Hoodie's blog
May 8, 2025 - 2:46am — Hoodie
She used to be a regular deer.
A doe with soft eyes the color of river mud and a coat brushed in golden-brown sunlight. She lived in a quiet enclosure in a small town zoo, watched by children with sticky fingers and sleepy parents who rarely gave her more than a passing glance.
To the keepers, she had been known as 'Missy.' A stained oak sign hung on an old wooden pole which ran far above her enclosure. Her world was small, but peaceful. Leaves drifting from the same trees, the rustle of paper bags, and the low hum of voices beyond her containment.
Then it began on a quiet, cloudy evening. The zookeeper had just done her rounds, whistling a tune as she locked the gate. The doe lifted her head, ears flicking, drawn to something beyond the trees. Something behind the fence. Not outside of it, but behind reality. Something unseen but watching. She blinked. And the world blinked back. The cameras failed that night, static hissing like a whisper through the surveillance feed. When morning came, she was still there. Standing in the same place. But something had… shifted.
The keepers didn’t notice right away. She looked the same, after all. At first. They didn’t see the way her legs bent just a little too far when she walked. Or how her eyes no longer reflected light.
