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2008.11.18 03:38 Faces

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2024.05.19 21:23 Aggelos2001 [H] A lot of games from humble bundle [W] ENDLESS™ Space 2 Definitive Edition(without the main game)

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2024.05.19 21:23 Aggelos2001 [H] A lot of games from humble bundle [W] ENDLESS™ Space 2 Definitive Edition(without the main game)

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2024.05.19 21:21 cquinxx 31[F4M] Canada - Can you be my success story?

I’m trying to find someone special. I guess I am tired of doing things alone. Finding a connection seems to be so easy for most people, unfortunately I haven't been given a chance.
As for hobbies, I play some video games, but I'm not an expert or anything. I spend most of my time watching shows and movies. I love discovering new movies and have a penchant for indie films or anything produced by A24. I like going to concerts and listening to music. My music taste varies from indie folk to emo music and overrated pop songs. I like traveling and experiencing new things, so hopefully, I can do those things with you if we click.
I'm not asking for much. I have a job, I did well in school. I just feel that something is missing. There's a part of me that crave for that connection. After all, I'm just human. And waking up with that creeping sense of dread and sometimes emptiness just makes me question about life. Now I'm more inclined to believe that indeed, no man is an island.
So if this post piqued your interest, send me a message. Let me know what you are looking for in here. Maybe we could chat about life and be friends. Maybe you could be the one. Who knows. I would appreciate it if you put in a picture as well. Thanks for reading.
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2024.05.19 21:12 Chai_Ky The Case of Kate Blackwell: The Unknown Part 1

11/20/2017
Log book of Det. Ryan Snow
Case #2798: The Appalachian Murders
The past couple of days are events I pray no one else ever has to go through what Kate and I had. I had her and Mr. Raines cleared of all charges, having found the proof we all needed to end this case and find the true killer. Kate no longer has to go into witness protection and I had given the police a good enough lie to keep myself from looking insane in the eyes of my co-workers. I know no one will ever know the true story or believe it, but I’m writing it out here. It at least needs to be known written somewhere. Even if my and Kate’s eyes are the only ones that will ever read it written out and forever imprinted in our memories.
The morning Kate had run off to the mountains on her own, I had made my way to the Blackwell home where I was immediately met with Mr. Blackwell charging at me and wrapping his large hands around my neck. He was shaking me and blaming me for getting his daughter killed and not doing more to keep her safe. The police who had been called to examine the scene and read Kate’s letter had to sedate Mr. Blackwell to get him off of me, lying him down on the couch, his head resting on Mrs. Blackwell’s legs. Though the woman was distraught and begging the police to bring her daughter back, she still took the time to shoot that cold, death glare my way. The ice in my chest growing. I couldn’t tell these people that this thing had come after me to get to Kate. I knew it wouldn’t change anything. If anything they’d hate me even more for keeping it to myself.
The sheriff was there and he pulled me away from eye sight of the Blackwells, trying to tell me that this wasn’t my fault. But I couldn’t help but blame myself. I should have done everything I could to keep Kate as far from those mountains as possible.
There were no signs of a struggle in Kate’s room and the letter was definitely written in her hand writing. Her father’s rifle missing from the study, a backpack and some food and supplies gone as well. She had only grabbed one set of clothes from her drawers, showing she did indeed have plans on returning after only one night in the mountains to confront whoever or whatever the killer was.
I told the sheriff to keep any police from going up to the mountains without first allowing me to go up there first to find Kate. He of course argued, telling me that he couldn’t break protocol based on any hunches I may have had. However, I told him that I could get Kate back without her putting up much of a fight, whereas she may struggle with a group of cops who didn’t understand the situation she was in. I was close enough to this case to have built a trust with her after all. I was mentioned in her letter about ending this case for me.
It took a good hour to get the sheriff to eye the Blackwells, Mr. Blackwell beginning to stir from his sleep, and allow me to go to the mountains to find Kate. He didn’t bother to call off the search to the police that had already begun making their way to the mountains, but did radio to tell them to not try getting Kate home without first allowing me to speak to her. He then gave me twenty-four hours to find her to which I told him I’d only need at most ten.
Without telling him about the disturbing scratches on my car, I sped to the mountains, taking the same path Kate had that day she took her friends on their trip. The route, as the sun began to rise was scenic. A drive that may have been a sign of a bright future ahead with a beautiful week in the mountains of nothing but nature, was now a reddening sky of horror. I couldn’t understand how Kate felt, going down the same roads that led to her only friends’ fates to avenge them, but the feeling of guilt did weigh heavy on my chest as I saw the signs of the Appalachian Mountain trails grow bigger on the horizon. Guilt for not doing more to prove Kate was innocent, for allowing Mrs. Mayfield for getting killed right before my very eyes, and for Liam for not being lucky enough to save him.
When I finally arrived to the cabin, there didn’t seem to be any change since the first day I was called to the crime scene, the only thing out of place being Mr. Blackwell’s truck parked precariously near the cabin. The police tape was still up, the cars of Kate and Mr. Woolfe still left where they were, the tires still slashed, the door wide open from when Kate, Ms. Greymoore, and Mr. Woolfe ran out of the cabin upon Mr. Billings was killed by an unknown force. All the bodies had been found and were now being prepared by their families to be buried or cremated. Only one body of the five still roaming around to avenge each and every one of their deaths.
I called out for Kate as I made my way into the cabin. The Ouija board was still on the coffee table, the white line of where Mr. Billings had been found lying face first on the floor with his head bashed open remained on the spot. The planchette was still missing. I kept calling out for Kate as I made my way up to the attic, the door left unlocked, using my flashlight to shine down on the white outline where Mr. Steele had been found completely torn apart. To think Kate had done such a thing, I now realize made me look like a complete dumb ass for believing it.
When I couldn’t find Kate in the cabin, I made my way out the cabin, still calling for her. I called out to her, promising that she just needed to come back home with me and we could solve the murders together. I knew it was a lie and that the sheriff would immediately have her take away to some secluded place where the killer couldn’t find her, but it was all I could think of to try luring her out to meet me. Still, she never appeared.
The sun was soon beginning to set as I tried retracing the very steps Kate and Ms. Greymoore had taken to outrun the killer. I had passed the small shrine of flowers and the pictures of Mr. Woolfe where the boy had been found, his face permanently remaining nineteen forever in the photos of him with Kate and their friends. I kept going, trying my best to follow the same path to the cliff where Ms. Greymoore was found, calling for Kate along the way.
It wasn’t until I found the place Kate had buried her best friend that I found Kate. She was on her knees before the rock where she left her bloody handprint, sniffing as her head was lowered, her dad’s rifle in her hands.
“Ms. Blackwell-“ I began as I took a step toward her. I was immediately cut off as Kate jumped to her feet, raising her father’s rifle at my head. I jolted back, raising my hands up to show her I meant no harm to her. “Ms. Blackwell, it’s me, Det. Snow!”
“Detective…?” She gasped, slightly lowering the rifle, but keeping it on me. “P-Prove it!”
“I’m sorry?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I… I thought I saw Sonja…” Kate breathed between tears, the rifle shaking in her hands, “it… It was wearing her face… It had her voice… How… H-How do I know you’re really Det. Snow?”
“You… Saw Sonja?” I asked as gently as I could with a terrified woman pointing a gun my way. “She spoke to you?”
“Prove you’re Det. Snow!” Kate demanded as she stilled her arms, readying the rifle as she pointed straight between my eyes.
“Alright! Alright!” I kept my hands up, backing up slightly as I tried thinking of how I could prove to her I was really me. “I… I, ah… I have… Had a brother… We went to get ice cream together once and… I dropped a dime and went to grab it… I was five… I followed it out to the road and despite how trafficked it was, I didn’t get hit. I grabbed the dime just as a truck was speeding my way and it swerved just before hitting me… Seeing how close I was to death, I dropped the dime and it rolled into the sewer. My brother called me Lucky Dime since then… Saying the dime was lost to me because it did its job in protecting me… I haven’t seen my brother since I was seven and I haven’t spoken to my parents in…” I looked at my watch. “Five years… No one else calls me Lucky Dime… Not even the people at the station know that was my nickname.”
With this, Kate lowered the rifle, her eyes softening from her furious fear to a more melancholy terror. She looked to Ms. Greymoore’s grave marker, her hand print just barely visible In the approaching darkness.
“It… It looked just… Like her…” She sniffed, “it had her voice… Why did it have her voice… Why did it look like her…?”
“Ms. Blackwell,” I soothed, relaxing now that there was no weapon in my face, “we need to head back, your parents are worried about you and the police are looking for-“
“I can’t go back yet!” She snapped at me as she spun to look at me, tears in her eyes. “That thing is still out there and will kill again unless I end it!” She held up her dad’s rifle as if to show me how she meant to “end it.” “I’m not leaving until I end that… Thing that had the balls to wear Sonja’s face and have her voice!”
“Ms. Blackwell, we will catch the killer, I promise, but right now, we need to get you home before your dad ends up killing a police officer for keeping him from looking for you.”
“I told him in my letter I’d be back tomorrow! I’m twenty-years-old, he can’t force me back home if I don’t want to! I just want to stop this thing before it-“
A howling in the distance cut Kate off. Coyote from what I could hear. If I couldn’t get Kate home, I’d have to get her somewhere safe. I turned to begin talking her down and taking her to one of the other two cabins for shelter. However, when I looked back at her, her face had turned to a bone chilling terror I’d never seen on a person before. She looked like hunted prey that had been found by its predator. She gripped her dad’s rifle to her chest tightly, her hand reaching for the trigger.
“Ms. Blackwell, it’s just a pack of coyote,” I tried telling her calmly, “let’s get to one of the other cabins and-“
“No, no, no,” She stopped me as she stepped back, looking around for where the howling was coming from, “I… Heard that same howling just before I saw Sonja! I thought it was far away, but she… She was right in front of me… She… Something was off, but it looked just like her!”
“Ms. Blackwell, you didn’t see Sonja,” I assured her, “I don’t know what you think you saw, but it wasn’t-“
“Lucky… Dime…”
I froze. My blood turned to ice. The fear on Kate’s face grew as she began backing away, her back hitting the grave marker. I spun around to see a figure in the darkness limp toward us, a scratched and garbled familiar voice coming from it.
“Lucky… Dime…” It wheezed, “You brought her… Back… Give her… To me…”
I whipped out my gun, pointing it at this thing that had his voice. I stepped back to stand directly between this thing and Kate.
“Stay back!” I demanded. “Don’t come any closer!”
“Lucky… Di-“
“Shut up! Stop calling me that! Who are you? Not another step or I’ll shoot!”
The thing stopped limping toward us, its body shuddering in place as it stared us down. I took the safety off of my Glock, ready to blow this thing’s head off if it got any closer or even dared using that voice on me again.
“Kate…” It turned its attention to Kate, a completely different voice coming from it, another male’s voice. “Kate… I’m cold…”
“J-Jasper…” Kate began to sob, “Please, stop using their voices… Please stop!”
“Kate… Kate why did… Did you leave me…?” Another male voice asked. “I… I was in so much… Pain…”
“Shut up!” Kate cried out.
“I thought we… Were friends… Kate…” A female voice. “You said you… Loved me… Why won’t… You let me have… Your warmth…?”
“I said shut up!” Kate screamed as she pointed her rifle and shooting at the creature. She had missed, but the thing still let out an ear piercing shriek as it dodged out of the way of the bullets Kate was shooting. It ran off into the darkness, but Kate kept pulling the trigger of her rifle.
“Stop!” I shouted as I snatched the barrel of her rifle, shoving it to the ground before us. “It’s gone, you scared it off, get to the cabins, I’m right here with you!”
I began shoving Kate back toward where the cabins were, the sounds of that thing screaming out in a symphony of different voices ringing out throughout the woods. I shoved Kate into the first cabin we had arrived to, Cabin #1 I could only assume as I slammed the door shut behind us. It smelled God awful, like the smell of the corpse I found on my first murder case, and it was getting darker as the sun began to sink behind the trees outside.
“Detective, it smell terrible in here!” Kate cried out, covering her mouth and nose, but the tears still falling from her eyes were still visible as they rolled down her cheeks.
I pulled her close and kept her behind me as I took my gun and flashlight out. “Stay close to me,” I ordered, leading the way through the cabin, “do not run off or use that rifle without may say so, understood?”
Kate didn’t answer, but I could feel the heat from her body following after me as I made my toward the smell. It was getting worse as we inched closer to a closet door in a hallway that connected the living room to the kitchen. The door was locked, but after a couple of kicks I was able to get the door to swing open, the smell blasting us in our faces making us gag and nearly throw up on the floor. I fumbled around the sides inside the room to find a light switch that I was able to find to the side of the entryway. A yellow light flickered on, revealing the door led to a staircase. I led the way down the creaking steps, Kate close by as she kept her mouth covered with her shirt.
Once we had made our way to the bottom, Kate dropped her dad’s rifle and let out a scream as we stared at what was waiting for us at the bottom of the steps. In a large pile at the corner of this basement room were nothing but skin and bones of humans and animals covered in maggots and flies. Some of the human bodies being small and child-like in size. The missing people who were never found after vanishing when they came to Cabin #2.
I grabbed Kate’s rifle off the floor and began pushing her back up the stairs, her screaming and sobbing all the way back up to the cabin. I slammed the door shut behind us and pushed Kate to the front door.
“We need to leave,” I had told her, trying to calm her down as we made it outside, “we need to get you home and away from here as soon as possible.”
“N-No… No!” She began fighting me, trying to escape my grasp on her. “No! That… That thing is still out there! You saw it! You can’t say you don’t believe me now! It even called you Lucky Dime! It said you brought me back!”
“I’m not saying I don’t believe you!” I shot back. “I do, I saw exactly what you saw, but it’s way too dangerous for you to be out here while you’re the one it’s after!”
“I escaped it once, I can do it again!” Kate pointed out as she struggled against me while I tried getting her into my car. “I’m not running away this time, I want to kill it!”
“God damn it, Blackwell, we’ll let the police handle it! Just because you have a weapon doesn’t make you safe or ready to handle something like… Like that… That thing!”
“It killed my friends! It wants me! I’m going straight to it so I can blow its head off! It’ll come right for me!”
“I came here to bring you back home, not let you accomplish some stupid ass revenge plot! Get in the fucking car, unless you want to end up like those bodies down that-“
“D… De… Detect… Detective…”
A scratched and moaning voice cut me off. Kate and I both froze at the sound of something approaching. I turned to see a police officer stagger toward us from the tree line. I could barely tell who he was or who he used to be, his head held low and blue uniform covered in blood.
“H… Hel… Hel… Help… Help me…" It croaked as it stumbled closer.
I held up Kate's rifle. "Stay back!" I barked. "Not another step!"
The thing that stood before us wearing the cop like a full-bodied suit stopped in place. It swayed where it stood, blood water falling from its head and down to its chest.
"It… It… It's inside… Inside me…" It breathed painfully. "I… I can't… Help… Me…" Its voice then changed to that familiar voice that made my skin crawl. "Lucky… Dime… I… I'm so… Hungry… Give her… To… Me…"
I pulled the trigger of the rifle, hitting the creature in the head, the rest of it staggering backward from the blow. Still though, it remained on its feet, turning itself to look toward us once again.
"Give… Her… To… Me…" It wheeze, blood and brain pouring from where I had shot it, it beginning to stumble toward us once again. I continued shooting, hitting it in the shoulder, the arm, the leg, the head again, but it just kept coming toward us faster, demanding I give Kate to it.
I was about ready to ram it with the rifle, having run out of bullets, when a voice off in the distance made the creature freeze just an inch before us.
"I'm here! I'm here!" It called out in an almost sing-songy way, using the voice of a little girl. "I'm here! I'm here!"
"I'm… Here…" The creature repeated as it jerked its body to look to where the voice was coming from. "I'm here… I'm here… I'm here! I'm here! I'm here!" It began shrieking in a high pitch wail. It sounded like a mixture of different voices ranging from child, to woman, to man. Keeping flat on its feet, its upper body fell forward onto its hands before speedily crawling off like a spider.
We stood in shaking silence for a moment, Kate digging her fingers into my arm while I was too numb from shock to care about the pain she was unknowingly inflicting. It wasn’t until the radio from my car buzzed to life that jolted us back to whatever reality was at this point. I scrambled to the driver’s side, swinging the door open as I fell inside to grab the intercom to respond to the voice yelling for me over the receiver.
“Det. Snow, what the hell is going on up there?” The sheriff’s scratched voice called out over the receiver when I could barely get my name out of my mouth.
“Sh-Sh-Sheriff…?” Was all I could respond with, still trying to wrap my head around what I had just seen.
“Y-Y-Yeah,” he responded in mock shudder, “what the hell is going on up there? I’ve tried radioing every man I’ve got up there and am constantly being left on red! Do I need to send back-up?”
“No!” Immediately, I returned to full reality, finally understanding the severity of the moment and putting that knowledge into my tone. “Landon, do not send any more men up here, call everyone back immediately! I don’t know what this thing is, but it’s too dangerous! Call everyone back, we’re heading back to the Blackwell house now!”
“We?” The sheriff questioned, skepticism in his voice.
“I found Ms. Blackwell, she’s here with me.”
I was met with statice before the voice of Mr. Blackwell blasted over the intercom.
“Bring my daughter home, right now, you son of a bitch!” Mr. Blackwell demanded. “You bring her home this instant before I decide to kick your teeth in!”
I opened my mouth to respond, but the radio was snatched from my hand from Kate. “I’m not coming home until I kill this thing!” She snapped into the radio. “I don’t know what it is, but I at least know I’m not crazy and that it needs to die before it kills anyone else!”
I grabbed the radio from Kate’s hand, beginning to tell her off when a agonized scream erupted from the intercom. I dropped the radio to cover my ears as Kate did, the scream piercing from my car to throughout the forest around us. The voice screaming and crying for help sounded male and it seemed to echo all around us.
“GIVE HER TO ME, YOU SON OF A BITCH!” A mix of the screaming voice and Mr. Blackwell’s hissed out after a good five minutes of screaming before the radio short-circuited and puffs of smoke flowed out.
After allowing my ears to adjust to the sudden silence, I grabbed the radio once again and tried calling for the sheriff, for the cops with us in the mountains, for anyone. When I was met with more silence, I slammed the radio back down on the holder and cursed loudly, hitting the wheel as if it were the source of all my problems.
After a moment to take some deep breaths, I told Kate to get in the car as I placed her rifle in the back seat.
“Didn’t you hear me?” she shot back. “I’m not-“
“Damn it, Blackwell, we have no idea what we’re dealing with, it can mimic peoples’ voices, and it just ran off like a fucking black widow!” I snapped, stepping out of the driver’s seat to glare down at her. “The last thing I’m doing to leaving you here alone and I’m not staying here another second until I can wrap my head around what the fuck I just saw! So, you either get yourself killed out here while I try talking you down this hero complex high, or you’re going to do what I say and get in the damn car!”
We stood in heated silence, glaring each other down before Kate huffed and stormed over to the passenger side of my car and slamming the door shut as she climbed in. I jumped in after her and began driving away from this nutty nightmare I had found myself in.
We drove down the trail back to civilization in silence, Kate staring out the window and trying to keep her tearful sniffs quiet. I had finally begun calming down and was starting to feel bad for snapping at her. She had only gone there to avenge her friends by killing that thing that had most likely killed a whole bunch of cops to find her. However, I still couldn’t just let her stay to hunt it and I didn’t want to stay out in those mountains with some kind of creature that could take the form and voice of someone I knew. I still couldn’t understand what is was I had even seen.
“Wendigo,” Kate whispered, breaking the silence in the car first. She had said it as if she had just remembered something important.
“What?”
“A Wendigo,” She repeated, turning to look to me with wide scared eyes, “that’s what that thing is! It’s a Wendigo!”
“Slow down, what’s a Wendigo?”
“It’s… Oh, just forget it! You wouldn’t believe me anyway.”
“Ms. Blackwell, I just saw a cop being used as a puppet and then run off at inhuman speed on all fours; I doubt I’m not going to believe a single word that comes out of your mouth now. What’s a Wendigo?”
Kate eyed me for a moment before releasing some of the tension from her face as she took a deep breath and began explaining to me. “They’re a Native American myth; it’s believed they’re the spirits of people who would lose themselves in the woods and would end up eating other people to satiate their hunger. I think that’s what that thing is. They can mimic the voices of people who died and use it to lure people to them, they can take the form of that person too.”
“Why does it want female hearts?” I asked, not realizing I had yet told her what my mysterious caller kept asking for when they called me.
“It… It wants my heart?” she asked shakily.
I cursed to myself before letting out a frustrated sigh. “I think this thing wants hearts, but it only wants female hearts. Why? I don’t know yet. But the only other person to be found after killing someone in those cabins was found with his partner’s heart missing to which he was blamed for taking out of her. Recently, I’ve been getting calls from some… Thing wanting me to bring you back here so it could take something from you. It would have taken Ms. Greymoore’s, but you hid her well enough that only the police could find her in time. Now, I’ve been getting calls asking for you and to get something from you.”
Kate looked to me in shock before a wave of guilt twisted her face in pain. “I… I’m so, so… So sorry, Detective!” She cried out. “I… I had… I had no idea you were being… Harassed by it! Had I known it wanted me back and was demanding you brought me here, I never… I didn’t… That’s why it said you brought me back! Oh, I’m such an idiot!” She pressed her hands to her face, grabbing at her hair between her fingers and tightening them around her eyes.
“No, no, no, stop, stop that!” I ordered, screeching the car to a halt, having to bring it to a crooked stop so I could stop her from hurting herself. I snatched her arms from her head and pinned them to her lap, tears flooding her face. “It’s my fault for not telling you sooner! I was too focused on trying to solve this case with the most efficient evidence I could, but that just kept me looking to you as a suspect. I should have stopped thinking you were the killer the moment I got that first call. There’s no way any of us could have seen… This coming… Except people who probably already believe in that kind of stuff or don’t stop to assume a more rational explanation like a cult… I’m… I’m sorry. But, I won’t let it take anything from you, not anymore. I’m going to get you home and then I’ll deal with this with the rest of the police department. You don’t have to deal with this thing anymore, it’ll be my burden from now on. You need time to finally get some rest and mourn your friends with your and their families. It’s already fucked your life up enough, I won’t let it go on making it worse.”
I stopped her before she could argue with me with a wave of my hand. “Your friends’ deaths shouldn’t be your burden to handle. I know you want to be the one who kills that thing and do right by them, but that’s not what they would want. They’d want you to remember them and continue living. They know you didn’t do it, so stop blaming yourself and stop acting like you’re the one who has to make it up to them. I will put an end to this die trying, but you need to go home and be with people who are happy you still get to live.”
Kate looked down at her hands that I kept down on her lap before nodding weakly and letting out a broken “okay.”
“Good, now let’s get you home before-“
My words were cut off when the honk of a car barreling toward us echoed through the woods. The headlights were fast approaching and I barely had time to grab the gear shift to put us back in drive as the other vehicle hit us, forcing us back and forth in one violent motion. It took me a moment to check myself to be sure I hadn’t hit my head on anything or got whiplash from the crash before I immediately returned my full attention to Kate who was kneeling over holding her head. I gently grabbed her shoulder and pulled her up to examine her head. It didn’t appear to have been busted and bleeding, but she was holding the front side of her forehead.
“Are you okay?” I asked her, prying her hand away from the spot on her forehead, seeing that it was beginning to bruise. “Can you hear me? Blink twice if you can understand me!”
“I… I’m f-fine…” she mumbled as she looked to her hand to check if there was blood on her palm, “I… I think I just… Hit… Hit the w-window…” She then blinked twice in my direction before looking to the car that had rammed us.
I turned my attention as well to the car to see it was a police van, it’s front crushed into the left of my front. I quickly jumped out my vehicle and stormed to the van, yelling at who ever was driving the van to come out and explain what the hell they were doing.
The driver’s side of the van swung open once I was near enough and a man in an orange jumpsuit climbed out, staring familiar daggers at me. The moment realization set in, my mixed emotions of confusion, frustration, and fear turned to fury.
It was Leighton Raines.
“Jesus, you really are a shitty detective.” Was all he said to me before reaching into the can and retrieving a rifle out from the passenger seat.
[END OF PART 1]
Part 6
submitted by Chai_Ky to u/Chai_Ky [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 21:12 Ambitious-Desk-60 Lucifer vs. Mary, Chapter 2:7 Deadly Sins

Lucifer began approaching Mary, kicking the caltrops out of the way while Mary was swinging her thurible, winding up a swing, also careful not to step on her own caltrops.
“Heh…… You completely surrounded yourself huh? That’s good”
Lucifer remarks, before holding out one of his hands.
“MAMMON! GAUNTLETS OF GREED!”
Lucifer’s gauntlets turned gold, and the caltrops nearby began to fly to him, Mary looking at the caltrops, before Lucifer closes his fist, enhancing the attraction of the gold, Mary suddenly getting stabbed from behind from the caltrops, and a lot of gold jewelry and gems from the audience also adding up, Lucifer’s gauntlets now having massive spiked knuckle dusters, Mary taking the caltrops out of her back, dripping myrrh into the wounds from her Thurible to close them.
“Cheap trick..”
Mary said to Lucifer, who grinned.
“It’s your fault for giving me those caltrops”
Meanwhile, Göll was shocked at Lucifer’s powers.
“He called out another Sin…is that how his powers work?”
Brunhilde then answers Göll.
“Yes, it’s a trick he learned when he first rebelled to the 6 Heavenly Leaders”
Brunhilde then looked at Mary, who stopped bleeding thanks to the myrrh produced by the thurible being empowered by the gifts of the 3 magi.
“You already know how and why Lucifer first rebelled against YHWH and the other Leaders, right?”
Brunhilde asked Göll, who nodded.
“He thought he was above them, rallying a 3rd of all pantheons and even Helheim, but was defeated by Michael, right?”
Brunhilde nods, looking at Lucifer’s armor.
“To be more precise, Lucifer was the perfect being in Heaven. He had everything he could ask and more, like a spoiled brat, and one time, when training in Heaven, he had this thought:Why am I not one of the 6 Heavenly Leaders?”
Brunhilde continued, Göll listening carefully.
“So, he went to each of the 6 Heavenly Leaders, and told them he wanted to also be a Leader, even being happy with being the 7th, but after a council, all 6 of them denied his request, as Lucifer was not worshiped like a God by the humans; This enraged Lucifer, to the point he grabbed a sword nearby, and lunged against Ra and Amaterasu, claiming that he just has to kill one of them and take their spot, before YHWH’s bodyguard, Michael, intervened, parrying his strike before throwing him out of the Council room”
While Brunhilde was talking, Göll couldn’t help but look at Lucifer’s armor and weaponry.
“And so, Lucifer became very determined into overthrowing all 6 Leaders, and traveled across all pantheons, recruiting several angels, monsters, demons, minor gods, and even managing to convince major ones, such as Seth, the Asuras, Mot, Baal, and many more, and after gathering such a large army and increasing his own power, he launched a full invasion in Heaven, aiming to kill YWHW first for revenge, but was met with a single obstacle:Michael”
Upon hearing Michael’s name, Göll had memories of the previous round, where Michael had fought against Yoshitsune and nearly died.
“T-the same Michael who fought last match?”
Brunhilde nodded, continuing the narration.
“Michael requested for a duel to solve the matter, whichLucifer agreed to, but as soon as the 6 Heavenly Leaders gave their approval for the duel, Lucifer sent his entire army against Michael, and after a long battle, Lucifer was finally defeated by a single Angel, something he still couldn’t believe, despite being surrounded by bodies, and being all beaten up. As he was still Alice, Lucifer then asked Michael how he won, and why he didn't kill him off, Michael replying with:”My faith in Lord YHWH granted me the strength to beat your selfish Pride, Lucifer, and the freedom of death will not be a proper punishment for you” before casting Lucifer’s entire army, including Lucifer himself, into the jaws of the Leviathan, the Gates of Helheim” “The Leviathan? Isn’t he also one of the 7 Deadly Sins?”
Göll asked Brunhilde, who then replied back.
“He wasn’t, until Lucifer was sent to Helheim, where he plotted to overthrow it, and after breaking out once with the help of the 72 Demons of the Ars Goetia, he went to the Leviathan’s mind, and told him that if the Leviathan helped him, Lucifer will make him a name everyone will fear and submit to, to which the Leviathan agreed to, and with the help of his fellow other sins, Beelzebub, Mammon, Belphegor, Satan and Asmodeus, he gathered all of the prisoners and sinners in Helheim, and successfully overthrew Hades and Thanatos, holding Hades hostage to avoid the 6 Heavenly Leaders from intervening, and banishing Thanatos out, becoming the sole leader of Helheim.”
Brunhilde finished narrating, as Göll kept looking at Lucifer’s armor and weapons while he fought Mary, especially captivated by the dark auras surrounding him.
“So, in Helheim, he then realized he could gather sin energy for himself?”
Göll asks once again, Brunhilde nodding in response.
“With that same sin energy, he kidnapped Kanayago and Hephaestus, while also forcing cyclops and the souls of human blacksmiths, to forge him the weapons and armor he’s using right now:the Armor of Pride, the Gauntlets of Greed, the Helmet of Sloth, the Hook of Gluttony, the Sword of Wrath, the Shield of Envy and the Spear of Lust”
As Brunhilde was listing Lucifer’s arsenal, Lucifer unsheathed his sword, approaching Mary.
“SATAN! SWORD OF WRATH:ABADDON PLAGUES!”
Lucifer’s sword then extended in black and red sin energy, and swung at Mary, who swung back, shattering the sword.
“LUCIFER’S SWORD HAS BEEN SHATTERED BY THE VIRGIN MARY’S SWING!”
Heimdall announces, Zeus then chuckling.
“She shouldn’t have”
The shattered fragments, still flying in the air, then turned into various plagues:toxic frogs, locusts, boiling oil, plague-infested pests and a pitch black smoke, Mary being unaffected by the frogs, locusts and pests, and swinging her thurible to dissipate the smoke, but burning her arms on the oil in the process.
“WHAT WAS THAT???”
Göll screamed shocked, Brunhilde calmly explaining.
“The weapons and armor are imbued with the sin energies, and with that, Lucifer can use various powers, which were given to him by his fellow sins, Satan's Wrath in this case”
Mary then cooled the oil off with myrrh, and upon seeing Lucifer approach, she swung the thurible around herself, creating a cloud of smoke.
“Yeah yeah, keep hiding you little bitch….hm?”
Lucifer stepped back from the incense smoke, and tapped his helmet, which grew an eye between the horns.
“Helmet of Sloth, Belphegor…..what do you mean your Automatic Aim can’t scan weak points through that smoke? What do you mean “Be happy you can still see an outline?””
As Lucifer began scanning the smoke, from the top balcony, Brunhilde saw that Mary had made a wall of frankincense smoke around her.
“So, his helmet was made with the power of Belphegor, the…..sin of sloth? How does that even make sense?”
Göll asked, confused, Brunhilde looking at Göll.
“Yes, but remember:Sloth is the sin of inaction, of not doing anything yourself, and the Helmet of Sloth automatically tells Lucifer where his enemy is, any incoming attack, and can even focus on weak points, doing all the work”
Inside the circle, Mary once again, swung her thurible, but this time, it also spewed incense, accelerating the swing, while Mary began to pray, the audience hearing the prayer from Heimdall’s speakers, and began joining in.
“_Hail Mary, Full of Grace, The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of our death. Amen._”
Soon, Lucifer could hear the audience had also begun praying along Mary.
“Hm? Oh, they’re praying for her safety? Hehe, how pathetic” “THE VIRGIN MARY IS PRAYING FOR HERSELF? FOR WHAT REASONS IS SHE DOING THIS?”
Heimdall announced, also confused.
“Ugh, LUCIFER! ARMOR OF PRIDE! JERICHO QUAKES!”
Lucifer’s boots glowed black, Lucifer doing a roundhouse kick towards the wall, shockwaves dissipating the smoke, revealing the Virgin Mary, who immediately charges towards Lucifer.
“_Ave Maria!_”
Lucifer was caught off guard by the speed at which Mary approached and attacked, using his gauntlets to shield himself.
“What the-”
As Mary’s thurible hits Lucifer’s gauntlets, a glowing light emerges from the point of contact, and Lucifer’s Gauntlets then shatter from the hit, shocking Lucifer, Heimdall and all of the audience, even making Zeus and Artemis worry.
“THE…..THE VIRGIN MARY LANDS A DEVASTATING HIT! LUCIFER’S GAUNTLETS HAVE BEEN BROKEN!”
submitted by Ambitious-Desk-60 to ShuumatsuNoValkyrie [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 21:11 kutukut Struggling with a Recent Breakup and Seeking a Second Chance

My girlfriend of six years dumped me 12 days ago. We had been in a long-distance relationship for about eight months due to her master’s program in a different country. I feel terrible and don’t want to lose her because I love her. I believe she still loves me too. We survived previous long-distance periods, but it has always been hard, especially for her since her love language is more physical.
This was our first relationship, and we had many problems. I struggled to show how much I loved her, and she struggled to believe what I said about my feelings. I worked on myself, got therapy, tried to be more affectionate, and listened to her. However, because I was so afraid of losing her, I couldn't always talk about when she made me feel worthless, stupid, and unloved.
Before the long distance, everything seemed better, although she was sometimes rude to me and made me cry. But when she realized she hurt me, she became the most caring person in the world, making me feel handsome and worthy of love. I was afraid of affection since I feared losing it, but I trusted her with my heart. Also, I was not the best but we were trying.
However, during the long distance, she became cold. She stopped calling me, and I convinced myself that the problem was external stress like money and academics. I tried to invite her to activities like watching movies, reading books together, working out, and studying together online, but she didn’t have time for me or didn’t want to do these things with me. Whenever I tried to be affectionate, she would bring up my past mistakes, and I apologized and told her I was trying to be better.
I got accepted to a master’s program at my dream school—not in the same country, but closer. I dreamed we could meet more often and that everything would get better. I even thought later I could go for a doctorate in her country since I couldn’t afford the master’s there. I called her first when I learned the news; I was so happy. We talked for four consecutive days, and I was the one who kept calling. When I stopped calling, she never called me back. When I asked her why she wasn’t calling, she called me and broke up with me.
I was shocked. I felt it was coming, but I didn’t want it to end. She said she loved me, but when we talked on the phone, everything was fine, yet when she hung up, I wasn't with her. She said she didn’t want to put more effort into the relationship. She wanted to stay friends and said she missed me. I just said if she was sure, I would respect her decision. We cried... I was shocked because she was my best friend too. I couldn’t stand not being able to call or text her. The next day, I reached her and we talked for two hours, she said she couldn’t sleep and was afraid I would never talk to her again when I unfollowed her on Instagram.
We decided on no contact for a day, which was too hard for me. Then we talked, but it was bad. I said I felt angry because I lost my best friend and lover, but she treated it as if I was blaming her and making her the villain. She said it was hard for her too, not just for me. I apologized, and we decided not to talk for a week. But I broke no contact and wrote that I wanted to talk to her. She said she lost her phone and asked if we could text instead. When I said yes, she told me she had some assignments and didn’t want to be distracted, and I respected that.
A day later, I saw her Instagram post about finding her phone and she writed she will post alot since she found her phone and realized she had deleted our pictures. I felt terrible. She wrote to me 10 minutes later, saying she found her phone and asked if we could wait until May 21 to talk until her assignment was finished. That day is coming, and I want to ask her for a second chance, but I understand the reason we broke up is long distance. Even if we got back together, it would still be long distance. I respect her choice, but I can’t let go of her calmly because I love her a lot, and she still says she loves me, even after the breakup. We were not perfect since we are human, but I thought we could solve any problem since we love each other a lot. I believed we would grow old together. I fully trusted her.
I plan to talk to her for a second chance. Even if she says no, she was my first love, and I learned how to love and trust from her. I don't need anyone to love me; I can love myself.
I also hurt her because I couldn’t give her small but important things like buying flowers and going to parties with her (I hate partying). But she also hurt me with small things like not listening to the songs I sent her even once, not visiting my faculty when I was stressed about my projects, even though I asked her to. These things hurt me deeply.
I don't know ...
submitted by kutukut to BreakUps [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 20:57 OldBayJ [SerSun] Serial Sunday: Watch!

Welcome to Serial Sunday!

To those brand new to the feature and those returning from last week, welcome! Do you have a self-established universe you’ve been writing or planning to write in? Do you have an idea for a world that’s been itching to get out? This is the perfect place to explore that. Each week, I post a theme to inspire you, along with a related image and song. You have 500 - 1000 words to write your installment. You can jump in at any time; writing for previous weeks’ is not necessary in order to join. After you’ve posted, come back and provide feedback for at least 1 other writer on the thread. Please be sure to read the entire post for a full list of rules.

This Week’s Theme is Watch!

Image Song
Bonus Word List (each included word is worth 5 pts) - You must list which words you included at the end of your story. - wish - weaken - whiplash - wayward
The world is watching, or are your characters watching the world go by? Maybe they are standing watch over something important or waiting for a person to arrive or an event to unfold. Watching a favorite show can bring joy but to be watched often causes feelings of unease within those who are under observation. Perhaps a student or child has learned something valuable from what they have witnessed, or has a traumatic scene thrown the world of your character into chaos? In the primal sense, does the predator wait patiently for their prey, whatever that may be? The very nature of humanity is expressed in this simple yet complex task with a duality of purpose and meaning. Blurb provided by u/JKHmattox.
These are just a few things to get you started. Remember, the theme should be present within the story in some way, but its interpretation is completely up to you. For the bonus words (not required), you may change the tense, but the base word should remain the same. Please remember to follow all sub and post rules.
Don’t forget to sign up for Saturday Campfire here! We start at 1pm EST and provide live feedback!

Theme Schedule:

  • May 19 - Watch (this week)
  • May 26 - Yield
  • June 2 - Abandoned
  Previous Themes Serial Index  

Rankings for Void

Rules & How to Participate

Please read and follow all the rules listed below. This feature has requirements for participation!
  • Submit a story inspired by the weekly theme, written by you and set in your self-established universe that is 500 - 1000 words. No fanfics and no content created or altered by AI. (Use wordcounter.net to check your wordcount.) Stories should be posted as a top-level comment below. If you’re continuing an in-progress serial (not on Serial Sunday), please include links to your previous installments.
  • Your chapter must be submitted by Saturday at 9:00am EST. Late entries will be disqualified. All submissions should be given (at least) a basic editing pass before being posted!
  • Begin your post with the name of your serial between triangle brackets (e.g. ). When our bot is back up and running, this will allow it to recognize your serial and add each chapter to the SerSun catalog. Do not include anything in the brackets you don’t want in your title. (Please note: You must use this same title every week.)
  • Do not pre-write your serial. You’re welcome to do outlining and planning for your serial, but chapters should not be pre-written. All submissions should be written for this post, specifically.
  • Only one active serial per author at a time. This does not apply to serials written outside of Serial Sunday.
  • All Serial Sunday authors must leave feedback on at least one story on the thread each week. The feedback should be actionable and also include something the author has done well. When you include something the author should improve on, provide an example! You have until Saturday at 11:59pm EST to post your feedback. (Submitting late is not an exception to this rule.)
  • Missing your feedback requirement two or more consecutive weeks will disqualify you from rankings and Campfire readings the following week. If it becomes a habit, you may be asked to move your serial to the sub instead.
  • Serials must abide by subreddit content rules. You can view a full list of rules here. If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, please modmail and ask!
 

Weekly Campfires & Voting:

  • On Saturdays at 1pm EST, I host a Serial Sunday Campfire in our Discord’s Voice Lounge. Join us to read your story aloud, hear others, and exchange feedback. We have a great time! You can even come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Grab the “Serial Sunday” role on the Discord to get notified before it starts. You can sign up here
  • Nominations for your favorite stories can be submitted with this form. The form is open on Saturdays from 12:30pm to 11:59pm EST. You do not have to participate to make nominations!
  • Authors who complete their Serial Sunday serials with at least 12 installments, can host a SerialWorm in our Discord’s Voice Lounge, where you read aloud your finished and edited serials. Celebrate your accomplishment! Authors are eligible for this only if they have followed the weekly feedback requirement (and all other post rules). Visit us on the Discord for more information.  

Ranking System

Rankings are determined by the following point structure.
TASK POINTS ADDITIONAL NOTES
Use of weekly theme 75 pts Theme should be present, but the interpretation is up to you!
Including the bonus words 5 pts each (20 pts total) This is a bonus challenge, and not required!
Actionable Feedback 5 - 15 pts each (60 pt. max)* This includes thread and campfire critiques. (15 pt crits are those that go above & beyond.)
Nominations your story receives 10 - 60 pts 1st place - 60, 2nd place - 50, 3rd place - 40, 4th place - 30, 5th place - 20 / Regular Nominations - 10
Voting for others 15 pts You can now vote for up to 10 stories each week!
You are still required to leave at least 1 actionable feedback comment on the thread every week that you submit. This should include at least one specific thing the author has done well and one that could be improved. *Please remember that interacting with a story is not the same as providing feedback.** Low-effort crits will not receive credit.
 

Subreddit News

  • Join our Discord to chat with other authors and readers! We hold several weekly Campfires, monthly World-Building interviews and several other fun events!
  • Try your hand at micro-fic on Micro Monday!
  • Did you know you can post serials to Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday? Check out this post to learn more!
  • Interested in being a part of our team? Apply to be a mod!  
submitted by OldBayJ to shortstories [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 20:40 -dreadnaughtx How to know if you have mistyped

Some notes of mine...probably going to eventually put some of this into my book, which will cover The Enneagram as a whole plus insights I have from being a netizen for so long...
How to know if you have mistyped
The quick, functional version. Based on approximately 18 years (and running) of down-to-earth enneagram experience, which includes more hours than I can count reading about the types online and in literature, watching videos, including most canonical texts, some familiarity with all the popular sites, teachers, and groups, plus spending excessive time in small online communities exploring and discussing the types (e.g. “echo chambers” as I like to call them), including years spent on my own stuck in mistyping and/or analyzing the cultish dynamics that The Enneagram community attracts. If you can’t handle it or don’t understand it, that’s likely not my problem, but an issue arising from your own biases, limited experience, and struggling with the challenge of integrating what I have decided to share with you.
So, before you have a knee jerk reaction based on your own biases, please understand that this is good-faith information that has worked for me, my intentions are good and my experience is my own and it’s valid, so no petty retorting or pseudo-debating is going to change that. I put in the time and made the mistakes, so others won’t have to. This is intended to help people. I suspect there are others out there who have mistyped, but not for the reasons you may think. If the information doesn’t work for you, then set it aside. Suffice to say you’ll be confronted with plenty of that in your life anyway (but I’d try to take this seriously first, because I think it holds potential value for people other than myself).
I do need to warn you that some entry-level logical reasoning ability is needed to really understand what I’m going to share. If it doesn’t make sense to you or you disagree, there’s a pretty good chance that you haven’t understood it fully. Basic education might be needed to understand some of the more advanced logical concepts at work, such as the idea that any given Type X has many different manifestations, and our presumed ability to understand and recognize a type externally is impacted by how we filter our perceptions through our bias of how we believe that type will appear.
Some manifestations are going to align with and confirm our biases about the type, we’ll call these XB (B is for bias, so XB is our bias of how we think type X *should* appear, if we have a bias about that, which is subjective to the person making the call externally), but some won’t – some will align more obviously with our biases of another type altogether. i.e. X->XB, but also X->YB, X->ZB, etc.
This helps us to understand how the underlying Core Type can appear differently on the surface and our bias factors into all of it. E.g. if I come along and quickly say “well this guy here is clearly a Type 8,” and it’s based on the fact that to me he “looks like an 8”, we know there is at least some bias in play (because I don’t know him to truly be that type from the inside)…but I can still be correct, biases can be true sometimes -- assuming I am correct here, then in reality, this is because he’s a case of Type 8->8B. But to another person I might say “well this lady here self-types as 5 but doesn’t seem 5 to me, she seems type 9”. We have to take into account we could be looking at a true case of either 5->9B, or 9->9B. Assuming I’m wrong, then 5->9B would explain how my biases are leading me astray from the truth.
The Enneagram is an interdisciplinary system, it relies on both logical and mathematical elements, as well as spiritual and psychological ones. So not everyone is going to be able to use it effectively from the start. Advanced philosophical and logical knowledge and innovation can be useful in understanding it.
A few questions to consider:
1. Are you happy, healthy, etc? Relatively speaking.
Simple question. Accurately typing yourself should make your life better, and it should only get better over the long term as you understand your type more deeply and apply that self-knowledge to your life. Maybe there’s an initial shock point where you’re upset or coming to grips with your type, but eventually it should pay off as offering a helpful look into your own motivations and behaviors. It’s a kind of way to truly control your life from the driver’s seat, rather than being stuck in the passenger seat (with someone else at the wheel, god forbid).
If you’re just playing out the “shell-like”, superficial role of a non-core type, rather than getting to the core underneath (that’s one reason why we call It the “core” type), you’re going to neglect yourself on a deeper level. It will result in cognitive dissonance as well, causing imbalances in various places, since your core type is still having a strong impact, albeit in a less conscious way. Now if no type works for you and you feel you need to reject the whole system, that’s fine.
But if you’re going to use it, then at least make sure you’ve identified your dominant type properly, as evidenced by the self-knowledge and corollary benefits it offers. Even if every single person in the world says “you have your type wrong”, but you’re happy, sleeping well, healthy, kicking ass in your daily life, achieving your goals, dreams, etc., – then you can be pretty sure you’ve got your type right, period. The faceless masses can, unsurprisingly, be wrong about their views of us.
2. Did you arrive at the typing on your own, and can it stand up to others’ willful, unwavering contradictions, arguments, and denials?
If you were pressured into typing or retyping yourself a certain way or persuaded to stay with the same type even as you thought other types might be more accurate, you could easily have mistyped yourself. Now if you are being partially held in place by others’ validation of your type (especially those in an online community who don’t know you personally), then what you’re probably looking at is a kind of mind-control cult structure. I.e., you’re being subtlety brainwashed and manipulated via fixed ideas in exchange for feeling a sense of belonging and validation about your type within the community. You could easily have your type wrong in this case.
Of course, if you quickly buckle under peeexternal pressure when you naturally start to think of other types as possibilities when looking at your life and The Enneagram, you know there are some manipulation factors weighing on you and keeping you attached to a certain type that could easily be a mistype. In these cases, look not only at what people are getting you to do, but what not to do, which is potentially retyping yourself. It means they’re trying to keep you in alignment with their superficial ideas of you, keeping you constricted and in chains psychologically and spiritually (a slave to their egoic ideas).
If you had mistyped yourself, being open to retyping would be essential for advancing your own insight, and if you can’t even be open to that, then there’s no way you can be sure you haven’t mistyped. And it’ll be hard to break out of it if you feel like you need others’ validation, because all it takes is a few trusted, bad, or misguided influences to keep us locked into mistypes. Not everyone is going to validate our self-typing for us, even when it's accurate. Always there will be haters, hecklers, and trolls online. Our spiritual truth shouldn't be affected by those miserable people.
Don’t let others’ stereotypes, biases, gaslighting, irresponsibility, poor ethics, and bad faith influence you and get in the way of a happier life. Online interactions should come second to your real life, and if one of the only ways your type manifests is via online validation, that starts to shed serious doubt on the accuracy of your typing (especially if your core type and instinct is one of the more frequently gaslighted/gatekept in the broader online Enneagram culture).
3. Have you honestly considered every single type for yourself, across different resources and from different angles, over time?
If you haven’t done this, there’s no way you should be convinced you have your type right. Without that certainty, you’ll struggle to understand yourself and type yourself accurately. You need to understand the entire system anyway. There’s no way you can understand one type without knowing the rest of them. And obviously you need to really consider all the options deeply and rationally, consulting many different texts, in order to get a comprehensive picture. I’ve mistyped at least a couple times, and both were before I really allowed myself to open my mind about the types. I latched onto a description within the first year or two studying The Enneagram and clung to that without considering the alternatives, because I had identified with some aspects of the type but not the deeper fixation. While it’s possible to accurately type yourself from early on, also make sure you do your due dilligence and learn about all the types in full scope, and confirm that you have your type right as you do that.
4. Do you know the main online Enneagram cultural biases, stereotypes, and “rules of thumb” that amount to sophistry? So you can look out for them and set them aside?
These can be pretty quickly summarized, which tend to be some variation of beliefs that: everyone is mistyped by default, self-typed 8s are really Type 6s or sometimes 3s (they just can’t see it), many self-typed 5s and 4s are really 6s or 9s, people mistype as 8s because everyone wants to be “the strong one”, true 8s are extremely rare and even “unicorns” (the true-to-life presumption being that 8 is a superior type to be gatekept and treated like a club), people over-SX-type themselves and most people are actually SX-last, etc.
So when many people go to a popular “typing service” or “typing expert” and are all given the same or extremely similar typings, I find that suspicious and not a reliable way to type. If it works for you, do it, but most of us would disregard those suggestions anyway because they aren’t based on a sufficiently deep knowledge of us needed to move beyond merely projecting their own biases. We might be better off just guessing randomly at what our type is, given how these others’ biases keep them locked into certain patterns of identifying a type for us.
And all of these I mentioned are largely just “status quo” assumptions, they aren’t based on any actual research or hardcore data, they’re mediocre generalizations at best. They amount to echoes in the echo chamber that just get propagated because no one wants to question them. While it’s true that 369 are traditionally known as “primary, relating types”, somewhat more adaptive and chameleonic in their nature, and they’re overall (probably) somewhat more common than the “secondary types”; while it’s true that the sexual instinct is probably less common than the social and self-preservation instinct, of course depending on specific population; while it’s true that people do in fact mistype and there is some truth to these ideas and reasons behind how/why this occurs, nevertheless, these guidelines shouldn’t be exaggerated and applied in an unbridled way, according to our whims and agendas, and used to apply massive generalizations and stereotypes to anyone whose text/video/content we interact with online. This would amount to lazy thinking and turning off our brains, and facilitating even more toxic, robotic, programmed social dynamics – exactly what The Enneagram is trying to wake us up from.
5. Do you realize that your type can only be truly confirmed and known with certainty by you?
There may indeed be some of us, experts, amateurs, aficionados, etc., who are skilled at recognizing a person’s type based on limited data, but this amounts to mostly just an educated guess and should only be done with a low confidence interval (should not be accepted blindly without in-depth confirmation from the person). At the end of the day, it would take a direct, experiential knowledge of your childhood, from your own shoes, to really see and verify your type and its formation accurately. Because the dominant type is developed in childhood, it “belongs to us” in a privileged and specific way. Someone else coming along and seeing us as an older child or an adult and telling us which type we are based on their superficial experience of us filtered through their own biases and perspectives isn’t going to change who we are on a basic level.
We go through many stages in life and take on many different superficial appearances, some of which can serve to obscure our core type (especially in light of this conflating variable of the observer’s bias). Also keep in mind, although we have a core type, we have other types active in us as well. The Enneagram covers the full spectrum of human behavior, and one reason why secondary and auxiliary elements and dynamics like the lines of integration/disintegration, the wing, trifix, and instincts were developed was to express, identify, and map how some of the other types interact with our core type. With all of that in mind, it’s not farfetched to see how we can strongly identify with a type that isn’t our core, while still failing to develop to our fullest, Enneagramically-informed potential.
Good luck to you in your journey of typing yourself accurately and applying that knowledge to your life so that you can be happier and healthier.
Thanks for reading and good luck. Sorry I don’t have time to get to comments. You can see quite a bit of time is tied up in writing this stuff so I don’t have the time for all comments maintenance. I do appreciate you reading this and I hope it helps someone. I want to make sure the book is interesting, original, and covers unique truths I’ve learned personally rather than just echoing what others have said.
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2024.05.19 20:35 SparkyNest [H] Recent Bundles +150 Steam Games [W] Want List or Paypal (from 0.80$ each)

    REP
Steam profile
IGSRep +119 trades confirmed
SGS Flair +237 trades confirmed
GameTradeREP +24 trades confirmed
       
Payment through Paypal (USD) using Good & Services option. Not accepting other type of payment (bitcoin, Venmo, etc). If you want to pay using F&F option fees are on your own (I'm from EU).
     
Press Ctrl + F to search games in the list
   
  Want List
  • River City Girls 2
  • Huntdown
  • We Were Here Forever
  • THE DARK PICTURES ANTHOLOGY: LITTLE HOPE
 
   
   
SPECIAL PACK This 15 games for 1$
  • Western Press Mk Cans II Character DLC
  • Western Press
  • Kholat
  • 140
  • MirrorMoon EP
  • Contraption Maker
  • Air Guardians
  • Gentlemen!
  • Gravity Badgers
  • Ignite
  • Tank Operations - European Campaign
  • McGuffin Curse
  • Age of Steel: Recharge
  • Combat Wings: Battle of Britain
  • Battlesloths 2025: The Great Pizza Wars
5$ * Earth Defense Force 4.1 The Shadow of New Despair + a ton of DLC * DLC list here
   
10$
Game deslisted from Steam
   
0.80$ each one
OFFER Buy 5 games of the this list for 3$
OFFER Buy 10 games of the this list for 4$
   
   
1.75$
OFFER Buy 3 games of this second list for 4$
   
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2024.05.19 20:35 SparkyNest [H] Recent Bundles +150 Steam Games [W] Want List or Paypal (from 0.80$ each)

    REP
Steam profile
IGSRep +119 trades confirmed
SGS Flair +237 trades confirmed
GameTradeREP +24 trades confirmed
       
Payment through Paypal (USD) using Good & Services option. Not accepting other type of payment (bitcoin, Venmo, etc). If you want to pay using F&F option fees are on your own (I'm from EU).
     
Press Ctrl + F to search games in the list
   
  Want List
  • River City Girls 2
  • Huntdown
  • We Were Here Forever
  • THE DARK PICTURES ANTHOLOGY: LITTLE HOPE
 
   
   
SPECIAL PACK This 15 games for 1$
  • Western Press Mk Cans II Character DLC
  • Western Press
  • Kholat
  • 140
  • MirrorMoon EP
  • Contraption Maker
  • Air Guardians
  • Gentlemen!
  • Gravity Badgers
  • Ignite
  • Tank Operations - European Campaign
  • McGuffin Curse
  • Age of Steel: Recharge
  • Combat Wings: Battle of Britain
  • Battlesloths 2025: The Great Pizza Wars
5$ * Earth Defense Force 4.1 The Shadow of New Despair + a ton of DLC * DLC list here
   
10$
Game deslisted from Steam
   
0.80$ each one
OFFER Buy 5 games of the this list for 3$
OFFER Buy 10 games of the this list for 4$
   
   
1.75$
OFFER Buy 3 games of this second list for 4$
   
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2024.05.19 20:20 SpaceGooV MLW Beginner Guide 2024

MLW is about to host it's most popular event of the year in the Battle Riot on June 1st in Atlanta. So I figured as an MLW fan and because people have been curious here I'd give a breakdown on MLW for those curious in jumping in.
Satoshi Kojima and Shigeo Okumura aka CozyMAX - Japanese legend and representing New Japan has been the face of the company this year. Kojima is the heavyweight champion and first ever man to win it twice. He's also the tag champion with CMLL representative Shigeo Okumura. Okumura being the long time worker in CMLL and liason for Japanese talent in Mexico. He's really been pushing himself and doing the best work I've ever seen from him getting his first real shot in the US. So despite Kojima's age he's been a great face for the company in a year after losing Jacob Fatu and Alexander HammerStone
Místíco and the feud between Cesar Duran and Salina de la Renta - Místíco is a legend from Mexico who for a long time was mostly known for his failure of a run as Sin Cara. As the current MLW Middleweight champion though he's proven exactly why he's a legend. He's having great matches with the roster of MLW/CMLL imports. He's doing so representing Cesar Duran (Azteca Lucha) which many of you may know as Dario Cueto from Lucha Underground. Cesar Duran has been feuding with Salina de la Renta (Promociones Dorado) in a feud I would best describe as two people hating each other because of how similar they truly are. The two have been doing their best to sign different CMLL talent to beat each other with and show superiority. Consistent talent to understand the current alignment is Cesar Duran represents Místíco, Magnus (Cousin of Místíco and you may have seen recently in AEW/New Japan), Virus (longtime CMLL trainer and legend), and Averno (Longtime rival to Místíco and recently converted from Promociones Dorado). Representing Salina is Star Jr (Young and grown quite popular to the MLW crowd he's been the number 2 luchador to Místíco who he will be facing for the belt at the Battle Riot event TV tapings), Barbaro Cavenario (Amazing luchador also caveman), and Jesus Rodriguez (you probably remember as the ring announcer Ricardo Rodriguez). I expect these two to continue to feud as a good excuse for MLW to showcase CMLL Lucha.
Return of CONTRA - Contra after dying a couple years ago with Mads Kruger leaving to reinvent himself on the indies as Krule has returned. Mads Krule Kruger has returned promising Contra to return to its former glory and more than likely he probably will as the company looks to be building him up as the next world champion. Ikuro Kwon from the original group has also returned following Kruger. The faction is also promising new members in probably the classic MLW method of introducing MLW's next top guys as faction members first. They've been feuding with the Second Gear Crew which you may know from GCW as the Crew has become the de facto top face faction working closely with CozyMAX.
World Titan Federation (WTF) - The poorly named WTF was the top heel faction of 2023 and the beginning of this year but now has been scaled back some. Being represented by Mister Saint Laurent who is ok standard annoying heel manager the group showcases lots of the great younger heel talent in the company. Joshua Bishop who is the same mold as Jacob Fatu, Alex Kane, and Alexander HammerStone is a young talented big man and probably has a good future in the company. Zayda Steel is the main female representative in the group she is probably a future women's champion for the company. Brett Ryan Gouslin who is best described as Ken from the barbie movie who you desperately want to see get punched; he's a great midcard heel. The group also represents Steph de Lander, Tom Lawlor, and Davey Boy Smith Jr when they're not working in Japan or Steph de Lander case of GCW.
Bad Dude Tito - The New MLW National Open weight champion made MLW his American home after they made a relationship with New Japan. He looks to be a top guy in the company after being consistently good in the promotion
Alex Kane and the split of Bomaye Fight Club - Alex Kane had a rough beginning of the year losing the belt to Kojima and that's continued with the former top dolla being a thorn in his side and stealing his group. While AJ Francis I was pretty trepidations about joining MLW has actually shown to be doing quite well similar to his current TNA run. He's stolen Bomaye Fight Club from Kane who only has the Giant known as Mr Thomas continue to have his back. This has been a nice midcard feud
Matt Riddle - The controversial figure has been in MLW due to his star power but MLW doesn't seem to want to push him into any big title picture. He's currently feuding with fellow freelancer Sami Callihan. Riddle is a solid worker but that's all they're really using him for right now especially after losing the New Japan television title.
Featherweight division - the still young division has some solid foundation in 2024 with current champion Janai Kai and face of the featherweight division Delmi Exo. Kai has been a dominant heel champion ever since making her shock debut and destroying Exo for the title. Exo has been the underdog Babyface trying to get the title back. Basic Good vs Evil storyline that's been working well. Helps they have good talent also helping with the division in Zayda Steel, Notorious Mimi, and Tiana James. They also have a relationship with TJPW which has had Maki Itoh, Miyu Yamashita, Hyper Misao, etc make appearances for the promotion.
Death Fighters - Finally the face faction of Raven, Jake Crist, Matthew Lloyd, and AKIRA are a new strong babyface faction. Originally calling themselves the Answer in response to Raven former faction the Calling turning on him and AKIRA. These four have dismantled the Calling and set themselves as solid babyfaces for MLW.
This is a basic outline of the faces and stories of MLW hopefully for those interested I've maintained your interest but also have you a good background for the promotion as I said MLW Battle Riot is on June 1st and if you're interested MLW is part of the Triller+ package (fka as FITE) with the TV tapings released on YouTube as tv specials.
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2024.05.19 20:17 model-willem B1670 - Protected Sovereign States and Territories Bill - Final Division

Protected Sovereign States and Territories Bill

A
BILL
TO
provide greater protection for the recognition of certain nations’ independence, for certain nations’ sovereignty over disputed regions, and for connected purposes.
BE IT ENACTED by the King’s Most Excellent Majesty, by and with the advice and consent of the Lords Temporal, and Commons, in this present Parliament assembled, and by the authority of the same, as follows:—

PART 1

PROTECTED INDEPENDENCE RECOGNITION

1 Protected independence recognition status
(1) A polity in Schedule 1 is considered to have protected independence recognition.
(2) In this Act, ‘protected independence recognition’ is recognition that a polity is a sovereign state as it is an independent political entity comprising a people from a defined territory that has the capacity to enter into relations with other states and requires protection.
2 Amending a polity’s protected independence recognition
(1) The Secretary of State may, by statutory instrument amending Schedule 1 of this Act, determine that a polity does or does not have protected independence recognition and what the polity’s defined territorial boundaries are.
(2) Any statutory instrument made under subsection (1) is to be passed with affirmative procedure.
(3) The Secretary of State must consider adding a polity to Schedule 1 if—
(a) the polity in question has declared that it is an independent sovereign state;
(b) there is a dispute about the ownership of the territory that the polity claims sovereignty over; and
(c) the polity faces an active and serious threat to its existence.
(4) The Secretary of State must consider removing a polity from Schedule 1 if—
(a) the polity renounces its declaration of independence;
(b) the polity renounces its claim to their territory; or
(c) the polity no longer faces an active and serious threat to its existence.
3 Assistance in times of conflict
(1) The United Kingdom must assist a polity in Schedule 1 if another polity—
(a) declares war; or
(b) applies significant economic sanctions;
against that polity.
(2) The Secretary of State must consider whether it is appropriate and legitimate to provide the assistance requested or deemed to be necessary in regards to the assistance of a polity.
(3) If a polity in Schedule 1 engages in military action against another polity, the Secretary of State must consider—
(a) removing said polity from Schedule 1;
(b) making a determination about which polity has the valid claim to sovereignty over the territory; and
(c) diplomatic actions that can be taken to resolve the situation.

PART 2

PROTECTED SOVEREIGNTY RECOGNITION

4 Protected sovereignty recognition status
(1) A territory in Schedule 2 of this Act has protected sovereignty recognition.
(2) In this Act, ‘protected sovereignty recognition’ is recognition that a territory belongs to an existing sovereign state and needs protection.
5 Amending a territory’s protected sovereignty recognition
(1) The Secretary of State may, by statutory instrument amending Schedule 2 of this Act, determine that a territory does or does not have protected sovereignty recognition and to which sovereign state it belongs to.
(2) Any statutory instrument made under subsection (1) is to be passed with affirmative procedure.
(3) The Secretary of State must consider adding a territory to Schedule 2 if—
(a) the territory in question is recognised as owned by a sovereign state;
(b) there is a dispute about the ownership of the territory; and
(c) the territory—
(i) is under military occupation;
(ii) is facing civil war or unrest; or
(iii) is facing a high risk of military action.
(4) The Secretary of State must consider removing a territory from Schedule 2 if the sovereign state it belongs to renounces its sovereign over that territory.

PART 3

UNPROTECTED STATUS RECOGNITION

1 Unprotected Status Recognition
(1) A polity in Schedule 3 is considered to have unprotected status recognition.
(2) In this Act, ‘unprotected status recognition’ is recognition that a polity who has lost control of its claimed territory is and continues to be a sovereign state as it is an independent political entity comprising a people from a defined territory that has the capacity to enter into relations with other states and requires protection.
(3) In this Act, ‘alternative claiming polity’ is the other entity that currently occupies or controls the land in which the polity with unprotected status recognition claims.
2 Amending a polity’s unprotected status recognition
(1) The Secretary of State may, by statutory instrument amending Schedule 1 of this Act, determine that a polity does or does not have unprotected status recognition and what the polity’s defined territorial boundaries are.
(2) Any statutory instrument made under subsection (1) is to be passed with affirmative procedure.
(3) The Secretary of State must consider adding a polity to Schedule 1 if—
(a) the polity in question has continued to declare that it is an independent sovereign state;
(b) there remains a dispute about the ownership of the territory that the polity claims sovereignty over;
(c) the polity in question continues to maintain diplomatic consultation with the United Kingdom;
(d) the polity in question makes a formal request to the United Kingdom for continued recognition
(e) the alternative claiming polity to the polity in which is in question for unprotected status recognition is considered a terrorist or extremist state.
(4) The Secretary of State must consider removing a polity from Schedule 1 if—
(a) the polity renounces its declaration of independence;
(b) the polity renounces its claim to their territory;
(c) the polity itself recognises the alternative polity claiming the formerly disputed land;
(d) the alternative claiming polity establishes formal relations with the United Kingdom, and meets human rights expectations; and
(e) it is considered by the Parliament through affirmative measure to no longer be in the interest of the United Kingdom to be involved in the continued recognition of the polity.
3 Requirements upon the Government
(1) The United Kingdom is not bound to assist the unprotected status recognition polity in any way, however may do so if such is the wish of the government, or by parliament through an affirmative measure.

PART 4

FINAL PROVISIONS

6 Definitions
In this Act—
’sovereign state’ is to be construed as “an independent political entity comprising a people from a defined territory that has the capacity to enter into relations with other states and requires protection.”
‘protected independence recognition’ is to be construed in accordance with subsection 1(2).
’protected sovereignty recognition’ is to be construed in accordance with subsection 4(2).
’defined territorial boundaries’ is to be construed as the territories outlined for a particular polity within Schedules 1 and 2
7 Extent, commencement, and short title
(1) This Act extends to England and Wales, Scotland and Northern Ireland.
(2) The provisions of this Act shall come into force the day this Act is passed.
(3) This Act may be cited as the Protected Sovereign States and Territories Act 2023.

SCHEDULE 1

PROTECTED INDEPENDENCE RECOGNITION POLITIES

State of Israel
1 (1) The State of Israel has protected independence recognition as defined by this Act.
(2) The territory of the State of Israel is the territory under their name as defined by the demarcation line set out in the 1949 Armistice Agreements between the nations of Egypt, Jordan, Lebanon, Syria and Israel known as the Green Line.
State of Palestine
2 (1) The State of Palestine has protected independence recognition as defined by this Act.
(2) The territory of the State of Palestine is the territory under their name as defined by the demarcation line set out in the 1949 Armistice Agreements between the nations of Egypt, Jordan, Lebanon, Syria and Israel known as the Green Line.
Republic of Kosovo
3 (1) The Republic of Kosovo has protected independence recognition as defined by this Act.
(2) The territory of the Republic of Kosovo is the territory of the Autonomous Province of Kosovo and Metohija as defined by the Constitution of the nation of Serbia on the commencement of this Act.
Sahrawi Arab Democratic Republic
4 (1) The Sahrawi Arab Democratic Republic has protected independence recognition as defined by this Act.
(2) The territory of the Sahrawi Arab Democratic Republic is the territory of Western Sahara as defined by the border of the Islamic Republic of Mauritania and the line at 27° 40’ N extending from the ocean to the border of the Islamic Republic of Mauritania.
Republic of Cyprus
5 (1) The Republic of Cyprus has protected independence recognition as defined by this Act.
(2) The territory of the Republic of Cyprus is the entirety of the island of Cyprus excluding the sovereign base areas of—
(a) Akrotiri; and
(b) Dhekelia.
Democratic Republic of Timor-Leste
6 (1) The Democratic Republic of Timor-Leste has protected independence recognition as defined by this Act.
(2) The territory of the Democratic Republic of Timor-Leste is the territory of East Timor as defined in the Constitution of the Democratic Republic of Timor-Leste.
Ukraine
7 (1) The nation of Ukraine has protected independence recognition as defined by this Act.
(2) The territory of Ukraine consists of the Cherkasy, Chernihiv, Chernivtsi, Crimea, Dnipropetrovsk, Donetsk, Ivano-Frankivsk, Kharkiv, Kherson, Khmelnytskyi, Kirovohrad, Kyiv Municipal, Kyiv, Luhansk, Lviv, Mykolaiv, Odesa, Poltava, Rivne, Sevastopol, Sumy, Ternopil, Vinnytsia, Volyn, Zakarpattia, Zaporizhzhia, and Zhytomyr Oblasts.

SCHEDULE 2

PROTECTED SOVEREIGNTY RECOGNITION TERRITORIES

Crimea, Donetsk, Kherson, Luhansk and Zaporizhzhia
1 (1) The territories of Crimea, Donetsk, Kherson, Luhansk and Zaporizhzhia has protected sovereignty recognition as defined under this Act.
(2) The sovereign state of the territories of Crimea, Donetsk, Kherson, Luhansk and Zaporizhzhia is the nation of Ukraine.
(3) (a) The territory of Crimea is the territory of the Autonomous Republic of Crimea and the city with special status of Sevastopol
(3) (b) The territory of Donetsk is the territory of the Donetsk Oblast as defined by Ukraine
(3) (c) The territory of Kherson is the territory of the Kherson Oblast as defined by Ukraine
(3) (d) The territory of Luhansk is the territory of the Luhansk Oblast as defined by Ukraine
(3) (e) The territory of Zaporizhzhia is the territory of the Zaporizhzhia Oblast as defined by Ukraine
Golan Heights
2 (1) The territory of Golan Heights has protected sovereignty recognition as defined under this Act.
(2) The sovereign state of the territory of Golan Heights is the Syrian Arab Republic.
(3) The territory of Golan Heights is the territory under their name as defined by the demarcation line set out in the 1949 Armistice Agreements between Egypt, Jordan, Lebanon, Syria and Israel known as the Green Line.

SCHEDULE 3

UNPROTECTED STATUS RECOGNITION POLITIES

Islamic Republic of Afghanistan
1 (1) The polity of the Islamic Republic of Afghanistan has unprotected sovereignty recognition as defined under this Act.
(2) The territory of Afghanistan is the territory of the 34 divisions of Afghanistan.
This Bill was submitted by The Right Honourable Dame Youma, The Baroness of Motherwell, LT MBE PC MP on behalf of Unity.
Speaker,
Over the past few years, our nation has witnessed a wave of upheaval across the world, as nations returned to violent means as a method of the annexation of territory and people, a principle the world had thought was dismantled after the Second World War. As I said nearly two years ago, I shall repeat as I wish to cast reflection upon our role as a country across the global community with these matters in mind. Should we wallow in isolation, or should we stand for what is right?
When I stood at the Despatch box as Prime Minister, Foreign Secretary, or any other role, I spoke of the need for active foreign policy. Speaker, these are not just words or slogans, active foreign policy requires the United Kingdom to recognise its own duty as the mother of parliaments to defend, protect, and promote democracy and human rights internationally. It is part of this task that I present the Protected Sovereign States and Territories Bill to the parliament again, reflective of what we have witnessed over the past few years, to bring the needed legislative changes required to ensure an active foreign policy is at the forefront of the mind of the government of the day.
The Protected Sovereign States and Territories Bill is fundamentally about ensuring the recognition of vulnerable nations, whose existence is at risk of extinction due to potential conflict or collapse, continues regardless of the government of the day. This legislation would prevent a government from unilaterally revoking the recognition of the nations within Schedule 1, and the ownership of the territories within Schedule 2. As an example, I will highlight Kosovo as a nation that should be uplifted to protected independence recognition status. Kosovo is a relatively new nation, whose Declaration of Independence was recognised by our nation on the 18th of February 2008. Kosovo’s very existence as a sovereign nation is under threat each day, as an active campaign continues attempting to undermine its recognition and sovereignty. This legislation ensures that parliament’s will to stand with the people of Kosovo in recognising their independence is protected, away from the unilateral statement of a rogue foreign minister.
To alleviate any concerns, I will address some matters raised within previous debates on this topic. This legislation will not prevent the future recognition of new nations, his Majesty’s government retains this power to ensure our nation may quickly respond to fast moving scenarios. This legislation will not require conflict as an automatic means of resolution, all that is required by this legislation is for something to be done, diplomatic support covers this sufficiently. This legislation will not cripple the Government's ability to conduct foreign affairs and policy, the Minister retains a large variety of powers even on matters subject to this act to ensure the flexibility of our nation's foreign policy is preserved, whilst protecting the recognition of vulnerable nations.
With all of this in mind, and what we have witnessed over the past few years in our hearts, I urge all members to see the good that this legislation will bring, to stand with these vulnerable nations, and vote yes to this legislation.
This division shall end on the 22nd May at 10PM
submitted by model-willem to MHOCMP [link] [comments]

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

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

2024.05.19 20:13 Perkelton Weekly Crowdfunding Roundup: May 19 2024 18 ending soon (incl. Dark Cities) & 30 new this week (incl. Feudum, 2024 Crokinole Board Season 8)

What is this?

This is a weekly crowdfunding roundup of new projects launched last week and projects that end the coming week.

Google Docs

As an alternative format, the lists are now also available as a Google Docs found here: Weekly Crowdfunding Roundup

Updates

Expect new lists every Sunday between 00:00 and 23:59 CEST on the following platforms:
Mastodon: @danielpervan@mastodon.social
Discord: https://discord.gg/dN4P4PZcU9
Reddit: /boardgames

Selection criteria

The criteria for the lists are as follows:

Ending soon

Newly launched

Notable filtered projects

Tags

🎉: Staff pick/featured
💰: Funded
🔥: More than average 200 backers/day
🌱: Creator's first project
🌳: Creator's >5th project
🔄: Money back guarantee (Read more)

FAQ

I live in Cuba/Canada/Haiti/USA, why are you posting on a Saturday?!
Because I'm writing this from Europe in the future where it's already Sunday. Timezones be crazy.
Why are there a bunch of non-board games in the board game list?
Because the Tabletop games category on Kickstarter includes anything remotely related to board games and sometimes things slip through my filters.
Why is this future award winning board game and literal saviour of humanity missing from your list?
Sometimes my filters get a bit overzealous and discard actually valid projects. If you feel something is missing for this reason, leave a comment and I'll add it (maybe).
Can I donate all my money to you?
No
Can you help me promote my game?
Please no. I make lists. Nothing more.
Your list is full of errors and now the great old ones have awaken!
Indeed, this fine piece of code runs purely on faith, trust and pixie dust, so anything can happen. Leave a comment and I'll see what I can do.

Ending soon (18)

Name Description Backers Pledged Ends Information Tags BGG
Dark Cities | Deluxe Editions Five games of social deduction & light strategy for up to 9 players. Deluxe book boxes include upgraded components & mini expansions. 2982 $321,124.00 (1284%) in 20 days 2024-05-23 💸 Kickstarter 🎉💰🌳
LONG DARK SEA Long Dark Sea is a cooperative adventure card game for 1-4 players focused on exploration and combat where deckbuilding and resource management are their main mechanics. Venture into the unknown with your pirate crew in search of ancient relics in a Sci-fi universe. 1006 €136,749.40 (228%) in 19 days 2024-05-21 💸 Gamefound 👥 1‑4 players 👶 12+ ⏱️ 40-60 min. Card Game Dice Game Deck Building Cooperative 💰🌱 BGG
Hannibal & Hamilcar + Metal Minis Hannibal: Classic Edition by one of the most acclaimed game designers in the world, Mark Simonitch. 972 €102,134.25 (340%) in 6 days 2024-05-24 💸 Gamefound 👥 2 players ⏱️ 120 min. Card Game Wargame Dice Game Area Control 💰🌳
Picky Eaters: Ultimate Collection A delectably devious game for 2-6 players. 681 $50,546.00 (1011%) in 27 days 2024-05-23 💸 Kickstarter 👥 2‑6 players 👶 8+ ⏱️ 20-40 min. 🎉💰 BGG
Apistocracy You're invited to make your season debut in a game that blends worker placement and trick-taking with the delights of Victorian London. 646 $55,877.00 (559%) in 27 days 2024-05-23 💸 Kickstarter 👥 2‑4 players 👶 12+ ⏱️ 40-80 min. 💰🌱 BGG
Park Life 🇬🇧 🇨🇦 🇪🇺 Cozy trick-taking game. A celebration of public spaces and cute hedgehogs! 🦔🦔🦔 461 $13,854.00 (13854%) in 27 days 2024-05-22 💸 Kickstarter 👥 1‑5 players 👶 10+ ⏱️ 15-30 min. 🎉💰 BGG
Long Live Backyardia! A modular expansion for the award-nominated Trick-Taking and Mancala board game Bug Council of Backyardia! 454 ¥2,447,309 (489%) in 20 days 2024-05-21 💸 Kickstarter 👥 3‑5 players 👶 10+ ⏱️ 30-40 min. 💰 BGG
AI 100% Human - Boardgame Innovative drafting game with a reserve and immediate scoring, all structured around building a tableau. 370 €24,480.00 (245%) in 20 days 2024-05-24 💸 Kickstarter 👥 2‑6 players 👶 14+ ⏱️ 30-45 min. 💰🌳 BGG
Nanga Parbat: Animal Powers A promo pack for Dr. Finn's Nanga Parbat to add even more strategy and fun to an already awesome game. 320 $4,223.00 (422%) in 12 days 2024-05-22 💸 Kickstarter 👥 2 players 👶 14+ ⏱️ 30-40 min. 🎉💰🌳 BGG
Cosmic Chains A tactical dueling card game of cats and robots. Build the longest satellite chain to provide the best network coverage! 293 $8,739.00 (175%) in 19 days 2024-05-26 💸 Kickstarter 👥 2 players 👶 14+ ⏱️ 30-40 min. 💰🌱 BGG
DragonStrike Mount your Dragon and ride into aerial combat in this fast paced but deviously cunning Board Game, using beautiful pre-painted Dragons! 261 $49,705.00 (124%) in 27 days 2024-05-25 💸 Kickstarter 💰
Potion Crafter Alchemy calls! Fill the shelves of your magic shop with unique potions in this roll and write, print and play strategy board game. 251 €2,762.00 (2762%) in 14 days 2024-05-21 💸 Kickstarter 👥 1‑6 players 👶 8+ ⏱️ 20-40 min. 💰 BGG
Renters + Parking Expansion (Print & Play) Renters, is a roll & write boardgame in which we will have to host groups of up to 5 people in our building, according to a roll of the dice. But our building requires repair the elevator, air conditioning and wifi. 225 €2,117.45 (4235%) in 45 days 2024-05-20 💸 Gamefound 👥 1‑10 players 👶 10+ ⏱️ 20-30 min. Dice Game 💰🌱 BGG
Dungeon Rooms with FLAVOR A deck of geomorphic dungeon rooms cards with... flavor! 205 €2,986.00 (299%) in 11 days 2024-05-24 💸 Kickstarter 💰🌳
Treasures Lost Navigate wisely across the uncharted lands. Choose your path and find the lost treasures! | Fantasy | PnP | Roll n write | Dungeon | 198 NZ$4,313.00 (431%) in 27 days 2024-05-23 💸 Kickstarter 👥 1‑99 players 👶 8+ ⏱️ 15-30 min. 💰🌳 BGG
Paycheck to Billionaire: Board Game Meets Financial Freedom Start with a Paycheck, Manage Daily Bills, Invest Smartly, from Startup to Business Empire. ----A Game Changer, not only in the Game. 189 $6,500.00 (130%) in 27 days 2024-05-23 💸 Kickstarter 👥 2‑6 players 👶 8+ ⏱️ 20-60 min. 💰🌱 BGG
[Micro May] Roll A Coaster Park - Print and Play Build paths, rides and stalls and attract guests to your new roller coaster park in this roll and write game. 148 £1,465.00 (1465%) in 20 days 2024-05-21 💸 Kickstarter 💰🌱
Post Necrone : The Party Wanted Necromancer Expansion! Experience Deck-Building, Roguelike Exploration & Party Game Dynamics with the Latest Expansion for the Strategy Card Game PARTY WANTED 104 $3,732.00 (560%) in 29 days 2024-05-20 💸 Kickstarter 💰

New this week (30)

Name Description Backers Pledged Ends Information Tags BGG
2024 Crokinole Board Season 8: Mahagony or Beech + Cases We are back for our 8th Crokinole Project, this fan favorite will include all the best of prior projects plus wax with every board! 3481 $459,805.00 (9196%) in 6 days 2024-06-05 💸 Kickstarter 💰🔥🌳
Feudum Game-of-the-year winner, Feudum is back with the 7th anniversary collector's edition featuring an exclusive clockwork behemoth! Grrrrrrrrrr. 2089 $273,565.57 (1094%) in 5 days 2024-06-14 💸 Gamefound 👥 1‑5 players ⏱️ 150 min. Area Control 💰🔥🌱
Rove A cooperative campaign experience for 1-4 adventurers set in a fantasy world on the brink of being consumed by nature. 1728 $257,808.00 (645%) in 6 days 2024-06-07 💸 Kickstarter 👥 1‑4 players 👶 14+ ⏱️ 60-120 min. 🎉💰🔥🌱 BGG
Masters of the Universe: Battleground Masters of the Universe: Battleground is a skirmish miniature game for two to four players, where forces of good and evil clash in epic combat. This glorious battle will shake the earth and change the fate of Eternia! 1605 $422,043.41 (1407%) in 6 days 2024-05-29 💸 Gamefound 👥 2‑4 players ⏱️ 90 min. Wargame 💰🔥🌳
Wonders of The First CCG Battle across 7 realms as a Stoneseeker. Just Relaunched - Get Kickstarter Exclusive Packages and Pricing! 1451 $902,420.00 (3610%) in 6 days 2024-05-31 💸 Kickstarter 👥 2‑4 players 👶 13+ ⏱️ 20-45 min. 💰🔥 BGG
Hunted: Mining Colony 415 (2nd Edition) [Solo Game of the Month] Become an 80s action hero who overcomes impossible odds to escape deadly aliens in the 2nd edition of this solo game! 1161 $24,565.46 (491%) in 6 days 2024-05-31 💸 Gamefound 👥 1‑2 players ⏱️ 20 min. Card Game 💰🌳
Hannibal & Hamilcar + Metal Minis Hannibal: Classic Edition by one of the most acclaimed game designers in the world, Mark Simonitch. 972 €102,134.25 (340%) in 6 days 2024-05-24 💸 Gamefound 👥 2 players ⏱️ 120 min. Card Game Wargame Dice Game Area Control 💰🌳
Oshi Push! The VTuber Trading Card Game A TCG featuring actual VTubers, from the makers of Tanto Cuore and Game Designer, Justin Gary! www.OshiPush.com 828 $146,263.00 (293%) in 5 days 2024-06-05 💸 Kickstarter 🎉💰🌳
The Secret Cabal Gaming Podcast is Outta Control in 2024 The Cabal Founders are crashing into 2024 with more weekly tabletop gaming podcasts and other irreverent nonsense! 827 $51,447.00 (129%) in 5 days 2024-06-07 💸 Kickstarter 💰🌳
BERSERKERS : Chaos Extension by Alone Editions Berserkers is Back ! 628 €16,523.00 (254%) in 4 days 2024-06-09 💸 Kickstarter 💰🌳
Hex Effects: A Spellbinding Card Game Hex Effects is a “take that” card game that involves beautiful artwork and easy-to-pick-up gameplay. From the makers of Side Effects! 604 $22,937.00 (191%) in 4 days 2024-06-14 💸 Kickstarter 👥 2‑8 players 👶 10+ ⏱️ 20-40 min. 🎉💰 BGG
Everbloom A unique blend of area control, resource management, and set collection, taking place in a magical world of flora & fauna. 560 $37,685.00 (188%) in 6 days 2024-06-08 💸 Kickstarter 👥 1‑4 players 👶 13+ ⏱️ 60-90 min. 🎉💰🌱 BGG
Good Dog, Bad Zombie: A Cooperative Board Game (2nd Edition) Bark, sniff, and lick your way through the apocalypse to save the humans you love! New art, new playable dogs, & upgraded components! 554 $45,349.00 (336%) in 6 days 2024-06-07 💸 Kickstarter 💰🌳
The Big Bad Wolf Based on The 3 Little Pigs! Secretly pass the "Big Bad Wolf" then Entice & Persuade players into flipping it, to Blow Down their house! 440 $8,704.00 (249%) in 6 days 2024-06-13 💸 Kickstarter 👥 2‑4 players 👶 10+ ⏱️ 15-35 min. 💰🌱 BGG
Catstronauts: The Board Game The cooperative boardgame based on the hit graphic novels! 361 $23,289.00 (466%) in 6 days 2024-06-14 💸 Kickstarter 👥 1‑4 players 👶 8+ ⏱️ 30 min. 💰🌳 BGG
World of Kilforth: The Fantasy Quest Games Return to the stunning oceans of Kilforth! Missed the Kickstarter? Heed the call, and explore the beautiful southern seas to defend Kilforth from the deadly Ancients... 261 £27,836.80 (557%) in 6 days 2024-05-31 💸 Gamefound 👥 1‑4 players Card Game Dice Game 💰
Amsterdam Board Game Design - season 1 Three fun card games by different members of ABGD: Bable, Grachtenpand, & TimeZoo. May this be the first season of many! 258 €7,569.00 (252%) in 6 days 2024-06-13 💸 Kickstarter 💰🌱
Around the World in 10 to 15 Minutes Travel the world, explore cities, and collect souvenirs in this 2-6 player print at home game 256 $2,429.00 (2429%) in 6 days 2024-05-31 💸 Kickstarter 💰
Guns of the Old West Players compete as a team with over 100 campaign paths. Each playthrough is a unique cinematic experience offering endless replayability. Players make strategic decisions and interact with each other to achieve their group and secret individual objectives, some of which involve betrayal, making for … 203 £36,141.95 (72%) in 6 days 2024-06-11 💸 Gamefound 👥 2‑8 players 👶 14+ ⏱️ 45-90 min. Card Game Wargame Dice Game Cooperative 🌱 BGG
The Thinning Veil Cormac Mac Airt on the Other Side of Midnight A solo dungeon crawl now featuring a 2 player mode set in the world of The Thinning Veil, and featuring Cormac Mac Airt, High King of Inis Fael! This game is the first in the Thinning Veil line and the Cormac series. 182 £24,123.56 (1206%) in 6 days 2024-06-11 💸 Gamefound 👥 1‑2 players ⏱️ 90 min. Dice Game 💰
The 7 Seas: A New Start Embark on a thrilling adventure in the world of The 7 Seas. Explore, trade, and fight to become a legend! 145 €12,654.80 (127%) in 3 days 2024-06-09 💸 Gamefound 👥 1‑5 players 👶 10+ ⏱️ 30-90 min. 💰 BGG
Freak War: A Card Game A fun and simple pick-up-and-play card game—with unhinged rules and a hidden layer of intense strategy. 142 $11,158.00 (112%) in 6 days 2024-06-13 💸 Kickstarter 👥 2‑4 players 👶 6+ ⏱️ 15-60 min. 🎉💰 BGG
EXPENDABLE EMPLOYEES A Miniature Skirmish Game Inspired by Lethal Company, Content Warning & Helldivers 2! 126 CA$3,136.00 (125%) in 3 days 2024-06-15 💸 Kickstarter 💰🌳
Bouquet A game of bees, blossoms, and bluffing, Bouquet is a strategic area control game where competition blooms into beauty! 105 $7,152.00 (72%) in 6 days 2024-06-03 💸 Kickstarter 👥 3‑5 players 👶 14+ ⏱️ 15-20 min. BGG
Le Vent Rouge: a Game of French Thieves & Dice A Competitive "Roll & Spend" Strategy Game For 2-4 Players 98 $7,838.00 (52%) in 4 days 2024-06-07 💸 Kickstarter 👥 2‑4 players 👶 12+ ⏱️ 60-120 min. 🌳 BGG
PLACES-Bid Outwit opponents for the most valuable portfolio of buildings, projects, and tokens through strategic bidding, collecting, and assembling. 75 $2,847.61 (28%) in 5 days 2024-06-01 💸 Gamefound 👥 3‑6 players ⏱️ 20 min. Card Game 🌱
Grassroots The party game to change the world 74 £3,444.00 (57%) in 5 days 2024-06-19 💸 Kickstarter 🎉🌱
Simplicity Lenormand Unlock the Mysteries of Divination with Ease 67 $7,073.00 (47%) in 4 days 2024-06-15 💸 Kickstarter
Hockey Hardware A fun, new tabletop game for hockey fans, gamers, fantasy hockey GMs, and players who like to win. 67 CA$15,331.00 (38%) in 4 days 2024-07-15 💸 Kickstarter 👥 2‑4 players ⏱️ 45-120 min. BGG
CyberQuest. The Game of Cyberpunk Adventures You are in the year 2081. The Black Chip agency, formed by members who participated in the Second Corporate Conflict on both sides, try to avoid a third conflict between Nakaware and Biosync.Max, an employee at Nakaware, discovers a confidential file that could spark a war. He contacts his sister R… 25 €2,223.51 (12%) in 5 days 2024-06-28 💸 Gamefound 👥 1‑5 players 👶 14+ ⏱️ 45-90 min. Cooperative 🌱 BGG

Notable filtered projects (5)

Name Description Backers Pledged Ends Information Tags
Richard Kane Ferguson's Playmat Collection Extremely limited edition RKF extended artwork: Tutors, Force of Will and other classic and new Magic: the Gathering playmats & prints! 2698 $274,228.00 (2217%) in 28 days 2024-05-22 💸 Kickstarter 🎉💰🌱
Modular Filament Storage System 3D Printable Modular Filament Storage System 1792 $105,407.00 (2108%) in 27 days 2024-05-23 💸 Kickstarter 💰
Kimera Velvet - Concentrated Acrylic Inks and Pure Pigments A new line of paints for miniatures, new pure pigments set, new brushes and 150mm academic busts for painting from Kimera Kolors. 1731 €235,046.00 (783%) in 6 days 2024-05-30 💸 Kickstarter 💰🔥
The Savage World of Solomon Kane RPG Dive deep in the world of Solomon Kane with this revised version of the RPG based upon the incredible works of Robert E. Howard! 1098 €99,363.00 (248%) in 5 days 2024-05-23 💸 Kickstarter 🎉💰🔥🌳
Loot The Monster! - A Project that Grows with Every Backer A DnD Treasure Trove of Unique Loot for Every Monster. Dungeons and Dragons 5E 1035 €17,424.00 (3872%) in 25 days 2024-05-25 💸 Kickstarter 💰🌱
submitted by Perkelton to boardgames [link] [comments]

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

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

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

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

2024.05.19 20:10 Leading_Pop_7418 Update after more than a month, what do you think? (17m)

As the title says, I was sextorted more than a month ago. Most importantly, nothing has been leaked, thank God!
I'm 17 years old, the sextortionist knows that.
It started on a sm platform -> moved to insta -> moved to snap.
We texted for a few months and had Insta posts uploaded back in 2018, which led me to believe she was real. Could have been a hacked account if you ask me. I didn't have any sexual interest in the beginning. It got spicy after about 4 months of talking.
However, I was smart enough to keep my face out of the picture. But people who know me will know it's me because of the background. The blackmailer also put a selfie next to the nudes.
Unfortunately, I did pay her once. I paid $150 in Apple gift cards. They wanted more, so I realized paying wasn't going to help, so I blocked them and found this Reddit community.
Nothing was leaked, at least not to my knowledge. No one told me they saw anything and I used Google image search and put a Google alert on my name.
My followers have dropped a bit, but I think that's because I made it private and stopped accepting new follow requests, so I hope it's just coincidence.
The best part is that the scammer has multiple ways to contact me if he really wanted to, but he didn't even intend to.
I know it's impossible to guarantee that nothing will happen, but what do you think? I'm grateful for any advice!
I had a lot of suicidal thoughts at first because I had no idea what the consequences of a leak would be. The most helpful thing has been this Reddit community. So a big thank you to the mods for creating and maintaining a safe place to ask for help and share stories! Also, thanks to everyone who has helped me here. It means a lot to me because I haven't been able to talk to anyone irl about it.
Btw my mental health at the moment:
Getting better every day. Every day feels like a milestone.
But my anxiety kicks in EVERY SINGLE MORNING after I wake up. I have no idea why, but I think I'm dreaming about it. I'm always rushing to my phone to see if someone warned me that it was sent out.
Also, my anxiety is triggered when a girl texts me. I have no idea why, but it just brings me flashbacks.
Somehow I just feel like I have a lack of energy in my life. I'm just not as motivated and interested in things as I used to be. It has definitely changed me and my personality. I feel like I have developed some self-hate. Somehow I don't feel like a human being anymore. I may seek professional help soon.
At least I looked very good in the picture, I would be known as the new Drake in case of a leak😂.
submitted by Leading_Pop_7418 to Sextortion [link] [comments]

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

I’ve always hated the smell of gun oil. It clings to everything it touches, soaking deep into the fibers of my clothes, the lining of my backpack, the coarse hair on the back of my hands. Yet here I am, kneeling on the cracked linoleum of our mudroom, a Remington .308 laid across my thighs, and the stench of gun oil sharp in my nostrils. The early morning light barely scratches at the edges of the blinds, dim and gray like the belly of a dead fish.
My dad Frank is in the kitchen, clattering around with the coffeepot and mumbling under his breath. Today we’re heading up to the woods of Northern Michigan, same as we did every year before Leah… before we lost her.
I can’t help but feel the old scars throbbing as I load bullets into the magazine. It’s been ten years since that hunting trip, the one that tore my family into before and after. Before, when Leah's laughter was a constant soundtrack to our lives; after, when every silence was filled with her absence.
We were just kids back then. I was ten, Leah was eight. It was supposed to be a typical hunting trip, one of those bonding experiences Dad was always talking about. But things went wrong. We got separated from Dad somehow. One minute we were following him, the next we were lost, the dense woods closing in around us.
Dad says when he found me, I was huddled under a fallen tree, my eyes wide, my body frozen. All I could mutter through chattering teeth was "Dogman."
It was only later, after the search parties had combed through every thicket and hollow, that they found her. What remained of Leah was barely recognizable, the evidence of a brutal mauling undeniable. The authorities concluded it was likely a bear attack, but Dad... he never accepted that explanation. He had seen the tracks, too large and oddly shaped for any bear.
As I load another round, the memory flashes, unbidden and unwelcome. Large, hairy clawed hands reaching out towards us, impossibly big, grotesque in their form. Yet, the rest of the creature eludes me, a shadow just beyond the edge of my recall, leaving me with nothing but fragmented terrors and Leah’s haunting, echoing screams. My mind blocked most of it out, a self-defense mechanism, I guess.
For years after that day, sleep was a battleground. I'd wake up in strange places—kitchen floor, backyard, even at the edge of the nearby creek. My therapist said it was my mind's way of trying to resolve the unresolved, to wander back through the woods searching for Leah. But all I found in those sleepless nights was a deeper sense of loss.
It took time, a lot of therapy, and patience I didn't know I had, but the sleepwalking did eventually stop. I guess I started to find some semblance of peace.
I have mostly moved on with my life. The fragmentary memories of that day are still there, lurking in the corners of my mind, but they don’t dominate my thoughts like they used to. I just finished my sophomore year at Michigan State, majoring in Environmental Science.
As for Dad, the loss of Leah broke him. He became a shell of himself. It destroyed his marriage with Mom. He blamed himself for letting us out of his sight, for not protecting Leah. His life took on a single, consuming focus: finding the creature that killed her. He read every book, every article on cryptids and unexplained phenomena. He mapped sightings, connected dots across blurry photos and shaky testimonies of the Dogman.
But as the tenth anniversary of Leah’s death approaches, Dad's obsession has grown more intense. He’s started staying up late, poring over his maps and notes, muttering to himself about patterns and cycles. He’s convinced that the dogman reappears every ten years, and this is our window of opportunity to finally hunt it down.
I’m not nearly as convinced. The whole dogman thing seems like a coping mechanism, a way for Dad to channel his guilt and grief into something tangible, something he can fight against. But I decided to tag along on this trip, partly to keep an eye on him, partly because a small part of me hopes that maybe, just maybe, we’ll find some kind of closure out there in the woods.
I finish loading the rifle and set it aside, standing up to stretch my legs. I wipe my greasy hands on an old rag, trying to get rid of the smell. The early morning light is starting to seep into the room, casting long shadows across the floor.
Dad comes out of the kitchen with two thermoses of coffee in hand. His eyes are bleary and tired.
“You ready, Ryan?” he asks, handing me a thermos, his voice rough from too many sleepless nights.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” I reply, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
We load our gear into the truck, the weight of our supplies and weapons a physical reminder of the burden we carry. The drive from Lansing across the Lower Peninsula is long and quiet, the silence between us filled with unspoken memories and unresolved grief.
—
The drive north is a blur of highway lines and the dull hum of the engine. I drift off, the landscape outside blending into a haze. In my sleep, fragments of that day with Leah replay like scattered pieces of a puzzle. I see her smile, the way she tugged at my sleeve, eager to explore. The sunlight filters through the trees in sharp, jagged streaks.
Then, the memory shifts—darker, disjointed. Leah's voice echoes, a playful laugh turning into a scream that pierces the air. The crunch of leaves underfoot as something heavy moves through the underbrush. I see a shadow, large and looming, not quite fitting the shapes of any creature I know.
Then, something darker creeps into the dream, something I’ve never allowed myself to remember clearly.
Before I can see what it is I wake up with a start as the truck jerks slightly on a rough patch of road. Dad glances over. "Bad dream?" he asks. I nod, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, the remnants of the dream clinging to me like the cold.
"Yeah, just... thinking about Leah," I manage to say.
As we drive, Dad attempts to bridge the silence with small talk. He asks about my finals, my plans for the summer, anything to keep the conversation going. His voice carries a forced cheerfulness, but it’s clear his heart isn’t in it. I respond when necessary, my answers brief, my gaze fixed on the passing scenery.
The landscape changes as we head further north, from flat expanses to rolling hills dotted with dense patches of forest. It's beautiful country, the kind that reminds you how vast and wild Michigan can be, but today it just feels oppressive, like it’s closing in on us.
—
We finally arrive at the cabin, nestled deep in the woods, its weathered wood blending seamlessly with the surrounding trees. The place hasn't changed much since the last time I was here—a relic from another time, filled with the echoes of our past. I can still see Leah running around the porch, her laughter ringing out into the forest.
Dad parks the truck, and we step out into the crisp air. The smell of pine and damp earth fills my nostrils. We start unloading our gear, the tension between us palpable.
“Let’s get this inside,” Dad says, his voice gruff as he hefts a duffel bag onto his shoulder.
I nod, grabbing my own bag and following him to the cabin. Inside, it’s a mix of old and new—the same rustic furniture, but with new hunting gear and maps strewn across the table. Dad’s obsession is evident in every corner of the room, a constant reminder of why we’re here.
As we unpack, we exchange strained attempts at normalcy. He talks about the latest cryptid sightings he’s read about, his eyes lighting up with a fervor that both worries and saddens me.
“Did you hear about the sighting up near Alpena?” he asks, laying out his maps on the table.
“Yeah, you mentioned it,” I reply, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “Do you really think there’s something to it?”
Dad’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of doubt. But it’s quickly replaced by grim determination. “I have to believe it, Ryan. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
We finish unpacking, the silence between us growing heavier with each passing minute. I step outside to clear my head, the cool air a welcome relief. The sun is starting to set, casting long shadows across the clearing. I can’t shake the feeling of unease.
"You can take the upstairs room," Dad mutters. His voice is strained, trying to sound normal, but it's clear the weight of the past is heavy on him. I nod, hauling my backpack up the creaking stairs to the small bedroom that I used to share with Leah. The room feels smaller now, or maybe I've just grown too much since those innocent days.
I unpack silently, setting my things aside. The bed is stiff and cold under my touch. As I settle in, I can't help but glance at the corner where Leah and I would huddle together, whispering secrets and making plans for adventures that would never happen. I push the thoughts away, focusing on the practicalities of unpacking.
After settling in, I go back downstairs to find Dad loading up a backpack with supplies for our hunt. The intensity in his eyes is palpable, his hands moving with practiced precision. I know this routine; it's one he's perfected over countless solo trips since that fateful day.
"We'll head out early," he says, not looking up from his task. "Gotta make the most of the daylight."
I nod, though unease curls in my stomach. I'm not just worried about what we might find—or not find—out there. I'm worried about him. Each year, the obsession seems to carve him out a bit more, leaving less of the Dad I knew.
—
The morning air is sharp with the scent of pine and wet earth as Dad and I head into the deeper parts of the forest. The terrain is rugged, familiar in its untamed beauty, but there’s a tension between us that makes the landscape feel alien. Dad moves with a purposeful stride, his eyes scanning the woods around us. Every snap of a twig, every rustle in the underbrush seems to draw his attention. He’s on edge, and it puts me on edge too.
As we walk, my mind drifts back to that day ten years ago. I can almost hear Leah’s voice echoing through the trees, her high-pitched call as she darted ahead, "Catch me, Ryan!" I remember how the sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground. Those memories are so vivid, so tangible, it feels like I could just turn a corner and see her there, waiting for us.
Dad suddenly stops and kneels, examining the ground. He points out a set of tracks that are too large for a deer, with an unusual gait pattern. "It’s been here, Ry. I’m telling you, it’s close," he whispers, a mixture of excitement and something darker in his voice. I nod, though I’m not sure what to believe. Part of me wants to dismiss it all as grief-fueled obsession, but another part, the part that heard Leah's scream and saw something monstrous in the woods that day, isn’t so sure.
As we continue, Dad's comments become increasingly cryptic. "You know, they say the dogman moves in cycles, drawn to certain places, certain times. Like it’s tied to the land itself," he muses, more to himself than to me. His fixation on the creature has always been intense, but now it borders on mania.
We set up a makeshift blind near a clearing where Dad insists the creature will pass. Hours drag by with little to see but the occasional bird or distant deer.
The sun rises higher in the sky, casting long, slender shadows through the dense canopy. I shift uncomfortably in my spot, the forest floor hard and unyielding beneath me. My eyes dart between the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of something, anything, to break the monotony. Dad, on the other hand, remains steadfast, his gaze fixed on the treeline as if he can will the dogman into existence by sheer force of will.
A bird chirps nearby, startling me. I sigh and adjust my grip on the rifle. I glance over at Dad.
“Anything?” I ask, more out of boredom than genuine curiosity.
“Not yet,” he replies, his voice tight. “But it’s out there. I know it.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I believe him. The forest seems too quiet, too still. Maybe we’re chasing ghosts.
As the sun begins its descent, the forest is bathed in a warm, golden light. The air cools, and a breeze rustles the leaves. I shiver, more from anticipation than the cold. The long hours of sitting and waiting are starting to wear on me.
“Let’s call it a day for now,” Dad says finally, his voice heavy with disappointment. “We’ll head back to the cabin, get some rest, and try again tomorrow.”
I stand and stretch, feeling the stiffness in my muscles. We pack up our gear in silence and start the trek back to the cabin. The walk is long and quiet, the only sounds are the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant calls of birds settling in for the night.
—
Dinner is a quiet affair, both of us lost in our thoughts. I try to make small talk, asking Dad about his plans for tomorrow, but it feels forced. We clean up in silence.
After dinner, I retreat to the small bedroom. The fatigue from the day's hike has settled into my bones, but sleep still feels like a distant hope. I lie down, staring at the ceiling, the room cloaked in darkness save for the sliver of moonlight creeping through the window. Downstairs, I hear the faint sound of Dad moving around, likely unable to sleep himself.
I drift into sleep, but it's not restful. My dreams pull me back to that fateful day in the woods. Leah's voice is clear and vibrant, her laughter echoing through the trees. She looks just as she did then—bright-eyed and full of life, her blonde hair catching the sunlight as she runs ahead of me.
"Come on, Ry! You can't catch me!" she taunts, her voice playful and teasing.
I chase after her, but the scene shifts abruptly. The sky darkens, the woods around us growing dense and foreboding. Leah's laughter fades, replaced by a chilling silence. I see her ahead, standing still, her back to me.
"Leah?" I call out, my voice trembling. She turns slowly, her eyes wide and filled with fear. "Ryan, you have to remember," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "It wasn't what you think. You need to know the truth."
Leah’s words hang in the air, cryptic and unsettling. Before I can respond, she turns and starts running again, her figure becoming a blur among the trees. Panic rises in my chest as I sprint after her, my feet pounding against the forest floor.
“Leah, wait!” I shout, desperation lacing my voice. The forest around me seems to close in, the trees towering and twisted, shadows dancing menacingly in the dim light. I push forward, trying to keep her in sight, but she’s too fast, slipping away like a wisp of smoke.
Suddenly, there’s a rustle, a flash of movement in the corner of my vision. Leah screams, a sound that pierces through the heavy silence. It happens too quickly—I can’t see what it is, only a dark blur that snatches her up.
“Leah!” I scream, my voice breaking. I stumble, falling to my knees as the forest spins around me. My heart races, and the terror is so real, so visceral, that it pulls me back to that awful day, the one that changed everything.
I jolt awake, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I sit up, wiping the cold sweat from my forehead as I try to steady my breathing. The room is still dark, the shadows cast by the moonlight seem to flicker and dance on the walls. My heart is still racing from the nightmare, the echo of Leah's scream lingering in my ears.
As I struggle to calm down, the floorboards outside my room creak. The door opens slowly, and I see the silhouette of my dad in the doorway, a Bowie knife in his hand, his posture tense.
“Dad, what the hell are you doing?” I whisper, my voice shaking.
“Shh,” he hisses, holding up a hand to silence me. “I heard something. Something moving around in the cabin. Stay quiet.”
I swallow hard, my mouth dry. I glance at the clock on the nightstand—it’s just past three in the morning. The cabin is silent, the kind of deep, oppressive silence that makes every small sound seem louder. I can’t hear anything out of the ordinary, but Dad’s expression is deadly serious.
He motions for me to get up, and I do, moving as quietly as I can. My heart is racing, a mix of lingering fear from the dream and the sudden, sharp anxiety of the present moment. Dad leads the way, stepping cautiously out of the bedroom and into the hallway, the knife held ready in front of him.
We move through the cabin, checking each room in turn. The living room is empty, the furniture casting long shadows in the dim moonlight. The kitchen is just as we left it, the plates from dinner still drying on the counter. Everything seems normal, untouched.
We finish our sweep of the cabin without finding anything amiss. The silence is heavy, punctuated only by our soft footfalls. I can see the tension in Dad’s frame, his grip on the knife unwavering. After checking the last room, we pause in the dimly lit hallway, the air thick with unspoken questions.
“There’s nothing here,” I say, my voice low. “Are you sure you heard something?”
He looks at me, his eyes searching for something in my face. “I heard growling. Deep and close. It was right outside the window.”
“Maybe it was just an animal outside, a raccoon or something?” I suggest, although the certainty in his voice makes me doubt my own reassurance.
“No, it wasn’t like that. It was different,” he insists, his voice tense.
I nod, not wanting to argue, but the seeds of worry are planted deep.
The look in his eyes sends a chill down my spine. It’s not just fear—it’s desperation. The kind of desperation that comes from years of chasing shadows and finding nothing. I can see the toll this hunt has taken on him, the way it’s worn him down, turned him into a man I barely recognize.
We head back to our rooms. As I lie down, my mind races with thoughts of my dad. I can’t help but wonder if he’s losing it, if the years of grief and guilt have finally pushed him over the edge.
Dad wasn’t always like this. Before Leah’s death, he was the kind of father who took us fishing, helped with homework, and told terrible jokes that made us groan and laugh at the same time. He was solid, dependable. But losing Leah changed him. The guilt twisted him into someone I barely recognize, someone driven by a need for answers, for closure, that may never come.
I try to sleep, but my thoughts keep me awake. I can hear Dad moving around downstairs, probably pacing or double-checking the locks. His paranoia has become a constant presence, and I don’t know how to help him. I don’t even know if I can help him.
—
The next morning, the sunlight filters weakly through the cabin windows, casting a pale light that does little to lift the heavy mood. I drag myself out of bed, feeling the exhaustion of another restless night. Dad is already up, hunched over his maps at the kitchen table, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
“Morning,” I mumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I pour myself a cup of coffee. “Did you sleep at all?”
He shakes his head, not looking up from his notes. “Not much. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I heard last night.”
I sip my coffee, trying to shake off the remnants of my nightmare. “Maybe it was just an animal, Dad. We’re deep in the woods, after all.”
He finally looks up, his eyes intense. “Ryan, I know what I heard. It wasn’t just an animal. It was something else.”
I sigh, not wanting to argue. “Okay, fine, Dad. What’s the plan for today?”
“We’re going back out. I found some tracks yesterday, and I want to follow them. See where they lead.”
I nod, feeling a mix of apprehension and resignation. I can see how much this means to him, how desperate he is for any kind of lead. “Alright. Let’s get packed and head out.”
We spend the morning preparing, loading up our gear and double-checking our supplies. Dad is meticulous, going over everything with a fine-toothed comb. I try to match his focus, but my mind keeps drifting back to Leah and the dream I had. Her words echo in my head, cryptic and unsettling: “You need to know the truth.”
We set off into the woods, the air crisp and cool. The forest is alive with the sounds of birds and rustling leaves, but it all feels distant, like background noise to the tension between us. Dad leads the way, his eyes scanning the ground for any sign of the tracks he found yesterday.
As we walk, I can’t help but notice how erratically he’s acting. He mutters to himself, his eyes darting around as if expecting something to jump out at us. His grip on his rifle is tight, his knuckles white.
“Dad, are you okay?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
He glances at me, his expression unreadable. “I’m fine. Just focused.”
He stops frequently to examine the ground or the bark of trees, pointing out marks and signs that seem meaningless to me.
“Look at this,” he says, crouching down to examine a broken branch. “See how it’s snapped? That’s not a deer or a bear. That’s something bigger. Stronger.”
I crouch next to Dad, squinting at the broken branch. To me, it just looks like a regular broken branch, the kind you see all over the forest. "I don't know, Dad. It just looks like a branch to me," I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.
Dad's eyes flicker with frustration. "You're not looking close enough. It's the way it's snapped—too clean, too deliberate. Something did this."
I nod, not wanting to argue. "Okay, sure. But even if you're right, it could be anything. A storm, another hunter..."
His expression hardens. "I know what I'm looking for. This is different."
I sigh, feeling the weight of the past and the tension between us pressing down on me. "Dad, I had a dream last night. About Leah." The words hang in the air between us, heavy and fraught with unspoken emotions.
Dad's eyes widen, and he straightens up, his entire demeanor shifting. "What kind of dream? What did you see?" His voice is urgent, almost desperate.
"It was... strange. We were in the woods, like we are now, but everything felt different. Leah was there, running ahead of me, laughing. Then she stopped and told me I needed to know the truth, that it wasn't what I thought."
Dad grabs my shoulders, his grip tight. "What else did she say? Did she tell you anything specific? Anything about the creature?"
I shake my head, feeling a chill run down my spine. "No, that was it. She just said I needed to know the truth, and then she was gone."
Dad’s grip on my shoulders tightens, and his eyes bore into mine with a mixture of desperation and hope. “Ryan, you have to try to remember. Think hard. What did the creature look like? Did you see anything else?”
I pull back slightly, uneasy with his intensity. “Dad, I told you. I don’t remember. It was just a dream. A nightmare, really. My mind’s probably just mixing things up.”
He lets go of me and runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated and lost. “Dreams can be important. They can hold memories we’ve buried deep. Please, try to remember. This could be a sign, a clue.”
I rub my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “I’ve tried, okay? I’ve tried for years to piece together what happened that day. But it’s all just fragments, like pieces of a puzzle that don’t fit. The dream… it felt real, but I don’t think it’s telling me anything new.”
Dad’s face falls, and he looks older than I’ve ever seen him. He turns away, staring into the forest as if it holds all the answers.
—
As we make our way back to the cabin, the sun begins to set, casting long shadows through the trees. The air grows colder, and I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter around me. Dad is silent, lost in his thoughts, his face drawn and haggard.
Back at the cabin, we unload our gear once again in silence. Dad disappears into his room, muttering something about going over his notes. I decide to explore the cabin, hoping to find something that might help me understand what’s going on with him.
In the attic, I find a box of old family photos and documents. As I sift through the contents, I come across a worn journal with Dad’s handwriting on the cover. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I open it, flipping through the pages.
The journal is filled with notes and sketches, detailing his obsession with the dogman. But there’s something else—entries that talk about Leah, about that day in the woods. His handwriting becomes more erratic, the words harder to read. One entry stands out, dated just a few days after Leah’s death:
“June 15, 2013 – It was supposed to be a normal trip. Keep them close, Frank, I kept telling myself. But I failed. Leah is gone, and it’s my fault. I heard her scream, saw the shadows. I tried to get to her, but… the thing, it was there. Too fast. Too strong. My hands… blood everywhere. No one will believe me. I can’t even believe myself. I have to find it. I have to protect Ryan. I have to make it right. God, what have I done?”
Before I can read further, the attic door creaks open, and Dad’s voice slices through the stillness.
“What are you doing up here?” His tone is sharp, almost panicked.
I turn to see him standing in the doorway, his face pale and his eyes wide with something between anger and fear. I clutch the journal to my chest, my mind racing. “I found this… I was just trying to understand…”
In an instant, he crosses the room and snatches the journal from my hands. His grip is tight, his knuckles white. “You had no right,” he growls, his voice trembling.
“Dad, I just wanted to know the truth!” I shout, frustration boiling over. “What really happened to Leah.”
His eyes flash with a mix of rage and anguish, and before I can react, he slaps me across the face. The force of it knocks me off balance, and I stumble backward, my cheek stinging.
For a moment, there’s a stunned silence. We both stand there, breathing hard, the air thick with tension.
“I’m sorry,” Dad says finally, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to… I just…” He trails off, clutching the journal to his chest like a lifeline.
I touch my cheek, feeling the heat from the slap, and take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Dad, what aren’t you telling me? What really happened that day?”
“Stay out of it, Ryan,” Dad growls, his eyes dark with anger. “You don’t know what you’re messing with.”
He turns and storms out of the attic. I’m left standing there, my cheek throbbing, my mind racing. What the fuck is going on? What really happened to Leah? And what is Dad so afraid of?
—
That night, I sleep with my rifle within arm's reach, more afraid of my dad than any dogman. The slap still burns on my cheek, and the look in his eyes—rage, fear, something darker—haunts me. I lie awake, listening to the creaks and groans of the old cabin, every sound amplified in the stillness. Eventually, exhaustion pulls me under, and I fall into a restless sleep.
The dream returns, vivid and unsettling. I'm back in the woods, chasing after Leah. Her laughter echoes through the trees, a haunting reminder of happier times. This time, though, I push myself harder, refusing to let her slip away.
"Ryan, catch me!" she calls, her voice playful.
"I'm coming, Leah!" I shout, my legs pumping, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
The forest around us is a twisted, shadowy maze, the trees seeming to close in on us. Leah's figure becomes clearer, her blonde hair catching the dim light filtering through the canopy. She stops suddenly, turning to face me, her eyes wide with fear.
"Leah, what is it?" I ask, my voice trembling.
"Look behind you," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I turn slowly, dread creeping up my spine. In the shadows, I see a figure, its form indistinct and shifting. It’s not quite animal, not quite human—something in between. The sight of it sends a jolt of terror through me, and I wake up with a start, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I’m not in my bed. The ground beneath me is cold and hard, the smell of damp earth filling my nostrils. Panic rises as I realize I’ve sleepwalked into the woods. I scramble to my feet, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The moon casts a pale glow over the surroundings, revealing what looks like a long-abandoned animal lair.
The walls are covered in giant claw marks, deep gouges in the wood and earth. The air is heavy with the scent of decay, and a chill runs through me. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.
Carefully, I start to move, my eyes scanning the ground, desperate for a familiar landmark. That's when I see them—faded scraps of fabric caught on the jagged edges of the underbrush. My steps falter, a sense of dread washing over me as I bend down to examine them. The fabric is torn, weathered by time and the elements, but unmistakably familiar. It's part of Leah's jacket—the bright pink one she wore on the day she disappeared.
As I strain to make sense of it all, a rustling sound behind me snaps my focus. My heart leaps into my throat. I spin around, my hand instinctively reaching for the rifle I don't have—because, of course, I didn't bring it in my unconscious state.
The shadowy figure that emerges from the trees is unsettlingly familiar, mirroring the menacing forms of my nightmares. But as it steps into the moonlight, I recognize the worn jacket, the weary posture. It's Dad.
"Ryan!" he calls out, his voice a mix of relief and stern concern. "I've been looking everywhere for you. What the hell are you doing out here?"
I exhale slowly, the terror ebbing away as reality sets back in. "I—I don't know, Dad. I must've sleepwalked again." My voice is shaky, my earlier dream still clinging to the edges of my consciousness.
Dad stares at me in disbelief. "You haven't sleepwalked since you were a kid, Ry. This... this isn't just a coincidence." His eyes dart around, taking in the surroundings—the eerie, claw-marked den, the unsettling quiet of the woods. "How did you even find this place?"
I shake my head, struggling to find an answer. "I don't know, Dad. I just... I woke up here." The uncertainty in my voice does nothing to ease the tension.
His eyes lock onto the tattered remains of Leah's jacket in my hands, and something inside him snaps. The color drains from his face as he stumbles a few steps backward. "This... this is where it happened," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. “This is where we found Leah."
“I thought you said you don’t remember anything from that night,” he says accusingly.
"I swear, Dad, I don't know anything about this place," I insist, my own heart pounding.
“It was you, wasn’t it? You’ve been hiding this from me.” His voice is frantic. “You... last night, the growling, it was you.” His voice rises, tinged with hysteria.
I step back, my pulse racing, feeling the chill of the night and the weight of his accusation. "Dad, I don't know what you're talking ab—”
"No!" he interrupts, his voice breaking as he points a trembling finger at me. "You knew, you always knew. It was you, Ryan. All these years, the evidence was right there, but I refused to see it. You were the dogman. You killed Leah!"
His words hit me like a physical blow, absurd and horrifying in their implications. "Dad, you're not making any sense. You're talking crazy! I was just a little kid! How could I–" I protest, my voice shaky.
He steps closer, his presence looming over me, the outline of his figure distorted by the shadows of the trees. "Think about it! It all makes sense now. You led us here, to this place, because you remember. Because you did it."
"Dad, stop it!" I shout, my heart pounding in my chest. "You're scaring me. You need help, professional help. This isn't you."
But he's beyond reason, his eyes wild with a haunted grief. "I have to end this," he mutters, more to himself than to me, his hand tightening around his rifle.
His finger hovers dangerously over the trigger of his rifle. My instincts kick in, and I know I have to act fast.
I lunge toward him, trying to knock the weapon away, but he's quicker than I expected. We struggle, our breaths heavy in the cold night air, the sounds of our scuffle the only noise in the otherwise silent woods. His strength surprises me, fueled by his frantic emotions. He shoves me back, and I stumble over a root, my balance lost for a crucial second. That's all he needs. He raises his rifle, his intentions clear in his wild, pained eyes.
I dive to the ground just as the shot rings out, a deafening blast that echoes ominously through the trees. The bullet whizzes past, narrowly missing me, embedding itself in the bark of an old pine. I scramble to my feet, my heart pounding in my ears, and I start running. The underbrush claws at my clothes and skin, but I push through, driven by a primal urge to survive.
"Dad, stop! It's me, Ryan!" I shout back as I dodge between the trees. Another shot breaks the silence, closer this time, sending splinters of wood flying from a nearby tree trunk. It's surreal, being hunted by my own father, a man tormented by grief and lost in his delusions.
I don't stop to look back. I can hear him crashing through the forest behind me, his heavy breaths and muttered curses carried on the wind. The terrain is rough, and I'm fueled by adrenaline, but exhaustion is setting in. I need a plan.
Ahead, I see a rocky outcrop and make a split-second decision to head for it. It offers a chance to hide, to catch my breath and maybe reason with him if he catches up. As I reach the rocks, I slip behind the largest one, my body pressed tight against the cold, damp surface. I hear his footsteps approaching, slow and cautious now.
As I press against the rock, trying to calm my racing heart, I can hear Dad's footsteps drawing closer, each step crunching ominously on the forest floor. He's methodical, deliberate, like a hunter stalking his prey.
“Come out, Ryan!” Dad’s voice is ragged, filled with a blend of fury and pain.
My heart pounds against my chest, the cold sweat on my back making me shiver against the rough surface of the rock. I know I can't just sit here; it's only a matter of time before he finds me.
Taking a deep breath, I peek around the edge of the rock, trying to gauge his position. I see him, rifle raised, scanning the area slowly. This might be my only chance to end this madness without further violence. I need to disarm him, to talk some sense into him if I can.
As quietly as I can, I move out from behind the rock, my steps careful to avoid any twigs or leaves that might betray my position. I'm almost upon him when a branch snaps under my foot—a sound so trivial yet so alarmingly loud in the quiet of the woods.
Dad whirls around, looking completely unhinged. "Ryan!" he exclaims, his rifle swinging in my direction. Panic overtakes me, and I lunge forward, my hands reaching for the gun.
We struggle, the rifle between us, our breaths heavy and erratic. "Dad, please, stop!" I plead, trying to wrestle the gun away. But he's strong, stronger than I expected.
In the chaos, the rifle goes off. The sound is deafening, a sharp echo that seems to reverberate off every tree around us. Pain explodes in my abdomen, sharp and burning, like nothing I've ever felt before. I stagger back, my hands instinctively going to the wound. The warmth of my own blood coats my fingers, stark and terrifying.
Dad drops the rifle, his eyes wide with horror. "Oh my God! What have I done?" he gasps, rushing to my side as I collapse onto the forest floor.
As the pain sears through me, a strange, overpowering energy surges within. It's wild, primal, unlike anything I've ever experienced. Looking down in horror, my hands are no longer hands but large, hairy, clawed appendages. The transformation is rapid, consuming—my vision blurs, senses heighten, and a raw, guttural growl builds in my throat.
In that moment, a flood of understanding washes over me, mingling with the horror of realization. These are the hands of the creature from my nightmares, the creature whose face I can never fully recall because, as I now understand, it is me.
What happens next feels detached, as if I'm no longer in control of my own actions, watching from a distance as my body moves on its own. I turn towards my dad, his face a mask of terror. He stumbles back, his eyes wide with the dawning realization of what his son has become.
The forest around us seems to fall silent, holding its breath as the nightmarish scene unfolds. I can hear my own growls, guttural and deep, filling the air with a sound that's both foreign and intimately familiar. The pain in my abdomen fuels a dark, violent urge, an urge that's too strong to resist.
With a ferocity that feels both alien and intrinsic, I move towards him. My dad, paralyzed by fear and shock, doesn't run. Maybe he can't. Maybe he doesn't want to.
The encounter is brutal and swift, a blur of motion and violence. My dad barely puts up a struggle, as though resigned to his fate.
Not that there is anything he can do. The creature that I’ve become is too powerful, too consumed by the wild instincts surging through me. I tear him apart, limb from bloody limb, my hands—no, my claws—rending through fabric and flesh with disgusting ease.
The sound of my dad’s screams, of tearing fabric and flesh is drowned out by the animalistic growls that echo through the trees.
When it’s all over, the red mist that had clouded my vision begins to fade, and the fierce, uncontrollable rage that drove my actions subsides. I'm left standing, my breaths heavy and erratic, in the eerie stillness of the forest. The transformation reverses as quickly as it came on, and I find myself back in my human form. My clothes are ripped to shreds, hanging off my frame in tattered remnants. At my feet lies what’s left of my dad, his body torn and unrecognizable.
I glance down at my abdomen, expecting agony, but instead find my wound miraculously healed. No sign of the gunshot remains, just a faint scar where I expected a bloody mess.
Shock sets in, a numbing disbelief mixed with a gut-wrenching realization of what I've become and what I've done. My hands, now human again, tremble as I look at them, half-expecting to see the claws that had so effortlessly ripped through flesh and bone. But there's only blood, my father's blood against my skin.
I stand there for what feels like an eternity, trapped in a nightmare of my own making.
Eventually, the shock wears thin, and a cold practicality takes hold. I need to get out of here. I need to cover my tracks, to disappear. Because who would believe this? Who would understand that I didn't choose this, that I'm not a monster by choice?
With trembling hands, I do what’s necessary. I bury my dad in a shallow grave, the physical act of digging strangely grounding. I cover him with leaves and branches, a pitiful attempt to hide the brutality of his end. I take a moment, whispering apologies into the wind, knowing full well that nothing I say can change what happened.
I leave the forest behind, my mind a whirl of dark thoughts. As I walk, the first hints of dawn brush against the horizon, the sky bleeding a soft pink. It’s hauntingly beautiful.
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2024.05.19 20:02 PageTurner627 My Dad and I Hunted Down the Dogman that Killed My Sister

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

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

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

2024.05.19 19:53 Psychological_Mix137 How will sex Cyborgs change humanity?

I think we can all agree that in roughly 20 to 30 years we will be able to see mass produced sex robots. Picture the following: They cost roughly 5.000$ for a new one, or 500 for a used and a reasonable price for maintenance and repair. They have 100% human sounding voice and speech (we are already there right now) and can move roughly like a human and are equally durable. Apart from the sex stuff, they can do basic household works. Cooking simple meals, cleaning, laundry, tidying up. They are self cleaning, self lubricant and can be turned off and stored away at any time. (I guess a closet with cleaning/charging station would be fitting)
The question is, how will humanity change this? Most hollywood movies picture a scenario, where they try to take over humanity, but I don't see this happening for two reasons. First of all, from my current understanding of AI, this is not how it works, as it's not actually smart, but just copying human behaviour. Secondly, whoever will mass produce cyborgs will make sure, there is a backdoor to turn them all off, just because Hollywood warned us more than once.
Futurama had a small skit, where Humanity would die out, because everybody is just busy making love to their robots and stop human to human interaction and not even going to work anymore.
I personally think, males will be more affected by this than females, as they, on average, have a much higher sex drive. I think there will be a huge shift of power in the dating game. Where currently women in online dating can basically chose whoever they want, and feel like they can act like princesses that want to entertained. In this future scenario, a lot of men will just not start dating anytime soon, because as a young man, you think all you need is sex and a companion. Only when you grow older, (30+) you maybe realize you need a real soulmate and want to start a family. So I guess the few men who are actually going through the effort of meeting a real woman and trying to get to know her, will have a lot of women to choose from in the dating sites. But I'm not really convinced about my own scenario and hoping to get other views on this topic as I think it's very interesting to philosophize about this.
submitted by Psychological_Mix137 to ArtificialInteligence [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 19:39 Maggiimasala Having someone to read Piyush Mishra books with! Did I hit the jackpot with my luck card?

Having someone to read Piyush Mishra books with! Did I hit the jackpot with my luck card?
Felt really grateful to have a human who made the effort to take me out because I was feeling really low! We ate until we were completely stuffed!, read together and smiled like fools , and he captured countless pictures of me! Tucking this memory safe in my heart :)
submitted by Maggiimasala to indiasocial [link] [comments]

http://swiebodzin.info