// Endless List of Weird Creatures 15//X: Skunk Ape
FUCK YEHA SKUNK APE MASTER OF ALL APE FOR THE CRYPTID WORLD ALL SKUNK APE PUT LONG ARMS ON THE TABLE AND PRAY IT TO THEIR GOD SKUNK BARTOLOMEJ APE THE BIG MAN THE HEAD HONCHO THE BIG BOSS MR SKUNK APE ESQUIRE SKUNK APE SMELL SO PUNGENT AND THICK COAT OF MUSK SMELL FEAR FROM MILE AWAY SKUNK APE HOW IT GETS ITS NAME ITS SKUNK APE SMELLS SO GOOD TO MINE LONELY EARS IVE CRIED SO MANY TEARS ALL THAT COMES OUT IS STINK SECRETIONS REMINISCENT OF THE ONE THE ONLY SKUNK APE SKUNK APE HARBINGER OF FLORIDA END TIME KILLING TOURIST WITH A SINGLE SWIFT KICK TO THE ANUS SKUNK APE WHO HARNESSES THE POWER OF ALL THAT IS SKUNK AND ALLT HAT IS APE THE BAD SKUNK APE WHO LIVES ONCE, TWICE, THRICE IN BOTH SERBIA AND FLORIDA SKUNK APE HE WILL STEAL THE APPLES OFF YOUR PORCH BUT PAY YOU BACK A MAN OF HIS WORD SKUNK APE THE MAN OF THE HOUR SKUNK APE HE WHO SEES ALL HE WHO SMELLS ALL SKUNK APE SKUNK APE SKUNK APE SKUNK APE SKУНК АПЕ СКУНК АПЕ СКУНК АПЕ СКУНК АПЕ!
 "Anger, frusturation, all twisted and molded into a human knot. Muscle
and sinew warp, bloat and strangle eachother under elephantine skin. A
head crooked and split into a pair of mandables, arms conjoined and
melted into a claw, legs reduced to tree stumps. This is the Galled.
It will crush, it will pummel, it will stomp and grind all it sees, all
it feels and smells. It’s own body is bruised, callused and disembowled
from it’s own attempts to destroy itself. No fire will stop it, takes to
long to burn. Not enough bullets around to shred, none strong enough to
chop those limbs. Easier to distract Galled, block its path. Only the obscured are safe.“Â
“Were they dogs? Were they man? I cant remember. The Seekers are Seekers now. They feel your steps and hear your breaths and see your heart waver. They look skinny, mangey hairless and putrid yellow. I
want to forget that head. That wrinkled hood hiding that poreceline
grub. They see with that, feel around the corners, taste the puddles and
prints. Its best to stay out of their territory, you cant hide from
em easy. Cant out run the lithe things. Chop off the grub, pummel the
body. Best you can do if the chance is given.“Â
“These sad things plant themselves all over the place, especially warm cozy places. Their moans and weeping invite pity, but such sympathy must be rejected, for they cling to whatever comforts their shivering hands can grasp. Generous victims are torn apart by the desperate horde, meaty flowers opening to reveal a tender head, ready to nuzzle the viscera. Some of these remains are stuffed into their exposed rib cage, like a teddy bear in a picnic basket.”
“Tall ones, strolling through the water, carrying nets of chain and
spears of girder. Their guts hang stringy, stretching with victims they
have swallowed. Their face grows in front of their maw, like a hood,
with coos and moans echoing from within. The horn is sensitive to
something, something of their prey. Maybe sound, maybe smell, or
something else, but it makes it hard to hide from them. Avoid the lake, for the Wailers are glutton for fools."Â
"She is blubber and lip, in a smothering of moisture. She seeks, with
those innocent blue eyes and vivid clubs one might recognise as hands
and feet, for something to nurture, to love unconditionally. She does not know that the violence she causes, the brutality, the violation. Those that come to her, caught by pheromone and coo, or those she comes too, meet a horrendous demise. An
embrace with layers of extending, suffocating lips engulfing their
face, and thick limbs crushing bone and organ into pulpy soup. Such victims decorate her nest, not as prize but as nostalgia."Â
"It roams the remnants of happy places, large hands playfully
interacting with forgotten playgrounds and abandoned toys. It’s grounds
are used and damaged, no sense of organization, just scattered play
things. The Frolic loves to have fun, but it does not know a limit. It’s
territory is marked by corpses of those who were either caught unaware,
or grew too sympathetic for it’s childlike behavior. Running is
verily an option. It scrambles faster than any man can sprint, limbs
moving more like a spider than the monkey it resembles, and the man it
once was. Distract it with colourful bauble , and you may be able to
pass through. But keep watch, Hide and Seek is amongst the Frolic’s
favorite games.”
“They have no foot steps, no breath, no sound known to the human ear.
They are cloaked in wing, bone, ans sinew. The head reminds me of a
bird, but blind and unflesh. The body, like a cadaver picked clean and
pale chitin filling the void, a pair of arms sprouting from above the
waist. Those arms branch into seven fingers, four thumbs to the sides,
three at the end. Their legs are supported by hooves. Less like a horse,
more like a insect’s small concentrated feet. One can only see this interior once they open their wings, unveil the flesh cloak.
Many Chernonese call them Teko Celovek. Most simply call them The Silent.
They are a remnant of pre-terraformed Cherno, something thought myth and illusion, now a haunt. They do not seek us for prey, for vengeance, or qualms we find familiar. No, they need us for something we took away from them, something dear. These gliders of storms, figures of shadow, these Silent. They need wombs.”
"Sometimes the mud here gurgles. Something bulges from it, then many
things, appearing almost like sleeping infantile faces. A trio of hollow
pores face those that disturb them, as this pale bloated orb rises by
sinew support. Almost like an inflating balloon, the whole body rises in
boneless meaty mass, and silently vibrates. The pores sing aloud, a
song that sounds as if these orifices were not designed for it. These
are the Candlesticks, useless and futile creatures, only able to sprout
like grass and respond to all stimulation in fear. They are harmless,
but best avoided, as their wails can gather fellow abominations. You can
kill em if you wish, but they’ll just grow back, or branch into more
dreaded sprouts, better tah ignore em. Yah know, sometimes you’ll
see something in those pores. Something like little pearls and tongues,
staring out, yearning for something.”
