WWC #601 Pick a Cryptid, Any Cryptid - HITRECORD

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WWC #601 Pick a Cryptid, Any Cryptid

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Roswellgray with this week's Weekly Writing Challenge.

The world is full of the unknown, whether humans want to admit it or not. It's silly to think that we are fully aware of every creature that exists on Earth. Cryptids are, according to Merriam-Webs...

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\ \ Weekly Writing Challenge Project\ \ Writing Contribution](/content/records/6925071/index.html)

At a quick paced walk, we raced against the sun towards the entrance of the trail. It was only the two of us. Our backpacks were heavy carrying all the gear from the night before spent at the beach. The trail was narrow, no place to set up if we lost the last of the light. Often times we found ourselves wading through knee deep puddles of mud and tripping over large tree routes. Not ideal when we were in such a hurry. We left way too late and only had one small lantern between the two of us. We worried about bears and wolves, but as the light faded fast, I spotted large wings from the corner of my eyes. A massive hawk perhaps? I speculated as there were many hawks in the area. My aunt kept falling behind. I was much younger and faster and forgot to look back. She never said anything, so I always assumed she was right behind me. Again I spotted the wings and quickly looked in the direction, but they disappeared. Perhaps I was dehydrated and imagining it. I turned the lantern on and went back along the trail to find my aunt, when a terrifying blood curdling scream shrieked from the sky. It was close, and too dark to see where it had come from. I tried to run back in the direction of my aunt. There's strength in numbers, I told myself. A body was further up the path its back towards me. As I drew closer the light from my lantern revealed two mighty wings that opened at my approach. It rushed towards me and screamed in my face. It was the face of a young woman, her blue skin was scaled and eyes pale and deadened. She took to the sky and I stood paralyzed in fear. In front of me, further down the trail, lay my aunt. Her backpack to her side, her eyes closed. I called out to her and there was no answer, I tried to wake her, but there was no movement. I took out my phone to call an ambulance, but there was no reception. I took off my backpack and tried to drag her towards the entrance. She was too heavy. It was too difficult. Again the winged beast dive bombed us from above, I swung the lantern like a weapon and screamed "get away!" to ward the beast off. I was scared. I didn't know what to do. I could either run to the entrance on my own and try and get reception, leaving my aunt vulnerable, or stay and protect her all night long. I wasn't sure what was wrong with her. Did she faint? Was she injured? The beast charged at us again, sharp talons grabbing at us from the sky. I dragged my aunt into the hollow of a dead tree trunk and put our back packs in front of her hoping to protect her in some small way, then I ran to the entrance as fast as I could. It was a half hour away. When I got to the car I was relieved to have reception. I could hear the beasts shrieks in the distance. My hands shook horribly as I tried to dial. When the police answered I could hardly speak. I was shaking too hard. I asked for help and told them where to find us. It was clear, we weren't the first to be stuck on the trail. Another shriek erupted, closer this time, and I accidentally dropped my phone. It would take some time, but they were coming. Minutes felt like hours. When they arrived I brought them to my aunt. She was still in the dead tree trunk. I tried again to wake her, but nothing. They checked for her pulse. It was very weak. The monster attacked the group of us catching the paramedics off guard. One tripped and fell into some mud. The other made the sign of the cross and said they didn't have much time. It seemed he knew what the monster was. They put my aunt on a stretcher and carefully carried her out of the trail. With the unnerving sound of the beasts wings nearby. I looked up to the moon and saw the silhouette of the winged woman. The terrifying forest creature that will forever haunt my dreams. In the back of the ambulance on the way to the hospital I was informed that the creature was called a banshee. A monster that arrives just before someone is about to die. "But don't worry," said the paramedic, "we came just in time, your aunt will live."

\ \ Weekly Writing Challenge Project\ \ Writing Contribution](/content/records/6924454/index.html)

To Nessie,They say it helps to write a letter. Even if you never send it. I used to think what is the point in that. They will never know, you will never know, and it seems so…I want to rip it up, but I’ve done that before and it begins the same. So here it stays. You are fading from my memory and I’m beginning to doubt. If I don’t, my words will make me sound so…Starting again. I write to make it real. To go again without the risk. Without the pages you are lost. I am on the tip of the iceberg, the rock on the beach. I am afraid to dive again. Last night I sat by the loch side on the shore, looking out, and waiting. There was nothing rising up. Not even a ripple.From the beginning. Don’t try this at home. And I look back to see the past. When I first started it wasn’t to see you. I didn’t dream of monsters. It was 20 years ago, and a hidden motive. A risk taker with a death wish. An expert hang-glider , ice climber and free diver. At 27 I nearly died, and yet I continued. I didn’t know what lurked. Now I do, and with it, comes fear. I never felt. I’m lucky, and remember my buddies that pulled me to the shore. I never told them, I never said. Like it never happened. I don’t want to die. I see your beauty, and I see your horror.I see you Nessie as I write, and I see myself. Before I was suspended, in a moment, sinking, staring, wondering, split apart into fragments in the deep. I was nothing. Nothing of me. They say the eyes see what they want to see. Maybe you are a mirage but as I write the vivid image solidifies, and the scene plays out. There was no photograph. No fabrication, and no gain. Those times you didn’t hurt me, but I knew you could. That’s if you’re real. I play out the doubts, to keep me from…One last time, I say to myself. That’s what I do, until I go too far, and I know I’ve got to stop. Maybe I will dip my toes in. It brings me round. The icy chill.The sun setting. A shimmer of gold like a fire burning. I put it out. It will not destroy. A longing on dry land, an ache to live without breathing. I’ve held my breath for so long. I can’t dive again. You will have to come to me. You are real. Even if my words are...I saw you in my minds eye. I was drowning, and I made it back. On dry land I write to find the truth. Into the myth, into the madness of this deep. To find the pearls amongst the stones, and to listen for the future life. My tears upon this earth, and my laughter in the air to breathe.

\ \ Weekly Writing Challenge Project\ \ Writing Contribution](/content/records/6924448/index.html)

i am a creaturenot mentioned muchin legends.i swim aboutthe ink rich sky.splashingand spilling thesaturation ofsilvertone clouds.i lure dreamersdeep undercyclonic currents.come-to-me.my black eyesreflectthe birth of galaxies.my aquatic tailshimmers fromancient mistsof aether.skin adornedwith constellations.my voiceentranceseager voyagersto trade theirunconscious wanderingsfor a glimpse ofrevolving truths.suspendeddrowningsuffocatingin dreams.another soullostto sirens of the sky. . .24VIII2026

\ \ Weekly Writing Challenge Project\ \ Writing Contribution](/content/records/6924438/index.html)

(Note to Host: this is not an official contribution so you don’t even have to read it. It was still inspired by your prompt. Thank you for hosting.)Parent thesisOK fisrt of all yuo oht to know I am dyslixec and also have many other condishuns which meens I cant spel or do most things normal peepal take for grarnted. But taht dont mean I cant tel storys and I can also hold a job an I am a good man— so lay off jimmy you roten bullyParent thesis.Deer note bookI werk for the Boorow of Paronarmol Invistigishins in theD tcand my poppa is a pullypuhlleesmen.Or was.A bear ate him once and that kilt him ded.So in Maine I aint considerd the brytest bolb (even steven king is sed to be not our brytest bolb) an I failt school, but my moms sister Aunt Angela sed people are just missrably mean and I am perfekly good nuff to be her asistant feild ofiser for BPI which is teh paranormul orginizishin she runs on faysbook.For my birth day she givfted me a norvel to reed called Flowers for Algernon which taught me that being smort isnt all that anyway an I an juss fine.Mom agrees coz people allas sed she not right in the hatt too and now she is in instityushun( , Aunty sed they call it sectshunning] for trying to drown me in an well when I was ten yars old. She sed she is sorry so I dont mynd her tryin to kilt me at all, it was so long ago, and she also gave a book for me to reed an it is called Of Mice and Men and I doan unnersand itbut I kno she loves me now even if we dont see each other too much.Anyhoo, one day in June two tousand 26 which was a Toosday Aunt Angela nokked on the atik trap door were I live with a broomat9 AMand I lifted it and looked down and she said Marky why dont you put cloths on and come for brekkfast cos its gonna be an outdoorsy werk day.So I put on my jeans and chekker shirt an big straw hat and my fav rubber ankle boots and big ole glasses an went down teh ladder and teh stairs to teh kitchun and thar sat a strangre who speak funny. All oii m8 liek.Aunty said his name is Dingo and he is an Ozi. Coz he is from Oztralya . but spelt with a A. ?Dingo sed he is hunting fantum Roo tracks. Cept for popo noo ginny he says these footprints has no bizniz turnting up on other places. Liek japan, or teh yoonited states of amerika. He says it liek he is compleinin aboot teh weathre.I sed wass a rooan he went to his van and opunned a box an took out a big fat book with pikchurs of teh nachural werld. He dunked it on teh lidl taybul on the porch and we all said oo and aa as he showd me what a roo is ova egg sammiches an coffy for them an hot koko fer me.What i larntThe long name of a roo is kanga roo and it is a marsoopyal, which is an animul that gives birth like human but insted of putting babby in a crib or nest it puts it right beck inside the body under the skin. I doan unnersand it, but Dingo said its nothin extra ordinary, so I gess I juss have to take his werd for it._Roos.These annimuls are as big as a parson and very muscly with big tails that can whack a camel down flat. Thar are many speeshies of roo and they is categoried by syze. Biggest are kanga roo, medium is walla roo, and smolest are walla by. I doan kno why they doan wan the tiny ones to be roos too, jus a lidle by, an it make me sad.So all these Roos and sum by’’s.They hop on two big legs and feetses but can also live in trees liek in popo noo ginee. The smolest thing on they bodies is they bunny eared heds. Big ole tail.They are sand colord.I sedAunt Angela is this one of them cryptids youre organizishin keeps lookin for an she sednoroos really are normal and everry body knows abut them. In fact, Dingo sed they are konsidurd common pests, like locrusts. Or fleis. Which is so wired cos I dint kno aboat Roos and I toht I noo morr than ever body els but thar you go you larn somefink noo everry day.Anyhoo Dingo sed point is roos are naitive only to Oztralya {Aunty jus tole me it is spelt Aus-tra-lai but I doan liek it}} in lerge numbers but some are in popo noo gini and indoneesha too. Prolem is roo prints are turntin up everry where, Dingo says this all sorsor eyed, and Aunty Angela nodded an said yes we been getting them roo prints too and it is worrisum.This was noos to me.I wanted to see them roo prints.So Dingo put us in teh van and we drove. Well he drovean I sat like yooshul in back squeesin my stuffed alien toy an Aunty up front an she tokked like yooshul and every think was moving swish swish with the dangly thing on his rear voo mirror senting of fresh hunny sukkl an I was exsyted. This is liek when we hunt for that big hairy Bigfoot and chukachapkabaraa stuff. I know a lot of cryptids thanks to Aunty and her orginizishin. Is hard fur me to reed but I love them illustrayted charts and lists. I have studeed them all.I know the mothman and the bunyip an the mokele bembe and nessy of the lokh an doba chu an lemish an manipogo an ogopogo an mermaids an an denver demonan fresno crawler an goat man and nandi an an an Santa Fe tygar an chatawa monster an an teh kandahaar giyants and aynshunt nephilim an skunk ape an jersey devil an monkiman of pendek and teh deth worm of Mongolia.An aliens.I knoww a lot abut aliens liek wen they krashd in roswell twenny years befor Aunty was bornded.so while Dingo drove us I tole him all about the cryptids I kno an he wos verry impresd.I bet non of you reeding this nowles more than I on this sub jackt.10 twenny AMBut Dingo knoo so much moraboot fantom Roos in places they has no bizniz beeing.I listnede avidly:19 hundreds. Mays Landing, Noo Jorzee. Strange annimul reportdly kanga roo-liek and ruffly carf-syzed obzervd in a barn. After it eskaypd, in vestigators finded tracks 8 to ten feet apart leedin to an form a swomp. Fantum Roo nevar seen agin.Richmond, Wis sconce inn, 18 nynety nein, a wummun sees a large kanga roo bouncin aroond her back yard doorin a storm. Thar was a sirkus neerby, but they sed no roo. Fantum Roo nevar sited agin.Dingo sed Oztralya had this same probblem wit Emus 1nce, they where everry were. Teh kuntree even had to fite a worr with the horrid burds in 19 therty 2. The worr ended quikly. The burds won. But at leest they are now behaving and stayin putt in Aztraliya were they belong.The trubble with roos is no body can cache them. They juss hop away. LiekboinkEven when peepal chase them. Liek in Rivarsyd Eelliyonnee evar since the 19 seventees. Peepal thar see randum roos and chase them into alleys but the roos allas vanish. And it has nuffink to do wit teh hippy moovmunt Aunty added.Morr reesently in teh 2 tousandsfantum roos were sighted in japan, You.K, and even frarns near paree. My mouth was all hangin open lissenin to Dingo edookate us on these problamattic creechars, komplete with noos clippins.We rode out of town and sudenly thar was woods. I hunchd down low becos woods is creepy it is where my pop got eaten by a bear. I always stick close to big peepal when I an outseid and sumtymes I hold hands even tho sum townsfolk say I am too old for that at twenny and some men thrash me abut it callin me an homoseksooal, which sounds like a cryptid, but isn’t, according to Aunty.Just like roos.10 forty AMWe dint ride long to my releef. This place is smol. But Dingo he took a weed grown path to the side and Aunty seemt to kno where we is going. So I sed Aunty isit troo roo prints are coming here too and she saidyes deer old man Ian was ravin aboot it liek mad only last night only he sayin manjy coyotees. But she hasnt seen it yet She is glad Dingo came by cos she doan wanna go to ol man Ians alone.Why, he botherin yuo, Dingo aksed?”No-o “ says Aunty,”He juss leery.”They chatterd.An thass wen I knows Aunty and Dingo had history and she also is from Oztraylya with an A!!!Is mom and pop Ozis too I aksed but Aunty laffed an siad no noo remember we was chosen fambly they came from yoorop after the wurld worr but before they was bornded. Huh.I doan unnersand.Then ol man Ians diskripit cottage came into vyoo an he ran out at once waving his riffle. I stayed in the van shiverin at his hollerin. Dingo an Aunty shouted at him cos he a bit deff and than he was coffin an sayin awlrite awlriteyuo gawd dammed kryptozooyolojist vulchurscome on beck see them prints.10 fifty AMAunty let me out an I held her hand shufflin on her heels shy leik. Ol Ian scurred me jus liek most big hairy men who do them eyes at me and nott they braws an spit on my feet ..only Ian was old and shrively with wiht hair fallin off uglily in places.Teh sun burnted my eyes makin sweat on my skin an I feel clammy an an itchy. Thars this lil furry critter in trees that hang on threads but they isnt spidors but moth caterpillars an also not cryptids according to Aunty. If yous touchs them yous itch. As we went behind the yerd neer teh woods I avooded these critters best I cud.And now thar was a Fantum Roo on the loose too. ..Scurry.So I pressed on Aunty’s russlin skirts an we tramped thru copses an than ol man Ian stopped by a muddy ditch. He pointed goin like see har and thar theys prints jeezus lor! prints like I nevar seen afor cept mebbe.. he doan no, he mutterd coyotees.Dingo went down squat an sqyunted at teh ground. Aunty too. If I do it too fast I fall on my face so I only bnent by teh hips an ajjjusted my thikk glasses. And thar they was.They was the straynjest fooprints I ever seen jus like ol Ian sed.Footprints are yooshully easy. Thaes human which can be barfoot sandals or shoes or boots. Running shoes have deep dotty indentayshuns. Walking shoes are flattish softer. Boots make harsh outlines. Just liek hoovfs. Theys sink deepar. Mor weit, an Bigfoot prints have mostest weit.Fir mannimuls thars cloven hoovfs, not cloven hoovfs, and theys can be deer or goat or mooses or piggys. These is erbivors. Then thar is omnivors who can also be danjeris karnivors. Like bears an wiyld cats. Theys have paws. And Clorrs.Paws leeve tryangle liek wedge prints toppd with jellybaen sorta finger pad thingies sometimes peersed with clorr tips. Sum cats can retrakt and detrakt they clorrs but dogs an bears cant. All footsies pressed kerfully into dert makes for prints in intirkate patterns we can reed. Even dinosors left fooprints, which fossilysed ova myllyons of yars and are now in myooziums. These prints look like nun of them land manimmals ded or alyiv. At first look these seem like burd or reptile prints. But is too big for reptile.Burds used to scurr me a lot as a boy. I doan rememba wen moms threw me into teh well to kilt me fur been born real dumb, but Aunty says wen they founded me I had climbed out! Only, a magpyie was attakkin me. It had ate one ear an pekked my eyes and I was bled all over. An the owls juss watched. Maybe thass why burds scurr me, Aunty sed. Well, now that I an a full grown man I aint scurred of em, but when I saw those prints I thot of a big ole burd an I was scurred all ova again.Most peepal doan kno but thar are sum scurry burd cryptids. Like moa, or condor, both of which were extuncted like the dodo but some peepal say they sorvived and seek to mordor all humans ded as revenjjj. Thars also kongamoto which lives in Africa and it hates boats. It is a dinosor a terrosor but no body has taken a pickchur yet. It is big enuff to carry off a big man liek Dingo.Anyhoo, ol mans roo footies. These prints have two tapird claws like them ostrich prints.but only tow. Yooshully burds have at least 3. An these warnt splayed. Two big fingars, Dingo says, pointing.They wasnt jus clean put;;; they is mussed up, deep in the clod with dirt thrown aseid and trench behind liek one jyant clorr mark. The prints led alongseid the ditch, just strait. Then suddnly they dissapared in the midl offa feeld. Ol man Ian says wacchu finkin man ornessly never seen prints spaced so far liek these befor much less trails endin liek this harr.Befor Dingo says anyfink I blurt cos I am eksyted. I says thems roos mister Ian sir. Kanga Roos.Ol Ian he look at me and guffaw till he cough and spit flem. Lissen to that retard go he sez.An sudenly Aunty is standing a red in teh face and shoutin Mister doncchu dare say that werd in my presens agin how many tymes have I tole you. Dingo stands and puts his hand on Auntys elbo and says settle down settle down folks. He goes back down and tuchess the print, sensing out teh tempraychur.Is it roos of kanga and walla or a bunch o lidl by prints, I says, but Dingo only frowns like how peepal do wen they doan unnersand me. And ol man is hawkin and spittin an brissling. Aunty pats my back an says well? Ansewer teh boy. Is it them freekin roos.Dingo says aye its them, pretty shore. Still warm. No spooor tho.Juss like Bigfoot only fooprints no spooor.He has a camera on a strap aroond his thick neck bompin on his big swet sorked polo shirt an he lifts it up. He clicks and clicks wile ol man scoffs an insults us ol. Aunty sighs and prodooses her smertphone and takes pics with that also.I wotched with big eyes cos this is impotent an I wish I can do more than ogle as peepal do impotent things. I dint even know aboot roos but neether dos ol man Ian. It makes me jittery so I run aroond and get underfoot until Aunty says Marky stay putt right thar and take notes in yo notebookan I dos so under the half shade of a scraggly tree.The normal peepal discuss the footprints. They argoo. Ol man is saying liek what the feck issa roo? What the gawd damn hell? Yall are krakpots. This heres a crazzy coyotee or burd or sumfink, dragging its tail liek, hoppin mebbe.So I went back to the ditch and looked an shore nuff it looks like close behind them two claw footsies is a line like a great big tail draggin or wallopin teh earth. I took out my pen which has a tape messure and took the dymenshuns. The tail print was longer than the pen tape. Way too big for coyottee an there is no 4 paws.The morninn sun just beat the top of my hat and all a sudden thar wos a big thomp thomp an ol man yellt and Dingo yellt and Aunty come runnin to me.Ol man was bleeting What is that oh Jeezus Kryst wotda Fork is thyat! And Dingo was shouting No no put that fekkin gun down ye barsterd! cos that riffle was wavin roond and thenBam bam! thomp thompA branch overhaed splintard right off and Aunty grubbed my arm. Her eyes is wide bigger than sorcors an she is babbling come away boy hurry! As she pullt I twisted roond cos ol man is still shootin and I saw it,saw a creechar rustlin the bushes on the othre sied of the ditch and then it walloped the ground and floo up making trees shake. It comes down and thomp goes back up fast. Sumtyms it seem like big ole bunny an other tymes a standin deer but nuffink is clyar but than I tript and fell over ,hat gone flyin. Aunty pickt me up and then I see morr reezuns she is runnin draggin me liek this…Dingos head has a big wet red hole in it an he is sprawlt on the groond. Ol man is rollin his eyeses and spinnin and shootin like crazy. Somefink zippd past my ear like a vasp and anudder thing stung my toe and I yellt but then Aunty drugg us right into the trees and we fell down a slope tumblin all ova agin.Marky! Mark! Aunty cried, finding me spitting dirt on me knees confoosed. She sed get up, mans gone crazy, get out of raynje.Still we heard teh riffle poppin off and the creechar bouncing in teh woods. Ol man shouted, ye forkin imbisyles kersin this land! Forkoff alla ye! He pointed the riffle rite at me down the slope! Aunty pullt on my arm. We ran into teh woods. !Afta rawhile we stopped and Aunty got her breething back by leening on her nees. Her nice skirt was all mussed up and so is her hair. My glasses gone , her face seem blurry. She says OK, we go roond back to teh van and call the puhllees.I said Dingo is hurt real badand she cluched her blouse as if thar is a spidor in thar, and I saw her eyes is wet. She says daym that stoopid ol man, blind as a forkin bat but still triggar happy, freekin forkin mordoror he gunna bee lokkd upp.But I was lookin here and thar tryin to see the creechar. Was it a roo like Dingo sed? I vundord how roos come to places far from Oztralya with an A to leave there prints.Do they take the air plane or a ship? I aksed, Aunty is the roo an illeegal mimmigrant is that why ol man is shootin liek that. Aunty dint say nuffin, just took my arm and pullt me thru the narly trees.There was no bullet ringin in the canopy anymo, juss shoutin a ways away. Nuffink was moving like the noseen creechar. Burds were sylent but some teeny chyps started agian. Theres that buzz and hum of insects all aroond. And twigs an dedded leafs crackled undar our sheos as we hurry thru. Finally come by a streem an she sits onna rock. I am amazed. Where is the van, I aksd.But Aunty has her face in her hands an she is cryin. I tapped her on the sholdor but she just sits and sobs. I look aroond, go to the streem and play with the wotar. I been told nevar to drink from wild streems on akkount of toksik myikrorbs but I sneekily suck my cold drippin fingars. I hoped no Owls was wotching.Owls seem liek cryptids too wit they moon eyes a tufty ears and looppidoo nekks, so wierd, but they apparuntly isnt.Poor Dingo , I thinked, he has big hole in his face an he shud go hospitel and put bandage on. Like how they put bandage on my ear after the magpyie pekked me red and porpl. Oh, most of the broosin bluus was from ma beetin me and throwing me, I fink, but still, I remembar the smell of iyodeen and bandages and kynd nerses. They stik you wit a needl wit farmasootikal substarnses so it doan hurt no mo. Hospitels smell like antiseptic.11 five AMAunty still be sobbin.Too bad i losst my hat and speks. I juss sit and take my lidl notebook out of my napsack. I allas wear a napsack with stuf liek water botl and my id and address kard an emerjency cell an bear spray and orange whissel in it. Some pills too but I aint sposed to take them alone ,,,only when told.Aunty gave me this note book. She sed to ryte cos that helps to larn. To fink.So I am rytyn this but it is tyering. It korzes anzayatea. For eggzampul is it ryting or riting? ‘’ . I allas forget.When I rite too long I cry cos I kno I cant do it good but Aunty says do it and doan worry, but I worry, ..cos wen our neighbor jimmy found it last month he laffed and laffed and made every1 els laff at me too. It was nasty. They even laffed at Aunty. They sed she crazy jest like me an my ma an my poppa too who got ate by a bear.Worst, it wos a liddl blakk bear.They sed we are cursed jes liek ol man was shoutin. They sed go kill yerselfs yuo buncho brayn ded idjjits. So wen I ryte they voices com bekk in my skull like them fantum roo tracks an my chest and eyes and frort feel funny.So when I rote up to heerI sniffld and click my pen shut an Aunty comes up. She says oh, yuo are a good boy. And it makes me snivel. She takes my note book and reeds and sez this is ok, doan cry, nuffink a lidl editting wont fix. But I say I am not a boy anymor Aunty I am a man an an an I am still stoopid and cant kyp a propar cryptid notebook.?YEven liddl Liam down the street spells batter than me. Is it tru is becos momma hert me a lot and my hed got addld liek jimmy sez.But Aunty sez thass not impotent,whats impotent is tellink yo story as we is witnessin it under the grace of Gawd Olm8ty. The cross on her nekk flashes in the sun when she is sayin this and it makes my skin cripple becos cherch peepal sertainly dont fink i am from Gawd Olm8y an 1 of them 1nce even throo holy water on me all shoutin devil leik. So I aksd her why she been cryin.Aunty sighs like the hot breez in the canopy aburv. She sez, I just… his eyes, Marky. He was scurred and panicky but yuo kno wat …wat if he wanted to shoot us ded all along and did that on porpose. Juss liek they trip you in teh town for laffs aksidentally on porpose! Or wen they throw stink boms at our front door and my truck an then hoofit woopin like a pack o mutts.I blinks and sedwho?Ol man Ian, Aunty sez, he spitting nasty about us in the bar an on the streets and so many folks hate us.I aksed why, we keep to our selfs and we go to cherch on Sundays to sit way at teh beckk an giv alms that peepal doan wanna reseev.But still we smyle and do nice to peepal.She sed ;I dunno, maybe they is right, maybe we all juss a kursd bunch of yoosless stoopids to be hunted and kilt off or we kill each other or wateva oh marky I jess doan no. Stoopid hasto go extunct like syntists say sorvivol o de fittest marky, mebbe thass wy.An an I dint kno wat to say.I dint unnersand.Then thar was a cracklin and a bompin. Bushes shooked. It’s that thomp thomp thompfing agin and ol mans poppin gun. Aunty and me pressd togethar by the streem as sumfink hopped out of a storm of rainin leefs and into site.I could hardly beleeeve what I saw.11 11 AMIt was a roo of the kanga kind and it was hooj. An wen I say hooj I meen jyyggyantik. Dingo was mor than six feet toll and this thing stood even toller. Its eyes remynded me of a horseses, face like a teeny ponyand it had smol arms sort of grasped on its chest as if its holdin sumfink or twiddling a nekklace. But it’s just clorrs, I see, big ole blakk clorrs on its very human liek hands. It has big wide hips an teh larjest legses i evar seen. An than ol man came ripping out of the bush and aimed his riffle with a roar.What happened next is crazy.The roo turnt and with a great hop rose strait up into teh air. Ol mans bullet mist an crakd into a tree trunk. The roo landed right next to Ian. Sand went up liek floomp and came back down liek hail.Before ol man could swing his weppan, the roo leant back on its hooj tail. It drew both arms away and twistd its barrel liek boddy. An it twisted beckk forwerd,and punched.Like a boxxar.It punched the side of ol mans head, which simply flopped backwerd with a crack all the way beck beck till it dangled and bobbled on vertebray gone to rubbar. His eyes were liek tennis balls, popped out. His ears an nose spurted fluids.The roo punched with the othre arm and ol mans chest caved in wit anudder crack. The riffle thunkd down. Then those knobbly knees gave away and Ian floppd liek a ragdoll onto the ground, on his own hed, cos his neck was still brokken loose an now so is his spyn. The roo jumped and landed on the man and he squishd flatted. Bloody jooses squirted.Aunty and I had stood up but we did not make a suond. We juss starred.And the roo starred beck.I felt Aunty’s hand on my sholdor. It was like a paused movii film. Only the leeves still movt and so did the streem. The frogs crorked, the tiny burds cheeped.The Roo blinked, big lashes, and hopped offa teh corps closer to us. It hunchd down low. As if it is bow to us. Or preparin to spring agin. I doan think it wood harm us.But then with a powarful push of its hind legs it rokketed strait up into teh air. Up and up it went liek a spring. Dirt traylin Liek roket exorst. Tail streeming behind, its liddl face and black nose pointing up to the clouds, rabbitty ears flatted back and those thikk legses strecched like a ballereenas. Aunty and I craned our necks, woching it go up an up an up and evar so up. Then we blink with sun and sand in our eyes cos it is gone.I look at her. Is that a normal roo or cryptid Aunty.Aunty opened and closd her lips but no sound come out. She shake her hed. She holded her hands like the roo. She sed change of planes. No puhllees. I think we need to get out of this town she sez.Me: Why?She: nobody will beleev our story.Me: wat storyShe: of wat happened here, Marky!She tooked my sholdors and shooked me. Shooked liek the bushes when that big ole roo bounded thru. She: do you know what theyve been saying, Marky? Do you?Me bewildord: who say watShe: the town! About… about you… the orginizishin… fambly… Oh… Marky.Me: less go back to get Dingo.She hung her hed, hands stil on me sholdors. When she looks up her eyeses are wet agin. But she not sobbin. She lookd angry. She sed; theyve been waitin fur a chance to run us out, pin sumfink on us. They say we use you to plant evidence. Horxes.She was juss making noises to my ears. What is a horxes? But she shooked me agin. I noticed Dingos camera strap rapped roond her rist.She: listen to me. We are going to go to the van, and I will take the wheel, and I will drive for a long time. Can Marky be a good boy and stay carm and happy?I sedMarky can! !11 therty AMSo thass what we did but I dint see Dingo. I liked Dingo. He was so nice reedin his book to me. Yooshully its Aunty or Serena or Jimbo from the mart who reeds to me. But I enjoyd how Dingo had reeded this mornin.Aunty went back home and quikly pakked bags. A few boxxes. I had my alien toy and napsak hevvier wit xtra cloths. I put on my xtra glasses. Then she revvd away from town fast in her trukk not Dingos van, vich she ditched but after takin his boxxes too. I grabbed teh Ozis big fat pickchar book from teh porch tabbul. I think jimmy saw.But I dint say anyfink. I is a good boy!!!!No, a good man.I is a good man. I is rryting the trooth, in my rite mind as an adoolt. And Aunty sed to rite she did not inflooens me in any way..11 fifty5 AMI am going to add this creechar to my list of suspekted cryptids.I feel like I discoverd it. Aunty says draw the creechar and we will prosess the fotos latter. She put Dingos camera into the lidl cubby under the wheel with teh noos clippins. Then thar is only the winding ribbon of grey and yello befor us leeding to our nyoo fyoochar.I am Marky Jakcson and this is the story of how we had to run out of my born town.It wus all becos of a cryptid roo that is akchully just a annimul everry body knoo bout cept me.Until I diskaverd this pertikkuler vun, which floo.And I has named it boo roo.=nd

\ \ Weekly Writing Challenge Project\ \ Writing Contribution](/content/records/6924426/index.html)

It was my forest first, dammit. I don't know for how long, because, until humans invaded, I didn't have to care about time. There was a time to be awake (when it's dark). There was a time to be asleep (when it's light). A time to find a nice cave to hide in for awhile (snow). A time to venture out and look around (not snow). I ate when I was hungry. I slept when I was tired. I had life figured out. And then, people ruined everything.Now, they used to stay inside at night. They'd huddle in their little houses and stay close to their candles and their fires. They never saw me. I didn't have to deal with them. It was fine. But then, they started inventing things. Like light whenever they wanted it, wherever they wanted it. Some places are supposed to be dark. The animals who live there like it that way, that's why they adapted to live like that. But oh, no, humans can't have that. They need to get those grubby little naked hands all over everything. It got harder to hide. And then more of them showed up, making my life even worse. It's really difficult to time crossing a highway when the stupid humans can't bother to stick to reasonable schedules. All I want to do is exist, eat my crunchy bugs, and go flying without being screamed or shot at. That's not too much to ask. But no, I'm a monster. I'm a monster and they have to hunt me. I'm telling you, life would be way, way better if people weren't involved.

\ \ Weekly Writing Challenge Project\ \ Writing Contribution](/content/records/6924411/index.html)

I shed my divine skinAt duskAnd slip into thatOf the revered leopard It fits like a gloveAnd I sigh in the ecstasyOf having a powerful bodyAt my disposal Where I can stalk by moonlightHunt the sinnersDreaming infidelsDismissive of my altar Where I can implementClaws of wrathWithout doubtInterfering Seduce the faithfulTo my biddingAnimalistic desiresA familial servitude So that there is alwaysA devoted attendant by my throneHolding my holy robesCome dawn

\ \ Weekly Writing Challenge Project\ \ Writing Contribution](/content/records/6924384/index.html)

I stopped off to take a pissWas when I saw something I didn't think existsStanding underneath an old apple treeA tall, hairy apelike creature staring at meThe sight of this thing made me want to goAvoiding an infection, I didn't want to interrupt the urine's flowFinishing, shaking, and zipping up my pantsQuickly headed back to my car, not taking a chanceThe roar it made was an other worldly soundOnly made me move quicker and cover some groundReturning to my car, I'll never forget a stench as that beast smelled ripeI realized it was me as I forgot to wipe

\ \ Weekly Writing Challenge Project\ \ Writing Contribution](/content/records/6924357/index.html)

The desolation stretched for miles, as though the land had always been gnarled and towering, collective piles of entropy.There were no massive footsteps to be heard, but its form took up most of the sky as it glided slowly through the formations of clouds.We knew where it came from - Hell, we created it. It started out minute and harmless, feeding off of the sadness a child felt listening to shouting downstairs, but within a fortnight it was larger than the barn that the child kept it in.Much too broad in scope for the terrarium, the mass lingered by the slightly ajar barn door, and watched as the pickup truck once again (like the internal functions which allowed the creature to subsist off of misery) sent dust and debris flying behind it, silencing the remaining birds which contemplated take a night flight.It was 8pm, the bar had been open for at least four hours - the man in the truck called that restraint.Maybe he would meet a woman who didn’t infuriate him. Maybe not. That wasn’t the point of escaping.The creature’s eyes glistened against the porch light that eventually shut off as motion was no longer detected.It needed to leave this place - it had already left shambling husks of the boy and his Mother.The husband would lose interest before long as he had no use for nonresponse and sullenness.And so the creature glided slowly towards the first star cluster which made it feel alive.But it discovered as it attempted to leave the atmosphere, that it needed the concentration of both Nitrogen and Oxygen provided here - to live.It didn’t want to hurt anyone else, but found the amount of fear and misery to be had on Earth to be the satiation it needed.It loomed, day after day, claws drawing wisp trails through the storm clouds - and fed off of any amount of negative energy that it could spot.It left nothing behind, for to be something (meant that somewhere hope existed.)It clumsily toppled trees and exhaled out noxious gases.Perhaps it was too inaccurate to say that we created the creature - but we did very little to starve it..And then one day, it bore offspring.The plume of green that left the babe’s mouth and resisted dissipation into the air - saddened the creature, not to feed its newborn - but because it could not stop the despair that even it felt.The massive creature moaned loudly beyond thunder claps and its own immensity in the stratosphere.The babe was born of sadness, and had no choice but to feed off of what its brain told it that it craved.So its Father became a mountain, once it had decimated the lives that it needed to - silent and unmoving.It was purple against the setting sun, and the elders chanted so that the heartbeat would cease.And eventually it did.Somewhere, a Mother whispered quietly to a swaddled child, and the whisper became so bright and loud - that the creature’s offspring dropped from the sky, grasping at its throat.The air was thick with hope, and the many iterations of itself that manifested with each subsequent laugh that erupted into the night.The child laughed because it was very loved.The Mother laughed because she was an outlet for love..But that’s just what I’ve heard.I’ll let you decide for yourself.

\ \ Weekly Writing Challenge Project\ \ Writing Contribution](/content/records/6924339/index.html)

It was supposed to be a short, scenic trip southwards.Three hours tops, according to the captain. He manned the helm wheel as his crew kept a vigilant eye on the passengers, the coils of rope they tucked away or tightened, the chugging engine… and the curious greyness roiling on the horizon. I only noticed because I followed one of their gazes, registering the column of darkness over an otherwise azure skyscape.The crew avoided meeting our eyes. They probably thought we were royalty. But the mere notion, spoken aloud, would make even the surliest of us laugh till we descended into helpless snorts. We were nothing more than a handful of junior ministry hires meant to conduct a simple household survey of five rural islands.The problem was having to walk around in starched, long-sleeved shirts and neckties, crisp pants belted tight around our waists with polished black boots peeking out from under the hems. The women wore blouses or smart shirts that ended halfway down their thighs, with sandals, wedges, or heels rather than boots. They squealed as gusts of wind tore at their faces and whipped their hair around; several of the guys roared in mock irritation as the hair lashed them in the face. I blinked languidly around at my colleagues and then back at the horizon. Was the wind rising?The joviality saturating the vessel got whipped away faster and faster as we chugged across the navy expanse of the Indian Ocean, Kaafu Atoll fading away behind us. When I looked back, the towers of Malé were misted and out of focus, edges blurring rapidly as a moisture-laden sheet of wind shimmered in between. I tore myself up and stumbled over to the captain. “Is it a storm?”The man knotted his bushy brows and clenched his jaws, grunting an affirmative. The bureaucratic part of me perceived rudeness and bristled, but I continued to probe: “Any warning from MET?”The man shrugged. I stood there in silent fury, staring at his black-bearded profile. He opened a cabinet below the wheel, rustling what I recognized as (strangely) an old Carta Marina copy. From underneath this, he pulled out his smartphone. Tapped a few times, then tilted it so I could see the MET report published just under an hour ago. Clear skies. Not a hint of rain, much less a storm.Beyond the aft windows, the sliver of grey was now bloating like dough left to rise, swelling to swallow every hint of blue in sight. The white fluffy clouds were gone—indeed, my oblivious peers were now chattering their teeth and hugging themselves, and the dhoni began to roll ominously on choppier waves. The crew hurriedly closed the windows and shot wide-eyed looks at the captain, whose scowl deepened. I said, “Well, they’d update.”The captain finally spoke, and his voice was gravelly, rough. The best description of him that floated up in my mind at that moment was ‘boorish lump’. He said, “They won’t. It’s a freak storm.”A freak storm? I’ve never been in a freak storm. In fact, I had been anxious just having to cross between atolls in a dhoni instead of a Gulf Craft. I’d double-checked every MET forecast and demanded we travel in perfect weather, golden with sunshine and soft winds on which terns frolic. And it had been exactly that at the Malé harbour, for almost an hour into the trip. Whatever the hell this was wasn’t supposed to happen.I swallowed a lump in my throat as, before us, the waves suddenly started to froth at the tips. They leapt like living things, splashing briny mist. The storm in the north was now opaque, and it caught up with us, hit us from the side. Cold breath blasted through with a woosh.The captain roared something. The crew darted into the cabin and slammed the doors shut. Just in time—a huge wave shot up directly in front of us and crashed onto the deck. The impact sent the anchor outside crashing into the cabin. A few of my colleagues screamed, then fell into a frozen silence as they finally cottoned on to what was happening. I gripped the pole behind the captain’s chair, gritting my teeth. I wanted to say turn back, get us to safety, but my lips could only shape a stream of expletives. Another wave smashed into the windows, sending tendrils of water writhing almost horizontally across the pane with force.The wind was now blasting us so hard the engine spluttered. And then it shut down entirely. The captain’s dashboard dimmed as well, the GPS clicking off.The man cursed and slammed on buttons. It didn’t help. Outside, the world turned into one tenebrous bellow, and lightning clove the weeping clouds into pieces. The dhoni bucked, sending me flying down the starboard aisle. A crewman grabbed me, slammed me against a bench just as the vessel rolled again. We were spinning!The dhoni was slammed out of its twirl. I didn’t even know I’d knocked my head against a surface until I touched my scalp. The bump made me wince, but it was the last of my worries. Heart in my throat, I wondered if we were going to get out of this alive. This didn’t feel like a storm, it felt like death.False memories rose unbidden of my parents flailing as stormy waves sucked them into the bowels of the ocean, robbing me of everything I loved before I even finished school. I’d never seen it, only received the news some hours later. But ever since then, storms in general would send me into a blind terror mixed with so much grief my mind and body would shut down. It happened now, and I gibbered with wide eyes fixed on the opposite window, fingers purpling as I gripped the edges of the seat. All my organs seemed to jellify, bile rising into my mouth and dribbling out onto my shirt unmitigated.I was only pulled out of my terrified shock when the same crewman shoved a towel in my face. I grabbed it and rubbed the vomit off. But another lurch made the soiled towel leap off my fingers and go bouncing down the boards. There was no light anymore, just a sepulchral haze. “Oh God,” I wailed.The captain and the crew had been busy. They descended on me with something blindingly orange and forced me into it. A life jacket! My peers were swaddled not far away, all in jackets as well. At least one of them was crying, giving me a strange satisfaction that I was not the only coward here. Even with the windows and doors shut tight and locked, wind whistled in through every crevice and stung our ears and eyes and skin, our very bones.A resounding crack juddered the vessel, and everyone bowled over. I tumbled head over heels, landed on a window. With pure horror I watched hissing purple waves seethe under my hands beneath the pane; the boat had been hit so hard it keeled almost ninety degrees. A hairline fracture suddenly rocketed out from under both of my palms. And then I glimpsed something a thousand times worse just as the boat managed to reclaim its centre of gravity. It tilted back onto its belly. I fell off the window, of course, but my eyes stared unblinking at the afterimage of what I’d just glimpsed under the boiling waves.I hit a hand rail, slid across the deck, and was grabbed again by a crewman. This time I was held bodily on the bench as he hunkered down as well, clearly as frightened as I. But he didn’t know, he had no idea…“M-m-monster,” I gasped, sinking my nails into his arm. But my mind screamed a more ancient word, the Carta Marina flashing behind crazed eyes.He raised a brow, but we couldn’t exactly have a conversation; the boat bucked straight up into the air, clearing the waves entirely, and then landed with a terrific crash, ensconced in a wall of froth, leaving us momentarily airborne. The waterline went up past the windows before the boat bobbed back up and we slammed down. The fractured window shattered. Naturally, everyone’s gaze was drawn to it. And that’s how they saw what I’d seen just seconds earlier.The thing fountained up from the waves alongside us, loomed up and up over the water. Through the swirling rain and mist and froth and viscous darkness we could only discern a tower of solid flesh, unaffected by the raging wind. It undulated, a triangular wedge at the top swivelling as if to follow our trajectory at its leisure. Lightning forked behind it, outlining the twisting silhouette in searing white. And in that instant I wished I’d drop and die before the boat was smashed to bits, because why wouldn’t it? The boat was caught in a whirlpool around the apparition. In the brief flash, a few inches of seawater below the poised thing became translucent, fulminating neon blue, and it seemed there were a thousand of the creatures teeming underneath. But no, I realised as the light winked out and thunder boomed—those thick ropes were merely appendages of one impossible beast!The boat bounced, rolled, creaking and cracking. This time we felt the belly of it hitting something beneath the water, something solid but soft enough to keep our only hope of survival from breaking like a brittle twig. We were caught on the fringes of this whirlpool sloshing around the corkscrewing appendage. Almost as if it was spinning its limbs to draw us in closer, ever closer, caught in the eddies as helpless as a paper boat in a fast-moving river. Our wails were lost in the cacophony of the terrible storm and the ailing boat, but we all screamed and wailed anyway. Even as the behemoth outside opened its maw and roared enough to make our ears ring.Another lurch sent me flying into the walls. This time my forehead split open, and blood cascaded over my brows. I rolled blindly as the dhoni did the same, listing till the ocean leaped in through the broken window in a gushing rush. I clung to a pole as the sea eddied up to my knees. More than the cold or the wetness, I felt the pressure of the ocean. It gurgled at my calves, pulling with the power of inevitability, greedily trying to suck me into the lightless depths of oblivion.I couldn’t holler anymore. Rabid, mute, instinct triggered my entire body into motion. I kicked away, hoisted myself up onto the pole like a monkey on a bough. Blinking away blood and salt, I spotted my colleagues hugging the benches for dear life, the captain and the crew no different in their attempts to survive this insanity.The row of windows across the way showed only sky, but the bucking horizon soon came into view as the boat once again fell the right side up back onto the surface. I had no idea how many times we’d gotten lucky, but it wasn’t bound to last. Especially because now I saw the serpentine coil rise up and slap flush against those windows, creating a web of fissures on almost every one of them. I tore my eyes away and found the towering thing. It was now twisting down, winding that grotesque head low and intent. A flash of lightning lit up golden eyes like football-sized marbles. Maroon dorsal fins fluttered like sails from the back of its head down its supine length, and two more flared fiery on either side of the maw.We’re so dead, I thought numbly, as I fell from the pole and smashed into the floor. Now the blood was in my mouth, and I spat and scrabbled as the boat suddenly constricted.Until that weight seized us I hadn’t really considered the boat as being an extension of us. But when the thing coiled around it and squeezed, I felt every friction and pressure our poor vessel went through. Boards squealed on the highest notes, things snapped, dowels popped out and shot into the lashing rain like shrapnel, glass crinkled and shattered, and the engine groaned as something snarled away, tearing and clunking under the bilge. The ceiling sagged. But the boat was suddenly relatively still, held firm by the shadowy limbs blocking out the last remaining luminosity, casting us in total gloom. Water still spluttered in through several broken holes, the wind howling, as we were raised clear off the waterline. Through slivers of free space in the windows, we saw the thing peer at us.It was a strange feeling, that moment. We were all deathly silent, huddled here and there wherever we could get a grip on a surface, ankle-deep in seawater. The boat creaked and moaned around us, seeming as flimsy as a house of cards. And between the coils holding us prisoner we saw the head move along and around, that blood-moon of an eye peeping and vanishing, peeping and vanishing, as it studied us from every angle. At the door at the front, whose plexiglass panels had held, two enormous orifices outlined in dark scales blasted the streaming water away, instead fogging up the pane enough to imply a furnace of breath.And then… with a slew of sighs, the boat settled down, descended until waves slapped its hull again. It kept groaning as the pressure was released almost gently all around. The coils thumped and ground abrasively as they slipped off. Through the gloom outside, I could see the humps and ridges of the monstrosity sliding all around, looped flesh that no longer had head or tail. All of it sank down, or maybe they moved away; I don’t know, our perception was still largely muddled and utterly out of whack. But in a few more moments, we realised the looming waves were no more… it was still raining, but the strange churning had stopped. The world scintillated with a gentle end-of-day sepia, and smelled of undercooked calamari.Trembling head to toe, I inched to a window and peeked out. Nothing but sleeting mists… no! There! I gaped at the shadowy mound cutting through the water, receding into the horizon, the storm clouds seemingly following. Time to time, filaments of lightning descended to tickle its vast body, always shrouded in a colourless whirl. It can’t possibly be, of course, but that’s what I remember seeing. Someone cried, “It’s over!”Mouths hanging open, packed into our lifejackets like sausages into a pastry, we stared blankly as the captain ran to the dashboard. The crew ran to the back and upended the engine covering. One of them canvassed the vessel for damages. That one shouted, “We’ll hold!”In just a few minutes, a tiny generator had been pulled out. They fed a bottle of petrol to it. The machine coughed and sputtered as wires were hastily attached. The GPS eventually came on, but the main engine was busted and the rudder was gone entirely; we’d have to radio for help and wait, the captain told us over thick fumes of leaking diesel.We didn’t say anything. It wasn’t like we had a choice; this dhoni was a goner. We didn’t even look at each other, but now the crew seemed more eager to catch our eyes.It was right before sighting the Coast Guard that one of the crew spoke of it. Barely adult, with wisps for a moustache on an otherwise smooth face gone slack with the residue of terror. “What was that thing?”“Freak storm,” the captain snapped. The young man opened his mouth stubbornly, but words failed him under his boss’s red glare. He glanced at me. I shrugged. The boy bit his lower lip and looked at his feet, then whispered “waterspout?” to a mate but got ignored.By the time the Coast Guard made it, we were all tight-lipped, jaws clenched. I watched in silence as they talked about the sudden storm, the huge waves, the big scare when the engine failed. I gaped in disbelief at some of my colleagues giggling as they stepped onto the sturdy metal of the patrol cutters, safe in the hands of the military.The captain gave a detailed account of location displacement, wind speed, intensity and duration of the storm. All without mentioning a single anomaly, so stoic that I wondered over the possibility that this might not be his first time witnessing inexplicable maritime phenomena. (Or maybe I’m just crazy.)But, gripping my life jacket with white-knuckled fingers, I didn’t want to think about it. I shook my head as if memory of the event would tumble out of my ears and away.Huddled under a huge blanket, I finally summoned my senses back from that space of gibbering terror. I’d survived what my parents had not, but in the process, bottled up something far too large to keep secret.The MET had forecast perfect weather that day too, over a decade ago. My parents should have traversed placid seas back to me. Exactly why they’d drowned, with the boat found reduced to splinters on the seabed not far from Kaaf Atoll, had never been satisfactorily explained to me (officials called it a low pressure squall event). In the back of my mind a squiggling worm of curiosity woke up, oddly enraged over all the things I didn’t know.But nobody ever spoke of that day ever again. Just like how they don’t talk about my parents. So who am I to prattle? Besides, people would be far too eager to brand me a fool, a maniac, a liar. No…No, there was no chance I could ever speak of this and hope to remain a socially accepted and noble survivor of bureaucratic field work.And so the events of that preposterous evening faded away into forced silence until all that remained was a football-sized yolk of an eye peering at me through the broken windows of a dhoni that should have been doomed by all rights. These came in crackling, ionised dreams; that living orb would pause, the coaster-like pupil contracting and expanding as it focused on me. And I would feel myself pulled toward it, pulled like a hapless star into a black hole, helpless and small and insignificant and ignorant, falling, falling, falling into the great unknown. Drowning in it; yet never knowing what lurks in the deep.=the end

\ \ Weekly Writing Challenge Project\ \ Writing Contribution](/content/records/6924324/index.html)

Yesterday was so exhaustingA trek through bush so deepI camped beside a billabongAnticipating sleepI tried to close my weary eyesTo hunker down to kipBut couldn't rest at all for ICould hear a lone bunyipNow some may say that they aren't realAnd some may say they areBut I know that I heard a soundAnd that it wasn't farAnd so my friends that's how it wasThe way I spent last nightAlthough my eyes may have been closedI lay awake in frightAnd now the morning light is hereI crawl out of my tentI can see the bunyip's tracksAnd know which way it wentSo I gather my belongingsAnd walk a different wayJust to make sure that I don't meetA bunyip here today

\ \ Weekly Writing Challenge Project\ \ Writing Contribution](/content/records/6924319/index.html)

The yetis are pissed.‘Few fear us now as they thinkwe are all A.I.’

\ \ Weekly Writing Challenge Project\ \ Writing Contribution](/content/records/6924290/index.html)

Staying overnight in the Michiana Prayer Room. Snow on the grass. Eric and the other adults on Staff shoveled the long driveway. Coffee brewing in the kitchen. One small bathroom we all had to share downstairs. Warm coffee in my hands I sit down on the tan colored chairs studying the book of Daniel because I loved my cousin Danny so much but was no longer allowed to talk to him except on Thanksgiving or Christmas.My Dad Corey leading the worship team. Mostly playing on his acoustic guitar, sometimes on the piano. I don't think he ever played on the drum set but if I could rewind time I would play on the drum set and let out in a healthy way all of my anger reacting to the abuse my Dad put me through.Fathers like to be Practical Jokers and pull Dad Jokes on us kids but this time they took it too far. My Dad was a Monster. Arielle always liked to sit down with me as a friend and often tried to encourage me to pray on the mic for Rapid Fire Prayer. I was just too shy. No Cameras around unless Bald Josh was recording the Main Service. A Master Artist working upstairs with Dave working with Photoshop on his computer in their office. Our neighbors were the KKK. My Dad felt uncomfortable around them but I think now he just didn't want someone bigger than him to hold him accountable. They never bothered us and we never bothered them.One day while us teenagers were in high school a Tornado flew down from the Sky stopping mid air. Dennis yelled like Gandolf the Gray,“You shall go around our property!”The Tornado obeyed and didn't touch our property but it affected our neighbors. There was no law saying that if a Tornado touched someone else's property you will be held accountable to the full extent of the law.Meredith sat down in the main Kitchen next to Corey's office.I have thick, wavy curly hair. One day I had a Cat Scan for my overactive bladder. I did nothing to deserve it. My organs were just shutting down. I drank a lot of water liked the nurses told me to before the Scan. Then they gave me 2 big cups of liquid to drink but when I came out of the other side of the scanner my body instantly had feathered wings on the side of my hips.Doctor Grady said,“Well this has never happened before. Something must have gone wrong with the machine. A woman's body can't grow wings.”She put her fingers on my back and felt metal. “Someone stapled wings to your back. The cameras show a maintenance tech working on the machine the night before. Then installed it in the computer so when you go through the machine it will staple you. Im Sorry. I will do everything I can to fix it.”“Ok thank you. Will that be in the next appointment?”“Yes.”Josh, Arielle and I walked into the prayer room with our high school backpacks. Josh always had his guitar case carrying his acoustic guitar. Sometimes he'd have his hair nicely brushed down, other times he moosed it into a Mohawk making him look like a creature from some other planet.I walked through the Staff Only Door where my family and I lived in the Camp. I showed Meredith. She said,“Esther you have gold colored wings? Wasn't your mom Lyn with you at the Doctor?”“Yes but she doesn't care.”“Ok well you can spend the night with us again. You can share a room with your sister Samantha. Your Dad and I will share the room across the hall. How long until the staples come out?”“In one week and thank you.”Josh watched me through the door from behind. He always felt hot around me. Shocked by my wings he said,“Hi Esther. Nice wings.”“Oh hi Josh. Good seeing you again. I would say I love you but I feel so much shame and won't feel confident in myself until the wings are removed.”Josh hugged me and said, “You will always be beautiful to me.”I wrapped my arms around him. I walked up the black colored Spiral Staircase up to my room. Refreshed and walked into my Dad's office to talk to him. “Hi Dad. I see you framed my drawings from when I was 11. What are you working on?”“Hi Esther. Im working on paperwork from the Staff. Yes I still have them but did you see the pictures I framed from Samantha & I’s Father Daughter Formal Dance?”“Dad I wanted to go with you. I'm going to the prayer room to pray God gives you a new heart.”I walked into the prayer room, sat down and prayed. Betsy, Alicia and Darci did a female Devotional Worship team before the service started.After two hours I walked through the back door towards the Cross. I felt so betrayed and hurt by my father that my wings flapped up and down flying high into the sky. Josh and Arielle walked outside to follow. Arielle looked up at her brother and said,“You're going to marry her someday aren't you?”“What? I didn't say anything.”“Oh Esther I can't sleep without you. Esther! Esther!”“Let's just get her back to the ground.”I watched them both from the Sky far, far away. Turned around and flew down behind the hill behind the Cross.Josh and Arielle ran over the hill. Ten minutes later they found me sitting down next to a LionUnicorn. A new creature I found living on the property behaving quietly. I petted the Lion and my wings and staples magically disappeared. I was healed and set free. Josh felt frightened at the sight of the LionUnicorn. The LionUnicorn spoke and said,“Fear not my son. It is I the Yeshua.”Arielle walked up and petted the LionUnicorn. It laughed and said,“I think you girls are enjoying my company.”“Can you stay forever?”Laughing he looked at Josh and said, “Roar.” Josh relaxed. Walked up to us girls carrying us with our arms in both of his arms walking back to the prayer room. Arielle walked through the door first leaving Josh and Esther to have a private conversation. Josh finally proposed to her, they got married the next day in the same spot Corey and Meredith renewed their vows.Happily Ever After.

\ \ Weekly Writing Challenge Project\ \ Writing Contribution](/content/records/6924255/index.html)

My heart remains in my locket which hangs like a lifeline, a love-line, around my neck. The silver treasure glistens in the mirror as the light streams through the tall windows of the bar and bounces off the reflection in the glass. Is that me? I see my face but it looks so different now. Is it even truly mine? “It will be mine when he comes back,” I tell myself. It’s the same song I’ve been singing for years. But I know, I feel it in my bones… Robert will come back one of these days. He has to. He can’t stay away forever. Something… something… will bring him back to the Mallaig Port, if not me. I run my fingers through my light brown hair, brushing it back. I’m not that attractive, but I’m not terrible to look at either. Plain, just plain. The men that patron Lindy’s; the frequenters, the drunkards, the out-of-towners, they all say I’m “fine.” “You’re a fine girl, Brandy. Just fine!” Not nice, not pretty not cute nor plucky or beautiful, just… fine. I’ve gotten used to the mediocrity. It’s not like I’m trying to impress anyone. Or hold out for a husband. Anyone who knows me knows my heart belongs to a man who’ll never return (or so they believe). But I believe in Robert.I break away from the mirror hanging on the support post and go sweep up from the night before and pick up shards of glass from last nights’ brawl. Alain, the owner, doesn’t care that I work these extra morning hours. What makes Lindy’s special is not the fresh fish, the beer or the whisky, but the view of the water. Lindy’s is the only bar on the western harbor that sits near the water. From inside, you can watch the fishing and ferry boats as they come and go. Most of the other pubs are more inland and keep the curtains drawn (to keep the patrons longer), but not Lindy’s. As I swept the last remnants of the mess into the dustpan, I admired the hardwood and the craftsmanship that went into the place. It had been around a long time, long before I ever came here. I was a transplant once myself. But I had long forgotten of my life before Mallaig. Scotland has a way of doing that to you, of capturing your soul in such a way that everything that came before seems dull and pointless in comparison. The rolling green, the wide blue, the rocks and everything in between. I have no memories before this and I am perfectly happy with that. I smell the burners start up in the back and know Jerry’s getting started on the cooking. A bit more puttering, napkins and coaster set upon the tables, and the sign was ready to be flipped around on the door to read “OPEN”. I work from mid-morning to late at night four days a week with no complaints yet.The first patrons are a group of old village friends, one of which has a slightly eastern accent which I’ve always found interesting. They order drinks and fish sandwiches, mostly. Sean likes his pickles and orders a plate of them with the ‘special sauce’. “Quit yer pinin’, and sett-el doon, girl. Yood make a good wife someday, yoo know?” Merle says. I smile and wave him off. “Don’t encourage the lass,” Sean tells his friend. The same words over and over again, seemingly every day. I’ve gotten used to it by now. The regulars, like Merle and his friends, are always good for business, but I like the sailors. It’s’ the stories, really, that I listen for; the tall tales and the adventures that are had. I linger and listen in as the storyteller will profess to dubious and doubting ears that the “dark, stormy night sucked their boat into a whirlpool and by morning, all the previous days’ catch was missing” or “Old Mike Ferguson says if you travel just two-hundred-forty kilometers northwest past the Isle of Skye, there's sunken treasure there,” or Barney’s questionable sightings; “I tell yoo’, I saw it! I saw that cree-ture staring oop at me from the deep watt-errs wit’ it’s beady eyes..” It was more than holding out hope of hearing word from a stranger (or villager) that they saw Robert’s boat. Something ached in me, beyond that of love, and it was for this ‘other world’, the kind you could only hear about from the tales and legends. The harbor of Mallaig was my home, but when I heard those stories, it felt like I couldn’t be further from home. It was strange, the pull that the stories had over me, especially the ones of the open sea and what lurked around and beneath it. This day, however, turned up very few stories told by the patrons. They mostly just talked about life and ‘where did the time all go?’ I smiled as I served drinks and chips and the like, but it was as fake as the selkies and sprites that Barney Haddock often went on about. Some years back, his mate Coonan said he went on about “nessie” sightings, and in such a way that Coonan almost believed him, for the detailed pictures he’d paint with his words. But that was before my time here at Lindy’s. The only thing different about today was when Lina came in with her husband Brendan; she told me I looked ‘lovely’. It was possible my face flushed. At least the women never said I was just ‘fine’. As day turned into night and Angie came in for her server shift, I took my break. I got some fried fish sticks from the back and stood out back. Mindlessly, as usual, when my hands weren’t busy, thew flew to my locket and felt it, turned it, twisted it, opened it. I never got a photo of Robert to put inside, but on the very back was the inscription:“To Brandy,From Robert.”12 years ago (1958)Lindy’s was busier twelve years ago- more employees, more ferries and sailors coming through, more tourists, usually on their way to the Isle of Skye, and just more hubbub in general. I believe I had come from the states, New York, I think. I have to ask Bessie to remind me, for I tend to forget. She’s the one who gave me lodgings over the bookshop. I had been in that small apartment for about a year after arriving in Mallaig. I don’t remember what month it was, but it was summer… a typical summer day that brought in the stranger. That’s what Angie called him. She told me to get down to Lindy’s immediately… “a strange and wonderful man has come in on a boat,” were her words. So I gathered my purse quickly and walked through the town and over to the pub. True enough, when I got there, there was something going on. Kylie grabbed me by the arm, swooning, showing off jewels that glistened in her palms. “It’s treasure, Brandy! Real, honest-to-god treasures! And that man… I would just die for someone like that, wouldn’t you?” she wished with a hazy look in her eyes. I followed her gaze over to the dock and went in for a closer look.“I’m not one for hoarding, dear,” I could hear him saying. “I have no greed in my heart. I wish to share whatever boon I come across with the villagers of the nearby towns. Fortune is to be shared, especially when found on sunken pirate ships…” the man’s voice trailed off as he closed a trinket in a woman’s hand and lifted his head to look at me. And in that very moment, I knew I would be his forever. It sounds like a ridiculous thing to say, but it was true. He was tall, his shoulders broad and had dark, wavy hair and a perfect mustache, much like a hybrid of Clark Gable and Sean Connery. But it wasn’t entirely his looks that captivated me, it was his joy. A certain spark, a love of life and a charm that hung about him. He walked with a light step and a carefree spirit. And then he came up to me. He held out his arm and I held out mine beneath his. “A gift from the bounty of Henry Every’s ship,” the stranger spoke with an endearing smile and dropped a ring and necklace into my hand. Quicker than I could come up with words to speak, Angie grabbed the ring from my palm, saying “I’ll take that!” I couldn’t help but laugh. “Here,” the stranger said, picking up the braided silver locket. He unclasped it and put it around my neck. “It only brings out your natural beauty,” he said. “What is your name, stranger?” I asked him. “What do names matter, dear girl? I will be gone by tomorrow, maybe even the next day. No one could keep me away from the open sea. It is where I belong. Time is fleeting,” he said, “and I fly right along with it.”But, for some reason or other, he stayed around for a few days in Mallaig. And he frequented the pub during his stay. Angie, Kylie and I learned his name was Robert. We never learned of a last name. Kylie thought him a pirate. Angie called him a “pirate of pirates- a Robin Hood of the sea.” I called him a dream come true, although I never said that aloud. Something meaningful grew between this man and me for the few days he was in Mallaig. It was mostly unspoken, translated through smiles and sideways glances. On his last day in the harbor, Robert took the locket he had given me and had gotten it inscribed with our names on it, but his more prominently, “so that I would always have something to remember him by.” He promised to return someday. And I promised that my heart would forever be his. Robert told me I should make no such promises; he spoke of belonging to the world, to the sea, of being free in such a way that I could never understand. And I never did. And I always wore the locket Robert gave to me. And he never returned.NowNight had come slow and sure. The day dragged on into it. McGinty had come in with his pals and a few new mates that he had made out of visiting fishermen and sailors. They were a lively crew, McGinty and his boys. They were all graying and well over fifty, but they acted like boys and drank like fish. Ten rounds in, he started them all up on an old favorite ditty, and they all chimed in:“Gather and sing, all ye fuckers, wit’ me:My life is my loveMy love is my lifeIn times of good, in times of strifeSo shall it beAnd that life, that love, is a ladyAnd that lady is the sea.”They were loud and noisy but at least tonight nothing broke. When McGinty and his old- and new- friends left, business slowed down a bit. A few people here and there. Angie said I could turn in early, that she’d cover for me. I must have looked as tired as I felt. I went into the back and tossed my dirty apron into the wash pile. As I let myself out the back door I could feel Jerry staring after me, shaking his head, feeling sorry for me. A lot of people felt sorry for me. I seemed to be the only one who didn’t because I still had hope, I still had faith. And it looked very much like a silver locket.The village was small and you could walk nearly everywhere by foot. The bookstore was in the heart of town and the walk back was quiet and still. Serene. I decided to stop in at Malley’s, a small candy shop. I grabbed a few twists, chocolates and oat clusters and as I waited for Malley to bag it up for me, I turned to look at my reflection in his vintage mirror on the side wall. Again, I touched the heart-shaped locket. Some strange feeling, one of curiosity, propelled me to lift it up. I have never taken it off in twelve years. As I lifted it from my skin, I could feel my heart breaking, I could feel Robert drifting even further away from me and I immediately dropped it. But the curiosity was still there. Perhaps it was more than curiosity. I lifted the braided chain from my neck and felt the weight of Robert’s memory drifting from me and something murky drifting in. I saw, in that reflection, a graying of my skin, as if it were aging. But it was not entirely the color of age. My skin appeared wrinkled and the gray color deepened and it seemed as if my neck grew a bit longer. I dropped the thing back around me and I went back to looking like myself again. But who was I? Who was I really? Years and years of the same over and over again could easily make one see things, I mused. That was the only explanation. I took my bag and left.Questioning my life and my decisions, I veered away from home and found my feet dragging me to the docks. It was late now, into the wee hours of the night. And it was fall going into winter, so a chill hung about the village. I didn’t mind the cold, however. I swore I would never step foot in the waters. It felt like a mistress that had taken away the only man I loved. I wanted to hate it, to curse it and spit at it. I wanted him back, he who said he believed he could love me but who didn’t truly believe it himself. Chugging back a few clusters, I fell down in a heap to the wooden planks of the dock. Twelve years. Twelve long years. And it would probably be many more. This all felt like some cliché, like my life were some Carpenter’s song. What was worse was that it was real and I was living it. I removed my shoes and socks and dipped my feet over the edge, into the water. It felt good. Good and cold. I reminded myself that I was fine, that it was only normal for people to question those who had unyielding faith and for the faithful to sometimes question their faith. That was one thing I was sure of- that I was steadfast and true in my love. Nothing else seemed to make sense or matter. I had forgotten my upbringing, my life before Mallaig. It was as if it had all started when I came here. I looked down, into the water around my ankles. Perhaps it was the shadows, or maybe it was the light, that cast a dimness upon my legs. It only teased at them though, as if it wanted me to come forth and for it to engulf me. I could hear whispers rising up from below, through the fog that settled above the water. Eventually the words became clearer. “This is not you,” the voices seemed to call. And I knew, without exactly knowing why, that they were right. This was not me. This was not where I was supposed to be.Disregarding the notion that Bessie would say “that’s what everyone says when they’re older,” for me, it meant more than getting older. I listened to the voices and without hesitation, pulled off my locket and tossed it as far away from me as possible, into the water. And I felt myself change. I thought it would feel more like heartbreak, though I had never felt heartbreak before. It didn’t feel like breaking at all. It felt like growth and I wasn’t ready for it- I wanted a normal life, and the love of another. But nevertheless, I could feel the memory of Robert falling away from me and the memories of before coming back. I could feel the truth before I saw it. And then I slipped from the dock and into the water, letting it take me. I was different now… myself. Much, much larger. A flesh that was crackly and wrinkled, a blueish gray, looked back at me from the surface. And my neck… it was longer, taller. Somehow I could swim yet I had no fins, only feet. This was real. I recognized myself at last and knew; knew that home was here, but further down the waters and into the loch. Almost at the edge of the sea. The waters held me and helped carry me back to it. Maybe, someday, I would see Robert again. But more likely not. It wasn’t before long that the memories of the bar, Mallaig and its inhabitants became mere memories. And then even those were lost as well. I had made a wish that had given me a life that I wasted; years that would never return to me. But I forgot about that as well. It was only a short time later that tall tales started anew in the village about a monster in the loch. But I never heard them. I didn’t need to anymore. (Story inspired by the song of the same name).

\ \ Weekly Writing Challenge Project\ \ Writing Contribution](/content/records/6924225/index.html)

On behalf of @roswellgray, your WWC host this week:>>>>The world is full of the unknown, whether humans want to admit it or not. It's silly to think that we are fully aware of every creature that exists on Earth. Cryptids are, according to Merriam-Webster, animals that have been claimed to exist, but have never been proven to exist. These are the creatures of folklore and campfire stories and legends that saturate a place.Your challenge this week is to pick a cryptid, well-known or not, and write something about that cryptid.Your deadline is the end of the day, Monday, August 24th.Contribute your writing here: https://hitrecord.org/challenges/6924203

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