OUTPUT

it's been a slow start with creative output, but it could be worse.

• got over the hump of drawing a comic despite not thinking it was all that good. the hardest part of comics for me is thinking of something that i find genuinely funny and that feels uniquely "me" to me. the second hardest part is continuing to like the idea throughout the process of making it. the monkey comic idea was like kinda funny to me as a random thought one night, but it failed on the other points. feels like a basic crass gag anyone could make, and i lost interest quickly. but ya gotta keep going. i need to devote more time to just sitting around and letting my mind wander so i can have more ideas to choose from. anyway, should be posting a second one this coming week.
• haven't touched blender at all yet, but i've read through a bit of the godot documentation and i think i'm going to start the first little "make your first 2d game" lesson it has this week. boy i love to procrastinate! gotta start kicking it into gear.
• i randomly got a wild hair up my ass to attempt developing a pitch for this awful idea i had a couple years ago. i don't know what the hell i would do with it. i don't think i have the patience to talk to executives about it for five years and do a bunch of free work just for the possibility of someone giving me money. but if i'm going to make this a creatively productive year, i gotta let myself follow my whims i guess. the only problem i have is i'm much better at concepts and story structure than i am at making characters, so right now i'm dragging my ass because i've done as much as i can without properly fleshing out and defining who the hell it's actually about. much like with comic ideas, i really just need to force myself to have some time alone with my thoughts so i can sort through it. ohhh but how will i survive for an hour or two without my PODCASTS or my OLD EPISODES OF BRITISH PANEL SHOWS.

INPUT

taking in a broad range of art and gathering inspiration is just as important as making things, i think. so here are some updates on what i've been enjoying this month.

• despite generally claiming to enjoy video games, i don't really play them all that often usually. most of my video game experiencing these days is either watching friends play on discord or keeping up with SuperGreatFriend's youtube channel. but i want to take in more games this year, so here i am. i just beat Chrono Trigger for the first time after giving up on a faulty PS1 copy I had as a kid. it's a good game, if you can believe it. i have a handful of other games i've picked out that i want to finally play all the way through. i found a neat fan-made engine (R.E.L.I.V.E.) to let me play my old steam copies of the Oddworld games. i'm focused on Broken Age at the moment, though.
• last year i made an effort to read more, and i aim to continue that this year. right now i have like three books i'm halfway through but haven't touched in a couple weeks. i need to get back to that. i'm rereading The Hobbit, reading The Gunslinger (never finished it as a teen), and Joe Bob Goes to the Drive-In. not sure if i'll jump directly into LOTR and the other Dark Tower books after getting through these or if i'll mix it up.
• i've started cracking into Werner Herzog's filmography. i watched Stroszeck a couple weeks ago and absolutely loved it. that, coupled with generally wanting more good feature documentaries in my life has lead me down this path. i'm going in mostly chronological order, so i have a couple more before i get to what seems like his first big breakout hit, Aguirre. it's been a nice time so far.
• for music, i've been in a bit of a punk mood lately, so i've been digging into some old classics that i never really tried giving a shot in the past. i feel like a lot of the stuff i like tends to fall somewhere in the spectrum of post-punk and no wave. love a groove and love a bunch of noise. i think i should probably listen to Gang of Four's whole discography.

that's all i got for now, so i guess we'll see how i'm doing this time next month. hopefully more progress on more projects.

sometimes you keep waiting for a better comic idea to happen but then you gotta draw this instead.

I've been watching Peep Show for the first time, and there's this facial expression Mark makes in multiple episodes that I keep thinking about.

Hi again. Here's my letterboxd list of my favorite movies I saw for the first time in 2025. I did not see many new movies this year, and most of the new ones I saw were very bad. But these are all a real good time and get the Tyler Seal of Approval. CHECK EM OUT.

1. Hellzapoppin
2. Inland Empire
3. Martin
4. The Trial
5. The Cook, The Thief, His Wife, and Her Lover
6. The Thin Blue Line
7. Requiem For A Heavyweight
8. Before The Devil Knows You're Dead
9. Wise Blood
10. El Topo

2025 was brutal, but I'm trying to remain hopeful that 2026 could be a turning point. Hoping for financial stability and creative fruitfulness.

I'm trying to think of attainable goals to set for the year. I want to be ambitious but without overwhelming myself to the point of dropping everything altogether. But I'm not gonna kick myself if that happens anyway. The main thing is just to try! So here are some things I'm thinking about for the new year (job hunting etc. not included because this is supposed to be FUN and HOPEFUL, not DEPRESSING):

CONTINUE BUILDING THIS SITE, POST AT LEAST ONCE A WEEK

I like having this dumb little site and want to continue working towards making it a central hub for myself instead of various social media sites. If I can start getting a steady enough income, I'd even like to splurge for a neocities subscription and a domain name. My idea is anything I make that isn't just a quick joke for a bluesky post, I post here first. Well... I post it to my Patreon and Ko-fi members first. Then a day later, here. And then the day after that, it can go on social media for the people who just hate clicking links or using RSS readers. But hopefully repeatedly prioritizing things this way will make it so if all the social media sites continue to become more uninhabitable, everyone will know where to go.

AT LEAST ONE GAG COMIC EVERY OTHER WEEK

I remember when I first started making webcomics in 2012, I read some good advice that whatever you think is a reasonable workload, you should cut it in half to start with. So, while I think one itty bitty comic a week is entirely doable, I'm only going to hold myself to one every other week. So 26 comics this whole year. Once I get into the groove of things again, if I think I want to do them more frequently, I can. But all I'm holding myself to is having 26 gag comics by December 31st. This also gives me plenty of room to work on other things, like...

A NEW SHORT STORY EVERY OTHER MONTH

I only made three stories in October (not counting customized ones I made as part of my efforts to raise money for rent), and said I was going to continue making them past October, only to leave this place fully abandoned the rest of the year. But I do like doing them, and I think once every other month is plenty of time to keep me from feeling like I'm rushing myself or that it's the only thing I can allow myself to focus on. I may broaden this to include essays too, because I keep thinking I'd like to do some good old fashioned essay writing just for fun.

BLENDER

Yes, just like every other drawing doer on the internet, I feel the need to figure out how to 3D model, rig & animate in Blender. I know I NEED to so I can have more work opportunities, because everyone and their mother is a storyboard artist and ALL of them are better at drawing than me while there are a total of maybe 2 storyboard jobs left that we all have to fight over. Anyway, I've started this process twice before and fell off both times because anything less WYSIWYG than putting a stylus to a screen and making a line appear is too much for my little analog brain to handle. I've never even figured out how to do masks and all that other fiddly stuff digital illustrators love to do in CSP and Photoshop, and that's after I've been making art on computers for 20 years. BUT THIS TIME HOPEFULLY I WILL BECOME BLENDER BOY (nonbinary edition).

GODOT

As a person who plays video games and a person who likes the feeling of having made a thing (VERY different feeling from the feeling of making a thing, which is UNBEARABLE), of course I always think "that would be fun to try someday." Actually, even when I was thinking about college as a teen, I was going to major in art & animation for video games despite being more interested in tv animation, because it seemed like a more viable career path. But then I went to community college and dropped out instead lol. ANYWAY, I've played around with various game engines in the past, such as Game Maker and Adventure Game Studio, but something about Godot being the hot new FOSS in town makes me want to play with it, so maybe I will. Could be fun to make some silly little microgames to give away on itch.io or something.

OTHER THINGS

There are other things I'm interested in doing this year that I'm not as committed to, so they don't get individual categories like everything else. Digital painting, making little songs in LMMS, etc. It all basically boils down to "MAKE THINGS, FIND OUT HOW TO HAVE FUN MAKING THINGS AGAIN!"

Here's hoping this time next year I can feel good about at least some of what I've written here. Time to get cooking.

i had another ghost story outlined, plus i wanted to do another halloween media post, but i ended up scrambling trying to raise donations to cover rent money. and that luckily went well! very thankful to my very giving friends and to people on the internet who helped out. but yeah, i had zero bandwidth left for anything else because my brain wants to shut down when stressed.

now what do i do with this blog now that halloween is over? here are my current thoughts:

1) i think i wanna keep doing the ghost story thing, even without the excuse of halloween. it's fun practice, and i'd like to give myself time to come up with ideas that are maybe a little more than "what if someone had something bad happen to them? the end."

2) more media recommendations. i like experiencing and studying all kinds of art, and telling people about things they might like is a compulsion of mine. but i am also quite slow-brained and all my verbal recommendations usually come out as "hey! this movie seems like something you'd really like. why? um... uh. cuz it. good." so having a written outlet may be better for me. this month i'm doing what i call "prestige november" after a month of nonstop horror movies. basically a bunch of vegetables to make up for all the candy. maybe i'll post about that.

3) DRAWING. i have become more and more afraid of drawing over this last year in particular, which is an issue considering it is my only marketable talent (though how marketable or talented i am is HIGHLY questionable). so i need to get myself to do ANYTHING. ideally gag comics since that's basically all i'm good for (again, questionable), but literally anything that gets my ass in gear would be good. we'll see.

4) other longform things. i dunno. i'm just enjoying having this little space to do things without thinking about if anybody sees it or how much numbers etc. i've been thinking about writing a thing about the art of the board-driven cartoon, why it will always be my favorite job to have, my process, so on. but it may make me too sad to think about too hard considering i've been out of work for nearly three years.

i usually switch to doing capital letters if a post gets too long but i'm lazy so sorry that this is hard to read. anyway, see ya soon maybe.

[click]

...Hello? Test. Test. This is Jon Rosencrantz. I wanted to get this down for posterity’s sake, in the event that... Well, just in case.

I work as a history teacher at the local community college campus. My story starts on the first day of classes. I had handed out copies of the syllabus and was introducing myself to the sea of new faces. In the back, I noticed a “Sleepy Pete” with his head down. That’s my fun name for the little rascals who stay up too late partying and make it my problem the next day. It’s not unusual to get at least one of these in a class, especially on the first day. I gently called him out.

“Excuse me? Sir? Sleepy Pete?”

The boy raised his head and blearily looked in my direction. I’ve seen his type in my class a million times before. Long, unkempt hair. Baggy clothes covered in stains. Probably idolizes that “Bart Simpson” scoundrel.

“H...How did you know my name?” he finally croaked out. I guess his name really is Pete, but he goes by something else. I’ve never been good at learning students’ names unless they cause trouble. I would be remembering Pete.

I continued my introduction to the class. I told them all about how I try to help make history interesting. You see, I fancy myself a bit of a conspiracy buff. Just because a book says an event happened one way or for another reason doesn’t make it so in MY book. And I like to sprinkle these ideas in to help students keep an open mind while I teach these state-mandated “facts.”

Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not one of the crazy ones. I don’t believe in a flat earth. I’m not the type that believes outer space isn’t real. Of course it is! That’s where the aliens live.

As I continued talking to the class, I noticed out of the corner of my eye ol’ Pete giving me a strange look, but I chalked it up to him maybe being a little cranky after getting his nap interrupted.

Two days later, a student had gotten me sidetracked by asking my thoughts on the JFK assassination. I tried to keep it succinct. He [TAPE WARBLES AND HISSES]’ve all heard the story.

As I was going over it, I once again noticed Pete staring me down. He leaned back in his chair while maintaining his gaze. I could see some words written on his shirt. “STOP IT.”

Between the look in his eyes and the message on his shirt, I couldn’t help but feel a little threatened. I considered telling someone about it, but I’ve overreacted to students in the past. I got chewed out once for accusing a girl of being a lizard person. But no HUMAN licks their lips that much, in my defense. Apparently her lip gloss tasted good.

So I did my best to ignore Pete, but in the next class he once again was giving me the stink eye, and this time he wore a shirt that simply said “NO.” I couldn’t help it. After class, I pulled him aside and tried to gently broach the subject.

“Pete... Is everything okay?”

He gave a confused look, then looked around at the other students walking by. “Yeah, why?”

Was it really all in my head? I decided to shrug the whole thing off. I told him to have a good weekend and went about my day.

By Monday, I had almost entirely forgotten the whole thing. At least until I saw Pete again. As I gave my lecture, he once again was staring me down. If it had only been that, maybe I could’ve ignored it. Maybe this kid just looks a little scary by default. Some people just get dealt a bad hand. I mean face.

But Pete was wearing another shirt with a threatening message on it. This time it seemed much harder to misinterpret. “JONATHAN ROSENCRANTZ I’M COMING FOR YOU TONIGHT.”

I tried my best to keep my cool during class, though I’m sure several students were curious about my flop sweat. Afterwards, I again pulled Pete aside to ask him about the shirt.

“What about my shirt?” he asked. I truly couldn’t tell if he was toying with me.

“That’s my name on your shirt! What are you trying to tell me?”

He confusedly looked down at his shirt. “Oh really? Wow, weird coincidence. This is just some old indie band shirt I took from my dad. That’s cool.”

Could there really be a music group with that name? I never was good at keeping track of these things. Too worried about the subliminal government propaganda. Nobody ever stops to think what the “groove thang” is that you’re being told to “shake.”

Again I decided to drop it. Another student was standing nearby, and I didn’t want to risk embarrassing myself in front of others just for some punk kid. What’s the worst he could do, anyway? Tell me to “eat his shorts?”

But that was earlier today, and now that it’s officially NIGHT, I can’t help but be a little on edge. I’m sure it’s nothing, but I’ll feel much better once the morning comes. In the meantime, I decided to record this tape, mostly as a way to sort through my thoughts and calm myself down. I think it’s helped. I mean how would he even know where I li-[LOUD BANGING]

[BOOM]

No! NO!!

“JONATHAN ROSENCRANTZ”

Why are you HERE?! Get out before I call the cops!

“YOU KNOW WHY I’M HERE, JONATHAN. YOU’VE BEEN PLAYING DUMB ALL WEEK, BUT YOU’VE GIVEN ME ALL THE EVIDENCE I NEED. YOU KNOW TOO MUCH.”

I... I don’t know what you mean!

“EVERY CLASS FOR A WEEK. YOU’VE GIVEN AWAY FORBIDDEN INFORMATION. INFORMATION NOT WRITTEN IN ANY OF YOUR TEXTBOOKS. YOU KNOW ABOUT THE MOON LANDING. YOU KNOW ABOUT ELVIS. YOU KNOW ABOUT JOHN KENNEDY. I HAVE GIVEN YOU SUFFICIENT WARNINGS AND YET YOU DID NOT STOP. YOU ONLY ATTEMPTED TO OUT ME IN FRONT OF YOUR STUDENTS.”

What? Oh my god. No, those are only theories! They’re just fun to think about! I don’t have any proof! I don’t know anything!

“YOU CAN’T MAKE THAT CLAIM. YOU KNOW MY TRUE NAME. SCHLEEPEPEET. THAT IS NO COINCIDENCE.”

“SLEEPY PETE?” That’s just a nickname!

“ENOUGH. I MUST ERASE ALL TRACES OF THE FORBIDDEN KNOWLEDGE AND DISPOSE OF YOU JUST AS OUR SPECIES DID TO KENNEDY AND ELVIS.”

N-[?????, TAPE HISS, END OF RECORDING]

(If you like these silly little stories, consider supporting me through my ko-fi page! I’m unemployed right now, and I’d love to afford rent!)

movies:

I've been a horror movie fan for as long as I've been alive, and that's not much of an exaggeration. I was renting A Nightmare on Elm Street sequels when I was 6 or 7. Since 2011, I've had a yearly tradition of watching at least 31 horror films each October (my record is 69)(nice). I'm at 16 so far this month, according to my Letterboxd. Here are three recommendations from what I've seen so far.

Frankenhooker (1990, Frank Henenlotter) (rewatch)

I think if you like horror comedy, you should know who Frank Henenlotter is. Frankenhooker isn't my favorite of his movies, but it's easily the biggest crowd-pleaser. Great for watching with a big group of friends. Bonus fact: I named my first episode of Jellystone (Frankenhooky) after this movie.

You can stream it for free on Tubi.

Prince of Darkness (1987, John Carpenter) (rewatch)

I could be wrong, but I feel like this is a lesser-known John Carpenter movie. I didn't see it until a couple years ago, but it may already be in my top 5 of his films. Dreamy and visually striking. It's slow to start, but stick with it and you'll be rewarded.

It's not streaming for free anywhere like the other two movies. If only someone had Archived it... somewhere on the Internet...

Phenomena (1985, Dario Argento) (first time viewing)

I love all those Italian freaks. Argento, Fulci, both Bavas, etc. I don't know what was going on in the culture over there, but it cooked up some of the greatest images in cinema. This movie is maybe not a "great" in the traditional sense, but if you watch the full thing through to the end, you'll understand why I had no choice but to give it a five star rating.

You can stream it for free on Tubi.

tv:

Tales from the Darkside is George Romero's tv show he made after Creepshow. The tone is the same as Creepshow, so basically low budget Tales from the Crypt. The show is not officially streaming anywhere, but luckily some generous people have put some episodes on the Internet Archive, the world's most important website™.

youtube:

SuperGreatFriend is the only let's play youtuber I still follow. He tends to play horror or horror-adjacent games year-round, but in October he does a little extra to make it special.

reading:

I haven't read any BOOK books lately, but I'm currently in the middle of reading through the entire original run of EC horror comics. You can find them on The Internet Archive

music:

Krzysztof Penderecki - Jutrznia Utrenja: I have been obsessively playing this album on loop whenever I need to focus. It scratches my brain in just the right way, but I understand it might not be for everyone.

The Lounge Lizards - Tarantella: Just a fun little bonus song recommendation to let you know I listen to normal music too and not just noises for the mentally unsound.

podcasts:

I don't really have any Halloweeny podcasts to recommend at the moment. I'm still waiting for Scott Aukerman and Adam Scott to do U Talkin' Boingo 2 My Oingo. But in the meantime, I guess listen to The Best Show. It's uh. Um. Scarily funny...!

The man hummed a half-remembered tune as he took in the sights around him, which were admittedly not much. Several trees with naked branches, a few streetlights, and two or three quiet little houses lined one side of the street. The other side had a seemingly endless stretch of fence running along it. The oldest cemetery in town.

As the man walked on, he noticed a section of fence where the chainlink had come unattached from the post, creating a hole just big enough to duck through. Teens up to shenanigans, no doubt. He stopped for a moment. If he could cut through the cemetery, he would likely save a whole lot of walking. And, at his age, he greatly appreciated any minor reprieve from physical exertion. But what if he got in trouble? Was it disrespectful to the buried? He rolled the options around in his mind, and came to the conclusion that getting in trouble only happens to people who get caught and the dead would understand.

The man ducked through the hole in the fence and started heading vaguely in the direction he thought would lead to the bar. As he got farther and farther from the street, it was harder to see where he was going. The streetlights could shine only so far. He continued on, though, doing his best not to trip on anything. But his best was only so good, and before he knew it, he took a hard tumble.

When the man opened his eyes, he knew he had made a big mistake. Even in the dim ambient light, he could make out four dirt walls surrounding him. He had fallen into a freshly dug grave.

He slowly stood up, brushed himself off, and got a better look at his situation. The grave appeared to be a little larger than the average grave. The top was roughly two feet above the man’s head. He tried climbing out over and over, but he couldn’t seem to get a good grip or foothold. The dirt was tightly packed and hard from the cold temperatures.

After several climbing attempts, the man resorted to shouting and hollering for help. He was smack-dab in the middle of the sprawling graveyard, but maybe his cries would be heard by a nightwatchman making his rounds, if such a person existed. He screamed and he wailed for half an hour with no sign that a single soul had heard him.

The man sat in the dirt, defeated. But then a head peeked over the edge of the grave. The man was so relieved, he felt on the verge of tears.

“Oh thank heavens,” said the man. “I’m sorry for trespassing, but if you could help me get out of this grave, I’d be so...”

The man’s speech trailed off. Clouds parted and moonlight covered the cemetery. He could now see he was not talking to a nightwatchman. The head had no eyes. In fact it appeared to be little more than a skull, with only bits of dried out skin and muscle here and there. The man was talking to a corpse. And the corpse talked back.

“...Are you not able to climb out...?” The corpse’s voice was barely a whisper and had the quality of air being let out of a tire.

The man thought he must either be having a nightmare or he was going mad. But he answered anyway.

“I tried and tried, but I can’t get a grip on this hard dirt to pull myself up!”

“...Hmm...” The corpse looked the man over. “...Your arms... Fingers too fat, too fleshy to dig into the soil... Could lend you my arms...”

“How... how do you mean?” asked the man.

“...My arms have withered over years... My fingers sharp and bony, no feeling... Good for hard dirt...”

“So you want me to grab your arms and use them as climbing tools?”

“...No... Not fair that way... We swap arms... Back to normal after...”

A shiver ran down the man’s spine as he contemplated what this old dead thing could be talking about. But he wanted more than anything to get the hell out of this hole.

“I don’t understand. How do we swap arms?”

“...Do not worry how... Say yes and it will be done...”

The man’s mouth was dry. He took a big gulp of nothing and gave his answer.

“I guess I’ve tried everything else. We can swap arms.”

The man instantly felt a difference. He looked down at his hands only to be greeted by bones and decaying, leathered flesh. He was speechless. Up above, the corpse wheezed with pleasure as it rubbed the man’s living hands over the ground.

“...How wonderful... To feel again... Grass between fingers...”

The man was immediately jealous of the joy the corpse was getting from his own two hands. He took the sharp bony hands he was given and easily dug into the dirt wall. He would climb out soon and then everything would be fine.

But when the man attempted to climb, he simply couldn’t pull himself any higher. The corpse heard the man’s struggles and once again looked down.

“...Hmm... Too heavy... Big problem...”

The man was pissed. “Oh, lovely! Give me back my arms and I’ll just wait until someone shows up in the morning.”

The corpse continued mindlessly rubbing the ground as it replied. “...Better solution... I give you this body... Very light...”

The man considered. He’d already done the arms. The corpse’s body did seem lightweight, like it could be blown away by a light breeze. Literally nothing but skin and bone. And then it’d back to normal as soon as he got out.

“Okay... Swap.”

And again there was an immediate change. The man looked down and all he could see was bone and rot. The smell was overpowering. ALL of it was overpowering. He placed the bony paws against his face. At least he still had his own face, with his own skin and his own hair. He wasn’t sure if that made the situation less horrifying, or more.

Up above, the corpse was again enjoying its new toys. He stomped around in the big fleshy body connected to its little rotting head. It took big deep breaths with the man’s lungs.

“...How wonderful... To move... to breathe...”

The only thing keeping the man sane was knowing that it would all be over as soon as he climbed out. He took this new, lightweight body and dug into the dirt wall again. He did feel lighter, but again when he tried to pull himself up, he could not. What few muscles still existed were clearly atrophied from years of being dead. The man was again on the verge of tears. The corpse looked down.

“...Hmm... Too weak... Also big problem...”

The corpse appeared to think for a moment, then spoke again.“...Okay... You swap head... Then whole body out of hole... No more problem...”

The man immediately cheered up after hearing this. Why didn’t the corpse just do this to start with? Hell, this was probably the corpse’s grave to start with. That thing belonged down there. The man wiped his tears and gave the corpse a nod of approval.

Once more there was an immediate change. Up on the ground stood the man’s body, no longer adorned with any corpse parts, entirely free from the grave. Back to normal. It stomped around and took big breaths. It felt the textures of various tombstones and trees as it happily walked its way out of the cemetery.

And down in the grave stood a tiny, shriveled corpse. It tried to scream, but its voice was barely a whisper.

“...I’m still in here...”

I'm planning to use this as my main place for posting creative work and basically anything more substantial than a shitpost or whatever. (you can follow my bluesky for those) (or my mastodon if bluesky goes down the toilet)

For this month, I wanna focus on doing more HALLOWEENY things, but I've been having trouble getting myself to draw for various reasons, so writing little ghost stories seems like a good outlet. Hopefully some drawings and comics will come later. But also I realize asking the internet to read a 4,000 word ghost story is maybe not the smartest way to start off this blog, so the next one will be shorter and easier to breeze through quickly. More in the tone of an old folk tale, or a Scary Story To Tell In The Dark, rather than an M.R. James or something. You can hopefully expect that either tonight or sometime tomorrow.

Regardless, that name will not be seen here. For now, let’s say his name is Joe. I could go with a different name or gender, but I know that would already make things too scary for some of you.

Joe was a man in his late 20’s. Again, all made up. But what IS true is that after several years of making believable excuses for why he couldn’t make it to Thanksgiving or Christmas gatherings, he had successfully been guilted into visiting his mother at his childhood home for a long weekend. He figured a few days with only his mom for company would be easier to handle than being around his entire family. No sister or cousins with their marriages and houses and successful careers. And hey, a couple free meals helps too. Better than a can of spaghetti in a lonely apartment, for sure.

The house stood on top of a small hill in an otherwise fairly flat part of the country backroads. This place was so isolated that the roads themselves only get numbers for names, and even if there weren’t trees on all sides for miles, you’d have to squint to see a speck of someone else’s home on the horizon. If I were willing to change more details of this story for dramatic effect, I might tell you that this took place in a 100-year-old Victorian estate, all weathered and brown. Or the sort of spooky old shack you might imagine existing way out in the sticks like this. But I’m an honest storyteller, and the truth is the structure itself was a perfectly nice two-story, built not long before Joe’s older sister was born. White vinyl siding. Various shrubs and flowers meticulously placed along the front. Joe’s ratty old Grand Cherokee pulled up the driveway.

They sat in the living room, sipping iced tea sweet enough to make soda taste like sea water, both sort of half-watching one of Mom’s house flipper shows on tv. When Joe first arrived, there had been the usual pleasantries and barrage of motherly questions, like “have you been eating well” or “when can I expect a grandbaby from you.” But now things had settled. Dinner was over and conversation had petered out about half an hour earlier. Joe watched the happy couple on tv as they glowed over how successful their new AirB&B would be.

“Well,” said Joe, “I think I’m going to turn in for the night”

He went to the kitchen to dump his ice and rinse his glass, then returned to the living room for his bags before continuing past the staircase and into his old bedroom.

“I haven’t changed much in here,” said Mom, entering right behind Joe. “Got some new sheets and a couple other things. Like it?”

Joe set his bags down and looked around. She was right, everything was basically in the same spot he remembered, save for a few new decorative Hobby Lobby knick-knacks on the walls or on top of the dresser. The bed used to have a white pillow and nondescript forest green comforter, but now sported some sort of Serengeti theme, with throw pillows featuring zebra stripes and giraffe spots.

“It’s, uh... fun!” said Joe, as every other word in the English language disappeared in a puff of smoke. Then he spotted it. “Oh, hey. Is that... me?”

In the corner of the room, fit snugly on the tiny sliver of wall between the bathroom door and the closet, a baby photo.

“Yeah! Look how cute you were,” said mom. “I found it a few months ago while looking through some old boxes I got down from the attic. I can’t believe I forgot about it!”

Joe didn’t remember ever seeing this photo before. Must’ve been in storage for quite a long time. It was maybe 8”x10”, in a cheap old wood frame. One of those Sears-type studio jobs with the classic textured, single-color backdrop. Little bitty Joe, no more than a year and a half old, wearing a tiny red t-shirt and a blue cap, barely gripping a big rubber baseball. He had that clueless look babies get when they don’t know what’s going on but also don’t really care (#1 most common baby look). He wasn’t really looking AT the camera so much as a little to the side, likely at the photographer’s hand holding up some sort of baby treat.

“I’d thought all your pictures burned up in the fire before I found this,” said Mom. “Did you know ‘ball’ was your first word?”

“No! That’s a funny first word,” said Joe.

Mom giggled thinking about it. “You’d point at anything round and go ‘baw. baw.’That Easter all the eggs were ‘baw’ to you.”

“I gotta start saying that again. Baw!”

They both had a good laugh, then chatted a bit longer, but soon Mom was ready to call it a night as well. They both said their goodnights and she headed up the stairs to her room.

Joe stood alone in his old room. He removed the various throw pillows from the bed and piled them on a chair. He grabbed a few nighttime essentials from his bags. Charging cable for his phone, power cord for his laptop, and of course the laptop itself. How did the cavemen get sleepy at night without mildly boring internet videos to watch? Presumably they at least had a cave painting of a man repairing a CD player to look at.

A few video essays later, Joe could finally feel his eyelids getting heavy. He closed his laptop, removed his glasses and adjusted himself into a more sleep-appropriate position. With the lights off, it felt so eerily close to time travel. Like a memory he could walk around in. If he wasn’t so comfortable in bed, maybe he would. Joe felt himself slowly sinking into unconsciousness.

TAP TAP TAP

Joe’s eyes opened. Did Mom need something?

TAP TAP TAP

He realized it was still night. He wasn’t even sure if more than a few minutes had passed since he went to bed.

TAP TAP TAP

What was that tapping, then? He squinted his eyes as he looked around the dark room. Moonlight poured through the window blinds. He could make out the shadow of a single, long, crooked tip of a tree branch on the floor. It moved.

TAP TAP TAP

Joe was a little pissed at himself. He had been just a teeny bit on edge, all because the wind was blowing on a tree. This Ebenezer Scrooge dipshit. Bit of undercooked potato ass.

He relaxed in bed but continued to watch the shadow tap for a little while. After he got his fill he laid back, ready to sleep again. His eyes lingered on the shapes the moonlight made as it intersected with two of the walls in the room. The way the shadow of the blinds mixed with the slats of the closet door like crosshatching.

And the baby photo. Something about it felt... off. Refusing to reward his stupid feelings with the effort of putting on his glasses, Joe decided to just squint harder. Was there a bug on the picture? Whatever it was, it gave the bizarre illusion that the mouth of little baby Joe was moving. Just opening and closing over and over, silently.

Joe realized how utterly insane this thought was and went to sleep as fast as he could.

Joe awoke to clanging and clattering coming from somewhere in the house. He didn’t want to open his eyes. He felt a familiar, intense sense of dread. Joe could not move a single muscle in his entire body. He slowly let one eye peek open. On the opposite wall, a shadow began slowly moving. He tried to scream but could only manage something less than a whisper.

Then Mom knocked and opened the door. Joe sat up, free to move again.

“Good morning, sunshine! Breakfast is ready if you’re hungry!”

Joe rubbed the sleep from his eyes and forced a smile. “Okay, smells great!”

“Well come on! These biscuits ain’t eating themselves!” Mom pauses for a second and lets out a little shiver. “You been messing with the thermostat?”

Joe sat at the table with Mom, enjoying one of the greatest gifts to mankind: a homemade southern breakfast. Fluffy cathead biscuits with your choice of jelly, apple butter or sorghum. Both sausage patties AND bacon. Scrambled eggs. Orange juice made from one of those frozen cans of concentrate.

As he ate, Joe’s mind wandered back to when he first woke up.

“Do you remember how I used to have bad dreams all the time as a kid?” asked Joe.

Mom took a sip of her juice. “Boy DO I. You’d drive me crazy sometimes waking me up at night. Why? Did you not sleep well last night, baby?”

“No, no. Sleeping in my old room last night just made me think about it. I remember I used to keep my tv on all night because I thought it helped keep me from having any nightmares. You used to get so mad at me.”

“Aw, that’s just cuz I would be up at 5 a.m. getting ready for work and I’d hear your tv going. I thought you were staying up all night!”

“Haha, it took a lot of work to convince you I got more sleep with the tv on than I did with it off.”

Conversation trailed off as the two finished up their meals. But Mom had one last question.

“Do you still get those dreams? ‘Sleep analysis’ or whatever you called ‘em?”

Joe looked up from his final bite of biscuit. “Sleep paralysis? Maybe every now and then, but not like I did when I still lived here. I might get it a couple times a year these days, but back then it seemed like almost every night sometimes.”

The two cleaned up the dishes and put away leftovers, and the rest of the day consisted of Joe tagging along with Mom to the local flea market and a few other places. Classic mom activities. We weren’t invited, though, so we don’t get to know the details.

After a long day out and a night of watching movies with Mom, Joe found himself staying up looking at the internet in bed again. His mind had wandered back to his dream from that morning, and he found himself looking up sleep paralysis.

It can be soothing to be reminded how complex and powerful the human mind is, and how it is simultaneously so very broken and stupid. Capable of turning off all muscle movement in the body to prevent us from hurting ourselves, but then also making up terrifying visions and feelings of dread to scare itself for no good reason. It’s no wonder people attributed it to witches and demons for so long.

Joe himself had been convinced for years that the house must be haunted. Except that nobody else had ever lived or died there. But he had had no other explanation, at least until he finally happened to see a news story bring up sleep paralysis on TV one night.

The time in the corner of the screen said 2:14am and Joe knew he needed to stop letting his mind wander so he could get some sleep. He turned off the video he had been watching and closed his laptop.

TAP TAP TAP TAP

Another windy night, it seems. Something to focus on during the slow descent into slumber. Joe removed his glasses and got comfortable.

TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP

He once again looked at the moonlight covering the floor and walls. The shadow of the lone tree branch could be seen again, seeming even longer than the night before as it tapped tapped tapped. It reached nearly halfway across the floor now. Joe’s eyes followed the direction the branch pointed and landed on the baby photo.

There was something strange to Joe about having a photo of himself hanging on the wall, watching over him as he slept. Or maybe it wouldn’t have felt so strange if it had been a more recent pic. Something he could look at and immediately go “oh, yeah, that’s obviously me.” Something about having no memory and no familiarity with this thing. Someone just says “that’s you” and you have to take them at their word.

TAP TAP TAP TAP

That bug or whatever it was came back. The mouth on the photo looked like it was moving, no matter how hard Joe squinted. Open and closed, open and closed. Silent little words being formed.

TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP

Joe finally gave in and put on his glasses, but that didn’t help answer any questions. It was so dark in there, it was hard to see anything in detail. No bug, but the lip flapping illusion remained. There was probably a leaf or something stuck on the window, casting a shadow. Joe considered getting out of bed for a closer look. Whatever. This was all silly. Joe took off his glasses again and closed his eyes.

TAP TAP TA-

“OW, FUCK.”

Joe was asleep for maybe two seconds before a quick, sharp pain on his hand woke him up. He shook it a little before bringing it closer to his face for inspection. There was a cut running across the back of his hand. Nothing more intense than maybe a cat scratch, though it was starting to bleed just a little.

Joe’s bed stand didn’t have a lamp. He opened up his laptop and fullscreened a blank notepad document. Good enough light for him to look around and see what he somehow hit in his sleep. But he couldn’t find anything that made any sense. No loose nails or particularly sharp corners.

Annoyed and tired, Joe got up and walked over to the bathroom door, wanting to clean the blood off his hand and get to sleep. But something caught his eye. He looked at the baby photo. The lips were not moving, but. Something else was off. There was some sort of dark spot on the frame, covering the right hand. Joe reached out to wipe it off, then held his fingers in better lighting so he could see what it was.

“...Blood?”

Maybe it was somehow flung across the room when he had been shaking his hurt hand earlier? It certainly wasn’t dried blood, so that’s the only explanation that made sense.

After cleaning up in the bathroom, Joe got back in bed and went to close his laptop, but hesitated. He laid his head down, closed his eyes, and drifted off while a playlist of calming videos streamed all night.

The next morning, Joe groggily shuffled food around his breakfast plate.

“You feeling okay, sweetie?” asked Mom.

Joe looked up to meet her concerned gaze. “Oh... Yeah! I just accidentally stayed up too late looking at the internet. Lost track of time.”

“Oh, okay. I was gonna say, if you’re not feeling well, I don’t mind taking you to see a doctor while you’re here.”

Joe didn’t need his poor mother finding out her grown-ass son was getting scared of wind and shadows again like he was still a child. If his sister and his cousins can all live successful lives like you’re supposed to at his age, the least he could do is act like he’s not scared of the dark and doesn’t need to get free doctors visits on other peoples’ dimes.

“Nah... Thanks for the offer, though. I just gotta remember to go to bed at a reasonable time tonight.”

“Yeah, you’ve got a long trip back tomorrow. I don’t want you driving sleep deprived.”

Joe continued scraping his eggs around and thinking. Mom changed the subject.

“I was thinking about your bad dreams after you mentioned them yesterday...”

Joe looked up. Mom had a distant look on her face as she continued.

“I remember one. It was maybe a week or so before the fire happened. You had already made a habit of leaving the tv on every night, but that particular night I snuck into your room and turned it off. I guess because it would save a few dollars on the power bill, or to show you it was safe to sleep in the dark. I should’ve left it alone. I woke up thinking you were dying, the way you were screaming. I almost tripped from how fast I ran down the stairs. When I got to your room, you were sitting there crying your eyes out. Crying so hard you could barely breathe. Your face had cold sweat and tears and snot and slobber pouring out, and you wouldn’t even look at me at first. You just sat there, staring at nothing, going back and forth between letting out these quiet little whimpers and gasping for air. I was ready to call an ambulance.”

Joe could see his mother fighting back some tears that were starting to form. He could feel something welling up in the back of his throat, too.

“But thankfully you started to calm down some. Your breathing got a little more even, and you gave me the saddest hug. I don’t think you let go for half an hour. My shirt was covered with tears and blood...”

Joe interrupted. “Blood?”

“Yeah, apparently you had gotten so worked up in your sleep that you must’ve started scratching at yourself. You had scrapes all over your arms. You never were good at keeping your nails trimmed, I guess.”

Joe looked down at his fingernails and let out the smallest, briefest chuckle.

“Anyway, after you started talking again, you asked me to stay up with you, and after the scare you gave me, I wasn’t going to get back to sleep anyway. So we sat there and watched whatever shows would come on antenna tv at four in the morning while you calmed down.”

“It’s weird, but I don’t remember any of this,” said Joe.

“I think the whole thing just shook you so much that you blocked it out. I tried to get you to talk about what happened in your dream that night and it was already fading from your memory even then. All you would mention was something about a shadow and a hand with one single long fingernail...”

Mom let out a deep exhale, like she had just sat down after a long day’s work. Her tone got more relaxed.

“Anyway, not long after that, we had the fire and had to stay with Grandmother for a long time until things could be rebuilt. But you already knew that. Your sleep seemed to get better while you were there, so at least something good came from all that... You done with your food? I can take your plate.”

That night, Joe laid in bed, doing everything in his power to have as few thoughts as possible. TV shows, video essays, game streams, social media. The wind banged against the side of the house. The weather was expected to be bad all night. As a man opened up an old cassette deck on YouTube, Joe noticed the screen dim. A couple seconds later, the video freezes. He looked at the bottom right corner, where a little battery icon was half-filled and the clock read 3:02 A.M. He checked that the power cord was plugged in, then took a moment to listen. Ignoring the wind, the house was deathly quiet. No fridge noise, no AC. Power outage. The laptop was so old and well-used, it maybe could last half an hour without being plugged in.

TAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAP

The wind was going wild. Joe stared off as his mental levee broke and a hundred thoughts poured in.

TAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAP

Something caught Joe’s eye. The photo. Something was different. Curiosity overrode everything else as he stood up to get a closer look.

TAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAP

He walked across the room and hunched down to look as close as he could. The mouth wasn’t moving. No random blood. But did the face look different? More upset? Worried? Something was on the glass of the frame. Joe rubbed his fingers across it. Wet. As if it had been sweating.

TAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAP

Joe walked back to his bed, trying to ignore whatever he just saw. He picked up his phone and checked the battery. 56%. He did some math and figured if he turns the screen brightness way down, it could maybe last him till the morning. And surely the power would be back before then. And after that he’d be leaving, so basically he’d be home free.

Joe made sure his phone’s power cord was properly plugged into both the outlet and into the phone itself. This way it’d get power as soon as it was available. The laptop ran out of juice just as Joe hunkered down to continue his video on a smaller screen. He let out a little yawn.

The next morning, the weather was calm. Joe’s mom had accidentally slept in. She still used an old clock radio for her morning alarm, and the power outage had reset it. Late in the morning, she finally made her way downstairs.

“Joe? Sweety?” Mom gingerly knocked at his bedroom door. “I know you gotta head out soon, but I can still make you a quick breakfast if you haven’t already eaten...”

She opened the door and peeked inside. Empty. She tried knocking at the bathroom.

“Joe?”

Maybe he had already left? Probably was in a hurry and didn’t want to bother his sleeping mother. She put on her slippers and walked out to the driveway just to make sure.

Outside, it was a crisp autumn morning. Dew covered the grass, birds chirped. Nothing seemed out of place. Joe’s Jeep was parked.

Not knowing what to think of this, Joe’s mom walked down the driveway and out onto the empty country road. She looked left and saw nothing. She looked right. Left again. Right.

Still standing in the road, oblivious to any possibility of oncoming traffic, she pulled her cellphone from her pocket to call Joe. And call again. And call again.

Back inside, on Joe’s bedside table, his phone sat exactly where it had been the night before. The screen was completely black. And in the corner of the room, fit snugly on the tiny sliver of wall between the bathroom door and the closet, a photo. It was maybe 8”x10”, in a cheap old wood frame. One of those Sears-type studio jobs. The only thing odd about it was that, besides the classic textured, single-color backdrop, the photo was entirely empty.

There were several attempts at search parties over the following weeks, but Joe was never found. All I can say is, if you’re ever alone at night, and out of the corner of your eye you see something strange and unexplainable, like a photo silently moving its mouth: maybe don’t ignore it… It could be trying to warn you.