In the quiet of home gardens and rural backyards, where gardeners toil and plants flourish, there lurk two mischievous brothers known collectively as Curt and Rod. Sharing a single bucket-shaped body, they are a rare and troublesome sight, causing chaos wherever their peculiar feet tread.
In the hushed corners of sacred spaces, where the echoes of prayers intertwine with the cooing of pigeons, there exists a peculiar cryptid known as David Atkins. This enigmatic being is a fusion of man and bird, roaming the rooftops...
In the hidden corners of homes and nurseries, where stuffed animals are cherished companions, lurks a far less comforting presence, the Bandlewhips. These sinister gremlins have long haunted the edges of childhood, weaving fear into the fabric of bedtime tales.
The Dockside Wanderer. Sir Fisherton is a curious creature, blending into the shadows beneath sea docks and sifting through refuse in dark alleys. Often mistaken for a rat or raccoon, his true nature becomes apparent upon closer observation. He sports a fish-like visage and carries himself with a peculiar dignity, favoring the areas where tourists bustle above, yet few dare tread below.
The Trinket Collector: The Poultry Hag is not your typical witch. She wanders the lands in ragged robes, unseen by most, but her presence is always hinted at by the sudden disappearance of small, shiny objects. Her minions, a flock of clever birds disguised as ordinary avian, serve as her scouts and thieves. They snatch anything that glimmers, keys, rings, coins, and carry these treasures back to her hidden lair.
The Mischievous Weather Witch. Legends say that on the sunniest of days, when laughter echoes across the valley, she may wave her staff and call forth an unexpected storm just to see the chaos unfold. Conversely, on a dreary, rain-soaked morning, her fancy might lead her to part the clouds and bathe the land in warmth and light. Her influence is as fleeting as her attention span, leaving only puzzled villagers and drenched picnic baskets in her wake.
The Bellbolirumes are tiny, bell-sized cryptids with a work ethic as thin as their patience is short. They nest in the unseen spaces of human homes, between walls, beneath floorboards, inside attic beams, anywhere they can be close enough to steal warmth without lifting a claw to earn it.
They are the stranger who cornered you in the market, speaking in circles about their cousin’s cart wheel while you felt the minutes slip from your grasp. They are the neighbor who intercepted you as you left your home, recounting the history of their leaky roof while your appointment time dissolved into nothing. They are the traveler on the road who asked for directions and then kept talking until dusk, as your own destination faded from reach.
Near every lake, beneath docks and boats, behind fish tanks in city apartments, there are Linebinders. Always more than one. Always watching. They drift through the dark spaces beneath water and glass, a quiet order of string-weavers and fish-hangers, their cloaks damp with lake fog, their arms trailing with nets of knotted line.
If you hear a faint rustling among the straw in your henhouse at dawn, followed by a soft, nervous cooing sound that is not quite chicken nor human, you may have been visited by an Eggler.
