The 220 swift rifle cartridge

.22 Long Rifle

2010.03.29 01:54 22lr .22 Long Rifle

The .22 Long Rifle rimfire cartridge (5.6×15mmR - metric designation) is a long established variety of ammunition, and in terms of units sold is still by far the most common in the world today. The cartridge is often referred to simply as .22 LR and various rifles, pistols, revolvers, and even some smoothbore shotguns have been manufactured in this caliber.
[link]

2020.06.04 18:23 autosear 6mm ARC

A place to discuss anything about the new 6mm ARC rifle cartridge.
[link]

2020.02.29 04:03 blacksideblue for those with an appreciation for the 7.62x39mm cartridge

for those with an appreciation for the 7.62x39mm cartridge. Reloaders, Gunbuilders, Gun Assemblers, Historians, Rifle Men & Women welcome.
[link]

2024.05.20 08:25 Stage-Piercing727 Best Cheap Automatic Guns

Best Cheap Automatic Guns
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https://preview.redd.it/8p15mz0xyi1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=76bb7d6708220ce97a8cbc717c97d5119fdb1172
Looking for a great deal on automatic guns without breaking the bank? Look no further! We've put together a roundup of the cheapest automatic guns on the market, so you can get your hands on a high-quality gun without emptying your wallet.
In this article, you'll find our top picks for affordable automatic guns, along with a detailed analysis of each gun's features, performance, and overall value. By the end of this roundup, you'll have all the information you need to make an informed decision on which cheap automatic gun is right for you.

The Top 7 Best Cheap Automatic Guns

  1. Authentic Toy Metal Water Gun - Experience the thrill of a toy Uzi machine gun with your choice of two cartridges, available for in-store pickup only!
  2. Adventurous Military Mission Machine Gun Toy for Kids - The Combat Military Mission Machine Gun Toy by Walnut Li is a thrilling, multi-colored light and sound-equipped airsoft replica perfect for kids who love military role-playing games and seeking great gift ideas.
  3. WWII Era Walther P.38 Replica Pistol by Denix - The Denix Replicas 1911 Automatic Pistol is a non-fireable, historically accurate tribute to the iconic German sidearm, perfect for collectors and enthusiasts alike.
  4. Nickel Finish Smith and Wesson 1869 Army Revolver Replica - Experience the authenticity of the Smith and Wesson 1869 Army Revolver replica with its nickel silver finish and original "single action" and "top break" loading mechanisms.
  5. Realistic Orange-Green AK47 Plastic Gun for Kids and Adults - Transform your costume game with this vibrant, full-size AK-47 Plastic Gun, complete with sound effects and easy care instructions for endless dress-up fun!
  6. Safe Outdoor Toy BB Gun for Kids - Realistic BB guns for kids with authentic sound and tactile bolt action, designed for outdoor fun and learning.
  7. Affordable Large-Scale US-Made Military Accessories - Add a touch of authenticity to your army men with the BMC Classic MPC Machine Guns, featuring detailed 1:24 to 1:30 scale M2 guns in black and silver gray available in a US-made set, making them an affordable and realistic choice.
As an Amazon™ Associate, we earn from qualifying purchases.

Reviews

🔗Authentic Toy Metal Water Gun

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I recently stumbled upon the Toy Uzi Machine Gun, and let me tell you, it certainly caught my attention. At first glance, it looked like a cool, high-powered toy gun but as I took it out of the box, I found it to be quite different from what was advertised. Instead of a high-powered machine gun, it was just a noise-making toy.
Despite this initial disappointment, once I got it into my son's hands, it became an instant hit. The toy made a ton of noise and was incredibly fun for him to play with. We were surprised by how entertaining it was, considering its simplicity. The Uzi Bb Guns really managed to capture the essence of a noisy water gun.
The highlights of this toy are its ease of use and the fun that comes with its unique design. However, not everyone seems to be happy with what it actually delivers. Some customers have reported receiving products that weren't what was advertised. We hope the company addresses these concerns moving forward, as it's definitely an amusing toy in the hands of a child. Overall, it's a good choice if you want something a bit different that still provides some fun.

🔗Adventurous Military Mission Machine Gun Toy for Kids

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I recently had a chance to try out this Gun Toys for Boys Combat Military Mission Machine Gun Toy, and it was quite an experience! The first thing I noticed was the awesome LED flashing lights and sound effects it comes equipped with. It's not your ordinary toy gun – it's a fully immersive military mission toy that can keep your kid entertained for hours!
In my hands, the toy felt sturdy and well-made, which is always a good sign. The scope for aiming and the gun's stand to keep it steady were thoughtful additions to the toy. But let's be honest, the highlight of this toy gun is the rotating bullet feature – it just adds that extra oomph to the playtime!
Now, as much as I enjoyed playing with this Gun Toys for Boys Combat Military Mission Machine Gun Toy, I could see that it might not be for everyone. For parents who are concerned about safety or prefer toys that are more low-key, this toy gun might be a bit too intense. And while it's easy to assemble, some kids might find it a bit challenging to put together on their own.
All in all, this Gun Toys for Boys Combat Military Mission Machine Gun Toy is a fascinating addition to any kid's toy collection. It's perfect for those who love an adventure and are looking for something a bit more daring.

🔗WWII Era Walther P.38 Replica Pistol by Denix

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I recently got my hands on the Denix Replicas 1081 Walther P. 38 Automatic Pistol and I have to say, it's a real treat for history enthusiasts! The detailed recreation of this iconic WWII weapon is impressive, and it's not just for show. It's heavier than one might expect, which gives it a solid feel in the hand. The pistol-like click of the slide and the smoothness of the mechanism make it a joy to handle, even if it's not fireable.
However, there are some minor drawbacks, like the fact that the slide doesn't lock back and the magazine can't be removed. But considering this is a replica for display purposes rather than practical use, it's not much of a hindrance. It's a conversation starter and a great way to add a piece of history to your collection.

🔗Nickel Finish Smith and Wesson 1869 Army Revolver Replica

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https://preview.redd.it/bodiz0wyyi1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=f0208f12a4164896e7e2d9d1eca362d676accfc1
As someone who's always been fascinated by the era of the Old West, I couldn't resist trying out this non-firing replica of the 1869 Army Revolver. Featuring a sleek nickel silver finish, this replica brought me back to the iconic "Cowboy" days.
Handling the replica felt like holding a piece of history, with the original's "single action" and "top break" mechanisms. It even had the added bonus of being a non-firing model, which meant I didn't have to worry about accidentally accidentally discharging it.
However, the size and weight of the replica were a bit more challenging to deal with, given that it's a faithful replica of the original. Despite this, I appreciated the fact that it gave me a better understanding of the real gun without the need to purchase one.
All in all, the Denix 1869 Army Revolver replica is a solid choice for anyone looking to step into the boots of a "Cowboy" in the Old West. Just be prepared to handle its size and weight!

🔗Realistic Orange-Green AK47 Plastic Gun for Kids and Adults

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https://preview.redd.it/rg8gtjazyi1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=140252e37d437c318131ca5d46379e3066696be2
My experience with this pretend AK47 Machine Gun was nothing short of entertaining. The vibrant orange and green colors definitely added a fun touch to any activity, whether it was for a party or just plain old giggles. It was easy to grip and felt lightweight, making it perfect for kids to play with.
One of the standout features of this gun was the shooting sound it made while the trigger was engaged. It was a fun addition to the overall experience and added that extra element of excitement. However, I did notice that the length of the gun was shorter than the real thing, which might be a slight inconvenience for some users.
When it comes to taking care of it, I found the hand-washing instructions to be straightforward and easy to follow. The cold water and mild soap combo seemed effective in maintaining its appearance.
Overall, this pretend AK47 Machine Gun provided a lot of fun and entertainment for both kids and adults. With its vivid colors, exciting sound effects, and easy-to-handle design, it definitely stands out as a popular choice for dress-up activities and playtime.

🔗Safe Outdoor Toy BB Gun for Kids

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I recently got my hands on the latest Electronic Rifle Bolt Action from LatestBuy, and let me tell you, it's a whole lot of fun for kids aged 5 and above. This outdoor toy rifle comes with a real gun sound and a bolt action feature that makes it a perfect choice for young hunters.
One of the standout features is the realistic sound it produces, making it an exciting addition to outdoor games. However, the bolt action seemed a bit flimsy, so I would recommend it for smaller kids who can be a bit gentler when using it.
Overall, it's a cool toy that can provide hours of enjoyment for little ones. But, be prepared for some inevitable wear-and-tear because that's just part of the adventure.

🔗Affordable Large-Scale US-Made Military Accessories

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https://preview.redd.it/xczbq670zi1d1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=2b517281b09cb9d6bb3c3292d28e24f01b3a265c
As someone who's always enjoyed collecting army men, I was excited to try out these BMC Classic MPC Machine Guns in black and silver gray. The size of the weapons, approximately 3 inches long, allows for a perfect balance between detail and playability, which has been an important aspect for me in any army men set I've had.
The set includes 8 black and 8 silver gray M2 Browning. 50 Caliber Air-cooled Machine Guns with removable ammo and mounted on sturdy tripods. It's a nice touch that the ammo is removable, as it adds an extra level of customization to the toys. The black and silver grey colors give the set a distinctive look that stands out from other army men sets I've seen.
However, there could be some room for improvement. The set could benefit from a more sturdy packaging, like a plastic case instead of a polybag with an insert card. This would help protect the guns during transportation and storage, making them a better long-term investment. Additionally, while the size is great for play, it might hinder their display capabilities, as they may not fit perfectly on shelves or display cases.
Overall, these MPC Machine Guns have been a fun addition to my collection and serve as a great example of how well-designed, detailed, and customizable army men can be.

Buyer's Guide

When looking for a cheap automatic gun, there are several factors to consider to ensure that you get the best value for your money. Remember, the price of a gun should not be the only determining factor in your decision.

1. Purpose

Firstly, you need to identify the primary purpose of acquiring an automatic gun. Is it for self-defense, target practice, or maybe even hunting? Your purpose will dictate your choice of firearm, and help determine if you'll need specific features and calibers.
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2. Caliber

Considerations for the caliber of the automatic gun are crucial. Lighter calibers such as. 22 LR or. 380 ACP are commonly preferred for their low recoil and cost-effectiveness. However, higher-caliber guns like. 38 Special or 9mm may provide better stopping power.

3. Capacity

The capacity of the gun's magazine plays a significant role in its performance. Higher-capacity magazines mean fewer trips to the range or fewer reloads in the field. While larger capacity may be your preference, it is essential to consider the ease of loading and unloading.

4. Action Type

Automatic guns primarily come in two types of actions: blowback and recoil-operated. Blowback guns are cheaper and easier to maintain, while recoil-operated guns offer better reliability and are generally more accurate. Factors such as durability, ease of use, and personal preference should guide your decision.
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5. Brand Reputation

While the price of a gun is a factor, it should not be the only consideration. It is crucial to choose a brand with a strong reputation, as it signifies quality and reliability. Researching brands with a proven track record in manufacturing firearms can be a helpful starting point.

6. After-Sales Support

Ask about after-sales support. It is imperative to know that you can easily obtain replacement parts, repair services, or even additional magazines, should the need arise.

7. Legal and Safety Regulations

Lastly, ensure that the automatic gun you choose complies with all local, state, and federal laws. Additionally, adhere to proper safety guidelines and always store firearms securely, especially in the presence of children.
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Final Word

Choosing a cheap automatic gun may seem like a daunting task. But by considering these crucial factors, you can make an informed decision that will ensure you get the best value for your money while keeping safety and legal requirements in mind.

FAQ

What are cheap automatic guns?

Cheap automatic guns are budget-friendly firearms that feature fully automatic firing modes. These guns are designed with the budget consumer in mind, while still offering reliable and efficient operation.
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Are cheap automatic guns reliable and effective?

Reliability and effectiveness can vary depending on the specific model and brand. However, some cheap automatic guns can perform well in various scenarios, providing a cost-effective option for those looking for a reliable and effective firearm.

What makes cheap automatic guns more affordable than others?

Several factors contribute to the affordability of cheap automatic guns: lower-quality components, simplified designs, and reduced production costs. While these aspects can sometimes compromise reliability and performance, some budget-friendly options can still offer a satisfactory shooting experience.

What are some examples of cheap automatic guns?

  • Uzi
  • M16 (AR-15)
  • AK-47
  • CZ Scorpion
  • SIG MPX

Are there any drawbacks to cheap automatic guns?

Yes, there are potential drawbacks to cheap automatic guns. Some of these may include lower-grade materials, inferior quality control, and reduced durability compared to more expensive alternatives. However, not all budget-friendly options will suffer from these issues, and there are still some reliable and affordable choices available.

Do cheap automatic guns require special licenses?

The licensing requirements for owning a cheap automatic gun can vary depending on the jurisdiction. In the United States, for example, an individual must possess a Federal Firearms License (FFL) to purchase and possession an automatic firearm, as well as meet state and local regulations. It's best to consult with local authorities to understand the specific requirements in your area.

Are cheap automatic guns easier to maintain than other firearms?

Generally, cheap automatic guns can be easier to maintain than their higher-end counterparts due to their simplified designs and fewer moving parts. However, proper maintenance and cleaning are still necessary to ensure optimal performance and longevity.

Can I customize or upgrade a cheap automatic gun?

Yes, many cheap automatic guns can be customized or upgraded to improve their performance, reliability, and appearance. However, the extent of customization may depend on the specific model and its compatibility with aftermarket parts.

Are cheap automatic guns suitable for home defense, sporting activities, or recreational use?

The suitability of a cheap automatic gun for home defense, sporting activities, or recreational use will depend on various factors, such as range, capacity, and accuracy. While these affordable options may not perform at the same level as higher-end firearms, they can still be viable options for budget-conscious individuals in select situations.
As an Amazon™ Associate, we earn from qualifying purchases.
submitted by Stage-Piercing727 to u/Stage-Piercing727 [link] [comments]

2024.05.20 06:57 TheMetalGodX Can Anyone For the Love Of Piper Help Me? LOL

Okay I have been playing for the last few weeks since the NG update came out and surprisingly at first the game was running smooth with mods. Ever since F4SE and related mods have been updating I have literally had the game crash on me every 5 to 10 minutes. I have scoured the internet and tried every fix I could find to no avail. Buffout 4 hasnt been updated for NG yet so I am not getting crash reports.
Here's my PC Specs:
AMD Ryzen 9 5950X at 5.6Ghz
64GB Ram at 3600Mhz
Nvidia RTX 4080
Samsung 970 Evo M.2 SSD
I shouldn't have hardware issues with this game.
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Here is my load order straight from LOOT, if I am missing a compatibility issue somewhere please let me know. I have spent 2 days making sure these are working with the NG Update. Thank you!
0 0 Fallout4.esm
1 1 DLCRobot.esm
2 2 DLCworkshop01.esm
3 3 DLCCoast.esm
4 4 DLCworkshop02.esm
5 5 DLCworkshop03.esm
6 6 DLCNukaWorld.esm
7 7 DLCUltraHighResolution.esm
254 FE 0 ccbgsfo4018-gaussrifleprototype.esl
254 FE 1 ccbgsfo4019-chinesestealtharmor.esl
254 FE 2 ccBGSFO4044-HellfirePowerArmor.esl
254 FE 3 ccfsvfo4001-modularmilitarybackpack.esl
254 FE 4 ccfsvfo4002-midcenturymodern.esl
254 FE 5 cceejfo4001-decorationpack.esl
254 FE 6 ccgcafo4003-factionws03bos.esl
254 FE 7 ccgcafo4011-factionws11vt.esl
254 FE 8 ccgcafo4013-factionas02bos.esl
254 FE 9 ccgcafo4022-factionas11vt.esl
254 FE a ccawnfo4001-brandedattire.esl
8 8 ccswkfo4001-astronautpowerarmor.esm
254 FE b ccbgsfo4055-dghusk.esl
254 FE c ccfrsfo4002-antimaterielrifle.esl
254 FE d ccbgsfo4076-pipmystery.esl
254 FE e ccgrcfo4002-pipgreenvim.esl
254 FE f ccsbjfo4001-solarflare.esl
9 9 cczsef04001-bhouse.esm
254 FE 10 ccqdrfo4001_powerarmorai.esl
254 FE 11 ccBGSFO4115-X02.esl
254 FE 12 ccrzrfo4002-disintegrate.esl
254 FE 13 ccBGSFO4116-HeavyFlamer.esl
254 FE 14 ccBGSFO4110-WS_Enclave.esl
254 FE 15 ccBGSFO4096-AS_Enclave.esl
10 a cczsefo4002-smanor.esm
254 FE 16 ccacxfo4001-vsuit.esl
254 FE 17 ccFSVFO4007-Halloween.esl
254 FE 18 ccsbjfo4002_manwellrifle.esl
11 b cctosfo4002_neonflats.esm
254 FE 19 ccbgsfo4117-capmerc.esl
254 FE 1a ccBGSFO4046-TesCan.esl
254 FE 1b ccSBJFO4003-Grenade.esl
254 FE 1c ccOTMFO4001-Remnants.esl
12 c Unofficial Fallout 4 Patch.esp
13 d ArmorKeywords.esm
14 e HUDFramework.esm
15 f WorkshopFramework.esm
254 FE 1d BakaFramework.esm
254 FE 1e PPF.esm
254 FE 1f Community Fixes Merged.esp
254 FE 20 TMR_GlitchfinderAIO.esm
16 10 SS2.esm
17 11 SS2_XPAC_Chapter2.esm
18 12 SS2_XPAC_Chapter3.esm
19 13 DiamondCity-OverridePatch.esp
20 14 AmericaRising2.esm
254 FE 21 REFramework.esm
21 15 SettlementKeywords.esm
22 16 YouAndWhatArmy2.esm
254 FE 22 RunningWithHandsAnim.esl
23 17 Homemaker.esm
254 FE 23 SS2WorkshopHUDOverride.esl
24 18 Robot Home Defence.esm
25 19 Darlene.esm
254 FE 24 StandaloneWorkbenches.esl
254 FE 25 Rebuild_SharedResources.esm
254 FE 26 DiamondCityAmbience.esl
254 FE 27 IDEKsLogisticsStation2.esl
26 1a CALIBER-COMPLEX.esm
254 FE 28 Leah's Daisy Chains.esl
254 FE 29 PPF-HeavyFlamer-CR.esm
254 FE 2a PPF-NeonFlats-CR.esm
27 1b Settlement Electricity Overhaul.esm
254 FE 2b WG City Plans Pack ESL.esl
254 FE 2c sanctuaryWG.esl
254 FE 2d Fortress Sanctuary - Copy.esl
254 FE 2e Bunker Hill Mega City.esl
254 FE 2f SetMaxSettlers.esl
254 FE 30 SimpleProstitutes.esl
254 FE 31 Vee_SS2_Chapter2_SettlersEssentialPatch.esl
254 FE 32 Vee_SS2_SettlersEssentialPatch.esl
254 FE 33 MM-Castle-HQ-By-Tarkkh-V2.6.esl
254 FE 34 Castle Minutemen HQ level 2 layout.esl
254 FE 35 Castle Minutemen HQ level 3 layout.esl
254 FE 36 VUVC-CityPlan.esl
254 FE 37 GavMan_Vault88_CityPlan.esl
254 FE 38 GavMan_Vault88_Layouts.esl
254 FE 39 CanarySaveFileMonitor.esl
254 FE 3a HiPolyFacesCompanionPlugin.esl
254 FE 3b Dank_ArmorPaintExtended.esl
28 1c UneducatedReload.esm
29 1d Games.esm
30 1e BarstoolGames.esm
254 FE 3c EssentialNPCsExpanded.esl
31 1f OVT.esp
254 FE 3d Enhanced Vanilla Armor and Clothing.esp
254 FE 3e Fixed Gobo Effects.esp
254 FE 3f DiamondCityBillboards.esp
254 FE 40 FO4ParticlePatch.esp
32 20 ImmersiveGenericDialogues.esp
33 21 Armorsmith Extended.esp
34 22 Rebuild_Settlements.esp
35 23 CombinedArmsNV.esp
36 24 CombinedArmsEXPack.esp
254 FE 41 FallUI_CALIBER_COMPLEX_PATCH.esp
37 25 Armament.esp
254 FE 42 CombinedArmsIntegrationProject - Armament.esp
38 26 ImmersiveCleaning.esp
39 27 3DNPC_FO4.esp
254 FE 43 3DNPC_FO4-Patch.esp
40 28 CleanMySettlement.esp
41 29 BTInteriors_Project.esp
254 FE 44 RebuildBTI Necessary Changes.esp
42 2a SimHomestead2.esp
254 FE 45 OCsUniversityPoint.esp
43 2b Unique NPCs.esp
254 FE 46 DiverseSettlers.esp
254 FE 47 DIverseSettlersImmersionQoL.esp
44 2c DCGuard_Overhaul.esp
45 2d WeightlessMods.esp
46 2e WeaponModFixes-GOTY.esp
47 2f AWKCR - Mod Power Armor Engine Glitch Fix.esp
254 FE 48 MiscAnimTweaks.esp
48 30 RAW INPUT.esp
49 31 JumpFallPoseFix.esp
50 32 GrenadeCombatFixes.esp
254 FE 49 Flutter Flicker Fixer For Foliage.esp
254 FE 4a WhoIsTheGeneral.esp
254 FE 4b Keep Radiants In Commonwealth.esp
51 33 AttachPack.esp
254 FE 4c Attach Pack Modcol.esp
254 FE 4d OCsAtomCatsGarage.esp
52 34 DEEPriverV1.6.esp
53 35 BTInt_Optimization.esp
254 FE 4e LOST Sim Settlements 2 Patch.esp
54 36 SS2Extended.esp
254 FE 4f OCsSunkenGarage.esp
254 FE 50 Rebuild_Covenant.esp
254 FE 51 3DNPC-eXoPatch.esp
254 FE 52 LOST Bleachers 2 Patch.esp
55 37 the library.esp
254 FE 53 Rebuild_Settlements_Previs.esp
254 FE 54 OCsFiddlersGreen.esp
254 FE 55 Dank_ArmorOverrides.esp
56 38 SuperMutantRedux.esp
254 FE 56 LOST Super Mutant Redux Patch.esp
57 39 WeightlessAid_BetterItemSorting.esp
58 3a Crafting Mastery.esp
59 3b DCVendorOverhaulAIO.esp
60 3c The House.esp
254 FE 57 The House - eXoPatch.esp
61 3d OutcastsAndRemnants.esp
254 FE 58 the library - eXoPatch.esp
62 3e AnimatedCandles.esp
63 3f Depravity.esp
64 40 Vault4.esp
65 41 Stm_DiamondCityExpansion.esp
254 FE 59 DiamondCityExpansion-eXoPatch.esp
254 FE 5a Vault4-eXoPatch.esp
66 42 DiamondNewVendors.esp
67 43 TrainBar.esp
68 44 Sanctuary Pre-Walled.esp
69 45 AA FusionCityRising.esp
70 46 3DNPC_FO4_DLC.esp
254 FE 5b fakeInt.esp
254 FE 5c OCsDartmouthSkyscraper.esp
71 47 BTInt_Menus.esp
72 48 AmazingFollowerTweaks.esp
73 49 DCVendorClutter.esp
VCM_Sanctuary_Navmesh_Update_W_Roof.esp
74 4a f4killingthebugs2.esp
254 FE 5d Dank_ArmorOverrides_DLCCoast.esp
75 4b KOTOR.esp
254 FE 5e CombinedArms_CALIBER_COMPLEX_PATCH.esp
76 4c CheatTerminal.esp
77 4d InstituteSettlements2.esp
78 4e TU3SD4Y'S Commonwealth Responders.esp
254 FE 5f 3DNPC_FO4[Previsibines].esp
79 4f BetterSettlers.esp
254 FE 60 BG_UnderArmor_Fix.esp
80 50 W.A.T.Minutemen.esp
81 51 MilitarizedMinutemen.esp
82 52 Settlement_Markers.esp
83 53 MinutemenPropaganda.esp
254 FE 61 SS2_RobotMod.esp
84 54 Flashy_CrimeAndPunishment.esp
85 55 3DNPC_FO4Settler.esp
86 56 SS2_FDK_TinyLiving.esp
87 57 AA 50 Ways To Die.esp
88 58 Crafting Mastery - Armor Keywords Patch.esp
254 FE 62 CutContentNPCsAiO.esp
254 FE 63 Nova Uniques Combined Arms.esp
254 FE 64 Dank_ECO.esp
254 FE 65 Diamond City Supplements.esp
254 FE 66 GoodneighborView.esp
89 59 0_Vault120.esp
254 FE 67 Dank_WOP-CombinedArms.esp
90 5a ProjectValkyrie.esp
91 5b Eli_Armour_Compendium.esp
92 5c BosskCompanion.esp
254 FE 68 FiddlersGreenTftCPatch.esp
93 5d CloneTrooperCompanion_1.esp
254 FE 69 PRP-SS2-Fixes-Ch2.esp
94 5e CloneArmoryWeapons2.0.esp
95 5f SS2-Jampads2.esp
96 60 WattzLaserGun.esp
254 FE 6a Rebuild_Covenant_Previs.esp
97 61 llamaCompanionHeatherv2.esp
254 FE 6b FiddlersGreenTarberrySwap.esp
98 62 SS2WastelandVenturers.esp
99 63 [SS2 Addon] SimSettlements SuperStructures.esp
254 FE 6c TerrainUndersides.esp
100 64 FO4 NPCs Travel.esp
101 65 Cho1_SS2_Encv_Plots.esp
254 FE 6d ss2c23dnpcpatch.esp
102 66 RU556.esp
254 FE 6e OCsDartmouthSkyscraperExperimental.esp
103 67 RosieAtSomervilleAiO.esp
254 FE 6f PRP-SS2-Fixes-Ch1.esp
104 68 SigMCX.esp
254 FE 70 PuddleReflectionFix.esp
105 69 Less Annoying Berry Mentats.esp
254 FE 71 Dogmeat Follow Behind.esp
106 6a EasyHacking.esp
107 6b OutlineWorkshopShader.esp
254 FE 72 M8rDisablePipboyEffects.esp
108 6c LooksMenu.esp
109 6d Complex Vendors.esp
110 6e BlockingOverhaul.esp
254 FE 73 Chemfluence AI Combat Dynamics.esp
111 6f DLC Timing.esp
254 FE 74 DLC Timing - UFO4P Patch.esp
254 FE 75 WTG - KRIC Patch.esp
112 70 dcc-molotov-nerf.esp
254 FE 76 LegendariesTheyCanUse.esp
254 FE 77 No Sneaking in Power Armor.esp
113 71 Faster Terminal Displays (20x).esp
114 72 WeightlessJunk.esp
254 FE 78 LOST WATM Patch.esp
115 73 WeightlessSpecialAmmo.esp
116 74 CarryWeight99999.esp
254 FE 79 Legendary Mutation Messages Fix.esp
254 FE 7a Gloomy Glass.esp
254 FE 7b VividFallout - AiO - BestChoice.esp
254 FE 7c Targeted Textures.esp
254 FE 7d WAVE.esp
117 75 ScopeOverlayDOF.esp
118 76 RemoveBlur.esp
119 77 dD-Enhanced Blood Basic.esp
254 FE 7e Robot_Textures_Redone.esp
120 78 ValiusHDTextures2K.esp
121 79 Synth Overhaul.esp
122 7a Synth Overhaul - No level requirements Patch.esp
123 7b Synth Overhaul - Black Patch.esp
124 7c TrueGrass.esp
125 7d SuperMutantRedux VIS Patch.esp
126 7e SettlementMenuManager.esp
127 7f Homemaker - Streetlights Use Passive Power.esp
128 80 Homemaker - Unlocked Institute Objects.esp
254 FE 7f SS2_DLCSettlerPatch.esp
254 FE 80 SS2Extended_OutfitInjectionPatch.esp
129 81 SS2_CityPlanPack_RiseOfTheCommonwealth.esp
130 82 Quieter Settlements - Contraptions.esp
131 83 Quieter Settlements - Vanilla.esp
132 84 Quieter Settlements - Wasteland Workshop.esp
133 85 Robot Home Defence - Settlement Keywords.esp
134 86 nimroutroguesyntharmorstandalone.esp
135 87 SGOWastelandExpansion.esp
136 88 Brick_By_Brick_Master.esp
137 89 AtomicRadio.esp
138 8a FunctionalDisplays-Collectibles.esp
139 8b BetterCompanions.esp
140 8c DarleneDLC.esp
254 FE 81 LiveLove - Heather_Valkyrie.esp
141 8d ImmersiveVendors.esp
142 8e KSHairdos.esp
143 8f LooksMenu Customization Compendium.esp
144 90 AzarPonytailHairstyles.esp
145 91 Unique NPCs FarHarbor.esp
146 92 WorkshopTurretsDontHarmPlayerPerk.esp
254 FE 82 DiverseSettlersFarHarbor.esp
147 93 BetterSettlersMostlyFemale.esp
148 94 BetterSettlersCCAPack2.0.esp
149 95 Unique NPCs_SpecialSettlers_All.esp
150 96 HiPolyFaces.esp
151 97 CBBE.esp
152 98 Extended weapon mods.esp
153 99 CROSS_Cybernetics.esp
254 FE 83 LOST Cybernetics Patch.esp
154 9a CROSS_Cybernetics_NoRobotFootStepSounds.esp
155 9b LightsaberMod.esp
254 FE 84 CROSS_CourserStrigidae.esp
156 9c Craftable Armor Size - Fix Material Requirements.esp
157 9d Craftable Armor Size.esp
158 9e ChineseStealthSuit.esp
159 9f Tactical Flashlights.esp
160 a0 Tactical Flashlights - Settings.esp
254 FE 85 LOST Unique NPCs Patch.esp
161 a1 Unique_NPCs_SuperMutantRedux.esp
162 a2 Tactical Flashlights Armorsmith Patch.esp
163 a3 Eli_ArmourCollection.esp
164 a4 RichMerchants.esp
165 a5 LooksMirror.esp
166 a6 Crafting Mastery - CC Chinese Stealth Armor Patch.esp
254 FE 86 Dank_ArmorOverrides_DLCNukaWorld.esp
167 a7 Crafting Mastery - AE Patch.esp
254 FE 87 SS2_XDI Patch.esp
254 FE 88 Attach Pack Mod Description Fixes.esp
254 FE 89 SprintOutOfCombat.esp
168 a8 DynamicOutfitting_CBBE.esp
169 a9 The Eyes Of Beauty.esp
254 FE 8a aBitPrettierNWRaiders.esp
170 aa [LOUDER] PowerArmorVoiceChanger.esp
254 FE 8b DiverseMinutemen.esp
254 FE 8c WeAreTheDiverseMinutemen.esp
254 FE 8d DiverseBoS.esp
254 FE 8e DiverseDCSecurity.esp
254 FE 8f Face Fixes - All in One.esp
254 FE 90 Dank_ECO-INNR.esp
254 FE 91 Dank_ECO_DLCCoast.esp
254 FE 92 Dank_ECO_DLCNukaWorld.esp
254 FE 93 Dank_ECO_DLCRobot.esp
254 FE 94 Eli_Armour_Compendium_LIF.esp
254 FE 95 Combat AI Empowered - Tweaked Accuracy.esp
FakeIntNacXTrueStormDApatch.esp
171 ab VATSFreezeFixNextGen.esp
172 ac Vault88AreaExtension.esp
173 ad Wu9DoubleGeneratorPower.esp
254 FE 96 SS2_Addon_Favelabulous.esp
174 ae SS2_Addon_R2R.esp
175 af SS2_ruined_simsettlement_addonpack.esp
176 b0 SS2_STRA_Buildings_and_Skins.esp
177 b1 SS2_STRA_Support_Buildings.esp
178 b2 SS2ConveyorStorage.esp
179 b3 PiperOverhaul2F1E.esp
254 FE 97 SS2_MagnussonTerminalFix.esp
180 b4 BlasTech E-11.esp
254 FE 98 Lightsaber_NoLL.esp
181 b5 CW Stormtrooper.esp
182 b6 BosskBountyHunter.esp
254 FE 99 OCsAtomCatsGarageGenericAtomCats.esp
183 b7 ProjectSynth.esp
184 b8 AE Animated Jetpacks.esp
185 b9 FO4LaserBolts.esp
186 ba CloneArmory4.0.esp
187 bb CloneTrooperCompanionArmoryPatch.esp
188 bc Thematic and Practical.esp
189 bd Thematic and Practical - DLC.esp
190 be JunkTownTwo.esp
191 bf GarageHomesAndSensibleSecurity.esp
192 c0 BMW_ALA.esp
193 c1 SKKGlobalStashScrapping.esp
254 FE 9a CompanionStatus-Settings.esp
194 c2 CompanionStatus.esp
195 c3 DCE_female_body_replacer.esp
254 FE 9b DCENS.esp
254 FE 9c CBBEHR.esp
254 FE 9d CBBEHR_3DNPC.esp
254 FE 9e CBBEHR_SS2.esp
254 FE 9f CBBEHR_SS2Ch2.esp
254 FE a0 SS2-3DNPC-Settlers.esp
196 c4 SKKCompanionWeaponLL.esp
197 c5 SS2-PraRandomAddon.esp
198 c6 X12Plasmacaster.esp
254 FE a1 SigMCX_LvlListPatch.esp
254 FE a2 SigMCX_MaterialPack.esp
254 FE a3 OCsSunkenGarageGhoulSettlers.esp
254 FE a4 No More Fake Puddles - Nuka World 1-0.esp
254 FE a5 IDEKsLogisticsStation2_SS2_Patch.esp
199 c7 SS-ILS2 patch.esp
200 c8 DX_Predator.esp
254 FE a6 LOST 50 Ways to Die Patch.esp
254 FE a7 LOST Beantown Interiors Patch.esp
254 FE a8 LOST Better Companions Patch.esp
254 FE a9 LOST Bleachers Patch.esp
254 FE aa LOST Cheat Terminal Patch.esp
254 FE ab LOST Chinese Sealth Patch.esp
254 FE ac LOST Companion Status Patch.esp
254 FE ad LOST Complex Vendors Patch.esp
254 FE ae LOST Courser Strigidae Patch.esp
254 FE af LOST Darlene Patch.esp
254 FE b0 LOST Depravity Patch.esp
254 FE b1 LOST Diamond City Expansion Patch.esp
254 FE b2 Eli_Armour_Compendium_Tweaks_ECO.esp
254 FE b3 LOST Eli Compendium Patch.esp
254 FE b4 LOST Fourville Patch.esp
254 FE b5 LOST Fusion City Rising Patch.esp
254 FE b6 LOST Global Stash Patch.esp
254 FE b7 LOST Heather Patch.esp
254 FE b8 LOST Homemaker Patch.esp
254 FE b9 LOST Militarized BLUE Patch.esp
254 FE ba LOST NPC Travel Patch.esp
254 FE bb LOST Outcasts and Remnants Patch.esp
254 FE bc LOST Project Valkyrie Patch.esp
254 FE bd LOST RU556 Patch.esp
254 FE be LOST Settlement Menu Manager Patch.esp
254 FE bf LOST Settlers of the Commonwealth Patch.esp
254 FE c0 LOST SS2 Chapter 2 Patch.esp
254 FE c1 LOST SS2 Extended Patch.esp
254 FE c2 LOST Synth Overhaul Patch.esp
254 FE c3 LOST Tactical Flashlights Patch.esp
254 FE c4 LOST Tales Commonwealth Patch.esp
LOST Visible Companion Affinity Patch.esp
254 FE c5 LOST Wattz Laser Patch.esp
254 FE c6 LOST Workshop Framework Patch.esp
254 FE c7 LOST CC Anti-Materiel Rifle Patch.esp
254 FE c8 LOST CC Capital Wasteland Patch.esp
254 FE c9 LOST CC Capt Cosmos Patch.esp
254 FE ca LOST CC Charlestown Condo Patch.esp
254 FE cb LOST CC Chinese Armor Patch.esp
254 FE cc LOST CC Gauss Prototype Patch.esp
254 FE cd LOST CC Graphic T-Shirt Pack Patch.esp
254 FE ce LOST CC Heavy Incinerator Patch.esp
254 FE cf LOST CC Hellfire Patch.esp
254 FE d0 LOST CC Home Decor Patch.esp
254 FE d1 LOST CC Manwell Rifle Patch.esp
254 FE d2 LOST CC Military Backpack Patch.esp
254 FE d3 LOST CC Modern Furniture Patch.esp
254 FE d4 LOST CC Neon Flats Patch.esp
254 FE d5 LOST CC Sentinel System Patch.esp
254 FE d6 LOST CC Shroud Manor Patch.esp
254 FE d7 LOST CC Solar Cannon Patch.esp
254 FE d8 LOST CC Tesla Cannon Patch.esp
254 FE d9 LOST CC Vault Suit Patch.esp
254 FE da LOST CC X-02 Patch.esp
254 FE db LOST CC Zetan Arsenal Patch.esp
254 FE dc CombinedArmsEX_CALIBER_COMPLEX_PATCH.esp
254 FE dd Deliverer_CALIBER_COMPLEX_PATCH.esp
254 FE de DLCCoast_RadiumRifle_CALIBER_COMPLEX_PATCH.esp
FG-42 Ausf.E ParaTroop Rifle_No TR_CALIBER_COMPLEX_PATCH.esp
254 FE df SIGMCX_CALIBER_COMPLEX_PATCH.esp
254 FE e0 Combined Arms EX_LLI.esp
254 FE e1 Combined Arms_LLI.esp
254 FE e2 Star Wars - The Lightsaber_LLI.esp
201 c9 DT_GunnerOutfitPack.esp
254 FE e3 Gunner Outfit Replacer.esp
254 FE e4 Rebuild_Workshop.esp
202 ca MyCityPlans(4).esp
203 cb Passthrough.esp
204 cc ConnectedWorkshops.esp
254 FE e5 Invisible and Longer Power Lines.esp
205 cd DEEPriver NoRads.esp
206 ce SimSettlements2_AddOnPack_ApocalypticAdditions_SirLach.esp
207 cf SS2_SIMPDDDD.esp
208 d0 ohSIM_Sim2_Settlements_Scrappers_Addon.esp
254 FE e6 SS2Addon_MS_BareEssentials.esp
254 FE e7 SS2AOP_VaultTecTools.esp
209 d1 SS2_WastelandDefense.esp
210 d2 AutoDoors.esp
254 FE e8 Rebuild_SharedResources_AutoDoors.esp
211 d3 Faction Pack Template.esp
254 FE e9 ProjectValkyrie-SS2-Patch.esp
212 d4 RandomSettlers.esp
254 FE ea RandomSettlers - LevelUp.esp
213 d5 SS2UI.esp
254 FE eb WastelandResources.esp
254 FE ec Raze My Settlement.esp
254 FE ed Armament - Caliber Complex Patch.esp
254 FE ee Armament-ECO_PatchUpdate.esp
214 d6 KSHairsFemsheppingRadbeetle.esp
215 d7 KSHairdos_oel.esp
216 d8 Lots More Facial Hair.esp
254 FE ef LKsAbbot.esp
254 FE f0 LKsAllanLee.esp
254 FE f1 LKsAnnCodman.esp
254 FE f2 LKsAnneHargraves.esp
254 FE f3 LKsArturoRodrigues.esp
254 FE f4 LKsBeckyFallon.esp
254 FE f5 LKsBlakeAbernathy.esp
254 FE f6 LKsCarla.esp
254 FE f7 LKsCathy.esp
254 FE f8 LKsClairHutchins.esp
254 FE f9 LKsConnieAbernathy.esp
254 FE fa LKsDarcyPembroke.esp
254 FE fb LKsDeacon.esp
254 FE fc LKsDeb.esp
254 FE fd LKsDesdemona.esp
254 FE fe LKsDoctorCarrington.esp
254 FE ff LKsDoctorDuff.esp
254 FE 100 LKsDoctorSun.esp
254 FE 101 LKsElliePerkins.esp
254 FE 102 LKsFahrenheit.esp
254 FE 103 LKsFather.esp
254 FE 104 LKsFredAllen.esp
254 FE 105 LKsGeneva.esp
254 FE 106 LKsGeorgeCooper.esp
254 FE 107 LKsGlory.esp
254 FE 108 LKsHarvey.esp
254 FE 109 LKsHenryCooke.esp
254 FE 10a LKsJoeSavoldi.esp
254 FE 10b LKsJohn.esp
254 FE 10c LKsJunLong.esp
254 FE 10d LKsKasumiNakano.esp
254 FE 10e LKsKay.esp
254 FE 10f LKsKellogg.esp
254 FE 110 LKsKenjiNakano.esp
254 FE 111 LKsKessler.esp
254 FE 112 LKsLucyAbernathy.esp
254 FE 113 LKsMamaMurphy.esp
254 FE 114 LKsMarcyLong.esp
254 FE 115 LKsMariner.esp
254 FE 116 LKsMarovski.esp
254 FE 117 LKsMaxson.esp
254 FE 118 LKsMayorMcDonough.esp
254 FE 119 LKsMoeCronin.esp
254 FE 11a LKsMyrna.esp
254 FE 11b LKsOldLongfellow.esp
254 FE 11c LKsPaladinDanse.esp
254 FE 11d LKsPastorClemens.esp
254 FE 11e LKsPaulPembroke.esp
254 FE 11f LKsPickman.esp
254 FE 120 LKsPolly.esp
254 FE 121 LKsPorterCage.esp
254 FE 122 LKsPrestonGarvey.esp
254 FE 123 LKsProfessorScara.esp
254 FE 124 LKsReiNakano.esp
254 FE 125 LKsRexGoodman.esp
254 FE 126 LKsRonnieShaw.esp
254 FE 127 LKsRufusRubin.esp
254 FE 128 LKsScarlett.esp
254 FE 129 LKsScribeHaylen..esp
254 FE 12a LKsSheffield.esp
254 FE 12b LKsSierraPetrovita.esp
254 FE 12c LKsSolomon.esp
254 FE 12d LKsStanSlavin.esp
254 FE 12e LKsSturges.esp
254 FE 12f LKsTinkerTom.esp
254 FE 130 LKsTonySavoldi.esp
254 FE 131 LKsTravisMiles.esp
254 FE 132 LKsTrudy.esp
254 FE 133 LKsVadimBobrov.esp
254 FE 134 LKsVaultTecRep.esp
254 FE 135 LKsWolfgang.esp
254 FE 136 LKsX6-88.esp
254 FE 137 LKsYefimBobrov.esp
254 FE 138 Dank_ArmorOverrides_DLCRobot.esp
254 FE 139 Dank_INNRoverride.esp
217 d9 TGF_TrueGrassFix.esp
218 da NPCRespawnFix.esp
254 FE 13a Dank_ECO_UneducatedReload.esp
254 FE 13b SS2_AFT.esp
254 FE 13c AFTSpouseTweaks.esp
219 db AFT_Alt_Names_Pack1.esp
254 FE 13d Community Fixes Merged - Weapon Mod Fixes Patch.esp
254 FE 13e MinutemenPropaganda SMM.esp
220 dc BarstoolGames_FH.esp
221 dd BarstoolGames_NW.esp
222 de SS2_CLB_WATMPack.esp
254 FE 13f REPatch_AmericaRising2LegacyOfTheEnclave.esp
254 FE 140 Lightweight Lighting.esp
254 FE 141 WET.esp
254 FE 142 PRP.esp
254 FE 143 3DNPC_BTI_Optimization.esp
254 FE 144 RebuildBTIPrevisPatch.esp
254 FE 145 OCsBreakHeartBanks.esp
254 FE 146 OCsProspectPark.esp
254 FE 147 OCsLakeQ.esp
254 FE 148 PRP_IC.esp
254 FE 149 OCsCochituate.esp
254 FE 14a OCsCharlesviewAmpitheater.esp
254 FE 14b PRP-SS2.esp
254 FE 14c the library_Patch.esp
254 FE 14d The House_Patch.esp
254 FE 14e 3DNPC_FO4_Patch.esp
254 FE 14f OCsV81TradeCamp.esp
254 FE 150 DiamondCity-PreVis.esp
254 FE 151 Em_Vault4_Previs.esp
254 FE 152 Em_3DNPC_FO4_Previs.esp
254 FE 153 0_Vault120_NordhagenHaven_PRP.esp
254 FE 154 DiamondNewVendors_Patch.esp
254 FE 155 OCsV81TradeCampGrassReduced.esp
254 FE 156 OCsCochituateReducedGrass.esp
254 FE 157 OCsProspectParkEBA.esp
254 FE 158 OCsBreakheartBanksSS2QuestPatch.esp
254 FE 159 CharlesviewHappyCult.esp
254 FE 15a OCsV81TradeCampEarlyUnlock.esp
254 FE 15b OCsNukaTransitCenter.esp
223 df EnhancedLightsandFX.esp
254 FE 15c EnhancedLightsandFX - Automatron.esp
254 FE 15d PRP-ELFXOPC.esp
254 FE 15e ELFX-PreVis.esp
254 FE 15f ELFX-eXoPatch.esp
254 FE 160 ELFX Crash fix.esp
254 FE 161 WorkshopFramework_ScriptOverride.esp
​
submitted by TheMetalGodX to Fallout4Mods [link] [comments]

2024.05.20 04:33 Zezacle What is the Ultimate Airsoft Gun design?

Airsoft Guns usually replicate real firearms designs, but those designs were engineered with certain limitations like managing recoil impulse, cartridge feeding, chamber pressures, and low manufacturing cost for en-masse defense contracts.
However, slinging BBs doesn't really have those limitations. I mean, surely an AR-15 Magazine is not the most efficient way to store and feed BBs, they're just convenient because AR Mag pouches are common and most people who have seen a rifle knows how it works.
If you completely disregard making it look and feel like a real firearm design, and only focused on what is the best way to make an accurate, consistent, fast shooting and ergonomic BB shooter, what would you end up with?
submitted by Zezacle to airsoft [link] [comments]

2024.05.20 04:06 AnimDevil H: AAE15r Assault Rifle W: Price Check

H: AAE15r Assault Rifle W: Price Check
I know it's trade-only, just dunno how trade-only lol
submitted by AnimDevil to Market76 [link] [comments]

2024.05.20 01:51 FuguCola After almost 4 years of Duracoat application I have finally decided to jump into Cerakote! Looking for some tips, guidelines and advice to help ease the process.

So i've been spraying duracoat as noted in the title for some time now and just recently ordered up 3 colors in C-Series but I want to venture full on into H-Series!
I followed the process for C-Series and it sprayed beautifully but it just isn't the product I want to be using full time.
I'm about to do my first order for H-series and wondering what kind of advice you'd give to someone for their first time spraying it. I'm starting out small but actually want to grow into production Cerakote and doing all the fun custom patterns, projects, ect. What would you recommend for a budget friendly oven and bench top booth system? Ideally a 2"x2"x4" oven on 220 seems great but how fast does someone grow out of that?
There are plenty of quality manufacturers and suppliers in the USA but I'm struggling to find a booth/oven supplier in Canada (save some shipping and have ease of access).
I'm excited to get into the grind of things, i'm just hoping to put the right foot forward and move swiftly into the swing of things!
submitted by FuguCola to Cerakote [link] [comments]

2024.05.20 01:34 Ok_Maintenance300 H: b/e/15r radium W: apparel/quad commando offers

H: b/e/15r radium W: apparel/quad commando offers submitted by Ok_Maintenance300 to Market76 [link] [comments]

2024.05.20 01:33 JayD8888 Daily Weapon Discussion Day 8: The Caldwell Pax + Variants

Daily Weapon Discussion Day 8: The Caldwell Pax + Variants
Howdy Hunters!
Lets start the week with a very loud bang! Because today we are looking at the Caldwell Pax, the Pax Claw and the recently added Pax Trueshot!
This Pistol has been banger (ok ill stop now) since the early days of hunt and is beloved by the community. Sadly it has been neglected a little bit in recent times compared to other pistols. That said its still a very solid pistol. Here is what it has to offer.
The pax is a single action 6 shooter that shoots medium ammo and has access to almost all ammo types. That being dumdum, fmj, high velo, poison and incendiary. Lets look at the base gun first and then take a look at all the variants, ammo types and then how to best put this thing to use!
The base pax is a bit off a weird one. Over time it got access to many ammo types, but not many other changes. While other guns got many variants and updates, the pax just had the claw and not much else. That is until recently, but more on that later. However i believe the pax is still a good pistol. As a medium ammo pistol it means it deals good damage in favor of larger recoil.
Now lets review all of its ammo options. First of all there is FMJ. As you may know by now im a huge sucker for fmj on compact and medium ammo. The increased 2 tap range is significant and being able to penetrate a large variety of surfaces is amazing. This would be my default ammo of choice.
High velo is also an excellent option. If you can click on heads this will probably be the ammo for you. it makes long range fights easier but you dont have that added fmj damage so you got to hit those heads! it does increase recoil though, so beware when you use this with fanning.
Poison is again mainly a pve ammo. good vs world ai althought without a silencer you will be attacting players. Also good to clear bosses with. If i dont have a challenge then i usually dont take this. With this ammo you lose all penetration so beware of that.
Incendiary charcoals some health and sets hunters on fire in a single shot within 20 meters and 2 shots outside of that range. The damage is not high enough imo to really get value from this burn and because its medium ammo the 1 tap burn range is limited. Also giving up penetration makes this a tough sell for me.
Dumdum is last but not least! while the penetration is a similar situation as poison and fire, this one might actually be worth the tradeoff. Because this thing shoots medium ammo it instantly deals heavy bleed status to your bullets. not only is the increase in damage nice, but it also takes a while for the enemy to stop the bleeding. This is great for removing a player from a gunfight for a little while or to set up a push. You can put them in a 50/50 where they either stop the bleed and get die when you push them. or they prepare for your push but may just end up bleeding out. I like this ammo and its probably my second most picked after fmj.
Lets dive into fanning and dual wielding a bit before we discuss the variants, as that will be important later. All paxes are actually great fanning pistols Their cone is among the tightest and the trueshot actually has the tightest cone in the game! The base and claw version have an Rpm of 300 and the trueshot 236. That makes the trueshot the second slowest after the uppercut and the other 2 are relatively fast. The reloads arent the fastest though so be carefull. you can play it the same way as the scotfield swift. For fanning id run fmj for the wallbang potential and avoid high velo because the increased recoil really messes with your shots.
For dual wielding their stats are all fairly good. However the pax (and especially the trueshot) have quite high recoil. Personally i struggle to stay on target when dual wielding any of them compaired to compact ammo dualies so i tend to avoid it. If you have great control however i dont see why they wouldnt be excellent in that role.
Now for the variants. First we have the claw. Its the same as the base but you get a better light and heavy attack that both cause bleed but costs a bit more stamina. Not really much to say about this other than that its a straight upgrade.
Now the pax longdo... ehh i mean trueshot. This is where it gets interesting. Where the other paxes have been overshadowed recently the trueshot has taken center stage. This version deals more damage, has significantly higher velocity and has a great hipfire as well. It does have a slightly slower cycle time and more recoil however. This gun is basically a budget uppercut and its great in that role. Slap fmj or high velo on it and use it as a pocket cannon for range. Because of its amazing spread its also amazing for fanning to make it a truely all purpose weapon. I just wouldnt dual wield this because of the recoil. I really love this gun and i run it a lot. Hopefully crytek will add some more banger skins for this thing in the near future :)
For traits there isnt anything you need. I usually run a trueshot as a sidearm to my shotguns and its just fine like that. If you have the points then trueshot with fanning is also a great support for a rifle. If you are dual wielding normal paxes then ambidexterous can be a nice little upgrade but isnt mandatory.
Sorry that the post is a little late today. It has been a busy day. Let me known down below if you are also such a big trueshot enjoyer as me or if your loyalty still lies with the good ol Pax! Happy hunting and i catch you guys tomorrow!
Below is a table of all previously covered weapons. (swipe to the left to see the rest if you are on mobile)
Compact Ammo Weapons Medium Ammo Weapons Long Ammo Weapons Shotguns Special Weapons
Nagant 1895 Revolver Berthier Mle 1892 Caldwell Rival Bomb Lance
Winfield M1873 and Variants Mako 1895 Carbine Winfield 1893 Slate
submitted by JayD8888 to HuntShowdown [link] [comments]

2024.05.20 00:14 Capt-Greybeard H:stuff in pics W:to know if any are worth anything

H:stuff in pics W:to know if any are worth anything
After trading and vendor hoping this weekend these are the spoils. Anything worth the time
submitted by Capt-Greybeard to Market76 [link] [comments]

2024.05.20 00:11 New_You2753 [xb1] H this any offers?

[xb1] H this any offers? submitted by New_You2753 to Fallout76Marketplace [link] [comments]

2024.05.20 00:07 12yan_22 Modern day M1 Carbine

I hope this type of question is allowed.
I recently purchased an all original 1943 universal M1 Carbine and it may be the most enjoyable rifle I have to shoot and carry. The more the thought about the philosophy of the rifle the more I appreciate it as a tool.
My question is: If you wanted to recreate all the best aspects of the M1 Carbine in a modern PDW style rifle what would it be.
Requirements:
-semiautomatic with detachable magazines.
-Under 6 lbs loaded.
-More powerful than a pistol cartridge with an effective range of at least 200M.
-light recoiling and comfortable to shoot (not obnoxiously loud/fireball thrower)
-easy to carry (i.e. sling must be easily attachable)
Bonus points if it:
-can hold a oil bottle and spare magazines in/on rifle
-mounts a bayonet for the giggles
An Ar-15 in 5.56 can meet all the criteria but it is boring and is borderline on the comfortable to shoot bullet point.
submitted by 12yan_22 to Firearms [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 23:41 Organic-Recording-52 H: QE15r rail + Q2515r raíl + Q2515r HM W: respondet set + fcjs, or offers.

H: QE15r rail + Q2515r raíl + Q2515r HM W: respondet set + fcjs, or offers. submitted by Organic-Recording-52 to Market76 [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 21:51 MegBreslin H: This W: Price check

H: This W: Price check submitted by MegBreslin to Market76 [link] [comments]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2024.05.19 19:48 Nicknopicks16 H: Weapons & Armor W: junkies explosive elders mark/ Rare mask or apperal offers

H: Weapons & Armor W: junkies explosive elders mark/ Rare mask or apperal offers submitted by Nicknopicks16 to Market76 [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 19:30 Prudent-Moment6608 First Lever !

First Lever !
Here it is, my first lever- Citadel Levtec chambered in .357.
I attempted to hold out for a big boy X in .357 but lost patience.
Overall my experience has been positive after putting through about 300 rounds of .357 and .38 special, easily my favorite range toy.
Zero issues out of the box outside the need to give it a good cleaning and ensure all the screws were tight and added some blue locktite to the muzzle protector.
Addon wise, I threw on the following if anyone is curious:
  • WAYNE'S DOG Genuine Leather Lever Wrap Kit for Lever-Action Rifles and Shotguns (black on black in 6”) -WAYNE’s DOG Leather Buttstock Cheek Rest with Rifle Ammo Holder for .357 (black) -Ranger point Precision M-LOK 357/38 Cartridge Quiver Eight Rounds Ammo Holder -Magpul MLOK® AFG® - Angled Fore Grip -Monstrum tactical Raven SRS Red Dot which I cannot stress enough is a great optic with a lifetime warranty.
Super happy with all the addons and with my build.
submitted by Prudent-Moment6608 to canadaguns [link] [comments]

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Prowler Hull D $65 - $45
Razor SRV $15 - $5

⚜️ ➤ If you want to buy something, SEND PM me or send me DM to AlexFreeman#8529 in Discord. ⚜️

My old store pages with trade history: vol.1, vol.2, vol.3

Tip: Use on keyboard to search for the ship you want  
⚜️ ➤ I want to buy store credits ⚜️ I am waiting for your commercial offers  

⚜️ ➤ REFERRAL SERVICE ⚜️

Quantity Price, $
1 referral $--
5+ referral $-- for each
Information about rewards can be found here - https://robertsspaceindustries.com/referral-program Consider using my referral code STAR-57F5-QBC9 when creating a new account and receive 5000 UEC in game. 🔥Anyone who uses my referral code becomes my guest of honor and receives discounts in my store🔥
 

🔥Hot discounts🔥

Item Insurance Price,$
Pulse +Dominion Paint LTI $25🔥
Pulse LX +Dominion Paint LTI $25🔥
Pulse and Pulse LX +Dominion Paints LTI $48🔥
MPUV Tractor +Firebrand Paint LTI $35🔥
Ursa Medivac +Respite Paint & Flight Jacket LTI $55🔥
F7C Hornet Mk II +Ironscale Paint LTI $160
600I BIS 2953 +Paint&Poster OC 10y $575
Redeemer BIS 2953 +Paint&Poster OC 10y $430
Corsair BIS 2953 +Paint&Poster OC 10y $350
Vulture BIS 2953 +Paint&Poster OC 10y $275
600i Explorer BIS 2951 + Paint & Jacket CCU'd LTI $400
MERCURY STAR RUNNER BIS 2951 + Paint & Jacket CCU'd LTI $210
MERCURY STAR RUNNER BIS 2952 + RED ALERT Paint CCU'd LTI $260
CARRACK BIS 2952 + RED ALERT Paint CCU'd LTI $600
LTI Upgrade - Reliant Kore to CNOU Nomad LTI $80
LTI Upgrade - 315P to CNOU Nomad LTI $100
M50 Subscriber Edition LTI $98
Cutlass RED Subscriber Edition LTI $133
Mantis Subscriber Edition LTI $148
Sabre Subscriber Edition LTI $168
Add-Ons - Endeavor Telescope Pod 10y $135
Add-Ons - Endeavor Biodome Pod 10y $110
Add-Ons - Endeavor Fuel Pod 10y $40
Add-Ons - AEGIS Idris P After Market Kit LTI $260
   

⚜️ ➤ CONCIERGE PACKAGES:

Item Insurance Includes Price
UEE EXPLORATION 2948 PACK LTI SC+SQ42+VFG+20k $800
SCOUNDREL PACK LTI SC+SQ42+VFG+20k $740
ENTREPRENEUR PACK LTI SC+SQ42+VFG+20k $640
   

⚜️ ➤ ORIGINAL CONCEPTS and Cross-Chassis Upgraded ships:

Item Insurance CCU-ed Original concept ♻
100I LTI $60 -
125A LTI $60 -
135c LTI $65 -
300I LTI $60 -
315P LTI $65 -
325A LTI $70 -
350R LTI $145 -
400I LTI $235 -
600I TOURING LTI $390 -
600I EXPLORER LTI $400 -
600i Explorer BIS 2951 + Paint & Jacket LTI $400 -
890 JUMP - IAE 10 years - $1250
A1 SPIRIT LTI $160 -
A1 SPIRIT + Intrepid Paint LTI - $255
A2 HERCULES LTI $735 -
A2 HERCULES - IAE 2949 10 years - $750
Ares Inferno LTI $235 -
Ares ION LTI $235 -
Argo MOLE LTI $299 -
AVENGER STALKER LTI $60 -
AVENGER WARLOCK LTI $85 -
Avenger Titan - IAE 2949 10 years - $67
APOLLO TRIAGE LTI $235 -
APOLLO MEDIVAC LTI $260 -
ARROW LTI $75 -
BALLISTA LTI $125 -
BUCCANEER LTI $115 -
BLADE LTI $245 -
C1 SPIRIT LTI $110 -
C2 HERCULES LTI $385 -
CARRACK LTI $585 -
CATERPILLAR LTI $255🔥 -
CATERPILLAR BEST IN SHOW EDITION LTI $333 -
CENTURION LTI $105 -
CONSTELLATION TAURUS 🚚 LTI $175 -
CONSTELLATION ANDROMEDA LTI $225 -
CONSTELLATION AQUILA LTI $295 -
CORSAIR LTI $189🔥 -
CORSAIR + Name Reservation LTI - $777
CRUCIBLE LTI $335 -
CUTLASS BLACK LTI $99 -
CUTLASS BLACK BEST IN SHOW EDITION LTI $110 -
CUTLASS RED 🚑 LTI $120 -
CUTLASS BLUE 10 years - $175
CUTLASS BLUE LTI $160 -
CUTTER LTI $70 -
CUTTER SCOUT LTI $80 -
C8R PISCES LTI $65 -
C8X PISCES EXPEDITION - IAE 2949 10 years - $62
CYDNUS LTI - In Development
DEFENDER 🛸 LTI $185 -
DRAKE DRAGONFLY RIDE TOGETHER TWO-PACK LTI - $190
E1 SPIRIT LTI $135 -
E1 SPIRIT + Olympia Paint LTI - $235
ECLIPSE LTI $265 -
ENDEAVOR BASE LTI $335 -
EXPANSE LTI $135 -
F7A HORNET LTI - In Development
F7C HORNET LTI $112 -
F7C-S HORNET GHOST LTI $110 -
F7C-R HORNET TRACKER LTI $125 -
F7C HORNET WILDFIRE LTI $160 -
F7C-M SUPER HORNET LTI $165 -
F7C-M SUPER HORNET HEARTSEEKER LTI $180 -
F8C LIGHTNING LTI - In Development
FREELANCER LTI $100 -
FREELANCER DUR LTI $120 -
FREELANCER MAX 🚚 LTI $135 -
FREELANCER MIS LTI $160 -
Fury +Leatherback Paint LTI - $80
Fury MX +Leatherback Paint LTI - $80
GALAXY + Protector Paint LTI - $450
GALAXY LTI $365 -
GENESIS Starliner LTI $385 -
GLADIATOR LTI $150 -
GLADIUS LTI $90 -
GLADIUS VALIANT LTI $110 -
GLAIVE 🛸 LTI $295 -
HAWK LTI $102 -
HAMMERHEAD LTI $710 -
HERALD LTI $85 -
HOVERQUAD LTI - $50
HULL A LTI $90 -
HULL B LTI $125 -
HULL C LTI - -
HULL D LTI - -
HULL E 10 years - $777
HURRICANE LTI $180 -
KHARTU-AL 🛸 LTI $155 -
LIBERATOR LTI $560 -
LYNX + Moonrise Paint LTI - $105
M2 HERCULES LTI $505 -
M50 INTERCEPTOR LTI $102 -
MANTIS LTI $135 -
MERCHANTMAN LTI $585 -
MERCURY STAR RUNNER 10 years - $250
MERCURY STAR RUNNER LTI $199🔥 -
MERCURY STAR RUNNER BIS 2951 + Paint & Jacket LTI $210 -
MPUV Cargo - ILW 10 years - $40
NAUTILUS LTI $710 -
NOMAD LTI $80 $110
NOVA TANK LTI $110 -
ODYSSEY LTI $685 -
ORIGIN G12 (Touring) LTI - $78
ORIGIN G12A (Combat) LTI - $88
ORIGIN G12R (Racing) LTI - $78
ORION LTI $560 -
P-72 ARCHIMEDES EMERALD LTI $150 -
PERSEUS LTI $660 -
PERSEUS - ILW 10 years - $690
PERSEUS + Thundercloud Paint - VIP Exclusive LTI - $900
PIONEER - IAE 10 years - $1150
POLARIS LTI $745 -
POLARIS - ILW 10 years - $760
PROSPECTOR LTI $140 -
PROWLER LTI $360 -
RAILEN 🛸🚚 LTI $190 -
RAFT 🚚 LTI $115 -
RANGER CV LTI - -
RANGER RC 10 years - $50
RANGER TR 10 years - $50
RAZOR LTI $130 -
RAZOR LX LTI $135 -
RAZOR EX LTI $140 -
RETALIATOR BASE LTI $135 -
RETALIATOR BOMBER 10 years - $280
RETALIATOR BOMBER LTI $260 -
RECLAIMER LTI $385 -
REDEEMER LTI $310 -
REDEEMER - ILW 10 years - $300
RELIANT KORE LTI $65 -
RELIANT TANA (SKIRMISHER) LTI $80 -
RELIANT SEN (RESEARCHER) LTI $90 -
RELIANT MAKO (NEWS VAN) LTI $95 -
ROC LTI - $140
ROC Subscribers Exclusive LTI $60 -
ROC Subscribers Exclusive 12m - $54
ROC-DS LTI $75 -
SAN'TOK.YĀI LTI $205 $400
SABRE LTI $155 -
SABRE COMET LTI $170 -
SCORPIUS ANTARES LTI $181 -
SCORPIUS LTI $191 -
SPARTAN LTI $80 $100
STARFARER LTI $285 -
STARFARER GEMINI LTI $270 -
STORM + Summit Paint LTI - $130
STV + Blue Steel Paint LTI - $55
SRV LTI $135 -
TALON LTI $115 -
TALON SHRIKE LTI $118 -
TERRAPIN LTI $205 -
VANGUARD HOPLITE LTI $220 -
VANGUARD WARDEN LTI $245 -
VANGUARD SENTINEL LTI $260 -
VANGUARD HARBINGER LTI $275 -
VALKYRIE LTI $270 -
VALKYRIE BIS 2950 10 years - -
VULCAN LTI $185 -
VULTURE LTI $135🔥 -
X1 BASELINE EDITION LTI - -
X1 FORCE EDITION LTI - -
X1 VELOCITY EDITION LTI - -
Zeus Mk II ES +Solstice Paint LTI - $235
Zeus Mk II CL +Solstice Paint LTI - $235
Zeus Mk II MR +Solstice Paint LTI - $270

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

⛵CLICK HERE TO PLACE AN ORDER ⛵

 

⚜️ ➤ SHIP PAINTS:

Item Price
2951 Auspicious Red Paint Pack $22
2952 Auspicious Red Paint Pack $24
Nomad - 2951 Auspicious Red Paint $11
Freelancer - 2951 Auspicious Red Paint $14
Constellation - 2952 Auspicious Red Paint $14
Sabre - 2952 Auspicious Red Paint $12
Lovestruck Paint Pack $26
HoverQuad - Lovestruck Paint $8
MPUV - Lovestruck Paint $8
Cyclone - Lovestruck Paint $8
Arrow - Lovestruck Paint $8
Nomad - Lovestruck Paint $10
RAFT - Lovestruck Paint $10
SRV - Lovestruck Paint $11
Scorpius - Lovestruck Paint $14
Ares - Lovestruck Paint $14
Mole - Lovestruck Paint $16
Ghoulish Green 4 Paint Pack $32
Mule - Ghoulish Green Paint $6
Herald - Ghoulish Green Paint $8
Vulture - Ghoulish Green Paint $12
Caterpillar - Ghoulish Green Paint $12
Buccaneer - Ghoulish Green Paint $9
Cutlass - Ghoulish Green Paint $8
Dragonfly - Ghoulish Green Paint $8
Avenger - Invictus 2950 Blue and Gold Paint $10
Aurora - Invictus 2950 Blue and Gold Paint $10
Constellation - 2950 Invictus Blue and Gold Paint $18
Cyclone - Invictus Blue and Gold Paint $8
Galaxy - Protector Paint $15
Gladius - Invictus Blue and Gold Paint $12
Gladius - Solar Winds Paint $11
Hawk - Invictus Blue and Gold Paint $10
Hercules Starlifter - Invictus Blue and Gold Paint $20
Hornet - Invictus Blue and Gold Paint $10
Reliant - Invictus Blue and Gold Paint $8
Retaliator - Invictus Blue and Gold Paint $28
Vanguard - Invictus Blue and Gold Paint $18
Aphorite Mining Paint Pack $35
Dolivine Mining Paint Pack $35
Hadanite Mining Paint Pack $35
Overdrive Racing Paint Pack $11
Slipstream Racing Paint Pack $11
Turbocharged Racing Paint Pack $11
Aspire Paint Pack $18
Central Tower Paint Pack $18
Hosanna Paint Pack $18
100 Series - Sand Wave Paint $8
100 Series - Melrose Paint $8
400i - Meridian Paint $20
400i - Penumbra Paint $20
600i - Cold Forge Paint $14
600i - Sterling Paint $19
Arrastra - Nocturne Paint $17🔥
Aurora ILW 2950 Paint Pack $18
Aurora - Light and Dark Grey Paint $8
Aurora - Green and Gold Paint $8
Avenger ILW 2950 Paint Pack $20
Avenger - Solar Winds Paint $10
Avenger - Copernicus Paint $8
Avenger - Kepler Paint $8
Avenger - De Biasio Paint $8
Centurion - Beachhead Paint $8
Constellation ILW 2950 Paint Pack $27
Constellation - Dark Green Paint $13
Cutlass Black - Skull & Crossbones Paint $12
Defender - Platinum Paint $15
Defender - Harmony Paint $15
LIBERATOR - VIP exclusive Condor Paint $33🔥
Mercury Star Runner - 2951 Fortuna Paint $14
MOLE Aphorite Paint $12
MOLE Dolivine Paint $12
MOLE Hadanite Paint $12
Nox - Harmony Paint $8
Odyssey - Windrider Paint $28
PERSEUS - A VIP exclusive, the Thundercloud Paint $33🔥
Prospector Aphorite Paint $11
Prospector Dolivine Paint $11
Prospector Hadanite Paint $11
Prowler - Ocellus Paint $20
Prowler - Harmony Paint $20
Railen - Hyaotan Paint $20
Retaliator ILW 2950 Paint Pack $38
Reclaimer Aphorite Paint $15
Reclaimer Dolivine Paint $15
Reclaimer Hadanite Paint $15
ROC Aphorite Paint $7
ROC Dolivine Paint $7
ROC Hadanite Paint $7
Scorpius - Stinger Paint $30
Scorpius - Tiburon Paint $12
STV - Blue Steel Paint $5
Talon - Cobalt Paint $10
Talon - Crimson Paint $10
Talon - Ocellus Paint $10
Talon - Harmony Paint $10
Talon - Paint Pack $30
Valkyrie ILW 2950 Paint Pack $40
Vanguard - Solar Winds Paint $15
Zeus Mk II - Solstice Paint $12
 

⚜️ ➤ SUBSCRIBERS EXCLUSIVE SETS:

Set Includes Price
Takuetsu Replica Figurines 6 exhibits $35
Kastak Arms Custodian SMG CitizenCon 2947 Edition 1 item $30
Atzkav "DEADEYE" Sniper rifle 1 item $10
Yubarev "DEADEYE" Pistol 1 item $10
WowBlast "Blue" Desperado Toy Pistol 1 item $8
WowBlast "Orange" Desperado Toy Pistol 1 item $8
WowBlast "Red" Desperado Toy Pistol 1 item $8
WowBlast "Teal" Desperado Toy Pistol 1 item $8
Overlord Helmets DOUBLE TROUBLE 2 items $7
Overlord Helmets FORCES OF NATURE 2 items $7
Overlord Helmets SILENT STRIKE 2 items $7
Overlord "Dust Storm" Armor Set 3 items $9
Overlord "Predator" Armor Set 3 items $9
Overlord "Riptide" Armor Set 3 items $9
Overlord "Stinger" Armor Set 3 items $9
Overlord "Supernova" Armor Set 3 items $9
Overlord "Switchback" Armor Set 3 items $9
Caudillo Helmets Pack 1 2 items $8
Caudillo Helmets Pack 2 2 items $8
Caudillo Helmets Pack 3 2 items $8
NIGHTFIRE - Paladin Helmet 1 item $6
SINGULARITY - Paladin Helmet 1 item $6
ICEBORN - Paladin Helmet 1 item $6
Fieldsbury Dark Bear Helmet 1 item $8
Fieldsbury Dark Bear Helmet – ORANGE 1 item $8
Fieldsbury Dark Bear Helmet – LIME 1 item $8
Fieldsbury Dark Bear Helmet – BLUEBERRY 1 item $8
Fieldsbury Dark Bear Helmet – GRAPE 1 item $8
Fieldsbury Dark Bear Helmet – GUAVA 1 item $8
Fieldsbury Dark Bear Sinister SIX-PACK 6 items $26
Giocoso Helmet - Azure 1 item $7
Giocoso Helmet - Ivory 1 item $7
Giocoso Helmet - Obsidian 1 item $7
Giocoso Helmet - Triple Pack 1 item $15
Sawtooth "Sirocco" Combat Knife 1 item $5
Sawtooth "Squall" Combat Knife 1 item $5
Sawtooth "Bloodstone" Combat Knife 1 item $5
Pyro RYT "Ghost" Multi-Tool 1 item $6
Pyro RYT "Mirage" Multi-Tool 1 item $6
Pyro RYT "Bloodline" Multi-Tool 1 item $6
GP-33 Mod "ASHFALL" Grenade Launcher 1 item $9
GP-33 Mod "COPPERHEAD" Grenade Launcher 1 item $9
GP-33 Mod "THUNDERCLAP" Grenade Launcher 1 item $9
Aves Armor & Helmet Set 4 items $16
Aves Talon Shrike Armor and Helmet Set 4 items $16
Aves Talon Armor and Helmet Set 4 items $16
Neoni "Jami" Helmet 1 item $7
Neoni "Onna" Helmet 1 item $7
Neoni "Tengubi" Helmet 1 item $7
Star Kitten Set 4 items $14
Star Kittyen "SALLY" Set 4 items $14
Star Kittyen "DAMON" Set 4 items $14
Pembroke RSI Sunburst Exploration Armor 3 items $15
Pembroke RSI Ivory Exploration Armor 3 items $15
Pembroke RSI Graphite Exploration Armor 3 items $15
Morozov Aftershock Armor 5 items $15
Morozov Terracotta Armor 5 items $15
Morozov Thule Armor 5 items $15
Sakura Fun Green ORC-mkX Armor Bobblehead 1 item $7
Sakura Fun Blue ORC-mkX Armor Bobblehead 1 item $7
Sakura Fun White ORC-mkX Armor Bobblehead 1 item $7
Zeus Exploration Suit 3 items $15
Zeus Exploration Suit Solar 3 items $15
Zeus Exploration Suit Starscape 3 items $15
Xanthule Flight Suit 2 items $13
Xanthule Sehya Flight Suit 2 items $13
Xanthule Tahn Flight Suit 2 items $13
CSP-68L Backpack Night Camo 1 item $6
CSP-68L Backpack Cayman 1 item $6
CSP-68L Backpack Forest Camo 1 item $6
CitizenCon 2951 Digital Goodies 7 items $10
CitizenCon 2951 Trophy 7 items $10
 

⚜️➤ SHIP UPGRADES - CROSS-CHASSIS UPGRADES (CCUs, upgrades), some upgrades can be chain in few steps CCU's:

SHIP TARGET SHIP < Upgrade from Price
400I
400I < CONSTELLATION ANDROMEDA $15
600I EXPLORER
600I EXPLORER < PROWLER $70
ARROW
ARROW < AURORA MR $50
ARROW < MUSTANG ALPHA $50
ARROW < C8X PISCES EXPEDITION $35
ARROW < 100i $30
ARROW < AVENGER TITAN $25
ARROW < RELIANT KORE $15
CATERPILLAR BEST IN SHOW EDITION
CATERPILLAR BISE < VANGUARD HARBINGER $100
CORSAIR
CORSAIR < TAURUS $60
CRUCIBLE
CRUCIBLE < STARFARER GEMINI $21
CUTLASS BLACK BEST IN SHOW EDITION
CUTLASS BLACK BISE < GLADIUS $70
CUTLASS RED Subscriber
CUTLASS RED Subscriber < F7C-S HORNET GHOST $25
CUTLASS BLUE
CUTLASS BLUE < PROSPECTOR $30
DEFENDER
DEFENDER < CORSAIR $15
DEFENDER < HORNET F7C-M HEARTSEEKER $37
GLADIUS
GLADIUS < AURORA MR $65
GLADIUS < MUSTANG ALPHA $65
GLADIUS < C8X PISCES EXPEDITION $50
GLADIUS < 100i $45
GLADIUS < AVENGER TITAN $40
GLADIUS < RELIANT KORE $30
GLADIUS < ARROW $20
HAMMERHEAD
HAMMERHEAD < CARRACK $150
HAMMERHEAD < CARRACK EXPEDITION W/C8X $100
HULL C
HULL C < CATERPILLAR $175
MERCHANTMAN
MERCHANTMAN < STARFARER GEMINI $300
MERCHANTMAN < ARGO MOLE $345
NAUTILUS
NAUTILUS < CARRACK $175
PERSEUS
PERSEUS < CARRACK Expedition W/C8X $40
PERSEUS < CARRACK $90
PERSEUS < ORION $115
PERSEUS < 600I EXPLORER $220
PERSEUS < MERCHANTMAN $248
PERSEUS < ARGO MOLE $380
PERSEUS < ANDROMEDA $485
POLARIS
POLARIS < PERSEUS $70
POLARIS < HAMMERHEAD $70
POLARIS < NAUTILUS $60
POLARIS < CARRACK $250
RECLAIMER BIS 2949
RECLAIMER BIS 2949 < VALKYRIE $300
SAN'TOK.YĀI
SAN'TOK.YĀI < HORNET F7C-M HEARTSEEKER $37

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

⛵CLICK HERE TO PLACE AN ORDER ⛵

submitted by Freeman_Alex to Starcitizen_trades [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 18:36 lil__squeaky Cost $60 but labeled as $3.10 per round?

Cost $60 but labeled as $3.10 per round? submitted by lil__squeaky to PalmettoStateArms [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 18:05 IdioticPAYDAY After action report: Elias Jacobs and Kenneth Will

No species consider friendship to be as important as Humankind.
It is said across the Milky Way that a Human will be the single most devoted friend you will ever have, regardless of how long you have known them. Indeed, Humans are willing to do anything for their friends, and even more when their friends are of the same species.
At 7th of August, 2772 (Earth Calendar), Lieutenant Kenneth Will was captured by Jevorian forces at the battle of Shkipkuu. Due to his rather higher position, he was sent to the infamous Jevorian prison named “Whitearch” to be interrogated.
Kenneth Will had a friend. Lieutenant Elias Jacobs. Elias was reportedly both distraught and angered at Kenneth’s capture, but showed no other irregular behavior. Regardless, during a patrol in the Human frontlines in Enno, the frigid planet where Whitearch was located, Kenneth went MIA.
Soon after his disappearance from patrol, Jevorian command was swamped with distress signals from Whitearch. Reports claimed that a singular human armed with a Falcon-85 (the standard Human assault rifle) had breached the prison-complex, and was slaughtering every personnel stationed there whilst freeing other prisoners. Reinforcements were also dealt with swiftly by the prisoners, who had managed to break into the armory and had obtained quality Jevorian armor and weaponry.
Soon enough, another signal was broadcast from Whitearch, by none other than Elias Jacobs. He proclaimed that Whitearch had been captured by the Humans, and warned any nearby outposts to abandon their positions. It worked, and the Battle of Enno eventually ended in a Human Victory.
When questioned, Elias explained his intentions and reasons for disobeying orders in an incredibly simple manner: Saving his friend. He had found out that Kenneth had been sent to Whitearch, and had planned a single-man assault, coupled with the prisoner rebellion and the broadcast.
Today, Elias Jacobs and Kenneth Wills are no longer alive. But they are forever venerated as war heroes amongst Humankind, and a testament for other aliens on how far Humans are willing to go for their friends.
submitted by IdioticPAYDAY to humansarespaceorcs [link] [comments]

http://swiebodzin.info