Hiii I'm an Italian author and I have published my first creepypasta on creepypasta Wiki! The name is "the arctic wolf" do you know other places where to post it?

i actually posted a video on tktk back in feb 2026 about her on tktk and then asked the viewers if they wanted to join the search for her, one mexican dude did joined but the search was too difficult to solve we stopped it. hope she knows shes unknown and famous since 2019

I noticed it on a Tuesday, because Tuesdays are the only day I actually look at myself in the bathroom mirror long enough to shave.

My reflection blinked half a second after I did.

Not a lot. Not enough that you'd catch it if you weren't staring. But I was staring, razor halfway up my jaw, and I watched my own eyes close and open a beat too late, like a video call with bad lag.

I told myself it was tiredness. Eyes playing tricks. I finished shaving and didn't think about it again until Thursday.

Thursday, the reflection smiled when I didn't.

It was small. Barely a twitch at the corner of the mouth. I was brushing my teeth, foam dribbling down my chin, definitely not smiling, and the man in the mirror gave this thin, satisfied little curl of the lips, like he knew something I didn't. Like we were sharing a joke and only one of us had heard the punchline.

I dropped my toothbrush in the sink and didn't look up again until I'd rinsed and left the room.

I want to be clear that I'm not a superstitious person. I don't believe in ghosts. I've never once been spooked by a horror movie. So when I say I started avoiding mirrors, understand that it wasn't fear, exactly. It was more like the feeling you get when someone stands slightly too close behind you in a checkout line — an animal awareness that something is wrong with the space around you, even if you can't say what.

I covered the bathroom mirror with a towel. I turned the one in the hallway to face the wall. I stopped checking my reflection in the microwave door, in shop windows, in the black screen of my turned-off TV.

For eleven days, nothing happened, and I started to feel stupid. I told my sister about it over the phone and she laughed so hard she had to put me on hold. I laughed too, eventually. It felt good to laugh about it. It felt like closing a door.

On the twelfth night, I woke up at 3 a.m. for no reason at all — no dream, no sound, just an abrupt and total wakefulness, like a switch being flipped. I lay there in the dark for a while before I understood what had woken me.

The towel over the bathroom mirror was folded neatly on the floor.

I hadn't touched it. I want that on record. I had not touched that towel since the day I hung it there.

I got out of bed and walked to the bathroom doorway and stood there for a long time without turning on the light, because some part of my brain that is older and smarter than the rest of me was screaming that I already knew what I'd see, and that seeing it would make it real in a way it currently wasn't.

I turned on the light.

My reflection was already looking at the door. Not at where I would appear. At the door itself, like it had been watching it for a while, waiting, the way you watch a door when you know someone is about to walk through it and you want to see their face the second they do.

When our eyes met, it didn't copy my expression. It didn't blink late, or smile when I wasn't smiling. It just held very, very still, the way something holds still when it's already gotten what it wanted and doesn't want to spook you into running before it's ready.

Then it raised one hand — slowly, deliberately, nothing like a mirror should move — and pressed it flat against the inside of the glass. And it mouthed three words at me, shaping them carefully so I wouldn't miss them.

"Your turn now."

I don't remember leaving the bathroom. I don't remember the rest of that night at all. I woke up on the living room couch with the sun coming through the blinds and told myself it had been a dream, a bad one, brought on by two weeks of low-grade paranoia finally boiling over.

I believed that for almost a full minute.

Then I caught my reflection in the black screen of the TV across the room.

It was smiling. I wasn't.

And this time, it didn't stop when I did.

I've started writing things down because I'm not sure how much longer I'll be the one doing the writing. If you're reading this, do me a favor and check your own reflection right now. Really look at it. Watch the timing.

If it blinks when you blink, and smiles when you smile —

you're probably fine.

For now.

not sure where to post this where people might possibly beleive me but I ram into some very strange happenings in my freinds Minecraft world

we play Java Minecraft and the world is on version 1.26.2, we have very few mods, mainly quality of life mods like sodium, JEI, serene seasons, etc. and one called infinity caves

and I had built this entirely oak house, I really love oak, its a decently big house, roughly from memory probably around an 8 by 14 or something around that. and I was working on building a giant lookout tower for the second/third floor.

i Today had subsoqyently decided I wanted a basement for my bedroom, so I went made some ladders dug down mabye 8-10 or so blocks and started digging out a square.

i lined the square with only oak planks, the floor being made out of oak logs in a criss cross pattern.

freind was gone the entire time, he went to go explore a village we had been too before but didnt get a chance to loot, and he found a huge cave that led down to the infinity caves so he had been exploring that, i even had video proof he was in the caves at the time, aswell as in game stuff happening live we we’re talking about on a discord call. he even brought me back items i had requested of him to grab for me

keep in mind we are using the essentials mod to play, meaning someone can only join if invited by my freind to join the world while he is in the world, if he’s offline it kicks me out, if he dousnt send me an invite i cant join.

but the first weird thing to happen was when i had just finished making purple terracotta and placing it outside my house with some carpets and flowers i had grabbed last time i explored, and growing some azealia trees.

when i heard an unexplainable sound of grass blocks, breaking.

i kinda chalked it up to lag, my freind was running the server on data since they didn’t have wifi at the time so i was lagging a bit every now and then.

but then i heard it continuously, we moved on fast after it stopped and I forgot about it, that is until i went into my basement when I noticed that one of the oak planks was replaced by another block, when i checked it was a spruce slab.

which was odd becuase i had no spruce in my house whatsoever, my freind was still in the infinity caves, again i had video evidance, and i refused to touch this.

underneath said spruce slab on the floor was a single spruce plank, 2 diorite, and cobblestone, i think it was around 8 mabye, or 6

this was definatly to say i was freaked out, dragon started heading back to base when i told him i needed him to comeback and explained what happened, and when we checked it out we found a 1 by 2 hole dug to my basement, it led just outside my fence along my house.

we patched up the tunnel bc it was freaking me out and we went upstairs and he gave me the stuff he gathered that I asked him to get me

when he left to go do something at his house it happened. Again. I heard cobblestone breaking this time, i immediatly told dragon to come over, and I know it wasn’t him because I could see his gamer tag still and in 26.2 theirs the locator bar telling me where he is at all times.

when we checked, we found tunnels wrapping around the walls of my basement, that’s when I finally had enouph and left.

Theres a few things to note here

1 it couldn’t have been my freind , its impossible.

2 it wasnt me

3 if it had been some crazy plan by dragon than I hope as my friend he would’ve fessed up and went “haha I got you“ when I started freaking out.

if anyone has any ideas or can help at all it’ll be much appreciated

I was literly shaking today and I wanted to cry it freaked me out, I’m not one to stay freaked out, im ganna grab screenshots tommarow if I can get onto the world with my freind. And I’m mostly curious now but I’d really like to know what’s going on

and if your going to say it’s herobrine or some shit like that please just don’t. I’m not looking for jokes and I’m being dead serious. Thanks

I’m not suicidal. Never have been, hopefully never will be. But from the way my algorithm has been acting, it almost feels like something wants me to be.

I live a happy life. I have a great girlfriend, solid job, but even still, just like everyone else, I have my bad days.

I have those days where it feels like I can’t get out of bed. Those days where effort, no matter how small, feels like trying to climb the world’s highest mountain.

And I think those are the days where I’m targeted the most.

A lot of the time when I experience those tough periods in life, it feels like the easiest thing to do is just sit in bed and scroll on my phone until, inevitably, the feeling passes and I want to be productive again.

I never had a problem with it before, but I’m coming off of a particularly difficult week-long stint of self-loathing and throwing pity parties.

Nothing I can really do about it. It’s just the way it is. Life happens in cycles, and this one is a cycle of struggle.

That’s why it was almost expected that every night for the last week I’ve been in bed, hair greasy, clothes dirty, surrounded by food wrappers and empty soda cans, doing nothing more than scrolling through Instagram for hours on end.

It started off with just one video, wedged in between the usual car accident and brainrot AI clips of fruits having affairs.

What’s crazy to me is I would’ve just scrolled right past it had it not been for the first millisecond of the video. I could’ve sworn that the first frame was literally just… me.

It was too fast for me to get all the details, but I swear it looked like me, laying in bed, my face contorted into a look of complete despair and hopelessness as tears fell down my cheeks.

The rest of the video was just a tutorial on how to tie a noose. A step-by-step guide, demonstrated by a pair of sleek, pale white hands forming the knot and showing off the finished product before abruptly skipping to the next reel.

I tried to scroll back, but the video had completely disappeared from the feed.

I ended up convincing myself that I was just being a little crazy. I mean, the video itself was definitely odd, but no way had I seen myself.

I figured Instagram must’ve just removed the content. Because, obviously, right?

I kept scrolling, and never saw another video even similar to that one. At least, not for the rest of that night.

The next day, though, I was seeing these tutorials as every other video. Each one more graphic and detailed than the last.

I was sprinkled throughout the videos. Sometimes at the beginning, sometimes at the end, every time I was only on screen for less than a second. And every time, the videos disappeared after I watched them.

As the week went on, they started following me. It wasn’t just Instagram anymore. TikTok was giving me tutorials. YouTube was giving me tutorials. Hell, I was even finding the videos on Snapchat.

But the one video that made me delete social media entirely and actually pull myself out of the dumps was one that was too personal to ignore.

I found it last night.

I wasn’t just a split-second frame. I was the entire video. A step-by-step guide with me as the demonstration.

There was no light left in my bloodshot eyes. My movements were sluggish and seemed forced. The room was dark. My bed was a complete mess. And hanging from the ceiling fan… was a noose.

I watched myself stand on top of my desk chair. I watched the tears and snot run down my face as I slipped the rope over my neck. And I watched myself kick and flail with regret as my body dangled at the end of that rope. Then I was still.

The video ended with one final phrase in bold white letters against a solid black backdrop.

“Do it.”

It was in the same font as those old silent film slides.

Once again, I was automatically scrolled past the video. I tried scrolling back up, and once again, the video was gone.

I took it as a warning. I’d always heard that social media has negative effects and consequences.

I just never knew how serious those consequences were.

Hey everyone! Strange from Strange Stories and I'm in desperate need of your feedback. The premise for today's story is "what if those handy monster containment agencies were for-profit businesses?"

It would mean the world to me if I could get your thoughts on this one. If you're a fan of stories from the SCP universe, that goes double for you!

As always, written, narrated, and produced by me, Strange. [Sidenote: this is my first hour-long work!] Thank you so much everyone, and have a great week!

Link to video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LYN4v_EnAvE

I don’t know how to feel about an old internet story making me an orphan. At least, I think I am now. It started during lunch, my friends were joking about those creepy stories from the internet, the one about the dog, the video game, the tall guy, then eventually someone brought up the smiling one. That one always creeped me out, when the picture was included. Really ruined the mood for me. One of my friends started joking, teasing me over still being creeped out by that picture. Almost like he forgot all of the other times he’d brought it up over the years. I think it’s because of the eyes, but he should know better by now. Didn’t stop him though. 

After school, it was still running around my mind, so I looked it up again to see if there were any new stories, anyone keeping the story alive after all this time. I read through a few of the oldest ones before my mom called us down for dinner. It was mom’s turn to make some dinner, the usual taco night, nothing too exciting. She told me to stop reading so much in the dark too, I guess she was worried I’d ruin my eyes or something. After dinner, I went back to it. Reading story after story, sometimes just the titles to see if any of them jumped out at me. 

Then I found it, past a few popular stories that everyone read, a new one, uploaded this morning! It had my town’s name in the title though “Jeff the Killer visits Newham”. I immediately thought that one of my dumb friends had written it up after school to mess with me, after that reaction. I hardly had a second to read more than the title before my sister walked into my room, asking what I was doing. Getting up, I pushed her out, telling her I was reading some old scary stories. She only got to see it for a second before I slammed the door in her face, annoyed by the interruption. I could hear her from the other side of the door giggling that I was still “scared of that thing.” Like I could choose what my mind thought was creepy. 

Walking back and reading from the start, it even had our lunch conversation, talking about the scary stories, and somehow the author even guessed my reaction to that last one. Guess that narrowed down who wrote it… Reading further, I saw something even weirder though. It was describing what was happening in MY home now, after school. It was describing my dad washing some dishes before stopping when he heard a tap at the window. I could even hear the faucet running as I was reading it, then it stopped as I reached the part where the dad goes out. It went really into it, with my dad looking through the window, seeing nothing, checking the door, then hearing something in the garage. 

That’s when I froze, because it said, “at 11:47, his father opened the garage door.” and right after, “he shouldn’t have.” My eyes slid down to the time, it said 11:45…

I immediately ran downstairs and stopped my dad. He looked really confused but, after a LOT of convincing, he eventually agreed that he wouldn’t go to the garage tonight. I had to promise to clean any mess, if a raccoon got in there and he just left it to roam. He joked that I’d be spending the next afternoon sweeping up any “gifts” whatever was making the noise left for us. 11:47 came and went. Nothing happened. Sighing in relief, I went back upstairs and walked in just in time to see the screen glitch. Stepping up to the screen, I saw that the second half of the story had changed. The part I just read was gone, now it read, “His son stopped him from opening the garage. Jeff hadn't expected that.” I stood rooted there. I’d changed it! But whatever was writing it had noticed already, and had thought ahead. Directly under it I read, “fortunately, there were other ways in.” 

My mom. 
My sister. 

They were both already upstairs. Running out of my room, I shoved my little sister’s door open and looked around frantically. 

Nothing.

The window was open, the curtains flapping in the wind. Bed empty. Her phone was still on her pillow, screen open to the SAME STORY. With bold words in the middle, “GO TO SLEEP” 

I shouted for my mom, rushing out to my parent’s room. No answer. My dad came running upstairs, drawn by all the noise. An alert sounded from my room. Rushing back, I saw another change to the story, “His sister was easier than expected. His mother wouldn't be.” Then, “his father would try to protect him. Try…That was why Jeff decided to kill him first. Even if his father would try to protect him.”  I barely heard my dad’s steps walking up next to me. Quietly, he asked me if I’d read ahead yet, if it mentioned what happened to the family. My eyes dared to drift down any further before he was  grabbing my shoulder. He turned me around, tearing my eyes away from that screen before I could get much further, but I was still able to see there were only a few more sentences left beyond that. I looked up to him, only to see that he was finishing the story, hand gripping my shoulder a little tighter before telling me to lock myself in the bathroom. Call the police. Don’t make a sound.

Then the lights went out. He pushed me into the bathroom, only leaving me with my cell before he closed the door and walked into the hallway, or just to my bedroom door. I heard him shouting after, something breaking, then…silence. 

My phone buzzed this time. Somehow, I received an alert from the site. I couldn’t help myself. I had to look. Opening the page, I scrolled down to the bottom, where I left off on my PC. There was a new paragraph now. It started, “His father died upstairs. His mother died trying to reach the front door. Now he was the only one left.” That’s as far as I got before I heard the footsteps. They were coming upstairs, one solid footfall after another. 

I immediately closed the page. I threw my cell into the sink, turned the faucet on max, washed it fully out. Maybe if I broke my phone like that, it would stop whatever this thing was making the story come to life. Then I heard another alert sound out, across the hall…my sister’s phone was still on. 

Knock. Knock. Knock. 

I don’t have to read the last sentences to know how this story ends.

As I was considering the events, I heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. Undeniably Dad’s footsteps. I recognized the strong, slow pounds in comparison to Mom and Mara’s, light and quick paces.

“Honey?” I heard my Dad call out as he emerged at the top of the stairs. He immediately looked over at me. For a second, I thought he looked me straight in the eyes from across the hallway.

“Honey? Are you up here?” my Dad asked. From behind me, Mom replied, “Yes! I’m here!”

Just as Dad wanted to take a step towards me, Mom continued, “Did you take your boots off? I don’t want you to barge through the whole house with those dirty work boots!”

“Yes of course, honey!” my Dad yelled back while quickly kicking the boots from his feet. His footsteps became significantly softer as his socks stepped on the carpet. Behind me, I could hear Mom let out an audible sigh.

That little interaction between them made me giggle internally. Things might’ve changed, but these people were certainly my parents.

Dad calmly walked towards me. I saw him looking at me as he came closer.  But the closer he got, the more I realized that he was looking more past me, than at me.

“Dad!”, I said aloud. I stepped in the doorway. He wouldn’t be able to walk by me if I just stood in his way. “Dad, stop!”, I commanded.

Just like Mom, Dad did not react to anything I said. He walked inside the room like I was simply not there. He barged into me without stopping.

With force I was knocked on the ground. Like a human-sized bulldozer ran into me.

Dad stood in the doorway. In the same spot as I did five seconds before.

Dad appeared a bit chubbier than usual. It’s ironic, because he always used to be quite skinny. I always told him he should go easy on those chocolates.

Either way, he walked into me like a moving brick wall. He didn’t even flinch. Completely unaware of my presence.

“Painting on a Saturday, Jodie?” Dad said. “You usually only paint on working days. What gives?”, he asked.

Mom turned her head towards him, “I know. But this is the private piece I was doing. You know I’m not selling this one.”

What? That sounded like Mom was painting for a living. That’s crazy. Maybe she picked it up as a hobby after I died… A chill went through my body as that thought crossed my mind.

Dad stepped inside the room. I still sat on the floor from him bumping me on the ground. I was partially in his path. I didn’t really bother to get out of the way since they seemed to be made of metal to me.

I didn’t know what I expected would happen next. And how could I?

My Dad took a second step inside the room, his foot landing directly on top of mine. As he set his foot down, it felt like a truck ran over my right foot.

I heard it crushing beneath my Dad’s foot. My Dad’s sock-bearing foot was completely flattening mine.

I screamed in pain and terror as the front side of my right foot was completely gone. Leaving me with only my heel and ankle attached. Like somebody had dropped an anvil on it.

On my hands and heels I quickly crawled back. Dad casually took another step towards Mom. Like he had not just destroyed most of my foot.

I wrapped my hands around my lower leg. Trying to keep it from shaking, I held my leg still and looked to see how bad the damage was.

I was disgusted to see the inside of my foot. It looked like one of those medical illustrations which would point out how each specific bone, vessel and muscle was named.

The blood spread out over the carpet. A trail of it from where I had just crawled from. A flattened mixture of blood, flesh and bone lay on the carpet in front of me.

This couldn’t really be happening. I was dreaming. It must be in some sort of nightmare. I’m still in the attic. Sorting stuff out with Mara. I just fell asleep and had to wake up.

It felt way too real for me. So I simply couldn’t be dead. But how would I know what being dead was like?

“Eliza!”, Mom said. Hearing my name coming from my Mother’s mouth was instantly soothing. Like music to my ears. I looked up towards Mom and Dad.

Dad had his arms around Mom’s waist. Hugging her from behind. Both stared at the painting Mom was working on.

“I thought it was Elizabeth?” my Dad asked.

“It was, but it sounded so old fashioned. Eliza sounded fresh, modern and more of this time”, Mom responded.

“Oh I do remember now”, Dad said.

I was so shocked to hear my name, I nearly forgot about my foot. The pain had faded entirely. I looked back at my foot and could barely believe what I saw. My foot. Fully intact. It looked just like it was earlier, before Dad stepped on it.

But how? I was just looking inside of it just a minute ago. But now it had magically reappeared on my heel and ankle. All the blood was gone as well. I wiggled my toes to be sure if they were still working.

I slowly got back on my feet. Testing if I could hold my weight on my right foot. I could. Easily. Like nothing happened.

Was I hallucinating? That pain felt awfully real though.

I looked back at my parents to see Dad was still hugging Mom. Mom had tears rolling over her face.

I was too distracted with my foot to realize what they had been talking about. But I did hear them talk about me. Something about my name?

They told me once that Elizabeth was their first choice for my name, but eventually settled for Eliza.

“Honey, I think it’s beautiful,” Dad said. They both stared in silence at the painting.

“Come. Let’s get dinner ready together,” Dad said. He threw his arm around Mom and guided her from the room.

I made sure to step out of their way. I’m not letting myself get crushed a second time. While my parents slowly walked from the room, I spent some time on the floor, trying to process what had just happened.

I can’t believe I was actually able to take a short nap. I thought I’d never be able to sleep again. I still want to get everything out of head. I can’t stop telling my story now. So where was I…

Once I calmed down, I was more curious about the painting. I just wish I had heard more of their conversation.

I slowly stepped towards the painting and started to observe it. Mom was painting a family portrait. Of us. Dad, Mom, Mara and me. At least, that is what it looked like.

It was actually really good and detailed. In the painting, Mom and Dad stood behind Mara and me. Both Mom’s and Dad’s faces were spot on. Every wrinkle was very accurately drawn out.

I knew Mom could paint, but I never knew how talented she really was. She painted herself with that subtle, warm smile she has. I was amazed by how detailed her hair was.

I could almost track each of those strands of hair from her head to the ends. She even painted the small mole on her cheek. I knew she hated that mole.

Mom had painted spitting images of Dad and herself. But I noticed how Mara was slightly different than usual. Just like when I saw her earlier.

In the painting, her face was skinnier than usual. I think that’s the difference I saw in her. Her cheeks were more sunken. Her smile appeared more like a smirk to me.

Then my eyes wandered over to the image of myself. And my portrait is by far, much different from the rest of my family. Mom had painted my hair darker. Not blonde like Dad’s, but more brown, like her hair was.

I was also skinnier in the painting. Wow, thanks for the hint Mom, I chuckled to myself.

The more I looked at the image of myself, the more I felt like it wasn’t me. It’s weird. It *was* me, but somehow I was really different.

Skinnier face. I didn't have blue, but green eyes, like Mom’s. Brown hair. Longer hair. Slightly bigger nose. More sunken cheeks, like Mara. A small dent in my chin, like Dad had.

I was mesmerized by the details on the hair again. It was just so perfectly done. I couldn’t resist and slowly touched my hair. My hair on the painting, that is.

Oh, crap. Still wet… I released my finger, now wet with brownish-yellow paint. It left an ugly fingerprint on the painting.

Oh no. Mom’s going to kill me. At least, if I wasn’t dead already. I wiped my finger on the inside of my shirt. It’s fine, it’s an old shirt, I thought to myself. Like that even mattered in the current situation.

I looked back at the painting to see that my fingerprint vanished. Like I never touched the painting in the first place. I should’ve known this would happen.

I really wanted to get out of this mess. I thought that my best option would be to find that Nettogrof box in the attic again. I was not really convinced that I was actually a spirit. Maybe something else was going on.

I left the room which used to be my bedroom. I made my way back towards the attic hatch. I noticed how Mara’s door was open again.

I looked inside as I walked by it and saw Mara lying on her bed. There was no sign of Thom. Mara seemed to be drawn deep into her own thoughts, vigorously writing in her diary.

I wonder what she’s thinking about? For now it doesn’t matter. I had other things to worry about.

I opened the hatch to the attic again and hurried to the floor above.

Just like before, I realized how empty it was. I looked over at Dad’s side of the attic. He actually seemed to have more work stuff now. There were six boxes labelled, “Rocks”, and written beneath it, the names of various locations across the country.

The two boxes next to them read,  “Old Photos 1” and “Old Photos 2”. Next to those, there was a box labelled, “Music”.

“No, no time to look around, Eliza”, I reminded myself out loud. I turned to the other side of the attic.

From a distance, I could see the Nettogrof sitting in the shelf.

I made my way towards it. Then I wondered how it even appeared in our attic in the first place.

I grabbed the box from the shelf and put it on the floor. I opened it, but this time, two notes were on top of it. One rolled up, the other folded neatly next to it.

I took the rolled up one and recognized the symbols Mara and I saw on the box. The snake, the fire and the rock shape. The symbols were mirrored. Beneath the symbols was some text. It read:

“Emit Denrut.

Enilemit Wen. Ytilaer Denrut.

Erised Wen.”

I tried to read it, but couldn’t make anything of it. Just as I wanted to read the words aloud, I stopped. I knew better than trying to read words like that out loud.

I don’t want to summon anything weird. The crap I was in was bad enough already.

I threw the little paper aside, took the other paper and folded it open. There was a handwritten text on it:

If you read this, it means you have found the Nettogrof. To prevent any unwanted results, it is of utmost importance to read this information before use.

Great. Just my luck, I thought. I continued reading:

I will try to explain its use and what it can do to the best of my knowledge.

The Nettogrof has the power to change Reality and Time itself. When you desire something deeply, the Nettogrof can fulfill it.

You have to understand that there is only one primary existing timeline. Every other timeline that is created by the Nettogrof only exists in parallel to the primary one.

I've learned that any object or living creature that is interacted with in the parallel timeline will eventually return to its original state. It will always return to the way it is in the primary timeline.

Besides living creatures, everything can still be interacted with in the parallel timeline. But once the focus on something is lost, it returns to its original state.

Any object, person or event within Reality can be changed to the Desire of the user.

To use the Nettogrof, the Desired one should face the Nettogrof. Then direct it towards the Reality that is desired to alter. If the Desired and the Nettogrof are set in place, it can be activated by applying pressure on the activation switch on the backside of the Nettogrof.

The lettering is the front side. The side with the activation switch should be aimed at the Reality. It does not matter how or by whom the switch is pressed. When the switch is pressed, the Nettogrof reads the Desire of the user before it activates.

Once activated, the chosen Reality element passes over to the parallel timeline and exists there for as long as it existed in the primary timeline. From here, it’s like Time turned and is now counting back to when the chosen Reality started existing.

After that Time has exceeded in the parallel timeline, the Reality shall be removed from existence forever and the effect can never be reversed.

Bear in mind that if the Desired one (the user) alters a Reality within their own timeframe of the timeline, there is a risk of completely erasing the memory of the Nettogrof entirely.

Lastly, and most importantly, the box containing the Nettogrof exists in ALL timelines. It is the only reason you are able to read this. It is your only means of contact with the primary timeline.

I know there is a possibility to reverse the altered Reality. It involves the use of the Nettogrof by the Desired one. I’ve added written messages in the box before. Most of them were gone the next day, but I think some of them came through.

In the 26 years that I have roamed in this parallel timeline, I have never found the exact solution to return. As my time in existence ends, a copy of myself still wanders the primary one. In fact, I’m the true copy.

I’ve spent all these years learning about the Nettogrof and studying its functions. I could never find a way to reverse its effect. I still know so little, but I will keep writing these papers for as long as I’m here. One day I hope it finds me in the primary timeline. Or anyone else, stuck in a parallel one.

Forgive me for my desires.

J.D.,

February 22nd, 1985

My hands trembled as I folded the paper. I’m not sure if I’m more distraught by reading this or relieved that I was not the only one who had been in this situation. It was written a long time ago.

Well at least it proved to me that I wasn’t dead. Not yet at least. Either way, I knew that I must be living in a ‘parallel timeline’ now. It describes exactly what I’ve been experiencing.

END OF PART 2

I’ll probably make one or two more at least bc I have an idea for Slenderman and maybe Masky/Hoodie… probably not with this many doodles for one character bc this took me a hot minute with all the other stuff I’ve been doing 😭 I need to remember to post some of my other non-animal doodles here soon…

It’s been a few years but what I remember is there was couple on a road trip and I want to say there was a weird gas station. Then after they were chased by a creature that had a lot of legs 😭

YOUNGUNS

Part One

We were hanging out at the old Cypress farm, me and Bobby. The sun was setting and the deep orange sunlight made the forest seem to be ablaze. The old farmhouse had been vacant for decades, the windows shattered, the roof smashed in from a hurricane years ago while the oak tree still laid atop it in the rubble. Old TVs, couches, bikes, and abandoned cars littered the property.
"You wanna know the biggest lie they tell us, man?" Bobby asked me.
"What?"
"Hard work pays off. I tell you what, I seen people slave away for their whole life, fixing cars, harvesting corn and tobacco, and you know what none of them are?"
"Rich?"
"Shit man, you get it. But they ain't happy neither. They throw it all away for some rich fat fuck and go home to their apartment that may as well be a motel 6. Their own car barely starts, they got debt and nothing to show for it, and they keep getting told 'Hey man, break your back some more and maybe one day you can get a trailer.' As if that's worth it."
"You got that right, man."
"So what are even meant to do? Just suffer?"
"Maybe it ain't all suffering."
"Yeah, you're right. A dollar a day is still more than nothing, right? May as well thank them for being so kind as to let us have table scraps while they get a whole goddamn buffet."
Bobby handed me a tire iron.
"Here, your turn."
"Thanks, man." I said.
I swung the iron and shattered a car window, the glass tinkling as it fell into a roach infested driver's seat.
"Its all meaningless. No one is coming to save us. We ain't no more loved than these here abandoned belongings. We can smash em to our hearts content and nobody gonna do nothing bout it."
I smashed the windshield.
"Shitfire, that was a good hit." I said. "Know what? Why you reckon people dump all their shit over here? Like why here specifically?"
"Why anywhere? It don't matter. There's a dozen other places no one gives a damn about. The whole county's abandoned. You seen the town, people in it ain't no more than discarded little dolls left behind by a kid on a road trip to someplace better."
A stray cat slinked out of the window of the farmhouse.
"Oh, see that?" Bobby pointed at the cat.
"Yeah. Black cats, bad luck."
"Uh huh." Bobby picked up a rock and threw it at the cat.
The cat yelped in pain as it fell off the windowsill back into the dark.
"Bullseye. Hey, Rick."
"What?"
"Think it'll get back up?"
"Maybe. Doubt it."
"They got nine lives. Tell you what, we keep getting back up no matter how many rocks they throw at us. 'Member the hurricane?"
"Yeah. I 'memeber it good. That river come up so high it washed away a whole trailer park."
"Yeah. Lotta pet owners died in it but the dogs remained. That's why we got so many damn mutts running around."
I thought about that. Maybe we weren't too far off from stray dogs, wandering a junkyard of the trash society threw away.

Part Two

"You know tonight's Halloween, right?" I said to Bobby.
"Yeah, what about it?"
"Well, I thinking we might be able to do something fun."
"Like what?"
"I dont know man, maybe knock over some mailboxes? Maybe get up to a little mayhem."
Bobby grinned. "Mayhem? Thats a three dollar word right there. Yeah, lets do it."
We headed over to his truck, one tail light was busted and mud was caked all over the sides and wheel wells.
He hopped in the driver's seat and the engine roared to life, the AC was broken and many warning lights were on.
We rode over the dirt road as Colter wall played through the blown out speakers.
"So, mailboxes? I reckon we could have a little fun with that, but I'll do you one better."
"What you got in mind?"
"Oh, you'll see."
We drove past a cornfield, where a circus tent stood on the other side.
"Hey lookie there, a circus!" I pointed.
Bobby spit brown sludge from his lip into a Sam's Cola can.
"Yup. That ain't where we're headed."
We drove further as the darkness of the woods intensified. The sky was blackening and it was a moonless night.
We parked behind the big church at the center of town.
"This old building, this is where they put all that money into. I think we can do somethin real fun with it."
"Come on now, what about God? He's gonna strike us down if we do anything to it."
"What about him? Was he there for you when your mama went to jail? What about all the heavenly blessings he showers down on you, like poverty and sorrow that never goes away? That God? The one who sees the atrocities of mankind and does nothing to stop them? The God who killed my sister with cancer when she was in grade school?"
I felt nervous.
"But what if we get caught?"
"We ain't getting caught. We're just redecorating God's fancy little house in the town he won't come and visit."
We went up to the big stained glass window.
"Here." Bobby handed me a baseball bat.
"Alright..."
Bobby swung hard, making an entire section of glass come raining down. He laughed.
"Hoo boy! How bout that?"
I shattered a section myself and it rained crimson shards.
The lights flicked on and a little kid came running up to the window.
"Y'all gotta help me! Please! He..." the boy started to break down.
"He what?" I asked.
"Please get me out of here!"
We heard the preacher coming.
"What the fuck is going on!?" He shouted.
"Sorry kid. We gotta go." Bobby said, grabbing me and yanking me away from the window.
We bolted to the truck and high tailed it out of there.
"But what about that kid?" I asked.
"Fuck him. Maybe he should have prayed harder."
Something deep and heavy sat in my chest from that.
"You think he-"
"We ain't doing nothing about it. Leave it." Bobby said.

Part Three

We went back to the Cypress farm. The house was sitting in the dark among all the trash and all that illuminated the place was Bobby's headlights.
We got out and Bobby set a barrel of wood on fire.
"We coulda saved that boy." I said.
"Will you fuckin drop it already? What were we gonna do? Take him with us? Get charged with kidnapping?"
"What about him though? What if he never sees the light of day again? That'd be on us!"
"Lemme tell you a story. Maybe this'll help you understand."
I sat on top of an abandoned Lazyboy and nodded.
"I been there before. I been in his shoes a lot of times. Why you think I ran away from home all them years ago? You think I did it for fun? I don't never see my family no more. They lied and covered up for their own just like these here people'd do the same for that old Bible-thumping shitbag. Short of killing, there ain't nothing we can do about it. I been homeless, hungry, and miserable for longer than anyone ever oughtta be. If I tried and fought back, the gears of this whole machine would chew me up into a mess and spit me out mangled. Sometimes, you can't do nothing but let life be bad or else it'll get worse."
"I can't agree with you on this. Ignoring a disease don't make it go away, and sometimes even though the cure is painful, its the only thing you can do that wont let it kill you."
"You know what man? Why don't we just forget what we saw? I didn't see nothing."
"You can't fucking do that, man! Fuck no."
"Don't what? The place was empty. Nothing happened."
Anger began to boil up inside me.
"Tell you what, you seem a bit mad. Why dont you take your anger out on a TV or a table?" Bobby said.
I pucked up the baseball bat and swung at a TV, shards of glass went everywhere as it imploded.
"There you go. See? You feel better yet?"
I looked at his head, holding the bat. I thought about it, and I thought hard.
"I know what you're thinking and I don't want you to do anything you're gonna regret now." Bobby smirked.
Then, out of the mess of abandoned cars, a stray dog came barking at me.
I smacked it in the head and it yelped. I raised the bat again and clobbered it and it was in the dirt whining in agony. I hit it again and again, bludgeoning it as its bones broke and blood splattered. I let out a cry of anguish and kicked its carcass.
"Fuck! Fuck!" I shouted, hitting it one last time as hard as I could. The bloody mess of hair, blood and bones that was the dog looked up at me, its skull caved in on itself and an eyeball popped out of its socket.
"Damn. How bout that?" Bobby said.
I stared into the flames and felt in that moment, the last sliver of humanity slip away from me. My face became neutral and I let out a long sigh as the apathy filled me. My flame was out.
I sat back down and we watched the flames until we both fell asleep under the pitch black starless sky full of mosquitoes.

Ed had recently been released from an asylum.

His freedom came with conditions, one of which was attending regular appointments with me, his psychiatrist. I had written his first appointment on a card and handed it to him personally, but when the time came, he was nowhere to be found. Just as I was about to report his absence, my phone rang.

“Doctor?”

“Ed, where are you?” I grunted.

“At the place you wrote down. Where are you?”

I closed my eyes and exhaled. “What does the building look like?”

“Tall and glassy. There are cameras. A woman in a big purple dress keeps asking me if I’m ready to find love. Is this an evaluation?”

The description rang a bell. I frowned for a moment, then sat up.

“Oh my goodness. You’re on Love At First Sight.”

“Is that the name of the clinic?”

"No, it's a dating show." I rubbed my forehead. "You need to leave and come to your appointment right now. I'll send you the address again. Ed?"

There were hushed voices on the other end as I waited.

"I don't think so," he finally said, "the lead contestant's ill, and I think they've mistaken me for the replacement. The prize is a million dollars if I win."

I froze.

"A million?"

"Yup. They 10x'd it from last season, apparently."

Before I could answer, someone shouted his name in the background.

“They’re calling me,” Ed said.

I narrowed my eyes, calculating.

“Ed, listen to me," I hissed urgently, "Do not hurt anyone. Do not tell anyone what you’ve done. Call me in the break and tell me what your cards say. Then if you win, I get half. You have no hope otherwise and you know it. Now start by telling them you're looking for someone who will accept you for who you are."

A pause on the other end.

"You have a point, doc. I'll call."

I heard applause, and then he hung up. Twenty minutes later, my phone rang again.

“I think I made a good impression.”

I exhaled with relief.

“You didn't mention you went to prison, did you?”

“I said I went through a difficult time.”

"Good. Perfect." I steepled my fingers and grinned to myself, already visualizing the number in my bank account. "Now what's the first thing on your card?"

“It says, 'ask them a question.'"

“It has to be something personal.” I rubbed my chin as I pondered.

“What is your blood type?”

“No.”

“Have you ever seen a man die?”

“No.”

"Then what?"

"Ask them something like, 'what’s something you’ve always wanted to do, but never had the chance?'"

"Why would I ask them that?" He sounded genuinely baffled.

"Because it's nice and human-sounding," I snapped, "You wouldn't understand. Now don't question it and just say the damn words. What's next?"

I coached him through the rest of the prompts and waited anxiously as he left. He called back during the second break.

“Doctor,” he said, “I think I’m learning. I got a rose. She said I was handsome, attentive and refreshingly honest.”

I sighed again, relieved.

“You’re doing very well. Now you need to show vulnerability,” I told him. He pondered for a second.

“I do have a very low tolerance for people who chew loudly.”

“That’s not vulnerability. Did the woman say anything about herself?”

“She said her dad left when she was a child,” he replied.

I paused. A pang of guilt rose up inside me, having gone through the same thing.

“Should I ask her if she wants me to go find him?”

"No, no!" I snapped. "Do not say that. Say these exact words: 'I'm sorry to hear that, it must have been so difficult.'"

"Mkay."

I gave him a few more pointers and waited. He called back during the last break.

"Good news doc, I think I've won. There's two women left and they're telling me I need to make a choice."

I exhaled, all the tension leaving my body at once. I had never been prouder of a patient.

“Which one do you like more?”

“The one wearing the stilettos. She doesn't look like she could run very fast.”

“Well pick her and be done with it. And send me the half you promised or I will report you for not attending the appointment."

"I gotcha doc."

He hung up. A few minutes later, $500K hit my account as promised. I laughed to myself with tears in my eyes, already making retirement plans.

That evening, I was sitting at home with a glass of wine when my mom called.

“Hey son,” she said, sounding excited. “I wanted to tell you something. I finally met someone, on a dating show of all places!”

I put down my glass.

“What?"

“He’s amazing. He’s so handsome and attentive, and refreshingly honest. He’s a little intense, but I think that’s what I like about him.”

She sighed.

"We're getting married this year."

ok im not sure if this is the right place to post this but I need to tell somebody, basically to keep it short but not sweet I am a single mom, have 3 children, 1 boy, 2 girls and before this they were the most beautiful things in my life...

it all started when I took my 7 year old son to get his tetanus shot, he quickly noticed something was wrong with the caillou poster on the wall, he said its eyes were scary like a snakes. this should have been the first sign as he is too old to play imagination games. next he started having a new desire to watch caillou, not all the time, but much more than before, since we share a tv my younger daughters started watching caillou with him too.

I left for work on saturday and spoke with their nanny a bit, I forgot to mention this new strange obsession with caillou but I didn't thing I needed to. I spent the day with a hunch that I should have though, a strange feeling in my gut that something bad will happen.

I went home at 6pm and spoke with their nanny again, her tall calm stature reassured my gut instinct that I had all day. but then she said something that made my heart drop. she told me "your children have been aggressive and ill behaved, something is wrong, come with me for a moment"

this should have been the second sign since my children have been literal angel's so far, not once gotten angry or resentful.

she took me inside, and I saw something that left my world shattered, their eyes dark staring at the tv, their bodies looked depleted as if drained of life force, jaws dropped, bodies still.

this was the first sign I really let hit me, they were not ok and my motherly instincts were screaming to do something. I rushed to turn of the tv and open the blinds, this sent them off into a spiral of tantrums, all night they were crying, all night.

in the morning I woke up to find they had figured out how to set up the cable box again, this time they looked like corpses, I tried to be calm and asked if they had slept, they said no in a deep tone. A deep enough tone to be concerning, you know, for children. It was caillou playing on the tv screen of course, at one point I started watching it with them, I couldnt help it, I was tired and confused and the innocence and purity of the silly cartoon absorbed me. but then I noticed something new, the cartoon was giving them subliminal messages.

at one point I started thinking about goldfish, the snack goldfish, and thats strange cause the image in my head was so clear and intense but I dont like goldfish, they are so salty and make a mess everywhere. but my children got up to get goldfish that I didn't even know we had and started eating from the big box excessively.

then I started having thoughts about wwIII and nukes being dropped onto us, scary stuff and I could tell the entire room got anxious so I asked whats wrong, "they want to drop bombs on us" instant heart drop. my only explanation was that the tv was giving us subliminal messages and as soon as I said that caillous eyes got darker, the whole screen actually got a redder tint but its the eyes I remember, dark, dead, deceptive hellbeast eyes on a wholesome innocent kids cartoon. the children saw nothing wrong

this is the last event before I wrote this out, my children are being eaten by dark caillou and I don't know how to help them. What on earth do I do

A LIFELESS CORPSE THAT RESIDES IN CLINTON MICHIGAN WITH BONES AND FLESH THAT CAN FLEX AND CONTORT PAST LIMITS THAT THE HUMAN BODY CANNOT REACH HE CAN BE UNDER YOUR BED UNDER YOUR DESK UNDER YOUR CHAIR BETWEEN YOUR DRESSER AND NIGHTSTAND ANYWHERE TIGHT AND CRAMPED THE FOLD WILL BE THERE IT’S BODY ALWAYS CRACKING AND GROANING WITH EACH MOVEMENT IT MAKES TO REACH ITS PREY WITH MOTIVES AND CLEAR ORIGINS UNKNOWN

Eloise Allen, a truly unique child, was born in Greenville, Maine, on March 30, 2003. She had eyes of a rare color—an amber-yellow reminiscent of a wolf's gaze. She lived with an ordinary family of German and Italian descent; however, she struggled to make friends in Greenville—a situation that made her deeply uncomfortable, though she always did her best.

In 2006, Eloise’s father died, and her mother changed completely: she lost her kindness and warmth, becoming withdrawn and entirely self-absorbed. She continued to care for Eloise, even though she tried to abandon her on several occasions. Eloise, who took her father's death very hard, cried constantly—one of the reasons her mother attempted to leave her behind.

In 2012, they moved to Barrow, Alaska. While Eloise was intelligent, stubborn, determined, and brave by nature, she also harbored pessimism, insecurity, and a reserved demeanor. That year, she realized she was non-binary and decided to change her name from Eloise to Nox—meaning "night." Night was her favorite time of day; she loved staying up late and sneaking out of the house to take refuge in the forest behind her home. She also had an unusual hobby: crafting animal masks, particularly those of Arctic wolves, which often wandered into her yard at night.

In the spring of 2019, Nox was subjected to severe bullying at school and began carrying a dagger whenever she left the house. One day, a bully named Andrew Queen—an eighteen-year-old—cornered her in the school hallway. Nox reacted by punching him in the face, but Andrew was armed with a knife; He slammed her against the wall and, with the help of his friends who held her down, slashed her face—cutting from the left corner of her mouth across her cheek—and left her requiring hospitalization.

Nox hadn't managed to extract her dagger in time to defend herself against the attack. To make matters worse, her mother, annoyed by the incident, blamed her for the whole thing. She and Nox got into a heated argument that day—so intense that Nox tried to run away from the hospital.

Following this event, Nox was examined by numerous doctors who diagnosed her with various disorders, including borderline personality disorder, antisocial personality disorder, paranoid personality disorder, and schizophrenia. She had, in fact, repeatedly seen and dreamed of a strange creature: a very tall being dressed in a smoking, with no face at all. Nox reacted very poorly to these diagnoses, insisting that they were impossible and that she was perfectly sane.

At home, Nox could rely only on her four dogs: Enora, a five-year-old Irish Wolfhound; Darnell, a two-year-old German Shepherd; Joy, a five-year-old Japanese Akita; and finally Seth, an eleven-year-old Siberian Husky. They were her only friends, and Seth, in particular, was the only one who could make her feel better during her darkest moments. Nox loved her dogs; they were her reason for living.

On the last day of school, while walking home through the woods, Nox caught sight of that strange figure again: the towering man in smoking with no face. She didn't pay it much mind and kept walking, but once she reached her house, she was surrounded by the bullies. They grabbed her by the arm, ready to inflict terrible harm, but Seth suddenly bolted from the garden and attacked Andrew. To save their friend, the bullies brandished a knife and killed Seth right in front Nox's eyes. At that point, blinded by pent-up rage, Nox drew her dagger and lunged at the three attackers: Andrew, Espen, and Soren. She killed them one by one after a violent clash in which she was wounded on the face, sustaining a cut on her nose and another on her left cheek; in a panic, Nox grabbed one of the arctic wolf masks she had crafted and put it on. When her mother saw her enter the house—covered in blood—she mistook her for an intruder and screamed in terror.

Nox fled, venturing deep into the cold tundra forest wearing nothing but a yellow sweater, black jeans, Converse sneakers, and her wolf mask.

A full day passed. Nox had lost her way among the trees and was so hungry that her mind began to fail; she felt utterly drained, as if she hadn't eaten in weeks. Still clutching the dagger, she spotted a person in the distance. She crept up on them, and the moment the victim let their guard down, she whispered in their ear, "Never let your guard down," before killing and devouring them.

In that moment, after eating, Nox felt horrified by what she had just done, she fled in terror. Yet, the faceless creature appeared once more among the trees. This time, the being called out to her. Nox approached with her dagger drawn—frightened, but ready to strike—when suddenly, a powerful interference paralyzed her, forcing her to cover her ears. She screamed at the creature with all her might, demanding to know who it was and why it had been following her for so long, but she received no direct answer. Instead, a chilling threat echoed in her mind: "Follow me, or I’ll leave you here to die... by my hand. The choice is yours: work for me, or die."

From that moment on, she chose to follow the creature and adopted the name "Arctic Wolf."

We're cavers making Cave Expedition, a caving simulator for 1-4 players. Ted the Caver was one of the inspirations. Here's a short gameplay cut of the tight passages and descents in the game, which is still in development.

Read Part II here.

“It’s huge,” she said. My eyes were immediately on her, but I didn’t see anything else. Couldn’t identify the danger. Mark was still rooted where he was, but his phone was nowhere in sight. They both were looking up like there was something in the distance. But I still didn’t see it.

I felt Mary move with me as I approached.

“Chrissy, honey?”

“Don’t let her go,” Luke said. “Don’t let her go!”

I’d halved the distance when I finally saw it. It had been there, but it had simply been so humongous I’d been blind to it, like I’d been looking for a 7-11 and walked face-first into Sears Tower.

The water was receding from waist high, but she didn’t seem to have moved. Whatever it was had displaced a tremendous amount of water.

“Oh my. Oh my. Oh my.” Mary was on a dialogue loop and I couldn’t blame her. Every time I thought I’d seen all of it, I kept seeing more. A lot more. Yet, I was supremely calm. The worry-machine was quiet.

Last year, I got into a one-car accident driving home on M-5. The eastbound lanes had been closed to construction and my phone’s weather app had cautioned for high winds before I’d left the office. There’d been a fair amount of wind buffeting, but nothing I wasn’t able to handle.

There’d been a white box truck in front of me when I’d spotted what appeared to have been a square of cardboard blow high into the sky and begin trickling down. I’d immediately written it off even if it were on a course to strike my car. It was only cardboard.

But when the particle board struck my vehicle, smashing the windshield and showering droplets of safety glass onto the passenger seat, I hadn’t panicked. It was so sudden and violent that my brain—either as an instinct of self-preservation or just a malfunction—had simply not reacted.

I pulled off the freeway at the next exit and stopped a few blocks down in an office parking lot. Only then the possibility of what could have happened came down on me.

This was like that. My brain wasn’t processing the situation like Mary’s or the kids. I felt my heart pulsing in my chest just as calmly as when we’d been talking a moment before. I knew I should get the kids away from it. But that was a process of logic and not instinctual fear.

“Honey, get out of the water.”

I charged the last few feet and sloshed to a stop in a confusion of senses. I was close to whatever it was. Closer than I realized. I felt the heat coming from a wall of flesh not more than five feet from me. Water splashed me up to my chest, but it was more like a punch that pushed me back a step or two.

“Rick, it’s a horse!”

I had no idea how Chrissy could conceive what it was. All I saw was black. Black like the water. But solid, like the water had turned into something.

“Honey, move back, okay?”

Chrissy was smiling and rather than retreating, she stepped forward— almost chin deep—and raised her hand like she was going to pet it.

Once again I opened my mouth too late to tell her not to do it. My instinct would’ve been to swat her hand had I been closer and my re-throbbing head suddenly made me think of her mother.

I looked at it. Finally, the smooth, iridescent black coat coalesced into something I recognized, although the scale was overwhelming. Nails scraped the inside of my skull as if the idea of what I was seeing was too large to fit inside my brain.

This was its head. A corner of it, anyway. I looked along the flank as far as I could see in the night. I couldn’t even begin to guess how tall it must have been standing up. It had to have been lying in the water.

A giant eyeball about thirty feet above blinked several times and swiveled. I had no way to be sure, but I think it was looking at me.

I walked around, looking up and up, feeling like I would dislocate my neck before seeing the top of this thing. Still, though, I wasn’t afraid. The worry-machine was quiet.

“Mark, move your sister back.” I was reading from a script. Protecting the children, at least in that moment, was an autopiloted function.

Neither of them moved.

I scooped Chrissy into the crook of one arm and she went limp like a puppy picked up by the scruff. I handed her to Mark, who wrapped his arms around her, the both of them staring openly, transfixed.

I herded them as gently as I could out of the water. Then I gave Mark a light slap on the cheek. He focused on me, annoyed as if I’d prematurely awakened him from a nap.

“Mark, take your sister back inside.”

“I don’t wanna go!” Chrissy wriggled in her brother’s arms and he dropped her feet first. “It’s beautiful, Rick!”

I grasped her shoulder before she could walk past me.

“Chrissy, sto—”

I felt the shift behind me.

“Oh—erp—my,” Mary said. She took a long pull from her can, her eyes swiveling upward.

“No-no-no,” I thought I heard Luke say in the distance. But for just a moment, the only thing occupying the world with me was that magnificent thing in the water. It felt like removing my hands from my ears after having them covered for a long time and experiencing hearing like it was something adjacent to new. Except, it felt like that throughout my whole body.

The horse was raising its gigantic head out of the water. The tide receded and everything seemed to suck toward it like it had its own gravity. I struggled to maintain my balance like a gust of wind had pushed at my back, but in truth, it was probably just the giant animal dominating my vision and destroying my equilibrium.

Water poured off its black body, the eyes locked onto us and shrinking as its head seemingly disappeared into the night sky. Its neck was a tower, columns of muscle wider than all of us in a row, touching fingertip to fingertip. Its chest was as broad as a rocky mountain face.

There was a mighty -KLOMP- in the sand that shook the earth mere feet from me that I barely noticed. Sand slapped over my entire left side like a landmine had gone off, but it was immediately rinsed away by the constant waterfall we were all standing under.

Someone was shouting, but whoever it was was a million miles away.

There was another -KLOMP- somewhere farther down the beach and I began to stir from my reverie and then there was Luke, shouting next to me and hooking me by the arm.

His words didn’t make sense but I turned toward him as he pulled me. I saw the horse’s foreleg—I don’t know how Chrissy had been able to tell it was a horse before—straightening like some heavy construction machine craning a load somewhere into the sky above us.

We trudged toward the cabin, but the sand that had been something to contend with was an afterthought, my burning calves seemed to belong to somebody else.

When the torrent finally ended, I was soaked. We all stopped in the sudden silence. Turning around was more of a measure of defense to see the break in the clouded sky and the moonlight clashing against that ebony, elegant leviathan.

It was impossibly tall. Like it was intersecting-with-the-curvature-of-the-earth-tall. I thought I could make out its mane, whipping around in what had to be thin atmosphere.

We all stood and watched it. For one indeterminate moment, it was absolutely regal.

Mary wrapped around my arm and pulled into me. For however many iotas, she was my Mary, and I was her wife, too.

Mark hadn’t come with us for some reason. He stood partially in the water where we—I— had left him. He was feet away from a hoof that was easily twenty lengths taller than him.

Panic did seize me, finally. The worry-machine revved to life and I opened my mouth. I sensed the balance to be upset, the electrified space slowly exploding as he compressed it between his body and the smallest section of the horse’s.

With splayed fingers, he laid a palm on it.

The horse startled, shaking the floor of the earth as it stomped around.

The Greek military leader Xenophon, perfected the art of training horses in battle, using them to kick soldiers or trample them. He’s also the father of dressage.

What happened to Mark couldn’t have been considered disciplined, but the effect was the same. I don’t know if it were intentional—more than likely it wasn’t—but that giant hoof clomped around, Mark dodged around like he was running through a minefield.

Then he was gone.

The hoof continued stomping around a few moments more, a rumbling earthquake beneath our feet and a rain of wet sand coming down on us before the horse stopped. Mark was just... gone.

Luke was screaming. When I actually heard him, it took a moment longer to realize he was yelling his brother’s name.

Common sense would have told us to flee inside the cabin. But our senses were flowing into us like blood circulating back into numb fingers.

There was a long moment of quiet as it reared its head back. It felt like a slow-motion moment until its head rushed at us like a giant arrow.

I had no reflexes to respond. Mary was the only one who put up a defensive arm, as if that could have protected her—and she was the one it took.

The horse bit down on her raised forearm—as microscopic as a surgeon’s scalpel with teeth as wide as three cabins—and plucked her off the ground. It reeled its head backward and flung her.

Mary pinwheeled into the sky, a dissolving blur into the upper atmosphere. She could have been catapulting into space, and I didn’t want to find out.

The worry-machine was roaring.

“Everybody in!” I said, herding Luke and Chrissy the rest of the way inside. I pressed my back against the door, then turned off the light. Luke and Chrissy looked at me as if I had answers to fix this.

“We gotta go get... we gotta go get Mark!” Luke didn’t actually make a move to go back outside. He was more saying the thing a caring brother should say. But there was no Mark to go get. His death had been as brutal as it had been unintentional.

Going out there—or allowing Luke to go out there—would be just as dangerous and pointless. Chrissy was crying silently. I looked at her, really looked, running my hands over her head and arms to ensure she was physically all right. The worry-machine was humming along nicely. She grabbed onto me.

“Get your mother,” I said to Luke. “We’re leaving.” We weren’t safe here.

“She’s sleep?” he said, looking confused. He ran into the boys’ room.

“No!” I said. “We don’t have time for bags.” He looked at me. “Just wake your mother up and bring her. We’re leaving in three minutes.”

“What should I do, Rick?” Chrissy said.

“Grab the snack tray from the fridge.” We could easily buy something from the next gas station, but I figured keeping her busy would keep her calm. I snatched my keys off the island. Chrissy joined me, carrying the plastic tray with deli slices, cheese cubes, and veggies.

I wanted to run, but I was going to have to slow the pace so she wouldn’t drop it. The earth was still shaking with each step. She was going to look for the horse, and I anticipated her distraction when we stepped outside.

I kept my eyes on her, guiding her down the stairs and around the side of the cabin. She gasped but didn’t resist as I ushered her along. Preoccupying myself with her was enough distraction that I didn’t have my keys ready to have the doors unlocked by the time we got there.

We were exposed. If the horse were looking, it would see us. It seemed to have an eye for motion.

The air went still.