new car to get around.
All I asked for him to do was send my stuff back to Michigan, where it came from, so it could be stored at my dad's house until I could get it moved here to Guam. I felt like it was fair to ask, considering he lied to me and cheated on me for two years, when he easily could've just broken up with me before moving for his job. He made the conscious decision to drag me along and shift my whole life for him, when he had no plans to actually be with me. He bragged about the salary increase and I know what it is, I know he can afford to pay for my stuff to be moved out. I have been asking for updates constantly over the past few months, and he gives me spaced and vague answers. He is now saying he wants me to pay for half of it to be moved, which I think is unfair. This situation is entirely his fault, I'm already spending a lot of money starting my life over, and I was the only one unpacking things when we got there. He can pack up my things, and send it back to where it came from. He's also keeping everything we went 50/50 on as well, so I'm still losing even when he pays for the move. Our friends are on my side here, but he isn't cooperating or budging. I wanted to be civil, but he's being difficult to communicate with, and I am on the other side of the world now. Can I/Should I take him to court to pay for my move? Can I/Should I pursue suing him for the other aspects now that he is no longer being civil about this? Will being on Guam while he is in New Mexico complicate a lawsuit? I'm losing my mind at how I have had everything to lose, and he still doesn't have the decency to do what people around me seem to think is the right thing to do. Any advice and further questions to clarify the situation is appreciated.

He (32M) and I (30F) have been married for 10 years. 2 kids (elementary school age). This is not the first time I’ve asked to separate but it IS the first time I’ve been able to walk away knowing that I can support the kids and myself on my own. (We make just about even $$ — I make a little bit more but I’d say it’s comparable). I recently got preapproved to buy a house on my own because he has tanked his credit, apparently.
It’s been 10 years and we are absolutely unable to go out in public without him finding some reason to be upset with me. At home, things are surface level. We hang out and watch our show after the kids go to bed, but we don’t actually connect.
The straw that finally broke the camel’s back for me was last night, on a double date with another couple we are friends with. He had a lot to drink and kept accidentally pushing me into the people standing in front of us. I asked him numerous times to please stop (he has no recollection) and I eventually got annoyed after 4-5 times and walked away. He then got upset and caused a scene in front of hundreds of strangers for 60+ minutes, saying that I don’t love him and “all he wants is to be loved.” My friend’s husband and I had to beg him to get in the car because he was trying to walk the 1.5mi home. (This is not the first time something like this has happened. I’ve been 100% faithful and honest throughout our marriage, but any time we go out in public, he treats me like I’ve done something wrong and then blames me for that behaviotreatment.) It’s a mind F.
I feel like I’ve been almost manic recently, just trying to save this marriage — I got my IUD taken out because he asked, I just went* under contract on a house in his hometown (4.5hrs away from where we are now) because he said he wants to be closer to his family. Mine is 14hrs away.
I will be getting back on BC immediately — I have no clue what the hell I was thinking when I made that choice. Luckily we have not been intimate so there is no chance I could have gotten pregnant. He is not in a position to buy a house, so it was going to be just me making the purchase, including pulling from my 401K for the down payment. Tomorrow I will be going back to the realtolender with my tail between my legs and losing the earnest money I put down because everything in me is screaming not to go through with this.
So… all of that said, obviously therapy is necessary but in the meantime, WHY do I feel so guilty/scared? I know what I want and it’s not this. But I’m terrified that he’s going to try to take the kids or put ideas in their heads to make me seem like a bad mom. I guess I’m looking for reassurance or similar experiences b/c I feel really anxious and alone right now.
Editing to add: it’s probably also worth noting that he has acknowledged that he is insecure. (And again, that is somehow my fault). But aside from all of that, I just don’t care to try anymore, which is what sparked the request to separate today. I have no desire for counseling or “giving it another shot” — I just feel done. And I have no clue if something is wrong with me for feeling like that.

So few months ago and 2 days ago i had water leakin from my visor clip. I made a post about it around the time of the leak here if you wanna check the backlogs. Anyway. Got the headliner out. N found out alot of info about them rivnuts for the airdam is wrong. Ry the car guy is decent on his intel but hes like a learn while filming kinda guy. Case in point he said 2 of the front rivnuts were out in the open. N 2 were under the structural tubing above the windshield. No all 4 are there. Behind that tubing. And as stuck as mine were ya gotta use vice grips. But theres no hole to use vice grips. Brace yourself (pun intended) legit had to use a hole saw to drill a hole on that brace er body frame er wate er you call it to fit vice grips to grip on the rivnut. Btw in nissans great wisdom (because things never fail and you dont need it easy to get go anything because you wont need to get to it ever) they decided to tape the 3rd brake light wire and interior light wire to the headliner. Btw whose wise ass idea was it to use rivnuts anyway when a simple nut n bolt will do anyway like on every other car part? I love nissan but this was a mistake. They should make a recall on the rivnuts since technically it can be a safety issue with rust n mold n electrical hasards and is such a common issue. And for every recall if it takes a long time give a z or gtr as a rental. Fkn bs. Oh n btw its 2 rivnuts i had to drill holes for. Driver side too. Hope i dont get in a rollover. 👍

i met this guy on hinge and he seemed like a chill vibe. Based off of his photos he seemed to be someone i would be attracted to. dark complexion, medium build , introverted, and kind of nerdy. We had matched, exchanged numbers, and developed somewhat of a connection but nothing serious. we had mutual interest like video games, and x-men comics. i wanted to get to know him better outside of messaging and asked him if he wanted to see a movie. he responded with “i would love to, but i am currently not working and wouldn’t be comfortable with you paying for your own ticket on the first date.” i found that commendable, and understood that it was currently hard to get a job in our city at the moment (Toronto/GTA AREA). as we continued to talk he became eager to meet me in person, and asked if we could go on a walk. i agreed, but he proposed that we meet him somewhere five minutes away from his house, which was a 30 minute drive away from mine. i expressed that i didn’t feel comfortable doing that because i didn’t see the difference in paying for my own movie and paying for my own gas there and back to see someone for the first time. he also didn’t offer to meet anywhere in between which i would’ve been fine with. for context he told me he didn’t drive or have his license. he agreed with my sentiments and apologized, so we met somewhere in between the both of us. we walked around a local mall for an hour and i told him where to meet me. he had a little bit of trouble but we saw each other and embraced each other with a hug. he then pressed me for not giving him better details on where he could find me but i never thought anything of it. if i’m going to be honest i expected him to look different. firstly he lied about his height, which didn’t make any sense to me but whatever i don’t care for height. i also noticed his hygiene was off. he had insanely cracked dry skin, peeling lips, foam in the corner of his mouth, and an insane amount of build up under his long finger nails. i ignored it and just continued to walk and talk. i notice he couldn’t hold a conversation for his life making it very awkward but i sympathized with him, as he could’ve been nervous. time goes by we’re just walking, window shopping and then he asks for us to go get patties. we went to the patty shop, i bought a patty and he bought one. he noticed the hiring sign, and while on the date he filled out an application for that job. while he was filling out the application i was planning an exit in my head out of this situation. i found it a bit awkward and maybe rude to do so on your first date with someone. i didn’t say anything and then we went home. i went to my car and asked if he needed a ride. he said no, i drove here. at this point i wanted a gun to shoot my self. he had already told me he doesn’t have his license so i was confused how he drove here and why he wanted me to drive all the way to his end of the city if he could drive. i confronted him and told him i thought he didn’t drive. he told me its his dads car and he just takes it sometimes. we then hugged and went our separate ways. the next day he messages me talking about the kind of relationship he wants and tells me he just wants a sexual relationship but nothing serious. i was thinking of a response as this was random and we never had this convo or any conversation like this before. but as time went on i couldn’t think of a reply and ended up ghosting him. do you think i was justified in my actions, or should i have made a better effort to come up with a response?

I am NOT the Original Poster. That is u/SparkMandrill90. He posted in AITAH
Mood Spoiler: Good ending.
Original Post: May 9, 2024
My (33M) ex-wife (30F) and I got divorced 3 years ago. In college, we worked at the same restaurant, that's where we met. We were together for 7 years, and married for a little over 3 and half. We divorced because she cheated twice.
2 years into our marriage I discover she is having an affair with a former classmate. I collect enough evidence and confront her. She confesses everything. The affair was about 2 months long. This was a really terrible time, and was really hard to work through with her. You can call me an idiot, but I am a forgiving person. I do believe in 2nd chances and that people can change. We agreed to reconcile. We did the work. We had marriage counseling. We read some of the books, she went no contact with classmate right away, open phone policy, we told our parents. She was doing the right things and our relationship was recovering.
1 year into our reconciliation, her Aunt dies. I am very busy with work and cannot attend the services as they are on Thursday and Friday, back in her hometown 5 hours away. Her parents and brother no longer live there, so she stayed with a good friend from HS. I had met this friend a few times and was comfortable with that.
On Saturday morning my wife text me that the car was loaded, and she was about to start making the drive home. About an hour after that I got a Facebook message from the friend. Who stated she wouldn't be able to live with herself if she just let this go, but informed me that my wife had gone out Friday night with some old friends from HS. The friend thought nothing of this until she discovered my wife had left her phone behind, and that she didnt come back until the following morning. I had gotten a text that Friday night from my wife that she was going to bed early since the past few days had been emotionally draining.
I confronted my wife soon as she got home. She was really hesitant to tell me anything so I lied to her and told her if we were going to work through this, I needed to know everything like the last time. That got her to confess that she had gone out, and had gone home with an old friend from high school. She said they didn't have sex but did do "stuff" that I won't go into detail about here. It didn't matter, once I got enough of the truth I left for my parents house. That week, my Dad called my landlord and paid all the termination fees and got me out of the lease. We went and got my stuff while she was at work. My parents set me up with a friend of theirs that was a divorce attorney and he cut me a deal. Took about 7 months for divorce to go final.
That was 3 years ago. I have an awesome girlfriend, and am doing well. This past weekend I got a Facebook message from a guy who is now engaged to my ex-wife. He introduced himself and said he was probably just being crazy, but he wanted to know why we had gotten divorced. He said he had broached the subject a few times, and she always "gets weird." She had told him we had divorced because we grew apart, but mostly she just deflects or is really really vague.
I told him the truth, and offered evidence if he would like. He declined, and thanked me for my time and story.
A day later I get a phone call from a local, but unknown number. I answer and it's my ex-wife. She is really upset and asking me why I am trying to ruin her future. I get her to calm down and talk. She says her fiancee has asked for some space and is staying with his parents this week. That he is saying he needs to reevaluate their relationship. She wants to know why I told him all about their past and why I'm still punishing her. She tells me she's not that person anymore, and has done all this work, and been in therapy. That she deserves another chance and I'm being petty and hateful. There were a few generic insults thrown. I got a little pissed and told her if she really changed for the better she would have been upfront with him about heour past and owned up to cheating in her prior marriage, and then gone about showing her fiancee that she was ready to be a worthy partner to him unlike she was with me. Instead she tried to lie and hide the truth, and now it's blowing up in her face again. She said a few choice words and hung up.
I haven't heard anything since. I told my girlfriend and she reassured how I handled it. But I find myself feeling guilty. I still believe in 2nd chances and that people can change. While I would have felt wrong lying to the guy, I wonder if I should have handled the whole thing differently or just not responded. If she is truly different and this is just a blip, I don't want to be the thing that prevents her from finding happiness, but also believe I'm not what's hurting her engagement. AITA?
Relevant Comments:
Commenter: The fiancé called you and asked you what happened, you are under no obligation to lie to him for her sake, as a matter of fact, anything that you told him besides the truth would be suspect as you have no idea what she told him. Don’t feel bad, she is only feeling the consequences of her actions. NTA. Kiss your wife, tell her you love her, and live a good life together

OOP: Yeah, I don't know what she's told him exactly. He made it sound like she will do anything NOT to talk about it. He did say the most he's ever gotten out of her when bringing it up was "We grew apart". Which is a lie in itself.

Commenter: NTAH, imagine if you had lied to the guy and said you had just grown apart. Would you want thar on your conscience? I’d have told him rather than been part of a lie that will lead to someone else getting hurt. She hasn’t changed at all.

OOP: No, you're right, I would not have lied to him. I think I was largely wondering if I should have just told him "it wasn't my place and he needs to get it from his fiancee", but after the amount of feedback, I'm feeling really good with my decision.

Commenter: NTA. I’m like you. I would feel guilty because at a glance it seems like being honest about your experience caused your ex to potentially lose her relationship. However you are holding yourself accountable for someone else’s actions. Your ex cheated. Your ex withheld information from her current partner. Your ex is still avoiding accountability. You are not responsible for her actions. Anything that happens in her relationship is her problem, not yours.

OOP: Thank you for this, I got to remind myself of that. I hate causing others pain, so I'm glad to hear from someone who can relate

There is no consensus bot on AITAH, but a majority of votes are NTA
Update Post: May 12, 2024 (3 days later)
I really didn't expect to give an update because I assumed I'd never hear anything from my ex wife or her fiancee again. First Post
Last night I received a very very long text from my ex-wife. I'll summarize it below, because it was long and did have personal details.
She started off by apologizing for the way she talked to me the other day and said I didn't deserve to be insulted like that. She then went onto explain herself, and her situation.
She started by acknowledging that this whole situation wasn't my concern or business, and apologized for me being drawn into it, and said she was embarrassed that their issues were being "aired out." She said it was her fault this happened. Since she began dating her fiancee she has hidden the details of our marriage out of shame and guilt. For the most part it was never brought up until he proposed a couple months ago. That's when he first really asked and seemed to want to know. She said she wasn't ready to deal with that and kept trying to rug sweep it, but he persisted. This is when she started therapy (so apparently she's only had a few therapy sessions and all are recent). She never thought he would reach out to me.
She then stated that none of this was my fault, and apologized for blaming me. She said she should have faced this a long time ago, gotten therapy for ruining our marriage, and come to terms with her own feelings of guilt.
Then she apologized for her affairs, and way I was treated during our marriage.
The last part was just her stating that she was not expecting a response back, wishing me the best, and saying that hopefully her and her fiancee will never "bother me" again.
This morning when I got up and read this, I sent back a brief message:
"I appreciate the apologies and am glad you are working on yourself. I have moved on from what happened, and hope you can move on from this. The only bit of advice I have is I think this text needs to go to your fiancee."
She responded back just by saying "Thank you" and that he's received far more and far longer texts.
I doubt there'll ever be another update. I actually hope there isn't. I don't believe in closure, but I will say it was refreshing, to hear her apologize without an asterisk. That's what I always got before, the "I'm so sorry, I just drank too much and..." "I'm so sorry, I was just really depressed and stressed and...". Doesn't mean a whole lot really, maybe just unexpected for me, but it was nice to hear an apology that has no excuse trailing behind it. I'm going to enjoy the rest of my day now and leave all this behind me.
Wanted to address a small sets of commenters from the first post though. I had several people hung up on that my Dad paid my termination fees and got me out of my lease. He did that of his own accord, to take a lot of the stress of the separation off me. I included that to show how I had a support system that was behind me, and willing to help in any way no questions asked. It really helped me through the healing process, and I got back on my feet pretty quickly after. I'm sorry if you don't have anyone there for you when you're at your lowest, but it doesn't make you better or manlier or whatever you were going for when you made those comments. Having to face any and every challenge on your own, is really just kind of a sad existence in my opinion. I hope that changes for you and you'll find someone to be in your corner someday.
Relevant Comments:
Commenter: She seems to be taking some accountability for her actions which is a surprise if she is sincere. They almost never take any responsibility for anything.
Go on and have a wonderful life.

OOP: Yep that's what I'm going to do.
I don't have much thought on the texts she sent me, I mean this whole thing is really nothing more than a weird few days in my otherwise routine life. But I will admit, it was nice to hear her take some accountability without making an excuse right after. That had never happened before.

Commenter: I honestly don't see why people were jumping on you for having someone in your corner to help you out, seems like a weird thing to get hung up on.

OOP: That's how I felt too, but there were a handful of people who were trying to imply that I was some sort of crybaby man child because my Dad took care of that for me.

Commenter: What accountability exactly do you think that she is taking here? She’s basically just playing defense to try to save her current relationship. It’s easy to be honest when there’s no other choice.

OOP: Her motivations are her own.
But to address your questions on accountability. When she first got caught having an affair, and we decided to work it out. She did everything "right." She came to every counseling appointment and fully participated, she read the books we got, she gave me every password, and so on. She would apologize profusely, but every time she would also give an excuse along with it. "I am so sorry I did this to us, I don't know what I was thinking, I was just so caught up in the validation" or the attention, or I was just so depressed and he was just there, and so on. She would put her self down, beg for forgiveness, and each time there was always just a little "asterisk" added on. A little reason/excuse/deflection as to why she did it. An outside factor that pushed her into it to some degree
When she did the second time, there wasn't much discussion because I ended things and left as soon as I got enough confession out of her. But when she was bombarding me with texts, emails, snaps, you name it trying to explain and beg, and ask for one more chance and all that, she apologized a 1000 times, all 1000 times had its little "asterisk.". I was just so drunk I wasn't thinking, I really thought he just wanted to keep hanging out, we didn't have sex (whether this was true or not I really don't care) and so on.
I'm going to assume you've never dealt with a betrayal like this, and I hope you never do, but when you are a person like me, who has been betrayed, even years later, to finally get an apology that has no excuses, no asterisks attached to it, it is incredibly refreshing. I truly thought it would never happen, thought she would never be capable.
Now, it doesn't mean much, our lives haven't crossed paths in 2.5 years, and may never again. I'm not going to be reaching out and I assume neither is she, but for that to actually happen, I'll take the win today.

I am NOT OOP, OOP is u/Direct-Armadillo-770
Originally posted to AITAH
AITAH if I don’t go to my sister’s wedding because she is excluding my husband?
Thanks to u/queenlegolas and u/Direct-Caterpillar77 for suggesting this BoRU
Editor’s Note: added paragraph breaks for readability
Trigger Warnings: verbal abuse, ableism
Original Post: May 11, 2024
I (F , 36) have been married to my husband Brad (M , 40) for the last 6 years. I have a daughter (F,10) from a previous relationship (we were engaged when he abandoned me when I was pregnant to be with his coworker and eventually disappeared).
Brad loves and adores my daughter and my daughter loves him so much . I’m currently pregnant with our first baby (my second baby) . Brad is a paraplegic. He was in a car accident when he was 21. He has since his accident went back to school and currently works as university prof . He is super independent and possibly the best man I could ever married .
My sister is getting married and today she announced that the venue she picked is a heritage building . I told her then it won’t be wheelchair accessible… she rolled her eyes and said “the world doesn’t revolves around Brad , it’s not his day ! It’s mine” . I said I understand but I’m not leaving him behind then . She started screaming that I’m trying to steal attention because everyone will ask where is bride’s sister . Her fiancé suggested having the ceremony at the heritage building but have the reception at another venue that way Brad can join us . My sister said no .
I talked to Brad , he thinks I should go and he and my daughter can have daddy /daughter date and he will take care of her (it’s a child free wedding and we were initially going to ask Brad’s mom to watch my daughter) . He thinks it’s not a big deal and I should just go and enjoy the wedding . I feel very bad and don’t want to go but my sister will be so upset . AITAH if I don’t go to my sister’s wedding because she is excluding my husband ?
AITAH has no consensus bot, OOP was NTA
Relevant Comments
Still_Actuator_8316: Do what feels right to you.
I can see you love your husband very much. And you have every right to be mad that your sister wants to exclude him.
And serious. How hard is it to rent a temporary ramp to be put in place so he can go. But since I don't know the stair situation I can give a pass about that. But there are options

OOP: It’s an old heritage building with lots of stairs unfortunately. I feel really bad for my husband tbh

bluefurniture: I like the idea of the Dad and daughter day. Are you in the wedding party? How does the heritage building get away with skirting ADA laws.? Your sister is awful and at least the fiance is empathetic. don't be surprised if there is no wedding.

OOP: I’m not in the wedding party . Sadly it’s 2024 and we still don’t have something like ADA in Canada . Since it’s a heritage building they don’t care about accessibility. Yes , my husband once a month has a daddy/daughter date . They go to different restaurants each time and do any activities she chooses :)

Great-Asparagus8788: As a Mom of a Differently Abled Daughter- I have to say #1 your sister didn't turn overnight. She's been enabled in her ROTTEN behavior her whole life. Your parents should be ashamed. Your Hubs sounds awesome though! You don't have to ask permission to turn your back on a dumpster fire. Point out it's on fire and the privledge of you ,your husband and their grandbabies presence will be restored when the fire is out. And then leave.

OOP: My parents pay for my sister’s big wedding . They did pay for my at home reception when we eloped as well ( they invited everyone ( about 14 people ) to a restaurant ). I talked to them . They said they do love Brad but it’s my sister’s day and they can’t force her to change her mind . Yes I’m disappointed at them . I just don’t understand how you can claim you respect someone yet tell him to stay home ! You are not welcome …my husband is used to not being included so he is okay . I just can’t get over it

 
Update: May 12, 2024
My post : https://www.reddit.com/AITAH/comments/1cpuqyy/aitah_if_i_dont_go_to_my_sisters_wedding_because/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=mweb3x&utm_name=mweb3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button
. Thank you everyone for your kind words and advice.
It’s Mother’s Day today and of course my husband and my daughter decided to spoil me rotten :) we went for Mother’s Day lunch to my parents. My sister and her fiancé, Bob (his name is Babak , he is Iranian but everyone calls him Bob) came too.
Brad , Bob and my dad were in the backyard Bbqing and chatting . My mom and my sister were in the kitchen talking . My sister went on and on about her wedding plans . I asked her if there is any possibility that she would consider Bob’s suggestion? She can have her civil ceremony , Iranian ceremony , and all her pictures done in her dream venue then have the reception which is just dinner , dance and cake somewhere else . I told her it means alot to me if she makes this accommodation for Brad.
My sister LOST it! Started screaming that I have always been jealous of her and now trying to ruin her dream wedding . She said I’m jealous because I never had a big wedding and had to elope because I had a kid out of wedlock (I didn’t have to ! It was our decision to have a stress free elopement). She also said it was my choice to marry “a cripple” guy so why should her wedding plans has to change . My mom told her to stop but she kept on going . I told her then I’m not coming . I told Brad and my daughter that we were leaving . I couldn’t stay there anymore . Her entitlement sickens me .
Now my parents are mad at me for even suggesting because “your sister is under stress”. My dad thinks I acted immature by leaving and mom says I overreacted because I’m pregnant and hormonal ! I’m so disappointed at my parents too for not standing up to my sister . My plan is to go NC with my sister. I don’t even know who she is anymore . So no happy update . I just cut my sister out of my life and will NOT be going to her wedding. Sorry for typos I’m very emotional right now
Comments
RNGinx3: SaveBob
Your sister is a jerk, and your parents enable and excuse her tantrums. I'd put sister on NC and parents on LC.
Swampy_63: Let them be mad. Their loss.
Your sister has shown exactly who she is. Bubbye.
Hopefully your parents will come to their senses and understand why you’re not going.
captainhyena12: Wow insult your husband calls him a cripple take shots at both you and your child for the child being born out of wedlock and then your parents have the audacity to tell you you're overreacting because you left what? How the hell does someone even have that much? Audacity and this is coming from me. Someone who admittedly at times has way too much audacity.
 

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