How do u make a bird with keyboard symbols

r/Spanish: Learn, teach or discuss the 2nd most spoken language by natives

2009.02.25 08:00 pallaviwensil r/Spanish: Learn, teach or discuss the 2nd most spoken language by natives

This is the biggest Reddit community dedicated to discussing, teaching, and learning Spanish. Answer or ask questions, share information, stories, and more on themes related to the 2nd most spoken language in the world by native speakers.
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2008.09.05 09:47 Ask a Math Question

This subreddit is for questions of a mathematical nature. Please read the subreddit rules below before posting.
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2014.12.28 05:26 Kiloueka Birbs being birbs

Go do a good thing today. Pick up some trash. Clean your room. Hug a loved one. Watch Dominion. Draw a pretty picture for a friend. Buy an indie game. Support a queer artist for pride month We're back, but at what cost? We got The Threat.
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2024.05.19 20:38 Working-Bumblebee-58 "Jax is NPC"

https://preview.redd.it/8h90ehh4df1d1.png?width=1000&format=png&auto=webp&s=2ece7fc31c65b927320bb9d9f46161e4ecf0fbd4

This is Jax.

Now this is more of a rant more than looking at the character, but let me continue.
What do we know about Jax? Well, he's a rascally rabbit with a smile.
What can we know about him? By watching the singular 2 episodes.
Why do we know about him? Get up from the rock you've spent under these past months.
This character has had some....Interesting theories. One of those theories is that he's an NPC. This theory is wrong. That's it. Nothing else.
I would go into reasons but u/I_DONT_EXIST00000 has done that for me. But I would gladly add on to some stuff.
1. Jax's age has been confirmed: 22 is the stated age by the writecreator of TADC. There is no way you can stretch this further. If you disagree with me, then don't just write your reasons on why "Jax is an NPC". How the hell are you going to skip the fact that his age has been confirmed?
"Um... NPCs can a-age!" - Nerd.
No. They can't. Gooseworx isn't making some cryptic clue with this, as she stated the other characters age.
2. Jax is very mean and cruel! He isn't the wholesome trickster I thought he was: Do you even hear yourself? Hey uh sorry that nobody told you but... That's how mean and cruel characters act. There are many reasons why Jax acts like this. Look at his environment for example? He's in a place where he can't leave and gets to do basically whatever he wants. Which is watch funny things happen to people. That type of person can either be very wholesome and goofy, or just plain toxic. It's obvious that he wasn't a nice person and being in the circus just enabled those characteristic tenfold.
Another reason, which is based on the way he fucks over the candy kingdom palace whatever people is that they're NPCs. How many times have you booted up GTA and just started causing havoc? I mean you tell me you wouldn't want to be put in a world with no consequences and you can torture beings who act human-like, but with no precautions.
With that, I dare you. People who believe Jax is an NPC to comment your heads off explaining why you think that. This is a challenge. Theorizing is a competition and your opinions are wrong.
submitted by Working-Bumblebee-58 to TheDigitalCircus [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 20:37 Shiirooo Exclusive interview with Famitsu and the devs

Exclusive interview with Famitsu and the devs
https://www.famitsu.com/article/202405/5194 (translated by DeepL: there are probably translation errors)

Shadows is the next step forward for Assassin's Creed

Mr. KARL ONNÉE, Producer
--First of all, let me say "Thank you" from us Japanese, as "Assassin's Creed" is finally coming out, which is set in Japan!
KARL: Thank you for coming here today. I have been wanting to do this work for years, so my dream has come true.
--Why did you choose the Azuchi-Momoyama period as the setting for this work?
KARL: I chose it because it is a very rich period in history. It was a time of war and political maneuvering, a time of change from rural to urban areas, and also the birth of art. I also chose it because it was the start of the unification of Japan. It was a pivotal moment for Japan. Together, these elements provided an excellent canvas on which to tell the story.
--What kind of image do you have of the Azuchi-Momoyama period?
KARL: This was a time when the feudal lords of the warring states were fighting for power in the name of unifying the country, but it was also a struggle for control of trade. Portuguese missionaries and merchants came to Japan together. The Portuguese missionaries and merchants came to Japan together, and people who wanted a beautiful country and peace. This is the kind of image we have, but I think there was a mixture of various cultures and people's thoughts. And of course, there were the warring feudal lords. These are great canvases for the story.
--What do you think should be inherited from "Assassin's Creed" and what are the unique aspects of this game?
KARL: When people think of "Assassin's Creed," they think of stealth, but shinobi fantasy is not only a perfect fit for an "Assassin's Creed" game, it also fits the DNA of the "Assassin" brand.
What we wanted to do with "Assassin's Creed Shadows" was to push stealth even further. We started this effort with the previous game, "Assassin's Creed Mirage," but we wanted to take it further with new features. Systems such as light and shadow, grappling ropes, belly crawling, and a variety of tools available in the game provide a new experience.
The gameplay is also enriched by two characters, Naoe, a shinobi, and Yasuke, a samurai. Players will explore and discover Japan through the eyes of Naoe, a local, and one non-Japanese outsider. The game is more dynamic than ever before, pushing the limits of technology and offering an experience exclusive to the first state-of-the-art consoles.
The gameplay is also enriched by two characters, Naoe, a shinobi, and Yasuke, a samurai. Players will explore and discover Japan through the eyes of Naoe, a local, and one non-Japanese outsider. The game is more dynamic than ever before, pushing the limits of technology and offering an experience exclusive to the first state-of-the-art consoles.
--The "Assassin's Creed: Valhalla," released in 2020, is based on the theme of "Vikings" and has been a huge sales success. As a Japanese, I feel that from a global perspective, the Japanese "shinobi" theme is even more niche, but what is your current response?
KARL: I would like to talk about how it compares to "Viking" fantasy. Both shinobi and samurai are exciting and celebrated as fantasy with power, and are widely discussed in pop culture, and we are very much inspired by them.
Shinobi were on our radar from the beginning because we thought they fit well with the "Assassins" brand, but we felt that incorporating a powerful samurai would create two different gameplay experiences and give us the opportunity to tell the story from two different perspectives. We feel that this is a powerful motif that can compete with the "Viking" motif.
--How did you like the setting of Japan as a subject matter for the latest model?
KARL: I think it was perfect. For example, the "Global Illumination" technology allowed us to explore the response of light and shadow. Some consoles are still called "Baked GI", but by using dynamic lighting and the power of the new hardware, we were able to explore the creativity.
We are now able to express not only light and shadow, but also the dynamism of nature in greater detail. Naturally, since it is set in Japan, we have never dealt with so many trees, and thus so much data, in previous works in the series. We also needed more data to seamlessly move various things at the same time because of the seasonal changes. The latest models have allowed us to realize our vision, and our ambition for this film and for "Assassin's Creed" will continue.
--Assassin's Creed Mirage marks the 15th anniversary of the game. Can we consider this work as the next step forward for the next generation of "Assassin's Creed"?
KARL: You are absolutely right. Mirage" was a tribute to existing works, but this film is the first step into a new era. We are in the era of modern equipment. With the new generation of our engine "Anvil", plus the opportunity to create a new era by using the power of the latest consoles, we are able to do what we wanted to do with "Assassin's Creed Shadows".
With technologies such as global illumination and dynamism, we are now making the game we really wanted to make.
--What are the four pillars you are focusing on in the development of this game?
KARL: We are focusing on four pillars.
  • The first is to create an authentic and dynamic world.
  • Second is the story, introducing a new form of storytelling to "Assassin's Creed" by introducing two characters with different stories and perspectives.
  • Third, there are two different action sequences. Samurai and Shinobi each have their own training elements and unique weapons. For example, in castles, each has a different positioning that they excel at, which makes a big difference in how they play.
  • And finally, there is stealth. We are promoting the importance of stealth more than ever with new systems such as light and shadow, objects in the environment, depression, and grappling ropes.
-- The launch is scheduled for November 15, 2024. What is the current development status?
KARL: Development is going very well. We are proud to say that we have done a good job, but of course it is not finished and there are still glitches. This is the result of all the work we have done so far. We are very happy with how things are going right now, and we hope you will stay tuned for more news.
-- I understand that "Assassin's Creed Infinity" was announced at the previous Ubisoft Forward and that this title will be included in the game? Also, what is the development status of that game at ......?
KARL: "Assassin's Creed Infinity" is introduced as an Animus Hub (*a hub that will function in the future as an entry point for the series), which we will talk about at a later date.
--What is your message to your fans around the world and in Japan?
KARL: We are humbled that our dream of creating a game in this setting has come true. This is a setting that our fans have been anticipating for a long time, and for us it has been a wonderful experience to work on a game that we have always wanted to make.
This game is the result of our love. We hope you enjoy it. We look forward to talking more about it in the coming months.

The Shinobi Assassin and the Legendary Samurai. Experience the different fighting styles created by these two characters.

(left) Mr. JONATHAN DUMONT (Creative Director), (right) Mr. CHARLES BENOIT (Game Director)
--When did you start the development of this work?
JONATHAN: Development began about four years ago, and research into the time period in which the film is set began immediately. There were a number of cool subjects that brought us great characters and story plots. I had a gut feeling that this was going to be a very good game.
--Was the Azuchi-Momoyama period chosen as the period setting from the pre-development stage? Did you have an idea for a major point in Japanese history, such as the end of the Tokugawa Shogunate?
JONATHAN: I started from the beginning of my study of Japanese history, but I began reading with the feeling of a student. Following the Socratic principle, you took the attitude of knowing nothing. As I read on, I found some very interesting settings.
I focused on the Azuchi-Momoyama period because I felt it was an extremely important period for Japan. It was a time of warring states, the need to unify the country, and the need to defend itself against the growing influence of other countries.
It was a grand and complex period, and there are many stories that can be told from different angles. Among the heroes of the unification of Japan, Tokugawa Ieyasu, Toyotomi Hideyoshi, and Oda Nobunaga are best known among the outstanding characters in Japanese history.
Not only war, but also politics are involved, and they are moving toward the peace that will eventually come, with a good ending waiting somewhere in the middle. I strongly felt that this was a wonderful and interesting period that deserved to be featured.
It was also a time when the foundations of the arts were laid. Castle towns were built, the world changed, and people's relationships with each other and with art, as well as their inner lives, also changed. It was very interesting to explore this period, and I was strongly attracted to the characters who lived in this time.
-- Why did you choose the title "Shadows"?
CHARLES: From my point of view, there are two reasons. Shinobi hide in the shadows, so "Shadows" is of course inspired by that. In a way, this embraces the "Assassin" brand and shinobi.
There are other aspects to "Shadows" as well. There are "hidden things" in the game that must be discovered by the player, but they are hidden in the darkness in some way.
JONATHAN: Both characters are in a way connected to being shadowy heroes living in the underworld of this era. It's a cool title, if you can think of it this way.
--Why did you choose two main characters and two fighting styles? Also, what kind of combat action can the Shinobi and Samurai experience respectively?
JONATHAN: One of the reasons for the separation of the two styles is that from the beginning of development, we wanted to have two distinct and cool archetypes to play with: the samurai and the shinobi.
We also wanted to make sure that this fantasy was as close to reality and expectation as possible without being diluted. I also often felt the need to have two points of view in the development of the story, since history is rarely clearly black and white. The two protagonists provided interesting dynamics and perspectives on how to approach the game.
CHARLES: I think it is very interesting that in combat, both the samurai and the shinobi have special types of weapons. Therefore, the style of combat in this work is built on a more weapon-based approach.
There are weapons that only Samurai can use, and the same goes for Shinobi. The player can get a good feel for the two different fighting styles. And it is possible to switch between them.
--What weapons can Naoe and Yasuke use?
CHARLES: Both players have different types of weapons. For Naoe, we went for a more classic fantasy type shinobi. The chain scythe is a weapon that covers a wide area and can only be used by Naoe.
In addition, she also has a dagger used at close range, which can be combined with a hidden blade (Hidden Blade). Naoe can fight very quickly and efficiently with these.
On the other hand, Yasuke, who excels at overpowering with force, is given more types of weapons, some of which are firearms type weapons. They also have the typical samurai bow.
--Why did you choose to make the shinobi Naoe an original character and the samurai Yasuke a historical figure?
JONATHAN Even though they are well known in Japan, at least in North America, not much is known about farmers, what happened to them, and where the Shinobi came from.
So we decided to introduce a figure from Iga who is shrouded in mystery. We considered historical figures from the region, but we preferred a sense of mystery, so we came up with Naoe as someone who may or may not have actually existed.
As for Yasuke, from the beginning we thought that a story about the arrival of the Portuguese would be a very good way to tell the story of the crisis in Japan. The team liked the character Yasuke, and we thought we could use him to show the promise of discovering Japan.
We thought that if we started with a samurai already in Japanese society, he would be a very interesting and intriguing character, with concepts that we don't necessarily know. And it would also be interesting to see what happened to him. He starts out as a character who is already rooted in history, and we are curious to find out what happens to him.
I thought they would make a cool team, complementing each other in terms of storytelling, physique, and family background.
--What did you keep in mind when creating the scenario where the two main characters switch? What were some of the challenges?
JONATHAN: I wanted the audience to feel that "both are the main characters," but this was more complicated than it seems. Their stories overlap in places, but I wanted to make sure that as the game progresses, you gradually discover more and more about both characters. They have similar goals and motivations, but they are not 100% the same, which made it complicated and difficult to maintain their individual personalities.
Naturally, the quest can be played by either character. If a quest needs to be started by one character and completed by the other, the settings must accommodate both play styles. Thus, although it can be complicated, there are many opportunities to tell the story from one of the two perspectives.
Having two different points of view is a lot of fun, but there were some complications, such as having to use new technology in the conversation tools. There were some cool things, however. It is interesting that in the conversational scenes, the player decides which of the two protagonists speaks and they ask for different things. This is cool in a way.
CHARLES: Both characters are attacking the castle and at some point the player is asked if they want to continue with Yasuke or Naoe, both are interesting. At various points the player must make these choices.
The stories are independent, so if you want to know more about Naoe's or Yasuke's past, you can play as one character and delve into that character's story.
--Are there areas of action that differ, such as places that only Naoe, a shinobi, is allowed to enter?
JONATHAN: There are areas where both Naoe and Yasuke have different areas of activity. I can't go into details because there are a few surprises, but since Naoe can use a hooked rope, there are places that are almost exclusively accessible to her.
The world is designed to be enjoyed by both characters, and players can switch between the two at will.
Of course, if you want to reach the final point of the world or reach the summit through the ruins, then perhaps Naoe is the better choice. However, if you want to break through the fort head-on alone and open the way, Yasuke seems like a better choice. Of course, you can play with either character.
CHARLES: Each character also has specific actions. Naoe can hook the hooked rope to a specific spot and move like a pendulum, or hook the hook to a high spot and climb the rope to get to where she wants to go faster than Yasuke. However, Yasuke can use a shoulder bash to break down reinforced doors.
Yasuke can also perform parkour very efficiently in a more daring way. What can be felt when Yasuke performs parkour is how the crowd reacts. Because Yasuke is a samurai and exudes dignity as a superior class, the crowd reacts accordingly. Naoe, on the other hand, gives the impression of being more integrated into the world.
--Can you both use the Hidden Blade, Hawk's Eye, and other Assassin abilities?
CHARLES: Without spoiling anything, the traditional skills of the Assassins are mainly for Naoe. However, there is another mechanism called "Kantori" (tentative name) that can be used when you want to find an enemy or target person, and this can be used by both of them.
You can use free aim to look around, but you cannot see through walls. Yasuke can also be killed by stealth, but in a more direct and easier way. Even with stealth, there will be some sound, so it is a "stealth-like" approach.
JONATHAN: Kantori (tentative name) can be used to find many things in your current location. It is a very good guide for a certain area, but it does not take all the fun out of exploration. It is a good guide because you can learn a little more about where you want to go, but you are left with the surprise of discovering something.
-- Is there a skill tree that makes Naoe more combat-oriented or enhances Yasuke's stealth?
CHARLES: Both have skills that are more combat-oriented and stealth-oriented. Also, some equipment has effects such as increased resistance when attacked. We also offer perks that enhance your abilities in combat.
Naoe, enhanced to be more combat-oriented, has an advantage in melee combat compared to Naoe, enhanced to be more stealth-oriented. Both have a range, but cannot go in completely opposite directions. There is some overlap between the two, but we have made sure that the characteristics of each ability are properly felt.
--Please explain the skill system.
JONATHAN: Both characters share XP and level up together, but the rest of the system is a bit similar to that of "Assassin's Creed Odyssey".
XP and character abilities are available, weapons can be crafted to some degree, and various upgrades can be made as the game progresses. Weapons are not stand-alone, but for two, so each weapon has its own unique skill system. Players should not feel any discomfort, but this is a very different part of the game from the past.
CHARLES: There are two things that were very important to us in terms of skills.
First, we have to be very aware of archetypes. In Japan, there are distinct archetypes, such as the armor-clad samurai, the revolting monk, and the bandit, which are quite different. We try to make it clear to the player who is stronger, and we try to make that part of the leveling process as important as possible. Samurai are always stronger than bandits.
Secondly, player skill is added to the mix. The better you are at timing, reading attacks, understanding weapons, etc., the better you will be and the further ahead you will be.
--What is the volume of the map compared to past works? I would also like to know how you decided on the scale of this work.
JONATHAN: The biggest difference is the scale ratio. The mountains are not the actual size, but we wanted them to be true forests, consisting of trees of a certain size, so that you feel you are in a forest. To achieve this, we needed space.
We also decided to keep it close to a realistic scale, so we could feel the breath of many things. When we visited Japan and saw the castle, we were so glad we made this decision. Japanese castles are huge! Of course, we had seen pictures of castles before and thought they were big and magnificent, but when we saw them in person, they were astonishingly large.
And I wanted more space to explore the castle. Castles were built to be large battlegrounds, you know. You need space to build intricate walls for defense.
The overall scale of the map is similar to the size of the map in Origins. However, the scale ratio makes it feel more realistic. The open space leads to secluded areas throughout the game, which will be fun to explore. This sense of scale is a very interesting aspect of this film for us.
CHARLES: The story led us to choose which locations in Japan we would choose. The major events in Kyoto, around Osaka, and around Azuchi Castle took place in the same area, so we were able to focus on that.
JONATHAN: Of course, we had to choose a size that matched the game, but I think it was the perfect size for this story and type of game.
--Since the game is set in the Warring States period, is there a system that allows players to participate in battles?
JONATHAN: We see several battles in the story, and the battle at Iga is playable. There are other battles as well, but I can't talk about them right now. The game is set in the Warring States period, but it is not only about battles. It is a game that allows you to travel and discover that world.
--What challenges have you faced and what have you been able to achieve as a result?
JONATHAN: By making the big decision to go completely modern and demanding a very high level from the "Anvil" engine, we were able to increase the number of particles, create a more realistic atmosphere, and expand the graphical possibilities of the changing seasons.
This allowed us to work on a fresh new Assassin's Creed. This was a great opportunity for us to take a big leap forward in graphics.
CHARLES: Also, thanks to the new global illumination system, we were able to take advantage of light and shadow, which had a huge impact on the gameplay and stealth approach. For example, enemies became aware of our presence through our shadows, enemies gathered for warmth under a fire in the winter, or shadows through shoji screens depicted enemy presence, giving a new dimension to stealth.

By having two main characters, it is possible to show a wider range of angles and different perspectives.

(left) BROOKE DAVIES, Associate Narrative Director, (right) SACHI SCHMIDT-HORI, Narrative Consultant
--Did you choose the Azuchi-Momoyama period as the period setting from the pre-production stage?
BROOKE: I joined the project after the choice of period had been made, so the Azuchi-Momoyama period had already been chosen. This period offered so many wonderful opportunities from a narrative perspective. The complexity and duality of the period is well reflected in the characters of Naoe and Yasuke.
--What were you aware of and what were the challenges in creating a scenario where the two main characters switch?
BROOKE: From a storytelling perspective, I see it more as a wonderful opportunity than a challenge. When I write a story, I try to show rather than tell, and having two characters allows me to show what's going on from a wider range of angles and different perspectives. I hope this will encourage players to want to share their feelings with them.
--What do you think are the most important points in bringing original characters and historical figures into the game?
BROOKE: Both offer different and unique opportunities. With regard to Yasuke, I found him very interesting historically because we know some things about him, but there are many unknowns. So we needed to fill in the blanks in the story. It is important to note that Yasuke is a historical figure.
And in the case of Naoe, an original character, we were able to draw the story freely to some extent. The fact that she is a member of the Fujibayashi family and that her father is Masayasu Fujibayashi Nagato Mamoru allowed us to place her firmly within the setting. Because Yasuke is a real person but appears as a foreign-born samurai, the Japanese-born Naoe is on equal footing with Yasuke, although she has a different perspective.
--Will other historical figures appear besides Nobunaga Oda and Yasuke?
BROOKE: You will meet Luis Frois (a Jesuit missionary) at the meeting in Azuchi Castle. Also, Nene and Oichi will appear. The Japanese art renaissance that began in the Azuchi-Momoyama period blossomed in the Edo period, and you will also meet Sen no Rikyu, Kano Eitoku, and other important figures.
--Please tell us what year the story will be depicted.
BROOKE: I can't tell you what players will see, but I think it covers a part of the Azuchi-Momoyama period, from 1579 to 1584.
--I think the appeal of the series is to depict the struggle between the Assassin Order and the Templars while taking into account the history, but I would like to ask if there were any difficulties in putting the Azuchi-Momoyama period into it.
BROOKE: I don't want to mention the Knights Templar because I don't want to spoil anything, but the fascination and dynamics of this period are very interesting and provided wonderful opportunities for storytelling.
--How did you go about creating a world with a realistic feel of the Azuchi-Momoyama period?
BROOKE: We were very lucky to work with the Environment Team. The visuals they created for the game provided a great backdrop for the story.
The in-world experience added so much to the story. What we see from the stories and characters of this time period is complexity. I also believe that many of the people surrounding the World had their own struggles.
It was a very difficult time historically, and we see duality. Nothing is ever clear-cut and black and white. In warfare, two groups face each other and are confronted with different perspectives. But in the midst of it all, there are glimpses of hope for the future as we know it, which will later blossom.
--What advice did you actually give?
HORI: One scene that left a strong impression on me was the scene where Nobunaga's sister, Oichi, remarries Katsuie Shibata. In the original story we received, it was thought that the two families decided on their own without regard to Oichi's intentions, and Katsuie was portrayed negatively because he was more than 20 years older than Oichi.
So I spoke with BROOKE and the team and asked them to change it. Oichi had young children after the death of her husband Nagamasa Asai, so if her remarriage was to Katsuie, a trusted man who had served Nobunaga, she would have married him as a matter of course. When I explained that it was better to portray it in a positive light, it was a new discovery for the BROOKEs, and they were very moved by it. The rewritten version of the episode was very moving.
The other scene is the tea ceremony scene featuring Sen no Rikyu. Chanoyu is widely known to be translated as tea ceremony, but experts say it is a mistranslation. After researching the misunderstanding over here, I advised them, as far as I could understand, not to use a teapot or tea leaves, for example.
--Even we Japanese have a strong image of "ninja" as a fantasy. Did you encounter any difficulties with the theme of "ninja" in order to achieve a high level of fidelity to the historical reconstruction?
HORI: Ninja are certainly a fantasy, so I think it's a good thing that we can express ourselves creatively and without reservation. However, there are also dedicated ninja fans and communities around the world, and I am not sure to what extent they see the ninja as a real existence, or as an entity that existed in history.
Therefore, the extent to which ninja are represented in the game depends on the level of tolerance of the avid shinobi fans. I discussed this with the members of the development team. We did not have a specific policy on how much to express, but made decisions on a case-by-case basis. We decided on a case-by-case basis. We would say, "This is an acceptable creative expression," or "This is stereotypical", so let's not do that.
--I'm sure there are many references, but which one left a particularly strong impression on you?
BROOKE: The first book I looked through was "Nobunaga no Kouki" by Ota Ushiichi (Azuchi-Momoyama period, military commander and military history author). I was impressed by his personal observations as he recounts the details. We can learn a lot of historical facts from reading history books, but this author incorporated his own views so that I felt I could understand even his character and what it was like to live in that era, and I was completely drawn in. I was thrilled to be able to portray this time period and the people in this book.
--The drama "Shogun" which is set in a similar time period, has been a hit, and I hope that this work will attract the same kind of attention from game fans. I understand that you have prepared a "Discovery Tour" that allows visitors to freely walk around the game world with historical explanations.
BROOKE: I can't answer about the Discovery Tour today, but I am glad to see that interest in the setting and time period of the game is growing. I look forward to the day when we can bring this film to you.

Gathering a lot of information to recreate 16th century Japan and build a living world

(left) THIERRY DANSEREAU, Art Director, (right) STÉPHANIE-ANNE RUATTA, Historical Supervisor and World Director
--Please tell us what kind of materials you used as references to describe the field and the characters' costumes in the Azuchi-Momoyama period.
THIERRY: I have been working with experts and consultants for a long time, but for the characters, I referred to museum exhibits and books for their appearances and costumes. I visited several museums, did my research, and checked the materials with STÉPHANIE-ANNE.
Based on these, we created the characters. We also referred to descriptions in the books about the colors and the flags people carried. We used multiple sources, but we have checked them for historical accuracy.
STÉPHANIE-ANNE: For several years we had the help of experts, but we also did research with a Japanese studio and team. We used different kinds of sources to make sure the team got it right and had all the information they needed to reconstruct what Japan looked like in the 16th century.
We used museum databases, as THIERRY mentioned, but we also used inscriptions, scientific books, articles, and medieval depositions. For example, the Principles of Nobunaga has been translated into English, so we used that as a reference to describe 16th century Japan. I also referred to the documents of Luis Frois from the same period, which compare European and Japanese society.
--This period was also a time when there was a large influx of immigrants. Will you also depict the episodes, lifestyles, and culture of these people (missionaries, merchants, etc.) as well as Yasuke?
STÉPHANIE-ANNE: Yes, it is important to introduce the presence of Portuguese missionaries and merchants in the 16th century. They influenced the course of warfare during this period and the changing power of certain merchants in Japan.
--I am wondering what castles, shrines and temples that symbolize the Azuchi-Momoyama period will appear in the game. Although the game is set in the Kansai region, is the Osaka Castle built by Toyotomi Hideyoshi ......?
STÉPHANIE-ANNE: The era is represented by the construction of various castles and castle towns, so players will discover a wide variety of castle types and castles destroyed in battle. The Azuchi Castle, which is related to the name of the era, will also be featured.
THIERRY: Himeji Castle, Osaka Castle, and Takeda Castle are also available, and it is wonderful that players can visit and play in these castles. I think this is one of the strengths of the franchise, but all of the castles are based on actual historical blueprints, which I think is very unique, both as an experience and a learning opportunity.
The Koyasan Okunoin Cemetery is the oldest graveyard in Japan, which can also be seen in the game. There are too many to mention them all, but thanks to STÉPHANIE-ANNE and the experts, I think they are well described and it is wonderful that players will be able to travel to these places.
--The architectural style and decoration of the buildings is a different culture from the previous works in the series. What were you conscious of in recreating the culture and what were the challenges? I am also interested in the possibility of diving on the "Shachihoko".
STÉPHANIE-ANNE: The building team did a lot of research, and then we checked the results with experts and asked them to add the elements needed to build a great castle. We did research to recreate the decorations of not only the castle, but also the temples and shrines, and also to find out what materials were used to make them.
THIERRY: The colors also change over time, so we made adjustments to that as well. Of course, this is "Assassin's Creed," so you can climb anywhere and jump from almost anywhere. Exploring is fun.
--Japanese period games tend to be rather subdued, but were there any barriers to making it a worldwide production?
STÉPHANIE-ANNE: It's a game based on history, and we want players to have the opportunity to play with history. This period is so fascinating and celebrated, and has had such an impact on pop culture, that we were fortunate to have the help of renowned experts to make sure we had all the information we needed to faithfully recreate medieval Japan in the 16th century.
We maintained historical fidelity in this film because it was a rich period with so much to talk about and we didn't feel the need to change it. It is a rich setting, so there is an experience that goes into fantasy, but keeping it authentic was our primary goal.
--In the main storyline, can we experience famous episodes from the Azuchi-Momoyama period (such as the Battle of Nagashino, the Honnoji Incident, the Battle of Komaki and Nagakute, etc.)?
STÉPHANIE-ANNE: You will have to wait a little longer for that.
--In the recent series, "Origins," "Odyssey," and "Valhalla," you can enjoy the connection to mythology and fantasy elements based on mythological themes. Will this work also contain elements based on Japanese mythology, yokai, and other fictional creatures?
STÉPHANIE-ANNE: That is a very good question, but I will answer this one later.
--This work also reproduces the four seasons of Japan. Which season did you start first? And which seasons were particularly difficult to express?
THIERRY: I started with spring. We all know about cherry blossoms, and I think they are the most symbolic Japanese element for foreigners. And the big difference is winter. I wouldn't say that winter is more complicated because it has many different expressions, but it was very different from spring, summer, and fall, and the challenges were also different.
--What was particular about the representation of water, such as waterfalls, rivers, lakes, etc.?
THIERRY: All of the water topics were very important to us. We knew that there is a Shinto belief in waterfalls and rivers, and that they are important places in the Japanese eco-system. Even the blueprints of the suburbs are lined with irrigation canals, and they even go into the houses. Thus, we knew that water is a key component of Japanese culture, especially for agriculture.
This is why we installed drains everywhere in this work. The presence of water in the Japanese landscape was different, so we took it seriously and treated it as an inviolable part of the Japanese landscape and way of life.
--What are some of your favorite places, castles, or cultures that appear in your work?
STÉPHANIE-ANNE: That's difficult.
THIERRY: My favorite is Takeda Castle. It is on top of a high mountain and is called the castle in the sky, and I like this location. I can't say it's fair because we built it ourselves, but there are many other great places to visit.
It was a lot of work to create the forest, but I really enjoy looking at the landscape. I also like how all the ecosystems interact with each other, such as the clouds in the weather system. It's not a location, but I enjoy it because it encompasses the whole game.
STÉPHANIE-ANNE: I was impressed by the "Rakuchu Rakugaizu," Japanese folding screens from this period. I was fascinated by the fact that just by looking at them, one could come into contact with the vivid world of this period.
The artistic touch is something special. I have never seen anything so full of art. I truly admire the artists of this era.
THIERRY: I also think the most striking thing for me was the harmony of nature and architecture. I visited the site and found many places, and I could see how everything was deliberately composed.
I was told that trees were planted while the chedi was being built at the time, but everything looked perfect. Also, the culture loves the age and values it, so they cherish moss and things that have taken root there. Japan has maintained these places so they still exist and are still in use.
I realized that we are dealing with a subject that has a long history. It is also a culture that values space, living space. These were the most exciting discoveries during my travels in Japan.
submitted by Shiirooo to assassinscreed [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 20:37 Dull_Current991 How has growing up in a suburban/area with less black people/school affected you?

25M East African from the UK (not London), I moved here when I was a little kid, originally moved to an area with a lot of different ethnicities and loved that I had friends of all cultures and ones that were immigrants and black like me, then my parents got better jobs so we moved to a majority white and south Asian area.
When I moved here you could probs count the black people on one hand, so whatever I did or wherever I went people knew me or my siblings, when I became a teenager a lot more black people moved to the area, a lot of immigrants/asylum seekers, they rarely came to the school I went to as it was deemed a “successful” all boys school, my brother couldn’t get in when he applied but I somehow managed to, so the school my brother went to was where all the off the boat immigrants, immigrants from European countries, or asylum seekers went to.
When I started high school there was 3 black guys in my year, I’m of African descent and the other two were Jamaican, one of them was a mixed Jamaican, he got kicked out by the end of the first year lmao, but me and the other Jamaican did our thing haha, out of the whole school by my final year, I’d say there still was only about 10 maximum black/mixed kids which I found crazy tbh.
I remember when people in my school knew of a black girl from a nearby mixed school and they wouldn’t stop trying to make us date even though we had never met, didn’t have similar friends, just bcoz we was both black. Alla this shit affects you and you don’t even know your identity, I played for a football team that was 75% black players (soccer to U.S peeps) and the code switching was crazy, somehow I didn’t fit in with my own people anymore and I definitely did not fit in with the white/Asian ones either, I had a lot of friends but it felt like more for show rather than actual friendships.
Really does affect your dating life when it came to that time, white girls didn’t find us attractive (Kim K hadn’t made it cool yet) or they showed interest wanting to find out about BBC being true or not lmao, black girls dated white guys or didn’t date. Then you fast forward and black girls want hood guys or keep it safe with white guys, white girls love black guys now but most times for the thrill of it or also expect you to be hood.
Be interested to see how the rest of your experiences were like
My pros:

My cons:
submitted by Dull_Current991 to blackmen [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 20:37 drupp94 Am I healing? Feeling panic to break in public

Allright, 4 weeks after b/u & like the rest of you wondering if I'm healing or stucked. Not all things get easier over time is one thing I know for now...
The good news is I'm going to work on a regular base, but the last week I'm more and more concerned how even there the feelings crawl under my skin. People always tell you to keep your mind busy so you won't think about the b/u, but it (surpisingly!) doesn't work that simple.
I sense the feeling of wanting to escape my workplace & colleagues more and more as time goes by. The sadness then simply is overwhelming and all I wanna do is cry. During the day the feeling gets stronger & I feel the urge in my whole body just to escape. I feel panic and start to breath heavier, a coleague noticed today (which didn't help ofc).
You all know stories of people blowing up emotionaly at a random place when a small thing goes wrong. Afterwards, you hear its a trigger cause they are fed up due to problems inside of them. I never thought I would be scared to do the same thing, but I am. What are your experiences with things like these? Is it normal, or should I be concerned?
Other thing I'd like to bring up are the almost unbearable depressed, desperate feelings when thinking about a future without them, or when you try to shift your focus to things you seemed to enjoy. Moving on is hard when you have to deal with with these feelings, right? The same goes for focussing on other things then the b/u, like hobbies. I know it's a good thing to do, but it makes not much sense as long I miss her this much...
submitted by drupp94 to BreakUps [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 20:36 Flat_Neck737 Fun/Sad Fact: in both of their alternate endings, Loomis and Laurie were both “infected” and/or cursed!

Fun/Sad Fact: in both of their alternate endings, Loomis and Laurie were both “infected” and/or cursed!
In Halloween 6: The Curse of Michael Myers (Producers Cut Ending) -> After Michael is stopped by Tommy Doyle, Loomis orders Tommy and Kara to leave as far away from Haddonfield as they can. He then returns back into Smith’s Grove Sanitarium and see that Michael is laying on the floor now and takes off his mask only to see that it’s not Michael, but instead it’s Dr. Wynn who now passes on the cult symbol over to Dr. Loomis making him the new cursed cult leader. This causes Loomis to scream in despair (similar to how he did at the end of Halloween 4: The Return of Michael Myers) as we see Michael walks away into the night (similar to ending of Halloween 1978).
In Halloween Ends (Novel/Alternate Ending) -> After Laurie slits Michael’s throat on her kitchen island, Michael begins to strangle her and as they look into each other’s eyes, Michael infects Laurie and she begins to surrender to that feeling. Allyson doesn’t make it to save Laurie this time, but instead Frank arrives first and tries to speak with Laurie, but she seems different like she’s emotionally cut off. She takes Michael’s corpse to the crematorium and watches him burn. The next day, Laurie completes her memoir, but she erases everything that she typed and that’s when Allyson returns home to talk to her. As her and Allyson are talking at the table, Laurie then throws her teacup at the wall and begins to strangle Allyson before getting control of herself and immediately screams and orders Allyson to get out. Allyson leaves Haddonfield, Frank arrives at the door but Laurie doesn’t come outside nor does she let him in. She closes her door and locks herself away from the world (like how she was in Halloween (2018)) and looks into the camera. Next, all you can hear is her breathing as it shows different shots of the house (similar to the ending of Halloween 1978 when Michael was breathing).
Honestly, these two endings (IN MY OPINION) are horrible wrap ups to these characters and I’m glad that they aren’t canon. It’s sad that Donald Pleasance passed away and wasn’t alive to film just one more film to positively wrap-up Dr. Loomis’s story for himself. People can hate on the recent trilogy all they want, but I love and appreciate how well they utilized Dr. Loomis. He was mentioned and we heard recordings of him in Halloween (2018) and we even got to see flashbacks of him in Halloween Kills. Granted he isn’t mentioned at all in Ends, but that’s mostly because Ends wasn’t really about Michael anymore. Haddonfield was 4 years into their recovery after Michael’s massacre and Corey was their new antagonist and their new “boogeyman”. Laurie Strode was the perfect successor to Dr. Loomis.
Returns/2018 -> Their attitudes mirrors one another and they’re both considered insane and crazy by everybody. They want nothing more than to see Michael dead and is prepared to kill him no matter what.
Revenge/Kills -> Laurie may not have been as unhinged as Loomis, but she has her moments especially when she finds out that Michael was alive. She aggressively injects herself with a needle after freshly getting out of surgery less than hour or so ago and immediately attempts to go after Michael. BOTH of these characters wanting to continue their mission to kill Michael while being in horrible positions BOTH physically and mentally. As their films closes out, both of them suffers something extremely traumatic. Laurie’s daughter is killed by Michael. And Loomis suffers a horrifying stroke after trying to beat Michael to death.
Curse/Ends -> After Michael’s disappearance for YEARS in both timelines, Loomis and Laurie liberate themselves from their rage and obsession with Michael and attempts to move on with their lives and doing so in a more healthier and therapeutic manner which is writing a book/memoir. However, when evil arrives back into their lives, they both take a more calmer approach to it as oppose to how they did previously.
I may get a lot of flak for saying this, but I believe that Halloween Ends ending was not only the perfect ending for Laurie, but also the perfect ending for Dr. Loomis seeing as how as Loomis was first discussing Michael’s nature he was saying how he was nothing but pure evil, and Laurie’s final quote about Michael’s nature was how his evil infected Corey, thus showing that evil takes different shapes. 🎃🔪
submitted by Flat_Neck737 to Halloweenmovies [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 20:35 Far_Adeptness4956 R50--seeking to upgrade for wildlife either to better lens or better camera (eventually both)

I'm brand new to this and started with an r50 camera. I'm most interested in wildlife photos (birds in the wild and so far many many squirrels in trees). I didn't want to invest in a super expensive camera at first since I didn't know how much I would use it but now I'm absolutely hooked and use it regularly. I'd like to aim to improve my equipment bit by bit. I have the rf 100-400 (non L) and the rf 800 mm f11. I find it especially helpful in reducing stress/appreciating nature. It's a great hobby for me but not something I aspire to ever make money from. To improve my wildlife photography I'd like to eventually get a new camera and new telephoto lens. I'm definitely never getting an r3 or r1 or buying a $20k lens. But I'm considering the R7, R6mkii, r5 or r8. I'm also considering the 200 - 800 mm lens or the 100 - 500 mm (L). I do like to travel with my 100-400 mm lens and it's nice that it fits so well in my luggage. My 100 - 400 has served me well so far (it's only been a couple months since I started) but I fell on the pavement the other day and it slammed hard into it. While it seems to still work fine (with some slight cosmetic damage) I'm wondering if it was damaged internally and will eventually fail which sorta makes me wanna expedite a lens upgrade. Any advice would be much appreciated. I'm very new to this and slowly learning. When I upgrade my gear, I'll likely give my existing gear to a family member in the hope they might find it as helpful for their well-being as I do.
submitted by Far_Adeptness4956 to canon [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 20:34 Purtle [PIL] #1311 5/19/2024

Purtle's Internet Lineup for May 19th, 2024 2:35pm
Pics:
Clips:
Videos
Articles/News/Other
submitted by Purtle to Purtle [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 20:29 NoCustardo Need some urgent help getting out of this very very tricky power dynamic.

I have a situation that bothers me and i gotta clear it SOOn. People , even the ones lower in the power scale tend to disregard me despites me having shown to be able to be social , these uni class in particularly traumatized me and tore my hard won recovery from therapy to pieces so you guys know that i need HELP.
I left the group that had traumatized me and lived in uni in post trauma state terrified of people , thanks to analysis i am recovering again and realized that my classmates hold extremely outdated views of me that are harmful. They saw me when i had "low self esteem" and no people skills. I lifted a life of being excluded and i was doing great and was confident BUT my classmates kept pushing the whole "mentally ill" poor thing on me so bad i relapse bad and dumped anyone that held that view. I ended up suffering immense reputational damage and couldnt get into another group after what they did.
These people think i am childish and actively try to pity me. Funily enough i had a part time job while in post trauma and ouside people told me all the time that i was very social and i talked about the uni situation briefly and they all go surprised "How come you've got no friends there? no fucking way!" "I thought you had had a blast with your uni classmates too!"
So its these people that are purposely fucking me up. Few examples:
I dont greet anyone at all, i am allowed to frown and be disrespectful, people think im such a poor cause that they let me be mean as fuck and even a professor gives me grace. I cheated in an exam and got forgotten just like that, i tricked another professor into reapplying an exam to me and even used my dads ghost bussiness to hand in evidence of job so i could have access to that privilege and it worked.
A professor went once " you look very sad". I was actually furious that day. My anger can be read as sadness often.
Most of this class think i am dumb , in fact they go "You didnt read the honesty clause part of the exam did you ?" i innocently asked "what clause". That was during the time they had weakened me but i was still social with people. Of course i had read it, what amazes me is how stupid they all think i am while all that has been happening is that i grew too fucking lazy and dependent, OF COURSE I READ THE CLAUSES AND DECIDED TO CHEAT. I have adhd and used that to cover up for those nasty nasty traits of mine and became dehumanized. Now i need myself back and idk how to clean up
The pity greetings have stopped a long time ago. Again since a year ago i dont greet any of my classmates.
About the other people , i am forced to worked with the folks that none respects cause turns out i ruffled the feathers of everyone in my first recovery so hard people exclude me out of some shit envy . Got rid of the classmates that knew me since ighschool and keep seeing me as disadvantage and as if i couldnt make authentic friends. Trust me , not true. My friendships do fail but not for the whole "poor thing" narrative. I am quite charismatic and in good mental health i am downright fantastic.
The highschool uni ex friends stopped talking to me overly friendly and switched to formal. I am going more formal. The plan is , go lone wolf and recover my mental health entirely while excelling at my internships and pursuing a social life somewhere this shit stain isnt present. I know its not me but this fucked up view of me that i wont ever be able to shake off their heads. At this rate i am planning to go independent in my studies so i dont need to ask anything from none of these asses and move onto my adult life healed.
Here's the public view on me:
I cant go back to people cause i am in an addiction that gets triggered by being close to these people and they will most likely harm my mental health. they have seen all my vulnerabilities so i do feel hopeles. Given i will have to move onto a career that needs political skills at this rate i was thinking of using this situation to practice cause tbh long gone the days i wanted to be friends with these assholes.
I am also making a priority understanding things in class and taking my meds consistently cause whats the need of being a slave of these assholes. Even professors try to give me "life lessons" about psychology concepts that i am a thousand times more well acquitanted with than themselves. I also started being more formal when needing to deal with people. My hair is well done always due to expensive treatments and i dress in a fashionable way on the days i dont go "full hobo" due to exams. Maybe that why people outside uni react positively upon meeting me. On contrast there is this other bitch that has disheveled hair , dresses in a non fashhionable way and yet they all respect her and she helps in class and is the gf of the class president. Same bitch that goes around with the attitude of "oh no i know nothing" clearly shes just pretending . Fucking bitch i really do hate her jesus
I am not well versed in power dynamics , reading 48 laws and the prince and becoming attuned. Need a way to strategically break free of this thanks in advance
submitted by NoCustardo to Machiavellianism [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 20:21 FireAndFey Taylor, Matty, and their numbers (8, 3, 13, etc)

There is significant repetition of these numbers popping up in both Taylor and Matty's public works so I thought I would bring it up and see what you all think and if you have noticed other instances that I'm missing. Sorry in advanced for this being long, but there is a lot.
Let's start with the most well-known one: 13
8's - The public announcement of Taylor and Matty's relationship came on 5/3/2023. 5+3 = 8...8 is the infinity symbol. - In the Eras Tour, the stage roomba makes an infinity sign during Down Bad. - In numerology, 8 also rules the planet Saturn. This brings to mind "love you to the moon and Saturn" but also, Taylor wears a Vivienne Westwood choker during her performance of But Daddy I Love Him (she has one in black and one in white), with the symbol of Saturn topped by a cross that looks very reminiscent of a king chesspiece: https://www.harrods.com/en-us/shopping/agate-crystal-messaline-choker-22340482?gad_source=1&gclid=Cj0KCQjwxqayBhDFARIsAANWRnRG1PyYR_3UcHl3igFeRHsyBkMHMWPgAv6-vIx01S9r3lBHNEvlwg0aAqz4EALw_wcB&gclsrc=aw.ds - 4 is obviously half of 8 - 8+9 = 17 and 7+1 = 8 (as in 1989) - 2024 is said to be a year of 8's, because 2+2+4 = 8. There is other symbolism associated with this number but this post is already super long.
4's & 2's - The number 4 has been showing up a lot recently. Matty flashed the number 4 to the camera during a set while they were dating (couldn't find the video but if someone finds it, I will edit to add it). - Taylor has famously been flashing peace signs and even put a statue of a peace sign in her TTPD exhibit at The Grove. Thought to be an easter egg for the double album but she continued doing it after the albums release. - Obviously, 2 + 2 = 4. But 4 can also be broken down into two pairs of 1's. Twin flame numbers are 1111 (so 4), and 2222 (so 8) respectively. - Taylor & Matty are both fire signs. Twin flames are often described as mirroring each other.
3's - Graphically, a 3 is half of 8 (especially in certain fonts). - In ATPOIAM, episode 2, entitled Fame (, https://youtu.be/44ezfnnRE0k?si=YcLcKnJrPHWY-Yyc) Matty stuffs himself into a suitcase (a story long told about Taylor was that she stuffed herself in a suitcase to escaped the hordes of paparazzi and fans when leaving her apartment). The suitcase has the number 3 on it and the elevator goes to the 3rd floor (despite the next shot being on them outside of The Bowery hotel). I've stayed at the Bowery, the 3rd floor is not how you get outside, lol. - TaylorNation put out a promo video that was a mash up of 1989 era images, it featured a vault and it also featured a clip from the Bejeweled music video (which has other interesting references to things happening right now), but Taylor was pressing the button for the 3rd floor (not in the original video). Everyone thought this indicated a big surprise coming on 5/3/2024 (2 weeks after the TTPD release). Much clowning ensued, nothing happened...except Matty posted a cover of his song "All I Need To Hear" to his IG. - Bejeweled MV was released on 10/25/2022...10+25 = 53 and 5+3 = 8 OR 1 + 2 + 5 = 8. 222 is an angel number related to soul mates.
I'm sure that I didn't even write out half of the things I've noticed because this post is getting unweildy but if there are other numerology nerds and people who have noticed this repetition, please add your observations!
Edit to add: Matty's birthday! 04/08/1989 so 4's and 8's abound!
submitted by FireAndFey to taylorandmatty [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 20:20 PostBookBlues MaDD Diary Day 343

Successes:
Failures:
Total MD Time: 10min
You know what's really crazy? 3 more weeks, and I'll have hit one year of keeping up with this online diary, even if not always consistently. And you know what? I'm proud of that. Initially I was thinking maybe I should do something to celebrate it but immediately backtracked that thought. All I'm going to do to reward myself is to have a calm, grounded, completely normal day (hopefully the world doesn't just like, explode on that day lol).
Also, man. Having any kind of a support system, no matter how small, makes a huge difference in quitting MaDD. If you're reading this u/Lovettmorgana, I really appreciate you!
submitted by PostBookBlues to MaladaptiveDreaming [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 20:16 Logical-Course-1552 I am confused and would like to hear people's opinions on the matter. This post will be deleted in 24 hrs. What are your thoughts? I think there were times we were both bad for each other but what do you think I should bring up if I apologize to him? THIS POST WILL BE DELETED IN 24 HRS (18M) (18F)

Throw away account because why not?
When we first started dating he loved bombed me with gifts and ALOT of letters that would say things such as I've never felt this way before, and you're amazing, and I could see this going forever, and I never knew how possessive I was till I met you. We only dated a little under 3 months at this point; I decided it would be best for us to go on a break because he wasn't following my boundaries with the love bombing and it seemed like he needed time to build up his self. We went on the break for a week during which he went on this dating app for teens and told me that it was fine he was only on there for fun. I told him at the end of the week that "I didn't think I wanted to keep dating:" and he just replied with "k". which left me feeling like I didn't get closure but I ignored that and would talk shit about the relationship with my friends (we dated in the friend group so we had the same friends (side note: they felt like he distanced himself from them when we started dating and he would get jealous when I'd make flirting jokes with them which we always made; this caused some people in the friend group to feel some type of way about him)) But I would still tell my friends not to be too harsh and give him the benefit of the doubt, and then when my friend Mike brought up that my ex had been avoiding me, him, and Danelle; my ex got upset and brought up something that made me uncomfortable. So I got pissed and didn't talk to him for like a month and a half because I was like you lashed out at me for no reason, and was aggressive towards him when I did; I thought that there was no way he wouldn't have known what he said would make me uncomfortable since every time it was brought up I talked about how it made me sad. After this though for some unknown reason, I felt like I needed him back (p.s i mentioned the teen dating app because he ended up dating some guy on there 2 weeks after we broke up). So I ended up texting him and in the text, I apologized for everything in the relationship even the stuff I didn't think I did, and told him Id like to be friends again and he said he was sorry that something he said would hurt me and that he truly didn't know it made me sad or that I would be offended and we were on good terms again. I called my friend crying cause I didn't know how I felt about my choice and my brain was saying I didn't want him back but my heart was saying I needed him. Fast forward and we are on good terms but don't talk much, later I am out of school for weeks because I get really bad depression from being heavily overwhelmed and find that a game is my safe space because I can stay home and never see the public while still feeling like I'm interacting with something. My ex is really into the game so he joined my game we have a lot of fun and it is my first human interaction in 2-3 weeks. We stayed on call playing the game for 17 hours straight that night and it became a habit for us to have all-night calls, I started feeling like he was the only one who truly got me because he understood and related to a lot of the things I was dealing with and thinking about in my depression and we start to flirt like we did when we first were dating. Finally, I returned to school and saw my other friends and unintentionally did not talk to him as much because I realized how much I missed my other friends we don't have classes together so I only saw him once during passing that day anyway. Once I got home I got on a call with my friend Danelle and she's like see you didn't need "EX" to be in public, and I was like huh I didn't realize that but I don't wanna bet on it. After this moment "EX" gets a little more distant but it's not noticeable so I don't really care, but then I go through his tik tok, and I knew at this point that he had a crush on a different girl earlier in the month, but I didn't realize that he had written paragraphs and made tik toks about how down bad he was for her just 20 days ago. This was a red flag for me since I don't see how he could've gotten over her in 20 days and I don't wanna be his second option just because she won't date him. I end up bringing it up to him casually saying oh I saw your tik tok you should go for her. And he said "Who? Sam?" and I said yes, and he said I told u before there wasn't a spark so we are just friends now. And I said how do u move on in 20 days and he said what TikTok are u talking about? So I sent it to him and he said he couldn't see it, so I was explaining where it was and he said it was probably deleted refresh your page, and I said how was it deleted if I'm looking at it? and he said refresh your page it must have been recently deleted, I said but then he wouldn't be able to see which one I'm talking about. And then he said refresh your page I just deleted it. Which threw me off because I was thinking why did you delete it? and why did you try to act like I was crazy for seeing it as if it had always been deleted? so then he ends up saying that he was 70% moved on and 20% not. So from that moment on he would not get on a call with the rest of us, at first, I was like oh it's okay; he missed the call, then I was like maybe he doesn't see the call notification so let me send a text so he'll know, and then I got so desperate that I was about to @ him when my friend Danelle got on the call and distracted me. It was hard for me because I feel like I need him in my life and to go from calling every day to never really made me desperate for him to get on a call and we go back to how it was when I was depressed. He finally got on call last night and although we stayed up a little late he was distant and not as talkative or giggly as he used to be. also after the talk about Sam, he stopped saying goodnight and sweet dreams when we got off the call and would only say gn. What are your thoughts on this, on one hand, I wanna be like fuck him I don't wanna be his second choice. And on the other hand, I really wanna go back to flirting with him and date him.
But I do feel guilty because he says that he felt like he couldn't tell our friends about our relationship. After all, the majority sided with me whenever we would have issues, so I feel bad that he didn't think he had support during the relationship. Also, decisions for me were hard in the relationship because he would give me his opinion and I'd wanna go with that and then my friends and family would say a different opinion and I would want to go with that; so I never felt like I got to make my own decision without worrying about other peoples opinions
Timeline (dated until December) (No talking until around February) (Started the late-night calls in early May)
submitted by Logical-Course-1552 to relationship_advice [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 20:13 PageTurner627 My Dad and I Hunted Down the Dogman that Killed My Sister

I’ve always hated the smell of gun oil. It clings to everything it touches, soaking deep into the fibers of my clothes, the lining of my backpack, the coarse hair on the back of my hands. Yet here I am, kneeling on the cracked linoleum of our mudroom, a Remington .308 laid across my thighs, and the stench of gun oil sharp in my nostrils. The early morning light barely scratches at the edges of the blinds, dim and gray like the belly of a dead fish.
My dad Frank is in the kitchen, clattering around with the coffeepot and mumbling under his breath. Today we’re heading up to the woods of Northern Michigan, same as we did every year before Leah… before we lost her.
I can’t help but feel the old scars throbbing as I load bullets into the magazine. It’s been ten years since that hunting trip, the one that tore my family into before and after. Before, when Leah's laughter was a constant soundtrack to our lives; after, when every silence was filled with her absence.
We were just kids back then. I was ten, Leah was eight. It was supposed to be a typical hunting trip, one of those bonding experiences Dad was always talking about. But things went wrong. We got separated from Dad somehow. One minute we were following him, the next we were lost, the dense woods closing in around us.
Dad says when he found me, I was huddled under a fallen tree, my eyes wide, my body frozen. All I could mutter through chattering teeth was "Dogman."
It was only later, after the search parties had combed through every thicket and hollow, that they found her. What remained of Leah was barely recognizable, the evidence of a brutal mauling undeniable. The authorities concluded it was likely a bear attack, but Dad... he never accepted that explanation. He had seen the tracks, too large and oddly shaped for any bear.
As I load another round, the memory flashes, unbidden and unwelcome. Large, hairy clawed hands reaching out towards us, impossibly big, grotesque in their form. Yet, the rest of the creature eludes me, a shadow just beyond the edge of my recall, leaving me with nothing but fragmented terrors and Leah’s haunting, echoing screams. My mind blocked most of it out, a self-defense mechanism, I guess.
For years after that day, sleep was a battleground. I'd wake up in strange places—kitchen floor, backyard, even at the edge of the nearby creek. My therapist said it was my mind's way of trying to resolve the unresolved, to wander back through the woods searching for Leah. But all I found in those sleepless nights was a deeper sense of loss.
It took time, a lot of therapy, and patience I didn't know I had, but the sleepwalking did eventually stop. I guess I started to find some semblance of peace.
I have mostly moved on with my life. The fragmentary memories of that day are still there, lurking in the corners of my mind, but they don’t dominate my thoughts like they used to. I just finished my sophomore year at Michigan State, majoring in Environmental Science.
As for Dad, the loss of Leah broke him. He became a shell of himself. It destroyed his marriage with Mom. He blamed himself for letting us out of his sight, for not protecting Leah. His life took on a single, consuming focus: finding the creature that killed her. He read every book, every article on cryptids and unexplained phenomena. He mapped sightings, connected dots across blurry photos and shaky testimonies of the Dogman.
But as the tenth anniversary of Leah’s death approaches, Dad's obsession has grown more intense. He’s started staying up late, poring over his maps and notes, muttering to himself about patterns and cycles. He’s convinced that the dogman reappears every ten years, and this is our window of opportunity to finally hunt it down.
I’m not nearly as convinced. The whole dogman thing seems like a coping mechanism, a way for Dad to channel his guilt and grief into something tangible, something he can fight against. But I decided to tag along on this trip, partly to keep an eye on him, partly because a small part of me hopes that maybe, just maybe, we’ll find some kind of closure out there in the woods.
I finish loading the rifle and set it aside, standing up to stretch my legs. I wipe my greasy hands on an old rag, trying to get rid of the smell. The early morning light is starting to seep into the room, casting long shadows across the floor.
Dad comes out of the kitchen with two thermoses of coffee in hand. His eyes are bleary and tired.
“You ready, Ryan?” he asks, handing me a thermos, his voice rough from too many sleepless nights.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” I reply, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
We load our gear into the truck, the weight of our supplies and weapons a physical reminder of the burden we carry. The drive from Lansing across the Lower Peninsula is long and quiet, the silence between us filled with unspoken memories and unresolved grief.
—
The drive north is a blur of highway lines and the dull hum of the engine. I drift off, the landscape outside blending into a haze. In my sleep, fragments of that day with Leah replay like scattered pieces of a puzzle. I see her smile, the way she tugged at my sleeve, eager to explore. The sunlight filters through the trees in sharp, jagged streaks.
Then, the memory shifts—darker, disjointed. Leah's voice echoes, a playful laugh turning into a scream that pierces the air. The crunch of leaves underfoot as something heavy moves through the underbrush. I see a shadow, large and looming, not quite fitting the shapes of any creature I know.
Then, something darker creeps into the dream, something I’ve never allowed myself to remember clearly.
Before I can see what it is I wake up with a start as the truck jerks slightly on a rough patch of road. Dad glances over. "Bad dream?" he asks. I nod, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, the remnants of the dream clinging to me like the cold.
"Yeah, just... thinking about Leah," I manage to say.
As we drive, Dad attempts to bridge the silence with small talk. He asks about my finals, my plans for the summer, anything to keep the conversation going. His voice carries a forced cheerfulness, but it’s clear his heart isn’t in it. I respond when necessary, my answers brief, my gaze fixed on the passing scenery.
The landscape changes as we head further north, from flat expanses to rolling hills dotted with dense patches of forest. It's beautiful country, the kind that reminds you how vast and wild Michigan can be, but today it just feels oppressive, like it’s closing in on us.
—
We finally arrive at the cabin, nestled deep in the woods, its weathered wood blending seamlessly with the surrounding trees. The place hasn't changed much since the last time I was here—a relic from another time, filled with the echoes of our past. I can still see Leah running around the porch, her laughter ringing out into the forest.
Dad parks the truck, and we step out into the crisp air. The smell of pine and damp earth fills my nostrils. We start unloading our gear, the tension between us palpable.
“Let’s get this inside,” Dad says, his voice gruff as he hefts a duffel bag onto his shoulder.
I nod, grabbing my own bag and following him to the cabin. Inside, it’s a mix of old and new—the same rustic furniture, but with new hunting gear and maps strewn across the table. Dad’s obsession is evident in every corner of the room, a constant reminder of why we’re here.
As we unpack, we exchange strained attempts at normalcy. He talks about the latest cryptid sightings he’s read about, his eyes lighting up with a fervor that both worries and saddens me.
“Did you hear about the sighting up near Alpena?” he asks, laying out his maps on the table.
“Yeah, you mentioned it,” I reply, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “Do you really think there’s something to it?”
Dad’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of doubt. But it’s quickly replaced by grim determination. “I have to believe it, Ryan. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
We finish unpacking, the silence between us growing heavier with each passing minute. I step outside to clear my head, the cool air a welcome relief. The sun is starting to set, casting long shadows across the clearing. I can’t shake the feeling of unease.
"You can take the upstairs room," Dad mutters. His voice is strained, trying to sound normal, but it's clear the weight of the past is heavy on him. I nod, hauling my backpack up the creaking stairs to the small bedroom that I used to share with Leah. The room feels smaller now, or maybe I've just grown too much since those innocent days.
I unpack silently, setting my things aside. The bed is stiff and cold under my touch. As I settle in, I can't help but glance at the corner where Leah and I would huddle together, whispering secrets and making plans for adventures that would never happen. I push the thoughts away, focusing on the practicalities of unpacking.
After settling in, I go back downstairs to find Dad loading up a backpack with supplies for our hunt. The intensity in his eyes is palpable, his hands moving with practiced precision. I know this routine; it's one he's perfected over countless solo trips since that fateful day.
"We'll head out early," he says, not looking up from his task. "Gotta make the most of the daylight."
I nod, though unease curls in my stomach. I'm not just worried about what we might find—or not find—out there. I'm worried about him. Each year, the obsession seems to carve him out a bit more, leaving less of the Dad I knew.
—
The morning air is sharp with the scent of pine and wet earth as Dad and I head into the deeper parts of the forest. The terrain is rugged, familiar in its untamed beauty, but there’s a tension between us that makes the landscape feel alien. Dad moves with a purposeful stride, his eyes scanning the woods around us. Every snap of a twig, every rustle in the underbrush seems to draw his attention. He’s on edge, and it puts me on edge too.
As we walk, my mind drifts back to that day ten years ago. I can almost hear Leah’s voice echoing through the trees, her high-pitched call as she darted ahead, "Catch me, Ryan!" I remember how the sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground. Those memories are so vivid, so tangible, it feels like I could just turn a corner and see her there, waiting for us.
Dad suddenly stops and kneels, examining the ground. He points out a set of tracks that are too large for a deer, with an unusual gait pattern. "It’s been here, Ry. I’m telling you, it’s close," he whispers, a mixture of excitement and something darker in his voice. I nod, though I’m not sure what to believe. Part of me wants to dismiss it all as grief-fueled obsession, but another part, the part that heard Leah's scream and saw something monstrous in the woods that day, isn’t so sure.
As we continue, Dad's comments become increasingly cryptic. "You know, they say the dogman moves in cycles, drawn to certain places, certain times. Like it’s tied to the land itself," he muses, more to himself than to me. His fixation on the creature has always been intense, but now it borders on mania.
We set up a makeshift blind near a clearing where Dad insists the creature will pass. Hours drag by with little to see but the occasional bird or distant deer.
The sun rises higher in the sky, casting long, slender shadows through the dense canopy. I shift uncomfortably in my spot, the forest floor hard and unyielding beneath me. My eyes dart between the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of something, anything, to break the monotony. Dad, on the other hand, remains steadfast, his gaze fixed on the treeline as if he can will the dogman into existence by sheer force of will.
A bird chirps nearby, startling me. I sigh and adjust my grip on the rifle. I glance over at Dad.
“Anything?” I ask, more out of boredom than genuine curiosity.
“Not yet,” he replies, his voice tight. “But it’s out there. I know it.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I believe him. The forest seems too quiet, too still. Maybe we’re chasing ghosts.
As the sun begins its descent, the forest is bathed in a warm, golden light. The air cools, and a breeze rustles the leaves. I shiver, more from anticipation than the cold. The long hours of sitting and waiting are starting to wear on me.
“Let’s call it a day for now,” Dad says finally, his voice heavy with disappointment. “We’ll head back to the cabin, get some rest, and try again tomorrow.”
I stand and stretch, feeling the stiffness in my muscles. We pack up our gear in silence and start the trek back to the cabin. The walk is long and quiet, the only sounds are the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant calls of birds settling in for the night.
—
Dinner is a quiet affair, both of us lost in our thoughts. I try to make small talk, asking Dad about his plans for tomorrow, but it feels forced. We clean up in silence.
After dinner, I retreat to the small bedroom. The fatigue from the day's hike has settled into my bones, but sleep still feels like a distant hope. I lie down, staring at the ceiling, the room cloaked in darkness save for the sliver of moonlight creeping through the window. Downstairs, I hear the faint sound of Dad moving around, likely unable to sleep himself.
I drift into sleep, but it's not restful. My dreams pull me back to that fateful day in the woods. Leah's voice is clear and vibrant, her laughter echoing through the trees. She looks just as she did then—bright-eyed and full of life, her blonde hair catching the sunlight as she runs ahead of me.
"Come on, Ry! You can't catch me!" she taunts, her voice playful and teasing.
I chase after her, but the scene shifts abruptly. The sky darkens, the woods around us growing dense and foreboding. Leah's laughter fades, replaced by a chilling silence. I see her ahead, standing still, her back to me.
"Leah?" I call out, my voice trembling. She turns slowly, her eyes wide and filled with fear. "Ryan, you have to remember," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "It wasn't what you think. You need to know the truth."
Leah’s words hang in the air, cryptic and unsettling. Before I can respond, she turns and starts running again, her figure becoming a blur among the trees. Panic rises in my chest as I sprint after her, my feet pounding against the forest floor.
“Leah, wait!” I shout, desperation lacing my voice. The forest around me seems to close in, the trees towering and twisted, shadows dancing menacingly in the dim light. I push forward, trying to keep her in sight, but she’s too fast, slipping away like a wisp of smoke.
Suddenly, there’s a rustle, a flash of movement in the corner of my vision. Leah screams, a sound that pierces through the heavy silence. It happens too quickly—I can’t see what it is, only a dark blur that snatches her up.
“Leah!” I scream, my voice breaking. I stumble, falling to my knees as the forest spins around me. My heart races, and the terror is so real, so visceral, that it pulls me back to that awful day, the one that changed everything.
I jolt awake, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I sit up, wiping the cold sweat from my forehead as I try to steady my breathing. The room is still dark, the shadows cast by the moonlight seem to flicker and dance on the walls. My heart is still racing from the nightmare, the echo of Leah's scream lingering in my ears.
As I struggle to calm down, the floorboards outside my room creak. The door opens slowly, and I see the silhouette of my dad in the doorway, a Bowie knife in his hand, his posture tense.
“Dad, what the hell are you doing?” I whisper, my voice shaking.
“Shh,” he hisses, holding up a hand to silence me. “I heard something. Something moving around in the cabin. Stay quiet.”
I swallow hard, my mouth dry. I glance at the clock on the nightstand—it’s just past three in the morning. The cabin is silent, the kind of deep, oppressive silence that makes every small sound seem louder. I can’t hear anything out of the ordinary, but Dad’s expression is deadly serious.
He motions for me to get up, and I do, moving as quietly as I can. My heart is racing, a mix of lingering fear from the dream and the sudden, sharp anxiety of the present moment. Dad leads the way, stepping cautiously out of the bedroom and into the hallway, the knife held ready in front of him.
We move through the cabin, checking each room in turn. The living room is empty, the furniture casting long shadows in the dim moonlight. The kitchen is just as we left it, the plates from dinner still drying on the counter. Everything seems normal, untouched.
We finish our sweep of the cabin without finding anything amiss. The silence is heavy, punctuated only by our soft footfalls. I can see the tension in Dad’s frame, his grip on the knife unwavering. After checking the last room, we pause in the dimly lit hallway, the air thick with unspoken questions.
“There’s nothing here,” I say, my voice low. “Are you sure you heard something?”
He looks at me, his eyes searching for something in my face. “I heard growling. Deep and close. It was right outside the window.”
“Maybe it was just an animal outside, a raccoon or something?” I suggest, although the certainty in his voice makes me doubt my own reassurance.
“No, it wasn’t like that. It was different,” he insists, his voice tense.
I nod, not wanting to argue, but the seeds of worry are planted deep.
The look in his eyes sends a chill down my spine. It’s not just fear—it’s desperation. The kind of desperation that comes from years of chasing shadows and finding nothing. I can see the toll this hunt has taken on him, the way it’s worn him down, turned him into a man I barely recognize.
We head back to our rooms. As I lie down, my mind races with thoughts of my dad. I can’t help but wonder if he’s losing it, if the years of grief and guilt have finally pushed him over the edge.
Dad wasn’t always like this. Before Leah’s death, he was the kind of father who took us fishing, helped with homework, and told terrible jokes that made us groan and laugh at the same time. He was solid, dependable. But losing Leah changed him. The guilt twisted him into someone I barely recognize, someone driven by a need for answers, for closure, that may never come.
I try to sleep, but my thoughts keep me awake. I can hear Dad moving around downstairs, probably pacing or double-checking the locks. His paranoia has become a constant presence, and I don’t know how to help him. I don’t even know if I can help him.
—
The next morning, the sunlight filters weakly through the cabin windows, casting a pale light that does little to lift the heavy mood. I drag myself out of bed, feeling the exhaustion of another restless night. Dad is already up, hunched over his maps at the kitchen table, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
“Morning,” I mumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I pour myself a cup of coffee. “Did you sleep at all?”
He shakes his head, not looking up from his notes. “Not much. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I heard last night.”
I sip my coffee, trying to shake off the remnants of my nightmare. “Maybe it was just an animal, Dad. We’re deep in the woods, after all.”
He finally looks up, his eyes intense. “Ryan, I know what I heard. It wasn’t just an animal. It was something else.”
I sigh, not wanting to argue. “Okay, fine, Dad. What’s the plan for today?”
“We’re going back out. I found some tracks yesterday, and I want to follow them. See where they lead.”
I nod, feeling a mix of apprehension and resignation. I can see how much this means to him, how desperate he is for any kind of lead. “Alright. Let’s get packed and head out.”
We spend the morning preparing, loading up our gear and double-checking our supplies. Dad is meticulous, going over everything with a fine-toothed comb. I try to match his focus, but my mind keeps drifting back to Leah and the dream I had. Her words echo in my head, cryptic and unsettling: “You need to know the truth.”
We set off into the woods, the air crisp and cool. The forest is alive with the sounds of birds and rustling leaves, but it all feels distant, like background noise to the tension between us. Dad leads the way, his eyes scanning the ground for any sign of the tracks he found yesterday.
As we walk, I can’t help but notice how erratically he’s acting. He mutters to himself, his eyes darting around as if expecting something to jump out at us. His grip on his rifle is tight, his knuckles white.
“Dad, are you okay?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
He glances at me, his expression unreadable. “I’m fine. Just focused.”
He stops frequently to examine the ground or the bark of trees, pointing out marks and signs that seem meaningless to me.
“Look at this,” he says, crouching down to examine a broken branch. “See how it’s snapped? That’s not a deer or a bear. That’s something bigger. Stronger.”
I crouch next to Dad, squinting at the broken branch. To me, it just looks like a regular broken branch, the kind you see all over the forest. "I don't know, Dad. It just looks like a branch to me," I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.
Dad's eyes flicker with frustration. "You're not looking close enough. It's the way it's snapped—too clean, too deliberate. Something did this."
I nod, not wanting to argue. "Okay, sure. But even if you're right, it could be anything. A storm, another hunter..."
His expression hardens. "I know what I'm looking for. This is different."
I sigh, feeling the weight of the past and the tension between us pressing down on me. "Dad, I had a dream last night. About Leah." The words hang in the air between us, heavy and fraught with unspoken emotions.
Dad's eyes widen, and he straightens up, his entire demeanor shifting. "What kind of dream? What did you see?" His voice is urgent, almost desperate.
"It was... strange. We were in the woods, like we are now, but everything felt different. Leah was there, running ahead of me, laughing. Then she stopped and told me I needed to know the truth, that it wasn't what I thought."
Dad grabs my shoulders, his grip tight. "What else did she say? Did she tell you anything specific? Anything about the creature?"
I shake my head, feeling a chill run down my spine. "No, that was it. She just said I needed to know the truth, and then she was gone."
Dad’s grip on my shoulders tightens, and his eyes bore into mine with a mixture of desperation and hope. “Ryan, you have to try to remember. Think hard. What did the creature look like? Did you see anything else?”
I pull back slightly, uneasy with his intensity. “Dad, I told you. I don’t remember. It was just a dream. A nightmare, really. My mind’s probably just mixing things up.”
He lets go of me and runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated and lost. “Dreams can be important. They can hold memories we’ve buried deep. Please, try to remember. This could be a sign, a clue.”
I rub my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “I’ve tried, okay? I’ve tried for years to piece together what happened that day. But it’s all just fragments, like pieces of a puzzle that don’t fit. The dream… it felt real, but I don’t think it’s telling me anything new.”
Dad’s face falls, and he looks older than I’ve ever seen him. He turns away, staring into the forest as if it holds all the answers.
—
As we make our way back to the cabin, the sun begins to set, casting long shadows through the trees. The air grows colder, and I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter around me. Dad is silent, lost in his thoughts, his face drawn and haggard.
Back at the cabin, we unload our gear once again in silence. Dad disappears into his room, muttering something about going over his notes. I decide to explore the cabin, hoping to find something that might help me understand what’s going on with him.
In the attic, I find a box of old family photos and documents. As I sift through the contents, I come across a worn journal with Dad’s handwriting on the cover. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I open it, flipping through the pages.
The journal is filled with notes and sketches, detailing his obsession with the dogman. But there’s something else—entries that talk about Leah, about that day in the woods. His handwriting becomes more erratic, the words harder to read. One entry stands out, dated just a few days after Leah’s death:
“June 15, 2013 – It was supposed to be a normal trip. Keep them close, Frank, I kept telling myself. But I failed. Leah is gone, and it’s my fault. I heard her scream, saw the shadows. I tried to get to her, but… the thing, it was there. Too fast. Too strong. My hands… blood everywhere. No one will believe me. I can’t even believe myself. I have to find it. I have to protect Ryan. I have to make it right. God, what have I done?”
Before I can read further, the attic door creaks open, and Dad’s voice slices through the stillness.
“What are you doing up here?” His tone is sharp, almost panicked.
I turn to see him standing in the doorway, his face pale and his eyes wide with something between anger and fear. I clutch the journal to my chest, my mind racing. “I found this… I was just trying to understand…”
In an instant, he crosses the room and snatches the journal from my hands. His grip is tight, his knuckles white. “You had no right,” he growls, his voice trembling.
“Dad, I just wanted to know the truth!” I shout, frustration boiling over. “What really happened to Leah.”
His eyes flash with a mix of rage and anguish, and before I can react, he slaps me across the face. The force of it knocks me off balance, and I stumble backward, my cheek stinging.
For a moment, there’s a stunned silence. We both stand there, breathing hard, the air thick with tension.
“I’m sorry,” Dad says finally, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to… I just…” He trails off, clutching the journal to his chest like a lifeline.
I touch my cheek, feeling the heat from the slap, and take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Dad, what aren’t you telling me? What really happened that day?”
“Stay out of it, Ryan,” Dad growls, his eyes dark with anger. “You don’t know what you’re messing with.”
He turns and storms out of the attic. I’m left standing there, my cheek throbbing, my mind racing. What the fuck is going on? What really happened to Leah? And what is Dad so afraid of?
—
That night, I sleep with my rifle within arm's reach, more afraid of my dad than any dogman. The slap still burns on my cheek, and the look in his eyes—rage, fear, something darker—haunts me. I lie awake, listening to the creaks and groans of the old cabin, every sound amplified in the stillness. Eventually, exhaustion pulls me under, and I fall into a restless sleep.
The dream returns, vivid and unsettling. I'm back in the woods, chasing after Leah. Her laughter echoes through the trees, a haunting reminder of happier times. This time, though, I push myself harder, refusing to let her slip away.
"Ryan, catch me!" she calls, her voice playful.
"I'm coming, Leah!" I shout, my legs pumping, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
The forest around us is a twisted, shadowy maze, the trees seeming to close in on us. Leah's figure becomes clearer, her blonde hair catching the dim light filtering through the canopy. She stops suddenly, turning to face me, her eyes wide with fear.
"Leah, what is it?" I ask, my voice trembling.
"Look behind you," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I turn slowly, dread creeping up my spine. In the shadows, I see a figure, its form indistinct and shifting. It’s not quite animal, not quite human—something in between. The sight of it sends a jolt of terror through me, and I wake up with a start, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I’m not in my bed. The ground beneath me is cold and hard, the smell of damp earth filling my nostrils. Panic rises as I realize I’ve sleepwalked into the woods. I scramble to my feet, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The moon casts a pale glow over the surroundings, revealing what looks like a long-abandoned animal lair.
The walls are covered in giant claw marks, deep gouges in the wood and earth. The air is heavy with the scent of decay, and a chill runs through me. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.
Carefully, I start to move, my eyes scanning the ground, desperate for a familiar landmark. That's when I see them—faded scraps of fabric caught on the jagged edges of the underbrush. My steps falter, a sense of dread washing over me as I bend down to examine them. The fabric is torn, weathered by time and the elements, but unmistakably familiar. It's part of Leah's jacket—the bright pink one she wore on the day she disappeared.
As I strain to make sense of it all, a rustling sound behind me snaps my focus. My heart leaps into my throat. I spin around, my hand instinctively reaching for the rifle I don't have—because, of course, I didn't bring it in my unconscious state.
The shadowy figure that emerges from the trees is unsettlingly familiar, mirroring the menacing forms of my nightmares. But as it steps into the moonlight, I recognize the worn jacket, the weary posture. It's Dad.
"Ryan!" he calls out, his voice a mix of relief and stern concern. "I've been looking everywhere for you. What the hell are you doing out here?"
I exhale slowly, the terror ebbing away as reality sets back in. "I—I don't know, Dad. I must've sleepwalked again." My voice is shaky, my earlier dream still clinging to the edges of my consciousness.
Dad stares at me in disbelief. "You haven't sleepwalked since you were a kid, Ry. This... this isn't just a coincidence." His eyes dart around, taking in the surroundings—the eerie, claw-marked den, the unsettling quiet of the woods. "How did you even find this place?"
I shake my head, struggling to find an answer. "I don't know, Dad. I just... I woke up here." The uncertainty in my voice does nothing to ease the tension.
His eyes lock onto the tattered remains of Leah's jacket in my hands, and something inside him snaps. The color drains from his face as he stumbles a few steps backward. "This... this is where it happened," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. “This is where we found Leah."
“I thought you said you don’t remember anything from that night,” he says accusingly.
"I swear, Dad, I don't know anything about this place," I insist, my own heart pounding.
“It was you, wasn’t it? You’ve been hiding this from me.” His voice is frantic. “You... last night, the growling, it was you.” His voice rises, tinged with hysteria.
I step back, my pulse racing, feeling the chill of the night and the weight of his accusation. "Dad, I don't know what you're talking ab—”
"No!" he interrupts, his voice breaking as he points a trembling finger at me. "You knew, you always knew. It was you, Ryan. All these years, the evidence was right there, but I refused to see it. You were the dogman. You killed Leah!"
His words hit me like a physical blow, absurd and horrifying in their implications. "Dad, you're not making any sense. You're talking crazy! I was just a little kid! How could I–" I protest, my voice shaky.
He steps closer, his presence looming over me, the outline of his figure distorted by the shadows of the trees. "Think about it! It all makes sense now. You led us here, to this place, because you remember. Because you did it."
"Dad, stop it!" I shout, my heart pounding in my chest. "You're scaring me. You need help, professional help. This isn't you."
But he's beyond reason, his eyes wild with a haunted grief. "I have to end this," he mutters, more to himself than to me, his hand tightening around his rifle.
His finger hovers dangerously over the trigger of his rifle. My instincts kick in, and I know I have to act fast.
I lunge toward him, trying to knock the weapon away, but he's quicker than I expected. We struggle, our breaths heavy in the cold night air, the sounds of our scuffle the only noise in the otherwise silent woods. His strength surprises me, fueled by his frantic emotions. He shoves me back, and I stumble over a root, my balance lost for a crucial second. That's all he needs. He raises his rifle, his intentions clear in his wild, pained eyes.
I dive to the ground just as the shot rings out, a deafening blast that echoes ominously through the trees. The bullet whizzes past, narrowly missing me, embedding itself in the bark of an old pine. I scramble to my feet, my heart pounding in my ears, and I start running. The underbrush claws at my clothes and skin, but I push through, driven by a primal urge to survive.
"Dad, stop! It's me, Ryan!" I shout back as I dodge between the trees. Another shot breaks the silence, closer this time, sending splinters of wood flying from a nearby tree trunk. It's surreal, being hunted by my own father, a man tormented by grief and lost in his delusions.
I don't stop to look back. I can hear him crashing through the forest behind me, his heavy breaths and muttered curses carried on the wind. The terrain is rough, and I'm fueled by adrenaline, but exhaustion is setting in. I need a plan.
Ahead, I see a rocky outcrop and make a split-second decision to head for it. It offers a chance to hide, to catch my breath and maybe reason with him if he catches up. As I reach the rocks, I slip behind the largest one, my body pressed tight against the cold, damp surface. I hear his footsteps approaching, slow and cautious now.
As I press against the rock, trying to calm my racing heart, I can hear Dad's footsteps drawing closer, each step crunching ominously on the forest floor. He's methodical, deliberate, like a hunter stalking his prey.
“Come out, Ryan!” Dad’s voice is ragged, filled with a blend of fury and pain.
My heart pounds against my chest, the cold sweat on my back making me shiver against the rough surface of the rock. I know I can't just sit here; it's only a matter of time before he finds me.
Taking a deep breath, I peek around the edge of the rock, trying to gauge his position. I see him, rifle raised, scanning the area slowly. This might be my only chance to end this madness without further violence. I need to disarm him, to talk some sense into him if I can.
As quietly as I can, I move out from behind the rock, my steps careful to avoid any twigs or leaves that might betray my position. I'm almost upon him when a branch snaps under my foot—a sound so trivial yet so alarmingly loud in the quiet of the woods.
Dad whirls around, looking completely unhinged. "Ryan!" he exclaims, his rifle swinging in my direction. Panic overtakes me, and I lunge forward, my hands reaching for the gun.
We struggle, the rifle between us, our breaths heavy and erratic. "Dad, please, stop!" I plead, trying to wrestle the gun away. But he's strong, stronger than I expected.
In the chaos, the rifle goes off. The sound is deafening, a sharp echo that seems to reverberate off every tree around us. Pain explodes in my abdomen, sharp and burning, like nothing I've ever felt before. I stagger back, my hands instinctively going to the wound. The warmth of my own blood coats my fingers, stark and terrifying.
Dad drops the rifle, his eyes wide with horror. "Oh my God! What have I done?" he gasps, rushing to my side as I collapse onto the forest floor.
As the pain sears through me, a strange, overpowering energy surges within. It's wild, primal, unlike anything I've ever experienced. Looking down in horror, my hands are no longer hands but large, hairy, clawed appendages. The transformation is rapid, consuming—my vision blurs, senses heighten, and a raw, guttural growl builds in my throat.
In that moment, a flood of understanding washes over me, mingling with the horror of realization. These are the hands of the creature from my nightmares, the creature whose face I can never fully recall because, as I now understand, it is me.
What happens next feels detached, as if I'm no longer in control of my own actions, watching from a distance as my body moves on its own. I turn towards my dad, his face a mask of terror. He stumbles back, his eyes wide with the dawning realization of what his son has become.
The forest around us seems to fall silent, holding its breath as the nightmarish scene unfolds. I can hear my own growls, guttural and deep, filling the air with a sound that's both foreign and intimately familiar. The pain in my abdomen fuels a dark, violent urge, an urge that's too strong to resist.
With a ferocity that feels both alien and intrinsic, I move towards him. My dad, paralyzed by fear and shock, doesn't run. Maybe he can't. Maybe he doesn't want to.
The encounter 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.
submitted by PageTurner627 to TheCrypticCompendium [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 20:12 PageTurner627 My Dad and I Hunted Down the Dogman that Killed My Sister

I’ve always hated the smell of gun oil. It clings to everything it touches, soaking deep into the fibers of my clothes, the lining of my backpack, the coarse hair on the back of my hands. Yet here I am, kneeling on the cracked linoleum of our mudroom, a Remington .308 laid across my thighs, and the stench of gun oil sharp in my nostrils. The early morning light barely scratches at the edges of the blinds, dim and gray like the belly of a dead fish.
My dad Frank is in the kitchen, clattering around with the coffeepot and mumbling under his breath. Today we’re heading up to the woods of Northern Michigan, same as we did every year before Leah… before we lost her.
I can’t help but feel the old scars throbbing as I load bullets into the magazine. It’s been ten years since that hunting trip, the one that tore my family into before and after. Before, when Leah's laughter was a constant soundtrack to our lives; after, when every silence was filled with her absence.
We were just kids back then. I was ten, Leah was eight. It was supposed to be a typical hunting trip, one of those bonding experiences Dad was always talking about. But things went wrong. We got separated from Dad somehow. One minute we were following him, the next we were lost, the dense woods closing in around us.
Dad says when he found me, I was huddled under a fallen tree, my eyes wide, my body frozen. All I could mutter through chattering teeth was "Dogman."
It was only later, after the search parties had combed through every thicket and hollow, that they found her. What remained of Leah was barely recognizable, the evidence of a brutal mauling undeniable. The authorities concluded it was likely a bear attack, but Dad... he never accepted that explanation. He had seen the tracks, too large and oddly shaped for any bear.
As I load another round, the memory flashes, unbidden and unwelcome. Large, hairy clawed hands reaching out towards us, impossibly big, grotesque in their form. Yet, the rest of the creature eludes me, a shadow just beyond the edge of my recall, leaving me with nothing but fragmented terrors and Leah’s haunting, echoing screams. My mind blocked most of it out, a self-defense mechanism, I guess.
For years after that day, sleep was a battleground. I'd wake up in strange places—kitchen floor, backyard, even at the edge of the nearby creek. My therapist said it was my mind's way of trying to resolve the unresolved, to wander back through the woods searching for Leah. But all I found in those sleepless nights was a deeper sense of loss.
It took time, a lot of therapy, and patience I didn't know I had, but the sleepwalking did eventually stop. I guess I started to find some semblance of peace.
I have mostly moved on with my life. The fragmentary memories of that day are still there, lurking in the corners of my mind, but they don’t dominate my thoughts like they used to. I just finished my sophomore year at Michigan State, majoring in Environmental Science.
As for Dad, the loss of Leah broke him. He became a shell of himself. It destroyed his marriage with Mom. He blamed himself for letting us out of his sight, for not protecting Leah. His life took on a single, consuming focus: finding the creature that killed her. He read every book, every article on cryptids and unexplained phenomena. He mapped sightings, connected dots across blurry photos and shaky testimonies of the Dogman.
But as the tenth anniversary of Leah’s death approaches, Dad's obsession has grown more intense. He’s started staying up late, poring over his maps and notes, muttering to himself about patterns and cycles. He’s convinced that the dogman reappears every ten years, and this is our window of opportunity to finally hunt it down.
I’m not nearly as convinced. The whole dogman thing seems like a coping mechanism, a way for Dad to channel his guilt and grief into something tangible, something he can fight against. But I decided to tag along on this trip, partly to keep an eye on him, partly because a small part of me hopes that maybe, just maybe, we’ll find some kind of closure out there in the woods.
I finish loading the rifle and set it aside, standing up to stretch my legs. I wipe my greasy hands on an old rag, trying to get rid of the smell. The early morning light is starting to seep into the room, casting long shadows across the floor.
Dad comes out of the kitchen with two thermoses of coffee in hand. His eyes are bleary and tired.
“You ready, Ryan?” he asks, handing me a thermos, his voice rough from too many sleepless nights.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” I reply, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
We load our gear into the truck, the weight of our supplies and weapons a physical reminder of the burden we carry. The drive from Lansing across the Lower Peninsula is long and quiet, the silence between us filled with unspoken memories and unresolved grief.
—
The drive north is a blur of highway lines and the dull hum of the engine. I drift off, the landscape outside blending into a haze. In my sleep, fragments of that day with Leah replay like scattered pieces of a puzzle. I see her smile, the way she tugged at my sleeve, eager to explore. The sunlight filters through the trees in sharp, jagged streaks.
Then, the memory shifts—darker, disjointed. Leah's voice echoes, a playful laugh turning into a scream that pierces the air. The crunch of leaves underfoot as something heavy moves through the underbrush. I see a shadow, large and looming, not quite fitting the shapes of any creature I know.
Then, something darker creeps into the dream, something I’ve never allowed myself to remember clearly.
Before I can see what it is I wake up with a start as the truck jerks slightly on a rough patch of road. Dad glances over. "Bad dream?" he asks. I nod, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, the remnants of the dream clinging to me like the cold.
"Yeah, just... thinking about Leah," I manage to say.
As we drive, Dad attempts to bridge the silence with small talk. He asks about my finals, my plans for the summer, anything to keep the conversation going. His voice carries a forced cheerfulness, but it’s clear his heart isn’t in it. I respond when necessary, my answers brief, my gaze fixed on the passing scenery.
The landscape changes as we head further north, from flat expanses to rolling hills dotted with dense patches of forest. It's beautiful country, the kind that reminds you how vast and wild Michigan can be, but today it just feels oppressive, like it’s closing in on us.
—
We finally arrive at the cabin, nestled deep in the woods, its weathered wood blending seamlessly with the surrounding trees. The place hasn't changed much since the last time I was here—a relic from another time, filled with the echoes of our past. I can still see Leah running around the porch, her laughter ringing out into the forest.
Dad parks the truck, and we step out into the crisp air. The smell of pine and damp earth fills my nostrils. We start unloading our gear, the tension between us palpable.
“Let’s get this inside,” Dad says, his voice gruff as he hefts a duffel bag onto his shoulder.
I nod, grabbing my own bag and following him to the cabin. Inside, it’s a mix of old and new—the same rustic furniture, but with new hunting gear and maps strewn across the table. Dad’s obsession is evident in every corner of the room, a constant reminder of why we’re here.
As we unpack, we exchange strained attempts at normalcy. He talks about the latest cryptid sightings he’s read about, his eyes lighting up with a fervor that both worries and saddens me.
“Did you hear about the sighting up near Alpena?” he asks, laying out his maps on the table.
“Yeah, you mentioned it,” I reply, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “Do you really think there’s something to it?”
Dad’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of doubt. But it’s quickly replaced by grim determination. “I have to believe it, Ryan. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
We finish unpacking, the silence between us growing heavier with each passing minute. I step outside to clear my head, the cool air a welcome relief. The sun is starting to set, casting long shadows across the clearing. I can’t shake the feeling of unease.
"You can take the upstairs room," Dad mutters. His voice is strained, trying to sound normal, but it's clear the weight of the past is heavy on him. I nod, hauling my backpack up the creaking stairs to the small bedroom that I used to share with Leah. The room feels smaller now, or maybe I've just grown too much since those innocent days.
I unpack silently, setting my things aside. The bed is stiff and cold under my touch. As I settle in, I can't help but glance at the corner where Leah and I would huddle together, whispering secrets and making plans for adventures that would never happen. I push the thoughts away, focusing on the practicalities of unpacking.
After settling in, I go back downstairs to find Dad loading up a backpack with supplies for our hunt. The intensity in his eyes is palpable, his hands moving with practiced precision. I know this routine; it's one he's perfected over countless solo trips since that fateful day.
"We'll head out early," he says, not looking up from his task. "Gotta make the most of the daylight."
I nod, though unease curls in my stomach. I'm not just worried about what we might find—or not find—out there. I'm worried about him. Each year, the obsession seems to carve him out a bit more, leaving less of the Dad I knew.
—
The morning air is sharp with the scent of pine and wet earth as Dad and I head into the deeper parts of the forest. The terrain is rugged, familiar in its untamed beauty, but there’s a tension between us that makes the landscape feel alien. Dad moves with a purposeful stride, his eyes scanning the woods around us. Every snap of a twig, every rustle in the underbrush seems to draw his attention. He’s on edge, and it puts me on edge too.
As we walk, my mind drifts back to that day ten years ago. I can almost hear Leah’s voice echoing through the trees, her high-pitched call as she darted ahead, "Catch me, Ryan!" I remember how the sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground. Those memories are so vivid, so tangible, it feels like I could just turn a corner and see her there, waiting for us.
Dad suddenly stops and kneels, examining the ground. He points out a set of tracks that are too large for a deer, with an unusual gait pattern. "It’s been here, Ry. I’m telling you, it’s close," he whispers, a mixture of excitement and something darker in his voice. I nod, though I’m not sure what to believe. Part of me wants to dismiss it all as grief-fueled obsession, but another part, the part that heard Leah's scream and saw something monstrous in the woods that day, isn’t so sure.
As we continue, Dad's comments become increasingly cryptic. "You know, they say the dogman moves in cycles, drawn to certain places, certain times. Like it’s tied to the land itself," he muses, more to himself than to me. His fixation on the creature has always been intense, but now it borders on mania.
We set up a makeshift blind near a clearing where Dad insists the creature will pass. Hours drag by with little to see but the occasional bird or distant deer.
The sun rises higher in the sky, casting long, slender shadows through the dense canopy. I shift uncomfortably in my spot, the forest floor hard and unyielding beneath me. My eyes dart between the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of something, anything, to break the monotony. Dad, on the other hand, remains steadfast, his gaze fixed on the treeline as if he can will the dogman into existence by sheer force of will.
A bird chirps nearby, startling me. I sigh and adjust my grip on the rifle. I glance over at Dad.
“Anything?” I ask, more out of boredom than genuine curiosity.
“Not yet,” he replies, his voice tight. “But it’s out there. I know it.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I believe him. The forest seems too quiet, too still. Maybe we’re chasing ghosts.
As the sun begins its descent, the forest is bathed in a warm, golden light. The air cools, and a breeze rustles the leaves. I shiver, more from anticipation than the cold. The long hours of sitting and waiting are starting to wear on me.
“Let’s call it a day for now,” Dad says finally, his voice heavy with disappointment. “We’ll head back to the cabin, get some rest, and try again tomorrow.”
I stand and stretch, feeling the stiffness in my muscles. We pack up our gear in silence and start the trek back to the cabin. The walk is long and quiet, the only sounds are the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant calls of birds settling in for the night.
—
Dinner is a quiet affair, both of us lost in our thoughts. I try to make small talk, asking Dad about his plans for tomorrow, but it feels forced. We clean up in silence.
After dinner, I retreat to the small bedroom. The fatigue from the day's hike has settled into my bones, but sleep still feels like a distant hope. I lie down, staring at the ceiling, the room cloaked in darkness save for the sliver of moonlight creeping through the window. Downstairs, I hear the faint sound of Dad moving around, likely unable to sleep himself.
I drift into sleep, but it's not restful. My dreams pull me back to that fateful day in the woods. Leah's voice is clear and vibrant, her laughter echoing through the trees. She looks just as she did then—bright-eyed and full of life, her blonde hair catching the sunlight as she runs ahead of me.
"Come on, Ry! You can't catch me!" she taunts, her voice playful and teasing.
I chase after her, but the scene shifts abruptly. The sky darkens, the woods around us growing dense and foreboding. Leah's laughter fades, replaced by a chilling silence. I see her ahead, standing still, her back to me.
"Leah?" I call out, my voice trembling. She turns slowly, her eyes wide and filled with fear. "Ryan, you have to remember," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "It wasn't what you think. You need to know the truth."
Leah’s words hang in the air, cryptic and unsettling. Before I can respond, she turns and starts running again, her figure becoming a blur among the trees. Panic rises in my chest as I sprint after her, my feet pounding against the forest floor.
“Leah, wait!” I shout, desperation lacing my voice. The forest around me seems to close in, the trees towering and twisted, shadows dancing menacingly in the dim light. I push forward, trying to keep her in sight, but she’s too fast, slipping away like a wisp of smoke.
Suddenly, there’s a rustle, a flash of movement in the corner of my vision. Leah screams, a sound that pierces through the heavy silence. It happens too quickly—I can’t see what it is, only a dark blur that snatches her up.
“Leah!” I scream, my voice breaking. I stumble, falling to my knees as the forest spins around me. My heart races, and the terror is so real, so visceral, that it pulls me back to that awful day, the one that changed everything.
I jolt awake, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I sit up, wiping the cold sweat from my forehead as I try to steady my breathing. The room is still dark, the shadows cast by the moonlight seem to flicker and dance on the walls. My heart is still racing from the nightmare, the echo of Leah's scream lingering in my ears.
As I struggle to calm down, the floorboards outside my room creak. The door opens slowly, and I see the silhouette of my dad in the doorway, a Bowie knife in his hand, his posture tense.
“Dad, what the hell are you doing?” I whisper, my voice shaking.
“Shh,” he hisses, holding up a hand to silence me. “I heard something. Something moving around in the cabin. Stay quiet.”
I swallow hard, my mouth dry. I glance at the clock on the nightstand—it’s just past three in the morning. The cabin is silent, the kind of deep, oppressive silence that makes every small sound seem louder. I can’t hear anything out of the ordinary, but Dad’s expression is deadly serious.
He motions for me to get up, and I do, moving as quietly as I can. My heart is racing, a mix of lingering fear from the dream and the sudden, sharp anxiety of the present moment. Dad leads the way, stepping cautiously out of the bedroom and into the hallway, the knife held ready in front of him.
We move through the cabin, checking each room in turn. The living room is empty, the furniture casting long shadows in the dim moonlight. The kitchen is just as we left it, the plates from dinner still drying on the counter. Everything seems normal, untouched.
We finish our sweep of the cabin without finding anything amiss. The silence is heavy, punctuated only by our soft footfalls. I can see the tension in Dad’s frame, his grip on the knife unwavering. After checking the last room, we pause in the dimly lit hallway, the air thick with unspoken questions.
“There’s nothing here,” I say, my voice low. “Are you sure you heard something?”
He looks at me, his eyes searching for something in my face. “I heard growling. Deep and close. It was right outside the window.”
“Maybe it was just an animal outside, a raccoon or something?” I suggest, although the certainty in his voice makes me doubt my own reassurance.
“No, it wasn’t like that. It was different,” he insists, his voice tense.
I nod, not wanting to argue, but the seeds of worry are planted deep.
The look in his eyes sends a chill down my spine. It’s not just fear—it’s desperation. The kind of desperation that comes from years of chasing shadows and finding nothing. I can see the toll this hunt has taken on him, the way it’s worn him down, turned him into a man I barely recognize.
We head back to our rooms. As I lie down, my mind races with thoughts of my dad. I can’t help but wonder if he’s losing it, if the years of grief and guilt have finally pushed him over the edge.
Dad wasn’t always like this. Before Leah’s death, he was the kind of father who took us fishing, helped with homework, and told terrible jokes that made us groan and laugh at the same time. He was solid, dependable. But losing Leah changed him. The guilt twisted him into someone I barely recognize, someone driven by a need for answers, for closure, that may never come.
I try to sleep, but my thoughts keep me awake. I can hear Dad moving around downstairs, probably pacing or double-checking the locks. His paranoia has become a constant presence, and I don’t know how to help him. I don’t even know if I can help him.
—
The next morning, the sunlight filters weakly through the cabin windows, casting a pale light that does little to lift the heavy mood. I drag myself out of bed, feeling the exhaustion of another restless night. Dad is already up, hunched over his maps at the kitchen table, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
“Morning,” I mumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I pour myself a cup of coffee. “Did you sleep at all?”
He shakes his head, not looking up from his notes. “Not much. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I heard last night.”
I sip my coffee, trying to shake off the remnants of my nightmare. “Maybe it was just an animal, Dad. We’re deep in the woods, after all.”
He finally looks up, his eyes intense. “Ryan, I know what I heard. It wasn’t just an animal. It was something else.”
I sigh, not wanting to argue. “Okay, fine, Dad. What’s the plan for today?”
“We’re going back out. I found some tracks yesterday, and I want to follow them. See where they lead.”
I nod, feeling a mix of apprehension and resignation. I can see how much this means to him, how desperate he is for any kind of lead. “Alright. Let’s get packed and head out.”
We spend the morning preparing, loading up our gear and double-checking our supplies. Dad is meticulous, going over everything with a fine-toothed comb. I try to match his focus, but my mind keeps drifting back to Leah and the dream I had. Her words echo in my head, cryptic and unsettling: “You need to know the truth.”
We set off into the woods, the air crisp and cool. The forest is alive with the sounds of birds and rustling leaves, but it all feels distant, like background noise to the tension between us. Dad leads the way, his eyes scanning the ground for any sign of the tracks he found yesterday.
As we walk, I can’t help but notice how erratically he’s acting. He mutters to himself, his eyes darting around as if expecting something to jump out at us. His grip on his rifle is tight, his knuckles white.
“Dad, are you okay?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
He glances at me, his expression unreadable. “I’m fine. Just focused.”
He stops frequently to examine the ground or the bark of trees, pointing out marks and signs that seem meaningless to me.
“Look at this,” he says, crouching down to examine a broken branch. “See how it’s snapped? That’s not a deer or a bear. That’s something bigger. Stronger.”
I crouch next to Dad, squinting at the broken branch. To me, it just looks like a regular broken branch, the kind you see all over the forest. "I don't know, Dad. It just looks like a branch to me," I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.
Dad's eyes flicker with frustration. "You're not looking close enough. It's the way it's snapped—too clean, too deliberate. Something did this."
I nod, not wanting to argue. "Okay, sure. But even if you're right, it could be anything. A storm, another hunter..."
His expression hardens. "I know what I'm looking for. This is different."
I sigh, feeling the weight of the past and the tension between us pressing down on me. "Dad, I had a dream last night. About Leah." The words hang in the air between us, heavy and fraught with unspoken emotions.
Dad's eyes widen, and he straightens up, his entire demeanor shifting. "What kind of dream? What did you see?" His voice is urgent, almost desperate.
"It was... strange. We were in the woods, like we are now, but everything felt different. Leah was there, running ahead of me, laughing. Then she stopped and told me I needed to know the truth, that it wasn't what I thought."
Dad grabs my shoulders, his grip tight. "What else did she say? Did she tell you anything specific? Anything about the creature?"
I shake my head, feeling a chill run down my spine. "No, that was it. She just said I needed to know the truth, and then she was gone."
Dad’s grip on my shoulders tightens, and his eyes bore into mine with a mixture of desperation and hope. “Ryan, you have to try to remember. Think hard. What did the creature look like? Did you see anything else?”
I pull back slightly, uneasy with his intensity. “Dad, I told you. I don’t remember. It was just a dream. A nightmare, really. My mind’s probably just mixing things up.”
He lets go of me and runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated and lost. “Dreams can be important. They can hold memories we’ve buried deep. Please, try to remember. This could be a sign, a clue.”
I rub my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “I’ve tried, okay? I’ve tried for years to piece together what happened that day. But it’s all just fragments, like pieces of a puzzle that don’t fit. The dream… it felt real, but I don’t think it’s telling me anything new.”
Dad’s face falls, and he looks older than I’ve ever seen him. He turns away, staring into the forest as if it holds all the answers.
—
As we make our way back to the cabin, the sun begins to set, casting long shadows through the trees. The air grows colder, and I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter around me. Dad is silent, lost in his thoughts, his face drawn and haggard.
Back at the cabin, we unload our gear once again in silence. Dad disappears into his room, muttering something about going over his notes. I decide to explore the cabin, hoping to find something that might help me understand what’s going on with him.
In the attic, I find a box of old family photos and documents. As I sift through the contents, I come across a worn journal with Dad’s handwriting on the cover. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I open it, flipping through the pages.
The journal is filled with notes and sketches, detailing his obsession with the dogman. But there’s something else—entries that talk about Leah, about that day in the woods. His handwriting becomes more erratic, the words harder to read. One entry stands out, dated just a few days after Leah’s death:
“June 15, 2013 – It was supposed to be a normal trip. Keep them close, Frank, I kept telling myself. But I failed. Leah is gone, and it’s my fault. I heard her scream, saw the shadows. I tried to get to her, but… the thing, it was there. Too fast. Too strong. My hands… blood everywhere. No one will believe me. I can’t even believe myself. I have to find it. I have to protect Ryan. I have to make it right. God, what have I done?”
Before I can read further, the attic door creaks open, and Dad’s voice slices through the stillness.
“What are you doing up here?” His tone is sharp, almost panicked.
I turn to see him standing in the doorway, his face pale and his eyes wide with something between anger and fear. I clutch the journal to my chest, my mind racing. “I found this… I was just trying to understand…”
In an instant, he crosses the room and snatches the journal from my hands. His grip is tight, his knuckles white. “You had no right,” he growls, his voice trembling.
“Dad, I just wanted to know the truth!” I shout, frustration boiling over. “What really happened to Leah.”
His eyes flash with a mix of rage and anguish, and before I can react, he slaps me across the face. The force of it knocks me off balance, and I stumble backward, my cheek stinging.
For a moment, there’s a stunned silence. We both stand there, breathing hard, the air thick with tension.
“I’m sorry,” Dad says finally, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to… I just…” He trails off, clutching the journal to his chest like a lifeline.
I touch my cheek, feeling the heat from the slap, and take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Dad, what aren’t you telling me? What really happened that day?”
“Stay out of it, Ryan,” Dad growls, his eyes dark with anger. “You don’t know what you’re messing with.”
He turns and storms out of the attic. I’m left standing there, my cheek throbbing, my mind racing. What the fuck is going on? What really happened to Leah? And what is Dad so afraid of?
—
That night, I sleep with my rifle within arm's reach, more afraid of my dad than any dogman. The slap still burns on my cheek, and the look in his eyes—rage, fear, something darker—haunts me. I lie awake, listening to the creaks and groans of the old cabin, every sound amplified in the stillness. Eventually, exhaustion pulls me under, and I fall into a restless sleep.
The dream returns, vivid and unsettling. I'm back in the woods, chasing after Leah. Her laughter echoes through the trees, a haunting reminder of happier times. This time, though, I push myself harder, refusing to let her slip away.
"Ryan, catch me!" she calls, her voice playful.
"I'm coming, Leah!" I shout, my legs pumping, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
The forest around us is a twisted, shadowy maze, the trees seeming to close in on us. Leah's figure becomes clearer, her blonde hair catching the dim light filtering through the canopy. She stops suddenly, turning to face me, her eyes wide with fear.
"Leah, what is it?" I ask, my voice trembling.
"Look behind you," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I turn slowly, dread creeping up my spine. In the shadows, I see a figure, its form indistinct and shifting. It’s not quite animal, not quite human—something in between. The sight of it sends a jolt of terror through me, and I wake up with a start, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I’m not in my bed. The ground beneath me is cold and hard, the smell of damp earth filling my nostrils. Panic rises as I realize I’ve sleepwalked into the woods. I scramble to my feet, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The moon casts a pale glow over the surroundings, revealing what looks like a long-abandoned animal lair.
The walls are covered in giant claw marks, deep gouges in the wood and earth. The air is heavy with the scent of decay, and a chill runs through me. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.
Carefully, I start to move, my eyes scanning the ground, desperate for a familiar landmark. That's when I see them—faded scraps of fabric caught on the jagged edges of the underbrush. My steps falter, a sense of dread washing over me as I bend down to examine them. The fabric is torn, weathered by time and the elements, but unmistakably familiar. It's part of Leah's jacket—the bright pink one she wore on the day she disappeared.
As I strain to make sense of it all, a rustling sound behind me snaps my focus. My heart leaps into my throat. I spin around, my hand instinctively reaching for the rifle I don't have—because, of course, I didn't bring it in my unconscious state.
The shadowy figure that emerges from the trees is unsettlingly familiar, mirroring the menacing forms of my nightmares. But as it steps into the moonlight, I recognize the worn jacket, the weary posture. It's Dad.
"Ryan!" he calls out, his voice a mix of relief and stern concern. "I've been looking everywhere for you. What the hell are you doing out here?"
I exhale slowly, the terror ebbing away as reality sets back in. "I—I don't know, Dad. I must've sleepwalked again." My voice is shaky, my earlier dream still clinging to the edges of my consciousness.
Dad stares at me in disbelief. "You haven't sleepwalked since you were a kid, Ry. This... this isn't just a coincidence." His eyes dart around, taking in the surroundings—the eerie, claw-marked den, the unsettling quiet of the woods. "How did you even find this place?"
I shake my head, struggling to find an answer. "I don't know, Dad. I just... I woke up here." The uncertainty in my voice does nothing to ease the tension.
His eyes lock onto the tattered remains of Leah's jacket in my hands, and something inside him snaps. The color drains from his face as he stumbles a few steps backward. "This... this is where it happened," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. “This is where we found Leah."
“I thought you said you don’t remember anything from that night,” he says accusingly.
"I swear, Dad, I don't know anything about this place," I insist, my own heart pounding.
“It was you, wasn’t it? You’ve been hiding this from me.” His voice is frantic. “You... last night, the growling, it was you.” His voice rises, tinged with hysteria.
I step back, my pulse racing, feeling the chill of the night and the weight of his accusation. "Dad, I don't know what you're talking ab—”
"No!" he interrupts, his voice breaking as he points a trembling finger at me. "You knew, you always knew. It was you, Ryan. All these years, the evidence was right there, but I refused to see it. You were the dogman. You killed Leah!"
His words hit me like a physical blow, absurd and horrifying in their implications. "Dad, you're not making any sense. You're talking crazy! I was just a little kid! How could I–" I protest, my voice shaky.
He steps closer, his presence looming over me, the outline of his figure distorted by the shadows of the trees. "Think about it! It all makes sense now. You led us here, to this place, because you remember. Because you did it."
"Dad, stop it!" I shout, my heart pounding in my chest. "You're scaring me. You need help, professional help. This isn't you."
But he's beyond reason, his eyes wild with a haunted grief. "I have to end this," he mutters, more to himself than to me, his hand tightening around his rifle.
His finger hovers dangerously over the trigger of his rifle. My instincts kick in, and I know I have to act fast.
I lunge toward him, trying to knock the weapon away, but he's quicker than I expected. We struggle, our breaths heavy in the cold night air, the sounds of our scuffle the only noise in the otherwise silent woods. His strength surprises me, fueled by his frantic emotions. He shoves me back, and I stumble over a root, my balance lost for a crucial second. That's all he needs. He raises his rifle, his intentions clear in his wild, pained eyes.
I dive to the ground just as the shot rings out, a deafening blast that echoes ominously through the trees. The bullet whizzes past, narrowly missing me, embedding itself in the bark of an old pine. I scramble to my feet, my heart pounding in my ears, and I start running. The underbrush claws at my clothes and skin, but I push through, driven by a primal urge to survive.
"Dad, stop! It's me, Ryan!" I shout back as I dodge between the trees. Another shot breaks the silence, closer this time, sending splinters of wood flying from a nearby tree trunk. It's surreal, being hunted by my own father, a man tormented by grief and lost in his delusions.
I don't stop to look back. I can hear him crashing through the forest behind me, his heavy breaths and muttered curses carried on the wind. The terrain is rough, and I'm fueled by adrenaline, but exhaustion is setting in. I need a plan.
Ahead, I see a rocky outcrop and make a split-second decision to head for it. It offers a chance to hide, to catch my breath and maybe reason with him if he catches up. As I reach the rocks, I slip behind the largest one, my body pressed tight against the cold, damp surface. I hear his footsteps approaching, slow and cautious now.
As I press against the rock, trying to calm my racing heart, I can hear Dad's footsteps drawing closer, each step crunching ominously on the forest floor. He's methodical, deliberate, like a hunter stalking his prey.
“Come out, Ryan!” Dad’s voice is ragged, filled with a blend of fury and pain.
My heart pounds against my chest, the cold sweat on my back making me shiver against the rough surface of the rock. I know I can't just sit here; it's only a matter of time before he finds me.
Taking a deep breath, I peek around the edge of the rock, trying to gauge his position. I see him, rifle raised, scanning the area slowly. This might be my only chance to end this madness without further violence. I need to disarm him, to talk some sense into him if I can.
As quietly as I can, I move out from behind the rock, my steps careful to avoid any twigs or leaves that might betray my position. I'm almost upon him when a branch snaps under my foot—a sound so trivial yet so alarmingly loud in the quiet of the woods.
Dad whirls around, looking completely unhinged. "Ryan!" he exclaims, his rifle swinging in my direction. Panic overtakes me, and I lunge forward, my hands reaching for the gun.
We struggle, the rifle between us, our breaths heavy and erratic. "Dad, please, stop!" I plead, trying to wrestle the gun away. But he's strong, stronger than I expected.
In the chaos, the rifle goes off. The sound is deafening, a sharp echo that seems to reverberate off every tree around us. Pain explodes in my abdomen, sharp and burning, like nothing I've ever felt before. I stagger back, my hands instinctively going to the wound. The warmth of my own blood coats my fingers, stark and terrifying.
Dad drops the rifle, his eyes wide with horror. "Oh my God! What have I done?" he gasps, rushing to my side as I collapse onto the forest floor.
As the pain sears through me, a strange, overpowering energy surges within. It's wild, primal, unlike anything I've ever experienced. Looking down in horror, my hands are no longer hands but large, hairy, clawed appendages. The transformation is rapid, consuming—my vision blurs, senses heighten, and a raw, guttural growl builds in my throat.
In that moment, a flood of understanding washes over me, mingling with the horror of realization. These are the hands of the creature from my nightmares, the creature whose face I can never fully recall because, as I now understand, it is me.
What happens next feels detached, as if I'm no longer in control of my own actions, watching from a distance as my body moves on its own. I turn towards my dad, his face a mask of terror. He stumbles back, his eyes wide with the dawning realization of what his son has become.
The forest around us seems to fall silent, holding its breath as the nightmarish scene unfolds. I can hear my own growls, guttural and deep, filling the air with a sound that's both foreign and intimately familiar. The pain in my abdomen fuels a dark, violent urge, an urge that's too strong to resist.
With a ferocity that feels both alien and intrinsic, I move towards him. My dad, paralyzed by fear and shock, doesn't run. Maybe he can't. Maybe he doesn't want to.
The encounter 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.
submitted by PageTurner627 to Odd_directions [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 20:11 thatmozzie_ Created A CyberPunk Dystopian Choose-Your-Own-Adventure Novel Set In The Year 2124 In Los Angeles

Created A CyberPunk Dystopian Choose-Your-Own-Adventure Novel Set In The Year 2124 In Los Angeles
"The Neon District"
https://preview.redd.it/h6j5xnthef1d1.jpg?width=1792&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=2dac28553adfcd5e9a5762f45cecd76ca2071491
I was inspired after reading another user's experience creating his own world, so I decided to give it a shot. I wanted to create a sort of interactive choose-your-own-adventure cyberpunk story set in 2124 Los Angeles. I prompted ChatGPT to essentially create a story and world that revolves around common themes within a typical CyberPunk setting such as rampant crime, corrupt cops and politicians, massive drug usage, mega-corporations out of control, poverty, and technology blurring the lines between humanity.
One of my favorite video games lately of all time is CyberPunk 2077, so I just wanted to create something similar that I could experience and live through in a different interactive way while also testing out ChatGPT out of boredom. Here are some of the results from the simulation.
I'll denote "USER INPUT" as anything I wrote or input, and "CHAT GPT" anytime it outputs anything.
Rules: I will use minimal intervention / altering and mainly allow the program to pretty much lead me through the story barring any world-breaking narratives or plots:
  • CHATGPT:

Setting: Los Angeles, 2124

General Environment

  • Skyline: The skyline is dominated by towering skyscrapers, neon signs, and massive holographic advertisements. The upper levels house the wealthy elite and powerful corporations, while the lower levels are grimy, chaotic, and densely populated.
  • Streets: The streets are teeming with life at all hours. Neon lights and electronic billboards illuminate the darkness, casting a perpetual artificial glow. The air is thick with pollution, making clean air a luxury.
  • Architecture: Buildings are a mix of high-tech designs with futuristic materials and dilapidated structures. Graffiti covers many walls, and it's not uncommon to see makeshift shelters and slums in the shadow of corporate headquarters.
  • Technology: Advanced technology is integrated into everyday life. People have cybernetic enhancements, AI assistants, and immersive virtual reality systems. However, the gap between those who can afford cutting-edge tech and those who can't is vast.

Society

  • Crime and Law Enforcement: Crime is rampant. Gang wars and turf battles are common. The police are corrupt, often working for the highest bidder, whether it's a corporation or a crime syndicate. Justice is a commodity, and the wealthy can buy their way out of trouble.
  • Economy: The economy is dominated by a few mega-corporations that control everything from food and water to security and healthcare. Small businesses struggle to survive. Basic necessities are expensive, and clean water is a luxury.
  • Culture: The culture is a blend of hedonism and despair. Nightclubs, brothels, and underground fight clubs offer temporary escape from harsh realities. Art and music are heavily influenced by the cyberpunk aesthetic, with neon colors, dark themes, and digital elements.

Key Locations

  • The Underground: A labyrinth of tunnels, abandoned subway stations, and hidden passages used by criminals, hackers, and those avoiding the authorities. This is where Zoe feels most at home.
  • Corporate Towers: Massive skyscrapers where powerful corporations operate. They are heavily guarded, both physically and digitally, but hold valuable data and resources for skilled netrunners like Zoe.
  • Black Markets: Hidden marketplaces where anything can be bought or sold, from illegal tech and drugs to human organs and stolen data. Zoe frequents these markets to find jobs and acquire tools for her hacks.

Main Character: Zoe

Background

  • Early Life: Zoe grew up on the streets, learning to fend for herself from a young age. She quickly became skilled at navigating the dangerous urban environment and developed a talent for hacking and stealth.
  • Skills and Abilities: Zoe is a netrunner, capable of hacking into secure systems using her neural augmentations. She is also proficient with small arms and knives, and excels in stealth, disguise, acting, and manipulation.
  • Personality: Zoe is resourceful, intelligent, and determined. She has a sharp wit and a knack for thinking on her feet. While she can be cynical and distrusting, she also has a strong sense of loyalty to those she cares about.

Appearance

  • Height and Build: Zoe stands at 5'6" with a slim, athletic build. Her frame allows her to move quickly and silently.
  • Features: She has sharp features, piercing eyes, and a distinctive look that she can easily alter with makeup and disguises. Her hair is usually styled in a practical yet edgy way, fitting the cyberpunk aesthetic.
  • Augmentations: Zoe has several cybernetic enhancements, including neural implants for hacking, enhanced vision, and a subdermal interface for interacting with digital systems.

Plot Elements

Conflict

  • Corporate Rivalries: The mega-corporations are constantly vying for power, using any means necessary to sabotage their rivals. Zoe often finds herself caught in the crossfire, hired by one corporation to hack another.
  • Underground Power Struggles: Crime syndicates and gangs are in a constant state of flux, battling for control of territory and resources. Zoe's connections to these groups provide her with both opportunities and dangers.
  • Personal Stakes: Zoe's ultimate goal is to uncover the truth behind her parents' mysterious deaths, which she believes were orchestrated by one of the powerful corporations. This quest drives many of her actions and decisions.

Themes

  • Humanity vs. Technology: The story explores the tension between human identity and technological augmentation. Zoe struggles with maintaining her humanity as she becomes more reliant on her cybernetic enhancements.
  • Survival and Loyalty: In a world where trust is scarce and betrayal is common, Zoe must navigate complex relationships and alliances. Her loyalty to her friends and allies is both a strength and a vulnerability.
  • Power and Corruption: The pervasive corruption in both the corporate and criminal worlds serves as a backdrop for Zoe's journey. She constantly grapples with the moral complexities of her actions and their consequences.
USER INPUT
Lets create some additional characters to the story and more world building, starting with her childhood best friend. He's trustworthy, loveable character type. Strong, loyal to a fault, pure, but also an amazing fighter and can be mean to those that do him or his family wrong as quick as any common thug on the streets. What should his name be?
CHATGPT
Let's name Zoe's childhood best friend Lucas. Here's a detailed character profile and additional world-building elements:

Character Profile: Lucas

Name: Lucas "Luc" Raines

Background:

  • Age: 20
  • Height: 6'2"
  • Build: Muscular and athletic
  • Appearance: Lucas has short, dark hair and piercing blue eyes. His face is usually adorned with a friendly smile, but he can turn fierce in an instant when provoked. He has several tattoos, each symbolizing different aspects of his life and struggles.
  • Personality: Lucas is trustworthy and lovable, known for his unwavering loyalty and pure heart. Despite the harsh realities of their world, he maintains a strong moral compass. He's always ready to stand up for his friends and protect those he cares about, even if it means getting his hands dirty.

Skills and Abilities:

  • Combat: Lucas is an exceptional fighter, trained in various martial arts and street fighting techniques. His strength and combat skills make him a formidable opponent.
  • Loyalty: His loyalty to Zoe and their close-knit group of friends is unshakeable. He would go to great lengths to ensure their safety and well-being.
  • Strategic Thinking: While Lucas may come across as a brawler, he's also a strategic thinker, able to plan and execute complex operations when needed.

Relationships:

  • Zoe: Lucas and Zoe have been best friends since childhood. They share a deep bond, built on years of mutual trust and shared experiences. Lucas is fiercely protective of Zoe and often acts as her guardian in dangerous situations.
  • Family: Lucas has a younger sister whom he cares for deeply. His parents were victims of corporate exploitation, fueling his disdain for the mega-corporations that dominate their world.

Additional World-Building Elements:

Key Factions:

  1. The Vanguard Syndicate:
    • Overview: A powerful crime syndicate that controls much of the underground economy in Los Angeles. They deal in everything from illegal augmentations to black-market goods.
    • Leader: Damien "The Viper" Valdez, a ruthless and cunning leader known for his strategic mind and brutal enforcement tactics.
    • Conflict: The Vanguard Syndicate often hires netrunners like Zoe for high-risk hacking jobs, while also clashing with rival gangs and corporations.
  2. NeoCore Corporation:
    • Overview: One of the largest and most influential mega-corporations in the city. They specialize in advanced cybernetic enhancements, AI development, and data security.
    • Public Image: NeoCore presents itself as a benevolent entity, promising technological advancements and prosperity. However, beneath the surface, they are involved in unethical experiments and corporate espionage.
    • Objective: They are always seeking to expand their influence and eliminate any threats to their dominance, making them a constant antagonist in the story.

Key Locations:

  1. The Neon District:
    • Description: The heart of the city's nightlife, filled with clubs, bars, and entertainment venues. It's a place where people go to forget their troubles, at least for a while.
    • Atmosphere: The district is always buzzing with energy, illuminated by neon lights and holographic advertisements. It's a haven for both thrill-seekers and those looking to make shady deals.
    • Significance: This is where Zoe and her friends often gather, blending in with the crowds and keeping their ears to the ground for potential jobs.
  2. The Wastes:
    • Description: The outskirts of the city, where pollution and neglect have turned the landscape into a desolate wasteland. The Wastes are home to the city's poorest residents, who live in makeshift shelters and struggle to survive.
    • Danger: The area is lawless, ruled by scavengers and rogue gangs. It's a place where only the strong or well-armed dare to venture.
    • Connection: Zoe occasionally visits the Wastes to help those in need or to hide from the authorities when necessary.
  3. The Vault:
    • Description: An underground bunker and safe haven for netrunners. It's a hidden, secure location equipped with the latest hacking tools and technology.
    • Community: The Vault is a tight-knit community of hackers and tech enthusiasts who share information, resources, and protection.
    • Importance: This is where Zoe refines her skills, plans her heists, and collaborates with other netrunners on large-scale operations.

Plot Hooks and Story Arcs:

  1. The Heist:
    • Synopsis: Zoe and Lucas are hired by a mysterious client to infiltrate a NeoCore facility and steal valuable data. The heist requires meticulous planning and flawless execution, with high stakes and unexpected twists.
    • Challenges: They must navigate through tight security, betrayals, and unforeseen dangers. The job tests their skills and loyalty to each other.
  2. The Rescue:
    • Synopsis: Lucas's younger sister is kidnapped by a rival gang seeking leverage against him. Zoe and Lucas must track down the kidnappers and rescue her before it's too late.
    • Emotional Stakes: This mission is deeply personal for Lucas, and his rage and determination drive the story forward. Zoe must balance her tactical mind with supporting her friend through this ordeal.
  3. The Conspiracy:
    • Synopsis: Zoe uncovers clues about her parents' deaths, leading her to a massive conspiracy involving NeoCore and the Vanguard Syndicate. As she digs deeper, she realizes the scale of corruption and danger she faces.
    • Revelations: The story arc delves into Zoe's past, her parents' secrets, and the true extent of corporate manipulation. It sets the stage for a climactic showdown against the forces that have shaped her life.
These elements add depth to your story, creating a vivid and engaging world for Zoe and her companions.
USER INPUT
Can you generate an image in an anime/cyberpunk style reminiscant of the style of Ghost In The Shell. Generate our main character Zoe
CHAPTGPT
ZOE
  • USER INPUT
let's develop more scenes and characters as well. It would be interesting to have a sort of old underground father type figure to both Zoe and Lucas, someone not related to them but someone that took them in to the underground at a young age and taught them everything they know. He looks after them like family, but he is also a criminal type in the underground world so a mix of good to them, but can be evil to others. Feel free to create other interesting characters and scenes / locations / etc as well
CHATGPT

New Character: Marcus "Iron Hand" Kane

Role: Father Figure to Zoe and Lucas
Background:
  • Age: 55
  • Height: 6'0"
  • Build: Stocky and strong, with a presence that commands respect
  • Appearance: Marcus has a rugged, weathered face with deep-set eyes that have seen the worst of the city. His hair is a mix of grey and black, often tied back. His most distinctive feature is his cybernetic right arm, known as the "Iron Hand," which is both a powerful weapon and a symbol of his status in the underground.
  • Personality: Marcus is a complex character, blending kindness and brutality. To Zoe and Lucas, he is a protective and caring father figure, offering wisdom, guidance, and training. To others, he is a feared criminal, ruthless in his dealings and unwavering in his pursuit of power.
  • Skills and Abilities: Marcus is a master tactician, skilled in combat and cyber warfare. His "Iron Hand" cybernetic arm has multiple functionalities, including enhanced strength, weapon capabilities, and hacking tools. He is also a shrewd negotiator and leader.
History:
  • Marcus took in Zoe and Lucas when they were just children, recognizing their potential and providing them with a home in the underground. He trained them in survival, hacking, and combat, instilling in them the skills they needed to thrive in the harsh realities of their world.
  • He has a dark past, having been involved in numerous criminal activities and power struggles. Despite his ruthless nature, he has a strong sense of loyalty to those he considers family.

Additional Characters:

1. Lila "Viper" Santos
  • Role: Underground Information Broker
  • Age: 28
  • Appearance: Lila is a striking figure with sharp, green eyes and sleek black hair. She has a slender build and often dresses in stylish, high-tech attire. Her cybernetic enhancements include a neural interface that allows her to access and process vast amounts of information quickly.
  • Personality: Lila is cunning, resourceful, and always a step ahead. She has a network of informants and is known for her ability to find out anything about anyone. Despite her aloof demeanor, she has a soft spot for Zoe and Lucas, often providing them with critical information.
  • Skills: Expert in data retrieval, espionage, and manipulation. Her cybernetic enhancements give her an edge in accessing secure networks and uncovering secrets.
2. Riko "Ghost" Tanaka
  • Role: Elite Netrunner and Rival
  • Age: 22
  • Appearance: Riko is an enigmatic figure with short, spiky white hair and cybernetic eyes that glow faintly blue. He has a lean, agile build and is known for his stealth and speed.
  • Personality: Riko is a lone wolf, fiercely independent and highly competitive. He respects Zoe's skills but also sees her as a rival. He is driven by a desire to be the best netrunner in the city.
  • Skills: Master hacker with advanced cybernetic enhancements that allow him to move through digital networks undetected. He is also skilled in parkour and close-quarters combat.

New Locations:

1. The Hub
  • Description: The Hub is a massive underground complex that serves as the central meeting place for the city's netrunners and tech enthusiasts. It's filled with advanced tech, servers, and hacking terminals. The atmosphere is a blend of chaos and order, with people constantly exchanging information and working on new projects.
  • Significance: This is where Zoe and Lucas often go to gather information, meet contacts, and plan their operations. The Hub is also a place of relative safety, where violence is strictly forbidden.
2. The Sprawl
  • Description: A sprawling slum area on the outskirts of the city, characterized by makeshift shelters, narrow alleys, and rampant poverty. Despite its dire conditions, the Sprawl is a vibrant community where people band together to survive.
  • Atmosphere: The Sprawl is always bustling with activity, from street vendors selling homemade goods to children playing amidst the ruins. It's a place of both danger and resilience, where the inhabitants have learned to adapt to their harsh environment.
  • Connection: Zoe often visits the Sprawl to help those in need and to stay connected with her roots. It's also a place where she can move around relatively unnoticed.
3. NeoCore Headquarters
  • Description: A towering skyscraper in the heart of the city, NeoCore's headquarters is a symbol of corporate power and technological advancement. The building is sleek and modern, with state-of-the-art security systems and heavily guarded entrances.
  • Significance: NeoCore Headquarters is often the target of Zoe's hacking missions, as it houses valuable data and cutting-edge tech. The building's imposing presence is a constant reminder of the corporation's influence over the city.

New Scenes:

1. The Heist
  • Setting: NeoCore Headquarters
  • Description: Zoe and Lucas undertake a daring heist to steal critical data from NeoCore. The scene is filled with tension as they navigate through tight security, avoid detection, and hack into the corporation's mainframe.
  • Key Moments: Zoe uses her hacking skills to disable security systems, while Lucas provides physical protection and deals with any guards they encounter. The heist culminates in a high-stakes escape, with the duo narrowly avoiding capture.
2. The Rescue
  • Setting: The Sprawl
  • Description: Lucas's younger sister is kidnapped by a rival gang, and Zoe and Lucas must infiltrate the gang's hideout in the Sprawl to rescue her. The scene showcases the gritty, dangerous environment of the slums and the close-quarters combat skills of the protagonists.
  • Key Moments: The rescue mission is fraught with challenges, from navigating the labyrinthine alleys of the Sprawl to engaging in fierce hand-to-hand combat with gang members. The scene highlights Lucas's protective nature and Zoe's quick thinking.
3. The Confrontation
  • Setting: The Hub
  • Description: Tensions rise as Riko "Ghost" Tanaka confronts Zoe, accusing her of stealing a job from him. The scene is set in the bustling environment of the Hub, with onlookers gathering to watch the showdown.
  • Key Moments: The confrontation escalates into a heated argument, showcasing the rivalry between Zoe and Riko. Despite their differences, the scene hints at a potential alliance in the face of a greater threat.
USER INPUT
can you create images in the same style as the original image for the new Characters Marcus Iron Hand, Lila Viper Santos, and Riko Ghost Tanaka, Lucas, etc? Also generate additional images of some of the new locations etc separately.
CHATGPT
LUCAS
MARCUS \"IRON HAND\"
RIKO \"GHOST\" TANAKA
LILA \"VIPER\" SANTOS
THE HUB
THE SPAWL
NEOCORE HEADQUARTERS
"THE VAULT"
https://preview.redd.it/anol60qpef1d1.jpg?width=1792&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=fcfb76dc6ac42f816de6148e66d3f3f60f442d64
  • USER INPUT
Awesome. Lets start the story now. The story begins with Zoe waking up on a typical Saturday late morning. Friday night was a big night celebrating her childhood friends birthday drinking and partying at their favorite club. She wakes up with a slight hangover and is hungry. she notices several missed calls and messages
  • CHATGPT

Scene: Zoe's Apartment - Late Saturday Morning

The dim light filtering through the grime-covered windows of Zoe's apartment barely illuminates the cluttered room. The remnants of last night's celebration are scattered everywhere—empty bottles, discarded clothes, and the faint hum of old electronic music playing in the background. Zoe groans and sits up in bed, rubbing her temples to ease the throbbing in her head.

Narration:

Narrator: Zoe squinted at the holographic display, her vision still slightly blurry. The notifications were a mix of urgent messages and missed calls, each vying for her attention. She quickly scanned through them, her fingers moving with practiced ease over the interface.
Zoe: (mumbling to herself) "Great, just what I need. More problems to deal with..."
She swings her legs over the edge of the bed, stretching and wincing at the persistent hangover. With a sigh, she picks up her cybernetic arm from the nightstand and attaches it, feeling the familiar click as it integrates with her neural network. She taps her wristband, bringing up the missed messages and calls.

Dialogue:

Zoe: (talking to herself) "Let's see... job offers, updates from the underground... and what's this? 'Urgent Opportunity – High Reward.' Sounds promising."
Her stomach growls, reminding her of her hunger. She heads to the small kitchenette, grabbing a protein bar and some instant coffee. As she munches on her makeshift breakfast, she taps the message to read the details.
Zoe: (reading aloud) "High-risk, high-reward job, requiring a skilled netrunner. Substantial payout. Meet at The Hub tonight. Perfect."
Her thoughts are interrupted by a knock at the door. She frowns, not expecting visitors this early. Cautiously, she approaches and peers through the peephole. Recognizing the familiar figure on the other side, she relaxes and opens the door.
Lucas: (with a grin) "Morning, sunshine. You look like hell."
Zoe: (rolling her eyes) "Thanks, Lucas. You’re a real charmer. Come in."
Lucas steps inside, looking as rugged as ever with his scruff and tattoos. He drops a bag on the table and takes a seat.
Lucas: "I brought breakfast. Figured you’d need it after last night."
Zoe: "You’re a lifesaver. So, what’s up?"
Lucas: "Got a tip about a job. Sounds like it could be worth our while. But first, you need to get your head straight. Eat up and let’s talk."
They share a quick meal, discussing the potential job and catching up on recent events in the underground.

Choice Point 1: Zoe's Response to the Job Offer

Option A: Agree immediately and start planning. Option B: Ask for more details and express caution. Option C: Refuse the job and suggest looking for something safer.
Please choose an option by typing "Option A," "Option B," or "Option C."
  • USER INPUT
Option B
  • CHATGPT

Choice: Option B - Ask for More Details and Express Caution

Zoe: (taking a sip of her coffee) "Hold on, Lucas. Before we jump in headfirst, I need to know more about this job. What exactly are we dealing with here?"
Lucas: (nodding) "Fair enough. It's a high-stakes heist at NeoCore Headquarters. Our client wants us to steal some sensitive data from their secure servers. The payout is massive, but so are the risks. We'll need to get past top-tier security, both physical and digital."
Zoe: (raising an eyebrow) "NeoCore, huh? That place is a fortress. Who's the client?"
Lucas: "No name, just an anonymous contact. But they seem legit. They've provided detailed blueprints and security protocols. Still, I get it if you’re hesitant. This one's big."

Choice Point 2: Zoe's Next Action

Option A: Accept the job but suggest taking extra precautions and planning thoroughly. Option B: Contact Marcus "Iron Hand" Kane for his advice and see if he has any additional information or support. Option C: Investigate the client further to ensure their legitimacy before making a decision.
That's all i have so far but this was a super cool way to pass some time on a Sunday. I am considering starting a parallel story similar to this but a horror-survival one, similar to something like the original Silent Hill etc.
What do you guys think - Anyone interested in seeing how this develops?!
submitted by thatmozzie_ to ChatGPT [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 20:10 PageTurner627 My Dad and I Hunted Down the Dogman that Killed My Sister

I’ve always hated the smell of gun oil. It clings to everything it touches, soaking deep into the fibers of my clothes, the lining of my backpack, the coarse hair on the back of my hands. Yet here I am, kneeling on the cracked linoleum of our mudroom, a Remington .308 laid across my thighs, and the stench of gun oil sharp in my nostrils. The early morning light barely scratches at the edges of the blinds, dim and gray like the belly of a dead fish.
My dad Frank is in the kitchen, clattering around with the coffeepot and mumbling under his breath. Today we’re heading up to the woods of Northern Michigan, same as we did every year before Leah… before we lost her.
I can’t help but feel the old scars throbbing as I load bullets into the magazine. It’s been ten years since that hunting trip, the one that tore my family into before and after. Before, when Leah's laughter was a constant soundtrack to our lives; after, when every silence was filled with her absence.
We were just kids back then. I was ten, Leah was eight. It was supposed to be a typical hunting trip, one of those bonding experiences Dad was always talking about. But things went wrong. We got separated from Dad somehow. One minute we were following him, the next we were lost, the dense woods closing in around us.
Dad says when he found me, I was huddled under a fallen tree, my eyes wide, my body frozen. All I could mutter through chattering teeth was "Dogman."
It was only later, after the search parties had combed through every thicket and hollow, that they found her. What remained of Leah was barely recognizable, the evidence of a brutal mauling undeniable. The authorities concluded it was likely a bear attack, but Dad... he never accepted that explanation. He had seen the tracks, too large and oddly shaped for any bear.
As I load another round, the memory flashes, unbidden and unwelcome. Large, hairy clawed hands reaching out towards us, impossibly big, grotesque in their form. Yet, the rest of the creature eludes me, a shadow just beyond the edge of my recall, leaving me with nothing but fragmented terrors and Leah’s haunting, echoing screams. My mind blocked most of it out, a self-defense mechanism, I guess.
For years after that day, sleep was a battleground. I'd wake up in strange places—kitchen floor, backyard, even at the edge of the nearby creek. My therapist said it was my mind's way of trying to resolve the unresolved, to wander back through the woods searching for Leah. But all I found in those sleepless nights was a deeper sense of loss.
It took time, a lot of therapy, and patience I didn't know I had, but the sleepwalking did eventually stop. I guess I started to find some semblance of peace.
I have mostly moved on with my life. The fragmentary memories of that day are still there, lurking in the corners of my mind, but they don’t dominate my thoughts like they used to. I just finished my sophomore year at Michigan State, majoring in Environmental Science.
As for Dad, the loss of Leah broke him. He became a shell of himself. It destroyed his marriage with Mom. He blamed himself for letting us out of his sight, for not protecting Leah. His life took on a single, consuming focus: finding the creature that killed her. He read every book, every article on cryptids and unexplained phenomena. He mapped sightings, connected dots across blurry photos and shaky testimonies of the Dogman.
But as the tenth anniversary of Leah’s death approaches, Dad's obsession has grown more intense. He’s started staying up late, poring over his maps and notes, muttering to himself about patterns and cycles. He’s convinced that the dogman reappears every ten years, and this is our window of opportunity to finally hunt it down.
I’m not nearly as convinced. The whole dogman thing seems like a coping mechanism, a way for Dad to channel his guilt and grief into something tangible, something he can fight against. But I decided to tag along on this trip, partly to keep an eye on him, partly because a small part of me hopes that maybe, just maybe, we’ll find some kind of closure out there in the woods.
I finish loading the rifle and set it aside, standing up to stretch my legs. I wipe my greasy hands on an old rag, trying to get rid of the smell. The early morning light is starting to seep into the room, casting long shadows across the floor.
Dad comes out of the kitchen with two thermoses of coffee in hand. His eyes are bleary and tired.
“You ready, Ryan?” he asks, handing me a thermos, his voice rough from too many sleepless nights.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” I reply, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
We load our gear into the truck, the weight of our supplies and weapons a physical reminder of the burden we carry. The drive from Lansing across the Lower Peninsula is long and quiet, the silence between us filled with unspoken memories and unresolved grief.
—
The drive north is a blur of highway lines and the dull hum of the engine. I drift off, the landscape outside blending into a haze. In my sleep, fragments of that day with Leah replay like scattered pieces of a puzzle. I see her smile, the way she tugged at my sleeve, eager to explore. The sunlight filters through the trees in sharp, jagged streaks.
Then, the memory shifts—darker, disjointed. Leah's voice echoes, a playful laugh turning into a scream that pierces the air. The crunch of leaves underfoot as something heavy moves through the underbrush. I see a shadow, large and looming, not quite fitting the shapes of any creature I know.
Then, something darker creeps into the dream, something I’ve never allowed myself to remember clearly.
Before I can see what it is I wake up with a start as the truck jerks slightly on a rough patch of road. Dad glances over. "Bad dream?" he asks. I nod, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, the remnants of the dream clinging to me like the cold.
"Yeah, just... thinking about Leah," I manage to say.
As we drive, Dad attempts to bridge the silence with small talk. He asks about my finals, my plans for the summer, anything to keep the conversation going. His voice carries a forced cheerfulness, but it’s clear his heart isn’t in it. I respond when necessary, my answers brief, my gaze fixed on the passing scenery.
The landscape changes as we head further north, from flat expanses to rolling hills dotted with dense patches of forest. It's beautiful country, the kind that reminds you how vast and wild Michigan can be, but today it just feels oppressive, like it’s closing in on us.
—
We finally arrive at the cabin, nestled deep in the woods, its weathered wood blending seamlessly with the surrounding trees. The place hasn't changed much since the last time I was here—a relic from another time, filled with the echoes of our past. I can still see Leah running around the porch, her laughter ringing out into the forest.
Dad parks the truck, and we step out into the crisp air. The smell of pine and damp earth fills my nostrils. We start unloading our gear, the tension between us palpable.
“Let’s get this inside,” Dad says, his voice gruff as he hefts a duffel bag onto his shoulder.
I nod, grabbing my own bag and following him to the cabin. Inside, it’s a mix of old and new—the same rustic furniture, but with new hunting gear and maps strewn across the table. Dad’s obsession is evident in every corner of the room, a constant reminder of why we’re here.
As we unpack, we exchange strained attempts at normalcy. He talks about the latest cryptid sightings he’s read about, his eyes lighting up with a fervor that both worries and saddens me.
“Did you hear about the sighting up near Alpena?” he asks, laying out his maps on the table.
“Yeah, you mentioned it,” I reply, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “Do you really think there’s something to it?”
Dad’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of doubt. But it’s quickly replaced by grim determination. “I have to believe it, Ryan. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
We finish unpacking, the silence between us growing heavier with each passing minute. I step outside to clear my head, the cool air a welcome relief. The sun is starting to set, casting long shadows across the clearing. I can’t shake the feeling of unease.
"You can take the upstairs room," Dad mutters. His voice is strained, trying to sound normal, but it's clear the weight of the past is heavy on him. I nod, hauling my backpack up the creaking stairs to the small bedroom that I used to share with Leah. The room feels smaller now, or maybe I've just grown too much since those innocent days.
I unpack silently, setting my things aside. The bed is stiff and cold under my touch. As I settle in, I can't help but glance at the corner where Leah and I would huddle together, whispering secrets and making plans for adventures that would never happen. I push the thoughts away, focusing on the practicalities of unpacking.
After settling in, I go back downstairs to find Dad loading up a backpack with supplies for our hunt. The intensity in his eyes is palpable, his hands moving with practiced precision. I know this routine; it's one he's perfected over countless solo trips since that fateful day.
"We'll head out early," he says, not looking up from his task. "Gotta make the most of the daylight."
I nod, though unease curls in my stomach. I'm not just worried about what we might find—or not find—out there. I'm worried about him. Each year, the obsession seems to carve him out a bit more, leaving less of the Dad I knew.
—
The morning air is sharp with the scent of pine and wet earth as Dad and I head into the deeper parts of the forest. The terrain is rugged, familiar in its untamed beauty, but there’s a tension between us that makes the landscape feel alien. Dad moves with a purposeful stride, his eyes scanning the woods around us. Every snap of a twig, every rustle in the underbrush seems to draw his attention. He’s on edge, and it puts me on edge too.
As we walk, my mind drifts back to that day ten years ago. I can almost hear Leah’s voice echoing through the trees, her high-pitched call as she darted ahead, "Catch me, Ryan!" I remember how the sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground. Those memories are so vivid, so tangible, it feels like I could just turn a corner and see her there, waiting for us.
Dad suddenly stops and kneels, examining the ground. He points out a set of tracks that are too large for a deer, with an unusual gait pattern. "It’s been here, Ry. I’m telling you, it’s close," he whispers, a mixture of excitement and something darker in his voice. I nod, though I’m not sure what to believe. Part of me wants to dismiss it all as grief-fueled obsession, but another part, the part that heard Leah's scream and saw something monstrous in the woods that day, isn’t so sure.
As we continue, Dad's comments become increasingly cryptic. "You know, they say the dogman moves in cycles, drawn to certain places, certain times. Like it’s tied to the land itself," he muses, more to himself than to me. His fixation on the creature has always been intense, but now it borders on mania.
We set up a makeshift blind near a clearing where Dad insists the creature will pass. Hours drag by with little to see but the occasional bird or distant deer.
The sun rises higher in the sky, casting long, slender shadows through the dense canopy. I shift uncomfortably in my spot, the forest floor hard and unyielding beneath me. My eyes dart between the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of something, anything, to break the monotony. Dad, on the other hand, remains steadfast, his gaze fixed on the treeline as if he can will the dogman into existence by sheer force of will.
A bird chirps nearby, startling me. I sigh and adjust my grip on the rifle. I glance over at Dad.
“Anything?” I ask, more out of boredom than genuine curiosity.
“Not yet,” he replies, his voice tight. “But it’s out there. I know it.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I believe him. The forest seems too quiet, too still. Maybe we’re chasing ghosts.
As the sun begins its descent, the forest is bathed in a warm, golden light. The air cools, and a breeze rustles the leaves. I shiver, more from anticipation than the cold. The long hours of sitting and waiting are starting to wear on me.
“Let’s call it a day for now,” Dad says finally, his voice heavy with disappointment. “We’ll head back to the cabin, get some rest, and try again tomorrow.”
I stand and stretch, feeling the stiffness in my muscles. We pack up our gear in silence and start the trek back to the cabin. The walk is long and quiet, the only sounds are the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant calls of birds settling in for the night.
—
Dinner is a quiet affair, both of us lost in our thoughts. I try to make small talk, asking Dad about his plans for tomorrow, but it feels forced. We clean up in silence.
After dinner, I retreat to the small bedroom. The fatigue from the day's hike has settled into my bones, but sleep still feels like a distant hope. I lie down, staring at the ceiling, the room cloaked in darkness save for the sliver of moonlight creeping through the window. Downstairs, I hear the faint sound of Dad moving around, likely unable to sleep himself.
I drift into sleep, but it's not restful. My dreams pull me back to that fateful day in the woods. Leah's voice is clear and vibrant, her laughter echoing through the trees. She looks just as she did then—bright-eyed and full of life, her blonde hair catching the sunlight as she runs ahead of me.
"Come on, Ry! You can't catch me!" she taunts, her voice playful and teasing.
I chase after her, but the scene shifts abruptly. The sky darkens, the woods around us growing dense and foreboding. Leah's laughter fades, replaced by a chilling silence. I see her ahead, standing still, her back to me.
"Leah?" I call out, my voice trembling. She turns slowly, her eyes wide and filled with fear. "Ryan, you have to remember," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "It wasn't what you think. You need to know the truth."
Leah’s words hang in the air, cryptic and unsettling. Before I can respond, she turns and starts running again, her figure becoming a blur among the trees. Panic rises in my chest as I sprint after her, my feet pounding against the forest floor.
“Leah, wait!” I shout, desperation lacing my voice. The forest around me seems to close in, the trees towering and twisted, shadows dancing menacingly in the dim light. I push forward, trying to keep her in sight, but she’s too fast, slipping away like a wisp of smoke.
Suddenly, there’s a rustle, a flash of movement in the corner of my vision. Leah screams, a sound that pierces through the heavy silence. It happens too quickly—I can’t see what it is, only a dark blur that snatches her up.
“Leah!” I scream, my voice breaking. I stumble, falling to my knees as the forest spins around me. My heart races, and the terror is so real, so visceral, that it pulls me back to that awful day, the one that changed everything.
I jolt awake, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I sit up, wiping the cold sweat from my forehead as I try to steady my breathing. The room is still dark, the shadows cast by the moonlight seem to flicker and dance on the walls. My heart is still racing from the nightmare, the echo of Leah's scream lingering in my ears.
As I struggle to calm down, the floorboards outside my room creak. The door opens slowly, and I see the silhouette of my dad in the doorway, a Bowie knife in his hand, his posture tense.
“Dad, what the hell are you doing?” I whisper, my voice shaking.
“Shh,” he hisses, holding up a hand to silence me. “I heard something. Something moving around in the cabin. Stay quiet.”
I swallow hard, my mouth dry. I glance at the clock on the nightstand—it’s just past three in the morning. The cabin is silent, the kind of deep, oppressive silence that makes every small sound seem louder. I can’t hear anything out of the ordinary, but Dad’s expression is deadly serious.
He motions for me to get up, and I do, moving as quietly as I can. My heart is racing, a mix of lingering fear from the dream and the sudden, sharp anxiety of the present moment. Dad leads the way, stepping cautiously out of the bedroom and into the hallway, the knife held ready in front of him.
We move through the cabin, checking each room in turn. The living room is empty, the furniture casting long shadows in the dim moonlight. The kitchen is just as we left it, the plates from dinner still drying on the counter. Everything seems normal, untouched.
We finish our sweep of the cabin without finding anything amiss. The silence is heavy, punctuated only by our soft footfalls. I can see the tension in Dad’s frame, his grip on the knife unwavering. After checking the last room, we pause in the dimly lit hallway, the air thick with unspoken questions.
“There’s nothing here,” I say, my voice low. “Are you sure you heard something?”
He looks at me, his eyes searching for something in my face. “I heard growling. Deep and close. It was right outside the window.”
“Maybe it was just an animal outside, a raccoon or something?” I suggest, although the certainty in his voice makes me doubt my own reassurance.
“No, it wasn’t like that. It was different,” he insists, his voice tense.
I nod, not wanting to argue, but the seeds of worry are planted deep.
The look in his eyes sends a chill down my spine. It’s not just fear—it’s desperation. The kind of desperation that comes from years of chasing shadows and finding nothing. I can see the toll this hunt has taken on him, the way it’s worn him down, turned him into a man I barely recognize.
We head back to our rooms. As I lie down, my mind races with thoughts of my dad. I can’t help but wonder if he’s losing it, if the years of grief and guilt have finally pushed him over the edge.
Dad wasn’t always like this. Before Leah’s death, he was the kind of father who took us fishing, helped with homework, and told terrible jokes that made us groan and laugh at the same time. He was solid, dependable. But losing Leah changed him. The guilt twisted him into someone I barely recognize, someone driven by a need for answers, for closure, that may never come.
I try to sleep, but my thoughts keep me awake. I can hear Dad moving around downstairs, probably pacing or double-checking the locks. His paranoia has become a constant presence, and I don’t know how to help him. I don’t even know if I can help him.
—
The next morning, the sunlight filters weakly through the cabin windows, casting a pale light that does little to lift the heavy mood. I drag myself out of bed, feeling the exhaustion of another restless night. Dad is already up, hunched over his maps at the kitchen table, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
“Morning,” I mumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I pour myself a cup of coffee. “Did you sleep at all?”
He shakes his head, not looking up from his notes. “Not much. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I heard last night.”
I sip my coffee, trying to shake off the remnants of my nightmare. “Maybe it was just an animal, Dad. We’re deep in the woods, after all.”
He finally looks up, his eyes intense. “Ryan, I know what I heard. It wasn’t just an animal. It was something else.”
I sigh, not wanting to argue. “Okay, fine, Dad. What’s the plan for today?”
“We’re going back out. I found some tracks yesterday, and I want to follow them. See where they lead.”
I nod, feeling a mix of apprehension and resignation. I can see how much this means to him, how desperate he is for any kind of lead. “Alright. Let’s get packed and head out.”
We spend the morning preparing, loading up our gear and double-checking our supplies. Dad is meticulous, going over everything with a fine-toothed comb. I try to match his focus, but my mind keeps drifting back to Leah and the dream I had. Her words echo in my head, cryptic and unsettling: “You need to know the truth.”
We set off into the woods, the air crisp and cool. The forest is alive with the sounds of birds and rustling leaves, but it all feels distant, like background noise to the tension between us. Dad leads the way, his eyes scanning the ground for any sign of the tracks he found yesterday.
As we walk, I can’t help but notice how erratically he’s acting. He mutters to himself, his eyes darting around as if expecting something to jump out at us. His grip on his rifle is tight, his knuckles white.
“Dad, are you okay?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
He glances at me, his expression unreadable. “I’m fine. Just focused.”
He stops frequently to examine the ground or the bark of trees, pointing out marks and signs that seem meaningless to me.
“Look at this,” he says, crouching down to examine a broken branch. “See how it’s snapped? That’s not a deer or a bear. That’s something bigger. Stronger.”
I crouch next to Dad, squinting at the broken branch. To me, it just looks like a regular broken branch, the kind you see all over the forest. "I don't know, Dad. It just looks like a branch to me," I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.
Dad's eyes flicker with frustration. "You're not looking close enough. It's the way it's snapped—too clean, too deliberate. Something did this."
I nod, not wanting to argue. "Okay, sure. But even if you're right, it could be anything. A storm, another hunter..."
His expression hardens. "I know what I'm looking for. This is different."
I sigh, feeling the weight of the past and the tension between us pressing down on me. "Dad, I had a dream last night. About Leah." The words hang in the air between us, heavy and fraught with unspoken emotions.
Dad's eyes widen, and he straightens up, his entire demeanor shifting. "What kind of dream? What did you see?" His voice is urgent, almost desperate.
"It was... strange. We were in the woods, like we are now, but everything felt different. Leah was there, running ahead of me, laughing. Then she stopped and told me I needed to know the truth, that it wasn't what I thought."
Dad grabs my shoulders, his grip tight. "What else did she say? Did she tell you anything specific? Anything about the creature?"
I shake my head, feeling a chill run down my spine. "No, that was it. She just said I needed to know the truth, and then she was gone."
Dad’s grip on my shoulders tightens, and his eyes bore into mine with a mixture of desperation and hope. “Ryan, you have to try to remember. Think hard. What did the creature look like? Did you see anything else?”
I pull back slightly, uneasy with his intensity. “Dad, I told you. I don’t remember. It was just a dream. A nightmare, really. My mind’s probably just mixing things up.”
He lets go of me and runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated and lost. “Dreams can be important. They can hold memories we’ve buried deep. Please, try to remember. This could be a sign, a clue.”
I rub my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “I’ve tried, okay? I’ve tried for years to piece together what happened that day. But it’s all just fragments, like pieces of a puzzle that don’t fit. The dream… it felt real, but I don’t think it’s telling me anything new.”
Dad’s face falls, and he looks older than I’ve ever seen him. He turns away, staring into the forest as if it holds all the answers.
—
As we make our way back to the cabin, the sun begins to set, casting long shadows through the trees. The air grows colder, and I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter around me. Dad is silent, lost in his thoughts, his face drawn and haggard.
Back at the cabin, we unload our gear once again in silence. Dad disappears into his room, muttering something about going over his notes. I decide to explore the cabin, hoping to find something that might help me understand what’s going on with him.
In the attic, I find a box of old family photos and documents. As I sift through the contents, I come across a worn journal with Dad’s handwriting on the cover. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I open it, flipping through the pages.
The journal is filled with notes and sketches, detailing his obsession with the dogman. But there’s something else—entries that talk about Leah, about that day in the woods. His handwriting becomes more erratic, the words harder to read. One entry stands out, dated just a few days after Leah’s death:
“June 15, 2013 – It was supposed to be a normal trip. Keep them close, Frank, I kept telling myself. But I failed. Leah is gone, and it’s my fault. I heard her scream, saw the shadows. I tried to get to her, but… the thing, it was there. Too fast. Too strong. My hands… blood everywhere. No one will believe me. I can’t even believe myself. I have to find it. I have to protect Ryan. I have to make it right. God, what have I done?”
Before I can read further, the attic door creaks open, and Dad’s voice slices through the stillness.
“What are you doing up here?” His tone is sharp, almost panicked.
I turn to see him standing in the doorway, his face pale and his eyes wide with something between anger and fear. I clutch the journal to my chest, my mind racing. “I found this… I was just trying to understand…”
In an instant, he crosses the room and snatches the journal from my hands. His grip is tight, his knuckles white. “You had no right,” he growls, his voice trembling.
“Dad, I just wanted to know the truth!” I shout, frustration boiling over. “What really happened to Leah.”
His eyes flash with a mix of rage and anguish, and before I can react, he slaps me across the face. The force of it knocks me off balance, and I stumble backward, my cheek stinging.
For a moment, there’s a stunned silence. We both stand there, breathing hard, the air thick with tension.
“I’m sorry,” Dad says finally, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to… I just…” He trails off, clutching the journal to his chest like a lifeline.
I touch my cheek, feeling the heat from the slap, and take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Dad, what aren’t you telling me? What really happened that day?”
“Stay out of it, Ryan,” Dad growls, his eyes dark with anger. “You don’t know what you’re messing with.”
He turns and storms out of the attic. I’m left standing there, my cheek throbbing, my mind racing. What the fuck is going on? What really happened to Leah? And what is Dad so afraid of?
—
That night, I sleep with my rifle within arm's reach, more afraid of my dad than any dogman. The slap still burns on my cheek, and the look in his eyes—rage, fear, something darker—haunts me. I lie awake, listening to the creaks and groans of the old cabin, every sound amplified in the stillness. Eventually, exhaustion pulls me under, and I fall into a restless sleep.
The dream returns, vivid and unsettling. I'm back in the woods, chasing after Leah. Her laughter echoes through the trees, a haunting reminder of happier times. This time, though, I push myself harder, refusing to let her slip away.
"Ryan, catch me!" she calls, her voice playful.
"I'm coming, Leah!" I shout, my legs pumping, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
The forest around us is a twisted, shadowy maze, the trees seeming to close in on us. Leah's figure becomes clearer, her blonde hair catching the dim light filtering through the canopy. She stops suddenly, turning to face me, her eyes wide with fear.
"Leah, what is it?" I ask, my voice trembling.
"Look behind you," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I turn slowly, dread creeping up my spine. In the shadows, I see a figure, its form indistinct and shifting. It’s not quite animal, not quite human—something in between. The sight of it sends a jolt of terror through me, and I wake up with a start, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I’m not in my bed. The ground beneath me is cold and hard, the smell of damp earth filling my nostrils. Panic rises as I realize I’ve sleepwalked into the woods. I scramble to my feet, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The moon casts a pale glow over the surroundings, revealing what looks like a long-abandoned animal lair.
The walls are covered in giant claw marks, deep gouges in the wood and earth. The air is heavy with the scent of decay, and a chill runs through me. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.
Carefully, I start to move, my eyes scanning the ground, desperate for a familiar landmark. That's when I see them—faded scraps of fabric caught on the jagged edges of the underbrush. My steps falter, a sense of dread washing over me as I bend down to examine them. The fabric is torn, weathered by time and the elements, but unmistakably familiar. It's part of Leah's jacket—the bright pink one she wore on the day she disappeared.
As I strain to make sense of it all, a rustling sound behind me snaps my focus. My heart leaps into my throat. I spin around, my hand instinctively reaching for the rifle I don't have—because, of course, I didn't bring it in my unconscious state.
The shadowy figure that emerges from the trees is unsettlingly familiar, mirroring the menacing forms of my nightmares. But as it steps into the moonlight, I recognize the worn jacket, the weary posture. It's Dad.
"Ryan!" he calls out, his voice a mix of relief and stern concern. "I've been looking everywhere for you. What the hell are you doing out here?"
I exhale slowly, the terror ebbing away as reality sets back in. "I—I don't know, Dad. I must've sleepwalked again." My voice is shaky, my earlier dream still clinging to the edges of my consciousness.
Dad stares at me in disbelief. "You haven't sleepwalked since you were a kid, Ry. This... this isn't just a coincidence." His eyes dart around, taking in the surroundings—the eerie, claw-marked den, the unsettling quiet of the woods. "How did you even find this place?"
I shake my head, struggling to find an answer. "I don't know, Dad. I just... I woke up here." The uncertainty in my voice does nothing to ease the tension.
His eyes lock onto the tattered remains of Leah's jacket in my hands, and something inside him snaps. The color drains from his face as he stumbles a few steps backward. "This... this is where it happened," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. “This is where we found Leah."
“I thought you said you don’t remember anything from that night,” he says accusingly.
"I swear, Dad, I don't know anything about this place," I insist, my own heart pounding.
“It was you, wasn’t it? You’ve been hiding this from me.” His voice is frantic. “You... last night, the growling, it was you.” His voice rises, tinged with hysteria.
I step back, my pulse racing, feeling the chill of the night and the weight of his accusation. "Dad, I don't know what you're talking ab—”
"No!" he interrupts, his voice breaking as he points a trembling finger at me. "You knew, you always knew. It was you, Ryan. All these years, the evidence was right there, but I refused to see it. You were the dogman. You killed Leah!"
His words hit me like a physical blow, absurd and horrifying in their implications. "Dad, you're not making any sense. You're talking crazy! I was just a little kid! How could I–" I protest, my voice shaky.
He steps closer, his presence looming over me, the outline of his figure distorted by the shadows of the trees. "Think about it! It all makes sense now. You led us here, to this place, because you remember. Because you did it."
"Dad, stop it!" I shout, my heart pounding in my chest. "You're scaring me. You need help, professional help. This isn't you."
But he's beyond reason, his eyes wild with a haunted grief. "I have to end this," he mutters, more to himself than to me, his hand tightening around his rifle.
His finger hovers dangerously over the trigger of his rifle. My instincts kick in, and I know I have to act fast.
I lunge toward him, trying to knock the weapon away, but he's quicker than I expected. We struggle, our breaths heavy in the cold night air, the sounds of our scuffle the only noise in the otherwise silent woods. His strength surprises me, fueled by his frantic emotions. He shoves me back, and I stumble over a root, my balance lost for a crucial second. That's all he needs. He raises his rifle, his intentions clear in his wild, pained eyes.
I dive to the ground just as the shot rings out, a deafening blast that echoes ominously through the trees. The bullet whizzes past, narrowly missing me, embedding itself in the bark of an old pine. I scramble to my feet, my heart pounding in my ears, and I start running. The underbrush claws at my clothes and skin, but I push through, driven by a primal urge to survive.
"Dad, stop! It's me, Ryan!" I shout back as I dodge between the trees. Another shot breaks the silence, closer this time, sending splinters of wood flying from a nearby tree trunk. It's surreal, being hunted by my own father, a man tormented by grief and lost in his delusions.
I don't stop to look back. I can hear him crashing through the forest behind me, his heavy breaths and muttered curses carried on the wind. The terrain is rough, and I'm fueled by adrenaline, but exhaustion is setting in. I need a plan.
Ahead, I see a rocky outcrop and make a split-second decision to head for it. It offers a chance to hide, to catch my breath and maybe reason with him if he catches up. As I reach the rocks, I slip behind the largest one, my body pressed tight against the cold, damp surface. I hear his footsteps approaching, slow and cautious now.
As I press against the rock, trying to calm my racing heart, I can hear Dad's footsteps drawing closer, each step crunching ominously on the forest floor. He's methodical, deliberate, like a hunter stalking his prey.
“Come out, Ryan!” Dad’s voice is ragged, filled with a blend of fury and pain.
My heart pounds against my chest, the cold sweat on my back making me shiver against the rough surface of the rock. I know I can't just sit here; it's only a matter of time before he finds me.
Taking a deep breath, I peek around the edge of the rock, trying to gauge his position. I see him, rifle raised, scanning the area slowly. This might be my only chance to end this madness without further violence. I need to disarm him, to talk some sense into him if I can.
As quietly as I can, I move out from behind the rock, my steps careful to avoid any twigs or leaves that might betray my position. I'm almost upon him when a branch snaps under my foot—a sound so trivial yet so alarmingly loud in the quiet of the woods.
Dad whirls around, looking completely unhinged. "Ryan!" he exclaims, his rifle swinging in my direction. Panic overtakes me, and I lunge forward, my hands reaching for the gun.
We struggle, the rifle between us, our breaths heavy and erratic. "Dad, please, stop!" I plead, trying to wrestle the gun away. But he's strong, stronger than I expected.
In the chaos, the rifle goes off. The sound is deafening, a sharp echo that seems to reverberate off every tree around us. Pain explodes in my abdomen, sharp and burning, like nothing I've ever felt before. I stagger back, my hands instinctively going to the wound. The warmth of my own blood coats my fingers, stark and terrifying.
Dad drops the rifle, his eyes wide with horror. "Oh my God! What have I done?" he gasps, rushing to my side as I collapse onto the forest floor.
As the pain sears through me, a strange, overpowering energy surges within. It's wild, primal, unlike anything I've ever experienced. Looking down in horror, my hands are no longer hands but large, hairy, clawed appendages. The transformation is rapid, consuming—my vision blurs, senses heighten, and a raw, guttural growl builds in my throat.
In that moment, a flood of understanding washes over me, mingling with the horror of realization. These are the hands of the creature from my nightmares, the creature whose face I can never fully recall because, as I now understand, it is me.
What happens next feels detached, as if I'm no longer in control of my own actions, watching from a distance as my body moves on its own. I turn towards my dad, his face a mask of terror. He stumbles back, his eyes wide with the dawning realization of what his son has become.
The forest around us seems to fall silent, holding its breath as the nightmarish scene unfolds. I can hear my own growls, guttural and deep, filling the air with a sound that's both foreign and intimately familiar. The pain in my abdomen fuels a dark, violent urge, an urge that's too strong to resist.
With a ferocity that feels both alien and intrinsic, I move towards him. My dad, paralyzed by fear and shock, doesn't run. Maybe he can't. Maybe he doesn't want to.
The encounter 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.
submitted by PageTurner627 to creepypasta [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 20:08 PageTurner627 My Dad and I Hunted Down the Dogman that Killed My Sister

I’ve always hated the smell of gun oil. It clings to everything it touches, soaking deep into the fibers of my clothes, the lining of my backpack, the coarse hair on the back of my hands. Yet here I am, kneeling on the cracked linoleum of our mudroom, a Remington .308 laid across my thighs, and the stench of gun oil sharp in my nostrils. The early morning light barely scratches at the edges of the blinds, dim and gray like the belly of a dead fish.
My dad Frank is in the kitchen, clattering around with the coffeepot and mumbling under his breath. Today we’re heading up to the woods of Northern Michigan, same as we did every year before Leah… before we lost her.
I can’t help but feel the old scars throbbing as I load bullets into the magazine. It’s been ten years since that hunting trip, the one that tore my family into before and after. Before, when Leah's laughter was a constant soundtrack to our lives; after, when every silence was filled with her absence.
We were just kids back then. I was ten, Leah was eight. It was supposed to be a typical hunting trip, one of those bonding experiences Dad was always talking about. But things went wrong. We got separated from Dad somehow. One minute we were following him, the next we were lost, the dense woods closing in around us.
Dad says when he found me, I was huddled under a fallen tree, my eyes wide, my body frozen. All I could mutter through chattering teeth was "Dogman."
It was only later, after the search parties had combed through every thicket and hollow, that they found her. What remained of Leah was barely recognizable, the evidence of a brutal mauling undeniable. The authorities concluded it was likely a bear attack, but Dad... he never accepted that explanation. He had seen the tracks, too large and oddly shaped for any bear.
As I load another round, the memory flashes, unbidden and unwelcome. Large, hairy clawed hands reaching out towards us, impossibly big, grotesque in their form. Yet, the rest of the creature eludes me, a shadow just beyond the edge of my recall, leaving me with nothing but fragmented terrors and Leah’s haunting, echoing screams. My mind blocked most of it out, a self-defense mechanism, I guess.
For years after that day, sleep was a battleground. I'd wake up in strange places—kitchen floor, backyard, even at the edge of the nearby creek. My therapist said it was my mind's way of trying to resolve the unresolved, to wander back through the woods searching for Leah. But all I found in those sleepless nights was a deeper sense of loss.
It took time, a lot of therapy, and patience I didn't know I had, but the sleepwalking did eventually stop. I guess I started to find some semblance of peace.
I have mostly moved on with my life. The fragmentary memories of that day are still there, lurking in the corners of my mind, but they don’t dominate my thoughts like they used to. I just finished my sophomore year at Michigan State, majoring in Environmental Science.
As for Dad, the loss of Leah broke him. He became a shell of himself. It destroyed his marriage with Mom. He blamed himself for letting us out of his sight, for not protecting Leah. His life took on a single, consuming focus: finding the creature that killed her. He read every book, every article on cryptids and unexplained phenomena. He mapped sightings, connected dots across blurry photos and shaky testimonies of the Dogman.
But as the tenth anniversary of Leah’s death approaches, Dad's obsession has grown more intense. He’s started staying up late, poring over his maps and notes, muttering to himself about patterns and cycles. He’s convinced that the dogman reappears every ten years, and this is our window of opportunity to finally hunt it down.
I’m not nearly as convinced. The whole dogman thing seems like a coping mechanism, a way for Dad to channel his guilt and grief into something tangible, something he can fight against. But I decided to tag along on this trip, partly to keep an eye on him, partly because a small part of me hopes that maybe, just maybe, we’ll find some kind of closure out there in the woods.
I finish loading the rifle and set it aside, standing up to stretch my legs. I wipe my greasy hands on an old rag, trying to get rid of the smell. The early morning light is starting to seep into the room, casting long shadows across the floor.
Dad comes out of the kitchen with two thermoses of coffee in hand. His eyes are bleary and tired.
“You ready, Ryan?” he asks, handing me a thermos, his voice rough from too many sleepless nights.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” I reply, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
We load our gear into the truck, the weight of our supplies and weapons a physical reminder of the burden we carry. The drive from Lansing across the Lower Peninsula is long and quiet, the silence between us filled with unspoken memories and unresolved grief.
—
The drive north is a blur of highway lines and the dull hum of the engine. I drift off, the landscape outside blending into a haze. In my sleep, fragments of that day with Leah replay like scattered pieces of a puzzle. I see her smile, the way she tugged at my sleeve, eager to explore. The sunlight filters through the trees in sharp, jagged streaks.
Then, the memory shifts—darker, disjointed. Leah's voice echoes, a playful laugh turning into a scream that pierces the air. The crunch of leaves underfoot as something heavy moves through the underbrush. I see a shadow, large and looming, not quite fitting the shapes of any creature I know.
Then, something darker creeps into the dream, something I’ve never allowed myself to remember clearly.
Before I can see what it is I wake up with a start as the truck jerks slightly on a rough patch of road. Dad glances over. "Bad dream?" he asks. I nod, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, the remnants of the dream clinging to me like the cold.
"Yeah, just... thinking about Leah," I manage to say.
As we drive, Dad attempts to bridge the silence with small talk. He asks about my finals, my plans for the summer, anything to keep the conversation going. His voice carries a forced cheerfulness, but it’s clear his heart isn’t in it. I respond when necessary, my answers brief, my gaze fixed on the passing scenery.
The landscape changes as we head further north, from flat expanses to rolling hills dotted with dense patches of forest. It's beautiful country, the kind that reminds you how vast and wild Michigan can be, but today it just feels oppressive, like it’s closing in on us.
—
We finally arrive at the cabin, nestled deep in the woods, its weathered wood blending seamlessly with the surrounding trees. The place hasn't changed much since the last time I was here—a relic from another time, filled with the echoes of our past. I can still see Leah running around the porch, her laughter ringing out into the forest.
Dad parks the truck, and we step out into the crisp air. The smell of pine and damp earth fills my nostrils. We start unloading our gear, the tension between us palpable.
“Let’s get this inside,” Dad says, his voice gruff as he hefts a duffel bag onto his shoulder.
I nod, grabbing my own bag and following him to the cabin. Inside, it’s a mix of old and new—the same rustic furniture, but with new hunting gear and maps strewn across the table. Dad’s obsession is evident in every corner of the room, a constant reminder of why we’re here.
As we unpack, we exchange strained attempts at normalcy. He talks about the latest cryptid sightings he’s read about, his eyes lighting up with a fervor that both worries and saddens me.
“Did you hear about the sighting up near Alpena?” he asks, laying out his maps on the table.
“Yeah, you mentioned it,” I reply, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “Do you really think there’s something to it?”
Dad’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of doubt. But it’s quickly replaced by grim determination. “I have to believe it, Ryan. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
We finish unpacking, the silence between us growing heavier with each passing minute. I step outside to clear my head, the cool air a welcome relief. The sun is starting to set, casting long shadows across the clearing. I can’t shake the feeling of unease.
"You can take the upstairs room," Dad mutters. His voice is strained, trying to sound normal, but it's clear the weight of the past is heavy on him. I nod, hauling my backpack up the creaking stairs to the small bedroom that I used to share with Leah. The room feels smaller now, or maybe I've just grown too much since those innocent days.
I unpack silently, setting my things aside. The bed is stiff and cold under my touch. As I settle in, I can't help but glance at the corner where Leah and I would huddle together, whispering secrets and making plans for adventures that would never happen. I push the thoughts away, focusing on the practicalities of unpacking.
After settling in, I go back downstairs to find Dad loading up a backpack with supplies for our hunt. The intensity in his eyes is palpable, his hands moving with practiced precision. I know this routine; it's one he's perfected over countless solo trips since that fateful day.
"We'll head out early," he says, not looking up from his task. "Gotta make the most of the daylight."
I nod, though unease curls in my stomach. I'm not just worried about what we might find—or not find—out there. I'm worried about him. Each year, the obsession seems to carve him out a bit more, leaving less of the Dad I knew.
—
The morning air is sharp with the scent of pine and wet earth as Dad and I head into the deeper parts of the forest. The terrain is rugged, familiar in its untamed beauty, but there’s a tension between us that makes the landscape feel alien. Dad moves with a purposeful stride, his eyes scanning the woods around us. Every snap of a twig, every rustle in the underbrush seems to draw his attention. He’s on edge, and it puts me on edge too.
As we walk, my mind drifts back to that day ten years ago. I can almost hear Leah’s voice echoing through the trees, her high-pitched call as she darted ahead, "Catch me, Ryan!" I remember how the sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground. Those memories are so vivid, so tangible, it feels like I could just turn a corner and see her there, waiting for us.
Dad suddenly stops and kneels, examining the ground. He points out a set of tracks that are too large for a deer, with an unusual gait pattern. "It’s been here, Ry. I’m telling you, it’s close," he whispers, a mixture of excitement and something darker in his voice. I nod, though I’m not sure what to believe. Part of me wants to dismiss it all as grief-fueled obsession, but another part, the part that heard Leah's scream and saw something monstrous in the woods that day, isn’t so sure.
As we continue, Dad's comments become increasingly cryptic. "You know, they say the dogman moves in cycles, drawn to certain places, certain times. Like it’s tied to the land itself," he muses, more to himself than to me. His fixation on the creature has always been intense, but now it borders on mania.
We set up a makeshift blind near a clearing where Dad insists the creature will pass. Hours drag by with little to see but the occasional bird or distant deer.
The sun rises higher in the sky, casting long, slender shadows through the dense canopy. I shift uncomfortably in my spot, the forest floor hard and unyielding beneath me. My eyes dart between the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of something, anything, to break the monotony. Dad, on the other hand, remains steadfast, his gaze fixed on the treeline as if he can will the dogman into existence by sheer force of will.
A bird chirps nearby, startling me. I sigh and adjust my grip on the rifle. I glance over at Dad.
“Anything?” I ask, more out of boredom than genuine curiosity.
“Not yet,” he replies, his voice tight. “But it’s out there. I know it.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I believe him. The forest seems too quiet, too still. Maybe we’re chasing ghosts.
As the sun begins its descent, the forest is bathed in a warm, golden light. The air cools, and a breeze rustles the leaves. I shiver, more from anticipation than the cold. The long hours of sitting and waiting are starting to wear on me.
“Let’s call it a day for now,” Dad says finally, his voice heavy with disappointment. “We’ll head back to the cabin, get some rest, and try again tomorrow.”
I stand and stretch, feeling the stiffness in my muscles. We pack up our gear in silence and start the trek back to the cabin. The walk is long and quiet, the only sounds are the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant calls of birds settling in for the night.
—
Dinner is a quiet affair, both of us lost in our thoughts. I try to make small talk, asking Dad about his plans for tomorrow, but it feels forced. We clean up in silence.
After dinner, I retreat to the small bedroom. The fatigue from the day's hike has settled into my bones, but sleep still feels like a distant hope. I lie down, staring at the ceiling, the room cloaked in darkness save for the sliver of moonlight creeping through the window. Downstairs, I hear the faint sound of Dad moving around, likely unable to sleep himself.
I drift into sleep, but it's not restful. My dreams pull me back to that fateful day in the woods. Leah's voice is clear and vibrant, her laughter echoing through the trees. She looks just as she did then—bright-eyed and full of life, her blonde hair catching the sunlight as she runs ahead of me.
"Come on, Ry! You can't catch me!" she taunts, her voice playful and teasing.
I chase after her, but the scene shifts abruptly. The sky darkens, the woods around us growing dense and foreboding. Leah's laughter fades, replaced by a chilling silence. I see her ahead, standing still, her back to me.
"Leah?" I call out, my voice trembling. She turns slowly, her eyes wide and filled with fear. "Ryan, you have to remember," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "It wasn't what you think. You need to know the truth."
Leah’s words hang in the air, cryptic and unsettling. Before I can respond, she turns and starts running again, her figure becoming a blur among the trees. Panic rises in my chest as I sprint after her, my feet pounding against the forest floor.
“Leah, wait!” I shout, desperation lacing my voice. The forest around me seems to close in, the trees towering and twisted, shadows dancing menacingly in the dim light. I push forward, trying to keep her in sight, but she’s too fast, slipping away like a wisp of smoke.
Suddenly, there’s a rustle, a flash of movement in the corner of my vision. Leah screams, a sound that pierces through the heavy silence. It happens too quickly—I can’t see what it is, only a dark blur that snatches her up.
“Leah!” I scream, my voice breaking. I stumble, falling to my knees as the forest spins around me. My heart races, and the terror is so real, so visceral, that it pulls me back to that awful day, the one that changed everything.
I jolt awake, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I sit up, wiping the cold sweat from my forehead as I try to steady my breathing. The room is still dark, the shadows cast by the moonlight seem to flicker and dance on the walls. My heart is still racing from the nightmare, the echo of Leah's scream lingering in my ears.
As I struggle to calm down, the floorboards outside my room creak. The door opens slowly, and I see the silhouette of my dad in the doorway, a Bowie knife in his hand, his posture tense.
“Dad, what the hell are you doing?” I whisper, my voice shaking.
“Shh,” he hisses, holding up a hand to silence me. “I heard something. Something moving around in the cabin. Stay quiet.”
I swallow hard, my mouth dry. I glance at the clock on the nightstand—it’s just past three in the morning. The cabin is silent, the kind of deep, oppressive silence that makes every small sound seem louder. I can’t hear anything out of the ordinary, but Dad’s expression is deadly serious.
He motions for me to get up, and I do, moving as quietly as I can. My heart is racing, a mix of lingering fear from the dream and the sudden, sharp anxiety of the present moment. Dad leads the way, stepping cautiously out of the bedroom and into the hallway, the knife held ready in front of him.
We move through the cabin, checking each room in turn. The living room is empty, the furniture casting long shadows in the dim moonlight. The kitchen is just as we left it, the plates from dinner still drying on the counter. Everything seems normal, untouched.
We finish our sweep of the cabin without finding anything amiss. The silence is heavy, punctuated only by our soft footfalls. I can see the tension in Dad’s frame, his grip on the knife unwavering. After checking the last room, we pause in the dimly lit hallway, the air thick with unspoken questions.
“There’s nothing here,” I say, my voice low. “Are you sure you heard something?”
He looks at me, his eyes searching for something in my face. “I heard growling. Deep and close. It was right outside the window.”
“Maybe it was just an animal outside, a raccoon or something?” I suggest, although the certainty in his voice makes me doubt my own reassurance.
“No, it wasn’t like that. It was different,” he insists, his voice tense.
I nod, not wanting to argue, but the seeds of worry are planted deep.
The look in his eyes sends a chill down my spine. It’s not just fear—it’s desperation. The kind of desperation that comes from years of chasing shadows and finding nothing. I can see the toll this hunt has taken on him, the way it’s worn him down, turned him into a man I barely recognize.
We head back to our rooms. As I lie down, my mind races with thoughts of my dad. I can’t help but wonder if he’s losing it, if the years of grief and guilt have finally pushed him over the edge.
Dad wasn’t always like this. Before Leah’s death, he was the kind of father who took us fishing, helped with homework, and told terrible jokes that made us groan and laugh at the same time. He was solid, dependable. But losing Leah changed him. The guilt twisted him into someone I barely recognize, someone driven by a need for answers, for closure, that may never come.
I try to sleep, but my thoughts keep me awake. I can hear Dad moving around downstairs, probably pacing or double-checking the locks. His paranoia has become a constant presence, and I don’t know how to help him. I don’t even know if I can help him.
—
The next morning, the sunlight filters weakly through the cabin windows, casting a pale light that does little to lift the heavy mood. I drag myself out of bed, feeling the exhaustion of another restless night. Dad is already up, hunched over his maps at the kitchen table, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
“Morning,” I mumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I pour myself a cup of coffee. “Did you sleep at all?”
He shakes his head, not looking up from his notes. “Not much. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I heard last night.”
I sip my coffee, trying to shake off the remnants of my nightmare. “Maybe it was just an animal, Dad. We’re deep in the woods, after all.”
He finally looks up, his eyes intense. “Ryan, I know what I heard. It wasn’t just an animal. It was something else.”
I sigh, not wanting to argue. “Okay, fine, Dad. What’s the plan for today?”
“We’re going back out. I found some tracks yesterday, and I want to follow them. See where they lead.”
I nod, feeling a mix of apprehension and resignation. I can see how much this means to him, how desperate he is for any kind of lead. “Alright. Let’s get packed and head out.”
We spend the morning preparing, loading up our gear and double-checking our supplies. Dad is meticulous, going over everything with a fine-toothed comb. I try to match his focus, but my mind keeps drifting back to Leah and the dream I had. Her words echo in my head, cryptic and unsettling: “You need to know the truth.”
We set off into the woods, the air crisp and cool. The forest is alive with the sounds of birds and rustling leaves, but it all feels distant, like background noise to the tension between us. Dad leads the way, his eyes scanning the ground for any sign of the tracks he found yesterday.
As we walk, I can’t help but notice how erratically he’s acting. He mutters to himself, his eyes darting around as if expecting something to jump out at us. His grip on his rifle is tight, his knuckles white.
“Dad, are you okay?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
He glances at me, his expression unreadable. “I’m fine. Just focused.”
He stops frequently to examine the ground or the bark of trees, pointing out marks and signs that seem meaningless to me.
“Look at this,” he says, crouching down to examine a broken branch. “See how it’s snapped? That’s not a deer or a bear. That’s something bigger. Stronger.”
I crouch next to Dad, squinting at the broken branch. To me, it just looks like a regular broken branch, the kind you see all over the forest. "I don't know, Dad. It just looks like a branch to me," I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.
Dad's eyes flicker with frustration. "You're not looking close enough. It's the way it's snapped—too clean, too deliberate. Something did this."
I nod, not wanting to argue. "Okay, sure. But even if you're right, it could be anything. A storm, another hunter..."
His expression hardens. "I know what I'm looking for. This is different."
I sigh, feeling the weight of the past and the tension between us pressing down on me. "Dad, I had a dream last night. About Leah." The words hang in the air between us, heavy and fraught with unspoken emotions.
Dad's eyes widen, and he straightens up, his entire demeanor shifting. "What kind of dream? What did you see?" His voice is urgent, almost desperate.
"It was... strange. We were in the woods, like we are now, but everything felt different. Leah was there, running ahead of me, laughing. Then she stopped and told me I needed to know the truth, that it wasn't what I thought."
Dad grabs my shoulders, his grip tight. "What else did she say? Did she tell you anything specific? Anything about the creature?"
I shake my head, feeling a chill run down my spine. "No, that was it. She just said I needed to know the truth, and then she was gone."
Dad’s grip on my shoulders tightens, and his eyes bore into mine with a mixture of desperation and hope. “Ryan, you have to try to remember. Think hard. What did the creature look like? Did you see anything else?”
I pull back slightly, uneasy with his intensity. “Dad, I told you. I don’t remember. It was just a dream. A nightmare, really. My mind’s probably just mixing things up.”
He lets go of me and runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated and lost. “Dreams can be important. They can hold memories we’ve buried deep. Please, try to remember. This could be a sign, a clue.”
I rub my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “I’ve tried, okay? I’ve tried for years to piece together what happened that day. But it’s all just fragments, like pieces of a puzzle that don’t fit. The dream… it felt real, but I don’t think it’s telling me anything new.”
Dad’s face falls, and he looks older than I’ve ever seen him. He turns away, staring into the forest as if it holds all the answers.
—
As we make our way back to the cabin, the sun begins to set, casting long shadows through the trees. The air grows colder, and I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter around me. Dad is silent, lost in his thoughts, his face drawn and haggard.
Back at the cabin, we unload our gear once again in silence. Dad disappears into his room, muttering something about going over his notes. I decide to explore the cabin, hoping to find something that might help me understand what’s going on with him.
In the attic, I find a box of old family photos and documents. As I sift through the contents, I come across a worn journal with Dad’s handwriting on the cover. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I open it, flipping through the pages.
The journal is filled with notes and sketches, detailing his obsession with the dogman. But there’s something else—entries that talk about Leah, about that day in the woods. His handwriting becomes more erratic, the words harder to read. One entry stands out, dated just a few days after Leah’s death:
“June 15, 2013 – It was supposed to be a normal trip. Keep them close, Frank, I kept telling myself. But I failed. Leah is gone, and it’s my fault. I heard her scream, saw the shadows. I tried to get to her, but… the thing, it was there. Too fast. Too strong. My hands… blood everywhere. No one will believe me. I can’t even believe myself. I have to find it. I have to protect Ryan. I have to make it right. God, what have I done?”
Before I can read further, the attic door creaks open, and Dad’s voice slices through the stillness.
“What are you doing up here?” His tone is sharp, almost panicked.
I turn to see him standing in the doorway, his face pale and his eyes wide with something between anger and fear. I clutch the journal to my chest, my mind racing. “I found this… I was just trying to understand…”
In an instant, he crosses the room and snatches the journal from my hands. His grip is tight, his knuckles white. “You had no right,” he growls, his voice trembling.
“Dad, I just wanted to know the truth!” I shout, frustration boiling over. “What really happened to Leah.”
His eyes flash with a mix of rage and anguish, and before I can react, he slaps me across the face. The force of it knocks me off balance, and I stumble backward, my cheek stinging.
For a moment, there’s a stunned silence. We both stand there, breathing hard, the air thick with tension.
“I’m sorry,” Dad says finally, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to… I just…” He trails off, clutching the journal to his chest like a lifeline.
I touch my cheek, feeling the heat from the slap, and take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Dad, what aren’t you telling me? What really happened that day?”
“Stay out of it, Ryan,” Dad growls, his eyes dark with anger. “You don’t know what you’re messing with.”
He turns and storms out of the attic. I’m left standing there, my cheek throbbing, my mind racing. What the fuck is going on? What really happened to Leah? And what is Dad so afraid of?
—
That night, I sleep with my rifle within arm's reach, more afraid of my dad than any dogman. The slap still burns on my cheek, and the look in his eyes—rage, fear, something darker—haunts me. I lie awake, listening to the creaks and groans of the old cabin, every sound amplified in the stillness. Eventually, exhaustion pulls me under, and I fall into a restless sleep.
The dream returns, vivid and unsettling. I'm back in the woods, chasing after Leah. Her laughter echoes through the trees, a haunting reminder of happier times. This time, though, I push myself harder, refusing to let her slip away.
"Ryan, catch me!" she calls, her voice playful.
"I'm coming, Leah!" I shout, my legs pumping, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
The forest around us is a twisted, shadowy maze, the trees seeming to close in on us. Leah's figure becomes clearer, her blonde hair catching the dim light filtering through the canopy. She stops suddenly, turning to face me, her eyes wide with fear.
"Leah, what is it?" I ask, my voice trembling.
"Look behind you," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I turn slowly, dread creeping up my spine. In the shadows, I see a figure, its form indistinct and shifting. It’s not quite animal, not quite human—something in between. The sight of it sends a jolt of terror through me, and I wake up with a start, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I’m not in my bed. The ground beneath me is cold and hard, the smell of damp earth filling my nostrils. Panic rises as I realize I’ve sleepwalked into the woods. I scramble to my feet, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The moon casts a pale glow over the surroundings, revealing what looks like a long-abandoned animal lair.
The walls are covered in giant claw marks, deep gouges in the wood and earth. The air is heavy with the scent of decay, and a chill runs through me. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.
Carefully, I start to move, my eyes scanning the ground, desperate for a familiar landmark. That's when I see them—faded scraps of fabric caught on the jagged edges of the underbrush. My steps falter, a sense of dread washing over me as I bend down to examine them. The fabric is torn, weathered by time and the elements, but unmistakably familiar. It's part of Leah's jacket—the bright pink one she wore on the day she disappeared.
As I strain to make sense of it all, a rustling sound behind me snaps my focus. My heart leaps into my throat. I spin around, my hand instinctively reaching for the rifle I don't have—because, of course, I didn't bring it in my unconscious state.
The shadowy figure that emerges from the trees is unsettlingly familiar, mirroring the menacing forms of my nightmares. But as it steps into the moonlight, I recognize the worn jacket, the weary posture. It's Dad.
"Ryan!" he calls out, his voice a mix of relief and stern concern. "I've been looking everywhere for you. What the hell are you doing out here?"
I exhale slowly, the terror ebbing away as reality sets back in. "I—I don't know, Dad. I must've sleepwalked again." My voice is shaky, my earlier dream still clinging to the edges of my consciousness.
Dad stares at me in disbelief. "You haven't sleepwalked since you were a kid, Ry. This... this isn't just a coincidence." His eyes dart around, taking in the surroundings—the eerie, claw-marked den, the unsettling quiet of the woods. "How did you even find this place?"
I shake my head, struggling to find an answer. "I don't know, Dad. I just... I woke up here." The uncertainty in my voice does nothing to ease the tension.
His eyes lock onto the tattered remains of Leah's jacket in my hands, and something inside him snaps. The color drains from his face as he stumbles a few steps backward. "This... this is where it happened," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. “This is where we found Leah."
“I thought you said you don’t remember anything from that night,” he says accusingly.
"I swear, Dad, I don't know anything about this place," I insist, my own heart pounding.
“It was you, wasn’t it? You’ve been hiding this from me.” His voice is frantic. “You... last night, the growling, it was you.” His voice rises, tinged with hysteria.
I step back, my pulse racing, feeling the chill of the night and the weight of his accusation. "Dad, I don't know what you're talking ab—”
"No!" he interrupts, his voice breaking as he points a trembling finger at me. "You knew, you always knew. It was you, Ryan. All these years, the evidence was right there, but I refused to see it. You were the dogman. You killed Leah!"
His words hit me like a physical blow, absurd and horrifying in their implications. "Dad, you're not making any sense. You're talking crazy! I was just a little kid! How could I–" I protest, my voice shaky.
He steps closer, his presence looming over me, the outline of his figure distorted by the shadows of the trees. "Think about it! It all makes sense now. You led us here, to this place, because you remember. Because you did it."
"Dad, stop it!" I shout, my heart pounding in my chest. "You're scaring me. You need help, professional help. This isn't you."
But he's beyond reason, his eyes wild with a haunted grief. "I have to end this," he mutters, more to himself than to me, his hand tightening around his rifle.
His finger hovers dangerously over the trigger of his rifle. My instincts kick in, and I know I have to act fast.
I lunge toward him, trying to knock the weapon away, but he's quicker than I expected. We struggle, our breaths heavy in the cold night air, the sounds of our scuffle the only noise in the otherwise silent woods. His strength surprises me, fueled by his frantic emotions. He shoves me back, and I stumble over a root, my balance lost for a crucial second. That's all he needs. He raises his rifle, his intentions clear in his wild, pained eyes.
I dive to the ground just as the shot rings out, a deafening blast that echoes ominously through the trees. The bullet whizzes past, narrowly missing me, embedding itself in the bark of an old pine. I scramble to my feet, my heart pounding in my ears, and I start running. The underbrush claws at my clothes and skin, but I push through, driven by a primal urge to survive.
"Dad, stop! It's me, Ryan!" I shout back as I dodge between the trees. Another shot breaks the silence, closer this time, sending splinters of wood flying from a nearby tree trunk. It's surreal, being hunted by my own father, a man tormented by grief and lost in his delusions.
I don't stop to look back. I can hear him crashing through the forest behind me, his heavy breaths and muttered curses carried on the wind. The terrain is rough, and I'm fueled by adrenaline, but exhaustion is setting in. I need a plan.
Ahead, I see a rocky outcrop and make a split-second decision to head for it. It offers a chance to hide, to catch my breath and maybe reason with him if he catches up. As I reach the rocks, I slip behind the largest one, my body pressed tight against the cold, damp surface. I hear his footsteps approaching, slow and cautious now.
As I press against the rock, trying to calm my racing heart, I can hear Dad's footsteps drawing closer, each step crunching ominously on the forest floor. He's methodical, deliberate, like a hunter stalking his prey.
“Come out, Ryan!” Dad’s voice is ragged, filled with a blend of fury and pain.
My heart pounds against my chest, the cold sweat on my back making me shiver against the rough surface of the rock. I know I can't just sit here; it's only a matter of time before he finds me.
Taking a deep breath, I peek around the edge of the rock, trying to gauge his position. I see him, rifle raised, scanning the area slowly. This might be my only chance to end this madness without further violence. I need to disarm him, to talk some sense into him if I can.
As quietly as I can, I move out from behind the rock, my steps careful to avoid any twigs or leaves that might betray my position. I'm almost upon him when a branch snaps under my foot—a sound so trivial yet so alarmingly loud in the quiet of the woods.
Dad whirls around, looking completely unhinged. "Ryan!" he exclaims, his rifle swinging in my direction. Panic overtakes me, and I lunge forward, my hands reaching for the gun.
We struggle, the rifle between us, our breaths heavy and erratic. "Dad, please, stop!" I plead, trying to wrestle the gun away. But he's strong, stronger than I expected.
In the chaos, the rifle goes off. The sound is deafening, a sharp echo that seems to reverberate off every tree around us. Pain explodes in my abdomen, sharp and burning, like nothing I've ever felt before. I stagger back, my hands instinctively going to the wound. The warmth of my own blood coats my fingers, stark and terrifying.
Dad drops the rifle, his eyes wide with horror. "Oh my God! What have I done?" he gasps, rushing to my side as I collapse onto the forest floor.
As the pain sears through me, a strange, overpowering energy surges within. It's wild, primal, unlike anything I've ever experienced. Looking down in horror, my hands are no longer hands but large, hairy, clawed appendages. The transformation is rapid, consuming—my vision blurs, senses heighten, and a raw, guttural growl builds in my throat.
In that moment, a flood of understanding washes over me, mingling with the horror of realization. These are the hands of the creature from my nightmares, the creature whose face I can never fully recall because, as I now understand, it is me.
What happens next feels detached, as if I'm no longer in control of my own actions, watching from a distance as my body moves on its own. I turn towards my dad, his face a mask of terror. He stumbles back, his eyes wide with the dawning realization of what his son has become.
The forest around us seems to fall silent, holding its breath as the nightmarish scene unfolds. I can hear my own growls, guttural and deep, filling the air with a sound that's both foreign and intimately familiar. The pain in my abdomen fuels a dark, violent urge, an urge that's too strong to resist.
With a ferocity that feels both alien and intrinsic, I move towards him. My dad, paralyzed by fear and shock, doesn't run. Maybe he can't. Maybe he doesn't want to.
The encounter 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.
submitted by PageTurner627 to stories [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 20:07 kystarrk I'm now 100% sure Paulina told Destiney Mike was being violent

Okay I typed this whole thing out but it got deleted when I went to another app briefly, and I feel like it's less concise this round, but:
I made a comment on a thread recently where I mentioned how Dentiney's extremely visceral reaction to Mike at her Halloween party had "she knows the real truth" written allllll over it. I had seen the photos from Paulina's suit, but for some reason didn't read it/the articles. I guess I felt the pictures spoke for themselves. Well, I just went back and read the page six one. In case anyone else missed it, here's what leads me to believe what I've stated in the title (emphasis mine)....
Ben-Cohen’s lawyers state their client did not “do anything to justify the acts of vicious and brutal acts of violence” she experienced that night, noting that was allegedly not the first time an incident occurred.
An example they provide is an incident in which Shouhed was allegedly furious that his sexting situation with another woman had been revealed on “Shahs of Sunset,” and so he allegedly took out his anger on Ben-Cohen when they got back home.
He allegedly “put a gun up to her head and told her he was going to murder her while making statements like, ‘You think you can destroy me,’ and ‘You think you can destroy my reputation, not even my ex-wife ruined my reputation the way you did,'” the complaint alleges. ---------------------------------------------------------- Shouhed allegedly also threatened to kill Ben-Cohen another time after she confided in one of his cast members — who is unnamed in the complaint — about his alleged violent behavior.
He allegedly told his then-partner, “Tonight is the night I’m going to kill you” and “I will murder you.”
So, regarding the first bolded excerpt, that's probably the night she and Mike went to MJ & Tommy's for dinner? Where he tried to make them leave abruptly under the guise that it's a school night (there was obviously a nanny or sitter), because she was starting to spill to MJ. He was telling her she's drunk and making a fool of herself etc. Same night he said "I'm going to fucking tell you what's up, just wait." (this is the thread I commented about the Halloween party on, posted by Responsible_Row6253 )
The second bolded section is obvious. It has to be Destiney, right? No one else in the cast had such an abrupt change in demeanor just being around Mike. She was put in a very difficult position. If she says too much, Paulina is in (even more) serious danger. If she doesn't say enough, she comes off looking (to those unaware) like she has a weird grudge against Mike & an unhealthy obsession with his and Paulina's relationship. She also possibly felt like it was unfair of Paulina to drop this on her to then go back to/defend Mike again and again (which is completely understandable if you know about DV, but it doesn't make it any less of a burden on those who know). It's not like she can just avoid Mike, they're filming a TV show together. One with established decades long friendships (that don't include her), where no matter the crime/accusation they will ride for Mike to the depths of hell and back. I just feel like it all matches up perfectly (in the worst way).
Side note, reading the threads from when that party episode aired was not a good time. So many saying Destiney was doing too much, trying to produce a scene etc. I know hindsight is 20/20... but the flags were fucking FLYYYING.
(this last part was written so much better the fist time around lol I'm sorry)
submitted by kystarrk to ShahsOfSunset [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 20:02 PageTurner627 My Dad and I Hunted Down the Dogman that Killed My Sister

I’ve always hated the smell of gun oil. It clings to everything it touches, soaking deep into the fibers of my clothes, the lining of my backpack, the coarse hair on the back of my hands. Yet here I am, kneeling on the cracked linoleum of our mudroom, a Remington .308 laid across my thighs, and the stench of gun oil sharp in my nostrils. The early morning light barely scratches at the edges of the blinds, dim and gray like the belly of a dead fish.
My dad Frank is in the kitchen, clattering around with the coffeepot and mumbling under his breath. Today we’re heading up to the woods of Northern Michigan, same as we did every year before Leah… before we lost her.
I can’t help but feel the old scars throbbing as I load bullets into the magazine. It’s been ten years since that hunting trip, the one that tore my family into before and after. Before, when Leah's laughter was a constant soundtrack to our lives; after, when every silence was filled with her absence.
We were just kids back then. I was ten, Leah was eight. It was supposed to be a typical hunting trip, one of those bonding experiences Dad was always talking about. But things went wrong. We got separated from Dad somehow. One minute we were following him, the next we were lost, the dense woods closing in around us.
Dad says when he found me, I was huddled under a fallen tree, my eyes wide, my body frozen. All I could mutter through chattering teeth was "Dogman."
It was only later, after the search parties had combed through every thicket and hollow, that they found her. What remained of Leah was barely recognizable, the evidence of a brutal mauling undeniable. The authorities concluded it was likely a bear attack, but Dad... he never accepted that explanation. He had seen the tracks, too large and oddly shaped for any bear.
As I load another round, the memory flashes, unbidden and unwelcome. Large, hairy clawed hands reaching out towards us, impossibly big, grotesque in their form. Yet, the rest of the creature eludes me, a shadow just beyond the edge of my recall, leaving me with nothing but fragmented terrors and Leah’s haunting, echoing screams. My mind blocked most of it out, a self-defense mechanism, I guess.
For years after that day, sleep was a battleground. I'd wake up in strange places—kitchen floor, backyard, even at the edge of the nearby creek. My therapist said it was my mind's way of trying to resolve the unresolved, to wander back through the woods searching for Leah. But all I found in those sleepless nights was a deeper sense of loss.
It took time, a lot of therapy, and patience I didn't know I had, but the sleepwalking did eventually stop. I guess I started to find some semblance of peace.
I have mostly moved on with my life. The fragmentary memories of that day are still there, lurking in the corners of my mind, but they don’t dominate my thoughts like they used to. I just finished my sophomore year at Michigan State, majoring in Environmental Science.
As for Dad, the loss of Leah broke him. He became a shell of himself. It destroyed his marriage with Mom. He blamed himself for letting us out of his sight, for not protecting Leah. His life took on a single, consuming focus: finding the creature that killed her. He read every book, every article on cryptids and unexplained phenomena. He mapped sightings, connected dots across blurry photos and shaky testimonies of the Dogman.
But as the tenth anniversary of Leah’s death approaches, Dad's obsession has grown more intense. He’s started staying up late, poring over his maps and notes, muttering to himself about patterns and cycles. He’s convinced that the dogman reappears every ten years, and this is our window of opportunity to finally hunt it down.
I’m not nearly as convinced. The whole dogman thing seems like a coping mechanism, a way for Dad to channel his guilt and grief into something tangible, something he can fight against. But I decided to tag along on this trip, partly to keep an eye on him, partly because a small part of me hopes that maybe, just maybe, we’ll find some kind of closure out there in the woods.
I finish loading the rifle and set it aside, standing up to stretch my legs. I wipe my greasy hands on an old rag, trying to get rid of the smell. The early morning light is starting to seep into the room, casting long shadows across the floor.
Dad comes out of the kitchen with two thermoses of coffee in hand. His eyes are bleary and tired.
“You ready, Ryan?” he asks, handing me a thermos, his voice rough from too many sleepless nights.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” I reply, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
We load our gear into the truck, the weight of our supplies and weapons a physical reminder of the burden we carry. The drive from Lansing across the Lower Peninsula is long and quiet, the silence between us filled with unspoken memories and unresolved grief.
—
The drive north is a blur of highway lines and the dull hum of the engine. I drift off, the landscape outside blending into a haze. In my sleep, fragments of that day with Leah replay like scattered pieces of a puzzle. I see her smile, the way she tugged at my sleeve, eager to explore. The sunlight filters through the trees in sharp, jagged streaks.
Then, the memory shifts—darker, disjointed. Leah's voice echoes, a playful laugh turning into a scream that pierces the air. The crunch of leaves underfoot as something heavy moves through the underbrush. I see a shadow, large and looming, not quite fitting the shapes of any creature I know.
Then, something darker creeps into the dream, something I’ve never allowed myself to remember clearly.
Before I can see what it is I wake up with a start as the truck jerks slightly on a rough patch of road. Dad glances over. "Bad dream?" he asks. I nod, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, the remnants of the dream clinging to me like the cold.
"Yeah, just... thinking about Leah," I manage to say.
As we drive, Dad attempts to bridge the silence with small talk. He asks about my finals, my plans for the summer, anything to keep the conversation going. His voice carries a forced cheerfulness, but it’s clear his heart isn’t in it. I respond when necessary, my answers brief, my gaze fixed on the passing scenery.
The landscape changes as we head further north, from flat expanses to rolling hills dotted with dense patches of forest. It's beautiful country, the kind that reminds you how vast and wild Michigan can be, but today it just feels oppressive, like it’s closing in on us.
—
We finally arrive at the cabin, nestled deep in the woods, its weathered wood blending seamlessly with the surrounding trees. The place hasn't changed much since the last time I was here—a relic from another time, filled with the echoes of our past. I can still see Leah running around the porch, her laughter ringing out into the forest.
Dad parks the truck, and we step out into the crisp air. The smell of pine and damp earth fills my nostrils. We start unloading our gear, the tension between us palpable.
“Let’s get this inside,” Dad says, his voice gruff as he hefts a duffel bag onto his shoulder.
I nod, grabbing my own bag and following him to the cabin. Inside, it’s a mix of old and new—the same rustic furniture, but with new hunting gear and maps strewn across the table. Dad’s obsession is evident in every corner of the room, a constant reminder of why we’re here.
As we unpack, we exchange strained attempts at normalcy. He talks about the latest cryptid sightings he’s read about, his eyes lighting up with a fervor that both worries and saddens me.
“Did you hear about the sighting up near Alpena?” he asks, laying out his maps on the table.
“Yeah, you mentioned it,” I reply, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “Do you really think there’s something to it?”
Dad’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of doubt. But it’s quickly replaced by grim determination. “I have to believe it, Ryan. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
We finish unpacking, the silence between us growing heavier with each passing minute. I step outside to clear my head, the cool air a welcome relief. The sun is starting to set, casting long shadows across the clearing. I can’t shake the feeling of unease.
"You can take the upstairs room," Dad mutters. His voice is strained, trying to sound normal, but it's clear the weight of the past is heavy on him. I nod, hauling my backpack up the creaking stairs to the small bedroom that I used to share with Leah. The room feels smaller now, or maybe I've just grown too much since those innocent days.
I unpack silently, setting my things aside. The bed is stiff and cold under my touch. As I settle in, I can't help but glance at the corner where Leah and I would huddle together, whispering secrets and making plans for adventures that would never happen. I push the thoughts away, focusing on the practicalities of unpacking.
After settling in, I go back downstairs to find Dad loading up a backpack with supplies for our hunt. The intensity in his eyes is palpable, his hands moving with practiced precision. I know this routine; it's one he's perfected over countless solo trips since that fateful day.
"We'll head out early," he says, not looking up from his task. "Gotta make the most of the daylight."
I nod, though unease curls in my stomach. I'm not just worried about what we might find—or not find—out there. I'm worried about him. Each year, the obsession seems to carve him out a bit more, leaving less of the Dad I knew.
—
The morning air is sharp with the scent of pine and wet earth as Dad and I head into the deeper parts of the forest. The terrain is rugged, familiar in its untamed beauty, but there’s a tension between us that makes the landscape feel alien. Dad moves with a purposeful stride, his eyes scanning the woods around us. Every snap of a twig, every rustle in the underbrush seems to draw his attention. He’s on edge, and it puts me on edge too.
As we walk, my mind drifts back to that day ten years ago. I can almost hear Leah’s voice echoing through the trees, her high-pitched call as she darted ahead, "Catch me, Ryan!" I remember how the sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground. Those memories are so vivid, so tangible, it feels like I could just turn a corner and see her there, waiting for us.
Dad suddenly stops and kneels, examining the ground. He points out a set of tracks that are too large for a deer, with an unusual gait pattern. "It’s been here, Ry. I’m telling you, it’s close," he whispers, a mixture of excitement and something darker in his voice. I nod, though I’m not sure what to believe. Part of me wants to dismiss it all as grief-fueled obsession, but another part, the part that heard Leah's scream and saw something monstrous in the woods that day, isn’t so sure.
As we continue, Dad's comments become increasingly cryptic. "You know, they say the dogman moves in cycles, drawn to certain places, certain times. Like it’s tied to the land itself," he muses, more to himself than to me. His fixation on the creature has always been intense, but now it borders on mania.
We set up a makeshift blind near a clearing where Dad insists the creature will pass. Hours drag by with little to see but the occasional bird or distant deer.
The sun rises higher in the sky, casting long, slender shadows through the dense canopy. I shift uncomfortably in my spot, the forest floor hard and unyielding beneath me. My eyes dart between the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of something, anything, to break the monotony. Dad, on the other hand, remains steadfast, his gaze fixed on the treeline as if he can will the dogman into existence by sheer force of will.
A bird chirps nearby, startling me. I sigh and adjust my grip on the rifle. I glance over at Dad.
“Anything?” I ask, more out of boredom than genuine curiosity.
“Not yet,” he replies, his voice tight. “But it’s out there. I know it.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I believe him. The forest seems too quiet, too still. Maybe we’re chasing ghosts.
As the sun begins its descent, the forest is bathed in a warm, golden light. The air cools, and a breeze rustles the leaves. I shiver, more from anticipation than the cold. The long hours of sitting and waiting are starting to wear on me.
“Let’s call it a day for now,” Dad says finally, his voice heavy with disappointment. “We’ll head back to the cabin, get some rest, and try again tomorrow.”
I stand and stretch, feeling the stiffness in my muscles. We pack up our gear in silence and start the trek back to the cabin. The walk is long and quiet, the only sounds are the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant calls of birds settling in for the night.
—
Dinner is a quiet affair, both of us lost in our thoughts. I try to make small talk, asking Dad about his plans for tomorrow, but it feels forced. We clean up in silence.
After dinner, I retreat to the small bedroom. The fatigue from the day's hike has settled into my bones, but sleep still feels like a distant hope. I lie down, staring at the ceiling, the room cloaked in darkness save for the sliver of moonlight creeping through the window. Downstairs, I hear the faint sound of Dad moving around, likely unable to sleep himself.
I drift into sleep, but it's not restful. My dreams pull me back to that fateful day in the woods. Leah's voice is clear and vibrant, her laughter echoing through the trees. She looks just as she did then—bright-eyed and full of life, her blonde hair catching the sunlight as she runs ahead of me.
"Come on, Ry! You can't catch me!" she taunts, her voice playful and teasing.
I chase after her, but the scene shifts abruptly. The sky darkens, the woods around us growing dense and foreboding. Leah's laughter fades, replaced by a chilling silence. I see her ahead, standing still, her back to me.
"Leah?" I call out, my voice trembling. She turns slowly, her eyes wide and filled with fear. "Ryan, you have to remember," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "It wasn't what you think. You need to know the truth."
Leah’s words hang in the air, cryptic and unsettling. Before I can respond, she turns and starts running again, her figure becoming a blur among the trees. Panic rises in my chest as I sprint after her, my feet pounding against the forest floor.
“Leah, wait!” I shout, desperation lacing my voice. The forest around me seems to close in, the trees towering and twisted, shadows dancing menacingly in the dim light. I push forward, trying to keep her in sight, but she’s too fast, slipping away like a wisp of smoke.
Suddenly, there’s a rustle, a flash of movement in the corner of my vision. Leah screams, a sound that pierces through the heavy silence. It happens too quickly—I can’t see what it is, only a dark blur that snatches her up.
“Leah!” I scream, my voice breaking. I stumble, falling to my knees as the forest spins around me. My heart races, and the terror is so real, so visceral, that it pulls me back to that awful day, the one that changed everything.
I jolt awake, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I sit up, wiping the cold sweat from my forehead as I try to steady my breathing. The room is still dark, the shadows cast by the moonlight seem to flicker and dance on the walls. My heart is still racing from the nightmare, the echo of Leah's scream lingering in my ears.
As I struggle to calm down, the floorboards outside my room creak. The door opens slowly, and I see the silhouette of my dad in the doorway, a Bowie knife in his hand, his posture tense.
“Dad, what the hell are you doing?” I whisper, my voice shaking.
“Shh,” he hisses, holding up a hand to silence me. “I heard something. Something moving around in the cabin. Stay quiet.”
I swallow hard, my mouth dry. I glance at the clock on the nightstand—it’s just past three in the morning. The cabin is silent, the kind of deep, oppressive silence that makes every small sound seem louder. I can’t hear anything out of the ordinary, but Dad’s expression is deadly serious.
He motions for me to get up, and I do, moving as quietly as I can. My heart is racing, a mix of lingering fear from the dream and the sudden, sharp anxiety of the present moment. Dad leads the way, stepping cautiously out of the bedroom and into the hallway, the knife held ready in front of him.
We move through the cabin, checking each room in turn. The living room is empty, the furniture casting long shadows in the dim moonlight. The kitchen is just as we left it, the plates from dinner still drying on the counter. Everything seems normal, untouched.
We finish our sweep of the cabin without finding anything amiss. The silence is heavy, punctuated only by our soft footfalls. I can see the tension in Dad’s frame, his grip on the knife unwavering. After checking the last room, we pause in the dimly lit hallway, the air thick with unspoken questions.
“There’s nothing here,” I say, my voice low. “Are you sure you heard something?”
He looks at me, his eyes searching for something in my face. “I heard growling. Deep and close. It was right outside the window.”
“Maybe it was just an animal outside, a raccoon or something?” I suggest, although the certainty in his voice makes me doubt my own reassurance.
“No, it wasn’t like that. It was different,” he insists, his voice tense.
I nod, not wanting to argue, but the seeds of worry are planted deep.
The look in his eyes sends a chill down my spine. It’s not just fear—it’s desperation. The kind of desperation that comes from years of chasing shadows and finding nothing. I can see the toll this hunt has taken on him, the way it’s worn him down, turned him into a man I barely recognize.
We head back to our rooms. As I lie down, my mind races with thoughts of my dad. I can’t help but wonder if he’s losing it, if the years of grief and guilt have finally pushed him over the edge.
Dad wasn’t always like this. Before Leah’s death, he was the kind of father who took us fishing, helped with homework, and told terrible jokes that made us groan and laugh at the same time. He was solid, dependable. But losing Leah changed him. The guilt twisted him into someone I barely recognize, someone driven by a need for answers, for closure, that may never come.
I try to sleep, but my thoughts keep me awake. I can hear Dad moving around downstairs, probably pacing or double-checking the locks. His paranoia has become a constant presence, and I don’t know how to help him. I don’t even know if I can help him.
—
The next morning, the sunlight filters weakly through the cabin windows, casting a pale light that does little to lift the heavy mood. I drag myself out of bed, feeling the exhaustion of another restless night. Dad is already up, hunched over his maps at the kitchen table, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
“Morning,” I mumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I pour myself a cup of coffee. “Did you sleep at all?”
He shakes his head, not looking up from his notes. “Not much. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I heard last night.”
I sip my coffee, trying to shake off the remnants of my nightmare. “Maybe it was just an animal, Dad. We’re deep in the woods, after all.”
He finally looks up, his eyes intense. “Ryan, I know what I heard. It wasn’t just an animal. It was something else.”
I sigh, not wanting to argue. “Okay, fine, Dad. What’s the plan for today?”
“We’re going back out. I found some tracks yesterday, and I want to follow them. See where they lead.”
I nod, feeling a mix of apprehension and resignation. I can see how much this means to him, how desperate he is for any kind of lead. “Alright. Let’s get packed and head out.”
We spend the morning preparing, loading up our gear and double-checking our supplies. Dad is meticulous, going over everything with a fine-toothed comb. I try to match his focus, but my mind keeps drifting back to Leah and the dream I had. Her words echo in my head, cryptic and unsettling: “You need to know the truth.”
We set off into the woods, the air crisp and cool. The forest is alive with the sounds of birds and rustling leaves, but it all feels distant, like background noise to the tension between us. Dad leads the way, his eyes scanning the ground for any sign of the tracks he found yesterday.
As we walk, I can’t help but notice how erratically he’s acting. He mutters to himself, his eyes darting around as if expecting something to jump out at us. His grip on his rifle is tight, his knuckles white.
“Dad, are you okay?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
He glances at me, his expression unreadable. “I’m fine. Just focused.”
He stops frequently to examine the ground or the bark of trees, pointing out marks and signs that seem meaningless to me.
“Look at this,” he says, crouching down to examine a broken branch. “See how it’s snapped? That’s not a deer or a bear. That’s something bigger. Stronger.”
I crouch next to Dad, squinting at the broken branch. To me, it just looks like a regular broken branch, the kind you see all over the forest. "I don't know, Dad. It just looks like a branch to me," I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.
Dad's eyes flicker with frustration. "You're not looking close enough. It's the way it's snapped—too clean, too deliberate. Something did this."
I nod, not wanting to argue. "Okay, sure. But even if you're right, it could be anything. A storm, another hunter..."
His expression hardens. "I know what I'm looking for. This is different."
I sigh, feeling the weight of the past and the tension between us pressing down on me. "Dad, I had a dream last night. About Leah." The words hang in the air between us, heavy and fraught with unspoken emotions.
Dad's eyes widen, and he straightens up, his entire demeanor shifting. "What kind of dream? What did you see?" His voice is urgent, almost desperate.
"It was... strange. We were in the woods, like we are now, but everything felt different. Leah was there, running ahead of me, laughing. Then she stopped and told me I needed to know the truth, that it wasn't what I thought."
Dad grabs my shoulders, his grip tight. "What else did she say? Did she tell you anything specific? Anything about the creature?"
I shake my head, feeling a chill run down my spine. "No, that was it. She just said I needed to know the truth, and then she was gone."
Dad’s grip on my shoulders tightens, and his eyes bore into mine with a mixture of desperation and hope. “Ryan, you have to try to remember. Think hard. What did the creature look like? Did you see anything else?”
I pull back slightly, uneasy with his intensity. “Dad, I told you. I don’t remember. It was just a dream. A nightmare, really. My mind’s probably just mixing things up.”
He lets go of me and runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated and lost. “Dreams can be important. They can hold memories we’ve buried deep. Please, try to remember. This could be a sign, a clue.”
I rub my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “I’ve tried, okay? I’ve tried for years to piece together what happened that day. But it’s all just fragments, like pieces of a puzzle that don’t fit. The dream… it felt real, but I don’t think it’s telling me anything new.”
Dad’s face falls, and he looks older than I’ve ever seen him. He turns away, staring into the forest as if it holds all the answers.
—
As we make our way back to the cabin, the sun begins to set, casting long shadows through the trees. The air grows colder, and I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter around me. Dad is silent, lost in his thoughts, his face drawn and haggard.
Back at the cabin, we unload our gear once again in silence. Dad disappears into his room, muttering something about going over his notes. I decide to explore the cabin, hoping to find something that might help me understand what’s going on with him.
In the attic, I find a box of old family photos and documents. As I sift through the contents, I come across a worn journal with Dad’s handwriting on the cover. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I open it, flipping through the pages.
The journal is filled with notes and sketches, detailing his obsession with the dogman. But there’s something else—entries that talk about Leah, about that day in the woods. His handwriting becomes more erratic, the words harder to read. One entry stands out, dated just a few days after Leah’s death:
“June 15, 2013 – It was supposed to be a normal trip. Keep them close, Frank, I kept telling myself. But I failed. Leah is gone, and it’s my fault. I heard her scream, saw the shadows. I tried to get to her, but… the thing, it was there. Too fast. Too strong. My hands… blood everywhere. No one will believe me. I can’t even believe myself. I have to find it. I have to protect Ryan. I have to make it right. God, what have I done?”
Before I can read further, the attic door creaks open, and Dad’s voice slices through the stillness.
“What are you doing up here?” His tone is sharp, almost panicked.
I turn to see him standing in the doorway, his face pale and his eyes wide with something between anger and fear. I clutch the journal to my chest, my mind racing. “I found this… I was just trying to understand…”
In an instant, he crosses the room and snatches the journal from my hands. His grip is tight, his knuckles white. “You had no right,” he growls, his voice trembling.
“Dad, I just wanted to know the truth!” I shout, frustration boiling over. “What really happened to Leah.”
His eyes flash with a mix of rage and anguish, and before I can react, he slaps me across the face. The force of it knocks me off balance, and I stumble backward, my cheek stinging.
For a moment, there’s a stunned silence. We both stand there, breathing hard, the air thick with tension.
“I’m sorry,” Dad says finally, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to… I just…” He trails off, clutching the journal to his chest like a lifeline.
I touch my cheek, feeling the heat from the slap, and take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Dad, what aren’t you telling me? What really happened that day?”
“Stay out of it, Ryan,” Dad growls, his eyes dark with anger. “You don’t know what you’re messing with.”
He turns and storms out of the attic. I’m left standing there, my cheek throbbing, my mind racing. What the fuck is going on? What really happened to Leah? And what is Dad so afraid of?
—
That night, I sleep with my rifle within arm's reach, more afraid of my dad than any dogman. The slap still burns on my cheek, and the look in his eyes—rage, fear, something darker—haunts me. I lie awake, listening to the creaks and groans of the old cabin, every sound amplified in the stillness. Eventually, exhaustion pulls me under, and I fall into a restless sleep.
The dream returns, vivid and unsettling. I'm back in the woods, chasing after Leah. Her laughter echoes through the trees, a haunting reminder of happier times. This time, though, I push myself harder, refusing to let her slip away.
"Ryan, catch me!" she calls, her voice playful.
"I'm coming, Leah!" I shout, my legs pumping, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
The forest around us is a twisted, shadowy maze, the trees seeming to close in on us. Leah's figure becomes clearer, her blonde hair catching the dim light filtering through the canopy. She stops suddenly, turning to face me, her eyes wide with fear.
"Leah, what is it?" I ask, my voice trembling.
"Look behind you," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I turn slowly, dread creeping up my spine. In the shadows, I see a figure, its form indistinct and shifting. It’s not quite animal, not quite human—something in between. The sight of it sends a jolt of terror through me, and I wake up with a start, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I’m not in my bed. The ground beneath me is cold and hard, the smell of damp earth filling my nostrils. Panic rises as I realize I’ve sleepwalked into the woods. I scramble to my feet, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The moon casts a pale glow over the surroundings, revealing what looks like a long-abandoned animal lair.
The walls are covered in giant claw marks, deep gouges in the wood and earth. The air is heavy with the scent of decay, and a chill runs through me. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.
Carefully, I start to move, my eyes scanning the ground, desperate for a familiar landmark. That's when I see them—faded scraps of fabric caught on the jagged edges of the underbrush. My steps falter, a sense of dread washing over me as I bend down to examine them. The fabric is torn, weathered by time and the elements, but unmistakably familiar. It's part of Leah's jacket—the bright pink one she wore on the day she disappeared.
As I strain to make sense of it all, a rustling sound behind me snaps my focus. My heart leaps into my throat. I spin around, my hand instinctively reaching for the rifle I don't have—because, of course, I didn't bring it in my unconscious state.
The shadowy figure that emerges from the trees is unsettlingly familiar, mirroring the menacing forms of my nightmares. But as it steps into the moonlight, I recognize the worn jacket, the weary posture. It's Dad.
"Ryan!" he calls out, his voice a mix of relief and stern concern. "I've been looking everywhere for you. What the hell are you doing out here?"
I exhale slowly, the terror ebbing away as reality sets back in. "I—I don't know, Dad. I must've sleepwalked again." My voice is shaky, my earlier dream still clinging to the edges of my consciousness.
Dad stares at me in disbelief. "You haven't sleepwalked since you were a kid, Ry. This... this isn't just a coincidence." His eyes dart around, taking in the surroundings—the eerie, claw-marked den, the unsettling quiet of the woods. "How did you even find this place?"
I shake my head, struggling to find an answer. "I don't know, Dad. I just... I woke up here." The uncertainty in my voice does nothing to ease the tension.
His eyes lock onto the tattered remains of Leah's jacket in my hands, and something inside him snaps. The color drains from his face as he stumbles a few steps backward. "This... this is where it happened," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. “This is where we found Leah."
“I thought you said you don’t remember anything from that night,” he says accusingly.
"I swear, Dad, I don't know anything about this place," I insist, my own heart pounding.
“It was you, wasn’t it? You’ve been hiding this from me.” His voice is frantic. “You... last night, the growling, it was you.” His voice rises, tinged with hysteria.
I step back, my pulse racing, feeling the chill of the night and the weight of his accusation. "Dad, I don't know what you're talking ab—”
"No!" he interrupts, his voice breaking as he points a trembling finger at me. "You knew, you always knew. It was you, Ryan. All these years, the evidence was right there, but I refused to see it. You were the dogman. You killed Leah!"
His words hit me like a physical blow, absurd and horrifying in their implications. "Dad, you're not making any sense. You're talking crazy! I was just a little kid! How could I–" I protest, my voice shaky.
He steps closer, his presence looming over me, the outline of his figure distorted by the shadows of the trees. "Think about it! It all makes sense now. You led us here, to this place, because you remember. Because you did it."
"Dad, stop it!" I shout, my heart pounding in my chest. "You're scaring me. You need help, professional help. This isn't you."
But he's beyond reason, his eyes wild with a haunted grief. "I have to end this," he mutters, more to himself than to me, his hand tightening around his rifle.
His finger hovers dangerously over the trigger of his rifle. My instincts kick in, and I know I have to act fast.
I lunge toward him, trying to knock the weapon away, but he's quicker than I expected. We struggle, our breaths heavy in the cold night air, the sounds of our scuffle the only noise in the otherwise silent woods. His strength surprises me, fueled by his frantic emotions. He shoves me back, and I stumble over a root, my balance lost for a crucial second. That's all he needs. He raises his rifle, his intentions clear in his wild, pained eyes.
I dive to the ground just as the shot rings out, a deafening blast that echoes ominously through the trees. The bullet whizzes past, narrowly missing me, embedding itself in the bark of an old pine. I scramble to my feet, my heart pounding in my ears, and I start running. The underbrush claws at my clothes and skin, but I push through, driven by a primal urge to survive.
"Dad, stop! It's me, Ryan!" I shout back as I dodge between the trees. Another shot breaks the silence, closer this time, sending splinters of wood flying from a nearby tree trunk. It's surreal, being hunted by my own father, a man tormented by grief and lost in his delusions.
I don't stop to look back. I can hear him crashing through the forest behind me, his heavy breaths and muttered curses carried on the wind. The terrain is rough, and I'm fueled by adrenaline, but exhaustion is setting in. I need a plan.
Ahead, I see a rocky outcrop and make a split-second decision to head for it. It offers a chance to hide, to catch my breath and maybe reason with him if he catches up. As I reach the rocks, I slip behind the largest one, my body pressed tight against the cold, damp surface. I hear his footsteps approaching, slow and cautious now.
As I press against the rock, trying to calm my racing heart, I can hear Dad's footsteps drawing closer, each step crunching ominously on the forest floor. He's methodical, deliberate, like a hunter stalking his prey.
“Come out, Ryan!” Dad’s voice is ragged, filled with a blend of fury and pain.
My heart pounds against my chest, the cold sweat on my back making me shiver against the rough surface of the rock. I know I can't just sit here; it's only a matter of time before he finds me.
Taking a deep breath, I peek around the edge of the rock, trying to gauge his position. I see him, rifle raised, scanning the area slowly. This might be my only chance to end this madness without further violence. I need to disarm him, to talk some sense into him if I can.
As quietly as I can, I move out from behind the rock, my steps careful to avoid any twigs or leaves that might betray my position. I'm almost upon him when a branch snaps under my foot—a sound so trivial yet so alarmingly loud in the quiet of the woods.
Dad whirls around, looking completely unhinged. "Ryan!" he exclaims, his rifle swinging in my direction. Panic overtakes me, and I lunge forward, my hands reaching for the gun.
We struggle, the rifle between us, our breaths heavy and erratic. "Dad, please, stop!" I plead, trying to wrestle the gun away. But he's strong, stronger than I expected.
In the chaos, the rifle goes off. The sound is deafening, a sharp echo that seems to reverberate off every tree around us. Pain explodes in my abdomen, sharp and burning, like nothing I've ever felt before. I stagger back, my hands instinctively going to the wound. The warmth of my own blood coats my fingers, stark and terrifying.
Dad drops the rifle, his eyes wide with horror. "Oh my God! What have I done?" he gasps, rushing to my side as I collapse onto the forest floor.
As the pain sears through me, a strange, overpowering energy surges within. It's wild, primal, unlike anything I've ever experienced. Looking down in horror, my hands are no longer hands but large, hairy, clawed appendages. The transformation is rapid, consuming—my vision blurs, senses heighten, and a raw, guttural growl builds in my throat.
In that moment, a flood of understanding washes over me, mingling with the horror of realization. These are the hands of the creature from my nightmares, the creature whose face I can never fully recall because, as I now understand, it is me.
What happens next feels detached, as if I'm no longer in control of my own actions, watching from a distance as my body moves on its own. I turn towards my dad, his face a mask of terror. He stumbles back, his eyes wide with the dawning realization of what his son has become.
The forest around us seems to fall silent, holding its breath as the nightmarish scene unfolds. I can hear my own growls, guttural and deep, filling the air with a sound that's both foreign and intimately familiar. The pain in my abdomen fuels a dark, violent urge, an urge that's too strong to resist.
With a ferocity that feels both alien and intrinsic, I move towards him. My dad, paralyzed by fear and shock, doesn't run. Maybe he can't. Maybe he doesn't want to.
The encounter 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.
submitted by PageTurner627 to scarystories [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 20:00 drupp94 Will dumpers feel remorseful over time when they acted completely unreasonable & out of person during break-up?

It’s been four weeks since the break-up, and I still can’t believe how things went wrong. She left me out of the blue and has been blaming me ever since. I admit I made mistakes and had things to work on, but she acted like I was the only one at fault, bringing up old issues we had resolved long ago.
What hurt the most was that I had no idea she felt this way. She claimed she gave me ‘signals,’ but we never had a serious conversation about it. Later, she said she didn’t bring it up, hoping things would improve on their own. That frustrated me because if she had talked to me, maybe we could’ve worked things out.
Whenever I tried to address these issues, she’d get angry. Everything I did afterward felt like she used it as proof against me. I felt completely broken and lonely when she left. I had moved to her city six months ago to be with her, knowing mostly her friends. She didn’t seem to care and didn’t check on how I was doing after the break-up. All I got was a message telling me to leave ‘her house’ (we rented it together) soon. I gave up a lot to be with her and now feel unsure about my future.
What’s done is done. We broke up; she lost feelings, maybe because I messed up. I have a new place and will move out in two weeks so we can go our separate ways. It’s harder for me to move on, because she confessed this didn’t happen overnight, and was processing things without letting me know. During our last conversation, she listed all the things she hated about me, leaving me more broken.
I don’t understand. She knows I feel guilty about my mistakes and that I sincerely apologized. Her sudden change of heart and coldness are confusing. It feels like she’s pretending to avoid guilt, knowing I’m in pain because I didn’t see it coming. Will she feel remorse over time and maybe apologize?
An apology won’t make the break-up less painful, but if she truly feels this way, I feel so hated. I can’t blame her for losing feelings, but it seems unfair that she’s treating me this way. She seems like a complete different person. I have so many questions, and since she won’t give me honest answers anymore, I’m curious about what you think.
EDIT: I'd like to know if dumpers will feel guilty or something like that if they did you wrong in ways the break up went. To be honest: I DO HOPE SO, because it feels so unfair they give your MORE PAIN, as if the b/u itself isn't hard enough. I truly hope karma exists, but maybe its more likely they truly feel good about it the rest of their lives.
submitted by drupp94 to BreakUps [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 19:59 RedWhiteBluesGuitar C0met P1ng P0ng. P1zzaG@te.

You dare not use the "P Word."
P_G draws all the looneys out; the type of crazy person that will say anything to derail the conversation; the type of hand wringing that makes it obvious there is a cover up going on.
David Seaman has alerts set up so that he is ready to respond to any P_G post within moments, to insert disinformation about James Alefantis being a Rothschild and intentionally, always, forgetting the fact that "I've never had an affair before" is the end of an email thread that describes providing three young girls for entertainment.
The P_G terrifies shills and it terrifies elites such that they spent billions trying to bury the story and make it even seem dangerous to talk about. The over-the-top suppressive response was what drew a lot of people's attention.
On Reddit, you can see the censorship at work; the most reasonable answer, awarded "Reddit Gold" is deleted.
https://i.imgur.com/teOOQPI.png
rareddit allows one to see what Reddit has deleted. In this case, we see that Reuters set of a "strawman argument" about a basement, while ignoring the real focus; the convicted pedophiles; the satanic imagery; the corruption. Reuters is a corrupt mouthpiece of the elite.
https://i.imgur.com/HZ2S8lF.png
Reuters recycled an old trope from another child sex story in Britain, "There is no basement, so there is no child abuse." The problem is that Reuters and James Alefantis lied to you. Why would they lie about a basement?
https://i.imgur.com/3Vsgpbz.jpg
Ben Swann did a 5 minute run down, which is the best introduction to the issue:
Here is the video:
https://gvid.tv/v/XzjlMh
Here is a screenshot of the opening:
https://i.imgur.com/U6oQa28.png
But notice he says, in regards to John Podesta's emails "none mention child sex trafficking".
There is literally a file called "Italy Child Sex." There is the hot tub email. Ben Swann does a pretty good job of balancing what he is and isn't allowed to say, but his summary leaves a lot to be desired.
https://i.imgur.com/o3Tyt1e.png
He does mention the "code words." "Cheese pizza" has been used as an alternative way of referring to "child porn" on the Internet, for years. 4chan even organically invented a way to deal with "cheese pizza" threads, by inserting pictures of spider man to fill the threads to limit.
"Dr. Pizza", a journalist with Ars Technica, staunchly denied Pizzagate was real, but was then caught as being a pedophile. Dojo Pizzeria was tied to an arrest. "The Pizza Connection Trial" involved using pizzerias for laundering money from drugs and human trafficking. There are plenty of red flags.
https://i.imgur.com/zBygdzo.png
Megyn Kelly did the most unjournalistic interview, possible, of James Alefantis in order to help cover up the crimes involved. She leaves out the blackmail case, Laura Silsby, the pedo musicians (Sex Stains, Majestic Ape), the satanic imagery on Alefantis' Instagram, the babies, drugs and money on Instagram, and on and on. Megyn Kelly is not just the dumbest reporter, there is, she is intentionally blind to the obvious.
https://i.imgur.com/IeLc8Rd.png
It is worth noting that Alefantis allowed a camera into the pizzeria to show a bullet hole in the computer, claiming that it went through the door first... but there is no bullet hole in the door.
https://i.imgur.com/orQNaSY.png
Megyn Kelly expresses horror, sympathy over Pizzagate in first interview with Comet Ping Pong owner
https://archive.ph/mC7q7
A fake media narrative was set up that discussing this topic was dangerous, when they staged a scene where son of an FBI agent "show up" Comet Ping Pong. A "False Flag" shooting.
https://i.imgur.com/7GN1Mzv.png
The lie was obvious. Why would a "P_G Researcher" shoot a computer that supposedly housed all the evidence?
https://i.imgur.com/qeX1oVG.jpg
Despite the suppression and spin of the story, it continued to gather steam on the Internet, resulting in entire communities being banned; tens of thousands of people blocked from viewing any content.
Before Reddit completely banned P_G subreddit, this was one of the last posts (which was deleted along with everything else.)
https://i.imgur.com/DKJkdQJ.png
Given all of the corruption and cover ups we know about, it is no surprise that P_G has been reduced to nothing more than a footnote in conspiracy forums. But, when there are new developments, thousands of people take notice, though they no longer discuss it, from fear of being banned.
The last corners of the Internet where people were allowed to discuss, were heavily shilled and monitored by SITE Intelligence Group (Mossad cut out that makes fake threat reports) and their allies, so that they could be labeled "extremists."
Even in those dark corners of the Internet, the issues were still being pushed and still causing some progress to be made; if nothing else, then they at least continued raising awareness.
https://i.imgur.com/sIjplTL.png
Project FLICKER
https://i.imgur.com/5LthZW1.png
Sodomy, bribery: The case against Terry Bean
https://archive.ph/n0UNJ
Ed Buck Sentenced to 30 Years in Federal Prison for Providing Methamphetamine to Two Victims Who Suffered Fatal Overdoses
https://archive.ph/70944
Adam Schiff and a Writer for "Lucifer"
https://i.imgur.com/oxPCj0Z.png
Adam Schiff. Ed Buck. Ted Lieu.
https://i.imgur.com/OXDXY9Q.png
P_G did not pop out of thin air. Not only was pizza already in wide use as a code word, John Podesta already had a reputation for being involved in blackmail rings.
https://i.imgur.com/s6P9uJF.png
Comet P1ng P0ng already had a reputation of documenting wild parties. Nevermind, whether or not, that could be Hillary and Huma on a ping pong table; why would there even be two women dressed to look like Hillary and Huma on a ping pong table? And why would that be recorded and then rebroadcast at Comet?
https://i.imgur.com/8FRaQAb.png
Notice the Pentagram on the Pizza, on the poster in the girl of the room who made the video of "Sex Stains" at Comet.
https://i.imgur.com/uEgcYJP.jpg
Here is her family. Draw whatever conclusions you like.
https://archive.ph/WA4lM
The research continued, but the astroturfing stuck to the same tired arguments that were now, officially, debunked.
https://i.imgur.com/pGuTcie.jpg
P_G drew so many people not because of a basement, or a specific allegation; people were drawn in because it pulled together so many issues under one umbrella, resulting in a series of cascading epiphanies that was neurologically rewarding researchers.
https://i.imgur.com/1NLY4de.png
It is now deleted, but my recollection of when P_G "broke" was on the now banned "The Donald" subreddit, when, along with the realization that John Podesta and James Alefantis were connected in a number of ways (David Brock even claimed they were dating in a video interview), the "FBIAnon" post about Hillary Clinton being involved in human trafficking, the connection with Marina Abramovic and "Spirit Cooking", and the "Edible Schoolyard"... the question emerged organically...
https://i.imgur.com/j1vhVmI.png
"Are these people joking about eating kids?"
https://i.imgur.com/udXqU5T.png
This is what the media and government was really trying to hide. Whether it was true or not, people asking the question is enough to destroy nearly every single career politician, CEO and news outlet that helped cover it up; as well it should.
https://i.imgur.com/BjVwBKr.png
All of the other corruption is bad enough, but these people are practically bragging about it on social media.
https://i.imgur.com/EXBPYZa.png
In The Secret Teachings of All Ages, we are introduced to a number of ancient rituals that date back prior to the written word. One of these rituals was to be buried alive. One might say a sensory deprivation tank is the modern version, but we keep seeing child sized coffins in the social media of this group of people.
https://i.imgur.com/xHh29a7.png
"Marina" was who Hillary Clinton was printing classified material for. Here is Marina Abramovic with John of God.
https://i.imgur.com/Q3L7A0r.png
Marina with boy.
https://i.imgur.com/7PFEISA.png
Marina with girl.
https://i.imgur.com/Mu0mhYr.png
People have every right to question what is going on with these images.
https://i.imgur.com/uzRNGCj.png
Note: Tamara Luzzatto is not actually their grandmother. But, she is in Sydney Blumenthal’s contacts, along with half of DC. The other half? Have her husband in their contact list.
https://i.imgur.com/HiVEmyI.png
Marina Abramovic, Marco Brambilla, Jeff Dupre
https://i.imgur.com/utVX6tg.png
Marina's "Art".
https://i.imgur.com/CqRsMDZ.png
More "Art".
https://i.imgur.com/EGq6cag.png
A cannibalism reference?
https://i.imgur.com/7tcDgUE.png
Marina and Rothschild.
https://i.imgur.com/jvZ7XTW.png
Marina and Dr. Oz?
https://i.imgur.com/aFM9ayl.png
Similar to the Finders ritual?
https://i.imgur.com/PpSmLBH.png
Many of the researchers on the Internet were correct and their research was borne out with the arrest of Epstein, Maxwell, Nygard, Brunel and others.
Bill Clinton denied, but he lied.
https://i.imgur.com/i2uInFa.jpg
Nobody was yet talking about Maxwell and Epstein stealing babies.
https://i.imgur.com/hJP7I5W.png
The Finders files were not yet public in October of 2016.
This story, though guessed at by P_G researchers, was also borne out.
Secret CIA Files Say Staffers Committed Sex Crimes Involving Children
https://archive.ph/L6C9F
CNN Producers were not yet arrested for trying to build their own sex slave networks.
https://archive.ph/3n11T
Another former CNN producer under investigation for child sex crimes
https://archive.ph/c13rY
Comey had not been exposed, yet, in October of 2016, of ordering a cover up of P_G. The IG report with emails from Comey's personal account had not been released, yet.
"A Serious Woman*
https://i.imgur.com/x9sj7cB.png
Coleman Notes:
https://i.imgur.com/KNwKJRT.png
The Anthony Weiner Laptop:
https://i.imgur.com/AyvYFUf.png
Brett Blomme, a juvenile court judge, had not yet been arrested, where he and his husband were sexually abusing their adopted children and uploading the recordings of it to Kik, gave out kids, using the legal system, to his pedo friends.
https://i.imgur.com/fzO0K70.png
Adam Schiff and Ed Buck are both into young black men.
https://i.imgur.com/oxPCj0Z.png Epstein Didn't Kill Himself. But, someone went to a lot of trouble making a fake video to try and convince us he did.
https://i.imgur.com/1aK08wN.png
All of the evidence disappeared.
https://i.imgur.com/b661F86.jpg
"Minimum Security" Maxwell's Customers Are Still Free.
https://i.imgur.com/NokPzFZ.png
A Mossad blackmail ring was, more or less, operating out in the open and anyone who complained about it was treated like they were crazy. This went on for decades, and, then, it turns out everyone who was complaining was, not only right, but that it was worse than anyone was willing to let on.
https://i.imgur.com/Fr11sR5.jpg
Former Israeli Intel Official Claims Jeffrey Epstein, Ghislaine Maxwell Worked for Israel
https://archive.ph/Sja88
Former Spy Details Israel’s Main Motive Behind Epstein’s Sexual Blackmail Operation
https://archive.ph/IeBgO
Epstein's blackmail ring was never the only game in town.
Jean-Luc Brunel: Epstein associate found dead in Paris prison cell
https://archive.ph/2R41A
Fashion Mogul Set to Face Sex-Trafficking Charges in U.S.
https://archive.ph/nMs3v
This all happened AFTER Reuters insisted that P_G was fake.
Even prior to October of 2016, there was already a great deal of public information that should have been very concerning. There was plenty of reason to have legitimate concerns about Comet P1ng P0ng when some weird information started to come out.
Before Comet P1ng P0ng made the spotlight, most people were not aware of information that was already available.
Jeffrey Epstein was accused of sex trafficking young girls on his mysterious private island. Over 40 years ago, a different millionaire escaped justice in a stunningly similar case.
https://archive.ph/8ivRh
Ghislaine Maxwell's father was an Israeli spy and she almost certainly inherited his blackmail operation. Robert Maxwell was also involved in text books for the US educational system.
*The “Anti-Extremism” Think Tank Started by Sons of Israeli Superspy Robert Maxwell *
https://archive.ph/lCvQ6
Mega Group, Maxwells and Mossad: The Spy Story at the Heart of the Jeffrey Epstein Scandal
https://archive.ph/A6dsG
Roy Cohn was another blackmail ring operator and mentor of Donald Trump.
https://i.imgur.com/Pnly1CT.png
The Hellfire Club
https://archive.ph/LrXni
When James Jameson Bought A Girl Just To Watch Her Be Eaten By Cannibals
https://archive.ph/3YT1d
You will be cooked into a kebap if you are too uppity about it and the police will do nothing.
https://i.imgur.com/X7kdBG4.png
Clinton's faith healer, Oprah's friend, John of God, with a baby farm and in jail for sexually abusing hundreds of women. The Chicago Ripper Crew. The Franklin Scandal. UN Child Sex Abuse. None of this stuff is new.
https://i.imgur.com/cvkO8Ix.jpg
DynCorp
https://i.imgur.com/cMndyxc.png
Bacha Bazi
https://i.imgur.com/gaNSXaH.png
Cover Ups.
https://i.imgur.com/a1fAvlo.png
More cover ups.
https://i.imgur.com/fSir93g.png
And more cover ups.
https://i.imgur.com/hlV5aAe.png
And more cover ups.
https://i.imgur.com/FyzLh0e.png
And more cover ups.
https://archive.ph/sAu38
How many pedophiles are the Clintons tied to? I've lost count.
https://i.imgur.com/dcXvCNm.jpg
James Alefantis and David Brock
https://i.imgur.com/sxTSS5p.png
Lawsuit of David Brock and James Alefantis
https://i.imgur.com/lHFkcNy.png
Media Matters for America
https://i.imgur.com/oxE9aPs.png
Exclusive Access to money laundering through art.
https://i.imgur.com/Gl1ds8y.png
Friends with Police
https://i.imgur.com/aYc1Xuq.png
Heather Podesta on the Board.
https://i.imgur.com/y01Onag.png
But P_G was more than just about research into what was going on politically, or into James Alefantis obvious satanic proclivities and his obvious attraction to children. What was revealed was a dark nexus of media, politics and these weirdo cultists.
There was a widespread epiphany of a great many people that this degeneracy was being intentionally pushed by people who were occultists and wanted everyone else wrapped up in their dark religion. And when we said, "No", they collectively lost their minds.
It should also being concerning that Kamala Harris was tied to Comet, as well, and, seemingly, a top choice for John Podesta to run for office. Considering her ties to fake police...
https://i.imgur.com/vgai2ns.png
In Your Own Homes It is becoming increasingly more difficult to resist these forces from coming into your own home; particularly if you have children.
The pedophiles reading to kids in drag is nothing new to anyone.
Drag Queen Story Hour
https://i.imgur.com/1vg4oCF.png
Alberto Garza
https://i.imgur.com/HjE2JQg.png
William Dees
https://i.imgur.com/7MPhRV0.png
Sasha Sota
https://i.imgur.com/VgQZW8n.png
The bottom line is that the media, the disgusting shills on the Internet, the FBI and many other groups are involved in covering up these crimes because their political agendas demand it.
https://i.redd.it/odn6da1goud91.png
https://i.redd.it/kkqtau7vzec91.png
https://i.redd.it/wna38dwq9mb91.jpg
https://i.redd.it/vhtxtx5p53h91.png
https://i.redd.it/66q2o2axzya91.png
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https://i.redd.it/4odftufizya91.png
https://i.redd.it/evleoe2uo6b91.jpg
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https://i.redd.it/tsu5kl1h3cb91.png
https://i.redd.it/zsrbvlo2e2b91.png
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https://i.redd.it/2xooybv1mxb91.png
https://i.redd.it/doxt15ibkxb91.png
https://i.redd.it/285eue79zfb91.png
https://i.redd.it/3zvz15n4zfb91.png
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https://i.redd.it/03lmdltuc0b91.png
https://i.redd.it/0pwf7fa9pxb91.png
https://i.redd.it/cik0p525pza91.png
submitted by RedWhiteBluesGuitar to conspiracy [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 19:58 TheRomb The Climb PCVR - odd resolution?

My apologies if this is not the correct place to post this question. I love the Climb on my Q2, but after recently learning it was a cross buy title I decided to try it via PCVR to see how much better the graphics would be. I'm BLOWN AWAY by the visuals, so many more little details that make it feel more immersive and real (solar flares, more environment that you can interact with, bugs, birds, reflections, plants, etc). However the graphics seem oddly pixelated, as if parts of the game are low resolution and being scaled up. I noticed that on my PC display, the game is the full height however the width is squished and letterboxed. Odd, but I'm not sure if that makes a difference since it doesn't look that way on the headset. Yet, its odd that the graphics seem pixelated. I went digging in the game settings to see if there's a resolution setting or something, and found a slider under graphics. It is defaulted to 1.0x, but it lets me slide it all the way up to 2x. I tried doing that, and now the game graphics look crystal clear and sharp! However I'm getting a lot of skipped frames. I don't usually get any. My computer isn't so bad, Ryzen 7 5000 series, RTX3070, 32GB Ram etc, I've tried other PCVR titles since then, like Vader Immortal which looked sharp and didn't skip any frames. Why would The Climb? It makes me wonder if there's something strange that's making the game render in a narrow resolution and then stretched out, and my "oversampling" at 2x detail is fixing that, however at the cost of more computer power (which stutters the game)? Does anyone know why this might be? Is that just how it is playing The Climb on my hardware, or is something wrong? Does it render like that by default for everyone?
submitted by TheRomb to OculusQuest [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 19:53 mateusmr Tutorial - How to "fix" the mods menu permakick / mods disabling themselves

Thanks to u/danielle_blume for this lifesaver of a tip! I hope it is a sticky somewhere.
So, have you been permanently booted out of the mods menu with no means to get back in, and to add insult to injury, the game disabled your entire mod list? Thinking about clearing your reserved space and finding a new hobby like bird watching? Do not panic!
The first time this happened to me I was fuming out of my ears, but Dani figured how to get around this.
Step 1: Set up a new user on xbox with another email (yeah, total bummer).
Step 2: Open fallout 4 on your xbox with your new user. You'll find out your're now able to enter the mods menu. Reenable your entire load order, mod by mod, and exit the game.
Step 3: Log out of your new user and into your original user. Load your last saved game and enjoy!
I honestly dont know if it would be advisable to use your secondary account to download and delete mods. We dont know what triggers this error and you would be putting your secondary user at risk of triggering it as well. I reccomend finding out what your definitive load order is and stick with it before this problem surfaces.
submitted by mateusmr to Fallout4ModsXB1 [link] [comments]

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