Cryptids Need Love Too

The Dev Journey of Run & Hide

Run & Hide started very different The idea came to me while I was listening to REI’s Camp Monsters podcast. Originally, it was going to be a serial, with each book a short novella in which Ava would collect a new cryptid at different state parks/national forests in the United States.

Also, Ava started well aware that she attracted cryptids, and she was tired and unimpressed. This was very much a horror-comedy-romance. I wrote quite a lot with Ava like this, and it just wasn’t satisfying me. The tone was too goofy.

At the time, I’d gotten really into horror books, and I wanted something genuinely spooky. I realized that to create that tone, I needed a female lead who was genuinely afraid, not shrugging it off with sarcasm. I’d just read The Ruins, by Scott Smith. It has a very soft female character in there (perhaps “tstl” would be her description, but they all were in that book, that’s what makes it great), and I was drawn to her. I wanted to have someone like that. Sort of the opposite of Bree (I’d just published Cute but Psycho) and Lacey (I was in the middle of writing Flawed Creatures), who were both strong characters who very much take what they want and ask questions later.

So I made her the damsel in distress she is today. It’s a pretty divisive character type—for some, they’re more frustrating than entertaining. However, she is perfect for this story and a great balance to the male leads, in my opinion.

Below is the VERY FIRST piece of unedited writing I put on paper when the idea began to form. Just a short scene. This was previously published on my Patreon three years ago.

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This snippet features black-eyed children:

Black-eyed children (or black-eyed kids) are legendary paranormal creatures originating in modern American folklore, which superficially resemble human children or teenagers with pale skin and pitch-black eyes. They are reportedly seen begging or hitchhiking, or are encountered on doorsteps of residential homes. These beings are alleged to be either undead, ghostly, demonic, alien, or otherwise inhuman creatures attempting to impersonate ordinary human children, in order to manipulate people by requesting entry into houses or riding in vehicles, with supposedly sinister motives. (Wikipedia)

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Cryptids Need Love Too (what I titled the document)

I hated the supernatural. I hated horror. I hated all things dark, spooky, criminal, and overall bone-chilling. Notice I didn’t say scary because I was well beyond the realm of scared. When constant unexplainable terrifying shit kept happening to you, there came a point where you couldn’t be bothered to cry, scream, whimper, or run.

“Let us in. Let us in. Let us in,” the two kids on my front porch demanded in monotone unison. They seemed normal enough at first. I mean, I’d never seen two baggy-clothed preteen boys selling Girl Scout cookies, but I figured it was an effort for inclusion.

I had no intention of buying the overpriced treats, but I wasn’t going to yell through my door at kids to shove off. Mistake. I should have told them to go meet their maker in Hell. The orange hue of dusk did nothing to hide the strange color of their skin. One was too white, and one was too green. They smelled sour, and the Girl Scout cookies they’d attempted to shove in my hands were actually an empty, stained box of vanilla wafers that had white maggots around on the top.

Still, I didn’t question them. Actually, I was starting to feel particularly bad about what kind of situation they might be in. But when I tried to give them money, they ignored me and began asking to come into the house to use the “room with the bath”.

“You mean the bathroom?” I asked. They tipped their heads up, revealing all-black eyes. “ Not again,” I hissed, slamming the door. My back pressed against the door as I once again wondered what the hell was wrong with me. Clearly, I was giving off some sweet pheromone scent to things that shouldn’t exist.

“Let us in. We are just two young boys who want in.”

“Very convincing,” I said over my shoulder as I rubbed the bridge of my nose. This wasn’t the first time black-eyed kids had shown up, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. My online forum hadn’t been much help in figuring out how to rid myself of the vermin. The most common suggestion was to stop doing drugs. Hah! I wish I did drugs.

I decided the hell with it as they began screaming. I wasn’t going to spend my evening worrying about it when I had dinner cooling in the microwave. I shoved off the door, grabbed an oversized container of salt, and put a thick line across the entrance. I had no idea if it would work, but I was willing to suspend disbelief so I could eat.

My microwave dinner was already lukewarm, making me sigh as I sank into the couch and flipped back on the TV.

“We are just two little boys. You need to let us in. We cannot come in unless you tell us to.”

“I’m ignoring you! Also, I’m never having kids,” I grumbled, shoving a mouthful of fettuccine alfredo in my mouth. Two times I had to turn up the TV to hear it over the black-eyed kids wailing.

A couple of hours later, my TV was nearly on full blast as I was stretched out on my couch, sipping a beer. That’s when the kids finally gave up and slunk off.

If there was such a thing as curses and bad luck, then I had it. That was the only satisfying answer I could accept about my life. When the kids left, it was fully dark. I checked my clock and groaned. I’d let time get away, and now it was time for the routines. I went around unplugging all electronics, minus the fridge. I removed the battery from my phone, then chewed on my inner cheek and slid it back in. I wanted to finish my book more than I wanted to avoid weird messages. A few texts from an evil entity were practically harmless anyway.

Next, I closed all the blinds, pulled all the curtains snug, left the water dripping in the kitchen but not the bathroom, and locked the third bedroom. Last was lighting a candle that could burn all night. After that, I could finally wash my face and snuggle into my oversized bean bag with my latest book on my phone. It was a gooey love story about bakers, and I gasped when the female lead did something embarrassing, covering my face as if I was the one who embarrassed herself.

My phone beeped, and a text from an unknown number made me grit my teeth and swipe it away before reading. Another two came through, and I gave up and opened the texts from the evil entity.

555-6665: Are you alone, Ava?

Please, I need your help.

Ava, hurry. I’m in trouble.