Do you have trouble sleeping at night? Do you find yourself constantly shifting your legs, unable to find a comfortable position? If so, you may be suffering from Restless Legs Syndrome or RLS. In this article, we'll take a closer look at what RLS is, what causes it, and most importantly, what you can do to manage the symptoms and get a good night's sleep.
Key Takeaways:

• Restless leg syndrome can significantly impact daily routines and sleep quality.
• It's the sensation of creeping, burning, tingling, or pulling in the legs.
• RLS symptoms can extend to other body parts like the arms, head, and trunk of the body, causing discomfort.
• Treatment for restless legs syndrome usually includes lifestyle adjustments that limit caffeine, regular physical exercise, good sleep hygiene, and medication like iron supplements, dopamine agonists, and gabapentin to manage symptoms.

What is Restless Leg Syndrome?

Restless Legs Syndrome (RLS), also called Willis-Ekbom disease, is a common neurological disorder. It is characterized by an intense urge to move specific body parts, primarily the legs, to relieve uncomfortable sensations during periods of rest, sitting, or sleeping. RLS can worsen with age and lead to sleep disruption, making it difficult to fall asleep and stay asleep.
Although restless legs syndrome may present in childhood, it is often misdiagnosed as attention deficit disorder or growing pains, and the correct diagnosis may not be made until later in life.
The condition is often accompanied by Periodic Limb Movement Disorder (PLMD), where repetitive, involuntary limb movements occur during non-REM sleep, causing further sleep disruption and worsening sensory symptoms.
While there is no cure for RLS or PLMD, various treatment options and support services, such as the Restless Legs Syndrome Foundation, are available to help individuals manage their symptoms and improve their quality of life.

Symptoms of Restless Legs Syndrome

The major symptoms of restless legs syndrome include:

• An irresistible urge to move the legs often accompanied by an uncomfortable sensation that can be described as creeping, crawling, tingling, or burning.
• Discomfort that worsens when resting or sitting and improves with movement or stretching.
• Difficulty falling asleep or staying asleep
• Repetitive, involuntary limb movements during sleep (known as Periodic Limb Movement Disorder or PLMD) that can cause further sleep disruption and exacerbate RLS symptoms.
• Fatigue and daytime drowsiness due to poor quality sleep.
• Reduced concentration, memory, and productivity.
• Mood changes, anxiety, and depression.

The severity of symptoms can vary from person to person and may fluctuate in intensity and frequency. RLS symptoms are typically most severe in the late afternoon or early evening, but they can also occur when a person sits still for long periods, such as during an exam or while watching a movie.

Causes of Restless Legs Syndrome

The causes of RLS are not fully known, but there are two main types or categories of RLS: primary and secondary, which have different causes and risk factors.
Primary RLS, which accounts for most cases of RLS, has no identifiable cause, and its onset is often hereditary. However, researchers think that it could be related to abnormalities in brain chemicals, such as dopamine or iron deficiency.
Secondary RLS is when another medical condition causes restless leg syndrome. These include iron-deficiency anemia, pregnancy, kidney failure, peripheral neuropathy, or the use of certain medications. In such cases, treating the underlying medical condition may help alleviate the symptoms.
Below we have mentioned in detail a few factors that are related to RLS:
1. Genetic Factors
When a person develops restless legs syndrome at a young age, it may be caused by genetic factors. Research shows that people with an early onset of RLS have as high as 60% of first-degree relatives affected with the same. However, people who develop RLS later on in life tend to have other underlying causes.
2. Neurotransmitter Imbalance
Since it is a neurological disorder, another leading cause suspected is an imbalance of neurotransmitters, especially dopamine. RLS is linked with lower dopamine levels, which causes muscle spasms and involuntary muscle movements. This may also explain why RLS symptoms tend to occur more during the evening. Dopamine levels naturally decrease towards the end of the day, which causes the symptoms to worsen.
3. Spinal cord conditions
Restless Legs Syndrome (RLS) symptoms have been linked to spinal cord lesions caused by damage or injury. Taking spinal cord anesthesia, such as a spinal block, increases the risk of developing restless legs syndrome.
4. Iron Deficiency
Restless Legs Syndrome can also be caused by iron deficiency, which arises from the brain's limited capacity to absorb iron from the bloodstream and transfer it to the neurons. This deficiency can have various impacts on the body, such as controlling dopamine levels, which leads to Restless Legs Syndrome.
5. Kidney Issues
Kidney issues may lead to iron deficiency, which in turn causes restless legs syndrome (RLS). This explains why people with kidney issues are more prone to RLS.
6. Parkinson's disease
People with Parkinson's disease are more likely to develop RLS symptoms. It may be so because both conditions are treated by increasing the brain's dopamine levels. This is achieved by taking certain medications like dopaminergic agonists.
7. Pregnancy
Restless legs syndrome patients may experience a hormonal imbalance during their pregnancy. It is also found that some pregnant women experience RLS symptoms, especially in their third trimester.
8. Chronic Diseases
Certain medical conditions (such as diabetes) can trigger symptoms of restless legs syndrome.

Restless Legs Syndrome Diagnosis

When it comes to diagnosing RLS, your healthcare provider will take note of your medical and family history and ask you to elaborate on any symptoms you may be experiencing. The International Restless Legs Syndrome Study Group has set forth the following criteria that must be met in order for a diagnosis of RLS to be made:

• You feel a strong, sometimes uncontrollable urge to move your legs, usually accompanied by an uncomfortable sensation.
• Your symptoms get triggered when you're inactive (resting, sitting, lying down), especially during the night.
• Symptoms are partially relieved or temporarily improved with physical activity such as walking or stretching.

While the criteria mentioned above are important in diagnosing RLS, your healthcare provider may still conduct additional physical and neurological exams.
Blood tests, specifically those testing for iron deficiency, may also be performed as other potential causes are ruled out. If necessary, they may refer you to a sleep specialist, which could mean an overnight stay at a clinic to evaluate for other sleep disorders, especially sleep apnea.
However, make sure to provide all the information regarding the medications and supplements you take. And also, let your provider know if you have any chronic health conditions.

How is RLS treated?

Sometimes, the key to treating restless legs syndrome lies in addressing an underlying condition. For example, if you have an iron deficiency, correcting it may greatly relieve your symptoms. This could involve receiving iron supplementation orally or intravenously. However, it's important to always take iron supplements under medical supervision and only after your provider has checked the iron level in your blood.
If an underlying condition isn't the culprit behind your RLS symptoms, don't worry - there are still effective treatment options. Your healthcare provider may prescribe medications or recommend lifestyle changes, such as exercise or avoiding caffeine, to help alleviate your symptoms.

Prescription Medications to Treat RLS

When the symptoms are frequent or severe, your healthcare provider will likely prescribe medications to treat the condition. The most prescribed medication options for RLS include:
1. Drugs that increase dopamine
Dopaminergic drugs like ropinorile, pramipexole, and rotigotine patch affect the level of brain chemical dopamine in the brain, thereby helping reduce the motion in your legs.
2. Anti-seizure medications
Anti-seizure drugs like gabapentin enacarbil and pregabalin help reduce sensory disturbances. These medications are particularly effective in patients with painful RLS due to neuropathy.
3. Muscle relaxants and sleep medicines
Drugs like clonazepam, eszopiclone, temazepam, zaleplon, and zolpidem can help you relax and sleep better. However, due to their addictive nature, these drugs are usually reserved for patients with severe symptoms.
4. Opioids
Opioids, such as ramadol (Ultram, ConZip), codeine, oxycodone (Oxycontin, Roxicodone, others), and hydrocodone (Hysingla ER), can also be used to relieve symptoms of RLS. But considering the risk of addiction, they are usually not prescribed unless the case is severe and other medications have not been effective.
Out of the listed choices, the FDA has sanctioned only four medications for Restless Legs Syndrome treatment:This includes ropinirole (Requip), gabapentin enacarbil (Horizant), rotigotine (Neupro), pramipexole (Mirapex). Nevertheless, it is strongly advised that you consult an expert doctor before contemplating any medication.

Lifestyle Changes for Restless Legs Syndrome

Medications alone cannot cure restless legs syndrome; thus, certain lifestyle changes must be adapted to help alleviate symptoms and manage this condition.

Maintaining a consistent sleep schedule

Getting at least seven hours of quality sleep per night can help alleviate fatigue, especially for those with a condition like RLS. It's important to create a comfortable sleep environment and establish a regular waking time to minimize sleep disruption, which can worsen symptoms.

Cutting down on caffeine

Cutting down on caffeine is also recommended. Caffeine can trigger Restless Legs Syndrome symptoms and disrupt sleep by keeping the brain alert and focused, making it harder for individuals with a sleep disorder to fall asleep.

Practicing regular exercise

Regular exercise, particularly moderate activities such as cycling, walking, and leg stretching exercises, can significantly improve symptoms and reduce the urge to move the legs.

Relaxation techniques

Stress worsens symptoms, so relaxation techniques such as yoga and meditation might help. Besides, light exercises, warm baths, massages, and warm or cool packs can also relax muscles and reduce the intensity of symptoms and uncomfortable sensations.

Restless legs syndrome in children

If you think only adults can feel the tingling and pulling sensations in their legs associated with restless leg syndrome (RLS), think again. Children, too, can experience the same. The only problem is that they may be having a difficult time expressing how they feel. Often, they'll refer to it as a "creepy crawly" sensation.
RLS can interfere with the child's sleep quality, which can affect every aspect of life. A child with this condition may often seem inattentive, irritable, or fussy and may be labeled disruptive or hyperactive.
To diagnose restless legs syndrome in children up to 12 years, the adult criteria (as we mentioned before) must be met. The child must also be capable of describing the sensations they're experiencing in their legs using their own words.
If the child fails to express how they feel, two of the following conditions must be true:

• There's a clinical sleep disturbance that's deemed age-appropriate.
• A close biological family member, like a sibling or parent, has a history of RLS.
• A sleep study confirms a periodic limb movement index of five or more movements per hour of sleep.

In addition to diagnosis, it's important to address any possible dietary deficiencies a child may have. Children with restless legs syndrome should steer clear of caffeine and also develop good sleep habits.

Restless legs syndrome in pregnant women

During pregnancy, many women experience symptoms of restless leg syndrome (RLS) for the very first time. This usually happens in the last trimester, and studies suggest that pregnant women are at two or three times higher risk of developing RLS.
Unfortunately, it's not entirely clear why this happens. However, some theories suggest that nutritional deficits, hormonal shifts, or nerve compression could be the reason.
Well, pregnancy-related symptoms like leg cramps and sleeping difficulties can be hard to distinguish from RLS. But if you're pregnant and experiencing symptoms similar to that of restless legs syndrome, it's important to have a discussion with your healthcare provider.

When to see a doctor?

If you experience symptoms of restless legs syndrome on a regular basis, and they are causing discomfort or interfering with your sleep and daytime activities, you should consult a doctor. Some people may have mild symptoms that do not require medical intervention, but others may need to see a specialist for management of their symptoms. It is also important to rule out any underlying medical conditions that may be contributing to your RLS.

Conclusion

Restless leg syndrome can be a debilitating condition that steals individuals' ability to relax and get the sleep they need to lead a productive life. The frustrating sensations caused by the condition can cause everything from minor discomfort to severe disruptions of daily routines. The good news is that once correctly diagnosed, treatments for restless legs syndrome are relatively straightforward and usually provide relief.
Adopting a healthier lifestyle, limiting caffeine intake, regular physical exercise, and practicing good sleep hygiene habits are usually the first steps in managing RLS symptoms. With the right combination of lifestyle adjustments alongside medication, people can manage restless legs syndrome and its symptoms effectively.

FAQs

1. Is Willis Ekbom disease and restless legs syndrome the same?
Yes, Willis-Ekbom Disease and Restless Legs Syndrome (RLS) refer to the same condition and are characterized by an irresistible urge to move the legs, often accompanied by unpleasant sensations. This can lead to difficulty falling asleep or staying asleep, resulting in sleep deprivation and daytime fatigue. The condition can also affect other parts of the body, such as the arms, torso, and head.
2. Who gets restless legs syndrome?
RLS can affect anyone at any age, although it is more commonly observed in middle-aged and elderly individuals, as well as in women, more frequently than in men. RLS may also be hereditary, with up to 50% of people with the condition having a family history of RLS. Certain medical conditions, such as iron deficiency anemia, kidney failure, and diabetes, as well as the use of certain medications, can also increase the risk of developing RLS.
3. Does restless legs syndrome affect your sleep?
RLS can significantly impact your sleep quality, making it difficult to fall asleep or stay asleep throughout the night. The sensations associated with RLS can vary from person to person but are often described as tingling, crawling, or aching in the legs. These symptoms occur mainly at night, making it difficult to relax and drift off to sleep. In addition to this, the urge to move the legs can be so strong that it wakes a person up from sleep, further disrupting their rest.
4. Is restless legs syndrome life-threatening?
RLS is not a life-threatening condition. However, it can significantly impact a person's quality of life, especially if left untreated.
5. Does sleep medicine help with restless legs syndrome?
While sleep medicine can be effective in managing RLS symptoms, it is not a cure for the condition. It is important to work with a healthcare professional to develop a comprehensive treatment plan that addresses all aspects of RLS, including sleep disturbance, to improve your overall health and well-being.
6. What is PLMD or periodic limb movements disorder?
PLMD is a sleep disorder that is associated with restless legs syndrome and involves involuntary movements of the limbs during sleep. These movements are repetitive and occur in a cyclic pattern, typically every 20-40 seconds.
7. What makes restless legs syndrome symptoms worse?
RLS symptoms can be worsened by lack of sleep, high levels of stress, certain medications and substances, and changes in routine or activity level.
Establishing a regular sleep routine, managing stress through relaxation techniques, exercise, or therapy, avoiding medications that aggravate RLS symptoms, limiting or avoiding substances like caffeine, alcohol, and nicotine, and taking frequent breaks to move around can all help alleviate symptoms.
8. Is RLS a neurological or sleep disorder?
Restless legs syndrome is a neurological disorder that's closely linked to a dysfunctional dopamine system. At the same time, RLS is also considered to be a sleep disorder. The common symptoms of RLS are heightened during periods of rest, and they can seriously disrupt a person's sleep. Many people with this condition report that they find it difficult to fall asleep or stay asleep due to the urge to move their legs.
9. Is restless legs syndrome hereditary?
RLS has been found to have a genetic component, which means it can be inherited from parents to children. Studies have shown that there is a higher prevalence of RLS among family members of affected individuals compared to the general population.
10. What are the home remedies for restless legs syndrome?
Given below are a few home remedies for those struggling with RLS:

• Regular exercise
• Applying warm or cool packs to your legs
• Stretching before bedtime, especially the muscles in your legs
• A gentle massage of the legs before bedtime
• Taking an Epsom salt bath before bedtime

It is important to note that while these home remedies may help reduce RLS symptoms, they may not work for everyone.
11. What prescription medications are available for restless legs syndrome?
There are different types of prescription medications available for treating RLS. This includes dopamine agonists, iron supplements, anticonvulsants, and opioids.
12. What are the side effects of the medications used to treat restless legs syndrome?
Like all medications, the drugs used to treat restless legs syndrome (RLS) can cause side effects, some of which can be serious. Nausea, dizziness, drowsiness, hallucinations, and daytime sleepiness are some of the most frequent side effects of Dopamine agonists.
Using Iron supplements in high doses can lead to side effects such as constipation, nausea, vomiting, and abdominal pain. In rare cases, iron accumulation in the body can cause significant health issues.
Anticonvulsants used to treat RLS may cause dizziness, drowsiness, and blurred vision, while less common side effects include memory problems, depression, and suicidal thoughts. Opioids can cause constipation, nausea, and drowsiness, and they are highly addictive and hazardous when used improperly.
If you have any symptoms or worries regarding medication side effects, it is important to discuss them with a healthcare provider.
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This was originally posted in DD, but the post was deleted. I am copying and pasting here for both discussion and to keep a copy of that post available for posterity.
I am not clear where these notes came from, since I believe only the official transcripts (including pre trial, side bars, etc) were left to be released most recently, that all trial documents were released months ago. Since questioning materials isn't any easy feat in the other sub, maybe someone can provide an answer here. Without access to the source, I don't claim any of this to be conclusive, nor do I rule out the possibility the notes are out there with these statements.
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A huge amount of documents were recently unsealed by Fairfax and made available to the public by request and purchase. This includes Amber's treatment notes with Dr. Bonnie Jacobs from 2011-2014.
It is extremely important to me that this information be made public in a respectful way. Obviously I am not the only person capable of purchasing the court documents but, as of now, it seems I'm the only one who has done so and feel a certain amount of responsibility in sharing them first. Amber moved to admit these notes into evidence in the hopes that it would help people understand Johnny's abuse. I hope in sharing them it will have some positive effect.
Here I'll be sharing some of the more insightful/important entries made by Dr. Jacobs.
When Amber first began dating Johnny:

Decided to date J but needs to keep it secret because he just split from partner. Has children boy + girl. Met in various places but always secret and discrete. I questioned her feelings about hiding. Says she understands. Feels he is protecting her. I asked how he treats her. Bought her a horse (white) because she told him as a child dreamed of having one. Loves to ride her horse – needs to be trained so can’t ride it yet. Not happy spending so much time w/ J’s friends. [Illegible] Has talked to him about his drinking and asked him to slow down. He knows about her parents and childhood. Feels sorry for him because his father was also an abusive alcoholic. (Trauma bonding ??) Has scars from beatings. Dad used belts and chains, also burnt him w/ cigarettes. Scars all over body including head. Spending nights together but hide going to and from each other’s homes. Concerned about paparazzi. Says he doesn’t want her blamed for break-up w/ ex because not true.

Amber starts to realize the drinking and substance abuse is really bad in November 2011:

Continuing to see J but becoming more concerned about his drinking and drug use. Sometimes so bad he needs help getting into bed. Pointed out she is enabling him in similar way she enables parents, minus the money. Has only attended 1 Al-anon meeting. Found it helpful but can’t go often because of schedule. Doesn’t know what to do or how to do it. Advised her to stop picking him up or hiding bottles. Also suggested not seeing him if he is drunk or stoned. Feels she can’t do that but will try. He using most of the time so worried she’ll never see him.

Johnny's anger starts to come up. Bonnie Jacobs becomes afraid he is hitting Amber:

[Amber] Afraid to discuss using + drinking because he gets loud and physical. Questioned if he has hit her. Said he only yells and throws things. Discussed Al-anon issues. How difficult but necessary it is for her to take care of herself.

Amber's fraught relationship with her father a running theme:

Parents coming for Thanksgiving, not happy about it. J will be spending time w/ children. Afraid her father will tell people about her and J. Told him not to say anything but doesn’t know what he might do when drunk.

The connection between her father and Johnny is made early by Dr. Jacobs:

More in depth discussion of J’s behavior and ways it parallels her father. Said J has a loving side and dad not so much. Discussed how only the substance abuser can stop him/herself from drinking and using... Can’t force someone to stop using if they don’t want to, and that addicts can’t stop for someone else. Addicts have to stop for themselves. Extremely tearful. Feels she can help him stop using. Wishes she could get friends, bodyguards, and sister to stop supporting and enabling his addictions. Too many people dependent on him for financial support. Asked why she wants to be w/ someone who is addict and behaves badly. Said she loves him and he loves her. Just doesn’t like “bad” J. Recommended Al-anon again.

Police are almost called the third week of December, 2011:

Continued discussing her relationship w/ J. He was extremely drunk when he came to her apt. She was angry. He began screaming and cursing. Argument became so loud that landlord threatened to call the police. Doesn’t know what to do when he is like that. He left. Didn’t hear from him and got worried. Asked if this is relationship she wants? Again tearful and certain she can help him get clean and sober.

Johnny got sober around Christmas:

Going out of town for holidays. Will be gone a couple of weeks. Looking forward to being w/ J and down time. J better but not sure he will stay sober. Discussed more books, [Adult Children of Alcoholics meetings] and Al-anon

Amber gets back from vacation. January 8th, 2012 is Dr. Jacob's first unambiguous note of physical abuse:

Had a good time on vacation but there were times when she believed she knew what it was like to be her mother. Said she was reluctant to tell me what happened because she “knew what” I would say. Asked her what she thought I would say. Said she heard me saying “leave him on the floor, don’t engage, and to leave.” J very drunk, using, angry. Tried to calm him down. Asked him not to drink or use so much which made him angrier. Admits screaming back at him. He hit her, threw her on floor. She threw pot at him. Told her she dresses like a “whore” and was not to wear low cut dresses, shirts, etc. After he sobered up he’s always apologetic and sweet. Wants sweet J around more Discussed cycles of DV again. Told her no matter what she did or didn’t do that behavior was unacceptable. Told her no matter what she can’t change him.

Dr. Jacobs noting they discussed domestic violence "again" suggests this is not the first time she was made aware Johnny had become physically abusive.
In 2012 Amber really becomes aware of how much those around Johnny enable him. She was struggling with what Al-anon and Dr. Jacobs were telling her, which was to leave Johnny passed out and not help him get to bed. More insight into her father as well:

Talked about how difficult it is for her to not enable J’s behavior. Discussed difference between rage and anger. Father has been in and out of town. Insists on trying to “break” horse the way he’s always done it. A[mber] has a trainer who is doing it gently but father keeps interfering. Doesn’t feel she can stop him. Said she’s going to more Al-anon meetings and talking with friends and parents about J’s substance abuse. Said J gets drugs from friends, bodyguards, sister. Sister is his manager and works to keep him happy so he can financially support family. J supports mother, sister, children and thinks V. A[mber] angry people are willing to get him whatever he wants because he’s a celebrity and he pays them.

In February she struggled with nightmares and became familiar with Johnny's "splitting":

Said she has recurring nightmares about parents and [sister?]. Wakes up in panic. Isn’t sleeping well. Discussed some of material in dreams. Sobbing during session. Said becomes panicked when J takes off for days and she doesn’t hear from him. J’s sister said he does that on occasion. Believes he goes on benders and may get hurt. Pretty sure he’s cheating on her when he does that.

The reason for Johnny skipping out on her is made clear in March. Dr Jacob's tries to get Amber to see the patterns in his behavior:

Heard from J and saw each other. J gets angry and jealous when she is photographed w/ men eating out. Told him they are just friend. Discussed that trying to control is DV behavior.

More insight into her father:

Afraid father is going to slip and tell people about her and J. Father drinks and talks a lot to look like he’s important. Concerned he will tell one of his drinking and drugging buddies and they will tell press. J says they will go public soon. She found some of the ways they sneak around funny but tired of it. J says he’ll drink and use less but doesn’t last long. A[mber] gets fearful later in night because he gets drunker then.

Dr. Jacobs realized her nightmares were connected to Johnny:

Having nightmares about childhood and being chased – trouble sleeping. Has been [exercising?] but still can’t fall or stay asleep. Discussed and processed dreams. Discussed some of this is being triggered by J being similar to dad. Loss of agency. Discussed way to calm herself at night and work on changing dreams by visualizing something happy and pleasant as she falls asleep. Very tearful.

Amber continued struggling with not caretaking for him:

Has gone to some Al-anon meeting and finds them helpful but still feels badly “doing nothing” when J needs to be taken to bed. Struggling with letting him stay on the floor when he passes out. Discussed how no consequences to substance abuse behavior are enabling the user. Explained how what most people consider helping someone only hurts the user because they do not need to take responsibility for actions. A[mber] understands concept better but still struggling with it.

Dr. Jacobs tried to get Amber to understand the cycle of violence and control:

Continued discussing co-dependent behavior and how just checking up on J and parents is Co D. Afraid when she doesn’t hear from him he’s hurt or wants to break up. Told her this is his controlling behavior to keep her hooked in. Says she loves him and doesn’t understand how it’s controlling – discussed more. He becomes enraged because she “nags” him about drinking and drugging. Stays out with his friends and doesn’t get in til early morning. He’s missed a number of work meetings and call times because he’s too messed up to get there. Pointed out keeping track of his appointments is co-dep.

In May, Johnny's jealousy was getting worse, though he seemed to make exception for iO and Rocky, but only iO and Rocky:

Went out w/ a male friend and J got upset. Has also been getting annoyed if she sees some female friends other than [iO Tillet Wright] or [Rocky Pennington] because she is bi. He’s been increasingly jealous and concerned she will cheat on him. Continually states she won’t but he wants to tell her who she can and can’t see. Discussed abuse includes control again. He frequently engages in name calling.

The sexual abuse is first mentioned on May 24th, 2012:

Said she often feels uncomfortable when J touches her if he’s drunk. Said J has trouble maintaining erection when high. He gets angry and sometimes violent when that happens. Blames her for his failure. Discussed physiological reasons alcoholics and some substance users have sexual problems.

Amber missed a lot of sessions because her car would break down. Dr. Jacobs had insight into Amber's thought process:

Apologized for late cancel. Talked about work and car trouble. Loves her car but it’s extremely problematic. Discussed how often she apologizes for same issue. Said she was sorry again. Laughed. Discussed how apologies are often not for things over which she has control or responsibility. Talked about how she tries to take on responsibility in effort to have control. Fails and feels bad because no matter how hard she tries to make herself responsible she’s not. Blames herself for a lot that isn’t about her.

Johnny and her father start drinking together in June:

Dad and J drinking buddies. Likes when mom and sister are there. Has been very busy. Paparazzi very distressing. Follow her around. Still is hiding w/ J at her place and his. Feels lonely when not w/ others.

(This note was made on June 28th. Previous to reading these, I'd pieced together Johnny was off the wagon and drinking with Amber's father because of a picture a fan posted with Johnny at a bar on June 14th. Amber's dad is in the background. Picture here. Amber's reports are truly very consistent with independent evidence.)
The way in which Johnny made Amber feel responsible for his substance abuse really starts to manifest in the second half of 2012. From August 7th:

Not feeling well. Rough time w/ J. Disappeared. Came late. A[mber] was worried. Argued about who she was seeing. Thinks she is cheating. She denied but he was in a rage. He threw things. Glass flew near her head. Asked if she was going to Al-anon meetings. Said she didn’t have time but wanted to. Still can’t bring herself to tell him to go home or not come over if he is drunk/drugged. Fears he will be hurt. Asked what about her feelings? Told her he is escalating and not about her. Feels she should be able to do something.

Dr. Jacobs tried to get Amber to see the extent of Johnny's controlling behavior:

Having nightmares again. Very tearful. Afraid of breaking up w/ J. Feels he will stop using and drinking if she can help him feel better about himself. Still not going public because he is protecting her. [I] Ask if she believes that. Said she is afraid of bad publicity. Discussed cycle of DV and control is a sign.

Amber wanted to get better at handling Johnny's splitting:

Talked to J but he is often unresponsive. Scares her when she doesn’t hear from him. Reminded her if something happened to him she would know from media. Wants to do more work on codependency. Talked through some co-dep behaviors.

Reports of sexual violence return on September 25th:

Extremely fatigued. Fighting w/ J again. He violent. Throwing things. Some hit her. She screaming back. Started w/ he was upset at clothes. Ripped her nightgown threw her on bed. Tried to have sex but couldn’t get erection. Became more angry. He passed out.

In the aftermath Johnny promised to get sober. From October 2nd:

J being nice. Sorry for fight. Discussed cycle of abuse (Honeymoon stage). J promised he would get clean

From October 9th:

J not using since fight. Does better when they are together. Sure she can help him stay clean. Had more discussion about addiction. Went over it not being caused by her. His use is long term before they even met. Feels responsible even though isn’t logical. Why can’t she help more?

Johnny told Amber more about his abusive childhood:

J’s mother at house. Very demanding and nasty. J’s father dead. Both abusive when J was young. Father worse than mother.

(Probably just a result of Dr. Jacob's quickly writing notes, but it is Johnny's stepfather who passed away, not biological father.)
More insight into Amber's childhood:

Discussed her mother’s [role] in father’s abuse. He abused all of them but she allowed it by staying. Very tearful.

Dr. Jacobs remained concerned about Johnny exerting so much control over Amber through hiding the relationship, but Amber continued to see it from Johnny's perspective:

Still claims J thinks it’s best to wait. Makes it a game to hide. A[mber] buying into it.

At the end of October, Johnny was hanging out with Marilyn Manson. Amber really didn't care for him:

J’s friends bad influence. A[mber] doesn’t like MM. Talks badly about women, does a lot of drugs.

Amber's family planned on coming for Christmas. She was worried about Johnny spending time with her father. Sexual violence again brought up:

Feeling stress about holidays and shoot. Parents coming for X-mas. Always worried about Dad drinking and causing problems. Discussed Al-anon, ways to deal w/ his drinking – Don’t engage. Has trouble doing that when he verbally attacks sister and mother. J winds up drinking w/ dad. Father misogynist – says horrible things about how women should be treated to J. Sometimes J becomes verbally and sexually abusive after spending time w/ father. Has thrown her on bed and had “angry sex.” If he’s drunk can’t perform and gets angrier. Blames her for impotence. She feels responsible. Discussed addicts not taking responsibility for their actions. Blaming others so they don’t need to own their behavior.

From November 28th:

Continued discussing addict behavior. That she didn’t cause and therefore can’t fix the problem. Talked about going to couples therapy. J says he has a psychiatrist and maybe they can see him. A doesn’t think he sees the psychiatrist very often. Not sure if he gets pills from him. Thinks psychiatrist is just another “yes man” because J is rich and famous.

(Johnny was addicted to Roxicodone and Klonopin at this point. Safe to say Amber's concern over his psychiatrist was correct. That's the guy supplying him with the "pills" Johnny always mentions to Paul Bettany.)
The last entry from 2012, on December 20th:

J got drunk and passed out on couch. Left him there and went to bed. Felt proud of herself for not trying to make it okay for him but bad at the same time. Discussed change is difficult. Nothing changes if she always does the same thing. No consequences means nothing changes.

Amber didn't see Dr. Jacobs while she was in Europe for her shoot. The next session was March 7th, one day before the "disco bloodbath" fight:

J’s drinking and drugging again. Went to Rolling Stones concert and didn’t ask her. Felt very hurt that he would leave her out knowing she loves the Stones. Kept asking why he would do that. Feels uncared for and unloved when he does those things. Feels punished for complaining about his using. Discussed addiction and DV, emotional abuse and control. Says she understands codependency but is having trouble getting the [illegible] in her heart. Sure she can change him.

After going public, Johnny wouldn't let her address the rumors that she ended his marriage with Vanessa ("the homewrecker shit you never let me fight," as Amber put it in February 2016):

People are saying vicious things about her. Hurt her feelings because they don’t know her. Discussed putting up better boundaries and ignoring people or defending herself. J says ignore it but she wants people to know the truth. Studios protect J but not her. Word of J’s drunkenness and drugs hardly ever make tabloids. No one knows how many times he has thrown things at her and other people or shown up late to call times because of drugs and alcohol.

From March 18th:

Mom telling her to not be so hard on J to go along more. Got angry w/ her because of what happened since mom did that w/ dad. Asked why she was with J given his behavior. Says she loves him and feels if things were more stable between them he would get better. Checked to determine if abuse was ever directed at children. A[mber] said not that she ever saw.

Police were called around this time:

he threw her against a wall and threatened to kill her while they were at her apt. Landlord called police but told them everything was fine. Pointed out her behavior was paralleling her mom’s and she can’t “fix” J.

Johnny was back in the "Honeymoon" phase after threatening to kill her:

J being nice and loving again. Sorry he hurt her. A[mber] acknowledges she screamed back and put him down. Doesn’t know what to do when he is out of control. Asked if she could leave, go someplace safe. Said she could go to a friend. Again asked why she wants to be w/ him. What does she love about him? Made some statements about “the good J.” Pointed out the bad one comes w/ the good one.

In the aftermath of the "Documentary/Painting" incident on March 22nd, Amber had a panic attack on March 25th:

Had a panic attack but was able to use relaxation techniques to calm herself down.

From April 1st:

Has been reading a lot about alcoholism, abuse and childhood trauma... knowing/understanding only go so far. Feels if she can understand it will be easier to deal with her stuff and J. Informed her no amount of understanding makes behavior “ok.” Great to understand but people have to be held accountable for their behavior.

April 11th:

J drinking and using again. Got nasty and grabbed her [this word is either "arm" or "again"]. Passed out in living room and she left him there. Discussed possibly moving in w/ him and what that would mean for her safety. Friend [iO Tillet Wright] is around more when she’s at J’s. Expressed concern re: his blackouts and behavior. A[mber] thinks he will be better when they live together.

April 30th:

Had fun on birthday but J and his friends got drunk. He’s using more. She stays away when they are using and he gets angry. Always sorry next day. Wants him to see therapist more often. He says he will.

From May 8th, only a few days before Johnny would text Stephen Deuters that he cut himself badly and needed stitches:

She can’t make J stop. J has been late and missing work because of drinking and drugs. People, some friends angry about his behavior. Unprofessional. Gets so angry w/ self he burns his skin w/ cigarettes. Tried to get him to stop but he gets angrier. Loves him and wants to help him.

A few days later:

Having trouble w/ sleeping. Had panic attack. Discussed events leading up to panic. Reminded her if she can talk she has to be breathing. J jealous about her filming w/ other men. Assures him she’s faithful but he’s unreasonable. Doesn’t want her to dress in low cut or tight fitting clothes. Feeling very pressured.

Amber went out of town with Johnny to Hicksville at the end of May, then on to his press tour for The Lone Ranger. She didn't check back in with Dr. Jacobs until August 1st, soon after getting back from Europe:

Really wanted to talk over past months but was busy w/ her work, J’s work and appearances. Really happy to be home but leaving again soon. Feels better staying at J’s compound because security doesn’t allow paparazzi and fans to get in. Friend [iO Tillet Wright] is living in one of the houses because [he] is broke. Wishes there were not so many other people around – J’s “friends.” J’s using is very bad. She has been yelling at him about drugs and alcohol. He falling down, passing out, and verbal abuse. She screamed at him about public behavior like kissing [Jimmy Kimmel] on TV. Arguments are more frequent and hurting himself and her. Told him she would leave if he didn’t stop and get help. She took it back after he promised he would. I told her to stop hiding and emptying bottles as it doesn’t help and could make things worse.

Johnny was fresh out of rehab around this time:

Still arguing but getting a little better. J has been drinking less. Has not blacked out or gotten violent in past few days. Reminded her he has not committed to sobriety and nothing change[s] until he is. She sure he is willing to get better. Having trouble w/ studio because of his actions. She and his sister trying to [illegible] w/ him. A[mber] can’t stand that his “friends” hang out and want to party. Feels they use J.

From August 20th:

Things have been quieter at home but always a little on edge. Discussed not knowing when the next shoe might drop so she is hypervigilant. Recommended “Co-Dependent no more” and “Walking on eggshells.” I questioned decision to move in w/ J. Said she thinks it will get better. He’s not drinking as much.

Amber spent most of the rest of the year in London, not going back to see Dr. Jacobs until January 7th, 2014:

Getting engaged. Holidays ok but J using again. Spent time w/ parents, sister and bf. Saw friends. Getting house ready to move in. Wants to have engagement party but very busy and doesn’t know how to juggle everything. Very stressed. [Rocky] said she’ll help with party. J busy w/ filming and movie. Has been passing out a lot. Fearful he will OD and/or become nasty. Asked if she’s going to Al-anon? Said sometimes but no time. Told to make time. Fears she is failing because can’t get J to be sober.

From January 16th:

Dad and J drinking buddies. Upset J is using. Banned father from their room at hotel. [Rocky] helping with food and venue for [engagement] party. Worried everything won’t get done in time. Did relax in office. Says she is trying to do it at home but it’s hard. [Illegible] helps but not enough. I questioned her willingness to marry J. Said she can help him. Asked how well mom was able to help dad. Said it was different because mom is addict too.

Four days later:

Life still stressful. Work stuff, house and party. J’s working – music and film. He’s showing up late to work. A[mber] tries to get him to not use night before work. Works sometimes. [Rocky] doing good job trying to find venue for party. Very attached and grateful to [Rocky]. Have each other’s backs.

From January 23rd:

Has been exercising for stress. Helps but not enough. Trouble sleeping. Nightmares. Discussed dream content. J being verbally aggressive. Gets angry if no alcohol. A[mber] admits to dumping some. Discussed not doing that. He can always get more and she’s being [codependent]. [Illegible] to go to Al-anon. Will do so before next session. Helps to talk to [iO Tillet Wright] about Al-anon issues.

One week later:

Not sleeping well or enough. Very tired and needs to look good for camera. J’s sistemgr causing problems. Sister helps J get drugs and alcohol. A[mber] feels too many people support his using. Wants to do something about that but not sure what.

Amber saw Dr. Jacobs on February 3rd, only a few hours before a fight with Johnny would blow up into a multi-day affair across the 4th and 5th:

Discussed pre-nup. J doesn’t want one because he says only way one of them leaving marriage is death. I asked if she would sign one. She said yes she has no prob with it. Finds what J said funny and endearing. Asked, given his history, if maybe it’s a little scary. Denied being afraid.

From February 12th:

J got drunk. Fell and broke table. Left him there passed out. Found him in bed next AM. Doesn’t know if he got there himself or bodyguards helped. Hard to use Al-anon techniques when so many other people are involved in caretaking him.

The first week of March:

Very anxious... Asked if having second thoughts about marriage. She said yes but feels she can help J and will have more say over things once they are married. Told her she set [precedent] for [illegible] behavior and other’s behavior so likely won’t change. Became tearful and repeated that she loves him.

Later in March is the first mention of Johnny's jealousy over James Franco:

Stated she leaves to shoot movie in a couple of days. Can’t come to therapy for a while. Re-stated can call if needs to. Worried about part and J’s feelings about her working love scenes with [James Franco.] Told him nothing to worry about. Feels he is going to cause problems on set. He will visit but not going to be there most of the time.

Amber went back to Dr. Jacobs on May 15th, nine days before she would board their flight from Boston to Los Angeles:

Someone posted photo of her w/ JF and J got angry. Had argument. Screaming. Crying. He threatened to break up she assured him nothing was going on. J threw things at her. She left was scared. Went to friend’s house. J cut and burned self. Was drunk yelling he was worthless and she didn’t love him. Doesn’t know what to do when he self mutilates. Told her to call an ambulance. Said she can’t do that because press will get hold of it. Same reason she doesn’t call police when they fight. Also knows cops won’t do anything because he’s a celebrity.

Amber went to see Dr. Jacobs on May 23rd, only hours before she would receive a phone call from Johnny that would set her back on edge:

Talked to J about how scary his behavior was. He apologized. On his best behavior right now. Again discussed cycle of DV.

From a text exchange Amber had with Johnny's sister Christi on May 25th, 2014, in the aftermath of the flight in which Johnny kicked her:

CD: How have you been before this? AH: Great, perfect, heaven until he decides to use. And the drug abuse, all prescription meds, and drinking has been slowly climbing every day. And we've been fine except when there's any issue or hiccup or problem. Then shit hits the fan because he doesn't deal with it as Johnny, he deals with it as a totally different person. A demon. It was the worst I've ever seen him. I think it's because he's now taking Adderall on top of all the other shit, which is the equivalent to consuming a pharmaceutical speedball every day. He will die if he continues to call being sober just not drinking. And his medicine kit includes tons of new drugs. He's going to kill himself Christi.

Amber did not go back to see Dr. Jacobs until well into the summer of 2014. From August 4th:

Decided on wedding date have a lot to do. Looking at gowns. J left planning to her. Got planner. [Rocky] helping. Discussed feelings re: marriage and substance use. Also discussed issues of DV in relationship. Stated J better and not acting out physically. Believes she can manage problems. Suggested getting impartial couple’s therapist. J not up for that. Wants to use someone he knows if anyone.

Three days later was the last appointment Amber would have with Dr. Jacobs until 2019:

Seems wrapped up in idea of fantasy wedding not realities of relationship problems. Advised problems don’t get better, if anything get worse. Sure things will get better once they are actually married because she will have more authority in house. Told her that wasn’t realistic.

Hi! Toronto Public Library here 🤓🧙
Each year, we unveil what we call "The List" which has 100 newly published YA books.
We wanted to share some of them right here on books, in case any of you are curious. Below are ten categories, each with seven books and publisher blurbs. (We may or may not have gone a little bit overboard by listing 70 of them 😬. There's something for everyone, we like to think.)
For the full, fancy pants list — with covers and all 100 librarian recommendations — you can explore them online, and even watch video reviews by our teen volunteers.
How many have you read? Happy reading!
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NAILBITERS
Suspense and nonstop action keep you turning pages in these edge-of-your-seat reads.
📖 Any Sign of Life by Rae Carson

Paige Miller fears she is the only person left alive in Ohio until she meets a handful of other survivors, and together they struggle with the knowledge that their new reality is the first part of an alien invasion.

📖 All These Bodies by Kendare Blake

In the late 1950s in the Midwest, a serial killer has been draining their victims of blood, leaving them otherwise undisturbed in their cars and homes. When a fifteen-year-old girl is found covered in blood amidst the latest corpses, she confides only in the sheriff's son but her story is unbelievable at best.

📖 Every Single Lie by Rachel Vincent

High school junior Beckett's life is turned upside-down when she discovers a dead baby in her small-town high school's locker room, and her police detective mother investigates while cyberbullies claim it is Beck's child.

📖 Firekeeper's Daughter by Angeline Boulley

Daunis, who is part Ojibwe, defers attending the University of Michigan to care for her mother and reluctantly becomes involved in the investigation of a series of drug-related deaths.

📖 The Project by Courtney Summers

Lo Denham wants to expose the Unity Project as a cult and reconnect with her indoctrinated sister, but as she immerses herself in the group with no signs of Bea, Lo begins to question everything she thought was true.

📖 Unravel by Sharon Jennings

As she turns twelve, Rebecca realizes her father is not the person he has been posing as through their years together. Joe is constantly on the move, dragging Rebecca with him. Whenever people get too close, he creates reasons to change addresses. It takes courage and some supportive new friends, but she eventually discovers the truth behind his lies and begins a new life.

📖 White Smoke by Tiffany D. Jackson

Believing her new home to actually be alive, especially when her brother almost dies, Marigold and her new blended family won't be safe until she brings the truth to light once and for all.

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TURNING POINTS
Tragedy. Frustration. Anger. First loves. All part of life — and they will all leave their mark on you.
📖 Perfect on Paper by Sophie Gonzales

Seventeen-year-old Darcy Phillips, a bisexual girl who gives anonymous love advice to her classmates, is hired by the "hot" guy at school to help him get his ex back.

📖 Eight Days by Teresa Toten

Samantha finds out that the mother she thought had died years ago has actually just passed away. Added to this charged secret is her recovering alcoholic grandfather’s strange behaviour and sudden insistence that he take Sami back to Chicago to retrieve her mother’s body. Luckily, Sami’s beloved neighbour and surrogate mother figure, Aggie, insists on coming on the road trip, bringing along her quirky sense of humour and fantastic wig collection.

📖 My Last Summer with Cass by Mark Crilley

Megan and Cass have been joined at the brush for as long as they can remember. For years, while spending summers together at a lakeside cabin, they created art together [...] Then Cass moved away to New York. When Megan finally convinces her parents to let her spend a week in the city, too, it seems like Cass has completely changed. She has tattoos, every artist in the city knows her [...] When one girl betrays the other's trust on the eve of what is supposed to be their greatest artistic feat yet, can their friendship survive?

📖 Concrete Rose by Angie Thomas

Maverick feels strongly about family ties, making choices he feels necessary to help support his mom while his King father serves time, and leaves him literally holding his son in a doctor's waiting room after he gets paternity test results back and his babymomma ghosts. Now the child he's raising is impacting the lives of his family and his girlfriend, and the gang life he led to support them all financially.

📖 Radha & Jai's Recipe for Romance by Nisha Sharma

Radha is on the verge of becoming one of the greatest Kathak dancers in the world until a family betrayal costs her the biggest competition of her life. She leaves her Chicago home behind to follow her stage mom to New Jersey. At the Princeton Academy of the Arts, Radha is determined to reinvent herself from scratch. Jai is captain of the Bollywood Beats dance team, ranked first in his class. He's an overachiever, but tight family funds means medical school is a pipe dream. When Radha enters his life, he realizes she's the exact ingredient he needs for a show-stopping senior year.

📖 Bruised by Tanya Boteju

Daya Wijesinghe sees a bruise as a mixture of comfort and control, but joining a roller derby team push her toward big truths about love, loss, strength, and healing.

📖 Tremendous Things by Susin Nielsen

Branded by a middle school humiliation, fourteen-year-old Wilbur needs help from friends Alex, Fabrizio, and elderly neighbor Sal to impress Charlie, a French girl whose school band is doing an exchange with his.

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TRUE STORY
From little moments to living history, life-changing experiences make for compelling reading.
📖 The Power of Style by Christian Allaire

As a fashion-obsessed Ojibwe teen, Christian Allaire rarely saw anyone that looked like him in the magazines or movies he looked to for inspiration. Now the Fashion and Style Writer for Vogue, he is working to change that--because clothes are never just clothes. Men's heels are a statement of pride in the face of LGTBQ+ discrimination, while ribbon shirts honor Indigenous ancestors and keep culture alive. Allaire takes the reader through boldly designed chapters to discuss additional topics like cosplay, make up, hijabs, and hair, probing the connections between fashion and history, culture, politics, and social justice.

📖 Be More Vegan by Niki Webster

We all want to be a bit more vegan... and this book shows you how. Whether you're ready to commit to a fully plant-based lifestyle or you'd just like to add a few meat-free dishes to your weekly meal plan, this is the ideal guide [...] It answers all the nagging questions about nutrition and ethics, as well as giving bang-up-to-date information about the best vegan ingredients, substitutions and food hacks.

📖 Growing Up Trans edited by Dr. Lindsay Herriot and Kate Fry

This illustrated nonfiction anthology is a collection of stories, essays, poetry and art by transgender youth.

📖 One Life by Megan Rapinoe

After the 2011 World Cup, discouraged by how few athletes were willing to discuss their sexuality, Rapinoe decided to come out publicly as gay and use her platform to advocate for marriage equality. In 2016 she took a knee during the national anthem to protest racial injustice and police brutality. Rapinoe discusses the obligation we all have to speak up, and the impact each of us can have on our communities.

📖 Can't Stop Won't Stop: A Hip-Hop History by Jeff Chang

Exploring hip hop's beginnings up to the present day, Jeff Chang and Dave "Davey D" Cook provide a provocative look into the new world that the hip hop generation has created. Based on original interviews with DJs, b-boys, rappers, activists, and gang members, with unforgettable portraits of many of hip hop's forebears, founders, mavericks, and present day icons, this book chronicles the epic events, ideas and the music that marked the hip hop generation's rise

📖 Sure, I'll Be Your Black Friend by Ben Philippe

Ben Philippe's candid memoir-in-essays, chronicling a lifetime of being the Black friend in predominantly white spaces. From cheating his way out of swim tests to discovering stray family members in unlikely places, he finds the punchline in the serious while acknowledging the blunt truths of existing as a Black man in today's world.

📖 Diary of a Young Naturalist by Dara McAnulty

Diary of a Young Naturalist vividly explores the natural world from the perspective of an autistic teenager juggling homework, friendship, and campaigning for the environment.

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BREAKING BARRIERS
"Change is never easy, but always possible." – Barack Obama
📖 Kneel by Candace Buford

As the team's varsity tight end, Rus has a singular goal: to get a scholarship and play on the national stage. When his best friend is unfairly arrested and kicked off the team, Rus faces an impossible choice: speak up or live in fear. Desperate for change, Rus kneels during the national anthem. In one instant, he falls from local stardom and becomes a target for hatred.

📖 Love is a Revolution by Renée Watson

Harlem teenager Nala is looking forward to a summer of movies and ice cream until she falls in love with the very woke Tye and pretends to be a social activist.

📖 Both Sides Now by Peyton Thomas

Gilmore Girls meets Red, White and Royal Blue in this witty and warm-hearted novel about a trans teen finding his place in the world.

📖 From a Whisper to a Rallying Cry by Paula Yoo

A groundbreaking portrait of Vincent Chin and the murder case that took America's Asian American community to the streets in protest of injustice.

📖 Borders by Thomas King

"What side do you come from?" On a trip to visit his older sister, who moved away from the family home to Salt Lake City, a young boy and his mother are posed a simple question with a not so simple answer. And when border guards will not accept their citizenship, mother and son wind up trapped in an all-too-real limbo between nations that do not recognize who they are.

📖 Walking in Two Worlds by Wab Kinew

An Indigenous teen girl is caught between two worlds, both real and virtual, in the YA fantasy debut from bestselling Indigenous author Wab Kinew. Perfect for fans of Ready Player One and the Otherworld series.

📖 Like Other Girls by Britta Lundin

After getting kicked off the basketball team for a fight that was absolutely totally not her fault (okay maybe a little her fault), Mara is dying to find a new sport to play to prove to her coach that she can be a team player. A lifelong football fan, Mara decides to hit the gridiron with her brother, Noah, and best friend, Quinn-and she turns out to be a natural. But joining the team sets off a chain of events in her small Oregon town-and within her family-that she never could have predicted. [...] What results is a coming-of-age story that is at once tear-jerking and funny, thought-provoking and real, as Mara's preconceived notions about gender, sports, sexuality, and friendship are turned upside down."

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SCI FI & FANTASY
Adventure, strange new worlds and mortal danger – these books take you places you can only imagine.
📖 Lore by Alexandra Bracken

Every seven years there is a hunt offering mortal descendents of gods the opportunity to claim their divinity by killing any of nine immortals made mortal for one night. Lore Perseous has no desire to participate in the Agon, embittered because her family was killed by a rival who then ascended to godhood. When a childhood friend asks her to help, and a wounded god offers an alliance, Lore overlooks the steep cost of this decision in exchange for vengeance.

📖 Blood Like Magic by Liselle Sanbury

After years of waiting for her Calling--a trial every witch must pass to come into their powers--the one thing Voya Thomas didn't expect was to fail. When Voya's ancestor gives her an unprecedented second chance to complete her Calling, she agrees--and then is horrified when her task is to kill her first love. And this time, failure means every Thomas witch will be stripped of their magic.

📖 In Deeper Waters by F.T. Lukens

Prince Tal has long awaited his coming-of-age tour. After spending most of his life cloistered behind palace walls as he learns to keep his forbidden magic secret, he can finally see his family's kingdom for the first time. His first taste of adventure comes just two days into the journey, when their crew discovers a mysterious prisoner on a burning derelict vessel. Tasked with watching over the prisoner, Tal is surprised to feel an intense connection with the roguish Athlen.

📖 Iron Widow by Xiran Jay Zhao

Pacific Rim meets The Handmaid's Tale in this blend of Chinese history and mecha science fiction for YA readers.

📖 Salt Magic by Hope Larson

Twelve-year-old Vonceil Taggart, willing to risk everything to set things right, leaves her family's Oklahoma farm in 1919 seeking the salt witch who cast a spell that turned their spring to saltwater.

📖 The Upper World by Femi Fadugba

2020: Close to getting expelled and caught up in a deadly feud, the tensions surrounding Esso seem to be leading to a single moment in a Peckham alleyway that could shatter his future.2035: Stripped of everything, football prodigy Rhia has just one thing left on her mind - figuring out how to avert a bullet that was fired fifteen years in the past. Everything changes when Esso gains access to a mysterious world where he can see glimpses of the past and future, and when Rhia starts understanding the physics of it. The two must work together to master the secrets of the Upper World and seize control of their own destinies before it's too late.

📖 The Wild Ones by Nafiza Azad

Paheli was once betrayed by her mother and sold to a man in exchange for a favor. When Paheli escapes, she runs headlong into a boy with stars in his eyes. This boy, as battered as she is, tosses Paheli a box of stars before disappearing. With the stars she gains access to the Between, a place of pure magic and mystery. Paheli collects girls like herself, and these Wild Ones use their magic to travel the world, helping the hopeless and saving others from the fates they suffered. But Taraana, the boy who gave them the stars, is on the run from powerful forces within the world of magic. And if Taraana is no longer safe and free, neither are the Wild Ones.

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BACK IN TIME
History repeats itself and gives insight into today's events.
📖 Call Me Athena by Colby Cedar Smith

This novel in verse captures one young woman's struggle for independence, equality, and identity as the daughter of Greek and French immigrants in tumultuous 1930s Detroit.

📖 Angel of Greenwood by Randi Pink

Though they've attended the same schools, Isaiah never noticed Angel as anything but a dorky, Bible toting church girl. Then their English teacher offers them a job on her mobile library, a three-wheel, two-seater bike. Angel can't turn down the money and Isaiah is soon eager to be in such close quarters with Angel every afternoon.But life changes on May 31, 1921 when a vicious white mob storms the community of Greenwood, leaving the town destroyed and thousands of residents displaced. Only then, Isaiah, Angel, and their peers realize who their real enemies are.

📖 The Forest of Stolen Girls by Jane Hur

1426, Joseon (Korea). Hwani's family has never been the same since she and her younger sister went missing and were later found unconscious in the forest near a gruesome crime scene. Years later, Detective Min―Hwani's father―learns that thirteen girls have recently disappeared from the same forest that nearly stole his daughters. He travels to their hometown on the island of Jeju to investigate… only to vanish as well. Determined to find her father and solve the case that tore their family apart, Hwani returns home to pick up the trail. As she digs into the secrets of the small village―and collides with her now estranged sister, Maewol―Hwani comes to realize that the answer could lie within her own buried memories of what happened in the forest all those years ago.

📖 Seen: Rachel Carson by Birdie Willis

Meet Rachel Carson, the woman who changed the way America fought against the environmental crisis through her bestselling books, ultimately spurring the creation of the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency.

📖 Last Night at the Telegraph Club by Malinda Lo

Seventeen-year-old Lily Hu can't remember exactly when the question took root, but the answer was in full bloom the moment she and Kathleen Miller walked under the flashing neon sign of a lesbian bar called the Telegraph Club. America in 1954 is not a safe place for two girls to fall in love, especially not in Chinatown. Red-Scare paranoia threatens everyone, including Chinese Americans like Lily. With deportation looming over her father--despite his hard-won citizenship--Lily and Kath risk everything to let their love see the light of day.

📖 So Many Beginnings (A Little Women Remix) by Bethany C. Morrow

North Carolina, 1863. As the American Civil War rages on, the Freedmen's Colony of Roanoke Island is blossoming, a haven for the recently emancipated. This is where the March family has finally been able to safely put down roots with four young daughters. [...] As the March sisters come into their own as independent young women, they will face first love, health struggles, heartbreak, and new horizons-- and they will face it all together.

📖 Walls by Laura Elliott

Drew is an army brat, a hotshot athlete poised to be his high school’s star pitcher, when he has to move for the sixth time in fifteen years—this time to West Berlin, where American soldiers like his dad hold an outpost of democracy against communist Russia in Hitler’s former capital. Meanwhile, in East Berlin, his cousin Matthias has grown up in the wreckage left by Allied bombing during World War II, on streets ruled by the Communist Party’s secret police. From the opposing sides of the Cold War, Drew and Matthias begin to overcome the many ideological walls between them to become wary friends.

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DISABILITY VISIBILITY
Books that explore a broad spectrum of Deaf, mental health, and disability experiences.
📖 Yolk by Mary H. K. Choi

Struggling with emotional problems and an eating disorder, Jayne, a Korean American college student living in New York City, is estranged from her accomplished older sister June, until June gets cancer.

📖 The Disability Experience by Hannalora Leavitt

In The Disability Experience you’ll meet people with different kinds of disabilities, and you'll begin to understand the ways PWDs [People with disabilities] have been ignored, reviled and marginalized throughout history. The book also celebrates the triumphs and achievements of PWDs and shares the powerful stories of those who have fought for change.

📖 The Words in My Hands by Asphyxia

Part coming of age, part call to action, this fast-paced #ownvoices novel about a Deaf teenager is a unique and inspiring exploration of what it means to belong. [...] This empowering, unforgettable story is told through a visual extravaganza of text, paint, collage, and drawings. Set in an ominously prescient near future, The Words in My Hands is very much a novel for our turbulent times.

📖 The Castle School (for Troubled Girls) by Alyssa Sheinmel

When Moira Dreyfuss's parents announce that they're sending her to an all-girls boarding school deep in the Maine woods, she knows her parents are punishing her. She's been too much trouble since her best friend, Nathan, died-- and for a while before that. Moira soon learn that they're not so isolated after all: there's another, very different, Castle School nearby-- filled with boys whose parents sent them away, too. Exploring the schools will force Moira to confront her overwhelming grief... and the real reasons her parents sent her away.

📖 Things We Couldn't Say by Jay Coles

There's always been a hole in Gio's life. Not because he's into both guys and girls. Not because his father has some drinking issues. Not because his friends are always bringing him their drama. No, the hole in Gio's life takes the shape of his birth mom, who left Gio, his brother, and his father when Gio was nine years old. For eight years, he never heard a word from her . . . and now, just as he's started to get his life together, she's back.

📖 Twister by Roland Burkart

A fictionalized narrative, in graphic novel format, of the author's experiences as a quadriplegic following injuries he sustained from an accident.

📖 Roxy by Neal Shusterman

Two siblings get caught up in a wager between two manufactured gods, Roxicodone and Adderall, in this new thriller inspired by the opioid crisis.

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IT'S A REMIX
Familiar stories told in fresh new ways.
📖 Medusa by Jessie Burton

Exiled to a far-flung island by the whims of the gods, Medusa has little company except the snakes that adorn her head instead of hair. But when a charmed, beautiful boy called Perseus arrives on the island, her lonely existence is disrupted with the force of a supernova, unleashing desire, love, betrayal . . . and destiny itself.With stunning, full-color illustrations and a first person narrative illuminating the fierce, vulnerable, determined girl behind the myth, this astonishing retelling is perfect for readers of Circe, and brings the story of Medusa to life for a new generation.

📖 A Clash of Steel by C. B. Lee

1. The legendary Dragon Fleet, the scourge of the South China Sea, is no more. Xiang has grown up with stories about the Dragon Fleet and its ruthless leader, a woman known only as the Dragon Queen. Desperate to set sail and explore, Xiang mainly wishes to find her father, a crew member of the Dragon Fleet. Her only memento of him is a simple but plain piece of gold jewelry. The pendant's true nature is revealed when a girl named Anh steals it, only to return it to Xiang in exchange for her help in decoding the tiny map scroll hidden inside. Convinced the map could lead to a fabled treasure, Xiang joins Anh and her motley crew off in pursuit of the island. But the sea-- and those who sail it-- are far more dangerous than the legends led them to believe.

📖 Sisters of the Snake by Sarena & Sasha Nanua

A street thief and a princess discover they are twins separated at birth-and must switch places to find an all-powerful stone and prevent a deadly war from taking place.

📖 Within These Wicked Walls by Lauren Blackwood

As a debtera, nineteen-year-old Andromeda performs exorcisms to cleanse households of the Evil Eye, but when she agrees to work for handsome, young heir Magnus Rorschach, her job becomes truly terrifying.

📖 Darling by K. Ancrum

In a modern reimagining of "Peter Pan," Wendy Darling meets a boy named Peter on her first night in Chicago, where they run through the city's underground and encounter a punk named Tinkerbelle, the lost boys that Peter watches over, and the frightening Detective Hook.

📖 Skin of the Sea by Natasha Bowen

Transformed by the goddess Yemoja into a Mami Wati, an African mermaid charged with collecting the souls of those who die at sea, Simi goes against the gods to save a living boy, Kola, from drowning.

📖 Gilded by Marissa Meyer

When one of Serilda's outlandish tales draws the attention of the sinister Erlking and his undead hunters, she finds herself swept away into a grim world where ghouls and phantoms prowl the earth and hollow-eyed ravens track her every move. The king orders Serilda to complete the impossible task of spinning straw into gold, or be killed for telling falsehoods. In her desperation, Serilda unwittingly summons a mysterious boy to her aid. He agrees to help her for a price. Love isn't meant to be part of the bargain. Soon Serilda realizes that there is more than one secret hidden in the castle walls, including an ancient curse that must be broken if she hopes to end the tyranny of the king and his wild hunt forever.

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COMICS & MANGA
Epic or everyday. Adventure or comedy. Or all of it! Come for the story. Stay for the amazing art.
📖 Poison Ivy: Thorns by Kody Keplinger, Sara Kipin

Even though Pamela Isley spends most of her time caring for a few small plants and does not trust other people, when cute goth girl Alice Oh comes into her life she starts to open up, but the dark secrets from home could destroy the one person who ever cared about Pamela, or as her mom called her, Ivy.

📖 Four Faces of the Moon by Amanda Strong

Adapted from the acclaimed stop-motion animated film of the same name, written and directed by Amanda Strong, Four Faces of the Moon brings the oral and written history of the Michif, Cree, Nakoda and Anishinaabe Peoples and their cultural link to the buffalo alive on the page.

📖 Boys Run the Riot, vol. 1 by Keita Gaku

High schooler Ryo knows he's transgender, but he doesn't have anyone to confide in about the confusion he feels. He can't tell his best friend, who he's secretly got a crush on, and he can't tell his mom, who's constantly asking why Ryo 'dresses like a boy.' He certainly can't tell Jin, the new transfer student who looks like just another bully. The only time Ryo feels at ease is when he's wearing his favorite clothes. Then, and only then, the world melts away, and he can be his true self. One day, while out shopping, Ryo sees someone he didn't expect: Jin. The kid who looked so tough in class has the same taste in fashion as him! At last, Ryo has someone he can open up to, and the journey ahead might finally give him a way to express himself to the world.

📖 Huda F Are You? by Huda Fahmy

Huda and her family just moved to Dearborn, Michigan, a small town with a big Muslim population. In her old town, Huda knew exactly who she was: She was the hijabi girl. But in Dearborn, everyone is the hijabi girl. Huda is lost in a sea of hijabis, and she can't rely on her hijab to define her anymore. She has to define herself.

📖 Incredible Doom, vol. 1 by Matthew Bogart, Jesse Holden

Allison is drowning under the weight of her manipulative stage magician father. When he brings home the family's first computer, she escapes into a thrilling new world where she meetings Samir, a like-minded new online friend who has just agreed to run away from home with her.

📖 Japanese Cuisine: An Illustrated Guide by Laure Kié, Haruna Kishi

Recipes, anecdotes, histories and stories, maps, techniques, stylings, utensils, native ingredients -- this is a colorful invitation to discover the look and aromas and flavors of Japan.

📖 Moriarty the Patriot, vol. 1 by Ryosuke Takeuchi

The untold story of Sherlock Holmes' greatest rival, Moriarty! Before he was Sherlock's rival, Moriarty fought against the unfair class system in London by making sure corrupt nobility got their comeuppance. But even the most well-intentioned plans can spin out of control--will Moriarty's dream of a more just and equal world turn him into a hero...or a monster?

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POETRY
These books explore poetry as a unique and powerful form of self-expression.
📖 Home is Not a Country by Safia Elhillo

Nima doesn't feel understood. By her mother, who grew up far away in a different land. By her suburban town, which makes her feel too much like an outsider to fit in and not enough like an outsider to feel like that she belongs somewhere else. At least she has her childhood friend Haitham, with whom she can let her guard down and be herself. Until she doesn't. As the ground is pulled out from under her, Nima must grapple with the phantom of a life not chosen, the name her parents didn't give her at birth: Yasmeen. But that other name, that other girl, might just be more real than Nima knows. And more hungry. And the life Nima has, the one she keeps wishing were someone else's...she might have to fight for it with a fierceness she never knew she had.

📖 Carry On: Poetry by Young Immigrants

Originally published in French as Bagages, Carry On began in a high school in Outremont, Quebec, where author and poet Simon Boulerice conducted creative-writing workshops for young newcomers to Canada. As the students began writing, their poems gave voice to their reflections on leaving family, friends, and countries of origin to make new homes and connections in Canada.

📖 Call Us What We Carry by Amanda Gorman

The presidential inaugural poet--and unforgettable new voice in American poetry--presents a collection of poems that includes the stirring poem read at the inauguration of the 46th President of the United States.

📖 I Love You: Call Me Back by Sabrina Benaim

A profound new poetry collection, from the bestselling author of Depression & Other Magic Tricks, that explores loneliness, anxiety, depression, grief and longing, while also celebrating a moment to be on your own—all written during the quarantine, and while caring for a loved one from a distance. With a mix of poetry, prose and short vignettes, I Love You, Call Me Back is an intimate, warm and honest glimpse into a moment in time--one person’s unique experience of isolation that feels utterly universal and relatable.

📖 The Girl Who Became a Tree by Joseph Coelho

Daphne is unbearably sad and adrift. She feels the painful loss of her father acutely and seeks solace both in the security of her local library and the escape her phone screen provides by blocking out the world around her. As Daphne tries to make sense of what has happened she recalls memories of shared times and stories past, and in facing the darkness she finds a way back from the tangle of fear and confusion, to feel connected once more with her friends and family.

📖 If I Tell You The Truth by Jasmin Kaur

Kiran leaves her home in Punjab for a new start in Canada after a sexual assault leaves her pregnant. But overstaying her visa and living undocumented brings its own perils for both her and her daughter, Sahaara. Sahaara would do anything to protect her mother. When she learns the truth about Kiran's past, she feels compelled to seek justice--even if it means challenging a powerful and dangerous man.

📖 You Don't Have to Be Everything edited by Diana Whitney

A contemporary poetry anthology that offers girls and young women wisdom and compassion for a vital, formative time in their lives.

Hi! Toronto Public Library here 🤓🧙
Each year, we unveil what we call "The List" which has 100 newly published YA books.
We wanted to share some of them right here on Reddit, in case any of you are curious. Below are ten categories, each with seven books and publisher blurbs. (We may or may not have gone a little bit overboard by listing 70 of them 😬. There's something for everyone, we like to think.)
For the full, fancy pants list — with covers and all 100 librarian recommendations — you can explore them online, and even watch video reviews by our teen volunteers.
How many have you read? Happy reading!
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NAILBITERS
Suspense and nonstop action keep you turning pages in these edge-of-your-seat reads.
📖 Any Sign of Life by Rae Carson

Paige Miller fears she is the only person left alive in Ohio until she meets a handful of other survivors, and together they struggle with the knowledge that their new reality is the first part of an alien invasion.

📖 All These Bodies by Kendare Blake

In the late 1950s in the Midwest, a serial killer has been draining their victims of blood, leaving them otherwise undisturbed in their cars and homes. When a fifteen-year-old girl is found covered in blood amidst the latest corpses, she confides only in the sheriff's son but her story is unbelievable at best.

📖 Every Single Lie by Rachel Vincent

High school junior Beckett's life is turned upside-down when she discovers a dead baby in her small-town high school's locker room, and her police detective mother investigates while cyberbullies claim it is Beck's child.

📖 Firekeeper's Daughter by Angeline Boulley

Daunis, who is part Ojibwe, defers attending the University of Michigan to care for her mother and reluctantly becomes involved in the investigation of a series of drug-related deaths.

📖 The Project by Courtney Summers

Lo Denham wants to expose the Unity Project as a cult and reconnect with her indoctrinated sister, but as she immerses herself in the group with no signs of Bea, Lo begins to question everything she thought was true.

📖 Unravel by Sharon Jennings

As she turns twelve, Rebecca realizes her father is not the person he has been posing as through their years together. Joe is constantly on the move, dragging Rebecca with him. Whenever people get too close, he creates reasons to change addresses. It takes courage and some supportive new friends, but she eventually discovers the truth behind his lies and begins a new life.

📖 White Smoke by Tiffany D. Jackson

Believing her new home to actually be alive, especially when her brother almost dies, Marigold and her new blended family won't be safe until she brings the truth to light once and for all.

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TURNING POINTS
Tragedy. Frustration. Anger. First loves. All part of life — and they will all leave their mark on you.
📖 Perfect on Paper by Sophie Gonzales

Seventeen-year-old Darcy Phillips, a bisexual girl who gives anonymous love advice to her classmates, is hired by the "hot" guy at school to help him get his ex back.

📖 Eight Days by Teresa Toten

Samantha finds out that the mother she thought had died years ago has actually just passed away. Added to this charged secret is her recovering alcoholic grandfather’s strange behaviour and sudden insistence that he take Sami back to Chicago to retrieve her mother’s body. Luckily, Sami’s beloved neighbour and surrogate mother figure, Aggie, insists on coming on the road trip, bringing along her quirky sense of humour and fantastic wig collection.

📖 My Last Summer with Cass by Mark Crilley

Megan and Cass have been joined at the brush for as long as they can remember. For years, while spending summers together at a lakeside cabin, they created art together [...] Then Cass moved away to New York. When Megan finally convinces her parents to let her spend a week in the city, too, it seems like Cass has completely changed. She has tattoos, every artist in the city knows her [...] When one girl betrays the other's trust on the eve of what is supposed to be their greatest artistic feat yet, can their friendship survive?

📖 Concrete Rose by Angie Thomas

Maverick feels strongly about family ties, making choices he feels necessary to help support his mom while his King father serves time, and leaves him literally holding his son in a doctor's waiting room after he gets paternity test results back and his babymomma ghosts. Now the child he's raising is impacting the lives of his family and his girlfriend, and the gang life he led to support them all financially.

📖 Radha & Jai's Recipe for Romance by Nisha Sharma

Radha is on the verge of becoming one of the greatest Kathak dancers in the world until a family betrayal costs her the biggest competition of her life. She leaves her Chicago home behind to follow her stage mom to New Jersey. At the Princeton Academy of the Arts, Radha is determined to reinvent herself from scratch. Jai is captain of the Bollywood Beats dance team, ranked first in his class. He's an overachiever, but tight family funds means medical school is a pipe dream. When Radha enters his life, he realizes she's the exact ingredient he needs for a show-stopping senior year.

📖 Bruised by Tanya Boteju

Daya Wijesinghe sees a bruise as a mixture of comfort and control, but joining a roller derby team push her toward big truths about love, loss, strength, and healing.

📖 Tremendous Things by Susin Nielsen

Branded by a middle school humiliation, fourteen-year-old Wilbur needs help from friends Alex, Fabrizio, and elderly neighbor Sal to impress Charlie, a French girl whose school band is doing an exchange with his.

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TRUE STORY
From little moments to living history, life-changing experiences make for compelling reading.
📖 The Power of Style by Christian Allaire

As a fashion-obsessed Ojibwe teen, Christian Allaire rarely saw anyone that looked like him in the magazines or movies he looked to for inspiration. Now the Fashion and Style Writer for Vogue, he is working to change that--because clothes are never just clothes. Men's heels are a statement of pride in the face of LGTBQ+ discrimination, while ribbon shirts honor Indigenous ancestors and keep culture alive. Allaire takes the reader through boldly designed chapters to discuss additional topics like cosplay, make up, hijabs, and hair, probing the connections between fashion and history, culture, politics, and social justice.

📖 Be More Vegan by Niki Webster

We all want to be a bit more vegan... and this book shows you how. Whether you're ready to commit to a fully plant-based lifestyle or you'd just like to add a few meat-free dishes to your weekly meal plan, this is the ideal guide [...] It answers all the nagging questions about nutrition and ethics, as well as giving bang-up-to-date information about the best vegan ingredients, substitutions and food hacks.

📖 Growing Up Trans edited by Dr. Lindsay Herriot and Kate Fry

This illustrated nonfiction anthology is a collection of stories, essays, poetry and art by transgender youth.

📖 One Life by Megan Rapinoe

After the 2011 World Cup, discouraged by how few athletes were willing to discuss their sexuality, Rapinoe decided to come out publicly as gay and use her platform to advocate for marriage equality. In 2016 she took a knee during the national anthem to protest racial injustice and police brutality. Rapinoe discusses the obligation we all have to speak up, and the impact each of us can have on our communities.

📖 Can't Stop Won't Stop: A Hip-Hop History by Jeff Chang

Exploring hip hop's beginnings up to the present day, Jeff Chang and Dave "Davey D" Cook provide a provocative look into the new world that the hip hop generation has created. Based on original interviews with DJs, b-boys, rappers, activists, and gang members, with unforgettable portraits of many of hip hop's forebears, founders, mavericks, and present day icons, this book chronicles the epic events, ideas and the music that marked the hip hop generation's rise

📖 Sure, I'll Be Your Black Friend by Ben Philippe

Ben Philippe's candid memoir-in-essays, chronicling a lifetime of being the Black friend in predominantly white spaces. From cheating his way out of swim tests to discovering stray family members in unlikely places, he finds the punchline in the serious while acknowledging the blunt truths of existing as a Black man in today's world.

📖 Diary of a Young Naturalist by Dara McAnulty

Diary of a Young Naturalist vividly explores the natural world from the perspective of an autistic teenager juggling homework, friendship, and campaigning for the environment.

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BREAKING BARRIERS
"Change is never easy, but always possible." – Barack Obama
📖 Kneel by Candace Buford

As the team's varsity tight end, Rus has a singular goal: to get a scholarship and play on the national stage. When his best friend is unfairly arrested and kicked off the team, Rus faces an impossible choice: speak up or live in fear. Desperate for change, Rus kneels during the national anthem. In one instant, he falls from local stardom and becomes a target for hatred.

📖 Love is a Revolution by Renée Watson

Harlem teenager Nala is looking forward to a summer of movies and ice cream until she falls in love with the very woke Tye and pretends to be a social activist.

📖 Both Sides Now by Peyton Thomas

Gilmore Girls meets Red, White and Royal Blue in this witty and warm-hearted novel about a trans teen finding his place in the world.

📖 From a Whisper to a Rallying Cry by Paula Yoo

A groundbreaking portrait of Vincent Chin and the murder case that took America's Asian American community to the streets in protest of injustice.

📖 Borders by Thomas King

"What side do you come from?" On a trip to visit his older sister, who moved away from the family home to Salt Lake City, a young boy and his mother are posed a simple question with a not so simple answer. And when border guards will not accept their citizenship, mother and son wind up trapped in an all-too-real limbo between nations that do not recognize who they are.

📖 Walking in Two Worlds by Wab Kinew

An Indigenous teen girl is caught between two worlds, both real and virtual, in the YA fantasy debut from bestselling Indigenous author Wab Kinew. Perfect for fans of Ready Player One and the Otherworld series.

📖 Like Other Girls by Britta Lundin

After getting kicked off the basketball team for a fight that was absolutely totally not her fault (okay maybe a little her fault), Mara is dying to find a new sport to play to prove to her coach that she can be a team player. A lifelong football fan, Mara decides to hit the gridiron with her brother, Noah, and best friend, Quinn-and she turns out to be a natural. But joining the team sets off a chain of events in her small Oregon town-and within her family-that she never could have predicted. [...] What results is a coming-of-age story that is at once tear-jerking and funny, thought-provoking and real, as Mara's preconceived notions about gender, sports, sexuality, and friendship are turned upside down."

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SCI FI & FANTASY
Adventure, strange new worlds and mortal danger – these books take you places you can only imagine.
📖 Lore by Alexandra Bracken

Every seven years there is a hunt offering mortal descendents of gods the opportunity to claim their divinity by killing any of nine immortals made mortal for one night. Lore Perseous has no desire to participate in the Agon, embittered because her family was killed by a rival who then ascended to godhood. When a childhood friend asks her to help, and a wounded god offers an alliance, Lore overlooks the steep cost of this decision in exchange for vengeance.

📖 Blood Like Magic by Liselle Sanbury

After years of waiting for her Calling--a trial every witch must pass to come into their powers--the one thing Voya Thomas didn't expect was to fail. When Voya's ancestor gives her an unprecedented second chance to complete her Calling, she agrees--and then is horrified when her task is to kill her first love. And this time, failure means every Thomas witch will be stripped of their magic.

📖 In Deeper Waters by F.T. Lukens

Prince Tal has long awaited his coming-of-age tour. After spending most of his life cloistered behind palace walls as he learns to keep his forbidden magic secret, he can finally see his family's kingdom for the first time. His first taste of adventure comes just two days into the journey, when their crew discovers a mysterious prisoner on a burning derelict vessel. Tasked with watching over the prisoner, Tal is surprised to feel an intense connection with the roguish Athlen.

📖 Iron Widow by Xiran Jay Zhao

Pacific Rim meets The Handmaid's Tale in this blend of Chinese history and mecha science fiction for YA readers.

📖 Salt Magic by Hope Larson

Twelve-year-old Vonceil Taggart, willing to risk everything to set things right, leaves her family's Oklahoma farm in 1919 seeking the salt witch who cast a spell that turned their spring to saltwater.

📖 The Upper World by Femi Fadugba

2020: Close to getting expelled and caught up in a deadly feud, the tensions surrounding Esso seem to be leading to a single moment in a Peckham alleyway that could shatter his future.2035: Stripped of everything, football prodigy Rhia has just one thing left on her mind - figuring out how to avert a bullet that was fired fifteen years in the past. Everything changes when Esso gains access to a mysterious world where he can see glimpses of the past and future, and when Rhia starts understanding the physics of it. The two must work together to master the secrets of the Upper World and seize control of their own destinies before it's too late.

📖 The Wild Ones by Nafiza Azad

Paheli was once betrayed by her mother and sold to a man in exchange for a favor. When Paheli escapes, she runs headlong into a boy with stars in his eyes. This boy, as battered as she is, tosses Paheli a box of stars before disappearing. With the stars she gains access to the Between, a place of pure magic and mystery. Paheli collects girls like herself, and these Wild Ones use their magic to travel the world, helping the hopeless and saving others from the fates they suffered. But Taraana, the boy who gave them the stars, is on the run from powerful forces within the world of magic. And if Taraana is no longer safe and free, neither are the Wild Ones.

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BACK IN TIME
History repeats itself and gives insight into today's events.
📖 Call Me Athena by Colby Cedar Smith

This novel in verse captures one young woman's struggle for independence, equality, and identity as the daughter of Greek and French immigrants in tumultuous 1930s Detroit.

📖 Angel of Greenwood by Randi Pink

Though they've attended the same schools, Isaiah never noticed Angel as anything but a dorky, Bible toting church girl. Then their English teacher offers them a job on her mobile library, a three-wheel, two-seater bike. Angel can't turn down the money and Isaiah is soon eager to be in such close quarters with Angel every afternoon.But life changes on May 31, 1921 when a vicious white mob storms the community of Greenwood, leaving the town destroyed and thousands of residents displaced. Only then, Isaiah, Angel, and their peers realize who their real enemies are.

📖 The Forest of Stolen Girls by Jane Hur

1426, Joseon (Korea). Hwani's family has never been the same since she and her younger sister went missing and were later found unconscious in the forest near a gruesome crime scene. Years later, Detective Min―Hwani's father―learns that thirteen girls have recently disappeared from the same forest that nearly stole his daughters. He travels to their hometown on the island of Jeju to investigate… only to vanish as well. Determined to find her father and solve the case that tore their family apart, Hwani returns home to pick up the trail. As she digs into the secrets of the small village―and collides with her now estranged sister, Maewol―Hwani comes to realize that the answer could lie within her own buried memories of what happened in the forest all those years ago.

📖 Seen: Rachel Carson by Birdie Willis

Meet Rachel Carson, the woman who changed the way America fought against the environmental crisis through her bestselling books, ultimately spurring the creation of the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency.

📖 Last Night at the Telegraph Club by Malinda Lo

Seventeen-year-old Lily Hu can't remember exactly when the question took root, but the answer was in full bloom the moment she and Kathleen Miller walked under the flashing neon sign of a lesbian bar called the Telegraph Club. America in 1954 is not a safe place for two girls to fall in love, especially not in Chinatown. Red-Scare paranoia threatens everyone, including Chinese Americans like Lily. With deportation looming over her father--despite his hard-won citizenship--Lily and Kath risk everything to let their love see the light of day.

📖 So Many Beginnings (A Little Women Remix) by Bethany C. Morrow

North Carolina, 1863. As the American Civil War rages on, the Freedmen's Colony of Roanoke Island is blossoming, a haven for the recently emancipated. This is where the March family has finally been able to safely put down roots with four young daughters. [...] As the March sisters come into their own as independent young women, they will face first love, health struggles, heartbreak, and new horizons-- and they will face it all together.

📖 Walls by Laura Elliott

Drew is an army brat, a hotshot athlete poised to be his high school’s star pitcher, when he has to move for the sixth time in fifteen years—this time to West Berlin, where American soldiers like his dad hold an outpost of democracy against communist Russia in Hitler’s former capital. Meanwhile, in East Berlin, his cousin Matthias has grown up in the wreckage left by Allied bombing during World War II, on streets ruled by the Communist Party’s secret police. From the opposing sides of the Cold War, Drew and Matthias begin to overcome the many ideological walls between them to become wary friends.

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DISABILITY VISIBILITY
Books that explore a broad spectrum of Deaf, mental health, and disability experiences.
📖 Yolk by Mary H. K. Choi

Struggling with emotional problems and an eating disorder, Jayne, a Korean American college student living in New York City, is estranged from her accomplished older sister June, until June gets cancer.

📖 The Disability Experience by Hannalora Leavitt

In The Disability Experience you’ll meet people with different kinds of disabilities, and you'll begin to understand the ways PWDs [People with disabilities] have been ignored, reviled and marginalized throughout history. The book also celebrates the triumphs and achievements of PWDs and shares the powerful stories of those who have fought for change.

📖 The Words in My Hands by Asphyxia

Part coming of age, part call to action, this fast-paced #ownvoices novel about a Deaf teenager is a unique and inspiring exploration of what it means to belong. [...] This empowering, unforgettable story is told through a visual extravaganza of text, paint, collage, and drawings. Set in an ominously prescient near future, The Words in My Hands is very much a novel for our turbulent times.

📖 The Castle School (for Troubled Girls) by Alyssa Sheinmel

When Moira Dreyfuss's parents announce that they're sending her to an all-girls boarding school deep in the Maine woods, she knows her parents are punishing her. She's been too much trouble since her best friend, Nathan, died-- and for a while before that. Moira soon learn that they're not so isolated after all: there's another, very different, Castle School nearby-- filled with boys whose parents sent them away, too. Exploring the schools will force Moira to confront her overwhelming grief... and the real reasons her parents sent her away.

📖 Things We Couldn't Say by Jay Coles

There's always been a hole in Gio's life. Not because he's into both guys and girls. Not because his father has some drinking issues. Not because his friends are always bringing him their drama. No, the hole in Gio's life takes the shape of his birth mom, who left Gio, his brother, and his father when Gio was nine years old. For eight years, he never heard a word from her . . . and now, just as he's started to get his life together, she's back.

📖 Twister by Roland Burkart

A fictionalized narrative, in graphic novel format, of the author's experiences as a quadriplegic following injuries he sustained from an accident.

📖 Roxy by Neal Shusterman

Two siblings get caught up in a wager between two manufactured gods, Roxicodone and Adderall, in this new thriller inspired by the opioid crisis.

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IT'S A REMIX
Familiar stories told in fresh new ways.
📖 Medusa by Jessie Burton

Exiled to a far-flung island by the whims of the gods, Medusa has little company except the snakes that adorn her head instead of hair. But when a charmed, beautiful boy called Perseus arrives on the island, her lonely existence is disrupted with the force of a supernova, unleashing desire, love, betrayal . . . and destiny itself.With stunning, full-color illustrations and a first person narrative illuminating the fierce, vulnerable, determined girl behind the myth, this astonishing retelling is perfect for readers of Circe, and brings the story of Medusa to life for a new generation.

📖 A Clash of Steel by C. B. Lee

1. The legendary Dragon Fleet, the scourge of the South China Sea, is no more. Xiang has grown up with stories about the Dragon Fleet and its ruthless leader, a woman known only as the Dragon Queen. Desperate to set sail and explore, Xiang mainly wishes to find her father, a crew member of the Dragon Fleet. Her only memento of him is a simple but plain piece of gold jewelry. The pendant's true nature is revealed when a girl named Anh steals it, only to return it to Xiang in exchange for her help in decoding the tiny map scroll hidden inside. Convinced the map could lead to a fabled treasure, Xiang joins Anh and her motley crew off in pursuit of the island. But the sea-- and those who sail it-- are far more dangerous than the legends led them to believe.

📖 Sisters of the Snake by Sarena & Sasha Nanua

A street thief and a princess discover they are twins separated at birth-and must switch places to find an all-powerful stone and prevent a deadly war from taking place.

📖 Within These Wicked Walls by Lauren Blackwood

As a debtera, nineteen-year-old Andromeda performs exorcisms to cleanse households of the Evil Eye, but when she agrees to work for handsome, young heir Magnus Rorschach, her job becomes truly terrifying.

📖 Darling by K. Ancrum

In a modern reimagining of "Peter Pan," Wendy Darling meets a boy named Peter on her first night in Chicago, where they run through the city's underground and encounter a punk named Tinkerbelle, the lost boys that Peter watches over, and the frightening Detective Hook.

📖 Skin of the Sea by Natasha Bowen

Transformed by the goddess Yemoja into a Mami Wati, an African mermaid charged with collecting the souls of those who die at sea, Simi goes against the gods to save a living boy, Kola, from drowning.

📖 Gilded by Marissa Meyer

When one of Serilda's outlandish tales draws the attention of the sinister Erlking and his undead hunters, she finds herself swept away into a grim world where ghouls and phantoms prowl the earth and hollow-eyed ravens track her every move. The king orders Serilda to complete the impossible task of spinning straw into gold, or be killed for telling falsehoods. In her desperation, Serilda unwittingly summons a mysterious boy to her aid. He agrees to help her for a price. Love isn't meant to be part of the bargain. Soon Serilda realizes that there is more than one secret hidden in the castle walls, including an ancient curse that must be broken if she hopes to end the tyranny of the king and his wild hunt forever.

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COMICS & MANGA
Epic or everyday. Adventure or comedy. Or all of it! Come for the story. Stay for the amazing art.
📖 Poison Ivy: Thorns by Kody Keplinger, Sara Kipin

Even though Pamela Isley spends most of her time caring for a few small plants and does not trust other people, when cute goth girl Alice Oh comes into her life she starts to open up, but the dark secrets from home could destroy the one person who ever cared about Pamela, or as her mom called her, Ivy.

📖 Four Faces of the Moon by Amanda Strong

Adapted from the acclaimed stop-motion animated film of the same name, written and directed by Amanda Strong, Four Faces of the Moon brings the oral and written history of the Michif, Cree, Nakoda and Anishinaabe Peoples and their cultural link to the buffalo alive on the page.

📖 Boys Run the Riot, vol. 1 by Keita Gaku

High schooler Ryo knows he's transgender, but he doesn't have anyone to confide in about the confusion he feels. He can't tell his best friend, who he's secretly got a crush on, and he can't tell his mom, who's constantly asking why Ryo 'dresses like a boy.' He certainly can't tell Jin, the new transfer student who looks like just another bully. The only time Ryo feels at ease is when he's wearing his favorite clothes. Then, and only then, the world melts away, and he can be his true self. One day, while out shopping, Ryo sees someone he didn't expect: Jin. The kid who looked so tough in class has the same taste in fashion as him! At last, Ryo has someone he can open up to, and the journey ahead might finally give him a way to express himself to the world.

📖 Huda F Are You? by Huda Fahmy

Huda and her family just moved to Dearborn, Michigan, a small town with a big Muslim population. In her old town, Huda knew exactly who she was: She was the hijabi girl. But in Dearborn, everyone is the hijabi girl. Huda is lost in a sea of hijabis, and she can't rely on her hijab to define her anymore. She has to define herself.

📖 Incredible Doom, vol. 1 by Matthew Bogart, Jesse Holden

Allison is drowning under the weight of her manipulative stage magician father. When he brings home the family's first computer, she escapes into a thrilling new world where she meetings Samir, a like-minded new online friend who has just agreed to run away from home with her.

📖 Japanese Cuisine: An Illustrated Guide by Laure Kié, Haruna Kishi

Recipes, anecdotes, histories and stories, maps, techniques, stylings, utensils, native ingredients -- this is a colorful invitation to discover the look and aromas and flavors of Japan.

📖 Moriarty the Patriot, vol. 1 by Ryosuke Takeuchi

The untold story of Sherlock Holmes' greatest rival, Moriarty! Before he was Sherlock's rival, Moriarty fought against the unfair class system in London by making sure corrupt nobility got their comeuppance. But even the most well-intentioned plans can spin out of control--will Moriarty's dream of a more just and equal world turn him into a hero...or a monster?

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POETRY
These books explore poetry as a unique and powerful form of self-expression.
📖 Home is Not a Country by Safia Elhillo

Nima doesn't feel understood. By her mother, who grew up far away in a different land. By her suburban town, which makes her feel too much like an outsider to fit in and not enough like an outsider to feel like that she belongs somewhere else. At least she has her childhood friend Haitham, with whom she can let her guard down and be herself. Until she doesn't. As the ground is pulled out from under her, Nima must grapple with the phantom of a life not chosen, the name her parents didn't give her at birth: Yasmeen. But that other name, that other girl, might just be more real than Nima knows. And more hungry. And the life Nima has, the one she keeps wishing were someone else's...she might have to fight for it with a fierceness she never knew she had.

📖 Carry On: Poetry by Young Immigrants

Originally published in French as Bagages, Carry On began in a high school in Outremont, Quebec, where author and poet Simon Boulerice conducted creative-writing workshops for young newcomers to Canada. As the students began writing, their poems gave voice to their reflections on leaving family, friends, and countries of origin to make new homes and connections in Canada.

📖 Call Us What We Carry by Amanda Gorman

The presidential inaugural poet--and unforgettable new voice in American poetry--presents a collection of poems that includes the stirring poem read at the inauguration of the 46th President of the United States.

📖 I Love You: Call Me Back by Sabrina Benaim

A profound new poetry collection, from the bestselling author of Depression & Other Magic Tricks, that explores loneliness, anxiety, depression, grief and longing, while also celebrating a moment to be on your own—all written during the quarantine, and while caring for a loved one from a distance. With a mix of poetry, prose and short vignettes, I Love You, Call Me Back is an intimate, warm and honest glimpse into a moment in time--one person’s unique experience of isolation that feels utterly universal and relatable.

📖 The Girl Who Became a Tree by Joseph Coelho

Daphne is unbearably sad and adrift. She feels the painful loss of her father acutely and seeks solace both in the security of her local library and the escape her phone screen provides by blocking out the world around her. As Daphne tries to make sense of what has happened she recalls memories of shared times and stories past, and in facing the darkness she finds a way back from the tangle of fear and confusion, to feel connected once more with her friends and family.

📖 If I Tell You The Truth by Jasmin Kaur

Kiran leaves her home in Punjab for a new start in Canada after a sexual assualt leaves her pregnant. But overstaying her visa and living undocumented brings its own perils for both her and her daughter, Sahaara. Sahaara would do anything to protect her mother. When she learns the truth about Kiran's past, she feels compelled to seek justice--even if it means challenging a powerful and dangerous man.

📖 You Don't Have to Be Everything edited by Diana Whitney

A contemporary poetry anthology that offers girls and young women wisdom and compassion for a vital, formative time in their lives.

It's not because we're feminazis, or huge Aquaman fans. Neither was the judge in the Depp vs The Sun case, who ruled that Depp assaulted Heard at least 12 times (and that's not including sexual assault).
Sources: the UK Court documents, the livestreamed US trial

Control: The most important element of an abusive relationship

Amber Heard lived on Depp’s property, surrounded by his staff, who answered to mostly to him. He had control over her transport, as she traveled in his chauffeured car. He even got his personal stylist, Samantha McMillen, to dress her.
Heard testified to being given sedatives or other drugs to keep her from responding to what she was going through. Depp hired his medical staff to, in his own words keep her under control.
Evidence indicates that he had control over her career as well: 1, 2, 3
Many have tried to justify Depp's infamous "burn and r*pe" texts as "just venting about his abusive wife". But these were sent in 2013, before any alleged abuse on her part began. He admitted he sent those texts because he resented her criticizing him for substance abuse, and since he was twice her age she had no business talking to him like that.
He knew who had the authority in their relationship: "don't pretend to be authoritative with me. You don't exist."
His staff knew it too. From his body guard Malcolm Connelly's testimony, "[she] started getting more feisty...Amber wanted to wear the pants in this relationship.”
Jealousy and paranoia: Heard testified that a lot of issues in their marriage stemmed from Depp's jealousy. Jennifer Grey, his ex, described Depp as jealous and paranoid in her memoir. Ellen Barkin, another of his exes, testified that he was jealous and controlling, emotionally abusive. Bruce Witkin, Depp's friend of nearly 40 years, testified that he had jealousy issues in many of of his relationships, including Amber Heard. Dr Blaustein, Depp's psychiatrist, corroborated this as well as his anger issues.

General:

Four of Depp's own witnesses: Dr Laurel Anderson, Ben King, Nurses Debbie Lloyd and Erin Falati saw cuts/bruises on Amber Heard.
Apparently, his former management group was aware of his physical abuse. They found out through his staff.
Depp admits to "physical violence on each other" in their audio recordings, so why would he testify to never striking her in court? Meanwhile Heard has admitted to hitting and throwing things, as well as screaming insults.
Bruce Witkins (Depp’s former friend) and Kristina Sexton (Heard's former acting coach) testified to seeing bruises that looked like grabs on Heard's arms and wrists.
There are multiple occasions on audio where she accuses him of physically abusing her, and he doesn't deny it: "put your cigarettes out on someone else", "you beat the sh*t out of me", "you wouldn't have used that as a way to hit me", "get off me".
Amber would document his behavior for herself in diaries, audio journals and emails to herself . These were produced in both the UK and US trials and they generally corroborate her version of events throughout.
She also told multiple people about it, including medical professionals (sometimes in his presence, and he wouldn't deny). Depp explained these actions as her creating a hoax by planting evidence for years, Gone Girl style. Although this sounds ridiculous to me, it's disappointing that some people think this is more plausible than the idea that maybe he was just abusive.
Depp claims that descriptors such as 'the Monster' were entirely made up by Heard, and he just played along to placate her. This is not true.
He claimed that she was 'bullish' in her demands that he stop drinking and that she 'massively overstated' his substance abuse. Interesting.

A note on her 'editing' or 'photoshopping' images:

The only editing of the photos that Depp's expert witness was able to prove was the file size changing, which could occur through her sending the pics through email or such. He also showed that some of the pictures were screengrabs. He said that her photos had gone through a 'photo editing software' but that software was just Photos 3.0, which is where pictures are stored on iPhones. Ultimately he concluded that there was no intentional manipulation of the images. Heard's expert witness who examined the photos was able to verify their originality.

Witnesses:

Many Depp supporters, inspired by Depp's lawyer, have mocked Amber’s witnesses for being 'ex-friends' and also 'freeloaders' because they used to live in Depp's penthouses (which is how they were able to witness anything at all). But that actually strengthens their credibility. They have no reason to lie for her. They should actually be indebted to Johnny Depp and indeed her sister Whitney Heard and her friends were close to Depp as well. Melanie Inglessis (Heard's MUA) complained of receiving numerous death threats during the 2020 UK trial, and even now is getting harassed on her Instagram page.
Meanwhile almost all of Depp's witnesses are his very well paid employees or depend on him financially. Or they're attention seekers like Morgan Night and the TMZ guy.

Hicksville trailer park, June 2013:

AMBER HEARD CLAIMS she had arranged a 'drug party'. A woman named Kelly Sue leaned on her as she was high on MDMA. Depp grabbed her wrists, twisted them and threatened her. Amber stepped in, and took him to their trailer. Depp accused her of having a relationship with this woman, and then “turned on the rage to the trailer itself.” He broke a wall light, smashed things off the table, and caused massive damage to the property.
[TW: S.A.]
She says he started patting her down and ripped her dress. He took her underwear off, and proceeded to do a cavity search on her. He said he was “looking for his cocaine”, and said “we’re gonna conduct a cavity search.” She says she didn’t say 'stop', instead she stared into a light to disassociate from what happened.
JOHNNY DEPP CLAIMS he was jealous and broke a wall light in anger but denies the other stuff.
WITNESSES: Raquel Pennington (Heard's former best friend) who saw Depp yell at Kelly Sue and also the damaged property the next day.
Whitney Heard (Heard's sister) who went to bed early but saw the damaged property in the trailer the next day.
Kristina Sexton (Heard's former acting coach) who heard yelling in Depp and Heard's trailer, as well as damaged property the next day.
Morgan Night (manager of the trailer park and surprise witness from Depp's side) claimed that there was no damage except one sconce. He also claimed that he was with the group for 45 minutes to an hour, which contradicts his previous tweet that he was there all night. He also says that Amber was jealous and yelling at Johnny Depp while he cowered, which Depp himself did not testify to.

Boston plane ride, May 2014:

AMBER HEARD CLAIMS Depp was intoxicated from a number of substances and was in a blackout rage. He accused her of cheating with James Franco and hurled a number of vulgar insults at her. He then slapped her and kicked her in the back.
JOHNNY DEPP CLAIMS that he was only on Roxicodone. Amber was verbally harassing him while he minded his own business, which resulted in him going to the bathroom, locking the door, and going to sleep.
WITNESS: Keenan Wyatt (his sound engineer and witness) who was present there, said that she was cold and rude, but "could not recall" the kicking or insults from him.
The evidence seems to favor Heard:
Texts from Stephen Deuters (Depp’s PA) talk about how Depp kicked her and cried from the guilt when he was sober.
Depp's texts to Paul Bettany prove that he was in a drug fueled rage. He also was saying 'ahhhhh' while Jerry Judge (his bodyguard, since deceased) was concerned that he'll be sick.

Drug detox on Depp’s private island, August 2014:

JOHNNY DEPP CLAIMS he was going through severe withdrawal and Heard was refusing his meds. He considered this one of her cruelest actions. Mind you, this is someone he accuses of cutting off his finger.
But she was following Dr Kipper's orders by withholding medication until the correct time. Hardly an act of abuse. More like someone who was not equipped to deal with a detox.
AMBER HEARD CLAIMS that Depp was violent and abusive towards her during this episode. She texted the medical staff for help.

I’m on 3/4 of a vodka bottle, a Xanax 2mg. Usually that calms me down but it hasn’t and I feel so much worse by the second. I don’t have any friends, my family hates me I’m just tired of it. I cut myself over and over again and that didn’t even help.
At this point I’m about ready to drink a 12 pack of beer and the rest of the vodka and 302mg Xanax with 40 10mg roxicodone. I just don’t want to feel like this. I’ve tried therapy and psychiatrist and it never helped. I’m at my breaking point I just want the pain to go away. I’m sorry for bothering you I know there’s more important people than me. I just wanted a final goodbye I guess.

So, everything just went swimmingly…oh who the fuck and I trying to kid, I wouldn’t be posting here if everything went how I wanted it to. It was rough on both fronts, I ended up with red man syndrome because I had a histamine response to the vancomycin and then ended having to have two major nerves repositioned which was so excruciatingly awful I had to be kept overnight for pain management – morphine, toroidal, and roxicodone didn’t even touch the post-op pain. Eventually they gave me demerol and my nerves finally settled. It’s been a few days and thankfully it’s settled down quite a bit. But on top of all of this That Thing really did show up…and with reinforcements too.
DW being the anxious sort worked out the HIPAA forms and talked with some of the hospital staff who were really nice and helpful. She’s the nervous sort that either needs to pace or be doing something to keep her calm – she can handle anything like a champ but when it comes to me and surgery she kind of melts a bit. Her mom, whom I love so much, was there to keep her company and even texted to make sure that everyone in the family had That Thing blocked on facebook and other devices – just to make sure no one accidentally spilled the beans. DW’s little brother jokingly asked who in their family would be crazy enough to consider friending her in the first place.
Apparently half way into my surgery (I had to be there at some ungodly hour in the morning before the sun was even up!) That Thing shows up. And it’s not just her by herself, she’s there with a whole hoard of flying monkeys or what she termed ‘emotional support.’ Mind you, most of the people in the pictures DW’s mom took I don’t even recognize any of them but supposedly we’re related and they’ve met me – probably when I was in diapers almost 30 years ago! DW freaks out and gets up to confront her, telling her that she’s not supposed to be here, that I don’t want to see her, and that she needs to leave immediately. The no nonsense and titanium spine on this woman must have been something to behold – a little sad I missed it.
They get into a yelling match and That Thing keeps trying to push past DW to get to the reception desk – where currently DW’s mom has gotten the receptionist to call up the hospital police officers. That Thing is yelling at DW about how she’s a horrible partner for me because I was injured, implying that DW harmed me in some way which is categorically wrong! She called her every name in the book but DW’s a lawyer, she’s kind of developed a thick skin so she just does her best to grey rock the fuck out of my mother and keep her from getting to the staff or trying to make a break for the doors. That Thing then starts laying into me about being a bad, abusive daughter who doesn’t care about her mother – uh, you’re damn right I don’t! The flying monkeys are yelling and carrying on too like a bunch of insane old biddies.
Either way my mother crossed a line and grabbed or yanked on DW’s arm or something – so DW slapped the fire out of her. The way DW’s mom describes it you could apparently hear the crack across the rather large waiting room because it was so loud and everyone else waiting on their loved ones were ready to start getting popcorn and placing bets. (My money is definitely on DW!) When security arrived That Thing burst into tears and said DW attacked her, trying to pull some old lady (lol, she’s not even 60 yet) sympathy from the cops. But everyone else in the room is quick to correct the situation and the staff inform them that she’s been banned from trying to visit me.
She got escorted out, as did all the FM’s, under threat of arrest if they started causing more problems on their way out. That Thing informed us that she’s not done yet and she’ll eventually win me back (ew, creepy way to phrase that…). So that’s fun news, at least I was blissfully under the knife at the time and didn’t have to deal with the drama up close and personal. We’ve got all our information on lock down, since DW’s in law and I’m former Law enforcement we already have cameras, lights and home security in place.
HIPAA VIOLATION CENTRAL
So the flying monkey turned out to be some cousin of mine – not sure how many times removed it’s complicated and my grandma says the last time this person saw me I was a kid. Apparently she’s a nurse in the maternity ward, a ward I have never been to and completely unrelated to my care. She’s the only person whose login ID showed up who didn’t have a legitimate reason to be accessing my files – when asked about it she admits it and told admins that she not only gave her the medical info regarding the details of my surgery but also other records. Even though my file explicitly had a tag on it that she was not to be told or consulted at all!
So my mother has all of my medical history from the last three year at this hospital – the blood test and imaging results, the diagnosis, and even the news that I can’t have children. Even the bills! I just started bawling when I found that out – I never wanted her to know anything and I never so much as even made a comment about a sniffle in her presence. Now she knows everything and I feel so…exposed. I don’t know if she has physical copies or how I would even go about getting them back or just destroyed. But yeah, with the hospital’s patient advocate and ombudsman we’re filling out all the necessary paperwork for official complaints with anyone who will listen.

“The Floridian” was one of many former sleezy art deco motels that had been turned into “Section Eight” apartments in the middle of nowhere, western Palm Beach County, Florida. I moved in for free, permanently, about five years ago when it was still a motel after I got a bargain from the owner. He needed some favors in a hurry at the time and he had plenty of vacancies. It’s about an hour away from West Palm Beach proper, closer to the Everglades than the beach and surrounded by wetlands and a single road that led to a partially dead shopping mall and a city famous for absurd behavior. My name is Ted McCluskey, and this place is my home.
Calling it isolated was an understatement, but I love the green and blue plains that surrounded me. Not many people realize this but most of the southern part of Florida is a massive expanse of Everglade that humanity has been punishing the shit out of lately. I have borderline personality disorder, so something with a hint of stability and isolation seemed like a great deal at the time.
I spent several years barely working and wandering the empty parking lots, enjoying the weed in my hand and the feeling of security in my mind. That was, until the first new neighbors moved in. I don’t know if my home was being scouted for potential property flipping or if I just didn’t catch wind of the change in the neighborhood. For years the parking lots were empty, but one morning on my way to check out the college chicks at the nearest excuse for a mall, I noticed a new car. I ignored it, and the man with a fake tan who owned it, but three days later there were several moving trucks and sedans scattered across the vast parking lots. And a knock on my door.
Two fat ham-like people and a college-aged girl with long brown hair and bright blue eyes were at my door. They seemed painfully suburban. The woman was wearing a neon pink dress with pineapples in tuxedos. The girl was thin as a twig and looked exhausted but otherwise seemed normal enough, wearing a weathered Quicksilver shirt. The two parents didn’t react at all to me only wearing boxers and smoking a joint, much less the blaring Ariel Pink in the background. The girl looked scared out of her wits.
“Good morning buddy! We’re new to the neighborhood and wanted to introduce ourselves. I’m Kyle Polk and this is Linda and Jessica. We just moved here from Los Angeles to save money.” He waved, and I saw strange wounds on his wrist.
I slammed the door shut at that point, checking the window after a moment to see if it was safe. They were moving in four doors away. My home didn’t need neighbors. For years I had only worked a few hours a week, smoked and grew pot and shrooms and hung out on my stoop. I often turned to using the different apartment numbers to order drugs from Alphabay safely. The spectacular amount of vacancies made it a nice, shitty place to live. It was one of those places where the “kitchen” never worked but I knew I would miss it one day anyways. The thought of losing all of it made my pulse rise, and I realized the threat of a panic attack was imminent.
I guess it’s kind of hard to describe what the start of a panic attack feels like, but, suffice to say, "pretty bad" will have to work. My heart was pumping, and I knew that if it continued to I was going to lose control and freak the fuck out again, maybe even break something or hurt myself. With cops around that could mean a brutal beating for being mentally ill. Thankfully my arsenal was close at hand. I tuned on the lava-lamps, a tradition of mine since landing in the room filled with 1970s crap. A couple Xanax, some whisky, music and weed and I was right as rain again. Music makes me feel better and a few chems can help me get into it. I started feeling drowsy and heavy in the limbs in no time.
I only realized as my eyes were closing that his polo shirt was inside out. For some reason that and the frightened look in the girl’s eyes bothered the shit out of me. I kept telling myself the more logical conclusion; that she must have been creeped out by being dragged into a potential conversation with me. Regardless of any questions I had at the time, I had to deal with the unbelievable stress of a mood swing.
The next afternoon, after I got home from my only mildly shitty appliance repair gig I picked from Craigslist, there were three new vans. Two of them were U-hauls and one of those smaller ford vans that get used to deliver pizzas and stuff. A lady with long black hair was pushing a cart filled with boxes off her U-Haul and towards her apartment when she seemed to suddenly turn towards me. I pretended not to notice her, not wanting to risk another conversation as I walked up to my apartment. There was a yellow coffee stained note on my door from the landlord asking me to come by his office. I could practically smell the body odor just from the note.
As I got around to the southernmost building, I saw something that made me do a double take before I reached Jessie. The family that had knocked on my door earlier was moving in, but into an entirely different apartment. I tried to make it look like I wasn't watching, but stumbled and almost fell when I realized that the wife was different, now a slightly older redhead with a pixie haircut. Probably just helping this woman move in, but it gave me the creeps. They all turned to look. As the adults went inside, the teen girl seemed to try to stifle a wave. She quickly went back to carrying lamps from the U-Haul.
Normally I’d give it a week or two to see if he really needed to see me or what, but I was awfully curious as to what the fuck was going on and decided to take the time out of my normally busy schedule to go see him. His office and home, both of which stunk of whiskey and whatever the opposite of soap was, were located on the far end of the four long apartment buildings surrounding two drained pools and a parking lot that composed “The Floridian”. It was on the third floor out of three and it was one of the few places that had a view of the ocean from its balcony.
I knocked and the door slid open as its owner told me to come in. Jesse Price was dressed a little better than normal, with a neatly pressed but still badly stained button-down brown shirt and recently laundered cargo shorts. He looked even more rail thin than normal and his long, poorly styled hair was all combed over to one side. He sat behind an ancient solid Dade-Pine roll-top desk. All of the furniture was ancient and battered, but extremely well-crafted wood. It made the dark and smoky room look like a pirates cabin. The powerful aroma of sweat and abused substances the man normally cloaked himself in mingled violently with an incredible amount of cologne.
“Hey man, you alright?”
He gave me a slightly nervous glance that I didn’t understand. I had pretty bad mood swings, but I had gotten a lot better about taking a walk instead of letting them play out.
“Uhm…So, we got some new neighbors? Shit man, when it rains it pours, am I right?”
He looked down at his desk nervously and took out his vape pen. He was convinced that no one would ever notice that the cartridge it contained was clearly not a nicotine filled one. He took a long, deep drag and held it for a moment.
“So, seventeen so far. They haven’t all moved in yet. They seem to be people from Royal Palm, that wealthy spot There’s gonna be more though. I can’t tell where they’re all coming from, or why a fuck ton of people are suddenly interested in renting shitty cheap apartments in a place that doesn’t even have tourist traps anymore, but I have an answering machine filled with missed calls all of a sudden.”
My eyes must have shot out of my head, because he offered me his vape pen with the most sympathetic face I could imagine him wearing. I took a long hit.
“You’re safe, even though you don’t own the land or anything, but, yeah, we’re getting new neighbors, and it’s hard to tell how many of them or why.”
“God they’re fucking weird…” I drifted off, thinking of the pudgy smiling man and his terrified daughter. Jesse raised an eyebrow to me and shrugged.
“So far none of them are Section 8, so I guess they just want cheap mortgage payments. I’m willing to sell pretty much all of them except mine and that first one you stayed in when you got here.” Jesse said of the weird Roaring 20s themed room I briefly loved before a mold issue set in. It wasn’t normal for people who didn’t have a severe mental illness or other serious problem to be on Section 8, which is like Welfare for rent, so these weren’t the normal temporary boarders and ex-cons we got from Palm Beach.
“Weird.” I began to feel like he had no more new information for me and I desperately wanted to get out of the conversation and the room.
“Listen, there’s nothing weird about these people, the thing is, property values are rising and I hate to put it this way, but it could really be my ship sailing in. I wanted to ask you, do you think you could avoid doing anything…you know…” He squinted his face to show the difficulty of trying to convey his worries without offending me and sending me into a mood swing.
“Weird?” I asked, knowing that it was a bit broad of a word in Florida. He winced, knowing that he wasn’t the patron saint of normalcy to begin with.
“Yeah. I’ll find a way to make it worth your while, just help me out here. This guy, "John Gamon", weird guy, he's an agent or...something that seems to be sending people my way. I'm letting them move in while I wait on their bank...they sent reps over but I can't seem to find them on the internet...No idea how he talked people into an hour-long commute to West Palm Beach, but I'm worried he might be happier with me out of the way. Technically this is all owned by a corporation that my dad started and financially speaking, it's on pretty thin ice. A few new residents could make this work, maybe even spruce up the place like I've been meaning to do. Or maybe he'll just make the land cheaper through eminent domain or some other bullshit."
He sighed deeply and stared at his desk for a second, giving me a second to react. I could tell he had planned this discussion in some detail, probably hoping to avoid one of my flip-outs. The bad part first explained as part of a larger narrative, then a lot of information to consider, a combo that usually works as long as I'm allowing it to.
"Yeah, a lot of good and bad things."
“This guy scares the shit out of me. He’s been poking around in more than just the property and I’m worried he’ll find something he can use against me. He’s coming by later to look through some others. There are some options if you want to permanently buy yours, you know, on the super-cheap, of course?”
I nodded to him and took the card he was offering. Unlike Jessie’s grease stained notes, this one carried a light hint of cologne, despite the difficult time it endured in Jessie’s wallet. I didn’t want to live around a bunch of people anyways and would plan on leaving if too many moved in. It felt like a horrible eviction, despite the invitation to stay. Without another word I nodded and walked out, jamming my headphones into my ears and blaring some old Bossa Nova. This was something he was used to, and pretty much on the optimistic side of my behavior. I went home and got mega-wrecked. I had long since turned to using etizolam, which is technically legal in the U.S. despite being very similar to Xanax, allowing me to buy it at about 25 cents a pill. For comparisons sake, Xanax is about 5 bucks for a pill of comparative strength.
Thanks to some natural anti-psychotic effects, I started thinking rationally about the situation. I began to consider this “Ted McClusky” guy. Maybe I could barter Jessie for actual ownership of the apartment, or some kind of stake that could improve my situation. These thoughts continued until I took another etizolam and some other stuff and passed out.
I don’t know what time I woke up, but some time late at night, really fucking late, I groggily semi-came to. I didn’t remember anything from the day before, one of the great blessings of Etizolam. I heard a strange grinding sound directly out of my room. Still badly hungover from the small handful of drugs I had popped, I slowly opened the door of my apartment.
Four doors away from where I carefully poked my head was the ham-faced woman who had knocked on my door the day, Linda Polk. She was wearing a white blouse that was nicely pressed, but not tucked in, to khakis that had several scorch marks with the patterns of an iron.
“You okay?” Dread filled me the second the words left my mouth. Her head whipped in my direction, sending droplets of blood sailing. She smiled, revealing a set of teeth that looked like shattered bits of glass sticking from the gore of what was once her mouth.
“You have a lovely store!” She gurgled and hacked. She ground her teeth furiously, letting one pop like corn in a microwave deep inside her mouth as she turned her enormous bulk in my direction. Her feet slapped against the concrete as she sprinted at me. I slammed the door shut and heard gurgling suburbanite chatter as she came to a halt near my front window.
“Wha a niy doog!” She was vomiting random phrases, greetings, pleasantries, through her annihilated mouth. After a while, I poked a hole in the blinds to get a look at her from the side window and she was walking towards the end of the balcony. When she reached it she simply turned away and walked in the other direction blankly until the encountered the other end of the floor, which caused her to repel from the wall and towards the stairs again. I don’t know how long she was there, I grabbed my tool bag, a crowbar, some drugs and jumped out the joke of a rear window. Without transportation, I couldn’t just leave, but staying in that apartment wasn’t a real option.
It wouldn’t be the first time I slept in a different apartment. Sometimes I broke into one of the many abandoned apartments just to get a change of pace. They were almost all uninhabited and I was usually the one doing “maintenance” anyways. Each one had an entirely different get-up from a different era. A few, like mine, were from the 90s. Some still had the relatively pristine shag carpet, paisley print and functioning lava lamps of the 60s and 70s. Others had crystal clear Lexan tables, white leather, lots of mirrors and other trappings of the 80s (including cocaine lines on a mirror I once enjoyed for the same purpose as tribute). Some even had stuff that hinted at earlier origins.
The one I chose that night was the first place I had been permitted to crash in, back when Jessie, needed help with a heroin problem (I don’t mean getting clean). I later moved to my current home because that grand old dame one had a mold issue, but I was still fond of it. It had a gigantic gold colored glass mirror wall with different tints of glass forming what was once a sunrise. Art-Deco from the 20s and 30s adorned every wall. Much of the glass was now broken, the metal tarnished and rusty. It felt comforting to sleep there, as if being able to do as I pleased gave me some level of control over my home again.
When I woke up the next morning, I realized that I didn’t want any of those creeps to have this particular room. I decided to stick weld the door shut, so that I could come and go through the shitty attic system. I decided to go talk to Jessie and get a clear list of all of my options and ideas he might have. And also, to check if he was aware of just how fucked up his new neighbors might be. When I got to his office, however, I noticed immediately that the blinds were pulled up. The glass was spotless. A man with a tight blonde haircut and blue eyes who definitely wasn’t Jessie sat in an office that had been freshly renovated. I wasn’t exactly in the mood for a conversation with one of those fucking creeps.
It was time to take an extended walk. That was my last seemingly solid option. Mood swings are a lot like a panic attacks, their less intimidating cousin, in that you get a lot of energy you can't really channel easily. Listening to music tends to be distract me from the emotional momentum and I could feel my heart pounding almost as fast as the drums keeping up with João Gilberto. The apartment complex/motel was surrounded by marshlands, hemmed in by mangroves, pond apples and sea grapes. Normally I would walk around the complex whenever I got stressed out, but there was now another U-Haul pulling in close to my apartment, so I went around the outer rim of the three parallel buildings so I could see some wildlife in the stretches of flat wetlands around us.
The parking lot had a relatively steep drop down to the marsh thanks to a shoddy concrete foundation. I have walked, half slid down to the shifting mangrove-choked waterways that surrounded my home. The land and the water were utterly even and interspersed. forming what looks like massive puddles interrupting a dense forest. The fact that some of them were incredible deep wasn’t immediately obvious. It was like traveling to a different planet, and it felt good to be unable to easily see the apartment blocks through the dense wall of green. After about half an hour, I could feel my heart getting back into a relatively safe range.
This was when I realized that there was no longer any sound coming from around me. Now, animals normally hit the deck when they hear humans rummaging through their neighborhood to begin with, but I didn’t even hear birds, the warning alarms of the animal kingdom. I decided to go a little deeper, to clear my mind of what could have easily been a spell of paranoia. They come and go. With every step, the absence of fish, rodents, even insects became more apparent. My heart began pounding again.
I couldn’t tell you how long it took, but eventually I got to an area I had only been to once or twice before, where the water suddenly gets deep. I didn’t mind stepping in it up to my knee or so, but a small clearing that was normally above the ankle seemed to have been turned into a fish nest, or a circular crater in the sand that fish make with their tails. Except this one was about eight feet wide. The clearing looked strange, larger than it was previously. I reached into my pocket for my vape pen, which thank God had a fresh cartridge of THC. As I surveyed the trees I noticed that the clearing was quite a bit larger, and a lot more water. Some of the trees seemed to be just tufts of greenery without bark sticking out of the water, which is unusual as fuck for mangrove. I treaded along the sand and took off my shoes to go into some water and get a better look.
The tree wasn’t short at all. It had been *pulled* into the fucking ground. The ground itself was about six feet away from where it was supposed to be. The mangrove was massive and I could see a lot of it, but the ground below had been pulled down, almost like a sinkhole. Except along the sides, instead of jagged rock from collapsed limestone, there was just a perfectly smooth surface of sand. The massive mangrove was sticking out of it, leaving only the very top of the tree sticking above the water. I couldn’t even see the bottom. But the branches and roots mixed far below, they had been bleached white and smooth and entangled each other, making the plant look like a sculpture of an insane orgy.
Which was quite enough for me, actually.
I quietly went back, put my shoes on and left right away. Something was horribly wrong in my home. The trek back was long and wet and I had every intention of taking a hot shower upon reaching my shitty apartment. After a while, I could see the former mega-motel parking lot rising up from some distance, its concrete foundation rudely jutting deep into the natural marshland. The earth pushed up around it like a swollen wound.
The moment I reached the parking lot hedgery I noticed someone walking away. A fat little woman scurried into her apartment as I climbed the embankment. One or two more new vehicles were parked along the way. Some fresh blood was splattered across a soft pink Ford Focus coupe. I did my best to pretend I didn’t notice them, but something made me feel like their inhabitants were watching me.
The next hour was spent getting high as fuck. Escapism is a perfectly effective way of dealing with stress temporarily and I needed to feel grounded. That was a lot of weird shit for one day. So, I went for sedatives, etizolam of course but also a little Roxicodone I had picked up. Pretty good stuff, it’s great for situations like this. Six beers and some weed later and I was almost able to address the problem like a sane person, thinking about where I would move and how I might be able to minimize my time in the area. I knew I couldn’t stay there any longer, even if those people were normal and I was just imagining shit, which was clearly not entirely the case.
I drifted off early and slept late, even for an unemployed person. I dreamed of nothing and felt exhausted when I woke up to the sound of light knocking on my door. I opened the door and the teenaged girl shot past me and into my room before I could say anything. She had been sobbing.
“You... you have to help me. Please, you have to help me.”
She grabbed my shirt and slammed the door behind me.
“That wasn’t my dad, not anymore. You have to help me, we have to get out of here. Do you have a car?”
She was speaking urgently and tears were welling up in her eyes.
“What? No, no, I don’t, wait, what the fuck?”
“These people aren’t normal, that’s not my dad anymore. They take them to the water and force them in, and when they come back up they’re all fucked up. That was my dad, and he’s been able to snap out of it sometimes, but they took him to the water again and, I…”
She began sobbing powerfully, shuddering. She grabbed my arms as hard as her bony hands could allow and stared at me with horrified eyes.
“I think he’s dead…I think he’s dead.” She took a step back from me and half sat, half collapsed on an orange plastic chair.
“Your dad?” She looked confused at this.
“No! That fucking monster who’s been holding me captive! I hit him with a lamp, I have some car keys, but I don't know which car they go to. Can you steal that other guys car? I think they got him anyways."
"Jessie? What the fuck did they do to him? I didn't see his car out there today. Whose keys do you have and why don't we use them? And what the fuck happened to you?
She shook her head and looked down, visibly upset by what she had seen.
"I didn't see. But two of those things grabbed him after I tried to get him to make a break for it. I don't know which car these keys are for, when they're around each other they don't talk like we do. First they killed my mom. Then they killed my real dad. Then they forced me to act like that" She sobbed and shook violently. "We used to live outside Port Charlotte, my dad built a house right on the water. That's where they come from. They forced us to walk. " The last word turned into a moan as she sunk into the chair, no longer maintaining any kind of eye contact.
"Jesus Christ...where do they come from? Who are they?"
"I don't know...They just wander, in the swamp, until they find a place. If more of them come, they force you to dig in the water to find something...something in the roots. They aren't in control anymore...when they start breaking down, and they can't act normal anymore, they go crazy"
"My dad wasn't like that, but eventually they took him to the swamp. When he came back, we hoped everything was going to be ok..."
​
I really didn't want to know what the fuck that meant. I grabbed an old chefs knife and handed her a broken bedpost I was supposed to have sanded and replaced about two months ago. She weakly wrapped her hand around it and barely tried to slow it as it dropped to the ground, but she picked it up again and stood up with something resembling determination. I walked slowly to the back window, hoping those fucking creeps were slow learners. I looked out at the back lot and made sure it was empty before getting ready to climb down.
​
"My name is Jeanette. Jeanette Pauley...if I don't get out of here and you do..."
I nodded solemnly and put my hand on her shoulder to let her know I meant it. "I'm Ted and we are going to get out of here."
The waifish girl nodded and quickly followed behind me, slowly climbing our way down three drainpipes as quietly as possible. She tapped my shoulder once we got to the bottom, putting a finger to her lips but showing me the car keys before directing me to the rear lot. We readied our weapons, but didn't see anyone, not even any lights on.
I paused a moment before getting ready to turn the corner, hoping to God that nothing was behind that corner waiting for us. The knife suddenly felt dull and flimsy. I pressed my back against the concrete wall and slowly moved around the corner. I thought it was the wind, but something told me the low sound I heard was a human voice. Sure enough, an old man in a UM shirt with a cane was walking in the direction of the middle building in the dead center of the parking lot, blood pouring down his face and neck as he gibbered aimlessly.
I wondered if I could creep around him, but I didn't get to wonder long. His head shot in my direction when I thought I would have been out of his field of vision.
​
"What a cute puppy! What's his name!?" Or at least it was probably what he said, as he no longer had the ability to form consonants due to a badly mangled mouth.
​
​
I head the bones in the mans leg crack as he ran to us, but it didn't slow him down. His foot broke, then the ankle, with bones sticking out. It collapsed in sideways, forcing him to run on the side of his ankle, but it didn't seem to change the excited look on his face. I could hear running footsteps from behind us as well, and gibbering. Jeanette moved to my left and flanked the old man, I took a step back, hoping they couldn't keep silent and that there weren't some sneaking up on us.
Jeanette swung, and the old man's brutalized face largely collapsed. I stabbed him, pushing the knife through what felt like the toughest, most sinewey set of pork ribs I had ever encountered, and he dropped to the ground. I leaned down to get the knife, hearing the gibbering of a fat woman and a skinny young man gaining on us from the parking lot we had just left when the old man grabbed my hand. I tried to ignore the gurgles that sounded like he was thanking me as I yanked the blade free.
​
I got back up barely in time for the young Hispanic man, who was unfortunately in great shape aside from his mouth, which he had chewed into a bone and blood strewn pulp.
​
"Hi, which aisle for canned goods?!" He almost screamed as he swung one of his fists at me. Despite seeing it coming, years of drug use had made me a little slower than I'd like and his fist connected to my jaw. I felt unbelievable pain fire through my face and neck as a terrible crack rang out in my ears. I heard Jeanette scream and had a brief second to see the fat woman on top of her, pinning her down as blood ran from the woman's mouth onto her face, before the young mans fist blotted out the world.
​
When I came to I could feel my hands pinned behind me by something sharp that pinched when I tried to move. Jeanette was across from me, covered in blood and not moving, while Jessie sat at the other end of a small clearing, covered in blood, awake but not moving. It was dead at night and we were far enough from civilization to see the stars, which I suddenly didn't find reassuring. The distance I had spent my life cultivating was now a problem.
​
"Jessie? Jeanette?" Jessie's eyes moved in my direction, but then seemed to roll to the back of his head, as if he were put in sudden and horrible pain. He seemed to be focused on something.
​
"Jessie, what the fuck happened?" My mouth was filled with pain and blood at the attempt to speak, but Jeanette seemed to come to at the sound of my voice. Jessie tried to look in my direction and shake his head, but didn't say anything. I heard splashing approaching from the mangroves that surrounded us and suddenly felt myself being dragged through increasingly deep puddles. I could hear Jeanette crying. That was when I began fighting a bit. I kicked, thrashed and struggled until I finally turned over and saw the young Hispanic man and a massive fat woman in a blue and red blouse stood over me. This time they were utterly silent. I saw the brown fist coming and this time managed to make it to the side, hearing it smash into the mud behind me. Suddenly the fat woman ran towards Jessie and Jeanette.
​
I kicked and got him in the balls, but it didn't do much. Thankfully, when he corrected his position to punch me again I managed to kick the inside of his leg hard enough to bring him down. Whatever was wrapped around my wrists was hurting the shit out of me, but I twisted my hand again anyways. I could feel the flesh from my left hand rip like a plastic bag, but I felt something come free as I kicked the guy again. He managed to get up and kick me in the ribs, and I felt the air shoot out of me.
He was just about to get me again when Jessie managed to reach him. I don't know how he got free, but I saw what was holding me back: a thick vine with horrible barbs was dangled from the ripped flesh of his hands as he kicked the man in the head while he was down. I managed to get up and join him, but my hands were still bound. After he stopped moving so much, Jessie managed to help pluck the barbs out of my skin and then we both helped Jeanette. The fat woman was lying face down, seemingly drowned in a relatively deep puddle. She must have not noticed Jessie getting free.
Once and again, Jeanette put her finger to her lips, pointing out into the dark behind us and shaking her head with fear. Suddenly I noticed splashing noises making their way to us, Jeanette managed to duck behind a tree cluster and into a heavy bush while I hid behind a thin group of trees that effectively formed a small wall with a crack. I couldn't see Jessie.
Four people entered the clearing, all of them stared at the bodies. They waited a moment, then slowly went to both bodies, leaning down and smelling them before slowly picking them up and dragging them to the massive body of water that had once been a normal deeper part of the wetlands. First they dropped the fat woman into the water, the the young man.
Then the four strangers dispersed, walking in seemingly random directions. They seemed to almost ricochet, not seeking a way around objects or a certain course, but reacting away from them and walking in a different direction. I could see Jeanette cover her mouth in horror as a woman, maybe in her 50s, walked near her, with a blank look on her face and blood staining her disheveled blouse. Unknown to this woman, Jeanette was crouched in a heavy bush that thankfully seemed to cover her, muffling her crying with her hand.
I was worried about her breaking her silence when suddenly I heard a bunch of twigs break and all four of the strangers looked off to my far left. Jessie had managed to get behind several trees, but in order to keep his body hidden he had to pin himself up there. He fell, landing in thick swamp bush.
​
"No, no, no, you son of a bitch! NO!" He screamed as they closed on him. "Please, no, please!"
I could see him flailing, but more were coming. As Jeanette and I watched, they brought him, kicking and screaming, to the water, where they put him in.
"Please don't fucking do this! Please don't fucking do this!" Those were the last words I ever heard from Jessie, as a woman I later learned was once Jeanette's mother placed her hands on his head and slowly pushed down. Then Jessie was dragged below by something I could not see. The people who had held him down, now seven, stood up and began to walk away in the same disorganized way they had previously used, walking away from any obstacles and not having any clear direction, but leaving the clearing quickly anyways.
I don't know how long we waited there, but it was more than a few minutes until I finally saw Jeanette wave and then motion for me to follow her. Before I did I took a few cautious steps forward instead. I had to see what had happened to my friend. Some part of me thought I could still save him. It was too dark to see much, but I saw him alright. The roots were no longer at the bottom of the massive pit, a small group had stretched upwards. Jessie was still just below the surface and I could see the glistening white roots penetrating his flesh all over his body before I turned and followed the shocked Jeanette. They looked like they were either pumping something into him.
​
We saw a few as we left the swamp, but as long as we didn't move they seemed to just ricochet about. It took three hours to finally reach a road, and another 45 minutes before a car came. The police had a fun time with it, until some Federal Guys who claimed to be part of the Fish and Wildlife something or another but probably weren't came by. They took both of us to a "secure facility" and interrogated the shit out of us, but we came out alright. I got the impression this wasn't the first time they had seen this. A fire burned down my old home. Couldn't guess on whether that was the government or those creeps. I talked to Jeanette again a few weeks ago, they told her Aunt in California that her family was killed in a boating accident.
​
I saw Jessie again too. As I was leaving West Palm, driving up I-95 to get the fuck out of there. He was standing on the edge of a pond staring at the road in a relatively nice looking polo shirt. He smiled when he saw my car and waved. I'm pretty sure his polo shirt was inside out.
​

About two years ago, Marty moved in. I had a four bedroom house in Lake Worth, Florida and had recently been put on furlough at the workplace so I needed a roommate. At first I didn’t think I was going to take him as a roommate, seeing as he was thirty two years older than me, extremely fat and he warned me that he is mentally ill, being a pathological liar and having something ranging between borderline personality disorder and manic depression. But this is South Florida and the other options were fans of Sublime and Roxicodone. Against my girlfriend Michelle’s reservations, I called him back after two weeks of failed interviews.
Marty was the one who told us about the antiques sale, about a year after he moved in. There are estate sales, where the families of the wealthy sell off their hard earned baubles, all over South Florida but he knew of a place that did a running auction every week and had incredible prices. Michelle was so thrilled she pretended not to be disgusted by Marty, who generally hid in his room, smoked pot and cried a lot. I had secretly gotten used to him. Michelle had moved in about six months after him, and didn’t seem to mind the additional household income. She had graduated with a degree in Healthcare Administration and was getting desperate about the lack of job opportunities, making her a bit curt at the time. But she is a sweetheart by default and her love of horror movies and pot eventually made me consider proposing to her.
He had eventually told me that he moved in because his mother had passed away and she was working herself to the bone until the day she died to support him. He was pretty old at sixty one, but he still wasn’t able to make more than 12.00 bucks an hour because of his emotional instability. He came home covered in sweat every day after taking the Palm Tran bus system to his data entry job in Boca Raton. I was worried he might kill himself on the best days and I was pretty happy that Michelle actually feigned an interest in the poor guys well-being during the days leading up to our expedition to a massive, poorly ventilated warehouse far out west in the swamps of Loxahatchee.
The goods were all on display, antiques that were both expensive and cheap looking, by virtue of their being crammed together with Tiffany lamps resting on cheap kitchen tables. Michelle noticed it in a moment, a set of dark wood tropical themed bedroom furniture that looked like it had been hand carved. The porters working the auction looked at each other queasily when she settled on the set, probably aware of how heavy it must be. She fumbled her bright red hair into a knot and tugged desperately at the corner of a palette, unable to get even a small nightstand to budge.
For some reason, this delighted her and I could tell from the smile on her face that the cost of Marty continuing to live in my house was my bedroom looking like a tropical tomb. Marty stared transfixed to an amazing, massive old television set from the 1970s, complete with phone and turntable, that looked like it would be at home on the show ‘Mad Men’. We turned it on and the picture quality was amazing. Michelle happily speculated as to what the set might bid for while we took our seats and filled out a payment card.
When it came time for the bidding, everyone was so concerned with a Cord race car from before World War 2 that no one even competed with Michelle’s low ball. At that point even I was excited, the set came with a four poster bed and a wardrobe that later one we would almost take out a doorway to get in, but for $150 total, it was worth it. I bought Marty the TV he had been ogling for $30 and tipped the guys who packed the stuff into my truck, not bothering to sit through the rest of the auction. We went home, packed our bongs, and called some movers to get the absurdly heavy furniture in. They even managed to avoid scratching the wood floors and only chipped a little stucco off the ancient Spanish Mission style walls.
At the end of the day, hours later, Marty had hooked up his old TV and Michelle used some doodad to allow a more modern input. This allowed us to watch Michelle’s favorite horror classic, a Giallo flick where a killer wearing a gold and black Venetian carnival mask and business suit massacres a family. I took some breaks from the movie I didn’t really like the first twenty times to admire the craftsmanship of my new furniture. Motifs of what looked like black people in chains carrying fruits were barely noticeable below massive bronze palm fronds sticking out of the elegant woodwork. It was a bit creepy looking, but I had always wanted a four poster bed and this thing looked like it was expensive as hell.
After smoking and laughing our way through the visual marvels of the Italian 70s, Michelle and I crashed. That night Michelle couldn’t keep still for a second, she kept tossing and turning. When she finally woke I was already awake and offered to get her a drink, but she burst into tears instead of responding directly. After a few minutes of sobbing she explained that in her dream the man in the gold and black mask was trying to kill her. Clearly a problem only a bowl of late night ice cream could help with.
Marty had fallen asleep on the couch while watching some cheesy sitcom from the late 70s where everyone learned a valuable moral lesson at the end of every episode and everyone had feathered hair but the screen had since turned to snow. We decided not to wake him and instead enjoyed our ice cream in the kitchen with the admittedly catchy tune in the background while the computer attached to the TV queued the next episode. While we were washing our dishes, we heard a car pull up loudly in front of the house.
Michelle wandered over to the front blinds and absentmindedly peaked outside, probably expecting it to be our neighbor who is a prostitute coming home. She squeaked in alarm and covered her mouth, darting away from the window the second she had seen whatever was in the front lawn. She grabbed me and dragged me to the front door and pointed at the peephole. When I looked through, the man in the gold and black carnival mask was stepping out of a lowered bright turquoise Marathon Taxi whose lights had just fallen dim. He stepped confidently down our front path with the gem topped cane he used to impale an old woman in the movie.
“Is everything cool?” Marty asked nervously after turning off the television, apparently awoken by our scurrying.
“Uhhhmmm…hold on, should we call the cops, or is this a prank? Because if it’s not a prank we should call the cops…” Michelle said, entirely within one rapid fire breath.
I looked through the peephole again, but the car and the killer in the mask were both suddenly gone. I rushed to the side of the house the path is closest to, but I didn’t see anyone there or in the back yard, where we have motion sensitive lights. I turned the lights in the front on and looked through the other side, but I didn’t see any sign of the car or the killer in the mask. After a few hours, the sleepiness won and we went back to the bedroom, trying to convince ourselves that it was just a hypnogogic hallucination or something.
The next day when we woke up, Michelle was covered in sweat and shaking. She told me she had experienced another nightmare, again with the killer. We smoked an awful lot of pot and I thanked God it was Sunday so we didn’t have to go to work on top of it all. After cleaning up the house and putting our unused furniture as well as giant TV set away, we discussed whether or not what happened was real. Neither of us knew. We got out of the house and went to the Clematis area, where they had a small but well attended farmers market nearby. I began to plot out the ways that we could avoid going home, leading us to a trip to the Norton Art Gallery, where we almost ran over some Christians going to the creepy private University on the water. Michelle asked me if I thought there was anything wrong with the furniture, and I simply didn’t know what to say.
Eventually we went home, we watched a move and smoked pot, this time on the laptop. I heard Marty laughing softly in his room over the theme to his favorite sitcom and smiled to myself, hoping the events of the previous night were just a weird reaction to bad weed. I hoped the memory of it would go away just like the weird squeak in my car engine somehow did so that I could go back to enjoying my new furniture without worrying about it having been possessed or something.
Weeks passed by, and then months. Eventually we forgot about the creep in the turquoise car and I simply stopped thinking about it. Eventually life moved on in other ways as well. Michelle and I were getting pretty serious at the time and I was thinking more about how to pop the question than whether or not I should. Finally the day came where Marty got a legitimate promotion.
He was going to be the data manager of a call center that did data input from a census. He was going to make enough to live on his own and even to afford a car. We talked about it, and without directly addressing the issue he mentioned that he had been looking into cheap efficiencies. Michelle was bouncing with joy when I finally brought up our talks of getting married and moving to Fort Pierce, to a place that was dirt cheap and right on the water. It may have been the best night of my life. A week or two later and I noticed Marty had a beaten up Ford Taurus in the driveway, so I congratulated him with a six pack of good beers he had always loved. A few weeks after that, there were boxes in his bedroom and the living room when I came home and I knew the day had come.
That night he told us he had finally found a place and although he was already paid up on rent and we were just going month to month, he was ready to go. He was checking through his stuff when we got to that badassed old TV from the auction. Seeing as it was likely his last night, we decided to fire the thing up and watch some movies. While Michelle was picking up the Cuban sandwiches and tres leches, Marty and I had a brief heart to heart where he told me he was actually terrified of being lonely again, like after his mother died. He had never had friends growing up and he had been considering suicide when he moved in with me. Being mentally ill, he had a difficult enough time getting care, much less fitting in with society. I sympathized with him and told him how proud I was that he was moving on.
Michelle came home, he dried his eyes, and we enjoyed a movie about a woman who was tricked into moving into a haunted castle, where she was hounded by a ghost in an ancient hoop skirt. We smoked, laughed and talked about how the cost of rent had gotten too high in Palm Beach lately. When we went to sleep I wondered briefly how the hell we would move my heavy furniture, seeing as it had strained the hell out of my truck previously.
When I woke up, it was the dead of night and Michelle was pulling at the sleeve of my t-shirt. I turned over to look at her face and she was shaking and crying, covering her mouth so as to not make a sound. She pointed excitedly at the hallway beyond our bedroom doorway. I could see the old TV still on, blaring snow, but as my eyes adjusted to the limited light I saw something else. A tall elegant looking woman in a white dress stood in our living room. She was turned away from us, but I could see her hair was perfectly white, just like her hoop skirt dress. Aside from the splash of red coming from the wound in her torso, there was no color to the woman at all.
I don’t know why I did what I did then, but I turned the table lamp in my room on and meekly said “Hello?”. I think I expected it to be a trick of the eyes, maybe Marty from an odd angle. The face that turned to me wasn’t Marty. An old woman, skin as dry as parchment, her head turned 180 degrees on her neck like a swivel, allowing me to see the perfectly white orbs of her eyes. Michelle moaned in terror and the thing swept towards us, hovering gracefully over the ground as her hands outstretched in our direction. A horrific growl escaped her lips as her head corrected its direction, at which point I snapped out of it enough to get off the bed and slam the bedroom door closed. This was the moment where I regretted giving Marty the only bedroom with a window, simply because it didn’t have its own bathroom.
Michelle made a sound that was somewhere between the word ‘No’ and a moan, while grabbing a baseball bet I kept near the bed to give to me. I locked the door a split second before the knob suddenly began rattling. As I ran from the door to get to Michelle, I heard something hard scrape deliberately around the edges of the door before ripping angrily into the wood. It didn’t sound like the thing was trying to smash the door as much as scratch rapidly through it. The thing rasped with rage as its long fingernails tore through the wood as easily as knives. Michelle began to whimper on the bed while I braced myself. First some of the wood on our side chipped away. Then enough wood was ripped away to see the edges of the slender razor sharp fingernails attacking the door. Michelle began calling 911, something we probably should have done to begin with, when suddenly the assault stopped.
It took a few seconds to work up the courage to look through the holes in the door, but when I did I saw Marty at the end of the hall, near the living room, looking dumbfounded.
“Are you ok?” I asked, hoping to God this wasn’t some kind of trap.
“Yeah…are you?” Marty seemed baffled that I had asked him this question.
“Yeah…” I looked at Michelle, whose eyes were blurry and red as she put down her phone cautiously.
“I turned off the TV…it just disappeared then…” Marty was about to go on, but he didn’t seem to know what to say. After a few minutes of just sitting there, looking at the door that had almost been breached, I finally got up and went to the living room to talk to Marty. Michelle clung closely behind me. Marty was standing in front of the TV, staring at it when it seemed to click in Michelle’s head what had happened.
“Holy shit, it’s the fucking TV! You saved our fucking lives!” She exclaimed, cursing more than she normally did in a week.
Marty smiled sheepishly before turning a concerned look over to the TV. He unplugged the jury-rigged jack from the back before backing away from it. Michelle began looking up hotels right away, clearly not interested in taking chances with that TV even if it was on the curb. We contacted a realtor the next day and she signed a lease while on her lunch break. She never slept in that house again and just to be on the safe side, we sold the bedroom furniture too. I was pretty sad to see the house empty, but I was sure life would move on. I was even thinking about when would be the best time to get a first checkup beer with Marty.
Four days later I stopped by the old house to get the last of my things and when I opened the front door the first thing I saw was that TV, back in the now empty living room, blaring music. I almost slammed the door and said fuck it, but the music sounded powerfully familiar. I cautiously leaned to the side and sure enough, it was Marty’s favorite 70’s sitcom. I slowly put one foot after the other and looked around the room, to make sure no demons were around before moving to pull the plug. Before I could, the main character, a man with feathered hair who worked at a Ford plant began telling his son to be on his best behavior while meeting their new neighbor.
I happened to take a risky glance at the screen and that’s when I saw him. There was no mistaking Marty, even though he was decades younger. His hair was jet black and he wasn’t nearly as fat as he shook Dan Carlyle’s hand. Before I unplugged the thing, I saw him look into the camera, smile and wink.
“I can’t wait to start my new life here!” Was the last thing I heard him say before the screen went black. I try and think about that every time I think about him. He deserved a happy life with cheesy morals and catchy theme songs.
I know no one will probably read this, but this one is dedicated to my old roommate. He was a great, if misunderstood guy, and I miss him a lot some days.

My name is Owen, and I enjoy stealing in general. Also drugs, which I generally sell my stolen shit to buy more of. So, my equally goonish friend Terry and I got the case of a lifetime six months ago. We had screwed over this creepy dude Cody who was selling us stuff by covertly stealing his stash of shrooms and weed and calling the cops on him as he made a delivery to our friendly competition later. He was selling black shrooms that everyone kept asking us for and we were worried we were losing customers. Both of us being usually unbathed as well as over six feet tall with scraggly hair, we somehow doubted it was our lack of congeniality.
Unexpectedly, the police assumed he was dangerous and decided to shoot him in the head, despite his being unarmed, shirtless and confused. He was a pretty creepy dude, but everyone doubted that his actions could be interpreted as a threat. They swore that he was coming right for them. We were surprised, enough that we didn’t make our usual jokes about it, but as junkies we both needed to make money and get another fix.
To console our good friend Ashley, who is his cousin, we offered to smoke her out (with Cody’s stolen weed). Needless to say, Terry tried and failed to fuck her. After being given a cold shoulder I began to ply my trade of casing her and her friends for other drugs to steal. His cousin was so upset that she mentioned not knowing what to do with the incredible payload of stuff they were growing that they had left out in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. She seemed worried police might find it if they were investigating Cody, a paranoia I eagerly fostered. Still not believing ourselves to be under suspicion, we plied Ashley for the whereabouts of the grove of shrooms, weed and whatever else that was hidden in the swamps.
“I don’t remember clearly. It was a while down Southern and then a left at an abandoned building. Maybe we could find it on Mapquest? Owen, do you know the area?”
“No problem, the least we could do is check it out, make sure the cops didn’t nip it. This could have been a much larger sting or something. How long do you think it will take to clean it out?“
Ashley shook her pretty blonde head and stared at the floor.
“A while, it was a lot of plants, most of them were at least half way grown and a lot of them were almost ready to be picked.”
She didn’t meet my eyes and was ardently protecting herself from showing any kind of facial expression. Her puffy red eyes led me to believe that she would be softer right now than she was.
“Shit. That’s felony town. Maybe even RICO, or whatever.”
Considering the fact that we had dropped the tip just three weeks ago and they picked up everyone we mentioned I was pretty confident PBSO had no idea where this place was.
Paranoia had already set in and the idea of being watched by the police was very clearly an issue, since he had no idea that his cousin was simply set up by the goons he was currently being hustled by. We got approximate directions and prepared to head out the next day to find the secret garden. Druggies, in general, were usually off guard at around dawn in our local experience. Ashley showed us a couple of the shrooms that came from the crop, the black and brown caps hadn’t been dried and were especially dark and slick. She finally sighed, told us she wanted it all destroyed and announced she wanted to go to sleep. We promised to do our best for our good friend.
“Merry douchemas, bro.”
We fist pounded the second we got back into his turquoise 1982 Buick Regal.
“It’s more like Douche-Hanukkah, don’t you think? It’s like one act of douchery that is just lasting us much longer than normal. “
We didn’t have the decency to blame ourselves for Cody’s death, so this just seemed like someone else’s catastrophe that we happened to be able to cash in on.
“That makes sense, it’s like we’re keeping the douche oil going for eight douchey nights instead of just one.”
“You right. Well let’s go steal this motherfucker’s shit.”
He grinned, proud of the gaps and gold.
“One hell of a weekend.”
So we called our friend Nino and got ready that night, with whatever shoes we could hike in and durable clothing. We prepared to wake before the crack of dawn. We were all groggy when we woke, but we got a little high anyways before heading off into the dark, driving about forty five minutes down the 98, which was only known as “Southern Blvd.” to us at the time. It was about twenty minutes longer than civilization was able to cover. It runs across the entire state and plenty of Florida’s wetlands. By the time we reached the place, the sky had a single scintillating blue slit that was very far away.
Eduardo, or “Nino”, was Terry’s step brother from El Salvador, and he owned a quad cab pickup with a covered bed. Ubiquitous in redneck territory, we chuckled about how the most obvious instrument made us less likely to be noticed by the police. Thankfully it was dark, because a five foot three El Salvadorian in a plain white t-shirt with a lot of gold is normally how the police make their money with random stops. Especially when they’re with two hammy white trash looking guys like me and Terry, carrying what we hoped was a buttload of drugs.
Despite a general desire for being hidden, we blasted Spanish rap as we pulled past an old white house that was missing a roof and its windows. It was the main distinguishing feature that we knew about and aside from the giant patch of drugs somewhere nearby. Nino pulled his truck off the road and into the surprisingly deep grass. There wasn’t a road to the house, but it was still barely visible behind the wall of vivid pinks and purples coming from Floss Silk and Hong Kong Orchid trees. Near the side of the building was the concrete foundation of what was once a road sign, with two holes ringed with iron.
“You sure this is the place?”
Nino swirled around and shot me a cautious stare.
“Yeah, we Googled the area and she thought this was it. I saved the location on my phone.”
Nino turned around and snickered.
“I feel bad for them, I do.”
Nino seemed to be talking to himself at that point.
“Yeah, and I feel bad for all those weed plants that are going to get burned to death!”
Terry roared with laughter, but Nino began focusing on the area around us instead of responding.
We couldn’t see much further than the lights that the truck would reach and even that was hindered by brightly colored foliage. We got out of the car and looked around. Terry grabbed his supplies, the trash bags, a wheelbarrow and some refreshments inside. Sure enough, a small creek ran into a tiny pond about thirty feet behind the building. Coral pink stone slabs were occasionally partially visible winding past the massive pillars of red and orange hibiscus flowers and up to the pond. The layout of the plants almost seemed intentionally promoted along this path, which encouraged my belief that this was a tourist trap or something at some point. Eventually we finally got to what was clearly an originally man-made pond, with pale lavender tiles around the destroyed remnants of a ring in various states of assault from plants and water.
“Holy fucking shit.”
I felt the sting of Nino’s hand slapping my back hard and tightening briefly on my shoulder. He raised his finger to point at what had gotten his and Terry’s admiration. Across from the pond was a single visible pot plant, poking out from behind a wall of tree growth about thirty feet away from the pond. We all picked up a happy trot on the way to our quarry, which was still along a badly weathered path. Sure enough, behind a batch of pines and bushes bigger than SUVs was a very well-manicured garden stretching through enough scrub to include several large fully grown pot plants. It was clearly tended by someone competent, who included separate sections for weed, regular shrooms and the glistening black beasts of mushrooms that we knew to be growing in popularity.
The black ones seemed to spread infectiously, clustering in small uneven groups near the other shrooms but especially near the stems of the pot plants. There were a couple of salvia plants too, but we didn’t care. I started filling trash bags with the stuff, ripping the plants out roots and all if there was enough bud on them. All of the plants looked just slightly wild, they were planted with care but upon close inspection didn’t seem to have been trimmed or even touched in quite some time.
“Bro! We’re going to be kings for a fucking year! Look at these fucking things!”
Terry lifted an oozing clump of the irregularly sized but tightly packed black shrooms and held them next to the slightly less disgusting brown and black regular shrooms. They were both disgusting and appetizing simultaneously and I didn’t blame Terry when he ate quite a few of both before returning to pack his bags.
“This is worth the down payment on a pretty nice house.”
Nino gestured to the mountainous weed plant in front of him, almost as if he were arguing defensively.
“We cut and cure this and we could make a fucking fortune.”
Nino smiled confidently. I finished my fourth messy bag of weed and moved on to the shrooms, going near an area that seemed split between the two varieties. I ate a little of the fresh shrooms, which tasted like ass, before chugging some Faygo Terry brought. Years of being a juggalo in High School had left him with a genuine taste for the stuff, as well as other Floridian favorites like champagne cola and chocolate soda. I braced myself before shoving a tiny amount of the black shrooms into my mouth and swallowing hard, hoping to force it down before my mouth could register a taste. The shrooms were faster though, and my mouth was flooded with the taste and smell that was similar to blood and feces. I wretched immediately, but nothing came up and I was able to wash it down with more soda.
“Jesus ass-fucking Christ!”
I heard myself spit the words out. Terry laughed hysterically before stifling himself and looking around to see if anyone else was visible. We were all vaguely aware of the risks involved in what we were doing.
“Yeah, it gets a little better when it’s dry, but not much.”
Terry winced in sympathy before chugging some champagne cola with a little coconut cream he had mixed in a two liter. I noticed what appeared to be a fat white person moving towards us from over Terry’s shoulder, but it turned out to be a giant cluster of white flowers when I looked closer.
“How the fuck did this shit get popular?”
I asked incredulously. They both laughed deeply.
“Probably the same way inhaling burning plant ash got popular.”
Nino smiled ear to ear. I went back to plucking the plants as they were kicking in on me, making me glad I wasn’t driving. After about twenty minutes the place was pretty much picked clean, except for some remaining small clumps of black mushrooms. The stuff kicked in quick, and I could notice colors becoming brighter, more vivid. When I moved my head, every flower turned into a blur. I felt the rise of a new euphoria, and the shit did have plentiful horsepower.
“Don’t worry Ashley, the cops won’t find any of it. “
Terry said with an odd chuckle. He began wheeling the first load up to the truck, while Nino carried two hefty bags on his back. I picked up two bags myself, hoping to match his feat. Surprised by their weight, I couldn’t quite easily do it and decided to quietly put one down when they had turned up the path and couldn’t see me. I marched dutifully past the small pond leading to the truck after that. By the second trip, it was a wrap, and I was glad to be out of there. The shrooms had made the colors blur strangely, each bleeding into the next just slightly. I was smiling like an idiot and my heart was pounding.
“Shit, I’d say I was about to get a better truck, but the right money in a shitty apartment could be a fortune in ten years. I’m tired as fuck of paying rent, yo.”
Nino clasped us both on the back before we took off with the last load of roughly plucked plants.
“Yeah man, I wanna be some banks bitch instead! Mortgages baby!”
We all laughed heartily and took off towards the pond. Terry looked like he was doing fine, but I was ready to take a nap. I felt sleepy and my heart was racing, although it was a fun high. As I reached the pond I had to stop for a moment. The water was crystal clear, but choked with life, with massive green clouds floating past forest like weeds. Fish darted from behind cover. It was seemingly crowded with life in what seemed to have once been the remains of a pool no larger than five feet in diameter, but had turned into a part of Florida. The small creeks that ran into and out of it were similarly clear, but had torrents of tiny fish here and there despite not being more than a foot deep.
I almost put my last bag down, but when I looked down into the water I saw a face with stunning green eyes staring back at me. I blinked and realized it was just a tile with some remaining designing, being slowly absorbed into the great biomass that neighbored it, the mushrooms blurring things just enough to curve the shapes into something recognizable. I shuddered and mustered enough energy to get to the truck where the guys were stuffing the bed with our ill-gotten gains.
“Alright, if there were cops they would have pulled up on us…as long as no one finds out about Cody, we’re home free.”
Despite only recently having gotten involved, both Terry and I happily accepted the tone of authority and leadership in Nino’s voice. Terry shut the gate of the truck and we all hopped inside. I was glad to be somewhere vaguely familiar and felt safer when I felt the engine kick on. The sky was streaked with garlands of orange and white, but had finally reached a gentle teal. As we drove away, I thought I saw what looked like an extremely obese white person stretching out to us, but when I looked closer it was just the ruins of the sign in front of the destroyed building, which in more light was clearly being overrun with plant life.
I nodded off on the way home, where we quickly rushed the goods indoors to be cleaned and prepared for buyers. We spent the rest of the day, aside from a quick nap, cleaning things up. We had at least twenty five ounces of high quality weed as well as more shrooms than Coachella would probably need. Nino had gone home with a nice sized stash for himself, proud of a job well done. We ordered more Chinese food than we could eat, confident that we could splurge. We used quite a nice assortment of drugs that night, with some Roxicodone and shrooms to send us both to sleep.
The next day I woke up at Terry’s house, a two bedroom one floor home of the variety popular in South Florida, with a flat roof and bright yellow walls. It was still in Palm Beach County, but was at least forty minutes away from the part that could be called a city. He had no neighbors, an envious situation for folk like us. I smelled the thick smoke of burning weed the moment I woke, and it prompted me to reach for my own bong and Adderall. Terry was in his densely forested back yard. I burned a bowl and washed it down with whiskey and amphetamines, a wonderful pick me up.
“Bro, how you feeling?”
Terry asked after rushing in when he saw me stir to life.
“Delicious! Fuck man, I can’t believe how much we got.”
“We have to go help Nino out, he got into some kind of a fight last night and woke up in the slammer.”
The look on Terry’s face was one of someone still trying to hold on to the silver lining after seeing it ripped away from him a thousand times before. He could imagine this gift unraveling already, and he just hoped it was his turn to get lucky. The drive to the strange, massive tower that loomed over West Palm Beach from Gun Club road was a quiet one. The county jail was a massive facility, housing an absurd number of people in what appeared to be a skyscraper from the “Giant blocks of concrete and metal” school that was popular in Communist Russia. Terry was more than happy to take out his life savings for bail, knowing that we were at least financially alright. I sat in Terry’s Buick while he went into the absurd edifice and tried to keep myself busy on my tablet.
“Fucking shit, man.”
The disgust in Terry’s voice was thick when he suddenly opened the car door. The other side opened and Nino quietly slipped in. He didn’t say anything or look at me, but I saw from the bandages and his reflection in the side mirror and he was clearly fucked up. A red spot had blossomed into the gauze near his ear, and his head seemed to be thoroughly wrapped.
“Bro, we got painkillers, you’re gonna be fine. The other guy isn’t pressing charges anyways; You just got public intoxication and lewd conduct.”
I wondered what the fuck Nino had done to get all of this and for it to be called getting off easy, but he remained silent the entire way back to Terry’s. Terry kept trying to lift his spirits, but he never seemed to even move his head. When we reached Terry’s I saw the full extent of the damage. Half of his face was fine, but the other half was covered in bandages. Apparently he took a swing at his neighbor and his neighbor ended up smacking him hard enough to send him straight to the hospital. He plopped down on Terry’s filthy blue couch and mindlessly grabbed some pills and shrooms off the table. He swallowed them both instantly, without any water. I had to wonder what that tasted like since some of the black shrooms were in there.
“I found a way to make them taste a lot better.”
His thick accent and cause wrapped mouth made the words sound like angry mumbling, but Terry followed it.
“Oh yeah? What did you do, to make them taste better?”
Terry seemed to engage in the conversation the same way one might talk to a stranger’s distraught child.
“Boil it into tea with honey.”
Nino said this very flatly and even though it wasn’t a very easy to understand statement, Terry jumped to his feet, eager to meet what was obviously his step-brother’s wish.
“Alright man, hell, let’s give it a shot.”
I didn’t normally like shrooms, but fuck it, right? I was looking forward to another rush from the horrible crap. I popped some Xanax to mellow out the earlier Adderall and began to prep myself for the horrific taste. Terry came out of the kitchen with a coffee pot filled with extremely dark purple liquid that had some kind of debris floating through it. We each poured it into whatever filthy vessel, in my case a beer stein with dried rings of ale inside, and drank. The smell had not improved. It reeked of shit and blood. But the taste, strangely, had. It was crisp and grassy, with just a hint of sweetness. I remembered hearing that the Durian fruit tasted great but smelled terrible and I wondered if this was something similar in effect. Nino chugged his right away, out of an old coffee mug.
“It kicks in better this way.”
He was obviously straining to speak and both Terry and I nodded sympathetically as he downed a second mug just as quickly as the first. I poured a very small amount for a second shot for myself, spurred on by the fact that drinking takes a while to kick in, which is frustrating for a person like myself. This time, the smell didn’t bother me nearly as much. Nino returned to his quiet and Terry put some movies he downloaded the previous night on a memory stick for us to watch. My eyelids became very heavy about fifteen minutes into Chris Pratt and Jennifer Lawrence staring soulfully into the camera.
When I woke up, the room smelled like one of us had a horrible case of diarrhea that he had decided to simply concede defeat to. The salty, coppery shit smell choked me. The screen had auto-dimmed and the drapes were still pulled tight to defeat any of sunlight’s attempts, making the room darker despite being in the middle of the day. I looked over to Nino and saw him slumped in his couch, black drool leaking out of his mouth and onto the previously pristine wrapping. Terry’s chin was resting on his chest, only the top of his head was visible.
“Shit. Terry?”
Terry didn’t move, and I figured Nino deserved his beauty sleep.
The couch was sticky and damp against my skin. I got up slowly and went to the kitchen where we kept the drugs. The glass back door had a few blinds missing, and my eyes needed a moment to adjust to the light. When they did I grabbed a bottle of beer and twisted it open. I rolled it around my mouth for a moment before walking back into the living room. In the corner of the living room, between Nino and the recliner where I slept nearest the door was a fat, naked man. He was absurdly fat, with brittle looking wrinkly skin. He peered at me carefully from behind his legs while sitting on the floor with his knees bunched in front of his face and his thin, talon like hands wrapped around the front of his legs.
“Dude, what the fuck!”
I ran and shook Terry, who was closest to me. His head limply dropped to the side and black goo fell out of his mouth. His eyes were fixed open. I heard a horrible rasping sound escape the immense old man, who was now slowly rising to his feet. I backed away; the old man was clearly fixed on me. He was white, but not like a white person. His skin was unnaturally pale, his long nose, straight white hair, and a square jaw framed a face that did not look European and had no trace of facial hair. His deep green eyes did not look real. As he rose, he pointed a sickeningly long and boney finger at me as if to accuse me.
“Impa…”
His voice was choked and angry as he finally managed to stand. It sounded both deep and brittle. The meaningless syllables seemed to echo unnaturally. He was utterly naked, and his immense belly loomed awkwardly over the white fur of his crotch. He was no more than five feet tall, but he seemed strangely immense. The proportions of his body were all wrong, with a gut that belonged on a 600 pound obesity patient and arms and legs that looked emaciated. In addition to having extremely thin and boney arms, each appendage was adorned with oddly long toes and fingers.
I turned and braced myself to open the rusty and often jammed lock on the back door as fast as possible. Instead, I ran directly into the fat old man, who was suddenly directly in front of me. I felt slimy fingers grasp my shoulders as he opened his mouth to reveal tiny, rotten teeth. Black slime oozed from around his gums as his long, snake like tongue darted towards my face.
“Impa!”
When I woke again, the smell of blood and shit was almost overwhelming. Seth Rogan was laughing awkwardly on the TV and sunlight was pouring in from the windows. Terry was standing over me, snapping his fingers. Blood was trickling from his mouth. Nino watched me carefully from the couch.
“Bro, what the fuck?”
Terry looked stunned, and shook his head before going back to the loveseat he had been sitting on. There was no fat white guy in sight.
“You were going crazy. You hit him.”
Nino pointed this out sagely.
“What the fuck bro, are you alright?”
My head was ringing, my stomach was turning and the wonderful bouquet of the mushrooms made it difficult to focus on anything else.
“I’m going to have to estimate this, but I think it’s a ‘no’. Jesus Christ, what the fuck is wrong with those shrooms?”
“I took some last night. I don’t remember getting into that fight, I just remember going to sleep and thought it felt great, but holy shit. I thought I was just fucked up on a lot of shit, the whole day was pretty blurry. I think you just went through the same thing. At the very least, this stuff causes you to black out and take a swing at anyone that tries to wake you.”
Nino began to rub his jaw, clearly in pain from the attempt to use his voice. The look on Terry’s face had hints of horror and betrayal.
“Let’s just sell them. Get rid of them. Sell them at a discount, trade them, whatever.”
I heard my own voice shake as I said this. Nino looked to me and nodded before taking a deep bong hit. Terry stared down at the floor.
“Even the weed?”
Terry asked innocently, but we didn’t answer. It wasn’t dried yet, so we had to smoke our own stuff anyways. I remembered the clusters of oily black mushrooms at the base of the pot plants and shuddered. I felt myself craving the rush of it again and it disgusted me. After a few minutes we all eventually picked up our phones and began texting, searching for anyone who was looking for quantity and wasn’t asking questions.
“Uhm, Todd Cavanaugh hinted that he might be willing to give us two grand and a 2006 Ford Taurus. He said it’s in good condition?”
Terry asked hesitantly, while looking over at the massive garbage bags stuffed with what he had assumed was about 10 to 15k worth of stuff once dried, if sold over time carefully. It was still more than Nino’s bail bond, but not by much.
“Let’s go talk to him, bring him samples. But only a little of the weird shit.”
Nino smiled at my idea and slowly nodded. Two grand and a Ford Taurus it was. Terry began texting furiously, arranging the meeting in as discrete of terms idiots could come up with. Terry stuffed a generous load of fresh bud into his book sack, along with a ton of shrooms and a significantly sized baggy of the disgusting paste that the other mushrooms had devolved into.
“Yikes.”
Terry still seemed to love the stuff and shot me a look as if offended by my suggestion that the stuff was ‘yikes’ worthy.
“He said he can do it tomorrow.”
I nodded at him.
“Great, we’ll leave it here and go sleep at my place tonight.”
He gave me an exasperated look.
“Dude, it is not that bad, you guys just lost your shit.”
Nino seemed to be wrestling with doubt at this suggestion. I wondered if he had seen anything too, but he didn’t seem to outright reject the idea. I didn’t want to mention how badly I wanted just another hint of the stuff, or that part of me was trying to convince the rest to take a little more to “test” it more thorough. I wasn’t going to be in the same room as the shit anymore. I left the planning to them and told them to meet up with me that night at my shitty one bedroom apartment. My home is in a building that used to be a motel and also used to be cheap, but is still shitty and in the middle of nowhere. It has a kitchenette from the sixties. Not a lot of room, but the two or three of us could crash.
I got in my equally shitty 86 Camaro and wondered if the Ford Taurus had a particularly reliable transmission, my least favorite part of any vehicle. As I was putting my seatbelt on, in my peripheral vision I saw the fat man take a step towards me from across the yard. I looked up, and but it was just the combination of the mailbox and a white Realtor sign nearby it that formed the bleached silhouette. I decided to go home.
“Fuck me”
I repeated to myself casually, over and over as I pulled out of the driveway and started heading home. Nino clearly didn’t have any naked fat man issues, but he knew something was deeply wrong with the shit. Terry seemed to think something was at least awry as well. Otherwise he would have fought kicking and screaming. I continued my mantra until I had pulled onto 441, the seemingly endless local neighborhood road that went north and south in Florida. As I pulled up at a stoplight next to a Ford Taurus I was inspecting, I saw a massive, pale bloated body with a curtain of white hair shuffle towards me.
“Son of a fuck!”
I didn’t have an exclamation for something that bad. But when I focused on the apparition it turned out to be a fat redneck in a Dodge Neon with a stupid white hat. I jammed the gas when the light turned. As I got away from the innocuous Neon, I saw it again. A single long, pale arm stretched toward my car, gaining on me rapidly. The fat thing was on top of a truck. But when I looked, it was just pvc pipes and a white drop cloth. Instead of gunning it, I took a deep breath and moved over a lane. Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me, fool me three times and I’m probably just panicking. I decided to pull over all the way to a visible Taco Bell and get something to eat and drink.
“Welcome to Taco Bell, can I take your order?”
The small Hispanic girl smiled as sincerely as a minimum wage employee could be expected to muster.
“I’d like two chalupas and a large drink, please.”
I was aware of the fact that I probably looked and smelled like I had crawled out of a dumpster but I smiled happily anyways and tried to act like a normal person. After ordering, I got my drink and shuffled over to the area where prepared food was handed to customers, taking care to memorize the number on my receipt. When the number on my receipt was called, I grabbed my food quickly and went to the door.
And that was when I saw it. The fat thing was walking towards the parking lot from road. I met its green eyes and saw its mouth open wide, finger slowly rising to point at me. I gasped and swirled around, as if another alternate exit might exist that didn’t involve walking towards the thing. The small Hispanic girl shot me a nervous smile and checked to make sure her coworkers were near. The man ordering in front of her looked more disgusted than alarmed, but I was a little more worried about the fat thing than them.
“Sorry, I thought I forgot my wallet…”
I said, not even bothering to make it look like I was checking my pockets. Now most people in the front were giving me nervous looks that said they were worried about a potential Floridian junkie issue. When I turned around to start walking to the other exit that was slightly closer to my car than the thing, it was gone. The white cab of a semi was sitting in traffic where it had been, its driver retracting his cigarette wielding arm to take the wheel as the lights changed, forcing him to lurch forward. I almost breathed a sigh of relief, but a white car pulled into the parking lot, and for just a moment I could vaguely make out its outline in the vehicle. I walked as quickly as I could to my car.
“Fuck, man, pick up!”
I could hear my voice saying as I attempted to call Terry once I was in the car. I was hoping that I was still tripping a little, and that I just needed someone to help me calm down. My vision was still a little blurred, something I clung to for hope. The phone rang once, then twice and then went to voicemail.
“Aw shit man, come on!”
A woman getting out of her van looked at my car nervously as I punched Nino’s call button. As I put the phone to my ear, I plunged the car keys into the ignition and turned on the engine, ready to shift into reverse at 90 miles per hour if Nino didn’t pick up. The moment I put my hand on the shifter, my passenger side window exploded in a shower of glass and a thin white claw waved near my face. I shrieked as I shot the car into reverse.
“Impa!”
The angry shriek of metal on metal seemed to form the word as I sped out of the parking lot. When I looked in the rear view mirror, a man in a white shirt who had been trying to help a handicapped person out of the van next to me was waving at me; the small telescoping rod that had broken my window accidentally was still in his hand as I came as close to flooring it as I could. At every light, out of the corner of my eye I could see the thing trying to gain on me. Every time I looked closer, the “thing” turned out to be something innocuous. I got away from it, but never by enough to get it out of sight.
As I pulled into my parking lot, Terry’s phone number lit up my phone and I grabbed for it desperately. I got out of my car as I answered, and briefly looked behind me to see the thing about half a mile down the road, as a white SUV. I ran into my shitty apartment, turned on all the lights and locked the door.
“Dude, can you meet me at my place?”
I asked, entirely out of breath. Terry’s voice sounded depressed and unsure.
“I mean, I guess. Todd Cavanaugh said he might be able to do something today if he likes it.”
He had a defeated tone in his voice.
“Bring Nino. Are you guys feeling alright from that shit last night?”
I didn’t know what would be worse, him telling me they’re fine and knowing that it means it was only happening to me, or hearing him confirm it and having to face the fact that I was in a special kind of deep shit. I didn’t want to admit that my desire to eat more of the disgusting fungus was growing rapidly, or that I was starting to feel sick and clammy.
“I took some, about to do some extra, Nino’s driving and didn’t want any today. You build up a tolerance to this shit quick, I had to take twice as much as I did last night to get anywhere. Still pretty quick for something you eat, and you get used to the taste. “
My spine turned to ice.
“Ok, well get here soon. I gotta talk to you guys real quick, it’s important.”
I hoped that he would convey the urgency to Nino. I sank down on my couch and took out a joint. I puffed and puffed, but it didn’t get me high at all, I was too nervous. After about twenty minutes of wondering if that thing could make it through a front door I finally heard Terry talking away as he walked up to my door. I opened it before they knocked, and invited the glazed looking Terry and Nino in.
“Does anyone else not feel good about this shit?”
Nino shot Terry a worried look and then nodded to me. Terry gave me a scrutinizing look.
“Listen, if you’re worried about getting caught, don’t be. We already did it. You’re probably just having a bad trip because of the anxiety, you know? Mushrooms are pretty subjective.”
I wanted to believe what he was saying to me and give the little bastards another try, but the bits of shattered glass still about my own clothing demanded that I focus.
“Terry, you need to stop taking those. It’s one thing to be subject, but two violent blackouts out of three uses just isn’t normal. There is something wrong with those. We should just throw them away.”
Terry put up an incredulous face.
“You guys are still probably tripping a little. Just relax, pop some Xanax. We’re selling the stuff already anyways, let’s not make this complicated.”
Nino’s mouth twisted into an unhappy shape.
“Why don’t you take care of it then? You can keep the whole load of black ones, and we won’t destroy them, but we don’t want anything to do with them?”
Both Terry and Nino studied each other after I made my suggestion. Nino didn’t seem to share the intensity of my fear, and balked at this suggestion, but he didn’t say anything. Finally, Terry spoke up.
“Alright, I’ll take care of it. Holy shit you guys are overreacting. You don’t want the high and the money? Fine.”
Nino bit down on his lip and I could tell he was desperately craving the stuff too. He also seemed to be breaking a sweat. I wanted to feel that high so badly that when I thought of the taste of the stuff, the mix of shit and blood, it actually made my mouth water. Terry was grinning confidently, as if he expected us to jump back on the share and tell him it was time to party again to celebrate. Nino and I quietly nodded to each other.
“That sounds good. You handle the sale, just give us our share of whatever doesn’t include the black ones.”
Nino said this with an adamantine tone.
“I don’t want anything to do with them. I’m sorry man, but we won’t destroy them. We don’t even want the profits from it. ”
I crossed my arms in front of my chest. Terry now looked at us as if we had just threatened him. He looked between the two of us, but neither of us said anything until he conceded.
“Fine. I thought you guys might like a free rush, but whatever.”
The moment he agreed, it felt as if the entire day had just been a practical joke at my expense. Over the next couple of hours, Nino obviously loosened up a lot too. He even let out a laugh every now and then. The thought of the black shrooms wasn’t even tempting. Terry ate a few more, and then a few more after that. He was a little bitch for the rest of the day, but we sat through it, finally getting high after several bowls. After about three hours, it was time for Terry to make the sample drop to lure Todd Cavanaugh into the purchase. Nino decided Terry seemed sober enough, so we let him take care of it. He had been so moody that we both just wanted to chill without him for a minute. As he left the parking lot I tried to pretend that I didn’t see the fat thing following him.
We got the money the next day, much less than we initially hoped for. Terry was surprisingly clean, and aside from the horrible smell on his breath and the red rings around his eyes we thought he might be doing better. But after that, we never saw him again. Both Nino and I had horrible fucking nightmares that night, of the fat thing dragging Terry, kicking and screaming to us for help, into the small pond near the grove we harvested. Once it had him in the impossibly deep water the thing plunged its tongue deep down Terry’s throat. Terry reached a hand towards the surface of the water, but it went limp. A dark cloud spread from the things gaping mouth in the water. The cloud somehow navigated into Terry’s open mouth and nostrils.
Two weeks later, “Terry” got fucked up on what the police hoped was meth and killed Todd Cavanaugh, as well as the guy’s six month old kid with a ball-peen hammer. The two had been hanging out non-stop since Terry managed to introduce him to the shrooms, which Todd’s widow told us he had barely bothered to sell. He didn’t want to get rid of them. The only other time I ever drove down Southern Blvd was a year later for a job. I couldn’t help but look on the side of the road where we had found that grove. Something that looked like Terry was there, but bleached and stretched out of proportion. When I looked closer, it was just a leafless bush.
After Todd’s funeral, I got an email from Ashley, Cody’s cousin. It said:
*“You coward. Those were for you, and you should have just eaten them yourself.” *

Sorry for the horrible delay on updates. I am novelizing the series.
The following days were right before Christmas and I really had no interest in going back to my place, even for clothes. I called Debbie and let her know I’d be a little late and then texted Carl to see if he could check up on my place. Both said something along the lines of “no problem” and I went shopping for clothes at the nearest Marshall’s.
I had forgotten that when you’re not locked in a dungeon that would make Charlie Sheen feel uncomfortable due to the amount of substance abuse, West Palm Beach is actually a genuinely nice place to live. During the winter the humidity and temperature both drop and it becomes increasingly difficult not to enjoy the brisker weather. I took advantage of this and the extra time and decided to get a few relatively nice things from the discount bin of the biggest Marshall’s in town before heading back to the motel room to shower and get changed. I wanted to do something other than wonder to what degree the bird monsters and whatever was driving that car were related to the other creepy shit.
It was probably the first day I hadn’t tried to push it with the Xanax because I can remember it clearly without going to my journal. I didn’t want to think about the drug dealers, hooking, the smell of urine, feces and human rot that pervaded the clinic or the constant look of misery on every single person’s face. I stood outside of the motel as the sun was just finishing its rise, against the pit in my stomach that remained from Dave telling me it was the worst time of day to go outside. I kept an eye out for birds. The sky was an explosion of turquoise, with ribbons of violent pink and orange and reflective clouds that looked impossibly bright. This is a pretty typical Florida morning, especially in winter. It looked like a trapper keeper from the 90’s. Three hours later, the way the cashier at Marshall’s smiled with genuine looking happiness before going back to a conversation with a coworker shook me to the bone, like a cold shower after a bender.
At about nine in the morning, the sky was bright blue in the morning but still shot through with a handful of scintillating neon tangerine bolts left over from sunrise. One of the upsides to living in a flat place that rarely give a hint that anything beyond tree level could exist is that riding over different parts of town could be an absolute thrill, especially with your windows rolled down or if you were lucky enough to own a convertible or motorcycle, enjoying the full throttle of the elements.
Dave had sent a single text, asking me to meet him at Dubois Park in Jupiter. I didn’t feel great about this since it was along the water, but the thought that he at least knew something of what was going on and the fact that it was at 10:30, when families would be there, was reassuring.
I stopped at the Paris Café near Clematis Street and treated myself to a chocolate brioche something or another. The streets around Clematis were much more developed than South Florida’s norm, and sported the closest things to skyscrapers West Palm Beach had, after this small area it shot down instantly to single story buildings and homes; the Trump Towers bedecked section of “Downtown”, where ghettoes filled with black people who had no hope left for better jobs or medical care sat next to cafes designed with yuppies in mind.
A library was at the end of this street during the time, facing the waterfront with a massive glass window that was relatively gorgeous as far as public buildings in Florida go. At nighttime the area is usually a slow stunning show of neon pinks, oranges, blues and purples set amid a sea of jet black, from the signs of bars and other night time establishments. At daytime it’s a classy affair with small trees planted every now and then in between the beige to light pastel buildings with wealthy White people walking their dogs in between. No more than twenty minutes walking, the nice streets, or five minutes of driving, right past the City Place outdoor mall, and you would arrive at a place that would redefine how you viewed the words “poor” and “destitute”. After a few minutes driving over the only (man-made) hills in Palm Beach County I turned around to the nearby Okeechobee Blvd., which bookended the nicer part of City Place and drove to Military Trail where I drove north through suburbia for about an hour, skipping I-95 to enjoy the long way through South Florida.
By the time I got to Dubois, it was 12:30 and I was right on time. Dave was waiting in a salmon pink Cuban-style linen shirt and black pants outside of the parking lot nearest the beach. There was a more secluded one inland near a massive brackish river, but I wasn’t going to argue with having families playing in sight. He stood aside a matte black Mercedes AMG something or another, with his arms crossed, smiling towards the sea. He almost looked like a particularly peaceful super villain. He motioned to a nearby picnic table within view of both the families and a massive rock sea wall that allowed a powerful man made river that ran the sea to inland water sources.
The park itself was a historical one that was built on a midden used by the Jaega people who lived here before the Seminole or the Whites who came after. Aside from some old homes built over 100 years ago, there were a variety of archeological sites of interest to anyone who wanted to look at rocks some Natives used. Apparently due to the lack of load-bearing animals they had a tendency to live near large bodies of water even when the water wasn’t fresh, as it made travel and carrying baskets filled with goods easier. The traces of the buildings they made before being enslaved by Spaniards and taken to Cuba were found at some point during the 80s.
It was a popular and beautiful park, hillier than you expect Florida to be. The sight of other people and the thought that he probably wouldn’t be friends with whatever I saw before reassured me enough to take a seat next to where he had a few joints and a sandwich and coffee from Havana’s, Palm Beach’s most popular Cuban restaurant. He smiled slightly unapologetically.
“So let’s clear the air.”
He clasped his massive hands together in a V over his breakfast.
“First, I’m going to need you to hand me your cellphone.”
This was a common, but mildly threatening practice. I’m not sure what good it would have done had the cops actually been watching. I handed both cellphones I owned to him, and he took this and put them in the trunk of his car for the time being. I know, I have no idea what possible good that would do even if I was an informant, but I assumed it was mainly for the show. These guys weren’t bright. When he sat back down, he looked particularly relaxed as he motioned for me to speak while he dug into what looked like a medianoche, a pressed ham sandwich on an egg bread similar to challah.
“Listen, I’ve had a rough time with this. No one told me what was waiting for me at the drop and they haven’t exactly left me alone. I need to know what’s going on here.”
I said this in an apologetic tone that surprised me, but the size of the muscles on this guy as well as his gun reminded me to be polite. Also, the fact that I would run out of pills within a week put more than a little pressure on me. He lit up a joint before replying, and took a long drag before exhaling and placing the joint on the table next to his sandwich.
“You’ve done great. We’re all really surprised, you took this really well. I’m going to tell you what we know of this shit, but first let me just say that we had to make the drop there because the police wouldn’t go near it either and it was the only place we could have gotten away with it. We thought you would have had an easier time getting in and out, but I’m glad you made it out safe and we’ll know better than to throw you out like that next time.”
Despite an absolutely reassuring tone, I could not have been more horrified. He knew something was there and the cops were prone to avoiding it as well. I had to wonder if the well-dressed man would be able to interact with police the same way he did with junkies. Were there old ladies who just called the police three times a week about the bird demons terrorizing their teacup yorkie without getting a response? Did the Young Men’s Choir at Palm Beach Atlantic just learn to schedule their beachside concerts around possible swooping attacks?
“What were those fucking things?”
This time I spoke without any reluctance, now that he had acknowledged the frightening part of this I didn’t hold back.
“We don’t know. That’s the honest truth of it, man. The people who told us about them used to be with the “Cocaine Cowboys” of the 70s, who would drop packages of blow in the Everglades by prop plane. Apparently they ran into a lot of problems.”
“What about the car?”
This time he looked at me as if I might not be serious.
“A little while ago a friend of mine died. Now his car has been showing up, without the engine on, stalking me.”
“Wilks…you need to listen to me…we’ve never heard anyone complain about a car. We’ve heard a lot of spooky shit, and keep in mind to not ask anyone about traveling near Yeehaw Junction again, but driver-less cars just haven’t been on the list. Maybe one of your friends ringmates have the car and just put quieter mufflers on it? Are you sure it wasn’t a junkie? I hate to break it to you, but they might start wondering what you’re keeping at home. You should consider buying a gun, one way or the other.”
It seemed a bit absurd that he thought I was being ridiculous for worrying about the car after being attacked by bird creatures. A slight hint of a Boston accent came out when he pronounced ‘car’ as ‘cahhr’. I was instantly relieved that at least that seemed, to him, to not be supernatural and desperately wanted to believe that it was just a B&E from some guy while I was wasted. After having it confirmed that those may, in fact, have been something non-human attacking my car, it would be nice to have a human source of fear again. He put his sandwich down, finished a chew and followed up with the coffee you could smell from a block away.
“Why don’t you tell me what files to pull that came with your friend and I’ll find out if one of them has been seen driving the car?”
I described the Buick while he texted the information to some unknown colorful wad of muscle. He resumed talking while he did it.
“So, we’ve heard about the other shit though. Bird people, right? We heard them called Stickaninny or something before, at least that’s one some pill-billies call them, but we don’t know what they are. We just know to avoid them, just like anything else weird we encounter. We’re drug dealers, not whatever bureau gets assigned to shit like this. What I can tell you is simple, stay away from beaches during the morning. If something takes an interest in you, avoid anyone else and stay indoors for as long as you can. We’ve heard of people getting tricked by things using other people’s voices, but never during broad daylight, always at night or in the early morning, but usually the morning.”
He said this seriously, but with the attention someone would give a list they had read out loud too many times before.
“What about that guy with the stupid tie? He left something at the clinic after he came…”
He nodded solemnly at me.
“I know Wilks. And you’re doing damn good by keeping quiet through all of this. We don’t know who or what that guy is, but he’s showed up at other clinics before and he’s been known to go through clinics in an area. Whenever he shows up at one he’ll be nearby later, maybe at a motel where groups are staying or something like that, but he always moves from area to area. I told you as soon as I could after he left the American Injury Clinic. It may take a while, but he always comes around. Other than that, I’ve only heard stories, but those stories come from as far away as Oregon, where the European Kindred were apparently looking for him.”
The European Kindred are a group of racists loosely connected to the Aryan Brotherhood known for haunting the poorer and more ignorant parts of Northern California to Washington and Idaho. They were just as frequently known for violence and if I remember they were prominently featured in a horror movie recently, something they are probably proud of. The distance that guy seemed to be able to cover was something to be worried about, and if a group connected to the AB couldn’t put a bounty on the guy it probably wasn’t much use trying to get to the bottom of him myself.
“Does he have a name? Lloyd, or maybe Lyle or something?”
He looked at me with a look of patience being expended.
“If someone asks him his name, they’re probably so fucked it’s not worth worrying about. At least that’s what I’ve been lead to believe. You’re better off having a conversation with the DEA as far as getting dead goes.” He happily went back to his sandwich. I didn’t know what else to ask without accusing him of lying and knowing more than he was claiming. He seemed to enjoy the silence while I sat and thought about this.
“I can’t tell you how much of this is junkie talk and how much of it is real, like those fucking bird things. What I can tell you is that if a bunch of organized crime groups and drug dealers all start avoiding something, you should too. I’ve heard tons of crap that turned out to be just crap. These people are loaded most of the time anyways. But it’s not like anyone has ever taken the time to explain this shit to us, we’re just hearing about it while we try to make money, you know?”
This didn’t answer why I had to make that drop and I became increasingly aware of the fact that he sent me out knowing there was danger and wasn’t telling me why that place was necessary. Once he resorted to the old “they’re just junkies who don’t know what they’re talking about” bit, I knew he was done talking. Honestly, at least. I kept repeating the word ‘Stickaninny’ in my head, over and over. I was hoping it meant something and wasn’t just typical hick slang.
I took a few bites of the croissant from my favorite café and pretended that I was put at ease over his comfort with the supernatural. I took a joint and lit up myself, and sure enough it was a good one. I took a moment to fantasize that if I ever got arrested, it would be worth it for me to snitch just to ask what the cops knew during the proffer (the meeting with the prosecuting attorney where you trade knowledge of other people’s crimes for your own freedom). For the time being, I desperately tried to play it cool.
“Ok, well, cool.”
There was a high pitched squeak somewhere in there that made him smirk and raise an eyebrow, but other than that he seemed to ignore it and nod happily before wolfing down his sandwich. For a moment I wondered if they would have rolled over on it had I been ripped apart by said bird things. If the cops already knew but didn’t put a patrol car out with a guy and some birdshot it probably wouldn’t do any good to do anything else.
We made some small chat where I told him a story about an old lady pretending to be crippled to get more meds and then dropping her crutches and running like hell when someone got too close to her bag that was left in the waiting room. He had a great one about a guy with swastikas tattooed everywhere complaining that the black doctor was racist against him for not prescribing more than normal despite a clearly badly cut finger. Then, of course, he asked me if we were ‘cool’. I couldn’t say no to more drugs, and I mean that in a very literal way. It wasn’t really an option. This made me hate him even more. He reminded me of the clinic and I’d rather emasculate myself with broken glass than have an extended conversation with him, but you do a lot of weird, horrible shit for drugs. I got out of there and texted Debbie that I’d need the rest of the day, which she didn’t object to. Carl had tried to call me twice.
I began heading back to my shack after listening to the message Carl left saying that my door had been flung open and much of my possessions were lying out in my front lawn. He also said that he had just gotten out of the hospital for a “little thing” and that he had taken too many pills. I wondered, briefly, how much stress this put on his poor mother. It was his third time with an overdose this year, and it was right before Christmas. It was a miracle he kept surviving them.
If I had neighbors who had to drive by my place, this may have even been a problem. When I got there, my hackles began to rise immediately. I took a few moments after the long fifty five minute drive from Jupiter to my place to stretch and carefully look up and down my road for any sign of a sneaking Buick or bird feathers. I didn’t see them on the road or the way to my front door, but noticed the telltale signs of junkies after that. A crushed Mountain Dew can was lying on my pathway. Someone had pissed and shat all over my bed and there was chewing tobacco on my couch. My TV had been stolen, anything else was scattered or destroyed, including three windows. I couldn’t be happier.
If this meant that Dave was right and that was just a breaking and entering I experienced while wasted, that may have been the greatest news of my life. I cleaned up to the best of my ability, threw away my bed, and got high as fuck on my reclining chair, which only had a couple cigarettes put out on it. I had taken my drugs with me and they probably weren’t happy at leaving empty handed. I snickered at the thought of Dave’s goons figuring out who they were and fucking them up and mildly regretted not being able to call the police. Still, the drugs were worth more than everything in the house and they didn’t touch them. I Googled Florida’s gun buying process on my phone and texted Carl back that everything was under control and that I wouldn’t mind hooking him up later as the pills I ate were slowly absorbed. I rarely went for the quick high and preferred the slow moving lurch of the pills when they were taken orally, and Roxicodone and Xanax both had excellent oral bioavailability rates.
First, I got a relatively cheap new computer. It was nice to see a normal retail store and I enjoyed wasting the associate’s time, watching the high school kid upsell me eventually to something that could play a video game or two. I didn’t have the heart to tell him why I didn’t want to open a credit account and needed to pay for it in cash.
Then went to a shooting range and got the small booklet I needed on gun safety and gun laws before heading home for some Googling. I absentmindedly left a message for my landlord about the broken windows, knowing that he would certainly force me to pay for it anyways and that I should probably call a glass place. After arriving at my now much more drafty and urine scented home, I plugged my new ‘rig’ in and started the long boot process. Instead of looking up glass though, I decided to find out what a ‘Stickaninny’ is.
Needless to say, “Stickaninny” didn’t bring anything up, and neither did a combination of that and “Bird” or “monster”. When you Google things like this you usually end up wading through websites made by new agers who seemed to compensate for their lack of knowledge with enthusiasm and shitty backgrounds but eventually you might get the rough edges of an idea. It didn’t take me long, however, to find out that many Seminole believed in a sorcerer called “Stigini” that often took the shape of an owl. Apparently it was believed to be a shape shifter with the ability to take on an owl-like form that it then used to hunt humans. Unfortunately, I only found a single webpage that seemed legitimate. It covers Native American legends. I couldn’t find any information on how to kill one, just in case, nor any hint of why they might take an interest in drug addicts. I quickly wrote a couple of emails to the website and to another group of Facebook that apparently focuses on Native American stories from Florida specifically, but tried to make it seem like I wasn’t fishing for information on how to deal with them in real life. Then I called my landlord and got yelled at for a few minutes over the windows, which I claimed were in perfectly good shape when I left my home for work one day, before securing a cheap new bed to be delivered via Craigslist. The word ‘Stigini’ kept repeating in my mind, like a catchy tune I couldn’t get out of my head. After the bed came and I found a lamp post that looked like it could vaguely defend me against an unarmed hobo, I got ready for an early night of drug use and romantic comedies blaring at high volume.
I didn’t want to sleep there and was suddenly more aware than ever that the drug dealers who tore my place apart would be more than willing to beat the shit out of me or kill me for drugs, but we don’t always get to choose. It occurred to me that in light of recent information it was very likely that Corey was given a ‘hot dose’, or a small but deadly amount of fentanyl or something mixed with his normal junk. It was a common way of getting rid of unwanted junkies when a dealer needed things to calm down and there was no telling how many overdoses were actually murders. The police never investigated anyways. Hours later, before nodding off, I would wonder if Corey Franks told them something that would make me seem like a particularly good target before either they or his own prescription killed him.
The next day went by with the usual amount of urine and fighting. Debbie called me into her office towards 11 to let me know I could go home early and pass on a message.
“George wants me to tell you something important.”
She said that in a calm, but severe manner. As the head of the operation, I had never been in the same room as him. It was important to make sure only certain people interacted with us so that the FBI didn’t have photographs of the entire group working together, because that would make a RICO case a cakewalk. Getting a text or phone call from him would be unheard of. Being asked to meet him in person was like getting to meet a celebrity you never wanted to meet and being expected to pretend to be interested in everything they say. George had an incredible level of control over me simply because I didn’t want him to think he needed to correspond with me any further.
“Alrighty…”
“You need to think about whether or not someone has gotten angry with you lately…”
“Is this about the car?”
I cut her off almost right away. For a moment I hoped this related to the car whose occupants may or may not have just been junkies who broke into my place.
“No, Wilks, you need to think. Who or whatever attacked you has a reason for it. We don’t know why they pick people, but it’s not always random, we think. This is serious. Sometimes they come back, but we don’t know what they can or can’t do.”
She said this in a tone that was almost angry. I’d heard her use it before when she needed me to do something serious, usually involving instructions on avoiding law enforcement.
“Dave is looking into that car you told him about…you should have mentioned something sooner. Whoever is doing that may be behind everything else. He thinks it might be someone named Teddy Rance, the guy who used to ringlead for your friend’s group. There’s a good chance he’s at the Castle Inn near Palm Beach Lakes tonight, his friends just stopped by American Injury…”
She began to rattle off details of the group that traveled with Corey Franks. The group was now probably being closely watched by authorities thanks to my giving them all of the information possible on them and essentially fingering them in his death.
“You need to crash at my place tonight. You’ll be as safe as it gets there.”
Sleeping in the house of a notorious crime boss normally doesn’t sound like a good idea and I hustled fast for a way out of it. I couldn't find one.
At about five thirty, I ended up meeting Debbie at her place. One of the doctors had me stay later than normal to help organize some Roxicodone he had to sign over to another doctor to hide the fact that we were missing thousands of pills. It was located in Wellington, a relatively wealthy area known for cookie cutter McMansions in gated communities. The gate, as well as the cameras, drastically increased my confidence that this may have actually been a good idea. The memory of the sheer amount of firepower kept in the house also helped.
The house itself was two floors and looked much like the other massive homes in the neighborhood, with a massive pool and lagoon in the backyard. It had massive, sharp angles for a roof. A single second floor window looked out over the front door, almost looking like a Cyclops. Debbie’s BMW M6 sat in the driveway next, dwarfed by George’s outrageous Ford pickup truck, which appeared to me to be the approximate size of a semi-truck, outside of a five car garage that I knew was filled with a variety of vehicles. The home had cathedral ceilings and marble floors that made the entrance foyer look bigger than my home. It may have been. The furniture was all black leather, with dark walnut wood for cabinets, but mostly black and steel. It looked like the interior of a sports car, but endless, with a huge room that drifted between spaces used for a kitchen and what could have been five living rooms, all overlooking the beautiful lagoon.
George himself sat on the sofa, it would be impossible to miss him. He was wearing a black tank top and black sweatpants that revealed his Winstrol enhanced muscles and his gigantic swastika tattoo on his arm. He had a flat top that made him look like a slightly greying (he was in his early thirties, but had a couple streaks and didn’t hide them) criminal version of a marine. Two skinheads with tattoos on their faces flanked him silently, who I would later discover were Steve and Kyle. One had only a small line of tear drops, while the other had his entire neck and arms entirely covered in addition to tear drops, a swastika between his eyes and a quote along the line of his ear. This was Kyle, and I had heard about him before. Both wore an almost uniform like pair of black dickies shorts and white t-shirts that I had seen on some Floridian skinheads before. George nodded to me when I came in and motioned for me to sit on his couch with Debbie and him as they watched Duck Dynasty, without saying anything. In between commercials, he bounced off of his couch to me, smiled charmingly and shook my hand.
“George.”
“Wilks”
We introduced ourselves with our names alone, but he warmed up after Duck Dynasty was over.
“So, what happened?”
He asked this casually while preparing a meal that he seemed to be focused on controlling down to the calorie.
“And are you hungry?”
I told him I was and filled him in on what happened at the dead drop. He listened silently while I rambled on about Corey Franks, the birds, the guy in the bolo tie, everything. Debbie stared at us with a concerned and interested face. When I was done explaining it all the first time, so was the meal. Dinner was a single skinless, boneless chicken breast with a lot of greens and exactly a tablespoon and a half of dark brown rice. The fat man in me was horrified and I plotted on eating two Publix subs to compensate for this. As I finished explaining the Samantha thing for the second time, he sighed and motioned for me to let him speak.
“I’m sorry you’ve had a rough run of it. They’re something we’ve seen once, or twice, but never as frequently as you’re describing. We’ve only heard about them from people who had isolated encounters with them…you’ve seen them at least twice and the first time was on your first day. I’m really hoping they aren’t interested in you specifically. Aside from what Dave told you, I’m afraid I don’t really know anything else. We focus on police movements, things that cause junkies to disappear are dime a dozen and never get genuinely investigated, so aside from your situation nothing like this seems to have ever focused on us before. But yeah, we do know about them. We were hoping they would ignore you because you’re new, and that seems to make a difference.”
He said this in the most erudite tone you could ever imagine, polite and with excellent pronunciation. As he finished the painfully small meal, he nodded to Kyle, who began to count out a myriad small pills for himself for desert.
He was taking “scoops”, or GHB, which body builders sometimes took for sleep and everyone else took to get fucked up. I was grateful that he had managed to somehow make me feel safe in this disaster and wasn’t quite up for question and answer time, so I popped a few of the ones he had out, as well as my normal regimen of a shit ton of Xanax and just a little bit of Soma and Roxicodone. We went to the couch again, and we all placed our feet on the massive coffee table that stood in front of the couch, with little spots especially for comfortable feet holsters. For a moment I imagined any European at all being offended at this custom design, but then I drifted into a rerun of The Walking Dead. I guess George and I didn’t agree on what made for pleasant sleeping entertainment. I suppose taking a few days light did more good than I normally assumed it would, because I went right to sleep after that. I woke to the sound of their grand doorbell ringing.
“No…nurgh…”
I grunted at Debbie. But she was up and moving the moment the doorbell rang. She opened the door and smiled to whoever was outside of it before I heard a woman’s voice beg for help and begin to vomit uncontrollably. Whoever was there managed to get Debbie to open the door without anyone else by her. I heard a feeble female voice begging her again. Then I heard a sickening wet splash hit the concrete in front of her door. Debbie screamed.
“Oh shit!”
At the sound of her raising her voice, whatever was left of the adrenaline in my body kicked into action. I tried to get off of the oversized couch and look around, but everything was black and someone had thrown a blanket over me. I fell to the ground instantly and hit my head on the enormous coffee table.
“Shit! Help!”
Debbie screamed to both me and George as I heard the front door fly open. I could see her turned, facing me while I heard George in the cavernous bedroom on the opposite side of the living room, a great distance away. It sounded like he was moving fast, whatever he was doing.
She rushed out to help whoever it was while I was still stunned. Ahead of her, from the doorway, I saw very little light, but a ribbon of red run from the ground in front of the door to the area where the light from outside could not reach.
“No! No, Debbie, NO!”
I screamed at her while I got out off of the ground and got to the door as quickly as possible. Every step seemed to take an eternity and I heard sobbing and retching while I ran.
And there was Carl’s mother, Cynthia. The delicate old woman was wearing a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt and not her normal semi-formal attire, but I could recognize her. She was almost doubled over, but I could see her face clearly. It was craned upwards to the door. Blood and long ropes of viscera were pouring out of her mouth and onto the ground endlessly.
Debbie was trying in vain to help her, placing his hand on her back and telling to me come help, or call an ambulance or something. She took a second look at Cynthia when she noticed the horrified look on my face. I don’t remember what she was saying; only the look on Cynthia’s blood covered face as she looked up at me and smiled. A long rope of gore was attached to some kind of roundish object that had just made its way out of her mouth. Her entire body was impossibly thin, except for her arms which seemed to be bigger. He face had gotten wider her skin paler than cocaine and her skull and hair seemed to rise in two sharp ridges above her eyes, which were now bloodshot and seemingly stretched. Debbie began to back away slowly, and then shouted for George, before a horrible sound erupted from Cynthia’s throat.
“You’re…killing…my…son…”
The voice was twisted, warbling and growling at the same time. It was both extremely high and extremely low pitched. Cynthia wretched more, and it seemed like the last of a pile of her intestines and other innards had collected at her feet. She stood up, suddenly strangely graceful, despite being covered in blood. Her eyes had grown massively wide, and her mouth was beginning to take an angular shape, almost like the “duckface”, but horribly out of proportion, making her mouth look terribly sharp and the skin suddenly very hard. We all stood silently for just a moment, Debbie in shock, as Cynthia surveyed us and the area above us carefully. The skin of the old woman was pure white, but strangely mottled. These changes made Debbie decided that this was clearly a threat. A tiny pistol appeared out of nowhere and I fell to the side.
“George! Trouble!”
I had already known George was coming the first time she called him, but now I got an idea as to why it took him a moment when he knew there was an issue tonight.
I began to hear heavy footsteps making their way to us from some bedroom off to the side. A metallic clink followed, followed by two quick blasts from Debbie’s small handgun. An incredible splatter occurred, like hitting a water balloon with a baseball bat. Cynthia’s face blew inwards and her tiny body staggered back, but she was still moving. It felt like it took entire minutes to get back up and start running into the house. Debbie was right behind me, and I heard another quick blast before she shut the front door.
A horrific sound came from outside the door, an animal wail of rage and pain. It slowly gained in volume and pitch until becoming a terrifying shriek that echoed throughout the area. The thought of the police, for once, seemed to be on no one’s mind. I remember going around a corner to the kitchen area to hide as I saw him walk out with a furious look on his face and a massive shotgun in his hands. I peered around the corner only to see the massive giant point it wildly after opening the door, only to see nothing there. A strange sound seemed to move directly over us and then back near the door.
We heard what sounded like cackling. From the backyard we suddenly heard someone cry out and a single shot go off. I looked and can only assume they did too, but I didn’t see anything out the back, which was entirely visible through the wall of glass that allowed the previously beautiful view. Within a few seconds, we heard a quick scream in front of the house and a splat.
As I slowly crept up on the area to see what that was, I noticed a massive red stain on the concrete where Cynthia had showed up. She had taken her entrails with her for some reason. Behind the stain, in the road, was a crumpled body, on which I could make out a lot of red and what appeared to be a pair of Dickie’s shorts.
George stared down at the ground in the same area before slamming the door and calling a few friends, as well as the police. I couldn’t quite hear that call. He then went to a small panel about ten feet from the front door in the foyer and began flipping switches on it. Floodlights turned on all around the house, and shutters dropped in front of every window. Also, a horrible wet sound came from directly above the front door. Apparently we had interrupted Cynthia with whatever she was doing, because the next thing I saw was George sticking his head out of his door, firing two quick shots into the sky before going back behind the door frame. Debbie motioned for me to get back and kept her gun up, but not pointed at the door area where her boyfriend was.
Suddenly, in a disgusting surprise, the seemingly loose pile of innards that had violently erupted from the old woman hit the ground directly under the perch above the door. Spooked, George accidentally fired a shot into the disgusting wet and black pile instantly before aiming upwards at out unseen assailant again. Instantly, a horrible sound rang out. The scream that came from above was beyond horrible. In the road in front of the massive house we suddenly saw a small white and red body fall to the ground about seventy feet away from either Steve or Kyle’s corpse with a wet ‘thwack’. George looked down at the pile of guts he had just shot with surprise and then to the now lifeless body in the middle of the road. In the distance, we could hear sirens.
We got our stories straight after a moment of trying to figure out how shooting it's intestines killed it. That Native mythology group told me later, apparently salt works on their guts too. We told the police we didn't see how Cynthia died. Apparently Kyle decided to stay over and we would later find that his body had been crushed from an incredible impact, such as by falling or getting hit by a car. We decided to say that we didn’t see it, and since the neighborhood surveillance came up with nothing, we were only suspects. That’s pretty good, by our standards. We heard plenty of saber rattling about it later and it was in the news, but it was assumed that someone tried to rob George and failed. The cops seemed to want nothing to do with it.
Cynthia’s body was never identified and we were in no rush to help with that.
I was told that someone would be by my place with cash, but to lay low until they figured shit out and waited to see where the cards fell with the cops.
I was mainly worried that Carl had more family I had to be aware of. He would never see his mother again and would never find out why. Four days later, right after Christmas, he overdosed. For good, this time and from the pills I gave him. I think about that a lot and generally drink a lot on Christmas. I wonder if Cynthia did whatever she did to protect Carl. I wonder if she ever had a bad bone in her body, or if I had driven her to a new extreme by slowly murdering her son, pill by pill. I used to tell myself that he was just a guy who made shitty decisions, but I can see the reality now. If it weren't for me, they and too many others would still be alive.
I hope I get the chance to update this further…as to what happened in the years later.
For now, I gave Jessica the username and password for this account. She’s still pretty obsessed with that girl who went missing years ago.

I have been in pain management for almost a year. I was first started on a patch (partial agonist). Since then I have undergone opioid rotation. I have tried everything that begins with a hyrdo (short and long acting). I tried Roxicodone (worked well, developed a tolerance to a low dose as I had been on it for quite a while so was switched to something else), I even tried Nucynta ER (which combined with a high dose SSRI resulted in serotonin syndrome). *I am currently on a medication that starts with a D and lasts 2-4 hours. It is prescribed 3x/day. I have had the experience of Long-acting meds only truly lasting about 8 hours. It takes about 1-2 hours to begin working and wears off about 2 hours before it should. This goes without saying that I exhausted Cymbalta, Neurontin, and several other meds including muscle relaxants prior to starting pain meds. I even took a 2 month break from pain meds to see if I could function. The pain got too much to handle, so now I am in PM.
My PM doc says you haven't done well with Long acting meds. Well they worked, only lasted 8 out of 12 hours. The current med I am taking provides some relief, bringing it down to a 5. My employer is being a ------ and I was reassigned to a position that has heavy physical requirements. Until I can find another job how am I supposed to deal with this? When I told my pain doctor that the relief was only about 6 hours a day, he increased it to 3x/day and said that that was the highest he was willing to go.
I am starting Physical Therapy again in a few days (it previously always caused more pain). I am also about to begin some light exercise that is "low impact". I use two alternative non-medical therapies (distraction, etc.) as well to cope with the pain.
Lately the pain level is getting near a 6 pushing 7 depending on the level of activity (much of which I can't control) at times. I will likely have to quit my job soon because of being reassigned despite fighting it.
My doctor's appointment is coming up soon. How am I going to communicate this without getting penalized or dismissed (as in he doesn't take it seriously).
Not to mention, what are future treatment options. I can't clarify what he meant by that's as high as he is willing to go.
I don't like having to take these meds anyway, but I really can't even keep a job without the pain relief they provide.
(Post not intended to ask for medical advice).

The phone vibrates in Brian’s lap and, taking his hand off the wheel, he reaches for it only to knock it unceremoniously between the center console and the driver’s seat, where he sat in the late model gold Toyota on his way to pick up his roommate from work.
“Fuck my life,” Brian mumbles under his breath, wiping the cold snot lining his nostrils across the arm of the long-sleeved shirt he’s been wearing for the past three days. Actually, who can count? He may well have been wearing it the whole week.
He reaches down to the power cord plugged into the cigarette lighter, wanting to fish the slippery phone out from no-hands’ land and, attempting to stifle a sneeze, pulls the plug right out from the back of the phone which falls back into the abyss with a taunting “cli-clack”.
The decoupling causes a sudden give in the taught cable and sends him into a rage. He pulls the plug out of the dash and proceeds to whip himself on his bare calf with the cable.
“Awrrghhh,” he whines, rearing back with the cable to strike himself again.
“Yea, take it bitch,” he commands of himself, a slight smile appearing just above what might have been a five o’clock shadow at five o’clock some four days ago.
“It hurts so good, doesn’t it? You fucking weirdo.”
His legs, previous poster-children of restless leg syndrome, temporarily stop their rapid shaking as he rubs the red strip slowly rising up in his pale skin. He grabs some of the ginger hair that keeps his legs from being mistaken for exsanguinated corpse flesh and twists it hard one time before rearing back with the green USB cable. He bears down with the cable again, harder this time and lets out a yelp, seemingly of pain, but the look on his face, that silly crooked smile of someone who is truly losing it, says otherwise. The hierarchy of pain is an odd thing, but Brian has learned to take advantage of it during these times of withdrawal.
“Moments ago I hurt everywhere. Now I just hurt right here,” he thinks to himself, rubbing the red strip of raised flesh, trying to convince himself that he’s not some masochistic lunatic.
These symptoms happen whenever Brian goes more than 24 hours without his almighty cure-all, his heroine: heroin. He’s already spent all the money that he so slickly conned out of his aunt on his insatiable habit and is now rushing to pick up his roommate, the wonderful Sandra, who very well may want to send him on a sketchy mission to procure more of the holy substance. She would undoubtedly share with him, just as he had with her. To be quite honest though, she’s carried much more of the burden in this relationship than he. This fact makes him want to escape from the reality of it all the more.
He hits the cruise control, pulls forward on the seat belt and, like a contortionist, reaches his hand around the back of and underneath the driver’s seat, retrieving the elusive phone with his finger tips. He pulls it into view, corrects the course of the vehicle with his knee on the wheel, narrowly missing the back end of an 18-wheeler, and reads the offending message from Sandra: “I’ve got an emergency faculty meeting and won’t need you to pick me up for at least another hour. Why don't you go pick up new points at the pharmacy? We’ll get well after I get off.”
“Son of a bitch,” Brian whines, thinking about the eternity that another hour of this torture will feel like. He thinks about the difficulty of picking up new insulin syringes, what Sandra referred to as “points.”
This requires him to walk up to the pharmacy counter and act like a straight, up-standing citizen who suffers from diabetes, a simple enough task under normal circumstances, but far more difficult when sweating profusely and actively experiencing the paradoxical relief of the inflicted pain of USB cables and mini-Indian burns.
Brian would very much like both to “get off” and to “get well,” however, so he plugs “Walgreen's” into the phone to receive GPS directions to the nearest one. There is one just two blocks further down from where he was heading already, passed Sandra’s work. He starts taking deeper breathes, trying to calm down, and takes some Axe body spray out of the center console. He sprays himself across the chest and under his arms, hoping that the clean smell will deter any upstanding citizen from seeing the truth of his deplorable circumstances.
The sudden smell tickles his nose and sends him into another sneezing spell. To sneeze eight times in a row and not crash the car is no small feat, but his pride is short-lived as a cramping pain in his bowels causes him to almost double over in his seat. A sound like a bubbling oil pool emanates from and rumbles his whole torso. He scantly wishes for death, an end to all this needless, self-induced suffering. He slams on the brakes, noticing the light ahead is red, but he slides too far into the intersection. He sees the flash of the red light cameras snapping a picture of the license plate.
“God dammit! Sandra is going to kill me,” Brian said aloud. The car he’s driving is Sandra’s and she would be responsible for that ticket. He has already got her a ticket once before.
“I am the worst friend ever. I really think people would be better off if I were dead.”
The light turns green and Brian pulls forward and into the Walgreen's. He gets out of the car and into the store, walking towards the pharmacy. He tries to go into the men’s room but the door is locked. He bumps into a lanky man of about six feet with a large black trench coat on in spite of the extreme heat outside. He shoves Brian a little bit forward, saying “Watch it, ass hole.”
Brian, needing more than anything to empty his bowels, calls out “Sorry,” as he passes by him en-route to the counter waving a hand up in apology without looking back. He asks the pharmacist quickly for the keys to the bathroom, trying not to look as desperate as he truly was. The long-haired Indian woman with a ruby bindi in her third-eye smiles and reaches into her lab coat pocket and shifts around inside. She pulls out the keys and slides them jingling across the counter toward Brian’s outstretched, grateful hands. He thanks her and quickly makes his way into the restroom. He has no time to be concerned with putting the sanitary covers over the seat and, only slightly grossed out, drops his trousers and sits immediately on the unsuspecting toilet. He lets out a small wail of simultaneous pain and relief in accompaniment to the sound of a bucket splashing into a lake which emanates up from between and beneath his legs.
He sits there, almost out of breath, but feeling very relieved. He hears two loud banging noises through the bathroom door. “Someone’s shitty car must be back-firing in the parking lot,” he thinks to himself. He takes another few minutes on the commode to ensure the anal onslaught is over, and satisfied that it is, cleans himself up, washes his hands and face in the sink and dries up in the ridiculous blower attached to the wall, its jet engine drowning everything out, and echoing all over the tile bathroom.
He turns back to find where he set the keys to the bathroom and heads out to the pharmacy counter, ready at last to try and social engineer his way to some new points. He opens the door and makes his way to the counter.
“Holy shit,” Brian thinks to himself as he notices the cash register lying on its side at the foot of the counter. Bottles lay all around it and a large metal cabinet, usually locked until the pharmacist accesses its contents, lays open at a 45 degree angle tipped over the counter. He looks around but there is not a single worker in sight. He rushes over and notices that all the bottles strewn across the counter and floor are controlled substances: narcotics!
“Holy shit! Don’t mind if I do,” he says to himself, grabbing a shopping bag and filling it with all of the bottles he could grab. Oxycontin, roxicodone, meperidine, demerol, dilaudid, morphine, methadone, some fentanyl transdermal patches, and a few other things that even his street pharmacist brain had never heard of were all thrown in the bag.
Just when he was finishing up looting all the bottles on his side of counter, he leans over to see if he missed anything. On the floor just on the other side lay the long-haired Indian pharmacist, breathing shallowly and holding a wound on her neck, blood pouring out between her fingers. Brian immediately loops the pharmacopoeia over his sweaty, bony shoulders and jumps over the counter, grabs a spare lab coat hanging nearby and rushes to the pharmacist, immediately applying pressure with the coat. It quickly soaks through with the blood spewing from her neck. Her eyes look glossy and are wide with terror as she squeezes on Brian’s bicep as though she believes that if she could just hold on to this sickly junkie, the rushing darkness would not overcome her. All would be well and she could be tricked by Brian into selling him the works he came for.
Brian quickly ascertains that this poor woman is lost to the world. Should he hold on with her till the bitter end, or should he break away with enough drugs to sate his thirst for at least a month? As he makes his decision a rookie police officer rushes into the pharmacy, his Glock 9mm pistol drawn. He sees the woman bleeding out, clutching at Brian’s arm, as he lurks over her, holding her neck with a bag full of stolen drugs slung over his shoulder. He fires a single shot straight into the back of Brian’s head. Brian’s face explodes into the Indian pharmacist’s dead eyes, her bindi lost in the dots of scarlet spraying her face.
“Police!” shouts the rookie officer.

Verified? (This bot cannot verify AMAs just yet)
Date: 2012-03-26
Link to submission(Has self-text)
Link to my post

Questions	Answers
How sustainable do you think your career is? How long do you think you'll do it? If it's not a long-term career, what kind of job will you look for afterwards?	This is my favorite question so far.
	The truth is I don't want to be doing this forever...It started off as a way to make money in high school to have fun and it went through periods where it was way more intense. Two times in particular - once when I was 19 and bringing a shit ton of hi quality cocaine from the ghetto of LA to a cozy suburb in norcal; the other was before the 80mg Oxycontin became illegal to produce in the form that could be smoked/snorted/shot up in college.
	Sorry I got off track. If its done right, it can sustain a very nice life. But it's a lot of hectic, stressful work and of course the legal issue. At the peaks I was making about 2.5-3.5x profit on my investment. I.E invest $2000, get back 5-7k.
	As I mentioned in the post details, I have a degree in marketing and looking for work in that or sales, hopefully for a start up tech company.
How do you justify your career to yourself, ethically? Doesn't it bother you that you might be helping to destroy someone's life?	I am doing nothing different than any big pharmaceutical company, tobacco company, or liquor store - providing a product to interested clientele. People who do drugs, you'd be surprised. I've done blow with a lawyer and judge in LA who handled his shit every day and then some. I've dealt oxy to a dopefiend who has the semi seizure from not having any dope recently enough. There are levels of differences in users that I couldn't even begin to describe completely here.
Why should i buy your drugs over the competitors?	Well currently I deal with pharmaceuticals, so the pills are all the same and there is not quality concerns. With a street drug like cocaine, it often is a long and tenuous process to find a dealer who has the right price and right quality. For me, the best times were the most random meet and greets that turned into something else.
You get enough girls trading themselves for drugs?? Where do you hide your products?? like inside the drawers or up in the ceiling, or or ??	The few times I got a chick that way, I felt pretty shitty. But yeah it happened a few times...
	In a safe.
What did you start dealing? Weed? Or were you like "Fuck it, I'm selling coke." from the start?	LOL. Weed yes, but I was so bad at it in high school, selling dime bags to the slackers at school. Now I deal with pounds of it and having a much better time.
	It was really more of whatever I could make money off of that people around me wanted/needed. Filling a void, which as I grew up shifted from pot to bigger stuff.
Have you ever found yourself in danger while dealing?	Yes. I've had a gun pulled on me a couple times. It's fucking frightening when the person holding is a dope fiend.
What is the youngest client you have ever sold to? Have you ever refused to sell to anyone?	Honestly I don't associate with kids younger than 21 now because my lifestyle just doesn't mesh with them. I suppose when I was in high school, at age 14, I sold some weed to another kid in high school, also age 14. So yeah.
	Yes, but it was because they were acting sketch and what not
How hard is it to get pharmaceuticals in a large enough quantity to distribute? Is it just a matter of knowing people who have prescriptions, or do you have to go through shadier avenues to get the pills?	Depends largely on your situation. If you have a legitimate medical issue than you just have to find the right doctor to prescribe the pills you want. If you don't than you'll have to look elsewhere. In some cities there are places on the street where you can find and buy drugs pretty easily. SF in particular comes to mind.
HOW MUCH DO YOU MAKE AND DO YOU NEED ANY INTERNS?	Currently about $2000 per month profit, that's after expenses and your investment into product.
So you could risk ~10years jail time for a $24,000 a year job ಠ_ಠ	It sounds so much worse when I read it. In reality there is little chance that I'll have any problems with the law because I deal with a select few.
You're risking pound-me-in-the-ass-prison for one and a half times California's minimum wage? Genius.	Yeah it sounds pretty bad when you say it like that.
That sounds like a really terrible payout considering the risk-reward. Couldn't you make far more money growing pot?	Probably, but I don't have the place to grow it, the equipment to use, or the urge to spend my time tending to a bunch of plants.
You didn't answer my intern question....	Come on now.
Ask 2/3 of the people arrested for intent to distribute and I bet they all felt the same way.	I've been doing this long enough to do it right.
I have a degree in marketing, iv delt with guys who work for companys like Jaguar automotive who are pretty high up in marketing and let me tell you .... they dont earn a lot at all. Its a fun job, if you want to make money stay away from marketing.	Technically my degree is in Communication.
	I'm looking to do more sales than marketing, for a tech company...a startup. They earn plenty.
I agree with ChiTown. I know people who casually deal pot when they need the money and they can usually get around 2-3k in a couple weeks. You must be mega small time or you're selling your drugs way too cheap.	Yes probably. I'm glad you know people, probably helps with the douchery you're exhibiting.
Is it anything like Breaking Bad?	Ah..I've never actually watched Breaking Bad...I know...I'm slacking right?
Thanks for the AMA. A couple of questions: Does your family know what you do? Do they approve? How does your work affect your personal/romantic life? Ever had any close calls with law enforcement? What are some ways that you spot potentially sketchy/suspicious situations (undercovers, hold-ups, etc)? Thanks again.	No they don't, if they did they would wonder why I am wasting my talents selling this bullshit, as I do from time to time.
	Yes many close calls with law enforcement to describe here, but if you have something more specific I'll try to answer that.
	I am usually pretty good with people and noticing inconsistencies with current action vs previous actions. Never dealt with an undercover before.
How do you manage to fly under the radar?	At first it was harder and my actions were more visible to authorities, but you learn to adjust and behave after enough bad things happen to you. Second, I deal with people I know and trust. If I ever have a bad feeling about a deal or someone is acting weird, then I don't deal with them.
So you have gotten caught before?	Not for drug dealing or drug possession, no. other things though.
You actually let your girlfriend take the fall for your drugs in her purse?	Sure as fuck did.
What's the difference between the two different strains of heroin that you mentioned? and how would you describe the heroin rush/high/come down? thanks in advance.	Price, quality and availability. Black tar is popular and available in CA, but its quality usually sucks unless you know someone special. China is far superior, and can be snorted in addition to smoking and shooting it since its a light brown powder vs a dark black gooey shit substance that is tar.
	Umm its great, except for the fact that its terrible. If that doesn't make sense to you than it means you probably haven't done it, which I would then recommend that you never fucking do.
How important is the suburban, white male, age 14-17 demographic to you?	Meaningless once I left for college(age 20). That was the last time I had contact with any people at the high school I went to.
What, in your opinion, is the sketchiest drug to sell?	Opiates - oxy, heroin, percocet...that whole family.
How is this sketchier than cocaine?	Cocaine is sketchy to buy, but heroin/opiates create true dope fiends...crazy crazy breed of people. maybe like people have depicted zombies...just not themselves, willing to do worse shit with less remorse.
Lol come down to Florida where they go for $15-20 a pop, you'll see some real basers then.	Those kind of idiots are everywhere....
What's your average mark-up?	Again it depends on the product.
	Pot doesn't have a mark-up like other stuff. It's usually just a commission on a sale.
	Coke - 250-350% profit Oxy - 500% profit.
After reading this comment and the other comment posted about you making 2000k a month in profit, it's apparent that you don't sell many drugs (or at least much volume).	Yes, that number was kind of an estimate. As you may know, the drug market is volatile and can change rapidly. Also, demand wanes in and out. 30mg Roxicodone sells for 12-25 (wholesale-retail). (200Q per month) a 10mg Norco sells for 2-5 (wholesale-retail). (240Q per month) The roxies sell the quickest, but thats because there are more dopefiends for that shit. There are different clientele with different lifestyles that like different drugs.
Would you be down to throw out some hard numbers about what sells and what you sell the most of?
Oxy sounds good, but that's not much on coke. There's a lot of legal products that have that much margin or more, and less chance of people pulling guns on you.	It's not about the profit margin, it's about how often your doing business.
What sort of volume is purchased from each customer? Do they typically buy as much as they can afford or do they rationalize their usage - purchasing the drug in servings or doses?	Do you mean what kind of volume does each customer purchase? I don't purchase volume from customers...
	The answer is it varies. Some buy for personal use, which for a drug user is usually 2-5 roxis per phone call. They usually (because of their situation) don't have a whole like a capital lying around and are given money incrementally throughout the week, which they spend on drugs obviously.
	The better clients buy many either because they can afford it one way or another or because they are reselling for profit or to offset their own addiction.
Wouldn't it be a combination of both?	Yes.
How much did the prices of oxycontin changed after they became illegal?	If you can even find the real OC 80's anymore, they go for roughly $300 per pill. But technically it's always been illegal unless you have a prescription.
Crazy. I live in florida, they're 12ish here.	Yeah well florida prescribes I think like 75% of all oxycodone in the country...some ridiculous amount. Are the OC 80's still floating around out there?
No, those are gone. People really like roxies and dilaudids.	Thought so...
Do you or have you used any drugs?	I've done pot/hash/etc, coke, pressed ecstasy pills/MDA/MDMA, acid(once), nitrous oxide, oxycontin, percocet, norco, roxicodone, heroin (black tar and china white), mushrooms, and crack.
Are you/have you been addicted to any of these? Obviously the heroin, crack and oxy kinda are a bit addictive maybe.	Not currently, not for crack. for oxy and heroin yes.
How much do you use?	I don't use anymore.
When applying for jobs, how do you explain your gap in employment? Also (and on the same note), what do you tell your family/casual acquaintances you do?	I'm pretty good at giving an answer that doesn't necessarily give a full explanation. But basically I like to highlight what I have been doing (gym, yoga, reading, video/image stuff).
	I tell some what I actually do, and some that I am unemployed and looking for work.
How do your transactions usually go down? Do you sell from your own place, bring it to others, sell from your car, etc. ?	Ah. This is my last answer for the night. I usually bring it to others. They are more relaxed than you might think from some of the preconceptions about this kind of business. You have to constantly be on your toes when doing a deal...anything can happen. Sometimes you have to take the loss if you get jacked. Shit happens, but maybe only 5-10% of the time.
You get jacked 5-10% of the time? Am I reading this right?	No I didn't say I get jacked 5-10% of the time...I'm saying for every 10 deals maybe one of them doesn't go so smoothly, which doesn't mean it ends badly, it just means it doesn't end the way you planned it. I drove 3 hours to check out a 10 pack of weed (10 lbs) and it wasn't what I thought it would be/was sold to me as, so I left empty handed and with my money in my possession.
How do you feel about drug dealing in popular culture? I'm talking about rappers like Jay-Z bragging about how they used to deal crack, how much of this do you believe? And how do you feel about movies about drug crime? Do you think they give a realistic representation on drug crime in general?	I grew up listening to rappers that glorified drug dealing....some have more real experiences than others. I don't really like listening to that shit anymore though. I believe very little of it because I've met kids who rap about that shit but don't live it themselves. Just because I deal drugs doesn't mean I can rap about it....so I think the people that can are inspired by people who do and often tell their friends stories...just a thought.
	I like movies about drug crime too. Pretty interesting stuff usually...I like 25th Hour with Edward Norton. Probably the "realest" thing I've seen that I can recall right now.
Are you worried that with the temptation of the industry you might end up an addict yourself? Have you ever had a "bad trip"	Yes I've been an addict and there's not amount of product in the world to satisfy that kind of desire. Its weird to think about...I should probably be dead with all of the drugs I've done...both over my life and in a night.
What's your exit strategy?	I wish I knew.
Why is DMT so hard to find?	Ask a chemist.
As in, ask a chemist to explain why it's so hard to find? Or ask a chemist for hooks?	As in, ask a chemist to make you some.
Always curious where/who the source is. For instance, you get your "stuff" from a guy I presume. Does "that" guy have a higher up he reports to and etc? How deep does the food chain go? Are you close to your source?	I get my stuff from a doctor, so yes. I am close to my source.
	Ok that deserves a better response. The truth is it varies a lot. I have no idea who reports to who, I just deal with my dude (not the doctor) for the price/quantity of what I want and move on...not some huge drug conspiracy with my life anyway.
What's your views on the Silk Road Marketplace? (Ebay for drugs)	What is it?
Better yet, how does it work? I mean, buying drugs off of the internet just doesn't seem safe.	No clue, never heard of it.
A few of my college friends (San Diego area) deal small time and seem to be doing incredibly well while putting in minimal effort- it's tempting to want to do the same thing. What would your advice against it be, other than the obvious risk of arrest and what not?	What drug are we talking about here?
How about weed? i wanna start dealing at my college campus, seems like easy money.	Yungdoom, If your in California, it probably is. Depends on the laws in your state because some can be very harsh (Texas/Florida in particular)
How do you handle/keep/hide/store your money?	With care and in a safe and a bank.
How do you manage taxes?	Why is that an issue?
You said you use a bank. I can understand not worrying about it when using a safe but if you are putting money in a bank account the IRS notices. Maybe not now, but if you were to get audited anything that goes into your bank account will need to be accounted for.	You are thinking way too into it. Why would I get audited? There would have to be a reason because my taxes are in order 100%. No problem, I enjoyed answering your questions. I thought maybe more people would appreciate having access to someone with an insight into the fucked up world of drug dealing. I did this to educate, not to gain more customers or corrupt new people....If I could do it all over again I would not have gotten as deep as quickly during college.
Where'd you get your degree from?	It's a University of California, one of the four located in SoCal (UCI, UCLA, UCR, UCSD)
Did you share any participation in the huge federal raid on the SDSU campus a few years back?	Share participation? Do you mean was I involved? No I was not.
Ah, I went there myself. How was the drug scene there? Being far from big cities I would think it'd be hard to have sales amongst the students with harder drugs.	Pretty intense.
It's pretty ridiculous. Some of the social clubs and groups on campuses (not gangs) have dealt in extremely high quantities. For instance, a lot of those drugs that SDSU got busted with a few years back came straight from UCSD.	Yeah I remember that...that was just before I went to college.
	Also, yes as far as the white college student goes, they are getting their drugs from a friend or acquaintance not some Mexican cartel dude.
Do the other dealers mock you when you do or say something smart? "Hey Ralphie, look at college boy over here trying to explain grams and ounces to me."	No I can honestly say I've never heard that. When it comes to money people are serious and it usually ends in the way you want it, or it ends with some sort of trouble. Or they try to shade the deal.
Are you located in the Bay Area?	Yes.
Have you ever -- in your line of work -- done something illegal that wasn't to do with drug trafficking/use. I.e. stolen, assaulted someone, etc.?	Yes but only when I was younger. Now the only part of my life that is illegal is drugs, I removed the people in my life that caused more problems for me already.
I approve of going against the law to make a legitimate living -- selling drugs people want to buy of their own free will is as legitimate as selling anything else -- but don't approve of violence.	I'm so thrilled to have your approval :)
I can't tell if you're sarcastic, I just wanted to make sure you weren't actively running around killing people as part of your trade before I let you know that at least one person supports those who possess the entrepreneurial spirit...	I was being sarcastic with my comment about being thrilled. On a side note, thank you.
Legal or not.	But yeah, I am non-violent, a vegetarian, support animal rights, organic farmers.
How do you use cash for all your purchases? I assume it looks sketchy to buy a new care with cash.	I don't use cash. I have a credit card and a credit score like every other American middle classer. It is not "sketchy" to buy a car with cash, maybe at the dealer, but on craigslist everyone wants cash so its kind of overlooked.
Do you have a favourite customer?	Yes. Someone who buys a lot and isn't a pain in the ass to deal with.
What can one do to ensure a good working relationship with one's supplier of substances?	Don't call too much or at the wrong times. Nothing worse that a dope fiend that calls you when your asleep.
YOU DUMB FUCK...HAVE YOU EVER HEARD OF THE NSA?...HOW ABOUT THE IDCFA (international drug crime fighting association) ...you beetter be behind of a PROXY because you might be going down....	Cool. Shut the fuck up you paranoid douche.
So, aren't you worried that you can be tracked down by this post you made?	Maybe. Time will tell I suppose.
What are your prices?	I already posted it somewhere in this thread.
I would love to have a dealer that is like James Franco is in Pineapple Express, inviting me to the opera with him and his "Bubbi" because he had an extra ticket. Do you think you're prone to building friendships with your regular buyers?	Ok...well there is a fine line. Some dealers and some users are more impersonal than others. Unless I like the person I'm dealing with and can stand to be around them (many users/dealers are incredibly annoying and will easily get on an average person's nerves)
	In general I am pretty friendly to my clientele, we have lunch together sometimes or maybe go out to a bar....it varies I suppose.
As a former addict, is it hard to be surrounded by drugs?	Yes incredibly hard, but I have something called Suboxone, which is a detox med that blocks opiate withdrawl and prevents one from getting "high". That makes it much easier when the drugs are actually in my possession because I don't have to make the choice of whether I want to use or not.
So, the medication makes it that even if you were to use an opiate, you wouldn't feel high, making you not even bother wanting to use anymore?	Right. After taken the suboxone (sublingually) you could shoot a gram of heroin and not get high.
Is that medication prescribed to you? How have your doctors been reacting?	Yes it is. They prescribed it, so probably positively???
Well people aren't gonna drive to Harlem at 4 AM for a burger and fries. Seriously, how less dangerous is buying drugs in a public housing project at 2 PM than at 4 AM?	Ok, to clarify, the only time I would go to a housing project was as a user of drugs, not as a seller. I stay in a cozy suburb and deal with people I know. So for me, not very dangerous.
Have you ever seen "Drugs Inc", if so how accurate do you think it was?	I once saw "The Oxycontin Express" on Vanguard /Current TV. That was pretty legit. Also they had a follow up about heroin in Boston, MA that I thought was pretty legit too.
What did you learn in college that has helped you in the workforce?	How to network with people...how to deal with people from different backgrounds...
What is your view on legalization of weed?	Should be non-criminalized. Legalization carries the implications of regulation, which as seen in Prop 19 here in CA can be used by big corporations to try to subvert the system that seems to work for most people. I've always thought that if a big corporation gets involved then the availability of mid grade would be plentiful and cheap, while high grade would go even higher than it is now. This is because the corporations would require regulations similar to organic farmers who can't afford the "certified organic" label, even though they clearly grow organically. Many growers are small time and deal with a select few.
How much do you make?	Not enough, but I posted the answer already somewhere in the thread.
Do you carry a gun?	Not really. I can shoot though.
Have you ever seen that movie Layer Cake? It sounds like your life, only in England and played by someone much better looking. No offense, I'm no Daniel Craig either.	No I haven't.
As opposed to buying them at 4AM in public housing projects.	Uhh despite what you may think, most deals don't happen when most people are asleep. Drug culture influences a big portion of America, working class, unemployed, and otherwise.
Obligatory "nice try" comment.	:)
Yeah, while you're right in saying that he shouldn't risk his freedom for that amount of money, his AMAA is a good one. The whole point of it is that you get to ask someone with a rare profession or hobby about what they do.	Thank you. I looked on reddit and couldn't find anything like this, so I thought it would be interesting for both me and others.
Sure as fuck did.	But to be fair, she was taking them too. I had enough of my own shit to deal with and likely wouldn't have been able to go to college if I caught a drug felony like that...
	She was never going to go to college...some HS girl I was dating when I was younger...relax.
At first it was harder and my actions were more visible to authorities, but you learn to adjust and behave after enough bad things happen to you. Second, I deal with people I know and trust. If I ever have a bad feeling about a deal or someone is acting weird, then I don't deal with them.	More specifically, using phones with 'no-contract'/pre-paid plans, changing phones and numbers often.
Most can't kick it though and a lot die by it.	Yeah unfortunately. I've only had one close friend die, and it wasn't from drugs. Only people I know who've actually died from DOING drugs was people who did heroin/oxy + zanax(benzodiazepam) + lack of sleep.
	But yes I agree it is NOT a sustainable lifestyle AT ALL.
I don't use anymore.	Opiates that is...still smoke weed.
College kids have an abundance of dealers to choose from. While you can build a market to sell to quickly, they will be quick to snitch on you if they get busted because they know theres someone else to buy from when their cuffs come off.	Yes this is true. But pot isn't very high priority for authorities especially in california.
No, he's just stupid/exaggerating/probably isn't a drug dealer.	You're an idiot.
Psychedelics are a circle drug unlike cocaine or heroin. You can't go to a corner boy and get psychedelics. You need to know the right people. Where I live there is a huge market for it and the cost of extraction to profit ratio is pretty good so it isn't hard to find.	There really isn't a whole lot of money to be made selling psychedelics because the customer base just isn't what it is for the harder stuff...
	But this is kind of true. There are some people who just use psychedelics and they usually know the most/know where to get the good stuff.
I'm a cop, hello. AMA.	Howdy, why do you get to harass people based on color, age, or gender orientation, but it's illegal for every other government agency?
Shit, I thought it was clear that I was telling a joke to someone fearlessly pointing out he's a drug dealer...	Yeah I didn't catch on, my bad.
Oxycontin aren't illegal. They are, however, scheduled under the Controlled Substances Act, and are therefore Rx only. (And AFAIK, they always have been.) That's probably what you're meaning to say.	You took the words out of my brain farts.
I call bullshit on this. Obviously, you can't verify so this makes the perfect AMA for somebody who wants to bullshit I guess.	I'll see what I can do. Feel free to post something if you have a suggestion, but no it's not bullshit.
Pics of your stash with time-stamp + your username.	I don't have a digital camera and my phone (htc evo) doesn't have an option for time stamping pictures.
	So I took a picture of the piece of paper I get at the pharmacy that shows the drug and the date, in front of my computer screen with the computer time stamp and this window up. will be up shortly.
just the cash and a scale with info.	I'll put up another picture of that here as soon as I deal with the first one.

Last updated: 2012-03-30 11:51 UTC
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