
HauntedMTL Original – The Unkind Rewind – Gabriel Tuggle
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Published
4 years agoon
By
Jim PhoenixThe Unkind Rewind
by Gabriel Tuggle
When I was a kid, Blockbuster sat up the street about two hundred yards from school. It was the first Friday afternoon since I’d turned thirteen, and that meant I was eligible for my own membership card. I could rent whatever the hell I wanted, baby. Our parents wouldn’t have been so keen on us skipping the bus, but they both worked late on Fridays. Besides, I hated the bus. It smelled like leather and fish.
“Are we still going to Blockbuster, Kyle?” Denny, my eight-year-old brother, asked. He was clad in an oversized backpack – which used to belong to me until a group of gym class tormentors tied it to a basketball goal where I couldn’t reach it. Since then, I carried my books in my hand.
Denny always waited for me on the school’s wide front stoop, and the Blockbuster sign was visible from here, suspended over the canopy of trees on the school’s front lawn. I squinted in its direction. It was the tallest monument in town, a giant blue and yellow brick tilted slightly off kilter, bearing its singular message to the world: BLOCKBUSTER.
“I think we can manage it,” I said, as if it were a great journey. And in a way, it was. This was the early 2000s, one of the first generations of kids who were strictly prohibited from going anywhere by themselves. While other kids filtered out of the school’s gaping double doors and hurried for the buses, Denny and I slipped to our favorite place.
The building was a small cube that sat between a divorce lawyer and Sun Tan City. Emblazoned over the dark windows was the slogan: Wow! What a difference!
As we crossed the parking lot, Denny said, “I’m gonna get Reese’s Cups.”
“With whose money, squirt?”
He stopped as if that realization hadn’t struck him before. “Can you get them for me? Please?”
“No way,” I said, remembering that I only had nine dollars. “You remember what the dentist said about your teeth. They’re baked beans. Every last one of em.”
“I don’t have baked beans!”
I brushed past him and reached for the glass door. He bolted inside after me; constantly afraid that being left alone would’ve meant being kidnapped. The stranger danger videos at school scared the shit out of him. Every kidnapper drove a white van and wore a dark coat, even in the summer. In Denny’s imagination, they probably all had Reese’s Cups, too.
The entire front wall held the newest release, School of Rock, and a makeshift sign declaring they’d already loaned out every copy. I swear Blockbuster never actually had new releases. They just put up the display, followed immediately by a sign that read, “out of stock”. A cardboard cutout of Jack Black stood nearby, strumming the guitar silently, mouth open in a heavy metal scream. Aisles and bins crowded the small store, jammed with movies. Cartoony rolls of film unraveled over the thin carpet, letting everyone know that this was a Fun Environment.
Denny begged me to rent a GameCube game for him, to which I told him to piss off. We were getting a movie. I wanted to get Total Recall, something I’d seen on HBO before. I particularly enjoyed the part with the three-breasted alien lady. But then Denny proudly reminded me that it was rated R and we were mere children.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” I said, holding the VHS sleeve in my hand.
“Let’s get a Nickelodeon movie. Can we, Kyle?” He looked up at me with dependent eyes, his face a mirror of my own, simply dialed back five years.
I didn’t like kid’s movies. I always sensed the bullshit jokes and corny nonsense that the writers thought I was ignorant enough to laugh at. That was why I watched things like HBO with our dad. He didn’t care what we saw, and if he were there, he would’ve been glad to rent Total Recall for us. But we were alone.
I held an appreciation for Nickelodeon movies though. Somehow they slipped past my bullshit radar. We settled on Rugrats Gone Wild.
While we stood in line, Denny said, “Dad always says Film Reel Video is a better store. Do you like it better there or here?”
“Dad only likes Film Reel because it has titty movies.” The lady in front of us threw a concerned glance in our direction, and then looked away.
“He doesn’t watch em though.”
“You’d be surprised.”
The fellow at the counter was not the longhaired teenager we were used to, and that was the first sign that something was off. It was an old gangly man whose eyes were so far back in his sockets that they were trying to bury themselves. He seemed like the kind of guy who would enjoy a titty movie.
“Hello, children,” he said. His smile was rigid and straight like an upside down trapezoid.
I suddenly didn’t want to rent anything anymore, but Denny marched right up to the counter with childhood ignorance. He glanced back, his eyes asking if I was stepping up to plate or not. For someone who was so afraid of stranger danger, he could be a real dumbass.
A small plaque was screwed on the wall behind the counter. It read, “New Management” in plain black text. The new management was the most nefarious looking bastard I’d ever seen in my thirteen years. He reminded me of Freaky Fred on Courage the Cowardly Dog. The man’s thin frame towered over us just as the Blockbuster sign towered over the store. His blue polo shirt hung loosely from his narrow body, tucked into gray slacks.
“How are we today?” He spoke in such a slow, smooth way that made me feel three years old.
“We’re okay,” I answered.
He examined the VHS sleeve, and then disappeared in the shadowy back room that always had every movie ever made. He came back with the orange Nickelodeon tape in his skeletal hand.
“Do you have a kid’s membership with us?” He leaned far over the counter and eyeballed me.
I choked, unable to speak at first. “No. I don’t.”
“Would you like to sign up for–”
“No.”
Denny glanced at me curiously, and then shifted his attention back to the candy shelf at our knees. He looked longingly at the Reese’s Cups.
“All right,” the employee said, never breaking his smile. “A three day rental comes to five dollars.”
After I paid, he slid the tape across the counter and pointed at it with a bony finger. “Do you see this sticker?” He tapped it with a long fingernail. “We take this policy very seriously here at Blockbuster.”
It read, “Be kind! Please rewind!”
“I understand,” I said.
I expected that to be the end of it, but then the man leaned over the counter even further, lurching out at me. I smelled Chesterfields on his breath. He said, “Do you know what happens to little boys who don’t rewind their tapes?”
At that moment, I wished we could’ve afforded a DVD player. I shook my head no.
“Well,” the employee tilted his head in thought. “Let’s just say that we’ll rewind you.”
“What does that mean?”
“Be a good little boy and you won’t have to find out, now will you?” He returned to his regular posture, a beanpole planted over the checkout counter.
#
That night, Denny and I propped up in our respective bunk beds (I had bottom) and watched the movie. I was clever enough to hide the Blockbuster case in Denny’s backpack. I didn’t want our parents knowing we hadn’t taken the bus straight from school. After leaving Blockbuster, we’d walked two miles through bland suburbia to get home.
The movie wasn’t too bad, but I thought the previous two Rugrats movies were better. Denny enjoyed it more than me.
That weekend drifted by on a slow motion wave of boredom, as it so often does for children. Rain drizzled against the window, mandating that our Saturday take place indoors. I watched Denny play GameCube; he watched me put together a model car. Church crept by the following morning at a snail’s pace, the old pastor’s voice making me wish I were anyplace else.
But after school on Monday afternoon, I met Denny outside on the front stoop. Kids zoomed past us on their way to the buses, which chuffed blue exhaust smoke at the curb. The air was pungent with diesel.
I said, “You have the tape?”
He shook his head.
“What do you mean? Where’d it go?” The Blockbuster man had nearly shit his pants over the rewind policy. What would he have done if we didn’t return it at all?
“Mom found it this morning and said she’d take it back for us on her way to work.”
I slackened my posture. “Oh. Okay.” I paused. “Did she rewind it?”
Denny shrugged.
#
That night, I was situated at my desk, secretly staring at my science textbook’s diagram of female anatomy. When Denny walked in, I slammed the book shut and crammed it in the drawer.
But Denny didn’t even notice. He looked concerned.
“Do you know what happened to my GameCube?”
I glanced over my shoulder and said, “Do you have amnesia? It’s right over–” But the place on the floor where it should’ve been was a blank patch of carpet. I tried to remember if it had been there when I walked in the room. Usually I stepped over the controllers on my way to the desk, and I even closed my eyes trying to recall, but I couldn’t.
Do you know what happens to little boys who don’t rewind their tapes?
“Did mom or dad take it?” I asked.
“I already asked them.” Denny’s face was solemn and a little sad. “Did you hide it?”
He was accustomed to me pulling pranks like that. “No I didn’t.”
“Then somebody stole it!” Denny said. He plopped down on the edge of my bed and brought his knees to his face. “And my games are all gone, too.”
I glanced over at the milk crate in the corner where he kept them. It was empty.
Let’s just say that we’ll rewind you.
Denny’s livelihood revolved around his GameCube, and before that, it was his Nintendo 64. Like best friends, he and his video games were inseparable.
“Well… just watch TV or something, and I’ll go look for it. Okay?”
Denny nodded, on the verge of tears. He trusted me to his core, and I was a big enough asshole to take advantage of that from time to time. There were other moments when I hid his things, namely his shoes when he was running late for something, but this time I was in the clear. I’d been staring at a vagina diagram for a half hour, pencil clutched in my fist so that from the hallway, it looked like I was doing homework.
Cartoon Network snapped onto the old Zenith TV, and then I disappeared downstairs. Mom and Dad were in the living room.
“Does anyone know what happened to Denny’s GameCube? He looks kinda sad without it.”
Dad glanced up from a hardcover book. “Who?”
“Denny.”
“Oh, right, Denny.” Dad face held a worried expression, his stress lines showing the dawn of middle age.
“GameCube?” Mom said. “Denny hasn’t got a GameCube.”
“You bought it for him last Christmas.” I went to the mantle over the fireplace and picked up a framed picture. It was of Denny and I on the couch, controllers in our hands as we played Super Smash Bros. “The GameCube is right here in the–”
My words trailed away. It was no longer a picture of Denny and me. It was just me with a void spot on the couch to my left. No GameCube. I held it in front of me, dumbfounded.
Mom said, “What are you getting at?”
“You all right?” Dad asked.
I dropped the picture back on the mantle with shaky hands. I said, “Mom, did you rewind the tape before you took it back to Blockbuster?”
She chewed on a pen, taking her attention away from the crossword puzzle in her lap. “No, I didn’t. Did you rewind it when you watched it Friday?”
“No, Denny was supposed to this morning.”
“Well maybe they’ll fine you and it’ll teach you boys not to run around on your own after school.” She scribbled in her crossword book again, her mind only half present.
I fumed and went back upstairs. I fully expected Denny to have vanished, but when I pushed the bedroom door open, he was there. He glanced at me sadly.
“Did you find it?”
“No,” I said. I almost started to tell him about the photo from the mantle, and then thought better of it. He was eight years old. He didn’t need to worry about that, too. “Maybe it’ll turn up someplace.” I sat down beside him and clapped him on the back. The mattress creaked beneath my weight.
“I hope so.”
#
Mom brought my laundry upstairs a short while later, which I accepted as a wad in both arms. I went to work folding all of it (my least favorite part), and then came time to put it away (my second least favorite part). When I peeled back the closet doors, Denny’s clothes were gone. His half of the closet was a barren space, picked clean of everything. I shot a wild glance over my shoulder to see if he noticed, but he didn’t. He was lost in an episode of Johnny Bravo.
I swung the closet doors shut as if to shield the sight. I crossed the room and opened Denny’s dresser. The drawers pulled out easily because there was nothing in them. They were empty and hollow.
“Hey, Denny,” I said. “How are you feeling?”
“Good,” he said. “A little tired. Why?”
“Just curious.”
#
When we went to bed that night, I lay awake for a long time before drifting off into some thin gray world between sleep and wakefulness. I had no dreams, only unclear thoughts about Denny, as if I was trying desperately to gather my memories of him before–
Before what?
My eyelids popped open early – five o’clock, a time normally reserved for rolling over and dozing some more. It had been the kind of meager sleep where I was glad it was finally an acceptable time to get out of bed. We didn’t have to be up for school until six, and if we were pushing it, six-thirty. I was relieved to see that the top bunk still hovered over my head, shadowing my bottom bunk in perpetual darkness.
Completely alert, I rolled out of bed, careful not to hit my head on the top bunk. I’d busted my head open on it once, and instead of taking me to the hospital, Dad cleaned the wound with diesel fuel and smothered it in an old t-shirt. On my feet, Denny’s mattress was at eye level, and I should’ve been staring him in the face from this position. But the only trace of Denny was a rounded indentation on the pillow. The Pokémon covers were draped over the mattress, looking ghostlike without Denny’s small body tucked underneath.
Then there were footsteps in the hallway, and a light came on. I rushed out and said, “Oh Denny, you scared me for a minute.”
But Denny wasn’t there. It was Dad. He was hunched over in the hallway tightening his bootlaces. He said “What are you doing up, son?”
“Have you seen Denny?”
“Who?”
“Denny.”
“Who’s Danny?”
“Is Mom awake?” I peeked past Dad toward their bedroom at the opposite end of the hall, but the door was shut.
“She’s sleeping still. Who are you talking about, ‘Danny’?”
The blood drained from my head, and I felt like a weightless man drifting across a cloud. I said, “My brother.”
Dad chuckled, buttoning his work shirt. He looked scruffy and worn in the bathroom’s dim yellow light that spilled a rectangular sliver into the hallway. “You need to go back to sleep, buddy. You’re dreaming again.”
I opened my mouth, but snapped it shut. I glanced back into the bedroom. The top bunk was gone, a realization that shoved me into some unknown world of make believe. I leaned into the doorframe, holding back a scream. There used to be a professional photo of Denny and I hanging on the wall, both of us dressed in matching polo shirts. It was now a photo of me, alone.
All of Denny’s things had gone along with him. When Mom woke up, I waited for her to mention my little brother, to ask if he was coming down for breakfast. She never did. When we got in the car to go to school, she never asked if he was coming. And that afternoon, he wasn’t waiting for me on the front stoop outside, clutching his backpack straps in his fists.
I never told a soul. I’m a fairly private person, but even that was difficult to keep secret. My little brother’s existence now belonged to Blockbuster. If I brought it up to anyone, I’d have been labeled a loon, yanked from school and sent to an institution. I wanted none of that, so I just kept Denny Stills a quiet little secret until now. Because I knew precisely what happened to him. Blockbuster rewound him.
That was fifteen years ago, and Blockbuster has been out of business for a long time now. But evidently they haven’t forgotten my debt.
Today I came home from work (I’m a high school teacher), and noticed the welcome mat was gone from my doorstep. I figured someone stole it, so I went inside and realized all the magnets from my fridge were also gone. Weird thief.
Tonight though, I went downstairs and saw I had no furniture anymore. It looked like a house that someone hadn’t moved into yet, the kind of open space a realtor would prance through. But I know what happened. I know because it happened to Denny.
So I’m writing this now, very quickly, in hopes that it will stay behind after I go – wherever I’m going. Over the course of the past couple hours, everything in my office has vanished, that is, except for this desk, the computer, and myself. I smell the chocolaty peanut butter of Reese’s Cups.
It won’t be long. Existence stretches thin by the minute, as if the fabric of me is being split between two worlds, and my trembling hands are starting t
THE END
Gabriel Tuggle is a speculative fiction writer from central Kentucky. He is twenty-one years old, and will soon graduate from UK with a degree in english.
Real skull. Don't ask. You wouldn't believe it if I told you.

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Today on Nightmarish Nature we’re gonna revisit The Blob and jiggle our way to terror. Why? ‘Cause we’re just jellies – looking at those gelatinous denizens of the deep, as well as some snot-like land-bound monstrosities, and wishing we could ooze on down for some snoozy booze schmoozing action. Or something.
Honestly, I don’t know what exactly it is that jellyfish and slime molds do but whatever it is they do it well, which is why they’re still around despite being among the more ancient organism templates still in common use.
Jellyfish are on the rise.
Yeah, yeah, some species like moon jellies will hang out in huge blooms near the surface feeding, but that’s not what I meant. Jellyfish populations are up. They’re honing in on the open over-fished ocean and making themselves at home. Again.
And, although this makes the sea turtles happy since jellies are a favorite food staple of theirs, not much else is excited about the development. Except for those fish that like to hide out inside of their bells, assuming they don’t accidentally get eaten hanging out in there. But that’s a risk you gotta take when you’re trying to escape predation by surrounding yourself in a bubble of danger that itself wants to eat you. Be eaten or be eaten. Oh, wait…
So what makes jellies so scary?
Jellyfish pack some mighty venom. Despite obvious differences in mobility, they are related to anemones and corals. But not the Man o’ War which looks similar but is actually a community of microorganisms that function together as a whole, not one creature. Not that it matters when you’re on the wrong end of a nematocyst, really. Because regardless what it’s attached to, that stings.
Box jellies are among the most venomous creatures in the world and can move of their own accord rather than just drifting about like many smaller jellyfish do. And even if they aren’t deadly, the venom from many jellyfish species will cause blisters and lesions that can take a long time to heal. So even if they do resemble free-floating plastic grocery bags, you’d do best to steer clear. Because those are some dangerous curves.
But what does this have to do with slime molds?
Absolutely nothing. I honestly don’t know enough about jellyfish or slime molds to devote the whole of a Nightmarish Nature segment to either, so they had to share. Essentially, this bit is what happened when I decided to toast a bagel before coming up with something to write about and spent a tad too much time in contemplation of my breakfast. I guess we’re lucky I didn’t have any cream cheese or clotted cream…
Oh, and also thinking about gelatinous cubes and oozes in the role-playing game sense – because those sort of seem like a weird hybrid between jellies and slime molds, as does The Blob. Any of those amoeba influenced creatures are horrific by their very nature – they don’t even need to be souped up, just ask anyone who’s had dysentery.
And one of the most interesting thing about slime molds is that they can take the shortest path to food even when confronted with very complex barriers. They are maze masterminds and would give the Minotaur more than a run for his money, especially if he had or was food. They have even proven capable of determining the most efficient paths for water lines or railways in metropolitan regions, which is kind of crazy when you really think about it. Check it out in Scientific American here. So, if we assume that this is essentially the model upon which The Blob was built, then it’s kind of a miracle anything got away. And slime molds are coming under closer scrutiny and study as alternative means of creating computer components are being explored.
Jellies are the Wave of the Future.
We are learning that there may be a myriad of uses for jellyfish from foodstuffs to cosmetic products as we rethink how we interact with them. They are even proving useful in cleaning up plastic pollution. I don’t know how I feel about the foodstuff angle for all that they’ve been a part of various recipes for a long time. From what I’ve seen of the jellyfish cookbook recipes, they just don’t look that appealing. But then again I hate boba with a passion, so I’m probably not the best candidate to consider the possibility.
So it seems that jellies are kind of the wave of the future as we find that they can help solve our problems. That’s pretty impressive for some brainless millions of years old critter condiments. Past – present – perpetuity! Who knows what else we’d have found if evolution hadn’t cleaned out the fridge every so often?
Feel free to check out more Nightmarish Nature here.
Original Series
Lucky Lucky Wolfwere Saga Part 4 from Jennifer Weigel
Published
2 weeks agoon
March 17, 2025Continuing our junkyard dawg werewolf story from the previous St. Patrick’s Days… though technically he’s more of a wolfwere but wolfwhatever. Anyway, here are Part 1 from 2022, Part 2 from 2023 and Part 3 from 2024 if you want to catch up.
Yeah I don’t know how you managed to find me after all this time. We haven’t been the easiest to track down, Monty and I, and we like it that way. Though actually, you’ve managed to find me every St. Patrick’s Day since 2022 despite me being someplace else every single time. It’s a little disconcerting, like I’m starting to wonder if I was microchipped way back in the day in 2021 when I was out lollygagging around and blacked out behind that taco hut…
Anyway as I’d mentioned before, that Scratchers was a winner. And I’d already moved in with Monty come last St. Patrick’s Day. Hell, he’d already begun the process of cashing in the Scratchers, and what a process that was. It made my head spin, like too many squirrels chirping at you from three different trees at once. We did get the money eventually though.
Since I saw you last, we were kicked out of Monty’s crap apartment and had gone to live with his parents while we sorted things out. Thank goodness that was short-lived; his mother is a nosy one for sure, and Monty didn’t want to let on he was sitting on a gold mine as he knew they’d want a cut even though they had it made already. She did make a mean brisket though, and it sure beat living with Sal. Just sayin.
Anyway, we finally got a better beater car and headed west. I was livin’ the dream. We were seeing the country, driving out along old Route 66, for the most part. At least until our car broke down just outside of Roswell near the mountains and we decided to just shack it up there. (Boy, Monty sure can pick ‘em. It’s like he has radar for bad cars. Calling them lemons would be generous. At least it’s not high maintenance women who won’t toss you table scraps or let you up on the sofa.)
We found ourselves the perfect little cabin in the woods. And it turns out we were in the heart of Bigfoot Country, depending on who you ask. I wouldn’t know, I’ve never seen one. But it seems that Monty was all into all of those supernatural things: aliens, Bigfoot, even werewolves. And finding out his instincts on me were legit only added fuel to that fire. So now he sees himself as some sort of paranormal investigator.
Whatever. I keep telling him this werewolf gig isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be, and it doesn’t work like in the movies. I wasn’t bitten, and I generally don’t bite unless provoked. He says technically I’m a wolfwere, to which I just reply “Where?” and smile. Whatever. It’s the little things I guess. I just wish everything didn’t come out as a bark most of the time, though Monty’s gotten pretty good at interpreting… As long as he doesn’t get the government involved, and considering his take on the government himself that would seem to be a long stretch. We both prefer the down low.
So here we are, still livin’ the dream. There aren’t all that many rabbits out here but it’s quiet and the locals don’t seem to notice me all that much. And Monty can run around and make like he’s gonna have some kind of sighting of Bigfoot or aliens or the like. As long as the pantry’s stocked it’s no hair off my back. Sure, there are scads of tourists, but they can be fun to mess around with, especially at that time of the month if I happen to catch them out and about.
Speaking of tourists, I even ran into that misspent youth from way back in 2021 at the convenience store; I spotted him at the Quickie Mart along the highway here. I guess he and his girlfriend were apparently on walkabout (or car-about) perhaps making their way to California or something. He even bought me another cookie. Small world. But we all knew that already…
If you enjoyed this werewolf wolfwere wolfwhatever saga, feel free to check out more of Jennifer Weigel’s work here on Haunted MTL or here on her website.
So what better follow up to Invisibles Among Us in Nightmarish Nature than Monstrous Mimicry? Further exploring the leaps that critters will go to in order to eat and not be eaten. This time we’re focusing on those creatures that want to intentionally be mistaken for one another.
Insects Pretending to Be Insects
This is a pretty common subgroup in the mimicry set. Featuring such celebrities as the Viceroy Butterfly, which looks an awful lot like the Monarch. Why? Because everyone knows Monarch Butterflies taste nasty and cause indigestion. Duh? Though it appears the Viceroy took further cues from this and is not all that tasty in its own right either. Dual reinforcement is totally the way to go – it tells predators not to eat the yucky butterflies regardless. But some bugs go a bit further in this, imitating one another to seek out food or protection. Various wasps, spiders, beetles, and even some caterpillars impersonate ants for access to their nest or because ants aren’t as appetizing as their buggy counterparts to much of anything outside of the myrmecophagous crowd (as shared before, here’s a fun diversion with True Facts if you have no idea), though some also have nefarious plans in mind. And similarly, the female photoris fireflies imitate other firefly signals luring smaller males to try to mate with them where they are instead eaten.
Kind of Weird Mimicry: Insects Pretending to Be Animals
Moths are pretty tasty, as far as many birds and small mammals are concerned, so several of them find ways to appear less appetizing. Using mimicry in their larval form, they may try to look specifically like bird scat or even like snakes to drive away predators, with elaborate displays designed to reinforce their fakir statuses. And once they emerge as moths, they continue these trends, with different species flashing eye spots to look like owls, snakes, cats, and a myriad of other animals most of their predators don’t want to tangle with. But other insects pretend to be larger animals too, with some beetles and others producing noises often associated with predator, typically towards the same end – to deter those who might otherwise eat them.
Animals Pretending to Be Animals
Similarly some animals will mimic others. Snakes may resemble one other, as seen in the Milk versus King versus Coral Snakes and the popular rhyme, Red with Black is safe for Jack or venom lack, but Red with Yellow kills a fellow for all that it isn’t 100% accurate on the Red-Yellow end (better to err on the side of caution than not – so assume they are deadly). Fish and octopuses will imitate other fish for protection status or to conceal opportunistic predatory behaviors. And lots of animals will mimic the sounds others make, though Lyrebirds tend to take the cake in this, incorporating the vocalizations into mating rituals and more.
Really Weird Mimicry: Animals Pretending to Be Insects
Some of the weirdest mimicry comes out in animals pretending to be insects or small fish, where a predator will flick its strangely formed tongue that looks like a fish or water nymph to draw in more tiny critters that feel safe with their own, only to find themselves snapped up as dinner. Snapping turtles are notorious for this, disguising themselves in the muck to make their big asses less obvious and reinforce the ruse. Even some snakes do this.
Weirder Still
Then there are things that pretend to be plants. Like orchid mantises. Or sea slugs that look like anemones (some of which eat anemones and have stingers to match). I mentioned a few of these in the Invisibles Among Us segment last time, because some are highly specialized to look like very specific things and others just aren’t. Essentially, nature loves to play dress up and be confusing and adaptive. It’s like Halloween year round. And who can really argue with that?
Here’s a fun video from Animalogic exploring some of these themes. And feel free to check out more Nightmarish Nature here.