Local cryptids from down the street.

You moved to the city around four years ago after you girlfriend passed in an attempt to distract yourself. After some hunting you find what you deem to be a fairly decent apartment. The one you found has been your apartment for over a year now, all yours, all alone. The floor creaks and the oven isn’t great, but at least the heat stays on in winter and the rent isn’t too bad. Things are normal, just as they’ve always been, that is until you get around to cleaning the bathroom again. The tub drain has been clogged for about a week, and you aren’t really sure as to why. Your red hair is always kept short. That’s why it comes as a shock when the snake pulls up nearly a foot of thick, black hair that is all too familiar.

It’s not like you hadn’t seen him before over there, standing in the corner of the kitchen near the back door, you’d just never... Cared. Until now that is. Now, there’s blood on the tile that seems to be leading to the being half hidden in shadow. It’s difficult to tell at first, but he isn’t the cause of the blood, no, he is the source, and that’s what makes you worry. You’d thought he was the aggressor in this old house. It turns out that a new tenant may have moved in.

A hush falls over the city during the first true snowfall. The blanket of white dulls the noise, and things seem to move a little slower now, just as they do every winter. There is, though, a slight murmur as you make your way downtown. Information travels fast when there's not much to talk about. It only takes you a few moments before you overhear a conversation on the street, giving you all the information you need. "...Huge. The tracks were massive, I swear, I saw them myself by the creek." Your interest is peaked, but you can't be sure yet. "What did they look like? Were they the same as the ones three years ago?" "Well, yes, but they were bigger! Same shape and everything." And that is all the confirmation you need before you turn around and get home as fast as you can. The dog must have gotten out again.

You feel it in the cyprus trees. You smell it in the thick sludge at the bottom of the swamp. You can hear it in the silence, taste it on the wind. The ground isn't as solid as it used to be, as if it ever was, but the moss sways just the same. Salt water laps at the slick river bank that was bone dry two days ago. The sea has risen. Every animal in the swamp wore an absent title card bearing the name you gave them, only to take it with them now that they've gone. Your mind is as battered as the camps you float past. Too many words, too many thoughts, too many hopes. This is where you belong, though, you can't leave. It doesn't matter whose path you are in.