As you all likely know, given my interest in folklore, I find Creepypasta interesting as a form of modern folklore. I’ve talked before about how people are adopting older myths and applying them to newer creatures such as Slenderman, however, I also have interest in Creepypasta that appears to derive from already existing folklore, rather than be retconned into it. My favorite example of this is the story “He Hunts” Because, well, it’s really werewolfy.

For your convenience, I have copied and pasted the story from the creepypasta wiki (http://creepypasta.wikia.com/wiki/He_Hunts) for you to read:


“ Four years ago, my family moved from the city. We couldn’t take the fast paced life, and we were a wealthy and well educated family….. So we figured we would move somewhere remote and peaceful. “
“Hayabi Forest, western part of Maine is where we settled. Now in our family, we had me, the oldest son. Then you had my father, my mother, one brother, and one sister. “
“Things were always fine around here, we lived off the land and life was great but then everything changed, and it wasn’t for the better. Oh god it was horrifying, I’m alone now... It… it GOT them and I’m sure I’m next. So to whoever reads this story…. I hope you never stay here… It will get you too. “
“These are my final thoughts and my horrific story… “

“It all started when my sister went for water one day, she didn’t return for almost an hour, but we lived alone out here… or so we thought. I still hear her scream sometimes, that earsplitting cry of terror, and the scene of my father and brother flashing looks of extreme terror before breezing through the door. They came back, glistening blood on their pants and shoes... Crying uncontrollably. They had found nothing left of her but a few bone splinters, her ripped clothes, and a puddle of blood. Things were never the same after that day. Mother never really spoke again after seeing her daughter's remains. “

“The next person to go was my father. Our food was running low and we were snowed in, so we couldn’t go to town. He grabbed his rifle and took to the wilderness around us. He didn’t come back when we expected him to. My brother and I decided that we would go search for him in the morning, there was no need to go out then. “
“Around one A.M. I was dozing in a kitchen chair, when there was a low guttural growl from outside the door… then a resounding “BANG! BANG! BANG!” on the door, and then a loud thump. “

“A flash of a mottled black furred creature on two hind legs sprinted past my window… That set me off. I screamed at the top of my lungs until my brother ran to me and asked what was happening. I recounted the story to him, and he grabbed a rifle and handed me one, then motioned silently towards the door. He made to open it, and cracked it open very slowly and gasped in fear. “

“It was our father…or what was left. His corpse was mangled to extreme lengths… arms were gone, eyes were gouged out, and claw marks that dripped a crimson red. My brother collapsed in horror and shut the door weakly. No one left the house anymore. My mother still never spoke, she just would weakly nod or shake her head to communicate if even that. My brother would break down at anything that reminded him of our lost family. But what I realized is that whatever that… thing…. is, it’s not stopping until it has killed all of us. I feel it. “

“A few weeks had passed, we lived in fear. Some nights we would hear those horrid growls, and we would make sure no one fell asleep that night... Instead we would stay up with guns in hand until daybreak. One morning after a long night of paranoia, my brother proclaimed that he was taking supplies, and heading away to town. “Freedom or death” he said. "One of them happens today."

“He offered to take us with him, I pleaded with him not to go, but he insisted. I told him I would not go; my mother just shook her head mutely. He said he would send for help when he got to town and to keep everything locked “Don't you dare leave, don’t you even stick your nose out of the damn door!” he said. I know I was only 10 months older than him, but I felt awful about him being the one who was going out. I knew it was going to get him, I knew… “

“That night, he walked out just before dark fully struck, having made sure we were OK and had supplies, and began the nightmarish walk to the car. He got to the car, and opened the half frozen door after a few violent tugs on the handle. It was then that I heard the sound that unnerved me on the spot. “
“He turned the key and as the car started a bloodcurdling scream lit the night air. The beast left the trees from the side opposite my brother. The creature must have been almost 8 feet tall with a mangled black wolfs face and body, but walked on its own two legs… or rather sprinted. “

“My brother opened his eyes in fear and smashed his foot onto the gas pedal. The …thing pounced onto the car and violently smashed his window, my brother steered wildly trying to get away from the creature, but he crashed his car smashed into a tree, and if that didn’t kill him, the beast reached into the car and pulled the still squirming body out of the car. The creature looked right at me through the window from a distance… before slicing open my brother’s stomach with razor sharp claws. “

“Blood dripped from his body and he went limp. The creature walked slowly towards the door… knowing he wanted me to fear him, he knew I was frozen. It reached the door and I hugged my rifle tight. There was a thud and another three bangs, although they went slowly this time. “Bang…Bang……Bang” Then it screamed its chilling scream, like that of a banshee and stampeded off to the woods. I couldn’t open the door to retrieve my own brother's remains… “

“I haven’t slept since then; I just watch the door and listen for him, waiting for him to come back. It's just me and my mother now. She doesn’t eat or sleep or drink, she hasn’t moved from her chair in three days. Until her death, I don't think she ever moved again actually. It was a long night.”

“Four days without sleep. I've heard the growls every night since my brother’s grisly demise. But tonight, they were louder…it was tonight... he would attack, I knew it. I loaded my rifle and waited for it thinking he would come through the door or the window in the kitchen. I was wrong. My mother sat in the other room, but even with my phobia of it, I let her be. “

“It was late when I began to hear a scraping along the house sides. Four times he circled- we were trapped, and he knew it. It stopped and my heartbeat quickened, as if in slow motion I realized where he stopped just a moment too late…. right next to the side of the house where my mother was. I knew my fears were true when I heard the disheartening sound of the window shattering in the other room. “

“I was rooted, I heard the beasts call and dropped to my knees… I saw him walk to my mother and in one stroke took her throat… And within a heartbeat her chest… He screamed and dove from her room… this was just a few short hours ago… the scrapings are starting again… to whomever finds this, Leave quick… don’t look back…oh god the scraping stopped… “

“I don’t have long. These have been my final thoughts, and the last ones I’ll ever have… please heed this warni—“

Overall, a fun, creepy story, though not without its problems (I mean, really, who the hell leaves just before dark when there’s a monster about?) However, the original author of this work, whomever that may be, described something that not only appears lycanthropic physically… but also shares traits with the Michigan Dogman.

This cryptid is not necessarily a werewolf, though it could be, and for simplicity’s sake, I will refer to Dogmen as werewolves as well. However, whether or not these creatures exist at all, Michigan’s Dogmen are rooted in the history of the state, with, as far as I can tell, sightings dating back to 1938. (Details of this can be read in Linda Godfrey’s The Beast of Bray Road.)

The accounts of Michigan’s werewolves vary from one to the other, however, odds are that if you’d heard of The Michigan Dogman before this, you’d heard it from Steve Cook’s “The Legend.” While Mr. Cook was involved in a hoax scandal regarding the Dogmen some years ago, his song is what got people talking about them in the first place. In the lyrics, he described creatures that looked like dogs standing on their hind legs, however, one note of interest is that the lyric that describes these creatures screaming as they circled a woman’s house at night. In fact, the screaming calls of the creatures provide a recurring theme in the song. Also, the lyrics also describe clawmarks left on doors, windows, and what looked to be attempted break-ins. These all describe the behaviors of the creature in “He Hunts.” In addition, according to “The Legend” (though this does not Jive with actual dogmen sightings), the dogmen only come out on the seventh year of each decade, and, given that the creature appeared some time after the family had moved in, but no date is given, this too may also apply. The creature here seems to be very similar to the Michigan Dogman… but there’s one problem: It’s set in Maine.

Unlike Wisconsin and Michigan, Maine is not a state known for its lycanthropic inhabitants. However, there is one strong sighting of a werewolf-like creature in the state, which happens to be found in yet another of Linda Godfrey’s books, The Michigan Dogman (the first part of which discusses Michigan’s creatures specifically, before delving into other American beasts.) While the sighting did not occur in Hayabi Forest (a place that appears to be fictional), nor does it occur in western portion of the state, it does occur in Dover-Foxcroft, smack dab in the middle of Maine. However, it is the content of the sighting that caught my eye. In this single instance, the werewolf creature clawed up a woman’s jeep. While it didn’t smash out her window, it’s still interesting.

It appears to me that whomever was the original author of this story had done some research of their own, hinting at existing folklore and stories without actually acknowledging them, leaving the clues for those who already knew, yet without excluding those who didn’t. Perhaps the original author is a Maine native who wanted to perpetuate werewolf stories about their home state. Or, perhaps, they’re a Steven King fan. I doubt we’ll ever know. One of the greatest strengths about many creepypastas is that they have no author laying claim to them. Because the stories aren’t “Written by” anyone, it is easier to believe that they are true… that someone found a note in an abandoned cabin, that someone hurriedly posted a last few thoughts before being kidnapped by Slenderman, or that the anonymous survivor of some ancient ritual wanted their story told, but didn’t want to be found… Regardless, this story is something that I imagine may or may not become assimilated into generalized folklore, adding yet another tidbit to the pile of American werewolf stories.