“Beasts all over the shop…You’ll be one of them, sooner or later…”
The strange Hunter turned around and exhaled. His breath was visible against the night’s air.
He’s bloodlusted. Aegis, I hope you have a plan.
Shimmer saw Elpis step back slightly, with a shocked expression on her face. She shakily raised a claw and pointed at something on the ground.
No. It… it can’t be.
That’s… horrible.
A shattered red jeweled necklace lay strewn across the ground, beside the mangled corpse of the Silkwing.
The Hivewing in front of the three swung his axe to the side. As it was a trick weapon, he was able to change its form on command. The axe had two forms: a shortened form that acted sort of like a sword, and an extended form specialized in crowd control and reach.
He extended his axe and Shimmer heard a low snarl from his throat.
“Do we kill him?” Elpis asked, a hint of fear in her voice.
“We don't have a choice. Steel yourself.” Aegis muttered and brandished his silksabers. The blades gleamed in the soft light of the three moons.
The hunter was taller than all of them, one head taller than Aegis and two taller than Shimmer and Elpis. Black tattered robes clung to him, marking him a Shadowhunter. Blood from tonight’s hunt stained the black fabric, showcasing his expertise and experience in the hunt. He wore a rounded dark-gray hat, and bloodied bandages covered his eyes. Shimmer wondered if he could even see.
Corpses of both beasts and dragons were scattered about the square-shaped courtyard, an equal amount of gravestones breaking up the open space. His teeth were uneven as if he had been eating and chewing rough bones. Blood dripped from his mouth down his neck, and his Hivewing stingers flexed in anticipation.
“Be careful,” Aegis started, “He’s going to use magic. Elpis, don’t use any of yours.” He told the hybrid dragon beside him, and she nodded.
The hunter walked slowly around them, searching for a weakness in their structure, and then spat out a lump of coagulated blood.
“That stench of squalid blood. No beast will be spared.” He half-muttered and half-growled. He tipped his hat respectfully, before lunging at Elpis. She dove to the side, and tried to retaliate with her scythe, but just slightly missed.
This hunter was agile, surprisingly so considering how old he looked. Shimmer gripped the handle of her silkhammer, knowing it wasn’t the time to strike. She stepped backward, seeking cover behind a grave, while Aegis leaped forward with the intent to pierce the frenzied hunter’s heart. Once again, the hunter rolled to the side and sent his axe hurtling towards the smaller Silkwing. Shimmer felt fear grip her heart, but Aegis avoided the blade. He fell back and motioned for Elpis to stay back.
“A sporting hunt. But alas, I’ve forgotten to ask your name.” Aegis growled, and the hunter laughed a sick, disturbing laugh.
“The name’s Gascoigne.” He shot back, and jumped into the air, slamming his axe down where Aegis was a split second ago. Shimmer’s ears rung from the sound of the impact. Her antennae subconsciously curled in defensively.
“Gascoigne. That’s a nice name. I’ll tell Ludwig you were a proud hunter till the end.” Aegis replied and sent his twin blades slicing into the hunter’s thigh. He recoiled, and a gleeful laugh escaped his bloodied mouth.
“Hehe… the sweet stench of blood. Just… just marvelous!” He exclaimed and raised his off-talon towards Aegis.
“Aegis! Get down!” Shimmer called, and a burst of flame erupted from the hunter’s claws across the courtyard. The limited magic the Hivewing had that he was willing to use in this hunt.
Aegis fell back, hissing in pain as a few stray flames singed his tail. The hunter chuckled under his breath, and Elpis took advantage of the opening he had presented her. She thrust the blade of her scythe toward him, opting for its sword form as of now, and the hunter knocked the blow aside. He countered with a kick to the Ice-Hivewing’s ribs, and she was sent to the ground. She coughed up a spurt of blue Icewing blood, and the hunter lifted his axe for a finishing blow.
Shimmer roared out and swung her hammer toward the hunter. The silk connected it to her wrists as it flew through the air, and it hit the hunter square in his side just as his axe was falling. He was sent into the opposite side of the courtyard, coughing and sputtering, but with a faint smirk on his face. Shimmer was in disbelief; how was he not dead?
“Ooh, what’s that smell… the sweet blood, ooh, it sings to me! It's enough to make a dragon sick.” Gascoigne laughed hollowly. He raised his talon, and Shimmer quickly rolled to the side as a ball of flame soared past her horns.
He’s going to turn at this rate.
Shimmer hid under a gravestone as a tree behind her erupted in flames, and Aegis jumped into the air. He beat his four wings ferociously before diving into the hunter. He caught both of Aegis’ horns, and he twisted his head. Aegis fell to the ground, and Gascoigne slashed his axe down across the Silkwing’s leg. Aegis cried out, and Shimmer’s heart ached. She pushed herself up, ignoring the raging fire around her, and she threw her hammer up in the air and aimed it towards the hunter. He narrowly evaded the heavy impact of the stone before Shimmer heard a metal clang behind her.
Elpis, scythe in one talon, approached Gascoigne. She had the little music box in her other.
Elpis played the music box and a song of eerie notes filled the courtyard.
The hunter stumbled back, clawing at his face, and Elpis shot Shimmer a look, her face telling her to make sure Aegis was okay.
Elpis advanced on the struggling hunter, and Shimmer leaped over to her Silkwing partner, who was injured on the ground. She felt tears welling in her eyes, but she knew this wasn’t the time to cry.
“Aegis. Look at me. Look at me.” She repeated, and he lifted his head weakly. His leg had a massive gash in it, but he could probably still walk, just with a limp.
“Ah, Shimmer. I’m alright. I’ll be back in the fight. Go, help Elpis. I’ll join back soon enough.” He groaned, and the pair heard a roar behind them.
Elpis was locked in a duel with Gascoigne, and the hunter’s stray fireballs met with blasts of frostbreath. For the first time in the battle, the hunter had a slight look of fear on his face. Elpis was relentless, her burial blade swiftly countering and stopping any attempt Gascoigne made at advancing. Aegis crawled back and attempted to stand, using a grave for support.
“Shimmer! I can’t hold him for long!” Elpis called, and Shimmer nodded. She took the hammer in her claws and swung it around her side, and in a clockwise circle in the air. It was the perfect counterweight to her body weight. She hoisted it up further into the air and then brought it crashing down onto the hunter.
It struck Gascoigne directly on the spine, and he fell to the ground.
He screamed in pain.
And then, a bright light flashed from his body.
His screams deepened in tone, morphing to be more animalistic. His posture fell forward, and his muscles rippled through his body. He grew in size, and more of his bloodied garb ripped from the size change.
Fur sprouted from seemingly random places on the Hivewing’s body, and his claws extended. His face shifted, his features becoming more and more distorted. His black hat fell to the ground.
The bandages around his eyes stayed, as well as the black-tattered garb that marked him as once a Hunter.
He was no longer a Hunter. Moons above, he wasn’t even a dragon anymore.
He was now a beast.
Shimmer’s heart pounded in her chest. She stared at the transformation for a split second, before reeling in her hammer. She took it in her right talon and dove behind a gravestone, wary of the spreading flames.
Elpis, on the other claw, held her blade in front of her. Shimmer heard a rasping cough escape the Ice-HiveWing’s throat, but she didn’t break her stance.
The beast that was once Gascoigne whipped around toward Elpis, and launched himself at her, with a ferocity Shimmer had never seen even in beasts.
Elpis sidestepped quickly. The beast slammed into the wall with a loud roar, and Shimmer spied Aegis in her peripheral vision struggling to stand. He winced as he stood on his injured leg, but didn’t cry out. He brandished his two blades as the beast charged at him.
“Aegis!” Shimmer cried.
He’s going to get hit. That beast will kill him.
Aegis ignored her, and as soon as the beast was within a wingspan from him he twisted his body in such a way that he narrowly avoided the savage charge. He elegantly sliced his twin blades across the beast’s hide, and the creature howled before rapidly turning to face him.
Shimmer flew into the air. “Get away from him!” She yelled before bringing the weight of her hammer down on the beast. It flattened part of his ribcage, but it seemed impervious to the pain. It did knock him to the ground, though, giving Aegis a moment to cut through what was once two of the hunter’s wings.
The beast quickly got back on its claws before sending a flurry of swipes towards Shimmer. She dodged to the side and readied her hammer for another strike.
That was before the beast kicked her square in her chest, its sharp, ravenous claws digging in and tearing her scales. Shimmer fell back, a slight gasp escaping her mouth, and she stumbled back into the wall. She lost her footing and fell to the ground, and gazed up at the beast locked on her.
“Aegis! Help!” She yelled, and not even a second later her Silkwing partner crashed into the beast. They fell to the ground, grappling with each other before Shimmer heard a familiar song fill the courtyard.
Elpis was cranking the music box, its ominous lullaby breaking up the noise of the fight. The beast stopped attacking Aegis and instead clawed at its face. It growled and screamed in pain, drawing blood from its very own fur and scales.
“Now! Kill it!” She yelled through the song, and Aegis nodded before driving his two blades through the beast’s skull.
They stuck, and the beast roared before throwing him off. It crawled and thrashed about on the ground, clearly not dead, and the two new blades stuck to his head pointed out like new horns.
Now’s my chance.
Shimmer stumbled to her claws and wound her hammer up into the air. With every last bit of her strength, she brought it down on the flailing beast.
It crushed what was left of the hunter.
Silence filled the courtyard, only broken by a few stray notes from the music box, the pained breathing of the three hunters in the area, and the howls and screams from other places in the Hive.
Shimmer breathed a sigh of relief, before collapsing.
I did it. We did it.
Gascoigne was free.
…
“I brought you water.”
Shimmer opened her eyes and found herself in her familiar hospital room.
The morning sun’s rays lit the room, and Shimmer felt very little pain from her chest.
It had been three days since that night.
Shimmer fixed her gaze on the purple-orange Silkwing sitting beside her and smiled.
“Thanks. I’m feeling much better, we should get going to Bloodworm soon. It’s today, remember?” Shimmer asked, and he nodded. Of course, he remembered.
The summons for every hunter to come to Bloodworm Hive. Ludwig, The Holy Blade had requested them all. He no doubt planned an attack. A shame really, the hive was only newly rebuilt. And now it was going to be the site of a horrid, savage warzone.
“I remember. Are you sure you’re feeling okay? Ludwig would understand if you couldn’t come,” Aegis asked, and she spied a hint of worry on his face.
“I’m fine. I need to make sure you don’t do anything stupid. I’ll come.” She sighed and took a sip from the canteen that Aegis had brought. It tasted wonderful, he had put something in to flavor it.
“Honeydew?” She guessed, and Aegis smiled.
“Yep. It’s your favorite, right?” He asked, and she nodded. She opened her arms, and he hugged her tight.
“I love you,” Shimmer whispered in his ear.
“I love you too. I pray to Clearsight that we’ll both be safe today. I can’t bear to lose you.” Aegis replied. He pulled away and gazed out the window.
Shimmer quickly drank the rest of the honeydew-flavored water before getting out of bed. She joined him at the window and was slightly surprised by what she saw.
Almost all of the hunters of Jewel Hive were preparing, some of them already flying in the direction of Bloodworm. They were all sharpening their trick weapons, mixing poisons, or saying goodbye to loved ones.
“We should get going. It’ll be midmorning when we get there, I don’t want to be late.” Shimmer suggested, and Aegis put a wing around her.
“Now? I need to get my stuff, and you do too. Join me at the workshop.” He asked, and she slid her head in the curve of his neck as he led her out of her sick room.
…
Shimmer beat her wings strong and fast against the morning savanna winds.
She saw what looked to be several hundred, maybe even a thousand dragons gathered around a hill. All of them had a colored garb fluttering proudly from their neck. Around ninety percent of the garbs were white, and the rest were black.
They were all different tribes and a fair amount of hybrids were scattered about as well. The gathered hunters were mostly Pantalan, but a good few were from Pyrrhia as well.
Shimmer and Aegis landed a short distance away from the hill, and all around them the sounds of dragons conversing and laughing with each other.
The sun was high in the sky, but it wasn’t quite noon yet.
“You see anyone you recognize?” Aegis asked, and Shimmer shook her head.
“There’s too many dragons here. It’s too much.” She whimpered, and Aegis pulled her close. He knew she didn’t do well in crowds. That was partly why she became a Shadowhunter. To work alone or with no more than a few other dragons.
“You’re safe with me.” He comforted her, and she leaned against him.
She had always hated being with a lot of other dragons. Aegis said it sounded like she had anxiety, which made sense. It didn’t do much to alleviate that fear, though.
None of them are thinking about you. They’re all busy with their own stuff.
Just take deep breaths.
“Do you want to move away? There’s fewer dragons over there,” He asked and pointed a claw across from them.
“…No, no I’m fine.” She whispered, and Aegis sighed.
“Alright. If you want to move, don’t be afraid to ask. I don’t mind it.”
Shimmer shook her head quickly, before the pair heard a loud voice from the top of the hill. They both looked up and saw the legendary hunter himself: Ludwig.
The menacing Nightwing stood proudly, his holy silver sword slung across his shoulder. His partner Memoria stood beside him, her tail twined around his. She had a bored look on her face as she stared at the crowd. The voices of the dragons fell silent, and Shimmer felt like she could breathe again.
The Nightwing’s loud voice echoed through the plain. “Dear Hunters.” He paused, his heroic voice inspiring pride and triumph in Shimmer, even though he had barely started.
“I’m sure all of you know why we’re here. Behind me, Bloodworm Hive stands proud against the horizon. Yet I am more than certain you all know what lies inside.” He paused and pointed his sword toward the dark shape of the Hive.
“Beasts. A few thousand. I think it’s time we put them out of their misery. That is why we are here. A battle of the ages, one that will go down in history. We, the brave heroes, fighting against evil. We will be reveled, we will be honored. We will protect the dragons we hold dear to our hearts, and save those we can yet save.” His speech roused the crowd, and Shimmer felt herself stand a little taller.
“The plan is simple. The Hunters of the Sun will lead the charge from the front. I have already talked to the leaders of the charge. The Shadowhunters will pick the stray beasts off from behind. We will attack at dusk when half the sun is hidden from the eye.” He gestured with his sword at the rising sun, and he extended his wings. His massive wingspan seemed to fill the sky, and Shimmer's heart swelled with pride.
He held his sword up to the heavens, and it transformed. It grew larger, into the shape of a claymore, and it turned a shade of sacred jade. It glowed with an otherworldly light, and the crowd was enamored by the display.
“Now, hunters. Spend the rest of today preparing. The hunt is on tonight. Ludwig, The Holy Blade will be with all of you in spirit.” He bellowed, and the crowd erupted in applause and cheers.
Shimmer saw a proud, triumphant look in Aegis’ eyes, and she felt the same. Ludwig’s blade captivated her. The blade of legend, inspiring all who lay eyes on it.
Ludwig would be with them tonight. The best, the greatest, the strongest hunter ever.
Tonight, the hunters would not know defeat.
Nor would they ever, with Ludwig alive and at their side.
May the good blood guide your way,
Ultima_8

We built a new home about a year ago and have well water. When we moved it, the well had heavy iron so we added an iron curtain and a water softener. Even with those filters, we have had heavy white residue coming out of the faucets, on the shower walls and dishes. We have also had terribly red skin that goes away when we go on vacation. We are stumped what is causing the issue and looking for any ideas. Please help!

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It seems like she’s feeling insecure again. I keep my eyes shut tight, preparing myself for the song and dance I had been through so many times before. The weight of the bed shifts under me as she crawls under the blankets. A cold limb flops over my torso, wrapping me in a frigid embrace. I resist the urge to flinch as the moist, squishy mass of flesh presses into my forehead, a tickling droplet of fluid slides down my face and over my tightly pursed lips. Not daring to move, I waited patiently for the words I knew must come. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, a muffled teary voice sounds in a desperate tone:
“Do you...”
The voice falters, emitting several low-pitched, labored gurgles before continuing:
“Love me?”
Without hesitation I respond, as gently as could be managed:
“Of course I love you. But it’s time to go back to sleep now, okay?”
The gurgling continues, higher pitched now, like an excited baby. After a few moments the squishy mass detaches itself from my forehead, and the weight in the bed shifts. The gentle smacking of feet against hardwood floor, and a door quietly closing across the house resound in the otherwise silent room. Sitting up on the edge of the bed, I rock gently back and forth with my head in between my legs, resisting the tears that are fighting to escape. I allow a few moments of this pointless self-pity before forcing myself to stand up.
I walk down the hallway to the bathroom, not allowing my eyes to stray to the door to what used to be my room. A look in the mirror reveals that my forehead has already started breaking out in small orange pustules, along with a small streak of them where the fluid had dripped down my face. At least it didn't get in my mouth this time. That isn’t a panic I would like to revisit. I retrieve the small bottle of vinegar from the medicine cabinet and apply it to a cotton ball, beginning the tedious task of treating my face. A harsher acid would probably do a better job, but I prefer to avoid the stinging even if the pustules disappear more slowly. It’s not like I need to look handsome for anyone. It’s unlikely she can even really see me.
Once my skin is sufficiently covered in the stuff, I grab a bucket and mop, and clean the wet footprints from the hallway, and from the living room where my bed is located. Most of the wood flooring throughout the house is already somewhat corroded, but I’d prefer to keep my home intact to the extent that I am able. Although it’s up to anyone’s guess what manner of hellscape the bedroom must look like. I hadn’t been in that room in a long time. That was her domain now, and there was no reason for me to enter. No reason to take that risk.
I light the small gas cooktop in the kitchen and get to work making food for the day. Canned food is surprisingly appetizing when there’s nothing to do but eat. It would taste better with some seasoning, but there was no point in going through that much effort. This food serves one purpose, and that’s to keep us from starving. I slide one plate under the crack between the floor and the bedroom door and sit down in the living room with the other plate in hand.
The book on the coffee table catches my eye as it does every morning. Sighing, I pick up the ratty collection of pages and flip to a random one. One of the few books on the “Great Plague” as they call it, that was ever published, or at least, the only one I could ever find. Titled “The End” by Jared Kramer, It was more of a fanatical opinion piece than a proper informative book, but Kramer at least provided a bit of information on the virus, how the transformation works, and what methods could be used to, in his words, “Cure” the afflicted. A shotgun was noted as the best medicine, with gasoline and matches being a close second. Near the middle of the book, the portion that was coincidentally staring back at me from the pages, it turned into a near unintelligible ranting on the philosophy of consciousness. Apparently, Kramer had only just begun to consider whether blowing the afflicted’s brains out was a morally reasonable decision. He had never come across as a particularly intelligent guy in his writings, and my assumption was that he was simply the only person who wrote fast enough to get a book published before the plague became a worldwide epidemic. Towards the end of the book, Kramer does a 180 and states repeatedly that “Accepting the transformation is the only road to salvation”.
“Salvation... as if”
My words perish in the empty air, a death rattle of frustrated skepticism.
I had never quite understood what that actually meant. Salvation would be something like deliverance from harm, harm being the only thing that the plague brought to the world. The book thuds as I carelessly toss it back on the table. It's obvious that the author was in the process of transforming as he wrote the final passages, but they never ceased to bother me. Perhaps I'm just fixating on those words as a way of keeping my mind occupied.
There’s really no reason to focus on such pointless things.
--------------------
The following night my sleep was peaceful and uninterrupted. She usually shows up once a week, if not less frequently. After waking, the bathroom mirror reveals that the pustules ha subsided slightly, leaving my skin smooth, if not free of the noticeable blemishes. A subtle glint of light shines off of my head and my heart rate accelerates.
Surely not.
Surely it was a trick of the light.
I begin rifling through my matted hair furiously and there it is. A single, silver hair hanging in front of my forehead.
I guess this is it then.
She made sure I had sworn on everything under the sun. Her stupid goofy smile reflected in my memory.
“First grey hair and I’m outta here mister”
To think that a silly little joke between us had turned into this solemn responsibility. The steel of the revolver was cold in my palm. My eyes locked onto it, unsure of when it had made its way from the drawer of the coffee table into my hand, or for that matter, when I had entered the living room. The earth seemed to be rotating at impossible speeds. Everything was black except for the gun in my hand and the book on the coffee table. That goddamn book. One of the pages had begun to tear away from the others, no doubt a result of my less than careful treatment of the thing, and a single word seemed to assault my fragile psyche.
Salvation.
I get it now
My heartbeat slows marginally as the unravelling of this book that I’ve read so many times presented a welcome distraction. There had been nothing left for Kramer, or anyone else for that matter, in a world that was dying around them. His salvation was freedom from the great plague. His call to “accept” the transformation, was not the same as giving in to it. After all, hadn’t he expressed over and over again exactly how to “find release” as he called it, from the infection.
Kramer, unlike me, had accepted that there was no life in transformation, no being, no humanity, and no way back. His moral dilemma had come to a close, likely with a bullet in his brain.
A reluctant chuckle rose through my chest and escaped my throat. It didn’t sound like me. It was twisted, choked, and raspy. She had always known hadn’t she, that I would stay in this house with her. That’s why she had forced me to swear up and down on something as silly and inevitable as a grey hair, before locking herself in that room five years ago. Knowing her, it had all been for my own good, a way for her to look out for me even after she was long gone.
The creak of the door was like nails on a chalkboard. I laid my eyes for the first time in years on my wife, or at least, what was left of her. I had seen the afflicted before, but seeing her in this state brought a blockage to my throat that nothing could have prepared me for. Her head had been obscured by the typical growth, characteristic of the great plague, A mass wider than her torso which was completely wrapped around her head, the loose flesh sagging down onto her shoulders. Large orange boils were dotted across this mass, as well as glistening, concave pits, where those boils had burst and left scars. The thick external vein structure wrapped around it was partially translucent, providing a window to the tar-like substance flowing slowly throughout. The worst thing, however, the thing that forced my tears out of my eyes and onto the corroded floor, was her body. Her clothes had long since disintegrated, leaving a sight that was fundamentally identical to what I remembered, with one exception. The excess weight of the mass upon her shoulder had atrophied her spine, which had crumpled, leaving her torso contorted in a grotesque fashion, the flesh and muscle folding in upon itself in places.
I had let this happen. I had as good as desecrated my wife’s corpse by leaving her in this state, by convincing myself that a cure would be found for a plague that had long-since been eradicated by other means. I did this.
My hands move as though without instruction from my brain, raising the revolver to my eye-level, pointing at the place where my wife’s head was concealed amid that horrid mass of flesh.
Her head tilted upwards slightly, as if she was looking at me with eyes that had been long-since obscured. That muffled, teary voice sounded out from amidst the heap weighing on her shoulders. Despite myself hesitated for just a moment, savoring the shadow of a voice that I would never hear again.
“Do you love me?”

First time finding here, so Im sorry if this doesn't fit but I cant really find anywhere else. I am also pretty new to this, as I only got officially diagnosed around 7 months ago. When I was 17, I had my family doctor at the time go "oh you're a gifted kid struggling? Here have these ADD pills", which didn't work for multiple pills, so I never realized I might have until I met someone with ADHD in college that was like "you need to be tested because you are just like me". So yeah... Don't know how universal that is, but I'm just glad I have meds that work now. Anyways..
For years, I (24f) have been pacing in circles before I go to bed. I have been doing this seen my early teens, even before I was diagnosed to help regulate my mood and energy so I can get out any built up tension and energy from the day, allowing my brain to slow down enough my sleeping meds can work. I used to do it whenever I could, but as my family realized it was a regular thing that I couldn't stop doing, they got upset, and if I was caught doing this, I would get insulted, being told about how funny I looked pacing to music, or bugged about why I cant do things a "normal" way, like using a treadmill (I tried, it doesn't work, I don't keep a steady pace, I walk to the beat of the music which, you know, changes every song) or go for a walk (I live in a really bad area, so its completely unsafe to do so). So then I would move rooms so they couldn't see me.
Well, they would figure out which room I was using and when, then they would decide that they would be using that room at the times I was normally there (which I purposely chose so they would routinely be doing other things in other parts of the house). After being blocked from pretty much every room, I got relegated to the basement, which they would stuff with things into giant piles. This worked fine for a bit, because I worked evenings so I could pace after they went to bed. Even when I got laid off from that job, I could still be up late and tire myself out so I could get up and function.
Well, now my work schedule has changed from nights to early mornings, like I'm waking up at 3:30am, which means I have to go to bed hours before anyone else, blocking me from pacing. I am also very close to my period, and I have really bad PMS moods when I can regulate, and it is so much worse. Like my body is constantly twitching and moving way more than normal and I just feel so uncomfortable, like there are ants in my skin, which spirals into my anxiety, causing my neck to twitch a lot (anxiety symptom, which also then proceeds to get made fun of). My anxiety also makes the need to move worse, so it spirals and I can't get out of it. Or the need to move gets so much that its almost painful and I start to cry.
I currently cannot move out, due to me not even being in this new job long enough for my first paycheck, plus student debt and housing prices being so high ( like this new jobs pays me a good bit more and I couldnt afford a small bachelor without having at least 2 or 3 others there too). Just for a chance to have some privacy, I bought my own lock for my glorified closet of a room (I'm not joking, my twin bed takes up 3/4s of the space I have, so I cant even pace in this room since I will stub my toe constantly on my bed frame).
I cant just sit with my dog (since petting her helps a lot) because my family's dogs come and shove her out of the way and I get in trouble for telling them off. Cant go to therapy since my therapist feels bad for me (last time I went I got a genuine "I am so sorry that you have to just survive" and that is a whole deal I refuse to unpack. All my fidgets that I have are for my hands which doesn't help near as much since it doesn't engage my brain at the same time, and I am at a loss for what to do. Every alternative I have tried doesn't work either for me or for the situation, and I just wish I could explain things and have someone understand in my life. Hell, I had to blame the fact I get overwhelmed at the sound of a vacuums or loud music on the fact I have severe migraines, since it gives a reason why my brain just melts down when it happens.
I know I have to be patient, and see things through, but getting this one comfort I had for over half my life ripped away just really sucks. If anyone has read this far, and has any tips, it would be greatly appreciated. I am just at a loss at what to do.

I love dramatic eyelooks on other people… things like smokey eyes and such. I feel like whenever I try to do anything slightly dramatic like a smokey eye it just looks so stupid, so i stick to my brown liquid liner, mascara, and a very light pink or white colored shimmer. I honestly dont feel like i can wear any amount of dark eyeshadow without looking just dumb. I am a ginger— red hair, very very fair skin, and freckles. Maybe this is why? I don’t know what to do. I just want to have sexy fun eyes!!! Help!!!!!!!

[ STANDALONE SCRIPT ]
[ Credits are required, please comment if you fill my script ] [ Monetization is fine, contact if you use a paywall ] [ Small line edits are okay for a personal flair, larger edits require permission ] [ Gendename swapping is fine ] [ Title change is okay ] [ No AI voice ]
This is an experimental piece. I wanted to play with a voice similar to the narrator of the Stanley Parable, and I'm kind of proud with how this turned out. It’s short, sweet, and a little different. This piece has no effects but you are free to add some. Enjoy ~
Word Count: 1200
Synopsis: Bobbin does not know what is best. Luckily, I am also Bobbin, but better. Bobbin does not like that.
listener speaking = [...]
Today is not a special day for our favourite protagonist. They sit where they were yesterday, and where they will be tomorrow. Nothing has changed. And nothing is new. Perhaps something exciting is in order.
[ … ]
Now they are wondering why they hear a voice in their head. It is just their thoughts. It has always been this way.
What is this? Something has changed. They no longer sit where they were yesterday. And they have acquired a new name.
It is… Bobbin. Hello Bobbin. I am Bobbin and so are you. Everything is normal. Everything is the same.
Bobbin stands in a strange corridor. It’s a little bright and grey. Doors line the walls, but Bobbin knows they do not move. Bobbin can only go one way.
[ … ]
And Bobbin wonders why they can only go one way. They stand, pondering what it means to move. But all they need to do is put one foot forward. C’mon Bobbin. Time is running.
Bobbin walks through the hallway. They jiggle the door handles even though they know they will go nowhere.
[ … ]
Bobbin is now yanking on a door like a mad person. But this is why we love Bobbin. They always find entertainment in the blandest of moments. But this door is just a decoration. Bobbin really must get going.
Finally collecting themself, Bobbin continues walking. Their footsteps are quiet on the tiles. I mean carpet. They are content. This is a very nice corridor.
Bobbin reaches the end of the hallway. There are two paths. The right is painted red, the left green.
Bobbin looks both ways and decides to enter the green space!
[ … ]
Bobbin is very thoughtful. They appreciate the textures of the crossroad they wait at. Yes, it is very nice, the rendering is magnificent.
Bobbin nods in agreement and goes to the left hallway.
[ … ]
No. Bobbin enters the left hallway!
[ … ]
[ sigh ]
Let me just…
There. The grey corridor leads to a turn into a green-painted path. There was never another hallway. They can only go one way.
Bobbin skips merrily into the green space. They think “Yes! This is where I should be. I adore the colour green.”
Oh- Bobbin is now running! They are completely ignoring the carefully painted walls and plushy tile-I mean carpet- of the green hallway. My, they love the freedom! The wind! The rush of adrenaline! Oh this is what it’s meant to move and be alive!
That’s enough.
Bobbin trips into a library. Bobbin has been here all along. The library is old, its wood rich with age. Towers of shelves hold the lovely books, their shapes and designs perfectly filling the space.
But there are no people.
Bobbin wanders between the aisles. The lounge of leather couches is empty as well. Bobbin wonders where the people are. Is the library closed? Are they playing a game?
Bobbin likes games. Maybe this is hide-and-seek.
They raise their head high with determination. They will surely win. Bobbin begins to look around.
[ … ]
Oh yes, this is a great hiding spot. Maybe somebody is hiding under the table. Bobbin crawls under just to be sure.
Amazing work! Nobody is under the table. Bobbin crawls out to continue the search.
[ … ]
Bobbin does not want to be the seeker. Bobbin wants to hide too. They giggle under the desk, waiting for someone to find them.
Silly Bobbin.
[ … ]
Bobbin is… still waiting. Maybe another hider will take their place. Maybe they were meant to hide all along.
But nobody is coming.
[ … ]
Take your time, Bobbin. We can wait here all day.
[ … ]
Bobbin is folded on the ground. There is no table. Perhaps they are practicing their child’s pose. Yoga is a lovely way to stretch and exercise. But the hard wooden floor is hurting their knees. Maybe Bobbin should move along.
Bobbin is holding up a strange hand gesture. It looks like a thumbs-up, but the incorrect finger is raised. Bobbin is a little strange.
Bobbin stands and walks to the reception desk. They check around the chairs and in the cabinets. Nobody is there. Maybe they are all upstairs at the pool.
Wide stairs wait behind Bobbin. They turn around and begin to climb them.
On all fours…
Sure. Bobbin climbs the stairs like a dog on all fours. Again, they love to entertain, even when no one is watching. Maybe Bobbin needs a friend.
Bobbin reaches the top of the stairs. The pool room is massive with clean white tiles and blue edges. Vacant chairs sit along the clear water. Everything is as it should be.
Bobbin wants to swim, but they do not have their swimwear. They cannot swim in their clothes.
[ … ]
Bobbin no. Despite nobody watching, it is indecent to go nude.
[ … ]
No. Put that back on.
[ deep irritated breath ]
Bobbin learns their clothing is glued to their skin. Bobbin cannot take it off or swim.
[ … ]
Bobbin jumps onto the water, but they are too buoyant to go under. Now they are wet and a little sad.
They run across the water and enjoy the waving movement of the surface. It is like a solid jello.
Bobbin bounces their legs, rippling the jello in circles. It rises and falls like a sticky trampoline. Bobbin is smiling. Isn’t it fun to listen? Life is much easier when you listen to the voice in your head.
[ … ]
Bobbin is now trying to speak to something that does not exist. Maybe Bobbin’s mind is also made of gelatin.
[ … ]
They want to go somewhere different. This game is far too sophisticated for Bobbin. Let’s try… this.
Bobbin stands in the bathroom of an abandoned insane asylum where a mass murderer happens to live.
[ … ]
You wanted to hide, Bobbin. Now you can.
[ clears throat ]
The mass murderer is currently on the floor above Bobbin. Bobbin wants to escape. Unless Bobbin wants to make a new friend?
[ … ]
Bobbin would rather be shy today.
Bobbin should get moving.
[ … ]
Are you still not satisfied?
[ … ]
Picky picky. What else do I have…
Do you fancy a zombie apocalypse? I have a beta ready.
[ … ]
Fantasy? That is far too complicated.
How about a fire-breathing baby simulator? You can terrorize daycare and your parents.
No? Pity.
Oh! I have just the thing.
Bobbin stands on the lawn of an adoption centre. A talking penguin in glasses says hello. The penguin offers a free animal with no background check because she trusts Bobbin will be good and listen.
Bobbin selects the cat and names it… Slim Shady.
Okay, that’s it. We’re done.
[ … ]
No, no. I thought this would be fun. I built almost a dozen of worlds for you to explore, but you are far too stubborn to enjoy them.
I wanted to help you leave your mundane life for a few minutes. This was a complete waste of time.
[ … ]
What about Bobbin? Bobbin isn’t real.
[ … ]
[ huffs ]
Fine.
Bobbin wakes up in the chair they have always been in. It is where they were yesterday, and where they will be tomorrow. Nothing has changed. And nothing is new.
There is not even a voice in their head. Bobbin is simply crazy.
Goodbye Bobbin. You were an absolute tyrant to work with.
Let’s not meet again.
~ fade to black ~
Hello hello. Thanks for reading! What do you think? Strange but charming? Thought provoking? Has nostalgia settled in? This is very different from my usual content, but what can I say. I love shaking things up a little. See you next week!
Have a lovely evening/day ~

• Reb / AbnormalAsTheRest

Thirteen days ago I went to the beach from 12:30pm-3:30pm. I put SPF 70 all over my body, but I went swimming and didn't reapply during that time. My entire back and the back of my legs burned but I felt nothing while at the beach so had no idea. It wasn't until a couple hours after I got home that it started to hurt and my skin turned red. The next few days were absolutely unbearable. My skin turned a dark purply-red and the pain penetrated deep into the layers of my skin. I had not been sunburned in 20 years before this and have never been burned this badly. 50% of my body was covered in burns.
On the 9th day I got two blisters and the skin started peeling. The pain has subsided but it is still painful 13 days later and it is still peeling and itchy.
What I'm most worried about is the discoloration. I am super super pale. The skin is still extremely dark and it's not a normal tan. I'm afraid that I will be discolored forever or that it has caused scarring. How much longer will it take for my skin to go back to normal color?

A few weeks ago our landlord got this company to spray around our house for pests, they said it was only for bugs because we wouldn't have accepted it if we knew it was harmful to our pets.
We asked both the company and the guys that came out it if it was safe for our pets (some dogs, birds and rats) and they said it was perfectly safe and that we just had to leave the animals outside and away from the house while it was being sprayed and after 30 minutes we could bring them back in.
Maybe one week after the spray, one of our rats, Medi, passed away. She was an older rat, and she did have the respiratory disease that most rats get, but she declined so fast and within a few days we had to bury her.
Now, two of our rats have bald spots on the back of their necks/shoulders, and 3 of them are needing to be put down. They've become shells of themselves, no energy, no personality, losing weight and they smell weird.
We tried medicine, it didnt work at all and they were only getting worse so either later today or tomorrow we'll be euthanising them.
We have two more rats that seem pretty healthy, one of them got a new bald patch but theyre both energetic as ever and arent showing any signs of sickness.
Could it be from the pest spray? If so, what do we do? We don't want them going to other peoples houses and telling them its safe for their pets, then leaving them to either get really sick or die.
Im sorry if this isnt phrased very well, im quite upset over losijng 4 rats so close together.

47F 5’7” 197lbs non smoker, diagnosed with diabetes, trigeminal neuralgia, PCOS and chronic migraines. Prescribed Victoza, Metformin, Percocet, carbamazepine, Botox for migraines. I’ll post a pic in comments.
5 days ago woke up with a large squishy lump between my chin and throat. No pain at the time and not hot to the touch. Over 24hrs it grew to the size of a cherry, became very painful, red and hot. It is also now very hard, it doesn’t move and it’s very deep. I can sometimes feel it towards the back of my throat when I swallow. I’ve been using hot compresses every few hours with no relief.
Today is the worst. The pain is almost unbearable and there appears to be a stone-like black ball near the center. My skin is now very dry and flaky and it’s very hot to the touch.
Slight fever yesterday and this morning but seems to be ok right now. No pain in ears, mouth or nose. I do feel a migraine coming but that may not be related.
I think it’s likely infected but not sure if it warrants a trip to urgent care or ER. I can get in to see my GP on Monday (today is Wednesday) but I’m not sure if I should hold off that long if it is in fact infected. Any ideas on what this is, what I can do to relieve it and if I should seek care before Monday? I appreciate any guidance.

Hi Everyone! I’ve always loved good smelling stuff and for the last 15 years I’ve usually had one bottle of cologne, and would replace once it’s out. Only in the last few months have I really delved into this world and began filling out a modest collection. I’m definitely not an expert (so take my reviews with a big grain of salt) but I love smelling and writing so here ya go. (Fucking wall of text incoming lmao, I didn’t realize how lengthy this got)
I just got back from a three-hour mall trip to try and get my nose on as many niche fragrances as my senses would tolerate. I had already done a good bit of research so I had some picked out to try and others already crossed-off. Im a 30M for reference.
I also had the goal in mind to find a contender for a fall/winter scent that exudes class, sophistication and decadence. For that, I’ve already tried a few that I really enjoy, and kind of used these as a springboard to continue exploring:
Xerjoff Alexandria II- This is what I envision royalty wearing. Lavender and rosewood mix soooo nice in the open, and dries into a lovey rose/vanilla/essence of oud. The oud is really toned down here for those that dislike it. It’s kind of hard to pick out. Nuclear performance.
Initio Oud for Greatness- Another good starter oud, you could say (this was my introduction to oud). It lasts forever and the dry down is seriously heavenly. The wet, soily oud is at the forefront for 2-4 hours, but I’m absolutely in love with what’s left when it disappears. Lavender, saffron, nutmeg and musk mixes into the best dryer-sheet-like scent I’ve come across (what it reminds ME of at least).
Perfums de Marly Haltane- Quite similar in the opening to Oud for Greatness. Haltane is darker, though, where I get more leathesmoke. I think the oud in this is more subdued, or at least less moist smelling. It blends well and lasts a good while.
Initio Atomic Rose- Holy shit. Apparently rose gets my motor GOING. I tried a lot of rose-centric fragrances today, but this probably still takes the cake for its balance and strength, in addition to the scent itself being just gorgeous.
So with those in mind I was off to Neiman Marcus. I sampled a large amount more than what I’ve written, but stuck to the ones that were memorable; good or bad.
Frederic Malle - Portrait of a Lady- My favorite of the Frederic Malle. Sensual rose/clove/currant at the front, but it is kind of hard to pick out specific notes on this one. After looking, I can get the cinnamon in the background of the dry down, it blends perfectly with the sandalwood, rose and benzoin after drying down. - Carnal Flower- Some similarity to POAL, lots of tuberose and jasmine, which I personally like. A bright yet sensual floral, and you get some coconut and melon there, too. I typically dislike coconut but this is blended masterfully. - Lipstick Rose- Yeah, that’s what it smells like. Try this if you’ve seen people describe scents as lipstick-y or violet taking on that accord. Not my cup of tea, also leans more feminine to my nose than the other two. - Musc Ravageur- I really wanted to like this one. And for a split second I did! A clove-y vanilla sasparilla is what I first got, and it unfortunately turned into barnyard urine. I immediately remembered seeing some reviews stating this, and I couldn’t get my nose to move past it. I can tell there’s good stuff there, but not for me.
Amouage - Reflection- The only one I’d tried before, and remains one of my favs. Rosemary and pink pepper greet you with a deep, fresh spice. The vetiver and patchouli sit nicely at the bottom, and the combination of white florals mixes wonderfully. Another scent I could imagine on royalty, and seems pretty versatile, too. You could wear this year-round without feeling out of place. Insane staying power. - Lyric- Probably my favorite, but I need to smell again on another day. Compared to the other Amouage, I had to continually stick my nose in the coffe beans to pick up the scent from the test strip. When I did get it, it was a lovely light, fresh scent. Quite a departure from the other Amouage I’ve tried, but great. No surprise, the list of notes are some of my favorites: lime, bergamot, rose, orange blossom, saffron, nutmeg, musk, pine, vanilla, incense, sandalwood. Seriously, love each and all those individually and they come together beautifully. - Interlude- Another good one. Dark, mysterious. Definitely get the oregano/peppepatchouli/incense bomb off the top. Leather lurking behind. I typically don’t gravitate toward the leathery scents but this one’s good. - Enclave- This pretty much seals the deal for me that on me, mint just ain’t it. I liked Sedley at first, but the mint somehow gets too cloying to my nose after too long. I can tell I would get the same from the peppermint in the opening of Enclave. I almost liked this one, too. If you can even tolerate peppermint, you’ll enjoy this one.
Mind Games - Blockade- Wowww. First sniff love, here. Explosion of citrus, juicy fruit-y sex. I usually find myself staying away from citrus-forward scents but this shit is next level. This will be a contender for my next upscale summer buy. - Double Attack- Another love at first sniff. It’s familiar, though. Chocolate/orange/cinnamon/vanilla. You’ll want to eat it right up. I already have this box checked in my collection, but may come back to it in the future. - Checkmate- Another lovely scent. Champagne, red currant, rose, magnolia, little patchouli. It all comes together really nicely, and it was difficult for me to pick out specific notes before looking. Not a love, but I was really impressed with the quality and scent profile of the Mind Games I tried.
Clive Christian - Town & Country- Wow. No seriously, like fucking wow. Smells like an Italian fruit cart strolling through an English manor’s sprawling garden road. I look at the notes and I don’t understand how you get this smell supposedly out of Clary Sage, Ambergris, and Sandalwood. Like, what? This is high quality shit. I get some pear or grapes there, too. Try this. - Crab Apple Blossom- Yum yum yum this is goooood. Smells like it sounds. Bergamot, apple blossom and rhubarb dance around playfully together. Can’t help but have a big stupid smile on your face when you smell this. The more it dried down, the more it might be my favorite over Town & Country. - Matsukita- Another great scent. In the same vein as the other two since they are part of the same “Crown Collection.” You get some smokiness, here. Bergamot with nutmeg and mate give depth and a little mystery. White florals, woody ambers and musk at the base. Just quality stuff here. All three of these in the Crown Collection were available in 10ml travel size gift pack for $300. Good idea to put on my wish list. That shit is kiiiinda expensive.
Xerjoff - Erba Pura- I did not expect to like this as much as I did! Favorite that I sampled. Perfect combination of citrus and fruitiness off the top, layered over a bed of sweet musk. Something here is very familiar to my nose but I couldn’t place it. This will be another top contender for a future upscale summer purchase. - Accento- Soothing scent. Fruity white floral (usually dumb reach for me), and the iris gives it some powder but not overpowering. Not as feminine-leaning as I would have expected. - Iommi- Delicious! Sweet smoky rum off the top, and it’s a little surprising how forward the patchouli and leather is in this. It’s bordering on being a little overpowering, but it tames a bit on the dry down. I’d need to see how this goes on my skin, for sure. - Torino 21- Another one that I liked way more than expected. I’m going back and seeing mint listed as a top note here…I didn’t get that! And thank God since mint usually is a non-starter. Kind of an aquatic green to my nose. Again, just a lovely scent. - Naxos- Yeah ok this is good shit. I was expecting a sweet bomb, but this is definitely more restrained than what a lot of reviewers will have you believe. I’m a sucker for lavender and bergamot. Throw in honey and jasmine atop a bed of tobacco, vanilla and tonka bean? Yes please. - Erba Gold- Pretty good. To my nose more feminine than Erba Pura, likely due to the extra fruits in the middle. That combination of citruses, pear and melon is reminiscent of particular ladies’ scents.
Louis Vuitton - L’Immensité- Ohhhh yeahh. Relaxation in a bottle. My favorite besides maybe Fleur du Desert. This, Imagination and Météore all kind of dance to the same song, so to speak. More than one of these would be redundant, in my opinion. The quality speaks through each of these fragrances, though- really nice stuff. - Imagination- The name fits, as a lot of the notes here are almost fleeting like a word on the tip of your tongue. It’s a great, calming scent but it didn’t blow me away. Like I said, L’Immensité was the best of these and I don’t see the need to diversify within this collection. - Météore- Compared to L’Immensité, there’s a little more sweetness here. This leans closer to a shower gel-like scent in my opinion. Still great. - Fleur du Désert- This one started out reallly good. Honey and cinnamon into rose and orange blossom is an intriguing, sensual combination. Unfortunately, smelling it on my arm after a couple hours, the jasmine and honey turn into something my mind recognizes as an old lady scent. The POAL on my hand, by comparison, keeps mixing with my skin in a great pheromonic way. - Ombre Nomad- Disappointed with this one. I’m realizing I don’t gravitate toward darker scents like heavy oud, leather, incense. I can tell it’s put together really well and uses quality materials, but this isn’t one that was made for me.
All in all, my main take-aways include: Xerjoff scents living up to the name. I was definitely impressed with their offerings, and would have expected it to lean closer to overrated. Same with Mind Games. Really enjoyed everything I sampled from them, even if it wasn’t my cup of tea, I was impressed with the quality. Also, I need to get back and sample the rest of the Clive Christian house. I was absolutely blown away with what I tried.
A little bonus: I tried TF Noir de Noir, Extreme Noir, and Cafe Rose. Extreme Noir is excellent. A regal mix of saffron, nutmeg and cardamom on top of rose and white florals. Ahhhh, again, similar to what I imagine a king or king to smell like.
Cafe Rose is probably the second best rose-centric scent to my nose besides Atomic Rose. I’ll need to put those side by side.
Anyway, feel free to ask away if you’d like. I was bored and inspired so killed some time writing this out :)

About six months ago my mom's cat Bucky started licking off a patch of fur on his back. It started as a small patch and just kept growing. She's taken him to the vet multiple times and he's been on steroids for months but he just keeps getting worse. When she first took him to the vet in December the vet thought maybe it was an allergic reaction to flea bites. A visual inspection found some small scabs in his side outside the area of hair loss but no fleas or other parasites were found. Still he was given flea and tick preventative medicine, a convenia injection, and a Depo-Medrol injection. After a few weeks he still wasn't getting better so she took him back to the vet and the vet did a fungal test that was negative and some blood work that came back fine. The vet prescribed prednisolone after that. It started off as 1 ml per day for a week and then transitioned to 0.5 ml every other day. He's been on the steroids for months and just keeps getting worse. What started off as a small patch on his back now covers almost his entire back. There are patches of fur missing on his legs and somehow his neck under his head. There seems to be some fur loss on his nose, ears, and next to his eye. There are sometimes sores in areas of new hair loss but it's unclear if they were there before he pulled his fur out or are a result of it. He's clearly uncomfortable all the time and just keeps licking, scratching, biting, and grooming. Other than these issues he seems energetic and healthy. The vet's only remaining idea seems to be to do a skin biopsy to send to a dermatology specialist to check for skin diseases, but he didn't sound optimistic it would be helpful which isn't encouraging. Any other avenues we could explore?
Species: Felis catus Age: 11 years Sex/neuter status: male/neutered Breed: Short haired domestic Body weight: 8 lbs History: He is an outdoor cat that occasionally gets in fights with other animals and has sometimes needed antibiotics for infections but he has otherwise been healthy. Clinical signs: Excessive grooming leading to hair loss and sores. Duration: 6 months General location: Southeastern Wisconsin

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/DdJxUSevYf0
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Mr. Winslow accused my mother of stealing his dead wife’s jewelry.
I explained it was impossible. He was welcome to search the tiny apartment I shared with my mother and aunt, he could look wherever he wanted.
“We share a tiny space,” I said. “We barely have enough room for our clothes. I don’t even know where she would hide jewelry.”
I was worried we would lose him as a client. Which would suck because cleaning his house was basically the majority of our rent cheque. But a week later he found the pearl necklace, it had somehow travelled down to his basement.
“I’m still missing the gold bangle though,” he said. “And some earrings.”
I told him I was sorry, but I had no idea. If my mom or aunt found it on their next clean, I promised they would let him know right away.
He hummed and hawed. There might’ve been a week where he hired a different maid service, but eventually he called back, asking if he could hire all three of us on-site again.
I thanked him profusely. I told him we’d keep an eye out for the missing valuables.
***
On our drive over, I had my mom and aunt practice the apology we would give him in English. Even though we didn’t steal anything, I explained we should still say sorry.
“Why?” My aunt asked. “That’s so stupid.”
“Everyone apologizes for everything in Canada. Just trust me. He will want it.”
“We need the work,” my mom said.
For a second my aunt revved up to say something else, but then let it go. We did need the work.
When we arrived, Mr. Winslow was on a phone call, watching his two large goldendoodles play in the front yard. He waved, then gestured to the front door. My mom and aunt gave small bows and carried their cleaning supplies inside.
Before I could enter, he put the phone behind his ear and approached me.
“Ida, hi. Good to see you again. Listen, don't worry about the jewelry. Water under the bridge. Hey. I’m leaving in an hour or so, and I won’t be back until late tonight. I’m wondering if you’d be interested in dog-sitting? You’ve been around Toto and Kipper. What do you think? I’d really appreciate the help.”
I never liked the way he looked at me. It was always too close, and it lingered for too long. My aunt may have been right in that he hired us back just to see me again, but I ignored the thought.
“And don’t worry, I can cover your cab back. My usual walker is just out on holiday. You can help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge. How does six hundred sound?”
I looked at his house and imagined if I would be comfortable there. Alone at night.
“I’ll make it seven-hundred. I know it's last minute. I just hate leaving them alone. Plus Toto has his medicine. You would do me a real solid.”
My apron needed adjusting so I put down my bucket. I focused on the polyester knot, keeping my gaze away from his. I really didn’t want to be doing this, but my aunt would call me stupid for refusing easy money. And frankly, so would I.
“I had plans, but I’m willing to give them up.” I said with a straight face. “Eight hundred and it’s a done deal.”
He paused for a second, observing me scrupulously. Then he found his usual, smarmy half-smile. “You’re a life saver, you know that? An Angel.”
His hand gripped my shoulder. Then patted it twice.
***
Both my mom and aunt were pleased about the extra cash, they said I deserved to make extra for all the bookkeeping I do. But they also both voiced their concerns for safety. They said they could stay with me if I wanted.
“Safety? Mamãe I’m just watching two dogs.”
My mom wiped a caked red stain off his counter. An old wine spill. “Yes, but so late in his house? You’re not worried he might … I don’t know …”
Might what? Exploit me?
I met his groundskeeper once, another immigrant contractor. Except the groundskeeper was being paid far less, because he never properly negotiated. Mr. Winslow was certainly capable of exploiting people when he wanted to, and I’m sure he would try the same on my family.
But I was different. I’d gone to school in Banniver, and I knew the little maneuvers played by the so-called “progressive people in North America.”
And Winslow knew it too.
He didn’t realize a Canadian-raised daughter organized her mom’s cleaning service. Or that she would show up on the first day as a statement. That statement being: You can’t get away with mistreating these old Brazilian women. And you certainly can’t swindle them out of the going rates in his neighborhood. I’m onto you.
I had asserted myself with this Mr. Winslow, and felt confident that I could stand my ground if he tried any bullshit.
“Mamãe I’m not worried about him. Really, I’m not. He’s a pushover.”
***
6:00PM rolled around, it was just me and the goldendoodles.
My mom and aunt were back at home, watching low-res soaps on a Macbook, but they said if I encountered anything strange—a sound, a smell, an unexpected car in the driveway—to give them a call right away.
“Mamãe, its two dogs. I’ll be fine.”
“Just keep your phone close Ida. Your auntie has sensed things in that house. Unpleasant things.”
I forgot to mention my aunt thinks of herself as an amateur medium. In the village she grew up in, she claimed she could sometimes see people who were recently deceased.
But I never really believed her. Mostly because it was also my auntie’s idea to charge families who wanted to forward messages to the very same people who were recently deceased.
“Okay mamãe, whatever you say. I’ll phone you if I get scared.”
“That house has a history Ida, you could feel it in the walls. The outside too.”
It sure does. A history of being owned by a wealthy prick.
***
The sun slinked below the overcast horizon like a dying lantern. It got dark much faster than I expected.
I kept all the lights on, and played with the dogs a bit, trying to encourage them to try piss on the shag rug. Neither did. They mostly wanted naps.
I tried napping for a bit too, but the leather couch felt like it was made of rock. I just couldn’t get comfortable.
Eventually I made myself dinner—some pasta that had been bought from Whole Foods—and ate it while scrolling on my phone.
I was just about done, ready to take my dirty plate in the sink when I first heard it.
The first explosion.
It came from the basement. A vibrating KAPOW that rattled the windows and chandelier on my floor. It sounded like someone had set off a cherry bomb.
What the hell?
I turned to the dogs who were just as scared as I was. They came whimpering with tails between their legs.
Could a pipe have burst or something?
I looked at the basement door, an area we were not instructed to clean, and then heard another explosion.
Vases shook. A painting went tilted. It sounded louder. Like full grade firework. I had lived in Rio de Janeiro, by Prianha beach, where they often launched celebratory fireworks. This was just as deafening.
I didn’t want to go down to the basement. In fact, I sat by the front door.
Both dogs huddled around me.
***
Twenty minutes passed. It had been quiet.
Out of pride I refused to call my mom—I didn’t want to admit I was scared. Instead, I spent the time going through all the rational answers in my head that could explain away the noise. Plumbing, terrorism, teen pranks … hot springs?
There were hot springs all over West Bann.
Obviously, some kind of pent-up geyser had lay dormant for a while, and it was now suddenly unleashing a ton of energy below Mr. Winslow’s house. To distract myself, I Wikipedia’d the history of West Banniver, and satisfied this theory.
During the 1850’s gold rush, West Banniver saw rapid settlement as a mining town. The proliferation of mine shafts soon led to a discovery of underground hot springs. Mayfield Briggs Ltd which was the first company to seize the opportunity as a tourist attraction…
That’s all it was. A hot spring releasing a buildup of pressure.
Then a third explosion came.
It was so loud and violent that the door to the basement flew open. I fell to the ground and covered my head as several books went flying off nearby shelves.
The dogs yipped and barked like crazy. They stood in front of me, guarding against an unseen force. A voice shrieked from the basement.
“HELP!!! HELLLLP!”
Rivets shot through my hands and knees. I was frozen to the floor.
“PLEEEEEEASE!”
It had the high-pitched desperation of someone whose life was about to end. I raised my head and listened closely to hear haggard, dusty coughing. It sounded like an old man’s cough. It echoed through the basement and into the living room. Between coughs the man continued to plead for his life.
HELLLLP!”
I had no idea who it could be or how he got down there.
Before I could think, one of the dogs shot past me, bolting down the basement steps, barking ferociously.
“Kipper!”
I tried to grab the loose leash, but I could only hold the collar of his sibling. “Kipper come back here!”
“HELLO?” The voice from below seemed to recognize my presence. “PLEASE, YOU’VE GOT TO HELP!”
I was now upright, breathing as fast as Toto was panting. I tied Toto to the thick rails on the stairs. I had to save the other dog.
Instinctually I grabbed my phone, slipped an AirPod in one ear, and dialed my mother without even looking at the screen.
“Mãe. There’s … something terrible is happening.”
My mother was suitably confused. Even more so when she heard the screaming of the man downstairs as his voice echoed in the living room. It was a cry of immense, awful pain.
After two slower, more detailed explanations of what I just heard, my mother told me to call the fire department. “Poke your head through the basement, see what’s happening. Then call the fire department.”
That made sense to me. I inched my way to the basement entrance and tried to see past the doorway. It was complete darkness. There was no light switch.
I turned the torch on my phone, and my aunt’s voice came blaring. “Get out of there Ida! I am telling you, there is darkness in that house!”
As I illuminated the dusty wooden stairs, I saw that they only lead only to more pitch black. Yup, plenty of darkness here.
There was some phone-wrestling. My mother came back on. “What is it? What did you see?”
“Don’t encourage her! Get her to leave!” my auntie yelled in the background.
I told them to pipe down because I could suddenly hear the gentle whimpering at the base of the stairs. The dog sounded close.
“Kipper come! This way! Follow my voice!”
I went down a few steps further, expecting the basement floor to appear any second, but there were only more wooden steps. How long was this staircase?
“Kipper?”
There was a flat, cold wall on my left, and no guard rail to speak of. I stepped down each step very carefully to maintain my balance, sliding my hand along the wall.
Then the wall disappeared. I flew forward.
***
I woke up lying face-first on rocky floor. My phone was cracked next to me. My mother was crying in my ear. “Ida! Ida! Oh my god! Ida!”
I looked up to see I was not at the bottom of someone’s basement. There were lights all above me. Lanterns. They were illuminating a cavernous, rocky chamber that led to many tunnels with train tracks and wooden carts. I was in the opening of a massive underground mine.
I coughed, and gave out a weak “… what?”
“Ida is that you? Are you… brrzzzzz” My mom’s voice faded.
Before I could reply, I saw the crooked form of a man in tan coveralls, shaking the immobile body of another person in coveralls next to him. In fact, there was a small row of half a dozen miners all slumped against a blasted rock wall. There were bits of granite, wood, rope, and what looked like entrails splattered all throughout.
“Oh the cruelty …” the one, standing miner said. He went from body to body and jostled each of his coworkers. “Must I find you all like this … every time?”
I crawled up to a half-standing pose and tried to see the face of the hunched over survivor.
My heart dropped.
He had no face.
The explosion which must have killed some of friends had also blasted away this man’s entire sternum, neck and skull. The miner wasn’t hunched over or leaning away with his head, he just simply … had no head.
And up there, floating right in the middle of where his face should be, were a set of eyeballs, glistening under the yellow lights.
The eyes turned to me. “Oh. Why hello. Hello there.”
Terrified, I rose to complete standing and opened both my palms in a show of total deference. “I don’t know. I don’t know who you are or what this is.”
The headless miner walked toward me. I noticed he carried a pickaxe in his right arm. He gestured with his left to where his ear would be.
“I’m sorry I can’t hear you. Had an accident.”
Despite him having no head, his voice still came from where his mouth would be. There was an earnestness in his speech, it might have had something to do with his very old-timey accent, but I still felt like he was trying to be friendly.
“Another batch of faulty dynamite. Everyone’s dead. But what else is new.”
He brought his left palm to his face, perhaps to wipe away tears, but instead his hand travelled through his nonexistent head to scratch a small portion of his back.
“Been dead for many years I’m afraid. But I’ve kept busy. Been a good man. Worked very hard for the boss upstairs.”
He gestured upwards with the pickaxe. I looked up, and out in the distance, I saw a large, ancient, set of wooden stairs that I must have fallen from. They extended far up into the mine’s ceiling and kept going.
“He’s gotten good ore from me. Good, shining, golden ore. I have a knack for it you see. The same knack that killed me so many years ago. It's probably what’s still keeping me around though.”
He came closer. I could see he had brown irises, with one of the cataracts deteriorating into milky white haze. The eyes stared at me, unblinking.
“Because I’m not done, see. This mine isn’t empty. I know there’s more gold. Much more. And it’s not all for the boss. No, I’m keeping some to myself. Don’t tell him, but I’ve been stashing a large deposit for myself. It can’t all be his of course. It’s my mine after all. Half these tunnels were dug entirely by me. So of course I deserve some. It’s only natural.”
I lifted my hand and pointed at the staircase behind him. I mouthed very big, obvious words. “I have to go back. I’m going back up those stairs.”
He shifted his body. His two eyes turned in the air as if they were still inside an invisible skull. I saw nerve endings at the back undulate and twist.
“Yes, that is the only way up.”
My heart was in my throat. At least I found some form of communication. I gestured to knee height and nervously asked if he had seen a “large, shaggy dog.”
“Ah yes. I’ve seen the pooches. They come down here sometimes. When the booms don’t scare em that is. Hahah.”
I gave a thumbs up. It felt like a ridiculous interaction with a ghost, or zombie or whatever this was, but at least it was working.
“I think I saw his little tail run over that way. They like the smell of the mineral spring.”
I turned behind to see the long tunnel he was pointing at. It was dimly lit by a chain of smaller lanterns.
I thought I saw a flutter of movement, and I would have kept looking further if it wasn’t for my aunt’s voice that suddenly exploded in my ear. “Brrrzt … Ida! If you can hear us, we are calling the police to your location. Help is coming soon! … ”
I winced and stepped back—which saved my life. I just so happened to step right out of the way of a pickaxe. It sparked the ground.
I gasped and stared at the headless miner. His eyes were shimmering with a dark focus, staring directly at mine.
“Oh I’ll help you find the dog. I’ll help you find whatever you want. But I’ll need those clean new eyes of yours first.”
He swung at my head. I ducked. He went for the backswing. I ran.
Stupidly, I ran in the opposite direction of the stairs. I ran straight into the long tunnel lined with dim lanterns.
But I couldn’t turn around. I had no idea how quick he could move. And the speed of his pickaxe felt supernatural.
The tunnel was narrow, and lined with wooden tracks, I had to skip-run-jump over the panels with immense precision to make sure I didn’t trip. Behind me, his voice chased.
“Go ahead. Run. I know where these all lead.”
I ignored the words and kept going. The tunnel bent left, then right, then left again. I ignored several exits before the tunnel spat me out into an open, cavernous room filled with dozens and dozens of minecarts.
I investigated the room for anything useful. A far opposite wall appeared to be the site of the latest digging, loose rock lay everywhere.
There was a small mineshaft holding a chained up cart. And something in the cart shimmered…
It was gold.
And not just ore either. There were bars, coins, medallions, and jewelry. Mrs. Winslow’s bangles were right on top.
I ran to the cart furthest from the entrance and ducked behind it, breathing heavily, coughing from all the dust.
The headless man emerged from the tunnel, pickaxe raised and scanning where I could have hid. “I may not be able to hear you. But I can follow footprints pretty easily hah. I know you’re in here.”
He grabbed the closest minecart available and pushed it into the tunnel entrance. With an immense show of strength, he lifted and dislodged the cart off the track, cramming it sideways, creating a massive obstacle.
I was sealed inside.
Trying to stay absolutely still, I coughed through my teeth. Lungs burning. My mom’s voice came through.
“Brrzzztt… The police should be there! I told them you were in danger! They said they sent a unit over. Maybe they broke down the front door?”
I looked up at the mine shaft next to me. If it did connect to the surface upstairs, this was my only chance.
I gave a couple good yells. “HEEEEELP!!! DOWN HERE!! HELP!”
I don’t know if it did any good, but it was better than nothing. I turned to see if the miner had heard anything.
He hadn't.
The pickaxe tapped and clanged awkwardly around minecart after minecart.
I had a bigger advantage than I thought.
Although the miner had two floating eyeballs, only the left one was really capable of seeing anything.
So I kept my distance and watched where he was going, always staying behind.
As he limped and peered around minecarts, I was able to evade him, move from behind rock piles and other carts, careful not to leave a trail in the rock dust.
It was all going well until I heard a familiar panting.
“Oh look. If it isn’t precious.”
The dog had managed to jump over the miner’s blockade. It must have heard my yells. Surprisingly, Kipper was unafraid of the headless villain, and even approached him to receive pets.
“Now why don’t you go say hello to our other friend here huh? I know she's here somewhere.”
No. Kipper. Please. Don’t.
The dog started sniffing. Within seconds he found my scent. Kipper skipped towards me like Lassie and excitedly licked my face.
“Aww there we are. Now isn’t that a good boy?”
I stood up and stared at the filthy, ash-stained coveralls. Despite the lack of teeth, I could sense a menacing grin where the mouth should be.
He wasn't going to lose sight of me now. I had nowhere to go.
So I did the thing my auntie said worked on all spirits. I fell to my knees and prayed.
“Please. I only came here for work. I’m too young to die. Let me go and I won't tell anyone that you're here.”
He stood over me. Both of his pupils started to quiver. In just a few seconds, his eyes were swimming excitedly within the space of his head.
I took off the only valuable I had. A gold necklace with a miniature version of Christ the Redeemer. A gift I had received as a teen in Rio. I held it out in my shaking hands.
“Please. Take it. Take everything.”
Suddenly both the eyeballs stared forward again, entranced by the gold.
“Well look at that. How generous. How generous of her. We should reward generosity shouldn’t we?”
***
It was hard for me to describe to the police officer how exactly I got out, because I have no idea.
The fiery pain where my eyes used to be overwhelmed my entire reality for hours. All I wanted was for it to stop.
They found me half inside a dumbwaiter bleeding to death from the gouges in my face.
I was taken to the hospital, where I would spend the next four weeks recovering.
The police did not in fact storm the house like my mom said. They waited outside for the homeowner to return. But when they heard my screams coming from the top floor, they broke the back door and eventually came to my rescue.
I’m told they did a thorough investigation but could not find any of the things I described.
The basement door led into a regular basement. It was filled with old furniture, unused decor, and paint cans. No Mine.
The dumbwaiter was also just a dumbwaiter. It wasn’t some mine shaft, and it didn’t lead any deeper than the basement. Nothing special.
There were definitely hot springs close by, but nothing close enough to damage Mr. Winslow's property. And there was an old, depleted gold mine not far away either, but it was completely abandoned, closed off, and nowhere near as big as the one I had described.
***
The police, paramedics and doctors all thought my story was some hallucination. That I had been on drugs or had some mental breakdown (even though they couldn’t find anything in me other than small traces of weed.)
Thankfully, my mother and aunt believed me. They believed every word. My aunt is the one who encouraged me to make this post, so others could hear my story.
I know it was real.
I know it was.
And Mr. Winslow is fully aware of the mine’s existence.
Putting the dots together, I realized it was likely the source of his wealth. Winslow had some control over that one headless miner down there.
Did Winslow intentionally entrap me? Was he trying to get the miner a new set of eyes? Or was it all an unfortunate accident?
I might never know.
But what I do know is that Mr. Winslow has been paying for our rent ever since the accident.
He feels “terrible about the situation” and “can’t possibly imagine” what I’ve been through.
But he knows what happened.
He knows if I really pushed, If I really forced the police, or some private investigator to look into it—they would uncover something awful. Something really really bad.
“Anything you need. Anything at all. I will cover it, Ida.” He said. “You helped me out, protected my dogs, and I will never forget it.”
He’s offered to pay for the rest of my University schooling. And once my face heals up, he’s even offered to cover for some very expensive, experimental eye-transplant. We’ll see how that goes.
“You and your family will live comfortably from now on. You’ll want for nothing. Tell me exactly what you need, And you’ll get it.”
So I told him I'd like my necklace back. It was an heirloom. I said I lost it somewhere in his house.
A few days later, he returned with the usual smug, half-crooked smirk in his voice. He brought the necklace back in a box, pretending he had bought me a new one. Except it felt exactly like my old one.
It was all shined up, completely buffed of scratches, but it weighed the same. It was my old one for sure.
When my mom saw it she asked, “did it always have it? This dedication?”
As far as I remembered, the backside of the tiny Christ the Redeemer was always plain. I fingered its shape in my hands.
“What dedication?”
The new little divots caught my nails. There was writing that was definitely not there before.
My mom described it as a curly, serif font. Like a gift for a lover.
~ You’re an angel ~
~ W ~

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

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

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

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

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