u/Polish_Lavender

Life’s cruel circumstances during the pandemic led to me becoming idle and lonely. Especially since the pandemic crashed dating lives. So, I'm ashamed to admit that I turned to pornography for that feeling of carnal intimacy and joined gooning servers for the friendly intimacy. 

One night, after finishing up, I sighed and shuddered at my post-nut clarity. I got that all-too-familiar Discord ping from my phone. I saw a message with links to a couple of websites from an account I shared a few servers with but never interacted with. The websites were so elegantly named: "Heavenly Hoes" and the counterpart "Demonic Dames". I sighed and made sure it was safe to explore via a few security measures. The last thing I needed was to get a virus that crashed my phone or computer while working remotely.

I was surprised everything was safe. So, I opened the Heavenly Hoes website and clicked on the first available video advertised as "Most Popular". I watched as a masked man railed a BBW blonde MILF. My horny curiosity had me burning through their entire videography within a few days. It always seemed to be the same masked guy; I mean, that wasn't that uncommon in amateur productions. They had every flavor of beautiful woman imaginable. They had GILFS, MILFS, college-aged gals. They had every body type and fetish imaginable. Each video seemed to be done in a room with minimal furniture and a cold concrete floor where most of the action took place.

Then I noticed something weird: the upload dates of some returning women had various numbers of months apart from previous ones. Then some women didn't return, which wasn't that weird. I explained it away as some pay dispute or change of heart. Closer to the end of the videography, I noticed that the gals all had a similar marking on their body. At first, I thought it was a tramp stamp, but closer inspection showed it was more like a cattle branding mark than a tattoo.

The design matched the website’s logo and was simultaneously simple and complex in design. An oxymoron to describe the intricate details it had while looking so simplistic. The girls who returned looked broken and fearful as the deed was done, begging to be made like an éclair or cream-filled donut, if you catch my drift. I began getting uncomfortable as they would weep when denied their request by the masked man. I was joyful like them when he fulfilled it.

I finished the last entry in their catalogue, and the masked man was different. He had a similar build but was different. He didn’t have the body hair the previous one did; he didn’t have the cowboy skeleton leaning against a cactus tattoo that the previous one did. His voice was different. The camera on the tripod autofocused on a door; a black, viscous liquid pooled underneath as a blood-curdling scream could be heard before the audio was cut, and the new masked man and slim Asian woman he was banging ran for cover. 

I had to do something, so I worked up the courage to take it to the police department. The officer at the front desk had me fill out a report. I was beet red, avoiding any form of eye contact. I heard the stifled chuckle at my report as the desk cop went to the back, and fragments of conversations could be heard. I guess they decided to pair me with the prettiest female officer to interview me regarding everything as some cruel joke. I shifted nervously in my seat. 

“So, you have come in because you believe that you came upon evidence of a murder in…?” She paused, clearly as uncomfortable as me.

“A porn video, I think the liquid was black, but it looked odd, and there was a scream like someone was being killed,” I said, rushing to get the words out of my mouth.

“So, your basis for murder evidence in a porno is a woman screaming. Honey, you do realize women can yell while orgasming?” She repeated it back, adding a snide remark, and I could only nod and crave the sweet release of death.

“Anybody you personally know, or was this just something you stumbled upon on some weird website?” she asked

“Someone… sent the website to me.” 

“So… You’re claiming you got sent potential evidence of the murder of someone you don’t know by someone you also don’t know?” She asked, started sounded more irritated with each syllable. 

“Yes,” I simply replied. 
She sighed and rubbed her brow. “I guess I have to ask to view it. Any chance you saw the murder? Heard any noise that isn’t…”

“No…Just the scream, a pool of black liquid by the door, and the two people getting up to run.” 

“I swear, I will strangle Gary if this is just some weirdo wanting to show me porn…” the officer said through her gritted teeth and instructed me to pull it up.

I awkwardly fumbled with my phone and started the video, holding it where she could watch. The interrogation room filled with the sexual noises as I grew redder and tried to shrink into my own seat.

“Anyway, you can just get to the part about the murder. I’m not here to get off with you.” The officer hissed. I obliged and moved it towards the end of the video.

 I couldn’t look her in the eyes. “Look, don’t waste my time with your fetishes. Leave,” the officer barked and threw the report she had previously been making into the trash. I  couldn’t understand it. I looked at the video. That whole sequence of the black liquid, the scream, and the unseen force causing the stars to run was edited out. I exited the police department with my head held in shame as I could hear the laughter from all the cops. Please kill me. 

I wasn’t crazy, but I was made a fool of for showing a cop some porn.  I googled “Heavenly Hoes” and found an address. I had to prove myself; something was up, and I needed to gain my own evidence since the cops thought I was some pervert who just got off to showing porn to strangers.  It wouldn’t make sense for a porn studio to advertise their physical address, especially with how crazy fans could get. I decided to take my handheld camera and go explore that address to show the officers that I wasn’t crazy and that I would have some evidence of wrongdoing going on there. What I discovered made me sick and scared to see what would happen if I investigated its twin website, “Demonic Dames”.

CW: domestic violence depiction

My father's family was of Slavic heritage, more specifically Polish. When World War 2 came around, a lot of my family fled to America with the help of the Catholic church. It wasn't until recently that I learned my true last name, not the version they changed to avoid persecution. Along with people like my family who immigrated here, they carried their customs and heritage proudly where they couldn't before, without fear of death. Alongside those customs was the folklore and, believe it or not, some creatures from that folklore. My family had managed to be lucky and, with their belongings of the motherland, unbeknownst to them, brought the kikimora.

Over the centuries, the various lore behind her became entangled and indecipherable from what were the other Slavic nations' stories and the Polish ones. What my babcia told me while she was alive was that our kikimora was one to protect us and make sure we kept our home in order. I miss grandma; she passed away when I was little.

The kikimora has a canine snout and blue human eyes within that oddity of a skull of hers.  She wears traditional clothing from the motherland that makes her look like an excerpt out of a book. From what I've seen, our family’s kikimora's legs bend backwards like a dog's and have the scaliness of a chicken. She is maybe five and a half feet tall. Her self-hunched-over back and headdress would have you not blinking twice if you saw her on the streets, if it wasn't for her more bizarre features.

We would affectionately refer to her as "Keke". She didn't speak much and never gave me a name when child me asked. I never felt threatened by her; it was like I had another grandma.  She made sure I did my chores, took care of the animals on our small homestead, and then played with me.

We had a seat for her at the family table despite not knowing what she ate or if she even could. It was more of a gesture to show our appreciation to her for helping us out around the home. When I reached my teens, she helped me learn to cook Polish food.  Once, a boy cheated on me, and I came home heartbroken and threw myself onto my bed to sob into the pillow. Her decrepit hand rubbed my back to reassure me. I was taken aback; I had shut and locked my door. How did she get in? "No worries, girl. He bad soul, you good girl," she said, through barriers of broken English, the homeland's accent, and her hoarse, nearly irradiated voice. I felt the love behind those words.

I'm no longer a teen but now in my early thirties. My parents have passed away in their old age. So, I inherited the house as the sole child. Keke was there for me to help lessen the burden of mourning. 

It wasn't all bad.  I met a guy through work. We both enjoyed the same musicians, and he even took me to a few of their concerts at festivals. We differed in tastes when it came to movies but were able to go see movies together and discuss what we liked and didn't like about it.  We always shared a large popcorn with butter and salt. Paired with a large slushie that we bribed the teenage movie theater worker to add a little bit of each flavor into it. 

My fondest memory of our relationship was a picnic at the beach that we drove six hours to get to, only for the beach to be closed.  We snuck in there to have some form of a picnic. When we got chased by some security guard we went to a nearby picnic spot at a state park. There were also the long conversations where he listened to me ramble about whatever I had on my mind or was hyperfixated about. Anything from my annoyance that a movie used the wrong storyline in a superhero movie to my fascination with entomology and zoology. 

We began dating for the better part of a year. He was sweet, kind, and loved to show me all these fancy places and drinks at those places. I'm a lightweight and not one for the party scene, unlike him. We balanced the party-night dates and regular, cozy dates. Relationships are all about compromise, right?

It came to a point where I felt like I wanted to marry him. I wrestled with the idea and decided to do a trial of sorts. Dating someone and marriage were two different things. I never even stayed the night with Clarence. One night I opened up my feelings to him; to my pleasant surprise, he felt the same towards me and had been saving up for a ring. We discussed for a while and finally settled on a trial period of living in my home for a year before deciding to marry. 

That's when Keke first started acting strange.  Since Clarence's apartment wouldn't allow someone to just move in,  it made more sense for him to move into my house. The house wasn't a mansion but large and lonely when you're the only one staying in it.  I started showing him the house and helped him unpack his bags into what would be his room for the year. I told him all about where his bathroom was, and then Keke stepped out of the darkness of cleaning the closet to embrace me. 

“Ew, what the hell is that thing?” Clarence asked with a mix of disgust and shock at the sight of Keke. 

“That's Keke. Don't mind her,  she's family. She's my…” I drifted off, trying to figure out what word would be best to describe the relationship of this kikimora and my family.  I finally finished my thought. “She's like an aunt or elder relative. Hard to describe it.”

He gave me a look of confusion and glared at Keke before stepping back out to his car to get the remainder of his luggage. While he was out, Keke looked at me and spoke sternly,  “He has rotten soul. No good.” I brushed it off as Keke having traditional values of the old country. I wish I had listened to her there and kicked Clarence out.  It would've saved me a lot of heartache.

It started off as small things with him.  He would go to my bathroom instead of his and leave the toilet seat up, a stray drink can for Keke and me to clean up, and crumbs of snacks littered across the floor. I figured he was a man and so used to living alone that it'd take a bit for him to break these habits. Every time I'd bring them up to him,  he'd seem apologetic and clean it up with a joke about it.  Then, as the weeks turned into months,  the displaced trash began to form small piles; the once-joking Clarence, who would clean up, was now grumbling under his breath when he thought I couldn't hear him about me nagging, and moved his way into my bedroom and my bed. He justified it by saying that I'd have to get used to having someone else in my bed before getting married, so it wasn't such a culture shock for me.  I bought into that lie. 

I woke up the first night of having the extra body in my bed. I stared at my door as something wiggled through the doorknob. Disjointed bones squeezed through the keyhole to reassemble into the posture of Keke. She approached the bed and looked at Clarence's unconscious body. 

“You are a good girl.  He has rotten soul. He need to leave, "she said in a hushed but angry tone. I couldn't believe she violated my privacy like that and demanded that she left my room.  She sighed and obliged. The next morning,  I placed an upside-down broom by my door, a way to keep kikimoras from entering my room.  I hadn't ever had the need or wanted to do so until that night.  There was an energy of loss of trust and a sense of hurt between Keke and me for the next few weeks.  We didn't speak to each other during that time.

I started to get promotions and excel at my job while Clarence had been fired.  He said it was because the company wanted new faces. I believed him at the time.  After the loss of his job, he had more time to drink.  Which meant a bigger mess to clean for me to come home to and to lie next to the stench of whatever alcohol he had decided to down that day. 

Clarence grew rowdier and pushier with me. The more liquor bottles and beer cans piled in my home, the more bruises I had to apply makeup over to keep my sanity and love for him. 

I avoided eye contact with Keke whenever I left the house. I felt her anger. It wasn’t aimed at me, but at what was happening. A deputy knocked on my door one day after a neighbor heard Clarence, in a drunken rage, had yelled at me, and shoved me onto the ground. I was still in a Stockholm syndrome state of justifying it as somehow my fault.  I cooked the roast wrong; I deserved it.  The deputy saw my bruises on my arm and had me step out, asking if I was safe and if I wanted to press charges.  Like a fool, I said I was safe,  just stressful times. I wasn't safe at all, just delusional. I always heard Keke clawing at my door, desperate to protect me despite my measures to make sure she couldn't enter my room. 

It all boiled up to one final night. When Clarence brought out the revolver, it was getting closer to a full year, and my once spotless home now looked like a hoarder's home piled with trash. Keke and I worked tirelessly to clean it each day. Each step forward we made, Clarence dragged us back ten steps.  

“Rotten soul,  rotten home,” Keke muttered as we took out a fifth construction black bag of beer cans and liquor bottles. I decided she was right as a roach skiddied off across my floor. My parents never had the house this filthy at all.  The night the revolver was pulled out, I had had enough and was telling a drunken Clarence so and that this was his last night in my home. We were over. Big mistake.

He grabbed me and shoved the barrel of the gun,  drunkenly stating, “I put one bullet in here.  Let's see how many pulls of the trigger it takes to make you take back what you said.” Click. That one was empty; five more chambers. I was crying and reaching for the door as I heard Keke scratching and attempting to try and rescue me.  Click. Four more chambers left. I had managed to shove the door open as Keke watched with horror, unable to enter and interfere. Click. Three more chambers left. I stretched with every fiber of my being to knock down that damn broom. I was successful.

I heard the cock of the hammer and a guttural sigh as Keke drove her claws into his chest. He stood there, frozen. She pulled out his beating heart and an opaque mass out of his body. The mass looked like roadkill on the side of the road during a heatwave, given how decayed and rotten it looked. His heart matched the same appearance. 

“I told you. Rotten soul. Rotten heart. Rotten man. You deserve better, girl.” Keke stated, pulling the revolver out of his hand and into mine. Making sure the bullet was in the chamber and the trigger was ready to be pulled before placing his heart and soul back into his body.  Click, bang.

I sat there shivering as an officer called to the scene tried consoling me and getting the story straight. All I could mutter was that he had been beating me, and he pulled out the gun when I broke up with him. He said there was one bullet and five empty chambers. Somehow, I got it in my hand and shot him because I feared for my life. 

After the investigation concluded, I was told that Clarence lied. He lied about everything. His job, name, and the number of bullets. The revolver was fully loaded. This was his M.O.; he killed multiple women in the same fashion. A chill ran down my spine.

It took me a long time to clean up the mess that Clarence had left in my home. Keke was there to help me.  Once we got my home back to its former glory and I took my time to process everything,  I hugged Keke and sobbed. Just like when I was a teenager and heartbroken, she was there for me. It took me a long time to get back into the dating scene, but one thing was certain now. I’d always take Keke's dating advice and introduce any prospects to her. 

Unironically, we should just ignore SB since their only relevancy online had to be attached to trying to stir drama regarding the CreepCast. Anytime they say anything in our communities? No they didn't, twas just the wind.

(This is a follow up story to my story "Men keep going hunting in the woods but I think they're the ones being hunted.)

After what happened in the woods with Paul, it took me a while to return back. A combination of my own curiosity and to answer some questions that I saw some people ask in regards to Heidi. I waited until after deer season, hence the timing of this post, to gather my thoughts and make a quick list of questions to ask her. That is if she's still there. I carried the locket she had given me all those years ago. I opened up the heart shaped locket to look at the photo of Heidi, back when she was human. I hadn't opened it until now. I wasn't ever motivated enough to since she left. It was too painful of a reminder of my cowardice when she needed me. In there was a small strip of notebook paper folded to the smallest possible form, smeared ink and pencil marks on it. It simply read, “I love you, Stephen.” It was paired with a few hand drawn hearts. A feeling of bittersweetness hit my stomach. 

I prepped my hiking backpack with a few necessities. Some granola bars, a canteen full of water, a flare gun, and my notebook and a few writing utensils to jot down all the answers Heidi gave to my questions. I carried my pocket knife as well. It was a small Case pocket knife, gifted to me by my mother, along with an Old Timer pocket knife. I fiddled with it in my hand as I started down the trail where I last saw her, where Paul got what was long overdue justice. Isabella and their baby were doing better now. It sounds callous, but I was happy for them now that Paul died. I don’t want to think about what possible abuse their little daughter might have to endure from him. 

Lush plant life was springing to life and struggling against the humidity and summer heat. I carried my fishing pole as well. I decided if I was going to search for Heidi, I might as well get some fishing done at the creek in these woods. After, nothing in particular. If I caught something, it was good. If not, I got relax and let nature's ambience wash over me and soothe my spirit. The forest floor crawled with wildlife. 

I sat on a log near the creek with a line cast into flowing waters when I felt a bite at my leg. I looked down to see a copperhead had struck and bit me. I swear there were three horns, and something shined on its head as it slithered away. From the puncture marks, it had injected its venom when it struck.  Damn it,  the nearest emergency room was a good twenty mile drive from here one I got to my vehicle. I also felt the swelling of my leg begin to start.

Things could be worse, at least it was peaceful if I passed away here. Running bodies of water always helped calm me down. They were peaceful as well as the other sounds of nature. I leaned against a tree near that creek and tried to slow down my panicked breathing and heartbeat to just enjoy the gorgeous sounds of nature. I felt my head spin as the bite throbbed and burned, making it harder to ignore. Then as I started to go quietly into the waters of dismay a soft, familiar and kind voice snapped me back. Grabbing me back to reality like an outreached hand saving someone moments from drowning.

“Hey, sleepyhead. Glad to see you again.” She smiled down at me before seeing the bite on my leg and cringing. Heidi grabbed various plants and in her hand crushed them, before rubbing them on the snakebite. The dizziness died down a bit, however the heat from the bite felt like coals were dropped on my leg, it became a subdued pain but present. I had to talk to Heidi. I think she could tell and had a look of confusion and worry as the bite mark throbbed. 

I reached into my bag and pulled out that notebook of questions I had for her. “I missed you Heidi, there's so much to catch up on.” I said with heavy breathes fighting back the pain to start what I guess could be described as either an interview or interrogation. I fiddled with the locket she had given me all those years ago in between my fingers softly asking, “Did you mean what you said? You know?”

Heidi was in her more hybrid form today, her legs from the calf down appeared to be the leg of a deer, she had antlers on top of her head and white freckles on her face like that of a white-tailed deer. This time she wasn't nude. She had a tee-shirt with the extra tied into a knot by her hip and some pink shorts that hugged her hips. 

She let out a frustrated exhale of air before glaring into my eyes. Her brown eyes burned into mine. I could feel the anger she had for me even asking, so I moved onto my next question, “So, Paul is dead. Your body was found, do you disappear now that your spirit can rest? Does it help you move on?” Her annoyed face remained as the little deer ears on the side of her head twitched and she slapped my face. 

“You feel that?” She asked deadpan. I nodded. “I'm not disappearing. It really is more complicated than “avenge me” rules. This is kinda my job now, in a way. I appreciate my body being found, but I'll still be like this” 

My head was getting dizzier as I forced myself to get through more questions, the feeling in my leg was pulsing and burning. I was sweating and teeth grinding as I struggled to get the last questions out,  “What do you do when not hunting down people? How do you determine who's good or bad?” 

Her expression changed from one of annoyance at my previous questions to one of concern. I guess my discomfort was becoming visible. “I can smell their soul, it is like smelling meat that is rotten or not. Whether they are willing to change or not.” Were the last words I remember before I passed out from pain in the leg. 

Once passed out, my head felt like a spiral as images and moments flashed.  Faces I didn't recognize throughout various times.  A red mist loomed nearby over everything. Soon, I found myself in this “dreamscape” just in darkness with a sole shine high up along what looks like stacks of rocks or mountains. A large rattling sound filled the air. It grew louder and louder, beckoning me closer to that higher shining.

I woke up in a hospital bed as a nurse looked over at my chart and discussed it with a doctor. I saw my bag next to the bed, I looked blankly at the nurse and doctor while taking in everything. The doctor walked up to my bed, “Bad dream? You're lucky your girlfriend cared enough to bring you in here. That was one of the most gnarly snakebite I've seen.” Girlfriend? My cloudy mind was confused at what they meant. “The antivenom seems to be doing its job, but the reaction to your skin it is having is something I've never seen.” The doctor continued ignoring my confused look. I finally realized that I had an IV attached to me, why did they always attach an IV to me whenever I went into a hospital no matter the context?

Doctor left me to rest and the nurse lingered to check if I needed anything,  before getting to her true intention. To get that sweet gossip, since I was confused by the mention of my girlfriend, “So,  do you know who brought you in or not?” I shook my head but I think I had an idea. “Shame, she was beautiful. She was really concerned about you. I could tell and wanted to stay but kept saying something about getting back to work.” I nodded and thanked her.  Like most people in the South before she exited she gave her opinion unprompted, “If I was you and she wasn't my girlfriend now, I'd make mine.” 

“It is more complicated than that.,” I said softly,  if only she knew.  She shrugged and exited the room.  I lifted the sheet off my bitten leg. The snake bite was swollen, I expected that. I didn't expect the streaks of neon and pastel colors from the bite circling my legs and pulling. The same heat remained but was subdued. 

My mind raced piecing things together. I just know Heidi knows more about this somehow. I don't know if it is a pure selfish desire to see Heidi again or this strange beckoning back to those woods. A name I never heard or read entered my mind further beckoning to me to return to the forrest, Uktena.

I always hated the claim made by my small town that we were the "Deer Capital of the World". Not only was it probably wrong, but a bit too on the nose with the name of our town. Deer hunting is a big deal here, just like every rural town in the South. I remember my school even taking off a week the first week of deer season. Occasionally, you'll have the accidents of men going into the woods drinking, shooting, and God knows what else. However, this deer season things have been different. Men have been found brutally trampled. Some aren't found due to the hunting spots they picked.

I only came back here because my counselor suggested I do it for closure regarding Heidi, and try to reconnect with Paul and Isabella if possible. If not, to forgive myself for both Heidi's disappearance and Isabella's current situation.  Heidi, Paul, Isabella, and I all went to high school together. Paul and I were close friends,  mostly because we played football together. Isabella was a cheerleader that Paul beat Mr to the punch on asking out.  The three of us were a close-knit trio. Sometimes, people refer to us as the acronym of our first names,  "SIP". The S was me,  Steve. In our senior year, we found ourselves, like most kids that age, dreaming of leaving the small town and doing big things.  Whether it be going to college or going to some form of a trade school. Anything to escape the mundane cycle of things that never changed in our town. Then Heidi arrived, or as they were born, Henry. Poor thing never stood a chance trying to transition down here. Their foster parents beat "the sin out of them to save their soul" when they came out as trans. Heidi was a member of the Cherokee tribe whose parents passed away.

I was taught to be kind to everyone and welcome them. I started hanging out with Heidi, despite the snide remarks from everyone, including Paul.  Heidi was different than everyone here. I could nerd out about things with them without being made fun of. She gifted me a locket that I still hold dear to me. I still carry it with me. We both loved horror, especially old folklore. We got close.

One day while at her foster parents' place, she showed me some of the feminine clothing they snuck in past their foster parents. I felt conflicted. Heidi even modeled a skirt for me. She looked cute. We traded tales of our own heritage's folklore. I told tales of Południca. Południca had many names in Polish and English. One thing was still the same. How she carried a sickle and was tall, thin. Tales stated she was responsible for every farmer who collapsed due to heat exhaustion. Heidi one-upped me by telling the tale of the Deer Woman, while each tribe had their own version of the origin and her purpose, Heidi told the one she was most familiar with. One of a spirit of a girl that was beaten and ravaged by men and left to die. As she lay there and died, a fawn lay next to her to comfort her. The Great Spirit saw this, and made the girl into the deer woman, a spirit that would kill any men that wronged women and children.

As we spoke about our college plans and dreams past the city limits, she leaned in to kiss me, and I kissed back before shoving her away, and a typhoon of confused emotions wrecked me. My skin radiated embarrassment as I rushed out the door. The next school day, Henry showed up and changed into Heidi in the bathroom. Wearing a denim skirt and flowery top with the makeup they could manage to sneak. Slurs and bigotry were hurled at her carefree like fistfuls of candy at a parade. The only difference was those fistfuls didn't have candy but angry people at the end of them, leaving her with black eyes and scars. Both inside and out. Her eyes met mine as she sat at the lunch table near me, the person whose lips I had tasted. I turned my back to maintain the most precious currency there was in his school,  prestige and image. Unfortunately, associating with her would drag mine down now. As Paul shoved her away with a venom-tipped tongue, I saw the hurt and tears in her eyes. I fought back mine. It was high school.  I had to maintain my image.

The school reported the incidents to her foster parents. An angry ​​​elderly man arrived, grabbed her arms, dragging her off and not even making it off school property before her wails of pain could be heard.  Both emotional and physical.  It was normal for parents and guardians to discipline their children. This wasn't that.  Tears at the clothing she held precious, smears of makeup of pinks and reds replaced purple and blue bruises. Everyone pretended to look away and out of the corner of their eyes watched. I watched as she looked towards me, those same hurt-filled brown eyes crying out to me to do something.  I did nothing.  A week later, Heidi went missing. Half-assed investigations were maintained for a month before they gave up on her.  Last they heard, she had run into the wooded area when she was taken home. I didn't give up on her. I searched for a while to no avail.

Small towns are cruel with speculation and rumors. Those same venom-soaked forked tongues sat in the pews on Sundays, raising their voices in prayer and praises towards God. The beatings and ridicule of Heidi were justified by men of the cloth, saying they were fighting evil in our generation. The women gathered in their circles gossiping about the newest theory of Heidi vanishing. The prominent theory was that she had run away. Whether she lived or perished, it didn't matter to them.  "He was just a degenerate of the devil's making", my Sunday school teacher had commented. Others aren't so kind,  stating that the only good people like her are dead ones. Calloused hearts making comments of approval when it was theorized she had taken her own life in those woods. I stopped going to church for a long time after that. It hurt too much.  I didn't understand why.  I didn't know them for that long.

That is, until I went to college and started seeing a counselor. It took a long time to unpack everything during those four years as I spoke with my counselor during stressful times. Unpacking my feelings with Heidi was a secondary reason. The guilt and shame I carried for someone I knew for less than a year latched onto me like briars. Sessions carefully removed those thorns to reveal the more painful truth that I had loved her, not Henry, Heidi. Although it felt more like pouring salt into a freshly cleaned wound, I knew it was true.  That's one reason I came down here,  to get closure and visit the woods she was last seen running into. The other being my resentment towards Paul for his treatment of Heidi and Isabella, his wife.

On the outside, he seemed like your typical good ol' country boy. Beer drinking, deer hunting, and red-blooded American man's man. That was until a few months after Isabella and he got married. That's when I first saw her with a black eye from "accidentally hitting the corner of a door." Everyone in the county knew what was happening, but she refused to admit it. Especially since she recently had their baby. How could I turn my back on them? Paul and Isabella were my friends all through high school, for better or worse. Isabella was the theater kid I bonded with in our productions of Peter Pan, and whatever play we were allowed to do a production of. She was like a sister. Paul was like a brother, an estranged brother at this point. One I was severely disappointed in and had to stay away from. I couldn't stand to see how he treated Isabella. I was the best man at their wedding.

Last time I was at their place, shortly after the honeymoon, he and I ended up standing toe-to-toe and almost fought over me seeing a new bruise on Isabella. I knew where it came from. It came from a guy who was at one point a friend of mine and a teammate of mine on the football team. Now, he was just a drunk wifebeater. A man who didn't deserve the patience and sweetness of Isabella. That stirred more fire with him accusing me of trying to steal his woman when I told him he needed to keep his hands off her, and suggested if he wanted to hit someone, I was there, and I would fight back. That he could pick on someone his own size instead of bullying poor ol' Isabella around.

The day Paul went missing in the wilderness, I was with him. I saw what happened, but I don't think anyone would believe me if I told them. So, I guess I'm venting it out here to get out what I saw. Maybe strangers on the internet will believe me. So, here it goes.

I was surprised when I got the call from Paul. He invited me to go hunting with him on some plot that he was leasing. I figured it was probably a good chance to try and salvage my friendship with him if there was any chance of doing so. The promise of splitting the venison meat 50/50 and the idea of giving Isabella a break just sweetened and sealed the deal. So, I agreed. I texted my counselor that I was going to go hunting with Paul and sent them the property details that Paul had given me. Just in case Paul tried to fight me like he did the last time I had dinner with them. I met him there, and the property just had this familiar feeling that I couldn't place my finger on.  Paul showed up sober and reminiscent of the Paul I knew during high school.  The fun, living, and pleasant one. We began catching up on things happening in our lives, since that dinner.

"You know that new field house they promised us senior year?" He asked me, cracking open a soda to my surprise.

"The one they promised us senior year after we took them further than any class had in a quarter century in the playoffs, then never did it because it wasn't in the budget?" I responded, only to see a smirk spread across Paul's face as he sipped the soda.

"They built it the very next year, when the superintendent's kids started playing football." I sighed and rolled my eyes. That sounded about right in this small town. "The bitch of it is,  they didn't win a single game that season." I couldn't help but laugh with Paul at the irony. Glimpses of the Paul I once knew were cracking through. We walked from our vehicles to the little deer shed that sat in the middle of the property closer to the forest. Once the door was open, I could see it had the luxuries that any hunter could dream of having.  A toilet, comfortable seats, and enough leg room to stretch your legs.

"You're living high on the hog now. " I teased Paul, "Getting too old to climb into those tree stands as we used to when we were kids?" A punch landed on my shoulder as a response.

We sat there in the mutual silence hunters have when awaiting. Nothing much until a couple hours in when a little whitetailed fawn jumped out of the woods. Its nose twitching and head pivoting, looking for its mother. The poor thing, either separated from its mother by death or fear. I heard Paul cock the rifle. Before I could fathom what we were about to do, he had already done it. 

A shot rang, and the fawn shifted and ran before falling. "What the fuck?" I asked him, following him to his illegal as hell kill. Lots of depictions of the death of animals get it wrong in media. They don't go quietly into the night. They fight it,  no matter how much of a losing battle it is. I got to the fawn first, silently praying that the fawn was able to be saved and this would just be something we could tell a game warden that the mother hopped out of the way at the last moment.

The fawn's legs kicked, and it craned its neck trying to get up. Blood leaked upon the ground. The eyes searched for an explanation of this that I couldn't provide. It was a clean shot through its heart. Nothing to do. It cried out for its mother to only have death answer the call.  It shook and trembled as it went limp. It broke my heart. I grew up on a farm, and the unexpected death of an animal, especially a baby, was something that always broke me. I could separate when we had to butcher something or hunt something. But this was a baby. "Watch Bambi too much in the big city and grow soft on me?" Paul interrupted my thoughts as he began the field dressing process.

"You're not seriously going to harvest that thing,  right? That was a juvenile doe. Not old enough to hunt. " I said to an apathetic shrug as Paul let the blade run across the belly of the "Bambi". Placing what was edible from it into a five-gallon bucket before trying the rest closer to the deer shed. I was ready to go then. It was bad to kill a little defenseless fawn. Not just legally and ecosystem-wise, but spiritually, I believed.  The living embodiment of innocence killed. I didn't want any blood on my hands regarding this. I could practically feel the energy in the air shift from the pleasant one to a darker and impending doom in my body. My body wanted to get in my vehicle and drive off, but conflicted by trying to bond with an old friend. I decided to stay and simply told Paul,  "Keep that spoiled meat to yourself.  I don't want cursed." He popped off something about college making me way too soft. That kill should've been my first warning to leave.

The beers came out, and he began drinking. With each beer, he became rowdier and louder. Scaring away anything we could get away.  The six-pack of deer piss-tasting beers in, he was bearable. Annoying but bearable. Making brags about his sexual conquests of the past, including Isabella. Also,  brags he'd had since marrying her.  Women he had affairs with since marrying Isabella. Some in this very deer shed. Then he brought out his cooler filled with liquor, which, if his noise hadn't scared deer away then, the strong stench of the alcohol would now. I caught a glimpse of a beautiful doe standing near the spot where Paul had killed the fawn. Something was off. The eyes seemed off with them.  Paul took a drunken shot at it. Missing it, but it didn't move. He took another,  this time hitting the shoulder. Yet, the doe stood there and looked in our direction as blood dripped from the shoulder.

It turned back into the woods, calm as if it was still grazing. I turned to Paul, who went from drunken red to pale. There was a mutual understanding of the freakiness of what we just witnessed. Another swig of liquor for Paul, another refusal to have some from me.  He began angry ramblings about Isabella, "The bitch doesn't put out anymore since we had the kid."  Only a drunken asshole could whine about not getting sex from the woman who gave birth to their child. "I mean fuck,  all she's gotta do is just lay there." Yep, Paul was that drunken asshole, I remember from that dinner last visit.

"Maybe she doesn't want to sleep with the enemy," I mumbled before instantly regretting it. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" The slurred speech and odor of alcohol turned towards me.  Instead of backpedaling, I doubled down. "You beat, cheat on her, and treat her like shit. She deserves better.  Why'd she sleep with a drunk piece of shit like you?" I said before a punch was thrown and connected with my shoulder. This one with malice behind it and not the friendliness it had before. I tried ignoring it. I looked and saw a beautiful ten-point buck standing where the fawn and doe had. I looked through binoculars to get a better view and those eyes. They looked too human. Too familiar.

A fist struck my jaw.  I lost all restraint I had previously. I struck back. He threw a punch, I threw one back.  He pulled hair, I did the same.  We rolled around fighting until Paul's drunken ass slurred something that broke me. "High and mighty in love with that dumb dude that wore a skirt." I felt my heart sink and bounce back in rage. I restrained myself as scratches and bruises covered both of our bodies. I looked back out, and that buck was still waltzing around. Then it cried. If you've ever heard a buck call out. It can be terrifying. The grunting noise escaped the beast. Paul shot at it. I looked and saw him missed again, and yet it stood there. He shot again,  this time hitting it in the heart. A clean shot. Instead of dropping or running, it dripped blood. It did like the doe sniffing the air, turning into the woods. My body reacted like someone had plunged me into icy waters. I was getting ready to get out of here. Paul had different, alcohol-fueled ideas as he followed the buck into the woods. I muttered some swears under my breath as I felt obligated to at least make sure he didn't end up lost for Isabella's sake.

I followed as he stumbled and cursed me for everything imaginable, until he got to a spot by a tree marked with some small stones. He seemed to have sobered up enough to be able to piss without stumbling. His face was angry and prideful before exclaiming, "You know that skirt-wearing freak that went missing? Here he lies." At first I didn't register what he said until he repeated it and added more as he zipped up. "I found them here crying like a bitch. Fitting. They wanted to be a woman badly, so I helped." A chuckle crept from his voice as my mind started trying to decipher what they meant, and my stomach flipped in sickness. "Then snip snip. They cried for you like a bitch, you know that? Like you'd save them." He added with glee, showing off his hunting knife for emphasis. I fully lost it. I lunged at him and just laid punch after punch into him. Letting my knuckles become crimson, ignoring the pain. Grabbing at my handgun, I debated putting the bastard down there. I looked at him and remembered he had a child. I wasn't going to be the one to lose my freedom and make Isabella's daughter lose her father. I sat up and looked at the piss-soaked ground.

The buck grunted again. I watched it in my scope flaunt around one moment. Run behind a tree, and the next a beautiful nude woman walked out from behind. She turned as if she knew I was watching, those familiar eyes of the deer. I couldn't place why we were so. Paul took another drunken shot, striking the woman. Again she didn't react. Her hair draped over her bosom as chills ran down my spine. Then she turned and began trotting towards us on all fours. Shifting back and forth between deer and humanoid form before settling for a hybrid.

She closed the distance fast as I tried to turn away. It shifted into a deer head with antlers. It used the side of its head to knock me over and focused its attack on Paul. No matter how many shots he hit it with or slashes on its thin deer hide, it didn't slow down. I watched as the spirit shifted and tackled him against a heavy pine. This form of it was a monstrosity. Antlers on top of its head, the legs ending in deer hooves. The creature stood on its hind legs, as the rest of it formed into some vague humanoid shape. The end of its arms had hooves sharpened into claws. Ones that looked more like it was made from the antlers than hooves. It all happened so fast.

Grunts from the beast as it trampled Paul to death until his body went limp. It panted, regaining its energy. I tried to move faster down the path before I felt it hit me and knock me to the ground. It stood over me. I held my arms over my head, praying to God and preparing for my demise. Then the locket fell out of my flannel shirt pocket onto the ground. I cringed as I reached for it and the monster broke off a piece of its own antlers and stabbed my hand with it. The monstrosity turned from something out of a nightmare into something more pleasant. It turned into a human woman with antlers on its head and hooves for feet. White-tailed deer markings up its body, glistening against her dark skin. Long black hair covered her face. It was her.

It was Heidi, or some version of her. Those brown eyes looked into mine as she picked up the locket, examined it, and returned it to me. I struggled to sit upright.

She squatted down in front of me. A sense of calm hit me at once and washed away all previous anxiety. All the fear melted like ice in the summer heat. Tears dripped down my cheek. She was so beautiful. She always was. I felt her warm embrace. It burned, but a good warmth like hot chocolate entering your body on a cold day. Once I felt her arms wrap around me, I wrapped mine around hers. She whispered eight words that wrecked me into a sobbing mess. "I love you, and I forgive you, Stephen.”

I don't know how long I sat there holding her and crying. She helped me stand up and motioned down the path. I left for my vehicle and went to my vehicle. I drove into town and sat at the gas station restaurant to gather myself before I called 911. I told them about Paul and me fighting after he got drunk. I told them about how he went running into the woods drunk, chasing a buck, shooting recklessly. I told me of the Heidi confession he unfolded. Everything else, I kept to myself as I waited there.

I had to regurgitate my story to them so many times about Paul's drunken murder confession. The spot of Heidi's body before they cleared me of any wrongdoing. They had both Paul's and Henry's funerals recently. I went to neither. My mother taught me that only a body remained at the grave. I didn't want to go to Paul's funeral. It hurt, as I still felt anger. I didn't go to "Henry's" because I knew them as Heidi. I didn't go to her official gravestone in the cemetery, etched with Henry. I went to those woods to see her. I went to see the woman that man had rejected and ridiculed, but the Great Spirit embraced as herself.

I always hated the claim made by my small town that we were the "Deer Capital of the World". Not only was it probably wrong, but a bit too on the nose with the name of our town. Deer hunting is a big deal here, just like every rural town in the South. I remember my school even taking off a week the first week of deer season. Occasionally, you'll have the accidents of men going into the woods drinking, shooting, and God knows what else. However, this deer season things have been different. Men have been found brutally trampled. Some aren't found due to the hunting spots they picked.

I only came back here because my counselor suggested I do it for closure regarding Heidi, and try to reconnect with Paul and Isabella if possible. If not, to forgive myself for both Heidi's disappearance and Isabella's current situation.  Heidi, Paul, Isabella, and I all went to high school together. Paul and I were close friends,  mostly because we played football together. Isabella was a cheerleader that Paul beat Mr to the punch on asking out.  The three of us were a close-knit trio. Sometimes, people refer to us as the acronym of our first names,  "SIP". The S was me,  Steve. In our senior year, we found ourselves, like most kids that age, dreaming of leaving the small town and doing big things.  Whether it be going to college or going to some form of a trade school. Anything to escape the mundane cycle of things that never changed in our town. Then Heidi arrived, or as they were born, Henry. Poor thing never stood a chance trying to transition down here. Their foster parents beat "the sin out of them to save their soul" when they came out as trans. Heidi was a member of the Cherokee tribe whose parents passed away.

I was taught to be kind to everyone and welcome them. I started hanging out with Heidi, despite the snide remarks from everyone, including Paul.  Heidi was different than everyone here. I could nerd out about things with them without being made fun of. She gifted me a locket that I still hold dear to me. I still carry it with me. We both loved horror, especially old folklore. We got close. One day while at her foster parents' place, she showed me some of the feminine clothing they snuck in past their foster parents. I felt conflicted. Heidi even modeled a skirt for me. She looked cute. We traded tales of our own heritage's folklore. I told tales of Południca. Południca had many names in Polish and English. One thing was still the same. How she carried a sickle and was tall, thin. Tales stated she was responsible for every farmer who collapsed due to heat exhaustion. Heidi one-upped me by telling the tale of the Deer Woman, while each tribe had their own version of the origin and her purpose, Heidi told the one she was most familiar with. One of a spirit of a girl that was beaten and ravaged by men and left to die. As she lay there and died, a fawn lay next to her to comfort her. The Great Spirit saw this, and made the girl into the deer woman, a spirit that would kill any men that wronged women and children. As we spoke about our college plans and dreams past the city limits, she leaned in to kiss me, and I kissed back before shoving her away, and a typhoon of confused emotions wrecked me. My skin radiated embarrassment as I rushed out the door.

The next school day, Henry showed up and changed into Heidi in the bathroom. Wearing a denim skirt and flowery top with the makeup they could manage to sneak. Slurs and bigotry were hurled at her carefree like fistfuls of candy at a parade. The only difference was those fistfuls didn't have candy but angry people at the end of them, leaving her with black eyes and scars. Both inside and out. Her eyes met mine as she sat at the lunch table near me, the person whose lips I had tasted. I turned my back to maintain the most precious currency there was in his school,  prestige and image. Unfortunately, associating with her would drag mine down now. As Paul shoved her away with a venom-tipped tongue, I saw the hurt and tears in her eyes. I fought back mine. It was high school.  I had to maintain my image.

The school reported the incidents to her foster parents. An angry ​​​elderly man arrived, grabbed her arms, dragging her off and not even making it off school property before her wails of pain could be heard.  Both emotional and physical.  It was normal for parents and guardians to discipline their children. This wasn't that.  Tears at the clothing she held precious, smears of makeup of pinks and reds replaced purple and blue bruises. Everyone pretended to look away and out of the corner of their eyes watched. I watched as she looked towards me, those same hurt-filled brown eyes crying out to me to do something.  I did nothing.  A week later, Heidi went missing. Half-assed investigations were maintained for a month before they gave up on her.  Last they heard, she had run into the wooded area when she was taken home. I didn't give up on her. I searched for a while to no avail. Small towns are cruel with speculation and rumors. Those same venom-soaked forked tongues sat in the pews on Sundays, raising their voices in prayer and praises towards God. The beatings and ridicule of Heidi were justified by men of the cloth, saying they were fighting evil in our generation. The women gathered in their circles gossiping about the newest theory of Heidi vanishing. The prominent theory was that she had run away. Whether she lived or perished, it didn't matter to them.  "He was just a degenerate of the devil's making", my Sunday school teacher had commented. Others aren't so kind,  stating that the only good people like her are dead ones. Calloused hearts making comments of approval when it was theorized she had taken her own life in those woods. I stopped going to church for a long time after that. It hurt too much.  I didn't understand why.  I didn't know them for that long.

That is, until I went to college and started seeing a counselor. It took a long time to unpack everything during those four years as I spoke with my counselor during stressful times. Unpacking my feelings with Heidi was a secondary reason. The guilt and shame I carried for someone I knew for less than a year latched onto me like briars. Sessions carefully removed those thorns to reveal the more painful truth that I had loved her, not Henry, Heidi. Although it felt more like pouring salt into a freshly cleaned wound, I knew it was true.  That's one reason I came down here,  to get closure and visit the woods she was last seen running into. The other being my resentment towards Paul for his treatment of Heidi and Isabella, his wife.

On the outside, he seemed like your typical good ol' country boy. Beer drinking, deer hunting, and red-blooded American man's man. That was until a few months after Isabella and he got married. That's when I first saw her with a black eye from "accidentally hitting the corner of a door." Everyone in the county knew what was happening, but she refused to admit it. Especially since she recently had their baby. How could I turn my back on them? Paul and Isabella were my friends all through high school, for better or worse. Isabella was the theater kid I bonded with in our productions of Peter Pan, and whatever play we were allowed to do a production of. She was like a sister. Paul was like a brother, an estranged brother at this point. One I was severely disappointed in and had to stay away from. I couldn't stand to see how he treated Isabella. I was the best man at their wedding.

Last time I was at their place, shortly after the honeymoon, he and I ended up standing toe-to-toe and almost fought over me seeing a new bruise on Isabella. I knew where it came from. It came from a guy who was at one point a friend of mine and a teammate of mine on the football team. Now, he was just a drunk wifebeater. A man who didn't deserve the patience and sweetness of Isabella. That stirred more fire with him accusing me of trying to steal his woman when I told him he needed to keep his hands off her, and suggested if he wanted to hit someone, I was there, and I would fight back. That he could pick on someone his own size instead of bullying poor ol' Isabella around. The day Paul went missing in the wilderness, I was with him. I saw what happened, but I don't think anyone would believe me if I told them. So, I guess I'm venting it out here to get out what I saw. Maybe strangers on the internet will believe me. So, here it goes. I was surprised when I got the call from Paul. He invited me to go hunting with him on some plot that he was leasing. I figured it was probably a good chance to try and salvage my friendship with him if there was any chance of doing so. The promise of splitting the venison meat 50/50 and the idea of giving Isabella a break just sweetened and sealed the deal. So, I agreed. I texted my counselor that I was going to go hunting with Paul and sent them the property details that Paul had given me. Just in case Paul tried to fight me like he did the last time I had dinner with them. I met him there, and the property just had this familiar feeling that I couldn't place my finger on.  Paul showed up sober and reminiscent of the Paul I knew during high school.  The fun, living, and pleasant one. We began catching up on things happening in our lives, since that dinner.

"You know that new field house they promised us senior year?" He asked me, cracking open a soda to my surprise.

"The one they promised us senior year after we took them further than any class had in a quarter century in the playoffs, then never did it because it wasn't in the budget?" I responded, only to see a smirk spread across Paul's face as he sipped the soda.

"They built it the very next year, when the superintendent's kids started playing football." I sighed and rolled my eyes. That sounded about right in this small town. "The bitch of it is,  they didn't win a single game that season." I couldn't help but laugh with Paul at the irony. Glimpses of the Paul I once knew were cracking through. We walked from our vehicles to the little deer shed that sat in the middle of the property closer to the forest. Once the door was open, I could see it had the luxuries that any hunter could dream of having.  A toilet, comfortable seats, and enough leg room to stretch your legs.

"You're living high on the hog now. " I teased Paul, "Getting too old to climb into those tree stands as we used to when we were kids?" A punch landed on my shoulder as a response.

We sat there in the mutual silence hunters have when awaiting. Nothing much until a couple hours in when a little whitetailed fawn jumped out of the woods. Its nose twitching and head pivoting, looking for its mother. The poor thing, either separated from its mother by death or fear. I heard Paul cock the rifle. Before I could fathom what we were about to do, he had already done it.  A shot rang, and the fawn shifted and ran before falling. "What the fuck?" I asked him, following him to his illegal as hell kill. Lots of depictions of the death of animals get it wrong in media. They don't go quietly into the night. They fight it,  no matter how much of a losing battle it is. I got to the fawn first, silently praying that the fawn was able to be saved and this would just be something we could tell a game warden that the mother hopped out of the way at the last moment.

The fawn's legs kicked, and it craned its neck trying to get up. Blood leaked upon the ground. The eyes searched for an explanation of this that I couldn't provide. It was a clean shot through its heart. Nothing to do. It cried out for its mother to only have death answer the call.  It shook and trembled as it went limp. It broke my heart. I grew up on a farm, and the unexpected death of an animal, especially a baby, was something that always broke me. I could separate when we had to butcher something or hunt something. But this was a baby. "Watch Bambi too much in the big city and grow soft on me?" Paul interrupted my thoughts as he began the field dressing process.

"You're not seriously going to harvest that thing,  right? That was a juvenile doe. Not old enough to hunt. " I said to an apathetic shrug as Paul let the blade run across the belly of the "Bambi". Placing what was edible from it into a five-gallon bucket before trying the rest closer to the deer shed. I was ready to go then. It was bad to kill a little defenseless fawn. Not just legally and ecosystem-wise, but spiritually, I believed.  The living embodiment of innocence killed. I didn't want any blood on my hands regarding this. I could practically feel the energy in the air shift from the pleasant one to a darker and impending doom in my body. My body wanted to get in my vehicle and drive off, but conflicted by trying to bond with an old friend. I decided to stay and simply told Paul,  "Keep that spoiled meat to yourself.  I don't want cursed." He popped off something about college making me way too soft. That kill should've been my first warning to leave.

The beers came out, and he began drinking. With each beer, he became rowdier and louder. Scaring away anything we could get away.  The six-pack of deer piss-tasting beers in, he was bearable. Annoying but bearable. Making brags about his sexual conquests of the past, including Isabella. Also,  brags he'd had since marrying her.  Women he had affairs with since marrying Isabella. Some in this very deer shed. Then he brought out his cooler filled with liquor, which, if his noise hadn't scared deer away then, the strong stench of the alcohol would now. I caught a glimpse of a beautiful doe standing near the spot where Paul had killed the fawn. Something was off. The eyes seemed off with them.  Paul took a drunken shot at it. Missing it, but it didn't move. He took another,  this time hitting the shoulder. Yet, the doe stood there and looked in our direction as blood dripped from the shoulder.

It turned back into the woods, calm as if it was still grazing. I turned to Paul, who went from drunken red to pale. There was a mutual understanding of the freakiness of what we just witnessed. Another swig of liquor for Paul, another refusal to have some from me.  He began angry ramblings about Isabella, "The bitch doesn't put out anymore since we had the kid."  Only a drunken asshole could whine about not getting sex from the woman who gave birth to their child.

"I mean fuck,  all she's gotta do is just lay there." Yep, Paul was that drunken asshole, I remember from that dinner last visit.

"Maybe she doesn't want to sleep with the enemy," I mumbled before instantly regretting it. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" The slurred speech and odor of alcohol turned towards me.  Instead of backpedaling, I doubled down.

"You beat, cheat on her, and treat her like shit. She deserves better.  Why'd she sleep with a drunk piece of shit like you?" I said before a punch was thrown and connected with my shoulder. This one with malice behind it and not the friendliness it had before. I tried ignoring it. I looked and saw a beautiful ten-point buck standing where the fawn and doe had. I looked through binoculars to get a better view and those eyes. They looked too human. Too familiar.

A fist struck my jaw.  I lost all restraint I had previously. I struck back. He threw a punch, I threw one back.  He pulled hair, I did the same.  We rolled around fighting until Paul's drunken ass slurred something that broke me. "High and mighty in love with that dumb dude that wore a skirt." I felt my heart sink and bounce back in rage. I restrained myself as scratches and bruises covered both of our bodies. I looked back out, and that buck was still waltzing around. Then it cried. If you've ever heard a buck call out. It can be terrifying. The grunting noise escaped the beast. Paul shot at it. I looked and saw him missed again, and yet it stood there. He shot again,  this time hitting it in the heart. A clean shot. Instead of dropping or running, it dripped blood. It did like the doe sniffing the air, turning into the woods. My body reacted like someone had plunged me into icy waters. I was getting ready to get out of here. Paul had different, alcohol-fueled ideas as he followed the buck into the woods. I muttered some swears under my breath as I felt obligated to at least make sure he didn't end up lost for Isabella's sake.

I followed as he stumbled and cursed me for everything imaginable, until he got to a spot by a tree marked with some small stones. He seemed to have sobered up enough to be able to piss without stumbling. His face was angry and prideful before exclaiming, "You know that skirt-wearing freak that went missing? Here he lies." At first I didn't register what he said until he repeated it and added more as he zipped up. "I found them here crying like a bitch. Fitting. They wanted to be a woman badly, so I helped." A chuckle crept from his voice as my mind started trying to decipher what they meant, and my stomach flipped in sickness. "Then snip snip. They cried for you like a bitch, you know that? Like you'd save them." He added with glee, showing off his hunting knife for emphasis. I fully lost it. I lunged at him and just laid punch after punch into him. Letting my knuckles become crimson, ignoring the pain. Grabbing at my handgun, I debated putting the bastard down there. I looked at him and remembered he had a child. I wasn't going to be the one to lose my freedom and make Isabella's daughter lose her father. I sat up and looked at the piss-soaked ground.

The buck grunted again. I watched it in my scope flaunt around one moment. Run behind a tree, and the next a beautiful nude woman walked out from behind. She turned as if she knew I was watching, those familiar eyes of the deer. I couldn't place why we were so. Paul took another drunken shot, striking the woman. Again she didn't react. Her hair draped over her bosom as chills ran down my spine. Then she turned and began trotting towards us on all fours. Shifting back and forth between deer and humanoid form before settling for a hybrid.

She closed the distance fast as I tried to turn away. It shifted into a deer head with antlers. It used the side of its head to knock me over and focused its attack on Paul. No matter how many shots he hit it with or slashes on its thin deer hide, it didn't slow down. I watched as the spirit shifted and tackled him against a heavy pine. This form of it was a monstrosity. Antlers on top of its head, the legs ending in deer hooves. The creature stood on its hind legs, as the rest of it formed into some vague humanoid shape. The end of its arms had hooves sharpened into claws. Ones that looked more like it was made from the antlers than hooves. It all happened so fast. Grunts from the beast as it trampled Paul to death until his body went limp. It panted, regaining its energy. I tried to move faster down the path before I felt it hit me and knock me to the ground. It stood over me. I held my arms over my head, praying to God and preparing for my demise. Then the locket fell out of my flannel shirt pocket onto the ground. I cringed as I reached for it and the monster broke off a piece of its own antlers and stabbed my hand with it. The monstrosity turned from something out of a nightmare into something more pleasant. It turned into a human woman with antlers on its head and hooves for feet. White-tailed deer markings up its body, glistening against her dark skin. Long black hair covered her face. It was her. It was Heidi, or some version of her. Those brown eyes looked into mine as she picked up the locket, examined it, and returned it to me. I struggled to sit upright.

She squatted down in front of me. A sense of calm hit me at once and washed away all previous anxiety. All the fear melted like ice in the summer heat. Tears dripped down my cheek. She was so beautiful. She always was. I felt her warm embrace. It burned, but a good warmth like hot chocolate entering your body on a cold day. Once I felt her arms wrap around me, I wrapped mine around hers. She whispered eight words that wrecked me into a sobbing mess. "I love you, and I forgive you, Stephen.”

I don't know how long I sat there holding her and crying. She helped me stand up and motioned down the path. I left for my vehicle and went to my vehicle. I drove into town and sat at the gas station restaurant to gather myself before I called 911. I told them about Paul and me fighting after he got drunk. I told them about how he went running into the woods drunk, chasing a buck, shooting recklessly. I told me of the Heidi confession he unfolded. Everything else, I kept to myself as I waited there.

I had to regurgitate my story to them so many times about Paul's drunken murder confession. The spot of Heidi's body before they cleared me of any wrongdoing. They had both Paul's and Henry's funerals recently. I went to neither. My mother taught me that only a body remained at the grave. I didn't want to go to Paul's funeral. It hurt, as I still felt anger. I didn't go to "Henry's" because I knew them as Heidi. I didn't go to her official gravestone in the cemetery, etched with Henry. I went to those woods to see her. I went to see the woman that man had rejected and ridiculed, but the Great Spirit embraced as herself.

I always hated the claim made by my small town that we were the "Deer Capital of the World". Not only was it probably wrong, but a bit too on the nose with the name of our town. Deer hunting is a big deal here, just like every rural town in the South. I remember my school even taking off a week the first week of deer season. Occasionally, you'll have the accidents of men going into the woods drinking, shooting, and God knows what else. However, this deer season things have been different. Men have been found brutally trampled. Some aren't found due to the hunting spots they picked.

I only came back here because my counselor suggested I do it for closure regarding Heidi, and try to reconnect with Paul and Isabella if possible. If not, to forgive myself for both Heidi's disappearance and Isabella's current situation.  Heidi, Paul, Isabella, and I all went to high school together. Paul and I were close friends,  mostly because we played football together. Isabella was a cheerleader that Paul beat Mr to the punch on asking out.  The three of us were a close-knit trio. Sometimes, people refer to us as the acronym of our first names,  "SIP". The S was me,  Steve. In our senior year, we found ourselves, like most kids that age, dreaming of leaving the small town and doing big things.  Whether it be going to college or going to some form of a trade school. Anything to escape the mundane cycle of things that never changed in our town. Then Heidi arrived, or as they were born, Henry. Poor thing never stood a chance trying to transition down here. Their foster parents beat "the sin out of them to save their soul" when they came out as trans. Heidi was a member of the Cherokee tribe whose parents passed away.

I was taught to be kind to everyone and welcome them. I started hanging out with Heidi, despite the snide remarks from everyone, including Paul.  Heidi was different than everyone here. I could nerd out about things with them without being made fun of. She gifted me a locket that I still hold dear to me. I still carry it with me. We both loved horror, especially old folklore. We got close. One day while at her foster parents' place, she showed me some of the feminine clothing they snuck in past their foster parents. I felt conflicted. Heidi even modeled a skirt for me. She looked cute. We traded tales of our own heritage's folklore. I told tales of Południca. Południca had many names in Polish and English. One thing was still the same. How she carried a sickle and was tall, thin. Tales stated she was responsible for every farmer who collapsed due to heat exhaustion. Heidi one-upped me by telling the tale of the Deer Woman, while each tribe had their own version of the origin and her purpose, Heidi told the one she was most familiar with. One of a spirit of a girl that was beaten and ravaged by men and left to die. As she lay there and died, a fawn lay next to her to comfort her. The Great Spirit saw this, and made the girl into the deer woman, a spirit that would kill any men that wronged women and children.

As we spoke about our college plans and dreams past the city limits, she leaned in to kiss me, and I kissed back before shoving her away, and a typhoon of confused emotions wrecked me. My skin radiated embarrassment as I rushed out the door.

The next school day, Henry showed up and changed into Heidi in the bathroom. Wearing a denim skirt and flowery top with the makeup they could manage to sneak. Slurs and bigotry were hurled at her carefree like fistfuls of candy at a parade. The only difference was those fistfuls didn't have candy but angry people at the end of them, leaving her with black eyes and scars. Both inside and out. Her eyes met mine as she sat at the lunch table near me, the person whose lips I had tasted. I turned my back to maintain the most precious currency there was in his school,  prestige and image. Unfortunately, associating with her would drag mine down now. As Paul shoved her away with a venom-tipped tongue, I saw the hurt and tears in her eyes. I fought back mine. It was high school.  I had to maintain my image.

The school reported the incidents to her foster parents. An angry ​​​elderly man arrived, grabbed her arms, dragging her off and not even making it off school property before her wails of pain could be heard.  Both emotional and physical.  It was normal for parents and guardians to discipline their children. This wasn't that.  Tears at the clothing she held precious, smears of makeup of pinks and reds replaced purple and blue bruises. Everyone pretended to look away and out of the corner of their eyes watched. I watched as she looked towards me, those same hurt-filled brown eyes crying out to me to do something.  I did nothing.  A week later, Heidi went missing. Half-assed investigations were maintained for a month before they gave up on her.  Last they heard, she had run into the wooded area when she was taken home. I didn't give up on her. I searched for a while to no avail.

Small towns are cruel with speculation and rumors. Those same venom-soaked forked tongues sat in the pews on Sundays, raising their voices in prayer and praises towards God. The beatings and ridicule of Heidi were justified by men of the cloth, saying they were fighting evil in our generation. The women gathered in their circles gossiping about the newest theory of Heidi vanishing. The prominent theory was that she had run away. Whether she lived or perished, it didn't matter to them.  "He was just a degenerate of the devil's making", my Sunday school teacher had commented. Others aren't so kind,  stating that the only good people like her are dead ones. Calloused hearts making comments of approval when it was theorized she had taken her own life in those woods. I stopped going to church for a long time after that. It hurt too much.  I didn't understand why.  I didn't know them for that long.

That is, until I went to college and started seeing a counselor. It took a long time to unpack everything during those four years as I spoke with my counselor during stressful times. Unpacking my feelings with Heidi was a secondary reason.

The guilt and shame I carried for someone I knew for less than a year latched onto me like briars. Sessions carefully removed those thorns to reveal the more painful truth that I had loved her, not Henry, Heidi. Although it felt more like pouring salt into a freshly cleaned wound, I knew it was true.  That's one reason I came down here,  to get closure and visit the woods she was last seen running into. The other being my resentment towards Paul for his treatment of Heidi and Isabella, his wife.

On the outside, he seemed like your typical good ol' country boy. Beer drinking, deer hunting, and red-blooded American man's man. That was until a few months after Isabella and he got married. That's when I first saw her with a black eye from "accidentally hitting the corner of a door."

Everyone in the county knew what was happening, but she refused to admit it. Especially since she recently had their baby. How could I turn my back on them? Paul and Isabella were my friends all through high school, for better or worse. Isabella was the theater kid I bonded with in our productions of Peter Pan, and whatever play we were allowed to do a production of. She was like a sister. Paul was like a brother, an estranged brother at this point. One I was severely disappointed in and had to stay away from. I couldn't stand to see how he treated Isabella. I was the best man at their wedding.

Last time I was at their place, shortly after the honeymoon, he and I ended up standing toe-to-toe and almost fought over me seeing a new bruise on Isabella. I knew where it came from. It came from a guy who was at one point a friend of mine and a teammate of mine on the football team. Now, he was just a drunk wifebeater. A man who didn't deserve the patience and sweetness of Isabella. That stirred more fire with him accusing me of trying to steal his woman when I told him he needed to keep his hands off her, and suggested if he wanted to hit someone, I was there, and I would fight back. That he could pick on someone his own size instead of bullying poor ol' Isabella around.

The day Paul went missing in the wilderness, I was with him. I saw what happened, but I don't think anyone would believe me if I told them. So, I guess I'm venting it out here to get out what I saw. Maybe strangers on the internet will believe me. So, here it goes.

I was surprised when I got the call from Paul. He invited me to go hunting with him on some plot that he was leasing. I figured it was probably a good chance to try and salvage my friendship with him if there was any chance of doing so. The promise of splitting the venison meat 50/50 and the idea of giving Isabella a break just sweetened and sealed the deal. So, I agreed. I texted my counselor that I was going to go hunting with Paul and sent them the property details that Paul had given me. Just in case Paul tried to fight me like he did the last time I had dinner with them. I met him there, and the property just had this familiar feeling that I couldn't place my finger on.  Paul showed up sober and reminiscent of the Paul I knew during high school.  The fun, living, and pleasant one. We began catching up on things happening in our lives, since that dinner.

"You know that new field house they promised us senior year?" He asked me, cracking open a soda to my surprise.

"The one they promised us senior year after we took them further than any class had in a quarter century in the playoffs, then never did it because it wasn't in the budget?" I responded, only to see a smirk spread across Paul's face as he sipped the soda.

"They built it the very next year, when the superintendent's kids started playing football." I sighed and rolled my eyes. That sounded about right in this small town. "The bitch of it is,  they didn't win a single game that season." I couldn't help but laugh with Paul at the irony. Glimpses of the Paul I once knew were cracking through. We walked from our vehicles to the little deer shed that sat in the middle of the property closer to the forest. Once the door was open, I could see it had the luxuries that any hunter could dream of having.  A toilet, comfortable seats, and enough leg room to stretch your legs.

"You're living high on the hog now. " I teased Paul, "Getting too old to climb into those tree stands as we used to when we were kids?" A punch landed on my shoulder as a response.

We sat there in the mutual silence hunters have when awaiting. Nothing much until a couple hours in when a little whitetailed fawn jumped out of the woods. Its nose twitching and head pivoting, looking for its mother. The poor thing, either separated from its mother by death or fear. I heard Paul cock the rifle. Before I could fathom what we were about to do, he had already done it.  A shot rang, and the fawn shifted and ran before falling. "What the fuck?" I asked him, following him to his illegal as hell kill. Lots of depictions of the death of animals get it wrong in media. They don't go quietly into the night. They fight it,  no matter how much of a losing battle it is. I got to the fawn first, silently praying that the fawn was able to be saved and this would just be something we could tell a game warden that the mother hopped out of the way at the last moment.

The fawn's legs kicked, and it craned its neck trying to get up. Blood leaked upon the ground. The eyes searched for an explanation of this that I couldn't provide. It was a clean shot through its heart. Nothing to do. It cried out for its mother to only have death answer the call.  It shook and trembled as it went limp. It broke my heart. I grew up on a farm, and the unexpected death of an animal, especially a baby, was something that always broke me. I could separate when we had to butcher something or hunt something. But this was a baby. "Watch Bambi too much in the big city and grow soft on me?" Paul interrupted my thoughts as he began the field dressing process.

"You're not seriously going to harvest that thing,  right? That was a juvenile doe. Not old enough to hunt. " I said to an apathetic shrug as Paul let the blade run across the belly of the "Bambi". Placing what was edible from it into a five-gallon bucket before trying the rest closer to the deer shed. I was ready to go then. It was bad to kill a little defenseless fawn. Not just legally and ecosystem-wise, but spiritually, I believed.  The living embodiment of innocence killed. I didn't want any blood on my hands regarding this. I could practically feel the energy in the air shift from the pleasant one to a darker and impending doom in my body. My body wanted to get in my vehicle and drive off, but conflicted by trying to bond with an old friend. I decided to stay and simply told Paul,  "Keep that spoiled meat to yourself.  I don't want cursed." He popped off something about college making me way too soft. That kill should've been my first warning to leave.

The beers came out, and he began drinking. With each beer, he became rowdier and louder. Scaring away anything we could get away.  The six-pack of deer piss-tasting beers in, he was bearable. Annoying but bearable. Making brags about his sexual conquests of the past, including Isabella. Also,  brags he'd had since marrying her.  Women he had affairs with since marrying Isabella. Some in this very deer shed. Then he brought out his cooler filled with liquor, which, if his noise hadn't scared deer away then, the strong stench of the alcohol would now. I caught a glimpse of a beautiful doe standing near the spot where Paul had killed the fawn. Something was off. The eyes seemed off with them.  Paul took a drunken shot at it. Missing it, but it didn't move. He took another,  this time hitting the shoulder. Yet, the doe stood there and looked in our direction as blood dripped from the shoulder.

It turned back into the woods, calm as if it was still grazing. I turned to Paul, who went from drunken red to pale. There was a mutual understanding of the freakiness of what we just witnessed. Another swig of liquor for Paul, another refusal to have some from me.  He began angry ramblings about Isabella, "The bitch doesn't put out anymore since we had the kid."  Only a drunken asshole could whine about not getting sex from the woman who gave birth to their child. "I mean fuck,  all she's gotta do is just lay there." Yep, Paul was that drunken asshole, I remember from that dinner last visit.

"Maybe she doesn't want to sleep with the enemy," I mumbled before instantly regretting it. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" The slurred speech and odor of alcohol turned towards me.  Instead of backpedaling, I doubled down.

"You beat, cheat on her, and treat her like shit. She deserves better.  Why'd she sleep with a drunk piece of shit like you?" I said before a punch was thrown and connected with my shoulder. This one with malice behind it and not the friendliness it had before. I tried ignoring it. I looked and saw a beautiful ten-point buck standing where the fawn and doe had. I looked through binoculars to get a better view and those eyes. They looked too human. Too familiar.

A fist struck my jaw.  I lost all restraint I had previously. I struck back. He threw a punch, I threw one back.  He pulled hair, I did the same.  We rolled around fighting until Paul's drunken ass slurred something that broke me. "High and mighty in love with that dumb dude that wore a skirt." I felt my heart sink and bounce back in rage. I restrained myself as scratches and bruises covered both of our bodies. I looked back out, and that buck was still waltzing around. Then it cried. If you've ever heard a buck call out. It can be terrifying. The grunting noise escaped the beast.

Paul shot at it. I looked and saw him missed again, and yet it stood there. He shot again,  this time hitting it in the heart. A clean shot. Instead of dropping or running, it dripped blood. It did like the doe sniffing the air, turning into the woods. My body reacted like someone had plunged me into icy waters. I was getting ready to get out of here. Paul had different, alcohol-fueled ideas as he followed the buck into the woods. I muttered some swears under my breath as I felt obligated to at least make sure he didn't end up lost for Isabella's sake.

I followed as he stumbled and cursed me for everything imaginable, until he got to a spot by a tree marked with some small stones. He seemed to have sobered up enough to be able to piss without stumbling. His face was angry and prideful before exclaiming, "You know that skirt-wearing freak that went missing? Here he lies."

At first I didn't register what he said until he repeated it and added more as he zipped up. "I found them here crying like a bitch. Fitting. They wanted to be a woman badly, so I helped." A chuckle crept from his voice as my mind started trying to decipher what they meant, and my stomach flipped in sickness. "Then snip snip. They cried for you like a bitch, you know that? Like you'd save them." He added with glee, showing off his hunting knife for emphasis. I fully lost it. I lunged at him and just laid punch after punch into him. Letting my knuckles become crimson, ignoring the pain. Grabbing at my handgun, I debated putting the bastard down there. I looked at him and remembered he had a child. I wasn't going to be the one to lose my freedom and make Isabella's daughter lose her father. I sat up and looked at the piss-soaked ground.

The buck grunted again. I watched it in my scope flaunt around one moment. Run behind a tree, and the next a beautiful nude woman walked out from behind. She turned as if she knew I was watching, those familiar eyes of the deer. I couldn't place why we were so. Paul took another drunken shot, striking the woman. Again she didn't react. Her hair draped over her bosom as chills ran down my spine. Then she turned and began trotting towards us on all fours. Shifting back and forth between deer and humanoid form before settling for a hybrid.

She closed the distance fast as I tried to turn away. It shifted into a deer head with antlers. It used the side of its head to knock me over and focused its attack on Paul. No matter how many shots he hit it with or slashes on its thin deer hide, it didn't slow down. I watched as the spirit shifted and tackled him against a heavy pine. This form of it was a monstrosity. Antlers on top of its head, the legs ending in deer hooves. The creature stood on its hind legs, as the rest of it formed into some vague humanoid shape. The end of its arms had hooves sharpened into claws. Ones that looked more like it was made from the antlers than hooves. It all happened so fast.

Grunts from the beast as it trampled Paul to death until his body went limp. It panted, regaining its energy. I tried to move faster down the path before I felt it hit me and knock me to the ground. It stood over me. I held my arms over my head, praying to God and preparing for my demise. Then the locket fell out of my flannel shirt pocket onto the ground. I cringed as I reached for it and the monster broke off a piece of its own antlers and stabbed my hand with it. The monstrosity turned from something out of a nightmare into something more pleasant. It turned into a human woman with antlers on its head and hooves for feet. White-tailed deer markings up its body, glistening against her dark skin. Long black hair covered her face. It was her. It was Heidi, or some version of her. Those brown eyes looked into mine as she picked up the locket, examined it, and returned it to me. I struggled to sit upright.

She squatted down in front of me. A sense of calm hit me at once and washed away all previous anxiety. All the fear melted like ice in the summer heat. Tears dripped down my cheek. She was so beautiful. She always was. I felt her warm embrace. It burned, but a good warmth like hot chocolate entering your body on a cold day. Once I felt her arms wrap around me, I wrapped mine around hers. She whispered eight words that wrecked me into a sobbing mess. "I love you, and I forgive you, Stephen.”

I don't know how long I sat there holding her and crying. She helped me stand up and motioned down the path. I left for my vehicle and went to my vehicle. I drove into town and sat at the gas station restaurant to gather myself before I called 911. I told them about Paul and me fighting after he got drunk. I told them about how he went running into the woods drunk, chasing a buck, shooting recklessly. I told me of the Heidi confession he unfolded. Everything else, I kept to myself as I waited there.

I had to regurgitate my story to them so many times about Paul's drunken murder confession. The spot of Heidi's body before they cleared me of any wrongdoing. They had both Paul's and Henry's funerals recently. I went to neither. My mother taught me that only a body remained at the grave. I didn't want to go to Paul's funeral. It hurt, as I still felt anger. I didn't go to "Henry's" because I knew them as Heidi. I didn't go to her official gravestone in the cemetery, etched with Henry. I went to those woods to see her. I went to see the woman that man had rejected and ridiculed, but the Great Spirit embraced as herself.

CW: Suicide

[Author's note: I got inspired by the story in which the book ever ends, and old media related Creepypastas to do my take on one. Utilizing some elements I found good in them without being over the top with them. This is an one-off as I prepare expand other stories that I'm writing.]

So, I'm a big fan of the Scooby-Doo franchise. I know really cringe of a grown-ass man to be a fan of a fifty-year-old cartoon franchise aimed at children. It is just my comfort thing. Whenever things get too much, I can turn on an episode of it and know what to expect. The gang encounters some form of monster, ghost, or alien. Then solve the mystery. Depending on the era, the monster may be real or not, but in the end the gang resolves things. I was such a big fan of it when I was a child, like six or eight. I'd carry around a large Scooby-Doo doll that my grandma gifted me and would pretend I was Shaggy as I tried to dress up like him. As I said, I know it is cringe.

That's why I'm fascinated by animation cels and potentially lost Scooby-Doo media. When I was browsing eBay for some beautiful backgrounds from the original run of "Where Are You?" I came across a listing that, in hindsight, was way too good to be true and should've been my first red flag. It was some animation cels and VHS tapes claiming to be lost episodes from the classic era of Scooby-Doo. For those ignorant, the classic era is everything pre-Scrappy-Doo. That little rat bastard chihuahua-looking ass monstrosity.

Anyways, I hopped on it and looked at the listing to see if it was just a potential scam. The backgrounds looked legit, and animation cels looked legitimate. The tapes were just black VHS tapes with scotch tape on the spine and Sharpie writing of "Scooby-Doo Lost Episodes". No footage or pictures of the contents of the episodes. I guess in that sense, they didn't want to spoil the contents and let the mystery of it intrigue people. This listing had been up for a few years apparently, and nobody liked or was watching it. Plus the whole bundle cost fifty bucks. I jumped on it and messaged the user to make sure they were still active and the items were still available.

Instantly, they replied back, answering my question of it all being available with a yes. Then they asked me if I was sure I wanted it. Not just one in the normal way you'd ask if you were selling something. But repeatedly after I'd ask a question about the item. That should've been my second red flag, but I guess the excitement of having something that no other Scooby-Doo fan would have was blinding me. I repeatedly said yes and closed the deal. After about a week or two, I finally received a box that contained my treasure.

The animation cels looked just like they did on the website. Having a few poses of the creatures of the week. It looked like some combination of a Creature of the Black Lagoon-type monster and another that looked more bug-like. ​I went and framed the animation cels immediately. Something was charming about the old school Hanna-Barbara animation style of Scooby-Doo. The backgrounds were beautiful and moody. There was the crown jewel of my plunder, the lost episodes on VHS. A plain black cassette with white tape and black Sharpie labeling them uncreative, "Lost SD Episodes".

I ran and pulled out my old CRT TV with the built-in VHS player. It felt like the natural way to enjoy this. I popped the tape in, and a wave of nostalgia washed over me as that familiar intro and theme song played. The episode started with the gang driving in the Mystery Machine to a foggy and swampy area while Velma talked about how happy she was that Fred's uncle invited them down here for a fishing trip. The whole time, Scooby and Shaggy were up to fishing practice shenanigans in the back of the van. An old but goldie gag whenever there was a fishing trip involved in the plot.

Once they arrived at the cabin of Fred's uncle, his uncle was nowhere to be found. Furniture was tossed around, and wet footprints were going towards the back door. This is the first thing that struck me as odd. Usually, they would have some sort of cold opening, giving a tease of the monster of the week, showing them kidnap someone or standing around menacingly at least before the gang got there. This episode didn't have that. Maybe this is why it was shelved. They ran out of time for the cold opening animation and sequence or something. Maybe someone screwed up the sequencing, and Hanna-Barbera just shelved the episode, not wanting to go through the expense of editing it properly. Some colors were off and small animation errors occurred which was common for this era.

The rest of the episode was pretty normal. They discovered underwater cave holding Fred's uncle in a locked room and a room full of treasure that the locals stated earlier had been abandoned by pirates centuries ago and protected by this swamp monster. Loose connections of clues like empty oxygen tanks, and paper clippings discussing treasure hunters exploring an underwater cave for the treasure. By the end of it all, it ended up being some greedy professors that Fred's uncle knew trying to take the treasure themselves, instead of turning it to a museum. They trapped the monster with some net, and the gang went fishing with Fred's uncle. The credits ran and I hit pause when I noticed the wrong voice actress was credited for Daphne. I ignored it presuming it was some mistake, and maybe there was overlap and they just changed the end credits to credit the new voice actress by accident as they got ready to transition from the old voice actress to the new one for that era.

The next episode played and wasn't that eventful. Botanical garden terrorized by some humanoid praying mantis beast. Turns out to be some scheme by a landowner to scare people away since they found diamonds on the property. Gang solve the mystery and monster is caught. Credits roll again. This time the voice actress for Daphne had another name, and digits in parentheses by her name. I had to replay it for it to click, it was a birthday and death date of that voice actress. I ejected the tape, and went to my laptop pissed off. I was sold some form of sick joke or tribute on top of what was supposed to be rare media. I logged into my account and the account I purchased the tapes and animation cels from was gone. I couldn't find any trace of them, or for that matter no trace that the transaction happened.

I was stuck with this weird VHS tape. I decided to rewind the tape​ and rewatch it a later time as I went off to take care of some things around the house. After a few days, my curiosity got the worse of me and I decided to rewatch it to see if maybe my eyes were bad or there were some evidence of tampering that I could see from just watching it. I looked at the tape from outside and the black reels didn't show any tape or anything in the small circle I could see.

Everything played normally again until the credits. The death date of Daphne's voice actress was there on both credits of both episodes this time. This time instead of ejecting automatically like most VHS cassettes typically did after the length of their footage was finished, it kept on and opened on a beautifully gothic painted background of some bedroom and a sole chair. Then the tape ejected. I looked at some of the animation cels and backgrounds I had framed and the scene matched that background. When the tape ejected, all the film wasn't on the right-hand side like it would be if you had watched the entirety of a VHS tape. It had a considerable amount on the left-hand side. A scratch of furious wedged itself into my brain as I popped the tape back in. It refused to play.

​​I put the incident in the back of my mind as work picked up with some new clients. I found myself exhausted after finishing up one day and the tape sat there at my nightstand. I tried it again. The credits were like before. The scene of the bedroom started as it played a few more seconds, showing a shotgun next to the chair before the tape ejected itself again. I felt a pit in my stomach seeing that shotgun and knowing how the voice actress had died. This was one fucked up joke to attach to some lost Scooby-Doo episodes. Again, the tape had considerable amount of runtime left on the left-hand side.

I contacted a VHS tape and VCR repair guy I met a few years ago at some convention and asked him if he could look over a tape to see if it was tampered with. I explained that I bought it from e-bay seller and only mentioned the film seemingly having to have more footage and how it ejected itself. I mailed it off after he agreed to look at it to test it for any tampering. As I walked down the hall, that background painting now had that shotgun leaning against the chair. Did I overlook that last time?

​A couple of weeks passed and I got the tape back with a handwritten note and a text message from the guy, saying it wasn't tampered with. Just some boring Scooby-Doo episodes in his opinion. Credits looked good and he even cleaned the tape and did some care for it since the previous owner didn't. It worked perfectly fine for him. Out of curiosity, I replayed the tape and everything was normal, episodes and credits wise. The right voice actors were credited and everything. Tape finished and ejected itself. It now looked like a VHS that had played all the media on it. Everything on the right-hand side VHS wheel.

​The next day I played it back and everything was fine until the credits. The voice actress’s name for Daphne was wrong again. It had the birthdate and death date, again. That and some death dates popped up on random staff like creators and animators's now. The tape played the dark room with the chair scene again. This time a distraught Daphne opened and locked the door. She sat in the chair. The tape ejected again like before. I looked at the VHS tape wheels and there showed to be more content on it, like before. I ran to look at the scene painting I had framed, and my jaw dropped to see a cel animation of Daphne in that chair again. I felt my body shiver as if an artic breeze had forced its way into my hallway.

I went a few days without sleep before morbid curiosity beckoned for me again. The fool I was, I answered the call. I watched it again. The same weird credit death dates now expanding to more members of the cast and creative team behind the show. Ones that passed away which weren't even part of the franchise yet began popping up as well. The bedroom scene played again, Daphne reached beside the chair. Then the screen cut to the title screen painting of the haunted house, then the haunting noise of sobbing, a shotgun being cocked, shot and splatter noises. The tape ejected again. Again, it showed more content. Again, I played it. Same scene played at the end. More names and death dates appeared. Some of which haven't passed away yet.

I've tried burning, tearing, and every way imaginable to destroy the tape and those animation cels. They keep popping back up on my walls. That tape keeps popping back by my VCR. I've decided to placie them in a lockbox and chaining them shut as I bury them in my yard. If that doesn't work, I apologize. I'm sorry, but if you see a VHS tape claiming to have two lost Scooby-Doo episodes on it bundled with some animation cels, and background paintings, do yourself a favor and don't buy it.

Crawling to a leaf, no time to show grief
 Past nibbles and chews, now silver vomit spews
Sealing itself in a tomb. Sealing its own doom.
Once it was inside, it began to liquefy
Muscle fell off its body. It began to feel groggy
With each drop, a loud plop
Into the goop, what body once was began to droop
What once was a caterpillar, only a bronzed soup, semblance was unfamiliar
Of what once was. Only nature twas the cause to be obeyed and its laws
Changes shift at this cellular level. God blessed or cursed by the devil
Stomach shrank, lost the need for food. Building back on a canvas blank, building on those tubes
Gilded wings began to be built, from this liquid, muscle began to re-string gilt
What had once seemed to have died was growing back thrice in its size
Nibble sections replaced with needled flections
Eyes that only used to detect dark and light, kaleidoscope colors available to take flight
New features developed in this tomb, now rebuilding a creature in its womb
Once the womb was done incubating, the new creature began slating at its once home. 
To head off alone and begin the cycle to find a mate.
Out of its own broth, leaves the moth

r/TalesFromTheCreeps has monthly contests for writing. It wolf be cool for the boy's to read the winners of the contests. I'm all four then reasons more stories made by fans.

I find myself when trying to write in greater detail or a slower pace, getting too in my head thinking the reader will find it boring and check out. I get worried that I'm spending way too much time on something and rush. Y'all have any suggestions to combat this?

The nightly orchestra of frogs and toads, with their ribbits and croaks, was accompanied by the chirps of crickets, which began that night at the old McGuirk Farm as they did on any other night. Occasional hoots from owls or squeaks from bats broke out as they parted for their nightly hunt for resources. The lonely howls of coyotes and other feral canines could occasionally be heard. The McGuirk farm was dilapidated, overgrown with various plants, and most importantly, silent other than the nightly orchestra. The rustic carcass of heavy farm equipment lay about, hiding in the weeds like apex predators waiting on prey. This abandoned farm and property were often the go-to playground for debauchery. The property's abandoned, spooky aesthetic made it more appealing for people to come party or just investigate the area. Thus, various rumors and urban legends of strange happenings on the property were born. Ranging from ghastly murders that left it haunted to whichever cryptozoological creature was trending. A mixture of pursuit of debauchery and morbid curiosity fueled Sandra Bulinski and Travis Fletcher. 
Both sophomores were aching to abuse their newly obtained driver’s licences. Little pieces of plastic handed out by the state that would grant these teens freedom to go anywhere they wished. Their meetup spot would be one of the rustic skeletons of a tractor. Travis carried his six-pack of beer that he snuck from his dad’s hunting fridge. A beer was tossed to Sandra as Travis cracked one for himself. The cans of beer were still frosty from the refrigerator. After finishing two beers each and engaging in awkward, flirty exchanges, Sandra spoke up, buzzed, “You wanna go explore the way the aliens have been?” A buzzed Travis was more than eager to impress Sandra. He finished another beer along with Sandra before grabbing a flashlight out of his car. Once the beer finished, the pair walked down the path, watching their path for any venomous late-night snakes or any potentially dangerous wildlife scurrying around in the tall grass. 
Their trek around the property led to the red barn. Rustic farm equipment and tools, as well as rotting halters, were strewn about the interior. Moonlight beams danced and radiated through the rotting roof and boards on the sides. Illuminating the dusty and dilapidated barn. Old canisters of animal supplies sat on a shelf as mice scurried around, spooking Sandra. Sandra let out a yelp of surprise as one rat scurried across her foot, immediately covering her mouth and giggling an intoxicated giggle.  She leaned against Travis, stumbling and joining her in drunken chuckles as they wobbled towards ancient hay and fell back, allowing their idle hands to become the devil’s playthings across each other. A cackle began, and each sophomore told the other to shut up until the slow, horrifying realization hit their intoxicated minds. Heh heh ha, the cackle began and slowly crept closer to them. 
Travis let a huff of annoyed air escape his nostrils, expecting some fellow youngster playing a prank or getting giggly at the drunken couple. A very loose string of slurred insults and threats rolled off Travis’s tongue, falling into the cool air to a target of an unknown destination of an unknown distance to them. A more panicked tone hit Travis as the cackle grew louder and closer. The dim glow of the less-than-stellar flashlight finally found the origin of the horrible cackle. Fur as thick and dark as molasses. The only shape it formed was a humanoid one. Where the head should’ve been was a metallic dome. At first, it was completely black and dull. Then a flicker and scan lines danced up and down the “face” of the being. It flickered, and a few more scan lines danced across the barren darkness, accompanied by the cackle. 
A gasp escaped Sandra’s lungs as a buzzed Travis hurled insults towards it, thinking it was other teens playing a practical joke on the pair, throwing a nearby empty can at the head of the creature. Flashing his light more towards the head, revealing the metallic dome had a pair of what Travis had heard his parents and grandparents refer to as “rabbit ears”. The pair of antennae moved about on top of the dome like an appendage searching for something, almost like a snake flickering its tongue or an animal sniffing the air for its environment. Another Heeehaaaheehehooo boomed from the creature, making Travis’s theory deteriorate. More scan lines bounced up and down the front before a human skull popped up. 
It cackled again, and the lower jaw of the skull bounced up and down throughout the laugh. The skull didn’t feel like something was being displayed on the screen. It looked more like peering into the dome to reveal something. It was less of a “fish bowl displaying a live fish” and more of a terrarium to showcase a venomous snake or spider. The skull had vertebrae connected to it. The skull seemed to be floating in a goo or liquid of some type. 
An intoxicated Travis, in an effort to prove his bravery and bravado to impress Sandra, rushed the creature. Whether it was the alcohol-induced clumsiness or just bad luck, Travis tripped over a shovel head that had rotted out of its wooden handle and embedded itself into the dirt like an ancient artifact. His fall knocked him out and caused Sandra to faint from all the excitement, unsure whether it was a bad dream, alcohol creating a stampede of pink elephants, or just reality. The lower jaw of the skull bounced up and down as its body lumbered closer, throwing the teens over its shoulder like bags of feed and walking into the distance, all the while that ghastly cackle continued and interrupted the nightly ensemble of nature.

(I have any idea and jotted down all of it, I could before I forgot. Only issue is I have an idea for an ending but don't know where to go from where I stopped writing. Also need a better title for this than I currently have. The other title idea I had, I thought would ruin the twist and give away too much)

Tiffany and I have been married for five years come this upcoming may. We met in college and bonded instantaneously over our shared love of horror, and gardening. When I met Tiffany, she was a redheaded, green-eyed, and pale-skinned beauty. My dream girl. When I say dream girl, I mean she was appearing in my dreams for like a year for a few months prior to us meeting in real life. I wrote it off at first as happenstance. Maybe a sign from above or something.

It only took a few months of us dating before we decided to get married. Some of the people I knew assumed it was a shotgun wedding, or were worried that I was moving on too fast. I don't know how to explain it but it felt like I knew Tiffany my entire life despite it only being three months. I just knew everytime I was around her, all the cares of the world just melted away, and I couldn't help be joyous. She was so perfect and I wasn't really the greatest catch in the sea of the dating world.

Recently, I've been thinking about passing down the family names given I'm an only child, and I think I'm the only one with my last name in this country. It feels like an obligation and duty to have some children to carry on the family name. Like one of those things that not only do your parents want so they can be grandparents, but also society kinda expects of you when you get married. Otherwise, you become one of those married couples. The one that ate every turn, others whether family, friends or complete strangers feel the need to comment on your lack of children. Then when you say you don't want them, continue to comment about how precious children are, and how you're missing out. Those people do that or presume you're infertile one way or another and offer their services. Which has always weirded me out.

However, given that Tiffany would be carrying the child, I figured I needed to talk with her if she was ready for one or not. See, it wasn't that we didn't have sex. We just never actively tried for a child. I don't know how else to explain it other than that. Life just made it hard to synchronize when she was ovulating and when I was up to the task die to our jobs and just life in general. That's when I got terrified when she looked up at me with those green eyes that seemed to sparkle in the dark, and told me, "We need to talk. I haven't been completely honest with your about everything."

The worst ran through my mind at first, was she having an affair? Was she on the run from the law? Did she fake her documents and she wasn't the she she claimed to be Then the more acceptable but still surprising scenarios ran through my head. Her hand grabbed mine and a wave of calm hit me almost like a drug. Those emerald eyes almost glowed in the dark highlighting those freckles that the first time we were time dating, I would kiss her cheek the same number of times as she had on that cheek avec she would get upset about something. It was my secret weapon at getting to see that smile flash and shine.

"I wasn't exactly honest with you about who I really am" She gently said. My mind began slowly racing back to the worst case scenarios twirling inside my head like a typhoon. She looked away for a moment, holding back tears. She them caressed my face with her hand, "I really do love you. I hope you still love me after you know the real me."

Without thinking, I grabbed the ivory frail hands of hers and kissed them and did the husbandly thing of reassuring her that no matter what I'd love her. She nodded and stood up. Those ivory delicate hands soon had their fingers wiggling and shoving their way into the skin by her collarbone with a sickening, wet squish. Peeling the skin upwards as it clung to muscle and tissue. Peeling it as no blood dripped nor any reaction of the slightest pain. I'd seen butchers grinace, have a messier time, and harder time peeling skin off a freshly killed animal then she did peeling her flesh.

I could see muscle tissue. No smell, no hesitation from her. My mind raced as my stomach was flipping doing gymnastic routines as I sat there and watched. She pulled the face that I kissed on our wedding day off with ease as a cheap Halloween mask. Tossing the husk of flesh at my feet. The empty eye sockets staring up at me. The lipstick cladded smile now smirking up at me. What the hell? Was this some sort of elaborate prank being pulled on me or nightmare I was stuck in?

My eyes looking and staring, trying to gather more information for my brain to process. The more I stared, the less made sense. Behind the face I had grown accustomed to, the face I shared milkshakes with, nuzzled against and caressed was nothing. Not that there was only he skull but a paradoxical nothingness. A dark, deep void of nothing that sported those same caring and loving emerald eyes. I was staring into a cave of nothingness personified, and I married it. The eyes while not having flesh to cover them anymore still somehow expressed those same human emotionless and quirks as anyone did.

Her voice, one that I often teased for begging mousey and barely audible was replaced with a noise. That's the only way I can describe it, a gargle of various sounds that simultaneously was too high and low. A constant contradiction, while it sounded as if that small mousey voice I had had many personal talks with was thrown into traffic during rush hour, being drowned out. That softness and gentleness was still there. In fact it almost seemed scared,shy, & anxious as it escaped the wall of noise, "Well, honey. This is me...."

My mind running laps and exhausting itself to understand what this was. I felt like a caveman thrown into the future as only grunts of confusion escaped my throat.

If you're reading this, I'm dead. Not because of some curse or someone hunting me down. Nothing like that. I'm dead and the culprit is myself. Only person to blame is myself. If you're reading this, I have taken my own life due to the paradoxical pleasure I received from one of the most mentally scarring and painful moments of my life. I owe my friends and family an explanation for this. I will try my best in this note.

I am no saint. Back when Craigslist Personals were still a thing, I would browse it and try to find a female companion to go and chase those carnal animalistic urges. Then I stumbled upon Jessica, everything should've been fine but at last minute I got called in too my shitty part time job and cancel our plans. Someone had gotten sick and they needed someone to close out that shift, it sucked but I could use the extra money from that shift to help pay for some textbooks. My mind turned off once in entered that little convenience store. Only way I could handle all the bullshit at that job was to disassociate. I forgot all about Jessica and our plans. After a mind numbing 4 hour shift that turned into an 8 hour shift via persuasion of my manager to "help train new hires", I returned home.

I fumbled with my keys to unlock the door, only for it to have been unlocked. My groggy thoughts after work were hoping I hadn't gotten robbed because my dumbass forgot to lock up when heading out to work. I walked in and haphazardly disassembled my uniform hanging them up to wash later on. I dragged myself to my bed and threw my exhausted body onto my bed in my underwear, ready to fall asleep. Then a saw a silhouette in the corner of my eye. Out stepped a nude Jessica. Her curly brown hair flowed to her back and her hazel eyes glowed in the dark.

"Hey, didn't you get my message? I wouldn't be able to do anything tonight because of work. You look amazing but I'm too tired." I said standing up from my bed as she got closer. Her short stature made it where I had to look down to look her in the eyes, I felt a sharp, stabbing pain in my side. Before I could fully process what was happening I felt even more drowsy and collapsed onto by bed behind me. I woke up, but I couldn't move a muscle. My eyes darted back and forth as my heart raced. There sat Jessica with an evil smile, "I will get what I came here, one way or another."

My body reacted the way it would seeing any nude beautiful woman and I tried to scream out for help. Nothing came out when I opened my mouth. Not even a grumbled or anything as she mounted me and wrapped her hands around my neck, choking me. "Look at you, I know you want it. You filthy man whore. You wouldn't be turned on if you didn't." I tried screaming again, my brain in a frenzy of fear and panic as all I wanted to do was scream and move away, but couldn't. She completed what she came there for and taunted me as I had my orgasm. "See, I knew you wanted it. Could've made it easier for both of us and just gave it up."

That wave of pleasure was tainted with waves of guilt, disgust, and shame. She smiled and gave my immobile body a kiss, "Don't play hard to get next time. Then we both can have fun next time.See you then." The combination of the work exhaustion and what just happened made me close my eyes and pray to fall asleep. Eventually it was answered.

I woke up the next morning nude. The whole thing seemed like one really bad dream. A figment of my exhausted brain surely. I got up and showered and prepared for my classes, pushing that word nightmare to the back of my mind until I circled back to my nightstand to see a note. "Had fun last night. Hopefully next time, I won't have to do all the work, and you'll put some effort in. -Jessica" followed by a hand drew wink face and hearts by her name. My heart jumped from my Adam's apple to sinking to my stomach as the realization hit me that last night wasn't don't weird nightmare but reality. I ran to my bathroom and hunt my head over the toilet as my mind raced with all this information as my body was sick with itself, trying to expell and cleanse itself from the experience like I had eaten some spoiled meat. It was unsuccessful as I sat there dry heaving with nothing exciting. I shivered and hurried off to class.

I wish I could tell you that is where it all stopped. Dear God, I wish that was the case. I wish I could tell you that I was able to put the event off the night before in the back of my mind and move on. That wasn't the case. I could hardly focus and kept an eye out for her. My head on a constant swivel like an meerkat on crack. I guess it was noticeable enough for one of my professors to have me stay after class and ask what was wrong. My shame wouldn't let me open up about a violation so intimate to an elderly Hensley professor. So, I told a half-truth, that I was tired after my boss called me in to cover a 4 hour shift and it turned into an eight hour one. That I got home late and was exhausted. I want lying, just not being completely honest. She sighed, "I admire your work ethic, but don't stretch yourself too thinly."

A few days passed and just as I was starting to calm down from the experience, a loud knock hit my door. I answered it to see Jessica in a sundress smiling up at me. That damn demented smile. I slammed the door and ran into my room hiding like a child. Trying to calm down as I heard footsteps and doors opening. She walked straight into my room smiling and holding a key in her hand. She sat on my bed and opened her backpack pulling out a couple of sodas and a zip locked bag of homemade cookies. "Aww, sorry to drop in on you. I figured, I'd properly introduce myself. Sorry about last time" She said handing me a soda and pulling out a chocolate chip cookie to have to me out of her bag. "I didn't know what type you'd like. So, I went with chocolate chip." My racing heart slowed down as my belly rumbled from hunger. My defenses were lowered as I took a bite of the cookie. It wasn't the best but still good. I ate a she began telling me small talk conversations things like her hobbies and etc. Then she hit me off guard, "So, wanna have sex?" I nearly choked on what drink and food I did have in my mouth. I shook my head no, which angered her.

"What do you mean no?! You enjoyed it. Look at you, you are turned on right now. " She was right but it was just natural. I shook my head no again but she remained sitting on my bed. "You don't tell me no. I had a backup plan if you did. I just hoped you would have better sense than to." I looked at her puzzled, but as the wave of dizziness and drowsiness hit me I realized that I was being date raped. I fell unconscious into my bed. Woke up handcuffed to the posts by my wrists and ankles. Gagged and nude a she was taunting me.

My genitals and mouth were the focus of her attack this time. I tried screaming through the gag to no avail. Jerking and shoving on the bed posts to the point the cuffs were cutting into my skin. However like last time, I was unable to shove away or do anything. She related the ending cycle and grabbed the hair off my bed and leaned in hissing, "You'll learn to stop saying no to me. Even if I have to break you to that point." She force fed another cookie and drink down my throat. I drifted off again as I heard her laugh. This time when I woke up I was uncuffed and just nude on my bed. I raced to my bathroom. The abrasions from those cuffs were still there on my wrists and ankles.

But that wave of shame and helplessness overrode any logical part of my brain as I began using mouthwash and scrubbing away with my toothbrush. Scrubbing away the taste of her. I kept scrubbing until my gums began bleeding and I just kept scrubbing. I finally quit and jumped in the shower, fighting back any tears as I turned the water to the hottest setting and scrubbed my entire body. Then when it came time to scrub my genitals, I just zoned out and just kept scrubbing and scrubbing. Hoping to wash away my shame. Scrubbing away what had now happened twice. Scrubbing away, hoping it'd undo the event.

Scrubbing until my skin was raw and kept scrubbing until I just broke. I sat down and sat down rocking back and forth in a fetal position. Weeping, the only sounds in my place were the water coming from the shower head matched by tears. I cried that night until I couldn't produce anymore tears. Until it physically hurt to try and cry. I don't know how long I stayed in there in that cycle of unsuccessfully scrubbing away the shame, crying and rocking back and forth trying to calm myself down. When I finally did, it was pitch black outside. I shuddered and threw on some pajamas. I didn't get much sleep, my mind jumping at every little sound. Everytime I closed my eyes and started to drift into the only safe space I had left in this situation, I'd see that smile looking down at me or that laugh and shoot back awake. My own mind had been broken and compromised. I had no escape to, not when sleeping could I escape her perverted reach.

I tried to go on dates that weekend, but when it came down to any signs of affection towards me, my body and mind rejected it fiercely like spoiled food. It wasn't just sex, the thoughts of it were tainted with flashbangs of Jennifer's assaults. Hugs and kisses sent my body into fight,flight or freeze mode. Scents that Jennifer had worn as well. I wish I could say it stopped at only two instances. I had lunch with some friends from my department and they asked me about the dates. I murmured not well. I think the girlfriend of one of the guys could tell there was something off but with this being the first time meeting me, didn't pry. I found myself isolating myself unintentionally. Shame of it happening and disgust with my own body developed. That's when the cutting began. I had always carried a pocket knife with me for emergencies in the past but now when an anxiety attack of a memory of that assault hit me, I used it. Soon I inflicted stripes of self-loathing on my thighs and wrists to make myself undesirable to her. It didn't work.

It got to a point where after a month of repeated rapes from her. I repeated by cleaning ingredients process and held my pocket knife and considered self castration, just so she'd stop. However, I knew she wouldn't. Each act of rebellion and resistance I have committed was squashed and matched with double the power from her in that moment or the next time she used me. Whether it be choking me until I blacked out, cutting my clothes off with a knife, holding what she claimed was a prop gun to my head, or whatever she deemed an appropriate punishment. She never stopped. She was getting more intense each time, I was losing my willpower to fight back, and to live each time. Numerous times. I debated about walking into traffic to be hit by a careless driver to end it. Only to be held back by that pesky survivors instinct and the terror that was the American Healthcare system if I didn't die on impact.

My only temporary escape a few days away. A couple week break from college and a chance to return home and visit my family. On that last day before break, I packed up what needed for my temporary escape from Jennifer. A taste of freedom that had been taken away from me by her. I built up courage and collected her little notes she left me afterwards, and went to the police department. I asked to file a report. The baldheaded personification of lard behind the desk asked what about. Like a dam releasing water, all the information of the past couple of months flowed from me as I tried and failed to hold my composure. He looked at me and wrinkled his nose, and laughed a haunting laugh that made what little hope I did disintegrate. "Look bud, it is a waste of time on something like that. I could arrest you for trying to file a false report. I mean a guy your size being overpowered by a little woman for so long and you're now coming to make a report?" He laugh changed indy a hostile demeanor, "Leave, it is her word against yours anyways. Keep the law outside of your sex life bud." My face burned from rage and embarrassment. I left and got into my car an one down the highway making my way home, I just let out screams of rage until my vocal cords were fried. I ruined my voice screaming out my rage. Kinda poetic in a way, I lost my voice when she started this and now I physically lost my voice.

It was nice to have the security of safety at home. It took a few nights for the walls of anxiety surrounding it to start being torn down. It was so nice to enjoy life again. I even attended church with my parents at both their respective denominations. My father, the Catholic, hugged me and I had to fight my instincts to claw away but it was okay because it was another man hugging me and my father. My mother, the Baptist, was a harder one to fight that instinct of fear but I managed to shove it down. We went to mass, and everything went as we raced over to make it to service at the Baptist church. Two hours back to back made me hungry and exhausted as we went to the local Mexican restaurant barely beating the flood of patrons from both churches.

My family wasn't one to jump and visit the others while eating nor one to be rude and ignore them. My ears caught the nearby conversations of the local gossip of the tri-county area. Then the stomach churning comments began that made me lose whatever little appetite I had. Local elderly good ol' boys talking about a woman who "cried rape" on someone that was seen as a good boy. One commented how she was just a whore and ashamed of being with someone decent. Another said it was God's punishment for whores. More vile conversations surrounding that stirred as I forced myself to listen on any other conversation. The one my ears tuned in to made it worse, talk about a man trying to file sexual assault charges against a woman that the table deemed beautiful. Homophobic slurs were hurled like candy at a parade about the man. One of the table's leading conversationists commented about "He would minded to be him. That guy was lucky to be assaulted." That made my body feel like I had just chugged a gallon of spoiled milk in the summer. I excused myself and went to the bathroom and vomited up what felt like everything I've eaten since arriving home. My body shook in stress and heavy breathing. Panic attacks hitting me hard. Would this be how things were seen if I came out about what happened to me?

Anxiety almost immediately slithered it's way into my mind as I had to go back to my college town. I got into my room, I caught a whiff of Jennifer's scent and hid under my bed like a scared child. Jennifer ended the room and barked commands and threats at me if I didn't comply. "You hurt my feelings. You didn't even say bye to me before leaving. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and I have to make up for those two weeks without my toy. " The cycle of sex that was pleasurable to me now tainted and disgusted me continued. She had gotten more sadistic and become more of a degenerate during those two weeks of my absence. My physical fighting back only amplifying the abuse she would respond back with tenfold. Once two weeks of this had continued to "make up for lost time" She ended ended with a gentle kiss to me that surprised and sickened me. "I got big news for you next week, daddy."

Another week of the assaults and my mind slowly breaking as a result before it finally received the last piece that drove me to ending my life. I have sent a revised edition of everything to my family and the local police department scheduled to hit before she comes back to use me again. Her belly had slowly been getting bigger but I assumed maybe she gained some weight. After the last night she assaulted me, she stayed behind and snuggled against me. It was like a venomous serpent using your body for heat. I was petrified to move a she showed me a positive pregnancy test and ultrasounds from her last appointment with her doctor. My seed was in this demon that has making my life a living hell, this past few months.

I'm sorry mom and dad, but you do have a grandchild. I won't be there to raise it. The idea is too much. I pray suicide isn't the unforgivable sin like they say. I hope God understands. She robbed me of so much autonomy that I'm reclaiming what little I have left. I'm taking what little of my life back. If you're reading this, you know why you have a grandchild and a son that committed suicide. I can't look a child of mine in the eyes that is a result of all this pain his mother inflicted. I refuse to take it out on them. I'm ending it. I'm taking back the last autonomy of my body I have in my life, to take my life.

CW: Depiction of SA/Rape, self-harm & mention of Suicide

[Author's Note: This story was inspired by discussions I've had with loved ones who have been victims of SA, and the feelings and things that they had to face. I used a male narrator and female antagonist to highlight how men can be victims as well. This story is meant to disturbing due to subject matter. Not for shock value but to highlight and bring awareness of such incidents.]

If you're reading this, I'm dead. Not because of some curse or someone hunting me down. Nothing like that. I'm dead and the culprit is myself. Only person to blame is myself. If you're reading this, I have taken my own life due to the paradoxical pleasure I received from one of the most mentally scarring and painful moments of my life. I owe my friends and family an explanation for this. I will try my best in this note.

I am no saint. Back when Craigslist Personals were still a thing, I would browse it and try to find a female companion to go and chase those carnal animalistic urges. Then I stumbled upon Jessica, everything should've been fine but at last minute I got called in too my shitty part time job and cancel our plans. Someone had gotten sick and they needed someone to close out that shift, it sucked but I could use the extra money from that shift to help pay for some textbooks. My mind turned off once in entered that little convenience store. Only way I could handle all the bullshit at that job was to disassociate. I forgot all about Jessica and our plans. After a mind numbing 4 hour shift that turned into an 8 hour shift via persuasion of my manager to "help train new hires", I returned home.

I fumbled with my keys to unlock the door, only for it to have been unlocked. My groggy thoughts after work were hoping I hadn't gotten robbed because my dumbass forgot to lock up when heading out to work. I walked in and haphazardly disassembled my uniform hanging them up to wash later on. I dragged myself to my bed and threw my exhausted body onto my bed in my underwear, ready to fall asleep. Then a saw a silhouette in the corner of my eye. Out stepped a nude Jessica. Her curly brown hair flowed to her back and her hazel eyes glowed in the dark.

"Hey, didn't you get my message? I wouldn't be able to do anything tonight because of work. You look amazing but I'm too tired." I said standing up from my bed as she got closer. Her short stature made it where I had to look down to look her in the eyes, I felt a sharp, stabbing pain in my side. Before I could fully process what was happening I felt even more drowsy and collapsed onto by bed behind me. I woke up, but I couldn't move a muscle. My eyes darted back and forth as my heart raced. There sat Jessica with an evil smile, "I will get what I came here, one way or another."

My body reacted the way it would seeing any nude beautiful woman and I tried to scream out for help. Nothing came out when I opened my mouth. Not even a grumbled or anything as she mounted me and wrapped her hands around my neck, choking me. "Look at you, I know you want it. You filthy man whore. You wouldn't be turned on if you didn't." I tried screaming again, my brain in a frenzy of fear and panic as all I wanted to do was scream and move away, but couldn't. She completed what she came there for and taunted me as I had my orgasm. "See, I knew you wanted it. Could've made it easier for both of us and just gave it up."

That wave of pleasure was tainted with waves of guilt, disgust, and shame. She smiled and gave my immobile body a kiss, "Don't play hard to get next time. Then we both can have fun next time.See you then." The combination of the work exhaustion and what just happened made me close my eyes and pray to fall asleep. Eventually it was answered.

I woke up the next morning nude. The whole thing seemed like one really bad dream. A figment of my exhausted brain surely. I got up and showered and prepared for my classes, pushing that word nightmare to the back of my mind until I circled back to my nightstand to see a note. "Had fun last night. Hopefully next time, I won't have to do all the work, and you'll put some effort in. -Jessica" followed by a hand drew wink face and hearts by her name. My heart jumped from my Adam's apple to sinking to my stomach as the realization hit me that last night wasn't don't weird nightmare but reality. I ran to my bathroom and hunt my head over the toilet as my mind raced with all this information as my body was sick with itself, trying to expell and cleanse itself from the experience like I had eaten some spoiled meat. It was unsuccessful as I sat there dry heaving with nothing exciting. I shivered and hurried off to class.

I wish I could tell you that is where it all stopped. Dear God, I wish that was the case. I wish I could tell you that I was able to put the event off the night before in the back of my mind and move on. That wasn't the case. I could hardly focus and kept an eye out for her. My head on a constant swivel like an meerkat on crack. I guess it was noticeable enough for one of my professors to have me stay after class and ask what was wrong. My shame wouldn't let me open up about a violation so intimate to an elderly Hensley professor. So, I told a half-truth, that I was tired after my boss called me in to cover a 4 hour shift and it turned into an eight hour one. That I got home late and was exhausted. I want lying, just not being completely honest. She sighed, "I admire your work ethic, but don't stretch yourself too thinly."

A few days passed and just as I was starting to calm down from the experience, a loud knock hit my door. I answered it to see Jessica in a sundress smiling up at me. That damn demented smile. I slammed the door and ran into my room hiding like a child. Trying to calm down as I heard footsteps and doors opening. She walked straight into my room smiling and holding a key in her hand. She sat on my bed and opened her backpack pulling out a couple of sodas and a zip locked bag of homemade cookies. "Aww, sorry to drop in on you. I figured, I'd properly introduce myself. Sorry about last time" She said handing me a soda and pulling out a chocolate chip cookie to have to me out of her bag. "I didn't know what type you'd like. So, I went with chocolate chip." My racing heart slowed down as my belly rumbled from hunger. My defenses were lowered as I took a bite of the cookie. It wasn't the best but still good. I ate a she began telling me small talk conversations things like her hobbies and etc. Then she hit me off guard, "So, wanna have sex?" I nearly choked on what drink and food I did have in my mouth. I shook my head no, which angered her.

"What do you mean no?! You enjoyed it. Look at you, you are turned on right now. " She was right but it was just natural. I shook my head no again but she remained sitting on my bed. "You don't tell me no. I had a backup plan if you did. I just hoped you would have better sense than to." I looked at her puzzled, but as the wave of dizziness and drowsiness hit me I realized that I was being date raped. I fell unconscious into my bed. Woke up handcuffed to the posts by my wrists and ankles. Gagged and nude a she was taunting me.

My genitals and mouth were the focus of her attack this time. I tried screaming through the gag to no avail. Jerking and shoving on the bed posts to the point the cuffs were cutting into my skin. However like last time, I was unable to shove away or do anything. She related the ending cycle and grabbed the hair off my bed and leaned in hissing, "You'll learn to stop saying no to me. Even if I have to break you to that point." She force fed another cookie and drink down my throat. I drifted off again as I heard her laugh. This time when I woke up I was uncuffed and just nude on my bed. I raced to my bathroom. The abrasions from those cuffs were still there on my wrists and ankles.

But that wave of shame and helplessness overrode any logical part of my brain as I began using mouthwash and scrubbing away with my toothbrush. Scrubbing away the taste of her. I kept scrubbing until my gums began bleeding and I just kept scrubbing. I finally quit and jumped in the shower, fighting back any tears as I turned the water to the hottest setting and scrubbed my entire body. Then when it came time to scrub my genitals, I just zoned out and just kept scrubbing and scrubbing. Hoping to wash away my shame. Scrubbing away what had now happened twice. Scrubbing away, hoping it'd undo the event.

Scrubbing until my skin was raw and kept scrubbing until I just broke. I sat down and sat down rocking back and forth in a fetal position. Weeping, the only sounds in my place were the water coming from the shower head matched by tears. I cried that night until I couldn't produce anymore tears. Until it physically hurt to try and cry. I don't know how long I stayed in there in that cycle of unsuccessfully scrubbing away the shame, crying and rocking back and forth trying to calm myself down. When I finally did, it was pitch black outside. I shuddered and threw on some pajamas. I didn't get much sleep, my mind jumping at every little sound. Everytime I closed my eyes and started to drift into the only safe space I had left in this situation, I'd see that smile looking down at me or that laugh and shoot back awake. My own mind had been broken and compromised. I had no escape to, not when sleeping could I escape her perverted reach.

I tried to go on dates that weekend, but when it came down to any signs of affection towards me, my body and mind rejected it fiercely like spoiled food. It wasn't just sex, the thoughts of it were tainted with flashbangs of Jennifer's assaults. Hugs and kisses sent my body into fight,flight or freeze mode. Scents that Jennifer had worn as well. I wish I could say it stopped at only two instances. I had lunch with some friends from my department and they asked me about the dates. I murmured not well. I think the girlfriend of one of the guys could tell there was something off but with this being the first time meeting me, didn't pry. I found myself isolating myself unintentionally. Shame of it happening and disgust with my own body developed. That's when the cutting began. I had always carried a pocket knife with me for emergencies in the past but now when an anxiety attack of a memory of that assault hit me, I used it. Soon I inflicted stripes of self-loathing on my thighs and wrists to make myself undesirable to her. It didn't work.

It got to a point where after a month of repeated rapes from her. I repeated by cleaning ingredients process and held my pocket knife and considered self castration, just so she'd stop. However, I knew she wouldn't. Each act of rebellion and resistance I have committed was squashed and matched with double the power from her in that moment or the next time she used me. Whether it be choking me until I blacked out, cutting my clothes off with a knife, holding what she claimed was a prop gun to my head, or whatever she deemed an appropriate punishment. She never stopped. She was getting more intense each time, I was losing my willpower to fight back, and to live each time. Numerous times. I debated about walking into traffic to be hit by a careless driver to end it. Only to be held back by that pesky survivors instinct and the terror that was the American Healthcare system if I didn't die on impact.

My only temporary escape a few days away. A couple week break from college and a chance to return home and visit my family. On that last day before break, I packed up what needed for my temporary escape from Jennifer. A taste of freedom that had been taken away from me by her. I built up courage and collected her little notes she left me afterwards, and went to the police department. I asked to file a report. The baldheaded personification of lard behind the desk asked what about. Like a dam releasing water, all the information of the past couple of months flowed from me as I tried and failed to hold my composure. He looked at me and wrinkled his nose, and laughed a haunting laugh that made what little hope I did disintegrate. "Look bud, it is a waste of time on something like that. I could arrest you for trying to file a false report. I mean a guy your size being overpowered by a little woman for so long and you're now coming to make a report?" He laugh changed indy a hostile demeanor, "Leave, it is her word against yours anyways. Keep the law outside of your sex life bud." My face burned from rage and embarrassment. I left and got into my car an one down the highway making my way home, I just let out screams of rage until my vocal cords were fried. I ruined my voice screaming out my rage. Kinda poetic in a way, I lost my voice when she started this and now I physically lost my voice.

It was nice to have the security of safety at home. It took a few nights for the walls of anxiety surrounding it to start being torn down. It was so nice to enjoy life again. I even attended church with my parents at both their respective denominations. My father, the Catholic, hugged me and I had to fight my instincts to claw away but it was okay because it was another man hugging me and my father. My mother, the Baptist, was a harder one to fight that instinct of fear but I managed to shove it down. We went to mass, and everything went as we raced over to make it to service at the Baptist church. Two hours back to back made me hungry and exhausted as we went to the local Mexican restaurant barely beating the flood of patrons from both churches.

My family wasn't one to jump and visit the others while eating nor one to be rude and ignore them. My ears caught the nearby conversations of the local gossip of the tri-county area. Then the stomach churning comments began that made me lose whatever little appetite I had. Local elderly good ol' boys talking about a woman who "cried rape" on someone that was seen as a good boy. One commented how she was just a whore and ashamed of being with someone decent. Another said it was God's punishment for whores. More vile conversations surrounding that stirred as I forced myself to listen on any other conversation. The one my ears tuned in to made it worse, talk about a man trying to file sexual assault charges against a woman that the table deemed beautiful. Homophobic slurs were hurled like candy at a parade about the man. One of the table's leading conversationists commented about "He would minded to be him. That guy was lucky to be assaulted." That made my body feel like I had just chugged a gallon of spoiled milk in the summer. I excused myself and went to the bathroom and vomited up what felt like everything I've eaten since arriving home. My body shook in stress and heavy breathing. Panic attacks hitting me hard. Would this be how things were seen if I came out about what happened to me?

Anxiety almost immediately slithered it's way into my mind as I had to go back to my college town. I got into my room, I caught a whiff of Jennifer's scent and hid under my bed like a scared child. Jennifer ended the room and barked commands and threats at me if I didn't comply. "You hurt my feelings. You didn't even say bye to me before leaving. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and I have to make up for those two weeks without my toy. " The cycle of sex that was pleasurable to me now tainted and disgusted me continued. She had gotten more sadistic and become more of a degenerate during those two weeks of my absence. My physical fighting back only amplifying the abuse she would respond back with tenfold. Once two weeks of this had continued to "make up for lost time" She ended ended with a gentle kiss to me that surprised and sickened me. "I got big news for you next week, daddy."

Another week of the assaults and my mind slowly breaking as a result before it finally received the last piece that drove me to ending my life. I have sent a revised edition of everything to my family and the local police department scheduled to hit before she comes back to use me again. Her belly had slowly been getting bigger but I assumed maybe she gained some weight. After the last night she assaulted me, she stayed behind and snuggled against me. It was like a venomous serpent using your body for heat. I was petrified to move a she showed me a positive pregnancy test and ultrasounds from her last appointment with her doctor. My seed was in this demon that has making my life a living hell, this past few months.

I'm sorry mom and dad, but you do have a grandchild. I won't be there to raise it. The idea is too much. I pray suicide isn't the unforgivable sin like they say. I hope God understands. She robbed me of so much autonomy that I'm reclaiming what little I have left. I'm taking what little of my life back. If you're reading this, you know why you have a grandchild and a son that committed suicide. I can't look a child of mine in the eyes that is a result of all this pain his mother inflicted. I refuse to take it out on them. I'm ending it. I'm taking back the last autonomy of my body I have in my life, to take my life.

CW: Depiction of depression & discussion to self-harm

Autumn used to be my favorite season. The cooling down from the humid and deadly high temperatures. Halloween being just around the corner. The sky and trees turning their beautiful shades of orange and red. It used to be my dad's favorite season too. I miss him. Things haven't been the same since he lost that battle to cancer, or as I've heard some say, a tie. Since the cancer died with him, thus him killing it in a way when he passed away.

Everyone gave their condolences, but after a while things forced me to move on. Bills are still due the same date whether you're mourning or not. I shoved everything deep inside, and did my best to not let it bubble back up. Everyone expected me to step up and be the man of the house. After all, I was his only child. Lots of pressure that I knew I could never fill the shoes of. I tried for so long to ignore the pain of losing him. Most might turn to substance abuse or crime.

My vice was pursuing carnal relationships in college. My mother used to be a counsellor, and she suggested it was a super unhealthy coping mechanism for not just losing my father but also losing the girl I loved. She didn't die. She cheated on me. My mom said it was probably some act of rebellion to reclaim my body since, to that point, I had been saving myself for her. Well, she said all that after we talked after she found the pair of panties that one girl had left unintentionally. She scolded me, got on my ass after she randomly visited me. She hoped that motherly scolding set me right. She was wrong. I just became better at cleaning up afterwards.

No matter how many partners I had and pleasures that arrived from the encounters, I just felt lonely and empty inside no matter what. I closed myself more and more, getting better at masking emotions so I didn't drag the mood down when out with old friends. I hated that question. You know the one that people always ask in a small town when they haven't seen you for a long time. It has various forms, but I still have the same amount of hatred for it. "How have you been?" They truly don't care. It is just an innocent conversation starter that was an empty thought. Recently, my mind and body had become scarred by my own doing. My body scarred not from reckless behavior but deliberate cuts with a pocket knife. I've had to put them in dresser drawers and forget them. I always told people that asked about the scars on my thighs that it was from brush I had been moving to clean up the property. Most left it at that. Whether they believed me or not didn't matter. It stopped the conversations. I was alone, slowly isolating myself from everyone.

That's why, when I first saw it when I returned home after college, I thought I was hallucinating. The last thing I needed right now was a mental breakdown. It just stood there by the corner of the property, peeking from behind a pine tree. Looked like a tall skeleton with flesh stretched over it. The eyes were hollow and dark, with no signs of any color or personality behind them. If it hadn't moved and waved its hand beckoning me, I would've thought it was a prank from someone.

I reluctantly walked up, the cool breeze making my hair bounce in the wind. When I got closer, my heart dropped as the face I looked into was my father's. No way this could be possible. He's been dead for almost a decade. Yet, the skin stretched across the skull before a dry voice spoke, "Remember what I said." It reached out with its bony hand, and the left hand had tan marks on the ring finger. My heart was pounding as I ran off into the house.

After dinner, I went to the bathroom and stripped. My eyes fell upon my chubby body and the tree trunk legs with scars. The scars had begun to fade like failed attempts to chop a tree and the tree healing itself. Traces of it, if you knew where to look. I felt as stable as that haphazardly chopped-at tree. Ready to fall at any moment, but too many things depended on me standing strong against the stormy winds of life. That's what I was supposed to do as a man: be strong. I was feeling silly running from that thing. It was probably just my mind playing tricks on me. In the shower, I tried to wash away my sins and shame. I dried off and walked down the hall to my old bedroom to sleep when I turned and saw the creature again. This time it was wearing my father's flannel shirt and jeans. My heart pounded as I sat there frozen. I slowly made my way into my room, then boom. I was watching when it disappeared in a blink. I sat at the doorway and just stared at the open door of my father's bedroom, which sat across from mine. Pretty much unchanged since he left for the hospital. Then, in a blink, it sat at the end of his bed and stared at me. The look, despite the eyes being black and sunken in, seemed concerned. Its head hung as it made eye contact with me. I jumped into my room and shut the door. I locked it as a wave of anxiety washed over me. I peeked out, and it was gone again.

It couldn't be him. No way. I couldn't be going crazy this young. I looked out the window, and the figure was gone. I tried to convince myself that it must've been some trick my brain pulled on me and moved on. I went into his home office the next day. I had to use some of my body weight to open the door. The place was filled with cobwebs and dust. I practically never came in here since he passed away. It just hurt too much. It hurt to see the books on subjects that interested him. It hurt to see the decor that he picked out for the hint office with hopes of semi-retiring and working from home.

The real knife twist of it all that made it hurt the most was to see the photos of our family on his desk before the cancer leeched onto him. Dragging the life out of a man I looked up to and slowly turning him from a tall, bearded, and big-bellied man full of laughs and joy into a walking corpse with a clock painfully ticking away each second he chose to fight it. I sat in his dust-covered office chair and sighed, looking at the family pictures he had chosen.

I felt tears swelling up as I looked at the photo of him next to my mother's hospital bed, holding baby me. I hadn't exactly had the healthiest of coping mechanisms since he passed away. I just avoided memories of him the same way one might avoid a patch full of thorns and briars. He was a great man. That's what made the memories of him hurt that much more. I couldn't hold it back anymore. My body betrayed my willpower, and tears flowed from my eyes like water from a pinched water hose. Finally free to flow. I don't know how long I sat there crying, and admittedly I don't want to know. Later on, I went to visit my dad's grave. I know it sounds awful, but I hadn't visited it that much since he was buried. It just stirred those unwanted feelings of sadness again. I got there and saw how overgrown it had gotten, and a wave of guilt and shame hit me. I sat on the bench and looked at his gravestone. The wind blew, and I left with that feeling of shame hit me again. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that damn thing again. This time its body had a little bit of muscle or fat under the skin, making it appear more human. The damn thing smiled at me, and a shiver ran down my spine and fear as I ran off. I truly was going crazy, wasn't I?

That weekend I went and decided to go with my mom as I pulled weeds and cleaned up the grave. Making it look more presentable. My mom couldn't do much due to her legs making it hard for her to walk, much less do this. She thanked me endlessly. I just wanted to hurry up before that creature popped up again.

I got home and began cleaning out my dad's room and found stacks of spiral notebooks from before he married my mother to right before he passed away. One fell on the floor and popped open. I picked it up and began reading the writing. It was my dad's handwriting. He and I had handwriting that my mother couldn't stand. You could barely make it out. I read it, and it was the stats of that date's Red Sox game. I shook my head and smiled, detailing each player's stats throughout and the disappointment and anger that they lost to the Yankees that game. Tears found their way again, this time not as much sorrow as I kept reading before my name popped up. It was about me asking for some superhero action figure when I was little. His account of it painted me asking for it, then a trip to the local pizzeria and video store to rent my favorite cartoon series that I had seen a thousand times at that point. I couldn't help but smile at those memories. I found myself reading through a majority of those spiral notebook journals and stopping just short of the year he got cancer. I didn't want to see what those ink-soaked pages contained.

A few days passed, and I saw that creature again while I was doing yard work. This time I didn't feel the fear I had before as the body gained more mass and looked more human. The eyes losing the pure blackness and gained my dad's brown eyes. It looked more like him as he fought the cancer. I took a deep breath. "What do you want from me? Am I going crazy?" I asked, and the being just shook its head and reached out. Dear God, it had that stench of cancer my dad had during his last battle with it. The hand on my shoulder as the voice gained more resemblance of humanity, "Remember what I said, son." I freaked out at this thing calling me son and shoved the arm away and ran inside. It took me a while for my heart to stop pounding.

Call it morbid curiosity or craving closure, but I finally read the journal my dad kept while battling cancer. It had plenty of struggling with mortality, but it constantly mentioned the love he had for my mother and me in it. I got to the final entry. The night before he passed. He wrote about his regrets in life, hopes for the afterlife, and love for my mother, but the final line hit like a semi-truck. It simply read, "I love my son. I want him to be his own man. I'm so proud of him. I love you, son." I couldn't help but bawl like a baby. I don't know for how long. After getting myself together, that damn creature appeared. This time, it wasn't a creature but like the father I remembered as a kid. Full beard, bald spot, belly, and a warm smile as it held its arms open. I didn't hesitate and latched around it and hugged my father as I cried. Getting to hold my father one last time as he hugged me back, echoing his last words to me. "I'm so proud of you. Be your own man. I love you so much. " before dissolving into nothing.

Autumn used to be my favorite season. The cooling down from the humid and deathly high temperatures. Halloween being just around the corner. The sky and trees rotting their beautiful shades of orange and reds. It used to be my dad's favorite season too. I miss him. Things haven't been the same since he lost that battle to cancer or as I've heard some say a tie. Since, the cancer died with him, thus him killing it in a way when he passed away.

Everyone gave their condolences but after a while things forced me to move on. Bills are still due the same date whether you're mourning or not. I shoved everything in deep inside, everyone expected me to step up and be the man of the house. I was after all his only son. Lots of pressure.

That's why when I first saw it, I thought I was hallucinating. Last thing I needed right now was a mental breakdown. It just stood there by the corner of the property peeking from behind a pine tree. Looked like a tall skeleton with flesh stretched over it. Eyes hollow and dark, no signs of any color or personality behind them. If it hadn't moved and waved its hand beckoning me, I would've thought it was a prank from someone.

I reluctantly walked up, the cool breeze making my hair bounce in the wind. When I gor closer my heart dropped as the face I looked into was my father's. No way this could be possible. He's been dead for almost a decade. Yet, the skin stretched across the skull before a dry voice spoke "Remember what I said." It reached out with the bony hand and on the left hand there was the tan marks on the ring finger. My heart was pounding as I ran off into the house.

It couldn't be him. No way. I couldn't be going crazy this young. I looked out the window and the figure was gone. I tried to convince myself that it must've been some trick my brain pulled on me and moved on. I went into his home office. I had to use some of my body weight to open the door. The place was filled with cobwebs and dust. I practically never came in here street he passed away. It just hurt too much. It hurt to see the books off subjects that interested him. It hurt to see the decor that he picked out for the hint office with hopes of semi retiring and working from home.

The real knife twist of it all that made it hurt the most was to see the photos of our family on his desk before the cancer leeched onto him. Dragging the life out of a man I looked up to and slowly turning him from a tall, bearded and big bellied man full of laughs and joy into a walking corpse with a clock painfully ticking away each second he chose to fight it. I sat in his dust covered office chair and sighed looking at family pictures he chose.

I felt tears swelling up as I looked at the photo of him next to my mother's hospital bed holding baby me. I hadn't exactly had the healthiest of coping mechanisms since he passed away, I just avoided memories of him the same way one might avoid a patch full of thorns and briars. He was a great man, that's what made the memories of him hurt that much more. I couldn't hold it back anymore. My body betrayed my willpower and tears flowed from my eyes like water from a pinched water hose. Finally free to flow. I don't know how long I sat there crying and admittedly I don't want to know.

The next day I went to visit my dad's grave, I know it sounds awful but I hadn't visited it that much agree he was buried. It just stirred those unwanted feelings of sadness again. I got there and saw how overgrown it had gotten and a wave of guilt and shame hit me. I sat in the bench and looked at his gravestone. The wind blew and I left with that feeling of shame hit me again. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that damn thing again. This time its body had little bit of muscle or fat under the skin, making it appear more human. The damn thing smiled at me and a shiver ran down my spine and fear as I ran off. I truly was going crazy wasn't I?

That weekend I went and decided to go with my mom as I pulled weeds and cleaned up the grave. Making it look more presentable. My mom couldn't do much due to her legs making it hard for her to walk much less do this. She thanked me endlessly. I just wanted to hurry up before that creature popped up again.

I got home and began cleaning out my dad's room and found stacks of spiral notebooks from before he married my mother to right before he passed away. One fell on the floor and popped open. I picked it up and began reading the writing. It was my dad's handwriting, him and I had handwriting that my mother couldn't stand. You could barely make it out. I read it and it was the stats of that date's Red Sox game. I shook my head and smiled, detailing each player's stats throughout and the disappointment and anger that they lost to the Yankees that game. Tears found their way again, this time not as much sorrow as I kept reading before my name popped up. It was about me asking for some superhero action figure when I was little. His account of it painted me asking for it, then a trip to the local pizzeria and video store to rent my favorite cartoon series that I had seen a thousand times at that point. I couldn't help but smile at those memories. I found myself reading through a majority of those spiral notebook journals and stopping just short of the year he got cancer. I didn't want to see what those ink soaked pages contained.

A few days pasted and I see that creature again while I was doing yard work, this time I didn't feel the fear I had before as the body gained more mass and looked more human. The eyes losing the pure blackness and gaining my dad's brown eyes. It looked more like him as he fought the cancer. I took a deep breathe, "What do you want from me? Am I going crazy?" I asked and the being just shook its head and reached out. Dear God, it had that stench of cancer my dad had during his last battle with it. The hand of it was on my shoulder as the voice gained more resemblance of humanity, "Remember what I said, son." I freaked out art this thing calling me son and shoved the arm away and running inside. It took me a while for my heart to stop pounding.

Call it morbid curiosity or craving closure but I finally read the journal my dad kept while battling cancer. It had plenty of struggling with mortality but it constantly mentioned the love he had for my mother and me in it. I got to the final entry. The night before he passed. He wrote about his regrets in life, hopes for the afterlife, love for my mother but the final line hit like a semi-truck. It simply read, "I love my son. I want him to be his own man. I'm so proud of him. I love you son." I couldn't help but bawl like a baby. I don't know for how long. After getting myself together that damn creature appeared, this time, it wasn't a creature but like the father I remembered as a kid. Full beard, bald spot, belly and a warm smile as it held its arms open. I didn't hesitate and latched around it and hugged my father as I cried. Getting to hold my father one last time as he hugged me back echoing his last words to me, "I'm so proud of you. Be your own man. I love you so much. " before dissolving into nothing.

I always hated the claim made by my small town that we were the "Deer Capital of the World". Not only was it probably wrong but a bit too on the nose with the name of our town. Deer hunting is a big deal here, just like every rural town in the South. I remember my school even taking off a week the first week of deer season. Occasionally, you'll have the accidents of men going into the woods drinking, shooting and God knows what else. However, this deer season things have been different. Men have been found brutally trampled, some aren't found due to the hunting spots they picked.

The most recent one was the husband of a girl I went to high school with. Isabella had it all. The bubbly personality, beauty, great sense of humor and intelligence. Then she married Paul. On the outside he seemed like your typical good ol' country boy. Beer drinking, deer hunting and red blooded American man's man. That was until a few months after Isabella and him got married. That's when I first saw her with a black eye from "accidentally hitting the corner of a door." Everyone in the county knew what was happening but she refused to admit it. Especially since she recently had their baby.

The day it happened to Paul, I was with him. I saw what happened but I don't think anyone would believe me if I told them. So, I guess I'm venting here to get out what I saw. Maybe strangers on the internet will believe me more than the people in the town I grew up in. So, here it goes.

Paul invited me to go hunting with him on some plot of land he was leasing. I don't know way made me agree to the invitation since I really wasn't a big hunter. Maybe the promise promise of splitting the venison meat 50/50. The few hours of the hunt were uneventful and unproductive as Paul drank beer after beer. I guess this meant I would be the designated driver to get us back home when the hunt was over. It felt like any deer in a 50 mile radius was scared off by Paul's drunken ramblings. I did my best to ignore them and catch some shut eye in between.

As the day drifted closer to night with the sky becoming painted with the beauty of autumn leaf colors, an increasingly more drunk and frustrated Paul demanded to stay. I gritted my teeth but reluctantly agreed. I wasn't about to try and fight a drunk, I would wait until he tired out and just load him into the vehicle and take us home. Easier to drag dead weight of an unconscious drunk than fight a drunk with a gun.

Just as the sky became that dark blue of barely nightfall a noise made us peak out the small hunting shed. Paul decided to pursue The inhuman noise. I followed with a headlamp but left my rifle in the shack. As we went deeper into the wooden areas, I grew wary. Then I saw her, the dark skinned woman just standing by a nearby tree. My gut turned as I heard Paul suggested something vile through slurred speech. Just thinking of what he suggested makes me want to vomit. I tried grabbing his shoulder to deter him but he was already making his way to with his rifle over his shoulder.

The poor woman just stood there silent and still, letting out a soft sob. Then it happened, once Paul was there and drunkenly tried to grapple her, she kicked him. I looked as she overpowered him and began stomping on him without mercy until his body went limp. My breathing got heavy as my heart pounded. I turned and ran back to our hunting spots. I never was an athlete but the adrenaline of fear helped me forget that. Along the way I tripped over some serpentine vines along the floor of the woods. It knocked the wind out of me as I struggled ​to turn over. She stood over me.

The dark skinned woman that I saw trample Paul's body limp was standing over me but now that she was closer I could see details I couldn't have before. Her eyes shined from the light of my headlamp as it died. Her long black hair hid some small pair of antlers. I looked down at her feet expecting to see shoes or human feet and saw deer hooves. She leaned in close to me getting inches from my face crinkling her nose and sniffing me like a wild animal would a potential meal. I closed my eyes and prayed a silent prayer as I prepared for death. Then I felt a hand brush against my face gently and into my hair before grabbing a fist full of it. Then pulling me to my feet.

I opened my eyes and looked into the eyes of this woman beast or whatever it was. The once bloodthirsty eyes that had made Paul's body go limp under their hooves had a kindness behind them as they motioned up the path I had taken. No words exchanged but I felt the fear leave my body and obeyed their motion.

It has been a few weeks since then and I've been interviewed numerous times by the sheriff's department, game wardens and about every nosy person in town about what happened that night. I tell the truth up to the point of seeing that deer lady. From there I say that I don't know what it was but I thought it might've been a small bear or a mountain lion, so I went back to the campsite to get better signal to call for help and get my rifle.

Wendy is doing better now after mourning and their baby girl is beautiful. I refuse all hunting trip invitations now. I don't know about "Deer Capital of the World" as the welcome sign for our town advertises but it might be the deer lady capital. I still don't know why she showed mercy on me, but who am I to question a deer woman.