My mom dating

Let's call him "John". I've been dating John on and off for several years. I never took him seriously because of his age but he's a nice guy. I always assumed he just wanted sex but sometimes he'd talk about having a family with me and caring about me and my child (I'm a single mom). I've pushed him away so much over the years, idk how he still tolerates me. We've had a bit of drama over the years, I made mistakes, he made mistakes but somehow we always ended dating again.
I revealed to him that I was seeing someone else once in the blue (he asked me and i told him the truth) and he was so pissed off. He called me a cheater. He said how could I say I care about him then go fuck someone else. Although we never agreed to be exclusive or in a relationship and he never gave me the impression that was his girlfriend, I still felt very guilty. I know this hurt his feelings. It was never a secret or something I would lie about, I felt I was single and I never had anything to hide. At this point he is undecided about whether he wants to be with me or not. If he decided to continue, I asked him to make it clear what kind of relationship he wanted. I'm a millennial, he's gen Z, I feel we may have different ideas about relationships. I just wanted to make sure we're on the same page... this time.
We agreed to be in an exclusive relationship. Boyfriend and girlfriend.
It's been a little rocky. He demands time that I don't really have. I'm a mom, I work full time. I can't hang out on a Wednesday night without a baby sitter and being exhausted the next day. I demand that he at least texts me once a day. Sometimes he goes 3 days without texting/calling me. Idk if it's a normal thing but I've never been in a relationship where that was acceptable. But he's a student (computer science) and he works so I've learned to just give him space and when he becomes unresponsive.
When we get into little spats I tend to just say we should move on and he hates it. I think he feels like im giving up because I dont care about him but i do. I just dont want to be responsible for his unhappiness or unfulfillment. I get very insecure about my age with him like he'll find someone younger and without children and lose interest in me. I feel that he's young and he should focus himself and his career, friends, dating, traveling etc. He says why can't he have both. I feel like personality wise, we're compatible. But lifestyle/schedule wise, we're not. I just don't want him to look back at his 20s and feel like he wasted them with someone that wasnt worth it like i did...

37F - Poland, country with zero knowledge and tolerance for this disease
Sometimes when I'm down I try to cheer myself up thinking "others have it worse"
But not really, except for people who are very ill or physically tortured, not ones with social anxiety. Every time I read a story here I'm kinda jealous of the person who is at least young, has a life before them and schoolmates or colleagues to be afraid of.
I've always had SA and I've always been antisocial. Dorky, chubby and awkward until adulthood. Lost contact with everyone I ever knew because I never reach out, so friendships faded away quickly. Got a major degree but in my country a woman always has to start her work experience as a secretary. Talking to strangers, answering phones. After years of failed interviews they started asking me what's with the gap between my graduation and now. Lying made my somatic reactions even worse. I tried in retail but I was either overqualified or too shy. I only had 2 "boyfriends", but I made all the dating mistakes (being too invested, providing free therapy, ignoring red flags). Both showered me with compliments but never got me anything, never wanted to hang out, "didn't do" valentines day or birthdays, yet expected to lose virginity with me. When I said no because it's a big deal to me they simply lost interest. The last failure made my anxiety turn into a full blown phobia. I had to stop trying to get a job. It was 8 years ago.
I'm an amateur digital artist and ever since all the art communities went down the shitter with the AI I don't get involved in any fandoms and have fun like I used to, I just draw commissions quietly.
Now I only have my mom. She partially understands because she's antisocial too but she refuses to believe in mental disorders.
Lately I'm being crushed by overwhelming loneliness, I'd like to find someone to love but I am completely isolated. There is no public stuff to attend around here, I can't sit around and wink at men. I'm pretty good looking, maybe even hot but due to my style and interests people think I'm a lot younger. I created a facebook account but with no friends I'm invisible. There's nobody my age I could relate to. Millenials who share the same interests are all from overseas. FB groups for finding adult friends are filled with whores, horny dudes and horribly ugly weirdos. I don't think there's any advice for me because I feel like I'm the only one in this situation.
It's too late for me and there is no hope anymore. Therapy is out of the question, I can't afford it. What's the point either? Even if I got meds nobody in this country would hire a 37year old woman with no experience anyway. So I'd still be isolated from people. I have failed as a woman, as a daughter, as a person. Sometimes I keep ignoring this but other times, like now I have the worst thoughts. I only keep it together for my mom. Maybe it will pass when menopause hits, that's all I can look forward to, aside from the end.
So yeah back to what I said at the beginning. At least you've got people to be afraid of. Do what you can, don't waste your chances, don't end up like me. I may be jealous but I'm cheering for you.
Thank you for reading, wishing you guys luck every day

So, very messy and very long situation incoming. I am new to this, never posted before, but I’m going to try and be as all encompassing as possible. I feel there is a lot of context needed to make sure that no one is being misrepresented as I truly want to know if we’re in the wrong.
Essentially, back in April of this year (which feels much further away than it actually is), my wife (26F) and I (29F) got married. I’m American and she’s from another country, we’ve been together for a bit over 3 years and engaged since September 2023. Since we have no way to legally live together at this time, we decided she would come visit me for a few months so we could get a feel for it as much as possible before getting married and officially moving in together.
This was also something we agreed to do to put her parents’ minds at ease. For some more context, when we first started dating, she was not living at home/in her home country. Therefore, this meant when I would visit her, there weren’t any opportunities to meet up with her family (parents and brothers). We attempted offering to do video calls with them or even fly them over for her birthday when we knew I’d be visiting, but they always declined saying they felt calls would be awkward or that they couldn’t take off work to visit (understandable, but we did try to give several months warning and I know they’ve visited my partner there before).
Finally, last year, when my partner was in the process of moving back home, I was able to book a couple weeks off of work and go visit hemeet her family. I was extremely nervous as I’d never met the parents before and I know my own family means a lot to me and I knew then I wanted to marry my then girlfriend, so to me it was basically meeting my in-laws.
Throughout the trip we didn’t talk all that much and they didn’t ask me too many questions, but they seemed perfectly nice and I thought things were going well. Towards the end of the trip, my wife proposed to me and I said yes. This was something we’d been talking about for a while and I was super excited to move forward.
The next day, when she told her folks, they did NOT take it well, even going so far as to say she was confused (about her sexuality). I was not privy to this conversation, so I don’t want to misquote by adding anything else. More context: they knew my wife had purchased a ring and intended to propose. Needless to say, the next few days were ROUGH, but her parents were still pleasant to my face. Her and I ended up going to a different city for the last few days of my trip (which was previously planned) but we were both extremely upset and her guilt-ridden for upsetting her folks.
After that trip, things started to relax a little, bit by bit and we were eventually back to normal. We did all we could (mostly my wife did the leg work as I didn’t want to cross any boundaries) to make her parents feel more comfortable about the plan moving forward, at the time we were considering a fiancée visa since we were, y’know, fiancees lol. She walked them through the timeline and they still weren’t super comfy with it since I’d only met them once (understandable, I think) and we’d not yet lived together. So, we told them we’d have my partner come stay with me for a few months since she wasn’t working and I have an apartment, job, and cats I can’t leave. From what I understand, they liked that idea.
Flash forward to the past few months. She came to stay with me and at the beginning of her 3rd month here we had a consultation with an immigration attorney. In the consultation, the attorney said we’d be better off getting married since nothing was holding us back (like kids, prev. marriages, etc.) as the process is less invasive and we’re working towards marriage anyway. At this point, there were only about 3 or so weeks left in the trip and we had to make a decision as to whether we wanted to wait even longer to start the journey, or get married and start moving forward (this process will take over a year as is).
Ultimately, we decided that we didn’t want to have to keep waiting. We love each other, want to be married, and want to start our lives together. So we did it, we got married! It was a very small ceremony in my brother’s apartment since my step-sister is ordained and we were able to forgo trying to get a date at the courthouse on short notice – meaning we had wifi we could patch people in on Zoom from my wife’s side as well.
Now, here is the issue. Throughout this few week process leading up to the wedding from meeting with the attorney, my partner’s family (parents and brothers) all made it clear they did not approve of the marriage and thought she was “making a mistake”. They also said they wanted to be excited for my partner but just couldn’t be, and asked us to postpone the wedding until later in the year so that they could adjust/come to terms with it/be excited for her. They also made comments about getting married without her family there, which we did feel bad about. We attempted to offer and fly them over (they couldn’t due to work schedules) but we did provide them with the link to the live call. We also made it clear that while we are getting married, we still want to have a larger “wedding” later so that we can celebrate with all our family and friends together (which we intend to have in my partner’s home country). At the wedding, all of her friends signed onto the Zoom and only one of her brothers showed up, not her parents or other brother.
There were several moments leading up to the wedding where we nearly didn’t go through with it because she was so torn up at the fact her family was so upset she was getting married. Trying to help take something off her plate with making a decision, I called it and said maybe we shouldn’t right now. We’ve made it long distance for so long and I would do absolutely anything for her, including wait another 2-3 years before we can realistically be married and live life together. I just didn’t want her to hurt. But ultimately, saying we wouldn’t only made things harder and we kept coming back to it being what we want to do.
Aside from her family, everyone else was super supportive (my family & friends, all of her life long friends). We are happy to be moving forward, no question. Neither of us regret doing it and I’m so happy to finally be married to the love of my life, even as she needs to be on the other side of the world. But as she’s had to return home in the meantime while visas are in process, things have been rough. Her folks haven’t brought up the marriage and when talking to her one brother tonight, he told her everyone has been super upset and not coping well. He explained that her mom was hurt about not being included in the wedding and severely depressed. He also explained her other brother has just been angry. This eventually led to a long conversation with her family. Apparently her parents wanted to join and had intended to but didn't know the exact time or that when the link was sent it was go time. The ceremony literally lasted for two minutes and she said goodbye to everyone on the stream pretty quick because the time difference meant it was late for them. Her brother made it clear that he thought she should have done more like call them or wait until they joined. She was really hurt and the stress was taking a toll in the lead up to the day. She thought they had the information and hadn't wanted to be there. Things remain tense, this literally just happened, but they have said they love her unconditionally and want to move forward but just don't know how.
My wife feels like we could have done more to prevent these feelings being hurt and is dealing with so much guilt. I feel like we did what was right for us and we continuously reassured them that I would still be visiting while we wait for visas to process and that it means a lot to me that we have a good relationship and that they get to know me and my family. I even reached out to her mother via text apologizing about how things were happening, but assuring them that I still want to know them. They didn’t respond. I don’t know, I feel like we just did what was right for us as a couple. Long distance is hard, we want to be together, we love each other and want to be married, and we’re still going to have another larger wedding in the future. But at the same time, I don’t want people to feel excluded or deeply depressed due to our marriage, especially my wife’s family.
Are we the assholes for going through with the marriage right now instead of postponing like they asked?

I live with my parents and their fridge has always been packed full with food that there is literally no space to fit anything new. So I’ve never cooked food at home since my mom gets mad when I re-arrange the fridge to put new food in. This resulted in me always ordering takeout or if I want to cook, I cook at my boyfriends house.
Today I wondered how is it possible to have so much food in the fridge to only feed 2 people (my mom and dad since I don’t use the fridge) and I barely see anything being moved around in there.
I told my boyfriend about it and he said there’s definitely some expired stuff in there. With that, I looked at the expiry date at all the food and NO CAP! 70% of the food and sauces in the fridge have expired since 2019 to 2023, it’s 2024 now. I even found old cheese and has gone moldy at the back of the fridge. Also several bottles of mayonnaise that expired 3 years ago.
I told my mom this and she flipped out at me saying “ITS NOT EXPIRED! The manufacturers just put a date there to get licensed by the government”.
I couldn’t take the delusion and I don’t want them cooking with expired food, plus if they got rid of the expired shit we can add fresher new food in the fridge. So I woke up in the middle of the night to clear the fridge.
My mom heard the clanging of bottles and woke up and saw me clearing out the expired food from the fridge and FREAKED OUT AT ME. She started spewing out government food conspiracies like how the best before date is fake, if it’s fermented it can never expire or if it’s dry food it can never expire….
She started to accuse me of wanting to hold a party? That why I wanted to clear the fridge…I don’t even know. She threw some of the food at me in anger and made me take all the expired food out of the trash to put it back in the fridge.
I think my mom has some mental issues with letting go of things, she hasn’t been diagnosed because she doesn’t believe in therapy but I do believe that this must be a huge sign of some serious mental disorder.

Me (19 male) and my fiancé (21 male) have been together for many years know each other for like 8. We’ve been engaged for almost a year, we are supposed to marry this fall. He has been engaged before to another man who I will call tony. Tony dumped my fiancé who I will call John, three days before there wedding and still has johns stuff to this day.
Occasionally me and John will go to Tony’s to get whatever tony found of johns and it’s very uncomfortable for me. Tony will often make moves on John when I’m not in the room and at every opportunity he can get.
I’ve talked to John about this and we’ve come to the solution that when we are over there I will just follow John wherever he goes to avoid any conflict with tony.
Today I decided I would go to my moms for lunch and let John sleep as he works nights, I was eating in the kitchen of our home and over heard him in the phone with Tony. I went into the living room to see what was up and he invited him over to bring some stuff he found. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem however. I wasn’t asked, John wants to have a play date with the dogs, and I won’t be there to stop any moves tony try’s to make. Let me be clear. If John had let me know before hand and only let him come to give the stuff he found back, I would be okay with this. But with the dog factor, it’s going to be a longer visit that will be unsupervised.
I’m aware that John is an adult and capable of making good judgment but tony is so unpredictable. He once asked for a hot and tried kissing John while hugging him. As soon as I found out he was coming I grabbed my keys alert for my moms.
I feel like this shouldn’t be a big deal and that I should trust him but my gut is just not okay with it. I feel panicked and sick. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I haven’t told him how I feel about this situation yet because I know I’m just going to blow up.
I’m currently writing this at my moms house. What should I do? Should I even be worried?

I (23 F) have been dating my bf (25 M) for 3 years. We have made plans together to get engaged this year as I have extreme anxiety and do not do well with surprises.
My boyfriend wanted to make sure that he had my dad's (45 M) blessing, who replied "sure I guess." The following day, my dad goes and buys a ring and proposes to his girlfriend (32 F) without any warning to me or my sisters who all have a close relationship with him. We all feel really blindsided, but of course are happy for them.
He has been dating his gf for around 2 years, but has repeatedly said he didn't want to get married again after how bad his marriage was to my mom. The ring didn't even fit his gf's pinky, it was way too small.
I am of course happy for him, but I feel like the timing and circumstances are really weird. Am I just reading into things too much or is this actually weird???

Kim says in chronicles of Olivia’s video
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-JIv0B5_Ns4
WSU mom speaks: the secret keepers Dated 20 jan 2023
TIMESTAMP 8m 32seconds
“WHAT KIM KNOWS FOR CERTAIN” (her words)
She further states, She picked your daughter up at 8 AM on the 13th they were together until she went to go back home. This is when she received the alert which was it a bout 5:00 PM she says on her way home or she just got home. (Her words are never clear). And then she goes into questioning DM BF…… And this eight hour delay in calling for help
Oh my question is *who IS she to question DM BF AT ALL on a time gap that began at 4am….
When her kid is literally with her and has known since 10 o’clock. 10am is when her daughter was made aware of the murders happening 10am is when her daughter is made aware what each Victim’s WOUNDS ARE!
already been described to her Meaning for seven hours her daughter KNEW AND KEPT SILENT
….. if you’re going home at 5pm, even idaho math says y hat’s seven hours(SEVEN) (7hours)
who the …… does she think she is?
Her kid is with her for seven hours knows the wounds on these students and remains silent!! Kept this secret while in her presence for seven hours!!!!
Yet she’s got the nerve to question with DM BF did from 4-1156?
I say gtfo these streets WSloU mom Pam
You should be ashamed.

Husband gave up on our marriage 5 days after our daughter was born. He said he wants to be single, and has been dating a woman since then. She is aware of the situation and keeps updating her instagram bio to show how happy she is with my husband. She even told me she is eagerly waiting for our divorce so that she can get married to him. My husband has been very rude to me since then and our parents have been trying to help us. The last time I talked to him he would rather die than live with me and said that he has been suffocating in this marriage and that he feels liberated from that suffocation after he fell in love with her. I am heartbroken over this. But I dont want to continue this marriage either. I admit I wasn’t my best. I have made mistakes in the marriage. I dont think both of us were very compatible either. But, we have had our happy memories for sure. All that aside, it kills me to know that my daughter wouldn’t have her dad and mom together with her. But I also dont want to interfere in their relationship and want to be done with it. Has anyone divorced when their babies were young? How did it impact their future? Also, how did you cope with it? It would be really helpful to know because I am clueless and heartbroken. I havent talked to him since a week after that conversation.

I was reading the "Fuck the weekend" post earlier, and I was wondering if it's easier for people to make friends if they have a romantic partner. (This is not a "looking for a partner" post)
For example, if you have a partner with whom you can go to events, it feels less awkward, and so it's easier to make friends. And I noticed my mom will find female friends because she meets other couples with my dad when she's at wine tasting events. Or if you have kids you meet other parents, etc etc.
And because of increased confidence when you're with a partner going out, it may be easier to make friends; a lot of people here have expressed that they feel lonely and sad when they go out alone.
I'm only 24 but I'm already very lonely friends wise. But should I try and priortize finding a romantic partner first, so I can try and build a life that way? I've had people warn me by the time I hit 30 there will be no good people left in the dating pool. I haven't been in a rush to find a relationship, but I'm seeing a lot of single people say that all their friends left them when they got spouses and kids.
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This might be a long post so I apologize. I just have stuff I need to get off my chest.
I'm a 19 y/o FTM, 4 weeks postpartum. I love being a mom and I love my little boy, but I think I'm suffering from PPD and maybe some PPA and possibly some PPR. I was induced at 37 weeks and 5 days because I was at risk for preeclampsia with bp in the 150/100 range sometimes. I was given the little pill thing to get my cervix to dialate 3 times. I was told the pill usually doesn't make women have contractions but it made me have contractions. At some point I couldn't handle the contractions but I didn't want the epidural yet because I wanted to be able to get up if I needed to so they gave me fentanyl and it wore off in 15 minutes, so then I decided to get the epidural.
I was only less than 2cm dialated after quite a few hours when they decided I needed an emergency c-section because my baby's cord was wrapped around his neck and my contractions were causing it to compress badly. I was so drugged up during the c-section I don't even remember most of what happened, I just remember the feeling of them digging around and pressing against my bladder. Sleep deprivation in the hospital was the worst. I was in the hospital from a Friday all the way until Wednesday and I didn't sleep for more than about 2 hours the entire time.
Now that we're home, I'm not parenting alone, I have help from my husband during the day and sometimes at night, although I let him sleep during the night unless I absolutely need his sleep because he works while I'm a SAHM. I was doing online college for a little while but because of my baby I decided to take incompletes in my classes so I can go back and do all the work at a later date when I feel better. I feel like a failure as a person because I had to basically quit college because I couldn't handle the school work and a baby and I hear all these women accomplishing so many things after giving birth.
I thought I was fine at first but my husband noticed some of the signs my doctor told him to watch for like no appetite, not getting out of bed, and being way too overwhelmed too easily. I don't get hungry more than like once a week, and even when I am hungry I can't finish all my food without immediately feeling full. I have to force feed myself and drink protein shakes because the thought and act of eating nauseates me. I'm so exhausted and being awake just fills me with dread about the fact that I have no freedom to even go outside and sit on the back porch because the baby might wake up and need me. I think I resent my husband because he still gets to go places, mostly to work but its still getting out of the house, and he gets to go outside with the dogs while I'm cooped up in the house unless he's taking me somewhere because I haven't been cleared to drive yet.
Our living situation isn't the best. We're living with my FIL, SIL, SIL's BF, and my husband's nephew. FIL is great, he watches the baby when we want to shower together and recently we left the baby with him to go run some errands, although he is unwilling to change diapers. SIL, SIL's BF/Fiance, and nephew still haven't even met the baby or even tried to and we live in the same house, not that we want SIL's BF to meet him tho. I asked the nephew the other day if he wanted to meet the baby and he said "no thanks". SIL and SIL's BF are trying really hard to find a reason to evict us from the house and have been trying since I found out I was pregnant. One day I was in the laundry room doing laundry and the BF came in from the garage and hit me with the door pretty hard and didn't even apologize. We were going to move out months ago but our plans fell through due to money issues and the IRS. We currently live off WIC, Foodstamps, and Medicaid and even that isn't enough for us sometimes.
I know my husband knows what he's doing with the baby but sometimes I get really big anxiety when anyone but me deals with him. I know that he's ok, but I keep having these thoughts that something is going to happen to him if anyone but me cares for him, or that something is going to happen to him if I sleep or if I put him down to sleep, which often leads to me being overwhelmed caring for him because I stay up and let him sleep in my arms. Being in the car with the baby gives me anxiety even tho the baby loves the car and I sit next to him in the backseat to make sure he's ok. Doing anything with the baby makes me feel anxious and often overwhelmed and I feel so guilty for being overwhelmed because he doesn't mean to be a little difficult.
I think I'm also possibly suffering from unconscious postpartum rage a little bit too. I get frustrated and upset when things with the baby aren't going as I want them to go. The other night he would not stop screaming and it was overwhelming me so much I had to catch myself because I almost covered his mouth and nose to make him be quiet. I don't have any feelings of wanting to hurt the baby so me almost doing that really freaked me out. I had my husband take the baby from me and I went to the bathroom and cried. I'm scared to tell my doctors all of this because I don't want them to think I'm a bad mom to my baby and I don't want to get locked in a psych ward away from him. I had a therapist in the beginning of my pregnancy but I couldn't afford to keep going to her.

My husband thinks ghosting is a thing because the internet has ruined us... but I know ghosting is not new!
Only a few of us had the internet in our homes in 1999. I was dating a boy from another school that I met at a theatre festival. We went at it hot and heavy for a couple of weeks, and then all of a sudden he was just never available to come to the phone whenever I called. I could almost hear the pity in his mom's voice!
In summary, cowardice is not new! LOL

Caption says it all, my life is over as I know it. I’ve been married for almost two years now. I met my wife in elementary school and we started dating in high school. Back then is when I started to develop an unhealthy relationship to porn. Eventually we broke up for unrelated reasons. I left for the military, dated a bit, but we connected again eventually. In the military is when my porn addiction began to get really out of hand. 4x a day, every day, every genre you can think of. Gay, straight, trans, you name it. I eventually got stationed out of the country and I started to have online affairs with various apps. I got a hooker 2x in the first - second year of our relationship and never told her. I went to Thailand for a military exercise and I got a hooker there. Still never told her. I eventually got stationed in the states and continued my porn usage. It was mostly gay and trans at the time and I wanted to experiment, so I did. And I never told her. I had a small fling with a married woman but we never moved passed a kiss. I got out of the military, holding this secret, and I hooked up with another guy and then after that, never again. After that it was online cheating but I never acted on anything physically. We eventually got married and she is literally the most amazing woman a man can ask for. She is so loving and so amazing to me. I do not deserve her at all and I know this. I’ve recently come to a crippling realization that I cannot hold this secret anymore.. I need to come clean. I am so scared of how she’s going to react. She’s from a traditional Mexican family and I know once she hears about everything she will not want anything to do with me. And I do not blame her. I want to fix this and make this right for her, our marriage, and God. No more lies. I am so sick of my wicked and disgusting ways. Can I fix it? Is it even worth it? Maybe it’s best that I do leave and she finds the right man for her. I know her family will probably never accept me back into the family after they hear about this lie. She deserves none of this. The destruction I am going to do to her once I tell her is crippling. Everything she’s known about me is wrong. Honestly, I debate suicide but I don’t think I will because that’s how my mom went out. My life is over. It’s FUCKING OVER. and it’s MY fault. I WANT TO CHANGE. anyone have a similar situation, maybe some advice?

As an adult i am scared of intimacy, being sexualized, and just relationships in general, I think it might have something to do with my childhood but idk. So as a kid I talked to random strangers online and got groomed. But I always had a feeling it was wrong so I never let them like do anything sexual. But they still sexualized me despite saying it made me uncomfortable. And me being uncomfortable with sexual stuff made them sexualize me more, because I was so “innocent, pure, and quirky”. There was one particular guy that I talked to for 2 years ish, from age 14-16, he was 2 years older than me. He confessed his love for me so many times and dated my friend and other people to make me jealous, but it didn’t work because I absolutely hated him and wanted him to die. He’d always manipulate my friends and me saying stuff like “I should just commit suicide, no one would care anyways”. Please do. I remember praying to god that this man would kill himself, or die in some way. I told my friends I hated him and didn’t want to talk to him but they wouldn’t take no for an answer and kept making me talk to him. He said he had wet dreams about me and a bunch of other stuff happened and it all made me uncomfortable. I think It really made my personality switch. He’d always say how I was kind, pure, and innocent. And how I was so nice to everyone, so I just tried to be a total bitch. And I don’t know if I ever stopped. I was also sexualized by older men, growing up I worked at a restaurant with my mom when I was 13-14 ish, and old men would always compliment me but in a really weird way. “You’re so much prettier than your (adult) sister”. “You look like you’re old enough to run the bar!” And a bunch of other crap like that. I’ve had many other creepy coworkers since then, I think the most appalling one was “don’t worry daddy’s got you”- a 50 year old man after i made a mistake. But also as a kid I wasn’t allowed to hang out with my best friend (who was a boy) because my parents thought we’d do sexual acts together, MIND YOU THIS WAS LIKE 2ND-7TH GRADE. I remember bawling my eyes out in the church basement because I was so sickened that my parents would think that about me. I remember just wanting to not be sexualized. My dad also is kind of sexist and says stuff like; “when women started voting this country went to hell” “I can’t imagine being a women and being infertile, I mean that’s my only purpose” and just a bunch of stuff like that. I told him how I wanted to move to a city one day and just try it out and he was like but the end times!!! And so I said I’ve spent my whole childhood caring and grieving about politics and the end of the world, I’m so tired of caring, it’s not good for me to worry about that stuff. “Well you’ll be caring when they’re raping you!!” What. What the fuck? My parents are Christians and taught me what’s right and wrong from an early age so I think that’s just been drilled into my brain and effects the way I live now. But I don’t know, I’m just kind of mad at myself because I don’t want to be in a relationship and never have even though I’m 18. I feel like I’m missing out but the idea of doing all that disgusts me.

When I was 2 my dad video taped my half sister naked in the bathroom without her knowing. My mom found out and of course left him. He paid off jail for a long time until I was 11 and he went to jail for 8 months. My dad really struggles with mental health I think and I’m the only thing he has. I love him because he’s my father but my sister is also my best friend and so important to me. It makes me uncomfortable cause I’m also a girl and my sister was young when it happened. I’m in college now and live with my mom with visits to my dad. I feel guilty cause I truly am all he has but it’s hard to deal with everything that has happened along with his sometimes difficult mental health issues. My mom is also my best friend but she regularly argues with me about everything in my life and I’m starting to become miserable. I go to college far so all my friends are far away and the only thing I really have in my hometown other than family and work is my boyfriend that I grew up with for 11 years. We grew up best friends and then we dated and it has been on and off for 4 years now. He also has suffered with mental health throughout our relationship and I always did my best to be there. He is always the one to leave me and he always has an excuse but quickly goes to other girls. He has 2 girl friends that he chose to stop talking to when we started dating and I didn’t question it. Then he started talking to them behind my back and it made me uncomfortable. They always text him even when we’re fully together without breaking up for over a year and just don’t respect me. They didn’t start texting him until the one broke up with her boyfriend which also makes me uncomfortable because she didn’t care when she had a boyfriend so why would she put me through that with mine? The first time we broke up I ended up being pregnant and during that he would leave me for those girls and a bunch of other girls along with dating apps. I went through the ab0rt1on alone a week before my birthday and my mom ended up finding out and hated him for it. The week after my birthday he told me he had cancer which was a lie but i believed him and started talking to him again. Currently he broke up with me the day before leaving for my past semester in college but throughout would text me and try to see me so i knew when i came back home he would try to talk to me. I love this guy i feel like ill never find anything like the connection i have with him and i cant let go. There are always other girls at this point and now when i ask him about the other girls he leaves me on open instead of reassuring me but my stupid self still wants to believe there isn’t anyone else. My dad texts me nonstop about seeing me and I feel guilty for not being there as often but then my mom also makes me feel guilty for not being with her all of the time but if I’m not perfect for my boyfriend and there whenever he possibly needs me then he will use it as a reason to leave me and to tell me I’m not worth staying. I can never be happy alone because I feel like someone always needs something from me or my boyfriend is doing something behind my back or someone is yelling at me for not being good enough. For the past year I have began to truly struggle with my mental health and I keep trying to find a bright side but at this point there isn’t one. I feel like people only use me for things and I always end up alone. Even my far away friends don’t exactly feel like true friends because I always feel left out. I’m just tired but I don’t want to end my life because I still feel like god has more for me but I’m so young and already hopeless

We bought some medjool dates (dried) and my mom pitted them and sliced them up last night for a recipe we’re making tonight. She kept them in the plastic tub they came in, not refridgerated. Is this safe?

I discovered Shera's videos quite a few years ago, and loved her humour as well as her message to level up. I started noting down all her little gems. They give me motivation, and a giggle too. I am older, in my fifties, and have been happily married for over 15 years, so I don't need her dating, sugaring, or 'get the bag' advice, but I do love her level up advice. I saw another lady share her notes, so I wanted to as well. There are tons, I've realised! I hope you enjoy them!
~~

How do you become the prize?

If you don’t start as the prize, then you aren’t the prize. If you don’t know if your mind that you are already the prize then you can never be the prize.

~~

How to be more feminine so I can be spoiled more?

It’s a lifestyle. You have to act, fake it until you make it, and create a lifestyle. The days that you don’t feel very feminine are the days that you have to use more of your masculine energy.

Remember to always have a space to come back to that is feminine, and recharge yourself with feminine energy. Create a more feminine environment, wear more feminine clothes, listen to music that is going to help your femininity instead of diminishing it.

Keep things that you like to do feminine and do feminine things. Going shopping, getting your nails or hair done, buying shoes, picking out décor for our rooms, decorating tables, going on picnics, watching girly movies.

Recharge yourself by doing some of those things. You need to be able to recharge your femininity at least once or twice a week.

~~

Live the type of life you want already. It may not be on the scale that you want to live it at, but it needs to be a version of it. For example, if you want to live a soft, feminine life make sure your current life reflects that: your current environment, the current way you dress, the current way you walk, talk and act.

The more you receive, the better treatment you receive, if you can get a provider who can let you live a more feminine life, a softer life, then it's just going to get better and better.

But already live the life you want to live, that way they can only improve you and they see how you treat yourself and see what you like and that’s what they are going to be giving you. Your goals will be met just by dating.

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What are some ways to keep him interested in he provides well?

Look good
Make sure you know what his interest are
Talk to him
Make sure he feels like he is the man
Look good when you are out with him
Make sure you are pretty and heads turn ‘ooh who’s he with’
His self-esteem will skyrocket when you go out with him if you look good and he’s not going to want to leave that


~~

Men like women to switch it up as long as it’s classy.

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Flower attract bees to them by their bright colours and they smell good. Attract men to you:

· Wear bright pretty colours
· Smell good
· Look fresh, dewy and youthful
· Look attractive

Look like the prize. Look like his fantasy. Look through his eyes: what would he like to see?

It’s not that complicated. Bring it back down to simplicity? What do men like?

Heels
Skirts
Dresses
Makeup
Long hair
Red lipstick
Baby voice
Feminine colours
Make them feel good
Give them compliments
Let them talk
Don’t talk about your boring stuff – they don’t care

Use the formula to get success with men.

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If you want to dress casual in jeans and a cute top, still wear heels, hair, full makeup. If you’re going to wear jeans, you’re going to need to wear heels.

Also think about this: what sort of man are you attracting. If you wear jeans when you meet you’re going to get taken to a jeans date. Dress for the life you want.

~~

Comment:
When we had a fight I cut my hair short & bangs & went shopping. He was so glad he said “you look like a different person!” The fight was forgotten & he treated me new again & took me shopping again.

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"Life is fun! (...) life is a movie, life is a stage. Get into character... "

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Men don’t care about anything else but what you look like and how you make them feel.

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If you’ve let yourself go, level yourself up to the point that their jaw will drop when they see you.

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The only limitations are the ones you believe in.

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What do rich men’s wives all have in common besides being pretty?

They’re feminine
They’re classy
They’re not loud and obnoxious
They don’t outshine their husband
They hold back and keep it together in public
They are well proportioned

Shera had a friend who was a little rachet, and she ended up marrying wealthy. She had to totally change everything about herself:

The way she dressed
The way she wore her hair
The way she spoke
The kind of shoes she wore
Her makeup
She had to change it all
How she acted around people
How she spoke to men
She had to change everything
It’s not that she changed who she was inside or her personality
It’s that she changed who she was around men
There’s a difference

~~

Your stock should go up after you get married, not down. If your stock is not rising after marriage you’re doing it backwards. That means still investing into yourself, your beauty, your clothing, into your stash (money, wealth and investments). If you got married and your stock plummeted, that’s your fault.

~~

Loving yourself means putting yourself first as a priority. Knowing your worth and value and not taking any crap from anybody because you value yourself, you love yourself. That’s all loving yourself means. And not talking down about yourself. And knowing that you deserve what you want in life.

Once you do that other people will as well – men, co- workers, your boss, parents, spouse, brother, sister, cousin, whoever. Whoever is in your life at the moment will recognise that you love yourself and that you don’t have to submit to them or that you’re not desperate for their approval. In fact they may start to be desperate for your approval. So make sure you’re putting yourself first.

Don’t be always talking about the other person and what they want or what they think. Don’t care who they are. Don’t care about other people or their spouse or the person they’re interested in. It’s not about them, it’s about you. If they can’t recognise you and they don’t like you, then you are wasting time.

If you have to sit there and be puzzled about why someone is not responding properly or why they’re not doing this or that, it means they don’t like you so just move on and stop trying to waste time worrying about it. You already know that in the back of your mind; you’re just hoping for a different outcome that there won’t be.

Make sure that when you realise you are putting other people before yourself as a priority then you’re not going to get the type of man or people attracted to you that you need. When you can get somebody in the click of a finger and they’re not used to that it means you are valuable and that they are not necessary. They are very unnecessary and therefore they feel like you have even more value because you don’t need them. You don’t need them, they need you. That’s why they seek you out. That’s why they call you, that’s why they ask you out.

Make sure you’re not getting caught up in silliness. If they’re not putting you first, you’re gone. Or you put them on ice; that means you let them figure it out and when they start acting right again then you allow them back into your life. If you’re chasing behind someone, if you’re worrying about someone who ghosts you then you’re not putting yourself first.

And that means you don’t love yourself. A lot of people were taught to act a certain way – not cocky etc – if you don’t, all people see you as is a doormat. You can let down your guards later when they are fully invested in you and aren’t going anywhere, but until that happens they are there to impress you.

~~

How do you fall in love with yourself when you aren’t happy with yourself?

Become happy with yourself:

· Do things that make you happy
· Look the way you need to look
· Continue to do this every day until you are happy

Only you can make you happy

~~

Don’t go out there lookin’ like Plain Jane. Plain Jane gets passed by with the eye.

~~

The key is confidence. You can learn all you want, if you don’t have confidence you can’t pull it off. The key is confidence, knowing your value, and not listening to no dusties. That’s the key, that’s the masterclass right there – be confident.

Be main character energy. Stop caring what people think. Have a goal of what you want and go for it and don’t stop until you get it. Speak positive about yourself and stop dealing with dusties. That’s just it. You do all those things and you’re going to have something. You’re going to get what you’re looking for. That’s it.

~~

It’s not what you look like – it’s how you make them feel.

Are you going to make them feel young again?
Are you going to make life exciting for them?
Do they enjoy being with you?
Do they like being seen out in public with you?

~~

Shera, on when you talk about all your feelings and prior history:

“You’re being an informant on yourself. You’re telling on yourself. You’re giving out all your secrets and revealing everything. So that’s definitely not feminine energy, because feminine energy is naturally dark. You know, it’s water, it’s the cosmos, it’s that. So when you’re revealing everything, when nothing is unknown and everything is known, now you’re masculine. Because that’s light- everything is known. So the more you say, the more you tell, the more you open up, the more masculine you become in that energy, and the less mystery and femininity and feminine allure you have, because now you’re an open book. And they have all the clues to how the story ends and how to manipulate the character.”

~~

“Feminine energy is naturally dark, is water, is the cosmos, is that. So, when you are revealing everything, nothing is unknown and everything is known, now you’re more masculine, because that is light, everything is known.

So the more you say, the more you tell, the more you open up, the more masculine you become in that energy, and the less mystery and femininity and feminine allure you have because now you are an open book, you’re predictable.

And they have all the clues to how the story ends and how to manipulate the character.”

~~

Get them to worry about you, while you worry about you.

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How do you find your purpose? You create it.

~~

Leveling up is actually a lot of fun when you are present and mindful about it it’s probably be the best gift you could ever give yourself as a woman.

~~

Stop caring what other people think and live the life you want to live. If you don’t like kissing people’s butts, don’t kiss their butt.

~~

A lot of women don’t realise that if you just get into your feminine, and you stick with your standards, you can get what you ask for.

~~

How to become detached and unbothered?

Stop caring. When you care too much, that’s when you can’t detach and be unbothered. Stop caring, become ‘take it or leave it’. That’s your attitude. You will be fine with it or without it.

~~

Comment:

Three years ago I was getting yelled at a public train station (which we had to take because neither of us had a car) by my dusty disgusting ex. I lived in a cheap apartment with four unsavory roomates and their boyfriends. Now I live in a luxury high rise with a conceirge and valet. All I did today was get a facial, sit by the pool and shop. I don’t have to worry about a SINGLE THING and every man in my life treats me like a queen. I’m truly breaking generational curses; my dad left my mom with four kids alone while she worked at Denny’s waitressing overnight. If it weren’t for Shera’s wisdom I don’t know where I would be today but I just give thanks every day that I saw the light. This is my one and only life so why shouldn’t I be living peacefully and bougie.

It’s crazy how fast life can chance when you realize your worth and act on it. Keep on inching further and further; the more luxurious things you do the more the rest of your life catches up. It literally started with me going to the expensive nail salon instead of the cheap one. Then I felt like I deserved more. I moved into a nicer apartment that was out of my budget at first, then a nicer car, then I started buying designer bags and now I live in an ultra-luxurious place. Small steps and the rest of your life will catch up in time. Of course look your best every day and be healthy. And do not give a second of your time to anyone who does not treat you with respect, remember if they’re not adding to your life they are taking away.

The universe somehow just opened up and rains abundance on me. The more you surround yourself with the vibrations of prosperity the more it will be drawn to you. Ella Ringrose on YouTube helped me a lot to draw in money.

~~

Comment:

Shera ever since I started watching you I have levelled up my life completely. I lost 50 pounds and changed my whole look to be more feminine. My husband was so motivated he started making more money and bought me a home and my dream car. He does everything I want now and he feels proud to bring me home his paycheck. I no longer work and just workout every day and focus on my children. A lot of my family members don’t understand this life but I am very happy and comfortable.

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If you give yourself away too easily, your value is low.

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10 Important Habits of a Gold Digger

1)high standards
2)high self-esteem
3)perspective
4)purpose
5)options
6)be unapologetic
7)looks
8)business plan
9) knowledge/value of money
10)stay unbothered

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‘Busy patterns that aren’t classy make you look older’. You can show how classy your clothing is by the cut, colour and pattern, not the brand or designer.

Look to magazines for style inspiration:

O magazine = for older women
Instyle = more youthful

~~

Comment:
Men need respect, they don’t want your love.

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Wealthy men like women who are thin, feminine, and classy, or classy/sexy.

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Classic = classy. Dress in a way that you wouldn’t look crazy in a photo in 20 years time.

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‘We’re not trying to fit in, we’re trying to stand out.’

~~

Comment:
Looking beautiful, adore your blouse and that classy backdrop. I have earrings very similar. I have to go out now, I’m over 60 and always look stylish heading out the door . Make up and a cute dress today. You never know who is at the coffee shop 😊

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Be cute, be feminine, don’t talk so much. Let him do the hard work.

~~

‘You’re not his momma stop acting like it’ video
Women will turn into their man's mother without realizing it! Then he will run.

A lot of times when a woman has been in a relationship for a long time or is married, they start acting like a mother to the man without even realising it. To avoid that, do these things:
· Totally change everything – change how you dress, put more makeup on, wear heels.
· Act ten years younger.
· Don’t be concerned about the things you used to be concerned about.
· Let everything be free and fly.
· If you once worried about dishes in the sink don’t worry about it anymore.
· Change it up.
· If he realises that you stop caring and you just put all that extra energy that you were nagging and trying to organise and keep stuff right or that you were frustrated about – if you took all that extra energy and put it back into yourself – and you stopped worrying about the house and the domestic issues and him doing this, this and that. He’s going to think, ‘Well dang, everything is out of order, now she’s dressing like this and putting on makeup and looking this way, and the dishes aren’t clean anymore, or she’s not nagging me about picking up my clothes and the room is a mess’, then either he’ll get up and do it or he’ll start turning into your father.
· You mirror what they do and they’re gonna start seeing what you are doing by you have to act that way with them.
· You stop cleaning dishes, you start leaving your stuff on the floor.
· You start dressing cute, and say you’re going out.
· You forget to do stuff, or you stop helping out because you don’t want to damage your nails or the Real Housewives is on.
· Start doing the same thing to him – he watches sport, you say, ‘Oh Housewives is on, I wanna watch it. I don’t wanna watch it later.’
· You don’t do any of this like it’s revenge, just like you joined him in not being responsible, or joined him with more relaxed rules.
· He might like it. He might be like ‘you’re so laid back, you look happy today’.
· Then he might start cleaning up more because it’s not an order.
· But as long as you’re happy and not nagging him, he’s going to do it voluntarily.

~~

How you act and how you make him feel will give you more power to get what you want.

· Look good
· Be more feminine
· Speak softly
· Smile
· Laugh at whatever he is saying and make him feel good about who he is
· Let him talk more than you
· Feed his ego
· Act vulnerable and he will want to do things for you, will want to please and impress you

(I added:
· Ladylike, dainty, girlish, delicate, compassionate, considerate, sympathetic, tolerant, warm-hearted, gracious
· Calm, refined and tasteful
· Agreeable, friendly, good-natured,
· Kind, moral, pleasant, delightful)

That’s how you get what you want.

Our power is in our femininity, not in our masculinity, not in being in competition with a man, but making them weak because we are giving them exactly what no-one else does and so they’re not used to it and they yield to it and want more of it and they’re going to do what you want.

Being feminine is the key to getting what you want. There is no magic formula; it’s just ‘being feminine’. Work on that and you will get what you want. Work on your baby voice. Work on asking men for things and help, feeling vulnerable around them and stroking their ego and you can pretty much get what you want, especially if you choose the right target. Don’t go up and choose someone who has a thousand options, go up and choose someone who feels lucky to be with you and who will act accordingly.

~~

Men don’t like jealous women. You look insecure if you show jealousy. If you feel jealous, act like you don’t care – laugh it off.

~~

Men don’t like to be told what to do or have someone running their life. They don’t need you to offer them suggestions – this will just make them feel like a child, emasculated and they will rebel.

~~

Have a hobby and have a life.
Have your own life.
Make yourself number one.

Make sure he likes you more than you like him. If he really likes you he is going to chase you and not let you go, and you don’t even have to do anything to make this happen.

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I am not a people pleaser. I live for myself not others. And that’s how you have to be to be unbothered. Be unbothered always and you will live your best life.

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I live in a fantasy world every day. That’s why I can create the world that I want.

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A dream woman is motivation for a man in every way. If you no longer motivate him, you are no longer his dream woman.

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A good actress will melt into her role.

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Instead of waiting and having regret later, make the decision now to do what’s best for you, not what’s best for the outside world and what they think. Do what’s best for you in the long run, not what’s best for you right now in this one moment which will pass. Think ahead. Right now is gone. As soon as you think about it, it’s gone.

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To be a dream woman and to be worshipped by the man you are with, you have to stay focused on you. Don’t be about him. A man’s dream woman does not mean she is all over him. She has a life. Keep a healthy distance instead of being extra clingy. That way you stay on his level. Make sure you appeal to his friends (in a classy way) too. He will see that others appreciate you and know that he has the prize.

~~

“Put outfits together in your mind when negative people are talking.”

~~

How to be unbothered?

Comments:

‘Fake it till you make it. That’s what happened with me I started to pretend that it didn’t bother me. Now I’m literally so unbothered and focused on myself.’

‘When you are showing that you’re upset or bothered, you are giving them power to know they affected you. I love everyone but I do not argue. I have trained myself not to get emotional even at my husband or family. Being this way also makes you more respected, it’s part of your charisma.’

‘Being unbothered is a choice.’

~~

Comment:

If you're over 35 the best ways to look young is to drink a gallon of water a day....it's good for wrinkles..and helps your makeup glide on like butter.

Eat less and eat as much green as you can (Kale, Broccoli, Spinach) so you can be as slim as possible so that you feel good in your clothes....

Work out to increase your confidence...

Dress your age....nothing worse than a woman who dresses out of her age range...makes you look like you're trying too hard...

~~

Build confidence by not accepting that you have low self-esteem. Every day improve yourself so your self-esteem gets higher and higher. Don’t wallow in it, don’t accept it. Every day tell yourself what you want:

I look good
I feel good
I’m great

Tell yourself that. Give other people compliments, and they will give you compliments. Before you know it, you’ll have high self-esteem. You have to work on it, it doesn’t come automatically. It took a long time to tear down your self-esteem, and it takes a moment to pull it back up.

Just work on it, keep moving forward. Don’t let anyone put you down again.

~~

How to keep your husband interested

· Less communication
· Less giving of information
· Spend more time apart
· Don’t get so close that he is going to want to back up
· You have to get close then back up, get close then back up again
· Look your best at all times
· Don’t smother people and they won’t try to escape you
· Have a life
· Have things to do
· Have a to-do list that does not require that person

Go out and do things. He will appreciate you more when you get back. He will wonder what you’ve been doing. He will anticipate your return.

Don’t let him conquer you. When men have conquered a woman, they will move on. If he doesn’t feel like he can ever conquer you, he will try harder. Never let him feel like he totally has you.

~~

Masculine people (men or women) tend to run to the rescue of others.

~~

Shera, on uplevelling your looks and being your best every time you step out the front door: Don’t let life pass you by. Life is short. Life is very short.

Comment on Shera’s video: My mom went through a season where she dressed up and it just made our whole family and home come alive. I remember when my mom walked into the living room all fixed up and my little cousin's eyes just lit up. He said be careful don't touch her lol. He literally went from seeing her as a plain ol’ aunt to a princess. He was so young, but he couldn't fake it; that was his instincts.

~~
· It’s not about looking young, it’s about looking good.
· If you miss an opportunity to be levelling up, you are only cheating yourself.
· Stay ready.
· Every day do something to improve yourself - hair, exercise, mindset, self-esteem
· Enjoy getting ready – be creative
· If you’re wearing makeup, go bold. Men want to see the makeup.
· Men like it when you look your best. When you’re out in public, people are judging a man’s status by the type of wife he has, how she looks. You add status to any man that you are with.
· If you are attractive, you will have a lot of friends inviting you out. They will use you to attract attention because you look good. They are going to gravitate towards you and associate you with success. Your appearance will get you further than almost anything else.

~~

When you’re trying to lure a man in, dress for that man. Men do pay attention to what you look like.

Broke men pay attention to your silhouette. They look at your body because they just want to have sex with you.

Men with money pay attention to what you wear: your clothes, your shoes, your jewellery, your shoes, your hair, everything. Are you appropriate? If he wants to take it to the next level and take you out and get to know you, start a relationship, introduce you to his friends, he isn’t just looking at your body.

~~

The better you look, the more successful he looks.

~~

Men are visual creatures. Everything men do is based on that they see. How they treat you is based on what they see.

If you go without makeup, hair not done, and dressed badly, you won’t get the same treatment even by the people who see you every day. When you look good, the people around you have a little bit more respect for you. They see you looking pulled together and to see you any other way is foreign to them.

When you are levelled up, keep this in mind, don’t backslide. When a man meets you looking good, he wants to see you like that for your entire marriage. He doesn’t want you to let yourself go.

Try hard to keep yourself up during your marriage; how you looked when you met him is how he wants to see you forever more.

Men are very visual creatures, so when they see us looking bad, it upsets them. It literally makes them clench inside a little bit because they are so affected by the visual.

You are like a Christmas tree or a beautiful ornament. It’s a pleasure to look at you and they’ll want to be around you just for that.

People may treat you badly because you didn’t keep up your looks - a man could be speaking to another woman or ignoring you.

~~

“Just act and dress like a feminine lady. You’re making them feel younger by being in their presence. Watch 1950s Hollywood movie stars to watch how those ladies acted.”

Never help a man level up as they will always put you in a maternal role and look at you as a mother figure.

How to change your mindset:
1. Tell yourself that you are no longer allowing people to make you feel bad about something – that’s your choice.
2. Decide that you want to be better, and each day take action towards being better. Your self-esteem will rise from this.
3. Surround yourself with like-minded people so you can influence and help each other.

~~

People who talk less are generally more well respected.

~~

“Look for the positive in every negative comment or situation, and you will find it every time.

Whatever your weakness is, make it your strength, to fuel you to the next level. That’s how you really level up from inside. Face your weakness head on. If someone calls you fat, flaunt it. Say, ‘So what? Yes, I eat, I haven’t seen a rib in many decades, but I’m happy. I got a lovely husband, nice house, nice car.’

Instead of being a victim about it, empower yourself with it. Your flaw can be your power. It can be your power if you take it and embrace it and stop focusing on it as an insecurity. The more you focus on something as an insecurity, the more other people will focus on it because they know it’s your weakness and that’s how you get affected. Whatever your flaw is, turn it into something that can give you more than it can take from you. If people say it’s a flaw, take it and turn it into a power.”

~~

Don’t listen to what people say; what do you think? Opposition creates interest.

~~

· Be extra feminine in the way you dress, speak, act.
· Be charming - smile, don't argue (and then do exactly what you were going to do anyway).
· Ask for help from your man - opening a jar, lifting something, reaching up high, anything - they love it. Do this three times a day. Say things like 'It's too heavy for me'. Doing this makes them feel protective of you.
· When you are offered help, accept it.
· Talk to men in a feminine baby-voice.
· Practice being feminine and flirty every day to men everywhere so that it becomes second nature. Things such as asking a man for assistance at the supermarket and smiling and saying thank you in a feminine voice.
· Use your feminine charm on everyone around you.
· Look your best, put on makeup every day, smell good, be well groomed, have nice nails.
· Speak to him as if he's a person and not a child - don't try to control him. Mothers control their children and men don't want to have sex with their mother.
· Ask for what you want, but do it in a feminine way.
· Act like the prize to be the prize.
· Be unpredictable - men will get bored of you if you are too predictable. If you are unpredictable it is exciting to them plus scares them a little too. They will wonder why you are different.
· Don't talk so much.
· Mirror how he acts to bring him closer. Say your man is a bit distant; my natural inclination is to wonder what is wrong, try and talk to him etc. That is clingy, a better way to behave is mirror that - be busy doing your own things, happy but busy and let him come looking for you when he comes out of his cave.
· Be feminine in everything you do - surround yourself with reminders of your femininity - i.e. a pink phone cover.
· Be the receiver not the giver.
· Let him think up ideas, with your subtle input.
· Hardly ever text or call him at work, unless you need him to pick up something.
· Dress up every day for no reason.
· Smile.
· Always be levelling up.
· Have a plan B.
· Don't tell him your plans for the day or where you have been - be a little mysterious and let him wonder what you've been up to.
· Keep the mystery alive with privacy - closet, bathroom etc.
· Don't do everything together.
· Have hobbies and interests of your own.
· Make him feel like a man by asking his advice, seeking help from him, not trying to tell him what to do etc.
· Keep up with new trends and the latest styles. Try new looks, buy new clothes, look cute.
· Make him feel younger by being fresh, new and exciting.
· Be excited by life and easily impressed.
· Go on vacation, go out to places.
· Do new things and turn him on to new things. Do new things in bed.
· Change your looks - look different, be different.
· Listen to the latest music.
· Keep up with the latest trends in things.
· Be an exciting adventure.
· Be happy go lucky, not a care in the world, everything is fun.
· Head up, chin up, look around, smile.
· Get all excited when you talk about little things.
· Light up when you talk to people.
· Bring a high energy.
· Wear your hair long and straight or smooth-wavy.
· Be seasonal - with your look/outfit, eating, décor.
· Reinvent yourself regularly.
· Play different characters for fun.
· Channel someone else when you go out.
· Be constantly changing and improving.
· Be a lively woman - bubbly, happy, exciting, smiling, lifts their spirits, fun to be around.
· Grab his hand and pull him along like a child.
· Be energetic and breathe life into others.
· Mirror his body language about 10-30 seconds later.
· Try new things, new looks.
· Practice your charm on waiters etc.
· Be a people watcher in different environments depending on the lifestyle you desire.
· Look from the outside in - how do people view you? How attractive are you?
· Transform yourself.
· Be his ultimate fantasy girl.
· Look good, do your makeup every day.
· Speak to your him as if he is a person and not a child.
· ‘Can you help me/lift that/get me a blanket?’ in a baby voice. Get him used to looking after you. ‘This is too heavy for me, I can’t reach it’. Do this three times a day minimum.
· Ask for what you want in a feminine way.
· Use the baby voice.
· Be extra feminine.
· Be charming – smile, don’t argue – agree (but do exactly what you want anyway).
· Ask for help from men.
· When you are offered anything, accept it.
· Talk to men in a feminine nature.
· Practice being feminine and flirty every do so that it becomes second nature to you – it will become easier with practice.
· Ask questions and smile.
· Play a bit dumb (not stupid; request their knowledge).
· Use your feminine charm on everyone around you – practice on any man to get better.
· Never get too comfortable (don’t let yourself go).
· Keep the illusion going – makeup, hair, lotion, fragrance.
· Look like you did when you first met (me: 66-67kg, long blonde hair, stylish clothes).
· Men are visual creatures and your hair is foremost – long, silky and straight.
· Have your makeup on, look cute.
· Shera’s husband treated her differently when she gained weight and then lost weight.
· Shera’s advice to a lady who gained 40 pounds and now her husband isn’t attracted to her: ‘Lose 40 pounds’.
· Still look sexy even if you’ve been together a while.
· Exfoliate your face and body.
· Have glowing, moisturised skin.
· Use highlighter on your face.
· Wear perfume, body lotion, nicely scented products.
· Wear red lipstick, eye makeup.
· Wear light, modern perfumes.
· Have simple, nice nails.
· Tell him that whatever you want is your ‘ultimate fantasy’.

~~

If you want to be married to a rich man, dress like a rich man’s wife.

~~

Be unbothered

It’s so amazing to just not care. You have no idea how much better your life gets when you stop caring. When you stop caring about stuff that’s not beneficial to you, everything blossoms, everything. Because your attention is no longer on anything negative, it’s all on you, and so you blossom.

How to keep your man chasing you? Be busy, don’t call him all the time. Have a hobby or a business and let him have to go looking for you.

~~

Did you ever feel insecure about your weight?

“No.

At any weight my mental game was tight, it was good. I could get anything I wanted, so it never really held me back. The only thing that would ever make me feel insecure about anything is… I really don’t have a lot of insecurities anymore. I had the normal insecurities of a child. But when I grew up and I understood that you could take your power from any situation, you no longer have insecurities.

If I was insecure about my weight, I wouldn’t be up here on YouTube, and if someone says something about how I look, I don’t care. I say Okay yeah and so what? I’m eating good, I’m living good. It doesn’t bother me, because that’s not what defines me. I’m gonna get paid skinny or fat. I’m gonna be happy at whatever makes me feel happiest. So it’s all about how you feel about yourself and how you value yourself. You don’t base your self-worth on what other people think about you.

And the reason why I teach people you gotta look good if you want to turn heads and make men cross the room is because if you are trying to get a date, yes, you have to be concerned with what other people find attractive. But that should not ever play a role in your own personal self-esteem.

Whatever you need to feel good at the time, tomorrow or today, that’s what you need to be doing.”

~~

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.

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.

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.

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.

Last fall I accepted a promotion with my current employer of 8 years. They agreed to hold the position for me until my baby turns 1 in June and also agreed to hours of 9am-3pm. I’ll have a full-time salary and benefits. The only drawback is that I’ll have to been in office M-F. Luckily the office is about 5 minutes from home.
My 4 year old and soon-to-be 1 year old will start a Montessori daycare/preschool in two weeks. Up until now I have been working just Monday and Wednesday while my mom watches the kids. The other weekdays I haven’t worked at all. My husband will do drop off since the daycare is about 10 minutes from home and closer to his office. I’ll do pickup everyday around 3:10-3:15 and we’ll be home a little before 3:30.
As it gets closer to our start date, I’m getting a little nervous about going into the office daily. Getting up on time no matter how the night went so I can get ready, getting the boys fed/dressed, making sure the bags are packed, lunches made, etc. All the illnesses that I’m sure will be coming our way. I’m starting to think I was crazy for accepting? But maybe I’m just getting cold feet with a big change coming up?
There were a lot of reasons I originally accepted the job - issues with the care my mom was providing (not safety related, mostly just too much sugar and TV), feeling excited about the Montessori daycare, double the take home pay even after accounting for daycare (granted I didn’t make a lot, but it will still be about $1,000 extra per month) opportunities for career advancement, my own 401k match, benefits, etc.
Am I going to burn out with going into the office daily while having small kids? Or will my short commute and 3pm end time be my saving grace?

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