#cryptid

This was supposed to be a radio documentary.

It was a dark, foggy night, as it really should be whenever something eerie happens. I was walking from my dad’s house over to my mom’s. I’d had a fight with my dad about something, the topic of which I’ve since forgotten, and realized at 17 years old that I was old enough and capable enough to walk alone back to my mom’s house, instead of stewing in my room at dad’s. Besides, both of my sisters were asleep already, so I wasn’t worried about them not getting their homework done or needing help…

In June this year, my son came up in one of my lobster pots. He'd been dead nearly seven years. I'll explain that. But I wanted you to have it first, the way I had it, on the deck of my boat at half five on a Sunday morning in June, with the tide going slack in the Narrows and the gulls screaming and the pot coming up over the gunwale dripping, and something in it that wasn't a lobster. Once you know the rest, you'll not hear it the same.

There's a name tattooed on the inside of my left wrist.

What If I Told You the Military Survival School Near Cusic, WA, Was a Cryptid Response Facility? I have a crazy story to tell you, and at the end, you’re probably not going to believe me. However, for those who have lived near or spent time in the Colville National Forest, they will know.

(Based on A Real-life Encounter With a Cryptid Nov 25, 2025) (text was edited with the use of ai, but shares the same irl story as intended) It was one of those bright, harmless days this place likes to lie with — sun glinting off the beachside distractions, tourists buzzing around like mindless moths. Out there, everything looked normal. But I’ve never been much for sunlight or crowds, and the few of you reading this already know that.

It is the Summer of 2022, and I cannot escape the heat. The heat that is the crowded, cloying musk of Kilkenny city on a sweaty Saturday night. It grimes against my mind like the late June humidity on my skin. I had been robbed of what felt like half the Summer, having suffered a bad case of Achilles tendinosis, and had spent most of May and June endlessly stretching and pacing like a caged cat in a bid to nurse it back to functionality.

By the end of the spring semester of our senior year, the state of mind for me and my friends could be described simply as “burned out”. The semester was hard on all of us, and we desperately needed a reset for our brains. I’ve never been one to make plans and this time around was no different. I knew that if I waited long enough, Steven or Josh would make plans for us. “You guys are going to love this idea!” Steven said with way too much enthusiasm as he walked into our dorm.

My Dad has always been a firm believer in the supernatural, or at the very least took great interest in it. He worked for the London Underground as an electrician and always had his fair share of ghost stories told to him by his fellow workers. He always told me it was “best to be open-minded about things we don’t fully understand.”