u/DragonfruitKey4621

I have three names so far but don’t know if they come off as like to edgy or to basic. We got the heathens of karmack. then the imperial fangs. and for last the eternal stalkers.

would help a lot for some feed back 🙏

I never got to meet my grandpa, At least I don't remember him. Dad always said he had some tree stand accident when they went out hunting when I was little. Dad didn't like talking about when he went hunting; he always got real tense and uneasy whenever I brought it up.

Even when we went anywhere near the woods when we went to see family, he hated it. Sometimes I would notice him just staring into the woods for hours on end. I never understood why Dad hated the woods. I personally loved them. I suppose that's why I love working at the saw mill so much.

Not a very big saw mill, it's an itty bitty family-owned spot. Go out in the morning, chop down a couple trees, bring them to the mill, and go back on out. Pretty straightforward. There are stories, though, creatures that call the woods home, creatures who've never been given a name.

The stories never bothered me. Figured if something came at me, my daily carry will handle it. Greg, my boss, is the one who always told the stories. He's an older guy who always moans and groans whenever he moves a lil too fast. He always told me stories of things like "the black deer" and "the four-headed squirrel." But there's one that he always seemed to tell with more conviction.

"The wooden stalker," which apparently hunts in the woods, looks like a tree or something, apparently, to Greg. That story always made me feel uneasy, especially with how Greg always told it. He made it sound believable, unlike the four-headed squirrel.

But I normally just shrugged them off before me and my buddy went out to chop some trees down. Me and Jim would walk for about a mile or two, looking for a tree not too old and not too young. Our footsteps crunching down on the fallen leaves beneath our feet. "Wanna hear a joke?" Jim said to break the silence. I just gave a glance to Jim since I knew whether I said yes or no, he would say it anyways.

Surprisingly, he didn't say it. Not sure if he forgot it or just didn't want to waste his breath. We found a clump of some decent trees, so Jim set up our tent since we normally stay there for a day or two if the trees are bigger. I walked around, scoping out the nearby trees, but one caught my eye.

A single tree standing perfectly straight, missing all its leaves already. The thing that bothered me was how just there it was. It was in the middle of the circular clearing where no other trees were. As I walked closer towards the tree, I also realized there were no leaves near the tree. Like the leaves just flew off into the wind when they detached from the tree's branches.

"What ya doing over there, pal?" Jim called out. "You gonna help me with this tent or just stand around?" So I walked on back towards our camp to finish up the tent with Jim. After the tent was set up, we got to work chopping our first tree.

It was a lil birch, was on the smaller end of what we go for, but Greg asked specifically for at least one birch. So me and Jim went to it, THUNK THUNK over and over until eventually we got the gratification of hearing it fall. We went to trim up the limbs of the tree, but we heard a sound. It sounded like a dog, like a dog doing that sad yelp somewhere in the woods. Me and Jim gave each other a glance of, "You heard that too?" It sounded like it was coming from the circular clearing by that odd tree. It eventually stopped. We figured the dog's owner found it and took it home.

Next up on our list was this medium-sized oak. I got to it while Jim got some hobo pies cooking since sunset wasn't too far away. Eventually, after what felt like hours, it finally went down. I practically limped to the campfire and lazily tossed my axe into the tent and dropped myself onto an old log by the campfire.

"How'd that oak go?" Jim asked.

"As good as it could have," I responded.

The smell of the hobo pies filled the woods around us like a war bakery. I was weary of the woods just in case a bear or something caught the smell of us cooking. You could see a thing maybe 35 feet from where you sat; it was like a black brick wall was all around us. I started to doze off until I was abruptly awoken by the sound of someone chopping a tree.

THUMP THUMP.

The deep sound of an axe sinking into the side of a tree echoed through the woods.

"What the hell's that?" Jim questioned.

"How should I know? Anyone camping out here?" I responded.

Jim just gave me a lazy shrug as he pulled the two hobo pie sheets out of the red and orange embers of the fire.

"Well, at least it's not coyotes this time," Jim said as he opened up the hobo pie maker.

I couldn't get over the sound of the chopping, though. It didn't even continue, just two deep thumps.

It wasn't like I was gonna be the one to investigate it, though, so I decided it was a good time to get some rest. I crawled into the two-person tent and sank myself into my sleeping bag. I practically passed out when I got the zipper all the way up.

The next morning, Jim woke me up.

"Hey man, I'm gonna head out. Just get a head start on a tree or two."

I wiggled around so he knew I understood what he said.

I didn't actually wake up until later that day, and Jim still wasn't back. Matter of fact, he wasn't anywhere to be seen. I tossed on my boots and Carhartt jacket and went out to look for him. I wandered for a second, calling his name, until I saw a gleam of light coming from the odd tree. As I approached, I realized it was an axe. Jim's axe.

It was still lodged into the tree, but it was seeping this thick, deep red, almost black sap. I was confused since no species of trees in those parts had that color sap. I pulled out my hand radio and called Greg.

"Hey Greg, Jim's uuh... gone."

Greg didn't respond right away.

"The hell you mean he's gone?" Greg responded, clearly worried by the tone in his voice.

"He's nowhere here. He got to work early this morning and hasn't returned since," I responded.

"Um, okay. I'll get a search party set up. Finish up today and come back tomorrow morning," Greg said before ending the radio call.

I tossed my radio back into my bag and got back to work to prepare the trees we got to be ready to drag back.

Later that evening, when the woods got dark, I was packing up the stuff for tomorrow. Then I heard him.

"Hey!"

Jim's voice echoed through the woods.

"Hey! You gonna just stand there or help me?"

I stood there in shock for a moment.

"Jim!? Where the hell you been?" I said as I took a couple steps away from the fire with my flashlight.

"You gonna help me?" Jim's voice said again, the same tone as the last three times.

I froze.

"You okay, Jim?" I said into the woods.

"Hey! THUMP... THUMP."

I froze once again. I didn't do anything for what felt like hours until I heard the sound of a group of coyotes, the unmistakable sound of them gathering, and then Jim's voice once again.

"HEY! HEY!"

It sounded different this time. Like he was really in danger. How could I have not gone further into the woods? Was I supposed to not help him?

I pulled out my Colt 1911 from my waistband and marched into the woods, flashlight still in hand, until I was where I thought the sounds were coming from. The sound of coyotes directly next to me. My palms were so sweaty I thought if I shot my pistol, it would just slip out of my hand.

I heard the sound of bark snapping and wood creaking before I realized the tree was moving.

Its branches flailing like a spider trying to get a grip on its web.

"Hey!"

Jim's voice, coming directly from the tree.

I dove backwards and stammered away from the tree. My flashlight captured the tree in its gruesome movement. I didn't know what else to do with what I had, so I just let loose on the tree.

"POP POP POP... POP POP POP POP"

I heard the tree scream, like an elk yearning for its mate. I gained my footing with my newfound confidence from seemingly harming whatever this thing was, and I ran.

I ran all the way back to the mill and smashed into the door. One of the workers there, seeing me smash into the door, opened it and let me in. I stuttered to try to find the words.

"Jim, he's... the wooden stalker's got him. I-I shot it."

A crowd of the mill workers gathered around me to try and calm me down.

The next morning, Greg came in with the most serious expression I think I've ever seen on his face.

"Come to my office," he said as he gestured me to follow him.

"We're gonna let you go. You clearly have gone through... something. The search party will go looking for Jim today and the rest of this week. We'll keep you informed. You're dismissed."

I sat there in surprise at the sudden news of me being practically let go. I stood up, and before I left, I turned back to Greg.

"Was it... was it what you think it is?"

I stared at Greg, looking for any response. Greg gave me a subtle nod before he scooted his chair over to his office's window to look over the mill.

I've moved since this happened. Haven't found a good job yet. Jim was never found. The sheriff's office gave a press conference a week afterwards.

"As the sheriff of Crystal Wood, I feel deeply ashamed to say we have not found Jim Consky. Our condolences go out to his family."

I never got to meet my grandpa, At least I don't remember him. Dad always said he had some tree stand accident when they went out hunting when I was little. Dad didn't like talking about when he went hunting; he always got real tense and uneasy whenever I brought it up.

Even when we went anywhere near the woods when we went to see family, he hated it. Sometimes I would notice him just staring into the woods for hours on end. I never understood why Dad hated the woods. I personally loved them. I suppose that's why I love working at the saw mill so much.

Not a very big saw mill, it's an itty bitty family-owned spot. Go out in the morning, chop down a couple trees, bring them to the mill, and go back on out. Pretty straightforward. There are stories, though, creatures that call the woods home, creatures who've never been given a name.

The stories never bothered me. Figured if something came at me, my daily carry will handle it. Greg, my boss, is the one who always told the stories. He's an older guy who always moans and groans whenever he moves a lil too fast. He always told me stories of things like "the black deer" and "the four-headed squirrel." But there's one that he always seemed to tell with more conviction.

"The wooden stalker," which apparently hunts in the woods, looks like a tree or something, apparently, to Greg. That story always made me feel uneasy, especially with how Greg always told it. He made it sound believable, unlike the four-headed squirrel.

But I normally just shrugged them off before me and my buddy went out to chop some trees down. Me and Jim would walk for about a mile or two, looking for a tree not too old and not too young. Our footsteps crunching down on the fallen leaves beneath our feet. "Wanna hear a joke?" Jim said to break the silence. I just gave a glance to Jim since I knew whether I said yes or no, he would say it anyways.

Surprisingly, he didn't say it. Not sure if he forgot it or just didn't want to waste his breath. We found a clump of some decent trees, so Jim set up our tent since we normally stay there for a day or two if the trees are bigger. I walked around, scoping out the nearby trees, but one caught my eye.

A single tree standing perfectly straight, missing all its leaves already. The thing that bothered me was how just there it was. It was in the middle of the circular clearing where no other trees were. As I walked closer towards the tree, I also realized there were no leaves near the tree. Like the leaves just flew off into the wind when they detached from the tree's branches.

"What ya doing over there, pal?" Jim called out. "You gonna help me with this tent or just stand around?" So I walked on back towards our camp to finish up the tent with Jim. After the tent was set up, we got to work chopping our first tree.

It was a lil birch, was on the smaller end of what we go for, but Greg asked specifically for at least one birch. So me and Jim went to it, THUNK THUNK over and over until eventually we got the gratification of hearing it fall. We went to trim up the limbs of the tree, but we heard a sound. It sounded like a dog, like a dog doing that sad yelp somewhere in the woods. Me and Jim gave each other a glance of, "You heard that too?" It sounded like it was coming from the circular clearing by that odd tree. It eventually stopped. We figured the dog's owner found it and took it home.

Next up on our list was this medium-sized oak. I got to it while Jim got some hobo pies cooking since sunset wasn't too far away. Eventually, after what felt like hours, it finally went down. I practically limped to the campfire and lazily tossed my axe into the tent and dropped myself onto an old log by the campfire.

"How'd that oak go?" Jim asked.

"As good as it could have," I responded.

The smell of the hobo pies filled the woods around us like a war bakery. I was weary of the woods just in case a bear or something caught the smell of us cooking. You could see a thing maybe 35 feet from where you sat; it was like a black brick wall was all around us. I started to doze off until I was abruptly awoken by the sound of someone chopping a tree.

THUMP THUMP.

The deep sound of an axe sinking into the side of a tree echoed through the woods.

"What the hell's that?" Jim questioned.

"How should I know? Anyone camping out here?" I responded.

Jim just gave me a lazy shrug as he pulled the two hobo pie sheets out of the red and orange embers of the fire.

"Well, at least it's not coyotes this time," Jim said as he opened up the hobo pie maker.

I couldn't get over the sound of the chopping, though. It didn't even continue, just two deep thumps.

It wasn't like I was gonna be the one to investigate it, though, so I decided it was a good time to get some rest. I crawled into the two-person tent and sank myself into my sleeping bag. I practically passed out when I got the zipper all the way up.

The next morning, Jim woke me up.

"Hey man, I'm gonna head out. Just get a head start on a tree or two."

I wiggled around so he knew I understood what he said.

I didn't actually wake up until later that day, and Jim still wasn't back. Matter of fact, he wasn't anywhere to be seen. I tossed on my boots and Carhartt jacket and went out to look for him. I wandered for a second, calling his name, until I saw a gleam of light coming from the odd tree. As I approached, I realized it was an axe. Jim's axe.

It was still lodged into the tree, but it was seeping this thick, deep red, almost black sap. I was confused since no species of trees in those parts had that color sap. I pulled out my hand radio and called Greg.

"Hey Greg, Jim's uuh... gone."

Greg didn't respond right away.

"The hell you mean he's gone?" Greg responded, clearly worried by the tone in his voice.

"He's nowhere here. He got to work early this morning and hasn't returned since," I responded.

"Um, okay. I'll get a search party set up. Finish up today and come back tomorrow morning," Greg said before ending the radio call.

I tossed my radio back into my bag and got back to work to prepare the trees we got to be ready to drag back.

Later that evening, when the woods got dark, I was packing up the stuff for tomorrow. Then I heard him.

"Hey!"

Jim's voice echoed through the woods.

"Hey! You gonna just stand there or help me?"

I stood there in shock for a moment.

"Jim!? Where the hell you been?" I said as I took a couple steps away from the fire with my flashlight.

"You gonna help me?" Jim's voice said again, the same tone as the last three times.

I froze.

"You okay, Jim?" I said into the woods.

"Hey! THUMP... THUMP."

I froze once again. I didn't do anything for what felt like hours until I heard the sound of a group of coyotes, the unmistakable sound of them gathering, and then Jim's voice once again.

"HEY! HEY!"

It sounded different this time. Like he was really in danger. How could I have not gone further into the woods? Was I supposed to not help him?

I pulled out my Colt 1911 from my waistband and marched into the woods, flashlight still in hand, until I was where I thought the sounds were coming from. The sound of coyotes directly next to me. My palms were so sweaty I thought if I shot my pistol, it would just slip out of my hand.

I heard the sound of bark snapping and wood creaking before I realized the tree was moving.

Its branches flailing like a spider trying to get a grip on its web.

"Hey!"

Jim's voice, coming directly from the tree.

I dove backwards and stammered away from the tree. My flashlight captured the tree in its gruesome movement. I didn't know what else to do with what I had, so I just let loose on the tree.

"POP POP POP... POP POP POP POP"

I heard the tree scream, like an elk yearning for its mate. I gained my footing with my newfound confidence from seemingly harming whatever this thing was, and I ran.

I ran all the way back to the mill and smashed into the door. One of the workers there, seeing me smash into the door, opened it and let me in. I stuttered to try to find the words.

"Jim, he's... the wooden stalker's got him. I-I shot it."

A crowd of the mill workers gathered around me to try and calm me down.

The next morning, Greg came in with the most serious expression I think I've ever seen on his face.

"Come to my office," he said as he gestured me to follow him.

"We're gonna let you go. You clearly have gone through... something. The search party will go looking for Jim today and the rest of this week. We'll keep you informed. You're dismissed."

I sat there in surprise at the sudden news of me being practically let go. I stood up, and before I left, I turned back to Greg.

"Was it... was it what you think it is?"

I stared at Greg, looking for any response. Greg gave me a subtle nod before he scooted his chair over to his office's window to look over the mill.

I've moved since this happened. Haven't found a good job yet. Jim was never found. The sheriff's office gave a press conference a week afterwards.

"As the sheriff of Crystal Wood, I feel deeply ashamed to say we have not found Jim Consky. Our condolences go out to his family."

I love making monsters and like creating stories and all that stuff in my head but I don’t like actually writing them out. not sure if there’s any pointers to actually enjoy writing them or if that’s just my niche

I used to work in an aquarium when I was younger. I lover being in full scuba gear, felt like an astronaut almost. although I loved the job that doesn’t mean everyone did, just same thing every day I suppose. Go to work at 11 at night, stay there till 4 or 5 in the morning before the aquarium opened.

I was the only one who stayed at the job the longest, about 8 months. whenever you went in to clean the tubs it was normally just be you, maybe a second diver and the manager. No one liked the manager he always was a stickler about “be done before anyone buys a ticket!” he always tried to tell me how to do my job to which I hated “ya know it would be easier if you and your partner did two separate tubs at once”.

But I had to act like I didn’t mind the guy, he’s the only guy who could tinker around with the scuba gear and give it to us. One night I walked in on the manager maintaining an air tank, he whipped his head at me walking thru the door like I wasn’t supposed to be there yet. “Why so early Matt?” He said with the cheap yellow tinted fluorescent light shining down on him, just thought I’d come here a lil early I said all be it with some attitude in my tone. He stared at me for a second, like he was trying to think if I was lying or not.

I carried on with my shift as normal, wipe down the tub, hop out, waddle to the next one. When I waddled into the scaffolding above tub 3 my manager was just standing there, bucket in hand with the blue light glimmering underneath him. I stared for a second, he normally just sat in his office probably tugging one out. he turned back and just shoved past me, gripping the bucket like a disobedient child’s arm. Before I got into the water I noticed there was red strains in the water, like blood. Didn’t think much of it, probably was just chum for the squids on the bottom.

That week I decided I was gonna use some of the vacation time I’ve gathered. didn’t do a hell of a lot, went to a honky tonk with some buds and spent some time with my fiancé. on my last day of vacation I was just relaxing in bed, watching the news when all of a sudden the breaking news podcaster popped up on the screen. “good afternoon Burlington county, last night workers found the body of a deceased scuba diver in the city aquarium. the aquarium will be closed for the week while investigations carry on.” I just stared at the photo of the kid who drowned, he wasn’t even working there for 4 weeks.

I thought to myself that my manager probably missed something on the maintenance list. no way he was gonna hold his job for much longer now. when I came back my manager seemed awfully calm for ya know… someone dying under his watch but who am I to give my ten cents. “hey duuude how was your vacation maaaan” you could obviously tell he was smoking before I walked in. the smell of skunk brewed in the room, I tossed my scuba gear on just to get a breath of fresh air and not smell the smoke still filling the room.

I waddled once again to tub 5. sat on the edge of the scaffolding and dropped into the tub. didn’t notice much at first but eventually I noticed bubbles, bubbles coming from a iddy bitty hole in my oxygen tank and then I heard a deep “bewuush” as all the lights in the tubs and the tub I was in went dark. I couldn’t tell what was up or down, I swam what I thought was up before I hit the wall. I could feel myself getting light headed before I had a gut wrenching feeling of go down. so without any better option, of coarse I swam down. I broke thru the surface of the water and cradled myself to the scaffolding. I clawed my way up onto the scaffolding and just layed there for what felt like an eternity before I heard the sound of the lights turning back on.

I popped my tank of and goggles off and was just standing there in my dry suit. I heard the squishy and squeaky steps of boots stepping towards me. my manager appeared in the hallway, bucket and what looked like a pipe in hand. “the tubs not clean Matt. it needs to be done.” I stared at him in shock for a moment before I screamed “I almost just died bing bong! you were so stoned you missed a hole in my oxygen tank!” he didn’t seem to respond just stood there and said “oh, that’s a shame man.” he started walking towards me, dropping the bucket behind him and now grabbing the pipe like a baseball bat.

”what you need a pipe for?” I said, now stepping backwards. he didn’t respond, I knew if I needed to fight my best years were in my past. but I had the size for damn sure. So I did what any well minded man in my position would do. shoved the scrawny fella into the water. I sprinted past but tumbled over the bucket in the moment, I didn’t look long at what was in there but it was not fish or chum. was to bloody for it to either.

I ran to the locker room, grabbed my clothes and was ready to run out but there he was. my manager, dripping head to toe, pipe still in hand. his button up now partially untucked from his pants. ”listen man Im freaking the fuck out right now, I’m going home.” I said, he didn’t seem to care much “no your not, you still gotta clean.” he said in a monotone voice. we just stared at each other for what felt like half and hour. I glanced over at the clock on the wall, 6:12. “hey man, my shifts over I’ll come in early tomorrow to clean the tubs.” he seemed to slouch at my statement, like he was disappointed at my reason. “fine, don’t expect a lot of pay this week. I hope you know your jobs on the line.” I walked past him and out the door. I looked back towards him from my car and said “your jobs on the line to man!” before I shut my door and drove off.

I remember being able to see the sunrise on my drive home that morning. I had a deep feeling of being grateful, not sure for what. I didn’t go back to that job, my manager called me every day. later I heard another cleaner drowned, a hole in his air tank was found. I don’t know how to prove it but I feel like the manager was hiding something. something bad enough I wouldnt be surprised if he would kill to hide it.

I’m not sure if it has to do with it’s just an easy spot to grab or if it bending form hits is an issue. seems like more flat faced helmets are way more common. not sure if a more rounded houndskull would fix it.

So I really want to get into buhurt but in western ny I can’t seem to find anything at all. I don’t know if I need to drive all the way down to Pennsylvania or what. if yall could give me some pointers that would be greatly appreciated 🙏

I used to always love art, even when I was young I used to doodle wherever and whenever. Everyone said it would take me far in life, but thats what everyone tells a kid when they’re good at something. I’ve been drawing as a pass time forever though, never stopped I always had an itch to create something new. I always loved the idea that my art work should be something new, never seen or even thought of before.

Ive made plenty of good paintings, not enough to line my pockets for life but enough to know Im decent at it. I think it’s because some people see my art work as odd, off putting is a better word. there’s been plenty of times where I bring my artwork to a display and people look at it with a level of discomfort.

So I decided to lean into that feeling of discomfort and questioning with my latest piece. I was going to draw a higher being, whether it be a god or a demon would be up to the person looking at it. so off I went, right after work I raced home on my cheap pedal bike and got to work. Ive never felt that flow before if just every stroke being in just the right spot, every color mixed being the exact color I wanted.

and eventually it was where I wanted it for the night, I had the beings shape and the colors. I was going to continue the next day but I just wanted to wrap up one thing on it. I felt like I had to draw its eyes, just so I could really capture its essence.

that night I had a dream, not an odd dream by any means but I was just there. all my surroundings were a blinding, sterile white. and all that was there was me and my painting. but I was looking at myself, as if I was something else looking at me paint.

I woke up that morning feeling slumped once again. got my stuff together, went to work and got back home as soon as I could to hopefully finish the painting. but when I got home the painting wasn’t how I left it.

the painting was my dream, exactly how I was looking at my self from a third person point of view. I couldn’t believe it, how could anyone believe it so I just went to my bathroom to take a cold shower. I was hoping the heat was just getting to me, that’s why the painting looked diffrent it had to be.

when I left the shower my suspicions were given base, the painting was back to what it was. so I continued I gave the being a mouth, no strong features were given. I didn’t give it fangs, a smile, pristine teeth, a snarle, nothing just a blank face.

thats all I got done that night, I was drained from the heat it was a roaster that day. so I laid down, all the fans I could find pointing at me at full blast. and that night I had another dream. almost same as the last but I heard it, I was still looking at me painting but I could hear something mumbling. I couldn’t understand what it was saying or if it was even trying to say anything but it was unsettling nontheless.

I woke up that morning in a cold sweat, all the fans were turned off. Again, got ready and went to work and rushed home to get back to work on the painting. When I got home the painting was just as I left it, covered in the murky hue of the light my landlord refused to replace. That night I drew its arms, and again I was in the flow I had before, my hand knew where the paint needed to be before I did.

I decided I would go further and draw the beings hands, I thought might as well I already drew its whole arms anyway. It would be rude to leave it with no hands right? But again, I had the dream. Same pristine terrain, same perspective only now it began to crawl. I saw it claw its way closer to me with only its hands, digging into the pure white of the land and leaving the bile from its finger tips where it dug in. I jolted awake that morning, it was before the mailman even did his morning route. My alarm hadn’t even gone off yet either, so I just fixed myself a cup of coffee like I did every morning.

I glanced over at the painting and noticed its posture had changed. its stance wasn’t how I drew it last night, but I didn’t think anything of it. didn’t try to remember exactly how I drew it last night, I don’t know why. as the sun rose and gleamed through the cracks in my blinds I knew it was time for me to leave for the same mundane job. and again, I rushed onto my bike and sped home like I was on the Tour de France.

that night there was nothing left for me to do except draw the beings legs. the once feature less blob was now a anomaly, not a animal but not a plant, not alive but not dead, it was like it was something and nothing at the same time. but again, I had the dream of the same pristine canvas and just watching myself like a hunter.

but now the being came quicker, a jog. it got to me before I could jolt awake form my dream. it laid its hand on my shoulder like a grandfather checking on a child. and leaned over my shoulder and stared at the blank canvas I appeared to be painting.

I woke from the dream but not as abruptly, i felt well rested for the first time in god knows when and I actually enjoyed work that day. And that night I decided my painting was done, all it needed was for me to give it emotion, make it feel alive. That night I’ll never forget, the dream felt almost real. Again the creature was staring at me but it just walked up, slowly and wrapped its hands around my neck. It leaned down towards my ear and muttered the words “tha… thank you“ and it began to squeeze. I could feel the pressure begin to build until it felt like my neck would be crushed. I saw myself swing the base of my paint brush into the beings eye. I felt the pain of the being with the puncture in its eye and I could still feel the lingering sting of the beings hands on my neck.

I woke up that morning abnormally calm, feeling like I didn’t just experience the pain of 2 beings trying to kill each other. When I looked over the canvas looked as if something tore clean through it and dove at me. When I went to the bathroom to get ready I noticed the bruises around my neck. exactly where the being had placed its hands on my neck.

I could not stand to have that thing in my apartment now. All the enjoyment I had from it was now gone. I dragged the canvas out back towards the dumpsters and lobbed it in. before I threw it I felt a slight pressure on where the being placed its hands on my shoulder. That couldn’t stop the anger I had for this painting now.

I haven’t brought up this story to anyone, who will believe the person who said something tried to kill him in his dream.

ok so the base like idea is a kid goes urban exploring with his friends and gets split up in a old mining facility. eventually he finds a old security robot roaming around that is still doing its job all the years after the mine was shut down. it would be just something forgotten still doing its job. I have a pretty good idea on the rest but wanna save that for the actual story

(this is the third story I’ve wrote so far) when I was young dad and mom and me moved to Idaho, dad was a farmer and found a perfect spot to start fresh. I remember when we drove up to the house you could see for miles of flat, featureless plains. the house was perfectly perched on the single little hill in all of the surrounding plains, so birds came all the time to rest from their long flights.

the house had a cozy feel to it, you walked in and the kitchen was directly to your left, along side with the living room being to your right. up the stairs was the bathroom and if you took a right was both the bedrooms, my mom and dads room was to the left down the hallway and mine was on the right. I hated my room, the entrance to the attic was in my room. I had so many nightmares about something coming down from the attic to come right at me.

for weeks it was a calm, simple life. dad would wake me up every morning. “come on buddy, gotta take care of the fields”. I didn’t mind it, made me feel like I was older than I was. mom would call us back for supper or whenever she felt like making food. she had the best Rueben’s I’ve ever had.

But I could never get over the door to the attic in my room. one day I got just a smell of breath, like when your dog breaths in your face. I didn’t understand it, I thought maybe dad left some of his musk just hanging in the air when he sat down.

But one Night I realized, there was this clear liquid Dripping from the edges of the door to the attic, it looked like water but bubbly. It reminded me of spit, like the kinda my dad always spit out from his chewing tobacco, murky with a slight brown tinge. I went back to sleep, thought I was dreaming but that morning, there it was. A puddle of the same, mucky, brown tinted spit.

one time I was out in the field with my dad, just helping with the farm. I was as bored as I think I possibly could have been so I was just looking all around, and noticed there was appeared to be something peeking from the top of the chimney where all the birds perched and dug their talons into the house. Later that day when we came back for supper and I hadn’t forgotten about the leak on the chimney so I climbed out my window and tried my best to peek over the roof to look at the chimney.

I got a glimpse at it and saw there was this red, viscous liquid dripping from all the holes from the birds and it was flowing down into the gutters, before I could put two and two together. I swear to all that is holy, the house shivered, I lost my footing and fell atleast 12 fee. my parents came rushing out and didn’t feel a thing, except the thud of me falling down onto the wrap around porch.

I think at that point the house knew, the house knew that I knew. That night I heard what sounded like dripping through the whole night coming from my parents room. eventually it was so constant I had to know what was happening, I got out my bed and peeped out my bedroom door and saw the same murky, tobacco tainted spit sealing from underneath my parents room. I burst their door open and there they were, dissolving. The house began to squish my parents room together, wall to wall. All I could do is watch as my parents bed slowly screeched towards the other wall. And then eventually I heard the sound I wished I never would hear, a deafening squish. the kinda sound when you step slowly in fresh mud.

After that I lost it, I ran down stairs into the living room and hid behind the couch. in hind sight the couch didn’t make any sense but to 10 year old me it was the only safe spot in the house. After I hid the house settled, I don’t know why but it stopped, I was so drained from the stress of watching what happened to my parents I just passed out behind the couch. I woke up around sunrise the next day and thought it was all ove. I thought I was safe. I was not, when I stood up I suppose the house felt it and the process began again. I freaked out, I thought last night was a dream and I sleep walked. eventually I got myself together and tried to leave through the front door, but there was no door. the door was gone, and once again I spiraled into a crazed search looking for any window, side door, anything that could get me out the house.

There was no escape, I had to think Like my life depended on it. Than I realized, my dad’s axe was the way out. If the house stole the door from me, I would just make my own. So I ran to the kitchen and grabbed the axe from the pantry, and then I just started to swing and swing and swing. The house began to secrete the same brown, acidic, spit. It started at my feet, than my ankles, than my knees. I could feel the sting and tearing of my body being torn apart my the saliva, then I could hear the furniture begin to screech across the floor again. again I swung, again another thud from the axe hitting the houses flesh, again thud and again thud.

finally I broke through the house chest enough to push through. When I pushed through to house, so did all the blood and saliva from the house. Then I realized the extent of how burned my legs were from the saliva. Someone must have been looking down on me that day because a car drove down the road and saw me, took me to the hospital. That old man in the old ford saved my life.

I still wonder if I told my parents about the first time the house began to digest us, the first time its spit came from the ceiling, would they still be alive. That haunts me to this day.

(first story I’ve wrote btw) when I was young me and my dad used to always go hunting together, always hated walking in the woods when I was young. felt like there wasn’t something I didn’t know. eventually when I was older the feeling faded, dad calmed me down by saying “oh please, if there really was something out there I would tell you” before patting me on the back before we climbed up the tree into the tree stand.

Eventually, if we were lucky a lonely deer would wander by. I remember my first good buck, antlers looked like shattered glass. I pulled back the string of with all my scrawny arms might and shot. dad was proud, more proud than normal. we followed the blood trails for miles, kept walking, and walking and eventually they just stopped. no more blood, no more footsteps, just stopped. Even dad couldn’t explain it, which freaked me out even more, he always had an answer.

its been years since me and dad have gone hunting together, old age hasn’t been kind to him and works been grinding me to the bone. but eventually we both found a date that would work. same place we always used to, except we had a new tree stand right on the tree where that deer went missing all those years ago.

I brought a blind with me and dad went on up in the tree stand, we sat there for hours, chatting every now and then, the lukewarm breeze made the trees above us rattle but the tree my dad was in was still. almost like a hunter freezing in front of its prey. didn’t think much of it, may just be a dying dry tree. eventually, by dusk I fell asleep, hadn’t seen anything for hours, I guess dad did to.

I was woken up to a sound I can’t explain, like the crack of bark with the screech of an elk call. I jolted up and looked through the window in the blind and saw the tree moving. like an animals jaw, dad was sucked in to a gap formed by the tree faster than I knew what was happening, he woke up just in time to see and partially understand his fate. branches began to enclose the hole created by the tree, engulfing the tree stand hole.

and then it began to shrink, so agonizingly slow. I practically dived out the blind before gathering the composure I had left to turn around and hear my father screaming for my help “Aiden! Go to the car Aiden! get your pho-“ before I heard the crunch of metal, wire, bone and flesh. all I could do is run, run through the woods I saw my old rusty station wagon. I ditched everything I didn’t need in me, fiddled with my keys. until I heard it scream, what ever that thing was. sounded like an elk call, than a white tail, than my dad. “Aiden! Aiden!” the same tone he had when he told me to run. I paused for what felt like half an hour before I gotten into the rumpled leather seats and drove away, never looking back.

I’m 59 now, my wife doesn’t know about what that night was like, neither do my kids. bought a house in the city to be as far away from a single tree I possibly could be. I still wondering if that thing is hunting to this day.

when my mom died, it was rough on everyone. especially my dad, which was to be expected but it hit him harder than anyone thought it would. mom had a good cushy government job and her old coworkers saw dad was struggling so they offered him a job. after that life began to get better but life never felt the same, there was always a heavy dread in the house when it got quite.

maybe a year or two into dads new job he said he was gonna go on a work trip for a week or two, nothing crazy. the two weeks went by perfectly fine, nothing spooky, nothing to write a story about. but when dad came home is when things were different.

I didn’t notice anything at first, just thought he was feeling down or just a little stiff from the plane ride. but after a month I couldn’t ignore the oddities in his life. it may seem nitpicking but it was very small things, the way he held his fork, what he put in his daily coffee, not wanting to go to his childhood friends get togethers anymore.

So one night, I brought it up to him. “Dad, you been feeling ok?” “of coarse champ, haven’t felt better!” he said in a overly cheery attitude “you sure, you’ve just been acting odd since you came back from that work trip” after I said that my dads smile plummeted into a stiff, emotionless stare. “what do you mean, champ.” he said champ as if it were a threat “ya know never mind, I’m kinda full I think I’m gonna go finish my homework” dad just stared at me.

As I stood up to go up to my room I kept looking back to see if he would Atleast acknowledge me leaving. when I got to the stairs I looked back towards him “goodnight dad” he twitched his eye towards me and slowly turned his neck as if it was forced. “love ya” after I said that dad went back to eating dinner, the same stiff grip he had on the fork since I brought up his change.

after that dinner, nothing much happened. life was more normal than before, even dad started to act normal again. but one day he changed again. I walked down stairs, packed my lunch, was ready to go to school and before I left, dad started to talk. “see ya later champ, have a good day at school” which wasn’t out of the ordinary, he normally said goodbye to me before school but when he said it, he was staring straight out the kitchen window, not even tilting his head towards me. so I just walked out the door and started walking to school, but when I looked back at the house, he was just in the window, staring at me with that happy go get em smile like you see in 1950’s trad wife magazine.

later that night was my breaking point. I woke up to take a drink from my water glass when I noticed there was a grey pillar in my room, than I focused more into it than realized my door was cracked open, and then finally I saw my dad. He was staring at me through the crack in the door, just wide enough for me to see his eye and the edge of the smile he had on his face. “Dad?” I said “dad what are you doing?” He stood there, unresponsive for minutes than he said “just checking up on ya champ” the response isnt what scared me, it’s the fact his mouth didn’t move when he said it. That flat smile with only the edges curving up, never flinched so a word could squeak out.

after he said that he slowly step back away from the door, but didn’t close it. Then I saw his hand creep towards the door handle and grip the handle so tightly I either thought it would bend or break his hand, than he closed the door with the slightest “tik ch”. after he closed the door I could hear him breathing out side my door, very steadily. i Didn’t sleep at all that night, when the sun came up I could see his shadow sitting in front of my door. I packed my stuff, messaged my friend, and picked up and hauled ass though the front door.

I could hear my dad yelling “Champ! Come on Champ you don’t need to do this!”. I didn’t look back once and leaped into my friends car before dad could sprint out the house towards the car with both of his fists clinched like they were stones.

I’ve officially moved out from my dad’s house since, every major holiday i get a holiday card that reads like “come for some family fun, champ“. I’ve never gone, and I don’t have plans to ever see my dad, or what’s left of him ever again.

when my mom died, it was rough on everyone. especially my dad, which was to be expected but it hit him harder than anyone thought it would. mom had a good cushy government job and her old coworkers saw dad was struggling so they offered him a job. after that life began to get better but life never felt the same, there was always a heavy dread in the house when it got quite.

maybe a year or two into dads new job he said he was gonna go on a work trip for a week or two, nothing crazy. the two weeks went by perfectly fine, nothing spooky, nothing to write a story about. but when dad came home is when things were different.

I didn’t notice anything at first, just thought he was feeling down or just a little stiff from the plane ride. but after a month I couldn’t ignore the oddities in his life. it may seem nitpicking but it was very small things, the way he held his fork, what he put in his daily coffee, not wanting to go to his childhood friends get togethers anymore.

So one night, I brought it up to him. “Dad, you been feeling ok?” “of coarse champ, haven’t felt better!” he said in a overly cheery attitude “you sure, you’ve just been acting odd since you came back from that work trip” after I said that my dads smile plummeted into a stiff, emotionless stare. “what do you mean, champ.” he said champ as if it were a threat “ya know never mind, I’m kinda full I think I’m gonna go finish my homework” dad just stared at me.

As I stood up to go up to my room I kept looking back to see if he would Atleast acknowledge me leaving. when I got to the stairs I looked back towards him “goodnight dad” he twitched his eye towards me and slowly turned his neck as if it was forced. “love ya” after I said that dad went back to eating dinner, the same stiff grip he had on the fork since I brought up his change.

after that dinner, nothing much happened. life was more normal than before, even dad started to act normal again. but one day he changed again. I walked down stairs, packed my lunch, was ready to go to school and before I left, dad started to talk. “see ya later champ, have a good day at school” which wasn’t out of the ordinary, he normally said goodbye to me before school but when he said it, he was staring straight out the kitchen window, not even tilting his head towards me. so I just walked out the door and started walking to school, but when I looked back at the house, he was just in the window, staring at me with that happy go get em smile like you see in 1950’s trad wife magazine.

later that night was my breaking point. I woke up to take a drink from my water glass when I noticed there was a grey pillar in my room, than I focused more into it than realized my door was cracked open, and then finally I saw my dad. He was staring at me through the crack in the door, just wide enough for me to see his eye and the edge of the smile he had on his face. “Dad?” I said “dad what are you doing?” He stood there, unresponsive for minutes than he said “just checking up on ya champ” the response isnt what scared me, it’s the fact his mouth didn’t move when he said it. That flat smile with only the edges curving up, never flinched so a word could squeak out.

after he said that he slowly step back away from the door, but didn’t close it. Then I saw his hand creep towards the door handle and grip the handle so tightly I either thought it would bend or break his hand, than he closed the door with the slightest “tik ch”. after he closed the door I could hear him breathing out side my door, very steadily. i Didn’t sleep at all that night, when the sun came up I could see his shadow sitting in front of my door. I packed my stuff, messaged my friend, and picked up and hauled ass though the front door.

I could hear my dad yelling “Champ! Come on Champ you don’t need to do this!”. I didn’t look back once and leaped into my friends car before dad could sprint out the house towards the car with both of his fists clinched like they were stones.

I’ve officially moved out from my dad’s house since, every major holiday i get a holiday card that reads like “come for some family fun, champ“. I’ve never gone, and I don’t have plans to ever see my dad, or what’s left of him ever again.

when my mom died, it was rough on everyone. especially my dad, which was to be expected but it hit him harder than anyone thought it would. mom had a good cushy government job and her old coworkers saw dad was struggling so they offered him a job. after that life began to get better but life never felt the same, there was always a heavy dread in the house when it got quite.

maybe a year or two into dads new job he said he was gonna go on a work trip for a week or two, nothing crazy. the two weeks went by perfectly fine, nothing spooky, nothing to write a story about. but when dad came home is when things were different.

I didn’t notice anything at first, just thought he was feeling down or just a little stiff from the plane ride. but after a month I couldn’t ignore the oddities in his life. it may seem nitpicking but it was very small things, the way he held his fork, what he put in his daily coffee, not wanting to go to his childhood friends get togethers anymore.

So one night, I brought it up to him. “Dad, you been feeling ok?” “of coarse champ, haven’t felt better!” he said in a overly cheery attitude “you sure, you’ve just been acting odd since you came back from that work trip” after I said that my dads smile plummeted into a stiff, emotionless stare. “what do you mean, champ.” he said champ as if it were a threat “ya know never mind, I’m kinda full I think I’m gonna go finish my homework” dad just stared at me.

As I stood up to go up to my room I kept looking back to see if he would Atleast acknowledge me leaving. when I got to the stairs I looked back towards him “goodnight dad” he twitched his eye towards me and slowly turned his neck as if it was forced. “love ya” after I said that dad went back to eating dinner, the same stiff grip he had on the fork since I brought up his change.

after that dinner, nothing much happened. life was more normal than before, even dad started to act normal again. but one day he changed again. I walked down stairs, packed my lunch, was ready to go to school and before I left, dad started to talk. “see ya later champ, have a good day at school” which wasn’t out of the ordinary, he normally said goodbye to me before school but when he said it, he was staring straight out the kitchen window, not even tilting his head towards me. so I just walked out the door and started walking to school, but when I looked back at the house, he was just in the window, staring at me with that happy go get em smile like you see in 1950’s trad wife magazine.

later that night was my breaking point. I woke up to take a drink from my water glass when I noticed there was a grey pillar in my room, than I focused more into it than realized my door was cracked open, and then finally I saw my dad. He was staring at me through the crack in the door, just wide enough for me to see his eye and the edge of the smile he had on his face. “Dad?” I said “dad what are you doing?” He stood there, unresponsive for minutes than he said “just checking up on ya champ” the response isnt what scared me, it’s the fact his mouth didn’t move when he said it. That flat smile with only the edges curving up, never flinched so a word could squeak out.

after he said that he slowly step back away from the door, but didn’t close it. Then I saw his hand creep towards the door handle and grip the handle so tightly I either thought it would bend or break his hand, than he closed the door with the slightest “tik ch”. after he closed the door I could hear him breathing out side my door, very steadily. i Didn’t sleep at all that night, when the sun came up I could see his shadow sitting in front of my door. I packed my stuff, messaged my friend, and picked up and hauled ass though the front door.

I could hear my dad yelling “Champ! Come on Champ you don’t need to do this!”. I didn’t look back once and leaped into my friends car before dad could sprint out the house towards the car with both of his fists clinched like they were stones.

I’ve officially moved out from my dad’s house since, every major holiday i get a holiday card that reads like “come for some family fun, champ“. I’ve never gone, and I don’t have plans to ever see my dad, or what’s left of him ever again.

when my mom died, it was rough on everyone. especially my dad, which was to be expected but it hit him harder than anyone thought it would. mom had a good cushy government job and her old coworkers saw dad was struggling so they offered him a job. after that life began to get better but life never felt the same, there was always a heavy dread in the house when it got quite.

maybe a year or two into dads new job he said he was gonna go on a work trip for a week or two, nothing crazy. the two weeks went by perfectly fine, nothing spooky, nothing to write a story about. but when dad came home is when things were different.

I didn’t notice anything at first, just thought he was feeling down or just a little stiff from the plane ride. but after a month I couldn’t ignore the oddities in his life. it may seem nitpicking but it was very small things, the way he held his fork, what he put in his daily coffee, not wanting to go to his childhood friends get togethers anymore.

So one night, I brought it up to him. “Dad, you been feeling ok?” “of coarse champ, haven’t felt better!” he said in a overly cheery attitude “you sure, you’ve just been acting odd since you came back from that work trip” after I said that my dads smile plummeted into a stiff, emotionless stare. “what do you mean, champ.” he said champ as if it were a threat “ya know never mind, I’m kinda full I think I’m gonna go finish my homework” dad just stared at me.

As I stood up to go up to my room I kept looking back to see if he would Atleast acknowledge me leaving. when I got to the stairs I looked back towards him “goodnight dad” he twitched his eye towards me and slowly turned his neck as if it was forced. “love ya” after I said that dad went back to eating dinner, the same stiff grip he had on the fork since I brought up his change.

after that dinner, nothing much happened. life was more normal than before, even dad started to act normal again. but one day he changed again. I walked down stairs, packed my lunch, was ready to go to school and before I left, dad started to talk. “see ya later champ, have a good day at school” which wasn’t out of the ordinary, he normally said goodbye to me before school but when he said it, he was staring straight out the kitchen window, not even tilting his head towards me. so I just walked out the door and started walking to school, but when I looked back at the house, he was just in the window, staring at me with that happy go get em smile like you see in 1950’s trad wife magazine.

later that night was my breaking point. I woke up to take a drink from my water glass when I noticed there was a grey pillar in my room, than I focused more into it than realized my door was cracked open, and then finally I saw my dad. He was staring at me through the crack in the door, just wide enough for me to see his eye and the edge of the smile he had on his face. “Dad?” I said “dad what are you doing?” He stood there, unresponsive for minutes than he said “just checking up on ya champ” the response isnt what scared me, it’s the fact his mouth didn’t move when he said it. That flat smile with only the edges curving up, never flinched so a word could squeak out.

after he said that he slowly step back away from the door, but didn’t close it. Then I saw his hand creep towards the door handle and grip the handle so tightly I either thought it would bend or break his hand, than he closed the door with the slightest “tik ch”. after he closed the door I could hear him breathing out side my door, very steadily. i Didn’t sleep at all that night, when the sun came up I could see his shadow sitting in front of my door. I packed my stuff, messaged my friend, and picked up and hauled ass though the front door.

I could hear my dad yelling “Champ! Come on Champ you don’t need to do this!”. I didn’t look back once and leaped into my friends car before dad could sprint out the house towards the car with both of his fists clinched like they were stones.

I’ve officially moved out from my dad’s house since, every major holiday i get a holiday card that reads like “come for some family fun, champ“. I’ve never gone, and I don’t have plans to ever see my dad, or what’s left of him ever again.