Little gun symbols for myspace
No One Wants To Take Your Guns
2016.01.14 21:04 neuhmz No One Wants To Take Your Guns
NOWTTYG: No One Wants To Take Your Guns - dedicated to indexing news stories where law makers try to ban/confiscate/or otherwise severely limit the second amendment.
2017.11.18 03:39 4775795f4d616e asagunowner
Of course I support the second amendment, just not the part where it says you can have guns
2014.09.10 03:16 Back when deathcore was good
Deathcore = Death Metal + Metalcore* Metalcore = Swedish Melodic Death Metal + Hardcore
2024.05.19 20:17 Yurii_S_Kh Righteous Job: an image of hope through suffering
 | I.Repin. Job and his friends. 1869. submitted by Yurii_S_Kh to SophiaWisdomOfGod [link] [comments] A person's name, given at baptism and especially at his entry into the path of service to God, connects his life with the lives of those who also bear this name and are honored by the Church, sometimes determining its direction and serving as a beacon. Today, on the day of the memory of St. Job of Pochaev, we will remember the story of the Job the Long-suffering from the Old Testament. His feat teaches us not only to endure sorrows and sufferings. This book of the Old Testament is interpreted by the Fathers of the Church in a prefigurational way, and we Christians need to remember and know this. Job is one of the images that fuse human history into a coherent whole. So why does the Lord test Job, what does He want to lead him to? What are the prefigurational meanings of this Old Testament story? How are its contradictions explained? The authors of this article talked with theologian Peter Malkov. - The Holy Fathers wrote about the life of the long-suffering Job as an edifying example for all of us. But does the Old Testament Book of Job teach only patient endurance of tribulation? Or is there another meaning in the story? Certainly, the Book of Job is a teacher of godliness and humility for those who are in tribulation. But that is not its only significance for us Christians. And that quote you brought up sounds a little different. St. Ambrosius of Mediolanus says, “No one loved Christ more than Job.” This is the angle from which we need to perceive this story. Job, through his sufferings, symbolizes Christ, His sacrifice on the cross. And let me remind you that he lived in the pre-Testament era - before Moses: Job was one of Esau's descendants and lived a few generations after Abraham. And the story of Job's sufferings before the law (i.e. before the law, which was received by Moses on Mount Sinai) prepares the ancient man for the coming encounter with Christ and for understanding the meaning of Christ's sufferings, which will be revealed in the Incarnation of God. The story of Job is one of the Old Testament stories that taught Old Testament man who he should expect, who he should hope in - God who would become Man and as Man suffer for the world and save the world through His suffering... This is an excerpt. Full text is available at : http://sofia.kharkov.ua/en/article/pravednyj-iov-obraz-nadezhdy-cherez-stradanie |
2024.05.19 20:13 PageTurner627 My Dad and I Hunted Down the Dogman that Killed My Sister
I’ve always hated the smell of gun oil. It clings to everything it touches, soaking deep into the fibers of my clothes, the lining of my backpack, the coarse hair on the back of my hands. Yet here I am, kneeling on the cracked linoleum of our mudroom, a Remington .308 laid across my thighs, and the stench of gun oil sharp in my nostrils. The early morning light barely scratches at the edges of the blinds, dim and gray like the belly of a dead fish.
My dad Frank is in the kitchen, clattering around with the coffeepot and mumbling under his breath. Today we’re heading up to the woods of Northern Michigan, same as we did every year before Leah… before we lost her.
I can’t help but feel the old scars throbbing as I load bullets into the magazine. It’s been ten years since that hunting trip, the one that tore my family into before and after. Before, when Leah's laughter was a constant soundtrack to our lives; after, when every silence was filled with her absence.
We were just kids back then. I was ten, Leah was eight. It was supposed to be a typical hunting trip, one of those bonding experiences Dad was always talking about. But things went wrong. We got separated from Dad somehow. One minute we were following him, the next we were lost, the dense woods closing in around us.
Dad says when he found me, I was huddled under a fallen tree, my eyes wide, my body frozen. All I could mutter through chattering teeth was "Dogman."
It was only later, after the search parties had combed through every thicket and hollow, that they found her. What remained of Leah was barely recognizable, the evidence of a brutal mauling undeniable. The authorities concluded it was likely a bear attack, but Dad... he never accepted that explanation. He had seen the tracks, too large and oddly shaped for any bear.
As I load another round, the memory flashes, unbidden and unwelcome. Large, hairy clawed hands reaching out towards us, impossibly big, grotesque in their form. Yet, the rest of the creature eludes me, a shadow just beyond the edge of my recall, leaving me with nothing but fragmented terrors and Leah’s haunting, echoing screams. My mind blocked most of it out, a self-defense mechanism, I guess.
For years after that day, sleep was a battleground. I'd wake up in strange places—kitchen floor, backyard, even at the edge of the nearby creek. My therapist said it was my mind's way of trying to resolve the unresolved, to wander back through the woods searching for Leah. But all I found in those sleepless nights was a deeper sense of loss.
It took time, a lot of therapy, and patience I didn't know I had, but the sleepwalking did eventually stop. I guess I started to find some semblance of peace.
I have mostly moved on with my life. The fragmentary memories of that day are still there, lurking in the corners of my mind, but they don’t dominate my thoughts like they used to. I just finished my sophomore year at Michigan State, majoring in Environmental Science.
As for Dad, the loss of Leah broke him. He became a shell of himself. It destroyed his marriage with Mom. He blamed himself for letting us out of his sight, for not protecting Leah. His life took on a single, consuming focus: finding the creature that killed her. He read every book, every article on cryptids and unexplained phenomena. He mapped sightings, connected dots across blurry photos and shaky testimonies of the Dogman.
But as the tenth anniversary of Leah’s death approaches, Dad's obsession has grown more intense. He’s started staying up late, poring over his maps and notes, muttering to himself about patterns and cycles. He’s convinced that the dogman reappears every ten years, and this is our window of opportunity to finally hunt it down.
I’m not nearly as convinced. The whole dogman thing seems like a coping mechanism, a way for Dad to channel his guilt and grief into something tangible, something he can fight against. But I decided to tag along on this trip, partly to keep an eye on him, partly because a small part of me hopes that maybe, just maybe, we’ll find some kind of closure out there in the woods.
I finish loading the rifle and set it aside, standing up to stretch my legs. I wipe my greasy hands on an old rag, trying to get rid of the smell. The early morning light is starting to seep into the room, casting long shadows across the floor.
Dad comes out of the kitchen with two thermoses of coffee in hand. His eyes are bleary and tired.
“You ready, Ryan?” he asks, handing me a thermos, his voice rough from too many sleepless nights.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” I reply, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
We load our gear into the truck, the weight of our supplies and weapons a physical reminder of the burden we carry. The drive from Lansing across the Lower Peninsula is long and quiet, the silence between us filled with unspoken memories and unresolved grief.
—
The drive north is a blur of highway lines and the dull hum of the engine. I drift off, the landscape outside blending into a haze. In my sleep, fragments of that day with Leah replay like scattered pieces of a puzzle. I see her smile, the way she tugged at my sleeve, eager to explore. The sunlight filters through the trees in sharp, jagged streaks.
Then, the memory shifts—darker, disjointed. Leah's voice echoes, a playful laugh turning into a scream that pierces the air. The crunch of leaves underfoot as something heavy moves through the underbrush. I see a shadow, large and looming, not quite fitting the shapes of any creature I know.
Then, something darker creeps into the dream, something I’ve never allowed myself to remember clearly.
Before I can see what it is I wake up with a start as the truck jerks slightly on a rough patch of road. Dad glances over. "Bad dream?" he asks. I nod, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, the remnants of the dream clinging to me like the cold.
"Yeah, just... thinking about Leah," I manage to say.
As we drive, Dad attempts to bridge the silence with small talk. He asks about my finals, my plans for the summer, anything to keep the conversation going. His voice carries a forced cheerfulness, but it’s clear his heart isn’t in it. I respond when necessary, my answers brief, my gaze fixed on the passing scenery.
The landscape changes as we head further north, from flat expanses to rolling hills dotted with dense patches of forest. It's beautiful country, the kind that reminds you how vast and wild Michigan can be, but today it just feels oppressive, like it’s closing in on us.
—
We finally arrive at the cabin, nestled deep in the woods, its weathered wood blending seamlessly with the surrounding trees. The place hasn't changed much since the last time I was here—a relic from another time, filled with the echoes of our past. I can still see Leah running around the porch, her laughter ringing out into the forest.
Dad parks the truck, and we step out into the crisp air. The smell of pine and damp earth fills my nostrils. We start unloading our gear, the tension between us palpable.
“Let’s get this inside,” Dad says, his voice gruff as he hefts a duffel bag onto his shoulder.
I nod, grabbing my own bag and following him to the cabin. Inside, it’s a mix of old and new—the same rustic furniture, but with new hunting gear and maps strewn across the table. Dad’s obsession is evident in every corner of the room, a constant reminder of why we’re here.
As we unpack, we exchange strained attempts at normalcy. He talks about the latest cryptid sightings he’s read about, his eyes lighting up with a fervor that both worries and saddens me.
“Did you hear about the sighting up near Alpena?” he asks, laying out his maps on the table.
“Yeah, you mentioned it,” I reply, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “Do you really think there’s something to it?”
Dad’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of doubt. But it’s quickly replaced by grim determination. “I have to believe it, Ryan. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
We finish unpacking, the silence between us growing heavier with each passing minute. I step outside to clear my head, the cool air a welcome relief. The sun is starting to set, casting long shadows across the clearing. I can’t shake the feeling of unease.
"You can take the upstairs room," Dad mutters. His voice is strained, trying to sound normal, but it's clear the weight of the past is heavy on him. I nod, hauling my backpack up the creaking stairs to the small bedroom that I used to share with Leah. The room feels smaller now, or maybe I've just grown too much since those innocent days.
I unpack silently, setting my things aside. The bed is stiff and cold under my touch. As I settle in, I can't help but glance at the corner where Leah and I would huddle together, whispering secrets and making plans for adventures that would never happen. I push the thoughts away, focusing on the practicalities of unpacking.
After settling in, I go back downstairs to find Dad loading up a backpack with supplies for our hunt. The intensity in his eyes is palpable, his hands moving with practiced precision. I know this routine; it's one he's perfected over countless solo trips since that fateful day.
"We'll head out early," he says, not looking up from his task. "Gotta make the most of the daylight."
I nod, though unease curls in my stomach. I'm not just worried about what we might find—or not find—out there. I'm worried about him. Each year, the obsession seems to carve him out a bit more, leaving less of the Dad I knew.
—
The morning air is sharp with the scent of pine and wet earth as Dad and I head into the deeper parts of the forest. The terrain is rugged, familiar in its untamed beauty, but there’s a tension between us that makes the landscape feel alien. Dad moves with a purposeful stride, his eyes scanning the woods around us. Every snap of a twig, every rustle in the underbrush seems to draw his attention. He’s on edge, and it puts me on edge too.
As we walk, my mind drifts back to that day ten years ago. I can almost hear Leah’s voice echoing through the trees, her high-pitched call as she darted ahead, "Catch me, Ryan!" I remember how the sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground. Those memories are so vivid, so tangible, it feels like I could just turn a corner and see her there, waiting for us.
Dad suddenly stops and kneels, examining the ground. He points out a set of tracks that are too large for a deer, with an unusual gait pattern. "It’s been here, Ry. I’m telling you, it’s close," he whispers, a mixture of excitement and something darker in his voice. I nod, though I’m not sure what to believe. Part of me wants to dismiss it all as grief-fueled obsession, but another part, the part that heard Leah's scream and saw something monstrous in the woods that day, isn’t so sure.
As we continue, Dad's comments become increasingly cryptic. "You know, they say the dogman moves in cycles, drawn to certain places, certain times. Like it’s tied to the land itself," he muses, more to himself than to me. His fixation on the creature has always been intense, but now it borders on mania.
We set up a makeshift blind near a clearing where Dad insists the creature will pass. Hours drag by with little to see but the occasional bird or distant deer.
The sun rises higher in the sky, casting long, slender shadows through the dense canopy. I shift uncomfortably in my spot, the forest floor hard and unyielding beneath me. My eyes dart between the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of something, anything, to break the monotony. Dad, on the other hand, remains steadfast, his gaze fixed on the treeline as if he can will the dogman into existence by sheer force of will.
A bird chirps nearby, startling me. I sigh and adjust my grip on the rifle. I glance over at Dad.
“Anything?” I ask, more out of boredom than genuine curiosity.
“Not yet,” he replies, his voice tight. “But it’s out there. I know it.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I believe him. The forest seems too quiet, too still. Maybe we’re chasing ghosts.
As the sun begins its descent, the forest is bathed in a warm, golden light. The air cools, and a breeze rustles the leaves. I shiver, more from anticipation than the cold. The long hours of sitting and waiting are starting to wear on me.
“Let’s call it a day for now,” Dad says finally, his voice heavy with disappointment. “We’ll head back to the cabin, get some rest, and try again tomorrow.”
I stand and stretch, feeling the stiffness in my muscles. We pack up our gear in silence and start the trek back to the cabin. The walk is long and quiet, the only sounds are the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant calls of birds settling in for the night.
—
Dinner is a quiet affair, both of us lost in our thoughts. I try to make small talk, asking Dad about his plans for tomorrow, but it feels forced. We clean up in silence.
After dinner, I retreat to the small bedroom. The fatigue from the day's hike has settled into my bones, but sleep still feels like a distant hope. I lie down, staring at the ceiling, the room cloaked in darkness save for the sliver of moonlight creeping through the window. Downstairs, I hear the faint sound of Dad moving around, likely unable to sleep himself.
I drift into sleep, but it's not restful. My dreams pull me back to that fateful day in the woods. Leah's voice is clear and vibrant, her laughter echoing through the trees. She looks just as she did then—bright-eyed and full of life, her blonde hair catching the sunlight as she runs ahead of me.
"Come on, Ry! You can't catch me!" she taunts, her voice playful and teasing.
I chase after her, but the scene shifts abruptly. The sky darkens, the woods around us growing dense and foreboding. Leah's laughter fades, replaced by a chilling silence. I see her ahead, standing still, her back to me.
"Leah?" I call out, my voice trembling. She turns slowly, her eyes wide and filled with fear. "Ryan, you have to remember," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "It wasn't what you think. You need to know the truth."
Leah’s words hang in the air, cryptic and unsettling. Before I can respond, she turns and starts running again, her figure becoming a blur among the trees. Panic rises in my chest as I sprint after her, my feet pounding against the forest floor.
“Leah, wait!” I shout, desperation lacing my voice. The forest around me seems to close in, the trees towering and twisted, shadows dancing menacingly in the dim light. I push forward, trying to keep her in sight, but she’s too fast, slipping away like a wisp of smoke.
Suddenly, there’s a rustle, a flash of movement in the corner of my vision. Leah screams, a sound that pierces through the heavy silence. It happens too quickly—I can’t see what it is, only a dark blur that snatches her up.
“Leah!” I scream, my voice breaking. I stumble, falling to my knees as the forest spins around me. My heart races, and the terror is so real, so visceral, that it pulls me back to that awful day, the one that changed everything.
I jolt awake, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I sit up, wiping the cold sweat from my forehead as I try to steady my breathing. The room is still dark, the shadows cast by the moonlight seem to flicker and dance on the walls. My heart is still racing from the nightmare, the echo of Leah's scream lingering in my ears.
As I struggle to calm down, the floorboards outside my room creak. The door opens slowly, and I see the silhouette of my dad in the doorway, a Bowie knife in his hand, his posture tense.
“Dad, what the hell are you doing?” I whisper, my voice shaking.
“Shh,” he hisses, holding up a hand to silence me. “I heard something. Something moving around in the cabin. Stay quiet.”
I swallow hard, my mouth dry. I glance at the clock on the nightstand—it’s just past three in the morning. The cabin is silent, the kind of deep, oppressive silence that makes every small sound seem louder. I can’t hear anything out of the ordinary, but Dad’s expression is deadly serious.
He motions for me to get up, and I do, moving as quietly as I can. My heart is racing, a mix of lingering fear from the dream and the sudden, sharp anxiety of the present moment. Dad leads the way, stepping cautiously out of the bedroom and into the hallway, the knife held ready in front of him.
We move through the cabin, checking each room in turn. The living room is empty, the furniture casting long shadows in the dim moonlight. The kitchen is just as we left it, the plates from dinner still drying on the counter. Everything seems normal, untouched.
We finish our sweep of the cabin without finding anything amiss. The silence is heavy, punctuated only by our soft footfalls. I can see the tension in Dad’s frame, his grip on the knife unwavering. After checking the last room, we pause in the dimly lit hallway, the air thick with unspoken questions.
“There’s nothing here,” I say, my voice low. “Are you sure you heard something?”
He looks at me, his eyes searching for something in my face. “I heard growling. Deep and close. It was right outside the window.”
“Maybe it was just an animal outside, a raccoon or something?” I suggest, although the certainty in his voice makes me doubt my own reassurance.
“No, it wasn’t like that. It was different,” he insists, his voice tense.
I nod, not wanting to argue, but the seeds of worry are planted deep.
The look in his eyes sends a chill down my spine. It’s not just fear—it’s desperation. The kind of desperation that comes from years of chasing shadows and finding nothing. I can see the toll this hunt has taken on him, the way it’s worn him down, turned him into a man I barely recognize.
We head back to our rooms. As I lie down, my mind races with thoughts of my dad. I can’t help but wonder if he’s losing it, if the years of grief and guilt have finally pushed him over the edge.
Dad wasn’t always like this. Before Leah’s death, he was the kind of father who took us fishing, helped with homework, and told terrible jokes that made us groan and laugh at the same time. He was solid, dependable. But losing Leah changed him. The guilt twisted him into someone I barely recognize, someone driven by a need for answers, for closure, that may never come.
I try to sleep, but my thoughts keep me awake. I can hear Dad moving around downstairs, probably pacing or double-checking the locks. His paranoia has become a constant presence, and I don’t know how to help him. I don’t even know if I can help him.
—
The next morning, the sunlight filters weakly through the cabin windows, casting a pale light that does little to lift the heavy mood. I drag myself out of bed, feeling the exhaustion of another restless night. Dad is already up, hunched over his maps at the kitchen table, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
“Morning,” I mumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I pour myself a cup of coffee. “Did you sleep at all?”
He shakes his head, not looking up from his notes. “Not much. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I heard last night.”
I sip my coffee, trying to shake off the remnants of my nightmare. “Maybe it was just an animal, Dad. We’re deep in the woods, after all.”
He finally looks up, his eyes intense. “Ryan, I know what I heard. It wasn’t just an animal. It was something else.”
I sigh, not wanting to argue. “Okay, fine, Dad. What’s the plan for today?”
“We’re going back out. I found some tracks yesterday, and I want to follow them. See where they lead.”
I nod, feeling a mix of apprehension and resignation. I can see how much this means to him, how desperate he is for any kind of lead. “Alright. Let’s get packed and head out.”
We spend the morning preparing, loading up our gear and double-checking our supplies. Dad is meticulous, going over everything with a fine-toothed comb. I try to match his focus, but my mind keeps drifting back to Leah and the dream I had. Her words echo in my head, cryptic and unsettling: “You need to know the truth.”
We set off into the woods, the air crisp and cool. The forest is alive with the sounds of birds and rustling leaves, but it all feels distant, like background noise to the tension between us. Dad leads the way, his eyes scanning the ground for any sign of the tracks he found yesterday.
As we walk, I can’t help but notice how erratically he’s acting. He mutters to himself, his eyes darting around as if expecting something to jump out at us. His grip on his rifle is tight, his knuckles white.
“Dad, are you okay?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
He glances at me, his expression unreadable. “I’m fine. Just focused.”
He stops frequently to examine the ground or the bark of trees, pointing out marks and signs that seem meaningless to me.
“Look at this,” he says, crouching down to examine a broken branch. “See how it’s snapped? That’s not a deer or a bear. That’s something bigger. Stronger.”
I crouch next to Dad, squinting at the broken branch. To me, it just looks like a regular broken branch, the kind you see all over the forest. "I don't know, Dad. It just looks like a branch to me," I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.
Dad's eyes flicker with frustration. "You're not looking close enough. It's the way it's snapped—too clean, too deliberate. Something did this."
I nod, not wanting to argue. "Okay, sure. But even if you're right, it could be anything. A storm, another hunter..."
His expression hardens. "I know what I'm looking for. This is different."
I sigh, feeling the weight of the past and the tension between us pressing down on me. "Dad, I had a dream last night. About Leah." The words hang in the air between us, heavy and fraught with unspoken emotions.
Dad's eyes widen, and he straightens up, his entire demeanor shifting. "What kind of dream? What did you see?" His voice is urgent, almost desperate.
"It was... strange. We were in the woods, like we are now, but everything felt different. Leah was there, running ahead of me, laughing. Then she stopped and told me I needed to know the truth, that it wasn't what I thought."
Dad grabs my shoulders, his grip tight. "What else did she say? Did she tell you anything specific? Anything about the creature?"
I shake my head, feeling a chill run down my spine. "No, that was it. She just said I needed to know the truth, and then she was gone."
Dad’s grip on my shoulders tightens, and his eyes bore into mine with a mixture of desperation and hope. “Ryan, you have to try to remember. Think hard. What did the creature look like? Did you see anything else?”
I pull back slightly, uneasy with his intensity. “Dad, I told you. I don’t remember. It was just a dream. A nightmare, really. My mind’s probably just mixing things up.”
He lets go of me and runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated and lost. “Dreams can be important. They can hold memories we’ve buried deep. Please, try to remember. This could be a sign, a clue.”
I rub my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “I’ve tried, okay? I’ve tried for years to piece together what happened that day. But it’s all just fragments, like pieces of a puzzle that don’t fit. The dream… it felt real, but I don’t think it’s telling me anything new.”
Dad’s face falls, and he looks older than I’ve ever seen him. He turns away, staring into the forest as if it holds all the answers.
—
As we make our way back to the cabin, the sun begins to set, casting long shadows through the trees. The air grows colder, and I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter around me. Dad is silent, lost in his thoughts, his face drawn and haggard.
Back at the cabin, we unload our gear once again in silence. Dad disappears into his room, muttering something about going over his notes. I decide to explore the cabin, hoping to find something that might help me understand what’s going on with him.
In the attic, I find a box of old family photos and documents. As I sift through the contents, I come across a worn journal with Dad’s handwriting on the cover. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I open it, flipping through the pages.
The journal is filled with notes and sketches, detailing his obsession with the dogman. But there’s something else—entries that talk about Leah, about that day in the woods. His handwriting becomes more erratic, the words harder to read. One entry stands out, dated just a few days after Leah’s death:
“June 15, 2013 – It was supposed to be a normal trip. Keep them close, Frank, I kept telling myself. But I failed. Leah is gone, and it’s my fault. I heard her scream, saw the shadows. I tried to get to her, but… the thing, it was there. Too fast. Too strong. My hands… blood everywhere. No one will believe me. I can’t even believe myself. I have to find it. I have to protect Ryan. I have to make it right. God, what have I done?”
Before I can read further, the attic door creaks open, and Dad’s voice slices through the stillness.
“What are you doing up here?” His tone is sharp, almost panicked.
I turn to see him standing in the doorway, his face pale and his eyes wide with something between anger and fear. I clutch the journal to my chest, my mind racing. “I found this… I was just trying to understand…”
In an instant, he crosses the room and snatches the journal from my hands. His grip is tight, his knuckles white. “You had no right,” he growls, his voice trembling.
“Dad, I just wanted to know the truth!” I shout, frustration boiling over. “What really happened to Leah.”
His eyes flash with a mix of rage and anguish, and before I can react, he slaps me across the face. The force of it knocks me off balance, and I stumble backward, my cheek stinging.
For a moment, there’s a stunned silence. We both stand there, breathing hard, the air thick with tension.
“I’m sorry,” Dad says finally, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to… I just…” He trails off, clutching the journal to his chest like a lifeline.
I touch my cheek, feeling the heat from the slap, and take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Dad, what aren’t you telling me? What really happened that day?”
“Stay out of it, Ryan,” Dad growls, his eyes dark with anger. “You don’t know what you’re messing with.”
He turns and storms out of the attic. I’m left standing there, my cheek throbbing, my mind racing. What the fuck is going on? What really happened to Leah? And what is Dad so afraid of?
—
That night, I sleep with my rifle within arm's reach, more afraid of my dad than any dogman. The slap still burns on my cheek, and the look in his eyes—rage, fear, something darker—haunts me. I lie awake, listening to the creaks and groans of the old cabin, every sound amplified in the stillness. Eventually, exhaustion pulls me under, and I fall into a restless sleep.
The dream returns, vivid and unsettling. I'm back in the woods, chasing after Leah. Her laughter echoes through the trees, a haunting reminder of happier times. This time, though, I push myself harder, refusing to let her slip away.
"Ryan, catch me!" she calls, her voice playful.
"I'm coming, Leah!" I shout, my legs pumping, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
The forest around us is a twisted, shadowy maze, the trees seeming to close in on us. Leah's figure becomes clearer, her blonde hair catching the dim light filtering through the canopy. She stops suddenly, turning to face me, her eyes wide with fear.
"Leah, what is it?" I ask, my voice trembling.
"Look behind you," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I turn slowly, dread creeping up my spine. In the shadows, I see a figure, its form indistinct and shifting. It’s not quite animal, not quite human—something in between. The sight of it sends a jolt of terror through me, and I wake up with a start, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I’m not in my bed. The ground beneath me is cold and hard, the smell of damp earth filling my nostrils. Panic rises as I realize I’ve sleepwalked into the woods. I scramble to my feet, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The moon casts a pale glow over the surroundings, revealing what looks like a long-abandoned animal lair.
The walls are covered in giant claw marks, deep gouges in the wood and earth. The air is heavy with the scent of decay, and a chill runs through me. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.
Carefully, I start to move, my eyes scanning the ground, desperate for a familiar landmark. That's when I see them—faded scraps of fabric caught on the jagged edges of the underbrush. My steps falter, a sense of dread washing over me as I bend down to examine them. The fabric is torn, weathered by time and the elements, but unmistakably familiar. It's part of Leah's jacket—the bright pink one she wore on the day she disappeared.
As I strain to make sense of it all, a rustling sound behind me snaps my focus. My heart leaps into my throat. I spin around, my hand instinctively reaching for the rifle I don't have—because, of course, I didn't bring it in my unconscious state.
The shadowy figure that emerges from the trees is unsettlingly familiar, mirroring the menacing forms of my nightmares. But as it steps into the moonlight, I recognize the worn jacket, the weary posture. It's Dad.
"Ryan!" he calls out, his voice a mix of relief and stern concern. "I've been looking everywhere for you. What the hell are you doing out here?"
I exhale slowly, the terror ebbing away as reality sets back in. "I—I don't know, Dad. I must've sleepwalked again." My voice is shaky, my earlier dream still clinging to the edges of my consciousness.
Dad stares at me in disbelief. "You haven't sleepwalked since you were a kid, Ry. This... this isn't just a coincidence." His eyes dart around, taking in the surroundings—the eerie, claw-marked den, the unsettling quiet of the woods. "How did you even find this place?"
I shake my head, struggling to find an answer. "I don't know, Dad. I just... I woke up here." The uncertainty in my voice does nothing to ease the tension.
His eyes lock onto the tattered remains of Leah's jacket in my hands, and something inside him snaps. The color drains from his face as he stumbles a few steps backward. "This... this is where it happened," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. “This is where we found Leah."
“I thought you said you don’t remember anything from that night,” he says accusingly.
"I swear, Dad, I don't know anything about this place," I insist, my own heart pounding.
“It was you, wasn’t it? You’ve been hiding this from me.” His voice is frantic. “You... last night, the growling, it was you.” His voice rises, tinged with hysteria.
I step back, my pulse racing, feeling the chill of the night and the weight of his accusation. "Dad, I don't know what you're talking ab—”
"No!" he interrupts, his voice breaking as he points a trembling finger at me. "You knew, you always knew. It was you, Ryan. All these years, the evidence was right there, but I refused to see it. You were the dogman. You killed Leah!"
His words hit me like a physical blow, absurd and horrifying in their implications. "Dad, you're not making any sense. You're talking crazy! I was just a little kid! How could I–" I protest, my voice shaky.
He steps closer, his presence looming over me, the outline of his figure distorted by the shadows of the trees. "Think about it! It all makes sense now. You led us here, to this place, because you remember. Because you did it."
"Dad, stop it!" I shout, my heart pounding in my chest. "You're scaring me. You need help, professional help. This isn't you."
But he's beyond reason, his eyes wild with a haunted grief. "I have to end this," he mutters, more to himself than to me, his hand tightening around his rifle.
His finger hovers dangerously over the trigger of his rifle. My instincts kick in, and I know I have to act fast.
I lunge toward him, trying to knock the weapon away, but he's quicker than I expected. We struggle, our breaths heavy in the cold night air, the sounds of our scuffle the only noise in the otherwise silent woods. His strength surprises me, fueled by his frantic emotions. He shoves me back, and I stumble over a root, my balance lost for a crucial second. That's all he needs. He raises his rifle, his intentions clear in his wild, pained eyes.
I dive to the ground just as the shot rings out, a deafening blast that echoes ominously through the trees. The bullet whizzes past, narrowly missing me, embedding itself in the bark of an old pine. I scramble to my feet, my heart pounding in my ears, and I start running. The underbrush claws at my clothes and skin, but I push through, driven by a primal urge to survive.
"Dad, stop! It's me, Ryan!" I shout back as I dodge between the trees. Another shot breaks the silence, closer this time, sending splinters of wood flying from a nearby tree trunk. It's surreal, being hunted by my own father, a man tormented by grief and lost in his delusions.
I don't stop to look back. I can hear him crashing through the forest behind me, his heavy breaths and muttered curses carried on the wind. The terrain is rough, and I'm fueled by adrenaline, but exhaustion is setting in. I need a plan.
Ahead, I see a rocky outcrop and make a split-second decision to head for it. It offers a chance to hide, to catch my breath and maybe reason with him if he catches up. As I reach the rocks, I slip behind the largest one, my body pressed tight against the cold, damp surface. I hear his footsteps approaching, slow and cautious now.
As I press against the rock, trying to calm my racing heart, I can hear Dad's footsteps drawing closer, each step crunching ominously on the forest floor. He's methodical, deliberate, like a hunter stalking his prey.
“Come out, Ryan!” Dad’s voice is ragged, filled with a blend of fury and pain.
My heart pounds against my chest, the cold sweat on my back making me shiver against the rough surface of the rock. I know I can't just sit here; it's only a matter of time before he finds me.
Taking a deep breath, I peek around the edge of the rock, trying to gauge his position. I see him, rifle raised, scanning the area slowly. This might be my only chance to end this madness without further violence. I need to disarm him, to talk some sense into him if I can.
As quietly as I can, I move out from behind the rock, my steps careful to avoid any twigs or leaves that might betray my position. I'm almost upon him when a branch snaps under my foot—a sound so trivial yet so alarmingly loud in the quiet of the woods.
Dad whirls around, looking completely unhinged. "Ryan!" he exclaims, his rifle swinging in my direction. Panic overtakes me, and I lunge forward, my hands reaching for the gun.
We struggle, the rifle between us, our breaths heavy and erratic. "Dad, please, stop!" I plead, trying to wrestle the gun away. But he's strong, stronger than I expected.
In the chaos, the rifle goes off. The sound is deafening, a sharp echo that seems to reverberate off every tree around us. Pain explodes in my abdomen, sharp and burning, like nothing I've ever felt before. I stagger back, my hands instinctively going to the wound. The warmth of my own blood coats my fingers, stark and terrifying.
Dad drops the rifle, his eyes wide with horror. "Oh my God! What have I done?" he gasps, rushing to my side as I collapse onto the forest floor.
As the pain sears through me, a strange, overpowering energy surges within. It's wild, primal, unlike anything I've ever experienced. Looking down in horror, my hands are no longer hands but large, hairy, clawed appendages. The transformation is rapid, consuming—my vision blurs, senses heighten, and a raw, guttural growl builds in my throat.
In that moment, a flood of understanding washes over me, mingling with the horror of realization. These are the hands of the creature from my nightmares, the creature whose face I can never fully recall because, as I now understand, it is me.
What happens next feels detached, as if I'm no longer in control of my own actions, watching from a distance as my body moves on its own. I turn towards my dad, his face a mask of terror. He stumbles back, his eyes wide with the dawning realization of what his son has become.
The forest around us seems to fall silent, holding its breath as the nightmarish scene unfolds. I can hear my own growls, guttural and deep, filling the air with a sound that's both foreign and intimately familiar. The pain in my abdomen fuels a dark, violent urge, an urge that's too strong to resist.
With a ferocity that feels both alien and intrinsic, I move towards him. My dad, paralyzed by fear and shock, doesn't run. Maybe he can't. Maybe he doesn't want to.
The encounter was brutal and swift, a blur of motion and violence. My dad barely puts up a struggle, as though resigned to his fate.
Not that there is anything he can do. The creature that I’ve become is too powerful, too consumed by the wild instincts surging through me. I tear him apart, limb from bloody limb, my hands—no, my claws—rending through fabric and flesh with disgusting ease.
The sound of my dad’s screams, of tearing fabric and flesh is drowned out by the animalistic growls that echo through the trees.
When it’s all over, the red mist that had clouded my vision begins to fade, and the fierce, uncontrollable rage that drove my actions subsides. I'm left standing, my breaths heavy and erratic, in the eerie stillness of the forest. The transformation reverses as quickly as it came on, and I find myself back in my human form. My clothes are ripped to shreds, hanging off my frame in tattered remnants. At my feet lies what’s left of my dad, his body torn and unrecognizable.
I glance down at my abdomen, expecting agony, but instead find my wound miraculously healed. No sign of the gunshot remains, just a faint scar where I expected a bloody mess.
Shock sets in, a numbing disbelief mixed with a gut-wrenching realization of what I've become and what I've done. My hands, now human again, tremble as I look at them, half-expecting to see the claws that had so effortlessly ripped through flesh and bone. But there's only blood, my father's blood against my skin.
I stand there for what feels like an eternity, trapped in a nightmare of my own making.
Eventually, the shock wears thin, and a cold practicality takes hold. I need to get out of here. I need to cover my tracks, to disappear. Because who would believe this? Who would understand that I didn't choose this, that I'm not a monster by choice?
With trembling hands, I do what’s necessary. I bury my dad in a shallow grave, the physical act of digging strangely grounding. I cover him with leaves and branches, a pitiful attempt to hide the brutality of his end. I take a moment, whispering apologies into the wind, knowing full well that nothing I say can change what happened.
I leave the forest behind, my mind a whirl of dark thoughts. As I walk, the first hints of dawn brush against the horizon, the sky bleeding a soft pink. It’s hauntingly beautiful.
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My dad Frank is in the kitchen, clattering around with the coffeepot and mumbling under his breath. Today we’re heading up to the woods of Northern Michigan, same as we did every year before Leah… before we lost her.
I can’t help but feel the old scars throbbing as I load bullets into the magazine. It’s been ten years since that hunting trip, the one that tore my family into before and after. Before, when Leah's laughter was a constant soundtrack to our lives; after, when every silence was filled with her absence.
We were just kids back then. I was ten, Leah was eight. It was supposed to be a typical hunting trip, one of those bonding experiences Dad was always talking about. But things went wrong. We got separated from Dad somehow. One minute we were following him, the next we were lost, the dense woods closing in around us.
Dad says when he found me, I was huddled under a fallen tree, my eyes wide, my body frozen. All I could mutter through chattering teeth was "Dogman."
It was only later, after the search parties had combed through every thicket and hollow, that they found her. What remained of Leah was barely recognizable, the evidence of a brutal mauling undeniable. The authorities concluded it was likely a bear attack, but Dad... he never accepted that explanation. He had seen the tracks, too large and oddly shaped for any bear.
As I load another round, the memory flashes, unbidden and unwelcome. Large, hairy clawed hands reaching out towards us, impossibly big, grotesque in their form. Yet, the rest of the creature eludes me, a shadow just beyond the edge of my recall, leaving me with nothing but fragmented terrors and Leah’s haunting, echoing screams. My mind blocked most of it out, a self-defense mechanism, I guess.
For years after that day, sleep was a battleground. I'd wake up in strange places—kitchen floor, backyard, even at the edge of the nearby creek. My therapist said it was my mind's way of trying to resolve the unresolved, to wander back through the woods searching for Leah. But all I found in those sleepless nights was a deeper sense of loss.
It took time, a lot of therapy, and patience I didn't know I had, but the sleepwalking did eventually stop. I guess I started to find some semblance of peace.
I have mostly moved on with my life. The fragmentary memories of that day are still there, lurking in the corners of my mind, but they don’t dominate my thoughts like they used to. I just finished my sophomore year at Michigan State, majoring in Environmental Science.
As for Dad, the loss of Leah broke him. He became a shell of himself. It destroyed his marriage with Mom. He blamed himself for letting us out of his sight, for not protecting Leah. His life took on a single, consuming focus: finding the creature that killed her. He read every book, every article on cryptids and unexplained phenomena. He mapped sightings, connected dots across blurry photos and shaky testimonies of the Dogman.
But as the tenth anniversary of Leah’s death approaches, Dad's obsession has grown more intense. He’s started staying up late, poring over his maps and notes, muttering to himself about patterns and cycles. He’s convinced that the dogman reappears every ten years, and this is our window of opportunity to finally hunt it down.
I’m not nearly as convinced. The whole dogman thing seems like a coping mechanism, a way for Dad to channel his guilt and grief into something tangible, something he can fight against. But I decided to tag along on this trip, partly to keep an eye on him, partly because a small part of me hopes that maybe, just maybe, we’ll find some kind of closure out there in the woods.
I finish loading the rifle and set it aside, standing up to stretch my legs. I wipe my greasy hands on an old rag, trying to get rid of the smell. The early morning light is starting to seep into the room, casting long shadows across the floor.
Dad comes out of the kitchen with two thermoses of coffee in hand. His eyes are bleary and tired.
“You ready, Ryan?” he asks, handing me a thermos, his voice rough from too many sleepless nights.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” I reply, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
We load our gear into the truck, the weight of our supplies and weapons a physical reminder of the burden we carry. The drive from Lansing across the Lower Peninsula is long and quiet, the silence between us filled with unspoken memories and unresolved grief.
—
The drive north is a blur of highway lines and the dull hum of the engine. I drift off, the landscape outside blending into a haze. In my sleep, fragments of that day with Leah replay like scattered pieces of a puzzle. I see her smile, the way she tugged at my sleeve, eager to explore. The sunlight filters through the trees in sharp, jagged streaks.
Then, the memory shifts—darker, disjointed. Leah's voice echoes, a playful laugh turning into a scream that pierces the air. The crunch of leaves underfoot as something heavy moves through the underbrush. I see a shadow, large and looming, not quite fitting the shapes of any creature I know.
Then, something darker creeps into the dream, something I’ve never allowed myself to remember clearly.
Before I can see what it is I wake up with a start as the truck jerks slightly on a rough patch of road. Dad glances over. "Bad dream?" he asks. I nod, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, the remnants of the dream clinging to me like the cold.
"Yeah, just... thinking about Leah," I manage to say.
As we drive, Dad attempts to bridge the silence with small talk. He asks about my finals, my plans for the summer, anything to keep the conversation going. His voice carries a forced cheerfulness, but it’s clear his heart isn’t in it. I respond when necessary, my answers brief, my gaze fixed on the passing scenery.
The landscape changes as we head further north, from flat expanses to rolling hills dotted with dense patches of forest. It's beautiful country, the kind that reminds you how vast and wild Michigan can be, but today it just feels oppressive, like it’s closing in on us.
—
We finally arrive at the cabin, nestled deep in the woods, its weathered wood blending seamlessly with the surrounding trees. The place hasn't changed much since the last time I was here—a relic from another time, filled with the echoes of our past. I can still see Leah running around the porch, her laughter ringing out into the forest.
Dad parks the truck, and we step out into the crisp air. The smell of pine and damp earth fills my nostrils. We start unloading our gear, the tension between us palpable.
“Let’s get this inside,” Dad says, his voice gruff as he hefts a duffel bag onto his shoulder.
I nod, grabbing my own bag and following him to the cabin. Inside, it’s a mix of old and new—the same rustic furniture, but with new hunting gear and maps strewn across the table. Dad’s obsession is evident in every corner of the room, a constant reminder of why we’re here.
As we unpack, we exchange strained attempts at normalcy. He talks about the latest cryptid sightings he’s read about, his eyes lighting up with a fervor that both worries and saddens me.
“Did you hear about the sighting up near Alpena?” he asks, laying out his maps on the table.
“Yeah, you mentioned it,” I reply, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “Do you really think there’s something to it?”
Dad’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of doubt. But it’s quickly replaced by grim determination. “I have to believe it, Ryan. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
We finish unpacking, the silence between us growing heavier with each passing minute. I step outside to clear my head, the cool air a welcome relief. The sun is starting to set, casting long shadows across the clearing. I can’t shake the feeling of unease.
"You can take the upstairs room," Dad mutters. His voice is strained, trying to sound normal, but it's clear the weight of the past is heavy on him. I nod, hauling my backpack up the creaking stairs to the small bedroom that I used to share with Leah. The room feels smaller now, or maybe I've just grown too much since those innocent days.
I unpack silently, setting my things aside. The bed is stiff and cold under my touch. As I settle in, I can't help but glance at the corner where Leah and I would huddle together, whispering secrets and making plans for adventures that would never happen. I push the thoughts away, focusing on the practicalities of unpacking.
After settling in, I go back downstairs to find Dad loading up a backpack with supplies for our hunt. The intensity in his eyes is palpable, his hands moving with practiced precision. I know this routine; it's one he's perfected over countless solo trips since that fateful day.
"We'll head out early," he says, not looking up from his task. "Gotta make the most of the daylight."
I nod, though unease curls in my stomach. I'm not just worried about what we might find—or not find—out there. I'm worried about him. Each year, the obsession seems to carve him out a bit more, leaving less of the Dad I knew.
—
The morning air is sharp with the scent of pine and wet earth as Dad and I head into the deeper parts of the forest. The terrain is rugged, familiar in its untamed beauty, but there’s a tension between us that makes the landscape feel alien. Dad moves with a purposeful stride, his eyes scanning the woods around us. Every snap of a twig, every rustle in the underbrush seems to draw his attention. He’s on edge, and it puts me on edge too.
As we walk, my mind drifts back to that day ten years ago. I can almost hear Leah’s voice echoing through the trees, her high-pitched call as she darted ahead, "Catch me, Ryan!" I remember how the sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground. Those memories are so vivid, so tangible, it feels like I could just turn a corner and see her there, waiting for us.
Dad suddenly stops and kneels, examining the ground. He points out a set of tracks that are too large for a deer, with an unusual gait pattern. "It’s been here, Ry. I’m telling you, it’s close," he whispers, a mixture of excitement and something darker in his voice. I nod, though I’m not sure what to believe. Part of me wants to dismiss it all as grief-fueled obsession, but another part, the part that heard Leah's scream and saw something monstrous in the woods that day, isn’t so sure.
As we continue, Dad's comments become increasingly cryptic. "You know, they say the dogman moves in cycles, drawn to certain places, certain times. Like it’s tied to the land itself," he muses, more to himself than to me. His fixation on the creature has always been intense, but now it borders on mania.
We set up a makeshift blind near a clearing where Dad insists the creature will pass. Hours drag by with little to see but the occasional bird or distant deer.
The sun rises higher in the sky, casting long, slender shadows through the dense canopy. I shift uncomfortably in my spot, the forest floor hard and unyielding beneath me. My eyes dart between the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of something, anything, to break the monotony. Dad, on the other hand, remains steadfast, his gaze fixed on the treeline as if he can will the dogman into existence by sheer force of will.
A bird chirps nearby, startling me. I sigh and adjust my grip on the rifle. I glance over at Dad.
“Anything?” I ask, more out of boredom than genuine curiosity.
“Not yet,” he replies, his voice tight. “But it’s out there. I know it.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I believe him. The forest seems too quiet, too still. Maybe we’re chasing ghosts.
As the sun begins its descent, the forest is bathed in a warm, golden light. The air cools, and a breeze rustles the leaves. I shiver, more from anticipation than the cold. The long hours of sitting and waiting are starting to wear on me.
“Let’s call it a day for now,” Dad says finally, his voice heavy with disappointment. “We’ll head back to the cabin, get some rest, and try again tomorrow.”
I stand and stretch, feeling the stiffness in my muscles. We pack up our gear in silence and start the trek back to the cabin. The walk is long and quiet, the only sounds are the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant calls of birds settling in for the night.
—
Dinner is a quiet affair, both of us lost in our thoughts. I try to make small talk, asking Dad about his plans for tomorrow, but it feels forced. We clean up in silence.
After dinner, I retreat to the small bedroom. The fatigue from the day's hike has settled into my bones, but sleep still feels like a distant hope. I lie down, staring at the ceiling, the room cloaked in darkness save for the sliver of moonlight creeping through the window. Downstairs, I hear the faint sound of Dad moving around, likely unable to sleep himself.
I drift into sleep, but it's not restful. My dreams pull me back to that fateful day in the woods. Leah's voice is clear and vibrant, her laughter echoing through the trees. She looks just as she did then—bright-eyed and full of life, her blonde hair catching the sunlight as she runs ahead of me.
"Come on, Ry! You can't catch me!" she taunts, her voice playful and teasing.
I chase after her, but the scene shifts abruptly. The sky darkens, the woods around us growing dense and foreboding. Leah's laughter fades, replaced by a chilling silence. I see her ahead, standing still, her back to me.
"Leah?" I call out, my voice trembling. She turns slowly, her eyes wide and filled with fear. "Ryan, you have to remember," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "It wasn't what you think. You need to know the truth."
Leah’s words hang in the air, cryptic and unsettling. Before I can respond, she turns and starts running again, her figure becoming a blur among the trees. Panic rises in my chest as I sprint after her, my feet pounding against the forest floor.
“Leah, wait!” I shout, desperation lacing my voice. The forest around me seems to close in, the trees towering and twisted, shadows dancing menacingly in the dim light. I push forward, trying to keep her in sight, but she’s too fast, slipping away like a wisp of smoke.
Suddenly, there’s a rustle, a flash of movement in the corner of my vision. Leah screams, a sound that pierces through the heavy silence. It happens too quickly—I can’t see what it is, only a dark blur that snatches her up.
“Leah!” I scream, my voice breaking. I stumble, falling to my knees as the forest spins around me. My heart races, and the terror is so real, so visceral, that it pulls me back to that awful day, the one that changed everything.
I jolt awake, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I sit up, wiping the cold sweat from my forehead as I try to steady my breathing. The room is still dark, the shadows cast by the moonlight seem to flicker and dance on the walls. My heart is still racing from the nightmare, the echo of Leah's scream lingering in my ears.
As I struggle to calm down, the floorboards outside my room creak. The door opens slowly, and I see the silhouette of my dad in the doorway, a Bowie knife in his hand, his posture tense.
“Dad, what the hell are you doing?” I whisper, my voice shaking.
“Shh,” he hisses, holding up a hand to silence me. “I heard something. Something moving around in the cabin. Stay quiet.”
I swallow hard, my mouth dry. I glance at the clock on the nightstand—it’s just past three in the morning. The cabin is silent, the kind of deep, oppressive silence that makes every small sound seem louder. I can’t hear anything out of the ordinary, but Dad’s expression is deadly serious.
He motions for me to get up, and I do, moving as quietly as I can. My heart is racing, a mix of lingering fear from the dream and the sudden, sharp anxiety of the present moment. Dad leads the way, stepping cautiously out of the bedroom and into the hallway, the knife held ready in front of him.
We move through the cabin, checking each room in turn. The living room is empty, the furniture casting long shadows in the dim moonlight. The kitchen is just as we left it, the plates from dinner still drying on the counter. Everything seems normal, untouched.
We finish our sweep of the cabin without finding anything amiss. The silence is heavy, punctuated only by our soft footfalls. I can see the tension in Dad’s frame, his grip on the knife unwavering. After checking the last room, we pause in the dimly lit hallway, the air thick with unspoken questions.
“There’s nothing here,” I say, my voice low. “Are you sure you heard something?”
He looks at me, his eyes searching for something in my face. “I heard growling. Deep and close. It was right outside the window.”
“Maybe it was just an animal outside, a raccoon or something?” I suggest, although the certainty in his voice makes me doubt my own reassurance.
“No, it wasn’t like that. It was different,” he insists, his voice tense.
I nod, not wanting to argue, but the seeds of worry are planted deep.
The look in his eyes sends a chill down my spine. It’s not just fear—it’s desperation. The kind of desperation that comes from years of chasing shadows and finding nothing. I can see the toll this hunt has taken on him, the way it’s worn him down, turned him into a man I barely recognize.
We head back to our rooms. As I lie down, my mind races with thoughts of my dad. I can’t help but wonder if he’s losing it, if the years of grief and guilt have finally pushed him over the edge.
Dad wasn’t always like this. Before Leah’s death, he was the kind of father who took us fishing, helped with homework, and told terrible jokes that made us groan and laugh at the same time. He was solid, dependable. But losing Leah changed him. The guilt twisted him into someone I barely recognize, someone driven by a need for answers, for closure, that may never come.
I try to sleep, but my thoughts keep me awake. I can hear Dad moving around downstairs, probably pacing or double-checking the locks. His paranoia has become a constant presence, and I don’t know how to help him. I don’t even know if I can help him.
—
The next morning, the sunlight filters weakly through the cabin windows, casting a pale light that does little to lift the heavy mood. I drag myself out of bed, feeling the exhaustion of another restless night. Dad is already up, hunched over his maps at the kitchen table, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
“Morning,” I mumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I pour myself a cup of coffee. “Did you sleep at all?”
He shakes his head, not looking up from his notes. “Not much. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I heard last night.”
I sip my coffee, trying to shake off the remnants of my nightmare. “Maybe it was just an animal, Dad. We’re deep in the woods, after all.”
He finally looks up, his eyes intense. “Ryan, I know what I heard. It wasn’t just an animal. It was something else.”
I sigh, not wanting to argue. “Okay, fine, Dad. What’s the plan for today?”
“We’re going back out. I found some tracks yesterday, and I want to follow them. See where they lead.”
I nod, feeling a mix of apprehension and resignation. I can see how much this means to him, how desperate he is for any kind of lead. “Alright. Let’s get packed and head out.”
We spend the morning preparing, loading up our gear and double-checking our supplies. Dad is meticulous, going over everything with a fine-toothed comb. I try to match his focus, but my mind keeps drifting back to Leah and the dream I had. Her words echo in my head, cryptic and unsettling: “You need to know the truth.”
We set off into the woods, the air crisp and cool. The forest is alive with the sounds of birds and rustling leaves, but it all feels distant, like background noise to the tension between us. Dad leads the way, his eyes scanning the ground for any sign of the tracks he found yesterday.
As we walk, I can’t help but notice how erratically he’s acting. He mutters to himself, his eyes darting around as if expecting something to jump out at us. His grip on his rifle is tight, his knuckles white.
“Dad, are you okay?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
He glances at me, his expression unreadable. “I’m fine. Just focused.”
He stops frequently to examine the ground or the bark of trees, pointing out marks and signs that seem meaningless to me.
“Look at this,” he says, crouching down to examine a broken branch. “See how it’s snapped? That’s not a deer or a bear. That’s something bigger. Stronger.”
I crouch next to Dad, squinting at the broken branch. To me, it just looks like a regular broken branch, the kind you see all over the forest. "I don't know, Dad. It just looks like a branch to me," I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.
Dad's eyes flicker with frustration. "You're not looking close enough. It's the way it's snapped—too clean, too deliberate. Something did this."
I nod, not wanting to argue. "Okay, sure. But even if you're right, it could be anything. A storm, another hunter..."
His expression hardens. "I know what I'm looking for. This is different."
I sigh, feeling the weight of the past and the tension between us pressing down on me. "Dad, I had a dream last night. About Leah." The words hang in the air between us, heavy and fraught with unspoken emotions.
Dad's eyes widen, and he straightens up, his entire demeanor shifting. "What kind of dream? What did you see?" His voice is urgent, almost desperate.
"It was... strange. We were in the woods, like we are now, but everything felt different. Leah was there, running ahead of me, laughing. Then she stopped and told me I needed to know the truth, that it wasn't what I thought."
Dad grabs my shoulders, his grip tight. "What else did she say? Did she tell you anything specific? Anything about the creature?"
I shake my head, feeling a chill run down my spine. "No, that was it. She just said I needed to know the truth, and then she was gone."
Dad’s grip on my shoulders tightens, and his eyes bore into mine with a mixture of desperation and hope. “Ryan, you have to try to remember. Think hard. What did the creature look like? Did you see anything else?”
I pull back slightly, uneasy with his intensity. “Dad, I told you. I don’t remember. It was just a dream. A nightmare, really. My mind’s probably just mixing things up.”
He lets go of me and runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated and lost. “Dreams can be important. They can hold memories we’ve buried deep. Please, try to remember. This could be a sign, a clue.”
I rub my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “I’ve tried, okay? I’ve tried for years to piece together what happened that day. But it’s all just fragments, like pieces of a puzzle that don’t fit. The dream… it felt real, but I don’t think it’s telling me anything new.”
Dad’s face falls, and he looks older than I’ve ever seen him. He turns away, staring into the forest as if it holds all the answers.
—
As we make our way back to the cabin, the sun begins to set, casting long shadows through the trees. The air grows colder, and I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter around me. Dad is silent, lost in his thoughts, his face drawn and haggard.
Back at the cabin, we unload our gear once again in silence. Dad disappears into his room, muttering something about going over his notes. I decide to explore the cabin, hoping to find something that might help me understand what’s going on with him.
In the attic, I find a box of old family photos and documents. As I sift through the contents, I come across a worn journal with Dad’s handwriting on the cover. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I open it, flipping through the pages.
The journal is filled with notes and sketches, detailing his obsession with the dogman. But there’s something else—entries that talk about Leah, about that day in the woods. His handwriting becomes more erratic, the words harder to read. One entry stands out, dated just a few days after Leah’s death:
“June 15, 2013 – It was supposed to be a normal trip. Keep them close, Frank, I kept telling myself. But I failed. Leah is gone, and it’s my fault. I heard her scream, saw the shadows. I tried to get to her, but… the thing, it was there. Too fast. Too strong. My hands… blood everywhere. No one will believe me. I can’t even believe myself. I have to find it. I have to protect Ryan. I have to make it right. God, what have I done?”
Before I can read further, the attic door creaks open, and Dad’s voice slices through the stillness.
“What are you doing up here?” His tone is sharp, almost panicked.
I turn to see him standing in the doorway, his face pale and his eyes wide with something between anger and fear. I clutch the journal to my chest, my mind racing. “I found this… I was just trying to understand…”
In an instant, he crosses the room and snatches the journal from my hands. His grip is tight, his knuckles white. “You had no right,” he growls, his voice trembling.
“Dad, I just wanted to know the truth!” I shout, frustration boiling over. “What really happened to Leah.”
His eyes flash with a mix of rage and anguish, and before I can react, he slaps me across the face. The force of it knocks me off balance, and I stumble backward, my cheek stinging.
For a moment, there’s a stunned silence. We both stand there, breathing hard, the air thick with tension.
“I’m sorry,” Dad says finally, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to… I just…” He trails off, clutching the journal to his chest like a lifeline.
I touch my cheek, feeling the heat from the slap, and take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Dad, what aren’t you telling me? What really happened that day?”
“Stay out of it, Ryan,” Dad growls, his eyes dark with anger. “You don’t know what you’re messing with.”
He turns and storms out of the attic. I’m left standing there, my cheek throbbing, my mind racing. What the fuck is going on? What really happened to Leah? And what is Dad so afraid of?
—
That night, I sleep with my rifle within arm's reach, more afraid of my dad than any dogman. The slap still burns on my cheek, and the look in his eyes—rage, fear, something darker—haunts me. I lie awake, listening to the creaks and groans of the old cabin, every sound amplified in the stillness. Eventually, exhaustion pulls me under, and I fall into a restless sleep.
The dream returns, vivid and unsettling. I'm back in the woods, chasing after Leah. Her laughter echoes through the trees, a haunting reminder of happier times. This time, though, I push myself harder, refusing to let her slip away.
"Ryan, catch me!" she calls, her voice playful.
"I'm coming, Leah!" I shout, my legs pumping, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
The forest around us is a twisted, shadowy maze, the trees seeming to close in on us. Leah's figure becomes clearer, her blonde hair catching the dim light filtering through the canopy. She stops suddenly, turning to face me, her eyes wide with fear.
"Leah, what is it?" I ask, my voice trembling.
"Look behind you," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I turn slowly, dread creeping up my spine. In the shadows, I see a figure, its form indistinct and shifting. It’s not quite animal, not quite human—something in between. The sight of it sends a jolt of terror through me, and I wake up with a start, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I’m not in my bed. The ground beneath me is cold and hard, the smell of damp earth filling my nostrils. Panic rises as I realize I’ve sleepwalked into the woods. I scramble to my feet, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The moon casts a pale glow over the surroundings, revealing what looks like a long-abandoned animal lair.
The walls are covered in giant claw marks, deep gouges in the wood and earth. The air is heavy with the scent of decay, and a chill runs through me. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.
Carefully, I start to move, my eyes scanning the ground, desperate for a familiar landmark. That's when I see them—faded scraps of fabric caught on the jagged edges of the underbrush. My steps falter, a sense of dread washing over me as I bend down to examine them. The fabric is torn, weathered by time and the elements, but unmistakably familiar. It's part of Leah's jacket—the bright pink one she wore on the day she disappeared.
As I strain to make sense of it all, a rustling sound behind me snaps my focus. My heart leaps into my throat. I spin around, my hand instinctively reaching for the rifle I don't have—because, of course, I didn't bring it in my unconscious state.
The shadowy figure that emerges from the trees is unsettlingly familiar, mirroring the menacing forms of my nightmares. But as it steps into the moonlight, I recognize the worn jacket, the weary posture. It's Dad.
"Ryan!" he calls out, his voice a mix of relief and stern concern. "I've been looking everywhere for you. What the hell are you doing out here?"
I exhale slowly, the terror ebbing away as reality sets back in. "I—I don't know, Dad. I must've sleepwalked again." My voice is shaky, my earlier dream still clinging to the edges of my consciousness.
Dad stares at me in disbelief. "You haven't sleepwalked since you were a kid, Ry. This... this isn't just a coincidence." His eyes dart around, taking in the surroundings—the eerie, claw-marked den, the unsettling quiet of the woods. "How did you even find this place?"
I shake my head, struggling to find an answer. "I don't know, Dad. I just... I woke up here." The uncertainty in my voice does nothing to ease the tension.
His eyes lock onto the tattered remains of Leah's jacket in my hands, and something inside him snaps. The color drains from his face as he stumbles a few steps backward. "This... this is where it happened," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. “This is where we found Leah."
“I thought you said you don’t remember anything from that night,” he says accusingly.
"I swear, Dad, I don't know anything about this place," I insist, my own heart pounding.
“It was you, wasn’t it? You’ve been hiding this from me.” His voice is frantic. “You... last night, the growling, it was you.” His voice rises, tinged with hysteria.
I step back, my pulse racing, feeling the chill of the night and the weight of his accusation. "Dad, I don't know what you're talking ab—”
"No!" he interrupts, his voice breaking as he points a trembling finger at me. "You knew, you always knew. It was you, Ryan. All these years, the evidence was right there, but I refused to see it. You were the dogman. You killed Leah!"
His words hit me like a physical blow, absurd and horrifying in their implications. "Dad, you're not making any sense. You're talking crazy! I was just a little kid! How could I–" I protest, my voice shaky.
He steps closer, his presence looming over me, the outline of his figure distorted by the shadows of the trees. "Think about it! It all makes sense now. You led us here, to this place, because you remember. Because you did it."
"Dad, stop it!" I shout, my heart pounding in my chest. "You're scaring me. You need help, professional help. This isn't you."
But he's beyond reason, his eyes wild with a haunted grief. "I have to end this," he mutters, more to himself than to me, his hand tightening around his rifle.
His finger hovers dangerously over the trigger of his rifle. My instincts kick in, and I know I have to act fast.
I lunge toward him, trying to knock the weapon away, but he's quicker than I expected. We struggle, our breaths heavy in the cold night air, the sounds of our scuffle the only noise in the otherwise silent woods. His strength surprises me, fueled by his frantic emotions. He shoves me back, and I stumble over a root, my balance lost for a crucial second. That's all he needs. He raises his rifle, his intentions clear in his wild, pained eyes.
I dive to the ground just as the shot rings out, a deafening blast that echoes ominously through the trees. The bullet whizzes past, narrowly missing me, embedding itself in the bark of an old pine. I scramble to my feet, my heart pounding in my ears, and I start running. The underbrush claws at my clothes and skin, but I push through, driven by a primal urge to survive.
"Dad, stop! It's me, Ryan!" I shout back as I dodge between the trees. Another shot breaks the silence, closer this time, sending splinters of wood flying from a nearby tree trunk. It's surreal, being hunted by my own father, a man tormented by grief and lost in his delusions.
I don't stop to look back. I can hear him crashing through the forest behind me, his heavy breaths and muttered curses carried on the wind. The terrain is rough, and I'm fueled by adrenaline, but exhaustion is setting in. I need a plan.
Ahead, I see a rocky outcrop and make a split-second decision to head for it. It offers a chance to hide, to catch my breath and maybe reason with him if he catches up. As I reach the rocks, I slip behind the largest one, my body pressed tight against the cold, damp surface. I hear his footsteps approaching, slow and cautious now.
As I press against the rock, trying to calm my racing heart, I can hear Dad's footsteps drawing closer, each step crunching ominously on the forest floor. He's methodical, deliberate, like a hunter stalking his prey.
“Come out, Ryan!” Dad’s voice is ragged, filled with a blend of fury and pain.
My heart pounds against my chest, the cold sweat on my back making me shiver against the rough surface of the rock. I know I can't just sit here; it's only a matter of time before he finds me.
Taking a deep breath, I peek around the edge of the rock, trying to gauge his position. I see him, rifle raised, scanning the area slowly. This might be my only chance to end this madness without further violence. I need to disarm him, to talk some sense into him if I can.
As quietly as I can, I move out from behind the rock, my steps careful to avoid any twigs or leaves that might betray my position. I'm almost upon him when a branch snaps under my foot—a sound so trivial yet so alarmingly loud in the quiet of the woods.
Dad whirls around, looking completely unhinged. "Ryan!" he exclaims, his rifle swinging in my direction. Panic overtakes me, and I lunge forward, my hands reaching for the gun.
We struggle, the rifle between us, our breaths heavy and erratic. "Dad, please, stop!" I plead, trying to wrestle the gun away. But he's strong, stronger than I expected.
In the chaos, the rifle goes off. The sound is deafening, a sharp echo that seems to reverberate off every tree around us. Pain explodes in my abdomen, sharp and burning, like nothing I've ever felt before. I stagger back, my hands instinctively going to the wound. The warmth of my own blood coats my fingers, stark and terrifying.
Dad drops the rifle, his eyes wide with horror. "Oh my God! What have I done?" he gasps, rushing to my side as I collapse onto the forest floor.
As the pain sears through me, a strange, overpowering energy surges within. It's wild, primal, unlike anything I've ever experienced. Looking down in horror, my hands are no longer hands but large, hairy, clawed appendages. The transformation is rapid, consuming—my vision blurs, senses heighten, and a raw, guttural growl builds in my throat.
In that moment, a flood of understanding washes over me, mingling with the horror of realization. These are the hands of the creature from my nightmares, the creature whose face I can never fully recall because, as I now understand, it is me.
What happens next feels detached, as if I'm no longer in control of my own actions, watching from a distance as my body moves on its own. I turn towards my dad, his face a mask of terror. He stumbles back, his eyes wide with the dawning realization of what his son has become.
The forest around us seems to fall silent, holding its breath as the nightmarish scene unfolds. I can hear my own growls, guttural and deep, filling the air with a sound that's both foreign and intimately familiar. The pain in my abdomen fuels a dark, violent urge, an urge that's too strong to resist.
With a ferocity that feels both alien and intrinsic, I move towards him. My dad, paralyzed by fear and shock, doesn't run. Maybe he can't. Maybe he doesn't want to.
The encounter was brutal and swift, a blur of motion and violence. My dad barely puts up a struggle, as though resigned to his fate.
Not that there is anything he can do. The creature that I’ve become is too powerful, too consumed by the wild instincts surging through me. I tear him apart, limb from bloody limb, my hands—no, my claws—rending through fabric and flesh with disgusting ease.
The sound of my dad’s screams, of tearing fabric and flesh is drowned out by the animalistic growls that echo through the trees.
When it’s all over, the red mist that had clouded my vision begins to fade, and the fierce, uncontrollable rage that drove my actions subsides. I'm left standing, my breaths heavy and erratic, in the eerie stillness of the forest. The transformation reverses as quickly as it came on, and I find myself back in my human form. My clothes are ripped to shreds, hanging off my frame in tattered remnants. At my feet lies what’s left of my dad, his body torn and unrecognizable.
I glance down at my abdomen, expecting agony, but instead find my wound miraculously healed. No sign of the gunshot remains, just a faint scar where I expected a bloody mess.
Shock sets in, a numbing disbelief mixed with a gut-wrenching realization of what I've become and what I've done. My hands, now human again, tremble as I look at them, half-expecting to see the claws that had so effortlessly ripped through flesh and bone. But there's only blood, my father's blood against my skin.
I stand there for what feels like an eternity, trapped in a nightmare of my own making.
Eventually, the shock wears thin, and a cold practicality takes hold. I need to get out of here. I need to cover my tracks, to disappear. Because who would believe this? Who would understand that I didn't choose this, that I'm not a monster by choice?
With trembling hands, I do what’s necessary. I bury my dad in a shallow grave, the physical act of digging strangely grounding. I cover him with leaves and branches, a pitiful attempt to hide the brutality of his end. I take a moment, whispering apologies into the wind, knowing full well that nothing I say can change what happened.
I leave the forest behind, my mind a whirl of dark thoughts. As I walk, the first hints of dawn brush against the horizon, the sky bleeding a soft pink. It’s hauntingly beautiful.
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 RoundupUpdates
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
- Sorted by number of backers
- Kickstarter projects ending in the next 7 days, that have at least 100 backers (or marked as "Project we love" by Kickstarter), will have reached more than estimated 95% of their goal by their deadline and passed the filters:
- No DnD books
- No zines
- No 3D printing
- No dice sets
- No magazines
- No shirts
- No playmats
- No furniture
- No events
- Gamefound projects ending in the next 7 days, that will have reached more than estimated 95% of their goal by their deadline and passed the above filters.
- (beta) Backerkit Crowdfunding projects ending in the next 7 days, that will have reached more than estimated 95% of their goal by their deadline and have a matching BGG page.
Newly launched
- Sorted by number of backers
- Kickstarter projects launched in the last 7 days, that have had at least average 15 backers per day, have at least 100 backers or is marked as "Project we love" by Kickstarter and passed the filters (see above).
- Gamefound projects launched in the last 7 days and passed the filters (see above).
- (beta) Backerkit Crowdfunding projects launched in the last 7 days and have a matching BGG page.
Notable filtered projects
- Filtered projects from above lists that have more than 1000 backers.
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 | 💰🌱 | |
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2024.05.19 20:12 PageTurner627 My Dad and I Hunted Down the Dogman that Killed My Sister
I’ve always hated the smell of gun oil. It clings to everything it touches, soaking deep into the fibers of my clothes, the lining of my backpack, the coarse hair on the back of my hands. Yet here I am, kneeling on the cracked linoleum of our mudroom, a Remington .308 laid across my thighs, and the stench of gun oil sharp in my nostrils. The early morning light barely scratches at the edges of the blinds, dim and gray like the belly of a dead fish.
My dad Frank is in the kitchen, clattering around with the coffeepot and mumbling under his breath. Today we’re heading up to the woods of Northern Michigan, same as we did every year before Leah… before we lost her.
I can’t help but feel the old scars throbbing as I load bullets into the magazine. It’s been ten years since that hunting trip, the one that tore my family into before and after. Before, when Leah's laughter was a constant soundtrack to our lives; after, when every silence was filled with her absence.
We were just kids back then. I was ten, Leah was eight. It was supposed to be a typical hunting trip, one of those bonding experiences Dad was always talking about. But things went wrong. We got separated from Dad somehow. One minute we were following him, the next we were lost, the dense woods closing in around us.
Dad says when he found me, I was huddled under a fallen tree, my eyes wide, my body frozen. All I could mutter through chattering teeth was "Dogman."
It was only later, after the search parties had combed through every thicket and hollow, that they found her. What remained of Leah was barely recognizable, the evidence of a brutal mauling undeniable. The authorities concluded it was likely a bear attack, but Dad... he never accepted that explanation. He had seen the tracks, too large and oddly shaped for any bear.
As I load another round, the memory flashes, unbidden and unwelcome. Large, hairy clawed hands reaching out towards us, impossibly big, grotesque in their form. Yet, the rest of the creature eludes me, a shadow just beyond the edge of my recall, leaving me with nothing but fragmented terrors and Leah’s haunting, echoing screams. My mind blocked most of it out, a self-defense mechanism, I guess.
For years after that day, sleep was a battleground. I'd wake up in strange places—kitchen floor, backyard, even at the edge of the nearby creek. My therapist said it was my mind's way of trying to resolve the unresolved, to wander back through the woods searching for Leah. But all I found in those sleepless nights was a deeper sense of loss.
It took time, a lot of therapy, and patience I didn't know I had, but the sleepwalking did eventually stop. I guess I started to find some semblance of peace.
I have mostly moved on with my life. The fragmentary memories of that day are still there, lurking in the corners of my mind, but they don’t dominate my thoughts like they used to. I just finished my sophomore year at Michigan State, majoring in Environmental Science.
As for Dad, the loss of Leah broke him. He became a shell of himself. It destroyed his marriage with Mom. He blamed himself for letting us out of his sight, for not protecting Leah. His life took on a single, consuming focus: finding the creature that killed her. He read every book, every article on cryptids and unexplained phenomena. He mapped sightings, connected dots across blurry photos and shaky testimonies of the Dogman.
But as the tenth anniversary of Leah’s death approaches, Dad's obsession has grown more intense. He’s started staying up late, poring over his maps and notes, muttering to himself about patterns and cycles. He’s convinced that the dogman reappears every ten years, and this is our window of opportunity to finally hunt it down.
I’m not nearly as convinced. The whole dogman thing seems like a coping mechanism, a way for Dad to channel his guilt and grief into something tangible, something he can fight against. But I decided to tag along on this trip, partly to keep an eye on him, partly because a small part of me hopes that maybe, just maybe, we’ll find some kind of closure out there in the woods.
I finish loading the rifle and set it aside, standing up to stretch my legs. I wipe my greasy hands on an old rag, trying to get rid of the smell. The early morning light is starting to seep into the room, casting long shadows across the floor.
Dad comes out of the kitchen with two thermoses of coffee in hand. His eyes are bleary and tired.
“You ready, Ryan?” he asks, handing me a thermos, his voice rough from too many sleepless nights.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” I reply, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
We load our gear into the truck, the weight of our supplies and weapons a physical reminder of the burden we carry. The drive from Lansing across the Lower Peninsula is long and quiet, the silence between us filled with unspoken memories and unresolved grief.
—
The drive north is a blur of highway lines and the dull hum of the engine. I drift off, the landscape outside blending into a haze. In my sleep, fragments of that day with Leah replay like scattered pieces of a puzzle. I see her smile, the way she tugged at my sleeve, eager to explore. The sunlight filters through the trees in sharp, jagged streaks.
Then, the memory shifts—darker, disjointed. Leah's voice echoes, a playful laugh turning into a scream that pierces the air. The crunch of leaves underfoot as something heavy moves through the underbrush. I see a shadow, large and looming, not quite fitting the shapes of any creature I know.
Then, something darker creeps into the dream, something I’ve never allowed myself to remember clearly.
Before I can see what it is I wake up with a start as the truck jerks slightly on a rough patch of road. Dad glances over. "Bad dream?" he asks. I nod, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, the remnants of the dream clinging to me like the cold.
"Yeah, just... thinking about Leah," I manage to say.
As we drive, Dad attempts to bridge the silence with small talk. He asks about my finals, my plans for the summer, anything to keep the conversation going. His voice carries a forced cheerfulness, but it’s clear his heart isn’t in it. I respond when necessary, my answers brief, my gaze fixed on the passing scenery.
The landscape changes as we head further north, from flat expanses to rolling hills dotted with dense patches of forest. It's beautiful country, the kind that reminds you how vast and wild Michigan can be, but today it just feels oppressive, like it’s closing in on us.
—
We finally arrive at the cabin, nestled deep in the woods, its weathered wood blending seamlessly with the surrounding trees. The place hasn't changed much since the last time I was here—a relic from another time, filled with the echoes of our past. I can still see Leah running around the porch, her laughter ringing out into the forest.
Dad parks the truck, and we step out into the crisp air. The smell of pine and damp earth fills my nostrils. We start unloading our gear, the tension between us palpable.
“Let’s get this inside,” Dad says, his voice gruff as he hefts a duffel bag onto his shoulder.
I nod, grabbing my own bag and following him to the cabin. Inside, it’s a mix of old and new—the same rustic furniture, but with new hunting gear and maps strewn across the table. Dad’s obsession is evident in every corner of the room, a constant reminder of why we’re here.
As we unpack, we exchange strained attempts at normalcy. He talks about the latest cryptid sightings he’s read about, his eyes lighting up with a fervor that both worries and saddens me.
“Did you hear about the sighting up near Alpena?” he asks, laying out his maps on the table.
“Yeah, you mentioned it,” I reply, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “Do you really think there’s something to it?”
Dad’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of doubt. But it’s quickly replaced by grim determination. “I have to believe it, Ryan. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
We finish unpacking, the silence between us growing heavier with each passing minute. I step outside to clear my head, the cool air a welcome relief. The sun is starting to set, casting long shadows across the clearing. I can’t shake the feeling of unease.
"You can take the upstairs room," Dad mutters. His voice is strained, trying to sound normal, but it's clear the weight of the past is heavy on him. I nod, hauling my backpack up the creaking stairs to the small bedroom that I used to share with Leah. The room feels smaller now, or maybe I've just grown too much since those innocent days.
I unpack silently, setting my things aside. The bed is stiff and cold under my touch. As I settle in, I can't help but glance at the corner where Leah and I would huddle together, whispering secrets and making plans for adventures that would never happen. I push the thoughts away, focusing on the practicalities of unpacking.
After settling in, I go back downstairs to find Dad loading up a backpack with supplies for our hunt. The intensity in his eyes is palpable, his hands moving with practiced precision. I know this routine; it's one he's perfected over countless solo trips since that fateful day.
"We'll head out early," he says, not looking up from his task. "Gotta make the most of the daylight."
I nod, though unease curls in my stomach. I'm not just worried about what we might find—or not find—out there. I'm worried about him. Each year, the obsession seems to carve him out a bit more, leaving less of the Dad I knew.
—
The morning air is sharp with the scent of pine and wet earth as Dad and I head into the deeper parts of the forest. The terrain is rugged, familiar in its untamed beauty, but there’s a tension between us that makes the landscape feel alien. Dad moves with a purposeful stride, his eyes scanning the woods around us. Every snap of a twig, every rustle in the underbrush seems to draw his attention. He’s on edge, and it puts me on edge too.
As we walk, my mind drifts back to that day ten years ago. I can almost hear Leah’s voice echoing through the trees, her high-pitched call as she darted ahead, "Catch me, Ryan!" I remember how the sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground. Those memories are so vivid, so tangible, it feels like I could just turn a corner and see her there, waiting for us.
Dad suddenly stops and kneels, examining the ground. He points out a set of tracks that are too large for a deer, with an unusual gait pattern. "It’s been here, Ry. I’m telling you, it’s close," he whispers, a mixture of excitement and something darker in his voice. I nod, though I’m not sure what to believe. Part of me wants to dismiss it all as grief-fueled obsession, but another part, the part that heard Leah's scream and saw something monstrous in the woods that day, isn’t so sure.
As we continue, Dad's comments become increasingly cryptic. "You know, they say the dogman moves in cycles, drawn to certain places, certain times. Like it’s tied to the land itself," he muses, more to himself than to me. His fixation on the creature has always been intense, but now it borders on mania.
We set up a makeshift blind near a clearing where Dad insists the creature will pass. Hours drag by with little to see but the occasional bird or distant deer.
The sun rises higher in the sky, casting long, slender shadows through the dense canopy. I shift uncomfortably in my spot, the forest floor hard and unyielding beneath me. My eyes dart between the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of something, anything, to break the monotony. Dad, on the other hand, remains steadfast, his gaze fixed on the treeline as if he can will the dogman into existence by sheer force of will.
A bird chirps nearby, startling me. I sigh and adjust my grip on the rifle. I glance over at Dad.
“Anything?” I ask, more out of boredom than genuine curiosity.
“Not yet,” he replies, his voice tight. “But it’s out there. I know it.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I believe him. The forest seems too quiet, too still. Maybe we’re chasing ghosts.
As the sun begins its descent, the forest is bathed in a warm, golden light. The air cools, and a breeze rustles the leaves. I shiver, more from anticipation than the cold. The long hours of sitting and waiting are starting to wear on me.
“Let’s call it a day for now,” Dad says finally, his voice heavy with disappointment. “We’ll head back to the cabin, get some rest, and try again tomorrow.”
I stand and stretch, feeling the stiffness in my muscles. We pack up our gear in silence and start the trek back to the cabin. The walk is long and quiet, the only sounds are the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant calls of birds settling in for the night.
—
Dinner is a quiet affair, both of us lost in our thoughts. I try to make small talk, asking Dad about his plans for tomorrow, but it feels forced. We clean up in silence.
After dinner, I retreat to the small bedroom. The fatigue from the day's hike has settled into my bones, but sleep still feels like a distant hope. I lie down, staring at the ceiling, the room cloaked in darkness save for the sliver of moonlight creeping through the window. Downstairs, I hear the faint sound of Dad moving around, likely unable to sleep himself.
I drift into sleep, but it's not restful. My dreams pull me back to that fateful day in the woods. Leah's voice is clear and vibrant, her laughter echoing through the trees. She looks just as she did then—bright-eyed and full of life, her blonde hair catching the sunlight as she runs ahead of me.
"Come on, Ry! You can't catch me!" she taunts, her voice playful and teasing.
I chase after her, but the scene shifts abruptly. The sky darkens, the woods around us growing dense and foreboding. Leah's laughter fades, replaced by a chilling silence. I see her ahead, standing still, her back to me.
"Leah?" I call out, my voice trembling. She turns slowly, her eyes wide and filled with fear. "Ryan, you have to remember," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "It wasn't what you think. You need to know the truth."
Leah’s words hang in the air, cryptic and unsettling. Before I can respond, she turns and starts running again, her figure becoming a blur among the trees. Panic rises in my chest as I sprint after her, my feet pounding against the forest floor.
“Leah, wait!” I shout, desperation lacing my voice. The forest around me seems to close in, the trees towering and twisted, shadows dancing menacingly in the dim light. I push forward, trying to keep her in sight, but she’s too fast, slipping away like a wisp of smoke.
Suddenly, there’s a rustle, a flash of movement in the corner of my vision. Leah screams, a sound that pierces through the heavy silence. It happens too quickly—I can’t see what it is, only a dark blur that snatches her up.
“Leah!” I scream, my voice breaking. I stumble, falling to my knees as the forest spins around me. My heart races, and the terror is so real, so visceral, that it pulls me back to that awful day, the one that changed everything.
I jolt awake, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I sit up, wiping the cold sweat from my forehead as I try to steady my breathing. The room is still dark, the shadows cast by the moonlight seem to flicker and dance on the walls. My heart is still racing from the nightmare, the echo of Leah's scream lingering in my ears.
As I struggle to calm down, the floorboards outside my room creak. The door opens slowly, and I see the silhouette of my dad in the doorway, a Bowie knife in his hand, his posture tense.
“Dad, what the hell are you doing?” I whisper, my voice shaking.
“Shh,” he hisses, holding up a hand to silence me. “I heard something. Something moving around in the cabin. Stay quiet.”
I swallow hard, my mouth dry. I glance at the clock on the nightstand—it’s just past three in the morning. The cabin is silent, the kind of deep, oppressive silence that makes every small sound seem louder. I can’t hear anything out of the ordinary, but Dad’s expression is deadly serious.
He motions for me to get up, and I do, moving as quietly as I can. My heart is racing, a mix of lingering fear from the dream and the sudden, sharp anxiety of the present moment. Dad leads the way, stepping cautiously out of the bedroom and into the hallway, the knife held ready in front of him.
We move through the cabin, checking each room in turn. The living room is empty, the furniture casting long shadows in the dim moonlight. The kitchen is just as we left it, the plates from dinner still drying on the counter. Everything seems normal, untouched.
We finish our sweep of the cabin without finding anything amiss. The silence is heavy, punctuated only by our soft footfalls. I can see the tension in Dad’s frame, his grip on the knife unwavering. After checking the last room, we pause in the dimly lit hallway, the air thick with unspoken questions.
“There’s nothing here,” I say, my voice low. “Are you sure you heard something?”
He looks at me, his eyes searching for something in my face. “I heard growling. Deep and close. It was right outside the window.”
“Maybe it was just an animal outside, a raccoon or something?” I suggest, although the certainty in his voice makes me doubt my own reassurance.
“No, it wasn’t like that. It was different,” he insists, his voice tense.
I nod, not wanting to argue, but the seeds of worry are planted deep.
The look in his eyes sends a chill down my spine. It’s not just fear—it’s desperation. The kind of desperation that comes from years of chasing shadows and finding nothing. I can see the toll this hunt has taken on him, the way it’s worn him down, turned him into a man I barely recognize.
We head back to our rooms. As I lie down, my mind races with thoughts of my dad. I can’t help but wonder if he’s losing it, if the years of grief and guilt have finally pushed him over the edge.
Dad wasn’t always like this. Before Leah’s death, he was the kind of father who took us fishing, helped with homework, and told terrible jokes that made us groan and laugh at the same time. He was solid, dependable. But losing Leah changed him. The guilt twisted him into someone I barely recognize, someone driven by a need for answers, for closure, that may never come.
I try to sleep, but my thoughts keep me awake. I can hear Dad moving around downstairs, probably pacing or double-checking the locks. His paranoia has become a constant presence, and I don’t know how to help him. I don’t even know if I can help him.
—
The next morning, the sunlight filters weakly through the cabin windows, casting a pale light that does little to lift the heavy mood. I drag myself out of bed, feeling the exhaustion of another restless night. Dad is already up, hunched over his maps at the kitchen table, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
“Morning,” I mumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I pour myself a cup of coffee. “Did you sleep at all?”
He shakes his head, not looking up from his notes. “Not much. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I heard last night.”
I sip my coffee, trying to shake off the remnants of my nightmare. “Maybe it was just an animal, Dad. We’re deep in the woods, after all.”
He finally looks up, his eyes intense. “Ryan, I know what I heard. It wasn’t just an animal. It was something else.”
I sigh, not wanting to argue. “Okay, fine, Dad. What’s the plan for today?”
“We’re going back out. I found some tracks yesterday, and I want to follow them. See where they lead.”
I nod, feeling a mix of apprehension and resignation. I can see how much this means to him, how desperate he is for any kind of lead. “Alright. Let’s get packed and head out.”
We spend the morning preparing, loading up our gear and double-checking our supplies. Dad is meticulous, going over everything with a fine-toothed comb. I try to match his focus, but my mind keeps drifting back to Leah and the dream I had. Her words echo in my head, cryptic and unsettling: “You need to know the truth.”
We set off into the woods, the air crisp and cool. The forest is alive with the sounds of birds and rustling leaves, but it all feels distant, like background noise to the tension between us. Dad leads the way, his eyes scanning the ground for any sign of the tracks he found yesterday.
As we walk, I can’t help but notice how erratically he’s acting. He mutters to himself, his eyes darting around as if expecting something to jump out at us. His grip on his rifle is tight, his knuckles white.
“Dad, are you okay?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
He glances at me, his expression unreadable. “I’m fine. Just focused.”
He stops frequently to examine the ground or the bark of trees, pointing out marks and signs that seem meaningless to me.
“Look at this,” he says, crouching down to examine a broken branch. “See how it’s snapped? That’s not a deer or a bear. That’s something bigger. Stronger.”
I crouch next to Dad, squinting at the broken branch. To me, it just looks like a regular broken branch, the kind you see all over the forest. "I don't know, Dad. It just looks like a branch to me," I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.
Dad's eyes flicker with frustration. "You're not looking close enough. It's the way it's snapped—too clean, too deliberate. Something did this."
I nod, not wanting to argue. "Okay, sure. But even if you're right, it could be anything. A storm, another hunter..."
His expression hardens. "I know what I'm looking for. This is different."
I sigh, feeling the weight of the past and the tension between us pressing down on me. "Dad, I had a dream last night. About Leah." The words hang in the air between us, heavy and fraught with unspoken emotions.
Dad's eyes widen, and he straightens up, his entire demeanor shifting. "What kind of dream? What did you see?" His voice is urgent, almost desperate.
"It was... strange. We were in the woods, like we are now, but everything felt different. Leah was there, running ahead of me, laughing. Then she stopped and told me I needed to know the truth, that it wasn't what I thought."
Dad grabs my shoulders, his grip tight. "What else did she say? Did she tell you anything specific? Anything about the creature?"
I shake my head, feeling a chill run down my spine. "No, that was it. She just said I needed to know the truth, and then she was gone."
Dad’s grip on my shoulders tightens, and his eyes bore into mine with a mixture of desperation and hope. “Ryan, you have to try to remember. Think hard. What did the creature look like? Did you see anything else?”
I pull back slightly, uneasy with his intensity. “Dad, I told you. I don’t remember. It was just a dream. A nightmare, really. My mind’s probably just mixing things up.”
He lets go of me and runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated and lost. “Dreams can be important. They can hold memories we’ve buried deep. Please, try to remember. This could be a sign, a clue.”
I rub my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “I’ve tried, okay? I’ve tried for years to piece together what happened that day. But it’s all just fragments, like pieces of a puzzle that don’t fit. The dream… it felt real, but I don’t think it’s telling me anything new.”
Dad’s face falls, and he looks older than I’ve ever seen him. He turns away, staring into the forest as if it holds all the answers.
—
As we make our way back to the cabin, the sun begins to set, casting long shadows through the trees. The air grows colder, and I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter around me. Dad is silent, lost in his thoughts, his face drawn and haggard.
Back at the cabin, we unload our gear once again in silence. Dad disappears into his room, muttering something about going over his notes. I decide to explore the cabin, hoping to find something that might help me understand what’s going on with him.
In the attic, I find a box of old family photos and documents. As I sift through the contents, I come across a worn journal with Dad’s handwriting on the cover. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I open it, flipping through the pages.
The journal is filled with notes and sketches, detailing his obsession with the dogman. But there’s something else—entries that talk about Leah, about that day in the woods. His handwriting becomes more erratic, the words harder to read. One entry stands out, dated just a few days after Leah’s death:
“June 15, 2013 – It was supposed to be a normal trip. Keep them close, Frank, I kept telling myself. But I failed. Leah is gone, and it’s my fault. I heard her scream, saw the shadows. I tried to get to her, but… the thing, it was there. Too fast. Too strong. My hands… blood everywhere. No one will believe me. I can’t even believe myself. I have to find it. I have to protect Ryan. I have to make it right. God, what have I done?”
Before I can read further, the attic door creaks open, and Dad’s voice slices through the stillness.
“What are you doing up here?” His tone is sharp, almost panicked.
I turn to see him standing in the doorway, his face pale and his eyes wide with something between anger and fear. I clutch the journal to my chest, my mind racing. “I found this… I was just trying to understand…”
In an instant, he crosses the room and snatches the journal from my hands. His grip is tight, his knuckles white. “You had no right,” he growls, his voice trembling.
“Dad, I just wanted to know the truth!” I shout, frustration boiling over. “What really happened to Leah.”
His eyes flash with a mix of rage and anguish, and before I can react, he slaps me across the face. The force of it knocks me off balance, and I stumble backward, my cheek stinging.
For a moment, there’s a stunned silence. We both stand there, breathing hard, the air thick with tension.
“I’m sorry,” Dad says finally, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to… I just…” He trails off, clutching the journal to his chest like a lifeline.
I touch my cheek, feeling the heat from the slap, and take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Dad, what aren’t you telling me? What really happened that day?”
“Stay out of it, Ryan,” Dad growls, his eyes dark with anger. “You don’t know what you’re messing with.”
He turns and storms out of the attic. I’m left standing there, my cheek throbbing, my mind racing. What the fuck is going on? What really happened to Leah? And what is Dad so afraid of?
—
That night, I sleep with my rifle within arm's reach, more afraid of my dad than any dogman. The slap still burns on my cheek, and the look in his eyes—rage, fear, something darker—haunts me. I lie awake, listening to the creaks and groans of the old cabin, every sound amplified in the stillness. Eventually, exhaustion pulls me under, and I fall into a restless sleep.
The dream returns, vivid and unsettling. I'm back in the woods, chasing after Leah. Her laughter echoes through the trees, a haunting reminder of happier times. This time, though, I push myself harder, refusing to let her slip away.
"Ryan, catch me!" she calls, her voice playful.
"I'm coming, Leah!" I shout, my legs pumping, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
The forest around us is a twisted, shadowy maze, the trees seeming to close in on us. Leah's figure becomes clearer, her blonde hair catching the dim light filtering through the canopy. She stops suddenly, turning to face me, her eyes wide with fear.
"Leah, what is it?" I ask, my voice trembling.
"Look behind you," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I turn slowly, dread creeping up my spine. In the shadows, I see a figure, its form indistinct and shifting. It’s not quite animal, not quite human—something in between. The sight of it sends a jolt of terror through me, and I wake up with a start, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I’m not in my bed. The ground beneath me is cold and hard, the smell of damp earth filling my nostrils. Panic rises as I realize I’ve sleepwalked into the woods. I scramble to my feet, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The moon casts a pale glow over the surroundings, revealing what looks like a long-abandoned animal lair.
The walls are covered in giant claw marks, deep gouges in the wood and earth. The air is heavy with the scent of decay, and a chill runs through me. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.
Carefully, I start to move, my eyes scanning the ground, desperate for a familiar landmark. That's when I see them—faded scraps of fabric caught on the jagged edges of the underbrush. My steps falter, a sense of dread washing over me as I bend down to examine them. The fabric is torn, weathered by time and the elements, but unmistakably familiar. It's part of Leah's jacket—the bright pink one she wore on the day she disappeared.
As I strain to make sense of it all, a rustling sound behind me snaps my focus. My heart leaps into my throat. I spin around, my hand instinctively reaching for the rifle I don't have—because, of course, I didn't bring it in my unconscious state.
The shadowy figure that emerges from the trees is unsettlingly familiar, mirroring the menacing forms of my nightmares. But as it steps into the moonlight, I recognize the worn jacket, the weary posture. It's Dad.
"Ryan!" he calls out, his voice a mix of relief and stern concern. "I've been looking everywhere for you. What the hell are you doing out here?"
I exhale slowly, the terror ebbing away as reality sets back in. "I—I don't know, Dad. I must've sleepwalked again." My voice is shaky, my earlier dream still clinging to the edges of my consciousness.
Dad stares at me in disbelief. "You haven't sleepwalked since you were a kid, Ry. This... this isn't just a coincidence." His eyes dart around, taking in the surroundings—the eerie, claw-marked den, the unsettling quiet of the woods. "How did you even find this place?"
I shake my head, struggling to find an answer. "I don't know, Dad. I just... I woke up here." The uncertainty in my voice does nothing to ease the tension.
His eyes lock onto the tattered remains of Leah's jacket in my hands, and something inside him snaps. The color drains from his face as he stumbles a few steps backward. "This... this is where it happened," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. “This is where we found Leah."
“I thought you said you don’t remember anything from that night,” he says accusingly.
"I swear, Dad, I don't know anything about this place," I insist, my own heart pounding.
“It was you, wasn’t it? You’ve been hiding this from me.” His voice is frantic. “You... last night, the growling, it was you.” His voice rises, tinged with hysteria.
I step back, my pulse racing, feeling the chill of the night and the weight of his accusation. "Dad, I don't know what you're talking ab—”
"No!" he interrupts, his voice breaking as he points a trembling finger at me. "You knew, you always knew. It was you, Ryan. All these years, the evidence was right there, but I refused to see it. You were the dogman. You killed Leah!"
His words hit me like a physical blow, absurd and horrifying in their implications. "Dad, you're not making any sense. You're talking crazy! I was just a little kid! How could I–" I protest, my voice shaky.
He steps closer, his presence looming over me, the outline of his figure distorted by the shadows of the trees. "Think about it! It all makes sense now. You led us here, to this place, because you remember. Because you did it."
"Dad, stop it!" I shout, my heart pounding in my chest. "You're scaring me. You need help, professional help. This isn't you."
But he's beyond reason, his eyes wild with a haunted grief. "I have to end this," he mutters, more to himself than to me, his hand tightening around his rifle.
His finger hovers dangerously over the trigger of his rifle. My instincts kick in, and I know I have to act fast.
I lunge toward him, trying to knock the weapon away, but he's quicker than I expected. We struggle, our breaths heavy in the cold night air, the sounds of our scuffle the only noise in the otherwise silent woods. His strength surprises me, fueled by his frantic emotions. He shoves me back, and I stumble over a root, my balance lost for a crucial second. That's all he needs. He raises his rifle, his intentions clear in his wild, pained eyes.
I dive to the ground just as the shot rings out, a deafening blast that echoes ominously through the trees. The bullet whizzes past, narrowly missing me, embedding itself in the bark of an old pine. I scramble to my feet, my heart pounding in my ears, and I start running. The underbrush claws at my clothes and skin, but I push through, driven by a primal urge to survive.
"Dad, stop! It's me, Ryan!" I shout back as I dodge between the trees. Another shot breaks the silence, closer this time, sending splinters of wood flying from a nearby tree trunk. It's surreal, being hunted by my own father, a man tormented by grief and lost in his delusions.
I don't stop to look back. I can hear him crashing through the forest behind me, his heavy breaths and muttered curses carried on the wind. The terrain is rough, and I'm fueled by adrenaline, but exhaustion is setting in. I need a plan.
Ahead, I see a rocky outcrop and make a split-second decision to head for it. It offers a chance to hide, to catch my breath and maybe reason with him if he catches up. As I reach the rocks, I slip behind the largest one, my body pressed tight against the cold, damp surface. I hear his footsteps approaching, slow and cautious now.
As I press against the rock, trying to calm my racing heart, I can hear Dad's footsteps drawing closer, each step crunching ominously on the forest floor. He's methodical, deliberate, like a hunter stalking his prey.
“Come out, Ryan!” Dad’s voice is ragged, filled with a blend of fury and pain.
My heart pounds against my chest, the cold sweat on my back making me shiver against the rough surface of the rock. I know I can't just sit here; it's only a matter of time before he finds me.
Taking a deep breath, I peek around the edge of the rock, trying to gauge his position. I see him, rifle raised, scanning the area slowly. This might be my only chance to end this madness without further violence. I need to disarm him, to talk some sense into him if I can.
As quietly as I can, I move out from behind the rock, my steps careful to avoid any twigs or leaves that might betray my position. I'm almost upon him when a branch snaps under my foot—a sound so trivial yet so alarmingly loud in the quiet of the woods.
Dad whirls around, looking completely unhinged. "Ryan!" he exclaims, his rifle swinging in my direction. Panic overtakes me, and I lunge forward, my hands reaching for the gun.
We struggle, the rifle between us, our breaths heavy and erratic. "Dad, please, stop!" I plead, trying to wrestle the gun away. But he's strong, stronger than I expected.
In the chaos, the rifle goes off. The sound is deafening, a sharp echo that seems to reverberate off every tree around us. Pain explodes in my abdomen, sharp and burning, like nothing I've ever felt before. I stagger back, my hands instinctively going to the wound. The warmth of my own blood coats my fingers, stark and terrifying.
Dad drops the rifle, his eyes wide with horror. "Oh my God! What have I done?" he gasps, rushing to my side as I collapse onto the forest floor.
As the pain sears through me, a strange, overpowering energy surges within. It's wild, primal, unlike anything I've ever experienced. Looking down in horror, my hands are no longer hands but large, hairy, clawed appendages. The transformation is rapid, consuming—my vision blurs, senses heighten, and a raw, guttural growl builds in my throat.
In that moment, a flood of understanding washes over me, mingling with the horror of realization. These are the hands of the creature from my nightmares, the creature whose face I can never fully recall because, as I now understand, it is me.
What happens next feels detached, as if I'm no longer in control of my own actions, watching from a distance as my body moves on its own. I turn towards my dad, his face a mask of terror. He stumbles back, his eyes wide with the dawning realization of what his son has become.
The forest around us seems to fall silent, holding its breath as the nightmarish scene unfolds. I can hear my own growls, guttural and deep, filling the air with a sound that's both foreign and intimately familiar. The pain in my abdomen fuels a dark, violent urge, an urge that's too strong to resist.
With a ferocity that feels both alien and intrinsic, I move towards him. My dad, paralyzed by fear and shock, doesn't run. Maybe he can't. Maybe he doesn't want to.
The encounter was brutal and swift, a blur of motion and violence. My dad barely puts up a struggle, as though resigned to his fate.
Not that there is anything he can do. The creature that I’ve become is too powerful, too consumed by the wild instincts surging through me. I tear him apart, limb from bloody limb, my hands—no, my claws—rending through fabric and flesh with disgusting ease.
The sound of my dad’s screams, of tearing fabric and flesh is drowned out by the animalistic growls that echo through the trees.
When it’s all over, the red mist that had clouded my vision begins to fade, and the fierce, uncontrollable rage that drove my actions subsides. I'm left standing, my breaths heavy and erratic, in the eerie stillness of the forest. The transformation reverses as quickly as it came on, and I find myself back in my human form. My clothes are ripped to shreds, hanging off my frame in tattered remnants. At my feet lies what’s left of my dad, his body torn and unrecognizable.
I glance down at my abdomen, expecting agony, but instead find my wound miraculously healed. No sign of the gunshot remains, just a faint scar where I expected a bloody mess.
Shock sets in, a numbing disbelief mixed with a gut-wrenching realization of what I've become and what I've done. My hands, now human again, tremble as I look at them, half-expecting to see the claws that had so effortlessly ripped through flesh and bone. But there's only blood, my father's blood against my skin.
I stand there for what feels like an eternity, trapped in a nightmare of my own making.
Eventually, the shock wears thin, and a cold practicality takes hold. I need to get out of here. I need to cover my tracks, to disappear. Because who would believe this? Who would understand that I didn't choose this, that I'm not a monster by choice?
With trembling hands, I do what’s necessary. I bury my dad in a shallow grave, the physical act of digging strangely grounding. I cover him with leaves and branches, a pitiful attempt to hide the brutality of his end. I take a moment, whispering apologies into the wind, knowing full well that nothing I say can change what happened.
I leave the forest behind, my mind a whirl of dark thoughts. As I walk, the first hints of dawn brush against the horizon, the sky bleeding a soft pink. It’s hauntingly beautiful.
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My dad Frank is in the kitchen, clattering around with the coffeepot and mumbling under his breath. Today we’re heading up to the woods of Northern Michigan, same as we did every year before Leah… before we lost her.
I can’t help but feel the old scars throbbing as I load bullets into the magazine. It’s been ten years since that hunting trip, the one that tore my family into before and after. Before, when Leah's laughter was a constant soundtrack to our lives; after, when every silence was filled with her absence.
We were just kids back then. I was ten, Leah was eight. It was supposed to be a typical hunting trip, one of those bonding experiences Dad was always talking about. But things went wrong. We got separated from Dad somehow. One minute we were following him, the next we were lost, the dense woods closing in around us.
Dad says when he found me, I was huddled under a fallen tree, my eyes wide, my body frozen. All I could mutter through chattering teeth was "Dogman."
It was only later, after the search parties had combed through every thicket and hollow, that they found her. What remained of Leah was barely recognizable, the evidence of a brutal mauling undeniable. The authorities concluded it was likely a bear attack, but Dad... he never accepted that explanation. He had seen the tracks, too large and oddly shaped for any bear.
As I load another round, the memory flashes, unbidden and unwelcome. Large, hairy clawed hands reaching out towards us, impossibly big, grotesque in their form. Yet, the rest of the creature eludes me, a shadow just beyond the edge of my recall, leaving me with nothing but fragmented terrors and Leah’s haunting, echoing screams. My mind blocked most of it out, a self-defense mechanism, I guess.
For years after that day, sleep was a battleground. I'd wake up in strange places—kitchen floor, backyard, even at the edge of the nearby creek. My therapist said it was my mind's way of trying to resolve the unresolved, to wander back through the woods searching for Leah. But all I found in those sleepless nights was a deeper sense of loss.
It took time, a lot of therapy, and patience I didn't know I had, but the sleepwalking did eventually stop. I guess I started to find some semblance of peace.
I have mostly moved on with my life. The fragmentary memories of that day are still there, lurking in the corners of my mind, but they don’t dominate my thoughts like they used to. I just finished my sophomore year at Michigan State, majoring in Environmental Science.
As for Dad, the loss of Leah broke him. He became a shell of himself. It destroyed his marriage with Mom. He blamed himself for letting us out of his sight, for not protecting Leah. His life took on a single, consuming focus: finding the creature that killed her. He read every book, every article on cryptids and unexplained phenomena. He mapped sightings, connected dots across blurry photos and shaky testimonies of the Dogman.
But as the tenth anniversary of Leah’s death approaches, Dad's obsession has grown more intense. He’s started staying up late, poring over his maps and notes, muttering to himself about patterns and cycles. He’s convinced that the dogman reappears every ten years, and this is our window of opportunity to finally hunt it down.
I’m not nearly as convinced. The whole dogman thing seems like a coping mechanism, a way for Dad to channel his guilt and grief into something tangible, something he can fight against. But I decided to tag along on this trip, partly to keep an eye on him, partly because a small part of me hopes that maybe, just maybe, we’ll find some kind of closure out there in the woods.
I finish loading the rifle and set it aside, standing up to stretch my legs. I wipe my greasy hands on an old rag, trying to get rid of the smell. The early morning light is starting to seep into the room, casting long shadows across the floor.
Dad comes out of the kitchen with two thermoses of coffee in hand. His eyes are bleary and tired.
“You ready, Ryan?” he asks, handing me a thermos, his voice rough from too many sleepless nights.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” I reply, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
We load our gear into the truck, the weight of our supplies and weapons a physical reminder of the burden we carry. The drive from Lansing across the Lower Peninsula is long and quiet, the silence between us filled with unspoken memories and unresolved grief.
—
The drive north is a blur of highway lines and the dull hum of the engine. I drift off, the landscape outside blending into a haze. In my sleep, fragments of that day with Leah replay like scattered pieces of a puzzle. I see her smile, the way she tugged at my sleeve, eager to explore. The sunlight filters through the trees in sharp, jagged streaks.
Then, the memory shifts—darker, disjointed. Leah's voice echoes, a playful laugh turning into a scream that pierces the air. The crunch of leaves underfoot as something heavy moves through the underbrush. I see a shadow, large and looming, not quite fitting the shapes of any creature I know.
Then, something darker creeps into the dream, something I’ve never allowed myself to remember clearly.
Before I can see what it is I wake up with a start as the truck jerks slightly on a rough patch of road. Dad glances over. "Bad dream?" he asks. I nod, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, the remnants of the dream clinging to me like the cold.
"Yeah, just... thinking about Leah," I manage to say.
As we drive, Dad attempts to bridge the silence with small talk. He asks about my finals, my plans for the summer, anything to keep the conversation going. His voice carries a forced cheerfulness, but it’s clear his heart isn’t in it. I respond when necessary, my answers brief, my gaze fixed on the passing scenery.
The landscape changes as we head further north, from flat expanses to rolling hills dotted with dense patches of forest. It's beautiful country, the kind that reminds you how vast and wild Michigan can be, but today it just feels oppressive, like it’s closing in on us.
—
We finally arrive at the cabin, nestled deep in the woods, its weathered wood blending seamlessly with the surrounding trees. The place hasn't changed much since the last time I was here—a relic from another time, filled with the echoes of our past. I can still see Leah running around the porch, her laughter ringing out into the forest.
Dad parks the truck, and we step out into the crisp air. The smell of pine and damp earth fills my nostrils. We start unloading our gear, the tension between us palpable.
“Let’s get this inside,” Dad says, his voice gruff as he hefts a duffel bag onto his shoulder.
I nod, grabbing my own bag and following him to the cabin. Inside, it’s a mix of old and new—the same rustic furniture, but with new hunting gear and maps strewn across the table. Dad’s obsession is evident in every corner of the room, a constant reminder of why we’re here.
As we unpack, we exchange strained attempts at normalcy. He talks about the latest cryptid sightings he’s read about, his eyes lighting up with a fervor that both worries and saddens me.
“Did you hear about the sighting up near Alpena?” he asks, laying out his maps on the table.
“Yeah, you mentioned it,” I reply, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “Do you really think there’s something to it?”
Dad’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of doubt. But it’s quickly replaced by grim determination. “I have to believe it, Ryan. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
We finish unpacking, the silence between us growing heavier with each passing minute. I step outside to clear my head, the cool air a welcome relief. The sun is starting to set, casting long shadows across the clearing. I can’t shake the feeling of unease.
"You can take the upstairs room," Dad mutters. His voice is strained, trying to sound normal, but it's clear the weight of the past is heavy on him. I nod, hauling my backpack up the creaking stairs to the small bedroom that I used to share with Leah. The room feels smaller now, or maybe I've just grown too much since those innocent days.
I unpack silently, setting my things aside. The bed is stiff and cold under my touch. As I settle in, I can't help but glance at the corner where Leah and I would huddle together, whispering secrets and making plans for adventures that would never happen. I push the thoughts away, focusing on the practicalities of unpacking.
After settling in, I go back downstairs to find Dad loading up a backpack with supplies for our hunt. The intensity in his eyes is palpable, his hands moving with practiced precision. I know this routine; it's one he's perfected over countless solo trips since that fateful day.
"We'll head out early," he says, not looking up from his task. "Gotta make the most of the daylight."
I nod, though unease curls in my stomach. I'm not just worried about what we might find—or not find—out there. I'm worried about him. Each year, the obsession seems to carve him out a bit more, leaving less of the Dad I knew.
—
The morning air is sharp with the scent of pine and wet earth as Dad and I head into the deeper parts of the forest. The terrain is rugged, familiar in its untamed beauty, but there’s a tension between us that makes the landscape feel alien. Dad moves with a purposeful stride, his eyes scanning the woods around us. Every snap of a twig, every rustle in the underbrush seems to draw his attention. He’s on edge, and it puts me on edge too.
As we walk, my mind drifts back to that day ten years ago. I can almost hear Leah’s voice echoing through the trees, her high-pitched call as she darted ahead, "Catch me, Ryan!" I remember how the sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground. Those memories are so vivid, so tangible, it feels like I could just turn a corner and see her there, waiting for us.
Dad suddenly stops and kneels, examining the ground. He points out a set of tracks that are too large for a deer, with an unusual gait pattern. "It’s been here, Ry. I’m telling you, it’s close," he whispers, a mixture of excitement and something darker in his voice. I nod, though I’m not sure what to believe. Part of me wants to dismiss it all as grief-fueled obsession, but another part, the part that heard Leah's scream and saw something monstrous in the woods that day, isn’t so sure.
As we continue, Dad's comments become increasingly cryptic. "You know, they say the dogman moves in cycles, drawn to certain places, certain times. Like it’s tied to the land itself," he muses, more to himself than to me. His fixation on the creature has always been intense, but now it borders on mania.
We set up a makeshift blind near a clearing where Dad insists the creature will pass. Hours drag by with little to see but the occasional bird or distant deer.
The sun rises higher in the sky, casting long, slender shadows through the dense canopy. I shift uncomfortably in my spot, the forest floor hard and unyielding beneath me. My eyes dart between the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of something, anything, to break the monotony. Dad, on the other hand, remains steadfast, his gaze fixed on the treeline as if he can will the dogman into existence by sheer force of will.
A bird chirps nearby, startling me. I sigh and adjust my grip on the rifle. I glance over at Dad.
“Anything?” I ask, more out of boredom than genuine curiosity.
“Not yet,” he replies, his voice tight. “But it’s out there. I know it.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I believe him. The forest seems too quiet, too still. Maybe we’re chasing ghosts.
As the sun begins its descent, the forest is bathed in a warm, golden light. The air cools, and a breeze rustles the leaves. I shiver, more from anticipation than the cold. The long hours of sitting and waiting are starting to wear on me.
“Let’s call it a day for now,” Dad says finally, his voice heavy with disappointment. “We’ll head back to the cabin, get some rest, and try again tomorrow.”
I stand and stretch, feeling the stiffness in my muscles. We pack up our gear in silence and start the trek back to the cabin. The walk is long and quiet, the only sounds are the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant calls of birds settling in for the night.
—
Dinner is a quiet affair, both of us lost in our thoughts. I try to make small talk, asking Dad about his plans for tomorrow, but it feels forced. We clean up in silence.
After dinner, I retreat to the small bedroom. The fatigue from the day's hike has settled into my bones, but sleep still feels like a distant hope. I lie down, staring at the ceiling, the room cloaked in darkness save for the sliver of moonlight creeping through the window. Downstairs, I hear the faint sound of Dad moving around, likely unable to sleep himself.
I drift into sleep, but it's not restful. My dreams pull me back to that fateful day in the woods. Leah's voice is clear and vibrant, her laughter echoing through the trees. She looks just as she did then—bright-eyed and full of life, her blonde hair catching the sunlight as she runs ahead of me.
"Come on, Ry! You can't catch me!" she taunts, her voice playful and teasing.
I chase after her, but the scene shifts abruptly. The sky darkens, the woods around us growing dense and foreboding. Leah's laughter fades, replaced by a chilling silence. I see her ahead, standing still, her back to me.
"Leah?" I call out, my voice trembling. She turns slowly, her eyes wide and filled with fear. "Ryan, you have to remember," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "It wasn't what you think. You need to know the truth."
Leah’s words hang in the air, cryptic and unsettling. Before I can respond, she turns and starts running again, her figure becoming a blur among the trees. Panic rises in my chest as I sprint after her, my feet pounding against the forest floor.
“Leah, wait!” I shout, desperation lacing my voice. The forest around me seems to close in, the trees towering and twisted, shadows dancing menacingly in the dim light. I push forward, trying to keep her in sight, but she’s too fast, slipping away like a wisp of smoke.
Suddenly, there’s a rustle, a flash of movement in the corner of my vision. Leah screams, a sound that pierces through the heavy silence. It happens too quickly—I can’t see what it is, only a dark blur that snatches her up.
“Leah!” I scream, my voice breaking. I stumble, falling to my knees as the forest spins around me. My heart races, and the terror is so real, so visceral, that it pulls me back to that awful day, the one that changed everything.
I jolt awake, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I sit up, wiping the cold sweat from my forehead as I try to steady my breathing. The room is still dark, the shadows cast by the moonlight seem to flicker and dance on the walls. My heart is still racing from the nightmare, the echo of Leah's scream lingering in my ears.
As I struggle to calm down, the floorboards outside my room creak. The door opens slowly, and I see the silhouette of my dad in the doorway, a Bowie knife in his hand, his posture tense.
“Dad, what the hell are you doing?” I whisper, my voice shaking.
“Shh,” he hisses, holding up a hand to silence me. “I heard something. Something moving around in the cabin. Stay quiet.”
I swallow hard, my mouth dry. I glance at the clock on the nightstand—it’s just past three in the morning. The cabin is silent, the kind of deep, oppressive silence that makes every small sound seem louder. I can’t hear anything out of the ordinary, but Dad’s expression is deadly serious.
He motions for me to get up, and I do, moving as quietly as I can. My heart is racing, a mix of lingering fear from the dream and the sudden, sharp anxiety of the present moment. Dad leads the way, stepping cautiously out of the bedroom and into the hallway, the knife held ready in front of him.
We move through the cabin, checking each room in turn. The living room is empty, the furniture casting long shadows in the dim moonlight. The kitchen is just as we left it, the plates from dinner still drying on the counter. Everything seems normal, untouched.
We finish our sweep of the cabin without finding anything amiss. The silence is heavy, punctuated only by our soft footfalls. I can see the tension in Dad’s frame, his grip on the knife unwavering. After checking the last room, we pause in the dimly lit hallway, the air thick with unspoken questions.
“There’s nothing here,” I say, my voice low. “Are you sure you heard something?”
He looks at me, his eyes searching for something in my face. “I heard growling. Deep and close. It was right outside the window.”
“Maybe it was just an animal outside, a raccoon or something?” I suggest, although the certainty in his voice makes me doubt my own reassurance.
“No, it wasn’t like that. It was different,” he insists, his voice tense.
I nod, not wanting to argue, but the seeds of worry are planted deep.
The look in his eyes sends a chill down my spine. It’s not just fear—it’s desperation. The kind of desperation that comes from years of chasing shadows and finding nothing. I can see the toll this hunt has taken on him, the way it’s worn him down, turned him into a man I barely recognize.
We head back to our rooms. As I lie down, my mind races with thoughts of my dad. I can’t help but wonder if he’s losing it, if the years of grief and guilt have finally pushed him over the edge.
Dad wasn’t always like this. Before Leah’s death, he was the kind of father who took us fishing, helped with homework, and told terrible jokes that made us groan and laugh at the same time. He was solid, dependable. But losing Leah changed him. The guilt twisted him into someone I barely recognize, someone driven by a need for answers, for closure, that may never come.
I try to sleep, but my thoughts keep me awake. I can hear Dad moving around downstairs, probably pacing or double-checking the locks. His paranoia has become a constant presence, and I don’t know how to help him. I don’t even know if I can help him.
—
The next morning, the sunlight filters weakly through the cabin windows, casting a pale light that does little to lift the heavy mood. I drag myself out of bed, feeling the exhaustion of another restless night. Dad is already up, hunched over his maps at the kitchen table, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
“Morning,” I mumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I pour myself a cup of coffee. “Did you sleep at all?”
He shakes his head, not looking up from his notes. “Not much. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I heard last night.”
I sip my coffee, trying to shake off the remnants of my nightmare. “Maybe it was just an animal, Dad. We’re deep in the woods, after all.”
He finally looks up, his eyes intense. “Ryan, I know what I heard. It wasn’t just an animal. It was something else.”
I sigh, not wanting to argue. “Okay, fine, Dad. What’s the plan for today?”
“We’re going back out. I found some tracks yesterday, and I want to follow them. See where they lead.”
I nod, feeling a mix of apprehension and resignation. I can see how much this means to him, how desperate he is for any kind of lead. “Alright. Let’s get packed and head out.”
We spend the morning preparing, loading up our gear and double-checking our supplies. Dad is meticulous, going over everything with a fine-toothed comb. I try to match his focus, but my mind keeps drifting back to Leah and the dream I had. Her words echo in my head, cryptic and unsettling: “You need to know the truth.”
We set off into the woods, the air crisp and cool. The forest is alive with the sounds of birds and rustling leaves, but it all feels distant, like background noise to the tension between us. Dad leads the way, his eyes scanning the ground for any sign of the tracks he found yesterday.
As we walk, I can’t help but notice how erratically he’s acting. He mutters to himself, his eyes darting around as if expecting something to jump out at us. His grip on his rifle is tight, his knuckles white.
“Dad, are you okay?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
He glances at me, his expression unreadable. “I’m fine. Just focused.”
He stops frequently to examine the ground or the bark of trees, pointing out marks and signs that seem meaningless to me.
“Look at this,” he says, crouching down to examine a broken branch. “See how it’s snapped? That’s not a deer or a bear. That’s something bigger. Stronger.”
I crouch next to Dad, squinting at the broken branch. To me, it just looks like a regular broken branch, the kind you see all over the forest. "I don't know, Dad. It just looks like a branch to me," I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.
Dad's eyes flicker with frustration. "You're not looking close enough. It's the way it's snapped—too clean, too deliberate. Something did this."
I nod, not wanting to argue. "Okay, sure. But even if you're right, it could be anything. A storm, another hunter..."
His expression hardens. "I know what I'm looking for. This is different."
I sigh, feeling the weight of the past and the tension between us pressing down on me. "Dad, I had a dream last night. About Leah." The words hang in the air between us, heavy and fraught with unspoken emotions.
Dad's eyes widen, and he straightens up, his entire demeanor shifting. "What kind of dream? What did you see?" His voice is urgent, almost desperate.
"It was... strange. We were in the woods, like we are now, but everything felt different. Leah was there, running ahead of me, laughing. Then she stopped and told me I needed to know the truth, that it wasn't what I thought."
Dad grabs my shoulders, his grip tight. "What else did she say? Did she tell you anything specific? Anything about the creature?"
I shake my head, feeling a chill run down my spine. "No, that was it. She just said I needed to know the truth, and then she was gone."
Dad’s grip on my shoulders tightens, and his eyes bore into mine with a mixture of desperation and hope. “Ryan, you have to try to remember. Think hard. What did the creature look like? Did you see anything else?”
I pull back slightly, uneasy with his intensity. “Dad, I told you. I don’t remember. It was just a dream. A nightmare, really. My mind’s probably just mixing things up.”
He lets go of me and runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated and lost. “Dreams can be important. They can hold memories we’ve buried deep. Please, try to remember. This could be a sign, a clue.”
I rub my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “I’ve tried, okay? I’ve tried for years to piece together what happened that day. But it’s all just fragments, like pieces of a puzzle that don’t fit. The dream… it felt real, but I don’t think it’s telling me anything new.”
Dad’s face falls, and he looks older than I’ve ever seen him. He turns away, staring into the forest as if it holds all the answers.
—
As we make our way back to the cabin, the sun begins to set, casting long shadows through the trees. The air grows colder, and I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter around me. Dad is silent, lost in his thoughts, his face drawn and haggard.
Back at the cabin, we unload our gear once again in silence. Dad disappears into his room, muttering something about going over his notes. I decide to explore the cabin, hoping to find something that might help me understand what’s going on with him.
In the attic, I find a box of old family photos and documents. As I sift through the contents, I come across a worn journal with Dad’s handwriting on the cover. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I open it, flipping through the pages.
The journal is filled with notes and sketches, detailing his obsession with the dogman. But there’s something else—entries that talk about Leah, about that day in the woods. His handwriting becomes more erratic, the words harder to read. One entry stands out, dated just a few days after Leah’s death:
“June 15, 2013 – It was supposed to be a normal trip. Keep them close, Frank, I kept telling myself. But I failed. Leah is gone, and it’s my fault. I heard her scream, saw the shadows. I tried to get to her, but… the thing, it was there. Too fast. Too strong. My hands… blood everywhere. No one will believe me. I can’t even believe myself. I have to find it. I have to protect Ryan. I have to make it right. God, what have I done?”
Before I can read further, the attic door creaks open, and Dad’s voice slices through the stillness.
“What are you doing up here?” His tone is sharp, almost panicked.
I turn to see him standing in the doorway, his face pale and his eyes wide with something between anger and fear. I clutch the journal to my chest, my mind racing. “I found this… I was just trying to understand…”
In an instant, he crosses the room and snatches the journal from my hands. His grip is tight, his knuckles white. “You had no right,” he growls, his voice trembling.
“Dad, I just wanted to know the truth!” I shout, frustration boiling over. “What really happened to Leah.”
His eyes flash with a mix of rage and anguish, and before I can react, he slaps me across the face. The force of it knocks me off balance, and I stumble backward, my cheek stinging.
For a moment, there’s a stunned silence. We both stand there, breathing hard, the air thick with tension.
“I’m sorry,” Dad says finally, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to… I just…” He trails off, clutching the journal to his chest like a lifeline.
I touch my cheek, feeling the heat from the slap, and take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Dad, what aren’t you telling me? What really happened that day?”
“Stay out of it, Ryan,” Dad growls, his eyes dark with anger. “You don’t know what you’re messing with.”
He turns and storms out of the attic. I’m left standing there, my cheek throbbing, my mind racing. What the fuck is going on? What really happened to Leah? And what is Dad so afraid of?
—
That night, I sleep with my rifle within arm's reach, more afraid of my dad than any dogman. The slap still burns on my cheek, and the look in his eyes—rage, fear, something darker—haunts me. I lie awake, listening to the creaks and groans of the old cabin, every sound amplified in the stillness. Eventually, exhaustion pulls me under, and I fall into a restless sleep.
The dream returns, vivid and unsettling. I'm back in the woods, chasing after Leah. Her laughter echoes through the trees, a haunting reminder of happier times. This time, though, I push myself harder, refusing to let her slip away.
"Ryan, catch me!" she calls, her voice playful.
"I'm coming, Leah!" I shout, my legs pumping, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
The forest around us is a twisted, shadowy maze, the trees seeming to close in on us. Leah's figure becomes clearer, her blonde hair catching the dim light filtering through the canopy. She stops suddenly, turning to face me, her eyes wide with fear.
"Leah, what is it?" I ask, my voice trembling.
"Look behind you," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I turn slowly, dread creeping up my spine. In the shadows, I see a figure, its form indistinct and shifting. It’s not quite animal, not quite human—something in between. The sight of it sends a jolt of terror through me, and I wake up with a start, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I’m not in my bed. The ground beneath me is cold and hard, the smell of damp earth filling my nostrils. Panic rises as I realize I’ve sleepwalked into the woods. I scramble to my feet, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The moon casts a pale glow over the surroundings, revealing what looks like a long-abandoned animal lair.
The walls are covered in giant claw marks, deep gouges in the wood and earth. The air is heavy with the scent of decay, and a chill runs through me. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.
Carefully, I start to move, my eyes scanning the ground, desperate for a familiar landmark. That's when I see them—faded scraps of fabric caught on the jagged edges of the underbrush. My steps falter, a sense of dread washing over me as I bend down to examine them. The fabric is torn, weathered by time and the elements, but unmistakably familiar. It's part of Leah's jacket—the bright pink one she wore on the day she disappeared.
As I strain to make sense of it all, a rustling sound behind me snaps my focus. My heart leaps into my throat. I spin around, my hand instinctively reaching for the rifle I don't have—because, of course, I didn't bring it in my unconscious state.
The shadowy figure that emerges from the trees is unsettlingly familiar, mirroring the menacing forms of my nightmares. But as it steps into the moonlight, I recognize the worn jacket, the weary posture. It's Dad.
"Ryan!" he calls out, his voice a mix of relief and stern concern. "I've been looking everywhere for you. What the hell are you doing out here?"
I exhale slowly, the terror ebbing away as reality sets back in. "I—I don't know, Dad. I must've sleepwalked again." My voice is shaky, my earlier dream still clinging to the edges of my consciousness.
Dad stares at me in disbelief. "You haven't sleepwalked since you were a kid, Ry. This... this isn't just a coincidence." His eyes dart around, taking in the surroundings—the eerie, claw-marked den, the unsettling quiet of the woods. "How did you even find this place?"
I shake my head, struggling to find an answer. "I don't know, Dad. I just... I woke up here." The uncertainty in my voice does nothing to ease the tension.
His eyes lock onto the tattered remains of Leah's jacket in my hands, and something inside him snaps. The color drains from his face as he stumbles a few steps backward. "This... this is where it happened," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. “This is where we found Leah."
“I thought you said you don’t remember anything from that night,” he says accusingly.
"I swear, Dad, I don't know anything about this place," I insist, my own heart pounding.
“It was you, wasn’t it? You’ve been hiding this from me.” His voice is frantic. “You... last night, the growling, it was you.” His voice rises, tinged with hysteria.
I step back, my pulse racing, feeling the chill of the night and the weight of his accusation. "Dad, I don't know what you're talking ab—”
"No!" he interrupts, his voice breaking as he points a trembling finger at me. "You knew, you always knew. It was you, Ryan. All these years, the evidence was right there, but I refused to see it. You were the dogman. You killed Leah!"
His words hit me like a physical blow, absurd and horrifying in their implications. "Dad, you're not making any sense. You're talking crazy! I was just a little kid! How could I–" I protest, my voice shaky.
He steps closer, his presence looming over me, the outline of his figure distorted by the shadows of the trees. "Think about it! It all makes sense now. You led us here, to this place, because you remember. Because you did it."
"Dad, stop it!" I shout, my heart pounding in my chest. "You're scaring me. You need help, professional help. This isn't you."
But he's beyond reason, his eyes wild with a haunted grief. "I have to end this," he mutters, more to himself than to me, his hand tightening around his rifle.
His finger hovers dangerously over the trigger of his rifle. My instincts kick in, and I know I have to act fast.
I lunge toward him, trying to knock the weapon away, but he's quicker than I expected. We struggle, our breaths heavy in the cold night air, the sounds of our scuffle the only noise in the otherwise silent woods. His strength surprises me, fueled by his frantic emotions. He shoves me back, and I stumble over a root, my balance lost for a crucial second. That's all he needs. He raises his rifle, his intentions clear in his wild, pained eyes.
I dive to the ground just as the shot rings out, a deafening blast that echoes ominously through the trees. The bullet whizzes past, narrowly missing me, embedding itself in the bark of an old pine. I scramble to my feet, my heart pounding in my ears, and I start running. The underbrush claws at my clothes and skin, but I push through, driven by a primal urge to survive.
"Dad, stop! It's me, Ryan!" I shout back as I dodge between the trees. Another shot breaks the silence, closer this time, sending splinters of wood flying from a nearby tree trunk. It's surreal, being hunted by my own father, a man tormented by grief and lost in his delusions.
I don't stop to look back. I can hear him crashing through the forest behind me, his heavy breaths and muttered curses carried on the wind. The terrain is rough, and I'm fueled by adrenaline, but exhaustion is setting in. I need a plan.
Ahead, I see a rocky outcrop and make a split-second decision to head for it. It offers a chance to hide, to catch my breath and maybe reason with him if he catches up. As I reach the rocks, I slip behind the largest one, my body pressed tight against the cold, damp surface. I hear his footsteps approaching, slow and cautious now.
As I press against the rock, trying to calm my racing heart, I can hear Dad's footsteps drawing closer, each step crunching ominously on the forest floor. He's methodical, deliberate, like a hunter stalking his prey.
“Come out, Ryan!” Dad’s voice is ragged, filled with a blend of fury and pain.
My heart pounds against my chest, the cold sweat on my back making me shiver against the rough surface of the rock. I know I can't just sit here; it's only a matter of time before he finds me.
Taking a deep breath, I peek around the edge of the rock, trying to gauge his position. I see him, rifle raised, scanning the area slowly. This might be my only chance to end this madness without further violence. I need to disarm him, to talk some sense into him if I can.
As quietly as I can, I move out from behind the rock, my steps careful to avoid any twigs or leaves that might betray my position. I'm almost upon him when a branch snaps under my foot—a sound so trivial yet so alarmingly loud in the quiet of the woods.
Dad whirls around, looking completely unhinged. "Ryan!" he exclaims, his rifle swinging in my direction. Panic overtakes me, and I lunge forward, my hands reaching for the gun.
We struggle, the rifle between us, our breaths heavy and erratic. "Dad, please, stop!" I plead, trying to wrestle the gun away. But he's strong, stronger than I expected.
In the chaos, the rifle goes off. The sound is deafening, a sharp echo that seems to reverberate off every tree around us. Pain explodes in my abdomen, sharp and burning, like nothing I've ever felt before. I stagger back, my hands instinctively going to the wound. The warmth of my own blood coats my fingers, stark and terrifying.
Dad drops the rifle, his eyes wide with horror. "Oh my God! What have I done?" he gasps, rushing to my side as I collapse onto the forest floor.
As the pain sears through me, a strange, overpowering energy surges within. It's wild, primal, unlike anything I've ever experienced. Looking down in horror, my hands are no longer hands but large, hairy, clawed appendages. The transformation is rapid, consuming—my vision blurs, senses heighten, and a raw, guttural growl builds in my throat.
In that moment, a flood of understanding washes over me, mingling with the horror of realization. These are the hands of the creature from my nightmares, the creature whose face I can never fully recall because, as I now understand, it is me.
What happens next feels detached, as if I'm no longer in control of my own actions, watching from a distance as my body moves on its own. I turn towards my dad, his face a mask of terror. He stumbles back, his eyes wide with the dawning realization of what his son has become.
The forest around us seems to fall silent, holding its breath as the nightmarish scene unfolds. I can hear my own growls, guttural and deep, filling the air with a sound that's both foreign and intimately familiar. The pain in my abdomen fuels a dark, violent urge, an urge that's too strong to resist.
With a ferocity that feels both alien and intrinsic, I move towards him. My dad, paralyzed by fear and shock, doesn't run. Maybe he can't. Maybe he doesn't want to.
The encounter was brutal and swift, a blur of motion and violence. My dad barely puts up a struggle, as though resigned to his fate.
Not that there is anything he can do. The creature that I’ve become is too powerful, too consumed by the wild instincts surging through me. I tear him apart, limb from bloody limb, my hands—no, my claws—rending through fabric and flesh with disgusting ease.
The sound of my dad’s screams, of tearing fabric and flesh is drowned out by the animalistic growls that echo through the trees.
When it’s all over, the red mist that had clouded my vision begins to fade, and the fierce, uncontrollable rage that drove my actions subsides. I'm left standing, my breaths heavy and erratic, in the eerie stillness of the forest. The transformation reverses as quickly as it came on, and I find myself back in my human form. My clothes are ripped to shreds, hanging off my frame in tattered remnants. At my feet lies what’s left of my dad, his body torn and unrecognizable.
I glance down at my abdomen, expecting agony, but instead find my wound miraculously healed. No sign of the gunshot remains, just a faint scar where I expected a bloody mess.
Shock sets in, a numbing disbelief mixed with a gut-wrenching realization of what I've become and what I've done. My hands, now human again, tremble as I look at them, half-expecting to see the claws that had so effortlessly ripped through flesh and bone. But there's only blood, my father's blood against my skin.
I stand there for what feels like an eternity, trapped in a nightmare of my own making.
Eventually, the shock wears thin, and a cold practicality takes hold. I need to get out of here. I need to cover my tracks, to disappear. Because who would believe this? Who would understand that I didn't choose this, that I'm not a monster by choice?
With trembling hands, I do what’s necessary. I bury my dad in a shallow grave, the physical act of digging strangely grounding. I cover him with leaves and branches, a pitiful attempt to hide the brutality of his end. I take a moment, whispering apologies into the wind, knowing full well that nothing I say can change what happened.
I leave the forest behind, my mind a whirl of dark thoughts. As I walk, the first hints of dawn brush against the horizon, the sky bleeding a soft pink. It’s hauntingly beautiful.
2024.05.19 20:10 PageTurner627 My Dad and I Hunted Down the Dogman that Killed My Sister
I’ve always hated the smell of gun oil. It clings to everything it touches, soaking deep into the fibers of my clothes, the lining of my backpack, the coarse hair on the back of my hands. Yet here I am, kneeling on the cracked linoleum of our mudroom, a Remington .308 laid across my thighs, and the stench of gun oil sharp in my nostrils. The early morning light barely scratches at the edges of the blinds, dim and gray like the belly of a dead fish.
My dad Frank is in the kitchen, clattering around with the coffeepot and mumbling under his breath. Today we’re heading up to the woods of Northern Michigan, same as we did every year before Leah… before we lost her.
I can’t help but feel the old scars throbbing as I load bullets into the magazine. It’s been ten years since that hunting trip, the one that tore my family into before and after. Before, when Leah's laughter was a constant soundtrack to our lives; after, when every silence was filled with her absence.
We were just kids back then. I was ten, Leah was eight. It was supposed to be a typical hunting trip, one of those bonding experiences Dad was always talking about. But things went wrong. We got separated from Dad somehow. One minute we were following him, the next we were lost, the dense woods closing in around us.
Dad says when he found me, I was huddled under a fallen tree, my eyes wide, my body frozen. All I could mutter through chattering teeth was "Dogman."
It was only later, after the search parties had combed through every thicket and hollow, that they found her. What remained of Leah was barely recognizable, the evidence of a brutal mauling undeniable. The authorities concluded it was likely a bear attack, but Dad... he never accepted that explanation. He had seen the tracks, too large and oddly shaped for any bear.
As I load another round, the memory flashes, unbidden and unwelcome. Large, hairy clawed hands reaching out towards us, impossibly big, grotesque in their form. Yet, the rest of the creature eludes me, a shadow just beyond the edge of my recall, leaving me with nothing but fragmented terrors and Leah’s haunting, echoing screams. My mind blocked most of it out, a self-defense mechanism, I guess.
For years after that day, sleep was a battleground. I'd wake up in strange places—kitchen floor, backyard, even at the edge of the nearby creek. My therapist said it was my mind's way of trying to resolve the unresolved, to wander back through the woods searching for Leah. But all I found in those sleepless nights was a deeper sense of loss.
It took time, a lot of therapy, and patience I didn't know I had, but the sleepwalking did eventually stop. I guess I started to find some semblance of peace.
I have mostly moved on with my life. The fragmentary memories of that day are still there, lurking in the corners of my mind, but they don’t dominate my thoughts like they used to. I just finished my sophomore year at Michigan State, majoring in Environmental Science.
As for Dad, the loss of Leah broke him. He became a shell of himself. It destroyed his marriage with Mom. He blamed himself for letting us out of his sight, for not protecting Leah. His life took on a single, consuming focus: finding the creature that killed her. He read every book, every article on cryptids and unexplained phenomena. He mapped sightings, connected dots across blurry photos and shaky testimonies of the Dogman.
But as the tenth anniversary of Leah’s death approaches, Dad's obsession has grown more intense. He’s started staying up late, poring over his maps and notes, muttering to himself about patterns and cycles. He’s convinced that the dogman reappears every ten years, and this is our window of opportunity to finally hunt it down.
I’m not nearly as convinced. The whole dogman thing seems like a coping mechanism, a way for Dad to channel his guilt and grief into something tangible, something he can fight against. But I decided to tag along on this trip, partly to keep an eye on him, partly because a small part of me hopes that maybe, just maybe, we’ll find some kind of closure out there in the woods.
I finish loading the rifle and set it aside, standing up to stretch my legs. I wipe my greasy hands on an old rag, trying to get rid of the smell. The early morning light is starting to seep into the room, casting long shadows across the floor.
Dad comes out of the kitchen with two thermoses of coffee in hand. His eyes are bleary and tired.
“You ready, Ryan?” he asks, handing me a thermos, his voice rough from too many sleepless nights.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” I reply, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
We load our gear into the truck, the weight of our supplies and weapons a physical reminder of the burden we carry. The drive from Lansing across the Lower Peninsula is long and quiet, the silence between us filled with unspoken memories and unresolved grief.
—
The drive north is a blur of highway lines and the dull hum of the engine. I drift off, the landscape outside blending into a haze. In my sleep, fragments of that day with Leah replay like scattered pieces of a puzzle. I see her smile, the way she tugged at my sleeve, eager to explore. The sunlight filters through the trees in sharp, jagged streaks.
Then, the memory shifts—darker, disjointed. Leah's voice echoes, a playful laugh turning into a scream that pierces the air. The crunch of leaves underfoot as something heavy moves through the underbrush. I see a shadow, large and looming, not quite fitting the shapes of any creature I know.
Then, something darker creeps into the dream, something I’ve never allowed myself to remember clearly.
Before I can see what it is I wake up with a start as the truck jerks slightly on a rough patch of road. Dad glances over. "Bad dream?" he asks. I nod, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, the remnants of the dream clinging to me like the cold.
"Yeah, just... thinking about Leah," I manage to say.
As we drive, Dad attempts to bridge the silence with small talk. He asks about my finals, my plans for the summer, anything to keep the conversation going. His voice carries a forced cheerfulness, but it’s clear his heart isn’t in it. I respond when necessary, my answers brief, my gaze fixed on the passing scenery.
The landscape changes as we head further north, from flat expanses to rolling hills dotted with dense patches of forest. It's beautiful country, the kind that reminds you how vast and wild Michigan can be, but today it just feels oppressive, like it’s closing in on us.
—
We finally arrive at the cabin, nestled deep in the woods, its weathered wood blending seamlessly with the surrounding trees. The place hasn't changed much since the last time I was here—a relic from another time, filled with the echoes of our past. I can still see Leah running around the porch, her laughter ringing out into the forest.
Dad parks the truck, and we step out into the crisp air. The smell of pine and damp earth fills my nostrils. We start unloading our gear, the tension between us palpable.
“Let’s get this inside,” Dad says, his voice gruff as he hefts a duffel bag onto his shoulder.
I nod, grabbing my own bag and following him to the cabin. Inside, it’s a mix of old and new—the same rustic furniture, but with new hunting gear and maps strewn across the table. Dad’s obsession is evident in every corner of the room, a constant reminder of why we’re here.
As we unpack, we exchange strained attempts at normalcy. He talks about the latest cryptid sightings he’s read about, his eyes lighting up with a fervor that both worries and saddens me.
“Did you hear about the sighting up near Alpena?” he asks, laying out his maps on the table.
“Yeah, you mentioned it,” I reply, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “Do you really think there’s something to it?”
Dad’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of doubt. But it’s quickly replaced by grim determination. “I have to believe it, Ryan. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
We finish unpacking, the silence between us growing heavier with each passing minute. I step outside to clear my head, the cool air a welcome relief. The sun is starting to set, casting long shadows across the clearing. I can’t shake the feeling of unease.
"You can take the upstairs room," Dad mutters. His voice is strained, trying to sound normal, but it's clear the weight of the past is heavy on him. I nod, hauling my backpack up the creaking stairs to the small bedroom that I used to share with Leah. The room feels smaller now, or maybe I've just grown too much since those innocent days.
I unpack silently, setting my things aside. The bed is stiff and cold under my touch. As I settle in, I can't help but glance at the corner where Leah and I would huddle together, whispering secrets and making plans for adventures that would never happen. I push the thoughts away, focusing on the practicalities of unpacking.
After settling in, I go back downstairs to find Dad loading up a backpack with supplies for our hunt. The intensity in his eyes is palpable, his hands moving with practiced precision. I know this routine; it's one he's perfected over countless solo trips since that fateful day.
"We'll head out early," he says, not looking up from his task. "Gotta make the most of the daylight."
I nod, though unease curls in my stomach. I'm not just worried about what we might find—or not find—out there. I'm worried about him. Each year, the obsession seems to carve him out a bit more, leaving less of the Dad I knew.
—
The morning air is sharp with the scent of pine and wet earth as Dad and I head into the deeper parts of the forest. The terrain is rugged, familiar in its untamed beauty, but there’s a tension between us that makes the landscape feel alien. Dad moves with a purposeful stride, his eyes scanning the woods around us. Every snap of a twig, every rustle in the underbrush seems to draw his attention. He’s on edge, and it puts me on edge too.
As we walk, my mind drifts back to that day ten years ago. I can almost hear Leah’s voice echoing through the trees, her high-pitched call as she darted ahead, "Catch me, Ryan!" I remember how the sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground. Those memories are so vivid, so tangible, it feels like I could just turn a corner and see her there, waiting for us.
Dad suddenly stops and kneels, examining the ground. He points out a set of tracks that are too large for a deer, with an unusual gait pattern. "It’s been here, Ry. I’m telling you, it’s close," he whispers, a mixture of excitement and something darker in his voice. I nod, though I’m not sure what to believe. Part of me wants to dismiss it all as grief-fueled obsession, but another part, the part that heard Leah's scream and saw something monstrous in the woods that day, isn’t so sure.
As we continue, Dad's comments become increasingly cryptic. "You know, they say the dogman moves in cycles, drawn to certain places, certain times. Like it’s tied to the land itself," he muses, more to himself than to me. His fixation on the creature has always been intense, but now it borders on mania.
We set up a makeshift blind near a clearing where Dad insists the creature will pass. Hours drag by with little to see but the occasional bird or distant deer.
The sun rises higher in the sky, casting long, slender shadows through the dense canopy. I shift uncomfortably in my spot, the forest floor hard and unyielding beneath me. My eyes dart between the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of something, anything, to break the monotony. Dad, on the other hand, remains steadfast, his gaze fixed on the treeline as if he can will the dogman into existence by sheer force of will.
A bird chirps nearby, startling me. I sigh and adjust my grip on the rifle. I glance over at Dad.
“Anything?” I ask, more out of boredom than genuine curiosity.
“Not yet,” he replies, his voice tight. “But it’s out there. I know it.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I believe him. The forest seems too quiet, too still. Maybe we’re chasing ghosts.
As the sun begins its descent, the forest is bathed in a warm, golden light. The air cools, and a breeze rustles the leaves. I shiver, more from anticipation than the cold. The long hours of sitting and waiting are starting to wear on me.
“Let’s call it a day for now,” Dad says finally, his voice heavy with disappointment. “We’ll head back to the cabin, get some rest, and try again tomorrow.”
I stand and stretch, feeling the stiffness in my muscles. We pack up our gear in silence and start the trek back to the cabin. The walk is long and quiet, the only sounds are the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant calls of birds settling in for the night.
—
Dinner is a quiet affair, both of us lost in our thoughts. I try to make small talk, asking Dad about his plans for tomorrow, but it feels forced. We clean up in silence.
After dinner, I retreat to the small bedroom. The fatigue from the day's hike has settled into my bones, but sleep still feels like a distant hope. I lie down, staring at the ceiling, the room cloaked in darkness save for the sliver of moonlight creeping through the window. Downstairs, I hear the faint sound of Dad moving around, likely unable to sleep himself.
I drift into sleep, but it's not restful. My dreams pull me back to that fateful day in the woods. Leah's voice is clear and vibrant, her laughter echoing through the trees. She looks just as she did then—bright-eyed and full of life, her blonde hair catching the sunlight as she runs ahead of me.
"Come on, Ry! You can't catch me!" she taunts, her voice playful and teasing.
I chase after her, but the scene shifts abruptly. The sky darkens, the woods around us growing dense and foreboding. Leah's laughter fades, replaced by a chilling silence. I see her ahead, standing still, her back to me.
"Leah?" I call out, my voice trembling. She turns slowly, her eyes wide and filled with fear. "Ryan, you have to remember," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "It wasn't what you think. You need to know the truth."
Leah’s words hang in the air, cryptic and unsettling. Before I can respond, she turns and starts running again, her figure becoming a blur among the trees. Panic rises in my chest as I sprint after her, my feet pounding against the forest floor.
“Leah, wait!” I shout, desperation lacing my voice. The forest around me seems to close in, the trees towering and twisted, shadows dancing menacingly in the dim light. I push forward, trying to keep her in sight, but she’s too fast, slipping away like a wisp of smoke.
Suddenly, there’s a rustle, a flash of movement in the corner of my vision. Leah screams, a sound that pierces through the heavy silence. It happens too quickly—I can’t see what it is, only a dark blur that snatches her up.
“Leah!” I scream, my voice breaking. I stumble, falling to my knees as the forest spins around me. My heart races, and the terror is so real, so visceral, that it pulls me back to that awful day, the one that changed everything.
I jolt awake, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I sit up, wiping the cold sweat from my forehead as I try to steady my breathing. The room is still dark, the shadows cast by the moonlight seem to flicker and dance on the walls. My heart is still racing from the nightmare, the echo of Leah's scream lingering in my ears.
As I struggle to calm down, the floorboards outside my room creak. The door opens slowly, and I see the silhouette of my dad in the doorway, a Bowie knife in his hand, his posture tense.
“Dad, what the hell are you doing?” I whisper, my voice shaking.
“Shh,” he hisses, holding up a hand to silence me. “I heard something. Something moving around in the cabin. Stay quiet.”
I swallow hard, my mouth dry. I glance at the clock on the nightstand—it’s just past three in the morning. The cabin is silent, the kind of deep, oppressive silence that makes every small sound seem louder. I can’t hear anything out of the ordinary, but Dad’s expression is deadly serious.
He motions for me to get up, and I do, moving as quietly as I can. My heart is racing, a mix of lingering fear from the dream and the sudden, sharp anxiety of the present moment. Dad leads the way, stepping cautiously out of the bedroom and into the hallway, the knife held ready in front of him.
We move through the cabin, checking each room in turn. The living room is empty, the furniture casting long shadows in the dim moonlight. The kitchen is just as we left it, the plates from dinner still drying on the counter. Everything seems normal, untouched.
We finish our sweep of the cabin without finding anything amiss. The silence is heavy, punctuated only by our soft footfalls. I can see the tension in Dad’s frame, his grip on the knife unwavering. After checking the last room, we pause in the dimly lit hallway, the air thick with unspoken questions.
“There’s nothing here,” I say, my voice low. “Are you sure you heard something?”
He looks at me, his eyes searching for something in my face. “I heard growling. Deep and close. It was right outside the window.”
“Maybe it was just an animal outside, a raccoon or something?” I suggest, although the certainty in his voice makes me doubt my own reassurance.
“No, it wasn’t like that. It was different,” he insists, his voice tense.
I nod, not wanting to argue, but the seeds of worry are planted deep.
The look in his eyes sends a chill down my spine. It’s not just fear—it’s desperation. The kind of desperation that comes from years of chasing shadows and finding nothing. I can see the toll this hunt has taken on him, the way it’s worn him down, turned him into a man I barely recognize.
We head back to our rooms. As I lie down, my mind races with thoughts of my dad. I can’t help but wonder if he’s losing it, if the years of grief and guilt have finally pushed him over the edge.
Dad wasn’t always like this. Before Leah’s death, he was the kind of father who took us fishing, helped with homework, and told terrible jokes that made us groan and laugh at the same time. He was solid, dependable. But losing Leah changed him. The guilt twisted him into someone I barely recognize, someone driven by a need for answers, for closure, that may never come.
I try to sleep, but my thoughts keep me awake. I can hear Dad moving around downstairs, probably pacing or double-checking the locks. His paranoia has become a constant presence, and I don’t know how to help him. I don’t even know if I can help him.
—
The next morning, the sunlight filters weakly through the cabin windows, casting a pale light that does little to lift the heavy mood. I drag myself out of bed, feeling the exhaustion of another restless night. Dad is already up, hunched over his maps at the kitchen table, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
“Morning,” I mumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I pour myself a cup of coffee. “Did you sleep at all?”
He shakes his head, not looking up from his notes. “Not much. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I heard last night.”
I sip my coffee, trying to shake off the remnants of my nightmare. “Maybe it was just an animal, Dad. We’re deep in the woods, after all.”
He finally looks up, his eyes intense. “Ryan, I know what I heard. It wasn’t just an animal. It was something else.”
I sigh, not wanting to argue. “Okay, fine, Dad. What’s the plan for today?”
“We’re going back out. I found some tracks yesterday, and I want to follow them. See where they lead.”
I nod, feeling a mix of apprehension and resignation. I can see how much this means to him, how desperate he is for any kind of lead. “Alright. Let’s get packed and head out.”
We spend the morning preparing, loading up our gear and double-checking our supplies. Dad is meticulous, going over everything with a fine-toothed comb. I try to match his focus, but my mind keeps drifting back to Leah and the dream I had. Her words echo in my head, cryptic and unsettling: “You need to know the truth.”
We set off into the woods, the air crisp and cool. The forest is alive with the sounds of birds and rustling leaves, but it all feels distant, like background noise to the tension between us. Dad leads the way, his eyes scanning the ground for any sign of the tracks he found yesterday.
As we walk, I can’t help but notice how erratically he’s acting. He mutters to himself, his eyes darting around as if expecting something to jump out at us. His grip on his rifle is tight, his knuckles white.
“Dad, are you okay?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
He glances at me, his expression unreadable. “I’m fine. Just focused.”
He stops frequently to examine the ground or the bark of trees, pointing out marks and signs that seem meaningless to me.
“Look at this,” he says, crouching down to examine a broken branch. “See how it’s snapped? That’s not a deer or a bear. That’s something bigger. Stronger.”
I crouch next to Dad, squinting at the broken branch. To me, it just looks like a regular broken branch, the kind you see all over the forest. "I don't know, Dad. It just looks like a branch to me," I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.
Dad's eyes flicker with frustration. "You're not looking close enough. It's the way it's snapped—too clean, too deliberate. Something did this."
I nod, not wanting to argue. "Okay, sure. But even if you're right, it could be anything. A storm, another hunter..."
His expression hardens. "I know what I'm looking for. This is different."
I sigh, feeling the weight of the past and the tension between us pressing down on me. "Dad, I had a dream last night. About Leah." The words hang in the air between us, heavy and fraught with unspoken emotions.
Dad's eyes widen, and he straightens up, his entire demeanor shifting. "What kind of dream? What did you see?" His voice is urgent, almost desperate.
"It was... strange. We were in the woods, like we are now, but everything felt different. Leah was there, running ahead of me, laughing. Then she stopped and told me I needed to know the truth, that it wasn't what I thought."
Dad grabs my shoulders, his grip tight. "What else did she say? Did she tell you anything specific? Anything about the creature?"
I shake my head, feeling a chill run down my spine. "No, that was it. She just said I needed to know the truth, and then she was gone."
Dad’s grip on my shoulders tightens, and his eyes bore into mine with a mixture of desperation and hope. “Ryan, you have to try to remember. Think hard. What did the creature look like? Did you see anything else?”
I pull back slightly, uneasy with his intensity. “Dad, I told you. I don’t remember. It was just a dream. A nightmare, really. My mind’s probably just mixing things up.”
He lets go of me and runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated and lost. “Dreams can be important. They can hold memories we’ve buried deep. Please, try to remember. This could be a sign, a clue.”
I rub my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “I’ve tried, okay? I’ve tried for years to piece together what happened that day. But it’s all just fragments, like pieces of a puzzle that don’t fit. The dream… it felt real, but I don’t think it’s telling me anything new.”
Dad’s face falls, and he looks older than I’ve ever seen him. He turns away, staring into the forest as if it holds all the answers.
—
As we make our way back to the cabin, the sun begins to set, casting long shadows through the trees. The air grows colder, and I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter around me. Dad is silent, lost in his thoughts, his face drawn and haggard.
Back at the cabin, we unload our gear once again in silence. Dad disappears into his room, muttering something about going over his notes. I decide to explore the cabin, hoping to find something that might help me understand what’s going on with him.
In the attic, I find a box of old family photos and documents. As I sift through the contents, I come across a worn journal with Dad’s handwriting on the cover. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I open it, flipping through the pages.
The journal is filled with notes and sketches, detailing his obsession with the dogman. But there’s something else—entries that talk about Leah, about that day in the woods. His handwriting becomes more erratic, the words harder to read. One entry stands out, dated just a few days after Leah’s death:
“June 15, 2013 – It was supposed to be a normal trip. Keep them close, Frank, I kept telling myself. But I failed. Leah is gone, and it’s my fault. I heard her scream, saw the shadows. I tried to get to her, but… the thing, it was there. Too fast. Too strong. My hands… blood everywhere. No one will believe me. I can’t even believe myself. I have to find it. I have to protect Ryan. I have to make it right. God, what have I done?”
Before I can read further, the attic door creaks open, and Dad’s voice slices through the stillness.
“What are you doing up here?” His tone is sharp, almost panicked.
I turn to see him standing in the doorway, his face pale and his eyes wide with something between anger and fear. I clutch the journal to my chest, my mind racing. “I found this… I was just trying to understand…”
In an instant, he crosses the room and snatches the journal from my hands. His grip is tight, his knuckles white. “You had no right,” he growls, his voice trembling.
“Dad, I just wanted to know the truth!” I shout, frustration boiling over. “What really happened to Leah.”
His eyes flash with a mix of rage and anguish, and before I can react, he slaps me across the face. The force of it knocks me off balance, and I stumble backward, my cheek stinging.
For a moment, there’s a stunned silence. We both stand there, breathing hard, the air thick with tension.
“I’m sorry,” Dad says finally, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to… I just…” He trails off, clutching the journal to his chest like a lifeline.
I touch my cheek, feeling the heat from the slap, and take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Dad, what aren’t you telling me? What really happened that day?”
“Stay out of it, Ryan,” Dad growls, his eyes dark with anger. “You don’t know what you’re messing with.”
He turns and storms out of the attic. I’m left standing there, my cheek throbbing, my mind racing. What the fuck is going on? What really happened to Leah? And what is Dad so afraid of?
—
That night, I sleep with my rifle within arm's reach, more afraid of my dad than any dogman. The slap still burns on my cheek, and the look in his eyes—rage, fear, something darker—haunts me. I lie awake, listening to the creaks and groans of the old cabin, every sound amplified in the stillness. Eventually, exhaustion pulls me under, and I fall into a restless sleep.
The dream returns, vivid and unsettling. I'm back in the woods, chasing after Leah. Her laughter echoes through the trees, a haunting reminder of happier times. This time, though, I push myself harder, refusing to let her slip away.
"Ryan, catch me!" she calls, her voice playful.
"I'm coming, Leah!" I shout, my legs pumping, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
The forest around us is a twisted, shadowy maze, the trees seeming to close in on us. Leah's figure becomes clearer, her blonde hair catching the dim light filtering through the canopy. She stops suddenly, turning to face me, her eyes wide with fear.
"Leah, what is it?" I ask, my voice trembling.
"Look behind you," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I turn slowly, dread creeping up my spine. In the shadows, I see a figure, its form indistinct and shifting. It’s not quite animal, not quite human—something in between. The sight of it sends a jolt of terror through me, and I wake up with a start, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I’m not in my bed. The ground beneath me is cold and hard, the smell of damp earth filling my nostrils. Panic rises as I realize I’ve sleepwalked into the woods. I scramble to my feet, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The moon casts a pale glow over the surroundings, revealing what looks like a long-abandoned animal lair.
The walls are covered in giant claw marks, deep gouges in the wood and earth. The air is heavy with the scent of decay, and a chill runs through me. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.
Carefully, I start to move, my eyes scanning the ground, desperate for a familiar landmark. That's when I see them—faded scraps of fabric caught on the jagged edges of the underbrush. My steps falter, a sense of dread washing over me as I bend down to examine them. The fabric is torn, weathered by time and the elements, but unmistakably familiar. It's part of Leah's jacket—the bright pink one she wore on the day she disappeared.
As I strain to make sense of it all, a rustling sound behind me snaps my focus. My heart leaps into my throat. I spin around, my hand instinctively reaching for the rifle I don't have—because, of course, I didn't bring it in my unconscious state.
The shadowy figure that emerges from the trees is unsettlingly familiar, mirroring the menacing forms of my nightmares. But as it steps into the moonlight, I recognize the worn jacket, the weary posture. It's Dad.
"Ryan!" he calls out, his voice a mix of relief and stern concern. "I've been looking everywhere for you. What the hell are you doing out here?"
I exhale slowly, the terror ebbing away as reality sets back in. "I—I don't know, Dad. I must've sleepwalked again." My voice is shaky, my earlier dream still clinging to the edges of my consciousness.
Dad stares at me in disbelief. "You haven't sleepwalked since you were a kid, Ry. This... this isn't just a coincidence." His eyes dart around, taking in the surroundings—the eerie, claw-marked den, the unsettling quiet of the woods. "How did you even find this place?"
I shake my head, struggling to find an answer. "I don't know, Dad. I just... I woke up here." The uncertainty in my voice does nothing to ease the tension.
His eyes lock onto the tattered remains of Leah's jacket in my hands, and something inside him snaps. The color drains from his face as he stumbles a few steps backward. "This... this is where it happened," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. “This is where we found Leah."
“I thought you said you don’t remember anything from that night,” he says accusingly.
"I swear, Dad, I don't know anything about this place," I insist, my own heart pounding.
“It was you, wasn’t it? You’ve been hiding this from me.” His voice is frantic. “You... last night, the growling, it was you.” His voice rises, tinged with hysteria.
I step back, my pulse racing, feeling the chill of the night and the weight of his accusation. "Dad, I don't know what you're talking ab—”
"No!" he interrupts, his voice breaking as he points a trembling finger at me. "You knew, you always knew. It was you, Ryan. All these years, the evidence was right there, but I refused to see it. You were the dogman. You killed Leah!"
His words hit me like a physical blow, absurd and horrifying in their implications. "Dad, you're not making any sense. You're talking crazy! I was just a little kid! How could I–" I protest, my voice shaky.
He steps closer, his presence looming over me, the outline of his figure distorted by the shadows of the trees. "Think about it! It all makes sense now. You led us here, to this place, because you remember. Because you did it."
"Dad, stop it!" I shout, my heart pounding in my chest. "You're scaring me. You need help, professional help. This isn't you."
But he's beyond reason, his eyes wild with a haunted grief. "I have to end this," he mutters, more to himself than to me, his hand tightening around his rifle.
His finger hovers dangerously over the trigger of his rifle. My instincts kick in, and I know I have to act fast.
I lunge toward him, trying to knock the weapon away, but he's quicker than I expected. We struggle, our breaths heavy in the cold night air, the sounds of our scuffle the only noise in the otherwise silent woods. His strength surprises me, fueled by his frantic emotions. He shoves me back, and I stumble over a root, my balance lost for a crucial second. That's all he needs. He raises his rifle, his intentions clear in his wild, pained eyes.
I dive to the ground just as the shot rings out, a deafening blast that echoes ominously through the trees. The bullet whizzes past, narrowly missing me, embedding itself in the bark of an old pine. I scramble to my feet, my heart pounding in my ears, and I start running. The underbrush claws at my clothes and skin, but I push through, driven by a primal urge to survive.
"Dad, stop! It's me, Ryan!" I shout back as I dodge between the trees. Another shot breaks the silence, closer this time, sending splinters of wood flying from a nearby tree trunk. It's surreal, being hunted by my own father, a man tormented by grief and lost in his delusions.
I don't stop to look back. I can hear him crashing through the forest behind me, his heavy breaths and muttered curses carried on the wind. The terrain is rough, and I'm fueled by adrenaline, but exhaustion is setting in. I need a plan.
Ahead, I see a rocky outcrop and make a split-second decision to head for it. It offers a chance to hide, to catch my breath and maybe reason with him if he catches up. As I reach the rocks, I slip behind the largest one, my body pressed tight against the cold, damp surface. I hear his footsteps approaching, slow and cautious now.
As I press against the rock, trying to calm my racing heart, I can hear Dad's footsteps drawing closer, each step crunching ominously on the forest floor. He's methodical, deliberate, like a hunter stalking his prey.
“Come out, Ryan!” Dad’s voice is ragged, filled with a blend of fury and pain.
My heart pounds against my chest, the cold sweat on my back making me shiver against the rough surface of the rock. I know I can't just sit here; it's only a matter of time before he finds me.
Taking a deep breath, I peek around the edge of the rock, trying to gauge his position. I see him, rifle raised, scanning the area slowly. This might be my only chance to end this madness without further violence. I need to disarm him, to talk some sense into him if I can.
As quietly as I can, I move out from behind the rock, my steps careful to avoid any twigs or leaves that might betray my position. I'm almost upon him when a branch snaps under my foot—a sound so trivial yet so alarmingly loud in the quiet of the woods.
Dad whirls around, looking completely unhinged. "Ryan!" he exclaims, his rifle swinging in my direction. Panic overtakes me, and I lunge forward, my hands reaching for the gun.
We struggle, the rifle between us, our breaths heavy and erratic. "Dad, please, stop!" I plead, trying to wrestle the gun away. But he's strong, stronger than I expected.
In the chaos, the rifle goes off. The sound is deafening, a sharp echo that seems to reverberate off every tree around us. Pain explodes in my abdomen, sharp and burning, like nothing I've ever felt before. I stagger back, my hands instinctively going to the wound. The warmth of my own blood coats my fingers, stark and terrifying.
Dad drops the rifle, his eyes wide with horror. "Oh my God! What have I done?" he gasps, rushing to my side as I collapse onto the forest floor.
As the pain sears through me, a strange, overpowering energy surges within. It's wild, primal, unlike anything I've ever experienced. Looking down in horror, my hands are no longer hands but large, hairy, clawed appendages. The transformation is rapid, consuming—my vision blurs, senses heighten, and a raw, guttural growl builds in my throat.
In that moment, a flood of understanding washes over me, mingling with the horror of realization. These are the hands of the creature from my nightmares, the creature whose face I can never fully recall because, as I now understand, it is me.
What happens next feels detached, as if I'm no longer in control of my own actions, watching from a distance as my body moves on its own. I turn towards my dad, his face a mask of terror. He stumbles back, his eyes wide with the dawning realization of what his son has become.
The forest around us seems to fall silent, holding its breath as the nightmarish scene unfolds. I can hear my own growls, guttural and deep, filling the air with a sound that's both foreign and intimately familiar. The pain in my abdomen fuels a dark, violent urge, an urge that's too strong to resist.
With a ferocity that feels both alien and intrinsic, I move towards him. My dad, paralyzed by fear and shock, doesn't run. Maybe he can't. Maybe he doesn't want to.
The encounter was brutal and swift, a blur of motion and violence. My dad barely puts up a struggle, as though resigned to his fate.
Not that there is anything he can do. The creature that I’ve become is too powerful, too consumed by the wild instincts surging through me. I tear him apart, limb from bloody limb, my hands—no, my claws—rending through fabric and flesh with disgusting ease.
The sound of my dad’s screams, of tearing fabric and flesh is drowned out by the animalistic growls that echo through the trees.
When it’s all over, the red mist that had clouded my vision begins to fade, and the fierce, uncontrollable rage that drove my actions subsides. I'm left standing, my breaths heavy and erratic, in the eerie stillness of the forest. The transformation reverses as quickly as it came on, and I find myself back in my human form. My clothes are ripped to shreds, hanging off my frame in tattered remnants. At my feet lies what’s left of my dad, his body torn and unrecognizable.
I glance down at my abdomen, expecting agony, but instead find my wound miraculously healed. No sign of the gunshot remains, just a faint scar where I expected a bloody mess.
Shock sets in, a numbing disbelief mixed with a gut-wrenching realization of what I've become and what I've done. My hands, now human again, tremble as I look at them, half-expecting to see the claws that had so effortlessly ripped through flesh and bone. But there's only blood, my father's blood against my skin.
I stand there for what feels like an eternity, trapped in a nightmare of my own making.
Eventually, the shock wears thin, and a cold practicality takes hold. I need to get out of here. I need to cover my tracks, to disappear. Because who would believe this? Who would understand that I didn't choose this, that I'm not a monster by choice?
With trembling hands, I do what’s necessary. I bury my dad in a shallow grave, the physical act of digging strangely grounding. I cover him with leaves and branches, a pitiful attempt to hide the brutality of his end. I take a moment, whispering apologies into the wind, knowing full well that nothing I say can change what happened.
I leave the forest behind, my mind a whirl of dark thoughts. As I walk, the first hints of dawn brush against the horizon, the sky bleeding a soft pink. It’s hauntingly beautiful.
submitted by PageTurner627 to creepypasta [link] [comments]
My dad Frank is in the kitchen, clattering around with the coffeepot and mumbling under his breath. Today we’re heading up to the woods of Northern Michigan, same as we did every year before Leah… before we lost her.
I can’t help but feel the old scars throbbing as I load bullets into the magazine. It’s been ten years since that hunting trip, the one that tore my family into before and after. Before, when Leah's laughter was a constant soundtrack to our lives; after, when every silence was filled with her absence.
We were just kids back then. I was ten, Leah was eight. It was supposed to be a typical hunting trip, one of those bonding experiences Dad was always talking about. But things went wrong. We got separated from Dad somehow. One minute we were following him, the next we were lost, the dense woods closing in around us.
Dad says when he found me, I was huddled under a fallen tree, my eyes wide, my body frozen. All I could mutter through chattering teeth was "Dogman."
It was only later, after the search parties had combed through every thicket and hollow, that they found her. What remained of Leah was barely recognizable, the evidence of a brutal mauling undeniable. The authorities concluded it was likely a bear attack, but Dad... he never accepted that explanation. He had seen the tracks, too large and oddly shaped for any bear.
As I load another round, the memory flashes, unbidden and unwelcome. Large, hairy clawed hands reaching out towards us, impossibly big, grotesque in their form. Yet, the rest of the creature eludes me, a shadow just beyond the edge of my recall, leaving me with nothing but fragmented terrors and Leah’s haunting, echoing screams. My mind blocked most of it out, a self-defense mechanism, I guess.
For years after that day, sleep was a battleground. I'd wake up in strange places—kitchen floor, backyard, even at the edge of the nearby creek. My therapist said it was my mind's way of trying to resolve the unresolved, to wander back through the woods searching for Leah. But all I found in those sleepless nights was a deeper sense of loss.
It took time, a lot of therapy, and patience I didn't know I had, but the sleepwalking did eventually stop. I guess I started to find some semblance of peace.
I have mostly moved on with my life. The fragmentary memories of that day are still there, lurking in the corners of my mind, but they don’t dominate my thoughts like they used to. I just finished my sophomore year at Michigan State, majoring in Environmental Science.
As for Dad, the loss of Leah broke him. He became a shell of himself. It destroyed his marriage with Mom. He blamed himself for letting us out of his sight, for not protecting Leah. His life took on a single, consuming focus: finding the creature that killed her. He read every book, every article on cryptids and unexplained phenomena. He mapped sightings, connected dots across blurry photos and shaky testimonies of the Dogman.
But as the tenth anniversary of Leah’s death approaches, Dad's obsession has grown more intense. He’s started staying up late, poring over his maps and notes, muttering to himself about patterns and cycles. He’s convinced that the dogman reappears every ten years, and this is our window of opportunity to finally hunt it down.
I’m not nearly as convinced. The whole dogman thing seems like a coping mechanism, a way for Dad to channel his guilt and grief into something tangible, something he can fight against. But I decided to tag along on this trip, partly to keep an eye on him, partly because a small part of me hopes that maybe, just maybe, we’ll find some kind of closure out there in the woods.
I finish loading the rifle and set it aside, standing up to stretch my legs. I wipe my greasy hands on an old rag, trying to get rid of the smell. The early morning light is starting to seep into the room, casting long shadows across the floor.
Dad comes out of the kitchen with two thermoses of coffee in hand. His eyes are bleary and tired.
“You ready, Ryan?” he asks, handing me a thermos, his voice rough from too many sleepless nights.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” I reply, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
We load our gear into the truck, the weight of our supplies and weapons a physical reminder of the burden we carry. The drive from Lansing across the Lower Peninsula is long and quiet, the silence between us filled with unspoken memories and unresolved grief.
—
The drive north is a blur of highway lines and the dull hum of the engine. I drift off, the landscape outside blending into a haze. In my sleep, fragments of that day with Leah replay like scattered pieces of a puzzle. I see her smile, the way she tugged at my sleeve, eager to explore. The sunlight filters through the trees in sharp, jagged streaks.
Then, the memory shifts—darker, disjointed. Leah's voice echoes, a playful laugh turning into a scream that pierces the air. The crunch of leaves underfoot as something heavy moves through the underbrush. I see a shadow, large and looming, not quite fitting the shapes of any creature I know.
Then, something darker creeps into the dream, something I’ve never allowed myself to remember clearly.
Before I can see what it is I wake up with a start as the truck jerks slightly on a rough patch of road. Dad glances over. "Bad dream?" he asks. I nod, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, the remnants of the dream clinging to me like the cold.
"Yeah, just... thinking about Leah," I manage to say.
As we drive, Dad attempts to bridge the silence with small talk. He asks about my finals, my plans for the summer, anything to keep the conversation going. His voice carries a forced cheerfulness, but it’s clear his heart isn’t in it. I respond when necessary, my answers brief, my gaze fixed on the passing scenery.
The landscape changes as we head further north, from flat expanses to rolling hills dotted with dense patches of forest. It's beautiful country, the kind that reminds you how vast and wild Michigan can be, but today it just feels oppressive, like it’s closing in on us.
—
We finally arrive at the cabin, nestled deep in the woods, its weathered wood blending seamlessly with the surrounding trees. The place hasn't changed much since the last time I was here—a relic from another time, filled with the echoes of our past. I can still see Leah running around the porch, her laughter ringing out into the forest.
Dad parks the truck, and we step out into the crisp air. The smell of pine and damp earth fills my nostrils. We start unloading our gear, the tension between us palpable.
“Let’s get this inside,” Dad says, his voice gruff as he hefts a duffel bag onto his shoulder.
I nod, grabbing my own bag and following him to the cabin. Inside, it’s a mix of old and new—the same rustic furniture, but with new hunting gear and maps strewn across the table. Dad’s obsession is evident in every corner of the room, a constant reminder of why we’re here.
As we unpack, we exchange strained attempts at normalcy. He talks about the latest cryptid sightings he’s read about, his eyes lighting up with a fervor that both worries and saddens me.
“Did you hear about the sighting up near Alpena?” he asks, laying out his maps on the table.
“Yeah, you mentioned it,” I reply, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “Do you really think there’s something to it?”
Dad’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of doubt. But it’s quickly replaced by grim determination. “I have to believe it, Ryan. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
We finish unpacking, the silence between us growing heavier with each passing minute. I step outside to clear my head, the cool air a welcome relief. The sun is starting to set, casting long shadows across the clearing. I can’t shake the feeling of unease.
"You can take the upstairs room," Dad mutters. His voice is strained, trying to sound normal, but it's clear the weight of the past is heavy on him. I nod, hauling my backpack up the creaking stairs to the small bedroom that I used to share with Leah. The room feels smaller now, or maybe I've just grown too much since those innocent days.
I unpack silently, setting my things aside. The bed is stiff and cold under my touch. As I settle in, I can't help but glance at the corner where Leah and I would huddle together, whispering secrets and making plans for adventures that would never happen. I push the thoughts away, focusing on the practicalities of unpacking.
After settling in, I go back downstairs to find Dad loading up a backpack with supplies for our hunt. The intensity in his eyes is palpable, his hands moving with practiced precision. I know this routine; it's one he's perfected over countless solo trips since that fateful day.
"We'll head out early," he says, not looking up from his task. "Gotta make the most of the daylight."
I nod, though unease curls in my stomach. I'm not just worried about what we might find—or not find—out there. I'm worried about him. Each year, the obsession seems to carve him out a bit more, leaving less of the Dad I knew.
—
The morning air is sharp with the scent of pine and wet earth as Dad and I head into the deeper parts of the forest. The terrain is rugged, familiar in its untamed beauty, but there’s a tension between us that makes the landscape feel alien. Dad moves with a purposeful stride, his eyes scanning the woods around us. Every snap of a twig, every rustle in the underbrush seems to draw his attention. He’s on edge, and it puts me on edge too.
As we walk, my mind drifts back to that day ten years ago. I can almost hear Leah’s voice echoing through the trees, her high-pitched call as she darted ahead, "Catch me, Ryan!" I remember how the sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground. Those memories are so vivid, so tangible, it feels like I could just turn a corner and see her there, waiting for us.
Dad suddenly stops and kneels, examining the ground. He points out a set of tracks that are too large for a deer, with an unusual gait pattern. "It’s been here, Ry. I’m telling you, it’s close," he whispers, a mixture of excitement and something darker in his voice. I nod, though I’m not sure what to believe. Part of me wants to dismiss it all as grief-fueled obsession, but another part, the part that heard Leah's scream and saw something monstrous in the woods that day, isn’t so sure.
As we continue, Dad's comments become increasingly cryptic. "You know, they say the dogman moves in cycles, drawn to certain places, certain times. Like it’s tied to the land itself," he muses, more to himself than to me. His fixation on the creature has always been intense, but now it borders on mania.
We set up a makeshift blind near a clearing where Dad insists the creature will pass. Hours drag by with little to see but the occasional bird or distant deer.
The sun rises higher in the sky, casting long, slender shadows through the dense canopy. I shift uncomfortably in my spot, the forest floor hard and unyielding beneath me. My eyes dart between the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of something, anything, to break the monotony. Dad, on the other hand, remains steadfast, his gaze fixed on the treeline as if he can will the dogman into existence by sheer force of will.
A bird chirps nearby, startling me. I sigh and adjust my grip on the rifle. I glance over at Dad.
“Anything?” I ask, more out of boredom than genuine curiosity.
“Not yet,” he replies, his voice tight. “But it’s out there. I know it.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I believe him. The forest seems too quiet, too still. Maybe we’re chasing ghosts.
As the sun begins its descent, the forest is bathed in a warm, golden light. The air cools, and a breeze rustles the leaves. I shiver, more from anticipation than the cold. The long hours of sitting and waiting are starting to wear on me.
“Let’s call it a day for now,” Dad says finally, his voice heavy with disappointment. “We’ll head back to the cabin, get some rest, and try again tomorrow.”
I stand and stretch, feeling the stiffness in my muscles. We pack up our gear in silence and start the trek back to the cabin. The walk is long and quiet, the only sounds are the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant calls of birds settling in for the night.
—
Dinner is a quiet affair, both of us lost in our thoughts. I try to make small talk, asking Dad about his plans for tomorrow, but it feels forced. We clean up in silence.
After dinner, I retreat to the small bedroom. The fatigue from the day's hike has settled into my bones, but sleep still feels like a distant hope. I lie down, staring at the ceiling, the room cloaked in darkness save for the sliver of moonlight creeping through the window. Downstairs, I hear the faint sound of Dad moving around, likely unable to sleep himself.
I drift into sleep, but it's not restful. My dreams pull me back to that fateful day in the woods. Leah's voice is clear and vibrant, her laughter echoing through the trees. She looks just as she did then—bright-eyed and full of life, her blonde hair catching the sunlight as she runs ahead of me.
"Come on, Ry! You can't catch me!" she taunts, her voice playful and teasing.
I chase after her, but the scene shifts abruptly. The sky darkens, the woods around us growing dense and foreboding. Leah's laughter fades, replaced by a chilling silence. I see her ahead, standing still, her back to me.
"Leah?" I call out, my voice trembling. She turns slowly, her eyes wide and filled with fear. "Ryan, you have to remember," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "It wasn't what you think. You need to know the truth."
Leah’s words hang in the air, cryptic and unsettling. Before I can respond, she turns and starts running again, her figure becoming a blur among the trees. Panic rises in my chest as I sprint after her, my feet pounding against the forest floor.
“Leah, wait!” I shout, desperation lacing my voice. The forest around me seems to close in, the trees towering and twisted, shadows dancing menacingly in the dim light. I push forward, trying to keep her in sight, but she’s too fast, slipping away like a wisp of smoke.
Suddenly, there’s a rustle, a flash of movement in the corner of my vision. Leah screams, a sound that pierces through the heavy silence. It happens too quickly—I can’t see what it is, only a dark blur that snatches her up.
“Leah!” I scream, my voice breaking. I stumble, falling to my knees as the forest spins around me. My heart races, and the terror is so real, so visceral, that it pulls me back to that awful day, the one that changed everything.
I jolt awake, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I sit up, wiping the cold sweat from my forehead as I try to steady my breathing. The room is still dark, the shadows cast by the moonlight seem to flicker and dance on the walls. My heart is still racing from the nightmare, the echo of Leah's scream lingering in my ears.
As I struggle to calm down, the floorboards outside my room creak. The door opens slowly, and I see the silhouette of my dad in the doorway, a Bowie knife in his hand, his posture tense.
“Dad, what the hell are you doing?” I whisper, my voice shaking.
“Shh,” he hisses, holding up a hand to silence me. “I heard something. Something moving around in the cabin. Stay quiet.”
I swallow hard, my mouth dry. I glance at the clock on the nightstand—it’s just past three in the morning. The cabin is silent, the kind of deep, oppressive silence that makes every small sound seem louder. I can’t hear anything out of the ordinary, but Dad’s expression is deadly serious.
He motions for me to get up, and I do, moving as quietly as I can. My heart is racing, a mix of lingering fear from the dream and the sudden, sharp anxiety of the present moment. Dad leads the way, stepping cautiously out of the bedroom and into the hallway, the knife held ready in front of him.
We move through the cabin, checking each room in turn. The living room is empty, the furniture casting long shadows in the dim moonlight. The kitchen is just as we left it, the plates from dinner still drying on the counter. Everything seems normal, untouched.
We finish our sweep of the cabin without finding anything amiss. The silence is heavy, punctuated only by our soft footfalls. I can see the tension in Dad’s frame, his grip on the knife unwavering. After checking the last room, we pause in the dimly lit hallway, the air thick with unspoken questions.
“There’s nothing here,” I say, my voice low. “Are you sure you heard something?”
He looks at me, his eyes searching for something in my face. “I heard growling. Deep and close. It was right outside the window.”
“Maybe it was just an animal outside, a raccoon or something?” I suggest, although the certainty in his voice makes me doubt my own reassurance.
“No, it wasn’t like that. It was different,” he insists, his voice tense.
I nod, not wanting to argue, but the seeds of worry are planted deep.
The look in his eyes sends a chill down my spine. It’s not just fear—it’s desperation. The kind of desperation that comes from years of chasing shadows and finding nothing. I can see the toll this hunt has taken on him, the way it’s worn him down, turned him into a man I barely recognize.
We head back to our rooms. As I lie down, my mind races with thoughts of my dad. I can’t help but wonder if he’s losing it, if the years of grief and guilt have finally pushed him over the edge.
Dad wasn’t always like this. Before Leah’s death, he was the kind of father who took us fishing, helped with homework, and told terrible jokes that made us groan and laugh at the same time. He was solid, dependable. But losing Leah changed him. The guilt twisted him into someone I barely recognize, someone driven by a need for answers, for closure, that may never come.
I try to sleep, but my thoughts keep me awake. I can hear Dad moving around downstairs, probably pacing or double-checking the locks. His paranoia has become a constant presence, and I don’t know how to help him. I don’t even know if I can help him.
—
The next morning, the sunlight filters weakly through the cabin windows, casting a pale light that does little to lift the heavy mood. I drag myself out of bed, feeling the exhaustion of another restless night. Dad is already up, hunched over his maps at the kitchen table, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
“Morning,” I mumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I pour myself a cup of coffee. “Did you sleep at all?”
He shakes his head, not looking up from his notes. “Not much. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I heard last night.”
I sip my coffee, trying to shake off the remnants of my nightmare. “Maybe it was just an animal, Dad. We’re deep in the woods, after all.”
He finally looks up, his eyes intense. “Ryan, I know what I heard. It wasn’t just an animal. It was something else.”
I sigh, not wanting to argue. “Okay, fine, Dad. What’s the plan for today?”
“We’re going back out. I found some tracks yesterday, and I want to follow them. See where they lead.”
I nod, feeling a mix of apprehension and resignation. I can see how much this means to him, how desperate he is for any kind of lead. “Alright. Let’s get packed and head out.”
We spend the morning preparing, loading up our gear and double-checking our supplies. Dad is meticulous, going over everything with a fine-toothed comb. I try to match his focus, but my mind keeps drifting back to Leah and the dream I had. Her words echo in my head, cryptic and unsettling: “You need to know the truth.”
We set off into the woods, the air crisp and cool. The forest is alive with the sounds of birds and rustling leaves, but it all feels distant, like background noise to the tension between us. Dad leads the way, his eyes scanning the ground for any sign of the tracks he found yesterday.
As we walk, I can’t help but notice how erratically he’s acting. He mutters to himself, his eyes darting around as if expecting something to jump out at us. His grip on his rifle is tight, his knuckles white.
“Dad, are you okay?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
He glances at me, his expression unreadable. “I’m fine. Just focused.”
He stops frequently to examine the ground or the bark of trees, pointing out marks and signs that seem meaningless to me.
“Look at this,” he says, crouching down to examine a broken branch. “See how it’s snapped? That’s not a deer or a bear. That’s something bigger. Stronger.”
I crouch next to Dad, squinting at the broken branch. To me, it just looks like a regular broken branch, the kind you see all over the forest. "I don't know, Dad. It just looks like a branch to me," I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.
Dad's eyes flicker with frustration. "You're not looking close enough. It's the way it's snapped—too clean, too deliberate. Something did this."
I nod, not wanting to argue. "Okay, sure. But even if you're right, it could be anything. A storm, another hunter..."
His expression hardens. "I know what I'm looking for. This is different."
I sigh, feeling the weight of the past and the tension between us pressing down on me. "Dad, I had a dream last night. About Leah." The words hang in the air between us, heavy and fraught with unspoken emotions.
Dad's eyes widen, and he straightens up, his entire demeanor shifting. "What kind of dream? What did you see?" His voice is urgent, almost desperate.
"It was... strange. We were in the woods, like we are now, but everything felt different. Leah was there, running ahead of me, laughing. Then she stopped and told me I needed to know the truth, that it wasn't what I thought."
Dad grabs my shoulders, his grip tight. "What else did she say? Did she tell you anything specific? Anything about the creature?"
I shake my head, feeling a chill run down my spine. "No, that was it. She just said I needed to know the truth, and then she was gone."
Dad’s grip on my shoulders tightens, and his eyes bore into mine with a mixture of desperation and hope. “Ryan, you have to try to remember. Think hard. What did the creature look like? Did you see anything else?”
I pull back slightly, uneasy with his intensity. “Dad, I told you. I don’t remember. It was just a dream. A nightmare, really. My mind’s probably just mixing things up.”
He lets go of me and runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated and lost. “Dreams can be important. They can hold memories we’ve buried deep. Please, try to remember. This could be a sign, a clue.”
I rub my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “I’ve tried, okay? I’ve tried for years to piece together what happened that day. But it’s all just fragments, like pieces of a puzzle that don’t fit. The dream… it felt real, but I don’t think it’s telling me anything new.”
Dad’s face falls, and he looks older than I’ve ever seen him. He turns away, staring into the forest as if it holds all the answers.
—
As we make our way back to the cabin, the sun begins to set, casting long shadows through the trees. The air grows colder, and I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter around me. Dad is silent, lost in his thoughts, his face drawn and haggard.
Back at the cabin, we unload our gear once again in silence. Dad disappears into his room, muttering something about going over his notes. I decide to explore the cabin, hoping to find something that might help me understand what’s going on with him.
In the attic, I find a box of old family photos and documents. As I sift through the contents, I come across a worn journal with Dad’s handwriting on the cover. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I open it, flipping through the pages.
The journal is filled with notes and sketches, detailing his obsession with the dogman. But there’s something else—entries that talk about Leah, about that day in the woods. His handwriting becomes more erratic, the words harder to read. One entry stands out, dated just a few days after Leah’s death:
“June 15, 2013 – It was supposed to be a normal trip. Keep them close, Frank, I kept telling myself. But I failed. Leah is gone, and it’s my fault. I heard her scream, saw the shadows. I tried to get to her, but… the thing, it was there. Too fast. Too strong. My hands… blood everywhere. No one will believe me. I can’t even believe myself. I have to find it. I have to protect Ryan. I have to make it right. God, what have I done?”
Before I can read further, the attic door creaks open, and Dad’s voice slices through the stillness.
“What are you doing up here?” His tone is sharp, almost panicked.
I turn to see him standing in the doorway, his face pale and his eyes wide with something between anger and fear. I clutch the journal to my chest, my mind racing. “I found this… I was just trying to understand…”
In an instant, he crosses the room and snatches the journal from my hands. His grip is tight, his knuckles white. “You had no right,” he growls, his voice trembling.
“Dad, I just wanted to know the truth!” I shout, frustration boiling over. “What really happened to Leah.”
His eyes flash with a mix of rage and anguish, and before I can react, he slaps me across the face. The force of it knocks me off balance, and I stumble backward, my cheek stinging.
For a moment, there’s a stunned silence. We both stand there, breathing hard, the air thick with tension.
“I’m sorry,” Dad says finally, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to… I just…” He trails off, clutching the journal to his chest like a lifeline.
I touch my cheek, feeling the heat from the slap, and take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Dad, what aren’t you telling me? What really happened that day?”
“Stay out of it, Ryan,” Dad growls, his eyes dark with anger. “You don’t know what you’re messing with.”
He turns and storms out of the attic. I’m left standing there, my cheek throbbing, my mind racing. What the fuck is going on? What really happened to Leah? And what is Dad so afraid of?
—
That night, I sleep with my rifle within arm's reach, more afraid of my dad than any dogman. The slap still burns on my cheek, and the look in his eyes—rage, fear, something darker—haunts me. I lie awake, listening to the creaks and groans of the old cabin, every sound amplified in the stillness. Eventually, exhaustion pulls me under, and I fall into a restless sleep.
The dream returns, vivid and unsettling. I'm back in the woods, chasing after Leah. Her laughter echoes through the trees, a haunting reminder of happier times. This time, though, I push myself harder, refusing to let her slip away.
"Ryan, catch me!" she calls, her voice playful.
"I'm coming, Leah!" I shout, my legs pumping, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
The forest around us is a twisted, shadowy maze, the trees seeming to close in on us. Leah's figure becomes clearer, her blonde hair catching the dim light filtering through the canopy. She stops suddenly, turning to face me, her eyes wide with fear.
"Leah, what is it?" I ask, my voice trembling.
"Look behind you," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I turn slowly, dread creeping up my spine. In the shadows, I see a figure, its form indistinct and shifting. It’s not quite animal, not quite human—something in between. The sight of it sends a jolt of terror through me, and I wake up with a start, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I’m not in my bed. The ground beneath me is cold and hard, the smell of damp earth filling my nostrils. Panic rises as I realize I’ve sleepwalked into the woods. I scramble to my feet, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The moon casts a pale glow over the surroundings, revealing what looks like a long-abandoned animal lair.
The walls are covered in giant claw marks, deep gouges in the wood and earth. The air is heavy with the scent of decay, and a chill runs through me. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.
Carefully, I start to move, my eyes scanning the ground, desperate for a familiar landmark. That's when I see them—faded scraps of fabric caught on the jagged edges of the underbrush. My steps falter, a sense of dread washing over me as I bend down to examine them. The fabric is torn, weathered by time and the elements, but unmistakably familiar. It's part of Leah's jacket—the bright pink one she wore on the day she disappeared.
As I strain to make sense of it all, a rustling sound behind me snaps my focus. My heart leaps into my throat. I spin around, my hand instinctively reaching for the rifle I don't have—because, of course, I didn't bring it in my unconscious state.
The shadowy figure that emerges from the trees is unsettlingly familiar, mirroring the menacing forms of my nightmares. But as it steps into the moonlight, I recognize the worn jacket, the weary posture. It's Dad.
"Ryan!" he calls out, his voice a mix of relief and stern concern. "I've been looking everywhere for you. What the hell are you doing out here?"
I exhale slowly, the terror ebbing away as reality sets back in. "I—I don't know, Dad. I must've sleepwalked again." My voice is shaky, my earlier dream still clinging to the edges of my consciousness.
Dad stares at me in disbelief. "You haven't sleepwalked since you were a kid, Ry. This... this isn't just a coincidence." His eyes dart around, taking in the surroundings—the eerie, claw-marked den, the unsettling quiet of the woods. "How did you even find this place?"
I shake my head, struggling to find an answer. "I don't know, Dad. I just... I woke up here." The uncertainty in my voice does nothing to ease the tension.
His eyes lock onto the tattered remains of Leah's jacket in my hands, and something inside him snaps. The color drains from his face as he stumbles a few steps backward. "This... this is where it happened," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. “This is where we found Leah."
“I thought you said you don’t remember anything from that night,” he says accusingly.
"I swear, Dad, I don't know anything about this place," I insist, my own heart pounding.
“It was you, wasn’t it? You’ve been hiding this from me.” His voice is frantic. “You... last night, the growling, it was you.” His voice rises, tinged with hysteria.
I step back, my pulse racing, feeling the chill of the night and the weight of his accusation. "Dad, I don't know what you're talking ab—”
"No!" he interrupts, his voice breaking as he points a trembling finger at me. "You knew, you always knew. It was you, Ryan. All these years, the evidence was right there, but I refused to see it. You were the dogman. You killed Leah!"
His words hit me like a physical blow, absurd and horrifying in their implications. "Dad, you're not making any sense. You're talking crazy! I was just a little kid! How could I–" I protest, my voice shaky.
He steps closer, his presence looming over me, the outline of his figure distorted by the shadows of the trees. "Think about it! It all makes sense now. You led us here, to this place, because you remember. Because you did it."
"Dad, stop it!" I shout, my heart pounding in my chest. "You're scaring me. You need help, professional help. This isn't you."
But he's beyond reason, his eyes wild with a haunted grief. "I have to end this," he mutters, more to himself than to me, his hand tightening around his rifle.
His finger hovers dangerously over the trigger of his rifle. My instincts kick in, and I know I have to act fast.
I lunge toward him, trying to knock the weapon away, but he's quicker than I expected. We struggle, our breaths heavy in the cold night air, the sounds of our scuffle the only noise in the otherwise silent woods. His strength surprises me, fueled by his frantic emotions. He shoves me back, and I stumble over a root, my balance lost for a crucial second. That's all he needs. He raises his rifle, his intentions clear in his wild, pained eyes.
I dive to the ground just as the shot rings out, a deafening blast that echoes ominously through the trees. The bullet whizzes past, narrowly missing me, embedding itself in the bark of an old pine. I scramble to my feet, my heart pounding in my ears, and I start running. The underbrush claws at my clothes and skin, but I push through, driven by a primal urge to survive.
"Dad, stop! It's me, Ryan!" I shout back as I dodge between the trees. Another shot breaks the silence, closer this time, sending splinters of wood flying from a nearby tree trunk. It's surreal, being hunted by my own father, a man tormented by grief and lost in his delusions.
I don't stop to look back. I can hear him crashing through the forest behind me, his heavy breaths and muttered curses carried on the wind. The terrain is rough, and I'm fueled by adrenaline, but exhaustion is setting in. I need a plan.
Ahead, I see a rocky outcrop and make a split-second decision to head for it. It offers a chance to hide, to catch my breath and maybe reason with him if he catches up. As I reach the rocks, I slip behind the largest one, my body pressed tight against the cold, damp surface. I hear his footsteps approaching, slow and cautious now.
As I press against the rock, trying to calm my racing heart, I can hear Dad's footsteps drawing closer, each step crunching ominously on the forest floor. He's methodical, deliberate, like a hunter stalking his prey.
“Come out, Ryan!” Dad’s voice is ragged, filled with a blend of fury and pain.
My heart pounds against my chest, the cold sweat on my back making me shiver against the rough surface of the rock. I know I can't just sit here; it's only a matter of time before he finds me.
Taking a deep breath, I peek around the edge of the rock, trying to gauge his position. I see him, rifle raised, scanning the area slowly. This might be my only chance to end this madness without further violence. I need to disarm him, to talk some sense into him if I can.
As quietly as I can, I move out from behind the rock, my steps careful to avoid any twigs or leaves that might betray my position. I'm almost upon him when a branch snaps under my foot—a sound so trivial yet so alarmingly loud in the quiet of the woods.
Dad whirls around, looking completely unhinged. "Ryan!" he exclaims, his rifle swinging in my direction. Panic overtakes me, and I lunge forward, my hands reaching for the gun.
We struggle, the rifle between us, our breaths heavy and erratic. "Dad, please, stop!" I plead, trying to wrestle the gun away. But he's strong, stronger than I expected.
In the chaos, the rifle goes off. The sound is deafening, a sharp echo that seems to reverberate off every tree around us. Pain explodes in my abdomen, sharp and burning, like nothing I've ever felt before. I stagger back, my hands instinctively going to the wound. The warmth of my own blood coats my fingers, stark and terrifying.
Dad drops the rifle, his eyes wide with horror. "Oh my God! What have I done?" he gasps, rushing to my side as I collapse onto the forest floor.
As the pain sears through me, a strange, overpowering energy surges within. It's wild, primal, unlike anything I've ever experienced. Looking down in horror, my hands are no longer hands but large, hairy, clawed appendages. The transformation is rapid, consuming—my vision blurs, senses heighten, and a raw, guttural growl builds in my throat.
In that moment, a flood of understanding washes over me, mingling with the horror of realization. These are the hands of the creature from my nightmares, the creature whose face I can never fully recall because, as I now understand, it is me.
What happens next feels detached, as if I'm no longer in control of my own actions, watching from a distance as my body moves on its own. I turn towards my dad, his face a mask of terror. He stumbles back, his eyes wide with the dawning realization of what his son has become.
The forest around us seems to fall silent, holding its breath as the nightmarish scene unfolds. I can hear my own growls, guttural and deep, filling the air with a sound that's both foreign and intimately familiar. The pain in my abdomen fuels a dark, violent urge, an urge that's too strong to resist.
With a ferocity that feels both alien and intrinsic, I move towards him. My dad, paralyzed by fear and shock, doesn't run. Maybe he can't. Maybe he doesn't want to.
The encounter was brutal and swift, a blur of motion and violence. My dad barely puts up a struggle, as though resigned to his fate.
Not that there is anything he can do. The creature that I’ve become is too powerful, too consumed by the wild instincts surging through me. I tear him apart, limb from bloody limb, my hands—no, my claws—rending through fabric and flesh with disgusting ease.
The sound of my dad’s screams, of tearing fabric and flesh is drowned out by the animalistic growls that echo through the trees.
When it’s all over, the red mist that had clouded my vision begins to fade, and the fierce, uncontrollable rage that drove my actions subsides. I'm left standing, my breaths heavy and erratic, in the eerie stillness of the forest. The transformation reverses as quickly as it came on, and I find myself back in my human form. My clothes are ripped to shreds, hanging off my frame in tattered remnants. At my feet lies what’s left of my dad, his body torn and unrecognizable.
I glance down at my abdomen, expecting agony, but instead find my wound miraculously healed. No sign of the gunshot remains, just a faint scar where I expected a bloody mess.
Shock sets in, a numbing disbelief mixed with a gut-wrenching realization of what I've become and what I've done. My hands, now human again, tremble as I look at them, half-expecting to see the claws that had so effortlessly ripped through flesh and bone. But there's only blood, my father's blood against my skin.
I stand there for what feels like an eternity, trapped in a nightmare of my own making.
Eventually, the shock wears thin, and a cold practicality takes hold. I need to get out of here. I need to cover my tracks, to disappear. Because who would believe this? Who would understand that I didn't choose this, that I'm not a monster by choice?
With trembling hands, I do what’s necessary. I bury my dad in a shallow grave, the physical act of digging strangely grounding. I cover him with leaves and branches, a pitiful attempt to hide the brutality of his end. I take a moment, whispering apologies into the wind, knowing full well that nothing I say can change what happened.
I leave the forest behind, my mind a whirl of dark thoughts. As I walk, the first hints of dawn brush against the horizon, the sky bleeding a soft pink. It’s hauntingly beautiful.
2024.05.19 20:08 PageTurner627 My Dad and I Hunted Down the Dogman that Killed My Sister
I’ve always hated the smell of gun oil. It clings to everything it touches, soaking deep into the fibers of my clothes, the lining of my backpack, the coarse hair on the back of my hands. Yet here I am, kneeling on the cracked linoleum of our mudroom, a Remington .308 laid across my thighs, and the stench of gun oil sharp in my nostrils. The early morning light barely scratches at the edges of the blinds, dim and gray like the belly of a dead fish.
My dad Frank is in the kitchen, clattering around with the coffeepot and mumbling under his breath. Today we’re heading up to the woods of Northern Michigan, same as we did every year before Leah… before we lost her.
I can’t help but feel the old scars throbbing as I load bullets into the magazine. It’s been ten years since that hunting trip, the one that tore my family into before and after. Before, when Leah's laughter was a constant soundtrack to our lives; after, when every silence was filled with her absence.
We were just kids back then. I was ten, Leah was eight. It was supposed to be a typical hunting trip, one of those bonding experiences Dad was always talking about. But things went wrong. We got separated from Dad somehow. One minute we were following him, the next we were lost, the dense woods closing in around us.
Dad says when he found me, I was huddled under a fallen tree, my eyes wide, my body frozen. All I could mutter through chattering teeth was "Dogman."
It was only later, after the search parties had combed through every thicket and hollow, that they found her. What remained of Leah was barely recognizable, the evidence of a brutal mauling undeniable. The authorities concluded it was likely a bear attack, but Dad... he never accepted that explanation. He had seen the tracks, too large and oddly shaped for any bear.
As I load another round, the memory flashes, unbidden and unwelcome. Large, hairy clawed hands reaching out towards us, impossibly big, grotesque in their form. Yet, the rest of the creature eludes me, a shadow just beyond the edge of my recall, leaving me with nothing but fragmented terrors and Leah’s haunting, echoing screams. My mind blocked most of it out, a self-defense mechanism, I guess.
For years after that day, sleep was a battleground. I'd wake up in strange places—kitchen floor, backyard, even at the edge of the nearby creek. My therapist said it was my mind's way of trying to resolve the unresolved, to wander back through the woods searching for Leah. But all I found in those sleepless nights was a deeper sense of loss.
It took time, a lot of therapy, and patience I didn't know I had, but the sleepwalking did eventually stop. I guess I started to find some semblance of peace.
I have mostly moved on with my life. The fragmentary memories of that day are still there, lurking in the corners of my mind, but they don’t dominate my thoughts like they used to. I just finished my sophomore year at Michigan State, majoring in Environmental Science.
As for Dad, the loss of Leah broke him. He became a shell of himself. It destroyed his marriage with Mom. He blamed himself for letting us out of his sight, for not protecting Leah. His life took on a single, consuming focus: finding the creature that killed her. He read every book, every article on cryptids and unexplained phenomena. He mapped sightings, connected dots across blurry photos and shaky testimonies of the Dogman.
But as the tenth anniversary of Leah’s death approaches, Dad's obsession has grown more intense. He’s started staying up late, poring over his maps and notes, muttering to himself about patterns and cycles. He’s convinced that the dogman reappears every ten years, and this is our window of opportunity to finally hunt it down.
I’m not nearly as convinced. The whole dogman thing seems like a coping mechanism, a way for Dad to channel his guilt and grief into something tangible, something he can fight against. But I decided to tag along on this trip, partly to keep an eye on him, partly because a small part of me hopes that maybe, just maybe, we’ll find some kind of closure out there in the woods.
I finish loading the rifle and set it aside, standing up to stretch my legs. I wipe my greasy hands on an old rag, trying to get rid of the smell. The early morning light is starting to seep into the room, casting long shadows across the floor.
Dad comes out of the kitchen with two thermoses of coffee in hand. His eyes are bleary and tired.
“You ready, Ryan?” he asks, handing me a thermos, his voice rough from too many sleepless nights.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” I reply, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
We load our gear into the truck, the weight of our supplies and weapons a physical reminder of the burden we carry. The drive from Lansing across the Lower Peninsula is long and quiet, the silence between us filled with unspoken memories and unresolved grief.
—
The drive north is a blur of highway lines and the dull hum of the engine. I drift off, the landscape outside blending into a haze. In my sleep, fragments of that day with Leah replay like scattered pieces of a puzzle. I see her smile, the way she tugged at my sleeve, eager to explore. The sunlight filters through the trees in sharp, jagged streaks.
Then, the memory shifts—darker, disjointed. Leah's voice echoes, a playful laugh turning into a scream that pierces the air. The crunch of leaves underfoot as something heavy moves through the underbrush. I see a shadow, large and looming, not quite fitting the shapes of any creature I know.
Then, something darker creeps into the dream, something I’ve never allowed myself to remember clearly.
Before I can see what it is I wake up with a start as the truck jerks slightly on a rough patch of road. Dad glances over. "Bad dream?" he asks. I nod, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, the remnants of the dream clinging to me like the cold.
"Yeah, just... thinking about Leah," I manage to say.
As we drive, Dad attempts to bridge the silence with small talk. He asks about my finals, my plans for the summer, anything to keep the conversation going. His voice carries a forced cheerfulness, but it’s clear his heart isn’t in it. I respond when necessary, my answers brief, my gaze fixed on the passing scenery.
The landscape changes as we head further north, from flat expanses to rolling hills dotted with dense patches of forest. It's beautiful country, the kind that reminds you how vast and wild Michigan can be, but today it just feels oppressive, like it’s closing in on us.
—
We finally arrive at the cabin, nestled deep in the woods, its weathered wood blending seamlessly with the surrounding trees. The place hasn't changed much since the last time I was here—a relic from another time, filled with the echoes of our past. I can still see Leah running around the porch, her laughter ringing out into the forest.
Dad parks the truck, and we step out into the crisp air. The smell of pine and damp earth fills my nostrils. We start unloading our gear, the tension between us palpable.
“Let’s get this inside,” Dad says, his voice gruff as he hefts a duffel bag onto his shoulder.
I nod, grabbing my own bag and following him to the cabin. Inside, it’s a mix of old and new—the same rustic furniture, but with new hunting gear and maps strewn across the table. Dad’s obsession is evident in every corner of the room, a constant reminder of why we’re here.
As we unpack, we exchange strained attempts at normalcy. He talks about the latest cryptid sightings he’s read about, his eyes lighting up with a fervor that both worries and saddens me.
“Did you hear about the sighting up near Alpena?” he asks, laying out his maps on the table.
“Yeah, you mentioned it,” I reply, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “Do you really think there’s something to it?”
Dad’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of doubt. But it’s quickly replaced by grim determination. “I have to believe it, Ryan. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
We finish unpacking, the silence between us growing heavier with each passing minute. I step outside to clear my head, the cool air a welcome relief. The sun is starting to set, casting long shadows across the clearing. I can’t shake the feeling of unease.
"You can take the upstairs room," Dad mutters. His voice is strained, trying to sound normal, but it's clear the weight of the past is heavy on him. I nod, hauling my backpack up the creaking stairs to the small bedroom that I used to share with Leah. The room feels smaller now, or maybe I've just grown too much since those innocent days.
I unpack silently, setting my things aside. The bed is stiff and cold under my touch. As I settle in, I can't help but glance at the corner where Leah and I would huddle together, whispering secrets and making plans for adventures that would never happen. I push the thoughts away, focusing on the practicalities of unpacking.
After settling in, I go back downstairs to find Dad loading up a backpack with supplies for our hunt. The intensity in his eyes is palpable, his hands moving with practiced precision. I know this routine; it's one he's perfected over countless solo trips since that fateful day.
"We'll head out early," he says, not looking up from his task. "Gotta make the most of the daylight."
I nod, though unease curls in my stomach. I'm not just worried about what we might find—or not find—out there. I'm worried about him. Each year, the obsession seems to carve him out a bit more, leaving less of the Dad I knew.
—
The morning air is sharp with the scent of pine and wet earth as Dad and I head into the deeper parts of the forest. The terrain is rugged, familiar in its untamed beauty, but there’s a tension between us that makes the landscape feel alien. Dad moves with a purposeful stride, his eyes scanning the woods around us. Every snap of a twig, every rustle in the underbrush seems to draw his attention. He’s on edge, and it puts me on edge too.
As we walk, my mind drifts back to that day ten years ago. I can almost hear Leah’s voice echoing through the trees, her high-pitched call as she darted ahead, "Catch me, Ryan!" I remember how the sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground. Those memories are so vivid, so tangible, it feels like I could just turn a corner and see her there, waiting for us.
Dad suddenly stops and kneels, examining the ground. He points out a set of tracks that are too large for a deer, with an unusual gait pattern. "It’s been here, Ry. I’m telling you, it’s close," he whispers, a mixture of excitement and something darker in his voice. I nod, though I’m not sure what to believe. Part of me wants to dismiss it all as grief-fueled obsession, but another part, the part that heard Leah's scream and saw something monstrous in the woods that day, isn’t so sure.
As we continue, Dad's comments become increasingly cryptic. "You know, they say the dogman moves in cycles, drawn to certain places, certain times. Like it’s tied to the land itself," he muses, more to himself than to me. His fixation on the creature has always been intense, but now it borders on mania.
We set up a makeshift blind near a clearing where Dad insists the creature will pass. Hours drag by with little to see but the occasional bird or distant deer.
The sun rises higher in the sky, casting long, slender shadows through the dense canopy. I shift uncomfortably in my spot, the forest floor hard and unyielding beneath me. My eyes dart between the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of something, anything, to break the monotony. Dad, on the other hand, remains steadfast, his gaze fixed on the treeline as if he can will the dogman into existence by sheer force of will.
A bird chirps nearby, startling me. I sigh and adjust my grip on the rifle. I glance over at Dad.
“Anything?” I ask, more out of boredom than genuine curiosity.
“Not yet,” he replies, his voice tight. “But it’s out there. I know it.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I believe him. The forest seems too quiet, too still. Maybe we’re chasing ghosts.
As the sun begins its descent, the forest is bathed in a warm, golden light. The air cools, and a breeze rustles the leaves. I shiver, more from anticipation than the cold. The long hours of sitting and waiting are starting to wear on me.
“Let’s call it a day for now,” Dad says finally, his voice heavy with disappointment. “We’ll head back to the cabin, get some rest, and try again tomorrow.”
I stand and stretch, feeling the stiffness in my muscles. We pack up our gear in silence and start the trek back to the cabin. The walk is long and quiet, the only sounds are the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant calls of birds settling in for the night.
—
Dinner is a quiet affair, both of us lost in our thoughts. I try to make small talk, asking Dad about his plans for tomorrow, but it feels forced. We clean up in silence.
After dinner, I retreat to the small bedroom. The fatigue from the day's hike has settled into my bones, but sleep still feels like a distant hope. I lie down, staring at the ceiling, the room cloaked in darkness save for the sliver of moonlight creeping through the window. Downstairs, I hear the faint sound of Dad moving around, likely unable to sleep himself.
I drift into sleep, but it's not restful. My dreams pull me back to that fateful day in the woods. Leah's voice is clear and vibrant, her laughter echoing through the trees. She looks just as she did then—bright-eyed and full of life, her blonde hair catching the sunlight as she runs ahead of me.
"Come on, Ry! You can't catch me!" she taunts, her voice playful and teasing.
I chase after her, but the scene shifts abruptly. The sky darkens, the woods around us growing dense and foreboding. Leah's laughter fades, replaced by a chilling silence. I see her ahead, standing still, her back to me.
"Leah?" I call out, my voice trembling. She turns slowly, her eyes wide and filled with fear. "Ryan, you have to remember," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "It wasn't what you think. You need to know the truth."
Leah’s words hang in the air, cryptic and unsettling. Before I can respond, she turns and starts running again, her figure becoming a blur among the trees. Panic rises in my chest as I sprint after her, my feet pounding against the forest floor.
“Leah, wait!” I shout, desperation lacing my voice. The forest around me seems to close in, the trees towering and twisted, shadows dancing menacingly in the dim light. I push forward, trying to keep her in sight, but she’s too fast, slipping away like a wisp of smoke.
Suddenly, there’s a rustle, a flash of movement in the corner of my vision. Leah screams, a sound that pierces through the heavy silence. It happens too quickly—I can’t see what it is, only a dark blur that snatches her up.
“Leah!” I scream, my voice breaking. I stumble, falling to my knees as the forest spins around me. My heart races, and the terror is so real, so visceral, that it pulls me back to that awful day, the one that changed everything.
I jolt awake, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I sit up, wiping the cold sweat from my forehead as I try to steady my breathing. The room is still dark, the shadows cast by the moonlight seem to flicker and dance on the walls. My heart is still racing from the nightmare, the echo of Leah's scream lingering in my ears.
As I struggle to calm down, the floorboards outside my room creak. The door opens slowly, and I see the silhouette of my dad in the doorway, a Bowie knife in his hand, his posture tense.
“Dad, what the hell are you doing?” I whisper, my voice shaking.
“Shh,” he hisses, holding up a hand to silence me. “I heard something. Something moving around in the cabin. Stay quiet.”
I swallow hard, my mouth dry. I glance at the clock on the nightstand—it’s just past three in the morning. The cabin is silent, the kind of deep, oppressive silence that makes every small sound seem louder. I can’t hear anything out of the ordinary, but Dad’s expression is deadly serious.
He motions for me to get up, and I do, moving as quietly as I can. My heart is racing, a mix of lingering fear from the dream and the sudden, sharp anxiety of the present moment. Dad leads the way, stepping cautiously out of the bedroom and into the hallway, the knife held ready in front of him.
We move through the cabin, checking each room in turn. The living room is empty, the furniture casting long shadows in the dim moonlight. The kitchen is just as we left it, the plates from dinner still drying on the counter. Everything seems normal, untouched.
We finish our sweep of the cabin without finding anything amiss. The silence is heavy, punctuated only by our soft footfalls. I can see the tension in Dad’s frame, his grip on the knife unwavering. After checking the last room, we pause in the dimly lit hallway, the air thick with unspoken questions.
“There’s nothing here,” I say, my voice low. “Are you sure you heard something?”
He looks at me, his eyes searching for something in my face. “I heard growling. Deep and close. It was right outside the window.”
“Maybe it was just an animal outside, a raccoon or something?” I suggest, although the certainty in his voice makes me doubt my own reassurance.
“No, it wasn’t like that. It was different,” he insists, his voice tense.
I nod, not wanting to argue, but the seeds of worry are planted deep.
The look in his eyes sends a chill down my spine. It’s not just fear—it’s desperation. The kind of desperation that comes from years of chasing shadows and finding nothing. I can see the toll this hunt has taken on him, the way it’s worn him down, turned him into a man I barely recognize.
We head back to our rooms. As I lie down, my mind races with thoughts of my dad. I can’t help but wonder if he’s losing it, if the years of grief and guilt have finally pushed him over the edge.
Dad wasn’t always like this. Before Leah’s death, he was the kind of father who took us fishing, helped with homework, and told terrible jokes that made us groan and laugh at the same time. He was solid, dependable. But losing Leah changed him. The guilt twisted him into someone I barely recognize, someone driven by a need for answers, for closure, that may never come.
I try to sleep, but my thoughts keep me awake. I can hear Dad moving around downstairs, probably pacing or double-checking the locks. His paranoia has become a constant presence, and I don’t know how to help him. I don’t even know if I can help him.
—
The next morning, the sunlight filters weakly through the cabin windows, casting a pale light that does little to lift the heavy mood. I drag myself out of bed, feeling the exhaustion of another restless night. Dad is already up, hunched over his maps at the kitchen table, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
“Morning,” I mumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I pour myself a cup of coffee. “Did you sleep at all?”
He shakes his head, not looking up from his notes. “Not much. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I heard last night.”
I sip my coffee, trying to shake off the remnants of my nightmare. “Maybe it was just an animal, Dad. We’re deep in the woods, after all.”
He finally looks up, his eyes intense. “Ryan, I know what I heard. It wasn’t just an animal. It was something else.”
I sigh, not wanting to argue. “Okay, fine, Dad. What’s the plan for today?”
“We’re going back out. I found some tracks yesterday, and I want to follow them. See where they lead.”
I nod, feeling a mix of apprehension and resignation. I can see how much this means to him, how desperate he is for any kind of lead. “Alright. Let’s get packed and head out.”
We spend the morning preparing, loading up our gear and double-checking our supplies. Dad is meticulous, going over everything with a fine-toothed comb. I try to match his focus, but my mind keeps drifting back to Leah and the dream I had. Her words echo in my head, cryptic and unsettling: “You need to know the truth.”
We set off into the woods, the air crisp and cool. The forest is alive with the sounds of birds and rustling leaves, but it all feels distant, like background noise to the tension between us. Dad leads the way, his eyes scanning the ground for any sign of the tracks he found yesterday.
As we walk, I can’t help but notice how erratically he’s acting. He mutters to himself, his eyes darting around as if expecting something to jump out at us. His grip on his rifle is tight, his knuckles white.
“Dad, are you okay?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
He glances at me, his expression unreadable. “I’m fine. Just focused.”
He stops frequently to examine the ground or the bark of trees, pointing out marks and signs that seem meaningless to me.
“Look at this,” he says, crouching down to examine a broken branch. “See how it’s snapped? That’s not a deer or a bear. That’s something bigger. Stronger.”
I crouch next to Dad, squinting at the broken branch. To me, it just looks like a regular broken branch, the kind you see all over the forest. "I don't know, Dad. It just looks like a branch to me," I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.
Dad's eyes flicker with frustration. "You're not looking close enough. It's the way it's snapped—too clean, too deliberate. Something did this."
I nod, not wanting to argue. "Okay, sure. But even if you're right, it could be anything. A storm, another hunter..."
His expression hardens. "I know what I'm looking for. This is different."
I sigh, feeling the weight of the past and the tension between us pressing down on me. "Dad, I had a dream last night. About Leah." The words hang in the air between us, heavy and fraught with unspoken emotions.
Dad's eyes widen, and he straightens up, his entire demeanor shifting. "What kind of dream? What did you see?" His voice is urgent, almost desperate.
"It was... strange. We were in the woods, like we are now, but everything felt different. Leah was there, running ahead of me, laughing. Then she stopped and told me I needed to know the truth, that it wasn't what I thought."
Dad grabs my shoulders, his grip tight. "What else did she say? Did she tell you anything specific? Anything about the creature?"
I shake my head, feeling a chill run down my spine. "No, that was it. She just said I needed to know the truth, and then she was gone."
Dad’s grip on my shoulders tightens, and his eyes bore into mine with a mixture of desperation and hope. “Ryan, you have to try to remember. Think hard. What did the creature look like? Did you see anything else?”
I pull back slightly, uneasy with his intensity. “Dad, I told you. I don’t remember. It was just a dream. A nightmare, really. My mind’s probably just mixing things up.”
He lets go of me and runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated and lost. “Dreams can be important. They can hold memories we’ve buried deep. Please, try to remember. This could be a sign, a clue.”
I rub my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “I’ve tried, okay? I’ve tried for years to piece together what happened that day. But it’s all just fragments, like pieces of a puzzle that don’t fit. The dream… it felt real, but I don’t think it’s telling me anything new.”
Dad’s face falls, and he looks older than I’ve ever seen him. He turns away, staring into the forest as if it holds all the answers.
—
As we make our way back to the cabin, the sun begins to set, casting long shadows through the trees. The air grows colder, and I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter around me. Dad is silent, lost in his thoughts, his face drawn and haggard.
Back at the cabin, we unload our gear once again in silence. Dad disappears into his room, muttering something about going over his notes. I decide to explore the cabin, hoping to find something that might help me understand what’s going on with him.
In the attic, I find a box of old family photos and documents. As I sift through the contents, I come across a worn journal with Dad’s handwriting on the cover. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I open it, flipping through the pages.
The journal is filled with notes and sketches, detailing his obsession with the dogman. But there’s something else—entries that talk about Leah, about that day in the woods. His handwriting becomes more erratic, the words harder to read. One entry stands out, dated just a few days after Leah’s death:
“June 15, 2013 – It was supposed to be a normal trip. Keep them close, Frank, I kept telling myself. But I failed. Leah is gone, and it’s my fault. I heard her scream, saw the shadows. I tried to get to her, but… the thing, it was there. Too fast. Too strong. My hands… blood everywhere. No one will believe me. I can’t even believe myself. I have to find it. I have to protect Ryan. I have to make it right. God, what have I done?”
Before I can read further, the attic door creaks open, and Dad’s voice slices through the stillness.
“What are you doing up here?” His tone is sharp, almost panicked.
I turn to see him standing in the doorway, his face pale and his eyes wide with something between anger and fear. I clutch the journal to my chest, my mind racing. “I found this… I was just trying to understand…”
In an instant, he crosses the room and snatches the journal from my hands. His grip is tight, his knuckles white. “You had no right,” he growls, his voice trembling.
“Dad, I just wanted to know the truth!” I shout, frustration boiling over. “What really happened to Leah.”
His eyes flash with a mix of rage and anguish, and before I can react, he slaps me across the face. The force of it knocks me off balance, and I stumble backward, my cheek stinging.
For a moment, there’s a stunned silence. We both stand there, breathing hard, the air thick with tension.
“I’m sorry,” Dad says finally, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to… I just…” He trails off, clutching the journal to his chest like a lifeline.
I touch my cheek, feeling the heat from the slap, and take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Dad, what aren’t you telling me? What really happened that day?”
“Stay out of it, Ryan,” Dad growls, his eyes dark with anger. “You don’t know what you’re messing with.”
He turns and storms out of the attic. I’m left standing there, my cheek throbbing, my mind racing. What the fuck is going on? What really happened to Leah? And what is Dad so afraid of?
—
That night, I sleep with my rifle within arm's reach, more afraid of my dad than any dogman. The slap still burns on my cheek, and the look in his eyes—rage, fear, something darker—haunts me. I lie awake, listening to the creaks and groans of the old cabin, every sound amplified in the stillness. Eventually, exhaustion pulls me under, and I fall into a restless sleep.
The dream returns, vivid and unsettling. I'm back in the woods, chasing after Leah. Her laughter echoes through the trees, a haunting reminder of happier times. This time, though, I push myself harder, refusing to let her slip away.
"Ryan, catch me!" she calls, her voice playful.
"I'm coming, Leah!" I shout, my legs pumping, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
The forest around us is a twisted, shadowy maze, the trees seeming to close in on us. Leah's figure becomes clearer, her blonde hair catching the dim light filtering through the canopy. She stops suddenly, turning to face me, her eyes wide with fear.
"Leah, what is it?" I ask, my voice trembling.
"Look behind you," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I turn slowly, dread creeping up my spine. In the shadows, I see a figure, its form indistinct and shifting. It’s not quite animal, not quite human—something in between. The sight of it sends a jolt of terror through me, and I wake up with a start, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I’m not in my bed. The ground beneath me is cold and hard, the smell of damp earth filling my nostrils. Panic rises as I realize I’ve sleepwalked into the woods. I scramble to my feet, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The moon casts a pale glow over the surroundings, revealing what looks like a long-abandoned animal lair.
The walls are covered in giant claw marks, deep gouges in the wood and earth. The air is heavy with the scent of decay, and a chill runs through me. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.
Carefully, I start to move, my eyes scanning the ground, desperate for a familiar landmark. That's when I see them—faded scraps of fabric caught on the jagged edges of the underbrush. My steps falter, a sense of dread washing over me as I bend down to examine them. The fabric is torn, weathered by time and the elements, but unmistakably familiar. It's part of Leah's jacket—the bright pink one she wore on the day she disappeared.
As I strain to make sense of it all, a rustling sound behind me snaps my focus. My heart leaps into my throat. I spin around, my hand instinctively reaching for the rifle I don't have—because, of course, I didn't bring it in my unconscious state.
The shadowy figure that emerges from the trees is unsettlingly familiar, mirroring the menacing forms of my nightmares. But as it steps into the moonlight, I recognize the worn jacket, the weary posture. It's Dad.
"Ryan!" he calls out, his voice a mix of relief and stern concern. "I've been looking everywhere for you. What the hell are you doing out here?"
I exhale slowly, the terror ebbing away as reality sets back in. "I—I don't know, Dad. I must've sleepwalked again." My voice is shaky, my earlier dream still clinging to the edges of my consciousness.
Dad stares at me in disbelief. "You haven't sleepwalked since you were a kid, Ry. This... this isn't just a coincidence." His eyes dart around, taking in the surroundings—the eerie, claw-marked den, the unsettling quiet of the woods. "How did you even find this place?"
I shake my head, struggling to find an answer. "I don't know, Dad. I just... I woke up here." The uncertainty in my voice does nothing to ease the tension.
His eyes lock onto the tattered remains of Leah's jacket in my hands, and something inside him snaps. The color drains from his face as he stumbles a few steps backward. "This... this is where it happened," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. “This is where we found Leah."
“I thought you said you don’t remember anything from that night,” he says accusingly.
"I swear, Dad, I don't know anything about this place," I insist, my own heart pounding.
“It was you, wasn’t it? You’ve been hiding this from me.” His voice is frantic. “You... last night, the growling, it was you.” His voice rises, tinged with hysteria.
I step back, my pulse racing, feeling the chill of the night and the weight of his accusation. "Dad, I don't know what you're talking ab—”
"No!" he interrupts, his voice breaking as he points a trembling finger at me. "You knew, you always knew. It was you, Ryan. All these years, the evidence was right there, but I refused to see it. You were the dogman. You killed Leah!"
His words hit me like a physical blow, absurd and horrifying in their implications. "Dad, you're not making any sense. You're talking crazy! I was just a little kid! How could I–" I protest, my voice shaky.
He steps closer, his presence looming over me, the outline of his figure distorted by the shadows of the trees. "Think about it! It all makes sense now. You led us here, to this place, because you remember. Because you did it."
"Dad, stop it!" I shout, my heart pounding in my chest. "You're scaring me. You need help, professional help. This isn't you."
But he's beyond reason, his eyes wild with a haunted grief. "I have to end this," he mutters, more to himself than to me, his hand tightening around his rifle.
His finger hovers dangerously over the trigger of his rifle. My instincts kick in, and I know I have to act fast.
I lunge toward him, trying to knock the weapon away, but he's quicker than I expected. We struggle, our breaths heavy in the cold night air, the sounds of our scuffle the only noise in the otherwise silent woods. His strength surprises me, fueled by his frantic emotions. He shoves me back, and I stumble over a root, my balance lost for a crucial second. That's all he needs. He raises his rifle, his intentions clear in his wild, pained eyes.
I dive to the ground just as the shot rings out, a deafening blast that echoes ominously through the trees. The bullet whizzes past, narrowly missing me, embedding itself in the bark of an old pine. I scramble to my feet, my heart pounding in my ears, and I start running. The underbrush claws at my clothes and skin, but I push through, driven by a primal urge to survive.
"Dad, stop! It's me, Ryan!" I shout back as I dodge between the trees. Another shot breaks the silence, closer this time, sending splinters of wood flying from a nearby tree trunk. It's surreal, being hunted by my own father, a man tormented by grief and lost in his delusions.
I don't stop to look back. I can hear him crashing through the forest behind me, his heavy breaths and muttered curses carried on the wind. The terrain is rough, and I'm fueled by adrenaline, but exhaustion is setting in. I need a plan.
Ahead, I see a rocky outcrop and make a split-second decision to head for it. It offers a chance to hide, to catch my breath and maybe reason with him if he catches up. As I reach the rocks, I slip behind the largest one, my body pressed tight against the cold, damp surface. I hear his footsteps approaching, slow and cautious now.
As I press against the rock, trying to calm my racing heart, I can hear Dad's footsteps drawing closer, each step crunching ominously on the forest floor. He's methodical, deliberate, like a hunter stalking his prey.
“Come out, Ryan!” Dad’s voice is ragged, filled with a blend of fury and pain.
My heart pounds against my chest, the cold sweat on my back making me shiver against the rough surface of the rock. I know I can't just sit here; it's only a matter of time before he finds me.
Taking a deep breath, I peek around the edge of the rock, trying to gauge his position. I see him, rifle raised, scanning the area slowly. This might be my only chance to end this madness without further violence. I need to disarm him, to talk some sense into him if I can.
As quietly as I can, I move out from behind the rock, my steps careful to avoid any twigs or leaves that might betray my position. I'm almost upon him when a branch snaps under my foot—a sound so trivial yet so alarmingly loud in the quiet of the woods.
Dad whirls around, looking completely unhinged. "Ryan!" he exclaims, his rifle swinging in my direction. Panic overtakes me, and I lunge forward, my hands reaching for the gun.
We struggle, the rifle between us, our breaths heavy and erratic. "Dad, please, stop!" I plead, trying to wrestle the gun away. But he's strong, stronger than I expected.
In the chaos, the rifle goes off. The sound is deafening, a sharp echo that seems to reverberate off every tree around us. Pain explodes in my abdomen, sharp and burning, like nothing I've ever felt before. I stagger back, my hands instinctively going to the wound. The warmth of my own blood coats my fingers, stark and terrifying.
Dad drops the rifle, his eyes wide with horror. "Oh my God! What have I done?" he gasps, rushing to my side as I collapse onto the forest floor.
As the pain sears through me, a strange, overpowering energy surges within. It's wild, primal, unlike anything I've ever experienced. Looking down in horror, my hands are no longer hands but large, hairy, clawed appendages. The transformation is rapid, consuming—my vision blurs, senses heighten, and a raw, guttural growl builds in my throat.
In that moment, a flood of understanding washes over me, mingling with the horror of realization. These are the hands of the creature from my nightmares, the creature whose face I can never fully recall because, as I now understand, it is me.
What happens next feels detached, as if I'm no longer in control of my own actions, watching from a distance as my body moves on its own. I turn towards my dad, his face a mask of terror. He stumbles back, his eyes wide with the dawning realization of what his son has become.
The forest around us seems to fall silent, holding its breath as the nightmarish scene unfolds. I can hear my own growls, guttural and deep, filling the air with a sound that's both foreign and intimately familiar. The pain in my abdomen fuels a dark, violent urge, an urge that's too strong to resist.
With a ferocity that feels both alien and intrinsic, I move towards him. My dad, paralyzed by fear and shock, doesn't run. Maybe he can't. Maybe he doesn't want to.
The encounter was brutal and swift, a blur of motion and violence. My dad barely puts up a struggle, as though resigned to his fate.
Not that there is anything he can do. The creature that I’ve become is too powerful, too consumed by the wild instincts surging through me. I tear him apart, limb from bloody limb, my hands—no, my claws—rending through fabric and flesh with disgusting ease.
The sound of my dad’s screams, of tearing fabric and flesh is drowned out by the animalistic growls that echo through the trees.
When it’s all over, the red mist that had clouded my vision begins to fade, and the fierce, uncontrollable rage that drove my actions subsides. I'm left standing, my breaths heavy and erratic, in the eerie stillness of the forest. The transformation reverses as quickly as it came on, and I find myself back in my human form. My clothes are ripped to shreds, hanging off my frame in tattered remnants. At my feet lies what’s left of my dad, his body torn and unrecognizable.
I glance down at my abdomen, expecting agony, but instead find my wound miraculously healed. No sign of the gunshot remains, just a faint scar where I expected a bloody mess.
Shock sets in, a numbing disbelief mixed with a gut-wrenching realization of what I've become and what I've done. My hands, now human again, tremble as I look at them, half-expecting to see the claws that had so effortlessly ripped through flesh and bone. But there's only blood, my father's blood against my skin.
I stand there for what feels like an eternity, trapped in a nightmare of my own making.
Eventually, the shock wears thin, and a cold practicality takes hold. I need to get out of here. I need to cover my tracks, to disappear. Because who would believe this? Who would understand that I didn't choose this, that I'm not a monster by choice?
With trembling hands, I do what’s necessary. I bury my dad in a shallow grave, the physical act of digging strangely grounding. I cover him with leaves and branches, a pitiful attempt to hide the brutality of his end. I take a moment, whispering apologies into the wind, knowing full well that nothing I say can change what happened.
I leave the forest behind, my mind a whirl of dark thoughts. As I walk, the first hints of dawn brush against the horizon, the sky bleeding a soft pink. It’s hauntingly beautiful.
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My dad Frank is in the kitchen, clattering around with the coffeepot and mumbling under his breath. Today we’re heading up to the woods of Northern Michigan, same as we did every year before Leah… before we lost her.
I can’t help but feel the old scars throbbing as I load bullets into the magazine. It’s been ten years since that hunting trip, the one that tore my family into before and after. Before, when Leah's laughter was a constant soundtrack to our lives; after, when every silence was filled with her absence.
We were just kids back then. I was ten, Leah was eight. It was supposed to be a typical hunting trip, one of those bonding experiences Dad was always talking about. But things went wrong. We got separated from Dad somehow. One minute we were following him, the next we were lost, the dense woods closing in around us.
Dad says when he found me, I was huddled under a fallen tree, my eyes wide, my body frozen. All I could mutter through chattering teeth was "Dogman."
It was only later, after the search parties had combed through every thicket and hollow, that they found her. What remained of Leah was barely recognizable, the evidence of a brutal mauling undeniable. The authorities concluded it was likely a bear attack, but Dad... he never accepted that explanation. He had seen the tracks, too large and oddly shaped for any bear.
As I load another round, the memory flashes, unbidden and unwelcome. Large, hairy clawed hands reaching out towards us, impossibly big, grotesque in their form. Yet, the rest of the creature eludes me, a shadow just beyond the edge of my recall, leaving me with nothing but fragmented terrors and Leah’s haunting, echoing screams. My mind blocked most of it out, a self-defense mechanism, I guess.
For years after that day, sleep was a battleground. I'd wake up in strange places—kitchen floor, backyard, even at the edge of the nearby creek. My therapist said it was my mind's way of trying to resolve the unresolved, to wander back through the woods searching for Leah. But all I found in those sleepless nights was a deeper sense of loss.
It took time, a lot of therapy, and patience I didn't know I had, but the sleepwalking did eventually stop. I guess I started to find some semblance of peace.
I have mostly moved on with my life. The fragmentary memories of that day are still there, lurking in the corners of my mind, but they don’t dominate my thoughts like they used to. I just finished my sophomore year at Michigan State, majoring in Environmental Science.
As for Dad, the loss of Leah broke him. He became a shell of himself. It destroyed his marriage with Mom. He blamed himself for letting us out of his sight, for not protecting Leah. His life took on a single, consuming focus: finding the creature that killed her. He read every book, every article on cryptids and unexplained phenomena. He mapped sightings, connected dots across blurry photos and shaky testimonies of the Dogman.
But as the tenth anniversary of Leah’s death approaches, Dad's obsession has grown more intense. He’s started staying up late, poring over his maps and notes, muttering to himself about patterns and cycles. He’s convinced that the dogman reappears every ten years, and this is our window of opportunity to finally hunt it down.
I’m not nearly as convinced. The whole dogman thing seems like a coping mechanism, a way for Dad to channel his guilt and grief into something tangible, something he can fight against. But I decided to tag along on this trip, partly to keep an eye on him, partly because a small part of me hopes that maybe, just maybe, we’ll find some kind of closure out there in the woods.
I finish loading the rifle and set it aside, standing up to stretch my legs. I wipe my greasy hands on an old rag, trying to get rid of the smell. The early morning light is starting to seep into the room, casting long shadows across the floor.
Dad comes out of the kitchen with two thermoses of coffee in hand. His eyes are bleary and tired.
“You ready, Ryan?” he asks, handing me a thermos, his voice rough from too many sleepless nights.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” I reply, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
We load our gear into the truck, the weight of our supplies and weapons a physical reminder of the burden we carry. The drive from Lansing across the Lower Peninsula is long and quiet, the silence between us filled with unspoken memories and unresolved grief.
—
The drive north is a blur of highway lines and the dull hum of the engine. I drift off, the landscape outside blending into a haze. In my sleep, fragments of that day with Leah replay like scattered pieces of a puzzle. I see her smile, the way she tugged at my sleeve, eager to explore. The sunlight filters through the trees in sharp, jagged streaks.
Then, the memory shifts—darker, disjointed. Leah's voice echoes, a playful laugh turning into a scream that pierces the air. The crunch of leaves underfoot as something heavy moves through the underbrush. I see a shadow, large and looming, not quite fitting the shapes of any creature I know.
Then, something darker creeps into the dream, something I’ve never allowed myself to remember clearly.
Before I can see what it is I wake up with a start as the truck jerks slightly on a rough patch of road. Dad glances over. "Bad dream?" he asks. I nod, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, the remnants of the dream clinging to me like the cold.
"Yeah, just... thinking about Leah," I manage to say.
As we drive, Dad attempts to bridge the silence with small talk. He asks about my finals, my plans for the summer, anything to keep the conversation going. His voice carries a forced cheerfulness, but it’s clear his heart isn’t in it. I respond when necessary, my answers brief, my gaze fixed on the passing scenery.
The landscape changes as we head further north, from flat expanses to rolling hills dotted with dense patches of forest. It's beautiful country, the kind that reminds you how vast and wild Michigan can be, but today it just feels oppressive, like it’s closing in on us.
—
We finally arrive at the cabin, nestled deep in the woods, its weathered wood blending seamlessly with the surrounding trees. The place hasn't changed much since the last time I was here—a relic from another time, filled with the echoes of our past. I can still see Leah running around the porch, her laughter ringing out into the forest.
Dad parks the truck, and we step out into the crisp air. The smell of pine and damp earth fills my nostrils. We start unloading our gear, the tension between us palpable.
“Let’s get this inside,” Dad says, his voice gruff as he hefts a duffel bag onto his shoulder.
I nod, grabbing my own bag and following him to the cabin. Inside, it’s a mix of old and new—the same rustic furniture, but with new hunting gear and maps strewn across the table. Dad’s obsession is evident in every corner of the room, a constant reminder of why we’re here.
As we unpack, we exchange strained attempts at normalcy. He talks about the latest cryptid sightings he’s read about, his eyes lighting up with a fervor that both worries and saddens me.
“Did you hear about the sighting up near Alpena?” he asks, laying out his maps on the table.
“Yeah, you mentioned it,” I reply, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “Do you really think there’s something to it?”
Dad’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of doubt. But it’s quickly replaced by grim determination. “I have to believe it, Ryan. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
We finish unpacking, the silence between us growing heavier with each passing minute. I step outside to clear my head, the cool air a welcome relief. The sun is starting to set, casting long shadows across the clearing. I can’t shake the feeling of unease.
"You can take the upstairs room," Dad mutters. His voice is strained, trying to sound normal, but it's clear the weight of the past is heavy on him. I nod, hauling my backpack up the creaking stairs to the small bedroom that I used to share with Leah. The room feels smaller now, or maybe I've just grown too much since those innocent days.
I unpack silently, setting my things aside. The bed is stiff and cold under my touch. As I settle in, I can't help but glance at the corner where Leah and I would huddle together, whispering secrets and making plans for adventures that would never happen. I push the thoughts away, focusing on the practicalities of unpacking.
After settling in, I go back downstairs to find Dad loading up a backpack with supplies for our hunt. The intensity in his eyes is palpable, his hands moving with practiced precision. I know this routine; it's one he's perfected over countless solo trips since that fateful day.
"We'll head out early," he says, not looking up from his task. "Gotta make the most of the daylight."
I nod, though unease curls in my stomach. I'm not just worried about what we might find—or not find—out there. I'm worried about him. Each year, the obsession seems to carve him out a bit more, leaving less of the Dad I knew.
—
The morning air is sharp with the scent of pine and wet earth as Dad and I head into the deeper parts of the forest. The terrain is rugged, familiar in its untamed beauty, but there’s a tension between us that makes the landscape feel alien. Dad moves with a purposeful stride, his eyes scanning the woods around us. Every snap of a twig, every rustle in the underbrush seems to draw his attention. He’s on edge, and it puts me on edge too.
As we walk, my mind drifts back to that day ten years ago. I can almost hear Leah’s voice echoing through the trees, her high-pitched call as she darted ahead, "Catch me, Ryan!" I remember how the sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground. Those memories are so vivid, so tangible, it feels like I could just turn a corner and see her there, waiting for us.
Dad suddenly stops and kneels, examining the ground. He points out a set of tracks that are too large for a deer, with an unusual gait pattern. "It’s been here, Ry. I’m telling you, it’s close," he whispers, a mixture of excitement and something darker in his voice. I nod, though I’m not sure what to believe. Part of me wants to dismiss it all as grief-fueled obsession, but another part, the part that heard Leah's scream and saw something monstrous in the woods that day, isn’t so sure.
As we continue, Dad's comments become increasingly cryptic. "You know, they say the dogman moves in cycles, drawn to certain places, certain times. Like it’s tied to the land itself," he muses, more to himself than to me. His fixation on the creature has always been intense, but now it borders on mania.
We set up a makeshift blind near a clearing where Dad insists the creature will pass. Hours drag by with little to see but the occasional bird or distant deer.
The sun rises higher in the sky, casting long, slender shadows through the dense canopy. I shift uncomfortably in my spot, the forest floor hard and unyielding beneath me. My eyes dart between the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of something, anything, to break the monotony. Dad, on the other hand, remains steadfast, his gaze fixed on the treeline as if he can will the dogman into existence by sheer force of will.
A bird chirps nearby, startling me. I sigh and adjust my grip on the rifle. I glance over at Dad.
“Anything?” I ask, more out of boredom than genuine curiosity.
“Not yet,” he replies, his voice tight. “But it’s out there. I know it.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I believe him. The forest seems too quiet, too still. Maybe we’re chasing ghosts.
As the sun begins its descent, the forest is bathed in a warm, golden light. The air cools, and a breeze rustles the leaves. I shiver, more from anticipation than the cold. The long hours of sitting and waiting are starting to wear on me.
“Let’s call it a day for now,” Dad says finally, his voice heavy with disappointment. “We’ll head back to the cabin, get some rest, and try again tomorrow.”
I stand and stretch, feeling the stiffness in my muscles. We pack up our gear in silence and start the trek back to the cabin. The walk is long and quiet, the only sounds are the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant calls of birds settling in for the night.
—
Dinner is a quiet affair, both of us lost in our thoughts. I try to make small talk, asking Dad about his plans for tomorrow, but it feels forced. We clean up in silence.
After dinner, I retreat to the small bedroom. The fatigue from the day's hike has settled into my bones, but sleep still feels like a distant hope. I lie down, staring at the ceiling, the room cloaked in darkness save for the sliver of moonlight creeping through the window. Downstairs, I hear the faint sound of Dad moving around, likely unable to sleep himself.
I drift into sleep, but it's not restful. My dreams pull me back to that fateful day in the woods. Leah's voice is clear and vibrant, her laughter echoing through the trees. She looks just as she did then—bright-eyed and full of life, her blonde hair catching the sunlight as she runs ahead of me.
"Come on, Ry! You can't catch me!" she taunts, her voice playful and teasing.
I chase after her, but the scene shifts abruptly. The sky darkens, the woods around us growing dense and foreboding. Leah's laughter fades, replaced by a chilling silence. I see her ahead, standing still, her back to me.
"Leah?" I call out, my voice trembling. She turns slowly, her eyes wide and filled with fear. "Ryan, you have to remember," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "It wasn't what you think. You need to know the truth."
Leah’s words hang in the air, cryptic and unsettling. Before I can respond, she turns and starts running again, her figure becoming a blur among the trees. Panic rises in my chest as I sprint after her, my feet pounding against the forest floor.
“Leah, wait!” I shout, desperation lacing my voice. The forest around me seems to close in, the trees towering and twisted, shadows dancing menacingly in the dim light. I push forward, trying to keep her in sight, but she’s too fast, slipping away like a wisp of smoke.
Suddenly, there’s a rustle, a flash of movement in the corner of my vision. Leah screams, a sound that pierces through the heavy silence. It happens too quickly—I can’t see what it is, only a dark blur that snatches her up.
“Leah!” I scream, my voice breaking. I stumble, falling to my knees as the forest spins around me. My heart races, and the terror is so real, so visceral, that it pulls me back to that awful day, the one that changed everything.
I jolt awake, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I sit up, wiping the cold sweat from my forehead as I try to steady my breathing. The room is still dark, the shadows cast by the moonlight seem to flicker and dance on the walls. My heart is still racing from the nightmare, the echo of Leah's scream lingering in my ears.
As I struggle to calm down, the floorboards outside my room creak. The door opens slowly, and I see the silhouette of my dad in the doorway, a Bowie knife in his hand, his posture tense.
“Dad, what the hell are you doing?” I whisper, my voice shaking.
“Shh,” he hisses, holding up a hand to silence me. “I heard something. Something moving around in the cabin. Stay quiet.”
I swallow hard, my mouth dry. I glance at the clock on the nightstand—it’s just past three in the morning. The cabin is silent, the kind of deep, oppressive silence that makes every small sound seem louder. I can’t hear anything out of the ordinary, but Dad’s expression is deadly serious.
He motions for me to get up, and I do, moving as quietly as I can. My heart is racing, a mix of lingering fear from the dream and the sudden, sharp anxiety of the present moment. Dad leads the way, stepping cautiously out of the bedroom and into the hallway, the knife held ready in front of him.
We move through the cabin, checking each room in turn. The living room is empty, the furniture casting long shadows in the dim moonlight. The kitchen is just as we left it, the plates from dinner still drying on the counter. Everything seems normal, untouched.
We finish our sweep of the cabin without finding anything amiss. The silence is heavy, punctuated only by our soft footfalls. I can see the tension in Dad’s frame, his grip on the knife unwavering. After checking the last room, we pause in the dimly lit hallway, the air thick with unspoken questions.
“There’s nothing here,” I say, my voice low. “Are you sure you heard something?”
He looks at me, his eyes searching for something in my face. “I heard growling. Deep and close. It was right outside the window.”
“Maybe it was just an animal outside, a raccoon or something?” I suggest, although the certainty in his voice makes me doubt my own reassurance.
“No, it wasn’t like that. It was different,” he insists, his voice tense.
I nod, not wanting to argue, but the seeds of worry are planted deep.
The look in his eyes sends a chill down my spine. It’s not just fear—it’s desperation. The kind of desperation that comes from years of chasing shadows and finding nothing. I can see the toll this hunt has taken on him, the way it’s worn him down, turned him into a man I barely recognize.
We head back to our rooms. As I lie down, my mind races with thoughts of my dad. I can’t help but wonder if he’s losing it, if the years of grief and guilt have finally pushed him over the edge.
Dad wasn’t always like this. Before Leah’s death, he was the kind of father who took us fishing, helped with homework, and told terrible jokes that made us groan and laugh at the same time. He was solid, dependable. But losing Leah changed him. The guilt twisted him into someone I barely recognize, someone driven by a need for answers, for closure, that may never come.
I try to sleep, but my thoughts keep me awake. I can hear Dad moving around downstairs, probably pacing or double-checking the locks. His paranoia has become a constant presence, and I don’t know how to help him. I don’t even know if I can help him.
—
The next morning, the sunlight filters weakly through the cabin windows, casting a pale light that does little to lift the heavy mood. I drag myself out of bed, feeling the exhaustion of another restless night. Dad is already up, hunched over his maps at the kitchen table, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
“Morning,” I mumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I pour myself a cup of coffee. “Did you sleep at all?”
He shakes his head, not looking up from his notes. “Not much. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I heard last night.”
I sip my coffee, trying to shake off the remnants of my nightmare. “Maybe it was just an animal, Dad. We’re deep in the woods, after all.”
He finally looks up, his eyes intense. “Ryan, I know what I heard. It wasn’t just an animal. It was something else.”
I sigh, not wanting to argue. “Okay, fine, Dad. What’s the plan for today?”
“We’re going back out. I found some tracks yesterday, and I want to follow them. See where they lead.”
I nod, feeling a mix of apprehension and resignation. I can see how much this means to him, how desperate he is for any kind of lead. “Alright. Let’s get packed and head out.”
We spend the morning preparing, loading up our gear and double-checking our supplies. Dad is meticulous, going over everything with a fine-toothed comb. I try to match his focus, but my mind keeps drifting back to Leah and the dream I had. Her words echo in my head, cryptic and unsettling: “You need to know the truth.”
We set off into the woods, the air crisp and cool. The forest is alive with the sounds of birds and rustling leaves, but it all feels distant, like background noise to the tension between us. Dad leads the way, his eyes scanning the ground for any sign of the tracks he found yesterday.
As we walk, I can’t help but notice how erratically he’s acting. He mutters to himself, his eyes darting around as if expecting something to jump out at us. His grip on his rifle is tight, his knuckles white.
“Dad, are you okay?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
He glances at me, his expression unreadable. “I’m fine. Just focused.”
He stops frequently to examine the ground or the bark of trees, pointing out marks and signs that seem meaningless to me.
“Look at this,” he says, crouching down to examine a broken branch. “See how it’s snapped? That’s not a deer or a bear. That’s something bigger. Stronger.”
I crouch next to Dad, squinting at the broken branch. To me, it just looks like a regular broken branch, the kind you see all over the forest. "I don't know, Dad. It just looks like a branch to me," I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.
Dad's eyes flicker with frustration. "You're not looking close enough. It's the way it's snapped—too clean, too deliberate. Something did this."
I nod, not wanting to argue. "Okay, sure. But even if you're right, it could be anything. A storm, another hunter..."
His expression hardens. "I know what I'm looking for. This is different."
I sigh, feeling the weight of the past and the tension between us pressing down on me. "Dad, I had a dream last night. About Leah." The words hang in the air between us, heavy and fraught with unspoken emotions.
Dad's eyes widen, and he straightens up, his entire demeanor shifting. "What kind of dream? What did you see?" His voice is urgent, almost desperate.
"It was... strange. We were in the woods, like we are now, but everything felt different. Leah was there, running ahead of me, laughing. Then she stopped and told me I needed to know the truth, that it wasn't what I thought."
Dad grabs my shoulders, his grip tight. "What else did she say? Did she tell you anything specific? Anything about the creature?"
I shake my head, feeling a chill run down my spine. "No, that was it. She just said I needed to know the truth, and then she was gone."
Dad’s grip on my shoulders tightens, and his eyes bore into mine with a mixture of desperation and hope. “Ryan, you have to try to remember. Think hard. What did the creature look like? Did you see anything else?”
I pull back slightly, uneasy with his intensity. “Dad, I told you. I don’t remember. It was just a dream. A nightmare, really. My mind’s probably just mixing things up.”
He lets go of me and runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated and lost. “Dreams can be important. They can hold memories we’ve buried deep. Please, try to remember. This could be a sign, a clue.”
I rub my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “I’ve tried, okay? I’ve tried for years to piece together what happened that day. But it’s all just fragments, like pieces of a puzzle that don’t fit. The dream… it felt real, but I don’t think it’s telling me anything new.”
Dad’s face falls, and he looks older than I’ve ever seen him. He turns away, staring into the forest as if it holds all the answers.
—
As we make our way back to the cabin, the sun begins to set, casting long shadows through the trees. The air grows colder, and I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter around me. Dad is silent, lost in his thoughts, his face drawn and haggard.
Back at the cabin, we unload our gear once again in silence. Dad disappears into his room, muttering something about going over his notes. I decide to explore the cabin, hoping to find something that might help me understand what’s going on with him.
In the attic, I find a box of old family photos and documents. As I sift through the contents, I come across a worn journal with Dad’s handwriting on the cover. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I open it, flipping through the pages.
The journal is filled with notes and sketches, detailing his obsession with the dogman. But there’s something else—entries that talk about Leah, about that day in the woods. His handwriting becomes more erratic, the words harder to read. One entry stands out, dated just a few days after Leah’s death:
“June 15, 2013 – It was supposed to be a normal trip. Keep them close, Frank, I kept telling myself. But I failed. Leah is gone, and it’s my fault. I heard her scream, saw the shadows. I tried to get to her, but… the thing, it was there. Too fast. Too strong. My hands… blood everywhere. No one will believe me. I can’t even believe myself. I have to find it. I have to protect Ryan. I have to make it right. God, what have I done?”
Before I can read further, the attic door creaks open, and Dad’s voice slices through the stillness.
“What are you doing up here?” His tone is sharp, almost panicked.
I turn to see him standing in the doorway, his face pale and his eyes wide with something between anger and fear. I clutch the journal to my chest, my mind racing. “I found this… I was just trying to understand…”
In an instant, he crosses the room and snatches the journal from my hands. His grip is tight, his knuckles white. “You had no right,” he growls, his voice trembling.
“Dad, I just wanted to know the truth!” I shout, frustration boiling over. “What really happened to Leah.”
His eyes flash with a mix of rage and anguish, and before I can react, he slaps me across the face. The force of it knocks me off balance, and I stumble backward, my cheek stinging.
For a moment, there’s a stunned silence. We both stand there, breathing hard, the air thick with tension.
“I’m sorry,” Dad says finally, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to… I just…” He trails off, clutching the journal to his chest like a lifeline.
I touch my cheek, feeling the heat from the slap, and take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Dad, what aren’t you telling me? What really happened that day?”
“Stay out of it, Ryan,” Dad growls, his eyes dark with anger. “You don’t know what you’re messing with.”
He turns and storms out of the attic. I’m left standing there, my cheek throbbing, my mind racing. What the fuck is going on? What really happened to Leah? And what is Dad so afraid of?
—
That night, I sleep with my rifle within arm's reach, more afraid of my dad than any dogman. The slap still burns on my cheek, and the look in his eyes—rage, fear, something darker—haunts me. I lie awake, listening to the creaks and groans of the old cabin, every sound amplified in the stillness. Eventually, exhaustion pulls me under, and I fall into a restless sleep.
The dream returns, vivid and unsettling. I'm back in the woods, chasing after Leah. Her laughter echoes through the trees, a haunting reminder of happier times. This time, though, I push myself harder, refusing to let her slip away.
"Ryan, catch me!" she calls, her voice playful.
"I'm coming, Leah!" I shout, my legs pumping, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
The forest around us is a twisted, shadowy maze, the trees seeming to close in on us. Leah's figure becomes clearer, her blonde hair catching the dim light filtering through the canopy. She stops suddenly, turning to face me, her eyes wide with fear.
"Leah, what is it?" I ask, my voice trembling.
"Look behind you," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I turn slowly, dread creeping up my spine. In the shadows, I see a figure, its form indistinct and shifting. It’s not quite animal, not quite human—something in between. The sight of it sends a jolt of terror through me, and I wake up with a start, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I’m not in my bed. The ground beneath me is cold and hard, the smell of damp earth filling my nostrils. Panic rises as I realize I’ve sleepwalked into the woods. I scramble to my feet, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The moon casts a pale glow over the surroundings, revealing what looks like a long-abandoned animal lair.
The walls are covered in giant claw marks, deep gouges in the wood and earth. The air is heavy with the scent of decay, and a chill runs through me. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.
Carefully, I start to move, my eyes scanning the ground, desperate for a familiar landmark. That's when I see them—faded scraps of fabric caught on the jagged edges of the underbrush. My steps falter, a sense of dread washing over me as I bend down to examine them. The fabric is torn, weathered by time and the elements, but unmistakably familiar. It's part of Leah's jacket—the bright pink one she wore on the day she disappeared.
As I strain to make sense of it all, a rustling sound behind me snaps my focus. My heart leaps into my throat. I spin around, my hand instinctively reaching for the rifle I don't have—because, of course, I didn't bring it in my unconscious state.
The shadowy figure that emerges from the trees is unsettlingly familiar, mirroring the menacing forms of my nightmares. But as it steps into the moonlight, I recognize the worn jacket, the weary posture. It's Dad.
"Ryan!" he calls out, his voice a mix of relief and stern concern. "I've been looking everywhere for you. What the hell are you doing out here?"
I exhale slowly, the terror ebbing away as reality sets back in. "I—I don't know, Dad. I must've sleepwalked again." My voice is shaky, my earlier dream still clinging to the edges of my consciousness.
Dad stares at me in disbelief. "You haven't sleepwalked since you were a kid, Ry. This... this isn't just a coincidence." His eyes dart around, taking in the surroundings—the eerie, claw-marked den, the unsettling quiet of the woods. "How did you even find this place?"
I shake my head, struggling to find an answer. "I don't know, Dad. I just... I woke up here." The uncertainty in my voice does nothing to ease the tension.
His eyes lock onto the tattered remains of Leah's jacket in my hands, and something inside him snaps. The color drains from his face as he stumbles a few steps backward. "This... this is where it happened," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. “This is where we found Leah."
“I thought you said you don’t remember anything from that night,” he says accusingly.
"I swear, Dad, I don't know anything about this place," I insist, my own heart pounding.
“It was you, wasn’t it? You’ve been hiding this from me.” His voice is frantic. “You... last night, the growling, it was you.” His voice rises, tinged with hysteria.
I step back, my pulse racing, feeling the chill of the night and the weight of his accusation. "Dad, I don't know what you're talking ab—”
"No!" he interrupts, his voice breaking as he points a trembling finger at me. "You knew, you always knew. It was you, Ryan. All these years, the evidence was right there, but I refused to see it. You were the dogman. You killed Leah!"
His words hit me like a physical blow, absurd and horrifying in their implications. "Dad, you're not making any sense. You're talking crazy! I was just a little kid! How could I–" I protest, my voice shaky.
He steps closer, his presence looming over me, the outline of his figure distorted by the shadows of the trees. "Think about it! It all makes sense now. You led us here, to this place, because you remember. Because you did it."
"Dad, stop it!" I shout, my heart pounding in my chest. "You're scaring me. You need help, professional help. This isn't you."
But he's beyond reason, his eyes wild with a haunted grief. "I have to end this," he mutters, more to himself than to me, his hand tightening around his rifle.
His finger hovers dangerously over the trigger of his rifle. My instincts kick in, and I know I have to act fast.
I lunge toward him, trying to knock the weapon away, but he's quicker than I expected. We struggle, our breaths heavy in the cold night air, the sounds of our scuffle the only noise in the otherwise silent woods. His strength surprises me, fueled by his frantic emotions. He shoves me back, and I stumble over a root, my balance lost for a crucial second. That's all he needs. He raises his rifle, his intentions clear in his wild, pained eyes.
I dive to the ground just as the shot rings out, a deafening blast that echoes ominously through the trees. The bullet whizzes past, narrowly missing me, embedding itself in the bark of an old pine. I scramble to my feet, my heart pounding in my ears, and I start running. The underbrush claws at my clothes and skin, but I push through, driven by a primal urge to survive.
"Dad, stop! It's me, Ryan!" I shout back as I dodge between the trees. Another shot breaks the silence, closer this time, sending splinters of wood flying from a nearby tree trunk. It's surreal, being hunted by my own father, a man tormented by grief and lost in his delusions.
I don't stop to look back. I can hear him crashing through the forest behind me, his heavy breaths and muttered curses carried on the wind. The terrain is rough, and I'm fueled by adrenaline, but exhaustion is setting in. I need a plan.
Ahead, I see a rocky outcrop and make a split-second decision to head for it. It offers a chance to hide, to catch my breath and maybe reason with him if he catches up. As I reach the rocks, I slip behind the largest one, my body pressed tight against the cold, damp surface. I hear his footsteps approaching, slow and cautious now.
As I press against the rock, trying to calm my racing heart, I can hear Dad's footsteps drawing closer, each step crunching ominously on the forest floor. He's methodical, deliberate, like a hunter stalking his prey.
“Come out, Ryan!” Dad’s voice is ragged, filled with a blend of fury and pain.
My heart pounds against my chest, the cold sweat on my back making me shiver against the rough surface of the rock. I know I can't just sit here; it's only a matter of time before he finds me.
Taking a deep breath, I peek around the edge of the rock, trying to gauge his position. I see him, rifle raised, scanning the area slowly. This might be my only chance to end this madness without further violence. I need to disarm him, to talk some sense into him if I can.
As quietly as I can, I move out from behind the rock, my steps careful to avoid any twigs or leaves that might betray my position. I'm almost upon him when a branch snaps under my foot—a sound so trivial yet so alarmingly loud in the quiet of the woods.
Dad whirls around, looking completely unhinged. "Ryan!" he exclaims, his rifle swinging in my direction. Panic overtakes me, and I lunge forward, my hands reaching for the gun.
We struggle, the rifle between us, our breaths heavy and erratic. "Dad, please, stop!" I plead, trying to wrestle the gun away. But he's strong, stronger than I expected.
In the chaos, the rifle goes off. The sound is deafening, a sharp echo that seems to reverberate off every tree around us. Pain explodes in my abdomen, sharp and burning, like nothing I've ever felt before. I stagger back, my hands instinctively going to the wound. The warmth of my own blood coats my fingers, stark and terrifying.
Dad drops the rifle, his eyes wide with horror. "Oh my God! What have I done?" he gasps, rushing to my side as I collapse onto the forest floor.
As the pain sears through me, a strange, overpowering energy surges within. It's wild, primal, unlike anything I've ever experienced. Looking down in horror, my hands are no longer hands but large, hairy, clawed appendages. The transformation is rapid, consuming—my vision blurs, senses heighten, and a raw, guttural growl builds in my throat.
In that moment, a flood of understanding washes over me, mingling with the horror of realization. These are the hands of the creature from my nightmares, the creature whose face I can never fully recall because, as I now understand, it is me.
What happens next feels detached, as if I'm no longer in control of my own actions, watching from a distance as my body moves on its own. I turn towards my dad, his face a mask of terror. He stumbles back, his eyes wide with the dawning realization of what his son has become.
The forest around us seems to fall silent, holding its breath as the nightmarish scene unfolds. I can hear my own growls, guttural and deep, filling the air with a sound that's both foreign and intimately familiar. The pain in my abdomen fuels a dark, violent urge, an urge that's too strong to resist.
With a ferocity that feels both alien and intrinsic, I move towards him. My dad, paralyzed by fear and shock, doesn't run. Maybe he can't. Maybe he doesn't want to.
The encounter was brutal and swift, a blur of motion and violence. My dad barely puts up a struggle, as though resigned to his fate.
Not that there is anything he can do. The creature that I’ve become is too powerful, too consumed by the wild instincts surging through me. I tear him apart, limb from bloody limb, my hands—no, my claws—rending through fabric and flesh with disgusting ease.
The sound of my dad’s screams, of tearing fabric and flesh is drowned out by the animalistic growls that echo through the trees.
When it’s all over, the red mist that had clouded my vision begins to fade, and the fierce, uncontrollable rage that drove my actions subsides. I'm left standing, my breaths heavy and erratic, in the eerie stillness of the forest. The transformation reverses as quickly as it came on, and I find myself back in my human form. My clothes are ripped to shreds, hanging off my frame in tattered remnants. At my feet lies what’s left of my dad, his body torn and unrecognizable.
I glance down at my abdomen, expecting agony, but instead find my wound miraculously healed. No sign of the gunshot remains, just a faint scar where I expected a bloody mess.
Shock sets in, a numbing disbelief mixed with a gut-wrenching realization of what I've become and what I've done. My hands, now human again, tremble as I look at them, half-expecting to see the claws that had so effortlessly ripped through flesh and bone. But there's only blood, my father's blood against my skin.
I stand there for what feels like an eternity, trapped in a nightmare of my own making.
Eventually, the shock wears thin, and a cold practicality takes hold. I need to get out of here. I need to cover my tracks, to disappear. Because who would believe this? Who would understand that I didn't choose this, that I'm not a monster by choice?
With trembling hands, I do what’s necessary. I bury my dad in a shallow grave, the physical act of digging strangely grounding. I cover him with leaves and branches, a pitiful attempt to hide the brutality of his end. I take a moment, whispering apologies into the wind, knowing full well that nothing I say can change what happened.
I leave the forest behind, my mind a whirl of dark thoughts. As I walk, the first hints of dawn brush against the horizon, the sky bleeding a soft pink. It’s hauntingly beautiful.
2024.05.19 20:03 turbochargedmonkey How to claim an auto-generated 'inofficial club page' for a non-profit?
I am involved in a non-profit organization that is admittedly a little late to the social media game. There exists an 'unofficial' Facebook page that was apparently auto-generated with data from Google Maps. We would like to claim this page so that we can keep it up to date and use it to inform people about our activities and where they can get help.
So far, we have successfully created a business profile and are now wondering how to tell Facebook that we are the legitimate proprietors for this page. When we go to 'Add page' in our business profile and add this existing page, Facebook says we can only add pages where we are already the admin.
This seems a bit nonsensical in this case, since the page does not appear to have an admin at all since it was automatically created from Google Maps data (the tooltip behind the (i) symbol suggests as much).
Is there a way we can claim this existing page so that we can get the admin rights for it and are able to modify/maintain it? How do we go about to achieve that?
submitted by turbochargedmonkey to facebook [link] [comments]
So far, we have successfully created a business profile and are now wondering how to tell Facebook that we are the legitimate proprietors for this page. When we go to 'Add page' in our business profile and add this existing page, Facebook says we can only add pages where we are already the admin.
This seems a bit nonsensical in this case, since the page does not appear to have an admin at all since it was automatically created from Google Maps data (the tooltip behind the (i) symbol suggests as much).
Is there a way we can claim this existing page so that we can get the admin rights for it and are able to modify/maintain it? How do we go about to achieve that?
2024.05.19 20:02 PageTurner627 My Dad and I Hunted Down the Dogman that Killed My Sister
I’ve always hated the smell of gun oil. It clings to everything it touches, soaking deep into the fibers of my clothes, the lining of my backpack, the coarse hair on the back of my hands. Yet here I am, kneeling on the cracked linoleum of our mudroom, a Remington .308 laid across my thighs, and the stench of gun oil sharp in my nostrils. The early morning light barely scratches at the edges of the blinds, dim and gray like the belly of a dead fish.
My dad Frank is in the kitchen, clattering around with the coffeepot and mumbling under his breath. Today we’re heading up to the woods of Northern Michigan, same as we did every year before Leah… before we lost her.
I can’t help but feel the old scars throbbing as I load bullets into the magazine. It’s been ten years since that hunting trip, the one that tore my family into before and after. Before, when Leah's laughter was a constant soundtrack to our lives; after, when every silence was filled with her absence.
We were just kids back then. I was ten, Leah was eight. It was supposed to be a typical hunting trip, one of those bonding experiences Dad was always talking about. But things went wrong. We got separated from Dad somehow. One minute we were following him, the next we were lost, the dense woods closing in around us.
Dad says when he found me, I was huddled under a fallen tree, my eyes wide, my body frozen. All I could mutter through chattering teeth was "Dogman."
It was only later, after the search parties had combed through every thicket and hollow, that they found her. What remained of Leah was barely recognizable, the evidence of a brutal mauling undeniable. The authorities concluded it was likely a bear attack, but Dad... he never accepted that explanation. He had seen the tracks, too large and oddly shaped for any bear.
As I load another round, the memory flashes, unbidden and unwelcome. Large, hairy clawed hands reaching out towards us, impossibly big, grotesque in their form. Yet, the rest of the creature eludes me, a shadow just beyond the edge of my recall, leaving me with nothing but fragmented terrors and Leah’s haunting, echoing screams. My mind blocked most of it out, a self-defense mechanism, I guess.
For years after that day, sleep was a battleground. I'd wake up in strange places—kitchen floor, backyard, even at the edge of the nearby creek. My therapist said it was my mind's way of trying to resolve the unresolved, to wander back through the woods searching for Leah. But all I found in those sleepless nights was a deeper sense of loss.
It took time, a lot of therapy, and patience I didn't know I had, but the sleepwalking did eventually stop. I guess I started to find some semblance of peace.
I have mostly moved on with my life. The fragmentary memories of that day are still there, lurking in the corners of my mind, but they don’t dominate my thoughts like they used to. I just finished my sophomore year at Michigan State, majoring in Environmental Science.
As for Dad, the loss of Leah broke him. He became a shell of himself. It destroyed his marriage with Mom. He blamed himself for letting us out of his sight, for not protecting Leah. His life took on a single, consuming focus: finding the creature that killed her. He read every book, every article on cryptids and unexplained phenomena. He mapped sightings, connected dots across blurry photos and shaky testimonies of the Dogman.
But as the tenth anniversary of Leah’s death approaches, Dad's obsession has grown more intense. He’s started staying up late, poring over his maps and notes, muttering to himself about patterns and cycles. He’s convinced that the dogman reappears every ten years, and this is our window of opportunity to finally hunt it down.
I’m not nearly as convinced. The whole dogman thing seems like a coping mechanism, a way for Dad to channel his guilt and grief into something tangible, something he can fight against. But I decided to tag along on this trip, partly to keep an eye on him, partly because a small part of me hopes that maybe, just maybe, we’ll find some kind of closure out there in the woods.
I finish loading the rifle and set it aside, standing up to stretch my legs. I wipe my greasy hands on an old rag, trying to get rid of the smell. The early morning light is starting to seep into the room, casting long shadows across the floor.
Dad comes out of the kitchen with two thermoses of coffee in hand. His eyes are bleary and tired.
“You ready, Ryan?” he asks, handing me a thermos, his voice rough from too many sleepless nights.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” I reply, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
We load our gear into the truck, the weight of our supplies and weapons a physical reminder of the burden we carry. The drive from Lansing across the Lower Peninsula is long and quiet, the silence between us filled with unspoken memories and unresolved grief.
—
The drive north is a blur of highway lines and the dull hum of the engine. I drift off, the landscape outside blending into a haze. In my sleep, fragments of that day with Leah replay like scattered pieces of a puzzle. I see her smile, the way she tugged at my sleeve, eager to explore. The sunlight filters through the trees in sharp, jagged streaks.
Then, the memory shifts—darker, disjointed. Leah's voice echoes, a playful laugh turning into a scream that pierces the air. The crunch of leaves underfoot as something heavy moves through the underbrush. I see a shadow, large and looming, not quite fitting the shapes of any creature I know.
Then, something darker creeps into the dream, something I’ve never allowed myself to remember clearly.
Before I can see what it is I wake up with a start as the truck jerks slightly on a rough patch of road. Dad glances over. "Bad dream?" he asks. I nod, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, the remnants of the dream clinging to me like the cold.
"Yeah, just... thinking about Leah," I manage to say.
As we drive, Dad attempts to bridge the silence with small talk. He asks about my finals, my plans for the summer, anything to keep the conversation going. His voice carries a forced cheerfulness, but it’s clear his heart isn’t in it. I respond when necessary, my answers brief, my gaze fixed on the passing scenery.
The landscape changes as we head further north, from flat expanses to rolling hills dotted with dense patches of forest. It's beautiful country, the kind that reminds you how vast and wild Michigan can be, but today it just feels oppressive, like it’s closing in on us.
—
We finally arrive at the cabin, nestled deep in the woods, its weathered wood blending seamlessly with the surrounding trees. The place hasn't changed much since the last time I was here—a relic from another time, filled with the echoes of our past. I can still see Leah running around the porch, her laughter ringing out into the forest.
Dad parks the truck, and we step out into the crisp air. The smell of pine and damp earth fills my nostrils. We start unloading our gear, the tension between us palpable.
“Let’s get this inside,” Dad says, his voice gruff as he hefts a duffel bag onto his shoulder.
I nod, grabbing my own bag and following him to the cabin. Inside, it’s a mix of old and new—the same rustic furniture, but with new hunting gear and maps strewn across the table. Dad’s obsession is evident in every corner of the room, a constant reminder of why we’re here.
As we unpack, we exchange strained attempts at normalcy. He talks about the latest cryptid sightings he’s read about, his eyes lighting up with a fervor that both worries and saddens me.
“Did you hear about the sighting up near Alpena?” he asks, laying out his maps on the table.
“Yeah, you mentioned it,” I reply, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “Do you really think there’s something to it?”
Dad’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of doubt. But it’s quickly replaced by grim determination. “I have to believe it, Ryan. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
We finish unpacking, the silence between us growing heavier with each passing minute. I step outside to clear my head, the cool air a welcome relief. The sun is starting to set, casting long shadows across the clearing. I can’t shake the feeling of unease.
"You can take the upstairs room," Dad mutters. His voice is strained, trying to sound normal, but it's clear the weight of the past is heavy on him. I nod, hauling my backpack up the creaking stairs to the small bedroom that I used to share with Leah. The room feels smaller now, or maybe I've just grown too much since those innocent days.
I unpack silently, setting my things aside. The bed is stiff and cold under my touch. As I settle in, I can't help but glance at the corner where Leah and I would huddle together, whispering secrets and making plans for adventures that would never happen. I push the thoughts away, focusing on the practicalities of unpacking.
After settling in, I go back downstairs to find Dad loading up a backpack with supplies for our hunt. The intensity in his eyes is palpable, his hands moving with practiced precision. I know this routine; it's one he's perfected over countless solo trips since that fateful day.
"We'll head out early," he says, not looking up from his task. "Gotta make the most of the daylight."
I nod, though unease curls in my stomach. I'm not just worried about what we might find—or not find—out there. I'm worried about him. Each year, the obsession seems to carve him out a bit more, leaving less of the Dad I knew.
—
The morning air is sharp with the scent of pine and wet earth as Dad and I head into the deeper parts of the forest. The terrain is rugged, familiar in its untamed beauty, but there’s a tension between us that makes the landscape feel alien. Dad moves with a purposeful stride, his eyes scanning the woods around us. Every snap of a twig, every rustle in the underbrush seems to draw his attention. He’s on edge, and it puts me on edge too.
As we walk, my mind drifts back to that day ten years ago. I can almost hear Leah’s voice echoing through the trees, her high-pitched call as she darted ahead, "Catch me, Ryan!" I remember how the sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground. Those memories are so vivid, so tangible, it feels like I could just turn a corner and see her there, waiting for us.
Dad suddenly stops and kneels, examining the ground. He points out a set of tracks that are too large for a deer, with an unusual gait pattern. "It’s been here, Ry. I’m telling you, it’s close," he whispers, a mixture of excitement and something darker in his voice. I nod, though I’m not sure what to believe. Part of me wants to dismiss it all as grief-fueled obsession, but another part, the part that heard Leah's scream and saw something monstrous in the woods that day, isn’t so sure.
As we continue, Dad's comments become increasingly cryptic. "You know, they say the dogman moves in cycles, drawn to certain places, certain times. Like it’s tied to the land itself," he muses, more to himself than to me. His fixation on the creature has always been intense, but now it borders on mania.
We set up a makeshift blind near a clearing where Dad insists the creature will pass. Hours drag by with little to see but the occasional bird or distant deer.
The sun rises higher in the sky, casting long, slender shadows through the dense canopy. I shift uncomfortably in my spot, the forest floor hard and unyielding beneath me. My eyes dart between the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of something, anything, to break the monotony. Dad, on the other hand, remains steadfast, his gaze fixed on the treeline as if he can will the dogman into existence by sheer force of will.
A bird chirps nearby, startling me. I sigh and adjust my grip on the rifle. I glance over at Dad.
“Anything?” I ask, more out of boredom than genuine curiosity.
“Not yet,” he replies, his voice tight. “But it’s out there. I know it.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I believe him. The forest seems too quiet, too still. Maybe we’re chasing ghosts.
As the sun begins its descent, the forest is bathed in a warm, golden light. The air cools, and a breeze rustles the leaves. I shiver, more from anticipation than the cold. The long hours of sitting and waiting are starting to wear on me.
“Let’s call it a day for now,” Dad says finally, his voice heavy with disappointment. “We’ll head back to the cabin, get some rest, and try again tomorrow.”
I stand and stretch, feeling the stiffness in my muscles. We pack up our gear in silence and start the trek back to the cabin. The walk is long and quiet, the only sounds are the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant calls of birds settling in for the night.
—
Dinner is a quiet affair, both of us lost in our thoughts. I try to make small talk, asking Dad about his plans for tomorrow, but it feels forced. We clean up in silence.
After dinner, I retreat to the small bedroom. The fatigue from the day's hike has settled into my bones, but sleep still feels like a distant hope. I lie down, staring at the ceiling, the room cloaked in darkness save for the sliver of moonlight creeping through the window. Downstairs, I hear the faint sound of Dad moving around, likely unable to sleep himself.
I drift into sleep, but it's not restful. My dreams pull me back to that fateful day in the woods. Leah's voice is clear and vibrant, her laughter echoing through the trees. She looks just as she did then—bright-eyed and full of life, her blonde hair catching the sunlight as she runs ahead of me.
"Come on, Ry! You can't catch me!" she taunts, her voice playful and teasing.
I chase after her, but the scene shifts abruptly. The sky darkens, the woods around us growing dense and foreboding. Leah's laughter fades, replaced by a chilling silence. I see her ahead, standing still, her back to me.
"Leah?" I call out, my voice trembling. She turns slowly, her eyes wide and filled with fear. "Ryan, you have to remember," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "It wasn't what you think. You need to know the truth."
Leah’s words hang in the air, cryptic and unsettling. Before I can respond, she turns and starts running again, her figure becoming a blur among the trees. Panic rises in my chest as I sprint after her, my feet pounding against the forest floor.
“Leah, wait!” I shout, desperation lacing my voice. The forest around me seems to close in, the trees towering and twisted, shadows dancing menacingly in the dim light. I push forward, trying to keep her in sight, but she’s too fast, slipping away like a wisp of smoke.
Suddenly, there’s a rustle, a flash of movement in the corner of my vision. Leah screams, a sound that pierces through the heavy silence. It happens too quickly—I can’t see what it is, only a dark blur that snatches her up.
“Leah!” I scream, my voice breaking. I stumble, falling to my knees as the forest spins around me. My heart races, and the terror is so real, so visceral, that it pulls me back to that awful day, the one that changed everything.
I jolt awake, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I sit up, wiping the cold sweat from my forehead as I try to steady my breathing. The room is still dark, the shadows cast by the moonlight seem to flicker and dance on the walls. My heart is still racing from the nightmare, the echo of Leah's scream lingering in my ears.
As I struggle to calm down, the floorboards outside my room creak. The door opens slowly, and I see the silhouette of my dad in the doorway, a Bowie knife in his hand, his posture tense.
“Dad, what the hell are you doing?” I whisper, my voice shaking.
“Shh,” he hisses, holding up a hand to silence me. “I heard something. Something moving around in the cabin. Stay quiet.”
I swallow hard, my mouth dry. I glance at the clock on the nightstand—it’s just past three in the morning. The cabin is silent, the kind of deep, oppressive silence that makes every small sound seem louder. I can’t hear anything out of the ordinary, but Dad’s expression is deadly serious.
He motions for me to get up, and I do, moving as quietly as I can. My heart is racing, a mix of lingering fear from the dream and the sudden, sharp anxiety of the present moment. Dad leads the way, stepping cautiously out of the bedroom and into the hallway, the knife held ready in front of him.
We move through the cabin, checking each room in turn. The living room is empty, the furniture casting long shadows in the dim moonlight. The kitchen is just as we left it, the plates from dinner still drying on the counter. Everything seems normal, untouched.
We finish our sweep of the cabin without finding anything amiss. The silence is heavy, punctuated only by our soft footfalls. I can see the tension in Dad’s frame, his grip on the knife unwavering. After checking the last room, we pause in the dimly lit hallway, the air thick with unspoken questions.
“There’s nothing here,” I say, my voice low. “Are you sure you heard something?”
He looks at me, his eyes searching for something in my face. “I heard growling. Deep and close. It was right outside the window.”
“Maybe it was just an animal outside, a raccoon or something?” I suggest, although the certainty in his voice makes me doubt my own reassurance.
“No, it wasn’t like that. It was different,” he insists, his voice tense.
I nod, not wanting to argue, but the seeds of worry are planted deep.
The look in his eyes sends a chill down my spine. It’s not just fear—it’s desperation. The kind of desperation that comes from years of chasing shadows and finding nothing. I can see the toll this hunt has taken on him, the way it’s worn him down, turned him into a man I barely recognize.
We head back to our rooms. As I lie down, my mind races with thoughts of my dad. I can’t help but wonder if he’s losing it, if the years of grief and guilt have finally pushed him over the edge.
Dad wasn’t always like this. Before Leah’s death, he was the kind of father who took us fishing, helped with homework, and told terrible jokes that made us groan and laugh at the same time. He was solid, dependable. But losing Leah changed him. The guilt twisted him into someone I barely recognize, someone driven by a need for answers, for closure, that may never come.
I try to sleep, but my thoughts keep me awake. I can hear Dad moving around downstairs, probably pacing or double-checking the locks. His paranoia has become a constant presence, and I don’t know how to help him. I don’t even know if I can help him.
—
The next morning, the sunlight filters weakly through the cabin windows, casting a pale light that does little to lift the heavy mood. I drag myself out of bed, feeling the exhaustion of another restless night. Dad is already up, hunched over his maps at the kitchen table, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
“Morning,” I mumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I pour myself a cup of coffee. “Did you sleep at all?”
He shakes his head, not looking up from his notes. “Not much. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I heard last night.”
I sip my coffee, trying to shake off the remnants of my nightmare. “Maybe it was just an animal, Dad. We’re deep in the woods, after all.”
He finally looks up, his eyes intense. “Ryan, I know what I heard. It wasn’t just an animal. It was something else.”
I sigh, not wanting to argue. “Okay, fine, Dad. What’s the plan for today?”
“We’re going back out. I found some tracks yesterday, and I want to follow them. See where they lead.”
I nod, feeling a mix of apprehension and resignation. I can see how much this means to him, how desperate he is for any kind of lead. “Alright. Let’s get packed and head out.”
We spend the morning preparing, loading up our gear and double-checking our supplies. Dad is meticulous, going over everything with a fine-toothed comb. I try to match his focus, but my mind keeps drifting back to Leah and the dream I had. Her words echo in my head, cryptic and unsettling: “You need to know the truth.”
We set off into the woods, the air crisp and cool. The forest is alive with the sounds of birds and rustling leaves, but it all feels distant, like background noise to the tension between us. Dad leads the way, his eyes scanning the ground for any sign of the tracks he found yesterday.
As we walk, I can’t help but notice how erratically he’s acting. He mutters to himself, his eyes darting around as if expecting something to jump out at us. His grip on his rifle is tight, his knuckles white.
“Dad, are you okay?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
He glances at me, his expression unreadable. “I’m fine. Just focused.”
He stops frequently to examine the ground or the bark of trees, pointing out marks and signs that seem meaningless to me.
“Look at this,” he says, crouching down to examine a broken branch. “See how it’s snapped? That’s not a deer or a bear. That’s something bigger. Stronger.”
I crouch next to Dad, squinting at the broken branch. To me, it just looks like a regular broken branch, the kind you see all over the forest. "I don't know, Dad. It just looks like a branch to me," I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.
Dad's eyes flicker with frustration. "You're not looking close enough. It's the way it's snapped—too clean, too deliberate. Something did this."
I nod, not wanting to argue. "Okay, sure. But even if you're right, it could be anything. A storm, another hunter..."
His expression hardens. "I know what I'm looking for. This is different."
I sigh, feeling the weight of the past and the tension between us pressing down on me. "Dad, I had a dream last night. About Leah." The words hang in the air between us, heavy and fraught with unspoken emotions.
Dad's eyes widen, and he straightens up, his entire demeanor shifting. "What kind of dream? What did you see?" His voice is urgent, almost desperate.
"It was... strange. We were in the woods, like we are now, but everything felt different. Leah was there, running ahead of me, laughing. Then she stopped and told me I needed to know the truth, that it wasn't what I thought."
Dad grabs my shoulders, his grip tight. "What else did she say? Did she tell you anything specific? Anything about the creature?"
I shake my head, feeling a chill run down my spine. "No, that was it. She just said I needed to know the truth, and then she was gone."
Dad’s grip on my shoulders tightens, and his eyes bore into mine with a mixture of desperation and hope. “Ryan, you have to try to remember. Think hard. What did the creature look like? Did you see anything else?”
I pull back slightly, uneasy with his intensity. “Dad, I told you. I don’t remember. It was just a dream. A nightmare, really. My mind’s probably just mixing things up.”
He lets go of me and runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated and lost. “Dreams can be important. They can hold memories we’ve buried deep. Please, try to remember. This could be a sign, a clue.”
I rub my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “I’ve tried, okay? I’ve tried for years to piece together what happened that day. But it’s all just fragments, like pieces of a puzzle that don’t fit. The dream… it felt real, but I don’t think it’s telling me anything new.”
Dad’s face falls, and he looks older than I’ve ever seen him. He turns away, staring into the forest as if it holds all the answers.
—
As we make our way back to the cabin, the sun begins to set, casting long shadows through the trees. The air grows colder, and I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter around me. Dad is silent, lost in his thoughts, his face drawn and haggard.
Back at the cabin, we unload our gear once again in silence. Dad disappears into his room, muttering something about going over his notes. I decide to explore the cabin, hoping to find something that might help me understand what’s going on with him.
In the attic, I find a box of old family photos and documents. As I sift through the contents, I come across a worn journal with Dad’s handwriting on the cover. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I open it, flipping through the pages.
The journal is filled with notes and sketches, detailing his obsession with the dogman. But there’s something else—entries that talk about Leah, about that day in the woods. His handwriting becomes more erratic, the words harder to read. One entry stands out, dated just a few days after Leah’s death:
“June 15, 2013 – It was supposed to be a normal trip. Keep them close, Frank, I kept telling myself. But I failed. Leah is gone, and it’s my fault. I heard her scream, saw the shadows. I tried to get to her, but… the thing, it was there. Too fast. Too strong. My hands… blood everywhere. No one will believe me. I can’t even believe myself. I have to find it. I have to protect Ryan. I have to make it right. God, what have I done?”
Before I can read further, the attic door creaks open, and Dad’s voice slices through the stillness.
“What are you doing up here?” His tone is sharp, almost panicked.
I turn to see him standing in the doorway, his face pale and his eyes wide with something between anger and fear. I clutch the journal to my chest, my mind racing. “I found this… I was just trying to understand…”
In an instant, he crosses the room and snatches the journal from my hands. His grip is tight, his knuckles white. “You had no right,” he growls, his voice trembling.
“Dad, I just wanted to know the truth!” I shout, frustration boiling over. “What really happened to Leah.”
His eyes flash with a mix of rage and anguish, and before I can react, he slaps me across the face. The force of it knocks me off balance, and I stumble backward, my cheek stinging.
For a moment, there’s a stunned silence. We both stand there, breathing hard, the air thick with tension.
“I’m sorry,” Dad says finally, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to… I just…” He trails off, clutching the journal to his chest like a lifeline.
I touch my cheek, feeling the heat from the slap, and take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Dad, what aren’t you telling me? What really happened that day?”
“Stay out of it, Ryan,” Dad growls, his eyes dark with anger. “You don’t know what you’re messing with.”
He turns and storms out of the attic. I’m left standing there, my cheek throbbing, my mind racing. What the fuck is going on? What really happened to Leah? And what is Dad so afraid of?
—
That night, I sleep with my rifle within arm's reach, more afraid of my dad than any dogman. The slap still burns on my cheek, and the look in his eyes—rage, fear, something darker—haunts me. I lie awake, listening to the creaks and groans of the old cabin, every sound amplified in the stillness. Eventually, exhaustion pulls me under, and I fall into a restless sleep.
The dream returns, vivid and unsettling. I'm back in the woods, chasing after Leah. Her laughter echoes through the trees, a haunting reminder of happier times. This time, though, I push myself harder, refusing to let her slip away.
"Ryan, catch me!" she calls, her voice playful.
"I'm coming, Leah!" I shout, my legs pumping, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
The forest around us is a twisted, shadowy maze, the trees seeming to close in on us. Leah's figure becomes clearer, her blonde hair catching the dim light filtering through the canopy. She stops suddenly, turning to face me, her eyes wide with fear.
"Leah, what is it?" I ask, my voice trembling.
"Look behind you," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I turn slowly, dread creeping up my spine. In the shadows, I see a figure, its form indistinct and shifting. It’s not quite animal, not quite human—something in between. The sight of it sends a jolt of terror through me, and I wake up with a start, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I’m not in my bed. The ground beneath me is cold and hard, the smell of damp earth filling my nostrils. Panic rises as I realize I’ve sleepwalked into the woods. I scramble to my feet, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The moon casts a pale glow over the surroundings, revealing what looks like a long-abandoned animal lair.
The walls are covered in giant claw marks, deep gouges in the wood and earth. The air is heavy with the scent of decay, and a chill runs through me. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.
Carefully, I start to move, my eyes scanning the ground, desperate for a familiar landmark. That's when I see them—faded scraps of fabric caught on the jagged edges of the underbrush. My steps falter, a sense of dread washing over me as I bend down to examine them. The fabric is torn, weathered by time and the elements, but unmistakably familiar. It's part of Leah's jacket—the bright pink one she wore on the day she disappeared.
As I strain to make sense of it all, a rustling sound behind me snaps my focus. My heart leaps into my throat. I spin around, my hand instinctively reaching for the rifle I don't have—because, of course, I didn't bring it in my unconscious state.
The shadowy figure that emerges from the trees is unsettlingly familiar, mirroring the menacing forms of my nightmares. But as it steps into the moonlight, I recognize the worn jacket, the weary posture. It's Dad.
"Ryan!" he calls out, his voice a mix of relief and stern concern. "I've been looking everywhere for you. What the hell are you doing out here?"
I exhale slowly, the terror ebbing away as reality sets back in. "I—I don't know, Dad. I must've sleepwalked again." My voice is shaky, my earlier dream still clinging to the edges of my consciousness.
Dad stares at me in disbelief. "You haven't sleepwalked since you were a kid, Ry. This... this isn't just a coincidence." His eyes dart around, taking in the surroundings—the eerie, claw-marked den, the unsettling quiet of the woods. "How did you even find this place?"
I shake my head, struggling to find an answer. "I don't know, Dad. I just... I woke up here." The uncertainty in my voice does nothing to ease the tension.
His eyes lock onto the tattered remains of Leah's jacket in my hands, and something inside him snaps. The color drains from his face as he stumbles a few steps backward. "This... this is where it happened," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. “This is where we found Leah."
“I thought you said you don’t remember anything from that night,” he says accusingly.
"I swear, Dad, I don't know anything about this place," I insist, my own heart pounding.
“It was you, wasn’t it? You’ve been hiding this from me.” His voice is frantic. “You... last night, the growling, it was you.” His voice rises, tinged with hysteria.
I step back, my pulse racing, feeling the chill of the night and the weight of his accusation. "Dad, I don't know what you're talking ab—”
"No!" he interrupts, his voice breaking as he points a trembling finger at me. "You knew, you always knew. It was you, Ryan. All these years, the evidence was right there, but I refused to see it. You were the dogman. You killed Leah!"
His words hit me like a physical blow, absurd and horrifying in their implications. "Dad, you're not making any sense. You're talking crazy! I was just a little kid! How could I–" I protest, my voice shaky.
He steps closer, his presence looming over me, the outline of his figure distorted by the shadows of the trees. "Think about it! It all makes sense now. You led us here, to this place, because you remember. Because you did it."
"Dad, stop it!" I shout, my heart pounding in my chest. "You're scaring me. You need help, professional help. This isn't you."
But he's beyond reason, his eyes wild with a haunted grief. "I have to end this," he mutters, more to himself than to me, his hand tightening around his rifle.
His finger hovers dangerously over the trigger of his rifle. My instincts kick in, and I know I have to act fast.
I lunge toward him, trying to knock the weapon away, but he's quicker than I expected. We struggle, our breaths heavy in the cold night air, the sounds of our scuffle the only noise in the otherwise silent woods. His strength surprises me, fueled by his frantic emotions. He shoves me back, and I stumble over a root, my balance lost for a crucial second. That's all he needs. He raises his rifle, his intentions clear in his wild, pained eyes.
I dive to the ground just as the shot rings out, a deafening blast that echoes ominously through the trees. The bullet whizzes past, narrowly missing me, embedding itself in the bark of an old pine. I scramble to my feet, my heart pounding in my ears, and I start running. The underbrush claws at my clothes and skin, but I push through, driven by a primal urge to survive.
"Dad, stop! It's me, Ryan!" I shout back as I dodge between the trees. Another shot breaks the silence, closer this time, sending splinters of wood flying from a nearby tree trunk. It's surreal, being hunted by my own father, a man tormented by grief and lost in his delusions.
I don't stop to look back. I can hear him crashing through the forest behind me, his heavy breaths and muttered curses carried on the wind. The terrain is rough, and I'm fueled by adrenaline, but exhaustion is setting in. I need a plan.
Ahead, I see a rocky outcrop and make a split-second decision to head for it. It offers a chance to hide, to catch my breath and maybe reason with him if he catches up. As I reach the rocks, I slip behind the largest one, my body pressed tight against the cold, damp surface. I hear his footsteps approaching, slow and cautious now.
As I press against the rock, trying to calm my racing heart, I can hear Dad's footsteps drawing closer, each step crunching ominously on the forest floor. He's methodical, deliberate, like a hunter stalking his prey.
“Come out, Ryan!” Dad’s voice is ragged, filled with a blend of fury and pain.
My heart pounds against my chest, the cold sweat on my back making me shiver against the rough surface of the rock. I know I can't just sit here; it's only a matter of time before he finds me.
Taking a deep breath, I peek around the edge of the rock, trying to gauge his position. I see him, rifle raised, scanning the area slowly. This might be my only chance to end this madness without further violence. I need to disarm him, to talk some sense into him if I can.
As quietly as I can, I move out from behind the rock, my steps careful to avoid any twigs or leaves that might betray my position. I'm almost upon him when a branch snaps under my foot—a sound so trivial yet so alarmingly loud in the quiet of the woods.
Dad whirls around, looking completely unhinged. "Ryan!" he exclaims, his rifle swinging in my direction. Panic overtakes me, and I lunge forward, my hands reaching for the gun.
We struggle, the rifle between us, our breaths heavy and erratic. "Dad, please, stop!" I plead, trying to wrestle the gun away. But he's strong, stronger than I expected.
In the chaos, the rifle goes off. The sound is deafening, a sharp echo that seems to reverberate off every tree around us. Pain explodes in my abdomen, sharp and burning, like nothing I've ever felt before. I stagger back, my hands instinctively going to the wound. The warmth of my own blood coats my fingers, stark and terrifying.
Dad drops the rifle, his eyes wide with horror. "Oh my God! What have I done?" he gasps, rushing to my side as I collapse onto the forest floor.
As the pain sears through me, a strange, overpowering energy surges within. It's wild, primal, unlike anything I've ever experienced. Looking down in horror, my hands are no longer hands but large, hairy, clawed appendages. The transformation is rapid, consuming—my vision blurs, senses heighten, and a raw, guttural growl builds in my throat.
In that moment, a flood of understanding washes over me, mingling with the horror of realization. These are the hands of the creature from my nightmares, the creature whose face I can never fully recall because, as I now understand, it is me.
What happens next feels detached, as if I'm no longer in control of my own actions, watching from a distance as my body moves on its own. I turn towards my dad, his face a mask of terror. He stumbles back, his eyes wide with the dawning realization of what his son has become.
The forest around us seems to fall silent, holding its breath as the nightmarish scene unfolds. I can hear my own growls, guttural and deep, filling the air with a sound that's both foreign and intimately familiar. The pain in my abdomen fuels a dark, violent urge, an urge that's too strong to resist.
With a ferocity that feels both alien and intrinsic, I move towards him. My dad, paralyzed by fear and shock, doesn't run. Maybe he can't. Maybe he doesn't want to.
The encounter was brutal and swift, a blur of motion and violence. My dad barely puts up a struggle, as though resigned to his fate.
Not that there is anything he can do. The creature that I’ve become is too powerful, too consumed by the wild instincts surging through me. I tear him apart, limb from bloody limb, my hands—no, my claws—rending through fabric and flesh with disgusting ease.
The sound of my dad’s screams, of tearing fabric and flesh is drowned out by the animalistic growls that echo through the trees.
When it’s all over, the red mist that had clouded my vision begins to fade, and the fierce, uncontrollable rage that drove my actions subsides. I'm left standing, my breaths heavy and erratic, in the eerie stillness of the forest. The transformation reverses as quickly as it came on, and I find myself back in my human form. My clothes are ripped to shreds, hanging off my frame in tattered remnants. At my feet lies what’s left of my dad, his body torn and unrecognizable.
I glance down at my abdomen, expecting agony, but instead find my wound miraculously healed. No sign of the gunshot remains, just a faint scar where I expected a bloody mess.
Shock sets in, a numbing disbelief mixed with a gut-wrenching realization of what I've become and what I've done. My hands, now human again, tremble as I look at them, half-expecting to see the claws that had so effortlessly ripped through flesh and bone. But there's only blood, my father's blood against my skin.
I stand there for what feels like an eternity, trapped in a nightmare of my own making.
Eventually, the shock wears thin, and a cold practicality takes hold. I need to get out of here. I need to cover my tracks, to disappear. Because who would believe this? Who would understand that I didn't choose this, that I'm not a monster by choice?
With trembling hands, I do what’s necessary. I bury my dad in a shallow grave, the physical act of digging strangely grounding. I cover him with leaves and branches, a pitiful attempt to hide the brutality of his end. I take a moment, whispering apologies into the wind, knowing full well that nothing I say can change what happened.
I leave the forest behind, my mind a whirl of dark thoughts. As I walk, the first hints of dawn brush against the horizon, the sky bleeding a soft pink. It’s hauntingly beautiful.
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My dad Frank is in the kitchen, clattering around with the coffeepot and mumbling under his breath. Today we’re heading up to the woods of Northern Michigan, same as we did every year before Leah… before we lost her.
I can’t help but feel the old scars throbbing as I load bullets into the magazine. It’s been ten years since that hunting trip, the one that tore my family into before and after. Before, when Leah's laughter was a constant soundtrack to our lives; after, when every silence was filled with her absence.
We were just kids back then. I was ten, Leah was eight. It was supposed to be a typical hunting trip, one of those bonding experiences Dad was always talking about. But things went wrong. We got separated from Dad somehow. One minute we were following him, the next we were lost, the dense woods closing in around us.
Dad says when he found me, I was huddled under a fallen tree, my eyes wide, my body frozen. All I could mutter through chattering teeth was "Dogman."
It was only later, after the search parties had combed through every thicket and hollow, that they found her. What remained of Leah was barely recognizable, the evidence of a brutal mauling undeniable. The authorities concluded it was likely a bear attack, but Dad... he never accepted that explanation. He had seen the tracks, too large and oddly shaped for any bear.
As I load another round, the memory flashes, unbidden and unwelcome. Large, hairy clawed hands reaching out towards us, impossibly big, grotesque in their form. Yet, the rest of the creature eludes me, a shadow just beyond the edge of my recall, leaving me with nothing but fragmented terrors and Leah’s haunting, echoing screams. My mind blocked most of it out, a self-defense mechanism, I guess.
For years after that day, sleep was a battleground. I'd wake up in strange places—kitchen floor, backyard, even at the edge of the nearby creek. My therapist said it was my mind's way of trying to resolve the unresolved, to wander back through the woods searching for Leah. But all I found in those sleepless nights was a deeper sense of loss.
It took time, a lot of therapy, and patience I didn't know I had, but the sleepwalking did eventually stop. I guess I started to find some semblance of peace.
I have mostly moved on with my life. The fragmentary memories of that day are still there, lurking in the corners of my mind, but they don’t dominate my thoughts like they used to. I just finished my sophomore year at Michigan State, majoring in Environmental Science.
As for Dad, the loss of Leah broke him. He became a shell of himself. It destroyed his marriage with Mom. He blamed himself for letting us out of his sight, for not protecting Leah. His life took on a single, consuming focus: finding the creature that killed her. He read every book, every article on cryptids and unexplained phenomena. He mapped sightings, connected dots across blurry photos and shaky testimonies of the Dogman.
But as the tenth anniversary of Leah’s death approaches, Dad's obsession has grown more intense. He’s started staying up late, poring over his maps and notes, muttering to himself about patterns and cycles. He’s convinced that the dogman reappears every ten years, and this is our window of opportunity to finally hunt it down.
I’m not nearly as convinced. The whole dogman thing seems like a coping mechanism, a way for Dad to channel his guilt and grief into something tangible, something he can fight against. But I decided to tag along on this trip, partly to keep an eye on him, partly because a small part of me hopes that maybe, just maybe, we’ll find some kind of closure out there in the woods.
I finish loading the rifle and set it aside, standing up to stretch my legs. I wipe my greasy hands on an old rag, trying to get rid of the smell. The early morning light is starting to seep into the room, casting long shadows across the floor.
Dad comes out of the kitchen with two thermoses of coffee in hand. His eyes are bleary and tired.
“You ready, Ryan?” he asks, handing me a thermos, his voice rough from too many sleepless nights.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” I reply, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
We load our gear into the truck, the weight of our supplies and weapons a physical reminder of the burden we carry. The drive from Lansing across the Lower Peninsula is long and quiet, the silence between us filled with unspoken memories and unresolved grief.
—
The drive north is a blur of highway lines and the dull hum of the engine. I drift off, the landscape outside blending into a haze. In my sleep, fragments of that day with Leah replay like scattered pieces of a puzzle. I see her smile, the way she tugged at my sleeve, eager to explore. The sunlight filters through the trees in sharp, jagged streaks.
Then, the memory shifts—darker, disjointed. Leah's voice echoes, a playful laugh turning into a scream that pierces the air. The crunch of leaves underfoot as something heavy moves through the underbrush. I see a shadow, large and looming, not quite fitting the shapes of any creature I know.
Then, something darker creeps into the dream, something I’ve never allowed myself to remember clearly.
Before I can see what it is I wake up with a start as the truck jerks slightly on a rough patch of road. Dad glances over. "Bad dream?" he asks. I nod, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, the remnants of the dream clinging to me like the cold.
"Yeah, just... thinking about Leah," I manage to say.
As we drive, Dad attempts to bridge the silence with small talk. He asks about my finals, my plans for the summer, anything to keep the conversation going. His voice carries a forced cheerfulness, but it’s clear his heart isn’t in it. I respond when necessary, my answers brief, my gaze fixed on the passing scenery.
The landscape changes as we head further north, from flat expanses to rolling hills dotted with dense patches of forest. It's beautiful country, the kind that reminds you how vast and wild Michigan can be, but today it just feels oppressive, like it’s closing in on us.
—
We finally arrive at the cabin, nestled deep in the woods, its weathered wood blending seamlessly with the surrounding trees. The place hasn't changed much since the last time I was here—a relic from another time, filled with the echoes of our past. I can still see Leah running around the porch, her laughter ringing out into the forest.
Dad parks the truck, and we step out into the crisp air. The smell of pine and damp earth fills my nostrils. We start unloading our gear, the tension between us palpable.
“Let’s get this inside,” Dad says, his voice gruff as he hefts a duffel bag onto his shoulder.
I nod, grabbing my own bag and following him to the cabin. Inside, it’s a mix of old and new—the same rustic furniture, but with new hunting gear and maps strewn across the table. Dad’s obsession is evident in every corner of the room, a constant reminder of why we’re here.
As we unpack, we exchange strained attempts at normalcy. He talks about the latest cryptid sightings he’s read about, his eyes lighting up with a fervor that both worries and saddens me.
“Did you hear about the sighting up near Alpena?” he asks, laying out his maps on the table.
“Yeah, you mentioned it,” I reply, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “Do you really think there’s something to it?”
Dad’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of doubt. But it’s quickly replaced by grim determination. “I have to believe it, Ryan. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
We finish unpacking, the silence between us growing heavier with each passing minute. I step outside to clear my head, the cool air a welcome relief. The sun is starting to set, casting long shadows across the clearing. I can’t shake the feeling of unease.
"You can take the upstairs room," Dad mutters. His voice is strained, trying to sound normal, but it's clear the weight of the past is heavy on him. I nod, hauling my backpack up the creaking stairs to the small bedroom that I used to share with Leah. The room feels smaller now, or maybe I've just grown too much since those innocent days.
I unpack silently, setting my things aside. The bed is stiff and cold under my touch. As I settle in, I can't help but glance at the corner where Leah and I would huddle together, whispering secrets and making plans for adventures that would never happen. I push the thoughts away, focusing on the practicalities of unpacking.
After settling in, I go back downstairs to find Dad loading up a backpack with supplies for our hunt. The intensity in his eyes is palpable, his hands moving with practiced precision. I know this routine; it's one he's perfected over countless solo trips since that fateful day.
"We'll head out early," he says, not looking up from his task. "Gotta make the most of the daylight."
I nod, though unease curls in my stomach. I'm not just worried about what we might find—or not find—out there. I'm worried about him. Each year, the obsession seems to carve him out a bit more, leaving less of the Dad I knew.
—
The morning air is sharp with the scent of pine and wet earth as Dad and I head into the deeper parts of the forest. The terrain is rugged, familiar in its untamed beauty, but there’s a tension between us that makes the landscape feel alien. Dad moves with a purposeful stride, his eyes scanning the woods around us. Every snap of a twig, every rustle in the underbrush seems to draw his attention. He’s on edge, and it puts me on edge too.
As we walk, my mind drifts back to that day ten years ago. I can almost hear Leah’s voice echoing through the trees, her high-pitched call as she darted ahead, "Catch me, Ryan!" I remember how the sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground. Those memories are so vivid, so tangible, it feels like I could just turn a corner and see her there, waiting for us.
Dad suddenly stops and kneels, examining the ground. He points out a set of tracks that are too large for a deer, with an unusual gait pattern. "It’s been here, Ry. I’m telling you, it’s close," he whispers, a mixture of excitement and something darker in his voice. I nod, though I’m not sure what to believe. Part of me wants to dismiss it all as grief-fueled obsession, but another part, the part that heard Leah's scream and saw something monstrous in the woods that day, isn’t so sure.
As we continue, Dad's comments become increasingly cryptic. "You know, they say the dogman moves in cycles, drawn to certain places, certain times. Like it’s tied to the land itself," he muses, more to himself than to me. His fixation on the creature has always been intense, but now it borders on mania.
We set up a makeshift blind near a clearing where Dad insists the creature will pass. Hours drag by with little to see but the occasional bird or distant deer.
The sun rises higher in the sky, casting long, slender shadows through the dense canopy. I shift uncomfortably in my spot, the forest floor hard and unyielding beneath me. My eyes dart between the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of something, anything, to break the monotony. Dad, on the other hand, remains steadfast, his gaze fixed on the treeline as if he can will the dogman into existence by sheer force of will.
A bird chirps nearby, startling me. I sigh and adjust my grip on the rifle. I glance over at Dad.
“Anything?” I ask, more out of boredom than genuine curiosity.
“Not yet,” he replies, his voice tight. “But it’s out there. I know it.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I believe him. The forest seems too quiet, too still. Maybe we’re chasing ghosts.
As the sun begins its descent, the forest is bathed in a warm, golden light. The air cools, and a breeze rustles the leaves. I shiver, more from anticipation than the cold. The long hours of sitting and waiting are starting to wear on me.
“Let’s call it a day for now,” Dad says finally, his voice heavy with disappointment. “We’ll head back to the cabin, get some rest, and try again tomorrow.”
I stand and stretch, feeling the stiffness in my muscles. We pack up our gear in silence and start the trek back to the cabin. The walk is long and quiet, the only sounds are the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant calls of birds settling in for the night.
—
Dinner is a quiet affair, both of us lost in our thoughts. I try to make small talk, asking Dad about his plans for tomorrow, but it feels forced. We clean up in silence.
After dinner, I retreat to the small bedroom. The fatigue from the day's hike has settled into my bones, but sleep still feels like a distant hope. I lie down, staring at the ceiling, the room cloaked in darkness save for the sliver of moonlight creeping through the window. Downstairs, I hear the faint sound of Dad moving around, likely unable to sleep himself.
I drift into sleep, but it's not restful. My dreams pull me back to that fateful day in the woods. Leah's voice is clear and vibrant, her laughter echoing through the trees. She looks just as she did then—bright-eyed and full of life, her blonde hair catching the sunlight as she runs ahead of me.
"Come on, Ry! You can't catch me!" she taunts, her voice playful and teasing.
I chase after her, but the scene shifts abruptly. The sky darkens, the woods around us growing dense and foreboding. Leah's laughter fades, replaced by a chilling silence. I see her ahead, standing still, her back to me.
"Leah?" I call out, my voice trembling. She turns slowly, her eyes wide and filled with fear. "Ryan, you have to remember," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "It wasn't what you think. You need to know the truth."
Leah’s words hang in the air, cryptic and unsettling. Before I can respond, she turns and starts running again, her figure becoming a blur among the trees. Panic rises in my chest as I sprint after her, my feet pounding against the forest floor.
“Leah, wait!” I shout, desperation lacing my voice. The forest around me seems to close in, the trees towering and twisted, shadows dancing menacingly in the dim light. I push forward, trying to keep her in sight, but she’s too fast, slipping away like a wisp of smoke.
Suddenly, there’s a rustle, a flash of movement in the corner of my vision. Leah screams, a sound that pierces through the heavy silence. It happens too quickly—I can’t see what it is, only a dark blur that snatches her up.
“Leah!” I scream, my voice breaking. I stumble, falling to my knees as the forest spins around me. My heart races, and the terror is so real, so visceral, that it pulls me back to that awful day, the one that changed everything.
I jolt awake, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I sit up, wiping the cold sweat from my forehead as I try to steady my breathing. The room is still dark, the shadows cast by the moonlight seem to flicker and dance on the walls. My heart is still racing from the nightmare, the echo of Leah's scream lingering in my ears.
As I struggle to calm down, the floorboards outside my room creak. The door opens slowly, and I see the silhouette of my dad in the doorway, a Bowie knife in his hand, his posture tense.
“Dad, what the hell are you doing?” I whisper, my voice shaking.
“Shh,” he hisses, holding up a hand to silence me. “I heard something. Something moving around in the cabin. Stay quiet.”
I swallow hard, my mouth dry. I glance at the clock on the nightstand—it’s just past three in the morning. The cabin is silent, the kind of deep, oppressive silence that makes every small sound seem louder. I can’t hear anything out of the ordinary, but Dad’s expression is deadly serious.
He motions for me to get up, and I do, moving as quietly as I can. My heart is racing, a mix of lingering fear from the dream and the sudden, sharp anxiety of the present moment. Dad leads the way, stepping cautiously out of the bedroom and into the hallway, the knife held ready in front of him.
We move through the cabin, checking each room in turn. The living room is empty, the furniture casting long shadows in the dim moonlight. The kitchen is just as we left it, the plates from dinner still drying on the counter. Everything seems normal, untouched.
We finish our sweep of the cabin without finding anything amiss. The silence is heavy, punctuated only by our soft footfalls. I can see the tension in Dad’s frame, his grip on the knife unwavering. After checking the last room, we pause in the dimly lit hallway, the air thick with unspoken questions.
“There’s nothing here,” I say, my voice low. “Are you sure you heard something?”
He looks at me, his eyes searching for something in my face. “I heard growling. Deep and close. It was right outside the window.”
“Maybe it was just an animal outside, a raccoon or something?” I suggest, although the certainty in his voice makes me doubt my own reassurance.
“No, it wasn’t like that. It was different,” he insists, his voice tense.
I nod, not wanting to argue, but the seeds of worry are planted deep.
The look in his eyes sends a chill down my spine. It’s not just fear—it’s desperation. The kind of desperation that comes from years of chasing shadows and finding nothing. I can see the toll this hunt has taken on him, the way it’s worn him down, turned him into a man I barely recognize.
We head back to our rooms. As I lie down, my mind races with thoughts of my dad. I can’t help but wonder if he’s losing it, if the years of grief and guilt have finally pushed him over the edge.
Dad wasn’t always like this. Before Leah’s death, he was the kind of father who took us fishing, helped with homework, and told terrible jokes that made us groan and laugh at the same time. He was solid, dependable. But losing Leah changed him. The guilt twisted him into someone I barely recognize, someone driven by a need for answers, for closure, that may never come.
I try to sleep, but my thoughts keep me awake. I can hear Dad moving around downstairs, probably pacing or double-checking the locks. His paranoia has become a constant presence, and I don’t know how to help him. I don’t even know if I can help him.
—
The next morning, the sunlight filters weakly through the cabin windows, casting a pale light that does little to lift the heavy mood. I drag myself out of bed, feeling the exhaustion of another restless night. Dad is already up, hunched over his maps at the kitchen table, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
“Morning,” I mumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I pour myself a cup of coffee. “Did you sleep at all?”
He shakes his head, not looking up from his notes. “Not much. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I heard last night.”
I sip my coffee, trying to shake off the remnants of my nightmare. “Maybe it was just an animal, Dad. We’re deep in the woods, after all.”
He finally looks up, his eyes intense. “Ryan, I know what I heard. It wasn’t just an animal. It was something else.”
I sigh, not wanting to argue. “Okay, fine, Dad. What’s the plan for today?”
“We’re going back out. I found some tracks yesterday, and I want to follow them. See where they lead.”
I nod, feeling a mix of apprehension and resignation. I can see how much this means to him, how desperate he is for any kind of lead. “Alright. Let’s get packed and head out.”
We spend the morning preparing, loading up our gear and double-checking our supplies. Dad is meticulous, going over everything with a fine-toothed comb. I try to match his focus, but my mind keeps drifting back to Leah and the dream I had. Her words echo in my head, cryptic and unsettling: “You need to know the truth.”
We set off into the woods, the air crisp and cool. The forest is alive with the sounds of birds and rustling leaves, but it all feels distant, like background noise to the tension between us. Dad leads the way, his eyes scanning the ground for any sign of the tracks he found yesterday.
As we walk, I can’t help but notice how erratically he’s acting. He mutters to himself, his eyes darting around as if expecting something to jump out at us. His grip on his rifle is tight, his knuckles white.
“Dad, are you okay?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
He glances at me, his expression unreadable. “I’m fine. Just focused.”
He stops frequently to examine the ground or the bark of trees, pointing out marks and signs that seem meaningless to me.
“Look at this,” he says, crouching down to examine a broken branch. “See how it’s snapped? That’s not a deer or a bear. That’s something bigger. Stronger.”
I crouch next to Dad, squinting at the broken branch. To me, it just looks like a regular broken branch, the kind you see all over the forest. "I don't know, Dad. It just looks like a branch to me," I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.
Dad's eyes flicker with frustration. "You're not looking close enough. It's the way it's snapped—too clean, too deliberate. Something did this."
I nod, not wanting to argue. "Okay, sure. But even if you're right, it could be anything. A storm, another hunter..."
His expression hardens. "I know what I'm looking for. This is different."
I sigh, feeling the weight of the past and the tension between us pressing down on me. "Dad, I had a dream last night. About Leah." The words hang in the air between us, heavy and fraught with unspoken emotions.
Dad's eyes widen, and he straightens up, his entire demeanor shifting. "What kind of dream? What did you see?" His voice is urgent, almost desperate.
"It was... strange. We were in the woods, like we are now, but everything felt different. Leah was there, running ahead of me, laughing. Then she stopped and told me I needed to know the truth, that it wasn't what I thought."
Dad grabs my shoulders, his grip tight. "What else did she say? Did she tell you anything specific? Anything about the creature?"
I shake my head, feeling a chill run down my spine. "No, that was it. She just said I needed to know the truth, and then she was gone."
Dad’s grip on my shoulders tightens, and his eyes bore into mine with a mixture of desperation and hope. “Ryan, you have to try to remember. Think hard. What did the creature look like? Did you see anything else?”
I pull back slightly, uneasy with his intensity. “Dad, I told you. I don’t remember. It was just a dream. A nightmare, really. My mind’s probably just mixing things up.”
He lets go of me and runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated and lost. “Dreams can be important. They can hold memories we’ve buried deep. Please, try to remember. This could be a sign, a clue.”
I rub my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “I’ve tried, okay? I’ve tried for years to piece together what happened that day. But it’s all just fragments, like pieces of a puzzle that don’t fit. The dream… it felt real, but I don’t think it’s telling me anything new.”
Dad’s face falls, and he looks older than I’ve ever seen him. He turns away, staring into the forest as if it holds all the answers.
—
As we make our way back to the cabin, the sun begins to set, casting long shadows through the trees. The air grows colder, and I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter around me. Dad is silent, lost in his thoughts, his face drawn and haggard.
Back at the cabin, we unload our gear once again in silence. Dad disappears into his room, muttering something about going over his notes. I decide to explore the cabin, hoping to find something that might help me understand what’s going on with him.
In the attic, I find a box of old family photos and documents. As I sift through the contents, I come across a worn journal with Dad’s handwriting on the cover. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I open it, flipping through the pages.
The journal is filled with notes and sketches, detailing his obsession with the dogman. But there’s something else—entries that talk about Leah, about that day in the woods. His handwriting becomes more erratic, the words harder to read. One entry stands out, dated just a few days after Leah’s death:
“June 15, 2013 – It was supposed to be a normal trip. Keep them close, Frank, I kept telling myself. But I failed. Leah is gone, and it’s my fault. I heard her scream, saw the shadows. I tried to get to her, but… the thing, it was there. Too fast. Too strong. My hands… blood everywhere. No one will believe me. I can’t even believe myself. I have to find it. I have to protect Ryan. I have to make it right. God, what have I done?”
Before I can read further, the attic door creaks open, and Dad’s voice slices through the stillness.
“What are you doing up here?” His tone is sharp, almost panicked.
I turn to see him standing in the doorway, his face pale and his eyes wide with something between anger and fear. I clutch the journal to my chest, my mind racing. “I found this… I was just trying to understand…”
In an instant, he crosses the room and snatches the journal from my hands. His grip is tight, his knuckles white. “You had no right,” he growls, his voice trembling.
“Dad, I just wanted to know the truth!” I shout, frustration boiling over. “What really happened to Leah.”
His eyes flash with a mix of rage and anguish, and before I can react, he slaps me across the face. The force of it knocks me off balance, and I stumble backward, my cheek stinging.
For a moment, there’s a stunned silence. We both stand there, breathing hard, the air thick with tension.
“I’m sorry,” Dad says finally, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to… I just…” He trails off, clutching the journal to his chest like a lifeline.
I touch my cheek, feeling the heat from the slap, and take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Dad, what aren’t you telling me? What really happened that day?”
“Stay out of it, Ryan,” Dad growls, his eyes dark with anger. “You don’t know what you’re messing with.”
He turns and storms out of the attic. I’m left standing there, my cheek throbbing, my mind racing. What the fuck is going on? What really happened to Leah? And what is Dad so afraid of?
—
That night, I sleep with my rifle within arm's reach, more afraid of my dad than any dogman. The slap still burns on my cheek, and the look in his eyes—rage, fear, something darker—haunts me. I lie awake, listening to the creaks and groans of the old cabin, every sound amplified in the stillness. Eventually, exhaustion pulls me under, and I fall into a restless sleep.
The dream returns, vivid and unsettling. I'm back in the woods, chasing after Leah. Her laughter echoes through the trees, a haunting reminder of happier times. This time, though, I push myself harder, refusing to let her slip away.
"Ryan, catch me!" she calls, her voice playful.
"I'm coming, Leah!" I shout, my legs pumping, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
The forest around us is a twisted, shadowy maze, the trees seeming to close in on us. Leah's figure becomes clearer, her blonde hair catching the dim light filtering through the canopy. She stops suddenly, turning to face me, her eyes wide with fear.
"Leah, what is it?" I ask, my voice trembling.
"Look behind you," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I turn slowly, dread creeping up my spine. In the shadows, I see a figure, its form indistinct and shifting. It’s not quite animal, not quite human—something in between. The sight of it sends a jolt of terror through me, and I wake up with a start, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I’m not in my bed. The ground beneath me is cold and hard, the smell of damp earth filling my nostrils. Panic rises as I realize I’ve sleepwalked into the woods. I scramble to my feet, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The moon casts a pale glow over the surroundings, revealing what looks like a long-abandoned animal lair.
The walls are covered in giant claw marks, deep gouges in the wood and earth. The air is heavy with the scent of decay, and a chill runs through me. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.
Carefully, I start to move, my eyes scanning the ground, desperate for a familiar landmark. That's when I see them—faded scraps of fabric caught on the jagged edges of the underbrush. My steps falter, a sense of dread washing over me as I bend down to examine them. The fabric is torn, weathered by time and the elements, but unmistakably familiar. It's part of Leah's jacket—the bright pink one she wore on the day she disappeared.
As I strain to make sense of it all, a rustling sound behind me snaps my focus. My heart leaps into my throat. I spin around, my hand instinctively reaching for the rifle I don't have—because, of course, I didn't bring it in my unconscious state.
The shadowy figure that emerges from the trees is unsettlingly familiar, mirroring the menacing forms of my nightmares. But as it steps into the moonlight, I recognize the worn jacket, the weary posture. It's Dad.
"Ryan!" he calls out, his voice a mix of relief and stern concern. "I've been looking everywhere for you. What the hell are you doing out here?"
I exhale slowly, the terror ebbing away as reality sets back in. "I—I don't know, Dad. I must've sleepwalked again." My voice is shaky, my earlier dream still clinging to the edges of my consciousness.
Dad stares at me in disbelief. "You haven't sleepwalked since you were a kid, Ry. This... this isn't just a coincidence." His eyes dart around, taking in the surroundings—the eerie, claw-marked den, the unsettling quiet of the woods. "How did you even find this place?"
I shake my head, struggling to find an answer. "I don't know, Dad. I just... I woke up here." The uncertainty in my voice does nothing to ease the tension.
His eyes lock onto the tattered remains of Leah's jacket in my hands, and something inside him snaps. The color drains from his face as he stumbles a few steps backward. "This... this is where it happened," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. “This is where we found Leah."
“I thought you said you don’t remember anything from that night,” he says accusingly.
"I swear, Dad, I don't know anything about this place," I insist, my own heart pounding.
“It was you, wasn’t it? You’ve been hiding this from me.” His voice is frantic. “You... last night, the growling, it was you.” His voice rises, tinged with hysteria.
I step back, my pulse racing, feeling the chill of the night and the weight of his accusation. "Dad, I don't know what you're talking ab—”
"No!" he interrupts, his voice breaking as he points a trembling finger at me. "You knew, you always knew. It was you, Ryan. All these years, the evidence was right there, but I refused to see it. You were the dogman. You killed Leah!"
His words hit me like a physical blow, absurd and horrifying in their implications. "Dad, you're not making any sense. You're talking crazy! I was just a little kid! How could I–" I protest, my voice shaky.
He steps closer, his presence looming over me, the outline of his figure distorted by the shadows of the trees. "Think about it! It all makes sense now. You led us here, to this place, because you remember. Because you did it."
"Dad, stop it!" I shout, my heart pounding in my chest. "You're scaring me. You need help, professional help. This isn't you."
But he's beyond reason, his eyes wild with a haunted grief. "I have to end this," he mutters, more to himself than to me, his hand tightening around his rifle.
His finger hovers dangerously over the trigger of his rifle. My instincts kick in, and I know I have to act fast.
I lunge toward him, trying to knock the weapon away, but he's quicker than I expected. We struggle, our breaths heavy in the cold night air, the sounds of our scuffle the only noise in the otherwise silent woods. His strength surprises me, fueled by his frantic emotions. He shoves me back, and I stumble over a root, my balance lost for a crucial second. That's all he needs. He raises his rifle, his intentions clear in his wild, pained eyes.
I dive to the ground just as the shot rings out, a deafening blast that echoes ominously through the trees. The bullet whizzes past, narrowly missing me, embedding itself in the bark of an old pine. I scramble to my feet, my heart pounding in my ears, and I start running. The underbrush claws at my clothes and skin, but I push through, driven by a primal urge to survive.
"Dad, stop! It's me, Ryan!" I shout back as I dodge between the trees. Another shot breaks the silence, closer this time, sending splinters of wood flying from a nearby tree trunk. It's surreal, being hunted by my own father, a man tormented by grief and lost in his delusions.
I don't stop to look back. I can hear him crashing through the forest behind me, his heavy breaths and muttered curses carried on the wind. The terrain is rough, and I'm fueled by adrenaline, but exhaustion is setting in. I need a plan.
Ahead, I see a rocky outcrop and make a split-second decision to head for it. It offers a chance to hide, to catch my breath and maybe reason with him if he catches up. As I reach the rocks, I slip behind the largest one, my body pressed tight against the cold, damp surface. I hear his footsteps approaching, slow and cautious now.
As I press against the rock, trying to calm my racing heart, I can hear Dad's footsteps drawing closer, each step crunching ominously on the forest floor. He's methodical, deliberate, like a hunter stalking his prey.
“Come out, Ryan!” Dad’s voice is ragged, filled with a blend of fury and pain.
My heart pounds against my chest, the cold sweat on my back making me shiver against the rough surface of the rock. I know I can't just sit here; it's only a matter of time before he finds me.
Taking a deep breath, I peek around the edge of the rock, trying to gauge his position. I see him, rifle raised, scanning the area slowly. This might be my only chance to end this madness without further violence. I need to disarm him, to talk some sense into him if I can.
As quietly as I can, I move out from behind the rock, my steps careful to avoid any twigs or leaves that might betray my position. I'm almost upon him when a branch snaps under my foot—a sound so trivial yet so alarmingly loud in the quiet of the woods.
Dad whirls around, looking completely unhinged. "Ryan!" he exclaims, his rifle swinging in my direction. Panic overtakes me, and I lunge forward, my hands reaching for the gun.
We struggle, the rifle between us, our breaths heavy and erratic. "Dad, please, stop!" I plead, trying to wrestle the gun away. But he's strong, stronger than I expected.
In the chaos, the rifle goes off. The sound is deafening, a sharp echo that seems to reverberate off every tree around us. Pain explodes in my abdomen, sharp and burning, like nothing I've ever felt before. I stagger back, my hands instinctively going to the wound. The warmth of my own blood coats my fingers, stark and terrifying.
Dad drops the rifle, his eyes wide with horror. "Oh my God! What have I done?" he gasps, rushing to my side as I collapse onto the forest floor.
As the pain sears through me, a strange, overpowering energy surges within. It's wild, primal, unlike anything I've ever experienced. Looking down in horror, my hands are no longer hands but large, hairy, clawed appendages. The transformation is rapid, consuming—my vision blurs, senses heighten, and a raw, guttural growl builds in my throat.
In that moment, a flood of understanding washes over me, mingling with the horror of realization. These are the hands of the creature from my nightmares, the creature whose face I can never fully recall because, as I now understand, it is me.
What happens next feels detached, as if I'm no longer in control of my own actions, watching from a distance as my body moves on its own. I turn towards my dad, his face a mask of terror. He stumbles back, his eyes wide with the dawning realization of what his son has become.
The forest around us seems to fall silent, holding its breath as the nightmarish scene unfolds. I can hear my own growls, guttural and deep, filling the air with a sound that's both foreign and intimately familiar. The pain in my abdomen fuels a dark, violent urge, an urge that's too strong to resist.
With a ferocity that feels both alien and intrinsic, I move towards him. My dad, paralyzed by fear and shock, doesn't run. Maybe he can't. Maybe he doesn't want to.
The encounter was brutal and swift, a blur of motion and violence. My dad barely puts up a struggle, as though resigned to his fate.
Not that there is anything he can do. The creature that I’ve become is too powerful, too consumed by the wild instincts surging through me. I tear him apart, limb from bloody limb, my hands—no, my claws—rending through fabric and flesh with disgusting ease.
The sound of my dad’s screams, of tearing fabric and flesh is drowned out by the animalistic growls that echo through the trees.
When it’s all over, the red mist that had clouded my vision begins to fade, and the fierce, uncontrollable rage that drove my actions subsides. I'm left standing, my breaths heavy and erratic, in the eerie stillness of the forest. The transformation reverses as quickly as it came on, and I find myself back in my human form. My clothes are ripped to shreds, hanging off my frame in tattered remnants. At my feet lies what’s left of my dad, his body torn and unrecognizable.
I glance down at my abdomen, expecting agony, but instead find my wound miraculously healed. No sign of the gunshot remains, just a faint scar where I expected a bloody mess.
Shock sets in, a numbing disbelief mixed with a gut-wrenching realization of what I've become and what I've done. My hands, now human again, tremble as I look at them, half-expecting to see the claws that had so effortlessly ripped through flesh and bone. But there's only blood, my father's blood against my skin.
I stand there for what feels like an eternity, trapped in a nightmare of my own making.
Eventually, the shock wears thin, and a cold practicality takes hold. I need to get out of here. I need to cover my tracks, to disappear. Because who would believe this? Who would understand that I didn't choose this, that I'm not a monster by choice?
With trembling hands, I do what’s necessary. I bury my dad in a shallow grave, the physical act of digging strangely grounding. I cover him with leaves and branches, a pitiful attempt to hide the brutality of his end. I take a moment, whispering apologies into the wind, knowing full well that nothing I say can change what happened.
I leave the forest behind, my mind a whirl of dark thoughts. As I walk, the first hints of dawn brush against the horizon, the sky bleeding a soft pink. It’s hauntingly beautiful.
2024.05.19 19:55 Mizzno [H] Games [W] Cornucopia, Headbangers: Rhythm Royale, art of rally, Games (Listed Below), Steam Gift Cards
N.B.: I'm mainly looking for the games listed in the title and at the bottom of the thread. Feel free to post other offers, but if I haven't responded to your comment(s) by my next posting, I likely wasn't able to find a trade that interested me.
For sale (for Steam Gift Cards or gifted Steam Wallet balance):
For trade:
*signifies that a game is tentatively up for trade, assuming I buy the bundle
WANT:
IGS Rep Page: https://www.reddit.com/IGSRep/comments/ti26nz/mizznos_igs_rep_page/
submitted by Mizzno to indiegameswap [link] [comments]
For sale (for Steam Gift Cards or gifted Steam Wallet balance):
- Dark Souls™: Prepare To Die™ Edition (removed from Steam Store;
$350$400 or best offer) - Fall Guys (removed from Steam Store)
- Fall Guys - Dragon Hugger Pack (removed from Steam Store)
- Fall Guys - Icy Adventure Pack (removed from Steam Store)
Marvel's Avengers - The Definitive Edition (removed from Steam Store)Spec Ops: The Line (removed from Steam Store)
- Humble Hunie Sakura Bundle (can also trade for a full "charity" bundle (Australia Fire Relief Bundle or similar))
- Humble Sekai Project Bundle (can also trade for a full "charity" bundle (Stand with Ukraine Bundle or similar))
For trade:
*signifies that a game is tentatively up for trade, assuming I buy the bundle
- Destroy All Humans! 2 - Reprobed
- Life is Strange: True Colors
- Scorn
- There Is No Light: Enhanced Edition
- Arkham Horror: Mother's Embrace
- Blood Rage: Digital Edition
- Gloomhaven - Solo Scenarios: Mercenary Challenges
- Small World
- Small World - A Spider's Web
- Small World - Be not Afraid...
- Small World - Cursed!
- Small World - Grand Dames
- Small World - Royal Bonus
- Splendor
- Splendor - The Cities
- Splendor - The Strongholds
- Splendor - The Trading Posts
- Terraforming Mars
- A Short Hike(?)
- A Story Beside(?)
- Aces & Adventures(?)
- Arcade Spirits(?)
- Battlestar Galactica Deadlock(?)
- Beyond Blue(?)
- Cat Quest(?)
- Cook, Serve, Delicious! 3?!(?)
- EARTHLOCK(?)
- Harmony's Odyssey(?)
- Homeworld Remastered Collection(?)
- Lacuna – A Sci-Fi Noir Adventure(?)
- Minecraft: Java Edition - MCC Island Jingle Jam Rewards Pack(?)
- Monster Prom(?)
- Sifu Deluxe Cosmetic Pack(?)
- Spirit of the Island(?)
- SUPERHOT(?)
- Tinytopia(?)
- Toodee and Topdee(?)
- Train Valley 2(?)
- Turbo Golf Racing(?)
- Valthirian Arc: Hero School Story(?)
- Xenonauts(?)
- Back 4 Blood
- Batman: Arkham Asylum Game of the Year Edition
- Batman: Arkham City - Game of the Year Edition
- Batman: Arkham Knight Premium Edition
- Batman™: Arkham Origins
- Injustice 2 Legendary Edition
- Mad Max
- Middle-earth: Shadow of Mordor Game of the Year Edition
- Middle-earth: Shadow of War Definitive Edition
- Mortal Kombat 11
- Mortal Kombat 11 Ultimate Add-On Bundle
- Mortal Kombat XL
- Bionic Commando: Rearmed
- Dragon's Dogma: Dark Arisen
- Lost Planet 3 - Complete
- Mega Man Legacy Collection
- STRIDER™ / ストライダー飛竜®
- 112 Operator
- 911 Operator
- The Amazing American Circus
- Armello
- Backbone
- Calico
- Euro Truck Simulator 2
- Farming Simulator 17
- Ghostrunner
- Guilty Gear X2 #Reload
- Lust from Beyond: M Edition
- Monaco: What's Yours Is Mine
- Orbital Racer
- Pathfinder: Kingmaker - Enhanced Plus Edition
- PAYDAY 2
- Pilgrims
- Soulblight
- Space Crew: Legendary Edition
- Starfinder Core Rulebook (Paizo key) and Starfinder Adventure: Junker's Delight (Paizo key)
- Strange Brigade
- Stygian: Reign of the Old Ones
- System Shock 2
- System Shock: Enhanced Edition
- Ticket to Ride
- XCOM® 2
- X-Morph: Defense Complete Pack
- Vampire: The Masquerade - Coteries of New York
- Vampire: The Masquerade - Shadows of New York
- Werewolf: The Apocalypse — Heart of the Forest
- Day of the Tentacle Remastered
- Grim Fandango Remastered
- Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic
- STAR WARS®: Knights of the Old Republic™ II
- Highway Blossoms
- HunieCam Studio
- KARAKARA
- Sunrider Academy
- Sunrider: Liberation Day - Captain's Edition
- The Elder Scrolls: Legends: 2 Card Packs (Skyrim) 1 Event Ticket 100 Gold 100 Souls
- ESO Vanity Pet: Bristlegut Piglet and 15 Days of ESO Plus
- Ame no Marginal -Rain Marginal-
- KARAKARA
- Memory's Dogma CODE:01
- Narcissu 10th Anniversary Anthology Project
- Narcissu 10th Anniversary Anthology Project - Season Pass
- A Kiss For the Petals - Remembering How We Met
- Sakura Angels
- Beach Bounce
- Beach Bounce - Soundtrack
- Blue Rose
- Lionessy Story
- My Personal Angel
- Natural - Beyond Nature -
- Postmen Of Horizon (removed from Steam Store)
- Koi-Koi Japan [Hanafuda playing cards]
- Mahjong Pretty Girls Battle
- Mahjong Pretty Girls Battle : School Girls Edition
- Poker Pretty Girls Battle: Texas Hold'em
- Pretty Girls Mahjong Solitaire
- Guns of Icarus Alliance
- Guns of Icarus Online
- Impossible Creatures Steam Edition
- Lethal League
- Tempest: Pirate Action RPG
- Tempest - Treasure Lands
- Tempest - Original Soundtrack
- Warhammer 40,000: Space Wolf
- Warhammer: End Times - Vermintide
- Tenta Shooter
- Gun Gun Pixies
- DUSK
- For The King
- Book of Demons
- PlateUp!
- Kingdom Two Crowns
- White Day: A Labyrinth Named School
- Warhammer 40,000: Gladius - Relics of War
- Chivalry: Medieval Warfare
- Steel Rats™
- Hue
- Sifu Deluxe Edition Upgrade Bundle (Epic key)
- Gal*Gun: Double Peace
- The Invisible Hours
- Synergia
- ROCKETRON
- Project Nimbus: Complete Edition
- Dead Age
- Spirit Hunter: NG
- Slain: Back from Hell(?)
- Cook, Serve, Delicious!
- Tower of Time
- Danger Scavenger
- Survive the Nights
- Valfaris
- Nongunz: Doppelganger Edition
- This War of Mine
- 112 Operator
- 911 Operator
- Book of Demons
- Broken Age
- Brothers - A Tale of Two Sons
- Crying Suns
- Crying Suns
- Dear Esther: Landmark Edition
- Driftland: The Magic Revival
- Liberated (GOG key)
- Moon Hunters
- Out of Reach: Treasure Royale
- Wanderlust: Travel Stories (GOG key)
- WARSAW
- X-Morph: Defense + European Assault, Survival of the Fittest, and Last Bastion DLC (I believe this redeems as the linked Complete Pack, minus the soundtrack)
- ΔV: Rings of Saturn(?)
- Arcade Paradise
- Calico
- Say No! More
- Fallout: A Post Nuclear Role Playing Game
- Fobia - St. Dinfna Hotel
- Phoenix Point: Year One Edition
- Deliver Us The Moon
- Morkredd
- Rogue Heroes: Ruins of Tasos
- Spirit Hunter: NG
- Survivalist: Invisible Strain
- Warhammer: Vermintide 2
- ENDLESS™ Space 2
- Surviving the Aftermath
- The Long Dark
- Duck Game
- SCP: Secret Files
- WWE 2K23
- The Jackbox Party Pack
- Outward (redeems as the base game only, not the linked Definitive Edition)
- Outward - The Soroboreans
- Outward Soundtrack
- Blade Assault
- Founders' Fortune
- Hokko Life
- Monster Crown
- Othercide
- Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous - Enhanced Edition
- ScourgeBringer
- Ancestors: The Humankind Odyssey
- HOT WHEELS UNLEASHED™
- Middle-earth: Shadow of Mordor Game of the Year Edition
- Sonic CD (removed from Steam Store)
- LEGO® Harry Potter: Years 1-4
- LEGO® Harry Potter: Years 5-7
- STRIDER™ / ストライダー飛竜®
- Bionic Commando
- Full Metal Furies
- Ultra Street Fighter® IV
- Starbound
- Mafia III: Sign of the Times
- BioShock 2
- Middle-earth: Shadow of Mordor Game of the Year Edition
- Sherlock Holmes: The Devil's Daughter
- The Mean Greens - Plastic Warfare
- Crusaders of the Lost Idols Legendary Starter Pack
- Project CARS (removed from Steam Store)
WANT:
- 5D Chess With Multiverse Time Travel
- Astebreed: Definitive Edition
- Avernum: Escape from the Pit
- BlazBlue: Calamity Trigger
- CrossCode
- Dead Rising 4
- Dungreed
- Mega Man X Legacy Collection 2
- Mega Man Zero/ZX Legacy Collection
- Mortal Kombat Komplete Edition
- Myst (2021)
- NBA 2K23
- NECROPOLIS: BRUTAL EDITION
- Omensight: Definitive Edition
- OPUS: Echo of Starsong - Full Bloom Edition
- OPUS: Rocket of Whispers
- OPUS: The Day We Found Earth
- Power Rangers: Battle for the Grid
- RAGE
- Resident Evil Village
- The Jackbox Party Pack 5
- The Jackbox Party Pack 6
- The Jackbox Party Pack 7
- Wonder Boy: The Dragon's Trap
- Zombie Army 4: Dead War
- any extra copies of WWE 2K23
IGS Rep Page: https://www.reddit.com/IGSRep/comments/ti26nz/mizznos_igs_rep_page/
2024.05.19 19:53 Mangojuiceedaddy iOS 17.5 update
So I decided to update to 17.5 the other day. I am having the same issue that many people on Reddit and other news outlets like Mac rumors are reporting on. I’m wondering if anyone else is having the same issue and what steps they are taking to combat it. I have decided to not use iCloud anymore at least for my photos. Turning on advanced data protection and probably will stop using the password manager as well. Sad to see such a great company completely tank on such a small little thing like this. Maybe I’m just being quick and jumping the gun. But I am curious what ya’ll think. Call me crazy, but I truly believe every word Snowden or Luis Rossman would say on something like this, YOU CANT TRUST IT. So, localization it is!
submitted by Mangojuiceedaddy to ios [link] [comments]
2024.05.19 19:51 AdmiralTater Used Markers in 2024
Howdy y’all. I’m newer to the sport, started playing in school a couple years ago where I took it as a class (awesome, right?) and got hooked. I’ve been renting emeks for awhile now but am finally ready to get into my own electronic marker, and the used market seems to be the way to go. I’ve been looking into these and would love to get y’all’s insight:
submitted by AdmiralTater to paintball [link] [comments]
- PE 170r. So far this is my top choice and is what has been most consistently recommended to me at my local field. The reliability and ease of maintenance are very enticing to me as a relative newbie, and parts still seem to be easy to find. Mech frame capability is also nice. I’ve been seeing these in the $550-$700 range depending on condition and accessories.
- Dye DSR+. I’m interested in these for the same reason as the 170r, though to me it seems the 170r may have a slight advantage in the ease of use field. That said, people really seem to like the smoothness of the DSR+. Been seeing these for $550-$750.
- CS1/1.5. Now that these are getting older the prices seem to have come down, in the $600ish range. The features of a luxury gun would be nice at this price point but parts availability and mileage on the marker worries me a bit.
- LV 1.6. Frankly I just think the poppit guns look awesome but they may be a little more complex than I need as a newer player. The ability to tune your shot is really cool but for someone mostly playing rec ball idk how necessary that feature is. I’ve been seeing these for $700ish now that the LV2 is out so they are within the higher end of my budget.
- PE 180r. This would really be stretching the budget, but I have come across a few used 180rs in the $800 range. The plus here would be getting a much newer marker that is going to be supported for awhile and likely has less mileage on it, but is it really that much better than the 170?
2024.05.19 19:40 QuietNative ExCreR (Super Robot Heros)
 | This is my first SD I've built. I wanted to knock out 3 things with this kit. First was completing my first SD. The Second was to complete a third party kit. And third was finding a good color scheme for a third party PG that I have coming soon. submitted by QuietNative to Gunpla [link] [comments] Overall this kit was a very tight fit in almost every part that connected to the frame. So if you plan on painting, I advise you Dremel the female ends of the pieces you are painting just a little. The kit itself without painting would come together good, just a little tight. The ankle armor does suck, there is that draw back. It's very fragile so I advise careful handling when assembling this section. In the end I really like the overall experience. It was different from Bandai, but I feel a little more confident in tackling a PG third party kit. This kit was pretty cool, it was a reprint at half the price of the original and it came with a sweet mini gun that the last print did not. There are also 2 different colors for the clear parts, which I really appreciate as a builder who utilizes LED's. You are limited to what colors you can use for your overall scheme and the LED. This color scheme was a salute to the Sinanju Stein Narative Ver Ka that's coming out that I plan on doing in the future. |
2024.05.19 19:38 dnelson2408 Summary of this channel, data, and news for the last 3 weeks.
 | Afternoon all, submitted by dnelson2408 to RILYStock [link] [comments] I thought it might be fun to try and take the last three weeks and have a recap of the data and news surrounding RILY. I just searched this sub and news outlets and such for the last 3 weeks and took notes then fed them into an AI software asking it to summarize everything. In no way is this Financial Advice just a fun task. "The financial landscape for B. Riley Financial, Inc. showcases a dynamic narrative of operational resilience and strategic positioning. The company's recent activities reflect a strategic focus on managing debt obligations effectively while optimizing business segments for sustainable growth. The strategic review process for Great American Group retail liquidation and appraisal businesses is progressing, indicating a commitment to enhancing operational efficiency and value creation. In the earnings summary, a net loss of $51 million was reported, primarily driven by investment-related losses and professional services expenses. Despite these challenges, the company's strategic initiatives and operational performance remain robust, as highlighted in the earnings call. Executives Bryant Riley and Tom Kelleher emphasized the company's operational excellence and strategic direction, underscoring a commitment to shareholder value and sustainable growth. The company's strategic reviews and commitment to shareholder value remain steadfast amidst market volatility caused by short manipulation. Furthermore, the full redemption of $25,000,000 aggregate principal amount of 6.75% Senior Notes due 2024 signifies a proactive approach to managing debt and strengthening the company's financial position. This strategic move aligns with the company's focus on optimizing its capital structure and enhancing financial flexibility. Overall, B. Riley Financial's narrative is one of resilience, strategic foresight, and operational excellence in navigating market dynamics and challenges. The company's commitment to financial prudence, strategic reviews, and operational performance positions it well for sustained growth and value creation in the evolving financial landscape." Below is the data the AI used to create the summary. Just copy and pasted from a very quick and crude gathering of information into a word doc. I also enjoyed the earnings summary the AI did. The last line made me feel happy thoughts. - In summary, B. Riley Financial's first-quarter 2024 results underscore its strong operational foundation and strategic foresight, positioning it well for future growth and shareholder value creation. 1. Cohodes being loud and classless examples https://preview.redd.it/xymj94vp5f1d1.png?width=637&format=png&auto=webp&s=3d9f18f4f877f7fb518039bc78198e77e3fcd190 https://preview.redd.it/bxacg0bp5f1d1.png?width=975&format=png&auto=webp&s=9a4eba6a4a39457cc47661be5836008976b37fc6 https://preview.redd.it/q5kdr5qo5f1d1.png?width=975&format=png&auto=webp&s=14dcb5473ed7dcac4646eaba2b983806f32bd875 https://preview.redd.it/ky1hlc1o5f1d1.png?width=789&format=png&auto=webp&s=4c603719820d06ea91d9181ad3c41734a603b795 https://preview.redd.it/soco7bjn5f1d1.png?width=969&format=png&auto=webp&s=dfbcf20f984e391c51afcc89e46597d1d9dff6ad https://preview.redd.it/pwbnnwwr5f1d1.png?width=975&format=png&auto=webp&s=fe06146b727540c291825eda8db5f33b11e9e992 2. Discussion about FUD and shorts deception I see the shorts (Marc Cohoded and Co.) are still at it, trying to l use a fake psychological twist to cause doubt. Let's stick to the facts and let the price go where it will in the long term. Short thesis was and is there was fraud, both proven wrong by independent investigation and a clean independent audit if the 10-K and now 10-Q. You can slap that one around anyway you want, but both came up clean. First, they have stated their intentions of a sale of a carried undervalued asset (Great American) by a third party for a massive realized gain. Good for the investors and bond holders as they said they would use funds to deleveverage the balance sheet and buy back stock which already has very little float. Second, I have never seen a company that is paying dividends go under whith out, completely eliminating the dividends first (RILY still pays a dividend and baby bonds are all current--none are in any default). Third, business has been good with lots of new hires, new capital makets raises and fees and their business seems to be thriving. Shorts will try to mislead all of us with their lies and deciept but if we hold strong I believe that the stock will go to at least 50 ish in the short term where they did their secondary. I believe at that point, RILY may run into a bit of resistance. However, a squeeze could easily send us through that to new highs. Patience is the key as they have stated all this in their press releases in the recent past. If we al on this sitel just buy 100 to 1000 shares on Monday and hld through the 29th to get the dividends. this will rocket to new heights. This is not a recommendation, simply my thoughts. Do your own due diligence. 3.Stop lending shares=pain for shorts = short squeeze If all longs can stop lending shares at least I believe we can cause shorts to cover. There is no valid short narrative, both longs and shorts know this. Now it’s purely who can hold out longer. Shorts have been very active as of late trying to push share price lower and with many of us loaning shares out we are actually helping the shorts hurt us. I believe if we stopped lending out shares borrow rate skyrockets and that added cost combined with dividend and gradual upward movement will force shorts to cover. Granted news release can help but we don’t need news we just need to stop lending and wait and see. 4. Smoking Gun: Thursday dropped because shorts borrowed and sold 724K shares (with 2MM total volume) and 447K on Wednesday (with 1.3MM total volume). They're trying to drive price down, induce panic, get folks to sell, and buy back shares at a super low price. https://preview.redd.it/hopdxkbt5f1d1.png?width=975&format=png&auto=webp&s=3945adf69a00addb0c2da4ea0c26b2a4de2749b3 5. Article showing RILY coming back https://www.investmentnews.com/broker-dealers/news/b-riley-bouncing-back-after-tough-winter-253448 6. Rily - Day 3 of short attactks - There's a positive Our favorite shorts cohodes&co is on overdrive releasing as much fake accusations as possible, they now have been adding a lot to their position at a higher price point with shares in the 30s, now the shorts cost basis has gotten worse for them. With more shares at a worst cost with dividends coming due as well as borrow fees , shorts have less wiggle room especially if stock goes to 40 again. Now at 40 I believe they will be losing money. With insiders hopefully buying soon and the company continuing their share buy back program , that can lead to upward movement in share price leading to the “squeeze “. 7. $RILY Earnings Summary Not financial advice. It was an interesting investor call, an almost boring call which was refreshing. The company had a net loss of $51m driven by non-cash items including $29m unrealized loss on investments and a $30m fair value adjustment on their loans. Cash flows were pretty good, with operating cash flows of $135m and adjusted operating EBITDA of $66m. Targus and American Freight contributed nothing this quarter, both companies are historically strong businesses but have been working through a business cycle post-COVID after many Americans bought the things they needed. Those companies should improve in the next year. The company previously announced a potential sale of Great American Group. Q-1 earnings for that segment increased to $35m of EBITDA, so at 10-12x a potential sale is looking like $350-$420m. On the call they said that is expected by early Q3. They also mentioned possibly looking at a sale in their Brands division later this year with the goal of retiring their discounted debt, citing it as an opportunity. The short thesis crumbled last month with a clean 10-K and two internal investigations which added an additional $7m in expense but presumably were quite thorough and completely debunked claims by bears. There are no shares available to borrow per Fintel: https://preview.redd.it/ukhk0tou5f1d1.png?width=975&format=png&auto=webp&s=0622973216e0293d7f2699c1b6eee3216824305e And short interest remains at approximately 65% with 9 million shares short, though the retail float is thought to be much smaller, maybe 2m shares. The company has $34m available at quarter end for buybacks from a previously approved program. I see value here, and I liked what I heard on the call. 8. Misconceptions - Rily Share Structure [THIS POST IS FOR EDUCATIONAL PURPOSES ONLY] mumen_rida There seems to be a lot of confusion about the company’s share structure and I would like to use this post to help not only my own understanding but also help others. It’s a bit confusing but let’s tackle it together. I got this information from marketwatch: Total Float = 30 million shares Public float = 16 million shares Shares sold short = 9 million shares % of public float sold short = 56.38% According to fintel: Institutional ownership = 14.18 million shares So let me get this straight, there is 16 million shares in the public float and institutions own 89% of that (14.18 million shares). So that would mean retail investors collectively only have about 1.82 million shares to trade around amongst ourselves. Let’s call that retail float. So, retail float = 1.82 million shares. Let’s wrap up all the most important information (imo) regarding the current share structure and please correct me if any of the information I presented here today is false: Total float = 30m Public float = 16m Shares short = 9m Retail float = 1.82m Where I think it gets the most interesting is when you divide shares short by retail float. 9/1.82= 4.95 or 495% of retail float. Hope this helps clear up any confusion regarding the share structure. REPSONSE TO THIS BELOW EnvironmentalBreak48 •3d ago THIS RESPONSE IS FOR EDUCATIONAL PURPOSES ONLY. NFA. Do your own DD, make your own decisions. Based on OP calculation. 1. Total Float: About 30 million shares. 2. Public Float: 16 million shares. 3. Shares Sold Short: 9 million shares. 4. % of Public Float Sold Short: 56.38%. 5. Institutional Ownership: 14.18 million shares. 6. Retail Float: 1.82 million shares (calculated as Public Float - Institutional Ownership). Given this information: Understanding Short Interest· Shares Sold Short: About 9 million shares.· Retail Float: 1.82 million shares. · Short Interest as a Percentage of Retail Float: 9 million shares/1.82 million shares≈495% This high percentage indicates that the short interest is nearly five times the available retail float, which could lead to a short squeeze if investors hold onto their shares and/or demand increases. Days to Cover (Short Interest Ratio)The Days to Cover metric gives an estimate of how many days it would take for short sellers to cover their positions based on the average daily trading volume. Here’s how to calculate it:1. Determine the average daily trading volume (ADTV): This information is usually available on financial websites like MarketWatch or Yahoo Finance. Let’s assume the ADTV is 1,000,000 shares (this is an example, you should use the actual ADTV for a more precise calculation). 2. Days to Cover: Shares Sold Short/ADTV Using our example ADTV: Days to Cover=9,000,000 (short shares)/1,000,000(Avg. Daily Volume)=9 days Days to Cover Potential Implications· High Short Interest Ratio: A high Days to Cover ratio suggests it would take a significant amount of time for shorts to cover their positions, which can lead to increased volatility.· Potential for a Short Squeeze: With a high percentage of the retail float sold short, if retail investors decided to hold their shares and the stock price rises, short sellers may be forced to buy back shares at higher prices, leading to a potential short squeeze. · Limited Retail Float: With only 1.82 million shares available for retail trading, any significant buying pressure from institutional investors and/or retail investors it could quickly drive up the stock price. 9. Why Even the Joker Thinks You’d Be a _____ For Not Taking A Look at RILY Stock Batman here. You might know me as the Dark Knight, the Caped Crusader, or the guy who really, really, really wants to own a spaceship. Today, straight from the Batcave, lets talk about something as exciting as racing the Batmobile or the return of Roaring Kitty—RILY stock. First off, let’s talk numbers, because even a superhero knows the importance of a strong financial foundation. RILY has been buying back shares like Alfred buys Bat-gadgets—strategically and frequently. This move isn’t just a nifty trick; IMO it’s a signal that RILY is confident in its value. When a company buys back its own shares, it’s like Batman investing in more Batarangs—it’s a smart play that shows belief in future performance. But that’s not all, folks. The recent buzz around RILY isn’t just cat signals in the sky—it’s grounded in solid developments. RILY had to work hard to file their 10K after all the mudslinging from the shorts, but got it done. The first big catalyst domino to fall. Now, let’s get to the juicy part—earnings and dividends. RILY’s about to drop their Q1 earnings tomorrow, and you know what that means? Dividends! That’s right, folks. RILY is likely to declare a dividend, that our short friends will be paying. Dividends are like the Batmobile’s turbo boost—an extra kick that gets you excited and propels you forward. Plus, once they file their Q, a few days later insiders should be able to start buying again. Form 4s anyone? Here’s where it gets really interesting: meme stocks are back with a vengeance, wow talk about a left jab, and shorts are on their heels. The RILY squeeze might start very soon or it might not, but with shorts potentially facing margin calls due to price movements in various holdings, and especially if they’ve been shorting RILY all the way down it has not been a good week for the shorts so far. Just look how RILY stock popped this morning on about 200k in volume. To add insult to injury, to date, NONE of the short thesis has come to fruition or has been confirmed by independent information. They’re in quicksand, and it’s time to gas up the rocket. There are still several catalysts that may come into play here: Q1 Earnings Release: Scheduled to be filed tomorrow, providing insights into the company's recent performance. The deal flow on their website was up YoY. Dividend Announcements: Anticipated dividends right around the corner. Insider Buying: Once the Q1 earnings are filed, insiders should be able to buy stock again, expect to see some Form 4s in very short order. Sale of Great America Division: If RILY sales Great American, they have said the proceeds from this sale are expected to be used to reduce debt and fund further stock buybacks, potentially enhancing shareholder value. Low Float: With a limited number of shares available for trading, increased demand can lead to significant price movements. Buybacks: Ongoing buybacks can continue to support the stock price. Meme Stock Momentum: With meme stocks making a comeback, there's increased interest and activity in stocks that are short and that could drive up RILY’s stock price. Short Squeeze Potential: Low public float, company buybacks, insider buying…mix that up and you have the recipe for a potential squeeze. Roaring Kitty's Return: The return of Roaring Kitty, a key figure in the meme stock movement, brings renewed attention and excitement to the stock market in general. And, guess who just chimed in on RILY earlier today? That's right—JeffAmazon from the GameStop meme trade and Netflix documentary! He made a little tweet tweet on $RILY Additional Catalysts: What do you all think….. Stay vigilant, stay smart, and just my thoughts—do your own due diligence and make your own decisions. NFA. 10. FAKE ARTICLE BULLSHIT FUD………… Well, IMO even Stevie Wonder can see that the latest article on FRG is just another hatchet job. IMO the problem with creating a narrative is that the facts can’t keep up, and boy, did they fall behind here. RILY conducted not one, but two independent investigations and found zilch issues with its FRG investment or loans made to Kahn. And guess what? No connection with Prophecy either. FRG did their own investigation and also found no connection with Prophecy. So, to call the relationship between RILY and FRG controversial is like calling a puppy dangerous—laughable. In RILY's 10k, they marked up their FRG investment FMV $281 million to $286 million… FRG's FY23 financials are public, and the attached table shows the maturities of their debt. In 2024, about $10.5 million in debt is maturing. Big deal. Looming debt? Hardly. The real kicker is in 2026 when about $1.5 billion of debt matures—not this year, not next. LOL. The FRG financials clearly state they were in full compliance with their debt covenants in FY23 and fully expect to be in compliance in FY24. Yet, "the people" say FRG is down double digits in Q1. Funny timing with RILY's Q1 financials coming out on Wednesday, huh? And by the way, FRG's adjusted EBITDA for Q1 FY23 was $66 million, not the $62 million the article claims. Why not use the actual FRG public company number? Maybe because when you're rushing to write a hit piece, you just pick random numbers. https://www.globenewswire.com/en/news-release/2023/05/10/2665414/0/en/Franchise-Group-Inc-Announces-First-Quarter-Fiscal-Year-2023-Financial-Results.html So, according to the article, FRG is down 63% in revenue ($66 million vs. the alleged $25 million). Sure, FRG sold Badcock and Sylvan Learning, so they might be down YoY, but down 63%? FRG sold in FY24 Q1 Sylvan for $185 Million cash….and they’re worried about paying $10.5 million in long term debt due this year. Got it. https://www.franchisetimes.com/franchise_mergers_and_acquisitions/unleashed-brands-buys-sylvan-learning/article_a568813e-d4c7-11ee-bb32-1f85230cfdda.html https://preview.redd.it/lry689p16f1d1.png?width=975&format=png&auto=webp&s=0714b3b378abb528f0abb470ade0deb3d34c2d39 •5 days ago BleepBlimpBop NT-10Q mirrors the press release about the 5-day delay on the 10Q. It's the formal document for the SEC. It also includes estimated earnings. 13F-HR lists their investment holdings as of 3/31. "Estimated results of operations for the three months ended March 31, 2024 are summarized as follows:Cash and cash equivalents is expected to be approximately $191 million at March 31, 2024, a decrease of $41 million from $232 million at December 31, 2023. Total debt is expected to be approximately $2.19 billion, a decrease of approximately $170 million from $2.36 billion at December 31, 2023. This reflects the early redemption of approximately $115 million of senior notes during the three months ended March 31, 2024. Net loss available to common shareholders is expected to be approximately $51 million during the three months ended March 31, 2024 compared to net income available to common shareholders of $15 million in the prior year. The net loss is due to non-cash items which includes unrealized losses on investments and fair value adjustments on loans of approximately $59 million; in addition to incremental expenses of approximately $7 million incurred for professional fees relating to the filing of our 10-K and outside counsel review and subsequent independent investigation conducted as part of the previously disclosed investigation of the Audit Committee of the Company’s Board of Directors." 12. Friendly PSA: Manage your emotions •5 days ago BleepBlimpBop I'm optimistic that the shorts' game will begin to fully unravel this week. This is a PSA to please manage your emotions, set your strategy intelligently, and don't get carried away by emotion. For many longs, the past months have had a lot of negative emotion. Especially for long-time holders, who watched the full show: · Initial short attacks · Months of tailspin · Months of trading sideways like an EKG · A run up to $40 · A swift retrace -25% · Endless vicious attacks on the company, its clients, its employees, its auditors, and on any individual who publicly states they see value in the company (including personal attacks on people on this sub) Whether you got in years ago, and stayed for the growing business, fat dividends, and diversification...or got in last week because the short ratio is astronomical... The recovery to fair value, whatever path it takes (squeeze, or gradual) will provoke a varied and wide range of emotions. The emotional component of investing is the hardest part. Personally, I think it's a deep value play, and I'm not anxious to jump off the train. It's a company where insiders are huge owners, and their interests are truly aligned with shareholders. Because they're the biggest individual holders. The huge extra profit sharing dividends of 2021+ were impressive; this company rewards shareholders. Please manage your emotions. Please invest intelligently. Please be nice to other nice people. This isn't financial advice, but it is life advice. Manage your emotions, and make intelligent decisions. 13. RILY RS Article 76 to 83 https://www.investors.com/ibd-data-stories/b-riley-financial-shows-rising-price-performance-with-jump-to-83-rs-rating/ B. Riley Financial (RILY) saw a welcome improvement to its Relative Strength (RS) Rating on Thursday, with an increase from 76 to 83. IBD's proprietary rating tracks share price performance with a 1 (worst) to 99 (best) score. The score shows how a stock's price performance over the trailing 52 weeks stacks up against all the other stocks in our database. Over 100 years of market history reveals that the stocks that go on to make the biggest gains typically have an 80 or higher RS Rating as they begin their biggest climbs. Now is not an ideal time to jump in since it isn't near a proper buy zone, but see if the stock manages to form a base and break out. The company showed 0% EPS growth last quarter. Revenue rose -9%. The company is expected to report its latest earnings and sales numbers on or around May 15. The company earns the No. 24 rank among its peers in the Finance-Investment Banking/Brokers industry group. Interactive Brokers (IBKR), Piper Sandler (PIPR) and Ameriprise Financial (AMP) are among the top 5 highly rated stocks within the group. 14. Announcement of 2024 Annual Meeting June 21st https://www.sec.gov/ix?doc=/Archives/edgadata/0001464790/000121390024041725/ea0205510-01.htm 15. Repost: $RILY DD: The real price potential...when the stock is a solid/growing company (not just a squeeze). 9 days ago BleepBlimpBop In response to multiple requests, reposting my DD on price potential from 2 months ago. Will hopefully facilitate intelligent thought about price potential. -------- Many have been speculating about the squeeze price potential (75.72% of free float shorted per Fintel). Lots of posts discussing "how high" and "how soon." As others have observed, correctly, no one knows. However, I think we can look at financials, and past price, to get a good indication of a reasonable range, after any "squeeze dust settles." Let's recognize a few things: A) It's a growing, and historically very profitable business. It's not GME (dying company with obsolete business model). B) It rewards its shareholders with regular dividends, and large special dividends when profits are high. C) It spent a year (early 2021 to early 2022) around $70/share. Plus or minus $20. High of $90. D) July 2023 $100MM share offering was at $55, with lots of institutional interest, and lots of employee interest (7% of the new shares). It was only a small discount to the $60 stock price at the time (often, the offerings are at a much greater discount to induce institutions to invest). · Institutions do their due diligence - they don't buy unless they think it's a good deal. · Same with employees! E) It didn't tank because their business model is obsolete (i.e., GME issue). It tanked because of: · Short seller reports spewing fear, uncertainty, and doubt. · Rampant flimsy speculation · Poor earnings during a crappy time for investment banking (their main business), and some unfavorable mark-to-market of some of their investments. · Note that RILY makes a business of supporting and investing in companies in distress. When they provide financial options, they also actively help the company right the business. That process takes time, so there's often interim volatility in the value of their assets. But their historical investment returns and recovery rates seem to be very good. Profitable, but can create volatility in the books as it plays out. · Character assassinations. F) From the looks of it, now that Reg Sho is in place, a concerted group using naked short selling, spoofing bid/ask, keeping a cash account to sell shares and manipulate low volume (all speculations, but notice the radical difference in how it trades now that there's regulator scrutiny and forced settlement - as well as observant people here and on Twitter calling out the egregious observable issues in the trading action) G) It's continued to grow since 2021/2022 (look at the investor presentation in December). They've continued to disclose deal flow and make acquisitions since. What does that all mean? A) $70-90 would be a reasonable steady-state price if the shorts moved on, profitability returns to normal levels, and the company was the same size as 2021-2022. B) Significantly higher than $70-90 would be a reasonable steady-state, given growth in the company, and a return to historical scale of profitability. · You can also bet-your-bottom-dollar they're going to make sure their balance sheet is IRONCLAD go forward, and they do a better job of explaining their business. · Management owns a huge chunk of the business, and they'll **never** want to be susceptible to this crap again. C) A squeeze could have one of two impacts: · Return the business to a reasonable steady-state price (e.g., $70-100+) · Accelerate the company well above a steady-state price, where it could remain for an extended period, or return to a normal steady-state price. D) A squeeze isn't necessary to return this to a steady-state price. Just time... Company executes, shorts pay high borrow fees, shorts hedged positions decay. How do I think about it? · I'd love to see the slightly-slower-road to steady-state. · I'd love love to see the fast road back to steady-state. · I'd love love love to see this thing shoot well beyond any reasonable steady-state, and bankrupt the most vocal short sellers. By all appearances, they rank among the more degenerate of their species. · For those that sell early, they'll be sad watching from the sidelines. The road may not be linear, but I think it's paved with gold. These are my thoughts. Not financial advice. To the moon, baby. 16. $RILY- “They can win by doing nothing 12 days ago Outrageous_Appeal_89 “ Whitebrook capital assessment addressing cohodes&co BS at the peak of their false accusations and in a polite way stating short funds were making things up (misinformation & manipulation ). It seems $RILY is executing on some of the recommendations Whitebrook capital had - share buy back and bond buy back has been executed and continues to be executed on. Whether you invest in $RILY for the long term prospects or the short squeeze that can be triggered any day as lie after lie is exposed. Bottom line is the fair value of $RILY is a lot higher then where it currently trades. We will get a better idea whether share prices deserves to be in the 50s or 60s as we get an update on GAG valuation. Seems many here forget that $RILY creates value by turning companies around and then monetize, this process takes time , they have been able to do this successfully, repeatedly over the years. https://preview.redd.it/uiisruq36f1d1.png?width=792&format=png&auto=webp&s=e6c32c04877ae21b51cb8a99cee0aef17cdb32c4 17. 3 Videos from Value Don’t Lie on Youtube talking about Financials of RILY and overall company valuation https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kRenvff8duE&t=1s https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EoaCZw7AmpA&t https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7_Ayoox3fvM 18. Getting around the NBBO and Longing the Box So let this sink in… the market opens and in 5 minutes we rally to $34.42, then over the next 15 minutes we drop to $28.80 at which point SSR was triggered and sell volume slows WAY the hell down. That drop was ALL short sellers and NO longs selling shares (otherwise the sell-off wouldnt have stopped literally minutes after SSR triggered). NOW, what the scumbag shorts are doing is going Long Against The Box. 19. Steve Cohen and Point 72 buy 24,917 shares long on May 15th https://preview.redd.it/fhdhyco46f1d1.png?width=975&format=png&auto=webp&s=6600f6a9a3f0bc5bc8823cddb5f52defdf282063 20. Summarize this earnings call and keep pertinent quotes and data in the summary. https://filecache.investorroom.com/mr5ir_briley2/925/RILY_1Q24_Earnings_Release_vFINAL.pdf Chat GPT Summary of the full report below B. Riley Financial, Inc. (NASDAQ: RILY) reported its first-quarter 2024 financial results, showcasing resilience and operational strength despite facing challenging market conditions and unique internal events. Here's a summary with a positive outlook: First Quarter2024 Highlights:1. Quarterly Dividend Declaration:
Leadership Insights:
Looking Ahead:B. Riley's strategic initiatives, such as debt reduction and selective investments, position the company for continued success. The ongoing strategic review of its Great American Group retail liquidation and appraisal businesses indicates a proactive approach to optimizing its portfolio. The firm remains committed to delivering value to its shareholders through dividends and operational excellence.In summary, B. Riley Financial's first-quarter 2024 results underscore its strong operational foundation and strategic foresight, positioning it well for future growth and shareholder value creation. 20. State of the Stock 15 days ago UF_Secret_Account Not financial advice, do your own research. Don't take advice from the internet, consult a professional financial advisor. On April 19th, the stock closed at $19.99. Today, it is over 50% higher after a positive 10-K clearing the company of fraud allegations. The stock touched $40 on April 26 and 29, a 100% gain from a week prior. The short interest has remained relatively consistent during the move, with 10-11 million shares still short. However, given the time lapsed, I think it's safe to assume that most of those shares were covered and re-shorted in the last two weeks. For future research, we should assume they have an average $35 entry on their short positions. 1st quarter earnings are coming soon. Like many of you, I am a little curious that it hasn't been announced yet, but I have no concerns with everything the company has on its plate. 10-Q's are unaudited and it's very unlikely there is anything to be concerned about, in my opinion. The company could be coming to the end of their strategic review for GAG. That will eventually result in some additional financial statement adjustments for presentation. I would expect 1st quarter earnings to be good based on their deal flow and reported transactions. In November 2023, the board approved $50m for stock buybacks. The company repurchased 728,330 shares at an average price of $21.85, but mainly bought shares in November. That's $16 million spent, and means the company had $34 million approved to buy back stock at year end. The program continues through October 2024. At our current price, that would be 1.1 million shares (3.3% of the outstanding stock). That is significant for a stock with this many outstanding shares, but more significant for the number of freely traded shares which is far less. How many times have we seen huge price moves on small blocks of shares? If the company adds $10-15 million to that program, that's another 300,000-500,000 shares. Again, it doesn't sound like a huge number but it would add pressure to what will become a dire situation for the shorts. The shorts may decide not to cover, or to continue the strategy of taking their losses and re-shorting, but their ability to influence the stock back to a level where they truly profit is nonexistent in my opinion, particularly when volume dies between market-moving events. I am eyeing the $50-$55 range as my price target in the next move up. 21. NOTE on FRG Independent Auditor’s Report One of the positive things I see IMO was for the billion dollar loan that matures in 2026. “On July 2, 2021, the Company repaid $182.1 million of principal of the First Lien Term Loan using cash proceeds from the sale of the Liberty Tax business. The prepayment also satisfied the requirements for the quarterly principal payments so no additional principal payments with respect to the First Lien Term Loans (excluding the Incremental First Lien Term Loan) are due until the First Lien Term Loan maturity date.” To me this gives them some flexibility for their cash as there isn’t much long term debt due in 2024 or 2025. https://preview.redd.it/ib92t7e66f1d1.png?width=975&format=png&auto=webp&s=df286021b0653db92122e33df0ed37f1068a0c6c 22. on May 3rd Cohodes or someone else got media to report 4th quarter from last year as q1 earnings this year. Which was a lie and FUD https://preview.redd.it/nlau48276f1d1.png?width=623&format=png&auto=webp&s=832695b6c331c3df6dbcb861dc90551ee42a036a 23. B. Riley Financial Announces Full Redemption of 6.75% SR Notes Due 2024 17 days ago Wolfiger LOS ANGELES, May 1, 2024 /PRNewswire/ -- B. Riley Financial, Inc. (NASDAQ: RILY) ("B. Riley" or the "Company") today announced that it has called for the full redemption equal to $25,000,000 aggregate principal amount of its 6.75% Senior Notes due 2024 (the "Notes") on May 31, 2024 (the "Redemption Date"). The redemption price is equal to 100% of the aggregate principal amount, plus any accrued and unpaid interest up to, but excluding, the Redemption Date, as set forth in each notice of redemption delivered to noteholders on May 1, 2024. https://ir.brileyfin.com/2024-05-01-B-Riley-Financial-Announces-Full-Redemption-of-6-75-Senior-Notes-due-2024 24. 8k filed May 1st for Nasdaq Compliance 25. Found management bonus if above 136 by October. Did anybody else know that a part of managements comp was in the form of Performance-based Restricted Stocks Units with a vesting date of 10/27/24 AND A HURDLE PRICE OF $135?!? https://preview.redd.it/wo2uh54k5f1d1.png?width=547&format=png&auto=webp&s=8b6dedf28ec845b2170647674f5b39b6eaac96a1 |
2024.05.19 19:30 thesilverpoets96 Song of the Week: Rent A Cop
https://youtu.be/zseaYPPbcgk?si=StYvg2PAAXkR8Ku_
https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/benfolds/rentacop.html
Hello everyone, I hope all is well. Today we are going to be looking at “Rent A Cop” which is the eighth track from Ben’s 2006 release Supersunnyspeedgraphic, The LP.
This is an odd album because it’s basically a glorified compilation album. In 2003 and 2004, Ben started releasing these EP’s which consisted of original songs and covers. After fans started complaining about these songs not being in one place, Ben collected some of the songs, as well as a few others, and put them on this album which he named by putting all three names of the EPs together.
“Rent A Cop” originally was released on the 2004 EP titled Super D. It’s an interesting song because it’s a fun tune with a lot of humor, but I don’t see it mentioned much on here so I’m not sure how it’s perceived by fans. The song starts off with a drum fill and launches into the main part of the song. Ben’s playing this piano riff low on the piano in an upbeat feel that gives off a lot of energy. We are then hit with some weird robotic synths and some acoustic guitar which is always a welcomed thing in Ben’s music.
But to me, it’s the drums that really make this song. The pattern of the drum beat is addictive and really drives the song because when Ben starts singing, the piano and guitar drop out and it’s only Ben’s voice, bass and those rhythmic drums. Lyrically, this song is basically a precursor to the Kevin James movie Paul Blart as this song is about a mall cop. Ben sings through the perspective of a mall cop who exclaims that that it’s the best job in the world because he gets to “‘troll food courts for girls.” He assures us that the girls love him for his uniform and his “little mustache.”
Then this pervy cop explains how he can check out all the women in the mall because he’s wearing sunglasses. We also get the stereotypical lyric about cops and donuts as Ben sings “I whisper through my doughnut ‘Hey baby, baby light that ass on fire.’” It’s a corny line but it fits the personality of this “cop” and I love how musically you can hear the guitar and synths in between each verse.
We then get to the chorus where this cop seems to hate his job. He’s counting down the hours until he can clock out and complains about how he’s all alone in this big mall. If this song took place today then this mall cop would really feel all alone. I love how Ben’s vocals are a little bit louder and fuller during the chorus and right after the chorus we get these horns that really shine in the song.
The second verse sees this mall cop explaining to a kid that he’s not equipped with a gun. And how he doesn’t “get paid enough to run.” Which must lead into some type of argument with this kid because our mall copy says “so you can call me what you want but I'll be hanging at the check out, checking out your girlfriend. Figure out how she's going to fit all of that butt into that underwear.” Is this one of Ben’s worst lyrics? It’s definitely possible. But Ben is singing this song through a character and the way he’s singing (especially with the “yeahs” after each verse) is really selling the whole thing.
We get some different lyrics for the second chorus. This time Ben, or should I say this “rent a cop”, is flirting with this girl at the mall and tells her that he can help her find where she parked her daddy’s car.
Then we get to the bridge of this song which begins with this awesome drop out where it’s only the drums. I wouldn’t call it a drum solo but there’s definitely additional percussion going on and it sounds massive. But when the piano and horns enter back into the mix it sounds like we get some sort of modulation or key change. The horns are playing these longer notes and Ben’s piano playing is more bluesy. He eventually returns to that opening piano riff but played a couple octaves up. Then the horns really go crazy and start playing the riff as well! The bridge is extremely musical and gets my head nodding every time.
We return to the chorus where the mall cop is waiting until it’s “Miller time” which is basically beer o’clock. Then we get this outro which starts with a percussive sounding acoustic guitar which is eventually swapped out for that funky sounding synth keyboard lead. We get more boisterous sounding drums and those jazzy horns. Each instrument gets a turn to solo and shine, all the while Ben sings “I whisper through my doughnut, hey baby light that ass on fire.” The song eventually ends with a drum outro until you can hear Ben in the studio say “alright that’s good.”
Is this one of Ben’s masterpieces? No, I’m not sure anyone would think that. But I do feel like this song may get overlooked. Yeah, lyrically the song is over the top goofy and this mall cop character is a sleaze bag. But Ben’s vocal delivery really sells the character and it’s not meant to be a “deep” song. Besides, the music of this song is one of Ben’s more lively pieces of music with a full band. Not in a fast or “punk” type of way, but more in a dynamic “big band” sort of way. I wish he toured with horns. What’s cool is that during Covid lockdown when Ben was doing livestreams in his apartment, he played a bit of this song on guitar. Which makes me curious if he wrote this song originally on guitar. You can check it out in this video below:
https://www.youtube.com/live/Riu1A6PPW0M?si=qRytGct3xmnITIG6
But what do you think of this more obscure song? Do you feel like it deserves more love? What do you think the song is about? Favorite lyrical or musical moments? And have you ever seen it live?
submitted by thesilverpoets96 to benfolds [link] [comments]
https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/benfolds/rentacop.html
Hello everyone, I hope all is well. Today we are going to be looking at “Rent A Cop” which is the eighth track from Ben’s 2006 release Supersunnyspeedgraphic, The LP.
This is an odd album because it’s basically a glorified compilation album. In 2003 and 2004, Ben started releasing these EP’s which consisted of original songs and covers. After fans started complaining about these songs not being in one place, Ben collected some of the songs, as well as a few others, and put them on this album which he named by putting all three names of the EPs together.
“Rent A Cop” originally was released on the 2004 EP titled Super D. It’s an interesting song because it’s a fun tune with a lot of humor, but I don’t see it mentioned much on here so I’m not sure how it’s perceived by fans. The song starts off with a drum fill and launches into the main part of the song. Ben’s playing this piano riff low on the piano in an upbeat feel that gives off a lot of energy. We are then hit with some weird robotic synths and some acoustic guitar which is always a welcomed thing in Ben’s music.
But to me, it’s the drums that really make this song. The pattern of the drum beat is addictive and really drives the song because when Ben starts singing, the piano and guitar drop out and it’s only Ben’s voice, bass and those rhythmic drums. Lyrically, this song is basically a precursor to the Kevin James movie Paul Blart as this song is about a mall cop. Ben sings through the perspective of a mall cop who exclaims that that it’s the best job in the world because he gets to “‘troll food courts for girls.” He assures us that the girls love him for his uniform and his “little mustache.”
Then this pervy cop explains how he can check out all the women in the mall because he’s wearing sunglasses. We also get the stereotypical lyric about cops and donuts as Ben sings “I whisper through my doughnut ‘Hey baby, baby light that ass on fire.’” It’s a corny line but it fits the personality of this “cop” and I love how musically you can hear the guitar and synths in between each verse.
We then get to the chorus where this cop seems to hate his job. He’s counting down the hours until he can clock out and complains about how he’s all alone in this big mall. If this song took place today then this mall cop would really feel all alone. I love how Ben’s vocals are a little bit louder and fuller during the chorus and right after the chorus we get these horns that really shine in the song.
The second verse sees this mall cop explaining to a kid that he’s not equipped with a gun. And how he doesn’t “get paid enough to run.” Which must lead into some type of argument with this kid because our mall copy says “so you can call me what you want but I'll be hanging at the check out, checking out your girlfriend. Figure out how she's going to fit all of that butt into that underwear.” Is this one of Ben’s worst lyrics? It’s definitely possible. But Ben is singing this song through a character and the way he’s singing (especially with the “yeahs” after each verse) is really selling the whole thing.
We get some different lyrics for the second chorus. This time Ben, or should I say this “rent a cop”, is flirting with this girl at the mall and tells her that he can help her find where she parked her daddy’s car.
Then we get to the bridge of this song which begins with this awesome drop out where it’s only the drums. I wouldn’t call it a drum solo but there’s definitely additional percussion going on and it sounds massive. But when the piano and horns enter back into the mix it sounds like we get some sort of modulation or key change. The horns are playing these longer notes and Ben’s piano playing is more bluesy. He eventually returns to that opening piano riff but played a couple octaves up. Then the horns really go crazy and start playing the riff as well! The bridge is extremely musical and gets my head nodding every time.
We return to the chorus where the mall cop is waiting until it’s “Miller time” which is basically beer o’clock. Then we get this outro which starts with a percussive sounding acoustic guitar which is eventually swapped out for that funky sounding synth keyboard lead. We get more boisterous sounding drums and those jazzy horns. Each instrument gets a turn to solo and shine, all the while Ben sings “I whisper through my doughnut, hey baby light that ass on fire.” The song eventually ends with a drum outro until you can hear Ben in the studio say “alright that’s good.”
Is this one of Ben’s masterpieces? No, I’m not sure anyone would think that. But I do feel like this song may get overlooked. Yeah, lyrically the song is over the top goofy and this mall cop character is a sleaze bag. But Ben’s vocal delivery really sells the character and it’s not meant to be a “deep” song. Besides, the music of this song is one of Ben’s more lively pieces of music with a full band. Not in a fast or “punk” type of way, but more in a dynamic “big band” sort of way. I wish he toured with horns. What’s cool is that during Covid lockdown when Ben was doing livestreams in his apartment, he played a bit of this song on guitar. Which makes me curious if he wrote this song originally on guitar. You can check it out in this video below:
https://www.youtube.com/live/Riu1A6PPW0M?si=qRytGct3xmnITIG6
But what do you think of this more obscure song? Do you feel like it deserves more love? What do you think the song is about? Favorite lyrical or musical moments? And have you ever seen it live?
2024.05.19 19:26 scoobysnax32 New player (lvl23) trying to thank players for gifts
Apologize in advance if this has been discussed previously (I’m relatively new to Reddit, too..) I’ve been so shocked and grateful by several players’ incredible gifts.. guns I’ve never even heard of (like this ‘Fixer’ which honestly may be the most fun game play I’ve ever had), armor that is going to help me with so many quests I’ve been hesitant to try.. all from strangers. I wish I knew a better way to thank everyone for being so welcoming and positive for someone like me that has never played a game like this before. All I’ve got is a little heart emote/gesture and I feel like it’s no where near the thanks that’s deserved.
If you’re an experienced player or anyone that has given these kinds of things to new people like me: 1, you’re seriously so awesome and I can’t wait til I’m at a point that I can be like you and return the favor, and 2, what would you say is an appropriate way to show appreciation or thanks in this game? Do people ever send messages? What’s the standard/polite/typical player preference for these kinds of things?
TLDR: How can new players show appreciation for the incredible gifts they receive? (Because, wow, you guys are the most generous and kind group I’ve ever met.)
submitted by scoobysnax32 to fo76 [link] [comments]
If you’re an experienced player or anyone that has given these kinds of things to new people like me: 1, you’re seriously so awesome and I can’t wait til I’m at a point that I can be like you and return the favor, and 2, what would you say is an appropriate way to show appreciation or thanks in this game? Do people ever send messages? What’s the standard/polite/typical player preference for these kinds of things?
TLDR: How can new players show appreciation for the incredible gifts they receive? (Because, wow, you guys are the most generous and kind group I’ve ever met.)
2024.05.19 19:21 TheFantasticMrFax Polygamy Was More About Power Than Sex
Disclaimer: Please be careful not to misunderstand me here, I'm going to do my best to write this out in a way that it is least likely to misrepresent how I feel, but it's a prickly topic. I might not get this out exactly how the ideas are formed in my head.
Firstly, I do genuinely believe Joseph Smith was a serial philanderer who liked scoring notches on his bedpost. I believe he had a much higher-than-average libido, and I definitely believe that he considered himself far more worthy of sex than other men around him, that his delusions of grandeur gave him moral license to commit some terrible acts, that he had a disgusting and demonstrable affinity for young girls that possibly stemmed from some part of his childhood. With that last part I'm out on a limb here, I know it. I digress.
HOWEVER.
It's my opinion that polygamy was far more about power than sex. Not that sex wasn't involved, clearly it was. Not that it wasnt desirable (in the vast majority of instances it verifiably was, at least, but it's funny he didn't seem real interested in banging the older ones...) because clearly it was that too. But I seriously think we focus too much on the sex aspect and far too little on the power and influence he garnered from it.
Todd Compton's Sacred Loneliness has been flying though my head yesterday and today, due to some posts that have gotten me thinking. In it he argued that sex was a feature of polygamous marriages in the early church, but not necessarily the biggest driving purpose. He highlights the nonexistence of verifiable children derived from any of Joseph's plural wives, but does go to some great lengths to describe some children who were possibilities. Personally I think it's likely that there were at least a couple of children born to women after conceiving with Smith, but that's not super important. The argument I'm trying to make is that if it was entirely or even just mostly about sex (as it seems to have been with Brigham Young or the litany of other high-ranking and "highly prolific" polygamists) then he would likely have had more kids. Alternatively I wouldn't rule out that there were other methods possibly used to prevent kids especially due to his well-founded fears of retribution from Emma. That could have looked like a number of things, and there are several I would expect were part of the practice. Ironic, though, especially given that the primary intention provided by "The Lord" in D&C regarding plural marriage was, drumroll, to procreate.
I really do think it was more about power, also an idea borrowed from Compton. The invisible alliances that were drawn between Joseph Smith and almost all of the families from whom he would take another bride were the key feature, and the predominant goal in his mind. I think he cared a great deal more for solidifying loyalty among his followers and garnering their allegiance than he did about consummating the marriages. With some of the other women it seems clear that adding unto himself their wealth or prestige was the motive. It seems clear as daylight to me that for each wife, save for Fanny Alger and a handful of outliers, there is a clearly obvious benefit to Joseph, another boost to one of the pillars of power that held up his "earthly kingdom". Again, I'm not saying he didn't care for that sex part, it definitely explains Fanny and most of the outliers, just that it was probably, mostly, a pleasant by-product of the actual objective. "Oh if I have to have more sex, I guess I will, Jesus, but I'm only doing it for you, man..."
That Joseph would go through male family members of the woman he had set his eyes on, in so many cases, is important to remember. Their responses were varied, but that so many of those women were the eventually married to Joseph afterwards showed it was pretty effective. The relationships between those families and their prophet in the years that followed each marriage are, for me, the smoking gun. Many of the men on the other side of those transactions were given high positions of authority, leadership, and influence, not to even begin mentioning the promises that were made to them about their riches in the world to come.
I don't think we should ever stop recognizing the horrible acts that were perpetrated by that man or any who would follow him regarding literal child brides or forced/compelled marriage. Those should continue to be highlighted, shouted on top of mountains, and willfully used to malign the names of the likes of Joseph Smith, Brigham Young, Lorenzo Snow, Wilford Woodruff, and so many others. All I'm saying is we should recognize the possibility that among the benefits of plural marriage sex was a close second to the accumulation of power, fealty, and admiration of followers.
Glad to hear y'all's thoughts.
submitted by TheFantasticMrFax to exmormon [link] [comments]
Firstly, I do genuinely believe Joseph Smith was a serial philanderer who liked scoring notches on his bedpost. I believe he had a much higher-than-average libido, and I definitely believe that he considered himself far more worthy of sex than other men around him, that his delusions of grandeur gave him moral license to commit some terrible acts, that he had a disgusting and demonstrable affinity for young girls that possibly stemmed from some part of his childhood. With that last part I'm out on a limb here, I know it. I digress.
HOWEVER.
It's my opinion that polygamy was far more about power than sex. Not that sex wasn't involved, clearly it was. Not that it wasnt desirable (in the vast majority of instances it verifiably was, at least, but it's funny he didn't seem real interested in banging the older ones...) because clearly it was that too. But I seriously think we focus too much on the sex aspect and far too little on the power and influence he garnered from it.
Todd Compton's Sacred Loneliness has been flying though my head yesterday and today, due to some posts that have gotten me thinking. In it he argued that sex was a feature of polygamous marriages in the early church, but not necessarily the biggest driving purpose. He highlights the nonexistence of verifiable children derived from any of Joseph's plural wives, but does go to some great lengths to describe some children who were possibilities. Personally I think it's likely that there were at least a couple of children born to women after conceiving with Smith, but that's not super important. The argument I'm trying to make is that if it was entirely or even just mostly about sex (as it seems to have been with Brigham Young or the litany of other high-ranking and "highly prolific" polygamists) then he would likely have had more kids. Alternatively I wouldn't rule out that there were other methods possibly used to prevent kids especially due to his well-founded fears of retribution from Emma. That could have looked like a number of things, and there are several I would expect were part of the practice. Ironic, though, especially given that the primary intention provided by "The Lord" in D&C regarding plural marriage was, drumroll, to procreate.
I really do think it was more about power, also an idea borrowed from Compton. The invisible alliances that were drawn between Joseph Smith and almost all of the families from whom he would take another bride were the key feature, and the predominant goal in his mind. I think he cared a great deal more for solidifying loyalty among his followers and garnering their allegiance than he did about consummating the marriages. With some of the other women it seems clear that adding unto himself their wealth or prestige was the motive. It seems clear as daylight to me that for each wife, save for Fanny Alger and a handful of outliers, there is a clearly obvious benefit to Joseph, another boost to one of the pillars of power that held up his "earthly kingdom". Again, I'm not saying he didn't care for that sex part, it definitely explains Fanny and most of the outliers, just that it was probably, mostly, a pleasant by-product of the actual objective. "Oh if I have to have more sex, I guess I will, Jesus, but I'm only doing it for you, man..."
That Joseph would go through male family members of the woman he had set his eyes on, in so many cases, is important to remember. Their responses were varied, but that so many of those women were the eventually married to Joseph afterwards showed it was pretty effective. The relationships between those families and their prophet in the years that followed each marriage are, for me, the smoking gun. Many of the men on the other side of those transactions were given high positions of authority, leadership, and influence, not to even begin mentioning the promises that were made to them about their riches in the world to come.
I don't think we should ever stop recognizing the horrible acts that were perpetrated by that man or any who would follow him regarding literal child brides or forced/compelled marriage. Those should continue to be highlighted, shouted on top of mountains, and willfully used to malign the names of the likes of Joseph Smith, Brigham Young, Lorenzo Snow, Wilford Woodruff, and so many others. All I'm saying is we should recognize the possibility that among the benefits of plural marriage sex was a close second to the accumulation of power, fealty, and admiration of followers.
Glad to hear y'all's thoughts.
2024.05.19 19:05 MrOaiki Why can't I make .symbolEffect conditional?
Given that I have a variable that is true when long pressed, why doesn't this work for an image on a button ?
submitted by MrOaiki to SwiftUI [link] [comments]
.symbolEffect(isLongPressing ? .pulse : .bounce.up, value: counter).symbolEffect(.bounce.up, value: counter) works just fine and .symbolEffect(.pulse, value: LittleFoodCount) also works just fine. But the conditional version above gives me a *"Type 'DiscreteSymbolEffect' has no member 'pulse'* error.
2024.05.19 19:05 Jcb112 Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School (80/?)
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The Grand Dining Hall. Local time: 1210
Emma
The dining hall was, for all intents and purposes, the den of gossip.
[Grand Dining Hall. Add: Alternative Designator - DEN OF GOSSIP]
This was proven true by the incessant and rampant whispers, most of which were eventually hidden under privacy screens.But some of which were allowed to permeate through the air like a foul and sickening stench.
“What’s he trying to prove?”
“Usurpers. Tepid-blood minor nobles thinking themselves bigshots in their ill-gotten castles. This is all they know — power through brute strength.”
“Do you think this could be some sort of a roundabout statement for the House Choosing Ceremony?”
“Could be, or maybe the newrealmer is rubbing off on him. I heard those savages live in hunting-packs that deal exclusively in violence.”
“Poor Lord Ping… the man’s been dealt so many blows both to his ego and integrity. He truly is the victim in this upstart’s rebellion.”
“Let us hope the pious Ping prevails over his undeserving trials and tribulations. The man’s a saint, a pious soul that must hold fast for those of us adherent to the eternal truths.”
“Or perhaps we should wait and see how things develop. I, for one, wish to side neither with the narrow-minded bull nor the aggressive upstarts.”
“Lord Qiv may prove to be the more suitable candidate for class sovereign… but only time will tell.”
“Never in my wildest of imaginations would I have ever considered that the one to threaten our position, our place, our image, and our very survival in this sky of feral drakes to be you — Prince Thalmin.” Ilunor managed out incredulously, breaking me out of my long-range acoustic reverie. Though unlike his prior confrontations with myself, his current voice lacked the same intense vitriol. Instead, that was replaced with what I could only describe as a genuine sense of disappointment, as if confronting a friend who knew better than to commit to a dumb decision.
“That’s an understandable statement to make, Ilunor.” Thalmin replied uncharacteristically calmly, as if he hadn’t even registered the Vunerian’s assaults. Or at least, that seemed to be the case, until he shot the deluxe Kobold a predatory side-eye. “Because creatures that lack honor, integrity, and personal dignity, often conflate sacrifices and risk-taking, for foolishness and idiocy. For within the heart of a Nexian, lies only compromise for the sake of convenience. Whether that be the convenience of survival, the convenience of continuity, or the convenience of the status quo, you will sacrifice everything to maintain it — even if it means allowing your honor to remain sullied and trodden when there exists a pool to cleanse away that shame.”
Thacea’s eyes grew wary with concern at that statement, one of the few instances I’d seen her genuinely worried about an Ilunor-Thalmin interaction. In fact, even I didn’t dare to interrupt, especially after both parties had shot death-glares towards our elven waiter as he arrived with the lunch platter.
“Restraint, Prince Thalmin.” Ilunor responded with a deep and calculating breath. “This isn’t the adjacent realms, this isn’t Havenbrockrealm.”
“Oh that much is very clear to me, Ilunor.” Thalmin interjected with something just short of a growl. “In Havenbrockrealm, we would sooner slash, stab, flay, or lash our enemies in fair and open combat, than reduce ourselves to cowardly attempts at assassination or retreat with our tails between our legs at the earliest signs of defeat.”
Ilunor took another breath, placing a small hand atop of his snout. “I… empathize with your desires to follow through with what you believe is a morally sound decision.” The Vunerian responded in a surprising display of maturity. “However, and this goes for you as well, newrealmer—” He paused for a moment, taking the time to glare at me before shifting back to Thalmin. “—we are not acting as independent actors anymore. For better or for worse… which, mind you, I still strongly believe this is very much for the worse in my case… we are now a peer group. And as such, the actions we take and their resultant fallout, should represent the interests of us all.”
“These are bold claims.” Thalmin began with a restrained snarl. “Even bolder when considering your actions the week prior. If the measure of a man were dictated by his words alone, then I would be inclined to acquiesce. However, considering the measure of a man extends beyond the weightless chatter of an exhaled breath, I feel far more inclined to reserve such actions for those far more deserving of my respect.” At which point, the lupinor turned towards both Thacea and I, following that up with a dip of his head. “I apologize, Thacea, Emma, for conducting myself in the way I did.”
Thalmin took a moment to pause, side eyeing Ilunor as he acknowledged him once again. “Whilst his character may sully his words, there is some truth to them. I have, admittedly, overstepped my bounds in committing to an action which undeniably affects the group. However, I genuinely hope you understand the reasons behind my otherwise brash decision. For I must stand on principle, lest I decide to stand at all.”
“Given the crap Auris Ping pulled last night, I’m inclined to agree with you, Thalmin. More than that, I would’ve gladly taken your place and dueled him the good old fashioned way if I could. Besides, the look on his face when you chose him to be your dueling partner? It was just priceless.” I offered with a snide grin. “In all seriousness, I’m really not in a position to chastise anyone on the issue of just gunning it with your gut instinct anyways. Heck, the entirety of last week was one long drawn out escapade for my sake, which came at the expense of the group after all.” I chuckled nervously. “So… yeah, this is incredibly tame by those standards, Thalmin.”
“Whilst… unexpected, and indeed a risk, I can understand the reasons behind it, Thalmin.” Thacea nodded uneasily. “However, I do not advise any of you to make a habit out of this.” She commanded, making an effort to make individual eye contact with each and every one of us.
Thacea’s group-mom vibes were definitely showing at this point, which was probably for the better. Given the group seemed to be a magnet for this sort of thing, it was good to have an anchor of sorts.
Sure thing, mom. Was what my gut instinct screamed at me to say.
But instead, I decided to tone it down a notch.
“As you command, princess.” I dipped my head in acknowledgement, garnering a look of abashed confusion from Thacea, and just plain-old confusion from the other two.
“In any case… I… believe you wished to discuss matters outside of classroom priorities, Emma?” Thacea quickly attempted to shift past that little bit of prodding, which I obliged with an affirmative nod.
“Yep. Well, it’s more of a small change of plans that I think is worth discussing with you guys. So, you remember how I was planning on deploying an infil-drone on Mal’tory after the end of class right?”
All three nodded, urging me to continue.
“Well, since Mal’tory was a no-show, and with Larial taking the reins instead… I think it’s best if we stick with the plan anyways, just swapping out Mal’tory for Larial. I honestly don’t see any other way we can continue the library’s questline, or any other way to find evidence to support the Auris Ping-Mal’tory hypothesis we have going on. I know it’s a huge gamble since there’s no way of knowing if she’ll even head to Mal’tory’s office after class. But honestly? This is our best shot right now.”
“I concur, Emma.” Thalmin announced with a nod.
“Given her proximity to the professor’s orbit, we may in fact gain a greater bearing on his actual state. Which in itself may prove useful.” Thacea offered, more or less acknowledging my change of plans implicitly.
“We don’t seem to have any other choice, earthrealmer. So a shot in the dark is better than stowing your wand.” Ilunor acknowledged in a rare display of solidarity.
“It’s settled then. I’ll deploy the drone right after class is dismissed. Then, we wait and see what the drone comes up with.”
The Grand Concourse of Learning. The Hall of Light. Local Time: 14:00 Hours.
Emma
Mana field perception was, as one would expect, dry, bland, and utterly nonsensical.
Throughout most of it, the lesson was taught as if it was referencing something obvious, something mundane, something so typical that a lot of the topics were all but overlooked as ‘self evident’.
A lot of what was taught reminded me of a mix between perception-theory, and situational awareness training. However, instead of relying on your eyes, ears, heck, even your nose or sense of touch… it was instead relying on something completely outside of the human experience.
“Mana field perception, is at its core, a subject that is inherent to the sapient condition. However, the extent to which it is appreciated, understood, and most important of all — applied — varies exponentially. To an untrained mind, and an untempered soul, the world feels tepid.”
The apprentice paused, gesturing to Sorecar, who answered his cue by pulling out a massive painting of a beautiful mountainscape that seemed to play through a closed animation loop; the effect was like a high-definition e-ink display.
“To a trained mind, but an untempered soul, the world feels… distant, unaccommodating, and frustrating to emotionally comprehend.” Larial continued, prompting Sorecar to pull out yet another painting. This one, the exact same as the first, with literally no differences between them.
“To an untrained mind, but a tempered soul, the world feels… unpredictable, erratic, and frustrating to logically put together.” Once again, another painting was brought out. This one, just like the previous two, looked completely identical.
“But to a sufficiently trained mind, and a tempered soul, with enough time invested into both theory and practice… the world becomes open, expansive, and above all else… it becomes rich with sights and sensations that would be impossible to feel with the physical form alone.” Larial concluded, just as Sorecar pulled out what looked to be yet another identical painting.
The EVI’s analysis concluded that there were absolutely no differences between the four paintings. Moreover, the mana radiation signatures for each were likewise exactly the same.
It was only after slipping a note towards Thacea with a question written in High Nexian did I finally get my answer.
‘What’s the deal with these paintings? They’re all identical.’
Thacea quickly slipped me a blank piece of parchment in response.
Though it didn’t remain blank for long, as words and sentences started appearing on it; mirroring Thacea’s furious ‘note taking’ in her own notebook.
‘They’re artisanal pieces imbued with the purposeful manipulation of the subject’s aura, mana-field, and the surrounding mana. They were brought out in order to demonstrate the different degrees of mana-field perception by exaggerating the most common shortcomings found in those training in the magical arts. The first piece was, similar to your memory shards, lacking in any mana-fields or auras. The second and third pieces demonstrated a failure to imbue one or the other of the two fundamental tenets of mana-field perception. The fourth piece is representative of a perfect balance of both tenets, and is an exquisite work of art that completely outshines the first. It radiates beauty, whilst the first is flat and lifeless.’
It took a moment for me to really register all that. Longer still, as I eventually became fixated on that last line in particular.
Flat and lifeless… is that what the world is like from my eyes?
It was around that time that a thought hit me, and a realization truly sank deep into my very being.
The world that Thacea, Thalmin, Ilunor, and the rest of the magical beings across the interdimensional plane experienced… was one that I was utterly blind to.
It’d been referenced before.
In fact, it’d been drilled into me time and time again by the likes of Ilunor that I was lacking in something fundamental.
But up until now, everything was either circumstantial, or outside of my general focus. So much so that I never was able to digest the implications of it.
However, as much as a pit formed in my stomach, growing tighter by the second as Larial went on and on about the ebbs and flows of mana, so too did a very human resolve suddenly dawn upon me.
“I’m going to see what you guys see one day.” I wrote down on Thacea’s magic paper.
“How?” Was the message I received back.
To which I only had one thing to reply with.
“The same way we overcame all of our other shortcomings.” I wrote cryptically, garnering a look of confusion from Thacea as she read the note, to which I only had to point at my armor for added effect.
By once again defying nature. I thought to myself.
If we weren’t born with the ability to ‘see’ this beauty, we’d find a way to break it down into its fundamental components, dissect it, analyze it, and then reinterpret it for ourselves.
The class continued on after that exchange of notes, as we touched upon what Ilunor had so eloquently described on that second day of the grace period:
One: that manastreams were everywhere around us.
Two: that manafields generated by living organisms were akin to rocks that not only parted those streams, but at times, interacted with them.
Three: that using manafields, one could make out the presence of other manafields through the manastreams, and thus detect and extract information as is pertinent to the context of the situation.
And while Ilunor would’ve blabbered on and on about the ability to see and sense the emotional state of others through the manastreams, what Larial seemed to be focused on instead were the practical applications of this natural ability. Namely, she focused on exactly how to detect a spell being cast, what sort of spell was being cast, and most importantly — she focused on how it all tied back to Light Magic.
“In summary, only when one is proficient in the detection and analysis of manafields, can one finally start to dissect the intricacies of a manafield during spellcasting. And only once one masters the detection of spellcasting, can one even hope to begin the process of dispelling. The first step of which is to know exactly what a manafield looks like during spellcasting. Is there anyone in the class that can tell me what that looks like?” The professor asked, looking around, before picking one of the many raised hands.
This one belonged to Qiv.
“Yes, Lord Qiv?”
“Influxes and effluxes, Professor. One will see the influx of ambient mana through the manastreams into a manafield, and the potential efflux of mana through a manafield back into the manastreams in the form of a controlled mana-construct.”
“Very good, Lord Qiv! Five points! Now, hold your thoughts on that latter part, because that ties into my next question!” Larial responded with a giddiness and chipperness that seemed to be lacking in every other class up to this point. “The fundamental means of detecting a spell being cast is by looking out for a point of influx, and a point of efflux. Influx being the more difficult of the pair to detect, for what you have to look out for is mana is being funneled into a manafield. A weak spell being cast, will incur less disruptions in a manastream. However, the opposite is also true. As the more powerful the spell, and the more powerful the mage, the greater the rate of influx, as the amount of mana needed to fulfill the requirements of the spell increases. Paradoxically this would mean it will be easier to detect a powerful spell before it is cast, as the reduction in the concentration of ambient mana will be more palpable as a result. Efflux however, is rather straightforward, and will be the primary vehicle through which Mana-field Perception will be taught. As it is through efflux that we can ascertain the most useful details of a spell, or as Lord Qiv so eloquently puts it — the mana-construct. Does anyone know what this next point may be referring to?”
Surprisingly, and out of a clear bias towards Qiv, Larial once more called him up.
I couldn’t blame her though.
The man, despite being a certified bully and teacher’s pet, was one of the few students who didn’t openly doubt the apprentice’s capabilities during the start of class.
“Yes, Lord Qiv?”
“The mana-construct refers to the skeleton of a spell; the arrangement and unique form it takes before manifesting into a proper spell.” The gorn-like lizard responded confidently.
“Outstanding, Lord Qiv! Five points! Now, whilst a mana-construct is indeed a vital step in the process of spell casting, its manifestation is rarely the point in time in which a spell can be intercepted — save for those who have mastered the art of Light Magic. As a result, a spell can be halted before it even has the chance to form. To most however, the mana-construct acts as a cue to prepare. It is a signal that demonstrates the irrefutable start to a spell. And as a result, it provides major structural clues as to the form of Light Magic that must be employed to combat it. Which leads me to my next point.”
The apprentice once more paused, as she manifested literally nothing visible to the tune of more than a dozen mana radiation warnings.
“When broken down to their basic components, every spell is a complicated meshwork of mana, channeled and contained within a dynamic pattern that continuously evolves throughout the duration of a spell. Because unlike artificing, the casting of magic evolves with unpredictability and thrives on organic change. No offense to you, of course, Professor Pliska.” The apprentice turned towards Sorecar worryingly, who simply responded with a bellowing laugh.
“None taken, my aspiring understudy!”
With that, Larial continued, her hands moving through an empty section of air that everyone seemed to be focused on; as if manipulating a hologram that I wasn’t privy to. “However, in spite of this unpredictability, the goal of Light Magic and Mana-field Perception in particular is to untangle the aforementioned meshwork of mana. For every spell is a puzzle and a series of knots to untangle. Your goal in this class, if I am to be reductive, is to untangle the complex mesh that comprises a spell, unraveling it to a point in which it can no longer maintain its form — collapsing it and thus, rendering it inert.” The apprentice emphasized this by miming what looked to be tiny little motions with her fingers, before pulling both hands backwards, garnering a series of affirmative nods from the crowd. “And with that, we now reach the conclusion of today’s class.”
“Or more accurately, the leadup to the climax of this class.” Sorecar quickly chimed in with a wave of his hand, prompting the room to change once more. Section upon section of the front of the classroom’s floor was dragged down into the impossible void, only to be replaced just as quickly by an elevated stage resembling that of a fencing strip. “Will the aspiring duelists please rise and approach the stage?” Sorecar turned back towards the crowd, prompting both Thalmin and Auris to stand, the pair giving each other some strong side-eyes before both marching up and towards the front of the class.
From there, with not a single word exchanged, they took their places, Thalmin at the far right, and Auris on the far left.
“The purpose of this demonstration is simple.” The apprentice began, as Sorecar began moving towards both Thalmin and Auris, insisting them to pay attention. “It is to show that even in spite of the complicated principles behind Light Magic, that there exists far simpler, far more basic principles that can achieve similar means. A precursor to more contemporary methods; spell-breaking. A maneuver that involves overpowering the structure and flow of a spell using a concentrated burst of pure mana irregardless of the type. However, unlike traditional dispelling seen in contemporary Light Magic, spell-breaking oftentimes requires a user to concentrate a disproportionately larger amount of mana in order to properly break a spell. It is thus highly inefficient, and as a result becomes rapidly impractical upon encountering spellcrafts of sufficiently advanced tiers. This demonstration will be aptly limited to a simple barrier-spell for the likes of the reciprocator, so as to not overburden the initiator with this simple task.”
The apprentice quickly passed on the torch to Sorecar, who quickly took center stage with a few steps.
“Now, as this is not a traditional duel for dominance, nor is it a sporting duel for the purposes of victory, I will explain the narrow context by which this duel will be held.” Sorecar continued, his hands clapping together, generating an empty and resonant CLANG in the process. “To our right, is our initiator, who will be demonstrating the principles of spell-breaking in an active capacity. To our left, is our reciprocator, who will be taking on the role of demonstrative spellcaster, casting only barrier spells for the duration of this short demonstration. Remember, there is to be no additional spells cast or demonstrated outside of these parameters. Is that clear?” Sorecar paused, making sure to meet both of the opponents’ gazes with his empty helm.
“Yes, professor!” Both parties shouted simultaneously, barely containing their frustrations beneath a veneer of calm and restrained fury.
“Then we shall begin on the count of three.” The apprentice continued, taking the reins over from Sorecar, as she stood just a few steps away from the stage’s combat-lines. “One.” She began, as Auris began moving into position, practically grinding his booted hooves into the stage, and taking on the posture of some unknown martial art. “Two.” Thalmin reciprocated by taking a more aggressive posture, as if positioning himself to leap towards the bull in a ravenous rage at the drop of a hat.
“Three.”
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 225% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 350% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
Nothing seemed to happen.
At least, not to my eyes.
Within a matter of seconds, all I witnessed were two mana radiation warnings timelogged as only a few seconds apart from one another.
No physical effects were evident to me. Nothing, except for the flinching of a few muscles, and the waving of arms. As if they were conjuring make-believe magic spells, without the added special effects that came with it.
Ironically, this was how I was expecting most Nexians to react to the reveal of laser weaponry. Silent, invisible, but otherwise omnipresent and deadly threats.
Though despite the lack of any physical effects I could discern, there were certainly more than enough context-clues to go by when it came to exactly what had just occurred.
Auris’ features had more or less swelled up into a fury. His nostrils flared just short of snorting out fumes, and his teeth were bared clearly holding back a few choice words for the now-grinning Thalmin.
“Again.” He demanded, and barely a second after a nod of approval from the apprentice, came two more mana radiation warnings.
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 300% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 425% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
Once again, no noticeable physical effects had manifested. Though judging from the bewildered and shocked expressions of the crowd, something was definitely happening within the invisible world that was accessible through mana-vision.
“Again!” Ping announced, barely garnering approval from the apprentice this time, as things took a sudden enough turn that even I could notice them.
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 400% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
It started with that ‘barrier’ again.
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 500% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
Followed by Thalmin overpowering it.
However, instead of letting things go, Ping instead pushed towards a frenzied series of attacks.
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 375% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
As one—
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 400% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
—after another—
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 400% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
—after another—
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 400% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
—after another ‘barrier’ spell seemed to actually be causing Thalmin some pushback now. His movements now resembled someone attempting to dodge invisible projectiles, yet Auris made no moves to actually fling anything at him, only maintaining his prior stance.
Though of course, this came with the same expected response.
As Thalmin retaliated with his own attacks. Or rather, one, very large attack that truly outclassed what Auris could currently muster in his furious state.
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 550% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
This spell that mildly shook the room seemed to be enough to ‘break’ the sudden incursion, prompting both Ping and Thalmin to turn towards the apprentice — the former blasting steam from his snout and the latter slashing his tail in the air — for yet another round of fighting, only to have Sorecar step in, placing a hand on both of the duelists who were barely a foot away from each other now.
“Wonderful! Excellent! Put your hands together for our introductory duelists, everyone!” The professor quickly coerced both of the parties to face the class, actively grabbing them by the small of their back, and thus effectively entrapping them with his iron grip — forcing them to face the class who cheered on with a series of applauses.
Not a second later, the pair of them bowed, though it was unclear how much of this was Sorecar’s doing, and how much of this was done out of their own will.
“In any case, seeing as both of our aspiring duelists have gone above and beyond in their demonstration, and seeing that this is merely a demonstration, and not a challenge—” Sorecar emphasized that last point, forcing the pair to sweat in his over-shoulder grip. “—I believe it would be prudent to award them each a fair share of this duel’s fifty points.”
“Given the enthusiasm shown, I am inclined to agree, Professor Pliska.” The apprentice quickly nodded, prompting the armorer to quickly push both of them off-stage, and back towards the staggered raised steps of the lecture hall.
“Twenty-five points for both of our duelist’s groups.” Larial reiterated, and with a final round of reluctant applause, barely overpowering the incoming band marking the end of class… the apprentice made her final statement. “This concludes this week’s first lesson. Considering the house choosing ceremony coming up this weekend, along with the Elaseer school supply shopping trip to town… I am inclined to grant this class some clemency. No homework will be required. So please, enjoy the rest of the day, and prepare yourselves for what could be the most decisive day in your academic career here in Transgracia. Class dismissed!”
No sooner were those words uttered did my eyes quickly turn towards my HUD, and a flash of commands came through without a second of delay.
INFIL-DRONE01a ACTIVE, STATUS: NOMINAL. OBJECTIVE: PRIORITY TRACKING AND RECONNAISSANCE OF SUBJECT A109. MISSION PARAMETERS: TRACK, OBSERVE, MAP, AND RETURN-TO-BASE WITHIN PREDETERMINED PARAMETERS. CONFIRM COMMAND Y/N?
“Command confirmed.” I replied vocally, prompting the newly-printed replacement drone to pop out of its docking bay, before charting a course parallel to that of the apprentice.
The drone’s signal was lost just as the apprentice left the room through that dark threshold behind the lectern, at which point, the entire class began shuffling out to the tune of the encroaching band.
Only time would tell what would come of this mission.
But hopefully, we'll get our answers sometime later this evening.
However, instead of blending right into the crowd, or more specifically… being ignored by said crowd, quite a few eyes managed to find their way onto our group. Moreover, the chatter seemed way too interesting to ignore.
“You were right, Cynthis… perhaps there is something about this mercenary prince after all.” A female voice spoke from an all-girl group, eliciting a series of giggles, which were promptly silenced by a privacy screen the moment Thalmin craned his head around.
“Lord Auris Ping has yet again demonstrated his integrity. Let us ensure his pure-hearted determination is lauded this evening, lads! The fearsome strikers shall band together with the most pious of intent!” A tortle-like-turtle jeered, moving strategically to position themselves around Auris Ping’s group, as the expected schmoozing began in full.
“Newrealmer.” Ilunor began, generating a privacy screen in the process.
“Yes, Ilunor?”
“How long do you expect your insect to take in its dastardly escapades?”
“Last time it took a good few hours. So, given this probably isn’t a one-and-done deal, I’d say… maybe three to four hours at the least this time around?” I offered.
“Well then. Splendid. I shall be off, and return within that time frame.”
“Wait wait wait wait. Hold up. Where do you think you’re going?” I inquired firmly.
“I have my own life to lead, newrealmer. Now please, I shall return to our group’s escapades in due time.”
“Where, Ilunor?” I reiterated.
To which the Vunerian could only sigh in response. “The student lounge. Top floor today, if I am to be interrogated for every ounce of information…”
“Then let’s go. Together.” I proclaimed, garnering a few looks of surprise from both Thacea and Thalmin. “Perhaps it’s time we start getting a feel for the lay of the land. We’ve been cooped up in our own little world for far too long, maybe, just maybe, we should all expand our horizons just by a little bit.”
First Previous Next
(Author’s Note: The much anticipated round two between Thalmin and Auris has concluded! And following its conclusion, we also get quite a few reactions to Thalmin as a result of his daring display of magical prowess! We also get a pretty hands on demonstration of Light Magic this time around! This is perhaps one of the more hands on class, and indeed one of the more straightforward classes so far! Moreover, the end of classes marks not only the beginning of the little spy drone adventure, but also a little peak into exactly what Ilunor has been up to! I hope you guys enjoy! :D The next Two Chapters are already up on Patreon if you guys are interested in getting early access to future chapters!)
[If you guys want to help support me and these stories, here's my ko-fi ! And my Patreon for early chapter releases (Chapter 81 and Chapter 82 of this story is already out on there!)]
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The Grand Dining Hall. Local time: 1210
Emma
The dining hall was, for all intents and purposes, the den of gossip.
[Grand Dining Hall. Add: Alternative Designator - DEN OF GOSSIP]
This was proven true by the incessant and rampant whispers, most of which were eventually hidden under privacy screens.But some of which were allowed to permeate through the air like a foul and sickening stench.
“What’s he trying to prove?”
“Usurpers. Tepid-blood minor nobles thinking themselves bigshots in their ill-gotten castles. This is all they know — power through brute strength.”
“Do you think this could be some sort of a roundabout statement for the House Choosing Ceremony?”
“Could be, or maybe the newrealmer is rubbing off on him. I heard those savages live in hunting-packs that deal exclusively in violence.”
“Poor Lord Ping… the man’s been dealt so many blows both to his ego and integrity. He truly is the victim in this upstart’s rebellion.”
“Let us hope the pious Ping prevails over his undeserving trials and tribulations. The man’s a saint, a pious soul that must hold fast for those of us adherent to the eternal truths.”
“Or perhaps we should wait and see how things develop. I, for one, wish to side neither with the narrow-minded bull nor the aggressive upstarts.”
“Lord Qiv may prove to be the more suitable candidate for class sovereign… but only time will tell.”
“Never in my wildest of imaginations would I have ever considered that the one to threaten our position, our place, our image, and our very survival in this sky of feral drakes to be you — Prince Thalmin.” Ilunor managed out incredulously, breaking me out of my long-range acoustic reverie. Though unlike his prior confrontations with myself, his current voice lacked the same intense vitriol. Instead, that was replaced with what I could only describe as a genuine sense of disappointment, as if confronting a friend who knew better than to commit to a dumb decision.
“That’s an understandable statement to make, Ilunor.” Thalmin replied uncharacteristically calmly, as if he hadn’t even registered the Vunerian’s assaults. Or at least, that seemed to be the case, until he shot the deluxe Kobold a predatory side-eye. “Because creatures that lack honor, integrity, and personal dignity, often conflate sacrifices and risk-taking, for foolishness and idiocy. For within the heart of a Nexian, lies only compromise for the sake of convenience. Whether that be the convenience of survival, the convenience of continuity, or the convenience of the status quo, you will sacrifice everything to maintain it — even if it means allowing your honor to remain sullied and trodden when there exists a pool to cleanse away that shame.”
Thacea’s eyes grew wary with concern at that statement, one of the few instances I’d seen her genuinely worried about an Ilunor-Thalmin interaction. In fact, even I didn’t dare to interrupt, especially after both parties had shot death-glares towards our elven waiter as he arrived with the lunch platter.
“Restraint, Prince Thalmin.” Ilunor responded with a deep and calculating breath. “This isn’t the adjacent realms, this isn’t Havenbrockrealm.”
“Oh that much is very clear to me, Ilunor.” Thalmin interjected with something just short of a growl. “In Havenbrockrealm, we would sooner slash, stab, flay, or lash our enemies in fair and open combat, than reduce ourselves to cowardly attempts at assassination or retreat with our tails between our legs at the earliest signs of defeat.”
Ilunor took another breath, placing a small hand atop of his snout. “I… empathize with your desires to follow through with what you believe is a morally sound decision.” The Vunerian responded in a surprising display of maturity. “However, and this goes for you as well, newrealmer—” He paused for a moment, taking the time to glare at me before shifting back to Thalmin. “—we are not acting as independent actors anymore. For better or for worse… which, mind you, I still strongly believe this is very much for the worse in my case… we are now a peer group. And as such, the actions we take and their resultant fallout, should represent the interests of us all.”
“These are bold claims.” Thalmin began with a restrained snarl. “Even bolder when considering your actions the week prior. If the measure of a man were dictated by his words alone, then I would be inclined to acquiesce. However, considering the measure of a man extends beyond the weightless chatter of an exhaled breath, I feel far more inclined to reserve such actions for those far more deserving of my respect.” At which point, the lupinor turned towards both Thacea and I, following that up with a dip of his head. “I apologize, Thacea, Emma, for conducting myself in the way I did.”
Thalmin took a moment to pause, side eyeing Ilunor as he acknowledged him once again. “Whilst his character may sully his words, there is some truth to them. I have, admittedly, overstepped my bounds in committing to an action which undeniably affects the group. However, I genuinely hope you understand the reasons behind my otherwise brash decision. For I must stand on principle, lest I decide to stand at all.”
“Given the crap Auris Ping pulled last night, I’m inclined to agree with you, Thalmin. More than that, I would’ve gladly taken your place and dueled him the good old fashioned way if I could. Besides, the look on his face when you chose him to be your dueling partner? It was just priceless.” I offered with a snide grin. “In all seriousness, I’m really not in a position to chastise anyone on the issue of just gunning it with your gut instinct anyways. Heck, the entirety of last week was one long drawn out escapade for my sake, which came at the expense of the group after all.” I chuckled nervously. “So… yeah, this is incredibly tame by those standards, Thalmin.”
“Whilst… unexpected, and indeed a risk, I can understand the reasons behind it, Thalmin.” Thacea nodded uneasily. “However, I do not advise any of you to make a habit out of this.” She commanded, making an effort to make individual eye contact with each and every one of us.
Thacea’s group-mom vibes were definitely showing at this point, which was probably for the better. Given the group seemed to be a magnet for this sort of thing, it was good to have an anchor of sorts.
Sure thing, mom. Was what my gut instinct screamed at me to say.
But instead, I decided to tone it down a notch.
“As you command, princess.” I dipped my head in acknowledgement, garnering a look of abashed confusion from Thacea, and just plain-old confusion from the other two.
“In any case… I… believe you wished to discuss matters outside of classroom priorities, Emma?” Thacea quickly attempted to shift past that little bit of prodding, which I obliged with an affirmative nod.
“Yep. Well, it’s more of a small change of plans that I think is worth discussing with you guys. So, you remember how I was planning on deploying an infil-drone on Mal’tory after the end of class right?”
All three nodded, urging me to continue.
“Well, since Mal’tory was a no-show, and with Larial taking the reins instead… I think it’s best if we stick with the plan anyways, just swapping out Mal’tory for Larial. I honestly don’t see any other way we can continue the library’s questline, or any other way to find evidence to support the Auris Ping-Mal’tory hypothesis we have going on. I know it’s a huge gamble since there’s no way of knowing if she’ll even head to Mal’tory’s office after class. But honestly? This is our best shot right now.”
“I concur, Emma.” Thalmin announced with a nod.
“Given her proximity to the professor’s orbit, we may in fact gain a greater bearing on his actual state. Which in itself may prove useful.” Thacea offered, more or less acknowledging my change of plans implicitly.
“We don’t seem to have any other choice, earthrealmer. So a shot in the dark is better than stowing your wand.” Ilunor acknowledged in a rare display of solidarity.
“It’s settled then. I’ll deploy the drone right after class is dismissed. Then, we wait and see what the drone comes up with.”
The Grand Concourse of Learning. The Hall of Light. Local Time: 14:00 Hours.
Emma
Mana field perception was, as one would expect, dry, bland, and utterly nonsensical.
Throughout most of it, the lesson was taught as if it was referencing something obvious, something mundane, something so typical that a lot of the topics were all but overlooked as ‘self evident’.
A lot of what was taught reminded me of a mix between perception-theory, and situational awareness training. However, instead of relying on your eyes, ears, heck, even your nose or sense of touch… it was instead relying on something completely outside of the human experience.
“Mana field perception, is at its core, a subject that is inherent to the sapient condition. However, the extent to which it is appreciated, understood, and most important of all — applied — varies exponentially. To an untrained mind, and an untempered soul, the world feels tepid.”
The apprentice paused, gesturing to Sorecar, who answered his cue by pulling out a massive painting of a beautiful mountainscape that seemed to play through a closed animation loop; the effect was like a high-definition e-ink display.
“To a trained mind, but an untempered soul, the world feels… distant, unaccommodating, and frustrating to emotionally comprehend.” Larial continued, prompting Sorecar to pull out yet another painting. This one, the exact same as the first, with literally no differences between them.
“To an untrained mind, but a tempered soul, the world feels… unpredictable, erratic, and frustrating to logically put together.” Once again, another painting was brought out. This one, just like the previous two, looked completely identical.
“But to a sufficiently trained mind, and a tempered soul, with enough time invested into both theory and practice… the world becomes open, expansive, and above all else… it becomes rich with sights and sensations that would be impossible to feel with the physical form alone.” Larial concluded, just as Sorecar pulled out what looked to be yet another identical painting.
The EVI’s analysis concluded that there were absolutely no differences between the four paintings. Moreover, the mana radiation signatures for each were likewise exactly the same.
It was only after slipping a note towards Thacea with a question written in High Nexian did I finally get my answer.
‘What’s the deal with these paintings? They’re all identical.’
Thacea quickly slipped me a blank piece of parchment in response.
Though it didn’t remain blank for long, as words and sentences started appearing on it; mirroring Thacea’s furious ‘note taking’ in her own notebook.
‘They’re artisanal pieces imbued with the purposeful manipulation of the subject’s aura, mana-field, and the surrounding mana. They were brought out in order to demonstrate the different degrees of mana-field perception by exaggerating the most common shortcomings found in those training in the magical arts. The first piece was, similar to your memory shards, lacking in any mana-fields or auras. The second and third pieces demonstrated a failure to imbue one or the other of the two fundamental tenets of mana-field perception. The fourth piece is representative of a perfect balance of both tenets, and is an exquisite work of art that completely outshines the first. It radiates beauty, whilst the first is flat and lifeless.’
It took a moment for me to really register all that. Longer still, as I eventually became fixated on that last line in particular.
Flat and lifeless… is that what the world is like from my eyes?
It was around that time that a thought hit me, and a realization truly sank deep into my very being.
The world that Thacea, Thalmin, Ilunor, and the rest of the magical beings across the interdimensional plane experienced… was one that I was utterly blind to.
It’d been referenced before.
In fact, it’d been drilled into me time and time again by the likes of Ilunor that I was lacking in something fundamental.
But up until now, everything was either circumstantial, or outside of my general focus. So much so that I never was able to digest the implications of it.
However, as much as a pit formed in my stomach, growing tighter by the second as Larial went on and on about the ebbs and flows of mana, so too did a very human resolve suddenly dawn upon me.
“I’m going to see what you guys see one day.” I wrote down on Thacea’s magic paper.
“How?” Was the message I received back.
To which I only had one thing to reply with.
“The same way we overcame all of our other shortcomings.” I wrote cryptically, garnering a look of confusion from Thacea as she read the note, to which I only had to point at my armor for added effect.
By once again defying nature. I thought to myself.
If we weren’t born with the ability to ‘see’ this beauty, we’d find a way to break it down into its fundamental components, dissect it, analyze it, and then reinterpret it for ourselves.
The class continued on after that exchange of notes, as we touched upon what Ilunor had so eloquently described on that second day of the grace period:
One: that manastreams were everywhere around us.
Two: that manafields generated by living organisms were akin to rocks that not only parted those streams, but at times, interacted with them.
Three: that using manafields, one could make out the presence of other manafields through the manastreams, and thus detect and extract information as is pertinent to the context of the situation.
And while Ilunor would’ve blabbered on and on about the ability to see and sense the emotional state of others through the manastreams, what Larial seemed to be focused on instead were the practical applications of this natural ability. Namely, she focused on exactly how to detect a spell being cast, what sort of spell was being cast, and most importantly — she focused on how it all tied back to Light Magic.
“In summary, only when one is proficient in the detection and analysis of manafields, can one finally start to dissect the intricacies of a manafield during spellcasting. And only once one masters the detection of spellcasting, can one even hope to begin the process of dispelling. The first step of which is to know exactly what a manafield looks like during spellcasting. Is there anyone in the class that can tell me what that looks like?” The professor asked, looking around, before picking one of the many raised hands.
This one belonged to Qiv.
“Yes, Lord Qiv?”
“Influxes and effluxes, Professor. One will see the influx of ambient mana through the manastreams into a manafield, and the potential efflux of mana through a manafield back into the manastreams in the form of a controlled mana-construct.”
“Very good, Lord Qiv! Five points! Now, hold your thoughts on that latter part, because that ties into my next question!” Larial responded with a giddiness and chipperness that seemed to be lacking in every other class up to this point. “The fundamental means of detecting a spell being cast is by looking out for a point of influx, and a point of efflux. Influx being the more difficult of the pair to detect, for what you have to look out for is mana is being funneled into a manafield. A weak spell being cast, will incur less disruptions in a manastream. However, the opposite is also true. As the more powerful the spell, and the more powerful the mage, the greater the rate of influx, as the amount of mana needed to fulfill the requirements of the spell increases. Paradoxically this would mean it will be easier to detect a powerful spell before it is cast, as the reduction in the concentration of ambient mana will be more palpable as a result. Efflux however, is rather straightforward, and will be the primary vehicle through which Mana-field Perception will be taught. As it is through efflux that we can ascertain the most useful details of a spell, or as Lord Qiv so eloquently puts it — the mana-construct. Does anyone know what this next point may be referring to?”
Surprisingly, and out of a clear bias towards Qiv, Larial once more called him up.
I couldn’t blame her though.
The man, despite being a certified bully and teacher’s pet, was one of the few students who didn’t openly doubt the apprentice’s capabilities during the start of class.
“Yes, Lord Qiv?”
“The mana-construct refers to the skeleton of a spell; the arrangement and unique form it takes before manifesting into a proper spell.” The gorn-like lizard responded confidently.
“Outstanding, Lord Qiv! Five points! Now, whilst a mana-construct is indeed a vital step in the process of spell casting, its manifestation is rarely the point in time in which a spell can be intercepted — save for those who have mastered the art of Light Magic. As a result, a spell can be halted before it even has the chance to form. To most however, the mana-construct acts as a cue to prepare. It is a signal that demonstrates the irrefutable start to a spell. And as a result, it provides major structural clues as to the form of Light Magic that must be employed to combat it. Which leads me to my next point.”
The apprentice once more paused, as she manifested literally nothing visible to the tune of more than a dozen mana radiation warnings.
“When broken down to their basic components, every spell is a complicated meshwork of mana, channeled and contained within a dynamic pattern that continuously evolves throughout the duration of a spell. Because unlike artificing, the casting of magic evolves with unpredictability and thrives on organic change. No offense to you, of course, Professor Pliska.” The apprentice turned towards Sorecar worryingly, who simply responded with a bellowing laugh.
“None taken, my aspiring understudy!”
With that, Larial continued, her hands moving through an empty section of air that everyone seemed to be focused on; as if manipulating a hologram that I wasn’t privy to. “However, in spite of this unpredictability, the goal of Light Magic and Mana-field Perception in particular is to untangle the aforementioned meshwork of mana. For every spell is a puzzle and a series of knots to untangle. Your goal in this class, if I am to be reductive, is to untangle the complex mesh that comprises a spell, unraveling it to a point in which it can no longer maintain its form — collapsing it and thus, rendering it inert.” The apprentice emphasized this by miming what looked to be tiny little motions with her fingers, before pulling both hands backwards, garnering a series of affirmative nods from the crowd. “And with that, we now reach the conclusion of today’s class.”
“Or more accurately, the leadup to the climax of this class.” Sorecar quickly chimed in with a wave of his hand, prompting the room to change once more. Section upon section of the front of the classroom’s floor was dragged down into the impossible void, only to be replaced just as quickly by an elevated stage resembling that of a fencing strip. “Will the aspiring duelists please rise and approach the stage?” Sorecar turned back towards the crowd, prompting both Thalmin and Auris to stand, the pair giving each other some strong side-eyes before both marching up and towards the front of the class.
From there, with not a single word exchanged, they took their places, Thalmin at the far right, and Auris on the far left.
“The purpose of this demonstration is simple.” The apprentice began, as Sorecar began moving towards both Thalmin and Auris, insisting them to pay attention. “It is to show that even in spite of the complicated principles behind Light Magic, that there exists far simpler, far more basic principles that can achieve similar means. A precursor to more contemporary methods; spell-breaking. A maneuver that involves overpowering the structure and flow of a spell using a concentrated burst of pure mana irregardless of the type. However, unlike traditional dispelling seen in contemporary Light Magic, spell-breaking oftentimes requires a user to concentrate a disproportionately larger amount of mana in order to properly break a spell. It is thus highly inefficient, and as a result becomes rapidly impractical upon encountering spellcrafts of sufficiently advanced tiers. This demonstration will be aptly limited to a simple barrier-spell for the likes of the reciprocator, so as to not overburden the initiator with this simple task.”
The apprentice quickly passed on the torch to Sorecar, who quickly took center stage with a few steps.
“Now, as this is not a traditional duel for dominance, nor is it a sporting duel for the purposes of victory, I will explain the narrow context by which this duel will be held.” Sorecar continued, his hands clapping together, generating an empty and resonant CLANG in the process. “To our right, is our initiator, who will be demonstrating the principles of spell-breaking in an active capacity. To our left, is our reciprocator, who will be taking on the role of demonstrative spellcaster, casting only barrier spells for the duration of this short demonstration. Remember, there is to be no additional spells cast or demonstrated outside of these parameters. Is that clear?” Sorecar paused, making sure to meet both of the opponents’ gazes with his empty helm.
“Yes, professor!” Both parties shouted simultaneously, barely containing their frustrations beneath a veneer of calm and restrained fury.
“Then we shall begin on the count of three.” The apprentice continued, taking the reins over from Sorecar, as she stood just a few steps away from the stage’s combat-lines. “One.” She began, as Auris began moving into position, practically grinding his booted hooves into the stage, and taking on the posture of some unknown martial art. “Two.” Thalmin reciprocated by taking a more aggressive posture, as if positioning himself to leap towards the bull in a ravenous rage at the drop of a hat.
“Three.”
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 225% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 350% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
Nothing seemed to happen.
At least, not to my eyes.
Within a matter of seconds, all I witnessed were two mana radiation warnings timelogged as only a few seconds apart from one another.
No physical effects were evident to me. Nothing, except for the flinching of a few muscles, and the waving of arms. As if they were conjuring make-believe magic spells, without the added special effects that came with it.
Ironically, this was how I was expecting most Nexians to react to the reveal of laser weaponry. Silent, invisible, but otherwise omnipresent and deadly threats.
Though despite the lack of any physical effects I could discern, there were certainly more than enough context-clues to go by when it came to exactly what had just occurred.
Auris’ features had more or less swelled up into a fury. His nostrils flared just short of snorting out fumes, and his teeth were bared clearly holding back a few choice words for the now-grinning Thalmin.
“Again.” He demanded, and barely a second after a nod of approval from the apprentice, came two more mana radiation warnings.
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 300% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 425% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
Once again, no noticeable physical effects had manifested. Though judging from the bewildered and shocked expressions of the crowd, something was definitely happening within the invisible world that was accessible through mana-vision.
“Again!” Ping announced, barely garnering approval from the apprentice this time, as things took a sudden enough turn that even I could notice them.
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 400% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
It started with that ‘barrier’ again.
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 500% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
Followed by Thalmin overpowering it.
However, instead of letting things go, Ping instead pushed towards a frenzied series of attacks.
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 375% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
As one—
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 400% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
—after another—
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 400% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
—after another—
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 400% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
—after another ‘barrier’ spell seemed to actually be causing Thalmin some pushback now. His movements now resembled someone attempting to dodge invisible projectiles, yet Auris made no moves to actually fling anything at him, only maintaining his prior stance.
Though of course, this came with the same expected response.
As Thalmin retaliated with his own attacks. Or rather, one, very large attack that truly outclassed what Auris could currently muster in his furious state.
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 550% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
This spell that mildly shook the room seemed to be enough to ‘break’ the sudden incursion, prompting both Ping and Thalmin to turn towards the apprentice — the former blasting steam from his snout and the latter slashing his tail in the air — for yet another round of fighting, only to have Sorecar step in, placing a hand on both of the duelists who were barely a foot away from each other now.
“Wonderful! Excellent! Put your hands together for our introductory duelists, everyone!” The professor quickly coerced both of the parties to face the class, actively grabbing them by the small of their back, and thus effectively entrapping them with his iron grip — forcing them to face the class who cheered on with a series of applauses.
Not a second later, the pair of them bowed, though it was unclear how much of this was Sorecar’s doing, and how much of this was done out of their own will.
“In any case, seeing as both of our aspiring duelists have gone above and beyond in their demonstration, and seeing that this is merely a demonstration, and not a challenge—” Sorecar emphasized that last point, forcing the pair to sweat in his over-shoulder grip. “—I believe it would be prudent to award them each a fair share of this duel’s fifty points.”
“Given the enthusiasm shown, I am inclined to agree, Professor Pliska.” The apprentice quickly nodded, prompting the armorer to quickly push both of them off-stage, and back towards the staggered raised steps of the lecture hall.
“Twenty-five points for both of our duelist’s groups.” Larial reiterated, and with a final round of reluctant applause, barely overpowering the incoming band marking the end of class… the apprentice made her final statement. “This concludes this week’s first lesson. Considering the house choosing ceremony coming up this weekend, along with the Elaseer school supply shopping trip to town… I am inclined to grant this class some clemency. No homework will be required. So please, enjoy the rest of the day, and prepare yourselves for what could be the most decisive day in your academic career here in Transgracia. Class dismissed!”
No sooner were those words uttered did my eyes quickly turn towards my HUD, and a flash of commands came through without a second of delay.
INFIL-DRONE01a ACTIVE, STATUS: NOMINAL. OBJECTIVE: PRIORITY TRACKING AND RECONNAISSANCE OF SUBJECT A109. MISSION PARAMETERS: TRACK, OBSERVE, MAP, AND RETURN-TO-BASE WITHIN PREDETERMINED PARAMETERS. CONFIRM COMMAND Y/N?
“Command confirmed.” I replied vocally, prompting the newly-printed replacement drone to pop out of its docking bay, before charting a course parallel to that of the apprentice.
The drone’s signal was lost just as the apprentice left the room through that dark threshold behind the lectern, at which point, the entire class began shuffling out to the tune of the encroaching band.
Only time would tell what would come of this mission.
But hopefully, we'll get our answers sometime later this evening.
However, instead of blending right into the crowd, or more specifically… being ignored by said crowd, quite a few eyes managed to find their way onto our group. Moreover, the chatter seemed way too interesting to ignore.
“You were right, Cynthis… perhaps there is something about this mercenary prince after all.” A female voice spoke from an all-girl group, eliciting a series of giggles, which were promptly silenced by a privacy screen the moment Thalmin craned his head around.
“Lord Auris Ping has yet again demonstrated his integrity. Let us ensure his pure-hearted determination is lauded this evening, lads! The fearsome strikers shall band together with the most pious of intent!” A tortle-like-turtle jeered, moving strategically to position themselves around Auris Ping’s group, as the expected schmoozing began in full.
“Newrealmer.” Ilunor began, generating a privacy screen in the process.
“Yes, Ilunor?”
“How long do you expect your insect to take in its dastardly escapades?”
“Last time it took a good few hours. So, given this probably isn’t a one-and-done deal, I’d say… maybe three to four hours at the least this time around?” I offered.
“Well then. Splendid. I shall be off, and return within that time frame.”
“Wait wait wait wait. Hold up. Where do you think you’re going?” I inquired firmly.
“I have my own life to lead, newrealmer. Now please, I shall return to our group’s escapades in due time.”
“Where, Ilunor?” I reiterated.
To which the Vunerian could only sigh in response. “The student lounge. Top floor today, if I am to be interrogated for every ounce of information…”
“Then let’s go. Together.” I proclaimed, garnering a few looks of surprise from both Thacea and Thalmin. “Perhaps it’s time we start getting a feel for the lay of the land. We’ve been cooped up in our own little world for far too long, maybe, just maybe, we should all expand our horizons just by a little bit.”
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(Author’s Note: The much anticipated round two between Thalmin and Auris has concluded! And following its conclusion, we also get quite a few reactions to Thalmin as a result of his daring display of magical prowess! We also get a pretty hands on demonstration of Light Magic this time around! This is perhaps one of the more hands on class, and indeed one of the more straightforward classes so far! Moreover, the end of classes marks not only the beginning of the little spy drone adventure, but also a little peak into exactly what Ilunor has been up to! I hope you guys enjoy! :D The next Two Chapters are already up on Patreon if you guys are interested in getting early access to future chapters!)
[If you guys want to help support me and these stories, here's my ko-fi ! And my Patreon for early chapter releases (Chapter 81 and Chapter 82 of this story is already out on there!)]
2024.05.19 19:02 c0ntrap0sitive PSA: Tab Stops are your friends.
The arrow in the center is a tab stop
This is a PSA to everyone trying to format their resume with dates on the right side of the page. If you want to keep them aligned, then it may benefit you to learn about what tab stops are. There are 4 kinds of tab stops: right, left, center, and decimal. On Google Docs they look like little blue arrows on the ruler. Microsoft Word/Libreoffice use different symbols that vaguely resemble Tetris pieces.
Look closely at the ruler to see the grey tab stops
To the left of the ruler, LibreOffice/MicrosoftWord will show one of the symbols for tab stops. All you need to do to set a tab stop is click on that symbol until it becomes the stop you're looking for, then click anywhere on the ruler to set one there. You can drag them to reposition on the ruler. Dragging them beyond the boundaries of the margins deletes them. The blue arrows are formatting marks that indicate that I hit the Tab key. As you can see, instead of the standard 4 spaces, the Tab key advances the cursor to whereever the closest tab stop is, starting left to right.
Using tab stops will result in more consistent formatting throughout your resume. It also keeps your resume 1-column instead of resorting to things like 2-columns or inserting a table. This makes it easier for automatic parsers to read and digest the information in your resume. Anytime you want to have 2+ pieces of information separated on the same line, you should consider using a tab stop. See the bottom line in the next image.
If you want to see all these blue marks in your resume, go to the View and check \"Formatting Marks\". You probably have a lot of extraneous tabs/white-spaces in your resume, and that can make it difficult to parse.
That concludes this Public Service Announcement. Thank you.
submitted by c0ntrap0sitive to resumes [link] [comments]
This is a PSA to everyone trying to format their resume with dates on the right side of the page. If you want to keep them aligned, then it may benefit you to learn about what tab stops are. There are 4 kinds of tab stops: right, left, center, and decimal. On Google Docs they look like little blue arrows on the ruler. Microsoft Word/Libreoffice use different symbols that vaguely resemble Tetris pieces.
Look closely at the ruler to see the grey tab stops
To the left of the ruler, LibreOffice/MicrosoftWord will show one of the symbols for tab stops. All you need to do to set a tab stop is click on that symbol until it becomes the stop you're looking for, then click anywhere on the ruler to set one there. You can drag them to reposition on the ruler. Dragging them beyond the boundaries of the margins deletes them. The blue arrows are formatting marks that indicate that I hit the Tab key. As you can see, instead of the standard 4 spaces, the Tab key advances the cursor to whereever the closest tab stop is, starting left to right.
Using tab stops will result in more consistent formatting throughout your resume. It also keeps your resume 1-column instead of resorting to things like 2-columns or inserting a table. This makes it easier for automatic parsers to read and digest the information in your resume. Anytime you want to have 2+ pieces of information separated on the same line, you should consider using a tab stop. See the bottom line in the next image.
If you want to see all these blue marks in your resume, go to the View and check \"Formatting Marks\". You probably have a lot of extraneous tabs/white-spaces in your resume, and that can make it difficult to parse.
That concludes this Public Service Announcement. Thank you.
2024.05.19 18:56 Super_Wooper2 Sternritter (Bleach) VS. The Akatsuki (Naruto)
No Yhwach, No Uryu, No Schutzstaffel Members
The fight takes place in Wharwelt
The Sternritters mission is to protect Wahrwelt and to kill The Akatsuki.
Spiritual Pressure and Chakra are can interact with each other.
This fight has like, 30 participants so their is a lot that can happen here. I believe that the Sternritter would win and this is how I'd see the fights going. ———————————————————— Obito, Zetsu, and Jugram will stand back and not interfere with most of the fight until the end. Also, Jugram will have Gremmy with him so he doesn't go on a rampage. ———————————————————— Deidara vs. Bambietta and Quilge
Bambietta blows up all Deidara's bombs before he does it himself and Quilge can put Deidara in a cage if he tries to blow himself up. They can go and fight Deidara in the air, so there's no running away from the fight. ———————————————————— Kakuzu and Hidan vs. Femritters
Hidan attacks Giselle since he thinks that Giselle is the weakest looking member. He lands an attack, drinks Giselle's blood (or just have it on him), Giselle says “Thank You” and Hidan is now a zombie
Meninas is probably stronger than Kakuzu in terms of power, and Candice is faster than Kakuzu
The lighting heart isn't doing anything and gets one shot by Candice's own lighting
Meninas destroys whatever the earth heart tries to attack her with and will also get one shot
Kakuzu would hold his own against the other three before going into his fused form with the hearts
If Naruto was able to trick him twice by using 2 shadow clones, I think the Femritters would be able to pull of something similar
Kakuzu gets overwhelmed by fighting what is now a 5 vs. 3 and eventually loses one of his hearts and another one shortly after
Kakuzu would probably be bleeding at this point so either two things will happen
Liltotto decides to eat him or Giselle decides to take control of Kakuzu as well, making Hidan and Kakuzu an actual zombie duo ———————————————————— Kisame vs. Mask De Masculine/James
Kisame will try and kill Mask only for Masculine to regenerate from everything he's hitting him with
Mask gets stronger and starts beating Kisame badly and probably ends the fight by taking Kisame's head off with a Star Lariat ———————————————————— Konan vs. Bazz-B
Fire beats paper
Enough said ———————————————————— Sasori vs. Cang Du, BG9, Jerome, Driscoll, Loyd Lloyd
Sasori can't penetrate Cang Du
BG9 wouldn't be affected by the poison if he got hit, which he wouldn't, BG9 can also destroy multiple of Sasori's puppets with it's machine gun and missiles
Jerome can actually destroy multiple puppets with his voice
Driscoll can beat multiple puppets and just get stronger after killing each one
Sasori gets counted hard, has his puppets destroyed, and he himself would get jumped and killed
Also, Lloyd will probably decide to copy Sasori's puppets body due to its uniqueness ———————————————————— At this point Obito and Zetsu would have to step in, and since they've made their move so will Jugram and Gremmy ———————————————————— Itachi vs. As Nödt, Robert, Berenice, Nanana
Robert was fast enough to hit Shunsui with multiple bullets, so he should be able to hit Itachi with them as well
Berenice would basically operate as an annoying support character based off what The Question is described on doing
Nanana would also be an annoying support character that would affect Itachi heavily with The Underbelly
Since Itachi is already sick, The Underbelly draining Itachi's energy would knock him out fast
Itachi's fear would be that he couldn't help his brother Sasuke in any way. Itachi would see his brother being tortured by Orochimaru, controlled by Danzo, and controlled by Obito. Along with visions of his little brother being morphed into some kind of moist, gooey blob with blisters forming on his body and puss spitting from every end of Sasuke's body.
He'd also see Shisui with both of his eyes missing with a different assortment of insects crawling in them and telling Itachi that he has failed
Another Shisui comes along
The twist being it isn't Shisui at all
It's Danzo wearing the skin of Shisui
Laughing at Itachi internationally ———————————————————— Pain vs. Pepe, Nianzol, Royd
Pain can't do anything to Nianzol
Pepe turns some of the paths against each other
Royd transforms into the Diva path and gains the Diva paths knowledge and abilities ———————————————————— Obito and Zetsu vs. Jugram and Gremmy
Gremmy toys around and plays with Zetsu before deciding to kill him in any variety of ways
Jugram Can just blitz Obito and even if Obito managed to activate Kamui, The Balance would negate that and Obito would still get hit
Any wound Obito manages to inflict on Jugram would be placed back on to him, so Obito loses the fight ———————————————————— TLDR: Sternritter Win
Also, if any of the later fights go wrong, he previous Sternritter from the other fights are just gonna jump in and apply even more pressure
Also, I literally can't see the flair names on my phone so I hope I picked the right one.
This is how I'm think the fight would go, if you having it going a different way and/or have the Akatsuki winning, put down why.
submitted by Super_Wooper2 to whowouldwin [link] [comments]
The fight takes place in Wharwelt
The Sternritters mission is to protect Wahrwelt and to kill The Akatsuki.
Spiritual Pressure and Chakra are can interact with each other.
This fight has like, 30 participants so their is a lot that can happen here. I believe that the Sternritter would win and this is how I'd see the fights going. ———————————————————— Obito, Zetsu, and Jugram will stand back and not interfere with most of the fight until the end. Also, Jugram will have Gremmy with him so he doesn't go on a rampage. ———————————————————— Deidara vs. Bambietta and Quilge
Bambietta blows up all Deidara's bombs before he does it himself and Quilge can put Deidara in a cage if he tries to blow himself up. They can go and fight Deidara in the air, so there's no running away from the fight. ———————————————————— Kakuzu and Hidan vs. Femritters
Hidan attacks Giselle since he thinks that Giselle is the weakest looking member. He lands an attack, drinks Giselle's blood (or just have it on him), Giselle says “Thank You” and Hidan is now a zombie
Meninas is probably stronger than Kakuzu in terms of power, and Candice is faster than Kakuzu
The lighting heart isn't doing anything and gets one shot by Candice's own lighting
Meninas destroys whatever the earth heart tries to attack her with and will also get one shot
Kakuzu would hold his own against the other three before going into his fused form with the hearts
If Naruto was able to trick him twice by using 2 shadow clones, I think the Femritters would be able to pull of something similar
Kakuzu gets overwhelmed by fighting what is now a 5 vs. 3 and eventually loses one of his hearts and another one shortly after
Kakuzu would probably be bleeding at this point so either two things will happen
Liltotto decides to eat him or Giselle decides to take control of Kakuzu as well, making Hidan and Kakuzu an actual zombie duo ———————————————————— Kisame vs. Mask De Masculine/James
Kisame will try and kill Mask only for Masculine to regenerate from everything he's hitting him with
Mask gets stronger and starts beating Kisame badly and probably ends the fight by taking Kisame's head off with a Star Lariat ———————————————————— Konan vs. Bazz-B
Fire beats paper
Enough said ———————————————————— Sasori vs. Cang Du, BG9, Jerome, Driscoll, Loyd Lloyd
Sasori can't penetrate Cang Du
BG9 wouldn't be affected by the poison if he got hit, which he wouldn't, BG9 can also destroy multiple of Sasori's puppets with it's machine gun and missiles
Jerome can actually destroy multiple puppets with his voice
Driscoll can beat multiple puppets and just get stronger after killing each one
Sasori gets counted hard, has his puppets destroyed, and he himself would get jumped and killed
Also, Lloyd will probably decide to copy Sasori's puppets body due to its uniqueness ———————————————————— At this point Obito and Zetsu would have to step in, and since they've made their move so will Jugram and Gremmy ———————————————————— Itachi vs. As Nödt, Robert, Berenice, Nanana
Robert was fast enough to hit Shunsui with multiple bullets, so he should be able to hit Itachi with them as well
Berenice would basically operate as an annoying support character based off what The Question is described on doing
Nanana would also be an annoying support character that would affect Itachi heavily with The Underbelly
Since Itachi is already sick, The Underbelly draining Itachi's energy would knock him out fast
Itachi's fear would be that he couldn't help his brother Sasuke in any way. Itachi would see his brother being tortured by Orochimaru, controlled by Danzo, and controlled by Obito. Along with visions of his little brother being morphed into some kind of moist, gooey blob with blisters forming on his body and puss spitting from every end of Sasuke's body.
He'd also see Shisui with both of his eyes missing with a different assortment of insects crawling in them and telling Itachi that he has failed
Another Shisui comes along
The twist being it isn't Shisui at all
It's Danzo wearing the skin of Shisui
Laughing at Itachi internationally ———————————————————— Pain vs. Pepe, Nianzol, Royd
Pain can't do anything to Nianzol
Pepe turns some of the paths against each other
Royd transforms into the Diva path and gains the Diva paths knowledge and abilities ———————————————————— Obito and Zetsu vs. Jugram and Gremmy
Gremmy toys around and plays with Zetsu before deciding to kill him in any variety of ways
Jugram Can just blitz Obito and even if Obito managed to activate Kamui, The Balance would negate that and Obito would still get hit
Any wound Obito manages to inflict on Jugram would be placed back on to him, so Obito loses the fight ———————————————————— TLDR: Sternritter Win
Also, if any of the later fights go wrong, he previous Sternritter from the other fights are just gonna jump in and apply even more pressure
Also, I literally can't see the flair names on my phone so I hope I picked the right one.
This is how I'm think the fight would go, if you having it going a different way and/or have the Akatsuki winning, put down why.
2024.05.19 18:54 Traxxya Dogfight Training [Rehuo Lore?]
![Dogfight Training [Rehuo Lore?]](https://preview.redd.it/h10whhaaye1d1.png?width=640&crop=smart&auto=webp&s=4fcabc8cfbd115b5b3df83ebebe115799d0d0d00 "Dogfight Training [Rehuo Lore?]") | [Rehuo, Pilot, and Prez are high in the sky, sun glinting off of metal and scales alike. The air is calm, the could are light and fluffy. Perfect day to play.] submitted by Traxxya to wizardposting [link] [comments] < [His tail twitches in excitement. This Metal-Bird is going down.] "Try and catch me then!" < [Immediately he twists off tucking a wing and rolling into a cloud. He climbs as high as he can. The Metal-Bird is so loud he can clearly hear it following him up. He stalls himself in the air. And dives down towards Pilot.] [Pilot turns his F-14 Tomcat into a Split S. Maneuver. Keeping Rehuo hot on their trail. A collision would not be good] < "This is fun. You can see behind you without turning!" [Rehuo has no idea what these two-legs terms mean. So he's completely caught off guard by the evasive maneuver. He continues diving for a few hundred more feet before following in suit after them] < [Pilot shows his expertise in his craft and is able to pull off a tight right turn. Something Kavrala would think is actual Artificer work. Unfortunately Rehuo is able to keep up with this. Flying at an even rate.] [The two are spiraling upwards together, and Rehuo takes his chance to blow a plume of smoke their way. Prez notices the smoke.] < [Much like an actual bird Pilot is able to evade the smoke seemingly effortlessly. He ducks down and around it before leveling out and going into afterburner. Making a wide circle around Rehuo. The nose of the Tomcat is inching closer towards Rehuo's tail.] [Inexperienced in fighting anything other than dragons Rehuo see's this wide circle as an obvious "I'm going to get the jump on you and latch onto your back." So he instinctively stops and hovers mid-air, keeping his head and body turned towards the Metal-Bird.] [He spits more balls of smoke their way.] [Pilot has to take the Tomcat out of its wide circling to dodge between the smoke.] < [The aircraft climbs straight up into the sky. Rehuo panics. Being above the opponent is everything in dragon fights. He struggles to regain his forward momentum] <> [And the bird whizzes right past Rehuo. Finally, he is able to gain his forward momentum] [With that near miss Rehuo disregards it as a tiny lapse in judgement. Of course he can still outfly this two-legs thing.] "Watch this, I bet you can't pull a maneuver like this off!" [He flares his wings, catching air with the membranes and slows all movement to allow himself to fly mere feet away from the top of the Metal-Bird.] << [What? But- how? The Metal-Bird should be unable to- This train of thought is cut off my Pilot.] < [Rehuo roars in frustration. Which can be audibly heard by Pilot and Prez inside the aircraft. Now above the Metal-Bird like he had originally planned he peers through the glass at the two.] "I thought I was out of the view of your little metal-spitter device." < [Rehuo is silent for a few seconds] "May I look through your memories to see what it looked like from your end?" < [He re-watches the entire fight from Pilots view and cannot help but feel his head get warmer. He growls and grumbles. A feeling no dragon should ever feel is in his stomach. Embarrassment.] "I look like a hatchling from your view!" < < [Rehuo snorts and blinks. It pains him to even think about saying this. Let alone acknowledge it.] "No.. I should not have underestimated you. If this were not play I would have died." < "I am not the one who is worried for your safety, you should tell Kav that... We should land. And we should do this again. I will practice more." < [Pilot and Prez wave goodbye, and Rehuo acknowledges this with a friendly mental nudge] "See you around, Metal-Bird." /Uw apologies for any errors I'm super tired lol |
2024.05.19 18:52 onnake Talleen Abu Hanna represents hope for transgender women in Israel
 | “The 29-year-old is one of the protagonists in Yolande Zauberman's documentary 'La Belle de Gaza.' Presented in a special screening at Cannes before its theatrical release on May 29, the film examines the often tragic destinies of transgender women in Israel.“ submitted by onnake to transgender [link] [comments] “Talleen Abu Hanna preferred to flee the war, if only for 24 hours. At the end of April in Paris, far from the bloody conflict between Israel and Hamas, the 29-year-old transgender woman, wearing a blue silk top and meticulous make-up, tried to forget the dead, the risk of regional conflagration and her ‘tug of war’ over the national unity demanded by Israel, as she was born into a Palestinian Christian family from Nazareth, in northern Israel. “After six months of military operations, Hanna seemed afraid to take a stand at a time when Israel's LGBTQ+ community was being blacklisted abroad by part of the pro-Palestinian movement, which accused it of tacitly endorsing the war being waged by the Israeli state. “Beside her, Israela Lev, 63, a veteran fighter for LGBTQ+ rights who presents herself as both Hanna's manager and her ‘mother’ (a protective figure in queer culture), sighed with sadness when asked about the conflict: ‘Rather than take a gun in our hands to go to war, we'd rather do our nails, put on make-up, inject Botox.’ Or go to the Cannes Film Festival. “In May, Hanna and Lev will go to the French Riviera to present the documentary La Belle de Gaza (The Belle from Gaza), directed by Yolande Zauberman (Would You Have Sex with an Arab? in 2011 and M, winner of the César for Best Documentary Film in 2020). It will be shown in a special screening on May 22, ahead of its theatrical release on May 29. Shot before the war, the film interweaves the sometimes tragic fates of a number of different transgender women in Israel, many of them sex workers gathered on the same grim Tel Aviv street. “A young woman, the Belle in the title, is said to have fled the Gaza Strip, where she was threatened with death because of her trans identity, and went to Tel Aviv on foot. Hanna does not play this mysterious character, who appears only briefly in the documentary. But she is a central figure in the story, a symbol of success, a beacon of hope in the midst of other, darker journeys. On that day in Paris, she said little about the Israel-Gaza conflict, concentrating instead on the plight of transgender people, whom she described as being ‘at war with their bodies.’” |