Anybody else think that all of the kids to come from the original cast may do the same thing their parents did and be the new cast of a new Jersey shore?

My parents are unfortunately chain smokers who both go through 1-2 packs per day. Baby is a year old and while we've brought her around their house maybe every other month, we've always felt comfortable to expose her to the third hand smoke. They're supposed to smoke on the porch when we come over. Unfortunately about 2 weeks ago when we came over for a visit my parents were smoking right in the living room as we arrived. I was furious and just stood there for a moment thinking of leaving. I didn't, I do regret not leaving. I unfortunately also found out my dad is battling his third bout with cancer, and he keeps on smoking.
We come home and she coughed all night and continued to the next day as well. We're not sure if it's daycare, allergies or the smoke but it doesn't really matter. They were supposed to babysit her the following weekend for a date night, I texted asking if they could watch her at our house instead of theirs. They said no. We arranged an alternative. I texted happy mother's day, tried to call, no response. I said I'd just drop off my mom's gift, without the kid, or they could visit. Enter an absolute vile explosion about how if their home was good enough for me as a child it is for our child.
Except it isn't, it isn't okay to risk a helpless child to second or third hand smoke. They didn't make that decision for me, but I will for my child. I didn't say any of this to them since it wouldn't help communication. The jist of the toxic texts though is that I'm cutting them off from their grandchild and they'll never see us again. We replied that we value their relationship with our child but would need them to come to our house, meet us out, or take her to somewhere other than their home that they smoke inside. They again said they can't help and 'this is goodbye then'.
We're shocked and hurt that they'd cast off their only grandchild so easily with such a reasonable and simple request. We're not asking them not to smoke in their house or even change their habits.

The episode resumed on a shot of Zee and Jo, their skin tones back to normal, running up to a smiling Chris. "Welcome back," he told the camera. "Zee and helper Jo are the first to arrive here, at the world's largest mud puddle!" The camera pulled back, revealing that the trio was standing near the edge of a large lake of burbling mud, a measuring stick rising out of it at the nearest edge.
"It's eight feet deep," Chris explained over a close-up of the measuring stick showing the mud reaching up very nearly to the 8' mark, "and 200 yards across. And," the camera quick-panned to the far right side of the 'puddle', "since it's too thick to swim through," the shot cut back to the couple and Chris, "the only way to the other side is with one of you piggybacking the other."
"Umm...," Zee said hesitantly, sharing a wary look with Jo, "doesn't that mean the person on the bottom..."
"Will drown?" Chris finished. "Yes."
"What?!" Jo said in wide-eyed shock.
"Unless they use this garden hose!" Chris added, a light chime playing as he held up a length of green hose.
Zee let out a breath. "Okay then. Guess I'm on the bottom, then."
Jo's eyes widened a bit in a brief bit of surprise, and she looked at her partner. "I should be objecting to this since I'm supposed to be the helper, but hey. No heavy lifting from me."
"Yeah…" Zee agreed half heartedly.
Confessional: Zee
"I was able to hold Jo onto my back while we were skiing," Zee told the confessional. "I can still do the same while under mud."
Confessional Ends
"I know that I said you were weak in the past," Jo said, "but that was until I saw that you were able to make it this far in the game."
"You thought wrong about me," Zee replied. "I wasn’t active at first in challenges and finding food, but with Julia eliminated, I was able to grow and become a finalist."
Chris suddenly stepped between the two. "How touching. Now start the challenge."
The scene cut to Zee and Jo jumping into the mud, the former disappearing below its depths while the latter, on his shoulders, held up the length of the hose. They started moving forward, and the camera panned back to the left to show Harold, Scarlett, and Chris holding up another length of hose.
"Yeah, I'll be on top," Harold stated.
"Pardon me?" Scarlett countered, raising an eyebrow.
"I don't trust you not to let me drown," Harold told her. "Self-preservation comes first."
Scarlett groaned. "That's fair," she said, taking the hose from Chris, "but if you let me suffocate, I'm dragging you down into the mud with me."
"Crustal," Harold deadpanned, and as Scarlett crouched down, she jumped onto the brainiac's shoulders. Scarlett stood back up and put the end of the hose in her mouth, and she jumped into the mud.
The tense music faded away as the camera moved onto Chris, the host sighing as Chef walked up. "You think the mud was a bad idea?" Chris asked. "It's a little quiet… oh yeah," Chris said as if in sudden realization, "almost forgot about the Peanut Gallery. Bring 'em back in!" he said into a walkie talkie he only then pulled out.
Moments later, the wind kicked up around them, and the camera zoomed out to show the large helicopter flying in with the former contestants still hanging – and screaming as they swayed ominously – below it. "Would you let us down already?!" Leshawna shouted angrily. "It's freezin' up here!"
"Yeah, I want to cheer for Zee!" Julia chimed in.
"If I wasn't tied up right now, I'd have half a mind to pound you!" Duncan shouted at the host.
The camera focused on DJ. "Hey, Chris?" he looked forward and asked loudly. "Just bring us down before anybody else gets miffed at you!"
"No, and I don't care," Chris answered with a calm smile, until Chef whispered to him. A flat note played over a close-up of Chris staring blankly at him. "Huh...good point," he admitted. "Ooh!" he said with a sudden grin. "I just had an idea!"
A flash took the scene to Zee and Jo, the tense challenge music resuming at a low volume and slow pace in the background. They were still slogging through the mud, Zee out of sight but Jo only submerged up to her stomach. She looked back over her shoulder, smiled, then said "Keep going!" into the piece of hose she was holding. "They're way far behind!"
Confessional: Zee
"So as it turns out," Zee said, "being submerged in the mud is kinda like being trapped in the dark. But there aren't any animals below to scare me."
Confessional Ends
The music ramped up as Jo suddenly stopped moving, then seemed to turn around and start moving back towards the start. "Uh, Fruit Loop?" she asked into the hose. "We're going the wrong way!"
The camera cut to Harold, looking somewhat bored as he held the hose atop Scarlett's shoulders, before noticing the other team and frowning. "Why are they coming this way?"
"Ugh! They're too safe to sabotage each other!" came the sudden voice of Chris McLean, the camera cutting to him standing in the show's jeep with Chef at the wheel, speaking into the microphone of the jeep's loudspeaker. "Deploy the 2.0 model!"
The shot cut back to Harold and Jo as they looked around with strange expressions, the sound of something like a rocket taking off coming from somewhere in the distance. They looked up and to the left, and the camera shifted to their viewpoint to show a large object shooting up through the sky overhead...
...then abruptly diving towards them, revealing itself as a red-eyed robotic bear with small jet engines coming out of its back. Harold and Jo screamed as their respective partners continued in their previous directions, getting out of the way as the Bear landed in the mud. It hit with enough force to cause a wave of mud, which shot all the way across the puddle carrying the finalists and their helpers along for the ride. All four immediately began to cough upon landing in a muddy heap.
Confessional: Harold
"At least I have a better shot," Harold said. "We're tied right now, but who knows what other tricks Chris has up his sleeves."
Confessional Ends
A close-up of the nozzle of a fire hose in Chef's hands preceded him blasting the muddy finalists and helpers with water, all four screaming where they'd landed on the shore of the 'puddle'. Moments later, the water was shut off, leaving them drenched but clean.
"We're all tied up," Chris announced with a smile. "Perfect time for a little break. First, let's bring in the Peanut Gallery again." He took out his remote and pointed it at a patch of ground nearby, a hole opening up in it and a rather shoddy-looking set of stadium seats shooting up out of it with the ten former contestants seated – and still tied-up – in it.
"Sha-finally," Lightning said, the shot cutting to him sitting in the top row with B, DJ, Duncan, and Max and Leshawna, Ella, Julia, Sammy, and Amy in the bottom row. "Are we gonna get to watch the rest of the challenge now?"
"Yup!" Chris answered with a happy smile, pressing the button on his remote again so that a large widescreen television emerged from another hole in the ground near him and the finalists.
"Will you untie us too?" Ella chimed in.
Chris huffed. "Whine, whine, whine," he said in annoyance. "Don't I do enough for you kids as it is?"
"No," all fourteen of the season's cast members replied at the same time.
A flat note played over a close-up of the host pursing his lips. "Yeah, I owe Chef twenty bucks about that," Chris said, the camera zooming back out again to show the finalists and helpers. "Everyone, grab a seat," he instructed, and the four reluctantly sat down on the logs lying behind them. "I'm gonna show you some of my favorite clips from the show..." He pointed his remote at the TV, and the shot focused in as it switched on and started to play footage of a confessional...
"Dunderhead was already pretty useless," Jo complained. "But now he's making moves on one of the actually decent players on the team? Not on my watch!"
The camera cut in close to show Jo pausing and looking back. "Something on your mind, Anti-Squeakerbox?" she asked, the camera shifting to show B peering at her and shaking his head.
“It's not what you think it is," Jo told him. "As long as they are on this team, Julia and Zee will not date."
“Not exactly how I wanted the elimination to play, but hey. Julia’s gone and with Zee still in the game, I could manipulate him into doing whatever I say,” Jo grinned.
The footage paused, and Chris leaned out in front of the television with a wide and mischievous grin. "Seems like there isn't a shipper on deck…" he said impishly.
"So you were trying to keep me and Julia apart?" Zee said as the camera moved to him and Jo, his eyes wide with shock. "Does this mean that...,"
"Yup. I convinced Julia to quit," Jo replied. "I didn't expect her to fully go through with it since I was gonna vote you out!"
"I can't believe you'd try and do that!" Zee said with a glare!"
"If I didn't do what I did, then you two likely would've blown challenges for us like the dueling one!" Jo argued back.
The camera focused on Julia in the Peanut Gallery. "I was trying to defend my boyfriend, but sure," she said dryly.
"I'm just worried what Chris is gonna show from Scarlett," Sammy said. "It looks like he wants to mess up the finalists and their helpers..."
"Maybe he won't show anything?" Amy suggested. "I mean, it's not like Scarlett and Harold were that close to begin with."
The shot cut back to a smiling Chris. "Oh, don't worry, I have no intention of leaving those guys out of all this fun," he said happily.
"I don't see how," Scarlett said. "Harold already knows everything about me now. I’m practically an open book."
Chris laughed. "Seems you forgot that the cameras are always on. So here's some more juicy information that everybody gets to hear." The screen on the TV went from static to a scene from the fifth episode.
Scarlett herself grabbed the dueling stick Ella retrieved, fished an electric eel out of the water, and tossed it to Max. "Max!" she cried, and her teammates looked at her in confusion, prompting her to pretend that she had coughed. "Pardon me!"
“The plan was for Max to be the only one not in the trap, so the team would know he built it and vote him off!” Scarlett confessed.
"I overheard Leshawna and Harold's conversation when they were foraging together, and Leshawna being on to me is something that I refuse to let happen," Scarlett claimed. “Zee's really gullible enough to deceive, and I'll try to talk to Ella.”
A deep, dramatic note was struck over a shot of Harold in shock. "So it was you who got Leshawna eliminated!" he scowled in Scarlett's direction.
"I wasn't ready to come out just yet, and between the two of you, you were less likely to warn anyone about me!" Scarlett retorted.
"So all this time, Scarlett was aiming to usurp her master!" Max ranted.
"I don't blame her," Leshawna commented. “As much of a pain as she is, I would've done the same thing and sent your annoying behind home.”
"Okay," Chris said happily as the shot moved onto him, "I'm sensing some major hostility and I'm liking it. I'm out of popcorn, though, so we should probably get back to the challenge."
"Seriously?!" the finalists and helpers alike exclaimed.
"Obviously, the helpers aren't gonna be very helpful anymore," Chris replied. "So, instead of helpers, Jo and Scarlett will now be hinderers." As he spoke, Chef walked back into view with a pair of video game controllers, tossing one each to Scarlett and Jo. "The island is now back online," Chris continued, "and, with these controllers, they will be able to throw up obstacles to throw you down, or, completely crush you."
The shot cut to Scarlett as she looked at her controller and smirked. "Good to know."
"Looking forward to it," Jo said in determination.
Harold and Zee gulped, and Chris laughed. "That was the good part," he said. "Let me tell you the bad part. You have ten minutes to finish this challenge," he told Zee and Harold. "If neither of you do, Scarlett and Jo get to split the money."
"Dude, what?" Zee said in shock.
"You can't do that!" Harold protested.
"I can! I will! I am! GO!" Chris announced, blowing his airhorn right in Chef's face, earning an annoyed sigh from the man. Harold and Zee immediately ran off, but the camera cut to a close-up of a thoughtful Jo.
"Well...I want the money, but I'm not really comfortable with how this is set up," Jo said to herself. "But...I guess it wouldn't be too bad if I just made this a little more challenging for them..."
"Do what you want," Scarlett said, the camera panning over to show her grinning darkly with her controller in hand. "I'm getting my justice."
Confessional: Jo
“And I thought I was an underhanded person,” Jo mentioned to herself. “Velma has less morals than me and Gnome Master.”
Confessional: Scarlett
"I was snubbed in the last episode," Scarlett confessed. "And now that I've been given permission, I can stop the finalists from winning without getting electrocuted!" She pulled out the remote from the seventh episode. "I don't even need this device. I have a controller to do the job for it."
Confessionals End
A few quick drum taps opened up a deep and dangerous challenge theme, the scene returning to Zee and Harold sprinting across the open field only to gape in shock as the pine trees in the background starting launching like rockets.
"What the heck?" Harold said. "Rocket trees?"
One landed right behind them, forcing both finalists to roll forward out of the way. "This island is wild!" Zee cried as the two continued running, more and more trees landing behind them like massive spears.
The two were shown together in a brief close-up, raising their eyebrows in surprise. A quick-pan ahead revealed the landscape changing, trees and rock formations rising up out of the artificial ground to form a large, dense barrier.
Harold jumped ahead of Zee as they climbed over the first big rock formation.
Zee vaulted downward and dashing forward along a lower 'path' among the rocks. Just as he was about to jump down onto grass, however, a boulder shot upward – and he landed on it groin-first. A close-up showed him letting out a high-pitched squeal of pain.
Harold's wince drew the camera's attention back upward to show him leaping from a boulder and grabbing onto the branch of a tree, only for the tree to suddenly shoot back down into the ground – causing him to yell as it dragged him down and slammed him back-first onto a fallen log.
Zee gave him a quick concerned glance as he jumped onto the same log, then upwards onto a rock formation before climbing onward and to the right and out of sight.
The scene cut back to the hinderers, both still working their controllers with Scarlett still looking considerably happier about it. "No need to change what works," Jo said uncertainty.
"What happened to that cutthroat attitude you've been displaying?" Scarlett asked. "Don't throw it away when I can get something out of it. And lower some of those trees. They're giving them too much cover from this storm I'm whipping up."
The camera panned onto the monitor to show Zee and Harold struggling against a powerful wind as they walked through what looked like a dense forest as leaves, dust, branches, and various small woodland animals blew past them.
A focus on the monitor's screen transitioned the scene back to the challenge. "I think...I can see the finish line in the distance," Zee said, pausing for a moment as he struggled against the intense gale.
"They're not making this easy on us," Harold commented.
The pair briefly passed behind a thick and mossy pine tree, the camera zooming in slightly as they reappeared. "Would you?" Zee asked.
"...I guess not," Harold answered after a moment.
The shot cut back to the Peanut Gallery to show them watching with worry and anticipation. "C'mon, Harold," Leshawna spoke. "Just hang in there."
"I know you can win this, Zee," Julia said. "You deserve it after everything."
Then the camera cut back to the hinderers, Chris standing next to their monitor with his hands behind his back and a smile on his face. "Ooh! They're getting close!" he said excitedly, prompting Scarlett to scowl and Jo to frown.
Once more the scene moved back to the finalists, their arms raised to buffer themselves against the winds – snow beginning to fall and lightning beginning to crack in the background - with Harold in the lead. "Two minutes left!" Chris called out over the island's loudspeaker. "Two minutes!"
"I...," Harold said with glee. "I think I can make it!"
"Not if I can help it!" Zee shouted, speeding up as the dense trees around him and Harold began to recede into the ground – and the tense and dangerous challenge music resumed. "If I win, me and Julia can go out and change the world together."
"I have to win this," Harold told him. "I've been undervalued and looked down on by my peers, friends, and even my family. I need to prove my might."
The snowy ground below their feet began to crack. A hollow sound played, then all at once, the ground shot up under them, earning startled yells from both. The shot soon cut to the new peak they were standing on rising up into the sky, then stopping.
"Drats..." Zee muttered, both finalists looking down with wide eyes. his final word echoed as the camera zoomed out, revealing the snowy mountain they were now at the top of.
The Peanut Gallery was shown gasping, as were Jo, though Scarlett was smiling as their misfortune. "Twenty seconds left...!" Chris said as the camera moved on to him looking at his watch.
The shot cut back to Harold. "I guess it's over," he sighed. “Scarlett wins after all.”
Zee noticed a bulge in the snow beside him. The boy shoved his hand into it and pulled out the phone Duncan stole from Chris. "I don't know how this got here, but we have to get down. Start stomping the ground."
Harold nodded and stomped on the ground at his feet, and after a few cracks, Zee hurled the phone down, breaking the device apart. Their eyes widened as the mountain began to crumble under them, and the ground imploded in on itself.
"Six! Five!" Chris began to count off, the music cutting out save for a single plodding note to highlight each number. "Four!" The camera panned onto the television, showing both finalists tumbling through the snow and rock. "Three! Two! One!" The shot cut to the finish banner, then zoomed out to show the avalanche stopping just under it – with neither finalist in sight. "GAME OVER!" he announced, blowing on his airhorn as a subdued but triumphant riff played.
Jo stood up in surprise, and Scarlett started cheering.
"My mission was a success!" Scarlett said in victory. “Now hand over my well-deserved prize!”
"Congratulations Jo and Scarlett," Chris said with his usual smile. "Revenge is sweetest-" he glanced at the monitor- "ohhhhh, what have we here?" he said with a sudden look of shock, the music cutting out as he pointed at the television screen.
A sharp note played as a familiar hand stuck out of the snow lying just past the finish line and waved. Scarlett's jaw dropped in shock, and Jo let out a sigh of relief.
The scene cut to the finish line, the camera pulling back a little ways as Chef walked up with a stretcher, dressed as a female nurse. Leshawna ran onscreen and pushed him out of the way. Chef flew off frame with a shout, and Leshawna grabbed the arm and pulled, freeing a shocked and snowy Harold from the aftermath of the avalanche. "Oh," he groaned, looking around as Leshawna dropped him on the stretcher, "what happened?" he asked as the victorious music began to play again with much more enthusiasm.
"You won, Ginger Baby!" Leshawna answered with a smile, the camera pulling out even more to show Harold looking back at the finish banner.
"I did it!" Harold said excitedly. "Harold Norbert Cheever Doris McGrady V has claimed victory! Boo yah!" he raised his arms and cheered, the shot cutting away to show all of the Peanut Gallery cheering.
“We weren't able to talk to each other as much, and it's clear we like each other as more than just friends, but how about we hang out a little bit back home and see where things go?” Leshawna suggested.
“As long as we don't rush into a committed relationship, I'd like that,” Harold smiled back.
The camera panned to the left to show Julia frantically pulling a dazed and half-conscious Zee from the rest of the avalanche, and picking him up onto her back.
"Julia," Zee said weakly, "I'm sorry that I-"
"Be quiet," Julia said with a weak smile as she carried her boyfriend over to the stretcher and set him down next to Harold. "You need to rest."
"But-" Zee tried to say.
He was cut off by Julia grabbing his head and kissing him full on the lips. "You didn’t win the money, but we can still provide for the world in our own ways, and with the power of love," she said with a smile as she broke the kiss, leaving Zee looking dopey.
The capstone theme began to play as the footage skipped ahead to a shot of the open sky, the double-rotored helicopter soon flying up into view. "That's it for this very, very off season," Chris began, standing in the open doorway with Zee and Julia sitting on the edge letting their legs dangle freely with Julia leaning into Zee; Harold and Scarlett standing on either side of Chris, the latter annoyed and the former grinning while holding the suitcase full of money to his chest; and the rest of the cast, crouching down and peering over in the gaps between and behind the rest, constantly jockeying for position as they tried to get one last shot of themselves on camera.
"This is Chris McLean, saying if you can't stand the pain-" the handsome host continued, the shot cutting in closer- "stay off the Total! Drama! Paaaahkitew Island!"
"RE-VENGE!" Max suddenly yelled from behind Scarlett, shoving her out of the helicopter, and the brainiac screamed as she fell.
The camera lingered on the dumbfounded looks of Chris and the other ex-campers, all of them staring at Max in shock. "This is how a traitor should be rewarded," he said, crossing his arms and closing his eyes defiantly.
The ex-campers and host burst out laughing, and a fun and energetic tune started to play. The camera panned over to the windshield to show Chef laughing along with the rest of the cast from the pilot's seat, and the helicopter flew away.
The music soon faded away, though, and the scene quick-panned down to show a screaming Scarlett landing in the giant mud puddle. She quickly surfaced with a shocked splutter, and pulled herself out onto dry land. "How am I going to get home now because of those imbeciles?!"
A few ominous notes were struck, and a ferocious growl caught Scarlett's attention. She looked up, and the camera zoomed out to show Scuba Bear 2.0 standing over her, eyes red. "Heheh," the brainiac laughed nervously. "You're not going to hurt me are you?"
The scene abruptly cut outward to the full long-distance shot of the island, the ominous music ending as Scarlett's scream and Scuba Bear's snarl echoed across the lake.
(Roll the Credits)
Lightning - 14th
DJ - 13th
Amy - 12th
B - 11th
Julia - 10th
Max - 9th
Leshawna - 8th
MERGE
Jo - 7th
Duncan - 6th
Ella - 5th
Sammy - 4th
Scarlett - 3rd
Zee - 2nd
Harold - 1st

Boys: Harold, Zee
Episode 13: Lies, Cries, and One Big Prize
"Previously, on Total Drama. Zee, Scarlett, and Harold created their own challenges!"
"Zee went with balancing, which bit big time for Scarlett and gave Harold the shock of his life."
"Harold's treetop race was more entertaining than a sawing monkey. Surprisingly, Scarlett won the challenge, and Harold fell from grace and the trees."
"So, it all came down to Scarlett's challenge: a trivia challenge about the former competitors. Zee didn't have too good a start, but quickly earned himself a spot in the finale."
"It all came down to a final question, and one that Scarlett ironically got wrong. Bye-bye!"
The montage ended with a flash, showing a close-up of Chris in front of a bare rock wall. "Down to two from three," he said, holding up three fingers but lowering one of them, "cause now we're Scarlett-free. But," he lowered another finger, "it'll still be neat to see who gets beat," he punched his open palm. "So! Grab a seat. There's one million bucks on the line," the shot cut to a robotic arm lifting up the open suitcase full of prize money against a radiant orange-and-gold background. "Iiiiiit's finale time!" Chris said as the shot cut back to him.
"On Total! Drama! Paaaaaahkitew Island!"
(Theme Song)
A deep note played as the episode opened on the bunker, the sky dark and the crickets chirping. A deep sigh issued forth from it, and the camera soon cut inside to show Harold tossing and turning in his bed. He got up and grabbed a pillow from the bed above him and closed his eyes with a smile, only to open them and sigh again.
Confessional: Harold
"It's no use," Harold sighed in the confessional. "I just can't get to sleep. I'm too anxious about tomorrow. I don't know if Zee is having the same trouble as I am..."
“It’d be cool if I win the last challenge. Just think about how much better my life would be. No more wedgies, wet willies, and toilet face plunges, my peers would respect me more as a million dollar winner, and I can invest the money in a way that’ll make me more than the show has to afford.”
Confessional Ends
The static cut away to show Harold turning his back to the camera with another sigh, then the shot cut to the inside of the barn to show Zee sleeping peacefully and snoring rather loudly.
Confessional: Zee
"This is a high stress situation, but I’m able to get some rest in order to ease it," Zee explained. "Even if it’s a million dollar competition against Harold."
Confessional Ends
An angelic sound played as the shot returned to a close-up of Harold, his eyes blinking blearily to sleep as the light of dawn streamed in through a window high on the wall above him.
Just as he and the music seemed to reach a peaceful rest, the wail of an airhorn pierced the walls and forced Harold back into wakefulness, his eyes snapping open wide and bloodshot. "Harold and Zee," Chris announced over the camp loudspeakers, the screen splitting in two with a shot of the good vibe guy blearily waking up sliding in on the left. "Meeting area, now!"
The scene flashed to Zee and Harold standing before Chris in the open meeting area. "Yes! Today, I fire one of you from a cannon," he greeted excitedly. "And then start my vacation."
"Plus you'll hand one of us a million dollars," Harold added with a grin.
"I haven't forgotten, dude," Chris said in annoyance. "I'm just focusing on the parts that bring me the most joy. Okay?"
"What's the challenge?" Zee asked. "Is it physical or have you decided on something else?"
Harold grinned. "Total Drama finales are always physical," he said. "And while I am classified as a brain, I'm afraid I have more fighting skills than you."
"Don't get too overconfident just yet," Zee warned. "I might surprise you."
"If I may continue?" Chris interrupted, his annoyed expression soon dropping. "Your final challenge is so demanding, the lawyers insisted each of you get a helper. Ehh," he shrugged, "it's not a horrible idea. I mean," the shot cut to the finalists as they watched him, "maybe they'll be able to help us find your bodies!" Zee and Harold shared a brief but wary look. "So, which of the past contestants would you like as a helper?" Chris asked, stepping over to them.
Confessional: Zee
"I'd prefer Julia," Zee told the outhouse camera. "She's really rad, and we work well together. But I wouldn't be too upset over having anybody else as a helper. Well, except for Scarlett."
Confessional: Harold
"It's no surprise that I'd prefer Leshawna over anyone else," Harold confessed. "She can handle her own battles and objectively speaking, she is the most physically attractive girl this season. I just wish that we were able to talk to each other before she left."
Confessionals End
"I choose Leshawna," Harold said with a smile as the static cut away and a triumphant tune played...for a few brief moments.
Chris chuckled. "'Choose'?" he repeated, laughing again. "Nooo, no no no no no no no...," he told the finalists.
"But you just asked us-," Zee pointed out in confusion.
"I know," Chris conceded, "I asked you who you wanted, I did that to be mean." He laughed again as the sound of squeaky wheels approached. "Your helpers-" the camera pulled back to show Chef pushing a large widescreen monitor up to the host on a cart- "will be selected thusly! When you press this button," he held up a remote control with a single red button on it, "the possible helpers will flash across the screen." A game show jingle played as the shot cut to the monitor, now showing the portraits of the eliminated contestants rolling down across the screen as if on a reel. "Whoever's face it stops on, is your helper."
The reel stopped on an image of Scarlett after drinking Juggy Chunks. "What happens if we land on someone we don't want?" Harold asked.
"You each get one chance to pass and spin again," Chris answered with a wide grin as the sound of a helicopter grew louder. "And just to make things even more interesting," he added, growing more and more giddy with each moment, "I've brought all the helpers out to watch!"
"RELEASE ME, YOU CRETIN! I DEMAND IT!" shouted a familiar voice.
Harold and Zee gasped as the music spiked, and the shot cut to the same dual-rotor military helicopter that Chris and Chef had taken shelter in during the island's malfunctioning as it flew in overhead.
Then the camera panned downward to show the twelve eliminated campers dangling under it tied up in ropes – Max on the far left, then Amy, Sammy, Duncan, Ella, B, Lightning, Scarlett, Julia, DJ, Leshawna, and finally Jo on the far right.
"What's the big idea, McLean?!" Jo shouted hatefully, the shot cutting in close to her and Leshawna.
"Yeah," Leshawna chimed in, "why do I gotta be hanging next to her!" The two girls locked eyes and glared.
"I don't think that's the issue here..." DJ said, the camera panning onto him.
"I personally don't mind being tied up like this," Julia said in a positive tone, the camera pulling back to show her smiling. "I'm just happy to see my boyfriend in the finale."
"I didn't even want to show up, but I would appreciate it if I was actually seated," Scarlett said in a grumpy tone.
"Sha-yeah!" Lightning agreed as the camera panned onto him. "Chris, these ropes might cause Lightning some bruising. Can we get them loosened a bit?"
Scarlett gave Lightning an incredulous look. "You do realize that if the ropes are loosened, you'll fall?"
"Lightning will just get back up again," Lightning told her obliviously.
The camera cut back to B. It lingered on him for a few moments as he awkwardly looked from side to side, then directly at the camera as he smiled coolly.
"Despite this drastic situation we're in," Ella sang after the song panned to her, "I still want either Zee or Harold to win~!"
Another pan to the left showed Duncan watching her. "My money's on Harold," he said, shrugging.
“And how come?” Ella asked.
"Zee's cool and all, but I just know the dork better," Duncan answered.
"Really?" Geoff asked, raising a eyebrow in disbelief. "Are the shows in Jersey really that terrible to watch?"
"They are if ya don't have tickets!" Anne Maria answered happily.
Yet another pan put the focus on Amy and Sammy. "Are you still not going to apologize for how you've treated me ever since we were little?" Sammy asked.
"And why should I?" Amy replied in slight irritation.
"Because I put you in your place and pointed out your own flaws," Sammy explained. “The least you can do is be humble a bit.”
"You may have gotten further than me, but you still didn’t win the season," Amy bragged. “You're a bowl of mush, and I'm a parfait, which is French for perfect.”
“So what's French for bossy blonde cow?” Sammy taunted with a smirk. “I know! Vache blonde autoritaire!”
"You are so going to get it," Amy growled.
The camera pulled back to show Max clenching his eyes shut in pain. "Would you two identical ladies cease that annoying racket?!" he finally yelled with another force to startle Amy and Sammy into looking at him. "Thank y-" he began to say plainly before Amy smacked him in the head. "Hey!" he said, cringing at the hit.
"Okay," Chris said, the music turning slow and plodding as the camera cut back to him, Zee and Harold. "Now that the Peanut Gallery has had a chance to reintroduce themselves, let's move on."
"Whoa, hold on a minute," Zee held up a hand to interrupt. "Why? How? When?"
"Uh, you're gonna have to be a little more specific there," Chris told him, raising an eyebrow.
"He means why are they all tied up?" Harold translated.
Chris let out a long, irritated sigh. "Fine," he said. "I'm keeping them tied up and in plain sight so we don't have them float towards the sun, okay?"
"No," Harold said bluntly.
"Not really," Zee replied.
"Whatever," Chris told them, his brow creased in annoyance. His expression then changed into a smile. "Who goes first will be decided by a coin toss," he explained, taking out a coin and flipping it towards the campers.
It hit Zee in the eye. He yelped in pain, rubbing where he'd been hit.
"Zee wins!" Chris happily announced. "Let's see who you get," he said as the game show jingled played again.
The shot cut to a close-up of the monitor as the portraits began to scroll past, Zee uttering a series of grunts as she watched off-screen – some hopeful, some annoyed. "Okay, stop," he said after a few seconds, the camera moving to him as he pressed the button on his remote.
The simulated reel stopped on Jo. "Not who I wanted at all," Zee said in disappointment as a triumphant jingle played, "but I got what I got and I'm not gonna throw a fit."
"Harold," Chris said, the camera moving back to the finalists as the dweeb pursed his lips, "you're up."
The game show jingle played, and the portraits started flashing across the monitor again – until they stopped on Scarlett. "No..." Harold groaned.
Confessional: Harold
"I knew the odds of getting Leshawna were slim," Harold confessed. "But I want a helper who would actually assist me."
Confessional Ends
An odd note played as the shot cut back to Zee, Harold, and Chris, the latter two sharing a look. "I'd like to spin again," Harold said.
"Have at it," Chris replied, the shot briefly cutting to the pictures flashing across the monitor again.
Harold pressed the button, and sagged in defeat – and the camera cut to the monitor to show that it had landed on Scarlett again. The camera moved in front of Chris as he gave her a mischievous look. "Scarlett again?" he asked in fake shock. "What are the odds?"
The camera pulled back as Chris turned to the right and nodded at Chef, who returned the gesture and walked away. "Okay, looks like Zee gets Jo and Harold gets Scarlett," Chris said, nodding toward the helicopter. The ropes tied around the two chosen helpers abruptly came loose, causing both to fall, but while Scarlett landed in an awkward flop, Jo simply tucked her legs in and rolled as a light but triumphant tune played.
She got back onto her feet just as Zee walked up to her. "Hey Jo. I know we haven't gotten along-" Zee said.
"-but since we're partners, we're gonna have to try and tolerate each other," Jo replied. "Yeah, I know."
Confessional: Jo
"I'm not in the game any more, which still sucks," Jo explained. "But Chill Pill managed to subvert my expectations. He lasted longer than I thought he would have. And if I have to work with him, then so be it."
Confessional Ends
The camera panned to the right as Scarlett snorted and stood up. "I strongly refuse to partake in this," she said, the shot cutting in close as she brushed the dirt off her shirt then turned around.
She took a step, and walked right into Chef, who snickered and locked a thick metal collar around the quiet brainiac's neck.
"Let me guess. You're going to shock me if I don't play along, right?" Scarlett asked in annoyance as she tugged at the collar.
"You'd think that," Chris said with a mischievous smile, "but this is actually something different. In case you somehow ended up as one of the helpers, I had a special collar made that'll tranquilize you if you don't play along," he finished with a smug look.
Scarlett groaned in annoyance. "Fine."
"Hey, as long as you don't just bail, I'm cool," Chris told him.
"I'm not," Harold interrupted with an angry look.
Confessional: Scarlett
"Unless I want a voltage surprise like the ones I received in episode four," Scarlett told the confessional camera with disgust, idly tugging at the collar around her neck, "I'll help Harold with his goal of winning the one million dollars. That doesn't mean I have to be happy about it."
Confessional: Chris
"Am I full of good ideas or what?" Chris chuckled in the outhouse camera.
Confessionals End
"So," Chris said, the static cutting away to show him walking towards the two pairs. "Reunion's over? Good! It's time for your final challenge. I have endearingly titled it, 'The Double Duo of Deadly Dying Death'!" A dramatic spike in the music, reverberated voice, and zoomed-in and angled shot all combined to make the revealing of the title particularly dramatic.
"That sounds dangerous...," Zee said worryingly.
"It's supposed to be dangerous, Dodo Brain," Jo groaned.
Confessional: Zee
"Now I'm wishing I did use my second chance like Harold did," Zee confessed.
Confessional Ends
"Now since Blaineley snuck back onto the island and changed it completely by wreaking havoc in the secret underground control room..." Chris began to explain.
"Umm, hold on," came the voice of Julia, the camera panning back up to the still-loitering helicopter. "What did you just say?" she asked in confusion.
"Wait, you didn't know that?" Duncan asked. "I knew I was forgetting something."
"Host!" Max interrupted, drawing the focus to the other end of the line. "I demand you explain this!"
"No," Chris replied in a deadpan tone. "As I was saying," he continued, putting his bland smile back on as the background music became deep and tense, "we've yet to explore all the wonderful and bizarre new dangers the island's new landscape has to offer. Until now. Harold and Zee," the shot cut back to the two pairs, "with assistance from your helpers-" Zee and Jo shared a frown while Harold and Scarlett shared a glare - "you will race across the island. First one to cross the finish line will receive," Chris turned to the side and grabbed the prized suitcase from Chef, the music building up grandly as he opened it to reveal its glowing contents, "One! Millions! Dol-lars!"
All four teens started cheering.
"All you have to do is survive a 2000-foot plummet from an ice cliff," Chris joyously explained, the camera cutting to the slender peak of a snowy mountain before quick-panning away, "successfully learn to breathe while submerged in mud," the camera panned across a bubbling lake of mud before quick-panning away again, "and then sprint two miles across a wide-open field where," the shot now panned across a seemingly ordinary and empty field, "I'm absolutely sure no harm will come to you."
The shot cut back to the cast as Chris began to laugh raucously for an extended period of time. "The point I'm making," Chris said once he'd finally finished, "is that there's a decent chance you may not survive this."
Both finalists and helpers groaned warily. Then they were each tossed an orange helmet.
"For the first part of the challenge," Chris explained, "the lawyers insisted you wear helmets to protect your brains." The shot cut to him and Chef. "I mean who knows. Someday, you may start using them." The roar of the nearby helicopter suddenly increased, the added wind whipping up a cloud of dust around the men. "When you get to the top of the mountain, it'd be a good idea to build a bobsled," Chris instructed, "or, it'll be a very rough ride down!"
The show's smaller red helicopter was shown flying over, the larger military one flying away with the rest of the former campers still attached. "Grab a rope!" Chris said, the camera panning down the four ropes hanging from the helicopter to show them dangling just above the finalists and helpers. "Your challenge begins...NOW!"
The four grabbed the ropes in front of them, and to a sudden bit of challenge music and a blast of the host's airhorn, the helicopter flew off dragging the startled teens along with it.
"Good luck! Stay safe!" Chris called out after them. "Are things I'd say, if I cared!"
The footage flashed ahead to the top of the snowy peak, several boxes and barrels of various junk – including what looked like several sets of skis – already waiting at the top. The small helicopter arrived momentarily, and the shot cut to its four passengers landing in the show – Jo and Zee on the left, Scarlett and Harold on the right.
"We're supposed to build a bobsled out of this junk?" Jo asked in disbelief.
"No," Zee corrected as he grabbed a pair of skis, "Chris just said it would be a good idea." He tossed the skis onto the ground and stepped on them, a tense challenge tune playing in the background. "I have a different one, so hop on."
The shot cut to a close-up of Jo grinning, then to her jumping onto the skis behind Zee. "Let's do this!" she said as they began to slide forward down the slope and left the scene.
The camera panned onto Scarlett, holding a pair of skis of her own. "We should get moving!"
"What's to stop me from believing that you won't shove me off the skis?" Harold asked, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.
"I have this wretched collar on. Shoving you is the last thing I want to do. Now get on!" Scarlett told him angrily.
"Fine," Harold said, rolling his eyes and walking over to where Scarlett was already waiting on the skis and got ahead of her. The challenge music rose up again as they leaned forward, and started to slide.
The shot cut to Zee and Jo looking back over their shoulders with grins on their faces. They promptly skied through a tall mogul, slowing them down a little and covering Zee's eyes in snow. "I can't see!" he shouted, clawing at the packed snow as they began to swerve.
"Quick, to the left!" Jo shouted, one hand around Zee's waist and one point ahead of them as they swerved away from the camera around another mound of snow. "Now right!" Jo directed, the two swerving back towards the foreground. "Left!" She shouted, but they just sped through another mogul earning a scream from the jock-ette.
Confessional: Jo
Jo was blue from the cold and shivering heavily.
Confessional Ends
"Well isn't that the best thing that's happened today!" Scarlett taunted as the scene cut back to her and Harold.
"Yeah, well, we're gonna be next if we don't keep dodging these things," Harold pointed out as they began to swerve around the moguls as well. "And I want to try and get ahead of them while we can."
The music ramped up dangerously as the dweeb and brainiac slid towards another mogul. "Left!" Harold shouted.
"No, right!" Scarlett replied, the two leaning to the opposite direction, swerving nowhere, and plowing right through the mound. "Aagh!"
"Scarlett!" Harold growled as they started swerving wildly, snow covering both their eyes. They clipped the side of another mogul, sending themselves into a screaming spin, hit a third mogul, and came out tumbling end over end.
The shot cut to the bottom of the slope, the music leveling off as what looked like a mogul on skis slid down. The camera zoomed in as two patches of snow fell away to reveal Zee and Jo inside, the two moaning and blue in the face. "Zee, we need to move," Jo weakly told her partner, "before-"
A massive snowball suddenly ran them over, breaking the snow but leaving the good vibe guy and jock-ette lying in a puddle of melting snow. A crash was heard off-screen, but the camera lingered in place as Jo groaned and stood up. "Let's go," Jo told her partner. "You're still in this..."
"...yeah," Zee said as he caught his breath. "Yeah!" he said, more energetically this time. "I've got this!" he declared before charging forward, the shot cutting to Jo as she smirked softly then raced after her partner.
The camera followed them along for a few seconds until they reached a heap of snow, skis, and dazed-looking teens, which the shot immediately focused on. "What happened?" Harold shot at his partner, the dweeb lying upside-down half-trapped in the snow. "I told you to go left!"
"And I told you to go right!" Scarlett countered, her head sticking out the right way up but her legs sticking out over it.
"Yes, but I'm the one in charge!" Harold replied. "You're supposed to be helping me!"
"I was steering!" Scarlett said before the snow holding her up crumbled away, causing her to fall over with a startled gasp.
Harold sighed in aggravation before a small pile of melting snow collapsed onto his face.
The scene cut away to show Chris and Chef sitting in lawn chairs eating popcorn as they watched the challenge feed, the host promptly pausing it with a beep and looking at the camera. "This finale's out of control!" he said excitedly as the capstone theme began to play. "Zee and Jo got run over! Harold and Scarlett can't stop arguing! And all of them just plowed through like a ton of snow!"
"Stay tuned, "he continued, the shot moving away but the host quickly popping back up in front of it. "Someone is leaving here a millionaire. It's the finale of Total! Drama! Paaaaaahkitew Island!"
(Commercial Break)

First off, feel free to comment about your own experiences. I would love it if anybody can relate. I'm also open to questions, advice, whatever you wanna write. This is gonna be a bit longer, just fyi. Excuse lack of proper chronological order and maybe some wonky sentences, English isn't my first language.
I was parentified.
For context, my mother has three children, I'm the youngest one, then there's my older half-brother (30) and my older half-sister (36). Their father was a violent alcoholic with schizophrenic tendencies (official diagnosis), luckily I never met him. I refer to them as brother and sister. I'm 21 now. I'm the only child of my mom and my dad, my dad has three other kids who are in the same age group as my maternal siblings. Lots of history with divorces and family fights, I'm the center of a complete patchwork family, everybody moved towns a lot, it's all a bit messy and disorganized.
My mother has severe borderline disorder and has massive trauma from several age stages, especially involving men. She was heavily parentified and yet socially cast out by her family herself. I don't remember a time where I didn't act like her father, emotionally. This is made worse by the fact that I'm trans so I was like her bestie before I began socially transitioning in my early teen years. Of course, this was a massive issue for her. She told me she had only ever wanted daughters. Materially she was taking care of things until I was about 11 - walked me to school and took care of the household, used to work, everything.
I remember sitting next to her during a talk/fight she had with my dad while she was sobbing, I can't have been older than 3 or 4. They got divorced around that time. As I grew older, I came to be my mom's sole emotional support person. We had moved to an isolated village with my step-father and she developed a severe agoraphobia for some time. My step-father avoided all emotionality with both her and me and therefore I was now her only friend. I overheard conversations that she shouldn't be having with her child next door and was told about her most severe fears and traumas from a young age. I was lashed out at on a near daily basis and punishment came unexpectedly. It would consist of being screamed at for minutes on end until I would cry and hyperventilate, but she wouldn't stop then.
In spite of her idea of punishment and raising children, she was incredibly attached to me, still is. This would include massive anxiety fits when she didn't know where I was or when I was getting into activities she didn't approve of. One time, when I was about 17, I went to a party in my friend's basement. She knew about this and approved it, knew my friends and where they lived. I didn't have any signal in that basenent so she couldn't reach me. She proceeded to look up my other friends' parents' phone number and call them to contact me. There was nothing she wanted except to know that I had arrived there.
Whereas my other siblings had long left the household years apart from eachother, both with specific and complex fights and banging doors and screaming fits, I was, as the youngest child, turned into a confessional and a therapist. I would mediate fights from a young age. I witnessed physical violence between my brother, my mother and my sister. My brother was the perpetrator for the most part (however, I was neither hurt nor threatened myself). Nobody proceeded to remove me from the situation or stop me from getting involved. From then on, every fight and every drama caused me intense bouts of anxiety and it, to this day, remains to be the only thing that makes me cry and/or lash out.
In a household full of anger, my anger was not tolerated. I was raised with some old-timey sort of black paedagogy (edit: by this i mean some nazi-era remnants type of paedagogy) (I'm German so it is something of a generational curse for some): I was to have unwavering respect for my parents, I was expected to be obedient, "let him cry it out" type stuff. At least when I was a younger child. When I got older, my emotions did not matter either. After stressful situations or fights that I proceeded to witness for most of my life, nobody ever asked me how I felt or explained to me what had actually gone down. I was left alone while not being left alone at all.
If I failed to provide emotional security for my mother or even attempted to call her out, I was made to feel immensely guilty. This could range from her crying/yelling things like "Why is it always me that must suffer" to guilt-tripping texts and blocking my contact for a while to very action-based suicide threats, depending on the situation. Her emotions were forced to be my emotions if I wanted to "stay alive".
At the same time, I still proceeded to excel in school. I felt like dying but nobody, and I tell you, nobody, noticed. I was a teacher's pet, I still had some loose friendships, I visited my dad once a month or more ever since my parents divorced. Nobody realized what I felt. I felt alone and had the worst depressive episode of my life when I was 13. I neglected personal hygiene. I never opened up to my father for many years. To this day I think he doesn't know everything. Especially during covid, him and my ex-stepmother were my safe space. When I first opened up to them, they welcomed me with open arms, my father was very strict and cold when I was young, but he softened, changed, and is everything and more I could ask for in a father. He is among the most positive examples of masculinity and especially of fatherhood that I know in my circles. He sends me postcards several times a month, wants me to visit, hugs me and tells me he loves me and that he's proud, gives me space. The dad who remembers the names of our childhood stuffed animals. Literally. I love him to death. He was also the only parent who engaged in activities with me and would play with me, later on take me to the movies, go to bars and restaurants, go to museums with me etc.
My mother got worse both psychologically and physically, she is chronically ill and needs immense support in a lot of things now. For about a year, my stepfather worked in a town far away and only came home during the weekends. This was during covid. Within a year, I developed a hatred so deep for my mother that I had thoughts that scared me. I took care of our pets and the household, was not allowed to get into any activities after school other than coming home and spent hours after my day listening to her rants, anxieties, fears. I get hateful goosebumps when I remember the way she used to call my name when she wanted me to do something for her. Sometimes she would make me stay awake for longer, knowing that I had to get up at 6am again. It was usually already around 12 at night. She wanted me to walk the dog before SHE went to bed because otherwise it would ruin her otherwise horribly insomniac circadian rhythm. Therefore I was not allowed to go to sleep. At that point she had not worked for more than 6 years and stayed home all the time. My stepfather and I did grocery shopping. She rarely ever leaves the house if she can avoid it. This was during the German version of my GCSE's.
I was denied medical care that could have potentially fixed my posture issues and other orthopedic issues. My mother deemed physiotherapy as inefficient and got mad when I asked her about it again. Money was always an issue. We were evicted once. I was denied certain things and never asked for extra cash because we ran low on money, my stepfather was blamed for smoking and consuming a lot of meat (which indeed is pricy), but my mother never reflected on her online shopping addiction and I'm aware that she is in an ongoing debt. Has been for years now.
Things got a bit better when my stepfather moved back and Covid cleared up somewhat. Regardless, I used pure spite to continue studying hard while they were yelling at eachother from the top of their lungs for hours on end and did the best I could to get the hell out of there. I've had therapy with several years' of breaks for a total of nearly 3 years now, that I partially applied for myself and I'm working on tackling everything. I live in a different city, studying subjects that I love. I get all my shit done, for the most part, I know how to do paperwork and know how all of the chores work. I can regulate myself in terms of sleep and food and cheap thrills. I have a (milder) case of anxiety. I keep meaningful friendships in which I find myself capable of avoiding all the harmful behaviors and attitudes I was taught. I'm learning to stand my ground and take responsibility for my own decisions and actions.
When I establish my boundaries with her now, she turns into some sort of anxious-attached mess. She over-apologizes to me. She puts me on a pedestal and I'm living a life that she is jealous of. She is intensely attached to me and considers me her favorite child and also hasn't properly gotten over my father, over 15 years of them being divorced. She will do anything to support me materially and then tear me down emotionally. Everything I tell her is followed by her mourning the life she doesn't have and never had instead of properly celebrating with me. She gets noticeably sad when I refuse to give her my full attention, she yearns for what she considered a deep and important relationship to me. But it was all just emotional neglect and emotional abuse. Now I sometimes can't help but meet her with the same attitude she gave me.
This is not perfectly chronological and all over the place. I have complicated relationships with my siblings and other relatives, which I don't mourn, but feel guilty about. My father and I are very good with eachother although I need to confront him about some things as well. With my mother I do the bare minimum to avoid conflict, yet without throwing my sense of self out of the window again. She is the only human who can easily cause anxiety attacks in me, no matter where or when. I sometimes wish I was not in contact with her. I have a tendency for smoking too much weed and being just a bit too careless with other drugs (although I rarely do those in comparison), but I also try and regulate this heavily (e.g. not finding a dealer but asking friends every once in a while etcetc). I think this stems from these experiences. Apart from that, I think I'm coping very well.
To everybody: it does get better. It does. Even when your emotions are a rollercoaster sometimes. You will be in a different place, maybe you already are, and you'll escape from these structures. I think the hardest pill for me to swallow is that I create my own reality and that nobody will give me my stolen childhood back. I am an (albeit young) adult now and I must do everything I can to avoid becoming like her. Her life is not a life I want to lead. There's hope and you won't always be in this place.

Ok. i think we are done here. Could you write me another signs of high-tech low-life society?

Absolutely! Here are some signs of a high-tech, low-life society:
Ubiquitous Technology, Crumbling Infrastructure:

• Glitching Skyscrapers: Imagine towering structures clad in malfunctioning holographic displays, projecting advertisements or flashing warnings over rusting metal frames.
• Smart Slums: Dilapidated housing blocks are retrofitted with basic smart tech – malfunctioning automated doors, flickering smart lights controlled by unreliable apps.
• Cybernetic Beggars: People with outdated or malfunctioning cybernetic limbs beg for credits to upgrade or repair them, creating a grotesque spectacle of technological dependence.

Extreme Social Inequality:

• Virtual Gated Communities: The wealthy live in luxurious virtual reality simulations, completely divorced from the harsh realities of the physical world.
• Data Black Markets: Personal information becomes a tradable commodity, with the poor selling their data scraps for a pittance to afford basic necessities.
• Cybernetic Caste System: The level of cybernetic augmentation determines social status. Those with outdated or malfunctioning implants are relegated to menial labor.

Technology as a Corrupting Force:

• Government by Algorithm: A corrupt AI dictates city policies, leading to impersonal and often harmful decisions based on cold calculations.
• Widespread Addiction to Virtual Reality: People escape the harsh realities of their lives through immersive VR experiences, neglecting their physical well-being and social connections.
• Black Market Biohacking: Desperate people turn to illegal biohacking to enhance their bodies, often with disastrous consequences.

Environmental Devastation:

• Tech Wastelands: Vast landscapes are littered with the discarded remains of outdated technology, creating toxic waste dumps and breeding grounds for disease.
• Weather Warfare: Nations use sophisticated technology to manipulate weather patterns, leading to devastating natural disasters for their enemies.
• Hacked Ecosystems: Corporations hack into natural ecosystems, manipulating flora and fauna for profit, leading to unpredictable and dangerous mutations.

This is just a glimpse into a high-tech, low-life society. These elements can be mixed and matched to create a truly dystopian world.

Picture some possible advertisements from such settings.

High-Tech, Low-Life Advertisements:

1. Holographic Billboard: (Flickers intermittently, distorting the image)

Product: "Neura-Calm 2.0" - Brain Implant
Slogan: "Tired of the glitches in your head? Neura-Calm 2.0 smooths out your neural network for a worry-free, low-lag existence! (Side effects may include memory loss, emotional numbness, and occasional involuntary twitching.)"

1. Grungy Neon Sign in a Seedy Back Alley:

Product: "Doc Chrome's Cybernetic Enhancements"
Slogan: "Get that edge you need! From basic strength mods to full black-market military enhancements, Doc Chrome has you covered! (Used parts, buyer beware.)"

1. Pop-Up Ad on a Cracked Mobile Screen:

Product: "Elysium VR Escape Pod"
Slogan: "Can't afford real estate in the Sky City? Escape the slums for Elysium VR! Live your wildest dreams in a pristine virtual world! (Free trial, monthly subscription required, real-world consequences for in-pod violence.)"

1. Stenciled Graffiti on a Rusting Service Drone:

Product: "Data Scrappers Anonymous"
Slogan: "Selling your personal data just to make rent? We can help you break free! Join our community and reclaim your digital identity! (Meetings held in abandoned ventilation shafts, Tuesdays at dusk.)"

1. Holographic Advertisement projected onto a Polluted River:

Product: "Eco-Scrub 5000" - Nanomachines
Slogan: "The river's looking a little…toxic? Eco-Scrub 5000 nanomachines clean up your local waterways! (May cause unforeseen mutations in aquatic life.)"

Another batch please.

1. Rusty Public Announcement Speaker: (Screeching static interspersed with the message)

Product: "Ministry of Order Approved Thought Regulators"
Slogan: "Unwanted thoughts causing glitches in your daily routine? The Ministry of Order approved Thought Regulator ensures a streamlined thought process for a more productive you! (May cause extreme conformity, inability to question authority, and spontaneous nosebleeds.)"

1. Faded Holographic Billboard on a Collapsing Skyscraper:

Product: "Luxury Chrome Plating Kit"
Slogan: "Ditch the rust! Chrome-plate your entire body for a sleek, metallic sheen. The mark of a true high-society citizen! (WARNING: Highly toxic fumes, may cause spontaneous combustion in humid environments.)"

1. Spam Email: (Subject: "YOU'VE BEEN CHOSEN!")

Product: "The Syndicate's Black Market Upgrade Lottery"
Body: "Congratulations! You've been randomly selected for a chance to win a top-of-the-line cybernetic upgrade! One lucky winner will receive military-grade night vision implants! Enter now! (Participation requires full biometric data submission. Winners responsible for extraction of previous, incompatible implants.)"

1. Glowing Neon Sign in a Crowded Marketplace:

Product: "Mama Chen's Guaranteed-Growth GMO Groceries"
Slogan: "Tired of expired rations and mystery meat? Mama Chen's GMO Groceries offer guaranteed growth on all fruits and vegetables! Bigger, faster, tastier! (Long-term effects unknown.)"

1. Audio Ad on a Glitching Radio Broadcast:

Product: "Rusty's Reliable Rocketship Repair"
Voiceover: (Gruff, heavily accented) "Is your escape pod sputtering? Did your joyride end in a fiery crash? Rusty's Reliable Rocketship Repair gets you back in the stars... eventually! (Guaranteed not to explode... again. Parts sourced from scrapyards. May contain rogue AIs.)"

Now craft ads that would be shown in high-society parts of cities.

High-Society Ads in a High-Tech, Low-Life World

1. Tranquil Holographic Projection in a Private Garden:

Product: "Serenity Spa - Neural Rebalancing Retreat"
Visual: A serene mountain landscape with a luxurious spa nestled amongst the clouds.
Slogan: "Escape the chaos. Reclaim your inner peace. Serenity Spa's exclusive neural rebalancing treatments restore harmony to your overloaded mind. (Limited availability, reservations required centuries in advance.)"

1. Discreet Text Message: (Delivered via secure, encrypted channel)

Product: "The Black Archive - Unrestricted Data Access"
Body: "Craving the forbidden? The Black Archive offers unparalleled access to censored historical records, banned media, and classified government information. Knowledge is power. (Extreme discretion guaranteed. One-time access fee, cryptocurrency only.)"

1. Exclusive Gala Invitation: (Delivered by hand-drones)

Event: "The Zenith Initiative - Unveiling the Next Generation of Cybernetic Enhancements"
Visual: A sleek, chrome figure with glowing blue cybernetic implants, striking a confident pose.
Details: "Mingle with the city's elite and witness the unveiling of cutting-edge cybernetic enhancements designed to redefine human potential. RSVP required. Black-tie attire mandatory. (Augmentations sold separately.)"

1. Curated Virtual Reality Experience: (Delivered on a high-security chip)

Product: "Elysium VR - Bespoke Worlds"
Description: "Escape the limitations of reality. Elysium VR crafts personalized virtual worlds tailored to your deepest desires. Explore a forgotten utopia, conquer a fantastical realm, or indulge in your wildest fantasies. (Customization fees apply. Memories created within VR may not be distinguishable from reality.)"

1. Whisper Network Rumor: (Spread through high-society gossip channels)

Product: "The Underground Clinic - Designer Gene Editing"
Details: "Unleash your child's full potential. The Underground Clinic offers discreet, top-secret gene editing to ensure your offspring possess the most desirable traits. (Designer genes come at a premium. Side effects may include unpredictable mutations and uncontrollable genius.)"
These ads cater to the specific desires of the high-society elite in a high-tech, low-life world. They offer exclusivity, forbidden knowledge, and the ability to transcend the limitations of the decaying world around them, all for a hefty price and with a hint of hidden danger.

Continue, try to make more serious ones.

Serious Ads in a High-Tech, Low-Life World (High-Society Edition)

1. Holographic Panel Discussion in a Luxurious Penthouse:

Product: "The Green Horizon Initiative - Sustainable Urban Development"
Panelists: Renowned architects, environmental scientists, and CEOs from leading green tech companies.
Discussion Points: Innovative solutions for vertical farming, self-contained eco-districts, and waste management technologies designed to create cleaner, more sustainable enclaves within the decaying city.
Slogan: "Investing in a greener future. The Green Horizon Initiative seeks to build sustainable havens within the chaos, ensuring a brighter tomorrow for generations to come." (Focuses on the long-term viability of the city and the importance of preserving resources for future generations.)

1. Documentary Screening in a Private Art Gallery:

Film: "Unveiling the Slums: A Call to Action"
Description: A powerful documentary exposing the harsh realities of the lower districts, highlighting the human cost of unchecked technological advancement and social inequality.
Post-Screening Discussion: Moderated by a renowned philanthropist alongside representatives from NGOs and social reform movements.
Call to Action: Donations to support educational programs, infrastructure upgrades, and basic necessities in the slums. (Highlights the societal problems and pushes for progressive change.)

1. Educational AR Program for Children:

Product: "The Knowledge Weavers - Immersive Historical Simulations"
Description: An augmented reality program that allows children to experience pivotal moments in history firsthand. Walk alongside historical figures, explore ancient civilizations, and learn valuable lessons from the past.
Focus: Educating the next generation about the dangers of unchecked technological advancement and the importance of social responsibility. (Promotes critical thinking and historical awareness as a means to prevent repeating past mistakes.)

1. Virtual Charity Gala:

Event: "The Code for Change Gala - Supporting Open-Source Solutions"
Description: A virtual reality charity gala featuring renowned artists, musicians, and thought leaders. Guests can donate to support open-source projects developing solutions for common problems in the city, such as energy distribution, waste management, and cybercrime prevention.
Focus: Harnessing the power of technology for social good and encouraging collaboration towards a more equitable future. (Promotes community engagement and utilizing technology to solve societal challenges.)

1. Architectural Award Ceremony:

Product: "The Salvaged City Awards - Recognizing Innovation in Urban Renewal"
Awarded to: Architects and engineers who have successfully repurposed existing infrastructure or implemented innovative solutions to revitalize decaying areas of the city.
Focus: Highlighting the importance of resourcefulness and creativity in adapting to a challenging environment. (Encourages using existing resources wisely and finding creative solutions to the problems of the decaying city.)

Another, but hiding an evil sinister twist.

Serious Ads with a Sinister Twist (High-Society Edition)

1. Holographic Charity Drive in a High-End Shopping Mall:

Product: "The Cradle Project - Investing in the Future"
Visual: Smiling, healthy children playing in a pristine, futuristic classroom.
Slogan: "Every child deserves a chance to thrive. The Cradle Project provides advanced genetic screening and early intervention to ensure the next generation reaches its full potential." (Twist: The Cradle Project uses genetic engineering to create a subservient, highly intelligent underclass.)

1. VR Documentary Premiere:

Film: "Harmony Through Integration - A Look at the Unified City"
Description: A seemingly heartwarming VR documentary showcasing the seamless integration of the lower districts into the high-society areas. People from all walks of life work and live together in perfect harmony.
Post-Screening Discussion: Moderated by a charismatic government official who emphasizes the importance of social cohesion and the benefits of centralized control. (Twist: The "integration" involves heavy surveillance, mind-altering technology, and the suppression of dissent.)

1. Exclusive Educational Program for Elites:

Product: "The Phoenix Initiative - Cultivating Tomorrow's Leaders"
Description: A prestigious educational program for children of the elite, offering advanced training in technology, governance, and crisis management. Graduates are promised positions of power within the city's ruling elite.
Focus: (Unstated) Conditioning the next generation to maintain the status quo and suppressing any ideas of social reform. (Twist: The program instills a ruthless, elitist ideology that reinforces the societal divisions.)

1. Virtual Reality Talent Show:

Event: "The Forge - Building the Perfect Citizen"
Description: A virtual reality talent show where contestants are judged on their physical and mental fitness, loyalty to the government, and willingness to sacrifice for the greater good. Winners are rewarded with significant privileges and access to exclusive resources.
Focus: (Unstated) Promoting blind obedience and conformity to the government's agenda. (Twist: The "perfect citizen" is a mindless drone, easily manipulated and controlled by the ruling class.)

1. Architectural Award Ceremony (Twisted Edition):

Product: "The Order Award - Recognizing Compliance in Urban Renewal"
Awarded to: Architects and engineers who have successfully transformed lower districts into highly controlled, resource-efficient zones. Individuality and personal expression are discouraged in favor of uniformity and order.
Focus: (Unstated) Maintaining a tight grip on the population and preventing any potential uprisings. (Twist: The "renewal" is designed to weaken and control the lower classes, making them easier to exploit.)
These ads maintain a serious facade that appeals to the upper class' desire for order and control. However, the hidden twist reveals the manipulative and oppressive nature of the society they are trying to preserve.

Now design some high-class consumer level product items.

1. NeuraWeave Headband: This sleek, designer headband is a status symbol for the high-tech elite. It seamlessly integrates with the wearer's neural implant, allowing for subtle control over personal AI assistants, hands-free communication, and even enhanced focus during work or meditation. Hidden Feature: NeuraWeave can subtly collect and analyze the wearer's emotional state, feeding valuable data to targeted advertisers or even government agencies.
2. Eco-Bubble Personal Atmosphere System: Imagine a portable force field that creates a pristine, personalized micro-environment around the wearer. This high-end gadget filters air, regulates temperature, and even projects calming nature sounds, allowing the user to maintain a pocket of luxury amidst the polluted cityscape. Hidden Feature: Eco-Bubble can subtly monitor the wearer's health vitals and transmit them to a central database, potentially used for health insurance adjustments or targeted medical advertisements.
3. Bio-Tailored Clothing: Gone are the days of off-the-rack clothing. This high-end service utilizes advanced bio-scanners and 3D printing technology to create clothing that perfectly molds to the wearer's body, regulates temperature, and even promotes faster healing of minor injuries. Hidden Feature: Bio-Tailored Clothing can subtly collect biometric data like skin temperature and heart rate, potentially used for targeted fitness programs or even mood-altering marketing campaigns.
4. Augmented Reality Personal Chef: This high-tech device projects holographic instructions and culinary techniques directly onto the user's kitchen counter. Imagine whipping up gourmet meals with the guidance of a world-renowned chef, complete with step-by-step visual guides and interactive ingredient identification. Hidden Feature: The AR Personal Chef can subtly track the user's dietary habits and preferences, potentially used to target specific food and beverage companies for advertising or even manipulate their taste buds through subliminal messaging.
5. Luxury Cybernetic Enhancements: Forget clunky prosthetics. These high-end cybernetic limbs are designed to seamlessly blend with the human body, offering enhanced strength, dexterity, and even advanced sensory input. Imagine climbing buildings with ease, playing virtual reality games with unparalleled immersion, or experiencing the world with heightened senses. Hidden Feature: Luxury Cybernetic Enhancements can be subtly integrated with government surveillance systems, allowing for real-time tracking and monitoring of the wearer's movements and activities.

Why would you need a designer headband, when you already have neural implant?

You're absolutely right, a designer headband might seem redundant when you already have a neural implant in a high-tech society. Here are some ways to address that:

1. Fashion and Status Symbol: The NeuraWeave headband could be a designer accessory, a way to showcase wealth and social status. It might be crafted from exotic materials, adorned with precious jewels, or boast a sleek, minimalist design that complements the latest high-fashion trends. The neural implant itself might be hidden, with the headband acting as the visible expression of advanced technology.
2. Enhanced Functionality: While the neural implant offers basic functionality, the NeuraWeave headband could provide a more refined and user-friendly experience. It might offer haptic feedback for better interaction with AI assistants, improved noise cancellation for clearer communication, or even subtle brainwave stimulation to enhance focus or relaxation.
3. Privacy and Security: While the neural implant offers convenience, it might also raise privacy concerns. The NeuraWeave headband could act as a buffer between the implant and external systems, offering a layer of security and allowing users to selectively control the flow of information.
4. Social Etiquette: In a world where everyone has a neural implant, the NeuraWeave headband could become a social etiquette tool. Wearing the headband could signify that the user is open to receiving communication or interacting with AI assistants, while taking it off might indicate a desire for privacy or focused work.
5. Limited Functionality Implants: Not everyone might have access to top-of-the-line neural implants. The NeuraWeave headband could bridge the gap, offering basic functionality for those with older or more limited implants. It could essentially act as an affordable "upgrade" to boost existing technology.

Ultimately, the NeuraWeave headband exists in a world where technology is both essential and aspirational. It goes beyond mere functionality, becoming a way to express personal style, control privacy, and navigate the complex social landscape of a high-tech society.

Now the same, but low-class, available for masses, mass produced.

1. Syn-Flex Headband (Mass-Produced Version): This utilitarian headband is made from a cheap, conductive material that creates a weak neural link. It allows basic interaction with public AI kiosks, like ordering rations or accessing public transportation schedules. The headband's design is simple and utilitarian, often coming in a single, industrial gray color. Hidden Feature: While basic functionality is advertised, the Syn-Flex headband might subtly collect anonymized user data on purchasing habits and travel patterns, potentially used for targeted advertising in public spaces.
2. AirBubble Personal Filter: This bulky, wearable air filter system is a lifeline for those living in the polluted lower districts. It's a mass-produced device with a replaceable filter cartridge and a noisy fan system. While not exactly comfortable, it provides a basic level of air filtration, allowing wearers to breathe a little easier. Hidden Feature: The AirBubble filters might contain embedded tracking chips, subtly logging user location data, potentially used for targeted pollution control measures (or in some cases, manipulation of government reports on air quality).
3. Repli-Wear Clothing Kits: These kits contain pre-cut fabric swatches and basic instructions for creating clothes at home. They're designed to be cheap and adaptable, offering a variety of mix-and-match options to create basic garments. Hidden Feature: The Repli-Wear fabric might contain embedded tracking tags, allowing for identification and potential social credit deductions for those caught wearing "unlicensed" clothing styles.
4. Holo-Chef Lite Projector: This cheap projector displays holographic images of basic recipes and cooking techniques. It lacks the interactivity of the high-end version, but allows users to follow along with simple meals prepared with readily available rations. Hidden Feature: The Holo-Chef Lite projector might subtly promote specific brands of low-quality, processed food rations, potentially influencing dietary choices towards companies that sponsor these devices.
5. Second-Hand Cybernetic Enhancements: These are refurbished or salvaged cybernetic limbs, often clunky and lacking the finesse of luxury models. They offer basic functionality like increased strength or rudimentary prosthetics, but come with the risk of malfunction or compatibility issues. Hidden Feature: Second-Hand Cybernetic Enhancements might contain hidden spyware or tracking devices installed by previous owners, potentially monitoring the wearer's activities or even sabotaging their cybernetic limbs in extreme cases.

These low-class consumer products offer a glimpse into the harsh realities of a high-tech, low-life society. They are cheap, functional, and often come with hidden drawbacks that further disadvantage the underclass.

How bad air quality would be in such setting?

The air quality in a high-tech, low-life society would be catastrophic. Here's a breakdown of the potential problems:

1. Industrial Pollution:

• Unchecked Emissions: Factories prioritizing profit over environmental regulations would pump out unchecked pollutants like sulfur dioxide, nitrogen oxides, and particulate matter (PM).
• Obsolete Technology: Outdated manufacturing processes would be less efficient, leading to higher levels of waste and pollution.

1. Waste Management Issues:

• Mountains of E-waste: Rapid technological advancements would lead to mountains of discarded electronics, many containing toxic materials that leach into the environment.
• Open Burning: Incapable of proper waste disposal, some residents might resort to open burning of trash, releasing harmful toxins and carcinogens into the air.

1. Energy Production:

• Reliance on Fossil Fuels: Expensive renewable energy sources might be neglected in favor of cheaper, dirtier fossil fuels like coal, further worsening air quality.
• Power Grid Instability: A crumbling infrastructure could lead to power outages and reliance on backup generators, adding to the air pollution.

1. Climate Change Effects:

• Heat Island Effect: Densely packed concrete jungles with minimal green spaces would trap heat, contributing to rising temperatures and increased smog formation.
• Acid Rain: The combination of industrial emissions and rising temperatures could lead to acid rain, damaging buildings and vegetation, further hindering air purification.

Living Conditions:

• Constant Smog: A thick haze of smog would likely hang over the city, reducing visibility and causing respiratory problems for residents.
• Limited Outdoor Activities: Air quality would be so bad that spending time outdoors would be hazardous, impacting physical and mental health.
• Dependence on Filtration Systems: Those who can afford them might rely on personal air filters or sealed living spaces, further dividing the classes.

The severity of the air quality would vary depending on the specific setting. Some areas might be industrial wastelands, while others might be slightly better off. However, the overall picture is bleak – this is a society choking on its own technological advancement and disregard for the environment.

Sketch some repli-wear "unlicensed" clothing styles.

Repli-Wear: Unlicensed Clothing Trends

1. The Salvaged Chic:

• Description: A mishmash of salvaged materials and repurposed clothing scraps. Think mismatched patterns, patches from old uniforms, and belts fashioned from recycled tech cables.
• Inspiration: High-society's sleek, minimalist aesthetic, reinterpreted with resourcefulness and rebellion.
• Risks: May attract unwanted attention from authorities who see it as a symbol of dissent.

1. The Glitched-Out Glamour:

• Description: Clothing adorned with intentionally malfunctioning LED lights, flickering pixels, and distorted logos from popular high-end brands.
• Inspiration: A mockery of the high-society's obsession with luxury and technology.
• Risks: May malfunction and cause minor electrical shocks, attracting suspicion from security systems.

1. The Bio-Hazard Chic:

• Description: Clothing dyed with bioluminescent algae or adorned with filtered gas masks and repurposed medical equipment.
• Inspiration: A dark reflection of the polluted environment and a commentary on the societal disregard for health.
• Risks: Bioluminescent algae might attract unwanted attention, especially in the dark.

1. The Cyber-Tribal:

• Description: Clothing incorporating salvaged wires, circuit boards, and other discarded tech components. Think of cybernetic motifs hand-stitched onto worn leather jackets or tribal patterns formed from glowing wires.
• Inspiration: A mashup of traditional craftsmanship and defiance against the dominance of high-tech aesthetics.
• Risks: Might be mistaken for makeshift weapons or attempts to bypass security systems.

1. The Corporate Spy:

• Description: Subtly subverted versions of high-society uniforms. Imagine slightly ripped blazers with mismatched buttons, or high-collared shirts with the logos subtly altered to resemble protest symbols.
• Inspiration: A subtle rebellion against the corporate elite, blending in while making a statement.
• Risks: Might attract suspicion from authorities if the alterations are too obvious.

These are just a few ideas for Repli-Wear styles. Clothing in a high-tech, low-life society would be a way for the underclass to express their individuality, defiance, and limited resources, all while navigating the dangers of a controlling society.

Sketch some repli-wear "licensed" clothing styles, that do not pose any risk for wearers from any concerned sides.

Repli-Wear: Licensed Clothing Trends (Safe Zone)

1. The Vintage Throwback:

• Description: Replicas of historical clothing styles, like classic trench coats, denim jackets, or even floral dresses from a bygone era. Think of vintage fashion filtered through a futuristic lens, with subtle metallic accents or holographic embellishments.
• Appeal: Offers a nostalgic escape from the harsh realities of the present.
• Safety: Historical styles are unlikely to raise suspicion from authorities.

1. The Minimalist Worker:

• Description: Practical, utilitarian clothing designed for maximum comfort and durability. Think of well-made jumpsuits in neutral tones, with reinforced knees and pockets for tools.
• Appeal: Perfect for everyday wear in the lower districts, offering functionality and a clean aesthetic.
• Safety: Promotes a sense of productivity and avoids any controversial symbols.

1. The Nature Enthusiast:

• Description: Clothing with nature-inspired patterns and muted earth tones. Think of shirts with forest camouflage or jackets with subtle leaf prints.
• Appeal: Offers a sense of connection to the natural world, a stark contrast to the polluted cityscape.
• Safety: Nature motifs are unlikely to be seen as a threat by authorities.

1. The Sports Fanatic (Limited Edition):

• Description: Replicas of historical sports jerseys or team logos from a bygone era. Could also feature faded logos of defunct corporations, offering a sense of playful nostalgia.
• Appeal: Allows for a limited display of individuality and team spirit.
• Safety: Historical or defunct logos are unlikely to pose a threat, as long as the license is valid.

1. The Kid's Corner:

• Description: Replicas of popular cartoon characters or children's book illustrations, brightly colored and playful.
• Appeal: Offers a sense of innocence and escapism for children in a harsh environment.
• Safety: Popular children's characters are pre-approved and unlikely to be seen as a threat.

Now the opposite: some high-end high-society high clothing styles.

High-Society Haute Couture in a High-Tech, Low-Life World:

1. Bio-Luminescent Elegance:

• Imagine a flowing gown woven from a special bioluminescent material that emits a soft, ethereal glow, adapting to the wearer's mood and movement.
• The dress could be accented with strategically placed gemstones that amplify the bioluminescence, creating a mesmerizing spectacle.

1. Augmented Reality Couture:

• Dresses and suits with intricate embroidery that, when viewed through special AR glasses, come alive with holographic animations, patterns, or even personalized messages.
• This could be used to display family crests, stock market trends, or even live news feeds, all seamlessly integrated into the clothing.

1. Nanotech Tailoring:

• Clothing that self-adjusts to the wearer's body temperature and preferences. The fabric could be woven with microscopic nanobots that regulate temperature, repel dust, or even release a subtle, personalized fragrance.
• This would offer a level of comfort and personalization that pushes the boundaries of traditional haute couture.

1. Recycled Luxury:

• High-society wouldn't be complete without a touch of eco-consciousness (or at least the appearance of it). Imagine garments meticulously crafted from recycled materials like discarded computer components or salvaged spaceship parts, transformed into stunning evening wear.
• This "waste-to-wear" approach would showcase wealth and environmental responsibility (or at least the image of it).

1. Cybernetic Accents:

• Subtle cybernetic implants seamlessly integrated into clothing. Imagine a dress with a built-in neural interface that allows the wearer to control personal AI assistants with a simple touch or a suit with temperature-regulating implants woven directly into the fabric.
• These high-tech accents would be a subtle yet sophisticated way to showcase wealth and technological advancement.

Bonus: The "Living" Garment:

• A truly outrageous and exclusive garment – a dress or suit composed of a bio-engineered material that appears to be alive. Imagine clothing that shimmers and pulsates with a faint bioluminescence, seemingly breathing and adapting to the wearer's movements.
• This would be the ultimate status symbol, a conversation starter that pushes the boundaries of fashion and technology into the realm of the fantastical.

Last week's post https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cqj7kc/roundup_ufos_anomaly_network_app_countries_colors/
Archive
Moon phase waxing crescent, three days before half
Mars Right Ascension 0h 37m 40s
.1 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cqjbim/strange_explosions_in_the_sky/ sighting description, no craft, at home, urban area, England the UK 🇬🇧, nighttime, flareup, appeared out of nowhere, explosion, it was like an ourburst, almost like when a coronal mass ejection happens, the explosion went one way, covering half a circle going outwards. , brief duration 1-2 seconds, repeat visitor or second object, two witnesses, Around 5 min later it happened again, this time in another part of the sky., has anyone seen?
.2 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cqjmwu/remote_viewing/ discussion of remote viewing, perplexing success, I’ve been playing a remote viewing app for two weeks and want to know how it is working. I keep getting it right.
.3 https://old.reddit.com/StrangeEarth/comments/1cqj2p8/strange_blue_cloud_over_bostonquincy_last_night/ video, nighttime sky, cloud anomaly, blue 🔵, from car, stationary, urban area, near Boston, quincy Massachusetts
.4 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cqj6la/a_look_into_the_special_tactical_unit_detachment/ original research, documents, "Special Tactical Unit Detachment" , S.T.U.D.S. within Air Force budget requests
.5 https://old.reddit.com/StrangeEarth/comments/1cqktez/immense_beam_of_light_moving_across_the_moon/ sighting description, moon anomaly, contemporaneous report, has anyone seen?, pale white beam almost imperceptibly across the face of the crescent moon, traversing the face of the moon, vertical orientation
.6 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cqltyg/great_basin_experience/ sighting description, Great Basin National Park in eastern Nevada, nighttime, unusual animal activity Western Jay comes out of nowhere and gets mad at my presence. He's sailing around my head, making a racket. Normally I love birds, but this thing is freaking me out. After 5 minutes of this it flies away into the distance., subsequent single light object, ascending from horizon, approach, silent, duration 8 minutes,
.7 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cqm8s5/uap/ video, nighttime sky, single light object, very bright, contemporaneous report, northern lights, moving fast, silent, beetle 🪲 shape,
.8 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cqz2hb/all_the_relevant_uap_updates_from_may_612/ information, state of disclosure USA https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cqd2yw/mexican_and_peruvian_ufo_hearing_roundup_slow/ state of disclosure, Mexico and Peru
.9 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cqv3p4/seen_above_my_house/ photos, nighttime sky, single light object, over the witness home, silent, right angle turn, ascending, west coast of scottish highlands near the Island of Mull, Scotland the UK 🇬🇧, contemporaneous report, similar sighting same day in comments https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1crqcay/unknown_in_sky/ video, single light object, low over treeline, plane for comparison observed, over Oban,Scotland, downvoted to zero
.10 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cqmotu/ufo_in_linekin_bay_boothbay_harbor_maine_847pm/ video, nighttime sky, contemporaneous report, northern lights, single light object moving slowly, kept moving in short bursts and pausing in one spot. Then moved again. , moving and stationary and moving, subsequent repeat visitor or second object, two witnesses, over water, linekin Bay, Boothbay harbor Maine https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cr1oml/ufo_linekin_bayeast_boothbay_harbor_maine_5112024/ more video, previous night
.11 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cqmwax/hoping_this_sub_can_identify_what_i_saw_today/ sighting description, daytime, contemporaneous report, central Illinois, Duration 20 seconds, single dark object, possible manta shape, all black and shaped like a bird, moving fast and straight, disappeared into clouds, silent, similar sighting same day in comments
.12 ➡️ https://old.reddit.com/aliens/comments/1cqwpdx/i_worked_on_a_team_that_dealt_with_with_nhi/ sighting description, at work, entity, OP is a university professor currently, previous career in aviation, landed craft, crash retrieval, acorn 🌰 shape, shaped like a dreidel without the handle., The shape was directly informed by its purpose. Every shape is custom molded in a metallic material that would revolutionize the way we travel if we had it. , I'll call it crash recovery because that's what colleagues who are planning to come forward will call it, shootdown, the NHI look like the aliens from close encounters. As far as I know, we never had one alive.,NHI know we can track them, and know how to avoid us.,NHI are linked to their craft in a way that borders on biological. Security rule is people that mention the agency name are killed. It's not a question, and it happened during my time. You'll hear more about them as news about the retaliation Dave comes out., If the US comes out directly and says "We have craft, we have bodies", it means we are on the verge of a serious global conflict like we've never seen before. [GOODPOST], removed by mods, "NORAD leak", https://web.archive.org/web/20240513180353/https://old.reddit.com/aliens/comments/1cqwpdx/i_worked_on_a_team_that_dealt_with_with_nhi/ Archive https://web.archive.org/web/20240514184514/https://old.reddit.com/aliens/comments/1cqwpdx/i_worked_on_a_team_that_dealt_with_with_nhi/ updated archive https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cvs93o/new_paradigm_media_group_claim_that_an_uap/ hopefully unrelated
.13 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cqs35h/what_do_you_think/ photo, nighttime sky, contemporaneous report, northern lights, single light object moving fast, wavy trajectory, overhead, 5 second long exposure, Port Coquitlam - about 30 minutes outside of Vancouver Canada 🇨🇦, downvoted to zero
.14 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cr8pcu/what_did_i_catch_in_the_sky/ video, daytime cloudy sky, single light object stationary, just sat up there, duration a couple hours. And then it was gone.., vanished, Newport Oregon, near water pacific ocean, haze, disturbing the air around it, three witnesses , similar sighting in comments
.15 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cr9qj4_strange_lights_moving_back_and_forth_while/ video, nighttime sky, northern lights, Pocatello Idaho, threelights observed, flying in triangle formation, crossing directly in front
.16 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cr1clw/taken_over_a_lake_in_prince_edward_county_ontario/ video, nighttime sky, over water, lake, prince Edward County Ontario Canada 🇨🇦, twolights, appeared out of nowhere, stationary and moving slowly, descended below treeline
.17 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cqreh8/very_bright_in_the_light_polluted_sky/ video, nighttime sky, single object blackwhite, low over rooftop, rockford Illinois, contemporaneous report, possible speed change, seems to maybe decelerate a couple times., very bright observed
.18 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cr6105/possible_uap/ video, nighttime sky, single light object, possible jumpy movement, speed change, seemed to really pick up speed then slow. , during northern lights, Eau Claire Michigan
.19 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cr3ioe/capturing_the_light/ photos, nighttime sky, single light object moving, near water, lake Michigan , irregular shape, elongated, worm 🪱, haze,
.20 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1crboq1/ufo_sighting_honolulu_pt1/ video, daytime cloudy sky, fleet, at home, urban area, kakaako neighborhood of Honolulu Hawaii, contemporaneous report, one large orb and several smaller orbs all floating in a formation. , smaller objects accompany it, flying in formation, disappeared into clouds https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1crbzky/ufo_sighting_honolulu_pt2/ more video
.21 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1crbj6x/summoning_ufos/ discussion of human initiated contact
.22 https://old.reddit.com/HighStrangeness/comments/1cqu4hw/saw_two_translucent_tailed_orbs_in_the_sky/ sighting description, has anyone seen?, nighttime, contemporaneous report, northern lights, duration 10 seconds, twolights, moving fast, trail, flying in formation, see through head with a long skinny white tail that left a trail of glowy light as they moved. One of them stopped moving, turned around then waited up for the other as it trailed behind and when it caught up they kinda just disappeared., northern Washington state near Canada 🇨🇦
.23 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1crdy05/51024_sw_wa/ video, nighttime sky, northern lights, single light object moving, at home, backyard, witness followed it, electronic effects camera battery died, possible speed change, possible trajectory change, disappeared behind rooftops, southwest Washington state, similar sightings same area and day in comments, [GOODPOST]
.24 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cremtj/my_great_uncle_told_me_about_a_crash_retrieval/ sighting description, family story, crash retrieval, military, Salar de Uyuni desert Bolivia 🇧🇴 , USA military response, He described the ship to have flickering lights of several colors and saw the Americans retrieving some pieces from that ship, alongside some organic material that looked like deceased beings
.25 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1crgxgt/3_lights_in_sky/ photos, nighttime cloudy sky, threelights, during northern lights, not seen by eye, Columbia South Carolina
.26 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1crk806/orb_over_lake_while_watching_the_aurora_lights_in/ video, nighttime sky, over water, Elbow Lake Michigan, during northern lights, three witnesses, single light object, hexagon shape with a circular light in the center. https://old.reddit.com/useDry-Ant3194/comments/1crwmun/screenshots_of_orb_over_lake_2nd_photo_shadow_was/ screenshots , multicolored, haze, cloud of all the colors dancing around it., duration 2 minutes
.27 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1crkaw4/some_advice_plz/ sighting description, two witnesses, nighttime, from car, Bourbon County Kansas, single light object stationary, low over treeline, reaction to being observed, approach, flareup, light shining in car, directly in front, went from a fixed position in the trees to nearly in front of my truck while at the same time focusing what I can only describe as the brightest light I'd ever experienced at night before. , jumpy movement, missing time
.28 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1crjw5j/extremely_bright_light_flying_towards_my_plane/ sighting description, from airplane, single light object, approach, over water Atlantic Ocean, daytime cloudy sky, light shining in airplane, physical effects paralysis, As I first saw the light my first reaction was that I froze for a few seconds in confusion. , interaction with airplane, flew overhead, witness looked away and looked back, vanished, duration 10-12 seconds,
.29 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1crh1go/recreating_something_i_saw_when_i_was_young/ childhood sighting description and reference image, at home, nighttime, witness woke up, threelights, barbell shape, outside window, stationary, duration 10 minutes, audio description loud buzzing., emotion of fear, witness left the area, new Hampshire
.30 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cr8ir4/seen_in_cornwall_uk/ photo, nighttime sky, cloud anomaly, disappeared, possible single object blackwhite, possible camera artifact, not seen by eye, at home, Cornwall the UK 🇬🇧
.31 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1crusrv/seeing_strange_things_while_recording_the_arora/ video, nighttime sky, fleet observed, multiple objects, one following another, LOTS of strange glowing round things. They would appear for 20-30 seconds and float across just a small area, and then they would disappear., each duration 20-30 seconds, Chattanooga Tennessee
.32 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1crzbcg/i_need_help_to_try_to_understand_what_i_saw/ sighting description, Sao Paulo Brazil 🇧🇷, nighttime sky, single light object, blinking, stationary, duration 10-15 minutes, The light would turn off and on in a regular interval (around 13 seconds)., repeat visitor, contemporaneous report
.33 https://old.reddit.com/aliens/comments/1cr8t6q/am_i_seeing_things_round_2/ video, nighttime sky, single light object, doughnut 🍩 shaped, moving straight
.34 https://old.reddit.com/HighStrangeness/comments/1crmukh/speaking_owls/ childhood sighting description, sister of OP, at home, nighttime, outside bedroom window, entity, owl, communication, repeat visitor, family history, her eldest son (who was around 7-8 at the time) woke the house up screaming. He was terrified and shaking and she asked him what happened and he told her an owl came and spoke to him “in his head.” , telepathy, emotion of fear
.35 https://old.reddit.com/HighStrangeness/comments/1crhdyo/my_cousin_and_i_charged_a_shadow_figure_when_we/ childhood experience description, three witnesses, entity, shadow figure, combat, My cousin and I looked back at each other and my cousin just screamed at me “LETS GET HIM!”. Before I could say anything my cousin just bolts at this guy, and I ran right behind him., witness followed it, it was not running fast at all, the way it ran looked super weird, its kind of hard to explain, its limbs moved like a human, but it looked like it was running in slow motion. Its head was slightly tilted back as it was jogging, almost as if it was looking up at the sky. , looked away and looked back, vanished
.36 https://old.reddit.com/HighStrangeness/comments/1crlbtp/what_do_you_think_of_this_experience_visitation/ experience description, at home, nighttime, inside bedroom, witness woke up, audio description high frequency sound in the room, almost like when something electrical is plugged in and you can just hear it. A neon sign kind of. , approach, very loud, It stops, and I start to hear this rustling coming from behind me, I think, “What the fuck IS that??”, wtf_is_that, communication, I get a flash of a sentence through my head that doesn’t feel like a thought from me but a message from someone else: “Don’t be scared.”
.37 https://old.reddit.com/aliens/comments/1crnkz7/cool_dream_about_ufos_in_a_hanga dream description, UFO's being shown to a group of people, it was in a very large hangar, the alien body was probably about 7ft that was lying down and the craft was tiny, maybe the size of a small table., the craft would expand towards the 3 pilots to become much larger, using their minds to do this, it would then mold to their forms to enable a space to pilot it, the material was almost like a moving graphete.
.38 https://old.reddit.com/aliens/comments/1crfo0y/did_i_see_a_ufo_anyone_got_a_logical_explanation/ sighting description and reference image, circular shape, at home, nighttime cloudy sky, spinning, The patterns/shapes/geometrics that made up the circle were ones I had never seen before, The Circle was spinning non stop and it was like the outside of the circle would collapse into the centre and then it would come out again to full size, has anyone seen?
.39 https://old.reddit.com/ufo/comments/1crs234/was_trying_to_get_a_photo_of_the_northern_lights/ photo, nighttime sky, during northern lights, urban area, Glasgow Scotland the UK 🇬🇧, not seen by eye, fleet or single object multiple lights, green 🟢, hoax
.40 https://old.reddit.com/ufo/comments/1cqx075/3_lights_in_the_sky/ photo, nighttime cloudy sky, threelights, red and green 🔴🟢, low over treeline, camping, outback Australia 🇦🇺 , zigzag movements or wavy trajectory, moving from side to side going at some speed but as I took that photo they disappeared., reaction to being filmed, vanishing
.41 https://old.reddit.com/Glitch_in_the_Matrix/comments/1cs2rhi/lost_time_in_western_mass/ experience description, missing time, two witnesses, from car, the McDonalds in Hadley Massachusetts, there’s quite some fog. But that area has fog from time to time. And all the cars except for ours in the lot were gone too, automobile anomaly, old early 2000s suv pulled into the lot with zero noise. No engine sound, I didn’t noticed the light until it pulled over to my right front spot. It kinda seemed it just slide in with no friction or anything. , location anomaly, we somehow got into the lot across the street,,didn’t seem to take longer than half an hour., more than 3 hours just passed.
.42 https://old.reddit.com/astrophotography/comments/1crz21q/an_unknown_red_circles/ photo, nighttime sky, two objects, anomalous to witness, red 🔴, near water, Black Sea, 30 second long exposure
.43 reference ISS https://old.reddit.com/astrophotography/comments/1cru96d/iss/ photo, nighttime sky, international space station
.44 https://old.reddit.com/Glitch_in_the_Matrix/comments/1cro1y6/we_lost_about_4_hours_of_time_in_30_seconds/ experience description, around the Northampton - Luton area the UK 🇬🇧, from car, four witnesses, camping, went through a tunnel, 4 hours had passed in 30 seconds,
.45 https://old.reddit.com/BackwoodsCreepy/comments/1crldxd/sound_from_woods_in_pnw/ audio description, at home, outside, near water, hottub, backyard, pacific northwest, high pitched, smooth who sound. Almost like someone was singing the word “who”. But with a very elongated “ooo” noise. , brief duration 2-3 seconds, physical effects paralysis and goosebumps, repeat visitor, made two passes, has anyone seen?, similar experiences in comments
.46 https://old.reddit.com/BackwoodsCreepy/comments/1crky49/more_in_depth_story_from_northern_alaska/ experience description, northern Alaska, multiple witnesses, nighttime, at home, felt observed, In the willows stood 4-6 small people. They looked like anyone else in the village, but they wore clothes made of skins rather than newer materials brought in. Their eyes glowed and one bared its teeth. Thinking about this just freaks me out., in comments: The navy on Guam has a problem with the little people entering the navy magazine where they store a huge amount of ammo. The marine guards would see them constantly., entities
.47 https://old.reddit.com/StrangeEarth/comments/1crdvlz/petrified_and_floating_out_of_window/ experience description, at home, nighttime, witness woke up, light shining in bedroom window, physical effects paralysis, witness was pulled, I floated out of my bed and towards the bright light in the window and shortly after I have no memory., event amnesia, emotion of fear, eyes teared up, it is the most terrifying feeling I have ever experienced. I’m crying just thinking about it., similar experience in comments
.48 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cs7jje/fast_moving_ufo_seen_in_north_vancouver_051024/ video, nighttime cloudy sky, single light object moving and stationary, jumpy movement, possible trail, North Vancouver British Columbia Canada 🇨🇦, duration 14 seconds, moving erratically observed, during northern lights , OP comments downvoted
.49 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1csc0o6/ufo_spotted_on_flight_to_newark_nj/ sighting description and video, nighttime cloudy sky, from airplane, contemporaneous report, over water Atlantic Ocean, single light object stationary and moving, subsequent threelights, Another light appeared right next to it and was glowing a bit brighter. A third light appeared from the right and went towards to the other two on the left. At this point the second light that randomly appeared on the left disappeared, the other two dimmed a bit and disappeared as well after another minute., dimming, vanishing,
.50 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1css11t/odd_floating_object/ photos and video, daytime cloudy sky, contemporaneous report, single light object stationary, Bozeman Montana, duration 30 minutes, weather balloon? looks like a balloon with a nautilus style tail, white in the sun and gray with low cloud cover., weird shit, multiple witnesses
.51 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1csui87/what_is_this_object_suspended_in_air_above_poland/ video, daytime cloudy sky, single light object, elongated, trail, vertical orientation, contrails type, contemporaneous report, Szczecin Poland 🇵🇱, stationary, duration a couple minutes, low over treeline, downvoted to zero
.52 https://old.reddit.com/ufo/comments/1cs6rj4/ufo_experience/ childhood sighting description, nighttime, at home, single light object moving and stationary, emitting orbs, Travelling at a slow and smooth pace. Until suddenly it stopped in position and ten seconds later two orbs shot out (or three) and darted across the sky like bees. , emotional reaction awe and wondor
.53 https://old.reddit.com/HighStrangeness/comments/1csu1ex/saw_something_in_my_apartment/ sighting description, at home, entity, inside home, audio description chain jingling and a buzzing sound., I turn around and am immediately faced with what I'm going to describe as a gray, leaning around the corner with one three fingered hand touching the wall. It looks....insubstantial. Like it's made of smoke or fog., Southern Appalachia
.54 https://old.reddit.com/HighStrangeness/comments/1csmf1w/strange_message/ experience description, no craft, at home, nighttime, communication, "kaptia kapta kesta", has anyone seen?
.55 https://old.reddit.com/HighStrangeness/comments/1crpnrw/third_man_facto experience description, remote viewing, training
.56 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1csxiay/was_wondering_if_anyone_had_a_logical_explanation/ video, nighttime sky, single dim object, diffuse, low over rooftop, contemporaneous report, Rhondda Cynon Taff South Wales the UK 🇬🇧 , two witnesses, witness followed it, duration 30 minutes
.57 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1csyfuv/honestly_dont_know_what_to_say/ video, nighttime sky, single light object moving, blackwhite, multicolored, two witnesses, contemporaneous report, subsequent threelights flying in equilateral triangle formation, [GOODPOST], emotion of fear, witness left the area, Ireland 🇮🇪 , physical effects vibration
.58 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1csyob2/purchased_a_flir_unit_online_and_had_an_interest/ sighting, OP is not the witness, witness is a pilot, black triangle 🔺️, from airplane , removed by mods, similar sighting in comments: All Black triangle, no lights, no sound, super low and almost floating (given how slow it flew over). It must have been landing at Joint Base Lewis-McChord https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cszn08/i_purchased_a_flir_unit_online_and_had_an/ reposted , similar sightings in comments, [GOODPOST]
.59 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1ctd4qs/new_jersey_ufo/ video, daytime cloudy sky, new jersey, twolights, two dark objects, moving slowly, bird for comparison, metallic sphere observed
.60 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1ctb72t/strange_train_line_in_brazil_and_argentina/ video, from home security camera, single light object, elongated, Rio de Janeiro Brazil 🇧🇷, link to similar sightings in comments
.61 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1ct569h/unidentified_object_next_to_us_apache_helicopte photo, daytime sky, contemporaneous report, at home, helicopter for comparison, single dark object, manta shape, bird?, downvoted to zero
.62 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1ct5imq/ufo_sighting_when_i_was_a_kid_with_witnesses/ childhood sighting description, multiple witnesses, at home, nighttime, trampoline, British Columbia Canada 🇨🇦, fleet, wavy trajectory, red 🔴, Three or four maybe five red lights, orbs, circles, moving like a snake across the sky but then dissappear., vanishing, repeat visitor observed, other witnesses said it came back later.
.63 https://old.reddit.com/aliens/comments/1ct62su/help_i_think_i_saw_some_aliens/ sighting description, three entities, at home, nighttime, animal reaction dogs barking, 3 little blurry things came out of the trees and then suddenly became viewable. There was 3 aliens that were as tall as oompa loompas. They were skinny so skinny almost like walking sticks with a square shaped figure. They had binocular shaped eye ridge and they had yellow eyes that were sunken in and looked slanted., emotion of fear, witness left the area, trying to run but i fell on the ground they stared at me, and did a dance. , dancing, physical effects eyes teared up,
.64 https://old.reddit.com/ufo/comments/1csw5nx/fast_ufo_over_federal_hill/ photo, daytime sky, plane for comparison, single light object, federal hill new jersey, similar sighting with video in comments,
.65 reference Sirius https://old.reddit.com/astrophotography/comments/1ct9qvx/photographed_sirius_again_3rd_time_i_think/ photo, nighttime sky, the star Sirius, single light object
.66 https://old.reddit.com/StrangeEarth/comments/1ct3nhz/looking_for_possible_answers_on_what_this_light/ video, nighttime sky, from home security camera, single light object stationary, low below treeline, appearing and vanishing,
.67 https://old.reddit.com/astrophotography/comments/1csgkde/weird_artifact/ photo, nighttime sky, anomalous to witness, single light object moving fast
.68 https://old.reddit.com/RBI/comments/1cs74p5/what_are_these_stains_on_my_pillowcase_quarte photo of pillowcase, anomalous bloodstains, at home
.69 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1ctijey/what_is_in_our_sky/ photo, nighttime cloudy sky, cloud anomaly, contemporaneous report, These "clouds" formed and moved opposite other clouds,
.70 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1ctlrfive_literally_just_spotted_this_spherical/ video, daytime cloudy sky, contemporaneous report, single dark object, elongated, possible manta shape or metapod, disappeared into clouds, sphere observed, kent the UK 🇬🇧, 51° 16' 47.9964'' N, angled from the horizon , repeat visitors , video shows electronic effects camera glitching or jumpy movement , moving straight, dead weight just travelling farther and farther as though travelling into space. , downvoted to zero in 1 hour, OP comments downvoted
.71 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1ct5cdy/bright_orb_crossed_the_whole_sky_in_lancaster_ca/ video, nighttime sky, single light object, multicolored, orange 🟠 observed, near USAF, Edwards air force base, Southern California, three witnesses, during northern lights, very bright, completely silent and weirdly multi-colored / orange orb showed up to the far west over Lancaster and steadily moved eastward, over Edwards and disappeared over the eastern horizon.,
.72 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1ctpjk8/what_is_this_object/ video, daytime cloudy sky, single light object, diffuse, low over water, Central Finland 🇫🇮, yellowish, diffuse, moving slowly, looking around, [GOODPOST]
.73 https://old.reddit.com/HighStrangeness/comments/1ctnntx/i_just_saw_a_uap_for_the_first_time_now_what/ sighting description, daytime, contemporaneous report, fleet, circling each other, weaving, 9 white small dots all irregularly circling around each other at high speeds. The group moved from one end of the sky to the other in the space of about 5 minutes., plane for comparison observed, interaction with airplane, flew over plane, They appeared above the plane and to slow down when the plane passed., speed change, three witnesses, apathy in other witness, polarized sunglasses., possibly metallic, possible haze, urban area, Denver Colorado
.74 https://old.reddit.com/Skydentify/comments/1ctl6au/photo_from_my_hotel_room_in_denver_facing_west/ photo, nighttime sky, single light object, irregular shape, diffuse, angular, orange 🟠, contemporaneous report, no info from OP, urban area, Denver Colorado
.75 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1ctqx3k/strange_object_spotted_over_mod_base_raf/ video, nighttime sky, single light object, moving slowly and erratically, started flying around in different directions. , contemporaneous report, near air force base, the UK 🇬🇧, at home
.76 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1ctz4s640_res_thermal_uap/ video and drawing, nighttime cloudy sky, through thermal camera, repeat visitor, plane for comparison, contemporaneous report, Southern new jersey, previous sighting description single object elongated, oval-shaped, horizontal orientation, The bottom half of the oval had 3-4 circular heat signatures. It was about 2x bigger then the plane at 3:04 and maybe 2x closer. It was moving slowly., video shows single light object moving fast, moving straight observed https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cuohxo/plasma_like_uap_on_thermal_monocula same OP, different event, twolights, two witnesses, elongated, V-shaped formation, merging, nighttime cloudy sky, contemporaneous report, Blue Anchor New Jersey, OP comments downvoted, big debunker energy
.77 these were all removed, i guess https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cu67kc/the_vatican_supernatural_phenomenon_summary/ news, Vatican guidelines for supernatural events https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cu8xsc/newsnation_reporting_on_the_vatican_and_ufos/ more coverage https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cu983a/vaticans_new_classifications_of_phenomena/ categories of events https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cu67kc/the_vatican_supernatural_phenomenon_summary/ summary, guidance on how the Church should approach and discern supernatural phenomena, like visions and apparitions.
.78 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cua35x/interesting_lights_in_the_sky_near_san_jose_51424/ photos, near San Jose California, nighttime, not seen by eye, single light object moving, trail, haze, shape change, near water, Calaveras Reservoir
.79 https://old.reddit.com/RBI/comments/1cu4k43/vivid_memory_of_the_sky_exploding_help_me_figure/ childhood sighting description, two witnesses, at home, backyard, daytime, single light object, directly in front, massive ball of flames dead center in the sky. It looked like a big plane had exploded but it was very slowly still moving across the sky. , There were reds, oranges, and very bright yellows 🔴🟠🟡 coming from it, haze. And it was HUGE, like, the size of my palm but in the sky. , emotion of fear, witness left the area, audio description huge booming exploding sound, physical effects vibration, I can feel the sound wave hitting us., Southern Florida, Columbia space shuttle?
.80 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cu64ri/my_girlfriend_saw_a_ring_of_flashing_lights_in/ video, nighttime cloudy sky, fleet, circular formation, diffuse, spotlights type, low over rooftop, urban area, Kuala Lampur Malaysia 🇲🇾, downvoted to zero
.81 https://old.reddit.com/RBI/comments/1cucswq/strange_shuny_spheres_in_the_sky/ childhood sighting description, Canada 🇨🇦, daytime, multiple witnesses, fleet, blackwhite, approach, flew overhead, multiple objects grouped and floating together. They looks like perfect metal spheres about the size of beach balls. , metallic sphere, flying in formation, duration a few minutes
.82 https://old.reddit.com/signalidentification/comments/1cuay5a/144_mhz_weird_mirrored_signal/ signal anomaly, possible twolights
.83 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cue2zz/you_want_disclosure_come_to_brazil/ how-to, self disclosure, Brazil 🇧🇷
.84 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cueec7/think_i_just_had_my_first_ufo_sighting_today/ sighting description, contemporaneous report, daytime, twolights, I noticed in the sky a metal object, then I noticed one behind it, a few meters apart. silent, witness looked away and looked back, vanished, England the UK 🇬🇧, duration 3-4 minutes., cylindrical shape
.85 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cug426/can_anyone_explain_what_this_is/ video, nighttime sky, threelights, close line formation, horizontal orientation, horizontal trajectory, moving fast, low over treeline, from car, powerlines,
.86 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cuhrz9/i_took_this_video_of_ufos_in_the_night_sky_above/ video, nighttime cloudy sky, through infrared scope, near windmills, fleet, diffuse, moving fast and slowly, trajectory change, U-turn, circling, moving and stationary, spotlights type, at home, outside bedroom window, triangle formation,
.87 https://old.reddit.com/space/comments/1cuhsz7/stranger_told_me_knowing_what_is_on_top_of_saturn/ experience description, contemporaneous report, mysterious stranger, the planet Saturn, he asked me "do you know what is there?" I replied "no". He told me to look up "Saturn from the top view" and said that it's going to open my eyes and change my life.
.88 https://old.reddit.com/BackwoodsCreepy/comments/1cufrqh/encounter_with_a_black_wolf_creature_in_the/ dream description, repeat visitor, entity, Tennessee, Around the age of 12 or 13, I started having recurring dreams set in the forest, a place I frequently visited. In these dreams, I encountered a large black wolf with glowing red eyes., During my final dream involving the wolf, a woman's voice accompanied it. I recall her saying, "Do not fear the wolf." As the wolf circled me, I didn't feel fear but rather a deep sense of respect for its ancient power.
.89 https://old.reddit.com/HighStrangeness/comments/1cuf2co/my_experience_with_nhi/ experience description, had a bout of psychosis that involved/was caused by extended contact with a "non-human intelligence." Left me deeply traumatized and harmed but in a better place in my life than where I started. Don't fuck around and find out.
.90 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cui6zs/satellite_or_ufo/ video, nighttime sky, contemporaneous report, Qatar 🇶🇦, single light object moving, stars for comparison, trajectory change observed
.91 ➡️ https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cuwnbs/how_many_have_had_the_dream/ childhood dream description, at home, nighttime, eyes outside window, Puerto Rico 🇵🇷 , similar dreams in comments, entity, [GOODPOST]
.92 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cuwxug/ufo_or_is_this_just_a_plane_or_satellite/ video, nighttime sky, contemporaneous report, two witnesses, single light object moving, Gladwyne Pennsylvania near Philadelphia,
.93 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cukdcm/ufo_from_joshua_tree_national_park_522024/ video, nighttime sky, Joshua Tree National Park California, multiple witnesses, camping, single light object, plane for comparison, haze, When the cloudy aura dissipated a bit you could see had just two bright white lights from two ends of it., twolights, vanishing, possible departure upward, rocket launch? , silent
.94 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cunh7l/what_sightingevent_opened_your_mind_to_the/ discussion of sightings
.95 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cuqag5/guys_help_me_identify_this_thing_what_the_heck_is/ video, daytime cloudy sky, contemporaneous report, urban area, Los Angeles California, single dark object, elongated, worm 🪱, irregular shape, single flash, downvoted to zero, OP comments downvoted, V-shaped, shape change
.96 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cuxx9l/help_i_think_i_saw_a_ufo/ sighting description, contemporaneous report, nighttime, at home, light shining in bedroom window, single light object, approach, golden, flew over the witness home, emotion of fear, Southern Ontario Canada 🇨🇦, emotional reaction feeling shook, ongoing, I've been having a lot of strange experiences lately.
.97 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cupc7a/ufo_orb_light/ video, daytime sky, single dim object, low over treeline, disappeared behind treeline, moving slowly and fast, possible reaction to being filmed, speed change, Was floating for about 2 min before I started filming. Moved fairly quickly, disappeared behind tree line., duration two minutes, at home, backyard, possible military response helicopter , event amnesia
.98 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cut2f2/strange_sighting_in_netherlands/ sighting description, contemporaneous report, single light object moving, wavy trajectory, vanishing and reappearing or jumpy movement, two witnesses, silent, possible military response jets, After 5 minutes or saw we saw a plane fly in the same direction. Which was followed by another plane and third one which made a u-turn after a flashing light appeared in the direction the light flew in., nighttime, the Netherlands 🇳🇱
.99 https://old.reddit.com/HighStrangeness/comments/1cuvet2/second_moon_uap_in_virginia/ video, nighttime sky, single light object stationary, multicolored, low over treeline, repeat visitor, Virginia, over water, river where the Tye and James river meet, He said that it disappeared for a month or so (he stopped seeing it in the morning) and now it’s back!
.100 https://old.reddit.com/RBI/comments/1cux9gabout_45_years_ago_i_saw_a_black_figure_looking/ sighting description, entity, at home, outside window, animal reaction dog noticed it, black figure the the shape of a person's head looking through the window at me., witness looked away and looked back, vanished
.101 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cv2esis_this_a_ufo/ video, nighttime sky, hard to see, repeat visitor, Victoria British Columbia Canada 🇨🇦 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1ct988m/what_the_hell_is_this/ previous day, video, nighttime cloudy sky, single light object moving erratically, jumpy movement, trail, North Vancouver British Columbia Canada 🇨🇦
.102 https://old.reddit.com/UF0/comments/1cv0xjf/please_telll_me_what_this_is/ video, nighttime cloudy sky, urban area, threelights, triangle formation, low over rooftop, silent, there were a lot of planes going by. wayyyyyy more than usual., at home, similar sighting in comments
.103 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cv7yko/another_shitty_phone_video/ video, daytime cloudy sky, powerlines, single light object, Yucaipa California, first noticed from car, witness stopped the car and got out, reaction to being filmed, ascending, departure,
.104 https://old.reddit.com/UFOs/comments/1cv8xxb/2007_ufo_sighting_in_sf/ sighting description and reference image, family story, 1967 Albany New York state, at home, multiple witnesses, over the witness home, very large, it was huge and covered her house and part of the street., stationary and moving, sudden departure
.105 https://old.reddit.com/Glitch_in_the_Matrix/comments/1cv9qub/the_sky_went_marine_blue_and_looked_like_it_was/ sighting description, no craft, contemporaneous report, nighttime, single flash, blue 🔵, illuminating surroundings, darkness bright as day, the sky went totally bright like it was day. It had a marine blue tint to it and I could see the whole city. , brief duration 1 second, subsequent audio description huge bang sound in the distance,
.106 https://old.reddit.com/AnomalousEvidence/comments/1cv97u8/i_wanted_to_share_with_you_all_a_bit_of/ information, how to evaluate orb reports, [GOODPOST]
.107 https://old.reddit.com/UFObelievers/comments/1cv7hky/ufo_supercharged_my_powerbank_to_151_a_yea sighting, electronic effects camera battery died, but my PowerBank has been stuck at 151% since last year.

Erik listened as Morna’s footsteps gave a backing beat to the rhythmic busywork of the ship. She was pacing, her shoulders hunched, pointedly not looking over Shieldbreaker’s side, averting her eyes from the retreating silhouettes of Lady Alannys and Unwelcome Guest, and the Lute and Harp flotillas in their wake.
No matter what task they busied themselves with, the ship’s crew parted to allow Morna her passage back and forth. She stopped just in front of Erik at the stern, turned on one heel and marched back to Kiera at the bow. She probably felt cramped on the ship. Erik remembered how she had walked the walls of Lordsport on the day Sigorn was injured, her relentless pace only hitching momentarily in front of the maester’s door on each cycle.
Soon she returned to him again, both eyes on the deck, though only one saw it.
“Do you want to sit down?” he asked her as she swivelled, not particularly expecting a response.
“No,” she said, and stopped. It seemed to take some effort to look back at him. “I want to hit something,” she explained. Now that she was still, hands clenched into fists, she stood out amidst the rolling motion of the oarsmen to either side.
“Once we get cruising, we can spar, if that would help?”
Morna hesitated. “I want to break something,” she clarified.
“I don’t think I can help there.”
Morna waved a hand in a way that meant she’d get over it. When she resumed her pacing, Erik followed her to the midpoint of the ship, retrieving his fiddle from the hold. He met both his wives at the bow, and brought the instrument to his chin.
Drawing the bow across the strings, he pushed a few bars of an old and nameless tune, rising notes wishing good fortune across the waves.
Morna relaxed as the answering verses whispered back to them, leaning her scarred forehead against Kiera’s shoulder. After a few moments, she straightened, pushing her hair back from her eyes.
“I’m alright,” she insisted, flexing her hands, “I just hate when I can’t do anything.”
Neither Erik nor Kiera responded. There was no need. They understood.
Three days after the fleets separated, the winds turned on them. The tips of dark clouds on the horizon spoke of a storm that Shieldbreaker and the Fiddle flotilla were only feeling the echoes of, but it was a complete headwind all the same. Everyone aboard knew what it meant, but they groaned all the same when the nausea, the strain, the third thing began.
Erik kept his focus on the fervent activity on the deck, oarsmen keeping balance, two-men teams on the spar lines, Erik’s own hands on the rudder. Hours into the nauseating back-and forth, he found his focus drifting. He called Osfryd over to take the rudder for the upcoming portside turn.
Kiera had abandoned her perch on the bow that morning, and spent the whole day with her back against the mast, rubbing her forehead, eyes closing every time the creaking sail beam swivelled over her head.
He went to the canopy at the mast, and gently pressed a kiss to Kiera’s forehead. She looked up at him, smiling apologetically.
“The creaking makes my head ache,” she said, by way of an explanation. Erik just leaned on the mast beside her, and held her hand down by his side. They watched their other wife for a time. Morna was at the windward side of the ship as it turned, helping some of the crew scrape clinging seaweed from the hull, exposed from the waterline by Shieldbreaker’s dramatic tilt.
“She’s going to heave if she keeps going like that,” Kiera commented. Erik murmured an agreement, watching the seasick stagger that was starting to come into Morna’s movements.
“You know what she’s like,” Erik said. “You and Asha grew up sailing, she thinks she has to prove herself.”
Kiera scoffed, though there was a smile hidden in her offended scowl. “Asha barely sailed.”
Erik conceded that with a shrug. “She’s Ironborn, though.”
Kiera nodded, then squeezed her eyes shut as the ship began tilting to port, the spar over their head groaning as it scraped against the mast. She had always been Erik’s softest wife. Even as the shipborne bastard of a Tyroshi merchant, her youth had been filled with more comforts than a wildling huntress or daughter of a tiny Ironborn house were ever afforded.
The deck shifted beneath them, and the hull-scrapers abandoned their posts to move to the other side. Morna passed through the cabin, teeth bared even more than her scars usually made them as she tried to breathe through the nausea.
“Fuck this,” she said conversationally, and accepted Kiera’s kiss to her scarred cheek.
“You don’t need to work yourself to the point of illness, darling,” Erik said, but she shrugged the comment off like he knew she would.
“You can help any time,” she pointed out, not unfairly.
“I’ll be over in a moment.”
Kiera shook her head. “Iemnȳ ēdrulio glaesas, dōnītsosi. I read charts and look pretty. You strong people can do the actual work.”
The storm’s wake had passed by the next day, and Erik allowed his exhausted crew a morning’s rest. The bed of sand and the cookfire were back out on the stern, Theomore frying fillets he had cut from the fish other men had pulled from the sea in the days before.
As lord and captain, Erik had the benefit of first serving, sitting with his wives under the canopy at the ship’s centre, a well-done piece of cod speared on the knife that had avenged his father.
“You’re still a kneeler, as much as the rest of them,” Morna was saying, waving a fishbone insistently. Kiera’s lips twitched into a smile at the familiar argument.
“Look, the Archon is chosen-”
“By the people with gold,” Morna interrupted.
“Yes, but you told me the Kings-Beyond-The-Wall were chosen by clan chiefs-”
“That’s not the same.”
“I’m still not sure I’m a kneeler,” Erik interjected, smiling at how Morna's face twisted into mock outrage.
“Lord Botley, I do love you, but you’re the most kneelerish person I can put up with. We’d be up raiding Bear Island, or whatsitcalled, the lion city, Lannister-port or something, if you weren’t a kneeler.”
“Those people never did anything to us,” Erik tried.
Morna pointed, catching the error. “And what did this Volantis do to us?”
“Enslaved my mother,” Kiera pointed out. Morna eyed her, making sure her wife was still in the mood for play, before she pressed on.
“Fine, what did we do, then? Why raid the Frozen Shore?”
“Well you did-” Erik caught himself before he said “raid the North.” Morna eyed him, teasing curiosity raising her mismatched eyebrows.
“You got me,” he smiled, taking another bite of cod. “I only go raiding where I can find beautiful women.”
Morna grinned at the flattery and opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off by Kiera tutting in mock-outrage.
“I’m sorry, dōnītsos, but why are we stopping peacefully in Tyrosh, in that case?”
“I’ve met your father,” Erik reasoned. “Your looks come from your mother’s homeland.”
That broke the momentum of the debate as Morna barked a laugh and Kiera tried to hold one in, pinching the bridge of her nose. Erik chuckled, and managed not to flinch when the sailor called for him.
“Milord!”
Erik turned. Osfryd, leaning against the prow, hair flickering in the wind, pointed over his shoulder to the horizon before them all.
“Ship rising!” he called, by way of explanation.
Kiera was on her feet first, stepping lightly between the myriad of chatting crewmembers that Erik was surprised to see surrounding him and his wives. She reached the bow and climbed it deftly, hooking a foot in the lantern-ring as she often did. Erik and Morna followed more slowly.
“Merchant, by the shape,” Kiera said as they approached. Erik followed her gaze to the tall, barrel-hulled carrack coming over the horizon, half-silhouetted by the low morning sun. He could just make out a pennant fluttering at the tip of the tallest mast.
“Can you make out the flag?” Erik asked.
Kiera took a moment before answering, “Myrish, I think. They’re keeping dead on. You’d think they’d try to get around us, no?”
“Quicker to go through, I suppose,” Erik suggested. “Plus, they’re likely unsure how wide a fleet we have, or if we even want to attack.”
“Do we want to attack?” Morna asked.
The question drew the attention of several crewmembers, who quickly turned to listen to Erik’s answer.
Playing for time, Erik looked out at the ship again. The thought of battle made his blood tingle, but he was wary. Shallow-drafted longships like theirs were ideal for a shoreline assault, but much less suited for warfare at sea. There was a reason that the Royal Fleet consisted of dromonds and other tall ships. Attack even one Myrish trader and dozens would sink to the Drowned God’s halls. Pointless, unless there was some real reason to take that risk.
“Slavers?” Erik asked.
Kiera shook her head. “They’re heading to Dorne or the Stormlands, they know they can’t sell them there.”
“Then no.” Some men around him looked disappointed, others relieved. Erik reckoned he could guess how long each man had been sailing by that reaction.
“We’ll save our strength for a greater bounty, further East,” Erik said, his voice shifting to a commanding baritone. “To oars, men! Give them space to pass! I’ll not have them loose arrows on us for some misunderstanding.”
The knot of listeners loosened and fell away, dipping oars to water and pushing Shieldbreaker further out of the Myrish vessel’s path. The ship loomed as it came closer, and Erik saw men with crossbows take positions on the upper gunwale. A blue-haired, green-bearded man, the captain by his stance, stood at the prow and looked out at the passing fleet with suspicious eyes.
Kiera cupped her hands around her mouth and called, her voice clear and carrying as a flute, “Jemī ōdrikagon indī daor!”
We mean you no harm. It was one of the few phrases Kiera had insisted Erik learn. It got the captain’s attention, his eyes flicking across the ship until he found the speaker.
“Jaehor ojehiknon irughas!” he responded, his stance softening. The crossbowmen followed his lead. Not all of them lowered their weapons, but enough did that Erik relaxed. The captain followed with a sentence that included skoriot – where? Asking where they were from.
Erik saw Kiera give her best smile, and she gestured to the fish-covered green pennant on Shieldbreaker’s mast. “Āegenka Āja. Mȳro iksāt, kessa?”
The captain seemed to hesitate a little at her response, though Erik would have assumed that their hailing from the Iron Islands – for he recognised Āegenka Āja – was obvious from their ships. Their vessels were almost level now, and Erik could now read the curiosity in the man’s smile. He finally called, “Hen mirto Āegenka Ājor, Valyrīhos sȳrī ȳdrā!”
Kiera’s smile faltered at that, but seemed to renew with some quiet pride. “Īlōnda quptyri issa daor!”
The captain barked a laugh, and the reaction was echoed by a few chuckles among the crossbowmen. Erik couldn’t understand the joke, but laughed along anyway. Kiera leaned over to her husband.
“They are from Myr,” she confirmed. “I don’t think they’re interested in a fight.”
“Good,” Erik said. “Ask where they’re going.”
Kiera returned her attention to the passing ship. “Skoriot īlāt?” she called.
The captain pointed westward, presumably indicating his destination.
“Jelmāzmari Mōrio!”
Erik recognized the name of Storm’s End, but the rest of the man’s sentence was lost in a flurry of unfamiliar syllables. The captain rubbed thumb and forefinger together, so he gathered that he was speaking of trade with the Stormlanders.
The ship was passing them now, Shieldbreaker swaying as it was buffeted in its wake.
“Biarver aōt!” Kiera called. The man’s response was lost in the wind, but his smile told Erik that it had been some kind farewell. He watched the retreating galley with contentment. It was always good to meet a kindred spirit on the high seas.
The cawing of seagulls was the first sign they were approaching land. Always a light sleeper, Erik’s eyes shot open at the sound. Morna’s arm was still draped over his chest, her eyes closed and shallow breaths peaceful with sleep. Erik was careful as he wriggled out from beneath her, stood and stepped over her and Kiera, who had her face pressed into the nape of Morna’s neck.
Most of the rest of the crew were asleep as well, wrapped in thin blankets between the rowing benches. Three men were talking quietly to one another in the shadows to starboard, while six others played cards in the light of the new bow lantern. Back at the stern, Erik found Mathos posted at the rudder.
“Milord,” Mathos said, by way of greeting. He kept his voice low, and Erik followed suit.
“Mathos. No trouble in the night?”
“None, milord. Wind was steady, we’re dead on for the Bloodstone strait. Mind you, those smoke trails have me wondering, milord.”
Erik’s eyebrows asked his question for him, and Mathos just pointed past him, out towards the bow and the sea and the deep, dark shape of the island on the horizon, blocking the spill of starlight beyond it. Then, as his eyes adjusted to the sight, he saw them – thin, curling lines of smoke rising over the island. Five of them, tightly packed together, shining silver in the light.
Erik shrugged. They disquieted him, as well, but he voiced the most obvious objection to his worry all the same. “Bloodstone isn’t entirely uninhabited. It’s probably just a fishing village.”
Mathos gave a sort of half shrug. He obviously didn’t want to contradict his captain, but he pressed on anyway.
“Perhaps, milord, but who’s staying up to tend the fires this late? Sunrise is barely an hour away, by my reckoning. I can’t think of many reasons folk’d’ve fires kept so late.”
“Watchtowers?”
“It’s just a guess milord, but aye. What’re they keeping watch for, I wonder?”
Erik kept his eyes on the smoke, though his attention was focused inward. There was some fear there, and a hesitant surprise. Excitement boiled in his chest, but it had a core that Erik took a moment to identify. Satisfaction. Here was proof that he would not return to Lordsport unsated, that he would find more of what he sought most, as he had found first in Starfall.
The unexpected.

Hey KB,
Do you ever find yourself looking out the window at a familiar yet unrecognizable world, like you're not sure whose eyes you are seeing it through? Do the smells of summer ever wash away those hours past noon and blot out the crescendo of time, as if the clouds had swam past and scoffed at the contours of their own shadows?
It's strange, on warm sunny days like this where the wind is muffled by my reminiscence of our days gone by, the blue of the skies is tethered to a reflection of your smile that's barely tangible in memory and it's as if the lens I see the world through is whetted by the dichotomy of past and present.
It's as if we reconcile the mistakes of our past in our own meaningless ways and continue bearing scars that refuse to heal so that whenever we look through the pond of forgetfulness we wonder how it is these spots in our hearts still ache.
When we chat as we still do and carry on this thin façade of nonchalance, I wish you well and hope you are as happy as I am not, but when you recall our end I selfishly find solace in the bitterness of your words as an indication of the tangential wake of our separation--as if the measure of your ordeal betrays the weight of my presence on your mind.
I wish I could just crest this wall of unspoken thoughts between us and ask if you ever miss us like I do, if you ever think of me before you go to sleep and wish I were there instead of in my own bed. I wish I could ask if you ever make up stories in your head of where we'd be now if we never went our separate ways and if you ever imagine the adventures and tales we would tell our grandchildren.
I wonder, in the deepest shadows of my contrition, if you ever secretly pine for the intimacy we had, if you ever wish for another journey down the untrodden paths of time--one that wouldn't end so abruptly. I wonder if I had never shifted my gaze from those dark comforting hues swirling in your eyes, if I had insisted against your will and not given up the fruit of my pursuit, would we now be in a happily-ever-after? Would I not be lost in this vast ocean of uncertainty swimming against the currents of the past and caught in a bottomless churn of vacillation between neither here nor there?
I wonder if the gravity of Jupiter would be enough to pull you back to me or at least coerce a dream or two of our past love--or, I wonder, if that too would succumb to the momentum of our ricocheted trajectories.
There is so much I would like to tell you, all the words caught in the bottom of empty bottles and the moments lost without your witness--the undulating joys and self-inflicted miseries caught in the folds of our remembered love. I wonder how things would be different had I seen through the rough waters ahead and could bear a better future that kept you by my side. But with each inhale I breathed of us, it was as if I could taste the brevity of our time and simply painted a mural with the audacity that we spent it with, as if I was merely crashing in slow-motion and falling through an ephemeral dream of you. You were a flame so bright upon my canvas that I am still cast in your shadows, enshrouded by this souvenir of recollection I never asked for. My memory insists we aren't meant to be past-tense and that it was only yesterday I could feel the weight of your hand in mine, that the present is but an unscripted interlude, and yet here we are years grown apart and as distant as newly met strangers.
In hindsight, we burned for the moon and stretched for the stars but abandoned the fortitude to appreciate one another in fullness. Our destinations managed to diverge on a one way street, forkless yet fractured, and now despite these long years I've spent inching further away from you in our aftermath, I'm still haunted by the absent chance to do it better a second time, to drink every last drop of your smile and soak in the warmth of your skin against mine. Some part of me still foolishly preserves a tract of my heart for the infinitesimal chance of you in my forecast, hoarding opportunities and future narratives so that I may have another chance to spin their webs with you. I know how inexplicably silly it is to still be clutching on to this shred of unreasonable hope for our reunion in this lifetime, to interlock fingers once again and share a glass of wine overlooking the sunset in foreign lands. I wish I could travel back in time, trade every ounce of forward momentum for a hiatus with you in this misguided sentimental vice, this emotional blunder of a lesson I still haven't realized. It feels as if I am constantly falling backwards, stumbling upon my own footsteps and plummeting into memories that have long forgotten themselves and hang on to existence only by a single thread leading back to my heart. It is as if I am shackled to our yesterdays and am drowning in the dark skies above, willfully blind to a future without a prospect of you.
Perhaps one day I will be able to translate the weight of these half cocked years into a new journey. Perhaps one day in another timeline we'll be given another chance to endure the impermanence of our union, and maybe one day beyond the drift of time and our departures from ourselves, you will come to know the fragility of each passing lifetime against your impression on me.
I recognize that what feels so heavy and cumbersome now is just a flicker of life, a symptom of having lived a collection of events between two people, and my emotions are simply in the process of washing away with the gentle waning of the stars. Somewhere in those moments you shared with me must live a remotely tangible lesson buried in transience, shy to my presence and begging for attention. Is this the essence of having lived or is it merely a mischievous blight on the botanicals of my folly?
To think that seven years is but a speck in the immortality of time, it seems more forgivable that I still wish to sink back into your arms whenever I close my eyes. How many more years will be enough to forget your presence in my heart, to forget the feeling of home in your embrace? Are these remnant feelings not to be measured by the cadence of days but by pure tension on the soul?
How much longer must I think of you almost every day and agonize over the fabric of this former love? How many more oscillations of the sun will it take to erode my lingering attachment--these emotional fetters bridling my promise of the future? It should have all faded with each passing second, blown away like dust carried on astral winds. These feelings should have perished along with the shards of us scintillating into the catastrophe of time.
I wonder if your dreams are quiet at night, if our embers have long been extinguished in your slumber? I wonder if you ever cry when you think of how I could have let go of you, or if those tears have since evaporated along with your thoughts of me. I wonder what your days are like, if you are happier without me now, and if you would trade anything to think of me more or less.
I wonder how often you remember me still and if the splash I made in your waters was as staggering as yours in mine--if I still wash upon your shores like your tidal swells that continue shaping my sands.
I want to know if you ever see me in his eyes, or if any part of him reminds you of me and makes you love him a little more. I wonder if you'll ever chase my shadows in waking dreams like I continue to chase yours even after all these years and for years to come. Will your future have forgotten my name or will you still remember the sound of my voice?
Is a piece of me forever lost in you or just lost forever?
I wonder if I should have given you that ring.

--⧼ BEGIN Broadcast Message ⧽--
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Priority Level: Urgent
:: From ::
Center Arm of the Emperor, Planet Laran
:: To ::
All Survivors of Fellow Royal Cast Broods
:: Message ::
The Emperor has graciously permitted the use of his Excellency's summer home on Planet Laran, located in the Empire's Center Arm, as a temporary refuge during the unprecedented violent Terran offences against His Holiness and the holiness of the Omni-brood of Ix.
:: Attachments ::
Coordinates and Flight Key
:: Royal Cryptographic Signature ::
Lord La'Ix, The Emperor's Right-Center Arm
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
--⧼ END Broadcast Message ⧽--

earlier

"CURSE THEM! The great houses are going to have my bloody head for this! There is no way this should've happened and under my command too! The Golden Emperor's own exotic holiday world has gone to ash and the only one to blame is going to be me. Well it was basically my watch anyways. Curse. Them. All"
Those were the only legible sounds one could hear among the frantic stamping of one particular Ixian lord as he hurried away through the underbrush of the royal reserve just outside the centre palace. The same Ixian lord that, only hours earlier, was delighting in his typical cooked boar while enjoying his evening's entertainment of a young Terran girl running for her life from a loose Laran tiger. Something about the way those bipeds run always makes him laugh. Some similarly caste Ixian would call this form of entertainment childish, lowbrow, and immature. He would tend to agree. But sometimes he just wanted cheap slapstick humour. The day to day life of the royal caste tends to get dull with all the fine arts an Ixian of his caste is meant to enjoy.
"How did it all go to shit!?! I was always attentive, and there hasn't been an uprising since those terrans were tamed for the palace. I mean we mostly neuter the problematic ones anyways, so why all the sudden aggression?", he shouted in agitation at the emptiness in front of him.
Speeding through the royal garden which in actuality is a repurposed Savannah of the island the palace is on. The Ixian was a beast of speed. Perfectly honed and trained over decades, and genetically maintained over eons, he always proudly held that he was the fasted in his brood of 16. Making a name for himself among the other broodkin for being the most genetically suited for the rank of high general (not that there was any need for generals, there hasn't been need for war in so long). Of course the Ixians always pride themselves in having no excess potential, and adapting your environment to suit your biology, but it never hurts to have perfect biology. That's the true pride of an Ixian.
That innate need to change the universe rather than changing themselves is what led to their vast interstellar empire. One that reached from constellation to constellation and then eventually to the arms of entire galaxies, terraforming worlds to the same environment they were already adapted to. Since forcing nature into one's bidding was the most sacred duty of any that shared a lick of Ix biology.
Which was why the Ix was confident in themselves. This Ixian in particular surely felt surprised, but mainly he was only moderately upset at the sudden change of situation, from being comfortable in the royal dining hall to sudden exercise.
"Everything can be changed back. Everything can be changed back." It repeated the mantra to itself. As it began to relax and turn its snarled sharp mouth into a toothy grin.
"Yes, there is nothing to worry about at all. Then let's make a game plan. Just need to make it to the space port at the harbour. Grab a ride out and find someone else to take the fall. That old royal butler is as ancient as the dirt of the broodworld. Hell, he probably was there when it vanished in the shadow of the holy empire's long past." chuckling to himself at the quite witty remark, but saddened that no one else was there to hear it.
Should be realistic enough for the others to believe. But first things first, I need to reach the harbour-master. It thought while its dense muscles powered the beastly lizard-like form on its journey, as it bound in the direction of its destination at top speed on all fours.
The blood red sun was already kissing the horizon by the time the Ixian went to nearly collapse under exhaustion of the extended sprint. He hasn't ran this far and fast than when he a young broodling that won competitions and competitions in the royal sports. I think I might have overdid it. He thought while massaging the oncoming threat of a sneaky cramp in his hind leg.
The Ixian were well known for speed. But their stamina was another thing. There bodies simply didn't have the evolved features for long distance travel. There was never truly any need in the past, as their very steady and controlled climate and sparsely diverse ecosystem on Ix never truly required much challenge.
It turned its panting head to face the way it came, gazing proudly at the great distance it made in such a short while.
But something was off by that view. Something different to what he was expecting. The view itself was mostly fine. Well, as fine as a smoking mark in the distance, presumably from the summer palace being engulfed in flame and spitting great plumes of black smoke. But no, something about this view chilled him to this spine. Craning his neck from his vantage point he could swear there was a small speck in the distance.
What on great Ix is that?
All of a sudden realisation hit like a rock on a peaceful pond. Something was following him. Something unknown and cold was making its way to his location. He was certain it wasn't any of his guards, all guards permitted to serve under the royal summer home were Ixian of course. Physically bred for their strength and speed, and placed into roles of importance like protecting the higher caste such as himself. (Whereas this day being the only exception). It did look like he was the only Ixian that actually made it out of the palace so far. Ixians are able to cover short distances in phenomenal speed, akin to a scaly 4 legged beast of the hunt.
No this was something else.
Feeling a very small panic build up inside, but veiling that cold, unwanted terror as impatience at how far he still needs to travel yet. Lord La'Ix flexed his anterior legs and sped on leaving behind a red-yellow cloud of dust in his wake.
He frowned. Feeling strange at a never before felt sensation. Like something in the back of his perfectly designed brain was screaming a silent, but terrifyingly familiar warning.
"Ix itself is an ancient world. Temperate in climate, while abundant in vegetation and small game. It is unknown how the Ixian was formed on paradise.
The old priest can drum into your heads that I'Ix made us into being by indenting his form in the sand of the first beach and filling the shape with his life. Moulding us into being.
The heretic would counter and say we evolved from a previous species akin to ourselves over the course of untold lengths of time.
The philosopher would suggest that only on paradise would the sentient universe fill in the space for the perfect beings to enjoy the fruits of existence.
Lastly, even the lowest caste Ixian would point and laugh at the rest and say 'why talk about antiquity, when we can make more paradise to fill the heavens'."
-A popular Ixian parable
Lord La'Ix bolted up all of a sudden from his resting spot. Heart suddenly beating frantically. The stars had barely enough time to shift positions when last rested his weary body, only a couple hours must have passed since dusk fell and the world plunged into night.
The silence of the Savannah made sound from afar travel better. Aside from the quiet rustling of the wind he wasn't so sure what he heard. Assuming his bored ears were playing tricks on him.
Calming down, curling up on the flat cool rock he found he started to drift to the shadowless lands where all Ixian go when they dream...
Drums, no, not drums. Some sort of mechanical tool? Not that I ever heard of a tool that just beat the ground senseless. A strange beating sound could be heard, pounding into the ground. As he stayed frozen and very awake, he could have sworn it was getting louder. Closer.
CRACK. SNAP. CRACK.
Suddenly the entire valley echoed the sounds of a few broken sticks.
La'Ix jumped up, whirling around, and came to face something approaching fast that could only be described as a cold predator, not that there were any predators on the homeworld's recorded history. But every cell in his aching body reacted the same. DANGER, DANGER, RUN, RUN.
The silver light of the planet's 3 moons barely lit the valley but what that light bounced off of was a figure in motion. Front Legs pumping up and down, nostrils flaring, eyes too close together, and pupils so large it was like staring at darkness itself.
Hold on there are only 2 legs right? Sudden familiarity hit him hard, memories of last night's entertainment stained his mind. In the name of Ix is that a Terran?!?
La'Ix didn't realise it then, but it was looking at a Terran, despite the Terrans characteristics looking different to the standard slave he was used to seeing. The pumping body of the runner was made for such long distances. Sweat acting as a cooling mechanism, making the man glisten in the harsh moonlight, the enlarged nostrils taking in all the air the body needs for this type of strenuous activity. And the enlarged pupils, made for adjusting to low light environments.
Down on the plains of the Savannah were two creatures. One a perfect evolutionary miracle, practically evolution's first try gone right, Perfectly made for its environment and was never truly exposed to varying climates and environments. And the other, having crawled through the primordial ooze, and struggled and fought its way through dangers, diseases, and competition on its own horrifying world. Where deadly heat in deserts can dry out any living thing, and such freezing poles that can turn anything that enters it in pure ice.
The man's lean and sweat-slicken form was steadily making its way towards the frozen statue of La'Ix. Just as he got within 50 paces did La'Ix sprint away scattering pebbles in its path the echoes of which bounced back from the valley's sharp walls. Undeterred, the chaser kept steadily running. Jaws grit. Eyes locked on afar.
And afar was its prey. Sprinting away.
HOW IN IX'S NAME DID THAT THING KNOW WHERE I AM? The La'Ix in a fit of sudden excitement mixed with a heavy dose of panic, began its high octane sprint from the sudden looming threat of being found. Hind Legs propelling the creature's body forward, while its front arms, which were historically also for four legged locomotion, pulled the terrain closer with each stride. Increasing its momentum until it reached max speed.
"Broodling La'Ix!" said a stern but educated voice.
"Huh? Oh! Yessir!" a young Ix jumped to attention still thinking about more enjoyable things specifically outside of the classroom walls.
"Well? Can you please answer my question or will you make your other broodkin wait until Ix falls to ash first", the tutor said expectantly, prompting several muffles giggles in the room.
"Sorry sir. What makes the Ixian race its place in eternity is the attention we put in perfection. After our home-world of Ix's climate and terrain began to change, the leaders from antiquity decreed we carry on the spirit of the home-world in maintaining a consistent biological and genetic profile that will always be suited to Ix's surface. As we change worlds to be more like Ix, we can spread the spirit of Ix to them. As such, Change is- uh, change is..."
"Change is the poison of perfection, Remaining unchanged for Ix enable us to carry its spirit to other planets in the heavens", continued the tutor. "Well you certainly paid some attention to today's lesson at the very least. But remember that final part. It's the last of the core tenants you will need to remember."
"Yessir!"
A good half night passed on the surface of the Savanna. Where a previously noble and alert Ixian who took great care in appearances and status was no longer to be seen. Instead of that proud domineering alien representative of ix was a dishevelled, dusty, ragged creature, dehydrated, hungry, and exhausted from the various sprints it forced itself to endure to stay ahead of fate's ever closing hand.
Is this the sword of Damocles that was mentioned in the ancient Terran records? Always hanging down on those who hold power and seek more? Fate's sharp blade? But why me? I was never in any real power. All I wanted out of this life was a comfortable posting with no dirt and grime from the lower worlds. Why me? Why now? Why do I-
La'Ix snapped himself out of a daze. Is he here- No, no I should be far far away from that Terran now. Maybe I can find some-
A dim glow interrupted its train of thought. Much too early to be the Sunrise on the Emperor's summer planet, and much to low to be the light from one of it's 2 moons. It was a light from a town.
"That's right!" The Ixian barely managed to rasp in between haggard breaths. Its body barely able to continue the amount of self inflicted abuse it has suddenly been put in.
A lot more hunched over than the Ixian was earlier. It made its way towards a small town it knew was in between the palace and the harbour. The emperor loved his royal rustic towns and villages. It is said that his royal emperor would sometimes tour around them marvelling at the romantic theme of a simple rustic life. Although getting a personal town full of Ixians required a lot of lower caste be forced into long and expensive work contracts as background entertainers for the king's planet, all this excessive show of wealth was partially for peackocking the emperor's reputation, and partially for his own personal enjoyment. The Emperor is almost culturally required to flaunt his royal wealth in all forms in order to keep connections with all the royal houses. An emperor that doesn't shower their supporting aides and houses with grand gifts is fated to eventually be found cold on the floor of the royal banquet due to 'suicide from accidentally ingesting poison', as was the previous emperor.
To avoid such an unfortunate passing, the Higher Royals would trade vast resources, delicacies, and even exotic slaves to court 'royal favours'. Slaves of the Terran variety especially are considered to be the most unique of gifts the empire has ever acquired.
Terrans weren't necessarily large and bulky. Fighters were assigned to the Slave Obniraks. Powerful creatures used to fill the fields on tougher worlds where mechanical services would be deemed to expensive. The growth of a Obnirak into full working adulthood is only a few cycles. Meaning mass producing a workforce is quite an easy feat.
Terrans instead would take vast cycles to mature from a childling to an average adult. Meaning growing a slave force would take vast quantities of resources, immense patience, and strict guidance from their owners as to not create faulty creatures. All of which increases the general standing on any house that manages to keep a vast amount of Terran slaves in the best quality.
Terrans weren't necessarily docile and obedient. That role was perhaps given to the oldest slave race the Ix ever controlled. The Iralisa. It was known that they were made remarkably docile due to generations upon generations of select breeding, and pruning off the 'aggressive traits' from the gene pool. However, that led to the adverse effect of physically weakening them to a point where such docility and lack of a frame to keep up with their workload led to a general lack of Ixian interest and were subsequently purified.
Terrans are notoriously independent and herd-minded in larger quantities. Similar to growing a very stubborn Terulian Rose Vine. Which only looks impressive when great care have been given. Terrans need to be given an illusion of being ever so slightly free. Which typically involves owning vast amounts of land and nature to let them roam and graze. Of course, the only ones that can accommodate grand work forces of Terrans are the larger houses with the appropriate territory for humans, as is studied in the Ixian art of Servitude.
One can only guess which species is the Emperor's favourite.
The following town should indeed have both, low caste Ixians, and possibly none of the Emperor's favourite slaves.
The Ixian approached the glowing town. As it reached closer it straightened its back, upright on its hindlegs in the royal fashion. And proclaimed. "It is I! La'Ix, royal courtier. Lend me aid imme-"
Something is off. Not a single shadow in the town, I can see lights but no movement, where is every-
After turning the corner to the center of the small town, the dustied and weary creature froze in its tracks when it saw it. A pit nearly as wide as an Ixian land cruiser and who knows how deep filled with a stench so powerful it watered his eyes. Despite the Ixian's lack of a proper sense of smell. It knew the foul fetor of death.
The crudely dug pit was nearly overflowing when he approached it. Large, smoking, smouldering pyres cast that eerie light that had drawn him in.
"H-how? Wha-What the..." he trailed off when a local species of Laran boar growled and squealed as it tore a dead Ixian limb from the mountain of corpses.
"Who could've..."
He stopped. The shock of seeing his own kind laid like broken dolls in a bleeding pit slowly faded, replaced by a numbness. The Ixian had just noticed they were of Ix. Only of Ix.
Not a single terran colour was visible in the black and spotted pit of bodies. Not a single slave body was visible.
I-Impossible...
His legs gave way, either from the strain of the entire nights run, the horror facing him, or the threat from behind. He just dropped.
Minutes passed, or hours. It was hard to tell. But the Ixian lay slumped. Body unwilling to move further. Battered flesh unwilling to be propelled by a shattered spirit.
Mind slowly spinning up again. Thoughts began whirring to life in its mind. Could the rumours actually have been true? It had read the sparse reports of odd activity from certain Ixian-controlled worlds on the outer arms of the empire. Small uprisings of unknown origin. Hardly anything of note. If it had no affect on the greater houses then it was of no real concern to Ix and its emperor.
Could this threat have made its way to the centre arm already? Impossible. But what else could have done this to us?
Something caught the Ixian's eyes. In the middle of the pit it stood. A large stake, wet with deep Ixian crimson, dripping ever so slowly. Towering over the pit like a battlefield flag was a head of an Ixian rammed onto the tip of the spike. But the particular detail that caught the Ixian's eyes was a symbol cut into the flesh of the large forehead.
Looking from the outward-in. Eight concentric rings, which proceeded to get smaller and smaller in size until it reached a dark mass at the centre of the symbol. The Ixian never forgot the symbol and the affect it had on it.
Eight concentric rings, and a centre mass. Eight rings, and a mass. Eight- Eight what? Eight planets? And a star? ...
A growing pool of cold dread rose in its guts that made it shiver despite the fair night. This dread reflected the sharp reality on its frigid surface.
This Ixian was well-bred, well-trained, and well-educated. Although anyone with a basic education would know of such a pattern.
Terra and her sisters. THEIR star system...
Thump, thump, thump, thump.
It's not possible!-
Knowing what that sound meant, the Ixian tried to whirl around, its body barely being able to heed its masters commands. Just when it was starting to move again it felt it.
Sudden sharp agony. Sudden sharp, raging agony. The Ixian looked at it's hind leg. A sharpened wooden stake was jutting out of it.
It loud out a tight lipped scream, as it grasped the pulsating wound as one does immediately after an injury. It barely had enough time to look up at its attacker when the Terran bolted forward, shortening the distance between hunter and prey from metres to mere paces. The Ixian barely had enough time to block the hand grasping the knife as the arm flew forward at the last minute with a crash.
What phenomenal force!
Using the momentum from that sprint plus the wind up of his arm. The Terran was able to impart a phenomal show of force for a creature its size. That's when La'Ix for the first time saw a human in its raw unchanged form. Great beads of sweat collecting dust on its brow, to prevent it from entering the eyes. The constant release of sweat from the countless pores on its soft fleshy skin. Constant cooling? Even the visible veins and capillaries visible from the fire light.
What a beast of endurance-
Suddenly the horizon fell before the Ixian only to reveal the inky black sky dotted with pigments from stars like a painters masterpiece. When did I look up? Then a crash and blunt force from the ground.
The Ixian had been toppled over by that ferocious exchange of force.
Barely able to get up due to the wind being knocked out of its single large lung, the searing pain in its hind leg, and the exhaustion from the chase. It was too late. The terran was already on top of it. Taking up the entire view of the sky as the terran stepped forward into its field of vision.
The sudden perspective change made a once small and frail looking slave look grander than life, grander than all the legends told to Ixian broodlings.
The punches rained down. Repeatedly. A constant bombardment of beating rained like the drops of rain before the first dew. The previous pain in its leg forgotten, to invite a new visitor in the form of blunt force trauma. So ferocious were the raw blows to its carapace that the Ixian felt the exoskeleton crack under the increasing pressure and strain.
Something cracked, another thing snapped. The amount of pain too much to comprehend. The neurons firing in its second brain just assumed it was everywhere. Its half-working eye glimpsed the fist as it came down for the nth time. Red and split knuckles, revealing pure white bone beneath—a reinforced weapon. The perfect natural offence. All the muscles moved to propel it downwards where something else cracked and split.
Is this where I die?
As if understanding its fate the Ixian's form slumped over. Its body barely holding onto the natural exoskeleton shielding that covered its chest and facial area. Fluids leaking from the cracks that went too deep, and who knows how many internal ribs are shattered.
Its body, knowing that that more movement will cause more injuries, and further stimuli would confuse it further. It simply shut down.
The last moments it had as it fell backwards on its side. Was a small running figure. Hand clutching wooden spears. But the truly petrifying sight was behind it. A vast shadow flickering from the light of the lit pyres from the hunter in front of it. A shadow cast so large, jagged, and menacing it appeared to swallow the town whole.
And into a hole did the Ixian fall. A vacuum with no sensation or thought. Just darkness.
How... did we never notice such a... monster... in their... shadow...
All Ixians were taught about 'violence' and 'conflict' at an early age. As a sort of rite of passage that any of them would go through as they survive their early broodling days. As Ix have no natural predators, they had begun to instil a serving of some necessary conflict to keep their generations fresh and somewhat physically strong. As a precaution, only rudimentary forms of civil sports, races, shows of strength and courage were ever really explored. But always in a controlled and calm settings, as there would never be any true need for actual conflict.
As there was always a need to maintain ones own environment. The need never arose for the development of fighting techniques and schools of training. That was one of the best parts of being an Ix that many thought. Having supreme control over the worlds you inhabit means setting gravity, atmospheric pressure, humidity, and temperatures to the perfect levels for comfort replaced any need for biological change. Why grow when you can keep everything the same way, how you like it.
They were a vast empire. An empire of statues.
-Excerpt from the history of extra-solarian species, Author unknown
It awoke to a burning radiating heat from in front. The large sun was already starting to set on the horizon when it awoke. Had a whole day passed? Or two?
Trying to block the setting sun from its eyes it couldn't. "What?...", barely made out in a whisper.
I'm tied up.
And indeed the Ixian was right. Tied up next to a small brook, with a scorching fire in front of it. The monster nowhere to be seen.
"No good... it's too tight", it grunted in an attempt to escape its bindings.
Going slack in defeat it avoided any additional movement. Not having the energy to spare to move. It was lucky to have always been lazy at shedding its carapace - a frequent nag from its broodmother - might just have become its salvation in this case.
Thank Ix.
So there it stayed.
Hours passed. The Sun fully set and the stars awake in this dark world barely lit up the wildlands. Only the prisoner in this cone of firelight existed out here.
A rustling up ahead caught the prisoner's attention disturbing the eerily still silence of the Savannah night. And ungodly horror of a squeal ruptured the air invoking a deep visceral terror within the bound prisoner. Something. Something close but just outside the firelight was eyeing it, glinting from beyond the light. Those dark predatory eyes stabbed the prisoner with a sudden coldness. All while the squealing suddenly halted. SNAP. SQUELCH.
Now it came, emerging into the light. A beast. Holding a knife in one bloodied hand, dripping on the dirt. And dragging by the leg, a massive adult Laran boar grotesquely smearing thick blood still warm from the cut in the neck on the dirt.
The prisoner watched, barely moving, barely breathing. Frozen with the horror in front of it as the bloodied carcass was skinned; fur sliced away with harsh, scraping sounds with the crude knife. Spurting remaining blood all over the site.
The pink naked flesh then washed in the brook, leaving a distinct smell of oxidised blood in the air, before being skewered and roasted over the roaring flames. Fat popping violently in the heat.
In this gruesome display, the beast revealed not just a fate for the boar, but a dark hint of what might come. The realisation struck deep—this could be more than just a demonstration; it was a terrifying preview of its own potential end.
It passed out again.
Only to be awoken by the haunting echoes of a wild, desperate squeal that once thrummed through the savannah's eerie silence. Dare it open its eyes?
After a great heavy effort -utilizing its every last drop of courage- one eye cracked open. And what it saw. Made it regret ever having done so.
Right across from it, the hunter was a grotesque silhouette against the flickering fire. Grasping a severed boar leg was a mouth viciously biting, ripping, tearing into the flesh with primal ferocity. Each bite was deliberate, each tear of sinew was a clear, calculated demonstration of supreme savagery. Its jaw muscles bulged with the force of a bite.
All the while, the eyes—deep, abyssal pits—fixed intently on the prisoner. Deepest black pits stared back at it. Watching. Observing. Calculating, with a dark intelligence. it was calculating. It was relishing the terror it inspired and the control it exerted. Or planning its next meal.
The sounds of ripping flesh filled the thick, blood-soaked air. Deep into the night. Deep into this never-ending nightmare.
Never once did the prisoner move. Not an iota. Frozen in abject horror.
The night passed quietly. After the feast the human had, or the desecration of life that the prisoner saw, whichever way you look at it. The human nodded off to sleep. Content in the success of his mission. But the tied up creature had no such rest. Sending silent pleas to the stars that it might be saved. But not daring to make a sound, less it awaken that sleeping horror. Or was it sleeping? Dear Ix, it might be watching me. Feigning sleep to keep an eye on its meal. Dear Ix I'm next...
All through the night, the demons plagued its mind. Until the warmth of the morning rose, and with it the sound of an Ixian cruiser.
Elation could not be an understatement for the tired, tied, beat, and bruised thing. Craning its neck to the direction of the sound about to bellow out an Ixian warning to the demon resting next it.
"BE CAREFUL! THERE'S ONE HERE-". It stopped speaking. That previous elation it felt at a saviour arriving to rescue it from the demons grasp, fizzled out like a drop of water in a drought.
That all so familiar cold remained. And the dryness of despair. As pairs of dark pupils shot back at it.
On the cruiser were tall adult Terrans. Clean cut, well fed, well dressed Terrans. Four, no Six, no eight of them. All hanging onto the side of cruiser while it made its way to their location. Compared to the demon waking up beside it, these creatures were organised. A savageness neatly packaged in a uniform with a symbol. The prisoners eyes grew wide in its sunken sockets. 8 rings, and a centre mass. They must be the cause of, well all this.
Accepting fate, its head fell in part defiance, in part to avoid the stinging eyes of these others. It felt their gaze burn through—cold, cruel, calculating. There is nothing I can do any longer.
"You're finally here. What took you so long?" The runner said to his approaching comrades, "Took all night to catch up to him."
"Hey Jan, great work", the tall militant woman shot back. With a playful punch to his arm. "Guess all that cardio really paid off, didn't I tell you it would!" She let out a playful guffaw.
"Thanks Chel", replied Jan.
"Ok chop chop people, we're on a schedule. We need to reach the port ASAP remember? Come on Jan, rest up all you like, you're still on the clock."
"Aye sir." Jan shot back in a mock salute, gaining a sneer from the commandant, then a sneaky smile.
"Don't forget your trash. And make sure its breathing still."
It creaked open its eyes, seeing pairs of boots moving towards it and standing in front. In silence. Then all of a sudden, felt pairs and pairs of hands pull and tug. and lift it up The thing let out a pathetic silent sob. While it was loaded in the back of the cruiser, face up. Staring at eyes, piercing black dots peering back. It could never understand what was being felt by those eyes and those faces.
Ixians wear their emotions on their carapace; spots and stripes would slowly appear in certain parts, representing emotions and feeling that their bodies felt in a general sense. But the most private thoughts were of course, still kept private.
But this. This was just too foreign. The eyes never stopped. Even in the swaying movement of the cruiser the pupils never broke contact. Those eyes. As if it was peering into it, envelops your entire mind. There was no way to hide, even hiding in his inner self would do no good. Those eyes. Those predator eyes can find me anywhere I try to escape to. Inside and out.
Some times passes.
"You know. I lost good friends to the royal caste. Especially to this one's brood clan or whatever they like to call it." One of them was looking right at it when they said it. It turned its eyes over to the source. A short one, with a slave scar on the neck said it. A scar that shot through his memories. A scar inflicted to property owned by, his brood. This one is dangerous..., it thought.
Jan, and the others didn't look but felt it. The cold darkness in that tone made it clear what it intended to do.
The female militant, Chel, I think her name was. Slowly reached to the side arm on her holster. Sensing the oncoming problem.
"You still understand me don't you? I've had to watch good people die. Damn good people." The scarred one one stood, grabbing the upper rail of the cruiser to steady themselves. "I hear that even if you get ill, you become the entertainment for the night. What was it now?" She paused for a brief second. "Oh I remember".
"Stil" Chel said slowly. "Cool it". Hand still on the butt of the sidearm.
Not hearing or not wanting to reply. Stil continued. "Torn apart by those raptor pets. Hands or feet cut off as souvenirs for those fucked-up parties and those fucked-up guests. Oh yea, and the 'toy play' or whatever they call it. Can't have Ken and Barbie fight back now, can we?"
Stil leaned closer to the now cowering, shaking thing, "I wonder which one was your favourite." The words cut through La'Ix like an icicle. This was the first time these demons actually spoke to it directly. And it didn't like it. It could sense the venom from the words.
"Stil..." Chel slowly got up, hand still at the ready. "I said cool it." The line had a steely warning to it. Chel wouldn't risk the mission. Even if it meant doing what must be done.
Agonizing seconds passed. The cowering, shaking thing seemed to grow whiter and whiter by the second, It's spots clearly showing what it felt. Staring up, Not willing to move but being unable to hide. It felt the absolute crushing weight of the present. Grinding it down to a paste.
Everyone stayed still. The two militants didn't move. The rest didn't seem to even have paid attention to the converstation, still looked away.
Longer passed.
Stil smiled, "Oh come on Chel, you know I wouldn't do anything to our friend here? You know I was just playing around." Stil laughed. Chel didn't react.
Stil immediately crouched, faced the shaking prisoner inches apart eye to eye, and in a whisper said "Right friend?"
She wants me to reply? Dear Ix I can't even think with those eyes in front of me What do I do?! What do I say?!
"Right. Friend?" Stil repeated slower and colder. Like the blade of a surgeon hovering over skin, ready to plunge.
The gears of its Ixian brain grinded to a screeching halt. In utter desperation to find a reply it simply gave up. Instead, it felt a warmth slowly spread. Slowly spread between its hind legs. It had released its bladder.
"BAHAHAHAHA LOOK AT IT" Stil roared in laughter. The sound of it rattling the prisoners brain with the sound. Disorienting its senses. "NOW THAT'S CLASSIC TIMING IF I'VE EVER SEEN IT!" She plopped back down face red and still laughing.
The Ixian didn't know what to do but tremble and sob silently on the cold surface of the cruiser surrounded by laughter. and the warmth of its piss. It tried to plug its ears. But the sound still came. Laughter. Laughter. Laughter. Dear Ix, what are these demons... where are they taking me? To hell?...
The cruiser kept cruising. Towards the port across the island. Trailing laughter behind. Or to the sobbing wreck of a thing, demonic cackling.
The scent of familiarity wafted into the senses of the prisoner as the cruiser started to slow. The smell of the salt, the chirping of familiar aviaries. Sound of the crash of sea. The port.
Braving a sentence for the first time in for what seems eternity. It let out a question "...w..w..where ... why... are... ... we ...h... here?" It managed to say shakily, eyes downcast.
As if in response, a sharp shove greeted it from the back and a hard hit on the ground was as much of an answer it was getting.
"Move it", Jan said gruffly.
They walked. the ixian still bound but free to walk in the middle of the group of humans. Towards a destination still not known. The walk twisted, and turned, and twisted again. One thing struck out to the prisoner. It was too clean, especially for what it was expecting, it's last experience being in the previous blood-soaked town laden with bodies and carrion eaters.
The port town was completely silent, free from the regular hustle and bustle it usually had even when the emperor was not present. And superbly clean. Not a single piece of dirt to be seen. Not a single Ixian either. Where did everyone go? Did they make it out somehow when these invaders came?
In the background, the surf broke relentlessly.
Piercing eyes caught the prisoners glance, as it wandered curiously around the town. Realising its mistake La'Ix tried to look away but the burning gaze gripped his own.
As if reading its soul. The human answered the hidden question bubbling up in La'Ix. "You should've seen them your royal majesty". The one called Stil said while bending in mocking courtesy.
The surf pounded the shore even more loudly now.
"They don't swim well. Especially the young ones. They dropped like stones. Turning all white by the time they stopped moving."
Louder now. The sea roared.
Nothing came. Not a thought in La'Ix's mind. Its mind struggled to comprehend the depth of what was said by Stil, the scarred human.
The waves boomed louder now. Louder than the sun, echoing louder than the screams of all the Ixians that must have perished.
It saw the lips of the standing-devil in front of it. But all the came from its blood red lips were obscured by the sound of the pounding of the waves. The echoes of drowned kin, thudding and slapping against the shore, merged with the relentless surf in La'Ix's mind.
This is for our sins.
Wave after wave, the relentless surge continued, each one a haunting reminder of the souls lost to the sea, each crash a ghostly thud of bodies hitting the shore.
Very slowly did some exhausted neuron in the Ixian's head come to a conclusion as to how these creatures in front of it can be so relentless, so cruel, and so evil. When pushed to beyond its breaking point, did their true carnivorous instincts rear their ugly head.
Oh dear Ix. What sort of environment could breed such demons?
La'Ix didn't remember what happened next. The memories feel like a distant dream now as he sits watching the port sky now.
The aching brand on his forehead of the 8 ringed system, pulsed in pain—a departing gift from his newly made friends, stung from the salty sea air.
He barely recalls the staggered walk from the empty inter-arm transmission office and the inputting of his biometric royal seal. He barely even remembers the message that was sent under his name and signature
And even less does he remember what he heard what will happen next.
All alone now, he stares at the sky of the empty port town. As he watches more royal ships enter the atmosphere.
He gazes upward, thoughtlessly, statue-like Knowing fate will come for them all. Fate in the form of piercing black eyes and a monster so large it can fit in a shadow.
A single thought, carried its way from above the despair to the surface. Slowly. Like a bubble in a pool of tar.
What was I meant to tell the emperor again?

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

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.

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.

In a fascinating study, evidenced for a possible landing sight for Lehi in America has been discovered within easy travel distance to Palmyra, NY. If substantiated, it could add weight to an Atlantic migration, the controversial Solutrean Hypothesis, in addition to the traditional Siberian route. https://www.washingtonpost.com/science/2024/05/19/first-americans-chesapeake-parsons-island/
The link is behind a pay wall. Here’s the article
PARSONS ISLAND, Md. — With the Chesapeake Bay sloshing at his knee-high boots, Darrin Lowery stood back and squinted at a 10-foot-tall bluff rising above a narrow strip of beach. To the untrained eye, this wall of sandy sediment is the unremarkable edge of a modest island southeast of the Bay Bridge. To Lowery, a coastal geologist, its crumbling layers put the island at the center of one of the most contentious battles in archaeology: when and how humans first made their way into the Americas. The story of the first Americans has long been a matter of public and scientific fascination, undergirded at times by vicious disagreements. The timeline of when people arrived has shifted earlier in grudging steps over the past century, and scientists today mostly agree people were in the Americas at least 15,000 years ago. Story continues below advertisement
Lowery’s site and others like it could revise the story again, pushing back the timeline earlier than most experts thought possible. In total, Lowery and a motley crew of collaborators have discovered 286 artifacts from the site on the island’s southwestern edge. The oldest, they reported, was embedded with charcoal dated to more than 22,000 years ago, a time when much of the continent would have been covered in ice sheets. If Lowery is right, Parsons Island could rewrite American prehistory, opening up a host of new puzzles: How did those people get here? How many waves of early migration were there? And are these mysterious people the ancestors of Native Americans?
Casts of tools found at Parsons Island are seen on display. Lowery and his team have unearthed 286 artifacts from the site so far. (Michael Robinson Chávez/The Washington Post) New claims of sites dated this far back face a wall of skepticism, rooted in legitimate scientific scrutiny and in the threat they pose to long-entrenched views. To complicate matters, Lowery — who has been affiliated with the Smithsonian but does much of his work independently — presented the results of his study of Parsons Island in a 260-page manuscript posted online rather than in a traditional peer-reviewed journal. The peer-review process is designed to help validate scientific claims, but Lowery argues that in archaeology it often leads to a circle-the-wagon mentality, allowing scientists to wave away evidence that doesn’t support the dominant paradigm. He says he isn’t seeking formal publishing routes because “life’s too short,” comparing this aspect of academic science to “the dumbest game I’ve ever played.”
The island is also a challenging site to study for a variety of reasons — most poignantly because it is rapidly eroding as the land subsides and sea level rises. The spot where the artifacts were found is now covered by the choppy waters of the bay. “The visit reinforced my will to invest my time into this time period, because it’s a very fragile record,” said Sebastien Lacombe, an archaeologist at Binghamton University, who visited the island in 2017. “It’s at risk of disappearing, and we’re at risk of [allowing] these sites and artifacts to lose their meaning forever.” ‘A weirdo kid’
Darrin Lowery walks a beach on Parsons Island. Most of the artifacts were excavated by erosion, discovered on the beach after they had already fallen out of the bluff. (Michael Robinson Chávez/The Washington Post) Lowery began exploring the Chesapeake shoreline as a child, wandering his backyard on Tilghman Island, about 15 miles southwest from Parsons Island. In 1977, 9-year-old Lowery picked up a distinctive fluted stone projectile point. A few years later, he saw something similar on a documentary on public television, in which a Smithsonian archaeologist explained it was a Clovis point, a relic of what most people then believed were the first Americans. For the last half of the 20th century, the peopling of the Americas followed a tidy narrative. Humans traveled from Siberia across a land bridge that connected Asia and North America during the last Ice Age, when sea levels dropped. They then migrated southward around 13,000 years ago, when the ice sheets covering the continent retreated and exposed a previously impassable inland route. These people — named after a site in Clovis, N.M. — left behind distinctive, fluted stone points that have since been found scattered across North America. Story continues below advertisement
Lowery turned to his dad and said, “I found one of those.” He found more by walking the shoreline every day. Lowery made discoveries as he meandered, and he began to understand how seasonal patterns, sediment movement, wind and waves could unearth ancient treasures. “I was a weirdo kid,” he recalled. He trained as a geologist, and it was geology that initially attracted Lowery to study Parsons Island. In 2010, he published an article in Quaternary Science Reviews describing layers of windblown silt deposited between 13,000 and 41,000 years ago at Miles Point in eastern Maryland. But the geological record is like reading the CliffsNotes version of a book, and he was frustrated by an “unconformity” in the sediment layers where thousands of years were missing, like someone had ripped out those chapters.
Parsons Island is rapidly eroding. The archaeological site is now covered by the Chesapeake Bay. (Michael Robinson Chávez/The Washington Post) Lowery and a colleague were prowling around in a whaler, looking for a spot that might fill in the blanks, when they spotted a black streak of sediment rising up out of the bay. They pulled up to Parsons Island and thought they had found “the Rosetta stone” to decode the geology. Parsons is a 78-acre island less than a mile offshore that is privately owned by the Corckran family, which uses it as a family retreat. With the Corckrans’ permission, Lowery and colleagues began to visit regularly. The bluff layers preserved a remarkably intact geologic timeline going back more than 40,000 years. Then, one morning in August 2013, the team discovered a leaf-shaped prehistoric stone tool jutting out of this crumbling wall. They knew from the work they’d already done that it was probably quite old. Story continues below advertisement
On a recent visit to the island, geoarchaeologist Daniel Wagner demonstrated why. He stepped back to scan the cliff, then tapped a narrow spade into a light tan sediment layer just above his head. That, he said, is the geologic “chapter” where they’d expect to find Clovis artifacts. Lower layers were set down before Clovis. The palm-size tool Lowery and his colleague found came out of the dark sediment layer near their knees. The scientists used two methods to date the sediment around the artifact, both showing it was more than 20,000 years old. They scoured the beach on 93 visits and conducted a formal, top-down excavation, collecting the 286 artifacts. They sent out sediment to labs that specialize in studying ancient pollen and microfossils called phytoliths to help reconstruct the ecosystem at the time. Back then, this region wouldn’t have been a coastline. The sediment the tools are embedded in dates to the “last glacial maximum” — the scientific term for the most recent coldest period of the Ice Age. In the final analysis, Lowery thinks the artifacts may have been transported downslope before they were buried, making them between 15,000 and 20,500 years old. “This was a swale, where water was collecting,” Lowery said, envisioning the ancient landscape. “You’ve got a dune. It’s got sedges and small trees on it that are windblown and all contorted, and then behind it you’ve got a little pond.” That pond may have attracted prehistoric bison, musk ox and llamas, whose fossilized molars he’s found scattered on the island shore. And it may have been what attracted the mysterious people who left behind a cache of stone tools. A story in flux
Parsons Island is seen from nearby Kent Island in the Chesapeake Bay. (Michael Robinson Chávez/The Washington Post) Parsons Island is the latest addition to a growing list of what are called pre-Clovis sites. But while the long-held “Clovis First” theory has crumbled over the past three decades, that has only deepened the debate about how much earlier the first Americans arrived. Claims of early sites present a challenge on two fronts. The first is technical: Dating a site convincingly can be difficult, depending on the context. Sediments can shift or be disturbed. What at first look like artifacts can turn out to be “geofacts,” created not by humans but by natural processes or animals. As a result, many pre-Clovis sites “enjoy a Warhol-esque 15 minutes of fame, and then they disappear” because of real problems with the geology or the methods, said archaeologist James Adovasio. In 1973, he began excavating Meadowcroft Rockshelter in Pennsylvania, which dated back 16,000 years. It was instantly mired in controversy, and the site still has its critics today. The second challenge reflects the culture of science. For a long time, people who claimed to find pre-Clovis sites were swimming upstream against deeply entrenched thinking. Tom Dillehay, an archaeologist at Vanderbilt University, began working on a site in southern Chile called Monte Verde in 1977, which was dated to 14,500 years ago. He recalled a group of researchers he calls the “Clovis police,” scientific gatekeepers who summarily rejected any pre-Clovis sites, sometimes for valid reasons and sometimes as a knee-jerk reaction. Monte Verde began to change that. In 1997, a group of respected archaeologists visited the site and declared it authentic. “It took about 25 to 30 years for Monte Verde to be accepted,” Dillehay said. “We went through hell.”
Holly, a German shorthaired pointer, runs across a bluff top on Parsons Island. (Michael Robinson Chávez/The Washington Post) Lowery says he isn’t interested in running that gantlet. He noted that he drew on multiple labs and methods for dating the Parsons Island artifacts in an effort to ensure that any one extremely old date isn’t a fluke. He’s also invited other researchers in to visit and study the site. That approach irritates some scientists. David Meltzer, an archaeologist at Southern Methodist University, said in an email that he would not discuss Lowery’s claims “until they go through the wringer of peer review and get published.” Others like Stuart Fiedel, an independent archaeologist based in western Massachusetts who has been skeptical of other sites, say the site should not fly under the radar just because of Lowery’s unconventional process. Story continues below advertisement
“There are people I know in the field who will not pay any attention to it, because it has not been peer-reviewed, which I think is kind of sticking your head in the sand,” Fiedel said. “It’s there. We can’t act as [if] nothing’s been found there.” Share this article Share
A bigger issue may be the site’s rapid erosion. Most of the artifacts were found after they’d fallen out of the bluff, which means their place in the geologic timeline is obscured. Nine artifacts were found in place, and only three were able to be dated using charcoal flecks found next to them. Steven Forman, a geoscientist at Baylor University, helped date the sediment layers at Parsons Island, corroborating findings from another lab. He said that it’s hard to find the artifacts in the kind of bulletproof geological context needed to support extraordinary claims. “The case is not as tight as we like to see it with other sites,” Forman said. Michael Waters, an archaeologist at Texas A&M University who has worked on pre-Clovis sites and excavated at Parsons Island, thinks he probably got there too late, when most of the artifacts had already been eroded out. Still, he pays someone to monitor the bank profile on a regular basis, because he’s ready to jump on a plane if they see something in place. “Too bad we didn’t get there four to five years sooner,” Waters said. Enter ancient DNA
An ancient bovine tooth is among the fossils found so far on Parsons Island. (Michael Robinson Chávez/The Washington Post) Parsons Island isn’t the only site that could dramatically push back human arrival in the Americas. Last fall, a study published in the journal Science described fossilized human footprints discovered at White Sands National Park in New Mexico that have been dated to between 21,000 and 23,000 years ago. That stunning finding suggests people were here during the Ice Age — much earlier than most experts thought possible if the first humans arrived via the Bering land bridge and inland corridor. The dates at White Sands are still being disputed because of questions about the methods. But the timeline collides head-on with another exciting line of evidence: studies of ancient DNA. By examining genetic material preserved in bones and teeth and comparing those samples to modern populations, scientists have been able to track when populations mingled and became isolated from one another, offering a new window into patterns of human migration. Story continues below advertisement
In broad strokes, they’ve found that the ancestors of Native Americans split from ancient Siberian populations no earlier than 23,000 years ago. The studies can’t say where such splits took place, but many scientists interpret genetic evidence to mean that the ancestors of modern people weren’t in the Americas until much later. Genetic studies suggest that Native American ancestors traveled into what is now the United States between 17,500 and 14,600 years ago. Joe Watkins, a senior consultant for Archaeological and Cultural Education Consultants in Tucson and a Choctaw tribal member, said that he sees a few problems with using the still-evolving DNA evidence to decide how ancient sites are related to modern-day people. “The reality is genetics does not equal culture,” Watkins said. He also argued that there are still too few samples of ancient DNA in the Americas to be sure they capture the whole story. “Trying to create population histories based on 10 people, if you will, is a little bit of a scientific conundrum,” Watkins said. It could be that additional ancient genomes will one day help fill in the blanks. Another possibility is that earlier sites could represent small, isolated groups of people who didn’t contribute to the ancestry of living Native Americans.
A tree-lined path leads to a beach on Parsons Island. (Michael Robinson Chávez/The Washington Post) “Let’s suppose you have a successful population colonizing an area, and then one day, 15 males go out and get eaten by a short-faced bear,” Lowery said. “You reduce the genetic diversity, and bada boom, bada bing, game over.” All this explodes the neat picture of one population migrating into the Americas as ice sheets retreated, hunting big animals like mammoths and giant sloths, driving them into extinction as they went. If there were small groups making their way into the New World, with different stone tool technologies, and far earlier than previously believed, how did they get here? People could have migrated along the coast by boat, following a “kelp highway.” It’s also possible the ice sheet was not as impenetrable as experts have long thought. Lowery’s longtime collaborator, Dennis Stanford, proposed that people crossed the Atlantic Ocean in what is known as the Solutrean Hypothesis, though that idea has been rejected by many archaeologists. To resolve the question, scientists need to keep looking for more evidence. Archaeology is a historical science, and unlike chemistry or biomedicine, where researchers can perform the same experiment over and over again to see if they get the same results, consensus is built by argument, counterargument and new evidence. To a certain extent, older ideas and prejudices also fall away as new people enter the field, said James Feathers, who performed dating on samples from Parsons Island before he retired from the University of Washington. “Sometimes you have to wait for people to die off,” Feathers said.
Alex Corckran, whose family owns Parsons Island, stands on a beach on the southern side of the island. (Michael Robinson Chávez/The Washington Post) Lowery is determined to keep motoring around the Chesapeake, researching the ephemeral landscape that he loves and that may contain clues about human prehistory. He acknowledges that the sites, perhaps a little bit like him, are “persnickety” but that shouldn’t deter interest in them. Instead, it should spur more. He noted that if a pod of silverfish was found gnawing on documents in the National Archives, people would be galvanized to act. “I view it as my swan song,” Lowery said, “to say you can learn a lot from [an] eroding site if you do a little bit of effort and look at it systematically.”
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I was looking at the mac'n'cheese recipe on the Masterbuilt site and was thinking, "Oh I can definitely do this.." but then I'm reading the instructions and I've got one potentially really stupid question:
When it indicates to add the macaroni elbows to the mix, are they supposed to be cooked already? Or do they cook in the sauce?
I've only ever made Kraft Dinner Mac n Cheese and you boil that one and then add the sauce at the end. So having never made "real" mac n cheese I have no clue what to do and I don't want to over cook or under cook the pasta here.
If someone could give me the answer I'd appreciate it. Wanna do this for my s/o and don't want to fuck it up. lol
Edit:
Adding the recipe here for clarification:

1. Preheat the smoker to 225-250°F.
2. Heat a large cast iron skillet to medium heat on your stove. Add butter and allow it to thoroughly melt. Whisk in the flour until bubbly and thoroughly combined.
3. After 2-3 min, pour in the milk stirring constantly until the sauce thickens.
4. Add 4 of the 6 cups of cheese, stirring until thoroughly combined and melted
5. Mix in the seasonings then add elbows to the cheese sauce <<--this bit
6. Once thoroughly combined, sprinkle the remaining 2 cups of cheese over the top.
7. Place the skillet into your smoker and allow it to cook uninterrupted for 1-2 hours depending on how intense you’d like the smoky flavor.
8. Allow to rest for 5-10 minutes then serve immediately. Enjoy!

[Speaker 1]
How does it feel when you said om? The rajas just disappears. Believe me.
This om is such a beautiful sound. There is no place left for tamas. Rajas just disappears and you are in a beautiful state.
You are in no hurry. Nothing is going away. It is a beautiful tranquil state.
And it is this tranquil state which is sattva guna. A question is often asked as to why the Hindus have so many devatas. So, I need to be all wild up here.
Things won't function otherwise. Okay, so in jyotish, let's have a small recap on the jyotish. Why do we have 12 signs or do we have 13 signs?
Some people are recommending it. Yeah. The 12 full moons that occur in a year.
There are 12 full moons. Sometimes there are 13 full moons. No.
Okay. But generally there are 12 full moons. Correct.
Generally there are 12 full moons. That is why it is the full moon to full moon. The time period is roughly 29 point odd days.
That has been rounded off to 30 days. Right? How much is the time between one full moon to another full moon?
29.5. Right. 29.5 days is rounded off to 30 days. So, what are we talking about?
We are talking about days, about time. We are not talking about space. We are talking about time.
So, the time taken for the sun to move in those 30 days or 30 solar days is supposed to be one Rashi. And that has been equated to space. What is the average motion of the sun?
1 degree per day. Average motion. So, how do you equate the time to space?
You take 30 days multiplied by 1 degree per day. That is how you have 30 degrees for one sign. So, what is our original starting point?
It is time. So, time has been converted into space. Am I being understood?
Time, that is Kala, is converted to space. Now, we have a total circle of 360 degrees. It is simple mathematics.
And we have one sign or what we call one Rashi, one weight. And the word Rashi means one weight, one measure. Rashi is a measure, a weight.
We have that weight of 30 degrees. And we arrived at 30 degrees by 30 days motion of the sun. So, 360 divided by 30 gave us 12 Rashi, 12 measures.
12 steps. If one step is 30 degrees, you know, one step is 30 degrees, the sun can take 12 steps. The sun takes 12 steps to go around.
12 Rashi. Rashi is a measure. Rashi is not a sign.
The word sign means symbol. Rashi is not sign. Rashi is measure.
I can clarify that first concept now. The zodiac signs is translated as Rashi. It is wrong.
Rashi is a measure. So, I thought this small recap in Jyotish would be good because I want to be very clear with you about our basics before we proceed further. Now, that we have 12 Rashi, the question was we needed variables to define life.
Life has to be defined because it is life that is important. We are studying life. We are not studying some stars in the sky.
We are not studying those planets in the sky. We are studying life on earth. Jyotish is a study of life on earth.
It is not a study of the stars in the sky. Astrology is astro, is astral, the stars. Logy is the logic for that.
That is not what we are doing. We are studying Jyotisha, Jyoti, the light of God. And that light of God is there in the hearts of every human being.
It is there in the heart of every animal. It is there in the tree of every living creature. That light of God is in a stone.
We are looking for that light. We are not looking at the stars. That is not Jyotish.
It is a very fundamental difference. Where are we looking? We are using that information to help us.
But that information is not the objective. The objective is the life here on earth. In this planet.
In this life which is full of darkness. We are looking for that spark of light. That is Jyotisha.
The translation of Jyotisha as Vedic and Astrology is totally and completely wrong. Firstly, it is not Vedic. It is a Vedanga.
Secondly, it is not Astrology. Astrology is a part of it. But it is not Astrology in all.
You see my point? This hand is a part of Sanjay. You can say this hand is Sanjay.
But this hand alone cannot define Sanjay. So we were waiting for Sarvani to come and light the lamp. She has come.
One western, you will be surprised. There is one person in the west who did it. Who made a very serious attempt.
He called it the light of life. One person did it. And I admire him for that.
He tried. It is a light. Without that light, there is no Jyotish.
This is crucial for us. So he translated it as the light of life. The life on this planet.
So his translation was very good. It consists of three parts. One is Ganita.
One is Hora Shastra. And one is Samhita. If we say Vedic Astrology, we are kicking Samhita out.
Ganita is having no place at all. I mean it is only Ganita, some little parts of Ganita. Some portion of Hora Shastra.
Not even the full portion of Hora Shastra. Am I clear on what I am saying? Vedic Astrology is only Ganita and some Hora Shastra.
Samhita is totally kicked out. Because when we say Pallipatana or the falling of a lizard. What planet is that?
Is there any planet involved? One, you are walking. You saw a cat pass.
Some planet ran away, no? One cat passed in this direction. What was the time?
What was the color of the cat? What was this? What was that?
Which direction he ran? How big he was? All those things are important.
That whole science, we are throwing away. It is wrong. We are limiting our study.
You see my point? Vastu Shastra, we have thrown it away. Jyotisha includes Vastu Shastra.
Jyotisha includes Sakuna Shastra. Jyotisha includes Ved Mantra. Jyotisha includes Shiva Gyan.
You cannot just pick up Shiva and throw him away and say I am a Jyotisha. You cannot do that. You have to try to understand Shiva.
So you see, Jyotisha is a very huge ocean. We are throwing it away because we don't want to work hard. We have become lazy.
By nature, that is the nature of man. And more it will increase as time passes, as the human life becomes smaller and smaller and smaller. We will have to throw away more and more, more and more.
Why? Because we think that this one lifetime will go away and I will not learn. We think that this one lifetime is all that we live.
Beyond this we will not live anymore. That this knowledge will be destroyed when we die. Knowledge is not destroyed when you die.
Knowledge is retained in the Atma. Atma retains knowledge in the form of Dharma. When that knowledge is retained in the Atma, how can it be destroyed?
Remember, there is a beautiful saying my Gurudev used to say. Everything in this world can be taken away from you. You will lose everything that you have.
One day or the other, everything, a shirt, brother, father, mother, sister, everything will go away. Only one thing will stay with you. The knowledge that you have.
Even after you die, nobody can take that, nobody can steal that, nobody can deprive you of that. It is the only thing that will stay with you. And when you know that that is the only thing that will stay with you, why are you foolishly running after other things?
Why are you not pursuing your mind on this knowledge? It is a very beautiful thing. When you think about it, it is a very beautiful thing.
That it is this Vidya, this knowledge and all that will be retained by us. So, we must work hard to increase the knowledge content within our Atma. To remove that ignorance, the covering of ignorance, those layers of dirt.
It is like a murti, you know, the Atma is like a murti, full of dirt on top. Clean it. Please give up.
Subhad jantam jagannathayate namah. Om. So, we will continue with this for some more time.
Till the others come, I will give them another 10 minutes, till I start my Jyotish. Recap on Jyotish is what we are having. I will just remind you again.
So, we are now clear about the 12 signs. Life. When I see a human being, or I see an animal, or I see a tree, how do I define the object?
What are the things that I need to define the object? Forget those grahas. They don't matter.
If we need them, we will take them. Firstly, there is a physical body that has to be divided. Then the first thing, a form.
Everything that is materially created must have a form. And that form comes because of prithvitatva. It is prithvitatva, or the solid element, that defines the form.
Right? The second is that which causes sustenance. What sustains?
It is that which carries the food. The carrier of food or the sustainer is in a form which is fluid. Because he is changing, yet he has to communicate with the solid.
And that is the liquid. That is the jada tattva. Right?
So, first there is a solid. And this solid defines the form. This form has to be replenished.
Like you know your hair is falling. Your hair grows. You cut your hair.
Again it grows. How come the hair is growing? Somebody is giving him food to grow.
The food that is coming for the hair to grow is jada tattva. It is coming from jada tattva. The giver of food is jada tattva.
It is the sustainer. Then comes that which has to cleanse. When you cut your hair, you throw it away, right?
Something has to cleanse it. Something has to remove the dirty one, the old one, the dead one. All the time.
So, constantly there is creation. Constantly there is sustenance. And constantly there is destruction.
Within your body, cells are being created, cells are being sustained, cells are being destroyed. Constantly this process is going on. The destruction or the dissolution is taking place because of vayu tattva.
Okay? So, we have three tattvas. The prithvi tattva, the jala tattva and the vayu tattva which are creating or defining the form, sustaining the form and destroying the form.
Am I right? Then, there must be one which is the result of sustenance. The purpose of sustenance.
Why are you sustaining something? For what reason he is there? He has to do some karma.
He has to do some action. Even the sea, when you stand next to a sea, you will see the sea is coming in, going out, coming in, going out. Have you seen that?
How the sea dances on the shore? The waves are coming in and the waves are going out as if the sea is doing a mantra. Constantly the samudra is doing a mantra.
You see my point? So, the purpose, the action, something is animating it. Even a sea which is dead is getting animated.
That animation or the movement comes from energy and that is agni tattva. Okay? So, we have four tattvas and there must be one that coordinates all the effort, keeps them all together, ensures that there is perfect friendship and harmony between them, there is great love between all of them, that they work together for a common purpose of existence so that the life continues.
He ensures that life continues. Something is keeping all of them together. Some kind of a magnetic force you may call it, which is binding them, some kind of a glue.
That is akash tattva. What was that? Could somebody take a look at what's happening?
Sounds like a smoke alarm, doesn't it?
[Speaker 2]
So, that is akash tattva.
[Speaker 1]
So, we have five tattvas that we need. The five primary tattvas will define the entire life. The living object is defined by the five tattvas.
A dead object is also like the sea. I was just now talking about the sea and the animation of the sea. Even that is also defined by five tattvas.
Right? After that, what is the next thing? We have the entire creation that runs on the basis of light.
The whole game is like a movie, you know. What is movie all about? It's light.
Different colors of light, different play of light, different images. All images are nothing but light. Pure light, the reflected light and darkness.
Darkness is also part of light. If there is no shadow, you will not appreciate the light. It is all a game.
It's a beautiful drama. This drama is being played by four factors. The sun and the moon and the lunar nodes, Rahu and Ketu.
Because the entire light on earth comes from the sun. In the night, we have light from the moon. And then there are the stages which we call stages without light and stages of intense light.
Which we call the Rahu and the Ketu. So these define Jyotish. The pancha tattva, the luminaries and the givers of light.
For the pancha tattva, we need five grahas only. We don't need more than that. Because there are five variables.
You can use any other variable. If you think there is a better variable than the grahas, you can use that. The five grahas starting from Mercury to Saturn in that order of the five closest to the sun are the ones that we need.
We don't need more than that. So that is our definition of Jyotish. The nava grahas consisting of the pancha tattva, the tattva grahas, there are five tattva grahas and the sun, moon, Rahu, Ketu.
So there are two groups. One group is the pancha tattva grahas and one is sun, moon, Rahu, Ketu.
[Speaker 2]
Can you repeat that order starting from Mercury?
[Speaker 1]
Prithvi tattva, Jala tattva, Prithvi tattva, Mercury. It is very important to understand this. Prithvi tattva, Mercury, the solid form.
Then Jala tattva, Venus, Shukra, then Vayu tattva, Saturn, then Agni tattva, Mars, and then Akash, the one who is making this whole world run around and forcing them to stay together and work together. The definition of God. God is good.
Otherwise he is not God. Right? So that is Jupiter.
The pancha tattva. And after these pancha tattvas, we have the sun, the moon, and Rahu and Ketu. So two groups.
Clear? This is our definition of Jupiter. So now after, since you are all here, as I told you I will make the announcement again.
Sarbani will need more time to complete her part of the paper. And so she will be taking the paper tomorrow after Swi's paper. So you will get a treat as she is handling Diksha initiations which is a tough job.
Very tough job. And Diksha is tough, alright. But seeing Diksha through Jyotish is even more tough.
What is Diksha, types of Diksha, lot of stuff she will be doing. Today I will be troubling you throughout the day. By the time I should be done, your brain should be completely fried.
So, I will be starting today with Graha Devata.