Dr seuss father mother...

Using my throwaway account bc my personal account has info that would make my identity obvious to people I know. Also apologies for the long post but I feel it’s best to explain my thought process.
First and foremost, I want it to be known that I typically have no issues with kids. As someone who has had a lot of experience in the childcare industry, I like to believe I have a lot of patience when it comes to dealing with children and their misbehaving. But recently at my apartment complex, I have met the end of my patience and I want to know whether what I’ve done is justified or if I really need to reassess everything I’ve done.
My apartment complex is known for its pretty tight on parking for residents (for example, there are probably 20 spots by my building which holds about 16-20 apartments.) There are no direct rules regarding parking in the normal spaces, as many people use them for guests or additional cars. This can cause some issues from time to time with finding parking anywhere near my building, but typically it doesn’t bother me too much because it’s to be expected for where I live. This limited space info is important regarding my situation.
My neighbors across the hall from me have two kids (roughly around 6 and 11) that they never take any responsibility for. As a tame example, we have a quiet hour set at our complex for people who work day jobs, which is 9:30PM on weekdays. There have been times these kids have been out in the hallway of the building screeching full volume (I am talking stuck pig, would’ve called to police out of fear of child endangerment had I not known this is just how they act kind of screeching) at close to midnight or even 1am on weeknights. It’s clear the parents are too entitled to do anything to stop it. To put it gently, it’s unbelievably obvious these kids have never had a single bit of discipline or structure a day in their lives and think they can do whatever they want with no consequence.
As summer is arriving in the area I live, people are beginning to spend more time outside of their buildings in the nice weather. The kids across the complex from me have also been enjoying this weather, which would normally be fine. However, they’re “enjoying” it so much that one of the kids (the 11 year old) has taken to completely blocking one of the few parking spots in my complex by parking his children’s bike in the middle of parking spots, preventing anyone from using some of them during the day. Around 8ish PM, the dad SOMETIMES will go out and bring the bike back into their apartment. Emphasis on sometimes. This is something I’ve talked to the father about before, as recently I’ve had to park over five, ten minutes away from my building because of his child’s three foot sized bike taking up an entire parking spot. The father just shrugged and laughed, and has done nothing about it since.
This next point is where I am unsure if I was the asshole or not.
Our complex has some pretty strict rules related to personal possessions being left out in public spaces (such as packages, planters, grills, and most relevantly bicycles) and has sent over a dozen emails to its residents stating they are not responsible for reimbursing a resident for any personal belongings removed from the public premises.
The other day I came home from a particularly stressful and tiring day at work, lo and behold the child was standing in the only parking spot left near my building with his bike parked next to him. I tried nicely asking the kid to please move his bike up to the sidewalk or his apartment so I could park. The kid stared at me for a moment before laughing as he left his bike in the middle of the spot and went inside. His father watched all of this unfold from their patio and did absolutely nothing.
Having to park about three buildings over from my apartment, I finally had enough. I called the security/admin line at my complex and reported the kid’s bike for taking up a parking spot. Within half an hour, the maintenance team showed up and took the bike away, most likely to either donate it or throw it away.
The next morning I woke up to the child screeching and crying out in the parking lot about his bike being taken. His dad came out, and putting the the pieces together, felt the need to bang on my patio door and yell at me for upsetting his kid and costing him a new bike. Pissed at having been woken up at close to 7 in the morning on my day off, my only response to the father was “play stupid games, win stupid prizes” before shutting the door and going about my normal day. Part of me feels justified about finally teaching these people a lesson in humility, but there is still a part of me that feels bad that this kid now won’t have a bike for the majority of this summer.
Am I the asshole?
TL:DR a kid acted like he owned an apartment complex parking lot, got a rude awakening when the bike he took up an entire parking space with was thrown away by maintenance, and now his dad (who encouraged the behavior) is pissed.

TL;DR - My father has a loan of over 1cr (again). We (me, my wife) earn about 1 lakh a month. Don't know if I (late 30s) should prioritise myself, my kid or my father.
Sorry this is going to be a very long post, as I feel like giving you a 40 year background and TBH, I don't even have right questiona to ask.
Part 1 - Background
My father started his first business (1980s) before even I was born. As he didn't have any capital, he took heavy loans to begin. Although he was running a successful wholesale agency (among top 10 in my state as per the company accounts), our expenses+interest was huge. By 1995 his interest was about 10 lakhs per month vs ~8L he made. By 1998, we got bankrupt and he had to sell everything, even his shop, my mother's ornaments and the house where we lived. As per the agreements court ordered us to pay 50% or principal to each lender (all of them had already got 10x via interests earlier). We did that, but not all money was owned by noble men, some of it was from loan sharks and they wanted last penny so they threatened and kept on taking money till today.
In 2000, after the shame of bankruptcy went little bit down, my father restarted the business as a retailer, with just 8000 that he earned doing petty things. With his contacts and dedication he grew enough to support our family, but 2005-2010 hit him hard. I went to college, my sibling wanted badly to go to Kota, all savings went down coz of 2008 crash and he took loans again.
Since then his expenses vs earning is constantly negative and loans have soared to 1 CR again. With zero assets this bubble will burst in maximum 1-2 years.
He has ZERO assets, just a 2007 Activa that he bought for me.
Part 2 - My story.
I (late 30s) along with my wife earn ~1.5 LPM. We spend about 80k in Rent, grocery, shopping, insurance etc. give 30k to my father for their expenses, rest saving in FDs/RDs for down payment to buy us a home.
My father loved us like anything and despite of him not having anything fulfilled all our naive wishes. Now all I wish is same like Babu Bhai from Hera pheri. I want to see my father sit in his own home debt free and take a sip of tea.
But this would be at stake of me not building anything for my future and can seriously jeopardize my kid's future too.
Part 3 - Questions

1. Should we consider him closing his business and shifting with us? His account says business earns about 1Lpm with average expenses of 80k. But his interests some of it from suppliers cause it go negative.
   
2. Should I send more money home to help him repay his loans?
   
3. How do I plan for my kid (~3 yo).
   
4. For my case does saving even matter?
   

P.S. Serious answer only Don't need upvotes, just need genuine advice, so rather share with someone who you think can really help.

TL; DR: boyfriend of 7 years cheated and might have a baby on the way
I 24F and my bf 29M have been together for 7 years. We’ve never had major problems and have recently been talking about marriage and starting a family. We met in undergrad and I just finished my masters so we are looking for a place and I already got a job in his area. Last night I discovered he has been cheating for at least two months and he admitted that she’s pregnant and it’s between him and some other dude who can be the father. I don’t know what to do I’m so angry I can’t think straight. I can’t afford to move on my own and I already accepted this job offer. I have no friends or family in the area. I guess I’m just looking for advice from anyone else that might have been in this situation

Figured somebody might get a kick out of this, so why not.
Summer 2010, I’m on my way to become a sophomore in college and need a car, I desperately want a stick, because fast and furious. I settle on a 2010 Civic Si sedan. $2200 down, $220 a month, 15K mile a year lease. My high school graduation gift in 2009 was a state course to get my motorcycle license and learn to ride, so I at least understood a clutch, but had never driven a stick. I drove the car off the lot.
My poor mother had to sit shotgun as I pulled this brand new car onto a busy highway. Burned rubber. She’s grabbing the ‘oh shit’ bar like her life depended on it. I got stuck at a red on a hill at one point home, burned even more rubber / clutch. I finally made it home.
What’s the first thing I do? Pick up my best friend of course, so we could joy ride around together. He asked me if he could drive it, said sure why the hell not! His father had a 2004(ish) Acura TLX 6 speed that he had maybe taken out twice. I will never forget what happens next.
He’s driving on the straightest road in town, but god dammit, the local DPW is digging up sewer lines and a cop is directing traffic. He has us stopped and we’re now the first car in line, trying to make a left when he clears us.
The first wave on comes. Buddy throws it into 1st. Stalls. Goes to neutral, car on, throws to 1st. Stalls. Cop is now aggressively waving us forward, we’re blocking traffic. Panic is setting in, my buddy is starting to swear. Back to neutral, car on, throw to 1st. Stalls. Cop is now walking forward to us, yelling at him to move, keeping the hand waiving. My buddy finally gets us going and has the window down profusely apologizing. He pulled over about a mile later and asked to switch back 😂.
Loved that stupid car. Can’t wait until I can have another stick.

I'm sorry for a long vent. TL;DR in the end.
So my bf forgot about our first anniversary. Two days ago he casually informed me that he will be going back home (he is currently staying with me) after Wednesday and for the rest of the week, because he needed to do some housework with his father. I got upset, but said nothing.
This morning I passively aggressively gave him his gift. I mean, I did my very best to do it nonchalantly, but I admit that I wanted him to feel bad, I really did. The gift wasn't anything fancy, but I also made a card myself, both were referencing things about our relationship, so it was a very personal gift. His reaction was underwhelming, he didn't give any comment, asked what's the occasion and when I told him just said "thank you" and "see you tomorrow", and went off to work.
Later he texted me that he thought the anniversary was on Saturday. Even if it's true, I don't see how does it change anything, since he wasn't going to see me on Saturday anyway. Then he asked if he could come today. "Don't you have stuff to do at home," I asked, and he said that his dad apparently canceled. I told him to do as he sees fit.
I spent most of the day alone doing chores, in the evening he showed up with some last-minute candy and socks, which were wrong size. I said thank you and that it was not necessary as he wasn't obligated to give me something in return. He said he wanted to because he wanted to make me happy on such a day. I just smiled bitterly but I wanted to scream. He says stuff like that, but he didn't even know about this fucking day until, well, today. He ordered pizza and the rest of the day was the same as any other ordinary day, we just watched something. It was uncomfortable, I was cold and distant and avoided eye contact, and he was quiet and tongue-tied, he is always that way when he knows he fucked up. Then he went to bed early, and I didn't kiss him goodnight.
I want to stop feeling upset, but I just can't. I hate how it went down. I hate that we wasted our first ever anniversary like this. I hate that I poured my soul into that fucking stupid card. I hate that he only showed up because his dad canceled the plans, otherwise I would be alone. I'm not even sure anymore that being alone would be worse.
He usually is very thoughtful and caring, he does a lot for me, I don't even know why I am so heartbroken about the stupid anniversary. He knows he fucked up, he tried to do something, I want it to be enough for me to calm down, but it is not. I hate that I'm feeling it but I don't know how to stop. It's like I'm incapable to see reason now. I think I need some time alone to get over today, but I don't know how to tell him this without making him sad and guilty. If anyone has any advice, please tell me, I'm spiraling here.
TL;DR: bf forgot anniversary and made plans, they got canceled, he bought me something last minute and came, I know that he knows he fucked up but I can't stop feeling upset

So basically the tablet is now in a constant loop of showing the logo when turned on, that's a problem in itself but the main one is that there's videos on there of my father who has now passed and my mother wants to get them off, it's her tablet and she didn't back up the files stupidly but I want to know is there any way to access these files if the tablet is in it's current state?

Throughout the year since my step-brother leave our house, along with his sons, he kept giving me these abuses. As of now, my motivation to post this is just what happened. I was just sitting around with my nephew who are just 8 months old (my sister's son) then my sister asked for something and told her eldest to tell me what her mother needed. So of course I told her, little I did know, these little girl is not telling her mother. And so, my father burst to me like I was just a thing. He smacked my head, threatening my life saying that he will kíll me, kicked my back and more. I run inside to look for what they asked, and as soon as I found some paper, I gave it to my sister. hide behind my mothers back as if she could protect me. I am tired of this life. I need comfort badly. This thing happens A LOT to me. Like he was just like doing it so. The furthest, he have been is is lifting me up holding my neck up high. I want to leave this house. But there's no one will support me. I want him to be arrested, but I dont want my family to feel anything negative. I want all positive things for my family, but I experienced mistreatments and stuffs. I don't know what to do.

In 2009 I fell 5.5 vertical metres through a roof, landing in the centre of a run of timber stairs and then rolling down the stairs to the next landing. I spent 4 days in hospital and was then released having done damage to both my hips and crushing my L2, L3, L4 and C3, C4 vertebrae. I had my accident on Monday 22/12 and came out on 24/12, a Christmas miracle, walking as if nothing had happened. Late December, early January (not a good time for me, I fell off the slippery tracks of a digger on the back of a truck, about 1.7 metres flat on my back onto a road. I got back up and carried on working. A week later I started getting an aching in my right leg and foot. I also had a burning sensation in my right calf muscle.A week later and I was getting the same pains in my left leg, same burning sensation in the left leg. I also found it hard doing certain things, like lifting my legs to get into bed. I would have to lift each leg with my arms. Also, getting into a car. I would have to sit down and lift each leg with my hands and bring them into the car. Driving a truck was worse, like climbing the steps to get into my house. I would stand at the bottom of the steps, staring at the stairs/steps, trying to figure out how I was going to get up them. I went to my doctors clinic, seeing Dr #1. He sent me to have X-rays/mri and forwarded my name to a ‘specialist’. Specialist told me he didn’t really need to see me and going off my mri/X-ray I needed both hips replaced, my left one being the worse. He said I had osteo-arthritis. He apparently put me on the waiting list for hip replacement, recommending 1 hip, left hip first, at a time. While waiting, but still working (I have a small business with up to 6 employees scaffolding, supplying swing stages on the outside of hi-rise buildings, supplying access machines and the transport of same items. All symptoms continued but I also started getting a tingling sensation in both hands. Dr#2 asked me which fingers and I said I thought it was the whole hand. Dr#1 said it must be carpel tunnel and I must be getting it in the ring and little fingers only. Meanwhile Dr#2 does an examination and while having me, laying on my back, raising my legs, says that my weakness in ability to raise the legs did not support hip replacement send me off to see another specialist, his cousin. This specialist tells me that by the way I walked into his office he could tell I needed a hip replacement. Still on the waiting list, I carried on working. I notice now, whilst at rest or laying in my bed, I started getting spasms, these were mainly in my legs but could go so far as right up to my neck. Frustrated with this going no where and my loosing my ability to go for long walks with my wife, I book a double appointment, at the end of their day, with Dr#3, the senior doctor of the practise. He examined me and tells me ‘referred pain’ doesn’t normally go below the knee of the opposite leg, ie right leg if left hip is the problem hip. He checks out some books/journals and starts talking about pressure points in my neck and other places but winds up saying ‘if I want him to follow up on that, I’ll have to book another appointment. Mean time I get an appointment to see the anesthesiologist for the hip replacement, she tells me operation won’t proceed till I have my blood pressure down to the 140 range, it was 195. I go back to Dr#1 who puts me on a tablet to reduce my blood pressure. I should mention, I have also been on since pain started Morning - 2 panadol, 2 gabapentine, 1 celecoxib Lunchtime - 2 panadol, 2 gabapentin Night - 2 panadol, 2 gabapentine, 1 celecoxib, 1 magnesium. B/p still fluctuates between 148 and 190 and I seem to be on a treadmill to no-where. I went and visited my elderly mother in hospital yesterday but the walk to her room was extremely hard. I contacted my dr’s clinic and they told me the earliest I could be seen was ‘next Tuesday’. But, since I was at a hospital’ I decided to try for a difference of opinion there. I booked in to the a&e at 11:00am and waited. Blood pressure (195) was taken and blood samples. A doctor saw me at about 6:30pm and I spoke with him about my leg pains. I also mentioned hand and foot spasms and also the fact that I also had dizzy spells. He told me that I had osteo arthritis in my hips. I asked if this could be due to the fall I had in 2009 which he didn’t know about. He scrolled back through my records and instantly told me that my left hip had gotten worse. He said I should have discussions with my osteopath. I asked ‘which one’ and he said the one I have most confidence I. As they’re all trying to send me in for hip replacements, I don’t have confidence in any of them. I feel I have a pinched nerve that is giving me the majority of my complaints. I believe the damage they’re seeing to my hips is what happened in 2009 and they want to deal to that. I do no believe I have osteo arthritis (but I could be wrong). Please, is there anyone out there that can help me????

This happened over 45 years ago, but it still affects me to this day.
When I was 7, I was living with my Aunt, Uncle, and two Cousins for the summer while my Mother was getting back on her feet financially after a bad breakup from an abusive relationship. My Aunt and Uncle owned their own business and made very good money. One of my cousins is the same age as me and we became as close as brothers; which was awesome since my other cousin was a girl and only wanted to play with her Barbies.
One evening my cousin and I secretly overheard my Aunt and Uncle talking about getting tickets to the Circus for the upcoming Saturday. It was supposed to be a surprise. We were so excited as we have never been to the circus before! We ran to the bedroom and jumped for joy.
The following Saturday, we all pile into the car when my female cousin asks, “Where are we going?” My Uncle just said, “We’re going out for a surprise” and left it at that. My male cousin and I looked at each other and grinned because we KNEW what the surprise was.
As life would have it, the car pulls into my Grandmother’s house; where my Uncle told me to stay with my Grandmother for the evening, and he would pick me up in the morning. The grin that I had quickly faded. I was completely broken as I saw the car pull away. I cried like I’ve never cried before and my Grandmother just commanded I shut up. It was the first time in my life when I felt that no one cared about me.
The next day my cousins regaled me with stories of what they experienced at the circus. They meant well, but it practically destroyed me. I had a really bad shudder so I never really talked much so no one really knew what I was truly dealing with.
Fast forward to 25 years later when I finally attend my first circus. The lights and music started and all of the performers came out in this massive intro. All of the sudden I started to cry so hard that other people started wondering if I was ok. I thought I had forgotten about being left behind so many years prior. I still get emotional over it.
I am now a Father and I’ve had the pleasure of taking my daughter to the circus on many occasions. It still makes me emotional, but it’s a trauma that my kid will never have to experience thankfully. To this day, I’ve kept this to myself and have been healed by my daughter’s smile when attending the circus.

Recently about 5 months ago I accused my mom of cheating on my dad when I asked her where she was on a certain day that she came home late, infront of my dad I asked. I only wanted confirm I was wrong (seriously) by her saying I was here or I was over there but she said she didn't remember. Things escalated pretty quick and I had to leave the house (don't have any evidence that she cheated very stupid of me to even ask such question now that I look back at it). They're still together which I am grateful for, my intentions were not to hurt my mom I just didn't want to be the one to know something and keep it a secret. We have spoken once since that day and she told me I really hurt her by saying that and that she's not mad because she knows she didn't cheat but feels betrayed and will never trust me again. I feel like a total piece of shit and rightfully are I believe. Again my intentions weren't to destroy or embarrass her. I have regrets of that day for asking that question and just can't forgive myself for what I have caused my only true friend (mom). I'm sure I have ruined the only true unconditional love and support from a mother I once had.
TL;DR; Need advice pls.

This is the original post can be found in my history.
I confronted him about it and he told me he wasn’t speaking negatively. It was regarding his child (male) he was letting his baby mom/ex know that the child will not be picking up garbage like that out of the washroom when he would come stay with us. That our home is clean and nice. I honestly don’t believe it because why did he mention to her that I expect him(my bf) to take out to the washroom garbage even if I have my period and why did he tell her my father use to take out my washroom garbage for me even if I had my period. It doesn’t make any sense to me. She even stated that he has said more negative things about me but she didn’t mention anything else. I feel so confused. Any advice would be appreciated.
Tl;dr I confronted my bf but his story doesn’t make sense about talking negatively about me To his ex/baby mum and she said there’s more negativity my bf has spoken but didn’t say what in particular.. idk if she’s jealous of our relationship ? Or she telling the truth ?

Recently about 5 months ago I accused my mom of cheating on my dad when I asked her where she was on a certain day that she came home late, infront of my dad I asked. I only wanted confirm I was wrong (seriously) by her saying I was here or I was over there but she said she didn't remember. Things escalated pretty quick and I had to leave the house (don't have any evidence that she cheated very stupid of me to even ask such question now that I look back at it). They're still together which I am grateful for, my intentions were not to hurt my mom I just didn't want to be the one to know something and keep it a secret. We have spoken once since that day and she told me I really hurt her by saying that and that she's not mad because she knows she didn't cheat but feels betrayed and will never trust me again. I feel like a total piece of shit and rightfully are I believe. Again my intentions weren't to destroy or embarrass her. I have regrets of that day for asking that question and just can't forgive myself for what I have caused my only true friend (mom). I'm sure I have ruined the only true unconditional love and support from a mother I once had.
TL;DR - Need advice pls

You ever look into a window and wonder what’s on the other side? I mean, a room, obviously, but what’s in it? Who lives there? How do they live? For as long as I can remember, that was my fascination. It started innocently, if creepy; I used to peek into people’s windows when I was a little kid, back when I had to get on my tiptoes to peer in through a kitchen window. I’d see the light reflecting off tile and appliances, and sometimes people would be moving about, living their lives. In a sense, it’s sort of like an ant farm; the windows people use to see out provide a small vertical slice of their inside life. I never got caught or scolded when I did this, even though I instinctively knew it was wrong. It was the same reason my parents chided me for peeking in the door when they’d use the restrooms; people liked their privacy.
But you know what happens when a bad habit is allowed to fester, don’t you? It escalates. When I was twelve years old, I broke into a house for the first time. Not for criminal reasons, mind you, I simply wanted to get a more… tactile appreciation for someone’s life. It was a house that had overgrown grass and sometimes had a beat-up old Buick out front that needed a wash. I’d never met whoever lived there, but I knew they did.
There’s a fatal flaw with burglar alarms: the infrequent nature of burglary. Potentially 365 days of a year, the homeowner is paying for a service that ideally won’t be used. But the device, it never sleeps unless you let it. Eventually, turning it on in the morning when you leave for work or off when you come home becomes such a hassle that in some neighborhoods, people just use the sticker as their ward against burglars. This person was one of those people. And he was also one of the people who failed to lock their windows.
It didn’t smell great in that place. I let myself in through the kitchen window and I just stood there, taking it all in. It was cluttered, lived-in, but not hoarder-level crazy. There was a fat stack of shitty self-help books on the dining room table, and more than a few pizza boxes crammed into an overflowing trash bin. The floor was once, presumably, a nice carpet, but decades of neglect had rendered it crusty and brown. In retrospect I recognize the smell as marijuana, but at the time I thought it was a skunk. I could almost see the guy who lived there wandering around, mired in the detritus of an unkempt house. I could imagine him pouring over those dog-eared self-help books, eating pizza for the fifth time this week, wondering how his life went so wrong.
There wasn’t much to do. Like I said, my intentions were curiosity, not theft. So I went back out the way I came. That night, when the shitty old Buick rolled up onto the driveway, I watched the guy. He was shorter than I’d imagined, and he had thick glasses and thinning hair. He wasn’t super fat, but he wasn’t skinny; all in all, a fairly normal individual. Yet from that moment I spent in his home, I knew so very much about him. I think that’s where the problem started, really.
I got really, really good at it. Sneaking into people’s homes. Walking through undetected. Again, I never took anything, just explored the place and drew connections about their life. Creepy, yes, and very illegal, but I rationalized it at the time as being functionally identical to being invited in. It’s not creepy when a guest looks around, and since I wasn’t doing anything untoward, I was basically a guest, right? I even got so good I could do it when they were home. A lot of close calls, but those were the most exciting. Again, at this point I had yet to steal anything. I was chasing the high of just sneaking around, going where I wasn’t supposed to.
When I got into high school, however, I started wanting things. I wasn’t poor, but there was always something I wanted that was just out of reach. Well, I made the logical leap that my hobby and my desire could aid each other.
I prepped by “mock-robbing” my own house. When my parents were out, I combed through their things, looking for stashes of goodies. Naturally I wouldn’t steal from THEM, mind you; I hadn’t done that since I took a five-dollar bill out of my mother’s purse when I was six. Sure enough, I found the classic sock-drawer with the stash in it. Wasn’t much, just a couple documents. A xerox of my birth certificate, a copy of my grandparents’ will, some insurance papers, and a single hundred dollar bill, all rolled into an old black tube sock at the back of my father’s sock drawer. My mom’s nightstand held a bunch of her old expired credit cards, receipts for purchases deductible as work expenses, and her old earrings she’d worn before her earlobes had healed over. The kitchen junk drawer tended to be where lost coins were deposited, and by quarters alone I reckoned around 50 dollars had accumulated over the years. Finally, under my parents’ bed, I found the real stash: bonds given to them by my grandparents, the deed to the house itself, and my grandfather’s old ring. Worthless to me, obviously, but it proved that humans and dragons both choose to sleep atop their riches.
I chose my mark well; a large house, and one I’d already familiarized myself with on the inside. Once the geriatric woman had left to go do whatever octogenarians do on Thursday afternoons, I stole into the building and rifled through her things. It was a completely different experience to go in with the intent of robbery. I felt heightened. Paranoid. Instinctively I shied away from windows and lights like a scuttling rat, and any time the house shifted or settled, I dove for cover, cramming myself into cabinets or closets. The place was big, but sure enough, I found the old cigar box under the bed. It didn’t have money or jewels, but rather pictures. Grainy, faded, black-and-white pictures of a man in a naval officer’s dress, and a girl in a skirt with frizzy brown hair. I realized with a start that it was her, and who I could only assume was a late lover. There were family pictures on the walls, but none of them featured her with a man at her side. An elderly spinster, clinging to a love who no doubt was long gone. When I discovered that, I shook my head. No way I was going to rob her, even if I’d found gold bullion in the box. So I tidied up the place, making sure to wipe away the places where fingerprints could have been even though I was wearing latex gloves, and put her secret box back where it belonged.
For a few weeks, I didn’t do any B&E. Truth be told, I was disgusted at myself. Every house I’d snooped through, every life I’d reverse-engineered in my head… to think that I’d rob them, make those pristine little lives worse for my own benefit… I couldn’t stomach it.
Looking back, I wish I’d just abandoned that moral hang-up. Because it was that morality that led me to the Mortheimer house.
In the state of California, where I live, burglary is a felony. I think it’s that way in most places. Now I didn’t consider myself a burglar, because in order for it to be such, I had to be entering with the intent to do a crime. As of yet, save for the old woman’s house, I had never entered for any reason save to observe, so in my mind I was not a burglar.
I heard about the Mortheimer house from a friend. He said it had been owned by the bank for some time, after the owner had lost everything to a gambling addiction and shot himself in the building. It wasn’t called the Mortheimer house at the time, though; that wouldn’t be until Jason Mortheimer moved in and bought the old, buttress-ridden house for next to nothing. For weeks, my friend said, they had done construction; as to what they were doing, he couldn’t tell. Aside from cleaning, repainting, reshingling, and repairing the windows, the old house looked practically unchanged from the outside. Yet power tools could be heard from dawn until dusk within the old place, and construction teams came and went with clockwork regularity. Jason Mortheimer was an oddball in the neighborhood; he was never seen during the day, save peering out from his windows to watch people on afternoon strolls. By night, he’d wander and be cordial to passersby, but he walked stiffly, leaning heavily on a mahogany cane. Between the constant noise of construction and the leery glances he was caught giving joggers from behind heavy curtains, it was safe to say Jason Mortheimer was unpopular.
My friend wanted to know what was going on in the house, nothing more. We’d talked about my interests and he’d been understanding; on some occasions, he’d paid me to snoop on romantic interests, to find out their sexual preference and availability. Usually, I’d take his money and not even break in, simply observing the individuals and using the key context clues that he so clearly had missed. His current boyfriend, who like him will remain unnamed, was a closeted individual who I’d been hired to snoop upon; now he was out of the closet, and happier than ever before. Good for the two of them. But this was the first time my friend wanted me to snoop for anything approaching a benign curiosity, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t also curious.
It wasn’t until the construction had stopped, about a week after the last team had left, that I made my move. I was going to enter the Mortheimer house, I was going to take this rich eccentric menace for everything that I could, and I was going to satisfy my curiosity.
The smell was, as it often is, the first thing I noticed. In most places, it’s a very human smell; scented candles, food, soaps, or even unwashed individuals sweating in the summer heat. This place, however, smelled sterile, and vaguely metallic. Like the smell of dentist’s tools, fresh from the sealed pack.
The interior was lavish, but just as odd as the man who inhabited it. Oil paintings of gargantuan scale leered down at me, Bavarian dukes and kings with severe faces glowered from antiquated frames. The floor was mostly granite, covered by a single crimson velvet rug that spanned the various landings. Dim halogen bulbs lit the corners of the halls, leaving the rest of the walk in murky near-darkness. Only the front of the house, as I would come to learn, had windows; the rest of the rooms were the same tiled, featureless rooms with odd decor. I passed no less than three bedrooms, each pristine and untouched, and entirely identical. Even the paintings began to loop, but those were more noticeably wrong, as the individual texture of the brushstrokes would differ between rooms.
The upper floors to the house were bizarre. Dining rooms and redundant kitchens on second-floor landings. An attic with a bathroom in it. Bedrooms so close as to be functionally adjoining. And all of them without so much as a sign of life. I checked three separate refrigerators, and while they were indeed cold, there was not a crumb of food in any of them. Drawers in the bedrooms would be completely empty, just varnished wood staring up at me where some evidence of habitation should have been. The attic bathroom was functional, I was surprised to see, and I marveled at the sheer ridiculousness of it. How much pipe the drains must have had.
When I reached the ground floor once more, I saw him. Jason Mortheimer, staring out the window as he always did. He was hunched, lame almost, as he peered from curtains of the same velvet as the rug. Without a sound, I descended the stairs and entered the first sub-level.
Roland Wood died two years ago. I feel this is important. You must understand that Roland Wood, captain of the volleyball team, was struck by an 18-wheeler and given a closed-casket funeral two years ago. I was there. I hadn’t been close to Roland, or Rollie as he was called by his friends, but the family had invited my family and we weren’t so disrespectful as to ignore the grief of our neighbors. I watched the pallbearers put Rollie in the grave, heard his mother’s hysterical sobs as the burial continued, and saw the grave covered in the cemetery.
Roland Wood, two years dead, body irreparably damaged by the crushing force of an 18-wheeler truck, stood before me as I rounded the corner into the first room. He wore a dress shirt and pants, and he stared straight ahead, eyes glassy and unfocused. It was all I could do to not yelp in surprise as I saw the slack features of a dead teenager in the first room of this strange place. Thick, iron staples perforated the skin everywhere, and numerous discolored teeth shone unblemished white alongside the rotten and deteriorated others. His skin, usually so tan from the volleyball games in the summer sun, was pale and slightly blue, riven with lumps and thin patches where the impression of bone could be made out.
Rollie wasn’t alone in that room. A dozen others stood still, staring at the wall, similarly dressed in formal wear. Women wore elegant dresses and pearls, men wore dinner suits and tuxedos, and all stood like mannequins in the cold, bare room.
“Admiring them, are we?”
I spun as Jason Mortheimer limped into the room, looking straight past me at the ghoulish tableaux.
“I- I-,” I began, but he jerkily raised a hand and shook his head.
“Don’t speak, lad. I heard you on the stairwell. Now tell me, what do you think of my merry little gathering?”
I swallowed and looked back over the legion of corpses.
“Are they… alive?”
Jason chuckled and shrugged.
“In a way. Although you’ll find they’re quite poor conversationalists. Everyone,” he called out, clapping his hands together, “please greet our new guest.”
In unison, the corpses turned to face me, their jaws opening with a creak and their eyes locking onto mine.
“Greetings,” they all intoned, a single voice coming from numerous throats. It cared not for the gender of the body it spoke from; they were all the same dolorous rasp, forced from lips that did not match the words spoken.
“Listen, Mr. Mortheimer, I didn’t come here to-”
“-rob me? Oh, I don’t believe that, friend, and neither do you.”
“Please, sir, I’ll just leave, I won’t tell a soul what I’ve seen.”
Jason shrugged, a jerky spasmodic gesture.
“It doesn’t matter if you do or don’t, dear boy. Nobody will believe you. So, you may go.”
I looked at him. He still didn’t meet my gaze, staring intently at his grisy arrangement.
“That’s… it? I can just leave?”
“Of course. I would prefer you to.”
“You’re not going to hurt me or something?”
Finally, Jason turned his gaze on me, an insincere grin twisting his features.
“Everything I can do has been done.”
With that, he turned away, jerkily climbing the steps. I ran past him, bolting for the door. It wasn’t far, and he made no move to stop me. I flung the old door wide and sprinted out into the daylight, gasping and shuddering as I ran. Confused passersby blinked as I stormed past, sprinting in the direction of home. Relief and terror warred in my mind as I reached my front door, and I threw it wide, startling my parents from the couch.
“Jacob?,” My father asked, “where’s the fire?”
I panted my excuses and sat at the kitchen table. I said I’d had a fright, thought I was being followed, because someone put a note in my locker.
“Speaking of notes,” said my father, gesturing to where the mail lay piled on the counter. There, a yellowing envelope had been opened.
“What’s this?” I asked, dread settling in the pit of my stomach.
“It was an invitation,” my father answered, “to a party. Fancy dress. It’s at that old… oh, what’s the name of the guy who owns it now?”
“The Mortheimer house?”
He nodded and smiled.
“That’s the one. Your mother and I are planning on going at the end of the month. Do you want to come along?”
I smiled weakly, my mind racing.
“I… I guess.”

“So, how much?”
I didn’t know Charles well, but well enough to guess that the grizzled hog farmer was a talented salesman. ‘No lowballs,’ I imagined him drawling, waggling his finger, and speaking over his exceptionally jutting chin.
“Three-hundred fifty for the land, the pen, and the house,” the man said. He spat, hard, and the tobacco-black phlegm stuck to the side of the fence post and slowly ran down the side in three rivulets.
“Then another twenty grand for the hogs. Two-hundred thirty-three of ‘em, not a large passel. Price of swine is goin’ up, I’ll tell you, so t’s the best I can give you for what you’s gettin’.”
I had expected to hand him even more money. Charles and his wife had a small operation, but big enough to matter, with a beautiful two-story farmhouse to accompany it nicely. I wasn’t getting a better deal anywhere else. At least not anywhere I wanted to be. I’d longed to live as a farmer in Tennessee ever since my family’s entire property burned to the ground back in the fall of ‘68. It was dry, and we’d just fertilized after the harvest.
Not a living thing was left untouched by the flames, not even my father, who ran back to get the horses after the barn shot up with a pillar of fire. We never found his body. Or maybe we did, but the charred dust of the barn, the corn, and the animals we called our lives and the blackened remains of the man that was my world were all reduced to ashes in the end. And when the wind came, they all blew away just the same, forever to leave me, my two sisters, and my mother behind.
I held out my hand to Charles and we shook on it.
It wasn’t the life I envisioned for myself. Not when I got my engineering degree from Georgia Tech. Not when I began work at a small engineering firm. Not even when I saw the hog farm for sale less than an hour from my house did I realize that was the world I lost that I needed back. My wife didn’t care; in fact, it brought her work commute down to forty minutes from an hour ten.
After we moved there and I began consulting part-time to make allowance for the time I needed to spend raising the hogs, caring for the land, and tending to my now-pregnant wife, the fulfillment I sought seemed that much closer. But only that. Closer, yet still out of the reach of my yearning clutches. It wasn’t until two years after I bought the farm, almost to the day, that the chips seemed to fall on my side with her.
“Micah?”
Jackie was calling from the cubicle over. Then I heard footsteps coming towards my own office space.
“Hey, yeah, did you finish the drainage plans for the floodplain you were working on? If so, I’d happily review and sign off on them.”
Jackie had come here a couple of years after I did. She was an intern at first, and everybody loved her cheery smile and sharp intellect, so she was hired on after she finished her degree. The youngest of our crew, she lived by herself in an apartment, but her lack of experience didn’t keep her from coolly sharing her opinion on matters of work when she knew she was right. And she was always right.
Jackie had always taken a liking to me in a way she didn’t seem to show toward the others. I never became sure of why she did, but I had my suspicions. Trauma and mystique go hand in hand. Maybe she saw me as broken in the same way she saw herself. After all, it didn’t take a psychologist to tell Jackie had her own skeletons in her closet. She just had that aura, the one that neglected children and broken adults share with each other. Nobody knew what life she walked out of and nobody cared. She did her job, and that was all the company cared for. But not me.
I turned away from my computer screen towards the opening of my cubicle and she was there, half silhouetted by the light behind her, staring me in the eye. Jackie trailed a finger down the edge of the cubicle wall, her mouth open barely enough for me to see her tongue flit deftly over her perfectly-aligned incisors. Ignoring my question, she continued.
“Your wife, I take it?”
She gestured with an outstretched palm toward the wedding photo I had framed on my desk.
“Yeah. Hard to believe we’ll be a family of three soon. Ha!”
I chuckled, nervously. Slightly excitedly, too. I can’t tell if Jackie knew that the latter was for what I knew was coming rather than what I had already said, but I don’t think she would have cared one way or the other.
“Say, she must be lonely waiting for you at home? I know that feeling. Being lonely.”
She took a step towards me and I glanced down at my feet. Looking back, it felt like an eternity, that looking down, that knowing what was happening and making a decision. It was a choice. And while it felt like it stretched for minutes, hours, I knew it was but a moment. Yet it only took a moment to make my descent into sin.
“I know it too. Well. Too well. She’s on a business trip - a long one. Say, I raise hogs. Prize swine, there’s good money in them. What’d you say about coming to see my farm sometime?”
It had been two hours since Jackie had left the farmhouse and was almost one-thirty in the morning, yet I wasn’t tired. According to my doctor, I have insomnia. According to my mother, I have “bad juju.” According to myself, well, I guess I just don’t feel like sleep is worth the trouble sometimes. That night, though, I didn’t sleep at all until the sun shone through my window in the early hours of the morning.
Living among swine never gave me a lot of grief before then. Some people hated the stench - my wife among them - but the manure never bothered me, and, come to find out, it didn’t bother Jackie, either. I would have asked if she had been on a farm as a child, but her demeanor and attitude told me that she wasn’t interested in the slightest in my life and that I shouldn’t be in hers, either. I suppose I wasn’t - not in the one outside of our affair, at least.
But that night, when the stars were out and shining like eyes in a limitless black sea, and when the wind rustled through the trees, a gigantic army moving across the land like a plague towards destinations unseen, I started to feel bothered in a way I never had before.
I had been sitting on the back porch in view of the pig pens after having just finished the chores. I knew I wasn’t drunk, I was only on my second beer, but sitting outside, half-empty bottle in hand, I suddenly wished I could be completely wasted. I’d never been one to believe in those types of things that you can’t touch with your hand or see with your eyes. The hair stood up on my arms and the taste of metal lapped my tongue as if a storm was coming. No, I didn’t believe in the things you couldn’t really feel, but I could sure as hell feel something now.
Unsettled, I was turning around to go get another beer before something caught my eye in the pig pen that made me glance over.
All of the pigs visible from this side of the house could be seen, through the metal fencing, staring in my direction. The ones who were blocked by the lumpy bodies of the other swine stood on the hind ends of the others to see. With their combined mass, the pigs strained the metal of the pen stalls until each stall’s fencing bulged out in the middle where the weight was distributed.
Most unique of all was the unanimous behavior of the swine. Not one fell out of sync. Each one, eyes glowing like headlights in the dark, bodies silhouetted against the light of the moon, was without noise or disturbance. Once all of the pigs were in position, they all stayed ominously still.
As I watched, one by one, hundreds of eyes closed, and a wave of darkness spread over the pen as no more eyes were open to reflect the light. I swore for a moment that the stars did too and that the world around me plunged into complete darkness, but I cannot be for certain, because at that same moment, I involuntarily blinked.
I say involuntarily because, frozen in place, the scene was too strange for me to willingly turn away from. I do not know if the same force that caused the swine to flicker their eyes caused me to do the same, perhaps a gust of wind - or of something less tangible - but upon opening them, the pigs had returned to their discord, with several having already gone to sleep. Deeply disturbed, I went inside the house and drank until the morning came and I finally found sleep.
My wife returned from her trip soon enough and without much ado upon her arrival. For the next month or so, the two of us were together, and our lives were lived without significant discord. None that she knew about, anyway. I never told her about Jackie and I certainly didn’t mention the times I saw my coworker after my wife returned, either. And while I did float an innocent question to her asking if she had noticed any of the hogs’ strange behavior, I didn’t enlighten her as to the motivation for my interrogative manner. She never appreciated being in the company of swine as it was, and turning her disdain into disgust wasn’t on my agenda.
Almost as abruptly as she had returned, my wife left, again, to be gone for the next week and a half on another trip. Probably best for her, too, because the hottest days of the year hit western Tennessee when she wasn’t there to experience them. And no sooner had she gone than Jackie resumed her nightly visits to the farm. Each time, she showed up without much notice, if any at all, and left just as abruptly.
Funnily enough, I didn’t care much. I felt no more and no less empty after she left than when she was here. So after I spent my days with my eyes on my screen and my nose in my boss’s ass, I spent my nights staring up through the bottoms of bone-dry bottles, faintly wondering if the path I walked down could’ve been just a little warmer or just a little brighter if things were different.
In spite of my catering towards my boss’s every wish at the office, he didn’t return the good-will in kind.
“What do you mean you’re asking for a raise?”
I swallowed and continued.
“I mean that it’s been five years, Glenn. I simply asked that my pay might increase to match inflation.”
My boss folded his hands across his desk and sighed. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he dabbed at a couple of beads of sweat running down from his brow. We were in the heat of summer, and the air hung thick and humid around us. The office had air conditioning, but the unit was old, and the fan whistling away in the corner didn’t do much good against the record-breaking heat pressing in around us.
“I’m sorry, Micah. It’s just that you’re consulting, now, and… I can’t afford you those kinds of benefits-”
“What do you mean benefits? I’ve been here long enough I’m owed at least that, Glenn! What the fuck do you think I’m still here for? Pot lucks?”
That was the first time I had lost my temper at my boss; at least, the first time since he ripped up one of my drafts for a project several years back. That had been a long day for both of us. Now, Glenn sat back and scowled ever so slightly, and only for a brief moment, an indication that his inhibitions keeping his attitude in check were wearing thin. Nonetheless, he put on a smile, and chuckled coldly.
“Micah, look- you always were my right hand man, but you’re here so little now. One could say you’re more like my right thumb man, now.”
That was a long day too. The heat didn’t help. Somehow some bugs got into the office. Somebody probably left a door open to quash the heat, fruitlessly.
No wonder the AC’s shot, I thought to myself.
By the time it was the hour for me to leave, there were moths flitting around the lights, flies eating the stale food in the cafe, gnats alighting on every exposed surface in the office- insects were everywhere. I figured that door must have been left open most of the day.
Gotta be pretty stupid bugs, if this is where they want to be.
The time came for me to leave and I did so without a fuss. As little as I could manage, anyway. I took time to complete some errands and returned home, only to realize the heat wasn’t much less oppressive there than it was at the office, even if there weren’t any insects. If anything, it felt oddly empty without them, even after Jackie showed up. The rest of that evening was a blur of empty bottles and used cigarette butts littering the porch.
At some point — two in the morning, three, it didn’t matter — I was pulled out of my drunken slumber and forced into sobriety by a noise I could no more determine the source of than what I had eaten for dinner a year ago from the day. I sat up with a jolt and listened, suddenly feeling the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
The sound, if it could be called that, was discordant, unnatural, wrong — and yet, I couldn’t remember another thing about it. It wasn’t a sound heard through your ears, a vibration in your skin, nor even a sensation of one’s physical brain; it was a thought processed through one’s sleeping soul, something that certainly cannot be described with words without diminishing the weightiness placed; without negating, in full, the sense of abject horror at its state of being.
I had sat atop that precipice between reality and unreality; sleep, the abyss, where devils absently play amongst the nightmares of men. I told myself it was just that, a dream, but I know now that the place I was and the places I was soon to go were gateways between the waking world and the one beneath it. Before I had time to process what I had just felt, I heard another sound, this one very much real, and resembling a dying animal. Slowly, I made my way out of my crumpled bed and opened the blinds. I almost wished, upon doing so, that I was back on the precipice.
Thirteen of the hogs stood in a circle on the lawn; how they had gotten out, I don’t know. Each stood perfectly still, equidistant from the next, and faced a quivering shadow in the middle of them all. I could make out faint features: a scraggly beard, a bottle- whether the man was a hiker or a drunk, I couldn’t tell. Nonetheless, he had wound up on my property, and found himself caught in a circle of pigs.
I watched the man’s motions and noted with rising horror that as he walked in one direction, the circle of pigs shifted to keep him at the center of the ring, and all the while they drew nearer to him. The man was clearly intoxicated now; it was almost half a minute before he stumbled, fell, and no sooner squelched in the dirt than thirteen squeals rang through the night and the animals blotted out his body from sight with their unified mass.
The man let out one scream but could manage no more than one. The ring was a blur of motion. I saw little but I saw enough; one pig reared its glistening head and I watched part of a scalp fly from its gaping mouth, arcing dark liquid as it trailed across the yard. Another couple chunks of meat rolled away from the pile and reached a stop several feet away in the yard; once the pigs were through with their feast, they broke off from the previous site, now nothing but a red stain on the earth, and gobbled up the pieces that had got away.
It took me the next four hours to get the pigs back into their pen, but I managed it. And, none had to be shot in the process, though I surmised I should come with a gun readied. A cleanup wasn’t necessary either; it was a hog farm, so it’d be getting dirty again soon. I considered another individual might find the stain, but there was no proof it was human blood, and I had no intention of calling the police out there.
That morning, my boss was late to work. I suppose that’s to be expected, though, when one has had their tires slashed. He was livid, and I didn’t correct his supposition that his ex-wife had committed the act, though I’m sure he would have loved another reason to fire me. After all, I was nothing more than a right thumb man.
The day had gone quicker and cooler than the former, and the low droning of the rain made the day seem just a little less lonely. Of course, I was slated to see Jackie that night, and after lunch I had left work, gone off to purchase more drinks from the local liquor store. I remember having gotten enough to fill the passenger seat of my truck, and felt almost as if the pile of liquor was a singular being, watching me; the silently judgemental friend. I had a twinge of anxiety, and half wondered if I was going insane; at that, I laughed.
The air was cool when Jackie got there. My mother always used to call that the first breath of autumn, when the reaper opened his eyes and cooed softly to his crop before the inferno was snuffed out by the frigid winter. As a child, I didn’t pay much attention to her words, but as I grew older I felt the cold in my bones, and tonight I felt it in my soul, a faint whisper of death like the mark of the beast. I watched Jackie’s hair whip to the side, a black flag in the wind, as she approached the house. On the doorstep, we embraced, and I recall she said she needed to talk.
“You’re an awfully successful man, Micah. And I know you’ve got a lot of money. Maybe you’re not wealthy, no, but you’re richer than me, and there’s enough to go around. It’d be a damn shame if your poor wife found out about me. No, I haven’t said a thing yet, and I know you know that, for the poor thing couldn’t take the stress and might just die. But I could say a thing, and maybe even a little more. And a nasty thing it’d be, too. I’d just ask for $1,000 a month, but times are tough, so I’m inclined to say $2,000 would be enough to keep my mouth shut. And, of course, we could continue seeing each other. . . if you’d so please.”
Some say they see red when they’re angry enough, but I still remember how I saw even less; the next five minutes of my life were no clearer to me than several brief glimpses of reality, interspersed by periods of unreality before the next glimpse. A scream, and then another. The thought: she’s got a knife. A bone snapped: mine, hers, it didn’t matter. Blood; spattered on the carpet, on my shirt, and the drip-drip of a glistening red globe, smashed in through the side like a cracked egg. I remember the silence before the adrenaline eased and I felt pain, and I remember the pain before the squelch when I issued one last kick to the body, lying on the ground.
It had been time for me to feed the pigs. Jackie usually helped me with the feeding when she came over, always with a coy look, and often it was short lived and I needed to finish the job on my own after she left. I was betting that she could help me again. Hoisting her up onto my shoulder wasn’t difficult, though I supposed she was lighter than usual. I stooped to pick up the last few pieces that didn’t come with the rest of her and took the two of us to our yard.
The part of the brain we, as people, already understand cannot possibly encompass every sensation which we, as people, feel. Scientifically, maybe- but that feeling that makes dogs bark at empty rooms; that makes cats stare into walls before jumping away, frightened; that feeling exists in humans, too. Call it a sixth sense, or ESP, it’s there, and I felt it when carrying Jackie. The birds had stopped calling, the trees had ceased rustling, and a low, droning buzz resounded outside the pig pen. It rose in volume and pitch, and as I dropped Jackie’s lifeless corpse onto the ground, it blocked entirely the noise of the world around me.
I didn’t even hear the thump. Nor did I hear the pigs, for it wasn’t until I looked up from her body, panting heavily from the effort of what had transpired, that I saw that we stood on the fringe of a gathering of the pigs. I couldn’t see if any remained in the pen, but I could see that at least a hundred gathered here outside the pen, all staring at me with glassy eyes and salivating mouths. Some stood on the haunches of the others to see, and many were covered in blood, having been left uncleaned since the events of the previous night. Even through the foggy daze I was in, my fear registered on a guttural level and, in horror at the unreality of what I was seeing, I backpedaled, eventually tripping over a rut in the earth and falling to the ground.
The next moment, each of the pigs had turned to look at what was left of Jackie. For a couple of seconds, they stared at her, and I realized that the droning in my ears had stopped, replaced with nothing but an ominous silence. That silence was short lived, for in one, unanimous, ear-splitting squeal, the pigs raced each other to the body, and carnage ensued.
The hogs in front no sooner reached the body than were ripped apart by the pigs behind them. Huge flaps of fatty skin hung in ribbons from the napes of their necks and blood sprayed in all directions as necks, limbs, tails, and extremities were mangled with the reckless abandon of a pack of wild dogs. I suppose that’s what they were; even if I treated them like domesticated creatures, they were animals, and they were out of the control of any constraints that civilization wanted to place on them.
The mass of flesh moved rhythmically and dripping bodies were flung like oversized rag dolls from the fray to land wetly and lifelessly on the earth. Occasionally, I would hear a crunch as bones were rent and snapped under the pressure of the fray, and squeals as the broken limbs stabbed through the fleshy bodies of the animals atop them. Hooves, teeth, and bones carved the flesh of the other pigs, and while blood and feces sprayed freely, chunks of gore rolled out of the fray like meaty baseballs.
The pleasant temperature drop had undone itself, as the wind had stopped blowing, and the stench of the scene hung thick in the hot and heavy air of late summer. I vomited, over and over, bent over in the shit and the blood, eyes watering from the smell, and blood dripped from everywhere on my body. It ran off my body in rivulets and pooled around my feet. Some was mine, but more was Jackie’s, and more yet was the remains of the pigs. Blood dripped from my mouth onto the dirt, and I could no longer tell if I was looking up towards the cruel stars, down at the earth, or witnessing the slaughter before me, for my sight was veiled by a coating of blood, and my senses were clouded by the rush of adrenaline, though I could do nothing but sit in shock.
Breathe.
A chunk of meat smacked me in the shoulder.
Breathe.
An ear bounced off of my forehead.
Breathe.
An opened artery sprayed blood across my face in a line.
Breathe.
My eyes recognized four pigs on the fringe of the conflict abandoning their course for what was left of Jackie and I saw turn to me, each foaming at the mouth like a rabid animal. I saw two get ripped away by two other pigs, but the remaining couple charged. The one that reached me first clamped its maw around my leg not a moment before the next reached it, bit into its neck, and thrashed it back and forth.
I couldn’t hear my own screams above the countless squeals of the hog pile and the constant wet ripping that resounded through the dark sky. Eventually, the pig that had bit me gave out with a squeal, but not before the lower half of my leg was snapped with one, final pull, and the pig behind then buried its face in the body of the dying hog before being dragged back into the conflict by another. I failed to even hear my cries of pain over the sounds of the fray; I knew I screamed only from the burning in my throat.
Breathe.
A second later, I was thrown by the arm and crashed against the soggy earth several feet away from the conflict. For a moment, I wondered if I was alive, or if the world I was seeing around me was really Hell, and I was a damned soul being punished for my sins. At that, I blacked out, and entered a timeless, dreamless slumber that sent the world back into the buzzing mayhem I had felt before the carnage.
I opened my eyes some brief time later to find that the buzzing persisted in my ears while awake. Perspiring heavily from the heat, I found I was lying on my back on the ground, facing the burning remains of my house. The buzzing was really the rush of flames lapping at the sky and the crackling of embers as the roaring fire pulled them out of sight.
“Swine,”
The voice, which rang impossibly clear in the noise of the night, above the roar of the inferno and the sounds of the approaching sirens, had come from but a few feet behind the back of my moist head. Even after all that had transpired, the word made my hair stand on end, for it was spoken with a voice that could snuff out the stars if it were to say that they ought to stop shining.
I turned my head to face behind me, groaning sharply from the pain, to see a man atop a mountain of hundreds of mutilated hogs. The pile ran with a constant stream of blood and feces, which dripped slowly over the terraced stack of corpses to form a small lake underneath, the edge of which lapped my face with miniature waves of gore.
“. . . they never learn.”
Then, the man smiled, and I realized with horror that his legs resembled those of ruminants.
And atop his head rested two ebony horns, glistening in the moonlight.

I’m back again to ask for advice and not so much a story time. I’ve found myself in quite the pickle. If readers aren’t up to speed, please go back and read my post from last year. I inherited my late grandparents home after my Mammie passed away in late 2022. In early 2023, I changed the locks, got all utilities transferred over to my name. My dad was understandably miffed that he didn’t inherit the home, but he’s known since I was 9 years old when my grandparents deeded the home to me.
I’ve had a very rocky relationship with my dad over my 31 years. He has poor taste in women, and turned a blind eye to the abuse I endured during the years I lived with them. She has 4 children from a previous marriage. 3 of which are one wellfare and get constant handouts from them. When I left my home at 18 I was on my own financially and went to pursue a degree I have yet to complete 13 years later. I’m married and have started my own family now. We do quite well all things considered. My husband is in a professional field and I have an Etsy store where I make designed products for book lovers and plant parents.
Given these facts, her children decided to insert themselves and tell me I owe it to my dad and stepmother to live in my late grandparents house. I did not cave to the notion. It’s mine. I am now in the process of selling my house so I can live in my inherited home. It needs major renovations in terms of plumbing, electrical and cosmetic. I’m in contract with a realtor and we will be moving mid June.
My dad has offered to help us move. I was open to the idea. Without asking me first, he purchased a SW one way ticket to FL to help us move. That wasn’t what bothered me. It was how fast things have escalated. In the last week, he has dropped a bomb on me that he is “finally leaving my step mother.” We’ve all heard this song and dance before. I admit to all the trauma and abuse I suffered from her emotionally, mentally and physically, only for him to show up with her without warning months or years later. It’s jarring to say the least and frays on my mental health. But apart of me holds on to hope. I want to blame her but ultimately he is also complicit in allowing it.
Then within twenty four hours of announcing his secret to leave her, he is asking if he can stay in one of the spare rooms at my late grandparents house (his parents) while he finds another RV to park on his land that joins mine. He wanted to arrive in KY a week before the move, and do pest control and prep the house before we get there. While we wait for our FL to sell, we were going to stay in my inherited house. When it sells we will move out and start renovating with the cash from the FL home sale.
I’ve been keeping my aunt and uncle in the loop who has a home next door that’s been unlived in for 4 years. They bought another home 30 minutes away closer to my uncles work. They have two daughters in college. I offered to rent their home next door while we renovate as it would be beneficial for all parties. The county we are moving to doesn’t have a lot of rentals available. I want my daughter in school there because my Aunt works at the school she will be attending. I can also keep an eye on contractors. My family wants nothing to do with him. When I was growing up, I was gas lit into thinking their behaviors were okay. My grandparents and aunt and uncle never stopped fighting for me and showing me love. They’ve lived through these things as adults and have very hard opinions on my father. They are cordial with him, but do not rub shoulders, do holidays or even dinners with him. Not since I left the home at 18 anyways.
But now I’m at an impasse with my family. They do not feel comfortable with my dad moving up there, and circumstances have changed throwing a wrench in their plans. My dad is very charming. But he has also committed fraud and theft from him parents over the years and no one trust him. I’m not upset with my aunt and uncle for reneging on our arrangement. They fear him getting into their house and taking from them. But I am 3 weeks from our move and I’m panicking. This move was about finding my peace and financial freedom living debt free. I’ve kept my dad from arms length all these years putting states and states of distance between us, only for it to go down the drain in one of the biggest milestones in my life.
He says he wants to help. I want to believe him. There’s still that little girl inside that yearns for her father’s attention and love that he so freely gave to my step sisters. He didn’t attend my wedding because he was at a gun show. My daughter was two months old before he met her. He was miffed my mom came down to help after I gave birth and decided he would pitch a fit. As the old saying goes, he has that “my way or the highway,” mentality. There are so many red flags going off right now, and it’s cost me a very lucrative living arrangement. The cost to rent next door was far cheaper and closer than having to go to neighboring towns and cities to rent. I’ll have to commute 30 minutes to the house and school daily. If you are familiar with rural areas, you understand the conundrum. I can make do, but I feel defeated in a way. Conflicted.
I want an honest relationship with him but I’m afraid of him hurting me again or my daughter. She’s 8 years old and is very frank about her distain for him. Somehow she has more wisdom than myself. Am I opening up a can of worms that I’ll regret? I still feel emotionally drained from how the will played out and his reaction. He basically got nothing but a bunch of stipulations on 12 acres. No alcohol, no trailers long term, not bringing my stepmom’s family to live. I don’t know if it would hold up in court. He tried to manipulate me when I said there wasn’t a key to get into the house. He said he guessed he would pitch a tent outside because he can’t afford to eat a $124 southwest flight. If that’s the case, how the hell will he afford RV hookups on virgin land in addition to purchasing a used RV?
Do I pull the plug now and go no contact? Do I forgo moving all together? I hate Florida, the cost of living is insane and my property taxes and insurance have gone up. I only moved her for my mom. I do love my home right now but the way the economy is I feel the need to get out from under my mortgage before it’s too late. Interested to hear the worm army’s thoughts and the OK OP fam. When you read my story last year I felt so validated but this situation seems to have gotten much more complicated.

I (24M) just got into an argument with my brother(23M) and I can’t tell if I’m in the wrong. My brother lives out of state away from family, and I live back home and close to family. I’ve been pretty distant from them the last couple months because work, and also I had a falling out with my father. My brother called me and asked me to take my baby cousin to the park. I told him I will try and make time to do that this weekend. He said no take him next time you’re free. I said what do you mean, I’ll try and take him this weekend, It’s not like I have a desire to do that the next moment of free time I have, but I’ll do it. He said “so you don’t WANT to take your baby cousin to the park” to which I reply, “no I don’t have a desire to do that”. He exploded started saying fuck you this and that, I just hung up. He texted me to never talk to him again, called me a bum, and told me to go fuck myself. I have no idea if what I said warrants that response, I know I should be more involved in my cousins life since I don’t live far. I’ve been struggling with depression, and physical health problems, but my family is not the type to understand that, or atleast empathize with that. Am I the asshole here?
Added context:
had a falling out w my father because my mother wanted to divorce him, she came to me for help, my dad got really mad at me saying I am tearing the family apart by helping my mother. Thankfully my siblings had my back and we all p much told him he’s crazy. He singled me out tho since I helped the most and he said some pretty nasty things to me. We don’t talk anymore. I helped do a lot of the heavy lifting in the divorce process, finding lawyer all that stuff since I was the only sibling available and close to home. Eventually though my mom got sidetracked in the divorce because she wanted to start a business. I was burnt out from the divorce stuff and slowly started to help her less with that, my brother picked up my slack by doing research with starting a business and helping her over the phone. I’m sure he resents me for not doing more to help my mom the last couple months, but I’ve been working a ton, dealing with my depression and health issues as well. Like I said my family doesn’t really get that or empathize with that. It’s kinda a help us, if you don’t you’re an asshole type dynamic. That’s all the context.

Hell is a place that is associated with torture and death of the highest degrees, and rightfully so. Only the worst of the worst mortal souls fall below the layers of purgatory and the ascendant mountains of the heavens, and there they find punishment for their unbound cruelty; the world's judgement for their wretched sins. But there must be order amidst chaos, and punishers amidst the punished.. enter the demons.
Despite the mortal myths and claims, demons have held little malice towards any soul walking on the rights paths- even those stained by misdeeds worthy of purgatory have their respect and goodwill. Deals with demons never dragged souls to the pits of hell, rather the cities and fields.. as demons themselves. Bound by strict order and a fair society, demonhood is a surprisingly gentle existence. Some hold normal mortal jobs, some are specialized to the climates of hell, and others punish the damned as they rightfully should. Yet by the end of the day, just like you and I, they head home and sleep in their own beds. They have their own lives, and participate in a society, following the rules of their Queen.
A Queen who, until recently, has been alone for eons. A great and powerful soul above the 9 rings and the common class, she had been a good and kind ruler ever since the heavens gifted her the title. But all grow lonely eventually.. and eventually, word began to spread that another royal was in the grand palaces. A little daemon Prince; a rumor that was spurred along by the Queen's several season long disappearance from public eye. It wasn't until the first newspapers emerged featuring the swaddled Princeling on the headline that it was deemed true- and rumors turned into a furious storm of gossip. Lesser nobles, commoners, even the celestial authorities began to wonder who fathered the boy; and what he would become. Time would prove that he would be a deeply sweet and kind child, despite his birthplace, deeply beloved by his mother.. and spoiled beyond belief.
[Good evening, morning, or afternoon! I'm looking for a roleplay that I admit is focused almost solely on sweetness and warmth. I quite like contrasting themes, and the thought of a little princeling being brought up as a good child in the midst of hell is.. tempting. I adore the image of a terrifying daemon queen and her tiny, sweet son, and that was really the main inspiration.
To put things simply, I'm looking for a slice of life roleplay focusing on both mother and son being sweet and kind. A little drama here and there, yes, and some intrigue, but nothing too much. There could be some deeper drama stirring beneath the surface, too.. demons still have criminals, after all, political unrest can still happen; and no one else but the Queen knows who sired her heir.. so there's plenty of potential here.
I'm a third person writer who tends to put out 2-4 paragraphs a response, and am looking for folks at about the same literacy level! Those with creative worldbuilding and an excitement for expanding on themes would be greatly appreciated.. as would anyone, frankly. I'd love to see this roleplay happen. I hope you all have a lovely day or night!)

Hell is a place that is associated with torture and death of the highest degrees, and rightfully so. Only the worst of the worst mortal souls fall below the layers of purgatory and the ascendant mountains of the heavens, and there they find punishment for their unbound cruelty; the world's judgement for their wretched sins. But there must be order amidst chaos, and punishers amidst the punished.. enter the demons.
Despite the mortal myths and claims, demons have held little malice towards any soul walking on the rights paths- even those stained by misdeeds worthy of purgatory have their respect and goodwill. Deals with demons never dragged souls to the pits of hell, rather the cities and fields.. as demons themselves. Bound by strict order and a fair society, demonhood is a surprisingly gentle existence. Some hold normal mortal jobs, some are specialized to the climates of hell, and others punish the damned as they rightfully should. Yet by the end of the day, just like you and I, they head home and sleep in their own beds. They have their own lives, and participate in a society, following the rules of their Queen.
A Queen who, until recently, has been alone for eons. A great and powerful soul above the 9 rings and the common class, she had been a good and kind ruler ever since the heavens gifted her the title. But all grow lonely eventually.. and eventually, word began to spread that another royal was in the grand palaces. A little daemon Prince; a rumor that was spurred along by the Queen's several season long disappearance from public eye. It wasn't until the first newspapers emerged featuring the swaddled Princeling on the headline that it was deemed true- and rumors turned into a furious storm of gossip. Lesser nobles, commoners, even the celestial authorities began to wonder who fathered the boy; and what he would become. Time would prove that he would be a deeply sweet and kind child, despite his birthplace, deeply beloved by his mother.. and spoiled beyond belief.
[Good evening, morning, or afternoon! I'm looking for a roleplay that I admit is focused almost solely on sweetness and warmth. I quite like contrasting themes, and the thought of a little princeling being brought up as a good child in the midst of hell is.. tempting. I adore the image of a terrifying daemon queen and her tiny, sweet son, and that was really the main inspiration.
To put things simply, I'm looking for a slice of life roleplay focusing on both mother and son being sweet and kind. A little drama here and there, yes, and some intrigue, but nothing too much. There could be some deeper drama stirring beneath the surface, too.. demons still have criminals, after all, political unrest can still happen; and no one else but the Queen knows who sired her heir.. so there's plenty of potential here.
I'm a third person writer who tends to put out 2-4 paragraphs a response, and am looking for folks at about the same literacy level! Those with creative worldbuilding and an excitement for expanding on themes would be greatly appreciated.. as would anyone, frankly. I'd love to see this roleplay happen. I hope you all have a lovely day or night!)

Hell is a place that is associated with torture and death of the highest degrees, and rightfully so. Only the worst of the worst mortal souls fall below the layers of purgatory and the ascendant mountains of the heavens, and there they find punishment for their unbound cruelty; the world's judgement for their wretched sins. But there must be order amidst chaos, and punishers amidst the punished.. enter the demons.
Despite the mortal myths and claims, demons have held little malice towards any soul walking on the rights paths- even those stained by misdeeds worthy of purgatory have their respect and goodwill. Deals with demons never dragged souls to the pits of hell, rather the cities and fields.. as demons themselves. Bound by strict order and a fair society, demonhood is a surprisingly gentle existence. Some hold normal mortal jobs, some are specialized to the climates of hell, and others punish the damned as they rightfully should. Yet by the end of the day, just like you and I, they head home and sleep in their own beds. They have their own lives, and participate in a society, following the rules of their Queen.
A Queen who, until recently, has been alone for eons. A great and powerful soul above the 9 rings and the common class, she had been a good and kind ruler ever since the heavens gifted her the title. But all grow lonely eventually.. and eventually, word began to spread that another royal was in the grand palaces. A little daemon Prince; a rumor that was spurred along by the Queen's several season long disappearance from public eye. It wasn't until the first newspapers emerged featuring the swaddled Princeling on the headline that it was deemed true- and rumors turned into a furious storm of gossip. Lesser nobles, commoners, even the celestial authorities began to wonder who fathered the boy; and what he would become. Time would prove that he would be a deeply sweet and kind child, despite his birthplace, deeply beloved by his mother.. and spoiled beyond belief.
[Good evening, morning, or afternoon! I'm looking for a roleplay that I admit is focused almost solely on sweetness and warmth. I quite like contrasting themes, and the thought of a little princeling being brought up as a good child in the midst of hell is.. tempting. I adore the image of a terrifying daemon queen and her tiny, sweet son, and that was really the main inspiration.
To put things simply, I'm looking for a slice of life roleplay focusing on both mother and son being sweet and kind. A little drama here and there, yes, and some intrigue, but nothing too much. There could be some deeper drama stirring beneath the surface, too.. demons still have criminals, after all, political unrest can still happen; and no one else but the Queen knows who sired her heir.. so there's plenty of potential here.
I'm a third person writer who tends to put out 2-4 paragraphs a response, and am looking for folks at about the same literacy level! Those with creative worldbuilding and an excitement for expanding on themes would be greatly appreciated.. as would anyone, frankly. I'd love to see this roleplay happen. I hope you all have a lovely day or night!)