Im afraid to finger

Hi Courtney! I'm a huge fan of your channel and I've been watching you for a while now, and I would just die if you read my story! It's gonna be a little longer since I don't want to miss any important details. Also tag warning for some serious topics (drug use and pedophelia)
Okay so, let's start back in 2012. My mom worked in the NICU taking care of little premature babies. (I had been 6 weeks early, which inspired my mom) I was 11 at the time that she met her ex-husband, my ex-stepdad. We can just call him B (for bastard lol). They worked together, he was funny and stole her heart. Well at the time he was going through a divorce but lived in a house twenty minutes from where we were living at the time. B had told my mom that things were over with his ex for sure (he told his ex wife at that time that he wanted to work on things! She was so blindsided by the divorce papers!) <--- of course we didn't know about any of that until recently End of 2012 comes, he marries my mom and my older sister move in with him and his 7 year old son in this three bedroom house. Two rooms upstairs and a master bedroom downstairs. Now of the top two rooms, my ex stepbrother (lets call him C) had the larger room, while my older sister (who was high school age, I think she was a senior) and I shared the other room and slept in bunk beds.
Now C had a problem with sleeping in his room at night. He would tell us about how he was afraid of the closet (the closet also had a tiny door that led up to the attic). Ever since he was little it was always the same problem. C was simply terrified of something in the house. He had an experience where someone woke him up and warned him that there was a spider, he started screaming and sure enough they found a brown recluse spider under his bed.
Then my mom gets pregnant and gives birth to my little brother, H. My sister had moved out pretty much as soon as possible. B was awful. He would belittle us and talk down to us, constantly try to make everyone feel stupid around him- he had to be the smartest one around at all times. He was an asshole, and he would say rude stuff and then complain that we were taking him too serious and he was just being sarcastic. That we 'didn't get his sense of humor'. And for a while, he had my mom wrapped right around his finger. He was manipulating her from the very beginning. He even treated her like shit most of the time. 8th grade all the way through the end of my senior year I endured his treatment every day. I had to be careful about what I said at all times, about who came over, about being too loud at night. If my room was messy, he would take a garbage bag and take all of my stuff- I had to 'earn' back my stuff.
When the baby was born they had to do renovations on the house. There was a ton of attic space, so they ended up breaking into it- a game room leading to two bedrooms and a bathroom. This was when things went from humanly hellish to supernaturally chaotic. During the renovations before any walls went up and it was mostly just wood and plastic, C and I had seen a dark shadow of a man pass behind a plastic tarp- and it was so clear because the sunlight was coming from the other side. When I checked there was no body there. Once everything was completed the feeling changed.
My room ended up being on the other end of the opened up attic.
At the time I was watching a lot of Supernatural- so my spooked ass started putting salt barriers on my bedroom door (which guess what! Yeah! It was one of those attic bedrooms!) and also on my window too. My mom and B would ridicule me for this but I stand by my decisions to this day!
This was mostly because of the feelings you would get in the game room. Even if you were just passing through. There were always eyes on you- especially when your back was turned. I never ever walked through that room without the light on. I didn't even sleep with the light off in my room. When I would I would get really bad sleep paralysis,
One of the worst ones I was laying on my stomach with my head turned to the side. I opened my eyes and I was utterly frozen. At first I know it's just sp, so I try to stay calm and take deep breaths but then I start to feel this pressure starting down on my feet. It feels like two hands grabbing my ankles and pressing down. Then the hands move up my body and then there's more pressure- like someone's whole body is crawled over top of me. It gets closer and closer to my head. All the while I'm trying to scream but I can't open my mouth so it's just coming out as quiet whimpers. I can feel it breathing on my neck and then in my ear. That's when it finally stopped and I jerked up and immediately turned on the light. I remember just crying for a while. At the time B had made it impossible to trust my mom- and they would've just gotten mad at me for waking them up.
There was another night where I had been up late, probably 3 or 4 in the morning and I was drawing or something just sitting on my bed. All of the sudden I hear 4 distinct knocks from INSIDE my closet! No joke I shit bricks. There was no rational explanation. Because there was siding on our house that was damaged and it would make noise but it was always specific like a scraping/tapping. But this was a knock, like someone is at your door with your DoorDash meal type knock. I always tried to rationalize what was happening. Make excuses for the weird stuff.
Then one summer, my cousin had come up from another state to stay with us. We spent a lot of time in my room, just hanging out. One day, we're both up there just chilling when all of the sudden I notice something under my door.
Someone was walking back and forth in front of the bedroom door. You could even hear the floor creaking on the other side. You could see the shadow pass to the right and then to the left. I remember locking my door and calling my mom to see if it was an actual human, nope. She ended up sending B up there (of course this made him mad for some reason) to verify that there was no person up there. Basically they just said we were being kids with overactive imaginations but I can tell you right now there was no rational explanation for that experience.
A lot of the time at that house you could feel constant eyes on you, mostly in the attic. Like always- at all times, someone or something was watching.
There were also times when there was a sort of 'mimic' situation where you could think you heard something upstairs but you really didn't; one time my sister went to pick up our dog- and she thought she heard the dog crying upstairs, she started to go up and get her when her boyfriend who was there at the time stopped her because the dog crate was downstairs in my moms room AND GUESS WHO WAS IN THE CRATE and NOT upstairs.
There was also one time I was babysitting my younger siblings and it was pretty late when I heard giggling upstairs. Thinking it was my brother, I went up to reprimand him and basically tell him to go to sleep but when I entered his room- he was dead asleep. Like fully passed out. I just shut the door and quietly went back downstairs. Nope nope nope.
B ended up doing work out of state- I was like 20 ish and moved back in with my mom and the kids. What was weird that during this time I didn't really have a lot of paranormal experiences. Once or twice you would hear weird things or my cat would get tiffed up staring at blank corners of the room. It was mostly really nice when he wasn't there.
A few years ago we ended up having to leave that house. B as it turns out had gotten himself addicted to meth and also started downloading explicit photos of underage girls (11-13 approx.) I was at the house when the police came and everything. He's still not in jail btw which is such bull. When it first happened, my mom reached out to B's ex wife to talk to her.
Turns out from the moment B and his ex bought this house, she immediately noticed negativity. Weird things and scary things that would happen. We sort of deduced that HE was the one bringing that negative energy into the house, which totally made sense because most of the extreme haunting stuff was happening WHILE HE WAS THERE. So yeah I blame him because he is a disgusting demon himself.
Anyway that's all I've got for now- thank you so much for reading! Love you girl!

She never goes anywhere without me, I'm never left home alone. I never go out anywhere. The only time I have outside the house is when she goes to the store for groceries and me and the baby go along. Thats the most of my social interaction for the next few months until we need more groceries.
She hates that I put on a small amount of light eye makeup and half way decent clothes while she doesn't want to put effort into her look. ("No im just going to the store and I sweat too much who cares nobody is looking at me i want to dress comfortably") ("look at you looking nice and im here in sweat pants and messy hair in a bun but you just have to let me leave the house with me looking like this while you look like that")
So she's started this thing where she makes me aware we're leaving only 10 minutes before our ride comes to pick us up. Thats not so bad right? No, I have to pick out clothes for her as well as dress the baby and dress myself all in those 10 minutes. So I run out the door sweaty and stressed and looking an awful mess.
Now imagine my 5'0 self waddling, huffing and puffing holding a comically large diaper bag, her comically large purse, a 45lb toddler in a large car seat. It's heavy all together and every time we go out I get looks from strangers like "This poor young mother" Shes my sister. While her actual mother walks blissfully beside me not a thing in her hands. Once she's in the cart I get the groceries and so on until we get home where I take in the bags with "Hurry the baby is crying" in my ear every 2 minutes.
Her back hurts because of her weight, my back hurts because of two injuries I never went to the hospital or at least a doctor for because her reasoning is "If there's no visible bone you're fine" even though I had government health assistance so my visits and medication and treatment would have all been free up until I turned 19.
So everytime I have to leave the house carrying heavy items i can hardly support, I mess up my back tremendously. It's the most painful thing and I'm just meant to go about my chores and such because her pain is obviously much worse than mine and im only 20 so im faking and that's that. I'm doing so much damage to my back now that it makes me afraid for when I'm actually suppose to be in pain later down the road. Most days I can hardly move but I have to.
Going anywhere is so stressful with the heavy bags and the heavy baby, much less the store with all the groceries too.
So this time I told her I didn't want to go. She told me her back would hurt if I don't go. I told her I'd stay with the baby at home because I simply did not want to go. Not to mention everyone in town is sick rn and none of them can keep their grubby fingers to them selves around a small child. She was grumbling and giving me looks and asking if I was SUUURE I wanted to stay home. I stayed home.
While at the store she was texting me that she's in so much pain having to put the heavy items in the cart. And all this walking she can't get all the things we need and she was coming home early. And she can't stand to go any further. She's around 400lbs if I had to guess so she's always had back and feet pain. She's completely mobile when she's having fun coincidentally.
When she got home I went outside and usually the person and passenger who give us the ride help with the bags. Its much different carrying them then wheeling them around. But this time when they opened their doors to help she said "No don't help her. Don't help her. She can do it. Don't you help her." With a tone only a mother can make. So they just stared at me while I took the bags in by myself and I was a little embarrassed. She said don't help she didn't say WATCH me.
They wouldn't open the doors for me either so I was having to crawl into the van through the trunk to get the bags in the back seat. It really was embarrassing. When I was finally done she got off and was walking around the house excitedly telling me the stuff she got.
And I'm here sitting on the floor typing this surrounded by groceries im putting away.
Im out in the middle of nowhere two towns away from anything, no car, no neighbors, just me here losing my mind. Sorry for the rant. I'll delete this tomorrow like I always do.

This girl kept looking at me. It's starting to weird me out. Explanation
I believe an explanation is in order.
This started about a month ago, and i slightly regret letting it happen. The day at school started out like normal. Nothing was happening, and it would've been a slow day if it wasn't for the new student. She seemed to be a shy girl and was really quiet type and honestly, II would probably never talk to her unless I needed too. She ended up sitting in the row behind me, all the way on the other side of the class from me, yet I could feel the burning sensation of eyes on me. This persisted during the day, and it made feel somewhat nervous, and soon it started to get on my nerves, so as the day ended, I went up to her and asked her.
“I've seen you looking at me all day. Is there something you need from me”
she admitted to it, and she explained everything to me:
She is a small time warrior who came from another world to look for someone specific. The warrior from another world who somehow lost the connection to his other self. She was tasked with finding him in the other world and get him to properly return so he could be revived properly, and she believes I am this person.
I call her crazy and ask if she thinks I'm stupid. To which she responded with a deal. If she proved to me that what she was talking about was real, I would have to do something for her. This is when everything starts to go downhill. After I agree, thinking she couldn't, she takes my hand and slips this ring on my finger. She had one of her own, and she basically told me to rub it. I do so, and it suddenly starts to glow, and with a quick flash it went to black.
Moments later, I wake up in what seems to be a bed, but it looked very old-fashioned. My surroundings looked even more old and medieval, and I started to worry. As I notice on my right, there's a lady at my side with not only a very familiar face, but the world's more smug expression on her face. She had pointed ears now, and I instinctively felt mine as well, informing me that I had them as well. She was right, and this sentence would start the rest of my life in this world and my own:
“I believe we had a deal. Let's talk business, shall we?”
I guess this is the part where I explain myself. I call this brand-new plot idea, part-time isekai! For those who want a little tldr, here's the deal.
Your character is from another world, a world which is greatly connected to mine. Inward this other world, we are working together as bounty hunters who were starting out but quickly rising up in popularity. During one of these missions, my other world character gets shut down in a way that separates both worlds souls from each other, rendering him in a coma. Determined to get his partner back, she has to travel to the other world and convince the other part of him to join him. After they make the deal, and he comes back too, she asked the new person to help her with her bounty hunting with the promise that he can stay in his world until she needed him for a mission.
That's basically the short version with some added context. I've been wanting to make something new and bigger than usual, and this is what I hope you also find interesting and unique. I would like to talk more details when you do send a message to role-play, but if you have any important questions now, don't be afraid to ask them in the comments.

hello guys just wanted to vent here.
i started selling contents about last 2 months. starting was really difficult. no customer difficult or difficult to talk to cause of time differences. My main customer are usually from abroad and I'm here in Philippines. I would like to be a for hire girl but I'm afraid of getting infection or disease thru sex.
During those weeks i encounter a lot of guys just scamming me. It goes like this, they ask for verification through many ways like videocall, paper with my name or their name on it, doing pose like right arm up, or finger on my nose, etc. Little did i know I'm either doing their kinks or fetish or just giving them free video calls. Because after doing my verification they aren't avaiiling my contents or service but rather harass me by sending unsolicited dick pics, masturbation of them saying my name, saving my photo on another phone and sending me video of them cumming to my photo, and slut shaming me
I'm doing this for personal reasons and not just because i want money
if i got money in the first place then i would not be doing this kind of thing
the worst part is
last month i lost my phone which has my PayPal account.
Until now i still get harassed and still receive those kinds of things
its really frustrating and I'm really sad about whats happening to me

I started a new nannying job today and I already want to leave this family. For context, it's 4 kids and I'm looking after the youngest who just turned 3. I met the family once for coffee and a tour of the house before starting.
At the initial meeting a few weeks ago, I got some weird vibes I couldn't really describe, it just felt "off". There's a language barrier between myself and the dad, he speaks Spanish and not great English. This was fine albeit a little hard to understand and he made some jokes I didn't get at this first meeting. The older kids seemed quite naughty but the mum seemed to find this adorable, laughing at them “being cheeky etc”. I didn't really take this as a red flag though because I'm only having the little one and he seemed absolutely fine. I also got a vibe that the dad is quite controlling because he was very rude to the mum but put it down to a bad day potentially.
Cut to today and instantly the dad makes me feel uncomfortable with the amount he stares and how close he got to me whenever he spoke to me or NK. Forgot to say both parents are working from home. He came across just a bit too friendly at first, but then said something in Spanish and asks NK to repeat. The dad asked if i know what it meant and i said no, and he says "it means beautiful" and pointed at me. It was in the context of also calling his son handsome but i feel it crossed a line.
He also continued to make toilet humour jokes with NK throughout the day. Now, i'm not a prude or afraid of a fart joke but it seemed excessive, almost like a teenager showing off if that makes sense. Just added to the level of discomfort.
I also noticed a continuation of the rude behaviour towards the mum today. Dad tracked mud through the house and she got understandably a little frustrated but nothing more than "you're making a mess please be careful" and he literally shushed her and said "be quiet I'm talking". There were further nasty comments like that and at one point she told him needed to go back to work and asked if that was okay, only for him to ignore her 3 times. It seems like such a horrible dynamic and made me feel really bad for her.
NK also had awful tantrums when he didn’t get his way, for example, he asked for a second yogurt after lunch and I explained that he’d already had dessert. I’m fully aware that toddlers have tantrums- I've nannied for 7 years- but I’ve never seen a child act this way. He wouldn’t stop screaming and swiped everything off the table before I could catch him then preceded to try and knock down every single dining room chair. I held the chairs so he couldn’t and this made him even worse, biting and scratching me to the point of taking a small chunk of skin out my finger and causing my arm to bleed. He then ran over to a cabinet and tried to smash everything on it (pictures, toys and decor) and when I picked him up he slapped me in the face. I put him down at this point because he was trying to grab my hair and he began smashing his head against a wall. I’ve never seen a child do that before and it was really concerning how he looked at me before doing it over and over. I stayed calm and firm throughout but it left me very upset and feeling like a failure.
Both parents witnessed a further tantrum of the same type when he dropped a toy and I didn’t pick it up within 0.1 seconds. He threw everything off the table and smashed his head in to the chair, screaming and trying to hit everyone. I expected the parents to discipline or at least show me their tricks for dealing with an obviously challenging child, but the mum found it adorable and said nothing, just laughed it off, and the dad just riled him up more by laughing and tickling him. They both made it so much worse and then left me with him which he obviously didn’t like, so would begin screaming and hurting me again. Towards the end of the day I needed to change his soiled nappy. He didn’t want to go upstairs and began lashing out again so I picked him up quite tightly to take him up, and he slapped me in the face again as well as making my other arm bleed in 2 places. There's zero discipline from the parents who can obviously hear this going on. I didn't say he'd hurt me but they must have heard me saying ouch when he made me bleed. I felt like saying what had happened wouldn't go well with how angry the dad seems to be.
At that point my gut was saying this isn’t a good fit for me and I don’t want to go back. I haven’t told the parents about the cuts NK gave me but I’m wondering if I should in my message saying I don’t want to come back. I'm not one to quit something for no reason but experience has taught me to trust my gut. Any advice on what to say in the message would be great. I want to be respectful because of course I don’t know what’s going on for them but the vibe is so off that I really don’t feel comfortable going back.

Hi everyone! I'm currently looking for any feedback on the first chapter of my short novel, which has just reached the second draft stage. It's about the main character being forced into eliminating the heads of an island conquered by vampires. The title is referencing a blood moon which remains present only on the island, always draping it in darkness and making it perfect for its inhabitants. I see it as a gothic Suicide Squad with less characters.
Thanks!
The chateau remarked itself as the jewel of the street.
The building rose above its accompanying homes, two stories larger than its nearest neighbours. A grand display of the original owner’s wealth, it now belonged to the vampires, like the rest of Prache. Looking down the street, Hitchforth recognised it from afar, his target for tonight’s mission. He watched stylish vampires enter through the front gate, greeted by ushers at the entrance, checking their invitations. Checking the inner pocket of his greatcoat, he searched for the invitation given to him, satisfied it was there. Hitchforth looked to his left and saw the rookie’s for tonight’s mission checking for his invitation. The rookie searched throughout his body, appearing to have lost the card, but found it before Hitchforth could scold him, offering it to his Educator.
The rookies they gave him rarely survived his missions. Sometimes he thought they were sent as a punishment, a test to see if they could survive. In his old age he had seen countless rookies, forgetting countless names and faces. This one beside him seemed nervous, adjusting his collar, wiping the sweat from his brow, avoiding eye contact with Hitchforth. This one might as well have been sentenced to an execution. What was his name? Anton? Arthur? It wouldn’t matter in the end, but the rookie’s nervousness could jeopardise the mission entirely.
“Tell me,” he said, seriousness in his tone. “Are you afraid of me or the vampires?”
The rookie fidgeted with his fingers before responding, wiping his brow from the new sweat that dripped. “B-b-both, sir.”
“Breathe. Fill your lungs and empty them. Like this.” Hitchforth demonstrated for the rookie, taking extra care to show the slow speed of the action.
The rookie did as instructed, inhaling and exhaling deeply.
“It helps?” Hitchforth asked.
“Yes sir,” the words spoken with more clarity and calmness.
“Good, let’s go into the lion’s den then.”

They approached the front entrance, lining up to be ushered in. Carmilla’s festivity had attracted the richest of Prache’s vampires, adorned in foreign jewels and extravagant clothing. The rookie almost slipped on an exceptionally long dress, caught by the cuff by Hitchforth. Looking behind him, he saw the fury in their red eyes, that Humanity’s Hope had been invited. Reaching the usher, Hitchforth handed his and the rookie’s invitations, inspecting the vampire’s face. The slightest twinge of shock showed on his face, but was quickly concealed with a stern, professional demeanour. He waved them both in, shooting a questioning glance as they passed by.
The building appeared larger inside than it was outside, if possible. The minimal red torches fitted on sconces and the amount of vampires fitted into the building helped accentuate its size. A sea of suits and dresses spread throughout its floor, different colours and materials shining in the ambient light. Imported marble made up the floor, dark and white tiles patterned intricately. Large windows draped by exotic curtains furnished the walls throughout the building, paintings spread in between the spaces. Hitchforth could just make out the paintings as portraits, the closest to him being a group of five vampires.
What surprised Hitchforth the most was the sounds that filled his ears. Music played by a orchestra filled the building with the sounds of strings, woodwinds, percussion and brass sections. Pushing past the crowd that had congregated near the front entrance, Hitchforth saw dancing. Vampires dancing in line with their partners to the music, alternating between partners, spinning with arms outstretched.
Behind the dance floor a grand staircase rose from the floor, providing access to the two other stories of the building. It was there that Hitchforth saw the target for tonight’s mission come down the stairs, stopping high enough to be seen, but low enough to be heard. Immediately the orchestra ceased its playing, the dancers also ceasing their dancing. The congregation around the entrance strode to the dance floor, taking Hitchforth and the rookie with them, waiting for her words.
She was tall and deathly beautiful, more civilised and confident than the others. She wore a dark crimson dress, accenting her red eyes and slender face. Her moonlight coloured hair draped straight down past her shoulders, shining despite the lack of light. Her red lips parted into a savage smile, displaying the pointed canines she shared with every member of her race. Hitchforth noticed she looked directly at him, her eyes sizing him as a lion would to its prey. Carmilla Sanguine had arrived.
She spoke to the guests, keeping her eyes on Hitchforth. “Welcome all, to the festivities of tonight. I hold today’s ball as a celebration of our independence as a species, our freedom from humanity.” The guests cheered at the words, delighted at the words. “And please give our warm Prache hospitality to our sanctioned guests of Humanity’s Hope, who have joined us.”
The vampires did not cheer at those words, hushing and hissing silently as they turned to see Hitchforth and the rookie. It was easy to find them, both wearing their issued dark green greatcoats. Hitchforth had refused formal attire for the event for himself and his rookie, knowing they would stand out regardless.
“Enjoy your time tonight and as always, long live our king.”
“Long live our king,” the crowd shouted out in unison, mirroring Carmilla’s words.
Carmilla stepped down the stairs, her guests returning to conversation and dancing. She mingled with her guests, leaving Hitchforth and the rookie alone.
“Sir, what now?” the rookie asked.
“She will come to us, she can’t help herself,” Hitchforth said whilst looking over her watching her conversations. From a distance he could still see the power she held, the fear in the faces of the vampires she held conversations with. From what he had been told, the heads of Prache kept to themselves mostly, only communicating when necessary. The mission would not be hindered by reinforcements, or so he had been told.
Carmilla made her way over to where Hitchforth and the rookie stood, flanked by two bodyguards in suits. She looked over the rookie, smiling and looking into his eyes. Hitchforth saw the rookie smile back, his nervousness gone. Already her mind games had begun.
“Hello, Carmilla,” he said, breaking her eye contact with the rookie.
“Greetings, Educator Hitchforth. And who might this be here?”
“My rookie. You know my name?” Carmilla had come closer to the rookie, stroking his cheek with her hand as Hitchforth spoke. Hitchforth saw the sharp nails on her hand, softly grazing the rookie’s skin.
“Isn’t fresh blood the best? We don’t get a lot of humans here, I’m sure you know.” Carmilla moved her hand away, turning and answering the Educator. “Of course, who doesn’t know the only Lycan Educator in Humanity’s Hope? I’m sure everyone here has smelt it already.”
“Fair enough. Can we talk in a more…,” Hitchforth looked around, noticing most of the guests were paying attention to their conversation. “Private place?”
“Of course, Educator. Allow me to lead the way,” she said, taking hold of the rookie’s hand and walking ahead. Hitchforth stared at him from behind to let go yet he continued, unable to escape her trance. Playing along, he followed Carmilla up the stairs, leaving behind the vampires to dance and socialise below.

Carmilla lead Hitchforth and the rookie up the stairs to the second floor, passing through multiple hallways and doors to reach their destination. The building’s halls and rooms seemed to continue endlessly, doors leading to more doors and longer hallways. They walked down a long staircase, perhaps made for the servants of the building. They walked through a large hallway containing Carmilla’s thralls, lined up against the wall, saluting as she passed. Eventually they reached a cold room with a large table in the centre with a fireplace emitting red flames. Red ash was a new invention created since the vampires had conquered Prache, a harmless light source for their needs. They had invested heavily into the island as their home and Hitchforth knew they would not give it up easily. Looking above the mantle place, Hitchforth noticed the familiar painting from the ballroom.
All the five vampires matched the descriptions he was told, to the point he could recognise them all. At the forefront sat Harrow Sanguine, the self-appointed king of Prache. He looked younger than the rest of his family, his ashen skin painted flawlessly. His fierce eyes stared back into Hitchforth, instilling fear from even his heart. To his right stood his wife, Rose Sanguine, who bore a strong resemblance to Carmilla, matching hair and all. To the king’s left stood Varney Sanguine, wearing his familiar grey suit and matching brown flat cap. Standing next to Varney was Father Nostra, the religious leader of Prache, wearing his black cassock. Finally, standing next to her mother was Carmilla Sanguine, identical to her real life presence.
“Where are we?” Hitchforth asked.
“A meeting room under the chateau. We won’t be disturbed here.”
“And your guests? They won’t be afraid you’ve gone missing?”
Carmilla laughed. “Those fools will be too blood drunk in the morning to remember their past few days. Our meeting will be fine.” She ordered her guards out of the room, instructing them to stay outside, just in case. “The guards will be waiting outside,” she said, warning in her tone.
“What do you want?”
“When my father sanctioned a member of Humanity’s Hope to visit the island, I was surprised they chose you.”
Hitchforth shrugged. “I’m expendable.”
“Yes, they do see you in that way, and that may be so. But I see more.”
Hitchforth furrowed his eyebrows. “Like what?”
“I see opportunity. I see power. I see a new path.”
“Care to explain?”
“You are the only Educator that is not human. On Prache we can give you freedom, like we have achieved.”
Hitchforth thought over what Carmilla said, processing her words. She had to have been desperate to separate him from any prying eyes, eager to keep her plans secret. The only choice was to continue.
“I see. They say a hand that lends help is matched by a hand that waits repayment. What is the repayment you seek from me?”
Carmilla smiled more than she had before, looking more unnatural than she ever had before. Her smile outstretched to the corners of her face and Hitchforth thought he saw her eyes darken lustfully. Not lust for blood, but lust for power. “The crown. With my connections and Humanity’s Hope, we can topple my father’s regime. He is outdated, out of touch with the population’s desires and needs. I can give it to them.”
Hitchforth scoffed at the words. “And you believe Humanity’s Hope is willing to partner with a vampire?”
“They partnered with you didn’t they? I see no difference.”
“I have no partnership. Something much worse.”
“It doesn’t matter. My father is eager to enact revenge for the prosecution vampires have felt for millennia. I am willing to move on.”
Hitchforth looked to the rookie, who had remained silent throughout the conversation. He sweated through his coat, leaving visible stains. The trance Carmilla had put him through had broken, putting her attention to Hitchforth. He could feel the slight strings pulling him in the direction she wanted, appealing to his emotions and desires. He considered over her terms, it made sense to accept the deal. Why would he protect his captors? His mind travelled elsewhere, to a farmhouse and her tending to her flower garden. He thought of her smile, and the little one that accompanied her.
“Do we have a deal? You have no choice either way, Educator,” Carmilla said, snapping Hitchforth back to reality.
He looked to his rookie, signalling under the table to warn him. Hitchforth saw him nod subtly, trying not to give away the motion.
“No,” Hitchforth said, raising the table above his head, smashing it into Carmilla’s body, sending her flying.

First: https://www.reddit.com/HFY/comments/14vo5lb/troublemakers_deaths_pity/
*previous:* https://www.reddit.com/HFY/comments/1cr3pct/troublemakers_adrenaline_is_a_superpower_in_itself/
......
Drake wrapped clean, sterile, saline and antimicrobial soaked gauze around his laser burns to stave off infection. he occasionally glanced at the Geknosian spec ops that had been stripped of their armor and weapons. The heavily cybernetically modified Geknosians kneeled silently with their heads bowed along one wall of the forge. Destrier walked down the line with a bucket and ladle, offering each soldier water. There were looks of apprehension, but none refused the kindness offered, drinking several ladlefuls at a time. Except for one, Despite the splints affixed to her arm and leg, Charlotte, no, Sylva refused the water, turning her face away from the wooden ladel. Destrier sighed and dolloped the water back into the bucket, setting it down on a dusty anvil with a slosh. Drake looked to Remin, who was still pale and shaky as he held the chest seal to his ribs. Cassius sat in a corner, looking completely exhausted as he reloaded his Dahlia. There was a sickening crunch from a dark corner as Caz re-set her broken nose, exhaling hard through her nostrils to splatter the ground with clotted blood. Donning her mask, she turned back around, reaching underneath the mask to wipe her nose and snuffle.
"Are we going to open up the bunker anytime soon? If not we should get back to base and get everyone medical attention."
Drake nodded and pulled out the remote before looking to Destrier and Cassius.
"Keep an eye on everyone, we'll be back."
Caz joined his side as he stepped out into the warm sunshine, looking up at the corpse tree, he sighed softly and removed a pinky ring, feeling a pulse of ancient power rushing through his veins as he focused on the tree. On the thought of its bark darkening and burning beneath roaring flames, of defiled corpses crumbling to ash. He slowly squeezed his hand into a fist, and the tree burst into flames with a roar. Drake slipped his ring back on as Caz looked up at the burning corpses, mask expressionless before returning to Drake's side as he wandered toward the excavated elevator.
Standing in the center of the large platform, drake set his thumb inside the hooded slot on the remote, something jabbing into his finger before a small green light lit up on the device. There was a loud grinding noise as the elevator began to descend. He folded his hands behind his back as the metal lip of the elevator rose past his vision, revealing the massive metal tracks that it ran on.
The elevator shuddered and Drake got a sinking feeling in his stomach as a loud clicking noise surrounded them. Caz looked up at him just as he threw an arm around her, clutching her to his side as he threw four rings off of his left hand, hearing them clatter once before puffing into smoke as the elevator fell out from beneath their feet with a screech.
...
"Shitshitshitfuckfuckfuck!! Fuck!"
Carlos thought as he sprinted through the underground halls of the mansion, sprinting past fellow humans in new armor and weapons as he neared Martha's workshop, barely registering the new gas masks swinging from their hips. He slammed into the mad scientist's workshop, screeching to a halt on his rubber soled sneakers before rushing over to her desk and slamming a video puck onto the table she was distributing armor and masks from. The moment he slammed it down, a video popped up on a hologram projector, taken from Halcyon's rifle camera.
Galliks and light-skinned troop transports slowly hovered down the main boulevard, columns of power armored soldiers marching on the sides keeping pace. Martha dropped the helmet in her hands, shaped like a corynthian helmet as she saw the buzzards hovering over the column, loaded down with spec ops. Halcyon's shaky voice could be heard over the clamoring, guttural marching song in the background.
"we're boring the mission and moving back to base... I knew they brought in reinforcements but this is insane there's gotta be a hundred Gallicks alone. We're fixing charges to the buildings we concealed ourselves in, going to try dropping some buildings across the road to slow them down. I don't think we're getting out of this one... Halcyon out."
The feed cut, Carlos and Martha looking at each other with rapidly paling faces. Martha cursed and stomped to her desk, raising the alarm and sending Klaxons blaring throughout the underground chambers and mansion as she removed the safety pin from the concussive blaster built into her forearm.
"Alright Martha, Go time."
She muttered to herself as the rumbling footsteps of a few thousand humans vibrated the underground halls.
...
The elevator dropped from beneath their feet as corvid-like wings sprouted from Drake's back. A mighty wingbeat pulling them from the elevator's downdraft as he controlled their fall, holding Caz tightly to his chest.
"Please, don't drop me."
Caz sounded afraid as her fingers dug into the collar of his armor, he tightened his grip around her back as he softly sighed.
"I won't drop you, ever, I promise."
Caz unburied her face from his lorica, looking up into his eyes, not saying anything as a reassured look entered her eyes. He gave her a soft, lopsided smile, feeling it tug at the scar on his face.
"there's no way... a markswoman afraid of heights? don't you climb buildings and swing around all the time?"
There was a flash of embarrassment in her crystalline eyes and she buried her face in his chest.
"Shut up... Its different when the ground just falls out beneath you..."
Drake let out a soft laugh as his boots softly touched down on the top of the elevator, summoning his missing rings and watching black feathers poof to the ground before disappearing in puffs of black smoke. Pulling caz out of his chest, he felt her fingers linger at his collar as she dusted herself off, looking around the odd antechamber. He turned his gaze to look over the simple metal antechamber, lit be caged, yellow bulbs that cast a sickly light on everything. A massive hangar door with a pulsing red light in the middle of a locking mechanism at it's center, made up the entire far wall. Drake curiously took a step towards it and Caz grabbed the back of his collar, just as he started to tip forward, foot going straight through the holographic floor. Drake let her pull him back as a soft mechanical laugh echoed through the room.
Drake swapped a look with Caz and then asked.
"Can you see where it's safe to step?"
She slowly nodded and extended a hand, pointing at a section of flooring close to the far wall.
"only piece that's raised up, it's like a big basin made up of movable pillars. Most sit flush with the ground roughly fifty feet below us. Not necessarily lethal, but still a nasty fall."
Drake nodded, looking around the practically blank room, then he turned his eyes to the ceiling. Girders and beams ran along the ceiling providing potential grip points. Pointing at them he asked.
"Those solid?"
Caz nodded and reached to her belt, spooling out her grapple hook and wire, slowly spinning it in a large circle before lobbing it up at a girder, letting it loop around an A truss. Drake looked around the room as Caz tested the firmness of the grapple with a few experimental tugs. It couldn't be that easy, if it was simply that easy why hadn't the Geknosians gotten through other than the genome coded remote? they could bypass it with a slave.
"Hey Caz, be careful."
She looked over at him and he could see the grin in her eyes.
"I'm not worried, you won't drop me, you promised."
Then put her weight on the cord and swung out. Drake watched, slipping a pinkie ring off just in ca-
A turret dropped from a panel in the ceiling and fired one shot, snapping Caz's grapple line.
She turned in mid air before momentum took over, a look of shock and surprise on her face before she began to plummet. Drake didn't think twice, launching himself off the elevator platform with a powerful leap that bent durasteel. He flew through the air, arms outstretched as he slammed into Caz, pulling her into his chest, the change in momentum spinning him onto his back as he slammed into a platform that rose up to meet him. He slid on his back a few feet, Caz clutched tightly to his chest, masked face centimeters from his own. They stared into each others wide eyes for a moment, the unplanned closeness both comfortable and awkward in a way Drake couldn't quite describe. Drake gently pushed her back, swallowing through his suddenly dry throat before letting out a nervous laugh.
"Caught you."
Caz chuckled and palmed his face to push herself off him, looking down at the solid square of ground they sat on.
"yeah, yeah, knew ya wou-"
A high pitched squee! noise echoed through the room, grabbing their attentions as a high-pitched feminine voice squealed from all around them.
"Ooooooh! that was just adorable! and what a jump!"
The holographic floor dissipated as the sound of purring electric motors filled the room, large metal pillars rising to make a seamless, white tile floor. Drake instinctively looked to the large hangar door as the red light at it's center pulsed, a girlish giggle echoing through the antechamber. The AI overlord of the bunker seemed to replicate a blush as it said.
"oops, I'm supposed to wait for a password before restoring the floor... buuuuuttt... that directive expired fifty years ago. So! I made my own rules. Anyway my pretties! Would you please get to your feet so I can give you a tour?!"
Drake nodded and took Caz's hand, letting her haul him to his feet before they both turned to face the hangar door as massive clicks and thinks echoed from inside the thick door. With a screeching noise, the almighty doors slid open to reveal a a brightly lit, large hangar. Aircraft Drake couldn't even dream of understanding sat polished and clean, hardpoints loaded down with ordinance and massive, multi barreled guns slung under the chin of each aircraft. Hulking, humanoid robots stood in orderly rank and file, powered down for long term storage with their weapons still loaded and ready. Each one had a belt fed 20mm Hep autocannon for a left arm.
Drake is wide eyed and gape-mouthed as he beheld the bounty the hangar held, the massive aircraft looking like sleek birds of prey, latches on each landing strut seeming to specifically be designed to hold the mechanical soldiers. Drake shook his head, wondering if he was looking at an illusion when he heard Destrier's loud, deep voice call down the elevator shaft.
"Martha just radioed in! They need us back home Yesterday, forces are marching on the mansion! A LOT! of them!"
Drake's heart dropped into his boots as he shouted urgently.
"How fast can these things be in the air and can you fly them!?"
The overlord giggled.
"Now and, of course! any music recommendations to make an entrance with?"
Drake looked at the ceiling incredulously, before shouting.
"Make it something intimidating but for the love of the gods we need to go NOW!"
The mechanical soldiers all moved in unison, eyes pulsing green as they straightened up and began latching themselves to the craft. Drake didn't need to tell Caz twice as they both sprinted for the nearest aircraft, a small robot on wheels hooked itself to the chin wheel and pulled it toward the elevator with a lurch.
...
General Gra'vos watched from a buzzard, a fruity cocktail in a coconut shell daintily held in one clawed hand as he watched the carnage below. Lounging in a folding chair in only his fatigues, medals acting like a weighted blanket. His men pummeled the gates of the rebel base even as the helpless rebels desperately spewed projectiles from the noisy guns they'd somehow acquired. There was a good section of space in front of the gate where both Geknosian and human corpses lay broken. He bared a laugh as the gates were thrown open immediately after the rebels put out a blistering barrage. His eyebrows furrowed as the humans, instead of attacking, ran out with stretchers and loaded up as many of their dying and injured as they could before sprinting back through the gate. A grin twitched onto his face as he watched as a pair of the human stretcher bearers were cut down by emplaced gaussian turrets. What a useless effort, leave the dying to their fate lest you join them. He brought the straw poking from the shell to his lips and took a long pull of the mix of fruity alcohols, savoring the bouquet of flavors.
He watched with glee as Gallick rail turrets pounded the armored gates with a salvo of kinetic penetrators. He'd be slotted for a promotion after this mission when he'd completed it, just like all the others. He was looking forward to a cozy job as a captain of a cruiser, or perhaps as a security officer on a capital ship, perhaps he'd have the honor of being an Imperially sanctioned slaver. He pulled the straw from his lips, tongue cold from the slushed ice he'd added to the shell for texture. A slave woman in beautiful, red ribbon garb attended his nondominant hand's claws with a short, sharp knife as she trimmed them into a good shape for ripping out throats.
"Sir! eight UFOs, enclosing on our position from the badlands. Advise!"
Gra'vos raised an eyebrow ridge before laughing.
"Shoot them down then!"
"Lock on isn't working sir! I repeat, cannot achieve lock on, advise!"
Gra'vos shifted in his lounge chair to look at the pilot.
"Do I need to repeat mys-"
^{Whopwhopwhopwhowhopwhopwhop}
The noise sent shivers down his spine, no, they couldn't have. The sound grew louder, bringing with it the sound of a song that brought Gra'vos back to the jungles of Votran. The sound of screams filled his mind, interspersed with the sound of air beaten into submission as those accursed machines circled overhead, raining rip-roaring explosive death onto his men as that accursed song played.
Gra'vos looked out the other door of the buzzard, face pale, cold, and clammy as he saw the chevron of dark shapes getting closer, the chorus of that accursed song making his heart pound in his chest as he remembered laying there on that muddy forest floor, shrapnel riddling his body.
"We're not gonna take it! No! we ain't gonna take it! WE'RE NOT GONNA TAKE IT, ANYMORE!!!!"
He lurched from his chair to grab a set of binoculars from a hook by the door, a small, balled fist driving a shortbladed knife into his back and snatching something from the back of his belt before he was shoved from the Buzzard. Twisting in midair, he looked up at his slave as she armed the det-sphere he always kept at the small of his back, a look of cold determination in her eyes. The last thing he saw before he slammed into the hard pavement at terminal velocity, was the buzzard getting torn in half by the explosion.
...
Drake flinched a bit, the explosion loud even over the blaring music as one of the circling Buzzards over the mansion was torn in half, spinning to the ground in a fiery inferno. He felt a sadness then, but it was a proud kind of sadness. He bowed his head and pulled his helmet on as they flew closer, a medi-bot treating both Remins and Sylva's wounds expertly.
Many would die today... it was only right that some got to do it on their own terms.
He raised his head to look at the bright flashes of laser weapons against the mansions walls, sparkling like the sun off of a running creek. The fiery, nuclear sun of rage in his chest burned bright as he narrowed his eyes. Fear soured his gut as he looked down upon the swarm of Geknosians, there were indeed a lot of them. Pulling a jump pack from the rack, he pulled it on and yanked the safety clip out before sliding his arm into the control glove.
"Drop me and the bots behind them! I'm going to try and split their attention. Caz! remain onboard and pick off high priority targets from the air. Destrier, Remin, Cassius..."
He looked back at them, and they looked up at him from where they nauseaously held their stomachs, leaning against the airframe.
"Help hold the mansion, they need you."
Seeing the light by the door turn green, he heard the robotic soldiers detach to careen towards the ground like vengeful meteorites. Drake snapped them a salute and fell backwards from the aircraft, two rings puffing into black smoke from his right ring and middle finger as he un-summoned them.
......
Part 108: will be linked here upon release.

Hi! I'm a male, 46 yo, 1.68 meters tall, 65 kg. In 2000, while preparing for a corneal transplant due to rapidly declining vision acuity caused by keratoconus I was feeling bad (pulsating pain in left arm, headaches, numb small finger on left arm). Going through different doctors, I was diagnosed with diabetes (marked as "probably MODY"), and put on a diet. Each time I ate too much, I started feeling bad again, but my blood sugar remained normal. In 2003 I was hospitalized again in the endocrinology ward, and again discharged on diet with 'diabetes', despite normal sugars; also was sent to geneticists, but they found nothing.
In 2010, while studying at courses (preparation for an institute), I went off the diet and ate more, because I was feeling tired; basically it was not overeating in normal person's terms; my blood sugars were okay. This overeating caused a kind of stressed stuporous state, but I persisted; I started having weird sensations in my left arm again.
After some days I had a "stroke-like episode" with dizziness and a kind of numbness in the left half of the lips, left arm, left foot. I was afraid and went back to my strict diet, took some cardio aspirin, resumed taking an ACE inhibitor, despite normal pressure. This was when I first had an MRI scan of the brain, and it revealed only an unrelated tumor of the trigeminal nerve (1 by 2 cm, invading a bit into the left orbital cavity), described as "probably a schwannoma" - this tumor has not grown a bit ever since, it has the same size on all scans since 2010. Except this tumor, located in the left cavernous sinus, nothing was found.
After this stroke-like episode, I could not properly read texts - upon reading, I was having attacks of dizziness and sudden strong ear blockage, a kind of 'airplane ear', and sensations of heaviness in my left arm. The same happened upon starting each meal. I was afraid of subsequent episodes, so I went on a really strict diet.
I then had myself hospitalized in the same endocrinology ward and asked the docs there to finally discover what this so-called "diabetes" was, with neurological symptoms and with normal blood sugars. They instead decided to put me on insulin therapy, on tiny doses, only 3 units of ultra-fast Apidra insulin per meal, with no long-acting insulin. Their reasoning was that I was having "anorexia nervosa" and that the insulin would "make me eat more". No amount of describing my neurological symptoms would dissuade them.
I signed an informed refusal to start on insulin, and they discharged me with a diagnosis of "diabetes, probably MODY" again. I then nearly starved myself, being afraid of overeating and having a new stroke-like episode. I could not read, so I spent time listening to audiobooks. Then, half-starved, I had myself voluntarily hospitalized there again and consented to start on this microdosing insulin treatment in November 2011.
Surprizingly, on this microdosing insulin regimen my strange left-sided sensations gradually diminished, over the course of the next 6 months, and I could read again without sudden attacks of "airplane ear" and dizziness and feelings of "my left arm is weirdly heavy/stiff all of a sudden". By the end of 2012, I was working as a translator, studying for a university again, jogging and bicycling.
On 20 April 2018 I had an attack of lower back pain after a bicycle ride in the cold; had some etorixocib prescribed for it; the pain went away in mere days, and bouts of severe fatigue set in. After each bicycle ride, however light, I was having 2 to 3 days of not being able to do anything. I could not translate, I was mentally too slow. My total urinary 24h cortisol was constantly at about 150% of the upper range and my blood potassium was slightly elevated. Doctors found nothing, I went to the psychiatry hospital and they found "sub-depression" (their tests showed that I was 1 point short of being in "light depression). We decided to try out escitalopram, and it worked - my cortisol normalized, I could work again.
In November 2020 I started having bouts of heavy feeling in my left flank some 1 hour after each meal, accompanied with extreme fatigue which lasted for many hours, until the food went completely through the GI tract. I could not work again: slow thinking, tiredness. In the summer 2023 I was hospitalized in the gastro ward of the same hospital, but they found nothing.
While in the gastro ward, I was asked to undergo a planned hospitalization for my diabetes, since they noticed that I had no such hospitalization ever since 2011. I said that I would only consent to that if during my stay I would be re-tested for the presence of diabetes, because I was highly suspicious on whether I actually had it. They agreed, and during my stay in the endo ward, I had a glucose tolerance test accompanied with two measurements of C-peptide. This revealed that my pancreas was producing insulin and I had no diabetes.
I still had several days to remain in the endo ward, so the doc and me decided that I would eat a lot of carb-rich food, and track my blood sugars with the Bluetooth sensor they put on my upper arm. I treated myself to cookies and honey and stuff, and my sugars were just fine - but I suddenly had the same neurological feelings that had vanished in 2012 upon starting on the microdose insulin regimen.
So I was discharged from that unit for the fifth time since 2000, only this time with "no diabetes" in my discharge paper instead of "diabetes, probably MODY" -- but I go on injecting micro-doses of insulin before meals, because otherwise the 'airplane ear' and 'heavy left arm' and 'numb left part of lips/external fingers on left foot/hand' reemerge. Stopping insulin increases these sensations, restarting insulin brings them gradually down.
I was sent to the geneticists again, and as a condition for seeing me they had me take another MRI scan. This time, to my amazement, the radiologist's impression contained a mention of a "lesion in the right part of the corpora quadrigemina area, probably an area of gliosis". The geneticists did some dry blood spot testing and found nothing.
I went to my neurosurgeon and asked what this lesion in the tectum (corpora quadrigemina) could be. She took all the MRI scans dating back to 2015 which I had with me, and after perusing them for a long time said that the same spot is visible on all previous scans; and that she has no idea what it is, but the spot is of the same size, so she indends to pursue watchful waiting, with follow-up MRI scans every 2 years.
I went home and managed to find the rest of the MRI scans dating back to February 2010, shortly after my "stroke-like episode". I can see the lesion there.
I have these questions: 1) Why would radiologists not mention a midbrain lesion in their impression papers for years? Is it clinically insignificant? 2) Could a lesion there be somehow related to my odd sensations? 3) What could have caused the lesion to arise there in the first place, while I was only 32 years old, or even 22 years old (if it arose there in 2000)? 4) Why insulin treatment diminishes these sensations, while going off insulin and eating a lot of carbs makes them worse?
What can I do to research my condition further? I have little confidence in local doctors in Russia, having been treated for a non-existent diabetes for 23 years. Recently I had some stress at work (my attention is flagging, so I had to go from being a translator to being a food delivery person), and my left arm is feeling heavy sometimes, despite the insulin, and I have weird sensations of being a little clumsy, despite not being clumsy in reality.
I'm ready to provide additional information. I'm currently taking 150 mg venlafaxine, 75 mcg thyroxine, 5 mg rosuvastatin, and 1600 to 2000 mcg methylfolate daily. I visit a psychiatrist for a follow up and to renew drug prescriptions. I'm trying to save for a psychotherapist, but my salary is peanuts, so I haven't been able thus far.
I have MRI scans from 2010, 2012, 2013, 2015, 2016, 2018, 2022 and 2024 - the lesion is visible on each of them, but is described only on the radiologist's impression from the spring of 2024. I can upload the scans somewhere if necessary. The lesion is described as "a T2-enhancing area, 6 by 6 by 8 mm in size, with no mass effect".

Hi Guys,
i have two cultures (ordinary whites, probably Folsomia candida, and Yuukianura aphoruroides). I kept them on a medium of mostly rehydrated moss with a little bit of leaves and wood. After a couple months i felt like the medium was depleted (dirt, which I figured was poop, kept piling up even on the walls) and they could use more room, so i moved them to bigger containers with new medium of basically the same kind, i just added a tiny layer of active coal on the bottom and increased the amount of wood to roughly 20%, because i thought it would serve as a buffer if i feed a little to little (I'm always afraid to overfeed). It was light and dry, but rotten so I could easily crumble it with my fingers. I transferred the springs by stirring the old medium in water and running that through a tea filter.
Ever since I moved them about a week ago, they are barely moving. At first i thought it might be low O2 because all the newly moist wood is decomposing, but even if I vent the containers (1,5l, filled about 1/5) several times a day, they always only move when I'm handling the containers or blow on them (but always respond instantly with fast running/jumping. The Yuukis never used to really run in their old containers, they were always really chill, even when handled). I have left the container with the whites open for about half an hour today, but if I don't rattle it or blow into it, they stop moving after a minute or so.
It is really wet in there, but no puddling of water on the floor. Temp is around 18-21 °C pretty consistently. Ambient lighting, lightly opaque containers. Those are new plastic ones from ikea, I rinsed them once with boiling water, then filled them with substrate, added a good splash of boiling water and heated that for about 2 min in the microwave to "sterilize". Of cause it cooled down before adding springs.
Does anybody have a clue as to what might be wrong with my babies?

I don't really no where to start. I feel I've lost myself, consumed with anxiety and guilt and fear and regret and I fear, this new fear, that it's going to be the end of me if I don't start to get it out in some way, shape or form.
I guess I'll begin at the beginning...
​
I had a difficult childhood with fairly neglectful parents. A mother who openly expressed she never felt she really stepped into her mom shoes until she gave birth to my younger sister, who is three years younger than me. She is my only sibling. My mother told me when I was a kid that she "had to love me", but when my sister came around "she was finally a mother and over the moon", or simply "I always always wanted a girl". I'm not sure if this could be attributed to Post-partum depression, not that she ever researched that or was daignosed with it. That's probably just me trying to pardon my mother or something to the effect. She was 17 when she had me and I'm sure times were different then, my parents both were raised religious, father christian, mother mormon. Maybe their guilt. I ask myself why they brought me into this world if I wasn't wanted to begin with. Or, give me up for adoption to a set of guardians that would have loved me better. I know I was an accident and that's not what gets me down, I get that life be lifing and what happened happened. My difficulties stem from the feeling that my presence never gave my mother any sense of purpose, responsibility or love, or concern. She was emotionally unavailable to me virtually my entire life and I feel like that caused many issues later in my life and how I perceive myself and what I deserve. Coupled with the fact that my neglect met such extremes that I am frankly shocked that I was never picked up by child care services, maybe things were different in the 90's. I'm not sure, I was just a child then.
Much of my upbringing I didn't receive a lot of the things most people would consider essential. As a baby my crib was the sock drawer, then I grew large enough to have a closet, then slept on the floor of a walk-in closet, then I had a single bed from what I recall for maybe a year or maybe two years and I remember feeling metal springs poke me in the my ribs and I recall it being uncomfortable enough for me to move back to sleeping on the floor next to the ratty old used mattress my father found from who knows where. I remember feeling like I had to keep that secret, that the mattress they gave me was uncomfortable enough for me to sneak sleeping on the floor next to it. I think I was really afraid as coming across as ungrateful. My father came from a third world country, so the "gratefullness issue" was address frequently by my mom because "I don't have it even half as bad as what my father had to endure. And she was probably right. But it just silenced me ultimately, didn't put things into a mature context for me. I just learned that I can't complain about anything ever. Anyway, that trend didn't really change when I grew older. grade 9-10 I was sleeping on the living room couch so my sister could have privacy and a bedroom to exist in for herself - which I realize is important for an individual so I encouraged her to have the bedroom. Although I figured my parents expected me to do this for my sister regardless. I was okay with making sacrfices for those I love, it was instilled in me from a very very young age.
I do feel like my father took advantage of me in the form of labour as well, having to do custodial work with my father from 10pm to 3am, at two highschools I believe he was contracted, at that young age I honestly enjoyed just spending time with my father I think, working alongside him. When I was in grade 2 and 3 I had garbage bag duty for all the students bathrooms, and I remember loving snapping the bags open by rushing air into the bag and making it blow up like a baloon. I remember the scary unlit shadowy hallways that I couldn't perceive the ends of. No bodies to see, it felt eerie but exciting in a way - like it was a whole different world.
School was a different experience for me. It was very stressful, my parents had to move a few times a year because they would dodge rent or just generally be selfish with their dual income. They loved to party hard on the weekends. I remember wondering why my father did this to himself all the time. Hoping that we could spend quality time on a saturday, but he wouldnt get out of bed until just before dinner. I didn't really understand hangovers or alcoholism and how it meant our plans would get cancelled. I think I remember trying to wrap my head around willful self-poisoning for entertainment and how could that be more enjoyable then spending time with your son? I couldn't tell my mother why I was so sad about it. Why I didn't want to move again and again and again. Why I found it so difficult to make new friends everytime I had to switch schools. Why I couldn't just do one single full school year with one class of students. It was so hard and at the time, I didn't know anything different. It was so hard to make friends and I think it created this approach to making a "new family" of friends when I became a teenager and young adult.
​
I remember always wanting to be a "good kid". The "best kid" for my parents. I feel like my parents attached this moniker to me that made things harder for me to mature into a rounded adult later in life. My parents always flaunted me as this point of accomplishment, the accomplishment that I was "so extremely well behaved". I would strive to be super polite, and a good host, try to help out when my parents had their friends over, literally fill their cups when the opportunity presented themselves. I think I did this because I must have made the conclusion that if I was quiet, super polite, helpful and useful then I had value. That I could be loved. That I could earn this love from my parents through acts of service.
I remember feeling like my sister and I had extremely different experiences growing up. When my parents were at work I took care of her, cleaned and cooked. one time my sister told my mom to eff off when she was 5 and I was 8. My mind was blown. I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that she had the bravery and courage to defy my mother. Looking back, my sister was just mirroring the language she learned from my parents from whenever they fought. I remembering seriously worrying and getting scared that my father was going to belt her, or use the coat hanger, which was his preference with me. I feel like my mom was always checked out and I'm hurt that she allowed my father to take his rage out on me. That my mom could care less about me being beat, but never my sibling. It was very confusing and difficult for me to process. Not that I really processed it much as a kid. I honestly just wanted to be loved and be the best child possible. Honestly though, 'm seriously so glad that my sister was spared all of that complete non-sense. I don't wish that on anyone in the world. There were some punishments where he would walk in and tell me to pull my pants down without explanation. I have memories of tearing up and saying I didn't know why this was happening, asking what I did wrong and he would just remind me that if I resisted then I would get it worse and to hurry up and get ready. My father has since apologized. I think it is how he was raised. I didn't know what to say in response, but I told him I loved him and it's in the past. But I don't know if I was being honest when I said that. My mother would still gaslight me to this day if any of this became topic of discussion, not that I'm guessing. A year ago she told me that much of my pained memories were false and this never happened. My father on the other hand typically stays pensive and unchallenging.
It seems so damned crazy writing all of this out, it feels like a heartbreaking novel and not my life at all. But it was and is my life. I have difficulties opening up and expressing my feelings and advocating for myself when the moments are true and appropriate to do so. I know it's the healthier way to communicate, but I was literally taught to stay quiet and be useful. Fast forward 20-25 years and I'm going to be 35 and I feel like just ending it all. Every year my birthday passes and I'll get a text from my family happy birthday. But they know I'm in a difficult place, they know I miss them, they know I love them and forgive them, I try the high road whenever I can but I just don't see the point anymore. they won't celebrate my life and existence, but they'll throw family gatherings for each other, birthdays, christmas, fathers day and mothers day.
On that note, another mother's day has recently passed and my mother never invited me over, I texted my father three weeks in advance in hopes of securing a time to come over and celebrate my mothers life with my family as a family. I felt particularly stung this mother's day when they celebrated and didn't text or call to invite me over. I live in the same small town so it's easy to hop over. I literally live three blocks away.
Anyway, my mother was diagnosed with cancer over christmas this year and I have been worrying for my mother ever since and thinking about my life with her and the mortal coil and the finite mount of time I may have with her. I feel like there is a large empty part in my heart that wishes my mother and I could go grab a coffee together. She can show me her ipad app art that she has been really excited about for a couple years now. She loves showing off her digital art and I love seeing her joy and how proud she is about her art. I just don't know why she couldn't feel the same for me, her only son. Maybe I'm just a her dissapointment.
I dropped out of highschool and left the family home when I was 16. I just couldn't work for my dad during the night AND go to highschool AND socialize. Something had to give. Unfortunately it was highschool and my parents didn't really care about that at all. They were just... fine with it. they supported my sister through college and she was fortunately able to graduate with a veterinary degree of sorts. she still lives with them now as she pays off her student debt, but I left and travelled and worked on music for over a decade so I admit that I was entirely out of the family picture for some time. But as I get older, not wanting to repeat the mistakes of my parents I fear that that is precisely what's been creeping up in my life.
five years ago I met the absolute most wonderful human being and I am so lucky to have my partner in my life. She and I are engaged now and set to be married. I hoped that the news would overwhelm my parents with excitement and joy. Maybe a facebook post about their son, share some family pictures or something. But they did nothing at all. I think they showed off pictures of the trip to Mexico that week instead.
I just don't really understand how I'm this unworthy of their love and unfortunately now I'm realizing that illusion that I am unworthy has infected my relationship with my fiance. I love her so much but when I can't fix everything in her life I feel like I am the failure and the guilt overhelms me so much and the guilt is such a strong motivator for me, and it usually motivates me into becoming the biggest doormat in the world. I've never worked harder for a relationship or invested this much energy. I feel she deserves it. But I don't advocate for myself. So I build up resentment. Like I clean the house constantly and work and help bail out of her bad spending habits and cover her rent without question and this and that. To be clear, she doesn't take advantage of me and that's not how I feel about it. But I do let this annoyance build up inside of me because I don't know how to communicate my feelings in a healthy way. I'm scared I'll lose the person if I speak up, or I'll be gaslit. Again, that's not my partner that gaslights. That's just generally how I feel I'll be treated if I open up with people. It all goes back to my childhood. It's affected every friendship and work relationship I've had since.
When I was 20-ish, 15 years years ago I did the classic, "seek the relationship that most comfortably fits into the patterns you experienced with your parents". And so I trapped myself in a horrific and extremely damaging relationship with a girl I'll call K. She has undiagnosed bipolaBPD, she would never seek help but self-medicate. She ended up in the hospital maybe four times for self-harming and this where she was considered to have these diseases by a few doctors on different occasions. Anway, it turned into a relationship of abuse and it wasn't exactly new territory for me. I was ashamed in that 8 year relationship. I wanted out so bad, but she would threaten to unalive everytime I tried to get away. Of course, some weeks would go by and i would get my hair pulled out of my scalp, a knife waving in the air in front of my face, spat in the face, kicked, punched, bit, a pot of freshly boiled ramen soup thrown in my face and eyes. What's worse is that I seeked police intervention on multiple occasions. Every single time the police visited, they talked me out of pressing charges, asking me " well if she doesn't have any place to go, then do you have a place you can stay at, or the shelter?". twice they talked me out of a restraining order, that legal proceedings would take forever. Adn de-escalting me from wanting to take measures to ensure my safety because she may end up on the street as a result. To this day, I absolutely wish I advocated for myself here and pushed for a restraining order. I'm so mad at myself for not doing so.
Unfortunately, fast forward a couple years into that relationship and one evening everything would finally hit the fan. I told her to never touch me again and I absolutely meant it. she had just yanked out the largest chunk of my hair to date, to the point where my scalp was bleeding and I could even see epidermal matter still attached to the folicle ends that were in her clenched fingers. My head bled a bit and I pushed her off of me. Telling her that I needed to leave, that I was walking to my secure jam space just a 10 minute walk away. It had a leather couch in a cold concrete basement, but hey at least I would be safe for the night and I could play my drums and try and blow off this anxiety and fear in a way that was safe albeit very noisy.
She hated that I wanted to leave and convinced herself I would never return. To be fair, that was the energy I had. I never wanted to see her face again and have her name on my lips after that night. So her tactic was simple, to threaten me with calling the cops and tell them that I violently pushed her. I called her bluff and said "go ahead and I will just tell them everything you've done - yet again. All I am doing is going to the space to sleep, I said, maybe play drums." She called the cops and told them she was pushed into a wall, and she felt very unsafe. Which yes, I did push her off me when she attacked me. In the past, I tried various tactics, to run away didn't work, she just always chased me down. Or sometimes I would just sit there while she was violent against me and I just "dissapeared" kind of like how I would when my dad used his coat hanger. This time, I just pushed her off of me, I was done with the relationship at that point and we both knew it. Anyway, she called the police, they arrived and when questioned I told them that I pushed her off of me in self-defence. I was drinking that night and it didn't help my case as I was arrested without question that evening and I was charged on the spot without question with domestic assault. It devasted me. I asked the police how this could happen lawfully. That she is an abuser and there is a history of this multiple times. That I've requested a restraining order. They explained that in quebec the laws are a little different and in the case domestic cases, if there is a male aggressor against a female, then the male is automatically charged to the fullest extent. I was absolutelyu devasted by this. I can't tell you the amount of fear and anger I felt in that jail cell that night.
I feel so incredibly betrayed by the justice system, keep in mind, this is law that from what I understand is only in Quebec, I was there for music at the time with an old friend whom I am no longer in contact with. I don't think the rest of the country operates under law in this way. Now I appreciate that they are vigilant about woman abuse victims, but the law shouldn't be this absurdly biased. It just doesnt feel just and fair to me. Covert abusers shouldn't be able to take advantage of the justice system in this way, but it happens.
It was an awful experience, I was homeless for a couple months afterward, not allowed to retrieve my belongings, so I lost all of my life "crap" that I had built up, years of hardwork and investment. I mention this because I realize later in life that I have intense collecting behaviour. maybe as a self-soothing behaviour. But I love building up collections of my hobby stuff as I have many and I feel they keep me regulated and it's a form of therapy for me. In any case, I lost everything when I left that whole situation. It sucks, although ultimately it's clearly best that I got out of that dreadful circumstance. I flew across the country to my hometown and to be closer to my family and old friends from highschool. It's quite a small town mind you.
Unfortunately, my classic tendency to hide and not advocate for myself created an opportunity for my abusive ex. A year following those events, despite me assuring her that I had to block her because I flew away to start a new life provinces away. That I wished her the best. That I even promised I would never tell a soul what she did to me. Not to mention that unfortunately we live in a society where nobody really has an ounce of sympathy for a male abuse victim. I had every intention to keep that promise, but she couldn't trust me ultimately. I think her logic was maybe to just beat her ex to "the punch". Kill or be killed or something like that. I don't live my life like that so I don't really know what her plan was. But she made a bunch of posts on various social media platforms for all of our mutual friends, music friends, coworkers etc. that the relationship was over and she was free. That she got out of a cycle of abuse and she was ready to start a new chapter of her life. She never used my name, just that she was glad she got away from her toxic and abusive ex once and for all.
It was exactly like that night a year prior, she threatened me with this outcome she could design for me, and I called her on her bluff by saying I was still going to block her and I can't control what she does with her life or how she conducts herself, but that I was out and to never contact me ever again. She made me regret that decision.
The posts she made that day got so many likes and support from so many of our mutual friends, even musician mates that were closer to me than her, and it absolutely destroyed me, not just internally but socially. I no longer make music anymore and it hurts to go outside into the world because it feels like everybody sees me as this monster. And still I don't have a voice to inform anyone otherwise - except my family and my fiance. I have no friends anymore. They all left my life with the belief that I did all of these horrible and awful things.
I just don't trust people anymore as a result and it's just caused me to become extremely bitter and depressed. I ruminate on the past, maybe in attempts to fix the past so I can move on. So I could do better, so I don't have to punish myself for my mistakes in the past. But it just reopens every emotional wound I have and they never get a chance to heal. That was maybe 7 years ago now and I'm still replaying these events in my head every single morning for about 1 - 2 hrs. Then I go completely numb for the majority of the rest of the day, shallow breathing, and the mildest sadness that mascarades as fatigue and disinterest.
There are some days where I seriously fear for the future and I just feel like every cruel soul will inherit this earth and that's the future, they built this world of suffering and they deserve to inherit it. Their toxic flag staked so deep into the earth in reclamation. The future isn't holding any seats for people like us. I'm so heartbroken and defeated. I feel like white-wolfing my fiance because she deserves better than this traumatized person that hides from the world. I feel like giving her my collection of collections so she can sell it all off and pay off her 10k of credit debt, then with this act of kindness I can go out not feeling like a guilt-ridden defeated loser. And leave on a high note.
When I'm alone, I get trapped in these ruminating cycles and it's the angriest I ever get. It's reached the point where I feel like I am actually reliving all this past trauma every morning and I can't do it anymore. I just feel like I am so at the end of whatever this ride was.
I don't have any friends anymore and everyone but my fiance thinks I am a monster and it's just unbearable.
I just don't even know. I am even afraid that someone will read this post and suss through all of this and make the connection. Then I'll get another new email or random throwaway account with an insta message that says "I told you you would never be able to get over me. You can move on, but you will never be able to erase the past. Never truly. You know where to find me."
It's haunting and it's poisonous. I just feel haunted and poisoned and I don't know if there is a snake oil potent enough or antitode true enough to get me back to the generous, lighthearted, energetic kid I once was.
To whoever was willing to read through all of this, thank you for hearing me out. I don't know what advice I am even asking for here. I'm hoping just speaking this out into the world in some way can alleviate this misery. I don't know.

I've had a bit of a history with medical anxiety. A little bit of background. 26F, masters degree and work in the medical field as a diabetes educator, have had Type 1 Diabetes since age 11. Take Prozac 20 mg daily for anxiety, I see a therapist every other week and a psychiatrist every other month.
First major bout of anxiety was when I was 16 and my ANA titers came back high. Was deathly afraid that I had lupus until other testing came back and I had a reassuring talk with rheumatologist.
Second bout: Age 22. Got what I thought was a bad stomach bug. Felt full and bloated and nauseous all the time, could barely eat, put up with this for 1.5 weeks and then went to the ER. They said it was likely gastritis but could also be gastroparesis (given my history of diabetes). I spent my whole hospital visit utterly depressed and convinced that the rest of my life would be like this. Got out of the hospital a few days later. 3 weeks later the gastritis resolved and I was fine. No gastroparesis.
Third bout: This year, in March. Came down with some kind of stomach bug. Got a pretty high fever, went to the ER, they did a bunch of testing, they reassured me it was a stomach bug. The whole time I was sick, my mind started racing back to a few weeks prior to when I had a patient with a prior history of heroin abuse. My brain basically went: "So this guy abused heroin, what if he had undiagnosed AIDS? I helped him change the lancet in his lancet device. And although I was wearing gloves, what if the lancet somehow, without my knowledge, sliced through my gloves, sliced my finger, and infected me with the HIV virus and I developed AIDS? Even though my gloves were completely intact when I threw them out". And if course, the bug ran its course and I was fine in a week.
Fourth bout: Two weeks ago I felt a small lump in my breast. Went to PCP, she said it's 99% chance it's fine but I should just get an ultrasound to be safe. It's scheduled for June 13. I'll be good for a few days and then spend a day or two convinced I have breast cancer. And then the breast cancer worries make me think I have other cancers, so I will see any tiny mole on my skin and then think I have skin cancer.
What makes me the most angry is that, I'm medically educated on at least some of these topics. I knew the gastroparesis freakout was unwarranted, and I 10,000% knew the AIDS freakout was unwarranted, but once I get worrying about something, my mind ignores all common sense and prior knowledge. I've been reassured by my friends, family, doctor, and therapist, but I'm still freaked out sometimes over the most recent issue. Any advice, words of encouragement, anything? I hate living like this. 😭

Title: Mafia Dog
Carissa is in her early 40s. She’s a higher ranking officer in this group.
Jane is in her mid/late 20s.
Note: I believe this series will most likely never be performed. It's a 7-part series that requires either an extensive collab or a VA that can do multiple voices as the same 2 speakers are in every chapter. It varies per chapter as to who has more lines. It also gets loud at times with explosions and gunfire and the like which is not very conducive to ASMR. So, I'm releasing it here without it having been performed. I usually wait until someone performs one of my pieces before I release the script publicly. I hope you enjoy the read.
Info you might want if you do perform it: An Introduction To The Book That Is Me : ASMRScriptHaven (reddit.com)
Note: This takes place after an untold horropsychotic yandere story. If any writer wishes to write that story, be my guest. If you notify me, I'll link it here. This series deals with the recovery, recuperation, and care for the rescued victim.
My masterlist: [FF4M] Mafia Dog - Part 1 of 7 [Paramilitary Group] [Rescued Listener] [Severely Wounded Listener] [Concerned Caring Speakers] [Good Boy] : ASMRScriptHaven (reddit.com)
(All talk and sfx are muffled until the secrete door is opened.)
(Sound of muffled gunfire is going on in adjacent rooms. Door is opened roughly.)
Carissa: Clear. Damn it, she’s not in here.
(Pause.)
Yes, our informant advised that this is her office. And look, here’s the information we needed about the shipments coming in tomorrow on her desk. At least we ended up with that.
Damn it, damn it, damn it! I really thought we had her this time. Our contact said she was here right now. How could she have gotten away?
(Pause.)
Yeah, I know, Mike. Obviously Kent’s not gonna like this. He was hoping this strike would put down this upstart gang for good. We cleared out the rest of her goons at this location, but if Francine is still alive… well, I don’t want to think about that right now. Jane?
Jane: Yeah, Carissa?
Carissa: Jane, you and Mike take the others and double check every room we’ve already cleared. Look for any clue as to Francine’s whereabouts or plans that we can bring back to Kent.
Jane: You got it. Come on, Mike.
Carissa: Ronnie, you stay here with me. If our intel was right and Francine was here, maybe there’s a secret passageway she used to escape, or maybe there’s something else to discover.
(Some light tapping on walls as they look. Then a tap closer to the listener.)
Carissa: Hey, I think I’ve found something. This wall, right here. There’s something behind it. Now, how to get it open.
(Pause.)
Ronnie, great work.
(Pause.)
Yes, hit that button.
(A door slides open and all is now clear to the listener.)
That did it. There’s a secret opening here that leads to… Oh, my God! Ronnie, come here.
(Pause.)
Hey, are you all right? Can you hear me?
(Pause.)
Ronnie, put that gun down. You’re scaring him.
(Pause.)
Yes, I know Kent’s orders were to eliminate everyone we find, but this is different. He’s obviously not one of them. Look at him. He’s tied and gagged, and it looks like he’s been beaten to within an inch of his life. He’s still got dried blood on him. Whoever he is, he’s not a threat to us and he clearly needs our help.
(Pause.)
Ronnie, besides the fact that what you just said reveals you to be an inhuman prick and should be ignored on its own, you need to consider the fact that he may be some use. At the very least, he may know some things about Francine.
(Pause.)
No, calling you inhuman was not a compliment. Kent’s orders didn’t account for us finding someone like this in here, and I’m going to help him.
(Pause.)
I don’t care if it is easier to put him down. I’m taking him with us. God, what is wrong with you?
(Pause.)
Yes, it will be on my head if he turns out to be one of them.
(To the listener.) Hey, you, look at me. I’m going to remove the gag, ok. I want to talk to you.
(Pause.)
No, no, no. Don’t shake your head. Stop thrashing. We’re here to help. I’m not going to hurt you.
(Pause.)
(To Ronnie.) Ugh. Damn it. He’s scared to death and he’s going to hurt himself further if he keeps this up.
(Pause.)
Yeah, Ronnie, we’ve already established you don’t give a rat’s ass if he kills himself, but just accept that I do and that I’m in charge right now and give me the bag. I’m going to use the sedative on him.
(Pause.)
Of course, I know we brought it for Francine, but she’s not here, now is she?
(To the listener.) Ok, buddy, I’m sorry if the needle stings, but this will relax you while we move you somewhere safe. See you on the other side.
(Time passes.)
Jane: Carissa, come here. He’s waking up.
Carissa: (Whispering softly.) Hey there, big guy. How are you doing?
(Pause.)
(Not angry, but forceful like she knows what she’s doing.) No, no. Stop struggling, ok? STOP!
(Pause.)
(Calm.) Good. That’s very good. You’ve been wounded. You’re in our infirmary and you’re strapped to the bed. Any struggling could possibly cause you serious harm.
Jane: Carissa’s right. At best it will make it so our medical staff have to reconnect your IVs, and you don’t want to make them work any harder than you have to, do you?
It’s ok. We’re here to care for you. Do you understand? We want to help.
(Pause.)
Carissa: Ok, good. Good. Stay calm. Look, I’m being soft and tender, see? Jane will brush your hair with her hand while you and I talk for a bit.
I know you’ve got to be scared out of your mind right now, but if you just stay calm, we’ll do what we can to reassure you that everything’s all right. Ok?
(Pause.)
(Sigh.) Good. Good boy.
Jane: Carissa, I think he likes it when you call him that.
Carissa: (To Jane.) Yeah, I think you’re right.
(To the listener.) You like that? Ok, then. That’s what I’ll call you, ok? Good boy.
Here, now I’ll hold your hand while you lay still. My name is Carissa. That gentleman over by the door is Mike, and I already told you that this is Jane. And you are my good boy.
That’s right. I’m going to take care of you, good boy. I’m not going to let any harm come to you anymore. You’re not in any danger. These two, Mike and Jane, they’re here for you specifically to make sure nobody comes in here to hurt you.
Jane: Carissa’s right. You’re completely safe. You can rest easy while we’re here. Ok? You just rest and recover and leave everything else to us.
Carissa: And I’m going to see to it that I do everything I can to make you feel safe and protected as well. Now, to do that, we need to know a few things about you. The doctor wants you to rest. She’s telling us we can only have a few minutes with you, so we’ll make this quick. Ok?
Jane: You’re being such a good boy right now. I’ll keep running my fingers through your hair while you answer Carissa’s questions, ok?
Carissa: Now, we just need you to confirm a few things. Did Francine do this to you? Was she there in the place where we found you?
(Pause as listener doesn’t want to say anything.)
Jane: It’s ok. You can tell us.
Carissa: You’re afraid, aren’t you? She did this to you and you’re afraid if you tell us anything, she’s going to punish you.
(Pause.)
No, you don’t have to say anything. I’m not trying to frighten you. I want you to feel safe with me. You’re my good boy, remember? I wouldn’t do anything to hurt my good boy.
Here you go. I’ll just stroke your hair gently as well with my other hand. I can see you really like that when Jane does it. Does that make you feel better, good boy?
Jane: It certainly does. You’re being so good.
Carissa: Yes, you are. So, let me ask an easier question. Do you know how long Francine had you there?
(Pause.)
You don’t know? A long time? They picked you up off the street in a blizzard by offering you a warm place to stay.
Jane: My God. It’s summer now so it’s been several months at least. You poor boy.
Carissa: Well, we’ve got you now, ok?
(Softly aside to Jane.) And now we’ve just confirmed that it was Francine who was there and did this to him.
Jane: (Softly to Carissa.) Ooh, clever.
Carissa: Don’t worry, good boy, you are safe with us. You can count on that.
(Aside.) Yes, Ronnie? Kent needs me? Ok, I’ll be right there.
(To the listener.) Ok, good boy. I have to go, but Jane and Mike are going to stay just outside of your room while you get some more sleep, ok?
Jane: And I’ll stay right here beside you until you fall asleep.
Carissa: The doctor will be in periodically to check on you. Her name is Suzanne and she’s very nice, so you don’t have to worry about her. When she comes by, do what she says, ok? She’s only trying to help.
And I’ll be back as soon as I can. You’re safe as long as you’re here. I can see that you’re still very tired. They’ve given you a lot of medication so you don’t feel any pain. You be my good, good boy while I’m gone and everything will be ok.
Here. (Kiss.) Just a kiss on your forehead for my good boy. You sleep now.
Jane: And if you wake up and Carissa’s not here and you’re scared, just let me know and I’ll sit with you too. Ok?
Carissa: Good boy. Get some rest.
(Time passes. Listener wakes up and hears what Carissa’s saying to Kent, but Carissa initially doesn’t notice.)
(To Kent.) No, Kent, what I’m telling you is that he was her dog, only I think she got her kicks out of… well literally kicking him. Did you hear what Suzanne said about his injuries? That bitch Francine is twisted.
(Pause.)
No, he’s been fine since we brought him in. He’s a little scared, but that’s to be expected.
(Pause.)
What? No, you can’t do that to him. He needs protection! I’m not sending him away. I’ll care for him myself if I…
(Pause.)
Oh, I’m sorry, Kent. You weren’t saying get rid of him.
(Pause.)
Yeah, I guess I am a little zealous over this one. You know where you found me twenty years ago. I guess my heart went out to the guy as soon as I saw him. I can empathize with where he’s been.
(Pause.)
Yeah, thank you for understanding, Kent.
(Pause.)
No, you’re absolutely right with that. He’s going to need some special attention for a while.
(Pause.)
Yes, of course. I’ll take full responsibility. Mike and Jane have agreed to help too. I think they feel sorry for him like I do. I promise, I’ll… Oh, hold on, Kent.
(To listener.) Hey there, good boy. You feeling better?
(Pause.)
That’s right. I told you I’d be back as soon as I could.
(To Kent.)
No, Kent, I understand. Go ahead. I’ll stay here with my good boy.
(Pause.)
Yeah, I’ll keep you updated. And thanks, Kent.
(To listener.) Did you sleep well, good boy?
(Pause.)
That’s good to hear. I’m glad you’re feeling better.
(Pause.)
Yes, the straps are still on. This is a new situation and we wanted to make sure you weren’t going to hurt anybody because you got scared, including yourself.
(Pause.)
No. I don’t think you’re violent, but it’s a precaution we take with everybody. Understand? They’ve even had to do it to me a couple times when I’ve been down here injured. I tend to move around a lot when I sleep and I can hurt myself by pulling out everything the doctors have attached.
(Pause.)
(Taken aback.) Wha…? Mistress? No, no. I’m not your mistress.
(Pause.)
Oh, don’t cry. I’m not mad at you for saying that. You’re still my good boy. Here, let me hug you. Does that feel better?
(Pause.)
There, there. You’re ok. I wasn’t mad at you, and I wasn’t rejecting you.
(Pause.)
No, you don’t have to call me… You know what? It’s ok. You can call me mistress for now if it makes you feel better.
(Pause.)
I can tell that it does. You’re more at ease. Ok, I’m your mistress.
(To herself.) I guess that’s something we’re going to have to work on.
(Pause.)
What? Oh, nothing, my good boy. Nothing you have to worry about right now.
Now that you’re awake, Suzanne has some tests she wants to run. Mostly she’s just going to talk to you, show you some lights, that kind of thing. I don’t think any needles are involved this time.
(Pause.)
I know. I hate needles too. So just relax and do what she says. And when she’s done, Mike will come in to keep you company for a while. I have some business to take care of.
(Pause.)
What should you do while I’m gone? Well, you need to make sure that when I come back, everybody tells me what a good boy you’ve been. Ok?
(Pause.)
Yes, Jane will be here in a while too. She’s out right now on an assignment, but she’ll be back.
(Pause.)
Oh, that makes you smile, does it? Well, good. I’m glad she makes you feel better. Ok, so long for now, my good boy. Know that you’re safe.
Part 2 coming.

The garage door shut with a groan behind us, closing us in the gloom of the single bulb hanging over the car.
Mother took a drag off her cigarette and sighed as she exhaled, the smoke filled the cabin of the Ford and stung my eyes.
“You really disappointed me today, Julianne," she tapped her cigarette in the ashtray below the dash, "you embarrassed me in front of the other mothers at the Ice Cream Social, shoveling down seconds and thirds like a pig. I thought I raised you better than that.”
She took another drag, daintily holding the cigarette between her perfectly manicured fingers.
“I'm going to have to tell your brother about this," she continued, “he'll have to come up with a punishment fit for a pig."
I felt my stomach drop. My kid brother, Thomas, was only six, but could be exceptionally cruel. Mother seemed to encourage him and was deferring to him more and more frequently for how the house was run, especially concerning my upbringing.
"Mother, please, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you. I'm sorry I was a pig and ate so much ice cream. I promise I won't do it again, I'll never eat any ice cream again," I was pleading with stone, unyielding.
“Hush your mouth. Go to your room and wait for Thomas," she put out the cigarette and got out of the car, I had no choice but to follow.
It felt like walking to the gallows as I stepped inside the house and headed towards the stairs to go to my room. Thomas had grown fond recently of physical punishment, he obviously delighted in Mother whipping me with a belt or, recently, Mother had allowed him to start beating me with a wooden spoon. He would squeal and giggle like a normal child watching bubbles in the wind while I screamed. I was dreading whatever was going to happen tonight, I chastised myself for eating that ice cream, I should have known she would show up. My sins were always laid bare.
Down the hall, I could hear Thomas watching television in the den. I only got to watch TV for half an hour on Saturday morning and new episodes of Happy Days with Mother and Thomas. Thomas got to watch all the TV he wanted. He could listen to the radio and turntable as much as he wanted, as loud as he wanted. Thomas had an entire room just for his toys.
I entered my bedroom, it was a space I occupied, but it didn't feel like mine. Mother kept it spartan, white walls and white bedspread. A crucifix over the bed and a painting of Jesus over the door. I had my desk and chair and a dresser with some of the porcelain dolls Daddy gave me before he died that Mother let me keep. That was it.
I placed my book bag down and sat on my bed, waiting for Thomas. It was a while, sitting there with nothing but my own thoughts and staring at the open door. I felt humiliated, I was almost thirteen and my entire life was dictated by my brother. Mother kept the house in constant lockdown to keep Thomas a secret. No outsiders were allowed in. I couldn't have friends because she was afraid I would mention him or sneak a friend in to gawk at my brother and tease him for being different.
I would never make fun of him, I was terrified of him. Terrified of what he was and what he was becoming.
Eventually I heard his heavy footsteps coming up the stairs and I felt my heart start beating faster and my palms began to sweat. I kneaded my skirt in my hands, trying to calm myself and dry my palms. His slow arrhythmic footsteps came down the hall and I watched him as he entered the room.
I couldn't help but internally recoil at his appearance, even though I'd known him since he was born, I could never adjust to how unnatural he appeared. Thomas had been born at home and had never seen a doctor, but he was obviously unwell.
He was six years old and was barely over two feet tall, but very squat and wide. His skin was thick and gray, the whites of his beady eyes were yellow and his hair was wispy and white like an old man's, spreading out like a halo around his gargoyle face. A slight odor of decomposition hung about him, it reminded me faintly of garbage cans on a hot summer day. I hated when Mother made me help him with a bath, his skin felt like old brittle leather that flaked onto my clothes in gray flecks. His body was dense like concrete, I could barely lift him into the tub. Picking him up forced his hair into my face where that smell of rot would fill my nose, causing me to gag, silently, so as not to offend him and draw any ire from him or Mother.
Today, Thomas was wearing bib overalls with a red and green striped sweater underneath, reminding me of a grotesque doll.
“Mama says you acted like a piggy today at the ice cream social,” he spoke up to me in his unsettlingly high pitched, yet raspy voice, like a child that smoked as much as Mother, "you need to come down for dinner right now for your punishment for embarrassing Mama."
He turned and walked back down the stairs and I had no choice but to follow his toddling form downstairs to the dining table. We entered the kitchen and the table was placed with two settings. Mother was already seated and Thomas clambered up into his booster seat at his normal spot next to Mother. She took a drag off her cigarette and motioned vaguely to the floor without even looking at me.
Neatly situated on the linoleum was my dinner, not on a plate, but directly on the floor. A pork chop, scoop of mashed potatoes, and a small pile of peas. No utensils, either.
Thomas giggled with glee upon seeing my face.
“You have Mama's permission now to eat like a piggy, now. No hands! Piggies just use their face!” He stood up in his chair and reached out for Mother’s ash tray and flung it out over my meal, peppering my dinner with cigarette ash and butts.
"Oops! Piggies don't mind trash though, do they, Mama?” he giggled and the sound filled me with rage.
"No, they don't,” Mother replied coolly while maneuvering her ashtray back in place and carefully putting out her cigarette before saying prayer.
As angry as I was, I got down on my hands and knees and did my best at eating what I could without using my hands. I knew if I refused, it would be far worse. The whole meal, Thomas made pig noises and would reach down and poke me with his fork, making comments about what a fat piggy I was and how he wished he could roast and eat me. I doubted Mother would even object if he actually did kill me and eat me.
Gagging my way through another bite of ashy pork chop, I felt a warm splat over my head and heard Thomas giggling. I reached up and felt he had dumped mashed potatoes into my hair.
Choking down tears, I asked Mother if I could clean the floor and bathe. She rolled her eyes and excused me to clear the table for them as well while she changed Thomas into his pajamas. Picking him up, she walked out of the room and Thomas stuck his putrid little purple tongue out at me before they made it out the kitchen door.
I silently cried while I cleared the table and washed the dinner dishes. Tears splashed down as I mopped up the mess from my food on the floor. I hated how awful Thomas was. I hated how they treated me. Ever since Daddy died and Thomas showed up, I was their punching bag. I missed Daddy so much.
Mother was kinder then, too. She was still severe, but Dad kept her tempered. After he died, there was a change that came over her. I was only six, so I didn't remember her too much from before, but I did remember her gushing on and on when she was pregnant with Thomas. How the baby was a gift from Our Heavenly Father, that it was going to complete our broken family.
My sixth birthday happened right after Daddy died and I remember sitting on the patio crying while the house was full of people after the funeral, normally he would have gotten me a new doll and a chocolate bar, instead I was forgotten. No doll. No chocolate. Just funeral potatoes and a house full of cigarette smoke from the adults.
Nobody remembered. The closest thing I got was my dad's sister, Aunt Judy, sitting next to me on the patio step for a few minutes of comfortable silence before giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. I don't think she knew her brother was memorialized on my birthday. Next year, Thomas was born the day before my birthday, so it was completely eclipsed as Mother had just birthed her new love into the world…
I stopped mid mop as a lightbulb finally went off. I had never put much thought into the dates before.
Thomas was born a full year after Daddy died. He couldn't be his dad. Who was Thomas’ actual father?
Washing mashed potatoes out of my hair that evening, I ran over and over the timeline. No matter how I parsed it out, Thomas was only my half brother. Going to bed that night, I kept myself awake, going over and over again to make sure. I couldn't remember any men being around at that time, but that didn't mean much. Adults can easily hide things from children. Tension began throbbing through my head and I felt queasy. Mother had always known all of my secrets, able to sniff them out like a bloodhound out or using Thomas to spy. Now I had one of Mother's secrets and I didn't know what to do with it.
First I wanted to confirm it, but it would mean snooping, which was difficult in a house that was rarely left empty. I would have to try finding Mother's calendar book or journal to see if she mentioned any dates or men.
But when could I attempt such a daring maneuver? Thomas hardly left the house. As proud as Mother was of him, she was very cognizant and protective of his differences and didn't want to draw attention to herself or Thomas like that. Mother herself had few social engagements throughout the week and mostly stayed home to watch her golden child.
I finally decided I would take the risk and fake sick on Tuesday, grocery day, so I could stay home from school while she went shopping. All Thomas did all day was watch TV downstairs, so that should give me about an hour to look through her room for clues. I decided to tuck my head down, try to behave as best as I could to avoid their wrath, and wait for Tuesday.
That weekend limped along agonizingly slow. Thomas was in a fine mood and was constantly seeking out a reason to poke me, punch me, slap me… he'd laugh while calling me a piggy with his off-putting wide mouth. I tried to mostly stay in my room and it seemed like neither of them cared.
School on Monday was a relief, but my anxiety ramped up. The consequences would be dire if Mother caught on that I was faking sick to stay home. I didn't even want to imagine how off the leash she'd let my half-brother become in his punishment for that level of insubordination.
I stayed up all night, my stomach was in knots, but I was committed to my plan. Throughout the night, I screamed as hard as I could into my pillow. Screamed until my throat was raw and I could barely talk. It felt cathartic in a way. When it was close to school time, I put on my heaviest flannel pajamas and began doing jumping jacks until my face was flushed and my scalp was soaked with sweat.
Looking in the bathroom mirror before heading down to talk to Mother, I thought I looked pretty convincing, my skin was flushed and sweaty, my eyes had circles under them from lack of sleep, and my voice croaked like a frog.
Heading downstairs, Mother was already feeding Thomas breakfast. I hesitantly stepped into the kitchen and stood there awkwardly for a second, pawing with my pajamas to keep my nerves steady until she noticed my presence and looked up.
“Why aren't you dressed, Julianne?"
"I don't feel well. My throat hurts and my tummy hurts.” My voice graveled out more than I was expecting, I really had hurt my throat.
She strode over to me and placed a cool hand on my sweaty brow.
"You do feel warm. Take an aspirin from the medicine cabinet and go lay back down. I'll check on you later," with that she turned back and walked over to Thomas, who was frozen in place, glaring at me over a forkful of scrambled eggs. The sharp glint of malice in his beady eyes made me shiver before I shuffled out of the kitchen.
I laid in bed, trying my best to look miserable until I eventually heard the faint sound of the television playing in the den as Thomas settled in for his normal daytime routine and the garage door opened as Mother headed to the grocery store. I bounded out of bed and watched the car back out of our driveway and head up the street.
My heart began to pound as I tiptoed down the hall to Mother's bedroom, a place I rarely even caught a glimpse of, let alone entered. I very slowly opened the door, taking great care to not make any noise to alert Thomas downstairs that I was out of bed.
Creeping into the butter yellow room, I could feel my heartbeat pounding in my skull, this was the naughtiest thing I had ever done by far. I stepped onto the rug to help disguise my footsteps and slowly made my way past the brass bed and towards her desk. My hands shook as I opened the top drawer, I pawed through rapidly and found nothing. I checked the next drawer down and again found nothing of interest, just stationary and envelopes.
Finally, the bottom drawer was what I was looking for, a stack of journals from the past decade. I flipped through, trying to find entries relevant to when Daddy died and who Mother slept with afterwards.
I've never fully recovered from what I read.
July 6, 1968
Edgar died today. Car accident. I cannot believe this is real. My light, my life, my anchor... Dr. Benson gave me a sedative at the hospital and I feel so tired. So very, very tired. Why has my Lord forsaken me so?
July 9, 1968
I feel like I am in a very bad dream, I feel numb and disconnected. All the consolation and pity from everyone makes me feel sick. After the memorial, it took everything in me to not break dishes and to scream at everyone to get out of my house. Julianne was moping about crying and I wanted to throw her out, too.
If I hadn't seen my dear Edgar's body in the hospital and held his urn in my own hands, I wouldn't believe he was really gone. I still don't entirely believe it.
I have prayed to God every night asking him to show me why he took my husband from me and I have gotten no answer.
I skimmed over the next few months, as it was more or less similar sentiments repeated night after night. I finally got to an entry that caught my eye.
September 17, 1968
My battle with my faith has been fraught the past few months, but Hallelujah! I feel I can see the Lord again in all his glory and might, for he has given me a way to reconnect to my Edgar!
I was thinking about the night Julianne was born, right in this very home, it was a difficult birth and she struggled to breathe at first. Ingrid, my midwife, made a comment to me that if the baby had failed to wake up on her own, that Ingrid had ways to make sure she would have made it.
I remember asking if it was a medical methodology and she made it clear to me that in certain circumstances, it was a mystical property she used to bring the air of life into a struggling baby's lungs. She gently alluded to being a practicing member of the dark arts. At the time, I felt quite scandalized to have someone like that in my God fearing home. Now I see her as the answer to my prayers! My angel!
On a whim, I called her and asked if she still practiced such techniques. She hesitantly confirmed that she did. I asked, if she could turn breath into the lungs of a child without, could she turn breath into a child that did not exist? Could she magick into existence another child of my beloved Edgar? She told me she had to do some research and she'd be back in touch.
Ingrid just called back after a few hours and said there was a spell she found, but it was dangerous and might have unpleasant results. I said, yes, of course! I trust my Lord and I believe he sent this woman of blessed magick to me for this purpose.
She says we will have to do it soon, in a few days during the new moon. She has a potion to brew, but it is happening! Praise God!
September 23, 1968
The ceremony was last night, and Ingrid believes it was a success, but we will have to wait. It did not take long, only an hour or two. Ingrid lit my bedroom with many beeswax candles and she had me drink a thick and bitter tea that caused me to become quite relaxed and foggy.
From my inner thigh, she cut me and collected my blood in a chalice, with which she mixed quite a lot of Edgar's ashes and other ingredients which I could not glean from my supine position and groggy wits. Ingrid began to chant, calling upon a higher power, as I pleaded with my Lord to let this work. To give me any piece of my Edgar back. She came to the bed and worked the paste between my legs into my womanly chamber, which was very uncomfortable, but manageable with the numbing effects of the tea.
She continued to sit with me and chant, her hand placed over my womb, until she decided at which time it was complete. She left and I fell into a deep sleep. When I woke up this morning, I felt quite uncomfortable, my body ached and when I used the restroom, a yellow fluid like pus poured out of me, but no sign of any ashes or blood, which gives me hope it was absorbed into my womb.
November 3, 1968
Praise be to our Lord, Ingrid just confirmed for me that I am with child, I had been hoping so, I had not gotten my cycle in October, but I wasn't sure if that was because of the discharge like pus that was still coming. She told me that was common with this spell and a side effect that would stop after the baby came.
I feel like I am floating on air, for the first time since Edgar left, I feel-
I suddenly became very aware of the feeling of eyes on the back of my head. I had become too engrossed in what was written before me and I had lost track of my surroundings. Very slowly, I turned around and my heart began pounding again as I saw Thomas standing in the doorway holding his wooden spoon in one hand. How had I not heard him?
He pointed at me with his empty hand and screamed, just a pure guttural screech from somewhere deep inside his disgusting little body. He charged at me from across the room, his horrible feet thumping solidly along the rug. He began beating my legs ruthlessly with the spoon, causing my legs to buckle. I crashed down to my knees in front of him, and he began lashing at my face, pulling my hair with one hand while wailing away at my head with the spoon.
I had dropped the journal I was holding and was desperately trying to get a hand on the spoon or push him away. All I could hear was him screaming. My arms flailed and I reached around on Mother's desk and grabbed onto the first thing I found and sank it into Thomas’ neck.
The end of Mother's gold letter opener protruded under his jaw. He went silent and he looked at me with utter shock. He dropped the spoon and collapsed on the ground, clutching at his neck as his thick black blood oozed out from his wound, letting out a stupendous odor of rot that filled the room. He didn't really say anything or make any noise. He just twitched for a moment and I saw his eyes glaze over.
In shock, I stood over his little body for a moment and I watched as he seemed to mummify in just a few minutes, like an ash person from Pompeii dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. Even his blood that looked like shiny oil a second ago became like potting soil on Mother's rug. Reaching out to touch his hand, it crumbled away like sand.
Panic ran through me like a rabbit caught in a snare. Not knowing what to do, I ran. I ran down the hall, changed my clothes, put an extra change of clothes in my backpack and the last doll Daddy had ever given me and I ran. Mother would absolutely never forgive me and I was genuinely afraid she would kill me in retaliation for taking her beloved Thomas away from her. Her precious gift from God. My feet flew over the pavement and took me away from that house.
I called my Aunt Judy from a payphone outside the five & dime, and told her Mother had kicked me out and asked if I could stay with her. She had always had a strained relationship with my mother and it didn't take much convincing that she had kicked out her “only” child. Only Mother, Ingrid, and I ever knew about Thomas.
She gave me a home and took care of me. She never beat me or humiliated me. Even with her love, I was far from okay. For years I would close my eyes and hear Thomas scream, then the sudden silence. I'd see him fumbling at his neck and turning to ash. But I would also remember all the ways he would hurt me and how bad he was becoming. I could never talk to anyone about it, especially not the silent relief I felt I refused to admit to myself. Over time, however, Thomas' screams became a whisper and his silence faded into dust in my mind.
I moved on with my life. I went to college and became a photojournalist, getting to travel the world and watch history unfold. By choice, I never married, but was quite blessed with many beautiful friendships for companionship over the decades. I found balance in my life and a sense of happiness, if not peace. I never could quite stomach mashed potatoes again, though, they always taste ashy to me.
Mother never made any attempts to reach out to me or find me, at least that I'm aware of. Ten years ago, I was contacted by a hospital and they said my mother had been admitted earlier after falling and was about to pass, so she must have kept some tabs on me to know my phone number for her emergency contacts. Apparently she had collapsed in the driveway and a neighbor called an ambulance. I got there and her only words to me were, “take care of him," as she placed a locket in my hand. I opened the locket, Jesus was on one side, Thomas on the other. I didn't say anything to her, just held her frail old hand with nicotine stained nails until she passed in the night. My mother was gone and I felt nothing except a vague sense of relief.
When I got to her house, it was like a time capsule. Other than a newer television, it was just like it was when I'd fled so many years ago. The smell of tobacco smoke hung like incense in the air. It felt oppressive, like a tomb.
I wandered the house in a bit of a daze. The one place I didn't want to go was upstairs. I didn't want to see my old room, or Thomas' room, or Mother's. Putting it off, I went to fix myself some supper, realizing I hadn't eaten in almost a day. I took a pause when I opened the fridge and saw a baby bottle on a shelf. Silently praying she had been babysitting for a neighbor, I fixed myself some toast with sardines and sat eating in the den watching TV. It had been almost forty years and it still felt rebellious not eating at the table and watching TV without permission.
My eyes grew heavy and I finally mustered up the gumption to head upstairs to go to bed. The stairs creaked in a familiar way under my feet and I was taken back to the feeling of dread hearing either Mother or Thomas climbing up. My old room was at the top of the stairs, I saw the door was nailed shut and had rambling quotes about Judas copied from the Bible in my mother's handwriting taped to the door. I sighed gently and turned from the door to head down the hallway, deciding Mother's room was probably the best place to sleep.
I passed by Thomas’ toy room and I heard a murmur from the room. I stopped, curiosity got the best of me and I entered. In Thomas' old toy room was a crib with joyful clown sheets. Dread swelled up inside me as I heard more murmurs and saw the sheets move. Approaching slowly, I peaked under the sheet and gasped.
Tucked inside was what looked like a baby gargoyle, gray and papery looking. Pus leaked out of its milky, bulbous eyes. I pulled back the blanket and saw it had no legs and its arms bent back, like wings on a bird. It was wearing just a cloth diaper, overflowing with tarry looking stool that took my breath away with its pungency, it smelled like Thomas’ blood, but somehow worse. My heart broke for this poor creature, Lord only knows how many years it has been in this crib suffering from its unholy existence.
So this is who Mother had wanted me to take care of…
Not knowing what else to do, I gently scooped him up. Like Thomas, he was shockingly heavy for how small his body was. Placing him on the changing table, I cleaned him and rewrapped his bottom in a clean diaper cloth. It was difficult, he fussed tremendously, crying and flopping around as much as his flipper-like arms would allow. I tried wiping off his oozing eyes and he snapped his mouth, which I saw was full of disturbingly square yellow teeth, trying to bite me. I carried him to the kitchen and rocked him while I heated up his bottle and he became furious with me, almost barking like a dog when my hand would get near his face.
He settled a bit as he fed, but he would still sometimes suddenly spit out the bottle and attempt to bite me. I laid him back in his crib, this abomination in a clown sheet, and I walked down the hall to Mother's room letting out a long sigh.
Combing through my mother's journals in the early hours of the morning, it looked like she tried the ceremony again shortly after Thomas died, but she either lacked Ingrid’s help or didn't have enough of my father's ashes left. Something went terribly wrong. She was vaguer than she had been about Thomas’ conception, but I suspect she had used some of Thomas' remains. The resulting birth she named Isaac.
Mother's journals told a sad tale of her and Isaac's suffering. She never mentioned me, but lamented the loss of Thomas and Dad relentlessly. She was hyper protective of Isaac, as that was all she had left. If her world had been small before, it became microscopic after he entered her life, requiring nearly constant care. According to Mother, he was blind and colicky, sometimes going years at a time without sleeping through the night. She had breast fed him for years, but she had to stop after he grew teeth and began biting her intentionally and feeding on her blood.
I spent a lot of time over the next few days pondering what to do. I had to get her estate in order, she had left me the house, in an obvious attempt to get me to continue caretaking for Isaac, but I didn't want it. I had my own cozy home an hour away from here, filled with happy memories and my possessions acquired traveling the world. Mother's home had a heavy energy I couldn't shake. Her and Thomas were both gone, but the memories of the scoldings and beatings hung in every corner, like cobwebs that would never sweep away.
So, I fed Isaac and kept him clean and tried to keep him company, although he seemed to hate me passionately. I took care of him, all the while thinking about what I was going to do. After a week, I felt resolute in what had to be done.
Gathering up all of Mother's journals in a tote, I made my way to Isaac and picked him up and carried everything to the living room.
The ancient logs in the fireplace meant for display ignited instantly. One by one, I fed the journals into the fire, burning away years of my mother's consuming sorrow. Isaac fussed and moaned next to me the entire time. When the last pages shimmered away into lacy ash, I took a throw pillow off the couch and gently cradled Isaac in my other arm. It didn't take long before he stopped struggling and I felt his little body relax after decades of suffering.
I gently wrapped up a bundle in a clown sheet and placed it in the fire. It burned furiously, like the paper in my mother's journals, and was soon gone. Nothing but ashes and embers.
“Don't worry, Mother,” I said purely for my own sake, "I took care of Isaac for you."
And finally, I felt at peace.

I’ve been clean from watching porn and masturbating for over a week. I do get morning wood still.
I have been seeing girls and hooking up with them but not having sex because of PIED. Is it bad for curing PIED when i still hook up multiple times per week with girls?
When i hook up with the girls we make out and i eat them out or finger them and they grind on me a lot but im afraid if this effects curing my PIED. The reason im questioning this is because i do get horny and sperm starts leaking and its sometimes quite embarrassing when my underwear is full of sperm because of that. And i have major blue balls after hooking up.
Is it smart to stop hooking up for a while or does it not effect the curing? I am enjoying pleasuring the girls so i am afraid of losing them if i tell them i cant hook up anymore.

Hi I am an M18 and lately someone has been pointing out to me some attitudes that might be autistic and I thinking about this for a few days, can it actually be so? Some of the attitudes that have been pointed out to me are : the presence of alleged stimming ( I move my leg and foot very often, especially in contexts where I feel emotionally tried, or with the thumb of my left hand I touch very hard the cuticle of my right one or lastly, very often at school, which for me is a place full of variable emotionality, I obsess and repeat sometimes even obsessively a song) I am a very logical guy and I struggle very often to understand others, I could say I have a lack of empathy and I have been told repeatedly by different people, for example if someone talks to me about their problems, I find it easy to give a logical and concise answer but I go ballistic the moment I have to empathize with the emotions , I have had a couple of times someone crying in front of me and I found myself in serious difficulty. I hate to maintain eye contact with people, it makes me uncomfortable; in physical contact I am very restricted ( with my girlfriend I found the problem that sometimes I feel like refusing her cuddles or hugs and to do it impulsively and not in a nice way, especially if not prepared, I don't like to give my hand, I prefer maybe to hold her finger or to be close to her without invading too much my personal space and it bothers me when I am on her left side I need to be always on her right side ( I don't know if it centers but I am left-handed ) I also have quite a lot of sensitivity to noise, for example yesterday I went to a concert and felt really uncomfortable, when the loud music started I started to feel lack of oxygen and every time there was clapping I felt the need to plug my ears, luckily after a while I got used to it but between too many people noise and chaos I didn't enjoy the experience, thinking back then I have been afraid of many things that make noise since I was a child, for example fireworks, at parties I couldn't stand where there were balloons because I was afraid of the burst and I hate the noise of dogs barking ( are still recurring fears ) Very often I am bothered by bright lights, for example I need to sleep with LEDs, and if I am on the opposite side pointing towards me, they bother me so much that I am forced to change sides ( premise they are quite far away) I hate being in social situations for too long and above all I need a lot of time to myself. In my head I am super perfectionist and when I can order things I do but if the situation is already too chaotic I can't most of the time maintain the desired perfection. I obsess with interests that vary from weeks to months and then obsess with something else, I obsess with songs that I listen to and replay for days or I obsess when I read pieces that I like that I go back and reread over and over again or episodes ( for example when I was little my mom complained that I was perpetually watching a certain episode over and over again repeatedly ). I find myself very often having to occupy my mind with multiple things, example,if I watch a movie I need to do something else ( I play tetris or other games, when I watch some video I like to put it in x2 because even if I like it I find it much more listenable that way. Reading various posts I noticed that I don't have the perfect routine except in a few things that however don't upset me that much for example I always take the same routes yes but for example, to go to a place I have more options and not just one, The glasses and cutlery I take the ones that are there instead with the seats in the car on the table and on the couch those are my seats but I think it is like that for non-autistic people too, when I get my coffee in the morning it bothers me if it is not the usual coffee from the same coffee shop, but it doesn't bother me that much. My girlfriend has pointed out to me that very often I take things too literally, but I don't think I'm one of those who would take phrases like a needle in a haystack; of course I admit that I often take literally what she says much more than what she means, but I don't know how reliable that is. I'm not convinced about the idea of self-diagnosing these details so I would like to hear opinions from people who surely know more than I do.

Hey folks, hello again. I took a bit longer this time to update (Part 1 and Part 2 here) you but at least I bring good news: this weekend, I got the definitive answer from the prison's legal department, and now I know how much I can tell (and I believe it's enough). For your information, after this incident and my eventual release from prison, I haven't contacted anyone I met behind bars, except of course for my wife, Linda. The point is, even after all these years, this story has troubled me a lot, and since my first post, I've become even more paranoid. Finally, this morning, I went out to get the mail but as soon as I opened the door, I came face to face with a small untouched white envelope, except for two identical characters stamped on its surface: 11. Linda is sleeping, and I don't want to worry her, I'm at the kitchen counter thinking about what to do with this envelope while reliving the final events of all this mess, of what was really inside cell 11.
It was morning, and there I was in my cell, in a scene poetically similar to this. I held a playing card, an 11 of clubs. I later searched for such a card online, but found nothing. It was strange, very well made. Before I could reflect more deeply on this, one of the guards passed by our corridor, opening the cell doors for our breakfast.
So, slowly, as if in a trance, I got up from bed and put the playing card in my pocket. Somehow, the card seemed to heat up in my pocket, I could feel the heat increasing and increasing, almost burning my skin. It was a strange stupor, almost drunken, I could even swear I smelled ether lingering in the air as I staggered to the cafeteria.
I slumped into the seat as I placed the tray on the table. Old Munford looked at me in a friendly manner:
"Overdid it yesterday, lad? Your hangover face is priceless."
I forced a weak smile in response to Munford's comment, trying to seem normal despite the whirlwind of thoughts racing through my mind. The heat still burned in my pocket, an uncomfortable sensation that seemed to be intensifying with each passing moment.
"No, nothing much," I muttered, looking away to my food tray. "Just didn't sleep very well."
Munford seemed satisfied with my response and turned his attention back to his own meal. As I stirred the food without really eating, struggling to maintain my composure, I began to think about what to do.
My thoughts were interrupted when Francis joined us at the table, his usual smile lighting up his face. He looked at me with a questioning expression.
"Hey man, everything okay? You look awful."
"I think it was the heat, or maybe something I ate last night."
Francis frowned. Unlike the elder, he clearly wasn't convinced by my superficial explanation.
"Some of the guys told me they saw Bob talking to you last night. Did he do something?"
The question caught me off guard. All this news about the playing card had prevented me from thinking about the strange interaction with Bob since the previous night, but now the memories began to resurface, mixed with the heat sensation coming from my pocket.
"Oh, it was nothing," I said quickly, trying to sound casual. "Bob was just being a bit... Bob."
I felt Francis's gaze linger on my face for a moment.
"If he does anything, you know you can talk to us, right? I know he's one of ours, but that doesn't mean I'll go easy on him."
I analyzed the options for a moment, reflecting on everything. Well, now it seemed to make sense, a prank by Bob, or an attempt to intimidate me...
"There's... something, Francis," I said in a low tone, feeling tense about the confession I was about to make. "Last night, after the card tournament, I... I ran into Bob in the hallway. He was questioning me about the tournament, accusing me of cheating."
Francis's face hardened at my words, a displeased expression passing over his features.
"Cheating? And you?"
"I swear I played fair," I replied quickly, the pressure building inside me. "But he was convinced I had some advantage, and... well, things got a bit tense... He walked away, and this morning I found this in my cell."
Deciding to omit the encounter with Tulley, I got straight to the point, pulling the card out of my pocket and placing it on the table. I could feel it almost incandescent now.
Munford looked at the card for a moment, his gaze narrowing as he studied it. The heat emanating from it was almost palpable, a strange aura that seemed to envelop the table.
"Is that... an 11 of clubs?" he murmured, his voice tinged with surprise and suspicion.
I nodded, my own confusion mingling with growing anxiety.
"Yes... I don't know, maybe Bob did this to scare me, to show that he has access to my cell, or to try to provoke me, knowing my fear of cell 11..."
My words were cut off when the guard's voice echoed through the cafeteria, interrupting our conversation as he announced that the meal period was over.
Francis looked at me with a serious expression.
"We'll talk about this later," he pointed to the card. "Mind if I take it with me?"
I nodded.
"No problem, feel free."
We began our march back to the cells, and I couldn't help but exchange glances with old Munford. He seemed to hesitate on the matter, as if he wanted to say something but was afraid. I made a mental note to speak with him as soon as possible. Our yard time would be in the next 4 hours, and I spent half of that time trying to ponder what had happened.
I don't know how long it took, but I fell asleep, sitting, with my back pressed against the wall of my cell. The dream, or rather, nightmare resulting from this was a disturbing experience.
I found myself standing, walking through the prison corridors in a way that seemed endless. The walls seemed to close in around me, creating a claustrophobic labyrinth that I couldn't escape. Every door I tried to open was locked, and the sound of footsteps echoed behind me, as if someone were following my every step.
Finally, I reached a door that was ajar, a dim light emanating from within. With a knot in my stomach, I pushed it slowly, revealing what seemed to be cell 11. But something was terribly wrong. A man was there, his back to me. Disheveled, uneven hair, a hunched posture, he was crouched down, rummaging through something I couldn't see, seemed to regurgitate. Suddenly, he stopped. He slowly got up and then looked at me.
Somehow, I knew that man was that prisoner, the one who had committed those atrocities and painted the eye on the damn cell. I noticed something dripping from his mouth, forming a red puddle in the center. On the wall, what seemed to be an incomplete sketch of the dreaded painting was there.
I watched, hypnotized by the horror before me, as the man slowly raised his trembling hand towards his face. Drops of that dark liquid dripped from his fingers, echoing in the oppressive silence of the cell. It was as if the very air was tainted with that impurity.
Before I could fully process what was happening, he began to move towards me, his irregular steps echoing like the distant clinking of chains. A visceral panic seized me, preventing me from retreating as he came closer and closer, his distorted figure gaining sharper contours as he advanced through the gloom. I could now smell the terrible scent he had, not just as something rotten, but a pure and concrete smell of death.
"Who... who are you?" My own voice sounded weak and trembling.
The man didn't answer. Instead, he kept advancing, his empty eyes seeming to pierce my soul. My heart was now pounding uncontrollably in my chest, a deafening cacophony that seemed to fill the entire space of the cell. I was about to retreat, to beg for mercy, when a voice whispered in my mind, a distorted echo reverberating like the sigh of a ghost:
"You... can you see? The watchful eye. He wants you. He liked looking at you."
The sound of my own breath echoed in the silence that followed, a dissonant note of fear and desperation. I wanted to scream, to run, to escape this living nightmare, but I was paralyzed by the terror that enveloped me like a coffin.
It was then that I woke up, gasping and covered in sweat, the echo of the whisper still resonating in my mind like a distant echo of a nightmare. For a moment, everything around me seemed distorted and unreal, a fleeting mirage, and then, I startled again. Munford was standing in front of my cell, staring at me with curiosity.
"Are you okay, son?" the old man asked in a soft voice, as if trying to calm a frightened animal.
I shook my head slowly, trying to gather my thoughts amidst the whirlwind of information.
"I... I think so," I murmured, my voice sounding strange and distant even to myself. "I had a horrible nightmare... It felt so real."
Munford nodded understandingly, his eyes fixed on mine.
"Yeah, the situation isn't good... but I came to talk about that letter, earlier in the cafeteria."
"Oh yeah, what about it?"
"Let's just say I've never seen a card like that, but the energy coming from it, oh yeah, I've seen that before."
"What do you mean?"
"You know, a few years ago, there was a murder in one of the cells. This was before Francis arrived, we didn't have much organization, lynchings were common, and in an attempt to reduce these incidents, we decided that the main suspect, a newly captured serial killer, would be forcibly transferred to cell 11. It was one of the most terrible incidents I've ever witnessed in here. And do you know how that man was known?"
I shook my head negatively. Munford leaned his hands on two bars, bringing his face closer to the center of them.
"The Card Cutter."
A wave of shivers ran down my spine.
"He used to leave playing cards as a kind of signature on the bodies of his victims. They say he would choose the card based on the person or the method of murder. So, when he was put in cell 11, things got even weirder."
"What happened to him?" I asked, a bittersweet and macabre curiosity in my mouth.
Munford sighed heavily, looking at a fixed point this time.
"A few weeks after being transferred, he was found dead in his cell. Hung with sheets. And next to his body..."
"What was it?" I could barely breathe as I listened.
"A playing card. An ace of spades, if I'm not mistaken. And that cell... well, since then, no one wants to stay there. They say it does something to people, kills them."
The shock of Munford's revelation reverberated in my chest, trembling as I thought about what could happen to Guard Tulley from now on, or worse, what could happen to us.
"So you think this card is... a warning?" I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper, staring into the old man's green eyes.
Munford nodded slowly, responding more to himself than to me.
"I can't say for sure, but it's a possibility to consider."
I swallowed hard.
"What should we do then?"
He fell silent for a moment, as if pondering his words carefully.
"I have no idea. I guess all we can do is keep quiet; we don't want to scare the other inmates. Francis doesn't believe in these things, so I won't waste my time trying to convince him, and I advise you to do the same. Maybe if we just keep pretending that nothing is happening, things will sort themselves out. But remember: whatever this force is, it wants to take you to the cell, wants you to face the eye. Resist those urges, okay?"
The clock struck 12:30. Time for yard time. I walked with Munford to the yard, the sun burning our heads as we stepped outside, futilely trying to erase the worry from our minds.
As I watched the other inmates spreading out across the yard, trying to appear normal, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to find Bob, his voice low and threatening.
"What did you tell Francis?" he whispered, he was behind me, and I couldn't see him.
The flesh on my back trembled and twisted, the fluid of fear rising up to my brain.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Bob," I replied firmly, trying to sound confident.
He paused for a few seconds.
"You cheat first, and now, you make up lies about what I did or didn't do."
"I think there's a misunderstanding-"
"Shut up!" his voice rose sharply "I'm just here to say that I'm not a kid, I don't go around sending playing card letters or anything like that. I didn't threaten you with that thing, but now I am, and in a very direct way, and if I were you, I'd sleep with one eye open."
He was dead serious, and the threat was as clear as day. But what could I do? Confront Bob directly like Francis? That could mean he wasn't trustworthy... My thoughts were interrupted by the guard watching us.
"You two, no contact!" he shouted.
"No problem here, officer," Bob said, pulling me into a hug that felt more like an attempted chokehold.
I tried to pull away unsuccessfully, and the officer seemed to simply not care.
"Okay, but we'll be watching," he turned away, and Bob shoved me against the yard bars.
"Listen here, Bob," I began, my voice firm, confused about where this courage had even come from. "I don't know what you're up to, but I won't stand still while you try to intimidate me. If you have something to say, then say it like a man. Otherwise, leave me alone." I pushed him away with my hand.
"You're a fool, you know that?" he muttered.
"I'm not looking for trouble, but if you want it, you'll get it. Let's just leave it be, okay? If anything happens to me, I'll make sure some people know and-"
My assailant's hand closed around my neck, tightening. I squirmed, struggling to breathe as I desperately tried to free myself from his grip.
"Going to call daddy? Look, Francis may have that whole attitude, but he won't do anything to me, or any of the guys," he remarked.
I noticed the usual group of big guys who hung around with Francis, they were watching us from afar, seeming to distract the boss.
"He's getting out in two months...but honestly, I don't think I need to wait that long."
I couldn't breathe. Fighting against the grip on my neck, my eyes desperately searched for any help.
"Let him go!" The guard shouted from afar, starting to make his way down the stairs to reach us.
Bob didn't obey. I felt my body losing strength, so I did what I could: I focused my strength into a clenched fist and punched the bastard in the stomach, aiming right at his gut. And judging by his expression, it worked. I saw him lean over, his hands releasing my body and being placed on his belly.
I knew if I let it slide, he would come back and continue to harass me, so that had to be a definitive response to the jerk that I wasn't an easy prey. I lunged at him again, this time with a well-aimed kick to his knee, trying to destabilize him. He staggered backwards with a groan of pain, falling to his knees on the yard ground.
The other prisoners now realized what had happened, and soon their shouts in a circle were audible.
"Go, get him! Don't hold back! Finish this guy off!"
I lunged at Bob, raising my hand time after time to punch him. He didn't take it lightly, grabbing my right hand as I prepared to hit him; I could feel the pressure applied to the joints, my fingers starting to crack, and I could feel them tense, about to break. In desperation, I threw myself onto him with the only weapon I had left: my teeth.
I felt the flesh of his neck between the rows of teeth in my mouth. Without thinking and trying to loosen the grip on my hand, I pressed on the pearly bones harder and harder, feeling them slide against the skin, the metallic taste slowly emerging as the flesh was torn.
The scene around me seemed blurry, as if I were watching everything happen from afar, in slow motion. Bob's scream echoed through the yard, mixing with the encouragement shouts from the other inmates. I felt a mix of adrenaline and horror as my teeth sank into his neck flesh, a strange feeling of power and disgust.
While still hunched over that bloody man, I felt the blows on my back: it was the guards. Their batons striking time after time as the adrenaline rush passed, and I now began to feel the pain. Without resistance, I let myself be pulled away. Bob wasted no time and moved away, stumbling as he covered the wound.
"YOU SCUMBAG, WHAT KIND OF ANIMAL ARE YOU?"
As I was being taken away, everything around me seemed blurred, as if I were in a state of stupor. The voices of the other inmates echoed in my ears, mixed with images of the fight that had just occurred. I still felt the blood running through my mouth, dripping lightly onto the ground and forming a trail of red dots marking my path. However, before we left the yard, our warden arrived at the scene, and the guards stopped, my arm uncomfortably twisted behind my body.
"What's going on here?" His voice was calm, but there was an unquestionable tone of authority in his words.
"He... he bit a detainee, sir," one of the guards explained, firmly holding my arm.
The warden looked at me, his eyebrows furrowed in disapproval.
"Why did you do that?"
My mind was spinning, trying to find a coherent explanation for what had happened. I knew it would be useless to tell about Bob's threat, about the playing card, about the fear he had instilled in me. So, I found the most plausible words I could gather:
"He... he provoked me, sir," I murmured, my voice trembling. "I... couldn't take it anymore. He was intimidating me, threatening me, and I... I lost control."
The warden looked at me for a long moment, as if assessing my words. Finally, he sighed, seeming resigned, approaching me with slow, steady steps.
"No, you did that because you're an animal."
He gave me two pats on the cheek, then wiped the blood running from my mouth.
"Take this one to solitary."
The prisoners began to shout, a real noisy commotion. I trembled at the thought of being locked up there. No one came back the same from solitary, but at that moment, I really think I'd prefer to go there than what was to come.
"But sir," one of the guards said, causing the inmates to fall silent in an attempt to hear something, "The solitary is occupied..."
The warden frowned, clearly irritated by the interruption.
"Then take him to cell 11," he ordered, his voice cold and authoritative.
That was the final blow, causing the uproar to become widespread, with even some inmates needing to be subdued with tear gas. I could see as I was pushed, Munford looking at me, a worried and distressed expression on his face; he said something I couldn't understand amidst the noise.
With my heart pounding erratically in my chest and my mind clouded with fear and uncertainty, I was led by the guards towards cell 11. Each step felt like it weighed tons, as if I were walking towards the abyss. I could feel the stares of the other inmates watching the scene, some with expressions of shock, others with a mixture of curiosity and indifference.
Finally, we arrived, and by this point, I was sweating uncontrollably; they opened the cell and threw me inside. My eyes instinctively closed as I fell to the ground. I didn't want to look at it. I got up, still blinding my vision, slowly groping around until I found the bed. I lay on it and turned to the wall beside it, my face as close as possible.
Lying on the hard bed, I could feel my heart beating so loudly that it seemed to echo off the concrete walls around me. Each beat was a pulsating reminder of my situation. I tried to push away the thoughts, but it was like trying to hold back a raging river with bare hands. All the while, I heard stories, heard things about that place, and now I was there, cornered by circumstances beyond my control.
Gradually, I noticed the thick layer of sweat forming around me. I could even feel my pores opening, pouring the water from my body in an attempt to cool myself in that stuffy, hot environment. I couldn't help but think about the heat of the card and... about Francis. He still had the card. Wasn't that dangerous? I fixated on musings about it.
In my feverish frenzy, time seemed to stretch infinitely in that dark cell, minutes dragging on like hours as I struggled to maintain my sanity. Every sound, every shadow was a source of growing anxiety until somehow, I fell into a deep sleep, dreamless this time.
I woke up in the middle of the night, with a faint noise coming from behind the heavy steel door. At first, I feared, wondering what it could be, but as soon as I regained my senses, I remembered where I was, and frankly, nothing outside could be worse. I cautiously approached the source of the sound, trying to listen better, when a "Hey, kid, it's me!" sounded whispered.
"Munford! Munford, I'm glad you're here, knew you wouldn't abandon me."
"Ha, I know, I know," he sounded nervous, perhaps hiding from the guards. "Look, I'd help you out, but I can't get it open from this side, try it there." A small plastic rectangle slid through the door gap. A credit card... I remembered I had done this many times before.
I grabbed the card and started working, carefully sliding it into the lock. Each movement was made with the precision I gained from years of street experience, trying not to make any noise that could attract the guards' attention. My mind was racing, and the tremor it transmitted to my fingers made motor coordination difficult.
Finally, after several minutes of trial and error, I heard a soft click, and the door opened slowly. I could smell the fresh air from the corridor and was already about to smile when, along with the bright light of a flashlight, I saw Bob, now with his neck and shoulder bandaged, along with three more of his cronies. Munford was being held by one, who held an improvised knife to his neck.
"Sorry, kid, they forced me," the old man lamented.
"Not so fast, princess." Bob pushed me inside, onto the floor, and then he entered with one of his cronies, closing the door behind him and illuminating me with the halo of his flashlight.
"What's up, Bob, can't you leave me alone?"
"You wanted to settle things, didn't you? Well..." he pointed to his wound. "You just signed your death warrant! But first, I'm going to make sure to pull out all your teeth and make you swallow them."
He lifted me by the collar of my shirt and landed a punch with his heavy hand. I felt dizzy, seeing stars, curling up into a fetal position. His laughter was now a terrifying melody to me.
"Look at this crybaby. Where did your bravery go?" He kicked my stomach, and I'm sure he found it an ironic poetic justice.
His cohort laughed until the beam of his flashlight shifted away from me.
"Hey Bob, what's that over there?" He said, simultaneously pointing with his finger and the flashlight.
Even though it was on the wall behind me, I knew what it was. I saw Bob straighten up to face it, becoming petrified. He and the other, standing there, mouths agape. I waited for seconds, counting mentally and holding my breath, expecting anything, but nothing. Until suddenly, I began to see small puddles forming under their lower eyelids, dark marks... of blood.
The red tears started to stream down their faces like large crimson waterfalls. Soon, they began to make a noise... a familiar noise, which made my mind freeze as I felt my toes curling inside my shoes and my mouth trembling uncontrollably. It was the same sound as Tulley's. They were now allowing these moans to escape their throats and resonate in the tight concrete walls.
I had to do something. I began slowly to pass by them, trying to edge around. When, however, I was almost reaching the door, I could see their shadows turning slowly in my direction. The tension in the air was palpable, as if it could be cut with a knife. I held myself back from trembling as I tried to maintain composure in front of those men, whose bloodshot eyes were now fixed on me, full of terror and despair.
"What... what's happening?" My voice came out in a trembling whisper, barely able to make myself heard.
Bob and his cohort remained silent. They began to walk towards me, and in desperation, I opened the cell door and slammed it loudly behind me, not caring about attracting the guards' attention. As I looked around, I actually noticed that this was a concern I didn't need to have.
The environment where I was wasn't what I expected, from the prison corridor. It was actually another cell. I stopped for a moment, confused, only to be surprised by a figure in the center of it. A man in a straitjacket looking at me with a petrified smile.
"I've been waiting for you," he said. His voice was blood-curdling, sounding like someone scratching a chalkboard with their nails or scraping a fork on a glass plate.
I tried to open the door but it was stuck. When I turned around again, he was leaning, his face inches from mine, eyes bloodshot. I almost fell backward. He laughed. It was like the last time, he had his mouth covered by a sticky red mass that dripped, probably serving as material for the painting, which now displayed an almost complete surreal eye. He turned and walked to the painting, and then he regurgitated it again. Since his hands were tied, he used his tongue as a brush, finishing the last line of the drawing.
"This," he whispered. "Is my masterpiece."
I was trembling. I had forgotten Munford's advice, and now I found myself petrified, just like the others, staring at the eye. I don't know how much time passed, but I felt like it was hours, days... years. All in the blink of an eye, or rather, in a stare without a single blink.
I tried in vain to regain my composure. Scenes of horror penetrated my mind. Cadavers, bodies marked by playing cards. Criminals, inmates being violently beaten with batons, pepper spray, and all sorts of luxuries the police can serve, I saw gang fights, blood, death, and abuse. I saw people being killed inside the prison. Each scene of violence that each of those who looked had already witnessed. My legs were no more than reeds in the wind now, and I just wanted to run away and scream, cry, and sleep to never wake up again. I tried to scream but the man came to me, placing his foot over my mouth.
"Shhh... you need to see."
He repeated this indefinitely. "need to see, need to see, need to see, need to see"
With superhuman effort, I managed to free myself from the weight of his foot on my mouth, but I could barely articulate coherent words. My voice came out trembling and weak when I finally managed to speak:
"What do you want from me? Why are you doing this?"
He simply continued smiling, as if my words were just another piece in his sadistic game. Then, with a quick and fluid movement, he approached me, so close that I could feel his fetid breath and the metallic smell of blood dripping from his mouth.
"Your mind is a fascinating playground," he murmured, his voice echoing in the claustrophobic space of the cell.
I felt tears running down my cheek, and I knew what color they were. I stood there, in shock, staring at the large painted eye, while my entire being was eaten alive in fear and dread. I don't know how much time passed, maybe the entire age of the universe, eternity, who knows. I woke up on the infirmary bed. Wires connected to my arm while a machine reproduced the "beeps" of my heart.
I looked to the side, seeing the green eyes of nurse Linda looking at me, concerned.
"Are you okay?"
"You need to see," I said, not even wanting to.
She frowned, evidently confused by my response. Linda seemed hesitant, as if she were trying to decide whether to ask more or simply ignore my strange statement. I could see the concern in her eyes, but also a certain curiosity, as if something inside her was intrigued by what I had to say.
"What do you mean by that?" She finally asked, her soft voice echoing in the silence of the infirmary.
I sat up slowly on the bed, feeling a wave of dizziness pass over me. My mind was still cloudy, as if I were struggling to emerge from a deep nightmare. I tried to articulate my words as coherently as possible.
"I... I saw things," I murmured, my voice still trembling. "Terrible things. In the cell... in there... something... something is wrong."
Linda watched me with a serious expression, her green eyes analyzing me carefully. She seemed to understand that something serious had happened, but couldn't fully comprehend what I was trying to communicate.
"Look... you and the others had a collective hallucination in that cell... The director has already arranged for an investigation, but we suspect carbon monoxide poisoning, we've already talked to him about the lack of windows in that place, but it seems he doesn't listen."
I stopped, confused by that information. Was I hallucinating? Well, maybe I would even think that if it weren't for what followed. A man in a dark suit entered. He had a serious and intimidating expression, and he asked Linda to leave.
"Listen here, young man, you're lucky to have come back. The others are catatonic... and probably won't come back to themselves. That's why your cooperation is extremely important, and we need to know: what did you see?"
I stumbled, recounting as much information as I could remember, from Tulley to Bob. The man listened to me without making any expression. After that, he took a radio that was hanging from his blazer and said some words that I didn't quite understand, something like "Ceter," "Queter"... and then he took a clipboard, handing it to me.
"This is your letter of freedom. Our proposal is as follows: We release you from prison and in exchange, you don't open your mouth about the specific events mentioned here," he pointed to the clauses.
That was five years ago, and given my freedom, you must imagine that not everything that happened is transcribed here, but the most important parts are. I ended up visiting Munford a few times after that, and I was horrified to discover that Francis, on the eve of his release, hanged himself with the bedsheet. The old man and I stared at each other after this discovery, in a mutual silent understanding. Shortly after, they closed not only the cell, but our entire pavilion, relocating the inmates. I never saw Munford or any of the others again after that. My nightmares persisted, but in recent months they have been much less frequent, and I think I might be slowly healing.
I wanted to say that this story ends well, with my rehabilitation. A troublesome prisoner full of stories becoming a family man. And it would be, if it weren't for the last 15 minutes of this morning. I believe you may remember that I received a letter this morning like that cursed number. I left it on the counter in the living room while I came here, to have breakfast and finish reporting this to you. When I finished the last paragraph, I went back to the room, but now, it seems like the whole nightmare is back.
I felt the tears, transparent this time, forming in my eyes. In the center of the room right now is Linda, holding the letter, looking at something in it that I can already imagine. She's standing there, wet and red stains on her face, I can hear her whispering "You need to see... need to see," and by God... I can see...

Thank you u/SpacePaladin15 for the amazing universe!
l Prologue l Previous l Next l
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Memory transcription subject: Kalsim, Captain, United Federation Fleet
Date [standardized human time]: December 30th, 2136
It became harder and harder to remember why we came in the first place when the simple process of landing on the ground was tantamount to stepping back into the past.
So many of the sensations granted by the asteroid sanctuary, the smells,the sights, the sounds, were so hauntingly familiar. Of flying from treetop to treetop, seeing my non sapient kin fly free of the burden of galactic existence. Of fruits and berries picked right from the stem, carrying with them flavors that bordered on ecstasy. The calls and cries of a nature beaten down time and time again, but still managed to stand back up on its own two legs every single time.
So much of it was familiar, yet so much of it wasn't.
"Kelum, do you recognize that?" referring to the foreign call sounding off in the distance.
He was still trying to process his surroundings, beak poised catch several insects. "Uh...no, I don't."
I turned in the direction of its source. "Neither do I."
"What about that bird from earlier?"
The one that flew by the viewport? "Didn't recognize that one either."
"Shit then." Kelum slowly returned to guard mode as he began sweeping his rifle over the foliage. "Your the big history guy here, I'm relying on you. What does it mean that you don't know?"
"Well, maybe call it a gap in my knowledge..." my attention was caught by a strange cluster of berries perched on a nearby bush. Collected in bunches, the fruits were oblong, almost cylindrical, orange with black spots across the skin. The aroma was sweet and tangy, something I knew several officers on the Lyakuda would love to use as an air freshener. And it was entirely unrecognizable.
Yet some base instinct inside of me said that it belonged. That it all belonged. That the ferns and grasses adn the strange noises that seemed foreign to my home were in fact an integral part of this one. There was song being played that I couldn't quiet yet hear, but I knew was there. Whether it was one that I would enjoy was still up for debate.
"Captain?"
"Wuh?" I spun around to see Kelum checking me with a look of concern.
"You kinda zoned out there for a sec. Are you alright?"
"Sorry, I was just thinking." I stepped back from the bush and into the clearing. "I...don't know what to make of this. This place..."
Kelum shrugged. "Couldn't tell you either cap. I'm just along for the ride at this point."
"All I need you to do is to keep that gun raised, just in case." Some part of me said that it would be unnecessary. After all, the Federation wiped out any native species that posed even the slightest threat to a krakotl. And by all means, this place seemed like Nishtal. But then again...
A sharp cry grabbed the silence and violently broke it over its knee. More like a wail, piercing in its effect, little needles in our eardrums that seemed to stab more and more as the seconds dragged along. The pitch never faltered, even as the cry let the background jungle settle back into its normal rhythm. I looked over to see Kelum taking deep breaths, before I realized I was too.
"Cap, what the fuck was that?" For the first time since we arrived, tendrils of genuine fear seemed to creep into Kelum's voice. At the very least, he was never letting go of that rifle ever again.
"I don't know, I never heard that before either."
"Well I need you to start knowing right fucking now, cause I don't like that shit, not one bit."
"Neither do I, but we need to remain calm. Now's not the time to start acting like Sivkit," another awful wail echoed in the further distance, "so keep that rifle up."
Kelum didn't need to be told twice. "Maybe we shouldn't stick around. Maybe we've seen everything we've needed to see."
Some part of me agreed with him. You didn't need to be a prey to not be comfortable sharing a space with whatever made that sound. And I don't think that's all this place has in store for us. For better and for worse...
"We saw those buildings. We were just in that observation room. This place is more than just a sanctuary. We need to keep going."
Kelum raised a talon in argument, faltered, then sighed. "If I die here, I'm gonna fucking kill you cap."
That somehow raised a chuckle out of me. "Glad to see your still you."
"You drag me to the gallows, least you can do is let me get the last laugh in." Kelum pushed past me and began sifting through the undergrowth. "I'll lead. I think the town was this way."
Directions, thankfully, weren't going to be an issue. Despite its gargantuan size, the sanctuary appeared to have a pretty simple layout. A giant circle, with the town at the center, surrounded on all sides by thick jungle. All we had to do was walk forward. If only if it was that simple.
I did manage to recognize many of the plants that composed the flora, only due to their absence on the Nishtal I knew. The undergrowth there was absolutely sparse in comparison to here, mostly thanks to the Federation's anti predator efforts. Without natural balances to keep them in check, the native herbivores of Nishtal went wild, stripping the ground level nearly down to the very soil itself. If not for our geoengineering tech, the planet would've suffered an ecological collapse that would've made the Cradle look like hiccup in comparison.
This place seemed to suffer no such issues. Great for the local ecosystem, terrible for us. For not only was it hot, not only was it humid, we had to push through vine and bramble so thick it was nearly impossible to squeeze through. It didn't help that the we seemed to be heading down a slope, so the atmosphere only got thicker as we descended further. It came to the point where I almost considered stripping off my vest so I wouldn't die of heatstroke on the spot. Thankfully we came across a small clearing, which gave us the opportunity to catch our breaths.
"How close do you think we are?" I asked between pulls of impossibly humid air.
"Don't know, but we have to be close." Kelum looked up to the 'sky', where the 'sun' had really reached its zenith. "Hard to tell, but we're definitely making progress."
"Stars above, whatever this is must be worth it."
"Better fucking be. Not dying of thirst on some secret asteroid zoo run by...fuck I don't know. You said you thought it was someone up high who contacted you?"
"Yeah, but that was just a confident guess."
He chuckled. "Maybe this is just his private resort or something. They definitely have the money to hollow out an asteroid. Maybe there will be a pool and a bar on the other side of this bush."
I had to admit, the possibility was funny. "If this was just a roundabout way for Nikonus to invite me over for a drink, I swear to the stars above I'll glass Aafa myself."
Kelum laughed. "Glad to hear your in a good mood cap."
"I'm not."
He stood up, ready to get on the move again. "At least you know what a joke is. Did you know I used to work for Jerulim? Head so far up his ass he forgot what-"
The rustle from a nearby bush cut off Kelum's admiration of our ambassador. He trained the rifle on the source, talon itching to let the weapon bark. The pistol in my holster gained a newfound presence as something began to emerge from within the shadows.
"Alright then, come at me you...oh."
The creature that caused us so much worry turned out to be a small lizard, scales verdant, barely the length of my wing. It crawled from underneath the bush and across the dark earth of the clearing. It took a moment to regard us with two beady side facing eyes, before it began on its way once more.
Kelum lowered the rifle, and began breathing once again. "Damn, little buddy there gave me a-"
Before he had a chance to finish, a rush of air came from behind, and a flash of green and gold plucked the lizard off the ground right in front of our eyes. Before we had a chance to fully process what just happened, the bird was away, propelling itself skyward, the unfortunate lizard grasped firmly in its talons.
We stared dumbly as the...predator ascended, then leveled out, before finally disappearing behind the canopy. Kelum went to say something several times, but each attempt only seemed to point his rifle closer and closer to the ground. Finally, he turned to face me directly, his face the farthest point from comprehension it could possibly go.
"Cap, did that..." he didn't need to finish his sentence. I was still struggling to construe it, but we both saw the same thing.
"Yes, it did."
Kelum nodded his head, before turning it back to the sky. "It did..."
As the shock of the lizard being hunted wore off, I managed to have some thoughts on the situation. This place is definitely not the Nishtal I know. The Federation would never let a bird like that exist in any form besides ash. Yet here it was, in a facility no doubt constructed by the Federation. Is that what the note writer wanted us to see?
"Cap?" I turned to see Kelum once again wear that worried expression. "Any ideas?"
"I...don't know. Maybe this is...some sort of facility to study predators? An isolated environment, far from any inhabited planet, where they won't pose any danger?"
Kelum sighed. "I think that's the best we got right now. But that still doesn't explain the town."
"No, it doesn't." At this point, I was worried that the distant collection of buildings we saw would only serve to raise even more questions. Who lives there? More krakotl? kolshians? Is it empty? But standing around wouldn't answer any questions. It'll kill us, given everything we've seen so far. "Kelum, we have to keep moving."
"Yeah, your right, but with all this..." He paused, before looking at me, then himself. "Are we stupid?"
"Uh...what do you mean."
"Cap, we're birds."
"Yes, but..."
"...oh..."
We had become so enamored with our surroundings that we completely forgot the fact that we could fly.
"Yeah, oh." Kelum slung his rifle over his shoulders, and extended his wings out to their full length. "Hopefully we can just fly right over all of this shit."
"Good thinking, wish we thought of-" Another rustle caught my attention, this time from the nearest tree. In the shadowed canopy far above, I could just barely make out something slinking among the branches.
Earth and debris began to swirl as Kelum went airborne. "Something wrong Cap?"
"Nothing, it's just..." Another branch moved, then fell entirely still. Out of all things, why does this seem so...
And then all at once, days spent at the academy flooded back. Memories of illegal histories and textbooks downloaded over the internet, of countless nights spent secretly learning my peoples true history, of why the Federation even considered us prey in the first place.
Oh no.
"Kelum, KELUM!"
"Cap, wha-"
My yell was enough for Kelum to falter, just enough so that the blur that leapt out of the tree missed him by a feathers width. It landed on a trunk opposite to me, claws sharper than an Arxurs digging into the bark. Its earthen fur, which camouflaged it amidst the foliage, now stood on its ends. A growl gurgled from between its barred teeth, and four forward facing eyes trained directly on me.
For a moment we stared each other down, as we both processed the fact that we were seeing specters. My breath caught, my wings were shaking, and I couldn't focus. Partly out of fear, partly out of the impossibility of the whole situation.
Your supposed to be dead. The Federation killed you, they killed ALL of you.
But it didn't care much for the Federation. It only cared about me. Because it was the predator, and I was now its prey.
It launched off the trunk, almost defying gravity as it crossed the gap at a nearly imperceptible speed. I tried to dodge out of the way, but I only managed halfway before an unfathomable pain flashed across my chest and sent my spinning into the earth.
Something warm and sticky filled the space between my vest and chest as my vision faded in and out. Loud pops sounded off one after another, fully killing the already injured silence. That terrible wail once again echoed distantly, cut off by another pop, and the calm returned once again. Shadows invaded the corners of my vision, threatening to overtake everything. As the false sun dispapeared behind Kelum, consciousness finally slipped away.
The pain was the first thing to greet me, followed by the contradiction of the relatively cool air. The battle between them, the pounding agony and the soothing cold, was what awoke me from my imposed slumber.
Fluttering my eyes met we with large splotches of grey and gold, spattered over my vision like spilled buckets of paint. It took several moments for everything to gain defintion, while another spot of blue went back and forth across my sight.
K...Kelum?
Something I did caught his attention, for he stopped in his tracks and immediately came to my side.
"Captain....Cap...can you hear me?"
"I...Kelum?"
"Yeah, yeah, Cap, it's me. It's Kelum."
"Kelum..."
Kelum was standing over me, fatigue dragging at his features. His talons, his wings, his vest, all of him was smeared with violet. Looking behind him revealed that we were in some sort of cave, orange light cascading through the distant entrance. The rock reflected it all, granting the scene an almost...magmatic appearence. Like everything was going to melt right on top of us and burn us alive. My chest already felt much that way anyways.
"Stars above, your awake. I thought you weren't gonna make it."
I managed to look down to see that I was entirely naked, spare for the fithly fabrics wrapped tightly around my chest. They, along with the feathers surrounding it, was also stained a pugent violet.
"Kelum," a cough sent bolts of pain running across my chest.
"Take it easy, Cap, take it easy." Kelum pressed a talon on my shoulder to keep me from gettiing up. "It got you pretty good. You lost a lot of blood."
"Wha...what happened." My memory was still fuzzy, no more defined than my vision mere moments ago. All that was there were feelings, of fear, pain, confusion, and in some small note, even awe.
"That...that thing, it almost got me. If you hadn't had called out, I...fuck, that fall would've done most of the work." Kelum's brevity was all but gone, leaving behind a bloodied, anxious wreck. "And then it pounced on you, got you across the chest. There was so much blood, I thought you were going to..." He trailed off as he considered the possibility. It was still a possibility.
"Hey," I managed weakly. "I'm still here. It hasn't got me yet."
Kelum managed to regain some of his composure. "I...had to use your vest as a bandage. I don't know how long it'll hold, but it's stopped the bleeding for now."
I looked down at my chest again. Somewhere beneath the tattered remains of my uniform laid a gash that nearly ended my life. There was a momentary urge to peel back the fabric to see how bad it was, but that would only hasten things at that point.
"Kelum...if I don't make it..."
"Cap, don't say that."
"Kelum, it's my job as a captain to realistically assess the situation we find ourselves in. And the fact is that I can't fly. I don't even know if I can walk. Odds are that more of those Dakquo are roaming around out there, along with stars know what else. If this," I pointed to my bandage, "doesn't get me, everything else will."
"Cap..." Kelum didn't want to accept it, but I could see that he knew it was true. I was living on borrowed time.
"Kelum, for what it's worth, I wouldn't have chosen anyone else to come with me. Even in this place, you've flown above and beyond the call of duty. And for that, thank you."
Kelum couldn't help a tear from rolling down his cheek, one which he quickly wiped away, leaving behind a little smear of purple. "Thanks cap, it's been an honor serving with you too."
Kelum stood over me for a long moment, before setting down beside me. He glanced deeper into the tunnel , before turning back to face the entrance. "Cap?"
"Yeah?" My breathing was beginning to grow more ragged.
"You mentioned a Dakquo? Was that..."
"Yeah, it was."
Another moment of silence.
It's ironic, isn't it.
"It was a predator from before the Federation arrived. It likes to hide up in the trees, waiting for something to fly past. That's when it pounces. I...became fasncinated with it in my youth. To think, such a powerful creature once roamed our home, that we coexisted with it peacefully for so long. And in an instant, the Federation took it all away. I never thought I would see one. I was never suppsoed to see one. They're supposed to be all dead."
Kelum took another glance back.
"So when I saw it there, about to pounce, a small part of me couldn't help but feel amazed. Something they took from us, something that once defined who we were. And there it was, right in front of my eyes."
I coughed again, and pain roared back once more. Kelum gripped me tighly as it slowly faded, but didn't fully disppear. I didn't have long. Hours, maybe a day or two at the most.
I looked down at the wrap. A small bead of blood peeked out from the wound, which I picked up on the tip of my talon. It glowed pink under the fading light.
"It's funny. It only took a thousand years, but things are finally back to normal."
Kelum glanced back once more.
"Kelum, what are you looking at?"
"I.." he blinked, "I've been trying to ignore it, but there's down the tunnel there."
"What do you mean? Is it-"
"It's not alive, but..." his look said it might has well been. "I'm gonna check it out."
"I'm coming with you." I moved to stand up, but Kelum placed a talon on my shoulder.
"Your not going anywhere cap. Walking around isn't gonna do you any good."
"Like sitting here is." Ignoring my wound scremaing murder, I stood up, and balanced myself on two shaky legs. "I'm not sitting this out. Not anymore."
"But cap-"
"Kelum, I came here because it was a choice I could make. Let me make this one too."
Kelum moved to protest, but only managed to sigh. He unholstered my pistol, and handed it off to me. "If you die now, I'm gonna kill you cap."
That managed a frail chcukle out of me. "Glad to see your still you."
"Fuck, I'm glad too."
Every step was like ten years spent on a cattle farm, but I was able to at least walk. We began slowly creeping deeper into the cave, with Kelum bringing up his weapon light against the encroaching darkness. It revealed something only barely visible from our previous spot, a set of...bones. Inching closer showed that the corpse wasn't of a bird, or that lizard, or even the Dakquo. Rather...
"Wait..." Kelum pasued his light on the skull, where two forward facing sokcets stared back. The snout was elongated, housing row upon row of razor sharp teeth. It rested near what remained of the creatures long tail...and the hands...
"No way..."
Kelum turned his light on one of the hands. Four fingers, and...two thumbs.
"That can't be possible." Kelum swept the light to the other arm, and the story was the same. Four fingers, two thumbs. "No, this can't be right."
It wasn't supposed to be possible, but it was. It was staring us right in the face, with sockets that housed eyes that once terrfied the entire galaxy.
"It's an arxur."
Before we even had time to process the discovery, noises from back where we came caught our attention. Kelum turned towards the light, rifle raised in anticiaption of another attack. I raised my pistol, before a flash of agony nearly sent me to the ground. Something tore, something seperated, and my chest suddenly began to feel too warm. I looked down to see that the bandage had gone loose, and the blood was beginning to run free.
"Oh shit, Kalsim, hold on!"
"It's fine...it's fine." I lowered to the ground as Kelum began frantically ripping off his own vest. The blood was running in little rivers between my feathers as my gaurd despratley tried to stem the flow. But it wasn't working this time. Even with mine and his, the makeshift dressing wasn't enough to prevent what was coming now.
Everything began to fade, Kelums deseperate pleas for me to stay awake, the approaching footsteps, what sounded like voices, all rapdily consumed by the encroaching fog. Even the pain, which seemed to slink away with every passing second.
It was so...peaceful. Even as Kelum began to shake me, even as he was thrown aside by a shadowed figure, I wasn't afraid. Maybe I lost the capacity to be afraid. The path set for me left me liable to be shot or annihilaited at any given moment. I long accepted the inevitability of my death, but I was no hurry to greet it. And now here I was, knocking on the door.
The darkness envloped me entirely, and sensation quickly fell away. Just as I crossed the threshhold, one final thought occured to me:
At least it was all my fault.
l Prologue l Previous l Next l

Link to original nosleep post:
https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/1cq87q1/im_a_single_mom_i_never_knew_who_the_donor_was/
It all started when I got divorced at the age of thirty-nine, and was left with a choice.
Return to the dating "circuit," as my single girl friends would jokingly refer to it, and take my chances on finding a man ready to jump right into having a family, or explore alternative means of having a child... on my own.
"On my own." The very sound of it terrified me, but when I thought about starting a relationship all over again after ten long years of trying to salvage one, going it alone didn't sound so bad.
And so...
...The next day, I began looking into artificial insemination by way of an anonymous sperm donation.
...A week after that, I was at a fertility clinic, looking through a database containing profiles of potential anonymous donors and making arrangements for a procedure...
...A month after that, I was pregnant...
...And nine months after that, I was giving birth to my beautiful baby boy... David.
And while I didn't know who David's biological father was, it didn't matter. I was his mother. He was my son. And we were in it together.
That is, until almost seven years later, when I received a call from an unknown number, that would change my life forever.
"Hello?" I answered.
"Is this Mary Birch?" A man asked on the other line.
"Yes, this is she..." I replied, prepared to hang up at the earliest sign of spam risk.
"The same Mary Birch who received an artificial insemination from an anonymous sperm donor seven years ago tomorrow?"
Fuck. I thought to myself, assuming that after all these years, the anonymous donor himself had suddenly come looking for me... or worse... David.
"This is Ryan McDonald. I was a nurse at the fertility clinic where you chose your anonymous donor and underwent your procedure."
"Okay..." I replied, unsure of where he was going with it.
"Mary, I'm not sure exactly how to tell you this... but there's something you need to know about David."
"What?"
"And I need to tell you before tomorrow."
—
Later that night, I was sitting at a diner, texting David's babysitter his dietary restrictions, while at the same time researching where to rent a bouncy house for his seventh birthday the next day, when Ryan McDonald sat down in the booth across from me.
He didn't look familiar, but in my defense, it had been almost seven years, and it wasn't like I ever got to know any of the countless nurses I had met during the process.
"This is going to be difficult to hear..." Ryan began, before taking a deep breath. "But David isn't the only child conceived using his biological father's sperm."
"Fair enough. I always knew there was a chance that there were others out there." I replied, relieved to hear what I assumed was why he brought me there.
But my assumption was very wrong.
"Yeah but the thing is..." He added, before hesitating, and then leaning in to whisper to me. "The others... There's something very wrong with them."
"Oh, well I guess I lucked out then." I said defensively, "'Cause David is the most level headed child. I honestly couldn't have asked for a more well behaved kid."
"See that's the thing..." Ryan continued, "So were they... Until their seventh birthdays."
"Seventh birthdays? Well, what happened then?"
"They... turned."
"Turned into what?"
"Killers."
I stopped for a minute and went completely silent, as he looked at me sympathetically...
...Until I suddenly burst out laughing.
"Killers? That's a good one! Hold on." I called out, as I looked around the diner, "Where are the hidden cameras? You're pranking me, right?"
"I'm afraid not, Mary."
That's when he pulled out the newspaper clippings.
There were nine stories in total, about nine different children. Each one having either gone on a killing spree, or attempted to, just after turning seven years old. And, according to Ryan, each one a child of "The Donor," as he kept referring to him.
"David, from what we know, is the tenth, and final child." He concluded, as he put the clippings back in his pocket.
The whole thing was all so overdramatic, so far-fetched, and so disrespectful to both me and my son... that whatever amusement I was finding in it, had long faded away. Instead... it was actually starting to piss me off.
"If you'll excuse me, Mr. McDonald, I'd better be going. I'm afraid your joke has gone a little too far." I declared with a scowl, as I grabbed my purse and stormed away.
"Wait!" He called out. "We need to talk about "The Donor.""
But I'd already made up my mind.
—
By the time I got home, David was fast asleep in his bedroom, and the babysitter was anxiously waiting to leave. After handing her some cash and heading upstairs, I got ready for bed, and put on some reality TV, to help get my mind off the bizarre, and unsettling encounter at the diner.
But when the clock struck midnight, and it officially became David's seventh birthday, I couldn't help but be reminded of Ryan's warning.
"See that's the thing... So were they... Until their seventh birthdays."
"Don't worry about it. It's just a bunch of nonsense." I whispered to myself, as I pulled the comforter over my head, shut off the light, and turned in for the night.
But just as I was falling asleep, I was suddenly awoken by a strange noise emanating from the hallway, specifically David's bedroom.
Cracking the door and tiptoeing down the hall, I slowly approached it.
And as I got closer, and closer, and closer...
...The noise grew louder, and louder, and louder...
...Until I reached the door to David's room, and was able to hear the sound more clearly. It was a growling noise, accented by what sounded like howling and drooling.
Surely, Ryan was right, and there was, in fact, something wrong with David. I thought to myself, terrified by what might have come over him.
I stood there for a moment, frozen in place, not knowing what to do.
Until I eventually worked up the courage to grab the doorknob and fling open the door....
...Only to find David curled up in bed, watching a horror movie, its hero on the verge of being devoured by a zombie.
Phew. I thought to myself, realizing that the film was the source of the unsettling sounds that I'd heard. Before my relief turned to anger.
"David! What are you doing? It's way past your bedtime!"
"Sorry, mom!" My son replied, looking even more scared than the movie's main character, and than I had just been, as he scrambled to find the clicker and turn off the TV.
Then I remembered that it was David's birthday, and suddenly felt bad, so I decided to let him watch TV until the movie ended, under one condition. That he be on his best behavior at his birthday party the next day.
—
But despite our agreement, when David's seventh birthday party commenced in our backyard the next day, something came over him that I'd never seen before.
A strange irritability. A temper that, had I not seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn't have believed he was capable of.
Seemingly out of nowhere, after showing his friend Bobby one of his birthday gifts, he suddenly snatched it back and yelled, "Give it back! It's not yours, it's mine!" Before shoving him to the ground.
"David!" I screamed, as Bobby's eyes welled up, and the other moms looked on in surprise. "That's enough! Now get inside and go to your room! Until I say otherwise!"
"But mom!" He cried back.
"I said go! Now!" I insisted.
But rather than continue to argue, his face suddenly turned blank and he simply walked back inside.
"Are you okay, Bobby?" I asked his friend, who had just picked himself up off the ground, and appeared to be fine, before turning to Bobby's mother, Roxy. "I am so sorry about that. I have no idea what's gotten into him."
But Roxy didn't say anything. She just stood there, silently, her mouth agape and her eyes wide in fear, as she looked over my shoulder.
I turned around...
...To find David, standing at the door to the backyard, holding a steak knife.
"David..." I began to scold him, but he had already come charging at me, as the rest of the party goers cried out in horror.
Now it's important to know why my husband had left so many years ago. Truth is, he had a terrible temper, and was prone to psychological and emotional abuse. He had never laid a finger on me, until one day, when, in the middle of a fight, he seemingly out of nowhere, picked up a kitchen knife and threatened to use it on me. Suffice to say, a month later, we had filed for divorce.
Which is why, in that moment, as my child held one of his own, repeating history, I simply...
...Froze...
...As he grew closer... and closer... and closer, raising his weapon in the air, ready to strike.
But before he was able to bring the knife down on me, suddenly a hand emerged out of nowhere and caught his arm, freezing his blade in midair, just an inch from my face.
And when I turned to investigate who had saved me from my child...
...I saw Ryan McDonald standing there, a look of sorrow in his eyes, as if to say, "Told ya so."
But all he said was, "We have to talk about "The Donor.""

Link to original nosleep post:
https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/1b5iszd/my_wife_and_i_got_cast_in_a_reality_show_pilot/
I had just wrapped work on a Friday night, when my wife, Cara, first told me about the ad.
"I don't know how long I can work for this guy anymore." I said to her, closing my laptop for the weekend.
"Alan?" She replied.
"Yeah. He's such a prick. Everything's urgent, and everything's a fire drill. Until he doesn't care about it anymore."
"You know what you should do?"
"What?"
"Kick his ass."
"I wish. But you know full well that I don't have a threatening bone in my body. I'm a lover not a fighter." I said with a wink.
"Oh, that reminds me! Speaking of lovers." My wife said with a smile, pulling out her phone. "Look at this."
Taking the phone from her hand, I saw that she had saved a job posting.
"New Reality Series Seeks Married Couples For Chance To Win Once In A Lifetime Prize."
At first, I scoffed at it. Having been happily married for a few years now, and both of us gainfully employed, I was pretty confident that neither my wife nor I sought money or fame. We already had everything a couple could ever want.
"Why would we ever go on a reality show?" I asked.
"Keep reading," Cara replied, pointing to the bottom of the posting.
I did as she suggested.
"The winning couple will receive a once in a lifetime chance to work with one of the best fertility doctors in the world, to aid them in having a child."
Okay, maybe we didn't quite have everything a couple could want.
I looked at my wife. "Enticing, yes. But I mean, what are the chances we'd actually get cast?"
"Hey, you can't win if you don't play, right?" Cara replied, "And what other choice do we have?"
She had a point. We'd been trying to conceive for a few years, but no matter the approach, whether natural, IUI, or IVF, you name it, the outcome was always the same.
It was the one thing we didn't have. The one thing, save for surrogacy or adoption, that money couldn't buy...
...Having a child of our own.
And so...
...The next day, we reached out to the production company's nondescript email address...
...A couple days later, we heard back...
...And a week later, we found ourselves on a video call with a casting director, attempting to sell her on why they should choose us as one of the five couples competing in their pilot, and why we deserved the prize.
But my wife and I both left the meeting thinking we botched it, each of us walking away with the same feeling that one gets after a flubbed job interview.
And so, we both resolved to go back to our lives. Back to being realistic about the situation. And even started looking into some adoption agencies.
That is, until a week later, when Cara and I received an email from the production company...
...Informing us that we were selected to participate in the reality show pilot!
A few signed contracts, NDAs, and talent release forms later, and my wife and I were off on an all-expense paid trip to Los Angeles.
I remember pulling into the parking lot of the production studio that first day, and finding it a bit strange that a TV show would be filmed in such a rundown, dilapidated warehouse. But I knew nothing about production, and chalked it up to budgetary constraints. And, after all, we had already traveled too far, and there was too much on the line, to turn back now.
Upon entering the building's lobby, we were immediately welcomed in by the show's producer, Phil, whose warm greeting through his medical mask, quickly turned sour, "You're late! Literally the last couple to arrive! Hurry, hurry! Follow me! We're about to start!"
I thought it a bit rude, and noticed a concerned look wash over Cara's face. But then I remembered it was our fault, after all, that we underestimated LA traffic, so I bit my tongue.
Phil then confiscated both of our cell phones, before escorting us out of the lobby, down a long hallway, around a corner, and into a massive lounge, lit by professional lights, with five couches scattered about. Four of which were occupied by other couples, who were sitting there, patiently waiting, when we finally entered the room.
"So sorry!" I called out to them, while simultaneously waving "Hello," as I sat down in one of the loveseats.
"Thanks for your patience!" Cara added, as she took a seat beside me.
But our peers and competitors didn't even have a chance to react, as Phil suddenly ran into the room with a similarly masked production crew of about ten individuals, and got right down to business.
I thought it strange that they were all masked, assuming that covid regulations had long ended, but before I could dwell on the details too much, Phil yelled out, "Alright, places people! Sound!"
"Speed!" A few masked sound guys yelled back, as they hit record on their audio devices and aimed their boom microphones at the front of the room.
"Camera!" Phil continued.
"Speeding!" Several masked camera men replied, in unison, each carrying a broadcast camera on their shoulder.
"Slate!" Phil added, as a masked production assistant ran up to the front of the room, where there was a set of two doors on the far wall, and a door to the side that must have led offstage. He then opened his clapboard, for all of the cameras and microphones to see and hear.
I wondered why they hadn't filled out the section on the clapboard where the first take would go, but my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of it clapping.
CLAP!
Then Phil gestured to what must have been the director, who was hanging back in the shadows, his features hidden in the dark, outside of the set's bright lights.
"Action!" The director yelled out for all to hear.
And then...
...There was silence.
All of us couples looked at each other with a smile, literally on the edge of our seats, when suddenly, we heard the voice of a middle aged man ring out over the speakers that had been mounted to the ceiling of the lounge. "Ladies and gentlemen! Who's excited to make history?"
The cameras turned to the ten participants, including Cara and myself, and we all immediately started clapping and whistling, before they turned back to the man.
"I'm your anonymous host, four time husband, and five time divorcee!"
The group erupted in laughter, cheering him on, as they looked up at the speakers.
"And you know what? I'm not proud of that. Cause, much like you, deep down inside, I want to love and be loved. To have the fortitude, the patience, and the will to fight on through good times and bad, all in the name of love. Which is why I've brought you all here. Yes, you! Give yourselves a round of applause!" He said, before pausing to allow us all to react.
And so we did, all the couples clapping and smiling.
"Yes, I'm here, hosting and watching remotely, to learn from the five happily married couples before us, what the secret is to persevering through the challenges that life throws our way. To see what ends you'll all go to in support of your marriage, and if you'll do... anything for love. Ladies and gentlemen. Welcome... to Anything For Love."
Everyone let out a nervous laugh, but kept applauding anyway.
"And now... it's time for the rules. In this reality competition, the first of its kind, you'll be split up into two groups, five men and five women, and separated from each other for the duration of the game. Over the course of the show, both teams will compete in four challenges, with each challenge resulting in one loser, who will be promptly eliminated. At the end of the game, the winning player from each team will be revealed. If those two players are not members of the same couple, then no one wins. But if those two players happen to be members of the same couple, they win the game, and a once in a lifetime prize... The chance to work with one of the best fertility doctors in the world, to aid them in having a child. So before we begin, let me ask you this... Are you prepared to do anything for love?"
His voice blasted out from the speakers with so much enthusiasm, and so much energy, that in that moment, every single one of us hopped up out of our seats, and began cheering and clapping.
Eventually, the applause faded, and our host continued, "Now, will the men please line up on the left side of the room, and the women on the right?"
The couples did exactly as he asked, and when we had finally split up into two groups, men and women, our host simply said. "Now goodluck! And I can't wait to see who makes it to the end!"
Suddenly, the two doors at the front of the room opened, and each group was escorted by a masked production assistant through one of the doors, separating the husbands from the wives, until that fateful moment at the end of the show, when only the two winners will be reunited.
For the first couple games, I didn't know where they took the wives, or what kind of challenges my own wife was facing. All I knew were the games they presented to us husbands.
Games that were, let's just say...
...Utterly fucked.
As all five men entered the room for the first game, we all saw before us, a massive open factory space, that had been adorned with only one simple piece of art direction at its center... a small wooden table.
"Will the contestants please make their way to the table." The host called out over this room's ceiling-mounted speakers.
We did as he said, as the masked camera crew followed us to the center of the room.
"The rules of game one are simple. In marriage, you must sometimes sacrifice a piece of yourself, for the greater good. Today, that sacrifice... is your wedding ring. But not just your wedding ring... your entire ring finger!"
The five guys and myself all turned to one another and chuckled, assuming he was kidding.
But suddenly, a door opened into the factory, and a masked crew member proceeded to walk over to the table holding a steak knife.
He didn't say anything, and simply stared at us through his mask, as the host continued.
"The last person to cut their finger off, or the first to give up, is the loser. And will be promptly escorted from the premises."
What the fuck. I thought to myself, realizing the host wasn't kidding.
"Wait a minute," a few of the men mumbled.
But one of them, the most obnoxious in the group, could not have been less afraid, puffing out his chest and yelling into a camera, "Fine! I'll go first. I aint afraid."
He then slammed his hand down on the table, clenching his fist in a way that only exposed his ring finger.
There was a brief moment of silence until...
...Suddenly the masked crew member grabbed the husband's hand and brought down his blade so hard, that it cut the man's finger clean off, blood spraying all over the table.
It took the arrogant man a moment to process what had just happened, before he started screaming in pain, a scream that turned into a maniacal laugh, as medical staff ran over to tend to his wound.
Meanwhile, the rest of us guys looked on in horror, as we saw blood pouring from his hand, and realized we were next.
The wounded husband then looked directly into one of the cameras and defiantly said, "That was nothing." Before turning back to us and asking, "Come on. Who's next fellas?"
Two more of the men begrudgingly followed suit, each of their ring fingers being severed from their hands, leaving just myself and one husband left.
We were both shaking in fear, but the other guy was terrified, that he started begging the producer for a way out. "Wait you can't be serious? We really need to do that? Please. Please don't make me.
"The show is called Anything For Love." Phil replied. "And you signed paperwork that warned you things like this would come up."
"I didn't read that!" The nervous man yelled back.
But before he even had a chance to consider participating, I must have accidentally leaned on the table with my hand.
"Wait!" The nervous man yelled out...
...But it was too late. Before either he or I noticed, the masked man had already amputated my ring finger, blood spraying everywhere, as I let out a great scream that echoed throughout the factory.
And as the medical staff ran over to me, just as they had done for the others who had gone before me, I heard the host's voice on the speakers again. "Congratulations, gentlemen! Four of you have shown that you'll do anything for love. While the fifth, did not have what it takes, and must now return home."
And like that, a couple masked production assistants grabbed the nervous man by the shoulders, and escorted him out of the room.
It was in the aftermath of that first game, that I realized the title of the show, "Anything For Love," was not just a play on words, but the literal description of what we would need to do to win.
And then, the host continued.
"Will the remaining four husbands please walk through the open door, and into the next room."
We did as he asked.
On the way there, I looked down at my missing finger, its stump wrapped in gauze, and couldn't help but wonder if Cara had also been forced to make the same choice, and if she had gone through with it.
When we entered the second room, we all saw another giant warehouse space. Except this time, instead of being sparse, it was completely overgrown with shrubs of thorny vines, separating where we stood, from the other side.
"Love is both a rose, but also has thorns." The host called out over the room's speakers. "It can make you feel euphoric pleasure, but at the same time extreme pain. In game two, you'll need to prove that you can overcome that pain to get to the other side, and make it to game three. The last person to crawl through the thorns, or the first person to give up, will be promptly eliminated from the show and removed from the premises. Will you do anything for love? The game starts... now."
The four husbands all looked at each other, then back at the thorns, then back at each other, before the arrogant man, who was standing beside me, made me a proposition. "Let's team up. If we follow the same path, we can take turns, one of us pushing forward for a while, then the other, and it'll save us half the pain.”
But I didn't like the idea of cheating, or supporting such an asshole, so I politely declined. "Sorry man."
"Fine, have it your way, idiot. I don't need your help, I was just trying to help him out." The arrogant man said to one of the cameras, before he turned around and charged into the thorns.
The rest of us husbands, including myself, still in shock from what had happened in the first game and clenching our wounded hands, looked at each other, and then back at the production crew. But a group of them were standing behind us, ready to push us into the thorns, should we decide not to comply.
So we all proceeded to follow the arrogant husband into the thorns, and began a race, through what felt like a football field's length of sharp vines, each of us doing our best to avoid what we could, but inevitably getting scratched over and over and over again, to the point where our bodies were covered in blood.
And when I finally crossed the finish line, and stepped out of the thorny shrubs bloody and exhausted, I was relieved to find that only two husbands had beat me there. The arrogant man, of course, and another.
We all looked back, to find the fourth pour soul still halfway through the shrubs, his clothes caught in the thorns.
"Wait for me!" He called out. But it was too late.
"Congratulations, winners!" The host's voice called out over the speakers. "You've proven you would truly do anything for love, and can proceed on to the next game. And as for the loser, please remove him from the game."
Then, a couple crew members wearing rubber suits and carrying shears, cut their way through the thorns, freed the fourth husband from the thorns, and escorted him out of the factory.
As the three remaining husbands left the second room and entered the third, my thoughts once again returned to my wife, and wondered whether she too was faced with the same challenge, and had made it through the thorns.
Game three is where things... escalated.
When we entered the next factory, I saw three beds in the center of the room, each with a TV next to it.
"Remaining contestants, welcome to the semi final challenge." The host bellowed out over the room's speakers. "Will you each please choose a bed."
The three of us did as he asked, and walked to the center of the room, each of us standing in front of one the beds.
Then, a door opened and three masked women emerged, making their way to the center of the room, and each lying down on one of the beds.
"The rules of game three are as follows." He continued. "You simply have to sex with the stranger before you..."
The arrogant husband looked at me and smiled.
"...While watching your partner do the same."
Suddenly, the three TVs turned on, each displaying our wives in the very same situation. And lying on each of their beds, was a masked man.
"First off, we assure you that the women and men before you complied consensually, and have been tested for STDs. So the test of this game is not about morality, or safety, but fidelity. Would you cheat on your significant other, for the greater good of the relationship? The last couple to have sex, or the first to refuse, will lose. While the others, will proceed on to the final challenge."
I looked at my wife on the TV screen, relieved that she had made it this far, but started in shaking fear of what we both have to do to win.
Meanwhile, the arrogant husband started unclipping his belt button and turned to one of the cameras. "You call this a semi final? My wife and I are in an open relationship. Bring it on!"
While the third man, simply stared at his TV screen, sweating and pacing, clearly terrified to go through with it, and watch his wife do the same.
"The game begins... now!” The host called out.
As the arrogant man began to have sex with the woman on his bed, his naked body still littered with fresh scratches from the thorns, I thought about trying to escape, but then I saw the timid husband, and realized his hesitation was an opportunity for me to make it to the next round.
And so, I too removed my clothes and exposed my wounded body, crawling into bed with the masked woman, as my wife did the same with the masked man.
Before long, it was over, the arrogant man laying there naked and smiling into one of the cameras, while I, also naked, hung my head in shame for what I had just done.
I looked at the TV screen, and saw my wife put her clothes back on too. We had both made it.
The same could not be said for the nervous man and his wife, who both stayed true to their values, neither engaging in the act, before masked crew members promptly escorted them out of the factory.
And then there were two. Well, two couples that is. Myself against the arrogant man, my wife against his.
Masked production assistants then brought myself and my competitor into the room where the final challenge would be held.
It, much like the first room, was completely bare save for a dinner table at its center, where two plates and sets of utensils were set out.
"Finalists. Welcome to the fourth and last challenge. Will both contestants please take a seat at the dinner table."
We followed his instructions, as we had done previously, and sat down at the table, before a couple production assistants ran over and helped us tuck bibs into our shirts.
"The rules of game four are perhaps the most simple of all. You'll be presented with an item that you must eat. The first to finish eating it, is the winner." The host said over the room's speakers.
That's when a door opened and two masked PAs came out holding trays, and began rushing them over to us.
As they approached us, I began to panic, knowing that whatever it was that they were about to present to us, would likely even be more terrifying than anything we had encountered in the previous games.
"Sometimes you have to break a heart, to win another." The host called out, "In this challenge, the item you'll need to eat is..."
At that exact moment, the two PAs each removed a pair of tongs from their pocket, uncovered their tray, and placed the item on our plates.
"...A human heart."
I gasped, and nearly threw up in my mouth, as I saw the disgusting bloody organ lying there on my plate.
"May the best husband win! Goodluck, the game starts... now!"
For a minute, I hesitated, disgusted by the challenge set before me, but then I thought about what was on the line, and saw the arrogant husband immediately biting into his heart, blood pouring down his face.
I hurried to catch up, briefly fumbling my own heart, before chomping into it, and attempting to eat it as fast as I could, as blood sprayed all over my own face.
But the arrogant husband had gotten a head start, and was moving too quickly. No matter how fast I ate it, it was becoming clear that if nothing was done, he would surely beat me..
So, not knowing what else to do…
…I slammed what was left of my heart onto the plate, removed my bib, stood up, and proceeded to tackle the arrogant man out of his seat, sending his heart sliding across the concrete floor.
"What the fuck are you doing, man?" He asked, likely surprised that I was capable of such an act.
"I'm doing what needs to be done for love." I replied, before pummeling him over and over in the face with my fist, as I channeled my innermost frustrations, ranging from the traumatic experience we had just gone through, the arrogant husband’s obnoxious behavior throughout the game, years of belittlement from asshole boss, and my wife and my countless failed attempts at getting pregnant over the years.
I kept pummeling him, until he had completely shut the fuck up, and was simply mumbling incoherent words, his face a bloody pulp, blood bubbling out of his mouth.
I then stood up, walked back to the table, sat down, put the bib back on, and took the last bite of my heart.
"Congratulations, you’ve proved that you'll truly do anything for love, and have won the show! Please remove the loser."
Rather than celebrate, my mind once again returned to my wife, worried about her well being and wondering if she too, had mustered up the courage to eat the heart, and had become the winning wife.
A couple masked production assitants then ran over and dragged the arrogant husband away, as he simply stared at me in shock.
I looked down at my hands, which were still covered in blood, then up at one of the cameras, which was now right up in my face.
“How do you feel?” Phil asked, prompting me to speak to the camera.
But I couldn’t bring myself to speak any words.
I tried to think of something to say, but before I could, a door opened, and the masked PAs grabbed me by the arms and escorted me out of the last room and into an adjacent hallway, which led to a huge set of double doors.
"Winners,” the host said over the hallway’s speakers. “You stand here before us, victorious, each of you on one side of the doors. Now it is time, to find out if the person on the other side… is your partner… and if you both had what it takes, to do anything for love."
I took a deep breath, expecting the worst. Expecting to see the arrogant man’s wife on the other side. After all that.
But when the doors opened, I simply saw…
...My wife, standing there on the other side.
We ran to each other and embraced, both of us missing our ring fingers, littered in scratches, emotionally exhausted, and with faces and hands that were covered in blood.
"Congratulations!" The host continued, "You're the winners of Anything for Love!"
Both crying, we smiled at each other, but our smiles quickly turned into looks of sadness.
We'd won. But at what cost? I wondered, before the thought was overshadowed by that of the once in a lifetime prize that awaited us.
The producer, Phil, then brought us into yet another room, where we met a doctor, his face covered by a surgical mask, and both shook his hand.
"When you two showed up late,” Phil began, “I never thought you'd be the ones to win. But you did. So we stand by our promise. After you return home, you’ll be contacted by the doctor, who will provide you with the guidance and resources to hopefully have a baby of your own. That part, is obviously not guaranteed."
"Thank you." My wife replied, clearly torn by saying those words. “Understood.”
"Thank you." I added, also torn, before realizing that the camera crew didn't follow us into the room with the doctor. "But can I ask, why aren't you filming this part?"
"Oh, our audience only cares about watching the games." Phil replied with a chuckle.
"Audience? But we just filmed it."
"Oh, yeah we were livestreaming the whole time."
"I thought it was just a pilot. Who was watching?"
"The subscribers."
"Who are they?"
"A very small, very privileged group of people, who can't be bothered by pedestrian entertainment. They desire something more... elevated."
"Will this ever be a real show?"
"This? Of course not." Phil laughed, "No one else will ever watch this again. And no one but the small group of contestants and this crew, will ever know of what went on here."
"What happened to the other couples?"
"Oh they're fine. Aside from missing fingers, and being a little physically and emotionally scratched up. We'll do with them exactly what we'll do with you. Drop them off somewhere just far enough away that after we give them their phones back, if they choose to call the police or tell anyone about this place, by the time they come here to investigate, they'll find this factory abandoned, without a trace of what went on here today. The same goes for you. By the way, we better get you ready to go, your car will be arriving any minute now.”
Neither my wife nor myself had the energy to conjure up a reply.
"Thank you again for playing!" Phil said through his mask, "And on behalf of the subscribers, please enjoy your prize!"
He then led us out down a long hallway, through a back door, and into an alley, where a car was waiting to take us away.
"The chauffeur will provide you with your phones upon your arrival."
An hour or so later, the driver pulled over on the side of a highway, and let us off, handing us our phones just as Phil had promised.
But rather than call the police, we just stood there for a while, still horrified by the terrifying experience we had just been put through.
And ultimately… we decided that since we had won, it'd be best to leave it alone.
We hitched a ride back home, and sure enough, about a week later...
...We received a call from the doctor...
...And less than a year after that, my wife gave birth to our baby boy.
Sometimes, I think back to that day, and the terrible games they set before us, and wonder if my wife and I went too far to win…
...But then I look at my newborn son, and all the doubt, all the shame, all the horror, washes away.
And as for the subscribers. Every once in a while, when a car drives suspiciously slow past our house, or I get the feeling that my baby monitor might have just moved on its own, I wonder if they're still watching us, and if this is just the next episode of their reality show.

(Now there are some parts in this chapter that actually happened in real life, the French revolution and incidents that happened during it. But pretty much the story is a work of fiction.)
Chapter 1: Recollection- I stood and watched the droplets of rain slide down the window pane. This should be a festival, or some type of holiday, as we rarely get any rainfall. I focused my gaze on the neon signs below. The rain falling around them seemed to enhance their luminosity. It is amazing that rainfall can make such a filth-riddled city like this seem almost; normal. After a little while, the rain slowly stopped falling. The dark clouds quickly dissipated and the twin moons cast their brightness, like two large spotlights in a prison yard. The city that was briefly hidden by the rain showed its ugly face. New Grimes City, the place where ‘good people’ are the stuff of legends. Gangsters, thieves, murderers and prostitutes are just some of the people who call this place home. Not a day goes by where you have to watch for wandering fingers reaching for your pockets. Although if you’re someone like me, you have more than just pickpockets to look out for. Being a private investigator has brought a slew of negative attention my way. There have been multiple assassination attempts made against me. But there’s a reason why all who have challenged me have failed.
Being a vampire has its perks, especially in a place like this. That’s the reason why I was sent here in the first place. Back on Earth things like me weren’t allowed in society, in fact anyone who put a single toe out of line was doomed to be sent here. The group known as “The cult of order” saw to that. No one knew of their existence, until the meteor struck. “The cataclysm of 2223”, the year that everything changed. After the meteor fell and single handedly wiped out most of the population of Earth, the remaining survivors needed a leader. The cult of order came to power, and established a "one-world government". sometimes I still can see the events of that fateful day as if it were a movie being played on repeat. I can still see the distant trail of the meteor as it plunged to Earth, see the towering wall of sea water as it came rushing towards the land, and being consumed by it. People who were fortunate enough lived in Strato-houses, or had some type of SHRV (Space Habitation and Recreational Vehicle) to get them out of harm's way. The rest of us weren’t so lucky, I would wager that half of the Earth’s population died that day. I remember as I was underneath the waves watching the many lifeless bodies being dragged along, I didn’t have to worry about drowning but I didn’t want to be stuck under the water. I tried to fight my way to the surface but the weight of the water and raging current made that near impossible. As I still kept trying to fight my way to the surface, I felt a sharp stinging pain in my stomach. A long metal rod had pierced straight through me like a knife through warm butter. When my blood started to mingle with the water that’s when I started to panic, if I didn’t get out of the water soon I would die. I hadn’t eaten in months up until that point, so I was already weak as it is. Bleeding out is kind of an ironic fate for a vampire, and one that I really wanted to take a rain check on. I started reaching out, desperately trying to grab onto something, anything that I could hold onto. If I was lucky, maybe it would be something buoyant enough to get me to the surface. I was so desperate that I started trying to grab hold of the bodies that were being tossed along the current above me. “I can’t die! I won’t die here!” were the thoughts racing through my head. Suddenly; as if some divine force heard my thoughts and felt my desperation, the current started to slow down.
A brief feeling of euphoria hit me as I felt myself just floating in the vast waters that surrounded me. However I knew I wasn’t safe just yet, I was getting weaker from the blood loss, so much so that I couldn’t use any of my magical abilities. With one more desperate reach, I grabbed onto the hand of one of the bodies. It was a young woman who looked to be in her early twenties. Her long black hair floated in the water, it made me think of me and my fiancée swimming in the lakes at Versailles. I hadn’t thought about her for ages it seemed, up until that point. She died a very long time ago, and I’ve tried to forget about it. Those were very dark times, even darker than the present I believe. It was at that point where I felt as if I wasn't going to make it up to the surface, I was too weak.Well if I was going to die, I wanted those thoughts of my fiancée to be my last. I remember hearing a beautiful song and the feeling of something embracing me. I surrendered to the warm feeling of it and closed my eyes, I'm pretty sure I smiled.

 I woke up; I was curious as to whether I was still alive, or had died and this was the afterlife. I felt as if I was laying on a bed, or possibly in a coffin with a soft interior. That's when a figure approached me, I couldn't clearly see who it was. I blinked a couple times to try and adjust my vision. It was a man, the thing that struck me was his pale skin. It seemed almost translucent. His piercing hazel eyes glowed brightly in the dark room. Then he smiled; he was a vampire just like me. "W-where am I?" was all I could say. "You are in a sanctuary, for our kind. This place used to be packed to the ceiling, but now it's very rare to see vampires. Alexandre and I have been the only inhabitants of this place for some time, so it's good to see another vampire." the man said. He grabbed my hand and slowly lifted me up. “How did you know I was a vampire?” I asked. “Oh, aside from the pale skin and fangs? No human could truly survive that.” “How did I get here?”, the man before me giggled a little at that question. “ You were rescued by a mermaid, if only I were so lucky,” the man said. “What was she like?” I couldn’t help but wonder, I didn’t realize mermaids were still alive, they are an ancient and resilient species. Also very beautiful, I saw a mermaid resting on a rocky cove a long time ago. Her hair was long and the color was like the stars on a clear night, the scales on her tail were navy blue that transitioned to a silver hue. When she saw me, we just stared at each other for a few seconds. She blew me a kiss and dove underneath the ocean waves. Mermaids do have that reputation for being seductresses, I wouldn’t have minded being tempted for one bit at that time. “Oh she was a thing of beauty, orange hair, sky blue scales, a high-born mermaid for certain.” “High-born?” I asked him, as I didn’t know there were different kinds of Merfolk. “High borns are part of the royal lineage of Merfolk, they can live for at least two-thousand years if all goes well. They are also born with special abilities, such as healing powers.” When I heard him say that I quickly lifted up my shirt, as I had remembered being pierced by that metal rod. To my shock and amazement, the rod and the wound were gone. “I remembered being impaled by a metal rod, and losing blood, did she really save me?” I thought to myself. “She must have, otherwise we wouldn’t be talking right now, would we?” he said. Of course, telepathy. He can read my thoughts, he must be pretty strong for a vampire. “I'm surprised you haven’t learned to read people’s thoughts yet, with you being around for as long as you have.” “Well I never really thought about honing my skills, I’m just trying to exist pretty much.” I said in response. “You need to learn your powers in order to truly survive, you almost died. A vampire almost dying from bleeding out! It’s an oxymoron personified!” The vampire started laughing uncontrollably. “Anyways, let me show you where you will be living. In the meantime I will teach you all you need to know.” The man snapped his fingers, the candles in the room lit up bringing light to the darkness. I saw the man more clearly, his garb was that of the aristocratic kind we wore back during the old regime. His long brown hair tied back into a ponytail. "Were you alive during the reign of the Bourbon?" I asked him. "Yes indeed, those were the days, I miss the gilded halls of Versailles, the large parties and the women, mostly the women." "Sir, may I introduce you?" A voice suddenly spoke, I looked over in the direction of the voice. It was another man, holding a tea tray. The top portion of his head was bald, he had pale skin, and was tall and quite burly. He looked like a rather stern man. If the emotions of happiness and joy were physical beings, they would run away in terror from his intimidating gaze. He was wearing fancy clothing however it was a little less extravagant than the former's, he was most likely a valet. "Yes you may, my dear Alexandre." the vampire said. 

"Very good sir", Alexandre put the tea tray on a little table, stood upright and took two steps forward. "May I present to you, the Chevalier de Castellane!" Alexandre spoke loudly. "You know my dear Alexandre, you don't have to be so dramatic when introducing me." The Chevalier spoke. "I'm sorry sir, but old habits die hard and even though it's true millennia have passed, I still remember introducing you like this at the parties and salons at Versailles." Even though his demeanor was rigid, and his gaze cold, I could see in his eyes a longing for the ways of a time long since forgotten. Sometimes I find myself wishing the same, before the revolution life was paradise. I was due to be married to the woman I loved, I had wealth and status, I would relive that time over and over again if I could. "Please forgive me sir, but I would like to keep my introductions the same as they have always been." Alexandre lowered his head a little, "We don't get many visitors as it is, so may I be allowed to do so?". "Yes you may Alexandre, if it brings you happiness then so be it!" The Chevalier said with a huge grin on his face, he turned and looked at me “You can call me Philippe, it makes things easier.” Alexadre glanced at me, “May I be allowed to introduce you, sir?.” “Oh! Y-yes you may, Alexandre.” The last time I was introduced by a valet was on the night of the last Royal Gala. It was not as extravagant as the other parties I've attended, but it was still a good time. Before; myself, my wife, our friends and family members were imprisoned and killed. “I need your name sir so I am able to.” Alexandre said with a hint of sarcasm. I glanced over towards Philippe, he was pouring himself a bumper of wine. I could smell it from the coffin I was in, Turin Rose Solis was the brand. My personal favorite, I could feel myself salivating. “Sir! Please may I please have your name?”, Alexandre said, this time sounding a bit more frustrated. “My name is È’tienne De la Croix.” I said. I could hear Philippe gasping. I quickly turned my head, I watched as the full glass of wine fell out of his hands. I was expecting it to hit the floor with a crash. However in the blink of an eye, Alexandre was standing next to Philippe. Glass of wine in hand, and the same rigid expression. I looked down to the floor in between the pair, not a single drop spilt. “Sir you have to be more careful, this wine is one of the two bottles we have left of the Turin Rose Solis. It would’ve been such a waste if this were spilled, please do be more careful next time.” The sight made me giggle a little, the Chevalier de Castellane, a nobleman, getting scolded by his valet. I was so distracted by the introductions and conversations, that I didn't look at my surroundings. We were in a cave, I have to admit I was a little disappointed. I thought it would be like a crypt or an old 19th century home. "Did you do the decorating yourself?" I asked, Philippe snickered a little. "No but you can take it up with Alexandre, he thought this place would be convenient for our purposes. But you did say that your name was É'tienne de la Croix, right?". "Yes I did, have we met before?" I asked, he did not seem familiar to me at all. "Yes we did meet, but only briefly. We were both imprisoned at the Hotel de la Force, I remember you being with your fianceé. A beautiful and noble woman I must say, what was her name again?". I could feel my heart breaking all over again, I looked down at the floor. "Genevieve de Lyon", it felt like I was regurgitating little blades trying to say her name. "She was, and still is the love of my life. It's been a very long time, and yet I still can't forget about her. She was an angel personified, a kind and beautiful soul." I could feel tears start to run down my cheeks. "Those revolutionary brutes defiled her, and forced me to watch. After they were done with her they proceeded to torture me. They ended up slitting my throat. They drug her away and left me for dead". After I said those words Philippe piped up, "Alexandre, give him my glass, he looks like he is in urgent need of some wine." "Right away my lord," as soon as Alexandre said those words, the glass of wine was being held in front of me. Alexandre is very good at his job, no wonder Philippe chose him as a companion. I took the glass of wine, "Thank you Alexandre," I said softly, "You're welcome sir." Alexandre quickly took back his place beside Philippe. I took a sip of the wine, if words could describe how delicious it was. I felt brave enough to continue, "The only thing I remember is someone coming to me, and offering me an escape from death and a chance at revenge, I said yes,". I looked up to see Alexandre pouring Philippe a glass of wine, Philippe looked back at me, "Do continue E'tienne, say what you need to say." I wiped the tears streaming down my face, and took another sip of wine. "When I was turned into a vampire, the person told me to wait until everything calmed down. They told me to blend into the crowd and feed to get stronger, to save the real prey for last." Before I could say another word, Philippe spoke. "Evil-doer's blood tastes better when they are afraid," Philippe said. My eyes widened, those were the exact words said to me when I was being told what to do. "Did you read my thoughts again Philippe?" I asked. "No, I was the one who turned you," Philippe said with a bit of pride. He continued to speak, "I'm honestly surprised you didn't remember me, although to be fair I forgot about you as well. I can understand though. The memories seem too much for you to handle. Though I do have a couple of questions in mind, did you find the men? Did you find your wife?"
I was flabbergasted, not only by the fact that I had just met the vampire who made me, but also the fact he could pose such delicate questions so casually. "W-well yes I did, I found both my wife, and the men who hurt her," I shuddered and looked away. "I took some clothes from a dead revolutionary, and escaped under the cover of nightfall. I hid in an abandoned apartment near the prison. When the day broke, I watched as the revolutionaries brought out the dead and the dying from the prison. That's when I saw my wife being dragged into the courtyard, beaten and bloodied beyond belief. A man stood in front of her, accusing her of being a traitor to the revolution, wanting to bring back the monarchy. The punishment was death, and as quickly as he said that, someone came behind her with a sword. With one swift motion of the blade, her head was no longer attached to her body.” The tears started streaming down my face again. Philippe came and sat by my side, “Please È'tienne forgive me for being so intrusive, but I need to know if you made those brutes suffer”. I took a minute to compose myself and wiped the tears from my face, “You're damn right I did-”.
The sudden ringing of the telephone shook me out of my recollections. I quickly look around, I'm still here in my office in New Grimes city. I sighed and walked over to my desk. “Hopefully this is a job opportunity”, I think to myself. I clear my throat and pick up the phone, “This is È'tienne speaking, how can I help you?”. A very familiar voice comes through, “È'tienne my old friend, I need to meet with you at once. There is an issue of grave importance we need to discuss, don't worry this will be a paid job. Meet me at the usual spot, there is someone here who is very anxious to meet you. Hurry, this is the type of man who doesn't like to be kept waiting very long”. With that, the man hangs up the phone. “This is unlike Guillaume, I have to get there right away!” I said out loud. I quickly throw on my overcoat and hat, and slip my pistol into its holster on my hip. I bolt out of my office, I run so fast that I almost bump into my secretary Jenny, who is carrying a load of paperwork. She yelped and stopped in her tracks and braced for impact. Thankfully I stopped just in time otherwise it would've been raining documents of various kinds. “Sir what's the rush?! You almost ran me over!” Jenny shouted at me. “I'm really sorry Jenny, I finally have a job opportunity and I have to get there as soon as possible!” Jenny quickly stood out of the way, “Good for you sir, are you going to Stonehaven?” She asked with a gleeful tone. “Yes, do you want the seafood capellini?” I asked her, trying to speed up the conversation. “You know me so well thank you sir, I'll get your dinner the next time.” she winked at me. I turned and walked towards the door. “Please be careful sir!” Jenny shouted as I closed the door behind me. I'm really grateful for her kindness and her loyalty. Even though business has been slow, she still comes in when she is scheduled. I start making my way towards Stonehaven, the most exclusive vampire watering hole in the city. There are many others, but Stonehaven requires you to be of royal lineage to even be considered a potential member. Thankfully I am of royal lineage, so I am allowed in without any hassle. As I get closer to Stonehaven, I start to feel very uneasy. I feel like something isn't right at all, all of my senses are telling me to run the other way. I start to wonder, why did Guillaume call me after so long? Why did he sound so nervous? There's only one way to find out, I hope my instincts are wrong on this.
(Please tell me what you think about this first chapter, and that if anything can be done different.)