Dogman May 2026

Now I'm in a motel in Lansing. The news is on. They're reporting a "mass escape" at the asylum. Seven guards dead. Cause of death: "severe lacerations consistent with a large animal." Edmund Croft is listed as "missing, presumed deceased."

Then I got the transfer request to the Northern Michigan Asylum for the Criminally Insane. My new patient was Edmund Croft. DogMan

Edmund was forty-three, a former hunting guide from the Upper Peninsula. He had no history of violence until three months prior, when he walked into a diner in Sault Ste. Marie, sat down, and said, "I saw it again." He then calmly described a series of thirteen murders spanning thirty years, all attributed to animal attacks. He confessed to none of them. He said the DogMan did it. Now I'm in a motel in Lansing

Then the bus lurched forward. I turned to tell my friend Billy, but Billy was busy picking a wedgie. I looked back. The cornfield was empty. Seven guards dead

For a second, I saw his human face—tears streaming down his cheeks, his mouth forming the word "Sorry."