The Creature of Silver Lake

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FILE #: SLF-002

Case Status: Open

Filed By: Manifesto

Date of Occurrence: 10/23/2025

Location: Silver Lake Dog Park

FIELD NOTES

Incident: 

Park patrons reported one piscine amphibious humanoid to the LAPD via emergency line, approximately 7:23 AM. Dog owner alleged a creature stalked their pet, luring them with impeccable whistling, displaying generally misanthropic behaviors.

Anomaly Classification: 

Undocumented Mutation, Invasive Species

Risk Assessment:

Medium, possible issue for Animal Control

Witness Statements / Recovered Evidence:

“The horror.” – Lísa Simmons, pug owner, dog walker, fanny pack aficionado

“A dermatological nightmare,” raves Ashton Lane, local commercial actress and Instagram influencer. “I recommend adding Hyaluronic Acid, Retinol and Niacinamide to their nighttime skin routine. DM me for more details.”

“In terms of whistling, top notch.” – Desmond Land, Producer, Ambient Sound Design Specialist

Summary

I was about to call it quits when I picked up the 10-91 on the scanner. I’d been patrolling all night; it was way past my bedtime. But when the sun rose that morning, I was still wired. Like so many moments lately, something just didn’t feel quite right.

Whoever called it in must have really sold it. By the time I got there, agents from the Los Angeles County Department of Animal Care and Control swarmed the scene. The dog park is divided in two: one half for the big dogs, the other for the small. That morning, the toys were getting all the action.

Why is it that 90% of dog owners end up looking like their dogs? Moreover, armed with that information, why would anyone buy a pug? Despite the chaos of the scene, there was one woman standing in the eye of the storm, cradling her flat nosed pygmy dog like a baby as its tongue flapped wildly in the air.

According to Lísa Simmons, her and Potato were the first visitors to the park that morning when they heard a sharp whistling sound of astounding fidelity. Quick as lightning, Potato ran straight toward the fence separating the park from the lake. Helicoptering her pseudo-child, she ran after him wildly, and that’s when she saw it: a jagged-toothed, blood-thirsty fish-man with menacing eyes, shamefully attempting to lure her dog into its filthy maw from across the fence.

When I approached, she was in hysterics. Her voice grew shrill as she gesticulated wildly, retelling her story countless times. With each successive version, the creature in question became larger, more lethal, undeniably foul.

By 7:46 AM, the park was packed. A swath of Silver Lake poured into the coral in idle service of their dogs. Lisa’s oration built exponentially as the crowd grew, striking at their collective fear for their K-9’s well-beings.

Predictably, they fed into her fear mongering. Despite their cool exteriors, they were hungry, ready to assimilate in pursuit of mob justice. I could have—should have—stayed longer, interviewed them, swept the scene, searched for clues. But as the sun grew higher, my patience grew thin. It took all my remaining will power to take my leave without adding to the scene.

After a long day’s rest, I returned when the moon was high. Armed with my tactical net and crossbow, I was hunting for truth, but prepared for carnage. The time was 3:43 AM. The park was empty. The air was still.

Biding my time, I sat on a bench in the small dog yard. Nearly an hour went by with no news to report. Then, in the distance, I heard it: a melody so sweet, so serene, undoubtedly the finest whistling I’d ever heard. Seduced, I nearly fell into it, ready to leave it all behind.

Emerging from a trance, I ran toward the whistling, tossed my Kevlar mat across the barbed wire and vaulted over the fence in one silent motion. Ducking down, I fumbled with my steel mesh gloves as I pulled out the digital night vision binoculars in one hand, my crossbow at the ready in the other. I scanned the shoreline, searching for the source of the song.

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The lake has no natural shoreline, but a tree had fallen near the water’s edge, forming an enclave of naturalism amidst the cool concrete. It was there that I saw it: an amphibious form; not monstrous, but unsettling; and yet, incontrovertibly human. As a precaution, I took aim with the crossbow while I continued to watch from afar.

Unlike the account of Lísa Simmons, I saw no jagged teeth nor carnivorous eyes. In fact, I witnessed no maliciousness perpetrated by the creature in the slightest. Rather, through the binoculars I watched as it fed a stray coyote a fish head out of the palm of its webbed hand. With its other, it stroked the dog’s mangy coat, the coyote all the while lapping his hand clean as it became increasingly lulled into satisfaction.

If the song was indeed a lure for capture, the creature would have snapped the coyote’s neck, sucked its blood and drained its marrows. But it did not. Indeed, this was no killer.

My trigger finger on the crossbow relaxed. Whatever it was, it posed no threat. I couldn’t help but feel bad for it. I even thought of approaching it, offering it help.

But I knew better. That's not how the world works. Not now, perhaps not ever. Instead, I left it alone with a moment of peace, if only its last.

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