Dogman Tales

When a family’s peaceful night at a Pacific Northwest campground is shattered by an encounter no one wants to believe, park rangers dismiss the report as a harmless misidentification. Hours later, a camper is found dead—and the evidence doesn’t match any known predator.  

As the campground is closed, investigated, and then reopened under mounting pressure, a marauding Dogman returns, striking multiple campsites in a single night. Rangers, sheriff’s deputies, and state police are forced to confront a pattern that defies explanation, while a veteran ranger carries the weight of a secret he’s kept for decades.

On a quiet family dairy farm where tradition matters more than birthdays, turning nine means earning trust. It means getting up before dawn, walking into the dark alone, and bringing the cows into the barn like generations before you. For the youngest of seven siblings, it’s a rite of passage he’s waited his whole life for. But on his first morning, something goes terribly wrong.  

Found shaking and silent in the barn, the boy can’t explain what frightened him—only that he refuses to be alone in the dark ever again. His family struggles to understand. His father, a practical man who believes fear is something you work through, not something you give in to, sees a child trying to avoid responsibility. A lesson is given. A warning is spoken. The old fable of the boy who cried wolf is invoked. What no one realizes is that the boy is telling the truth.  

As days pass, the farm’s routines begin to fracture. Subtle signs appear. Claw marks are found where no animal should be able to reach. The boy encounters the creature again—then again—each time more certain, each time more alone. And when the truth finally forces itself into the open, it does so in a way that strips away pride, certainty, and disbelief all at once.  

Grounded, tense, and deeply human, The Boy Who Cried Werewolf is a slow-burn Dogman tale about fear, responsibility, and the terrible cost of not being believed—until it’s too late.

When lifelong West Virginia ginseng hunter Jimmy Shepard finds his secret honey hole stripped bare just weeks before the season opens, desperation pushes him toward a place locals refuse to enter—a deep, forgotten forest below a sheer bluff known only as Widow’s Bottom. Despite warnings passed down through generations, Jimmy lowers himself into the bottom, convinced untouched ginseng still waits below.  

What he finds instead is a place that doesn’t behave like normal woods. Sounds disappear. The ground feels watched. And something begins to follow him—patiently, deliberately—cutting off escape and herding him deeper into the forest.  

As daylight fades and the bottom closes in, Jimmy realizes the stories weren’t superstition at all. Some places don’t just take lives. They keep them.

At the edge of a quiet Appalachian town, a reclusive widow lives alone on a stretch of beautiful, untamed land she fiercely protects. When a small group of curious local youths are invited to roam her woods under one strict condition—never after dark—they slowly discover that her rule is not born of superstition, but of hard-earned understanding. As boundaries blur and curiosity overrides caution, they witness a secret that places them face-to-face with something ancient, intelligent, and territorial. What follows is a tense, slow-burning descent into the reality of what truly moves through the mountains at night—and the terrible cost of being seen when you were meant to stay hidden.

Two seasoned wingsuit flyers hike deep into a remote section of Daniel Boone National Forest to scout a launch site few people ever see. The forest is quiet, the terrain unforgiving, and the timing critical.  

While moving along a high ridge, they notice something on the cliffs above them—something that doesn’t belong there. What begins as a routine approach quickly turns into a fight for survival as the men realize they’re no longer alone, and whatever is watching them has no intention of letting them leave easily.  

Cut off from safety and forced to make impossible decisions under mounting pressure, the two flyers must rely on experience, discipline, and the one advantage they have left—air.