#local cryptids

Love this guy 💖

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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.

Living on the top floor of an apartment building isn't as nice as it may seem. You like the view and the elevator works well enough that it doesn't bump or make weird noises, but something feels... Off. Most nights are good and quiet, but recently the lights have been flickering. Sometimes there are thuds from the bathroom. Every now and then you'll find a door open that you were sure you closed. Continuity is key you think to yourself. Continuity is what will keep you hidden from the new rentors.

Your college isn't haunted, not at all. No dead nuns, no suicides, no severely disgruntled students, nothing in its 100 year history. This must mean that ghosts can't account for the strange goingons. You've seen the shadow at the top of the stairwell late at night on the third floor. The student center is always cold, even in the last week of August. You could have sworn there was a third wing of the administration building. Then there is the boy in your 9 am class. He shows up for each class, but his name is never called for attendance, and the professor doesn't collect his papers. When you ask the girl who sits next to him about the strange boy, she gives you a head-tilted look, eyebrows knitted together in concern. "I'm sorry? What boy?"