Sudden chills |

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.

This will be a long one as I'm still incredible confused as to what I should do.
I'm (24F) 5 months into my first serious relationship with my partner (30M) and I've noticed a pattern that's really hurting my feelings and making me doubt my future plans with him. My boyfriend works as a Chef and are very rarely home earlier than 11pm each workday. I am well aware that working in a kitchen means having long days (I met him when I was a waitress) and I accept the amount of hours he have to put into it, I knew what I was walking into, when it comes to his Job, he also knows that, as we have talked about it (hes getting a promotion in fall so then i will see him even less and theres a high probability i will have to move across the country or to a different country next summer for my education). I also knew that my boyfriend have a long time friend which I would have to accept like a package deal if I wanted a relationship with him, I just had no idea it would be as extreme as it is. His friend (lets call him Joe 28M) is the type of person that takes rejections personal, has barely any situational awareness and doesn't understand the need for privacy in a relationship. He's used to being in a relationship himself, however as I'm my boyfriends first partner in 11years, Joe have never seen my boyfriend in a relationship before and are used to being prioritized after work. Joe and his girlfriend broke up 4 months ago, and he have moved into the city where both my boyfriend and I live separately. He now lives 7min walking distance from my boyfriend, so there's plenty of opportunities for them to see each other when I'm not around. Now we get to the part that's bothering me. A month ago I was at my boyfriends place for a week, every single day he got home from work at around 10:30-11:30pm, he gave me a quick hug and kisses and then asked if it was okay if he went down to Joe's. In the beginning it didn't bother me as I believe friendships are still important even if you're dating someone so I said it was okay. Where I messed up was when he asked me the third day in a row and I let him go even when I could feel it hurt me, I was just so scared to be seen as the villian as I wish Joe will see me as a good partner for my boyfriend. During the forth day my period is hitting me hard and my hormones and cravings are all over the place. I ask him if he could bring some snacks home and he is kind enough to do it. I greet him at the door like usual, more excited as my cravings can be fulfilled and because I was looking forward to spend time with him. He then asks if it's okay if he goes out drinking with Joe and a friend. He literally watches my excitement disappear and tears welling up as he waits for an answer (he comments on it). He mentions that when he got the message from Joe that he knew I would be disappointed (I still don't understand why he didn't just decline the invitation and stay home if he knew that) because there was a third party involved this time, I again couldn't make myself say no to him even though my heart was hurting. Through all these days not once was he home before 3am, the last day he was home at 4:45am. The fifth day (his off day and mine) was reserved for me and had been for 2 weeks. I went to school at 9am to practice for my exam and were there for way longer than usual because I was hurt and trying to control my emotions before returning to him. I also secretly wished that he would wake up and ask where I was, but that didn't happen as he was still asleep when I returned at 2pm. He woke up and asked me if I was mad, I sad no but that I was irritated and hurt. We tried to talk it out but he got defensive even though I admitted I messed up by not saying no when he asked. I asked if i should just leave and decided to go home after asking multiple times with no productive response from him, I felt we needed time apart to cool down and think things through. I contacted him in the afternoon to apologize for my reaction to the situation however I also said that I wouldn't apologize for my words as I meant what I said to him. I first got a text from him 4 days later, after I had contacted him again the day before to find a day we could talk things through and fix things. The day after his text we talk and promises each other that I will do my utmost best to say no when I can feel I need to, and he will priorities spending time with me when I'm at his apartment.
Fast forward to this week, it happened again. I'm the type to always ask permission to sleep over as it's not my home, my boyfriend said there was no need to as he always expects me to sleepover. Friday the 10th we were out shopping when his mom calls (so we could finally meet each other) and they start planning after his schedule without even considering if I have other plans, luckily enough they chose Monday instead of Friday the 17th. The day after the shopping trip Joe was hospitalized for appendicitis and needed a ride home and wasn't allowed to be alone for the first 24 hours. He also needed his medicine through a needle for 7 days which he needed someone else to do to him as he couldnt make himself, that's fair enough.. My boyfriend had to sleep at Joe's and that was the right thing to do as it was an emergency, I also expected him to sleep over the second day as I take no chances when it comes to people's health. Third day My boyfriend and I are meeting his mom so Joe have to find another to poke him, he found someone with experience to do it. Tuesday he contacts me to give him his medicine as my boyfriend is working and he doesn't trust the two friends at his apartment to do it. Alright I go and do it, we end up talking about my boyfriend and i mention that i want a a little alone time with the man i love...his response "We can do things together, thats what we did when I was in a relationship" apparently he didnt understand me and i didnt want to start an argument when his 2 friends was still there...my boyfriend joins us later and we go home at around 1am. Wednesday my Boyfriend goes to give the medicine after work, that's okay but he is first home at 3am. Thursday I join them as I'm tired of not having time with my boyfriend. Joe gets the medicine and suddenly have this idea that he and my boyfriend needs to drive out of city to visit a friend and deliver some things in the middle of the night and it can't wait (Joe aren't allowed to drive when his medicated). When we get to the car I ask if it's something that will take a long time as I'm contemplating joining them or going to my boyfriends place, Boyfriend says it's probably best I just go home to his. Again he's first home around 3am as both he and Joe fell asleep at Joe's.... Friday the 17th, Boyfriend finally has a day off and so do I, we have plans to have dinner with my mom in the evening which he agreed to 3 days prior. There's no food in the fridge so he goes grocery shopping, when he comes back Joe is with him, I didn't even get a warning so I could decide if I wanted to be there or not, I get that it's his apartment however I find it disrespectful that I don't even get a text or something. Boyfriend makes the food and while we eat he suddenly invites Joe to a concert where chill and romantic music gets played, which he also invited me to months prior, like a date...Joe suddenly asks when we think we will be home from my mom's (mind you I have told my boyfriend two times both this day and Thursday, that Joe needs to find another to poke him that day) I answer and say I don't know the earliest will probably be 10pm. My boyfriend answers and says " Oh no problem! If it's 10pm we have plenty of time to get home so I can do it, you make it sound like we will be there late."....like..I don't...seriously?! I feel like he doesn't want to priorities our relationship. When we're done eating I do the dishes as he made the food and they just leave, I finish up and go to a friend's as I am incredible hurt and needs someone to listen to as I'm again in the midst of my period and don't know if I'm being irrational or if I need to be concerned. I told my boyfriend that we leave at 5pm at the latest, he calls me at 4:15 to hear where I am, I tell him and he says that he expected me to be home when he got there. I of course seem off when I get to his place and he asks me if we need to talk. I simply reply that it's not a conversation we should take today. Whole car ride is silent, when we get to my mom's, everything seems fine and we are acting lovingly towards each other as we don't wan't to worry my family. At 11:20pm on the way home he asks if I wanna talk about it now, I again decline and tells him that it's not a conversation I wanna have while I'm on my period as my hormones are all over the place, I'm sensitive and take things personal and that -in my opinion- doesn't make a good fundamental platform to have a productive conversation. He continuesly asks and I give him the same answer again and again even telling him that I need time to think things through as I want to make sure I'm not being irrational. I pack my bags when we get to his (I'm visiting my dad so I need the stuff) and he drives me home. When we're in front of my door he gives me a lecture about how communication is important and if I won't tell him what's bothering me our relationship won't last, he even said that he thinks my friends have said something to make me like this, I told him I needed to see them and he said "thats okay, I'm with Joe"...I know that's the problem, we never just have time for ourselves....I was SO close to giving him a passive aggressive answer however I also know that won't help the situation.
The fact that both Joe and my boyfriend are together every day for hours on end when they are well aware that I'm home alone in my boyfriend's apartment, I find incredible disrespectful towards me and my free time. If I wanted to be alone I would be in my own apartment, I told him that when when we had or first argument a month ago. I feel like I'm being taken for granted, the fact that he just expects me to be at his place whenever he decides to be there, or makes plans without consulting me - especially if I'm involved in the plans- are disrespectful and unkind. He often tells me that he loves me and I'm sure he does...just not the way I need him to. I need quality time just him and I, no friends, no family just us for my love tank to be refilled..I've had none of that during this week I even told him that I needed more love and attention because of my period and its like he didn't listen and take it seriously. Yes he takes me out to dinner and makes homemade food, I appreciate it and to help him out I sometimes cleans his apartment and does the laundry as he barely have any off days to do it. However I find it hard to appreciate when we're eating out as Joe is often thirdwheeling...I've even asked my boyfriend what I need to do to make him feel appreciated and loved as I've told him my love language but I don't know his, I didn't really get an answer.. All the frustrations about this week I will talk to him about this Tuesday, if he can't be with me physically for a week I need him to at least write me each 48 hours as I'm tired of always being the one initiating conversations. I of course will also set boundaries and tell him how much quality time I need to feel loved and safe. If this is how things are gonna go every time I'm at his for a week or more, I don't feel comfortable by the thought of moving in together, we've talked about marriage and kids for the future but if these weeks are any indication for how it will be like living with him, it won't happen...I love him, I truly do and thats why this situation hurt me so much, thats why i try so hard to make him feel loved and to fix things...but I also have too much self respect to accept this behavior from him and his friend. If he don't want to priorities our relationship after his Job, we won't have a healthy relationship where both parties are happy. We both have traumas from past relationships and parents, which of course doesn't make things easier, however in my opinion it is no excuse to neglect each other's needs.
I'm sorry for the rambling, and I appreciate if you've read this far. I could use an outside perspective on our situation as friends and family often times have a biased opinion.
Thanks for reading
TLDR I feel underappriciated in my relationship and wonder if I'm asking for too much from him

This will be a long one as I'm still incredible confused as to what I should do.
I'm (24F) 5 months into my first serious relationship with my partner (30M) and I've noticed a pattern that's really hurting my feelings and making me doubt my future plans with him. My boyfriend works as a Chef and are very rarely home earlier than 11pm each workday. I am well aware that working in a kitchen means having long days (I met him when I was a waitress) and I accept the amount of hours he have to put into it, I knew what I was walking into, when it comes to his Job, he also knows that, as we have talked about it (hes getting a promotion in fall so then i will see him even less and theres a high probability i will have to move across the country or to a different country next summer for my education). I also knew that my boyfriend have a long time friend which I would have to accept like a package deal if I wanted a relationship with him, I just had no idea it would be as extreme as it is. His friend (lets call him Joe 28M) is the type of person that takes rejections personal, has barely any situational awareness and doesn't understand the need for privacy in a relationship. He's used to being in a relationship himself, however as I'm my boyfriends first partner in 11years, Joe have never seen my boyfriend in a relationship before and are used to being prioritized after work. Joe and his girlfriend broke up 4 months ago, and he have moved into the city where both my boyfriend and I live separately. He now lives 7min walking distance from my boyfriend, so there's plenty of opportunities for them to see each other when I'm not around. Now we get to the part that's bothering me. A month ago I was at my boyfriends place for a week, every single day he got home from work at around 10:30-11:30pm, he gave me a quick hug and kisses and then asked if it was okay if he went down to Joe's. In the beginning it didn't bother me as I believe friendships are still important even if you're dating someone so I said it was okay. Where I messed up was when he asked me the third day in a row and I let him go even when I could feel it hurt me, I was just so scared to be seen as the villian as I wish Joe will see me as a good partner for my boyfriend. During the forth day my period is hitting me hard and my hormones and cravings are all over the place. I ask him if he could bring some snacks home and he is kind enough to do it. I greet him at the door like usual, more excited as my cravings can be fulfilled and because I was looking forward to spend time with him. He then asks if it's okay if he goes out drinking with Joe and a friend. He literally watches my excitement disappear and tears welling up as he waits for an answer (he comments on it). He mentions that when he got the message from Joe that he knew I would be disappointed (I still don't understand why he didn't just decline the invitation and stay home if he knew that) because there was a third party involved this time, I again couldn't make myself say no to him even though my heart was hurting. Through all these days not once was he home before 3am, the last day he was home at 4:45am. The fifth day (his off day and mine) was reserved for me and had been for 2 weeks. I went to school at 9am to practice for my exam and were there for way longer than usual because I was hurt and trying to control my emotions before returning to him. I also secretly wished that he would wake up and ask where I was, but that didn't happen as he was still asleep when I returned at 2pm. He woke up and asked me if I was mad, I sad no but that I was irritated and hurt. We tried to talk it out but he got defensive even though I admitted I messed up by not saying no when he asked. I asked if i should just leave and decided to go home after asking multiple times with no productive response from him, I felt we needed time apart to cool down and think things through. I contacted him in the afternoon to apologize for my reaction to the situation however I also said that I wouldn't apologize for my words as I meant what I said to him. I first got a text from him 4 days later, after I had contacted him again the day before to find a day we could talk things through and fix things. The day after his text we talk and promises each other that I will do my utmost best to say no when I can feel I need to, and he will priorities spending time with me when I'm at his apartment.
Fast forward to this week, it happened again. I'm the type to always ask permission to sleep over as it's not my home, my boyfriend said there was no need to as he always expects me to sleepover. Friday the 10th we were out shopping when his mom calls (so we could finally meet each other) and they start planning after his schedule without even considering if I have other plans, luckily enough they chose Monday instead of Friday the 17th. The day after the shopping trip Joe was hospitalized for appendicitis and needed a ride home and wasn't allowed to be alone for the first 24 hours. He also needed his medicine through a needle for 7 days which he needed someone else to do to him as he couldnt make himself, that's fair enough.. My boyfriend had to sleep at Joe's and that was the right thing to do as it was an emergency, I also expected him to sleep over the second day as I take no chances when it comes to people's health. Third day My boyfriend and I are meeting his mom so Joe have to find another to poke him, he found someone with experience to do it. Tuesday he contacts me to give him his medicine as my boyfriend is working and he doesn't trust the two friends at his apartment to do it. Alright I go and do it, we end up talking about my boyfriend and i mention that i want a a little alone time with the man i love...his response "We can do things together, thats what we did when I was in a relationship" apparently he didnt understand me and i didnt want to start an argument when his 2 friends was still there...my boyfriend joins us later and we go home at around 1am. Wednesday my Boyfriend goes to give the medicine after work, that's okay but he is first home at 3am. Thursday I join them as I'm tired of not having time with my boyfriend. Joe gets the medicine and suddenly have this idea that he and my boyfriend needs to drive out of city to visit a friend and deliver some things in the middle of the night and it can't wait (Joe aren't allowed to drive when his medicated). When we get to the car I ask if it's something that will take a long time as I'm contemplating joining them or going to my boyfriends place, Boyfriend says it's probably best I just go home to his. Again he's first home around 3am as both he and Joe fell asleep at Joe's.... Friday the 17th, Boyfriend finally has a day off and so do I, we have plans to have dinner with my mom in the evening which he agreed to 3 days prior. There's no food in the fridge so he goes grocery shopping, when he comes back Joe is with him, I didn't even get a warning so I could decide if I wanted to be there or not, I get that it's his apartment however I find it disrespectful that I don't even get a text or something. Boyfriend makes the food and while we eat he suddenly invites Joe to a concert where chill and romantic music gets played, which he also invited me to months prior, like a date...Joe suddenly asks when we think we will be home from my mom's (mind you I have told my boyfriend two times both this day and Thursday, that Joe needs to find another to poke him that day) I answer and say I don't know the earliest will probably be 10pm. My boyfriend answers and says " Oh no problem! If it's 10pm we have plenty of time to get home so I can do it, you make it sound like we will be there late."....like..I don't...seriously?! I feel like he doesn't want to priorities our relationship. When we're done eating I do the dishes as he made the food and they just leave, I finish up and go to a friend's as I am incredible hurt and needs someone to listen to as I'm again in the midst of my period and don't know if I'm being irrational or if I need to be concerned. I told my boyfriend that we leave at 5pm at the latest, he calls me at 4:15 to hear where I am, I tell him and he says that he expected me to be home when he got there. I of course seem off when I get to his place and he asks me if we need to talk. I simply reply that it's not a conversation we should take today. Whole car ride is silent, when we get to my mom's, everything seems fine and we are acting lovingly towards each other as we don't wan't to worry my family. At 11:20pm on the way home he asks if I wanna talk about it now, I again decline and tells him that it's not a conversation I wanna have while I'm on my period as my hormones are all over the place, I'm sensitive and take things personal and that -in my opinion- doesn't make a good fundamental platform to have a productive conversation. He continuesly asks and I give him the same answer again and again even telling him that I need time to think things through as I want to make sure I'm not being irrational. I pack my bags when we get to his (I'm visiting my dad so I need the stuff) and he drives me home. When we're in front of my door he gives me a lecture about how communication is important and if I won't tell him what's bothering me our relationship won't last, he even said that he thinks my friends have said something to make me like this, I told him I needed to see them and he said "thats okay, I'm with Joe"...I know that's the problem, we never just have time for ourselves....I was SO close to giving him a passive aggressive answer however I also know that won't help the situation.
The fact that both Joe and my boyfriend are together every day for hours on end when they are well aware that I'm home alone in my boyfriend's apartment, I find incredible disrespectful towards me and my free time. If I wanted to be alone I would be in my own apartment, I told him that when when we had or first argument a month ago. I feel like I'm being taken for granted, the fact that he just expects me to be at his place whenever he decides to be there, or makes plans without consulting me - especially if I'm involved in the plans- are disrespectful and unkind. He often tells me that he loves me and I'm sure he does...just not the way I need him to. I need quality time just him and I, no friends, no family just us for my love tank to be refilled..I've had none of that during this week I even told him that I needed more love and attention because of my period and its like he didn't listen and take it seriously. Yes he takes me out to dinner and makes homemade food, I appreciate it and to help him out I sometimes cleans his apartment and does the laundry as he barely have any off days to do it. However I find it hard to appreciate when we're eating out as Joe is often thirdwheeling...I've even asked my boyfriend what I need to do to make him feel appreciated and loved as I've told him my love language but I don't know his, I didn't really get an answer.. All the frustrations about this week I will talk to him about this Tuesday, if he can't be with me physically for a week I need him to at least write me each 48 hours as I'm tired of always being the one initiating conversations. I of course will also set boundaries and tell him how much quality time I need to feel loved and safe. If this is how things are gonna go every time I'm at his for a week or more, I don't feel comfortable by the thought of moving in together, we've talked about marriage and kids for the future but if these weeks are any indication for how it will be like living with him, it won't happen...I love him, I truly do and thats why this situation hurt me so much, thats why i try so hard to make him feel loved and to fix things...but I also have too much self respect to accept this behavior from him and his friend. If he don't want to priorities our relationship after his Job, we won't have a healthy relationship where both parties are happy. We both have traumas from past relationships and parents, which of course doesn't make things easier, however in my opinion it is no excuse to neglect each other's needs.
I'm sorry for the rambling, and I appreciate if you've read this far. I could use an outside perspective on our situation as friends and family often times have a biased opinion.
Thanks for reading
TLDR I feel underappriciated in my relationship and wonder if I'm asking for too much

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.

A PREFACE: This is an essay written by former commissioner of Major League Baseball, A. Bartlett Giamatti, and it is something I always read following the conclusion of one of my team’s (across various sports) seasons, and I’d like to introduce it to all of you, in hopes that some of you may pick up this tradition for yourselves.
I find it’s a good way for me to appreciate and reflect on the experience of following a team over an entire season and beyond, and more broadly to examine why, despite the inherent futility in wrapping up so much of our emotional well-being in something we ultimately can’t control, we do precisely that anyway.
I will post the essay in its entirety here. Even though it was originally written about baseball, I believe the underlying themes can apply to any sport. Since it is a bit lengthy, I’ve highlighted the three most important and universally-applicable paragraphs. Despite this, I encourage you all to read the whole thing. Even if not for its own sake, at least do it in order to properly give those three paragraphs their intended rhetorical and emotional weight.
Without further ado…
"The Green Fields of the Mind”
”It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in the spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone. You count on it, rely on it to buffer the passage of time, to keep the memory of sunshine and high skies alive, and then just when the days are all twilight, when you need it most, it stops. Today, October 2, a Sunday of rain and broken branches and leaf-clogged drains and slick streets, it stopped, and summer was gone.
“Somehow, the summer seemed to slip by faster this time. Maybe it wasn't this summer, but all the summers that, in this my fortieth summer, slipped by so fast. There comes a time when every summer will have something of autumn about it. Whatever the reason, it seemed to me that I was investing more and more in baseball, making the game do more of the work that keeps time fat and slow and lazy. I was counting on the game's deep patterns, three strikes, three outs, three times three innings, and its deepest impulse, to go out and back, to leave and to return home, to set the order of the day and to organize the daylight. I wrote a few things this last summer, this summer that did not last, nothing grand but some things, and yet that work was just camouflage. The real activity was done with the radio--not the all-seeing, all-falsifying television--and was the playing of the game in the only place it will last, the enclosed green field of the mind. There, in that warm, bright place, what the old poet called Mutability does not so quickly come.”
“But out here, on Sunday, October 2, where it rains all day, Dame Mutability never loses. She was in the crowd at Fenway yesterday, a gray day full of bluster and contradiction, when the Red Sox came up in the last of the ninth trailing Baltimore 8-5, while the Yankees, rain-delayed against Detroit, only needing to win one or have Boston lose one to win it all, sat in New York washing down cold cuts with beer and watching the Boston game. Boston had won two, the Yankees had lost two, and suddenly it seemed as if the whole season might go to the last day, or beyond, except here was Boston losing 8-5, while New York sat in its family room and put its feet up. Lynn, both ankles hurting now as they had in July, hits a single down the right-field line. The crowd stirs. It is on its feet. Hobson, third baseman, former Bear Bryant quarterback, strong, quiet, over 100 RBIs, goes for three breaking balls and is out. The goddess smiles and encourages her agent, a canny journeyman named Nelson Briles.
“Now comes a pinch hitter, Bernie Carbo, onetime Rookie of the Year, erratic, quick, a shade too handsome, so laid-back he is always, in his soul, stretched out in the tall grass, one arm under his head, watching the clouds and laughing; now he looks over some low stuff unworthy of him and then, uncoiling, sends one out, straight on a rising line, over the center-field wall, no cheap Fenway shot, but all of it, the physics as elegant as the arc the ball describes.
“New England is on its feet, roaring. The summer will not pass. Roaring, they recall the evening, late and cold, in 1975, the sixth game of the World Series, perhaps the greatest baseball game played in the last fifty years, when Carbo, loose and easy, had uncoiled to tie the game that Fisk would win. It is 8-7, one out, and school will never start, rain will never come, sun will warm the back of your neck forever. Now Bailey, picked up from the National League recently, big arms, heavy gut, experienced, new to the league and the club; he fouls off two and then, checking, tentative, a big man off balance, he pops a soft liner to the first baseman. It is suddenly darker and later, and the announcer doing the game coast to coast, a New Yorker who works for a New York television station, sounds relieved. His little world, well-lit, hot-combed, split-second-timed, had no capacity to absorb this much gritty, grainy, contrary reality.
“Cox swings a bat, stretches his long arms, bends his back, the rookie from Pawtucket who broke in two weeks earlier with a record six straight hits, the kid drafted ahead of Fred Lynn, rangy, smooth, cool. The count runs two and two, Briles is cagey, nothing too good, and Cox swings, the ball beginning toward the mound and then, in a jaunty, wayward dance, skipping past Briles, feinting to the right, skimming the last of the grass, finding the dirt, moving now like some small, purposeful marine creature negotiating the green deep, easily avoiding the jagged rock of second base, traveling steady and straight now out into the dark, silent recesses of center field.
“The aisles are jammed, the place is on its feet, the wrappers, the programs, the Coke cups and peanut shells, the doctrines of an afternoon; the anxieties, the things that have to be done tomorrow, the regrets about yesterday, the accumulation of a summer: all forgotten, while hope, the anchor, bites and takes hold where a moment before it seemed we would be swept out with the tide. Rice is up. Rice whom Aaron had said was the only one he'd seen with the ability to break his records. Rice the best clutch hitter on the club, with the best slugging percentage in the league. Rice, so quick and strong he once checked his swing halfway through and snapped the bat in two. Rice the Hammer of God sent to scourge the Yankees, the sound was overwhelming, fathers pounded their sons on the back, cars pulled off the road, households froze, New England exulted in its blessedness, and roared its thanks for all good things, for Rice and for a summer stretching halfway through October. Briles threw, Rice swung, and it was over. One pitch, a fly to center, and it stopped. Summer died in New England and like rain sliding off a roof, the crowd slipped out of Fenway, quickly, with only a steady murmur of concern for the drive ahead remaining of the roar. Mutability had turned the seasons and translated hope to memory once again. And, once again, she had used baseball, our best invention to stay change, to bring change on.
”That is why it breaks my heart, that game--not because in New York they could win because Boston lost; in that, there is a rough justice, and a reminder to the Yankees of how slight and fragile are the circumstances that exalt one group of human beings over another. It breaks my heart because it was meant to, because it was meant to foster in me again the illusion that there was something abiding, some pattern and some impulse that could come together to make a reality that would resist the corrosion; and because, after it had fostered again that most hungered-for illusion, the game was meant to stop, and betray precisely what it promised.
”Of course, there are those who learn after the first few times. They grow out of sports. And there are others who were born with the wisdom to know that nothing lasts. These are the truly tough among us, the ones who can live without illusion, or without even the hope of illusion. I am not that grown-up or up-to-date. I am a simpler creature, tied to more primitive patterns and cycles. I need to think something lasts forever, and it might as well be that state of being that is a game; it might as well be that, in a green field, in the sun.” — A. Bartlett Giamatti
16-1-1 in 2024, +62 GD and 89 points total. A remarkable season by all accounts, even if it ultimately didn’t receive the external validation of a trophy.
But, in any case, it is time to close the book on 2023-24. The countdown to 2024-25 begins.
COYG ❤️

I got engaged a few months ago and my mom who is usually chill suddenly became a momzilla who has to have an opinion on everything. My cousin who got married last year said her parents did the same thing, which makes me wonder if it's a common experience for parents. I'm an only child (female) if that makes a difference.

Yesterday my ex from 2021 wrote a lovely introspective about our breakup. It was a long message, but essentially said that when I was reciprocating his effort every step of the way, he began to try to max out his life and was envisioning every other partner out there that might be a better match. That I was encouraging and adored him so much that maybe, he thought, that he could do better. But that he's ashamed of thinking that and he's sorry for breaking up with me out of the blue and I had deserved better. Thankfully, he left it at saying he'd always think I'm a tremendous and attractive human, without trying to get back together. I think I would have cut him as a friend if he had asked about that possibility.
It wasn't surprising though because he's the fourth ex to do this. Which means I'm 4/4 out of all my exboyfriends coming back months or years later saying they were blind to how good we had it. They admit they were still looking toward greener pastures. That they shouldn't have because I'm so sweet, so smart, so affectionate, so cute, so sexy, so good at communication, so logical, so easy to resolve conflict with, so... everything lined up with their checkbox of what they want (but how does that make sense? They left because they wanted more so I'm not everything they wanted). 3 out of 4 have attempted to rekindle and give the relationship another try.
I've asked them about any blindspots I might have had, and they say that I was great through and through along with the relationship we had. That they wouldn't change a thing about me, except one joked it would be nice if I were an heiress, and another that said he had lied about his feelings on family planning and actually struggled with the idea of meeting my kids and becoming a stepdad but was ready now. I appreciated the candor from him and we tried again, but I ultimately didn't feel like he really wanted to date me and was settling. He was talking about engagement and delaying proposing and then fully back to being uncertain.
So I've learned that you should never go back to an ex. It'll only cause you pain. So that's not an issue or anything I need to learn.
However, how do I stop dating men who don't appreciate what they have and are going to breakup with me even when the relationship is going well? Or how can I combat their growing feeling that really good isn't enough?
And because it's reddit, I feel like I need to include that I'm not chasing the top 10%. I swipe on guys based on the bio they've written.
I've dated a range of everything. I've been down to date people as long as they've been kind, respectful, and share some of my mostly nerdy interests/hobbies. Men who are ambitious/chill, oldeyounger, attractive/not attractive (but attractive in my subjective view), paycheck to paycheck or have retirement all figured out , single dads/divorced/never married/never dated before because of social anxiety, shy/gregorious --- and you get the idea.
Even if I were stuck on someone ideal to my specifications for shallow traits it's still realistic: They'd be the type that enjoys food a little too much and would be fun to go to the gym with, so they're mostly healthy, strong, but also has a bit of a gut. Great eyes and a warm smile. I love short guys and anyone in a range around 5'3" is perfect. But height is only a preference and I've dated tall too. I'm happy dating outside my ideal as long as they're kind, respectful, and gentle.
Then the second issue, attracting creeps. I spent a year intentionally single because I felt emotionally unavailable. I hopped back into dating apps in earnest starting in January and was fine until April. April/May has been unreal. It's completely worse than anything I've encountered before. I've never dealt with anything too creepy or severe sexual harassment before, but it's everywhere I go now.
-First dates have groped me after I said no.
-Flashed their penis and rubbed it on me while in public. (Police report submitted)
-Pressured me for sex right away and this guy, a salesman by trade, was not accepting no for an answer, so I said I would next date but couldn't go to his place that night - just to get away. But messaged him after and told him that I had lied to get away, wrote 100 no's and 1 yes doesn't mean yes, and blocked him.
-I found out another was a sex offender who was convicted of digital voyeurism of a kid under 14 (and preferred Stars Wars over Star Trek, doubly troubling, just kidding 😜)
-Another man anonymously called my work, could have been a prior date or completely random, and the recording of that could be used as the start of a horror film. He wouldn't tell me who he was, but acted like he knew who I was, and then lewdly asked about my bathroom usage...
-A guy I had barely met, but was not a date with nor interested in, must have hid my phone, then sent me to grab something, got into my phone, I caught him, and listened to him justify that he liked me and just needed to know what kind of person I was before getting attached. I just said it wasn't going to happen and left. He ended up sort of stalking me for a few days before mutual friends out the kibosh on him.
I'm sick of it. I've never felt unsafe meeting people in public, I figured public places were enough protection until this month.
I don't know what I'm doing differently to suddenly be preyed on by a bunch of creeps. I think I'm acting like I always have, but I have gained weight and maybe that's why? But why only now and not in January? Is it all coincidental?

If you're curious about my thoughts on previous Yakuza games, here are my much shorter (except for 4, thats pretty long too) reviews for Kiwami 1, Kiwami 2, Yakuza 3 (Remastered), and Yakuza 4 (Remastered).
All of my reviews are made pretty quickly after I finish the game, this was written right after I finished but I haven't posted it till a month later because its so long I thought no one would ever read this but whatever I gotta get my truth out there.
Per usual I played the remaster of Yakuza 5. I'm not sure of any outstanding changes or things of note like with 3 or 4, but if something I say is exclusive to the remaster please let me know! I may sound overly praising or overly critical of this game, who knows but please be kind when you tell me i'm an idiot for feeling the way I do! Lastly and most importantly please please please don't spoil future games in the comments! Also warning I'm way too active in the comments section.
Because I am an utter psycho and decided to write a fuckin bibles worth of yakuza 5 ramblings, Part 1 is just reviewing the plot and Part 2 goes over everything else. I split this up last second so there's likely some spots where I say something like "we'll expand on this later" then I never bring it up again, that's because it's probably in part 2. If you want my thoughts on things like the substories, side stories, gameplay, and settings you can read Part 2 here: https://www.reddit.com/yakuzagames/comments/1cvrybw/yakuza_5_a_mega_big_ole_reviewsummary_for_a_big/
The Plot:
Like with Y4, I will discuss my thoughts on each section of the game rather than in one long chunk just because I find it more fun. I'm not even gonna try to not summarize this time because this game is so big it needs broken down.
Part 1: Kiryu
You might often find me compare Y5 to Y4 a lot in this review because they're honestly quite similar games and feel like a package. When I started playing 4 I was worried I wouldn't like playing as primarily strangers for a majority of the game, but one thing they did absolutely right was making Kiryu the final protagonist you play as in that game. So going into 5 I was very apprehensive about starting off with Kiryu, I worried they showed their hand too soon and that it would be difficult to stay invested the whole time.
With this feeling going into the game, I was immediately somewhat losing it over Kiryu being an incognito taxi driver with the worst disguise of all time (some sunglasses and a face mask, don't worry he's literally the only one in the game that seems to think it's a good disguise). Right off the bat, this game feels...sad. Kiryu watching Haruka giving an interview on the TV and storming out rather then defend her to some losers who don't get what ART is, was SAD. This part of the game felt so mundane for awhile, but not in a bad way! You wakeup as Kiryu, walk to work, drive your taxi, and go home late at night (usually) alone. The whole time my eyes were drawn to a facedown picture frame and wondering what it could be, but I certainly had a guess. Kiryu is going through a hard, isolating, and depressing time and you can feel that so well from the game and how they have you play as him. Anyways there's also a random gal named Mayumi that will not leave Kiryu alone despite him asking her to. All you're doing by the end of chapter one is going "Huhhhhhhh?" Anyways Kiryu is approached by two dudes named Morinaga and Aizawa in chapter 2, telling him Daigo was???? Kidnapped?? GASP.. Admittidly I wasn't too fond of this duo at first. One thing that was consistent through my playthrough is that I was completely incapable of predicting anything correctly, and it had felt like these two were gonna be my pals for the rest of the game and I just wasn't clicking with them. Not to mention this weird semi-one sided-romance going on with Mayumi.
In chapter 3, we begin with the most heartbreaking thing that could ever happen to me, Yakuza 3 superfan. Kiryu has been pushed out of running the orphanage by a lady named Miss Park. It's all making sense now. He does it so the orphanage can have money and so Haruka can follow her dreams. DOESNT MAKE IT EASIER TO DEAL WITH FOR ME :( . Then we meet Watase, first thoughts? I was like "god I hope this guy isn't the main villain he's kinda lame" Soon after we meet Aoyama and I thought literally the same thing. Clearly by this point in the game I didn't have the highest hopes. I was mostly sad and not liking most of the new characters. But then... things take a turn.
Mayumi was actually a spy! thank god honestly. Kiryu meets Aoyama again but then Morinaga shows up and fuckin kills Aoyama and says he buried Aizawa alive HOLY SHIT? and then soon after I'm told Majima is fucking dead. Figured he wasn't actually dead cuz I've seen pictures of him from later games but holy shit I somehow cried just at the THOUGHT of him being dead. Also at some point here we met a detective who is an important player in this story but at this point not too integral. Also before Kiryu leaves he picks up the picture frame and its the orphanage ;-;
Kiryu final thoughts: This part of the game was fantastic. I'm so glad they started with Kiryu in this case despite my initial unsureness with it. Chapter 4 especially is when everything really falls into place and starts going 100 miles an hour but I also love the slowness of the previous 3 chapters. I do wish we got more Morinaga as this is unfortunately the last we hear of him despite this being a wonderful set up to a really interesting villain. Mayumi was a pretty shit character per seemingly always with any full grown woman in Yakuza games. While I think it's cool she was secretly a spy she was clearly an afterthought as we never hear about her again so that's cool. Basically a mixed bag of new characters overall.
Part 2: Saejima
I jokingly said to myself "Wouldn't it be funny if I had to spend half of this section breaking out of prison again. Thank god that's not the case." and continued hanging out with Majima until I was arrested for two more years of serving my sentence and OH NO IM BACK IN THE BUILDING.
Yeah I was VERY unsure about breaking out of prison again being a good call. Thankfully, and sorry to Y4, this is a much better prison sequence. Another thing I was really unsure about was BALD SAEJIMA! But actually... it kinda slays harder? In Y4 he looks like that guy from the game The Hatred (an insult) maybe it wouldn't be so bad if bro washed or brushed it but he never did and so instead bald was a slay. Anyways We're dropped in at nearly the end of Saejima's serving period with his group of friends/cellmates, newest one being some dude named Baba. We are relentlessly tortured by the scariest man I've ever seen, Viktor Zsasz-I MEAN! Kugihara. Who's honestly scarier looking then Zsasz somehow. But it is ON because Viktor Zsasz framed my bestie Baba and I will not let that slide so I beat the fuck out of him and it's revealed Zsasz was instructed to be a dick to me. By who??????????????????? Then it's double revealed to me that Majima is dead and I'm sad all over again :(
Turns out our warden is actually really chill and nice and somewhat tries to help us survive. What a breath of fresh air after Satan (Saito) from Y4. This guy is so cool infact we are encouraged to break out by him. So Baba and I do in the dead of the night and tell me why I cried over leaving my two other cellmates ;_; they were such bros. Zsasz hinders my escape and we fight, but my absolute PAL Himura fuckin shoots him it was an amazing turn of events and I cheered so loud and was devastated to leave him behind but anyways-
FUCK YEA SNOW MOBILES (they were kinda jank to control honestly but its the thought that counts). I am so glad I didn't know I was going to be fighting a bear going into this because that was easily the most camp thing ever and so hilarious. Then some old guy saves me (and later Baba) and we chill in the mountains for a little while. The mountain has a whole crazy detailed side story of it's own that I'll explain in more detail later but basically it was cool.
So then a ton of important stuff happens in Tsukimino, most notably we hang out with Baba in a bar which is great because I love Baba and him and I are super tight and he's easily the only person I could ever trust at this point without potential for betrayal! :)
Anyways me and Baba fuckin kidnap this guy because his chair is by a sewer manhole? He's gone in a flash so all I can imagine is dragging him down the hole by his ankle or something. Then we talk for awhile, Majima is mentioned woohoo, THEN HE'S sniped! The way I gasped. Longstory short :( Baba is the one who sniped him and not only that he kind of set everything up and wasn't my best pal all along :( Why Baba Why? Then Baba basically confesses his love for Saejima and can't go through with killing him, AAAAAAND Im back on the Baba train. That detective I mentioned from earlier arrests Saejima but not to throw him back in jail, to assemble the Yakuza avengers.
Final Saejima thoughts: This was shockingly fantastic. I was probably least impressed with Saejima's section in Y4, so it was shocking to have basically the same structure and general narrative beats but done well. It wasn't perfect, I didn't love it as much as Kiryu's section as I'm partial to a slow burn, but it was fun I have no real complaints, except MAYBE more then one chapter in Tsukimino would be a better choice.
Part 3 (first half): Haruka
I did not know I was going to get the HONOR of playing Haruka going into this game. We start off very strong, dancing to the greatest song of all time "So Much More." I mean we really get the full idol experience here with mean ass teachers and shady management. I didn't expect to get an Idol simulator in my Yakuza game but it might be the best thing ever. I decided right off the bat to put everything I had into this section of the game so immediately I did literally everything I could. Most of this chapter feels like a bit of a reflection of Kiryu's were working and going back home alone, it's all as monotonous and isolating as can be (except you're a predebut idol) and I love this. We quickly meet a girl who will serve as my bestie named Akari and yes I indeed would die for her thank you. Meeting Akari introduces us to this sections version of combat, DANCE BATTLES! I know some people might be disappointed you don't get to punch people as Haruka, and I get that, but this feels like a more genuine gameplay style for her character. It's hard to imagine Haruka fighting thugs in the street due to her personality (not that i'd be against it, especially after that weird virtual reality game where I get to wack dudes with a wand) plus I found this gameplay style so refreshing. I was never groaning or sighing because I had to dance against someone. I think it helps that I wasn't forced to do it 15 times in a row walking down the street, but I had the option to most of the time unless it was part of a quest. Maybe that's how all the gameplay should be? I don't mind being approached by thugs sometimes but it always feels like it happens too often in these games and with getting the option to while getting to walk around carefree otherwise in Haruka's section was just SO NICE.
Anyways, We get the whole set up here, we are participating in a competition show that will single handedly set the course for our debut. We're competing against this band called T-set. I hate them so much. They're so mean :(. At some point we see Miss Park absolutely SLAY and tell off Haruka's dance teacher and she doesn't take his shit at all. At this point I was like "Uh ohhhh I don't wanna like her but...she kinda rocks" my decent into stanning Miss Park only continues from there. We have to go convince some guy named Christina (interesting name to take but also a slay, much respect to Mr. Christina and his fedora) to be our new dance instructor. This causes drama with me and Akari which devastated me because I love Akari but we made up like immediately so it's chill.
Then at one point, I forgot the context, Haruka is shopping for a gift for Miss Park when stupid T-set shows up and STEPS ON THE BROACH I BOUGHT FOR HER. I was back and forth on them until now, now they may burn in hell. Especially after they made Haruka get on her knees and beg for forgiveness like ???? what gives ??? Park shows up and SLAYS and gets rid of them. Park then wears the broach :(((((((((
Then one of my favorite parts happen in chapter 2, Haruka and Miss Park go hit the town and just bond together. It's so stinking cute I wanted to cry. This whole time I was trying to not get emotionally attached to Park because it really felt like she was gonna end up betraying us. But the night continued and we get some mother daughter vibes going, even so far as holding hands????? Also Im somewhat glad I didn't get to wear the outfit I bought at the store with Park because I was going for a Cheetah girls inspired look then realized far too late how tacky that might come off, not everyone is Raven Symone ya know?
Anyways at this point I'm like wow this is the cutest game ever, nothing can ever go wrong, Park MIGHT betray me but I don't even care. She gives us a cool pen and a tragic anime backstory with an abusive ex husband and everything and we call it a night Well the next fuckin day my world crumbles because PARK IS DEAD! She "committed suicide" as if!
Part 3 (second half): Akiyama
I can't tell you how devastated I was to realize I'd only get to play as Akiyama for half of a section of the game. However, I was also thrilled to see him at all. Apparently he's opening a Satenbori office and also he is the one who financed Park's dream to debut Haruka so that's how he has a hand in all this. There is tragically very little Hana, she calls you twice and both times were fantastic but I wish I had more :(. Anyways Akiyama has heard about Park's death and goes to the office and meets Haruka. I didn't think they'd even really know each other and assumed we'd have an interesting reveal that they both know Kiryu later but nah they know each other. It honestly probably works better this way because we don't have time for such trivial things! Akiyama is a fuckin detective now. I don't know why he has been tasked to do this but he does it so well I don't even mind. He quickly figures out Park didn't actually kill herself and they simply need evidence to prove this. I'm unsure when this happens but at some point while talking about the mystery SOMEONE FALLS OFF THE ROOF! It was Horie :( who I haven't mentioned yet but he's my manager and a real pal. Thankfully he lived but we found out that the former dance teacher pushed him off. I think he also killed Park or Kanai did, who knows, either way someone did and they suck for it.
Chapter 4 has a lot going on, but basically the president of Osaka talent is sus and he's also the secret chairman of Ousaka Enterprises, which is a different thing... but sounds similar. Ousaka is basically a higher up family in the Omi alliance, so he's part of the bad yakuza!!! Haruka keeps doing the competition and T-set keeps sucking. She wins the princess league by a landslide. I don't even see the point in a third round if she won both of the other rounds? Is the third round just worth more points? Either way Haruka destroyed them and they suck. Her poor vocal instructor is working as her manager now. At some point we find out Parks ex husband was none other then Majima! Which is quite the revelation. Japan is such a small world, everyone seems to know each other. This does mean that Majima at least hit Park (I think after her abortion) and I think he's like 10 years older then her yet they were already married when she debuted at eighteen... Is it time for me to confront the possibility that my favorite crazed murderer might not be the most upstanding citizen?
It ends with Haruka being kidnapped, (nothing out of character there), and Akiyama saving her. He and Haruka make their way to Japan for the big ole concert Park had been planning. Wow this story is really picking up! I hope nothing grinds it to a sudden stop!
Part 3 final thoughts: God this was amazing, every step of it. My only complaint is I wanted more, more Akiyama and MORE dancing but I might be the only one who wanted 40 more hours of dancing. Detective Akiyama and Haruka duo was not the team I knew I needed but Im glad it happened. I found all of the music and gameplay here SO fun and I loved the plot too. I really liked Parks character. I wouldn't necessarily hang out with her, but I found her to be pretty well written and its hard to hate anyone Haruka clearly treasures, I am very sad she is actually dead because up until the end of the game I kept thinking she was going to come back.
Part 4: Shinada:
We have come to a sudden stop. We start with a flashback to 1997 where Shinada has debuted as a baseball player for the wyverns, don't forget this moment because the rest of this section of the game constantly calls back to it. In the modern day Shinada is a loser who is really heavily indebt and lives in a weird grimey rooftop shack. He also now writes like ? smut articles ? And he's friend with a girl named Milky which is the craziest name I've ever heard. A loanshark who talks about his kids a lot constantly follows Shinada around and takes his money. There was a lot of promise with this gag, like maybe instead of letting me keep the 100k and still acting like I'm broke he shows up after every side mission to rob me but nope. At the end of the chapter we run into a masked man who is frankly just Daigo stealing Kiryu's disguise idea.
Shinada and loanshark (his name is Takasugi) walk around town looking for leads on uncovering the truth of Shinada's past. Because you see, Shinada one time got fired from baseball cuz everyone thought he cheated, oh you already knew that? yeah same but don't worry you'll hear it at least 40 more times. Daigo asked him to go look for clues about this, why does he care? I still don't know honestly. Takasugi is forcing him to go because...I guess money? and he's walking around with me and were acting like friends now for some reason. Shinada is incapable of having any agency for himself, he just does what people tell him to. He also keeps nearly dying like a looney tunes character with shit falling out of the sky and stuff. Eventually we find out the Nagoya family fixed the match and then some guy Shinada used to know does get smashed like a looney tunes character. Skip ahead, were called to help by Milky and she betrayed us. I am sad cuz I thought Milky was a friend for life. Turns out literally everyone Shinada knows aside from the fkn loanshark are evil, even the old baseball lady. This plot was so convoluted I frankly don't understand why they were doing what they were doing, all I know is they were more like a neighborhood watch situation then Yakuza even though they seemed to do the exact same thing. Also when I say literally everyone he knows is evil I mean everyone, even his old coach or whatever. For way too long I thought they meant the middle school baseball coach so I was hella confused. Anyways we then find out that actually Takasugi is Shinada's number one baseball fan. Okay? Anyways
Chapter 4 things finally pick up a little. Daigo reveals himself like anyone ever was doubting it was him, and he also reveals he cares because he went to highschool with Shinada. Is that fr how were connecting this? Daigo got expelled from highschool because he protected Shinada from a rival school. Once again, okay? I guess Shinada doesn't like that Daigo is a yakuza and punches him out the door. I wasn't a fan of this. Daigo goes down pretty easily, pitiful Daigo strikes again. I love him but can he do anything right? Anyways I guess the fight meant nothing cuz they're pals now and go to Tokyo together. We get a cut to Takasugi getting his money back from Shinada as well as a signed baseball...okay that's really cute I nearly cried. I wish they actually left it there but instead Shinada runs away last minute to meet up on that stupid baseball field from 1997 that we cant go 5 minutes without hearing about and we fight this guy named Sawada who was like the kind of mastermind and also the pitcher. Had Sawada not thrown an easy pitch, Shinada wouldn't have hit it and thus been kicked out for cheating. We fight some Omi then play baseball and OMG WHY ARE WE DOING THISSSSSS
Finally it ends and we go to Tokyo
Shinada final thoughts: If you cant tell I was not a fan of this. I found Shinada to be really inconsitently written. In side missions or when he's playing off of certain characters he's quite entertaining and un, but most of the time, he seems to just be a blank slate who does whatever and only talks about baseball. And omg maybe if I liked baseball this would have been the best thing ever but we did not need THAT much baseball talk or constant referencing to that baseball game in 1997. I get its central to his character but it became a meme how often he'd get misty eyed and talk about getting kicked out. Why did he move Nagoya to escape his image as a cheating baseball player when 1) he constantly talks about it anyways, 2) everyone literally knows who he is here anyways. They make it seem like at first he wants nothing to do with baseball anymore but he also goes to the batting cages all the time and also thinks about nothing but baseball. The plot here is just SO hard to follow and not at all what I want to be dealing with after we were really in the thick of things with part 3's ending. I'm not saying it was impossible for this to be good, I think there was so much potential here! Like seemingly all of Yakuza 4, the concepts are there but the execution is iffy. I think it's biggest downfall is when it happens. It would have made so much more sense to make the last section before the finale the Haruka section. Shinada would have felt much better to play as maybe as a part two or even a part three, but NOT part four. The odds were stacked against him being amongst a cast of characters that I already know and love. I definitely was more of a Tanimura fan, but I liked Shinada as a person. His inconsistent writing, unfortunate story, and tendency to be a little annoying really dragged this part of the game down for me.
Part 5: The Finale
This finale is crazyyyyyyy so strap in. I would expect nothing less then insanity from this game. First Kiryu shows up in Kamurocho WERE HOME BABYYYYYY. Were being followed by BABA!! I missed him. We fight for fun or something then we cut to Saejima who is meeting with the detective who tells us we gotta find Morinaga. OH YEAH THAT GUY. So we go to the Florist and we go to the arena only to find... AIZAWA??? The fuck? I thought Morinaga fuckin killed him cold blooded and made me think he was a cool as fuck villain. Only to find out that GASP Morinaga is actually dead. At this point I literally don't believe it because I guess I was in my era of not believing anyone ever dies.
We go to Akiyama who is told by Osaka ceo to not let Haruka perform. Akiayam says hell no. We also find out that Park and him planned to make Haruka and T-set a group and debut them at the same time but I somehow missed this when playing and didnt realize that till way leter. ANYWAY At some point we also see the CEO doing naked push ups in his penthouse which was so weird. ALSO there is a Date-san reveal. The scream I screamt! I didn't know I missed him or needing him so much in a game till I saw him again. Usually I'm wondering why he's even there or what he adds but I finally get it now, he adds being Date to the table and that's all you need.
Then I do a tower sweep at Kamurocho hills and OMG is this what Majima was building the whole time? To be fully honest it's beautiful and im very proud but its so different and lowkey off-putting. Kind of like Majima himself. I miss him. A whole game and I only be hearing about him second hand its not fair. Question, did literally anyone choose Saejima to do the tower sweep? Anyway were on the top of the tower; Kiryu, Saejima, CEO Katsuya, and Watase. We all have to fight eachother to draw out the one true bad guy and also cuz this is a yakuza game, so off our shirts go and everyone fights. Basically everyone gets shot and the bad guy is revealed... THE DETECTIVE. Who saw it coming? I still kept thinking Park would come back or Morinaga but by this point I was definitely suspecting him too. I don't fully get why he's doing all this but long story short he's purging both the Omi and Tojo of nice? Yakuza? I guess? I think it mostly has to do with him making way for his son to inherit a role in everything but thats not further explored till later. Not to worry tho! Daigo has shown up!!!! But because he is Daigo you should definitely be worried because once again he cant do anything right and he gets shot by Kanai. God dammit Daigo. He is now in critical condition, this is the SECOND TIME THIS HAS HAPPENED DAIGO. He's such a damsel in distress, never change.
Baba tells Haruka the message Kiryu had for her, to never give up. He also asks her to come with him to convince to Kiryu to chillax but she refuses. Sad for no one but me. At the New Serena, where that absolute BOP of a song is blaring, Kiryu is sleeping, while the rest of the crew are chilling and chatting. I forgot to mention Akiyama and Shinada briefly teamed up but frankly who cares. Shinada talks about baseball alot here too just incase you were worried he wouldnt. They conclude that detective bad guy is gonna attack Haruka's concert which I will NEVER allow. I guess Shinada's purpose here is actually tha the knows the stadiuk layout pretty well which I will buy in to. Also I believe here Haruka gets told about her and t-set being a band together now called Dreamline. I also dont love this. The idea of it is fine, Im all for a disney channel original movie plot where the bullies are actually great and we all become friends at the end but the issue is they don't properly develop T-set to do that. The short haired girl gets one little moment of being somewhat nice to Haruka then the very next time I see her she's stepping on my boss's broach and making me beg on my knees like sorry but it's really hard to come around on liking them. Even now when Haruka stumbles duing practice they're rude! This is a tragic ending if anything but Haruka seems happy I guess... Dont worry they will be nothing more then Haruka's glorifed backup dancers.
Okay final chapter, and it's a doozy. We send Shinada of all people to go help Haruka at the stadium, I know i just said I get he knows the layout of the stadium but like :( he's literally the only one who hasn't met her. I guess they don't end up interacting really anyways. Saejima is going to go after Majima because btw he's alive and at the top of the millenium tower. Akiyama and Kiryu stay on the ground to defend against attackers and they probably punch/ kick at least 10000 men. All the while Haruka gives her concert. But Baba is lurking and gonna shoot her, I thought he learned to be good again but whatever. Him and Shinada end up having a confrontation that ends in Baba losing and he's about to kill himself when !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! my prison besties and the wardon show and up stop him! Oh my god I loved that so much what a nice resolution for Baba and I love that those guys went straight to a Jpop concert just for their pal. Meanwhile Saejima confronts Detective evil man on top of the millenium tower and !!! there he is, finally Majima is here. But he is not having a good time, turns out he's allowed himself to be captured and tortured for the sake of Haruka and now Majima and Saejima have to fight for the same reason. Then! Daigo shows up, while im literally begging him to actually shoot the bad guy but instead they all talk. Haruka is safe from harm (Baba wouldn't have done that shit anyways) and we officially learn about the plot of him attempting to put his son in charge of everything. Kiryu goes to Tojo headquarters to stop whoever this suspicious son is and Akiyama fights Kanai. Then literally all our friends ever show up to help and that was damn cute.
Kiryu shows up and it's eerie, completely silent with dead people everywhere. We go to the meeting room and the guy behind it all along was Aizawa. I definitely did not see that coming because I forgot he existed. But I suppose thats the point, he was so unassuming. I guess that means Morinaga actually was dead all along. We fight Aizawa while Haruka sings a song that seems very pointed at Kiryu wins (duh) but he is not doing well and tries to make his way through the streets. Meanwhile Haruka announces her retirement because she cant hide who she is or stay away from her family any longer and runs away to find Kiryu and THE GAME ENDS. Other games gave me a after credits scene that somewhat eased my concerns, but 5 is a overall very sad game and it's scene is her managing to him but he's bleeding out in the streets and falls unconcious in her arms.
Finale final thoughts: This was quite the finale! It was much better then Shinada's section but it was still a bit messy and left a lot of plot threads up in the air or had some unfortunate revelations. Nothing bad but things I think shouldve maybe been revealed earlier, like Aizawa. Only finding out with like 20 minutes of the game to go makes it feel too empty or even rushed when we know this game is otherwise not rushed at all. I was a little sad about the ending, I don't think it was bad at all I was just sad. The whole time I imagined it ending with the whole gang going to Haruka's concert and having a good time. For once I dont think the game fully dropped the ball on the finale like they tend to do so I commend it for that.
TLDOverall plot final thoughts: As a whole this is one of the most well written Yakuza stories since Yakuza 3 (obviously in my opinion). I can see that for some people all the plot twists and surprises might have felt like too much but I loved it, I never once could predict where this game was going. Morinaga dying off screen was such a let down and missed opportunity, at the end of Kiryu's section I was thinking he was going to be the best Yakuza villain in awhile but instead he went out in such a lame way. I do kinda wonder who killed him, I assumed it was just the detective guy but Aizawa seemed at least somewhat sad about Morinaga's death. I wonder if that was all a show? Another thing I dislike not just because of how it went, but also that it ended up going no where, Mayumi. They made quite the big deal about her at first and I do like the plot twist that she was a spy, but she wasn't even really acting any different when she was in spy mode and in normal mode. Plus you literally never see her again. I think Saejima's section was just very reminicent of his in 4, but done well. Aside from it taking quite so long to get to the city, by the time you leave it feels slightly rushed. I think the chapter in the woods didnt need to be its own thing. Absolutely no notes with Haruka, only that I'm sad this is all we will see of Park, I found her to be a really interesting character. Akiyama is where my main issues arise, only because I really do think he needed his whole section. He felt a little tacked on otherwise when I think he really didn't need to feel that way. I had hoped he would be part of half of Haruka's section then half of Shinada's where he is used to introduce us to Shinada as a character. But instead we get dropped into that like nothing. I know im probably the only one who cares about Hana this much but I really wish we got more of her. I basically said all my issues with Shinada at the end of his section but once again, I really didn't enjoy that plot. The finale was a mess and unfortunatly left at quite a cliff hanger which I wouldve rather it didn't but Im also okay with how it did. Some other things I wanted in this game was MORE MAJIMA I get why he wasnt for narrative purposes but Im gonna say that in every game. I wouldve loved more Okinawa orphan content. That being said there is way more content for them in this then in Y4 which is wild considering we spent like 5 seconds in Okinawa during a flashback and you never actually see them. It was so nice to hear what theyre up to second hand and some of the side missions expand on them a little more but I am devastated they werent there.
Lastly to briefly compare it to Y4, as they do feel like connected games. Y5 realy does feel like they took all of the concepts of the 4th game that needed to be reworked, and then re-did them to be better. The villains are better, prison break outs are better, and just like way more. I do think there are things in Y5 that are lacking compared to Y4, like general atmosphere, and I do think Tanimura's section in 4, as flawed as it is, is better then Shinadas. Akiyama's in 5 is great, but I love his in Y4 more simply because he doesn't have to share the spotlight. But I really have to emphasize, story and character are done better in Y5, ATMOSPHERE is done so much better in Y5.
TLDR for the TLDR: I liked this game :)
And there you have it, the longest goddamn review of all time. It was a really great game and I wish I could play it for the first time again because it was just SUCH a great experience. If you read this far I am so impressed by you and eternally grateful you even cared to. Please let me know your thoughts! I'm so excited to talk about this game with people. As for my rating, It was going to be a 10/10 until I got to Shinada's section now I'm in between an 8 or a 9. Ill just say 8/10 to be mean.
I am already neck deep in Yakuza 0 so I'm excited to write a much shorter review for that one soon.
Thank you for reading!

I (m 24) have been dating my girlfriend (f 20) for the past 5 months and got in a relationship about 2.5 months ago, it's my first relationship so a lot of stuff for me is new.
She is not from my area, she moved here in September and she's particularly shy so she has not many friends other for people from her city who moved here as well that she previously knew.
Before knowing me she booked a ticket for a theatre show from some actor she follows. Yesterday all of a sudden decided to not go because she thought she was late to the show (due to her not knowing the city well, and I couldn't accompany her because I live 30 min drive from her and was to meet her after the show.
I couldn't convince her to go despite explaining her that she could have gone there in a few minutes.
After telling me that she didn't want to go anymore I felt some deep rooted sadness inside my chest, it was like some ancient trauma resurfaced, because other being sad for her not going, the level of sadness I reached was unjustified, I started sobbing in the car, and I'm usually quite a stoic person who doesn't show much emotion.
When I reached her home she was quite chill about it while I was super distraught; what do you think happened?

Hey folks,
I’m kinda in a weird spot and could use some outsider insight. So here’s the deal: I finally got up the nerve to tell my crush how I felt. She seemed to take it well, even put in extra effort to chat the next day. But then, things just went back to our usual friendly banter for a few days. After that, her replies got super short, and outta nowhere, she blocked me on Insta and Snapchat. No heads-up, no nothing.
When I spilled my guts, she said we were “besties,” and I was cool with that. I mean, I get it, not everyone’s gonna feel the same way, right? But why the sudden cold shoulder? We had a solid friendship going on, and everything was chill even after the big reveal.
Now I’m scratching my head, wondering what my next move should be. should i try to contact her again after like 15 days or a month?Do I wait it out and hope she hits me up, or do I just let it go and move on? What if she never reaches out? It’s messing with me more than I thought it would.
Anyone else been ghosted like this? How’d you handle it?

Yo i'm Troy, what's up?
This past fall I had the craziest manic episode ever. I believe it was from coming off sertraline. I went into the empath unit at a hospital near me and they asked if I want to stay on a psych floor. I didn't want to because I basically feel like i've grown up the last 12 years in the hospital. i've gone probably 8 times plus I have dual daignosis so I also struggle with addiction which fuels my mania.. but this past time I left the hospital and went to a crisis house for a few days and then got a room at an IRTZ facility.
At that place you could choose if you want to take your meds or not and so obviously I didn't take the night meds because I was manic and wanted to stay up making beats. I was up for around 5-6 days and it got weird.. super weird.
I was all of a sudden a prophet and I thought I was Jesus. My manic episodes are always religious. until I crash and just go back to regular old me. But I thought it was 2007 and so I thought I was Jesus when I walked into a church near me. and the garden of eden was down the road. I've also had times where I believe I am in heaven. I believed it was me and God the only real people in the universe, like some sort of acid trip it was scary I thought everyone else was robots or npcs.
So my Mom picked me up and brought me to the hospital. On the way there everything changed and she was "manipulating" me to go to the hospital. So we got out and I was pissed and was throwing everything in my pockets at her for some reason. So she called security and I was hiding under a car. Then I went over to a ledge in the parking ramp trying to drop down a level like parkour and get to the ground to run from them.
I ended up falling 3 stores and fractured my right foot in 5 places and my left foot too. Also cracked my head open, and they put me into a medically induced coma for 3 days. it's not the fall that bothered me so much it was hearing my Mom cry while my mentor comforted her. Before I lost conciousness.
Does anyone else have similar manic episodes? My first Manic episode was similar, ran away from my house in -10 wind chill and ended up in jail then the hospital the next day.
I just want a normal life, no drugs or alcohol and less manic episodes.
Thanks for listening to my rant/TED Talk lol

Have anyone of you experienced this before sharing room with someone they pretend that they are all quiet and boring and suddenly once you move in "Bam! They are having parties every weekend with literally 15-20 people ".
I've recently moved in with one chick who seemed pretty chill but has completely flipped.
Her party mates are equally rude and cocky. It feels as I am crashing their party. Also end up questioning my friend's circle too often. (Feel I need to socialise)
What to do without involving the landlord?

so around last year(December 2023) i had an unprotected sexual encounter with a woman,who i assumed at the moment was clean but a few days after the sexual when i woke up one morning i noticed a very sharp stinging pain on the underside of my penis and immediately went to the bathroom to see what was going on I noticed a very pronounce bump that was filled with pus when i squeezed it (not a smart idea i know)and then it suddenly bled as well. so i treated it as best i could thinking that it was caused by the genital hair shaving i did a few days prior.
mainly because i heard stories of ingrown hairs causing things like this to happen it wasn't until a few days later that i developed other symptoms such as tightness in the chest,bloodshot eyes,chills,fever,headache burning and itching in the genital area and strep throat at this point i was pretty worried and did some research on all of my symptoms which primarily lead back to herpes every time so i tried to make an appointment with my local clinic as soon as possible which was pretty hard since it was very close to new years and a lot of places were closed.
it also didn't help that after that my city was hit with a snow storm so i had to wait even longer before i could get medical help but when i finally did get medical attention it was at a local planned parenthood where i got a blood test done and the result's came back that i had genital hsv1 which was an extreme blow to my mental health but i would soon find out that those blood test aren't always reliable for herpes and that swabbing was preferable.
but by that point in time most of my symptoms where dissipating besides a constant burning sensation in my urethra which still persist even now so i made up to five appointments with my main doctors clinic and told them everything and even had then test me for herpes twice each time was a blood test since i didn't have anything noticeable to swab and the test came back negative twice despite my positive test status a few month ago.
so now I'm left stumped as to what's happening to me can herpes sores only appear internally in the urethra or is this some other type of infection what do you think?

Burner account for advice:
So me and wife have been in and started our relationship with the idea of it being free love and open. Both agreed on..with terms. Terms being
1:) No lies or hiding it
2:) No making sure another takes our place as the number one
3:) No exs
As of the last month or so, we have been in the process of moving. Moving close to where a former, last ex, lives. All of this happening sudden and very much like my how my last wife acted before she cheated on me. I didn't suspect my wife of anything at all but brought forth how it was kinda oddly triggering. Assured each time how there was nothing and never an interest or how dare I even assume.
So two days ago, month before move, I'm casually told she does want to change our rule three to sleep with this ex and always wanted to revist it from the start in her mind. I expressed how it made me feel, which was still a "no that's a boundary..and I feel we set it to avoid sparking any old flames and any new people would not be people be previous had romantic relations with. Especially not ones we dated for ten years". I was told instead it was made so I didn't sleep with one of "my" abusive exs and that hers, who she left for me, was cool and chill. I was also told if I had a nice ex I would be ok with it, which no, I would stick to my guns still. Because I would fear the same..I've seen it happen.
As I stood my ground peacefully, she got more and more angry as she tried to continue this sell and not just let it go. Saying how it would be the true test of our relationship and its better to be someone we know than a stranger we get to know and give them those terms. I still disagreed and stuck to my boundary of the old candle outlook and said no. She didn't want to see it that way and said it would be emotionless sex and nothing to worry, yet threw hours into emotion about being told how I felt. Putting myself in the other shoe, I know I would drop it automatically, thats it. Also I expressed how thinking of this for it this long made me feel kinda hurt and mentally she wanted to do this when our whole relationship..all while she's hiding that she wants to change that for the person she just left for me. Told that was my hang out up from previous exs. Mind you, me always talked about our rules and stated "yes those are them". Never agreeing that we could change this and if anything, add things. Never questioned till we move 3 miles from said person..
I was told open means anything can go and no one is off limits and how I don't get it. I told her that even if a new person came around, we both still had to agree and could disagree and that's what makes it healthy. That in order for it to work, any book or Google will state it..even my other poly friends agree
Instead it seemed like more passion was put into this than ourselves recently over being able to break this rule. I will state..I have been depressed for sometime and haven't been all there due to circumstances I've just finally tried to get ahold of, but I feel that shouldn't be an excuse or reason to break a boundary. Sickness and health, wasn't mentally well for 5 months and it got worse when my father passed.
Right now we are on no talking terms, we have a child together, newborn. I've been giving her space and thinking everything over and not knowing what to do. I feel my boundaries aren't be accepted and just rolled with and instead I'm being sold on something and punished for not agreeing to it. She doesn't want to talk without bringing up how I was sad previously, angry at work and being sad about that, upset at my medical problems and me stupidly not listening to her to get them fixed, my crazy ex wife, or my adhd causing me to sometimes forget some things and I may take a minute to get there. All things I've shown Improvement on, even in her words..but all civil talk is broken down to whatever current thing I have to say is counteracted with a past thing.
When asked if she can ever move past it all and us be us again, she never fully answers and it seems that allowing rule 3 to go way is the answer..
Any thoughts at all..brutal or honest, doesn't matter.
Thank you

As the title says my gf won’t tell me what she dreamt of last night. We are together for around 3 months. The frustrating part is that we were just laying watching Breaking Bad and she suddenly jumped and was all like “omg this dream I had last night”. Then I replied “What did you dream about?” And she “I’m not going to tell you”. I asked her a couple more times, but she kept getting more defensive and I backed off. Now on the outside I took it chill all good, but on the inside this moment pissed me off so much. It just made me really frustrated feeling like she’s hiding something from me. And that she mentioned her dream and then did not want to talk about it. I can’t really put my finger on why it makes me feel this way, because, after all, it’s just a dream, why do I even care.
Why would she act this way? Should I be concerned? Or am I just overthinking and projecting my insecurities or what not?
Tl;dr: Gf mentioned her dream and then did not want to continue to talk about it

Im suffering from insomnia and narcolepsy, and while trying to sleep at nights, I'm completely aware lying down in the bed and suddenly a switch clicks and I get this chills down my spine. But literally! It feels like extreme cold and hot. That is when I know I entered sleep paralysis. And then I try to wake myself up just to try sleeping again after 🫠 it's like lagging between both phases. Why do I sleep directly into a state of paralysis? And why do I feel those chills down my spine? It's like I'm always calm during sleep paralysis attacks (considering how frightening my imagination is) but those chills feel like feeling of terror?? I guess? I'm trying to understand myself, am I brain damaged or could this be just the depression and stress?

These past 2 years have been brutal, it's been L after L with no break.
I feel like a mouse in a maze that every time it approaches the exit is dragged back to the start by a hand from the sky.
It doesn't matter how much I try, the outcome is always the worst possible one.
I've gone from agnostic to full on believer because I don't think someone can be this unlucky without some almighty being involved in it.
I now fully believe God exists and either:

He is actively punishing me
He has left me stranded

Will keep it short since I know you hoes like reading this kind of shit:

Around 2 years ago I was leasing a horse, and giving it my all, I was earning an entry-level salary in a comfy remote work living with my parents. Keeping the horse was costing me pretty much my full salary. I didn't go out and did anything except lifting, running, riding and working.
For almost a year I was the happiest I had ever been, I literally jumped out of bed excited to live the day, I would work 8-4, lift in my home gym and go visit my horse, either riding, or just being with him, during the time I had him I didn't go a single day without seeing him.
Of course living like this means that I don't have the most social life or friends circle, but I didn't care since every hour of my life was busy.
My plan for the year was training and competing and then in September changing jobs and buying the horse, but in July the horse was injured, I didn't get the best veterinary advice and didn't know what to do, I was being drained for a horse I couldn't even ride or enjoy, after all those months of hard work and discipline, for some reason the owner got mad, and petty sold him behind my back.
During this time, my highschool best friend started regaining contact and started meeting with me and his gf, they gave me a lot of support during those weeks, against all odds, I nailed an interview for a high-paying job that would've allowed me to buy the horse and maintain it comfortably.
I was still too hurt from what had happened, so I just chilled for a few months, saving money, and hanging out with my friend and his gf, and lifting and running, I was at my physical peak, I was lifting heavier than ever, running faster and longer, I was optimistic for the future, I just needed time to heal and I had the means to do so, social life, earning money and physical activity.

Fast forward to December and I receive a cryptic message from my friend's GF saying that she wasn't going to be here for my birthday (we met the previous day) because my dumbass friend just broke up with her.
That basically destroyed my little social life since they were living in the city, and my friend disappeared to be with his new GF.
I tried to comfort her and be there for her (wasn't attracted and even if I were it wouldn't be right to take advantage of the situation).
The months of just working and lifting allowed me to save enough to start looking to buy my own horse, I was still hurting from the whole situation, and being alone, but still I was just lifting heavy, running, walking my dog, keeping myself busy.
In February after trying and vetting some horses, I found one that seemed promising. I bought a very expensive veterinary exam, and he passed it, allegedly, I buy the horse.

Long story short, barely 3 weeks into ownership, I started noticing pain and weird stuff that shouldn't be happening since I started with very soft work, a few weeks of going through 3 different vets, and basically the horse had a life-long injury that the first vet didn't catch in the exam, and basically it was done for, I was devastated, I tried some solutions but they we're not effective, it was over.
During those months, my friend's ex-gf started coming to visit me, we slept together (no sex), we talked every day, I gave her presents, one would say what I did was love bombing her, but to me It was just being there giving support, for her it turned into a situationship.
I still had the horse, I couldn't selling him while he was untrained, and I still had a bit of faith in the vet's advice, and then, suddenly, my knee started hurting, I was lucky that in my new job I had private insurance, so I could immediately go to the orthopedist and do an MRI without the long ass waits of the public health care (up to a year for the MRI), and lo and behold, torn meniscus, it rapidly went from "pain while running" to "some days I can't even fucking walk", I had to stop riding, paying my trainer to ride my horse since I needed to sell him, I had to stop running, I had to stop doing any leg gym exercises.
I didn't want to do the surgery since what I read online was very contradictory.

Because shit can always get worse, one day I was alone with my parents (we also live with my brother and grandma), and I notice the vibes being off, I ask “what the fuck is your problem?” and they confess that my father doesn’t like my mom anymore, well, not to get into too much detail but since then I’ve had to endure watching my mom cry, they get into arguments all the time, just awful, thing is I was already so drained from my personal bullshit that after the initial shock, It didn’t pain me too much, they just keep living together, although I hear them arguing from time to time.
During those months my ex-friend’s ex-gf kept catching feelings for me, and my autistic ass couldn't really read the situation so I made it worse. Finally she asked me if I was going serious with her or if she could go on about her life. I said that I didn't see her as my partner, and since then she got a boyfriend and our friendship went to shit.

I finally sold the horse, my life got extremely bored.
I decided to do the surgery since I couldn't do any of the things I enjoyed, running, riding, whatever, but I had a trip in January with her so I had to postpone it until then, for those months all I could do was going for walks like an old man, and hit the gym (all chest no legs), I was going kinda hard tho, since I knew that during the months of recovery I would lose a lot of muscle and I wanted to go in my best form, during those months I acquired my best physique ever, for the first time, after years of being constant, I liked how my body looked.
The trip was a mistake, she nagged me every minute of it, I could tell she had only gone because it was already paid for, I had postponed the surgery 2 months just to have a horrible weekend.

I did the surgery and the first bad news came, they couldn't fix the broken part of the meniscus, so they took it out, this was the worst possible outcome since it would mean a shorter recovery, but the probabilities of arthritis in the future were higher, off to a good start.
2 weeks later I start going to rehab, during those weeks nobody came to visit me, well, my friend did, only to talk shit on his new coworker (during those months he would only message me to talk shit about coworkers or work), nobody else, not the situationship, not my trainer, nobody.
Speaking about the situationship, after the trip, she stopped messaging me, and even replying at all. I thought, well, there it goes, I’ve lost “not being an unopened chat” privilege.
Some boring months of rehab, working the job that I started to dread, and doing the boring ass knee exercises at home, and then, suddenly a glimmer of hope.

I start being treated by a “new” physio, but turns out she had been on sick leave for the same reason as me, she tore her meniscus, during those first 3-4 sessions we talked and talked for the whole hour, she was just perfect, around my age, funny, cute, was active, played sports, had a nice body, she lives like 5 minutes walk from my house.
I immediately fell in love like I had never before in my life, and that’s when it came to me, this was it, every bad thing that happened to me has come to this, to meeting this girl, everything made sense, If I had my surgery earlier I would not have met her because she would be on sick leave. My broken meniscus, my lame horse, every bad thing that had happened to me had led me to her.
So I take my autistic ass, and since I felt like we had something cool going on I ask “Hey, I think you’re very interesting and cute and would like to know you better, can I have your number so we can meet and go for a drink some day?” and she actually did give it to me, I asked for her number instead of her IG because I didn’t want to play any game, I thought she wouldn’t give me her number unless she was interested in me, I was ecstatic.
I start texting her and after refusing to meet a few times (with actually convincing excuses) I ask her “Hey if you don't want its fine I won't bother you anymore, just tell me” and she basically told me that she didn’t want to break the physio-patient barrier, I didn’t understand anything but I didn’t want to make it weirder since she is still treating me so I just accepted it.

The thing is, I know where she lives, I have to walk past her apartment whenever I go for a walk, drive to town, I get reminded constantly, moving on is very hard, I really thought she was for me, I thought she was finally the reward for all my suffering, but turns out she's just part of the punishment, I legit had a religious revelation, every single bad thing that had happened, God made it so I went and met her, my knee injury, having to sell the horse, losing my friends, no way it was a coincidence.

Now that I know that she is not for me, not even as a friend, I have nothing, the knee recovery is not going well, I was supposed to be a-ok in 6 weeks, It’s been 3 months and I still can’t even go for a walk without swelling and pain, I can’t workout because the knee exercises take a long ass time and I feel like they’re not doing shit, I don’t have friends to meet and take my mind off it, every few weeks I have to see my mum weeping around the house because my father is a piece of shit.

And to top it all, I just started having similar pain in the good knee, so there is a possibility that even If I hadn’t done shit, it may be injured too, this shit just doesn’t end, it just fucking never ends.

TLDR: Everything that has ever given me pleasure or made me happy has been taken away from me. I went from getting out of bed full of hope and enthusiasm to sleeping through my alarms because the only thing I can do is sit in front of a screen. I’ve been having the worst day of my life every day for the past 2 years, after everything I’ve worked hard for and all the sacrifices I’ve made.

Sudden chills

Frisson