Geico pig doll
Growing up, my mother forbade me from ever talking about my little brother outside the house. 50 years later, they're both dead, and I'm ready to talk
2024.05.14 03:47 CheckUrCrawlspaces Growing up, my mother forbade me from ever talking about my little brother outside the house. 50 years later, they're both dead, and I'm ready to talk
The garage door shut with a groan behind us, closing us in the gloom of the single bulb hanging over the car.
Mother took a drag off her cigarette and sighed as she exhaled, the smoke filled the cabin of the Ford and stung my eyes.
“You really disappointed me today, Julianne," she tapped her cigarette in the ashtray below the dash, "you embarrassed me in front of the other mothers at the Ice Cream Social, shoveling down seconds and thirds like a pig. I thought I raised you better than that.”
She took another drag, daintily holding the cigarette between her perfectly manicured fingers.
“I'm going to have to tell your brother about this," she continued, “he'll have to come up with a punishment fit for a pig."
I felt my stomach drop. My kid brother, Thomas, was only six, but could be exceptionally cruel. Mother seemed to encourage him and was deferring to him more and more frequently for how the house was run, especially concerning my upbringing.
"Mother, please, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you. I'm sorry I was a pig and ate so much ice cream. I promise I won't do it again, I'll never eat any ice cream again," I was pleading with stone, unyielding.
“Hush your mouth. Go to your room and wait for Thomas," she put out the cigarette and got out of the car, I had no choice but to follow.
It felt like walking to the gallows as I stepped inside the house and headed towards the stairs to go to my room. Thomas had grown fond recently of physical punishment, he obviously delighted in Mother whipping me with a belt or, recently, Mother had allowed him to start beating me with a wooden spoon. He would squeal and giggle like a normal child watching bubbles in the wind while I screamed. I was dreading whatever was going to happen tonight, I chastised myself for eating that ice cream, I should have known she would show up. My sins were always laid bare.
Down the hall, I could hear Thomas watching television in the den. I only got to watch TV for half an hour on Saturday morning and new episodes of Happy Days with Mother and Thomas. Thomas got to watch all the TV he wanted. He could listen to the radio and turntable as much as he wanted, as loud as he wanted. Thomas had an entire room just for his toys.
I entered my bedroom, it was a space I occupied, but it didn't feel like mine. Mother kept it spartan, white walls and white bedspread. A crucifix over the bed and a painting of Jesus over the door. I had my desk and chair and a dresser with some of the porcelain dolls Daddy gave me before he died that Mother let me keep. That was it.
I placed my book bag down and sat on my bed, waiting for Thomas. It was a while, sitting there with nothing but my own thoughts and staring at the open door. I felt humiliated, I was almost thirteen and my entire life was dictated by my brother. Mother kept the house in constant lockdown to keep Thomas a secret. No outsiders were allowed in. I couldn't have friends because she was afraid I would mention him or sneak a friend in to gawk at my brother and tease him for being different.
I would never make fun of him, I was terrified of him. Terrified of what he was and what he was becoming.
Eventually I heard his heavy footsteps coming up the stairs and I felt my heart start beating faster and my palms began to sweat. I kneaded my skirt in my hands, trying to calm myself and dry my palms. His slow arrhythmic footsteps came down the hall and I watched him as he entered the room.
I couldn't help but internally recoil at his appearance, even though I'd known him since he was born, I could never adjust to how unnatural he appeared. Thomas had been born at home and had never seen a doctor, but he was obviously unwell.
He was six years old and was barely over two feet tall, but very squat and wide. His skin was thick and gray, the whites of his beady eyes were yellow and his hair was wispy and white like an old man's, spreading out like a halo around his gargoyle face. A slight odor of decomposition hung about him, it reminded me faintly of garbage cans on a hot summer day. I hated when Mother made me help him with a bath, his skin felt like old brittle leather that flaked onto my clothes in gray flecks. His body was dense like concrete, I could barely lift him into the tub. Picking him up forced his hair into my face where that smell of rot would fill my nose, causing me to gag, silently, so as not to offend him and draw any ire from him or Mother.
Today, Thomas was wearing bib overalls with a red and green striped sweater underneath, reminding me of a grotesque doll.
“Mama says you acted like a piggy today at the ice cream social,” he spoke up to me in his unsettlingly high pitched, yet raspy voice, like a child that smoked as much as Mother, "you need to come down for dinner right now for your punishment for embarrassing Mama."
He turned and walked back down the stairs and I had no choice but to follow his toddling form downstairs to the dining table. We entered the kitchen and the table was placed with two settings. Mother was already seated and Thomas clambered up into his booster seat at his normal spot next to Mother. She took a drag off her cigarette and motioned vaguely to the floor without even looking at me.
Neatly situated on the linoleum was my dinner, not on a plate, but directly on the floor. A pork chop, scoop of mashed potatoes, and a small pile of peas. No utensils, either.
Thomas giggled with glee upon seeing my face.
“You have Mama's permission now to eat like a piggy, now. No hands! Piggies just use their face!” He stood up in his chair and reached out for Mother’s ash tray and flung it out over my meal, peppering my dinner with cigarette ash and butts.
"Oops! Piggies don't mind trash though, do they, Mama?” he giggled and the sound filled me with rage.
"No, they don't,” Mother replied coolly while maneuvering her ashtray back in place and carefully putting out her cigarette before saying prayer.
As angry as I was, I got down on my hands and knees and did my best at eating what I could without using my hands. I knew if I refused, it would be far worse. The whole meal, Thomas made pig noises and would reach down and poke me with his fork, making comments about what a fat piggy I was and how he wished he could roast and eat me. I doubted Mother would even object if he actually did kill me and eat me.
Gagging my way through another bite of ashy pork chop, I felt a warm splat over my head and heard Thomas giggling. I reached up and felt he had dumped mashed potatoes into my hair.
Choking down tears, I asked Mother if I could clean the floor and bathe. She rolled her eyes and excused me to clear the table for them as well while she changed Thomas into his pajamas. Picking him up, she walked out of the room and Thomas stuck his putrid little purple tongue out at me before they made it out the kitchen door.
I silently cried while I cleared the table and washed the dinner dishes. Tears splashed down as I mopped up the mess from my food on the floor. I hated how awful Thomas was. I hated how they treated me. Ever since Daddy died and Thomas showed up, I was their punching bag. I missed Daddy so much.
Mother was kinder then, too. She was still severe, but Dad kept her tempered. After he died, there was a change that came over her. I was only six, so I didn't remember her too much from before, but I did remember her gushing on and on when she was pregnant with Thomas. How the baby was a gift from Our Heavenly Father, that it was going to complete our broken family.
My sixth birthday happened right after Daddy died and I remember sitting on the patio crying while the house was full of people after the funeral, normally he would have gotten me a new doll and a chocolate bar, instead I was forgotten. No doll. No chocolate. Just funeral potatoes and a house full of cigarette smoke from the adults.
Nobody remembered. The closest thing I got was my dad's sister, Aunt Judy, sitting next to me on the patio step for a few minutes of comfortable silence before giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. I don't think she knew her brother was memorialized on my birthday. Next year, Thomas was born the day before my birthday, so it was completely eclipsed as Mother had just birthed her new love into the world…
I stopped mid mop as a lightbulb finally went off. I had never put much thought into the dates before.
Thomas was born a full year after Daddy died. He couldn't be his dad. Who was Thomas’ actual father?
Washing mashed potatoes out of my hair that evening, I ran over and over the timeline. No matter how I parsed it out, Thomas was only my half brother. Going to bed that night, I kept myself awake, going over and over again to make sure. I couldn't remember any men being around at that time, but that didn't mean much. Adults can easily hide things from children. Tension began throbbing through my head and I felt queasy. Mother had always known all of my secrets, able to sniff them out like a bloodhound out or using Thomas to spy. Now I had one of Mother's secrets and I didn't know what to do with it.
First I wanted to confirm it, but it would mean snooping, which was difficult in a house that was rarely left empty. I would have to try finding Mother's calendar book or journal to see if she mentioned any dates or men.
But when could I attempt such a daring maneuver? Thomas hardly left the house. As proud as Mother was of him, she was very cognizant and protective of his differences and didn't want to draw attention to herself or Thomas like that. Mother herself had few social engagements throughout the week and mostly stayed home to watch her golden child.
I finally decided I would take the risk and fake sick on Tuesday, grocery day, so I could stay home from school while she went shopping. All Thomas did all day was watch TV downstairs, so that should give me about an hour to look through her room for clues. I decided to tuck my head down, try to behave as best as I could to avoid their wrath, and wait for Tuesday.
That weekend limped along agonizingly slow. Thomas was in a fine mood and was constantly seeking out a reason to poke me, punch me, slap me… he'd laugh while calling me a piggy with his off-putting wide mouth. I tried to mostly stay in my room and it seemed like neither of them cared.
School on Monday was a relief, but my anxiety ramped up. The consequences would be dire if Mother caught on that I was faking sick to stay home. I didn't even want to imagine how off the leash she'd let my half-brother become in his punishment for that level of insubordination.
I stayed up all night, my stomach was in knots, but I was committed to my plan. Throughout the night, I screamed as hard as I could into my pillow. Screamed until my throat was raw and I could barely talk. It felt cathartic in a way. When it was close to school time, I put on my heaviest flannel pajamas and began doing jumping jacks until my face was flushed and my scalp was soaked with sweat.
Looking in the bathroom mirror before heading down to talk to Mother, I thought I looked pretty convincing, my skin was flushed and sweaty, my eyes had circles under them from lack of sleep, and my voice croaked like a frog.
Heading downstairs, Mother was already feeding Thomas breakfast. I hesitantly stepped into the kitchen and stood there awkwardly for a second, pawing with my pajamas to keep my nerves steady until she noticed my presence and looked up.
“Why aren't you dressed, Julianne?"
"I don't feel well. My throat hurts and my tummy hurts.” My voice graveled out more than I was expecting, I really had hurt my throat.
She strode over to me and placed a cool hand on my sweaty brow.
"You do feel warm. Take an aspirin from the medicine cabinet and go lay back down. I'll check on you later," with that she turned back and walked over to Thomas, who was frozen in place, glaring at me over a forkful of scrambled eggs. The sharp glint of malice in his beady eyes made me shiver before I shuffled out of the kitchen.
I laid in bed, trying my best to look miserable until I eventually heard the faint sound of the television playing in the den as Thomas settled in for his normal daytime routine and the garage door opened as Mother headed to the grocery store. I bounded out of bed and watched the car back out of our driveway and head up the street.
My heart began to pound as I tiptoed down the hall to Mother's bedroom, a place I rarely even caught a glimpse of, let alone entered. I very slowly opened the door, taking great care to not make any noise to alert Thomas downstairs that I was out of bed.
Creeping into the butter yellow room, I could feel my heartbeat pounding in my skull, this was the naughtiest thing I had ever done by far. I stepped onto the rug to help disguise my footsteps and slowly made my way past the brass bed and towards her desk. My hands shook as I opened the top drawer, I pawed through rapidly and found nothing. I checked the next drawer down and again found nothing of interest, just stationary and envelopes.
Finally, the bottom drawer was what I was looking for, a stack of journals from the past decade. I flipped through, trying to find entries relevant to when Daddy died and who Mother slept with afterwards.
I've never fully recovered from what I read.
July 6, 1968
Edgar died today. Car accident. I cannot believe this is real. My light, my life, my anchor... Dr. Benson gave me a sedative at the hospital and I feel so tired. So very, very tired. Why has my Lord forsaken me so?
July 9, 1968
I feel like I am in a very bad dream, I feel numb and disconnected. All the consolation and pity from everyone makes me feel sick. After the memorial, it took everything in me to not break dishes and to scream at everyone to get out of my house. Julianne was moping about crying and I wanted to throw her out, too.
If I hadn't seen my dear Edgar's body in the hospital and held his urn in my own hands, I wouldn't believe he was really gone. I still don't entirely believe it.
I have prayed to God every night asking him to show me why he took my husband from me and I have gotten no answer.
I skimmed over the next few months, as it was more or less similar sentiments repeated night after night. I finally got to an entry that caught my eye.
September 17, 1968
My battle with my faith has been fraught the past few months, but Hallelujah! I feel I can see the Lord again in all his glory and might, for he has given me a way to reconnect to my Edgar!
I was thinking about the night Julianne was born, right in this very home, it was a difficult birth and she struggled to breathe at first. Ingrid, my midwife, made a comment to me that if the baby had failed to wake up on her own, that Ingrid had ways to make sure she would have made it.
I remember asking if it was a medical methodology and she made it clear to me that in certain circumstances, it was a mystical property she used to bring the air of life into a struggling baby's lungs. She gently alluded to being a practicing member of the dark arts. At the time, I felt quite scandalized to have someone like that in my God fearing home. Now I see her as the answer to my prayers! My angel!
On a whim, I called her and asked if she still practiced such techniques. She hesitantly confirmed that she did. I asked, if she could turn breath into the lungs of a child without, could she turn breath into a child that did not exist? Could she magick into existence another child of my beloved Edgar? She told me she had to do some research and she'd be back in touch.
Ingrid just called back after a few hours and said there was a spell she found, but it was dangerous and might have unpleasant results. I said, yes, of course! I trust my Lord and I believe he sent this woman of blessed magick to me for this purpose.
She says we will have to do it soon, in a few days during the new moon. She has a potion to brew, but it is happening! Praise God!
September 23, 1968
The ceremony was last night, and Ingrid believes it was a success, but we will have to wait. It did not take long, only an hour or two. Ingrid lit my bedroom with many beeswax candles and she had me drink a thick and bitter tea that caused me to become quite relaxed and foggy.
From my inner thigh, she cut me and collected my blood in a chalice, with which she mixed quite a lot of Edgar's ashes and other ingredients which I could not glean from my supine position and groggy wits. Ingrid began to chant, calling upon a higher power, as I pleaded with my Lord to let this work. To give me any piece of my Edgar back. She came to the bed and worked the paste between my legs into my womanly chamber, which was very uncomfortable, but manageable with the numbing effects of the tea.
She continued to sit with me and chant, her hand placed over my womb, until she decided at which time it was complete. She left and I fell into a deep sleep. When I woke up this morning, I felt quite uncomfortable, my body ached and when I used the restroom, a yellow fluid like pus poured out of me, but no sign of any ashes or blood, which gives me hope it was absorbed into my womb.
November 3, 1968
Praise be to our Lord, Ingrid just confirmed for me that I am with child, I had been hoping so, I had not gotten my cycle in October, but I wasn't sure if that was because of the discharge like pus that was still coming. She told me that was common with this spell and a side effect that would stop after the baby came.
I feel like I am floating on air, for the first time since Edgar left, I feel-
I suddenly became very aware of the feeling of eyes on the back of my head. I had become too engrossed in what was written before me and I had lost track of my surroundings. Very slowly, I turned around and my heart began pounding again as I saw Thomas standing in the doorway holding his wooden spoon in one hand. How had I not heard him?
He pointed at me with his empty hand and screamed, just a pure guttural screech from somewhere deep inside his disgusting little body. He charged at me from across the room, his horrible feet thumping solidly along the rug. He began beating my legs ruthlessly with the spoon, causing my legs to buckle. I crashed down to my knees in front of him, and he began lashing at my face, pulling my hair with one hand while wailing away at my head with the spoon.
I had dropped the journal I was holding and was desperately trying to get a hand on the spoon or push him away. All I could hear was him screaming. My arms flailed and I reached around on Mother's desk and grabbed onto the first thing I found and sank it into Thomas’ neck.
The end of Mother's gold letter opener protruded under his jaw. He went silent and he looked at me with utter shock. He dropped the spoon and collapsed on the ground, clutching at his neck as his thick black blood oozed out from his wound, letting out a stupendous odor of rot that filled the room. He didn't really say anything or make any noise. He just twitched for a moment and I saw his eyes glaze over.
In shock, I stood over his little body for a moment and I watched as he seemed to mummify in just a few minutes, like an ash person from Pompeii dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. Even his blood that looked like shiny oil a second ago became like potting soil on Mother's rug. Reaching out to touch his hand, it crumbled away like sand.
Panic ran through me like a rabbit caught in a snare. Not knowing what to do, I ran. I ran down the hall, changed my clothes, put an extra change of clothes in my backpack and the last doll Daddy had ever given me and I ran. Mother would absolutely never forgive me and I was genuinely afraid she would kill me in retaliation for taking her beloved Thomas away from her. Her precious gift from God. My feet flew over the pavement and took me away from that house.
I called my Aunt Judy from a payphone outside the five & dime, and told her Mother had kicked me out and asked if I could stay with her. She had always had a strained relationship with my mother and it didn't take much convincing that she had kicked out her “only” child. Only Mother, Ingrid, and I ever knew about Thomas.
She gave me a home and took care of me. She never beat me or humiliated me. Even with her love, I was far from okay. For years I would close my eyes and hear Thomas scream, then the sudden silence. I'd see him fumbling at his neck and turning to ash. But I would also remember all the ways he would hurt me and how bad he was becoming. I could never talk to anyone about it, especially not the silent relief I felt I refused to admit to myself. Over time, however, Thomas' screams became a whisper and his silence faded into dust in my mind.
I moved on with my life. I went to college and became a photojournalist, getting to travel the world and watch history unfold. By choice, I never married, but was quite blessed with many beautiful friendships for companionship over the decades. I found balance in my life and a sense of happiness, if not peace. I never could quite stomach mashed potatoes again, though, they always taste ashy to me.
Mother never made any attempts to reach out to me or find me, at least that I'm aware of. Ten years ago, I was contacted by a hospital and they said my mother had been admitted earlier after falling and was about to pass, so she must have kept some tabs on me to know my phone number for her emergency contacts. Apparently she had collapsed in the driveway and a neighbor called an ambulance. I got there and her only words to me were, “take care of him," as she placed a locket in my hand. I opened the locket, Jesus was on one side, Thomas on the other. I didn't say anything to her, just held her frail old hand with nicotine stained nails until she passed in the night. My mother was gone and I felt nothing except a vague sense of relief.
When I got to her house, it was like a time capsule. Other than a newer television, it was just like it was when I'd fled so many years ago. The smell of tobacco smoke hung like incense in the air. It felt oppressive, like a tomb.
I wandered the house in a bit of a daze. The one place I didn't want to go was upstairs. I didn't want to see my old room, or Thomas' room, or Mother's. Putting it off, I went to fix myself some supper, realizing I hadn't eaten in almost a day. I took a pause when I opened the fridge and saw a baby bottle on a shelf. Silently praying she had been babysitting for a neighbor, I fixed myself some toast with sardines and sat eating in the den watching TV. It had been almost forty years and it still felt rebellious not eating at the table and watching TV without permission.
My eyes grew heavy and I finally mustered up the gumption to head upstairs to go to bed. The stairs creaked in a familiar way under my feet and I was taken back to the feeling of dread hearing either Mother or Thomas climbing up. My old room was at the top of the stairs, I saw the door was nailed shut and had rambling quotes about Judas copied from the Bible in my mother's handwriting taped to the door. I sighed gently and turned from the door to head down the hallway, deciding Mother's room was probably the best place to sleep.
I passed by Thomas’ toy room and I heard a murmur from the room. I stopped, curiosity got the best of me and I entered. In Thomas' old toy room was a crib with joyful clown sheets. Dread swelled up inside me as I heard more murmurs and saw the sheets move. Approaching slowly, I peaked under the sheet and gasped.
Tucked inside was what looked like a baby gargoyle, gray and papery looking. Pus leaked out of its milky, bulbous eyes. I pulled back the blanket and saw it had no legs and its arms bent back, like wings on a bird. It was wearing just a cloth diaper, overflowing with tarry looking stool that took my breath away with its pungency, it smelled like Thomas’ blood, but somehow worse. My heart broke for this poor creature, Lord only knows how many years it has been in this crib suffering from its unholy existence.
So this is who Mother had wanted me to take care of…
Not knowing what else to do, I gently scooped him up. Like Thomas, he was shockingly heavy for how small his body was. Placing him on the changing table, I cleaned him and rewrapped his bottom in a clean diaper cloth. It was difficult, he fussed tremendously, crying and flopping around as much as his flipper-like arms would allow. I tried wiping off his oozing eyes and he snapped his mouth, which I saw was full of disturbingly square yellow teeth, trying to bite me. I carried him to the kitchen and rocked him while I heated up his bottle and he became furious with me, almost barking like a dog when my hand would get near his face.
He settled a bit as he fed, but he would still sometimes suddenly spit out the bottle and attempt to bite me. I laid him back in his crib, this abomination in a clown sheet, and I walked down the hall to Mother's room letting out a long sigh.
Combing through my mother's journals in the early hours of the morning, it looked like she tried the ceremony again shortly after Thomas died, but she either lacked Ingrid’s help or didn't have enough of my father's ashes left. Something went terribly wrong. She was vaguer than she had been about Thomas’ conception, but I suspect she had used some of Thomas' remains. The resulting birth she named Isaac.
Mother's journals told a sad tale of her and Isaac's suffering. She never mentioned me, but lamented the loss of Thomas and Dad relentlessly. She was hyper protective of Isaac, as that was all she had left. If her world had been small before, it became microscopic after he entered her life, requiring nearly constant care. According to Mother, he was blind and colicky, sometimes going years at a time without sleeping through the night. She had breast fed him for years, but she had to stop after he grew teeth and began biting her intentionally and feeding on her blood.
I spent a lot of time over the next few days pondering what to do. I had to get her estate in order, she had left me the house, in an obvious attempt to get me to continue caretaking for Isaac, but I didn't want it. I had my own cozy home an hour away from here, filled with happy memories and my possessions acquired traveling the world. Mother's home had a heavy energy I couldn't shake. Her and Thomas were both gone, but the memories of the scoldings and beatings hung in every corner, like cobwebs that would never sweep away.
So, I fed Isaac and kept him clean and tried to keep him company, although he seemed to hate me passionately. I took care of him, all the while thinking about what I was going to do. After a week, I felt resolute in what had to be done.
Gathering up all of Mother's journals in a tote, I made my way to Isaac and picked him up and carried everything to the living room.
The ancient logs in the fireplace meant for display ignited instantly. One by one, I fed the journals into the fire, burning away years of my mother's consuming sorrow. Isaac fussed and moaned next to me the entire time. When the last pages shimmered away into lacy ash, I took a throw pillow off the couch and gently cradled Isaac in my other arm. It didn't take long before he stopped struggling and I felt his little body relax after decades of suffering.
I gently wrapped up a bundle in a clown sheet and placed it in the fire. It burned furiously, like the paper in my mother's journals, and was soon gone. Nothing but ashes and embers.
“Don't worry, Mother,” I said purely for my own sake, "I took care of Isaac for you."
And finally, I felt at peace.
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Mother took a drag off her cigarette and sighed as she exhaled, the smoke filled the cabin of the Ford and stung my eyes.
“You really disappointed me today, Julianne," she tapped her cigarette in the ashtray below the dash, "you embarrassed me in front of the other mothers at the Ice Cream Social, shoveling down seconds and thirds like a pig. I thought I raised you better than that.”
She took another drag, daintily holding the cigarette between her perfectly manicured fingers.
“I'm going to have to tell your brother about this," she continued, “he'll have to come up with a punishment fit for a pig."
I felt my stomach drop. My kid brother, Thomas, was only six, but could be exceptionally cruel. Mother seemed to encourage him and was deferring to him more and more frequently for how the house was run, especially concerning my upbringing.
"Mother, please, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you. I'm sorry I was a pig and ate so much ice cream. I promise I won't do it again, I'll never eat any ice cream again," I was pleading with stone, unyielding.
“Hush your mouth. Go to your room and wait for Thomas," she put out the cigarette and got out of the car, I had no choice but to follow.
It felt like walking to the gallows as I stepped inside the house and headed towards the stairs to go to my room. Thomas had grown fond recently of physical punishment, he obviously delighted in Mother whipping me with a belt or, recently, Mother had allowed him to start beating me with a wooden spoon. He would squeal and giggle like a normal child watching bubbles in the wind while I screamed. I was dreading whatever was going to happen tonight, I chastised myself for eating that ice cream, I should have known she would show up. My sins were always laid bare.
Down the hall, I could hear Thomas watching television in the den. I only got to watch TV for half an hour on Saturday morning and new episodes of Happy Days with Mother and Thomas. Thomas got to watch all the TV he wanted. He could listen to the radio and turntable as much as he wanted, as loud as he wanted. Thomas had an entire room just for his toys.
I entered my bedroom, it was a space I occupied, but it didn't feel like mine. Mother kept it spartan, white walls and white bedspread. A crucifix over the bed and a painting of Jesus over the door. I had my desk and chair and a dresser with some of the porcelain dolls Daddy gave me before he died that Mother let me keep. That was it.
I placed my book bag down and sat on my bed, waiting for Thomas. It was a while, sitting there with nothing but my own thoughts and staring at the open door. I felt humiliated, I was almost thirteen and my entire life was dictated by my brother. Mother kept the house in constant lockdown to keep Thomas a secret. No outsiders were allowed in. I couldn't have friends because she was afraid I would mention him or sneak a friend in to gawk at my brother and tease him for being different.
I would never make fun of him, I was terrified of him. Terrified of what he was and what he was becoming.
Eventually I heard his heavy footsteps coming up the stairs and I felt my heart start beating faster and my palms began to sweat. I kneaded my skirt in my hands, trying to calm myself and dry my palms. His slow arrhythmic footsteps came down the hall and I watched him as he entered the room.
I couldn't help but internally recoil at his appearance, even though I'd known him since he was born, I could never adjust to how unnatural he appeared. Thomas had been born at home and had never seen a doctor, but he was obviously unwell.
He was six years old and was barely over two feet tall, but very squat and wide. His skin was thick and gray, the whites of his beady eyes were yellow and his hair was wispy and white like an old man's, spreading out like a halo around his gargoyle face. A slight odor of decomposition hung about him, it reminded me faintly of garbage cans on a hot summer day. I hated when Mother made me help him with a bath, his skin felt like old brittle leather that flaked onto my clothes in gray flecks. His body was dense like concrete, I could barely lift him into the tub. Picking him up forced his hair into my face where that smell of rot would fill my nose, causing me to gag, silently, so as not to offend him and draw any ire from him or Mother.
Today, Thomas was wearing bib overalls with a red and green striped sweater underneath, reminding me of a grotesque doll.
“Mama says you acted like a piggy today at the ice cream social,” he spoke up to me in his unsettlingly high pitched, yet raspy voice, like a child that smoked as much as Mother, "you need to come down for dinner right now for your punishment for embarrassing Mama."
He turned and walked back down the stairs and I had no choice but to follow his toddling form downstairs to the dining table. We entered the kitchen and the table was placed with two settings. Mother was already seated and Thomas clambered up into his booster seat at his normal spot next to Mother. She took a drag off her cigarette and motioned vaguely to the floor without even looking at me.
Neatly situated on the linoleum was my dinner, not on a plate, but directly on the floor. A pork chop, scoop of mashed potatoes, and a small pile of peas. No utensils, either.
Thomas giggled with glee upon seeing my face.
“You have Mama's permission now to eat like a piggy, now. No hands! Piggies just use their face!” He stood up in his chair and reached out for Mother’s ash tray and flung it out over my meal, peppering my dinner with cigarette ash and butts.
"Oops! Piggies don't mind trash though, do they, Mama?” he giggled and the sound filled me with rage.
"No, they don't,” Mother replied coolly while maneuvering her ashtray back in place and carefully putting out her cigarette before saying prayer.
As angry as I was, I got down on my hands and knees and did my best at eating what I could without using my hands. I knew if I refused, it would be far worse. The whole meal, Thomas made pig noises and would reach down and poke me with his fork, making comments about what a fat piggy I was and how he wished he could roast and eat me. I doubted Mother would even object if he actually did kill me and eat me.
Gagging my way through another bite of ashy pork chop, I felt a warm splat over my head and heard Thomas giggling. I reached up and felt he had dumped mashed potatoes into my hair.
Choking down tears, I asked Mother if I could clean the floor and bathe. She rolled her eyes and excused me to clear the table for them as well while she changed Thomas into his pajamas. Picking him up, she walked out of the room and Thomas stuck his putrid little purple tongue out at me before they made it out the kitchen door.
I silently cried while I cleared the table and washed the dinner dishes. Tears splashed down as I mopped up the mess from my food on the floor. I hated how awful Thomas was. I hated how they treated me. Ever since Daddy died and Thomas showed up, I was their punching bag. I missed Daddy so much.
Mother was kinder then, too. She was still severe, but Dad kept her tempered. After he died, there was a change that came over her. I was only six, so I didn't remember her too much from before, but I did remember her gushing on and on when she was pregnant with Thomas. How the baby was a gift from Our Heavenly Father, that it was going to complete our broken family.
My sixth birthday happened right after Daddy died and I remember sitting on the patio crying while the house was full of people after the funeral, normally he would have gotten me a new doll and a chocolate bar, instead I was forgotten. No doll. No chocolate. Just funeral potatoes and a house full of cigarette smoke from the adults.
Nobody remembered. The closest thing I got was my dad's sister, Aunt Judy, sitting next to me on the patio step for a few minutes of comfortable silence before giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. I don't think she knew her brother was memorialized on my birthday. Next year, Thomas was born the day before my birthday, so it was completely eclipsed as Mother had just birthed her new love into the world…
I stopped mid mop as a lightbulb finally went off. I had never put much thought into the dates before.
Thomas was born a full year after Daddy died. He couldn't be his dad. Who was Thomas’ actual father?
Washing mashed potatoes out of my hair that evening, I ran over and over the timeline. No matter how I parsed it out, Thomas was only my half brother. Going to bed that night, I kept myself awake, going over and over again to make sure. I couldn't remember any men being around at that time, but that didn't mean much. Adults can easily hide things from children. Tension began throbbing through my head and I felt queasy. Mother had always known all of my secrets, able to sniff them out like a bloodhound out or using Thomas to spy. Now I had one of Mother's secrets and I didn't know what to do with it.
First I wanted to confirm it, but it would mean snooping, which was difficult in a house that was rarely left empty. I would have to try finding Mother's calendar book or journal to see if she mentioned any dates or men.
But when could I attempt such a daring maneuver? Thomas hardly left the house. As proud as Mother was of him, she was very cognizant and protective of his differences and didn't want to draw attention to herself or Thomas like that. Mother herself had few social engagements throughout the week and mostly stayed home to watch her golden child.
I finally decided I would take the risk and fake sick on Tuesday, grocery day, so I could stay home from school while she went shopping. All Thomas did all day was watch TV downstairs, so that should give me about an hour to look through her room for clues. I decided to tuck my head down, try to behave as best as I could to avoid their wrath, and wait for Tuesday.
That weekend limped along agonizingly slow. Thomas was in a fine mood and was constantly seeking out a reason to poke me, punch me, slap me… he'd laugh while calling me a piggy with his off-putting wide mouth. I tried to mostly stay in my room and it seemed like neither of them cared.
School on Monday was a relief, but my anxiety ramped up. The consequences would be dire if Mother caught on that I was faking sick to stay home. I didn't even want to imagine how off the leash she'd let my half-brother become in his punishment for that level of insubordination.
I stayed up all night, my stomach was in knots, but I was committed to my plan. Throughout the night, I screamed as hard as I could into my pillow. Screamed until my throat was raw and I could barely talk. It felt cathartic in a way. When it was close to school time, I put on my heaviest flannel pajamas and began doing jumping jacks until my face was flushed and my scalp was soaked with sweat.
Looking in the bathroom mirror before heading down to talk to Mother, I thought I looked pretty convincing, my skin was flushed and sweaty, my eyes had circles under them from lack of sleep, and my voice croaked like a frog.
Heading downstairs, Mother was already feeding Thomas breakfast. I hesitantly stepped into the kitchen and stood there awkwardly for a second, pawing with my pajamas to keep my nerves steady until she noticed my presence and looked up.
“Why aren't you dressed, Julianne?"
"I don't feel well. My throat hurts and my tummy hurts.” My voice graveled out more than I was expecting, I really had hurt my throat.
She strode over to me and placed a cool hand on my sweaty brow.
"You do feel warm. Take an aspirin from the medicine cabinet and go lay back down. I'll check on you later," with that she turned back and walked over to Thomas, who was frozen in place, glaring at me over a forkful of scrambled eggs. The sharp glint of malice in his beady eyes made me shiver before I shuffled out of the kitchen.
I laid in bed, trying my best to look miserable until I eventually heard the faint sound of the television playing in the den as Thomas settled in for his normal daytime routine and the garage door opened as Mother headed to the grocery store. I bounded out of bed and watched the car back out of our driveway and head up the street.
My heart began to pound as I tiptoed down the hall to Mother's bedroom, a place I rarely even caught a glimpse of, let alone entered. I very slowly opened the door, taking great care to not make any noise to alert Thomas downstairs that I was out of bed.
Creeping into the butter yellow room, I could feel my heartbeat pounding in my skull, this was the naughtiest thing I had ever done by far. I stepped onto the rug to help disguise my footsteps and slowly made my way past the brass bed and towards her desk. My hands shook as I opened the top drawer, I pawed through rapidly and found nothing. I checked the next drawer down and again found nothing of interest, just stationary and envelopes.
Finally, the bottom drawer was what I was looking for, a stack of journals from the past decade. I flipped through, trying to find entries relevant to when Daddy died and who Mother slept with afterwards.
I've never fully recovered from what I read.
July 6, 1968
Edgar died today. Car accident. I cannot believe this is real. My light, my life, my anchor... Dr. Benson gave me a sedative at the hospital and I feel so tired. So very, very tired. Why has my Lord forsaken me so?
July 9, 1968
I feel like I am in a very bad dream, I feel numb and disconnected. All the consolation and pity from everyone makes me feel sick. After the memorial, it took everything in me to not break dishes and to scream at everyone to get out of my house. Julianne was moping about crying and I wanted to throw her out, too.
If I hadn't seen my dear Edgar's body in the hospital and held his urn in my own hands, I wouldn't believe he was really gone. I still don't entirely believe it.
I have prayed to God every night asking him to show me why he took my husband from me and I have gotten no answer.
I skimmed over the next few months, as it was more or less similar sentiments repeated night after night. I finally got to an entry that caught my eye.
September 17, 1968
My battle with my faith has been fraught the past few months, but Hallelujah! I feel I can see the Lord again in all his glory and might, for he has given me a way to reconnect to my Edgar!
I was thinking about the night Julianne was born, right in this very home, it was a difficult birth and she struggled to breathe at first. Ingrid, my midwife, made a comment to me that if the baby had failed to wake up on her own, that Ingrid had ways to make sure she would have made it.
I remember asking if it was a medical methodology and she made it clear to me that in certain circumstances, it was a mystical property she used to bring the air of life into a struggling baby's lungs. She gently alluded to being a practicing member of the dark arts. At the time, I felt quite scandalized to have someone like that in my God fearing home. Now I see her as the answer to my prayers! My angel!
On a whim, I called her and asked if she still practiced such techniques. She hesitantly confirmed that she did. I asked, if she could turn breath into the lungs of a child without, could she turn breath into a child that did not exist? Could she magick into existence another child of my beloved Edgar? She told me she had to do some research and she'd be back in touch.
Ingrid just called back after a few hours and said there was a spell she found, but it was dangerous and might have unpleasant results. I said, yes, of course! I trust my Lord and I believe he sent this woman of blessed magick to me for this purpose.
She says we will have to do it soon, in a few days during the new moon. She has a potion to brew, but it is happening! Praise God!
September 23, 1968
The ceremony was last night, and Ingrid believes it was a success, but we will have to wait. It did not take long, only an hour or two. Ingrid lit my bedroom with many beeswax candles and she had me drink a thick and bitter tea that caused me to become quite relaxed and foggy.
From my inner thigh, she cut me and collected my blood in a chalice, with which she mixed quite a lot of Edgar's ashes and other ingredients which I could not glean from my supine position and groggy wits. Ingrid began to chant, calling upon a higher power, as I pleaded with my Lord to let this work. To give me any piece of my Edgar back. She came to the bed and worked the paste between my legs into my womanly chamber, which was very uncomfortable, but manageable with the numbing effects of the tea.
She continued to sit with me and chant, her hand placed over my womb, until she decided at which time it was complete. She left and I fell into a deep sleep. When I woke up this morning, I felt quite uncomfortable, my body ached and when I used the restroom, a yellow fluid like pus poured out of me, but no sign of any ashes or blood, which gives me hope it was absorbed into my womb.
November 3, 1968
Praise be to our Lord, Ingrid just confirmed for me that I am with child, I had been hoping so, I had not gotten my cycle in October, but I wasn't sure if that was because of the discharge like pus that was still coming. She told me that was common with this spell and a side effect that would stop after the baby came.
I feel like I am floating on air, for the first time since Edgar left, I feel-
I suddenly became very aware of the feeling of eyes on the back of my head. I had become too engrossed in what was written before me and I had lost track of my surroundings. Very slowly, I turned around and my heart began pounding again as I saw Thomas standing in the doorway holding his wooden spoon in one hand. How had I not heard him?
He pointed at me with his empty hand and screamed, just a pure guttural screech from somewhere deep inside his disgusting little body. He charged at me from across the room, his horrible feet thumping solidly along the rug. He began beating my legs ruthlessly with the spoon, causing my legs to buckle. I crashed down to my knees in front of him, and he began lashing at my face, pulling my hair with one hand while wailing away at my head with the spoon.
I had dropped the journal I was holding and was desperately trying to get a hand on the spoon or push him away. All I could hear was him screaming. My arms flailed and I reached around on Mother's desk and grabbed onto the first thing I found and sank it into Thomas’ neck.
The end of Mother's gold letter opener protruded under his jaw. He went silent and he looked at me with utter shock. He dropped the spoon and collapsed on the ground, clutching at his neck as his thick black blood oozed out from his wound, letting out a stupendous odor of rot that filled the room. He didn't really say anything or make any noise. He just twitched for a moment and I saw his eyes glaze over.
In shock, I stood over his little body for a moment and I watched as he seemed to mummify in just a few minutes, like an ash person from Pompeii dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. Even his blood that looked like shiny oil a second ago became like potting soil on Mother's rug. Reaching out to touch his hand, it crumbled away like sand.
Panic ran through me like a rabbit caught in a snare. Not knowing what to do, I ran. I ran down the hall, changed my clothes, put an extra change of clothes in my backpack and the last doll Daddy had ever given me and I ran. Mother would absolutely never forgive me and I was genuinely afraid she would kill me in retaliation for taking her beloved Thomas away from her. Her precious gift from God. My feet flew over the pavement and took me away from that house.
I called my Aunt Judy from a payphone outside the five & dime, and told her Mother had kicked me out and asked if I could stay with her. She had always had a strained relationship with my mother and it didn't take much convincing that she had kicked out her “only” child. Only Mother, Ingrid, and I ever knew about Thomas.
She gave me a home and took care of me. She never beat me or humiliated me. Even with her love, I was far from okay. For years I would close my eyes and hear Thomas scream, then the sudden silence. I'd see him fumbling at his neck and turning to ash. But I would also remember all the ways he would hurt me and how bad he was becoming. I could never talk to anyone about it, especially not the silent relief I felt I refused to admit to myself. Over time, however, Thomas' screams became a whisper and his silence faded into dust in my mind.
I moved on with my life. I went to college and became a photojournalist, getting to travel the world and watch history unfold. By choice, I never married, but was quite blessed with many beautiful friendships for companionship over the decades. I found balance in my life and a sense of happiness, if not peace. I never could quite stomach mashed potatoes again, though, they always taste ashy to me.
Mother never made any attempts to reach out to me or find me, at least that I'm aware of. Ten years ago, I was contacted by a hospital and they said my mother had been admitted earlier after falling and was about to pass, so she must have kept some tabs on me to know my phone number for her emergency contacts. Apparently she had collapsed in the driveway and a neighbor called an ambulance. I got there and her only words to me were, “take care of him," as she placed a locket in my hand. I opened the locket, Jesus was on one side, Thomas on the other. I didn't say anything to her, just held her frail old hand with nicotine stained nails until she passed in the night. My mother was gone and I felt nothing except a vague sense of relief.
When I got to her house, it was like a time capsule. Other than a newer television, it was just like it was when I'd fled so many years ago. The smell of tobacco smoke hung like incense in the air. It felt oppressive, like a tomb.
I wandered the house in a bit of a daze. The one place I didn't want to go was upstairs. I didn't want to see my old room, or Thomas' room, or Mother's. Putting it off, I went to fix myself some supper, realizing I hadn't eaten in almost a day. I took a pause when I opened the fridge and saw a baby bottle on a shelf. Silently praying she had been babysitting for a neighbor, I fixed myself some toast with sardines and sat eating in the den watching TV. It had been almost forty years and it still felt rebellious not eating at the table and watching TV without permission.
My eyes grew heavy and I finally mustered up the gumption to head upstairs to go to bed. The stairs creaked in a familiar way under my feet and I was taken back to the feeling of dread hearing either Mother or Thomas climbing up. My old room was at the top of the stairs, I saw the door was nailed shut and had rambling quotes about Judas copied from the Bible in my mother's handwriting taped to the door. I sighed gently and turned from the door to head down the hallway, deciding Mother's room was probably the best place to sleep.
I passed by Thomas’ toy room and I heard a murmur from the room. I stopped, curiosity got the best of me and I entered. In Thomas' old toy room was a crib with joyful clown sheets. Dread swelled up inside me as I heard more murmurs and saw the sheets move. Approaching slowly, I peaked under the sheet and gasped.
Tucked inside was what looked like a baby gargoyle, gray and papery looking. Pus leaked out of its milky, bulbous eyes. I pulled back the blanket and saw it had no legs and its arms bent back, like wings on a bird. It was wearing just a cloth diaper, overflowing with tarry looking stool that took my breath away with its pungency, it smelled like Thomas’ blood, but somehow worse. My heart broke for this poor creature, Lord only knows how many years it has been in this crib suffering from its unholy existence.
So this is who Mother had wanted me to take care of…
Not knowing what else to do, I gently scooped him up. Like Thomas, he was shockingly heavy for how small his body was. Placing him on the changing table, I cleaned him and rewrapped his bottom in a clean diaper cloth. It was difficult, he fussed tremendously, crying and flopping around as much as his flipper-like arms would allow. I tried wiping off his oozing eyes and he snapped his mouth, which I saw was full of disturbingly square yellow teeth, trying to bite me. I carried him to the kitchen and rocked him while I heated up his bottle and he became furious with me, almost barking like a dog when my hand would get near his face.
He settled a bit as he fed, but he would still sometimes suddenly spit out the bottle and attempt to bite me. I laid him back in his crib, this abomination in a clown sheet, and I walked down the hall to Mother's room letting out a long sigh.
Combing through my mother's journals in the early hours of the morning, it looked like she tried the ceremony again shortly after Thomas died, but she either lacked Ingrid’s help or didn't have enough of my father's ashes left. Something went terribly wrong. She was vaguer than she had been about Thomas’ conception, but I suspect she had used some of Thomas' remains. The resulting birth she named Isaac.
Mother's journals told a sad tale of her and Isaac's suffering. She never mentioned me, but lamented the loss of Thomas and Dad relentlessly. She was hyper protective of Isaac, as that was all she had left. If her world had been small before, it became microscopic after he entered her life, requiring nearly constant care. According to Mother, he was blind and colicky, sometimes going years at a time without sleeping through the night. She had breast fed him for years, but she had to stop after he grew teeth and began biting her intentionally and feeding on her blood.
I spent a lot of time over the next few days pondering what to do. I had to get her estate in order, she had left me the house, in an obvious attempt to get me to continue caretaking for Isaac, but I didn't want it. I had my own cozy home an hour away from here, filled with happy memories and my possessions acquired traveling the world. Mother's home had a heavy energy I couldn't shake. Her and Thomas were both gone, but the memories of the scoldings and beatings hung in every corner, like cobwebs that would never sweep away.
So, I fed Isaac and kept him clean and tried to keep him company, although he seemed to hate me passionately. I took care of him, all the while thinking about what I was going to do. After a week, I felt resolute in what had to be done.
Gathering up all of Mother's journals in a tote, I made my way to Isaac and picked him up and carried everything to the living room.
The ancient logs in the fireplace meant for display ignited instantly. One by one, I fed the journals into the fire, burning away years of my mother's consuming sorrow. Isaac fussed and moaned next to me the entire time. When the last pages shimmered away into lacy ash, I took a throw pillow off the couch and gently cradled Isaac in my other arm. It didn't take long before he stopped struggling and I felt his little body relax after decades of suffering.
I gently wrapped up a bundle in a clown sheet and placed it in the fire. It burned furiously, like the paper in my mother's journals, and was soon gone. Nothing but ashes and embers.
“Don't worry, Mother,” I said purely for my own sake, "I took care of Isaac for you."
And finally, I felt at peace.
2024.05.14 02:10 Next_Butterfly_3687 Best birthday gift I ever gave my best friend.
Hello Everyone. This is 100% a true story.
I thought this would be a good story to share here as it deals with getting petty revenge on someone who was being transphobic and a horrible person. This is a long story but the ending is worth it.
This story takes place back in 2020 and was just reminded of it by one of my best Friends lets call her "Hannah". Hannah and I had a mutual friend, lets call him Zack. I at the time was just starting to come out as trans. This plays a part later.
Zack and I were friends after I meet him throw an EX, the EX was a good man but I am the type of person that does not do well being friends with EXs but was trying because this EX was a good person. This in the end also I keep talking to Zack and at time thought he was a good guy.
Anyway it was late in fall when Zack brought up moving into together due to I was having a hard time with my family and only had a dorm to live in. During this time he also brought up that he had a friend, Hannah, that was also looking for a place to live as her home life was not great either. I said I would have to her first before I said yes to anything. Hannah was on the same page as me and wanted to meet me first too.
So one day Invited them both over to the dorm I was living in, as if anything went wrong the College I was at had great police (had meet many of them during the time I was at college) this made me feel safer meeting new people. Hannah and Zack came over and me and Hannah hit it off well to the point you would have thought we had been friends for years. There were many times her and I would hang out without Zack, which he never liked. Red flag right there. Due to this I started to see the cracks in Zack's shell.
He was very passive of Hannah to almost boyfriend level. Which got worries after I came out as Transgender. Red flag number 2. He would also try to one up me and say things underhanded about me being trans. Now I am a huge werewolf geek and the underhanded things would be like "I will never be an alpha" or shit like that. Now I never called myself an alpha or anything like that. He also said that I would never have a man's mindsight. I never told Hannah any of this because I wanted to stay her friend and do to my trust problems thought she would take his side so that is all my fault.
One night I was talking to Hannah not sharing everything but told her Zack was pissing me off. She had known him longer then I did. She said that it could be do to his religious background and that could be why he was being a ass. That is when she opened up to me about something.
Turned out they where Friends with benefits. Zack was always wanting to make things more then that but Hannah had been hurt bad by an EX, like almost killed. So she did not trust getting back into any relationship. But felt she was safe with him and thought of slowly building up to a relationship. However she also spilled all the tea on him in bed, and I mean all the TEA!
So lets jump forward a few months to Hannah's Birthday. Zack wanted to host it the first night and then she would spend the next night with me. Hannah was going a hard time with family during this time so we planned a Birthday weekend for her. Turns out Zack invited her over for night before so she would be over one night without me so they could be the Birthday *GIGGITYY*. Well as many people know there is something that happens to most women once a month. Yes, Hannah was on her period. To her defense she did not know what Zack was planning for the night she thought he was just being nice because she got into a fight with her family.
So the next day comes around and they pick me up as I did not have a car. Everything seemed off as Hannah's mood was not normal. I wanted to ask what was up but also thought it was because of the fight with her family so I just wanted to make her happy. The day goes on and we are playing her fav video game. She went to bed early which I thought was odd as the two of us are night owls. I asked Zack what was going on. He said nothing but I could tell he was lying but dropped it.
The next day we get to mail in our city as planned and well Zack was doing something and it was just Hannah and I alone. That is when she told me what was going on between them. Apparently Zack was mad because Hannah did not SLEEP with her the night before I showed up. I was pissed, but then she keep going and he keep pushing and begging for it. to the point that when she said she was on her period he just said "THEY COULD PUT A TOWEL DOWN".
That was it for me I was done playing nice to Zack and started to think of ways to tell him how much of a pig he was. I am the type of person where three stracks your out. Hannah and I are huge nerds and you could say she is some where between punk and goth. So we told Zack we where going to Spencer's. Zack said he was going to go to another store as he hated this store. You see in the frount of Spencer's is a nerd, punk and goth best dream, as for the back of the store is full of sex toys and other adult themed things. Knowing this I told Hannah to pick out something she wanted for her birthday anything, and I would get it for her.
Well Hannah was looking at new pricings and wallets I headed to the back of the store to get some goodies for Zack. I payed for the stuff all without Hannah knowing. Best part the store has black bags that you can't see throw due to the things they sell. After I walked up to Hannah and I bought the things she wanted all to her protest. So she told me she would by lunch witch I agreed too because as friends we hate to feel like we are using each other even on holidays.
We left the store and went to the food court and ordered food. Once we sat down Hannah texted Zack where we were. That is when she looked at the large bag I had gotten and she asked me what I had gotten. I handed the bag and told her it was for Zack. The grin on her face was the best thing that I have seen. You see Hannah is also a very petty person and she very much approved of what I had gotten for Zack.
Zack showed up some time later and we planned to go back to his house so she could her car and her stuff to come to my place for the night. That is when the "gift" was given to Zack. I was putting Hannah's stuff in her car for her and wish I could have seen his face when he first opened bag.
You see when I am hurt I get petty but if you upset someone close to me I get PETTY. In the bag he found a large bag of candy and a few lollypop DICKS. But it gets better, I also got him a female blow up doll. There was also two cards. the first said "Congrats on your new girlfriend" which I signed alone and the other said "suck a mountain of dicks" which we both signed.
The next thing I know Hannah is walking out with the biggest grin on her face. With him storming after her when he saw me he said I was just mad that I would never be a "true man". Hannah turned on her heels but before she could do anything I yelled back "he would never be bigger then my pinky finger". He looked so mad and red. Hannah got in her car, we drove off and never looked back.
This may have been to far but I regret nothing.
Hannah says it was the best birthday gift anyone has ever gotten her due to his face he made when he saw all his new goodies. Hannah and I are still great friends to this day and know we have each others backs on anything.
submitted by Next_Butterfly_3687 to CharlotteDobreYouTube [link] [comments]
I thought this would be a good story to share here as it deals with getting petty revenge on someone who was being transphobic and a horrible person. This is a long story but the ending is worth it.
This story takes place back in 2020 and was just reminded of it by one of my best Friends lets call her "Hannah". Hannah and I had a mutual friend, lets call him Zack. I at the time was just starting to come out as trans. This plays a part later.
Zack and I were friends after I meet him throw an EX, the EX was a good man but I am the type of person that does not do well being friends with EXs but was trying because this EX was a good person. This in the end also I keep talking to Zack and at time thought he was a good guy.
Anyway it was late in fall when Zack brought up moving into together due to I was having a hard time with my family and only had a dorm to live in. During this time he also brought up that he had a friend, Hannah, that was also looking for a place to live as her home life was not great either. I said I would have to her first before I said yes to anything. Hannah was on the same page as me and wanted to meet me first too.
So one day Invited them both over to the dorm I was living in, as if anything went wrong the College I was at had great police (had meet many of them during the time I was at college) this made me feel safer meeting new people. Hannah and Zack came over and me and Hannah hit it off well to the point you would have thought we had been friends for years. There were many times her and I would hang out without Zack, which he never liked. Red flag right there. Due to this I started to see the cracks in Zack's shell.
He was very passive of Hannah to almost boyfriend level. Which got worries after I came out as Transgender. Red flag number 2. He would also try to one up me and say things underhanded about me being trans. Now I am a huge werewolf geek and the underhanded things would be like "I will never be an alpha" or shit like that. Now I never called myself an alpha or anything like that. He also said that I would never have a man's mindsight. I never told Hannah any of this because I wanted to stay her friend and do to my trust problems thought she would take his side so that is all my fault.
One night I was talking to Hannah not sharing everything but told her Zack was pissing me off. She had known him longer then I did. She said that it could be do to his religious background and that could be why he was being a ass. That is when she opened up to me about something.
Turned out they where Friends with benefits. Zack was always wanting to make things more then that but Hannah had been hurt bad by an EX, like almost killed. So she did not trust getting back into any relationship. But felt she was safe with him and thought of slowly building up to a relationship. However she also spilled all the tea on him in bed, and I mean all the TEA!
So lets jump forward a few months to Hannah's Birthday. Zack wanted to host it the first night and then she would spend the next night with me. Hannah was going a hard time with family during this time so we planned a Birthday weekend for her. Turns out Zack invited her over for night before so she would be over one night without me so they could be the Birthday *GIGGITYY*. Well as many people know there is something that happens to most women once a month. Yes, Hannah was on her period. To her defense she did not know what Zack was planning for the night she thought he was just being nice because she got into a fight with her family.
So the next day comes around and they pick me up as I did not have a car. Everything seemed off as Hannah's mood was not normal. I wanted to ask what was up but also thought it was because of the fight with her family so I just wanted to make her happy. The day goes on and we are playing her fav video game. She went to bed early which I thought was odd as the two of us are night owls. I asked Zack what was going on. He said nothing but I could tell he was lying but dropped it.
The next day we get to mail in our city as planned and well Zack was doing something and it was just Hannah and I alone. That is when she told me what was going on between them. Apparently Zack was mad because Hannah did not SLEEP with her the night before I showed up. I was pissed, but then she keep going and he keep pushing and begging for it. to the point that when she said she was on her period he just said "THEY COULD PUT A TOWEL DOWN".
That was it for me I was done playing nice to Zack and started to think of ways to tell him how much of a pig he was. I am the type of person where three stracks your out. Hannah and I are huge nerds and you could say she is some where between punk and goth. So we told Zack we where going to Spencer's. Zack said he was going to go to another store as he hated this store. You see in the frount of Spencer's is a nerd, punk and goth best dream, as for the back of the store is full of sex toys and other adult themed things. Knowing this I told Hannah to pick out something she wanted for her birthday anything, and I would get it for her.
Well Hannah was looking at new pricings and wallets I headed to the back of the store to get some goodies for Zack. I payed for the stuff all without Hannah knowing. Best part the store has black bags that you can't see throw due to the things they sell. After I walked up to Hannah and I bought the things she wanted all to her protest. So she told me she would by lunch witch I agreed too because as friends we hate to feel like we are using each other even on holidays.
We left the store and went to the food court and ordered food. Once we sat down Hannah texted Zack where we were. That is when she looked at the large bag I had gotten and she asked me what I had gotten. I handed the bag and told her it was for Zack. The grin on her face was the best thing that I have seen. You see Hannah is also a very petty person and she very much approved of what I had gotten for Zack.
Zack showed up some time later and we planned to go back to his house so she could her car and her stuff to come to my place for the night. That is when the "gift" was given to Zack. I was putting Hannah's stuff in her car for her and wish I could have seen his face when he first opened bag.
You see when I am hurt I get petty but if you upset someone close to me I get PETTY. In the bag he found a large bag of candy and a few lollypop DICKS. But it gets better, I also got him a female blow up doll. There was also two cards. the first said "Congrats on your new girlfriend" which I signed alone and the other said "suck a mountain of dicks" which we both signed.
The next thing I know Hannah is walking out with the biggest grin on her face. With him storming after her when he saw me he said I was just mad that I would never be a "true man". Hannah turned on her heels but before she could do anything I yelled back "he would never be bigger then my pinky finger". He looked so mad and red. Hannah got in her car, we drove off and never looked back.
This may have been to far but I regret nothing.
Hannah says it was the best birthday gift anyone has ever gotten her due to his face he made when he saw all his new goodies. Hannah and I are still great friends to this day and know we have each others backs on anything.
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Even the most powerful love spell may not fulfill the things that are required for a real relationship to be in place. Love should be natural and if your partner looses interest in you, its better that you let them follow the heart. If one door closes, expect another open infront of you.
Therefore witchcraft or love spells should not be the ultimate solution to mending a broken heart in a relationship, one has to make love exist naturally by doing the right things to your partner, the things that will recapture the inner feelings of love and affection as you did in the start of the relationship.
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You are not recommended to try spells to bring a lover back if you are going through the following: You know that your relationship with your ex is toxic and the best painful option to take in this is to move on. It is not a good choice to be in a relationship that is un-natural, one that is built on witchcraft. The love spark as to be their at all times.
Even the most powerful love spell may not fulfill the things that are required for a real relationship to be in place. Love should be natural and if your partner looses interest in you, its better that you let them follow the heart. If one door closes, expect another open infront of you.
Therefore witchcraft or love spells should not be the ultimate solution to mending a broken heart in a relationship, one has to make love exist naturally by doing the right things to your partner, the things that will recapture the inner feelings of love and affection as you did in the start of the relationship.
Only if and when all has been tried and failed to work that one should order for my love spells that actually work, and indeed this will be the last nail in the coffin to fix your troubled relationship permanently.
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2024.05.13 21:54 Anon_Otaku12 Horror Cinema Iceberg
 | submitted by Anon_Otaku12 to u/Anon_Otaku12 [link] [comments] |
2024.05.13 06:19 0kra_ Puzzles Are Same for Alts..
 | First is from my primary account. Second pic is from my side account. submitted by 0kra_ to lifemakeover [link] [comments] It's the same order. So if you want a perfect board just use one of your server dolls as a guinea pig & copy that over to your other one. At least that's how it worked for mine. |
2024.05.13 00:42 Jadorelesblagues How can I [F 22] tell if they’re actually attracted to me or just trying to manipulate me into sex
I have a problem of knowing if I’m attractive to potential partners or if they’re just trying to have sex with me. I don’t really feel compliments are genuine because I’ve often heard (some) men would do anything for sex. I wouldn’t put it past someone who’s horny to just lie and say they think I’m attractive/beautiful just so I’d lower my guard.
Is there a way to tell if they actually are attracted to you or not? I feel I’ve been in many “pulling the pig” scenarios .
Cause honestly I’d rate myself a 5 when I’m really dolled up and a 4 otherwise. I think I’d be considered a butterface lol
submitted by Jadorelesblagues to dating_advice [link] [comments]
Is there a way to tell if they actually are attracted to you or not? I feel I’ve been in many “pulling the pig” scenarios .
Cause honestly I’d rate myself a 5 when I’m really dolled up and a 4 otherwise. I think I’d be considered a butterface lol
2024.05.10 17:33 stormyfuck Bridgerstoned S1 Finale
Hi all I did this last night and fell asleep before i could post lol. please enjoy
Okay friends time for the final episode of s1! I am finishing my second bowl and decided to add a glass of wine. Lets do this
submitted by stormyfuck to BridgertonNetflix [link] [comments]
Okay friends time for the final episode of s1! I am finishing my second bowl and decided to add a glass of wine. Lets do this
- Fastest courtship on record = they were banging for months and finally went yay we’re of marriage age
- It is so true not knowing what goes on in a marriage behind closed doors. So many friends seemed to have it all and they were not ok
- Surely while posing for a portrait they would use body doubles until they had to do faces/details
- Granville totally thinks they hate each other until that look
- You know what? I think we should bring these extravagant oil paintings. I want to put on a pretty dress and have some artist make assumptions about my relationship
- Hyacinth asks to join at aubrey hall this summer. Do the youngest kids not go to aubrey hall? Where are they?
- Also anthony mentions his lucky mallet. Id like to see a game of pall-mall in s3
- Fran HAS missed so much, gregory. You dont know the half of it
- Marina looks beautiful in this shade of pink
- Oh here’s sir phillip crane! I’m excited for his and eloises season
- Daphne: the duke is letting his childhood trauma get in the way of what I want
- Daph invites the feathers, violet looks at her like who the fuck raised you to be like this
- Violet is a great facial actor tbh
- So marina knows the other letter was fake, yeah? Do we think she ever confronts lady f?
- Great acting from marina in this scene. “I thought him a villain”
- Madame delacroix’s dress here is quite beautiful
- Sneaky ben in the background like goddamn it eloise thats the last time i’m cool with you
- “Lock the door” yes sir anything you ask
- Daphne finally attempts to get to know the man she interrupted a duel for, he tells her its too fucking late i dont trust you, shes hurt
- I like alice mondrich’s hair in this scene. The fascinator with the twisted coils? is very baroque/romantic/whatever
- Lord f meets his murderers
- Anthony sees sienna. Feral mode: activated
- Phili’s outfit is giving y2k vibes lol. She has almost pigtails and the pink and blue gown looks like a dress my older sister owned that i was jealous of
- Philip crane seems sweet. Marina is a a boundaries queen: i do not know this man, i do not love this man; ergo, i will not fucking marry this man
- Pru: damn this is romantic tho
- Pen gains back a little respect for marina
- Daphne goes hunting for explanations, finds them in spades
- I think even without reading the letters she knew enough to piece it together. I mean, she knows simons dad was never around, mrs colson tells her he was cruel to the former duchess because of her inability to give him an heir, simon has alluded to the fact that he had an unhappy childhood…and shes still like but why doesnt he want kids??
- Sienna and anthony lock eyes, then genitals
- Imagine holding onto those hamsterburns like handlebars while riding that ride
- LD like wow really you digging around in private drawers? Ok well here’s the tea
- Simon expresses shock that mondrich prefers financial security to getting punched in the face regularly
- Lol worry about your own marriage dukey boy
- Looking forward to the mondrichs this new season too
- Portia like aw fuck this is blood money. Hm. blood money can still buy dresses
- I lied last time, we do see simon at bridgerton house 1 more time. This is a cute scene
- Fran’s recast looks quite different but still has the same face somehow? Idk
- B&E are shocked that anthony is cool all of a sudden
- And then the catch and then the catch and then the catch and toast go round
- Colin getting quieter when he sees penelope 😍
- Simon impresses everyone with some origami. Lucky there was a perfect square of paper waiting there. I hope that wasn’t important
- “And mine is yellow’ poor pen. You get your colors soon
- Phili not even realizing she’d lost her dowry lol
- Marina felt the baby kick
- Random side story: margaret cho found out she was pregnant once because she was on acid and felt “someone else is in here” lmao thats so creepy to me
- I wish i had a courtyard
- “As if that ever works” ok condescending dr dick, whats a girl to do? Hop over to ye olde plann-ed parenthood?
- Anthony so smitten with sienna 🙂 i cant wait to see him all cute with kate 🥰
- Daphne and simon are so obviously in love and stupidly stubborn. This is courting season all over again
- Eloise snapping at a dude that aint even looking at her
- Daphne is a good sis here. Go hide in the library, no harm no foul
- The featheringtons are back baby
- Aw colin and pen ❣️
- “One should declare it” i hear her derry girls accent there lol
- Brimsley: one does not simply approach my queen
- Anthony with the bouquet for sienna 😥
- Honestly he’s so lovely in this scene. He seems to really realize that he cant be the one for sienna. He wears heartbreak well lol
- Eloise up to LW shenanigans. Does pen know eloise saved her butt there?
- I just want to pick up duke and daphne and smoosh their faces together like dolls
- “The very last time i danced was with him” - violet youre killing me
- “It is a choice, dear” i love this so much. Love really is choosing each other every day
- I’m actually not really a romance person but i love bridgerton because it has this message of friendship and choosing each other and letting love in even when its scary
- Simon and daphne in the rain, remembering that night they fucked outside
- LD with her cane keeping everyone back lol
- All the guests like but what about all those cakes?
- The servants probably got to pig out tho
- Daphne: your dad made you feel like you werent worthy of love Also daphne: i thought you were enough for me before i really knew you
- Aw phili comes in so in love with finch just to find out daddy’s dead
- Simon: i still love you despite how you treat me but i dont know how to be the different person you desire Daphne: you just do it ok put a baby in me
- Ok as much as i hate this problematic storyline i love this makeup sex scene
- He asks her to start on top to show he trusts her and then he finishes on top to be like see i’m into this too. Its just good showing not telling
- Also daphnes veins are so visible in this scene. As a follow pale, thin-skinned person i feel seen
- Duke cums, LW:a grander finish
- Eloise is a great friend in this scene. “I am here to help you ….endure the absence of your dear papa” thats a beautiful way to express sympathy. No everything happens for a reason, no things will get better, no thoughts and prayers, just: I am here and i will help you live with this horrible loss
- Portia: you find things to love. Like the money they provide and the tacky fashions they afford you
- I like this moment bw lady f and marina. There’s mutual respect even after all the crap
- I imagine colin trying to ride a horse to greece
- Simon: take sometime to enjoy ourselves, do a lot of fucking Anthony: dude thats my sister
- Anthony: i got my heart broken, fuck that shit again. I’m swearing off love Kate, still in india: we’ll see about that
- Simon and daphne are now love experts. Perhaps he will learn, like we did
- Anthony and benedict both bailed on daphne’s ball, and yet poor eloise was still there
- The penelope LW reveal got me so good in the first watch lol
- “I shall need you to push, your grace” i shall need you to run swiftly from this burning building, m’lady
- I’m childfree and not interested at all but i find the image of new dad at new moms side so incredibly romantic/attractive
- If you were to name your kids in alphabetical order, which names would you pick? I would go Agatha/Antony, Beatrice/Bennet, Constance/Connor, Dianthus/Daniel, Evelyn/Elias, Flora/Felix, Genevieve/Graham, Hazel/Holden
- If i made it past 8 i’d be shocked lol
2024.05.10 15:45 ShiroSnow Fairytale in dnd
In my upcoming game I have a plan for a city that's the result of a hags dreams. The entire city is her lair, which she can change at will. The theme I had in mind was to use real world fairytal foe the encounters they can find, but in a terrible way.
3 pigs. 3 VERY fat halfling are complaining their houses keep getting destroyed by a wolf during every full moon. 2 of them opt to rebuild every time, choosing cheaper materials like thatch and wood. The third just goes to stay at the inn, Madd a brick. Upon "accepting the quest" to save their homes, in a cartoon like fashion the sun drops and a full moon rises. A large wolf comes close, howls, the houses fall, it runs away. The players arnt supposed to interact with the wolf, but follow.
Red hiding Hood. A gnome girl is stuck in her grandmothers bed. The bed, made entering of feathers and a size fit for an ogre, the girl just sank in. The players find her, hear her grandmother is missing and she was hiding from a wolf - the wold the followed here. A little time passes, the wolf comes inside and curls up in the bed and converts back into a bugbear.
Shrek. Yes I'm including Shrek. When they arrive they find an orange cat riding on the back of a donkey. A large orc is nearby having an argument with a halfling, telling him that he must see the princess.
Pinocchio. A wooden doll is found in the castle. They have to tell if it's lieing to them or not. It'll tell only one lie, and it's nose will begin to grow.
The idea behind the town they're in, it's a cluster of all the stories the hag has read and admired, though they're twisted a bit due to her never seeing the world outside her bedroom. It's ment to be weird, and every encounter short. Inside the castle they must complete trials to reach the princess. Each room has a series of stained glass windows depicting a part story, which is a clue to how to progress through the dungeon.
Any ideas of quick interactions with fairytale I could add?
submitted by ShiroSnow to DungeonsAndDragons [link] [comments]
3 pigs. 3 VERY fat halfling are complaining their houses keep getting destroyed by a wolf during every full moon. 2 of them opt to rebuild every time, choosing cheaper materials like thatch and wood. The third just goes to stay at the inn, Madd a brick. Upon "accepting the quest" to save their homes, in a cartoon like fashion the sun drops and a full moon rises. A large wolf comes close, howls, the houses fall, it runs away. The players arnt supposed to interact with the wolf, but follow.
Red hiding Hood. A gnome girl is stuck in her grandmothers bed. The bed, made entering of feathers and a size fit for an ogre, the girl just sank in. The players find her, hear her grandmother is missing and she was hiding from a wolf - the wold the followed here. A little time passes, the wolf comes inside and curls up in the bed and converts back into a bugbear.
Shrek. Yes I'm including Shrek. When they arrive they find an orange cat riding on the back of a donkey. A large orc is nearby having an argument with a halfling, telling him that he must see the princess.
Pinocchio. A wooden doll is found in the castle. They have to tell if it's lieing to them or not. It'll tell only one lie, and it's nose will begin to grow.
The idea behind the town they're in, it's a cluster of all the stories the hag has read and admired, though they're twisted a bit due to her never seeing the world outside her bedroom. It's ment to be weird, and every encounter short. Inside the castle they must complete trials to reach the princess. Each room has a series of stained glass windows depicting a part story, which is a clue to how to progress through the dungeon.
Any ideas of quick interactions with fairytale I could add?
2024.05.06 16:23 Rukania Soviet Union urban legend of the Doll Man
*Please note this is a documentation about true historical events and people. Some details are disturbing and reader discretion is advised. Most of the information surrounding this event is still confidential due to the brutality of the events. The diary extracts and accounts used were gained with next of kin consent.*
May 1933. Just off of the Ob River in West Siberia, in the Soviet Union - one of the most horrific ordeals in human history would take place.
6700 Russian prisoners were deported to Nazino Island, a small island in the middle of the harsh Siberian wilderness. They were sent there (under instruction of Stalin) and ordered to construct a "special settlement". They were told they had to cultivate the island, using minimal equipment or agricultural knowledge, the deportees were abandoned with only scant supplies of flour for food, little to no tools, and virtually none of the clothing or shelter necessary to survive. Guards would patrol the 3km coast of the island by boat, killing any one that tried to escape instantly. Many on the island would starve to death, freeze or be murdered by other prisoners. The Nazino project would only run for around 3 months, yet of the 6700 that arrived - only around 2000 would leave. They left with trauma, scars and mental pain that would never leave them - but most harrowingly - of a story as well. A story of one man in particular who became an urban legend on the island, Kukla Chelovek, the Doll Man.
Alexander Spivaknov was only 22-years old when he was sent to Nazino Island. He had been arrested for theft in St Petersburg in 1932 - and a year later found himself on the train to Western Siberia.
Petr and Valentina Malyshova, an older couple who worked as a teacher and a butcher respectively, who lived by the Ob River. In May 1933, they were caught harbouring an early escapee of the island in their barn - and were ordered to return to the island alongside the prisoner.
Vladimir Berezovgy was a 29-year old guard on the island. He was ordered to guard the island upon the beginning of the project in May 1933.
Vladimir, Valentina and Alexander were the only of the 6000+ people on Nazino Island to record a diary of their experiences in this hell (that could be found as of 2023). Their documentations show us the true horror and terror that anyone unfortunate enough to be in this place would suffer. The following is an accumulation of selected relevant entries from all three, that paints the picture of Nazino Island and the Doll-Man it’s evil nature spawned. These entries will be shown as an English translation.
Vladimir Berezovgny (guard) , Entry 1, 12th May 1933:
We finally tracked the escaped prisoner today. We saw the man swimming across the river late last night, my general ordered for me to fire at him but it was too dark to see anything, we watched his silhouette crawl to the bank and run off into the dark forest. The general was furious, screamed so loud at us on the boat - likely the whole island heard his yells. We searched all through the night, but the darkness aided his escape. We began to theorise he’d have died of hypothermia due to these freezing temperatures, but the search continued. We found him this morning, in an old couples barn. He had a fresh blanket around him and a bowl of food, it was obvious they’d been sheltering him purposely.
She was a teacher I believe? Both in their 40’s. Maybe 50’s - I didn’t get the details myself. He was a butcher for the local village, they may struggle with a lack of animal produce for a while…I suppose that’s the villages problem now. They were a nice couple, very cooperative, but rules are rules and they had to be taken to Nazino alongside the escaped one.
Valentina Malyshova (teacher) , Entry 1, 13th May 1933:
I’ve always tried to be a loving woman. For my husband Petr, for the children of my class, but this place is draining me. I do not regret my actions, nor do I hold that poor man accountable. I would feed and shelter him 100 times over if I could. My poor Petr warned me against it however, and I worry he will attribute the hell we have been sent to as being my fault. That he will never forgive me.
He acts like he is fine, but I can tell he is not. He worries for me greatly, the men on the island look at any woman like they are a pack of wolves. I’ve seen my first dead body this morning. It looks like a young man, beaten to death, over food I would imagine.
I write this not as a journal, but more as a last letter. I am not sure of how long I will survive here, Petr I love you. My children in the school, I love you too.
Alexander Spivaknov (prisoner), Entry 1, 15th May 1933:
I have not had a chance to write yet. We have been here 6 days. I would say 200 deaths already. Many died on the train over, from the cold. Some have had illness and died in their sleep. They are the lucky ones I think.
I have made a small shelter in the wooded area. There are groups of people around me too. Not enough room for all of us here. Hunger is settling in for many , not a scrap to eat for about a week. More like 2 or 3 weeks in most cases. I had a bowl of soup before we left St Petersburg , and I still feel my stomach eating itself. The women on the island have already started to sell their bodies for what food there is , small rodents that have been caught or berries. Some women are even being pimped out by the more vicious men on the island, food is now currency, the guards look on doing nothing. Humanity has abandoned us.
Valentina Malyshkova (teacher), Entry 2, 20th May 1933:
I worry a lot now. Not as much as Petr, however. He spends most nights awake completely. A lot of the men on the island have started pimping out the women. If they say no, they do as they please anyway.
I think they may even be eating them!
Petr guards me all the time, he sees how the men look at me. I am not sure how much longer we can survive here - if this journal gets out - please end help!
I love you Petr. I love you kids.
Vladimir Berezgovny (guard) , Entry 2, 24th May 1933:
We were forced to kill more attempted escapees these last few days. I shot two men and one woman, but that is not even the most harrowing events that have happened recently. Murders have gone up on the island, lots of them we can only theorise are motivated by robbery of food. We’re ordered not to intervene - it is their own society.
There is something lurking on the island at night too. One of the prisoners we suspect, we shine lights at him - but the tree line seems to cover him fairly well. Unsure so far if he is responsible for the murders or if they’re the gangs that seem to have formed.
Alexander Spivaknov (prisoner), Entry 2, 26th May 1933:
There is a monster on this island. I thought I had seen the worst of humanity. I was wrong.
We hear screams most of the nights we’ve been here. That’s normal. But what happened last night was harrowing. Mere metres from my shelter - amongst the trees - I heard meat being cut. I kept quiet but maintained by interest. I could hear various squishes and squelches of what sounded like an animal being carved.
This lasted a few hours. By morning when I thought the coast was clear, I investigated. It was no animal. A man, early 30s maybe - although it was hard to tell - it was hard to tell as he had no skin. He’d been completely skinned, just his red flesh being exposed. He was hung up on one of the trees, ropes tied around each of his wrists about 6m up in the air.
His pale, tattooed skin was displayed next to him like a flag. A banner almost.
I don’t know what monsters have been made by this island to be capable of doing something like this. But I cannot believe it.
Vladimir Berezgovny (guard), Entry 3, 30th May 1933:
It gets worse every day. The prisoners have now started calling this monster the doll man. This is the 5th ‘display’ he has made now.
He kills other prisoners on the island. Usually gang-affiliated prisoners, typically fit males. He skins them - presumably dead - before displaying them tied up in the tree line. He displays their skin too - almost as a warning.
Some of the prisoners have started making up stories about him - calling him the doll man - it’s caught on amongst us guards too. They say he makes these men his dolls, as he is lonely on the island. Nothing is confirmed and we have no suspects - we are not instructed to conduct an investigation anyway. Probably for the best - none of the guards would dare step off the boat.
The Kukla Chelovek (doll man) quickly became a legend - not just on Nazino island - but all around Russia after the horrors of the island got out. One of his ‘dolls’ is still preserved in a museum in Saint Petersburg.
Many have theorised on which of the prisoners could be capable of this atrocity. Some speculated it was a gang, due to the gang-affiliated nature of the victims. Others thought he could be a serial killer from one of the prisons, that had decided this was the chance to continue some of his work. But there is one theory that has presented itself very recently, and it relies on the final entry from Valentina Malyshova’s diary. Please note, the handwriting of this entry did not match that of any of the other entries.
Valentina Malyshova (?), Entry 2, 22nd May 1933:
Cannibalism. Eating the flesh of a fellow human. She never deserved to be here, it was her kind heart that got her here.
They assaulted her - in so many different ways - and forced me to watch. Then they left nothing else of her. Cannibals. Monsters.
Monsters breed monsters. Hell spawns demons. Death would be a sweet escape for them now. For anyone here. So they will be immortalised, as my toys. Immortalised to warn any of the other monsters here that the devil lurks among them. I suppose, skinning a human will be no different to skinning a pig. Not that they’re worth more than a pig anyway.
I love you Valentina.
submitted by Rukania to UrbanLegends [link] [comments]
May 1933. Just off of the Ob River in West Siberia, in the Soviet Union - one of the most horrific ordeals in human history would take place.
6700 Russian prisoners were deported to Nazino Island, a small island in the middle of the harsh Siberian wilderness. They were sent there (under instruction of Stalin) and ordered to construct a "special settlement". They were told they had to cultivate the island, using minimal equipment or agricultural knowledge, the deportees were abandoned with only scant supplies of flour for food, little to no tools, and virtually none of the clothing or shelter necessary to survive. Guards would patrol the 3km coast of the island by boat, killing any one that tried to escape instantly. Many on the island would starve to death, freeze or be murdered by other prisoners. The Nazino project would only run for around 3 months, yet of the 6700 that arrived - only around 2000 would leave. They left with trauma, scars and mental pain that would never leave them - but most harrowingly - of a story as well. A story of one man in particular who became an urban legend on the island, Kukla Chelovek, the Doll Man.
Alexander Spivaknov was only 22-years old when he was sent to Nazino Island. He had been arrested for theft in St Petersburg in 1932 - and a year later found himself on the train to Western Siberia.
Petr and Valentina Malyshova, an older couple who worked as a teacher and a butcher respectively, who lived by the Ob River. In May 1933, they were caught harbouring an early escapee of the island in their barn - and were ordered to return to the island alongside the prisoner.
Vladimir Berezovgy was a 29-year old guard on the island. He was ordered to guard the island upon the beginning of the project in May 1933.
Vladimir, Valentina and Alexander were the only of the 6000+ people on Nazino Island to record a diary of their experiences in this hell (that could be found as of 2023). Their documentations show us the true horror and terror that anyone unfortunate enough to be in this place would suffer. The following is an accumulation of selected relevant entries from all three, that paints the picture of Nazino Island and the Doll-Man it’s evil nature spawned. These entries will be shown as an English translation.
Vladimir Berezovgny (guard) , Entry 1, 12th May 1933:
We finally tracked the escaped prisoner today. We saw the man swimming across the river late last night, my general ordered for me to fire at him but it was too dark to see anything, we watched his silhouette crawl to the bank and run off into the dark forest. The general was furious, screamed so loud at us on the boat - likely the whole island heard his yells. We searched all through the night, but the darkness aided his escape. We began to theorise he’d have died of hypothermia due to these freezing temperatures, but the search continued. We found him this morning, in an old couples barn. He had a fresh blanket around him and a bowl of food, it was obvious they’d been sheltering him purposely.
She was a teacher I believe? Both in their 40’s. Maybe 50’s - I didn’t get the details myself. He was a butcher for the local village, they may struggle with a lack of animal produce for a while…I suppose that’s the villages problem now. They were a nice couple, very cooperative, but rules are rules and they had to be taken to Nazino alongside the escaped one.
Valentina Malyshova (teacher) , Entry 1, 13th May 1933:
I’ve always tried to be a loving woman. For my husband Petr, for the children of my class, but this place is draining me. I do not regret my actions, nor do I hold that poor man accountable. I would feed and shelter him 100 times over if I could. My poor Petr warned me against it however, and I worry he will attribute the hell we have been sent to as being my fault. That he will never forgive me.
He acts like he is fine, but I can tell he is not. He worries for me greatly, the men on the island look at any woman like they are a pack of wolves. I’ve seen my first dead body this morning. It looks like a young man, beaten to death, over food I would imagine.
I write this not as a journal, but more as a last letter. I am not sure of how long I will survive here, Petr I love you. My children in the school, I love you too.
Alexander Spivaknov (prisoner), Entry 1, 15th May 1933:
I have not had a chance to write yet. We have been here 6 days. I would say 200 deaths already. Many died on the train over, from the cold. Some have had illness and died in their sleep. They are the lucky ones I think.
I have made a small shelter in the wooded area. There are groups of people around me too. Not enough room for all of us here. Hunger is settling in for many , not a scrap to eat for about a week. More like 2 or 3 weeks in most cases. I had a bowl of soup before we left St Petersburg , and I still feel my stomach eating itself. The women on the island have already started to sell their bodies for what food there is , small rodents that have been caught or berries. Some women are even being pimped out by the more vicious men on the island, food is now currency, the guards look on doing nothing. Humanity has abandoned us.
Valentina Malyshkova (teacher), Entry 2, 20th May 1933:
I worry a lot now. Not as much as Petr, however. He spends most nights awake completely. A lot of the men on the island have started pimping out the women. If they say no, they do as they please anyway.
I think they may even be eating them!
Petr guards me all the time, he sees how the men look at me. I am not sure how much longer we can survive here - if this journal gets out - please end help!
I love you Petr. I love you kids.
Vladimir Berezgovny (guard) , Entry 2, 24th May 1933:
We were forced to kill more attempted escapees these last few days. I shot two men and one woman, but that is not even the most harrowing events that have happened recently. Murders have gone up on the island, lots of them we can only theorise are motivated by robbery of food. We’re ordered not to intervene - it is their own society.
There is something lurking on the island at night too. One of the prisoners we suspect, we shine lights at him - but the tree line seems to cover him fairly well. Unsure so far if he is responsible for the murders or if they’re the gangs that seem to have formed.
Alexander Spivaknov (prisoner), Entry 2, 26th May 1933:
There is a monster on this island. I thought I had seen the worst of humanity. I was wrong.
We hear screams most of the nights we’ve been here. That’s normal. But what happened last night was harrowing. Mere metres from my shelter - amongst the trees - I heard meat being cut. I kept quiet but maintained by interest. I could hear various squishes and squelches of what sounded like an animal being carved.
This lasted a few hours. By morning when I thought the coast was clear, I investigated. It was no animal. A man, early 30s maybe - although it was hard to tell - it was hard to tell as he had no skin. He’d been completely skinned, just his red flesh being exposed. He was hung up on one of the trees, ropes tied around each of his wrists about 6m up in the air.
His pale, tattooed skin was displayed next to him like a flag. A banner almost.
I don’t know what monsters have been made by this island to be capable of doing something like this. But I cannot believe it.
Vladimir Berezgovny (guard), Entry 3, 30th May 1933:
It gets worse every day. The prisoners have now started calling this monster the doll man. This is the 5th ‘display’ he has made now.
He kills other prisoners on the island. Usually gang-affiliated prisoners, typically fit males. He skins them - presumably dead - before displaying them tied up in the tree line. He displays their skin too - almost as a warning.
Some of the prisoners have started making up stories about him - calling him the doll man - it’s caught on amongst us guards too. They say he makes these men his dolls, as he is lonely on the island. Nothing is confirmed and we have no suspects - we are not instructed to conduct an investigation anyway. Probably for the best - none of the guards would dare step off the boat.
The Kukla Chelovek (doll man) quickly became a legend - not just on Nazino island - but all around Russia after the horrors of the island got out. One of his ‘dolls’ is still preserved in a museum in Saint Petersburg.
Many have theorised on which of the prisoners could be capable of this atrocity. Some speculated it was a gang, due to the gang-affiliated nature of the victims. Others thought he could be a serial killer from one of the prisons, that had decided this was the chance to continue some of his work. But there is one theory that has presented itself very recently, and it relies on the final entry from Valentina Malyshova’s diary. Please note, the handwriting of this entry did not match that of any of the other entries.
Valentina Malyshova (?), Entry 2, 22nd May 1933:
Cannibalism. Eating the flesh of a fellow human. She never deserved to be here, it was her kind heart that got her here.
They assaulted her - in so many different ways - and forced me to watch. Then they left nothing else of her. Cannibals. Monsters.
Monsters breed monsters. Hell spawns demons. Death would be a sweet escape for them now. For anyone here. So they will be immortalised, as my toys. Immortalised to warn any of the other monsters here that the devil lurks among them. I suppose, skinning a human will be no different to skinning a pig. Not that they’re worth more than a pig anyway.
I love you Valentina.
2024.05.06 16:22 Rukania The stomach-churning true tale of the Doll Man of Nazino Island
*Please note this is a documentation about true historical events and people. Some details are disturbing and reader discretion is advised. Most of the information surrounding this event is still confidential due to the brutality of the events. The diary extracts and accounts used were gained with next of kin consent.*
May 1933. Just off of the Ob River in West Siberia, in the Soviet Union - one of the most horrific ordeals in human history would take place.
6700 Russian prisoners were deported to Nazino Island, a small island in the middle of the harsh Siberian wilderness. They were sent there (under instruction of Stalin) and ordered to construct a "special settlement". They were told they had to cultivate the island, using minimal equipment or agricultural knowledge, the deportees were abandoned with only scant supplies of flour for food, little to no tools, and virtually none of the clothing or shelter necessary to survive. Guards would patrol the 3km coast of the island by boat, killing any one that tried to escape instantly. Many on the island would starve to death, freeze or be murdered by other prisoners. The Nazino project would only run for around 3 months, yet of the 6700 that arrived - only around 2000 would leave. They left with trauma, scars and mental pain that would never leave them - but most harrowingly - of a story as well. A story of one man in particular who became an urban legend on the island, Kukla Chelovek, the Doll Man.
Alexander Spivaknov was only 22-years old when he was sent to Nazino Island. He had been arrested for theft in St Petersburg in 1932 - and a year later found himself on the train to Western Siberia.
Petr and Valentina Malyshova, an older couple who worked as a teacher and a butcher respectively, who lived by the Ob River. In May 1933, they were caught harbouring an early escapee of the island in their barn - and were ordered to return to the island alongside the prisoner.
Vladimir Berezovgy was a 29-year old guard on the island. He was ordered to guard the island upon the beginning of the project in May 1933.
Vladimir, Valentina and Alexander were the only of the 6000+ people on Nazino Island to record a diary of their experiences in this hell (that could be found as of 2023). Their documentations show us the true horror and terror that anyone unfortunate enough to be in this place would suffer. The following is an accumulation of selected relevant entries from all three, that paints the picture of Nazino Island and the Doll-Man it’s evil nature spawned. These entries will be shown as an English translation.
Vladimir Berezovgny (guard) , Entry 1, 12th May 1933:
We finally tracked the escaped prisoner today. We saw the man swimming across the river late last night, my general ordered for me to fire at him but it was too dark to see anything, we watched his silhouette crawl to the bank and run off into the dark forest. The general was furious, screamed so loud at us on the boat - likely the whole island heard his yells. We searched all through the night, but the darkness aided his escape. We began to theorise he’d have died of hypothermia due to these freezing temperatures, but the search continued. We found him this morning, in an old couples barn. He had a fresh blanket around him and a bowl of food, it was obvious they’d been sheltering him purposely.
She was a teacher I believe? Both in their 40’s. Maybe 50’s - I didn’t get the details myself. He was a butcher for the local village, they may struggle with a lack of animal produce for a while…I suppose that’s the villages problem now. They were a nice couple, very cooperative, but rules are rules and they had to be taken to Nazino alongside the escaped one.
Valentina Malyshova (teacher) , Entry 1, 13th May 1933:
I’ve always tried to be a loving woman. For my husband Petr, for the children of my class, but this place is draining me. I do not regret my actions, nor do I hold that poor man accountable. I would feed and shelter him 100 times over if I could. My poor Petr warned me against it however, and I worry he will attribute the hell we have been sent to as being my fault. That he will never forgive me.
He acts like he is fine, but I can tell he is not. He worries for me greatly, the men on the island look at any woman like they are a pack of wolves. I’ve seen my first dead body this morning. It looks like a young man, beaten to death, over food I would imagine.
I write this not as a journal, but more as a last letter. I am not sure of how long I will survive here, Petr I love you. My children in the school, I love you too.
Alexander Spivaknov (prisoner), Entry 1, 15th May 1933:
I have not had a chance to write yet. We have been here 6 days. I would say 200 deaths already. Many died on the train over, from the cold. Some have had illness and died in their sleep. They are the lucky ones I think.
I have made a small shelter in the wooded area. There are groups of people around me too. Not enough room for all of us here. Hunger is settling in for many , not a scrap to eat for about a week. More like 2 or 3 weeks in most cases. I had a bowl of soup before we left St Petersburg , and I still feel my stomach eating itself. The women on the island have already started to sell their bodies for what food there is , small rodents that have been caught or berries. Some women are even being pimped out by the more vicious men on the island, food is now currency, the guards look on doing nothing. Humanity has abandoned us.
Valentina Malyshkova (teacher), Entry 2, 20th May 1933:
I worry a lot now. Not as much as Petr, however. He spends most nights awake completely. A lot of the men on the island have started pimping out the women. If they say no, they do as they please anyway.
I think they may even be eating them!
Petr guards me all the time, he sees how the men look at me. I am not sure how much longer we can survive here - if this journal gets out - please end help!
I love you Petr. I love you kids.
Vladimir Berezgovny (guard) , Entry 2, 24th May 1933:
We were forced to kill more attempted escapees these last few days. I shot two men and one woman, but that is not even the most harrowing events that have happened recently. Murders have gone up on the island, lots of them we can only theorise are motivated by robbery of food. We’re ordered not to intervene - it is their own society.
There is something lurking on the island at night too. One of the prisoners we suspect, we shine lights at him - but the tree line seems to cover him fairly well. Unsure so far if he is responsible for the murders or if they’re the gangs that seem to have formed.
Alexander Spivaknov (prisoner), Entry 2, 26th May 1933:
There is a monster on this island. I thought I had seen the worst of humanity. I was wrong.
We hear screams most of the nights we’ve been here. That’s normal. But what happened last night was harrowing. Mere metres from my shelter - amongst the trees - I heard meat being cut. I kept quiet but maintained by interest. I could hear various squishes and squelches of what sounded like an animal being carved.
This lasted a few hours. By morning when I thought the coast was clear, I investigated. It was no animal. A man, early 30s maybe - although it was hard to tell - it was hard to tell as he had no skin. He’d been completely skinned, just his red flesh being exposed. He was hung up on one of the trees, ropes tied around each of his wrists about 6m up in the air.
His pale, tattooed skin was displayed next to him like a flag. A banner almost.
I don’t know what monsters have been made by this island to be capable of doing something like this. But I cannot believe it.
Vladimir Berezgovny (guard), Entry 3, 30th May 1933:
It gets worse every day. The prisoners have now started calling this monster the doll man. This is the 5th ‘display’ he has made now.
He kills other prisoners on the island. Usually gang-affiliated prisoners, typically fit males. He skins them - presumably dead - before displaying them tied up in the tree line. He displays their skin too - almost as a warning.
Some of the prisoners have started making up stories about him - calling him the doll man - it’s caught on amongst us guards too. They say he makes these men his dolls, as he is lonely on the island. Nothing is confirmed and we have no suspects - we are not instructed to conduct an investigation anyway. Probably for the best - none of the guards would dare step off the boat.
The Kukla Chelovek (doll man) quickly became a legend - not just on Nazino island - but all around Russia after the horrors of the island got out. One of his ‘dolls’ is still preserved in a museum in Saint Petersburg.
Many have theorised on which of the prisoners could be capable of this atrocity. Some speculated it was a gang, due to the gang-affiliated nature of the victims. Others thought he could be a serial killer from one of the prisons, that had decided this was the chance to continue some of his work. But there is one theory that has presented itself very recently, and it relies on the final entry from Valentina Malyshova’s diary. Please note, the handwriting of this entry did not match that of any of the other entries.
Valentina Malyshova (?), Entry 2, 22nd May 1933:
Cannibalism. Eating the flesh of a fellow human. She never deserved to be here, it was her kind heart that got her here.
They assaulted her - in so many different ways - and forced me to watch. Then they left nothing else of her. Cannibals. Monsters.
Monsters breed monsters. Hell spawns demons. Death would be a sweet escape for them now. For anyone here. So they will be immortalised, as my toys. Immortalised to warn any of the other monsters here that the devil lurks among them. I suppose, skinning a human will be no different to skinning a pig. Not that they’re worth more than a pig anyway.
I love you Valentina.
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May 1933. Just off of the Ob River in West Siberia, in the Soviet Union - one of the most horrific ordeals in human history would take place.
6700 Russian prisoners were deported to Nazino Island, a small island in the middle of the harsh Siberian wilderness. They were sent there (under instruction of Stalin) and ordered to construct a "special settlement". They were told they had to cultivate the island, using minimal equipment or agricultural knowledge, the deportees were abandoned with only scant supplies of flour for food, little to no tools, and virtually none of the clothing or shelter necessary to survive. Guards would patrol the 3km coast of the island by boat, killing any one that tried to escape instantly. Many on the island would starve to death, freeze or be murdered by other prisoners. The Nazino project would only run for around 3 months, yet of the 6700 that arrived - only around 2000 would leave. They left with trauma, scars and mental pain that would never leave them - but most harrowingly - of a story as well. A story of one man in particular who became an urban legend on the island, Kukla Chelovek, the Doll Man.
Alexander Spivaknov was only 22-years old when he was sent to Nazino Island. He had been arrested for theft in St Petersburg in 1932 - and a year later found himself on the train to Western Siberia.
Petr and Valentina Malyshova, an older couple who worked as a teacher and a butcher respectively, who lived by the Ob River. In May 1933, they were caught harbouring an early escapee of the island in their barn - and were ordered to return to the island alongside the prisoner.
Vladimir Berezovgy was a 29-year old guard on the island. He was ordered to guard the island upon the beginning of the project in May 1933.
Vladimir, Valentina and Alexander were the only of the 6000+ people on Nazino Island to record a diary of their experiences in this hell (that could be found as of 2023). Their documentations show us the true horror and terror that anyone unfortunate enough to be in this place would suffer. The following is an accumulation of selected relevant entries from all three, that paints the picture of Nazino Island and the Doll-Man it’s evil nature spawned. These entries will be shown as an English translation.
Vladimir Berezovgny (guard) , Entry 1, 12th May 1933:
We finally tracked the escaped prisoner today. We saw the man swimming across the river late last night, my general ordered for me to fire at him but it was too dark to see anything, we watched his silhouette crawl to the bank and run off into the dark forest. The general was furious, screamed so loud at us on the boat - likely the whole island heard his yells. We searched all through the night, but the darkness aided his escape. We began to theorise he’d have died of hypothermia due to these freezing temperatures, but the search continued. We found him this morning, in an old couples barn. He had a fresh blanket around him and a bowl of food, it was obvious they’d been sheltering him purposely.
She was a teacher I believe? Both in their 40’s. Maybe 50’s - I didn’t get the details myself. He was a butcher for the local village, they may struggle with a lack of animal produce for a while…I suppose that’s the villages problem now. They were a nice couple, very cooperative, but rules are rules and they had to be taken to Nazino alongside the escaped one.
Valentina Malyshova (teacher) , Entry 1, 13th May 1933:
I’ve always tried to be a loving woman. For my husband Petr, for the children of my class, but this place is draining me. I do not regret my actions, nor do I hold that poor man accountable. I would feed and shelter him 100 times over if I could. My poor Petr warned me against it however, and I worry he will attribute the hell we have been sent to as being my fault. That he will never forgive me.
He acts like he is fine, but I can tell he is not. He worries for me greatly, the men on the island look at any woman like they are a pack of wolves. I’ve seen my first dead body this morning. It looks like a young man, beaten to death, over food I would imagine.
I write this not as a journal, but more as a last letter. I am not sure of how long I will survive here, Petr I love you. My children in the school, I love you too.
Alexander Spivaknov (prisoner), Entry 1, 15th May 1933:
I have not had a chance to write yet. We have been here 6 days. I would say 200 deaths already. Many died on the train over, from the cold. Some have had illness and died in their sleep. They are the lucky ones I think.
I have made a small shelter in the wooded area. There are groups of people around me too. Not enough room for all of us here. Hunger is settling in for many , not a scrap to eat for about a week. More like 2 or 3 weeks in most cases. I had a bowl of soup before we left St Petersburg , and I still feel my stomach eating itself. The women on the island have already started to sell their bodies for what food there is , small rodents that have been caught or berries. Some women are even being pimped out by the more vicious men on the island, food is now currency, the guards look on doing nothing. Humanity has abandoned us.
Valentina Malyshkova (teacher), Entry 2, 20th May 1933:
I worry a lot now. Not as much as Petr, however. He spends most nights awake completely. A lot of the men on the island have started pimping out the women. If they say no, they do as they please anyway.
I think they may even be eating them!
Petr guards me all the time, he sees how the men look at me. I am not sure how much longer we can survive here - if this journal gets out - please end help!
I love you Petr. I love you kids.
Vladimir Berezgovny (guard) , Entry 2, 24th May 1933:
We were forced to kill more attempted escapees these last few days. I shot two men and one woman, but that is not even the most harrowing events that have happened recently. Murders have gone up on the island, lots of them we can only theorise are motivated by robbery of food. We’re ordered not to intervene - it is their own society.
There is something lurking on the island at night too. One of the prisoners we suspect, we shine lights at him - but the tree line seems to cover him fairly well. Unsure so far if he is responsible for the murders or if they’re the gangs that seem to have formed.
Alexander Spivaknov (prisoner), Entry 2, 26th May 1933:
There is a monster on this island. I thought I had seen the worst of humanity. I was wrong.
We hear screams most of the nights we’ve been here. That’s normal. But what happened last night was harrowing. Mere metres from my shelter - amongst the trees - I heard meat being cut. I kept quiet but maintained by interest. I could hear various squishes and squelches of what sounded like an animal being carved.
This lasted a few hours. By morning when I thought the coast was clear, I investigated. It was no animal. A man, early 30s maybe - although it was hard to tell - it was hard to tell as he had no skin. He’d been completely skinned, just his red flesh being exposed. He was hung up on one of the trees, ropes tied around each of his wrists about 6m up in the air.
His pale, tattooed skin was displayed next to him like a flag. A banner almost.
I don’t know what monsters have been made by this island to be capable of doing something like this. But I cannot believe it.
Vladimir Berezgovny (guard), Entry 3, 30th May 1933:
It gets worse every day. The prisoners have now started calling this monster the doll man. This is the 5th ‘display’ he has made now.
He kills other prisoners on the island. Usually gang-affiliated prisoners, typically fit males. He skins them - presumably dead - before displaying them tied up in the tree line. He displays their skin too - almost as a warning.
Some of the prisoners have started making up stories about him - calling him the doll man - it’s caught on amongst us guards too. They say he makes these men his dolls, as he is lonely on the island. Nothing is confirmed and we have no suspects - we are not instructed to conduct an investigation anyway. Probably for the best - none of the guards would dare step off the boat.
The Kukla Chelovek (doll man) quickly became a legend - not just on Nazino island - but all around Russia after the horrors of the island got out. One of his ‘dolls’ is still preserved in a museum in Saint Petersburg.
Many have theorised on which of the prisoners could be capable of this atrocity. Some speculated it was a gang, due to the gang-affiliated nature of the victims. Others thought he could be a serial killer from one of the prisons, that had decided this was the chance to continue some of his work. But there is one theory that has presented itself very recently, and it relies on the final entry from Valentina Malyshova’s diary. Please note, the handwriting of this entry did not match that of any of the other entries.
Valentina Malyshova (?), Entry 2, 22nd May 1933:
Cannibalism. Eating the flesh of a fellow human. She never deserved to be here, it was her kind heart that got her here.
They assaulted her - in so many different ways - and forced me to watch. Then they left nothing else of her. Cannibals. Monsters.
Monsters breed monsters. Hell spawns demons. Death would be a sweet escape for them now. For anyone here. So they will be immortalised, as my toys. Immortalised to warn any of the other monsters here that the devil lurks among them. I suppose, skinning a human will be no different to skinning a pig. Not that they’re worth more than a pig anyway.
I love you Valentina.
2024.05.06 16:21 Rukania The heart-wrenching tale of the Doll Man of Nazino Island
*Please note this is a documentation about true historical events and people. Some details are disturbing and reader discretion is advised. Most of the information surrounding this event is still confidential due to the brutality of the events. The diary extracts and accounts used were gained with next of kin consent.*
May 1933. Just off of the Ob River in West Siberia, in the Soviet Union - one of the most horrific ordeals in human history would take place.
6700 Russian prisoners were deported to Nazino Island, a small island in the middle of the harsh Siberian wilderness. They were sent there (under instruction of Stalin) and ordered to construct a "special settlement". They were told they had to cultivate the island, using minimal equipment or agricultural knowledge, the deportees were abandoned with only scant supplies of flour for food, little to no tools, and virtually none of the clothing or shelter necessary to survive. Guards would patrol the 3km coast of the island by boat, killing any one that tried to escape instantly. Many on the island would starve to death, freeze or be murdered by other prisoners. The Nazino project would only run for around 3 months, yet of the 6700 that arrived - only around 2000 would leave. They left with trauma, scars and mental pain that would never leave them - but most harrowingly - of a story as well. A story of one man in particular who became an urban legend on the island, Kukla Chelovek, the Doll Man.
Alexander Spivaknov was only 22-years old when he was sent to Nazino Island. He had been arrested for theft in St Petersburg in 1932 - and a year later found himself on the train to Western Siberia.
Petr and Valentina Malyshova, an older couple who worked as a teacher and a butcher respectively, who lived by the Ob River. In May 1933, they were caught harbouring an early escapee of the island in their barn - and were ordered to return to the island alongside the prisoner.
Vladimir Berezovgy was a 29-year old guard on the island. He was ordered to guard the island upon the beginning of the project in May 1933.
Vladimir, Valentina and Alexander were the only of the 6000+ people on Nazino Island to record a diary of their experiences in this hell (that could be found as of 2023). Their documentations show us the true horror and terror that anyone unfortunate enough to be in this place would suffer. The following is an accumulation of selected relevant entries from all three, that paints the picture of Nazino Island and the Doll-Man it’s evil nature spawned. These entries will be shown as an English translation.
Vladimir Berezovgny (guard) , Entry 1, 12th May 1933:
We finally tracked the escaped prisoner today. We saw the man swimming across the river late last night, my general ordered for me to fire at him but it was too dark to see anything, we watched his silhouette crawl to the bank and run off into the dark forest. The general was furious, screamed so loud at us on the boat - likely the whole island heard his yells. We searched all through the night, but the darkness aided his escape. We began to theorise he’d have died of hypothermia due to these freezing temperatures, but the search continued. We found him this morning, in an old couples barn. He had a fresh blanket around him and a bowl of food, it was obvious they’d been sheltering him purposely.
She was a teacher I believe? Both in their 40’s. Maybe 50’s - I didn’t get the details myself. He was a butcher for the local village, they may struggle with a lack of animal produce for a while…I suppose that’s the villages problem now. They were a nice couple, very cooperative, but rules are rules and they had to be taken to Nazino alongside the escaped one.
Valentina Malyshova (teacher) , Entry 1, 13th May 1933:
I’ve always tried to be a loving woman. For my husband Petr, for the children of my class, but this place is draining me. I do not regret my actions, nor do I hold that poor man accountable. I would feed and shelter him 100 times over if I could. My poor Petr warned me against it however, and I worry he will attribute the hell we have been sent to as being my fault. That he will never forgive me.
He acts like he is fine, but I can tell he is not. He worries for me greatly, the men on the island look at any woman like they are a pack of wolves. I’ve seen my first dead body this morning. It looks like a young man, beaten to death, over food I would imagine.
I write this not as a journal, but more as a last letter. I am not sure of how long I will survive here, Petr I love you. My children in the school, I love you too.
Alexander Spivaknov (prisoner), Entry 1, 15th May 1933:
I have not had a chance to write yet. We have been here 6 days. I would say 200 deaths already. Many died on the train over, from the cold. Some have had illness and died in their sleep. They are the lucky ones I think.
I have made a small shelter in the wooded area. There are groups of people around me too. Not enough room for all of us here. Hunger is settling in for many , not a scrap to eat for about a week. More like 2 or 3 weeks in most cases. I had a bowl of soup before we left St Petersburg , and I still feel my stomach eating itself. The women on the island have already started to sell their bodies for what food there is , small rodents that have been caught or berries. Some women are even being pimped out by the more vicious men on the island, food is now currency, the guards look on doing nothing. Humanity has abandoned us.
Valentina Malyshkova (teacher), Entry 2, 20th May 1933:
I worry a lot now. Not as much as Petr, however. He spends most nights awake completely. A lot of the men on the island have started pimping out the women. If they say no, they do as they please anyway.
I think they may even be eating them!
Petr guards me all the time, he sees how the men look at me. I am not sure how much longer we can survive here - if this journal gets out - please end help!
I love you Petr. I love you kids.
Vladimir Berezgovny (guard) , Entry 2, 24th May 1933:
We were forced to kill more attempted escapees these last few days. I shot two men and one woman, but that is not even the most harrowing events that have happened recently. Murders have gone up on the island, lots of them we can only theorise are motivated by robbery of food. We’re ordered not to intervene - it is their own society.
There is something lurking on the island at night too. One of the prisoners we suspect, we shine lights at him - but the tree line seems to cover him fairly well. Unsure so far if he is responsible for the murders or if they’re the gangs that seem to have formed.
Alexander Spivaknov (prisoner), Entry 2, 26th May 1933:
There is a monster on this island. I thought I had seen the worst of humanity. I was wrong.
We hear screams most of the nights we’ve been here. That’s normal. But what happened last night was harrowing. Mere metres from my shelter - amongst the trees - I heard meat being cut. I kept quiet but maintained by interest. I could hear various squishes and squelches of what sounded like an animal being carved.
This lasted a few hours. By morning when I thought the coast was clear, I investigated. It was no animal. A man, early 30s maybe - although it was hard to tell - it was hard to tell as he had no skin. He’d been completely skinned, just his red flesh being exposed. He was hung up on one of the trees, ropes tied around each of his wrists about 6m up in the air.
His pale, tattooed skin was displayed next to him like a flag. A banner almost.
I don’t know what monsters have been made by this island to be capable of doing something like this. But I cannot believe it.
Vladimir Berezgovny (guard), Entry 3, 30th May 1933:
It gets worse every day. The prisoners have now started calling this monster the doll man. This is the 5th ‘display’ he has made now.
He kills other prisoners on the island. Usually gang-affiliated prisoners, typically fit males. He skins them - presumably dead - before displaying them tied up in the tree line. He displays their skin too - almost as a warning.
Some of the prisoners have started making up stories about him - calling him the doll man - it’s caught on amongst us guards too. They say he makes these men his dolls, as he is lonely on the island. Nothing is confirmed and we have no suspects - we are not instructed to conduct an investigation anyway. Probably for the best - none of the guards would dare step off the boat.
The Kukla Chelovek (doll man) quickly became a legend - not just on Nazino island - but all around Russia after the horrors of the island got out. One of his ‘dolls’ is still preserved in a museum in Saint Petersburg.
Many have theorised on which of the prisoners could be capable of this atrocity. Some speculated it was a gang, due to the gang-affiliated nature of the victims. Others thought he could be a serial killer from one of the prisons, that had decided this was the chance to continue some of his work. But there is one theory that has presented itself very recently, and it relies on the final entry from Valentina Malyshova’s diary. Please note, the handwriting of this entry did not match that of any of the other entries.
Valentina Malyshova (?), Entry 2, 22nd May 1933:
Cannibalism. Eating the flesh of a fellow human. She never deserved to be here, it was her kind heart that got her here.
They assaulted her - in so many different ways - and forced me to watch. Then they left nothing else of her. Cannibals. Monsters.
Monsters breed monsters. Hell spawns demons. Death would be a sweet escape for them now. For anyone here. So they will be immortalised, as my toys. Immortalised to warn any of the other monsters here that the devil lurks among them. I suppose, skinning a human will be no different to skinning a pig. Not that they’re worth more than a pig anyway.
I love you Valentina.
submitted by Rukania to stayawake [link] [comments]
May 1933. Just off of the Ob River in West Siberia, in the Soviet Union - one of the most horrific ordeals in human history would take place.
6700 Russian prisoners were deported to Nazino Island, a small island in the middle of the harsh Siberian wilderness. They were sent there (under instruction of Stalin) and ordered to construct a "special settlement". They were told they had to cultivate the island, using minimal equipment or agricultural knowledge, the deportees were abandoned with only scant supplies of flour for food, little to no tools, and virtually none of the clothing or shelter necessary to survive. Guards would patrol the 3km coast of the island by boat, killing any one that tried to escape instantly. Many on the island would starve to death, freeze or be murdered by other prisoners. The Nazino project would only run for around 3 months, yet of the 6700 that arrived - only around 2000 would leave. They left with trauma, scars and mental pain that would never leave them - but most harrowingly - of a story as well. A story of one man in particular who became an urban legend on the island, Kukla Chelovek, the Doll Man.
Alexander Spivaknov was only 22-years old when he was sent to Nazino Island. He had been arrested for theft in St Petersburg in 1932 - and a year later found himself on the train to Western Siberia.
Petr and Valentina Malyshova, an older couple who worked as a teacher and a butcher respectively, who lived by the Ob River. In May 1933, they were caught harbouring an early escapee of the island in their barn - and were ordered to return to the island alongside the prisoner.
Vladimir Berezovgy was a 29-year old guard on the island. He was ordered to guard the island upon the beginning of the project in May 1933.
Vladimir, Valentina and Alexander were the only of the 6000+ people on Nazino Island to record a diary of their experiences in this hell (that could be found as of 2023). Their documentations show us the true horror and terror that anyone unfortunate enough to be in this place would suffer. The following is an accumulation of selected relevant entries from all three, that paints the picture of Nazino Island and the Doll-Man it’s evil nature spawned. These entries will be shown as an English translation.
Vladimir Berezovgny (guard) , Entry 1, 12th May 1933:
We finally tracked the escaped prisoner today. We saw the man swimming across the river late last night, my general ordered for me to fire at him but it was too dark to see anything, we watched his silhouette crawl to the bank and run off into the dark forest. The general was furious, screamed so loud at us on the boat - likely the whole island heard his yells. We searched all through the night, but the darkness aided his escape. We began to theorise he’d have died of hypothermia due to these freezing temperatures, but the search continued. We found him this morning, in an old couples barn. He had a fresh blanket around him and a bowl of food, it was obvious they’d been sheltering him purposely.
She was a teacher I believe? Both in their 40’s. Maybe 50’s - I didn’t get the details myself. He was a butcher for the local village, they may struggle with a lack of animal produce for a while…I suppose that’s the villages problem now. They were a nice couple, very cooperative, but rules are rules and they had to be taken to Nazino alongside the escaped one.
Valentina Malyshova (teacher) , Entry 1, 13th May 1933:
I’ve always tried to be a loving woman. For my husband Petr, for the children of my class, but this place is draining me. I do not regret my actions, nor do I hold that poor man accountable. I would feed and shelter him 100 times over if I could. My poor Petr warned me against it however, and I worry he will attribute the hell we have been sent to as being my fault. That he will never forgive me.
He acts like he is fine, but I can tell he is not. He worries for me greatly, the men on the island look at any woman like they are a pack of wolves. I’ve seen my first dead body this morning. It looks like a young man, beaten to death, over food I would imagine.
I write this not as a journal, but more as a last letter. I am not sure of how long I will survive here, Petr I love you. My children in the school, I love you too.
Alexander Spivaknov (prisoner), Entry 1, 15th May 1933:
I have not had a chance to write yet. We have been here 6 days. I would say 200 deaths already. Many died on the train over, from the cold. Some have had illness and died in their sleep. They are the lucky ones I think.
I have made a small shelter in the wooded area. There are groups of people around me too. Not enough room for all of us here. Hunger is settling in for many , not a scrap to eat for about a week. More like 2 or 3 weeks in most cases. I had a bowl of soup before we left St Petersburg , and I still feel my stomach eating itself. The women on the island have already started to sell their bodies for what food there is , small rodents that have been caught or berries. Some women are even being pimped out by the more vicious men on the island, food is now currency, the guards look on doing nothing. Humanity has abandoned us.
Valentina Malyshkova (teacher), Entry 2, 20th May 1933:
I worry a lot now. Not as much as Petr, however. He spends most nights awake completely. A lot of the men on the island have started pimping out the women. If they say no, they do as they please anyway.
I think they may even be eating them!
Petr guards me all the time, he sees how the men look at me. I am not sure how much longer we can survive here - if this journal gets out - please end help!
I love you Petr. I love you kids.
Vladimir Berezgovny (guard) , Entry 2, 24th May 1933:
We were forced to kill more attempted escapees these last few days. I shot two men and one woman, but that is not even the most harrowing events that have happened recently. Murders have gone up on the island, lots of them we can only theorise are motivated by robbery of food. We’re ordered not to intervene - it is their own society.
There is something lurking on the island at night too. One of the prisoners we suspect, we shine lights at him - but the tree line seems to cover him fairly well. Unsure so far if he is responsible for the murders or if they’re the gangs that seem to have formed.
Alexander Spivaknov (prisoner), Entry 2, 26th May 1933:
There is a monster on this island. I thought I had seen the worst of humanity. I was wrong.
We hear screams most of the nights we’ve been here. That’s normal. But what happened last night was harrowing. Mere metres from my shelter - amongst the trees - I heard meat being cut. I kept quiet but maintained by interest. I could hear various squishes and squelches of what sounded like an animal being carved.
This lasted a few hours. By morning when I thought the coast was clear, I investigated. It was no animal. A man, early 30s maybe - although it was hard to tell - it was hard to tell as he had no skin. He’d been completely skinned, just his red flesh being exposed. He was hung up on one of the trees, ropes tied around each of his wrists about 6m up in the air.
His pale, tattooed skin was displayed next to him like a flag. A banner almost.
I don’t know what monsters have been made by this island to be capable of doing something like this. But I cannot believe it.
Vladimir Berezgovny (guard), Entry 3, 30th May 1933:
It gets worse every day. The prisoners have now started calling this monster the doll man. This is the 5th ‘display’ he has made now.
He kills other prisoners on the island. Usually gang-affiliated prisoners, typically fit males. He skins them - presumably dead - before displaying them tied up in the tree line. He displays their skin too - almost as a warning.
Some of the prisoners have started making up stories about him - calling him the doll man - it’s caught on amongst us guards too. They say he makes these men his dolls, as he is lonely on the island. Nothing is confirmed and we have no suspects - we are not instructed to conduct an investigation anyway. Probably for the best - none of the guards would dare step off the boat.
The Kukla Chelovek (doll man) quickly became a legend - not just on Nazino island - but all around Russia after the horrors of the island got out. One of his ‘dolls’ is still preserved in a museum in Saint Petersburg.
Many have theorised on which of the prisoners could be capable of this atrocity. Some speculated it was a gang, due to the gang-affiliated nature of the victims. Others thought he could be a serial killer from one of the prisons, that had decided this was the chance to continue some of his work. But there is one theory that has presented itself very recently, and it relies on the final entry from Valentina Malyshova’s diary. Please note, the handwriting of this entry did not match that of any of the other entries.
Valentina Malyshova (?), Entry 2, 22nd May 1933:
Cannibalism. Eating the flesh of a fellow human. She never deserved to be here, it was her kind heart that got her here.
They assaulted her - in so many different ways - and forced me to watch. Then they left nothing else of her. Cannibals. Monsters.
Monsters breed monsters. Hell spawns demons. Death would be a sweet escape for them now. For anyone here. So they will be immortalised, as my toys. Immortalised to warn any of the other monsters here that the devil lurks among them. I suppose, skinning a human will be no different to skinning a pig. Not that they’re worth more than a pig anyway.
I love you Valentina.
2024.05.06 16:19 Rukania The heart-churning true crime case of the Doll Man of Nazino Island
*Please note this is a documentation about true historical events and people. Some details are disturbing and reader discretion is advised. Most of the information surrounding this event is still confidential due to the brutality of the events. The diary extracts and accounts used were gained with next of kin consent.*
May 1933. Just off of the Ob River in West Siberia, in the Soviet Union - one of the most horrific ordeals in human history would take place.
6700 Russian prisoners were deported to Nazino Island, a small island in the middle of the harsh Siberian wilderness. They were sent there (under instruction of Stalin) and ordered to construct a "special settlement". They were told they had to cultivate the island, using minimal equipment or agricultural knowledge, the deportees were abandoned with only scant supplies of flour for food, little to no tools, and virtually none of the clothing or shelter necessary to survive. Guards would patrol the 3km coast of the island by boat, killing any one that tried to escape instantly. Many on the island would starve to death, freeze or be murdered by other prisoners. The Nazino project would only run for around 3 months, yet of the 6700 that arrived - only around 2000 would leave. They left with trauma, scars and mental pain that would never leave them - but most harrowingly - of a story as well. A story of one man in particular who became an urban legend on the island, Kukla Chelovek, the Doll Man.
Alexander Spivaknov was only 22-years old when he was sent to Nazino Island. He had been arrested for theft in St Petersburg in 1932 - and a year later found himself on the train to Western Siberia.
Petr and Valentina Malyshova, an older couple who worked as a teacher and a butcher respectively, who lived by the Ob River. In May 1933, they were caught harbouring an early escapee of the island in their barn - and were ordered to return to the island alongside the prisoner.
Vladimir Berezovgy was a 29-year old guard on the island. He was ordered to guard the island upon the beginning of the project in May 1933.
Vladimir, Valentina and Alexander were the only of the 6000+ people on Nazino Island to record a diary of their experiences in this hell (that could be found as of 2023). Their documentations show us the true horror and terror that anyone unfortunate enough to be in this place would suffer. The following is an accumulation of selected relevant entries from all three, that paints the picture of Nazino Island and the Doll-Man it’s evil nature spawned. These entries will be shown as an English translation.
Vladimir Berezovgny (guard) , Entry 1, 12th May 1933:
We finally tracked the escaped prisoner today. We saw the man swimming across the river late last night, my general ordered for me to fire at him but it was too dark to see anything, we watched his silhouette crawl to the bank and run off into the dark forest. The general was furious, screamed so loud at us on the boat - likely the whole island heard his yells. We searched all through the night, but the darkness aided his escape. We began to theorise he’d have died of hypothermia due to these freezing temperatures, but the search continued. We found him this morning, in an old couples barn. He had a fresh blanket around him and a bowl of food, it was obvious they’d been sheltering him purposely.
She was a teacher I believe? Both in their 40’s. Maybe 50’s - I didn’t get the details myself. He was a butcher for the local village, they may struggle with a lack of animal produce for a while…I suppose that’s the villages problem now. They were a nice couple, very cooperative, but rules are rules and they had to be taken to Nazino alongside the escaped one.
Valentina Malyshova (teacher) , Entry 1, 13th May 1933:
I’ve always tried to be a loving woman. For my husband Petr, for the children of my class, but this place is draining me. I do not regret my actions, nor do I hold that poor man accountable. I would feed and shelter him 100 times over if I could. My poor Petr warned me against it however, and I worry he will attribute the hell we have been sent to as being my fault. That he will never forgive me.
He acts like he is fine, but I can tell he is not. He worries for me greatly, the men on the island look at any woman like they are a pack of wolves. I’ve seen my first dead body this morning. It looks like a young man, beaten to death, over food I would imagine.
I write this not as a journal, but more as a last letter. I am not sure of how long I will survive here, Petr I love you. My children in the school, I love you too.
Alexander Spivaknov (prisoner), Entry 1, 15th May 1933:
I have not had a chance to write yet. We have been here 6 days. I would say 200 deaths already. Many died on the train over, from the cold. Some have had illness and died in their sleep. They are the lucky ones I think.
I have made a small shelter in the wooded area. There are groups of people around me too. Not enough room for all of us here. Hunger is settling in for many , not a scrap to eat for about a week. More like 2 or 3 weeks in most cases. I had a bowl of soup before we left St Petersburg , and I still feel my stomach eating itself. The women on the island have already started to sell their bodies for what food there is , small rodents that have been caught or berries. Some women are even being pimped out by the more vicious men on the island, food is now currency, the guards look on doing nothing. Humanity has abandoned us.
Valentina Malyshkova (teacher), Entry 2, 20th May 1933:
I worry a lot now. Not as much as Petr, however. He spends most nights awake completely. A lot of the men on the island have started pimping out the women. If they say no, they do as they please anyway.
I think they may even be eating them!
Petr guards me all the time, he sees how the men look at me. I am not sure how much longer we can survive here - if this journal gets out - please end help!
I love you Petr. I love you kids.
Vladimir Berezgovny (guard) , Entry 2, 24th May 1933:
We were forced to kill more attempted escapees these last few days. I shot two men and one woman, but that is not even the most harrowing events that have happened recently. Murders have gone up on the island, lots of them we can only theorise are motivated by robbery of food. We’re ordered not to intervene - it is their own society.
There is something lurking on the island at night too. One of the prisoners we suspect, we shine lights at him - but the tree line seems to cover him fairly well. Unsure so far if he is responsible for the murders or if they’re the gangs that seem to have formed.
Alexander Spivaknov (prisoner), Entry 2, 26th May 1933:
There is a monster on this island. I thought I had seen the worst of humanity. I was wrong.
We hear screams most of the nights we’ve been here. That’s normal. But what happened last night was harrowing. Mere metres from my shelter - amongst the trees - I heard meat being cut. I kept quiet but maintained by interest. I could hear various squishes and squelches of what sounded like an animal being carved.
This lasted a few hours. By morning when I thought the coast was clear, I investigated. It was no animal. A man, early 30s maybe - although it was hard to tell - it was hard to tell as he had no skin. He’d been completely skinned, just his red flesh being exposed. He was hung up on one of the trees, ropes tied around each of his wrists about 6m up in the air.
His pale, tattooed skin was displayed next to him like a flag. A banner almost.
I don’t know what monsters have been made by this island to be capable of doing something like this. But I cannot believe it.
Vladimir Berezgovny (guard), Entry 3, 30th May 1933:
It gets worse every day. The prisoners have now started calling this monster the doll man. This is the 5th ‘display’ he has made now.
He kills other prisoners on the island. Usually gang-affiliated prisoners, typically fit males. He skins them - presumably dead - before displaying them tied up in the tree line. He displays their skin too - almost as a warning.
Some of the prisoners have started making up stories about him - calling him the doll man - it’s caught on amongst us guards too. They say he makes these men his dolls, as he is lonely on the island. Nothing is confirmed and we have no suspects - we are not instructed to conduct an investigation anyway. Probably for the best - none of the guards would dare step off the boat.
The Kukla Chelovek (doll man) quickly became a legend - not just on Nazino island - but all around Russia after the horrors of the island got out. One of his ‘dolls’ is still preserved in a museum in Saint Petersburg.
Many have theorised on which of the prisoners could be capable of this atrocity. Some speculated it was a gang, due to the gang-affiliated nature of the victims. Others thought he could be a serial killer from one of the prisons, that had decided this was the chance to continue some of his work. But there is one theory that has presented itself very recently, and it relies on the final entry from Valentina Malyshova’s diary. Please note, the handwriting of this entry did not match that of any of the other entries.
Valentina Malyshova (?), Entry 2, 22nd May 1933:
Cannibalism. Eating the flesh of a fellow human. She never deserved to be here, it was her kind heart that got her here.
They assaulted her - in so many different ways - and forced me to watch. Then they left nothing else of her. Cannibals. Monsters.
Monsters breed monsters. Hell spawns demons. Death would be a sweet escape for them now. For anyone here. So they will be immortalised, as my toys. Immortalised to warn any of the other monsters here that the devil lurks among them. I suppose, skinning a human will be no different to skinning a pig. Not that they’re worth more than a pig anyway.
I love you Valentina.
submitted by Rukania to scarystories [link] [comments]
May 1933. Just off of the Ob River in West Siberia, in the Soviet Union - one of the most horrific ordeals in human history would take place.
6700 Russian prisoners were deported to Nazino Island, a small island in the middle of the harsh Siberian wilderness. They were sent there (under instruction of Stalin) and ordered to construct a "special settlement". They were told they had to cultivate the island, using minimal equipment or agricultural knowledge, the deportees were abandoned with only scant supplies of flour for food, little to no tools, and virtually none of the clothing or shelter necessary to survive. Guards would patrol the 3km coast of the island by boat, killing any one that tried to escape instantly. Many on the island would starve to death, freeze or be murdered by other prisoners. The Nazino project would only run for around 3 months, yet of the 6700 that arrived - only around 2000 would leave. They left with trauma, scars and mental pain that would never leave them - but most harrowingly - of a story as well. A story of one man in particular who became an urban legend on the island, Kukla Chelovek, the Doll Man.
Alexander Spivaknov was only 22-years old when he was sent to Nazino Island. He had been arrested for theft in St Petersburg in 1932 - and a year later found himself on the train to Western Siberia.
Petr and Valentina Malyshova, an older couple who worked as a teacher and a butcher respectively, who lived by the Ob River. In May 1933, they were caught harbouring an early escapee of the island in their barn - and were ordered to return to the island alongside the prisoner.
Vladimir Berezovgy was a 29-year old guard on the island. He was ordered to guard the island upon the beginning of the project in May 1933.
Vladimir, Valentina and Alexander were the only of the 6000+ people on Nazino Island to record a diary of their experiences in this hell (that could be found as of 2023). Their documentations show us the true horror and terror that anyone unfortunate enough to be in this place would suffer. The following is an accumulation of selected relevant entries from all three, that paints the picture of Nazino Island and the Doll-Man it’s evil nature spawned. These entries will be shown as an English translation.
Vladimir Berezovgny (guard) , Entry 1, 12th May 1933:
We finally tracked the escaped prisoner today. We saw the man swimming across the river late last night, my general ordered for me to fire at him but it was too dark to see anything, we watched his silhouette crawl to the bank and run off into the dark forest. The general was furious, screamed so loud at us on the boat - likely the whole island heard his yells. We searched all through the night, but the darkness aided his escape. We began to theorise he’d have died of hypothermia due to these freezing temperatures, but the search continued. We found him this morning, in an old couples barn. He had a fresh blanket around him and a bowl of food, it was obvious they’d been sheltering him purposely.
She was a teacher I believe? Both in their 40’s. Maybe 50’s - I didn’t get the details myself. He was a butcher for the local village, they may struggle with a lack of animal produce for a while…I suppose that’s the villages problem now. They were a nice couple, very cooperative, but rules are rules and they had to be taken to Nazino alongside the escaped one.
Valentina Malyshova (teacher) , Entry 1, 13th May 1933:
I’ve always tried to be a loving woman. For my husband Petr, for the children of my class, but this place is draining me. I do not regret my actions, nor do I hold that poor man accountable. I would feed and shelter him 100 times over if I could. My poor Petr warned me against it however, and I worry he will attribute the hell we have been sent to as being my fault. That he will never forgive me.
He acts like he is fine, but I can tell he is not. He worries for me greatly, the men on the island look at any woman like they are a pack of wolves. I’ve seen my first dead body this morning. It looks like a young man, beaten to death, over food I would imagine.
I write this not as a journal, but more as a last letter. I am not sure of how long I will survive here, Petr I love you. My children in the school, I love you too.
Alexander Spivaknov (prisoner), Entry 1, 15th May 1933:
I have not had a chance to write yet. We have been here 6 days. I would say 200 deaths already. Many died on the train over, from the cold. Some have had illness and died in their sleep. They are the lucky ones I think.
I have made a small shelter in the wooded area. There are groups of people around me too. Not enough room for all of us here. Hunger is settling in for many , not a scrap to eat for about a week. More like 2 or 3 weeks in most cases. I had a bowl of soup before we left St Petersburg , and I still feel my stomach eating itself. The women on the island have already started to sell their bodies for what food there is , small rodents that have been caught or berries. Some women are even being pimped out by the more vicious men on the island, food is now currency, the guards look on doing nothing. Humanity has abandoned us.
Valentina Malyshkova (teacher), Entry 2, 20th May 1933:
I worry a lot now. Not as much as Petr, however. He spends most nights awake completely. A lot of the men on the island have started pimping out the women. If they say no, they do as they please anyway.
I think they may even be eating them!
Petr guards me all the time, he sees how the men look at me. I am not sure how much longer we can survive here - if this journal gets out - please end help!
I love you Petr. I love you kids.
Vladimir Berezgovny (guard) , Entry 2, 24th May 1933:
We were forced to kill more attempted escapees these last few days. I shot two men and one woman, but that is not even the most harrowing events that have happened recently. Murders have gone up on the island, lots of them we can only theorise are motivated by robbery of food. We’re ordered not to intervene - it is their own society.
There is something lurking on the island at night too. One of the prisoners we suspect, we shine lights at him - but the tree line seems to cover him fairly well. Unsure so far if he is responsible for the murders or if they’re the gangs that seem to have formed.
Alexander Spivaknov (prisoner), Entry 2, 26th May 1933:
There is a monster on this island. I thought I had seen the worst of humanity. I was wrong.
We hear screams most of the nights we’ve been here. That’s normal. But what happened last night was harrowing. Mere metres from my shelter - amongst the trees - I heard meat being cut. I kept quiet but maintained by interest. I could hear various squishes and squelches of what sounded like an animal being carved.
This lasted a few hours. By morning when I thought the coast was clear, I investigated. It was no animal. A man, early 30s maybe - although it was hard to tell - it was hard to tell as he had no skin. He’d been completely skinned, just his red flesh being exposed. He was hung up on one of the trees, ropes tied around each of his wrists about 6m up in the air.
His pale, tattooed skin was displayed next to him like a flag. A banner almost.
I don’t know what monsters have been made by this island to be capable of doing something like this. But I cannot believe it.
Vladimir Berezgovny (guard), Entry 3, 30th May 1933:
It gets worse every day. The prisoners have now started calling this monster the doll man. This is the 5th ‘display’ he has made now.
He kills other prisoners on the island. Usually gang-affiliated prisoners, typically fit males. He skins them - presumably dead - before displaying them tied up in the tree line. He displays their skin too - almost as a warning.
Some of the prisoners have started making up stories about him - calling him the doll man - it’s caught on amongst us guards too. They say he makes these men his dolls, as he is lonely on the island. Nothing is confirmed and we have no suspects - we are not instructed to conduct an investigation anyway. Probably for the best - none of the guards would dare step off the boat.
The Kukla Chelovek (doll man) quickly became a legend - not just on Nazino island - but all around Russia after the horrors of the island got out. One of his ‘dolls’ is still preserved in a museum in Saint Petersburg.
Many have theorised on which of the prisoners could be capable of this atrocity. Some speculated it was a gang, due to the gang-affiliated nature of the victims. Others thought he could be a serial killer from one of the prisons, that had decided this was the chance to continue some of his work. But there is one theory that has presented itself very recently, and it relies on the final entry from Valentina Malyshova’s diary. Please note, the handwriting of this entry did not match that of any of the other entries.
Valentina Malyshova (?), Entry 2, 22nd May 1933:
Cannibalism. Eating the flesh of a fellow human. She never deserved to be here, it was her kind heart that got her here.
They assaulted her - in so many different ways - and forced me to watch. Then they left nothing else of her. Cannibals. Monsters.
Monsters breed monsters. Hell spawns demons. Death would be a sweet escape for them now. For anyone here. So they will be immortalised, as my toys. Immortalised to warn any of the other monsters here that the devil lurks among them. I suppose, skinning a human will be no different to skinning a pig. Not that they’re worth more than a pig anyway.
I love you Valentina.
2024.05.06 04:00 Enderoth A 200-strong table of minor accursed inconveniences
Looking on the interwebs I couldn’t find a really good comprehensive list of curses that suited my game, so I made a list of 200. I’ve pulled some of these from other sources (such as reddit posts, youtube shorts, and so on), but the vast majority were from me going “wouldn’t it be funny if…”
Some of the curses have optional mechanical rules attached because I was asked to rule on them. Your mileage may vary (you’re obviously welcome to leave mechanical effects off altogether at your table). That said, I have a hard time believing the rogue can spot a pressure plate when the floor appears made of molten nacho cheese…
Enjoy! Hope you feel inspired and use some in your campaign or your curse tables.
Dreamfey Curses D100:
1 - All of your teeth fall out, and a tiny hand springs from your gums in each one's place. - If you cast a spell with verbal components, roll a d20. On a 5 or lower, the spell fails and is wasted.
2 - Your hair falls out and begins to rapidly regrow from your ears. - You suffer disadvantage on checks requiring hearing.
3 - You can no longer blink your eyes. - Disadvantage to vision checks.
4 - Your fingers become toes, and your toes become fingers. - Disadvantage on dexterity checks requiring fine motor control.
5 - You lay an egg, and are overwhelmed by the instinct to brood it. - If the egg hatches after 30 days, you gain a familiar. If it dies, you suffer disadvantage on charisma checks due to depression until the curse is removed.
6 - You can only speak in the scat style of song. - You are incomprehensible and cannot cast spells with verbal components.
7 - You laugh uproariously at anything sad or distressing. - Disadvantage on charisma checks in upsetting situations.
8 - You may only ingest things that are yellow. Any other color makes you violently ill. - Food and potions must be carefully considered. Water must be made yellow.
9 - Each time you laugh in real life, your character takes 1d4 damage.
10 - You believe yourself to be a spy working for the enemy, and are very bad at it.
11 - All livestock that see you want to be near you, and do their best to get as close to you as possible.
12 - You crave humanoid bones, and can only be satisfied by eating them.
13 - You cannot turn right. - Disadvantage on dexterity saving throws.
14 - You must loudly shout, "SURPRISE!" when walking through doorways.
15 - You become a pacifist. You can no longer intentionally attempt to deal lethal damage.
16 - Every time you have an even remotely romantic feeling, you become intensely nauseous. - DC 15 CON save or vomit, still look sick on success.
17 - You become intensely magnetic.
18 - You become incredibly beautiful, and must look in any mirror you encounter for at least one minute. - Advantage on seduction-based charisma checks.
19 - Every time you harm someone, even intentionally, you must apologize profusely.
20 - You cannot tell the difference between copper and gold.
21 - You may only speak in questions.
22 - You learn one random useless fact every morning, and can't stop thinking about it until you've told someone. - Automatic failure on concentration checks before disclosing fact.
23 - Your joints pop loudly whenever you move.
24 - Moths are fascinated by you.
25 - Your dreams are visible for others as small illusions above your head.
26 - Whenever anyone doubts you for any reason, you must answer with, "But I know magic!" - Disadvantage on deception checks.
27 - Whenever you hear someone utter a number under 100, you must count up to 100 from that number.
28 - When you walk through a door you forget what you were doing.
29 - Anything you drink takes on the consistency of yogurt. - DC 10 CON save each day to consume drink.
30 - All of your intentional movements are reversed--for example, attempting to move your right hand instead moves your left hand. - You automatically fail all dexterity checks and saves.
31 - You fall hopelessly in love with the next person you see, and actively pursue a long term relationship with them.
32 - You are now unfailingly polite and servile.
33 - You smell strongly of barbeque. - Disadvantage on stealth checks.
34 - You forget how to properly put on your armor, and it has a chance to simply fall off. - When hit by an attack, roll a d20. On a 1, your armor falls off.
35 - Whenever you see someone new who is not hostile, you must introduce yourself and kiss them on both cheeks.
36 - You become terrified of the sun. - Disadvantage on all checks, saves, and attack rolls when in direct sunlight.
37 - You can feel your parasitic twin attempting to assert control over your body at the worst times. - Enemies have advantage on attacks against you.
38 - You have the hiccups. Forever. - Disadvantage on concentration checks.
39 - You must shed your skin like a snake every day. - The time required for your long rest is extended by 2 hours.
40 - If you have a suggestion, you must whisper it conspiratorially to only one person and pretend you said nothing when anyone else asks.
41 - You believe you’re invisible. You're not.
42 - Every day you get bitten by a mosquito in a difficult-to-scratch place. - Disadvantage to charisma checks due to constant itching.
43 - All undead look like beautiful, pleading men and women to you.
44 - Random belongings from nearby people will occasionally fall out of your clothing in front of them.
45 - You think you can talk to animals. None of them seem to like you.
46 - You can only speak in lies, and you love telling lies. - You cannot cast a spell with verbal components.
47 - Whenever you score a critical hit, you must spend your bonus action and movement (if available) doing a victory dance.
48 - You are easily addicted to things. You deny that this is the case. - Automatically fail addiction checks.
49 - Your shadow mocks you.
50 - You feel the constant need to speak in a gravelly voice (like Batman). - Disadvantage on charisma checks.
51 - You cannot abide the sight of the opposite sex, and must avert your eyes in disgust. - You are blind with respect to humanoids of the opposite sex, and suffer disadvantage on attacks against them.
52 - All speech in Common sounds like terrified screaming to you.
53 - You are committed to forming a committed relationship with a troll, and must try to guide the group toward that objective.
54 - Your hair becomes a tangled mass of non-venomous, mostly-harmless snakes. They are not friendly to you.
55 - You believe yourself to be a were-halfling. You are not.
56 - You believe yourself to be an actor, and this campaign is an elaborate play. The audience is invisible and all around you.
57 - Nobody can remember your name, but that doesn't stop them from trying and getting it wrong.
58 - All beasts of CR 1/4 and lower are frightened of you, even your pets and livestock.
59 - You are immune to the effects of potions and poisons.
60 - You compulsively narrate your every action in a whisper.
61 - You compulsively sing, whistle, or hum a theme song that changes from situation to situation.
62 - You must now speak in the style of Randy "Macho Man" Savage.
63 - Every time you hear the word "magic," you react as if struck by the Vicious Mockery cantrip at lowest level.
64 - You become breathtakingly ugly (doesn't impact CHA). Every mirror you pass shatters loudly.
65 - You glow in the dark (dim light, 10 ft radius). You make up a different reason why whenever you’re asked.
66 - If viewed by someone using True Sight, you appear to be a mindflayer to them.
67 - You cannot eat food. Instead, each day, you must make someone cry in order to remain sated.
68 - Lightning is attracted to you, but it's shy.
69 - When crafting something, roll a d20. On a 10 or lower, you accidentally drop the item over and over when attempting to craft it.
70 - The slightest amount of intoxicant of any kind has its full effect on you (such as a thimble of beer causing drunkenness).
71 - You believe yourself to be visibly pregnant. Anyone that you complain about this to must say "Congratulations!"
72 - Your blood turns into coins as it leaves your body. Each hitpoint lost results in one silver coin falling from the wound.
73 - You must spend your first turn of combat in earnest attempting to have a dance-off against your enemy.
74 - You grow a set of vestigial gills. They are not functional. You believe they ARE functional.
75 - Your main weapon, whatever it is, begins to speak with you. It criticizes your form each time you miss an attack.
76 - You must speak like a black-hat cowboy. - Advantage to intimidation checks.
77 - All birdsong stops within 1 mile of you. Birds watch you constantly.
78 - Your sense of touch is extremely sensitive. - Advantage to sleight of hand, disadvantage to concentration checks when taking damage.
79 - You must attempt to make innuendos, or insinuate them where they do not exist. - Disadvantage to persuasion checks against decent people.
80 - A talkative flea lives in your nose. Only you can hear it.
81 - You become blurred, even to your own perception. You don't know which of the blurred images is you. - Enemies have disadvantage to attack you, you have disadvantage on dexterity saving throws and checks.
82 - You fart at inappropriate times. Whenever you are sneaking, you must roll an occasional d20 to hold the fart in. - The DC to hold this fart in is a CON save, and begins at 10, increasing by 1 each round until released.
83 - You are overwhelmed by kleptomania. You must attempt to steal something from your companions regularly.
84 - One of your companions slowly begins to find you irresistibly attractive.
85 - You grow a long, wizardly beard. Even if you shave it, it grows back within an hour.
86 - Your eyes and mouth change positions (mouths where your eyes were, an eye where your mouth was).
87 - You think if you just think a happy enough thought, you can fly. On a natural 20, you can (for one turn)!
88 - You have a crippling phobia of magic. This includes the Remove Curse spell that would cure you of this phobia.
89 - Male spiders everywhere begin trying to attract you as a mate. It's cute sometimes.
90 - You have to take ever-increasing risks to satisfy your escalating need for a thrill.
91 - You grow an extremely talkative mole on your nose. You should get that looked at. Hey, who you lookin' at?!
92 - You are compelled to challenge the occasional passerby to duels. This happens at random.
93 - You believe yourself to be actual royalty. Kneel, peasants!
94 - You cannot tell the difference between individual humanoids except temporarily, by taste.
95 - A tiny stormcloud floats two feet above you and drizzles on you constantly. Oddly, it's kind of soothing at night as long as you can block the rain.
96 - You have t-rex vision. You can only detect your enemies if they’ve moved that round or the round before. You also have advantage on attacks against lawyers.
97 - You believe you have the ability to see the future. It all seems so clear… (you don't, and it isn't).
98 - You develop the annoying habit of discussing a specific bit of cuisine any time there is a lull in conversation.
99 - You see your death in the future. All of your deaths. You are frightened of all enemies in combat until making a successful DC20 wisdom saving throw at the end of your turn, at which point you are immune to this effect for one hour.
100 - A contract falls into your lap. It promises one Wish in exchange for a child to be delivered to The Pale, courtesy of the Conclave of the Moon. There are numerous stipulations written in every conceivable language, but it seems pretty straightforward. You may immediately benefit from another Fey Curse and the advantage it conveys.
101 - Your nipples detach and begin to crawl all over your body like caterpillars. They can't be plucked off.
102 - You are terrified of the color blue.
103 - Your head turns into a donkey's head. You're capable of speech.
104 - A colony of gregarious spiders takes up residence on your face, imitating a beard. You can shake them loose whenever you like, but the colony always reappears on your face within half an hour, regardless of how many you kill or displace.
105 - Every time someone makes a joke, pun, or innuendo that you can hear, you suffer the effects of Tasha's Hideous Laughter. (DC15 to save afterward)
106 - Dandelions sprout wherever you walk as long as it's on dirt or grass.
107 - Your skin turns a violent shade of luminescent pink.
108 - You hear the song "Banana Phone" playing over and over in your mind.
109 - You always feel a bit too cold.
110 - Whenever you tell a lie, you fart loudly. - Automatically fail deception checks that involve a lie.
111 - You have drawn the attention of a miniature Genie who grants you whatever you wish for. While he generally means well, he plays a bit too loose with the creative license. Also, he gets angry if you try to stifle his creative freedom and make specific wishes (such as attempting to replicate a spell effect or a guaranteed standard outcome). He loves to try and grant wishes whenever you say, "I wish…" as well.
112 - Drinking alcohol makes you feel like you're invincible.
113 - You must now eat and digest food "in reverse." You know what I mean.
114 - You moan loudly whenever you make physical contact with another creature.
115 - Your eyes glow in the dark, and their color reflects your mood (red for anger, blue for calm, green for fear, pink for love, etc.).
116 - Large, onomatopoeic words appear and float in the air whenever you do something that makes a noise, and last a few seconds.
117 - You must end everything you say with, "Myah, see? Myah!"
118 - You must speak in pig latin.
119 - If you spend a turn yelling loudly and flexing without moving or taking any actions, bonus actions, or reactions, you may make an extra attack on the next turn with advantage. You glow brightly the entire time you're yelling in this situation.
120 - You become exceptionally greedy.
121 - If you take damage, you must use your item interaction to make sure your hair is okay on the following turn.
122 - You prefer the romantic company of bears instead of other humanoids.
123 - You have tinnitus.
124 - You absolutely REFUSE to step on cracks of any kind (mechanically, you must move only using the arrow keys).
125 - Whenever you look at someone for more than three seconds, their face appears to start melting (this is a hallucination).
126 - Any time you say a word without pronouncing the "silent" letters in it, you bite your tongue. It hurts a lot, and draws blood, which most people have no problem seeing.
127 - You speak in haiku.
128 - You can't see clothing or armor anymore. This includes your own. - Double the amount of time required to don armor.
129 - Whenever you accidentally harm an ally with an errant shot or area of effect ability or spell, you feel the power of Ryfe flow through you--you gain temporary HP equal to the damage you inflicted on your friends. This temporary HP stacks.
130 - Your thoughts are literally written on your face. In Dwarvish.
131 - Failing an ability check makes you pee, just a little.
132 - You can't see race (or gender) when looking at humanoids. Everyone looks like a white cismale human.
133 - You tip at least 50% whenever you spend money on something. If you can't afford to tip, you can't afford to buy!
134 - You think anyone shorter than you is a literal child.
135 - You develop male pattern baldness--full on horseshoe style.
136 - A brownie starts following you and cleaning up after you. If you fail to thank it each day by leaving it a present, it will sabotage you somehow.
137 - Any reptile or amphibian you see you think MUST be a cursed prince. One little kiss could break that curse…
138 - You develop a severe stutter. - Disadvantage on spellcasting ability checks.
139 - You must now regularly whisper, "I like you," in the ears of your companions, especially when they're sleeping and you're not.
140 - Whenever you're talking to someone, you must try to touch them at the same time, preferably their face.
141 - Whenever you see a beggar, you give them at least 5% of the money you have.
142 - Your sense of spice is reversed. Plain white bread is the spiciest thing in the world, and only exotic peppers taste bland to you. Water tastes like hot sauce.
143 - Any time you hear the word, "loot," you have an earthshaking orgasm.
144 - You are terrified of healing. Much like a child afraid of getting shots, you flee from people trying to heal you.
145 - If you swear, a silver coin falls out of your pocket (if you have any).
146 - You have a slow nosebleed. It never stops, except when you're looking straight upward or sleeping.
147 - You see dolls following you. They always seem to disappear around corners or behind objects and vanish right after you notice them.
148 - Reading gives you a vicious headache.
149 - Whenever nobody else is around to see, doors close and lock you in whatever room you're in (if it has doors that lock).
150 - Your bellybutton turns into a little mouth that screams out cheerleading slogans and hype for you at random moments.
151 - Your hands ooze delicious butter substitute. On attacks of natural 1, you fumble your weapon.
152 - Your mouth is permanently dry. Make with the lip-smacking sounds!
153 - Your character must loudly sing a "poop song" whenever you go to the bathroom in real life.
154 - Whenever someone says your name, you have a sneezing fit.
155 - You remain oblivious to clues obtained through sight or sound, and must roll investigation checks using your sense of taste instead. You don't suffer any particular disadvantage for this--enjoy synesthesia!
156 - When you're in crowds or moving through city streets or the like, random and hurtful insults are hurled at you from people you can't see.
157 - There's always a piece of broccoli stuck in your teeth. You can feel it, though you can never quite liberate it from your teeth. Everyone can see it, but you can never spot it in the mirror.
158 - Everything you put in your backpack or bag of holding gets covered in glitter. This doesn't make shopkeeps happy.
159 - If you are feminine, you grow a third breast. If you are masculine, you grow a third butt cheek.
160 - You always suggest peace as the first option to resolve any conflict. Even conflicts you start. This means if you start a fight, you must spend at least 1 action suggesting you all stop and think about just talking it out.
161 - Your finger and toenails grow at a rate of one inch per hour, and your teeth are the only thing that can cut them (or so you believe).
162 - Your feelings are delicate--you're easily offended and prone to loud bouts of crying.
163 - You are colorblind.
164 - Your clothes flutter heroically in a breeze that nobody else can feel or detect. The breeze smells strongly of hot garbage.
165 - You think about 50% of pockets are mimics.
166 - Your ears are now inside your mouth. You are deafened unless your mouth is open.
167 - Your eyebrows are always meaningfully arched.
168 - Your cheeks hang low and flap like a bloodhound's jowls.
169 - You continually emit a loud, high-pitched noise that only children under age 18 can hear.
170 - Any time you are immersed in darkness, you hear childlike laughter around you.
171 - You never wake up where you went to sleep.
172 - You think you're one of the other members of your party, selected by the GM.
173 - Every piece of food you touch turns into peppermint candy.
174 - You don't believe in the fey so hard that you literally cannot perceive them. Any effect caused by a Fey creature you rationalize to protect your disbelief.
175 - You believe you can speak with plants. They flatter you and tell you secrets (which may or may not be true).
176 - Any time you handle paper or books you get a papercut.
177 - The floor looks like molten cheese to you.
178 - You believe your imaginary friend has become real. He is not happy that you've been neglecting him all these years.
179 - You become painfully skinny.
180 - You become morbidly obese.
181 - Your nosehairs grow to be 6 inches long and constantly wiggle. Even trimmed, they regrow at the end of each long rest.
182 - Honestly, you're not sure how you're doing, but you'd love to talk about it.
183 - Whenever you critically miss an attack roll, the attack rebounds and hits you (for the lowest possible damage on the dice if applicable).
184 - A tiny purple worm dwells within your body. It harmlessly erupts from your skin to do things like eat your food, chew holes in your clothing, and scare children.
185 - You have head lice so long as you have the curse. The lice are real, and contagious.
186 - Ants begin to worship you. Each morning you see tiny cults of insects that have brought you gifts, such as crumbs of bread and bits of metal. Behold your almighty power!
187 - Every time someone says your name, you're convinced that they're propositioning you.
188 - A snail begins to chase you from somewhere in Illostere. If it ever manages to touch you, you'll die. You are fully aware of this fact.
189 - The Metacurse. If you ever make a comment that implies that you're metagaming, your gender changes. This effect is permanent. The DM makes the call on if you're metagaming or not.
190 - You are under the permanent effect of Disguise Self, appearing to look like one of your comrades, as determined by the DM.
191 - Whenever you see a rainbow, you are compelled to find the gold at the end of it. This happens every time that it rains.
192 - You believe (loudly, and to anyone who will listen) that you are the incarnation of the god that best suits your alignment and personality.
193 - You have performance anxiety.
194 - You have imposter syndrome.
195 - Every stranger you see looks like they're wearing a Nemo mask.
196 - Every stranger you see looks like Nemo wearing a stranger mask.
197 - Every time you touch a coin, it springs to life (sprouting little arms and legs, as well as eyes and a mouth) and starts singing loudly about having "Money for Nothin" while fleeing from you.
198 - Your bed--whether it be a mattress, bedroll, hammock, or otherwise--has an appetite… FOR YOU! You think your bedding is a mimic trying to eat you. (It's not, but you have trouble being convinced of that or resting).
199 - Pixies, which are normally shy creatures, suddenly find you irresistibly attractive.
200 - A dark metal coin containing one humanoid soul falls into your lap. It whispers in terror and pain at all times. Fiends cherish these coins, and may be willing to trade for them. You are able to immediately benefit from another Fey Curse and the advantage it conveys.
submitted by Enderoth to DnD [link] [comments]
Some of the curses have optional mechanical rules attached because I was asked to rule on them. Your mileage may vary (you’re obviously welcome to leave mechanical effects off altogether at your table). That said, I have a hard time believing the rogue can spot a pressure plate when the floor appears made of molten nacho cheese…
Enjoy! Hope you feel inspired and use some in your campaign or your curse tables.
Dreamfey Curses D100:
1 - All of your teeth fall out, and a tiny hand springs from your gums in each one's place. - If you cast a spell with verbal components, roll a d20. On a 5 or lower, the spell fails and is wasted.
2 - Your hair falls out and begins to rapidly regrow from your ears. - You suffer disadvantage on checks requiring hearing.
3 - You can no longer blink your eyes. - Disadvantage to vision checks.
4 - Your fingers become toes, and your toes become fingers. - Disadvantage on dexterity checks requiring fine motor control.
5 - You lay an egg, and are overwhelmed by the instinct to brood it. - If the egg hatches after 30 days, you gain a familiar. If it dies, you suffer disadvantage on charisma checks due to depression until the curse is removed.
6 - You can only speak in the scat style of song. - You are incomprehensible and cannot cast spells with verbal components.
7 - You laugh uproariously at anything sad or distressing. - Disadvantage on charisma checks in upsetting situations.
8 - You may only ingest things that are yellow. Any other color makes you violently ill. - Food and potions must be carefully considered. Water must be made yellow.
9 - Each time you laugh in real life, your character takes 1d4 damage.
10 - You believe yourself to be a spy working for the enemy, and are very bad at it.
11 - All livestock that see you want to be near you, and do their best to get as close to you as possible.
12 - You crave humanoid bones, and can only be satisfied by eating them.
13 - You cannot turn right. - Disadvantage on dexterity saving throws.
14 - You must loudly shout, "SURPRISE!" when walking through doorways.
15 - You become a pacifist. You can no longer intentionally attempt to deal lethal damage.
16 - Every time you have an even remotely romantic feeling, you become intensely nauseous. - DC 15 CON save or vomit, still look sick on success.
17 - You become intensely magnetic.
18 - You become incredibly beautiful, and must look in any mirror you encounter for at least one minute. - Advantage on seduction-based charisma checks.
19 - Every time you harm someone, even intentionally, you must apologize profusely.
20 - You cannot tell the difference between copper and gold.
21 - You may only speak in questions.
22 - You learn one random useless fact every morning, and can't stop thinking about it until you've told someone. - Automatic failure on concentration checks before disclosing fact.
23 - Your joints pop loudly whenever you move.
24 - Moths are fascinated by you.
25 - Your dreams are visible for others as small illusions above your head.
26 - Whenever anyone doubts you for any reason, you must answer with, "But I know magic!" - Disadvantage on deception checks.
27 - Whenever you hear someone utter a number under 100, you must count up to 100 from that number.
28 - When you walk through a door you forget what you were doing.
29 - Anything you drink takes on the consistency of yogurt. - DC 10 CON save each day to consume drink.
30 - All of your intentional movements are reversed--for example, attempting to move your right hand instead moves your left hand. - You automatically fail all dexterity checks and saves.
31 - You fall hopelessly in love with the next person you see, and actively pursue a long term relationship with them.
32 - You are now unfailingly polite and servile.
33 - You smell strongly of barbeque. - Disadvantage on stealth checks.
34 - You forget how to properly put on your armor, and it has a chance to simply fall off. - When hit by an attack, roll a d20. On a 1, your armor falls off.
35 - Whenever you see someone new who is not hostile, you must introduce yourself and kiss them on both cheeks.
36 - You become terrified of the sun. - Disadvantage on all checks, saves, and attack rolls when in direct sunlight.
37 - You can feel your parasitic twin attempting to assert control over your body at the worst times. - Enemies have advantage on attacks against you.
38 - You have the hiccups. Forever. - Disadvantage on concentration checks.
39 - You must shed your skin like a snake every day. - The time required for your long rest is extended by 2 hours.
40 - If you have a suggestion, you must whisper it conspiratorially to only one person and pretend you said nothing when anyone else asks.
41 - You believe you’re invisible. You're not.
42 - Every day you get bitten by a mosquito in a difficult-to-scratch place. - Disadvantage to charisma checks due to constant itching.
43 - All undead look like beautiful, pleading men and women to you.
44 - Random belongings from nearby people will occasionally fall out of your clothing in front of them.
45 - You think you can talk to animals. None of them seem to like you.
46 - You can only speak in lies, and you love telling lies. - You cannot cast a spell with verbal components.
47 - Whenever you score a critical hit, you must spend your bonus action and movement (if available) doing a victory dance.
48 - You are easily addicted to things. You deny that this is the case. - Automatically fail addiction checks.
49 - Your shadow mocks you.
50 - You feel the constant need to speak in a gravelly voice (like Batman). - Disadvantage on charisma checks.
51 - You cannot abide the sight of the opposite sex, and must avert your eyes in disgust. - You are blind with respect to humanoids of the opposite sex, and suffer disadvantage on attacks against them.
52 - All speech in Common sounds like terrified screaming to you.
53 - You are committed to forming a committed relationship with a troll, and must try to guide the group toward that objective.
54 - Your hair becomes a tangled mass of non-venomous, mostly-harmless snakes. They are not friendly to you.
55 - You believe yourself to be a were-halfling. You are not.
56 - You believe yourself to be an actor, and this campaign is an elaborate play. The audience is invisible and all around you.
57 - Nobody can remember your name, but that doesn't stop them from trying and getting it wrong.
58 - All beasts of CR 1/4 and lower are frightened of you, even your pets and livestock.
59 - You are immune to the effects of potions and poisons.
60 - You compulsively narrate your every action in a whisper.
61 - You compulsively sing, whistle, or hum a theme song that changes from situation to situation.
62 - You must now speak in the style of Randy "Macho Man" Savage.
63 - Every time you hear the word "magic," you react as if struck by the Vicious Mockery cantrip at lowest level.
64 - You become breathtakingly ugly (doesn't impact CHA). Every mirror you pass shatters loudly.
65 - You glow in the dark (dim light, 10 ft radius). You make up a different reason why whenever you’re asked.
66 - If viewed by someone using True Sight, you appear to be a mindflayer to them.
67 - You cannot eat food. Instead, each day, you must make someone cry in order to remain sated.
68 - Lightning is attracted to you, but it's shy.
69 - When crafting something, roll a d20. On a 10 or lower, you accidentally drop the item over and over when attempting to craft it.
70 - The slightest amount of intoxicant of any kind has its full effect on you (such as a thimble of beer causing drunkenness).
71 - You believe yourself to be visibly pregnant. Anyone that you complain about this to must say "Congratulations!"
72 - Your blood turns into coins as it leaves your body. Each hitpoint lost results in one silver coin falling from the wound.
73 - You must spend your first turn of combat in earnest attempting to have a dance-off against your enemy.
74 - You grow a set of vestigial gills. They are not functional. You believe they ARE functional.
75 - Your main weapon, whatever it is, begins to speak with you. It criticizes your form each time you miss an attack.
76 - You must speak like a black-hat cowboy. - Advantage to intimidation checks.
77 - All birdsong stops within 1 mile of you. Birds watch you constantly.
78 - Your sense of touch is extremely sensitive. - Advantage to sleight of hand, disadvantage to concentration checks when taking damage.
79 - You must attempt to make innuendos, or insinuate them where they do not exist. - Disadvantage to persuasion checks against decent people.
80 - A talkative flea lives in your nose. Only you can hear it.
81 - You become blurred, even to your own perception. You don't know which of the blurred images is you. - Enemies have disadvantage to attack you, you have disadvantage on dexterity saving throws and checks.
82 - You fart at inappropriate times. Whenever you are sneaking, you must roll an occasional d20 to hold the fart in. - The DC to hold this fart in is a CON save, and begins at 10, increasing by 1 each round until released.
83 - You are overwhelmed by kleptomania. You must attempt to steal something from your companions regularly.
84 - One of your companions slowly begins to find you irresistibly attractive.
85 - You grow a long, wizardly beard. Even if you shave it, it grows back within an hour.
86 - Your eyes and mouth change positions (mouths where your eyes were, an eye where your mouth was).
87 - You think if you just think a happy enough thought, you can fly. On a natural 20, you can (for one turn)!
88 - You have a crippling phobia of magic. This includes the Remove Curse spell that would cure you of this phobia.
89 - Male spiders everywhere begin trying to attract you as a mate. It's cute sometimes.
90 - You have to take ever-increasing risks to satisfy your escalating need for a thrill.
91 - You grow an extremely talkative mole on your nose. You should get that looked at. Hey, who you lookin' at?!
92 - You are compelled to challenge the occasional passerby to duels. This happens at random.
93 - You believe yourself to be actual royalty. Kneel, peasants!
94 - You cannot tell the difference between individual humanoids except temporarily, by taste.
95 - A tiny stormcloud floats two feet above you and drizzles on you constantly. Oddly, it's kind of soothing at night as long as you can block the rain.
96 - You have t-rex vision. You can only detect your enemies if they’ve moved that round or the round before. You also have advantage on attacks against lawyers.
97 - You believe you have the ability to see the future. It all seems so clear… (you don't, and it isn't).
98 - You develop the annoying habit of discussing a specific bit of cuisine any time there is a lull in conversation.
99 - You see your death in the future. All of your deaths. You are frightened of all enemies in combat until making a successful DC20 wisdom saving throw at the end of your turn, at which point you are immune to this effect for one hour.
100 - A contract falls into your lap. It promises one Wish in exchange for a child to be delivered to The Pale, courtesy of the Conclave of the Moon. There are numerous stipulations written in every conceivable language, but it seems pretty straightforward. You may immediately benefit from another Fey Curse and the advantage it conveys.
101 - Your nipples detach and begin to crawl all over your body like caterpillars. They can't be plucked off.
102 - You are terrified of the color blue.
103 - Your head turns into a donkey's head. You're capable of speech.
104 - A colony of gregarious spiders takes up residence on your face, imitating a beard. You can shake them loose whenever you like, but the colony always reappears on your face within half an hour, regardless of how many you kill or displace.
105 - Every time someone makes a joke, pun, or innuendo that you can hear, you suffer the effects of Tasha's Hideous Laughter. (DC15 to save afterward)
106 - Dandelions sprout wherever you walk as long as it's on dirt or grass.
107 - Your skin turns a violent shade of luminescent pink.
108 - You hear the song "Banana Phone" playing over and over in your mind.
109 - You always feel a bit too cold.
110 - Whenever you tell a lie, you fart loudly. - Automatically fail deception checks that involve a lie.
111 - You have drawn the attention of a miniature Genie who grants you whatever you wish for. While he generally means well, he plays a bit too loose with the creative license. Also, he gets angry if you try to stifle his creative freedom and make specific wishes (such as attempting to replicate a spell effect or a guaranteed standard outcome). He loves to try and grant wishes whenever you say, "I wish…" as well.
112 - Drinking alcohol makes you feel like you're invincible.
113 - You must now eat and digest food "in reverse." You know what I mean.
114 - You moan loudly whenever you make physical contact with another creature.
115 - Your eyes glow in the dark, and their color reflects your mood (red for anger, blue for calm, green for fear, pink for love, etc.).
116 - Large, onomatopoeic words appear and float in the air whenever you do something that makes a noise, and last a few seconds.
117 - You must end everything you say with, "Myah, see? Myah!"
118 - You must speak in pig latin.
119 - If you spend a turn yelling loudly and flexing without moving or taking any actions, bonus actions, or reactions, you may make an extra attack on the next turn with advantage. You glow brightly the entire time you're yelling in this situation.
120 - You become exceptionally greedy.
121 - If you take damage, you must use your item interaction to make sure your hair is okay on the following turn.
122 - You prefer the romantic company of bears instead of other humanoids.
123 - You have tinnitus.
124 - You absolutely REFUSE to step on cracks of any kind (mechanically, you must move only using the arrow keys).
125 - Whenever you look at someone for more than three seconds, their face appears to start melting (this is a hallucination).
126 - Any time you say a word without pronouncing the "silent" letters in it, you bite your tongue. It hurts a lot, and draws blood, which most people have no problem seeing.
127 - You speak in haiku.
128 - You can't see clothing or armor anymore. This includes your own. - Double the amount of time required to don armor.
129 - Whenever you accidentally harm an ally with an errant shot or area of effect ability or spell, you feel the power of Ryfe flow through you--you gain temporary HP equal to the damage you inflicted on your friends. This temporary HP stacks.
130 - Your thoughts are literally written on your face. In Dwarvish.
131 - Failing an ability check makes you pee, just a little.
132 - You can't see race (or gender) when looking at humanoids. Everyone looks like a white cismale human.
133 - You tip at least 50% whenever you spend money on something. If you can't afford to tip, you can't afford to buy!
134 - You think anyone shorter than you is a literal child.
135 - You develop male pattern baldness--full on horseshoe style.
136 - A brownie starts following you and cleaning up after you. If you fail to thank it each day by leaving it a present, it will sabotage you somehow.
137 - Any reptile or amphibian you see you think MUST be a cursed prince. One little kiss could break that curse…
138 - You develop a severe stutter. - Disadvantage on spellcasting ability checks.
139 - You must now regularly whisper, "I like you," in the ears of your companions, especially when they're sleeping and you're not.
140 - Whenever you're talking to someone, you must try to touch them at the same time, preferably their face.
141 - Whenever you see a beggar, you give them at least 5% of the money you have.
142 - Your sense of spice is reversed. Plain white bread is the spiciest thing in the world, and only exotic peppers taste bland to you. Water tastes like hot sauce.
143 - Any time you hear the word, "loot," you have an earthshaking orgasm.
144 - You are terrified of healing. Much like a child afraid of getting shots, you flee from people trying to heal you.
145 - If you swear, a silver coin falls out of your pocket (if you have any).
146 - You have a slow nosebleed. It never stops, except when you're looking straight upward or sleeping.
147 - You see dolls following you. They always seem to disappear around corners or behind objects and vanish right after you notice them.
148 - Reading gives you a vicious headache.
149 - Whenever nobody else is around to see, doors close and lock you in whatever room you're in (if it has doors that lock).
150 - Your bellybutton turns into a little mouth that screams out cheerleading slogans and hype for you at random moments.
151 - Your hands ooze delicious butter substitute. On attacks of natural 1, you fumble your weapon.
152 - Your mouth is permanently dry. Make with the lip-smacking sounds!
153 - Your character must loudly sing a "poop song" whenever you go to the bathroom in real life.
154 - Whenever someone says your name, you have a sneezing fit.
155 - You remain oblivious to clues obtained through sight or sound, and must roll investigation checks using your sense of taste instead. You don't suffer any particular disadvantage for this--enjoy synesthesia!
156 - When you're in crowds or moving through city streets or the like, random and hurtful insults are hurled at you from people you can't see.
157 - There's always a piece of broccoli stuck in your teeth. You can feel it, though you can never quite liberate it from your teeth. Everyone can see it, but you can never spot it in the mirror.
158 - Everything you put in your backpack or bag of holding gets covered in glitter. This doesn't make shopkeeps happy.
159 - If you are feminine, you grow a third breast. If you are masculine, you grow a third butt cheek.
160 - You always suggest peace as the first option to resolve any conflict. Even conflicts you start. This means if you start a fight, you must spend at least 1 action suggesting you all stop and think about just talking it out.
161 - Your finger and toenails grow at a rate of one inch per hour, and your teeth are the only thing that can cut them (or so you believe).
162 - Your feelings are delicate--you're easily offended and prone to loud bouts of crying.
163 - You are colorblind.
164 - Your clothes flutter heroically in a breeze that nobody else can feel or detect. The breeze smells strongly of hot garbage.
165 - You think about 50% of pockets are mimics.
166 - Your ears are now inside your mouth. You are deafened unless your mouth is open.
167 - Your eyebrows are always meaningfully arched.
168 - Your cheeks hang low and flap like a bloodhound's jowls.
169 - You continually emit a loud, high-pitched noise that only children under age 18 can hear.
170 - Any time you are immersed in darkness, you hear childlike laughter around you.
171 - You never wake up where you went to sleep.
172 - You think you're one of the other members of your party, selected by the GM.
173 - Every piece of food you touch turns into peppermint candy.
174 - You don't believe in the fey so hard that you literally cannot perceive them. Any effect caused by a Fey creature you rationalize to protect your disbelief.
175 - You believe you can speak with plants. They flatter you and tell you secrets (which may or may not be true).
176 - Any time you handle paper or books you get a papercut.
177 - The floor looks like molten cheese to you.
178 - You believe your imaginary friend has become real. He is not happy that you've been neglecting him all these years.
179 - You become painfully skinny.
180 - You become morbidly obese.
181 - Your nosehairs grow to be 6 inches long and constantly wiggle. Even trimmed, they regrow at the end of each long rest.
182 - Honestly, you're not sure how you're doing, but you'd love to talk about it.
183 - Whenever you critically miss an attack roll, the attack rebounds and hits you (for the lowest possible damage on the dice if applicable).
184 - A tiny purple worm dwells within your body. It harmlessly erupts from your skin to do things like eat your food, chew holes in your clothing, and scare children.
185 - You have head lice so long as you have the curse. The lice are real, and contagious.
186 - Ants begin to worship you. Each morning you see tiny cults of insects that have brought you gifts, such as crumbs of bread and bits of metal. Behold your almighty power!
187 - Every time someone says your name, you're convinced that they're propositioning you.
188 - A snail begins to chase you from somewhere in Illostere. If it ever manages to touch you, you'll die. You are fully aware of this fact.
189 - The Metacurse. If you ever make a comment that implies that you're metagaming, your gender changes. This effect is permanent. The DM makes the call on if you're metagaming or not.
190 - You are under the permanent effect of Disguise Self, appearing to look like one of your comrades, as determined by the DM.
191 - Whenever you see a rainbow, you are compelled to find the gold at the end of it. This happens every time that it rains.
192 - You believe (loudly, and to anyone who will listen) that you are the incarnation of the god that best suits your alignment and personality.
193 - You have performance anxiety.
194 - You have imposter syndrome.
195 - Every stranger you see looks like they're wearing a Nemo mask.
196 - Every stranger you see looks like Nemo wearing a stranger mask.
197 - Every time you touch a coin, it springs to life (sprouting little arms and legs, as well as eyes and a mouth) and starts singing loudly about having "Money for Nothin" while fleeing from you.
198 - Your bed--whether it be a mattress, bedroll, hammock, or otherwise--has an appetite… FOR YOU! You think your bedding is a mimic trying to eat you. (It's not, but you have trouble being convinced of that or resting).
199 - Pixies, which are normally shy creatures, suddenly find you irresistibly attractive.
200 - A dark metal coin containing one humanoid soul falls into your lap. It whispers in terror and pain at all times. Fiends cherish these coins, and may be willing to trade for them. You are able to immediately benefit from another Fey Curse and the advantage it conveys.
2024.05.05 23:23 A_Vespertine Bad Habits
“The Darling Twins? Honestly, haven’t we all had enough of them by now?” Seneca ruminated as he tried to placate what was now the de facto triumvirate of the Ophion Occult Order.
Once again, he had been summoned to Adderwood Manor to account for his lapses in judgement, but rather than being on full public display in the Grand Hall, he instead found himself in a relatively small parlour. Across from the coffee table in front of him sat Ivy Noir, with her sister Envy to her right and her husband Erich to her left. Standing just to the side of them was the trenchcoat and fedora-wearing automaton who called himself The Mandrake. The one-eyed dream-catcher carved into his iridescent face rendered his emotions unreadable, but the spellwork pistols holstered in his belt made it clear that he was prepared to defend his employers against anything.
“I mean, this feud between them and Emrys is laughable,” Seneca went on. “They’re no threat to him now that he’s free of his chains, surely? Before there may have been a tactical element to his obsession with them, but now it’s just plain petty. Petra’s just out for revenge, and don’t get me started on the absurdity of that eldritch realtor wanting to flip their playroom. Does he think he can just relabel their torture chambers as BDSM dungeons and pass the Black Bile infestation off as some mould?”
“Seneca, I promised Emrys the Darlings, and the Covenant that we all signed binds us to fulfill that promise,” Ivy reminded him patiently, dropping a cube of sugar into her ouroboros-themed antique teacup. “You knew the Darlings better than any of us. You inducted them into the Order, you used them as assassins and bodyguards, and you let them withdraw every penny they had in your bank when they were fugitives!”
“Well, first of all, Crow, Crowley & Chamberlain is a financial institution, not a bank,” Seneca said flippantly. “Secondly, they had a numbered account and they didn’t show up in person, so the teller didn’t have the slightest idea of who they were dealing with.”
“You still could have frozen the account before they had that opportunity,” Erich stated.
Seneca made a display of languidly stirring some cream into his tea and taking a slow sip before responding.
“I’m very busy,” he claimed without an ounce of sincerity.
“You just didn’t want to get on the Darlings’ bad side,” Ivy said.
“I wasn’t aware they had a good side,” Seneca shrugged.
“There must be a paper trail we can follow,” Envy insisted. “Did the Darlings keep their assets anywhere else besides your bank?”
“Financial institution, and yes, I’m sure they have a proverbial Swiss bank account, but I haven’t the slightest notion of where to find it,” Seneca claimed. “It has come up in conversation that James invested about twenty percent of his income with me, twenty percent elsewhere, and shoved another twenty percent under their mattress. Mary enjoys being shagged on top of money, apparently. Their services commanded quite a high price on the underworld market, and sixty-plus years of compound interest have made them incredibly wealthy. They can afford to lie low for a long while.”
“Even if they can go without a paycheck indefinitely, they can’t go without killing,” Erich countered. “They need to hunt, and their egos mean they aren’t just going to cower from Emrys inside their playroom. They’re going to be out looking for victims and plotting against us, and you know what spots they’re likely to hit.”
“You’re wasting your time. James has had decades to scout out hunting grounds, and I’m sure he prepared for the possibility – no, inevitability – that he and his sister would become our enemies. He’s not going to risk showing up within a hundred miles of any of our Chapterhouses if he doesn’t need to,” Seneca said dismissively.
Ivy opened her mouth to speak, but stopped when The Mandrake took a step forward for the first time since the meeting began. He reached into his pocket and tossed a red and white pack of cigarettes with a shiny silhouette of a stag onto the coffee table.
“What is this?” Erich asked.
“Satin Stag cigarettes,” The Mandrake said flatly before shifting his gaze to Seneca. “That’s the Darlings’ brand, isn’t it, Mr. Chamberlain?”
“Um, yes. I believe I’ve seen them smoke those once or twice. What of it?” Seneca asked, failing to hide the nervousness creeping into his voice.
“These are artisanal cigarettes, and Harrowick County’s the only place you can buy them,” The Mandrake said. “That means that the Darlings, either directly or indirectly, are going to have to make the occasional sojourn back home, and the limited supply of these hand-rolled coffin nails means they can’t stock up too far in advance either. You know Harrowick County better than any of us. You know who makes these, you know who sells them. That’s how we track down the Darlings.”
“That’s preposterous. Do you really think they’d risk coming to Harrowick County rather than just switch brands?” Seneca scoffed.
“The Very Important Person at Pascal’s told me that Mary said they’ve been smoking these since they were kids, so they’re clearly pretty attached to them,” The Mandrake replied. “And somehow, I don’t think they’re the type to ever give up a bad habit.”
***
“Smoke & Mirrors ~ Fine Tobacco Products. Silvano Santoro, Proprietor. Est. 1949,” Envy read aloud as she, Seneca and The Mandrake stood outside the small, heavily fortified brick building.
Cast iron bars crisscrossed the windows and front door, which looked like it stood a decent chance of withstanding a police swat team. Security was obviously the shop’s proprietor’s key concern, as the ugly brown and yellow awning was tattered and faded, and the paint on the sign was so chipped it was barely even legible.
“How exactly does an unnoticeable and unattractive hole in the wall like this stay in business?” Envy asked.
“Repeat customers,” Seneca replied as he took a confident step towards the door. “Silvano knows me, and he doesn’t normally have a problem with me bringing guests along, but I expect both of you to be on your best behaviour!”
Envy gave him a reassuring nod, but The Mandrake continued to stoically stare at nothing with his hands in his pockets. Rolling his eyes, Seneca pressed a bulky plastic button on the antiquated door buzzer.
“Yeah, who is it?” a harsh and smoke-damaged voice demanded.
“It’s Seneca, Silvano. A pleasure to make your acquaintance again as well!” Seneca answered. “Just looking to pick up a few cases of cigars for a party, if you’ve got anything decent in stock, of course.”
“Who’s that you got with you?” Silvano asked suspiciously.
“Envy Noir, sir. I’m here on behalf of my sister Ivy, investigating a matter of considerable importance to the Ophion Occult Order,” Envy promptly introduced herself, much to Seneca’s chagrin. “The gentleman beside me is my bodyguard. Would you be so kind as to let us in?”
“Ah… of course. Just a moment, please,” Silvano replied.
“What’s he need a moment to buzz open a door for?” The Mandrake demanded, his stance immediately switching to full readiness.
“Making the place presentable for customers, I assume,” Seneca explained in exasperation.
“You mean he’s hiding evidence, or he’s running!” The Mandrake shouted.
“He’s a nonagenarian heavy smoker. He couldn’t run if his life depended on it,” Seneca insisted.
“I’ll see about that,” The Mandrake muttered.
Shoving Seneca out of the way, he kicked the door in with barely any effort. Storming into the shop, he saw a slender older man with thick white hair and rimmed glasses seated behind the front counter. His saggy, spotted skin was a living PSA against the products he peddled, and in his tobacco-stained hand, he held the receiver of an ornate rotary phone.
Staring at The Mandrake in cold fury, he calmly set the receiver back down in its cradle.
“Who were you talking to?” The Mandrake demanded.
“A client,” Silvano barked back with a shake of his head, picking up a burning cigarette from a nearby ashtray.
“Silvano, I am profusely sorry for this abject and uncouth behaviour! This being is no friend of mine, I can assure you,” Seneca asserted as he and Envy made their way inside.
“The feeling’s mutual, Chamberlain,” The Mandrake remarked. “Mr. Santoro, I apologize for the damage to the premises, but as Miss Noir has said, we’re here on urgent business.”
“Yes, that’s correct. We’ve been given to understand the Darling Twins are regular customers of yours,” Envy explained, before the smoke-saturated room sent her into a coughing spell. She fumbled around in her purse and pulled out a black N95 mask she had left over from the Pandemic.
“I’ve got plenty of regular customers,” Silvan replied defensively. “Customers who pay good money for that smoke you’re so offended by, young lady.”
“These ones have been coming here for over half a century and never aged a day,” The Mandrake said.
“That honestly doesn’t narrow it down that much,” Silvano chuckled, tapping his cigarette on his ashtray. “But yeah, I know the Darlings. What of it?”
“When was the last time they were here?” The Mandrake demanded.
“What’s it to you?” Silvano asked.
“They’re fugitives of the Order now and we want them brought in,” Envy replied, having donned her mask and mostly recovered from the smoke. “Mary Darling held a knife to my throat once in front of my sister, and later threatened to eat me alive in front of her and feed me to her pigs.”
“They were going to put me in their daughter’s doll collection,” The Mandrake muttered.
“And I have nothing but nice things to say about the Darlings, so I’m honestly not quite sure how I got dragged into this,” Seneca said. “That aside, it really would be of great help to us if you could share any information about them that you might have.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. They come in, they buy their smokes, they leave, just like most of my customers,” Silvano told them.
“But now they’re trying to lay low, so I’m guessing they’ve made some sort of arrangement with you to get their Satin Stag cigarettes without having to risk coming here in person,” The Mandrake said. “Maybe they set you up with one of their spare Retrovisions? Emrys said they had a few of those lying around, and they can use them as direct portals to their playroom.”
“Like they’d waste a fancy piece of technomancy like that on an old geezer like me. I haven’t seen them in months. Last year sometime, I think,” Silvano claimed.
The Mandrake casually strolled up to the front counter, rapping his fingers on the cheap glass display case.
“Real nice place you got here, Mr. Santoro. I mean, not really, but I’m sure you get the implication,” he said softly. “Ironic as it may be, a smoke shop isn’t exempt from municipal bylaws about smoking in public buildings and workspaces. You may not have had much trouble with local law enforcement before, but one phone call from my employers will change that real quick.”
“You think I’ve never been threatened before, punk?” Silvano asked, rising from his chair and staring him down.
“Boys, please, there’s no need for this,” Envy interjected. “Mr. Santoro, our Order has considerably more resources at its disposal than the Darlings, and we can certainly offer you a far greater reward for their capture than whatever they’re paying you for some cigarettes. You could retire; close this place down and get as far away as you like. How does that sound?”
“I’m not looking to retire, Miss. This business is all I’ve got, and it wouldn’t be good business to go around ratting out my best customers, now would it?” Silvano asked.
“It would be worse business to sacrifice everything you have to protect two customers,” The Mandrake threatened, his hands clamping down on the display cases so hard they began to creak. “Talk.”
Acknowledging him only with a furtive glance, Silvano took another drag from his cigarette and exhaled.
But this time, the smoke poured out from his mouth and nostrils without limit.
“What the hell?” The Mandrake cursed as he backed away.
Silvano pushed a button beneath the counter, putting his shop into lockdown with security shutters clamping down over every entrance point. As the smoke exuded from his body, it went limp and collapsed into a dried-out husk as the smoke coalesced into an animate form of its own, circling above them around the shop’s yellowed and textured ceiling.
“Damnit. Another egregore,” Envy muttered. “That explains his loyalties. The Darlings couldn’t eat him, but Emrys could.”
“So you’re saying we can’t negotiate it with it?” The Mandrake asked.
“Or fight it,” Envy clarified.
“In that case, it appears we’ve exhausted all our options. Time for a tactical retreat,” Seneca declared as he dashed for the now barricaded exit.
Whatever he was planning to do to get through it, the cloud of smoke cut him off before he got the chance. Rushing in through his nose and mouth, it immediately began suffocating him, sending him spasming to the ground as he choked for air.
The cloud assaulted Envy as well, but was unable to penetrate her mask.
“Godamnit, get away!” she shouted as she swatted it away from her burning eyes.
“Envy, get behind me now!” The Mandrake ordered as he drew out his pistols. “Sorry, Santoro, but you’re going to have to do a lot worse than that if you want to intimidate us!”
Seneca responded by gasping angrily and bashing his hand against the carpet.
“… A lot worse,” The Mandrake reiterated. “I may not be able to shoot you, but I will blow this health hazard you love so much to hell if you don’t tell me where I can find the Darlings!”
“There’ll be no need for that, Mr. Mandrake,” the voice of James Darling crackled in from some unseen speaker. A door off to the side slowly creaked open, revealing a Retrovision flickering with black and white static. The Mandrake wasted no time in shooting at it, but the bullets passed through the glass without causing any damage at all.
A hologram of James Darling manifested in the center of the room, a burning Satin Stag cigarette clutched neatly in his fingers. He saw Seneca suffocating on the floor, then turned his predatory and calculating gaze towards The Mandrake.
“Put the guns on the floor, and I’ll call Silvano off,” he offered.
The Mandrake didn’t seem to be the least bit tempted by this offer, but Envy tugged at his trenchcoat and gave him a commanding nudge. Reluctantly, The Mandrake tossed the guns to the carpet and placed his hands behind his head.
With only a single commanding wag of his index finger, the smoke cloud withdrew from Seneca’s lungs and collected itself above James like a thundercloud.
“No sense in killing you, Seneca. That would practically be doing Emrys a favour,” James said. “But Envy, what’s a pretty girl like you doing wearing a mask?”
“You’d better not let your sister hear you calling me that,” Envy taunted.
“Kind of you to worry, but it’s always the object of my flirtations who bear the brunt of my sister’s wrath,” James reminded her smugly. “Top-notch detective work tracking me down, Mr. Mandrake. Why don’t you walk in through the Retrovision and arrest me?”
“You knew we’d show up here looking for you. You were waiting for us,” The Mandrake growled.
“Again, brilliant detective work. You’ve truly earned that fedora,” James mocked him. “Yes, I knew you’d come here looking for us, so I’ve arranged for Mr. Santoro to set up shop inside our playroom. He was only hanging around here to set a trap for you. Let me tell you what’s going to happen. None of you, not even you, Mr. Mandrake, are going to be able to break out of this building. You can sit there and starve for all I care, or Miss Noir and The Mandrake could take their chances with us on the other side of the Retrovision. Sara Darling really would like to put you in her doll collection, Mr. Mandrake, and I can’t wait to tell Mary Darling exactly how pretty I think you are, Envy. If the two of you come across, I’ll let Seneca go and he can inform Erich and Ivy of your predicament. If they’d like to negotiate for your release, I… may be willing to consider it.”
“You’re a coward! If you’re going to threaten me, step across that screen and do it to my face!” the Mandrake ordered.
He took his hands off his head and took a step towards him, only for the acrid form of Silvano to interject itself between them. James took a casual drag from his cigarette, refusing even to flinch.
Envy took advantage of the distraction and grabbed the pair of spellwork pistols off of the floor, firing two rounds of consecrated lead into the limp body of Silvano. While the body didn’t react at all, the smoke cloud shook and screeched like a wounded animal, losing some of its integrity and dissipating across the room.
“That body’s not just a husk! Silvano’s bound to it!” Envy declared. “James, if you don’t let us go in the next thirty seconds I’ll have The Mandrake tear that body limb from limb and you’ll have to find some other cursed thoughtform to roll your cigarettes for you.”
The Mandrake looked back towards James who now, much to his satisfaction, had flinched.
“Thirty. Twenty-Nine. Twenty-Eight,” he began to count down as he theatrically cracked his knuckles.
Before James could come to a decision, a few wisps of smoke snaked their way back into Silvano’s body. They were enough to animate it like a marionette, its limbs moving jerkily as it input the code to retract the security shutters over the doors and windows.
“There, happy?” James asked facetiously. “You’re free to leave. Put those guns down.”
With a smug smile, Envy shook her head.
“Mandrake, grab that body. We’re taking him with us,” she announced.
When Silvano tried to slam the lockdown button again, Envy shot him, knocking him back into his seat. Before he was able to try a second time, The Mandrake had closed the distance between them. He grabbed him by the waist and slung him over his shoulder, impotently kicking and flailing like a toddler having a tantrum all the while.
“No!” James growled, his hologram disappearing and being replaced by countless others scattered throughout the room.
“What the hell?” Envy demanded as she fell back beside The Mandrake for protection.
“It’s a distraction! Shoot at the Retrovision! He’s coming through to get Silvano!” The Mandrake shouted.
Envy complied, firing multiple rounds at every image of James between them and the Retrovision, but all of them sailed clear through their targets. The smoke cloud suddenly condensed tightly around them, and The Mandrake made a break for the front door while he had the chance.
He was tackled from the side by someone moving at over fifty kilometers an hour, knocking him down and halfway across the room. When he looked up, he was completely surrounded by silhouettes of James bending down in the smoke to pick up Silvano. Jumping to his feet, he made his way back towards the Retrovision in the hopes of cutting James off.
Or at least, he thought that’s where he was going. The tumble to the floor and the encircling smoke had disoriented him, and he ended up tripping over Seneca, who was once again unable to stand from the sickening smoke.
James brushed by them in a blur, and Envy fired every last bullet trying to put him down. Each one either missed or succeeded only in striking Silvano, who was slung over James’ back.
The smoke retreated with them, and The Mandrake dashed after them in one final bid to keep them from escaping. They were just feet away from him before they leapt through the Retrovision, vanishing into the basement universe of the Darlings’ playroom. The Mandrake dared to reach in after them and pull them back, but his hand hit nothing but solid glass.
“Damnit!” he cursed, striking the top of the box set with his fist.
“Don’t break it!” Envy shouted. “If that Retrovision came from the Darlings’ playroom and was modified by James, it could be useful in tracking them down again!”
“It also gives them a two-way ticket to wherever we keep it!” The Mandrake shouted back.
“Oh yes, it would be a gamble taking this old girl with you. No doubt about that,” the black and white visage of James mocked them from the other side of the screen, taking a victory drag from his cigarette. “But on the other hand, it is one of my finer works. It would be a crime, an atrocity even, to destroy it.”
The Mandrake struck the box set again, but deliberately held back on damaging it.
“Mandrake, enough!” Envy commanded. “I know it’s risky, but we need it. Turn it off and pick it up. We’re getting out of this hellhole.”
“Don’t feel bad, Mr. Mandrake. I’m sure you’ll have another chance to end up in Sara Darling’s doll collection very soon,” James taunted just before The Mandrake managed to turn the Retrovision off.
“What an absolute waste of time,” he muttered as he lifted the vintage box set off the floor.
“Not entirely!” Seneca claimed, who had not only recovered from his spectral smoke inhalation but was now holding an unlit cigar. “Crow, Crowley & Chamberlain has a lien on this shop, and since Silvano just ran out on us and has thrown his lot in with the Darlings, this place and everything left in it is ours!”
He was just about to light it before Envy snatched it out of his hands.
“The Mandrake wasn’t bluffing about the municipal health bylaws,” she informed him. “From now on, this is a smoke-free building.”
submitted by A_Vespertine to DarkTales [link] [comments]
Once again, he had been summoned to Adderwood Manor to account for his lapses in judgement, but rather than being on full public display in the Grand Hall, he instead found himself in a relatively small parlour. Across from the coffee table in front of him sat Ivy Noir, with her sister Envy to her right and her husband Erich to her left. Standing just to the side of them was the trenchcoat and fedora-wearing automaton who called himself The Mandrake. The one-eyed dream-catcher carved into his iridescent face rendered his emotions unreadable, but the spellwork pistols holstered in his belt made it clear that he was prepared to defend his employers against anything.
“I mean, this feud between them and Emrys is laughable,” Seneca went on. “They’re no threat to him now that he’s free of his chains, surely? Before there may have been a tactical element to his obsession with them, but now it’s just plain petty. Petra’s just out for revenge, and don’t get me started on the absurdity of that eldritch realtor wanting to flip their playroom. Does he think he can just relabel their torture chambers as BDSM dungeons and pass the Black Bile infestation off as some mould?”
“Seneca, I promised Emrys the Darlings, and the Covenant that we all signed binds us to fulfill that promise,” Ivy reminded him patiently, dropping a cube of sugar into her ouroboros-themed antique teacup. “You knew the Darlings better than any of us. You inducted them into the Order, you used them as assassins and bodyguards, and you let them withdraw every penny they had in your bank when they were fugitives!”
“Well, first of all, Crow, Crowley & Chamberlain is a financial institution, not a bank,” Seneca said flippantly. “Secondly, they had a numbered account and they didn’t show up in person, so the teller didn’t have the slightest idea of who they were dealing with.”
“You still could have frozen the account before they had that opportunity,” Erich stated.
Seneca made a display of languidly stirring some cream into his tea and taking a slow sip before responding.
“I’m very busy,” he claimed without an ounce of sincerity.
“You just didn’t want to get on the Darlings’ bad side,” Ivy said.
“I wasn’t aware they had a good side,” Seneca shrugged.
“There must be a paper trail we can follow,” Envy insisted. “Did the Darlings keep their assets anywhere else besides your bank?”
“Financial institution, and yes, I’m sure they have a proverbial Swiss bank account, but I haven’t the slightest notion of where to find it,” Seneca claimed. “It has come up in conversation that James invested about twenty percent of his income with me, twenty percent elsewhere, and shoved another twenty percent under their mattress. Mary enjoys being shagged on top of money, apparently. Their services commanded quite a high price on the underworld market, and sixty-plus years of compound interest have made them incredibly wealthy. They can afford to lie low for a long while.”
“Even if they can go without a paycheck indefinitely, they can’t go without killing,” Erich countered. “They need to hunt, and their egos mean they aren’t just going to cower from Emrys inside their playroom. They’re going to be out looking for victims and plotting against us, and you know what spots they’re likely to hit.”
“You’re wasting your time. James has had decades to scout out hunting grounds, and I’m sure he prepared for the possibility – no, inevitability – that he and his sister would become our enemies. He’s not going to risk showing up within a hundred miles of any of our Chapterhouses if he doesn’t need to,” Seneca said dismissively.
Ivy opened her mouth to speak, but stopped when The Mandrake took a step forward for the first time since the meeting began. He reached into his pocket and tossed a red and white pack of cigarettes with a shiny silhouette of a stag onto the coffee table.
“What is this?” Erich asked.
“Satin Stag cigarettes,” The Mandrake said flatly before shifting his gaze to Seneca. “That’s the Darlings’ brand, isn’t it, Mr. Chamberlain?”
“Um, yes. I believe I’ve seen them smoke those once or twice. What of it?” Seneca asked, failing to hide the nervousness creeping into his voice.
“These are artisanal cigarettes, and Harrowick County’s the only place you can buy them,” The Mandrake said. “That means that the Darlings, either directly or indirectly, are going to have to make the occasional sojourn back home, and the limited supply of these hand-rolled coffin nails means they can’t stock up too far in advance either. You know Harrowick County better than any of us. You know who makes these, you know who sells them. That’s how we track down the Darlings.”
“That’s preposterous. Do you really think they’d risk coming to Harrowick County rather than just switch brands?” Seneca scoffed.
“The Very Important Person at Pascal’s told me that Mary said they’ve been smoking these since they were kids, so they’re clearly pretty attached to them,” The Mandrake replied. “And somehow, I don’t think they’re the type to ever give up a bad habit.”
***
“Smoke & Mirrors ~ Fine Tobacco Products. Silvano Santoro, Proprietor. Est. 1949,” Envy read aloud as she, Seneca and The Mandrake stood outside the small, heavily fortified brick building.
Cast iron bars crisscrossed the windows and front door, which looked like it stood a decent chance of withstanding a police swat team. Security was obviously the shop’s proprietor’s key concern, as the ugly brown and yellow awning was tattered and faded, and the paint on the sign was so chipped it was barely even legible.
“How exactly does an unnoticeable and unattractive hole in the wall like this stay in business?” Envy asked.
“Repeat customers,” Seneca replied as he took a confident step towards the door. “Silvano knows me, and he doesn’t normally have a problem with me bringing guests along, but I expect both of you to be on your best behaviour!”
Envy gave him a reassuring nod, but The Mandrake continued to stoically stare at nothing with his hands in his pockets. Rolling his eyes, Seneca pressed a bulky plastic button on the antiquated door buzzer.
“Yeah, who is it?” a harsh and smoke-damaged voice demanded.
“It’s Seneca, Silvano. A pleasure to make your acquaintance again as well!” Seneca answered. “Just looking to pick up a few cases of cigars for a party, if you’ve got anything decent in stock, of course.”
“Who’s that you got with you?” Silvano asked suspiciously.
“Envy Noir, sir. I’m here on behalf of my sister Ivy, investigating a matter of considerable importance to the Ophion Occult Order,” Envy promptly introduced herself, much to Seneca’s chagrin. “The gentleman beside me is my bodyguard. Would you be so kind as to let us in?”
“Ah… of course. Just a moment, please,” Silvano replied.
“What’s he need a moment to buzz open a door for?” The Mandrake demanded, his stance immediately switching to full readiness.
“Making the place presentable for customers, I assume,” Seneca explained in exasperation.
“You mean he’s hiding evidence, or he’s running!” The Mandrake shouted.
“He’s a nonagenarian heavy smoker. He couldn’t run if his life depended on it,” Seneca insisted.
“I’ll see about that,” The Mandrake muttered.
Shoving Seneca out of the way, he kicked the door in with barely any effort. Storming into the shop, he saw a slender older man with thick white hair and rimmed glasses seated behind the front counter. His saggy, spotted skin was a living PSA against the products he peddled, and in his tobacco-stained hand, he held the receiver of an ornate rotary phone.
Staring at The Mandrake in cold fury, he calmly set the receiver back down in its cradle.
“Who were you talking to?” The Mandrake demanded.
“A client,” Silvano barked back with a shake of his head, picking up a burning cigarette from a nearby ashtray.
“Silvano, I am profusely sorry for this abject and uncouth behaviour! This being is no friend of mine, I can assure you,” Seneca asserted as he and Envy made their way inside.
“The feeling’s mutual, Chamberlain,” The Mandrake remarked. “Mr. Santoro, I apologize for the damage to the premises, but as Miss Noir has said, we’re here on urgent business.”
“Yes, that’s correct. We’ve been given to understand the Darling Twins are regular customers of yours,” Envy explained, before the smoke-saturated room sent her into a coughing spell. She fumbled around in her purse and pulled out a black N95 mask she had left over from the Pandemic.
“I’ve got plenty of regular customers,” Silvan replied defensively. “Customers who pay good money for that smoke you’re so offended by, young lady.”
“These ones have been coming here for over half a century and never aged a day,” The Mandrake said.
“That honestly doesn’t narrow it down that much,” Silvano chuckled, tapping his cigarette on his ashtray. “But yeah, I know the Darlings. What of it?”
“When was the last time they were here?” The Mandrake demanded.
“What’s it to you?” Silvano asked.
“They’re fugitives of the Order now and we want them brought in,” Envy replied, having donned her mask and mostly recovered from the smoke. “Mary Darling held a knife to my throat once in front of my sister, and later threatened to eat me alive in front of her and feed me to her pigs.”
“They were going to put me in their daughter’s doll collection,” The Mandrake muttered.
“And I have nothing but nice things to say about the Darlings, so I’m honestly not quite sure how I got dragged into this,” Seneca said. “That aside, it really would be of great help to us if you could share any information about them that you might have.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. They come in, they buy their smokes, they leave, just like most of my customers,” Silvano told them.
“But now they’re trying to lay low, so I’m guessing they’ve made some sort of arrangement with you to get their Satin Stag cigarettes without having to risk coming here in person,” The Mandrake said. “Maybe they set you up with one of their spare Retrovisions? Emrys said they had a few of those lying around, and they can use them as direct portals to their playroom.”
“Like they’d waste a fancy piece of technomancy like that on an old geezer like me. I haven’t seen them in months. Last year sometime, I think,” Silvano claimed.
The Mandrake casually strolled up to the front counter, rapping his fingers on the cheap glass display case.
“Real nice place you got here, Mr. Santoro. I mean, not really, but I’m sure you get the implication,” he said softly. “Ironic as it may be, a smoke shop isn’t exempt from municipal bylaws about smoking in public buildings and workspaces. You may not have had much trouble with local law enforcement before, but one phone call from my employers will change that real quick.”
“You think I’ve never been threatened before, punk?” Silvano asked, rising from his chair and staring him down.
“Boys, please, there’s no need for this,” Envy interjected. “Mr. Santoro, our Order has considerably more resources at its disposal than the Darlings, and we can certainly offer you a far greater reward for their capture than whatever they’re paying you for some cigarettes. You could retire; close this place down and get as far away as you like. How does that sound?”
“I’m not looking to retire, Miss. This business is all I’ve got, and it wouldn’t be good business to go around ratting out my best customers, now would it?” Silvano asked.
“It would be worse business to sacrifice everything you have to protect two customers,” The Mandrake threatened, his hands clamping down on the display cases so hard they began to creak. “Talk.”
Acknowledging him only with a furtive glance, Silvano took another drag from his cigarette and exhaled.
But this time, the smoke poured out from his mouth and nostrils without limit.
“What the hell?” The Mandrake cursed as he backed away.
Silvano pushed a button beneath the counter, putting his shop into lockdown with security shutters clamping down over every entrance point. As the smoke exuded from his body, it went limp and collapsed into a dried-out husk as the smoke coalesced into an animate form of its own, circling above them around the shop’s yellowed and textured ceiling.
“Damnit. Another egregore,” Envy muttered. “That explains his loyalties. The Darlings couldn’t eat him, but Emrys could.”
“So you’re saying we can’t negotiate it with it?” The Mandrake asked.
“Or fight it,” Envy clarified.
“In that case, it appears we’ve exhausted all our options. Time for a tactical retreat,” Seneca declared as he dashed for the now barricaded exit.
Whatever he was planning to do to get through it, the cloud of smoke cut him off before he got the chance. Rushing in through his nose and mouth, it immediately began suffocating him, sending him spasming to the ground as he choked for air.
The cloud assaulted Envy as well, but was unable to penetrate her mask.
“Godamnit, get away!” she shouted as she swatted it away from her burning eyes.
“Envy, get behind me now!” The Mandrake ordered as he drew out his pistols. “Sorry, Santoro, but you’re going to have to do a lot worse than that if you want to intimidate us!”
Seneca responded by gasping angrily and bashing his hand against the carpet.
“… A lot worse,” The Mandrake reiterated. “I may not be able to shoot you, but I will blow this health hazard you love so much to hell if you don’t tell me where I can find the Darlings!”
“There’ll be no need for that, Mr. Mandrake,” the voice of James Darling crackled in from some unseen speaker. A door off to the side slowly creaked open, revealing a Retrovision flickering with black and white static. The Mandrake wasted no time in shooting at it, but the bullets passed through the glass without causing any damage at all.
A hologram of James Darling manifested in the center of the room, a burning Satin Stag cigarette clutched neatly in his fingers. He saw Seneca suffocating on the floor, then turned his predatory and calculating gaze towards The Mandrake.
“Put the guns on the floor, and I’ll call Silvano off,” he offered.
The Mandrake didn’t seem to be the least bit tempted by this offer, but Envy tugged at his trenchcoat and gave him a commanding nudge. Reluctantly, The Mandrake tossed the guns to the carpet and placed his hands behind his head.
With only a single commanding wag of his index finger, the smoke cloud withdrew from Seneca’s lungs and collected itself above James like a thundercloud.
“No sense in killing you, Seneca. That would practically be doing Emrys a favour,” James said. “But Envy, what’s a pretty girl like you doing wearing a mask?”
“You’d better not let your sister hear you calling me that,” Envy taunted.
“Kind of you to worry, but it’s always the object of my flirtations who bear the brunt of my sister’s wrath,” James reminded her smugly. “Top-notch detective work tracking me down, Mr. Mandrake. Why don’t you walk in through the Retrovision and arrest me?”
“You knew we’d show up here looking for you. You were waiting for us,” The Mandrake growled.
“Again, brilliant detective work. You’ve truly earned that fedora,” James mocked him. “Yes, I knew you’d come here looking for us, so I’ve arranged for Mr. Santoro to set up shop inside our playroom. He was only hanging around here to set a trap for you. Let me tell you what’s going to happen. None of you, not even you, Mr. Mandrake, are going to be able to break out of this building. You can sit there and starve for all I care, or Miss Noir and The Mandrake could take their chances with us on the other side of the Retrovision. Sara Darling really would like to put you in her doll collection, Mr. Mandrake, and I can’t wait to tell Mary Darling exactly how pretty I think you are, Envy. If the two of you come across, I’ll let Seneca go and he can inform Erich and Ivy of your predicament. If they’d like to negotiate for your release, I… may be willing to consider it.”
“You’re a coward! If you’re going to threaten me, step across that screen and do it to my face!” the Mandrake ordered.
He took his hands off his head and took a step towards him, only for the acrid form of Silvano to interject itself between them. James took a casual drag from his cigarette, refusing even to flinch.
Envy took advantage of the distraction and grabbed the pair of spellwork pistols off of the floor, firing two rounds of consecrated lead into the limp body of Silvano. While the body didn’t react at all, the smoke cloud shook and screeched like a wounded animal, losing some of its integrity and dissipating across the room.
“That body’s not just a husk! Silvano’s bound to it!” Envy declared. “James, if you don’t let us go in the next thirty seconds I’ll have The Mandrake tear that body limb from limb and you’ll have to find some other cursed thoughtform to roll your cigarettes for you.”
The Mandrake looked back towards James who now, much to his satisfaction, had flinched.
“Thirty. Twenty-Nine. Twenty-Eight,” he began to count down as he theatrically cracked his knuckles.
Before James could come to a decision, a few wisps of smoke snaked their way back into Silvano’s body. They were enough to animate it like a marionette, its limbs moving jerkily as it input the code to retract the security shutters over the doors and windows.
“There, happy?” James asked facetiously. “You’re free to leave. Put those guns down.”
With a smug smile, Envy shook her head.
“Mandrake, grab that body. We’re taking him with us,” she announced.
When Silvano tried to slam the lockdown button again, Envy shot him, knocking him back into his seat. Before he was able to try a second time, The Mandrake had closed the distance between them. He grabbed him by the waist and slung him over his shoulder, impotently kicking and flailing like a toddler having a tantrum all the while.
“No!” James growled, his hologram disappearing and being replaced by countless others scattered throughout the room.
“What the hell?” Envy demanded as she fell back beside The Mandrake for protection.
“It’s a distraction! Shoot at the Retrovision! He’s coming through to get Silvano!” The Mandrake shouted.
Envy complied, firing multiple rounds at every image of James between them and the Retrovision, but all of them sailed clear through their targets. The smoke cloud suddenly condensed tightly around them, and The Mandrake made a break for the front door while he had the chance.
He was tackled from the side by someone moving at over fifty kilometers an hour, knocking him down and halfway across the room. When he looked up, he was completely surrounded by silhouettes of James bending down in the smoke to pick up Silvano. Jumping to his feet, he made his way back towards the Retrovision in the hopes of cutting James off.
Or at least, he thought that’s where he was going. The tumble to the floor and the encircling smoke had disoriented him, and he ended up tripping over Seneca, who was once again unable to stand from the sickening smoke.
James brushed by them in a blur, and Envy fired every last bullet trying to put him down. Each one either missed or succeeded only in striking Silvano, who was slung over James’ back.
The smoke retreated with them, and The Mandrake dashed after them in one final bid to keep them from escaping. They were just feet away from him before they leapt through the Retrovision, vanishing into the basement universe of the Darlings’ playroom. The Mandrake dared to reach in after them and pull them back, but his hand hit nothing but solid glass.
“Damnit!” he cursed, striking the top of the box set with his fist.
“Don’t break it!” Envy shouted. “If that Retrovision came from the Darlings’ playroom and was modified by James, it could be useful in tracking them down again!”
“It also gives them a two-way ticket to wherever we keep it!” The Mandrake shouted back.
“Oh yes, it would be a gamble taking this old girl with you. No doubt about that,” the black and white visage of James mocked them from the other side of the screen, taking a victory drag from his cigarette. “But on the other hand, it is one of my finer works. It would be a crime, an atrocity even, to destroy it.”
The Mandrake struck the box set again, but deliberately held back on damaging it.
“Mandrake, enough!” Envy commanded. “I know it’s risky, but we need it. Turn it off and pick it up. We’re getting out of this hellhole.”
“Don’t feel bad, Mr. Mandrake. I’m sure you’ll have another chance to end up in Sara Darling’s doll collection very soon,” James taunted just before The Mandrake managed to turn the Retrovision off.
“What an absolute waste of time,” he muttered as he lifted the vintage box set off the floor.
“Not entirely!” Seneca claimed, who had not only recovered from his spectral smoke inhalation but was now holding an unlit cigar. “Crow, Crowley & Chamberlain has a lien on this shop, and since Silvano just ran out on us and has thrown his lot in with the Darlings, this place and everything left in it is ours!”
He was just about to light it before Envy snatched it out of his hands.
“The Mandrake wasn’t bluffing about the municipal health bylaws,” she informed him. “From now on, this is a smoke-free building.”
2024.05.05 23:20 A_Vespertine Bad Habits
“The Darling Twins? Honestly, haven’t we all had enough of them by now?” Seneca ruminated as he tried to placate what was now the de facto triumvirate of the Ophion Occult Order.
Once again, he had been summoned to Adderwood Manor to account for his lapses in judgement, but rather than being on full public display in the Grand Hall, he instead found himself in a relatively small parlour. Across from the coffee table in front of him sat Ivy Noir, with her sister Envy to her right and her husband Erich to her left. Standing just to the side of them was the trenchcoat and fedora-wearing automaton who called himself The Mandrake. The one-eyed dream-catcher carved into his iridescent face rendered his emotions unreadable, but the spellwork pistols holstered in his belt made it clear that he was prepared to defend his employers against anything.
“I mean, this feud between them and Emrys is laughable,” Seneca went on. “They’re no threat to him now that he’s free of his chains, surely? Before there may have been a tactical element to his obsession with them, but now it’s just plain petty. Petra’s just out for revenge, and don’t get me started on the absurdity of that eldritch realtor wanting to flip their playroom. Does he think he can just relabel their torture chambers as BDSM dungeons and pass the Black Bile infestation off as some mould?”
“Seneca, I promised Emrys the Darlings, and the Covenant that we all signed binds us to fulfill that promise,” Ivy reminded him patiently, dropping a cube of sugar into her ouroboros-themed antique teacup. “You knew the Darlings better than any of us. You inducted them into the Order, you used them as assassins and bodyguards, and you let them withdraw every penny they had in your bank when they were fugitives!”
“Well, first of all, Crow, Crowley & Chamberlain is a financial institution, not a bank,” Seneca said flippantly. “Secondly, they had a numbered account and they didn’t show up in person, so the teller didn’t have the slightest idea of who they were dealing with.”
“You still could have frozen the account before they had that opportunity,” Erich stated.
Seneca made a display of languidly stirring some cream into his tea and taking a slow sip before responding.
“I’m very busy,” he claimed without an ounce of sincerity.
“You just didn’t want to get on the Darlings’ bad side,” Ivy said.
“I wasn’t aware they had a good side,” Seneca shrugged.
“There must be a paper trail we can follow,” Envy insisted. “Did the Darlings keep their assets anywhere else besides your bank?”
“Financial institution, and yes, I’m sure they have a proverbial Swiss bank account, but I haven’t the slightest notion of where to find it,” Seneca claimed. “It has come up in conversation that James invested about twenty percent of his income with me, twenty percent elsewhere, and shoved another twenty percent under their mattress. Mary enjoys being shagged on top of money, apparently. Their services commanded quite a high price on the underworld market, and sixty-plus years of compound interest have made them incredibly wealthy. They can afford to lie low for a long while.”
“Even if they can go without a paycheck indefinitely, they can’t go without killing,” Erich countered. “They need to hunt, and their egos mean they aren’t just going to cower from Emrys inside their playroom. They’re going to be out looking for victims and plotting against us, and you know what spots they’re likely to hit.”
“You’re wasting your time. James has had decades to scout out hunting grounds, and I’m sure he prepared for the possibility – no, inevitability – that he and his sister would become our enemies. He’s not going to risk showing up within a hundred miles of any of our Chapterhouses if he doesn’t need to,” Seneca said dismissively.
Ivy opened her mouth to speak, but stopped when The Mandrake took a step forward for the first time since the meeting began. He reached into his pocket and tossed a red and white pack of cigarettes with a shiny silhouette of a stag onto the coffee table.
“What is this?” Erich asked.
“Satin Stag cigarettes,” The Mandrake said flatly before shifting his gaze to Seneca. “That’s the Darlings’ brand, isn’t it, Mr. Chamberlain?”
“Um, yes. I believe I’ve seen them smoke those once or twice. What of it?” Seneca asked, failing to hide the nervousness creeping into his voice.
“These are artisanal cigarettes, and Harrowick County’s the only place you can buy them,” The Mandrake said. “That means that the Darlings, either directly or indirectly, are going to have to make the occasional sojourn back home, and the limited supply of these hand-rolled coffin nails means they can’t stock up too far in advance either. You know Harrowick County better than any of us. You know who makes these, you know who sells them. That’s how we track down the Darlings.”
“That’s preposterous. Do you really think they’d risk coming to Harrowick County rather than just switch brands?” Seneca scoffed.
“The Very Important Person at Pascal’s told me that Mary said they’ve been smoking these since they were kids, so they’re clearly pretty attached to them,” The Mandrake replied. “And somehow, I don’t think they’re the type to ever give up a bad habit.”
***
“Smoke & Mirrors ~ Fine Tobacco Products. Silvano Santoro, Proprietor. Est. 1949,” Envy read aloud as she, Seneca and The Mandrake stood outside the small, heavily fortified brick building.
Cast iron bars crisscrossed the windows and front door, which looked like it stood a decent chance of withstanding a police swat team. Security was obviously the shop’s proprietor’s key concern, as the ugly brown and yellow awning was tattered and faded, and the paint on the sign was so chipped it was barely even legible.
“How exactly does an unnoticeable and unattractive hole in the wall like this stay in business?” Envy asked.
“Repeat customers,” Seneca replied as he took a confident step towards the door. “Silvano knows me, and he doesn’t normally have a problem with me bringing guests along, but I expect both of you to be on your best behaviour!”
Envy gave him a reassuring nod, but The Mandrake continued to stoically stare at nothing with his hands in his pockets. Rolling his eyes, Seneca pressed a bulky plastic button on the antiquated door buzzer.
“Yeah, who is it?” a harsh and smoke-damaged voice demanded.
“It’s Seneca, Silvano. A pleasure to make your acquaintance again as well!” Seneca answered. “Just looking to pick up a few cases of cigars for a party, if you’ve got anything decent in stock, of course.”
“Who’s that you got with you?” Silvano asked suspiciously.
“Envy Noir, sir. I’m here on behalf of my sister Ivy, investigating a matter of considerable importance to the Ophion Occult Order,” Envy promptly introduced herself, much to Seneca’s chagrin. “The gentleman beside me is my bodyguard. Would you be so kind as to let us in?”
“Ah… of course. Just a moment, please,” Silvano replied.
“What’s he need a moment to buzz open a door for?” The Mandrake demanded, his stance immediately switching to full readiness.
“Making the place presentable for customers, I assume,” Seneca explained in exasperation.
“You mean he’s hiding evidence, or he’s running!” The Mandrake shouted.
“He’s a nonagenarian heavy smoker. He couldn’t run if his life depended on it,” Seneca insisted.
“I’ll see about that,” The Mandrake muttered.
Shoving Seneca out of the way, he kicked the door in with barely any effort. Storming into the shop, he saw a slender older man with thick white hair and rimmed glasses seated behind the front counter. His saggy, spotted skin was a living PSA against the products he peddled, and in his tobacco-stained hand, he held the receiver of an ornate rotary phone.
Staring at The Mandrake in cold fury, he calmly set the receiver back down in its cradle.
“Who were you talking to?” The Mandrake demanded.
“A client,” Silvano barked back with a shake of his head, picking up a burning cigarette from a nearby ashtray.
“Silvano, I am profusely sorry for this abject and uncouth behaviour! This being is no friend of mine, I can assure you,” Seneca asserted as he and Envy made their way inside.
“The feeling’s mutual, Chamberlain,” The Mandrake remarked. “Mr. Santoro, I apologize for the damage to the premises, but as Miss Noir has said, we’re here on urgent business.”
“Yes, that’s correct. We’ve been given to understand the Darling Twins are regular customers of yours,” Envy explained, before the smoke-saturated room sent her into a coughing spell. She fumbled around in her purse and pulled out a black N95 mask she had left over from the Pandemic.
“I’ve got plenty of regular customers,” Silvan replied defensively. “Customers who pay good money for that smoke you’re so offended by, young lady.”
“These ones have been coming here for over half a century and never aged a day,” The Mandrake said.
“That honestly doesn’t narrow it down that much,” Silvano chuckled, tapping his cigarette on his ashtray. “But yeah, I know the Darlings. What of it?”
“When was the last time they were here?” The Mandrake demanded.
“What’s it to you?” Silvano asked.
“They’re fugitives of the Order now and we want them brought in,” Envy replied, having donned her mask and mostly recovered from the smoke. “Mary Darling held a knife to my throat once in front of my sister, and later threatened to eat me alive in front of her and feed me to her pigs.”
“They were going to put me in their daughter’s doll collection,” The Mandrake muttered.
“And I have nothing but nice things to say about the Darlings, so I’m honestly not quite sure how I got dragged into this,” Seneca said. “That aside, it really would be of great help to us if you could share any information about them that you might have.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. They come in, they buy their smokes, they leave, just like most of my customers,” Silvano told them.
“But now they’re trying to lay low, so I’m guessing they’ve made some sort of arrangement with you to get their Satin Stag cigarettes without having to risk coming here in person,” The Mandrake said. “Maybe they set you up with one of their spare Retrovisions? Emrys said they had a few of those lying around, and they can use them as direct portals to their playroom.”
“Like they’d waste a fancy piece of technomancy like that on an old geezer like me. I haven’t seen them in months. Last year sometime, I think,” Silvano claimed.
The Mandrake casually strolled up to the front counter, rapping his fingers on the cheap glass display case.
“Real nice place you got here, Mr. Santoro. I mean, not really, but I’m sure you get the implication,” he said softly. “Ironic as it may be, a smoke shop isn’t exempt from municipal bylaws about smoking in public buildings and workspaces. You may not have had much trouble with local law enforcement before, but one phone call from my employers will change that real quick.”
“You think I’ve never been threatened before, punk?” Silvano asked, rising from his chair and staring him down.
“Boys, please, there’s no need for this,” Envy interjected. “Mr. Santoro, our Order has considerably more resources at its disposal than the Darlings, and we can certainly offer you a far greater reward for their capture than whatever they’re paying you for some cigarettes. You could retire; close this place down and get as far away as you like. How does that sound?”
“I’m not looking to retire, Miss. This business is all I’ve got, and it wouldn’t be good business to go around ratting out my best customers, now would it?” Silvano asked.
“It would be worse business to sacrifice everything you have to protect two customers,” The Mandrake threatened, his hands clamping down on the display cases so hard they began to creak. “Talk.”
Acknowledging him only with a furtive glance, Silvano took another drag from his cigarette and exhaled.
But this time, the smoke poured out from his mouth and nostrils without limit.
“What the hell?” The Mandrake cursed as he backed away.
Silvano pushed a button beneath the counter, putting his shop into lockdown with security shutters clamping down over every entrance point. As the smoke exuded from his body, it went limp and collapsed into a dried-out husk as the smoke coalesced into an animate form of its own, circling above them around the shop’s yellowed and textured ceiling.
“Damnit. Another egregore,” Envy muttered. “That explains his loyalties. The Darlings couldn’t eat him, but Emrys could.”
“So you’re saying we can’t negotiate it with it?” The Mandrake asked.
“Or fight it,” Envy clarified.
“In that case, it appears we’ve exhausted all our options. Time for a tactical retreat,” Seneca declared as he dashed for the now barricaded exit.
Whatever he was planning to do to get through it, the cloud of smoke cut him off before he got the chance. Rushing in through his nose and mouth, it immediately began suffocating him, sending him spasming to the ground as he choked for air.
The cloud assaulted Envy as well, but was unable to penetrate her mask.
“Godamnit, get away!” she shouted as she swatted it away from her burning eyes.
“Envy, get behind me now!” The Mandrake ordered as he drew out his pistols. “Sorry, Santoro, but you’re going to have to do a lot worse than that if you want to intimidate us!”
Seneca responded by gasping angrily and bashing his hand against the carpet.
“… A lot worse,” The Mandrake reiterated. “I may not be able to shoot you, but I will blow this health hazard you love so much to hell if you don’t tell me where I can find the Darlings!”
“There’ll be no need for that, Mr. Mandrake,” the voice of James Darling crackled in from some unseen speaker. A door off to the side slowly creaked open, revealing a Retrovision flickering with black and white static. The Mandrake wasted no time in shooting at it, but the bullets passed through the glass without causing any damage at all.
A hologram of James Darling manifested in the center of the room, a burning Satin Stag cigarette clutched neatly in his fingers. He saw Seneca suffocating on the floor, then turned his predatory and calculating gaze towards The Mandrake.
“Put the guns on the floor, and I’ll call Silvano off,” he offered.
The Mandrake didn’t seem to be the least bit tempted by this offer, but Envy tugged at his trenchcoat and gave him a commanding nudge. Reluctantly, The Mandrake tossed the guns to the carpet and placed his hands behind his head.
With only a single commanding wag of his index finger, the smoke cloud withdrew from Seneca’s lungs and collected itself above James like a thundercloud.
“No sense in killing you, Seneca. That would practically be doing Emrys a favour,” James said. “But Envy, what’s a pretty girl like you doing wearing a mask?”
“You’d better not let your sister hear you calling me that,” Envy taunted.
“Kind of you to worry, but it’s always the object of my flirtations who bear the brunt of my sister’s wrath,” James reminded her smugly. “Top-notch detective work tracking me down, Mr. Mandrake. Why don’t you walk in through the Retrovision and arrest me?”
“You knew we’d show up here looking for you. You were waiting for us,” The Mandrake growled.
“Again, brilliant detective work. You’ve truly earned that fedora,” James mocked him. “Yes, I knew you’d come here looking for us, so I’ve arranged for Mr. Santoro to set up shop inside our playroom. He was only hanging around here to set a trap for you. Let me tell you what’s going to happen. None of you, not even you, Mr. Mandrake, are going to be able to break out of this building. You can sit there and starve for all I care, or Miss Noir and The Mandrake could take their chances with us on the other side of the Retrovision. Sara Darling really would like to put you in her doll collection, Mr. Mandrake, and I can’t wait to tell Mary Darling exactly how pretty I think you are, Envy. If the two of you come across, I’ll let Seneca go and he can inform Erich and Ivy of your predicament. If they’d like to negotiate for your release, I… may be willing to consider it.”
“You’re a coward! If you’re going to threaten me, step across that screen and do it to my face!” the Mandrake ordered.
He took his hands off his head and took a step towards him, only for the acrid form of Silvano to interject itself between them. James took a casual drag from his cigarette, refusing even to flinch.
Envy took advantage of the distraction and grabbed the pair of spellwork pistols off of the floor, firing two rounds of consecrated lead into the limp body of Silvano. While the body didn’t react at all, the smoke cloud shook and screeched like a wounded animal, losing some of its integrity and dissipating across the room.
“That body’s not just a husk! Silvano’s bound to it!” Envy declared. “James, if you don’t let us go in the next thirty seconds I’ll have The Mandrake tear that body limb from limb and you’ll have to find some other cursed thoughtform to roll your cigarettes for you.”
The Mandrake looked back towards James who now, much to his satisfaction, had flinched.
“Thirty. Twenty-Nine. Twenty-Eight,” he began to count down as he theatrically cracked his knuckles.
Before James could come to a decision, a few wisps of smoke snaked their way back into Silvano’s body. They were enough to animate it like a marionette, its limbs moving jerkily as it input the code to retract the security shutters over the doors and windows.
“There, happy?” James asked facetiously. “You’re free to leave. Put those guns down.”
With a smug smile, Envy shook her head.
“Mandrake, grab that body. We’re taking him with us,” she announced.
When Silvano tried to slam the lockdown button again, Envy shot him, knocking him back into his seat. Before he was able to try a second time, The Mandrake had closed the distance between them. He grabbed him by the waist and slung him over his shoulder, impotently kicking and flailing like a toddler having a tantrum all the while.
“No!” James growled, his hologram disappearing and being replaced by countless others scattered throughout the room.
“What the hell?” Envy demanded as she fell back beside The Mandrake for protection.
“It’s a distraction! Shoot at the Retrovision! He’s coming through to get Silvano!” The Mandrake shouted.
Envy complied, firing multiple rounds at every image of James between them and the Retrovision, but all of them sailed clear through their targets. The smoke cloud suddenly condensed tightly around them, and The Mandrake made a break for the front door while he had the chance.
He was tackled from the side by someone moving at over fifty kilometers an hour, knocking him down and halfway across the room. When he looked up, he was completely surrounded by silhouettes of James bending down in the smoke to pick up Silvano. Jumping to his feet, he made his way back towards the Retrovision in the hopes of cutting James off.
Or at least, he thought that’s where he was going. The tumble to the floor and the encircling smoke had disoriented him, and he ended up tripping over Seneca, who was once again unable to stand from the sickening smoke.
James brushed by them in a blur, and Envy fired every last bullet trying to put him down. Each one either missed or succeeded only in striking Silvano, who was slung over James’ back.
The smoke retreated with them, and The Mandrake dashed after them in one final bid to keep them from escaping. They were just feet away from him before they leapt through the Retrovision, vanishing into the basement universe of the Darlings’ playroom. The Mandrake dared to reach in after them and pull them back, but his hand hit nothing but solid glass.
“Damnit!” he cursed, striking the top of the box set with his fist.
“Don’t break it!” Envy shouted. “If that Retrovision came from the Darlings’ playroom and was modified by James, it could be useful in tracking them down again!”
“It also gives them a two-way ticket to wherever we keep it!” The Mandrake shouted back.
“Oh yes, it would be a gamble taking this old girl with you. No doubt about that,” the black and white visage of James mocked them from the other side of the screen, taking a victory drag from his cigarette. “But on the other hand, it is one of my finer works. It would be a crime, an atrocity even, to destroy it.”
The Mandrake struck the box set again, but deliberately held back on damaging it.
“Mandrake, enough!” Envy commanded. “I know it’s risky, but we need it. Turn it off and pick it up. We’re getting out of this hellhole.”
“Don’t feel bad, Mr. Mandrake. I’m sure you’ll have another chance to end up in Sara Darling’s doll collection very soon,” James taunted just before The Mandrake managed to turn the Retrovision off.
“What an absolute waste of time,” he muttered as he lifted the vintage box set off the floor.
“Not entirely!” Seneca claimed, who had not only recovered from his spectral smoke inhalation but was now holding an unlit cigar. “Crow, Crowley & Chamberlain has a lien on this shop, and since Silvano just ran out on us and has thrown his lot in with the Darlings, this place and everything left in it is ours!”
He was just about to light it before Envy snatched it out of his hands.
“The Mandrake wasn’t bluffing about the municipal health bylaws,” she informed him. “From now on, this is a smoke-free building.”
submitted by A_Vespertine to stayawake [link] [comments]
Once again, he had been summoned to Adderwood Manor to account for his lapses in judgement, but rather than being on full public display in the Grand Hall, he instead found himself in a relatively small parlour. Across from the coffee table in front of him sat Ivy Noir, with her sister Envy to her right and her husband Erich to her left. Standing just to the side of them was the trenchcoat and fedora-wearing automaton who called himself The Mandrake. The one-eyed dream-catcher carved into his iridescent face rendered his emotions unreadable, but the spellwork pistols holstered in his belt made it clear that he was prepared to defend his employers against anything.
“I mean, this feud between them and Emrys is laughable,” Seneca went on. “They’re no threat to him now that he’s free of his chains, surely? Before there may have been a tactical element to his obsession with them, but now it’s just plain petty. Petra’s just out for revenge, and don’t get me started on the absurdity of that eldritch realtor wanting to flip their playroom. Does he think he can just relabel their torture chambers as BDSM dungeons and pass the Black Bile infestation off as some mould?”
“Seneca, I promised Emrys the Darlings, and the Covenant that we all signed binds us to fulfill that promise,” Ivy reminded him patiently, dropping a cube of sugar into her ouroboros-themed antique teacup. “You knew the Darlings better than any of us. You inducted them into the Order, you used them as assassins and bodyguards, and you let them withdraw every penny they had in your bank when they were fugitives!”
“Well, first of all, Crow, Crowley & Chamberlain is a financial institution, not a bank,” Seneca said flippantly. “Secondly, they had a numbered account and they didn’t show up in person, so the teller didn’t have the slightest idea of who they were dealing with.”
“You still could have frozen the account before they had that opportunity,” Erich stated.
Seneca made a display of languidly stirring some cream into his tea and taking a slow sip before responding.
“I’m very busy,” he claimed without an ounce of sincerity.
“You just didn’t want to get on the Darlings’ bad side,” Ivy said.
“I wasn’t aware they had a good side,” Seneca shrugged.
“There must be a paper trail we can follow,” Envy insisted. “Did the Darlings keep their assets anywhere else besides your bank?”
“Financial institution, and yes, I’m sure they have a proverbial Swiss bank account, but I haven’t the slightest notion of where to find it,” Seneca claimed. “It has come up in conversation that James invested about twenty percent of his income with me, twenty percent elsewhere, and shoved another twenty percent under their mattress. Mary enjoys being shagged on top of money, apparently. Their services commanded quite a high price on the underworld market, and sixty-plus years of compound interest have made them incredibly wealthy. They can afford to lie low for a long while.”
“Even if they can go without a paycheck indefinitely, they can’t go without killing,” Erich countered. “They need to hunt, and their egos mean they aren’t just going to cower from Emrys inside their playroom. They’re going to be out looking for victims and plotting against us, and you know what spots they’re likely to hit.”
“You’re wasting your time. James has had decades to scout out hunting grounds, and I’m sure he prepared for the possibility – no, inevitability – that he and his sister would become our enemies. He’s not going to risk showing up within a hundred miles of any of our Chapterhouses if he doesn’t need to,” Seneca said dismissively.
Ivy opened her mouth to speak, but stopped when The Mandrake took a step forward for the first time since the meeting began. He reached into his pocket and tossed a red and white pack of cigarettes with a shiny silhouette of a stag onto the coffee table.
“What is this?” Erich asked.
“Satin Stag cigarettes,” The Mandrake said flatly before shifting his gaze to Seneca. “That’s the Darlings’ brand, isn’t it, Mr. Chamberlain?”
“Um, yes. I believe I’ve seen them smoke those once or twice. What of it?” Seneca asked, failing to hide the nervousness creeping into his voice.
“These are artisanal cigarettes, and Harrowick County’s the only place you can buy them,” The Mandrake said. “That means that the Darlings, either directly or indirectly, are going to have to make the occasional sojourn back home, and the limited supply of these hand-rolled coffin nails means they can’t stock up too far in advance either. You know Harrowick County better than any of us. You know who makes these, you know who sells them. That’s how we track down the Darlings.”
“That’s preposterous. Do you really think they’d risk coming to Harrowick County rather than just switch brands?” Seneca scoffed.
“The Very Important Person at Pascal’s told me that Mary said they’ve been smoking these since they were kids, so they’re clearly pretty attached to them,” The Mandrake replied. “And somehow, I don’t think they’re the type to ever give up a bad habit.”
***
“Smoke & Mirrors ~ Fine Tobacco Products. Silvano Santoro, Proprietor. Est. 1949,” Envy read aloud as she, Seneca and The Mandrake stood outside the small, heavily fortified brick building.
Cast iron bars crisscrossed the windows and front door, which looked like it stood a decent chance of withstanding a police swat team. Security was obviously the shop’s proprietor’s key concern, as the ugly brown and yellow awning was tattered and faded, and the paint on the sign was so chipped it was barely even legible.
“How exactly does an unnoticeable and unattractive hole in the wall like this stay in business?” Envy asked.
“Repeat customers,” Seneca replied as he took a confident step towards the door. “Silvano knows me, and he doesn’t normally have a problem with me bringing guests along, but I expect both of you to be on your best behaviour!”
Envy gave him a reassuring nod, but The Mandrake continued to stoically stare at nothing with his hands in his pockets. Rolling his eyes, Seneca pressed a bulky plastic button on the antiquated door buzzer.
“Yeah, who is it?” a harsh and smoke-damaged voice demanded.
“It’s Seneca, Silvano. A pleasure to make your acquaintance again as well!” Seneca answered. “Just looking to pick up a few cases of cigars for a party, if you’ve got anything decent in stock, of course.”
“Who’s that you got with you?” Silvano asked suspiciously.
“Envy Noir, sir. I’m here on behalf of my sister Ivy, investigating a matter of considerable importance to the Ophion Occult Order,” Envy promptly introduced herself, much to Seneca’s chagrin. “The gentleman beside me is my bodyguard. Would you be so kind as to let us in?”
“Ah… of course. Just a moment, please,” Silvano replied.
“What’s he need a moment to buzz open a door for?” The Mandrake demanded, his stance immediately switching to full readiness.
“Making the place presentable for customers, I assume,” Seneca explained in exasperation.
“You mean he’s hiding evidence, or he’s running!” The Mandrake shouted.
“He’s a nonagenarian heavy smoker. He couldn’t run if his life depended on it,” Seneca insisted.
“I’ll see about that,” The Mandrake muttered.
Shoving Seneca out of the way, he kicked the door in with barely any effort. Storming into the shop, he saw a slender older man with thick white hair and rimmed glasses seated behind the front counter. His saggy, spotted skin was a living PSA against the products he peddled, and in his tobacco-stained hand, he held the receiver of an ornate rotary phone.
Staring at The Mandrake in cold fury, he calmly set the receiver back down in its cradle.
“Who were you talking to?” The Mandrake demanded.
“A client,” Silvano barked back with a shake of his head, picking up a burning cigarette from a nearby ashtray.
“Silvano, I am profusely sorry for this abject and uncouth behaviour! This being is no friend of mine, I can assure you,” Seneca asserted as he and Envy made their way inside.
“The feeling’s mutual, Chamberlain,” The Mandrake remarked. “Mr. Santoro, I apologize for the damage to the premises, but as Miss Noir has said, we’re here on urgent business.”
“Yes, that’s correct. We’ve been given to understand the Darling Twins are regular customers of yours,” Envy explained, before the smoke-saturated room sent her into a coughing spell. She fumbled around in her purse and pulled out a black N95 mask she had left over from the Pandemic.
“I’ve got plenty of regular customers,” Silvan replied defensively. “Customers who pay good money for that smoke you’re so offended by, young lady.”
“These ones have been coming here for over half a century and never aged a day,” The Mandrake said.
“That honestly doesn’t narrow it down that much,” Silvano chuckled, tapping his cigarette on his ashtray. “But yeah, I know the Darlings. What of it?”
“When was the last time they were here?” The Mandrake demanded.
“What’s it to you?” Silvano asked.
“They’re fugitives of the Order now and we want them brought in,” Envy replied, having donned her mask and mostly recovered from the smoke. “Mary Darling held a knife to my throat once in front of my sister, and later threatened to eat me alive in front of her and feed me to her pigs.”
“They were going to put me in their daughter’s doll collection,” The Mandrake muttered.
“And I have nothing but nice things to say about the Darlings, so I’m honestly not quite sure how I got dragged into this,” Seneca said. “That aside, it really would be of great help to us if you could share any information about them that you might have.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. They come in, they buy their smokes, they leave, just like most of my customers,” Silvano told them.
“But now they’re trying to lay low, so I’m guessing they’ve made some sort of arrangement with you to get their Satin Stag cigarettes without having to risk coming here in person,” The Mandrake said. “Maybe they set you up with one of their spare Retrovisions? Emrys said they had a few of those lying around, and they can use them as direct portals to their playroom.”
“Like they’d waste a fancy piece of technomancy like that on an old geezer like me. I haven’t seen them in months. Last year sometime, I think,” Silvano claimed.
The Mandrake casually strolled up to the front counter, rapping his fingers on the cheap glass display case.
“Real nice place you got here, Mr. Santoro. I mean, not really, but I’m sure you get the implication,” he said softly. “Ironic as it may be, a smoke shop isn’t exempt from municipal bylaws about smoking in public buildings and workspaces. You may not have had much trouble with local law enforcement before, but one phone call from my employers will change that real quick.”
“You think I’ve never been threatened before, punk?” Silvano asked, rising from his chair and staring him down.
“Boys, please, there’s no need for this,” Envy interjected. “Mr. Santoro, our Order has considerably more resources at its disposal than the Darlings, and we can certainly offer you a far greater reward for their capture than whatever they’re paying you for some cigarettes. You could retire; close this place down and get as far away as you like. How does that sound?”
“I’m not looking to retire, Miss. This business is all I’ve got, and it wouldn’t be good business to go around ratting out my best customers, now would it?” Silvano asked.
“It would be worse business to sacrifice everything you have to protect two customers,” The Mandrake threatened, his hands clamping down on the display cases so hard they began to creak. “Talk.”
Acknowledging him only with a furtive glance, Silvano took another drag from his cigarette and exhaled.
But this time, the smoke poured out from his mouth and nostrils without limit.
“What the hell?” The Mandrake cursed as he backed away.
Silvano pushed a button beneath the counter, putting his shop into lockdown with security shutters clamping down over every entrance point. As the smoke exuded from his body, it went limp and collapsed into a dried-out husk as the smoke coalesced into an animate form of its own, circling above them around the shop’s yellowed and textured ceiling.
“Damnit. Another egregore,” Envy muttered. “That explains his loyalties. The Darlings couldn’t eat him, but Emrys could.”
“So you’re saying we can’t negotiate it with it?” The Mandrake asked.
“Or fight it,” Envy clarified.
“In that case, it appears we’ve exhausted all our options. Time for a tactical retreat,” Seneca declared as he dashed for the now barricaded exit.
Whatever he was planning to do to get through it, the cloud of smoke cut him off before he got the chance. Rushing in through his nose and mouth, it immediately began suffocating him, sending him spasming to the ground as he choked for air.
The cloud assaulted Envy as well, but was unable to penetrate her mask.
“Godamnit, get away!” she shouted as she swatted it away from her burning eyes.
“Envy, get behind me now!” The Mandrake ordered as he drew out his pistols. “Sorry, Santoro, but you’re going to have to do a lot worse than that if you want to intimidate us!”
Seneca responded by gasping angrily and bashing his hand against the carpet.
“… A lot worse,” The Mandrake reiterated. “I may not be able to shoot you, but I will blow this health hazard you love so much to hell if you don’t tell me where I can find the Darlings!”
“There’ll be no need for that, Mr. Mandrake,” the voice of James Darling crackled in from some unseen speaker. A door off to the side slowly creaked open, revealing a Retrovision flickering with black and white static. The Mandrake wasted no time in shooting at it, but the bullets passed through the glass without causing any damage at all.
A hologram of James Darling manifested in the center of the room, a burning Satin Stag cigarette clutched neatly in his fingers. He saw Seneca suffocating on the floor, then turned his predatory and calculating gaze towards The Mandrake.
“Put the guns on the floor, and I’ll call Silvano off,” he offered.
The Mandrake didn’t seem to be the least bit tempted by this offer, but Envy tugged at his trenchcoat and gave him a commanding nudge. Reluctantly, The Mandrake tossed the guns to the carpet and placed his hands behind his head.
With only a single commanding wag of his index finger, the smoke cloud withdrew from Seneca’s lungs and collected itself above James like a thundercloud.
“No sense in killing you, Seneca. That would practically be doing Emrys a favour,” James said. “But Envy, what’s a pretty girl like you doing wearing a mask?”
“You’d better not let your sister hear you calling me that,” Envy taunted.
“Kind of you to worry, but it’s always the object of my flirtations who bear the brunt of my sister’s wrath,” James reminded her smugly. “Top-notch detective work tracking me down, Mr. Mandrake. Why don’t you walk in through the Retrovision and arrest me?”
“You knew we’d show up here looking for you. You were waiting for us,” The Mandrake growled.
“Again, brilliant detective work. You’ve truly earned that fedora,” James mocked him. “Yes, I knew you’d come here looking for us, so I’ve arranged for Mr. Santoro to set up shop inside our playroom. He was only hanging around here to set a trap for you. Let me tell you what’s going to happen. None of you, not even you, Mr. Mandrake, are going to be able to break out of this building. You can sit there and starve for all I care, or Miss Noir and The Mandrake could take their chances with us on the other side of the Retrovision. Sara Darling really would like to put you in her doll collection, Mr. Mandrake, and I can’t wait to tell Mary Darling exactly how pretty I think you are, Envy. If the two of you come across, I’ll let Seneca go and he can inform Erich and Ivy of your predicament. If they’d like to negotiate for your release, I… may be willing to consider it.”
“You’re a coward! If you’re going to threaten me, step across that screen and do it to my face!” the Mandrake ordered.
He took his hands off his head and took a step towards him, only for the acrid form of Silvano to interject itself between them. James took a casual drag from his cigarette, refusing even to flinch.
Envy took advantage of the distraction and grabbed the pair of spellwork pistols off of the floor, firing two rounds of consecrated lead into the limp body of Silvano. While the body didn’t react at all, the smoke cloud shook and screeched like a wounded animal, losing some of its integrity and dissipating across the room.
“That body’s not just a husk! Silvano’s bound to it!” Envy declared. “James, if you don’t let us go in the next thirty seconds I’ll have The Mandrake tear that body limb from limb and you’ll have to find some other cursed thoughtform to roll your cigarettes for you.”
The Mandrake looked back towards James who now, much to his satisfaction, had flinched.
“Thirty. Twenty-Nine. Twenty-Eight,” he began to count down as he theatrically cracked his knuckles.
Before James could come to a decision, a few wisps of smoke snaked their way back into Silvano’s body. They were enough to animate it like a marionette, its limbs moving jerkily as it input the code to retract the security shutters over the doors and windows.
“There, happy?” James asked facetiously. “You’re free to leave. Put those guns down.”
With a smug smile, Envy shook her head.
“Mandrake, grab that body. We’re taking him with us,” she announced.
When Silvano tried to slam the lockdown button again, Envy shot him, knocking him back into his seat. Before he was able to try a second time, The Mandrake had closed the distance between them. He grabbed him by the waist and slung him over his shoulder, impotently kicking and flailing like a toddler having a tantrum all the while.
“No!” James growled, his hologram disappearing and being replaced by countless others scattered throughout the room.
“What the hell?” Envy demanded as she fell back beside The Mandrake for protection.
“It’s a distraction! Shoot at the Retrovision! He’s coming through to get Silvano!” The Mandrake shouted.
Envy complied, firing multiple rounds at every image of James between them and the Retrovision, but all of them sailed clear through their targets. The smoke cloud suddenly condensed tightly around them, and The Mandrake made a break for the front door while he had the chance.
He was tackled from the side by someone moving at over fifty kilometers an hour, knocking him down and halfway across the room. When he looked up, he was completely surrounded by silhouettes of James bending down in the smoke to pick up Silvano. Jumping to his feet, he made his way back towards the Retrovision in the hopes of cutting James off.
Or at least, he thought that’s where he was going. The tumble to the floor and the encircling smoke had disoriented him, and he ended up tripping over Seneca, who was once again unable to stand from the sickening smoke.
James brushed by them in a blur, and Envy fired every last bullet trying to put him down. Each one either missed or succeeded only in striking Silvano, who was slung over James’ back.
The smoke retreated with them, and The Mandrake dashed after them in one final bid to keep them from escaping. They were just feet away from him before they leapt through the Retrovision, vanishing into the basement universe of the Darlings’ playroom. The Mandrake dared to reach in after them and pull them back, but his hand hit nothing but solid glass.
“Damnit!” he cursed, striking the top of the box set with his fist.
“Don’t break it!” Envy shouted. “If that Retrovision came from the Darlings’ playroom and was modified by James, it could be useful in tracking them down again!”
“It also gives them a two-way ticket to wherever we keep it!” The Mandrake shouted back.
“Oh yes, it would be a gamble taking this old girl with you. No doubt about that,” the black and white visage of James mocked them from the other side of the screen, taking a victory drag from his cigarette. “But on the other hand, it is one of my finer works. It would be a crime, an atrocity even, to destroy it.”
The Mandrake struck the box set again, but deliberately held back on damaging it.
“Mandrake, enough!” Envy commanded. “I know it’s risky, but we need it. Turn it off and pick it up. We’re getting out of this hellhole.”
“Don’t feel bad, Mr. Mandrake. I’m sure you’ll have another chance to end up in Sara Darling’s doll collection very soon,” James taunted just before The Mandrake managed to turn the Retrovision off.
“What an absolute waste of time,” he muttered as he lifted the vintage box set off the floor.
“Not entirely!” Seneca claimed, who had not only recovered from his spectral smoke inhalation but was now holding an unlit cigar. “Crow, Crowley & Chamberlain has a lien on this shop, and since Silvano just ran out on us and has thrown his lot in with the Darlings, this place and everything left in it is ours!”
He was just about to light it before Envy snatched it out of his hands.
“The Mandrake wasn’t bluffing about the municipal health bylaws,” she informed him. “From now on, this is a smoke-free building.”
2024.05.05 23:19 A_Vespertine Bad Habits
“The Darling Twins? Honestly, haven’t we all had enough of them by now?” Seneca ruminated as he tried to placate what was now the de facto triumvirate of the Ophion Occult Order.
Once again, he had been summoned to Adderwood Manor to account for his lapses in judgement, but rather than being on full public display in the Grand Hall, he instead found himself in a relatively small parlour. Across from the coffee table in front of him sat Ivy Noir, with her sister Envy to her right and her husband Erich to her left. Standing just to the side of them was the trenchcoat and fedora-wearing automaton who called himself The Mandrake. The one-eyed dream-catcher carved into his iridescent face rendered his emotions unreadable, but the spellwork pistols holstered in his belt made it clear that he was prepared to defend his employers against anything.
“I mean, this feud between them and Emrys is laughable,” Seneca went on. “They’re no threat to him now that he’s free of his chains, surely? Before there may have been a tactical element to his obsession with them, but now it’s just plain petty. Petra’s just out for revenge, and don’t get me started on the absurdity of that eldritch realtor wanting to flip their playroom. Does he think he can just relabel their torture chambers as BDSM dungeons and pass the Black Bile infestation off as some mould?”
“Seneca, I promised Emrys the Darlings, and the Covenant that we all signed binds us to fulfill that promise,” Ivy reminded him patiently, dropping a cube of sugar into her ouroboros-themed antique teacup. “You knew the Darlings better than any of us. You inducted them into the Order, you used them as assassins and bodyguards, and you let them withdraw every penny they had in your bank when they were fugitives!”
“Well, first of all, Crow, Crowley & Chamberlain is a financial institution, not a bank,” Seneca said flippantly. “Secondly, they had a numbered account and they didn’t show up in person, so the teller didn’t have the slightest idea of who they were dealing with.”
“You still could have frozen the account before they had that opportunity,” Erich stated.
Seneca made a display of languidly stirring some cream into his tea and taking a slow sip before responding.
“I’m very busy,” he claimed without an ounce of sincerity.
“You just didn’t want to get on the Darlings’ bad side,” Ivy said.
“I wasn’t aware they had a good side,” Seneca shrugged.
“There must be a paper trail we can follow,” Envy insisted. “Did the Darlings keep their assets anywhere else besides your bank?”
“Financial institution, and yes, I’m sure they have a proverbial Swiss bank account, but I haven’t the slightest notion of where to find it,” Seneca claimed. “It has come up in conversation that James invested about twenty percent of his income with me, twenty percent elsewhere, and shoved another twenty percent under their mattress. Mary enjoys being shagged on top of money, apparently. Their services commanded quite a high price on the underworld market, and sixty-plus years of compound interest have made them incredibly wealthy. They can afford to lie low for a long while.”
“Even if they can go without a paycheck indefinitely, they can’t go without killing,” Erich countered. “They need to hunt, and their egos mean they aren’t just going to cower from Emrys inside their playroom. They’re going to be out looking for victims and plotting against us, and you know what spots they’re likely to hit.”
“You’re wasting your time. James has had decades to scout out hunting grounds, and I’m sure he prepared for the possibility – no, inevitability – that he and his sister would become our enemies. He’s not going to risk showing up within a hundred miles of any of our Chapterhouses if he doesn’t need to,” Seneca said dismissively.
Ivy opened her mouth to speak, but stopped when The Mandrake took a step forward for the first time since the meeting began. He reached into his pocket and tossed a red and white pack of cigarettes with a shiny silhouette of a stag onto the coffee table.
“What is this?” Erich asked.
“Satin Stag cigarettes,” The Mandrake said flatly before shifting his gaze to Seneca. “That’s the Darlings’ brand, isn’t it, Mr. Chamberlain?”
“Um, yes. I believe I’ve seen them smoke those once or twice. What of it?” Seneca asked, failing to hide the nervousness creeping into his voice.
“These are artisanal cigarettes, and Harrowick County’s the only place you can buy them,” The Mandrake said. “That means that the Darlings, either directly or indirectly, are going to have to make the occasional sojourn back home, and the limited supply of these hand-rolled coffin nails means they can’t stock up too far in advance either. You know Harrowick County better than any of us. You know who makes these, you know who sells them. That’s how we track down the Darlings.”
“That’s preposterous. Do you really think they’d risk coming to Harrowick County rather than just switch brands?” Seneca scoffed.
“The Very Important Person at Pascal’s told me that Mary said they’ve been smoking these since they were kids, so they’re clearly pretty attached to them,” The Mandrake replied. “And somehow, I don’t think they’re the type to ever give up a bad habit.”
***
“Smoke & Mirrors ~ Fine Tobacco Products. Silvano Santoro, Proprietor. Est. 1949,” Envy read aloud as she, Seneca and The Mandrake stood outside the small, heavily fortified brick building.
Cast iron bars crisscrossed the windows and front door, which looked like it stood a decent chance of withstanding a police swat team. Security was obviously the shop’s proprietor’s key concern, as the ugly brown and yellow awning was tattered and faded, and the paint on the sign was so chipped it was barely even legible.
“How exactly does an unnoticeable and unattractive hole in the wall like this stay in business?” Envy asked.
“Repeat customers,” Seneca replied as he took a confident step towards the door. “Silvano knows me, and he doesn’t normally have a problem with me bringing guests along, but I expect both of you to be on your best behaviour!”
Envy gave him a reassuring nod, but The Mandrake continued to stoically stare at nothing with his hands in his pockets. Rolling his eyes, Seneca pressed a bulky plastic button on the antiquated door buzzer.
“Yeah, who is it?” a harsh and smoke-damaged voice demanded.
“It’s Seneca, Silvano. A pleasure to make your acquaintance again as well!” Seneca answered. “Just looking to pick up a few cases of cigars for a party, if you’ve got anything decent in stock, of course.”
“Who’s that you got with you?” Silvano asked suspiciously.
“Envy Noir, sir. I’m here on behalf of my sister Ivy, investigating a matter of considerable importance to the Ophion Occult Order,” Envy promptly introduced herself, much to Seneca’s chagrin. “The gentleman beside me is my bodyguard. Would you be so kind as to let us in?”
“Ah… of course. Just a moment, please,” Silvano replied.
“What’s he need a moment to buzz open a door for?” The Mandrake demanded, his stance immediately switching to full readiness.
“Making the place presentable for customers, I assume,” Seneca explained in exasperation.
“You mean he’s hiding evidence, or he’s running!” The Mandrake shouted.
“He’s a nonagenarian heavy smoker. He couldn’t run if his life depended on it,” Seneca insisted.
“I’ll see about that,” The Mandrake muttered.
Shoving Seneca out of the way, he kicked the door in with barely any effort. Storming into the shop, he saw a slender older man with thick white hair and rimmed glasses seated behind the front counter. His saggy, spotted skin was a living PSA against the products he peddled, and in his tobacco-stained hand, he held the receiver of an ornate rotary phone.
Staring at The Mandrake in cold fury, he calmly set the receiver back down in its cradle.
“Who were you talking to?” The Mandrake demanded.
“A client,” Silvano barked back with a shake of his head, picking up a burning cigarette from a nearby ashtray.
“Silvano, I am profusely sorry for this abject and uncouth behaviour! This being is no friend of mine, I can assure you,” Seneca asserted as he and Envy made their way inside.
“The feeling’s mutual, Chamberlain,” The Mandrake remarked. “Mr. Santoro, I apologize for the damage to the premises, but as Miss Noir has said, we’re here on urgent business.”
“Yes, that’s correct. We’ve been given to understand the Darling Twins are regular customers of yours,” Envy explained, before the smoke-saturated room sent her into a coughing spell. She fumbled around in her purse and pulled out a black N95 mask she had left over from the Pandemic.
“I’ve got plenty of regular customers,” Silvan replied defensively. “Customers who pay good money for that smoke you’re so offended by, young lady.”
“These ones have been coming here for over half a century and never aged a day,” The Mandrake said.
“That honestly doesn’t narrow it down that much,” Silvano chuckled, tapping his cigarette on his ashtray. “But yeah, I know the Darlings. What of it?”
“When was the last time they were here?” The Mandrake demanded.
“What’s it to you?” Silvano asked.
“They’re fugitives of the Order now and we want them brought in,” Envy replied, having donned her mask and mostly recovered from the smoke. “Mary Darling held a knife to my throat once in front of my sister, and later threatened to eat me alive in front of her and feed me to her pigs.”
“They were going to put me in their daughter’s doll collection,” The Mandrake muttered.
“And I have nothing but nice things to say about the Darlings, so I’m honestly not quite sure how I got dragged into this,” Seneca said. “That aside, it really would be of great help to us if you could share any information about them that you might have.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. They come in, they buy their smokes, they leave, just like most of my customers,” Silvano told them.
“But now they’re trying to lay low, so I’m guessing they’ve made some sort of arrangement with you to get their Satin Stag cigarettes without having to risk coming here in person,” The Mandrake said. “Maybe they set you up with one of their spare Retrovisions? Emrys said they had a few of those lying around, and they can use them as direct portals to their playroom.”
“Like they’d waste a fancy piece of technomancy like that on an old geezer like me. I haven’t seen them in months. Last year sometime, I think,” Silvano claimed.
The Mandrake casually strolled up to the front counter, rapping his fingers on the cheap glass display case.
“Real nice place you got here, Mr. Santoro. I mean, not really, but I’m sure you get the implication,” he said softly. “Ironic as it may be, a smoke shop isn’t exempt from municipal bylaws about smoking in public buildings and workspaces. You may not have had much trouble with local law enforcement before, but one phone call from my employers will change that real quick.”
“You think I’ve never been threatened before, punk?” Silvano asked, rising from his chair and staring him down.
“Boys, please, there’s no need for this,” Envy interjected. “Mr. Santoro, our Order has considerably more resources at its disposal than the Darlings, and we can certainly offer you a far greater reward for their capture than whatever they’re paying you for some cigarettes. You could retire; close this place down and get as far away as you like. How does that sound?”
“I’m not looking to retire, Miss. This business is all I’ve got, and it wouldn’t be good business to go around ratting out my best customers, now would it?” Silvano asked.
“It would be worse business to sacrifice everything you have to protect two customers,” The Mandrake threatened, his hands clamping down on the display cases so hard they began to creak. “Talk.”
Acknowledging him only with a furtive glance, Silvano took another drag from his cigarette and exhaled.
But this time, the smoke poured out from his mouth and nostrils without limit.
“What the hell?” The Mandrake cursed as he backed away.
Silvano pushed a button beneath the counter, putting his shop into lockdown with security shutters clamping down over every entrance point. As the smoke exuded from his body, it went limp and collapsed into a dried-out husk as the smoke coalesced into an animate form of its own, circling above them around the shop’s yellowed and textured ceiling.
“Damnit. Another egregore,” Envy muttered. “That explains his loyalties. The Darlings couldn’t eat him, but Emrys could.”
“So you’re saying we can’t negotiate it with it?” The Mandrake asked.
“Or fight it,” Envy clarified.
“In that case, it appears we’ve exhausted all our options. Time for a tactical retreat,” Seneca declared as he dashed for the now barricaded exit.
Whatever he was planning to do to get through it, the cloud of smoke cut him off before he got the chance. Rushing in through his nose and mouth, it immediately began suffocating him, sending him spasming to the ground as he choked for air.
The cloud assaulted Envy as well, but was unable to penetrate her mask.
“Godamnit, get away!” she shouted as she swatted it away from her burning eyes.
“Envy, get behind me now!” The Mandrake ordered as he drew out his pistols. “Sorry, Santoro, but you’re going to have to do a lot worse than that if you want to intimidate us!”
Seneca responded by gasping angrily and bashing his hand against the carpet.
“… A lot worse,” The Mandrake reiterated. “I may not be able to shoot you, but I will blow this health hazard you love so much to hell if you don’t tell me where I can find the Darlings!”
“There’ll be no need for that, Mr. Mandrake,” the voice of James Darling crackled in from some unseen speaker. A door off to the side slowly creaked open, revealing a Retrovision flickering with black and white static. The Mandrake wasted no time in shooting at it, but the bullets passed through the glass without causing any damage at all.
A hologram of James Darling manifested in the center of the room, a burning Satin Stag cigarette clutched neatly in his fingers. He saw Seneca suffocating on the floor, then turned his predatory and calculating gaze towards The Mandrake.
“Put the guns on the floor, and I’ll call Silvano off,” he offered.
The Mandrake didn’t seem to be the least bit tempted by this offer, but Envy tugged at his trenchcoat and gave him a commanding nudge. Reluctantly, The Mandrake tossed the guns to the carpet and placed his hands behind his head.
With only a single commanding wag of his index finger, the smoke cloud withdrew from Seneca’s lungs and collected itself above James like a thundercloud.
“No sense in killing you, Seneca. That would practically be doing Emrys a favour,” James said. “But Envy, what’s a pretty girl like you doing wearing a mask?”
“You’d better not let your sister hear you calling me that,” Envy taunted.
“Kind of you to worry, but it’s always the object of my flirtations who bear the brunt of my sister’s wrath,” James reminded her smugly. “Top-notch detective work tracking me down, Mr. Mandrake. Why don’t you walk in through the Retrovision and arrest me?”
“You knew we’d show up here looking for you. You were waiting for us,” The Mandrake growled.
“Again, brilliant detective work. You’ve truly earned that fedora,” James mocked him. “Yes, I knew you’d come here looking for us, so I’ve arranged for Mr. Santoro to set up shop inside our playroom. He was only hanging around here to set a trap for you. Let me tell you what’s going to happen. None of you, not even you, Mr. Mandrake, are going to be able to break out of this building. You can sit there and starve for all I care, or Miss Noir and The Mandrake could take their chances with us on the other side of the Retrovision. Sara Darling really would like to put you in her doll collection, Mr. Mandrake, and I can’t wait to tell Mary Darling exactly how pretty I think you are, Envy. If the two of you come across, I’ll let Seneca go and he can inform Erich and Ivy of your predicament. If they’d like to negotiate for your release, I… may be willing to consider it.”
“You’re a coward! If you’re going to threaten me, step across that screen and do it to my face!” the Mandrake ordered.
He took his hands off his head and took a step towards him, only for the acrid form of Silvano to interject itself between them. James took a casual drag from his cigarette, refusing even to flinch.
Envy took advantage of the distraction and grabbed the pair of spellwork pistols off of the floor, firing two rounds of consecrated lead into the limp body of Silvano. While the body didn’t react at all, the smoke cloud shook and screeched like a wounded animal, losing some of its integrity and dissipating across the room.
“That body’s not just a husk! Silvano’s bound to it!” Envy declared. “James, if you don’t let us go in the next thirty seconds I’ll have The Mandrake tear that body limb from limb and you’ll have to find some other cursed thoughtform to roll your cigarettes for you.”
The Mandrake looked back towards James who now, much to his satisfaction, had flinched.
“Thirty. Twenty-Nine. Twenty-Eight,” he began to count down as he theatrically cracked his knuckles.
Before James could come to a decision, a few wisps of smoke snaked their way back into Silvano’s body. They were enough to animate it like a marionette, its limbs moving jerkily as it input the code to retract the security shutters over the doors and windows.
“There, happy?” James asked facetiously. “You’re free to leave. Put those guns down.”
With a smug smile, Envy shook her head.
“Mandrake, grab that body. We’re taking him with us,” she announced.
When Silvano tried to slam the lockdown button again, Envy shot him, knocking him back into his seat. Before he was able to try a second time, The Mandrake had closed the distance between them. He grabbed him by the waist and slung him over his shoulder, impotently kicking and flailing like a toddler having a tantrum all the while.
“No!” James growled, his hologram disappearing and being replaced by countless others scattered throughout the room.
“What the hell?” Envy demanded as she fell back beside The Mandrake for protection.
“It’s a distraction! Shoot at the Retrovision! He’s coming through to get Silvano!” The Mandrake shouted.
Envy complied, firing multiple rounds at every image of James between them and the Retrovision, but all of them sailed clear through their targets. The smoke cloud suddenly condensed tightly around them, and The Mandrake made a break for the front door while he had the chance.
He was tackled from the side by someone moving at over fifty kilometers an hour, knocking him down and halfway across the room. When he looked up, he was completely surrounded by silhouettes of James bending down in the smoke to pick up Silvano. Jumping to his feet, he made his way back towards the Retrovision in the hopes of cutting James off.
Or at least, he thought that’s where he was going. The tumble to the floor and the encircling smoke had disoriented him, and he ended up tripping over Seneca, who was once again unable to stand from the sickening smoke.
James brushed by them in a blur, and Envy fired every last bullet trying to put him down. Each one either missed or succeeded only in striking Silvano, who was slung over James’ back.
The smoke retreated with them, and The Mandrake dashed after them in one final bid to keep them from escaping. They were just feet away from him before they leapt through the Retrovision, vanishing into the basement universe of the Darlings’ playroom. The Mandrake dared to reach in after them and pull them back, but his hand hit nothing but solid glass.
“Damnit!” he cursed, striking the top of the box set with his fist.
“Don’t break it!” Envy shouted. “If that Retrovision came from the Darlings’ playroom and was modified by James, it could be useful in tracking them down again!”
“It also gives them a two-way ticket to wherever we keep it!” The Mandrake shouted back.
“Oh yes, it would be a gamble taking this old girl with you. No doubt about that,” the black and white visage of James mocked them from the other side of the screen, taking a victory drag from his cigarette. “But on the other hand, it is one of my finer works. It would be a crime, an atrocity even, to destroy it.”
The Mandrake struck the box set again, but deliberately held back on damaging it.
“Mandrake, enough!” Envy commanded. “I know it’s risky, but we need it. Turn it off and pick it up. We’re getting out of this hellhole.”
“Don’t feel bad, Mr. Mandrake. I’m sure you’ll have another chance to end up in Sara Darling’s doll collection very soon,” James taunted just before The Mandrake managed to turn the Retrovision off.
“What an absolute waste of time,” he muttered as he lifted the vintage box set off the floor.
“Not entirely!” Seneca claimed, who had not only recovered from his spectral smoke inhalation but was now holding an unlit cigar. “Crow, Crowley & Chamberlain has a lien on this shop, and since Silvano just ran out on us and has thrown his lot in with the Darlings, this place and everything left in it is ours!”
He was just about to light it before Envy snatched it out of his hands.
“The Mandrake wasn’t bluffing about the municipal health bylaws,” she informed him. “From now on, this is a smoke-free building.”
submitted by A_Vespertine to scarystories [link] [comments]
Once again, he had been summoned to Adderwood Manor to account for his lapses in judgement, but rather than being on full public display in the Grand Hall, he instead found himself in a relatively small parlour. Across from the coffee table in front of him sat Ivy Noir, with her sister Envy to her right and her husband Erich to her left. Standing just to the side of them was the trenchcoat and fedora-wearing automaton who called himself The Mandrake. The one-eyed dream-catcher carved into his iridescent face rendered his emotions unreadable, but the spellwork pistols holstered in his belt made it clear that he was prepared to defend his employers against anything.
“I mean, this feud between them and Emrys is laughable,” Seneca went on. “They’re no threat to him now that he’s free of his chains, surely? Before there may have been a tactical element to his obsession with them, but now it’s just plain petty. Petra’s just out for revenge, and don’t get me started on the absurdity of that eldritch realtor wanting to flip their playroom. Does he think he can just relabel their torture chambers as BDSM dungeons and pass the Black Bile infestation off as some mould?”
“Seneca, I promised Emrys the Darlings, and the Covenant that we all signed binds us to fulfill that promise,” Ivy reminded him patiently, dropping a cube of sugar into her ouroboros-themed antique teacup. “You knew the Darlings better than any of us. You inducted them into the Order, you used them as assassins and bodyguards, and you let them withdraw every penny they had in your bank when they were fugitives!”
“Well, first of all, Crow, Crowley & Chamberlain is a financial institution, not a bank,” Seneca said flippantly. “Secondly, they had a numbered account and they didn’t show up in person, so the teller didn’t have the slightest idea of who they were dealing with.”
“You still could have frozen the account before they had that opportunity,” Erich stated.
Seneca made a display of languidly stirring some cream into his tea and taking a slow sip before responding.
“I’m very busy,” he claimed without an ounce of sincerity.
“You just didn’t want to get on the Darlings’ bad side,” Ivy said.
“I wasn’t aware they had a good side,” Seneca shrugged.
“There must be a paper trail we can follow,” Envy insisted. “Did the Darlings keep their assets anywhere else besides your bank?”
“Financial institution, and yes, I’m sure they have a proverbial Swiss bank account, but I haven’t the slightest notion of where to find it,” Seneca claimed. “It has come up in conversation that James invested about twenty percent of his income with me, twenty percent elsewhere, and shoved another twenty percent under their mattress. Mary enjoys being shagged on top of money, apparently. Their services commanded quite a high price on the underworld market, and sixty-plus years of compound interest have made them incredibly wealthy. They can afford to lie low for a long while.”
“Even if they can go without a paycheck indefinitely, they can’t go without killing,” Erich countered. “They need to hunt, and their egos mean they aren’t just going to cower from Emrys inside their playroom. They’re going to be out looking for victims and plotting against us, and you know what spots they’re likely to hit.”
“You’re wasting your time. James has had decades to scout out hunting grounds, and I’m sure he prepared for the possibility – no, inevitability – that he and his sister would become our enemies. He’s not going to risk showing up within a hundred miles of any of our Chapterhouses if he doesn’t need to,” Seneca said dismissively.
Ivy opened her mouth to speak, but stopped when The Mandrake took a step forward for the first time since the meeting began. He reached into his pocket and tossed a red and white pack of cigarettes with a shiny silhouette of a stag onto the coffee table.
“What is this?” Erich asked.
“Satin Stag cigarettes,” The Mandrake said flatly before shifting his gaze to Seneca. “That’s the Darlings’ brand, isn’t it, Mr. Chamberlain?”
“Um, yes. I believe I’ve seen them smoke those once or twice. What of it?” Seneca asked, failing to hide the nervousness creeping into his voice.
“These are artisanal cigarettes, and Harrowick County’s the only place you can buy them,” The Mandrake said. “That means that the Darlings, either directly or indirectly, are going to have to make the occasional sojourn back home, and the limited supply of these hand-rolled coffin nails means they can’t stock up too far in advance either. You know Harrowick County better than any of us. You know who makes these, you know who sells them. That’s how we track down the Darlings.”
“That’s preposterous. Do you really think they’d risk coming to Harrowick County rather than just switch brands?” Seneca scoffed.
“The Very Important Person at Pascal’s told me that Mary said they’ve been smoking these since they were kids, so they’re clearly pretty attached to them,” The Mandrake replied. “And somehow, I don’t think they’re the type to ever give up a bad habit.”
***
“Smoke & Mirrors ~ Fine Tobacco Products. Silvano Santoro, Proprietor. Est. 1949,” Envy read aloud as she, Seneca and The Mandrake stood outside the small, heavily fortified brick building.
Cast iron bars crisscrossed the windows and front door, which looked like it stood a decent chance of withstanding a police swat team. Security was obviously the shop’s proprietor’s key concern, as the ugly brown and yellow awning was tattered and faded, and the paint on the sign was so chipped it was barely even legible.
“How exactly does an unnoticeable and unattractive hole in the wall like this stay in business?” Envy asked.
“Repeat customers,” Seneca replied as he took a confident step towards the door. “Silvano knows me, and he doesn’t normally have a problem with me bringing guests along, but I expect both of you to be on your best behaviour!”
Envy gave him a reassuring nod, but The Mandrake continued to stoically stare at nothing with his hands in his pockets. Rolling his eyes, Seneca pressed a bulky plastic button on the antiquated door buzzer.
“Yeah, who is it?” a harsh and smoke-damaged voice demanded.
“It’s Seneca, Silvano. A pleasure to make your acquaintance again as well!” Seneca answered. “Just looking to pick up a few cases of cigars for a party, if you’ve got anything decent in stock, of course.”
“Who’s that you got with you?” Silvano asked suspiciously.
“Envy Noir, sir. I’m here on behalf of my sister Ivy, investigating a matter of considerable importance to the Ophion Occult Order,” Envy promptly introduced herself, much to Seneca’s chagrin. “The gentleman beside me is my bodyguard. Would you be so kind as to let us in?”
“Ah… of course. Just a moment, please,” Silvano replied.
“What’s he need a moment to buzz open a door for?” The Mandrake demanded, his stance immediately switching to full readiness.
“Making the place presentable for customers, I assume,” Seneca explained in exasperation.
“You mean he’s hiding evidence, or he’s running!” The Mandrake shouted.
“He’s a nonagenarian heavy smoker. He couldn’t run if his life depended on it,” Seneca insisted.
“I’ll see about that,” The Mandrake muttered.
Shoving Seneca out of the way, he kicked the door in with barely any effort. Storming into the shop, he saw a slender older man with thick white hair and rimmed glasses seated behind the front counter. His saggy, spotted skin was a living PSA against the products he peddled, and in his tobacco-stained hand, he held the receiver of an ornate rotary phone.
Staring at The Mandrake in cold fury, he calmly set the receiver back down in its cradle.
“Who were you talking to?” The Mandrake demanded.
“A client,” Silvano barked back with a shake of his head, picking up a burning cigarette from a nearby ashtray.
“Silvano, I am profusely sorry for this abject and uncouth behaviour! This being is no friend of mine, I can assure you,” Seneca asserted as he and Envy made their way inside.
“The feeling’s mutual, Chamberlain,” The Mandrake remarked. “Mr. Santoro, I apologize for the damage to the premises, but as Miss Noir has said, we’re here on urgent business.”
“Yes, that’s correct. We’ve been given to understand the Darling Twins are regular customers of yours,” Envy explained, before the smoke-saturated room sent her into a coughing spell. She fumbled around in her purse and pulled out a black N95 mask she had left over from the Pandemic.
“I’ve got plenty of regular customers,” Silvan replied defensively. “Customers who pay good money for that smoke you’re so offended by, young lady.”
“These ones have been coming here for over half a century and never aged a day,” The Mandrake said.
“That honestly doesn’t narrow it down that much,” Silvano chuckled, tapping his cigarette on his ashtray. “But yeah, I know the Darlings. What of it?”
“When was the last time they were here?” The Mandrake demanded.
“What’s it to you?” Silvano asked.
“They’re fugitives of the Order now and we want them brought in,” Envy replied, having donned her mask and mostly recovered from the smoke. “Mary Darling held a knife to my throat once in front of my sister, and later threatened to eat me alive in front of her and feed me to her pigs.”
“They were going to put me in their daughter’s doll collection,” The Mandrake muttered.
“And I have nothing but nice things to say about the Darlings, so I’m honestly not quite sure how I got dragged into this,” Seneca said. “That aside, it really would be of great help to us if you could share any information about them that you might have.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. They come in, they buy their smokes, they leave, just like most of my customers,” Silvano told them.
“But now they’re trying to lay low, so I’m guessing they’ve made some sort of arrangement with you to get their Satin Stag cigarettes without having to risk coming here in person,” The Mandrake said. “Maybe they set you up with one of their spare Retrovisions? Emrys said they had a few of those lying around, and they can use them as direct portals to their playroom.”
“Like they’d waste a fancy piece of technomancy like that on an old geezer like me. I haven’t seen them in months. Last year sometime, I think,” Silvano claimed.
The Mandrake casually strolled up to the front counter, rapping his fingers on the cheap glass display case.
“Real nice place you got here, Mr. Santoro. I mean, not really, but I’m sure you get the implication,” he said softly. “Ironic as it may be, a smoke shop isn’t exempt from municipal bylaws about smoking in public buildings and workspaces. You may not have had much trouble with local law enforcement before, but one phone call from my employers will change that real quick.”
“You think I’ve never been threatened before, punk?” Silvano asked, rising from his chair and staring him down.
“Boys, please, there’s no need for this,” Envy interjected. “Mr. Santoro, our Order has considerably more resources at its disposal than the Darlings, and we can certainly offer you a far greater reward for their capture than whatever they’re paying you for some cigarettes. You could retire; close this place down and get as far away as you like. How does that sound?”
“I’m not looking to retire, Miss. This business is all I’ve got, and it wouldn’t be good business to go around ratting out my best customers, now would it?” Silvano asked.
“It would be worse business to sacrifice everything you have to protect two customers,” The Mandrake threatened, his hands clamping down on the display cases so hard they began to creak. “Talk.”
Acknowledging him only with a furtive glance, Silvano took another drag from his cigarette and exhaled.
But this time, the smoke poured out from his mouth and nostrils without limit.
“What the hell?” The Mandrake cursed as he backed away.
Silvano pushed a button beneath the counter, putting his shop into lockdown with security shutters clamping down over every entrance point. As the smoke exuded from his body, it went limp and collapsed into a dried-out husk as the smoke coalesced into an animate form of its own, circling above them around the shop’s yellowed and textured ceiling.
“Damnit. Another egregore,” Envy muttered. “That explains his loyalties. The Darlings couldn’t eat him, but Emrys could.”
“So you’re saying we can’t negotiate it with it?” The Mandrake asked.
“Or fight it,” Envy clarified.
“In that case, it appears we’ve exhausted all our options. Time for a tactical retreat,” Seneca declared as he dashed for the now barricaded exit.
Whatever he was planning to do to get through it, the cloud of smoke cut him off before he got the chance. Rushing in through his nose and mouth, it immediately began suffocating him, sending him spasming to the ground as he choked for air.
The cloud assaulted Envy as well, but was unable to penetrate her mask.
“Godamnit, get away!” she shouted as she swatted it away from her burning eyes.
“Envy, get behind me now!” The Mandrake ordered as he drew out his pistols. “Sorry, Santoro, but you’re going to have to do a lot worse than that if you want to intimidate us!”
Seneca responded by gasping angrily and bashing his hand against the carpet.
“… A lot worse,” The Mandrake reiterated. “I may not be able to shoot you, but I will blow this health hazard you love so much to hell if you don’t tell me where I can find the Darlings!”
“There’ll be no need for that, Mr. Mandrake,” the voice of James Darling crackled in from some unseen speaker. A door off to the side slowly creaked open, revealing a Retrovision flickering with black and white static. The Mandrake wasted no time in shooting at it, but the bullets passed through the glass without causing any damage at all.
A hologram of James Darling manifested in the center of the room, a burning Satin Stag cigarette clutched neatly in his fingers. He saw Seneca suffocating on the floor, then turned his predatory and calculating gaze towards The Mandrake.
“Put the guns on the floor, and I’ll call Silvano off,” he offered.
The Mandrake didn’t seem to be the least bit tempted by this offer, but Envy tugged at his trenchcoat and gave him a commanding nudge. Reluctantly, The Mandrake tossed the guns to the carpet and placed his hands behind his head.
With only a single commanding wag of his index finger, the smoke cloud withdrew from Seneca’s lungs and collected itself above James like a thundercloud.
“No sense in killing you, Seneca. That would practically be doing Emrys a favour,” James said. “But Envy, what’s a pretty girl like you doing wearing a mask?”
“You’d better not let your sister hear you calling me that,” Envy taunted.
“Kind of you to worry, but it’s always the object of my flirtations who bear the brunt of my sister’s wrath,” James reminded her smugly. “Top-notch detective work tracking me down, Mr. Mandrake. Why don’t you walk in through the Retrovision and arrest me?”
“You knew we’d show up here looking for you. You were waiting for us,” The Mandrake growled.
“Again, brilliant detective work. You’ve truly earned that fedora,” James mocked him. “Yes, I knew you’d come here looking for us, so I’ve arranged for Mr. Santoro to set up shop inside our playroom. He was only hanging around here to set a trap for you. Let me tell you what’s going to happen. None of you, not even you, Mr. Mandrake, are going to be able to break out of this building. You can sit there and starve for all I care, or Miss Noir and The Mandrake could take their chances with us on the other side of the Retrovision. Sara Darling really would like to put you in her doll collection, Mr. Mandrake, and I can’t wait to tell Mary Darling exactly how pretty I think you are, Envy. If the two of you come across, I’ll let Seneca go and he can inform Erich and Ivy of your predicament. If they’d like to negotiate for your release, I… may be willing to consider it.”
“You’re a coward! If you’re going to threaten me, step across that screen and do it to my face!” the Mandrake ordered.
He took his hands off his head and took a step towards him, only for the acrid form of Silvano to interject itself between them. James took a casual drag from his cigarette, refusing even to flinch.
Envy took advantage of the distraction and grabbed the pair of spellwork pistols off of the floor, firing two rounds of consecrated lead into the limp body of Silvano. While the body didn’t react at all, the smoke cloud shook and screeched like a wounded animal, losing some of its integrity and dissipating across the room.
“That body’s not just a husk! Silvano’s bound to it!” Envy declared. “James, if you don’t let us go in the next thirty seconds I’ll have The Mandrake tear that body limb from limb and you’ll have to find some other cursed thoughtform to roll your cigarettes for you.”
The Mandrake looked back towards James who now, much to his satisfaction, had flinched.
“Thirty. Twenty-Nine. Twenty-Eight,” he began to count down as he theatrically cracked his knuckles.
Before James could come to a decision, a few wisps of smoke snaked their way back into Silvano’s body. They were enough to animate it like a marionette, its limbs moving jerkily as it input the code to retract the security shutters over the doors and windows.
“There, happy?” James asked facetiously. “You’re free to leave. Put those guns down.”
With a smug smile, Envy shook her head.
“Mandrake, grab that body. We’re taking him with us,” she announced.
When Silvano tried to slam the lockdown button again, Envy shot him, knocking him back into his seat. Before he was able to try a second time, The Mandrake had closed the distance between them. He grabbed him by the waist and slung him over his shoulder, impotently kicking and flailing like a toddler having a tantrum all the while.
“No!” James growled, his hologram disappearing and being replaced by countless others scattered throughout the room.
“What the hell?” Envy demanded as she fell back beside The Mandrake for protection.
“It’s a distraction! Shoot at the Retrovision! He’s coming through to get Silvano!” The Mandrake shouted.
Envy complied, firing multiple rounds at every image of James between them and the Retrovision, but all of them sailed clear through their targets. The smoke cloud suddenly condensed tightly around them, and The Mandrake made a break for the front door while he had the chance.
He was tackled from the side by someone moving at over fifty kilometers an hour, knocking him down and halfway across the room. When he looked up, he was completely surrounded by silhouettes of James bending down in the smoke to pick up Silvano. Jumping to his feet, he made his way back towards the Retrovision in the hopes of cutting James off.
Or at least, he thought that’s where he was going. The tumble to the floor and the encircling smoke had disoriented him, and he ended up tripping over Seneca, who was once again unable to stand from the sickening smoke.
James brushed by them in a blur, and Envy fired every last bullet trying to put him down. Each one either missed or succeeded only in striking Silvano, who was slung over James’ back.
The smoke retreated with them, and The Mandrake dashed after them in one final bid to keep them from escaping. They were just feet away from him before they leapt through the Retrovision, vanishing into the basement universe of the Darlings’ playroom. The Mandrake dared to reach in after them and pull them back, but his hand hit nothing but solid glass.
“Damnit!” he cursed, striking the top of the box set with his fist.
“Don’t break it!” Envy shouted. “If that Retrovision came from the Darlings’ playroom and was modified by James, it could be useful in tracking them down again!”
“It also gives them a two-way ticket to wherever we keep it!” The Mandrake shouted back.
“Oh yes, it would be a gamble taking this old girl with you. No doubt about that,” the black and white visage of James mocked them from the other side of the screen, taking a victory drag from his cigarette. “But on the other hand, it is one of my finer works. It would be a crime, an atrocity even, to destroy it.”
The Mandrake struck the box set again, but deliberately held back on damaging it.
“Mandrake, enough!” Envy commanded. “I know it’s risky, but we need it. Turn it off and pick it up. We’re getting out of this hellhole.”
“Don’t feel bad, Mr. Mandrake. I’m sure you’ll have another chance to end up in Sara Darling’s doll collection very soon,” James taunted just before The Mandrake managed to turn the Retrovision off.
“What an absolute waste of time,” he muttered as he lifted the vintage box set off the floor.
“Not entirely!” Seneca claimed, who had not only recovered from his spectral smoke inhalation but was now holding an unlit cigar. “Crow, Crowley & Chamberlain has a lien on this shop, and since Silvano just ran out on us and has thrown his lot in with the Darlings, this place and everything left in it is ours!”
He was just about to light it before Envy snatched it out of his hands.
“The Mandrake wasn’t bluffing about the municipal health bylaws,” she informed him. “From now on, this is a smoke-free building.”
2024.05.05 23:17 A_Vespertine Bad Habits
“The Darling Twins? Honestly, haven’t we all had enough of them by now?” Seneca ruminated as he tried to placate what was now the de facto triumvirate of the Ophion Occult Order.
Once again, he had been summoned to Adderwood Manor to account for his lapses in judgement, but rather than being on full public display in the Grand Hall, he instead found himself in a relatively small parlour. Across from the coffee table in front of him sat Ivy Noir, with her sister Envy to her right and her husband Erich to her left. Standing just to the side of them was the trenchcoat and fedora-wearing automaton who called himself The Mandrake. The one-eyed dream-catcher carved into his iridescent face rendered his emotions unreadable, but the spellwork pistols holstered in his belt made it clear that he was prepared to defend his employers against anything.
“I mean, this feud between them and Emrys is laughable,” Seneca went on. “They’re no threat to him now that he’s free of his chains, surely? Before there may have been a tactical element to his obsession with them, but now it’s just plain petty. Petra’s just out for revenge, and don’t get me started on the absurdity of that eldritch realtor wanting to flip their playroom. Does he think he can just relabel their torture chambers as BDSM dungeons and pass the Black Bile infestation off as some mould?”
“Seneca, I promised Emrys the Darlings, and the Covenant that we all signed binds us to fulfill that promise,” Ivy reminded him patiently, dropping a cube of sugar into her ouroboros-themed antique teacup. “You knew the Darlings better than any of us. You inducted them into the Order, you used them as assassins and bodyguards, and you let them withdraw every penny they had in your bank when they were fugitives!”
“Well, first of all, Crow, Crowley & Chamberlain is a financial institution, not a bank,” Seneca said flippantly. “Secondly, they had a numbered account and they didn’t show up in person, so the teller didn’t have the slightest idea of who they were dealing with.”
“You still could have frozen the account before they had that opportunity,” Erich stated.
Seneca made a display of languidly stirring some cream into his tea and taking a slow sip before responding.
“I’m very busy,” he claimed without an ounce of sincerity.
“You just didn’t want to get on the Darlings’ bad side,” Ivy said.
“I wasn’t aware they had a good side,” Seneca shrugged.
“There must be a paper trail we can follow,” Envy insisted. “Did the Darlings keep their assets anywhere else besides your bank?”
“Financial institution, and yes, I’m sure they have a proverbial Swiss bank account, but I haven’t the slightest notion of where to find it,” Seneca claimed. “It has come up in conversation that James invested about twenty percent of his income with me, twenty percent elsewhere, and shoved another twenty percent under their mattress. Mary enjoys being shagged on top of money, apparently. Their services commanded quite a high price on the underworld market, and sixty-plus years of compound interest have made them incredibly wealthy. They can afford to lie low for a long while.”
“Even if they can go without a paycheck indefinitely, they can’t go without killing,” Erich countered. “They need to hunt, and their egos mean they aren’t just going to cower from Emrys inside their playroom. They’re going to be out looking for victims and plotting against us, and you know what spots they’re likely to hit.”
“You’re wasting your time. James has had decades to scout out hunting grounds, and I’m sure he prepared for the possibility – no, inevitability – that he and his sister would become our enemies. He’s not going to risk showing up within a hundred miles of any of our Chapterhouses if he doesn’t need to,” Seneca said dismissively.
Ivy opened her mouth to speak, but stopped when The Mandrake took a step forward for the first time since the meeting began. He reached into his pocket and tossed a red and white pack of cigarettes with a shiny silhouette of a stag onto the coffee table.
“What is this?” Erich asked.
“Satin Stag cigarettes,” The Mandrake said flatly before shifting his gaze to Seneca. “That’s the Darlings’ brand, isn’t it, Mr. Chamberlain?”
“Um, yes. I believe I’ve seen them smoke those once or twice. What of it?” Seneca asked, failing to hide the nervousness creeping into his voice.
“These are artisanal cigarettes, and Harrowick County’s the only place you can buy them,” The Mandrake said. “That means that the Darlings, either directly or indirectly, are going to have to make the occasional sojourn back home, and the limited supply of these hand-rolled coffin nails means they can’t stock up too far in advance either. You know Harrowick County better than any of us. You know who makes these, you know who sells them. That’s how we track down the Darlings.”
“That’s preposterous. Do you really think they’d risk coming to Harrowick County rather than just switch brands?” Seneca scoffed.
“The Very Important Person at Pascal’s told me that Mary said they’ve been smoking these since they were kids, so they’re clearly pretty attached to them,” The Mandrake replied. “And somehow, I don’t think they’re the type to ever give up a bad habit.”
***
“Smoke & Mirrors ~ Fine Tobacco Products. Silvano Santoro, Proprietor. Est. 1949,” Envy read aloud as she, Seneca and The Mandrake stood outside the small, heavily fortified brick building.
Cast iron bars crisscrossed the windows and front door, which looked like it stood a decent chance of withstanding a police swat team. Security was obviously the shop’s proprietor’s key concern, as the ugly brown and yellow awning was tattered and faded, and the paint on the sign was so chipped it was barely even legible.
“How exactly does an unnoticeable and unattractive hole in the wall like this stay in business?” Envy asked.
“Repeat customers,” Seneca replied as he took a confident step towards the door. “Silvano knows me, and he doesn’t normally have a problem with me bringing guests along, but I expect both of you to be on your best behaviour!”
Envy gave him a reassuring nod, but The Mandrake continued to stoically stare at nothing with his hands in his pockets. Rolling his eyes, Seneca pressed a bulky plastic button on the antiquated door buzzer.
“Yeah, who is it?” a harsh and smoke-damaged voice demanded.
“It’s Seneca, Silvano. A pleasure to make your acquaintance again as well!” Seneca answered. “Just looking to pick up a few cases of cigars for a party, if you’ve got anything decent in stock, of course.”
“Who’s that you got with you?” Silvano asked suspiciously.
“Envy Noir, sir. I’m here on behalf of my sister Ivy, investigating a matter of considerable importance to the Ophion Occult Order,” Envy promptly introduced herself, much to Seneca’s chagrin. “The gentleman beside me is my bodyguard. Would you be so kind as to let us in?”
“Ah… of course. Just a moment, please,” Silvano replied.
“What’s he need a moment to buzz open a door for?” The Mandrake demanded, his stance immediately switching to full readiness.
“Making the place presentable for customers, I assume,” Seneca explained in exasperation.
“You mean he’s hiding evidence, or he’s running!” The Mandrake shouted.
“He’s a nonagenarian heavy smoker. He couldn’t run if his life depended on it,” Seneca insisted.
“I’ll see about that,” The Mandrake muttered.
Shoving Seneca out of the way, he kicked the door in with barely any effort. Storming into the shop, he saw a slender older man with thick white hair and rimmed glasses seated behind the front counter. His saggy, spotted skin was a living PSA against the products he peddled, and in his tobacco-stained hand, he held the receiver of an ornate rotary phone.
Staring at The Mandrake in cold fury, he calmly set the receiver back down in its cradle.
“Who were you talking to?” The Mandrake demanded.
“A client,” Silvano barked back with a shake of his head, picking up a burning cigarette from a nearby ashtray.
“Silvano, I am profusely sorry for this abject and uncouth behaviour! This being is no friend of mine, I can assure you,” Seneca asserted as he and Envy made their way inside.
“The feeling’s mutual, Chamberlain,” The Mandrake remarked. “Mr. Santoro, I apologize for the damage to the premises, but as Miss Noir has said, we’re here on urgent business.”
“Yes, that’s correct. We’ve been given to understand the Darling Twins are regular customers of yours,” Envy explained, before the smoke-saturated room sent her into a coughing spell. She fumbled around in her purse and pulled out a black N95 mask she had left over from the Pandemic.
“I’ve got plenty of regular customers,” Silvan replied defensively. “Customers who pay good money for that smoke you’re so offended by, young lady.”
“These ones have been coming here for over half a century and never aged a day,” The Mandrake said.
“That honestly doesn’t narrow it down that much,” Silvano chuckled, tapping his cigarette on his ashtray. “But yeah, I know the Darlings. What of it?”
“When was the last time they were here?” The Mandrake demanded.
“What’s it to you?” Silvano asked.
“They’re fugitives of the Order now and we want them brought in,” Envy replied, having donned her mask and mostly recovered from the smoke. “Mary Darling held a knife to my throat once in front of my sister, and later threatened to eat me alive in front of her and feed me to her pigs.”
“They were going to put me in their daughter’s doll collection,” The Mandrake muttered.
“And I have nothing but nice things to say about the Darlings, so I’m honestly not quite sure how I got dragged into this,” Seneca said. “That aside, it really would be of great help to us if you could share any information about them that you might have.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. They come in, they buy their smokes, they leave, just like most of my customers,” Silvano told them.
“But now they’re trying to lay low, so I’m guessing they’ve made some sort of arrangement with you to get their Satin Stag cigarettes without having to risk coming here in person,” The Mandrake said. “Maybe they set you up with one of their spare Retrovisions? Emrys said they had a few of those lying around, and they can use them as direct portals to their playroom.”
“Like they’d waste a fancy piece of technomancy like that on an old geezer like me. I haven’t seen them in months. Last year sometime, I think,” Silvano claimed.
The Mandrake casually strolled up to the front counter, rapping his fingers on the cheap glass display case.
“Real nice place you got here, Mr. Santoro. I mean, not really, but I’m sure you get the implication,” he said softly. “Ironic as it may be, a smoke shop isn’t exempt from municipal bylaws about smoking in public buildings and workspaces. You may not have had much trouble with local law enforcement before, but one phone call from my employers will change that real quick.”
“You think I’ve never been threatened before, punk?” Silvano asked, rising from his chair and staring him down.
“Boys, please, there’s no need for this,” Envy interjected. “Mr. Santoro, our Order has considerably more resources at its disposal than the Darlings, and we can certainly offer you a far greater reward for their capture than whatever they’re paying you for some cigarettes. You could retire; close this place down and get as far away as you like. How does that sound?”
“I’m not looking to retire, Miss. This business is all I’ve got, and it wouldn’t be good business to go around ratting out my best customers, now would it?” Silvano asked.
“It would be worse business to sacrifice everything you have to protect two customers,” The Mandrake threatened, his hands clamping down on the display cases so hard they began to creak. “Talk.”
Acknowledging him only with a furtive glance, Silvano took another drag from his cigarette and exhaled.
But this time, the smoke poured out from his mouth and nostrils without limit.
“What the hell?” The Mandrake cursed as he backed away.
Silvano pushed a button beneath the counter, putting his shop into lockdown with security shutters clamping down over every entrance point. As the smoke exuded from his body, it went limp and collapsed into a dried-out husk as the smoke coalesced into an animate form of its own, circling above them around the shop’s yellowed and textured ceiling.
“Damnit. Another egregore,” Envy muttered. “That explains his loyalties. The Darlings couldn’t eat him, but Emrys could.”
“So you’re saying we can’t negotiate it with it?” The Mandrake asked.
“Or fight it,” Envy clarified.
“In that case, it appears we’ve exhausted all our options. Time for a tactical retreat,” Seneca declared as he dashed for the now barricaded exit.
Whatever he was planning to do to get through it, the cloud of smoke cut him off before he got the chance. Rushing in through his nose and mouth, it immediately began suffocating him, sending him spasming to the ground as he choked for air.
The cloud assaulted Envy as well, but was unable to penetrate her mask.
“Godamnit, get away!” she shouted as she swatted it away from her burning eyes.
“Envy, get behind me now!” The Mandrake ordered as he drew out his pistols. “Sorry, Santoro, but you’re going to have to do a lot worse than that if you want to intimidate us!”
Seneca responded by gasping angrily and bashing his hand against the carpet.
“… A lot worse,” The Mandrake reiterated. “I may not be able to shoot you, but I will blow this health hazard you love so much to hell if you don’t tell me where I can find the Darlings!”
“There’ll be no need for that, Mr. Mandrake,” the voice of James Darling crackled in from some unseen speaker. A door off to the side slowly creaked open, revealing a Retrovision flickering with black and white static. The Mandrake wasted no time in shooting at it, but the bullets passed through the glass without causing any damage at all.
A hologram of James Darling manifested in the center of the room, a burning Satin Stag cigarette clutched neatly in his fingers. He saw Seneca suffocating on the floor, then turned his predatory and calculating gaze towards The Mandrake.
“Put the guns on the floor, and I’ll call Silvano off,” he offered.
The Mandrake didn’t seem to be the least bit tempted by this offer, but Envy tugged at his trenchcoat and gave him a commanding nudge. Reluctantly, The Mandrake tossed the guns to the carpet and placed his hands behind his head.
With only a single commanding wag of his index finger, the smoke cloud withdrew from Seneca’s lungs and collected itself above James like a thundercloud.
“No sense in killing you, Seneca. That would practically be doing Emrys a favour,” James said. “But Envy, what’s a pretty girl like you doing wearing a mask?”
“You’d better not let your sister hear you calling me that,” Envy taunted.
“Kind of you to worry, but it’s always the object of my flirtations who bear the brunt of my sister’s wrath,” James reminded her smugly. “Top-notch detective work tracking me down, Mr. Mandrake. Why don’t you walk in through the Retrovision and arrest me?”
“You knew we’d show up here looking for you. You were waiting for us,” The Mandrake growled.
“Again, brilliant detective work. You’ve truly earned that fedora,” James mocked him. “Yes, I knew you’d come here looking for us, so I’ve arranged for Mr. Santoro to set up shop inside our playroom. He was only hanging around here to set a trap for you. Let me tell you what’s going to happen. None of you, not even you, Mr. Mandrake, are going to be able to break out of this building. You can sit there and starve for all I care, or Miss Noir and The Mandrake could take their chances with us on the other side of the Retrovision. Sara Darling really would like to put you in her doll collection, Mr. Mandrake, and I can’t wait to tell Mary Darling exactly how pretty I think you are, Envy. If the two of you come across, I’ll let Seneca go and he can inform Erich and Ivy of your predicament. If they’d like to negotiate for your release, I… may be willing to consider it.”
“You’re a coward! If you’re going to threaten me, step across that screen and do it to my face!” the Mandrake ordered.
He took his hands off his head and took a step towards him, only for the acrid form of Silvano to interject itself between them. James took a casual drag from his cigarette, refusing even to flinch.
Envy took advantage of the distraction and grabbed the pair of spellwork pistols off of the floor, firing two rounds of consecrated lead into the limp body of Silvano. While the body didn’t react at all, the smoke cloud shook and screeched like a wounded animal, losing some of its integrity and dissipating across the room.
“That body’s not just a husk! Silvano’s bound to it!” Envy declared. “James, if you don’t let us go in the next thirty seconds I’ll have The Mandrake tear that body limb from limb and you’ll have to find some other cursed thoughtform to roll your cigarettes for you.”
The Mandrake looked back towards James who now, much to his satisfaction, had flinched.
“Thirty. Twenty-Nine. Twenty-Eight,” he began to count down as he theatrically cracked his knuckles.
Before James could come to a decision, a few wisps of smoke snaked their way back into Silvano’s body. They were enough to animate it like a marionette, its limbs moving jerkily as it input the code to retract the security shutters over the doors and windows.
“There, happy?” James asked facetiously. “You’re free to leave. Put those guns down.”
With a smug smile, Envy shook her head.
“Mandrake, grab that body. We’re taking him with us,” she announced.
When Silvano tried to slam the lockdown button again, Envy shot him, knocking him back into his seat. Before he was able to try a second time, The Mandrake had closed the distance between them. He grabbed him by the waist and slung him over his shoulder, impotently kicking and flailing like a toddler having a tantrum all the while.
“No!” James growled, his hologram disappearing and being replaced by countless others scattered throughout the room.
“What the hell?” Envy demanded as she fell back beside The Mandrake for protection.
“It’s a distraction! Shoot at the Retrovision! He’s coming through to get Silvano!” The Mandrake shouted.
Envy complied, firing multiple rounds at every image of James between them and the Retrovision, but all of them sailed clear through their targets. The smoke cloud suddenly condensed tightly around them, and The Mandrake made a break for the front door while he had the chance.
He was tackled from the side by someone moving at over fifty kilometers an hour, knocking him down and halfway across the room. When he looked up, he was completely surrounded by silhouettes of James bending down in the smoke to pick up Silvano. Jumping to his feet, he made his way back towards the Retrovision in the hopes of cutting James off.
Or at least, he thought that’s where he was going. The tumble to the floor and the encircling smoke had disoriented him, and he ended up tripping over Seneca, who was once again unable to stand from the sickening smoke.
James brushed by them in a blur, and Envy fired every last bullet trying to put him down. Each one either missed or succeeded only in striking Silvano, who was slung over James’ back.
The smoke retreated with them, and The Mandrake dashed after them in one final bid to keep them from escaping. They were just feet away from him before they leapt through the Retrovision, vanishing into the basement universe of the Darlings’ playroom. The Mandrake dared to reach in after them and pull them back, but his hand hit nothing but solid glass.
“Damnit!” he cursed, striking the top of the box set with his fist.
“Don’t break it!” Envy shouted. “If that Retrovision came from the Darlings’ playroom and was modified by James, it could be useful in tracking them down again!”
“It also gives them a two-way ticket to wherever we keep it!” The Mandrake shouted back.
“Oh yes, it would be a gamble taking this old girl with you. No doubt about that,” the black and white visage of James mocked them from the other side of the screen, taking a victory drag from his cigarette. “But on the other hand, it is one of my finer works. It would be a crime, an atrocity even, to destroy it.”
The Mandrake struck the box set again, but deliberately held back on damaging it.
“Mandrake, enough!” Envy commanded. “I know it’s risky, but we need it. Turn it off and pick it up. We’re getting out of this hellhole.”
“Don’t feel bad, Mr. Mandrake. I’m sure you’ll have another chance to end up in Sara Darling’s doll collection very soon,” James taunted just before The Mandrake managed to turn the Retrovision off.
“What an absolute waste of time,” he muttered as he lifted the vintage box set off the floor.
“Not entirely!” Seneca claimed, who had not only recovered from his spectral smoke inhalation but was now holding an unlit cigar. “Crow, Crowley & Chamberlain has a lien on this shop, and since Silvano just ran out on us and has thrown his lot in with the Darlings, this place and everything left in it is ours!”
He was just about to light it before Envy snatched it out of his hands.
“The Mandrake wasn’t bluffing about the municipal health bylaws,” she informed him. “From now on, this is a smoke-free building.”
submitted by A_Vespertine to libraryofshadows [link] [comments]
Once again, he had been summoned to Adderwood Manor to account for his lapses in judgement, but rather than being on full public display in the Grand Hall, he instead found himself in a relatively small parlour. Across from the coffee table in front of him sat Ivy Noir, with her sister Envy to her right and her husband Erich to her left. Standing just to the side of them was the trenchcoat and fedora-wearing automaton who called himself The Mandrake. The one-eyed dream-catcher carved into his iridescent face rendered his emotions unreadable, but the spellwork pistols holstered in his belt made it clear that he was prepared to defend his employers against anything.
“I mean, this feud between them and Emrys is laughable,” Seneca went on. “They’re no threat to him now that he’s free of his chains, surely? Before there may have been a tactical element to his obsession with them, but now it’s just plain petty. Petra’s just out for revenge, and don’t get me started on the absurdity of that eldritch realtor wanting to flip their playroom. Does he think he can just relabel their torture chambers as BDSM dungeons and pass the Black Bile infestation off as some mould?”
“Seneca, I promised Emrys the Darlings, and the Covenant that we all signed binds us to fulfill that promise,” Ivy reminded him patiently, dropping a cube of sugar into her ouroboros-themed antique teacup. “You knew the Darlings better than any of us. You inducted them into the Order, you used them as assassins and bodyguards, and you let them withdraw every penny they had in your bank when they were fugitives!”
“Well, first of all, Crow, Crowley & Chamberlain is a financial institution, not a bank,” Seneca said flippantly. “Secondly, they had a numbered account and they didn’t show up in person, so the teller didn’t have the slightest idea of who they were dealing with.”
“You still could have frozen the account before they had that opportunity,” Erich stated.
Seneca made a display of languidly stirring some cream into his tea and taking a slow sip before responding.
“I’m very busy,” he claimed without an ounce of sincerity.
“You just didn’t want to get on the Darlings’ bad side,” Ivy said.
“I wasn’t aware they had a good side,” Seneca shrugged.
“There must be a paper trail we can follow,” Envy insisted. “Did the Darlings keep their assets anywhere else besides your bank?”
“Financial institution, and yes, I’m sure they have a proverbial Swiss bank account, but I haven’t the slightest notion of where to find it,” Seneca claimed. “It has come up in conversation that James invested about twenty percent of his income with me, twenty percent elsewhere, and shoved another twenty percent under their mattress. Mary enjoys being shagged on top of money, apparently. Their services commanded quite a high price on the underworld market, and sixty-plus years of compound interest have made them incredibly wealthy. They can afford to lie low for a long while.”
“Even if they can go without a paycheck indefinitely, they can’t go without killing,” Erich countered. “They need to hunt, and their egos mean they aren’t just going to cower from Emrys inside their playroom. They’re going to be out looking for victims and plotting against us, and you know what spots they’re likely to hit.”
“You’re wasting your time. James has had decades to scout out hunting grounds, and I’m sure he prepared for the possibility – no, inevitability – that he and his sister would become our enemies. He’s not going to risk showing up within a hundred miles of any of our Chapterhouses if he doesn’t need to,” Seneca said dismissively.
Ivy opened her mouth to speak, but stopped when The Mandrake took a step forward for the first time since the meeting began. He reached into his pocket and tossed a red and white pack of cigarettes with a shiny silhouette of a stag onto the coffee table.
“What is this?” Erich asked.
“Satin Stag cigarettes,” The Mandrake said flatly before shifting his gaze to Seneca. “That’s the Darlings’ brand, isn’t it, Mr. Chamberlain?”
“Um, yes. I believe I’ve seen them smoke those once or twice. What of it?” Seneca asked, failing to hide the nervousness creeping into his voice.
“These are artisanal cigarettes, and Harrowick County’s the only place you can buy them,” The Mandrake said. “That means that the Darlings, either directly or indirectly, are going to have to make the occasional sojourn back home, and the limited supply of these hand-rolled coffin nails means they can’t stock up too far in advance either. You know Harrowick County better than any of us. You know who makes these, you know who sells them. That’s how we track down the Darlings.”
“That’s preposterous. Do you really think they’d risk coming to Harrowick County rather than just switch brands?” Seneca scoffed.
“The Very Important Person at Pascal’s told me that Mary said they’ve been smoking these since they were kids, so they’re clearly pretty attached to them,” The Mandrake replied. “And somehow, I don’t think they’re the type to ever give up a bad habit.”
***
“Smoke & Mirrors ~ Fine Tobacco Products. Silvano Santoro, Proprietor. Est. 1949,” Envy read aloud as she, Seneca and The Mandrake stood outside the small, heavily fortified brick building.
Cast iron bars crisscrossed the windows and front door, which looked like it stood a decent chance of withstanding a police swat team. Security was obviously the shop’s proprietor’s key concern, as the ugly brown and yellow awning was tattered and faded, and the paint on the sign was so chipped it was barely even legible.
“How exactly does an unnoticeable and unattractive hole in the wall like this stay in business?” Envy asked.
“Repeat customers,” Seneca replied as he took a confident step towards the door. “Silvano knows me, and he doesn’t normally have a problem with me bringing guests along, but I expect both of you to be on your best behaviour!”
Envy gave him a reassuring nod, but The Mandrake continued to stoically stare at nothing with his hands in his pockets. Rolling his eyes, Seneca pressed a bulky plastic button on the antiquated door buzzer.
“Yeah, who is it?” a harsh and smoke-damaged voice demanded.
“It’s Seneca, Silvano. A pleasure to make your acquaintance again as well!” Seneca answered. “Just looking to pick up a few cases of cigars for a party, if you’ve got anything decent in stock, of course.”
“Who’s that you got with you?” Silvano asked suspiciously.
“Envy Noir, sir. I’m here on behalf of my sister Ivy, investigating a matter of considerable importance to the Ophion Occult Order,” Envy promptly introduced herself, much to Seneca’s chagrin. “The gentleman beside me is my bodyguard. Would you be so kind as to let us in?”
“Ah… of course. Just a moment, please,” Silvano replied.
“What’s he need a moment to buzz open a door for?” The Mandrake demanded, his stance immediately switching to full readiness.
“Making the place presentable for customers, I assume,” Seneca explained in exasperation.
“You mean he’s hiding evidence, or he’s running!” The Mandrake shouted.
“He’s a nonagenarian heavy smoker. He couldn’t run if his life depended on it,” Seneca insisted.
“I’ll see about that,” The Mandrake muttered.
Shoving Seneca out of the way, he kicked the door in with barely any effort. Storming into the shop, he saw a slender older man with thick white hair and rimmed glasses seated behind the front counter. His saggy, spotted skin was a living PSA against the products he peddled, and in his tobacco-stained hand, he held the receiver of an ornate rotary phone.
Staring at The Mandrake in cold fury, he calmly set the receiver back down in its cradle.
“Who were you talking to?” The Mandrake demanded.
“A client,” Silvano barked back with a shake of his head, picking up a burning cigarette from a nearby ashtray.
“Silvano, I am profusely sorry for this abject and uncouth behaviour! This being is no friend of mine, I can assure you,” Seneca asserted as he and Envy made their way inside.
“The feeling’s mutual, Chamberlain,” The Mandrake remarked. “Mr. Santoro, I apologize for the damage to the premises, but as Miss Noir has said, we’re here on urgent business.”
“Yes, that’s correct. We’ve been given to understand the Darling Twins are regular customers of yours,” Envy explained, before the smoke-saturated room sent her into a coughing spell. She fumbled around in her purse and pulled out a black N95 mask she had left over from the Pandemic.
“I’ve got plenty of regular customers,” Silvan replied defensively. “Customers who pay good money for that smoke you’re so offended by, young lady.”
“These ones have been coming here for over half a century and never aged a day,” The Mandrake said.
“That honestly doesn’t narrow it down that much,” Silvano chuckled, tapping his cigarette on his ashtray. “But yeah, I know the Darlings. What of it?”
“When was the last time they were here?” The Mandrake demanded.
“What’s it to you?” Silvano asked.
“They’re fugitives of the Order now and we want them brought in,” Envy replied, having donned her mask and mostly recovered from the smoke. “Mary Darling held a knife to my throat once in front of my sister, and later threatened to eat me alive in front of her and feed me to her pigs.”
“They were going to put me in their daughter’s doll collection,” The Mandrake muttered.
“And I have nothing but nice things to say about the Darlings, so I’m honestly not quite sure how I got dragged into this,” Seneca said. “That aside, it really would be of great help to us if you could share any information about them that you might have.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. They come in, they buy their smokes, they leave, just like most of my customers,” Silvano told them.
“But now they’re trying to lay low, so I’m guessing they’ve made some sort of arrangement with you to get their Satin Stag cigarettes without having to risk coming here in person,” The Mandrake said. “Maybe they set you up with one of their spare Retrovisions? Emrys said they had a few of those lying around, and they can use them as direct portals to their playroom.”
“Like they’d waste a fancy piece of technomancy like that on an old geezer like me. I haven’t seen them in months. Last year sometime, I think,” Silvano claimed.
The Mandrake casually strolled up to the front counter, rapping his fingers on the cheap glass display case.
“Real nice place you got here, Mr. Santoro. I mean, not really, but I’m sure you get the implication,” he said softly. “Ironic as it may be, a smoke shop isn’t exempt from municipal bylaws about smoking in public buildings and workspaces. You may not have had much trouble with local law enforcement before, but one phone call from my employers will change that real quick.”
“You think I’ve never been threatened before, punk?” Silvano asked, rising from his chair and staring him down.
“Boys, please, there’s no need for this,” Envy interjected. “Mr. Santoro, our Order has considerably more resources at its disposal than the Darlings, and we can certainly offer you a far greater reward for their capture than whatever they’re paying you for some cigarettes. You could retire; close this place down and get as far away as you like. How does that sound?”
“I’m not looking to retire, Miss. This business is all I’ve got, and it wouldn’t be good business to go around ratting out my best customers, now would it?” Silvano asked.
“It would be worse business to sacrifice everything you have to protect two customers,” The Mandrake threatened, his hands clamping down on the display cases so hard they began to creak. “Talk.”
Acknowledging him only with a furtive glance, Silvano took another drag from his cigarette and exhaled.
But this time, the smoke poured out from his mouth and nostrils without limit.
“What the hell?” The Mandrake cursed as he backed away.
Silvano pushed a button beneath the counter, putting his shop into lockdown with security shutters clamping down over every entrance point. As the smoke exuded from his body, it went limp and collapsed into a dried-out husk as the smoke coalesced into an animate form of its own, circling above them around the shop’s yellowed and textured ceiling.
“Damnit. Another egregore,” Envy muttered. “That explains his loyalties. The Darlings couldn’t eat him, but Emrys could.”
“So you’re saying we can’t negotiate it with it?” The Mandrake asked.
“Or fight it,” Envy clarified.
“In that case, it appears we’ve exhausted all our options. Time for a tactical retreat,” Seneca declared as he dashed for the now barricaded exit.
Whatever he was planning to do to get through it, the cloud of smoke cut him off before he got the chance. Rushing in through his nose and mouth, it immediately began suffocating him, sending him spasming to the ground as he choked for air.
The cloud assaulted Envy as well, but was unable to penetrate her mask.
“Godamnit, get away!” she shouted as she swatted it away from her burning eyes.
“Envy, get behind me now!” The Mandrake ordered as he drew out his pistols. “Sorry, Santoro, but you’re going to have to do a lot worse than that if you want to intimidate us!”
Seneca responded by gasping angrily and bashing his hand against the carpet.
“… A lot worse,” The Mandrake reiterated. “I may not be able to shoot you, but I will blow this health hazard you love so much to hell if you don’t tell me where I can find the Darlings!”
“There’ll be no need for that, Mr. Mandrake,” the voice of James Darling crackled in from some unseen speaker. A door off to the side slowly creaked open, revealing a Retrovision flickering with black and white static. The Mandrake wasted no time in shooting at it, but the bullets passed through the glass without causing any damage at all.
A hologram of James Darling manifested in the center of the room, a burning Satin Stag cigarette clutched neatly in his fingers. He saw Seneca suffocating on the floor, then turned his predatory and calculating gaze towards The Mandrake.
“Put the guns on the floor, and I’ll call Silvano off,” he offered.
The Mandrake didn’t seem to be the least bit tempted by this offer, but Envy tugged at his trenchcoat and gave him a commanding nudge. Reluctantly, The Mandrake tossed the guns to the carpet and placed his hands behind his head.
With only a single commanding wag of his index finger, the smoke cloud withdrew from Seneca’s lungs and collected itself above James like a thundercloud.
“No sense in killing you, Seneca. That would practically be doing Emrys a favour,” James said. “But Envy, what’s a pretty girl like you doing wearing a mask?”
“You’d better not let your sister hear you calling me that,” Envy taunted.
“Kind of you to worry, but it’s always the object of my flirtations who bear the brunt of my sister’s wrath,” James reminded her smugly. “Top-notch detective work tracking me down, Mr. Mandrake. Why don’t you walk in through the Retrovision and arrest me?”
“You knew we’d show up here looking for you. You were waiting for us,” The Mandrake growled.
“Again, brilliant detective work. You’ve truly earned that fedora,” James mocked him. “Yes, I knew you’d come here looking for us, so I’ve arranged for Mr. Santoro to set up shop inside our playroom. He was only hanging around here to set a trap for you. Let me tell you what’s going to happen. None of you, not even you, Mr. Mandrake, are going to be able to break out of this building. You can sit there and starve for all I care, or Miss Noir and The Mandrake could take their chances with us on the other side of the Retrovision. Sara Darling really would like to put you in her doll collection, Mr. Mandrake, and I can’t wait to tell Mary Darling exactly how pretty I think you are, Envy. If the two of you come across, I’ll let Seneca go and he can inform Erich and Ivy of your predicament. If they’d like to negotiate for your release, I… may be willing to consider it.”
“You’re a coward! If you’re going to threaten me, step across that screen and do it to my face!” the Mandrake ordered.
He took his hands off his head and took a step towards him, only for the acrid form of Silvano to interject itself between them. James took a casual drag from his cigarette, refusing even to flinch.
Envy took advantage of the distraction and grabbed the pair of spellwork pistols off of the floor, firing two rounds of consecrated lead into the limp body of Silvano. While the body didn’t react at all, the smoke cloud shook and screeched like a wounded animal, losing some of its integrity and dissipating across the room.
“That body’s not just a husk! Silvano’s bound to it!” Envy declared. “James, if you don’t let us go in the next thirty seconds I’ll have The Mandrake tear that body limb from limb and you’ll have to find some other cursed thoughtform to roll your cigarettes for you.”
The Mandrake looked back towards James who now, much to his satisfaction, had flinched.
“Thirty. Twenty-Nine. Twenty-Eight,” he began to count down as he theatrically cracked his knuckles.
Before James could come to a decision, a few wisps of smoke snaked their way back into Silvano’s body. They were enough to animate it like a marionette, its limbs moving jerkily as it input the code to retract the security shutters over the doors and windows.
“There, happy?” James asked facetiously. “You’re free to leave. Put those guns down.”
With a smug smile, Envy shook her head.
“Mandrake, grab that body. We’re taking him with us,” she announced.
When Silvano tried to slam the lockdown button again, Envy shot him, knocking him back into his seat. Before he was able to try a second time, The Mandrake had closed the distance between them. He grabbed him by the waist and slung him over his shoulder, impotently kicking and flailing like a toddler having a tantrum all the while.
“No!” James growled, his hologram disappearing and being replaced by countless others scattered throughout the room.
“What the hell?” Envy demanded as she fell back beside The Mandrake for protection.
“It’s a distraction! Shoot at the Retrovision! He’s coming through to get Silvano!” The Mandrake shouted.
Envy complied, firing multiple rounds at every image of James between them and the Retrovision, but all of them sailed clear through their targets. The smoke cloud suddenly condensed tightly around them, and The Mandrake made a break for the front door while he had the chance.
He was tackled from the side by someone moving at over fifty kilometers an hour, knocking him down and halfway across the room. When he looked up, he was completely surrounded by silhouettes of James bending down in the smoke to pick up Silvano. Jumping to his feet, he made his way back towards the Retrovision in the hopes of cutting James off.
Or at least, he thought that’s where he was going. The tumble to the floor and the encircling smoke had disoriented him, and he ended up tripping over Seneca, who was once again unable to stand from the sickening smoke.
James brushed by them in a blur, and Envy fired every last bullet trying to put him down. Each one either missed or succeeded only in striking Silvano, who was slung over James’ back.
The smoke retreated with them, and The Mandrake dashed after them in one final bid to keep them from escaping. They were just feet away from him before they leapt through the Retrovision, vanishing into the basement universe of the Darlings’ playroom. The Mandrake dared to reach in after them and pull them back, but his hand hit nothing but solid glass.
“Damnit!” he cursed, striking the top of the box set with his fist.
“Don’t break it!” Envy shouted. “If that Retrovision came from the Darlings’ playroom and was modified by James, it could be useful in tracking them down again!”
“It also gives them a two-way ticket to wherever we keep it!” The Mandrake shouted back.
“Oh yes, it would be a gamble taking this old girl with you. No doubt about that,” the black and white visage of James mocked them from the other side of the screen, taking a victory drag from his cigarette. “But on the other hand, it is one of my finer works. It would be a crime, an atrocity even, to destroy it.”
The Mandrake struck the box set again, but deliberately held back on damaging it.
“Mandrake, enough!” Envy commanded. “I know it’s risky, but we need it. Turn it off and pick it up. We’re getting out of this hellhole.”
“Don’t feel bad, Mr. Mandrake. I’m sure you’ll have another chance to end up in Sara Darling’s doll collection very soon,” James taunted just before The Mandrake managed to turn the Retrovision off.
“What an absolute waste of time,” he muttered as he lifted the vintage box set off the floor.
“Not entirely!” Seneca claimed, who had not only recovered from his spectral smoke inhalation but was now holding an unlit cigar. “Crow, Crowley & Chamberlain has a lien on this shop, and since Silvano just ran out on us and has thrown his lot in with the Darlings, this place and everything left in it is ours!”
He was just about to light it before Envy snatched it out of his hands.
“The Mandrake wasn’t bluffing about the municipal health bylaws,” she informed him. “From now on, this is a smoke-free building.”
2024.05.05 23:15 A_Vespertine Bad Habits
“The Darling Twins? Honestly, haven’t we all had enough of them by now?” Seneca ruminated as he tried to placate what was now the de facto triumvirate of the Ophion Occult Order.
Once again, he had been summoned to Adderwood Manor to account for his lapses in judgement, but rather than being on full public display in the Grand Hall, he instead found himself in a relatively small parlour. Across from the coffee table in front of him sat Ivy Noir, with her sister Envy to her right and her husband Erich to her left. Standing just to the side of them was the trenchcoat and fedora-wearing automaton who called himself The Mandrake. The one-eyed dream-catcher carved into his iridescent face rendered his emotions unreadable, but the spellwork pistols holstered in his belt made it clear that he was prepared to defend his employers against anything.
“I mean, this feud between them and Emrys is laughable,” Seneca went on. “They’re no threat to him now that he’s free of his chains, surely? Before there may have been a tactical element to his obsession with them, but now it’s just plain petty. Petra’s just out for revenge, and don’t get me started on the absurdity of that eldritch realtor wanting to flip their playroom. Does he think he can just relabel their torture chambers as BDSM dungeons and pass the Black Bile infestation off as some mould?”
“Seneca, I promised Emrys the Darlings, and the Covenant that we all signed binds us to fulfill that promise,” Ivy reminded him patiently, dropping a cube of sugar into her ouroboros-themed antique teacup. “You knew the Darlings better than any of us. You inducted them into the Order, you used them as assassins and bodyguards, and you let them withdraw every penny they had in your bank when they were fugitives!”
“Well, first of all, Crow, Crowley & Chamberlain is a financial institution, not a bank,” Seneca said flippantly. “Secondly, they had a numbered account and they didn’t show up in person, so the teller didn’t have the slightest idea of who they were dealing with.”
“You still could have frozen the account before they had that opportunity,” Erich stated.
Seneca made a display of languidly stirring some cream into his tea and taking a slow sip before responding.
“I’m very busy,” he claimed without an ounce of sincerity.
“You just didn’t want to get on the Darlings’ bad side,” Ivy said.
“I wasn’t aware they had a good side,” Seneca shrugged.
“There must be a paper trail we can follow,” Envy insisted. “Did the Darlings keep their assets anywhere else besides your bank?”
“Financial institution, and yes, I’m sure they have a proverbial Swiss bank account, but I haven’t the slightest notion of where to find it,” Seneca claimed. “It has come up in conversation that James invested about twenty percent of his income with me, twenty percent elsewhere, and shoved another twenty percent under their mattress. Mary enjoys being shagged on top of money, apparently. Their services commanded quite a high price on the underworld market, and sixty-plus years of compound interest have made them incredibly wealthy. They can afford to lie low for a long while.”
“Even if they can go without a paycheck indefinitely, they can’t go without killing,” Erich countered. “They need to hunt, and their egos mean they aren’t just going to cower from Emrys inside their playroom. They’re going to be out looking for victims and plotting against us, and you know what spots they’re likely to hit.”
“You’re wasting your time. James has had decades to scout out hunting grounds, and I’m sure he prepared for the possibility – no, inevitability – that he and his sister would become our enemies. He’s not going to risk showing up within a hundred miles of any of our Chapterhouses if he doesn’t need to,” Seneca said dismissively.
Ivy opened her mouth to speak, but stopped when The Mandrake took a step forward for the first time since the meeting began. He reached into his pocket and tossed a red and white pack of cigarettes with a shiny silhouette of a stag onto the coffee table.
“What is this?” Erich asked.
“Satin Stag cigarettes,” The Mandrake said flatly before shifting his gaze to Seneca. “That’s the Darlings’ brand, isn’t it, Mr. Chamberlain?”
“Um, yes. I believe I’ve seen them smoke those once or twice. What of it?” Seneca asked, failing to hide the nervousness creeping into his voice.
“These are artisanal cigarettes, and Harrowick County’s the only place you can buy them,” The Mandrake said. “That means that the Darlings, either directly or indirectly, are going to have to make the occasional sojourn back home, and the limited supply of these hand-rolled coffin nails means they can’t stock up too far in advance either. You know Harrowick County better than any of us. You know who makes these, you know who sells them. That’s how we track down the Darlings.”
“That’s preposterous. Do you really think they’d risk coming to Harrowick County rather than just switch brands?” Seneca scoffed.
“The Very Important Person at Pascal’s told me that Mary said they’ve been smoking these since they were kids, so they’re clearly pretty attached to them,” The Mandrake replied. “And somehow, I don’t think they’re the type to ever give up a bad habit.”
***
“Smoke & Mirrors ~ Fine Tobacco Products. Silvano Santoro, Proprietor. Est. 1949,” Envy read aloud as she, Seneca and The Mandrake stood outside the small, heavily fortified brick building.
Cast iron bars crisscrossed the windows and front door, which looked like it stood a decent chance of withstanding a police swat team. Security was obviously the shop’s proprietor’s key concern, as the ugly brown and yellow awning was tattered and faded, and the paint on the sign was so chipped it was barely even legible.
“How exactly does an unnoticeable and unattractive hole in the wall like this stay in business?” Envy asked.
“Repeat customers,” Seneca replied as he took a confident step towards the door. “Silvano knows me, and he doesn’t normally have a problem with me bringing guests along, but I expect both of you to be on your best behaviour!”
Envy gave him a reassuring nod, but The Mandrake continued to stoically stare at nothing with his hands in his pockets. Rolling his eyes, Seneca pressed a bulky plastic button on the antiquated door buzzer.
“Yeah, who is it?” a harsh and smoke-damaged voice demanded.
“It’s Seneca, Silvano. A pleasure to make your acquaintance again as well!” Seneca answered. “Just looking to pick up a few cases of cigars for a party, if you’ve got anything decent in stock, of course.”
“Who’s that you got with you?” Silvano asked suspiciously.
“Envy Noir, sir. I’m here on behalf of my sister Ivy, investigating a matter of considerable importance to the Ophion Occult Order,” Envy promptly introduced herself, much to Seneca’s chagrin. “The gentleman beside me is my bodyguard. Would you be so kind as to let us in?”
“Ah… of course. Just a moment, please,” Silvano replied.
“What’s he need a moment to buzz open a door for?” The Mandrake demanded, his stance immediately switching to full readiness.
“Making the place presentable for customers, I assume,” Seneca explained in exasperation.
“You mean he’s hiding evidence, or he’s running!” The Mandrake shouted.
“He’s a nonagenarian heavy smoker. He couldn’t run if his life depended on it,” Seneca insisted.
“I’ll see about that,” The Mandrake muttered.
Shoving Seneca out of the way, he kicked the door in with barely any effort. Storming into the shop, he saw a slender older man with thick white hair and rimmed glasses seated behind the front counter. His saggy, spotted skin was a living PSA against the products he peddled, and in his tobacco-stained hand, he held the receiver of an ornate rotary phone.
Staring at The Mandrake in cold fury, he calmly set the receiver back down in its cradle.
“Who were you talking to?” The Mandrake demanded.
“A client,” Silvano barked back with a shake of his head, picking up a burning cigarette from a nearby ashtray.
“Silvano, I am profusely sorry for this abject and uncouth behaviour! This being is no friend of mine, I can assure you,” Seneca asserted as he and Envy made their way inside.
“The feeling’s mutual, Chamberlain,” The Mandrake remarked. “Mr. Santoro, I apologize for the damage to the premises, but as Miss Noir has said, we’re here on urgent business.”
“Yes, that’s correct. We’ve been given to understand the Darling Twins are regular customers of yours,” Envy explained, before the smoke-saturated room sent her into a coughing spell. She fumbled around in her purse and pulled out a black N95 mask she had left over from the Pandemic.
“I’ve got plenty of regular customers,” Silvan replied defensively. “Customers who pay good money for that smoke you’re so offended by, young lady.”
“These ones have been coming here for over half a century and never aged a day,” The Mandrake said.
“That honestly doesn’t narrow it down that much,” Silvano chuckled, tapping his cigarette on his ashtray. “But yeah, I know the Darlings. What of it?”
“When was the last time they were here?” The Mandrake demanded.
“What’s it to you?” Silvano asked.
“They’re fugitives of the Order now and we want them brought in,” Envy replied, having donned her mask and mostly recovered from the smoke. “Mary Darling held a knife to my throat once in front of my sister, and later threatened to eat me alive in front of her and feed me to her pigs.”
“They were going to put me in their daughter’s doll collection,” The Mandrake muttered.
“And I have nothing but nice things to say about the Darlings, so I’m honestly not quite sure how I got dragged into this,” Seneca said. “That aside, it really would be of great help to us if you could share any information about them that you might have.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. They come in, they buy their smokes, they leave, just like most of my customers,” Silvano told them.
“But now they’re trying to lay low, so I’m guessing they’ve made some sort of arrangement with you to get their Satin Stag cigarettes without having to risk coming here in person,” The Mandrake said. “Maybe they set you up with one of their spare Retrovisions? Emrys said they had a few of those lying around, and they can use them as direct portals to their playroom.”
“Like they’d waste a fancy piece of technomancy like that on an old geezer like me. I haven’t seen them in months. Last year sometime, I think,” Silvano claimed.
The Mandrake casually strolled up to the front counter, rapping his fingers on the cheap glass display case.
“Real nice place you got here, Mr. Santoro. I mean, not really, but I’m sure you get the implication,” he said softly. “Ironic as it may be, a smoke shop isn’t exempt from municipal bylaws about smoking in public buildings and workspaces. You may not have had much trouble with local law enforcement before, but one phone call from my employers will change that real quick.”
“You think I’ve never been threatened before, punk?” Silvano asked, rising from his chair and staring him down.
“Boys, please, there’s no need for this,” Envy interjected. “Mr. Santoro, our Order has considerably more resources at its disposal than the Darlings, and we can certainly offer you a far greater reward for their capture than whatever they’re paying you for some cigarettes. You could retire; close this place down and get as far away as you like. How does that sound?”
“I’m not looking to retire, Miss. This business is all I’ve got, and it wouldn’t be good business to go around ratting out my best customers, now would it?” Silvano asked.
“It would be worse business to sacrifice everything you have to protect two customers,” The Mandrake threatened, his hands clamping down on the display cases so hard they began to creak. “Talk.”
Acknowledging him only with a furtive glance, Silvano took another drag from his cigarette and exhaled.
But this time, the smoke poured out from his mouth and nostrils without limit.
“What the hell?” The Mandrake cursed as he backed away.
Silvano pushed a button beneath the counter, putting his shop into lockdown with security shutters clamping down over every entrance point. As the smoke exuded from his body, it went limp and collapsed into a dried-out husk as the smoke coalesced into an animate form of its own, circling above them around the shop’s yellowed and textured ceiling.
“Damnit. Another egregore,” Envy muttered. “That explains his loyalties. The Darlings couldn’t eat him, but Emrys could.”
“So you’re saying we can’t negotiate it with it?” The Mandrake asked.
“Or fight it,” Envy clarified.
“In that case, it appears we’ve exhausted all our options. Time for a tactical retreat,” Seneca declared as he dashed for the now barricaded exit.
Whatever he was planning to do to get through it, the cloud of smoke cut him off before he got the chance. Rushing in through his nose and mouth, it immediately began suffocating him, sending him spasming to the ground as he choked for air.
The cloud assaulted Envy as well, but was unable to penetrate her mask.
“Godamnit, get away!” she shouted as she swatted it away from her burning eyes.
“Envy, get behind me now!” The Mandrake ordered as he drew out his pistols. “Sorry, Santoro, but you’re going to have to do a lot worse than that if you want to intimidate us!”
Seneca responded by gasping angrily and bashing his hand against the carpet.
“… A lot worse,” The Mandrake reiterated. “I may not be able to shoot you, but I will blow this health hazard you love so much to hell if you don’t tell me where I can find the Darlings!”
“There’ll be no need for that, Mr. Mandrake,” the voice of James Darling crackled in from some unseen speaker. A door off to the side slowly creaked open, revealing a Retrovision flickering with black and white static. The Mandrake wasted no time in shooting at it, but the bullets passed through the glass without causing any damage at all.
A hologram of James Darling manifested in the center of the room, a burning Satin Stag cigarette clutched neatly in his fingers. He saw Seneca suffocating on the floor, then turned his predatory and calculating gaze towards The Mandrake.
“Put the guns on the floor, and I’ll call Silvano off,” he offered.
The Mandrake didn’t seem to be the least bit tempted by this offer, but Envy tugged at his trenchcoat and gave him a commanding nudge. Reluctantly, The Mandrake tossed the guns to the carpet and placed his hands behind his head.
With only a single commanding wag of his index finger, the smoke cloud withdrew from Seneca’s lungs and collected itself above James like a thundercloud.
“No sense in killing you, Seneca. That would practically be doing Emrys a favour,” James said. “But Envy, what’s a pretty girl like you doing wearing a mask?”
“You’d better not let your sister hear you calling me that,” Envy taunted.
“Kind of you to worry, but it’s always the object of my flirtations who bear the brunt of my sister’s wrath,” James reminded her smugly. “Top-notch detective work tracking me down, Mr. Mandrake. Why don’t you walk in through the Retrovision and arrest me?”
“You knew we’d show up here looking for you. You were waiting for us,” The Mandrake growled.
“Again, brilliant detective work. You’ve truly earned that fedora,” James mocked him. “Yes, I knew you’d come here looking for us, so I’ve arranged for Mr. Santoro to set up shop inside our playroom. He was only hanging around here to set a trap for you. Let me tell you what’s going to happen. None of you, not even you, Mr. Mandrake, are going to be able to break out of this building. You can sit there and starve for all I care, or Miss Noir and The Mandrake could take their chances with us on the other side of the Retrovision. Sara Darling really would like to put you in her doll collection, Mr. Mandrake, and I can’t wait to tell Mary Darling exactly how pretty I think you are, Envy. If the two of you come across, I’ll let Seneca go and he can inform Erich and Ivy of your predicament. If they’d like to negotiate for your release, I… may be willing to consider it.”
“You’re a coward! If you’re going to threaten me, step across that screen and do it to my face!” the Mandrake ordered.
He took his hands off his head and took a step towards him, only for the acrid form of Silvano to interject itself between them. James took a casual drag from his cigarette, refusing even to flinch.
Envy took advantage of the distraction and grabbed the pair of spellwork pistols off of the floor, firing two rounds of consecrated lead into the limp body of Silvano. While the body didn’t react at all, the smoke cloud shook and screeched like a wounded animal, losing some of its integrity and dissipating across the room.
“That body’s not just a husk! Silvano’s bound to it!” Envy declared. “James, if you don’t let us go in the next thirty seconds I’ll have The Mandrake tear that body limb from limb and you’ll have to find some other cursed thoughtform to roll your cigarettes for you.”
The Mandrake looked back towards James who now, much to his satisfaction, had flinched.
“Thirty. Twenty-Nine. Twenty-Eight,” he began to count down as he theatrically cracked his knuckles.
Before James could come to a decision, a few wisps of smoke snaked their way back into Silvano’s body. They were enough to animate it like a marionette, its limbs moving jerkily as it input the code to retract the security shutters over the doors and windows.
“There, happy?” James asked facetiously. “You’re free to leave. Put those guns down.”
With a smug smile, Envy shook her head.
“Mandrake, grab that body. We’re taking him with us,” she announced.
When Silvano tried to slam the lockdown button again, Envy shot him, knocking him back into his seat. Before he was able to try a second time, The Mandrake had closed the distance between them. He grabbed him by the waist and slung him over his shoulder, impotently kicking and flailing like a toddler having a tantrum all the while.
“No!” James growled, his hologram disappearing and being replaced by countless others scattered throughout the room.
“What the hell?” Envy demanded as she fell back beside The Mandrake for protection.
“It’s a distraction! Shoot at the Retrovision! He’s coming through to get Silvano!” The Mandrake shouted.
Envy complied, firing multiple rounds at every image of James between them and the Retrovision, but all of them sailed clear through their targets. The smoke cloud suddenly condensed tightly around them, and The Mandrake made a break for the front door while he had the chance.
He was tackled from the side by someone moving at over fifty kilometers an hour, knocking him down and halfway across the room. When he looked up, he was completely surrounded by silhouettes of James bending down in the smoke to pick up Silvano. Jumping to his feet, he made his way back towards the Retrovision in the hopes of cutting James off.
Or at least, he thought that’s where he was going. The tumble to the floor and the encircling smoke had disoriented him, and he ended up tripping over Seneca, who was once again unable to stand from the sickening smoke.
James brushed by them in a blur, and Envy fired every last bullet trying to put him down. Each one either missed or succeeded only in striking Silvano, who was slung over James’ back.
The smoke retreated with them, and The Mandrake dashed after them in one final bid to keep them from escaping. They were just feet away from him before they leapt through the Retrovision, vanishing into the basement universe of the Darlings’ playroom. The Mandrake dared to reach in after them and pull them back, but his hand hit nothing but solid glass.
“Damnit!” he cursed, striking the top of the box set with his fist.
“Don’t break it!” Envy shouted. “If that Retrovision came from the Darlings’ playroom and was modified by James, it could be useful in tracking them down again!”
“It also gives them a two-way ticket to wherever we keep it!” The Mandrake shouted back.
“Oh yes, it would be a gamble taking this old girl with you. No doubt about that,” the black and white visage of James mocked them from the other side of the screen, taking a victory drag from his cigarette. “But on the other hand, it is one of my finer works. It would be a crime, an atrocity even, to destroy it.”
The Mandrake struck the box set again, but deliberately held back on damaging it.
“Mandrake, enough!” Envy commanded. “I know it’s risky, but we need it. Turn it off and pick it up. We’re getting out of this hellhole.”
“Don’t feel bad, Mr. Mandrake. I’m sure you’ll have another chance to end up in Sara Darling’s doll collection very soon,” James taunted just before The Mandrake managed to turn the Retrovision off.
“What an absolute waste of time,” he muttered as he lifted the vintage box set off the floor.
“Not entirely!” Seneca claimed, who had not only recovered from his spectral smoke inhalation but was now holding an unlit cigar. “Crow, Crowley & Chamberlain has a lien on this shop, and since Silvano just ran out on us and has thrown his lot in with the Darlings, this place and everything left in it is ours!”
He was just about to light it before Envy snatched it out of his hands.
“The Mandrake wasn’t bluffing about the municipal health bylaws,” she informed him. “From now on, this is a smoke-free building.”
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Once again, he had been summoned to Adderwood Manor to account for his lapses in judgement, but rather than being on full public display in the Grand Hall, he instead found himself in a relatively small parlour. Across from the coffee table in front of him sat Ivy Noir, with her sister Envy to her right and her husband Erich to her left. Standing just to the side of them was the trenchcoat and fedora-wearing automaton who called himself The Mandrake. The one-eyed dream-catcher carved into his iridescent face rendered his emotions unreadable, but the spellwork pistols holstered in his belt made it clear that he was prepared to defend his employers against anything.
“I mean, this feud between them and Emrys is laughable,” Seneca went on. “They’re no threat to him now that he’s free of his chains, surely? Before there may have been a tactical element to his obsession with them, but now it’s just plain petty. Petra’s just out for revenge, and don’t get me started on the absurdity of that eldritch realtor wanting to flip their playroom. Does he think he can just relabel their torture chambers as BDSM dungeons and pass the Black Bile infestation off as some mould?”
“Seneca, I promised Emrys the Darlings, and the Covenant that we all signed binds us to fulfill that promise,” Ivy reminded him patiently, dropping a cube of sugar into her ouroboros-themed antique teacup. “You knew the Darlings better than any of us. You inducted them into the Order, you used them as assassins and bodyguards, and you let them withdraw every penny they had in your bank when they were fugitives!”
“Well, first of all, Crow, Crowley & Chamberlain is a financial institution, not a bank,” Seneca said flippantly. “Secondly, they had a numbered account and they didn’t show up in person, so the teller didn’t have the slightest idea of who they were dealing with.”
“You still could have frozen the account before they had that opportunity,” Erich stated.
Seneca made a display of languidly stirring some cream into his tea and taking a slow sip before responding.
“I’m very busy,” he claimed without an ounce of sincerity.
“You just didn’t want to get on the Darlings’ bad side,” Ivy said.
“I wasn’t aware they had a good side,” Seneca shrugged.
“There must be a paper trail we can follow,” Envy insisted. “Did the Darlings keep their assets anywhere else besides your bank?”
“Financial institution, and yes, I’m sure they have a proverbial Swiss bank account, but I haven’t the slightest notion of where to find it,” Seneca claimed. “It has come up in conversation that James invested about twenty percent of his income with me, twenty percent elsewhere, and shoved another twenty percent under their mattress. Mary enjoys being shagged on top of money, apparently. Their services commanded quite a high price on the underworld market, and sixty-plus years of compound interest have made them incredibly wealthy. They can afford to lie low for a long while.”
“Even if they can go without a paycheck indefinitely, they can’t go without killing,” Erich countered. “They need to hunt, and their egos mean they aren’t just going to cower from Emrys inside their playroom. They’re going to be out looking for victims and plotting against us, and you know what spots they’re likely to hit.”
“You’re wasting your time. James has had decades to scout out hunting grounds, and I’m sure he prepared for the possibility – no, inevitability – that he and his sister would become our enemies. He’s not going to risk showing up within a hundred miles of any of our Chapterhouses if he doesn’t need to,” Seneca said dismissively.
Ivy opened her mouth to speak, but stopped when The Mandrake took a step forward for the first time since the meeting began. He reached into his pocket and tossed a red and white pack of cigarettes with a shiny silhouette of a stag onto the coffee table.
“What is this?” Erich asked.
“Satin Stag cigarettes,” The Mandrake said flatly before shifting his gaze to Seneca. “That’s the Darlings’ brand, isn’t it, Mr. Chamberlain?”
“Um, yes. I believe I’ve seen them smoke those once or twice. What of it?” Seneca asked, failing to hide the nervousness creeping into his voice.
“These are artisanal cigarettes, and Harrowick County’s the only place you can buy them,” The Mandrake said. “That means that the Darlings, either directly or indirectly, are going to have to make the occasional sojourn back home, and the limited supply of these hand-rolled coffin nails means they can’t stock up too far in advance either. You know Harrowick County better than any of us. You know who makes these, you know who sells them. That’s how we track down the Darlings.”
“That’s preposterous. Do you really think they’d risk coming to Harrowick County rather than just switch brands?” Seneca scoffed.
“The Very Important Person at Pascal’s told me that Mary said they’ve been smoking these since they were kids, so they’re clearly pretty attached to them,” The Mandrake replied. “And somehow, I don’t think they’re the type to ever give up a bad habit.”
***
“Smoke & Mirrors ~ Fine Tobacco Products. Silvano Santoro, Proprietor. Est. 1949,” Envy read aloud as she, Seneca and The Mandrake stood outside the small, heavily fortified brick building.
Cast iron bars crisscrossed the windows and front door, which looked like it stood a decent chance of withstanding a police swat team. Security was obviously the shop’s proprietor’s key concern, as the ugly brown and yellow awning was tattered and faded, and the paint on the sign was so chipped it was barely even legible.
“How exactly does an unnoticeable and unattractive hole in the wall like this stay in business?” Envy asked.
“Repeat customers,” Seneca replied as he took a confident step towards the door. “Silvano knows me, and he doesn’t normally have a problem with me bringing guests along, but I expect both of you to be on your best behaviour!”
Envy gave him a reassuring nod, but The Mandrake continued to stoically stare at nothing with his hands in his pockets. Rolling his eyes, Seneca pressed a bulky plastic button on the antiquated door buzzer.
“Yeah, who is it?” a harsh and smoke-damaged voice demanded.
“It’s Seneca, Silvano. A pleasure to make your acquaintance again as well!” Seneca answered. “Just looking to pick up a few cases of cigars for a party, if you’ve got anything decent in stock, of course.”
“Who’s that you got with you?” Silvano asked suspiciously.
“Envy Noir, sir. I’m here on behalf of my sister Ivy, investigating a matter of considerable importance to the Ophion Occult Order,” Envy promptly introduced herself, much to Seneca’s chagrin. “The gentleman beside me is my bodyguard. Would you be so kind as to let us in?”
“Ah… of course. Just a moment, please,” Silvano replied.
“What’s he need a moment to buzz open a door for?” The Mandrake demanded, his stance immediately switching to full readiness.
“Making the place presentable for customers, I assume,” Seneca explained in exasperation.
“You mean he’s hiding evidence, or he’s running!” The Mandrake shouted.
“He’s a nonagenarian heavy smoker. He couldn’t run if his life depended on it,” Seneca insisted.
“I’ll see about that,” The Mandrake muttered.
Shoving Seneca out of the way, he kicked the door in with barely any effort. Storming into the shop, he saw a slender older man with thick white hair and rimmed glasses seated behind the front counter. His saggy, spotted skin was a living PSA against the products he peddled, and in his tobacco-stained hand, he held the receiver of an ornate rotary phone.
Staring at The Mandrake in cold fury, he calmly set the receiver back down in its cradle.
“Who were you talking to?” The Mandrake demanded.
“A client,” Silvano barked back with a shake of his head, picking up a burning cigarette from a nearby ashtray.
“Silvano, I am profusely sorry for this abject and uncouth behaviour! This being is no friend of mine, I can assure you,” Seneca asserted as he and Envy made their way inside.
“The feeling’s mutual, Chamberlain,” The Mandrake remarked. “Mr. Santoro, I apologize for the damage to the premises, but as Miss Noir has said, we’re here on urgent business.”
“Yes, that’s correct. We’ve been given to understand the Darling Twins are regular customers of yours,” Envy explained, before the smoke-saturated room sent her into a coughing spell. She fumbled around in her purse and pulled out a black N95 mask she had left over from the Pandemic.
“I’ve got plenty of regular customers,” Silvan replied defensively. “Customers who pay good money for that smoke you’re so offended by, young lady.”
“These ones have been coming here for over half a century and never aged a day,” The Mandrake said.
“That honestly doesn’t narrow it down that much,” Silvano chuckled, tapping his cigarette on his ashtray. “But yeah, I know the Darlings. What of it?”
“When was the last time they were here?” The Mandrake demanded.
“What’s it to you?” Silvano asked.
“They’re fugitives of the Order now and we want them brought in,” Envy replied, having donned her mask and mostly recovered from the smoke. “Mary Darling held a knife to my throat once in front of my sister, and later threatened to eat me alive in front of her and feed me to her pigs.”
“They were going to put me in their daughter’s doll collection,” The Mandrake muttered.
“And I have nothing but nice things to say about the Darlings, so I’m honestly not quite sure how I got dragged into this,” Seneca said. “That aside, it really would be of great help to us if you could share any information about them that you might have.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. They come in, they buy their smokes, they leave, just like most of my customers,” Silvano told them.
“But now they’re trying to lay low, so I’m guessing they’ve made some sort of arrangement with you to get their Satin Stag cigarettes without having to risk coming here in person,” The Mandrake said. “Maybe they set you up with one of their spare Retrovisions? Emrys said they had a few of those lying around, and they can use them as direct portals to their playroom.”
“Like they’d waste a fancy piece of technomancy like that on an old geezer like me. I haven’t seen them in months. Last year sometime, I think,” Silvano claimed.
The Mandrake casually strolled up to the front counter, rapping his fingers on the cheap glass display case.
“Real nice place you got here, Mr. Santoro. I mean, not really, but I’m sure you get the implication,” he said softly. “Ironic as it may be, a smoke shop isn’t exempt from municipal bylaws about smoking in public buildings and workspaces. You may not have had much trouble with local law enforcement before, but one phone call from my employers will change that real quick.”
“You think I’ve never been threatened before, punk?” Silvano asked, rising from his chair and staring him down.
“Boys, please, there’s no need for this,” Envy interjected. “Mr. Santoro, our Order has considerably more resources at its disposal than the Darlings, and we can certainly offer you a far greater reward for their capture than whatever they’re paying you for some cigarettes. You could retire; close this place down and get as far away as you like. How does that sound?”
“I’m not looking to retire, Miss. This business is all I’ve got, and it wouldn’t be good business to go around ratting out my best customers, now would it?” Silvano asked.
“It would be worse business to sacrifice everything you have to protect two customers,” The Mandrake threatened, his hands clamping down on the display cases so hard they began to creak. “Talk.”
Acknowledging him only with a furtive glance, Silvano took another drag from his cigarette and exhaled.
But this time, the smoke poured out from his mouth and nostrils without limit.
“What the hell?” The Mandrake cursed as he backed away.
Silvano pushed a button beneath the counter, putting his shop into lockdown with security shutters clamping down over every entrance point. As the smoke exuded from his body, it went limp and collapsed into a dried-out husk as the smoke coalesced into an animate form of its own, circling above them around the shop’s yellowed and textured ceiling.
“Damnit. Another egregore,” Envy muttered. “That explains his loyalties. The Darlings couldn’t eat him, but Emrys could.”
“So you’re saying we can’t negotiate it with it?” The Mandrake asked.
“Or fight it,” Envy clarified.
“In that case, it appears we’ve exhausted all our options. Time for a tactical retreat,” Seneca declared as he dashed for the now barricaded exit.
Whatever he was planning to do to get through it, the cloud of smoke cut him off before he got the chance. Rushing in through his nose and mouth, it immediately began suffocating him, sending him spasming to the ground as he choked for air.
The cloud assaulted Envy as well, but was unable to penetrate her mask.
“Godamnit, get away!” she shouted as she swatted it away from her burning eyes.
“Envy, get behind me now!” The Mandrake ordered as he drew out his pistols. “Sorry, Santoro, but you’re going to have to do a lot worse than that if you want to intimidate us!”
Seneca responded by gasping angrily and bashing his hand against the carpet.
“… A lot worse,” The Mandrake reiterated. “I may not be able to shoot you, but I will blow this health hazard you love so much to hell if you don’t tell me where I can find the Darlings!”
“There’ll be no need for that, Mr. Mandrake,” the voice of James Darling crackled in from some unseen speaker. A door off to the side slowly creaked open, revealing a Retrovision flickering with black and white static. The Mandrake wasted no time in shooting at it, but the bullets passed through the glass without causing any damage at all.
A hologram of James Darling manifested in the center of the room, a burning Satin Stag cigarette clutched neatly in his fingers. He saw Seneca suffocating on the floor, then turned his predatory and calculating gaze towards The Mandrake.
“Put the guns on the floor, and I’ll call Silvano off,” he offered.
The Mandrake didn’t seem to be the least bit tempted by this offer, but Envy tugged at his trenchcoat and gave him a commanding nudge. Reluctantly, The Mandrake tossed the guns to the carpet and placed his hands behind his head.
With only a single commanding wag of his index finger, the smoke cloud withdrew from Seneca’s lungs and collected itself above James like a thundercloud.
“No sense in killing you, Seneca. That would practically be doing Emrys a favour,” James said. “But Envy, what’s a pretty girl like you doing wearing a mask?”
“You’d better not let your sister hear you calling me that,” Envy taunted.
“Kind of you to worry, but it’s always the object of my flirtations who bear the brunt of my sister’s wrath,” James reminded her smugly. “Top-notch detective work tracking me down, Mr. Mandrake. Why don’t you walk in through the Retrovision and arrest me?”
“You knew we’d show up here looking for you. You were waiting for us,” The Mandrake growled.
“Again, brilliant detective work. You’ve truly earned that fedora,” James mocked him. “Yes, I knew you’d come here looking for us, so I’ve arranged for Mr. Santoro to set up shop inside our playroom. He was only hanging around here to set a trap for you. Let me tell you what’s going to happen. None of you, not even you, Mr. Mandrake, are going to be able to break out of this building. You can sit there and starve for all I care, or Miss Noir and The Mandrake could take their chances with us on the other side of the Retrovision. Sara Darling really would like to put you in her doll collection, Mr. Mandrake, and I can’t wait to tell Mary Darling exactly how pretty I think you are, Envy. If the two of you come across, I’ll let Seneca go and he can inform Erich and Ivy of your predicament. If they’d like to negotiate for your release, I… may be willing to consider it.”
“You’re a coward! If you’re going to threaten me, step across that screen and do it to my face!” the Mandrake ordered.
He took his hands off his head and took a step towards him, only for the acrid form of Silvano to interject itself between them. James took a casual drag from his cigarette, refusing even to flinch.
Envy took advantage of the distraction and grabbed the pair of spellwork pistols off of the floor, firing two rounds of consecrated lead into the limp body of Silvano. While the body didn’t react at all, the smoke cloud shook and screeched like a wounded animal, losing some of its integrity and dissipating across the room.
“That body’s not just a husk! Silvano’s bound to it!” Envy declared. “James, if you don’t let us go in the next thirty seconds I’ll have The Mandrake tear that body limb from limb and you’ll have to find some other cursed thoughtform to roll your cigarettes for you.”
The Mandrake looked back towards James who now, much to his satisfaction, had flinched.
“Thirty. Twenty-Nine. Twenty-Eight,” he began to count down as he theatrically cracked his knuckles.
Before James could come to a decision, a few wisps of smoke snaked their way back into Silvano’s body. They were enough to animate it like a marionette, its limbs moving jerkily as it input the code to retract the security shutters over the doors and windows.
“There, happy?” James asked facetiously. “You’re free to leave. Put those guns down.”
With a smug smile, Envy shook her head.
“Mandrake, grab that body. We’re taking him with us,” she announced.
When Silvano tried to slam the lockdown button again, Envy shot him, knocking him back into his seat. Before he was able to try a second time, The Mandrake had closed the distance between them. He grabbed him by the waist and slung him over his shoulder, impotently kicking and flailing like a toddler having a tantrum all the while.
“No!” James growled, his hologram disappearing and being replaced by countless others scattered throughout the room.
“What the hell?” Envy demanded as she fell back beside The Mandrake for protection.
“It’s a distraction! Shoot at the Retrovision! He’s coming through to get Silvano!” The Mandrake shouted.
Envy complied, firing multiple rounds at every image of James between them and the Retrovision, but all of them sailed clear through their targets. The smoke cloud suddenly condensed tightly around them, and The Mandrake made a break for the front door while he had the chance.
He was tackled from the side by someone moving at over fifty kilometers an hour, knocking him down and halfway across the room. When he looked up, he was completely surrounded by silhouettes of James bending down in the smoke to pick up Silvano. Jumping to his feet, he made his way back towards the Retrovision in the hopes of cutting James off.
Or at least, he thought that’s where he was going. The tumble to the floor and the encircling smoke had disoriented him, and he ended up tripping over Seneca, who was once again unable to stand from the sickening smoke.
James brushed by them in a blur, and Envy fired every last bullet trying to put him down. Each one either missed or succeeded only in striking Silvano, who was slung over James’ back.
The smoke retreated with them, and The Mandrake dashed after them in one final bid to keep them from escaping. They were just feet away from him before they leapt through the Retrovision, vanishing into the basement universe of the Darlings’ playroom. The Mandrake dared to reach in after them and pull them back, but his hand hit nothing but solid glass.
“Damnit!” he cursed, striking the top of the box set with his fist.
“Don’t break it!” Envy shouted. “If that Retrovision came from the Darlings’ playroom and was modified by James, it could be useful in tracking them down again!”
“It also gives them a two-way ticket to wherever we keep it!” The Mandrake shouted back.
“Oh yes, it would be a gamble taking this old girl with you. No doubt about that,” the black and white visage of James mocked them from the other side of the screen, taking a victory drag from his cigarette. “But on the other hand, it is one of my finer works. It would be a crime, an atrocity even, to destroy it.”
The Mandrake struck the box set again, but deliberately held back on damaging it.
“Mandrake, enough!” Envy commanded. “I know it’s risky, but we need it. Turn it off and pick it up. We’re getting out of this hellhole.”
“Don’t feel bad, Mr. Mandrake. I’m sure you’ll have another chance to end up in Sara Darling’s doll collection very soon,” James taunted just before The Mandrake managed to turn the Retrovision off.
“What an absolute waste of time,” he muttered as he lifted the vintage box set off the floor.
“Not entirely!” Seneca claimed, who had not only recovered from his spectral smoke inhalation but was now holding an unlit cigar. “Crow, Crowley & Chamberlain has a lien on this shop, and since Silvano just ran out on us and has thrown his lot in with the Darlings, this place and everything left in it is ours!”
He was just about to light it before Envy snatched it out of his hands.
“The Mandrake wasn’t bluffing about the municipal health bylaws,” she informed him. “From now on, this is a smoke-free building.”
2024.05.05 11:11 Beanies_Toxic 18 Male from California- seeking penpal(s)
Hi!!! I’m Bug, I live on the California coast and seeking a few penpals!
Would love someone who’s willing to write long term- but life happens and I am very understanding.
I love love love animals, I have a fifty gal freshwater fish tank, three cats, a dog, three guinea pigs and used to raise pigs.
I enjoy reading the classics and the books they probably force you to read in school, writing; predominantly poetry, collecting weird lil vintage things like old picture frames, porcelain clown dolls, liquor bottles etc. I have a decently sized VHS, CD and cassette collection cause analog makes me happy + I just like having physical CD album copies.
I love horror movies especially if they’re bad and with practical effects, and I love nu metal, riot girl esque music and things yippies probably did and/or would jam to.
If you like or think any of this is interesting and enjoy weird and fun cards- please I encourage you to dm and we can chat for a bit and hopefully write!!
submitted by Beanies_Toxic to penpals [link] [comments]
Would love someone who’s willing to write long term- but life happens and I am very understanding.
I love love love animals, I have a fifty gal freshwater fish tank, three cats, a dog, three guinea pigs and used to raise pigs.
I enjoy reading the classics and the books they probably force you to read in school, writing; predominantly poetry, collecting weird lil vintage things like old picture frames, porcelain clown dolls, liquor bottles etc. I have a decently sized VHS, CD and cassette collection cause analog makes me happy + I just like having physical CD album copies.
I love horror movies especially if they’re bad and with practical effects, and I love nu metal, riot girl esque music and things yippies probably did and/or would jam to.
If you like or think any of this is interesting and enjoy weird and fun cards- please I encourage you to dm and we can chat for a bit and hopefully write!!
2024.05.04 09:41 MechanicDad767 FIL put himself in a bad position, expects his kids and myself to pay for it for him
Main players are myself (R), my wife (M), my SIL (S), MIL (D), and FIL (W).
I (21M), and my wife (21F) will have been married 3 years as of July 6th. When I first met W (47M), he told M that she should leave me because I'm poor and live in a trailer park. Now while this was technically true, we lived in one of 2 actual houses in this trailer park, and I kept it in damn nice shape. Little did he know at that time, I had 4 jobs (lube tech, construction, maintenance for BNBs in town, and an on-call job rebuilding home appliances when I was needed) and grossed around $7k a month on a very bad and slow month.
This would have been fine, but I'm also a car guy so I had a lot of junk cars in front of my house and a race car in a storage unit on top of that. Roughly 4 vehicles in my parking area and the one on storage. The only ones that looked nice were my truck and my race car, truck was a 98' Tahoe 2 door sport, all black body, 4" lift (used to take it on trails and such at the recreational park nearby) on 44" tires. Race car at the time was a G-body Monte Carlo (I think 86 but can't remember) and it was modified for dirt track racing, all up cost me $12,000 to build as it started as a restoration turned race car project half way through. Full tube chassis, fully built 383 with a Garret 55mm turbo, on angry ass 700r4 trans, and a 3.73 rear gear still, on small tractor tires. Enough about the rides, getting off topic.
I eventually sold off all the cars but the truck and the Monte, as I later traded it for an 02' Z28 that was more of a drag car, which later got impounded. I also quit all of those jobs and just went to become an Arborist (tree worker) making maybe $3k a month. All of this was to please M as she told me she didn't feel like I spent enough time with her.
Shortly after that, my grandmother ended up on her last leg, so I planned a move to Arizona to be with her and my family. Quit my job, got packed up qnd ready to go, and was going to move in with my family. But then, the guy who they put a down payment on a house from bailed to NY with the money, turns out he was just a con man and never owned the property, was just really good at forgery. 3 days after that, grandma passed. I was mentally and emotionally broken, as she was a second mom who'd helped raise me for my entire childhood. And to top it off, I was now broke and homeless because I jumped the gun and quit my job and moved out.
By the time all of this had transpired, I had already met S and D, along with M's twin, who we'll call M2 (similar first names) and W had finally realized that I was capable of taking care of M, and gave up on telling her to leave. So when M told D what had happened, D and W agreed to let me stay with them until I could get back onto my feet. This is where the problems began.
See, W had a bad tendency to spend money he didn't have, and pull loans like crazy. W is a trucker and made roughly $5k a month then, owned a house but had a mortgage on it, had 2 BMW cars (428i and 328i both 2014s), a BMW S1000R bike, a Kawasaki Vulcan 9, a BMW 310R bike, and a plethora of credit cards, all of which he owed money on. I crunched the numbers and figured he'd, after bills and insurance, have maybe $200 left over each month on his pay. No problem though, he had D working a full time job and S as well, and now M and I were working and living there too. D (now 43F) mostly just bought groceries or payed bills that W had forgotten about before spending money at Pink or Williams-Sonoma every month in Vegas or Six Flags passes every month. S (now 23F) worked full time too and did some schooling in between work, and payed about $350 a month for rent to live there. M and I moved in, and quickly started working at a warehouse where we could make $2800 every month (very low paying compared to my Arborist work, was a total rip off) and we agreed to pay $745 a month in rent. The problem was he'd take that every paycheck, so we ended up spending $1490 a month in rent for one room and a bathroom, as our workplace was 45 minutes away and we worked long shifts, think 12-14 hours (absolutely a rip off I wasn't kidding), so we usually just made dinner in the break room at work then cleaned up and came home. Never even used the kitchen or living room at home.
On top of that, he had driven my car (at the time a 2007 Saturn Ion lvl 3) one day after he said he'd done the transmission fluid change. Turns out, he got the fluid drained, new filter on, drain plug torqued, and just started driving. Completely forgot to put more fluid in. Revved the engine until it moved, ended up frying the transmission and doing a lot of damage to the engine after holding it at 5k rpms for 30 minutes. Destroyed it.
So then we had to use his car. He took the 328d to work and had us use the 428i to get to and from work. Of course, nit without putting gas in it and paying insurance and registration. Which would have been fine had he not driven the trap out of the 428i every time he came home. He would come home on Tuesday, we would have the tank filled (took 91 octane and cost about $100 a tank at the time), drive it around all of Tuesday, emptying the tank so we'd fill it on Wednesday, and leave Thursday and it would be empty again. We were off these days as well, and didn't go much of anywhere. It would be empty again by Thursday. Every. Single. Time. And we would have to fill it to go to work on Thursday morning again. When we drove it, a tank would last a week or 2 easily. All up, he made it so we had to fill up that car 3 times a week, for 4 weeks a month. $1200 in fuel.
That plus the overcharged $1490 in rent meant we only had $110 a month for anything else, and I usually had to take on extra shifts so we could pay insurance and still have at least a bit of money to get lunch and dinner supplies for work.
Eventually we got the hell out of there and went to another warehouse, where we made less per hour, but got much better hours and didn't get ripped off on crappy insurance by the employers, which was the last place's excuse for how we'd work 12-14 hours a day and only get $2800 a month. This place gave us $4.50 less per hour but the hours were good, insurance wasn't hiked up, and we ended up making about $4k a month easily. We eventually saved up to buy ourselves a car so we could stop using his and paying so much in gas every week. We bought a 2003 745i. Ate gas like a pig but still cost less in gas than we were paying, maybe $150 a week to and from work, and insurance cost about the same.
W. Had. A. Fit. When he found out we bought the 745i and had started paying insurance on that and not his 428i anymore. This argument got so bad, M and I started rushing to find a new apartment even faster than we already were. We got onto a waiting list for a really nice set of apartments, that cost maybe $1300 a month counting utilities, but also had a pool, gym, beautiful front pad, balcony, amazing interior that was mostly soundproof so you couldn't hear the noisy neighbors as bad, and was just 3 minutes from work.
W found out that we had been bumped up the waiting list by accident, see, we had put M's number on the application, and she had dropped her phone at work and it got crushed by a load of freight that had been spilled. So when they couldn't reach her by phone or email, they mailed us the notification that we'd been moved up and could move into an apartment in 2 weeks.W saw that letter while we were at work and went ballistic. Throwing things around, shouting, he tried to fight me, but being 43 and having a combination of food baby and beer gut vs a (then) 18 year old who was an avid kickboxer and expanding into Jiu Jitsu, it didn't work out well. He was upset we were trying to move without telling him how much we were making so he could increase our rent. We had told him the pay was the same at the new place, so he wouldn't do exactly that.
It all came to a head the next day, W used a saw and cut the transmission return line to the transmission fluid cooler on the 745i, and my wife went to the store without realizing the issue until it was too late. Another transmission bites the dust thanks to W. D slapped him, which she'd never done before. W raised a hand to her like he was going to strike back, but S and I stepped between them and told him if he did it, not only would we whoop his ass, but we'd have him sent to prison for domestic assault for it.
Flash forward 3 days, he takes M and I to Wyoming and drops us off with my family. He doesn't want us to live there anymore and fuck that apartment and our job I guess. My folks were fine with it, they knew I'd get a job and be more than willing to help out with bills, because they wouldn't overcharge like W did.
Flash forward again like 2 years. I had a job at the local school district as a Supervisor over a maintenance crew. I made that same $2800 a month that M and I both made at the first warehouse before, by myself. M and I had also just had our baby, who we'll call BD. Then, another problem arose. See, when I started working for the district, it was through a temp agency. My boss Dan (won't abbreviate so as not to confuse him with our son or MIL) was actively talking with the Superintendent of the district trying to get my crew contracts to work for them directly and not the temp agency.
You see, recently Mark (also not abbreviated so we dont confuse him with M), who is Dan's direct subordinate but still senior to myself, had been in charge of giving us marching orders. The problem was that Mark was head of custodial, and had been working as a Custodian his entire life starting at age 18 for his high-school. He'd never worked any other job. But he was also incredibly stubborn and wanted things done his way, and if you didn't do it his way, you were fired. But again, he had never worked anything but custodial work, so directing a team of maintenance workers while having a hot head an 0 experience, and refusing to take input from any of us who actually did the maintenance, it didn't work out well. There were many complaints from my crew and others that Mark didn't know what he was doing and fired people who didn't do a job his way, even though his way was always wrong and not up to code. Just 12 days before the new contracts with the school district would go into effect, the temp agency ended the contract with the district and refused to honor the new contracts we as the employees had been offered.
See, the way that the new contracts had been set up, we would be transferred from the agency to full time with the district, since we were technically employed by the agency. So this cost us our contracts because Mark couldn't do his job and wouldn't take input, and apparently this wasn't the first time the agency had been through this rodeo with Mark. They were just fed up with him and wanted nothing to do with the district so long as Mark still worked there. Dan wanted to get rid of Mark for costing them such a good contract with the employment agency and a sum total of 4 great teams, totaling 28 great workers, because of Mark's stubborn hardheaded pride and refusal to admit any wrongdoing. But the school board refused, as Mark also did a great job keeping the Custodial side of the district in line and kept every school in top notch shape cleaning wise, and had improved the districts reputation as a clean and sanitary district, which helped them get a better budget each year.
So now here I was, jobless, with a wife and son. Yay. We ended up moving back in with W and D, S still lived there too. Then W suggested I get my CDL and become a trucker. I applied to get into the local CDL program several times from December to March. This brings us to now.
Now a bit of side information, the stress of everything really wore on my marriage with M, so currently, she lives with W and I stay with my Grandma while I go to school, occasionally I'll stay a night there and we share BD as equally as we can given the circumstances. M and I are actively trying to work out our marriage and recognize many of the issues we have and are trying to solve them so we can continue in a healthy manner and continue trying to be happy together.
Another piece of side information, W got 2 pay increases and now brings in $5600 a month.
Now here's where the title comes into effect. Since M and I got left with my family in Wyoming, W did a lot of stupid things. He traded in his 2014 328d for a 2015 Silverado 4.3L V6, traded the S1000R for a K 1600 GT with all the bells and whistles, sold the 428i, traded the Vulcan 9 for a Vulcan S, which he then traded for an Indian Springfield, and the 310R for a Triumph for S, then he cosigned for S to buy a 2022 Jeep Renegade. Then he refinanced the house for $72k, which nobody knows where that money went, and got dealership insurance for the Renegade on top of the insurance he already had put on it through Geico.
I don't live there anymore and M doesn't work as she has the baby most of the time, takes care of the house and cleaning, cooking, taking care of the dogs, and the cats, and making hand made meals for the pets as well, which also are quite expensive, costing about $240 per week as they have had cut vegetables, fish oil, and about 1.5lbs of meat per meal for the dogs and 3 eggs and 1 lbs of meat for the cats combined. W told M she must make these meals daily for the pets or he'll kick her out.
Now here's the issue. S pointed out several discrepancies in how much he's taking each month and how he wants M to work full time and pay for daycare for D ($900 a week) while I'm at school or work until I can get off and go get him.
So he had a meltdown, claiming he's broke and the whole family needs to pitch in, and wrote up a spreadsheet. I then took a good look at this spreadsheet.
According to him, S and M should be paying him $1700 and $515 a month respectively just to cover the bare minimum of bills. According to W, this will mean they're still broke as a whole, as this is causing him debt that they're not paying these sums, and they would all be broke together but still have a roof over their heads and food in their bellies.
The problem is S covers her car payment, then he takes $900 a month for insurance and a bunch of shit. S, myself, and M pay for groceries all the time and he never does. But my problem is that I've run all his expenses vs income, and there's a huge discrepancy. His monthly expenses, except the credit cards, cost $3,904.75 a month on the very top end. The very bottom end of his pay is $5600 a month. He should have an excess of $1,695.25 left over each month. This is counting every bill, payment, gas, every expense, including his food, in the last 18 months and taking the most expensive total of those 18 months and adding them together.
But he says that not only does he need that full $900 a month from S, but he should be taking $1700 from her and $515 from M, as taking $900 from S every month isn't enough and he's acquiring more debt.
Now let's assume he has $2k a month in credit card debt. No problem. D makes $2k a month and assists with bills. Should still have that $1,695.25 left over. He says he's not making enough and needs more money from them, but the numbers are not only saying he's making enough, but that he's making an excess of enough to buy a used car in 3 months that runs great. So why does he need a total of $2,215 from S and M? I get paying rent and such, but he's making these outlandish claims. The other problem is he won't let D spend any money on his card or see the account balance. D and M just had to sell off a game console and a PC to buy groceries as a result, because D spent all of her paycheck on bills that W didn't pay.
Where is all that other money he's making going? And why isn't the math mathing? I think either gambling or lot lizards. He had a severe gambling addiction years back, and that's the only logical explanation for why he would be making that much extra money but still need D and S to put in that much money and still ask M to get a job too and pay even more money to make up the slack.
I should also note that, even though I don't live there, I buy groceries 3 times a month for them and all of the baby supplies for BD. I also have paid bills for them on multiple occasions because D and S couldn't and W just didn't pay them.
So that's the story. I don't expect anyone to read this far, and if you did, don't worry if it didn't make much sense, there's so much going on and I tend to ramble about stupid shit. Thank you if you did read this far. I really just needed to vent and didn't know where else to do it without losing my everloving mind.
TL:DR FIL is a dipshit and lying about finances, crippling his family and nobody knows what he's doing with the money he's nor using to pay bills.
submitted by MechanicDad767 to FamilyProblems [link] [comments]
I (21M), and my wife (21F) will have been married 3 years as of July 6th. When I first met W (47M), he told M that she should leave me because I'm poor and live in a trailer park. Now while this was technically true, we lived in one of 2 actual houses in this trailer park, and I kept it in damn nice shape. Little did he know at that time, I had 4 jobs (lube tech, construction, maintenance for BNBs in town, and an on-call job rebuilding home appliances when I was needed) and grossed around $7k a month on a very bad and slow month.
This would have been fine, but I'm also a car guy so I had a lot of junk cars in front of my house and a race car in a storage unit on top of that. Roughly 4 vehicles in my parking area and the one on storage. The only ones that looked nice were my truck and my race car, truck was a 98' Tahoe 2 door sport, all black body, 4" lift (used to take it on trails and such at the recreational park nearby) on 44" tires. Race car at the time was a G-body Monte Carlo (I think 86 but can't remember) and it was modified for dirt track racing, all up cost me $12,000 to build as it started as a restoration turned race car project half way through. Full tube chassis, fully built 383 with a Garret 55mm turbo, on angry ass 700r4 trans, and a 3.73 rear gear still, on small tractor tires. Enough about the rides, getting off topic.
I eventually sold off all the cars but the truck and the Monte, as I later traded it for an 02' Z28 that was more of a drag car, which later got impounded. I also quit all of those jobs and just went to become an Arborist (tree worker) making maybe $3k a month. All of this was to please M as she told me she didn't feel like I spent enough time with her.
Shortly after that, my grandmother ended up on her last leg, so I planned a move to Arizona to be with her and my family. Quit my job, got packed up qnd ready to go, and was going to move in with my family. But then, the guy who they put a down payment on a house from bailed to NY with the money, turns out he was just a con man and never owned the property, was just really good at forgery. 3 days after that, grandma passed. I was mentally and emotionally broken, as she was a second mom who'd helped raise me for my entire childhood. And to top it off, I was now broke and homeless because I jumped the gun and quit my job and moved out.
By the time all of this had transpired, I had already met S and D, along with M's twin, who we'll call M2 (similar first names) and W had finally realized that I was capable of taking care of M, and gave up on telling her to leave. So when M told D what had happened, D and W agreed to let me stay with them until I could get back onto my feet. This is where the problems began.
See, W had a bad tendency to spend money he didn't have, and pull loans like crazy. W is a trucker and made roughly $5k a month then, owned a house but had a mortgage on it, had 2 BMW cars (428i and 328i both 2014s), a BMW S1000R bike, a Kawasaki Vulcan 9, a BMW 310R bike, and a plethora of credit cards, all of which he owed money on. I crunched the numbers and figured he'd, after bills and insurance, have maybe $200 left over each month on his pay. No problem though, he had D working a full time job and S as well, and now M and I were working and living there too. D (now 43F) mostly just bought groceries or payed bills that W had forgotten about before spending money at Pink or Williams-Sonoma every month in Vegas or Six Flags passes every month. S (now 23F) worked full time too and did some schooling in between work, and payed about $350 a month for rent to live there. M and I moved in, and quickly started working at a warehouse where we could make $2800 every month (very low paying compared to my Arborist work, was a total rip off) and we agreed to pay $745 a month in rent. The problem was he'd take that every paycheck, so we ended up spending $1490 a month in rent for one room and a bathroom, as our workplace was 45 minutes away and we worked long shifts, think 12-14 hours (absolutely a rip off I wasn't kidding), so we usually just made dinner in the break room at work then cleaned up and came home. Never even used the kitchen or living room at home.
On top of that, he had driven my car (at the time a 2007 Saturn Ion lvl 3) one day after he said he'd done the transmission fluid change. Turns out, he got the fluid drained, new filter on, drain plug torqued, and just started driving. Completely forgot to put more fluid in. Revved the engine until it moved, ended up frying the transmission and doing a lot of damage to the engine after holding it at 5k rpms for 30 minutes. Destroyed it.
So then we had to use his car. He took the 328d to work and had us use the 428i to get to and from work. Of course, nit without putting gas in it and paying insurance and registration. Which would have been fine had he not driven the trap out of the 428i every time he came home. He would come home on Tuesday, we would have the tank filled (took 91 octane and cost about $100 a tank at the time), drive it around all of Tuesday, emptying the tank so we'd fill it on Wednesday, and leave Thursday and it would be empty again. We were off these days as well, and didn't go much of anywhere. It would be empty again by Thursday. Every. Single. Time. And we would have to fill it to go to work on Thursday morning again. When we drove it, a tank would last a week or 2 easily. All up, he made it so we had to fill up that car 3 times a week, for 4 weeks a month. $1200 in fuel.
That plus the overcharged $1490 in rent meant we only had $110 a month for anything else, and I usually had to take on extra shifts so we could pay insurance and still have at least a bit of money to get lunch and dinner supplies for work.
Eventually we got the hell out of there and went to another warehouse, where we made less per hour, but got much better hours and didn't get ripped off on crappy insurance by the employers, which was the last place's excuse for how we'd work 12-14 hours a day and only get $2800 a month. This place gave us $4.50 less per hour but the hours were good, insurance wasn't hiked up, and we ended up making about $4k a month easily. We eventually saved up to buy ourselves a car so we could stop using his and paying so much in gas every week. We bought a 2003 745i. Ate gas like a pig but still cost less in gas than we were paying, maybe $150 a week to and from work, and insurance cost about the same.
W. Had. A. Fit. When he found out we bought the 745i and had started paying insurance on that and not his 428i anymore. This argument got so bad, M and I started rushing to find a new apartment even faster than we already were. We got onto a waiting list for a really nice set of apartments, that cost maybe $1300 a month counting utilities, but also had a pool, gym, beautiful front pad, balcony, amazing interior that was mostly soundproof so you couldn't hear the noisy neighbors as bad, and was just 3 minutes from work.
W found out that we had been bumped up the waiting list by accident, see, we had put M's number on the application, and she had dropped her phone at work and it got crushed by a load of freight that had been spilled. So when they couldn't reach her by phone or email, they mailed us the notification that we'd been moved up and could move into an apartment in 2 weeks.W saw that letter while we were at work and went ballistic. Throwing things around, shouting, he tried to fight me, but being 43 and having a combination of food baby and beer gut vs a (then) 18 year old who was an avid kickboxer and expanding into Jiu Jitsu, it didn't work out well. He was upset we were trying to move without telling him how much we were making so he could increase our rent. We had told him the pay was the same at the new place, so he wouldn't do exactly that.
It all came to a head the next day, W used a saw and cut the transmission return line to the transmission fluid cooler on the 745i, and my wife went to the store without realizing the issue until it was too late. Another transmission bites the dust thanks to W. D slapped him, which she'd never done before. W raised a hand to her like he was going to strike back, but S and I stepped between them and told him if he did it, not only would we whoop his ass, but we'd have him sent to prison for domestic assault for it.
Flash forward 3 days, he takes M and I to Wyoming and drops us off with my family. He doesn't want us to live there anymore and fuck that apartment and our job I guess. My folks were fine with it, they knew I'd get a job and be more than willing to help out with bills, because they wouldn't overcharge like W did.
Flash forward again like 2 years. I had a job at the local school district as a Supervisor over a maintenance crew. I made that same $2800 a month that M and I both made at the first warehouse before, by myself. M and I had also just had our baby, who we'll call BD. Then, another problem arose. See, when I started working for the district, it was through a temp agency. My boss Dan (won't abbreviate so as not to confuse him with our son or MIL) was actively talking with the Superintendent of the district trying to get my crew contracts to work for them directly and not the temp agency.
You see, recently Mark (also not abbreviated so we dont confuse him with M), who is Dan's direct subordinate but still senior to myself, had been in charge of giving us marching orders. The problem was that Mark was head of custodial, and had been working as a Custodian his entire life starting at age 18 for his high-school. He'd never worked any other job. But he was also incredibly stubborn and wanted things done his way, and if you didn't do it his way, you were fired. But again, he had never worked anything but custodial work, so directing a team of maintenance workers while having a hot head an 0 experience, and refusing to take input from any of us who actually did the maintenance, it didn't work out well. There were many complaints from my crew and others that Mark didn't know what he was doing and fired people who didn't do a job his way, even though his way was always wrong and not up to code. Just 12 days before the new contracts with the school district would go into effect, the temp agency ended the contract with the district and refused to honor the new contracts we as the employees had been offered.
See, the way that the new contracts had been set up, we would be transferred from the agency to full time with the district, since we were technically employed by the agency. So this cost us our contracts because Mark couldn't do his job and wouldn't take input, and apparently this wasn't the first time the agency had been through this rodeo with Mark. They were just fed up with him and wanted nothing to do with the district so long as Mark still worked there. Dan wanted to get rid of Mark for costing them such a good contract with the employment agency and a sum total of 4 great teams, totaling 28 great workers, because of Mark's stubborn hardheaded pride and refusal to admit any wrongdoing. But the school board refused, as Mark also did a great job keeping the Custodial side of the district in line and kept every school in top notch shape cleaning wise, and had improved the districts reputation as a clean and sanitary district, which helped them get a better budget each year.
So now here I was, jobless, with a wife and son. Yay. We ended up moving back in with W and D, S still lived there too. Then W suggested I get my CDL and become a trucker. I applied to get into the local CDL program several times from December to March. This brings us to now.
Now a bit of side information, the stress of everything really wore on my marriage with M, so currently, she lives with W and I stay with my Grandma while I go to school, occasionally I'll stay a night there and we share BD as equally as we can given the circumstances. M and I are actively trying to work out our marriage and recognize many of the issues we have and are trying to solve them so we can continue in a healthy manner and continue trying to be happy together.
Another piece of side information, W got 2 pay increases and now brings in $5600 a month.
Now here's where the title comes into effect. Since M and I got left with my family in Wyoming, W did a lot of stupid things. He traded in his 2014 328d for a 2015 Silverado 4.3L V6, traded the S1000R for a K 1600 GT with all the bells and whistles, sold the 428i, traded the Vulcan 9 for a Vulcan S, which he then traded for an Indian Springfield, and the 310R for a Triumph for S, then he cosigned for S to buy a 2022 Jeep Renegade. Then he refinanced the house for $72k, which nobody knows where that money went, and got dealership insurance for the Renegade on top of the insurance he already had put on it through Geico.
I don't live there anymore and M doesn't work as she has the baby most of the time, takes care of the house and cleaning, cooking, taking care of the dogs, and the cats, and making hand made meals for the pets as well, which also are quite expensive, costing about $240 per week as they have had cut vegetables, fish oil, and about 1.5lbs of meat per meal for the dogs and 3 eggs and 1 lbs of meat for the cats combined. W told M she must make these meals daily for the pets or he'll kick her out.
Now here's the issue. S pointed out several discrepancies in how much he's taking each month and how he wants M to work full time and pay for daycare for D ($900 a week) while I'm at school or work until I can get off and go get him.
So he had a meltdown, claiming he's broke and the whole family needs to pitch in, and wrote up a spreadsheet. I then took a good look at this spreadsheet.
According to him, S and M should be paying him $1700 and $515 a month respectively just to cover the bare minimum of bills. According to W, this will mean they're still broke as a whole, as this is causing him debt that they're not paying these sums, and they would all be broke together but still have a roof over their heads and food in their bellies.
The problem is S covers her car payment, then he takes $900 a month for insurance and a bunch of shit. S, myself, and M pay for groceries all the time and he never does. But my problem is that I've run all his expenses vs income, and there's a huge discrepancy. His monthly expenses, except the credit cards, cost $3,904.75 a month on the very top end. The very bottom end of his pay is $5600 a month. He should have an excess of $1,695.25 left over each month. This is counting every bill, payment, gas, every expense, including his food, in the last 18 months and taking the most expensive total of those 18 months and adding them together.
But he says that not only does he need that full $900 a month from S, but he should be taking $1700 from her and $515 from M, as taking $900 from S every month isn't enough and he's acquiring more debt.
Now let's assume he has $2k a month in credit card debt. No problem. D makes $2k a month and assists with bills. Should still have that $1,695.25 left over. He says he's not making enough and needs more money from them, but the numbers are not only saying he's making enough, but that he's making an excess of enough to buy a used car in 3 months that runs great. So why does he need a total of $2,215 from S and M? I get paying rent and such, but he's making these outlandish claims. The other problem is he won't let D spend any money on his card or see the account balance. D and M just had to sell off a game console and a PC to buy groceries as a result, because D spent all of her paycheck on bills that W didn't pay.
Where is all that other money he's making going? And why isn't the math mathing? I think either gambling or lot lizards. He had a severe gambling addiction years back, and that's the only logical explanation for why he would be making that much extra money but still need D and S to put in that much money and still ask M to get a job too and pay even more money to make up the slack.
I should also note that, even though I don't live there, I buy groceries 3 times a month for them and all of the baby supplies for BD. I also have paid bills for them on multiple occasions because D and S couldn't and W just didn't pay them.
So that's the story. I don't expect anyone to read this far, and if you did, don't worry if it didn't make much sense, there's so much going on and I tend to ramble about stupid shit. Thank you if you did read this far. I really just needed to vent and didn't know where else to do it without losing my everloving mind.
TL:DR FIL is a dipshit and lying about finances, crippling his family and nobody knows what he's doing with the money he's nor using to pay bills.
2024.05.04 00:35 BubbasMammas My childhood imaginary friend …so we thought
So when I was about 3 all the way up til I was about 5 maybe 6, I had an imaginary friend named Molly. To this day I can still remember what she looked like. She looked like me honestly! Long brown braided pig tails, brown eyes, she wore like a blue jean type style dress/overalls with wooden like clog shoes. My mom found out about about Molly one day she said she was coming out of the bathroom and as she opened the door to come out I was standing there with my hand out, like I was holding someone’s hand and I said “Mommy i want you to meet Molly” so she reached out to shake her hand but she said she was covered in goosebumps as she walked away but she didn’t want to act scared and freak me out. She was also assuming I was only saying “Molly” because the popular kids TV show at the time was Big Comfy Couch and I had the characters Molly doll and was a big fan (lol) Before this little introduction however, both of my older brothers were having some spooky experiences . They would constantly hear someone running around upstairs or someone running up and down our strict steps. They’d hear their name being called in the middle of the night, and even sometimes see someone peaking around their bedroom doorway. Another time my dad felt someone pulling the back of his jacket and when he turned around he thought he saw me go running upstairs , but when he came up to see, I was sleeping . While all this was going on my brothers were complaining about an old woman . Like a ghostly white silhouette of an elderly woman in a dress. They always just seen her entering or leaving rooms. My other brother Matt always seen a cowboy lurking in the doorways. It’s like we all seen our own spirits.
After my mom realized I had an imaginary friend she started asking me stuff like what does she look like, do we play often, etc. My mom and brothers believed in spirits with everything they’ve been encountering, but my dad didn’t , so he tried to play the stuff off. My mom on the other hand, she went to see a psychic, she was famous back in the day before she passed , Bobby Jean, and she told my mom “You have a very mischievous little girl running around your home” so my mom said “oh yeah my daughter can be quite mischievous” but Bobby Jean said “I’m not talking about your daughter” so it was confirmed there was definitely at least 1 little girl spirit in the house. She also mentioned an old lady and man. She told my mom the old woman protects “those boys” and it’s the old man that brings the dark energy. We assumed the old man was the cowboy Matt always saw sitting in the doorways. That made sense because the cowboy never went into the room he just sat in the doorway. Josh never seen the cowboy himself but they both witnessed the old woman walking around bends and going up steps.
Fast forward to a couple months, my oldest brother Josh and I were home alone. He was babysitting me. We had attic steps that led down to the one bedroom. Then another flight of steps that led to the living room. My brother and I were sitting in the living room and all of a sudden we heard someone running full force down the attic steps , we heard it come thru the bedroom then just as it started coming down the living room steps by brother picked me up and went running outside to my neighbors house so fast. When my parents got home they just saw the front door wipe open, everything left on and me and my brother sitting over at our neighbors. We told them what happened my mom believed us but my dad didn’t believe in the spirits and didn’t want to believe even after his few encounters.
Around this time unfortunate my Nana was sick with cancer so we were getting ready to move into her house. My oldest brother Josh was 18 though so he was going to stay in that house and let 2 of his friends move in and all be room mates .
Not to long after we moved , my brother Josh called my mom totally freaking asking her if I knew and remembered what Molly looked liked and she was like “I’d have to ask her why what’s going on?”
My brothers roommate Mike went walking up to his room to get ready for work. He had his work clothes folded at the end of his bed, and he said as he went walking up he saw a little girl in a blue dress with brown pig tails and wooden shoes sitting at the end of his bed, but the thing was SHE WAS TRANSPARENT! He was able to see his work clothes folded up literally straight through her. My brother said he never seen someone run so fast or look so scared in his life and it’s because he legit just saw the ghost of a little girl.
To this day I can still picture her, and it just freaks me out knowing the whole time she was the spirit of a little girl. Or what we thought .
After my brother moved out and my family sold the house, another couple moved in and they had a little boy. They ended up wanting to move because of how “haunted” the house was. We asked if they ever saw a little girl but they said they never saw a little girl but a “deviant little boy” Molly never did anything dangerous or anything to harm us, they acted like they were in fear.
They moved and the house has had several owners since .
submitted by BubbasMammas to spooky_stories [link] [comments]
After my mom realized I had an imaginary friend she started asking me stuff like what does she look like, do we play often, etc. My mom and brothers believed in spirits with everything they’ve been encountering, but my dad didn’t , so he tried to play the stuff off. My mom on the other hand, she went to see a psychic, she was famous back in the day before she passed , Bobby Jean, and she told my mom “You have a very mischievous little girl running around your home” so my mom said “oh yeah my daughter can be quite mischievous” but Bobby Jean said “I’m not talking about your daughter” so it was confirmed there was definitely at least 1 little girl spirit in the house. She also mentioned an old lady and man. She told my mom the old woman protects “those boys” and it’s the old man that brings the dark energy. We assumed the old man was the cowboy Matt always saw sitting in the doorways. That made sense because the cowboy never went into the room he just sat in the doorway. Josh never seen the cowboy himself but they both witnessed the old woman walking around bends and going up steps.
Fast forward to a couple months, my oldest brother Josh and I were home alone. He was babysitting me. We had attic steps that led down to the one bedroom. Then another flight of steps that led to the living room. My brother and I were sitting in the living room and all of a sudden we heard someone running full force down the attic steps , we heard it come thru the bedroom then just as it started coming down the living room steps by brother picked me up and went running outside to my neighbors house so fast. When my parents got home they just saw the front door wipe open, everything left on and me and my brother sitting over at our neighbors. We told them what happened my mom believed us but my dad didn’t believe in the spirits and didn’t want to believe even after his few encounters.
Around this time unfortunate my Nana was sick with cancer so we were getting ready to move into her house. My oldest brother Josh was 18 though so he was going to stay in that house and let 2 of his friends move in and all be room mates .
Not to long after we moved , my brother Josh called my mom totally freaking asking her if I knew and remembered what Molly looked liked and she was like “I’d have to ask her why what’s going on?”
My brothers roommate Mike went walking up to his room to get ready for work. He had his work clothes folded at the end of his bed, and he said as he went walking up he saw a little girl in a blue dress with brown pig tails and wooden shoes sitting at the end of his bed, but the thing was SHE WAS TRANSPARENT! He was able to see his work clothes folded up literally straight through her. My brother said he never seen someone run so fast or look so scared in his life and it’s because he legit just saw the ghost of a little girl.
To this day I can still picture her, and it just freaks me out knowing the whole time she was the spirit of a little girl. Or what we thought .
After my brother moved out and my family sold the house, another couple moved in and they had a little boy. They ended up wanting to move because of how “haunted” the house was. We asked if they ever saw a little girl but they said they never saw a little girl but a “deviant little boy” Molly never did anything dangerous or anything to harm us, they acted like they were in fear.
They moved and the house has had several owners since .
2024.05.04 00:35 BubbasMammas My childhood imaginary friend …so we thought
So when I was about 3 all the way up til I was about 5 maybe 6, I had an imaginary friend named Molly. To this day I can still remember what she looked like. She looked like me honestly! Long brown braided pig tails, brown eyes, she wore like a blue jean type style dress/overalls with wooden like clog shoes. My mom found out about about Molly one day she said she was coming out of the bathroom and as she opened the door to come out I was standing there with my hand out, like I was holding someone’s hand and I said “Mommy i want you to meet Molly” so she reached out to shake her hand but she said she was covered in goosebumps as she walked away but she didn’t want to act scared and freak me out. She was also assuming I was only saying “Molly” because the popular kids TV show at the time was Big Comfy Couch and I had the characters Molly doll and was a big fan (lol) Before this little introduction however, both of my older brothers were having some spooky experiences . They would constantly hear someone running around upstairs or someone running up and down our strict steps. They’d hear their name being called in the middle of the night, and even sometimes see someone peaking around their bedroom doorway. Another time my dad felt someone pulling the back of his jacket and when he turned around he thought he saw me go running upstairs , but when he came up to see, I was sleeping . While all this was going on my brothers were complaining about an old woman . Like a ghostly white silhouette of an elderly woman in a dress. They always just seen her entering or leaving rooms. My other brother Matt always seen a cowboy lurking in the doorways. It’s like we all seen our own spirits.
After my mom realized I had an imaginary friend she started asking me stuff like what does she look like, do we play often, etc. My mom and brothers believed in spirits with everything they’ve been encountering, but my dad didn’t , so he tried to play the stuff off. My mom on the other hand, she went to see a psychic, she was famous back in the day before she passed , Bobby Jean, and she told my mom “You have a very mischievous little girl running around your home” so my mom said “oh yeah my daughter can be quite mischievous” but Bobby Jean said “I’m not talking about your daughter” so it was confirmed there was definitely at least 1 little girl spirit in the house. She also mentioned an old lady and man. She told my mom the old woman protects “those boys” and it’s the old man that brings the dark energy. We assumed the old man was the cowboy Matt always saw sitting in the doorways. That made sense because the cowboy never went into the room he just sat in the doorway. Josh never seen the cowboy himself but they both witnessed the old woman walking around bends and going up steps.
Fast forward to a couple months, my oldest brother Josh and I were home alone. He was babysitting me. We had attic steps that led down to the one bedroom. Then another flight of steps that led to the living room. My brother and I were sitting in the living room and all of a sudden we heard someone running full force down the attic steps , we heard it come thru the bedroom then just as it started coming down the living room steps by brother picked me up and went running outside to my neighbors house so fast. When my parents got home they just saw the front door wipe open, everything left on and me and my brother sitting over at our neighbors. We told them what happened my mom believed us but my dad didn’t believe in the spirits and didn’t want to believe even after his few encounters.
Around this time unfortunate my Nana was sick with cancer so we were getting ready to move into her house. My oldest brother Josh was 18 though so he was going to stay in that house and let 2 of his friends move in and all be room mates .
Not to long after we moved , my brother Josh called my mom totally freaking asking her if I knew and remembered what Molly looked liked and she was like “I’d have to ask her why what’s going on?”
My brothers roommate Mike went walking up to his room to get ready for work. He had his work clothes folded at the end of his bed, and he said as he went walking up he saw a little girl in a blue dress with brown pig tails and wooden shoes sitting at the end of his bed, but the thing was SHE WAS TRANSPARENT! He was able to see his work clothes folded up literally straight through her. My brother said he never seen someone run so fast or look so scared in his life and it’s because he legit just saw the ghost of a little girl.
To this day I can still picture her, and it just freaks me out knowing the whole time she was the spirit of a little girl. Or what we thought .
After my brother moved out and my family sold the house, another couple moved in and they had a little boy. They ended up wanting to move because of how “haunted” the house was. We asked if they ever saw a little girl but they said they never saw a little girl but a “deviant little boy” Molly never did anything dangerous or anything to harm us, they acted like they were in fear.
They moved and the house has had several owners since .
submitted by BubbasMammas to Hauntings [link] [comments]
After my mom realized I had an imaginary friend she started asking me stuff like what does she look like, do we play often, etc. My mom and brothers believed in spirits with everything they’ve been encountering, but my dad didn’t , so he tried to play the stuff off. My mom on the other hand, she went to see a psychic, she was famous back in the day before she passed , Bobby Jean, and she told my mom “You have a very mischievous little girl running around your home” so my mom said “oh yeah my daughter can be quite mischievous” but Bobby Jean said “I’m not talking about your daughter” so it was confirmed there was definitely at least 1 little girl spirit in the house. She also mentioned an old lady and man. She told my mom the old woman protects “those boys” and it’s the old man that brings the dark energy. We assumed the old man was the cowboy Matt always saw sitting in the doorways. That made sense because the cowboy never went into the room he just sat in the doorway. Josh never seen the cowboy himself but they both witnessed the old woman walking around bends and going up steps.
Fast forward to a couple months, my oldest brother Josh and I were home alone. He was babysitting me. We had attic steps that led down to the one bedroom. Then another flight of steps that led to the living room. My brother and I were sitting in the living room and all of a sudden we heard someone running full force down the attic steps , we heard it come thru the bedroom then just as it started coming down the living room steps by brother picked me up and went running outside to my neighbors house so fast. When my parents got home they just saw the front door wipe open, everything left on and me and my brother sitting over at our neighbors. We told them what happened my mom believed us but my dad didn’t believe in the spirits and didn’t want to believe even after his few encounters.
Around this time unfortunate my Nana was sick with cancer so we were getting ready to move into her house. My oldest brother Josh was 18 though so he was going to stay in that house and let 2 of his friends move in and all be room mates .
Not to long after we moved , my brother Josh called my mom totally freaking asking her if I knew and remembered what Molly looked liked and she was like “I’d have to ask her why what’s going on?”
My brothers roommate Mike went walking up to his room to get ready for work. He had his work clothes folded at the end of his bed, and he said as he went walking up he saw a little girl in a blue dress with brown pig tails and wooden shoes sitting at the end of his bed, but the thing was SHE WAS TRANSPARENT! He was able to see his work clothes folded up literally straight through her. My brother said he never seen someone run so fast or look so scared in his life and it’s because he legit just saw the ghost of a little girl.
To this day I can still picture her, and it just freaks me out knowing the whole time she was the spirit of a little girl. Or what we thought .
After my brother moved out and my family sold the house, another couple moved in and they had a little boy. They ended up wanting to move because of how “haunted” the house was. We asked if they ever saw a little girl but they said they never saw a little girl but a “deviant little boy” Molly never did anything dangerous or anything to harm us, they acted like they were in fear.
They moved and the house has had several owners since .