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I don't know if I tagged this right since technically it isn't troubleshooting the car. It is "accessories" for the car.
So as the title says I am looking for opinions on what the the level would be for a pretty much stock WRX. I want to print the Forza stickers for my 2019. (For the windows, no paint stickers here).
I was thinking maybe like C 523 or something similar.
Opinions?
*Also if anyone reading this has experience in 3D printing parts for the car let me know. I want to fix the mess up I did on the stock lights by printing a new part so I can make the lights how I wanted them to be originally. Pretty sure it's going to come down to me measing stuff on stock lights.

Disclaimer; I have a background in building PCs and repairing electronics so I can handle myself other than soldiering more than one wire. lol
So, I was on vacation and finally found a cheap dead disk drive 001 Gamecube for $40 and snatched it up. I have two 101s and I can part one of those out to fix the disk drive so no worries there. Did my research from this sub. You guys rock. There are still a couple things I'm not quite clear on or are unsure about.
I'm trying to decide how I want to go about SD modding the thing. I was really hoping the Flippy Drive would be ready by now as that looked like the best option. Picoboot was also a possibility, but I wasn't thrilled about soldiering. It does appear to be wallet friendly though. I also like the GC Loader PNPs but they're quite expensive and I'd really like to keep the drive and add the SD card.
I'm likely going to go with a Carby for my display solution so that's easy peasy the next time its in stock.
I'd also like to get a new shell for it, but Google just keeps returning a small handful of options. Is there anyone selling/making cool shells that I've missed? If this is all there is then I'm gonna either 3D Print a shell or go and get some cool paint off a car I like. lol
So that's my wishlist. Better shell to replace the beat up one Bootmod that keeps the disk drive And HDMI adapter that uses the Digital AV
Thanks in advance!

I was driving down a 25mph street and saw a lady at the crosswalk sorta last minute, didn’t slam on the brakes but definitely got on them and sure enough this biker that I saw about a mile back comes out of the blue and folds on to the rear hatch of my car… it was kind of funny to witness not going to lie😂 Anyways hes on a home made contraption with no lights, signals.. I saw him a few miles back flying by traffic on a 45 so this thing is definitely not legal. My car has a couple sizeable dents and a couple paint chips+scratches.. he says to take his number, hell take care of the repair. I ask for his license and snap a pic before calling the police to make a report(station was a block away on the same street) police get there ask for his license.. he doesn’t even have a fucking drivers license and like I mentioned, the bike is definitely not legal. I hint towards a few things to the cops but they dont see anything wrong(great job boys)… Anyways, my plan is to get a quote from a few places in a few days and send him it, SO im wondering how long I should give him to pay it and also looking for some insight on small claims. How does the process work? I fill out a claim and they give us a court date? If he cant pay it outright is he put on a payment plan? If so does the state pay me out then make him responsible to pay them back or will I just have to collect $100 a month for the next 4 years? Should I/Could I also press charges of any type if he doesn’t pay? Thanks for any insight!

Hi!
I'm 21 and live with my parents in their apartment. My father is verbally abusive with my mom, I'm trying to get me, my mom, and 2 siblings out of here but in the meantime I don't know what to do. My father has been avoiding the apartment except to get his pills since mother's day as we didn't spend time with him obviously and did not let him talk to my mom. I live in California and have tried messaging his doctors, Partnership, various mental health hotlines, and they all say they can't do much and that our last resort might be to call the cops on him. I'm afraid that if I do, I'd be going against my mom's wishes (she doesn't want me to do much of anything despite the abuse taking a huge toll on me) or even worse the cops not doing anything. He's "calmer" than usual (cus we legit aren't seeing him around the apartment much except for an outburst right now in the moment I was writing this), but I'm afraid something will happen. He has threatened to accuse my mom of child abuse, yelled at me for getting between him and my mom (it's never gotten physical but there are lots of holes in our apartment, broken doors, and more because of his extreme anger and i don't want him to hit her. he once threw a TV at her or around her in Mexico when she was pregnant with me so he is definitely capable).
Who exactly am I supposed to call? My plan was maybe trying to get a subtle voice recorder and always have it on me at home and turn it on whenever he is yelling in that way to be able to show to someone else and see if I'm actually right or overexaggerating as we don't have any physical evidence, I know the recordings might not be admissible in court because California I think requires consent from all parties to record but I just want to get the opinion from a professional to see if this is actually abuse and enough to go off of currently. I was planning on maybe calling nonemergency police line but do they have to get involved or can they just park outside in an unmarked car just to see if it gets worse? I've seen my neighbor getting cops called but she was deep in a manic episode, destroying pots, breaking her husband's car window and my father wouldn't do that, he would simply drive off evetually after I get involved and tell him to leave. Is there any way I can maybe leave information that if something happens to me or my mom or sister, to investigate him? Me looking for a full-time job means I won't be here to stop him so I'm afraid. I've told my brother about my concerns but he hasn't taken such an active role as I've had with good reason as my mental health is to the floor.
I know the situation is bad, if you look at all my post history you'll see it's obviously bad but I've been talking to so many places and I think even if my mom were to get divorced from him, she would still have to interact with him because of my 8-year-old sister. My sister doesn't like him either I believe because she's seen firsthand and he has yelled at her before about stupid stuff. I think its really affecting her as she started fullout crying yesterday for accidentally making my glasses fall on the ground but I don't think any lawyers or cops I'll believe anything I say. I've been encouraging my mom and sister for my sister to go to therapy as I've been reading about custody fights where the therapist can help show that there is something going on, but I think my mom is just so used to it now that she doesn't want to do anything as we are financially dependent on him at the moment. I'm planning on taking a break from college again and get a job asap but I don't think she'll be convinced we can make it and my brother is trying to transfer next year to a 4-year so finances might be tough. My mom doesn't have a job as when she had a house cleaning one my father would always call her boss (he was a man) to check up on her out of jealousy and stay waiting for her at dropoff points. My mom only told her sister-in-law, my father's sister, and she passed away a few years ago so we don't have any witnesses. I was less than 10 years old and I had no idea until my mom told me. He's also tried to sexually assault my mom when me and my brother were 9-10 right in front of us but he didn't do anything because my brother came between him in time and me and him were kicking him out of the apartment - my parents didn't talk for weeks after that. I actually wrote what happened in a diary at the time in case I needed proof for cops but I have since thrown it away since I didn't want a reminder. I confronted him a few months ago about this after he threatened to take my mom to court over child abuse (she only smacked my sister's but after she smeared a whole bottle of lotion over herself and the bed - I'm usually with her and my mom and I've never see anything, my father was never around so I doubt he's seen anything I haven't seen), my brother has actually been hit by my father according to my brother but I think from what he said it was only one time when he was a minor. He's not mentally stable, he was also planning on suing his hospital after they told us about his history of 8+ years of meth use and how that is the reason he now has congestive heart failure, saying they painted him off as a drug addict and he never consumed meth and he doesn't know what they are talking about, and saying it would be karma if my mom, brother or sister died after a shooting occurred at a carnival they were at because my father had asked her if she wanted to go earlier in the day and my mom obviously said no. We never knew about the drug use, but we have seen him vaping, my mom has seen little packets of white powder in his clothes when she was pregnant with me in Mexico.
My sister is 8, my brother is 20 and I'm 21.
Sorry for the long post but I really just need some advice on what to do.

Mr. Winslow accused my mother of stealing his dead wife’s jewelry.
I explained it was impossible. He was welcome to search the tiny apartment I shared with my mother and aunt, he could look wherever he wanted.
“We share a tiny space,” I said. “We barely have enough room for our clothes. I don’t even know where she would hide jewelry.”
I was worried we would lose him as a client. Which would suck because cleaning his house was basically the majority of our rent cheque. But a week later he found the pearl necklace, it had somehow travelled down to his basement.
“I’m still missing the gold bangle though,” he said. “And some earrings.”
I told him I was sorry, but I had no idea. If my mom or aunt found it on their next clean, I promised they would let him know right away.
He hummed and hawed. There might’ve been a week where he hired a different maid service, but eventually he called back, asking if he could hire all three of us on-site again.
I thanked him profusely. I told him we’d keep an eye out for the missing valuables.
***
On our drive over, I had my mom and aunt practice the apology we would give him in English. Even though we didn’t steal anything, I explained we should still say sorry.
“Why?” My aunt asked. “That’s so stupid.”
“Everyone apologizes for everything in Canada. Just trust me. He will want it.”
“We need the work,” my mom said.
For a second my aunt revved up to say something else, but then let it go. We did need the work.
When we arrived, Mr. Winslow was on a phone call, watching his two large goldendoodles play in the front yard. He waved, then gestured to the front door. My mom and aunt gave small bows and carried their cleaning supplies inside.
Before I could enter, he put the phone behind his ear and approached me.
“Ida, hi. Good to see you again. Listen, don't worry about the jewelry. Water under the bridge. Hey. I’m leaving in an hour or so, and I won’t be back until late tonight. I’m wondering if you’d be interested in dog-sitting? You’ve been around Toto and Kipper. What do you think? I’d really appreciate the help.”
I never liked the way he looked at me. It was always too close, and it lingered for too long. My aunt may have been right in that he hired us back just to see me again, but I ignored the thought.
“And don’t worry, I can cover your cab back. My usual walker is just out on holiday. You can help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge. How does six hundred sound?”
I looked at his house and imagined if I would be comfortable there. Alone at night.
“I’ll make it seven-hundred. I know it's last minute. I just hate leaving them alone. Plus Toto has his medicine. You would do me a real solid.”
My apron needed adjusting so I put down my bucket. I focused on the polyester knot, keeping my gaze away from his. I really didn’t want to be doing this, but my aunt would call me stupid for refusing easy money. And frankly, so would I.
“I had plans, but I’m willing to give them up.” I said with a straight face. “Eight hundred and it’s a done deal.”
He paused for a second, observing me scrupulously. Then he found his usual, smarmy half-smile. “You’re a life saver, you know that? An Angel.”
His hand gripped my shoulder. Then patted it twice.
***
Both my mom and aunt were pleased about the extra cash, they said I deserved to make extra for all the bookkeeping I do. But they also both voiced their concerns for safety. They said they could stay with me if I wanted.
“Safety? Mamãe I’m just watching two dogs.”
My mom wiped a caked red stain off his counter. An old wine spill. “Yes, but so late in his house? You’re not worried he might … I don’t know …”
Might what? Exploit me?
I met his groundskeeper once, another immigrant contractor. Except the groundskeeper was being paid far less, because he never properly negotiated. Mr. Winslow was certainly capable of exploiting people when he wanted to, and I’m sure he would try the same on my family.
But I was different. I’d gone to school in Banniver, and I knew the little maneuvers played by the so-called “progressive people in North America.”
And Winslow knew it too.
He didn’t realize a Canadian-raised daughter organized her mom’s cleaning service. Or that she would show up on the first day as a statement. That statement being: You can’t get away with mistreating these old Brazilian women. And you certainly can’t swindle them out of the going rates in his neighborhood. I’m onto you.
I had asserted myself with this Mr. Winslow, and felt confident that I could stand my ground if he tried any bullshit.
“Mamãe I’m not worried about him. Really, I’m not. He’s a pushover.”
***
6:00PM rolled around, it was just me and the goldendoodles.
My mom and aunt were back at home, watching low-res soaps on a Macbook, but they said if I encountered anything strange—a sound, a smell, an unexpected car in the driveway—to give them a call right away.
“Mamãe, its two dogs. I’ll be fine.”
“Just keep your phone close Ida. Your auntie has sensed things in that house. Unpleasant things.”
I forgot to mention my aunt thinks of herself as an amateur medium. In the village she grew up in, she claimed she could sometimes see people who were recently deceased.
But I never really believed her. Mostly because it was also my auntie’s idea to charge families who wanted to forward messages to the very same people who were recently deceased.
“Okay mamãe, whatever you say. I’ll phone you if I get scared.”
“That house has a history Ida, you could feel it in the walls. The outside too.”
It sure does. A history of being owned by a wealthy prick.
***
The sun slinked below the overcast horizon like a dying lantern. It got dark much faster than I expected.
I kept all the lights on, and played with the dogs a bit, trying to encourage them to try piss on the shag rug. Neither did. They mostly wanted naps.
I tried napping for a bit too, but the leather couch felt like it was made of rock. I just couldn’t get comfortable.
Eventually I made myself dinner—some pasta that had been bought from Whole Foods—and ate it while scrolling on my phone.
I was just about done, ready to take my dirty plate in the sink when I first heard it.
The first explosion.
It came from the basement. A vibrating KAPOW that rattled the windows and chandelier on my floor. It sounded like someone had set off a cherry bomb.
What the hell?
I turned to the dogs who were just as scared as I was. They came whimpering with tails between their legs.
Could a pipe have burst or something?
I looked at the basement door, an area we were not instructed to clean, and then heard another explosion.
Vases shook. A painting went tilted. It sounded louder. Like full grade firework. I had lived in Rio de Janeiro, by Prianha beach, where they often launched celebratory fireworks. This was just as deafening.
I didn’t want to go down to the basement. In fact, I sat by the front door.
Both dogs huddled around me.
***
Twenty minutes passed. It had been quiet.
Out of pride I refused to call my mom—I didn’t want to admit I was scared. Instead, I spent the time going through all the rational answers in my head that could explain away the noise. Plumbing, terrorism, teen pranks … hot springs?
There were hot springs all over West Bann.
Obviously, some kind of pent-up geyser had lay dormant for a while, and it was now suddenly unleashing a ton of energy below Mr. Winslow’s house. To distract myself, I Wikipedia’d the history of West Banniver, and satisfied this theory.
During the 1850’s gold rush, West Banniver saw rapid settlement as a mining town. The proliferation of mine shafts soon led to a discovery of underground hot springs. Mayfield Briggs Ltd which was the first company to seize the opportunity as a tourist attraction…
That’s all it was. A hot spring releasing a buildup of pressure.
Then a third explosion came.
It was so loud and violent that the door to the basement flew open. I fell to the ground and covered my head as several books went flying off nearby shelves.
The dogs yipped and barked like crazy. They stood in front of me, guarding against an unseen force. A voice shrieked from the basement.
“HELP!!! HELLLLP!”
Rivets shot through my hands and knees. I was frozen to the floor.
“PLEEEEEEASE!”
It had the high-pitched desperation of someone whose life was about to end. I raised my head and listened closely to hear haggard, dusty coughing. It sounded like an old man’s cough. It echoed through the basement and into the living room. Between coughs the man continued to plead for his life.
HELLLLP!”
I had no idea who it could be or how he got down there.
Before I could think, one of the dogs shot past me, bolting down the basement steps, barking ferociously.
“Kipper!”
I tried to grab the loose leash, but I could only hold the collar of his sibling. “Kipper come back here!”
“HELLO?” The voice from below seemed to recognize my presence. “PLEASE, YOU’VE GOT TO HELP!”
I was now upright, breathing as fast as Toto was panting. I tied Toto to the thick rails on the stairs. I had to save the other dog.
Instinctually I grabbed my phone, slipped an AirPod in one ear, and dialed my mother without even looking at the screen.
“Mãe. There’s … something terrible is happening.”
My mother was suitably confused. Even more so when she heard the screaming of the man downstairs as his voice echoed in the living room. It was a cry of immense, awful pain.
After two slower, more detailed explanations of what I just heard, my mother told me to call the fire department. “Poke your head through the basement, see what’s happening. Then call the fire department.”
That made sense to me. I inched my way to the basement entrance and tried to see past the doorway. It was complete darkness. There was no light switch.
I turned the torch on my phone, and my aunt’s voice came blaring. “Get out of there Ida! I am telling you, there is darkness in that house!”
As I illuminated the dusty wooden stairs, I saw that they only lead only to more pitch black. Yup, plenty of darkness here.
There was some phone-wrestling. My mother came back on. “What is it? What did you see?”
“Don’t encourage her! Get her to leave!” my auntie yelled in the background.
I told them to pipe down because I could suddenly hear the gentle whimpering at the base of the stairs. The dog sounded close.
“Kipper come! This way! Follow my voice!”
I went down a few steps further, expecting the basement floor to appear any second, but there were only more wooden steps. How long was this staircase?
“Kipper?”
There was a flat, cold wall on my left, and no guard rail to speak of. I stepped down each step very carefully to maintain my balance, sliding my hand along the wall.
Then the wall disappeared. I flew forward.
***
I woke up lying face-first on rocky floor. My phone was cracked next to me. My mother was crying in my ear. “Ida! Ida! Oh my god! Ida!”
I looked up to see I was not at the bottom of someone’s basement. There were lights all above me. Lanterns. They were illuminating a cavernous, rocky chamber that led to many tunnels with train tracks and wooden carts. I was in the opening of a massive underground mine.
I coughed, and gave out a weak “… what?”
“Ida is that you? Are you… brrzzzzz” My mom’s voice faded.
Before I could reply, I saw the crooked form of a man in tan coveralls, shaking the immobile body of another person in coveralls next to him. In fact, there was a small row of half a dozen miners all slumped against a blasted rock wall. There were bits of granite, wood, rope, and what looked like entrails splattered all throughout.
“Oh the cruelty …” the one, standing miner said. He went from body to body and jostled each of his coworkers. “Must I find you all like this … every time?”
I crawled up to a half-standing pose and tried to see the face of the hunched over survivor.
My heart dropped.
He had no face.
The explosion which must have killed some of friends had also blasted away this man’s entire sternum, neck and skull. The miner wasn’t hunched over or leaning away with his head, he just simply … had no head.
And up there, floating right in the middle of where his face should be, were a set of eyeballs, glistening under the yellow lights.
The eyes turned to me. “Oh. Why hello. Hello there.”
Terrified, I rose to complete standing and opened both my palms in a show of total deference. “I don’t know. I don’t know who you are or what this is.”
The headless miner walked toward me. I noticed he carried a pickaxe in his right arm. He gestured with his left to where his ear would be.
“I’m sorry I can’t hear you. Had an accident.”
Despite him having no head, his voice still came from where his mouth would be. There was an earnestness in his speech, it might have had something to do with his very old-timey accent, but I still felt like he was trying to be friendly.
“Another batch of faulty dynamite. Everyone’s dead. But what else is new.”
He brought his left palm to his face, perhaps to wipe away tears, but instead his hand travelled through his nonexistent head to scratch a small portion of his back.
“Been dead for many years I’m afraid. But I’ve kept busy. Been a good man. Worked very hard for the boss upstairs.”
He gestured upwards with the pickaxe. I looked up, and out in the distance, I saw a large, ancient, set of wooden stairs that I must have fallen from. They extended far up into the mine’s ceiling and kept going.
“He’s gotten good ore from me. Good, shining, golden ore. I have a knack for it you see. The same knack that killed me so many years ago. It's probably what’s still keeping me around though.”
He came closer. I could see he had brown irises, with one of the cataracts deteriorating into milky white haze. The eyes stared at me, unblinking.
“Because I’m not done, see. This mine isn’t empty. I know there’s more gold. Much more. And it’s not all for the boss. No, I’m keeping some to myself. Don’t tell him, but I’ve been stashing a large deposit for myself. It can’t all be his of course. It’s my mine after all. Half these tunnels were dug entirely by me. So of course I deserve some. It’s only natural.”
I lifted my hand and pointed at the staircase behind him. I mouthed very big, obvious words. “I have to go back. I’m going back up those stairs.”
He shifted his body. His two eyes turned in the air as if they were still inside an invisible skull. I saw nerve endings at the back undulate and twist.
“Yes, that is the only way up.”
My heart was in my throat. At least I found some form of communication. I gestured to knee height and nervously asked if he had seen a “large, shaggy dog.”
“Ah yes. I’ve seen the pooches. They come down here sometimes. When the booms don’t scare em that is. Hahah.”
I gave a thumbs up. It felt like a ridiculous interaction with a ghost, or zombie or whatever this was, but at least it was working.
“I think I saw his little tail run over that way. They like the smell of the mineral spring.”
I turned behind to see the long tunnel he was pointing at. It was dimly lit by a chain of smaller lanterns.
I thought I saw a flutter of movement, and I would have kept looking further if it wasn’t for my aunt’s voice that suddenly exploded in my ear. “Brrrzt … Ida! If you can hear us, we are calling the police to your location. Help is coming soon! … ”
I winced and stepped back—which saved my life. I just so happened to step right out of the way of a pickaxe. It sparked the ground.
I gasped and stared at the headless miner. His eyes were shimmering with a dark focus, staring directly at mine.
“Oh I’ll help you find the dog. I’ll help you find whatever you want. But I’ll need those clean new eyes of yours first.”
He swung at my head. I ducked. He went for the backswing. I ran.
Stupidly, I ran in the opposite direction of the stairs. I ran straight into the long tunnel lined with dim lanterns.
But I couldn’t turn around. I had no idea how quick he could move. And the speed of his pickaxe felt supernatural.
The tunnel was narrow, and lined with wooden tracks, I had to skip-run-jump over the panels with immense precision to make sure I didn’t trip. Behind me, his voice chased.
“Go ahead. Run. I know where these all lead.”
I ignored the words and kept going. The tunnel bent left, then right, then left again. I ignored several exits before the tunnel spat me out into an open, cavernous room filled with dozens and dozens of minecarts.
I investigated the room for anything useful. A far opposite wall appeared to be the site of the latest digging, loose rock lay everywhere.
There was a small mineshaft holding a chained up cart. And something in the cart shimmered…
It was gold.
And not just ore either. There were bars, coins, medallions, and jewelry. Mrs. Winslow’s bangles were right on top.
I ran to the cart furthest from the entrance and ducked behind it, breathing heavily, coughing from all the dust.
The headless man emerged from the tunnel, pickaxe raised and scanning where I could have hid. “I may not be able to hear you. But I can follow footprints pretty easily hah. I know you’re in here.”
He grabbed the closest minecart available and pushed it into the tunnel entrance. With an immense show of strength, he lifted and dislodged the cart off the track, cramming it sideways, creating a massive obstacle.
I was sealed inside.
Trying to stay absolutely still, I coughed through my teeth. Lungs burning. My mom’s voice came through.
“Brrzzztt… The police should be there! I told them you were in danger! They said they sent a unit over. Maybe they broke down the front door?”
I looked up at the mine shaft next to me. If it did connect to the surface upstairs, this was my only chance.
I gave a couple good yells. “HEEEEELP!!! DOWN HERE!! HELP!”
I don’t know if it did any good, but it was better than nothing. I turned to see if the miner had heard anything.
He hadn't.
The pickaxe tapped and clanged awkwardly around minecart after minecart.
I had a bigger advantage than I thought.
Although the miner had two floating eyeballs, only the left one was really capable of seeing anything.
So I kept my distance and watched where he was going, always staying behind.
As he limped and peered around minecarts, I was able to evade him, move from behind rock piles and other carts, careful not to leave a trail in the rock dust.
It was all going well until I heard a familiar panting.
“Oh look. If it isn’t precious.”
The dog had managed to jump over the miner’s blockade. It must have heard my yells. Surprisingly, Kipper was unafraid of the headless villain, and even approached him to receive pets.
“Now why don’t you go say hello to our other friend here huh? I know she's here somewhere.”
No. Kipper. Please. Don’t.
The dog started sniffing. Within seconds he found my scent. Kipper skipped towards me like Lassie and excitedly licked my face.
“Aww there we are. Now isn’t that a good boy?”
I stood up and stared at the filthy, ash-stained coveralls. Despite the lack of teeth, I could sense a menacing grin where the mouth should be.
He wasn't going to lose sight of me now. I had nowhere to go.
So I did the thing my auntie said worked on all spirits. I fell to my knees and prayed.
“Please. I only came here for work. I’m too young to die. Let me go and I won't tell anyone that you're here.”
He stood over me. Both of his pupils started to quiver. In just a few seconds, his eyes were swimming excitedly within the space of his head.
I took off the only valuable I had. A gold necklace with a miniature version of Christ the Redeemer. A gift I had received as a teen in Rio. I held it out in my shaking hands.
“Please. Take it. Take everything.”
Suddenly both the eyeballs stared forward again, entranced by the gold.
“Well look at that. How generous. How generous of her. We should reward generosity shouldn’t we?”
***
It was hard for me to describe to the police officer how exactly I got out, because I have no idea.
The fiery pain where my eyes used to be overwhelmed my entire reality for hours. All I wanted was for it to stop.
They found me half inside a dumbwaiter bleeding to death from the gouges in my face.
I was taken to the hospital, where I would spend the next four weeks recovering.
The police did not in fact storm the house like my mom said. They waited outside for the homeowner to return. But when they heard my screams coming from the top floor, they broke the back door and eventually came to my rescue.
I’m told they did a thorough investigation but could not find any of the things I described.
The basement door led into a regular basement. It was filled with old furniture, unused decor, and paint cans. No Mine.
The dumbwaiter was also just a dumbwaiter. It wasn’t some mine shaft, and it didn’t lead any deeper than the basement. Nothing special.
There were definitely hot springs close by, but nothing close enough to damage Mr. Winslow's property. And there was an old, depleted gold mine not far away either, but it was completely abandoned, closed off, and nowhere near as big as the one I had described.
***
The police, paramedics and doctors all thought my story was some hallucination. That I had been on drugs or had some mental breakdown (even though they couldn’t find anything in me other than small traces of weed.)
Thankfully, my mother and aunt believed me. They believed every word. My aunt is the one who encouraged me to make this post, so others could hear my story.
I know it was real.
I know it was.
And Mr. Winslow is fully aware of the mine’s existence.
Putting the dots together, I realized it was likely the source of his wealth. Winslow had some control over that one headless miner down there.
Did Winslow intentionally entrap me? Was he trying to get the miner a new set of eyes? Or was it all an unfortunate accident?
I might never know.
But what I do know is that Mr. Winslow has been paying for our rent ever since the accident.
He feels “terrible about the situation” and “can’t possibly imagine” what I’ve been through.
But he knows what happened.
He knows if I really pushed, If I really forced the police, or some private investigator to look into it—they would uncover something awful. Something really really bad.
“Anything you need. Anything at all. I will cover it, Ida.” He said. “You helped me out, protected my dogs, and I will never forget it.”
He’s offered to pay for the rest of my University schooling. And once my face heals up, he’s even offered to cover for some very expensive, experimental eye-transplant. We’ll see how that goes.
“You and your family will live comfortably from now on. You’ll want for nothing. Tell me exactly what you need, And you’ll get it.”
So I told him I'd like my necklace back. It was an heirloom. I said I lost it somewhere in his house.
A few days later, he returned with the usual smug, half-crooked smirk in his voice. He brought the necklace back in a box, pretending he had bought me a new one. Except it felt exactly like my old one.
It was all shined up, completely buffed of scratches, but it weighed the same. It was my old one for sure.
When my mom saw it she asked, “did it always have it? This dedication?”
As far as I remembered, the backside of the tiny Christ the Redeemer was always plain. I fingered its shape in my hands.
“What dedication?”
The new little divots caught my nails. There was writing that was definitely not there before.
My mom described it as a curly, serif font. Like a gift for a lover.
~ You’re an angel ~
~ W ~

My fiancé (34F) and I (37M) have been together for a little under 4 years. We’ve been engaged for a little under 2 of those years with no plans towards a wedding whatsoever (mainly because of costs). We started living together about 1.5 years after we met, previously only saw each other on the weekends because of living an hour away from each other. We truly love each other, and I want to make it clear out of the gate that she is a wonderful person.
Our issue is simple and complex at the same time. Ultimately, we’ve learned over the last 3+ years that we have SO little in common with one another that neither of us can imagine getting married. We agree on almost all core life principles: human rights, political believes, religious beliefs, value of family and friends, etc. We also have a shared love for cooking and our two dogs…but that’s pretty much it.
Firstly, I am a huge lover of nerd/pop culture and have been my whole life. She cannot get interested in any non-realistic fiction. We both respect each others’ tastes, but neither of us ENJOY the other’s favorite entertainment properties. We do enjoy the occasional standup special or documentary together but it’s few and far between.
As far as what we like to do for fun, I love to do activities: Pool, bowling, disc golf, skateboarding, etc. She likes sitting in coffee shops and exploring a new town’s Main Street. Again, we will gladly accompany each other in doing these things, but the other is not ENJOYING it.
As far as music, I love pop punk, prog rock and the like. She loves folk music. She says some of my music stresses her out, and her music really bums me out lol. There are some common artists we like but we listened to them to death. We’ve both accompanied each other to concerts, but only one of us truly enjoys the experience.
There are lots of other differences - the fashion we find attractive, our senses of humor (largely but not totally), etc. I don’t want to paint the picture that we are miserable around each other. We both enjoying spending time together, trust each other, and sometimes laugh together. We also have always known we have very differing tastes, but it was only in the last year did we both start feeling uneasy about the vast nature of it.
How did we even get this far, and why are we engaged? I have a theory. For the first year and a half of our relationship, we each lived with our respective best friends and only saw each other on the weekends. I think any "vaccancies" we had in our relationship could be easily looked over when you only see each other 2 days a week, and all of your other needs are being fulfilled by your friend. Once we moved in together, I think a 2nd honeymoon phase started, and it wasn't for many months after we got engaged did I realize that I wasn't participating in a lot of the things I loved to do.
I also know that your partner shoulnd't fill every need in your life. Some needs get filled by friends, family, etc. The problem is that our friends are all so spread out and far away. We both live close to an hour from any of our friends. And I know I don't have to elaborate on how difficult it is to make plans in your 30s when you live that far away from people. Even if I did have more of my needs met by friends, I feel like we would still be coming home to each other which nothing to talk about between us.
I KNOW no couple is going to have everything in common. I know that a long term relationship is about compromise and work. My concern is that we have SO LITTLE in common that it feels like we live on different planets sometimes. One of my fiance's biggest concerns is that more often than not, we sit at the dinner table or in the car in silence because we just don't have much to talk about between us.
Our lease on our apt is up in July, and we’ve been in couples counseling for about 6 months. We both know that we aren’t going to change our tastes as people, but it would be a matter of our acceptance that we will never share the things we love between us. That we would have to find another glue that binds us together. My fiancé is of the mind that although she isn’t happy with our relationship, she’s willing to wait it out indefinitely to see if our perspectives change. I don’t feel like I could do this indefinitely, even another year for the lease. Our relationship is painful and although I truly love her, I really don’t know if we’re compatible for a lifetime.
My question to couples who don’t have much in common is simple: is this all superficial? Am I being a ‘baby’ that I’m not willing to give this another year to see what happens? Is there some perspective that I’m missing? I don’t want to throw away a relationship with a wonderful, loving person because of what turned out to be superficial reasons. At the same time, it feels like this is way more than the average case of not having a lot in common.
tl;dr: My fiancé and I love each other but have so little in common, that we’re questioning whether to stay together. I just want to know from couples like us if this is normal?

Prior LEO ptsd troubles
A short background because it’s honestly too many things to go into. I started as a deputy when I was 23. I started as a cadet for the sheriffs office at 18, my first call I witnessed a guy put a 30-06 in his mouth and paint the tree behind him. Within my first year full time was involved In a shooting. First year chased a burglary suspect that carjacked two people and stabbed both. Had to watch a teenage girl burn to death screaming in a car and there was nothing we could do, we couldn’t get her out, couldn’t get the fire out, and her screams are burned in my brain, a 16 year old kid, on the way to school, never made it, and all you can do is watch, hear her scream until there was silence and then the fire department was finally able to get there, minutes too late. Numerous suicide calls. Two of them are seared into my mind. First was on Easter one year I got a call from Sgt asking me and the senior shift deputy to respond to a suicide that was a friend of his. The wife wore ear plugs and outer ear muffs because her husband snored so loud, anyways, the husband shot himself in the bed at night with a 38 to the head and the brain matter was all in her hair, she didn’t know until the kids ran in to wake up the parents for Easter baskets, dad of course didn’t wake up. The second was a 14yr old foster kid whose foster parents went to a movie on a super cold night and came out to not be able to find him. I found him in the back yard, he had hung himself with a dog leash on the swingset to the point to where to do so he had to consciously hold his legs off the ground until he had asphyxiated. Who knows how many other shit calls. But one other that still haunts me was my first child sexual torture. Was a 6 year old little girl whose grandmother called. Her POS dad would put a butter knife to a propane torch and insert it into her, put cigarettes out on her, and slice her private areas. As I went outside to the car to call Sgt and do the report, she ran up to me and demanded that I take her teddy bear in thanks for helping her. This was a decade before I had my own children, and I remember going out to the car and bawling like a baby.
These are the gist. I spent 12 years in law enforcement, worked everything from patrol, investigations, warrants, and ended in the schools as a resource officer. I never had a problem with the violent calls, the shots fired. In fact, those calls I felt most calm, I felt like it was my place because I knew what to expect, I could flick off the emotions and handle whatever came. What ended up getting me was death. The breaking point I was attempting to serve a civil paper and the house looked abandoned. I said, hell I’ll do my due diligence and make sure. As I walked around the back I saw in the window out of the corner of my eye a rope hanging from a ceiling fan, clothes, and a chair kicked over. I’d seen so many hangings before, in my mind I knew that’s what it was. But I couldn’t bring myself to confirm, I couldn’t see it anymore. I had to call my best friend on shift to look. All I could do was go back to my unit and just feel this broken helplessness. It turned out some kids had “hanged” a mannequin and it wasn’t a real person.
I spent the next 3 years after that in the schools and loved it, but I still hated my profession, because it had warped my life, affected every aspect of it irregardless of what I did. I ended up on meds, and ended up taking a job within emergency management and currently love that job.
On to the struggle or rather the question. As many of you know, even with meds the ptsd is still there. I ended up developing issues with loud noises and other things that I never had a problem with when I wore a badge.
I found myself drinking more now than ever. Not so much as an escape, but because I need to feel what I remember, or what’s burned in my brain. Have you had issues where you “know” what you’ve been through, you know how that should affect you and what emotions it should produce, yet you’re not able to get those emotions out that you feel you need to? For example, you are having a bad day of all those memories coming back and their taking over. You want so bad to break down, bawl, and yet it’s like you’re reading a book that someone else experienced it. You question is it real? Why do I have these memories and this pit inside of me that wants to get these things out and break down but it just won’t come out. When I say this I don’t mean it in a positive way that you’ve healed and the trauma no longer bothers you, I mean it grips you but you can’t release or invoke the physical response of what is the turmoil inside of you. I try to tell my wife the video morgan wallen made to “cover me up” is the closest to how life feels a lot of the time. And I can understand how people want to go back, because as fucked up as the experience, watour, job was, it made sense when you were in the grind. When you’re out, you’re alien to yourself, things are different, you’re different, it’s impossible to be normal or what society expects out of you. You’re stuck in between hating it for what it stole from you and did to you and longing for it to be back because in its own fucked up realm, it’s the only thing that makes sense. I’m still in emergency services, so I have a radio that has the frequencies to my prior agency and surrounding. I hear calls come across (the high risk ones) and I find myself when driving going into that mode and wanting to head towards the call. I still if in the area will back up units if they’re solo. It’s like the dangerous calls part I can’t get away from. Not that I receive a “high” off of them, but I feel the most calm and most normal during those type of situations. For those that have gotten out do you feel the same?
I’m sorry for the long read, it’s just not something that’s easy to paraphrase.

This is the first time I have written something of this length, and is more of an exercise in self-therapy than anything else. Disclaimer: This story contains conversations about child abuse. Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy it.
Nathan’s number appeared on my phone screen. I debated whether or not to answer it. We hadn’t been on speaking terms for a while, and while we did keep in touch sporadically, it was usually because of important family issues. I didn’t know of anything happening with mom or dad, nor with Talia or Rio, so I let it go to voicemail. I could always call him back later. I placed the phone back in my pocket, and returned to cleaning my camera. The phone buzzed again. A text message came through. I read the preview line from the home screen. “The city declared eminent domain on the house” I unlocked my phone, read the full text message, and dialed my brother.
I wasn't able to get any closer to the house than a few blocks. Most of the area was blocked off with chain link fencing and construction equipment in preparation for the demolition that was supposed to take place within the coming days. The barriers didn’t prevent people from walking in to the neighborhood, but it hindered scrappers from coming in and stripping the houses of copper wiring and plumbing.
I grabbed my camera bag out of the trunk of my car along with my tripod. I shouldered it and hooked the tripod to my bag. I pulled my water bottle out of the center console and shut the door. I stood next to my car surveying the neighborhood. 12 city blocks of old single family homes comprised the neighborhood where I grew up. Some of the houses had been empty for months, others for years. There was an eerie silence that permeated the still air. I could not hear the familiar sounds of people, pets, or cars. I locked the car and put my keys in my pocket. I patted my jacket down to ensure I had what I needed. After a quick check, I started my walk.
The sidewalk of the old neighborhood streets still bore the familiar cracks and grind marks from years of buckling and remedy. Leaves dropped by the trees still lay scattered all along the pathways and sidewalk. Korina’s house was the first house I encountered as I made my way through a gap in the fence. The yard was overgrown with tall grass and thistle. I could see the faded blue paint of the old house contrasting the green and browns of the lawn. The chain link fence that marked off the corner property was nearly invisible through the thick brush. As I continued walking west towards 110th, I started to feel something was off. The streets seemed wider than I remembered. It took me longer than I’d like to admit, but eventually I realized what was different. There were no cars.
The streets here typically had cars lined bumper to bumper in any spot available, and were visible from block to block. The absence of all these vehicles made me realize just how deserted the neighborhood really was. House after house, yard after yard, the telltale signs of desertion reinforced what I could see from the moment I passed the construction fence: This was no longer my neighborhood. There were no signs of life, and no one I could expect to find still here. Abandonment was the new normal here. I continued on, glancing at houses and recalling memories of summer bike rides, and daily walks with dogs I used to have. I remembered walks home from school, and chasing after ice cream trucks when they passed our houses. I smiled a bit as I remembered more and more of my years spent here. I don’t quite know just why I was smiling. There were plenty of bad memories here too. Fights, yelling, being beat up, being robbed. I could remember failed friendships, lost loves, and bitter feelings of failures too.
Still, I felt a certain amount of nostalgia despite the weight of these negative feelings. I almost wanted to experience everything again, although I wasn't sure why I was feeling this way. Concrete, asphalt, billboards and liquor stores were the normal vistas of everyday life. Occasionally, after a good rainstorm, the grey haze of smog would lift, and the mountains would be visible to the north. At least, they would be visible until mid-morning when the exhaust from a million cars covered them behind a veil of pollution.
It wasn’t until the first time I travelled out of the city that I realized there was more to see. Traveling up the coast north along the Pacific Coast Highway introduced me to scenes of deep blue ocean water spanning the width of my vision. Driving up Highway 3 introduced me to the permeating scent of Pine and Fir trees. The two-lane stretch of highway from Portland to Tillamook introduced me to lush green forests that I had only ever read about. When I came home to the same old dirty, dusty concrete and boiling summer asphalt, I had made up my mind. I would do everything it took to leave this place. I would not spend another day longer than was necessary living in cramped quarters and fighting for parking space.
I arrived to the house, and paused at the gate. The house sat in contrast of what the rest of the neighborhood looked like. Instead of overgrown grass and tall weeds all over the place, the landscaping showed signs of relatively recent work. The guava tree in the front lawn still had some fruit ready to be picked, and the avocado tree on the other side of the pathway was still weighed down by its own fruit. Flowers still bloomed in the raised bed in front of the house. My brother had clearly tried to keep up on things until the last possible moment. The house, too, looked better than what I expected after walking up 4 blocks and seeing nothing but dilapidated houses and unkempt yards. I opened the gate and walked up to the small porch. The metal gate that enclosed it was gone having been removed by my brother when he took over the property. It looked nice to see it open instead of the cage it once felt like.
I turned the knob on the door, but it didn't give. Ever a creature of habit, my brother had locked the door when he left. Of course, he did. I sighed and prepared to find another way in when I remembered my parents hiding a spare key. I wasn’t sure if it would still be there, but after running my hands along the back side of the gutter downspout, I was rewarded for my efforts. I unlocked the front door and stepped into the front living room, the sounds of my footsteps and the closing door echoing in the empty space. The room felt both larger and smaller than I remembered it. I suppose it was lack of furniture that made it feel larger, but it still felt smaller than I remember. The result of growing taller throughout the years I suppose. I slowly walked along the slate tile floor towards the central hallway that connected the front of the house to the back bedrooms. I wasn't entirely sure that just because the front door was locked, that there wasn't some squatter looking for a little temporary shelter within the back rooms. I carefully and silently crept step by step towards what used to be the bedroom shared by my sister and me. I stuck my head in and gave the room a cursory glance. It was empty, thankfully. I moved back into the hallway and peered into the bedroom across the hall. This is where both of my brothers had shared a room. It too, was empty save for a few boxes holding hardware and doorknobs from the closet doors of the bedroom. I walked back towards the back of the house where my parent's bedroom was. The walls in the hallway bore the dusty signs where picture once hung. The bedroom door was open. I stepped inside, and looked around. The old avocado paint that my mom had picked out years ago still adorned the walls. Walking further towards the addition that was the small room my grandma and grandpa lived in showed that there was no one here. I breathed a sigh of relief as I set my bag down and set up my tripod. I reached into my bag a pulled out an envelope of old photos. These were old snapshots that we had all taken at some point in time in the house. There were pictures of all of us sitting at the dining room table playing a game of Monopoly. There was a picture of my brother and sister sitting on a couch in the front living room. There was a picture of me hanging on the bars of the front porch. I looked through them all and held them in place in front of me as if I were holding a window to the past.
Each picture made the lump in my throat grow as I started to struggle to control my emotions. There was history here, and soon it would all be gone. This is the place where my parents had raised four kids. They had taken care of my grandparents in their twilight years here. My Aunt and my grandmother had both died in this house. Birthdays, graduation parties, and anniversaries had been celebrated here. The echoes of life had reverberated within the walls of this place. Now, the house sat silent. It would never again know happy screams of kids having a water-balloon war out in the front yard, nor would it hear the cries of anguish as the matriarch of the family passed away surrounded by her family. What once was a home full of life was now just an empty house made of drywall and paint. I sat there for a moment contemplating just how much family history was actually made here. As I thought hard about my siblings and my parents, I felt pained at the thought of our strained relationships. We had all scattered once we had the opportunity to be free of each other. My oldest brother had married and moved away as soon as possible. My sister now lived in northern California. My parents too had moved away. I was now living in Utah. Only my older brother had remained behind. The lump grew larger in my throat as tears welled up in my eyes. I held back sobs of anger and pain. Why was I hurting? Hadn’t I dealt with these issues already? I walked back to my old bedroom and sat down under the window. I pulled my head down into my knees and cried. I could hear yelling and screaming in my head. Shouting matches between siblings and parents, brothers and sister, rattled inside my brain, making the pain grow. I sat there and cried. I hadn’t cried like this in a long time. Eventually I ran out of tears and tired gasps of sorrow and regret washed over me as a blanket of drowsiness enveloped me. I leaned my head back and fell asleep.
I woke up to the sound of footsteps. It took me a moment to realize what I was hearing and hurriedly stood up. Had someone followed me? I knew the police were patrolling the area sporadically. Had they seen me enter the house? I knew there would be a possibility of getting a trespassing citation, but I figured I could either talk my way out of it seeing as to how I was a former resident, or I could probably fight the citation in court if the judge knew why I was there in the first place. Ultimately, passing through the gate had been a calculated risk that I was willing to take for the sake of my art. I got up from my corner of the room and moved towards the door. If there was someone in the house, I needed to know. I didn’t want my gear to stolen, and if there was a cop in the house, I wanted to ensure I didn’t get shot.
I was greeted by the sight of a startled chubby boy standing on the other side of the door. His round cherubic face was crowned by a head of short curly hair. His hazel green eyes stared widely back at me. He clearly didn’t expect someone to be here in the house. His body recoiled in fear as he cowered back towards the hallway. “Wait, what are you doing here?” I asked as non-threateningly as I could. The boy muttered something that I couldn’t quite make out. “What did you say? I couldn’t hear you” I replied. “Are you here to rob us?” he timidly responded. “Rob you? What are you talking about?” I asked as confusion set in. “What are you doing here?” It was his turn to be confused. “Uh…I….live here?” he replied. “What do you mean you live here? No one lives-“I stopped midsentence. I hadn’t noticed in my initial shock but the room wasn’t the same. A familiar blue couch caught the corner of my eye. In front of that was an old console TV with a partially broken antenna hanging on the wall behind it. I walked further in to the living room to notice wood paneling on the walls. A large mirror hung on the wall to my left. Familiar yellow lamps sat on round drop-leaf tables on either side of the couch. A large hutch sat in one corner, a collection of letters and bills, mail advertisements, and a phone book covered scattered over it. “What just happened?” I asked out loud to no one in particular. I was thoroughly mystified by what my eyes were seeing. I had walked into the house from the front door and had stepped into an empty white room with slate floor tiles, but somehow now found myself in a furnished room with brown carpet that was all so familiar to me, yet was nothing but a distant faded memory. I turned to look at the boy still startled by the intrusion of a strange man looking wildly around the room in total shock.
“You can take what you want, just please let me go. I don’t want problems.” He stated his voice still shrill with anxiety. I blinked a few times as I tried to process just what the heck was going on. I gathered my thoughts as best I could and tried to reassure him. “Kid, I’m not here to rob anyone. I was just-“I shook my head “Where the hell am I? Am I having a dream?” I asked myself. “I must be dreaming. I’m just tired and still sleeping. This is all a dream. Yeah, that’s it.” I needed to sit down. Being back in the old house must have overtaxed my senses, I told myself. I’d having a dream about an old memory. I walked over to the chair next to the couch and sat down. I sunk into it and rested my head back towards the wall.
The boy kept his distance, but sensed I wasn’t there to hurt him. He looked me over with anxious curiosity. He stood at the far end of the couch, examining me while he played out scenarios in his head in preparation for a quick exit. “Why are you in my house?” he asked me. “Dude, this is all just a dream I’m having. I’m not really here.” He reached over to the couch and picked up a pillow. He reared his arm and threw it at me. It landed in my lap. “I don’t know, man. You sure seem to be here.” He said to me. I opened my eyes, startled. I looked down at the pillow he tossed and examined it. I ran my hand over the fabric and felt its texture. I remember this pillow. This was the pillow I would roll under my head as I lay on the couch and watched TV as a kid. A sudden realization hit me as I looked around the room with fresh eyes. No longer was I blinded by the fog of confusion. I knew exactly where I was.
I was home.
I looked at the boy still standing at the edge of the couch. I looked him over and realized who he actually was. I stared in disbelief as I smiled and tried to put him at ease. “It’s ok Johnny. I’m not here to hurt you. No one is going to hurt you. Please, sit down” I told him. I motioned to his end of the couch. “Who are you, and why are you here?” he asked me.
“This will be hard to believe, but I’m you” I said with an incredulous tone, “I’m not sure how I ended up here, but I’m here.” He looked at me as I had grown a second head. “That doesn’t make any sense. How could you be me? Did we invent time travel? Oh! Are we secret government agents with the CIA?”
I chuckled. “Wait, wait, wait. Let’s start at the beginning. I’m you at 38 years old. You’re…what, 11… 12 years old? It makes sense. I fell asleep under the window in my- our old bedroom. I didn’t come here on purpose or in a machine. And no, I’m not a government agent.” His face contorted to display understanding, disappointment and finally suspicion. His eyes narrowed as he leaned in towards me. “How do I know you’re really me?” he asked. I thought about it for a moment. How could I prove to him that I was who I said I was? A few seconds of silence settled between us. I stroked my chin, thinking of a solution.
“I have a better idea. Ask me questions that only you know the answers to.” “Okay” he responded. He glanced around the room trying to come up with something. His eyes fixated on the Nintendo sitting under the TV cabinet. “What game do me and Nathan have a map of?” I looked over at the NES. I hadn’t thought about this for years, but I knew instantly what he was asking. “YOU don’t have anything. Nathan is the one that made the map for Section Z” His jaw dropped. He tried to trick me, but his plan failed. He knew well and good that Nathan never let him play. It was always ‘I’ll let you play when I die’ or, ‘you can play when I’m done’. The problem was that he never followed through. Usually by the time Nathan was done, the NES was overheated, and the game would no longer load until it cooled down. By that point, it was time for bed.
“How do you know that?” he asked in astonishment. “I know these things because I’m you. Just like I know that you wear t-shirts to the pool because you’re embarrassed by what others will think of your body. I know that you used to think that people that die off in movies were prisoners that were set to be executed from death row, so they used them for making movies. I know all about you because I’m you”
Johnny sat on the end of the couch in bewilderment, his mouth slightly agape. He had never told anyone any of this. He didn’t have any close friends to talk to about such things, and those friends he did have were more acquaintances than friends. There was only one way he could possibly know these things. He was talking to his future self.
I could see Johnny’s mind completely explode. There lay endless possibility and the answers to a million questions he could ask about his own future. He started to ask a question, only to stop, close his mouth, and try asking another. I knew if he kept this up he would have a stroke or something. “Dude, calm yourself. Let’s talk this out rationally, otherwise you’ll end up stroking out or something.” I told him. He took a deep breath and I could hear him muttering quietly. I knew he was trying to form a coherent sentence before he actually spoke it. I did it all the time. “Ok, first of all, are we rich?” he asked with tempered expectation. I chuckled and grinned back at him. “No, not at all. If I was rich, would I be dressed like this?” I replied as I motioned to my beat up brown Vans and worn out jeans and T-shirt. “We-, I – make enough to get by. I’m not poor, but I earn enough to pay the bills.” His face grew a smirk as he commented “Yeah, I figured. What do I do for work? I mean, what do you do for work?” I thought about it for a second. I wondered how much information I should divulge to a younger me. I still didn’t think this whole situation was really happening, but if it was, I probably should proceed with caution. “Well, it’s complicated. I do a little bit of everything. You know how you’re constantly taking things apart? Let’s just say that it’s good to put them back together in order to keep them working. Take good notes on paper if you need to, and make sure you have a clean work area so you can keep track of all the parts.” He gave me a sheepish look. He knew exactly what I was talking about. I had spent countless hours sneaking dad’s tools to my room so I could figure out how something was built and try to figure out how it worked. I had gotten myself into some pretty bad trouble with dad over a drill, his timing light, and other stuff I had taken from his room. His belt had become quite familiar with my butt cheeks.
I gave him a knowing smile. “What else do you want to know?” He thought about it for a second. “Do we have a girlfriend?” I laughed, probably a little more than I should have because his face contorted into a sour frown. “You don’t need to be a jerk about it” he scowled. I continued to chuckle. “Yeah we have a girlfriend. We have more than a girlfriend” I could tell he was irritated with my vague indirect answers. I knew what he was asking. I remember the crush I had on my neighbor across the street. We had been friends since kindergarten, and had been classmates for 1st, 2nd, and 4th grades. We got along really well, and I knew from around 12 or 13 that I wanted to be her boyfriend. Unfortunately, things never progressed beyond the ‘just friends’ stage of things. It wasn’t from lack of effort on my part. We had just grown up together most of our lives that she didn’t see me as anything more than a brother and friend. “Dude, look. You just started to go through changes and you are starting to notice girls, but that doesn’t mean that you need to love every girl that shows you a little kindness or subtle interest. You need to slow down and let things happen naturally. You can’t force a relationship with someone.” Johnny pondered these words for a moment. I sat back and put my feet up on the coffee table. I looked around the room some more while I waited for another question. There was so much I had forgotten, but being back here had unlocked more and more memories that continued to wash over me. I was trying to hold on to my cool as not all those churned up recollections were pleasant. I stood up and walked over to the front door to peer outside the small central window embedded into the center of it. I could see the old neighborhood as I remembered it all those years ago. The lot across the street that served as a parking area for those that worked at the wheel works at the end of the block was empty of cars. I furrowed my brow as I thought for a moment. An empty lot meant it was afterhours or the weekend.
The gears in my own head started turning. “Wait, where is everyone?” I asked Johnny. Johnny turned to look at me still processing my last response. “Uh..oh, Mom and dad are out of town. They took a trip east this time. I think Rio said they are in Arizona right now. Rio and Nathan went out to get some food and to rent some movies from Video Showcase. Knowing them they’ll eat out first. Talia is staying over at Tia Rosie’s place today with her friends.” I grunted at his response. My mind was wandering as he mentioned Talia and Tia Rosie.
A sudden sharp pain pieced my heart. The pain of a thousand memories now unsealed spilled out from the box I had locked them away in. Tears welled in the corners of my eyes as I turned back to look at Johnny. He felt it too. He stared at the floor with an intensity that made me think it would burst into flames at any moment. I walked back over to him and sat next to him. He didn’t move. I placed my hand on his shoulder, and he threw himself into me. I could feel the tears dripping onto me as he sobbed intensely. “Hey man, its ok. It’s going to be ok.” I said as my own tears started to flow uncontrollably. I pulled him close and draped my other arm around him.
I knew the pain he was feeling. It was such a heavy burden, and I knew there was no one he felt he could talk to. I remembered it all so vividly. We sat there for what seemed to be an eternity. When we finally stopped sobbing, and our noses ran dry, we tried to breathe our way through to calmness. I got up and knelt in front of him. “Johnny, listen to me and remember what it is that I’m about to say to you. You are stronger than you think. You are stronger than you believe. NO ONE should ever have to go through this. Just because it happened to Talia, doesn’t mean you have to put up with it any longer. I know you didn’t think it was wrong, but I’m telling you that what she is doing to you is wrong. Talking to mom and dad isn’t going to make them hate you. You are not doing this to her, she is doing it to you. I’m not making excuses for her, but she is also more damaged than anyone realizes, and she is also dealing with the same level of pain you are. Remember that we do unto others what has been done to us. That doesn’t mean we need to continue the cycle of abuse” The lump in my throat grew immense at my own statement. I swallowed it as best I could and continued “You are going to deal with this pain a little bit at a time, and you’ll slowly get over this. It’s like a broken bone. When it happens, you don’t realize how bad the pain is until the adrenaline wears off, but then the immense pain is there. Just remember that this will pass. Just like a broken bone, you will heal over time, and one day, you will realize that the pain is gone and the bone is no longer broken. You’ll remember the pain, but it won’t hurt anymore.”
Johnny sat there in stunned silence. I knew he didn’t have anyone to help him through this. He couldn’t talk to Rio or Nathan about what was going on. Mom and Dad were constantly working to keep the family fed and sheltered and while they provided materially for their kids, emotional help was less available. Perhaps it was due to their energies being divided into 4 kids, a mortgage and multiple jobs, or perhaps it was also the culture of not talking about problems. Either way, they needed to know what was happening. They wouldn’t be able to fix it otherwise. “They’re going to be mad at me” he finally said after a few moments of silence. “No they won’t be. They love us all. I know you’re not used to hearing it, but they do love you. Everything they do is because of their love for us. This isn’t your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. Telling them isn’t going to cause them to be angry.” I thought for a moment to find a good analogy. “You love Odie and Lady, right?” He nodded in agreement. “Ok, how would you feel if you knew someone you trusted was coming to the house and beating up our dogs when we weren’t around?” He thought about it for a second before his face changed to anger. “I’d want to kill them!” “Yes, but would you also feel sad that you weren’t there to try to protect them?” I reasoned. His face changed again. He understood what I was saying. Mom and Dad would be angry, but not necessarily at him. They would also feel a great sadness knowing that someone was hurting their child.
I smiled at him. He understood. I nodded. “Dude…You’re going to come to understand that life is not what you think it will be. Life is messy and can change in an instant. The plans you make today may not make it to next week. A lifelong goal can be derailed because of something out of your control. Mom and dad have spent their life protecting us with the goal of keeping us safe, but circumstances out of their control have affected their kids, and now we- you all have to deal with the fallout. Just remember that you are not the culprit. Yes, mom and dad will be hurt and angry, but not at you. Trust them. They don’t do things to hurt us” Johnny hugged me. I- He didn’t have many people he could trust and open up to. He liked to talk a lot about everything going on in his life, no matter how trivial. Everything, except this. This was a shameful topic, and he didn’t feel like anyone would understand why he didn’t go to an adult sooner. The problem was simple. He simply didn’t understand that it was wrong. Now that he had an adult that he could talk to, himself no less, he wanted to lift this burden off his shoulders. He was happy to have found someone and he hugged me tightly. I hugged him back just at tightly. It wasn’t every day that I could meet my younger self and help to comfort them. “Thank you” he said to me.
The world darkened, and everything faded to black.
I lifted my head out of my knees and looked around. I was sitting under the window in my old bedroom again. Had I fallen asleep? I pulled my phone out of my pocket and checked the time. I was emotionally drained and incredibly tired. I hadn’t had sleep like that in years. I got to my feet and looked around the room briefly before walking out to mom and dad’s old room. I grabbed my camera and slowly walked the house, snapping picture after picture. The only sound to be heard was the sound of the camera shutter and my soft footsteps. I thought about my dream as I took pictures.
Upon entering my room, a random memory hit me.
The stash.
I was pretty sure I had taken the hidden box when I moved out all those years ago, but since I was here, I should double check. Heading into the closet, I pushed the panel that led to the attic space out of the way and peered in. I couldn’t see anything, so I reached up there to feel around. The box was indeed gone. I felt around for a few more seconds and was surprised to feel what felt like a thick envelope. I didn’t remember leaving anything up there, but after pulling it down and giving it a cursory glance, I figured it was an old envelope of lost love letters. It wasn’t until I blew off the thick layer of dust that I realized what I was holding. It was a letter. Not just any letter. It was addressed to me.
Under the now semi-cleared layer of dust were the words “To be opened by future me”. I looked at it for a few moments before opening it. I couldn’t remember making this at all, much less storing it up in my secret hiding spot. If ever I hid something, it was in the stash box. My hands shook a bit as I started to open the envelope and pulled out the yellowed pages inside. I started reading.
"Dear Future John. I have spent the last few years remembering a dream I had when I was younger. Life was…difficult at that time, and I spent a lot of time escaping my reality by reading a lot of books and watching a lot of TV. On the off-chance that what I think is a dream really happened. I wanted to write some things down in an effort to give you my thanks. I merely consider myself a conveyer of thanks, although I will pile on my own thanks to you for your words of encouragement. I remember finding a stranger in the house one day while I was home alone. I was afraid he was there to hurt me at first, but after a few moments, I came to realize I was meeting myself. Well, I was meeting me, but from the future. I think he said he was in his 40’s, but I couldn’t tell you with any certainty. Either way, we talked. We talked about life, and what the future held in store for us…
Mostly though, we talked about the abuse. Well, Talked is being generous. We cried, and then we talked. I don’t remember exactly what he told me, but I remember how he made me feel. He made me feel safe. I felt like I could trust him. Trust myself. In the end, he gave me the courage to stand up for myself both at home and at school. He also gave me the courage to talk to mom and dad about what was going on between me and Talia. I do remember being afraid that I would be punished, but he reassured me that they wouldn’t, and that they loved me.
It was a difficult and awkward conversation, but in the end, arrangements were made for me to share a room with Rio and Nathan. I didn’t have much of a relationship with Talia for a long while, but after some years, we managed to patch things up. She apologized to me, and I came to understand the abuse she herself was subjected to by so-called family friends. She didn’t tell me this in an effort to excuse it, but to merely help give me closure to a difficult time from my own childhood. Mom and dad promised to be more attentive to us and we sort of established what I guess you would call an open door policy. We talk more about stuff that’s happening in our lives. Mom is much easier to talk to now. Dad is a little more patient with us too. I apologized to them for not coming to them sooner, and dad gave me a “nugget of wisdom” that I think I’ll live by: We can’t fix what we don’t know is broken. I’ve tried to make sure I talk to them when something is wrong, and I’ve tried to implement that in my life so I don’t have problems with other people.
I’m trying to grow up to be a good guy. I want to have good relationships with people. Nathan says I’m turning into a people pleaser, but I don’t necessarily see that as a terrible thing. I know when to say no to someone. Well, either way, I wanted to make sure I thank you for the help you gave us. I probably won’t remember writing this, but I hope I do find it again someday. Here’s hoping I turn into the man I feel you are. -John Age 16."
I stared at the letter, the words blurring as tears welled up in my eyes. I quickly brushed them away as I quietly spoke to no one in particular. “Thanks guys. I hope I live up to your expectations” I folded the letter, placed it in my pocket, and walked out of the room. After picking up my backpack and tripod, I silently walked towards the front door, my footsteps echoing in the empty house. I turned to look back at the empty living room one last time, and after a moment, I walked out.

Mr. Winslow accused my mother of stealing his dead wife’s jewelry.
I explained it was impossible. He was welcome to search the tiny apartment I shared with my mother and aunt, he could look wherever he wanted.
“We share a tiny space,” I said. “We barely have enough room for our clothes. I don’t even know where she would hide jewelry.”
I was worried we would lose him as a client. Which would suck because cleaning his house was basically the majority of our rent cheque. But a week later he found the pearl necklace, it had somehow travelled down to his basement.
“I’m still missing the gold bangle though,” he said. “And some earrings.”
I told him I was sorry, but I had no idea. If my mom or aunt found it on their next clean, I promised they would let him know right away.
He hummed and hawed. There might’ve been a week where he hired a different maid service, but eventually he called back, asking if he could hire all three of us on-site again.
I thanked him profusely. I told him we’d keep an eye out for the missing valuables.
***
On our drive over, I had my mom and aunt practice the apology we would give him in English. Even though we didn’t steal anything, I explained we should still say sorry.
“Why?” My aunt asked. “That’s so stupid.”
“Everyone apologizes for everything in Canada. Just trust me. He will want it.”
“We need the work,” my mom said.
For a second my aunt revved up to say something else, but then let it go. We did need the work.
When we arrived, Mr. Winslow was on a phone call, watching his two large goldendoodles play in the front yard. He waved, then gestured to the front door. My mom and aunt gave small bows and carried their cleaning supplies inside.
Before I could enter, he put the phone behind his ear and approached me.
“Ida, hi. Good to see you again. Listen, don't worry about the jewelry. Water under the bridge. Hey. I’m leaving in an hour or so, and I won’t be back until late tonight. I’m wondering if you’d be interested in dog-sitting? You’ve been around Toto and Kipper. What do you think? I’d really appreciate the help.”
I never liked the way he looked at me. It was always too close, and it lingered for too long. My aunt may have been right in that he hired us back just to see me again, but I ignored the thought.
“And don’t worry, I can cover your cab back. My usual walker is just out on holiday. You can help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge. How does six hundred sound?”
I looked at his house and imagined if I would be comfortable there. Alone at night.
“I’ll make it seven-hundred. I know it's last minute. I just hate leaving them alone. Plus Toto has his medicine. You would do me a real solid.”
My apron needed adjusting so I put down my bucket. I focused on the polyester knot, keeping my gaze away from his. I really didn’t want to be doing this, but my aunt would call me stupid for refusing easy money. And frankly, so would I.
“I had plans, but I’m willing to give them up.” I said with a straight face. “Eight hundred and it’s a done deal.”
He paused for a second, observing me scrupulously. Then he found his usual, smarmy half-smile. “You’re a life saver, you know that? An Angel.”
His hand gripped my shoulder. Then patted it twice.
***
Both my mom and aunt were pleased about the extra cash, they said I deserved to make extra for all the bookkeeping I do. But they also both voiced their concerns for safety. They said they could stay with me if I wanted.
“Safety? Mamãe I’m just watching two dogs.”
My mom wiped a caked red stain off his counter. An old wine spill. “Yes, but so late in his house? You’re not worried he might … I don’t know …”
Might what? Exploit me?
I met his groundskeeper once, another immigrant contractor. Except the groundskeeper was being paid far less, because he never properly negotiated. Mr. Winslow was certainly capable of exploiting people when he wanted to, and I’m sure he would try the same on my family.
But I was different. I’d gone to school in Banniver, and I knew the little maneuvers played by the so-called “progressive people in North America.”
And Winslow knew it too.
He didn’t realize a Canadian-raised daughter organized her mom’s cleaning service. Or that she would show up on the first day as a statement. That statement being: You can’t get away with mistreating these old Brazilian women. And you certainly can’t swindle them out of the going rates in his neighborhood. I’m onto you.
I had asserted myself with this Mr. Winslow, and felt confident that I could stand my ground if he tried any bullshit.
“Mamãe I’m not worried about him. Really, I’m not. He’s a pushover.”
***
6:00PM rolled around, it was just me and the goldendoodles.
My mom and aunt were back at home, watching low-res soaps on a Macbook, but they said if I encountered anything strange—a sound, a smell, an unexpected car in the driveway—to give them a call right away.
“Mamãe, its two dogs. I’ll be fine.”
“Just keep your phone close Ida. Your auntie has sensed things in that house. Unpleasant things.”
I forgot to mention my aunt thinks of herself as an amateur medium. In the village she grew up in, she claimed she could sometimes see people who were recently deceased.
But I never really believed her. Mostly because it was also my auntie’s idea to charge families who wanted to forward messages to the very same people who were recently deceased.
“Okay mamãe, whatever you say. I’ll phone you if I get scared.”
“That house has a history Ida, you could feel it in the walls. The outside too.”
It sure does. A history of being owned by a wealthy prick.
***
The sun slinked below the overcast horizon like a dying lantern. It got dark much faster than I expected.
I kept all the lights on, and played with the dogs a bit, trying to encourage them to try piss on the shag rug. Neither did. They mostly wanted naps.
I tried napping for a bit too, but the leather couch felt like it was made of rock. I just couldn’t get comfortable.
Eventually I made myself dinner—some pasta that had been bought from Whole Foods—and ate it while scrolling on my phone.
I was just about done, ready to take my dirty plate in the sink when I first heard it.
The first explosion.
It came from the basement. A vibrating KAPOW that rattled the windows and chandelier on my floor. It sounded like someone had set off a cherry bomb.
What the hell?
I turned to the dogs who were just as scared as I was. They came whimpering with tails between their legs.
Could a pipe have burst or something?
I looked at the basement door, an area we were not instructed to clean, and then heard another explosion.
Vases shook. A painting went tilted. It sounded louder. Like full grade firework. I had lived in Rio de Janeiro, by Prianha beach, where they often launched celebratory fireworks. This was just as deafening.
I didn’t want to go down to the basement. In fact, I sat by the front door.
Both dogs huddled around me.
***
Twenty minutes passed. It had been quiet.
Out of pride I refused to call my mom—I didn’t want to admit I was scared. Instead, I spent the time going through all the rational answers in my head that could explain away the noise. Plumbing, terrorism, teen pranks … hot springs?
There were hot springs all over West Bann.
Obviously, some kind of pent-up geyser had lay dormant for a while, and it was now suddenly unleashing a ton of energy below Mr. Winslow’s house. To distract myself, I Wikipedia’d the history of West Banniver, and satisfied this theory.
During the 1850’s gold rush, West Banniver saw rapid settlement as a mining town. The proliferation of mine shafts soon led to a discovery of underground hot springs. Mayfield Briggs Ltd which was the first company to seize the opportunity as a tourist attraction…
That’s all it was. A hot spring releasing a buildup of pressure.
Then a third explosion came.
It was so loud and violent that the door to the basement flew open. I fell to the ground and covered my head as several books went flying off nearby shelves.
The dogs yipped and barked like crazy. They stood in front of me, guarding against an unseen force. A voice shrieked from the basement.
“HELP!!! HELLLLP!”
Rivets shot through my hands and knees. I was frozen to the floor.
“PLEEEEEEASE!”
It had the high-pitched desperation of someone whose life was about to end. I raised my head and listened closely to hear haggard, dusty coughing. It sounded like an old man’s cough. It echoed through the basement and into the living room. Between coughs the man continued to plead for his life.
HELLLLP!”
I had no idea who it could be or how he got down there.
Before I could think, one of the dogs shot past me, bolting down the basement steps, barking ferociously.
“Kipper!”
I tried to grab the loose leash, but I could only hold the collar of his sibling. “Kipper come back here!”
“HELLO?” The voice from below seemed to recognize my presence. “PLEASE, YOU’VE GOT TO HELP!”
I was now upright, breathing as fast as Toto was panting. I tied Toto to the thick rails on the stairs. I had to save the other dog.
Instinctually I grabbed my phone, slipped an AirPod in one ear, and dialed my mother without even looking at the screen.
“Mãe. There’s … something terrible is happening.”
My mother was suitably confused. Even more so when she heard the screaming of the man downstairs as his voice echoed in the living room. It was a cry of immense, awful pain.
After two slower, more detailed explanations of what I just heard, my mother told me to call the fire department. “Poke your head through the basement, see what’s happening. Then call the fire department.”
That made sense to me. I inched my way to the basement entrance and tried to see past the doorway. It was complete darkness. There was no light switch.
I turned the torch on my phone, and my aunt’s voice came blaring. “Get out of there Ida! I am telling you, there is darkness in that house!”
As I illuminated the dusty wooden stairs, I saw that they only lead only to more pitch black. Yup, plenty of darkness here.
There was some phone-wrestling. My mother came back on. “What is it? What did you see?”
“Don’t encourage her! Get her to leave!” my auntie yelled in the background.
I told them to pipe down because I could suddenly hear the gentle whimpering at the base of the stairs. The dog sounded close.
“Kipper come! This way! Follow my voice!”
I went down a few steps further, expecting the basement floor to appear any second, but there were only more wooden steps. How long was this staircase?
“Kipper?”
There was a flat, cold wall on my left, and no guard rail to speak of. I stepped down each step very carefully to maintain my balance, sliding my hand along the wall.
Then the wall disappeared. I flew forward.
***
I woke up lying face-first on rocky floor. My phone was cracked next to me. My mother was crying in my ear. “Ida! Ida! Oh my god! Ida!”
I looked up to see I was not at the bottom of someone’s basement. There were lights all above me. Lanterns. They were illuminating a cavernous, rocky chamber that led to many tunnels with train tracks and wooden carts. I was in the opening of a massive underground mine.
I coughed, and gave out a weak “… what?”
“Ida is that you? Are you… brrzzzzz” My mom’s voice faded.
Before I could reply, I saw the crooked form of a man in tan coveralls, shaking the immobile body of another person in coveralls next to him. In fact, there was a small row of half a dozen miners all slumped against a blasted rock wall. There were bits of granite, wood, rope, and what looked like entrails splattered all throughout.
“Oh the cruelty …” the one, standing miner said. He went from body to body and jostled each of his coworkers. “Must I find you all like this … every time?”
I crawled up to a half-standing pose and tried to see the face of the hunched over survivor.
My heart dropped.
He had no face.
The explosion which must have killed some of friends had also blasted away this man’s entire sternum, neck and skull. The miner wasn’t hunched over or leaning away with his head, he just simply … had no head.
And up there, floating right in the middle of where his face should be, were a set of eyeballs, glistening under the yellow lights.
The eyes turned to me. “Oh. Why hello. Hello there.”
Terrified, I rose to complete standing and opened both my palms in a show of total deference. “I don’t know. I don’t know who you are or what this is.”
The headless miner walked toward me. I noticed he carried a pickaxe in his right arm. He gestured with his left to where his ear would be.
“I’m sorry I can’t hear you. Had an accident.”
Despite him having no head, his voice still came from where his mouth would be. There was an earnestness in his speech, it might have had something to do with his very old-timey accent, but I still felt like he was trying to be friendly.
“Another batch of faulty dynamite. Everyone’s dead. But what else is new.”
He brought his left palm to his face, perhaps to wipe away tears, but instead his hand travelled through his nonexistent head to scratch a small portion of his back.
“Been dead for many years I’m afraid. But I’ve kept busy. Been a good man. Worked very hard for the boss upstairs.”
He gestured upwards with the pickaxe. I looked up, and out in the distance, I saw a large, ancient, set of wooden stairs that I must have fallen from. They extended far up into the mine’s ceiling and kept going.
“He’s gotten good ore from me. Good, shining, golden ore. I have a knack for it you see. The same knack that killed me so many years ago. It's probably what’s still keeping me around though.”
He came closer. I could see he had brown irises, with one of the cataracts deteriorating into milky white haze. The eyes stared at me, unblinking.
“Because I’m not done, see. This mine isn’t empty. I know there’s more gold. Much more. And it’s not all for the boss. No, I’m keeping some to myself. Don’t tell him, but I’ve been stashing a large deposit for myself. It can’t all be his of course. It’s my mine after all. Half these tunnels were dug entirely by me. So of course I deserve some. It’s only natural.”
I lifted my hand and pointed at the staircase behind him. I mouthed very big, obvious words. “I have to go back. I’m going back up those stairs.”
He shifted his body. His two eyes turned in the air as if they were still inside an invisible skull. I saw nerve endings at the back undulate and twist.
“Yes, that is the only way up.”
My heart was in my throat. At least I found some form of communication. I gestured to knee height and nervously asked if he had seen a “large, shaggy dog.”
“Ah yes. I’ve seen the pooches. They come down here sometimes. When the booms don’t scare em that is. Hahah.”
I gave a thumbs up. It felt like a ridiculous interaction with a ghost, or zombie or whatever this was, but at least it was working.
“I think I saw his little tail run over that way. They like the smell of the mineral spring.”
I turned behind to see the long tunnel he was pointing at. It was dimly lit by a chain of smaller lanterns.
I thought I saw a flutter of movement, and I would have kept looking further if it wasn’t for my aunt’s voice that suddenly exploded in my ear. “Brrrzt … Ida! If you can hear us, we are calling the police to your location. Help is coming soon! … ”
I winced and stepped back—which saved my life. I just so happened to step right out of the way of a pickaxe. It sparked the ground.
I gasped and stared at the headless miner. His eyes were shimmering with a dark focus, staring directly at mine.
“Oh I’ll help you find the dog. I’ll help you find whatever you want. But I’ll need those clean new eyes of yours first.”
He swung at my head. I ducked. He went for the backswing. I ran.
Stupidly, I ran in the opposite direction of the stairs. I ran straight into the long tunnel lined with dim lanterns.
But I couldn’t turn around. I had no idea how quick he could move. And the speed of his pickaxe felt supernatural.
The tunnel was narrow, and lined with wooden tracks, I had to skip-run-jump over the panels with immense precision to make sure I didn’t trip. Behind me, his voice chased.
“Go ahead. Run. I know where these all lead.”
I ignored the words and kept going. The tunnel bent left, then right, then left again. I ignored several exits before the tunnel spat me out into an open, cavernous room filled with dozens and dozens of minecarts.
I investigated the room for anything useful. A far opposite wall appeared to be the site of the latest digging, loose rock lay everywhere.
There was a small mineshaft holding a chained up cart. And something in the cart shimmered…
It was gold.
And not just ore either. There were bars, coins, medallions, and jewelry. Mrs. Winslow’s bangles were right on top.
I ran to the cart furthest from the entrance and ducked behind it, breathing heavily, coughing from all the dust.
The headless man emerged from the tunnel, pickaxe raised and scanning where I could have hid. “I may not be able to hear you. But I can follow footprints pretty easily hah. I know you’re in here.”
He grabbed the closest minecart available and pushed it into the tunnel entrance. With an immense show of strength, he lifted and dislodged the cart off the track, cramming it sideways, creating a massive obstacle.
I was sealed inside.
Trying to stay absolutely still, I coughed through my teeth. Lungs burning. My mom’s voice came through.
“Brrzzztt… The police should be there! I told them you were in danger! They said they sent a unit over. Maybe they broke down the front door?”
I looked up at the mine shaft next to me. If it did connect to the surface upstairs, this was my only chance.
I gave a couple good yells. “HEEEEELP!!! DOWN HERE!! HELP!”
I don’t know if it did any good, but it was better than nothing. I turned to see if the miner had heard anything.
He hadn't.
The pickaxe tapped and clanged awkwardly around minecart after minecart.
I had a bigger advantage than I thought.
Although the miner had two floating eyeballs, only the left one was really capable of seeing anything.
So I kept my distance and watched where he was going, always staying behind.
As he limped and peered around minecarts, I was able to evade him, move from behind rock piles and other carts, careful not to leave a trail in the rock dust.
It was all going well until I heard a familiar panting.
“Oh look. If it isn’t precious.”
The dog had managed to jump over the miner’s blockade. It must have heard my yells. Surprisingly, Kipper was unafraid of the headless villain, and even approached him to receive pets.
“Now why don’t you go say hello to our other friend here huh? I know she's here somewhere.”
No. Kipper. Please. Don’t.
The dog started sniffing. Within seconds he found my scent. Kipper skipped towards me like Lassie and excitedly licked my face.
“Aww there we are. Now isn’t that a good boy?”
I stood up and stared at the filthy, ash-stained coveralls. Despite the lack of teeth, I could sense a menacing grin where the mouth should be.
He wasn't going to lose sight of me now. I had nowhere to go.
So I did the thing my auntie said worked on all spirits. I fell to my knees and prayed.
“Please. I only came here for work. I’m too young to die. Let me go and I won't tell anyone that you're here.”
He stood over me. Both of his pupils started to quiver. In just a few seconds, his eyes were swimming excitedly within the space of his head.
I took off the only valuable I had. A gold necklace with a miniature version of Christ the Redeemer. A gift I had received as a teen in Rio. I held it out in my shaking hands.
“Please. Take it. Take everything.”
Suddenly both the eyeballs stared forward again, entranced by the gold.
“Well look at that. How generous. How generous of her. We should reward generosity shouldn’t we?”
***
It was hard for me to describe to the police officer how exactly I got out, because I have no idea.
The fiery pain where my eyes used to be overwhelmed my entire reality for hours. All I wanted was for it to stop.
They found me half inside a dumbwaiter bleeding to death from the gouges in my face.
I was taken to the hospital, where I would spend the next four weeks recovering.
The police did not in fact storm the house like my mom said. They waited outside for the homeowner to return. But when they heard my screams coming from the top floor, they broke the back door and eventually came to my rescue.
I’m told they did a thorough investigation but could not find any of the things I described.
The basement door led into a regular basement. It was filled with old furniture, unused decor, and paint cans. No Mine.
The dumbwaiter was also just a dumbwaiter. It wasn’t some mine shaft, and it didn’t lead any deeper than the basement. Nothing special.
There were definitely hot springs close by, but nothing close enough to damage Mr. Winslow's property. And there was an old, depleted gold mine not far away either, but it was completely abandoned, closed off, and nowhere near as big as the one I had described.
***
The police, paramedics and doctors all thought my story was some hallucination. That I had been on drugs or had some mental breakdown (even though they couldn’t find anything in me other than small traces of weed.)
Thankfully, my mother and aunt believed me. They believed every word. My aunt is the one who encouraged me to make this post, so others could hear my story.
I know it was real.
I know it was.
And Mr. Winslow is fully aware of the mine’s existence.
Putting the dots together, I realized it was likely the source of his wealth. Winslow had some control over that one headless miner down there.
Did Winslow intentionally entrap me? Was he trying to get the miner a new set of eyes? Or was it all an unfortunate accident?
I might never know.
But what I do know is that Mr. Winslow has been paying for our rent ever since the accident.
He feels “terrible about the situation” and “can’t possibly imagine” what I’ve been through.
But he knows what happened.
He knows if I really pushed, If I really forced the police, or some private investigator to look into it—they would uncover something awful. Something really really bad.
“Anything you need. Anything at all. I will cover it, Ida.” He said. “You helped me out, protected my dogs, and I will never forget it.”
He’s offered to pay for the rest of my University schooling. And once my face heals up, he’s even offered to cover for some very expensive, experimental eye-transplant. We’ll see how that goes.
“You and your family will live comfortably from now on. You’ll want for nothing. Tell me exactly what you need, And you’ll get it.”
So I told him I'd like my necklace back. It was an heirloom. I said I lost it somewhere in his house.
A few days later, he returned with the usual smug, half-crooked smirk in his voice. He brought the necklace back in a box, pretending he had bought me a new one. Except it felt exactly like my old one.
It was all shined up, completely buffed of scratches, but it weighed the same. It was my old one for sure.
When my mom saw it she asked, “did it always have it? This dedication?”
As far as I remembered, the backside of the tiny Christ the Redeemer was always plain. I fingered its shape in my hands.
“What dedication?”
The new little divots caught my nails. There was writing that was definitely not there before.
My mom described it as a curly, serif font. Like a gift for a lover.
~ You’re an angel ~
~ W ~

So here I am stuck in the middle of two annoying situations that are dumping loads of stress on to me. I recently (by recently within the last 9 months) bought a car from Car Max and paid a pretty penny for a used car with low miles (around 6k miles and 1 owner). I'm loving the car and driving it as my daily, about 7-8 months go by and I've now put on about 9k miles and have taken it to a Subaru Dealership to have oil changed and look over the car. All appears well and in working order. I then begin noticing an issue with idle and cold starts where the engine seems to be struggling and shaking more than usual and then the dash lit up like a christmas tree. Take it to the Subaru dealer to run code and its VVT solenoid or cam shaft sprocket. They also find some debris in the oil. Change the oil and parts and its still having issues and is said to need a new engine per Master Tech at Subaru. MaxCare says they won't cover anything while there is still a manufacturer warranty in place. Subaru believes there may have been an issue or modified by the previous owner and when something started to arise they parted it back to stock and sold it. Now I'm stuck with the issue and dealing with Subaru and MaxCare (which doesn't seem to care to the max). subaru WRX
Second stress inducing issue is dealing with my Home Insurance, made a claim with Nationwide about storm damage to my roof causing water damage to the interior of my house. I had 3 independent contractors come out and inspect my roof as well as the interior damage to the room/attic. All three took photos and reported that there was storm damage from winds and an active leak due to said damage. So I file a claim with Nationwide and they send out an independent inspector to assess the damages for the claim. SeekNow is sent out and he comes into the house to photograph the interior damage and then go up on the roof to finish up the inspection. The inspector for SeekNow finishes and then leaves without saying a word. I wait a week and call Nationwide again to follow up as I have heard nothing from Nationwide or from SeekNow. I am told via phone call with my claims adjustor that the SeekNow inspector found no damage to my roof and no signs of storm damage. I was shocked and a bit peeved if I must be honest. I've had 3 different contractors inspect beforehand and all saw damage and shared with me photos of said damage to my home. So how could this inspector from SeekNow be so blind.
Sorry for the dump but I am in need of some advice. I'm a single income adult attempting to navigate these waters but I do not have the resources to pay for an engine to a new car with only 16k total miles nor do I have the money to pay for a new roof and the drywall/painting repair for the house. Nationwide does not seem to be on your side despite the jingle and CarMax/MaxCare does not seem to want to own up to not fully inspecting cars they purchase before off loading it onto the new customer.

I found a 4 leaf clover on (5-5-24). Everyone believes it is cursed and want me to get rid of it. I am not sure if it's actually cursed though, or if it actually gives goodluck in the times of bad. The reason everyone thinks it's cursed is because the next day (5-6-24) is when the tragedies started.
The first tragedy is my house caught on fire on the Monday of (5-6-24). The breakerbox exploded and shot out flames. We ended up and having to stay in hotels this last week.
From there things just kept happening. My brother in law had heart problems and was in the ER for 3 days. (5-7-24) He got lucky to not have a heart attack. Just irregular beat for those days.
Next my roommates girlfriend might have a tumor in her uterus. His mom has a lump on her breast. And his dad is on his death bed. (5-8-24) We will call him roommate number 1.
On (5-9-24) Roommate number 2s childhood dog died.
On (5-10-24) my trauma responses hit. For some reason i get a delayed response to trauma. So if I lose an arm. I wont stress or react for 1 to 2 days. It hit me on this day. Which is 4 days so that is a longer one. So my mom and I worked at the same place. She ended up and getting fired on that friday. I'm exhausted because we worked the night shift and they wanted me to work despite the fire because everything's closed during my hours anyway. We will have to see how my work relations go after that.
(5-11‐24) I get the city report for the fire. They found $1000s of dollars worth of stuff I have to fix to be up to code, this stuff is not fire related so insurance won't cover it.
(5-12-24) We have two dogs and my friend was watching one for us and we had the other. We would let the dog into the backyard of the house during the day. I left her there and went to church. Someone broke into the garage and house and left the doors open. They stole a gun from the house and either took the dog, or she ran away. We don't know. My friend that is watching our other dog just called me crying. The other dog broke his outside leash and ran into the highway and got hit by a car. He was dead immediately.
(5-14-24) 2 things happened one of the bad lucks happened a few months ago but it completed today.
So a few months ago I started having these dreams about these spirits coming in and taking one my pet rabbits. I had these dreams every day for a week. The spirits had already picked a bunny they were taking. After that week, when I came home. All of the rabbit cages were thrown around, and the rabbits were out everywhere. The bunny was not missing. I fixed the cages and put everything back together.
The next day I came home to the same thing. Rabbit cages everywhere. But all of the rabbits were accounted for even the one that was chosen. This would happen every day for a week straight. And I did everything I could to prevent the cages from being thrown around. I reinforced them, and made for sure that they weren't falling. But every day I had come home to find them trashed. But was able to get all the bunnies back in the cages.
The very last day none of the cages were trashed. Everything was still in its place. Except for the cage of the bunny that was chosen, the door was opened and the bunny was gone. I tore the house apart for 4 days straight, looking for that bunny, but there was no sign. A few months have went by since then. And I've never had a problem with the cages since. I imagined the Bunny running around in the fae lands or something. But I always wonder if I would just randomly find him dead on a day that the bad luck wanted to make me suffer.
I found him. There was a tank of water in my basement, that catches the sewer water that overflows into the basement. It's hard to reach and usually behind the washer but since we have the electrician fixing the breaker box that exploded I took that tank outside and dumped it out. The Bunny came out. Is it almost looked still alive. Just wet. I picked him up and he fell apart. All that was left was hair and bones.
This bad luck was one that happend before the clover. But I was right on him appearing at a bad time. A half an hour later, one of my bunnies randomly laid down and died. So I feel like the bad luck took 2 bunnies that day. Even though one was actually mouths ago. With both bunnies form both times going at the same time. That tells me all of this was planned. It's been planning all of this for awhile.
The bad things keep piling up. But there are good events to counteract some of the bad. Not all have solved yet. The dogs are a hard one. The gun worries me that it will be used in a crime and I will get blamed. I did report it to the police.
Everyone believes that the 4 leaf clover is cursed because that's when this started. It's from a type of clover that does not grow 4 leaves. The normal 4 leaf clover from Ireland is a different type. So this one is a mutation. I look at it as rarer and luckier because of the mutation. I look at it like I found a shiny Pokémon. Everyone else says it's bad because it's mutated and the bad genetics create bad luck.
I am torn because I don't want to just get rid of it. As a kid I spent hours looking for 4 leaf clovers before I was told these ones won't grow them. So it was a childhood disappointment fulfilled.
So what I was thinking of doing. Is maybe I will post it on ebay as the cursed 4 leaf clover. I will include this story printed out. I will gather as much proof of the tragedies as I can. I know my house was in the paper. Maybe I will get a clipping of it. I have it taped in a vinyl tape but I also took a picture of it when I first picked it. It got scrunched in the tape alittle. But I will add the fresh picked picture. Then I will post it for $500 starting. It would be that big of a number for a cupple reasons.
First, is that I don't want to give it up. (Childhood disappointment fulfilled) and if it's actually giving goodluck to counter the bad. second, would be to protect the curious but poor people. Someone who could shell out $500 for a clover is probably rich enough to afford some tragedies. And third, it would help allot in this hard time.
I will post it under the conditions that this post, or other reposts of this story I do, blow up or go viral. If this is viral then it might be worth it because people would be interested in the clover. Could actually sell. Then I know it's worth putting everything together. If this happens, I will leave an update on here with the link to the posting and where to find it.
What do you guys think? Do you think it's cursed? Or do you think it's actually lucky and helped in the bad times?

I wanted to share my experience with the entire Carvana package now that our car is paid off and all monetary transactions with them are over.
This will get long, as it started in 2019.
We bought our 17' Rogue from Carvana in April of 2019. I was researching vehicles for close to 3 months before finally pulling the trigger on this particular model. It was about 34k miles, 2.5 years old, located in Illinois. I liked the geographic area for chances the vehicle hadn't seen a lot of snow for the first 2 years of it life as Carfax activity showed it was most likely in the southern part of the state.
I also chose this specific Rogue as the VIN indicated the vehicle was made in South Korea, as opposed to Tennessee. The difference is all Rogues made in South Korea received engines and CVT's from Japan, while US made models had engines from Japan or US, and CVT's from Mexico which was a no go for me. I will also go one more and state Korean labor for assembly is far more disciplined than what you find in the US and especially mexico. Fun fact for those still paying attention - The Nissan Rogue's that have the flat Nissan logo on the grille behind smoked plastic were made in South Korea. They stopped production there in early 2020.
What interested me in Carvana was-

Buying a car is the sleaziest most frustrating process from a dealer
I could hand pick from an inventory of cars across the country willing to pay for delivery
They offered me 500 dollars off the final price of a car in a letter campaign, as they were still growing

I started looking over inventory for a month, and decided to sign up and go for the soft credit pull to see what terms Carvana would offer. I was prequalified for a used car loan through my credit union, so I wanted to see Carvana's terms would be. The loan and term tools were pretty damn cool at the time, you could just jiggle those sliders and almost completely tailor a lending solution to fit your needs.
After the soft credit pull and a single pay stub, Carvana pre-approved me for any car up to 90k, with zero money down. I laughed. Hard. I had decent credit but wasnt going to bury myself.
After I settled down to a few models, I worked through the trade-in portion of the site, and found it was real easy to get a quote to trade in our 2005 Escape XLT which was a great car, but in Ford fashion the frame was rotting away. I had a fair offer for the trade in, described it honestly.
We also opted for the SilverRock warranty. Nissan, CVT, etc.
The big sale!
After watching how quickly some cars came and went early on, I got everything I needed for the trade in. Scan of the title, picture of the milage, car pictures. We were putting 2k down on the car, so the cash was waiting in my account, ready for transfer or cashier check if we were going to go with Carvana final loan offer.
The day I pulled the trigger on our Rogue, the entire process took all of 20 minutes. I was amazed, and honestly thought at the time "This should be illegal for how easy that was".
The offer for Carvana finance was within a couple tenths of my credit union, so I opted to simplify the process and go with them. Carvana performed a hard pull on my credit, confirmed the terms, and required confirmation from my bank that the money for deposit was in my account. I provided my bank login credentials and the process was done in minutes.
I had to provide a copy of my license and items related to the trade in, and it was done, in literally 20 minutes. I wondered if I was making a mistake..
It was an amazing deal, every dealer in the area was selling the same model for well over 2k of what we paid, so the SilverRock warranty was pretty much free after the additional 500 discount off the final price of the car.
Delivery - Trade in!
It was delayed. Twice. Pretty disappointing. Some pretty lame excuses. Honestly I should have expected a reasonable delivery date as the I knew the car I bought was 1500 miles away, but Carvana makes unrealistic delivery promises and is my biggest gripe regarding them.
When delivery day finally came, the Rogue was everything I had hoped it would be. While on the delivery truck I asked to inspect the undercarriage, and the driver was super friendly and allowed me to take my time. I looked it all over, looking for rust, oil leaks, you name it and I found nothing nothing, including nothing suspect like it had been cleaned. It was a 2-ish year old car with light dirt and surface rust where you would expect.
Once the Rogue was unloaded I was free to look it over with a fine comb, pop the hood, check the fluids, look for dents and dings, paint issues, interior issues, you name it. I found nothing major, just some minor things like paint polish slag in small corners and what not. Interior was very clean and detailed.
While I was looking over the Rogue, the delivery driver was loading the trade-in. He took some pictures, verified the mileage, checked the "check engine" light was off and started loading it on his truck.
I live in Massachusetts with very strict license and registration requirements. A few days before the delivery, someone from the Danvers site reached out to me about the registration details. I was transferring the plates from the trade in and they were finalizing the paperwork. I was provided the new registration, and the delivery driver had the new registration in hand so we could just put the plates on the Rogue and be ready to roll.
I took the Rogue for a 20 minute test drive, signed off on the purchase and trade. Driver headed off with the trade in and that was it. Carvana never called or questioned what they gave me for the trade.
Post delivery!
The very next day I brought the Rogue to work, I work in transportation/logistics and my site has ASE mechanics that I know very well. I asked him to go over the Rogue with the white glove and let me know if they think anything is wrong, as I have 6 days to return the car. They did so and they didnt find anything, just amazed at how clean the undercarriage, engine, and fluids were.
If I didn't have access to an ASE certified mechanic in this situation that I really trusted, I would have paid for a purchase inspection from a Nissan dealer. I did pay for the trusted inspection, just not in dollars lol.
After the personal vehicle inspection, my wife and I took off for a long weekend road trip roaming the White mountains of New Hampshire. Three days across many miles that easily blew out the initial vehicle 7 day warranty mileage. The Rogue was amazing through the mountains getting a ridiculous 30mpg through the entire trip. I wasn't concerned as people I trust cleared the car, and I also had the SilverRock warranty to cover the rest..
Speaking of warranty..
SilverRock!
The first, and pretty much only issue with the Rogue, was at about 48k miles. Massachusetts has a comprehensive yearly vehicle inspection program. At about 48k miles, the Rogue failed inspection for a bad inner tie rod, passenger side. Contacted SilverRock, and they gave me the local network shop here in Massachusetts, Monro.Monro is a regional repair shop here in MA with many locations. I take the Rogue to them and they diagnose that indeed the passenger side inner tie rod has gone bad. Repair tech states he has never seen one go bad on a Nissan at the current mileage.
The service manager starts looking around for the parts, called about 5 places, then calls a Nissan dealer. The Nissan dealer informs him the inner tie rod is not available for the 17, the only way to to repair the defect is replace the entire electric steering rack which comes with the inner and outer tie rods complete.
I call SilverRock with the service manager. I provide my name and vehicle make, SilverRock knows who I am right away. SilverRock rep asks whats wrong, service manager laid it down. SilverRock rep transfers us to a manager, manager asked about a few more details and then asked the service manager of Monro to send the estimate.
I get a call from the manager of Monro the next day, he said he went back and forth with SilverRock for about 20 minutes and got the entire job covered, throwing in a free front end alignment, for 1500 dollars using a genuine Nissan OEM steering rack.
SilverRock paid everything but the 100 dollar deductible. I picked up the Rogue 2 days later, paid 100, and went back for inspection. It passed.
Anyone reading this that knows about car repair, an inner tie rod costs maybe 150 dollars OEM. The fact it wasn't available and they had to replace the entire rack was absurd, yet they did it with a new OEM rack. At the time SilverRock could have required a rack used from a salvage yard, but they didn't.
I have nothing but positive things to say about SilverRock.
Bridgecrest!!
The silent partner.
I have NEVER spoken to someone at Bridgecrest. I have never called them. They have never called me.
I have NEVER emailed Bridgecrest. They have emailed me every single month for the life of my loan, after making a payment.
They fronted me the money, and expected it back. I paid it back, as expected. On time.
5 stars, and they will return the favor on my credit now that the loan is clear.
WHY YOUR MILEAGE MAY VARY
Do your homework - buying a car is a capital investment in your future that loses money. You need a car to be reliable for your job, your family, your life. You need to spend money on a regular basis to keep that car reliable, on top of your car payment.
Know your budget - Dont fall for finance traps. Only buy what you can comfortably afford, again, owning a car costs you more money than what's on the final loan payment.
Get your car inspected ASAP - Pay a dealer for a purchase inspection. Schedule it ahead of time. Inform Carvana of the issues within 3 days of delivery and ask them to pick up the car. Carvana will make the car right, as they dont want to take the car back from qualified buyers. Keep on top of them until the car is what was expected.
Why Carvana may be bad for you
You have bad credit - Better know what you are signing on for. The majority of complaints in this sub are from people that have bad credit, cant read, and cant learn from past mistakes. Thats a personal problem, not a Carvana problem.
Closing
Aside from some delays in delivery, We have had an amazing 5 year journey with Carvana and associated companies. Our Rogue is now at over 100k miles and still drives and looks like new. We perform all maintenance as required, without question.
Living in MA, the last 5 years our Rogue has taken us thousands of miles over the White Mountains of New Hampshire, all through the Mountains of Maine, and multiple trips to Canada to visit the iconic Niagara Falls.
My wife travels every day for work, and the Rogue is her daily driver putting 3k miles on the clock every 2.5 months. We change the oil every 3k miles, perform the required CVT services at the dealer, and keep the tires rotated every 8K.
The tires that came on the Rogue from Carvana were in fact new, but the kind of tires that have a 30k mile treadwear warranty. The first snowy New England day we slipped through a stop sign in light snow, the next week we replaced the tires all around with BF Goodrich Advantage TA sport tires and the Rogue has been amazing in the snow ever since.
After getting our Rogue, my coworker was so impressed he bought not 1, but 2 cars from Carvana. Bastard got both cars delivered on time, on the same day, from different parts of the country.. I was so jealous lol. His cars had some minor issues, but Carvana took car of them.
My daughter bought a Nissan as well from Carvana. It had a few front end issues, but ultimately was taken care of through constant communication with Carvana during the 7 day test drive.
Will I use Carvana again? Yes.
Will it be soon? Not really.
Our other car is a Hyundai and running strong.
Hope some of my diatribe will be useful to anyone considering Carvana as usually is all bad mouth drival posted here.

I was in a minor accident a week or so ago. I was rear-ended by a work truck that needed to file a report for the company. (It was extremely minor. Some paint transfer, but no injuries and no airbag deployment, etc. If you've never seen my car before, you'd never know. My car is fine.) The officer on scene let me know I wasn't required to report the accident as it was under the legal threshold for damages, and since it would have only resulted in a higher deductible for me with no repayment for damage, I didn't report it to my insurance company. I kept the original report and insurance details just in case, but didn't do anything with them.
I just got a letter in the mail from the insurance adjuster for the other driver, and I'm unsure how to approach it. I was always told not to talk to lawyers without another lawyer present, and I'm worried if I reply back I would somehow get myself in trouble. I feel like talking to a claims adjuster might do the same. I want to not respond - I'm exhausted at the best of times and barely can manage life as it is - but I'm also worried I would jeopardize myself for failing to respond. If you can help talk me through this, dad, I'm really lost and this is completely unfamiliar to me.

Dear Poetry Fanciers,
Welcome back for a special Victorian edition of Poetry Corner, brought to you by u/NightAngelRogue and a splendid accompaniment for our upcoming read of The Thrilling Adventures of Lovelace and Babbage. Just a reminder, if there is a special poem you would like to feature in Poetry Corner, just send me a message and we'll get it the schedule!
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Joke:
Q: Nelson Mandela, Tuberculosis and Long John Silver walk in a bar. Who are they talking about as they go in?
A: Probably William Ernest Henley (1849-1903).
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Poet, journalist, literary critic, editor, publisher, translator and Victorian-extraordinaire, Henley, was a good friend to Robert Louis Stevenson, who he inspired to write the character "Long John Silver" in Treasure Island. Stevenson, writing to Henley-" I will now make a confession: It was the sight of your maimed strength and masterfulness that begot Long John Silver ... the idea of the maimed man, ruling and dreaded by the sound, was entirely taken from you". The friendship was a tumultuous and long one.
Henley's sickly daughter, Margaret, was the inspiration of "Wendy" in J.M. Barrie's Peter Pan. She would not live long past her 5th birthday, the only child Henley had with his wife, Hannah "Anna" Johnston Boyle. Tragedy had long painted his life even before this sad event. He was diagnosed with a rare form of tuberculosis at age 12, that affected his bones. His left leg had to be amputated below the knee when Henley was a young man, and he was often in the hospital with various abscesses that need to be drained. Frequent illness kept him out of school and interrupted his professional work. Henley eventually sought out the advice of Joseph Lister, who was pioneering new techniques, including antiseptic operating conditions and doing groundbreaking research on wounds, when his right foot become affected by the tuberculosis. Still, his ill-health did not keep him from practicing his art. While Lister kept him under observation at the Royal Infirmary of Edinburgh, from 1873-75, Henly wrote and published a collection of poems, which include today's selection, In Hospital (1903). This collection of poems is notable also because it was one of the earliest examples of free verse in English poetry. Henley and others in his group became known as the "Henley Regatta" for their championing of realism, such as the poor working conditions in the Victorian underbelly, in opposition to the Decadent movement in France and the Aesthetic movement closer to home. This would be the last collection of poetry and the most impactful of his work; his death would follow later that year. Unfortunately, a fall from a carriage reawakened the latent tuberculosis hiding inside him, which carried him off age 53. He was buried next to his daughter, in Cockaney Hatley, Bedfordshire. His wife would later also be buried alongside her family.
His legacy is one that is both inspiring and rather dispiriting. His poetry was used for jingoistic and imperialist causes, and to champion war, though much of it was about personal striving and inner resolve-the mythical "Stiff Upper Lip" of the Victorian era. This led to push back in the literary world, as D.H. Lawrence's short story, "England, My England and Other Stories" took flight from one of the lines from "Pro Rege Nostro", which is more patriotic than his usual work. Admittedly, he counted himself as a conservative and supported the imperial effort, as much of Victorian society did at this time. Still, his work fell into obscurity, with the main exception of "Invictus"-Latin for "unconquered". It is well known that Nelson Mandela recited this poem to his fellow inmates in Robben Island as a reminder to stay strong and keep one's dignity. There are also, of course, the Invictus Games, which are held for injured and sick service men and women and veterans in the UK.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Winston Churchill to the House of Commons, September 9, 1941:
"“The mood of Britain is wisely and rightly averse from every form of shallow or premature exultation. This is no time for boasts or glowing prophecies, but there is this—a year ago our position looked forlorn, and well nigh desperate, to all eyes but our own. Today we may say aloud before an awe-struck world, ‘We are still masters of our fate. We still are captain of our souls.'” (link)
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Sidney Low, in "Some Memories and Impressions – William Ernest Henley". The Living Age (1897–1941) describing his friend:
"... to me he was the startling image of Pan come to Earth and clothed—the great god Pan...with halting foot and flaming shaggy hair, and arms and shoulders huge and threatening, like those of some Faun or Satyr of the ancient woods, and the brow and eyes of the Olympians." (link)
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Andrzej Diniejko on Henley as "poet as a patient" and his work predating modern forms of poetry "not only in form, as experiments in free verse containing abrasive narrative shifts and internal monologue, but also in subject matter". (link)
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
"Invictus"
by William Ernest Henley
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
This poem is in the public domain.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Some things to discuss might be the title. How does the defiant spirit of this "Unconquered" opening play throughout the lines of the poem? There is also a reference to the Bible Verse Matthew 7:14 in the poem, "Because strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it". Why do you think this included? What lines stand out to you? How do you see him fit into the Victorian literary furniture, if you will? Have you heard this poem before? How does this fit in with the melancholy feel of the Bonus Poem, if you read it? What other poets do you enjoy from this era of literature?
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Bonus Poem: We'll Go No More a-Roving
Bonus Link #1: "Love Blows As the Wind Blows" (1911) song-cycle by George Butterworth, with Henley's poetry put to music and song.
Bonus Link #2: A literary review of the Victorian Era.
Bonus Link #3: Read the other poems included in the collection, In Hospital.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
If you missed last's month poem, you can find it here.

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Shops

Retailers:
AmiAmi HobbySearch Mandarake (sells rare figures) Good Smile Company Online Shop (often has exclusives) Good Smile Company US shop Crunchyroll Store Hobby Link Japan (aka HLJ) Solaris Japan (MFC partner) BigBadToyStore (MFC partner, US retailer) Big in Japan (also has proxy service) Tokyo Otaku Mode FigureHaven Archonia (EU) Yorokonde (EU) Figuya (EU) Gamersheek (UK) Jungle
List of retailers on MFC
/AnimeFigures' List of Retailers
Community Guide to Shopping in Japan

Blogs/News:

Nekomagic (News/Previews) NyaaFigurines (Reviews/Releases) Kahotan's Blog (News/Reviews) Figma Blog (JP)

Buying & Shipping

1. What’s the best place to buy my anime figures from?
That’s going to depend a lot on what works for you, but most people around here buy them from Amiami, Big in Japan, Hobby Search, HobbyLink Japan, or Tokyo Otaku Mode. If none of those work for you for whatever reason, there’s a list of reputable retailers in the sidebar that you can check out at any time. Be extra careful when ordering figures from websites like Amazon or ebay, as there are a lot of bootlegs on those sites. Don’t be afraid to ask in our Bootleg Megathread if you’re unsure.
2. What differences are there between the shipping options I get from most Japanese shops?
Below is a rundown of the main shipping choices you’ll get at most retailers. Keep in mind that if an order is large enough you will be forced to use one of the more expensive options, as SAL shipments have lower size and weight restrictions.

Unregistered SAL: Sometimes referred to as uSAL, is usually the cheapest method. It does not come with any tracking or insurance. Usually takes up 2-4 weeks for delivery.
Registered SAL: Sometimes referred to as rSAL, is insured for the declared value up to 6,000 yen. It comes with a tracking number and usually takes 2-4 weeks for delivery.
EMS: This method of shipping is much faster than either SAL options, usually arriving within a week of shipment. EMS shipments are insured for the declared value up to 2,000,000 yen.
Airmail
E-packet
Surface: Shops don't offer this very often. It's an actual cargo ship and slow as a result.
DHL: Becoming more available as an alternative to EMS on AmiAmi and other sites. Can be less expensive than EMS and of comparable speed, but may be more reliant on the specific geographical area being shipped to. The price is also determined by the size of the box. Offers their own tracking.

3. I placed two+ orders for figures at different times. Will my items be shipped together, or will I have to pay shipping twice?
Most shops will ask you to pay shipping on a per-order basis, but here are some that will allow combined shipping:

Amiami: You can combine orders here, as long as the orders ship in the same month. It doesn’t matter if the item is new or preowned. Any preorders that are set for that month can also be combined with other orders for that month. However, be aware that if the preorder gets delayed, Amiami will remove that item from that month’s shipment and place it on a new order. To combine orders on Amiami, use the “Combine Orders” feature under “My Account”.
Hobby Search: Hobby Search will let you combine orders that release in the same month, but you cannot combine in stock items with preorders. If you want to combine multiple preorders, or multiple in stock items, you can do so using the “Order Recombination” feature on your account page.
HobbyLink Japan: At HLJ, you have the option to send paid orders to their “Private Warehouse”, where you can store them for up to 2 months. When you’re ready to ship the items, you simply select which items to ship and HLJ will combine them into one shipment for you. To use this, just select the “Private Warehouse” option as shipping when you order.

If you’re unsure about whether or not a shop we haven’t listed will combine your orders, please refer to their individual FAQs.
4. When will I get charged for my preorder?
Most Japanese shops charge you once the item is in stock and ready for shipment. When that happens, they will send you an email asking for payment. Some shops (mostly overseas ones), will allow you to pay for the item up front though, if you’d like. A few with that option are:

Big in Japan (Japanese store)
Tokyo Otaku Mode
Anime Island
Crunchyroll

Keep in mind that overseas stores will likely get the figure a few months after Japanese ones, so pay attention to the release date stated on the website you are buying from so as to avoid that confusion.
5. Should I expect to pay customs fees when importing figures?
That depends on where you live. Here’s a quick rundown:

Australia: 10% GST is now assessed up front.
Canada: Minimum declared value for charges is around CAD$20 for regular shipments, and CAD$60 for gifts (gifting something only seems to lower the declared value by about CAD$40, not deplete it completely). When using Amiami, try their Small Air Packet option. It comes with tracking, gets there in about the same time as EMS, and is better at avoiding customs.
European Union: As of 1st July 2021, VAT has to be paid on all goods imported from outside of the EU. Retailers are supposed charge VAT for purchases under €150, however many Japanese retailers currently do not, so VAT will be charged when your order arrives in the EU. Orders that are >€150, VAT and duty will be charged by your local customs.
UK: As of 1st January 2021, VAT is to be charged by retailers for orders <£135. However, customs isn't currently charging VAT on parcels valued at <£135, even if the VAT hasn't been paid. Goods >£135 will have their VAT and duty calculated and charged by customs.
Mexico: Minimum declared value for customs fees is USD$300 for shipments by post, and USD$50 for shipments by courier.
United States: A shipment has to have a declared value of USD$2,000 before customs starts hitting you with fees, so you most likely won’t have to worry about them at all.

6. The figure I want is an exclusive, how do I go about ordering one outside of Japan?
You have three options for this:
A. Big in Japan is known to stock exclusive figures and ship to other countries. Usually the price is higher because they build in their proxy fees, but it’s easier than worrying about using a forwarder or proxy service. If you live in the US, Crunchyroll, Right Stuf, and Tokyo Otaku Mode also get exclusives sometimes, but out of the states the shipping can get expensive.
B. Forwarding Services: A forwarder is someone who you ship an exclusive item to so that they can forward the package on to you, usually for a flat fee + shipping. When using a forwarder you still make the purchase yourself, and enter their address into the shipping field. When the box arrives at the forwarder they will then stick your address onto the package and send it on its way.
Some popular forwarders are:

Be sure to read each sites instructions on forwarding carefully!
C. Proxy Services: With a proxy, you tell them what the item you’re looking for is and they will purchase it in your stead. This is handy for when a company doesn’t accept foreign credit cards, or you’re having trouble navigating a Japanese website.
Some popular proxies are:

Big in Japan (Won’t proxy for Yahoo Auctions)
From Japan

Again, be sure you thoroughly read through each sites proxy instructions.
7. I see a bunch of really cheap figures that ship from China on ebay. Are those okay to buy?
Generally, no. They’re most likely bootlegs. If you want a second opinion on that, feel free to ask in the Bootleg Megathread that’s always stickied at the top of the sub.
8. What’s a bootleg, and how can I avoid buying them?
A bootleg is a counterfeit figure often made using rejected molds of the official product. They are usually priced significantly lower than the genuine article, and in order to make their profit, bootleggers use lower quality materials and have less attention to detail- resulting in a substandard figure.
The Bootleg Megathread that I mentioned in question 7 is a great tool to avoid buying any bootlegs. It has a few tips and tricks to avoiding them to begin with, and a few more on how to spot them if you’re worried you might already own one.
9. Does anyone know when figure X is going to be released? How do I know if it was delayed?
My Figure Collection (sometimes referred to as MFC) does an excellent job of staying on top of information like release dates and delays. If you’re curious about an upcoming figures release date, check there first. This information can be found directly under the “Releases” section on a figure’s entry. If you only see a month and a year in that section, it means the release date has not yet been announced by the manufacturer, and there is still a chance the figure could be delayed.
If you make an account on MFC you can also subscribe to comments, changes, and pictures via a checkbox on the right hand side of a figure’s listing. Subscribing to any of these things will allow MFC to send you an email anytime the subscription in question updates. Subscribing to “changes” is a great way to keep up with release dates and delays, among other things.
10. The figure I want is long sold out at normal retailers! What’s the best place to pick it up in the aftermarket?
A list of reputable retailers can be found under the “Shops” section of the /AnimeFigures sidebar. They all sell legitimate products, and many of them also sell figures second hand. However, the most frequently suggested second hand sites are Mandarake and Amiami- who has a preowned section that they update every night save Sundays and Japanese holidays around 1PM JST and again around 6PM JST.
AmiAmi grades their pre-owned items on a letter scale. The general consensus from buyers is that their ratings are conservative, so unless the item and/or packaging is specifically indicated as having significant flaws, pre-owned items from them are usually in at least as good a condition as their rating suggests.
Note: When you search Mandarake, you’ll get the best results by using the Japanese characters for whatever you are searching. If you don’t know them, you can find them on MFC by clicking on any of the “details” in that figure’s listing.
11. Amiami has a figure I’m interested in labeled as “For sale in Japan only”. Does this mean I can’t order it without a proxy or forwarder?
No, you can still order it. Amiami’s English site has that warning on many items, and it’s mostly meant to inform you that this product was made for a Japanese market, and as such, will have Japanese speaking/writing in it- so don’t expect any instructions to be in English. If Amiami doesn’t want foreigners buying a certain product, they won’t even list it on their English site.

Displaying Your Figures

12. What display cases do you recommend?
If you live near an Ikea try out one of these:

Klingsbo
Billy (Often used with Morliden doors (now the HÖGBO and glass shelves.)
Detolf: Formerly the go-to choice for inexpensive display cabinetry, the Detolf was first made flimsier around 2020 and then essentially phased out of the name, to become the BLÅLIDEN. Knockoff versions of widely-varying quality are commonly found on other shopping sites these days, though.

*If you decided on a Detolf, you might find that there is a lot of wasted space. Here are a few tutorials on raising the shelves or and adding extra ones in.

If you don’t live near an Ikea, Amazon has a few display options, though they are more expensive. Also keep an eye on your local Craigslist (or your country’s equivalent) and stores near you that are closing up.
13. What lighting do you guys recommend?
Ikea’s Dioder LED strips were discontinued after a long run. A current version is the Vattensten, if you're inclined to buy your case and lights at the same time.
LED strips have become very commonly available in recent years; most hardware and home furnishing stores carry a selection now. Just make sure that the lights don’t get too hot!
14. What are those clear plastic boxes that I see under everyone’s figures in their collection posts, and where can I get them?
Those are called risers. Most of us use standard acrylic risers like these. Some other, easy to find things that have been suggested are:

Plastic picture cubes
Card Deck Boxes
If you’re feeling adventurous, try making your own!

Check your local hobby store for the first 2 options, or your local hardware store if you want to make your own.
Another common suggestion is to visit The Container Store if you have one near you. They have a lot of things to choose from that can suit a variety of needs. Be sure to check out their standard acrylic risers, their Amac boxes, and the various display cases they sell (baseball cases, mini car cases. hockey puck cases, etc).
15. Should I keep my figures sealed?
That is, of course, up to you really, but here are a few things to keep in mind when debating this question:

Keeping it sealed can actually damage your figure. PVC figures usually have something called plasticizer in them, and that plasticizer needs to be able to breath. If a PVC figure isn’t exposed to oxygen, after a period of time the plasticizer starts to break down and form a sticky substance on the surface of the figure. Simply opening your figures and taking them out of the box prevents this from happening. If you happen to find plasticizer goo on one of your figures, Kahotan has a handy guide for dealing with it.
Unlike some other figure markets, keeping an anime figure sealed won’t raise its value by a whole lot. In fact, because of the plasticizer problem mentioned above, your figure could actually be in better condition if you open it versus keeping it sealed.

Finding the Right Figure(s) for You

16. What are "scales" and "prizes"? What is the difference between them?
Those are classifications for figures based on a few factors.

"Prizes" are generally more simply produced figures which are intended to be given as prizes for playing arcade games. They are inexpensive and lack the detail of scale figures, though some prize figure lines have standouts which may approach lower-end scales in quality. That is uncommon and often depends on the individual figure.
"Scales" are called such because they are nominally designed to be proportional to the dimensions of the character which they are based on. They are generally of much better manufacture and materials than prize figures, allowing for more detail in painting, accessories, or complex poses.
"Trading" figures appear in gashapon machines or as blind boxes on shop counters, often as sets which include multiple characters. As suggested by the class name, the randomness encourages trading. They are usually very inexpensively-produced, though as with prizes, some series are better than others.
"Non-scale" encompasses a variety of other categories. It is often used to describe poseable figure lines such as figma and Nendoroids.

In recent years producers such as Good Smile Company attempted to further bridge the gap between prize quality and scales by introducing figure lines which are intended to be moderately-priced while retaining a higher level of detail than the typical prize figure, to varying levels of success.
17. There are so many figure companies! Who makes good figures?!
Obviously this is a very subjective question, but as a general starting point, here are a few well renowned figure companies:

Alter
Max Factory
Good Smile Company
Kotobukiya (usually hit or miss for people. Use your best judgement based off of the prototype)
Flare
Stronger

18. I really love “series X / character X”- how can I check if any figures were ever made for it?
My Figure Collection can be your best friend here. Simply do a search on the name of the series or character using the search bar located at the top right of the screen, and all associated figures pop up!
Alternatively, if you’re looking at a figure’s MFC entry, most of the text under the “Details” section can be clicked on and used to run a search.
19. How can I commission a custom figure?
None of the major figure companies (Alter, Kotobukiya, Good Smile Company, etc.) will take a commission for a single figure. This thread has a few websites in it that you can check out, or you can look into garage kits. Some kit painters would be willing to resculpt, frankenstein together, or otherwise modify kits for the right price.
If you're looking for help completing a garage kit, /brushforhire may be useful.

Keeping Up with New Announcements

20. How can I keep up with figure news (announcements, updates, etc.)?
Most people use a MFC combined with any or all of the following news sites:

Neko Magic
Alter’s Blog (In Japanese)
Kahotan’s Blog (Only GSC and their sister companies)

Many figure companies are active on Twitter, so following them there is recommended for quicker news.
To use MFC for this I’ll quote question #9.

If you make an account on MFC you can also subscribe to comments, changes, and pictures via a checkbox on the right hand side of a figure’s listing. Subscribing to any of these things will allow MFC to send you an email anytime the subscription in question updates. Subscribing to “changes” is a great way to keep up with release dates and delays, among other things.

Most companies have one or more Twitter accounts. Some examples: Good Smile Company sales, Good Smile's USA branch, Max Factory, AmiAmi Hobby News.
21. Everyone’s excited about something called Wonfes….. what the heck is that?!
WonFes (short for Wonder Festival) is a biannual figure expo where many figure producers (both large and small) show off new sculpts and updates to figures already under way. Most companies save their most exciting announcements for WonFes, so we all look forward to the expo whenever it rolls around! Winter Wonder Festival is usually held in February, while Summer Wonder Festival is usually in July. The event has also spread to Shanghai, in the late spring.
22. One or two (or 15) figures were announced at WonFes that I’m really excited about! How can I keep track of their progress once the event is over?
MFC is always really quick about getting new WonFes announcements (or any others throughout the year, for that matter) listed in their database, so we suggest using that. To find a figure from the event you can search any number of things, including the name of the character or the name of the show. You can also use the tag search to search “WonderFestival 20xx_[season]” to see all items announced at that event.